THE STORY OF PAULINE BONAPARTE
It was said of Napoleon long ago that he could govern emperors andkings, but that not even he could rule his relatives. He himself oncedeclared:
"My family have done me far more harm than I have been able to do themgood."
It would be an interesting historical study to determine just how farthe great soldier's family aided in his downfall by their selfishness,their jealousy, their meanness, and their ingratitude.
There is something piquant in thinking of Napoleon as a domestic sortof person. Indeed, it is rather difficult to do so. When we speak hisname we think of the stern warrior hurling his armies up bloody slopesand on to bloody victory. He is the man whose steely eyes made hishaughtiest marshals tremble, or else the wise, far-seeing statesman andlawgiver; but decidedly he is not a household model. We read of hissharp speech to women, of his outrageous manners at the dinner-table,and of the thousand and one details which Mme. de Remusat haschronicled--and perhaps in part invented, for there has always existedthe suspicion that her animus was that of a woman who had herselfsought the imperial favor and had failed to win it.
But, in fact, all these stories relate to the Napoleon of courts andpalaces, and not to the Napoleon of home. In his private life thisgreat man was not merely affectionate and indulgent, but he even showeda certain weakness where his relatives were concerned, so that he letthem prey upon him almost without end.
He had a great deal of the Italian largeness and lavishness ofcharacter with his family. When a petty officer he nearly starvedhimself in order to give his younger brother, Louis, a militaryeducation. He was devotedly fond of children, and they were fond ofhim, as many anecdotes attest. His passionate love for Josephine beforehe learned of her infidelity is almost painful to read of; and evenafterward, when he had been disillusioned, and when she was payingFouche a thousand francs a day to spy upon Napoleon's every action, hestill treated her with friendliness and allowed her extravagance toembarrass him.
He made his eldest brother, Joseph, King of Spain, and Spain provedalmost as deadly to him as did Russia. He made his youngest brother,Jerome, King of Westphalia, and Jerome turned the palace into a pigstyand brought discredit on the very name of Bonaparte. His brother Louis,for whom he had starved himself, he placed upon the throne of Holland,and Louis promptly devoted himself to his own interests, conniving atmany things which were inimical to France. He was planning highadvancement for his brother Lucien, and Lucien suddenly married adisreputable actress and fled with her to England, where he wasreceived with pleasure by the most persistent of all Napoleon's enemies.
So much for his brothers--incompetent, ungrateful, or openly his foes.But his three sisters were no less remarkable in the relations whichthey bore to him. They have been styled "the three crowned courtesans,"and they have been condemned together as being utterly void ofprinciple and monsters of ingratitude.
Much of this censure was well deserved by all of them--by Caroline andElise and Pauline. But when we look at the facts impartially we shallfind something which makes Pauline stand out alone as infinitelysuperior to her sisters. Of all the Bonapartes she was the only one whoshowed fidelity and gratitude to the great emperor, her brother. EvenMme. Mere, Napoleon's mother, who beyond all question transmitted tohim his great mental and physical power, did nothing for him. At theheight of his splendor she hoarded sous and francs and grumblinglyremarked:
"All this is for a time. It isn't going to last!"
Pauline, however, was in one respect different from all her kindred.Napoleon made Elise a princess in her own right and gave her the GrandDuchy of Tuscany. He married Caroline to Marshal Murat, and they becamerespectively King and Queen of Naples. For Pauline he did verylittle--less, in fact, than for any other member of his family--and yetshe alone stood by him to the end.
This feather-headed, languishing, beautiful, distracting morsel offrivolity, who had the manners of a kitten and the morals of a cat,nevertheless was not wholly unworthy to be Napoleon's sister. One hasto tell many hard things of her; and yet one almost pardons her becauseof her underlying devotion to the man who made the name of Bonaparteillustrious for ever. Caroline, Queen of Naples, urged her husband toturn against his former chief. Elise, sour and greedy, threw in herfortunes with the Murats. Pauline, as we shall see, had the oneredeeming trait of gratitude.
To those who knew her she was from girlhood an incarnation of what usedto be called "femininity." We have to-day another and a higherdefinition of womanhood, but to her contemporaries, and to many modernwriters, she has seemed to be first of all woman--"woman to the tips ofher rosy finger-nails," says Levy. Those who saw her were distracted byher loveliness. They say that no one can form any idea of her beautyfrom her pictures. "A veritable masterpiece of creation," she had beencalled. Frederic Masson declares:
She was so much more the typical woman that with her the defects commonto women reached their highest development, while her beauty attained aperfection which may justly be called unique.
No one speaks of Pauline Bonaparte's character or of her intellect, butwholly of her loveliness and charm, and, it must be added, of her utterlack of anything like a moral sense.
Even as a child of thirteen, when the Bonapartes left Corsica and tookup their abode in Marseilles, she attracted universal attention by herwonderful eyes, her grace, and also by the utter lack of decorum whichshe showed. The Bonaparte girls at this time lived almost on charity.The future emperor was then a captain of artillery and could give thembut little out of his scanty pay.
Pauline--or, as they called her in those days, Paulette--woreunbecoming hats and shabby gowns, and shoes that were full of holes.None the less, she was sought out by several men of note, among themFreron, a commissioner of the Convention. He visited Pauline so oftenas to cause unfavorable comment; but he was in love with her, and shefell in love with him to the extent of her capacity. She used to writehim love letters in Italian, which were certainly not lacking in ardor.Here is the end of one of them:
I love you always and most passionately. I love you for ever, mybeautiful idol, my heart, my appealing lover. I love you, love you,love you, the most loved of lovers, and I swear never to love any oneelse!
