LOVE DRAMAS OF ROYAL COURTS.

Auckland Star, Volume LX, Issue 46, 23 February 1929, Page 6

LOVE DRAMAS OF ROYAL COURTS.

(By THORNTON HALL.)

The great Napoleon once declared that love was a "distraction, a silly infatuation"; and yet lightly, almost contemptuously as he regarded it, it was almost as necessary to him as the air he breathed; and to the day of his exile it obsessed him almost as much as his schemes of world dominion.

In the long panorama of his conquests -we see him first a "shy, melancholy, sallow-faced boy of sixteen," making love to the prettiest girls in Valence and "wooing Caroline du Colombier in the idyllic environment of a cherry-orchard. Now he is making passionate vows to a beautiful Corsican maiden, and narrowly escaping tragedy when in her fierce jealousv she poisons the wine she holds to his "lips. And a little later he is on his knees, pleading for the hand of Madame Fermon, who breaki into a merry peal of laughter as she exclaims: "My dear Napoleon, don't be so ridiculous"! Why lam old enough to be your mother!"

Thus through the years his lady-loves , pass before us in bewildering succession Desiree Clary, daughter of a Marseilles silk-merchant, who gives him her leart for a few ecstatic months until he flings it away as worthless to his ambitions; Madame Montansier, a faded ■beauty in the sixties, whose money-bags and not her "beaux veux" nearly lured linj to the altar; Madame Walewska, a lovely Pole, whom he terrified into submission to his wooing; Marguerite Foures, the ex-milliner's apprentice, with ■whom he coquetted outrageously in Egypt—and so on, through the almost endless list of women who in turn captivated his fickle heart, and were dismissed in turn when their charm began to pall or they interfered with his scheming for an imperial crown. But of all the women who thus captured Napoleon's fancy, the only one •who ever really possessed his heart was Josephine de Beauhamais, whom lie raised from poverty to the splendours of a palace, loved passionately for a few brief years, and finally abandoned when le found a more exalted wife necessary to the stability of his throne. At the time when Josephine crossed lis path, the "little Corsican" had his feet well planted on the ladder at the summit of which was his Emperor's crown. A year earlier he had been a shabby, out-of-work captain of artillery, kicking his heels in morose idleness at Marseilles, his greatest hope being to ■wed M. Clary's daughter and lead the peaceful life of a country gentleman on the gold of her dower. Turn of Fortune's Wheel. Now, by a dramatic turn of Fortune's ■wheel, he found himself at twenty-six Commander-in-Chief of France's armies, ■with the ball of fortune at his feet, the First Consulship within his grasp. And it was at this time that the lovely Creole widow caught him, a willing and happy victim, in the net of her seductions. ,

One day, so the story is told, a handsome boy called on the general to beg permission to retain the sword his father lad worn, a favour which the general, pleased by his manliness and frankness, readily granted. And on thefjfollowmg day the boy's mother presented herself to thank Napoleon "for his act. of clemency and '■ generosity to her son, ■■■whose-father had- fought against"'him and -was thus branded as a rebel. At' the- sight of his fair visitor the -Corsican was struck dumb with wonder, -fornever had his eyes looked on so fair a vision of womanly; beauty.., For the first time in his life the iron-nerved soldier, the future autocrat and despot of Europe, found his sang froid and supple tongue fail liim; Nor can- we •wonder when we read a description of madame's charms, now in the full beauty of their ripeness. She was, we are told, "beautiful as a dream." From .the chestnut hair which rippled over her small, proudly-poised head, to the arch, of her tiny feet, "made for homage and kisses," she was "all glorious without." There was witchery in every part of her—in the rich colour that mantled in her cheeks; the sweet, brown eyes that looked out" between long-fringed eyelids; the small, delicate the nostrils quivering, at the least emotion; the exquisite lines of the tall, supple figure, instinct with grace in every movement; and, above all, in the seductive music of.her voice, every note of which was a caress. ' ... Back to. Dreamland. When, after, a few gracious words of thanks, madame withdrew, Napoleon awoke as from a dream to the knowledge that no pence could be his until le had seen his beautiful visitor again— . indeed,.until,le.had made her his-own. And thus on the following day v. a see him transported to dreamland again as he sits awkwardly on ..a chair in madame's dining room in her small house in the Rue Chantereine, listening to the music:of. ler voice as she thanks him for the honour he is paying her; and feasting his eyes once more on the loveliness that had played such havoc with his peace of mind. When Napoleon left, he "trod on air" he tells us Madame had been more than gracious. She had invested the intoxication of her charms with a ing sweetness and a shy homage which might well have turned the strongest brain, not already fired, as his was, with passion. Nor were Madame's sweetness and' homage less understandable than Napoleon's infatuation, by those who knew her history. Some years earlier Josephine lad left her native Martinique as bride of the Vicomte de Beauharnais, who, after a turbulent wedded life, had ended his days at the guillotine, leaving his widow to face the world with her son and an income barely sufficient' to * keep a house over their heads. She had struggled bravely under. her heavy burden until, at the very moment when the last louis of her small capital were vanishing, the Corsican general came accidentally into her life. That he was grim nad plain and plebiean-vmattered nothing to her; he was already the hero and idol of France, a man to whom, she foresaw, no heights were inaccessible. He could give her riches and place and power—all for which' she craved. And beyond, a doubt, he was hopelessly in jfcve with. lier. What could woman desire more-? She welcomed such an escape r°m the poverty that was staring her m ths facc. Nannlo * ll£n tlle next day and the next by a . awn to ller boudoir as around him with w° r^ d such fetters could D r e sS -f\ seductions that lle rnn em less desired Cfrtdomf fo°r

