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Napoleon And Marie Walewska

There are four women who may be said to have deeply influenced the life

of Napoleon. These four are the only ones who need to be taken into

account by the student of his imperial career. The great emperor was

susceptible to feminine charms at all times; but just as it used to be

said of him that "his smile never rose above his eyes," so it might as

truly be said that in most instances the throbbing of his heart did not

affect his actions.

Women to him were the creatures of the moment, although he might seem to

care for them and to show his affection in extravagant ways, as in his

affair with Mlle. Georges, the beautiful but rather tiresome actress.

As for Mme. de Stael, she bored him to distraction by her assumption

of wisdom. That was not the kind of woman that Napoleon cared for. He

preferred that a woman should be womanly, and not a sort of owl to sit

and talk with him about the theory of government.

When it came to married women they interested him only because of

the children they might bear to grow up as recruits for his insatiate

armies. At the public balls given at the Tuileries he would walk about

the gorgeous drawing-rooms, and when a lady was presented to him he

would snap out, sharply:

"How many children have you?"

If she were able to answer that she had several the emperor would look

pleased and would pay her some compliment; but if she said that she had

none he would turn upon her sharply and say:

"Then go home and have some!"

Of the four women who influenced his life, first must come Josephine,

because she secured him his earliest chance of advancement. She met him

through Barras, with whom she was said to be rather intimate. The young

soldier was fascinated by her--the more because she was older than he

and possessed all the practised arts of the creole and the woman of the

world. When she married him she brought him as her dowry the command of

the army of Italy, where in a few months he made the tri-color, borne by

ragged troops, triumphant over the splendidly equipped hosts of Austria.

She was his first love, and his knowledge of her perfidy gave him the

greatest shock and horror of his whole life; yet she might have held him

to the end if she had borne an heir to the imperial throne. It was her

failure to do so that led Napoleon to divorce Josephine and marry the

thick-lipped Marie Louise of Austria. There were times later when he

showed signs of regret and said:

"I have had no luck since I gave up Josephine!"

Marie Louise was of importance for a time--the short time when she

entertained her husband and delighted him by giving birth to the little

King of Rome. Yet in the end she was but an episode; fleeing from her

husband in his misfortune, becoming the mistress of Count Neipperg, and

letting her son--l'Aiglon--die in a land that was far from France.

Napoleon's sister, Pauline Bonaparte, was the third woman who comes to

mind when we contemplate the great Corsican's career. She, too, is an

episode. During the period of his ascendancy she plagued him with her

wanton ways, her sauciness and trickery. It was amusing to throw him

into one of his violent rages; but Pauline was true at heart, and when

her great brother was sent to Elba she followed him devotedly and gave

him all her store of jewels, including the famous Borghese diamonds,

perhaps the most superb of all gems known to the western world. She

would gladly have followed him, also, to St. Helena had she been

permitted. Remaining behind, she did everything possible in conspiring

to secure his freedom.

But, after all, Pauline and Marie Louise count for comparatively little.

Josephine's fate was interwoven with Napoleon's; and, with his Corsican

superstition, he often said so. The fourth woman, of whom I am writing

here, may be said to have almost equaled Josephine in her influence on

the emperor as well as in the pathos of her life-story.

On New-Year's Day of 1807 Napoleon, who was then almost Emperor of

Europe, passed through the little town of Bronia, in Poland. Riding with

his cavalry to Warsaw, the ancient capital of the Polish kingdom, he

seemed a very demigod of battle.

True, he had had to abandon his long-cherished design of invading and

overrunning England, and Nelson had shattered his fleets and practically

driven his flag from the sea; but the naval disaster of Trafalgar had

speedily been followed by the triumph of Austerlitz, the greatest and

most brilliant of all Napoleon's victories, which left Austria and

Russia humbled to the very ground before him.

Then Prussia had dared to defy the over-bearing conqueror and had put

into the field against him her armies trained by Frederick the Great;

but these he had shattered almost at a stroke, winning in one day the

decisive battles of Jena and Auerstadt. He had stabled his horses in

the royal palace of the Hohenzollerns and had pursued the remnant of the

Prussian forces to the Russian border.

As he marched into the Polish provinces the people swarmed by thousands

to meet him and hail him as their country's savior. They believed down

to the very last that Bonaparte would make the Poles once more a free

and independent nation and rescue them from the tyranny of Russia.

Napoleon played upon this feeling in every manner known to his artful

mind. He used it to alarm the Czar. He used it to intimidate the Emperor

of Austria; but more especially did he use it among the Poles themselves

to win for his armies thousands upon thousands of gallant soldiers, who

believed that in fighting for Napoleon they were fighting for the final

independence of their native land.

Therefore, with the intensity of patriotism which is a passion among the

Poles, every man and every woman gazed at Napoleon with something like

adoration; for was not he the mighty warrior who had in his gift what

all desired? Soldiers of every rank swarmed to his standards. Princes

and nobles flocked about him. Those who stayed at home repeated

wonderful stories of his victories and prayed for him and fed the flame

which spread through all the country. It was felt that no sacrifice was

too great to win his favor; that to him, as to a deity, everything that

he desired should be yielded up, since he was to restore the liberty of


And hence, when the carriage of the emperor dashed into Bronia,

surrounded by Polish lancers and French cuirassiers, the enormous crowd

surged forward and blocked the way so that their hero could not pass

because of their cheers and cries and supplications.

In the midst of it all there came a voice of peculiar sweetness from the

thickest portion of the crowd.

"Please let me pass!" said the voice. "Let me see him, if only for a


The populace rolled backward, and through the lane which they made a

beautiful girl with dark blue eyes that flamed and streaming hair that

had become loosened about her radiant face was confronting the emperor.

Carried away by her enthusiasm, she cried:

"Thrice welcome to Poland! We can do or say nothing to express our joy

in the country which you will surely deliver from its tyrant."

The emperor bowed and, with a smile, handed a great bouquet of roses to

the girl, for her beauty and her enthusiasm had made a deep impression

on him.

"Take it," said he, "as a proof of my admiration. I trust that I may

have the pleasure of meeting you at Warsaw and of hearing your thanks

from those beautiful lips."

In a moment more the trumpets rang out shrilly, the horsemen closed up

beside the imperial carriage, and it rolled away amid the tumultuous

shouting of the populace.

The girl who had so attracted Napoleon's attention was Marie Walewska,

descended from an ancient though impoverished family in Poland. When she

was only fifteen she was courted by one of the wealthiest men in Poland,

the Count Walewska. He was three or four times her age, yet her dark

blue eyes, her massive golden hair, and the exquisite grace of her

figure led him to plead that she might become his wife. She had accepted

him, but the marriage was that of a mere child, and her interest still

centered upon her country and took the form of patriotism rather than

that of wifehood and maternity.

It was for this reason that the young Countess had visited Bronia. She

was now eighteen years of age and still had the sort of romantic feeling

which led her to think that she would keep in some secret hiding-place

the bouquet which the greatest man alive had given her.

But Napoleon was not the sort of man to forget anything that had given

him either pleasure or the reverse. He who, at the height of his cares,

could recall instantly how many cannon were in each seaport of France

and could make out an accurate list of all his military stores; he who

could call by name every soldier in his guard, with a full remembrance

of the battles each man had fought in and the honors that he had won--he

was not likely to forget so lovely a face as the one which had gleamed

with peculiar radiance through the crowd at Bronia.

On reaching Warsaw he asked one or two well-informed persons about

this beautiful stranger. Only a few hours had passed before Prince

Poniatowski, accompanied by other nobles, called upon her at her home.

"I am directed, madam," said he, "by order of the Emperor of France,

to bid you to be present at a ball that is to be given in his honor

to-morrow evening."

Mme. Walewska was startled, and her face grew hot with blushes. Did the

emperor remember her escapade at Bronia? If so, how had he discovered

her? Why should he seek her out and do her such an honor?

"That, madam, is his imperial majesty's affair," Poniatowski told her.

"I merely obey his instructions and ask your presence at the ball.

Perhaps Heaven has marked you out to be the means of saving our unhappy


In this way, by playing on her patriotism, Poniatowski almost persuaded

her, and yet something held her back. She trembled, though she was

greatly fascinated; and finally she refused to go.

