From Henry VIII To Lola Montez
Page 7
In reality, the story of Napoleon and Marie Louise and of the Count von Neipperg is one that leads you straight to a sex problem of a very inquisitive nature. Balzac, the master of psychology, has touched upon the theme in the early chapters of his famous novel called "A Woman of Thirty."
As for this particular Napoleonic story, it is important to first remember the facts of the case so that their full importance may be understood.
In 1809, when Napoleon was at the height of his power, he had secured an annulment of his marriage from Josephine. Because of her continued unfaithfulness to him, he did not feel as though he owed her anything. Out of habit, he had clung to her during their relationship, but through her actions, he now found her charms abhorrent. To make matters worse, Josephine had never borne him any children, and Napoleon felt like a failure without a son to continue his dynasty, despite his massive accomplishments.
Immediately after his marriage was annulled, Napoleon’s ambition grew by leaps and bounds. He would end up married with children, but this time he had bigger hopes for his bride. There was a time when he would have been satisfied with any woman beneath his class, but this time he desired an imperial bride.
He first sought the sister of the Czar of Russia, but Alexander profoundly distrusted the French emperor, and managed to avoid his request. There was, however, a reigning family far more antiquated than the Romanoffs, a family that held the oldest and noblest blood in Europe. This was the Austrian house of Hapsburg. Its head, the Emperor Francis, had thirteen children, of whom the eldest, the Archduchess Marie Louise, was then only nineteen years old.
Napoleon had resented the Czar’s rejection of his proposal, so he decided to turn more eagerly to the other prospect. There were many reasons why an Austrian marriage might be dangerous, or, at the very least, ominous. Only sixteen years before, an Austrian arch-duchess, Marie Antionette, who was hated by the French people, had been beheaded. The people blamed "the Austrian" for the evil days that had ended in the flames of revolution married to the ruler of France. The father of the girl to whom Napoleon courted had the bitter enemy of the new government in France. His troops had been beaten by the French in five wars and had been crushed at Austerlitz and at Wagram. Bonaparte had twice entered Vienna at the head of a conquering army and he had slept in the imperial palace at Schonbrunn while Francis was fleeing through the dark, a fugitive pursued by the French cavalry.
The feelings that Francis carried towards Austria were not merely that of the conquered toward the champion; it was a hatred that ran very deep. He was the head old-time feudalism of birth and blood; Napoleon was the embodiment of the modern spirit that destroyed kingdoms, giving the sacred titles of king and prince to soldiers who still showed the brutality of the camp and the stable from where they sprang. Nevertheless, just because an alliance with the Austrian house seemed impossible, the thought of it aroused the passions of Napoleon even more.
"Impossible?" he had once said, disdainfully. "The word 'impossible' is not French."
The Austrian alliance may have seemed unnatural but it was quite possible, at least according to Napoleon. In the year of 1809, Napoleon was able to destroy the empire of the Hapsburgs in his fifth war with Austria during the battle of Wagram. Napoleon was able to ruthlessly take region after region from Francis. He had even hinted that the Hapsburgs might be dethroned and that Austria might disappear from the map of Europe, to be divided between himself and the Russian Czar, who was still his ally. It was at this precise moment that the Czar refused to give the hand of his sister Anne, which greatly wounded Napoleon’s pride.
Because of Napoleon’s wounded pride, the diplomats of Vienna saw an opening and decided to take their chance. Prince Metternich cautiously suggested that the Austrian archduchess would be an appropriate bride for the French conqueror. This offering soothed Napoleon and he decided to accept the proposal. Things moved swiftly after that and before long it was understood that there was to be a new empress in France, and that she was to be none other than the daughter of the man who had been Napoleon's most persistent enemy upon the Continent. The girl was to be given in order to mollify an imposing adventurer. After such a marriage, Austria would be safe from Napoleon’s plundering. The reigning dynasty would remain firmly seated upon its historic throne.
But how did the girl feel about her future husband? She had always heard Napoleon spoken of as an ogre, a man who was a ruthless enemy of her people. She knew that less than a year before, he had publicly and very boldly called the Emperor Francis a coward. Up to this point, she had imagined Napoleon as a blood-stained, repugnant, and yet all-powerful monster, outside the pale of human liking and respect. It’s hard to imagine the thoughts that must have run through her head upon learning that she was to become his bride.
As many German girls of rank, Marie Louise had been brought up in quiet modesty and complete innocence. In person she was a tall blonde, with a mass of light brown hair tumbling about a face that could be called attractive because it was so youthful. She had a rosy complexion and clear blue eyes; her figure was good, though too full for a girl who was younger than her years.