This was interesting in view of the fact that soon afterward she fellin love with Junot, who became a famous marshal. But her love affairsnever gave her any serious trouble; and the three sisters, who nowbegan to feel the influence of Napoleon's rise to power, enjoyedthemselves as they had never done before. At Antibes they had abeautiful villa, and later a mansion at Milan.
By this time Napoleon had routed the Austrians in Italy, and all Francewas ringing with his name. What was Pauline like in her maidenhood?Arnault says:
She was an extraordinary combination of perfect physical beauty and thestrangest moral laxity. She was as pretty as you please, but utterlyunreasonable. She had no more manners than a school-girl--talkingincoherently, giggling at everything and nothing, and mimicking themost serious persons of rank.
General de Ricard, who knew her then, tells in his monograph of theprivate theatricals in which Pauline took part, and of the sport whichthey had behind the scenes. He says:
The Bonaparte girls used literally to dress us. They pulled our earsand slapped us, but they always kissed and made up later. We used tostay in the girls' room all the time when they were dressing.
Napoleon was anxious to see his sisters in some way settled. Heproposed to General Marmont to marry Pauline. The girl was then onlyseventeen, and one might have had some faith in her character. ButMarmont was shrewd and knew her far too well. The words in which hedeclined the honor are interesting:
"I know that she is charming and exquisitely beautiful; yet I havedreams of domestic happiness, of fidelity, and of virtue. Such dreamsare seldom realized, I know. Still, in the hope of winning them--"
And then he paused, coughed, and completed what he had to say in a sortof mumble, but his meaning was wholly clear. He would not accept theoffer of Pauline i
n marriage, even though she was the sister of hismighty chief.
Then Napoleon turned to General Leclerc, with whom Pauline had for sometime flirted, as she had flirted with almost all the officers ofNapoleon's staff. Leclerc was only twenty-six. He was rich and of goodmanners, but rather serious and in poor health. This was not preciselythe sort of husband for Pauline, if we look at it in the conventionalway; but it served Napoleon's purpose and did not in the leastinterfere with his sister's intrigues.
Poor Leclerc, who really loved Pauline, grew thin, and graver still inmanner. He was sent to Spain and Portugal, and finally was madecommander-in-chief of the French expedition to Haiti, where the famousblack rebel, Toussaint l'Ouverture, was heading an uprising of thenegroes.
Napoleon ordered Pauline to accompany her husband. Pauline flatlyrefused, although she made this an occasion for ordering "mountains ofpretty clothes and pyramids of hats." But still she refused to go onboard the flag-ship. Leclerc expostulated and pleaded, but the lovelywitch laughed in his face and still persisted that she would never go.
Word was brought to Napoleon. He made short work of her resistance.
"Bring a litter," he said, with one of his steely glances. "Order sixgrenadiers to thrust her into it, and see that she goes on boardforthwith."
And so, screeching like an angry cat, she was carried on board, and setsail with her husband and one of her former lovers. She found Haiti andSanto Domingo more agreeable than she had supposed. She was there asort of queen who could do as she pleased and have her ordersimplicitly obeyed. Her dissipation was something frightful. Her follyand her vanity were beyond belief.
But at the end of two years both she and her husband fell ill. He wasstricken down by the yellow fever, which was decimating the Frencharmy. Pauline was suffering from the results of her life in a tropicalclimate. Leclerc died, the expedition was abandoned, and Paulinebrought the general's body back to France. When he was buried she,still recovering from her fever, had him interred in a costly coffinand paid him the tribute of cutting off her beautiful hair and buryingit with him.
"What a touching tribute to her dead husband!" said some one toNapoleon.
The emperor smiled cynically as he remarked:
"H'm! Of course she knows that her hair is bound to fall out after herfever, and that it will come in longer and thicker for being cropped."
Napoleon, in fact, though he loved Pauline better than his othersisters--or perhaps because he loved her better--was very strict withher. He obliged her to wear mourning, and to observe some of theproprieties; but it was hard to keep her within bounds.
Presently it became noised about that Prince Camillo Borghese wasexceedingly intimate with her. The prince was an excellent specimen ofthe fashionable Italian. He was immensely rich. His palace at Rome wascrammed with pictures, statues, and every sort of artistic treasure. Hewas the owner, moreover, of the famous Borghese jewels, the finestcollection of diamonds in the world.
Napoleon rather sternly insisted upon her marrying Borghese.Fortunately, the prince was very willing to be connected with Napoleon;while Pauline was delighted at the idea of having diamonds that wouldeclipse all the gems which Josephine possessed; for, like all of theBonapartes, she detested her brother's wife. So she would be marriedand show her diamonds to Josephine. It was a bit of feminine malicewhich she could not resist.
The marriage took place very quietly at Joseph Bonaparte's house,because of the absence of Napoleon; but the newly made princess wasinvited to visit Josephine at the palace of Saint-Cloud. Here was to bethe triumph of her life. She spent many days in planning a toilet thatshould be absolutely crushing to Josephine. Whatever she wore must be abackground for the famous diamonds. Finally she decided on green velvet.
When the day came Pauline stood before a mirror and gazed at herselfwith diamonds glistening in her hair, shimmering around her neck, andfastened so thickly on her green velvet gown as to remind one of amoving jewel-casket. She actually shed tears for joy. Then she enteredher carriage and drove out to Saint-Cloud.
But the Creole Josephine, though no longer young, was a woman of greatsubtlety as well as charm. Stories had been told to her of the greenvelvet, and therefore she had her drawing-room redecorated in the mostuncompromising blue. It killed the green velvet completely. As for thediamonds, she met that maneuver by wearing not a single gem of anykind. Her dress was an Indian muslin with a broad hem of gold.
Her exquisite simplicity, coupled with her dignity of bearing, made thePrincess Pauline, with her shower of diamonds, and her green velvetdisplayed against the blue, seem absolutely vulgar. Josephine was mostgenerous in her admiration of the Borghese gems, and she kissed Paulineon parting. The victory was hers.
