33. The Tuileries

The Tuileries had again found a master; the halls where Marie Antoinette received her joyous guests, her beautiful lady-friends, were now again alive with elegant female figures, and resounded with gay voices, cheerful laughter, and unaffected pleasantry. The apartments in which Louis XVI. had passed such sad and fearful days, where he had laid with his ministers such nefarious schemes, and where royalty had been trodden down under the feet of the infuriated populace--these rooms were now occupied by the hero who had subdued the people, slain the revolution and restored to France peace and glory.

The Tuileries had again found a master--the throne-room was still vacant and empty, for the first consul of the republic dared not yet lay claim to this throne which the revolution had destroyed, and which the republic had forever removed from France. But if there was no throne in the Tuileries, there was at least a court; and "Madame Etiquette," driven away from the royal palace since the days of the unfortunate Marie Antoinette, had again, though with modest and timid step, slipped into the Tuileries. It is true, she now clandestinely occupied a servant's room; but the day was not far distant when, as Egeria, she would whisper advice and dictate laws to the ear of the new Numa Pompilius; when all doors would be open to her, and when she alone would, at all times, have access to the mighty lord of France.

In the Luxemburg, the fraternity and the equality of the revolution had been set aside, as, long before, on the 13th Vendemiaire, the liberty of the revolution had been cast away. In the Luxemburg the "citoyenne" Bonaparte had become "Madame" Bonaparte, and the young daughter of the citizeness Josephine heard herself called "Mademoiselle" Hortense!

After the entrance into the Tuileries, fraternity and equality disappeared rapidly, and the distinctions of gentlemen and servants, rulers and subjects, superiors and subordinates, were again introduced. The chief of the administration was surrounded with honors and distinctions; the court, with all its grades, degrees, and titles, was there; it had its courtiers, flatterers, and defamers; and also its brilliant festivities, splendors, and pomp!

It is true this was not the work of a moment, nor so rapid an achievement as the transition from the Luxemburg to the Tuileries, but the introduction of the words "madame" and "monsieur" removed the first obstacle which held the whole French nation bound to the same platform; and a second obstacle had fallen, when permission was granted to all the emigres, with the exception of the royal family, to return to their native country.

The aristocrats of old France returned in vast numbers; they, the bearers of old names of glory, the legitimists, who had fled before the guillotine, now hoped to win again the throne from the consulate.

They kept themselves, however, aloof from the consul, whose greatness and power were derived from the revolution, and who was to them a representative of the rebellious, criminal republic; but they presented themselves to his wife, they brought their homage to Josephine, the born aristocrat, the relative and friend of so many emigrant families, and they hoped, through her influence, to obtain what they dared not ask from the first consul--the re-establishment of the throne of the Bourbons.

These aristocrats knew very well that Josephine longed for the return of the royal family; that in her heart she cherished love and loyalty to the unfortunate royal couple; and that, without any personal ambition, without any desire for fame, but with the devotedness of a royalist, and the affection of a noble, sensitive woman, she sighed for the time when Bonaparte would again restore to the heir of Louis XVI. the throne of the lilies, and recall to France the Count de Lille, to replace him as king on his brother's throne.

In fact, Josephine had faith in this fairy-tale of her royal heart; she believed in those dreams with which her tender conscience lulled her to repose, whenever she reproached herself, that she, the subject, now walked and gave orders as mistress in this palace of royalty! "Why, indeed, could she not believe in the realization of those dreams, since Bonaparte himself seemed to cherish no further wishes than to rest on his laurels, and to enjoy, in delightful privacy, the peace he had given to France?

"I am looked upon as ambitious," said Bonaparte one day, in the confidential evening conversations with his friends in Josephine's drawing-rooms, "I am looked upon as ambitious, and why? Listen, my friends, to what I am going to tell you, and which you may repeat to all. In three years I shall retire from public life; I shall then have about fifty thousand livres income, and that is sufficient for my mode of living. I will get a country residence, since Josephine loves a country life. One thing only I need, and this I claim--I want to be the justice of the peace for my circuit. Now, say, am I ambitious?"

Every one laughed at the strange conceit of Bonaparte, who wished to exchange his present course for the position of a justice of the peace, and Bonaparte chimed in heartily with the laughter.

But Josephine believed those words of Bonaparte, and their echoes had perchance penetrated even to Russia, to the ears of the pretender to the French throne, the Count de Lille, and to the ears of the Count d'Artois, his brother, and they both therefore based their hopes on Josephine's winning her husband to the cause of the Bourbons.

Both sent their secret emissaries to Paris, to enter into some compact with Josephine, and to prepare their pathway to the throne, after having failed to negotiate directly with Bonaparte, who had repelled all their efforts, and with haughty pride had answered the autograph letter of the Count de Lille.

The Count d'Artois, enlightened by the fruitless efforts of his brother, resorted to another scheme. He sent a female emissary to Paris--not to Bonaparte, but to Josephine. Napoleon himself speaks of it, in his Memorial of St. Helena, as follows:

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