Brian Carnell's Wiki

This page is read only. You can view the source, but not change it. Ask your administrator if you think this is wrong.
<html>
<div class='figcenter'>
<img src='https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:c:claire-remusat-memoirs-josephine-vol-2-illo-front.jpg' alt='' id='illo-front' style='width:300px;height:500px;'/>
<p class='caption'><span style='font-size:smaller'>“<span class='sc'>My Poor Josephine, I Cannot Leave You</span>”</span></p>
</div>

<hr class='pbk'/>

<div class='lgc' style=''> <!-- rend=';' -->
<p class='line0' style='margin-top:2em;font-size:1.2em;'><span class='gesp'>MEMOIRS</span>&nbsp;&nbsp;<span class='gesp'>OF</span></p>
<p class='line0' style='font-size:1.2em;'><span class='gesp'>THE</span>&nbsp;&nbsp;<span class='gesp'>EMPRESS</span>&nbsp;&nbsp;<span class='gesp'>JOSEPHINE</span></p>
<p class='line'>&#160;</p>
<p class='line'>&#160;</p>
<p class='line0'>BY&nbsp;&nbsp;MADAME&nbsp;&nbsp;DE&nbsp;&nbsp;RÉMUSAT</p>
<p class='line0' style='font-size:.8em;'><span class='it'>Lady-in-Waiting to the Empress</span></p>
<p class='line'>&#160;</p>
<p class='line'>&#160;</p>
<p class='line0'><span class='gesp'>VOLUME</span>&nbsp;&nbsp;<span class='gesp'>II</span></p>
<p class='line'>&#160;</p>
<p class='line'>&#160;</p>
<p class='line0' style='font-size:.8em;'><span class='it'>With a Special Introduction</span></p>
<p class='line0' style='font-size:.8em;'><span class='it'>and Illustrations</span></p>
<p class='line'>&#160;</p>
<div class='figcenter'>
<img src='https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:c:claire-remusat-memoirs-josephine-vol-2-title.jpg' alt='' id='iid-0001' style='width:100px;height:auto;'/>
</div>
<p class='line'>&#160;</p>
<p class='line0' style='font-size:.6em;'><span class='gesp'>NEW</span>&nbsp;&nbsp;<span class='gesp'>YORK</span></p>
<p class='line0' style='font-size:.8em;'>P&nbsp;&nbsp;F&nbsp;&nbsp;<span class='gesp'>COLLIER</span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&amp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<span class='gesp'>SON</span></p>
<p class='line0' style='font-size:.6em;'><span class='gesp'>PUBLISHERS</span></p>
</div> <!-- end rend -->

<hr class='pbk'/>

<div class='lgc' style=''> <!-- rend=';' -->
<p class='line0' style='margin-top:4em;font-size:.8em;'>Copyright 1879</p>
<p class='line0' style='font-size:.8em;'><span class='sc'>By D. Appleton and Company</span></p>
<p class='line'>&#160;</p>
<p class='line'>&#160;</p>
<p class='line0' style='margin-top:2em;font-size:.8em;'>Copyright 1910</p>
<p class='line0' style='font-size:.8em;'><span class='sc'>By P. F. Collier &amp; Son</span></p>
</div> <!-- end rend -->

<hr class='pbk'/>

<table id='tab1' summary='' class='center'>
<colgroup>
<col span='1' style='width: 32em;'/>
<col span='1' style='width: 0em;'/>
</colgroup>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tab1c1-col2 tdStyle0'  colspan='2'><span style='font-size:x-large'>CONTENTS</span></td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'>&nbsp;</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tab1c1-col2 tdStyle0'  colspan='2'><span style='font-size:larger'>VOLUME&nbsp;&nbsp;II</span></td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'>&nbsp;</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'><span style='font-size:smaller'>PAGE</span></td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'><span class='sc'>List of Illustrations</span></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'><a href='#Page_408'>408</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'>&nbsp;</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tab1c1-col2 tdStyle0'  colspan='2'>CHAPTER&nbsp;&nbsp;XVI</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tab1c1-col2 tdStyle0'  colspan='2'>(1805-1806.)</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'>State of Paris during the War—Cambacérès—Le Brun—Mme. Louis Bonaparte—Marriage of Eugène de Beauharnais—Bulletins and Proclamations—Admiration of the Emperor for the Queen of Bavaria—Jealousy of the Empress—M. de Nansouty—Mme. de ——.—Conquest of Naples—Position and Character of the Emperor</td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'><a href='#Page_409'>409</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'>&nbsp;</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tab1c1-col2 tdStyle0'  colspan='2'>CHAPTER&nbsp;&nbsp;XVII</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tab1c1-col2 tdStyle0'  colspan='2'>(1806.)</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'>The Death of Pitt—Parliamentary Debates in England—Public Works—Industrial Exhibition—New Etiquette—Performances at the Opéra House and at the Comédie Française—Monotony of the Court—Opinions of the Empress—Mme. Louis Bonaparte—Mme. Murat—The Bourbons—New Ladies-in-Waiting—M. Molé—Mme. d’Houdetot—Mme. de Barante</td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'><a href='#Page_428'>428</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'>&nbsp;</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tab1c1-col2 tdStyle0'  colspan='2'>CHAPTER&nbsp;&nbsp;XVIII</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tab1c1-col2 tdStyle0'  colspan='2'>(1806.)</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'>The Emperor’s Civil List—His Household and its Expenses—Dress of the Empress and of Mme. Murat—Louis Bonaparte—Prince Borghese—Fêtes at Court—The Empress’s Family—Marriage of Princess Stéphanie—Jealousy of the Empress—Theatricals at Malmaison</td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'><a href='#Page_452'>452</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'>&nbsp;</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tab1c1-col2 tdStyle0'  colspan='2'>CHAPTER&nbsp;&nbsp;XIX</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'>The Emperor’s Court—His Ecclesiastical Household—His Military Household—The Marshals—The Ladies—Delille—Chateaubriand—Mme. de Genlis—Romances—Literature—Arts</td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'><a href='#Page_474'>474</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'>&nbsp;</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tab1c1-col2 tdStyle0'  colspan='2'>CHAPTER&nbsp;&nbsp;XX</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tab1c1-col2 tdStyle0'  colspan='2'>(1806.)</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'><span class='it'>Senatus Consultum</span> of the 30th of March—Foundation of Monarchies and Duchies—Queen Hortense</td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'><a href='#Page_506'>506</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'>&nbsp;</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tab1c1-col2 tdStyle0'  colspan='2'>CHAPTER&nbsp;&nbsp;XXI</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tab1c1-col2 tdStyle0'  colspan='2'>(1806.)</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'>I go to Cauterets—The King of Holland—Factitious Tranquillity of France—M. de Metternich—The New Catechism—The Germanic Confederation—Poland—Death of Mr. Fox—War is declared—Departure of the Emperor—M. Pasquier and M. Molé—Session of the Senate—The Opening of Hostilities—The Court—Reception of Cardinal Maury</td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'><a href='#Page_528'>528</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'>&nbsp;</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tab1c1-col2 tdStyle0'  colspan='2'>CHAPTER&nbsp;&nbsp;XXII</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tab1c1-col2 tdStyle0'  colspan='2'>(1806-1807.)</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'>Death of Prince Louis of Prussia—Battle of Jena—The Queen of Prussia and the Emperor Alexander—The Emperor and the Revolution—Court Life at Mayence—Life in Paris—Marshal Brune—Taking of Lubeck—The Princess of Hatzfeld—The Auditors of the State Council—Sufferings of the Army—The King of Saxony—Battle of Eylau</td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'><a href='#Page_553'>553</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'>&nbsp;</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tab1c1-col2 tdStyle0'  colspan='2'>CHAPTER&nbsp;&nbsp;XXIII</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tab1c1-col2 tdStyle0'  colspan='2'>(1807.)</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'>The Return of the Empress to Paris—The Imperial Family—Junot—Fouché—The Queen of Holland—Levy of the Conscripts of 1808—Theatricals at Court—Letter from the Emperor—Siege of Dantzic—Death of the Empress of Austria—Death of Queen Hortense’s Son—M. Decazes—The Emperor’s Want of Feeling</td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'><a href='#Page_576'>576</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'>&nbsp;</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tab1c1-col2 tdStyle0'  colspan='2'>CHAPTER&nbsp;&nbsp;XXIV</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tab1c1-col2 tdStyle0'  colspan='2'>(1807.)</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'>The Duke of Dantzic—Fouché’s Police—Battle of Friedland—M. de Lameth—Treaty of Tilsit—Return of the Emperor—M. de Talleyrand—The Ministers—The Bishops</td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'><a href='#Page_595'>595</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'>&nbsp;</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tab1c1-col2 tdStyle0'  colspan='2'>CHAPTER&nbsp;&nbsp;XXV</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tab1c1-col2 tdStyle0'  colspan='2'>(1807.)</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'>Vexations at Court—Friendship with M. de Talleyrand—General Rapp—General Clarke—Session of the Legislative Bodies—The Emperor’s Speech—Fêtes of the 15th of August—Marriage of Jérôme Bonaparte—Death of Le Brun—The Abbé Delille—M. de Chateaubriand—Dissolution of the Tribunate—The Court removes to Fontainebleau</td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'><a href='#Page_613'>613</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'>&nbsp;</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tab1c1-col2 tdStyle0'  colspan='2'>CHAPTER&nbsp;&nbsp;XXVI</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tab1c1-col2 tdStyle0'  colspan='2'>(1807.)</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'>The Power of the Emperor—Resistance of the English—The Emperor’s Life at Fontainebleau—Plays—Talma—King Jérôme—The Princess of Baden—The Grand Duchess of Berg—Princess Borghese—Cambacérès—Foreign Princes—Spanish Affairs—Previsions of M. de Talleyrand—M. de Rémusat is made Superintendent of Theatres—The Fortunes and the Difficulties of the Marshals</td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'><a href='#Page_635'>635</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'>&nbsp;</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tab1c1-col2 tdStyle0'  colspan='2'>CHAPTER&nbsp;&nbsp;XXVII</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tab1c1-col2 tdStyle0'  colspan='2'>(1807-1808.)</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'>Projects of Divorce</td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'><a href='#Page_674'>674</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'>&nbsp;</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tab1c1-col2 tdStyle0'  colspan='2'>CHAPTER&nbsp;&nbsp;XXVIII</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'>&nbsp;</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tab1c1-col2 tdStyle0'  colspan='2'>(1807-1808.)</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'>Return from Fontainebleau—The Emperor’s Journey in Italy—The Youth of M. de Talleyrand—Fêtes at the Tuileries—The Emperor and the Artists—The Emperor’s Opinion of the English Government—The Marriage of Mlle. de Tascher—Count Romanzoff—Marriage of Marshal Berthier—The University—Affairs of Spain</td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'><a href='#Page_693'>693</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'>&nbsp;</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tab1c1-col2 tdStyle0'  colspan='2'>CHAPTER&nbsp;&nbsp;XXIX</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tab1c1-col2 tdStyle0'  colspan='2'>(1808.)</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'>The War with Spain—The Prince of the Peace—The Prince of the Asturias—The Abdication of King Charles IV.—The Departure of the Emperor—His Sojourn at Bayonne—Letter of the Emperor—Arrival of the Princes in France—Birth of the Second Son of the Queen of Holland—Abdication of the Prince of the Asturias</td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'><a href='#Page_723'>723</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'>&nbsp;</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'><span class='sc'>Conclusion</span></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'><a href='#Page_742'>742</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab1c1 tdStyle1'><span class='sc'>Postscript</span></td><td class='tab1c2 tdStyle2'><a href='#Page_760'>760</a></td></tr>
</table>

<hr class='pbk'/>

<div><span class='pageno' title='408' id='Page_408'></span><h1>LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS</h1></div>

<h2 class='nobreak'>VOLUME&nbsp;&nbsp;II</h2>

<div class='literal-container' style=''><div class='literal'> <!-- rend=';' -->
<p class='line0'><a href='#illo-front'>“<span class='sc'>My Poor Josephine, I Cannot Leave You</span>”</a></p>
<p class='line0'>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<span class='it'>from the painting by L. J. Pott</span></p>
<p class='line'>&#160;</p>
<p class='line0'><a href='#illo-573'>“<span class='sc'>For Twelve Hours They Fought Without Either Side<br />
Being Able to Claim the Victory</span>”</a></p>
<p class='line0'>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<span class='it'>from the painting by F. Schommer</span></p>
<p class='line'>&#160;</p>
<p class='line0'><a href='#illo-602'><span class='sc'>Queen Louise Trying to Win Favor from Napoleon for Prussia</span></a></p>
<p class='line0'>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<span class='it'>from the painting by R. Eichstadt</span></p>
</div></div> <!-- end rend -->

<hr class='pbk'/>

<p class='line0' style='text-align:center;margin-top:4em;font-size:1.3em;'>MEMOIRS&nbsp;&nbsp;OF&nbsp;&nbsp;THE</p>
<p class='line0' style='text-align:center;font-size:1.5em;'>EMPRESS&nbsp;&nbsp;JOSEPHINE</p>

<div><span class='pageno' title='409' id='Page_409'></span><h1 class='nobreak'>CHAPTER&nbsp;&nbsp;XVI</h1></div>

<h2 class='nobreak'>(1805-1806.)</h2>

<p class='noindent'><img src='https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:c:claire-remusat-memoirs-josephine-vol-2-i.jpg' style='float:left;' alt='I'/> HAVE already described the dullness and depression
of Paris during this campaign, and the
sufferings of every class of society from the
renewal of war. Money had become still more scarce;
in fact, it attained such a price that, being obliged to
send some in haste to my husband, I had to pay
ninety francs merely for obtaining gold for a thousand-franc
bank-note. Such an opportunity of spreading
and increasing the general anxiety was, of course,
turned to advantage by the malcontents. Warned by
former experience, and alarmed by the imprudence of
certain utterances, I held aloof from every one, seeing
only my own friends and persons who could not
involve me in any difficulty.</p>

<p class='pindent'>When the Princes or Princesses of the Imperial
family held their receptions, I went, as did others, to
pay my respects to them, and also to the Arch-Chancellor
Cambacérès, who would have been highly displeased
at any neglect. He gave grand dinners, and
held receptions twice a week. He resided in a large
house on the Carrousel, which has since been converted
into the Hôtel des Cent Suisses.<a id='r1'/><a href='#f1' style='text-decoration:none'><sup><span style='font-size:0.9em'>[1]</span></sup></a> At seven
in the evening a line of carriages would generally
stretch across the Carrousel, and Cambacérès would
note its length from his window with delight. Some
time was occupied in getting into the courtyard and
reaching the foot of the staircase. At the door of the
first reception-room an attendant announced the
guest’s name in a loud voice; this was repeated until
the presence-chamber was reached. There an immense
crowd would be collected; there were two or
three rows of women; the men stood close together,
forming a sort of passage from one angle of the room
to the opposite corner. Up and down this walked
Cambacérès with great gravity, covered with decorations,
and usually wearing all his orders and diamonds;
on his head an enormous powdered wig. He
kept on making civil little speeches right and left.
When we felt quite sure he had seen us, especially if
he had spoken, it was the custom to retire, and thus
make room for others. We frequently had to wait
a long time for our carriages, and the surest way to
be agreeable to Cambacérès was to tell him, the next
time, of the inconvenience caused by the numberless
vehicles in the Place all crowding toward his house.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Fewer persons went to the receptions of the Arch-Treasurer
Le Brun, who seemed to attach less importance
to these outward observances, and lived
quietly. But, although he had not the foibles of his
colleague, he was also deficient in some of his qualities.
Cambacérès was a kind-hearted man; he received
petitions graciously, and, if he promised to support
them, his word could be relied on. Le Brun’s
only care was to amass a fortune, which became considerable.
He was a selfish, cunning old man, who
never did any good to anybody.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The member of the Imperial family whom I saw
most frequently was Mme. Louis Bonaparte. People
came to her house of an evening to hear the news.</p>

<p class='pindent'>In December, 1805, a report having been spread
that the English were likely to descend on the Dutch
coast, Louis Bonaparte received commands to travel
through Holland, and to inspect the Army of the
North. His absence, which gave a little more freedom
to his wife, and was a relief to his household,
who held him in awe and aversion, enabled Mme.
Louis to pass her evenings pleasantly. Music and
drawing at a large table in the center of the <span class='it'>salon</span>
were the chief amusements. Mme. Louis had a great
taste for the arts: she composed charming ballads;
she painted well; she liked the society of artists. Her
only fault, perhaps, was in not maintaining the ceremonious
demeanor in her house demanded by the rank
to which she had been elevated. She always remained
on intimate terms with her school-fellows, and with
the young married women who habitually visited her,
and her manners retained something of the freedom
of those school-days. This gave rise to remark and
censure.</p>

<p class='pindent'>After a long silence respecting the movements of
the army, which produced general uneasiness, Le
Brun, aide-de-camp to the Emperor, and a son of the
Arch-Treasurer, was dispatched from the battle-field
of Austerlitz, and arrived one evening with news of
the victory, of the succeeding armistice, and of the
well-founded hope of peace. The news was announced
at all the theatres, and posted up everywhere
on the following day. It produced a great effect, and
dispelled the gloom and apathy of Paris.</p>

<p class='pindent'>It was impossible not to be elated by so great a success,
and not to take the side of glory and of fortune.
The French were carried away by the description of
the victory, to which nothing was wanting, since it
terminated the war; and this time again there was no
need to prescribe public rejoicing: the nation identified
itself with the success of its army.</p>

<p class='pindent'>I look upon this period as the zenith of Bonaparte’s
good fortune, for his mighty deeds were made their
own by the bulk of his people. Afterward, doubtless,
he increased in power and in authority, but he had to
bespeak enthusiasm, and, though he sometimes succeeded
in enforcing it, the efforts he was obliged to
make must have lessened the value of the applause.</p>

<p class='pindent'>In the midst of the pride and delight displayed by
the city of Paris, it may well be believed that the great
bodies of the State and the public officers did not neglect
the opportunity of expressing the general admiration
in high-flown language. When we now read
the speeches delivered on the occasion in the Senate
and the Tribunate, the orations of prefects and mayors,
the pastoral letters of bishops, one wonders if it
be possible that a human head should not be turned by
such excess of praise. Every glory of the past was
to fade before that of Bonaparte; the greatest names
were to drop into obscurity; fame would thenceforth
blush at what she had formerly proclaimed, etc.,
etc.</p>

<p class='pindent'>On the 31st of December the Tribunate was assembled,
and Fabre de l’Aude, the President, announced
the return of a deputation which had been
sent to the Emperor. Its members had brought back
a glowing account of the marvels they had witnessed.
A great number of flags had also arrived. The Emperor
bestowed eight on the city of Paris, eight on
the Tribunate, and fifty-four on the Senate; the entire
Tribunate was to present the latter.</p>

<p class='pindent'>On the conclusion of the President’s speech, a
crowd of tribunes rushed forward to propose what
was called <span class='it'>des motions de vœux</span>. One of them moved
that a gold medal should be struck; another, that a
public monument should be erected; that the Emperor
should receive the honors of a triumph, after the old
fashion of imperial Rome; that the whole city of
Paris should go forth to meet him. “Language,”
said one member, “can not attain such height of
grandeur, nor express the emotions it calls forth.”</p>

<p class='pindent'>Carrion-Nisas proposed that, on the proclamation
of the general peace, the sword worn by the Emperor
at the battle of Austerlitz should be solemnly consecrated.
Each speaker endeavored to surpass the
others, and certainly, during this sitting, which lasted
several hours, all that flattery could suggest to the
imagination was exhausted. And yet this very Tribunate
was a source of anxiety to the Emperor, because
it contained in itself a semblance of liberty;
and he subsequently abolished it in order to consolidate
his despotic power, even in the smallest outward
signs. When Bonaparte “eliminated” the Tribunate
(this was the technical expression for that measure),
he did not shrink from using these words: “This is
my final break with the Republic.”</p>

<p class='pindent'>The Tribunate, having arranged to carry the flags
to the Senate on the 1st of January, 1806, decided
that on the same occasion it should be proposed to
erect a column. The Senate hastened to pass a decree
to this effect, and also decreed that the Emperor’s letter,
which had accompanied the flags, should be engraved
on marble and placed in the Hall of Assembly.
The senators on this occasion rose to the height attained
by the tribunes.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Preparations were now made for the rejoicings
which were to take place on the return of the Emperor.
M. de Rémusat sent orders, through me, for
the performance of various pieces containing appropriate
passages at the theatres. The Théâtre Français
having selected “Gaston et Bayard,” some slight
changes were made by the police in certain lines that
were deemed inadmissible. The Opéra House prepared
a new piece.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Meanwhile the Emperor, after receiving the signature
of the peace, was preparing to quit Vienna,
and addressed its inhabitants in a proclamation full of
compliments, both to themselves and to their sovereign.
It ended thus:</p>

<div class='blockquote'>

<p class='pindent'>“I have shown myself little among you, not from
disdain or a vain pride, but I did not wish to interfere
with the feelings due to your sovereign, with whom
it was my intention to make a prompt peace.”</p>

</div>

<p class='pindent'>We have already seen what were the Emperor’s
real motives for remaining in retirement at Schönbrunn.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Although, in point of fact, the French army had
been kept under tolerable discipline while in Vienna,
there can be no doubt that the inhabitants were overjoyed
at the departure of the guests they had been
obliged to receive, to lodge, and to feed liberally. To
give an idea of the consideration with which our vanquished
enemies were forced to treat us, it will be
sufficient to state that Generals Junot and Bessières,
who were quartered on Prince Esterhazy, were daily
supplied from Hungary with every delicacy of the
table, including Tokay. This was due to the generosity
of the Prince, who defrayed the whole cost.</p>

<p class='pindent'>I recollect hearing M. de Rémusat relate that, on
the arrival of the Emperor at Vienna, the Imperial
cellars were explored in search of this same Tokay,
and much surprise was expressed that not a single
bottle was forthcoming; all had been carefully removed
by the orders of Francis.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The Emperor reached Munich on the 31st of December,
and on the next day proclaimed the Elector
of Bavaria King. He announced this in a letter to
the Senate, in which he also made known his adoption
of Prince Eugène, and the marriage of the latter,
which was to take place before the Emperor’s
return to Paris.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Prince Eugène hastened to Munich, having first
taken possession of the States of Venice, and reassured
his new subjects, as far as possible, by dignified
and moderate proclamations.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The Emperor felt himself bound also to bestow
some praise on the army of Italy. A bulletin says:
“The Italians have displayed great spirit. The Emperor
has frequently said: ‘Why should not my Italian
people appear gloriously on the world’s stage?
They are full of intelligence and passion; it will be
easy henceforth to give them soldierly qualities.’ ”
He made a few more proclamations to his army, in
his usual turgid style, but they are said to have produced
a great effect on the army.</p>

<p class='pindent'>He issued one decree which would have been good
if it had been put into execution. “We adopt,” he
said, “the children of those generals, officers, and privates
who lost their lives at the battle of Austerlitz.
They shall be brought up at Rambouillet and at St.
Germain, and placed out in the world, or suitably
married by our care. To their own names they shall
add that of Napoleon.”</p>

<p class='pindent'>The Elector, or rather the King, of Bavaria, is a
younger son of the house of Deux-Ponts, who came
to the Electorate through the extinction of that branch
of his family which was governing Bavaria. In the
reign of Louis XVI. he was sent to France and placed
in the King’s service. He soon obtained a regiment,
and resided for a considerable time either in Paris
or in garrison at one of our towns. He became attached
to France, and left behind him the recollection
of much kindness of disposition and cordiality of
manner. He was known as Prince Max. He declined,
however, to marry in France. The Prince de
Condé offered him his daughter; but his father and
his uncle, the Elector, objected to the match on the
grounds that Prince Max, not being rich, would probably
have to make canonesses of some of his daughters,
and that the admixture in their veins of the blood
of Louis XIV. with that of Mme. de Montespan
would be an obstacle to their admittance into certain
chapters.</p>

<p class='pindent'>When, at a later period, this Prince succeeded to
the Electorate, he always retained an affectionate remembrance
of France, and a sincere attachment to
her people. Having become King by the will of the
Emperor, he took pains to prove his gratitude by a
splendid welcome, and he received all the French with
extreme kindness. It may well be imagined that not
for one moment did he dream of declining the proposed
marriage for his daughter. The young Princess
was then seventeen or eighteen years of age, and
possessed attractive qualities, as well as personal
charms. The marriage, which was due to political reasons,
became the source of uninterrupted happiness to
Eugène. Princess Augusta of Bavaria attached herself
warmly to the husband chosen for her; she aided
him in no small measure to win the hearts of the
Italians. With beauty, sense, piety, and amiability,
she could not fail to be tenderly beloved by Prince
Eugène, and at the present day they are settled in
Bavaria, and enjoy the happiness of a perfect union.</p>

<p class='pindent'>During the Emperor’s stay at Munich, he took it
into his head, by way of recreation after his labors
of the past months, to indulge a fancy, partly political,
partly amorous, for the Queen of Bavaria. That
Princess, who was the King’s second wife, without
being very beautiful, was of an elegant figure and
pleasing though dignified manners. I think the Emperor
pretended to be in love with her. The lookers-on
said it was amusing to watch the struggle between
his imperious temper and rude manners and the desire
to please a Princess accustomed to that kind of etiquette
which is never relaxed in Germany on any
occasion whatever. The Queen of Bavaria contrived
to exact respect from her strange admirer, and yet
seemed to be amused with his devotion. The Empress
considered her to be more coquettish than was desirable,
and the whole business made her anxious to get
away quickly from the Bavarian Court, and spoilt the
pleasure she would otherwise have felt in her son’s
marriage.</p>

<p class='pindent'>At the same time, Mme. Murat took offense because
the new Vice-Queen, who had become the adopted
daughter of Napoleon, took precedence of her on
ceremonial occasions. She feigned illness in order
to avoid what seemed to her an affront, and her
brother was obliged to get into a rage with her, to
prevent her from too plainly exhibiting her discontent.
Had we not actually witnessed the rapid rise
of certain pretensions in those who are the favorites
of fortune, we should have been astonished at these
sudden bursts of temper in princes of so recent a date
that they could scarcely yet have become accustomed
to the advantages and rights appertaining to their
rank. This spectacle we have, however, beheld so
frequently that we are not surprised, but merely admit
that no human passion is so easily aroused, or grows
so rapidly, as vanity.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Bonaparte had always been well aware of this, and
he used the knowledge as his surest method of governing.
While at Munich, he made many promotions in
the army. He gave a regiment of Carbineers to his
brother-in-law, Prince Borghese. He rewarded several
officers by promotion, or by the Legion of Honor.
Among others, he created M. de Nansouty, my
brother-in-law, grand officer of the order. He was
a brave man, esteemed in the army, straightforward,
and endowed with a keen sense of duty, not very
common, unfortunately, among our military chiefs.
He left behind him in a foreign country a reputation
which is very honorable to his family.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The Emperor’s military Court, encouraged by
their master’s example, and, like him, flushed with
victory, took great pleasure in the society of the
ladies who had accompanied the Empress. It seemed
as if Love was now to have his share of power in a
world which had hitherto somewhat neglected him;
but it must be admitted that not much time was allowed
to him for the establishment of his reign, and
his attacks were of necessity rather brisk.</p>

<p class='pindent'>We may date from this period the passion which
the beautiful Mme. de C—— inspired in M. de Caulaincourt.
She had been appointed Lady-in-Waiting
in the summer of 1805. When quite young she had
married her cousin, who was at that time equerry to
the Emperor, and she drew all eyes on herself by her
striking beauty. M. de Caulaincourt fell desperately
in love with her, and this feeling, which was for several
years more or less reciprocal, deterred him from
thinking of marriage. Mme. de C—— became more
and more estranged from her husband, and at last
took advantage of the law of divorce. When the
return of the King condemned M. de Caulaincourt,
otherwise the Duke of Vicenza, to a life of obscurity,
she resolved to share his ill fortune, and married
him.</p>

<p class='pindent'>I have already said that the Emperor announced
during this campaign his consent to the evacuation of
the kingdom of Naples by our troops; but before long
he again quarreled with the sovereign of that kingdom,
either because the King did not exactly carry
out the treaty that had been concluded with him, and
was too much under the influence of the English, who
were continually threatening his ports, or because the
Emperor wished to accomplish his project of subjecting
the whole of Italy to his own authority. He
also thought, no doubt, that it would be his best policy
to eject the house of Bourbon by degrees from
the thrones of the Continent. Be this as it may, according
to custom, and without any previous communication,
France learned by an order of the day,
dated from the Imperial camp at Schönbrunn, 6th
Nivôse, year 14, that the French army was marching
to the conquest of the kingdom of Naples, and would
be under the command of Joseph Bonaparte, who
accordingly repaired thither.</p>

<p class='pindent'>“We will pardon no longer,” so runs the proclamation.
“The dynasty of Naples has ceased to reign.
Its existence is incompatible with the repose of Europe
and the honor of my crown. Soldiers, forward!
.&nbsp;.&nbsp;. and delay not to tell me that all Italy is subject
to my laws or those of my allies.”</p>

<p class='pindent'>It is in this summary tone that Bonaparte, fresh
from signing treaties of peace, began another war,
gave new offense to the sovereigns of Europe, and
incited the English Government to stir up fresh enemies
against himself.</p>

<p class='pindent'>On the 25th of January the Court of Naples, under
the pressure of a skillful and victorious enemy,
embarked for Palermo, abandoning the capital to its
new sovereign, who would soon take possession of it.
Meanwhile the Emperor, having been present at the
marriage of Prince Eugène on the 14th of January,
left Munich, and, having received on his way through
Germany the honors that were invariably offered him
in every place, reached Paris on the night of the 26th
to the 27th of January.</p>

<p class='pindent'>I have thought it well to conclude here the history
of what was to me Bonaparte’s second epoch, because,
as I said before, I look upon the close of this first
campaign as the highest pitch of his glory; and for
this reason, that now the French people again consented
to bear their share in it.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Nothing, perhaps, in the history of circumstances
and of men, can be compared to the height of power
to which he attained after the peace of Tilsit; but, if
at that time all Europe bent before him, the spell of
victory had been strangely weakened in France, and
our armies, although consisting of our own citizens,
were beginning to be aliens to us.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The Emperor, who often appreciated things with
mathematical accuracy, was well aware of this; for,
on his return from concluding the above treaty, I
heard him say, “Military glory, which lasts so long
in history, is that which fades the quickest among its
contemporaries. All our recent battles have not produced
in France half the effect of the one victory of
Marengo.”</p>

<p class='pindent'>Had he carried his reflections further, he would
have seen that the people who are governed need
eventually a glory that will be of solid use, and that
admiration for that which bears but a barren brilliancy
is soon exhausted.</p>

<p class='pindent'>In 1806 England was again accused, rightly or
wrongly, of inciting enmity against us. Supposing
her to be with justice jealous of our returning prosperity,
we did not think it impossible that she might
endeavor to molest us, even if we had in perfect good
faith shown every sign of intended moderation. We
did not think the Emperor had been the cause of the
last rupture which had destroyed the treaty of
Amiens; and, as it seemed impossible for a long time
to come to compete with the naval power of the English,
it did not appear to us to be politically wrong to
endeavor to balance the weight which commerce
gave to our enemies by the constitution given to
Italy—that is, by a powerful influence on the Continent.</p>

<p class='pindent'>With such feelings as these, the marvels of this
three months’ campaign could not fail to impress us
deeply. Austria had been conquered; the united armies
of the two greatest sovereigns of Europe had
fled before ours; the Czar had retreated; the Emperor
Francis had personally sued for peace—a peace
as yet bearing signs of moderation; kings had been
created by our victories; the daughter of a crowned
sovereign had been given in marriage to a mere
French gentleman; finally, the prompt return of the
conqueror, which gave hopes of permanent peace, and
perhaps also a desire to retain our illusions respecting
our master—a desire inspired by human vanity, for
men do not like to blush for him by whom they are
ruled—all these things again roused national admiration,
and were only too favorable to the ambition of
the victor. The Emperor perceived the progress he
had made in popularity, and he concluded, with some
appearance of probability, that glory would make up
to us for all the losses we were about to sustain at
the hands of despotism. He believed that Frenchmen
would not murmur were but their slavery brilliant,
and that we would willingly barter all the liberty that
the Revolution had so hardly won for us, for his dazzling
military success.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Finally, and this was the worst, he saw in war a
means of stifling the reflections which his mode of
government was sure sooner or later to evoke, and
he reserved it to dazzle us, or at least to reduce us to
silence. As he felt himself perfectly master of the
science of war, he had no fear of its results; and,
when he could engage in it with such immense armies
and such formidable artillery, he felt there was
scarcely any danger to himself. Although in this I
may be mistaken, I do believe that, after the campaign
of Austerlitz, war was rather the result of his
system than the gratification of his taste. The first,
the real ambition of Napoleon was for power, and he
would have preferred peace if it could have increased
his authority. There is a tendency in the human mind
to bring to perfection anything with which it is exclusively
occupied. The Emperor, who was continually
bent on increasing his power by every possible
means, and who was becoming accustomed to the
exercise of his own will on every occasion, became
more and more impatient of the slightest opposition.
The European phalanxes were gradually giving way
before him, and he began to believe that he was destined
to regulate the affairs of every continental kingdom.
He looked with disdain on the progress of the
age, regarding the French Revolution, which was so
solemn a warning to sovereigns, only as an event
whose results he might use to his own advantage; and
he came to despise the cry for liberty which for
twenty years had been uttered at intervals by the people.
He was persuaded that he could, at any rate,
trick them by accomplishing the destruction of what
had existed, and replacing it by sudden creations,
which would appear to satisfy that longing for equality
which he believed with reason to be the ruling
passion of the time.</p>

<p class='pindent'>He tried to turn the French Revolution into a mere
freak of fortune, a useless disturbance which had
merely upset individuals. How often has he not made
use of these specious words, in order to allay apprehension:
“The French Revolution need fear nothing,
since the throne of the Bourbons is occupied by a
soldier!” And at the same time he would assume
toward kings the attitude of a protector of thrones—“for,”
he would say, “I have abolished republics.”
Meanwhile he was dreaming of I know not what half-feudal
project, the execution of which must inevitably
be full of danger, since it drove him to war, and had
besides the deplorable effect of diminishing the interest
he ought to have taken in France itself. Our
country soon ceased to be anything more to him than
one large province of that empire which he desired
to bring under his rule. Less interested in our prosperity
than in our grandeur, which, in point of fact,
was only his own, he conceived the idea of making
every foreign sovereign a feudatory of his own
power. He believed he should attain to this by placing
members of his family on the various thrones
which at the time actually sprang from himself; and
we may assure ourselves that this was really his project,
by attentively reading the form of oath which he
exacted from the kings or princes created by him.
He sometimes said: “It is my intention to reach such
a point that the kings of Europe shall be forced, each
one of them, to have a palace in Paris; and, at the
time of the coronation of an Emperor of the French,
they shall take up their residence in it, be present at
the ceremony, and render it more imposing by their
homage.” This, it seems to me, was a sufficiently
plain declaration of his intention of renewing in 1806
the empire of Charlemagne.</p>

<p class='pindent'>But times were changed, and, as the light of knowledge
spread, the people became capable of forming a
judgment as to the mode in which they ought to be
governed. Besides this, the Emperor perceived that
the nobles could never again exercise influence over
the people, which had often been an obstacle to the
authority of our kings; and he conceived the idea that
it was from popular encroachment he must defend
himself, and that the spirit of the age required him
to take a contrary course to that which for centuries
past had been the custom of kings.</p>

<p class='pindent'>It was the fact that, whereas formerly the nobles
had almost always hampered the royal authority, at
the present time some intermediary creation was
needed by that very authority, which, in this age of
liberal opinions, would naturally lean to the side of
the sovereign, and retard the march of pretensions
which, from being merely popular, had now become
national. From this came the reëstablishment of a
nobility, and the renewal of certain privileges which
were always prudently distributed among distinguished
members of the ancient nobility, and plebeians
who had been ennobled by an act of the Imperial
will.</p>

<p class='pindent'>All these things are a proof that the Emperor entertained
this project of a new kind of feudality fashioned
in accordance with his own ideas. But, besides
the obstacles which England continually placed in his
way, there was another, absolutely inherent in his
own character. There would seem to have been in
him two different men. The one, rather gigantic
than great, but nevertheless prompt to conceive and
also prompt to execute, laid from time to time some
of the foundations of the plan he had formed. This
man, actuated by one single idea, untouched by any
secondary impression likely to interfere with his projects,
had he but taken for his aim the good of mankind,
would, with such abilities as he displayed, have
become the one greatest man of the earth; even now
he remains, through his perspicacity and his strength
of will, the most extraordinary.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The other Bonaparte, forming a kind of uneasy
conscience to the first, was devoured by anxiety, agitated
by continual suspicion, a slave to passions which
gave him no rest, distrustful, fearing every rival
greatness, even that which he had himself created.
If the necessity of political institutions was made
plain to him, he was struck at the same moment by
the rights which they must confer on individuals, and
then, gradually becoming afraid of his own handiwork,
he could not resist the temptation to destroy it
piecemeal. He has been heard to say, after he had
restored titles of nobility and given inalienable possessions<a id='r2'/><a href='#f2' style='text-decoration:none'><sup><span style='font-size:0.9em'>[2]</span></sup></a>
to his marshals: “I have made these people
independent; but I shall know how to reach them and
prevent them from being ungrateful.” When seized
upon by this spirit of distrust of other men, he gave
himself up to it entirely, and thought only of how to
create divisions among them. He weakened family
ties, and applied himself to promote individual rather
than general interests. Sole center of an immense
circle, he would have liked it to contain as many radii
as he had subjects, that they might meet nowhere
save in him. This suspicious jealousy, which incessantly
pursued him, fastened like a canker on all his
undertakings, and prevented him from establishing
on a solid foundation any of the schemes which his
prolific imagination was continually inventing.</p>

<p class='pindent'>After the campaign of Austerlitz he was so inflated
with success, and with the worship which the people,
half dazzled and half subjugated, paid to him, that
his despotism became more than ever intensified.
Every citizen felt the yoke that was laid on him heavier;
heads were bowed almost perforce before his
glory, but it was discovered afterward that he had
taken means to prevent their being lifted again. He
surrounded himself with new splendor in order to put
a greater distance between himself and other men.
He copied, from German customs which he had carefully
observed, the whole etiquette of courts, which
he made a daily slavery, and no one was exempt from
minute observances which he brought to the utmost
perfection.</p>

<p class='pindent'>It must be owned, however, that immediately after
a campaign he was almost obliged to take measures
which would silence the clamorous pretensions of his
followers; and, when he had put these down, it did
not occur to him that he ought to treat with greater
consideration the other classes of citizens, of far less
importance in his eyes. Military men, still flushed
with victory, would assume a haughty position from
which it was difficult to bring them down. I have
kept a letter from M. de Rémusat, written from
Schönbrunn, which describes very exactly the inflation
of the generals, and the prudence that was required
in order to live peaceably with them. “The
military profession,” he writes, “gives to a man’s
character a certain blunt sincerity, so that he does not
try to hide the meanest passions. Our heroes, who
are accustomed to open war with their enemies, acquire
a habit of disguising nothing, and see a battle-field
in any opposition they may meet with, of whatever
kind. It is curious to hear them speak of civilians,
and indeed, afterward, to hear them discuss
each other—each depreciating the deeds of the others,
attributing a large share of their success to luck;
blackening reputations which we outsiders had
thought firmly established; and, in their behavior to
us, so puffed up with their newly acquired glory that
one needs much tact and many sacrifices of pride,
even of proper pride, to procure toleration from
them.”</p>

<p class='pindent'>The Emperor noticed this somewhat belligerent attitude
of the officers of his army. He cared little that
it was annoying to civilians, but he would not have it
reach a point which might be inconvenient to himself.
Therefore, while still at Munich, he thought proper
to rebuke the arrogance of his marshals, and on this
occasion self-interest induced him to use the language
of reason. “Recollect,” he said, “that you are to be
soldiers only when with the army. The title of marshal
is merely a civil distinction, which gives you the
honorable rank at my Court that is your due, but it
carries with it no authority. On the battle-field you
are generals; at Court be merely great nobles, belonging
to the State by the civil position I created for you
when I bestowed on you the title which you bear.”</p>

<p class='pindent'>This warning would have produced a greater effect
had the Emperor ended it with such words as these:
“In camp or in Court, recollect that your first duty
everywhere is to be good citizens.” He should have
held similar language to all classes, to whom he was
bound to be a protector as well as a master; he should
have spoken the same words to all Frenchmen, and
so have united them in a new equality, not adverse to
distinctions won by valor. But Bonaparte, as we have
seen, was always in dread of natural and generous
ties, and the iron chain of despotism is the only bond
he employed, because it binds each man, as it were,
separately, leaving him no commerce with his fellows.</p>

<hr class='footnotemark'/>

<div class='footnote'>
<table summary='footnote_1'>
<colgroup>
<col span='1' style='width: 3em;'/>
<col span='1'/>
</colgroup>
<tr><td style='vertical-align:top;'>
<div id='f1'><a href='#r1'>[1]</a></div>
</td><td>

<p class='pindent'>This hotel was pulled down in the reign of Louis
Philippe.—P. R.</p>

</td></tr>
</table>
</div>

<div class='footnote'>
<table summary='footnote_2'>
<colgroup>
<col span='1' style='width: 3em;'/>
<col span='1'/>
</colgroup>
<tr><td style='vertical-align:top;'>
<div id='f2'><a href='#r2'>[2]</a></div>
</td><td>

<p class='pindent'>Majorats.</p>

</td></tr>
</table>
</div>

<hr class='pbk'/>

<div><span class='pageno' title='428' id='Page_428'></span><h1>CHAPTER&nbsp;&nbsp;XVII</h1></div>

<h2 class='nobreak'>(1806.)</h2>

<p class='noindent'><img src='https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:c:claire-remusat-memoirs-josephine-vol-2-w.jpg' style='float:left;' alt='W'/>HEN the Emperor arrived in Paris, at the
end of January, 1806, the death of Pitt, at
the age of forty-seven, had just occurred
in England. His loss was deeply felt by the English,
and a truly national regret did honor to his memory.
Parliament, which had just opened, voted a large sum
to defray his debts, for he died leaving no fortune,
and he was splendidly buried in Westminster Abbey.
When the new Ministry was formed, Mr. Fox, his
opponent, was made Foreign Secretary. The Emperor
looked upon the death of Pitt as a fortunate
event for him, but he soon perceived that English
policy had not changed, and that the British Government
would not relax its endeavors to excite enmity
against him among the continental Powers.</p>

<p class='pindent'>During the month of January, 1806, the debates in
the English Parliament had been very warm. The
Opposition, led by Mr. Fox, asked the Government
for explanations as to the carrying out of the late war;
it asserted that the Emperor of Austria had not been
faithfully assisted, and that he had been left to the
mercy of the conqueror. The Ministers then laid on
the table the text of the conditions of the treaty
between the various Powers at the beginning of the
campaign. This treaty proved that subsidies had been
granted to the coalition which had undertaken to
drive the Emperor from Hanover, Germany, and
Italy, to replace the King of Sardinia on the throne
of Piedmont, and to secure the independence of Holland
and Sweden. The rapid victories of our troops
had upset these plans. The Emperor of Austria was
blamed for having begun the campaign too precipitately,
without waiting for the arrival of the Russians;
and the King of Prussia, whose neutrality had been
the principal cause of the failure of the coalition, was
especially blamed. The Czar’s anger was roused, and
he might have been tempted to punish this fatal inaction,
had not the lovely and fascinating Queen of
Prussia interceded between the two sovereigns. A
rumor then arose in Europe that her beauty had disarmed
the Emperor of Russia, and that to it he had
sacrificed his just displeasure. Napoleon, who had
subdued the King of Prussia by the fear of his arms,
thought it well to reward him for his neutrality by
handing over Hanover to him until the very uncertain
epoch of general peace. On his side, the King ceded
Anspach to Bavaria, and abandoned in favor of
France his claims to the duchies of Berg and of
Cleves, which were bestowed shortly afterward on
Prince Joachim, otherwise Murat.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The report laid before the English Parliament on
the treaty of which I speak was published in our newspapers,
and accompanied, as may be imagined, by
remarks hostile to the continental Powers. The weakness
of those kings who place themselves at the mercy
of the <span class='it'>shopkeepers</span> of Europe was deplored.</p>

<p class='pindent'>“If England,” so ran the comment, “should succeed
in forming a fourth coalition, Austria, who lost
Belgium by the first, Italy and the left bank of the
Rhine by the second, Tyrol, Swabia, and the Venetian
States by the third, would by the fourth lose her own
crown.</p>

<div class='blockquote'>

<p class='pindent'>“The influence of the French Empire on the Continent
will secure the well-being of Europe, for with it
will have begun the age of civilization, of science, of
light, and of law. The Emperor of Russia has imprudently
embarked, like a young man, in a dangerous
policy. As to Austria, we must forget her faults,
since she has suffered for them. However, it is right
to say that if the treaty now made public in England
had been known, perhaps Austria might not have
obtained the terms which have been granted to her;
and we may remark, in passing, that Count de Stadion,
who concluded this treaty of subsidies, is still at the
head of affairs under the Emperor Francis.”</p>

</div>

<p class='pindent'>These remarks, which were the expression of an ill-concealed
irritation, began to cause some little uneasiness
in the early part of February, and to make attentive
observers fear that peace would not be of long
duration.</p>

<p class='pindent'>No treaty had been concluded with the Czar. Under
pretext that he had only acted as auxiliary to the
Austrians, he refused to be included in the negotiations;
and I have heard it said that the Emperor,
impressed by this conduct, looked upon him, from that
time forth, as the veritable antagonist who would
dispute with him the empire of the world. He always
endeavored to depreciate him as much as possible.</p>

<p class='pindent'>There is an order in Russia which can only be worn
by a general whose services have on some great occasion
been useful to the empire. When Alexander
returned to his capital, the knights of this order came
to offer him the decoration. The Emperor declined
it, replying that he had not held the chief command
during the campaign, and therefore had not merited
the honor, as he had only imitated the intrepidity of
his brave soldiers to the best of his ability.</p>

<p class='pindent'>While our journals praised his modesty, they added:
“The Czar deserved this decoration if, in order to
wear it, it is sufficient to be in command without
being victorious. It is well known that it was not the
Emperor Francis who decided on joining battle at
Austerlitz, still less did he direct operations. Certainly,
by accepting the decoration, Alexander would
have taken on himself the oversights of his generals;
but that would have been better than to attribute the
defeat of the Russians to a small number of Austrians,
who fought with courage. They did all that could
have been expected of them by their allies.”</p>

<p class='pindent'>It was on the 2d of February that this article
appeared in our public prints; on the preceding day
they had published the proclamation to the Army of
Italy, which announced the invasion of the kingdom
of Naples. Joseph Bonaparte, seconded by Marshal
Masséna, was very shortly to occupy the capital;
Prince Eugène was taking possession of Venice. Thus
the whole of Italy was becoming dependent on the
French Empire. On another side, northern Germany
was subject to us, the kings whom we had set up bound
themselves to our interests, and we were shortly to
witness another marriage, which would be likely to
further the projects in which the Emperor was secretly
indulging.</p>

<p class='pindent'>On the occasion of his journey from Munich, he had
made a few hours’ stay at Augsburg. While there,
the former Elector of Trèves, uncle to the King of
Saxony, had presented to him the young Hereditary
Prince of Baden, who, confused and almost trembling
in the presence of Napoleon, had humbly implored the
honor of alliance with him by a marriage with some
member of his family. The Emperor accepted this
respectful request, and promised to bear it in mind on
his return to his own states.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Finally, he had just dispatched his brother Louis
on an expedition to Holland, in order to establish
some acquaintanceship between the Prince and a country
which was soon to receive the Imperial command
to erect a throne for Louis on the wreck of the
republic.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Such was the political situation of the Emperor.
Such a position would surely have satisfied any views
less ambitious than his own, nor can it be denied that
he had made full use of the eighteenth month of his
reign, now just expired.</p>

<p class='pindent'>In France, party spirit seemed absolutely to have
died out. All bent under the yoke; no class could be
indifferent to so much glory; and the Emperor endeavored
to increase the prestige which surrounded
him still further by numerous public works, simultaneously
undertaken. As soon as it became possible
for him to divert his attention for a moment from
foreign affairs, he devoted it to the improvement of
the finances of the country, which had suffered during
his absence. M. Barbé-Marbois, Minister of the
Treasury, having incurred his displeasure, was
replaced by M. Mollien, who was a skillful financier.
The Emperor was ably seconded by his Minister of
Finance, Gaudin, whose perfect integrity and sound
knowledge sustained credit and improved the system
of taxation. Indirect taxes were ventured on to a
greater extent than before; luxury, which would
render these taxes more productive, was encouraged;
and the heavy contributions which the Emperor had
everywhere levied upon his conquered enemies
afforded him the means, without burdening his people,
of keeping up the strength of his army, and undertaking
all the improvements which were begun throughout
France, as if by magic, at his command.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Roads over Mont Cenis and the Simplon were
actively pushed on; bridges were built, roadways
repaired; a town was founded in Vendée; canals were
dug at Ourcq and at Saint Quentin; telegraphs (i. e.,
signals) were established to accelerate correspondence;
Saint Denis was about to be repaired; the Vendôme
column and the triumphal arch at the Carrousel were
commenced. A plan for embanking the Seine with
new quays, and for embellishing the whole neighborhood
lying between the Tuileries and the Boulevards,
was adopted, and the work of demolition had already
made some progress. The Rue de Rivoli was planned,
the colonnade of the Louvre nearly completed; Lemot,
the sculptor, was intrusted with the decoration of the
pediment. We could observe the gradual rise of
the Pont des Arts, and the commencement of the
bridge near the Jardin des Plantes, which was to bear
the name of Austerlitz. The conservatories in these
gardens had been enriched with spoils from those of
Schönbrunn; scientific men were encouraged in the
pursuit of fresh discoveries; painters received orders
for pictures to commemorate our victories; the Academy
of Music was encouraged; the first musical artists
in Italy came to France to direct our vocal music;
literary men received pensions, and large grants were
made to actors; military schools were founded at
Fontainebleau and at Saint Cyr; and the Emperor
himself inspected the public schools of Paris. Finally,
in order that the industry of the nation might be encouraged
in every branch at once, he conceived the
idea of an exhibition, to be held in the spring, and in
commemoration of the campaign, in which every
product of industry, of whatever kind, should be represented.</p>

<p class='pindent'>M. de Champagny, the Minister of the Interior,
wrote a circular letter to all the prefects, directing
them to inform the departments over which they presided
that, on the 1st of May, there would be exhibited
on the Place des Invalides, under tents erected for the
occasion, everything deserving of notice in articles of
use and of luxury. Trade was in this manner awakened
from the torpor in which it had been plunged by
the war. The Emperor ordered the splendor and the
cost of his Court to be increased. He gave his
approval to the growing elegance of the women’s dress,
to the sumptuous decoration of his own palaces, and
to that of the houses of his sisters and his great nobles.
The French nation, which is naturally prone to vanity
and extravagance, gave itself up to the comforts and
luxuries of life; and as for us, whose fortunes were
but annuities depending not only on the life but on
the caprice of our master, with an utter disregard of
prudence, influenced by the example of others and by
the fear of displeasing him, we were ruled by the will
of Bonaparte alone in the use to which we put the
greater or less sums he distributed to us, and which he
gave with the intention of subduing rather than of
enriching us.</p>

