In fixing the dowry of Joséphine the Emperor had not been content with the amount of two million francs granted her under the Constitution of the Empire, from the State Treasury. By decree, he assured her from the Crown Treasury an additional allowance of one million francs; by a second decree he gave her for life the use of the Palais de l’Élysée; and by a third sovereign act, he renounced in her favor all his title and interest in Malmaison.

By these acts the Emperor had more than redeemed his promise to assure her future. In Paris, Joséphine had for her residence the most sumptuous and the most attractive of the imperial palaces, and at the gates of the capital a château of her own choice, furnished to suit her own taste. So far from being a drain on her resources, the woods and lands of Malmaison in 1809 brought in a net revenue which exceeded by fifty per cent. the cost of its upkeep. Aside from her magnificent allowance of three millions, and her valuable collection of jewels, however, Joséphine had no private fortune.

Napoleon knew by experience that the Empress must have some debts, and he now demanded a detailed statement of the amounts. She was forced to admit that these had accumulated since the last previous liquidation three years before, and now reached a total of nearly two millions. After a careful examination of the accounts, the amount was reduced by a round half million, and the balance was paid by the Emperor with the understanding that one-half the sum should be deducted from her allowance for each of the two following years. By this arrangement the income of the Empress was reduced to a little more than two millions for the first two years. Having paid her debts, and provided her with an ample allowance, Napoleon now arranged a careful budget for Joséphine’s expenses in the future, but his past experience with her should have taught him how useless it was to try to curb her mania for spending.

Joséphine arrived at Malmaison after the close of the short December day, under a cold, penetrating rain. She was accompanied by Eugène and Hortense, who did their best to cheer and console their mother in her new situation. The disposition shown by some members of her household to desert her was checked by the Emperor, who gave express orders that they were all to continue their services until the end of the year.

The first day at Malmaison was sad and depressing. The rain continued to fall without ceasing. In the morning Joséphine was constantly in tears provoked by the sight of “the places where she had lived so long with the Emperor.” At an early hour Napoleon sent one of his officers from the Trianon in search of news. “He tells me,” Napoleon writes, “that since you are at Malmaison your courage has failed you. Nevertheless, the place is full of souvenirs of our affections which can never change, at least on my part. I am very anxious to see you, but I must be sure that you are strong and not weak. I am also a little weak myself, and that pains me much.”

At the Trianon the Emperor was surrounded by Pauline and her friends, who did their best to amuse him and distract his thoughts. It was impossible to walk, or drive, or hunt in the rain. The only recourse was a game of cards, of which Napoleon soon tired. He ordered his carriage and drove rapidly to the Tuileries. On his way back in the afternoon he stopped to visit Joséphine at Malmaison. Between the showers they walked in the park together as of old, but he only shook her hand when he came and went, and did not kiss her. On his return to the Trianon he wrote her:

The second day at Malmaison passed in much the same way. The rain continued, with a high wind, and it was impossible for Joséphine to seek distraction by walking in the park. Eugène’s efforts to cheer her up with a forced gaiety were of no avail. After déjeuner there were many callers. With every new visitor who came to pay his respects, or express his regrets, there was a new flood of tears. But in her grief Joséphine displays her usual tact: “Not a word de trop, not a harsh complaint, falls from her lips; she is really as sweet as an angel.”

At Paris, the reports of her attitude produced an excellent effect. Every one pitied her, and admired her courage and resignation.

On the eighteenth the Emperor, in the rain, hunted in the forest of Saint-Germain, and sent no less than three times to demand news of Joséphine. The following day, before departing for the hunt, he sent Savary to see the Empress. Not content with writing, and receiving her letters, he wished to have the report of a person in whom he had entire confidence. On his return he found a letter from Joséphine, and immediately wrote her:

The following day the Emperor wanted to visit her, “but he is very busy, and a little indisposed.” The weather also is “damp and unhealthy.” But during the day the sun comes out, and at night he writes again: “As the day has been fine, I hope that you have been out to see your plants. I have only been out for a short time, at three o’clock this afternoon, to shoot some hares.”

Joséphine had indeed been out for the first time. Madame de Rémusat, who had constituted herself Joséphine’s moral and physical director, had persuaded the Empress to take some exercise, thinking that a little fatigue might repose her mind. As Monsieur Masson well remarks: If Joséphine had been willing to travel for a time, to go to Milan or Rome, she might little by little have lessened the pain of her downfall; but so near to Paris and the Trianon, at every moment the same feelings are renewed: a note or some attention from the Emperor, a face familiar at the Tuileries, a page, a servant, a soldier,—all furnish an occasion for a new outbreak. The Emperor himself was largely responsible for this state of affairs. Through pity for Joséphine, also from weakness on his own part, he had not commanded her to go away, and in thus prolonging the agony of the separation he was suffering as much as the Empress from being “so near and yet so far.” Madame de Rémusat, taking advantage of the fact that her husband was on duty at Trianon, wrote him to “hint to the Emperor that he should write the Empress in such a manner as to encourage her; and not in the evening, for his letters give her nights of anguish; also, to moderate in his letters, his expressions of regret and grief.”

The Emperor evidently took this advice in good part, for his future letters were more manly. On the 23 December he wrote: “I should have come to see you to-day, but for the arrival of the King of Bavaria. I hope to see you to-morrow and to find you gay and self-possessed.” He visited her as promised, but, although affectionate and tender in his manner, he did not kiss Joséphine, and was not alone with her a moment.

The following day was Christmas, and he invited Joséphine and Hortense to visit him at Trianon. He kept them for dinner, and, according to Eugène, who was also present, “he was very good and very amiable to her,” and she seemed to feel much better.

The next morning the Emperor wrote: “I retired last night as soon as you left. I want to know that you are gay. I will come to see you during the week. I have received your letters which I will read in my carriage.” In fact he was returning to the Tuileries, after an absence of ten days, and this was another trial for him and for Joséphine. The day after his arrival he writes: “I was much bored at seeing the Tuileries again; this large palace seemed empty to me, and I find myself very lonesome in it.” The same evening he writes again: “I much desire to go to Malmaison, but you must be strong and calm.” He adds: “I am going to dine all alone.”

In other letters written during the last week in December the Emperor promises Joséphine to come to see her “to-morrow.” But one day he is retained by the Council until eight o’clock, at which hour he dines alone. The next day, Sunday, there is a grand review of the Old Guard in the court of the Tuileries, and he is unable to come “after Mass,” as he had proposed.

Napoleon begins to find Malmaison too far away for frequent visits in mid-winter, and wearied of his lonely dinners he conceives the idea of having her nearer him in Paris. But there is no abode vacant. He had given her the Élysée for a town house, but after the departure of the King of Saxony, the Murats had at once taken possession, on the 17 December. Their stay was supposed to be only temporary, but Caroline found the palace so comfortable, and was so delighted to keep Joséphine out, that she planned to prolong her occupancy as much as possible, and sent out invitations for a masked ball and other entertainments. However, the palace was formally promised Joséphine for the first week in January, and she took good care to have the promise renewed by the Emperor when he came, although ill, to wish her a Happy New Year.

But Joséphine wished not only to move to the Élysée, but to assure her continued occupancy of the palace, and she now made a move which has often puzzled her biographers. On the first day of January 1810 she sent an invitation to Madame de Metternich, the wife of the former Austrian ambassador, to visit her at Malmaison. Much surprised at this summons, the lady came on the following day. In the salon she found Eugène, who seemed to expect her, and in a few minutes Hortense entered. Madame de Metternich was almost stupefied when Hortense greeted her with the words: “You know, Madame, that we are all Austrians at heart, but you would never imagine that my mother has had the courage to advise the Emperor to ask for the hand of your Archduchess.”

Before Madame de Metternich had time to recover from her astonishment, Joséphine herself appeared. “I have a project,” she said, “which occupies me exclusively, the success of which alone gives me hope that the sacrifice I have just made will not be entirely lost. This is that the Emperor shall marry your Archduchess. I spoke of the matter to him yesterday, and he replied that his decision was not yet entirely made; but I am certain that it would be if he were sure of being accepted by you.”

Madame de Metternich replied that, personally, she should regard such an alliance as a great piece of good fortune; but, with the thought of Marie-Antoinette in her mind, she could not refrain from adding that it might be painful for an Austrian archduchess to come to reside in France.

Joséphine continued: “We must endeavor to arrange all this. You must make your Emperor see that his ruin and that of his country are certain if he does not consent, and that it is the only means of preventing the Emperor from creating a schism with the Holy See.” Joséphine concluded by saying that the Emperor was coming to breakfast with her, and that she would again speak to him on the subject.

At that time Joséphine had no connections with the Russian Court, and no acquaintance with the Czar Alexander, who later was so devoted to her. She felt that, on that side, she had nothing to hope and everything to fear. But her feeling for Austria was entirely different. Since the time of her first visit to Italy in 1796 she had been on very friendly terms with the Archduke Ferdinand, the brother of the Emperor. After the Peace of Campo-Formio, she had received from the Emperor himself handsome presents, in recognition of the “friendly feelings which animated her.” She had always been on confidential terms also with Metternich. She felt sure, therefore, that her Austrian connections would never fail her. This is the explanation of what would seem otherwise a very strange move on her part.

Metternich, who had recently been recalled to Vienna, to take the portfolio of Foreign Affairs, wrote his wife at Paris, in reply to her communication regarding Joséphine’s project: “This Princesse has recently given proofs of a force of character which must greatly increase the feeling of veneration with which not only France but all Europe has long regarded her.”

In the meantime the Emperor does not fail in his attentions to his former wife. Every day that he cannot visit her, he sends her a letter. He is interested in all her acts; he is rejoiced if she takes a walk or is diverted in any way. The first week in January, after a long call, the previous day, he writes:

During the first month that Joséphine was at Malmaison the Emperor wrote her every day or two, and went to see her several times a week. After that, both his letters and his calls became more and more infrequent. He was gradually becoming accustomed to his lonely dinners, and his solitary nights. Joséphine, for her part, was daily getting more and more bored at Malmaison, and anxious to return to Paris. She had Napoleon’s promise, and she did not hesitate to remind him of it. On the 28 January he writes: “I have had your belongings here arranged, and given orders to take everything to the Élysée.” Two days later he says: “I shall be pleased to know that you are at the Élysée, and very happy to see you oftener, for you know how much I love you.”

But Joséphine began to have her doubts. There were rumors of exile, of a prohibition of her residence in Paris. She took alarm and sent Eugène to see the Emperor. Napoleon defended himself in two letters, written probably on the 6 and 10 February:

Monsieur Masson, who places the date of this last letter a week earlier, says, “the same evening Joséphine was installed [at the Élysée], and the Emperor came immediately to see her.” But this seems to be an error. In the collection of Queen Hortense we find the following letter (No. 209):

To the Empress, at Malmaison

On Tuesday the 20 February, the Emperor, after hunting in the woods of Versailles, attended a fête given by Marshal Bessières at Grignon. From there he went to Rambouillet, and returned to Paris at six o’clock on the evening of Friday the 23 February. It was apparently just prior to this absence that Joséphine moved to Paris, as will appear from the two following letters:

To the Empress, at the Élysée-Napoléon

In the collection of Queen Hortense the earlier letters of Napoleon to Joséphine, almost without exception, are fully dated; but those written after the divorce usually give only the day of the week. This makes the task of arrangement in many cases very difficult. In this instance, however, it is manifest that the letter dated “19 February,” which the editors place last, was written before the departure of the Emperor for Rambouillet, and the letter dated “Friday 6 P.M.” was written after his return. It is also evident that Joséphine did not move to Paris until after the middle of February.