She had a large and generous mouth with full lips, the lower one being the true "Hapsburg lip," slightly pendulous—a feature which has remained for generation after generation as a sign of Hapsburg blood. One sees that feature in the present emperor of Austria, in the late Queen Regent of Spain, and in the present King of Spain, Alfonso. All the artists who made miniatures or paintings of Marie Louise softened down this racial mark so that no likeness of her shows it as it really was. But many who knew her saw her as simple and innocent, a German girl who knew nothing of the outside world except what she had heard from her governess, and what had been told her of Napoleon by her uncles, the archdukes whom he had beaten in battle.
When she learned she was to be given to Napoleon, she experienced feelings of dread, but her father expressed the importance of the union to her country. She questioned the archdukes who had called Napoleon an ogre.
"Oh, that was when Napoleon was an enemy," they replied. "Now he is our friend."
Marie Louise listened to all this, and, like the obedient German girl she was, consented to the marriage, despite her wishes to the contrary.
Napoleon was not a man to wait for long, so things moved very quickly. Paris was already stirring with preparations for the new empress who was to assure the continuation of the Napoleonic dynasty by giving children to her husband. Napoleon had said to his ambassador with his usual candor:
"This is the first and most important thing—she must have children."
To the girl whom he was to marry he sent the following letter, which combined the stiffness of a delegate with the veiled passion of a lover:
“MY COUSIN: The brilliant qualities which adorn your person have inspired in me a desire to serve you and to pay you homage. In making my request to the emperor, your father, and praying him to intrust to me the happiness of your imperial highness, may I hope that you will understand the sentiments which lead me to this act? May I flatter myself that it will not be decided solely by the duty of parental obedience? However slightly the feelings of your imperial highness may incline to me, I wish to cultivate them with so great care, and to endeavor so constantly to please you in everything, that I flatter myself that some day I shall prove attractive to you. This is the end at which I desire to arrive, and for which I pray your highness to be favorable to me.”
Immediately, people worked hard to dazzle the young girl. She had always dressed simply in the school-room and her only trinkets had been a few colored stones which she sometimes wore as a necklace or a bracelet. Now the resources of all France were drawn upon. Precious laces bubbled about her and there were cascades of diamonds flashing before her eyes. Marie Louise received the most expensive and beautiful creations from surrounding Parisian shops in order to design a trousseau fit for the princess who was soon to become the bride of the man who had mastered continental Europe.
Vienna had never been so happy or seen so much excitement. Money was showered under the direction of Caroline and Berthier. There were decorations and balls. The young girl was dizzy from the world’s eyes upon her and the excitement of the upcoming marriage. Even though she was flattered, she had doubts in her heart of hearts and would often be found in tears at the thought of marrying Napoleon. Her father spent a great amount of time comforting her. One thought she always kept in mind—what she had said to Metternich at the very first: "I want only what my duty bids me want." At last came the official marriage in the presence of a magnificent gathering. The documents were signed, the dowry was arranged, there were gala performances at the opera and there were many gifts scattered about. Then Marie Louise bade her father a sad farewell. She was led between two hedges of bayonets to her carriage while all the church-bells of Vienna rang jubilantly. Vienna’s celebrations contrasted with the bride and the fact that she was overcome by sobs as she left with her new husband.
She set out for France accompanied by a long train of carriages filled with noblemen and noblewomen, with ladies-in-waiting and numerous servants. The young bride—the wife of a man whom she had never seen—was filled with both excitement and fatigue. At a station in the outskirts of Vienna she wrote a few lines to her father, which are an observation upon her state of mind:
“I think of you always, and I always shall. God has given me power to endure this final shock, and in Him alone I have put all my trust. He will help me and give me courage, and I shall find support in doing my duty toward you, since it is all for you that I have sacrificed myself.”
This note seems like the pitiful words of a young girl who was afraid at the thought of marrying someone she had once thought of as a monster. However, her letter also indicates that she was able to get by because she knew that she was fulfilling her father’s wishes.
Marie Louise’s journey was a very long and boring one that took many days over inadequate roads, in carriages that rocked and swayed. In every town, she would meet with the chief men, who would pay honor to her and not bother to hide their curious stares. She had the same routine every day. She was awakened each morning to a courier presenting her with a great cluster of fresh flowers and a few lines scrawled by the unknown husband who was to meet her the end of the journey.
Marie Louise had a hard time focusing on anything but the end of the journey. She could think of nothing else but the man whose mysterious power had forced her into marriage, had driven her through a nightmare of strange happenings, and who was waiting for her somewhere to conquer her as he had conquered generals and armies.
She had so many questions about marriage and what was expected of her and the long journey provided her with nothing but time to focus on these thoughts. When she thought of the past, she became homesick and when she thought of the future, she felt very afraid.
At last she reached France, and her carriage passed into a sort of triple structure, the first pavilion of which was Austrian, while the middle pavilion was neutral, and the farther one was French. Here the representatives of the Napoleonic court received her and they would later surround her. They were not all children of the Revolution; they were also ex-stable boys, ex-laundresses. By this time, Napoleon had gathered around himself some of the finest families of France, who had rallied to the empire. The assembly was filled with brilliant names -- there were Montmorencys and Beaumonts and Audenardes in abundance. But to Marie Louise, as to her Austrian attendants, they were all the same. They were French and they were strangers, and so she distanced herself from them.
