Alexandre de Beauharnais, deputy from Blois, had pa.s.sed with his colleagues into the ballroom, had with them taken the fatal oath; in the decisive night of the 4th of August he, with burning enthusiasm, had renounced all the privileges of the n.o.bility, all his feudal rights; and, breaking with the past, with all its family traditions and customs, had pa.s.sed, with all the pa.s.sion and zest of his nine- and-twenty years, into the hostile camp of the people and of liberty.

The revolution, which moved onward with such rash and destructive strides, had drawn Alexandre de Beauharnais more and more into its flood. It had converted the king's major into an enthusiastic speaker of the Jacobins, then into the secretary of the National a.s.sembly, and finally into its president.

The monarchy was not yet powerless; it fought still with all the bitterness of despair, of the pains of death, against its foes; it still found defenders in the National a.s.sembly, in the faithful regiments of the Swiss and of the guards, and in the hearts of a large portion of the people. The pa.s.sions of parties were let loose one against another; and Alexandre de Beauharnais, the president of the National a.s.sembly, stood naturally in the first rank of those who were threatened by the attacks of the royalists.

Yes, Alexandre de Beauharnais was in danger! Since Josephine knew this, there was for her but one place which belonged to her, to which she could lay claim-the place at her husband's side.

How could she then have withstood his appeals, his prayers? How could she then have remained in the solitude and stillness of Martinique, when her husband was now in the fight, in the very struggle? She had, now that fate claimed it, either to share her husband's triumphs, or to bring him comfort if he fell.

The intercessions of her family, even the tears of her mother, could no longer retain Josephine; at the side of her husband, the father of her two children, there was her place! No one could deprive her of it, if she herself wished to occupy it.

She was ent.i.tled to it, she was still the wife of the Viscount de Beauharnais. The Parliament, which had p.r.o.nounced its verdict against the demands of a divorce from the viscount, had, in declaring Josephine innocent, condemned her husband to receive into his house his wife, if she desired it; or else, in case she waived this right, to pay her a fixed annual income.

Josephine had parted voluntarily from her husband, since she had not returned to him, but had exiled herself with her father-in-law and her aunt in Fontainebleau; but she had never laid claims to nor received the income which Parliament had appointed. She had never a.s.sumed the rights of a divorced wife, but she retained still all the privileges of a married woman, who at G.o.d's altar had bound herself to her husband for a whole life, in a wedlock which, being performed according to the laws of the Catholic Church, was indissoluble.

Now the viscount claimed his wife, and who dared keep her back if she wished to follow this call? Who could stand between husband and wife, when their hearts claimed and longed for this reunion?

The tears of Madame de la Pagerie had attempted it, but had not succeeded! The soft, patient, pliant Josephine had suddenly become a strong-minded, joyous, courageous woman; the inconveniences of a long sea-voyage, the perils of the revolution, into whose open crater she was to enter, affrighted her not. All the energies of her being began to develop themselves under the first sunbeams of a renewed love! The years of sorrow had pa.s.sed away. Life, love called Josephine again, and she listened to the call, jubilant and full of friendly trust of undimmed hope!

In the first days of September, 1790, Josephine, with the little Hortense, embarked from Martinique, and after a short, favorable pa.s.sage, landed in France, in the middle of October. [Footnote: If, in the work "Queen Hortense, an Historical Sketch from the Days of Napoleon," I have given a few different details of Josephine's return to France and to her husband, I have followed the error common to all the historians of that time, who represent Josephine returning despite her husband's will, who receives her into his house, and recognizes her as his wife, only at the instant supplication of his family, and especially of his children. It is only of late that all this has been satisfactorily refuted, and that it has been proved that Josephine returned only at the instance of her husband's pressing demands. See Aubenas, "Histoire de l'Imperatrice Josephine," vol. i., p. 164.-L. M.]

Again a prophecy accompanied Josephine to France, and perhaps this prophecy is to be blamed for her sudden departure and her unwavering resolution to leave Martinique. The old negro woman who, once before Josephine's departure, had prophesied that she would wear a crown and be more than a Queen of France-the old Euphemia was still living, and was still considered as an infallible oracle. A few days before her departure, Josephine, with all the superst.i.tious faith of a Creole, went to ask the old prophetess if her journey would be propitious.

The old Euphemia stared long and fixedly into Josephine's smiling countenance; then, as if overcome by a sudden thought, she exclaimed: "Go! go as fast as possible, for death and danger threaten you! Already are on the watch wicked and bloodthirsty fiends, who every moment are ready to rush among us with fire and sword, and to destroy the colony in their cruel wrath!"

"And shall I safely arrive in France?" asked Josephine. "Shall I again see my husband?"

"You will see him again," exclaimed the prophetess, "but hasten to go to him."

"Is he threatened with any danger?" demanded Josephine.

"Not yet!-not at once!" said the old negress. "They now applaud your husband and recognize his services. But he has powerful enemies, and one day they will threaten his life, and will lead him to the scaffold and murder him!"

Before Josephine left Martinique, a portion of these prophecies of the old negro woman were to be fulfilled. The wicked and bloodthirsty fiends, of whom she said they were ready with fire and sword to rush upon the colony-those fiends did light the firebrand and destroy the peace of Martinique.

The resounding cries for freedom uttered in the National a.s.sembly, and which shook the whole continent, had rushed along across the ocean to Martinique. The storm-wind of the revolution had on its wings borne the wondrous story to Martinique-the wondrous story of man's sacred rights, which Lafayette had proclaimed in the National a.s.sembly, the wondrous story that man was born free, that he ought to remain free, that there were to be no more slaves in the land of liberty, in France, and in her colonies.

The storm-wind which brought this great news across the ocean to Martinique scattered it into the negro-cabins, and at first they listened to it with wondrous delight. Then the delirium of joy came over them; jubilant they broke their chains, and in wild madness antic.i.p.ated their human rights, their personal freedom.

The revolution, with its terrible consequences of blood and horrors, broke loose in Martinique, and, exulting in freedom, the slaves threw the firebrand on the roof of their former masters, rushed with war's wild cry into their dwellings, and, in freedom's name, punished those who so long had punished them in tyranny's name.

Amid the barbaric shouts of those dark free men, Josephine embarked on board the ship which was to carry her and her little Hortense to France; and the flames which rose from the roofs of the houses as so many way-marks of fire for the new era, were Josephine's last, sad farewell from the home which she was never to see again. [Footnote: Le Normand, "Memoires de l'Imperatrice Josephine," vol. i., p. 147]

CHAPTER X.

THE DAYS OF THE REVOLUTION.

Happiness had once more penetrated into the heart of Josephine. Love again threw her sun-gleams upon her existence, and filled her whole being with animation and joy. She was once more united to her husband, who, with tears of joy and repentance, had again taken her to his heart. She was once more with her relatives, who, in the day of distress, had shown her so much love and faithfulness, and finally she had also her son, her own dear Eugene, from whom she had been separated during the sad years of their matrimonial disagreements.

How different was the husband she now found from him she had quitted! He was now a man, an earnest, thoughtful man, with a fiery determination, with decidedness of purpose, and yet thoughtful, following only what reason approved, even if the heart had been the mover. The pa.s.sions of youth had died away. The excitable, thoughtless, pleasure-seeking officer of the king had become a grave, industrious, indefatigable, moral, austere servant of the people and of liberty. The songs of joy, of equivocal jesting, of political satire, had died away on those lips which only opened now in the clubs, in the National a.s.sembly, to utter inspired words in regard to liberty, fraternity, and equality.

The most beautiful dancer of Versailles had become the president of the National a.s.sembly, which made so many tears run, and awoke so much anger and hatred in the king's palace of Versailles. He at least belonged to the const.i.tutional fraction of the National a.s.sembly; he was the friend and guest of Mirabeau and of Lafayette; he was the opponent of Robespierre, Marat, and Danton, and of all the fanatics of the Mountain party, who already announced their b.l.o.o.d.y views, and claimed a republic as the object of their conflicts.

Alexandre de Beauharnais was no republican, however enthusiastic he might have been in favor of America's struggle for freedom, however deeply he had longed to go like Lafayette to America, for the sake of a.s.sisting the Americans to break the chains which yoked them to England, so as to build a republic for themselves. The enthusiasm of that day, the enthusiasm for France had driven him upon the path of the opposition; but while desiring freedom for the people, he still hoped that the people's freedom was compatible with the power and dignity of the crown; that at the head of const.i.tutional France the throne of a const.i.tutional king would he maintained. To bring to pa.s.s this reunion, this balance of right between the monarchy and the people, such was the object of the wishes of Alexandre de Beauharnais; this was the ultimate aim of his struggles and longings.

