Chapter VII: Part 7

"The Duke of Orleans purchased St. Leu, a charming residence, where we passed eight months of the year. There was a fine garden, in which my pupils dug with their own hands. The gardener was a German, and only spoke to them in German; in our walks we spoke English, and we supped in Italian. I invented little games, and dramatic pieces for representation, and we performed historic pictures. In the winter, at Paris, I continued to make every moment useful. I had a turning machine put in my chamber, and all the children learned to turn. We also made morocco portfolios, baskets, artificial flowers, and the Duke of Valois and the Duke of Montpensier made a table with drawers for a poor woman of St. Leu.

"Upon the death of his father, the old Duke of Orleans, the Duke of Chartres took the title of Orleans, and my eldest pupil that of Chartres.

"Amidst all my engagements, I continued my private studies with ardor, and soon published my '_Veilless du Chateau_.' I also wrote my 'Palace of Truth,' and the 'Two Reputations,' at this time. The former work was translated, in the course of a year, into all the European languages. My first work upon religion, which I wrote for my pupils, completed the degree of horror in which I was held by the philosophers. It was entitled 'Religion considered as the only Basis of Happiness and true Philosophy.' While writing this work, I experienced the greatest misfortune of my life. My eldest daughter died, at the age of twenty-one. She expired with the calmness and piety of an angel. Being unable to find any relief from my affliction, I set about finishing my work on religion; and, on looking at the place where I left off, I found it was the chapter 'On Christian Resignation.'

"Grief had so great an effect upon me, that my physicians directed me to go to Spa. Thither the duke and duchess and my pupils accompanied me. This took place in July, 1787.

"It was now becoming the fashion to ridicule the monarchy, and preparations were making for the revolution. I was of no party but that of religion. I desired to see the reformation of certain abuses, and I saw with joy the demolition of the Bastile. It is impossible to give an idea of the sight; this redoubtable fortress was covered with men, women, and children, all working with unequalled ardor.

"As soon as the Duke of Chartres had attained his seventeenth year, the Duke of Orleans informed me that his education was at an end; but the Duke of Chartres was so attached to me that he said he would come daily till he was eighteen, to take his lessons as usual. He never failed to do this, which was admirable in a young prince who had now become his own master.

"During my residence at 'Belle Chasse,' my second daughter, Pulcherie, married the Viscount de Valence. She was seventeen years old, beautiful and accomplished. Soon after this event, M. de Genlis came into possession of the property of the Marechale d'Etree. On finding himself suddenly possessed of one hundred thousand francs a year, he urged me to quit 'Belle Chasse,' and reside with him. But I could not support the idea that any one else should finish the education of my pupils, and carry from me all the honors. I have since bitterly repented this failure in my duty. M. de Genlis now took the name of Marquis de Sillery.

"Having always felt an extreme desire of travelling in England, I separated from my pupils for the first time. My journey was marked by many distinctions. I received proofs of esteem from many distinguished persons--Fox, Sheridan, Burke, Miss Burney, &c. The Prince of Wales invited me to an entertainment, and was full of attention to me. I passed three days at the country-house of the celebrated Mr. Burke; here I met Sir Joshua Reynolds. I dined with the queen at Windsor. Lord Mansfield, the celebrated English judge, came to see me, and gave me a beautiful moss-rose tree. Horace Walpole invited me to breakfast in his Gothic priory. After having visited Wales, I returned at length to France. I arrived at St. Leu, after an absence of six weeks, to the great joy of my pupils, as well as my own.

"A short time after, the marriage of Mademoiselle d'Orleans with the Duke of Angouleme was resolved on. An interview took place between them at Versailles, and the marriage was publicly talked of. The revolution, which suddenly burst upon us at this time, overthrew all our plans and projects.

"I was soon called upon to feel the most heart-rending sorrow at the death of my mother, whom I tended during three whole days and nights, without ever going to bed, or leaving her for a moment. My pupils wished, of their own accord, to be present at the funeral, for they truly loved her, and joined most sincerely and affectionately in grief for her loss.

"It now became obvious that a melancholy change had taken place in the conduct of the Duchess of Orleans to me, after twenty years of the warmest and closest intimacy. In consequence of this, I determined on retiring from her household altogether. My feelings were still more aggravated by the want of any specific charge, or any explanation on the part of the duchess. I wrote a letter to the duke, asking leave to resign my place; but this he would not grant, promising to arrange affairs in a few days. In the interval, Mademoiselle, seeing me sorrowful and dejected, perceived the plan I had in view. One day, she swooned away in the garden, and the consequence was, a promise from me, 'that I would not leave her of my own free will.' I then wrote a long explanatory letter to the duchess, using all possible arguments to induce her to restore me to her confidence. This she did not do, but consented to meet me as usual, and to allow her family to suppose the 'difference' between us adjusted: at the same time, she desired that not a word should pass between us relative to our misunderstanding.

