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.
The coincidences pile up until they form a pattern which must be examined in order to determine intention. We also see media being used here to torment Hortense in the cruelest way possible. Media warfare is far from new.
Hortense’s memoirs continues:
Even I felt sufficiently reassured to go to Paris to attend to some business. The Emperor of Russia, hearing I was there, came to see me. He had just been dining with the King of France. He could not help making remarks about what he had seen, the length of the meals, how much everyone seemed to enjoy them, and even went so far as to say : "The Tuileries have not always been inhabited by the kind of people that live there now; a great man lived there not so very long ago, whereas today ."
He did not conclude his sentence.
I judged it expedient to change the subject. My brother came in from Malmaison, where he had left my mother feeling more poorly. She had been much upset by a newspaper article which spoke of my son who had died in Holland and who had been buried temporarily in a tomb at Notre Dame while his tomb at Saint Denis was being finished.
The paper declared in offensive terms that the body was about to be taken from its present sepulcher and put into the public cemetery. In order not to wound my feelings an effort had been made to keep me from seeing the article, but in the end, I was obliged to read it, so that I could beg the safeguard of the precious remains.
I confess what hurt me the most in the whole matter was to discover how much hatred there was in the hearts of those to whom, from now on, were entrusted the destinies of my native land. I cannot conceive of a jealousy that would go so far as to insult the corpse of an innocent child because in the past he had been the object of certain hopes.
A being whom an entire nation had loved even for an instant should certainly be entitled to more respectful treatment.
There can be no question of either politics or national dignity in such an attitude, which outrages both the sentiments of a race and the heart of a mother. As for me, instead of being grieved at the idea of a possible transfer of the remains, I thought that it might result in my having my son's body at Saint-Leu.
In other words, near me.
Thus, he at any rate would be safe from such base maliciousness. I merely pitied any group of people who allowed themselves to yield to a spirit of vengeance, to whom even a grave was not sacred I foresaw to what lengths of folly such feelings might drive them. I heard—and I prefer to believe it was so—that neither the King nor any of his family had anything to do with this shameful episode, thanks to the Emperor of Russia.
I trust his sympathy will bring him good fortune. Emperor Alexander was to have come to dinner the following day. My mother settled a hundred little details that might increase his comfort and expected to be well enough to get up. When he was leaving, the doctor was not able to conceal from us what his worried air had already indicated: namely, that he found her very ill and that he recommended she be covered with plasters.
Terror-stricken I sent for the best doctors in Paris. To add to my difficulties a very high fever had obliged my brother to take to his bed. Misfortunes surrounded me on every hand, but instead of giving way to my grief I was stimulated by the thought that I must concentrate all my strength and will-power on those who needed my care.
I was about to ask the Emperor to postpone the dinner till another day when he made his appearance considerably ahead of time. I received him, informed him of my fears and took him to see my brother, with whom we arranged that his presence should be kept from my mother lest she be worried thinking he had not been properly entertained.
I returned to her bedside. I told her the Emperor had sent word asking to be excused and saying that he would come another time. "I am sure," she said, "the reason he did not come was because he felt embarrassed not to have anything new to report about your brother's affairs. That must be what kept him away."
I replied I was convinced that matter would be arranged satisfactorily in the end. She repeated several times "You must take it on yourself to speak to the Emperor of Russia about your brother's fate. He is the only one who feels well-disposed toward us. We must not let him leave before a decision has been arrived at."
The physicians hesitated to tell me the truth. They only stated that the illness would be a long one I arranged matters so that I, her attendants, or mine would in turn spend a night sitting up with her. My physician and my maid began. During the day a sort of feverish energy had sustained me.
I was constantly going back and forth from my mother's room to that of my brother, where the Emperor, who only left us in the evening, was keeping him company. I stayed by my mother till late. I had brought the children in to say good night to her. She had sent them away saying,
“The air is not good in here. It might harm them." She also always kept insisting that I leave the room and made such a point of it that the doctor finally forced me to go and take a little rest. It was impossible for me to sleep. The menace of misfortune seemed to me to be almost unbearable, and at times I would try to turn my mind away and concentrate on other things, as though to escape from some gloomy specter born of my alarm.
Twice I got up to go into my mother's apartment. My maid told me I need not worry. She was resting quietly, and yet she uttered at times these unconnected words "Bonaparte ... the island of Elba ... the King of Rome."
The next day, May 29, was Pentecost. My brother, who had left his bed in spite of his fever, went into my mother's room with me while it was still early. As she caught sight of us she stretched out her arms and spoke a few words which we could not understand. She seemed quite distraught. A few hours later I found such a change in her that for the first time the terrible knowledge that I was about to lose her entered my mind.
I was unable to control my despair. My attendants carried me into the next room. My brother informed me that the sacraments had been sent for, but that nevertheless the doctors had not given up all hope. We went together to hear mass and pray for that life which was so dear to us. Tears streamed from everyone's eyes, and all those about us seemed to share our grief, I went upstairs again to my mother, summoning up all my courage to speak to her quietly of the sacraments she was about to receive and thus prevent her experiencing too great a shock when they should be brought to her.
I sought to seem calm myself in order that she might feel so also. Indeed, I still ventured to hope. But when on entering her room I saw the marked change that had come over her features in less than a half-hour, I was unable to say a word. Not even able to take the hand she stretched out to me I sank down beside her bed. I was carried into my own room. What took place I cannot say.
A few moments later my brother hurried in, took me in his arms, and bursting into tears, exclaimed, "All is over."
She had received the sacraments with the greatest calmness, and her last thoughts were doubtless for her unhappy children.
A moment later my room was filled with all those young women who like myself had just lost their mother. They came to mingle their tears with ours, and it is impossible to describe the grief that reigned about us. How intense was everyone's sorrow! How could anyone resist it? . . . The carriages having been brought up; I was taken to Saint-Leu. I cannot tell what is the sad charm that lingers about a spot where one has just suffered a loss, but when you leave it you seem to be bidding farewell once more to everything you regret.
It was not till I arrived at Saint-Leu that I became conscious of the full extent of my affliction. Such violent and such tragic emotions as those through which I had just passed brought on intense nervous headaches. I was unable to leave my bed.
My brother, alarmed at my condition, nursed me with a tenderness to which I was not accustomed. For the first time in my life I found by my side someone on whom I could call for comfort and support in my hour of distress. I appreciated this deeply, and though my heart was torn with grief yet I still was grateful to Providence for not having deprived me of everything.
Sorrow one shares is softened and becomes easier to bear. From every side marks of sympathy arrived. The foreign monarchs who were in Paris and even the French royal family expressed their regrets. The Emperor of Russia more than anyone else displayed a sympathy at which we could not feel surprised. He wished to attend in person my mother’s funeral.
My children went, but not feeling strong enough to go ourselves, we sent word to the Emperor, who sent General Sacken to represent him. When he left Paris, he spent one day at my estate at Saint-Leu, going on from there to England.
He had asked us to prepare a room for him quite informally, and arrived at night. The next morning at ten o'clock my brother brought him into my room. I was too ill to be able to get up yet.
They both breakfasted beside my bed. The Emperor was in mourning as we were. He seemed to feel our sorrow, to share the same sense of loss. I felt as though I had found a brother at the moment when Providence had just deprived me of a being whom I loved.
Our conversation was a melancholy one. The Emperor accused himself of being in a way responsible for our misfortune. He claimed it was due to my mother's grief over what had taken place. The more he seemed to us to be right, the more anxiously we tried to refute his arguments.
The original French is available below:
