When Josephine returned to Paris in 1790, she found the city in full revolution. In the two years she had been gone the States Generals had met, the Bastile had fallen, the National Assembly had begun to make France over. In the front of all this activity moved her husband, Viscount de Beauharnais. Like his patron, the Duke de la Rouchefoucauld, Beauharnais was an ardent1 advocate of liberty and equality. Sent to the States General by his friends at Blois, he had joined the few noblemen there who in 1789 espoused2 the cause of the Revolution, and soon was one of the leaders of the faction3. Later he was sent to the National Assembly, where he took an active part in framing the constitution. He was a power even in the Jacobin Society.
At this date the revolution was still the fashion among the elegant in Paris, and the Viscount really was one of the most popular and influential4 young noblemen in the town. His success, the ardor5 with which he preached the fine theories of the day, perhaps a growing realization6 that his treatment of his wife was too baldly inconsistent with his profession, softened7 the Viscount’s heart towards Josephine, and when she returned he went to see her. A kind of reconciliation8 followed. They continued to live apart, but they saw each other constantly in society. The Viscount no doubt was the more willing to sustain the relation of a good 335friend and advisor9 to his wife, when he saw that in the years since their separation she had developed into a most charming woman of the world, and that her beauty, grace, tact10, and readiness to oblige had won her a large circle of friends, including many in that aristocratic circle of which he vaunted himself on being a member. This good understanding with Beauharnais did much for Josephine’s peace of mind. It was in a way a victory, and her friends congratulated her. At the same time any honors which came to the Viscount reflected on her, and she steadily11 became more noticed.
In June, 1791, Beauharnais was elected president of the Constituent12 Assembly. A few days later, the King and Queen fled to Varennes. As the head of the Assembly, the Viscount was the leader of France for the time. It was he who sat for one hundred and twenty-six and one-half consecutive13 hours on the bench during the violent session which followed the King’s flight; it was he who questioned the captured King, when he was returned, and directed the distracted proceedings14 which followed. Indeed, until the dissolution of the body in September, he was one of the most prominent men in France.
Josephine had her share of his glory, and in these months added largely to her circle of acquaintances from the motley crowd which the levelling of things had brought together in French society. She met many of the aristocrats15 unknown to her until then; but what was vastly more important, she made acquaintances among the “true patriots”, those who had been born in the third estate, and who were already beginning to consider themselves the only part of the population fit to conduct the general regeneration of France. In 1792, war breaking out, Beauharnais went to the front, where he made a respectable record, which he himself reported frequently to the Assembly in glowing letters, filled with good advice to that body. He was steadily 336advanced until, in May, 1793, he was made general-in-chief of the Army of the North. During all this period Josephine was in Paris or the vicinity, and there were few more active women there than she. Whether advised by her husband or not she had the wit to make the acquaintance of the men of each new party as fast as it came into power. Thus, when the Girondins were at the helm in 1792, she hastened to interview them one by one, to demonstrate to them her devotion to the new civism, to extol17 the patriotism18 of her husband, General de Beauharnais. The acquaintance made, she immediately had a favor to ask—this friend was in prison, that one wanted a passport. All through the agitated19 winter of 1792 and 1793 Josephine was busy getting her friends out of prison and out of France. She seems to have had no fear for herself. As a matter of fact, the men who helped her were so convinced of her simple goodness of heart that they granted her much which would have been denied a more intelligent woman, and they did not question her loyalty20. Was she not, too, the wife of General de Beauharnais? That fact did not, however, hold value for many months. Beauharnais’s conduct came into question before the Assembly; he resigned, offering to go into the line. The privilege was denied him, and he was retired21 from the army. He went at once to his family home near Blois, and threw himself actively22 into the work of the municipality and of the Jacobins. Josephine, warned of possible danger from her husband’s downfall and fearing the new law against the suspected, decided23 to leave Paris. She rented, in the winter, a little house at Croissy, not far out of the city, and near many of her friends, and there lived as quietly as she could. One method that she took of showing her devotion to democratic principles was to bind24 Eugène, who had been in school for several years, as an apprentice25 to a 337carpenter; and it is said that Hortense was placed with a dressmaker to learn the trade.
