Empress Josephine: An Historical Sketch of the Days of Napoleon

f Marie Antoinette, the queen of the present, resembled a serene, golden, sunny dream; her countenance, beaming with you

e present Queen of France in the dazzling splendor of her glory, of her youth, and of her beauty. In Trianon-this first gift of love from the king to his wife-the Queen of France dreamed life away in a pleasant idyl, in a joyous pastoral amusement;

fty queen. Marie Antoinette felt her days obscured by the splendors of royalty; the crown weighed heavily on her beautiful head, which seemed made for a c

romise an enduring harvest of felicity, for the surface of France was calm and bright, and the queen's vision had not yet b

ies; they fondly proclaimed to the queen, whenever she appeared, their affection, their admiration; they were not weary with the expressions of their rapture and their worship, and Marie Antoinette was not weary of listening to thes

Dauphin, they had been called by the Baron de Vesenval, "the queen's

tic friends of the queen. They even came to Versailles to congratulate the royal couple on the dauphin's birth, to salute the young dauphin as the heir to the crown of France, and to sing under the window of the ki

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there, vanished from her the empty splendors of purple and ermine, of etiquette and ceremonial; there, she enjoyed lif

s this: that no one from the court, even princes or princesses, should come to Trianon without having received an invitation from the queen to that effect. Even the king submitted to this ceremonial, and had expressly promised his consort

mer of the lady of the castle; the Count d'Artois was the miller, and the learned Count de Provence, the schoolmaste

le-end, and with stalls attached to the house, and where bellowed the stately red cows of Switzerland; be

r's house, with an enormous wheel, made of wooden spokes joined together, and wh

nverted into scholars of both sexes, who took their seats on the benches of the school-room, whilst the Count de Provence, in a long coat with lead butto

re. This cottage was the highest delight of the queen's life, the enchanting toy of her happiness. Even the little castle of Trianon, however simple and modest, seemed too splendid for the taste of the pastoral queen. For in Trianon one was always reminded that the lady of this castle was a queen; there, servants were in livery; there, officials and names and titles were to be found, even when etiquette was forbidden entrance into the halls of the little c

himself with his rural avocations. How lustily the laughter, how merrily the song sounded from these cottages amid these bowers and groves; how the countenance of the farming-lady was lighted up with happiness and joy; with what delight rested upon h

ited to drink of her milk and eat of her fresh eggs! How often, when the farmer Louis had secreted himself in a grove for the sake of reading, how often was he discovered there by the queen, torn away from his book and drawn to a dejeuner

rom the cottages, and then began those merry, unrestrained amusements which the queen had introduced into society, and which since then h

te, and which game was called "descamper," a sort of hide-and-seek amusement, in which the ladies hid themselves in the shady bushes and groves, to be there

society. Marie Antoinette was not in the castle of Trianon queen again, but she was not either the simple lady of the farm, she was the

rt, who had to come every day to Trianon to teach to the noble group of actors the small operas, vaudevilles, and dramas, which had been chosen for representation, and in which the queen naturally always played the part of first amateur, while the princesses,

performance, constituted the audience; but afterward it was found that to encourage the actors a little, a larger audience was needed; then the boxes we

ould be full of admiration and applause at the talents displayed by the royal troupe; and as they alone formed the select audience, whose presence had for object to

mired. Consequently, the queen granted to the officers of the lifeguard and to the masters of the king's stalls and to their brothers, admittance into the theatre; the gentlemen and ladies

efused revenged themselves of this refusal by an unsparing criticism on the performers and by bitter sarcasm at the Queen of France, who so far forgot her

the part of a comedian, no one felt tempted to laugh; but contrariwise it might often happen that, when her part w

d not yet left the stage, cried aloud, and perhaps with the intention of

ade her to allow the impertinent one who had spoken these words, to be sought out and punished, the queen, shrugging her shoulders

, yet she was imitated in these two things, as even before the costly and luxurious toilet, the high head-gears of the queen, and also blindman's buff and descamper, had been imitated. Every woman now wanted such a simple negligee, such a headdress, such a feather as Marie Antoinette. As once before, Madame Bertin, the celebrated milliner of the queen, had been circumvented to furnish a pattern of the queen's coiffure, so now all the ladies rushed upon her in flocks

iven up laces, bandelets, gold fringes, and diamond buttons on the hats; they put on simple coats of cloth as the burgher and the man of the people wore; they abandoned their equip

fes, the people took them for what they seemed to be, for their equals, and instead of respectfully making way for them, the people claimed as much attention from them as they themselves were willing to give. Often enough disputes and

rike some bargain at trade, to be the hero of a fist-fight, even if it ended by the stout workmen throwing down the aristocrats who had despised t

