The Girls' Book of Famous Queens

“How could I tell? how could I imagine?” he gasped out; “I thought only of her, of her fatherless children. I had loved them for years. I was anxious to see them once more restored to prosperity and happiness.”

“I believe you,” said the emperor, touched by the emotion of the gray-haired old man, who had been a friend to his wife in her days of need; “you could not tell; you could not foresee;” and for a moment Napoleon paused, and then continued in more solemn tones, “the future is beyond the grasp of any living man.” Then, resuming his bantering way: “So, now, we will return to the present; and, as I cannot altogether overlook the injury which you sought to inflict upon me, I condemn you to go this day to Nôtre Dame, and to witness the ceremony of my coronation. Not in a corner, not behind a pillar, which will prevent my having ocular evidence of your obedience, but in the seat that I shall cause to be retained for you. Do you hear, sir? I must see you both in the cathedral and in the line of the procession.”

Transported with the overwhelming relief and the ecstatic joy of such an honor, the poor old lawyer was hardly able to express his gratitude, and could scarcely maintain his dignity as he bowed himself from the royal presence, and hastened to prepare for the coming august ceremony.

Napoleon having jested with his wife over the abject terror of the trembling culprit, the emperor and empress entered their carriage, and proceeded to the archbishopric. As they left the cathedral after the magnificent ceremony of the coronation, Napoleon recognized the old lawyer in the crowd; and as their eyes met the Emperor smiled graciously upon his former enemy. The smile was answered by so profound a bow, that Napoleon afterwards laughingly declared to Josephine, “that for several seconds he was in doubt whether the sage prophet of 1796 would ever be able again to assume the perpendicular.”

During Napoleon’s campaigns, Josephine was at all times in receipt of news from the army, brought to her by couriers from Bonaparte. No matter at what time the despatches arrived, day or night, she always received them with her own hands, and made inquiries of the courier of all in the army whom she knew. She would always say some pleasant thing to him, and reward him with a more or less costly gift, according to the importance of the news received.

At one time, when Bourrienne had remarked to Josephine, “Madame, I really believe that in spite of yourself you will be made queen or empress,” Josephine exclaimed: “Bourrienne, such ambition is far from my thoughts. That I may always continue the wife of the First Consul, is all that I desire.”

During the Prussian campaign, nothing was talked of throughout Germany but Napoleon’s generous conduct with respect to Prince Hatzfeld. Among the letters seized at Berlin, and delivered to Napoleon, was one from the prince to the king of Prussia, in which he revealed the condition and strength of the French army. The prince was arrested, and tried as a spy, and condemned to death. The remainder of the scene is described in Napoleon’s letter to Josephine, which is as follows: —

“I have received your letter, in which you seem to reproach me for speaking ill of women. It is true that I dislike female intriguers above all things. I am used to kind, gentle, and conciliatory women. I love them, and if they have spoiled me, it is not my fault, but yours. However, you will see that I have done an act of kindness to one deserving woman. I allude to Madame de Hatzfeld. When I showed her her husband’s letter, she stood weeping, and in a tone of mingled grief and ingenuousness, said, ‘It is indeed his writing!’ This went to my heart, and I said: ‘Well, madame, throw the letter into the fire, and then I shall have no proof against your husband.’ She burned the letter, and was restored to happiness. Her husband now is safe; two hours later, and he would have been lost. You see, therefore, that I like women who are simple, gentle, and amiable; because they alone resemble you.”

Josephine’s kindness and consideration for the comfort of every one in her household, even down to the lowest menial, was proverbial. When travelling with Napoleon, a picket-guard was appointed by the emperor for her service. One cold night, in the early dawn, she heard marching and coughing under her window. She wondered who could be out so late in the chill of that hour; and upon inquiry, she learned that it was the sentinel posted there. She thereupon sent for the officer of the guard, and said to him, “Sir, I have no need of a sentinel at night; these brave men have endured enough in the army when they followed it to the wars; they must rest while in my service. I don’t want them to catch cold.” The officer, smiling at the apprehensive solicitude of the empress, and touched by her unexpected kindness, dismissed the sentinel, and his place was not supplied.

