The preparations for the Emperor’s departure soon occupied us

exclusively. This event was fixed for the 2d of April, when the Pope was

also to leave Paris; and a few days previously M. de Rémusat started for

Milan, in charge of the regalia and the crown diamonds, which were to be

used at the coronation. This was for me the beginning of troubles, which

were destined to recur for some years. I had never before been separated

from my husband, and I was so much accustomed to the enjoyments of my

home that I found it hard to be deprived of them. It made the Court life

to which I was condemned more irksome, and was very painful to my

husband also, who, like myself, fell into the error of letting his

feelings be perceived. I have already said that a courtier is a failure

if he suffer any feelings to divert his attention from the minutiæ which

constitute his duties.

My distress at my husband’s departure on a journey which seemed to me so

long, and even dangerous—for my imagination exaggerated everything

regarding him—made me desirous that he should be accompanied by a

friend of ours, named Salembemi, who had formerly been an officer in the

navy. He was badly off—had only the salary of some small appointment to

live on, with what M. de Rémusat, who employed him as his secretary,

paid him. To him I confided the care of my husband’s health. He was a

clever man, but difficult to deal with, somewhat malicious, and of a

peevish temper. He was the cause of more than one of our troubles, and

this is why I now make mention of him.

My delicate health made it impossible to include me in the suite. The

Empress seemed to regret this. As for myself, I was, on the whole, glad

of a rest after the busy life I had been leading, and happy to remain

with my mother and my children.

Mesdames de la Rochefoucauld, d’Arberg, de Serrant, and Savary, a

considerable number of chamberlains, the great officers, and, in short,

a numerous and youthful Court, accompanied the Empress. The Emperor

started on the 2d, and the Pope on the 4th of April. At every stage of

his journey to Rome his Holiness received tokens of great respect; and

he then, no doubt, believed he was bidding adieu to France for ever.

Murat remained as Governor of Paris, and with a charge of

superintendence which he extended over everything; but his reports, I

think, were not always disinterested. Fouché, who was more liberal, if I

may use the expression, in the exercise of his police functions, and who

was well entitled to consider himself necessary, carried things with

rather a high hand, but was conciliatory to all parties according to his

system of making himself useful to everybody.

The Arch-Chancellor Cambacérès also remained as Director of the Council

of State—an office of which he acquitted himself well—and to do the

honors of Paris. He received a good deal of company, welcoming them with

a gloomy civility which gave him an almost ridiculous air.

Paris and France were at that time in repose; all things seemed to work

together for order, and the general state of subjection to be complete.

The Emperor went first to Champagne. He passed a day at the fine old

château of Brienne, in order that he might visit the scenes of his

childhood. Mme. de Brienne professed extreme enthusiasm for him, and, as

worship was not displeasing to him, he behaved to her with great

amiability. It was amusing just then, to see some of her kinsfolk at

Paris receiving the lively letters she wrote to them on this Imperial

visit. However, as she described events, these letters produced a good

effect in what we call here “good society.” Success is easy to the

powerful; they must needs be very ill-natured or very blundering when

they fail to please.

A few days after all these grand departures, the following paragraph

appeared in the “Moniteur”: “Monsieur Jérôme Bonaparte has arrived at

Lisbon, on board an American vessel. Among the passengers are Mr. and

Miss Patterson. M. Jérôme immediately, took the post for Madrid. Mr. and

Miss Patterson have reëmbarked. It is understood that they have returned

to America.” I believe that they crossed to England.

This Mr. Patterson was no other than the father-in-law of Jérôme, who,

having fallen in love while in America with the daughter of an American

merchant, had made her his wife, persuading himself that, after some

displeasure on his brother’s part, he should obtain his forgiveness. But

Bonaparte, who was already forming other projects for his family, was

highly incensed, annulled the marriage, and forced his brother to an

immediate separation. Jérôme traveled to Italy, and joined him at Turin,

but was very badly received. He was ordered to join one of our fleets

then cruising in the Mediterranean, remained at sea for a considerable

time, and was not restored to favor until several months afterward.

Throughout all France the Emperor was welcomed with genuine enthusiasm.

He stayed at Lyons, where he secured the good will of the traders by

issuing decrees favorable to their interests. He crossed Mont Cenis and

remained a few days at Turin.

Meanwhile M. de Rémusat had reached Milan, where he met Prince Eugène,

who received him with his characteristic cordiality. The Prince

questioned my husband as to what had taken place in Paris since he had

left that city, and succeeded in eliciting some details concerning Mme.

de X—— which were very grievous to his feelings. M. de Rémusat wrote

to me that, pending the arrival of the Court, he was leading a tolerably

quiet life. He explored Milan, which seemed to him a dull town, and its

palace was dull also. The inhabitants showed little affection for the

French. The nobles shut themselves up in their houses, under the pretext

that they were not rich enough to do the honors of the place in a

fitting style. Prince Eugène endeavored to collect them about him, but

succeeded imperfectly. The Italians, still in a state of suspense, did

not know whether to rejoice or repine at the novel destiny which we

forced upon them.

M. de Rémusat sent me at this period some rather curious details of the

life of the Milanese. Their ignorance of all that constitutes agreeable

society; the absolute non-existence among them of family life, the

husbands, strangers to their wives, leaving them to the care of a

_cavaliere servente_; the dullness of the theatres; the darkness of the

house, whither people go in morning-dress, to occupy themselves in the

nearly closed boxes with anything rather than listening to the opera;

the want of variety in the performances; the difference between the

costumes and those of France—all these things gave M. de Rémusat matter

for remarks, which were all to the advantage of our beloved country,

while they also increased his desire to return to France and to me.

During this time the Emperor was revisiting the scenes of his former

victories. He held a grand review on the battle-field of Marengo, and

distributed crosses on that occasion. The troops who had been massed

together on the pretext of this review, and remained afterward in the

neighborhood of the Adige, furnished a reason or pretext on which the

Austrian Government strengthened their already very powerful line of

defense behind this river; and French policy took offense at these

precautions.

On the 9th of May the Emperor reached Milan. His presence caused great

excitement in the town, and the circumstances attending the coronation

aroused the same ambition as they had caused in Paris. The highest

nobles of Milan began to long for the new distinctions and the

advantages appertaining to them; independence and unity of government

were held out to the Italians, and they gave themselves up to the hopes

they were allowed to conceive.

Immediately on the arrival of the Court at Milan, I was struck by the

dismal tone of M. de Rémusat’s letters, and soon afterward I learned

that he was suffering from his master’s displeasure. The naval officer

of whom I have spoken, a satirical spectator of what was going on at

Milan, having taken it into his head to write to Paris some lively and

rather sarcastic accounts of what was passing before his eyes, his

letters had been opened, and M. de Rémusat was ordered to send him back

to Paris. He was not at first told the reason for this order, and it was

only at a later period that he learned its cause. The displeasure of the

Emperor was not confined to the secretary; it fell also on him who had

brought him to Italy.

Besides this, Prince Eugène let fall some of the details he had obtained

in confidence from my husband; and, finally, it was discovered from our

letters, as I have said before, that our thoughts and aspirations were

not entirely centered in the interests of our places at Court. These

causes were sufficient to anger a master who was by nature irascible;

and so, according to his custom of using men for his own advantage when

they could be useful to him, whatever might be his feelings toward them,

he exacted from my husband a service of the most rigid punctuality,

because the length of time M. de Rémusat had passed at Court had given

him experience in a ceremonial which daily became more minute, and to

which the Emperor attached greater importance. At the same time he

treated him with harshness and severity, repeating continually to those

who, with good reason, would praise the high and estimable qualities of

my husband, “All that you say may be true, but he does not belong to me

as I wish him to belong to me.” This reproach was always on his lips

during the years we passed in his service, and perhaps there is some

merit in our never having ceased to deserve it.

This Court life, so busy and yet so idle, gave M. de Talleyrand and M.

de Rémusat an opportunity of becoming better acquainted, and was the

beginning of an intimacy which at a later period caused me many and

various emotions.

The fine tact of M. de Talleyrand discerned the rightmindedness and the

keenness of observation of my husband; they agreed on a multitude of

subjects, and the difference of their dispositions did not prevent them

from enjoying an interchange of ideas. One day M. de Talleyrand said to

M. de Rémusat: “I can see that you distrust me, and I know whence your

caution proceeds. We serve a master who does not like intimacies. When

he appointed us both to the same service, he foresaw there might be

friendship between us. You are a clever man, and that is enough to make

him wish that you and I should remain apart. He therefore prejudiced you

in some way against me, and he also tried, by I know not what reports,

to put me on my guard. It will not be his fault if we do not remain

strangers to one another. This is one of his weaknesses, and we must

recognize, indulge, and excuse, without, however, submitting to it.”

This straightforward way of speaking, enhanced by the graceful manner

which M. de Talleyrand knows so well how to assume when he likes,

pleased my husband, who, moreover, found in this friendship something to

make up for the weariness of his post.

At this period M. de Rémusat perceived that M. de Talleyrand, who had

the influence over Bonaparte of his utility, felt considerable jealousy

of Fouché, whom he disliked. He entertained a positive contempt for M.

Maret, and gratified it by the biting sarcasm in which he habitually

indulged, and which few could escape. Although under no delusion

regarding Bonaparte, he nevertheless served him well; for he tried to

restrain his passions by the position in which he placed him, both with

respect to foreign affairs and in France; and he also advised him to

create certain institutions which would control him. The Emperor, who,

as I have said, liked to create, and who seized rapidly upon anything

novel and impressive, would follow the advice of M. de Talleyrand, and,

in concert with him, would lay the foundation of some useful enterprise.

But afterward his domineering temper, his suspicion, his dread of

finding himself restrained, made him afraid of the action of that which

he had himself created, and, with sudden caprice, he would abruptly

suspend or relinquish the work he had begun. M. de Talleyrand was

provoked by this; but, as he was naturally indolent and careless, and

did not possess in himself those qualities of strength and perseverance

which enable a man to carry his points in detail, he usually ended by

neglecting and abandoning the fatiguing task of solicitude and

superintendence. The sequence of events will, however, explain all this

better than I can in this place.

Meantime, war broke out between England and Spain, and we were

frequently, sometimes successfully, engaged at sea. A fleet which sailed

out from Toulon found means to join the Spanish squadron, and the press

exulted loudly over this feat.

On the 30th of May Bonaparte was crowned King of Italy, with great pomp.

The ceremony was similar to that which had taken place in Paris. The

Empress sat in a gallery and beheld the spectacle. M. de Rémusat told me

that a thrill of emotion passed over the crowd in the church at the

moment when Bonaparte, taking hold of the Iron Crown, and placing it on

his head, uttered in a threatening voice the antique formula, “Il cielo

me la diéde, guai à chi la toccherà!” The remainder of the Emperor’s

stay at Milan was divided between attending fêtes and issuing decrees

for the regulation and administration of his new kingdom. Rejoicings

took place all over France in honor of the event; and yet it caused

great apprehension among many people, who foresaw that war with Austria

would result from it.

On the 4th of June the Doge of Genoa arrived at Milan. He came to beg

that his Republic might be united to the Empire; and this action, which

had been concerted or commanded beforehand, was made the occasion of a

grand reception and state ceremony. That portion of Italy was at once

divided into new departments, and shortly afterward the new constitution

was sent to the Italian Legislature, and Prince Eugène was made Viceroy

of the kingdom. The order of the Iron Crown was created; and, the

distributions being made, the Emperor left Milan and set out on a

journey which, under the appearance of a pleasure-trip, was in reality

undertaken for the purpose of reconnoitering the Austrian forces on the

line of the Adige.

By the treaty of Campo Formio Bonaparte had abandoned the Venetian

States to the Emperor of Austria, and the latter thus became a

formidable neighbor to the kingdom of Italy. On his arrival at Verona,

he received a visit from Baron Vincent, who commanded the Austrian

garrison in that portion of the town which belonged to his sovereign.

The Baron was commissioned to inform himself of the state of our forces

in Italy; the Emperor, on his part, observing those of the foreigner. On

inspecting the banks of the Adige, he perceived that forts would have to

be constructed for the defense of the river; but, on calculating the

necessary time and expense, he said that it would be better and quicker

to push the Austrians back from that frontier altogether. From that

moment we may believe that he had resolved upon the war which was

declared some months later.

It was impossible that the Emperor of Austria should regard with

indifference the acquisition by France of so much power in Italy; and

the English Government, which was making great efforts to stir up a

continental war against us, skillfully availed itself of the uneasiness

of the Emperor of Austria, and the dissatisfaction which was by degrees

impairing the cordiality of our relations with Russia. The English

newspapers hastened to assert that the Emperor had held a review of his

troops in Italy for the sole purpose of putting them on the footing of a

formidable enemy; and thenceforth movements began in the Austrian army.

Those appearances of peace which were still observed up to the time of

the rupture were in reality preparations by both Emperors, who at that

period had become almost declared enemies.

CHAPTER XIII

(1805.)

THE Emperor visited Cremona, Verona, Mantua, Bologna, Modena, Parma,

and Piacenza, and then went to Genoa, where he was received with

enthusiasm. He sent for Le Brun, the Arch-Treasurer, to whom he

intrusted the task of superintending the new administration to be

established in that city. At Genoa also he parted with his sister Elisa,

who had accompanied him on his journey, and to whom he gave the little

Republic of Lucca, adding to it the State of Piombino. At this period

the French began once more to wear foreign decorations. Prussian,

Bavarian, and Spanish orders were sent to the Emperor, to be distributed

by him at his pleasure. He divided them among his great officers, some

of his ministers, and a few of his marshals.

At Verona a fight between dogs and bulls was given, for the

entertainment of the Emperor, in the ancient amphitheatre, which

contained forty thousand spectators. Loud applause greeted his arrival,

and he was really affected by this reception, rendered impressive by the

place, and by the magnitude of the crowd. The fêtes at Genoa were very

magnificent. Floating gardens were constructed on huge flat barges;

these gardens led to a floating temple, which, approaching the land,

received Bonaparte and his Court. Then the barges, which were all

fastened together, were set in motion, and the Emperor found himself on

a beautiful island in the middle of the harbor, whence he had a complete

view of Genoa, and of the simultaneous displays of fireworks from

various parts of the splendidly illuminated city.

M. de Talleyrand found amusement entirely to his taste during his stay

at Genoa; for he was always pleased to detect an absurdity and to point

it out to others. Cardinal Maury, who had retired to Rome since his

emigration, had gained a great reputation there by the firmness of his

attitude in our famous Constituent Assembly. Nevertheless, he was

desirous of returning to France, and M. de Talleyrand wrote to him from

Genoa, advising him to come at once and present himself to the Emperor.

The Cardinal acted upon this, and, immediately assuming that obsequious

attitude which he has ever since scrupulously retained, he entered

Genoa, loudly proclaiming that he had come to see “the great man.”

He obtained an audience. “The great man” took his measure very quickly,

and, while esteeming him at his proper value, resolved to make him give

a complete contradiction to his past conduct. He gained him over easily

by flattering him a little, and induced him to return to France, where

we have since seen him play a somewhat ridiculous part. M. de

Talleyrand, whose recollections of the Constituent Assembly were not

effaced, took many opportunities of wreaking a petty revenge upon the

Cardinal, by bringing out his silly sycophancy in the most skillful and

cunning manner.

While the Emperor was thus traveling through Italy and consolidating his

power, and everybody around him was getting tired of the continual

full-dress parade at which he kept his Court; while the Empress, happy

in the elevation of her son, and yet grieved by her separation from him,

amused herself and distracted her mind by the perpetual fêtes given in

her honor, and took pleasure in exhibiting her magnificent jewels and

her elegant costumes, I was leading a quiet and pleasant life in the

valley of Montmorency, at the house of Mme. d’Houdetot. I have already

mentioned this amiable and accomplished woman. Her recollections enabled

me to reconstruct in my imagination those days of which she loved to

talk. It gave me great pleasure to hear her speak of the famous

philosophers whom she had known, and whose ways and sayings she

remembered so clearly. I was so full of the “Confessions” of Jean

Jacques Rousseau that I was not a little surprised to find her somewhat

cold in her appreciation of him; and I may say, in passing, that the

opinion of Mme. d’Houdetot, who would, I should think, have regarded

Rousseau with exceptional indulgence, contributed not a little to make

me distrust his character, and believe that he was only great in point

of talent.

During the absence of the Court, Paris was quiet and dull. The Imperial

family were living in the country. I sometimes saw Mme. Louis Bonaparte

at Saint Leu, a place which her husband had just bought. Louis appeared

to occupy himself exclusively with his garden. His wife was lonely, ill,

and always afraid of letting some word at which he might be offended

escape her. She had not ventured either to rejoice at the elevation of

Prince Eugène or to weep for his absence, which was, of course,

indefinite. She wrote to him seldom and briefly, because she knew that

the privacy of her letters was not respected. On one occasion, when I

was visiting her, she told me a rumor had arisen that the Duc de

Polignac and his brother, who were imprisoned in the Château of Ham, had

attempted to escape; that they had been transferred to the Temple; and

that Mme. Bonaparte and myself were accused of being concerned in the

affair. The accusation, of which Mme. Louis suspected Murat to be the

author, was utterly unfounded. Mme. Bonaparte never gave a thought to

the two prisoners, and I had entirely lost sight of the Duchesse de

Polignac.

I lived in the strictest retirement, so that my solitude might supply a

sufficient answer to any gossip concerning my conduct; but I was more

and more distressed by the necessity for taking such precautions, and

especially at being unable to use the position in which I was placed for

any purposes of utility to the Emperor, to myself, or to those persons

who wished to obtain certain favors from him through me. There was no

want of kindness in my natural disposition; and, besides that, I felt a

degree of pride, which I do not think was misplaced, in serving those

who had formerly blamed me, and in silencing their criticisms of my

conduct by favors which could not be said to lack generosity. I also

believed that the Emperor might win many persons who now held aloof, by

the permission which he had granted me to bring their solicitations and

their necessities under his attention; and as I was still attached to

him, although he inspired me with more fear than formerly, I would have

gained all hearts for him had it been possible. But, as it became

evident that my plan was not always approved by him, I found I had to

think of defending myself, rather than assisting others.

My reflections were occasionally very sad. At other times I could make

up my mind to the difficulties of my position, and resolve that I would

only look at the agreeable side of it. I enjoyed a certain consideration

in society, and I liked that; and we were fairly prosperous, though not

free from the difficulties which always beset persons whose fortunes

have no secure basis, and whose expenses are obligatory. But I was

young, and I thought little of the future. I was surrounded by pleasant

society; my mother was perfection to me, my husband most kind and good,

my eldest son all I could wish. I lived on the pleasantest terms with my

kind and charming sister. All this turned away my thoughts from the

Court, and enabled me to bear the drawbacks of my position patiently. My

health was a perpetual trial to me; it was always delicate, and an

unquiet life was evidently injurious. I must not, however, dwell upon

myself; I do not know how I have been tempted into doing so. If ever

this narrative should be read by others, as well as by my son, all this

ought to be suppressed without hesitation.

During the Emperor’s sojourn in Italy, two plays had a great success at

the Comédie Française. The first was “Le Tartufe des Mœurs,” translated,

or rather adapted, from Sheridan’s “School for Scandal,” by M. Chéron;

the second was “Les Templiers.” M. Chéron had been a deputy to the

Legislative Assembly. He married a niece of the Abbé Morellet; his wife

and himself were intimate friends of mine. The Abbé had written to the

Emperor to solicit a place for M. Chéron; and, on Bonaparte’s return,

“Le Tartufe des Mœurs” was acted before him. He was so much amused by

the play that, having ascertained the name of its author from M. de

Rémusat, and also learned that M. Chéron was well deserving of

employment, he, in a moment of easy good nature, sent him to Poitiers as

Prefect. Unfortunately, he died there three years afterward. His widow

is a most estimable and talented person.

M. de Fontanes had read “Les Templiers” to Bonaparte, who approved of

some portions of the piece, but objected to others. He wished to have

certain corrections made, but the author refused, and the Emperor was

annoyed. He was by no means pleased that “Les Templiers” had a brilliant

success, and set himself against both the play and the author, with a

petty despotism which was characteristic of him when either persons or

things incurred his displeasure. All this happened when he came back.

Bonaparte expected that his wishes and his opinions should be accepted

as rules. He had taken a fancy to the music of “Les Bardes,” an opera by

Lesueur, and he was almost angry that the Parisian public did not think

as highly of it as he did.

The Emperor came direct from Genoa to Paris. This was to be his last

sight of fair Italy, that land in which he seemed to have exhausted

every mode of impressing the minds of men, as a general, as a

pacificator, and as a sovereign. He returned by Mont Cenis, and gave

orders for great works which, like those of the Simplon Pass, should

facilitate the communications between the two nations. The Court was

increased in number by several Italian noblemen and ladies who were

attached to it. The Emperor had already appointed some Belgians as

additional chamberlains, and the obsequious forms in which he was

addressed were now uttered in widely varying accents.

He arrrived at Fontainebleau on the 11th of July, and went thence to

reside at Saint Cloud. Shortly after, the “Moniteur” began to bristle

with notes, announcing in almost threatening language the storm which

was so soon to burst over Europe. Certain expressions which occurred

from time to time in these notes revealed the author who had dictated

them. One of these in particular made an impression on my memory. It had

been stated in the English newspapers that a supposed genealogy of the

Bonaparte family, which retraced its nobility to an ancient origin, had

been printed in London. “Researches of this kind are purposeless,” said

the note. “To all those who may ask from what period dates the house of

Bonaparte, there is a ready answer: ‘It dates from the 18th Brumaire.’”

I met the Emperor after his return with mingled feelings. It was

difficult not to be affected by his presence, but it was painful to me

to feel that my emotion was tempered by the distrust with which he was

beginning to inspire me. The Empress received me in a most friendly

manner, and I avowed to her quite frankly the trouble that was on my

mind. I expressed my surprise that no past proof of devotedness or

disinterested service could avail with her husband against a sudden

prejudice. She repeated my words to him, and he well understood what

they meant; but he persisted in his own definition of what he called

devotedness, which was an entire surrender of one’s being, of one’s

sentiments and one’s opinions, and repeated that we ought to give up all

our former habits, in order to have only one thought, that of his

interest and his will. He promised, in recompense for this exaction,

that we should be raised to a great height of rank and fortune, and have

everything that could gratify our pride. “I will give them,” said he,

speaking of us, “enough to enable them to laugh at those who find fault

with them now; and, if they will break with my enemies, I will put their

enemies under their feet.” Apart from this, I had but little annoyance

in the household, and my position was easy enough, as Bonaparte’s mind

was fixed on important affairs during his stay in France before the

campaign of Austerlitz.

A circumstance recurs to my memory at this moment, which is only

important because it serves to depict this strange man. I therefore give

it a place here. The despotism of his will grew in proportion to the

enlargement of the circle with which he surrounded himself; he wanted to

be the sole arbiter of reputations, to make them and to unmake them at

his pleasure. He branded a man or blighted a woman for a word, without

any kind of hesitation; but he was much displeased that the public

should venture to observe and to comment on the conduct of either the

one or the other, if he had placed them within the rays of the aureole

with which he surrounded himself.

During his journey in Italy, the idleness of life in palaces and its

opportunities had given rise to several gallant adventures on his part,

which were more or less serious, and these had been duly reported in

France, where they fed the general appetite for gossip. One day, when

several ladies of the Court—among them those who had been in

Italy—were breakfasting with the Empress, Bonaparte came suddenly into

the room and, leaning on the back of his wife’s chair, addressed to one

and another of us a few words, at first insignificant enough. Then he

began to question us about what we were all doing, and let us know, but

only by hints, that some among us were considerably talked of by the

public. The Empress, who knew her husband’s ways, and was aware that,

when talking in this manner, he was apt to go very far, tried to

interrupt him; but the Emperor, persisting in the conversation,

presently gave it an exceedingly embarrassing turn. “Yes, ladies, you

occupy the attention of the worthy inhabitants of the Faubourg St.

Germain. They say, for instance, that you, Mme. ——, have a _liaison_

with M. ——; that you, Mme. ——.” And so he went on, addressing

himself to three or four ladies in succession. The effect upon us all of

such an attack may easily be imagined. The Emperor was amused by the

confusion into which he threw us. “But,” added he, “you need not suppose

that I approve of talk of this kind. To attack my Court is to attack

myself, and I do not choose that a word shall be said, either of me, or

of my family, or of my Court.” While thus speaking, his countenance,

which had previously been smiling, darkened, and his voice became

extremely harsh. He then burst out violently against that section of

Parisian society which was still rebellious, declaring that he would

exile every woman who should say a word against any lady-in-waiting; and

he proceeded to work himself into a violent passion upon this text,

which he had entirely to himself, for not a single one of us attempted

to make him an answer. The Empress at length rose from the table in

order to terminate this unpleasant scene, and the general movement put

an end to it. The Emperor left the room as suddenly as he had come in.

One of our ladies, a sworn admirer of everything that Bonaparte said and

did, began to expatiate upon the kindness of such a master, who desired

that our reputation should be held a sacred thing. But Mme. de ——, a

very clever woman, answered her impatiently, “Yes, madame, let the

Emperor only defend us once again in that fashion, and we are lost.”

Bonaparte was greatly surprised when the Empress represented to him the

absurdity of this scene, and he always insisted that we ought to have

been grateful for the readiness with which he took offense when we were

attacked.

During his stay at Saint Cloud he worked incessantly, and issued a great

number of decrees relative to the administration of the new departments

he had acquired in Italy. He also augmented his Council of State, to

which he gave more influence from day to day, because he was quite sure

of having it completely under his authority. He showed himself at the

Opéra, and was well received by the Parisians, whom, however, he still

thought cold in comparison with the people of the provinces. He led a

busy and laborious life, sometimes allowing himself the recreation of

hunting; but he walked out for one hour a day only, and received company

on but one day in each week. On that day the Comédie Française came to

Saint Cloud, and acted tragedies or comedies in a very pretty theatre

which had been recently built. Then began the difficulties of M. de

Rémusat in providing amusement for him whom Talleyrand called “the

Unamusable.” In vain were the masterpieces of our theatrical

_répertoire_ performed; in vain did our best actors strive their very

best to please him: he generally appeared at these representations

preoccupied and weighed down by the gravity of his thoughts. He laid the

blame of his own want of attention to the play on his First Chamberlain,

on Corneille, on Racine, or on the actors. He liked Talma’s acting, or

rather Talma himself—there had been some sort of acquaintance between

them during his obscure youth; he gave him a great deal of money, and

received him familiarly; but even Talma could not succeed in interesting

him. Just like an invalid, who blames others for the state of his own

health, he was angry with those who could enjoy the pleasures that

passed him by; and he always thought that by scolding and worrying he

should get something invented which would succeed in amusing him. The

man who was intrusted with Bonaparte’s pleasures was very seriously to

be pitied; unfortunately for us, M. de Rémusat was the man, and I can

not describe what he had to bear.

At this time the Emperor was still flattering himself that he would be

able to gain some naval triumphs over the English. The united French and

Spanish fleets made several efforts, and an attempt was made to defend

the colonies. Admiral Nelson, pursuing us everywhere, no doubt upset the

greater part of our plans; but this was carefully concealed, and our

newspapers taught us to believe that we were beating the English every

day. It is likely that the project of the invasion was abandoned. The

English Government was raising up formidable enemies for us upon the

Continent. The Emperor of Russia, who was young and naturally inclined

to independence, was perhaps already tempted to resent the preponderance

that our Emperor desired to exercise, and some of his ministers were

suspected of favoring the English policy, which aimed at making him our

enemy. The peace with Austria held only by a thread. The King of Prussia

alone seemed resolved to maintain his alliance with us. “Why,” said a

note in the “Moniteur,” “while the Emperor of Russia exercises his

influence upon the Porte, should he object to that of France being

exercised upon certain portions of Italy? When with Herschel’s telescope

he observes from the terrace of his palace that which passes between the

Emperor of the French and a few Apennine populations, why should he

exact that the Emperor of the French shall not see what is passing in

the ancient empire of Solyman, and what is happening in Persia? It is

the fashion to accuse France of ambition, and yet how great has been her

past moderation,” etc., etc.

In the month of August the Emperor set out for Boulogne. It was no

longer his purpose to inspect the flotillas, but he intended to review

that numerous army encamped in the north, which before long he was

destined to set in motion. During his absence the Empress made an

excursion to the baths of Plombières. I think I shall usefully employ

this interval of leisure by retracing my steps, in order to mention

certain particulars concerning M. de Talleyrand which I have hitherto

omitted.

Talleyrand, who had come back to France some time before, was appointed

“Minister of External Relations” through the influence of Mme. de Staël,

who induced Barras, the Director, to select him for that post. It was

under the Directory that he made the acquaintance of Mme. Grand.

Although she was no longer in her first youth, this lady, who was born

in the East Indies, was still remarkable for her beauty. She wished to

go to England, where her husband resided, and she applied to M. de

Talleyrand for a passport. Her beauty and her visit produced,

apparently, such an effect upon him that either the passport was not

given, or it remained unused. Mme. Grand remained in Paris; shortly

afterward she was observed to frequent the “Hotel of External

Relations,” and after a while she took up her abode there. Meanwhile,

Bonaparte was First Consul; his victories and his treaties brought the

ambassadors of the first Powers in Europe and a crowd of other

foreigners to Paris. Persons who were obliged by their position to

frequent M. de Talleyrand’s society accepted the presence of Mme. Grand,

who did the honors of his table and his _salon_ with a good grace; but

they were somewhat surprised at the weakness which had consented to put

so prominently forward a woman who was indeed handsome, but so deficient

in education and so faulty in temper that she was continually annoying

Talleyrand by her foolish conduct, and disturbing him by her uncertain

humor. M. de Talleyrand has a very good temper, and much _laisser-aller_

in the events of every-day life. It is easy enough to rule him by

frightening him, because he hates a disturbance, and Mme. Grand ruled

him by her charms and her exactions. When, however, the ambassadresses

were in question, difficulties arose, as some of them would not consent

to be received at the Hotel of External Relations by Mme. Grand. She

complained, and these protests on both sides came to the ears of the

First Consul.

He immediately had a decisive interview on this subject with Talleyrand,

and informed his minister that he must banish Mme. Grand from his house.

No sooner had Mme. Grand been apprised of this decision, than she went

to Mme. Bonaparte, whom she induced, by dint of tears and supplications,

to procure for her an interview with Bonaparte. She was admitted to his

presence, fell on her knees, and entreated him to revoke a decree which

reduced her to despair. Bonaparte alowed himself to be moved by the

tears and sobs of this fair personage, and, after having quieted her, he

said: “I see only one way of managing this. Let Talleyrand marry you,

and all will be arranged; but you must bear his name, or you can not

appear in his house.” Mme. Grand was much pleased with this decision;

the Consul repeated it to Talleyrand, and gave him twenty-four hours to

make up his mind. It is said that Bonaparte took a malign pleasure in

making Talleyrand marry, and was secretly delighted to have this

opportunity of branding his character, and thus, according to his

favorite system, getting a guarantee of his fidelity. It is very

possible that he may have entertained such an idea; it is also certain

that Mme. Bonaparte, over whom tears always exercised a great influence,

used all her power with her husband to induce him to favor Mme. Grand’s

petition.

Talleyrand went back to his hotel, gravely troubled by the prompt

decision which was required of him. There he had to encounter tumultuous

scenes. He was attacked by all the devices likely to exhaust his

patience. He was pressed, pursued, urged against his inclination. Some

remains of love, the power of habit, perhaps also the fear of irritating

a woman whom it is impossible to suppose he had not admitted to his

confidence, combined to influence him. He yielded, set out for the

country, and found, in a village in the valley of Montmorency, a _curé_

who consented to perform the marriage ceremony. Two days afterward we

were informed that Mme. Grand had become Mme. de Talleyrand, and the

difficulty of the Corps Diplomatique was at an end. It appears that M.

Grand, who lived in England, although little desirous of recovering a

wife from whom he had long been parted, contrived to get himself largely

paid for withholding the protest against this marriage with which he

repeatedly menaced the newly wedded couple. M. de Talleyrand, wanting

something to amuse him in his own house, brought over from London the

daughter of one of his friends, who on her deathbed, had confided the

child to him. This child was that little Charlotte who was, as we all

know, brought up in his house, and who has been very erroneously

believed to be his daughter. He attached himself strongly to his young

ward, educated her carefully, and, having adopted her and bestowed his

name upon her, married her in her seventeenth year to his cousin Baron

de Talleyrand. The Talleyrands were at first justly annoyed by this

marriage, but she ultimately succeeded in gaining their friendship.

Those persons who are acquainted with Talleyrand, who know to what a

height he carries delicacy of taste, wit, and grace in conversation, and

how much he needs repose, are astonished that he should have united

himself with a person so uncongenial to him. It is, therefore, most

likely that imperative circumstances compelled him to do so, and that

Bonaparte’s command and the short time allowed him in which to come to a

decision prevented a rupture, which in fact would have suited him much

better. What a difference it would have made for Talleyrand if he had

then dissolved this illicit union, and set himself to merit and effect a

future reconciliation with the Church he had abandoned! Apart from

desiring for him that that reconciliation had been made then in good

faith, how much consideration would he have gained if afterward, when

all things were reordered and replaced, he had resumed the Roman purple

in the autumn of his days, and at least repaired in the eyes of the

world the scandal of his life! As a cardinal, a noble, and a truly

distinguished man, he would have had a right to respect and regard, and

his course would not have been beset with embarrassment and hesitation.

In the situation in which he was placed by his marriage, he had to take

constant precaution to escape, as far as possible, from the ridicule

which was always suspended over him. No doubt he managed better than

others might have done in such a position. Profound silence respecting

his private troubles, an appearance of complete indifference to the

foolish things which his wife was always saying and the blunders which

she was always making, a haughty demeanor to those who ventured to smile

at him or at her, extreme politeness, which was called benevolence,

great social influence and political weight, a large fortune,

unalterable patience under insult, and great dexterity in taking his

revenge, were the weapons with which he met the general condemnation;

and, notwithstanding his great faults, the public have never dared to

despise him. Nevertheless, it is not to be supposed that he has not paid

the private penalty of his imprudent conduct. Deprived of domestic

happiness, almost at variance with his family, who could not associate

with Mme. de Talleyrand, he was obliged to resort to an entirely

factitious existence, in order to escape from the dreariness of his

home, and perhaps from the bitterness of his secret thoughts. Public

affairs occupied him, and such leisure as they left him he gave to play.

He was always attended by a crowd of followers, and by giving his

mornings to business, his evenings to society, and his nights to cards,

he never exposed himself to a tiresome _tête-à-tête_ with his wife, or

to the dangers of solitude, which would have brought serious

reflections. Bent on getting away from himself, he never sought sleep

until he was quite sure that extreme fatigue would enable him to procure

it.

The Emperor did not make up for the obligation which he had imposed on

him by his conduct to Mme. de Talleyrand. He treated her coldly, even

rudely; never admitted her to the distinctions of the rank to which she

was raised, without making a difficulty about it; and did not disguise

the repugnance with which she inspired him, even while Talleyrand still

possessed his entire confidence. Talleyrand bore all this, never allowed

the slightest complaint to escape him, and arranged so that his wife

should appear but seldom at Court. She received all distinguished

foreigners on certain days, and on certain other days the Government

officials. She made no visits, none were exacted from her; in fact, she

counted for nothing. Provided each person bowed to her on entering and

leaving his _salon_, Talleyrand asked no more. Let me say, in

conclusion, that he always seemed to bear with perfectly resigned

courage the fatal “_tu l’as voulu_” of Molière’s comedy.

In the course of these Memoirs I shall have to speak of M. de Talleyrand

again, when I shall have reached the period of our intimacy with him.

I did not know Mme. Grand in the prime of her life and beauty, but I

have heard it said that she was one of the most charming women of her

time. She was tall, and her figure had all the suppleness and grace so

common to women born in the East. Her complexion was dazzling, her eyes

of the brightest blue, and her slightly _retroussé_ nose gave her,

singularly enough, a look of Talleyrand himself. Her fair golden hair

was of proverbial beauty. I think she was about thirty-six when she

married M. de Talleyrand. The elegance of her figure was already

slightly injured by her becoming stout. This afterward increased, and by

degrees her features lost their delicacy and her complexion became very

red. The tone of her voice was disagreeable, her manners were abrupt;

she was of an unamiable disposition, and so intolerably stupid that she

never by any chance said the right thing. Talleyrand’s intimate friends

were the objects of her particular dislike, and they cordially detested

her. Her elevation gave her little happiness, and what she had to suffer

never excited anybody’s interest.

While the Emperor was reviewing the whole of his army, Mme. Murat went

to Boulogne to pay him a visit, and he desired that Mme. Louis

Bonaparte, who had accompanied her husband to the baths of Saint Amand,

should also attend him there, and bring her son. On several occasions he

went through the ranks of his soldiers, carrying this child in his arms.

The army was then remarkably fine, strictly disciplined, full of the

best spirit, well provided, and impatient for war. This desire was

destined to be satisfied before long.

Notwithstanding the reports in our newspapers, we were almost always

stopped in everything that we attempted to do for the protection of our

colonies. The proposed invasion appeared day by day more perilous. It

became necessary to astonish Europe by a less doubtful novelty. “We are

no longer,” said the notes of the “Moniteur,” addressed to the English

Government, “those Frenchmen who were sold and betrayed by perfidious

ministers, covetous mistresses, and indolent kings. You march toward an

inevitable destiny.”

The two nations, English and French, each claimed the victory in the

naval combat off Cape Finisterre, where no doubt our national bravery

opposed a strong resistance to the science of the enemy, but which had

no other result than to oblige our fleet to reënter the port. Shortly

afterward our journals were full of complaints of the insults which the

flag of Venice had sustained since it had become a dependency of

Austria. We soon learned that the Austrian troops were moving; that an

alliance between the Emperors of Austria and Russia was formed against

us; and the English journals triumphantly announced a continental war.

This year the birthday of Napoleon was celebrated with great pomp from

one end of France to the other. He returned from Boulogne on the 3d of

September, and at that time the Senate issued a decree by which the

Gregorian calendar was to be resumed on the 1st of January, 1806. Thus

disappeared, little by little, the last traces of the Republic, which

had lasted, or appeared to last, for thirteen years.

CHAPTER XIV

(1805.)

AT the period of which I am writing, M. de Talleyrand was still on bad

terms with M. Fouché, and, strange to say, I remember that the latter

charged him with being deficient in conscientiousness and sincerity. He

always remembered that on the occasion of the attempt of the 3d Nivôse

(the infernal machine) Talleyrand had accused him to Bonaparte of

neglect, and had contributed not a little to his dismissal. On his

return to the Ministry he secretly nursed his resentment, and let slip

no opportunity of gratifying it, by that bitter and cynical mockery

which was the habitual tone of his conversation.

Talleyrand and Fouché were two very remarkable men, and both were

exceedingly useful to Bonaparte. But it would be difficult to find less

resemblance and fewer points of contact between any two persons placed

in such close and continuous relations. The former had studiously

preserved the carelessly resolute manner, if I may use that expression,

of the nobles of the old _régime_. Acute, taciturn, measured in his

speech, cold in his bearing, pleasing in conversation, deriving all his

power from himself alone—for he held no party in his hand—his very

faults, and even the stigma of his abandonment of his former sacred

state of life, were sufficient guarantee to the Revolutionists, who knew

him to be so adroit and so supple that they believed him to be always

keeping the means of escaping them in reserve. Besides, he opened his

mind to no one. He was quite impenetrable upon the affairs with which he

was charged, and upon his own opinion of the master whom he served; and,

as a final touch to this picture, he neglected nothing for his own

comfort, was careful in his dress, used perfumes, and was a lover of

good cheer and all the pleasures of the senses. He was never subservient

to Bonaparte, but he knew how to make himself necessary to him, and

never flattered him in public.

Fouché, on the contrary, was a genuine product of the Revolution.

Careless of his appearance, he wore the gold lace and the ribbons which

were the insignia of his dignities as if he disdained to arrange them.

He could laugh at himself on occasion: he was active, animated, always

restless; talkative, affecting a sort of frankness which was merely the

last degree of deceit; boastful; disposed to seek the opinion of others

upon his conduct by talking about it; and sought no justification except

in his contempt of a certain class of morality, or his carelessness of a

certain order of approbation. But he carefully maintained, to

Bonaparte’s occasional disquiet, relations with a party whom the Emperor

felt himself obliged to conciliate in his person. With all this, Fouché

was not deficient in a sort of good fellowship; he had even some

estimable qualities. He was a good husband to an ugly and stupid wife,

and a very good, even a too-indulgent, father. He looked at revolution

as a whole; he hated small schemes and constantly recurring suspicions,

and it was because this was his way of thinking that his police did not

suffice for the Emperor. Where Fouché recognized merit, he did it

justice. It is not recorded of him that he was guilty of any personal

revenge, nor did he show himself capable of persistent jealousy. It is

even likely that, although he remained for several years an enemy of

Talleyrand’s, it was less because he had reason to complain of him than

because the Emperor took pains to keep up a division between two men

whose friendship he thought dangerous to himself; and, indeed, it was

when they were reconciled that he began to distrust them both, and to

exclude them from affairs.

In 1805 Talleyrand stood much higher in favor than Fouché. The business

in hand was to found a monarchy, to impose it upon Europe and upon

France by skillful diplomacy and the pomp of a Court; and the

_ci-devant_ noble was much fitter to advise upon all these points. He

had an immense reputation in Europe. He was known to hold conservative

opinions, and that was all the morality demanded by the foreign

sovereigns. The Emperor, in order to inspire confidence in his

enterprise, needed to have his signature supported by that of his

Minister for Foreign Affairs. So necessary to his projects did he

consider this that he did not grudge the distinction. The agitation

which reigned in Europe at the moment when the rupture with Austria and

Russia took place called for very frequent consultations between the

Emperor and M. de, Talleyrand; and, when Bonaparte left Paris to

commence the campaign, the Minister established himself at Strasburg, so

that he might be able to reach the Emperor when the French cannon should

announce that the hour of negotiations had arrived.

About the middle of September rumors of an approaching departure were

spread at Saint Cloud. M. de Rémusat received orders to repair to

Strasburg, and there to prepare the Imperial lodgings; and the Empress

declared so decidedly her intention of following her husband that it was

settled she should go to Strasburg with him. A numerous Court was to

accompany them. As my husband was going, I should have been very glad to

accompany him, but I was becoming more and more of an invalid, and was

not in a state to travel. I was therefore obliged to submit to this new

separation, a more sorrowful one than the former. This was the first

time since I had been at the Court that I had seen the Emperor setting

out for the army. The dangers to which he was about to be exposed

revived all my former attachment to him. I had not courage to reproach

him with anything when I saw him depart on so serious a mission; and the

thought that, of many persons who were going, there would no doubt be

some whom I should never see again, brought tears to my eyes, and made

my heart sink. In the glittering _salon_ of Saint Cloud I saw wives and

mothers in terror and anguish, who did not dare to let their grief be

seen, so great was the fear of displeasing the Emperor. The officers

affected carelessness, but that was the necessary bravado of their

profession. At that time, however, there were a great many of them who,

having attained a sufficient fortune, and being unable to foresee the

almost gigantic height to which the continuity of war was afterward to

raise them, were very sorry to relinquish the pleasant and quiet life

which they had now led for some years.

Throughout France the law of the conscription was strictly carried out,

and this caused some disturbance in the provinces. The fresh laurels

which our army was about to acquire were regarded with indifference. But

the soldiers and subalterns were full of hope and ardor, and rushed to

the frontiers with eagerness, a presage of success.

On the 20th of September the following appeared in the “Moniteur:”

“The Emperor of Germany, without previous negotiation or explanation,

and without any declaration of war, has invaded Bavaria. The Elector has

retreated to Warzburg, where the whole Bavarian army is assembled.”

On the 23d the Emperor repaired to the Senate, and issued a decree

calling out the reserves of the conscripts of five years’ standing.

Berthier, the Minister of War, read a report on the impending war, and

the Minister of the Interior demonstrated the necessity of employing the

National Guard to protect the coasts.

The Emperor’s speech was simple and impressive; it was generally

approved. Our causes of complaint against Austria were fully set forth

in the “Moniteur.” There is little doubt that England, if not afraid,

was at least weary of the stay of our troops on the coast, and that it

was her policy to raise up enemies for us on the Continent, while the

division of the kingdom of Italy, and still more its union with the

French Empire, was sufficiently disquieting to the Austrian Cabinet.

Without a knowledge of the diplomatic secrets of the period, which I do

not possess, it is hard to understand why the Emperor of Russia broke

with us. It is probable that commercial difficulties were making him

anxious about his relations with England. It may be well to quote some

words of Napoleon’s on this subject. “The Emperor Alexander,” he said,

“is a young man; he longs for a taste of glory, and, like all children,

he wants to go a different way from that which his father followed.”

Neither can I explain the neutrality of the King of Prussia, which was

so advantageous to us, and to himself so fatal, since it did but delay

his overthrow for one year. It seems to me that Europe blundered. The

Emperor’s character should have been better appreciated; and there

should have been either a clear understanding that he must be always

yielded to, or he should have been put down by general consent at the

outset of his career.

But I must return to my narrative, from which I have digressed in order

to treat of a subject beyond my powers.

I passed the last few days preceding the Emperor’s departure at Saint

Cloud. The Emperor worked unremittingly; when over-fatigued, he would

lie down for a few hours in the daytime, but would rise in the middle of

the night and go on with his labors. He was, however, more serene and

gracious than at other times; he received company as usual, went

occasionally to the theatres, and did not forget, when he was at

Strasburg, to send a present to Fleury, the actor, who, two days before

his departure, had performed Corneille’s “Menteur,” by which he had

succeeded in amusing the Emperor.

The Empress was as full of confidence as the wife of Bonaparte would

naturally be. Happy to be allowed to accompany him and to escape from

the talk of Paris, which alarmed her, from the spying of her

brothers-in-law, and the monotony of Saint Cloud, delighted with the

fresh opportunity for display, she looked on a campaign as on a journey,

and maintained a composure which, as it could not by reason of her

position proceed from indifference, was a genuine compliment to him whom

she firmly believed fortune would not dare to forsake. Louis Bonaparte,

who was in bad health, was to remain in Paris, and had received orders,

as had also his wife, to entertain liberally in the absence of the

Emperor. Joseph presided over the Administrative Council of the Senate.

He resided at the Luxembourg, where he was also to hold a Court.

Princess Borghese was recovering her health at Trianon. Mme. Murat

withdrew to Neuilly, where she occupied herself in beautifying her

charming dwelling; Murat accompanied the Emperor to headquarters. M. de

Talleyrand was to remain at Strasburg until further orders. M. Maret

attended the Emperor; he was the author-in-chief of the bulletins.

On the 24th the Emperor set out, and he reached Strasburg without

stopping on the way.

I returned in low spirits to Paris, where I rejoined my children, my

mother, and my sister. I found the latter much distressed by her

separation from M. de Nansouty, who was in command of a division of

cavalry.

Immediately on the departure of the Emperor, rumors became rife in Paris

of an intended invasion of the coast, and, in fact, such an expedition

might have been attempted; but, fortunately, our enemies were not quite

so audacious and enterprising as ourselves, and at that time the English

had not such confidence in their army as since then it has justly

inspired.

The tightening of the money-market began almost immediately to be felt:

in a short time payment at the Bank was suspended; money fetched a very

high price. I heard it said that our export trade did not suffice for

our wants; that war had stopped it, and was raising the price of all our

imports. This, I was told, was the cause of the sudden embarrassment

which had come upon us.

Special and personal anxieties were added to the general depression.

Many families of distinction had sons in the army, and trembled for

their fate. In what suspense did not parents await the arrival of

bulletins which might suddenly apprise them of the loss of those most

dear to them! What agonies did not Bonaparte inflict on women, on

mothers, during many years! He has sometimes expressed astonishment at

the hatred he at last inspired; but could he expect to be forgiven such

agonized and prolonged suspense, so much weeping, so many sleepless

nights, and days of agonizing dread? If he had but admitted the truth,

he must have known there is not one natural feeling on which he had not

trampled.

Before his departure, and in order to gratify the nobles, he created

what was called the Guard of Honor. He gave the command to his Grand

Master of Ceremonies. It was almost funny to see poor M. de Ségur’s zeal

in forming his Guard, the eagerness displayed by certain great

personages to obtain admittance into it, and the anxiety of some of the

chamberlains, who imagined the Emperor would much admire the change of

their red coats for a military uniform. I shall never forget the

surprise, nay, the fright which M. de Luçay, Prefect of the Palace, a

mild and timid person, gave me, when he asked me whether M. de Rémusat,

the father of a family, a former magistrate, and at that time more than

forty years of age, did not also intend to embrace the military career

thus suddenly opened to everybody. We were beginning to be accustomed to

so many strange things that, in spite of sense and reason, I felt some

solicitude on this subject, and I wrote to my husband, who replied that

he had not been seized with martial ardor, and that he hoped the Emperor

might still reckon among his servants some who did not wear swords.

At this time the Emperor had partly restored us to favor. On his

departure from Strasburg he confided the entire charge of the Court and

the Empress’s household to my husband. These were sufficiently easy

duties, with no greater drawback than a certain amount of tedium. M. de

Talleyrand, who also remained behind at Strasburg, gave some zest to the

daily routine of M. de Rémusat’s life. They now became really intimate,

and were frequently together. M. de Rémusat, who was by nature simple,

modest, and retiring, showed to advantage as he became better known, and

M. de Talleyrand recognized his intellectual qualities, his excellent

judgment, and his uprightness. He began to trust him, to appreciate the

safety of intercourse with him, and to treat him as a friend; while my

husband, who was gratified by receiving such overtures from a quarter

whence he had not expected them, conceived for him from that moment an

affection which no subsequent vicissitude has lessened.

Meanwhile the Emperor had left Strasburg. On the 1st of October he

commenced the campaign, and the entire army, transported as if by magic

from Boulogne, was crossing the frontier. The Elector of Bavaria, on

being called upon by the Emperor of Austria to afford free passage to

his troops, refused to do so, and was being invaded on every side; but

Bonaparte marched to his aid without delay.

We then received the first bulletin from the Grand Army. It announced a

first success at Donauwôrth, and gave us the proclamations of the

Emperor, and that of the Viceroy of Italy. Masséna was ordered to

reënforce the latter, and to push into the Tyrol with the united French

and Italian armies. To phrases well calculated to inflame the zeal of

our soldiers were added others of biting sarcasm against our enemy. A

circular addressed to the inhabitants of Austria, asking for

contributions of lint, was published, accompanied by the following note:

“We hope the Emperor of Austria will not require any, as he has gone

back to Vienna.”

Insults to the ministers were not spared, nor to some of the great

Austrian nobles, among whom was the Count de Colloredo, who was accused

of being governed by his wife, herself entirely devoted to English

policy. These unworthy attacks occurred promiscuously in the bulletins,

among really elevated sentiments, which, although put forth with Roman

rather than with French eloquence, were very effective.

Bonaparte’s activity in this campaign was positively marvelous. From the

beginning he foresaw the advantages that would accrue to him from the

first blunders of the Austrians, and also his ultimate success. Toward

the middle of October he wrote to his wife: “Rest easy; I promise you

the shortest and most brilliant of campaigns.”

At Wertingen our cavalry obtained some advantage over the enemy, and M.

de Nansouty distinguished himself. A brilliant skirmish also took place

at Güntzburg, and the Austrians were soon retreating from every point.

The army became more and more enthusiastic, and seemed to take no heed

of the approach of winter. Just before going into action, the Emperor

harangued his soldiers on the Lech bridge, in the midst of thickly

falling snow. “But,” continued the bulletin, “his words were of fire,

and the soldiers forgot their privations.” The bulletin ended with these

prophetic words: “The destinies of the campaign are fixed.”

The taking of Ulm and the capitulation of its immense garrison completed

the surprise and terror of Austria, and served to silence the factious

spirit in Paris, which had been with difficulty repressed by the police.

It is hard to prevent Frenchmen from ranging themselves on the side of

glory, and we began to share in that which our army was gaining. But the

monetary difficulty was still painfully felt; trade suffered, the

theatres were empty, an increase of poverty was perceptible, and the

only hope that sustained is was that a campaign so briliant must be

followed by an immediate peace.

After the capitulation of Ulm, the Emperor himself dictated the

following phrase in the bulletin: “The panegyric of the army may be

pronounced in two words: It is worthy of its leader.” He wrote to the

Senate, sending the colors taken from the enemy, and announcing that the

Elector had returned to his capital. Letters from him to the bishops,

requesting them to offer thanksgiving for our victories, were also

published.

From the very beginning of the campaign pastoral letters had been read

in every metropolitan church, justifying the war, and encouraging the

new recruits to march promptly whithersoever they should be called. The

bishops now began the task once more, and exhausted the Scriptures for

texts to prove that the Emperor was protected by the God of armies.

Joseph Bonaparte was the bearer of his brother’s letter to the Senate.

That body decreed that, in reply, an address of congratulation should be

carried to headquarters by a certain number of its members.

At Strasburg the Empress received a number of German princes, who came

to join her Court, and to offer her their homage and congratulations.

With a natural pride she showed them the Emperor’s letters, in which

long beforehand he announced to her the victories he was about to gain;

and either his skillful foresight must needs be admired, or else the

power of a destiny which never for a moment belied itself mist be

recognized.

Marshal Ney distinguished himself at Elchingen, and the Emperor

consented so fully to leave the honors of the occasion to him that

afterward, when he created dukes, he desired that the Marshal’s title

should be Duke of Elchingen.

I use the word _consented_, because it is admitted that Bonaparte was

not always perfectly just in apportioning the fame which he accorded to

his generals. In one of his occasional fits of frankness, I heard him

say that he liked to bestow glory only on those who knew not how to

sustain it. According to his policy with respect to the military chiefs

under his orders, or the degree of confidence which he placed in them,

he would either preserve silence concerning certain victories of theirs,

or change the blunder of a particular marshal into a success. A general

would hear through some bulletin of an action which had never taken

place, or of a speech which he had never made. Another would find

himself famous in the newspapers, and would wonder how he had deserved

to be thus distinguished. Others would endeavor to protest against his

neglect of them, or against distorted accounts of events. But how was it

possible to correct what had once been read, and was already effaced by

more recent news? For Bonaparte’s rapidity in war gave us daily

something fresh to learn. On these occasions he would either impose

silence on the protest, or, if he wished to appease the offended

officer, a sum of money, a prize from the enemy, or permission to levy a

tax was granted to him, and thus the affair would end.

This crafty spirit, which was inherent in Bonaparte’s character, and

which he employed adroitly in dealing with his marshals and superior

officers, may be justified, up to a certain point, by the difficulty he

occasionally met with in managing so large a number of individuals of

widely differing characters but similar aims. He was perfectly cognizant

of the scope of their various talents; he knew in what manner each of

them might be useful to him: while rewarding their services he was

perpetually obliged to repress their pride and jealousy. He was forced

to use every means in his power to secure his own success; above all, he

could miss no opportunity of making them feel their entire dependence on

himself, and that their renown as well as their fortune was in his hands

alone. This point once reached, he might feel certain not to be

importuned by them, and to be at liberty to reward their services at his

own price. In general, however, the marshals have had no cause to

complain that he did not rate them highly. The rewards obtained by them

were frequently gigantic; and, the long continuance of war having raised

their hopes to the highest pitch, we have seen them become dukes and

princes without being astonished at the fact, and end by thinking that

royalty alone could worthily crown their destiny. Enormous sums were

divided among them, and every kind of exaction from the vanquished was

permitted them; some of them made immense fortunes, and, if most of

these disappeared with the Government under which they had been amassed,

it was because they had been acquired so easily that their upstart

possessors naturally spent them lavishly, feeling confident that the

facilities for making such fortunes would never be exhausted.

In this first campaign of Napoleon’s reign, although the army was as yet

subject to a discipline which was afterward considerably relaxed, the

vanquished people found themselves a prey to the rapacity of the

conqueror, and the obligation of receiving some field officer for a

single night, or even for a few hours, cost many a great Austrian noble

or prince the entire destruction and pillage of his home. The common

soldiers were under discipline, and there was an outward appearance of

order, but there was nothing to hinder a marshal from taking away with

him, on his departure, any objects which had caught his fancy. After the

close of the war, I have often heard the wife of Marshal X—— relate,

with laughter, that her husband, knowing her taste for music, had sent

her an immense collection of music-books, which he had found in some

German prince’s house; and she would add, with equal ingenuousness, that

he had dispatched so many packing-cases full of lusters and Vienna

glass, which he had picked up in every direction, to their house in

Paris, that she was quite at a loss to know where to put them.

While the Emperor knew so well how to hold the pretensions of his

generals in check, he spared no pains to encourage and satisfy the rank

and file. After the taking of Ulm, a decree was issued to the effect

that the month of Vendémiaire, which was just closed, should in itself

be reckoned as a campaign.

On the feast of All Saints a solemn _Te Deum_ was sung at Notre Dame,

and Joseph gave several entertainments in honor of our victories.

Meanwhile Masséna was distinguishing himself by victories in Italy, and

it soon became certain that the Emperor of Austria would have to pay

dearly for this great campaign. The Russian army was hastening by forced

marches to his aid, but had not yet joined the Austrians, who meanwhile

were being defeated by our Emperor. It was said at the time that the

Emperor Francis made a blunder by entering upon the war before the

Emperor Alexander was in a position to help him.

During this campaign Bonaparte induced the King of Naples to remain

neutral, and agreed to rid him of the French garrison which he had

hitherto been obliged to maintain. Several decrees relating to the

administration of France were promulgated from various headquarters, and

the former Doge of Genoa was created a senator.

The Emperor liked to appear to be engaged in a number of different

affairs at once, and to show that he could cast what he called “an eagle

glance” in every direction at the same instant. For this reason, and

also on account of his suspicious disposition, he wrote a letter to the

Minister of Police, desiring him to keep a watchful eye on the Faubourg

St. Germain, meaning those members of the French nobility who remained

opposed to him, and stating that he had been informed of certain things

that had been said against him in his absence, and would punish them on

his return.

It was Fouché’s habit, on receiving such orders as these, to send for

the persons, both men and women, who were more specially accused.

Whether he really thought the Emperor’s displeasure was excited by mere

trifles, and that, as he sometimes used to say, it was foolish to

prevent French people from talking, or whether he desired to win golden

opinions by his own moderation, after advising those persons for whom he

had sent to be more cautious, he would conclude by admitting that the

Emperor made too much ado about trivialities. Thus, by degrees, he

acquired a reputation for justice and moderation, which did away with

the first impressions of his character. The Emperor, who was informed of

this conduct on his part, resented it, and was secretly on his guard

against one so careful to conciliate all parties.

On the 12th of November our victorious army entered the gates of Vienna.

The newspapers gave full details of the circumstances, and these

accounts acquire additional interest from the fact that they were all

dictated by Bonaparte, and that he frequently took upon himself to

invent, as an afterthought, circumstances or anecdotes likely to strike

the popular imagination.

“The Emperor,” says the bulletin, “has taken up his abode in the palace

of Schönbrunn; he writes in a cabinet in which stands a statue of Maria

Theresa. On observing this, he exclaimed: ‘Ah! if that great queen were

still living, she would not allow herself to be led by such a woman as

Mme. de Colloredo! Surrounded by her nobles, she would have ascertained

the wishes of her people. She would never have allowed her provinces to

be ravaged by the Muscovites,’ etc.”

Meanwhile some bad news came to temper Bonaparte’s success. Admiral

Nelson had just beaten our fleet at Trafalgar. The French navy had

fought with splendid bravery, but had been disastrously defeated. This

produced a bad effect in Paris, and disgusted the Emperor for ever with

naval enterprises. He became so deeply prejudiced against the French

navy that from that time it was scarcely possible to induce him to take

any interest in or pay any attention to the subject. Vainly did the

sailors or soldiers who had distinguished themselves on that fatal day

endeavor to obtain recognition or sympathy for the dangers they had

encountered: they were practically forbidden even to revert to the

disaster; and when, in after-years, they wanted to obtain any favor,

they took care not to claim it on the score of the admirable courage to

which only the English dispatches rendered justice.

Immediately on the Emperor’s return to Vienna, he sent for M. de

Talleyrand, perceiving that the time for negotiations was at hand, and

that the Emperor of Austria was about to treat for peace. It is probable

that our Emperor had already decided on making the Elector of Bavaria a

King, on enlarging his dominions, and also on the marriage of Prince

Eugène.

M. de Rémusat was sent to Paris in order that he might convey the

Imperial insignia and the crown diamonds to Vienna. I saw him but for an

instant, and learned with fresh vexation that he was about to leave for

a still more distant country. On his return to Strasburg he received

orders to proceed at once to Vienna, and the Empress was directed to

repair to Munich with the whole Court. Nothing could exceed the honors

rendered to her in Germany. Princes and Electors crowded to welcome her,

and the Elector of Bavaria, especially, neglected nothing to make her

reception all that could be desired. She remained at Munich, waiting for

her husband’s return.

M. de Rémusat, while on his journey, reflected sadly upon the condition

of the countries through which he passed. The land still reeked of

battle. Devastated villages, roads encumbered with corpses and ruins,

brought before his eyes all the horrors of war. The distress of the

vanquished added an element of danger to the discomfort of this journey

so late in the season. Everything contributed painfully to impress the

imagination of a man who was a friend to humanity, and who lamented the

disasters which result from the passions of conquerors. My husband’s

letters, full of painful reflections, grieved me deeply, and served to

lessen the enthusiasm which had been beginning to revive as I read

accounts of victories, in which the bright side only was shown to the

public.

When M. de Rémusat reached Vienna, the Emperor was no longer there. The

negotiations had lasted but a short time, and our army was marching

forward. M. de Talleyrand and M. Maret remained at Schönbrunn, where

they both lived, but without intimacy. M. Maret’s familiarity with the

Emperor gave him a sort of influence, which he kept up, as I have

already said, by adoration, true or feigned, and displayed in all his

words and actions. M. de Talleyrand would make fun of this sometimes,

and quiz the Secretary of State, who resented such conduct excessively.

He was therefore always on his guard against M. de Talleyrand, and

disliked him sincerely.

M. de Talleyrand, who was thoroughly weary of Vienna, greeted M. de

Rémusat on his arrival with great cordiality, and the intimacy between

them increased during the idle life both were leading. It is very likely

that M. Maret, who wrote regularly to the Emperor, reported upon this

new friendship, and that it was displeasing to a person always prone to

take offense, and apt to detect ulterior motives in the most unimportant

actions of life.

M. de Talleyrand, finding scarcely any one but M. de Rémusat who could

understand him, disclosed to him the political views with which the

victories of our armies inspired him. He warmly desired to consolidate

the peace of Europe, and his great fear was that the glamour of victory

and the predilections of the military men surrounding the Emperor, all

of them having again become accustomed to war, would induce the latter

to prolong it. “When the moment comes for actually concluding peace,” he

said, “you will see that the greatest difficulty I shall have will be in

treating with the Emperor himself, and it will take much talking to

sober the intoxication produced by gunpowder.” In these moments of

confidence M. de Talleyrand would speak candidly of the Emperor. While

he admitted the great defects of his character, he believed him to be

destined irrevocably to end the Revolution in France, and to found a

lasting government; and he also believed that he himself should be able

to rule the Emperor’s conduct with regard to Europe. “If I fail to

persuade him,” he said, “I shall, at any rate, know how to fetter him in

spite of himself, and to force him to take some repose.”

M. de Rémusat was delighted to find an able statesman, and one who

enjoyed the confidence of the Emperor, full of projects so wise in

themselves; and he began to regard him with the esteem that every French

citizen owes to a man who endeavors to control the effects of a

boundless ambition. He often wrote to me that he was delighted with the

discoveries which his intimacy with M. de Talleyrand enabled him to

make, and I began to feel interest in one who alleviated the wearisome

exile of my husband.

In my hours of solitude and anxiety, my husband’s letters were my only

pleasure and the sole charm of my existence. Although he prudently

avoided details, I could see that he was satisfied with his position.

Then he would describe to me the different sights he had seen. He would

tell me of his drives or walks in Vienna, which he described as a large

and beautiful city, and of his visits to certain important personages

who had remained there, as well as to other families. He was struck by

their extreme attachment to the Emperor Francis. These good people of

Vienna, although their city was conquered, did not hesitate openly to

express their hopes of a speedy return to the paternal rule of their

master; and, while they sympathized with him in his reverses, they never

uttered a single reproach.

Good order was maintained in Vienna; the garrison was under strict

discipline, and the inhabitants had no great cause of complaint against

their conquerors. The French entered into some of the amusements of the

place; they frequented the theatres, and it was at Vienna that M. de

Rémusat first heard the celebrated Italian singer Crescentini, and

subsequently engaged him for the Emperor’s musical service.

CHAPTER XV

(1805.)

THE arrival of the Russian forces and the severe conditions exacted by

the conqueror made the Emperor of Austria resolve on once more trying

the fortune of war. Having assembled his forces and joined the Emperor

Alexander, he awaited Bonaparte, who was advancing to meet him. The two

immense armies met in Moravia, near the little village of Austerlitz,

which, until then unknown, has become for ever memorable by reason of

the great victory which France won there.

Bonaparte resolved to give battle on the following day, the 1st of

December, the anniversary of his coronation.

The Czar had sent Prince Dolgorouki to our headquarters with proposals

of peace, which, if the Emperor has told the truth in his bulletins,

could hardly be entertained by a conqueror in possession of his enemy’s

capital. If we may believe him, the surrender of Belgium was demanded,

and that the Iron Crown should be placed on another head. The envoy was

taken through a part of the encampment which had been purposely left in

confusion; he was deceived by this, and misled the Emperors by his

report of the state of things.

The bulletin of those two days, the 1st and 2d of December, states that

the Emperor, on returning to his quarters toward evening, spoke these

words: “This is the fairest evening of my life; but I regret to think

that I must lose a good number of these brave fellows. I feel, by the

pain it gives me, that they are indeed my children; and I reproach

myself for this feeling, for I fear it may render me unfit to make war.”

The following day, in addressing his soldiers, he said: “This campaign

must be ended by a thunderclap. If France is to make peace only on the

terms proposed by Dolgorouki, Russia shall not obtain them, even were

her army encamped on the heights of Montmartre.” Yet it was decreed that

these same armies should, one day, be encamped there, and that at

Belleville Alexander was to receive Napoleon’s envoy, coming to offer

him peace on any terms he chose to dictate.

I will not transcribe the narrative of that battle, so truly honorable

to our arms—it will be found in the “Moniteur”; and the Emperor of

Russia, with characteristic and noble simplicity, declared that the

dispositions taken by the Emperor to insure success, the skill of his

generals, and the ardor of the French soldiers, were all alike

incomparable. The flower of the three nations fought with unflagging

determination; the two Emperors were obliged to fly in order to escape

being taken, and, but for the conferences of the following day, it seems

that the Emperor of Russia would have found his retreat very difficult.

The Emperor dictated almost from the field of battle the narrative of

all that had taken place on the 1st, the 2d, and the 3d of December. He

even wrote part of it himself. The dispatch, hurriedly composed, yet

full of details and very interesting, even at the present day, on

account of the spirit in which it was conceived, consisted of

twenty-five pages covered with erasures and with references, and was

sent to M. Maret at Vienna, to be immediately put in form and sent to

the “Moniteur” in Paris.

On receiving this dispatch, M. Maret hastened to communicate it to M. de

Talleyrand and M. de Rémusat. All three were then residing in the palace

of the Emperor of Austria; they shut themselves up in the Empress’s

private apartment, then occupied by M. de Talleyrand, in order to

decipher the manuscript. The handwriting of the Emperor, which was

always very illegible, and his bad spelling, made this a somewhat

lengthy task. The order of events had to be rearranged, and incorrect

expressions to be replaced by more suitable ones, and then, by the

advice of M. de Talleyrand and to the great terror of M. Maret, certain

phrases were suppressed, as too humiliating to the foreign sovereigns,

or so directly eulogistic of Bonaparte himself that one wonders he could

have penned them. They retained certain phrases which were underscored,

and to which it was evident he attached importance. This task lasted

several hours, and was interesting to M. de Rémusat, as it gave him an

opportunity of observing the very different methods of serving the

Emperor adopted by the two Ministers respectively.

After the battle, the Emperor Francis asked for an interview, which took

place at the French Emperor’s quarters.

“This,” said Bonaparte, “has been my only palace for the last two

months.”

“You make such good use of it,” replied the Emperor of Austria, “that it

ought to be agreeable to you.”

“It is asserted,” says the bulletin, “that the Emperor, in speaking of

the Emperor of Austria, used these words: ‘That man has led me to commit

an error, for I could have followed up my victory, and have taken the

whole Russian and Austrian army prisoners; but, after all, there will be

some tears the less.’”

According to the bulletin, the Czar was let off easily. Here is the

account of the visit which Savary was sent to make to him:

“The Emperor’s aide-de-camp had accompanied the Emperor of Germany after

the interview, in order to learn whether the Emperor of Russia would

agree to the capitulation. He found the remnant of the Russian army

without artillery or baggage, and in frightful disorder.

“It was midnight; General Meerfeld had been repulsed from Golding by

Marshal Davoust, and the Russian army was surrounded—not a man could

escape. Prince Czartoryski presented General Savary to the Emperor.

“‘Tell your master,’ said the Czar, ‘that I am going away; that he did

wonders yesterday, that his achievements have increased my admiration

for him, that he is predestined by Heaven, and that my army would

require a hundred years to equal his. But can I withdraw in safety?’

‘Yes, sire, if your Majesty ratifies what the two Emperors of France and

Austria have agreed upon in their interview.’ ‘And what is that?’ ‘That

your Majesty’s army shall return home by stages to be regulated by the

Emperor, and that it shall evacuate Germany and Austrian Poland. On

these conditions I have it in commission to go to our outposts, and give

them orders to protect your retreat, as the Emperor is desirous to

protect the friend of the First Consul.’ ‘What guarantee is required?’

‘Your word, sire.’ ‘I give it you.’

“General Savary set out on the instant at full gallop, and, having

joined Davoust, he gave orders to suspend all operations and remain

quiet. It is to be hoped that the generosity of the Emperor of France on

this occasion may not be so soon forgotten in Russia as was his sending

back six thousand men to the Emperor Paul, with expressions of his

esteem.

“General Savary had an hour’s conversation with the Emperor of Russia,

and found him all that a man of good sense and good feeling ought to be,

whatever reverses he may have experienced.

“The Emperor asked him about the details of the day. ‘You were inferior

to me,’ he said, ‘and yet you were superior upon all the points of

attack.’ ‘That, sire,’ answered the General, ‘is the art of war, and the

fruit of fifteen years of glory. This is the fortieth battle the Emperor

has fought.’ ‘True. He is a great warrior. As for me, this is the first

time I have seen fighting. I have never had any pretension to measure

myself with him.’ ‘When you have experience, sire, you may perhaps

surpass him.’ ‘I shall now go away to my capital. I came to lend my aid

to the Emperor of Austria; he has had me informed that he is content,

and I am the same.’”

There was a good deal of speculation at that time as to what was the

Emperor’s real reason for consenting to make peace after this battle,

instead of pushing his victory further; for, of course, nobody believed

in the motive which was assigned for it, i. e., the sparing of so many

tears which must otherwise have been shed.

May we conclude that the day of Austerlitz had cost him so dear as to

make him shrink from incurring another like it, and that the Russian

army was not so utterly defeated as he would have had us believe? Or was

it that again he had done as he himself expressed it, when he was asked

why he had put an end to the march of victory by the treaty of Leoben:

“I was playing at _vingt-et-un_, and I stopped short at _vingt_”? May we

believe that Bonaparte, in his first year of empire, did not yet venture

to sacrifice the lives of the people as ruthlessly as he afterward

sacrificed them, and that, having entire confidence in M. de Talleyrand

at that period, he yielded more readily to the moderate policy of his

Minister? Perhaps, too, he believed that he had reduced the Austrian

power by his campaign more than he really had reduced it; for he said,

after his return from Munich, “I have left the Emperor Francis too many

subjects.”

Whatever may have been his motives, he deserves praise for the spirit of

moderation that he maintained in the midst of an army heated by victory,

and which certainly was at that moment desirous of prolonging the war.

The marshals and all the officers about the Emperor did everything in

their power to induce him to carry on the campaign; they were certain of

victory everywhere, and by shaking the purpose of their chief they

created for M. de Talleyrand all the difficulties that he had foreseen.

The Minister, summoned to headquarters, had to contend with the

disposition of the army. He maintained, alone and unsupported, that

peace must be concluded—that the Austrian power was necessary to the

equilibrium of Europe; and it was then that he said, “When you shall

have weakened all the powers of the center, how are you to hinder those

of the extremities—the Russians, for instance—from falling upon them?”

In reply to this he was met by private interests, by a personal and

insatiable desire for the chances of fortune which the continuance of

the war might offer; and certain persons, who knew the Emperor’s

character well, said, “If even we do not put an end to this affair on

the spot, you will see that we shall commence another campaign by and

by.”

As for the Emperor himself, disturbed by this diversity of opinion,

urged by his first love of war, and influenced by his habitual distrust,

he allowed M. de Talleyrand to perceive that he suspected him of a

secret understanding with the Austrian ambassador, and of sacrificing

the interests of France. M. de Talleyrand answered with that firmness

which he always maintains in great affairs, when he has taken a certain

line: “You deceive yourself. My object is to sacrifice the interest of

your generals, which is no concern of mine, to the interests of France.

Reflect that you lower yourself by saying such things as they say, and

that you are worthy to be something more than a mere soldier.” The

Emperor was flattered by being praised at the expense of his former

companions in arms; and by adroitness of this kind M. de Talleyrand

succeeded in gaining his ends. At length he brought the Emperor to

resolve on sending him to Presburg, where the negotiations were to take

place; but it is a strange and probably unexampled fact that Bonaparte,

while giving M. de Talleyrand powers to treat for peace, actually

deceived him on a point of vital importance, and placed in his path the

greatest difficulty that ever a negotiator had experienced.

On the occasion of the meeting of the two Emperors after the battle, the

Emperor of Austria consented to relinquish the State of Venice; but he

had demanded that the portion of the Tyrol conquered by Masséna should

be restored to Austria, and Napoleon, no doubt affected in spite of his

mastery over his emotions, and a little off his guard in the presence of

this vanquished sovereign, who had come to discuss his interests in

person on the battle-field where the bodies of his subjects who had

fallen in his cause still lay, had not been able to maintain his

inflexibility. He gave up the Tyrol; but no sooner had the interview

come to an end than he repented of what he had done, and, when giving M.

de Talleyrand details of the engagements to which he had pledged

himself, he kept that one secret.

The Minister having set out for Presburg, Bonaparte returned to Vienna,

and took up his abode in the palace at Schönbrunn. He occupied himself

in reviewing his army, verifying his losses, and reforming each corps as

it presented itself for inspection. In his pride and satisfaction in the

results of the campaign, he was good-humored with everybody, behaved

well to all those members of the Court who awaited him at Vienna, and

took great pleasure in relating the wonders of the war.

On one point only did he exhibit displeasure. He was greatly surprised

that his presence produced so little effect upon the Viennese, and that

it was so difficult to induce them to attend the fêtes he provided for

them, and the dinners at the palace to which he invited them. Bonaparte

could not understand their attachment to a conquered sovereign—one,

too, so much inferior to himself. One day he spoke quite openly about

this to M. de Rémusat. “You have passed some time at Vienna,” he said,

“and have had opportunities of observing them. What a strange people

they are! They seem insensible alike to glory and to reverses.” M. de

Rémusat, who had formed a high opinion of the Viennese, and admired

their disinterested and loyal character, replied by praising them, and

relating several instances of their attachment to their sovereign of

which he had been an eye-witness. “But,” said Bonaparte, “they must

sometimes have talked of me. What do they say?” “Sire,” answered M. de

Rémusat, “they say, ‘The Emperor Napoleon is a great man, it is true;

but our Emperor is perfectly good, and we can love none but him.’” These

sentiments, which were all unchanged by misfortune, were

incomprehensible to a man who recognized no merit except in success.

When, after his return to Paris, he heard of the touching reception

given by the Viennese to their vanquished Emperor, he exclaimed: “What

people! If I came back to Paris thus, I should certainly not be received

after that fashion.”

A few days after the Emperor’s return, M. de Talleyrand arrived at

Vienna from Presburg, to the great surprise of everybody. The Austrian

ministers at Presburg had brought forward the subject of the Tyrol; he

had been obliged to admit that he had no instructions on that point, and

he now came to obtain them. He was much displeased at having been

treated in such a manner. When he spoke of this to the Emperor, the

latter told him that in a yielding moment, of which he now repented, he

had acceded to the request of the Emperor Francis, but that he was quite

resolved not to keep his word. M. de Rémusat told me that M. de

Talleyrand, of whom he saw a great deal at this time, was really

indignant. Not only did he perceive that war was about to begin again,

but that the Cabinet of France was stained by perfidy, and a portion of

the dishonor would inevitably fall upon him. His mission to Presburg

would henceforth be ridiculous, would show how little influence over his

master he possessed, and would destroy his personal credit in Europe,

when he took such care to preserve. The marshals raised their war-cry

anew. Murat, Berthier, Maret, all the flatterers of the Emperor’s ruling

passion, seeing to which side he leaned, urged him on toward what they

called “glory.” M. de Talleyrand had to bear reproaches from every one,

and he often said to my husband, bitterly enough: “I find no one but

yourself here to show me any friendship; it would take very little more

to make those people regard me as a traitor.” His conduct at this

period, and his patience, did him honor. He succeeded in bringing the

Emperor back to his way of thinking upon the necessity of making peace,

and, after having extracted from him the final word which he required,

he set out a second time for Presburg, better satisfied, although he

could not obtain the restitution of the Tyrol. On taking leave of M. de

Rémusat, he said, “I shall settle the affair of the Tyrol, and induce

the Emperor to make peace, in spite of himself.”

During Bonaparte’s stay at Schönbrunn he received a letter from Prince

Charles, to the effect that, being full of admiration for his person,

the Prince wished to see and converse with him. The Emperor, flattered

by this compliment from a man who enjoyed a high reputation in Europe,

fixed upon a small hunting-lodge a few leagues from the palace as the

place of meeting, and directed M. de Rémusat to join the other persons

who were to accompany him. He also bade him take with him a very richly

mounted sword. “After our conversation,” said he, “you will hand it to

me. I wish to present it to the Prince on leaving him.”

The Emperor joined the Prince, and they remained in private conference

for some time. When he came out of the room my husband approached him,

according to the orders he had received. Bonaparte impatiently waved him

off, telling him that he might take the sword away; and when he returned

to Schönbrunn he spoke slightingly of the Prince, saying that he had

found him very commonplace and by no means worthy of the present he had

intended for him.

I must now relate an incident which concerned M. de Rémusat personally,

and which once more checked the favor that the Emperor seemed disposed

to extend toward him. I have frequently remarked that our destiny always

arranged matters so that we should not profit by the advantages of our

position, but since that time I have often felt thankful to Providence;

for that very contrariety preserved us from a more disastrous fall.

In the early years of the Consular Government the King’s party had clung

to the hope of a revival of favorable chance for him in France, and they

had more than once tried to establish an understanding with the country.

M. d’André, formerly a deputy to the Constituent Assembly, an _émigré_,

and devoted to the royal cause, had undertaken Royalist missions to some

of the sovereigns of Europe, and Bonaparte was perfectly aware of that

fact. M. d’André was, like M. de Rémusat, a native of Provence, and they

had been schoolfellows. M. d’André had also been a magistrate prior to

the Revolution (he was Councilor to the Parliament of Aix), and,

although they did not keep up any mutual relations, they were not

entirely strangers. At the period of which I am writing, M. d’André,

disheartened by the failure of his fruitless efforts, convinced that the

Imperial cause was absolutely victorious, and weary of a wandering life

and consequently straitened means, was longing to return to his own

country. Being in Hungary during the campaign of 1805, he sent his wife

to Vienna, and appealed to his friend General Mathieu Dumas to obtain

leave for him. The General, although rather alarmed at having to

undertake such a mission, promised to take steps in the matter, but

advised Mme. d’André to see M. de Rémusat and procure his interest. One

morning Mme. d’André arrived. My husband received her as he conceived he

ought to receive the wife of a former friend; he was much concerned at

the position in which she represented M. d’André to be, and, not knowing

that there were particular circumstances in the case which were likely

to render the Emperor implacable, thinking besides that his victories

might incline him to clemency, consented to present her petition. His

official position as Keeper of the Wardrobe gave him the right to enter

the Emperor’s dressing-room. He hastened down to his Majesty’s

apartment, and found him half dressed and in a good humor, whereupon he

immediately gave him an account of Mme. d’André’s visit, and preferred

the request which he had undertaken to urge.