<p class='pindent'>I say <span class='it'>we</span>, and yet at this time neither M. de Rémusat
nor I had any share in his gifts. The cross of Saint
Hubert had been given to my husband as a recompense
for his recent journey, but he never stood in the full
light of Imperial favor. As for myself, I led an unobtrusive
life in the midst of the Court, whose numbers
were greatly augmented. To speak frankly, although
I had taken pleasure in the prominence assigned to
me by my masters when I first entered their service,
the little experience I had acquired warned me not to
endeavor to regain any position of importance, now
that the interior of the palace was no longer the same.
I shall devote the following chapter to the details of
Court life, as it was now regulated, but I will return
for the present to my narrative of events.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Immediately on the Emperor’s return to his capital,
he was congratulated by the respective bodies of the
State.</p>

<p class='pindent'>During his stay at Munich he had witnessed a German
ceremonial, in which the King and Queen of
Bavaria, having taken their places on the throne,
received all the persons belonging to their Court, who
passed before them in succession, each making a low
salutation. He desired to establish a similar custom
in France, and we received orders to prepare for this
new “etiquette.”</p>

<p class='pindent'>The fact is that, at that time, everything had to be
constructed afresh. Revolutionary liberty had suppressed
all the rules of politeness. People no longer
knew how to salute each other when they met, and all
we court ladies suddenly discovered that the art of
making a courtesy had been omitted in our education.
Despréaux, who had been dancing-master to the last
Queen, was thereupon summoned to give us lessons.
He taught us how to walk and how to bow; and thus
a little boundary-line, trifling enough in itself, but
which acquired some importance from its motive, was
drawn between the ladies of the Imperial Court and
those belonging to other circles. We took with us into
society ceremonious manners, which distinguished us
everywhere; for a spirit of opposition caused those
women who kept aloof from the new Court to retain
the free and rather abrupt manners which the absence
of the habits of society had given them. In France,
opinions make themselves felt everywhere; they now
showed themselves in the different way in which a
lady-in-waiting and a lady from the Faubourg Saint
Germain would enter a drawing-room. But, putting
motives aside, it must be owned that the advantage
was ours. This was evident after the return of the
King: those ladies who had a real right to be about
him, either from the habit of freedom of manner
which they had acquired, or from the relief they
affected to feel at finding themselves on what great
people call <span class='it'>their own ground</span>, introduced at the
Tuileries a bold manner and loud tones of voice, which
contrasted sharply with the quiet and graceful behavior
that Bonaparte’s punctilious etiquette had made
habitual to us.</p>

<p class='pindent'>On an appointed day, therefore, the Emperor placed
himself on his throne, having the Empress on his left,
the Princesses and the Lady of Honor seated on court
tabourets, and the grand officers standing on either
side. The ladies-in-waiting, the wives of the marshals,
of the great officials, and of the ministers, all in full
court dress, then came in slow procession to the foot
of the throne, where they courtesied in silence. They
were followed by the gentlemen.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The ceremony was very long. At first the Emperor
was delighted. He took pleasure in etiquette, especially
when invented by himself; but he ended by being
mortally wearied. Toward the end, every one was
hurried past; there was some difficulty in inducing
him to remain on the throne until the close, and he
was almost angry with us for our share in a ceremonial
which he himself had imposed on us, in the
exercise of his own will.</p>

<p class='pindent'>A few nights afterward he went to the Opéra, and
was received with applause by an immense crowd. A
piece by Esménard, author of the “Poème de la Navigation,”
was given.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The scenery at the Opéra represented the Pont Neuf.
Persons of all nationalities were rejoicing together,
and singing verses in honor of the conqueror. The
pit joined in the choruses; branches of laurel were distributed
throughout the house, and waved aloft with
cries of “Vive l’Empereur!” He was touched, as
well he might be. It was, perhaps, the very last time
that public enthusiasm for him was spontaneous.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Shortly afterward the Emperor received a similar
ovation at the Comédie Française, but an unforeseen
circumstance threw a slight shadow over the evening.
Talma was acting the part of Abner in the tragedy of
“Athalie.” During the performance Bonaparte received
a messenger bringing the news of the entry of
the French troops into Naples. He immediately dispatched
an aide-de-camp to Talma, with orders to
interrupt the play, and to announce the news from the
foot-lights. Talma obeyed, and read the bulletin
aloud. The audience applauded, but I remember thinking
that the applause was not so spontaneous as that
we had heard at the Opéra.</p>

<p class='pindent'>On the following day our newspapers announced the
fall of her whom they designated as the modern
Athalie; and the vanquished Queen was grossly insulted,
with total disregard of the social propriety
that generally enforces respect toward misfortune.</p>

<p class='pindent'>It was remarked shortly afterward that, on the
opening of the Legislative Assemblies, M. de Fontanes
displayed great tact, when he praised Bonaparte, in
avoiding any insult to the fallen sovereigns whom he
had dethroned. He dwelt chiefly, in his eulogium, on
the moderation which had promoted peace, and on the
restoration of the tombs in St. Denis. M. de Fontanes’s
speeches during this reign are, on the whole,
distinguished by propriety and good taste.</p>

<p class='pindent'>After having thus shown himself to the public and
exhausted every form of adulation, the Emperor
resumed his life of hard work at the Tuileries, and we
our life of etiquette, which was regulated with extreme
precision. He began from this period to surround
himself with so much ceremonial that none of us
thenceforth could be said to have any familiarity with
him. In proportion as the Court became more numerous,
it assumed a greater appearance of monotony,
each one doing his own task by clockwork; but no one
thought of emancipating himself from the one groove
of thought belonging to a narrow circle of small duties.
A daily growing despotism, the fear we all felt of it—a
fear which consisted simply in our dread of receiving
a rebuke for the smallest fault—and the silence
we observed on every subject, placed the various inhabitants
of the Tuileries on the same level. It was useless
to have either opinions or talents, for there was
never any possibility of experiencing a feeling of any
kind, nor of exchanging an idea.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The Emperor, feeling secure of France, gave himself
up to his grand projects, and kept his eyes fixed
on Europe. His policy was no longer directed to
securing his power over the opinions of his fellow
citizens. In like manner, he disdained the little successes
of private life, which we have seen him at an
earlier period anxious to obtain; and I may say that
he looked upon his Court with the indifference which
a complete conquest inspires, when compared with
one as yet unattained. He was always anxious to
impose a yoke on every one, and to succeed in this he
neglected no means to his end; but, from the moment
he perceived his power to be established, he took no
pains to make himself agreeable.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The dependence and constraint in which he held the
Court had at least this one advantage: anything
resembling intrigue was almost unknown. As each
individual was firmly convinced that everything depended
on the sole will of the master, no one attempted
to follow a different path from that traced out by him;
and in our dealings with each other there was a feeling
of security.</p>

<p class='pindent'>His wife was almost in the same position of dependence
as others. In proportion as Bonaparte’s affairs
increased in magnitude, she became a stranger to
them. European politics, the destiny of the world,
mattered little to her; her thoughts did not reach to
heights which could have no influence on her own
fate. At this period she was tranquil as to her own
lot, and happy in that of her son; and she lived a life
of peaceful indifference, behaving to all with equal
graciousness, showing little or no special favor to any
one, but a general good will. She neither sought for
amusement nor feared <span class='it'>ennui</span>; she was always gentle
and serene, and, in fact, was indifferent to nearly all
things. Her love for her husband had greatly declined,
and she no longer suffered from the jealousy which
had in former years so much disturbed her. Every
day she judged him with greater clearness, and, being
convinced that her greatest source of influence over
him consisted in the sense of restfulness imparted to
him by the evenness of her temper, she took pains to
avoid disturbing him. I have said long ago that such
a man as he had neither time nor inclination for much
display of affection, and the Empress at this period
forgave him all the fancies which sometimes take the
place of love in a man’s life; nay, more, she became
his confidante in these little affairs.</p>

<p class='pindent'>On his return from Austerlitz, he again met Mme.
de X——, but seemed to take no notice of her. The
Empress treated her precisely as she treated others.
It has been said that Bonaparte occasionally returned
to his former fancy for this lady; but, if so, it was so
temporarily that the Court barely perceived the fact,
and, as it gave rise to no new incident, it awakened no
interest. The Emperor, who was convinced that the
influence of women had harmed the kings of France,
was irrevocably resolved that they should never be
more than an ornament to his Court, and he kept his
resolution. He had persuaded himself, I know not
how, that in France women are cleverer than men, or
at any rate he often said so, and that the education
they receive develops a certain kind of ability, against
which one must be on one’s guard. He felt, therefore,
a slight fear of them, and kept them at a distance on
this account. He exhibited a dislike of certain
women’s temper which amounted to weakness.</p>

<p class='pindent'>He banished Mme. de Staël, of whom he was genuinely
afraid, and shortly afterward Mme. de Balbi,
who had ventured on some jesting remarks concerning
himself. She had indiscreetly made these observations
in the hearing of a person whom I will not name,
and who repeated all he had heard. This individual
was a gentleman and a Chamberlain. I mention the
fact in order to prove that the Emperor found persons
in every class who were willing to serve him in his
own way.</p>

<p class='pindent'>We began to perceive, during the winter of this
year, how unhappy Mme. Louis was in her home life.
Her husband’s tyranny was exercised in every particular;
his character, quite as despotic as his brother’s,
made itself felt throughout his household. Until now
his wife had courageously hidden the excess to which
he carried his tyranny; but a circumstance occurred
which obliged her to confide some of her troubles to
her mother.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The health of Louis Bonaparte was very bad. Since
his return from Egypt he had suffered from frequent
attacks of a malady which had so weakened his legs
and his hands that he walked with difficulty, and was
stiff in every joint. Every remedy known to medicine
was tried in vain. Corvisart, who was medical attendant
to the whole family, advised him to try, as a last
resource, a disgusting remedy. He imagined that a
violent eruption on the skin would perhaps draw out
the poison which had defied other treatment. It was
therefore decided that on the state bed of Louis, under
its embroidered canopy, should be spread the hospital
sheets of some patient suffering from the itch; and his
Imperial Highness placed himself between them, and
even put on the sick man’s night-shirt. Louis, who
wished to hide this experiment from everybody, insisted
that nothing should be changed in the habits of
his wife. They usually slept in the same room, though
not in the same bed; he had always obliged her to
pass the night near him on a small bed placed under
the same canopy. He imperatively commanded that
she should continue to occupy this bed, adding, in a
spirit of strange jealousy, that no husband should
ever omit to take precautions against the natural inconstancy
of women. Mme. Louis, notwithstanding
her disgust, submitted in silence to this gross abuse of
conjugal authority.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Meanwhile, Corvisart, who was in attendance on
her, and who remarked a change in her appearance,
questioned her respecting the details of her life, and
obtained from her an admission of her husband’s
strange fancy. He thought it his duty to inform the
Empress, and did not conceal from her that, in his
opinion, the atmosphere of Louis’s bedroom was very
unwholesome for his wife.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Mme. Bonaparte warned her daughter, who replied
that she had thought as much; but, nevertheless, she
earnestly entreated her mother not to interfere between
her husband and herself. Then, no longer able to
restrain herself, she entered into particulars which
showed how grinding was the tyranny from which she
suffered, and how admirable the silence she had
hitherto kept. Mme. Bonaparte appealed to the
Emperor, who was attached to his step-daughter, and
he expressed his displeasure to his brother. Louis
coldly replied that, if his private affairs were interfered
with, he should leave France; and the Emperor,
who could not tolerate any open scandal in the family,
and who was perhaps, like the others, daunted by
Louis’s strange and obstinate temper, advised Mme.
Louis to have patience. Happily for her, her husband
soon gave up the disgusting remedy in question, but
he owed her a deep grudge for not having kept his
secret.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Had her daughter been happy, there was nothing at
this time to disturb the tranquillity of the Empress.
The Bonaparte family, full of their own affairs, no
longer interfered with her; Joseph was absent and
about to ascend the throne of Naples; Lucien was
exiled for ever from France; the youthful Jérôme
was cruising along our coasts; Mme. Bacciochi was
reigning at Piombino; and the Princess Borghese,
alternating between physic and dissipation, meddled
with nobody. Mme. Murat only might have caused
annoyance to her sister-in-law, but she was engaged
in promoting her husband’s interests, to which the
Empress made no opposition; for she would have
rejoiced greatly at Murat’s obtaining a principality
which would have removed him from Paris.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Mme. Murat used her utmost efforts, and was even
importunate with the Emperor, in order to attain her
ends. She connived at his gallantries, lent him her
house on occasions when it was convenient to him to
use it, and tried to divert him by fêtes, and to please
him by a display of luxury according to his taste. She
interested herself in every detail of the etiquette that
he wished to introduce, and assumed airs of dignity,
somewhat stilted perhaps, which induced him to
declare that his sister was in every respect fitted to be
a queen. She neglected no means of success, paid
attention to Maret, who had gradually gained the sort
of influence that is acquired by assiduity, and flattered
Fouché into a zealous attachment to her interests. The
understanding between Mme. Murat and these two
personages, who were both ill-disposed toward M. de
Talleyrand, increased the dislike of the latter to
Murat; and, as at this period he was in high favor, he
often thwarted Mme. Murat’s plans. Murat used to
say, in the southern accent he never lost, “Would not
Moussu dé Talleyrand like me to be broken on the
wheel!”</p>

<p class='pindent'>Murat, relying on his wife to further his interests,
contented himself with giving no cause of offense to
the Emperor, behaved toward him with entire submission,
and bore his alternations of temper without
complaint. Brave to excess on the battle-field, he had
not, it was said, any great military talent; and when
with the army he asked for nothing but the post of
danger. He was not wanting in quickness, his manners
were obliging; his attitudes and his dress were
always rather theatrical, but a fine figure and noble
appearance saved him from looking ridiculous. The
Emperor reposed no confidence in him, but he employed
him, because he feared him in no wise, and
because he could not help believing in every kind of
flattery. A certain sort of credulity is not rarely combined
in the same character with distrust; and those
great men who are the most suspicious by nature are
not the least amenable to flattery.</p>

<p class='pindent'>On his return from the campaign of Austerlitz the
Emperor distributed further rewards to his generals.
To some he gave considerable sums of money, to reimburse
them for the expenses of the campaign. General
Clarke was made Grand Officer of the Legion of
Honor, in recognition of the manner in which he had
fulfilled his duties as Governor of Vienna. Hitherto
Clarke had been treated with some coldness; the Emperor
showed him but little confidence, and accused
him of retaining a secret affection for the house of
Orleans; but he succeeded in convincing Bonaparte of
his obsequious devotion. General Clarke, now Duc de
Feltre, has for the last three years played a somewhat
conspicuous part, and it may be well to give some
particulars of his career.</p>

<p class='pindent'>His uncle, M. Shee, who was made Senator by the
Emperor, and who is a peer of France, was previous
to the Revolution secretary-general to a division of
light cavalry, of which the Duke of Orleans was
colonel-general. He was accompanied by his nephew,
Clarke, whom he had sent for from the country. The
young man found himself specially attached to the
house of Orleans, and it is on this account, perhaps,
that Bonaparte suspected him of private leanings
toward that party. He served the Revolution with
zeal, and was even employed, in 1794 and 1795, by the
Committee of Public Safety, in the war administration.</p>

<p class='pindent'>He accompanied Bonaparte into Italy, but haughty
manners were displeasing to the commander-in-chief.
Later on he was sent as ambassador to Tuscany, and
remained there for a considerable time, although he
frequently applied for his recall and for employment
in France. On finally obtaining these, he applied himself
to overcoming Bonaparte’s prejudice against him:
he flattered him assiduously, solicited the favor of a
post in his personal service, displayed the absolute
submission demanded by such a master, and was
eventually made Councilor of State and private secretary.
He was very hard-working and punctual, and
never wanted recreation. He was narrow-minded
and unimaginative, but clear-headed. He accompanied
the Emperor in the first Vienna campaign, showed
capacity as Governor of the city, and received a first
reward on his return. We shall hear of him later on
as Minister of War, and in every capacity as a man of
second-rate ability. His integrity has always been
freely acknowledged; he amassed no fortune except
that which resulted from the savings of his various
salaries. Like M. Maret, he carried the language of
flattery to its extreme limits.</p>

<p class='pindent'>His first marriage was unhappy, and he obtained a
divorce. He had one daughter, a gentle and agreeable
girl, whom he gave in marriage while he was in office
to the Vicomte Emery de Montesquiou-Fezensac,
whose military advancement, thanks to his father-in-law,
was very rapid. This young man is at the
present time aide-major-general in the Royal Guards.
The Duc de Feltre’s second wife was an excellent
but insignificant woman. By her he had several
sons.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Meanwhile, M. de Talleyrand’s friendliness toward
M. de Rémusat brought me into a closer acquaintance
with him. He did not as yet visit at my house, but I
frequently met him, and wherever this occurred he
took more notice of me than formerly. He seldom
missed an opportunity of praising my husband, and
thus he gratified the feelings dearest to my heart; and,
if I must speak the whole truth, he gratified my vanity
also by seeking me out on all occasions. He won
me over to him by degrees, and my former prejudice
against him vanished. Yet he would sometimes alarm
me by certain expressions for which I was unprepared.
One day I was speaking to him of the recent conquest
of Naples, and ventured to let him perceive that I
disapproved of our policy of universal dethronement.
He replied in the cold and deliberate tone that he
knows so well how to assume when he means to permit
no reply, “Madame, we shall not desist until there
shall no longer be a Bourbon on a European throne.”
These words gave me pain. I thought little, I must
admit, about our royal family; but still, at the sound
of the name of Bourbon, certain recollections of my
early days awakened former feelings that had faded
rather than disappeared.</p>

<p class='pindent'>I could not, at the present time, attempt to explain
this feeling without running the risk of being accused
of insincerity, which is absolutely foreign to my character.
It may be thought that, remembering the period
at which I write, I want gradually to prepare the way
for my own return to those opinions which everybody
now hastens to parade. But this is not the case. In
those days I admired the Emperor; I was still attached
to him, although less fascinated by him; I believed
him to be necessary to France; he appeared to me to
have become her legitimate sovereign. But all these
feelings were combined with a tender reverence for
the heirs and all the kin of Louis XVI.; it pained me
deeply when fresh misfortunes were prepared for
them and I heard them evil spoken of. Bonaparte had
often inflicted suffering of this kind on me. To a
man who only appreciated success, Louis XVI. must
have seemed deserving of little respect. He was
entirely unjust toward him, and believed in all the
popular stories against him, which were the offspring
of the Revolution. When the conversation turned on
that illustrious and unfortunate King, I endeavored
as soon as possible to change the subject.</p>

<p class='pindent'>But to return. Such was M. de Talleyrand’s opinion
at that time; I will show by degrees, and when the
time comes, how events subsequently modified it.</p>

<p class='pindent'>During the winter the heir of the King of Bavaria
came on a visit to our Court. He was young, deaf,
not very amiable; but he had very polished manners,
and he showed great deference toward the Emperor.
He had apartments at the Tuileries, two chamberlains
and an equerry were placed at his service, and every
attention was paid to him.</p>

<p class='pindent'>On the 10th of February the list of ladies-in-waiting
was increased by the names of Mme. Maret, on the
request of Mme. Murat, and of Mmes. de Chevreuse,
de Montmorency-Matignon, and de Mortemart.</p>

<p class='pindent'>M. de Talleyrand was an intimate friend of the
Duchesse de Luynes, and he induced her to make her
daughter-in-law accept a place at Court. The Duchess
was greatly attached to Mme. de Chevreuse. The
latter had very pronounced opinions of her own, and
every one of them distinctly opposed to what was
expected of her. Bonaparte threatened; M. de Talleyrand
negotiated, and, according to custom, obtained
his way. Madame de Chevreuse was pretty, although
red-haired, and very witty, but excessively spoiled by
her family, willful and fantastic. Her health even
then was very delicate. The Emperor tried by coaxing
to console her for having forced her into the
Court. At times he would appear to have succeeded,
and then at others she would take no pains to conceal
her dislike to her position. Her natural disposition
gave her an attraction for the Emperor, which others
would have vainly endeavored to exert, the charm of
combat and of victory. For she would sometimes
seem to be amused with the fêtes and the splendor of
the Court; and when she appeared there in full dress
and apparently in good spirits, then the Emperor, who
enjoyed even the smallest success, would laugh and
say, “I have overcome the aversion of Mme. de
Chevreuse.” But, in reality, I do not think he ever
did.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The Baronne de Montmorency (now Duchesse de
Montmorency), who was extremely intimate with M.
de Talleyrand, had been induced to join the Court,
partly by his persuasions, and partly by her wish to
regain some extensive forest-lands which were seized
by Government during her emigration, but had not yet
been sold. Mme. de Montmorency was extremely
pleasant at Court; she demeaned herself without either
pride or subservience, appeared to enjoy herself, and
made no pretense of being there against her will. I
think she found court life very agreeable, and that
possibly she may have regretted it. Her name gave
her an advantage, as it does in every place. The
Emperor often said that he cared only for the nobility
of history, and he certainly paid it great honor.</p>

<p class='pindent'>This reminds me of an anecdote concerning Bonaparte.
When he resolved on reconstituting titles, he
decided by a stroke of his pen that all the ladies-in-waiting
should be countesses. Mme. de Montmorency,
who stood in no need of a title, but found herself
obliged to take one, asked for the title of baroness,
which, she said laughingly, suited her name so well.
“That can not be,” replied Bonaparte, laughing too;
“you, madame, are not a sufficiently good Christian.”</p>

<p class='pindent'>Some years later the Emperor restored to MM. de
Montmorency and de Mortemart a large portion of
the fortune they had lost. M. de Mortemart, declining
to become an equerry on account of the too great
fatigue of the post, was made Governor of Rambouillet.
We have all known the Vicomte de Laval-Montmorency,
father of the Vicomte Mathieu de
Montmorency, a Gentleman of Honor to Madame,
Governor of Compiègne, and one of the most ardent
admirers of Bonaparte.</p>

<p class='pindent'>From this time forward there was increasing eagerness
to belong to the Emperor’s Court, and especially
to be presented to him. His receptions became very
brilliant. Ambition, fear, vanity, love of amusement
and novelty, and the desire of advancement, caused a
crowd of people to push themselves forward, and the
mixture of names and ranks became greater than ever.</p>

<p class='pindent'>M. Molé joined the Government in the month of
March of this year. He was the heir and last descendant
of Mathieu Molé, and was then twenty-six years
of age. He was born during the Revolution, and had
suffered from the misfortunes it caused. His father
perished under the tyrannical rule of Robespierre,
and he became his own master at an early age. He
made use of his freedom to devote himself to serious
and varied study. His family and friends married
him, at the age of nineteen, to Mlle. de la Briche,
heiress to a considerable fortune, and niece to Mme.
d’Houdetot, of whom I have already spoken. M.
Molé, who was naturally of a grave disposition, soon
became weary of a merely worldly life, and, having
no profession, he sought to fill up his time by literary
compositions, which he showed to his friends. Toward
the end of 1805 he wrote a short treatise, extremely
metaphysical and not very clear, on a theory of
authority and the will of man. His friends, who were
surprised at the research indicated by such a work,
advised him to print the treatise. His youthful vanity
readily consented to this. The public looked indulgently
on the work on account of his youth; both depth
and talent were recognized in it, but, at the same time,
a tendency to praise despotic government, which gave
rise to an impression that the author aimed at attracting
the attention of him who at that time held the
destinies of all in his hand. Whether this was really
in the mind of the writer, or whether he was horrified
at the abuse of liberty, and for the first time in his
life believed his country to be at rest and in security
under the guidance of a strong will, I do not know.
At any rate, M. Molé gave his work to the public, and
it made some sensation.</p>

<p class='pindent'>After the return from Vienna, M. de Fontanes,
who had a great regard for M. Molé, read the book
to Bonaparte, who was greatly struck by it. The
opinions it advanced, the superior mind it attested,
and the distinguished name of Molé attracted his
attention. He sent for the author, and praised him
as he well knew how; for he had great skill in the use
of words seductive to the young. He succeeded in
persuading him to enter into public life, promising
him that his career should be rapid and brilliant; and,
a few days after this interview, M. Molé was appointed
one of the auditors attached to the Interior Section.
He was a familiar friend of M. d’Houdetot, his cousin,
a grandson of her whom the “Confessions” of J. J.
Rousseau have made famous, and M. Molé persuaded
him to enter together with himself on the same career,
M. d’Houdetot was made auditor to the Naval Section.
His father held a command in the colonies, and was
taken prisoner by the English on the capture of Martinique.
He had passed a part of his life in the Isle
de France, and returned, bringing with him a beautiful
wife and nine children, five of them girls. His daughters
were all handsome; they are now living in Paris.
Some of them are married; one of them is Mme. de
Barante, the most beautiful woman in Paris at the
present time.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The fusion that was spreading with so much rapidity
brought about social concord, by mingling the interests
of all. M. Molé, for instance, belonging on his own
side to a very distinguished family, and on his wife’s
to people of rank—for Mme. Molé’s cousins were
Mmes. de Vintimille and de Fezensac—became a link
between the Emperor and a large circle of society.
My intimacy with members of his family was of old
date, and I was glad to see them taking their share of
the new places which were within the reach of those
who chose to take them. Opinions abated in the face
of self-interest; party spirit began to die out; ambition,
pleasure, and luxury drew people together; and
every day discontent was lessened.</p>

