Front Cover
 Front Matter
 Title Page
 Table of Contents
 Life in Martinique
 Arrest of M. Beauharnais and...
 Scenes in Prison
 Release from Prison
 Josephine in Italy
 Josephine at Malmaison
 Josephine the Wife of the First...
 Developments of Character
 The Coronation
 Josephine an Empress
 The Divorce and Last Days
 Back Cover

Title: History of Josephine
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00002190/00001
 Material Information
Title: History of Josephine
Alternate Title: Josephine
Physical Description: 220 p. : port. ; 13 cm.
Language: English
Creator: Abbott, John S. C ( John Stevens Cabot ), 1805-1877
Allman, Thomas, 1792-1870 ( Publisher )
W.J. and J. Sears ( Printer )
Publisher: Thomas Allman
Place of Publication: London
Manufacturer: W.J. & J. Sears
Publication Date: 1852
Subject: Biographies -- 1852   ( rbgenr )
Publishers' catalogues -- 1852   ( rbgenr )
Pictorial cloth bindings (Binding) -- 1852   ( rbbin )
Bldn -- 1852
Genre: Biographies   ( rbgenr )
Publishers' catalogues   ( rbgenr )
Pictorial cloth bindings (Binding)   ( rbbin )
individual biography   ( marcgt )
non-fiction   ( marcgt )
Spatial Coverage: England -- London
Statement of Responsibility: by John S.C. Abbott.
General Note: Publisher's catalogue on endpapers.
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00002190
Volume ID: VID00001
Source Institution: University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved by the source institution and holding location.
Resource Identifier: aleph - 002446016
oclc - 19004827
notis - AMF1259

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Front Cover 1
        Front Cover 2
    Front Matter
        Page i
        Page ii
        Page iii
    Title Page
        Page iv
        Page v
        Page vi
    Table of Contents
        Page vii
    Life in Martinique
        Page 1
        Page 2
        Page 3
        Page 4
        Page 5
        Page 6
        Page 7
        Page 8
        Page 9
        Page 10
        Page 11
        Page 12
        Page 13
        Page 14
        Page 15
        Page 16
        Page 17
        Page 18
        Page 19
        Page 20
        Page 21
        Page 22
        Page 23
        Page 24
        Page 25
        Page 26
        Page 27
        Page 28
        Page 29
    Arrest of M. Beauharnais and Josephine
        Page 30
        Page 31
        Page 32
        Page 33
        Page 34
        Page 35
        Page 36
        Page 37
        Page 38
        Page 39
        Page 40
        Page 41
        Page 42
        Page 43
        Page 44
        Page 45
    Scenes in Prison
        Page 46
        Page 47
        Page 48
        Page 49
        Page 50
        Page 51
        Page 52
        Page 53
        Page 54
        Page 55
        Page 56
    Release from Prison
        Page 57
        Page 58
        Page 59
        Page 60
        Page 61
        Page 62
        Page 63
        Page 64
        Page 65
        Page 66
        Page 67
        Page 68
        Page 69
        Page 70
        Page 71
        Page 72
        Page 73
        Page 74
        Page 75
        Page 76
    Josephine in Italy
        Page 77
        Page 78
        Page 79
        Page 80
        Page 81
        Page 82
        Page 83
        Page 84
        Page 85
        Page 86
        Page 87
        Page 88
        Page 89
        Page 90
        Page 91
        Page 92
        Page 93
        Page 94
        Page 95
    Josephine at Malmaison
        Page 96
        Page 97
        Page 98
        Page 99
        Page 100
        Page 101
        Page 102
        Page 103
        Page 104
        Page 105
        Page 106
    Josephine the Wife of the First Consul
        Page 107
        Page 108
        Page 109
        Page 110
        Page 111
        Page 112
        Page 113
        Page 114
        Page 115
        Page 116
        Page 117
        Page 118
        Page 119
        Page 120
        Page 121
        Page 122
        Page 123
        Page 124
    Developments of Character
        Page 125
        Page 126
        Page 127
        Page 128
        Page 129
        Page 130
        Page 131
        Page 132
        Page 133
        Page 134
        Page 135
        Page 136
        Page 137
        Page 138
        Page 139
        Page 140
    The Coronation
        Page 141
        Page 142
        Page 143
        Page 144
        Page 145
        Page 146
        Page 147
        Page 148
        Page 149
        Page 150
        Page 151
        Page 152
        Page 153
        Page 154
        Page 155
        Page 156
        Page 157
        Page 158
        Page 159
        Page 160
        Page 161
        Page 162
        Page 163
        Page 164
        Page 165
        Page 166
        Page 167
        Page 168
    Josephine an Empress
        Page 169
        Page 170
        Page 171
        Page 172
        Page 173
        Page 174
        Page 175
        Page 176
        Page 177
        Page 178
        Page 179
        Page 180
        Page 181
        Page 182
        Page 183
        Page 184
        Page 185
        Page 186
        Page 187
        Page 188
        Page 189
        Page 190
        Page 191
    The Divorce and Last Days
        Page 192
        Page 193
        Page 194
        Page 195
        Page 196
        Page 197
        Page 198
        Page 199
        Page 200
        Page 201
        Page 202
        Page 203
        Page 204
        Page 205
        Page 206
        Page 207
        Page 208
        Page 209
        Page 210
        Page 211
        Page 212
        Page 213
        Page 214
        Page 215
        Page 216
        Page 217
        Page 218
        Page 219
        Page 220
        Page 222
    Back Cover
        Page 223
        Page 224
        Page 225
Full Text

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JOSEPHINE, are the three most prominent hero-
ines of the French Revolution. The history of
their lives necessarily records all the most in-
teresting events of that moat fearful tragedy
which man has ever enacted. Maria Antoi-
nette beheld the morning-dawn of the Revolu-
tion; its lurid mid-day sun glared upon Ma-
dame Roland; and Josephine beheld the por-
tentous phenomenon fade away. Each of these
heroines displayed traits of character worthy
of all imitation. No one can read the history
of their lives without being ennobled by the
contemplation of the fortitude and grandeur of
spirit they evinced. To the young ladies of
our land we especially commend the Heroines
of the French Revolution.


I. Life in Martinique ..... 1
II. Marriage of Josephine . 14
III. Arrest of M. Beauharnais and Jo-
sephine ..... ... 30
IV. Scenes in Prison . 46
V. The Release from Prison. 57
VI. Josephine in Italy . .77
VII. Josephine at Malmaison . 96
VIII. Josephine the Wife of the First
Consul ....... 107
IX. Developments of Character .. 125
X. The Coronation. . 141
XI. Josephine an Empress .. 169
XII. The Divorce and Last Days 192


THE island of Martinique emerges in tro-
pical luxuriance from the bosom of the
Caribbean Sea. A meridian sun causes the
wholeland to smile in perennial verdure, and all
the gorgeous flowers and luscious fruits of the
torrid zone adorn upland and prairie in bound-
less profusion. Mountains, densely wooded,
and valleys charm the eye with pictures more
beautiful than imagination can create. Ocean
breezes ever sweep these hills and vales, and
temper the heat of a vertical sun. Slaves,
whose dusky limbs are scarcely veiled by the
lightest clothing, till the soil, while the white
inhabitants, loiter away life in listless leisure
and in rustic luxury.
About the year 1760, a young French
officer, Captain Joseph Gaspard Tascher, ac-
companied his regiment of horse to this island.
While here on professional duty, he became

attached to a young lady from France, whose
parents, formerly opulent, in consequence of
the loss of property, had moved to the West
Indies to retrieve their fortunes. But little
is known respecting Mademoiselle de Sanois,
this young lady, who was soon married to M.
Tascher. Josephine was the only child born
of this union. In consequence of the early
death of her mother, she was, while an infant,
intrusted to the care of her aunt. Her father
soon after died, and the little orphan appears
never to have known a father's or a mother's
Madame Renaudin, the kind aunt, who now,
with maternal affection, took charge of the
helpless infant, was a lady of wealth, and of
great benevolence of character. Her husband
was the owner of several estates, and lived
surrounded by all that plain and rustic pro-
fusion which characterises the abode of the
wealthy planter. His large possessions, and
his energy of character, gave him a wide in-
fluence over the island. He was remarkable
for his humane treatment of his slaves, and
for the successful manner with which he con-
ducted the affairs of his plantations.
The general condition of the slaves of Mar-
tinique at this time was very deplorable : but
on thF plantations of M. Renaudin there was
as perfect a state of contentment and of happi-

ness as is consistent with the deplorable
institution of slavery. The slaves, many of
them but recently torn from their homes in
Africa, were necessarily ignorant, degraded,
and superstitious. Josephine, in subsequent
life, gave a very vivid description of the
wretchedness of the slaves in general, and also
of the peace and harmony which, in striking
contrast, cheered the estates of her uncle.
When the days' tasks were done, the negroes,
constitutionally light-hearted and merry,
gathered round their cabins with songs and
dances, often prolonged late into the hours of
the night. M. and Madame Renaudin often
visited their cabins, spoke words of kindness
to them in their hours of sickness and sorrow,
encouraged the formation of pure attachments
and honourable marriage among the young,
and took a lively interest in their sports. The
slaves loved their kind master and mistress
most sincerely, and manifested their affection
in a thousand simple ways which touched the
Josephine imbibed from infancy the spirit
of her uncle and aunt. She always spoke to
the slaves in tones of kindness, and became a
universal favourite with all upon the planta-
tions. She had no playmates but the little
negroes, and she united with them freely in
all their sports. She was the queen around

whom they circled in affectionate homage.
The instinctive faculty, which Josephine dis-
played through life, of winning the most
ardent love of all who met her, while, at the
same time, she was protected from any undue
familiarity, she seems to have possessed even
at that early day.
The social position of M. Renaudin, as one
of the most opulent and influential gentlenien
of Martinique, necessarily attracted to his hos-
pitable residence much refined and cultivated
society. Strangers from Europe visiting the
island, planters of intellectual tastes, and
ladies of polished manners, met a cordial
welcome beneath the spacious roof of this
abode, where all abundance was to be found.
Madame Renaudin had passed her early years
in Paris, and her manners were embeHished
with that elegance and refinement which have
given to Parisian society such a world-wide
celebrity. There was, at that period, much
more intercourse between the mother country
and the colonies than at the present day.
Thus Josephine, though reared in a provincial
home, was accustomed, from infancy, to asso-
ciate with gentlemen and ladies who were
familiar with the etiquette of the highest rank
in society, and whose conversation was intel-
lectual and improving.
It at first view seems difficult to account

for the high degree of mental culture which
Josephine displayed, when, seated by the side
of Napoleon, she was the Empress of France.
Her early remarks, her letters, her conver-
sational elegance, gave indication of a mind
thoroughly furnished with information and
trained by severe discipline. And yet, from
all the glimpses we can catch of her early
education, it would seem that with the excep-
tion of the accomplishments of music, dancing,
and drawing, she was left very much to the
guidance of her own instinctive tastes. But,
like Madame Roland, she was blessed with
that peculiar mental constitution, which led
her, of her own accord, to treasure up all
knowledge which books or conversation brought
within her reach. From childhood until the
hour of her death, she was ever improving her
mind by careful observation and studious
reading, She played upon the harp with great
skill, and sang with a voice of exquisite melody.
She also read with a correctness of elocution
and a fervour of feeling which ever attracted
admiration. The morning of her childhood
was indeed bright and sunny. Her passionate
love for flowers had interested her deeply in
the study of botany, and she also became very
skilful in embroidery, that accomplishment
which was once deemed an essential part of
the education of every lady.

Under such influences Josephine became a
child of such grace, beauty, and loveliness of
character as to attract the attention and the
admiration of all who saw her. There was an
affectionateness, simplicity, and frankness in
her manners which won all hearts. Her most
intimate companion in these early years was
a young mulatto girl, the daughter of a slave.
Her name was Euphemie. She was a year
or two older than Josephine, but she attached
herself with deathless affection to her patro-
ness; and, though Josephine made her a
companion and a confidante, she gradually
passed, even in these early years, into the
position of a maid of honour, and clung de-
votedly to her mistress through all the changes
of subsequent life. Josephine, at this time
secluded from all companionship with young
ladies of her own rank and age, made this
humble but active-minded and intelligent girl
her bosom companion. They rambled together,
the youthful mistress and her maid, in perfect
harmony. From Josephine's more highly-
cultivated mind the lowly-born child derived
intellectual stimulus, and thus each day became
a more worthy and congenial associate. As
years passed on, and Josephine ascended into
higher regions of splendour, her humbleattend-
ant gradually retired into more obscure posi-

tions, though she was ever regarded by her
true-hearted mistress with great kindness.
Josephine was a universal favourite with all
the little negro girls of the plantation. They
looked up to her as to a protectress whom they
loved, and to whom they owed entire homage.
She would frequently collect a group of them
under the shade of the luxuriant trees of that
tropical island, and teach them the dances
which she had learned, and also join with them
as a partner. She loved to assemble them
around her, and listen to those simple negro
melodies whieh penetrate every heart that can
feel the power of music. Again, all their
voices, in sweet harmony, blended with hers
as she taaght them the more scientific songs
of Europe. Often she interposed in their
behalf that their tasks might be lightened, or
that a play-day might be allowed them. Thus
she was as much beloved and admired in the
cabin of the poor negro as she was in her
uncle's parlour, where intelligence and refine-
ment were assembled. This same character
she displayed through the whole of her career
About this time an occurrence took place
which has attracted far more attention than it
deserves. Josephine was one day walking
under the shade of the trees of the plantation,
when she saw a number of negro children
gathered around an aged and withered negresa,

who had great reputation among the slaves as
a fortune-teller. Curiosity induced Josephine
to draw near the group to hear what the sor-
ceress had to say. The old sibyl, with the
cunning which is characteristic of her craft,
as soon as she saw Josephine approach, whom
she knew perfectly, assumed an air of great
agitation, and, seizing her hand violently,
gazed with most earliest attention upon the
lines traced upon the palm. The little ne-
gresses were perfectly awe-stricken by this
oracular display. Josephine, however, was
only amused, and smiling, said,
So you discover something very extra-
ordinary in my destiny ?"
"Yes !" replied the negress, with an air
of great solemnity.
"Is happiness or misfortune to be my
lot ?" Josephine inquired.
The negress again gazed upon her hand,
and then replied, Misfortune ;" but, after a
moment's pause, she added, and happiness
You must be careful, my good woman,"
Josephine rejoined, not to commit yourself.
Your predictions are not very intelligible."
The negress, raising her eyes with an ex-
pression of deep mystery to heaven, rejoined,
I am not permitted to render my revelations
more clear."

In every human heart there is a vein of
credulity. The pretended prophetess had
now succeeded in fairly arousing the curiosity
of Josephine, who eagerly enquired, "What
do you read respecting me in futurity ? Tell
me exactly."
Again the negress, assuming an air of pro-
found solemnity, said, "You will not believe
me if I reveal to you your strange destiny."
"Yes, indeed, I assure you that I will,"
Josephine thoughtlessly replied. Come,
good mother, do tell me what I have to hope
and what to fear."
On your own head be it, then. Listen.
You will soon be married. That union will
not be happy. You will become a widow,
and then you will be Queen of France. Some
happy years will he yours, but afterward you
will die in a hospital, amid civil commotions."
The old woman then hurried away. Jose-
phine talked a few moments with the young
negroes upon the folly of this pretended fortune-
telling, and leaving them the affair passed
from her mind. In subsequent years, when
toiling through the vicissitudes of her most
eventful life, she recalled the singular coinci-
dence between her destiny and the prediction,
and seemed to consider that the negress, with
prophetic vision, had traced out her wonder.
ful career.

But what is there so extraordinary in this
narrative ? What maiden ever consulted a
fortune-teller without receiving the agreeable
announcement that she was to wed beauty, and
wealth, and rank ? It was known universally,
and it was a constant subject of plantation
gossip, that the guardians of Josephine were
contemplating a match for her with the son of
a neighboring planter. The negroes did not
think him half worthy of their adored and
queenly Josephine. They supposed, however,
that the match was settled. The artful woman
was therefore compelled to allow Josephine to
marry atfirst the undistinguished son of the
planter, with whom she could not be happy.
She, however, very considerately lets the un-
worthy husband in a short time die, and then
Josephine becomes a queen. This is the old
story which has been repeated to half the
maidens in Christendom. It is not very sur-
prising that in this one case it should have
happened to prove true.
But, unfortunately, our prophetess went a
little further, and predicted that Josephine
would die in a hospital-implying poverty
and abandonment. This part of the predic-
tion proved to be utterly untrue. Josephine,
instead of dying in a hospital, died in the
beautiful palace of Malmaison. Instead of
dying in poverty, she was one of the richest

ladies in Europe, receiving an income of some
hundred and fifty thousand pounds a year.
The grounds around her palace were embel-
lished with all the attractions, and her apart-
ments furnished with every luxury, which
opulence could provide. Instead of dying in
friendlessness and neglect, the Emperor Alex-
ander of Russia stood at her bedside; the most
illustrious kings and nobles of Europe crowded
her court and did her homage. And though
she was separated from her husband, she still
retained the title of Empress, and was the
object of his most sincere affection and esteem.
Thus this prediction, upon which so much
stress has been laid, seems to vanish in the
air. It surely is not a supernatural event
that a young lady, who was told by an aged
negress that she would be a queen, happened
actually to become one.
We have alluded to a contemplated match
between Josephine and the son of a neighbour-
ing planter. An English family, who had
lost property and rank in the convulsions of
those times, had sought a retreat in the island
of Martinique, and were cultivating an ad-
joining plantation. In this family there was
a very pleasant lad, a son, of nearly the same
age with Josephine. The plantations being
near to each other, they were often companions
and playmates. A strong attachment grew

up between them. The parents of William, and
the uncle and aunt of Josephine, approved
cordially of this attachment, and were desirous
that these youthful hearts should be united,
as soon as the parties should arrive at mature
age. Josephine, in the ingenuous artlessness
of her nature, disguised not in the least her
strong affection for William. And his attach-
ment to her was deep and enduring. The
solitude of their lives peculiarly tended to
promote fervour of character.
Matters were in this state, when the father
of William received an intimation from
England that, by returning to his own country,
he might, perhaps, regain his lost estates.
Hie immediately prepared to leave the island
with his family. The separation was a severe
blow to these youthful lovers. They wept,
and vowed eternal fidelity.
It is not surprising that Josephine should
have been in some degree superstitious.
The peculiarity of her life upon the plantation
-her constant converse with the negroes,
whose minds were imbued with all the super-
stitious notions which they had brought from
Africa, united with those which they had
found upon the island, tended to foster those
feelings. Rousseau, the most popular and
universally-read French writer of that day, in
his celebrated Confessions," records with

perfect composure that he was one day sitting
in a grove, meditating whether his soul would
probably be saved or lost. He felt that the
question was of the utmost importance.
How could he escape from the uncertainty ?
A supernatural voice seemed to suggest an
appeal to a singular kind of augury. I
will," said he, throw this stone at that tree.
If I hit the tree, it shall be a sign that my
soul is to be saved. If I miss it, it shall
indicate that I am to be lost." He selected
a large tree, took the precaution of getting
very near to it, and threw his stone plump
against the trunk. "After that," says the
philosopher, I never again had a doubt
respecting my salvation."
Josephine resorted to the same kind of
augury to ascertain if William, who had be-
come a student in the University at Oxford,
still remained faithful to her. She not
unfrequently attempted to beguile a weary
hour in throwing pebbles at the trees, that
she might divine whether William were then
thinking of her. Months, however, passed
away, and she received no tidings from him.
Though she had often written, her letters
remained unanswered. Her feelings were
the more deeply wounded, since there were
other friends upon the island with whom. he

kept up a correspondence; but Josephine
never received even a message through them.
One day, as she was pensively rambling in
a grove, where she had often walked with her
absent lover, she found carved upon a tree the
names of William and Josephine. She knew
well by whose hand they had been cut, and,
entirely overcome with emotion, she sat down
and wept bitterly. With the point of a knife,
and with a trembling hand, she inscribed in
the bark these words peculiarly characteristic
of her depth of feeling, and of the gentleness
of her spirit: Unhappy William thou hast
forgotten me!"
William, however, had not forgotten her.
Again and again he had written in terms of
the most ardent affection. But the friends of
Josephine, meeting with an opportunity for a
match for her which they deemed far more
advantageous, had destroyed these communi-
cations, and also had prevented any of her let-
ters from reaching the hand of William.
Thus each, while cherishing the truest affec-
tion, deemed the other faithless.

JOSEPHINE was about fourteen years of age
when she was separated from William. A

year passed away, during which she received
not a line from her absent friend. About
this time a gentleman from France visited her
uncle upon business of great importance.
Viscount Alexander de Beauharnais was a
fashionable and gallant young man, about
thirty years of age, possessing much conver-
sational ease and grace of manner, and accus-
tomed to the most polished society of the
French metropolis. He held a commission in
the army, and had already signalized him-
self by several acts of bravery. His sympa-
thies had been strongly aroused by the strug-
gle of the American colonists with the mother
country, and he had already aided the colo-
nists both with his sword and his purse.
Several large and valuable estates in Mar-
tinique, adjoining the plantation of M. Renau-
din, had fallen by inheritance to this young
officer and his brother, the Marquis of Beau-
harnais. He visited Martinique to secure the
proof of his title to these estates. M. Renau-
din held some of these plantations on lease.
In the transaction of this business, Beauhar-
nais spent much time at the mansion of M.
Renaudin. He, of course, saw much of the
beautiful Josephine, and was fascinated with
her grace, and her mental and physical love-
The uncle and aunt of Josephine were

delighted to perceive the interest which their
niece had awakened in the bosom of the inter-
esting stranger. His graceful figure, his
accomplished person, his military celebrity,
his social rank, and his large fortune, all con-
spired to dazzle their eyes, and to lead them
to do everything in their power to promote
a match apparently so eligible. The ambi-
tion of M. Renaudin was moved at the thought
of conferring upon his neice, the prospective
heiress of his own fortune, an estate so mag-
nificent as the united inheritance. Josephine,
however, had not yet forgotten William, and,
though interested in her uncle's guest, for
some time allowed no emotion of love to flow
out toward him.
One morning Josephine was sitting in the
library in pensive musings, when her uncle
came into the room to open to her the subject
of her contemplated marriage with M. Beau-
harnais. Josephine was thunderstruck at the
communication, for, according to the invari-
able custom of the times, she knew that she
could have but little voice in the choice of a
partner for life. For a short time she lis-
tened in silence to his proposals, and then
said, with tears in her eyes,
Dear uncle, I implore you to remember
that my affections are fixed upon William. I
have been solemnly promised to him."

That is utterly impossible, my child," her
uncle replied. Circumstances are changed.
All our hopes are centred in you. You must
obey our wishes."
And why," said he, have you changed
your intentions in reference to William ?"
Her uncle replied, You will receive by
inheritance all my estate. M. Beauharnais
possesses the rich estates adjoining. Your
union unites the property. M. Beauharnais
is everything which can be desired in a hus-
band. Besides, William appears to have
forgotten you."
To this last remark Josephine could make
no reply. She looked sadly upon the floor
and was silent. It is said that her uncle had
then in his possession several letters which
William had written her, replete with the
most earnest spirit of constancy and affection.
Josephine, but fifteen years of age, could
not, under these circumstances, resist the
influences now brought to bear upon her.
M. Beauharnais was a gentleman of fascina-
ting accomplishments. The reluctance of
Josephine to become his bride but stimulated
his zeal to obtain her. In the seclusion of
the plantation, and far removed from other
society, she was necessarily with him nearly
at all hours. They read together, rode on
horseback side by side, rambled in the groves

in pleasant companionship. They floated by
moonlight upon the water, breathing the balmy
air of that delicious clime, and uniting their
voices in song, the measure being timed with
the dipping of the oars by the negroes. The
friends of Josephine were importunate for the
match. At last, reluctantly, she gave her
consent. Having done this, she allowed her
affections, unrestrained, to repose upon her
betrothed. Though her heart still clung to
William, she thought that he had found other
friends in England. in whose pleasant com-
panionship he had lost all remembrance of the
island maiden wise had won his early love.
Alexander Beauharnais, soon after his en-
gagement to Josephine, embarked for France.
Arrangements had been made for Josephine, in
the course of a few months, to follow him,
upon a visit to a relative in Paris, and there
the nuptials were to be consummated. Jose-
phine was now fifteen years of age. She was
attached to Beauharnais, but not with that
fervour of feeling which had previously agi-
iated her heart.
At length the hour for her departure from
the island arrived. With tearful eyes and a
saddened heart she left the land of her birth,
and the scenes endeared to her by all the
recollections of childhood. Groups of negroes,
from the tottering infant to the aged man of

grey hairs, surrounded her with weeping and
loud lamentation. Josephine hastened on
board, the ship got under weigh, and soon the
island of Martinique disappeared beneath the
watery horizon. Josephine sat upon the
deck in perfect silence, watching the dim
outline of her beloved home till it was lost to
sight. Her young heart was full of anxiety,
of tenderness, and of regrets. Little, how-
ever, could she imagine the career of strange
vicissitudes upon which she was about to
The voyage was long and tempestuous.
Storms pursued them all the way. At one
time the ship was dismasted, and came near
foundering. At length the welcome cry of
"Land" was heard, and Josephine, an un-
known orphan child of fifteen, placed her feet
upon the shores of France, that country over
which she was soon to reign the most renowned
empress. She hastened to Fontainehleau, and
was there met by Alexander Beauharnais.
He received her with great fondness, and was
assiduous in bestowing upon her the most
flattering attentions. But Josephine had
hardly arrived at Fontainebleau before she
heard that William and his father were also
residing at that place. Her whole frame
trembled like an aspen leaf, and her heart
sunk within her as she received the intelh-

gence. All her long-cherished affection for
the companion of her childhood was revived,
and still she knew not but that William was
faithless. He, however, immediately called,
with his father, to see her. The interview
was most embarrassing, for each loved the
other intensely, and each had reason to believe
that the other had proved untrue. The next
day William called alone; Josephine, the be-
trothed bride of Beauharnais, prudently de-
clined seeing him. He then wrote her a
letter, which he bribed a servant to place in
her hands, full of protestations of love, stating
how he had written to her, and passionately
inquiring why she turned so coldly from him.
Josephine read the letter with a bursting
heart. She now saw how she had been de-
ceived. She now was convinced that William
had proved faithful to her, notwithstanding
he had so much reason to believe that she had
been untrue to him. But what could she do ?
She was but fifteen years of age. She was
surrounded only by those who were determined
that she should marry Alexander Beauharnais.
She was told that the friends of William had
decided unalterably that he should marry an
English heiress, and that the fortunes of his
father's family were dependent upon that alli-
ance. The servant who had been the bearer
of William's epistle was dismissed, and the

other servants were commanded not to allow
him to enter the house.
The agitation of Josephine's heart was such
that for some time she was unable to leave
her bed. She entreated her friends to allow
her for a few months to retire to a convent,
that she might in solitary thought and prayer,
regain composure. Her friends consented to
this arrangement, and she took refuge in the
convent at Panthemont. Here she spent a
few months in inexpressible gloom. William
made many unavailing efforts to obtain an
interview, and at last, in despair, reluctantly
received the wealthy bride, through whom he
secured an immense inheritance, and with
whom he passed an unloving life.
The Viscount Beauharnais often called to
see her, and was permitted to converse with
her at the gate of her window. At last, she
calmly made up her mind to comply with the
wishes of her friends, and to surrender her-
self to the Viscount Beauharnais. There was
much in the person and character of Beau-
harnais to render him very attractive, and
she soon became sincerely, though never
passionately, attached to him.
Josephine was sixteen years of age when
she was married. Her social position was in
the midst of the most expensive and fashion-
able society of Paris. She was immediately

involved in all the excitements of parties and
balls and gorgeous entertainments. Her
beauty, her grace, her amiability, and her
peculiarly musical voice, which fell like a
charm upon every ear, excited great admira-
tion and not a little envy. It was a dangerous
scene into which to introduce the artless and
inexperienced Creole girl, and she was not a
little dazzled by the splendour with which
she was surrounded. Everything that could
minister to convenience, or that could gra-
tify taste, was lavished profusely around
her. For a time she was bewildered by the
novelty of her situation. But soon she be-
came weary of the heartless pageantry of
fashionable life, and sighed for the tranquil
enjoyments of her island home.
Her husband, proud of her beauty and
accomplishments, introduced her at court.
Maria Antoinette, who had then just ascended
the throne, and was in the brilliance of her
youth and beauty, and early popularity, was
charmed with the West Indian bride, and re-
ceived her without the formality of a public
presentation. When these two young brides
met in the regal palace of Versailles-the one
a daughter of Maria Theresa, and a descendant
of the Caesars, who had come from the court
of Austria to be not only the queen, but the
brightest ornament of the court of France-

the other the child of a planter, born upon an
obscure island, reared in the midst of negresses,
as almost her only companions-little did
they imagine that Marie Antoinette was to
go down, down, down to the lowest state of
ignominy and woe, while Josephine was to as-
cend to more and more exalted stations, until
she should sit upon a throne more glorious
than the Casars ever knew.
French philosophy had at this time under-
mined the religion of Jesus Christ. All that
is sacred in the domestic relations was withering
beneath the blight of infidelity. Beauharnais,
a man of fashion and of the world, had im-
bibed, to the full, the sentiments which dis-
graced the age. Marriage was deemed a
partnership, to be formed or dissolved at
pleasure. Fidelity to the nuptial tie was the
jest of philosophers and witlings. Josephine
had soon the mortification of seeing a proud,
beautiful, and artful woman taking her place,
and openly and triumphantly claiming the at-
tentions and the affections of her husband.
This woman, high in rank, loved to torture
her poor victim. "Your dear Alexander,"
she said to Josephine, "daily lavishes upori
others the tribute of attachment which you
think he reserves solely for you." She could
not bear to see the beautiful and virtuous
Josephine happy, as the honoured wife of her

guilty lover, and she resolved, if possible, to
sow the seeds of jealousy so effectually be-
tween them as to secure a separation.
In the year 1780, Josephine gave birth
to her daughter Hortense. This event seemed
for a time to draw back the wandering affec-
tions of Beauharnais. He was really proud
of his wife. He admired her beauty. and her
grace. He doted upon his infant daughter.
But he was an infidel. He recognized no
law of God, commanding purity of heart and
life, and he contended that Josephine had no
right to complain, as long as he treated her
kindly, if he did indulge in the waywardness
of passion.
The path of Josephine was now, indeed,
shrouded in gloom, and each day seemed to
grow darker and darker. Hortense became
her idol and her only comfort. Her husband
lavished upon her those luxuries which his
wealth enabled him to grant. He was kind
* her in words and in all the ordinary cour-
tesies cf intercourse. But Josephine's heart
was well nigh broken. A few years of con-
flict passed slowly away, when she gave birth,
in the year 1783, to her son Eugene. In the
society of her children the unhappy mother
bound now her only solace.
While the Viscount Beauharnais was ready,
to defend his own conduct, he was by no

means willing that his wife should govern
herself by the same principles of fashionable
philosophy. The code infidel is got up for
the especial benefit of dissolute men; their
wives must be governed by another code.
The artful woman, who was the prime agent
in these difficulties, affected great sympathy
with Josephine in her sorrows, protested her
own entire innocence, but assured her that
M. Beauharnais was an ingrate, entirely un-
worthy of her affections. She deceived Jose-
phine, hoarded up the confidence of her
stricken heart, and conversed with her about
William, the memory of whose faithful love
now came with new freshness to the disconso-
late wife.
Josephine, lured by her, wrote a letter to
her friends in Martinique, in which she im-
prudently said, Were it not for my children,
I should, without a pang, renounce France
for ever. My duty requires me to forget
William; and yet, if we had been united
together, I should not to day have been
troubling you with my griefs."
The woman who instigated her to write this
letter was infamous-enough to obtain it by
stealth and show it to Beauharnis. His jea-
lousy and indignation were immediately aroused-
to the highest pitch. He was led by this
malicious deceiver to believe that Josephine

had obtained secret interviews with Willliam,
and the notoriously unfaithful husband was
exasperated to the highest degree, at the very
suspicion of the want of fidelity in his wife. He
reproached her in language of the utmost
severity, took Eugene from her, and resolved
to endeavour by legal process, to obtain an
entire divorce. She implored him, for the
sake of her children, not to proclaim their
difficulties to the world. He, however, reck-
less of consequences, made application to the
courts for the annulment of the matrimonial
bond. Josephine was now compelled to defend
her own character. She again retired with
Hortense to the convent, and there, through
i dreary months of solitude, and silence, and
dejection, awaited the result of the trial upon
which her reputation as a virtuous woman was
staked. The decree of the court was trium-
phantly in her favour, and Josephine returned
to her friends to receive their congratulations,
but impressed with the conviction that earth
had no longer a joy in store for her. Her
friends did all in their power to cheer her
desponding spirit; but the wound she had
received was too deep to be speedily healed.
One day her friends, to divert her mind from
brooding over irreparable sorrows, took her,
almost by violence, to Versailles. They passed
over the enchanting grounds and through the

gorgeously-furnished apartments, of the Great
and Little Trianon, the favourite haunts of
Maria Antionette. Here the beautiful Queen
of France was accustomed to lay aside the
pageantry of royalty, and to enjoy, without
restraint, the society of those who were dear
to her. Days of darkness and trouble had
already begun to darken around her path.
As Josephine was looking at some of the works
of art, she was greatly surprised at the entrance
of the queen, surrounded by several ladies of
her court. Maria Antionette immediately
recognized Josephine, and with that air of
affability and kindness which ever characterized
her conduct, she approached her, and, with
one of her winning smiles, said, Madame
Beauharnais, I am very happy to see you at
the Two Trianons. You well know how to
appreciate their beauties. I should be much
pleased to learn what objects you consider
most interesting. I shall always receive you
with pleasure."
These words from the queen were an un-
speakable solace to Josephine. Her afflicted
heart needed the consolation. The queen was
acquainted with her trials, and thus nobly
assured her of her sympathy and her confidence.
In a few days Maria Antionette invited Jose-
phine to a private interview. She addressed
her in words of the utmost kindness, promised

to watch over the interests of her son, ana at
the same time, as a mark of her especial
regard, she took from her neck an antique
ornament of precious stones, and passed it
over the neck of Josephine. The king also
himself came in at the interview, for his heart
had been -oftened by sorrow, and addressed
words of consolation to the injured and dis-
carded wife.
Josephine now received letters from Marti-
nique earnestly entreating her to return with
her children, to the home of her childhood.
World-weary, she immediately resolved to
accept the invitation. But the thought of
crossing the wide ocean, and leaving her son
Eugene behind, was a severe pang to a mother's
heart. Eugene had been taken from her and
sent to a boarding-school. Josephine felt so
deeply the pang of separation from her beloved
child, that she obtained an interview with M.
Beauharnais, and implored him to allow her
to take Eugene with her. He gave a cold
and positive refusal.
A few days after this, Josephine, cruelly
separated from her husband and bereaved of
her son, embarked with Hortense for Martin-
'que. She strove to maintain that aspect of
cheerfulness and of dignity which an injured
but innocent woman is entitled to exhibit
When dark hours of despondency over

shadowed her, she tried to console herself with
the beautiful thought of Plautus: If we
support adversity with courage, we shall have
a keener relish for returning prosperity." It
does not appear that she had any refuge in
the consolations of religion. She had a vague and
general idea of the goodness of a superintending
Providence, but she was apparently a stranger to
those warm and glowing revelations of Chris-
tianity which introduce us to a sympathizing
Saviour, a guiding and consoling Spirit, a
loving and forgiving Father. Could she then,
by faith, have reposed her aching head upon
the bosom of her heavenly Father, she might
have found a solace such as nothing else could
confer. But at this time nearly every mind
in France was more or less darkened by the
glooms of infidelity.
The winds soon drove her frail bark across
the Atlantic, and Josephine, pale and sorrow-
stricken, was clasped in the arms and folded
to the hearts of those who, truly loved her.
The affectionate negroes gathered around her,
with loud demonstrations of their sympathy
and their joy in again meeting their mistress.
Here, amid the quiet scenes endeared to her
by the recollections of childhood, she found a
temporary respite from those storms by which
she had been so severely tossed upon life's
wild and tempestuous ocean.


