Jan. 9, 1892.]

'Yes, sir. What is that?'

'Get well as soon as you can-not that I want you to go, but because I would rather have hale guests than sick.'

LA MALMAISON.

O'er all there hung a shadow and a fear; A sense of mystery the spirit haunted. VERY few tourists visit the dismantled Château and forsaken Park where, more than seventy years ago, the Empress Joséphine ended her eventful life, and where but a few years earlier Napoleon spent the only happy days of his restless existence. A few Americans annually cross the weed-covered court, a much larger number of Parisian bourgeois picnic-makers duly spend their summer Sunday afternoons in making merry over bread and wine on the mossy turf of the once well-trimmed lawns; but for the rest, the bats and the moles share the property with the speculative builder, whose myrmidons make the overhanging woods resound with hideous and discordant clamour of axe and hammer.

Guide-books rarely mention Malmaison. Even Murray and Baedeker each devote to it but a very small space, almost, one would think, as if by accident. For a few moments, then, and before the shadows of oblivion fall over the château, and while yet enough remains of the Park to make it still worth a pilgrimage, let us draw a picture of what it once was and what it now is.

The brightest days of Malmaison were between 1798 and 1810. In the former year the property was secured to Joséphine, wife of Napoleon Bonaparte, in her own right. Previous to this period, it had successively belonged to the Crown, and a private individual named Léconteux, who had considerably enlarged the domain, and from whom it was purchased for one hundred and sixty thousand francs by Madame Bonaparte. It was destined to see the rise and fall of the great General, and played a more conspicuous part in his career than either St Cloud, Compiègne, Fontainebleau, or the Tuileries, all of which are more or less associated with his name. It was in the silence of the dark woods of Malmaison, far removed from court and courtiers, and so unsuggestive of either, that the greatest campaigns of Napoleon were planned. It was during his residence here that the Directory was overthrown and he became First Consul; and it was Malmaison that witnessed the sad scenes, when, from an unworthy ambition, the First Consul decided to annul the marriage with his faithful wife Joséphine, and to marry the almost child-wife, Maria Louisa of Austria.

The play-hours of the great Napoleon, few as they were, may be said to have been spent only at Malmaison. He was intensely fond of its retirement, and his tastes were singularly simple and home-like, when away from the grim work of conquest. Joséphine, as the wife of the First Consul, was not an accomplished scholar in the etiquette of that position, much less in that of an imperial court. She was no artist; she was no musician. Her usual occupation consisted of crewel-work for covering her furniture; and in this she enlisted the services of the ladies

who visited her. Napoleon-until persuaded by others that his wife was not capable of fulfilling the duties of Empress-was himself delighted with this simplicity. He would sit by the hour in her society in those long evenings at Malmaison, attracted, as were all others, by a sweetness and quiet dignity such as few women of the 'Directoire' period possessed. She was fond of and excelled in 'tric-trac' (backgammon), and Napoleon would often join in the play with her. While at Malmaison, his secretary records, Napoleon was a veritable father in the midst of his family circle. His abnegation of grandeur, his simple and unaffected manner, and the gracious familiarity of Madame Bonaparte, formed an inexpressible charm. The Premier Consul would enjoy being read to, though he rarely read himself. The one thing to which he would never listen was poetry. "It is a poor science," said he.'

Joséphine's favourite employment-it was more than a diversion-was horticulture. She was not in any sense a scientist. She loved nature for Nature's sake, and her hot-houses and gardens were her long and lasting delight. In those days, such pleasures were costly; and more than once after her divorce, complaints were made that she overdrew her rather large annuity. Napoleon was himself liberal, but the State interfered, and on one occasion he was compelled to delegate a minister to warn her of the consequences of her horticultural extravagance.

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The character of this beautiful woman beyond all praise. Napoleon's excessive ambition was the main source of all the evils associated with his name. He was not vicious, like some of the kings of France in the two previous centuries. Joséphine had but to contend with an insatiable craze for power in her leonine husband. While in her presence, the Premier Consul was advised and directed by her, unconsciously to himself. But when away on his campaigns, his instincts prevailed. On one of his journeys to Italy, Joséphine showed her wisdom in not leaving him. She accompanied him through day and night stages the whole way, enduring with heroic patience and fortitude privations that only old soldiers were used to. Her whole life was one long sacrifice, one noble record of self-abnegation.

The years from 1810 to 1814 were sad and mournful. They were associated wholly with the enforced retirement of Joséphine, and ended with her premature death. From the moment that Napoleon quitted his noble wife, the tide of his prosperity began to ebb. Great victories were discounted by great disasters, until the failure of his Russian campaign compelled his abdication at Fontainebleau on the 4th of April 1814, exactly four years after his marriage with Maria Louisa. For ten months during his exile in Elba, France loses his figure; and again he is hailed as Emperor in the reign of the Hundred Days. On the disaster at Waterloo, he once more finds a refuge at Malmaison, wifeless and almost friendless. His faithful consort Joséphine, as constant when his divorced as when his acknowledged wife, had passed away just a year before this return. The Empress Maria Louisa had already gone back to her father's court at Vienna, as a voluntary hostage of the Allies, where her affec

tion for Napoleon, if she possessed any, was being rapidly transferred to a certain Count Nipperg, whose morganatic wife she afterwards became. Her little son, 'le Roi de Rome,' subsequently 'Duc de Reichstadt, had also been transferred to the care of his Austrian grandfather.

These last few days of Napoleon at Malmaison will ever remain the most marked in its history. Deeply attached to his step-children-the offspring of Joséphine by her first marriage-as much for their mother's sake as for their own intrinsic worth, he found in Hortense Beauharnais the only woman left to console him in the time of his trouble. She herself was fresh in her grief at the loss of her beloved mother; he, in turmoil of soul at the loss of everything -crown, power, and even the affections of the people. His one-time traitor, Fouché, had usurped authority, or obtained it by foul means, and had found his opportunity of revenge by refusing to publish a proclamation in the Moniteur which Napoleon had addressed to the army! Nemesis was indeed on his footsteps, her very shadow thrown over all. The promptitude which characterised the General's action in critical moments forsook him now; but Malmaison, hallowed by the sanctified memory of Joséphine, alone seemed to soothe his crushed and wounded spirit.

His secretary, Baron Minéval, records this period in these words: 'I see before me Malmaison, where had shone the aurora of his greatness, and which to him must have recalled the sweetest and bitterest of remembrances. I cannot approach this château without emotion: I again see him clothed with power, and crowned with an aureole of a great personal glory, passing the time in this delightful retreat, with charming society, the most amiable and the best of women-the embodiments of every grace; surrounded by the members of his family and some faithful servants, and partaking in their joys; seeking, among the rich foliage of the gardens and park, relaxation from work; or scattering broadcast the treasures of his fertile imagination in easy converse, sometimes serious, sometimes joyful, but always full of original and profound thoughts. He had a select table, but the salon was open to all. The venerable Archbishop was received with a deference due to his sacred calling, and treated with filial affection. Kings and princes came to salute his Imperial Majesty. The rupture of a union formed on mutual affection, and dissolved entirely through political reasons, had estranged Napoleon from Malmaison, which in days gone by had been the scene of confidences the most solemn and of affections the most pure, and had thrown him into a new theatre of pompous courts which left little but bitter chagrin. A premature death had taken away the Empress, who was so great an ornament, just at the moment when the crown had fallen from her consort's head. Napoleon returned to bid a last adieu to the tomb of his first-and the only-wife of his choice. He was received in his adversity by his adopted daughter, Queen Hortense, whose generous and filial care consoled his troubled days. I see before me the faithful courtiers prepared to run all chances of his misfortune even now for their illustrious chief. The Duke of Rovigo, energetic and devoted, whose personal adhesion to Napoleon had always

been so useful; General Bertrand and his wife, truest in adversity; Monsieur and Madame de Montholon, who, like General Bertrand, voluntarily shared in his exile; Gourgaud, chivalrous and imaginative; Las Cases and his little son; and Marchand, whose only recompense was the title he received of "friend of Napoleon."

On the 29th of June 1815, the Prussians closed round Argenteuil and Châtou, the neighbouring villages to Reuil, near to which is situated Malmaison. Not a moment more could be left to chance. At half-past five in the evening General Becker presented himself before the ex-emperor: 'Sire, all is ready.' The great man replied not a word. He crossed the Hall into the Park, weeping. He bade adieu to all present. His beloved Hortense he tenderly embraced; then, with one last look at the château and all its surroundings, silently waved a last farewell. Alone he crossed the Park to a retired gate, where, entering a carriage, he directed his journey towards Rochefort, purposing from that seaport to take ship for the United States; but instead of this, sixteen days later he surrendered himself to Captain Maitland of the Bellerophon, claiming, as a last chance, the protection of British laws! A few days after, Malmaison was possessed by the allied armies.

The rest of its history is brief and decadent. On the Restoration, Prince Eugène, the brother of and on behalf of Queen Hortense, resold much of the Park and most of the pictures, while the remainder were sent to his seat at Munich, a few only of the relics finding their way to the museums of Versailles or the Louvre. In 1826 a Swedish banker bought the property, and held it until his death in 1842. It was then purchased by Maria Christina, and occupied by her for a short time upon her abdication of the Regency of Spain; and subsequently was sold by her to Napoleon III., who made it a sort of show-place until 1870. During the siege of Paris, the shells from Mont Valerien directed to the outposts of the German army encamped round Bougival, caused it some damage.

And what is left to-day to remind us of the past? Reuil is a large village, containing a handsome mairie, cavalry barracks, and numerous appendages to the army service. The village square encloses the church, with its tall and graceful spire, surmounted by an exceptionally long vane, on which Chanticleer, the winged symbol of Gaul, presides. In the church itself, built by Lacroix, by order of Napoleon III., is much to remind one of the Bonaparte family. Here is preserved, untouched by the hands of violence, all that was most prized by the last Emperor-the tomb of his mother Hortense, and of her mother the Empress Joséphine. The style of the church is mixed; externally not pleasing. The interior is better harmonised. On the right of the high altar is the tomb of Joséphine, the work of Gilet and Dubuc, and over it an exquisite statue by Cartélier. Empress is represented kneeling. the simple inscription, 'A JOSEPHINE, EUGÈNE et HORTENSE, 1825. At right angles with this tomb, and facing the nave, is that of the father of the Empress, the Count Tascher de la Pagerie; while opposite, and facing the tomb of Joséphine, on the left of the altar, is a monumental group

The Beneath is

Jan. 9, 1892.)

erected to the memory of Queen Hortense by her son, Louis Napoleon. It is the work of Bartolini. The Queen kneels on a cushion, her guardian angel hovering over her. Beneath is inscribed, LA REINE HORTENSE, son fils NAPOLEON III.' Below this group of statuary, and reached by a door and a flight of steps, is the actual tomb of Hortense, situated in a small chamber, and lit with a large bronze lamp. It is in beautiful preservation, only crumbling slightly in one or two places. We asked the old verger if any of the members of the family ever came to visit it and see to repairs. The answer was sadly given that they could not! The inscription on the tomb is a long one, and need not be here quoted, as it is but a list of titles and family history. Hortense Beauharnais was married on the 3d of March 1802 to Louis Napoleon, king of Holland, and died at his castle of Arenenberg, October 5, 1837. This made her also sister-in-law, as she was previously step-daughter, to Napoleon I.

But the church contains other remembrances. The bas-relief in bronze of Christ at the Tomb, removed from the little chapel of Malmaison, forms the façade of the high altar. And an oak carved chair, presented by Louis Napoleon, on which is inscribed the number of the 'plébiscite' calling him from Republican to Imperial power-7,500,000.-But more artistically valuable and beautiful is the organ, a perfect piece of carving, on which appear these words in gold letters: 'Ouvrage du Sculpteur Florentin Baccio d'Agnolo, executé à la fin du XVe S. pour l'église Sainte Marie Nouvelle de Florence, est un don de Napoleon III. (1863).'

The roads in the old quarters of the village are mostly lime avenues, the trees being generally trimmed in two sides of a square, so that the branches from either line of trees almost meet in the centre, and form a protection from sun and rain alike for the roadway, even more than the path. The same clear and distinct iron plates bearing the name of the avenue-or Boulevart,' as it is here written-are still affixed to the walls, as in the days of Louis Philippe, if not earlier. Taking a succession of these roads from the square, is reached one at right angles -the 'Avenue de la Malmaison,' in these October days resplendent in the richest tints of green and gold, for the trees on either side are planes, far more lovely in autumn than at any other period of the year. At the upper extremity and termination of the avenue are three gates: those to the left lead to private property; those in front to the Park only; while those on the right open directly on the cour d'honneur' of the chatean. The gates are fastened, and on a tattered poster affixed to a board, one reads: 'Adjudication en la Chambre de Notaire de Paris sise Place du Châtelet, par de Ministre M. Dufoure, l'un deux, le Mardi, 5 Juin 1888, à midi, du Château historique de la Malmaison,' &c. And then over the lower part of this condemnatory notice, which is by it half obliterated, is another: Le bureau de Ventes des Terraines de la Malmaison est dans le Château.'

Rattling the chains that held the rusting gates together, brought out on our visit a girl, not the neat little daughter of the concierge to a mansion, but the offspring of the broker's man, the man, in fact, in possession. She rather reluctantly un

fastened the gates, assisted by that key which generally proves irresistible, and we crossed the weed-covered court. The château lies immediately in front, not where a similar building in England would have been placed, among the woods or more retired parts of the Park. A few straggling creepers hang over the walls of the garden adjoining; but not a leaf is found to cover the nakedness of the building itself, which, being architecturally unpicturesque, sorely stands in need of Nature's garb of green. By a side-door we entered. Desolation everywhere! Beyond a coverless billiard table, no furniture visible. The plaster falling from the ceiling, the few remaining oak panels half torn from the walls, and even the chapel outraged and in dismal ruins. On the upper floors, if anything, the state of things was worse. On the broken doors are written military orders, for during a period of five years subsequent to the war, the château was converted into barracks. The bedroom of Napoleon I. is a small apartment seventeen feet square. The view from it is not extensive, for the elevation is low, and surrounded by the welltimbered Park. One cedar of Lebanon stands guard on the lawn beneath the windows. Adjoining this room, and connected by an antechamber, is the bedroom of Joséphine. It is oval. The decorations have all, save the ceiling, vanished. There, in distemper, appear the remains of what was once a blue sky. The walls of the château are unusually free from the pencilled autographs of the great unknown, or the senseless comments of ignorant tourists; but here we found one and one only. It ran thus: Dieu permettez qu'un Napoleon vienne plutôt restaurer cette maison que des laissent tomber en ruine.'

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We walked through the scores of tiny apartments, less even in dimension than those of the Trianons; and, though the girl objected, we mounted to the topmost story, in the hope of obtaining a view over the Park. In this we were disappointed, for the windows were skylights, and only used by the bats. One of these little brethren we dislodged, and, as he seemed in a state of semi-torpor, placed him on a window ledge where the warm October sun might restore his vitality. There were scores of these little creatures suspended from the roof, and, from what we could see, they had not received a visitor for many a long day.

We descended to the Park, but were not allowed to enter the gardens, where the trees were mostly planted by Joséphine; for they have long since passed into private hands. That part of the estate as yet unabsorbed by the tasteless builder is still beautiful, and the Temple de l'Amour,' where Napoleon is said to have planned many of his campaigns, yet exists, and a tiny cascade in front of it ever musically falling into a pool beneath. There is still left sufficient to make a charming residence for some appreciative purchaser, who need not be excessively wealthy to maintain it.

But what is more delightful than the Park, are the overhanging woods, through which wind the greenest of green lanes. The beech-treesfar from common in Seine-et-Oise-are here growing in perfection; and oaks, conifers, birch and mountain-ash reach an unusual size. The

THE PRINCE'S PLUMES. THE three traditional ostrich feathers which form the crest of the Prince of Wales, and the motto which invariably accompanies them, are more familiar to an Englishman than any other heraldic insignia, except it be the lion and unicorn supporting the arms of the sovereign, or the well-known dagger in London City shield.

The popular account of the adoption of the feathers by the eldest sons of the English kings as their own peculiar badge is, that the Black Prince, son of Edward III., conquered the original wearer of the crest, John of Luxembourg, king of Bohemia, at the field of Crécy, and ever afterwards wore the plumes in commemoration of the battle. The fate of the king of Bohemia,' says Hume, 'was remarkable. He was blind from age; but being resolved to hazard his person and set an example to others, he ordered the reins of his bridle to be tied on each side to two gentlemen of his train; and his dead body and those of his attendants were afterwards found among the slain, with their horses standing by them in that situation. It is said that the crest of the king of Bohemia was three ostrich feathers, and his motto, "Ich Dien," I serve, which the Prince of Wales and his successors adopted in memorial of the great victory.'

Modern research has played havoc with many a cherished legend, one after another of which have yielded to the critical examination of historical records. The general opinion now is that the badge, so far from being acquired on the battlefield, was adopted by the Black Prince and his successors as part of the armorial bearings of the various continental families with whom they were connected by descent. There is no contemporary evidence in support of the popular history of the badge, and the earliest writer who refers to it is Camden, whose Remains were published in the time of Elizabeth, more than two centuries after the battle. He says: "The victorious Black Prince, his son, used sometimes one feather, sometimes three, in token of his speedy execu

PRICE 1d.

tion in all his services, as the posts in the Roman times were pterophori, and wore feathers to signify their flying post-haste. But the tradition is that he wore them at the battle of Poitiers, whereupon he adjoined this old English word, "Ic Den;" that is, I serve, according to that of the apostle, "the heir, while he is a child, differeth nothing from a servant." The learned antiquary even appears to be uncertain whether the battle he refers to was Crécy or Poitiers, for in the next edition of his work he says, 'he won them at the battle of Crécy from John, king of Bohemia.' It is also to be observed, unfortunately for the legend, that the crest of the Bohemian king was not a plume of ostrich feathers, but two wings of a vulture, ‘semée, of linden leaves of gold expanded.'

It is most probable that the badge was introduced into England by Philippa of Hainault, the consort of Edward III., and mother of the Black Prince. She was descended from the sister of Henry, Count of Luxembourg, an ancestor of John of Bohemia, whose connection with the legend is thus accounted for; and John's son, the Emperor Charles IV., bore an ostrich as his badge; as did his daughter Anne, the first queen of Richard II. The earliest reference to the ostrich feathers in any English record is in an indenture witnessing the delivery of certain articles of plate belonging to the wardrobe of Queen Philippa. Silver basins and ewers described, enamelled with the arms of France and Hainault quarterly, and particular mention is made of a large dish for the alms of the queen. It was silver-gilt and enamelled on the bottom with a black escutcheon with ostrich feathers. The inference is that, like the arms of Hainault upon other articles of the plate, the ostrich feathers in the sable shield belonged to Queen Philippa, and were borne by her as a badge of her family, or in right of some territories governed by the Princes of her house.

are

The Black Prince refers to the feathers in his will dated the 7th of June 1376. He gave orders that his body should be buried in the cathedral