There is another story of a defeat which Pauline met from another lady,one Mme. de Coutades. This was at a magnificent ball given to the mostfashionable world of Paris. Pauline decided upon going, and intended,in her own phrase, to blot out every woman there. She kept the secretof her toilet absolutely, and she entered the ballroom at thepsychological moment, when all the guests had just assembled.
She appeared; and at sight of her the music stopped, silence fell uponthe assemblage, and a sort of quiver went through every one. Hercostume was of the finest muslin bordered with golden palm-leaves. Fourbands, spotted like a leopard's skin, were wound about her head, whilethese in turn were supported by little clusters of golden grapes. Shehad copied the head-dress of a Bacchante in the Louvre. All over herperson were cameos, and just beneath her breasts she wore a golden bandheld in place by an engraved gem. Her beautiful wrists, arms, and handswere bare. She had, in fact, blotted out her rivals.
Nevertheless, Mme. de Coutades took her revenge. She went up toPauline, who was lying on a divan to set off her loveliness, and begangazing at the princess through a double eye-glass. Pauline feltflattered for a moment, and then became uneasy. The lady who waslooking at her said to a companion, in a tone of compassion:
"What a pity! She really would be lovely if it weren't for THAT!"
"For what?" returned her escort.
"Why, are you blind? It's so remarkable that you SURELY must see it."
Pauline was beginning to lose her self-composure. She flushed andlooked wildly about, wondering what was meant. Then she heard Mme.Coutades say:
"Why, her ears. If I had such ears as those I would cut them off!"
Pauline gave one great gasp and fainted dead away. As a matter of fact,her ears were not so bad. They were simply very flat and colorless,forming a contrast with the rosy tints of her face. But from thatmoment no one could see anything but these ears; and thereafter theprincess wore her hair low enough to cover them.
This may be seen in the statue of her by Canova. It was considered avery daring thing for her to pose for him in the nude, for only a bitof drapery is thrown over her lower limbs. Yet it is true that thisstatue is absolutely classical in its conception and execution, and itsinterest is heightened by the fact that its model was what sheafterward styled herself, with true Napoleonic pride--"a sister ofBonaparte."
Pauline detested Josephine and was pleased when Napoleon divorced her;but she also disliked the Austrian archduchess, Marie Louise, who wasJosephine's successor. On one occasion, at a great court function, shegot behind the empress and ran out her tongue at her, in full view ofall the nobles and distinguished persons present. Napoleon's eagle eyeflashed upon Pauline and blazed like fire upon ice. She actually tookto her heels, rushed out of the ball, and never visited the court again.
It would require much time to tell of her other eccentricities, of herintrigues, which were innumerable, of her quarrel with her husband, andof the minor breaches of decorum with which she startled Paris. One ofthese was her choice of a huge negro to bathe her every morning. Whensome one ventured to protest, she answered, naively:
"What! Do you call that thing a MAN?"
And she compromised by compelling her black servitor to go out andmarry some one at once, so that he might continue his ministra
tionswith propriety!
To her Napoleon showed himself far more severe than with eitherCaroline or Elise. He gave her a marriage dowry of half a millionfrancs when she became the Princess Borghese, but after that he wascontinually checking her extravagances. Yet in 1814, when the downfallcame and Napoleon was sent into exile at Elba, Pauline was the only oneof all his relatives to visit him and spend her time with him. His wifefell away and went back to her Austrian relatives. Of all theBonapartes only Pauline and Mme. Mere remained faithful to the emperor.
Even then Napoleon refused to pay a bill of hers for sixty-two francs,while he allowed her only two hundred and forty francs for themaintenance of her horses. But she, with a generosity of which onewould have thought her quite incapable, gave to her brother a greatpart of her fortune. When he escaped from Elba and began the campaignof 1815 she presented him with all the Borghese diamonds. In fact, hehad them with him in his carriage at Waterloo, where they were capturedby the English. Contrast this with the meanness and ingratitude of hersisters and her brothers, and one may well believe that she wassincerely proud of what it meant to be la soeur de Bonaparte.
When he was sent to St. Helena she was ill in bed and could notaccompany him. Nevertheless, she tried to sell all her trinkets, ofwhich she was so proud, in order that she might give him help. When hedied she received the news with bitter tears "on hearing all theparticulars of that long agony."
As for herself, she did not long survive. At the age of forty-four herlast moments came. Knowing that she was to die, she sent for PrinceBorghese and sought a reconciliation. But, after all, she died as shehad lived--"the queen of trinkets" (la reine des colifichets). Sheasked the servant to bring a mirror. She gazed into it with her dyingeyes; and then, as she sank back, it was with a smile of deep content.
"I am not afraid to die," she said. "I am still beautiful!"
THE STORY OF THE EMPRESS MARIE LOUISE AND COUNT NEIPPERG
There is one famous woman whom history condems while at the same timeit partly hides the facts which might mitigate the harshness of thejudgment that is passed upon her. This woman is Marie Louise, Empressof France, consort of the great Napoleon, and archduchess of imperialAustria. When the most brilliant figure in all history, after hisoverthrow in 1814, was in tawdry exile on the petty island of Elba, theempress was already about to become a mother; and the father of herunborn child was not Napoleon, but another man. This is almost all thatis usually remembered of her--that she was unfaithful to Napoleon, thatshe abandoned him in the hour of his defeat, and that she gave herselfwith readiness to one inferior in rank, yet with whom she lived foryears, and to whom she bore what a French writer styled "a brood ofbastards."
Naturally enough, the Austrian and German historians do not have muchto say of Marie Louise, because in her own disgrace she also broughtdisgrace upon the proudest reigning family in Europe. Naturally, also,French writers, even those who are hostile to Napoleon, do not care todwell upon the story; since France itself was humiliated when itsgreatest genius and most splendid soldier was deceived by his Austrianwife. Therefore there are still many who know little beyond the barefact that the Empress Marie Louise threw away her pride as a princess,her reputation as a wife, and her honor as a woman. Her figure seems tocrouch in a sort of murky byway, and those who pass over the highroadof history ignore it with averted eyes.
In reality the story of Napoleon and Marie Louise and of the Count vonNeipperg is one which, when you search it to the very core, leads youstraight to a sex problem of a very curious nature. Nowhere else doesit occur in the relations of the great personages of history; but inliterature Balzac, that master of psychology, has touched upon thetheme in the early chapters of his famous novel called "A Woman ofThirty."
As to the Napoleonic story, let us first recall the facts of the case,giving them in such order that their full significance may beunderstood.
In 1809 Napoleon, then at the plenitude of his power, shook himselffree from the clinging clasp of Josephine and procured the annulment ofhis marriage to her. He really owed her nothing. Before he knew her shehad been the mistress of another. In the first years of their lifetogether she had been notoriously unfaithful to him. He had held to herfrom habit which was in part a superstition; but the remembrance of thewrong which she had done him made her faded charms at times almostrepulsive. And then Josephine had never borne him any children; andwithout a son to perpetuate his dynasty, the gigantic achievementswhich he had wrought seemed futile in his eyes, and likely to crumbleinto nothingness when he should die.
No sooner had the marriage been annulled than his titanic ambitionleaped, as it always did, to a tremendous pinnacle. He would wed. Hewould have children. But he would wed no petty princess. This man whoin his early youth had felt honored by a marriage with the almostdeclassee widow of a creole planter now stretched out his hand that hemight take to himself a woman not merely royal but imperial.
At first he sought the sister of the Czar of Russia; but Alexanderentertained a profound distrust of the French emperor, and managed toevade the tentative demand. There was, however, a reigning family farmore ancient than the Romanoffs--a family which had held the imperialdignity for nearly six centuries--the oldest and the noblest blood inEurope. This was the Austrian house of Hapsburg. Its head, the EmperorFrancis, had thirteen children, of whom the eldest, the ArchduchessMarie Louise, was then in her nineteenth year.
Napoleon had resented the rebuff which the Czar had given him. Heturned, therefore, the more eagerly to the other project. Yet therewere many reasons why an Austrian marriage might be dangerous, or, atany rate, ill-omened. Only sixteen years before, an Austrianarch-duchess, Marie Antoinette, married to the ruler of France, had mether death upon the scaffold, hated and cursed by the French people, whohad always blamed "the Austrian" for the evil days which had ended inthe flames of revolution. Again, the father of the girl to whomNapoleon's fancy turned had been the bitter enemy of the new regime inFrance. His troops had been beaten by the French in five wars and hadbeen crushed at Austerlitz and at Wagram. Bonaparte had twice enteredVienna at the head of a conquering army, and thrice he had slept in theimperial palace at Schonbrunn, while Francis was fleeing through thedark, a beaten fugitive pursued by the swift squadrons of Frenchcavalry.
The feeling of Francis of Austria was not merely that of the vanquishedtoward the victor. It was a deep hatred almost religious in its fervor.He was the head and front of the old-time feudalism of birth and blood;Napoleon was the incarnation of the modern spirit which demolishedthrones and set an iron heel upon crowned heads, giving the sacredtitles of king and prince to soldiers who, even in palaces, stillshowed the swaggering brutality of the camp and the stable whence theysprang. Yet, just because an alliance with the Austrian house seemed inso many ways impossible, the thought of it inflamed the ardor ofNapoleon all the more.
"Impossible?" he had once said, contemptuously. "The word 'impossible'is not French."
The Austrian alliance, unnatural though it seemed, was certainly quitepossible. In the year 1809 Napoleon had finished his fifth war withAustria by the terrific battle of Wagram, which brought the empire ofthe Hapsburgs to the very dust. The conqueror's rude hand had strippedfrom Francis province after province. He had even let fall hints thatthe Hapsburgs might be dethroned and that Austria might disappear fromthe map of Europe, to be divided between himself and the Russian Czar,who was still his ally. It was at this psychological moment that theCzar wounded Napoleon's pride by refusing to give the hand of hissister Anne.
The subtle diplomats of Vienna immediately saw their chance. PrinceMetternich, with the caution of one who enters the cage of aman-eating-tiger, suggested that the Austrian archduchess would be afitting bride for the French conqueror. The notion soothed the woundedvanity of Napoleon. From that moment events moved swiftly; and beforelong it was understood that there was to be a new empress in France,and that she was to be none other than the daughter of the man who hadbeen Napoleon's most persistent foe upon the Cont
inent. The girl was tobe given--sacrificed, if you like--to appease an imperial adventurer.After such a marriage, Austria would be safe from spoliation. Thereigning dynasty would remain firmly seated upon its historic throne.
But how about the girl herself? She had always heard Napoleon spoken ofas a sort of ogre--a man of low ancestry, a brutal and faithless enemyof her people. She knew that this bold, rough-spoken soldier less thana year before had added insult to the injury which he had inflicted onher father. In public proclamations he had called the Emperor Francis acoward and a liar. Up to the latter part of the year Napoleon was toher imagination a blood-stained, sordid, and yet all-powerful monster,outside the pale of human liking and respect. What must have been herthoughts when her father first told her with averted face that she wasto become the bride of such a being?