, and, by divesting themselves of their external dignity, of their halo, the nobility threw down the barrier of separation which stood bet

the folly of the aristocracy; and Marie Antoinette was the one who, with her taste for sim

ions of Marie Antoinette were the fashion of the day. The taste for theatrical representations made its way into all classes of society; soon there was no nobleman, no banker, not even a respect

in the home-circle. The queen by her example had now destroyed this prepossession, and it was now so much bon ton to act a comedy that even men of gravity, even the first magistrate of Par

stered against actors; and, whereas the queen took lessons in singing from Garat, the opera-singer, and even sang duets

granted, would soon throw on the roof of the Tuileries the firebrand which reduced to dust and ashes the throne of the Bourbons!-unfortunate queen, who in

istant mutterings of the public mind, which, like the raging wave of the storm, swelled up nearer and nearer the t

of public opinion was yet drowned in the joyous laughter which echoed from the cottages of Trianon, or in the sweet harmonies which waved in the concert-hall, w

re not closed to visitors, but were opened to any one who had secured from the keeper a card of admission; the benefit arising from these cards was applied by order of the queen to the relief of the poor of Versailles. It is true, one condition of small importance was attached, "by order of the queen," to the obtaining of such a card. It was necessary to belong to the nobility, or to the higher magistracy, so as to be entitled to purchase a card of admission into the Trianon, and this sole insignificant condition contained the germ of much evil and of bitter hatred. The merchant, the spicier, was conscious of a bitter insult in this order, which banished him from Trianon, which made it impos

s a tablet, containing the regulations under which admission was granted to the public, and these two tablets began with the formula, "DE PAR LA HEINE!" This unfortunate expression excited

makes use of the formalities of the state, she issues laws without the approbation of the Parliament.

, so that even one of the ministers could make observations to the king on that subject, and say: "It is certainly immoral

ubject, and to ask of her to remove this expression which gave so m

queen, the daughter of the Caesars, should make concession to public opinion; that she should submit to this im

e, an unobserved phantom, which soon was to be transformed into a cruel monster,

not bow to the public sentiment; she would not depart from her regulations, sh

with resolution and pride; "these gardens and castles are my property, and I

through official position, were not entitled to enter Trianon, came thither at least to read the tablets of rules at the gate of entran

tes of Trianon, came to Trianon there to rest from the unbending majesty of her sovereignty, and s

lived the Marquis de Beauharnais and his family. The marquis, always extremely attentive to procure for his beloved daughter-in-law some distraction and some recreatio

, so cruelly deserted her, endeavored to make compensation for what she had lost. Josephine could not trouble, with her sorrows, with her sad longings of soul, those who so much busied themselves in cheering her up. She had, therefore, so mastered herself as to appear content, as to dry here tears; and her youth, the freshness and elasticity of her mind, had come to the help of her efforts. She had at first smiled through effort, she soon did it from the force o

e, which she herself with her slaves had cultivated, in which she had planted those beautiful flowers whose liveliness of color and whose fragrance of blossom were here in hot-houses so much praised. The love of plants and flowers had ever remained fresh amid the storms and sorrows which in the last years had passed over her heart, and oftentimes

path near the grove where Josephine stood, appeared a woman. A white muslin dress, not expanded by the stiff, ceremonious hoop-petticoat, but falling down in ample folds, wrapped up her tall, noble figure, a small lace kerchief covered the beautiful neck, and in part the splendid shoulders. The deep

tened at this unexpected meeting, she wanted to withdraw behind the g

d to see curiosity-seekers in her lovely Trianon, and to meet them, disturbed not in the least her unaffected serenity. A moment only she stood still, to allow her followers, the Duchesses de Polignac, the Princess d

Josephine was entitled to appear at court, yet she had always, with all the retreating anxiety of inexperienced youth, endeavored to evade the solemnity of an official presentation. The young, lively, unaffected Creole had cherished an invincible horror for the stiff court-etiquette, for the ceremonial court-dress of gold brocade, with the court-man

rigid presentation had twice received at a private audience the young Viscountess de Beauharnais, and had t

ful attitude, had not been without impression on the queen; and with the most sympathizing interest,

nd when Parliament had given its sentence, and openly and solemnly had proclaimed the innocency of Josephine, the accused wife, the queen

eckoned her to approach, welcomed the marquis, whom her short-sightedness had not at once recognized, to her beloved Trianon,

ed and blushing, stood before her, for the sufferings she had endured, for the disgrace under which she had had to bow her hea

man, as to her equal. With sympathetic friendliness she made inquiries concerning the welfare of the viscountess and her family; she invited her to come often to Triano

of a courtier would but be a wretched and inappropriate return for so much goodness and loving-

f the queen, she openly and clearly gave her opinion concerning the arrangement of the hot-houses, and d

ly interest, and at parting extended to he

ianon, for you have eyes and sense for the beautiful. Examine everything closely, and when we see one another again, tell me what you have observed and

compassion; and these kind words which Marie Antoinette had spoken

easons of wisdom, to return to her home, to the house of her parents, to withdraw with bold resolution from all the inconveniences and humiliations of her precarious and dangerous situ

g the hope of a reunion with Alexandre de Beauharnais; she dreamt yet of the

hey knew that the viscount was still the impassioned lover of the beautiful Madame de Gisard; that she

uld necessarily be impressed upon him, that Josephine desired to be forever separated from him; that she was conscious of being divorced from him forever, and that, in the

ived of the presence of the gentle, lovely young woman, whose youthful freshness and grace had like sunshine cheered the lonely house in Fontainebleau; to see also part from them the little Hor

ient it would be for her to return to her father's home and to the bosom of her family. She therefore took a decided resolution; she tore herself away from her relatives, from her beloved son, whom she could not take with her, for he belonged

er little five-year-old daughter Hortense, left Fontaine