Dealing with a personality as multi-faceted as that of Joséphine Bonaparte was never going to be easy, and it is disappointing to report that this exhibition was unsuccessful in its attempt to do so. Without a clear narrative – except the all-encompassing desire to show ‘her passions, her objects, her residences, her collections’ – and by trying to do too much, it ultimately failed to show her as a woman of any real significance in any of these fields.

The exhibition marks the 200th anniversary of Joséphine’s death, a woman born Marie Joseph Rose Tascher de La Pagerie to a family of plantation owners in Martinique in 1763. Her name ‘Joséphine’ was Napoléon’s choice, based on her second name. After her early education, she was, at the age of 16, sent to Paris to marry Viscount Alexandre de Beauharnais, with whom she had two children. The marriage was not a happy one; she returned to Martinique in 1788, and did not come back to Paris until 1790. Although close to the political coalface, she escaped the Revolutionary guillotine (unlike her husband), and became the object of the attentions of Napoléon Bonaparte, whom she ultimately married in 1796. Their divorce in 1809 – by which stage Napoléon had crowned himself Emperor of the French, and become King of Italy – was precipitated by her inability to provide him with an heir, but they remained genuinely attached to each other, Joséphine retaining the title of Empress after they parted.

The central problem of the exhibition is that it fails to grasp this historical overview convincingly at the outset. With the exhibition’s contents ordered (roughly, my divisions) into ‘Early years’, ‘Napoléon’, and ‘Divorce’, the visitor embarks on the show without any real idea of the end of the story, and no overall historical context in which to view the objects. And when there was an attempt to supply a grand narrative, the connection seemed irrelevant. Much play was made, for example, of a small table early in the exhibition that stood in the house in which Napoléon developed his powerbase; it was ordered from a great cabinetmaker, whose aesthetic was taken up and became au courant. But the story of the exhibition is Joséphine’s, not Napoléon’s, so we feel no nearer to understanding her personality.

This table aside, there was little wrong with the objects themselves, indeed, some were fascinating, such as the nef de l’impératrice, or the pot-pourie vases made by the Königliche Porzellan-Manufaktur Berlin decorated with views of Malmaison (see the Criticks review by Caroline Cannon-Brookes of the exhibition KPM. Gestalten, Benutzen, Sammeln: 250 Jahre Porzellan aus der Königlichen Manufaktur Berlin), or the botanical drawings by Pierre-Joseph Redouté, illustrating both Joséphine’s systematic interest in plants, and her interest in recording them. There was also some high-class tat in the form of frocks and embroidery. In the take-home stakes, though, it was Joséphine’s harp – on loan from the Musée National Château de Malmaison – that was the front runner, an elegant object from workshops of the harp maker, Cousineau pére et fils. Beautifully made, its restrained decoration includes gilded bees, the symbol Napoléon had chosen to replace the Bourbon fleur-de-lys. Not only is the harp in the exhibition, but some of Joséphine’s music books are also on view, in fabulous red bindings with extravagant gilt decoration. The instrument also appears in the background of Auguste-Siméon Garneray’s watercolour showing the Salon de Musique, one of the Empress’ additions to Malmaison, as it appeared in 1812. The room had a further function as a picture gallery, continuing into the barrel-vaulted space added beyond, and the watercolour therefore has the added interest of allowing us to see how Joséphine hung her pictures. The harp does what the rest of the exhibition fails to do; it brings alive both the public side of Joséphine, as a performer, and the intimate side of her, having lessons and playing in private.

Some of the exhibition’s display strategies are eccentric to say the least. There is little point, par example, in showing exhibition visitors a large and elaborate jewel cabinet on loan from the Musée du Louvre, explaining the mechanisms which keep it locked, and in breathless gossipy undertones on the audio guide, telling us that these had to be changed after Napoléon divorced Joséphine and married Marie-Louise, if the said cabinet remains resolutely shut to the viewer. If you purchase the Album de l’exposition (for 10 Euros), you can see the cabinet in all its glory, but you won’t if you see it in the show. And as always, the majority of the jewellery and bijouterie on show was displayed in one small cabinet, in front of which gathered a constant queue in an otherwise generous exhibition space.

Both the Album de l’exposition – also entitled Joséphine intime – and the exhibition catalogue are only published in French, and while the free room guide is also available in other languages, the problems of the exhibition’s focus make the latter a very curious read. The audio guide, too, is available in languages other than French, but is barely adequate in this day and age. It covered only 21 numbered items, had no background material on each room (if I missed it in all the button pushing, my apologies), no extra information where it was certainly required, and precious little music, which, if we are to believe the curators, was very important to the Empress.

The harp and the Salon de Musique both also provide examples of objects and spaces on which the audio guide offered tantalizing snippets of information that were not then enlarged upon. The eagle on the harp is, apparently, a replacement made during the Second Empire: So what happened to the earlier one? When was it removed? Was this a grand political gesture (as implied), or was it knocked off when the harp was carelessly moved from (say) Malmaison to the Tuileries Palace? The Salon de Musique – we are told – had to be demolished by the next owner because it was so unsafe: So, was it badly designed? Was Joséphine ripped off by a cowboy builder? Is it possible that the owner – who was he? – was lying?

All in all, it is no wonder that the exhibition was packed with Parisian ladies who lunch, having extended meetings in front of the exhibits. It seems to me that this show missed a huge opportunity to tell the story of an interesting woman of some taste and style; it was certainly not up to the usual standard of the Musée du Luxembourg.

Joséphine is at the Musée du Luxembourg, Paris, from 12 March to 29 June 2014.

It is accompanied by the catalogue Joséphine (RMN – Grand Palais, 2014).