IV.—THE BEAUTIFUL CORSICAN.

Madame had not only won his heart and intoxicated his senses by her beauty and charm. She was a woman of rank, with powerful friends in high places, and could thus minister greatly to his ambition. And thus it was that one March day in 1793 the beautiful and impecunious widow stood, a veTy willing bride, at the altar with the bourgeois general who was to make an Empress of her.. But Napoleon's first taste of happiness was as brief as it was blissful. Two days only of honeymoon rapture, and he was called away from his bride's arms to join his army in Italy. And never did a bridegroom depart more reluctantly, or drag more miserably a "lengthening chain." At every stage of his journey lie dispatched a messenger hotfoot to carry a letter of passionate devotion and yearning to the wife he had left behind. A Cruel Fate. "It is," he wrote, in one of them, "a cruel and accursed fate that has severed us, that has flung me out of paradise when I had barely crossed its threshold. I ra°-e and fume, I am as a man bereft of his sense. But, thank God, if I may not have you I have your portrait—next my heart that beats only for you. And when I look at it, my gloom takes wings, and for a time I am happy once more and resigned to my"fate. But, oh! how I long for you with heart and soul and body! Come to me; leave me not in this outer darkness!" Even in the thick of the fighting, when his fortune and that of France hung on the issue of a battle, his thoughts were all of her; and with the thunder of the guns and tiie clash of charging hosts in his ears he would sit down and write to her words of burnlove and of pleading to come to him. "How gladly," he wrote, "would I barter all the glories of the campaign, both its victories and harvests of standards, for one kiss from your sweet lips." But, Madame was by no means eager to leave her beloved Paris for the arms of the husband whose unattractive person and clumsy lovemaking only repelled her. As wife of France's saviour and hero she was fawned on and flattered by all the" great ones in the capital. Fetes and banquets were given in her honour; she was acclaimed by admiring crowds whenever she appeared in the streets; and was surrounded by homage and adulation. Why should she give up her queendom to share the hardships of war with a husband she did not profess to love?

Even when at last his letters calling her to him became so importunate that they could no longer be ignored, she excused herself under the lying pretext that she was. expecting to become a mother—news which filled Napoleon with mingled delight and, self-reproach. "Forgive me, my beloved," he wrote. "How can I atone? You were ill and I accused you of lingering in Paris. My love robs me of-my reason, aiid I shp.ll never regain jt. A child, sweet as its mother, is soon to be in your arms. Oh! that I;-could be with you, even if only for a day!" Such were his anxiety and distress that he.wrote to his brother Joseph: "The thought of.her illness drives me mad.', I long to see her, to hold her in my arms; I love her so madly. I cannot live without : her. It she were to die, I should have absolutely nothing left to live for." Ceaseless Rounds of Gaiety. When, however, he heard that his wife's condition in no way interfered with her. ceaseless. rounds of gaiety in Paris, his suspicions' were at last aroused, and he wrote to her so imperative a letter, declaring that he woul.l resign his command unless she joined him, that she was compelled to obey. Thus we see Josephine, weeping and mutinous, leaving Paris on her journey to Italy, in company with her pet dogs and her maid, and with a brilliant escort of officers.

