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But the complexion of the marriage changed after Bonaparte returned a national hero, besieged by well-wishers and idolized by women ("Genius has no sex!" cried Madame de Stael, trying to rush past a startled footman to surprise Bonaparte in his bath). Threatened with divorce, Josephine meekly settled down to the role of dutiful wife.
The intellectual indolence that infuriated Beauharnais served her well as Empress. She kept out of Bonaparte's affairs, obediently attended any functions she was instructed to, conscientiously memorized the remarks Bonaparte composed for her to use on public occasions. Otherwise, she entertained herself with the theater and with sentimental novels, frequently only sampling them and having others tell her the ending. Her personal expenditures came to about a million francs ($200,000) a year. Her two great extravagances were clothes and Malmaison, the estate outside Paris where she collected exotic flowers, romantic paintings, and such oddities as male and female mummies—relics of the Egyptian campaign. In a reversal of their former roles, it was Josephine who now wrote imploring letters to Bonaparte when he was away campaigning, asking permission to join him. Bonaparte, engaged with a string of mistresses, never granted it.
Last Chill. What ended the marriage was Napoleon's belated discovery that he could father an heir. For years he had assumed, on the evidence of Josephine's two children by her first marriage, that he was responsible for the fact that his own marriage had been childless. In 1806, however, he became the father of an illegitimate son, and in 1809 his mistress of the moment, Polish Countess Maria Walewska, revealed that she was pregnant. Several months later, Bonaparte announced his decision to divorce Josephine for the good of the state. Archduchess Marie Louise of Austria gave him the legitimate son he wanted; Josephine retired on a handsome pension to Malmaison. When she died at 50 in May 1814, after contracting a chill at an outdoor reception, 20,000 people filed past her bier and Paris was flooded with pamphlets hailing la bonne Josephine. Bonaparte was virtually the last to get the news. A valet clipped the story out of a Genoa newspaper and sent it to the former Emperor on Elba.