On the 27 March 1802, the long war between England and France had been ended by the Treaty of Amiens, which was very popular in both countries. Unfortunately the peace was to last only a year. On the 13 March 1803 at the Tuileries occurred the celebrated scene between Bonaparte and the English ambassador, which presaged the renewal of the struggle.

Once a month the First Consul was accustomed to receive the ambassadors and their wives in Joséphine’s apartment. This audience was always a very ceremonious affair. The ministers were conducted to a salon, and when all were present the First Consul and his wife appeared, followed by a prefect and a lady of the palace. After the formal presentations had been made, Napoleon and Joséphine carried on a short conversation, and then withdrew.

On the present occasion, Madame de Rémusat entered Joséphine’s room a few minutes before the hour fixed for the reception. She found Bonaparte there, sitting on the floor, and playing gaily with the baby Napoleon, the child of Louis and Hortense, who was then only five months old. At the same time he amused himself by commenting on the toilettes of the two ladies, and giving his advice about their dresses. He laughed continuously, and seemed to be in the best possible humor.

In a few minutes he was notified that the ambassadors had all arrived. Getting up, his whole expression suddenly changed; the laughter left his lips, and his features became very severe. Exclaiming, “Let us go, ladies!” he rushed from the room, and entered the salon. Without saluting any one, he walked directly to the English minister, and immediately began to complain of the measures of his Government. His anger seemed to increase from moment to moment, and rose to a point which terrified the whole assembly. The harshest words, the most violent menaces, issued from his trembling lips. No one dared to make a movement, and Joséphine looked on mute with astonishment. The phlegmatic Englishman was so disconcerted that he could hardly find a word to reply.

Leaving the dumfounded ambassador, Bonaparte spoke to two of the other ministers, then returned to Lord Whitworth, and made a few polite personal remarks. Suddenly his anger seemed to return. “You are then decided on war?” he exclaimed; “we have already had it for ten years; you wish to have it for ten years more; and you force me into it.... Why these armaments? If you arm, I shall arm too. You can perhaps destroy France, but intimidate her, never!” At this moment his face was red with anger, and he seemed in a paroxysm of fury.

Two months later Lord Whitworth demanded his passports, and the long contest was resumed, which was only to end on the field of Waterloo. Napoleon immediately began his preparations, and as a preliminary to the gigantic struggle decided to visit in state the northern departments, and in particular the great port of Antwerp, “that pistol pointed at the heart of England.”

The First Consul decided that the journey should be made with the greatest magnificence, and that his wife should accompany him, in order to make use of her well-known powers of attraction. He had the Crown jewels taken out of the safe deposits where they were stored, and gave them to Joséphine, who, we may be sure, was not reluctant to employ them. Two of the ladies of the palace, Mesdames de Rémusat and Talhouet, were chosen to accompany the party, and the First Consul gave each of them thirty thousand francs for the expenses of their toilettes. On the 24 June 1803 they left Saint-Cloud, with a cortège of several carriages, two generals of the Guard, the aides de camp, Duroc, and two prefects of the palace, of whom M. de Rémusat was one.

The first night was passed at the country home of Joseph, Mortefontaine, where nearly the whole Bonaparte family was reunited. Here a very unpleasant scene occurred. Just before dinner, Joseph notified Napoleon that he intended to take in their mother, and place her at his right hand, with Joséphine at his left. The First Consul was offended at this arrangement, which put his wife in second place, but Joseph refused to yield. When the dinner was announced, Napoleon gave his arm to Joséphine, entered unceremoniously before every one, and placed her by his side. The whole party was so disarranged that poor meek Madame Joseph found herself at the foot of the table, as if she did not belong to the family. During the dinner Napoleon occupied himself exclusively with his wife, and did not address a word to any one else.

The second night was passed at Amiens, where the First Consul was received with enthusiasm impossible to describe. The people detached the horses and drew the carriage themselves. Joséphine was moved to tears by the cries of joy, the garlands of flowers which crowned the route, the triumphal arches erected in honor of the restorer of France, the benedictions which were too general not to have been absolutely spontaneous.