Scarcely had the envoy left her, however, when a great company of nobles

entered in groups and begged her to humor the emperor. Finally her own

husband joined in their entreaties and actually commanded her to go; so

at last she was compelled to yield.

It was by no means the frank and radiant girl who was now preparing

again to meet the emperor. She knew not why, and yet her heart was full

of trepidation and nervous fright, the cause of which she could not

guess, yet which made her task a severe ordeal. She dressed herself in

white satin, with no adornment save a wreath of foliage in her hair.

As she entered the ballroom she was welcomed by hundreds whom she had

never seen before, but who were of the highest nobility of Poland.

Murmurs of admiration followed her, and finally Poniatowski came to her

and complimented her, besides bringing her a message that the emperor

desired her to dance with him.

"I am very sorry," she said, with a quiver of the lips, "but I really

cannot dance. Be kind enough to ask the emperor to excuse me."

But at that very moment she felt some strange magnetic influence; and

without looking up she could feel that Napoleon himself was standing by

her as she sat with blanched face and downcast eyes, not daring to look

up at him.

"White upon white is a mistake, madam," said the emperor, in his

gentlest tones. Then, stooping low, he whispered, "I had expected a far

different reception."

She neither smiled nor met his eyes. He stood there for a moment and

then passed on, leaving her to return to her home with a heavy heart.

The young countess felt that she had acted wrongly, and yet there was an

instinct--an instinct that she could not conquer.

In the gray of the morning, while she was still tossing feverishly, her

maid knocked at the door and brought her a hastily scribbled note. It

ran as follows:

I saw none but you, I admired none but you; I desire only you. Answer at

once, and calm the impatient ardor of--N.

These passionate words burned from her eyes the veil that had hidden

the truth from her. What before had been mere blind instinct became an

actual verity. Why had she at first rushed forth into the very streets

to hail the possible deliverer of her country, and then why had she

shrunk from him when he sought to honor her! It was all clear enough

now. This bedside missive meant that he had intended her dishonor and

that he had looked upon her simply as a possible mistress.

At once she crushed the note angrily in her hand.

"There is no answer at all," said she, bursting into bitter tears at the

very thought that he should dare to treat her in this way.

But on the following morning when she awoke her maid was standing beside

her with a second letter from Napoleon. She refused to open it and

placed it in a packet with the first letter, and ordered that both of

them should be returned to the emperor.

She shrank from speaking to her husband of what had happened, and there

was no one else in whom she dared confide. All through that day there

came hundreds of visitors, either of princely rank or men who had won

fame by their gallantry and courage. They all begged to see her, but to

them all she sent one answer--that she was ill and could see no one.

After a time her husband burst into her room, and insisted that she

should see them.

"Why," exclaimed he, "you are insulting the greatest men and the

noblest women of Poland! More than that, there are some of the most

distinguished Frenchmen sitting at your doorstep, as it were. There

is Duroc, grand marshal of France, and in refusing to see him you are

insulting the great emperor on whom depends everything that our country

longs for. Napoleon has invited you to a state dinner and you have given

him no answer whatever. I order you to rise at once and receive these

ladies and gentlemen who have done you so much honor!"

She could not refuse. Presently she appeared in her drawing-room, where

she was at once surrounded by an immense throng of her own countrymen

and countrywomen, who made no pretense of misunderstanding the

situation. To them, what was one woman's honor when compared with

the freedom and independence of their nation? She was overwhelmed by

arguments and entreaties. She was even accused of being disloyal to the

cause of Poland if she refused her consent.

One of the strangest documents of that period was a letter sent to her

and signed by the noblest men in Poland. It contained a powerful appeal

to her patriotism. One remarkable passage even quotes the Bible to point

out her line of duty. A portion of this letter ran as follows:

Did Esther, think you, give herself to Ahasuerus out of the fulness of

her love for him? So great was the terror with which he inspired her

that she fainted at the sight of him. We may therefore conclude that

affection had but little to do with her resolve. She sacrificed her own

inclinations to the salvation of her country, and that salvation it was

her glory to achieve. May we be enabled to say the same of you, to your

glory and our own happiness!

