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.
Hortense describes how Napoleon continues to be subverted by courtiers into caring about “royal” nonsense that actually unfortunately succeeded in taking his eye off the ball.
Napoleon asks Hortense for dance lessons.
Then Hortense is pushed back into an abusive situation by everyone around her, even her own brother.
This husband, Louis, even brings up to Hortense how quickly the Emperor of Austria was able to replace his wife.
Hortense’s memoirs continues:
The choice of a chief lady in waiting for the new Empress was a question that caused much talk among all the courtiers.
She had to be a woman of absolutely irreproachable character. All the members of the oldest families of the Faubourg Saint-Germain claimed this position, which belonged to them by right.
They declared the niece of the unfortunate Queen of France [Marie Antoinette] could have as her close attendant only someone who had served the cause of her aunt.
On the other hand, the military men and the nobles of the new regime distrusted the members of the old court party and feared the snubbing they might receive from the old aristocrats.
The Emperor's choice was the wisest possible. No one had thought of it and everyone approved it. The Duchess of Montebello had, since the death of her husband [Marshal Lannes] lived in retirement, her only interest being the education of her children.
Admired by all, still young and beautiful, her appointment proved the Emperor did not forget those heroes who had died for their country's cause and that he did not want to place near his young wife any person whose reminiscences might have caused her not to like all French people equally.
Never before had such luxury been displayed as that which was to accompany the Emperor's marriage.
Nothing seemed too fine for the Empress, and the Emperor took pains over the smallest details of everything that concerned her as though he had nothing else to think about.
The King and Queen of Westphalia, the Queen of Spain, the King and Queen of Naples, the Duchess of Tuscany, the Prince and Princess of Baden, the Princess Pauline and my husband met in the evening at the Tuileries.
I spent my time between my mother and these gatherings, which the presence of my husband made rather embarrassing for me. At one of them which I happened to attend the Emperor was in especially high spirits.
“From now on," he declared, "people must find me charming. My serious and solemn manner will not please a young woman. She probably enjoys the pastimes of youth. Come, Hortense, you are our Terpsichore: teach me how to waltz."
The proposition of the Emperor struck us as so amazing that we burst out laughing. It was not a joke. He meant what he said seriously. I gave him lessons for two evenings. He had little natural skill and laughed himself at his clumsiness.
Pretty soon he grew tired of the idea saying: "Let each age do what suits it best. I am too old. Moreover, I can see that I was never meant to be a success as a dancer."
My brother had gone back to Italy, whence he was to return with his wife to attend the wedding. I received a letter from him which pained me deeply as it announced that General de Broc, who had participated in the German campaign under his orders, had fallen severely ill while at Milan.
I could not keep this bad news from my dear friend. She immediately left to nurse her beloved husband, but at Chambery she met my brother and my sister-in-law, who informed her of the General's death.
She was mad with grief. I shared her distress as though it had been my own. Never did I see a more deep or enduring sorrow. It did not, however, affect either her health or her beauty.
This doubtless was the happy result of the tears which she was able to shed freely. I had never met my sister-in-law before, but had been constantly hearing about her. The happiness she had brought my brother was enough in itself to make me fond of her.
I went to meet her on the way to Fontainebleau, and found her much as she had been described. Her beauty and the freshness of her complexion were remarkable. Although very tall and thin her figure was so well proportioned that she did not seem in the least grotesque.
She was always at ease and most considerate toward others. In every respect she made an ideal princess, and I have heard this opinion repeated by others, even by the Emperor himself.
We became sincerely attached to one another, as much so as two people can be who have common interests and the same reactions, but lack any knowledge of each other's early lives, which have been spent in different surroundings.
Nor can a person who has known only happiness understand another whose life has been darkened by constant misfortunes.
The Empress Josephine went to Navarre [a château near Evreux] in order not to be too close to Paris during the wedding festivities. According to our policy of appearing entirely to approve of the marriage, my brother and I had agreed to be present.
In order to do so we first went to Compiegne with the Emperor and all his family. The imperial court was at this time a remarkable spectacle.
Nowhere in Europe could be found a more numerous gathering of women distinguished by their beauty and intelligence. The Emperor's officers had married into all classes of society. They had been influenced neither by family nor by fortune but entirely by the personal qualities of their companions.
