As @tairin and @usergreenpixel were so kind to translate the manga version of the infernal machine plot for us, I thought maybe somebody is interested in the sources behind it. This is another one of those occasions where there’s different reports from different witnesses.
This is taken from Rapp’s memoirs:
The affair of the infernal machine has never been properly understood by the public. The police had intimated to Napoleon that an attempt would be made against his life, and cautioned him not to go out. Madame Bonaparte, Mademoiselle Beauharnais, Madame Murat, Lannes, Bessières, the aide-de-camp on duty, and lieutenant Lebrun, now duke of Placenza, were all assembled in the saloon, while the First Consul was writing in his closet. Haydn's Oratorio was to be performed that evening: the ladies were anxious to hear the music, and we also expressed a wish to that effect. The escort picquet was ordered out; and Lannes requested that Napoleon would join the party. He consented; his carriage was ready, and he took along with him Bessières and the aide-de-camp on duty. I was directed to attend the ladies. Josephine had received a magnificent shawl from Constantinople, and she that evening wore it for the first time. "Allow me to observe, Madame," said I, "that your shawl is not thrown on with your usual elegance." She good humouredly begged that I would fold it after the fashion of the Egyptian ladies. While I was engaged in this operation, we heard Napoleon depart. "Come, sister," said Madame Murat, who was impatient to get to the theatre; "Bonaparte is going." We stepped into the carriage: the First Consul's equipage had already reached the middle of the Place Carrousel. We drove after it; but we had scarcely entered the Place when the machine exploded. Napoleon escaped by a singular chance. Saint-Regent, or his French servant, had stationed himself in the middle of the Rue Nicaise. A grenadier of the escort, supposing he was really what he appeared to be, a water-carrier, gave him a few blows with the flat of his sabre, and drove him off. The cart was turned round, and the machine exploded between the carriages of Napoleon and Josephine. The ladies shrieked on hearing the report; the carriage windows were broken, and Mademoiselle Beauharnais received a slight hurt on her hand. I alighted, and crossed the Rue Nicaise, which was strewed with the bodies of those who had been thrown down, and the fragments of the walls that had been shattered by the explosion. Neither the Consul nor any individual of his suite sustained any serious injury. When I entered the theatre Napoleon was seated in his box, calm and composed, and looking at the audience through his opera-glass. Fouché was beside him. "Josephine," said he, as soon as he observed me. She entered at that moment, and he did not finish his question. "The rascals," said he, very coolly, "wanted to blow me up. Bring me a book of the Oratorio."
And this is the same story from Hortense’s memoirs and perspective:
An oratorio by Haydn had long been announced, the music of which was to produce the most beautiful effect. The day of the performance arrived and we prepared to go to the Opera. The Consul, who had been sitting by the fire after dinner, did not seem inclined to go out. We were all dressed up and waiting impatiently for him to make up his mind. My mother urged him: "It will distract you, you are working too hard". The Consul closed his eyes and answered nothing. Finally, he told us that we had only to leave, that he would stay. Then my mother wanted to keep him company; it was a contest between them which ended with the horses being put to the carriages. A moment before getting into his coach, the Consul criticised my mother's toilet, and this criticism saved our lives. Having wanted to communicate it to Caroline and the aide-de-camp Rapp, she allowed some time to elapse, so that our carriage, which always followed immediately after that of the Consul, was this time separated from it by a small distance. As we entered the Rue Saint-Nicaise, a violent commotion was felt. The carriage seemed to get lifted off. The windows broke and fell on us. "It is against Bonaparte," cried my mother, and she fainted. Our horses, frightened by the noise, suffocated by the gunpowder, had reared up, taken the reins and carried us to the gate of the Tuileries.
Caroline, though far along in her pregnancy, kept her wits about her. She tried to reassure my mother. She had seen a very big fire. A house had collapsed. It couldn't have been against her brother. But my mother kept repeating: "It is against Bonaparte". I also tried to calm her down! I explained to her that our carriage alone had been attacked, that the strength of the concussion was proof of this and that the mistake had saved the Consul. A piece of the glass hurt my hand slightly.
Rapp was the first to rush into the Rue Saint-Nicaise. He saw men, women, children, dead or wounded, scattered limbs, rubble ready to bury him, but the cries of the unfortunate expiring people could not stop him. He wanted to reach the Consul and trembled to find him. One of the guards of the escort, sent to us, allayed our fears by informing us that the fire had only broken out as the Consul was leaving the street and that he had arrived at the Opera without accident. We went there by another street. My mother was not master of her strong emotion on seeing her husband again, but he, calm and tranquil, to deceive her alarm: "What have you," he said. "What has happened? It is nothing." And all this with as much composure as if he had not guessed that it was yet another blow directed against him.
So, it remains unclear who had had the good idea to critisize Josephine’s shawl.