JOSEPHINE remained in Martinique three
years. She passed her time in tranquil sad-
ness, engaged in reading, in educating Hor-
tense, and in unwearied acts of kindness to
those around her. Like all noble mirds, she
had a great fondness for the beauties of nature.
The luxuriant groves of the tropics, the serene
skies which overarched her head, the gentle
zephyrs which breathed through the orange
groves, all were congenial with her pensive
spirit. The thought of Eugene, her beautiful
boy, so far from her, preyed deeply upon her
heart. Often she retired alone to some of
those lonely walks which she loved so well,
and wept over her alienated husband and her
lost child.
M. Beauharnais surrendered himself for a
time, without restraint, to every indulgence.
He tried, in the society of sin and shame, to
forget his wife and his absent daughter. He,
however, soon found that no friend can take the
place of a virtuous and an affectionate wife.
The memory of Josephine's gentleness, and ten-
derness, and love came flooding back upon his
heart. He became fully convinced of his in-

justice to her, and earnestly desired to have
her restored again to him and to his home. He
sent communications to Josephine, expressive
of his deep regret for the past, promising amend-
ment for the future, assuring her of his high
appreciation of her elevated and honourable
character, and imploring her to return with
Hortense, thus to reunite the divided and
sorrow-stricken household. It was indeed a
gratification to Josephine to receive from her
husband the acknowledgement that she had
never ceased to deserve his confidence. The
thought of again pressing Eugene to her
bosom filled a mother's heart with rapture.
Still, the griefs which had weighed upon her
were so heavy, that she confessed to her friends
that, were it not for the love which she bore
Eugene, she would greatly prefer to spend the
remnant of her days upon her favourite island.
Her friends did everything in their power to
dissuade her from leaving Martinique. But
a mother's undying love triumphed, and again
she embarked for France.
In subsequent years, when surrounded by
all the splendours of royalty, she related to
some of the ladies of her court, with that
unaffected simplicity which ever marked her
character, the following incident which occurred
during the voyage. The ladies were admiring
some brilliant jewels which were spread out

before them. Josephine said to them, "My
young friends, believe me splendour does not
constitute happiness. I at one time received
greater enjoyment from the gift of a pair of
old shoes, than all these diamonds have ever
afforded me." The curiosity of her auditors
was of course greatly excited, and they en-
treated her to explain her meaning.
Yes, young ladies," Josephine continued,
" of all the presents I ever received, the one
which gave me the greatest pleasure was a
pair of old shoes, and those, too, of coarse
leather. When I last returned to France
from Martinique, having separated from my
first husband, I was far from rich. The
passage-money exhausted my resources, and
it was not without difficulty that I obtained
the indispensable requisites for our voyage.
Hortense, obliging and lively, performing with
much agility the dances of the negroes, and
singing their songs with surprising correct
ness, greatly amused the sailors, who, from
being her constant play-fellows, had become
her favourite society. An old sailor became
particularly attached to the child, and she
doted upon the old man. What with running,
leaping, and walking, my daughter's slight
shoes were fairly worn out. Knowing that
she had not another pair, and fearing I would
forbid her going upon deck, should this defect

in her attire he discovered, Hortense care-
fully concealed the disaster. One day I
experienced the distress of seeing her return
from the deck leaving every foot-mark in
blood. When examining how matters stood,
I found her shoes literally in tatters, and her
feet dreadfully torn by a nail. We were as
yet not more than half way across the ocean,
and it seemed impossible to procure another
pair of shoes. I felt quite overcome at the
idea of the sorrow my poor Hortense would
suffer, as also at the danger to which her
health might be exposed by confinement in
my miserable little cabin. At this moment
our good friend, the old sailor, entered and
inquired the cause of our distress. Hortense,
sobbing all the while, eagerly informed him
that she could no more go upon deck, for her
shoes were worn out, and mamma had no
others to give her. 'Nonsense,' said the
worthy seaman, 'is that all? I have an old
pair somewhere in my chest; I will go and
seek them. You, madam, can cut them to
shape, and I will splice them up as well as need
be.' Without waiting for a reply, away
hastened the kind sailor in search of his old
shoes ; these he soon after brought to us with
a triumphant air, and they were received by
Hortense with demonstrations of the most
lively joy. We set to work with all zeal, and

before the day closed my daughter cculd
resume her delightful duties of supplying
their evening's diversion to the crew. I again
repeat, never was present recLived witli greater
thankfulness. It has since often been matter
of self-reproach that I did not particularly
inquire into the name and history of our
benefactor. It would have been gratifying
for me to have done something for him when
afterward means were in my power."
Poor lHortense! most wonderful were the
vicissitudes of her checkered and joyless life.
We here meet her, almost an infant, in poverty
and obscurity. The mother and child arrive
in Paris on the morning of that Reign of
Terror, the story of which has made the ear
of humanity to tingle. Hortense is deprived
of both her parents, and is left in friendless-
ness and beggary in the streets of Paris. A
charitable neighbour cherished and fed her.
Her mother is liberated, and married to
Napoleon; and Hortense, as daughter of the
emperor,issurroundedwith dazzling splendour,
such as earth has seldom witnessed. We now
meet Hortense, radiant in youthful beauty,
one of the most admired and courted in the
midst of the glittering throng, which, like a
fairy vision, dazzles all eyes in the gorgeous
*apartments of Versailles and St. Cloud. Her
person is adorned with tie most costly fabrics

and the most brilliant gems which Europe
can afford. The nobles and princes of the
proudest courts vie with each other for the
honour of her hand. She is led to her sump-
tuous bridals by Louis Bonaparte, brother of
the emperor ; becomes the spouse of a king,
and takes her seat upon the throne of Holland.
But in the midst of all this external splendour
she is wretched at heart. Not One congenial
feeling unites her with the companion to
whom she is hound. Louis, weary of regal
pomp and constraint, abdicates the throne,
and H-ortense becomes unendurably weary of
her pensive and unambitious spouse. They
agree to separate; each to journey along,
unattended by the other, the remainder of
life's pilgrimage. Hortense seeks a joyless
refuge in a secluded castle, in one of the most
retired valleys of Switzerland. The tornado
of counter-revolution sweeps over Europe,
and all her exalted friends and towering hopes
are prostrated in the dust. Lingering years
of disappointment and sadness pass over her,
and old age, with its infirmities, places her
upon a dying bed. One only child, Louis
Napoleon, since President of the French
Republic, stands at her bedside to close her
eyes, and to follow her, a solitary and lonely
mourner, to the rave. The dream of life
has passed. The slhadow has vanished away.

Who can fatnom the mystery of the creation
of such a drama ?
Josephine arrived in France. She was
received most cordially by her husband.
Sorrowful experience had taught him the
value of a home, and the worth of a pure and
a sanctified love. Josephine again folded her
idolized Eugene in her arms, and the anguish
of past years was forgotten in the blissful
enjoyments of a reunited family. These
bright and happy days were, however, soon
again clouded. The French Revolution was
now in full career. The king and queen were
in prison. All law was prostrate. M. Beau-
harnais, at the commencement of the Revolu-
tion, had most cordially espoused the cause of
popular liberty. He stood by the side of La
Fayette a companion and a supporter. His
commanding character gave him great influence.
He was elected a deputy to the Constituent
Assembly, and took an active part in its
proceedings. Upon the dissolution of this
Assembly, or States-General, as it was also
called, as by vote none of its members were
immediately re-eligible, he retired again to
the army ; but when the second or Legislative
Assembly was dissolved and the National
Convention was formed, he was returned as a
member, and at two successive sessions was
elected its president.

The people, having obtained an entire vic-
tory over monarchy and aristocracy, beheaded
the king and queen, and drove the nobles from
the realm. France was now divided into two
great parties. The Jacobins were so called
from an old cloister in which they at first held
their meetings. All of the lowest, most
vicious, and the reckless of the nation, be-
longed to this party. They seemed disposed
to overthrow all law, human and divine. Marat,
Danton, and Robespierre, were the blood-
stained leaders of this wild and furious faction.
The Girondists, their opponents, were so called
from the department of the Gironde, from
which most of the leaders of this party came.
They wished for a republic like that of the
United States, where there should be the pro-
tection of life, and property, and liberty, with
healthy laws sacredly enforced.
The conflict between the two parties was
long and terrible The Jacobius gained the
victory, and the Girondists were led to the
guillotine. M. Beauharnais was an active
member of the Girondist party, of which Ma-
diame Roland was the soul, and he perished
with them. Many of the Girondists sought
safety in concealment and retreat. M. Beau-
harnais, conscious of his political integrity,
proudly refused to save his life by turning his
LLclI upon his foes.

One morning Josephine was sitting in her
parlour, in a state of great anxiety in reference
to the fearful commotion of the times, when a
servant announced that some one wished to
speak to her. A young man of very gentle
and prepossessing appearance was introduced,
with a bag in his hand, in which were several
pairs of shoes.
Citizen," said the man to Josephine, I
understand that you want socks of plum
Josephine looked up in surprise, hardly
comprehending his meaning, when he ap-
proached nearer to her, and in an under tone
whispered, I have something to impart to
you, madame."
Explain yourself," she eagerly replied,
much alarmed ; "my servant is faithful."
"Ah!" he exclaimed, "my life is at stake
in this matter."
Go, Victorine," said Josephine to her ser-
vant, and call my husband."
As soon as they were alone, the young man
said, "There is not a moment to lose, if you
would save M. Beauharnais. The Revolution-
ary Committee last night passed a resolution
to have him arrested, and at this very moment
the warrant is nm king out."
How know you this ?" she demanded,
irembling violently.

"I am one oi the committee," was the re-
ply, anl, being a shoemaker, I thought these
shoes would afford me a reasonable pretext for
advertising you, madame."
At this moment M. Beauharnais entered the
room, and Josephine, weeping, threw herself
into his arms. "You see my husband," she
said to the shoemaker.
I have the honour of knowing him," was
the reply.
M. Beauharnais wished to reward the young
man on the spot for his magnanimous and
perilous deed of kindness. The offer was re-
spectfully but decisively declined. To the
earnest entreaties of Josephine and the young
man that he should immediately secure his
safety by his flight or concealment, he replied,
" I will never flee; with what can they charge
me ? I love liberty. I have borne arms for
the Revolution."
But you are a noble," the young man
rejoined, and that, in the eye of the Revo-
lutionists, is a crime-an unpardonable crime.
And, moreover, they accuse you of having
been a member of the Constitutional Assem-
That," said M. Beauharnais, is my most
hniourible title to glory. Who would not be
proud of having proclaimed the rights of the

nation, the fall of despotism, and the reign of
laws ?"
What laws ?" exclaimed Josephine. "It
is in blood they are written."
Madame," exclaimed the philanthropic
young Jacobine with a tone of severity, "when
the tree of liberty is planted in an unfriendly
soil, it must be watered with the blood of its
enemies." Then, turning to M. Beauharnais,
he said, "Within an hour it will no longer he
possible to escape. I wished to save you, be-
cause I believe you innocent. Such was my
duty to humanity. But if I am commanded
to arrest you-pardon me-I shall do my
duty, and you will acknowledge the patriot."
The young shoemaker withdrew, and Jose-
phine in vain entreated her husband to attempt
his escape. Whither slall I flee ?" he an-
swered. Is there a vault, a garret, a hiding-
place, into which the eye of the tyrant Robes-
pierre does not penetrate ? We must yield.
If I am condemned, how can I escape? If I
am not condemned, I have nothing to fear."
About two hours elapsed, when three mem-
bers of the Revolutionary Committee, accom-
panied by a hand of armed men, broke into
the house. The young shoemaker was one of
this committee, and with firmness, but with
much urbanity, he arrested M. Beauharnais.
Josephine, as her husband was led to prison,

was left in her desolated home ; and she found
herself indeed deserted and alone. No one
could then manifest any sympathy with the
proscribed without periling life. Josephine's
friends, one by one, all abandoned her. The
young shoemaker alone, who had arrested her
husband, continued secretly to call with words
of sympathy.
Josephine made great exertions to obtain
the release of her husband, and was also un-
wearied in her benefactions to multitudes
around her, who, in those days of lawlessness
and of anguish, were deprived of property, of
friends, and of home. The only solace she
found in her own grief, was in ministering to
the consolation of others. Josephine, from the
kindest of motives, but very injudiciously, de-
ceived her children in reference to their father's
arrest, and led them to suppose that he was
absent from home in consequence of ill health.
When at last she obtained permission to visit
with her children, her husband in prison, they
detected the deceit. After returning from the
prison after their first interview, Hortensp re-
marked to her mother that she thought her
father's apartment very small, and the pa-
tients very numerous. She appeared for a
time very thoughtful, and then inquired of
Eugene, with an anxious expression of coun-

Do you believe that papa is ill ? If he is,
it certainly is not the sickness which the doc-
tors cure."
What do you mean, my dear child ?"
asked Josephine. Cal you suppose that
papa and I would contrive between us to de-
ceive you ?"
Pardon me, mamma, but I do think so."
"Why, sister," exclaimed Eugene, how
can you say so ?"
Good parents," she replied, are unques-
tionably permitted to deceive their children,
when they wish to spare them uneasiness. Is
it not so, mamma ?"
Josephine was not a little embarrassed by
this detection, and was compelled to acknow-
ledge that which it was no longer possible to
In the interview which M. Beauharnais held
with his wife and his children, he spoke with
some freedom to his children of the injustice
of his imprisonment. This sealed his doom.
Listeners, who were placed in an adjoining
room to note down his words, reported the
conversation, and magnified it into a conspi-
racy for the overthrow of the Republic. M.
Beauharnais was immediately placed in close
confinement. Josephine herself was arrested
and plunged into prison, and even the terrified
children were rigidly examined by a brutal

committee, who, by promises and by threats,
did what they could to extort from them some
confession which would lead to the conviction
of their parents.
Josephine, the morning of her arrest, re-
ceived an anonymous letter, warning her of
her danger. It was at an early hour, and her
children were asleep in their beds. But how
could she escape? Where could she go ?
Should she leave her children liehind her-a
mother abandon her children Should she
take them with her, and thus prevent the pos-
sibility of eluding arrest? Would not her
attempt at flight be construed into a confes-
sion of guilt, and thus compromise the safety
of her husband ? While distracted with these
thoughts, she heard a loud knocking and cla-
mour at the outer door of the house. She
understood too well the significance of those
sounds. With a great effort to retain a tran-
quil spirit, she passed into the room where her
children were sleeping. As she fixed her eyes
upon them, so sweetly lost in slumber, and
thought of the utter abandonment to which
they were doomed, her heart throbbed with
anguish, and tears, of such bitterness as are
seldom shed upon earth, filled her eyes. She
bent over her daughter, and imprinted a mo-
ther's farewell kiss upon her forehead. The
affectionate child, though asleep, clasped her