The Viscount escaped arrest until the spring of 1794; then the committee of Public Safety remembered him. There seems to have been no reason for his arrest other than that he was a noble—certainly no man in France had surpassed him in vehement26 republicanism or had been more fertile in schemes for saving the country. He was taken immediately to Paris, and confined in the prison of les Carmes. A month later, Josephine followed him. Her activity for her friends had continued after the retirement27 of her husband and the efforts she began at once to make to save him when he was arrested, caused a virtuous28 patriot16 to suggest anonymously29 to the authorities that she too ought to be looked after. She was promptly30 arrested.
For three months husband and wife lived side by side in that awful prison, the walls of which still bore the red imprints31 made in the September massacre32, and in garden of which blood still oozed33, it was believed, from the roots of the tree where murdered men had been stacked up by the score. With them were confined men from every rank of life, princes, merchants, sailors, chimney-sweeps, along with women and children. Almost daily a group was called to die, but their places were quickly filled. The awful tragedy of their lot drew Josephine and her husband no closer together. It is a terrible comment on the times that no one thought it strange that Beauharnais should have paid court here at the gate of death to a beautiful woman, a prisoner like himself, or that Josephine should have been so intimate with General Hoche, also a prisoner, that history has made a record of the fact.
Many efforts were made to save the Viscount and his wife, chiefly under their direction, for they were allowed 338to see their friends, and also their children. It is quite possible that certain petitions in their favor which have been found in the French archives, bearing the names of Eugène and Hortense, were dictated34 by the Viscount himself. But every effort was useless, and on July 21 Beauharnais was taken to the Conciergerie: the next day he was tried; the next guillotined. To the end he was brave and self-controlled. In his final words to Josephine, he even charged his death to the plots of the aristocrats, upholding the republic even as it struck him.
None of the Viscount de Beauharnais’s courage was shared by Josephine in her imprisonment35. It is true that the majority of the women who suffered death in the French Revolution faced it bravely. Josephine was not of their blood. From the beginning of her imprisonment, she wept continually before everybody, and her favorite occupation was reading her fortune with cards; and yet cowardly as she was, no one was better loved. There was reason enough for this. No one was kinder, no one more willing to do a service, no one had been more active for others than she, when at liberty. All the good will of the prison came out in full when, on August 6, less than a fortnight after her husband’s death, she was set free. There was as general rejoicing as there would have been over the release of a child.
It is not certain through whose influence Josephine obtained her freedom. Mme. Tallien has generally been credited with securing it, but Masson in his delving36 has found dates which make it improbable that the legend current can be true. According to this, Mme. Tallien (then Mme. de Fontenay) and Josephine were fellow-prisoners, and it was at les Carmes that their friendship began. However, the prison records show that Mme. Tallien was never confined at les Carmes, but at la Petite Force; so 339that a part at least of the legend is impossible. That she may have interested herself in Josephine’s behalf is quite possible, even probable. She may have known Mme. de Beauharnais before her imprisonment. It is well known that, as soon as she received her own freedom she became an ardent advocate of that clemency37 which was made possible by the fall of Robespierre on the ninth Thermidor and that she rescued many persons. She may very well have included Josephine among the first of those she sought to save. Her task in this case would not have been difficult, for Josephine was known to most of the members of the Terrorist Government and was probably on terms of intimacy38 with some of them. At all events, Josephine was set free on August 6, and she immediately went to Croissy to pass the autumn.
The problems which now confronted Josephine were serious enough for the most practical and resourceful of women. The chaos39 in French business affairs made it very difficult for her to get her hand on money coming to her. Her husband’s property was tied up by his death so that she could realize nothing from it, and the value of what she did secure of her income must have been sadly reduced by the general depreciation40 which had resulted from the Reign41 of Terror and from the war, and by the exorbitant42 prices of even the commonest necessaries of life—bread at this time was over twenty francs a pound. Her situation was still more difficult because the personal property of herself, her children, and husband was all in the hands of the authorities. She had no linen43, furniture, silver, clothing, nothing needful in her daily life. To keep house in the simplest way, she had to beg and borrow, and it was many months before she was able to secure her own articles of clothing and her household furniture.
340With two children to care for and with a town apartment and a country cottage on her hands, she was in a very difficult position.
That Josephine was able to keep her homes, care for her children, and retain her position in the society of the Directory was due to the friendship and protection of two men, Hoche and Barras. Hoche had been liberated44 from les Carmes before Josephine, and put in charge of an army, and he at once took Eugène on his staff, thus freeing Josephine’s mind of that care. For a few months she managed by diligent45 borrowing and mortgaging to keep things going. In all of her efforts to repair her fortune and secure to her children the estate of Beauharnais, she enlisted46 her friends, especially Mme. Tallien, who just then was at the height of her power. The two became very intimate, and the Viscountess de Beauharnais was soon one of the women oftenest seen at the functions given by the members of the Directory as well as at all the more intimate gatherings47 of that society. She became as great a favorite among the dissipated and prodigal48 company as she had been among the aristocratic ladies of the Abbey de Panthemont or in the motley company at les Carmes. It was to be expected that she could not long be an intimate of Mme. Tallien’s salon49 without finding a protector. She found him in Barras, a member of the Directory, its most influential member in fact, a prince of corruption51, but a man of elegance52, and ability.
It is probable that the liaison53 with Barras began in 1795, for in August of that year Josephine took a little house in Paris, furnishing it largely from the apartment in town which she had kept so long. She put Hortense in Mme. Campan’s school, and taking Eugène from Hoche sent him to college. She entertained constantly in her new home, and once a week at least received Barras and his friends at 341her country place at Croissy. It was an open secret that the money for all this was supplied by Barras.
Although Barras was himself notoriously corrupt50, he was a man of elegant and highly cultivated tastes, and he always made strenuous54 efforts to keep his inner circle exclusive. He wished only persons of wit, elegance, and ease about him, when he was at leisure, and as a rule he allowed no others. Now and then, however, the necessities of politics brought into his house a man unused either to its polite refinements55 or its elegant dissipations. Such a man was admitted in the fall of 1795—a young Corsican, a member of the army who had distinguished56 himself at the siege of Toulon, and who had recently put Barras and the whole government, in fact, under obligations. The man’s name was Bonaparte—Napoleon Bonaparte. He had come to Paris in the spring of 1795, under orders to join the Western Army, but had fallen into disgrace because he refused to obey. He succeeded, however, through Barras, who had known him at Toulon, in making an impression at the War Office. He was more than an ordinary man, the authorities who listened to his talk and examined his plans of campaign said. A chance came in October to try his metal as a commanding officer. The sections of Paris, dissatisfied with the Convention, had planned an attack for a certain night. The Committee of Defence asked Bonaparte to take command of the guard which was to defend the Tuileries, where the Convention sat. The result was a quick and effectual repulse57 of the attack of the sections, and Bonaparte was rewarded the next day by being made a general-of-division.
One of the first acts to follow the attack on the Convention was a law ordering that all citizens should be disarmed58. Now, Josephine had in her apartment the sword of General de Beauharnais, and in obedience59 to the new law she at once carried it to the proper authority. Eugène, 342knowing her intention, hastened there too, and passionately60 protested against his father’s sword being given up. He would die first, he declared, with boyish vehemence61. His youth (he was but fourteen), his genuine emotion touched the commissioner62, who hesitated and finally said that Eugène might go to the general in charge of the section, the newly made General Bonaparte, and present his petition. The boy hastened to the General, and with shining eyes and trembling lips, begged that his father’s sword might be returned. Bonaparte, moved by the lad’s earnestness and agitation63, ordered that his request be granted. Mme. de Beauharnais, on hearing the story from Eugène, went to the General’s office to thank him. The interview ended by her inviting64 him to call upon her. It is probable that Barras had felt it wise to admit Bonaparte to his inner circle at about this time, and before long the young general was on good terms with the entire society.
At the time when Bonaparte began to frequent the houses of Barras and Josephine he was, beside most of the men and women he met there—certainly beside Barras and Josephine—a paragon65 of virtue66. They were disciples67 of pleasure; he of the strenuous life. Up to this time the pleasures of the world had never invited him. He had looked on them as a young philosopher might, bent68 on seeing and understanding all, but he had never sought them, never been allured69 by them. To make a place and name for himself was all that Napoleon Bonaparte, up to this time, had desired.
Not only did he here, for the first time, come into a circle which cultivated pleasure as an end; but here, for the first time, he saw the refinements, the luxury, the delights of highly developed society. Beautiful, graceful70, and witty71 women he had never known before; he had never set foot before in rooms such as these in which he found Josephine, Mme. Tallien, and Barras. Dinners like these they offered 343him were an amazement72. Not only was he astonished by his surroundings, he was intoxicated73 by the attention he received. That Josephine, who seemed to him the perfect type of the grande dame74, should invite him to her home, write him flattering little notes when his visits were delayed, admire his courage, listen to his impetuous talk, prophesy75 a great future for him, excited his imagination and hope as nothing ever had before. A month had not passed before he was paying her an impassioned court. That she was six years his senior and a widow with two children; that she had no certain income and was of another rank; that he had nothing but his “cloak and sword” and was hardly started in his career, though with a mother and several brothers and sisters looking to him to see them through life—these and all other practical considerations seem to have been thrust aside. He loved Josephine and meant to marry her. All through the fall and winter of 1795 and 1796 he was at her side pressing his suit.
But Josephine, though pleased by Napoleon’s devotion, and certainly encouraging him, hesitated. Certainly marriage with the young Corsican was a venture at which a more courageous76 woman than she might have hesitated, and she, poor woman, had had enough of ventures. Every one so far had ended in disaster—her marriage had ended in separation, her reconciliation with her husband in his death, her property had been lost in a revolution. All she asked of life was an opportunity to settle Eugène and Hortense, and freedom and money enough to be gay. Could she expect this from a marriage with Bonaparte? She herself analyzed77 her feelings admirably in a letter to a friend:
I am urged, my dear, to marry again by the advice of all my friends (I may almost say), by the commands of my aunt, and the prayers of my children. Why are you not here to help me by your advice on this important occasion, and to tell me whether I ought or ought not to consent 344to a union, which certainly seems calculated to relieve me from the discomfort78 of my present situation? Your friendship would render you clear-sighted to my interests, and a word from you would suffice to bring me to a decision.
Among my visitors you have seen General Bonaparte; he is the man who wishes to become a father to the orphans79 of Alexander de Beauharnais and a husband to his widow.
“Do you love him?” is naturally your first question.
My answer is, “perhaps—No.”
“Do you dislike him?”
“No,” again; but the sentiments I entertain towards him are of that lukewarm kind which true devotees think worst of all in matters of religion. Now, love being a sort of religion, my feelings ought to be very different from what they really are. This is the point on which I want your advice, which would fix the wavering of my irresolute80 disposition81. To come to a decision has always been too much for my Creole inertness82, and I find it easier to obey the wishes of others.
I admire the General’s courage; the extent of his information on every subject on which he converses83; his shrewd intelligence, which enables him to understand the thoughts of others before they are expressed; but I confess I am somewhat fearful of that control which he seems anxious to exercise over all about him. There is something in his scrutinizing84 glance that cannot be described; it awes85 even our directors, therefore it may well be supposed to intimidate86 a woman. He talks of his passion for me with a degree of earnestness which renders it impossible to doubt his sincerity87; yet this very circumstance, which you would suppose likely to please me, is precisely88 that which has withheld89 me from giving the consent which I have often been on the very point of uttering.
