During the two months that the Court was at Fontainebleau the question of divorce was broached seriously for the first time. Talleyrand, who was more familiar than any one else with the projects of the Emperor, was very quietly working to bring the matter about; but he wished, at the same time, to have the Emperor make a great alliance, and above all to be himself the one to negotiate it. Caroline and Murat were also laying their plans to overcome the lingering affection which still bound Napoleon to Joséphine, and which alone kept her on the throne. Allied with them were Joséphine’s former friend, Fouché, and the Secretary of State, Maret, who was secretly jealous of the great and well-deserved European reputation of Talleyrand, whom he hoped to supplant in the councils of the Emperor.

As stated above, the death of the little crown-prince had made a change in the plans of the Emperor; his victories, in increasing his power, had extended his ideas of grandeur, and both his vanity and his policy dictated an alliance with one of the European royal families. At the time of his return from Tilsit there was some talk of the daughter of the King of Saxony in this connection, but this princesse was at least thirty years old, and far from beautiful; her father only reigned by the grace of Napoleon, and such an alliance would not have increased the prestige of the Emperor.

The conferences at Tilsit had justly increased the pride of Napoleon. The fascination he had exercised over the young Czar, the ready assent given to all his projects, had produced in his mind the thought of a still more intimate alliance. But on his return to Joséphine, after a separation of ten months, the old ties which so firmly bound him to her had been again renewed.

In speaking one day to the Empress of the quarrels of Louis and Hortense, and the delicate health of their only remaining child, Napoleon said that some day he might perhaps be constrained by the demands of public policy to take a wife who could give him an heir. In broaching the subject he displayed much emotion. “If such a thing comes about, Joséphine,” he said, “you must aid me to make such a sacrifice. I shall count upon all your affection for me to take the responsibility for this forced separation. You will assume the initiative, will you not, and, realizing my position, have the courage to decide yourself upon this rupture?”

The Empress understood too well the character of her husband to fall into this trap, and precipitate by an imprudent word the catastrophe which she so much dreaded. Therefore, so far from giving him the hope that by her action she would assume the odium of such a rupture, she assured him that, while she was always ready to obey his orders, she never would take the initiative. She made this reply in the calm and dignified manner which she knew how to assume with Napoleon, and which was always effective with him.

Even in her private intercourse with the Emperor, Joséphine for some time past had abandoned the old familiar tutoiement, and she now said:

“Sire, you are the master, and you will decide upon my fate. When you command me to leave the Tuileries, I shall instantly obey; but at least you must order it in a positive manner. I am your wife: I have been crowned by you in the presence of the Pope; such honors impose the obligation of not resigning them voluntarily. If you divorce me, all France will know that it is you who drives me away, and will be ignorant neither of my obedience nor my profound grief.”

This form of reply, which was always the same, did not offend the Emperor, and often moved him to tears: in fact he was torn by many conflicting emotions. On the one hand he sincerely felt that State policy demanded an heir to the throne; on the other, he knew that Joséphine was loved by the people, and he hesitated to brave public opinion by repudiating her.

When Joséphine confided her doubts and fears to Hortense, she was far from finding a sympathetic listener. Her daughter’s only reply was: “How can one regret a throne?”

Two or three weeks before the end of the visit of the Court to Fontainebleau, Fouché arrived one morning from Paris. After a long private interview with the Emperor in his cabinet, he was invited to dinner—a most unusual honor. Towards midnight, when all the guests in the château had gone to their rooms, M. de Rémusat was summoned to the apartment of the Empress. He found her half-undressed, her hair down, and her face discomposed. She dismissed her attendants, and, crying that she was lost, shoved into the hands of the chamberlain a long letter signed by Fouché. In this communication he began by protesting his former devotion for her, and assured her that it was on account of this feeling that he ventured to face her situation and that of the Emperor. He pictured the Emperor as at the zenith of his power, sovereign-master of France, but responsible to that same France for the present, and for the future which she had confided to him. “It is useless to try to dissimulate the fact, Madame,” he continued, “that the political future of France is compromised by the lack of an heir to the Emperor. As Minister of Police, I am in a position to know public opinion, and I know that there is much disquietude over the matter of the succession to such an empire. Figure to yourself, Madame, the stability which the throne of His Majesty would possess to-day if it were founded upon the existence of a son!”

