Queen Hortense | Page 7

seven, could
solve the mysteries of fate.
To him, to the Grand Cophta, Josephine now addressed herself after
this day of dread uncertainty, and demanded information of the fate of

her husband.
In the stillness of the night the gloomy, desolate hall of the prison now
presented a strange aspect. The jailer, bribed with an assignat of fifty
francs, then worth only forty sous, however, had consented that his
little six-years-old daughter should serve the Grand Cophta as "dove,"
and had made all other preparations. A table stood in the middle of the
hall, on which was a decanter filled with clear, fresh water, around
which were three candles in the form of a triangle, and placed as near
the decanter as possible, in order that the dove should be able to see the
better. The little girl, just aroused from sleep and brought from her bed
in her night-gown, sat on a chair close to the table, and behind her
stood the earnest, sombre figure of the Grand Cophta. Around the table
stood the prisoners, these duchesses and marquises, these ladies of the
court of Versailles who had preserved their aristocratic manners in the
prison, and were even here so strictly observant of etiquette, that those
of them who had enjoyed the honor of the tabouret in the Tuileries,
were here accorded the same precedence, and all possible consideration
shown them.
On the other side of the table, in breathless suspense, her large, dark
eyes fastened on the child with a touching expression, stood the
unhappy Josephine, and, at some distance behind the ladies, the jailer
with his wife.
Now the Grand Cophta laid both hands on the child's head and cried in
a loud voice, "Open your eyes and look!"
The child turned pale and shuddered as it fixed its gaze on the decanter.
"What do you see?" asked the Grand Cophta, "I want you to look into
the prison of General Beauharnais. What do you see?"
"I see a little room," said the child with vivacity. "On a cot lies a young
man who sleeps; at his side stands another man, writing on a sheet of
paper that lies on a large book."
"Can you read?"

"No, citizen. Now the man cuts off his hair, and folds it in the paper."
"The one who sleeps?"
"No, the one who was just now writing. He is now writing something
on the back of the paper in which he wrapped the hair; now he opens a
little red pocket-book, and takes papers out of it; they are assignats, he
counts them and then puts them back in the pocket-book. Now he rises
and walks softly, softly."
"What do you mean by softly? You have not heard the slightest noise
as yet, have you?"
"No, but he walks through the room on tiptoe."
"What do you see now?"
"He now covers his face with his hands and seems to be weeping."
"But what did he do with his pocket-book?"
"Ah, he has put the pocket book and the package with the hair in the
pocket of the coat that lies on the sleeping man's bed."
"Of what color is this coat?"
"I cannot see, exactly; it is red or brown, lined with blue silk and
covered with shining buttons."
"That will do," said the Grand Cophta; "you can go to bed, child."
He stooped down over the child and breathed on her forehead. The little
girl seemed to awaken as from a trance, and hurried to her parents, who
led her from the hall.
"General Beauharnais still lives!" said the Grand Cophta, addressing
Josephine.
"Yes, he still lives," cried she, sadly, "but he is preparing for death[1]."

[Footnote 1: This scene is exactly as represented by the Marquise de
Créqui, who was present and relates it in her memoirs, vol. vi., p. 238.]
Josephine was right. A few days later Duchess d'Anville received a
package and a letter. It was sent to her by a prisoner in La Force, named
De Legrois. He had occupied the same cell with General Beauharnais
and had found the package and the letter, addressed to the duchess, in
his pocket on the morning of the execution of the general.
In this letter the general conjured Duchess D'Anville to deliver to
Josephine the package which contained his hair and his last adieus to
wife and children.
This was the only inheritance which General Beauharnais could
bequeath to his Josephine and her unhappy children!
Josephine was so agitated by the sight of her husband's hair and his last
fond words of adieu, that she fainted away, a stream of blood gushing
from her mouth.
Her companions in misfortune vied with each other in giving her the
most tender attention, and demanded of the jailer that a physician
should be