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 enters in an arranged marriage to please her mother Josephine. This is very interesting because here we have a direct contradiction between Napoleon and Hortense’s memories. Hortense here says her marriage to Napoleon’s brother Louis was initially Napoleon’s idea and that the scheme delighted Josephine. Hortense doesn’t say it but it is likely intriguing Josephine pushed this idea on Napoleon and it happened to suit his desires also.
On St. Helena, Napoleon says this miserable marriage was all Josephine’s idea. The real story between Napoleon and Hortense is written between the lines (they are both downplaying certain matters) and it is up to the reader to figure out the truth.
CHAPTER IV
MADAME LOUIS BONAPARTE (1802-1804)
Bourrienne Delivers a Message—The Marriage of Hortense and Louis Bonaparte—Domestic Difficulties-Pitiful Dilemma—Quarrels and Reconciliations—Sidelight’s on General Moreau's Conspiracy-The Death of the Duc d'Enghien.
MY mother's health obliged her to take the waters at Plombières. I went there with her and my cousin, who accompanied by her husband had returned from Dresden. During our stay a number of receptions and balls were given for us. While at Plombières I met several more suitors for my hand, but none was of sufficient rank to disturb my peace of mind, I being still loath to consider matrimony. As I have said I dreamed of marrying a man who was perfect, but I had already discovered that perfection was hard to find. I left Plombieres with regret, haunted by painful forebodings. It seemed to me that I was enjoying any last moments of freedom and happiness.
I realized that on my return to Paris steps would be taken to arrange a marriage for me. I was seventeen years old. My mother, who at that age had already had her two children, felt I was too old for any further delay. We had scarcely returned home when she spoke about the matter to the Consul, who agreed with her and added that only one match was worth considering, namely, his brother Louis. "We may never have children," he went on.
“I brought up Louis myself; I look on him as a son. Your daughter is what you cherish most on earth. Their children shall be our children. We will adopt them, and this adoption will console us for not having any of our own.
But it is necessary that our plan meet with the young people's approval.
My mother was delighted with the Consul's proposal. It fulfilled all her desires and charmed her the more since it seemed to mean that I would remain near her. Bourrienne requested an audience with me one day and addressed me as follows:
“I have been commissioned to suggest something to you which your mother and the Consul would be very glad to see take place. They wish you to marry Colonel Louis Bonaparte. He is kind and affectionate. His tastes are simple. He will appreciate you to the fullest degree and is the only suitable husband for you. Look about you. Who is there you would care to marry? The time has come when you must consider the matter seriously. No one until now has appealed to you; and if your heart made a choice that did not meet with your parents' approval, would you be prepared to disobey them? You love France. Do you want to leave it? Your mother cannot bear the thought of your being the wife of some foreign prince who would separate you from her forever. You know it is her great sorrow no longer to hope to have a child. You can remedy this and perhaps ward off a still greater misfortune. I assure you intrigues are constantly being formed to persuade the Consul to obtain a divorce. Only your marriage can tighten and strengthen those bonds on which depends your mother's happiness. Will you hesitate?"
I had let Bourrienne keep on talking without interrupting him. I discovered for the first time that I had in my power to contribute to my mother's peace of mind. How could I refuse?
But I needed to become accustomed little by little to the idea of uniting my life with that of a man whom I did not care for especially. Such a proposal required mature consideration. I asked for eight days and promised to give my answer at the end of that period. My brother had just gone to Lyons with his regiment. He had preceded the Consul.
I could not have the advantage of his advice and, moreover, I felt that it was for me to make my own decision. It was a question of sacrificing my romantic fancies to my mother's happiness. I could not hesitate between the two. In fact, this very element of sacrifice had something in it which appealed to me. How sweet it is to give up a thing on behalf of another person, how much sweeter still when that other person is your mother!
One thing made me pause. "Is it right," I asked myself, "to marry a man who does not seem to possess all those qualities which you demand? . . . Does one's heart contain everything necessary to make him happy when love is absent from the sentiments with which he inspires you?"
My reason assured me Louis Bonaparte did not displease me, that his conduct toward my cousin had been merely thoughtlessness on his part. Doubtless his kindness would make me love him in time.
The ideal being I had created in my imagination did not exist. Time would have shown me my mistake. I must forget my romantic dream. Nor would my future be an unhappy one since it was founded on the affection and esteem of a husband, on the accomplishment of my duty.
I arrived at my irrevocable decision, not, however, without being occasionally haunted by visions of felicity which, as the tears that rose to my eyes showed, were dearer to me than I was prepared to admit.
The eight days having elapsed I gave Bourrienne my reply, but strange to say, from the day I did so I became calm. All my inner tumult seemed to have passed from me to my mother.
Too well aware of my ideas on marriage not to suspect the reasons underlying my acceptance, she wept continuously. Her glances seemed to say, "You are sacrificing yourself for me."
I realized that in order to console her I must seem satisfied. Madame Campan came to Malmaison. She spoke to me about Louis Bonaparte's character. He was generally respected, and she thought he would make me happy. I was glad to have her opinion. Nevertheless, I revealed to her one of my fears. "Louis seems to me to be kindhearted and good," I said to her, "but I do not like the disdain with which he pretends to look upon women and which often appears in his conversation. Will this not be a source of sorrow to the woman who marries him?"
“My dear angel"—that was her name for me "young men who have grown up as soldiers know few good women. It is natural therefore for them to have a poor opinion of our sex, but no one is better qualified than you are to make your husband change his opinion. Louis will attach all the more value to his wife's virtue because he believes that quality is such a rare one, and you will rejoice in a conversion which you yourself will have brought about."
I was vain. Therefore, I accepted what Madame Campan had to say and I no longer worried over the fault I had noticed in the man who was about to become my husband.
We returned to Paris. The Consul sent for his brother, who at the time was with his regiment. They were talking together in my mother's room when I happened to come in. I heard the Consul pronounce the following words,
“She is a sweet and virtuous girl." I withdrew at once. My heart was beating violently. I guessed the Consul was speaking of my marriage and that in connection with it he was praising me.
Indeed, a few days later the matter was definitely settled and announced. The news was received with joy throughout the palace but especially among the aides-de-camp. They congratulated themselves that I was not leaving them, that they could always consult me about what was uppermost in their hearts.
They had feared I would be married off to some foreign prince. One rumor suggested I was to become the bride of the Duke of Cumberland, another named Archduke Charles, all these rumors were without foundation.
In fact, there could have been no question just then of such a match. Lucien Bonaparte, who for some time had been a widower, had asked for my hand. The Consul had refused it angrily. Lucien was annoyed and, as I learned later, attempted to dissuade Louis from marrying me. I do not know what he said but Louis became uneasy.
He had no opportunities of speaking to me privately as I was always surrounded by people in the drawing-room and I never received anyone in my own apartment. He wrote me a twenty page letter in which he told me, as it were, the story of his life, which for a long time had gravitated about a young woman named Sophie.
He described her in detail and also her tastes and habits. With the happiness he felt when thinking of our marriage there mingled certain fears, for he saw all the world at my feet and could not believe that a simple domestic existence would appeal to me.
He begged me in return to describe my past life to him in full. It would have been difficult for me to give him any striking facts on the subject and, when I returned his letter, in accordance with his request, I merely replied that for a long time my life had been known to him.
As far as my tastes were concerned, I did not consider that happiness and brilliant social position went together. He answered: "If your popularity and society have not spoiled you, you must be an angel. There can be no middle ground. You must be all good or all bad."
I smiled and thanked him for the compliment. I could not suppose that, admitting the existence of these two alternatives, his opinion could be otherwise than favorable.
In these confidences, Louis never mentioned his affection for my cousin. I felt rather badly about this but concealed the fact in order not to cause him any embarrassment.
I thought perhaps that it had never existed except in my cousin’s imagination, that this love-affair had merely been a dream.
The Consul had not yet said a word to me about my marriage. Finally, he spoke of it in the following terms so Louis is courting you, is he? That ought to suit you and also your mother. I give my consent to the match."
My mother had not been able to fix the day of the ceremony. She burst into tears each time the subject was mentioned. The Consul consoled her, made fun of her, and, as he was in a hurry to leave for Lyons where the Consulta of Milan was waiting to arrange with him the organization of the Italian Republic, he decided I was to marry two days later.
The sword will always be conquered by the spirit.
I was not well at the time. I asked my mother to obtain a further two days' delay. The Consul consented although annoyed at being obliged to postpone a journey for which all the preparations had been made. Louis, who had not been told of the new arrangement, called on my mother. He was much upset.
He could not understand how one could change the date of such an event. In vain he sought to discover the causes for this modification of the program. When told it had been done at my request, he said nothing further but acted as though he sought to conceal a disagreeable impression of some kind. Mother suggested we live near her in the Tuileries. He declined, and the Consul gave us the little house in the rue de la Victoire, considering it natural enough that young married people should wish to have a house of their own and be by themselves.
My mother's grief contrasted with my calmness. The more I saw her weep, the more courage I had to seem contented. I was pleased my brother was not present. From him I could not have concealed the truth. He would have guessed that my happiness was not complete. I should have felt sorry for myself when I caught his eye and I needed all my courage to pronounce that "yes" which, while it seemed to be to the beginning of a calm and placid existence, marked the end of those dreams of pure yet vivid delight which I had cherished ever since I could remember.
On January 3, 1802, my old nurse entered my room. She had heard my marriage was to take place that evening, and wishing to be the first to congratulate me had hurried to Paris from her village.
She embraced me with that peculiar tenderness that countrywomen feel all their lives towards those whom they have nourished with their milk. I cannot tell what feelings came over me, but I burst into tears and for a moment was unable to hide a bitter despair, whose intensity frightened me. At the sight of this emotion the joy of the good woman turned to anguish, but I promptly recovered and once more summoned up all my courage. The day passed drearily enough in the choosing and distributing of various pieces of jewelry to be given the palace servants. They received them with tears in their eyes and expressed their regret that they would no longer wait on me. Such things are always touching, but my courage had returned and I was prepared to face anything without betraying emotion. My marriage took place in strict privacy.
The Consuls Cambaceres and Lebrun, General Bessieres and Monsieur Lavallette acted as witnesses.
My mother had had a very handsome dress made for me trimmed with flowers. The Consul gave me a set of diamonds (necklace, earrings, bracelet, etc.). When the time came for me to dress it seemed silly to me to make such an effort to appear beautiful.
I insisted on wearing only my pearls, a white crepe dress and carrying a simple bouquet of orange blossoms. Would I have consented to such simplicity had I been more enthusiastic?
That I cannot say. The Consul called for us to take us to the apartments of state where the municipal authorities were waiting for us.
We went up his private staircase with my mother. Louis attempted to follow us. The Consul advised him to go up by the grand stairway. This incident seemed to
annoy him.
The ceremony took place. Only my mother wept. I was so afraid of saying yes in a weak, trembling voice that I pronounced it louder than, perhaps, I should have done. We went to the rue de la Victoire, where the Cardinal Caprara, who had arrived in France shortly before to attend to affairs connected with the Church, was waiting for us in a temporary chapel.
He gave us the nuptial blessing. Murat and Caroline received it at the same time, for when they were married the services of the Catholic faith had not yet been reestablished. This double ceremony produced a disagreeable impression on me. The other couple were so happy. They were so much in love with one another.
The only true conquests, those which leave no trace of regret are wrested from ignorance.
Was it superstition or second sight? I felt as though all the happiness lay on one side, all the unhappiness on the other. I reassured myself, however. Everybody told me how kind Louis was, how happy I should be, and I wanted to persuade myself it was true. We went into a drawing-room where the magnificent wedding presents were displayed.
