Ambition and Desire: The Dangerous Life of Josephine Bonaparte (21 page)

Without Josephine there to fling herself weeping at his feet, Napoleon dwelled on her faults. The thought that everyone knew he had been shamed was deeply painful to him.

On August 1, many of Napoleon’s crew members were offshore when Nelson arrived at Alexandria, and most of the ships were undermanned. At three o’clock, Nelson took dinner and ordered fast action. At ten,
L’Orient
exploded into fire, killing hundreds of men. With it sank six hundred thousand livres in gold and diamonds stolen from Malta. Eleven warships were captured or lost, and at least twelve hundred men were dead, with thousands more taken prisoner.

When the news of the attack on his fleet reached Napoleon, he received it “without a flicker of emotion passing over his features.”
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Holed up in his handsome marble palace in Cairo, he told his men that Britain might control the sea, but France had an empire on land, in the place where three continents joined. “We are obliged to found a great Empire, and found it we will,” he announced. “The sea, of which we are not masters, separates us from our homeland; but no sea separates us from either Africa or Asia.”
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“Everything is perfectly fine here,” he wrote airily to the Directory. He addressed questions of tax and property laws and made plans for further conquest.

The Battle of the Nile, as it became known, was an incredible victory for Britain. By the end of 1798, everyone in Britain and most people in Europe owned some sort of picture of Nelson in tribute, from cheap prints or a tankard with his likeness to expensive portraits. Women across the land draped themselves in Nelsonia, proudly wearing anchor necklaces, “N” brooches and headbands, and Nile-themed shawls. A popular print by the scabrous James Gillray showed a onearmed Nelson by the pyramids beating red, white, and blue crocodiles with his truncheon made of “British Oak.” The king and queen of Naples, via the British envoy’s glamorous wife, Emma, Lady Hamilton, begged the hero of the Nile to come to Naples to protect them. Lady Hamilton told him, “I walk and tread in the air with pride to think I was born in the same land as Nelson and his gallant band.”
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Nelson dashed to her—and out of Napoleon’s way.

S
OON BESIEGED WITH
news about Napoleon’s victories, Josephine decided that his defeat at the Battle of the Nile could be dismissed. She continued her life blithely unaware that Napoleon knew of her infidelity. She frequented the friends her husband disliked. Barras, Thérésa Tallien, and Juliette Récamier were often at her salons, along with the cream of society. Musicians and composers, including Méhul and Cherubini, artists such as Gérard and Girodet, and Bernardin de Saint-Pierre, author of Napoleon’s beloved
Paul et Virginie,
all came to her receptions. The poet Arnault had fled Napoleon’s company at Malta and traveled back to Paris; he found the delicate company of Josephine much preferable to rotten biscuits with her husband. She also saw Hippolyte Charles, flirted with handsome men, and failed to write to Napoleon (though she did dutifully invite her sisters-in-law to her salons).

In October 1798, a Parisian newspaper reported that a French mail ship had been captured and letters written by Napoleon seized by the British. His letter to Joseph still lies in the British Museum, written across in Nelson’s distinctive spiky hand, “found on the person of the courier.”
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Among dreary lists of instructions and letters about domestic affairs from other officers was Napoleon’s missive of July 25, wailing to Joseph that the “veil is torn,” and Eugène’s to his mother, telling her
that Junot had spilled her secrets. After the success of the Battle of the Nile, the letters were a gift to the British, another indication of a weakness in Napoleon’s armor. James Perry, the editor of the
Morning Chronicle,
grasped the scoop and printed sections of the letters on November 24, 1798. The readers goggled at Napoleon crying over his wife. The letters were read not only over the breakfast tables of London and Manchester; unfortunately for Josephine, the
Morning Chronicle
was available in Paris. Before long, everybody knew of Napoleon’s misery—and Josephine’s terrible disgrace.
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CHAPTER 10

“All I Have Suffered”

Though Paul de Barras put pressure on the French newspapers not to reprint the news about Madame Bonaparte, copies of the
Chronicle
passed hands, and the rumors spread about the marriage of the Bonapartes and about Josephine’s behavior. She knew she had been exposed. She grew desperate and terrified of the power of Napoleon’s family to destroy her.

Joseph was deeply gratified that his brother’s letter to him had been published. He did not visit Josephine and refused to give her money from the family funds, as Napoleon had directed him to do before he departed. When Louis Bonaparte returned from Egypt, he, too, declined to visit her. In Paris, Josephine found herself shunned, mocked, and ignored. The French never received the letter.

Now that everyone knew about her infidelity, her creditors began to call in their debts. She could not pay even the smallest bills.
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She tried to charm and influence the Directory and other men of power, but this only gave her enemies more ammunition.

In his letter to Joseph, Napoleon had suggested that, after their divorce, he’d keep 6 rue de la Victoire. Josephine knew she must do something for herself. Malmaison, the country home Napoleon had turned down, became her last hope; in her mind, it represented the security she needed and the possibility of a rural retreat where Napoleon might fall in love with her all over again. He would return, the great conquering hero; she would throw herself at his feet, and then he would pay her
bills. She had ammunition of her own: Joseph had purchased the Château de Mortefontaine for 285,000 francs, and she knew Napoleon would not want to be outdone by his brother.

Josephine visited Malmaison again with Hortense. She was particularly delighted by its beautiful situation amid lush green lawns, woodland, and vineyards. She had always missed the foliage and flowers of Martinique, and Malmaison, she hoped, would be her chance to cultivate gardens full of exotic plants. In October 1798, she asked her old friend Jean Chanorier, the mayor of Croissy, to approach the Molays about selling the property. All through that miserable winter of 1798–99, Josephine fretted about money, had Barras fight off the debt collectors, borrowed funds to get by, and haggled through Chanorier for Malmaison.

The first written mention of Malmaison in the land records appears in 1244 as a listing for a simple barn. By the fourteenth century, the site had become a substantial manor house, and it would remain with the same family until 1763. Josephine was a typical example of someone who had grown rich under the Directory and had started to buy up the property of old French families, much to their despair. Monsieur du Molay loved the house and could not bring himself to be involved in its sale (especially not to a nouveau riche wife like Josephine).
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But the Molays were in need of money, so his wife took over negotiations. The women’s drawn-out correspondence, with Chanorier acting as arbiter, is a testimony to female prowess, determination, and business acumen. Neither party was prepared to give in easily.

In a letter dated March 1, 1799, Chanorier declared Malmaison to be not only “the prettiest property I know” but also, as a working farm, exceedingly “useful” in a financial sense.
³
He informed Josephine that Madame du Molay was asking three hundred thousand francs and claiming that Bonaparte had agreed to the price with a Molay relative who was “prepared to testify to it.” He answered firmly: “I told her that the General had only ever spoken of 250,000 francs; but that even if he had, the land would have decreased in value since then.”
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Josephine responded unequivocally. “The price asked by Mme. du Molay is too much,” she informed Chanorier. “Whatever desire I might have had to come to an agreement over Malmaison, I am obliged to
withdraw my interest. My last offer is 100,000 ecus [250,000 francs], for immediate occupation.”
⁵

On March 17, she conceded.

My final offer, taking into account your opinion and the information you have given me [her way of saving face over paying more], is 310,000 francs, to include everything and for immediate occupation. I firmly believe that I should not have to pay any more than this, and I’m keen to resolve the matter one way or another.
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Madame du Molay eventually found Josephine’s offer suitable. But she was not to be moved out easily. “Poor Mme. du Molay shuddered,” Chanorier wrote, “when I told her that, being tired of Paris, if you purchased the property, it was quite possible that you would take up residence within a fortnight.” The Molays asked to stay in one of the apartments on the farm until mid-July. “That way, you could move in the day after you bought it.”
⁷

For all her firm words, Josephine had been ruled by her heart. She later admitted that the final asking price amounted to well over 325,000 francs. Joseph had bought his grand château with seven hundred acres of land for much less. An undated letter from her to Barras, published in 1820 and recorded as being “for Malmaison,” suggests he helped her find the money to buy the house.

I was sure that this would interest you; I was no less sure that you would succeed. Here I am now certain of possessing a refuge, and thanks to this kindness, which is made all the sweeter by the grace with which it is offered, this refuge meets all my requirements, and I can allow my passions to flourish there. These are peaceful and pure tastes which in more prosperous times, I cultivated whimsically and which today I embrace wholeheartedly.
⁸

With the furniture included in the price, Josephine could move in right away. She did not waste a moment. She took occupation in April and promptly began planning a housewarming party.

Despite the Molays’ modifications, the château needed sprucing up and was crying out for expansion. But the grounds were magnificent, and the farm boasted a fine production of wine, a healthy wheat crop, and a variety of livestock. Josephine was delighted by how she could “freely breathe the country air.”
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In years to come, the Île de Chatou on the edge of the property would be portrayed repeatedly by the Impressionists. The house was a sanctuary from Paris yet was only ten miles away. If the solitude became too monotonous, Josephine would be able to access the capital in under an hour by coach.

She thought Malmaison the perfect place to hide from prying eyes. She invited Hippolyte Charles to visit her, at first in secret so that no one would see him arrive. Little by little, as his visits became more frequent and a routine established itself, the couple became complacent. He even had his own bedroom next door to Josephine’s. He spent whole weeks there, though he left when guests were expected.

The gossips repeated that a country neighbor had spotted Josephine and said, “Poor Mme. Bonaparte can be seen at dusk walking in her garden, leaning on the arm of a young man, probably her son.” Josephine, incredibly, was amused that the locals thought Hippolyte was her son. He was leading a precarious existence, engaging in the odd bit of shady business and still working with Bodin. Josephine, too, was receiving kickbacks from the profiteers. At a time when her enemies were collecting evidence against her, and the Bonaparte family looked forward to their ultimate triumph, her obsession with Hippolyte was very unwise.

He had a wandering eye, and she already suspected he had another lover. In February, she had written that she wished to see him. “You can be assured, after this meeting, which will be the last, that you will no longer be tormented by my letters or by my presence. The respectable woman who has been deceived retires and says nothing.”
¹⁰
Still, they seemed to reconcile, and Josephine continued behaving with shocking disregard to the risk. A general’s wife should have acted more wisely, especially considering the affair had already been revealed in the papers. But she loved Hippolyte’s lighthearted air and his energy, and she could not give him up.