Marie Louise had been brought up, as all German girls of rank were thenbrought up, in quiet simplicity and utter innocence. In person she wasa tall blonde, with a wealth of light brown hair tumbling about a facewhich might be called attractive because it was so youthful and sogentle, but in which only poets and courtiers could see beauty. Hercomplexion was rosy, with that peculiar tinge which means that in thecourse of time it will become red and mottled. Her blue eyes were clearand childish. Her figure was good, though already too full for a girlwho was younger than her years.
She had a large and generous mouth with full lips, the lower one beingthe true "Hapsburg lip," slightly pendulous--a feature which hasremained for generation after generation as a sure sign of Hapsburgblood. One sees it in the present emperor of Austria, in the late QueenRegent of Spain, and in the present King of Spain, Alfonso. All theartists who made miniatures or paintings of Marie Louise softened downthis racial mark so that no likeness of her shows it as it really was.But take her all in all, she was a simple, childlike, German madchenwho knew nothing of the outside world except what she had heard fromher discreet and watchful governess, and what had been told her ofNapoleon by her uncles, the archdukes whom he had beaten down in battle.
When she learned that she was to be given to the French emperor hergirlish soul experienced a shudder; but her father told her how vitalwas this union to her country and to him. With a sort of piteous dreadshe questioned the archdukes who had called Napoleon an ogre.
"Oh, that was when Napoleon was an enemy," they replied. "Now he is ourfriend."
Marie Louise listened to all this, and, like the obedient German girlshe was, yielded her own will.
Events moved with a rush, for Napoleon was not the man to dally.Josephine had retired to her residence at Malmaison, and Paris wasalready astir with preparations for the new empress who was to assurethe continuation of the Napoleonic glory by giving children to herhusband. Napoleon had said to his ambassador with his usual bluntness:
"This is the first and most important thing--she must have children."
To the girl whom he was to marry he sent the following letter--an oddletter, combining the formality of a negotiator with the veiled ardorof a lover:
MY COUSIN: The brilliant qualities which adorn your person haveinspired in me a desire to serve you and to pay you homage. In makingmy request to the emperor, your father, and praying him to intrust tome the happiness of your imperial highness, may I hope that you willunderstand the sentiments which lead me to this act? May I flattermyself that it will not be decided solely by the duty of parentalobedience? However slightly the feelings of your imperial highness mayincline to me, I wish to cultivate them with so great care, and toendeavor so constantly to please you in everything, that I flattermyself that some day I shall prove attractive to you. This is the endat which I desire to arrive, and for which I pray your highness to befavorable to me.
Immediately everything was done to dazzle the imagination of the girl.She had dressed always in the simplicity of the school-room. Her onlyornaments had been a few colored stones which she sometimes wore as anecklace or a bracelet. Now the resources of all France were drawnupon. Precious laces foamed about her. Cascades of diamonds flashedbefore her eyes. The costliest and most exquisite creations of theParisian shops were spread around her to make up a trousseau fit forthe princess who was soon to become the bride of the man who hadmastered continental Europe.
The archives of Vienna were ransacked for musty documents which wouldshow exactly what had been done for other Austrian princesses who hadmarried rulers of France. Everything was duplicated down to the lastdetail. Ladies-in-waiting thronged about the young archduchess; andpresently there came to her Queen Caroline of Naples, Napoleon'ssister, of whom Napoleon himself once said: "She is the only man amongmy sisters, as Joseph is the only woman among my brothers." Caroline,by virtue of her rank as queen, could have free access to her husband'sfuture bride. Also, there came presently Napoleon's famous marshal,Berthier, Prince of Neuchatel, the chief of the Old Guard, who had justbeen created Prince of Wagram--a title which, very naturally, he didnot use in Austria. He was to act as proxy for Napoleon in thepreliminary marriage service at Vienna.
All was excitement. Vienna had never been so gay. Money was lavishedunder the direction of Caroline and Berthier. There were illuminationsand balls. The young girl found herself the center of the world'sinterest; and the excitement made her dizzy. She could not but beflattered, and yet there were many hours when her heart misgave her.More than once she was found in tears. Her father, an affectionatethough narrow soul, spent an entire day with her consoling andreassuring her. One thought she always kept in mind--what she had saidto Metternich at the very first: "I want only what my duty bids mewant." At last came the official marriage, by proxy, in the presence ofa splendid gathering. The various documents were signed, the dowry wasarranged for. Gifts were scattered right and left. At the opera therewere gala performances. Then Marie Louise bade her father a sadfarewell. Almost suffocated by sobs and with her eyes streaming withtears, she was led between two hedges of bayonets to her carriage,while cannon thundered and all the church-bells of Vienna rang a joyfulpeal.
She set out for France accompanied by a long train of carriages filledwith noblemen and noblewomen, with ladies-in-waiting and scores ofattendant menials. The young bride--the wife of a man whom she hadnever seen--was almost dead with excitement and fatigue. At a stationin the outskirts of Vienna she scribbled a few lines to her father,which are a commentary upon her state of mind:
I think of you always, and I always shall. God has given me power toendure this final shock, and in Him alone I have put all my trust. Hewill help me and give me courage, and I shall find support in doing myduty toward you, since it is all for you that I have sacrificed myself.
There is something piteous in this little note of a frightened girlgoing to encounter she knew not what, and clinging almost franticallyto the one thought--that whatever might befall her, she was doing asher father wished.
One need not recount the long and tedious journey of many days overwretched roads, in carriages that jolted and lurched and swayed. Shewas surrounded by unfamiliar faces and was compelled to meet at everytown the chief men of the place, all of whom paid her honor, but staredat her with irrepressible curiosity. Day after day she went on and on.Each morning a courier on a foaming horse presented her with a greatcluster of fresh flowers and a few lines scrawled by the unknownhusband who was to meet her at her journey's end.