In several of the cities of Flanders the mayors in their addresses ventured to suggest that the First Consul should replace his precarious title by one more in accord with the high destiny to which he was called. Bonaparte could hardly conceal his pleasure at these words, but interrupted the orator to say in a tone of assumed anger that he could not think of changing the Republic: like Cæsar he rejected the crown which nevertheless he was not reluctant to have presented to him.

After these receptions the First Consul usually mounted his horse, and showed himself to the people, who received him with cheers; then he visited the public buildings and the manufactories, in his usual hurried manner. In the evening he attended the dinner offered him, which was the most tiresome part of his day’s work, for, as he expressed it: “I am not made for pleasure.”

Everywhere in old France the party was received with the same enthusiasm, but in Flanders there was not so much warmth. On arriving at Antwerp the First Consul showed great interest in this important port, and gave orders for the great works which were afterwards carried out.

The entry into Brussels was magnificent. At the gate of the city, the First Consul was received by several regiments of troops; he mounted his horse, and Joséphine found a superb carriage placed at her disposal. The whole city was decorated; the artillery fired salutes; all the church bells were rung; the streets were thronged by the people; and the July day was perfect. During the week there was a succession of fêtes. It was on one of these occasions that Talleyrand replied in a manner so adroit and so flattering to a sudden question of Bonaparte, who demanded how he had made his large fortune so quickly. “Nothing easier,” replied the minister, “I bought government securities on the day before the 18 Brumaire, and sold them the day after!”

From Brussels the party returned by way of Liège and Sedan to Saint-Cloud, where they arrived on the 11 August after an absence of seven weeks. Joséphine was delighted with this trip, during which she left everywhere recollections of her charm and grace, which were never to be effaced.

This triumphal progress of Bonaparte through the northern departments excited to the highest degree the rage of the Royalists, and plots were immediately formed for his removal. The heads of this conspiracy were the Chouan leader, Georges Cadoudal, and the former Republican general, Pichegru. Moreau, the victor of Hohenlinden, considered by many as the second soldier of France, was also gravely implicated.

Not far from Dieppe there is a cliff two hundred and fifty feet high: this was the point where Cadoudal entered France on the night of the 22 August 1803. It was a place well known to smugglers, who nightly climbed the rock with the aid of a ship cable hung from the top. By the same route Pichegru and several other conspirators arrived several weeks later. Walking by night, and hiding by day, they all eventually arrived at Paris, where under different disguises they eluded for a long time the vigilance of the police.

On a dark night in January Pichegru had an interview with Moreau on the Boulevard de la Madeleine. The two generals had not met since the days that on the borders of the Rhine they were gloriously fighting the battles of France. The meeting was not entirely harmonious, and the Comte d’Artois was deceived by false reports when he exclaimed with joy: “Now that our two generals are in accord I shall soon be back in France!”

During this time Bonaparte was far more nervous and uneasy than on the field of battle, where he always displayed the greatest calm. He directed the movements of the secret police and stimulated their zeal. In the midst of these hidden perils Joséphine showed great courage. With her usual kindness of heart, she urged her irritated husband not to confound the innocent with the guilty, and not to hold the whole royalist party responsible for the acts of a few fanatics. Unfortunately Napoleon did not listen to these wise counsels. In the state of excitement to which his nerves had been wrought up by the renewal of these infamous attempts on his life, he decided on a policy of vengeance which should strike terror to the hearts of his foes.

At a special meeting of the Council on the night of the 14 February the only subject discussed was the Cadoudal-Pichegru conspiracy, and orders were issued for the immediate arrest of Moreau.

When a great crime is under investigation in France the prosecutor always enjoins upon the agents of justice: “Cherchez la femme!” The woman in this case was Madame Moreau. Without the jealousy and petty vanity of this woman her husband, instead of meeting an ignominious death fighting in the ranks of the enemies of his country, would have become like Davout, Masséna and Ney, a duc and prince, a maréchal de France.

Moreau had met Bonaparte for the first time after his return from Egypt, and the two celebrated generals had become quite friendly. On the 18 Brumaire Moreau had taken an active part in the coup d’état. Exactly a year later, on the 9 November 1800, he married a Mlle. Hulot, who had been a companion of Hortense in the school of Madame Campan. Joséphine had contributed much to bring about this match, which she thought would be useful to the interests of the First Consul. Ten days after the wedding Moreau left Paris to take command of the Army of Germany, and on the 3 December 1800 he gained the brilliant victory of Hohenlinden, which led to the Peace of Lunéville two months later. Shortly after the battle Madame Moreau rejoined her husband in Germany, and her pride was increased by the sight of the éclat with which he was everywhere received.

On their return to Paris, the amour-propre of Madame Moreau was wounded on several occasions by what she considered to be the incivility or social slights of the First Consul. Like Joséphine, she was the daughter of a Creole, and her mother, who was a sensitive, as well as a very vindicative woman, told her that she was younger, prettier and better educated than Madame Bonaparte; that her husband had commanded as large armies, and rendered as brilliant services to the Republic as Bonaparte, and that there was no reason why General and Madame Moreau should occupy a second place in the State.

There were only too many persons at Paris, both republicans and royalists, who were interested in fanning the flames. The royalists, in particular, paid very marked attentions to Madame Moreau, and frequented her handsome hôtel in the Rue d’Anjou-Saint-Honoré. Bonaparte was exasperated by the petty social war which was waged against himself and his wife. He detested the pin-pricks, and feared them more than the strokes of a dagger.

Influenced by his wife, Moreau refused an invitation for dinner at the Tuileries, and also declined to accompany the First Consul to a review. This coldness shortly degenerated into declared enmity. The city hôtel of the general and his handsome country place, Grosbois, soon became centres of opposition to the Consular government.

When Madame de Rémusat arrived at the Tuileries one February morning she found Joséphine much troubled. Napoleon was seated near the fireplace playing with the little Napoleon. “Do you know what I have done?” he said. “I have just given the order to arrest Moreau.” He continued: “Twenty times have I prevented him from compromising himself; I have warned him that they would embroil us; and he felt that I was right. But he is feeble and proud; the women directed him: the parties urged him on.” Thus speaking, Bonaparte arose, went to his wife, took her by the chin, and raised her head. “Everybody has not a good wife like mine. You are crying, Joséphine, but why? Are you afraid?” “No,” replied she, “but I do not like what they will say.” Then turning to the lady of the palace, Bonaparte continued: “I have no hatred, no desire for vengeance; I have deeply reflected before arresting Moreau; I could have closed my eyes, and given him time to escape, but people would have said that I was afraid to put him on trial. I can convince them that he is guilty; I am the government; everything will be easily settled.”

At the trial the evidence against Moreau was not conclusive. He was condemned to two years in prison, but was accorded the permission to retire to America. In order to furnish him with funds for his exile, Napoleon purchased his Paris house for 800,000 francs, much more than its real value, and presented it to Bernadotte; also his handsome estate of Grosbois, which he gave to Berthier.

Pichegru was finally betrayed by an old companion-in-arms, one of his most intimate friends, who came to the police and offered to give him up for a hundred thousand crowns. On the last day of February he was arrested in Paris, and six weeks later was found strangled in prison. His death has often been charged to Napoleon, but without the slightest evidence.

On the 9 March, Cadoudal was taken at seven o’clock in the evening in the Place de l’Odéon, and was executed the last week in June.

According to the police reports the conspirators had expected the early arrival in France of a prince of the royal house. Attention was at first directed to the cliff of Béville, near Dieppe, where Cadoudal and Pichegru were now known to have entered the country, but the watch was in vain. Then the search was turned to the banks of the Rhine. It was learned that the young Duc d’Enghien, the son of the Duc de Bourbon, was at Ettenheim in the grand-duchy of Baden, just across the river. As a youth of twenty he had served twelve years before in the army of the Émigrés organized by his grandfather, the Prince de Condé, for the invasion of France. In 1801, after the peace of Lunéville, he had laid down his arms and taken up his residence in the former château of Cardinal de Rohan on the right bank of the Rhine ten miles from Strasbourg. Here he lived the life of a private citizen, in the company of a young and charming woman who was devoted to him, the Princesse de Rohan.