<p class='pindent'>If Bonaparte, who was so successful in conciliating
individuals, had but gone a step further, and, instead
of governing by force alone, had yielded to the reaction
which longed for repose; if, now that he had conquered
the present moment, he had made himself
master of the future, by creating durable institutions
independent of his own caprice—there is little doubt
but that his victory over our recollections, our prejudices,
and our regrets would have been as lasting as it
was remarkable. But it must be confessed that liberty,
true liberty, was wanting everywhere; and the fault
of the nation consisted in not perceiving this in time.
As I have said before, the Emperor improved the
finances, and encouraged trade, science, and art; merit
was rewarded in every class; but all this was spoiled
by the stamp of slavery. Being resolved on ruling
everything himself, and for his own advantage, he
always put himself forward as the ultimate aim. It
is said that on starting for the first campaign in Italy,
he told a friend who was editor of a newspaper:
“Recollect in your accounts of our victories to speak
of <span class='it'>me</span>, always of <span class='it'>me</span>. Do you understand?” This
“<span class='it'>me</span>” was the ceaseless cry of purely egotistical
ambition. “Quote <span class='it'>me</span>,” “Sing, praise, and paint <span class='it'>me</span>,”
he would say to orators, to musicians, to poets, and to
painters. “I will buy you at your own price; but you
must all be purchased.” Thus, notwithstanding his
desire to make his reign famous by gathering together
every kind of prodigy, he neutralized his efforts and
ours by denying to talent that noble independence
which alone can develop invention or genius of any
kind.</p>

<hr class='pbk'/>

<div><span class='pageno' title='452' id='Page_452'></span><h1>CHAPTER&nbsp;&nbsp;XVIII</h1></div>

<h2 class='nobreak'>(1806.)</h2>

<p class='noindent'><img src='https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:c:claire-remusat-memoirs-josephine-vol-2-i.jpg' style='float:left;' alt='I'/> THINK it will not be amiss at this point to devote
a few pages to the interior management of
what was called “the Emperor’s household.”
Although, at the present time, his own private concerns
and those of his Court have even more completely
passed away than his policy and his power,
still there will be perhaps some interest in an account
of his minute regulations of the actions and the expenditure
of each person belonging to the Court. He
was always and in all things the same, and this fidelity
to the system he had irrevocably adopted is one of
the most singular sides of his character. The details
I am about to give relate to several periods of his
reign; but from the year 1806 the rules of his household
were pretty nearly invariable, and the slight
modifications which they sometimes received scarcely
altered the general plan of their arrangement. I shall
therefore sketch this general plan, aided by the excellent
memory of M. de Rémusat, who during ten years
was both a spectator and an actor in the scenes I am
about to describe.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The civil list of France, under Bonaparte, amounted
to a sum of twenty-five millions; in addition to this,
crown lands and forests brought in three millions,
and the civil list of Italy eight millions, of which he
granted four to Prince Eugène. From Piedmont,
partly by the civil list and partly by crown property,
he received three millions; after Prince Borghese had
been appointed Governor, only half that sum.
Finally, four millions came from Tuscany, which
were also afterward shared with Mme. Bacciochi,
when she became Grand Duchess of Tuscany. The
fixed revenue of the Emperor amounted, therefore, to
35,500,000 francs.</p>

<p class='pindent'>He kept at his own disposal the greater part of the
sum allotted to the secret service of foreign affairs,
and also the eighteen hundred thousand francs allotted
to the theatres, of which barely twelve hundred
thousand were voted by the yearly budget for their
support. He dispensed the remainder in presents to
actors, artists, men of letters, or even to officers of his
household.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The fund for the maintenance of the police, after
subtracting the expenses of the department, was also
at his disposal; and this yielded a considerable sum
every year, being derived from the tax on gaming-houses,
which amounted to more than four million
francs. He could also dispose of the share that the
Government had reserved to itself on all newspapers,
which must have brought in nearly a million francs;
and, finally, of the sum yielded by stamps on passports
and on permits to carry arms.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The sums levied during war were placed to the
extraordinary credit, of which Bonaparte disposed
as he liked. He frequently retained a large portion,
which he made use of to supply the cost of the Spanish
war, and for the immense preparations for the
Russian campaign. Finally, he converted a considerable
portion into specie and diamonds; these were deposited
in the cellars of the Tuileries, and defrayed
the cost of the war of 1814, when the destruction of
public credit had paralyzed other resources.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The utmost order prevailed in Bonaparte’s household;
liberal salaries were paid to every one, but all
was so regulated that no official could use for himself
the sums that were intrusted to him.</p>

<p class='pindent'>His great officers received a fixed salary of forty
thousand francs. The last two years of his reign he
endowed the posts of great officers with a considerable
income, besides the sums granted to the individuals
who filled them.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The posts of Grand Marshal, of Grand Chamberlain,
and of Grand Equerry were each endowed with
one hundred thousand francs; those of High Almoner
and Grand Veneur with eighty thousand francs; that
of Grand Master of Ceremonies with sixty thousand.
The Intendant and the Treasurer each received forty
thousand francs. M. Daru was the first Intendant;
he was succeeded by M. de Champagny when the latter
retired from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs.
The First Prefect of the Palace and the Gentleman of
Honor to the Empress each received thirty thousand
francs.</p>

<p class='pindent'>M. de Nansouty, my brother-in-law, was for some
time First Chamberlain to the Empress; but, this post
having been abolished, he was made First Equerry
to the Emperor. The Lady of Honor received forty
thousand francs; the Mistress of the Robes, thirty
thousand. There were eighteen Chamberlains.
Those of oldest date received either twelve, six, or
three thousand francs, varying according to a sum
fixed by the Emperor every year; the others were
honorary. Bonaparte, moreover, regulated every
salary in his household annually, augmenting thereby
the dependence of us all by the uncertainty in which
we were kept.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The Equerries received twelve thousand francs;
the Prefects of the Palace, or Maîtres d’Hôtel, fifteen
thousand, and the Master of Ceremonies a like sum.
Each aide-de-camp received twenty-four thousand, as
an officer of the household.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The Grand Marshal, or Master of the Household,
superintended all the expenses of the table, of the
domestic service, lighting and heating, etc. These
expenses amounted to nearly two millions.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Bonaparte’s table was abundant and well served.
The plate was of silver and very handsome; on great
occasions the dinner service was of silver-gilt. Mme.
Murat and the Princess Borghese used dinner-services
of silver-gilt.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The Grand Marshal was the chief of the Prefects
of the Palace; his uniform was amethyst-colored,
embroidered in silver. The Prefects of the Palace
wore the same colored uniform, less richly embroidered.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The expenditure of the Grand Equerry (Master of
the Horse) amounted to three or four millions. There
were about twelve hundred horses. The carriages,
which were more ponderous than elegant, were all
painted green. The Empress had some equipages,
among them some pretty open carriages, but no separate
stable establishment. The Grand Equerry and
the other Equerries wore a uniform of dark blue, embroidered
in silver.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The Grand Chamberlain had charge of all the attendance
in the interior of all the palaces, of the wardrobe,
the Court theatricals, the fêtes, the chapel choir,
of the Emperor’s Chamberlains, and of those of the
Empress. The expenditure on all these scarcely exceeded
three millions. His uniform was red, with
silver embroidery. The Grand Master of Ceremonies
received little more than three hundred thousand
francs; his costume was of violet and silver. The
Grand Veneur, or Master of the Hunt, received seven
hundred thousand francs: he wore green and silver.
The expenditure on the chapel was three hundred
thousand francs.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The decorations of the apartments, as well as the
care of the buildings, was in charge of the Intendant.
The expenses of these would amount to five or six
millions.</p>

<p class='pindent'>It will be seen that, on an average, the expenditure
of the Emperor’s household would amount to fifteen
or sixteen millions of francs annually.</p>

<p class='pindent'>In later years he built extensively, and the expenditure
was increased.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Every year he ordered hangings and furniture for
the various palaces from Lyons. This was with a
view to encouraging the manufactures of that city.
For the same reason he bought handsome pieces of
furniture in mahogany, which were placed in storerooms,
and also bronzes, etc. Porcelain manufacturers
had orders to supply complete services of extreme
beauty.</p>

<p class='pindent'>On the return of the King, the palaces were all
found to be newly furnished, and the furniture stores
quite full.</p>

<p class='pindent'>But, including all these things, the expenditure
never exceeded twenty millions, even in the most
costly years, such as those of the coronation and of
the marriage.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Bonaparte’s expenditure on dress was put down on
the budget at forty thousand francs. Sometimes it
slightly exceeded this sum. During campaigns it was
necessary to send him both linen and clothes to several
places at once. The slightest sense of inconvenience,
or the smallest difference of quality in the linen
or cloth, would make him throw aside a coat or any
other garment.</p>

<p class='pindent'>He always said he wished to dress like a simple officer
of his own Guards, and grumbled continually at
what, as he said, “he was made to spend”; while,
from his caprice or awkwardness, the entire renewal
of his wardrobe was constantly necessary. Among
other destructive habits, he had that of stirring the
wood-fires with his foot, thereby scorching his shoes
and boots. This generally happened when he was in
a passion; at such times he would violently kick the
blazing logs in the nearest fireplace.</p>

<p class='pindent'>M. de Rémusat was for several years Keeper of the
Wardrobe, receiving no emoluments. When M. de
Turenne succeeded to that post, a salary of twelve
thousand francs was awarded to him.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Every year the Emperor himself drew up a scheme
of household expenditure with scrupulous care and
remarkable economy. During the last quarter of each
year the head of each department regulated his expenses
for the following twelvemonth. When this
was accomplished, a council was held and everything
was carefully discussed. This council consisted of
the Grand Marshal, who presided, the great officers,
the Intendant, and the Treasurer to the Crown. The
expenses of the Empress’s household were comprised
in the accounts of the Grand Chamberlain, on whose
budget they were entered. In these councils the
Grand Marshal and the Treasurer undertook to defend
the Emperor’s interests. The consultation being
over, the Grand Marshal took the accounts to the
Emperor, who examined them himself, and returned
them with marginal notes. After a short interval, the
council met again, under the presidency of the Emperor
himself, who went over each item of expenditure
anew. These consultations were generally repeated
several times; the accounts of each department
were then returned to its chief, and fair copies of them
were made, after which they passed through the
hands of the Intendant, who finally inspected them,
together with the Emperor, in presence of the Grand
Marshal. By these means all expenditures was fixed,
and seldom indeed did any of the great officers obtain
the sums for which they had asked.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Bonaparte’s hour for rising was irregular, but usually
it was seven o’clock. If he woke during the
night, he would resume his work, or take a bath or
a meal. He generally awoke depressed, and apparently
in pain. He suffered frequently from spasms
in the stomach, which produced vomiting. At times
this appeared to alarm him greatly, as if he feared he
had taken poison, and then it was difficult to prevent
him from increasing the sickness by taking emetics.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The only persons who had the right of entry into
his dressing-room without being announced were the
Grand Marshal and the principal physician. The
Keeper of the Wardrobe was announced, but was almost
always admitted. He would have wished M. de
Rémusat to employ these morning visits in giving
him an account of all that was said or done at Court
or in the city; but my husband invariably declined
the task, and persevered in his determination with
praiseworthy obstinacy.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The other physicians or surgeons on duty might
not come unless they were summoned. Bonaparte
seemed to put no great faith in medicine—it was frequently
a matter of jesting with him; but he had great
confidence in Corvisart, and much esteem for him.
He had good health and a strong constitution; but,
when he suffered from any indisposition, he became
uneasy and nervous. He was occasionally troubled
with a slight affection of the skin, and sometimes complained
of his liver. He ate moderately, drank little,
and indulged in no excesses of any kind. He took a
good deal of coffee.</p>

<p class='pindent'>While dressing, he was usually silent, unless a discussion
arose between him and Corvisart on some
medical subject. In everything he liked to go straight
to the point, and, if any one was mentioned as being
ill, his first question was always, “Will he die?” A
doubtful answer displeased him, and would make him
argue on the inefficiency of medical science.</p>

<p class='pindent'>He acquired with great difficulty the art of shaving
himself. M. de Rémusat induced him to undertake
this task on seeing that he was uneasy and nervous
under the hands of a barber. After many trials, and
when he had finally succeeded, he often said that the
advice to shave himself with his own hand had been
of signal service to him.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Bonaparte so thoroughly accustomed himself during
his reign to make no account of those about him,
that this habitual disregard pervaded all his habits.
He had not any of the delicacy that is ordinarily imparted
by training and education, and would make his
toilet in the most thorough fashion in the presence
of any person whomsoever. In the same way, if he
got impatient while his valet was dressing him, he
would fly into a passion, heedless of all respect for
himself or others. He would throw any garment that
did not please him on the floor or into the fire. He
attended to his hands and nails with great care.
Several pairs of nail-scissors had to be in readiness,
as he would break or throw them away if they were
not sufficiently sharp. He never made use of any
perfume except eau de Cologne, but of that he would
get through sixty bottles in a month. He considered
it a very wholesome practice to sprinkle himself thoroughly
with eau de Cologne. Personal cleanliness
was with him a matter of calculation, for, as I said
before, he was naturally careless.</p>

<p class='pindent'>When his toilet was concluded, he went to his cabinet,
where his private secretary was in attendance.
Precisely at nine o’clock, the Chamberlain on duty,
who had arrived at the palace at eight <span class='sc'>a. m.</span>, and had
carefully inspected the whole suite of rooms, that all
might be in perfect order, and seen that the servants
were at their posts, knocked at the door and announced
the <span class='it'>levée</span>. He never entered the cabinet unless
told to come in by the Emperor. I have already
given an account of these <span class='it'>levées</span>. When they were
over, Bonaparte frequently gave private audiences to
some of the principal persons present—princes, ministers,
high officials or prefects on leave. Those who
had not the right of entry to the <span class='it'>levée</span> could only obtain
an audience by applying to the Chamberlain on
duty, who presented their names to the Emperor. He
generally refused to see the applicants.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The <span class='it'>levée</span> and audiences would last until the hour
of breakfast. That meal was served at eleven o’clock,
in what was called the <span class='it'>salon de service</span>, the same
apartments in which he held private audiences and
received his ministers. The Prefect of the Palace
announced breakfast, and remained present, standing
all the time. During breakfast the Emperor received
artists or actors. He would eat quickly of two or
three dishes, and finish with a large cup of coffee
without milk. After breakfast he returned to his
work. The <span class='it'>salon</span> of which I have just spoken was
ordinarily occupied by the Colonel-General of the
Guards on duty for the week, the Chamberlain, the
Equerry, the Prefect of the Palace, and, on a hunting
morning, one of the officers of the hunt.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The ministerial councils were held on fixed days.
There were three State councils a week. For five or
six years the Emperor frequently presided over them,
his Colonel-General and the Chamberlain being in attendance
on him. He is said to have generally displayed
remarkable ability in carrying on or suggesting
discussions. He frequently astonished his hearers
by observations full of luminousness and depth on
subjects which would have seemed to be quite beyond
his reach. In more recent times he showed less tolerance
for others in these discussions, and adopted a
more imperious tone. The State council, or that of
the Ministers, or his own private work, lasted to
six <span class='sc'>p. m.</span></p>

<p class='pindent'>After 1806 he almost always dined alone with his
wife, except when the Court was at Fontainebleau;
he would then invite guests to his table. He had
all courses of the dinner placed before him at once;
and he ate without paying any attention to his food,
helping himself to whatever was at hand, sometimes
taking preserves or creams before touching the more
solid dishes. The Prefect of the Palace was present
during dinner; two pages waited, and were assisted
by the footmen. The dinner-hour was very irregular.
If there happened to be any important business
requiring his immediate attention, Bonaparte worked
on, detaining the Council until six, seven, or even
eight o’clock at night, without showing the smallest
fatigue, or appearing to feel the need of food. Mme.
Bonaparte waited for him with admirable patience,
and never uttered a complaint.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The evenings were very short. I have already said
how they were spent. During the winter of 1806
there were many small dancing entertainments given,
both at the Tuileries and by the Princes. The Emperor
would make his appearance at them for a few
minutes, and always looked excessively bored. The
routine of the <span class='it'>coucher</span> (retiring for the night) was
the same as it was in the morning, except that the attendants
came in last to receive orders. The Emperor
in undressing and going to bed had no one near
him except the <span class='it'>valets de chambre</span>.</p>

<p class='pindent'>No one slept in his chamber. His Mameluke lay
near the inner entrance. The aide-de-camp of the day
slept in the anteroom with his head against the door.
In the rooms on the other side of this <span class='it'>salon</span> or anteroom,
a Marshal of the Home Guard and two footmen
kept watch all night.</p>

<p class='pindent'>No sentinel was ever seen in the interior of the palace.
At the Tuileries there was one upon the staircase,
because the staircase is open to the public, and
they were everywhere at the outer doors. Bonaparte
was very well protected by very few persons; this was
the care of the Grand Marshal. The police of the palace
was extremely well managed. The name of every
person who entered its doors was always known.
No one resided there except the Grand Marshal, who
ate there, and whose servants wore the Emperor’s
livery; but of these there were only the <span class='it'>valets de chambre</span>
and the <span class='it'>femmes de chambre</span>. The Lady of Honor
had an apartment which Mme. de la Rochefoucauld
never occupied. At the time of the second marriage
Bonaparte wished Mme. de Montebello to live there
altogether. In the time of the Empress Josephine
the Comtesse d’Arberg and her daughter, who had
come from Brussels to be Lady of the Palace, were
always lodged in the palace. At Saint Cloud all the
attendants resided there. The Grand Equerry lived
at the stables, which were or are those of the King.
The Intendant and the Treasurer were installed there.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The Empress Josephine had six hundred thousand
francs for her personal expenses. This sum in no
degree sufficed her, and she incurred many debts annually.
A hundred and twenty thousand francs were
allowed her for her charities. The Archduchess had
but three hundred thousand francs, and sixty thousand
for her private purse. The reason of this difference
was, that Mme. Bonaparte was compelled to assist
many poor relations, whose claims on her were
great and frequent. She having certain connections in
France and the Archduchess none, Mme. Bonaparte
was naturally obliged to spend more money. She gave
much away, but, as she never made her presents from
her own resources, but bought incessantly, her generosity
only augmented her debts to an appalling degree.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Notwithstanding the wishes of her husband, she
could never submit to either order or etiquette in her
private life. He was unwilling that any salesman of
any kind should be received by her, but was obliged
to relinquish this point. Her small private apartments
were crowded by these people, as well as by
artists of all kinds. She had a perfect mania for being
painted, and gave her pictures to whomsoever
wanted them—relations, friends, <span class='it'>femmes de chambre</span>,
and even to her tradespeople, who brought her constantly
diamonds and jewels, stuffs and gewgaws of
all kinds. She bought everything, rarely asking the
price, and the greater part of the time forgot what
she had bought. From the beginning she had signified
to her Lady of Honor and her Lady in Waiting
that they were not to interfere with her wardrobe.
All matters of that kind were arranged between herself
and her <span class='it'>femmes de chambre</span>, of whom she had
six or eight, I think.</p>

<p class='pindent'>She rose at nine o’clock. Her toilet consumed
much time; a part of it was entirely private, when
she lavished unwearied efforts on the preservation of
her person and on its embellishment, with the aid of
paint and powder. When all this was accomplished,
she wrapped herself in a long and very elegant peignoir
trimmed with lace, and placed herself under the
hands of her hair-dresser. Her chemises and skirts
were embroidered and trimmed. She changed all her
linen three times each day, and never wore any stockings
that were not new. While her hair was being
dressed, if we presented ourselves at her door, we
were admitted. When this process was finished, huge
baskets were brought in containing many different
dresses, shawls, and hats. There were in summer
muslin or percale robes, much embroidered and
trimmed; in winter there were redingotes of stuffs or
of velvet. From these baskets she selected her costume
for the day, and always wore in the morning a
hat covered with feathers or flowers, and wraps that
made considerable drapery about her. The number
of her shawls was between three and four hundred.
She had dresses made of them, coverings for her bed,
cushions for her dog. She always wore one in the
morning, which she draped about her shoulders with
a grace that I never saw equaled. Bonaparte, who
thought these shawls covered her too much, tore them
off, and more than once threw them in the fire; after
which she would then send for another. She purchased
all that were brought to her, no matter at what
price. I have seen her buy shawls for which their
owner asked eight, ten, and twelve thousand francs.
They were the great extravagance of this Court,
where those which cost only fifty louis were looked
at disdainfully, and where the women boasted of the
price they had paid for those they wore.</p>

<p class='pindent'>I have already described the life which Mme. Bonaparte
led. This life never varied in any respect.
She never opened a book, she never took up a pen,
and never touched a needle; and yet she never seemed
to be in the least bored. She was not fond of the
theatre; the Emperor did not wish her to go there
without him, and receive applause which he did not
share. She walked only when she was at Malmaison,
a dwelling that she never ceased to improve, and on
which she had spent enormous sums.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Bonaparte was extremely irritated by these expenditures.
He would fly into a passion, and his wife
would weep, promising to be wiser and more prudent;
after which she would go on in the same way, and
in the end he was obliged to pay the bills. The evening
toilet was as careful as that of the morning.
Everything was elegant in the extreme. We rarely
saw the same dresses and the same flowers appear the
second time. In the evening the Empress appeared
without a hat, with flowers, pearls, or precious stones
in her hair. Then her dresses showed her figure to
perfection, and the most exquisite toilet was that
which was most becoming to her. The smallest assembly,
the most informal dance, was always an occasion
for her to order a new costume, in spite of the
hoards of dresses which accumulated in the various
palaces; for she had a mania for keeping everything.
It would be utterly impossible for me to give any idea
of the sums she spent in this way. At every dressmaker’s
and milliner’s in Paris, go in when we would,
we were sure to find something being made for her or
ordered by her. I have seen several lace robes, at forty,
fifty, and even a hundred thousand francs each. It is
almost incredible that this passion for dress, which
was so entirely satisfied, should never have exhausted
itself. After the divorce, at Malmaison, she had the
same luxurious tastes, and dressed with as much care,
even when she saw no one. The day of her death
she insisted on being dressed in a very elegant <span class='it'>robe
de chambre</span>, because she thought that the Emperor of
Russia would come perhaps to see her. She died
covered with ribbons and pale rose-colored satin.
These tastes and these habits on her part naturally
increased the expenses of those about her, and we
found it difficult at times to appear in suitable toilets.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Her daughter was dressed with equal richness—it
was the tone of this Court; but she had order and
economy, and never seemed to take much pleasure in
dress. Mme. Murat and the Princess Borghese put
their whole souls into it. Their court dresses cost
them generally from ten to fifteen thousand francs;
and they supplemented them by rare pearls and jewels
without price.</p>

<p class='pindent'>With all this extreme luxury, the exquisite taste of
the Empress, and the rich costumes of the men, the
Court was, as may readily be imagined, most brilliant.
It may even be said that on certain days the
<span class='it'>coup d’œil</span> was absolutely dazzling. Foreigners were
much struck by it. It was during this year (1806)
that the Emperor decided to give occasional concerts
in the Hall of the Marshals, as a certain large hall,
hung with portraits of the Marshals, was called.
These portraits are very likely there now. This hall
was lighted by an infinite number of candles, and to
it were invited all those persons who had any connection
with the Government and those who had been
presented. Thus there were assembled usually between
four and five hundred persons.</p>

<p class='pindent'>After having walked through the saloons where all
these people were assembled, Bonaparte entered the
hall and took his place at the end; the Empress on
his left, as well as the Princesses of his family, in the
most dazzling costumes; his mother on his right—still
a very handsome woman, with an air of great
distinction. His brothers were richly dressed, and
they with foreign princes and other dignitaries were
seated. Behind were the grand officers, the chamberlains,
and all the staff, in their embroidered uniforms.
Upon the right and the left, in curved lines, sat two
rows of ladies—the Lady of Honor, the Lady in
Waiting, and the Ladies of the Palace, almost all of
them young, the greater number of them pretty and
beautifully dressed. Then came a large number of
ladies—foreigners and Frenchwomen—whose toilets
were exquisite beyond words. Behind these two rows
of seated ladies were men standing—ambassadors,
ministers, marshals, senators, generals, and so on—all
in the most gorgeous costumes. Opposite the imperial
chairs were the musicians, and as soon as the
Emperor was seated they executed the best music,
which, however, in spite of the strict silence that was
enjoined and preserved, fell on inattentive ears.
When the concert was over, in the center of the room,
which had been kept vacant, appeared the best dancers,
male and female, from the opera, and executed
a charming ballet. This part of the entertainment of
the evening amused every one, even the Emperor.</p>

<p class='pindent'>M. de Rémusat had all these arrangements under
his charge, and it was no petty matter either, for the
Emperor was extremely particular and exacting in
regard to the most trivial details. M. de Talleyrand
said sometimes to my husband, “I pity you, for you
are called upon to amuse the unamusable.”</p>

<p class='pindent'>The concert and the ballet did not last more than
an hour and a half. Then the assembly went to supper,
which was laid in the Gallery of Diana, and
there the beauty of the gallery, the brilliancy of the
lights, the luxury of the tables, the display of silver
and glass, and the magnificence and elegance of the
guests, imparted to the whole scene something of the
air of a fairy-tale. There was, however, something
lacking. I will not say that it was the ease which
can never be found in a court, but it was that feeling
of security which each person might have brought
there if the powers that presided had added a little
more kindliness to the majesty by which they surrounded
themselves.</p>

<p class='pindent'>I have already spoken of Mme. Bonaparte’s family.
In the first years of her elevation she had
brought four nephews and a niece to Paris from Martinique.
These all bore the name of Tascher. For
the young men situations were found, and the young
lady was lodged in the Tuileries. She was by no
means deficient in beauty, but the change of climate
affected her health, and rendered impossible all the
plans which the Emperor had formed for a brilliant
marriage for her. At first he thought of marrying
her to the Prince of Baden; then for some time he
destined her for a prince of the house of Spain. At
last, however, she was married to the son of the Duke
of Arenberg, who was of a Belgian family. This
marriage, so much desired by this family, who hoped
from it to gain great advantages, was in no degree
a success. The husband and wife never suited each
other, and after a time their misunderstandings and
incompatibilities culminated in a separation which
was without scandal. After the divorce the Arenbergs,
disappointed in their ambitious hopes and
plans, openly evinced their discontent at this alliance,
and after the King’s return the marriage was completely
broken. Mme. de —— lives to-day very obscurely
in Paris.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The eldest of her brothers, after residing in France
some two or three years without being in the least
dazzled by the honor of having an aunt who was an
Empress, began to grow very weary of the Court;
and, having no taste for military life, he yielded to
his homesickness, and asked and obtained permission
to return to the colonies. He took some money back
with him, and, leading a calm life there, has probably
more than once congratulated himself on this philosophical
departure. Another brother was attached to
Joseph Bonaparte, and remained in Spain in his military
service. He married Mlle. Clary, daughter of a
merchant at Marseilles, and niece of Mme. Joseph
Bonaparte. A third brother married the daughter of
the Princess of Leyen. He is now with her in Germany.
The fourth brother was infirm, and lived
with his sister. I do not know what became of him.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The Beauharnais have also profited by the elevation
of Mme. Bonaparte, and continued to crowd
about her. I have told how she married the daughter
of the Marquis de Beauharnais to M. de la Valette.
The Marquis was for a long time Ambassador to
Spain; he is in France to-day. The Comte de Beauharnais,
the son of the lady who wrote poetry and
novels, had married early in life Mlle. de Lesay-Marnesia.
From this marriage sprang a daughter, who
resided after her mother’s death with an old aunt,
who was very religious. The Comte de Beauharnais,
marrying again, never seemed to think of this young
girl. Bonaparte made him Senator. M. de Lesay-Marnesia,
uncle to the young Stéphanie, suddenly recalled
her from Languedoc; she was fourteen or fifteen.
He presented her to Mme. Bonaparte, who
found her very pretty and refined in all her little
ways. She placed her in Mme. Campan’s boarding-school,
from which she emerged in 1806 to find herself
suddenly adopted by the Emperor, called Princess
Imperial, and married shortly after to the hereditary
Prince of Baden. She was then seventeen, with a
most agreeable face, great natural cleverness and vivacity,
a certain childishness in her manner which
suited her well, a charming voice, lovely complexion,
and clear, blue eyes. Her hair was exquisitely blonde.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The Prince of Baden was not long in falling in love
with her, but at first his affection was not returned.
He was young, but very stout; his face was commonplace
and inexpressive; he talked little, seemed always
out of place and bored, and generally fell asleep
wherever he might be. The youthful Stéphanie, gay,
piquante, dazzled by her lot, and proud of being
adopted by the Emperor, whom she then regarded
with some reason as the first sovereign in the world,
gave the Prince of Baden to understand that he was
greatly honored by her bestowing her hand upon him.
In vain did they seek to correct her ideas in this respect.
She made no objection to the marriage, and
was quite ready to consent to its taking place whenever
the Emperor wished it; but she persisted in saying
that Napoleon’s daughter should marry a king or
the son of a king. This little vanity, accompanied by
many piquant jests, to which her seventeen years
gave a charm, did not displease the Emperor, and in
fact rather amused him. He became more interested
than before in his adopted daughter, and precisely at
the time he married her to the Prince he became, with
considerable publicity, her lover. This conquest finished
turning the head of the new Princess, and confirmed
her in her haughtiness toward her future husband,
who sought in vain to please her.</p>

<p class='pindent'>As soon as the Emperor had announced to the Senate
the news of this marriage, the youthful Stéphanie
was installed in the Tuileries, in an apartment especially
arranged for her, and there she received the
deputations from the governmental bodies. Of that
from the Senate her father was one. Her situation
was certainly a little odd, but she received all the addresses
and feliciations without any embarrassment,
and replied extremely well. Having become the
daughter of the sovereign, and being a favorite in
addition, the Emperor ordered that she should everywhere
follow next to the Empress, thus taking precedence
of the whole Bonaparte family. Mme. Murat
was extremely displeased, who hated her with a cordial
hatred, and could not conceal her pride and jealousy.
Mademoiselle thought this very amusing, and
laughed at it as she did at everything else, and succeeded
in making the Emperor laugh also, as he was
inclined to be amused at all she said. The Empress
was much displeased at this new fancy of her husband’s.
She spoke seriously to her niece, and showed
her how wrong it would be for her not to resist the
efforts which Bonaparte was making to complete her
seduction. Mlle. de Beauharnais listened to her aunt’s
counsels with some docility. She confided to her certain
attempts, sometimes extremely bold, made by her
adopted father, and promised to conduct herself with
caution and reserve. These confidences renewed all
the former discord of the Imperial household. Bonaparte,
unchanged, did not take the trouble to conceal
his inclination from his wife, and, too sure of his
power, thought it extremely unhandsome in the Prince
of Baden that he should be wounded by what was
going on under his very eyes. Nevertheless, the fear
of an outburst and the number of eyes fixed upon all
the persons concerned rendered him prudent. On the
other side, the young girl, who only wished to amuse
herself, showed more resistance than he had at first
anticipated. But she hated her husband. The evening
of her marriage it was impossible to persuade her
to receive him in her apartment. A little later the
Court went to Saint Cloud, and with it the young
pair. Nothing, however, could induce the Princess
to permit her husband to approach her. He complained
to the Empress, who scolded her niece. The
Emperor, however, upheld her, and his own hopes
revived. All this had a very bad effect, which at last
the Emperor realized; and at the end of some little
time—occupied with grave affairs, fatigued by the
importunity of his wife, struck by the discontent of
the young Prince, and persuaded that he had to do
with a young person who only wished to amuse herself
by coquetting with him—he consented to the departure
of the Prince of Baden, who took his wife
away with him. She shed many tears at leaving
France, regarding the principality of Baden as a land
of exile. When she arrived there she was received
somewhat coldly by the reigning Prince. She lived
for a long time on bad terms with her husband. Secret
negotiations were sent from France to make her
understand how important it was to her that she
should become the mother of a Prince—an hereditary
Prince in his turn. She submitted; but the Prince,
rendered frigid by so much resistance, now showed
very little tenderness toward her, and this marriage
seemed destined to make them both very unhappy.
It was not eventually so, however; and we shall see
later that the Princess of Baden, having acquired a
little more sense with years, began at last to recognize
her duty, and by her good conduct succeeded finally
in regaining the affection of the Prince, and enjoyed
the advantages of a union which she at first had so
entirely under-estimated.</p>

<p class='pindent'>I have not as yet mentioned the fact that among the
amusements of this Court was an occasional theatrical
representation—a comedy played at Malmaison—which
was no uncommon thing during the first year
of the Consulate. Prince Eugène and his sister had
real talent in this direction, and found great amusement
in exercising it. At this time Bonaparte too
was greatly interested in these representations, which
were given before a limited audience. A pretty hall
was built at Malmaison, and we played there very often.
But by degrees the rank of the family became
too exalted for this kind of pleasure, and finally it
was permitted only on certain occasions, like that of
the birthday of the Empress. When the Emperor
came back from Vienna, Mme. Louis Bonaparte took
it into her head to have an appropriate little vaudeville
arranged in which we all played, and each sang
a verse. A number of persons had been invited, and
Malmaison was illuminated in a charming manner.
It was somewhat of a trying ordeal to appear on the
stage before an audience like this, but the Emperor
showed himself particularly well disposed. We played
well. Mme. Louis had, and was entitled to have, a
great triumph. The verses were pretty, the flattery
delicate, and the evening a complete success. It was
really curious to observe the tone in which each said
in the evening, “The Emperor laughed, the Emperor
applauded!” and how we congratulated each other.
I particularly, who accosted him always with a certain
reserve, found myself all at once in a better position
toward him, in consequence of the manner in which
I had fulfilled the part of an old peasant-woman who
dreamed continually that her hero did the most incredible
things, and who saw events surpass her wildest
dreams. After the play was over, he paid me a
few compliments. We had played with our whole
hearts, and he seemed somewhat touched. When I
saw him in this mood thus suddenly and unexpectedly
moved by emotion, I was tempted to exclaim, “Why
will you not allow yourself occasionally to feel and
think like other men?” I felt a sensation of intense
relief on these rare occasions, for it seemed to me
that hope once more revived within me. Ah! how
easily the great master us, and how little trouble they
need take to make themselves beloved! Perhaps this
last reflection has already escaped me, but I have
made it so often during the last twelve years of my
life, and it presses so heavily upon me whenever I
look back upon the past, that it is by no means extraordinary
that I should express it more than once.</p>

<hr class='pbk'/>

<div><span class='pageno' title='474' id='Page_474'></span><h1>CHAPTER&nbsp;&nbsp;XIX</h1></div>

<p class='noindent'><img src='https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:c:claire-remusat-memoirs-josephine-vol-2-b.jpg' style='float:left;' alt='B'/>EFORE resuming the succession of events, I
have a strong desire to dwell a little on the
names of those persons who at this time composed
the Court, and who occupied a distinguished
position in the Government. I shall not be able, however,
to draw a series of portraits which can vary
enough, one from the other, to be piquant. We know
very well that despotism is the greatest of levelers.
It regulates the thoughts, it determines both actions
and words; and the regulations to which all submit
are often so strictly observed that the exteriors are
assimilated, and perhaps even some of the impressions
received.</p>

<p class='pindent'>I remember that during the winter of 1814 the
Empress Maria Louisa received a large number of
persons every evening. They came to obtain news of
the army, in whose movements and plans every one
was deeply interested. At the moment when the
Emperor, in his pursuit of the Prussian General
Blücher, left to the Austrian army leisure to advance
as far as Fontainebleau, Paris believed itself about to
fall into the power of strangers. Many persons met
in the saloons of the Empress and questioned each
other with great anxiety. Toward the end of this
evening M. de Talleyrand came to call on me after
leaving the Tuileries. He told me of the anxiety
which he had witnessed, and then said: “What a man,
madame, this must be, who can cause the Comte de
Montesquiou and the Councilor of State Boulay (de
la Meurthe) to experience the same anxiety, and to
evince it in the same words!” He had found these
two persons with the Empress. They had both struck
him by their pallor, and both expressed their dread
of the events which they began to foresee in the
future.</p>

<p class='pindent'>With few exceptions—either because chance did
not gather round the Emperor persons of any marked
individuality, or because of the uniformity of conduct
of which I have just spoken—I can not recall many
purely personal peculiarities which deserve to be commemorated.
Setting the principal figures aside, as
well as the events which I propose to relate, I have
but the names of the others to recount, the costumes
which they wore, and the duties with which they were
intrusted. It is a hard thing for men to feel that the
sovereign to whom they are attached has a thorough
and universal contempt for human nature. Such a
consciousness saddens the spirits, discourages the soul,
and compels each man to confine himself to the purely
material duties of his position, which he ends by
regarding as mere business. Each one of these men
who composed the Court and the Government of the
Emperor had undoubtedly a mind of his own, and
especial feelings and opinions. Some among them
silently practiced certain virtues, others concealed their
faults and even their vices. But both appeared on the
surface only at the word of command, and, unfortunately
for the men of that time, Bonaparte believed
that more was to be made out of the bad side of
human nature than from the good, and therefore
looked for vices rather than for virtues. He liked to
discover weaknesses, and profited by them; and, where
there were no vices, he encouraged these weaknesses,
or, if he could do no better, he worked on their fears—anything
to prove himself always and constantly the
strongest. Thus he was by no means ill pleased that
Cambacérès, though possessing estimable and distinguished
qualities, allowed his foolish pride to be seen,
and gave himself the reputation of a certain license
of morals and habits which counterbalanced the just
admiration rendered to his cultivation and to his
natural probity. Nor did the Emperor ever deplore
the indolent immorality of M. de Talleyrand, his careless
indifference, nor the small value he placed on the
esteem of the public. He was infinitely amused by
what he saw fit to call the silliness of the Prince de
Neuchâtel, and the servile flattery of M. Maret.</p>

<p class='pindent'>He took advantage of the avarice which he himself
had developed in Savary, and of the callousness of
Duroc’s disposition. He never shrank from the remembrance
that Fouché had once been a Jacobin;
indeed, he said with a smile: “The only difference is
that he is now a <span class='it'>rich</span> Jacobin; but that’s all I want.”</p>

<p class='pindent'>His Ministers he regarded and treated as more or
less efficient clerks, and he used to say, “I should not
know what to do with them if they were not men of
mere ordinary abilities and character.”</p>

<p class='pindent'>If any one had been conscious of real superiority of
any kind, he must needs have endeavored to hide it;
and it is probable that, warned by an instinctive sense
of danger, everybody affected dullness or vacuity when
those qualities were not real.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Memoirs of this period will suffer from this
remarkable feature of it, which will give rise to a
plausible, though unmerited, accusation against the
writers of being malevolent in their views, partial
toward themselves, and extremely severe toward
others. Each writer will in reality be able to tell his
own secret only, but will have been unable to penetrate
that of his neighbor.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Ecclesiastical influence in the Emperor’s household
was insignificant. Mass was celebrated in his presence
every Sunday, and that was all. I have already spoken
of Cardinal Fesch. In 1807 M. de Pradt, Bishop of
Poitiers, and subsequently Archbishop of Mechlin,
made his appearance at Court. He was clever and
scheming, verbose but amusing, and fond of gossip;
he held liberal opinions, but he expressed them in
cynical language. He attempted many things without
perfectly succeeding in any one of them. He could,
indeed, talk over the Emperor himself, and he may
perhaps have given him good advice; but, when he
was appointed to put his own counsels into action,
nothing came of the attempt, for he possessed neither
the confidence nor the esteem of the public.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The Abbé de Broglie, Bishop of Ghent, was cunning,
but also imprudent; he obtained at a cheap rate the
honor of persecution.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The Abbé de Boulogne, Bishop of Troyes, proved
himself in those days as eager to extol despotism as he
now is to emerge from the obscurity to which he has
happily been reduced by the constitutional government
of the King.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Bonaparte made use of the clergy, but he disliked
priests. He had both philosophical and revolutionary
prejudices against them. I do not know whether he
was a deist or an atheist, but he habitually ridiculed
everything connected with religion in familiar conversation;
and, besides, he was taken up too much with
the affairs of this world to concern himself with the
next. I may venture to say, that the immortality of
his name was to him of much greater importance than
that of his soul. He had an antipathy to pious persons,
and invariably accused them of hypocrisy. When
the priesthood in Spain stirred up the people against
him, when he met with opposition from the French
Bishops which did them honor, when the Pope’s cause
was embraced by great numbers, he was quite confounded,
and said more than once, “I thought men
were more advanced than they really are.”</p>

<p class='pindent'>The military household of the Emperor was
numerous, but, except in times of war, its members
had to discharge duties of a civil nature. Dreading
the recollections of the field of battle, he distributed
the various functions on another footing at the palace
of the Tuileries. He made chamberlains of the generals,
and subsequently he obliged them to wear embroidered
uniforms, and to exchange their swords for
court rapiers. This transformation was displeasing
to many of them, but they had to submit, and, having
been wolves, to become shepherds. There was, however,
a good reason for this. A display of military
renown would, to a certain extent, have eclipsed other
classes whom it was necessary to conciliate; military
manners were by this expedient refined perforce, and
certain recalcitrant marshals lost some of their prestige
while acquiring the polish of court manners. They
became, indeed, slightly ridiculous by this apprenticeship—a
fact which Bonaparte knew how to turn to
advantage.</p>

<p class='pindent'>I believe I may confidently state that the Emperor
did not like any of his marshals. He frequently
found fault with them, sometimes in very serious
respects. He accused them all of covetousness, which
he deliberately encouraged by his gifts. One day he
passed them all in review before me. On Davoust
he pronounced the verdict which I think I have already
mentioned: “Davoust is a man on whom I may bestow
glory; he will never know how to wear it.” Of
Marshal Ney he said: “He is ungrateful and
factious. If I were destined to die by the hand of a
marshal, I would lay a wager that hand would be his.”
I recollect that he said he regarded Moncey, Brune,
Bessières, Victor and Oudinot as men of middling
abilities, who would never be more than titled soldiers.
Masséna he looked upon as effete, but it was evident
he had formerly been jealous of him. Soult sometimes
gave him trouble; he was clever, rough, and
vain, and he would argue with his master and dispute
his conditions. Bonaparte could rule Augereau, who
was rather unpolished in manner than obstinate. He
was aware of Marmont’s vanity, which he might
wound with impunity, and of Macdonald’s habitual ill
humor. Lannes had been his comrade, and the
Marshal would sometimes remind him of this: on such
occasions he would be gently called to order. Bernadotte
had more spirit than the others: he was continually
complaining, and, indeed, he often had cause
for complaint.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The way in which the Emperor curbed, rewarded,
or snubbed with impunity men so proud and puffed
up with military fame was very remarkable. Other
writers can relate with what wonderful skill he made
use of these men in war, and how he won fresh glory
for himself by utilizing their fame, ever showing himself,
in very truth, superior to all others.</p>

<p class='pindent'>I need not give the names of the chamberlains; the
Imperial Almanac supplies them. By degrees their
number became considerable. They were taken from
all ranks and classes. Those who were most assiduous
and least talkative got on best; their duties were
troublesome and very tedious. In proportion as one’s
place was nearer to the Emperor, one’s life became
more burdensome. Persons who have had none but
business relations with him can have no adequate idea
of the unpleasantness of any that were closer; it was
always easier to deal with his intellect than with his
temper.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Nor shall I have much to relate concerning the
ladies of the period. Bonaparte frequently said:
“Women shall have no influence at my Court; they
may dislike me, but I shall have peace and quietness.”
He kept his word. We were ornamental at the fêtes,
and that was about all. Nevertheless, as it is the privilege
of beauty never to be forgotten, some of the
ladies-in-waiting deserve a passing notice here. In
Mme. de Mottevelle’s Memoirs, she pauses to describe
the beauties of her time, and I must pass over in
silence those of our own.</p>

<p class='pindent'>At the head of the Empress’s household was Mme.
de la Rochefoucauld. She was short and deformed,
not pretty, yet her face was not unattractive. Her
large blue eyes, with black eyebrows, had a fine effect;
she was lively, fearless, and a clever talker; a little
satirical, but kind-hearted, and of a gay and independent
spirit. She neither liked nor disliked any one at
Court, lived on good terms with all, and looked at
nothing very seriously. She considered she had done
Bonaparte an honor by coming to his Court, and by
dint of saying so she persuaded others of it, so that
she was treated with consideration. She employed
herself principally in repairing her shattered fortunes,
obtaining several ambassadorships for her husband,
and giving her daughter in marriage to the younger
son of the princely house of Borghese. The Emperor
thought her wanting in dignity, and he was right; but
he was always embarrassed in her company, for he
had no idea of the deference due to a woman, and she
would answer him sharply. The Empress, too, was
rather afraid of her, for in her easy manner there
was no little imperiousness. She remained faithful
to old friends who held opposite opinions to her own,
or rather to what we may suppose to have been her
own, judging by the post she occupied at Court. She
was daughter-in-law to the Duc de Liancourt, and she
left the Court when the divorce took place. She died
in Paris, under the Restoration.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Mme. de la Valette, the Mistress of the Robes, was
daughter to the Marquis de Beauharnais. Her complexion
had been slightly spoiled by small-pox, but
she had a pleasing though expressionless face. Her
gentleness almost amounted to inanity, and small
vanities chiefly occupied her thoughts. Her mind was
narrow, her conduct was correct. Her post was a
complete sinecure, for Mme. Bonaparte allowed no
one to interfere with her dress. In vain did the
Emperor insist that Mme. de la Valette should make
up accounts, regulate expenditure, and superintend
purchases; he was obliged to yield, and to give up the
idea of maintaining any order on these points, for
Mme. de la Valette was incapable of defending the
rights of her place in opposition to her aunt. She
confined herself, therefore, to taking Mme. de la
Rochefoucauld’s duties when the latter absented herself
on account of illness. Everybody knows what
courage and energy misfortune and conjugal love
subsequently developed in this young lady.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Chief among the Ladies of the Palace was Mme. de
Luçay, who had held that position longest. In 1806
she was no longer young. She was a gentle and quiet
person. Her husband was Prefect of the Palace;
their daughter married the younger son of the Count
de Ségur, and has since died.</p>

<p class='pindent'>I come next on the list, and I feel inclined to make
a little sketch of myself; I believe I can do this truthfully.
I was twenty-three when I first came to Court;
I was not pretty, yet not altogether devoid of attraction,
and I looked well in full dress. My eyes were
fine, my hair was black, and I had good teeth; my nose
and face were too large in proportion to my figure,
which was good, but small. I had the reputation of
being a clever woman, which was almost a reproach
at Court. In point of fact, I lack neither wit nor
sense, but my warmth of feeling and of thought leads
me to speak and act impulsively, and makes me commit
errors which a cooler, even though less wise,
person would avoid.</p>

<p class='pindent'>I was often misinterpreted at Bonaparte’s Court.
I was lively, and was supposed to be scheming. I
liked to be acquainted with persons of importance, and
I was accused of being ambitious. I am too much
devoted to persons and to causes which appear to me
to have right on their side, to deserve the first accusation;
and my faithfulness to friends in misfortune
is a sufficient answer to the second. Mme. Bonaparte
trusted me more than others, and thereby put me into
a difficult position; people soon perceived this, and no
one envied me the onerous distinction of her friendship.
The preference which the Emperor at first
showed me was a cause of greater jealousy. I reaped
little benefit from his favor, but I was flattered by it
and grateful for it; and, so long as I felt a regard for
him, I sought to please him. When my eyes were
opened, I drew back; dissimulation is absolutely
opposed to my character. I came to Court too full of
inquisitiveness. It seemed to me so curious a scene
that I watched it closely, and asked many questions
that I might fully understand it. It was often thought
that I did this from design. In palaces no action is
supposed to be without a motive; “<span class='it'>Cui bono?</span>” is
said on every occasion.</p>

<p class='pindent'>My impetuosity frequently brought me into trouble.
Not that I acted altogether on impulse, but I was very
young, very unaffected, because I had always been
very happy; in nothing was I sufficiently sedate, and
my qualities sometimes did me as much harm as my
defects. But, amid all this, I have met with friends
who loved me, and of whom, no matter how I may
be circumstanced, I shall retain a loving recollection.</p>

<p class='pindent'>I soon began to suffer from disappointed hopes,
betrayed affections, and mistaken beliefs. Moreover,
my health failed, and I became tired of so arduous a
life, and disenchanted both with men and things. I
withdrew myself as far as possible, and found in my
own home feelings and enjoyments that could not
deceive. I loved my husband, my mother, my children,
and my friends; I should have been unwilling to give
up the peaceful pleasure I found in their society. I
contrived to retain a kind of liberty amid the numerous
trivial duties of my post. Lastly, when I
approved of any one and when I ceased to do so, both
states of mind too plainly showed. There could be no
greater fault in the eyes of Bonaparte. He dreaded
nothing in the world so much as that any one in his
circle should use their critical faculty with regard to
him.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Mme. de Canisy, a great-niece of M. de Brienne, the
former Archbishop of Sens, was a beautiful woman
when first she came to Court. She was tall and well
made, with eyes and hair of raven-black, lovely teeth,
an aquiline nose, and a rich brunette complexion.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Mme. Maret was a fine woman; her features were
regular and handsome. She seemed to live on excellent
terms with her husband, who imparted to her
some of his own ambition. Seldom have I seen more
unconcealed or more solicitous vanity in any one. She
was jealous of every distinction, and tolerated superior
rank in the Princesses only. Born in obscurity, she
aimed at the highest distinctions. When the Emperor
granted the title of countess to all the ladies-in-waiting,
Mme. Maret felt annoyed at the equality it
implied, and, obstinately refusing to bear it, she
remained plain Mme. Maret until her husband obtained
the title of Duc de Bassano. Mme. Savary and she
were the most elegantly dressed women at Court.
Their dress is said to have cost more than fifty thousand
francs a year. Mme. Maret thought that the
Empress did not sufficiently distinguish her from the
others; she therefore made common cause with the
Bonapartes against her. She was feared and distrusted
with some reason, for she repeated things
which reached the ear of the Emperor through her
husband, and did a great deal of harm. She and
M. Maret would have liked people to pay regular
court to them, and many persons lent themselves to
this pretension. As I showed a decided objection to
doing so, Mme. Maret took an aversion to me, and
contrived to inflict many petty annoyances upon me.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Any one who chose to speak evil of others to Bonaparte
was pretty sure of gaining his ear; for he was
always credulous of evil. He disliked Mme. Maret;
he even judged her too severely; nevertheless he
chose to believe all stories that came to him through
her. I believe her to have been one of the greatest
sufferers by the fall of that great Imperial scaffolding
which brought us all to the ground.</p>

<p class='pindent'>During the King’s first residence in Paris, from
1814 to 1815, the Duc de Bassano was accused, on
sufficient grounds, of having carried on a secret correspondence
with the Emperor in the island of Elba,
and kept him informed of the state of feeling in
France, so that he was induced to believe he might
once more offer himself to the French as their ruler.
Napoleon returned, and his sudden arrival clashed
with and thwarted the revolution which Fouché and
Carnot were preparing. Then these two, being obliged
to accept Bonaparte, compelled him to reign during
the Hundred Days according to their own system.
The Emperor wished to take M. Maret, whom he had
so many reasons for trusting, back into his service;
but Fouché and Carnot strongly objected to Maret,
as a man of no ability and only capable of blind devotion
to his master’s interest. Some idea of the state
of bondage in which the men of the Revolution kept
the netted lion at this period may be gathered from the
answer that Carnot ventured to make when the Emperor
proposed putting M. Maret into the Government
“No, certainly not; the French do not wish to
see <span class='it'>two Blacas</span> in one year”—alluding to the Count
de Blacas, whom the King had brought with him
from England, and who had all the influence of a
favorite.</p>

<p class='pindent'>On the second fall of Bonaparte, Maret and his
wife hastened to leave Paris. M. Maret was exiled,
and they repaired to Berlin. For the last few months
Mme. Maret has been again in Paris, endeavoring to
obtain the recall of her husband. It is not unlikely
she may succeed, such is the kindness of the King.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Pride of rank was not confined to Mme. Maret
alone. Mme. Ney also possessed it. She was niece to
Mme. Campan, first dresser to Marie Antoinette, and
daughter of Mme. Augué, also one of the Queen’s
dressers, and she had been tolerably well educated.
She was a mild, kind-hearted woman, but her head
was a little turned by the honors to which she attained.
She occasionally displayed a pretentiousness which,
after all, was not inexcusable, for she based it on the
great military renown of her husband, whose own
pride was sufficiently self-asserting. Mme. Ney, afterward
Duchesse d’Elchingen, and later Princesse de la
Moskowa, was in reality a very good, quiet woman,
incapable of speaking or doing evil, and perhaps as
incapable of saying or doing anything good. She
enjoyed the privileges of her rank to the full, especially
in the society of inferiors. She was much
aggrieved at the Restoration by certain differences in
her position, and by the disdain of the ladies of the
royal Court. She complained to her husband, and
may have contributed not a little to irritate him against
the new state of things, which, though not altogether
ousting him, laid them both open to little daily humiliations,
quite unintentionally on the part of the King.
On the death of her husband she took up her abode
in Italy with three or four sons. Her means were
much smaller than might have been supposed, and she
had acquired habits of great luxury. I have seen her
start for a watering-place, taking with her a whole
household, so as to be waited on according to her
liking. She took a bedstead, articles of furniture, a
service of traveling-plate made expressly for her, a
train of <span class='it'>fourgons</span>, and a number of couriers; and she
would affirm that the wife of a marshal of France
could not travel otherwise. Her house was magnificently
appointed; the purchase and furnishing cost
eleven hundred thousand francs. Mme. Ney was tall
and slight; her features were rather large, her eyes
fine. Her expression was mild and pleasant, and her
voice very sweet.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Mme. Lannes, afterward Duchesse de Montebello,
was another of our beauties. There was something
virginal in her face; her features were pure and
regular, her skin was of a delicate fairness. She was
a good wife and an excellent mother, and was always
cold, reserved, and silent in society. The Emperor
appointed her Lady of Honor to the Archduchess,
who became passionately fond of her, and whom she
completely governed. She accompanied the Archduchess
on her return to Vienna, and then came back
to Paris, where she now lives in retirement, entirely
devoted to her children.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The number of the ladies-in-waiting became by
degrees considerable, but, on the whole, there is little
to be said about so many women, all playing so small
a part. I have already spoken of Mmes. de Montmorency,
de Mortemart, and de Chevreuse. There
remains for me simply to name Mmes. de Talhouët,
Lauriston, de Colbert, Marescot, etc. These were
quiet, amiable persons, of ordinary appearance, no
longer young. The same might be said of a number
of Italians and Belgians who came to Paris for their
two months of Court attendance, and who were all
more or less silent and apparently out of their element.
In general sufficient regard was paid to youth and
beauty in the selection of the ladies-in-waiting; they
were always placed with extreme care. Some of them
lived in this Court silent and indifferent; others
received its homages with more or less ease and
pleasure. Everything was done quietly, because Bonaparte
willed that such should be the case. He had
prudish caprices at times either in regard to himself
or others. He objected to any demonstrations of
friendship or dislike. In a life that was so busy, so
regulated and disciplined, there was not much chance
for either the one or the other.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Among the persons of whom the Emperor had
composed the various households of his family, there
were also ladies of distinction; but at Court they were
of still less importance than ourselves.</p>

<p class='pindent'>I am inclined to believe that life was rather dreary
under his mother’s roof. With Mme. Joseph Bonaparte
it was simple and easy. Mme. Louis Bonaparte
gathered about her her old school companions, and
kept up with them, so far as lay in her power, the
familiarity of their youth. At Mme. Murat’s, although
a trifle stiff and stilted, things were carefully regulated
with order and discipline. Public opinion stigmatized
the Princess Borghese; her conduct cast an
unfortunate reflection upon the young and pretty
women who formed her court.</p>

<p class='pindent'>It may not be useless to linger here for a little, to
say a few words in regard to those persons who were
at this time distinguished in literature and art, and
to the works which appeared from the foundation of
the Consulate up to this year, 1806. Among the
former I find four of whom I can speak with some
detail.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Jacques Delille, whom we more generally know
under the title of the Abbé de Delille, had seen the
best years of his life pass away in the times which
preceded our Revolution. He united to brilliant
talents the charms of sweetness of temper and agreeable
manners. He acquired the title of Abbé because
in those days it conferred a certain rank; he dropped
it after the Revolution to marry a woman of good
family, commonplace, and by no means agreeable, but
whose ministrations had become essential to him.
Always received in the best society of Paris, highly
regarded by Queen Marie Antoinette, overwhelmed
by kindness from the Comte d’Artois, he knew only
the pleasant side of the life of a man of letters. He
was petted and made much of; his grace and simplicity
of soul were very remarkable; the magic of his diction
was incomparable; when he recited verses every one
was eager for the pleasure of hearing him. The
bloody scenes of the Revolution appalled this young
and tender nature; he emigrated, and met everywhere
in Europe with a reception so warm that it consoled
him for his exile. However, when Bonaparte had
reëstablished order in France, M. Delille wished to
return to his native land, and he came back to Paris
with his wife. He had grown old and was nearly
blind, but always delightful, and teeming with fine
works which he meant to publish in his own country.
Again did all literary people crowd about him, and
Bonaparte himself made some advances. The professor’s
chair in which he had inculcated with so much
talent the principles of French literature was restored
to him, and pensions were offered him as the price of
a few laudatory verses. But M. Delille, desiring to
preserve the liberty of the recollections which attached
him irrevocably to the house of Bourbon, withdrew
to a retired part of the city, and thus escaped both
caresses and offers. He gave himself up exclusively
to work, and answered every one with his own lines
from “L’Homme des Champs”:</p>

<div class='blockquote'>

<div class='poetry-container' style=''><div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' -->
<p class='line0'>“Auguste triomphant pour Virgile fut juste.</p>
<p class='line0'>J’imitai le poète, imitez-donc Auguste,</p>
<p class='line0'>Et laissez-moi sans nom, sans fortune, et sans fers,</p>
<p class='line0'>Rêver au bruit des eaux, de la lyre et des vers.”</p>
</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend -->

</div>

<p class='pindent'>If Bonaparte was offended by this resistance, he
never showed it; esteem and general affection were the
ægis which protected the amiable poet. He lived,
therefore, a serene and tranquil life, and died too soon,
since, with the sentiments he had preserved, he would
have rejoiced at the return of the Princes whom he
had never ceased to love.</p>

<p class='pindent'>In the times when Bonaparte was still only Consul,
and when he amused himself in following up even less
conspicuous persons, he took it into his head that he
wished M. Delille to see him, hoping perhaps to gain
him over, or at all events to dazzle him. Mme. Bacciochi
was bidden to invite the poet to pass an evening
at her house. Some few persons, of whom I was one,
were also invited. The First Consul arrived with
something of the air of Jupiter Tonans, for he was
surrounded by a great number of aides, who stood in
line and showed some surprise at seeing their General
take so much trouble for this frail old gentleman in a
black coat, who seemed, moreover, a little afraid of
them all. Bonaparte, by way of doing something,
took his seat at a card-table, and summoned me. I
was the only woman in the <span class='it'>salon</span> whose name was not
unknown to M. Delille, and I instantly understood
that Bonaparte had selected me as the connecting link
between the poet’s time and that of the Consul. I
endeavored to establish a certain harmony between
them. Bonaparte consented to the conversation being
literary, and at first our poet seemed not insensible to
the courtesy extended him. Both men became animated,
but each in his own way; and I very soon
realized that neither the one nor the other produced
the effect he desired and intended. Bonaparte liked to
talk; M. Delille was loquacious and told long stories;
they interrupted each other constantly; they did not
listen, and never replied; they were both accustomed
to praise; they each felt a conviction before many
minutes had expired that they were not making a
good impression on each other, and ended by separating
with some fatigue, and perhaps discontented.
After this evening M. Delille said that the Consul’s
conversation <span class='it'>smelled of gun-powder</span>; Bonaparte
declared that the old poet <span class='it'>was in his dotage</span>.</p>

<p class='pindent'>I know very little in regard to M. de Chateaubriand’s
youth. Having emigrated with his family, he knew
in England M. de Fontanes, who saw his first manuscript,
and encouraged him in his intention of writing.
On his return to France they kept up their relations,
and I believe Chateaubriand was presented by M. de
Fontanes to the First Consul. Having published the
“Génie du Christianisme” at the time of the Concordat
of 1801, he concluded that he had best dedicate
his work to the <span class='it'>restorer of religion</span>. He was by no
means wealthy; his tastes, his somewhat disorderly
character, his ambition, which was boundless though
vague, and his excessive vanity, all inspired him with
the desire as well as the need of attaching himself to
something. I do not know under what title he was
employed on a mission to Rome. He conducted himself
there imprudently, and wounded Bonaparte. The
ill humor that he had caused and his indignation at
the death of the Duc d’Enghien embroiled them completely.
M. de Chateaubriand, on his return to Paris,
saw himself surrounded by women who greeted and
exalted him as if he had been a victim; he eagerly
embraced the opinions to which he has since adhered.
It was not in his nature to wish to seclude himself, or
to be forgotten by the world. He was put under
surveillance, which gratified his vanity. Those who
claim to know him intimately say that if Bonaparte,
instead of having him watched, had simply shown a
more profound consciousness of his merits, Chateaubriand
would have been completely won over. The
author would not have been insensible to praise coming
from so high a source. I repeat this opinion without
asserting that it was well founded. I know, however,
that it was also that of the Emperor, who said very
openly, “The difficulty I have is not on the score of
buying M. de Chateaubriand, but as regards paying
him the price he sets upon himself.” However this
may be, he kept himself aloof, and frequented only
the circles of the opposition. His journey to the Holy
Land caused him to be forgotten for some time; he
suddenly reappeared, and published “Les Martyrs.”
The religious ideas found in every page of his works,
set off with the coloring of his brilliant talents, formed
of his admirers a sort of sect, and raised up enemies
among the philosophical writers. The newspapers
both praised and attacked him, and a controversy arose
in regard to him, sometimes very bitter, which the
Emperor favored, “because,” he said, “this controversy
occupies fine society.”</p>

<p class='pindent'>At the time of the appearance of “Les Martyrs”
a kind of Royalist conspiracy broke out in Brittany.
One of M. de Chateaubriand’s cousins, who was found
to be involved in it, was taken to Paris, tried, and
condemned to death. I was connected with some of
Chateaubriand’s intimate friends; they brought him
to me, and joined him in begging me to solicit, through
the Empress, mercy for his relative. I asked him to
give me a letter to the Emperor; he refused, and
seemed to feel the greatest repugnance to such a step,
but consented to write to Mme. Bonaparte. He gave
me at the same time a copy of “Les Martyrs,” hoping
that Bonaparte would look it over, and that it would
soften him toward the author. As I was by no means
sure that this would be enough to appease the Emperor,
I advised M. de Chateaubriand to try several methods
at the same time.</p>

<p class='pindent'>“You are a relative,” I said, “of M. de Malesherbes,
whose name may always be uttered with the certainty
of obtaining respect and consideration. Let us now
endeavor to make it of use, and name him when you
write to the Empress.”</p>

<p class='pindent'>M. de Chateaubriand surprised me greatly by rejecting
this advice. He allowed me to see that his
vanity would be wounded if he did not personally
obtain that for which he asked. His pride of authorship
was clearly his strongest feeling, and he wished
to influence the Emperor in that capacity. He consequently
did not write precisely what I would have
desired. I, however, took his letter, and did my best
in addition. I even spoke to the Emperor, and seized
upon a favorable moment to read to him some pages
of “Les Martyrs.” Finally, I mentioned M. de
Malesherbes.</p>

<p class='pindent'>“You are a skillful advocate,” said the Emperor,
“but you do not comprehend the affair. It is necessary
for me to make an example in Brittany; it will
fall upon a man of very little interest, for this relation
of M. de Chateaubriand has a mediocre reputation. I
know that his cousin cares not one sou for him, and
this fact is proved to me by the very things he has
compelled you to do. He has had the childishness not
to write to me; his letter to the Empress is stiff and
even haughty in tone. He would like to impress me
with the importance of his talents; I answer him with
that of <span class='it'>my policy</span>, and in all conscience this ought not
to humiliate him. I have need of an example in
Brittany to avoid a crowd of petty political prosecutions.
This will give M. de Chateaubriand an opportunity
of writing some pathetic pages, which he will
read aloud in the Faubourg Saint Germain. The fine
ladies will keep, and you will see that this will console
him!”</p>

<p class='pindent'>It was impossible to shake a determination expressed
in this way. All means that the Empress and I
attempted were useless, and the sentence was executed.
That same day I received a note from M. de Chateaubriand,
which in spite of myself recalled Bonaparte’s
words. He wrote to me that he had thought it his
duty to be present at the death of his relative, and
that he had shuddered afterward on seeing dogs lap
up the blood. The whole note was written in a similar
tone. I had been touched, but this revolted me. I do
not know whether it was he or myself that was in
fault. A few days later M. de Chateaubriand, dressed
in full mourning, did not appear much afflicted, but
his irritation against the Emperor was greatly augmented.</p>

<p class='pindent'>This event brought me into connection with him.
His works pleased me, but his presence disturbed my
liking for them. He was, and is still, much spoiled by
society, particularly by women. He places his associates
in a most embarrassing position at times,
because one sees immediately that one has nothing to
teach him as to his own value. He invariably takes
the first place, and, making himself comfortable there,
becomes extremely amiable. But his conversation,
which displays a vivid imagination, exhibits also a
certain hardness of heart, and a selfishness that is but
ill concealed. His works are religious, and indicate
none but the noblest sentiments. He is in earnest
when he writes, but he lacks gravity in his bearing.
His face is handsome, his form somewhat awry, and
he is careful and even affected in his toilet. It would
seem that he prefers in love that which is generally
known as <span class='it'>les bonnes fortunes</span>. It is plain that he
prefers to have disciples rather than friends. In fine,
I conclude from all that I have seen that it is better to
read him than to know him. Later on, I will narrate
what took place in regard to the decennial prizes.</p>

<p class='pindent'>I have hardly seen Mme. de Staël, but I have been
surrounded by persons who have known her well. My
mother and some of my relatives were intimate with
her in their youth, and have told me that in her earliest
years she displayed a character which promised to
carry her beyond the restraints of nearly all social
customs. At the age of fifteen she enjoyed the most
abstract reading and the most impassioned works.
The famous Franclieu of Geneva, finding her one day
with a volume of J. J. Rousseau in her hand, and
surrounded by books of all kinds, said to her mother,
Mme. Necker: “Take care; you will make your
daughter a lunatic or a fool.” This severe judgment
was not realized, and yet it is impossible not to feel
that there was something very odd, something that
looked like mental alienation, in the manner in which
Mme. de Staël acted her part as a woman in the world.
Surrounded in her father’s house by a circle consisting
of all the men in the city who were in any way distinguished,
excited by the conversations that she heard
as well as by her own nature, her intellectual faculties
were perhaps developed to excess. She then acquired
the taste for controversy which she has since practiced
so much, and in which she has shown herself so
<span class='it'>piquante</span> and so distinguished. She was animated
even to agitation, perfectly true and natural, felt with
force, and expressed herself with fire. Harassed by
an imagination which consumed her, too eager for
notoriety and success, hampered by those laws of
society which keep women within narrow bounds, she
braved everything, conquered everything, and suffered
much from this stormy contest between the demon
that pushed her on and the social proprieties which
could not restrain her.</p>

<p class='pindent'>She had the misfortune to be excessively plain, and
to be miserable on that account; for it seemed as if
she felt within herself a craving for successes of all
kinds. With a passably pretty face, she would probably
have been happier, because she would have been
calmer. Her nature was too passionate for her not to
love strongly, and her imagination too vivid for her
not to think that she loved often. The celebrity she
acquired naturally brought to her much homage, by
which her vanity was gratified. Although she had
great kindness of heart, she excited both hatred and
envy; she startled women, and she wounded many
men whose superior she thought herself. Some of
her friends, however, were always faithful, and her
own loyalty to friendship never failed.</p>

<p class='pindent'>When Bonaparte was made Consul, Mme. de Staël
had already become famous through her opinions, her
conduct, and her works. A personage like Bonaparte
excited the curiosity, and at first even the enthusiasm,
of a woman who was always awake to all that was
remarkable. She became deeply interested in him—sought
him, pursued him everywhere. She believed
that the happy combination of so many distinguished
qualities and of so many favorable circumstances
might be turned to the profit of her idol, Liberty;
but she quickly startled Bonaparte, who did not wish
to be either watched or divined. Mme. de Staël, after
making him uneasy, displeased him. He received her
advances coldly, and disconcerted her by his bluntness
and sharp words. He offended many of her
opinions; a certain distrust grew up between them,
and, as they were both high-tempered, this distrust
was not long in changing to hatred.</p>

<p class='pindent'>When in Paris, Mme. de Staël received many people,
and all political subjects were freely discussed under
her roof. Louis Bonaparte, then very young, visited
her sometimes and enjoyed her conversation. His
brother became uneasy at this, and forbade his frequenting
the house, and even went so far as to have
him watched. Men of letters, publicists, men of the
Revolution, great lords, were all to be met there.</p>

<p class='pindent'>“This woman,” said the First Consul, “teaches
people to think who never thought before, or who had
forgotten how to think.” And there was much truth
in this. The publication of certain works by M.
Necker put the finishing touch to his irritation: he
banished Mme. de Staël from France, and did himself
great harm by this act of arbitrary persecution. In
addition to this, as nothing excites one like a first
injustice, he even pursued those persons who believed
it their duty to show her kindness in her exile. Her
works, with the exception of her novels, were mutilated
before their appearance in France; all the
journals were ordered to speak ill of them; no generosity
was shown her. When she was driven from
her own land, foreign countries welcomed her warmly.
Her talents fortified her against the annoyances of
her life, and raised her to a height which many men
might well have envied. If Mme. de Staël had known
how to add to her goodness of heart and to her brilliant
genius the advantages of a calm and quiet life,
she would have avoided the greater part of her misfortunes,
and seized while living the distinguished
rank which will not long be refused her among the
writers of her century. Her works indicate rapid
and keen insight, and a warmth that comes from her
soul. They are characterized by an imagination that
is almost too vivid, but she lacks clearness and good
taste. In reading her writings one sees at once that
they are the results of an excitable nature, rebelling
under order and regularity. Her life was not exactly
that of a woman, nor could it be that of a man; it
was utterly deficient in repose—a deprivation without
remedy for happiness, and even for talent.</p>

<p class='pindent'>After the first restoration, Mme. de Staël returned
to France, overwhelmed with joy at being once more
in her own land, and at seeing the dawn of the constitutional
<span class='it'>régime</span> for which she had so ardently
longed. Bonaparte’s return struck terror to her soul.
Again she resumed her wanderings, but her exile this
time lasted only <span class='it'>a hundred days</span>. She reappeared
with the King. She was very happy. She had married
her daughter to the Duc de Broglie, who unites to the
distinction of his name a noble and elevated nature;
the liberation of France satisfied her, her friends were
near her, and the world crowded about her. This was
the time when death claimed her, at the age of fifty.
The last work on which she was engaged, and which
she had not completed, was published after her death;
this has made her thoroughly known to us. This
work not only paints the times in which she lived, but
gives a clear and exact idea of the century which gave
her birth—which alone could have developed her, and
of which she is not one of the least results.</p>

<p class='pindent'>I occasionally heard Bonaparte speak of Mme. de
Staël. The hatred he bore her was unquestionably
founded in some degree upon that jealousy with which
he was inspired by any superiority which he could not
control; and his words were often characterized by a
bitterness which elevated her in spite of himself, and
lowered him in the estimation of those who, in the
full possession of their reasoning faculties, listened to
him.</p>

<p class='pindent'>While Mme. de Staël could complain with so much
justice of the persecution to which she was subjected,
there was another woman, much her inferior and far
less celebrated, who had had reason to rejoice in the
protection accorded to her by the Emperor. This
was Mme. de Genlis. He never found in her either
talents or opinions in opposition to his own. She had
loved and glorified the Revolution, and well understood
how to profit by all its liberties. In her old age
she became both a prude and a <span class='it'>dévote</span>. She attached
herself to order and discipline, and for this reason, or
under this pretext manifested a profound admiration
for Bonaparte by which he was much flattered; he bestowed
a pension upon her, and instituted a sort of correspondence
with her, in the course of which she kept
him informed of all that she felt would be useful to
him, and taught him much regarding the ancient
<span class='it'>régime</span> which he wished to know. She loved and
protected M. Fiévée, then a very young writer; she
drew him into this correspondence, and it was in this
way that between himself and Bonaparte were established
those relations of which Fiévée subsequently
boasted so much. Although flattered by the admiration
of Mme. de Genlis, Bonaparte understood her
thoroughly. He once expressed himself openly in my
presence in regard to her. He was speaking of that
prudery which permeates all her works. “When
Mme. de Genlis,” he said, “wishes to define virtue,
she speaks of it as of a discovery!”</p>

<p class='pindent'>The Restoration did not reëstablish relations
between Mme. de Genlis and the house of Orleans.
The Duke of Orleans did not choose to see her more
than once, but contented himself with continuing the
pension allowed her by the Emperor.</p>

<p class='pindent'>These two women were not the only ones who wrote
and published their works under Bonaparte’s rule. Of
the others I will mention only a few, at the head of
whom I will place Mme. Cottin, so distinguished for
the warmth of an impassioned imagination which
communicated itself to her style, and Mme. de Flahault,
who married at the beginning of this century
M. de Souza, then Ambassador from Portugal, and
who wrote some very pretty novels. There were
others still whose names are to be found in the newspapers
of that day. Novels have multiplied greatly in
France in the last thirty years, and merely by reading
these one has a very clear idea of the progress of the
French mind since the Revolution. The disorder of
the first years of this Revolution turned the mind from
all those pleasures which only interest when in repose.
Young people generally were but half educated; the
differences of parties destroyed public opinion. At
the time when that great regulator had entirely disappeared,
mediocrity could show itself without fear. All
sorts of attempts were made in literature, and imaginative
works, always easiest when most fantastic, were
published with impunity. People, with their minds
heated by the rapidity of events, yielded to a kind of
excitement and enthusiasm which found a field in the
invention of fables and in the style of our romances.
Liberty alone, which men did not enjoy, can develop
with grandeur those emotions which our great
political storms had aroused. But in all times and
under all governments women can write and talk of
love, and works of this kind met with general approval.
There was little or none of Mme. de la Fayette’s
elegance, nor of Mme. Riccoboni’s delicate, refined
wit: nor did they amuse themselves by describing the
usages of courts, the habits of a state of society now
nearly passed away; but they represented powerful
scenes of passion and human nature in trying positions.
The heart was often unveiled in these animated
fables, and some men even, in order to give variety
to their sensations, engaged in this style of composition.</p>

<p class='pindent'>After all, there is some truth and nature in the tone
of the works published since the epoch of which we
speak. Even in the romances, the enthusiasm is rather
too strong than too affected, and, generally speaking,
they are not perverted by a false taste. The wild
errors of our Revolution upheaved French society,
and later this society was unable to recreate itself on
the same erroneous foundation. Each of the individuals
who composed it was not only displaced, but
was even entirely changed. Merely conventional customs
have by degrees disappeared, and in all the relations
of life the difference has been felt. Discourses
written and spoken are no longer the same, nor are
pictures. We have come to seek stronger sensations
and emotions that are more real, because sorrow has
developed the habit of keener feeling. Bonaparte
caused nothing to move backward, but he restrained
everything. The return of order to the Government
brought back also what M. de Fontanes called <span class='it'>les
bonnes lettres</span>. It now began to be felt that good
taste, discretion, and moderation should count for
something in the works of talent. If the good genius
of France had permitted Bonaparte to bestow upon
us some shadow of liberty at the same time that he
brought us repose, it is probable that the recollections
of a stormy period, combined with the comfort of a
more settled state of things, would have led to more
important productions. But the Emperor, desiring
that all should turn to his advantage alone, while at
the same time making enormous efforts to attach to
his reign all celebrities, so hampered their minds and
marked them with the seal of his despotism that he
virtually interdicted all hearty efforts. The greater
number of writers exhausted their inventive genius
in varying the prescribed and well-recompensed praise.
No political works were sanctioned, and in all imaginary
creations every doubtful application was
avoided with the utmost care. Comedy dared not
depict the manners of the day. Tragedy only ventured
to represent certain heroes. There was so much in
the Emperor that could honestly be praised, that conscience
was appeased; but true invention, repressed,
soon becomes extinct.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Meanwhile time and progress, combined with the
habitual good taste of France, which had such examples
in the past, all had their effect. All that was
produced had a certain amount of elegance, and those
who engaged in authorship wrote more or less well.
A prudent mediocrity was the order of the day. The
first quality of genius is strength of thought, and
when thought is restrained one limits one’s self to the
perfecting of one’s diction. One can only conscientiously
do the best that is permitted. And this explains
the sameness of the works of the beginning of this
century. But nowadays the liberty we have gained
extends in all directions, and we have bequeathed to
our children the habit of perfecting the details of
execution, with the hope that they will enrich these
details by their genius.</p>

<p class='pindent'>I have previously said that, while strength of
expression was forbidden us, we were at least allowed
to be natural, and this quality certainly makes itself
felt in the greater number of the literary productions
of our time. The stage, which was afraid to present
the vices and the follies of each class, because all
classes were recreated by Bonaparte, and it was
necessary to respect his work, disembarrassed itself of
the affectation and cant which preceded the Revolution.
At the head of our comic authors Picard must be
placed—Picard, who has so often, with so much
originality and gayety, given us an idea of the manners
and customs of Paris under the government of the
Directory. After his name come those of Duval and
several authors of comic opera.</p>

<p class='pindent'>We have seen the birth and death of many distinguished
poets: Legouvé, who was made known to us
by “La Mort d’Abel,” which he followed by “La
Mort d’Henri IV.,” and who wrote fine fugitive
poems; Arnault, author of “Marius à Minturnes”;
Raynouard, who made a great success in “Les Templières”;
Lemercier, who appeared before the public
first with his “Agamemnon,” the best of his works;
Chénier, whose talents bore too revolutionary an imprint,
but who had a strong perception of the tragic.
Then follow a whole crowd of poets, all more or less
pupils of M. Delille, and who, having acquired from
him the art of rhyming elegantly, celebrated the
charms of the country and simple pleasures and repose
to the sound of Bonaparte’s cannon echoing all
through Europe. I will not enter on this long list,
which may be found anywhere. There were excellent
translations made. Very little history was written;
the time had come when it was necessary to use a
forcible pen in writing it, and no one was prepared to
use such a pen.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Every one had fortunately become disgusted with
the light and mocking tone of the philosophy of the
last century, which, overthrowing all belief by the
aid of ridicule, blighted and tarnished all that was best
in life, and made of irreligion a jest and an intolerant
dogma. Sorrowful experience had begun to teach
the value of religious faith. Men were insensibly
drawn into a better path, and followed it, though
slowly.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Art, which stands not in so much need of liberty as
letters, had not stood altogether still. It had made
some progress, but at the same time it had suffered
from the general restraint. Among our most famous
painters was David, who most unfortunately marred
his reputation by abandoning himself to the most disgusting
errors of the Revolutionary madness. After
refusing in 1792 to paint Louis XVI., because he said
he did not choose that his brush should delineate a
tyrant’s features, he submitted with a very good grace
to Bonaparte, and represented him in all ways. Then
came Gérard, who painted so many historical portraits,
an immortal “Battle of Austerlitz,” and not long
since an “Entry of Henry IV. into Paris,” which
stirred every French heart; Girodet, so admirable for
the purity of his drawing and the boldness of his conceptions;
Gros, an eminently dramatic artist; Guérin,
whose brush stirs the souls of all who can feel; Isabey,
so clever and so delicate in his miniatures; and a crowd
of others of all kinds. The Emperor patronized and
protected all. Everything was reproduced by the
brush and the palette, and money was lavished on these
artists. The Revolution had placed them in society,
where they occupied an agreeable and often very
useful position. They guided the development of
luxury, and at the same time drew largely on the poetic
and picturesque incidents of our Revolution and of
the Imperial reign. Bonaparte was able indeed to
chill the expression of strong thoughts; but he kindled
men’s imaginations, and that is enough for most poets
and for all painters.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The progress of science was not interrupted, for it
was useful to the Government and awakened no distrust.
The Institute of France numbers many distinguished
men. Bonaparte courted them all, and
enriched some. He even bestowed some of his new
dignities upon them. He summoned them to his
Senate. It seems to me that this was an honor to that
body, and that the idea was not without grandeur.
<span class='it'>Savants</span> under his rule have been more independent
than any other classes. Lagrange, whom Bonaparte
made Senator, held himself aloof; but Laplace,
Lacépède, Monge, Berthollet, Cuvier, and some others
accepted his favors eagerly, and repaid them with
unfailing admiration.</p>

<p class='pindent'>I can not conscientiously close this chapter without
mentioning the great number of musicians who did
honor to their profession. Music has attained to high
perfection in France. Bonaparte had an especial liking
for the Italian school. The expenditures he made in
transplanting it to France were very useful to us,
although he allowed his own caprices to govern him
in the distribution of his favors. For example, he
always repelled Cherubini, because that composer,
displeased on one occasion by a criticism made by
Bonaparte when he was only a general, had answered
him somewhat rudely, that “a man might be skillful
enough on a battle-field and yet know nothing of
harmony.” He took a fancy to Lessueur, and lost his
temper at the time of the award of the decennial prizes
because the Institute did not proclaim this musician
worthy of the prize. But as a general thing he did
his best to advance this art. I saw him receive at
Malmaison old M. Grétry, and treat him with remarkable
distinction. Grétry, Dalayrac, Méhul, Berton,
Lesueur, Spontini, and others still were distinguished
under the Empire, and received recompenses for their
works.</p>

<p class='pindent'>In like manner actors met with great favor. All
that I have said of the tendency of our authors may
apply with equal truth to the drama. The natural
has acquired a great influence on our stage since the
Revolution. Good taste has proscribed pompous
gravity in tragedy and affectation in comedy. Talma
and Mlle. Mars have done much toward strengthening
the alliance between art and nature. Ease united
to vigor has been introduced in dancing. In short, it
may be said that simplicity, elegance, and harmony
now characterize French taste, and that all the shams
of phantasy and conventionality have disappeared.</p>

<hr class='pbk'/>

<div><span class='pageno' title='506' id='Page_506'></span><h1>CHAPTER&nbsp;&nbsp;XX</h1></div>

<h2 class='nobreak'>(1806.)</h2>

<p class='noindent'><img src='https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:c:claire-remusat-memoirs-josephine-vol-2-o.jpg' style='float:left;' alt='O'/>N the suggestion of M. Portalis, the Minister
of Public Worship, the Emperor issued a decree
appointing his birthday to be kept on the
Feast of the Assumption, the 15th of August, which
was also the anniversary of the conclusion of the
Concordat. The first Sunday of each December was
also set apart as a holiday, in commemoration of
Austerlitz.</p>

<p class='pindent'>On the 30th of March there was an important session
of the Senate, which gave rise to much and various
comment. The Emperor communicated to the
Senators a long list of decrees, which were destined
to affect Europe from one end to the other. It will
not be amiss to give some details of these, as well as
an extract from the speech of Cambacérès, the Arch-Chancellor,
which affords an example of the obsequious
skill with which the sudden resolves of a master
who kept all things, even men’s minds, in unceasing
ferment, could be clothed in specious phrases.</p>

<p class='pindent'>“Gentlemen,” said Cambacérès, “at the time when
France, animated by the same spirit as ourselves, secured
alike her happiness and her glory by an oath of
obedience to our august sovereign, you foresaw in
your wisdom the necessity of coördinating the system
of hereditary government in all its parts, and
likewise of strengthening it by institutions analogous
to its nature.</p>

<p class='pindent'>“Your wishes have been partly fulfilled; they will
be still further accomplished by the various enactments
which his Majesty the Emperor and King orders
me to lay before you. You will receive with
gratitude these fresh proofs of his confidence in the
Senate, and his love for the people, and you will hasten,
in conformity with his Majesty’s intention, to
inscribe them on your registers.</p>

<p class='pindent'>“The first of these decrees is a statute to regulate
all things relating to the civil status of the Imperial
family, and it also defines the duties of the princes
and princesses toward the Emperor.</p>

<p class='pindent'>“The second decree unites the states of Venice to
the kingdom of Italy.</p>

<p class='pindent'>“The third confers the throne of Naples on Prince
Joseph.” (Here follows an elaborate panegyric of
the virtues of the new King, and of the measure, by
which he retains the title of Grand Dignitary of the
Empire.)</p>

<p class='pindent'>“The fourth contains the cession of the duchy of
Cleves and the duchy of Berg to Prince Murat.”
(Similar panegyric.)</p>

<p class='pindent'>“The fifth bestows the principality of Guastalla on
the Princess Borghese and her husband.” (Praises
of both.)</p>

<p class='pindent'>“The sixth transfers to Marshal Berthier the principality
of Neufchâtel.” (He is complimented like
the rest. This touching proof of the solicitude of the
Emperor for his companion in arms, for his brave
and intelligent fellow soldier, will not fail to touch
every loyal heart, and to gladden every loyal spirit.)</p>

<p class='pindent'>“The seventh erects in the states of Parma and
Piacenza three great titles, which will be suitably supported
by considerable sums to be raised in those
states by order of his Majesty.</p>

<p class='pindent'>“By similar provisions, contained in decrees relating
to the states of Venice, the kingdom of Naples,
and the principality of Lucca, his Majesty has created
rewards worthy of himself for several of his subjects
who have performed great services in war, or
who, in the discharge of important functions, have
contributed in a signal manner to the welfare of the
state. These dignities and titles become the property
of those invested with them, and will descend in the
male line to their legitimate heirs. This grand conception,
while it proclaims to Europe the price attached
by his Majesty to acts of valor in his soldiers, and to
faithfulness in those employed by him in important
affairs, is also of political advantage. The brilliant
position of eminent men gives to their example and
their counsels an influence with the people which a
monarch may sometimes substitute, with advantage,
for the authority of public officials. At the same
time, such men are intercessors between the people
and the throne.”</p>

<p class='pindent'>It must be admitted that a good deal of progress
had been made since the still recent time when the
decrees of the Government were dated “Year 14 of
the Republic.”</p>

<p class='pindent'>“It is, therefore, on these bases that the Emperor
wishes to build the great political system with the idea
of which Providence has inspired him, and by which
he increases the love and admiration for his person
which you share with all the French nation.”</p>

<p class='pindent'>After this speech, the various decrees were read
aloud. The following are the most important articles:</p>

<p class='pindent'>By the decree regulating the civil status of the
Imperial family, the princes and princesses could not
marry without the consent of the Emperor. Children
born of a marriage contracted without his consent
would have no claim to the privileges which in certain
countries attach to morganatic marriages.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Divorce was forbidden to the Imperial family, but
separation, if authorized by the Emperor, was allowed.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The guardians of Imperial children were to be
named by him.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Members of the Imperial family could not adopt
children without his permission.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The Arch-Chancellor of the Empire was to fulfill
toward the Imperial family all the functions assigned
by law to the officers of the civil status. A Secretary
for the status of the Imperial family was to be chosen
among the Ministers or from among the State councilors.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The ceremonial for marriages and births was arranged.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The Arch-Chancellor was to receive the will of
the Emperor, as dictated by him to the Secretary of
the Imperial Family, in presence of two witnesses.
The will was to be placed in the keeping of the
Senate.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The Emperor was to regulate everything concerning
the education of the princes and princesses of his
family, appointing or removing those who had it in
charge. All princes born in the order of succession
were to be brought up together in a palace not more
than twenty leagues from the residence of the Emperor.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The education of the princes was to begin at the
age of seven, and end at that of sixteen. Children
of certain persons distinguished by their services
might be admitted by the Emperor to share in the
advantages of this education.</p>

<p class='pindent'>If a prince in the order of succession should ascend
a foreign throne, he would be bound, on his sons
attaining the age of seven, to send them to the aforesaid
palace.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The princes and princesses could not leave France,
nor remove beyond a radius of thirty leagues, without
permission of the Emperor.</p>

<p class='pindent'>If a member of the Imperial family were to misconduct
himself, forgetting his high position and his
duties, the Emperor might, for a space of time not
exceeding one year, place him under arrest, forbid
him his presence, or send him into exile. He might
forbid any intercourse between members of his family
and persons who seemed to him of doubtful character.
In serious cases, he might order two years’
seclusion in a state prison. This was to be done in
the presence of the Arch-Chancellor and of a family
council presided over by himself; the Secretary of the
Imperial Family to be in attendance.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The great dignitaries and the dukes of the Empire
were subject to the provisions of these latter articles.</p>

<p class='pindent'>After this first decree came the following:</p>

<div class='blockquote'>

<p class='pindent'>“We have established and we establish as duchies
and great fiefs of our Empire the provinces hereinafter
to be named:</p>

<table id='tab2' summary='' class='center'>
<colgroup>
<col span='1' style='width: 10em;'/>
<col span='1' style='width: 10em;'/>
</colgroup>
<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle3'>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Dalmatia,</td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle3'>Tréviso,</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle3'>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Istria,</td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle3'>Feltre,</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle3'>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Friuli,</td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle3'>Bassano,</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle3'>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Cadore,</td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle3'>Vicenza,</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle3'>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Belluno,</td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle3'>Padua,</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab2c1 tdStyle3'>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Conegliano,</td><td class='tab2c2 tdStyle3'>Rovigo.</td></tr>
</table>

<p class='pindent'>“We reserve to ourselves the investiture of the
said fiefs, to descend in succession to male issue. In
the event of extinction, the said fiefs shall revert to
the Imperial Crown.</p>

<p class='pindent'>“It is our intention that a fifteenth part of the
revenue that our kingdom of Italy draws, or may
draw, from the said provinces shall be an appanage
to the said fiefs, and be possessed by those whom we
shall have invested with them. We reserve to ourselves
for the same purpose the disposal of thirty millions
of francs from national property situate in the
said provinces. <span class='it'>Le Mont Napoléon</span> shall be charged
with twelve hundred thousand francs as Government
annuities, in favor of those generals, officers, and soldiers
who have done good service to the country and
to our Crown, but on the express condition that they
shall not alienate the same within ten years, without
our permission.</p>

<p class='pindent'>“Until the kingdom of Italy shall have an army,
we grant to the said kingdom a French contingent, to
be maintained by our Imperial Treasury. To this
end, our Royal Treasury of Italy shall pay monthly
to our Imperial Treasury the sum of two million five
hundred thousand francs during the time that our
army shall sojourn in Italy, that is, during six years.
The heir presumptive of Italy shall be entitled Prince
of Venice.</p>

<p class='pindent'>“The tranquillity of Europe requires that we
should secure the safety of the peoples of Naples and
Sicily, who have fallen into our power by the right of
conquest, and who are part of the Grand Empire; we
therefore declare our brother Joseph Napoleon, Grand
Elector of France, King of Naples and Sicily. The
crown shall be hereditary in the male line; failing
this, we appoint it to our own legitimate children in
the male line, and failing these, to the children of our
brother Louis Napoleon; reserving to ourselves, in
the event of our brother Joseph’s dying without male
children, the right of naming as successor to the said
crown a prince of our own family, or an adopted
son, according as we may deem it desirable in the interests
of our people, and of that great system which
Divine Providence has destined us to found.</p>

<p class='pindent'>“Six great fiefs are established in the said kingdom,
with the title of duchy, and the same prerogatives
as the others, to be in perpetuity appointed by
us and our successors.</p>

<p class='pindent'>“We reserve to ourselves a revenue of one million
on the kingdom of Naples, for distribution among
the generals, officers, and privates of our army, on the
same conditions as those set forth in the case of <span class='it'>le
Mont Napoléon</span>.</p>

<p class='pindent'>“The King of Naples shall be in perpetuity a grand
dignitary of the Empire, we reserving to ourselves
the right of creating him a Prince instead of Grand
Elector.</p>

<p class='pindent'>“We declare that the crown of Naples, which we
place on the head of Prince Joseph and his heirs, shall
in no way bar their right to the succession to the
throne of France. But it is our will also that the
crowns of France, Italy, and Naples and Sicily shall
never be united on the same head.</p>

<p class='pindent'>“We give the duchies of Cleves and of Berg to
our brother-in-law Prince Joachim, and to his heirs
male; failing whom, they shall devolve on our brother
Joseph, and if he have no male issue, on our brother
Louis; but they are never to be united to the crown
of France. The Duke of Cleves and Berg will continue
to be Grand Admiral, and we shall have power
to create a Vice-Admiral.”</p>

</div>

<p class='pindent'>Lastly, the principality of Guastalla was bestowed
on Princess Borghese. The Prince was to bear the
title of Prince of Guastalla. Should they have no
issue, the Emperor was to dispose of the principality
at his pleasure. The same conditions were to hold
good in the case of the principality of Neufchâtel.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The principality of Lucca was augmented by the
addition of some lands detached from the kingdom of
Italy, and in return was to pay an annual sum of two
hundred thousand francs, which was likewise destined
for military rewards. A portion of the national
property situate in the duchies of Parma and Piacenza
was reserved for the same object.</p>

<p class='pindent'>I have deemed it well to give almost the entire text
of the different decrees which seem to me to call for
comment. This act of Bonaparte’s revealed to some
extent the preponderance which he intended to give
the French Empire over the conquered states of
Europe, and also that which he reserved to himself
personally. It may easily be conceived that these
decrees excited such disquiet throughout Europe as
forbade us to cherish the hope of a long peace. It is
also plain from them that Italy, which had been eager
to seize on the independence which unity of government
seemed to promise her, soon found her hopes
betrayed by the secondary position in which she was
placed by the bonds which subjected her to the
Emperor.</p>

<p class='pindent'>No matter how careful Prince Eugène was, or how
mild and just his government, the Italians soon perceived
that conquest had placed them in the power of
a master, who made use of the resources of their
beautiful land for his own advantage only. They
maintained on their territory, and at their cost, a
foreign army. The largest part of their revenue
served to enrich Frenchmen. In everything that was
exacted of them, much less regard was paid to their
interests than to the advantage of the Grand Empire,
and this soon became synonymous with the ambitious
projects of one man, who did not hesitate to claim
from Italy sacrifices he would scarcely have dared to
ask of France. The Viceroy endeavored to obtain
some alleviation for the Italians, but in vain. They
learned, however, to do justice to the character of
Eugène, and to distinguish between him and the rigorous
measures which he was forced to carry out;
they were grateful to him for what he tried to do, and
for his good intentions. This, however, did not last;
the too much oppressed people lost the power of being
just, and included all Frenchmen, Prince Eugène at
their head, in the hatred they bore to the Emperor.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The Viceroy himself, who was a faithful servant
to Bonaparte, though he was under no delusion regarding
him, told his mother in my presence that the
Emperor, jealous of the affection Eugène had won,
had imposed useless and oppressive measures upon
him, in order to alienate the good will of the Italians.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The Vice-Queen contributed also, at first, to the
popularity of her husband. She was beautiful, very
kind-hearted, pious, and benevolent, and she charmed
every one who approached her. Toward Bonaparte
her manner was dignified and cold. He disliked to
hear her praised. She never passed much time in
Paris.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Several of the articles of these decrees were never
carried out. Change of circumstances led to change
of purpose; new passions brought forth new fancies,
or sudden suspicion altered former resolves. In many
respects the government of Bonaparte resembled the
Palace of the Legislature, in which the Chamber of
Deputies is now installed. The former building remains
unaltered; but, in order to render it more imposing,
a façade has been erected, which seen from
the river-side is undoubtedly a grand object, but, if
we walk round the building, we find that it does not
harmonize with the architecture of the front. Bonaparte
frequently erected façades only, political, legislative,
or administrative.</p>

<p class='pindent'>After the reception of these messages the Senate
passed a vote of thanks to the Emperor, and deputations
were sent to the new Queen of Naples, who
received them with her usual simple grace, and to the
two princesses. Murat had already departed to take
possession of his duchy. The newspapers assured us
he was received with acclamations, and gave a similar
account of the delight of the Neapolitans; but from
private letters we learned that the war was to be continued,
and that Calabria would make a stout resistance.
Joseph has a mild disposition, and in no place
has he made himself personally disliked; but he is
wanting in tact, and he has always shown himself
unequal to the position in which he was placed. To
tell the truth, the business of kingship, as established
by Bonaparte, has been a difficult one.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Having settled these important points, the Emperor
turned to occupations of a lighter kind. On the 7th
of April the betrothal of the young couple of whom
I have already spoken in a preceding chapter took
place at the Tuileries. The ceremony was performed
in the Diana Gallery in the evening; there was a
numerous and brilliant Court. The bride elect wore
a silver-embroidered gown ornamented with roses.
The witnesses on her side were MM. de Talleyrand,
de Champagny, and de Ségur; and for the bridegroom,
the Hereditary Prince of Bavaria, the Grand
Chamberlain of the Elector of Baden, and Baron Dalberg,
Minister Plenipotentiary of Baden.</p>

<p class='pindent'>On the following evening the marriage was celebrated
in state. The Tuileries were illuminated; fireworks
were exhibited on the Place Louis XV., then
called Place de la Concorde.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The Court displayed a special splendor for the occasion,
even beyond its usual extravagant luxury.
The Empress wore a gown entirely covered with gold
embroidery of different shades, and wore, besides the
Imperial crown, pearls in her hair to the value of a
million francs. Princess Borghese shone with all the
Borghese diamonds added to her own, which were
priceless; Mme. Murat wore rubies; Mme. Louis was
almost covered with turquoises set in brilliants; the
new Queen of Naples, slight and delicate-looking,
seemed to bend beneath the weight of precious stones.
I remember that I had a Court dress made for the
occasion, although I was not usually among the most
brilliantly dressed ladies of the Court. It was of pink
crape, spangled with silver, and looped up with
wreaths of jasmine; on my hair was a crown of jasmine
and diamond wheat-ears. My jewels were
worth from forty thousand to fifty thousand francs—far
less than those of most of our Court ladies.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Princess Stéphanie had received magnificent gifts
from her husband, and still more splendid ones from
the Emperor. She wore a circlet of diamonds surmounted
with orange-blossom. Her court dress was
of white tulle, with silver stars and sprays of orange-blossom.
She approached the altar with much gracefulness,
and made her deep courtesies so as to charm
the Emperor and every one else. Her father, who
stood among the Senators, was moved to tears. His
position in this ceremony was curious, and his feelings
must have been rather complex. The Order of
Baden was conferred on him.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The Cardinal Legate, Caprara, solemnized the marriage.
At the conclusion of the ceremony, we returned
from the chapel to the state apartments in the
same order as that in which we had come down: the
princes and princesses heading the procession, the
Empress followed by all her ladies, with the Prince
of Baden at her side, and the Emperor leading the
bride. He wore his state costume. I have already
said that it became him well. Nothing was wanting
to the pageantry of the procession but a more deliberate
step; but Bonaparte always would walk fast,
and he hurried us more than was dignified or desirable.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The trains of the princesses and queens and that of
the Empress were borne by pages. As for the rest of
us, although letting our trains fall would have greatly
improved our appearance, we were obliged to carry
them over one arm, because their excessive length
would have caused far too much delay for the Emperor’s
quick pace.</p>

<p class='pindent'>It frequently happened in state ceremonials, and
rendered them less imposing, that the chamberlains
preceding him would repeat in a low tone, as they
trod on our heels, “Now then, ladies, please to get
on.” The Countess d’Arberg, who had been at the
Court of the Archduchess in the Netherlands, and was
accustomed to German etiquette, was always so visibly
annoyed by this intimation, that we who were
used to it could not but laugh at her. She used to
say, with some humor, that we ought to be called
“postillions-in-waiting,” and that we had better have
had short skirts given to us than the long train, which
was of no use.</p>

<p class='pindent'>M. de Talleyrand also was much annoyed by this
habit, as, in his capacity of Grand Chamberlain, he
had to precede the Emperor, and he, on account of a
weakness of the lower limbs, found even slow walking
difficult. The aides-de-camp used to be amused
at his vexation. As for the Empress, this was one
of the points on which she would not yield to her husband.
She had a very graceful manner of walking,
and was averse to hiding any of her accomplishments;
therefore nothing could induce her to hurry.
The pressure began among those who were following
her.</p>

<p class='pindent'>When we were starting for the chapel, I recollect
that the Emperor, who was little used to giving his
hand to ladies, was puzzled, not knowing whether to
offer his right or his left hand to the bride. It was
she who had to make the decision.</p>

<p class='pindent'>A great reception was held that day in the state
apartments; there was a concert, then a ballet and
supper, as I have before described. The Queen of
Naples having passed next after the Empress, Bonaparte
placed his adopted daughter at his right hand,
above his mother. On that evening again Mme.
Murat had to endure the great mortification of passing
through the doorways after the young Princess of
Baden.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The Court removed next day to Malmaison, and
shortly afterward to Saint Cloud. I have already
related what occurred there. On the 20th we came
back to Paris, to be present at a splendid fête given in
honor of the marriage.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The Emperor, wishing to display his Court to the
Parisians, allowed a considerable number of invitations
to be sent to men and women of every class.
The state apartments were filled by an immense
crowd. Two quadrilles were danced. One, in which
I took part, was Mme. Louis Bonaparte’s, and was
performed with dance-steps in the Salle des Maréchaux.
Sixteen ladies, in groups of four, dressed in
white, their heads wreathed with flowers of different
colors, their dresses ornamented with flowers, and
with diamond wheat-ears in their hair, danced with
sixteen gentlemen wearing white satin coats, and
scarfs corresponding in color to their partners’ flowers.
When our dance was concluded, the Empress
and the Imperial family entered the Diana Gallery,
where Mme. Murat was at the head of another quadrille—the
persons composing it being costumed as
Spaniards, with hats and feathers.</p>

<p class='pindent'>After this, every one was allowed to dance—city
and Court together. Ices and refreshments were distributed
in profusion. The Emperor returned to
Saint Cloud, having remained about an hour, and
spoken to a great number of persons; that is to say,
having asked each one his or her name. Dancing
was kept up after his departure until morning.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Perhaps I have lingered too long on these details,
but they are a relief from the serious narrative I have
undertaken, and of which my woman’s pen becomes
at times a little weary.</p>

<p class='pindent'>While making and unmaking kings, according to
the expression of M. de Fontanes, while giving his
adopted daughter in marriage, and joining in the festivities
of which I have spoken, the Emperor assiduously
attended the state councils, hastened on their
work, and forwarded daily a great number of laws
to the Legislature. State Councilor Treilhard was
the bearer of the code of procedure, completed during
this year; many regulations were agreed to concerning
trade, and the session was closed by a statement
which conveyed grand ideas of the flourishing state
of our finances. Not an extra sou was demanded
from the nation; public works had been accomplished,
and others were in contemplation; there was a formidable
army, as was well known, and only a fixed
debt of 48,000,000; a civil list of 35,000,000 against
8,000,000 of revenue.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Meanwhile the Emperor’s resentment against the
English Government was growing deeper. The Cabinet,
which, however changed in its individual members,
had not changed in its policy toward us, declared
war on the King of Prussia, to punish him for his neutrality
in the last war, and for his conquest of Hanover,
which he had just taken.</p>