Napoleon is said to have talked but little. When out of his own house, if he chanced to stop and speak with any one, it was considered of enough importance to be remarked and reported. The following is Josephine’s portrait of Napoleon at home: “He had a fine intellect, a sensible and grateful heart, simple tastes, and the qualities of an amiable man; to the sentiments of an honest man, he united a prodigious local memory.”

When Josephine spoke of her husband, she always said, “The emperor says,” “the emperor wishes,” “the emperor orders,” etc. She very rarely called him by name in public, and in private she called him Bonaparte; while her tender name for him was mon ami. When speaking of her, Napoleon usually called her the empress, or he would say, “I am going to see my wife”; but in addressing her he called her Josephine, unless he spoke with severity or on some serious occasion, when he called her Madame, without other title or name.

It cannot be denied that Josephine had a great weakness for extravagant jewels and adornments; but as she dressed always with perfect taste and elegance, and as she was as lavish in her bounties as she was in her personal expenditures, she may be pardoned this feminine weakness. She at least never offended the eyes of admirers of good taste, and her pleasing person, so becomingly adorned, was one of the most charming sights of the court of the empire.

This was another cause of the jealousy of her sisters-in-law; and even Pauline, the Bonaparte beauty, was often most sorely chagrined to find her own boasted charms thrown in the shade by the refined elegance and queenly bearing of the emperor’s wife.

An amusing story is told of the mortification of this proud beauty upon one grand occasion, when she had resolved for once to outshine her hated sister-in-law.

Pauline, Madame Le Clerc, after wearing her widow’s weeds for as short a time as possible after the death of her first husband, General Le Clerc, had wedded a real prince, and was accordingly to make her début at court as Princess Borghèse.

Pauline has kept her own counsel about her grande toilette for that momentous occasion; but the rumor is afloat that she intends to make a grand coup with her gorgeous appearance, and quite extinguish her august sister-in-law.

Josephine, having heard that she was to be crushed into utter insignificance by the vain beauty, quietly determined a little stratagem of her own. Confident of being mistress in the art of dress, she accordingly resolved to assume a costume which should delight by its very simplicity. But a simplicity so artistically arranged that the very splendor of her rival should but heighten the effect of her own toilet. Her dress was of the finest Indian muslin, bordered with gold and embroidery, and gracefully draped to show the perfect elegance of her figure. Her hair was dressed à la grecque, and banded with pearls, while antique gems and pearls formed her sole ornaments.

“Ravissante!” exclaimed her ladies, as she entered the salon; and even Napoleon’s usual gravity relents, as he cries: —

“Josephine, je suis jaloux! Tu es divine!” and he kisses her on the forehead, pinching her ear laughingly, which was his favorite manner of bestowing a gracious caress.

The time passes, but no princess. Napoleon impatiently retires from the salon; his time is too precious to wait longer the “official visit,” as he calls it, of the prince and princess.

At length the clatter of horses’ hoofs is heard. A carriage grand enough, with its gilding and emblazonry, to have borne the Grand Monarque himself, dashes into the Cour d’Honneur of St. Cloud.

Six gayly caparisoned horses are harnessed to this gorgeous vehicle, and a large retinue of outriders surround it, bearing torches. On the grand staircase are stationed the entire staff of domestics to receive their princely guests.

Presently the huissier opens the doors of the salon, and announces with becoming grandiloquence: —

“Monseigneur le Prince, and Madame la Princesse Borghèse.”

The grande entrée is made with imposing hauteur, and Pauline sees with satisfaction that she has made a sensation. But her vain heart is ruffled because she is obliged to cross the room to Josephine, instead of being met by her, as la grande princesse had of course expected.

But she comforted her wounded pride with the thought that this promenade would give her the opportunity to display her velvet train embroidered with diamonds.

Pauline was indeed magnificent. Her costume was a pale green velvet embroidered with gold, and thickly sprinkled with flashing brilliants. The front of her dress was a tablier of diamonds, with diamond stomacher, and the same glistening jewels upon her sleeves. Her handsome head was adorned with a diadem of emeralds and diamonds, and the same gems sparkled upon snowy arms, wrists, and throat. In fact, she was loaded with the entire wealth of diamonds possessed by the princely family of Borghèse; and as it was reported that when she came back from St. Domingo, where her former husband died, she had guarded carefully a coffin, containing the supposed remains of her late husband, but in reality filled with diamonds and other precious stones. If this was true, Pauline doubtless had diamonds of her own to add to the vaunted store of the family of her second princely husband.