Josephine looked upon these tumultuous conflicts of parties, upon this wild storm of politics, with wondering, sad looks. With all the tact of tender womanhood she held herself aloof from every personal interference in these political party strifes. At the bottom of her heart a true and zealous royalist, she guarded herself carefully from endeavoring to keep her husband back from his chosen path, and to bring into her house and family the party strifes of the political arena. She wanted and longed for peace, unity, and rest, and in his home at least her husband would have no debates to go through, no sentiments to fight against.

In silence and devotedness Josephine submitted to her husband's will, and left him to perform his political part, while she a.s.sumed the part of wife, mother, of the representative of the household; and every evening opened her drawing-room to her friends, and to her husband's a.s.sociates in the same conflict.

What a mixed and extraordinary a.s.semblage was seen in the drawing- room of the president of the National a.s.sembly! There were the representatives of old France, the brilliant members of the old n.o.bility: the Duke de la Rochefoucauld, the Count de Montmorency, the Marquis de Caulaincourt, the Prince de Salm-Cherbourg, the Princess von Hohenzollern, Madame de Montesson, the wife of the old Duke d'Orleans; and alongside of these names of the ancient regime, new names rose up. There were the deputies of the National a.s.sembly- -Barnave, Mounier, Thouvet, Lafayette, and the favorite of the people, the great Mirabeau. Old France and Young France met here in this drawing-room of Josephine on neutral grounds, and the beautiful viscountess, full of grace and prudence, offered to them both the honors of her house. She listened with modest bashfulness to the words of the great tribunes of the people, and oftentimes with a smile or a soft word she reconciled the royalists, those old friends who sought in this drawing-room for the Viscountess de Beauharnais, and found there only the wife of the president of the National a.s.sembly.

The saloon of Josephine was soon spoken of, and seemed as a haven in which the refined, elegant manners, the grace, the wit, the esprit, had been saved from the stormy flood of political strife. Every one sought the privilege of being admitted into this drawing-room, whose charming mistress in her own gentleness and grace received the homage of all parties, pleased every one by her loveliness, her charms, the fine, exquisite tact with which she managed at all times the sentiments of the company, and with which she knew how to guide the conversation so that it would never dwindle into political debates or into impa.s.sioned speeches.

However violent was the tempest of faction outside, Josephine endeavored that in the interior of her home the serene peace of happiness should prevail. For she was now happy again, and all the liveliness, all the joys of youth, had again found entrance into her mind. The anguish endured, the tears shed, had also brought their blessing; they had strengthened and invigorated her heart; with their grave, solemn memories they preserved Josephine, that child of the South, of the sun, and of joy, from that light frivolity which otherwise is so often the common heritage of the Creoles.

The viscount had now the satisfaction which ten years ago, at the beginning of his married life, he had so intently longed for, the satisfaction of seeing his wife occupied with grave studies, with the culture of her own mind and talents. It was to him a ravishment to see Josephine in her drawing-room in earnest conversation with Buffon, and with all the apt.i.tude of a naturalist speak of the organization and formation of the different families of plants; he exulted in the open praise paid to her when, with her fine, far- reaching voice, she sang the songs of her home, which she herself accompanied on the harp; he was proud when, in her saloon, with all the tact and a.s.surance of a lady of the world, she took the lead in the conversation, and could speak with poets and authors, with artists and savants, and that, with understanding and feeling, upon their latest works and creations; he was made happy when, pa.s.sing from serious gravity to the most innocent gayety, she jested, laughed, and danced, as if she were yet the sixteen-year-old child whom ten years ago he had made his wife, and from whom he had then so cruelly exacted that she should demean herself as a fine, experienced, and highly-refined lady.

Life had since undertaken to mould the young Creole into an elegant, highly-accomplished woman, but fortunately life had been impotent to change her heart, and that heart was ever beating in all the freshness of youth, in all the joyous warmth and faithfulness of the young girl of sixteen years who had come to France with so many ideal visions, so many illusions, so many dreams and hopes. It is true this ideal had vanished away, these illusions had burst into pieces like meteors in the skies; the dreams and hopes of the young maiden heart had fallen into dust, but the love, the confiding, faithful, hoping love, the love a.s.sured of the future, had remained alive; it had overcome the storms and conflicts; it had been Josephine's consolation in the days of sorrow; it was now her delight in these days of happiness.