These baubles did not interest me, but my indifference appeared to vex my husband. As soon as I noticed this, I did my best to make amends. The next day we lunched at the Tuileries. The Consul joked with me.
My mother still wept. To change her mood, he spoke to her of his trip to Lyons and inquired what people were saying about it.
"It is stated," she replied, "that you are going there to have yourself elected King of Italy." The Consul answered laughingly, "He created kings but would not be one."'
In the course of the evening my husband asked mother for a list of the names of all our relatives. He had thought it absurd that our marriage was not announced as is usually done and without consulting his brother had announcement cards made in the name of my mother and of his own and sent them all over Paris.
The Consul heard of this and flew into a rage.
"What are you meddling with now?" he said to my husband. "If I had wished to follow the accepted custom, I should have sent out these cards in my own name.
Am I not taking your father's place? Isn't it my stepdaughter you married? What right have you to make use of my wife's name without my permission? You should be aware of the fact that since I hold the office of First Consul the French authorities and the foreign ambassadors ought to have been advised of and invited to this wedding, and that it only took place privately in order to avoid the trouble of an elaborate ceremony.
They will not understand this oversight and will not realize that you are to blame for it. The stupid things you do, I am held responsible for.
You have no business to try to be independent and I will not allow it." We were distressed by this severe rebuke from the Consul. My husband could hardly forgive his brother for having made such a scene in front of me.
Later he repeatedly declared to me, "Although my brother is head of the state, he is not the head of the family. Joseph, the eldest brother, holds that rank." The Consul left Paris with my mother three days after my wedding. Her departure saddened me. I found myself left alone with a husband whose character I had not yet become acquainted with.
To be sure I was already aware that little things were able to upset him, but I had firmly resolved to do my best to satisfy him in every respect, to do everything that lay in my power to make him happy. The future now showed itself to me as different from what I had pictured it, but I visualized it as a calm and placid existence.
“If I have children," I said to myself, "I shall give them all my thoughts, all my devotion. Surely they are enough to satisfy, to absorb all the ardor of my nature. I decided that my sole object in life would be to please my husband, to cultivate my natural accomplishments, to safeguard my reputation. I would take the same care to avoid every man who might make the least impression on me as I had previously taken to find my ideal. Should chance place that ideal in my way I was prepared to flee. Or rather I would confess my weakness to my husband, for was not the latter my advisor, my counselor and my friend?
All these resolutions reassured me as regards the future and led me to look forward to a life that would be interesting but devoid of storms and tempests. I recalled Madame Campan's witty remarks about what is called the honeymoon. "
“The first days of married life," she would say, "are always pure and serene. For a whole month the husband is most attentive, most thoughtful, most gallant.
He is never impatient about anything. Pretty soon, however, a cloud appears; that cloud generally takes the form of a dress. The couple are going out. He is all ready, notices that he has been waiting some time and ventures to say so emphatically.
She is so astonished. She is upset. Tears are shed. Her husband consoles her, tells her it does not matter, but the scene is reenacted on the morrow. No longer does the consolation take place. The honeymoon has set."
I remembered this little story. In the hope of prolonging the honeymoon beyond the fatal day I trained myself to dress so quickly that I was constantly having to wait for the others. This is one example of the way in which I from the beginning strove to save my husband the least annoyance, being as scrupulously careful about little things as I was painstaking about more important ones.
Why did I fail so utterly to succeed? It was four days after my marriage. I was trying on a corset in my bedroom. Louis came in. Blushing I slipped a scarf over my shoulders. I interrupted my toilet. He wished me to continue dressing. I refused.
He insisted. I became more and more embarrassed, and he left the room in a temper. When I saw him again, instead of speaking gently to me and telling me what I had done to hurt his feelings, he addressed me severely.
"Do you not know, madame, that a wife should not be prudish in the presence of her husband? Can you not imagine what the women around you will think of your attitude?
