Little accustomed to such experiences, and entirely unnerved, I went to

the Emperor's room; and when his Majesty entered I was still so agitated

that my face was wet with tears. His Majesty wished to know what had

happened, and I related to him the attack which had just been made upon

me by the grand marshal. "You are very foolish to cry," said the

Emperor; "calm yourself, and say to the grand marshal that I wish to

speak to him."

His Excellency came at once in response to the Emperor's invitation, and

I announced him. "See," said he, pointing to me, "see into what a state

you have thrown this fellow! What has he done to be thus treated?" The

grand marshal bowed without replying, but with a very dissatisfied air;

and the Emperor went on to say that he should have given me his orders

more clearly, and that any one was excusable for not executing an order

not plainly given. Then turning toward me, his Majesty said, "Monsieur

Constant, you may be certain this will not occur again."

This simple affair furnishes a reply to many false accusations against

the Emperor. There was an immense distance between the grand marshal of

the palace and the simple valet de chambre of his Majesty, and yet the

marshal was reprimanded for a wrong done to the valet de chambre.

The Emperor showed the utmost impartiality in meting out justice in his

domestic affairs; and never was the interior of a palace better governed

than his, owing to the fact that in his household he alone was master.

The grand marshal felt unkindly toward me for sometime after; but, as I

have already said, he was an excellent man, his bad humor soon passed

away, and so completely, that on my return to Paris he requested me to

stand for him at the baptism of the child of my father-in-law, who had

begged him to be its godfather; the godmother was Josephine, who was kind

enough to choose my wife to represent her. M. le Duke de Frioul did

things with as much nobility and magnanimity as grace; and afterwards I

am glad to be able to state in justice to his memory, he eagerly seized

every occasion to be useful to me, and to make me forget the discomfort

his temporary excitement had caused me.

I fell ill at Valladolid with a violent fever a few days before his

Majesty's departure. On the day appointed for leaving, my illness was at

its height; aid as the Emperor feared that the journey might increase, or

at any rate prolong, my illness, he forbade my going, and set out without

me, recommending to the persons whom he left at Valladolid to take care

of my health. When I had gotten somewhat better I was told that his

Majesty had left, whereupon I could no longer be controlled, and against

my physician's orders, and in spite of my feebleness, in spite of

everything, in fact, had myself placed in a carriage and set out. This

was wise; for hardly had I put Valladolid two leagues behind me, than I

felt better, and the fever left me. I arrived at Paris five or six days

after the Emperor, just after his Majesty had appointed the Count

Montesquiou grand chamberlain in place of Prince Talleyrand, whom I met

that very day, and who seemed in no wise affected by this disgrace,

perhaps he was consoled by the dignity of vice-grand elector which was

bestowed on him in exchange.

CHAPTER XIV.

The Emperor arrived at Paris on the 23d of January, and passed the

remainder of the winter there, with the exception of a few days spent at

Rambouillet and Saint-Cloud.

On the very day of his arrival in Paris, although he must have been much

fatigued by an almost uninterrupted ride from Valladolid, the Emperor

visited the buildings of the Louvre and the rue de Rivoli.

His mind was full of what he had seen at Madrid, and repeated suggestions

to M. Fontaine and the other architects showed plainly his desire to make

the Louvre the finest palace in the world. His Majesty then had a report

made him as to the chateau of Chambord, which he wished to present to the

Prince of Neuchatel. M. Fontaine found that repairs sufficient to make

this place a comfortable residence would amount to 1,700,000 francs, as

the buildings were in a state of decay, and it had hardly been touched

since the death of Marshal Sage.

His Majesty passed the two months and a half of his stay working in his

cabinet, which he rarely left, and always unwillingly; his amusements

being, as always, the theater and concerts. He loved music passionately,

especially Italian music, and like all great amateurs was hard to please.

He would have much liked to sing had he been able, but he had no voice,

though this did not prevent his humming now and then pieces which struck

his fancy; and as these little reminiscences usually recurred to him in

the mornings, he regaled me with them while he was being dressed. The

air that I have heard him thus mutilate most frequently was that of The

Marseillaise. The Emperor also whistled sometimes, but very rarely; and

the air, 'Malbrook s'en va-t-en guerre', whistled by his Majesty was an

unerring announcement to me of his approaching departure for the army.

I remember that he never whistled so much, and was never so gay, as just

before he set out for the Russian campaign.

His Majesty's, favorite singer were Crescentini and Madame Grassini.

I saw Crescentini's debut at Paris in the role of Romeo, in Romeo and

Juliet. He came preceded by a reputation as the first singer of Italy;

and this reputation was found to be well deserved, notwithstanding all

the prejudices he had to overcome, for I remember well the disparaging

statements made concerning him before his debut at the court theater.

According to these self-appointed connoisseurs, he was a bawler without

taste, without method, a maker of absurd trills, an unimpassioned actor

of little intelligence, and many other things besides. He knew, when he

appeared on the stage, how little disposed in his favor his audience

were, yet he showed not the slightest embarrassment; this, and his noble,

dignified mien, agreeably surprised those who expected from what they had

been told to behold an awkward man with an ungainly figure. A murmur of

approbation ran through the hall on his appearance; and electrified by

this welcome, he gained all hearts from the first act. His movements

were full of grace and dignity; he had a perfect knowledge of the scene,

modest gestures perfectly in harmony with the dialogue, and a countenance

on which all shades of passion were depicted with the most astonishing

accuracy; and all these rare and precious qualities combined to give to

the enchanting accents of this artist a charm of which it is impossible

to give an idea.

At each scene the interest he inspired became more marked, until in the

third act the emotion and delight of the spectator were carried almost to

frenzy. In this act, played almost solely by Crescentini, this admirable

singer communicated to the hearts of his audience all that is touching

and, pathetic in a love expressed by means of delicious melody, and by

all that grief and despair can find sublime in song.

The Emperor was enraptured, and sent Crescentini a considerable

compensation, accompanied by most flattering testimonials of the pleasure

he had felt in hearing him.

On this day, as always when they played together afterwards, Crescentini

was admirably supported by Madame Grassini, a woman of superior talent,

and who possessed the most astonishing voice ever heard in the theater.

She and Madame Barilli then divided the admiration of the public.

The very evening or the day after the debut of Crescentini, the French

stage suffered an irreparable loss in the death of Dazincourt, only sixty

years of age. The illness of which he died had begun on his return from

Erfurt, and was long and painful; and yet the public, to whom this great

comedian had so long given such pleasure, took no notice of him after it

was found his sickness was incurable and his death certain. Formerly

when a highly esteemed actor was kept from his place for some time by

illness (and who deserved more esteem than Dazincourt?), the pit was

accustomed to testify its regret by inquiring every day as to the

condition of the afflicted one, and at the end of each representation the

actor whose duty it was to announce the play for the next day gave the

audience news of his comrade. This was not done for Dazincourt, and the

pit thus showed ingratitude to him.

I liked and esteemed sincerely Dazincourt, whose acquaintance I had made

several years before his death; and few men better deserved or so well

knew how to gain esteem and affection. I will not speak of his genius,

which rendered him a worthy successor of Preville, whose pupil and

friend he was, for all his contemporaries remember Figaro as played by

Dazincourt; but I will speak of the nobility of his character, of his

generosity, and his well-tested honor. It would seem that his birth and

education should have kept him from the theater, where circumstances

alone placed him; but he was able to protect himself against the

seductions of his situation, and in the greenroom, and in the midst of

domestic intrigues, remained a man of good character and pure manners.

He was welcomed in the best society, where he soon became a favorite by

his piquant sallies, as much as by his good manners and urbanity, for he

amused without reminding that he was a comedian.

At the end of February his Majesty went to stay for some time at the

palace of the Elysee; and there I think was signed the marriage contract

of one of his best lieutenants, Marshal Augereau, recently made Duke of

Castiglione, with Mademoiselle Bourlon de Chavanges, the daughter of an

old superior officer; and there also was rendered the imperial decree

which gave to the Princess Eliza the grand duchy of Tuscany, with the

title of grand duchess.

About the middle of March, the Emperor passed several days at

Rambouillet; there were held some exciting hunts, in one of which his

Majesty himself brought to bay and killed a stag near the pool of

Saint-Hubert. There was also a ball and concert, in which appeared

Crescentini, Mesdames Grassini, Barelli, and several celebrated

virtuosos, and lastly Talma recited.

On the 13th of April, at four o'clock in the morning, the Emperor having

received news of another invasion of Bavaria by the Austrians, set out

for Strasburg with the Empress, whom he left in that city; and on the

15th, at eleven o'clock in the morning, he passed the Rhine at the head

of his army. The Empress did not long remain alone, as the Queen of

Holland and her sons, the Grand Duchess of Baden and her husband, soon

joined her.

The splendid campaign of 1809 at once began. It is known how glorious it

was, and that one of its least glorious victories was the capture of

Vienna.

At Ratisbon, on the 23d of April, the Emperor received in his right foot

a spent ball, which gave him quite a severe bruise. I was with the

service when several grenadiers hastened to tell me that his Majesty was

wounded, upon which I hastened to him, and arrived while M. Yvan was

dressing the contusion. The Emperor's boot was cut open, and laced up,

and he remounted his horse immediately; and, though several of the

generals insisted on his resting, he only replied: "My friends, do you

not know that it is necessary for me to see everything?" The enthusiasm

of the soldiers cannot be expressed when they learned that their chief

had been wounded, though his wound was not dangerous. "The Emperor is

exposed like us," they said; "he is not a coward, not he." The papers

did not mention this occurrence.

Before entering a battle, the Emperor always ordered that, in case he was

wounded, every possible measure should be taken to conceal it from his

troops. "Who knows," said he, "what terrible confusion might be produced

by such news? To my life is attached the destiny of a great Empire.

Remember this, gentlemen; and if I am wounded, let no one know it, if

possible. If I am slain, try to win the battle without me; there will be

time enough to tell it afterwards."

Two weeks after the capture of Ratisbon, I was in advance of his Majesty

on the road to Vienna, alone in a carriage with an officer of the

household, when we suddenly heard frightful screams in a house on the

edge of the road. I gave orders to stop at once, and we alighted; and,

on entering the house, found several soldiers, or rather stragglers, as

there are in all armies, who, paying no attention to the alliance between

France and Bavaria, were treating most cruelly a family which lived in

this house, and consisted of an old grandmother, a young man, three

children, and a young girl.

Our embroidered coats had a happy effect on these madmen, whom we

threatened with the Emperor's anger; and we succeeded in driving them out

of the house, and soon after took our departure, overwhelmed with thanks.

In the evening I spoke to the Emperor of what I had done; and he approved

highly, saying, "It cannot be helped. There are always some cowardly

fellows in the army; and they are the ones who do the mischief. A brave

and good soldier would blush to do such things!"

I had occasion, in the beginning of these Memoirs, to speak of the

steward, M. Pfister, one of his Majesty's most faithful servants, and

also one of those to whom his Majesty was most attached. M. Pfister had

followed him to Egypt, and had faced countless dangers in his service.

The day of the battle of Landshut, which either preceded or followed very

closely the taking of Ratisbon this poor man became insane, rushed out of

his tent, and concealed himself in a wood near the field of battle, after

taking off all his clothing. At the end of a few hours his Majesty asked

for M. Pfister. He was sought for, and every one was questioned; but no

one could tell what had become of him. The Emperor, fearing that he

might have been taken prisoner, sent an orderly officer to the Austrians

to recover his steward, and propose an exchange; but the officer

returned, saying that the Austrians had not seen M. Pfister. The

Emperor, much disquieted, ordered a search to be made in the

neighborhood; and by this means the poor fellow was discovered entirely

naked, as I have said, cowering behind a tree, in a frightful condition,

his body torn by thorns. He was brought back, and having become

perfectly quiet, was thought to be well, and resumed his duties; but a

short time after our return to Paris he had a new attack. The character

of his malady was exceedingly obscene; and he presented himself before

the Empress Josephine in such a state of disorder, and with such indecent

gestures, that it was necessary to take precautions in regard to him.

He was confided to the care of the wise Doctor Esquirol, who, in spite of

his great skill, could not effect a cure. I went to see him often. He

had no more violent attacks; but his brain was diseased, and though he

heard and understood perfectly, his replies were those of a real madman.

He never lost his devotion to the Emperor, spoke of him incessantly, and

imagined himself on duty near him. One day he told me with a most

mysterious air that he wished to confide to me a terrible secret, the

plot of a conspiracy against his Majesty's life, handing me at the same

time a note for his Majesty, with a package of about twenty scraps of

paper, which he had scribbled off himself, and thought were the details

of the plot. Another time he handed me, for the Emperor, a handful of

little stones, which he called diamonds of great value. "There is more

than a million in what I hand you," said he. The Emperor, whom I told of

my visits, was exceedingly touched by the continued monomania of this

poor unfortunate, whose every thought, every act, related to his old

master, and who died without regaining his reason.

On the 10th of May, at nine o'clock in the morning, the first line of

defense of the Austrian capital was attacked and taken by Marshal Oudinot

the faubourgs surrendering at discretion. The Duke of Montebello then

advanced on the esplanade at the head of his division; but the gates

having been closed, the garrison poured a frightful discharge from the

top of the ramparts, which fortunately however killed only a very small

number. The Duke of Montebello summoned the garrison to surrender the

town, but the response of the Archduke Maximilian was that he would

defend Vienna with his last breath; which reply was conveyed to the

Emperor.

After taking counsel with his generals, his Majesty charged Colonel

Lagrange to bear a new demand to the archduke; but the poor colonel had

hardly entered the town than he was attacked by the infuriated populace.

General O'Reilly saved his life by having him carried away by his

soldiers; but the Archduke Maximilian, in order to defy the Emperor still

further, paraded in triumph in the midst of the national guard the

individual who has struck the first blow at the bearer of the French

summons. This attempt, which had excited the indignation of many of the

Viennese themselves, did not change his Majesty's intentions, as he

wished to carry his moderation and kindness as far as possible; and he

wrote to the archduke by the Prince of Neuchatel the following letter, a

copy of which accidentally fell into my hands:

"The Prince de Neuchatel to his Highness the Archduke Maximilian,

commanding the town of Vienna,

"His Majesty the Emperor and King desires to spare this large and

worthy population the calamities with which it is threatened, and

charges me to represent to your Highness, that if he continues the

attempt to defend this place, it will cause the destruction of one

of the finest cities of Europe. In every country where he has waged

war, my sovereign has manifested his anxiety to avoid the disasters

which armies bring on the population. Your Highness must be

persuaded that his Majesty is much grieved to see this town, which

he has the glory of having already saved, on the point of being

destroyed. Nevertheless, contrary to the established usage of

fortresses, your Highness has fired your cannon from the city walls,

and these cannon may kill, not an enemy of your sovereign, but the

wives or children of his most devoted servants. If your Highness

prolongs the attempt to defend the place, his Majesty will be

compelled to begin his preparations for attack; and the ruin of this

immense capital will be consummated in thirty-six hours, by the

shells and bombs from our batteries, as the outskirts of the town

will be destroyed by the effect of yours. His Majesty does not

doubt that these considerations will influence your Highness to

renounce a determination which will only delay for a short while the

capture of the place. If, however, your Highness has decided not to

pursue a course which will save the town from destruction, its

population plunged by your fault into such terrible misfortunes will

become, instead of faithful subjects, the enemies of your house."

This letter did not deter the grand duke from persisting in his defense;

and this obstinacy exasperated the Emperor to such a degree that he at

last gave orders to place two batteries in position, and within an hour

cannonballs and shells rained upon the town. The inhabitants, with true

German indifference, assembled on the hillsides to watch the effect of

the fires of attack and defense, and appeared much interested in the

sight. A few cannonballs had already fallen in the court of the Imperial

palace when a flag of truce came out of the town to announce that the

Archduchess Marie Louise had been unable to accompany her father, and was

ill in the palace, and consequently exposed to danger from the artillery;

and the Emperor immediately gave orders to change the direction of the

firing so that the bombs and balls would pass over the palace. The

archduke did not long hold out against such a sharp and energetic attack,

but fled, abandoning Vienna to the conquerors.

On the 12th of May the Emperor made his entrance into Vienna, one month

after the occupation of Munich by the Austrians. This circumstance made

a deep impression, and did much to foster the superstitious ideas which

many of the troops held in regard to the person of their chief. "See,"

said one, "he needed only the time necessary for the journey. That man

must be a god."--"He is a devil rather," said the Austrians, whose

stupefaction was indescribable. They had reached a point when many

allowed the arms to be taken out of their hands without making the least

resistance, or without even attempting to fly, so deep was their

conviction that the Emperor and his guard were not men, and that sooner

or later they must fall into the power of these supernatural enemies.

CHAPTER XV.

The Emperor did not remain in Vienna, but established his headquarters at

the chateau of Schoenbrunn, an imperial residence situated about half a

league from the town; and the ground in front of the chateau was arranged

for the encampment of the guard. The chateau of Schoenbrunn, erected by

the Empress Maria Theresa in 1754, and situated in a commanding position,

is built in a very irregular, and defective, but at the same time

majestic, style of architecture. In order to reach it, there has been

thrown over the little river, la Vienne, a broad and well-constructed

bridge, ornamented with four stone sphinxes; and in front of the bridge

is a large iron gate, opening on an immense court, in which seven or

eight thousand men could be drilled. This court is square, surrounded by

covered galleries, and ornamented with two large basins with marble

statues; and on each side of the gateway are two large obelisks in

rose-colored stone, surmounted by eagles of gilded lead.

'Schoenbrunn', in German, signifies beautiful fountain; and this name

comes from a clear and limpid spring, which rises in a grove in the park,

on a slight elevation, around which has been built a little pavilion,

carved on the inside to imitate stalactites. In this pavilion lies a

sleeping Naiad, holding in her hand a shell, from which the water gushes

and falls into a marble basin. This is a delicious retreat in summer.

We can speak only in terms of admiration regarding the interior of the

palace, the furniture of which was handsome and of an original and

elegant style. The Emperor's sleeping-room, the only part of the

building in which there was a fireplace, was ornamented with wainscoting

in Chinese lacquer work, then very old, though the painting and gilding

were still fresh, and the cabinet was decorated like the bedroom; and all

the apartments, except this, were warmed in winter by immense stoves,

which greatly injured the effect of the interior architecture. Between

the study and the Emperor's room was a very curious machine, called the

flying chariot, a kind of mechanical contrivance, which had been made for

the Empress Maria Theresa, and was used in conveying her from one story

to the other, so that she might not be obliged to ascend and descend

staircases like the rest of the world. This machine was operated by

means of cords, pulleys, and weights, like those at the theater.

The beautiful grove which serves as park and garden to the palace of

Schoenbrunn is much too small to belong to an imperial residence; but,

on the other hand, it would be hard to find one more beautiful or better

arranged. The park of Versailles is grander and more imposing; but it

has not the picturesque irregularity, the fantastic and unexpected

beauties, of the park of Schoenbrunn, and more closely resembles the park

at Malmaison. In front of the interior facade of the palace was a

magnificent lawn, sloping down to a broad lake, decorated with a group of

statuary representing the triumph of Neptune. This group is very fine;

but French amateurs (every Frenchman, as you are aware, desires to be

considered a connoisseur) insisted that the women were more Austrian than

Grecian, and that they did not possess the slender grace belonging to

antique forms; and, for my part, I must confess that these statues did

not appear to me very remarkable.

At the end of the grand avenue, and bounding the horizon, rose a hill,

which overlooked the park, and was crowned by a handsome building, which

bore the name of la Gloriette. This building was a circular gallery,

inclosed with glass, supported by a charming colonnade, between the

arches of which hung various trophies. On entering the avenue from the

direction of Vienna, la Gloriette rose at the farther end, seeming almost

to form a part of the palace; and the effect was very fine.

What the Austrians especially admired in the palace of Schoenbrunn was a

grove, containing what they called the Ruins, and a lake with a fountain

springing from the midst, and several small cascades flowing from it; by

this lake were the ruins of an aqueduct and a temple, fallen vases,

tombs, broken bas-reliefs, statues without heads, arms, or limbs, while

limbs, arms, and heads lay thickly scattered around; columns mutilated

and half-buried, others standing and supporting the remains of pediments

and entablatures; all combining to form a scene of beautiful disorder,

and representing a genuine ancient ruin when viewed from a short

distance. Viewed more closely, it is quite another thing: the hand of

the modern sculptor is seen; it is evident that all these fragments are

made from the same kind of stone; and the weeds which grow in the hollows

of these columns appear what they really are, that is to say, made of

stone, and painted to imitate verdure.

But if the productions of art scattered through the park of Schoenbrunn

were not all irreproachable, those of nature fully made up the

deficiency. What magnificent trees! What thick hedges! What dense and

refreshing shade! The avenues were remarkably high and broad, and

bordered with trees, which formed a vault impenetrable to the sun, while

the eye lost itself in their many windings; from these other smaller

walks diverged, where fresh surprises were in store at every step. At

the end of the broadest of these was placed the menagerie, which was one

of the most extensive and varied in Europe, and its construction, which

was very ingenious, might well serve as a model; it was shaped like a

star, and in the round center of this star had been erected a small but

very elegant kiosk, placed there by the Empress Maria Theresa as a

resting-place for herself, and from which the whole menagerie could be

viewed at leisure.

Each point of this star formed a separate garden, where there could be

seen elephants, buffaloes, camels, dromedaries, stags, and kangaroos

grazing; handsome and substantial cages held tigers, bears, leopards,

lions, hyenas, etc; and swans and rare aquatic birds and amphibious

animals sported in basins surrounded by iron gratings. In this menagerie

I specially remarked a very extraordinary animal, which his Majesty had

ordered brought to France, but which had died the day before it was to

have started. This animal was from Poland, and was called a 'curus'; it

was a kind of ox, though much larger than an ordinary ox, with a mane

like a lion, horns rather short and somewhat curved, and enormously large

at the base.

Every morning, at six o'clock, the drums beat, and two or three hours

after the troops were ordered to parade in the court of honor; and at

precisely ten o'clock his Majesty descended, and put himself at the head

of his generals.

It is impossible to give an idea of these parades, which in no particular

resembled reviews in Paris. The Emperor, during these reviews,

investigated the smallest details, and examined the soldiers one by one,

so to speak, looked into the eyes of each to see whether there was

pleasure or work in his head, questioned the officers, sometimes also the

soldiers themselves; and it was usually on these occasions that the

Emperor made his promotions. During one of these reviews, if he asked a

colonel who was the bravest officer in his regiment, there was no

hesitation in his answer; and it was always prompt, for he knew that the

Emperor was already well informed on this point. After the colonel had

replied, he addressed himself to all the other officers, saying, "Who is

the bravest among you?"--"Sire, it is such an one;" and the two answers

were almost always the same. "Then," said the Emperor, "I make him a

baron; and I reward in him, not only his own personal bravery, but that

of the corps of which he forms a part. He does not owe this favor to me

alone, but also to the esteem of his comrades." It was the same case

with the soldiers; and those most distinguished for courage or good

conduct were promoted or received rewards, and sometimes pensions, the

Emperor giving one of twelve hundred francs to a soldier, who, on his

first campaign, had passed through the enemy's squadron, bearing on his

shoulders his wounded general, protecting him as he would his own father.

On these reviews the Emperor could be seen personally inspecting the

haversacks of the soldiers, examining their certificates, or taking a gun

from the shoulders of a young man who was weak, pale; and suffering, and

saying to him, in a sympathetic tone, "That is too heavy for you." He

often drilled them himself; and when he did not, the drilling was

directed by Generals Dorsenne, Curial, or Mouton. Sometimes he was

seized with a sudden whim; for example, one morning, after reviewing a

regiment of the Confederation, he turned to the ordnance officers, and

addressing Prince Salm, who was among them, remarked "M. de Salm, the

soldiers ought to get acquainted with you; approach, and order them to

make a charge in twelve movements." The young prince turned crimson,

without being disconcerted, however, bowed, and drawing his sword most

gracefully, executed the orders of the Emperor with an ease and precision

which charmed him.

Another day, as the engineer corps passed with about forty wagons, the

Emperor cried, "Halt!" and pointing out a wagon to General Bertrand,

ordered him to summon one of the officers. "What does that wagon

contain?"--"Sire, bolts, bags of nails, ropes, hatchets, and saws."--

"How much of each?" The officer gave the exact account. His Majesty, to

verify this report, had the wagon emptied, counted the pieces, and found

the number correct; and in order to assure himself that nothing was left

in the wagon, climbed up into it by means of the wheel, holding on to the

spokes. There was a murmur of approbation and cries of joy all along the

line. "Bravo!" they said; "well and good! that is the way to make sure

of not being deceived." All these things conspired to make the soldiers

adore the Emperor.

CHAPTER XVI.

At one of the reviews which I have just described, and which usually

attracted a crowd of curious people from Vienna and its suburbs, the

Emperor came near being assassinated. It was on the 13th of October,

his Majesty had just alighted from his horse, and was crossing the court

on foot with the Prince de Neuchatel and General Rapp beside him, when a

young man with a passably good countenance pushed his way rudely through

the crowd, and asked in bad French if he could speak to the Emperor. His

Majesty received him kindly, but not understanding his language, asked

General Rapp to see what the young man wanted, and the general asked him

a few questions; and not satisfied apparently with his answers, ordered

the police-officer on duty to remove him. A sub-officer conducted the

young man out of the circle formed by the staff, and drove him back into

the crowd. This circumstance had been forgotten, when suddenly the

Emperor, on turning, found again near him the pretended suppliant, who

had returned holding his right hand in his breast, as if to draw a

petition from the pocket of his coat. General Rapp seized the man by the

arm, and said to him, "Monsieur, you have already been ordered away; what

do you want?" As he was about to retire a second time the general,

thinking his appearance suspicious, gave orders to the police-officer to

arrest him, and he accordingly made a sign to his subalterns. One of

them seizing him by the collar shook him slightly, when his coat became

partly unbuttoned, and something fell out resembling a package of papers;

on examination it was found to be a large carving knife, with several

folds of gray paper wrapped around it as a sheath; thereupon he was

conducted to General Savary.

This young man was a student, and the son of a Protestant minister of

Naumbourg; he was called Frederic Stabs, and was about eighteen or

nineteen years old, with a pallid face and effeminate features. He did

not deny for an instant that it was his intention to kill the Emperor;

but on the contrary boasted of it, and expressed his intense regret that

circumstances had prevented the accomplishment of his design.

He had left his father's house on a horse which the want of money had

compelled him to sell on the way, and none of his relatives or friends

had any knowledge of his plan. The day after his departure he had

written to his father that he need not be anxious about him nor the

horse; that he had long since promised some one to visit Vienna, and his

family would soon hear of him with pride. He had arrived at Vienna only

two days before, and had occupied himself first in obtaining information

as to the Emperor's habits, and finding that he held a review every

morning in the court of the chateau, had been there once in order to

acquaint himself with the locality. The next day he had undertaken to

make the attack, and had been arrested.

The Duke of Rovigo, after questioning Stabs, sought the Emperor, who had

returned to his apartments, and acquainted him with the danger he had

just escaped. The Emperor at first shrugged his shoulders, but having

been shown the knife which had been taken from Stabs, said, "Ah, ha!

send for the young man; I should like very much to talk with him." The

duke went out, and returned in a few moments with Stabs. When the latter

entered, the Emperor made a gesture of pity, and said to the Prince de

Neuchatel, "Why, really, he is nothing more than a child!" An interpreter

was summoned and the interrogation begun.

His Majesty first asked the assassin if he had seen him, anywhere before

this. "Yes; I saw you," replied Stabbs, "at Erfurt last year."--"It

seems that a crime is nothing in your eyes. Why did you wish to kill

me?"--"To kill you is not a crime; on the contrary, it is the duty of

every good German. I wished to kill you because you are the oppressor of

Germany."--"It is not I who commenced the war; it is your nation. Whose

picture is this?" (the Emperor held in his hands the picture of a woman

that had been found on Stabs). "It is that of my best friend, my

father's adopted daughter."--"What! and you are an assassin! and have

no fear of afflicting and destroying beings who are so dear to you?"--"I

wished to do my duty, and nothing could have deterred me from it."--"But

how would you have succeeded in, striking me?"--"I would first have

asked you if we were soon to have peace; and if you had answered no, I

should have stabbed you."--"He is mad!" said the Emperor; "he is

evidently mad! And how could you have hoped to escape, after you had

struck me thus in the midst of my soldiers?"--"I knew well to what I was

exposing myself, and am astonished to be still alive." This boldness

made such a deep impression on the Emperor that he remained silent for

several moments, intently regarding Stabs, who remained entirely unmoved

under this scrutiny. Then the Emperor continued, "The one you love will

be much distressed."--"Oh, she will no doubt be distressed because I did

not succeed, for she hates you at least as much as I hate you myself."--

"Suppose I pardoned you?"--"You would be wrong, for I would again try to

kill you." The Emperor summoned M. Corvisart and said to him, "This

young man is either sick or insane, it cannot be otherwise."--"I am

neither the one nor the other," replied the assassin quickly.

M. Corvisart felt Stabs's pulse. "This gentleman is well," he said.

"I have already told you so," replied Stabs with a triumphant air.--

"Well, doctor," said his Majesty, "this young man who is in such good

health has traveled a hundred miles to assassinate me."

Notwithstanding this declaration of the physician and the avowal of

Stabs, the Emperor, touched by the coolness and assurance of the

unfortunate fellow, again offered him his pardon, upon the sole condition

of expressing some repentance for his crime; but as Stabs again asserted

that his only regret was that he had not succeeded in his undertaking,

the Emperor reluctantly gave him up to punishment.

After he was conducted to prison, as he still persisted in his

assertions, he was immediately brought before a military commission,

which condemned him to death. He did not undergo his punishment till the

17th; and after the 13th, the day on which he was arrested, took no food,

saying that he would have strength enough to go to his death. The

Emperor had ordered that the execution should be delayed as long as

possible, in the hope that sooner or later Stabs would repent; but he

remained unshaken. As he was being conducted to the place where he was

to be shot, some one having told him that peace had just been concluded,

he cried in a loud voice, "Long live liberty! Long live Germany!"

These were his last words.

CHAPTER XVII.

During his stay at Schoenbrunn the Emperor was constantly engaged in

gallant adventures. He was one day promenading on the Prater in Vienna,

with a very numerous suite (the Prater is a handsome promenade situated

in the Faubourg Leopold), when a young German, widow of a rich merchant,

saw him, and exclaimed involuntarily to the ladies promenading with her,

"It is he!" This exclamation was overheard by his Majesty, who stopped

short, and bowed to the ladies with a smile, while the one who had spoken

blushed crimson; the Emperor comprehended this unequivocal sign, looked

at her steadfastly, and then continued his walk.

For sovereigns there are neither long attacks nor great difficulties, and

this new conquest of his Majesty was not less rapid than the others. In

order not to be separated from her illustrious lover, Madame B----

followed the army to Bavaria, and afterwards came to him at Paris, where

she died in 1812.

His Majesty's attention was attracted by a charming young person one

morning in the suburbs of Schoenbrunn; and some one was ordered to see

this young lady, and arrange for a rendezvous at the chateau the

following evening. Fortune favored his Majesty on this occasion. The

eclat of so illustrious a name, and the renown of his victories, had

produced a deep impression on the mind of the young girl, and had

disposed her to listen favorably to the propositions made to her. She

therefore eagerly consented to meet him at the chateau; and at the

appointed hour the person of whom I have spoken came for her, and I

received her on her arrival, and introduced her to his Majesty. She did

not speak French, but she knew Italian well, and it was consequently easy

for the Emperor to converse with her; and he soon learned with

astonishment that this charming young lady belonged to a very honorable

family of Vienna, and that in coming to him that evening she was inspired

alone by a desire to express to him her sincere admiration. The Emperor

respected the innocence of the young girl, had her reconducted to her

parents' residence, and gave orders that a marriage should be arranged

for her, and that it should be rendered more advantageous by means of a

considerable dowry.

At Schoenbrunn, as at Paris, his Majesty dined habitually at six o'clock;

but since he worked sometimes very far into the night, care was taken to

prepare every evening a light supper, which was placed in a little locked

basket covered with oil-cloth. There were two keys to this basket; one

of which the steward kept, and I the other. The care of this basket

belonged to me alone; and as his Majesty was extremely busy, he hardly

ever asked for supper. One evening Roustan, who had been busily occupied

all day in his master's service, was in a little room next to the

Emperor's, and meeting me just after I had assisted in putting his

Majesty to bed, said to me in his bad French, looking at the basket with

an envious eye, "I could eat a chicken wing myself; I am very hungry."

I refused at first; but finally, as I knew that the Emperor had gone to

bed, and had no idea he would take a fancy to ask me for supper that

evening, I let Roustan have it. He, much delighted, began with a leg,

and next took a wing; and I do not know if any of the chicken would have

been left had I not suddenly heard the bell ring sharply. I entered the

room, and was shocked to hear the Emperor say to me, "Constant, my

chicken." My embarrassment may be imagined. I had no other chicken; and

by what means, at such an hour, could I procure one! At last I decided

what to do. It was best to cut up the fowl, as thus I would be able to

conceal the absence of the two limbs Roustan had eaten; so I entered

proudly with the chicken replaced on the dish Roustan following me, for I

was very willing, if there were any reproaches, to share them with him.

I picked up the remaining wing, and presented it to the Emperor; but he

refused it, saying to me, "Give me the chicken; I will choose for

myself." This time there was no means of saving ourselves, for the

dismembered chicken must pass under his Majesty's eyes. "See here," said

he, "since when did chickens begin to have only one wing and one leg?

That is fine; it seems that I must eat what others leave. Who, then,

eats half of my supper?" I looked at Roustan, who in confusion replied,

"I was very hungry, Sire, and I ate a wing and leg."--"What, you idiot!

so it was you, was it?"

"Ah, I will punish you for it." And without another word the Emperor ate

the remaining leg and wing.

The next day at his toilet he summoned the grand marshal for some

purpose, and during the conversation said, "I leave you to guess what I

ate last night for my supper. The scraps which M. Roustan left. Yes,

the wretch took a notion to eat half of my chicken." Roustan entered at

that moment. "Come here, you idiot," continued the Emperor; "and the

next time this happens, be sure you will pay for it." Saying this, he

seized him by the ears and laughed heartily.

CHAPTER XVIII.

On the 22d of May, ten days after the triumphant entry of the Emperor

into the Austrian capital, the battle of Essling took place, a bloody

combat lasting from four in the morning till six in the evening. This

battle was sadly memorable to all the old soldiers of the Empire, since

it cost the life of perhaps the bravest of them all,--the Duke of

Montebello, the devoted friend of the Emperor, the only one who shared

with Marshal Augereau the right to speak to him frankly face to face.

The evening before the battle the marshal entered his Majesty's

residence, and found him surrounded by several persons. The Duke of----

always undertook to place himself between the Emperor and persons who

wished to speak with him. The Duke of Montebello, seeing him play his

usual game, took him by the lappet of his coat, and, wheeling him around,

said to him: "Take yourself away from here! The Emperor does not need

you to stand guard. It is singular that on the field of battle you are

always so far from us that we cannot see you, while here we can say

nothing to the Emperor without your being in the way." The duke was

furious. He looked first at the marshal, then at the Emperor, who simply

said, "Gently Lannes."

That evening in the domestic apartments they were discussing this

apostrophe of the marshal's. An officer of the army of Egypt said that

he was not surprised, since the Duke of Montebello had never forgiven the

Duke of ---- for the three hundred sick persons poisoned at Jaffa.

Dr. Lannefranque, one of those who attended the unfortunate Duke of

Montebello, said that as he was mounting his horse on starting to the

island of Lobau, the duke was possessed by gloomy presentiments. He

paused a moment, took M. Lannefranque's hand, and pressed it, saying to

him with a sad smile, "Au revoir; you will soon see us again, perhaps.

There will be work for you and for those gentlemen to-day," pointing to

several surgeons and doctors standing near. "M. le Duc," replied

Lannefranque, "this day will add yet more to your glory."--"My glory,"

interrupted the marshal eagerly; "do you wish me to speak frankly? I do

not approve very highly of this affair; and, moreover, whatever may be

the issue, this will be my last battle." The doctor wished to ask the

marshal his reasons for this conviction; but he set off at a gallop, and

was soon out of sight.

On the morning of the battle, about six or seven o'clock, the Austrians

had already advanced, when an aide-de-camp came to announce to his

Majesty that a sudden rise in the Danube had washed down a great number

of large trees which had been cut down when Vienna was taken, and that

these trees had driven against and broken the bridges which served as

communication between Essling and the island of Lobau; and in consequence

of this the reserve corps, part of the heavy cavalry, and Marshal

Davoust's entire corps, found themselves forced to remain inactive on the

other side. This misfortune arrested the movement which the Emperor was

preparing to make, and the enemy took courage.

The Duke of Montebello received orders to hold the field of battle, and

took his position, resting on the village of Essling, instead of

continuing the pursuit of the Austrians which he had already begun, and

held this position from nine o'clock in the morning till the evening; and

at seven o'clock in the evening the battle was gained. At six o'clock

the unfortunate marshal, while standing on an elevation to obtain a

better view of the movements, was struck by a cannon-ball, which broke

his right thigh and his left knee.

He thought at first that he had only a few moments to live, and had

himself carried on a litter to the Emperor, saying that he wished to

embrace him before he died. The Emperor, seeing him thus weltering in

his blood, had the litter placed on the ground, and, throwing himself on

his knees, took the marshal in his arms, and said to him, weeping,

"Lannes, do you know me?"--"Yes, Sire; you are losing your best friend."

--"No! no! you will live. Can you not answer for his life, M.

Larrey?" The wounded soldiers hearing his Majesty speak thus, tried to

rise on their elbows, and cried, "Vive l'Empereur!"

The surgeons carried the marshal to a little village called Ebersdorf, on

the bank of the river, and near the field of battle. At the house of a

brewer they found a room over a stable where the heat was stifling, and

was rendered still more unendurable from the odor of the corpses by which

the house was surrounded.

But as no other place could be found, it was necessary to make the best

of it. The marshal bore the amputation of his limb with heroic courage;

but the fever which came on immediately was so violent that, fearing he

would die under the operation, the surgeons postponed cutting off his

other leg. This fever was caused partly by exhaustion, for at the time

he was wounded the marshal had eaten nothing for twenty-four hours.

Finally Messieurs Larrey,

[Baron Dominique Jean Larrey, eminent surgeon, born at

Bagneres-de -Bigorre, 1766. Accompanied Napoleon to Egypt.

Surgeon-in-chief of the grand army, 1812. Wounded and taken

prisoner at Waterloo. In his will the Emperor styles him the best

man he had ever known. Died 1842.]

Yvan, Paulet, and Lannefranque decided on the second amputation; and

after this had been performed the quiet condition of the wounded man made

them hopeful of saving his life. But it was not to be. The fever

increased, and became of a most alarming character; and in spite of the

attentions of these skillful surgeons, and of Doctor Frank, then the most

celebrated physician in Europe, the marshal breathed his last on the 31st

of May, at five o'clock in the morning, barely forty years of age.

During his week of agony (for his sufferings may be called by that name)

the Emperor came often to see him, and always left in deep distress. I

also went to see the marshal each day for the Emperor, and admired the

patience with which he endured these sufferings, although he had no hope;

for he knew well that he was dying, and saw these sad tidings reflected

in every face. It was touching and terrible to see around his house, his

door, in his chamber even, these old grenadiers of the guard, always

stolid and unmoved till now, weeping and sobbing like children. What an

atrocious thing war seems at such moments.

The evening before his death the marshal said to me, "I see well, my dear

Constant, that I must die. I wish that your master could have ever near

him men as devoted as I. Tell the Emperor I would like to see him." As

I was going out the Emperor entered, a deep silence ensued, and every one

retired; but the door of the room being half open we could hear a part of

the conversation, which was long and painful. The marshal recalled his

services to the Emperor, and ended with these words, pronounced in tones

still strong and firm: "I do not say this to interest you in my family; I

do not need to recommend to you my wife and children. Since I die for

you, your glory will bid you protect them; and I do not fear in

addressing you these last words, dictated by sincere affection, to change

your plans towards them. You have just made a great mistake, and

although it deprives you of your best friend you will not correct it.

Your ambition is insatiable, and will destroy you. You sacrifice

unsparingly and unnecessarily those men who serve you best; and when they

fall you do not regret them. You have around you only flatterers; I see

no friend who dares to tell you the truth. You will be betrayed and

abandoned. Hasten to end this war; it is the general wish. You will

never be more powerful, but you may be more beloved. Pardon these truths

in a dying man--who, dying, loves you."

The marshal, as he finished, held out his hand to the Emperor, who

embraced him, weeping, and in silence.

The day of the marshal's death his body was given to M. Larrey and M.

Cadet de Gassicourt, ordinary chemist to the Emperor, with orders to

preserve it, as that of Colonel Morland had been, who was killed at the

battle of Austerlitz. For this purpose the corpse was carried to

Schoenbrunn, and placed in the left wing of the chateau, far from the

inhabited rooms. In a few hours putrefaction became complete, and they

were obliged to plunge the mutilated body into a bath filled with

corrosive sublimate. This extremely dangerous operation was long and

painful; and M. Cadet de Gassicourt deserves much commendation for the

courage he displayed under these circumstances; for notwithstanding every

precaution, and in spite of the strong disinfectants burned in the room,

the odor of this corpse was so fetid, and the vapor from the sublimate so

strong, that the distinguished chemist was seriously indisposed.

Like several other persons, I had a sad curiosity to see the marshal's

body in this condition. It was frightful. The trunk, which had been

covered by the solution, was greatly swollen; while on the contrary, the

head, which had been left outside the bath, had shrunk remarkably, and

the muscles of the face had contracted in the most hideous manner, the

wide-open eyes starting out of their sockets. After the body had

remained eight days in the corrosive sublimate, which it was necessary to

renew, since the emanations from the interior of the corpse had

decomposed the solution, it was put into a cask made for the purpose, and

filled with the same liquid; and it was in this cask that it was carried

from Schoenbrunn to Strasburg. In this last place it was taken out of

the strange coffin, dried in a net, and wrapped in the Egyptian style;

that is, surrounded with bandages, with the face uncovered. M. Larrey

and M. de Gassicourt confided this honorable task to M. Fortin, a young

chemist major, who in 1807 had by his indefatigable courage and

perseverance saved from certain death nine hundred sick, abandoned,

without physicians or surgeons, in a hospital near Dantzic, and nearly

all suffering from an infectious malady. In the month of March, 1810

(what follows is an extract from the letter of M. Fortin to his master

and friend M. Cadet de Gassicourt), the Duchess of Montebello, in passing

through Strasburg, wished to see again the husband she loved so tenderly.

"Thanks to you and M. Larrey (it is M. Fortin who speaks), the embalming

of the marshal has succeeded perfectly. When I drew the body from the

cask I found it in a state of perfect preservation. I arranged a net in

a lower hall of the mayor's residence, in which I dried it by means of a

stove, the heat being carefully regulated. I then had a very handsome

coffin made of hard wood well oiled; and the marshal wrapped in bandages,

his face uncovered, was placed in an open coffin near that of General

Saint-Hilaire in a subterranean vault, of which I have the key. A

sentinel watches there day and night. M. Wangen de Gueroldseck, mayor of

Strasburg, has given me every assistance in my work.

"This was the state of affairs when, an hour after her Majesty the

Empress's arrival, Madame, the Duchess of Montebello, who accompanied her

as lady of honor, sent M. Cretu, her cousin at whose house she was to

visit, to seek me. I came in answer to her orders; and the duchess

questioned and complimented me on the honorable mission with which I was

charged, and then expressed to me, with much agitation, her desire to see

for the last time the body of her husband. I hesitated a few moments

before answering her, and foreseeing the effect which would be produced

on her by the sad spectacle, told her that the orders which I had

received would prevent my doing what she wished; but she insisted in such

a pressing manner that I yielded. We agreed (in order not to compromise

me, and that she might not be recognized) that I would-go for her at

midnight, and that she would be accompanied by one of her relatives.

"I went to the duchess at the appointed hour; and as soon as I arrived,

she rose and said that she was ready to accompany me. I waited a few

moments, begging her to consider the matter well. I warned her of the

condition in which she would find the marshal, and begged her to reflect

on the impression she would receive in the sad place she was about to

visit. She replied that she was well, prepared for this, and felt that

she had the necessary, courage, and she hoped to find in this last visit

some amelioration of the bitter sorrow she endured. While speaking thus,

her sad and beautiful countenance was calm and pensive. We then started,

M. Cretu giving his arm to his cousin. The duchess's carriage followed

at a distance, empty; and two servants followed us.

"The city was illuminated; and the good inhabitants were all taking

holiday, and in many houses gay music was inspiriting them to the

celebration of this memorable day. What a contrast between this gayety

and the quest in which we were engaged! I saw that the steps of the

duchess dragged now and then, while she sighed and shuddered; and my own

heart seemed oppressed, my ideas confused.

"At last we arrived at the mayor's residence, where Madame de Montebello

gave her servants orders to await her, and descended slowly, accompanied

by her cousin and myself, to the door of the lower hall. A lantern

lighted our way, and the duchess trembled while she affected a sort of

bravery; but when she entered a sort of cavern, the silence of the dead

which reigned in this subterranean vault, the mournful light which filled

it, the sight of the corpse extended in its coffin, produced a terrible

effect on her; she gave a piercing scream, and fainted. I had foreseen

this, and had watched her attentively; and as soon as I saw her strength

failing, supported her in my arms and seated her, having in readiness

everything necessary to restore her. I used these remedies, and she

revived at the end of a few moments; and we then begged her to withdraw,

but she refused; then rose, approached the coffin, and walked around it

slowly in silence; then stopping and letting her folded hands fall by her

side, she remained for some time immovable, regarding the inanimate

figure of her husband, and watering it with her tears. At last she in a

measure regained her self-control and exclaimed in stifled tones through

her sobs, Mon Dieu, mon Dieu! how he is changed!' I made a sign to M.

Cretu that it was time to retire; but we could drag the duchess away only

by promising her to bring her back next day,--a promise which could not

be kept. I closed the door quickly, and gave my arm to the duchess,

which she gratefully accepted. When we left the mayoralty I took leave

of her; but she insisted on my entering her carriage, and gave orders to

carry me to my residence. In this short ride she shed a torrent of

tears; and when the carriage stopped, said to me with inexpressible

kindness, 'I shall never forget, Monsieur, the important service you have

just rendered me.'"

Long after this the Emperor and Empress Marie Louise visited together

the manufacture of Sevres porcelain, and the Duchess of Montebello

accompanied the Empress as lady of honor. The Emperor, seeing a fine

bust of the marshal, in bisque, exquisitely made, paused, and, not

noticing the pallor which overspread the countenance of the duchess,

asked her what she thought of this bust, and if it was a good likeness.

The widow felt as if her old wound was reopened; she could not reply, and

retired, bathed in tears, and it was several days before she reappeared

at court. Apart from the fact that this unexpected question renewed her

grief, the inconceivable thoughtlessness the Emperor had shown wounded

her so deeply that, her friends had much difficulty in persuading her to

resume her duties near the Empress.

CHAPTER XIX.

The battle of Essling was disastrous in every respect. Twelve thousand

Frenchmen were slain; and the source of all this trouble was the

destruction of the bridges, which could have been prevented, it seems to

me, for the same accident had occurred two or three days before the

battle. The soldiers complained loudly, and several corps of the

infantry cried out to the generals to dismount and fight in their midst;

but this ill humor in no wise affected their courage or patience, for

regiments remained five hours under arms, exposed to the most terrible

fire. Three times during the evening the Emperor sent to inquire of

General Massena if he could hold his position; and the brave captain, who

that day saw his son on the field of battle for the first time, and his

friends and his bravest officers falling by dozens around him, held it

till night closed in. "I will not fall back," said he, "while there is

light. Those rascally Austrians would be too glad." The constancy of

the marshal saved the day; but, as he himself said, he was always blessed

with good luck. In the beginning of the battle, seeing that one of his

stirrups was too long, he called a soldier to shorten it, and during this

operation placed his leg on his horse's neck; a cannon-ball whizzed by,

killed the soldier, and cut off the stirrup, without touching the marshal

or his horse. "There," said he, "now I shall have to get down and change

my saddle;" which observation the marshal made in a jesting tone.