At the mention of the name of M. d’André, the Emperor’s face darkened.

“Do you know,” said he, “that you are talking to me of a mortal enemy?”

“No, Sire,” replied M. de Rémusat; “I am ignorant whether your Majesty

has really reason to complain of him; but, if such be the case, I would

venture to ask pardon for him. M. d’André is poor and proscribed; he

asks only that he may return and grow old in our common country.” “Have

you any relations with him?” “None, Sire.” “And why do you interest

yourself in him?” “Sire, he is a Provençal; he was educated with me at

Juilly, he is of my own profession, and he was my friend.” “You are very

fortunate,” said the Emperor, darting a fierce glance at him, “to have

such motives to excuse you. Never speak of him to me again; and know

this: if he were at Vienna, and I could get hold of him, he should be

hanged within twenty-four hours.” Having said these words, the Emperor

turned his back on M. de Rémusat.

Wherever the Emperor was with his Court, he habitually held what was

called his _levée_ every morning. So soon as he was dressed, he entered

a reception-room, and those persons who formed what was Called the

“service” were summoned. These were the great officers of his household,

M. de Rémusat, as Keeper of the Wardrobe and First Chamberlain, and the

generals of his guard. The second _levée_ was composed of the

Chamberlains, of such generals of the army as could present themselves,

and, in Paris, of the Prefect of Police, the Princes, and the Ministers.

Sometimes he greeted all these personages silently, with a mere bow, and

dismissed them at once. He gave orders when it was necessary, and he did

not hesitate to scold any one with whom he was displeased, without the

slightest regard to the awkwardness of giving or receiving reprimands

before a crowd of witnesses.

After he left M. de Rémusat, the Emperor held his _levée_; then he sent

everybody away, and held a long conversation with General Savary. On its

conclusion, Savary rejoined my husband in one of the reception-rooms,

took him aside, and addressed him after a fashion which would appear

very strange to any one unacquainted with _the crudity of the General’s

principles_ in certain matters.

“Let me congratulate you,” said he, accosting M. de Rémusat, “on a fine

opportunity of making your fortune, of which I strongly advise you to

avail yourself. You played a dangerous game just now by talking to the

Emperor of M. d’André, but all may be set right again. Where is he? But,

now I think of it, he is in Hungary—at least, his wife told me so. Ah,

bah! don’t dissimulate about it. The Emperor believes that he is in

Vienna; he is convinced that you know where he is, and he wants you to

tell.” “I assure you, General,” replied M. de Rémusat, “that I am

absolutely ignorant of where he is. I had no correspondence with him.

His wife came to see me to-day for the first time; she begged me to

speak for her husband to the Emperor; I have done so, and that is all.”

“Well, then, if that be so, send for her to come to you again. She will

have no suspicion of you. Make her talk, and try to elicit from her

where her husband is. You can not imagine how much you will please the

Emperor by rendering him this service.”

M. de Rémusat, utterly confounded at this speech, was quite unable to

conceal his astonishment. “What!” he exclaimed, “you make such a

proposal as that to me? I told the Emperor that I was the friend of M.

d’André; you also know that, and you would have me betray him, give him

up, and that by means of his wife, who has trusted me!” Savary was

astonished, in his turn, at the indignation of M. de Rémusat. “What

folly!” said he. “Take care you do not spoil your luck! The Emperor has

more than once had occasion to doubt that you are as entirely devoted to

him as he would have you to be. Now, here is an opportunity for removing

his suspicions, and you will be very unwise if you let it escape.”

The conversation lasted for some time. M. de Rémusat was, of course,

unshaken; he assured Savary that, far from seeking out Mme. d’André, he

would not even consent to see her, and he informed her, through General

Mathieu Dumas, of the failure of his mission. Savary returned to the

subject in the course of the day, and said, over and over again: “You

are throwing away your chances; I confess I can not make you out.” “That

does not matter,” my husband would reply.

And, in fact, the Emperor did resent this refusal, and assumed toward M.

de Rémusat the harsh, icy tone which was always a mark of his

displeasure. M. de Rémusat endured it with resignation, and complained

only to Duroc, the Grand Marshal of the Palace, who understood his

difficulty better than Savary could, but regretted that anything should

have occurred to diminish his favor with Bonaparte. He also

congratulated my husband on his conduct, which seemed to him an act of

the greatest courage; for not to obey the Emperor was, in his eyes, the

most wonderful thing in the world.

Duroc was a man of a singular character. His mind was narrow; his

feelings and thoughts were always, perhaps deliberately, confined to a

small circle; but he lacked neither cleverness nor clear-sightedness. He

was filled, perhaps, rather with submission than devotion to Bonaparte,

and believed that no one placed near him could use any or every faculty

better than in exactly obeying him.

In order not to fail in this, which he considered a strict duty, he

would not allow himself even a thought beyond the obligations of his

post. Cold, silent, and impenetrable as to every secret confided to him,

I believe he had made it a law to himself never to reflect on the orders

he received. He did not flatter the Emperor; he did not seek to please

him by tale-bearing, which, though often tending to no result, was yet

gratifying to Bonaparte’s naturally suspicious mind; but, like a mirror,

Duroc reflected for his master all that had taken place in his presence,

and, like an echo, he repeated his master’s words in the same tone and

manner in which they had been uttered. Were we to have fallen dead

before his eyes in consequence of a message of which he was the bearer,

he would still have delivered it with imperturbable precision.

I do not think he ever inquired of himself whether the Emperor was or

was not a great man; he was _the master_, and that was enough. His

obedience made him of great use to the Emperor; the interior of the

palace, the entire management of the household and its expenditure, was

his charge, and everything was regulated with perfect order and extreme

economy, and yet with great magnificence.

Marshal Duroc had married a Spanish lady of great fortune, little

beauty, and a good deal of intelligence. She was the daughter of a

Spanish banker named Hervas, who had been employed in some second-rate

diplomatic capacity, and had subsequently been created Marquis

d’Abruenara. He was Minister in Spain under Joseph Bonaparte. Mme. Duroc

had been brought up at Mme. Campan’s school, where Mme. Louis Bonaparte,

Mme. Savary, Mme. Davoust, Mme. Ney, and others, had also been educated.

She and her husband lived together on good terms, but without that

perfect union which is so great a source of consolation to those who

have to endure the restraints of a Court. He would not allow her to hold

an opinion of her own on passing events, or to have any familiar friend;

and he had none himself. I have never known any one who felt less need

of friendship, or who cared less for the pleasures of conversation. He

had not the slightest idea of social life; he did not know the meaning

of a taste for literature or art; and this indifference to things in

general, which he combined with the most perfect obedience to orders,

while he never showed any sign of weariness or constraint, nor yet the

slightest appearance of enthusiasm, made him quite a remarkable

character, and interesting to observe. He was greatly esteemed at Court,

or at any rate was of great importance. Everything was referred to him,

and to him all complaints were addressed. He attended to everybody,

seldom offering an opinion, still less a counsel; but he listened with

attention, faithfully reported what was said, and never showed either

the slightest mark of ill will or the least sign of interest.

Bonaparte, who had great skill in utilizing men, liked to be served by

one who stood so completely apart from others. There was no danger in

aggrandizing such a man as this; he therefore loaded him with honors and

riches. His gifts to Savary, which were also very considerable, were

dictated by a different motive. “That is a man,” he used to say, “who

must continually be bought; he would belong to any one who would give

him a crown more than I do.” And yet, strange to say, notwithstanding

this feeling, Bonaparte trusted him, or at any rate believed the tales

he brought. He knew, in truth, that Savary would refuse him nothing, and

he would say of him sometimes, “If I ordered Savary to rid himself of

his wife and children, I am sure he would not hesitate.”

Savary, though an object of general terror, was, in spite of his mode of

life and his actions, hidden or otherwise, not radically a bad man. Love

of money was his ruling passion. He had no military talent, and was even

accused by his brave comrades of being wanting in courage on the

battle-field. He had, therefore, to build up his fortune in a different

fashion from that of his companions in arms. He perceived a way open to

him in the system of cunning and tale-bearing which Bonaparte favored;

and, having once entered on it, it was not possible for him to retrace

his steps. He was, intrinsically, better than his reputation; that is,

his first impulses were superior to his subsequent action. He was not

wanting in natural ability; could be kindled to a momentary enthusiasm

of the imagination; was ignorant, but with a desire for information, and

had an instinctively right judgment. He was rather a liar than a

deceitful man; harsh in manner, but very timid in reality. He had

reasons of his own for knowing Bonaparte and trembling before him.

Nevertheless, while he was Minister, he ventured on some show of

opposition, and then appeared to entertain a certain desire to gain

public esteem. He, perhaps, like many others, owed the development of

his views to the times he lived in, which stifled the better side of his

character. The Emperor sedulously cultivated evil passions in the men

who served him, and they flourished abundantly under his reign.

To return. M. de Talleyrand’s negotiations were slowly advancing. In

spite of every obstacle, he succeeded, by means of correspondence, in

persuading the Emperor to make peace; and the Tyrol, that

stumbling-block of the treaty, was ceded by the Emperor Francis to the

King of Bavaria. When, a few years afterward, the Emperor had quarreled

with M. de Talleyrand, he would angrily refer to this treaty, and

complain that his Minister had wrested from him the fruit of victory,

and brought about the second Austrian campaign by leaving too much power

in the hands of the sovereign of that country.

The Emperor had time, before leaving Vienna, to receive a deputation

from four of the mayors of the city of Paris, who came to congratulate

him on his victories. Shortly afterward he departed for Munich, having

announced that he was about to place the regal crown on the head of the

Elector of Bavaria, and to conclude the marriage of Prince Eugène.

The Empress, who had been staying at Munich for some time, was overjoyed

at a union which would ally her son with the greatest houses of Europe.

She greatly wished that Mme. Louis Bonaparte should be present at the

ceremony; but the request met with an obstinate refusal from Louis, and,

as usual, his wife was obliged to submit.

The Emperor, who also wished to introduce a kinswoman to the Bavarians,

summoned Mme. Murat to Munich. She came thither with mingled feelings.

The pleasure of being regarded as a person of importance, and of

displaying herself, was damped by the elevation of the Beauharnais

family; and she had some difficulty, as I shall presently relate, in

concealing her dissatisfaction.

M. de Talleyrand returned to the Court after signing the treaty, and

once more peace seemed restored to Europe—at any rate, for a time.

Peace was signed on Christmas Day, 1805.

In this treaty the Emperor of Austria recognized the Emperor Napoleon as

King of Italy. He ceded the Venetian States to the kingdom of Italy. He

recognized the Electors of Bavaria and Würtemburg as kings, ceding to

the former several principalities and the Tyrol, to the latter a number

of towns, and to the Elector of Baden part of the Brisgau.

The Emperor Napoleon undertook to obtain the principality of Würzburg

from the King of Bavaria for the Archduke Ferdinand, who had been Grand

Duke of Tuscany. The Venetian States were to be handed over within a

fortnight. These were the principal conditions of the treaty.

[End of Volume I]

TRANSCRIBER NOTES

Misspelled words and printer errors have been corrected including

Schônbrunn to Schönbrunn and cortége to cortège throughout both volumes.

Inconsistencies in punctuation have been maintained.

Some illustrations were moved to facilitate page layout.

[The end of _Memoirs of the Empress Josephine, Vol. I_, by Madame de

Rémusat.]