After this letter came others from Napoleon himself, full of the

most humble pleading. It was not wholly distasteful thus to have the

conqueror of the world seek her out and offer her his adoration any

more than it was distasteful to think that the revival of her own nation

depended on her single will. M. Frederic Masson, whose minute studies

regarding everything relating to Napoleon have won him a seat in the

French Academy, writes of Marie Walewska at this time: Every force

was now brought into play against her. Her country, her friends, her

religion, the Old and the New Testaments, all urged her to yield; they

all combined for the ruin of a simple and inexperienced girl of eighteen

who had no parents, whose husband even thrust her into temptation, and

whose friends thought that her downfall would be her glory.

Amid all these powerful influences she consented to attend the dinner.

To her gratification Napoleon treated her with distant courtesy, and, in

fact, with a certain coldness.

"I heard that Mme. Walewska was indisposed. I trust that she has

recovered," was all the greeting that he gave her when they met.

Every one else with whom she spoke overwhelmed her with flattery and

with continued urging; but the emperor himself for a time acted as if

she had displeased him. This was consummate art; for as soon as she was

relieved of her fears she began to regret that she had thrown her power


During the dinner she let her eyes wander to those of the emperor almost

in supplication. He, the subtlest of men, knew that he had won. His

marvelous eyes met hers and drew her attention to him as by an electric

current; and when the ladies left the great dining-room Napoleon sought

her out and whispered in her ear a few words of ardent love.

It was too little to alarm her seriously now. It was enough to make

her feel that magnetism which Napoleon knew so well how to evoke and

exercise. Again every one crowded about her with congratulations. Some


"He never even saw any of US. His eyes were all for YOU! They flashed

fire as he looked at you."

"You have conquered his heart," others said, "and you can do what you

like with him. The salvation of Poland is in your hands."

The company broke up at an early hour, but Mme. Walewska was asked to

remain. When she was alone General Duroc--one of the emperor's favorite

officers and most trusted lieutenants--entered and placed a letter from

Napoleon in her lap. He tried to tell her as tactfully as possible how

much harm she was doing by refusing the imperial request. She was deeply

affected, and presently, when Duroc left her, she opened the letter

which he had given her and read it. It was worded thus:

There are times when all splendors become oppressive, as I feel but too

deeply at the present moment. How can I satisfy the desires of a heart

that yearns to cast itself at your feet, when its impulses are checked

at every point by considerations of the highest moment? Oh, if you

would, you alone might overcome the obstacles that keep us apart. MY

FRIEND DUROC WILL MAKE ALL EASY FOR YOU. Oh, come, come! Your every wish

shall be gratified! Your country will be dearer to me when you take pity

on my poor heart. N.

Every chance of escape seemed to be closed. She had Napoleon's own word

that he would free Poland in return for her self-sacrifice. Moreover,

her powers of resistance had been so weakened that, like many women, she

temporized. She decided that she would meet the emperor alone. She would

tell him that she did not love him, and yet would plead with him to save

her beloved country.

As she sat there every tick of the clock stirred her to a new

excitement. At last there came a knock upon the door, a cloak was thrown

about her from behind, a heavy veil was drooped about her golden hair,

and she was led, by whom she knew not, to the street, where a finely

appointed carriage was waiting for her.

No sooner had she entered it than she was driven rapidly through the

darkness to the beautifully carved entrance of a palace. Half led, half

carried, she was taken up the steps to a door which was eagerly opened

by some one within. There were warmth and light and color and the scent

of flowers as she was placed in a comfortable arm-chair. Her wrappings

were taken from her, the door was closed behind her; and then, as

she looked up, she found herself in the presence of Napoleon, who was

kneeling at her feet and uttering soothing words.

Wisely, the emperor used no violence. He merely argued with her; he told

her over and over his love for her; and finally he declared that for her

sake he would make Poland once again a strong and splendid kingdom.

Several hours passed. In the early morning, before daylight, there came

a knock at the door.

"Already?" said Napoleon. "Well, my plaintive dove, go home and rest.

You must not fear the eagle. In time you will come to love him, and in

all things you shall command him."

Then he led her to the door, but said that he would not open it unless

she promised to see him the next day--a promise which she gave the more

readily because he had treated her with such respect.