An under-officer of the gendarmerie was secretly sent in disguise to Ettenheim in search of information. The prince at this time had with him an émigré by the name of Thumery, which the German servants pronounced Thoumeriez, and the spy reported that the French traitor Dumouriez was with the Duc d’Enghien. This information reached Paris on the 10 March 1804, and on the same day a servant of Cadoudal deposed that a young man, who was treated with the utmost respect, on several occasions had been in conference with the conspirators at Paris. On the strength of these various reports the First Consul jumped to the conclusion that the young Bourbon prince was deeply implicated in the conspiracy against his life.

A special meeting of the Council was held at the Tuileries at ten o’clock on the evening of the 10 March, at which were present the three Consuls, and all the ministers. It was decided to issue orders for the immediate arrest of the Duc d’Enghien and the supposed General Dumouriez. Caulaincourt was sent with a letter to the Grand Duke of Baden, explaining this violation of German territory.

Five days later thirty dragoons and twenty-five gendarmes under the command of Colonel Ordener crossed the river at Rheinau, opposite Ettenheim, and surrounded the château just as the day was beginning to break. The prince was taken without any resistance, and was conducted directly to Strasbourg, where he was interned in the citadel. At the end of three days he was placed in a postal-chaise and transferred to the château of Vincennes at Paris where he arrived late on the afternoon of the 20 March.

Let us now see what was taking place at Paris during this time. On Passion Sunday, the 18 March, Madame de Rémusat took up her duties again as a dame du palais. Early in the morning she went to the Tuileries to be present at the Mass, which at this time was celebrated with much pomp. Afterwards, Joséphine held an informal reception in the salons, and then descended to her own apartment, where she announced that they were going to Malmaison to pass the week. Several hours later they set out, Bonaparte in one carriage, and Joséphine with Madame de Rémusat in another. Joséphine seemed sad and preoccupied, and had little to say. Finally she remarked: “I am going to tell you a great secret. This morning Bonaparte informed me that he had sent Caulaincourt to the frontier to seize the Duc d’Enghien. They are going to bring him here.” “Ah! mon Dieu, madame,” cried the lady, “what do they intend to do?” “Why, I think they mean to put him on trial.”

Joséphine went on to say that she had done everything she could to obtain an assurance from the First Consul that the prince should not be condemned, but she was afraid that Bonaparte’s mind was made up, and that the duc must die.

Before dinner the First Consul played chess, and appeared as calm and serene as usual. After the dinner, at which nothing important transpired, he retired to his cabinet to work with the police. The two following days passed quietly and sadly. Convinced that the fate of the prince was decided, Joséphine made no further efforts to turn her husband from his purpose.

Tuesday morning Joséphine said: “It is all hopeless. The Duc d’Enghien arrives this evening; he will be taken to Vincennes, and tried to-night. Murat is in full charge. He is odious in this matter. It is he who is urging Bonaparte on.... Bonaparte has forbidden me to say anything more to him on the subject.” In the afternoon, the First Consul again played chess, and insisted on having the little Napoleon at dinner. He had the baby placed in the middle of the table, and was much amused to see him upset everything around him. After dinner Bonaparte seated himself on the floor, and played with the child. Noticing the pallor of Madame de Rémusat he asked why she had forgotten to put on her rouge, and added with a laugh: “That would never happen to you, Joséphine!”

When they came downstairs at eight o’clock the next morning Savary was already in the salon. Joséphine said: “Well, is it done?” “Yes, madame,” he replied. “He died this morning, and, I must admit, with fine courage.” He then gave the details, which are now well known.

By many persons, the execution of the Duc d’Enghien is considered the greatest blot on the fame of Napoleon. Talleyrand, with his usual cynicism, said: “It is worse than a crime; it is a blunder.” Naturally there was a cry of indignation from the royalists everywhere. It was perfectly legitimate for them to attempt the life of the plebeian usurper, but he must not shed a drop of the blue blood of the Bourbons! Napoleon himself never offered any excuses for his action on this occasion. Upon the threshold of eternity, in his last testament at Saint Helena, he wrote with his own hand: “I had the Duc d’Enghien arrested and tried because it was necessary for the security, the interest, and the honor of the French people, at a time when the Comte d’Artois, by his own admission, was maintaining sixty assassins at Paris. Under the same circumstances I would again do the same.”