This advantage was ably developed at length, as indeed it might well be. Then he spoke of the conflict between the conjugal tenderness of the Emperor and his public policy; he foresaw that the Emperor would never make up his mind to dictate so grievous a sacrifice; he therefore ventured to advise Her Majesty to make herself a courageous effort, and to immolate herself for France. He drew a most pathetic picture of the glory that such an action would give her now and in the future. The letter ended with the assurance that the Emperor was ignorant of this step; that the writer feared it would displease him; and the Empress was solicited to keep the matter a profound secret.

It was obvious that Fouché would never have ventured to write such a letter without the knowledge of the Emperor. “What shall I do?” cried Joséphine; “how shall I meet this storm?” Rémusat advised her to see the Emperor, either that night or the first thing in the morning, ask him to read the letter, and observe his face while he did so. Also, to express her indignation at this uncalled-for advice, and to reiterate her determination never to accept anything but a positive command from the Emperor himself.

Joséphine adopted this advice, and, as the hour was late, deferred her interview with the Emperor until morning. When she showed Napoleon the letter, he pretended to be very angry. He assured her that he was entirely ignorant of this step; that Fouché had displayed a zeal most uncalled-for; that if the minister had not already left for Paris he would have taken him sharply to task; that he would punish Fouché if she so desired, and even dismiss him from his position in the ministry. He was very affectionate with Joséphine, but she was far from being reassured by his explanation and promises.

Talleyrand, when informed of this matter, expressed the opinion that the letter of Fouché was ridiculous and improper, and advised that the Empress should reply, in a very dignified tone, to the effect that she did not require his services as an intermediary between herself and the Emperor. She wrote such a letter, which was read and approved by Talleyrand, and then submitted to the Emperor, who did not venture to censure it.

When Fouché returned a few days later, the Empress treated him very coldly, but he did not appear to notice her manner. Napoleon said to Joséphine: “He acted from an excess of zeal: you must not treasure it up against him. It is enough that we are determined to reject his advice, and that you know well that I cannot live without you.”

On the 5 November the Emperor wrote Fouché: “For a fortnight past you have made foolish blunders: it is time that they came to an end, and that you ceased to meddle, directly or indirectly, with a matter which does not in any way concern you. Such is my wish!”

The outcome of the whole affair was a temporary renewal of the former close relations between Napoleon and Joséphine. He displayed for her all of his old affection, and little by little her fears were dissipated.

During all this period, the Empress was guided by the advice of Talleyrand. When Madame de Rémusat expressed her surprise at his course, he replied: “There is no one here in the palace who should not wish to have this woman remain by the side of the Emperor. She is kind and good; she has the art of calming him; she takes an interest in the affairs of everybody. If we see a princesse arrive here, you will see the Emperor break with the entire Court, and we shall all be crushed.” These were wise words and true, and almost convince one that Talleyrand at the moment was sincere.

It is not difficult to understand the motives which actuated Fouché and Talleyrand in this somewhat involved affair. Fouché had sufficient perspicacity to realize that with the Emperor the question of policy would in the end outweigh all other considerations. He had therefore joined the party of Caroline, who detested all the Beauharnais, and, for personal reasons also, wished to see her brother enter the family of some European sovereign. Once committed to this undertaking, Fouché used without scruples his position as minister of police to work up public opinion. He instructed his secret agents to discuss in the cafés and other public places the necessity of an heir to the Emperor. These suggestions were reported by other agents to the minister, and by him to the Emperor, who easily became convinced that the people were more interested in the question than was probably the case.

With his usual shrewdness, Talleyrand took advantage of the sentiment thus worked up by his rival, to turn it to his own personal benefit. At the bottom of his heart Talleyrand may not have been in favor of the divorce; but if it must be, he wished to bring it about in his own time and in his own way, and above all to get the credit. The Murat coterie favored strengthening the alliance already concluded with Russia by a matrimonial connection. But Talleyrand, better informed regarding foreign relations, knew that the mother of the Czar would never consent to give the hand of one of her daughters to the “murderer” of the Duc d’Enghien. Besides, the affair of Spain was about to come to the front, and the time was not opportune to bring forward the question of divorce. Moved, therefore, both by sentiment and by policy, Talleyrand for the time being opposed and check-mated the efforts of Fouché.