My spring of life is past. Can I, then, hope to preserve for any length of time that ardor of affection which in the General amounts almost to madness? If his love should cool, as it certainly will, after our marriage, will he not reproach me for having prevented him from forming a more advantageous90 connection? What, then, shall I say? What shall I do? I may shut myself up and weep. Fine consolation91, truly! methinks I hear you say. But unavailing as I know it is, weeping is, I assure you, my only consolation whenever my poor heart receives a wound. Write me quick, and pray scold me if you think me wrong. You know everything is welcome that comes from you.
Barras assures me if I marry the General, he will get him appointed commander-in-chief of the Army of Italy. This favor, though not yet granted, occasions some murmuring among Bonaparte’s brother officers. When speaking to me yesterday on the subject, the General said.—
“Do they think I cannot get forward without their patronage92. One 345day or other they will all be too happy if I grant them mine. I have a good sword by my side, which will carry me on.”
What do you think of this self-confidence? Does it not savor93 of excessive vanity? A general of brigade to talk of patronizing the chiefs of the Government? It is very ridiculous! Yet I know not how it happens, his ambitious spirit sometimes wins upon me so far that I am almost tempted94 to believe in the practicability of any project he takes into his head—and who can foresee what he may attempt?
It is probable that, if it had not been for Barras, Josephine would not have consented, for many of her friends advised against the marriage. Barras urged it, however. He says in explanation, with the brutal95 frankness for which his memoirs96 are distinguished, that he was “tired and bored” with her. She, no doubt, felt that Barras’s protection was uncertain and that it would be better for her not to offend him.
At last Barras and Bonaparte between them overcame Josephine’s indecision, and on March 8, 1796, the marriage contract was signed. Barras and Tallien were the two chief witnesses at the civil ceremony which took place the next day. The religious marriage was dispensed97 with.
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1
ardent
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，强烈的，烈性的 | |
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espoused
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| v.（决定）支持，拥护（目标、主张等）( espouse的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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faction
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| n.宗派，小集团；派别；派系斗争 | |
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influential
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| adj.有影响的，有权势的 | |
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ardor
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| n.热情，狂热 | |
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realization
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| n.实现；认识到，深刻了解 | |
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7
softened
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| （使）变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰 | |
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reconciliation
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| n.和解，和谐，一致 | |
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advisor
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| n.顾问，指导老师，劝告者 | |
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tact
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| n.机敏，圆滑，得体 | |
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steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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constituent
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| n.选民；成分，组分；adj.组成的，构成的 | |
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consecutive
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| adj.连续的，联贯的，始终一贯的 | |
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proceedings
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| n.进程，过程，议程；诉讼(程序)；公报 | |
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aristocrats
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| n.贵族( aristocrat的名词复数 ) | |
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patriot
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| n.爱国者，爱国主义者 | |
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extol
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| v.赞美，颂扬 | |
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patriotism
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| n.爱国精神，爱国心，爱国主义 | |
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agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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loyalty
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| n.忠诚，忠心 | |
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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actively
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| adv.积极地，勤奋地 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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bind
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| vt.捆，包扎；装订；约束；使凝固；vi.变硬 | |
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apprentice
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| n.学徒，徒弟 | |
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vehement
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| adj.感情强烈的；热烈的；(人)有强烈感情的 | |
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retirement
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| n.退休，退职 | |
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virtuous
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| adj.有品德的，善良的，贞洁的，有效力的 | |
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anonymously
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| ad.用匿名的方式 | |
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promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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imprints
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| n.压印( imprint的名词复数 )；痕迹；持久影响 | |
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massacre
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| n.残杀，大屠杀；v.残杀，集体屠杀 | |
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oozed
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| v.（浓液等）慢慢地冒出，渗出( ooze的过去式和过去分词 )；使（液体）缓缓流出；（浓液）渗出，慢慢流出 | |
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dictated
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| v.大声讲或读( dictate的过去式和过去分词 )；口授；支配；摆布 | |
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imprisonment
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| n.关押，监禁，坐牢 | |
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delving
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| v.深入探究，钻研( delve的现在分词 ) | |
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clemency
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| n.温和，仁慈，宽厚 | |
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intimacy
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| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
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chaos
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| n.混乱，无秩序 | |
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depreciation
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| n.价值低落，贬值，蔑视，贬低 | |
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reign
