"Do you think I have nothing better to do than to give Bourrienne an audience？ that would indeed furnish gossip for Paris and Hamburg. He has always sided with the emigrants； he would be talking to me of past times； he was for Josephine！ My wife， Duroc， is near her confinement；I shall have a son， I am sure！.... Bourrienne is not a man of the day；I have made giant strides since he left France； in short， I do not want to see him. He is a grumbler by nature； and you know， my dear Duroc， I do not like men of that sort."
I had not been above a week in Paris when Duroc related this speech to me. Rapp was not in France at the time， to my great regret. Much against his inclination he had been appointed to some duties connected with the Imperial marriage ceremonies， but shortly after， having given offence to Napoleon by some observation relating to the Faubourg St.
Germain， he had received orders to repair to Dantzic， of which place he had already been Governor.
The Emperor's refusal to see me made my situation in Paris extremely delicate； and I was at first in doubt whether I might seek an interview with Josephine. Duroc， however， having assured me that Napoleon would have no objection to it， I wrote requesting permission to wait upon her.
I received an answer the same day， and on the morrow I repaired to Malmaison. I was ushered into the tent drawing-room， where I found Josephine and Hortense. When I entered Josephine stretched out her hand to me， saying， "Ah！ my friend！" These words she pronounced with deep emotion， and tears prevented her from continuing. She threw herself on the ottoman on the left of the fireplace， and beckoned me to sit down beside her. Hortense stood by the fireplace， endeavouring to conceal her tears. Josephine took my hand， which she pressed in both her own； and， after a struggle to overcome her feelings， she said， " My dear Bourrienne， I have drained my cup of misery. He has cast me off！ forsaken me！ He conferred upon me the vain title of Empress only to render my fall the more marked. Ah！ we judged him rightly！ I knew the destiny that awaited me； for what would he not sacrifice to his ambition！" As she finished these words one of Queen Hortense's ladies entered with a message to her； Hortense stayed a few moments， apparently to recover from the emotion under which she was labouring， and then withdrew， so that I was left alone with Josephine. She seemed to wish for the relief of disclosing her sorrows， which I was curious to hear from her own lips； women have such a striking way of telling their distresses. Josephine confirmed what Duroc had told me respecting the two apartments at Fontainebleau； then， coming to the period when Bonaparte had declared to her the necessity of a separation， she said， 鞍 My dear Bourrienne； during all the years you were with us you know I made you the confidant of my thoughts， and kept you acquainted with my sad forebodings. They are now cruelly fulfilled. I acted the part of a good wife to the very last. I have suffered all， and I am resigned！ . . .
What fortitude did it require latterly to endure my situation， when， though no longer his wife， I was obliged to seem so in the eyes of the world！ With what eyes do courtiers look upon a repudiated wife！ I was in a state of vague uncertainty worse than death until the fatal day when he at length avowed to me what I had long before read in his looks！ On the 30th of November 1809 we were dining together as usual， I had not uttered a word during that sad dinner， and he had broken silence only to ask one of the servants what o'clock it was. As soon as Bonaparte had taken his coffee he dismissed all the attendants， and I remained alone with him. I saw in the expression of his countenance what was passing in his mind， and I knew that my hour was come. He stepped up to me--he was trembling， and I shuddered； he took my hand， pressed it to his heart， and after gazing at me for a few moments in silence he uttered these fatal words： 'Josephine！ my dear Josephine！ You know how I have loved you！ .
. . To you， to you alone， I owe the only moments of happiness I have tasted in this world. But， Josephine， my destiny is not to be controlled by my will. My dearest affections must yield to the interests of France.'--'Say no more，' I exclaimed， 'I understand you； I expected this， but the blow is not the less mortal.' I could not say another word，" continued Josephine； "I know not what happened after I seemed to lose my reason； I became insensible， and when I recovered I found myself in my chamber. Your friend Corvisart and my poor daughter were with me.
Bonaparte came to see me in the evening； and oh！ Bourrienne， how can I describe to you what I felt at the sight of him； even the interest he evinced for me seemed an additional cruelty. Alas！ I had good reason to fear ever becoming an Empress！"
I knew not what consolation to offer： to Josephine； and knowing as I did the natural lightness of her character， I should have been surprised to find her grief so acute， after the lapse of a year， had I not been aware that there are certain chords which， when struck， do not speedily cease to vibrate in the heart of a woman. I sincerely pitied Josephine， and among all the things I said to assuage her sorrow， the consolation to which she appeared most sensible was the reprobation which public opinion had pronounced on Bonaparte's divorce， and on this subject I said nothing but the truth， for Josephine was generally beloved. I reminded her of a prediction I had made under happier circumstances， viz. on the day that she came to visit us in our little house at Ruel. "My dear friend，" said she， "I have not forgotten it， and I have often thought of all you then said. For my part， I knew he was lost from the day he made himself Emperor. Adieu！ Bourrienne， come and see me soon again； come often， for we have a great deal to talk about； you know how happy I always am to see you." Such was， to the best of my recollection， what passed at my first interview with Josephine after my return from Hamburg.
