urt of Austria to
be not only the queen, but the brightest ornament of the court of
France--the other the child of a planter, born upon an obscure island,
reared in the midst of negresses, as almost her only companions--little
did they imagine that Maria Antoinette was to go down, down, down to the
lowest state of ignominy and woe, while Josephine was to ascend to more
and more exalted stations, until she should sit upon a throne more
glorious than the Caesars ever knew.

French philosophy had at this time undermined the religion of Jesus
Christ. All that is sacred in the domestic relations was withering
beneath the blight of infidelity. Beauharnais, a man of fashion and of
the world, had imbibed, to the full, the sentiments which disgraced the
age. Marriage was deemed a partnership, to be formed or dissolved at
pleasure. Fidelity to the nuptial tie was the jest of philosophers
and witlings. Josephine had soon the mortification of seeing a
proud, beautiful, and artful woman taking her place, and openly and
triumphantly claiming the attentions and the affections of her husband.
This woman, high in rank, loved to torture her poor victim. "Your dear
Alexander," she said to Josephine, "daily lavishes upon others the
tribute of attachment which you think he reserves solely for you." She
could not bear to see the beautiful and virtuous Josephine happy, as the
honored wife of her guilty lover, and she resolved, if possible, to sow
the seeds of jealousy so effectually between them as to secure a
separation.

In the year 1780 Josephine gave birth to her daughter Hortense. This
event seemed for a time to draw back the wandering affections of
Beauharnais. He was really proud of his wife. He admired her beauty and
her grace. He doted upon his infant daughter. But he was an infidel. He
recognized no law of God, commanding purity of heart and life, and he
contended that Josephine had no right to complain, as long as he treated
her kindly, if he did indulge in the waywardness of passion.

The path of Josephine was now, indeed, shrouded in gloom, and each day
seemed to grow darker and darker. Hortense became her idol and her only
comfort. Her husband lavished upon her those luxuries which his wealth
enabled him to grant. He was kind to her in words and in all the
ordinary courtesies of intercourse. But Josephine's heart was well-nigh
broken. A few years of conflict passed slowly away, when she gave birth,
in the year 1783, to her so