The surgeon and his assistants conducted themselves admirably on this

terrible day, and displayed a zeal equal to every emergency, combined

with an activity which delighted the Emperor so much, that several times,

in passing near them, he called them "my brave surgeons." M. Larrey

above all was sublime. After having attended to all the wounded of the

guard, who were crowded together on the Island of Lobau, he asked if

there was any broth to give them. "No," replied the assistants. "Have

some made," said he, "have some made of that group," pointing to several

horses near him; but these horses belonged to a general, and when it was

attempted to carry out M. Larrey's orders, the owner indignantly refused

to allow them to be taken. "Well, take mine then," said the brave

soldier, "and have them killed, in order that my comrades may have

broth." This was done; and as no pots could be found on the island it

was boiled in helmets, and salted with cannon powder in place of salt.

Marshal Massena tasted this soup, and thought it very good. One hardly

knows which to admire most,--the zeal of the surgeons, the courage with

which they confronted danger in caring for the wounded on the field of

battle, and even in the midst of the conflict; or the stoical constancy

of the soldiers, who, lying on the ground, some without an arm, some

without a leg, talked over their campaigns with each other while waiting

to be operated on, some even going so far as to show excessive

politeness. "M. Docteur, begin with my neighbor; he is suffering more

than I. I can wait."

A cannoneer had both legs carried away by a ball; two of his comrades

picked him up and made a litter with branches of trees, on which they

placed him in order to convey him to the island. The poor mutilated

fellow did not utter a single groan, but murmured, "I am very thirsty,"

from time to time, to those who bore him. As they passed one of the

bridges, he begged them to stop and seek a little wine or brandy to

restore his strength. They believed him, and did as he requested, but

had not gone twenty steps when the cannoneer called to them, "Don't go so

fast, my comrades; I have no legs, and I will reach the end of my journey

sooner than you. 'Vive la France;'" and, with a supreme effort, he

rolled off into the Danube.

The conduct of a surgeon-major of the guard, some time after, came near

compromising the entire corps in his Majesty's opinion. This surgeon, M.

M----, lodged with General Dorsenne and some superior officers in a

pretty country seat, belonging to the Princess of Lichtenstein, the

concierge of the house being an old German who was blunt and peculiar,

and served them with the greatest repugnance, making them as

uncomfortable as possible. In vain, for instance, they requested of him

linen for the beds and table; he always pretended not to hear.

General Dorsenne wrote to the princess, complaining of this condition of

affairs; and in consequence she no doubt gave orders, but the general's

letter remained unanswered, and several days passed with no change of

affairs. They had had no change of napkins for a month, when the general

took a fancy to give a grand supper, at which Rhenish and Hungarian wine

were freely indulged in, followed by punch. The host was highly

complimented; but with these praises were mingled energetic reproaches on

the doubtful whiteness of the napery, General Dorsenne excusing himself

on the score of the ill-humor and sordid economy of the concierge, who

was a fit exponent of the scant courtesy shown by the princess. "That is

unendurable!" cried the joyous guests in chorus. "This hostess who so

completely ignores us must be called to order. Come, M----, take pen and

paper and write her some strong epigrams; we must teach this princess of

Germany how to live. French officers and conquerors sleeping in rumpled

sheets, and using soiled napkins! What an outrage!" M. M was only too

faithful an interpreter of the unanimous sentiments of these gentlemen;

and under the excitement of the fumes of these Hungarian wines wrote the

Princess of Lichtenstein a letter such as during the Carnival itself one

would not dare to write even to public women. How can I express what

must have been Madame Lichtenstein's horror on reading this

production,--an incomprehensible collection of all the low expressions

that army slang could furnish! The evidence of a third person was

necessary to convince her that the signature, M----, Surgeon-major of

the Imperial French Guard, was not the forgery of some miserable

drunkard. In her profound indignation the princess hastened to General

Andreossy, his Majesty's Governor of Vienna, showed him this letter, and

demanded vengeance. Whereupon the general, even more incensed than she,

entered his carriage, and, proceeding to Schoenbrunn, laid the wonderful

production before the Emperor. The Emperor read it, recoiled three

paces, his cheeks reddened with anger, his whole countenance was

disturbed, and in a terrible tone ordered the grand marshal to summon

M. M----, while every one waited in trembling suspense.

"Did you write this disgusting letter?"--"Sire."--"Reply, I order you;

was it you?"--"Yes, Sire, in a moment of forgetfulness, after a supper."

--"Wretch!" cried his Majesty, in such a manner as to terrify all who

heard him. "You deserve to be instantly shot! Insult a woman so basely!

And an old woman too. Have you no mother? I respect and honor every old

woman because she reminds me of my mother!"--"Sire, I am guilty, I admit,

but my repentance is great. Deign to remember my services. I have

followed you through eighteen campaigns; I am the father of a family."

These last words only increased the anger of his Majesty. "Let him be

arrested! Tear off his decorations; he is unworthy to wear them. Let

him be tried in twenty-four hours." Then turning to the generals, who

stood stupefied and immovable around him, he exclaimed, "Look, gentlemen!

read this! See how this blackguard addresses a princess, and at the very

moment when her husband is negotiating a peace with me."

The parade was very short that day; and as soon as it was ended, Generals

Dorsenne and Larrey hastened to Madame Lichtenstein, and, describing to

her the scene which had just taken place, made her most humble apologies,

in the name of the Imperial Guard, and at the same time entreated her to

intercede for the unfortunate fellow, who deserved blame, no doubt, but

who was not himself when he wrote the offensive epistle. "He repents

bitterly, Madame," said good M. Larrey; "he weeps over his fault, and

bravely awaits his punishment, esteeming it a just reparation of the

insult to you. But he is one of the best officers of the army; he is

beloved and esteemed; he has saved the life of thousands, and his

distinguished talents are the only fortune his family possesses. What

will become of them if he is shot?"--"Shot!" exclaimed the princess;

"shot! Bon-Dieu! would the matter be carried as far as that?" Then

General Dorsenne described to her the Emperor's resentment as

incomparably deeper than her own; and the princess, much moved,

immediately wrote the Emperor a letter, in which she expressed herself as

grateful, and fully satisfied with the reparation which had already been

made, and entreated him to pardon M. M----

His Majesty read the letter, but made no reply. The princess was again

visited; and she had by this time become so much alarmed that she

regretted exceedingly having shown the letter of M. M---- to the general;

and, having decided at any cost to obtain the surgeon's pardon, she

addressed a petition to the Emperor, which closed with this sentence,

expressing angelic forgiveness: "Sire, I am going to fall on my knees in

my oratory, and will not rise until I have obtained from Heaven your

Majesty's pardon." The Emperor could no longer hold out; he granted the

pardon, and M. M---- was released after a month of close confinement.

M. Larrey was charged by his Majesty to reprove him most severely, with a

caution to guard more carefully the honor of the corps to which he

belonged; and the remonstrances of this excellent man were made in so

paternal a manner that they doubled in M. M----'s eyes the value of the

inestimable service M. Larrey had rendered him.

M. le Baron Larrey was always most disinterested in his kind services, a

fact which was well known and often abused. General d'A----, the son of

a rich senator, had his shoulder broken by a shell at Wagram; and an

exceedingly delicate operation was found necessary, requiring a skilled

hand, and which M. Larrey alone could perform. This operation was a

complete success; but the wounded man had a delicate constitution, which

had been much impaired, and consequently required the most incessant care

and attention. M. Larrey hardly ever left his bedside, and was assisted

by two medical students, who watched by turns, and assisted him in

dressing the wound. The treatment was long and painful, but a complete

cure was the result; and when almost entirely recovered, the general took

leave of the Emperor to return to France. A pension and decorations

canceled the debt of the head of the state to him, but the manner in

which he acquitted his own towards the man who had saved his life is

worthy of consideration.

As he entered his carriage he handed to one of his friends a letter and a

little box, saying to this general, "I cannot leave Vienna without

thanking M. Larrey; do me the favor of handing to him for me this mark of

my gratitude. Good Larrey, I will never forget the services he has

rendered me." Next day the friend performed his commission; and a

soldier was sent with the letter and the present, and, as he reached

Schoenbrunn during the parade, sought M. Larrey in the line. "Here is a

letter and a box which I bring from General A----." M. Larrey put both

in his pocket, but after the parade examined them, and showed the package

to Cadet de Gassicourt, saying, "Look at it, and tell me what you think

of it." The letter was very prettily written; as for the box, it

contained a diamond worth about sixty francs.

This pitiful recompense recalls one both glorious and well-earned which

M. Larrey received from the Emperor during the campaign in Egypt. At the

battle of Aboukir, General Fugieres was operated on by M. Larrey under

the enemies' fire for a dangerous wound on the shoulder; and thinking

himself about to die, offered his sword to General Bonaparte, saying

to him, "General, perhaps one day you may envy my fate." The

general-in-chief presented this sword to M. Larrey, after having

engraved on it the name of M. Larrey and that of the battle. However,

General Fugieres did not die; his life was saved by the skillful

operation he had undergone, and for seventeen years he commanded the

Invalids at Avignon.

CHAPTER XX.

It is not in the presence of the enemy that differences in the manner and

bearing of soldiers can be remarked, for the requirements of the service

completely engross both the ideas and time of officers, whatever their

grade, and uniformity of occupation produces also a kind of uniformity of

habit and character; but, in the monotonous life of the camp, differences

due to nature and education reassert themselves. I noted this many times

after the truces and treaties of peace which crowned the most glorious

campaigns of the Emperor, and had occasion to renew my observations on

this point during the long sojourn which we made at Schoenbrunn with the

army. Military tone in the army is a most difficult thing to define, and

differs according to rank, time of service, and kind of service; and

there are no genuine soldiers except those who form part of the line, or

who command it. In the soldiers' opinion, the Prince de Neuchatel and

his brilliant staff, the grand marshal, Generals Bertrand, Bacler d'Albe,

etc., were only men of the cabinet council, whose experience might be of

some use in such deliberations, but to whom bravery was not

indispensable.

The chief generals, such as Prince Eugene, Marshals Oudinot, Davoust,

Bessieres, and his Majesty's aides-decamp, Rapp, Lebrun, Lauriston,

Mouton, etc., were exceedingly affable, and every one was most politely

received by them; their dignity never became haughtiness, nor their ease

an excessive familiarity, though their manners were at all times slightly

tinged by the austerity inseparable from the character of a warrior.

This was not the idea held in the army in regard to a few of the ordnance

and staff officers (aides-de-camp); for, while according them all the

consideration due both to their education and their courage, they called

them the jay-birds of the army; receiving favors which others deserved;

obtaining cordons and promotions for carrying a few letters into camp,

often without having even seen the enemy; insulting by their luxury the

modest temperance of the braver officers; and more foppish in the midst

of their battalions than in the boudoirs of their mistresses. The

silver-gilt box of one of these gentlemen was a complete portable

dressing-case, and contained, instead of cartridges, essence bottles,

brushes, a mirror, a tongue-scraper, a shell-comb, and--I do not know

that it lacked even a pot of rouge. It could not be said that they were

not brave, for they would allow themselves to be killed for a glance;

but they were very, rarely exposed to danger. Foreigners would be right

in maintaining the assertion that the French soldier is frivolous,

presumptuous, impertinent, and immoral, if they formed their judgment

alone from these officers by courtesy, who, in place of study and

faithful service, had often no other title to their rank than the merit

of having emigrated.

The officers of the line, who had served in several campaigns and had

gained their epaulettes on the field of battle, held a very different

position in the army. Always grave, polite, and considerate, there was a

kind of fraternity among them; and having known suffering and misery

themselves, they were always ready to help others; and their

conversation, though not distinguished by brilliant information, was

often full of interest. In nearly every case boasting quitted them with

their youth, and the bravest were always the most modest. Influenced by

no imaginary points of honor, they estimated themselves at their real

worth; and all fear of being suspected of cowardice was beneath them.

With these brave soldiers, who often united to the greatest kindness of

heart a mettle no less great, a flat contradiction or even a little hasty

abuse from one of their brothers in arms was not obliged to be washed out

in blood; and examples of the moderation which true courage alone has a

right to show were not rare in the army. Those who cared least for

money, and were most generous, were most exposed, the artillerymen and

the hussars, for instance. At Wagram I saw a lieutenant pay a louis for

a bottle of brandy, and immediately divide it among the soldiers of his

company; and brave officers often formed such an attachment to their

regiment, especially if it had distinguished itself, that they sometimes

refused promotion rather than be separated from their children, as they

called them. In them we behold the true model of the French soldier; and

it is this kindness, mingled with the austerity of a warrior, this

attachment of the chief to the soldier, which the latter is so capable of

appreciating, and an impregnable honor, which serve to distinguish our

soldiers from all others, and not, as foreigners think, presumption,

braggadocio, and libertinage, which latter are ever the characteristics

of the parasites of glory alone.

In the camp of Lobau on the evening before the battle of Wagram, the

Emperor, as he was walking outside his tent, stopped a moment watching

the grenadiers of his guard who were breakfasting. "Well, my children,

what do you think of the wine?"--"It will not make us tipsy, Sire; there

is our cellar," said a soldier pointing to the Danube. The Emperor, who

had ordered a bottle of good wine to be distributed to each soldier, was

surprised to see that they were so abstemious the evening before a

battle. He inquired of the Prince de Neuchatel the cause of this; and

upon investigation, it was learned that two storekeepers and an employee

in the commissary department had sold forty thousand bottles of the wine

which the Emperor had ordered to be distributed, and had replaced it with

some of inferior quality. This wine had been seized by the Imperial

Guard in a rich abbey, and was valued at thirty thousand florins. The

culprits were arrested, tried, and condemned to death.

There was in the camp at Lobau a dog which I think all the army knew by

the name of corps-de-garde. He was old, emaciated, and ugly; but his

moral qualities caused his exterior defects to be quickly lost sight of.

He was sometimes called the brave dog of the Empire; since he had

received a bayonet stroke at Marengo, and had a paw broken by a gun at

Austerlitz, being at that time attached to a regiment of dragoons. He

had no master. He was in the habit of attaching himself to a corps, and

continuing faithful so long as they fed him well and did not beat him.

A kick or a blow with the flat of a sword would cause him to desert this

regiment, and pass on to another. He was unusually intelligent; and

whatever position of the corps in which he might be the was serving, he

did not abandon it, or confound it with any other, and in the thickest of

the fight was always near the banner he had chosen; and if in the camp he

met a soldier from the regiment he had deserted, he would droop his ears,

drop his tail between his legs, and scamper off quickly to rejoin his new

brothers in arms. When his regiment was on the march he circled as a

scout all around it, and gave warning by a bark if he found anything

unusual, thus on more than one occasion saving his comrades from ambush.

Among the officers who perished at the battle of Wagram, or rather in a

small engagement which took place after the battle had ended, one of

those most regretted by the soldiers was General Oudet. He was one of

the bravest generals of the army; but what brings his name especially to

mind, among all those whom the army lost on that memorable day, is a note

which I have preserved of a conversation I held several years after this

battle with an excellent officer who was one of my sincerest friends.

In a conversation with Lieutenant-colonel B---- in 1812, he remarked, "I

must tell you, my dear Constant, of a strange adventure which happened to

me at Wagram. I did not tell you at the time, because I had promised to

be silent; but since at the present time no one can be compromised by my

indiscretion, and since those who then had most to fear if their singular

ideas (for I can call them by no other name) had been revealed, would now

be first to laugh at them, I can well inform you of the mysterious

discovery I made at that period.

"You well know that I was much attached to poor F---- whom we so much

regretted; and he was one of our most popular and attractive officers,

his good qualities winning the hearts of all, especially of those who

like himself had an unfailing fund of frankness and good humor. All at

once I noticed a great change in his manner, as well as in that of his

habitual companions; they appeared gloomy, and met together no more for

gay conversation, but on the contrary spoke in low tones and with an air

of mystery. More than once this sudden change had struck me; and if by

chance I met them in retired places, instead of receiving me cordially as

had always been their custom, they seemed as if trying to avoid me. At

last, weary of this inexplicable mystery, I took F---- aside, and asked

him what this strange conduct meant. 'You have forestalled me, my dear

friend,' said he. 'I was on the point of making an important disclosure;

I trust you will not accuse me of want of confidence, but swear to me

before I confide in you that you will tell no living soul what I am now

going to reveal.' When I had taken this oath, which he demanded of me in

a tone of gravity which surprised me inexpressibly, he continued, 'If I

have not already told you of the 'Philadelphi', it is only because I knew

that reasons which I respect would prevent your ever joining them; but

since you have asked this secret, it would be a want of confidence in

you, and at the same time perhaps an imprudence, not to reveal it. Some

patriots have united themselves under the title of 'Philadelphi', in

order to save our country from the dangers to which it is exposed. The

Emperor Napoleon has tarnished the glory of the First Consul Bonaparte;

he had saved our liberty, but he has since destroyed it by the

reestablishment of the nobility and by the Concordat. The society of the

'Philadelphi' has as yet no well-defined plans for preventing the evils

with which ambition will continue to overwhelm France; but when peace is

restored we shall see if it is impossible to force Bonaparte to restore

republican institutions, and meanwhile we are overcome by grief and

despair. The brave chief of the 'Philadelphi', the pure Oudet, has been

assassinated, and who is worthy to take his place? Poor Oudet! never

was one braver or more eloquent than he! With a noble haughtiness and an

immovable firmness of character, he possessed an excellent heart. His

first battle showed his intrepid spirit. When cut down at Saint

Bartholomew by a ball, his comrades wished to bear him away, "No, no,"

cried he; "don't waste time over me. The Spaniards! the Spaniards!"--

"Shall we leave you to the enemy?" said one of those who had advanced

towards him. "Well, drive them back if you do not wish me to be left

with them." At the beginning of the campaign of Wagram, he was colonel

of the Ninth regiment of the line, and was made general of brigade on the

evening before the battle, his corps forming part of the left wing

commanded by Massena. Our line was broken on this side for a moment, and

Oudet made heroic efforts to reform it; and after he had been wounded by

three bayonet strokes, with the loss of much blood, and dragged away by

those of us who were forced to fall back, still had himself fastened on

his horse in order that he might not be forced to leave the battlefield.

"After the battle, he received orders to advance to the front, and to

place himself with his regiment in an advantageous position for

observation, and then return immediately to headquarters, with a certain

number of his officers, to receive new orders. He executed these orders,

and was returning in the night, when a discharge of musketry was suddenly

heard, and he fell into an ambush; he fought furiously in the darkness,

knowing neither the number nor character of his adversaries, and at break

of day was found, covered with wounds, in the midst of twenty officers

who had been slain around him. He was still breathing, and lived three

days; but the only words he pronounced were those of commiseration for

the fate of his country. When his body was taken from the hospital to

prepare it for burial, several of the wounded in their despair tore the

bandages from their wounds, a sergeant-major threw himself on his sword

near the grave, and a lieutenant there blew out his brains. Behold,'

said F----, 'a death that plunges us into the deepest despair!' I tried

to prove to him that he was mistaken, and that the plans of the

'Philadelphi' were mad, but succeeded very imperfectly; and though he

listened to my advice, he again earnestly recommended secrecy."

The day after the battle of Wagram, I think, a large number of officers

were breakfasting near the Emperor's tent, the generals seated on the

grass, and the officers standing around them. They discussed the battle

at length, and related numerous remarkable anecdotes, some of which

remain engraven on my memory. A staff-officer of his Majesty said, "I

thought I had lost my finest horse. As I had ridden him on the 5th and

wished him to rest, I gave him to my servant to hold by the bridle; and

when he left him one moment to attend to his own, the horse was stolen in

a flash by a dragoon, who instantly sold him to a dismounted captain,

telling him he was a captured horse. I recognized him in the ranks, and

claimed him, proving by my saddle-bags and their contents that he was not

a horse taken from the Austrians, and had to repay the captain the five

louis which he had paid to the dragoon for this horse which had cost me

sixty."

The best anecdote, perhaps, of the day was this: M. Salsdorf, a Saxon,

and surgeon in Prince Christian's regiment, in the beginning of the

battle had his leg fractured by a shell. Lying on the ground, he saw,

fifteen paces from him, M. Amedee de Kerbourg, who was wounded by a

bullet, and vomiting blood. He saw that this officer would die of

apoplexy if something was not done for him, and collecting all his

strength, dragged himself along in the dust, bled him, and saved his

life.

M. de Kerbourg had no opportunity to embrace the one who had saved his

life; for M. de Salsdorf was carried to Vienna, and only survived the

amputation four days.

CHAPTER XXI.

At Schoenbrunn, as elsewhere, his Majesty marked his presence by his

benefactions. I still retain vivid recollections of an occurrence which

long continued to be the subject of conversation at this period, and the

singular details of which render it worthy of narration.

A little girl nine years old, belonging to a very wealthy and highly

esteemed family of Constantinople, was carried away by bandits as she was

promenading one day with her attendant outside the city. The bandits

carried their two captives to Anatolia, and there sold them. The little

girl, who gave promise of great beauty, fell to the lot of a rich

merchant of Broussa, the harshest, most severe, and intractable man of

the town; but the artless grace of this child touched even his ferocious

heart. He conceived a great affection for her, and distinguished her

from his other slaves by giving her only light employment, such as the

care of flowers, etc. A European gentleman who lived with this merchant

offered to take charge of her education; to which the man consented, all

the more willingly since she had gained his heart, and he wished to make

her his wife as soon as she reached a marriageable age. But the European

had the same idea; and as he was young, with an agreeable and intelligent

countenance, and very rich, he succeeded in winning the young slave's

affection; and she escaped one day from her master, and, like another

Heloise, followed her Abelard to Kutahie, where they remained concealed

for six months.

She was then ten years old. Her preceptor, who became more devoted to

her each day, carried her to Constantinople, and confided her to the care

of a Greek bishop, charging him to make her a good Christian, and then

returned to Vienna, with the intention of obtaining the consent of his

family and the permission of his government to marry a slave.

Two years then passed, and the poor girl heard nothing from her future

husband. Meanwhile the bishop had died, and his heirs had abandoned

Marie (this was the baptismal name of the convert); and she, with no

means and no protector, ran the risk of being at any moment discovered by

some relation or friend of her family--and it is well known that the

Turks never forgive a change of religion.

Tormented by a thousand fears, weary of her retreat and the deep

obscurity in which she was buried, she took the bold resolution of

rejoining her benefactor, and not deterred by dangers of the road set out

from Constantinople alone on foot. On her arrival in the capital of

Austria, she learned that her intended husband had been dead for more

than a year.

The despair into which the poor girl was plunged by this sad news can be

better imagined than described. What was to be done? What would become

of her? She decided to return to her family, and for this purpose

repaired to Trieste, which town she found in a state of great commotion.

It had just received a French garrison; but the disturbances inseparable

from war were not yet ended, and young Marie consequently entered a Greek

convent to await a suitable opportunity of returning to Constantinople.

There a sub-lieutenant of infantry, named Dartois, saw her, became madly

in love, won her heart, and married her at the end of a year.

The happiness which Madame Dartois now enjoyed did not cause her to

renounce her plan of visiting her own family; and, as she now had become

a Frenchwoman, she thought this title would accelerate her return to her

parents' favor. Her husband's regiment received orders to leave Trieste;

and this gave Madame Dartois the opportunity to renew her entreaties to

be allowed to visit Constantinople, to which her husband gave his

consent, not without explaining to her, however, all she had to fear, and

all the dangers to which this journey would again expose her. At last

she started, and a few days after her arrival was on the point of making

herself known to her family, when she recognized on the street through

her veil, the Broussan merchant, her former master, who was seeking her

throughout Constantinople, and had sworn to kill her on sight.

This terrible 'rencontre' threw her into such a fright, that for three

days she lived in constant terror, scarcely daring to venture out, even

on the most urgent business, and always fearing lest she should see again

the ferocious Anatolian. From time to time she received letters from her

husband, who still marched with the French army; and, as it was now

advancing, he conjured her in his last letters to return to France,

hoping to be able soon to rejoin her there.

Deprived of all hope of a reconciliation with her family, Madame Dartois

determined to comply with her husband's request; and, although the war

between Russia and Turkey rendered the roads very unsafe, she left

Constantinople in the month of July, 1809.

After passing through Hungary and the midst of the Austrian camp, Madame

Dartois bent her steps towards Vienna, where she had the sorrow to learn

that her husband had been mortally wounded at the battle of Wagram, and

was now in that town; she hastened to him, and he expired in her arms.

She mourned her husband deeply, but was soon compelled to think of the

future, as the small amount of money remaining to her when she left

Constantinople had been barely sufficient for the expenses of her

journey, and M. Dartois had left no property. Some one having advised

the poor woman to go to Schoenbrunn and ask his Majesty's assistance, a

superior officer gave her a letter of recommendation to M. Jaubert,

interpreting secretary of the Emperor.

Madame Dartois arrived as his Majesty was preparing to leave Schoenbrunn,

and made application to M. Jaubert, the Duke of Bassano, General Lebrun,

and many other persons who became deeply interested in her misfortunes.

The Emperor, when informed by the Duke of Bassano of the deplorable

condition of this woman, at once made a special order granting Madame

Dartois an annual pension of sixteen hundred francs, the first year of

which was paid in advance. When the Duke of Bassano announced to the

widow his Majesty's decision, and handed her the first year's pension,

she fell at his feet, and bathed them with her tears.

The Emperor's fete was celebrated at Vienna with much brilliancy; and as

all the inhabitants felt themselves obliged to illumine their windows,

the effect was extraordinarily brilliant. They had no set illuminations;

but almost all the windows had double sashes, and between these sashes

were placed lamps, candles, etc., ingeniously arranged, the effect of

which was charming. The Austrians appeared as gay as our soldiers; they

had not feted their own Emperor with so much ardor, and, though deep down

in their hearts they must have experienced a feeling of constraint at

such unaccustomed joy, appearances gave no sign of this.

On the evening of the fete, during the parade, a terrible explosion was

heard at Schoenbrunn, the noise of which seemed to come from the town;

and a few moments afterwards a gendarme appeared, his horse in a gallop.

"Oh, oh!" said Colonel Mechnem, "there must be a fire at Vienna, if a

gendarme is galloping." In fact, he brought tidings of a very deplorable

event. While an artillery company had been preparing, in the arsenal of

the town, numerous fireworks to celebrate his Majesty's fete, one of

them, in preparing a rocket, accidentally set the fuse on fire, and

becoming frightened threw it away from him. It fell on the powder which

the shop contained, and eighteen cannoneers were killed by the explosion,

and seven wounded.

During his Majesty's fete, as I entered his cabinet one morning, I found

with him M. Charles Sulmetter, commissary general of the police of

Vienna, whom I had seen often before. He had begun as head spy for the

Emperor; and this had proved such a profitable business that he had

amassed an income of forty thousand pounds. He had been born at

Strasburg; and in his early life had been chief of a band of smugglers,

to which vocation he was as wonderfully adapted by nature as to that

which he afterwards pursued. He admitted this in relating his

adventures, and maintained that smuggling and police service had many

points of similarity, since the great art of smuggling was to know how to

evade, while that of a spy was to know how to seek. He inspired such

terror in the Viennese that he was equal to a whole army-corps in keeping

them in subjection. His quick and penetrating glance, his air of

resolution and severity, the abruptness of his step and gestures, his

terrible voice, and his appearance of great strength, fully justified his

reputation; and his adventures furnish ample materials for a romance.

During the first campaigns of Germany, being charged with a message from

the French government to one of the most prominent persons in the

Austrian army, he passed among the enemy disguised as a German peddler,

furnished with regular passports, and provided with a complete stock of

diamonds and jewelry. He was betrayed, arrested, and searched; and the

letter concealed in the double bottom of a gold box was found, and very

foolishly read before him. He was tried and condemned to death, and

delivered to the soldiers by whom he was to be executed; but as night had

arrived by this time, they postponed his execution till morning. He

recognized among his guards a French deserter, talked with him, and

promised him a large sum of money: he had wine brought, drank with the

soldiers, intoxicated them, and disguised in one of their coats, escaped

with the Frenchman. Before re-entering the camp, however, he found means

to inform the person for whom the letter was intended, of its contents,

and of what had happened.

Countersigns difficult to remember were often given in the army in order

to attract the soldiers' attention more closely. One day the word was

Pericles, Persepolis; and a captain of the guard who had a better

knowledge of how to command a charge than of Greek history and geography,

not hearing it distinctly, gave as the countersign, 'perce l'eglise',

which mistake furnished much amusement. The old captain was not at all

angry, and said that after all he was not very far wrong.

The secretary of General Andreossy, Governor of Vienna, had an

unfortunate passion for gambling; and finding that he did not gain enough

to pay his debts, sold himself to the enemy. His correspondence was

seized; he admitted his treachery, and was condemned to death, and

in confronting death evinced astonishing self-possession. "Come nearer,"

said he to the soldiers who were to shoot, "so that you may see me

better, and I will have less to suffer."

In one of his excursions in the environs of Vienna, the Emperor met a

very young conscript who was rejoining his corps. He stopped him, asked

his name, his age, regiment, and country. "Monsieur," said the soldier,

who did not know him, "my name is Martin; I am seventeen years old, and

from the Upper Pyrenees."--"you are a Frenchman, then?"--"yes, Monsieur."

--"Ah, you are a miserable' Frenchman. Disarm this man, and hang him!"--

"Yes, you fool, I am French," repeated the conscript; "and Vive

l'Empereur!" His Majesty was much amused; the conscript was undeceived,

congratulated, and hastened to rejoin his comrades, with the promise of a

reward,--a promise which the Emperor was not slow to perform.

Two or three days before his departure from Schoenbrunn, the Emperor

again came near being assassinated. This time the attack was to have

been made by a woman.

The Countess at this time was well known, both on account of her

astonishing beauty and the scandal of her liaisons with Lord Paget, the

English ambassador.

It would be hard to find words which would truthfully describe the grace

and charms of this lady, whom the best society of Vienna admitted only

with the greatest repugnance, but who consoled herself for their scorn by

receiving at her own house the most brilliant part of the French army.

An army contractor conceived the idea of procuring this lady for the

Emperor, and, without informing his Majesty, made propositions to the

countess through one of his friends, a cavalry officer attached to the

military police of the town of Vienna.

The cavalry officer thought he was representing his Majesty, and in good

faith said to the countess that his Majesty was exceedingly anxious to

see her at Schoenbrunn. One morning, accordingly, he made propositions

for that evening, which, appearing somewhat abrupt to the countess, she

did not decide at once, but demanded a day for reflection, adding that

she must have good proof that the Emperor was really sincere in this

matter. The officer protested his sincerity, promised, moreover, to give

every proof she required, and made an appointment for that evening.

Having given the contractor an account of his negotiation, the latter

gave orders that a carriage, escorted by the cavalry officer, should be

ready for the countess on the evening indicated. At the appointed hour

the officer returned to the countess, expecting her to accompany him, but

she begged him to return next day, saying that she had not yet decided,

and needed the night for longer reflection. At the officer's

solicitations she decided, however, and appointed the next day, giving

her word of honor to be ready at the appointed hour.

The carriage was then sent away, and ordered for the next evening at the

same hour. This time the contractor's envoy found the countess well

disposed; she received him gayly, eagerly even, and told him that she had

given orders in regard to her affairs as if she were going on a journey;

then, regarding him fixedly, said, tutoying him, "You may return in an

hour and I will be ready; I will go to him, you may rely upon it.

Yesterday I had business to finish, but to-day I am free. If you are a

good Austrian, you will prove it to me; you know how much harm he has

done our country! This evening our country will be avenged! Come for

me; do not fail!"

The cavalry officer, frightened at such a confidence as this, was

unwilling to accept the responsibility, and repeated everything at the

chateau; in return for which the Emperor rewarded him generously, urged

him for his own sake not to see the countess again, and expressly forbade

his having anything more to do with the matter. All these dangers in no

wise-depressed the Emperor; and he had a habit of saying, "What have I to

fear? I cannot be assassinated; I can die only on the field of battle."

But even on the field of battle he took no care of himself, and at

Essling, for example, exposed himself like a chief of battalion who wants

to be a colonel; bullets slew those in front, behind, beside him, but he

did not budge. It was then that a terrified general cried, "Sire, if

your Majesty does not retire, it will be necessary for me to have you

carried off by my grenadiers." This anecdote proves took any precautions

in regard to himself. The signs of exasperation manifested by the

inhabitants of Vienna made him very watchful, however, for the safety of

his troops, and he expressly forbade their leaving their cantonments in

the evening. His Majesty was afraid for them.

The chateau of Schoenbrunn was the rendezvous of all the illustrious

savants of Germany; and no new work, no curious invention, appeared, but

the Emperor immediately gave orders to have the author presented to him.

It was thus that M. Maelzel, the famous inventor of metronomy, was

allowed the honor of exhibiting before his Majesty several of his own

inventions. The Emperor admired the artificial limbs intended to replace

more comfortably and satisfactorily than wooden ones those carried off by

balls, and gave him orders to have a wagon constructed to convey the

wounded from the field of battle. This wagon was to be of such a kind

that it could be folded up and easily carried behind men on horseback,

who accompanied the army, such as surgeons, aides, servants, etc. M.

Maelzel had also built an automaton known throughout Europe under the

name of the chess player, which he brought to Schoenbrunn to show to his

Majesty, and set it up in the apartments of the Prince de Neuchatel. The

Emperor visited the Prince; and I, in company with several other persons,

accompanied him, and found this automaton seated before a table on which

the chessmen were arranged. His Majesty took a chair, and seating himself

in front of the automaton, said, with a laugh, "Come, my comrade, we are

ready." The automaton bowed and made a sign with his hand to the

Emperor, as if to tell him to begin, upon which the game commenced. The

Emperor made two or three moves, and intentionally made a wrong one. The

automaton bowed, took the piece, and put it in its proper place. His

Majesty cheated a second time; the automaton bowed again, and took the

piece. "That is right," said the Emperor; and when he cheated a third

time, the automaton, passing his hand over the chess-board, spoiled the

game.

The Emperor complimented the inventor highly. As we left the room,

accompanied by the Prince de Neuchatel we found in the antechamber two

young girls, who presented to the prince, in the name of their mother, a

basket of beautiful fruit. As the prince welcomed them with an air of

familiarity, the Emperor, curious to find out who they were, drew near

and questioned them; but they did not understand French: Some one then

told his Majesty that these two pretty girls were daughters of a good

woman, whose life Marshal Berthier had saved in 1805. On this occasion

he was alone on horseback, the cold was terrible, and the ground covered

with snow, when he perceived, lying at the foot of a tree, a woman who

appeared to be dying, and had been seized with a stupor. The marshal

took her in his arms, and placed her on his horse with his cloak wrapped

around her, and thus conveyed her to her home, where her daughters were

mourning her absence. He left without making himself known; but they

recognized him at the capture of Vienna, and every week the two sisters

came to see their benefactor, bringing him flowers or fruit as a token of

their gratitude.

CHAPTER XXII.

Towards the end of September the Emperor made a journey to Raab; and, as

he was mounting his horse to return to his residence at Schoenbrunn, he

saw the bishop a few steps from him. "Is not that the bishop?" said he

to M. Jardin, who was holding his horse's head. "No, Sire, it is

Soliman."--"I asked you if that was not the bishop," repeated his

Majesty, pointing to the prelate. M. Jardin, intent on business, and

thinking only of the Emperor's horse which bore the name of Bishop, again

replied, "Sire, you forget that you rode him on the last relay." The

Emperor now perceived the mistake, and broke into a laugh. I was witness

at Wagram of an act which furnished a fine illustration of the Emperor's

kindness of heart and consideration for others, of which I have already

given several instances; for, although in the one I shall now relate, he

was forced to refuse an act of clemency, his very refusal challenges

admiration as an exhibition of the generosity and greatness of his soul.

A very rich woman, named Madame de Combray, who lived near Caen, allowed

her chateau to be occupied by a band of royalists, who seemed to think

they upheld their cause worthily by robbing diligences on the highway.