They will tell everyone that you do not love me, that you married me against your will." I did not know what reply to make. My mind was in a whirl. How was I to have foreseen such a dispute? I remained motionless with fear and surprise.
The Consul had given us permission to live at Malmaison while he was away. We decided to go there in spite of the cold weather. Adele Auguié accompanied me.
We spent our days walking in the snow-covered woods and our evenings sitting by the fireside. One of Louis' friends who was an officer in the regiment he commanded joined us for a few days. He was rather awkward. While we read aloud and he sat by a table on which were a number of puzzles, he tried them all one after another without being able to solve any of them.
We wanted to laugh. Louis, who had just begun a novel, stopped and accused us of making fun of him. This made us serious at once. Unfortunately, we happened to glance again at the young officer who could not undo a hoop from the ring puzzle. We again burst out laughing, and neither my husband's air of displeasure nor our own efforts could restrain our mirth.
Everything increased our hilarity, which, however, ended on my part by bitter tears. When we were alone my husband said to me very seriously, "Whom do you take me for? Do you believe I am prepared to be treated as though I were a clown? I warn you only a woman of light morals dares laugh at her husband and make sport of him. I would rather leave you than allow myself to be thus humiliated."
Words cannot describe my despair. In an instant I saw all my dreams not only of happiness but even of tranquility collapse about me. I could not have imagined the existence of a character such as I found myself confronted with. The thought of the future terrified me.
For having committed a childish prank, natural enough considering my age, I found myself treated in this manner. How could I hope to satisfy a nature which took offense at such trifles? I had never been in the habit of weighing a single one of my words or actions.
Everything I did met with the approval of those about me. I no longer sought to be praised, but I felt the need of being better understood. A hundred gloomy thoughts besieged my brain, and I felt come over me feelings I had never before experienced.
My nerves gave way. Only tears brought relief. My husband, touched and affected by the sight of my grief, sought to console me, but the harm had been done.
My only sentiment towards Louis became one of fear. I dared no longer smile or speak in his presence. It always seemed to me he was on the point of losing his temper. Although still filled with a longing to make him happy I felt I no longer knew how to do so.
Madame Campan gave a little party for us at Saint Germain. She had asked Isabey to paint a thousand incidents of my childhood. One scene showed me entering school later I was shown taking different lessons; still later a young man appeared as a suitor; in short it was the whole story of my life shown in a series of magic lantern slides.
Before each picture one of my fellow pupils sang an appropriate verse. Several, as they expressed their regrets that I was no longer with them, burst into tears. One of them whispered to Madame Campan, "I can't bear the sight of her husband when I think it is he who robbed us of her affections, who took her away from us."
Madame Campan repeated this remark to my husband, thinking he would be pleased with it as showing how popular I was. He said nothing. I did the same. I suppressed even the pleasant emotions which these expressions of sincere friendship aroused in me, for I was conscious that Louis was exasperated by them.
A phrase showed me to what an extent he had left ill at ease. "I have been made to look like a fool," he declared on our return from Saint Germain.
Afterwards he was never willing to return there and assumed a distant attitude towards Madame Campan. Thus, passed my honeymoon, that first month of married life which is said to be the happiest of a woman's life. Be that as it may, in my case, painful though it was, it was nevertheless one of those months during which I was the least unhappy.
Hope still remained with me. I still cherished the idea of in some way reclaiming Louis' uneasy, restless nature by my assiduous care. My mother returned with the Consul. She questioned me closely regarding my home life. I answered that I was happy, that I was delighted with my husband. She was satisfied—that was all I wanted.
Moreover, I should have felt I was committing a wrong to complain of the man to whom fate had irrevocably bound me. Only to Adele's bosom did. I confide all my fears for the future. I hoped these effusions might bring relief, that so sincere a friendship might strengthen my courage.
Since she had come back my mother often looked at me attentively. Her eyes seemed to be seeking in my face the first signs of an approaching pregnancy, which she predicted and which shortly afterwards declared itself. My husband, my mother and the Consul were overjoyed.