"I was meditating, one morning, upon this painful position of affairs, when the door opened, and the duchess appeared. She rushed in, bid me be quiet, drew a paper from her pocket, which she read in a loud voice and with great rapidity. The purport of this was, that I must withdraw immediately, and that in a private manner, to prevent unnecessary affliction to Mademoiselle; if I did not do so, there was no public exposure I might not dread, and she would never see me again in the course of her life. After some expostulations with the duchess, who, I saw, was influenced by my enemies, I promised to do as she required. Before I left, I wrote three letters to Mademoiselle d'Orleans, to be given to her at different periods of the day. The duke felt the most profound chagrin, and, attributing all these troubles to the counsels of Madame de Chastelleux, desired her to seek some other abode. The consequence was, the duchess made a demand to be separated from her husband.

"After my departure, I received letters from the duke, begging me to return to his daughter, as he felt assured that her death would be the consequence of my continued absence. I accordingly returned, and found my dear pupil in a state that pierced me to the heart. My solicitude soon restored her to health, but my tranquillity was forever lost. The cause of the sudden dislike of the duchess was evidently the difference of our political opinions. I never in my life interfered in political affairs, but I have at all times been monarchical, as all my works demonstrate. It is also true that I have always detested despotism, _lettres de cachets_, and arbitrary imprisonment.

"After the flight of the king to Varennes, and his forced return to Paris, I was burning with a desire to leave France, and the duke at last gave me leave. The physicians ordered Mademoiselle to go to England, to take the Bath waters. We accordingly went there, and staid at that place two months. We then travelled through the English counties, visited the caverns of Derbyshire and the Isle of Wight.

"The close of my stay in England was imbittered by the most mournful anticipations, for party spirit gave me every reason to fear the efforts and enemies of the house of Orleans, and I received anonymous letters of the most alarming nature. Among others was one which threatened to set fire to our house at night. In September, 1792, while we were at Bury, in Suffolk, I learned by the French papers that a powerful party were desirous of bringing the king and queen to judgment. Immediately after the massacres in the prisons in the same month, I received a singular letter from the Duke of Orleans, telling me to return to France immediately with his daughter. I answered him that I would not do so, as it was absurd to choose such a period for her return.

"My well-founded fears increasing daily, I met with several alarming adventures, which proved that I was an object of suspicion in France. In November, the Duke of Orleans again sent for his daughter. Upon this, I determined to take Mademoiselle back to France, deliver her up into her father's hands, give up my place as governess, and return immediately to London. We set out on our return, in November, for Dover. We had a stormy passage across the channel, landed, and proceeded rapidly to our residence in Paris. Here I found the Duke of Orleans, M. de Sillery, and some others. I delivered up Mademoiselle to her father, and told him my plan. The duke took me apart, and said, in a dejected manner, that, in consequence of my not returning when he sent the first time, his daughter, now fifteen, came under the new law, which placed her among the emigrants; that the matter was not entirely arranged, but that his daughter must go to Tournay, in Belgium, for a short time. He urged me so vehemently to go with her, that I consented.

"The same evening, M. Sillery took us to the theatre to dispel our melancholy ideas. At the play was Lord Edward Fitzgerald, who became violently in love with Pamela, from her resemblance to a former object of his affection. The next day, finding myself alone with the duke, whose manner struck me as very alarming, I spoke some words to him, upon which he said, surlily, _that he had declared in favor of the Jacobins_. I remonstrated with him in vain. In the evening, I had a long conversation with M. de Sillery, and entreated him, with tears in my eyes, to leave France. But all my arguments were unavailing, and I left the next morning for Tournay, with the most mournful presages.

"At the first post-house we found Lord Edward Fitzgerald, whose love for Pamela made him follow us to Tournay. We had scarcely reached the place, when he asked the hand of Pamela in marriage. I showed him the papers proving her to be the daughter of a man of high birth, of the name of Seymour. After having obtained the consent of his mother, the Duchess of Leinster, to the marriage, it was concluded; and in two days the new-married couple set out for England. I felt great joy in seeing the fortunes of this beloved child so honorably secured.

"Meanwhile, three weeks had elapsed without hearing from the duke. At last news came of the horrible catastrophe of the king's death. The Duke of Chartres, who joined us at Tournay, showed me a letter from his father, which began thus: 'My heart is oppressed with sorrow; but, for the interests of France and of liberty, I have thought it my duty...!' &c. My unfortunate husband wrote at the same time, and sent me copies of his opinion at the king's trial. This was thus expressed: 'I do not vote for death, first because the king does not merit it; secondly, because we have no right to sit as his judges; and, lastly, because I consider his condemnation as the greatest political fault that can be committed.' The letter concluded thus: 'I am perfectly sure, then, in pronouncing this opinion, I have signed my death-warrant.'

"Seeing that Belgium was about to fall into the hands of the Austrians, and that it would be impossible for us to fly either to France or to foreign countries, I had the most anxious desire to be recalled to my country. Hence I strongly solicited my return; and I was informed, in March, 1793, that the Duke of Orleans was to obtain the recall of Mademoiselle, but that mine would be delayed. Whilst one day sitting in my room, M. Crepin, an army commissary, whom I had previously known, entered the room, and told me that the Austrians would be in Tournay the next day. Seeing my distress at this intelligence, he offered me an asylum at a farm of his near Valenciennes, so secluded that I might stay there for months in safety. I joyfully accepted his proposal, and we left Tournay in a few days. Circumstances, however, did not allow us to take advantage of this kind offer. We were surrounded by danger; troops marching in disorder, soldiers making a tumultuous noise, filled us with terror. We stopped a short time at St. Amand, where arrests were constantly made, and all proved to me that the system of proscription was established.