She constituted herself treasurer of this band of partisans, and

consigned the funds thus obtained to a pretended treasurer of Louis

XVIII. Her daughter, Madame Aquet, joined this troop, and, dressed in

men's clothing, showed most conspicuous bravery. Their exploits,

however, were not of long duration; and pursued and overcome by superior

forces, they were brought to trial, and Madame Aquet was condemned to

death with her accomplices. By means of a pretended illness she obtained

a reprieve, of which she availed herself to employ every means in her

power to obtain a pardon, and finally, after eight months of useless

supplications, decided to send her children to Germany to intercede with

the Emperor. Her physician, accompanied by her sister and two daughters,

reached Schoenbrunn just as the Emperor had gone to visit the field of

Wagram, and for an entire day awaited the Emperor's return on the steps

of the palace; and these children, one ten, the other twelve, years old,

excited much interest. Notwithstanding this, their mother's crime was a

terrible one; for although in political matters opinions may not be

criminal, yet under every form of government opinions are punished, if

thereby one becomes a robber and an assassin. The children, clothed in

black, threw themselves at the Emperor's feet, crying, "Pardon, pardon,

restore to us our mother." The Emperor raised them tenderly, took the

petition from the hands of the aunt, read every word attentively, then

questioned the physician with much interest, looked at the children,

hesitated--but just as I, with all who witnessed this touching scene,

thought he was going to pronounce her pardon, he recoiled several steps,

exclaiming, "I cannot do it!" His changing color, eyes suffused with

tears, and choking voice, gave evidence of the struggle through which he

was passing; and witnessing this, his refusal appeared to me an act of

sublime courage.

Following upon the remembrance of these violent crimes, so much the more

worthy of condemnation since they were the work of a woman, who, in order

to abandon herself to them, was forced to begin by trampling under foot

all the gentle and modest virtues of her sex, I find recorded in my notes

an act of fidelity and conjugal tenderness which well deserved a better

result. The wife of an infantry colonel, unwilling to be parted from her

husband, followed the march of his regiment in a coach, and on the days

of battle mounted a horse and kept herself as near as possible to the

line. At Friedland she saw the colonel fall, pierced by a ball, hastened

to him with her servant, carried him from the ranks, and bore him away in

an ambulance, though too late, for he was already dead. Her grief was

silent, and no one saw her shed a tear. She offered her purse to a

surgeon, and begged him to embalm her husband's corpse, which was done as

well as possible under the circumstances; and she then had the corpse

wrapped in bandages, placed in a box with a lid, and put in a carriage,

and seating herself beside it, the heart-broken widow set out on her

return to France. A grief thus repressed soon affected her mind; and at

each halt she made on the journey, she shut herself up with her precious

burden, drew the corpse from its bog, placed it on a bed, uncovered its

face, and lavished on it the most tender caresses, talking to it as if it

was living, and slept beside it. In the morning she replaced her husband

in the box, and, resuming her gloomy silence, continued her route. For

several days her secret remained unknown, and was discovered only a few

days before she reached Paris.

The body had not been embalmed in such a manner as to preserve it long

from decay; and this soon reached such a point, that, when she arrived at

an inn, the horrible odor from the box aroused suspicion, and the unhappy

wife's room was entered that evening, and she was found clasping in her

arms the already sadly disfigured corpse of her husband. "Silence," she

cried to the frightened innkeeper. "My husband is asleep, why do you

come to disturb his glorious rest?" With much difficulty the corpse was

removed from the arms of the insane woman who had guarded it with such

jealous care, and she was conveyed to Paris, where she afterward died,

without recovering her reason for an instant.

There was much astonishment at the chateau of Schoenbrunn because the

Archduke Charles never appeared there; for he was known to be much

esteemed by the Emperor, who never spoke of him except with the highest

consideration. I am entirely ignorant what motives prevented the prince

from coming to Schoenbrunn, or the Emperor from visiting him; but,

nevertheless, it is a fact, that, two or three days before his departure

from Munich, his Majesty one morning attended a hunting-party, composed

of several officers and myself; and that we stopped at a hunting-box

called la Venerie on the road between Vienna and Bukusdorf, and on our

arrival we found the Archduke Charles awaiting his Majesty, attended by a

suite of only two persons. The Emperor and the archduke remained for a

long while alone in the pavilion; and we did not return to Schoenbrunn

until late in the evening.

On the 16th of October at noon the Emperor left this residence with his

suite, composed of the grand marshal, the Duke of Frioul; Generals Rapp,

Mouton, Savary, Nansouty, Durosnell and Lebrun; of three chamberlains; of

M. Labbe, chief of the topographical bureau; of M. de Meneval, his

Majesty's secretary, and M. Yvan; and accompanied by the Duke of Bassano,

and the Duke of Cadore, then minister of foreign relations.

We arrived at Passau on the morning of the 18th; and the Emperor passed

the entire day in visiting Forts Maximilian and Napoleon, and also seven

or eight redoubts whose names recalled the principal battles of the

campaign. More than twelve thousand men were working on these important

fortifications, to whom his Majesty's visit was a fete. That evening we

resumed our journey, and two days after we were at Munich.

At Augsburg, on leaving the palace of the Elector of Treves, the Emperor

found in his path a woman kneeling in the dust, surrounded by four

children; he raised her up and inquired kindly what she desired. The

poor woman, without replying, handed his Majesty a petition written in

German, which General Rapp translated. She was the widow of a German

physician named Buiting, who had died a short time since, and was well

known in the army from his faithfulness in ministering to the wounded

French soldiers when by chance any fell into his hands. The Elector of

Treves, and many persons of the Emperor's suite, supported earnestly this

petition of Madame Buiting, whom her husband's death had reduced almost

to poverty, and in which she besought the Emperor's aid for the children

of this German physician, whose attentions had saved the lives of so many

of his brave soldiers. His Majesty gave orders to pay the petitioner the

first year's salary of a pension which he at once allowed her; and when

General Rapp had informed the widow of the Emperor's action, the poor

woman fainted with a cry of joy.

I witnessed another scene which was equally as touching. When the

Emperor was on the march to Vienna, the inhabitants of Augsburg, who had

been guilty of some acts of cruelty towards the Bavarians, trembled lest

his Majesty should take a terrible revenge on them; and this terror was

at its height when it was learned that a part of the French army was to

pass through the town.

A young woman of remarkable beauty, only a few months a widow, had

retired to this place with her child in the hope of being more quiet than

anywhere else, but, frightened by the approach of the troops, fled with

her child in her arms. But, instead of avoiding our soldiers as she

intended, she left Augsburg by the wrong gate, and fell into the midst of

the advance posts of the French army. Fortunately, she encountered

General Decourbe, and trembling, and almost beside herself with terror,

conjured him on her knees to save her honor, even at the expense of her

life, and immediately swooned away. Moved even to tears, the general

showed her every attention, ordered a safe-conduct given her, and an

escort to accompany her to a neighboring town, where she had stated that

several of her relatives lived. The order to march was given at the same

instant; and, in the midst of the general commotion which ensued, the

child was forgotten by those who escorted the mother, and left in the

outposts. A brave grenadier took charge of it, and, ascertaining where

the poor mother had been taken, pledged himself to restore it to her at

the earliest possible moment, unless a ball should carry him off before

the return of the army. He made a leather pocket, in which he carried

his young protege, arranged so that it was sheltered from the weather.

Each time he went into battle the good grenadier dug a hole in the

ground, in which he placed the little one, and returned for it when the

battle was over; and though his comrades ridiculed him the first day,

they could not but fail to admire the nobility of his conduct. The child

escaped all danger, thanks to the incessant care of its adopted father;

and, when the march to Munich was again begun, the grenadier, who was

singularly attached to the little waif, almost regretted to see the

moment draw near when he must restore it to its mother.

It may easily be understood what this poor woman suffered after losing

her child. She besought and entreated the soldiers who escorted her to

return; but they had their orders, which nothing could cause them to

infringe. Immediately on her arrival she set out again on her return to

Augsburg, making inquiries in all directions, but could obtain no

information of her son, and at last being convinced that he was dead,

wept bitterly for him. She had mourned thus for nearly six months, when

the army re-passed Augsburg; and, while at work alone in her room one

day, she was told that a soldier wished to see her, and had something

precious to commit to her care; but he was unable to leave his corps, and

must beg her to meet him on the public square. Little suspecting the

happiness in store for her, she sought the grenadier, and the latter

leaving the ranks, pulled the "little good man" out of his pocket, and

placed him in the arms of the poor mother, who could not believe the

evidence of her own eyes. Thinking that this lady was probably not rich,

this excellent man had collected a sum of money, which he had placed in

one of the pockets of the little one's coat.

The Emperor remained only a short time at Munich; and the day of his

arrival a courier was sent in haste by the grand marshal to M. de Lucay

to inform him that his Majesty would be at Fontainebleau on the 27th of

October, in the evening probably, and that the household of the Emperor,

as well as that of the Empress, should be at this residence to receive

his Majesty. But, instead of arriving on the evening of the 27th, the

Emperor had traveled with such speed, that, on the 26th at ten o'clock in

the morning, he was at the gates of the palace of Fontainebleau; and

consequently, with the exception of the grand marshal, a courier, and the

gate-keeper of Fontainebleau, he found no one to receive him on his

descent from the carriage. This mischance, which was very natural, since

it had been impossible to foresee an advance of more than a day in the

time appointed, nevertheless incensed the Emperor greatly. He was

regarding every one around him as if searching for some one to scold,

when, finding that the courier was preparing to alight from his horse, on

which he was more stuck than seated, he said to him: "You can rest

to-morrow; hasten to Saint-Cloud and announce my arrival," and the poor

courier recommenced his furious gallop.

This accident, which vexed his Majesty so greatly, could not be

considered the fault of any one; for by the orders of the grand marshal,

received from the Emperor, M. de Lucay had commanded their Majesties'

service to be ready on the morning of the next day. Consequently, that

evening was the earliest hour at which the service could possibly be

expected to arrive; and he was compelled to wait until then.

During this time of waiting, the Emperor employed himself in visiting the

new apartments that had been added to the chateau. The building in the

court of the Cheval-Blanc, which had been formerly used as a military

school, had been restored, enlarged, and decorated with extraordinary

magnificence, and had been turned entirely into apartments of honor, in

order, as his Majesty said, to give employment to the manufacturers of

Lyons, whom the war deprived of any, outside market. After repeated

promenades in all directions, the Emperor seated himself with every mark

of extreme impatience, asking every moment what time it was, or looking

at his watch; and at last ordered me to prepare writing materials, and

took his seat all alone at a little table, doubtless swearing internally

at his secretaries, who had not arrived.

At five o'clock a carriage came from Saint-Cloud; and as the Emperor

heard it roll into the court he descended the stairs rapidly, and while a

footman was opening the door and lowering the steps, he said to the

persons inside: "Where is the Empress?" The answer was given that her

Majesty the Empress would arrive in a quarter of an hour at most. "That

is well," said the Emperor; and turning his back, quickly remounted the

stairs and entered a little study, where he prepared himself for work.

At last the Empress arrived, exactly at six o'clock. It was now dark.

The Emperor this time did not go down; but listening until he learned

that it was her Majesty, continued to write, without interrupting himself

to go and meet her. It was the first time he had acted in this manner.

The Empress found him seated in the cabinet. "Ah!" said his Majesty,

"have you arrived, Madame? It is well, for I was about to set out for

Saint-Cloud." And the Emperor, who had simply lifted his eyes from his

work to glance at her Majesty, lowered them again, and resumed his

writing. This harsh greeting, distressed Josephine exceedingly, and she

attempted to excuse herself; but his Majesty replied in such a manner as

to bring tears to her eyes, though he afterwards repented of this, and

begged pardon of the Empress, acknowledging that he had been wrong.

CHAPTER XXIII.

It is not, as has been stated in some Memoirs, because and as a result of

the slight disagreement which I have related above, that the first idea

of a divorce came to his Majesty. The Emperor thought it necessary for

the welfare of France that he should have an heir of his own line; and as

it was now certain that the Empress would never bear him one, he was

compelled to think of a divorce. But it was by most gentle means, and

with every mark of tender consideration, that he strove to bring the

Empress to this painful sacrifice. He had no recourse, as has been said,

to either threats or menaces, for it was to his wife's reason that he

appealed; and her consent was entirely voluntary. I repeat that there

was no violence on the part of the Emperor; but there was courage,

resignation, and submission on that of the Empress. Her devotion to the

Emperor would have made her submit to any sacrifice, she would have given

her life for him; and although this separation might break her own heart,

she still found consolation in the thought that by this means she would

save the one she loved more than all beside from even one cause of

distress or anxiety. And when she learned that the King of Rome was

born, she lost sight of her own disappointment in sympathizing with the

happiness of her friend; for they had always treated each other with all

the attention and respect of the most perfect friendship.