peror Alexander, with a
number of illustrious guests, dined with Josephine at Malmaison. In the
evening twilight, the party went out upon the beautiful lawn in front of
the house for recreation. Josephine, whose health had become exceedingly
precarious through care and sorrow, being regardless of herself in
devotion to her friends, took a violent cold. The next day she was
worse. Without any very definite form of disease, she day after day grew
more faint and feeble, until it was evident that her final change was
near at hand. Eugene and Hortense, her most affectionate children, were
with her by day and by night. They communicated to her the judgment of
her physician that death was near. She heard the tidings with perfect
composure, and called for a clergyman to administer to her the last
rites of religion.

Just after this solemnity the Emperor Alexander entered the room. Eugene
and Hortense, bathed in tears, were kneeling at their mother's side.
Josephine beckoned to the emperor to approach her, and said to him and
her children, "I have always desired the happiness of France. I did all
in my power to contribute to it; and I can say with truth, to all of you
now present, at my last moments, that the first wife of Napoleon never
caused a single tear to flow."

She called for the portrait of the emperor; she gazed upon it long and
tenderly; and then, fervently pressing it in her clasped hands to her
bosom, faintly articulated the following prayer:

"O God! watch over Napoleon while he remains in the desert of this
world. Alas! though he hath committed great faults, hath he not expiated
them by great sufferings? Just God, thou hast looked into his heart, and
hast seen by how ardent a desire for useful and durable improvements he
was animated. Deign to approve my last petition. And may this image of
my husband bear me witness that my latest wish and my latest prayer were
for him and my children."

It was the 29th of May, 1814. A tranquil summer's day was fading away
into a cloudless, serene, and beautiful evening. The rays of the setting
sun, struggling through the foliage of the open window, shone cheerfully
upon the bed where the empress was dying. The vesper songs of the birds
which filled the groves of Malmaison floated sweetly upon the ear, and
the gentle spirit of Josephine, lulled to repose by these sweet anthems,
sank into its last sleep. Gazing upon the portrait of the emperor, she
exclaimed, "L'isle d'Elbe--N