Let’s have another look at Hortense’s Memoirs. If you want to read the book it is available for free at the side bar in English and French. Use the widget on the sidebar to translate the text below into pretty much any language.
In this excerpt, Hortense moves into the Tuileries Palace and has to fend off pressure from all sides regarding her matrimonial prospects.
CHAPTER III
AT THE PALACE OF THE TUILERIES AND THE CHATEAU OF THE MALMAISON (1799-1801)
Wedding of Caroline Bonaparte—Thoughts on Love and Marriage—Hortense's Suitors—"The Plague Victims at Jaffa—Home-Life of the First Consul—Plots and Plotters—The Explosion in the Rue Saint-Nicaise—At Malmaison—Various Visitors—Mademoiselle Clairon—More Sentimental Complications—Duroc's Letter and Bourrienne's Tears—A Fire in the Tuileries—The King and Queen of Etruria at Malmaison—The Peace of Amiens.
FOLLOWING the revolution that took place on the 18th Brumaire, the Consul moved into the Palace of the Luxembourg and devoted himself entirely to affairs of state.
The Luxembourg.
My mother's first concern was to secure permission from him for the return of a number of political exiles. Naturally her drawing room was crowded daily with members of the oldest families of France, some of whose relatives had sought shelter abroad.
Later they would return accompanied by a father, a husband or a brother eager to express his gratitude toward the person who had enabled him once more to look upon his native land.
My mother, who had had me recalled from school and kept me with her, was constantly introducing me to relatives whom I had never heard of before. The number of the latter speedily became so great that it was easy to surmise we owed this increase in our family to our new rank.
My mother took me to a ball at the house of Monsieur de Perigord, the brother of Monsieur de Talleyrand. The host's name had until quite recently figured on the list of refugees. The guests at his ball consisted entirely of those who had shared his misfortunes and a part of the nobility who had survived the horrors of the Revolution. It was there that I for the first time saw Monsieur de Mun, Monsieur de Gontaut, Monsieur de Nitlai, Monsieur de Noailles, and Monsieur de Choiseul Praslin, who one after the other became my suitors.
I admit their manners pleased me although I was most critical in that respect, but I wished to have an opportunity to become acquainted with their real characters and above all to make sure they were marrying me for myself alone. As a matter of fact, I was too young to consider matrimony and would have been glad to return to Saint Germain.
The idle life I led at the Luxembourg bored me and became quite unbearable when my mother began to talk seriously to me about Monsieur de Mun. He was enormously wealthy, already the master of his fortune and, according to reports, deeply in love with me. I was willing enough to admit all his advantages.
What I declined to believe was his affection. I thought, "He has had no opportunity to know me and he says he loves me. Either he is of a shallow nature, or it is the daughter of the First Consul he wishes to marry out of ambition or vanity."
This idea caused me to avoid him with the utmost care. He never had a chance to speak to me, and at last, after I had begged for it repeatedly, I was allowed to return to Saint Germain.
My mother sometimes spoke to the First Consul about my marriage. He had little to say on the subject. At that time, he sought to marry his brothers and sisters either to the most distinguished families belonging to the old nobility, in order to attach the latter to the new regime, or else to generals whose abilities and skill had secured France her latest glories.
He replied to my mother that my extreme youth allowed me to take my time, and that undoubtedly in due course a suitably brilliant match could be arranged. His two eldest sisters had disappointed his matrimonial projects. Elisa had chosen, instead of General Berthier, a young Corsican named Bacciochi.
Although of good family, honest and kind, he did not come up to the Consul's wishes. His second sister Pauline had selected General Leclerc and Caroline, the third sister, announced openly her affection for General Murat.
None of these alliances pleased the Consul. It was a long while before he gave his consent to that of Caroline and Murat. He signed the contract with reluctance and would not attend the ceremony.
The annoyance it caused him led to his saying one day to Madame Campan, "I hope at least this one" (pointing to me) "will let herself be married properly."
At one time he had thought of marrying his sister to General Duroc, whom he esteemed highly. Neither she nor the General paid any attention to his wishes. Caroline's wedding took place at Mortefontaine.
