tired to St. Cloud, where he had the hypocrisy to shut himself up from his courtiers for forty-eight hours. In three months he was married again.

During the first year of her divorce, Josephine says she was absorbed in a continual reverie. The revolution in her happiness had been too sudden and too great. It is not to be wondered at, that her health gave way under it, and that she was miserable. She grieved as well for her children as herself. Both Eugene and Hortense had been cruelly forced to occupy the first rank among those whose duty it was to felicitate the new Empress. They had outwardly to applaud an act which was effected by perjury, and by the violation of the rights of a beloved mother! Neither could she look with indifference on their descent from the eminence they had enjoyed they were guiltless of the wrongs it pleased Napoleon to charge on her, yet they became equally the victims of his selfish policy. Time, that grand restorer of repose, at length shed his benign influence over her sorrows. She began to take pleasure in the attentions of the friends who had not forsaken her, and by whom she was tenderly beloved. She employed herself in the performance of benevolent actions towards her dependents, and had once more begun to taste of tranquillity, when Napoleon suddenly presented himself! He threw himself with transport into her arms! "Oh!" says she, I then knew that he could still love; for he really loved. could not help lavishing upon me looks of the tenderest affection at length he said with deep emotion, dear Josephine, I have always loved you-I still love you!" "I tried, Bonaparte, to efface you from my heart, and you again present yourself to my eyes! My efforts are useless! To love you, and to die, is now my lot! what a future awaits me!" "Wretch!" replied he, "I have been able to abandon you! I have only repaid your tenderness with a cold indifference!" The conversation tapered off, however, as all hers with him did, in a lecture on government, and the means of preserving his own glory. He opened to her his scheme for the subjugation of Russia, and his ambition to rise still higher! They parted, at length, as good friends as could be expected, and he visited her repeatedly afterwards. In fact, he liked to talk with her, to entertain her with all the little details of court-gossip; and he frequently declared, he never saw her but with new pleasure. He had the delicacy, however, never to speak to her of his new Empress, and, indeed, poor Josephine could scarcely contain her emotion when any one mentioned her in her presence-she would say nothing, but her distress would be visible. She was sometimes

He

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heard to murmur with ill-disguised joy, "he will never love her! he has sacrificed every thing to his policy-but his first wife will always possess his confidence." Nor," says her biographer, "was she deceived-for more than once she had reason to congratulate herself on the irresistible ascendancy she always retained over him."

On the birth of the King of Rome, she expressed a desire to see him. Bonaparte ordered his nurse to carry him to Trianon, where Josephine, having received intimation of it, met him. With her eyes filled with tears, she caressed the child. "His mother," said she, "is happier than I am. I now freely pardon her the injury she has done me by occupying my place. From this day, I will forget the errors of my husband, and think only of the happiness of the father." Time, reflection and necessity produced a calm in her mind, and she flattered herself, with reason, that Bonaparte would continue his protection to her children. She now turned her thoughts to her own little domain, whose gardens she tastefully ornamented, and in her neighbourhood she assisted the poor, protected the weak, and discouraged the vicious. Her little court united, in elegant simplicity, her ancient friends whom she now recovered, and some of the most distinguished of Bonaparte's generals. Massena was her neighbour, and their intercourse was delightful to both parties.

Bonaparte often said in speaking of her, "Guilty, indeed, would be the man, who should disturb the quiet that Josephine begins to enjoy! I have sworn it, and I shall insure to her, from henceforth, the repose of her life-her solitude shall be respected." When his son was baptized, Josephine gave some brilliant fêtes, to which foreign princes were invited. The table of the dethroned Empress was served with as much luxury as that at the Tuilleries. She incurred extraordinary expenses to sustain this eclat, with the intention of proving to Bonaparte, the happiness she felt at his having an heir. The Emperor soon gave her a new estate-the chateau of Navarre, in Normandy. Her taste for the country, and the beauties of nature, which her elevation to a throne had not destroyed, led her often to visit and embellish that beautiful spot. As she regarded it as her peculiar province to obey the suggestions of an active benevolence, it is not to be supposed that she suffered the imprisonment of the Pope to pass, as a matter of course. She plead his cause, however, with Napoleon in vain. But she sent a special agent to inquire into the minutest details of his situation, and to offer her assistance. The pontiff was touched with this mark of her kindness, and received her messenger with affectionate

cordiality. She found that he was honourably treated, and had the court carriages at his service, though he seldom availed himself of them.

Before Napoleon departed for Russia, he called to bid Josephine adieu. The conversation naturally turned on the intended invasion. She tried to dissuade him from it—she represented the fickleness of fortune-the difficulties of the project. She advised him to concentrate his forces in Germany, but to go no further. He interrupted her "I will re-establish the kingdom of Poland!" "Provided always," retorted she, "that they leave you time and power." He then rudely broke off the conversation. "Another time," said she, "you will willingly listen to your friend." "Advice to me! advice!" replied he with scorn, "do you think of such a thing, Madame? I am the son of an Emperor; I can move all Germany at my pleasure, and Prussia cannot remain neutral in the approaching events: rather congratulate me before-hand on the accomplishment of my sublime conceptions. I will write to you from the ancient capital of Russia; and I wish to make you one day a witness of the brilliant destinies which seem to await me."

Her fears were too well founded, and her grief was complete when she read the fatal bulletin which announced the disasters of that direful campaign. Her son was there, as well as Napoleon, and their dangers were equally imminent. Whenever she received a despatch, her face, on breaking the seals, would assume all colours-every one suffered in witnessing her distress. "They were alive at the departure of the courier," she would say, "but, perhaps, to-day nothing is left for me but to lament over their destruction!" At length they returned, and Napoleon found all France in tears. Josephine joined in the general la

mentation.

Bonaparte still appeared to entertain high hopes. His flatterers received him with felicitations on his happy return from Moscow, and he seemed intoxicated with their incense! But his people were worn out with horrors, and sighed after repose. In private, too, he appeared humbled by his defeat. He called on Josephine, and she perceived his distress-she pitied and tried to soothe him. At first he seemed to anticipate his approaching fall, but recovering his energy he told her he had determined on new conquests-that misfortunes only served to give more energy to noble souls, and to furnish the mind with more solid reflection. Josephine combatted his reasoning, but unsuccessfully, and he took his leave filled with

"some yet imperial hope
That with such change can calmnly cope."

VOL. VI. NO. 12.

45

Next followed his defeat at Leipsic, then the defection of his brother-in-law, Murat, and that of many other partizans. Josephine was in despair. She saw, it is true, the immense means employed by Napoleon to recruit his army, and to save France, but she believed them useless. She says, she saw advancing with rapid strides the accomplishment of the prophecies which had been made as to her divorce, and which announced that the moment Napoleon abandoned her, he would cease to be fortunate. When she again saw him, she redoubled her efforts to open his eyes to his situation, recommended those steps that prudence suggested, and advised him strongly to fly into Italy. He hung his head for a few moments with an air of incredulity. Josephine kept silence. He replied "The entry of enemies on the sacred territory of France, prescribes my duties: I know how to fulfil them. This occasion will serve me beyond my expectation: I know how to profit by it, as usual, as a man of genius, as a moderate governor, and as a skilful general, and I will cover over my future plans of vengeance with all the colours which exhibit true grandeur of soul.'

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The allied armies advanced towards France. Napoleon remained quietly in his palace. He knew the danger to his person if he took the command of a retreating army, for the war was waged against him rather than the French, who looked coldly at the issue. They were indeed desirous, by this time, to be released from his sceptre of iron. At length events drove him from Paris to the command of his forces, and he made MariaLouisa Regent in his absence, and presenting her and his son to the national guard, he recommended them to their fidelity. He visited Josephine, embraced her tenderly, and was deeply affected-the tears flowed down his cheeks. "I was once," said he, as happy as a man could be, but now that the storm gathers over my head, I have only you, Josephine, on whom I can repose." She tried to inspire him with firmness-she urged him to defend his country. He breathed out his regrets for the past, mingled with perpetual menaces on the coalition of his enemies. His face, and the sound of his voice, presented together something august yet touching. The grief of Josephine cannot be conceived-she took the hand of him who had cast her off, and pressed it to her heart-he did not withdraw it, but on the contrary locked it in his, and wept! He threw himself into her arms, and said in a stifled voice-"Ah! if I only had another Josephine!" Her heart inclined towards that guilty husband, whom she wished once more to embrace before they parted, perhaps, forever. Their situation was mutually distressing; at length he tore himself from her, saying, “If I fall, it will ter

rify the universe!"

him speak.

These were the last words she ever heard

Soon after followed in rapid succession, the bloody events which put the allied powers in possession of Paris. Upon their approach Josephine fled with terror to Navarre-she regarded every soldier she met as a cossack. When she there learned the lamentable position of Bonaparte, she was taken ill-her women were in consternation at her situation. At length she exclaimed, "I ought not to remain here-my presence is necessary to Bonaparte. I ought to discharge the debt contracted by Maria-Louisa. He is alone, abandoned-but Josephine is true to him.” A flood of tears relieved her. She ordered her carriage, but her servants refused to obey. They threw themselves at her feet to delay her setting out. In the midst of the confusion, a courier arrived, and relieved her mind, in some measure, from its torments. He assured her the Emperor was out of danger, but could tell her nothing else. She was forced to remain, and be daily distracted with the various reports of his approaching fate. After enduring this torment for some days, she received a despatch from Talleyrand, inviting her to return to Malmaison, to do its honours to the Emperor Alexander and the King of Prussia, both of whom expressed a desire to see the sovereign of that enchanted palace. It was necessary she should obey, but she did so with a heavy heart, which she was obliged to conceal. She returned to her retreat, which she found surrounded by a guard of honour. Her possessions were respected. She was once more in the centre of her court, but it was now embellished by the presence of the most illustrious persons of Europe. She might have then esteemed herself happy, if she could have forgotten her husband, for she was the only one of the imperial family who preserved her title and honours. The brilliant and graceful Josephine, honoured by the society of the masters of Europe, re-appeared to the eyes of the French like a resplendant meteor that had emerged from an eclipse. Strangers flocked in crowds to admire her-she received the most honourable felicitations on her noble conduct during the revolutionary struggle. "Every where," said the Emperor Alexander to her, "I hear the name of Josephine extolled. They denominate her the tutelary genius of Bonaparte. You shall still be so, Madame, to the French, for, in imitation of you, and to prove the interest with which you inspire me, I will fulfil your intentions, and do all, in my power, to protect the people over whom you have reigned." Josephine was moved by this kindness, and encouraged to plead the cause of the conquered Napoleon, with that eloquence of the heart which is so persua