arms around her mother's neck, and, speaking
the thoughts of the dream passing through
her mind, said, "Come to bed. Fear nothing.
They shall not take you away this night. I
have prayed to God for you."
The tumult in the outer hall continually
increasing, Josephine, fearful of awaking
Hortense and Eugene, cast a last lingering
look of love upon them, and, withdrawing
from the chamber, closed the door, and entered
her parlour. There she found a band of
armed men, headed by the brutal wretch who
had so unfeelingly examined her children.
The soldiers were hardened against every ap-
peal of humanity, and performed their un-
feeling office without any emotion, save that
of hatred for one whom they deemed to be
an aristocrat. They seized Josephine rudely,
and took possession of all the property in
the house in the name of the Republic.
They dragged their victim to the convent
of the Carmelites, and she was immured
in that prison, where, hut a few months
before, more than eight thousand had been
massacred by the mob of Paris. Even the
blackest annals of religious fanaticism can
record no outrages more horrible than those
which rampant infidelity perpetrated in these
days of its temporary triumphs.
When Eugene and Hortense awoke, they

found themselves indeed alone in the wide
world. They were informed by a servant of
the arrest and the imprisonment of their
mother. The times had long been so troubled,
and the children were so familiar with the
recital of such scenes of violence, that they
were prepared to meet these fearful perplexi-
ties with no little degree of discretion. After
a few tears, they tried to summon resolution
to act worthily of their father and mother.
Hortense, with that energy of character
which she manifested through her whole life,
advised that they should go to the Luxembourg,
where their father was confined, and demand
admission to share his imprisonment. Eugene,
with that caution which characterized him
when one of the leaders in the army of Na-
poleon, and when viceroy of Italy, apprehen-
sive lest thus they might in some way com-
promise the safety of their father, recalled to
mind an aged great-aunt, who was residing in
much retirement in the vicinity of Versailles,
and suggested the propriety of seeking a re-
fuge with her. An humble female friend
conducted the children to Versailles, where
they were most kindly received.
When the gloom of the ensuing night
darkened the city, M. Beauharnais in his
cheerless cell, and Josephine in her prison,
still stained with the blood of massacre

wept over the desolation of their home and
their hopes. They knew not the fate of
their children, and their minds were oppressed
with the most gloomy forebodings. On the
ensuing day, Josepliie's heart was cheered
with the tidings of their safety. Such was
the second terrific storm which Josephine en-
countered on life's dark waters.

THE Convent of the Carmelites, in which
Josephine was imprisoned, had acquired a
fearful celebrity during the Reign of Terror.
It was a vast and gloomy pile, so capacious
n its halls, its chapel, its cells, and its sub-
terranean dungeons, that at one time nearly
ten thousand prisoners were immured within
its frowning walls. In every part of the
building the floors were still deeply stained
with the blood of the recent massacres. The
inl'uriated men and women, intoxicated with
rum and rage, who had broken into the prison,
dragged multitudes of their victims, many of
whom were priests, into the chapel, that they
might, in derision of religion, poinard them
before the altar. About three hundred thou-

sand innocent victims of the Revolution now
crowded the prisons of France. These un-
happy captives, awaiting the hour of their ex-
ecution, were not the ignorant, the debased,
the degraded, but the noblest, the purest, the
most refined of the citizens of the republic.
Josephine was placed in the chapel of the
convent, where she found one hundred and
sixty men and women as the sharers of her
The natural buoyancy of her disposition
led her to take as cheerful a view as possible
of the calamity in which the family was in-
volved. Being confident that no serious
charge could be brought against her husband,
she clung to the hope that they both would
soon be liberated, and that happy days were
again to dawn upon her reunited household.
She wrote cheering letters to her husband and
to her children. Her smiling countenance
and words of kindness animated with new
courage the grief-stricken and the despairing
who surrounded her. She immediately be-
came a universal favourite with the inmates
of the prison. Her instinctive tact enabled
her to approach all acceptably, whatever their
rank or character. She soon became promi-
nent in influence among the prisoners, and
reigned there, as every where else, over the
hearts of willing subjects. Her conllosure,

her cheerfulness, her clear and melodious
voice, caused her to be selected to read, each
day to the ladies, the journal of the preceding
day. From their windows they could see,
each morning, the carts bearing through the
streets their burden of unhappy victims who
wereto perishonthescaffold. Not unfrequently
a wife would catch a glimpse of her husband,
or a mother of her son, borne past the gratel
windows in the cart of the condemned. Not
unfrequently a piercing shiek, and a fainting
form falling lifeless upon the floor, revealed
upon whose heart the blow had fallen.
Hortense, impetuous and unreflecting, was
so impatient to see her mother, that one
morning she secretly left her aunt's house,
and, in a market-cart, travelled thirty miles
to Paris. She found her mother's maid, Vic-
torine, at the family mansion, where all the
property was sealed up by the revolutionary
functionaries. After making unavailing ef-
forts to obtain an interview with her parents,
she returned the next day to Fontainebleau.
Josephine was informed of this imprudent act
of ardent affection, and wrote to her child an
admirable letter.
There was at this time, for some unknown
reason, a little mitigation in the severity with
which the prisoners were treated ; and Jose-
phine was very sanguine in the belief that the

hour of their release was at hand. Emboldened
by this hope, she wrote a very earnest appeal
to the Committee of Public Safety, before
whom the accusations against M. Beauharnais
would be brought. The sincerity and frank-
ness of the eloquent address so touched the
feelings of the president of tie committee,
that he resolved to secure for Josephine and
her husband the indulgence of an interview.
The greatest caution was necessary in doing
this, for he perilled his own life by the mani-
festation of any sympathy for the accused.
The only way in which he could accomplish
his benevolent object, was to have them both
ilrought together for trial. Neither of them
knew of this design. One morning Josephine,
while dreaming of liberty and of her children,
was startled by the unexpected summons to
appear before the Revolutionary tribunal. She
knew that justice had no voice which could
be heard before that merciless and sanguinary
court. She knew that the mockery of a trial
was but the precursor of the sentence, which
was immediately followed by the execution.
From her high hopes this summons caused a
fearful fall. Thoughts of her husband and her
children rushed in upon her overflowing heart,
;nd the tenderness of the woman for a few
moments triumphed over the heroine. Soon,

however, regaining in some degree her com-
posure, she prepared herself, with as much
calmness as possible, to meet her doom. She
was led from her prison to the ball where the
blood-stained tribunal held its session, and,
with many others, was placed in an ante-room,
to await her turn for an examination of a few
minutes, upon the issue of which life or death
was suspended. While Josephine was sitting
here, in the anguish of suspense, an opposite
door was opened, and some armed soldiers led
in a group of victims from another prison.
As Josephine's eye vacantly wandered over
their features, she was startled by the entrance
of one whose wan and haggard features strik-
ingly reminded her of her husband. She looked
again, their eyes met, and husband and wife
were instantly locked in each other's embrace.
At this interview, the stoicism of M. Beauhar-
nais was entirely subdued-the thoughts of
the past, of his unworthiness, of the faithful
and generous love of Josephine, rushed in a
resistless flood upon his soul. He leaned his
aching head upon the forgiving bosom of Jo-
sephine, and surrendered himself to love, and
penitence, and tears.
This brief and painful interview was their
last. They never met again. They were al-
lowed but a few moments together ere the
officers came and dragged M. Beauharnais ie-

fore the judges. His examination lasted but
a few minutes, when he was remanded back
to prison. Nothing was proved against him.
No serious accusation, even, was laid to his
charge. But he was a noble. He had de-
scended from illustrious ancestors, and there-
fore, as an aristocrat, he was doomed to die.
Josephine was also conducted into the presence
of this sanguinary tribunal. She was the wife
of a nobleman. She was the friend of Maria
Antoinette. She had even received distin-
guished attentions at court. These crimes con-
signed her, also, to the guillotine. Josephine
was conducted back to her prison, unconscious
of the sentence which had been pronounced
against her husband and herself. She even
cherished the sanguine hope that they would
soon be liberated, for she could not think it
possible that they could be doomed to death
without even the accusation of crime.
Each evening there was brought into the
prison a list of the names of those who were
to be led to the guillotine on the ensuing
morning. A few days after the trial, on the
evening of the 24th of July, 1794, M. Beau-
harnais found his name with the proscribed
who were to be led to the scaffold with the
light of the next day. Love for his wife and
children rendered life too precious to him to
be surrendered without anguish. But sorrow

liad subdued his heart, and led him with
prayerfulness to look to God for strength to
meet the trial. The native dignity of his cha-
racter also nerved him to meet his fate with
He sat down calmly in his cell, and wrote a
long, affectionate, and touching letter to his
wife. He assured her of his most heartfelt
appreciation of the purity and nobleness of her
character, and of her priceless worth as a wife
and a mother. He thanked her again and
again for the generous spirit with which she
forgave his offences, when, weary and contrite,
he returned from his guilty wanderings, and
anew sought her love. He implored her to
cherish in the hearts of his children the
memory of their father, that, though dead, he
might still live in their affections. While he
was writing, the executioners came in to cut
off his long hair, that the axe might do its
work unimpeded. Picking up a small lock
from the floor, he wished to transmit it to his
wife as his last legacy. The brutal execu-
tioners forbade him the privilege. He, how-
ever, succeeded in purchasing from them a
few hairs, which he enclosed in a letter, and
which she subsequently received.
In the early dawn of the morning the cart
of the condemned was at the prison door. The
Parisians were beginning to be weary of the

abundant flow of blood, and Robespierre had
therefore caused the guillotine to be removed
from the Place de la Revolution to an obscure
spot in the Faubourg St. Antoine. A large
number of victims were doomed to die that
morning. The carts, as they rolled along the
pavements, groaned with their burdens, and
the persons in the streets looked on in sullen
silence. M. Beauharnais, with firmness, as-
cended the scaffold. The slide of the guillo-
tine fell, and the brief drama of his stormy life
was ended.
While the mutilated form of M. Beauhar-
nais was borne to an ignoble burial, Josephine,
entirely unconscious of the calamity which had
befallen her, was cheering her heart with the
hope of a speedy union with her husband and
her children in their own loved home. The
morning after the execution, the daily journal
containing the names of those who had per-
ished on the preceding day, was brought, as
usual, to the prison. Some of the ladies in
the prison had received the intimation that M.
Beauharnais had fallen. They watched, there-
fore, the arrival of the journal, and, finding
their fears established, they tried for a time to
conceal the dreadful intelligence from the un-
conscious widow. But Josephine was eagerly
inquiring for the paper, and at last obtaining
it, she ran her eye hastily over the record of

executions, and found the name of her hus-
b-nd in the fatal list. She fell senseless upon
the floor. For a long time she remained in a
swoon. When consciousness returned, and
with it a sense of the misery into which she
was plunged, in the delirium of her anguish
she exclaimed, Oh, God! let me die! let me
die! There is no peace for me but in the
Her friends gathered around her. They im-
plored her to think of her children, and for
their sake to prize a life she could no longer
prize for her own. The poignancy of her grief
gradually subsided into the calm of despair.
A sleepless night lingered slowly away. The
darkness and the gloom of a prison settled
down upon her soul. The morning dawned
drearily. A band of rough and merciless
agents from the Revolutionary Assembly came
to her with the almost welcome intelligence
that in two days she was to be led to the Con-
ciergerie, and from thence to her execution.
These tidings would have been joyful to Jo-
sephine, were it not for her children. A mo-
ther's love clung to the orphans, and it was
with pain inexpressible that she thought of
leaving them alone in this tempestuous world
-a world made so stormy, so woeful, by man's
inhumanity to his fellow-man.
The day preceding the one assigned for her

execution arrived. The numerous friends of
Josephine in the prison hung around her with
tears. The heartless jailer came and took away
her mattress, saying, with a sneer, that she
would need it no longer, as her head was soon
to repose upon the .oft pillow of the guillotine.
It is reported that, as the hour of execution
drew nearer, Josephine came not only per..
fectly calm, but even cheerful in spirit. She
looked affectionately upon the weeping group
gathered around her, and, recalling at the mo-
ment the prediction of the aged negress, gently
smiling, said, We have no cause for alarm,
my friends ; I am not to be executed. It is
written in the decrees of Fate that I am yet to
be Queen of France." Some of her friends
thought that the suppressed anguish of her
heart had driven her to delirium, and they
wept more bitterly. But one of the ladies,
Madame d'Aignillon, was a little irritated at
pleasantry which she deemed so ill-timed.
With something like resentment, she asked,
" Why, then, madame, do you not appoint
your household ?" Ah, that is true," Jo-
sephine replied; I had forgotten. Well,
you, my dear, shall be my maid of honour. I
promise you the situation." They both lived
to witness the strange fulfilment of this pro-
mise. Josephine, however, who, from the cir-
cumstances of her early life, was inclined to

credulity, afterwards declared, that at the time
her mind reposed in the full confidence that in
some way her life would be saved, and that the
prediction of the aged negress would be vir-
tually realized.
The shades of night settled down around
the gloomy convent, enveloping in their folds
the despairing hearts which thronged this
abode of woe. Suddenly the most exultant
shout of joy burst from every lip, and echoed
along through corridors, and dungeons, and
grated cells. There was weeping and fainting
for rapture inexpressible. The prisoners
leaped into each others' arms, and, frantic with
happiness, clung together in that long and
heartfelt embrace which none can appreciate
bit those who have been companions in woe.
Into the blackness of their midnight there had
suddenly hurst the blaze of noonday. What
caused this apparently miraculous change ?
The iron-hearted j;,i:re had passed along, an-
nouncing, in coarsest phrase, THAT ROBES-
a.new Revolution. The tyrant had fallen. The
prisons which he had filled with victims were
to be emptied of their captives.

THE overthrow of Robespierre, and the
consequent escape of Josephine from the doom
impending over her, was in the following
manner most strangely accomplished. The
tyranny of Robespierre had become nearly in-
supportable. Conspiracies were beginning to
be formed to attempt his overthrow. A lady
of great beauty and celebrity, Madame de
Foutenay, was imprisoned with Josephine.
M. Tallien, a man of much influence with a
new party then rising into power, had con-
ceived a strong attachment for this lady, and,
though he could not safely indulge himself in
interviews with her in prison, he was in the
habit of coming daily to the Convent of the
Carmelites that he might have the satisfaction
of catching a glimpse of the one he loved
through her grated window.
Madame de Fontenay had received secret
intelligence that she was soon to be led before
the Convention for trial. This she knew to
bebut the prelude of her execution. That
evening M. Tallien appeared as usual before
the guarded casement of the Carmelites.
Madame de Fontenay and Josephine, arm in
arm, leaned against the bars of the window,

as if to breathe the frrssh evening air. and
made a sigi to arrest MI. Tallieii's purii(tiiar
attention. They then dropped from the window
a piece of cabbage-leaf, in which Madame de
Fontenav h:ad inclosed the following note:
My trial is decreed-the result is certain.
If you love me as you say, urge every means
to save France and me."
With intense interest, they watched the
motions of M. Tallien until they saw him take
the cabbage-leaf from the ground. Roused
by the billet to the consciousness of the ne-
cessity of immediate action, le proceeded to
the Convention, and, with the impassioned
energy which love for Madame de Fontenay
and hatred of Robespiprre inspired, made an
energetic and fearless assault upon the tyrant.
Robespierre, pale and trembling, saw that his
hour had come. A decree of accusation was
preferred against him, and the head of the
merciless despot fell upon that guillotine
where he had already caused so many thou-
sands to perish. The day before Josephine
was to have been executed, he was led, mangled
and bleeding, to the scaffold. He had at-
tempted to commit suicide. The hall missed
its aim, but shattered his jaw. The wretched
man ascended the ladder, and stood upon the
platforml of the guillotine. The executioners
tore the bandage from his mangled face, that

the linen might not impede the blow of the
axe. Their rude treatment of the inflamed
wound extorted a cry of agony, which thrilled
upon the ear of the assembled crowd, and
produced a silence as of the grave. The next
moment the slide fell, and the mutilated head
was severed from the body. Then the very
heavens seemed rent by one long, loud, exulting
shout, which proclaimed that Robespierre was
no more !
The death of Robespierre arrested the axe
which was just about to fall upon the head of
Josephine. The first intimation of his over-
throw was communicated to her in the follow-
ing singular manner. Madame d'Aiguillon
was weeping bitterly, and sinking down with
faintness in view of the bloody death to which
her friend was to be led on the morrow.
Josephine, whose fortitude had not forsaken
her, drew her almost senseless companion to
tle window, that she might be revived by the
fresh air. Her attention was arrested by a
woman of the lower orders in the street, who
was continually looking up to the window,
beckoning to Josephine, and making many
very singular gestures. She seemed to desire
to call her attention particularly to the robe
which she wore, holding it up, and pointing to
it again and again. Josephine, through the
iron grating, cried out RfA.e. The woman

eagerly gave signs of assent, and immediately
took up a stone, which in French is Pierre.
Josephine again cried out pierre. The woman
appeared overjoyed on perceiving that the
pantomime began to be understood. She then
put the two together, pointing alternately to
the one and to the other. Josephine cried out
Robespierre. The woman then began to dance
and shout with delight, and made signs of
cutting off a head.
This pantomime excited emotions in the
bosom of Josephine which cannot be described.
She hardly dared to believe that the tyrant had
actually fallen, and yet she knew not how else
to account for the singular conduct of the
woman. But a few moments elapsed before a
great noise was heard in the corridor of the
prison. The turnkey, in loud and fearless
tones, cried out to his dog, Get out, you
cursed brute of a Robespierre !" This emphatic
phraseology convinced them that the sanguinary
monster before whom all France had trembled
was no longer to be feared. In a few moments
the glad tidings were resounding through the
prison, and many were in an instant raised
from the abyss of despair to almost a delirium
of bliss. Josephine's bed was restored to her,
and she placed her head upon her pillow that
night, and sank down to the most calm and
delightful repose.

No language can describe the transports
excited throughout all France by the tidings
of the fall of Robespierre. Three hundred
thousand captives were then lingering in the
prisons of Paris awaiting death. As the
glittering steel severed the head of the tyrant
from his body, their prison doors burst open,
and France was filled with hearts throbbing
with ecstasy, and with eyes overflowing with
tears of rapture. Five hundred thousand
fugitives were trembling in .their retreats,
apprehensive of arrest. They issued from
their hiding-places frantic with joy, and every
village witnessed their tears and embraces.
The new party which now came into power,
with Tallien at its head, immediately liberated
those who had been condemned by their oppo-
nents, and the prison doors of Josephine were
thrown open to her. But from the gloom of
her cell she returned to a world still dark and
clouded. Her husband had been beheaded,
and all his property confiscated. She found
herself a widow, and penniless. Nearly all of
her friends had perished in the storms which
had swept over France. The Reign of Terror
had passed away, but gaunt famine was staring
the nation in the face. They were moments
of ecstacy when Josephine, again free, pressed
Eugene and Hortense to her heart. But the
most serious embarrassments immediately

crowded upon her. Poverty, stern and appa-
rently remediless, was her lot. She had no
friends u.pon whom she had any right to call
for aid. There was no employment open be-
fore her, by which she could obtain her sub-
sistence; and it appeared that she and her
children were to be reduced to absolute beg-
gary. These were anmo4 the darkest hours
of her eartli!y career. It was from this abyss
of obscurity and want that she was to be raised
to a position of splendour and of power such
as the wildest dreams of' earthly ambition
could hardly have conceived.
Though Robespierre was dead, the strife of
rancorous parties raged with unabated violence,
and blood flowed freely. The reign of the mob
still continued, and it was a mark of patriotism,
demanded by the clamours of haggard want
and degradation, to persecute all of noble
blood. Young girls from boarding-schools,
and boys just emerging from the period of
childhood, oere thepe.lede by the g illotine.
"We must exterminate," said Marat, "all
the whelps of aristocracy." Josephline trem-
bled for her children. Poverty, and the desire
of concealing Eugene among the mass of the
people, induced her to apprentice her son to a
house carpenter. For several months Eugene
cheerfully and laboriously toiled in this humble
occupation. But the sentiments he had im-

bibed from both father and mother ennobled
him, and every day produced new develop-
ments of a lofty character, which no circun-
stances could long depress.
Let such a woman as Josephine, with her
cheerful, magnanimous, self-sacrificing, and
generous spirit, be left destitute in any place
where human beings are congregated, and she
will soon inevitably meet with those who will
feel honoured in securing her friendship and in
offering her a home. Every fireside has a wel-
come for a noble heart. Madame D)umoulin, a
lady of great elevation of character, whose large
fortune had by some chance escaped the gen-
eral wreck, invited Josephine to her house, and
freely supplied her wants. Madame Fonte-
noy, also, soon after her liberation was mar-
ried to M. Tallien, to whom she had tossed
the note, inclosed in a cabbage-leaf, from her
prison window. It was this note which had
so suddenly secured the overthrow of the
tyrant, and had rescued so many from the
guillotine. They both became the firm friends
of Josephire. Others, also, soon became
strongly attracted to her by the loveliness of
her character, and were ambitious to supply
all her wants.
Through M. Tallien, she urged her claim
upon the National Convention for the restora-
tion o' hier cuitiscated property. After a long

and tedious process, she succeeded in regain-
ing such a portion of her estate as to provide
her amply with all the comforts of life. Again
she had her own peaceful home, with Eugene
and Hortense by her side. Her natural buoy.
ancy of spirits rose superior to the storms
which had swept so mercilessly over her, and
in the love of her idolized children, and sur-
rounded by the sympathies of appreciative
friends, days of serenity, and even of joy,
began to shine upon her.
A domestic scene occurred in the dwelling
of Josephine on the anniversary of tlh death
of M. Beauharnais peculiarly characteristic of
the times, and of the French people. Josephine
called Eugene to her room, and presented to
him a portrait of his father. Carry it to your
chamber, my son," she said, and often let it
be the object of your contemplations. Above
all, let him whose image it presents be your
constant model. He was the most amiable
of men; he would have been the best of
Eugene was a young man of that enthusi-
astic genius which is the almost invariable ac-
companiment of a noble character. His emo-
tions were deeply excited. With the charac-
teristic ardour of his countrymen, he covered
the portrait with kisses, and wept freelv. .-o-

sephine folded her noble boy in her embrace,
and they mingled their tears together.
In the evening, as Josephine was sitting
alone in her parlour, her son entered, accom-
panied by six young men, his companions,
each decorated with a copy of the portrait of
M. Beauharnais suspended from the neck by
a black and white ribbon. You see," said
Eugene to his mother, the founders of a new
order of knighthood. Behold our tutelary
saint," pointing to the portrait of his father.
" And these are the first members." He then
introduced his youthful companions to his
Ours," he continued, is named the Order
of Filial Love; and, if you would witness the
first inauguration, pass with these gentlemen
into the small drawing-room."
Josephine entered the drawing-room with the
youthful group, and found it very tastefully
ornamented with garlands of ivy, roses, and
laurels. Inscriptions, taken from the printed
discourses or remarkable sayings of M. Beau-
harnais, were suspended upon the walls. Gir-
andoles, with lighted tapers, brilliantly illu-
minated the room. An altar was erected, hung
with festoons of flowers, and upon this altar
was placed the full-length portrait of M.
Beauharuais. Three crowns of white and red

roses were suspended from the picture-frame,
and in front were placed two vases with per-
The young gentlemen ranged themselves
about the altar in perfect silence, and, at a
concerted signal, eagerly unsheathed the swords
which they wore at their sides, and, clasping
hands, solemnly took the oath, To love their
parents, succour each other, and to defend
their country." At this moment, Eugene, un-
furling and waving a small banner, with its
folds shaded the head of his father. We
then embraced each other," says Josephine,
"mingling tears with smiles, and the most
amiable disorder succeeded to the ceremonial
of inauguration."
The fascination of Josephine's person and
address drew multitudes of friends around her,
aind her society was ever coveted. As time
softened the poignancy of her past sorrows,
she mingled more and more in the social circles
of that metropolis where pleasure and gaiety
ever reign. The terrible convulsions of the
times had thrown the whole fabric of society
into confusion. Great efforts were now made
to revive the festivities of former days. Two
centres of society were naturally established.
The first included that in which Josephine
moved. It was composed of the remains of
the ancient nobility, who had returned to Paris

with the fragments of their families and their
shattered fortunes. Rigid economy was ne-
cessary to keep up any appearance of elegance.
But that polish of manners which almost in-
variably descends from an illustrious ancestry
marked all their intercourse. The humiliations
through which the nobles had passed had not
diminished the exclusiveness of their tastes.
The other circle was composed of merchants
and bankers, who had acquired opulence in
the midst of the confiscations and storms of
revolution. The passion for display was pro-
minent in all their assemblies, as is necessarily
the case with those whose passport to distinc-
tion is wealth.
At the theatres, and all the places of public
festivity, there were presented studied memo-
rials of the scenes of horror through which all
had recently passed. One of the most fashion-
able and brilliant assemblies then known in
Paris was called the Ball of the Victims. No
one was admitted to this assembly who had not
lost some near relative by the guillotine. The
most fashionable style of dressing the hair was
jocosely called i la guillotine. The hair was
arranged in the manner in which it had been
adjusted by the executioner for the unimpeded
operation of the axe. And thus, with songs,
and dances, and laughter-moving jokes, they

commemorated the bloody death of their
A new insurrection by the populace of Paris
was at this time planned against the Conven-
tion. The exasperated people were again to
march upon the Tuilleries. The members were
in extreme consternation. The mob could bring
tens of thousands against them, well armed
with muskets and heavy artillery. There were
but five hundred regular troops with which to
resist the onset. Menou, the officer in com-
mand, acknowledged his inability to meet the
crisis, and surrendered his power to Barras.
This general immediately, as by a sudden
thought, exclaimed, "I know the man who
can defend us. He is a little Corsican, who
dares do anything, and is perfectly reckless of
The little Corsican, Napoleon Bonaparte, the
day-star of whose fame was just beginning to
rise over the smouldering ruins of Toulon, was
invited to meet the Convention. His fragile
form was almost feminine in its proportions,
but an eagle eye calmly reposed in his pallid
and emaciated countenance. He had been se-
verely sick, and the Convention looked with
amazement and incredulity upon this feeble
youth, as the one presented to rescue them from
their impending peril.
The president fixed his eye upon him doubt-

ingly, and said, Are you willing to under-
take our defence ?"
Yes," was the calm, laconic, and almost
indifferent reply.
But are you aware of the magnitude of
the undertaking?"
Fully," said Napoleon, fixing his piercing
eye upon the president; "and I am in the
habit of accomplishing that which I under-
From that moment his authority was esta-
blished. Every member of the Convention felt
the mysterious fascination of his master mind.
Barras surrendered the whole command into
his hands. He instantly called into the city
all the national forces which were around Paris,
and disposed fifty pieces of heavy artillery,
under the command of Murat, so as to rake
all the avenues to the Convention. His calm
and almost superhuman energy sought no re-
pose that night. The delay of but a few
moments would have placed this very park of
artillery, which secured his victory, in the
hands of the insurgents. When the morning
dawned, the Tuilleries, as if by magic, had
assumed the aspect of a fortified camp. The
little Corsican was silently and calmly await-
ing the onset, as secure of triumph as if the
victory were already achieved.
But in every quarter of Paris during the

night the insurgents had been mustering their
forces, and the mutterings of the approaching
storm were dismally echoed through the streets
of the metropolis. Above thirty thousand men,
all well armed with musketry and artillery, in
regular military array, and under experienced
generals, came pouring down upon the feeble
band which surrounded the Convention.
Will the little Corsican dare to fire upon
the people? Will this pale and slender youth,
who had hardly yet entered upon the period of
manhood, dare to deluge the pavements of
Paris with the blood of her own citizens?
Will he venture upon a conflict so unequal,
when failure is his certain death ?
Napoleon, with his colourless cheek, his
flashing eye, and his air of mysterious melan-
choly, stood in silence, as the gathering thou-
sands crowded down upon him. He offered
no parley ; he uttered not a word of warning;
he condescended to no threats. The insur-
gents, believing that he would not dare to fire
upon them, advanced within fifty yards of his
masked battery, when he opened his columns,
and, in the, roar of artillery shotted to the
muzzle, the voice of Napoleon was for the
first time heard in the streets of Paris. The
thunder of his tones was preceded by the
lightning's bolt. The merciless storm of grape-
shot, sweeping the streets, covered the ground

with the dead and the dying. No mortal
could withstand such a conflict. The advancing
foe wavered for an instant, and then, in the
utmost consternation, took to flight. Napo-
leon commanded immediately the most rapid
discharge of blank cartridges. Peal upon peal,
their loud reverberations deafened the city, and
added wings to the flight of the terror-
stricken crowd. But a few moments elapsed
ere not even a straggler could be seen in the
deserted streets. The little Corsican, pale and
calm, stood, with folded arms, as unperturbed
as if no event of any moment had occurred.
During the whole day, however, the conflict
continued in different parts of the city, but
before nightfall the insurgents were everywhere
entirely discomfited.
Paris was now filled with the name of Na-
poleon. Some regarded him as a saviour, pro-
tecting the Convention; others considered him
a demon, deluging the capital with blood. One
evening Josephine was visiting at the house of
a friend, and sitting by a window examining
some beautiful violets, when Bonaparte was
announced. Josephine had never yet met him,
though, of course, she had heard much of one
whose rising fame filled the metropolis.
She says that she trembled violently at the
announcement of his name. His entrance
seemed to excite general interest, and all eyes

were turned towards him, though most of the
company regarded him in silence. He ap-
proached Josephine, and the subject of the
recent conflict in the streets of Paris was in-
It seems to me," said Josephine, that it
is only with regret that we should think of the
consternation you have spread through the
capital. It is a frightful service you have
It is very possible," he replied. The
military are only automata, to which the go-
vernment gives such motions as it pleases.
They have no duty but to obey. Besides, I
wished to teach the Parisians a little lesson.
This is my seal which 1 have set upon France."
This he said in such calm, quiet, imper-
turbable tones, so expressive of his perfect
confidence in himself, and of his indifference
to the opinions of others, that Josephine was
quite piqued, and replied politely, but yet in
a manner which indicated her displeasure.
These light skirmishes," the young gene-
ral rejoined, are but the first coruscations of
my glory."
If you are to acquire glory at such a
price," Josephine answered, I would much
rather count you among the victims."
Such was the first interview between Jo-
sephine and Napoleon. It was merely a casual

meeting in an evening party, between a widow,
graceful and beautiful, and a young man of
boundless ambition. Though Josephine was
not pleased with Napoleon, he produced a very
profound impression upon her mind. Napoleon,
being now in command of the troops in Paris,
by order of the Convention, executed the very
unpopular office of disarming the populace. In
the performance of this office, the sword of M.
Beauharnais was taken. The next day, Eu-
gene, who was then a boy twelve years of age,
of exceedingly prepossessing appearance, pre-
sented himself before Napoleon, and implored
the return of the sword which had belonged to
his father. Napoleon was deeply interested in
the frankness and the fervour of emotion
manifested by the lad, and immediately com-
plied with his request. Josephine called upon
him the next day to thank him for his kind-
ness to her son. He was at this interview as
deeply impressed by the fascinations of the
mother as he had previously been struck by
the noble bearing of the child. After this they
frequently met, and Josephine could not be
blind to the interest with which she was re-
garded by Napoleon. Situated as he then was,
it was social elevation to him to be united with
Madame de Beauharnais, and her rank, and
influence, and troops of friends, would greatly
aid him in his ambitious plans. It is also un-

questionably true that Napoleon formed a very
strong attachment for Josephine. Indeed, she
was the only person whom he ever truly loved.
That he did love her at times most passion-
ately there can be no doubt.
Josephine, however, had many misgivings
respecting the expediency of the union. She
stated to her friends that he was the most fas-
cinating man that she had ever met; that she
admired his courage, the quickness of his
judgment, the extent of his information. She,
however, confessed that she did not really love
him-that she stood in awe of him. His
searching glance," she says, mysterious and
inexplicable, imposes even upon our Directors
-judge if it may not intimidate a woman."
Being now past the heyday of youth," she
writes, in a letter to a friend, can I hope
long to preserve that ardour of attachment
which, in the general, resembles a fit of deli-
rium? If, after our union, he should cease
to love me, will he not reproach me with what
lie will have sacrificed for my sake ? Will he
not regret a more brilliant marriage which he
might have contracted ? What shall I, then,
reply? What shall I do? I shall weep.
Excellent resource! you will say. Alas! I
know that all this can serve no end; but it
has ever been thus; tears are the only re-
source left me when this poor heart, so easily

chilled, has suffered. Write quickly, and do
not fear to scold me, should you judge that I
am wrong. You know that whatever comes
from your pen will be taken in good part.
"Barras gives assurance that if I marry
the general, he will so contrive as to have him
appointed to the command of the army of
Italy. Yesterday, Bonaparte, speaking of this
favour, which already excites murmuring
among his fellow-soldiers, though it be as yet
only a promise, said to me,' Think they, then,
I have need of their protection to arrive at
power ? Egregious mistake! They will all
be but too happy one day, should I grant them
mine. My sword is by my side, and with it
I will go far.'
What say you to this security of success ?
Is it not a proof of confidence springing from
an excess of vanity? A general of brigade
protect the heads of government! That, truly,
is an event highly probable. I know not how
it is, but sometimes this waywardness gains
upon me to such a degree, that almost I be-
lieve possible whatever this singular man may
take it in his head to attempt; and, with his
imagination, who can calculate what he will
not undertake ?"
It was now winter. The storm of Revolu-
tion had partially subsided. The times were,
however, full of agitation and peril. Europe

was in arms against France. There was no
stable government, and no respected laws.
The ambitious young general consecrated his
days with sleepless energy to his public du-
ties, but each evening he devoted to Josephine.
Napoleon never manifested any taste for those
dissipating pleasures which attract and ruin so
many young men. He had no moral princi-
ples which pronounced such indulgences wrong,
but the grandeur of his ambition absorbed all
his energies. He was, even at that time, a
hard student. He was never more happy than
when alone with Josephine, engaged in con-
versation or reading. His attachment for Jo-
sephine became .very ardent and passionate.
The female character, at this time, in France,
was far from high. Napoleon had but little
respect for ladies in general. The circum-
stances of his life had led him to form a low
estimate of the sex. He often said that all
the rest of the sex were nothing compared
with Josephine. He frequently gave public
breakfasts to his friends, at which Josephine
universally presided, though other ladies were
In the pleasant mansion of Josephine, Na-
poleon was in the habit of meeting a small
circle of select friends, who were strongly at-
tached to Josephine, and who were able, and
for her sake were willing, to promote his inte-

rests. Napoleon was a man of strong affec-
tions, but of stronger ambition. Josephine
was entirely satisfied with the singleness and
the ardour of his love. She sometimes trem-
bled in view of its violence. She often re-
marked to her friends, that he was incompa-
rably the most fascinating man she had ever
met. All have equally attested Napoleon's
unrivalled powers of pleasing, whenever it
suited his purpose to make the effort. The
winter thus rapidly and pleasantly passed

ON the 9th of March, 1796, Josephine was
married to Napoleon. The Revolution had
swept away everything that was sacred in hu-
man and divine institutions, and the attempt
had been made to degrade marriage into a mere
partnership, which any persons might contract
or dissolve at pleasure. According to the Re-
volutionary form, Josephine and Napoleon pre-
sented themselves before a magistrate, and
simply announced their union. A few friends
attended as witnesses of the ceremony.
Napoleon.had, in the mean time, been ap-
pointed commander of the French forces in

Italy. In twelve days after his nuptials, he
left his bride and hastened to the army, then
in the lowest state of poverty and suffering.
The veteran generals, when they first saw the
pale-faced youth who was placed over them
all, were disposed to treat him with contempt.
Hardly an hour elapsed after his arrival, ere
they felt and admitted that he was their mas-
ter. He seemed insensible to mental exhaus-
tion, or fatigue, or hunger, or want of sleep.
He was upon horseback night and day. Al-
most supernatural activity was infused into
the army. It fell like an avalanche upon the
Austrians. In fifteen days after he took
command, he proclaimed to his exulting and
victorious troops,-
Soldiers! you have gained in fifteen days
six victories, taken one-and-twenty standards,
fifty-five pieces of cannon, many strong places,
and conquered the richest part of Piedmont;
you have made fifteen thousand prisoners, and
killed or wounded ten thousand men."
Paris was perfectly intoxicated with the an-
nouncement, day after day, of these brilliant
achievements. The name of Napoleon was
upon every lip, and all France resounded with
his praises. This young commander," said
one of the discomfited veteran generals of the
Austrian army, "knows nothing whatever
about the art cf war. He is a perfect igno-

ramus. He sets at defiance all the established
rules of military tactics. There is no doing
anything with him."
Napoleon, after a series of terrible conflicts
and most signal triumphs, drove the Austrians
out of Italy, pursued them into their own
country, and at Leoben, almost within sight of
the steeples of Vienna, dictated a peace, which
crowned him, in the estimation of his country-
men, with the highest glory. Josephine now
went from Paris to Italy to meet her trium-
phant husband. They took up their residence
at the Castle of Montebello, a most delightful
country seat in the vicinity of Milan.
And here Josephine passed a few months of
almost unalloyed happiness; she presided at
all her receptions and entertainments with an
elegance of manner so winning, as perfectly to
fascinate the Milanese. "I conquer pro-
vinces," said Napoleon of her at that time,
"but Josephine wins hearts." The vicinity
of Montebello combines, perhaps, as much of
the beautiful and the sublime in scenery as
can be found at any other spot on the surface
of the globe. Napoleon sympathized most cor-
dially with Josephine in her appreciation of the
beautiful and the romantic; and though he
devoted the energies of his mind, with unsleep-
ing diligence, to the ambitious plans which
engrossed him, he found time for many de-