I was present. It afforded me food for thought. Here were two people who seemed to have achieved complete felicity, since the love of her husband is the only perfect happiness within a woman's grasp.
Yet can such happiness be complete when our parents disapprove of the choice we have made? Could I experience a happiness my mother did not share?
On the other hand, to be led to the altar blindly, to approach it in a spirit of obedience, to surrender oneself without love, this was a sacrifice more cruel than anything I was prepared to endure. Therefore, I hoped to be able to satisfy both the dictates of my heart and the wishes of my family.
To achieve this, I resolved to examine attentively, but in such a way as not to attract attention, all those men who sought to please me and who succeeded so poorly in their attempts. It was to be sure rather presumptuous on the part of a young lady of sixteen to imagine she could grasp almost at a glance secrets which often escape mature and long continued scrutiny. I fancied that a single word or gesture frequently revealed a person's nature.
All I had to do would be to seize that word and note that gesture. My arts were vain. Nothing that I saw or heard touched my heart. Doubtless I demanded too much. I sought the sublime, the unattainable, but the very loftiness of my ambitions, since it made their realization impossible, assured my peace of mind.
Paris was coming to life again. Balls, receptions and general rejoicings followed the end of the Reign of Terror. Yet the social tone of the old regime had disappeared.
France's wealth had changed hands. Now it was to be found in the pockets of tradespeople, and it was they who entertained, who showed visitors the sights of the city, who squandered in a single night's entertainment a fortune they had acquired too easily.
Foreigners flocked to Paris. They were curious to see what France was like after such political upheavals and had confidence in the new order. The only drawing rooms these visitors entered were those of these nouveaux riches. There they obtained their ideas regarding French society and on returning home filled their newssheets with erroneous opinions.
All this time France was prosperous. The government was being organized. Public works were undertaken on a vast scale. The luxury which is a necessary part of the life of every great nation reappeared.
The First Consul in order to revive the factories of Lyons, and to free us from paying tribute to England, forbade the wearing of muslin materials and ordered the destruction of all English manufactured goods. When my mother or I would come into the room wearing an elegant dress his first question was, "Is that gown made of muslin?" Frequently we would say that it was linen from Saint Quentin, but if a smile betrayed the fact that we were not telling the truth, he would tear off the guilty garment.
This unpleasant incident having been repeated on several occasions we were obliged to revert to satin or velvet. The decrees of fashion carried out what those of the Consul might not have otherwise achieved, but cashmere shawls,
in spite of being frequently threatened with destruction, continued to be worn.
The Consul was so uncomfortably housed in the Palace of the Luxembourg that he moved to that of the Tuileries.
The Tuileries Palace was destroyed in an act of terrorism.
Perhaps too he was anxious to live in the house of the former rulers of France. I can recall my mother's melancholy the first few days of our residence at the Tuileries. She kept imagining she saw poor Queen Marie Antoinette.
I had the same impression on account of the vivid reminiscences of Madame Campan. My mother made a remark which saddened me. "I shall never be happy here," she said to me. "I felt gloomy forebodings from the first minute I entered."
I attempted to cheer her but did not succeed. Social activities and especially the good she was able to do others triumphed where my efforts failed. No matter how much I might dislike what are known as "suitable" marriages everyone seemed to be proposing matches of that description.
All the old dowagers of the Faubourg Saint Germain devoted themselves to the task with indefatigable zeal. Among others Madame de Montesson, who had taken a great fancy to me, suggested one day I should marry the Duc d'Arenberg.
Another time it was the leader of the Chouans [the royalist rebels] who wished to make his peace with the government and my hand was to serve as security.
Several young nobles who had lost their estates through expropriation by the government hoped to get them back if they married me, while at the same time several generals also appeared as candidates.
Macdonald [later the hero of the Battle of Wagram] was among the latter. To him the First Consul replied that he intended I should marry some young man whom I could love, not a person almost old enough to be my father.