Be that as it may, Pauline flashed in diamonds from head to foot; nay more, even to the end of her gorgeous train, where the same rich jewels also sparkled.

She was indeed dazzling!

Josephine and Pauline are at length seated side by side. The proud princess is forced to acknowledge that Josephine’s toilet is charming; and all beholders are confirmed in their opinion that Madame Bonaparte’s taste is faultless.

But horrors! What has happened? Pauline, la princesse, has grown pale as death. Is she ill? Oh! worse than that. Oh, awful catastrophe! Pauline, gazing into a large mirror before her, expecting to be ravished with her own beauty, perceives this dreadful fact. The furniture and draperies of the newly furnished salon, while giving full effect to Josephine’s costume, actually transform herself into a hideous spectacle. Wearing a green velvet gown, she has seated herself upon a blue velvet sofa! It is positively too shocking for her nerves to endure. Had her boasted triumph encountered such ignominious defeat? Hastily rising, she made her adieus, and departed to weep in mortified chagrin and baffled pride. Poor Pauline! kind-hearted Josephine had not intended to achieve such an unexpected triumph.

The Empress Josephine was very generous to her attendant ladies, often making them costly presents. As she frequently gave them handsome costumes and pretty novelties which she had worn but once or twice, the ladies at length entered into quite a trade with certain Jews, who came to the court to display their merchandise. As the robes of the empress were often too rich for the ladies who received them to wear themselves, they exchanged them for piece-goods, which the Jewish merchants brought for sale. These garments of the empress became quite the rage; and at one ball, Josephine might have beheld the ladies in an entire quadrille, arrayed in her cast-off robes. Even princesses were frequently the purchasers of these gowns from the Jews, who had obtained them in exchange for the merchandise with which they had supplied the ladies of Josephine’s court.

At one time an ambassador arrived from Persia, bringing very magnificent presents to the Emperor Napoleon and costly cashmeres to Josephine. For some time his Persian Excellency was all the rage, and the ladies of the French court vied with each other in endeavoring to show attention to these eastern guests. The parties given by the Persian ambassador and his suite, at their residences, were largely attended, and much curiosity was evinced to partake of the foreign tea and queer cakes offered by their Persian hosts.

The empress at length determined to attend one of their parties incognito, being accompanied by several of her ladies. On being introduced to the ambassador, Josephine received a gracious smile, and the Persian presented her with a small bottle of attar of roses, a kind of present which, among the Persians, denoted a mark of high honor and respect.

Josephine tasted several mysterious Persian dishes, and expressed admiration of his Excellency’s pipe, which was brought to him by two slaves, who kneeled when they offered it to their august master. Josephine noticed that the tips of his Excellency’s finger-nails were colored with different tints.

The ambassador being impressed with the manner and grace of the empress, invited her to be seated by his side on his divan. She graciously declined the attention, saying that such an honor belonged only to privileged persons, fearing that her identity would be made known. The Persian then asked, through his interpreter, if she would be willing to go and reside with him in Persia, promising that he would give her a high position.

Scarcely restraining her mirth, Josephine replied that she was married and had two children, and that her duty and interests would keep her in France. And with as much haste as courtesy would allow, the empress and her ladies retired from the presence of their Persian host.

On the day of the ambassador’s public presentation at court, Josephine, arrayed in all her imperial magnificence, received him with a gracious smile. The poor, dumfounded Persian, who recognized in the empress the woman whom he had vainly tried to captivate, was completely amazed, and his manner and attitude expressed his astonished mortification.

But Josephine, with winning smile, quickly relieved him of his embarrassment, saying, in her sweet persuasive tones: —

“You must admit, Monsieur l’Ambassadeur, that I had good reason for telling you that I preferred to remain in France. If you think well of me, you will remain faithful to that beautiful wife of yours.” And with a sign of respect, the humiliated Persian withdrew.