But at this point, her Austrians and the people with whom she felt the most kinship were forced to leave her. All who had accompanied her on the journey were now turned back. Napoleon had been adamant on this point. Even her governess, who had been with her since her childhood, was not allowed to cross the French border. Napoleon was determined that there would be nothing Austrian about her and so even her pet dog that she had clung to since childhood was taken from her. Thereafter she was surrounded only by French faces and by French guards.
Since the annulment of his marriage with Josephine, Napoleon had gone into a sort of retirement. He was no longer interested in matters of war, but his restless brain could not sink into tranquility. Inflamed with the fervor of his new bride, his passion was even more inflamed because he had never yet set eyes upon Mary Louise. Marriage with a regal princess complimented his ambition. He was thrilled with the youth and innocence of his bride. When compared to the charms of Josephine, the greedy favors of actresses, the calculated joys of the women of the court who gave themselves to him out of arrogance, Marie Louise was fresh and unique. Because of the novelty of the young girl, he grew more and more impatient while waiting for her to arrive.
While he was waiting for her, he entertained himself with planning down to the last details the displays that were to be given in her honor. He organized them as thoroughly as he had ever organized a conquering army. But after all the arrangements had been made, even the illuminations, the cheering, the salutes, and the etiquette of the court, he grew increasingly impatient and this caused a lot of sleepless nights and frantic days. He paced up and down the Tuileries, almost beside himself. He ordered courier after courier that the postilions should lash their horses to bring Marie Louise to him even more quickly. He wrote love letters and gazed constantly on the diamond-studded portrait of the woman who was rushing towards him.
At last, he entered a swift traveling-carriage and rushed to Compiegne, where it had been arranged that he should meet his bride and escort her to the capital, so that they could be married in the great gallery of the Louvre. At Compiegne the office of the chancellor had been set apart for Napoleon's convenience, while the chateau had been assigned to Marie Louise and her attendants. When Napoleon's carriage arrived at its destination, the emperor could not control himself. Despite the torrential downpour, and the approaching darkness, Napoleon could not be stopped. He demanded fresh horses and pushed on to Soissons, where the new empress was to stop and dine. When he reached there and she had not arrived, new relays of horses were demanded, and he hurried off once more into the dark.
At the little village of Courcelles he met the courier who was riding in advance of the empress's cortege.
"She will be here in a few moments!" cried Napoleon; and he leaped from his carriage into the highway.
The rain fell harder than ever, and he sought shelter in the doorway of the village church. It wasn’t long before he heard the sound of carriages and then he saw the carriage of the girl he had been waiting for slogging through the mud. Unfortunately, an officer stopped the carriage and Marie Louise sat in the dark, alone and filled with fatigue and anxiety.
This was Napoleon’s chance to win over his bride. If he had controlled himself or shown consideration towards Marie Louise or remembered that the girl was a princess, it’s possible things might have been different. But Napoleon had long since dared to think of anything except what he wanted.
He approached the carriage. A fawning courtier drew aside the covering and opened the door, exclaiming as he did so, "The emperor!" And then Napoleon, being rain-soaked and covered in mud, leaped in the carriage. The door was closed, the curtain again drawn, and the h
orses galloped for Soissons. Within, the shrinking bride was at the mercy of Napoleon’s animal passion and he gave her a torrent of rough kisses, and felt terrified in the caresses of Napoleon’s lustful hands.
At Soissons, Napoleon refused to stop and the carriage charged on, in the rain, to Compiegne. When he arrived, all the arrangements he had so carefully made were pushed aside. Though the actual marriage had not yet taken place, Napoleon claimed all the rights that afterward were given in the ceremony at Paris. He took the girl to the chancellor’s office, and not to the chateau. Dinner was hastily served to the couple and Queen Caroline. Then the latter was dismissed with little ceremony, the lights were extinguished, and this daughter of a line of emperors was left to the tender mercies of one who always had lived for money and desire. The next morning, she was unable to rise and was served in bed by the ladies of her household.
These facts may seem revolting, but it is important to remember them in context with what we know happened in the next five years. It is also important to remember that Napoleon was forty-one at this time, which was practically the same age as his new wife's father; Marie Louise was barely nineteen. The terror that Mary Louise felt that night seemed to confirm the image in her head of the monster that her uncles had described. The horror of that night could not be eradicated by ceremonies, by studious attention, or by all the pomp and circumstance of the court.
Settled in the Tuileries, she taught herself obedience. On their marriage night Napoleon had asked her briefly: "What did your parents tell you?" And she had answered, timidly: "To be yours altogether and to obey you in everything." But, though she gave obedience, and though her freshness seemed enchanting to Napoleon, he still could not pierce her deepest thoughts. He cheerily said to a member of the court: