PAGE 6
Empress Josephine
by
She was both pleased and hurt–hurt to think she had been humbled, and pleased to think such attentions had been paid her. In a few days the young general called on the widow to crave forgiveness for not having recognized her when she had called on him. It was very stupid in him, very! She forgave him.
He complimented Eugene in terse, lavish terms, and when he went away kissed Hortense, who was thirteen and thought herself too big to be kissed by a strange man. But Napoleon said they all seemed just like old friends. And seeming like old friends he called often.
Josephine knew Paris and Parisian society thoroughly. Fifteen years of close contact in success and defeat with statesmen, soldiers, diplomats, artists and literati had taught her much. It is probable that she was the most gifted woman in Paris. Now, Napoleon learned by induction as Josephine had, and as all women do, and as genius must, for life is short–only dullards spend eight years at Oxford. He absorbed Josephine as the devilfish does its prey. And to get every thought and feeling that a good woman possesses you must win her completest love. In this close contact she gives up all–unlike Sapphira–holding nothing back.
Among educated people, people of breeding and culture, Napoleon felt ill at ease. With this woman at his side he would be at home anywhere. And feeling at once that he could win her only by honorable marriage he decided to marry her.
He was ambitious. Has that been remarked before? Well, one can not always be original–still I think the facts bear out the statement.
Josephine was ambitious, too, but some way in this partnership she felt that she would bring more capital into the concern than he, and she hesitated.
But power had given dignity to the Little Man; his face had taken on the cold beauty of marble. Success was better than sarsaparilla. Josephine was aware of his growing power, and his persistency was irresistible; and so one evening when he dropped in for a moment, her manner told all. He just took her in his arms, and kissing her very tenderly whispered, “My dear, together we will win,” and went his way. When he wished to be, Napoleon was the ideal lover; he was master of that fine forbearance, flavored with a dash of audacity, that women so appreciate. He never wore love to a frazzle, nor caressed the object of his affections into fidgets; neither did he let her starve, although at times she might go hungry.
However, the fact remains that Josephine married the man to get rid of him; but that’s a thing women are constantly doing.
The ceremony was performed by a Justice of the Peace, March Ninth, Seventeen Hundred Ninety-six. It was just five months since the bride had called to thank the groom for giving back her husband’s sword, and fifteen months after this husband’s death. Napoleon was twenty-seven; Josephine was thirty-three, but the bridegroom swore he was twenty-eight and the lady twenty-nine. As a fabricator he wins our admiration.
Twelve days after the marriage, Napoleon set out for Italy as Commander-in-Chief of the army. To trace the brilliant campaign of that year, when the tricolor of France was carried from the Bay of Biscay to the Adriatic Sea, is not my business. Suffice it to say that it placed the name of Bonaparte among the foremost names of military leaders of all time. But amid the restless movement of grim war and the glamour of success he never for a day forgot his Josephine. His letters breathe a youthful lover’s affection, and all the fond desires of his heart were hers. Through her he also knew the pulse and temperature of Paris–its form and pressure.
It was a year before they saw each other. She came on to Milan and met him there. They settled in Montebello, at a beautiful country seat, six miles from the city. From there he conducted negotiations for peace–and she presided over the gay social circles of the ancient capital. “I gain provinces; you win hearts,” said Napoleon. It was a very Napoleonic remark.