On the following morning her faithful maid came to her bedside with

a cluster of beautiful violets, a letter, and several daintily made

morocco cases. When these were opened there leaped out strings and

necklaces of exquisite diamonds, blazing in the morning sunlight. Mme.

Walewska seized the jewels and flung them across the room with an order

that they should be taken back at once to the imperial giver; but

the letter, which was in the same romantic strain as the others, she


On that same evening there was another dinner, given to the emperor by

the nobles, and Marie Walewska attended it, but of course without the

diamonds, which she had returned. Nor did she wear the flowers which had

accompanied the diamonds.

When Napoleon met her he frowned upon her and made her tremble with the

cold glances that shot from his eyes of steel. He scarcely spoke to her

throughout the meal, but those who sat beside her were earnest in their


Again she waited until the guests had gone away, and with a lighter

heart, since she felt that she had nothing to fear. But when she met

Napoleon in his private cabinet, alone, his mood was very different from

that which he had shown before. Instead of gentleness and consideration

he was the Napoleon of camps, and not of courts. He greeted her bruskly.

"I scarcely expected to see you again," said he. "Why did you refuse

my diamonds and my flowers? Why did you avoid my eyes at dinner? Your

coldness is an insult which I shall not brook." Then he raised his voice

to that rasping, almost blood-curdling tone which even his hardiest

soldiers dreaded: "I will have you know that I mean to conquer you. You

SHALL--yes, I repeat it, you SHALL love me! I have restored the name of

your country. It owes its very existence to me."

Then he resorted to a trick which he had played years before in dealing

with the Austrians at Campo Formio.

"See this watch which I am holding in my hand. Just as I dash it to

fragments before you, so will I shatter Poland if you drive me to

desperation by rejecting my heart and refusing me your own."

As he spoke he hurled the watch against the opposite wall with terrific

force, dashing it to pieces. In terror, Mme. Walewska fainted. When she

resumed consciousness there was Napoleon wiping away her tears with the

tenderness of a woman and with words of self-reproach.

The long siege was over. Napoleon had conquered, and this girl of

eighteen gave herself up to his caresses and endearments, thinking that,

after all, her love of country was more than her own honor.

Her husband, as a matter of form, put her away from him, though at heart

he approved what she had done, while the Polish people regarded her as

nothing less than a national heroine. To them she was no minister to the

vices of an emperor, but rather one who would make him love Poland for

her sake and restore its greatness.

So far as concerned his love for her, it was, indeed, almost idolatry.

He honored her in every way and spent all the time at his disposal

in her company. But his promise to restore Poland he never kept, and

gradually she found that he had never meant to keep it.

"I love your country," he would say, "and I am willing to aid in the

attempt to uphold its rights, but my first duty is to France. I cannot

shed French blood in a foreign cause."

By this time, however, Marie Walewska had learned to love Napoleon for

his own sake. She could not resist his ardor, which matched the ardor

of the Poles themselves. Moreover, it flattered her to see the greatest

soldier in the world a suppliant for her smiles.

For some years she was Napoleon's close companion, spending long hours

with him and finally accompanying him to Paris. She was the mother of

Napoleon's only son who lived to manhood. This son, who bore the name of

Alexandre Florian de Walewski, was born in Poland in 1810, and later

was created a count and duke of the second French Empire. It may be said

parenthetically that he was a man of great ability. Living down to 1868,

he was made much of by Napoleon III., who placed him in high offices

of state, which he filled with distinction. In contrast with the Duc

de Morny, who was Napoleon's illegitimate half-brother, Alexandre de

Walewski stood out in brilliant contrast. He would have nothing to do

with stock-jobbing and unseemly speculation.

"I may be poor," he said--though he was not poor--"but at least I

remember the glory of my father and what is due to his great name."

As for Mme. Walewska, she was loyal to the emperor, and lacked the greed

of many women whom he had made his favorites. Even at Elba, when he

was in exile and disgrace, she visited him that she might endeavor to

console him. She was his counselor and friend as well as his earnestly

loved mate. When she died in Paris in 1817, while the dethroned emperor

was a prisoner at St. Helena, the word "Napoleon" was the last upon her