lightful excursions with his fascinating bride.
There is not, perhaps, in Italy a more lovely
drive than that from Milan, along the crystal
waters of Lake Como, to Lake Maggiore. This
romantic lake, embosomed among the moun-
tains, with its densely wooded islands and pic-
turesque shores, was a favourite resort for ex-
cursions of pleasure. Here, in gay parties,
they floated in boats, with well-trained rowers,
and silken awnings, and streaming pennants,
and ravishing music. The island of Isola
Bella, or Beautiful Island, with its arcades,
its hanging gardens, and its palace of monk-
ish gloom, was Napoleon's favourite landing-
place. llere they often partook of refresh-
ments, and engaged with all vivacity in rural
festivities. It is stated that, while enjoying one
of these excursions, Josephine, with one or two
other ladies, was standing under a beautiful
orange-tree, loaded with fruit, with the atten-
tion of the party all absorbed in admiring the
beauties of the distant landscape. Napoleon,
unperceived, crept up the tree, and by a sud-
den shake brought down quite a shower of the
golden fruit upon the ladies. The companions
of Josephine screamed with affright, and ran
from the tree. She, however, accustomed to
such pleasantries, suspected the source, and
remained unmoved. Why, Josephine," ex-
claimed Napoleon, you stand fire like one of

my veterans." "And why should I not?"
she promptly replied; am I not the wife of
their commander ?"
Napoleon, during these scenes of apparent
relaxation, had but one thought-ambition.
His capacious mind was ever restless, ever ex-
cited, not exactly with the desire of personal
aggrandizement, but of mighty enterprise, of
magnificent achievement. Josephine, with her
boundless popularity, and her arts of persua-
sion, though she often trembled in view of the
limitless aspirations of her husband, was ex-
tremely influential in winning to him the pow-
erful friends by whom they were surrounded.
The achievements which Napoleon accom-
plished during the short Italian campaign are,
perhaps, unparalleled in ancient or modern
With a number of men under his command
ever inferior to the forces of the Austrians, he
manoeuvred always to secure, at any one point,
an array superior to that of his antagonists.
He cut up four several armies which were sent
from Austria to oppose him, took one hundred
and fifteen thousand prisoners, one hundred
and seventy standards, eleven hundred and
forty pieces of battering cannon and field ar-
tillery, and drove the Austrians from the fron-
tiers of France to the walls of -Vienna. He

was everywhere hailed as the liberator of
Italy ; and, encircled with the pomp and the
power of a monarch, he received such adula-
tion as monarchs rarely enjoy.
The Directory in Paris began to tremble in
view of the gigantic strides which this ambi-
tious general was making. They surrounded
him with spies to garner up his words, to
watch his actions, and, if possible, to detect
his plans. But the marble face of this incom-
prehensible youth told no secrets. Even to
Josephine he revealed not his intentions ; and
no mortal scrutiny could explore the thoughts
fermenting in his deep and capacious mind.
Napoleon was fully confident of the jealousy
he had aroused, and of the vigilance with
which he was watched. His caution often
wounded Josephine, as he was as impenetrable
to her in reference to all his political plans as
to any one else. While she at times loved
him almost to adoration, she ever felt in awe
of the unexplored recesses of his mind. He
appeared frequently lost in thought, and, per-
fectly regardless of the pomp and pageantry
with which he was surrounded, he gave un-
mistakeable indications that he regarded the
achievements which he had already accom-
plished as very trivial-merely the commence-
ment of his career. She once remarked to a
friend, During the many years we have now

passed together, I never once beheld Bona-
parte for a moment at ease-not even with
myself. He is constantly on the alert. If at
any time he appears to show a little confidence,
it is merely a feint to throw the person with
whom he is conversing off his guard, and to
draw forth his real sentiments, but never does
he himself disclose his own thoughts."
Napoleon now deemed it expedient to visit
Paris; for he despised the weakness and the
inefficiency of those who, amid the surges of
the Revolution, had been elevated there to the
supreme power, and already he secretly con-
templated the overthrow of the government as
soon as an opportunity promising success
should be presented. Josephine with her
children remained in Milan, that she might
continue to dazzle the eyes of the Milanese
with the splendour of the establishment of the
Liberator of Italy, and that she might watch
over the interests of her illustrious spouse.
She gave splendid entertainments. Her
saloons were ever thronged with courtiers, and
the inimitable grace she possessed enabled her,
with ease and self-enjoyment, to preside with
queenly dignity over every scene of gaiety.
She was often weary of this incessant grandeur
and display, but the wishes of her husband
and her peculiar position seemed to afford her
no choice. Napoleon unquestionably loved

Josephine as ardently as he was capable of
loving any one. He kept up a constant, al-
most a daily correspondence with her.
Hortense and Eugene were with Josephine
at Milan. Eugene, though but seventeen
years of age, had joined Napoleon in the field
as one of his aids, and had signalized himself
by many acts of bravery.
In this arrangement we see an indication of
the plans of boundless ambition which were
already maturing in the mind of Bonaparte.
The Italians hated their proud and domineer-
ing masters, the 'Austrians. They almost
adored Napoleon as their deliverer. He had
established the Cisalpine Republic, and con-
ferred upon them a degree of liberty which
for ages they had not enjoyed. Napoleon had
but to unfurl his banner, and the Italians, in
countless thousands, were ready to rally around
it. The army in Italy regarded the Little
Corporal with sentiments of veneration and af-
fection, for which we may search history in
vain for a parallel. Italy consequently be-
came the base of Napoleon's operations.
There he was strongly intrenched. In case
of failure in any of his operations in Paris, he
could retire behind the Alps, and bid defiance
to his foes.
Josephine was exactly the partner he needed
to protect these all-important interests during

his absence. Her strong and active intelli-
gence, her sincerity, her unrivalled powers of
fascinating all who approached her, and her
entire devotion to Napoleon, rendered her an
ally-of exceeding efficiency. Powerful as was
the arm of Napoleon, he never could have
risen to the greatness he attained without the
aid of Josephine. She, at Milan, kept up the
splendour of a royal court. The pleasure-
loving Italians ever thronged her saloons. The
most illustrious nobles were emulous to win
her favour, that they might obtain eminence
in the service of her renowned spouse. At the
fetes and entertainments she gave to the re-
joicing Milanese, she obtained access to almost
every mind it was desirable to influence. No
one could approach Josephine without becom-
ing her friend, and a friend once gained was
never lost. A weak woman, under these cir-
cumstances, which so severely tested the cha-
racter, would have been often extremely em-
barrassed, and would have made many mis-
takes. It was remarkable in Josephine, that,
notwithstanding the seclusion of her childhood
and early youth, she ever appeared self-pos-
sessed, graceful, and at home in every situa-
tion in which she was placed. She moved
through the dazzling scenes of her court at
Milan, (scenes of unaccustomed brilliance,
which had so suddenly burst upon her,) with

an air as entirely natural and unembarrassed,
as if her whole life had been passed in the sa-
loons of monarchs. She conversed with the
most distinguished generals of armies, with
nobles of the highest rank, with statesmen and
scholars of wide-spread renown, with a fluency,
an appropriateness, and an' inimitable tact,
which would seem to indicate that she had been
cradled in the lap of princes, and nurtured in
the society of courts. It seemed never to be
necessary for her to study the rules of eti-
quette. She was never accustomed to look to
others to ascertain what conduct was proper
under any circumstances. Instinctive delicacy
was her unerring teacher, and from her bear-
ing others compiled their code of politeness.
She became the queen of etiquette, not the
Thus, while Napoleon, in Paris, was cau-
tiously scrutinizing the state of public affairs,
and endeavouring to gain a position there, Jo-
sephine, with the entire concentration of all
her energies to his interests, was gaining for
him, in Milan, vast accessions of power. She
had no conception, indeed, of the greatness he
was destined to attain. But she loved her
husband. She was proud of his rising renown,
and it was her sole ambition to increase, in
every way in her power, the lustre of his name.
Aristocracy circled around her in delighted

homage, while poverty, charmed by her sym-
pathy and her beneficence, ever greeted her
with acclamations. The exploits of Napoleon
dazzled the world, and the unthinking world
has attributed his greatness to his own unaided
arm. But the gentleness of Josephine was
one of the essential elements in the promo-
tion of his greatness. In co-operation with
her, he rose. As soon as he abandoned her,
he fell.
Josephine soon rejoined her husband in
Paris, where she very essentially aided, by her
fascinating powers of persuasion, in disarming
the hostility of those who were jealous of his
rising fame, and in attaching to him such ad-
herents as could promote his interests. In the
saloons of Josephine, many of the most heroic
youths of France were led to ally their for-
tunes with those of the young general, whose
fame had so suddenly burst upon the world.
She had the rare faculty of diffusing anima-
tion and cheerfulness wherever she appeared.
"It is," she once beautifully remarked, "a
necessity of my heart to love others, and to
be loved by them in return." There is only
one occasion," she again said, in which I
would voluntarily use the words I will, namely,
when I would say, I will that all around me
be happy.' "
Napoleon singularly displayed his know-

ledge of human nature in the course he pursued
upon his return to Paris. He assumed none
of the pride of a conqueror. He studiously
avoided everything like ostentatious display.
Day after day his lieutenants arrived, bring-
ing the standards taken from the Austrians.
Pictures, and statues, and other works of art,
extorted from the conquered, were daily
making their appearance, keeping the metro-
polis in a state of the most intense excitement.
The Parisians were never weary of reading
and re-reading those extraordinary proclama-
tions of Napoleon, which, in such glowing lan-
guage, described his almost miraculous victo-
ries. The enthusiasm of the people was thus
raised to the highest pitch. The anxiety of
the public to see this young and mysterious
victor was intense beyond description. But he
knew enough of the human heart to be con-
scious that, by avoiding the gratification of
these wishes, he did but enhance their in-
tensity. Modestly retiring to an unostentatious
mansion in the Rue Chantereine, which, in
compliment to him, had received the name of
Rue de la Victoire, he secluded himself from
the public gaze. He devoted his time most
assiduously to study, and to conversation with
learned men. He laid aside his military garb,
and assumed the plain dress of a member of
the Institute. When he walked the streets,

he was seldom recognized by the people.
Though his society was courted in the highest
circles of Paris, his ambition was too lofty to
be gratified with shining among the stars of
fashion. Though he had as yet reached but the
twenty-sixth year of his age, he had already
gained the reputation of being the first of
generals. He was emulous not only of ap-
pearing to be, but also of actually being, an
accomplished scholar. I well knew," said
he, that the lowest drummer in the army
would respect me more for being a scholar as
well as a soldier."
Napoleon might have enriched himself be-
yond all bounds in his Italian campaign, had
he been disposed to do so. Josephine, at times,
remonstrated against his personal habits of
economy, while he was conferring millions
added to millions upon France. But the am-
bition of her husband, inordinate as it was,
was as sublime an ambition as any one could
feel in view of merely worldly interests. He
wished to acquire the renown of benefiting
mankind by the performance of the noblest
exploits. His ultimate end was his own fame.
But he knew that the durability of that fame
could only be secured by the accomplishment
of noble ends.
The effeminate figure of Napoleon in these
early days had caused the soldiers to blend

with their amazed admiration of his military
genius a kind of fondness of affection for
which no parallel can be found in ancient or
modern story. The soldiers were ever re-
hearsing to one another, by their night-fires,
and in their long marches, anecdotes of his
perfect fearlessness, his brilliant sayings, his
imperious bearing, by which he overawed the
haughtiness of aristocratic power, and his
magnanimous acts towards the poor and the
One night, when the army in Italy was in
great peril, worn out with the fatigue of sleep-
lessness and of battle, and surrounded by
Austrians, Napoleon was taking the round of
his posts in disguise, to ascertain the vigilance
of his sentinels. He found one poor soldier,
in perfect exhaustion, asleep at his post. Napo-
leon shouldered his musket, and stood sentry
for him for half an hour. When the man
awoke and recognized the countenance of his
general, he sank back upon the ground in ter-
rorand despair. He knew that death was the
doom for such a crime. Here, comrade,"
said Napoleon, kindly, here is your musket.
You have fought hard and marched long, and
your sleep is excusable. But a moment's in-
attention might at present ruin the army. I
happened to be awake, and have guarded your

post for you. You will be more careful another
At the terrible passage of the bridge of
Lodi," Napoleon stood at one of the guns, in
the very hottest of the fire, directing it with
his own hand. The soldiers, delighted at this
very unusual exhibition of the readiness of
their general to share all the toils and perils
of the humblest private in the ranks, gave him
the honorary and affectionate nickname of
" The Little Corporal." By this appellation
he was afterwards universally known in the
army. The enthusiasm of the soldiers in-
vested him with supernatural endowments, and
every one was ready at any moment to peril
life for the little Corporal.
The government at Paris, rapidly waning in
popularity, notwithstanding their extreme jea-
lousy of the wide-spreading influence of this
victorious general, was compelled, by the
spontaneous acclamations of the people, to
give him a public triumph, when the famous
treaty which Napoleon had effected in Italy
was to be formally presented to the Directory.
The magnificent court of the Luxembourg was
embellished with the flags of the armies which
he had conquered, and the youthful hero of
Lodi, of Arcola, and of Rivoli, made his first
triumphant appearance in the streets of Paris.
The enthusiasm of the vast concourse of ex-

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