There lay the point upon which her wandering thoughts were focused--thejourney's end! The man whose strange, mysterious power had forced herfrom her school-room, had driven her through a nightmare of strangehappenings, and who was waiting for her somewhere to take her tohimself, to master her as he had mastered generals and armies!
What was marriage? What did it mean? What experience still lay beforeher! These were the questions which she must have asked herselfthroughout that long, exhausting journey. When she thought of the pastshe was homesick. When she thought of the immediate future she wasfearful with a shuddering fear.
At last she reached the frontier of France, and her carriage passedinto a
sort of triple structure, the first pavilion of which wasAustrian, while the middle pavilion was neutral, and the farther onewas French. Here she was received by those who were afterward tosurround her--the representatives of the Napoleonic court. They werenot all plebeians and children of the Revolution, ex-stable boys,ex-laundresses. By this time Napoleon had gathered around himself someof the noblest families of France, who had rallied to the empire. Theassemblage was a brilliant one. There were Montmorencys and Beaumontsand Audenardes in abundance. But to Marie Louise, as to her Austrianattendants, they were all alike. They were French, they were strangers,and she shrank from them.
Yet here her Austrians must leave her. All who had accompanied her thusfar were now turned back. Napoleon had been insistent on this point.Even her governess, who had been with her since her childhood, was notallowed to cross the French frontier. So fixed was Napoleon's purposeto have nothing Austrian about her, that even her pet dog, to which sheclung as a girl would cling, was taken from her. Thereafter she wassurrounded only by French faces, by French guards, and was greeted onlyby salvos of French artillery.
In the mean time what was Napoleon doing at Paris. Since the annulmentof his marriage with Josephine he had gone into a sort of retirement.Matters of state, war, internal reforms, no longer interested him; butthat restless brain could not sink into repose. Inflamed with the ardorof a new passion, that passion was all the greater because he had neveryet set eyes upon its object. Marriage with an imperial princessflattered his ambition. The youth and innocence of the bride stirredhis whole being with a thrill of novelty. The painted charms ofJosephine, the mercenary favors of actresses, the calculated ecstasiesof the women of the court who gave themselves to him from vanity, hadlong since palled upon him. Therefore the impatience with which heawaited the coming of Marie Louise became every day more tense.
For a time he amused himself with planning down to the very lastdetails the demonstrations that were to be given in her honor. Heorganized them as minutely as he had ever organized a conquering army.He showed himself as wonderful in these petty things as he had in thosegreat strategic combinations which had baffled the ablest generals ofEurope. But after all had been arranged--even to the illuminations, thecheering, the salutes, and the etiquette of the court--he fell into afever of impatience which gave him sleepless nights and frantic days.He paced up and down the Tuileries, almost beside himself. He hurriedoff courier after courier with orders that the postilions should lashtheir horses to bring the hour of meeting nearer still. He scribbledlove letters. He gazed continually on the diamond-studded portrait ofthe woman who was hurrying toward him.
At last as the time approached he entered a swift traveling-carriageand hastened to Compiegne, about fifty miles from Paris, where it hadbeen arranged that he should meet his consort and whence he was toescort her to the capital, so that they might be married in the greatgallery of the Louvre. At Compiegne the chancellerie had been set apartfor Napoleon's convenience, while the chateau had been assigned toMarie Louise and her attendants. When Napoleon's carriage dashed intothe place, drawn by horses that had traveled at a gallop, the emperorcould not restrain himself. It was raining torrents and night wascoming on, yet, none the less, he shouted for fresh horses and pushedon to Soissons, where the new empress was to stop and dine. When hereached there and she had not arrived, new relays of horses weredemanded, and he hurried off once more into the dark.
At the little village of Courcelles he met the courier who was ridingin advance of the empress's cortege.
"She will be here in a few moments!" cried Napoleon; and he leaped fromhis carriage into the highway.
The rain descended harder than ever, and he took refuge in the archeddoorway of the village church, his boots already bemired, his greatcoat reeking with the downpour. As he crouched before the church heheard the sound of carriages; and before long there came toilingthrough the mud the one in which was seated the girl for whom he had solong been waiting. It was stopped at an order given by an officer.Within it, half-fainting with fatigue and fear, Marie Louise sat in thedark, alone.
Here, if ever, was the chance for Napoleon to win his bride. Could hehave restrained himself, could he have shown the delicate considerationwhich was demanded of him, could he have remembered at least that hewas an emperor and that the girl--timid and shuddering--was a princess,her future story might have been far different. But long ago he hadceased to think of anything except his own desires.
He approached the carriage. An obsequious chamberlain drew aside theleathern covering and opened the door, exclaiming as he did so, "Theemperor!" And then there leaped in the rain-soaked, mud-bespatteredbeing whose excesses had always been as unbridled as his genius. Thedoor was closed, the leathern curtain again drawn, and the horses setout at a gallop for Soissons. Within, the shrinking bride was at themercy of pure animal passion, feeling upon her hot face a torrent ofrough kisses, and yielding herself in terror to the caresses of wantonhands.
At Soissons Napoleon allowed no halt, but the carriage plunged on,still in the rain, to Compiegne. There all the arrangements made withso much care were thrust aside. Though the actual marriage had not yettaken place, Napoleon claimed all the rights which afterward were givenin the ceremonial at Paris. He took the girl to the chancellerie, andnot to the chateau. In an anteroom dinner was served with haste to theimperial pair and Queen Caroline. Then the latter was dismissed withlittle ceremony, the lights were extinguished, and this daughter of aline of emperors was left to the tender mercies of one who always hadabout him something of the common soldier--the man who lives for lootand lust. ... At eleven the next morning she was unable to rise and wasserved in bed by the ladies of her household.