"Having providentially escaped from St. Amand, I immediately set off for Switzerland. After travelling seven days, we reached Schafhausen. My satisfaction on reaching a neutral territory was great. The Duke of Chartres joined us here. We soon after went to Zug, and took a small house, in a secluded situation, on the banks of the lake, not far from the town. Here I wrote to the Duchess of Orleans,--for the duke was in prison,--and entreated her to send me orders respecting Mademoiselle d'Orleans as soon as possible; but I received no answer.

"We should have remained longer at Zug, but we became known, and the magistrates were reproached for having given us refuge; we were therefore obliged to consult as to our future destination. We formed a thousand romantic projects, and abandoned them as fast as made. The Duke of Chartres insisted upon continuing with us, which made it impossible for us to remain unknown. I finally determined to write to M. de Montesquiou, who lived at Bremgarten, who was himself a refugee, and possessed great influence in Switzerland. I described to him the condition of my unfortunate pupils, and begged him to allow them an asylum in the convent, near the town. M. de Montesquiou wrote me a most polite and obliging answer, and took upon himself to get Mademoiselle d'Orleans and myself into this convent, called St. Claire. The Duke of Chartres resolved to make a pedestrian tour through Switzerland, where he was taken for a German. How often, since my misfortunes, have I congratulated myself on the education I had given him,--on the languages I had taught him,--on having accustomed him to despise effeminacy, and habituate himself to fatigue! All that he was indebted for to the chance of birth and fortune he had lost; and nothing now remained to him but what he held from nature and from me.[5]

"We entered the convent under feigned names. Mine was Madame Lenox, aunt of Mademoiselle Stuart, my sister's daughter. The duke then left us, and, after his journey through Switzerland, he entered the college of the Grisons incognito, as professor of mathematics. In this quiet of the convent, the health of Mademoiselle was nearly restored. While here came news of a horrid catastrophe, on November 9th, 1793, and I became ill.... I concealed from Mademoiselle the death of her unfortunate father, but dressed her in mourning, as if for the queen of France.[6]

"About this time, a violent dispute arose between the inhabitants of Bremgarten: two parties were formed, and an order was obtained, by people hostile to M. de Montesquiou, that all the French should leave the place. Hearing that the Princess of Conti, the aunt of Mademoiselle d'Orleans, was residing in Switzerland, Mademoiselle, at my urgent request, wrote to her to ask permission to join her. She received a very kind letter, saying that the princess would receive her niece. On the day before the carriage was sent to take her from me, my emotion was excessive. I determined to spare both of us the pain of this cruel separation. I accordingly shut myself in my room, at the arrival of the Countess de Pont, who was to take away my interesting charge, telling the servant to say that I had gone to some distance.

"As the moment arrived for the departure, Mademoiselle d'Orleans came along my passage, and stopped before the door. I heard her sighs and lamentations.... I heard the carriage roll away; and one must feel a mother's love, to conceive the emotions that overpowered me. I heard from her the next day, and I also wrote her my last letter of advice. Her departure rendered the spot she had left completely hateful to me, and I most anxiously wished to leave the place. I had, besides, been cruelly persecuted since my residence there. I was often attacked in the most absurd manner in the newspapers. One of them stated that I, loaded with favors by the court of France, had been concerned in all the intrigues of the revolution. Not knowing how to get passports I at last thought of writing to Dr. Hoze, a skilful physician, who lived at Bremgarten. He kindly sent me both passports and a servant to accompany me. I departed, promising the nuns to return and spend the remainder of my life with them. We travelled night and day, till we arrived at Utrecht. From this place, I got into a wretched post-wagon, with a man who was going to Hamburg. We reached that place July 23d, 1794. Hearing of an inn kept by a person of the name of Plock, I went there, and had the fortune not to meet with any emigrants. Here I staid nine months, in complete incognito, and in very agreeable society. It was here that I enjoyed the first consolation I received since my misfortunes--here that I learned several most important events--the fall of Robespierre, and the peace concluded with Russia.

"I now went to board with M. de Valence at his country-house, five leagues from Hamburg. At this place I wrote my '_Precis de Conduite_,' which produced such a powerful effect in my favor. I soon left for Berlin, in Prussia. I took lodgings with Mademoiselle Bocquet, who kept a boarding-school. Here I made several charming acquaintances; but my cruel fortunes still triumphed. I was informed that great exertions were making to get me out of the kingdom. It had been rumored that the Abbe Sieyes, whom I had never even seen, had made me a visit. The king said he 'would not banish me from his library, but that he would not allow me to remain in his territories.' Accordingly a police officer came with an order for me to leave the kingdom in two hours. This was a real thunderbolt. Leaving all my effects behind me, I got into a carriage and drove away. We were obliged to travel to the frontiers without stopping, except for meals. Three weeks after I reached Hamburg, I received my baggage and manuscripts from Berlin. During my stay here, I saw Pamela and her husband. I soon perceived that Lord Edward had imbibed opinions dangerous to his own government, and feared that he was about to engage in some desperate enterprise.

"I now went to Holstein, and took up my abode with M. Peterson, in a delightful thatched cottage. The family was charming, and the rural style of living just what I liked. I assisted in churning the butter, and fed on the most delicious red partridges. I here performed a literary labor that greatly fatigued me. In the morning, I wrote the '_Petits Emigres_,' and in the evening, I occupied myself with the '_Voeux Temeraires_.' Beside this, I wrote all the fables of '_Herbier Moral_.'

"I learned by the newspapers that Lord Edward Fitzgerald was arrested in consequence of intrigues in Ireland.[7] I found also that my brother had perished at sea. I became now seriously ill, was attacked with fever, and recovered only as by a miracle. The king of Prussia, Frederic William II., having died in 1797, his son, the prince royal, authorized me to return to Berlin, where 'I should always find peace and repose.' Though still weak, I set out, arrived there in safety, and was received with delight by Mademoiselle Bocquet. She had prepared for me a charming apartment, fitted up with all the attention of kind friendship."

We have thus far presented an abridgment of Madame de Genlis's own narrative: we must now hasten to the conclusion. Under the consulship of Bonaparte, who had a favorable opinion of her talents, she returned to Paris, and became one of his admirers and panegyrists. After the restoration of the Bourbons, she wrote in defence of monarchy and religion.

Her pen seemed inexhaustible, and she continued at intervals to pour forth its productions upon the public. She had passed her eightieth year when her "Memoirs" were written. She lived to witness the astonishing events of July, 1830, and to see her former pupil raised to the throne under the title of Louis Philippe. She died December 31st, 1830, aged 84 years.

The character of Madame de Genlis is not without marks of weakness, and she has been charged even with gross departures from the path of rectitude. On this point, however, the proof is not clear. Her "Memoirs" display a degree of vanity only to be palliated by the customs of her sex in France; and her opinions on public affairs appear to have fluctuated with her fortunes. Yet, as a writer, particularly of works of fiction, which blend instruction with amusement, and have especially in view the inculcation of just sentiments, she has had few equals. Her "Palace of Truth," and "Tales of the Castle," are among the most captivating, yet useful books of the kind, that were ever penned. Some of her works are exceptionable in respect to their tendency; yet, on the whole, we are bound to assign to her the credit of an excellent heart, and a high order of genius. Her works have been published in eighty-four volumes, duodecimo.

[4] Now Louis Philippe, king of France. See note, p. 212 [ed: Footnote
5].

[5] The Duke of Chartres, afterwards Duke of Orleans, and now Louis
Philippe, king of the French, was born at Paris, October 6th,
1773. His education has been described in the preceding pages.
In 1791, he served in the army, and subsequently held various
military stations, in which he displayed great gallantry. In
1793, having expressed his horror at the excesses of the
revolution, a decree of arrest was levelled against him. To
escape this, he went to Switzerland, where he met his sister and
Madame de Genlis, as related. During his wanderings over this
country, he had to contend with fatigue, poverty, and
persecution. He travelled from place to place, often alone, and
destitute of money.

After the death of his father, Switzerland no longer became a
safe place for him, and he went to Hamburg, to escape to
America. But here his funds failed him, and he spent some time
in travelling in Norway and Lapland, proceeding even to the
North Cape. In September, 1796, he embarked for America, where
he was joined by his brothers, the Duke of Montpensier and Count
Beaujolais. They travelled through the country, though often
distressed for the want of money. After various wanderings, they
reached England. The Duke of Montpensier died in 1807; and the
Count Beaujolais soon after. In November, 1809, Louis Philippe
was married, at Palermo, to the Princess Amelia, daughter of the
king of Sicily. On the restoration of the Bourbons in 1815, he
returned to Paris, and inherited a large part of the immense
wealth of his father. In 1830, he was elevated to the throne.
His family presents a model of union, good morals, and domestic
virtue, and he is himself one of the ablest of living
sovereigns. If his character is in any considerable degree owing
to his education,--and we cannot doubt that it is,--it furnishes
an imperishable monument to the honor of Madame de Genlis.

[6] The position of Madame de Genlis does not permit her to do justice
to the character of the Duke of Orleans, which is one of the
most infamous in history. He was born in 1747, and was descended
from the Duke of Orleans, only brother of Louis XIV. In his
youth he was distinguished for his licentiousness, and during
the revolution he acquired an unfortunate notoriety. He joined
the Jacobins, and cooeperated with Robespierre, Marat, and
Danton. He renounced his royal titles, and assumed that of M.
Egalite. He voted for the death of his relative, Louis XVI., and
was present at his execution. But the storm he had assisted to
raise was now directed against him. He was included in the
general proscription of the Bourbons, and was guillotined
November 6th, 1793. His wife, who sustained an excellent
character, returned to Paris after the restoration, and died in
1821.

[7] Lord Edward Fitzgerald was the son of the Duke of Leinster, and
born in Ireland, October 15th, 1763. He was educated for the
military profession, and served in the American war with credit.
He was an ardent lover of liberty, and deeply felt the wrongs
done to his native country by the British government. He hailed
the French revolution as the dawn of universal freedom: in 1792
he went to Paris, and participated in the intoxication of that
eventful era. After his marriage to Pamela, he went to Ireland,
and became one of the leaders in the rebellion of 1798. He
became obnoxious to the government, and was arrested while
concealed in a house in Dublin. He was at the time in bed: he
resisted fiercely, and wounded two of the officers, one of them
mortally. He received a pistol ball in his shoulder, and, being
confined in Newgate, died June 4th, 1798.

He was a man of remarkable elevation and singleness of mind, and
was greatly endeared to his friends. The letters written by
different members of his family, at the time of his arrest and
during his confinement in prison, published by his biographer,
Moore, are among the most touching that were ever penned. Their
attachment to their unfortunate relation amounted almost to
idolatry.

His wife, who had three children at the time of his death, seems
to have been a fit partner for so noble a spirit. The letters
above alluded to depict her character as one of extraordinary
elevation and loveliness. Some doubt about her parentage has
existed; but, as we have given the statement of Madame de Genlis
upon the subject, it does not seem necessary to say more. She
returned to France, and her remains are deposited in the
cemetery of Mont Martre, at Paris.

JOSEPHINE.

M. Tascher, a native of France, having resigned his commission in the cavalry, retired to an estate in the Island of St. Domingo. In the year 1763, he, together with his wife, made a visit to a sister in Martinico, and there, on the 23d of June, a daughter, Josephine, was born. On the return of her parents to St. Domingo, she was left with her aunt, and there are no traces of future intercourse with them. Often, in after years, did Josephine revert to the unmingled happiness and peaceful enjoyments of her childhood. The advantages for education enjoyed by Mademoiselle Tascher were superior to what would be supposed by those who have only known the French colonies at a subsequent period. The proprietors were many of them highly accomplished gentlemen, born and educated in France, who had retired to their estates in the New World, as a retreat from which to watch the progress of those events which were beginning to disturb the quiet of the Old.

Josephine, naturally amiable and gentle in disposition, with manners which combined ease and elegance with dignity, possessed a natural aptitude for acquiring feminine accomplishments. She played, especially on the harp, and sung with exquisite feeling. Her dancing is said to have been perfect. An eye-witness describes her light form, rising scarcely above the middle size, as seeming in its faultless symmetry to float rather than to move--the very personation of Grace. She was mistress of the pencil and of the needle. Flowers were her passion; she early cultivated a knowledge of botany. To the _empress_ Josephine Europe is indebted for a knowledge of the Camelia. She read delightfully; the tones of her voice fascinated. "The first applause of the French people," said Napoleon, "sounded to my ear sweet as the voice of Josephine."

The companion of her infancy was a mulatto girl, some years older than herself,--her foster-sister, Euphemia,--who never afterwards quitted her patroness, shared in her amusements, and was the companion of her rambles. In one of these an incident occurred, which exercised a lasting influence over her imagination. The particulars were, long afterwards, thus related by herself:--

"One day, some time before my first marriage, while taking my usual walk, I observed a number of negro girls assembled round an old woman, who was telling their fortune. I stopped to listen to her. The sorceress, on seeing me, uttered a loud shriek, and grasped my hand. I laughed at her grimaces, and allowed her to proceed, saying, 'So you discover something extraordinary in my destiny?' 'I do.' 'Do you discover traces of happiness, or misfortune?' 'Of misfortune, certainly; but of happiness also.' 'You take care not to commit yourself, my worthy sibyl; your oracles are not the most clear.' 'I am not permitted to make them more so,' said the woman, raising her eyes in a mysterious manner towards heaven. My curiosity was now awakened, and I said to her, 'But tell me, what read you in futurity concerning me?' 'What do I read? You will not believe me if I tell you.' 'Yes, indeed, I assure you. Come, good woman, what am I to hope or fear?' 'You insist; listen then. You will soon be married; the union will not be happy; you will become a widow, and then--you will become queen of France! You will enjoy many years of happiness, but you will be killed in a popular commotion.' The old woman then burst from the crowd, and hurried away as fast as her limbs, enfeebled by age, would permit. I forbade the bystanders to laugh at the prophetess for her ridiculous prediction, and took the occasion to caution the young negro women against giving credit to such pretenders. Henceforth, I thought of the affair only to laugh at it. But afterwards, when my husband had perished on the scaffold, in spite of my better judgment, this prediction forcibly recurred to my mind; and, though I was myself then in prison, the transaction daily assumed a less improbable character, and I ended by regarding the fulfilment as almost a matter of course."

Nothing at the time seemed less likely than the fulfilment of the prediction. Miss Tascher seemed destined to become the wife of some creole youth, and to pass a tranquil and indolent life on some neighboring plantation. It so chanced, however, that the young Vicompte Alexander de Beauharnais, "who," in Josephine's words, "had embraced the new ideas with all the ardor of a very lively imagination," after serving with distinction in the war of the American revolution, came to Martinico to prove his title to some estates which had fallen by inheritance to himself and his brother. These estates were held on lease by Josephine's uncle, and an acquaintance between the young people naturally followed. They became mutually attached; but his relatives, who were opposed to the match, interposed obstacles which Josephine surmounted with a gentleness and address hardly to be expected in a girl of sixteen. In 1794, writing to her children, Josephine says, "If to my union with your father I have been indebted for all my happiness, I dare to think and say, that to my own character I owe our union, so many were the obstacles which opposed us. Yet, without any effort of talents, I effected their removal. I found in my own heart the means of gaining the affection of my husband's relations; patience and goodness will ever in the end conciliate the good-will of others."