Finally the fêtes at Fontainebleau came to an end, much to the delight of every one. When the Emperor called for a statement of the expenditures he was surprised to learn that the total did not exceed 150,000 francs. The last visit of Louis the Sixteenth had cost about two millions. The imperial household, under Duroc, the grand-marshal of the palace, was run with military discipline and economy. The servants were always at their posts and scrupulous in the performance of their duties: everything moved like clock-work. No detail was overlooked by the marshal, and he reported directly to the Emperor, who personally supervised and directed the work of the household.

While the Court was still at Fontainebleau Joséphine received the news of the death of her mother, who passed away on the 2 June 1807, at the age of seventy, at her residence in Martinique. Joséphine, who dearly loved her mother, had done everything possible to persuade her to come to live in France, where she would have received a warm welcome. But this venerable lady preferred her modest and quiet home to all the splendors of the imperial palaces.

On the 16 November the Emperor left Fontainebleau for Italy, and Joséphine returned to Paris. She would have liked to make the trip with him, to see her son Eugène and the little granddaughter who bore her name, but this time Napoleon absolutely refused his consent. He said that he would only be gone two or three weeks, that the weather would be very cold, and that she had better await his return at the Tuileries.

On the 20 November the Emperor crossed Mont-Cenis in a raging snow storm and reached Turin the same evening. The following day he proceeded to Milan, where he was welcomed by Eugène. During the five days that he passed in the city there were religious ceremonies at the cathedral, reviews, and a gala performance at the Scala. On the 28 November he arrived at Venice, where he had with him his brother Joseph, King of Naples; his sister Elisa, Princesse de Lucques; Prince Eugène, Viceroy of Italy; the King and Queen of Bavaria; Murat and Berthier.

After spending ten days at Venice, the Emperor went to Mantua, where on the 13 December he had a long interview with his brother Lucien. It will be remembered that Lucien, in opposition to the wishes of the First Consul, had married his mistress, Madame Jouberthou. Napoleon desired him to get a divorce, and marry Marie-Louise, daughter of King Charles of Spain, and widow of the King of Etruria, but Lucien spurned this brilliant alliance. In the spring of 1804, he went into voluntary exile at Rome, where he was followed by his mother, who refused to return to Paris even for the Coronation.

During the evening the Emperor sent his secretary, Méneval, to find Lucien at the inn where he was staying, and conduct him to the palace. Lucien greeted his brother very coldly, and with much dignity. After once more reproaching Lucien for his marriage, and indulging in some threats as to what he would do if his brother still refused to meet his wishes, the Emperor made this proposition: He would recognize as members of the Imperial family the daughters of Lucien by both his marriages; he would consider his second marriage as legal, but would not recognize his wife as an Imperial princesse, or consider as legitimate the son born before their marriage. If Lucien would divorce his wife, the Emperor would place him in the same position as his brothers, in the Imperial family, and would give him a throne, probably that of Portugal. He could continue to live quietly with Madame Jouberthou, if he wished, but she could never participate in the honors of royalty.

Lucien refused absolutely to divorce his wife, and declined to be separated from his children: that was his last word. During this long interview, which lasted more than six hours, Napoleon exhausted all of his resources, both in the way of threats and of promises, in the effort to frighten or persuade his brother to comply with his wishes, but all in vain. At the end of the interview the brothers parted with much emotion, and Lucien returned to Rome.

The next day the Emperor left for Milan, where on the 17 December he issued the famous Decree declaring the British Isles in a state of blockade both by land and by sea.

On the 20 December, in the grand hall of the Royal Palace, Napoleon adopted Eugène as his son, and as his presumptive successor to the crown of Italy. At the same time he gave to Eugène the title of Prince of Venice, and to his daughter that of Princesse de Bologna.

On the 24 December the Emperor left Milan for Paris, where he arrived on the night of the first day of January 1808. During this long absence of nearly seven weeks Napoleon only wrote Joséphine three short letters:

To the Empress, at Paris