These facts, repellent as they are, must be remembered when we call tomind what happened in the next five years. The horror of that nightcould not be obliterated by splendid ceremonies, by studious attention,or by all the pomp and gaiety of the court. Napoleon was thenforty-one--practically the same age as his new wife's father, theAustrian emperor; Marie Louise was barely nineteen and younger than heryears. Her master must have seemed to be the brutal ogre whom heruncles had described.
Installed in the Tuileries, she taught herself compliance. On theirmarriage night Napoleon had asked her briefly: "What did your parentstell you?" And she had answered, meekly: "To be yours altogether and toobey you in everything." But, though she gave compliance, and thoughher freshness seemed enchanting to Napoleon, there was somethingconcealed within her thoughts to which he could not penetrate. He gailysaid to a member of the court:
"Marry a German, my dear fellow. They are the best women in theworld--gentle, good, artless, and as fresh as roses."
Yet, at the same time, Napoleon felt a deep anxiety lest in her veryheart of hearts this German girl might either fear or hate himsecretly. Somewhat later Prince Metternich came from the Austrian courtto Paris.
"I give you leave," said Napoleon, "to have a private interview withthe empress. Let her tell you what she likes, and I shall ask noquestions. Even should I do so, I now forbid your answering me."
Metternich was closeted with the empress for a long while. When hereturned to the ante-room he found Napoleon fidgeting about, his eyes apair of interrogation-points.
"I am sure," he said, "that the empress told you that I was kind toher?"
Metternich bowed and made no answer.
"Well," said Napoleon, somewhat impatiently, "at least I am sure thatshe is happy. Tell me, did she not say so?"
The Austrian diplomat remained unsmiling.
"Your majesty himself has forbidden me to answer," he returned withanother bow.
We may fairly draw the inference that Marie Louise, though she adaptedherself to her surroundings, was never really happy. Napoleon becameinfatuated with her. He surrounded her with every possible mark ofhonor. He abandoned public business to walk or drive with her. But thememory of his own brutality must have vaguely haunted him throughout itall. He was jealous of her as he had never been jealous
of the fickleJosephine. Constant has recorded that the greatest precautions weretaken to prevent any person whatsoever, and especially any man, fromapproaching the empress save in the presence of witnesses.
Napoleon himself underwent a complete change of habits and demeanor.Where he had been rough and coarse he became attentive and refined. Hisshabby uniforms were all discarded, and he spent hours in trying on newcostumes. He even attempted to learn to waltz, but this he gave up indespair. Whereas before he ate hastily and at irregular intervals, henow sat at dinner with unusual patience, and the court took on acharacter which it had never had. Never before had he sacrificed eitherhis public duty or his private pleasure for any woman. Even in thefirst ardor of his marriage with Josephine, when he used to pour outhis heart to her in letters from Italian battle-fields, he did so onlyafter he had made the disposition of his troops and had planned hismovements for the following day. Now, however, he was not merelydevoted, but uxorious; and in 1811, after the birth of the little Kingof Rome, he ceased to be the earlier Napoleon altogether. He hadfounded a dynasty. He was the head of a reigning house. He forgot theprinciples of the Revolution, and he ruled, as he thought, like othermonarchs, by the grace of God.
As for Marie Louise, she played her part extremely well. Somewhathaughty and unapproachable to others, she nevertheless studiedNapoleon's every wish. She seemed even to be loving; but one canscarcely doubt that her obedience sprang ultimately from fear and thather devotion was the devotion of a dog which has been beaten intosubjection.
Her vanity was flattered in many ways, and most of all by herappointment as regent of the empire during Napoleon's absence in thedisastrous Russian campaign which began in 1812. It was in June of thatyear that the French emperor held court at Dresden, where he played, aswas said, to "a parterre of kings." This was the climax of hismagnificence, for there were gathered all the sovereigns and princeswho were his allies and who furnished the levies that swelled his GrandArmy to six hundred thousand men. Here Marie Louise, like her husband,felt to the full the intoxication of supreme power. By a sinistercoincidence it was here that she first met the other man, thenunnoticed and little heeded, who was to cast upon her a fascinationwhich in the end proved irresistible.
This man was Adam Albrecht, Count von Neipperg. There is somethingmysterious about his early years, and something baleful about hissilent warfare with Napoleon. As a very young soldier he had been anAustrian officer in 1793. His command served in Belgium; and there, ina skirmish, he was overpowered by the French in superior numbers, butresisted desperately. In the melee a saber slashed him across the rightside of his face, and he was made prisoner. The wound deprived him ofhis right eye, so that for the rest of his life he was compelled towear a black bandage to conceal the mutilation.
From that moment he conceived an undying hatred of the French, servingagainst them in the Tyrol and in Italy. He always claimed that had theArchduke Charles followed his advice, the Austrians would have forcedNapoleon's army to capitulate at Marengo, thus bringing early eclipseto the rising star of Bonaparte. However this may be, Napoleon'ssuccess enraged Neipperg and made his hatred almost the hatred of afiend.
Hitherto he had detested the French as a nation. Afterward heconcentrated his malignity upon the person of Napoleon. In every way hetried to cross the path of that great soldier, and, though Neipperg wascomparatively an unknown man, his indomitable purpose and his continuedintrigues at last attracted the notice of the emperor; for in 1808Napoleon wrote this significant sentence:
The Count von Neipperg is openly known to have been the enemy of theFrench.
Little did the great conqueror dream how deadly was the blow which thisAustrian count was destined finally to deal him!
Neipperg, though his title was not a high one, belonged to the oldnobility of Austria. He had proved his bravery in war and as a duelist,and he was a diplomat as well as a soldier. Despite his mutilation, hewas a handsome and accomplished courtier, a man of wide experience, andone who bore himself in a manner which suggested the spirit of romance.According to Masson, he was an Austrian Don Juan, and had won thehearts of many women. At thirty he had formed a connection with anItalian woman named Teresa Pola, whom he had carried away from herhusband. She had borne him five children; and in 1813 he had marriedher in order that these children might be made legitimate.