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| n.统治时期，统治，支配，盛行；v.占优势 | |
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exorbitant
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| adj.过分的；过度的 | |
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linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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liberated
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| a.无拘束的，放纵的 | |
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diligent
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| adj.勤勉的，勤奋的 | |
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enlisted
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| adj.应募入伍的v.（使）入伍， （使）参军( enlist的过去式和过去分词 )；获得（帮助或支持） | |
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gatherings
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| 聚集( gathering的名词复数 )； 收集； 采集； 搜集 | |
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prodigal
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| adj.浪费的，挥霍的，放荡的 | |
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salon
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| n.[法]沙龙；客厅；营业性的高级服务室 | |
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corrupt
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| v.贿赂，收买；adj.腐败的，贪污的 | |
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corruption
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| n.腐败，堕落，贪污 | |
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elegance
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| n.优雅；优美，雅致；精致，巧妙 | |
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liaison
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| n.联系，（未婚男女间的）暖昧关系，私通 | |
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strenuous
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| adj.奋发的，使劲的；紧张的；热烈的，狂热的 | |
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refinements
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| n.（生活）风雅；精炼( refinement的名词复数 )；改良品；细微的改良；优雅或高贵的动作 | |
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distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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repulse
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| n.击退，拒绝；vt.逐退，击退，拒绝 | |
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disarmed
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| v.裁军( disarm的过去式和过去分词 )；使息怒 | |
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obedience
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| n.服从，顺从 | |
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passionately
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| ad.热烈地，激烈地 | |
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vehemence
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| n.热切；激烈；愤怒 | |
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commissioner
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| n.（政府厅、局、处等部门）专员，长官，委员 | |
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agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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inviting
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| adj.诱人的，引人注目的 | |
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paragon
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| n.模范，典型 | |
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virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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disciples
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| n.信徒( disciple的名词复数 )；门徒；耶稣的信徒；（尤指）耶稣十二门徒之一 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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allured
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| 诱引，吸引( allure的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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witty
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| adj.机智的，风趣的 | |
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amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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intoxicated
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| 喝醉的，极其兴奋的 | |
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dame
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| n.女士 | |
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prophesy
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| v.预言；预示 | |
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courageous
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| adj.勇敢的，有胆量的 | |
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analyzed
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| v.分析( analyze的过去式和过去分词 )；分解；解释；对…进行心理分析 | |
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discomfort
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| n.不舒服，不安，难过，困难，不方便 | |
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orphans
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| 孤儿( orphan的名词复数 ) | |
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irresolute
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| adj.无决断的，优柔寡断的，踌躇不定的 | |
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disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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inertness
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| n.不活泼，没有生气；惰性；惯量 | |
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converses
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| v.交谈，谈话( converse的第三人称单数 ) | |
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scrutinizing
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| v.仔细检查，详审( scrutinize的现在分词 ) | |
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awes
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| n.敬畏，惊惧( awe的名词复数 )v.使敬畏，使惊惧( awe的第三人称单数 ) | |
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intimidate
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| vt.恐吓，威胁 | |
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sincerity
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| n.真诚，诚意；真实 | |
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precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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withheld
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| withhold过去式及过去分词 | |
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advantageous
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| adj.有利的；有帮助的 | |
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consolation
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| n.安慰，慰问 | |
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patronage
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| n.赞助，支援，援助；光顾，捧场 | |
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savor
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| vt.品尝，欣赏；n.味道，风味；情趣，趣味 | |
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tempted
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| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
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brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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memoirs
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| n.回忆录；回忆录传( mem,自oir的名词复数) | |
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dispensed
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| v.分配( dispense的过去式和过去分词 )；施与；配（药） | |
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