Italy and Germany had also contributed to the French court all they possessed in the way of charm, wit and beauty, for the princesses occupying foreign thrones sought to surround themselves with the elite of their new dominions. No assembly will ever compare, I believe, with this one as a picture of youth, riches, and all the forms of physical beauty and all the delights of the mind.
The Empress was approaching Compiegne. Every day the Emperor received a letter from her, which he seemed to find satisfactory.
Her passage everywhere was greeted with joyful demonstrations and she must have enjoyed this continuous ovation. As for me, yielding to my habit of judging others by myself, I found myself pitying her.
I remembered my own marriage, the ideas I had held as to the happiness it was to bring me. I thought she might hold these same ideas. How, I said to myself, can she, after having been brought up to hate the enemy of her family and of her country, expect to love the Emperor?
It is impossible. The match is a purely political one. I pictured her as being unhappy and thought of her as a victim.
She began to attract me and I found myself waiting for her arrival as one does for that of someone whom you look forward to meeting.
I did not remember sufficiently that for a princess ambition is the most powerful of all emotions and the highest throne is always the one to which she most ardently aspires.
She expects it will bring her the greatest happiness, since she knows in advance that her heart has nothing to say about choosing the man she marries.
It is a wise and necessary education that emphasizes the importance of the grandeur that lies before her and the noble use she may make of the power she will be called upon to wield; in other words, that teaches her how to make the most of what Fate holds in store for her.
At Compiegne, although my husband and I lived under the same roof, we saw each other only at night in the Emperor's drawing-room where all the family generally gathered.
He never spoke to me, and indeed I did not seem to be included in the subjects in which he was interested. One day the King of Westphalia sent me an invitation to lunch the following day.
I accepted and found myself with my husband and the King and Queen. I realized that the meeting had been planned in advance. The very thought of a possible discussion made me feel uneasy.
However, the ordeal had to be faced. The King and Queen left the room, and we were alone.
"Madame," said my husband, "for a long time I have been wishing to speak to you. The Emperor was unwilling to agree to a separation which we both desired. Therefore, it appears you cannot be free of your husband."
“What happiness do you expect to find in a reconciliation?" I replied.
“I know there is no hope for one and it is not that I am asking. But you are Queen of Holland. It is there you should live, and I will not allow you to do otherwise."
“What reasons make you wish to have me there? If you are so alarmed at the idea of my being at the Emperor's court, I do not insist on remaining here. My mother lives in retirement. I am prepared to stay with her. I can do nothing to make you happy. Let me end my days quietly. Do not think any more about me. Imagine that I have died."
“That is quite different," he answered promptly. "Look at what the Emperor of Austria has done. He remarried immediately."
I do not know how this last sentence escaped him, but it strengthened my conviction that this love of his for me, which I had heard so much about, had ceased to exist.
In its place was another feeling so acutely hostile that I had reason to fear it. All his conversation was about the necessity of my returning to Holland and the power he possessed to make me do so. Later I was forced to resist the most pressing entreaties on the part of my husband's family. I replied to each of them that I believed he was capable of doing anything in order to hurt me, but that if he were not king of the country in which he lived I might be willing to go there in the hope of obtaining from some all-powerful judge at least a recognition of my rights. But what could I expect at the hands of a man who treated me as though I were his bitterest enemy?
I wrote the Emperor a despairing letter. He did not answer me.
Finally, even my brother undertook to patch up a partial truce. I related to him in detail all that I had endured. But how was I to make him understand? One must have lived through such tortures in order to conceive them. People fancy that emotion blinds persons who complain. In attempting to save their reputation perhaps one brings about their death.
Eugene kept repeating to me: "Make this last effort on account of what people will think. They do not know how many times already you have tried to improve this impossible character. You are blamed because people do not know you better. Show how brave you are, and if you cannot win from your husband a little domestic happiness, at least your perseverance will have given you the right to live alone, quiet and respected by all."
It is difficult to be so sure you are right as to be able to resist the advice of a dearly loved brother, especially when you value his approval, but in this case he was wrong.
The original French is available below:
