y crushed. Napoleon had
become the creator of kings, and the proudest monarchs of Europe were
constrained to do his bidding. It was in an hour of exultation that the
mournful tidings reached him. He sat down in silence, buried his face in
his hands, and for a long time seemed lost in the most painful musings.
He was heard mournfully and anxiously to repeat to himself again and
again, "To whom shall I leave all this?" The struggle in his mind
between his love for Josephine and his ambitious desire to found a
new dynasty, and to transmit his name and fame to all posterity, was
fearful. It was manifest in his pallid cheek, in his restless eye, in
the loss of appetite and of sleep. But the stern will of Bonaparte was
unrelenting in its purposes. With an energy which the world has never
seen surpassed, he had chosen his part. It was the purpose of his
soul--the purpose before which every thing had to bend--to acquire the
glory of making France the most illustrious, powerful, and happy nation
earth had ever seen. For this he was ready to sacrifice comfort, ease,
and his sense of right. For this he was ready to sunder the strongest
ties of affection.

Josephine knew Napoleon. She was fully aware of his boundless ambition.
With almost insupportable anguish she wept over the death of this
idolized child, and, with a trembling heart, awaited her husband's
return. Mysterious hints began to fill the journals of the contemplated
divorce, and of the alliance of Napoleon with various princesses of
foreign courts.

In October, 1807, Napoleon returned from Vienna. He greeted Josephine
with the greatest kindness, but she soon perceived that his mind was ill
at ease, and that he was pondering the fearful question. He appeared sad
and embarrassed. He had frequent private interviews with his ministers.
A general feeling of constraint pervaded the court. Napoleon scarcely
ventured to look upon his wife, as if apprehensive that the very sight
of one whom he had loved so well might cause him to waver in his firm
purpose. Josephine was in a state of the most feverish solicitude, and
yet was compelled to appear calm and unconstrained. As yet she had only
fearful forebodings of her impending doom. She watched, with most
excited apprehension, every movement of the emperor's eye, every
intonation of his voice, every sentiment he uttered. Each day some new
and trivial indication confirmed her fears. Her husband became more
reserved, absented himse