On their arrival in France, in 1779, the youthful pair are said to have created a sensation in society. The manners and accomplishments of Josephine excited admiration in the most polished court in Europe; and the attentions of Marie Antoinette made an impression on her grateful heart which endured through a life, the incidents of which were in such seeming opposition to the interests of the Bourbons. Much of their time, however, was spent on the vicompte's estates in Brittany; and here were born Eugene, afterwards viceroy of Italy, and Hortense, afterwards queen of Holland.

Every thing gave promise of enduring happiness. But the misconduct of the vicompte destroyed it. Josephine at first complained with gentleness, and sought by increased fondness to win back the waning affections of her husband. Finding this unavailing, she infused into her reproaches a degree of bitterness which alienated completely the affections she was so anxious to gain. A separation was the consequence, and Josephine returned with her children to Martinico.

After an absence of several years, she once again sailed for France, and in circumstances far from affluent. An incident which occurred on the voyage was thus related to the ladies of her court. She had indulged a wish they had expressed to see her jewels. They were spread upon a spacious table, which was covered with them. The brilliancy, the size, and the quantity, of the jewels composing the different sets, were dazzling to the eye. Here were collected the choicest gems of Europe, for all its nations had been eager to heap presents upon the wife of Napoleon. After she had permitted the ladies to examine at leisure these treasures, which almost realized the tales of the "Arabian Nights," Josephine said to them, "During the first dawn of my elevation, I delighted in these trifles. I grew by degrees so tired of them, that I no longer wear any, except when I am compelled to do so by my station in the world. Trust to me, ladies, and do not envy a splendor which does not constitute happiness. You will be surprised when I tell you that I felt more pleasure at receiving a pair of old shoes, than at being presented with all the diamonds now spread before you." The ladies smiled at what they considered a mere pleasantry; but Josephine repeated the remark with such earnestness as to induce them to ask for the story. "Accompanied by Hortense, I embarked at Martinico for France. Being separated from my husband, my pecuniary resources were not very flourishing; the expense of my return to France, which the state of my affairs rendered necessary, had nearly drained my purse, and I found great difficulty in providing the indispensable requisites for the voyage. Hortense, who was a smart, lively girl, became a great favorite with the sailors; she entertained them by imitating the songs and dances of the negroes. No sooner did she observe me engaged, than she slipped upon deck, and repeated her little exercises to the renewed delight of all. An old quarter-master was particularly attentive to her, and, whenever he found a moment's leisure, he devoted it to his _little friend_, who became much attached to him. This constant dancing and skipping soon destroyed my daughter's slight shoes. Knowing that she had no other pair, and fearing that I should forbid her going upon deck, if I should discover this defect in her attire, she concealed it. Her bleeding feet one day attracted my notice. I asked, in alarm, if she had hurt herself. 'No, mamma.' 'But your feet are bleeding.' 'It really is nothing.' I insisted upon seeing what was the matter, and found that the shoes were in tatters, and her foot dreadfully torn by a nail. The voyage was not half performed, and there seemed no possibility of procuring a new pair before reaching France. I was quite overcome at the idea of Hortense's sorrow at being compelled to remain shut up in my little cabin, and to the injury to her health. My tears found a free vent. At this moment our friend the quarter-master appeared. With honest bluntness he asked the cause of our grief. Hortense, sobbing all the while, told him that she could no longer go on deck, because she had no shoes. 'Is that all?' said he; 'I have an old pair somewhere in my chest; I will bring them; you, madam, can cut them to shape, and I will sew them as well as I can. On board ship, you must put up with many things. It is not the place to be too nice and particular.' He did not wait for my reply, but went in quest of his shoes, which he brought to us with an air of exultation, and offered them to Hortense, who received them with eager delight. We set to work with zeal, and Hortense enjoyed the delight of furnishing the evening's diversion to the crew. I repeat that no present was ever received by me with more pleasure than this pair of old, coarse, leather shoes."

The motive of Josephine in returning to France was to be near her husband, who was a prominent actor in the scenes of the French revolution. Knowing the warmth of his political feelings, she trembled for his safety; her past resentment vanished. She sought a reconciliation, which he most cordially desired.

Passing onward in our story, we find Madame de Beauharnais a widow and a prisoner. Her husband, after filling the offices of president of the Convention, and general-in-chief of the army of the Rhine, had, during the reign of terror, perished on the scaffold. On the same day on which this event was communicated to her, she received an intimation to prepare herself for death. But she had found a new source of strength. Her mind, in reverting to past scenes dwelt upon the almost forgotten prophecy of the negress. Her imagination was excited; it began to appear less and less absurd to her, and finally terminated in her almost certain belief. The following relation was made by herself at Navarre:--

"The jailer came one morning to the room occupied by the Duchess d'Aiguillon, two other ladies, and myself, and said that he came to remove my bed, which was to be given to another prisoner. 'Why give it away?' said the duchess eagerly: 'is, then, Madame de Beauharnais to have a better?' 'No, no; she will not need one at all,' said the wretch, with an atrocious smile; 'she is to be taken to a new lodging, and thence to the guillotine.' On hearing this, my companions shrieked aloud. I endeavored to console them. At length, wearied with their continued lamentations, I told them their grief was quite unreasonable; that not only I should not die, but that I should be queen of France. 'Why do you not at once name the persons of your household?' said Madame d'Aiguillon, with an air of resentment. 'Very true; I had quite forgotten it. Well, my dear, you shall be lady of honor; you may rely upon my promise.' The tears of the ladies now flowed afresh, for my composure made them think that my reason was affected. I assure you, however, that there was no affectation of courage on my part; I felt a conviction that the oracle would be fulfilled. Madame d'Aiguillon grew faint, and I led her towards the window, which I threw open, that she might breathe the fresh air; I suddenly caught sight of a poor woman who was making signs to us. She was laying hold of her gown at every moment--a sign which we were at a loss to understand. At length I cried out to her,' _Robe_.' She nodded in assent, and then, picking up a stone, held it up with her other hand. '_Pierre_,' I cried out. Her joy was unbounded when we understood her; and, bringing the gown close to the stone, she made quick and repeated signs of cutting her throat, and began to dance and clap her hands. This strange pantomime excited an emotion in our minds which it is impossible to describe, as we ventured to hope that it gave us the announcement of _Robespierre's_ death.

"Whilst we were in this state of suspense, we heard a great noise in the passage, and the formidable voice of the keeper, who, giving a kick to his dog, said to the animal, 'Get out of the way, you d--d brute of a Robespierre.' This energetic phraseology proved to us that France was rid of her tyrant. In fact, our companions in misfortune came in soon afterwards, and gave us the details of the important event. My hammock was brought back to me, and I never enjoyed a quieter night. I fell asleep, after saying to my friends, 'You see that I am not guillotined; I shall yet be queen of France!'"

Notwithstanding this confidence, Josephine had devoted a portion of her last day to writing a last farewell to her children. Here are extracts from it: "My children, your father is dead, and your mother is about to follow him; but as, before that final stroke, the assassins leave me a few moments to myself, I wish to employ them in writing to you. Socrates, when condemned, philosophized with his disciples; a mother, on the point of undergoing a similar fate, may discourse with her children. My last sigh will be for you, and I wish to make my last words a lasting lesson. Time was, when I gave you lessons in a more pleasing way; but the present will not be the less useful, that it is given at so serious a moment. I have the weakness to water it with my tears; I shall soon have the courage to seal it with my blood. * * * I am about to die as your father died, a victim of the fury he always opposed, but to which he fell a sacrifice. I leave life without hatred of France and its assassins; but I am penetrated with sorrow for the misfortunes of my country. Honor my memory in sharing my sentiments. I leave for your inheritance the glory of your father, and the name of your mother, whom some who have been unfortunate will bear in remembrance." In more prosperous days, the poor and the distressed had ever found Josephine's heart and hand open for their relief. She was now herself obliged to rely upon the benevolence of others for her own subsistence, and of the services she then received, she ever retained a grateful recollection. She had been most affected by the attentions of Madame Dumoulin, and felt great delight, in after years, in adverting to the subject. At this period of general scarcity, this benevolent lady every day entertained at her table a party of those whose means were more limited. Madame de Beauharnais was a regular guest. Bread was at this time so scarce as to be a subject of legal enactment, restricting the quantity allowed to each person to two ounces. Guests at the houses of the most opulent, even, were expected to bring their own bread. Aware that Madame de Beauharnais was in more distressed circumstances than the rest, Madame Dumoulin dispensed with this practice in her favor, thereby justifying the expression of the latter, that she received _her daily bread_ from her.

Tallien, Barras, and those who succeeded to power, on the fall of the terrorists, being themselves not destitute of refinement, were desirous that society should emerge from the state of barbarism into which it had fallen. Madame Tallien, distinguished for grace, beauty, and brilliancy of wit, exerted all her charms to diffuse a taste for the courtesies and amenities of civilized life, and thus to soften the sanguinary spirit which had led to so many atrocities. Calling to her assistance her intimate friend, Madame de Beauharnais, the task was soon, to some extent, accomplished. Private individuals did not yet dare to make any show of wealth by receiving company habitually at their own houses. Public balls, and public concerts at the Hotels Thelusson and Richelieu, were the fashion. Here persons of all opinions, of all castes, intermingled, and laughed and danced together in the utmost harmony. The influence of Madame Tallien was at this time very great, and under her protection many an _emigre_ returned, and many a royalist emerged from the hiding-place to figure in these gay scenes. Most of them submitted with a good grace to the new order of things. It sometimes chanced, however, that curiosity or ennui would lead thither some who could not so readily lay aside feelings and habits acquired under the old _regime_, and scenes would occur not a little amusing to the philosophic observer, who, had he possessed the gift of second sight, would have been doubly amused. One of these is thus related by a contemporary. Madame de D. was one evening persuaded, by the old Marquis d'Hautefort, so far to lay aside her prejudices as to accompany him, with her daughter, to a ball at Thelusson's. The party arrived late. The room was crowded. By dint of elbowing and entreaties, they reached the centre. To find two seats together was impossible, and Madame de D., who was not of a timid nature, looked about on all sides to find at least one. Her eyes encountered a young and charming face, surrounded by a profusion of light hair, looking slyly forth from a pair of large, dark-blue eyes, and exhibiting altogether the image of the most graceful of sylphs. This young lady was conducted back to her seat by M. de T., which proved that she danced well; for none other were invited to be his partners. The graceful creature, after courtesying, with a blush, to the Vestris of the ball-rooms, sat down by the side of a female, who appeared to be her elder sister, and whose elegant dress excited the notice and envy of all the women at the ball. "Who are those persons?" said Madame de D. "What, is it possible that you do not know the Viscountess Beauharnais?" said the marquis. "It is she and her daughter. There is a vacant place by her; come and sit down; you may renew your acquaintance with her." Madame de D., without making any reply, gave such a tug at the arm of the marquis as to draw him, whether he would or not, into one of the little saloons. "Are you mad?" said she to him. "A pretty place, truly, by the side of Madame Beauharnais! Ernestine would of course have been obliged to make acquaintance with her daughter. Marquis, you must have lost your wits."