The latter repeatedly told me he hoped I would not have a daughter for he was not prepared to give a girl a warm welcome. As far as my personal wishes were concerned, I desired a child, that was all.
At the time I was copying the head of a young child in one of Greuze's paintings. I imagined that mine would have some of the features of those of the charming model. Later—was it an illusion or a reality? I actually found a resemblance between them. The signing of the Concordat took place about this time [1801] marking the reestablishment of the Catholic religion in France.
The following Easter the Consul attended the services at Notre Dame in great pomp. We were present in one of the tribunes. From that time on mass was said every Sunday and fête day at the Tuileries.
Adele was the daughter of Monsieur Auguié, former receveur general des Finances. She had two elder sisters who were very dear to me. One of them, Antoinette, god-child of the King and Queen of France, married Monsieur Gamot. Possessing brilliancy of mind together with natural gifts and high moral qualities, she would have been an ornament to society, but her husband's career, the education of her children, an active spirit of charity which led her frequently into the squalid garrets of the poor had confined her activities in a round of duties.
Eglé, Adele's second sister, was very kind, charming and sensitive. We married her to General Ney and I continued to see her frequently. I was never so happy as when I was with these friends. Three evenings a week we had a drawing lesson.
Sometimes it was held at our house, sometimes at that of one of the others. We paid strict attention to the lessons of our teacher Isabey till ten o'clock, when tea was served. My husband and Eglé, who had never sketched before, were the most backward pupils. We sometimes made fun of their landscapes, and they freely admitted their shortcomings. Once when my carriage had failed to arrive, I asked Adele's father to take me home.
Louis made another of his scenes, and a serious one at that, because I had not said take us instead of take me. Apparently, he did not count. I excused myself on the ground that I was not yet accustomed to saying us. As I did so my fear of constantly hurting his feelings was renewed.
When warm weather brought us back to Malmaison we gave amateur theatricals. Among the Consul's officers there were some very good actors, but frequently, just when the performance was about to take place, the hero or the faithful servant would be sent on a special mission, and the play would have to be put off. My husband, who always knew his lines, enjoyed this amusement.
Several women noted for their charm had recently become members of the household. All the officers attached to the Consul's person were married. General Lannes had married a young Parisian, who was beautiful and well educated the wife of General Bessieres was a girl from his province, kind, gentle and pious. I had just arranged the marriage of General Savary and a relative of mine, Mademoiselle de Faudoas, who had been brought up at Saint Germain and who was remarkably good-looking; Colonel Caffarelli had married Mademoiselle d'Ecquevilly, and General Junot, Mademoiselle de Permon. The four ladies in waiting whom the Consul had just appointed were noted for their wealth and their excellent reputation. They were Madame de Luçay, Madame de Talhouet, Madame de Lauriston and Madame de Remusat.
The last of these owed her position to my mother's recommendation. Daughter of Monsieur de Vergennes and with a brilliant mind herself, her appointment as lady in waiting and that of her husband as prefet du Palais had released them from the financial straits the family had been in since the Revolution.
Hortense was widely believed to be Napoleon’s mistress at this time but she wasn’t aware of this. Many different memoirs corroborate this. Why was this completely untrue rumor so widely believed?
I generally did not use rouge because I had a good natural complexion, but one day when we had been acting I had so much on that I did not know how to take it off. My maid suggested my mother's face cream, creme de rose. I ran to her dressing-room where she was alone, undressing. Having washed my face I returned at once to my room.
Louis had just come in. My maid told him where I was, and I repeated her statement, but he did not say a word. The following day he sat writing in my room, then went out leaving the table covered with the papers he had just written.
Undoubtedly, they were intended for me, but the thought of reading them never crossed my mind. I should have been afraid of being indiscreet. Consequently, I was not in any way alarmed, nor did I imagine for a moment that my husband was angry with me. A few hours later Louis came back and said in a natural tone of voice, “I’ve just ordered my carriage. I have to go and see how work at my little country place at Baillon is getting on."
Only those who seek to deceive the people, and rule for their own advantage seek to keep people in ignorance.
“Am I to accompany you?" I inquired.
“No, I want to have everything done over. I will be with the workmen all the time. You had better stay here. You'll see me again before long. Then too your mother would make a fuss if you left.”
I did not answer and kissed him good-bye.
Louis really was put into a terrible position.
Two or three days went by. I thought a surprise would please him. I spoke of it to mother, who approved of the idea but made me promise to return two days later. I invited Adele and her sister to supper with me the day I came back on my way through Paris. My husband seemed astonished to see me and treated me coldly. Yet when I prepared to leave he sought to keep me with him.
I told him mother would be alarmed, adding that the Mesdemoiselles Auguié were expecting me for supper. At this mention of a supper of schoolgirls he smiled skeptically and when my carriage arrived stepped in with me.
At first he suggested driving with me only as far as the end of the avenue of the estate, but he allowed himself finally to be persuaded to go all the way to Paris, where he was surprised and embarrassed to find that only two young women were waiting for me.
The next day he left again without having made the slightest attempt to explain his conduct. I supposed that his estate amused him and could not imagine any reason for his aloofness. Several days passed. The Consul inquired why Louis stayed away and considered it absurd for a newly married husband to leave the wife he was supposed to love in this manner.
I do not know whether he thought we had quarreled, but at any rate he sent for Louis, and as soon as he arrived called him into his study. A few moments later my mother and I were sent for.
“What is this I hear, Hortense?" the Consul said to me as I came in "Your husband has just cause for complaint against you? You who I thought were so good! Have you forgotten your domestic duties as a wife?"
“But what have I done?" I exclaimed. "I have not the slightest idea."
“Your husband complains that during your drawing class you and your friends have no regard for his feelings, that you make fun of him, that he receives none of those marks of esteem which he has a right to expect."
“Is it possible," I exclaimed sobbing, "that he believes me capable of forgetting myself to such an extent? If I laugh sometimes, why must he always think I do so at his expense? Why does he not give me his confidence? Why does he not tell me what his wishes are? To please him I am prepared to sacrifice all my pleasures."
“That is true," said the Consul, speaking to Louis. "Why do you conceal your grievances?"
“Ah, how can I express them?" replied my husband. "Whenever I speak to her, she bursts into tears."
He had hardly finished speaking when the Consul losing his temper exclaimed: "You do not deserve such a wife. She feels your reproaches, she weeps, and instead of being touched you are irritated by her tears. Do you not feel the joy of knowing you are to become a father?" As he spoke, he betrayed his deep emotion that such a happiness was denied him.
He went on more gently "At least appreciate that sign of her affection. You should be at her knees, caring for her, cherishing her; instead of that you hurt her. Ah, Louis, you who I thought were so kind-hearted, so sensitive, I no longer know you."
The Consul's anger dried my tears. I was no longer irritated with my husband's unfair attitude toward me. I pitied him for having incurred this humiliation. Moreover, I was well aware that such a scene would tend to irritate his temper rather than calm it. From then on, our life became more and more uncomfortable and constrained.
Although endowed with a robust constitution my husband had one hand which was affected with a wasting disease and whose condition worried him.
He wished to take a treatment at the health resort of Bareges in the Pyrenees. The Consul objected again to this trip on the grounds of the inconveniences travelers had to put up with and the comments it was likely to arouse.
“People will say I married my stepdaughter to a husband who was a cripple and an invalid." In the end, however, he gave in, for his brother was always obstinate. Louis wished me to accompany him. My mother did not approve of the idea and even frightened me by describing the bad effects such a long trip might have on me in view of my condition and my duties toward the child I was about to bring into the world.
I was torn between these duties and the obedience I owed my husband. He, meanwhile, demanded I declare formally to my mother and the Consul that I wished to accompany him no matter what might be the result.
“Please allow me," I said, "to remain neutral and only be obliged to carry out your wishes when you have convinced the others that you are right."
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.