At an early age she was brought into France to give her hand to the Viscount de Beauharnois. The young and lovely bride was introduced at the court of the unfortunate Maria Antoinetta, whose successor she was destined one day to become; and such were her wit and vivacity, that she was soon accounted one of its ornaments. This circumstance was really a misfortune: it imparted to her character a degree of levity which the heaviest distresses could not afterwards remove, and it led her into habits of expense which not all Napoleon's liberality was able to meet.
On the death of the Viscount de Beauharnois, who perished on the scaffold*, her pecuniary situation was any thing but flourishing. Her husband's property had been confiscated; but through the influence of Barras, a portion of it was recovered for herself and her two children. Still her circumstances were straitened; and it is even reported that her son Eugene was indebted for his education to one of the charitable establishments of the capital. Her improvidence was the same in all circumstances. In Fouché's language, "she was never worth a single crown."
* See the Life of Eugene Beauharnois.
Her acquaintance with Buonaparte was owing to a singular incident. After the affair of the Sections, when he confirmed the wavering authority of the Directors, the inhabitants of Paris were ordered to be disarmed. One morning, a genteel youth, apparently about fifteen years of age, presented himself at the General's levee, and demanded his father's sword. Pleased with the applicant's appearance and spirit, Buonaparte readily granted the request. The following day he was surprised by a visit from Madame de Beauharnois, who came to thank him for the politeness he had shewn her son. He was fascinated by her attractions, and more still by her talents: he asked and obtained her hand.
Yet it was not without something like fear that Madame de Beauhamois regarded her approaching union with the extraordinary Corsican, as the following extracts from a letter she wrote to a friend will shew:-
"I admire the general's courage ; the extent of his knowledge on every subject (for on every one he speaks equally well) ; the penetration of his mind, which enables him to apprehend another's thought almost before it is expressed; but I own I am not without dread on beholding the empire which he appears to exercise over every thing around him. His scrutinizing look has in it something singular -- something which I cannot explain, but which is felt even by our Directors; -- must it not then intimidate a woman?" -- "Barras tells me, that if I marry the general , he shall have the chief command of the army of Italy. Yesterday, in speaking of this promotion, which though not yet bestowed, causes his brother-officers to murmur, Buonaparte said to me:
'Do they (the directors) believe that I stand in need of protection to make my way! Some time all of them will be happy to receive mine! I wear a sword which will be found my best patron.' -- What think you of this certainty of success? is it not a proof of overweening confidence proceeding from excessive self-love? A general of brigade protect the heads of government! After all, it is likely enough. Sometimes this ridiculous assurance imposes on me to such a degree that I believe possible whatever this extraordinary man may take a fancy to attempt; and with his imagination, who can say what he may not attempt?" -- We quote from the Mémoires de Joséphine, tom. iii. Paris, 1829. -- A work which, though published anonymously, is pronounced genuine by Bourrienne.
Josephine was no common woman. At a later period many might surpass her in charms, but she was the only one who preserved any empire over the mind of Napoleon., She alone dared contradict him for his own good; she alone knew how and when to beseech, to reason, or to expostulate. To her honour it must be said that her influence was always exercised in behalf of humanity and justice. She had a benevolent heart: thousands are now living who have experienced her good offices. Unlike her husband, she knew no distinction of party: her bounty was extended to all. Well might he exclaim, "If I gain battles, it is she who wins hearts!"
The only serious drawbacks on this eulogium were her habitual levity, and her profuse expenditure. With the former, Buonaparte was once so much disgusted that he threatened a separation, and he would probably have executed the threat had not her tears, and still more those of her children, prevented him. This indiscretion led to many violent reproaches on his part, but the evil was incurable: she plunged into debt without so much as reflecting how it was to be discharged. On one occasion, during the consulate, her creditors were unusually clamorous for their rights, and none of the confidential ministers durst acquaint Buonaparte with the fact, or urge the necessity of satisfying them, until Talleyrand ventured one evening, with all possible delicacy, to broach the subject. The result was, that his confidential secretary, Bourrienne, was commissioned to ascertain the amount from herself. She owed no less than 1,200,000 francs, but fearing her husband's violence, she would not allow the secretary to say more than half that sum.
"The anger of the First Consul," says Bourrienne, "may be conceived. He suspected, however, that his wife concealed something; but he said, 'Take the 600,000 francs, but let that sum suffice: let me be pestered no more with her debts. Threaten the creditors with the loss of their accounts if they do not renounce their enormous profits.' These accounts Madame Buonaparte laid before me. The exorbitant price of every article, arising from the fear of the creditors either that they must give very long credit, or in the end be compelled to make a considerable abatement, is incredible. I thought, too, that many articles were charged for which had never been delivered. In one bill, for instance, thirty-eight hats, of a very high price, were supplied in one month: the feathers alone were 1800 francs. I asked Josephine if she wore two hats a day; she said, 'It must be an error.' Other overcharges, both as to the price and the things furnished, evinced the same system of plunder. I followed the Consul's advice, and spared neither reproaches nor threats. I am ashamed to say that the greater number of the tradesmen were satisfied with one-half of their bills: one of them consented to receive 35,000 francs instead of 80,000, and had the impudence to boast before my face that be had a good profit left."
But whatever might be her defects, Buonaparte loved her, and, in return, she adored him. She accompanied him in many of his campaigns, and was unwilling to be separated from him even for a short season. But he made a poor return to all her affection, by insisting on a divorce, that he might have a younger and a nobler bride. After many struggles she submitted, because it was the will of her lord -- of him for whom she had lived, and for whom she was willing to die; but her remaining days were passed in exile, and in sorrow. This abandonment of one who had shared his lowly fortunes, and been of essential service in raising them, was among the capital sins into which ambition urged Napoleon.
From this period (1810) the ex-empress lived secluded, sometimes in her palace of Malmaison, and sometimes in that of Navarre. For a time she had this consolation, -- Napoleon seemed to be happy in the heir whom Maria Louisa had borne him. Her feelings, on hearing of that event, may be conceived: they were beyond expression bitter, but the force of her mind enabled her to triumph over nature, so far at least as to hide the agitation within. She even rewarded the bearer of the news, and congratulated the emperor in a letter, which is too remarkable to be omitted here:--
"Sire, Navarre.
"Amidst the numerous congratulations which you receive from all parts of Europe, from every town in France, and every regiment of the army, can the feeble voice of a woman reach you? And will you condescend to listen to her who so often consoled you in your sorrows, and assuaged the pangs of your heart, when she speaks only of the happiness which has just crowned your wishes? Being no longer your wife, dare I offer my felicitations on your becoming a father? Yes, doubtless, Sire! for my soul renders the same justice to yours as yours to mine: I conceive what you now experience as readily as you divine my emotions on this occasion: though separated, we are united by the sympathy which bids defiance to events.
"I should have been glad to learn the birth of the King of Rome from yourself, and not by the cannon of Evreux, or the prefect's courier; but I am well aware that your first attentions are due to the members of the Corps Diplomatique, to your family, and above all to the happy princess who has just realized your dearest hopes. She cannot be more tenderly devoted to you than I am; but she has had it in her power to do more for your happiness by assuring the welfare of France: she has, therefore, a right to your first sentiments, to all your cares; and I, who was your companion in misfortune only, can claim but a far inferior place to that which Maria Louisa occupies in your affection. You will have watched round her bed, and embraced your son, before you take up your pen to converse with your best friend: I will wait!
"It is, however, impossible for me to defer telling you, that more than any one on earth I share in your Joy. You will not doubt my sincerity when I say that, far from being afflicted with a sacrifice so necessary to the repose of all, I rejoice that it has been made, now that I suffer alone. Suffer, do I say? no! since you are contented; and my only regret is, that I have not yet done sufficient to prove how dear you were to me!" -- Mém. tom. iii.
But more serious, though not keener, alarms awaited her. The disasters of the Russian expedition, and, still more, the melancholy termination of the Saxon campaign, made her tremble for his sake. Her rich garden of plants, many of which she had brought at a ruinous expense from the most distant quarters of the world, ceased to afford her delight: the dance ceased to be echoed within her walls, and even cards were laid aside. Nay, her very toilette was now neglected, and she became indifferent to every thing. She could not but perceive that her hero's star had waned ever since she had been discarded. She began to fear that his destiny was involved in her own, -- a fear from which he himself was seldom free. When she heard of his abdication at Fontainebleau, her distress was unspeakable. "My poor Cid! my Achilles!" were her frequent exclamations, which showed alike her affection for the man, and her admiration of the hero. From that moment her health was seen to decline; she hourly lamented her inability to console Buonaparte in his exile; her heart, in fact, was broken, though she was persuaded to receive some distinguished visitors, and put on the appearance of resignation. Among these were the Russian and Prussian sovereigns, who showed her every attention, and deeply commiserated her distress. One day, though seriously indisposed, she rose, contrary to her physician's advice, to receive the former monarch; but she was soon compelled to retire. Alexander sent her his own physician; but what can minister to a mind diseased? Her case was hopeless. She died three days afterwards, May 29, 1814, with the words Elbe! -- Napoleon! on her lips.
Some weeks before her decease, this faithful creature addressed to her undeserving lord, then in Elba, a letter, which exhibits her character in a more amiable light than anything we have recorded. Her proposal, however, he had the sense to decline:--
'Sire, Malmaison.
"This is the first day that I have comprehended the whole extent of the misfortune resulting from our divorce; the first time I grieve at being only your friend, who can do no more than bewail an evil as great as it was unexpected.
" You have my sympathy, -- not because you have lost a throne, for I know by experience that for such a loss consolation is soon found ; but I pity the anguish you must have experienced in separating from your old companions in glory. You will regret not only your officers, but the common soldiers, whose faces, names, and deeds you will remember, but all of whom you could not reward, because, as you truly said, the number was too great. To leave such heroes deprived of a chief who so often shared their fatigues, must be intolerably painful to your heart. This I feel most poignantly.
"You have to weep over the ingratitude and desertion of friends on whom you once relied. Alas, Sire, why cannot I fly to you, to assure you that exile is horrible only to the vulcrar; that, far from diminishing a sincere attachment, misfortune gives it new strength.
"I have been on the point of leaving France, of following your footsteps, of devoting to you the remnant of an existence which you so long made happy. One motive only restrains me, and that motive you will divine.
"If I learn that, contrary to all appearances, I am the only woman who is willing to do her duty, nothing shall retain me here: I will proceed to the only place where happiness can exist for me, -- where I can console your majesty, now isolated and unhappy! Speak but the word, and I fly.
"Adieu, Sire. Whatever I might add would be superfluous. It is not by words but actions that my heart should be proved: your consent only is wanting.
"Josephine."
"The adorable Josephine," as Bourrienne often calls her, was a woman of great dignity, and of no less pride. So well did she play her part in the royal pageant, that Napoleon overlooked her extravagance; and so readily did the empress interest herself in behalf of the poor, the friendless, and the distressed, that we willingly drop a veil over the alledged frailties of the Viscountess de Beauharnois.