In his own sphere the activity of Neipperg was almost as remarkable asNapoleon's in a greater one. Apart from his exploits on the field ofbattle he had been attached to the Austrian embassy in Paris, and,strangely enough, had been decorated by Napoleon himself with, thegolden eagle of the Legion of Honor. Four months later we find himminister of Austria at the court of Sweden, where he helped to lay thetrain of intrigue which was to detach Bernadotte from Napoleon's cause.In 1812, as has just been said, he was with Marie Louise for a shorttime at Dresden, hovering about her, already forming schemes. Two yearsafter this he overthrew Murat at Naples; and then hurried on post-hasteto urge Prince Eugene to abandon Bonaparte.
When the great struggle of 1814 neared its close, and Napoleon,fighting with his back to the wall, was about to succumb to the unitedarmies of Europe, it was evident that the Austrian emperor would soonbe able to separate his daughter from her husband. In fact, whenNapoleon was sent to Elba, Marie Louise returned to Vienna. The cynicalAustrian diplomats resolved that she should never again meet herimperial husband. She was made Duchess of Parma in Italy, and set outfor her new possessions; and the man with the black band across hissightless eye was chosen to be her escort and companion.
When Neipperg received this commission he was with Teresa Pola atMilan. A strange smile flitted across his face; and presently heremarked, with cynical frankness:
"Before six months I shall be her lover, and, later on, her husband."
He took up his post as chief escort of Marie Louise, and they journeyedslowly to Munich and Baden and Geneva, loitering on the way. Amid thegreat events which were shaking Europe this couple attracted slightattention. Napoleon, in Elba, longed for his wife and for his littleson, the King of Rome. He sent countless messages and many couriers;but every message was intercepted, and no courier reached hisdestination. Meanwhile Marie Louise was lingering agreeably inSwitzerland. She was happy to have escaped from the whirlpool ofpolitics and war. Amid the romantic scenery through which she passedNeipperg was always by her side, attentive, devoted, trying ineverything to please her. With him she passed delightful evenings. Hesang to her in his rich barytone songs of love. He seemed romantic witha touch of mystery, a gallant soldier whose soul was also touched bysentiment.
One would have said that Marie Louise, the daughter of an imperialline, would have been proof against the fascinations of a person so farinferior to herself in rank, and who, beside the great emperor, wasless than nothing. Even granting that she had never really lovedNapoleon, she might still have preferred to maintain her dignity, toshare his fate, and to go down in history as the empress of thegreatest man whom modern times have known.
But Marie Louise was, after all, a woman, and she followed the guidanceof her heart. To her Napoleon was still the man who had met her amidthe rain-storm at Courcelles, and had from the first moment when hetouched her violated all the instincts of a virgin. Later he had in hisway tried to make amends; but the horror of that first night had neverwholly left her memory. Napoleon had unrolled before her the drama ofsensuality, but her heart had not been given to him. She had been hisempress. In a sense it might be more true to say that she had been hismistress. But she had never been duly wooed and won and made hiswife--an experience which is the right of every woman. And so thisNeipperg, with his deferential manners, his soothing voice, hismagnetic touch, his ardor, and his devotion, appeased that cravingwhich the master of a hundred legions could not satisfy.
In less than the six months of which Neipperg had spoken thepsychological moment had arrived. In the dim twilight she listened tohis words of love; and then, drawn by that irresistible power whichmasters pride and woman's will,
she sank into her lover's arms,yielding to his caresses, and knowing that she would be parted from himno more except by death.
From that moment he was bound to her by the closest ties and lived withher at the petty court of Parma. His prediction came true to the veryletter. Teresa Pola died, and then Napoleon died, and after this MarieLouise and Neipperg were united in a morganatic marriage. Threechildren were born to them before his death in 1829.
It is interesting to note how much of an impression was made upon herby the final exile of her imperial husband to St. Helena. When the newswas brought her she observed, casually:
"Thanks. By the way, I should like to ride this morning to Markenstein.Do you think the weather is good enough to risk it?"
Napoleon, on his side, passed through agonies of doubt and longing whenno letters came to him from Marie Louise. She was constantly in histhoughts during his exile at St. Helena. "When his faithful friend andconstant companion at St. Helena, the Count Las Casas, was ordered bySir Hudson Lowe to depart from St. Helena, Napoleon wrote to him:
"Should you see, some day, my wife and son, embrace them. For two yearsI have, neither directly nor indirectly, heard from them. There hasbeen on this island for six months a German botanist, who has seen themin the garden of Schoenbrunn a few months before his departure. Thebarbarians (meaning the English authorities at St. Helena) havecarefully prevented him from coming to give me any news respectingthem."
At last the truth was told him, and he received it with that highmagnanimity, or it may be fatalism, which at times he was capable ofshowing. Never in all his days of exile did he say one word againsther. Possibly in searching his own soul he found excuses such as we mayfind. In his will he spoke of her with great affection, and shortlybefore his death he said to his physician, Antommarchi:
"After my death, I desire that you will take my heart, put it in thespirits of wine, and that you carry it to Parma to my dear MarieLouise. You will please tell her that I tenderly loved her--that Inever ceased to love her. You will relate to her all that you haveseen, and every particular respecting my situation and death."
The story of Marie Louise is pathetic, almost tragic. There is thetaint of grossness about it; and yet, after all, there is a lesson init--the lesson that true love cannot be forced or summoned at command,that it is destroyed before its birth by outrage, and that it goes outonly when evoked by sympathy, by tenderness, and by devotion.
THE END
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