Her whole heart, her undivided love, belonged to her husband, to her children, and often from the society gathered in her reception- rooms, she would slip away and hasten to the bed of her little Hortense to bid good-night to the child, who never would sleep without bidding good-night to its mother, who would kneel at the side of the crib with little Hortense, and utter the evening prayer, asking of G.o.d to grant to them all prosperity and peace!

But this peace which Josephine so earnestly longed for was soon to be imperilled more and more, was to be banished from the interior of home and family, from its most sacred asylum, by the revolution and its stormy factions.

An important event, pregnant with results, suddenly moved all Paris, and filled the minds of all with the most fearful antic.i.p.ations.

The king, with his wife and children, had fled! Openly and irretrievably he had separated himself from country and people; he had, by this flight, solemnly expressed before all Europe the discord which existed between him and his people, between the king and the const.i.tution to which he had sworn allegiance.

Alexandre de Beauharnais, the president of the National a.s.sembly, was the first to be informed of this extraordinary event. On the morning of the 21st of June, 1791, M. de Bailly, mayor of Paris, came to announce to him that the king with all his family had fled from Paris the previous evening.

It was the hour at which the sessions of the National a.s.sembly began every morning, and Beauharnais, accompanied by Bailly, hastened to the a.s.sembly. The deputies were already seated when the president took the chair with a grave, solemn countenance. This countenance told the deputies of the people that the president had an important and very unusual message to communicate, and a deep stillness, an oppressive silence, overspread the whole a.s.semblage as the president rose from his seat to address them.

"Gentlemen," said he, with a voice which, amid the general silence, sounded solemn and powerful-"gentlemen, I have a sad message to bring before you. The mayor of Paris has just now informed me that the king and his family have this night been seduced into flight by the enemies of the people." [Footnote: Aubenas, "Histoire de l'Imperatrice Josephine," vol i., p. 171.]

This news had a stupendous effect on the deputies. At first they sat there dumb, as if petrified with fear; then they all rose up to make their remarks and motions in a whirl of confusion, and it required all the energy and determination of the president to re-establish peace, and to control their minds.

The a.s.sembly then, in quiet debate, resolved to declare itself in permanent session until the termination of this crisis, and gave to the president full power during this time to provide for the tranquillity and security of the a.s.sembly. Bailly and Lafayette were by the president summoned before the deputies, to state what the sentiments of Paris were, what was the att.i.tude of the National Guards, what were the precautions they had taken to preserve aright the peace of Paris.

But this peace was not in danger, and the only one whom the Parisian people at this moment dreaded, was he who had fled from Paris-the king. And yet, not for a moment did the people rise in anger against the king; actuated by a new and overpowering thought, the people in their enthusiasm for this idea forgot their anger against him who by his deed had kindled this thought. The thought which was uppermost in all minds at the flight of the king was this: that the state could subsist even if there were no king at its head; that law and order still remained in Paris, even when the king had fled.

This law and order was the National a.s.sembly, the living representation and embodiment of the law; the government was there; the king alone had disappeared. Such was the sentiment which animated all cla.s.ses, which brought the people in streaming ma.s.ses to the palace where the National a.s.sembly held its sittings. A few hours after the news of the king's flight had spread through Paris, thousands were besieging the National a.s.sembly, and shouting enthusiastically: "Our king is here; he is in the hall of session. Louis XVI. can go; he can do what he wills; our king is still in Paris!" [Footnote: Prudhomme, "Histoire Parlementaire de la Revolution," vol. x. p. 241.]

The a.s.sembly, "the King of Paris," remained in permanent session, waiting for the developments of events, and working out in committees the decrees pa.s.sed in common deliberation, whilst the president and the secretary remained the whole night in the council- room, so as to be ready at any moment to rectify fresh news and to issue the necessary orders.

Early next morning the most important news had reached the president, and the deputies hastened from their respective committees into the hall of session, there to take their seats.

Amid the breathless silence of the a.s.sembly, President Beauharnais announced that the king, the queen, the dauphin, Madame, and divers persons of their suite, had been arrested in Varennes.

The a.s.sembly received this communication with dignified quietude, for they were conscious that the king's return would in no wise impair their own sovereignty, that the power was in their hands, even if the king were there. In this full a.s.surance of their dignity the National a.s.sembly pa.s.sed a decree ordering the proper authorities "to protect the king's return, to seize and imprison all those who might forget, the respect they owed to the royal dignity."