But again Fate, was--unkind .to Napo-1 leon. • "After two days of rapture and caresses" at Milan, where he had met his wife with arms of welcome-,-lie was again called from her side. The tide of war was flowing against him. His army was in danger of annihilation, and only his presence could save it; and, with it, Prance and his own fortune. . But even i.i this hour of crisis and possible doom he still found time to write daily letters to his absent wife, vowing that he could not live without her, and imploring her to come to him, "that at least we may be able to say before we die that we had so many days of happiness." But while Napoleon was tlius longing for her amjd all the perils of war, Josephine was much too happy and occupied to spare him a thought —thankful indeed, to escape from liis unwelcome ardour. She had for squire and, slave, Captain Charles, Leclere's adjutant, "an Adonis for beauty,- a Hercules for strength, the handsomest soldier in her husband's army, and a past-master in all

the art 3of love-making." With this gallant for escort she was making a tour of. Italy, received everywhere as a queen. At Genoa she was swept off her feet in a whirl of gaiety—balls, banquets, receptions given in honour ef the great Napoleon's wife; at Florence the Grand Duke greeted her .as '"cousin," and with his Court surrounded her with homage and adulation; everywhere Napoleon's armies welcomed her .with thunders of cheers; and everywhere gifts, a queen might have .envied, were showered oil her. When at last the Italian campaign was ended, Madame returned to her beloved Paris in the company of her conquering hero; and we see her raised to a still higher pinnacle, basking ill the fame and splendours of a husband whose perils she had refused to share, and .whose love siie had spurned. But Napoleon had little time for wearing the laurels he had won. Within a few months he was called away a fain—this time to the conquest of Egypt; and Josephine was once more left, to her relief and delight, to revel in her Gaieties the homage of her legion of lovers, setting the tongue of scandal wagging by her flagrant coquetry with one = gallant after another. Indeed, Napoleon, had not been many weeks .in Egypt before,, such news of Madame's "goings on" came to his ears, and fanned his dormant jealousy _ into fierce -flame. He was furious; disillusion seized him; and thoughts of divorce began to enter his brain. At any cost he must return to France and put an end once for all to tliis disgraceful state of things; and, leaving his army to take care of itself,- he started on his return journey, full of rage against the wife, who was proving herself so unworthy.

When news came to Josephine that her husband was back on French soil, she was in a state of panic. She dreaded his anger; the exposure of her infidelities, her extravagance and debts. Her all was at stake, and the game was more than half lost. In her desperation she decided not to await his coming; she would meet him half-way, and thus get the first word with him; and she started for Frejus as fast as horses could carry her. But, for once, Fate was unkind to her, and, to her dismay, she arrived at Frejus without meeting him. He had travelled by a different route, and she had missed him. The Ban'ed Door. When, tearful and full of fears, she arrived back at her home, she found her husband's door barred against her. '•'After repeated knocking in vain," to quote Mr. Masson, "she sank on lier knees, sobbing aloud. Still the door remained closed. For a whole day the scene was prolonged, without any sign from within. Worn out at last, Josephine was about to retire in despair, when her maid fetched her children, Eugene and Hortense, who, kneeling beside their mother, mingled their supplications with hers. At last, the door was opened. Speechless, tears streaming down his cheeks, his face convulsed with the struggle that had rent his heart, Bonaparte appeared, holding out his arms to his wife."

Once more Napoleon had forgiven his erring wife. And his forgiveness was complete; for he not only took her into his arms and restored her to favour, but, with a rare generosity he paid all her debts, amounting to more than two million francs. But, though loyalty remained, his love had received a fatal blow. She had shattered his faith in her, and from that day of reconciliation her sceptre was gone.

For a few years she retained her splendour as Napoleon's wife, though she had lost his heart. She reached the goal of her ambition when the crown of Empress was placed on her head, to the boom of cannon and a tumult of rejoicing. In her palaces —the Tuileries, St. Cloud, and Malmaison—she held her Courts with a magnificence few queens have ever rivalled. Her jewels were the wonder and envy of Europe; her wardrobes were full of the costliest gowns money could purchase; miracles of silks, satins and laces, with no fewer than "two hundred summer dresses of percale and of muslin."

Such, for six year-s, were the splendour and pomp of Josephone's queendom. Then came its end in eclipse. The fire of Napoleon's passion had long died out, extinguished by her falseness and her lack of all response. Moreover, she had failed to provide the heir to the Throne on whom his heart was set, who indeed was so vital to its stability. And when Napoleon's eyes were dazzled by the offer of an alliance with the eldest daughter of the Austrian Emperor, he saw a way to escape from the fetters which had long galled him. The proposed alliance with one of the greatest reigning Houses in Europe would add strength and splendour to his Throne, and might furnish the successor for whom he had so vainly longed. And thus it was that one day he broke the news to Josephine that her days of queendom were over— that he intended to divorce her, and give her place to "-Marie Louise of Austria.

. In vain the heart-broken woman wept and pleaded. Napoleon was adamant. She "had failed him in every way and she must go. And one December day in ISO 9 ho was free to-wed his Austrian Princess, while Josephine was left to lament the follies that had lost her a crown, with 1 such consolation as she could derive from the knowledge that, if she could not longer be an empress, she ha.d still riches and palaces to call her own. .