In the month of May, 1795, Napoleon Bonaparte came to Paris. His energies and talents had already attracted the notice of some of the leading men, especially of Barras, who had witnessed his conduct at Toulon. Upon the establishment of the Directory, he was appointed general-in-chief of the army of the interior, and commandant of Paris. In this latter capacity he had his first particular interview with Josephine. It had been his duty to disarm the citizens, and he had thus become possessed of the sword of Viscount Beauharnais. Eugene, who had a reverential admiration of his father, wished to obtain so precious a relic. Though not yet fourteen, he presented himself at the levee of the commander-in-chief, and solicited the restoration of his father's sword. His frank and gallant bearing pleased the general, who immediately granted the request.

The next day, Madame Beauharnais called at the head-quarters, to thank the general for his condescension to her son. They had before met at the table of Barras; but a disappointed, and, in some degree, disgraced officer was not likely to attract the regards of one already looked upon as among the most distinguished ladies in France. But the circumstances of their present interview served to infuse a particular interest into their previous acquaintance. Bonaparte returned the visit. He became a suitor in his turn. Josephine, besides her intimacy with Madame Tallien, herself exerted great influence over those in power, and could do much to secure the position of the young soldier. Ambition, as well as love, being his prompters, Bonaparte was not the man to fail, gifted, as he appears to have been, from Josephine's own confession, with unequalled powers of persuasion. The nuptials were celebrated March 9th, 1796, and twelve days after, Bonaparte left Paris to take the command of the army of Italy--an appointment which Barras had promised, as it were, as a dowry for Josephine.

Amidst the exciting, and, one would think, all-absorbing events of that wonderful campaign, Josephine was always in the thoughts of the youthful conqueror. His constant letters breathe the most romantic passion, couched in the most ardent language. By some accident, the glass of a miniature of his bride, which he constantly wore about his person, was broken; how he knew not. This simple occurrence he conceived to be a prognostication of the death of the original, and enjoyed no peace of mind, until a courier, despatched express, returned with tidings of her safety.

The campaign finished, Josephine joined her husband at the head-quarters at Montebello, where a crowd of princes, nobles, and ambassadors, had assembled to settle with the conqueror the terms of peace. Add to these a crowd of young and gallant Frenchmen, the officers of the army, flushed with victory, and we have a picture of a court as brilliant as can well be conceived. All vied in assiduous attention to her who was beloved and honored by the general. All was joy and festivity. The most magnificent entertainments were varied by excursions among the enchanting scenery around. For all this Josephine was indebted to her husband, and it was all enjoyed in his company. In after life, she often reverted to this as the happiest period of her existence. Of her conduct in this new position, Bonaparte himself remarked, "I conquer provinces, Josephine gains hearts."

When the expedition to Egypt was determined upon, a new armament was to be organized, and great difficulties to be overcome. While her husband passed the day, and frequently great part of the night, in his cabinet, or at the Luxemburg, in wringing from the Directory reluctant consent to his measures, Josephine, in the saloon, was equally active in attaching new or confirming old adherents. Never were those conciliating manners for which she was so celebrated more successfully employed, than in the dawn of her husband's fortunes. Not a few were thus won to a standard which they were destined to display over so many prostrate capitals of Europe. Under her auspices, too, were formed some unions, more in consonance with her own gentle nature. "Habit," said the empress, long afterwards, "has rendered the practice familiar; but there is only one occasion on which I should voluntarily say, _I will_; namely, when I would say, _I will_ that all around me be happy."

The greater portion of the time of her husband's absence in the East was passed by her at Malmaison, an estate which she purchased, about twelve miles from Paris. Here she occupied herself in the education of her daughter, in the improvement of the grounds, and in watching over and securing the interests of her husband. To this end it was necessary that she should see much company; but she received none to her intimacy, except a few of her ancient female friends.

Leading a life above reproach, there were about her concealed enemies, who watched in order to misrepresent every action; of these the most active were her own brothers and sisters-in-law, who, needy and rapacious, and totally dependent on their brother, viewed with jealous alarm any influence which threatened the exclusive dominion they wished to maintain over his mind. In the Syrian camp there were found creatures base enough to be the instruments of conveying their slanders to their destination. A repetition of these produced at length some effect on the jealous temper of the husband, as was obvious from the altered tone of his letters, which had hitherto been full of the most tender and confiding affection. On his return, however, an explanation took place, which left not a shade of suspicion on his mind; nor was the union ever afterwards disturbed from the same cause.