This reply relieved my mind since it showed he cared about my happiness. It wiped out the unpleasant impression caused by a talk I had had a few days before with my brother. When I pictured what I considered would be a happy future he had said to me, "Hortense, my dear, do not cherish false illusions. The more we rise in rank, the less we become free agents. I think you will have to marry in accordance with the wishes of the Consul, perhaps to suit his political plans. Forget your dreams of an impossible bliss."
My mother, who treated me more as a friend than a daughter, kept me informed of the various proposals. As a matter of fact it was easy to guess what was going on. Mornings I liked to spend in my own apartment. Every few minutes mother would send for me. I would have to bring out my drawings and have them admired.
Among the visitors there would be a young man who would look at me particularly intently. It was easy to guess what that meant, and every day I became more and more annoyed about it. Once an elderly lady called at the Tuileries. Mother was out. The visitor asked to see me and talked to me at great length about Monsieur de Mun, praising him to the skies. The more I kept insisting I would never marry him, that I could never care for him, the more persistently she sought to persuade me to change my mind, or at least think the matter over. Remembering her influence on my mother I foresaw more worries in the future and unable to bear the prospect gave way to tears. "So, you have absolutely made up your mind not to marry Monsieur de Mun?" she repeated. "Oh, absolutely!" I replied. "Well, I am delighted to hear it," she went on. "I called on your mother especially to suggest another husband for you, one who I am sure would please you very much better."
This remark made me burst out laughing as much at this novel manner of proposing a fiancé as at the tears I had just been shedding so needlessly.
Constantly I was called upon to repulse new attacks. My hand seemed to be everybody's property. People seemed to think they could do what they pleased with it, and to mask the real reasons for this assiduity paid me all sorts of fantastic compliments.
I had not attempted to hide my grief at the time of my mother's marriage; therefore, people supposed that my sympathies were with the old regime.
It was said the First Consul called me his little rebel, that one day I had dared tell him the uniform of commander of the royal forces would be more becoming to him than his badge of office.
In short people took for granted I shared their views and opinions. Consequently, at that time I had the rare good fortune of pleasing everyone. My mother enjoyed the sight of my social success, but I was mortified at being so much under observation from all sides.
I complained of it to her and begged to be allowed to go back and spend one more year at Saint Germain. Finally, she agreed.
The public was touched that I should prefer life in a boarding school where I was merely one of the pupils to that of a palace, considering the latter a center of gaiety and pleasure.
As a matter of fact, my real joys were to be found at Saint Germain. There I was liked for myself only. Affection inspired whatever praise I received, praise which was dearer to me than any offered me in Paris since the latter was so obviously prompted by self-interest.
In spite of this my mother was dissatisfied with my absence. Before six days had elapsed, she sent for me. My departure had made her weep, and she chided me gently with being happy away from her and preferring the companionship of my friends to what she had to offer.
The Consul, who came in while this scene was taking place, laughed at her reproaches and in fun tried to arouse her still more, saying, "Do you think you had children to please yourself? What a mistake! The moment boys and girls have grown up they no longer need their parents. When Hortense is married, she will care only for her husband and pay no attention at all to you."
I protested but he continued, "Children always love their parents less than their parents love them. That is a law of nature. Look at young birds. As soon as they can fly they leave the nest and never return."
Tears fell from my mother's eyes. Seeing this he took her on his knees, kissed her, and in a tone that was half jesting, half serious said, "Poor little woman, who is so unhappy. She has a husband who cares only for her, and that isn't enough. It is I who ought to make a scene, for you are far fonder of your children than you are of me." "No," replied my mother, with a smile, "you cannot doubt my affection, but I cannot be wholly happy if my children are not with me."
“What more do you need to make you happy?" asked the Consul. "You have a husband who is no worse than the average, two children who are in every way a credit to you. Surely you were born with a silver spoon in your mouth."
“You're right," she replied, and joy followed the tears. Several such discussions having taken place, I realized that it was necessary to wait for my mother herself to suggest that I return to Saint Germain.
The original French is available below:
Contempt for the laws, and the disturbance of public order, are the results of weakness and wavering in princes.
I hope we can learn from Napoleon’s mistakes.