At Josephine’s early receptions as wife of the First Consul, the costumes of the guests were very heterogeneous in style. The fashions of the Republic had been copied after ancient Greek and Roman styles; and the ladies of the Republic flaunted their Grecian tunics and Roman sandals with great pride. But after a time it was remarked “that military boots and pantaloons, clanking swords and cockades, were in a considerable minority, and that silk stockings, shoes with buckles, dress swords, and chapeaux sous le bras were the rule. Some of the company had, however, endeavored to spare their feelings too complete a shock, by an attempt to unite the past and the present. While returning to powder and embroidery, lace ruffles and cravats, they contrived to retain in their costumes some reminiscence of the fast vanishing and much regretted ‘sans-culottism’ of the Republic. This resulted in amusing and startling incongruities.”

But during the empire, Napoleon was particular about the etiquette of his court. He regarded it as the chief barrier of the throne, and of great importance. He caused an exact account of all the ceremonies in use at the courts of Louis XIV. and Louis XV. to be drawn up, and he directed the most scrupulous attention to be paid to their performance. Josephine was sufficiently a daughter of the Revolution to smile at too strict etiquette; she said: “It was perhaps appropriate for princesses, born to the throne and accustomed to the restraints it imposes; but she, who had lived so many years as a private person, ought, she considered, to be less exacting, less severely punctilious in her intercourse with those who knew and remembered the circumstances of her former life.” “And although she learned to wear her crown and mantle of state and to sit on her throne right royally, she was ever unfailingly indulgent in the matter of etiquette, and always pleased to throw aside its restraints.”

After the imperial decree had ennobled many to whom the mysteries of the court had hitherto been sealed books, very amusing incidents occurred. The Faubourg St. Germain resented the indignity which had been offered to their patrician prejudices; and the newly created nobles were often treated with superb disdain by those entitled to such rank from birth.

“The Duchesse de Chevreuse desired her waiting-woman to inform her laundress that she should no longer intrust her with her linen, until she became a countess; and the Comte de Brissac addressed a note to his boot-maker as follows: —

“‘My dear baron! do not fail to bring me my boots to-morrow.’ And when on the next day the astonished tradesman assured him that he had been the recipient of no such title, De Brissac exclaimed with elegant impertinence: ‘Can this be possible? You really astonish me! Console yourself, however, Maizenat; for rest assured that you will be included in the next baking.’”

But it was hardly to be wondered at, perhaps, that the old nobles sneered at some of these new-titled persons, whose own presumptuous pride made them fit subjects for mirth. This throng of new courtiers, most of whom had sworn eternal hatred to kings and royalty, now danced attendance at the levées of the emperor, and vied with each other to obtain a look or word from his imperial highness, that they might repay him for it with the pompous titles of “Sire,” and “Your Majesty,” which they did with an air of self-gratulation, which appeared as if the individual considered himself to be ennobled by the privilege of merely uttering the magic words. Among the strange actions related of some of these “newly baked dignitaries,” one or two are quite amusing.

The wife of a marshal purchased several dresses of old brocade, such as were worn at the Court of Louis XV., and kept them spread out upon chairs in the hall leading to her bedroom, as if placed there to air. When her curious visitors asked her what she was going to do with them, she replied with apparent carelessness, under which lurked much pompous pride: “Do with them? Oh! nothing at all; but they belonged to my grandmother, and I wish to keep them as long as I can for her sake.”

Books on heraldry brought fabulous prices; and the father behind his counter, and the mother at her wash-tub, were entertained by their pretty daughters, endeavoring to master the high-bred French titles of the ancien régime.

One soap-dealer, whose daughter had married an officer in the army, and had embellished the panels of her carriage with a gloved hand grasping a sword, – the military crest of her husband, – innocently thanked his daughter for having tried to copy the golden arm which figured above his shop-door; though he regretted that she should have had it painted to look like iron, and generously stated that had he known of it, he would willingly have paid the difference of cost himself.

The return to Paris of several grandes dames promised a gradual reorganization of “la bonne compagnie,” and several of the contractors’ wives were ambitious to be received in the Faubourg St. Germain; and one of them, Madame Privas, who was desirous of opening her salon to the beau monde, having read Madame de Genlis’ work, “Adèle et Théodore,” at once exclaimed to her husband: “Privas! this is the lady for us.” Whereupon Madame Privas arrayed herself in resplendent robes, and attended by a negro servant in Moorish costume, she entered her gorgeous carriage and proceeded to take Madame de Genlis by storm.