I married at the age of thirteen to Charles Bonaparte, who was a handsome man, as big as Murat.
At 32 years old, I became a widow when Charles died aged 35 in Montpellier, of stomach pains that he had always complained about, especially after dinner.
He had been elected député three times in France, because his unique qualities attracted the affection and esteem of his fellow citizens.
Over nineteen years of marriage, I had thirteen children, of whom three died in infancy (and two died at birth.)
Charles was an only child, as was I when we were married; he had his mother and three uncles, namely, the Archdeacon Lucien, Joseph and Napoléon.
When I became a mother, I dedicated myself entirely to ensuring that my family was well-run, and I would only leave my house to go to mass. I know that one of the obligations of a good Christian is to go to church, every day and obligatorily on feast days; but I believe however that the Church does not demand, on working days, that people who find themselves in charge of household matters and especially mothers of families should waste a great part of the day away from home. This would interrupt the regular course of household business, and would make one guilty in the eyes of God for the domestic headaches which very often arise in the absence of a person in charge.
Moreover, my presence was necessary to restrain my children when they were still little.
My mother-in-law and my husband were so indulgent with the children that at the slightest cry or smallest reprimand, they would rush to comfort them. As for me, I was strict or indulgent, as and when. I was obeyed and loved by my children, and, even as adults, they have never changed in their love and respect towards me.
My mother-in-law was so pious that, each time I was lying in after giving birth, she made it her religious duty to attend an extra mass, such that she went as far as hearing nine masses a day!
Of all my children, Napoleon, right from his earliest years, was the most stubborn. I remember that, to create an outlet for their extraordinary energy, I had to take all of the furniture out of a large room, where, when it was playtime, or the weather was bad, the children were allowed to amuse themselves as they saw fit. Jerome and the three others spent their time jumping or drawing puppets on the wall. Napoleon, for whom I had brought a drum and a wooden sword, only painted soldiers, always set in battle formation.
From his youngest years, he displayed a particular bent for the study of numbers, to the point where some nuns and beguines gave him the nickname ‘mathematician’ and would always be giving him boiled sweets. One day, he saw them on the Place St François and set off at full tilt towards them shouting “If you want to know my heart’s desire, you’ll find it in the bosoms of the nuns.” Sister Orto, a fat lady with bad legs, told him off, but in the end gave in and handed him a sweet just to make him shut up.
When he was a little older, I would get someone to take him to the Jesuit School, and I would give him a piece of white bread for his lunch. One day, I was informed that young Master Napoleon had been seen in the street, and not just once, eating ammunition bread, something not suitable for a child of his rank and status. I scolded him severely, and he answered me back saying that every morning he swapped his piece of bread for a soldier’s because, since he too was to become a soldier, it was the right thing to do, to get used to eating that bread and that anyway he preferred it to white bread.
At eight years old, he developed such a taste for schoolwork, and particularly arithmetic, that we had to make him a sort of den made out of boards, on the terrace of the house, to which he would withdraw all day long so as to not be disturbed by his brothers. Only in the evening would he come out, for a moment and would wander the streets distractedly, totally dishevelled and dirty and always forgetting to pull his stockings up. Hence the ditty still repeated occasionally today in Ajaccio: “Napoleon with his short socks, having it away with Goldilocks”.[1]
One day when Napoleon was still eight years old (it was a holiday, 5 May), our estate manager had come to town with two young and powerful horses. Napoleon waited for the time to leave, himself mounted one of the two horses and, like a young Alexander the Great, galloped off keeping always ahead of the estate manager, who trembled with fear and begged Napoleon to stop. Napoleon carried on in this way until he arrived at the destination, and dismounted the horse, laughing at the estate manager’s fear.
Before leaving, he observed attentively the mechanism of a watermill, then in motion; he went to see how much water was necessary to make the mill work, and asked the farmer how much wheat flour was produced in an hour. Napoleon noted everything down and very soon afterwards remarked that the mill would grind so much flour in one day and so much in a week. The manager was shocked by the accuracy of the calculation and told me upon returning to town with Napoleon that, if God granted a long life to the little lad, he would surely not fail in becoming the greatest man alive.
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I never let myself be taken in by the grand airs and graces and flattery of court, and if my sons had paid more attention to my words, they would find themselves better off than they are now.
Everybody called me the happiest mother in the world, whereas my life has actually been one long stream of sorrow and sacrifice. With every letter that arrived, I was always scared that it would bring the awful news of the Emperor’s death on the battlefield.
When we were at Porto-Ferrajo[2], the Emperor seemed to me happier than usual one evening; he invited me, as well as Pauline, to play a round of écarté[3]. A moment later, he left us and went to shut himself in his study. Seeing that he was not going to return, I went to find him, but the chamberlain told me that he had gone down into the garden. I remember it was one of the mildest evenings of that spring; the moon shone through the trees, and the Emperor was walking alone, with quick steps, all the way down one of the pathways in the garden. All of a sudden he stopped and, pressing his head against a fig tree, shouted “And yet, I really must tell my mother!” At these words I stepped forwards, and with a tone of utmost impatience replied, “Well, what is it then, which has made you so much more pensive than usual this evening?”
The Emperor, with a hand on his forehead, replied after a moment’s hesitation, “Yes, I must tell you, but you must promise not to repeat what I tell you in confidence to anybody, not even Pauline.” He smiled, embraced and kissed me and continued, “Well, I have to tell you that I am leaving, tonight.”
“To go where?”
“To Paris. But, above all, I want to ask your advice.”
“Well! Let me just forget, for an instant, that I am your mother.” I thought for a moment before adding, “The heavens will not allow you to die either by poison, or in a retirement unbefitting of your dignity, but only with your sword in your hand.”
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Marie-Louise was uninspiring when seen up-close, and dull to hear when she was speaking; but she wrote very well. It is not true that the Emperor had an apartment prepared for her in Paris which was identical to the one she had in Vienna. It was Caroline who went to meet her and accompanied her back to France. The Emperor met her halfway before she had arrived, and it was I who received her and escorted her to her apartment. The Cardinal, my brother, joined Napoleon and Marie-Louise in marriage.
At the baptism of the young Napoleon, the Austrian Emperor was the godfather, and I was the godmother.
Upon our final departure from Paris, Marie-Louise said to me, “I wish you to come with me to Austria.” I thanked her and replied that I would never be separated from my children. Upon the death of the young Napoleon, she wrote me a letter of condolence, but I never replied to her.[4]
My life ended with the fall of the Emperor. From that moment onwards, I gave up everything. No more social visits of any sort, no more theatre, which had been my sole distraction in moments of sadness. My children and my nephews have always begged me to go to the theatre, but I have always refused, regarding the very invitation as an insult. They have never been able to understand, as I have, the depths of humiliation into which they have been plunged by the death of the Emperor.
[1] “Napoléon à la michausette, fait l’amour à Jacquelinette”
[2] Largest town on the island of Elba.
[3] 19th-century card game, popular in France. A trick-taking game similar to whist, but with a special discarding phase.
[4] Note from Baron Larrey : “It should be noted that the Cardinal thought it proper to reply, but did so without telling Madame Mère.”