<p class='pindent'>A long article on European politics appeared in the
“Moniteur.” The author tried to prove that by this
rupture England would accelerate the policy which
must close the northern ports against her (the ports
of the south being already closed), and that she would
strengthen the union between France and the Continent.
The position of Holland was next fully discussed.
The Grand Pensionary Schimmelpenninck
had, it was reported, become blind. What would be
the course taken by the Dutch? It was known that
the Emperor had not directly authorized the recent
changes in the organization of that country, and that
he had said on the occasion that “the prosperity and
liberty of nations could only be assured by one of two
systems of government—a constitutional monarchy
or a republic, constituted according to the principles
of liberty. In Holland the Grand Pensionary exercises
an important influence on the elections of the
representatives of the legislative body; this is a radical
vice in the Constitution. Nevertheless all nations
can not with impunity leave the choice of their representatives
to the public, and, when there is danger to
be apprehended from assembling the people, recourse
must be had to the principles of a good and wise
monarchy. This, perhaps, is what will occur to the
Dutch. It is for them to appreciate their situation,
and to choose between the two systems that one which
is most likely to establish public prosperity and public
liberty on a solid basis.” These words were sufficiently
indicative of what was in store for Holland.
The writer next pointed out the advantages which
must result to France from the duchies of Cleves and
Berg being occupied by a Frenchman, inasmuch as
our relations with Holland would be better, and that
all the countries on the right bank of the Rhine would
be occupied by allies of the Imperial family.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The Prince of Neufchâtel was about to close Switzerland
against English traders. The Emperor of
Austria was said to be engaged in tending his wounds,
and resolved on a long peace. The Russians, still
agitated by English policy, had had fresh contests in
Dalmatia, being unwilling to give up the country situated
near the mouth of the Cattaro, which was in
their occupation; but the presence of the Grand Army,
whose return had been suspended, had compelled
them at length to fulfill the conditions of the last
treaty.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The Pope was dismissing from Rome all persons,
whether English, Russians, or Sardinians, suspected
of intriguing, and whose presence gave umbrage to
the French Government.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The kingdom of Naples was almost entirely subjugated;
Sicily was defended by a mere handful of
English. France was in close alliance with the Porte;
the Turkish Government was less mercenary and less
ignorant than had been supposed, and understood that
the presence of the French in Dalmatia might be most
useful in protecting Turkey from Russian invasion.
Lastly, our army was more formidable than ever,
and well able to resist the attacks of a fourth coalition,
to form which, after all, Europe was not disposed.</p>

<p class='pindent'>This sketch of our position with regard to Europe
could only be reassuring to those who took plausible
phrases emanating from the highest quarters in their
literal sense. It was easy enough for any one who
read them without absolute credulity to perceive that
the populations were not so docile as we tried to make
out; that we were beginning to sacrifice their interests
to our own policy; that England, angered by
failure, was bent on raising up new enemies for us;
that the King of Prussia was selling us his friendship;
and that Russia was still threatening us. Men no
longer believed in the pacific intentions which the
Emperor announced in all his speeches. But there
was something so impressive in his plans, his military
talent was so abundantly proved, he bestowed such
greatness on France, that, duped by her own glory,
forced as she was to bend beneath the yoke, she consented
also to be beguiled by the enchanter. Moreover,
the internal prosperity of the country had apparently
increased; there was no augmentation of
taxes; everything contributed to dazzle us, and not
one of us, acted upon as we were by the impulsion
which Bonaparte had given us all, had either the
leisure or the will for serious reflection. The Emperor
used to say, “Luxury and glory have never
failed to turn the heads of the French.”</p>

<p class='pindent'>Shortly after, we were told that a great council had
been held at the Hague by the representatives of the
Batavian people, at which affairs of the highest importance
had been discussed; and a rumor was allowed
to spread that a new Dutch monarchy was
about to be founded.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Meanwhile, the English newspapers were full of
criticisms on the progress which the Imperial power
was making in Europe. “If Bonaparte,” they said,
“succeeds in accomplishing his system of a Federal
Empire, France will become the sovereign arbiter of
almost the whole continent.” He was delighted at
this prediction, and resolutely strove to realize it.</p>

<p class='pindent'>M. de Talleyrand, at that time in great repute, used
his influence in Europe to gain over the foreign Ministers.
He asked for and obtained from the sovereigns
exactly those ambassadors whom he knew he
could make amenable. For instance, he obtained
from Prussia the Marquis de Lucchesini, who subsequently
acted in the French interest, against his own
master. He was a clever man, of a somewhat scheming
disposition. He was born at Lucca, but a taste
for traveling took him in his youth to Berlin, where
he was received by Frederick the Great, who, liking
his conversation and his philosophical principles, kept
him near his own person, gave him a place at Court,
and founded his fortunes. He was subsequently intrusted
with Prussian affairs, became a person of
importance, and had sufficient luck and ability to remain
long in high repute. He married a Prussian
lady, and both he and his wife, when they came to
France, devoted themselves to M. de Talleyrand, who
made use of them to further his own ends. It was
long before the King of Prussia found out that his
ambassador had joined in the plots against him, and
Lucchesini did not fall into disgrace until some
years later. The Marquis then repaired to Italy, and
found a fresh field for his ambition in the influence
he obtained over the sovereign of Lucca, who had
become Grand Duchess of Tuscany. The events of
1814 caused his downfall to follow on that of his
mistress. The Marchesa de Lucchesini, who was
rather addicted to coquetry, was while in Paris one of
the most obsequious of Madame de Talleyrand’s
friends.</p>

<p class='pindent'>On the 5th of June the Emperor received an Ambassador
Extraordinary from the Porte, with messages
of congratulation and friendship from the
Sultan. These messages were accompanied by magnificent
presents of diamonds, a pearl necklace worth
eighty thousand francs, perfumes, innumerable
shawls, and Arab horses, with housings adorned with
precious stones. The Emperor gave the necklace to
his wife, and distributed the diamonds and the shawls
among the ladies-in-waiting. Some were given also
to the wives of ministers and marshals, and to a few
others. The Empress reserved the finest for herself,
and there yet remained enough to be used afterward
for the decoration of a boudoir at Compiègne, which
Josephine had arranged for herself with special care,
but which was never used except by the Empress
Marie Louise.</p>

<p class='pindent'>On the same day the Envoy from Holland came to
announce that it had been decided at the Hague, upon
mature deliberation, that a constitutional monarchy
was the only form of government that would thenceforth
be suitable for Holland, because such a monarchy
would harmonize with the principles now
spreading in Europe; and that, in order to consolidate
it, they solicited Louis Napoleon, the Emperor’s
brother, to become their first King.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Bonaparte replied that such a monarchy would
doubtless be profitable to the general policy of Europe,
and that, by removing anxieties of his own, it
would enable him to deliver important places into the
hands of the Dutch, which hitherto he had felt it his
duty to retain. Then, turning toward his brother, he
enjoined him to have a care of the people intrusted
to him.</p>

<p class='pindent'>This scene was well acted. Louis made a fitting
reply. On the audience coming to an end, the doors
were flung open, as on the occasion when Louis XIV.
accepted the succession to Spain, and the new King
of Holland was announced to the assembled Court.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Immediately on this, the Arch-Chancellor carried
to the Senate, according to custom, the new Imperial
message, and made the usual speech.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The Emperor guaranteed to his brother the integrity
of his states, and that his children should succeed
him; but the crowns of France and of Holland were
never to be united on one head.</p>

<p class='pindent'>In the case of a minority, the Queen was to be
regent, and failing her, the Emperor of the French,
in right of his position as perpetual head of the Imperial
family, was to appoint a regent, whom he was
to select from among the princes of the royal family
or among the Dutch nation.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The King of Holland was to remain Constable of
the Empire, a Vice-Constable to be created at the
Emperor’s pleasure.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The message also contained an announcement to
the Senate that the Arch-Chancellor of the German
Empire had asked of the Pope that Cardinal Fesch
might be designated as his coadjutor and successor;
and that his Holiness had informed the Emperor of
this request, who had approved of it.</p>

<p class='pindent'>“Lastly, the duchies of Benevento and of Ponte
Corvo being a subject of litigation between the Courts
of Naples and Rome, in order to put an end to these
difficulties, and reserving to ourselves the indemnification
of these Courts, we erect them,” says the decree,
“into duchies and fiefs of the Empire, and we
bestow them on our Grand Chamberlain Talleyrand,
and on our cousin Marshal Bernadotte, to reward
them for services rendered to the country. They will
bear the titles of these duchies, they will take an oath
to serve us as faithful and loyal subjects, and, if their
issue should fail, we reserve to ourselves the right of
disposing of those principalities.” Bonaparte had no
great liking for Marshal Bernadotte; he probably felt
bound to promote him because he had married the sister
of Joseph Bonaparte’s wife, and it seemed fitting
that the sister of a Queen should be at least a Princess.</p>

<p class='pindent'>It is unnecessary for me to add that the Senate
approved of all these proceedings.</p>

<p class='pindent'>On the day following the ceremonial which introduced
another King into Bonaparte’s family circle,
we were at breakfast with the Empress, when her
husband entered the room, looking extremely pleased,
and holding little Napoleon by the hand. He addressed
us all in these terms: “Mesdames, here is a
little boy who is going to recite to you one of La
Fontaine’s fables. I made him learn it this morning,
and you shall hear how well he knows it.” On this
the child began to repeat the fable of the frogs who
asked for a king, and the Emperor laughed loudly
at each allusion that seemed applicable to the circumstances.
He stood behind Mme. Louis’s arm-chair—she
was seated at table opposite her mother—and
pinched her ears as he asked her over and over again,
“What do you say to that, Hortense?” No one said
much in reply. I was smiling to myself as I ate my
breakfast, and the Emperor, in high good humor,
said to me, laughing also, “I see that Mme. de
Rémusat thinks I am giving Napoleon a good
education.”</p>

<p class='pindent'>Louis’s acquisition of a kingdom revealed to his
brother the deplorable state of his domestic affairs.
Mme. Louis could not contemplate her accession to a
throne without bitter weeping. The ungenial climate
to which she was about to remove, which must
needs aggravate the wretched state of her health; the
dread she felt of living alone with her tyrannical husband;
his increasing dislike of her, which did not
lessen his jealousy, although it deprived it of rational
excuse—all these things made her resolve to open her
heart to the Emperor. She confided her sorrows to
him, and prepared him for the fresh troubles that no
doubt awaited her. She entreated his protection in
the future, and exacted from him a promise never to
judge her unheard. She went so far as to tell him
that, foreseeing the persecution she would have to
endure in the isolation to which she would be subjected,
her mind was made up that when she should
have endured up to a certain point she would leave
the world and retire to a convent, relinquishing a
crown of which she could already feel the thorns.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The Emperor entreated her to have courage and
patience; he promised to protect her, and directed her
to advise with him before taking any decisive step.</p>

<p class='pindent'>I can bear witness that this unhappy lady ascended
the throne in the spirit of a victim resigning herself
to sacrifice.</p>

<hr class='pbk'/>

<div><span class='pageno' title='528' id='Page_528'></span><h1>CHAPTER&nbsp;&nbsp;XXI</h1></div>

<h2 class='nobreak'>(1806.)</h2>

<p class='noindent'><img src='https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:c:claire-remusat-memoirs-josephine-vol-2-i.jpg' style='float:left;' alt='I'/>N the June of this year I went to take the waters
at Cauterets, and remained away three months. I
was in very delicate health, and needed a respite
from Court life and from the daily anxieties which
were wearing alike to mind and body. My family—that
is to say, my husband, my mother, and my children—were
settled at Auteuil, whence M. de Rémusat
could easily get to Saint Cloud, and there they passed
a happy and peaceful summer. Our Court was then
in solitude; the sovereigns of Holland had taken their
departure, and the members of Bonaparte’s family
had separate establishments. The Emperor was engrossed
by the gathering clouds in Europe, and was
constantly at work; his wife employed her leisure in
beautifying her estate of Malmaison.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The “Moniteur” contained glowing accounts of the
triumphal entries of the princes created by Bonaparte
into their respective states. Enthusiasm was said to
be at the highest at Naples, at Berg, at Baden, and in
Holland, and the populace was delighted everywhere.
The speeches of the new kings or princes, in which
they treated their subjects to a pompous panegyric of
the great man whose envoys they were, were published
for our edification. It is certain that, at first,
Louis Bonaparte found favor with the Dutch. His
wife shared his popularity in it, and displayed such
affability that very soon, as I heard from some French
people who accompanied them, her strange husband
became jealous of the affection she inspired.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Like his brother, Louis was intolerant of the least
independence in others. After exacting that the Queen
should hold a brilliant Court, he suddenly changed his
mind, and reduced her by degrees to a very solitary
life, thus isolating her from the people over whom
she too had been appointed to reign. If I may believe
the accounts I have received from persons who could
have had no motive for inventing them, he resumed
his distrustful jealousy and his system of spying, and
the Queen was constantly subjected to insult. The
poor young creature, in a state of chronic ill health
and profound melancholy, perceived that it was not
her husband’s pleasure that she should share the affection
he hoped to inspire in his Dutch subjects. Sorrow
had made her indifferent to such things; she withdrew
into the solitude of her palace, where she lived almost
as a prisoner, devoting herself to the arts she loved,
and indulging her excessive affection for her eldest
boy. The child, who was forward for his age, greatly
loved his mother, to the extreme jealousy of Louis.
The latter would sometimes try to obtain his preference
by indulgence carried to excess; sometimes he
would alarm him by outbreaks of passion, and the
boy clung the more to her, who always loved and
never frightened him. Men were found—and such
as are always to be found in courts—who, for hire,
undertook to watch the Queen and report her every
action. The letters she wrote were opened, lest they
might contain any allusion to events in her husband’s
dominions. She has assured me that more than once
she found her desk open and her papers upset, and
that, if she had chosen, she might have detected the
King’s spies in the act of carrying out his instructions.
It was soon perceived at the Dutch Court that to
appear to be influenced in any way by the Queen was
to lose one’s own chances of favor, and on this she
was immediately forsaken. Any unfortunate person
addressing himself to her, in order to solicit a favor,
would be immediately suspected; any minister conversing
with her on the most trifling matter would
fall under the King’s displeasure. The damp climate
of Holland aggravated her ailments; she fell into a
state of atrophy perceptible to every one, but which
the King did not choose at first to notice. She has
told me that her life at this time was so hard and
seemed so hopeless, that frequently, when residing at
one of her country-houses not far from the sea, and
gazing at the ocean stretched out before her, and
English vessels blockading the harbors, she ardently
wished that some chance would bring one of them to
the coast, and that some partial invasion might be
attempted, in which she would have been made a
prisoner. At last her physicians ordered her to Aix-la-Chapelle,
and the King himself, who was out of
health, resolved on taking the waters there with
her.</p>

<p class='pindent'>From this time Holland began to suffer from the
prohibitive system which the Emperor imposed on
everything appertaining to the Empire. It must be
conceded to Louis Bonaparte that he promptly defended
the interests of the people confided to him, and
opposed the tyrannical measures forced on him by the
Imperial policy as strongly as was in his power. He
bore with firmness the Emperor’s reproaches on the
subject, and resisted him in such a manner as to gain
the affection of the Dutch. In this they did him
justice.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Switzerland also was compelled to decline all trade
with England, and English goods were seized everywhere.
These measures served to strengthen the party
in London who were anxious to force France into
fresh European wars at any price. Mr. Fox, who was
then Prime Minister, seemed, however, to lean toward
peace, and to be willing to receive overtures of negotiation.
During the summer he was attacked by the
illness which subsequently proved fatal to him, and his
influence declined. The Russians were still contending
with our troops for the possession of certain parts of
Dalmatia. The Grand Army showed no sign of
returning to France; the promised fêtes were constantly
deferred.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The King of Prussia was inclined to peace, but his
young and lovely consort, as well as Prince Louis of
Prussia and a part of the Court, did all they could
to incite him to war. They pointed out to him that
the future had in store the liberation of Poland, the
aggrandizement of Saxony, the danger of the Confederation
of the Rhine being organized; and it must be
admitted that the Emperor’s line of conduct was a
justification for the disquiet of Europe.</p>

<p class='pindent'>English policy was by degrees regaining its influence
over the Emperor of Russia. Count Woronzoff had
been sent to London, and he fell so completely under
the influence exerted over him that the Continent was
again disturbed. The Czar had sent Baron d’Oubril
to Paris, to negotiate with us, and a treaty of peace
was in fact signed by him and M. de Talleyrand on
the 20th of July, but as will be seen hereafter, it was
never ratified at St. Petersburg.</p>

<p class='pindent'>About this time General Junot was made Governor
of Paris.</p>

<p class='pindent'>France was in a state of profound tranquillity. Day
by day the Emperor met with less opposition. A firm,
equable, and strict administration, which was just,
inasmuch as it was equal for all, regulated both the
exercise of authority and the mode of supporting it.
Conscription was rigorously enforced, but as yet the
murmurs of the people were but faint; the French
had not then exhausted the sentiment of glory, as they
have done since that time, and, moreover, the brilliant
possibilities of a military career fascinated the youth
of France, and they all espoused the cause of Bonaparte.
Even in the families of the nobility, who were,
on principle or from habit, in opposition, the political
creed of the fathers was less firmly held by the children,
and parents were perhaps, in their secret heart,
not sorry to relax somewhat of their severity on the
plea of paternal concession. Nor was any opportunity
overlooked of indicating that the nation had returned
to the natural course and order of things.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The feast of the 15th of August having become
that of St. Napoleon, the Minister of the Interior
wrote a circular letter to all the prefects, recommending
them to combine in the solemnization of the fête
rejoicings for both the birthday of the Emperor and
the reëstablishment of religion. “No holiday,” said
the letter, “can inspire deeper feelings than that in
which a great people, in the pride of victory and the
consciousness of happiness, celebrates the birthday of
the sovereign to whom all its felicity and glory are to
be ascribed.”</p>

<p class='pindent'>It ought to be constantly repeated, as well for the
sake of nations to come as for the sake of those who
are called to reign over them, that both peoples and
kings who allow themselves to be deceived by an
appearance of calm, after the storm of a revolution,
are in the wrong. If this time of peace has not called
into existence an order of things indicated by national
needs, then it is fallacious calm, a respite resulting
from circumstances—of which a clever man will
indeed avail himself, but which he will not really
utilize unless he prudently regulates the advance of
those who have trusted him. Far from so acting,
Bonaparte, powerful and headstrong, opened, as it
were, a long parenthesis in the French Revolution.
He always had a conviction that this parenthesis
would be closed at his death, which to him seemed the
only possible limit to his fortune.</p>

<p class='pindent'>He seized the reins of France when Frenchmen
were wandering bewildered in every direction, and
were fearful that they should never reach the goal to
which they aspired. Their energies, which were vague
because they no longer ventured to undertake any
kind of enterprise boldly, were then turned into military
ardor, which is the most dangerous of any,
because the most opposed to the true citizen spirit.
For a long while Bonaparte reaped the advantage of
this, but he did not foresee that, in order to rule after
his fashion a nation which for a time had become
distrustful of its own strength, and which yet felt the
need of a great restoration, it was imperative that
victory should always follow on war, and that reverses
must inevitably make man reflect in a direction dangerous
for himself.</p>

<p class='pindent'>He was, I believe, hurried along by the force of
circumstances, resulting from the events of every day.
But he was determined to check the growth of liberty
at any cost, and to this end he directed all his efforts.
It has been frequently said, both during the Empire
and after his fall, that he understood the science of
governing better than any other man. This is the
case, doubtless, if it be only understood as the knowledge
of means whereby to enforce obedience; but if
the word “science” includes “the clear and certain
knowledge of a thing founded on principles either
self-evident or proved to demonstration,” then it is
certain that in Bonaparte’s system of government there
was no place for those elements which manifest the
esteem of the sovereign for his subjects. He by no
means recognized the concession of certain rights
which every man who intends to rule other men for
any length of time must begin by making to them,
lest, weary of their mental inaction, they should one
day claim these rights for themselves. He did not
know how to stir generous passion, or to appreciate and
evoke moral virtues, and thus to elevate himself in
proportion as he aggrandized human nature.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Singular in every respect, he believed himself to be
vastly superior to the rest of the world, and nevertheless
he was afraid of superiority in others. Is there
one among those who knew him well who has not
heard him say that he preferred men of second-rate
abilities? Is there one who has not remarked that
when he made use of a man of talent, of whatever
kind, he would, before he felt he could trust him, find
out his weak point, and in most cases hasten to divulge
it? Did he not always depreciate, and often falsely,
those whose services he employed? The truth is,
Bonaparte’s gifts, whether to the world, to nations, or
to individuals, were all bargains. These bargains,
which were enforced rather than offered, flattered the
vanity of human nature, and thus for a long time beguiled
men’s minds, so that it is now hard to reduce
them to bounds of possibility and reason. Such a
policy as this may certainly avail to purchase service
of every kind, but it follows that it must be based on
unvarying success. Are we to conclude from this that
the French were unpardonably guilty, because they
fell into the power of such a man? Will posterity
condemn them for their imprudent trust in him? I
think not.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Bonaparte, who employed good or evil things
indifferently, according as they served his purpose,
understood thoroughly that no secure foundations can
be laid in times of trouble. He therefore began by
restoring order, and it was thus he won us, poor tired
wayfarers that we were, battered by many a storm!
That which he created for his own profit only we
accepted gratefully; the social order which was
restored by him, that it might become the groundwork
of his despotic sway, we regarded as the greatest of
his gifts, and as the pledge of other benefits. We
believed that the man who reëstablished public
morality, religion, and civilization, who patronized art
and literature, and who undertook to reduce society to
order, must have a soul capable of true greatness; and
perhaps, after all, our error, which was deplorable
because it served his purposes so long, proves the
generosity of our sentiments rather than our imprudence.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Until Prussia declared war, no event of any importance
took place. In the course of the summer
Count Metternich, the Austrian Ambassador, arrived
in Paris. He occupied an important position in
Europe, took part in events of the highest importance,
and finally made an enormous fortune; but his abilities
did not rise above the schemes of a second-rate
policy. At the period of which I am speaking he was
young, good-looking, and popular with women. A
little later he formed an attachment to Mme. Murat,
and he retained a feeling toward her which for a long
time aided to keep her husband on the throne of
Naples, and which probably is still of service to her in
her retirement.</p>

<p class='pindent'>In the month of August a decree which settled the
new catechism of the Gallican Church was promulgated.
It was entitled “Bossuet’s Catechism,” and it
contained, together with doctrines taken from the
works of the Bishop of Meaux, some remarkable
utterances on the duties of French people toward their
Emperor.</p>

<div class='blockquote'>

<p class='pindent'>Page 55: “<span class='it'>Question.</span> What are the duties of Christians
toward their rulers; and what, in particular, are
our duties toward Napoleon I., our Emperor?</p>

<p class='pindent'>“<span class='it'>Answer.</span> Christians owe to the princes who
govern them, and we, in particular, owe to Napoleon
I., our Emperor, love, respect, obedience, fidelity, military
service, and the tributes ordained for the preservation
and defense of the Empire and of his throne.
To honor and serve our Emperor is, therefore, to
honor and to serve God.</p>

<p class='pindent'>“<span class='it'>Q.</span> Are there any special reasons which should
more strongly attach us to our Emperor Napoleon I.?</p>

<p class='pindent'>“<span class='it'>A.</span> Yes; for it is he whom God raised up in difficult
circumstances to restore the public profession of
the holy religion of our forefathers, and to be its
protector. He has restored public order by his profound
and active wisdom; he defends the state by his
powerful arm, and he has become the anointed of the
Lord through the consecration of the Sovereign Pontiff,
the Head of the Universal Church.</p>

<p class='pindent'>“<span class='it'>Q.</span> What ought we to think of such persons as
may fail in their duties toward our Emperor?</p>

<p class='pindent'>“<span class='it'>A.</span> According to the Apostle St. Paul, they would
thereby be resisting the orders of God Himself, and
would become worthy of eternal damnation.”</p>

</div>

<p class='pindent'>During Mr. Fox’s tenure of office, Bonaparte, either
from private information, or because he perceived the
policy of the Prime Minister to be opposed to that of
his predecessor, flattered himself that he should be
able to conclude a treaty of peace with England. Besides
the advantages to be gained from this, his pride
was always singularly mortified that the English Government
did not acknowledge him as a sovereign.
The title of “General,” which the English newspapers
gave him, always annoyed him extremely. Notwithstanding
his greatness, he had some of the weaknesses
of a <span class='it'>parvenu</span>. When Fox fell ill, the “Moniteur”
announced that there was reason to fear that the
gravity of his malady might throw English policy
back once more into its ordinary complications.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Meanwhile, the design of the Confederation of the
Rhine was suddenly disclosed. In the Emperor’s
grand feudal plan this was comprised: it would
increase the number of the feudatories of the French
Empire, and spread the European revolution. But
if it be true that the old institutions of the Continent
have reached a point at which their decrepitude gives
irresistible warning of the necessity of their fall, it is
also true that the time has come when their fall is not
to be for the advantage of despotism. Bonaparte
never ceased trying to make a counter-revolution,
solely in his own interests, against those ideas which
emerged into the light of day thirty years ago. Such
an undertaking is, happily, beyond the power of man;
and we owe it to him, at least, that his failure to
accomplish that reaction settled for ever this important
question.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The grand duchies of Germany were therefore separated
from the Germanic Empire, and the Emperor
of France was declared to be their protector. The
contracting parties—that is to say, the Empire and
the confederated states—engaged to take up arms in
the case of war being declared on one or the other.
The contingent of the Confederation was named at
63,000 men, that of France at 200,000. The Elector
Arch-Chancellor of the Germanic Empire became
Prince Primate of the Confederation; on his death
the Emperor was to nominate his successor. Moreover,
the Emperor renewed the declaration by which
he bound himself not to extend the frontiers of France
above the Rhine; but, at the same time, he declared
that he would use every means to procure the freedom
of the seas. This appeared in the “Moniteur” of the
25th of July.</p>

<p class='pindent'>M. de Talleyrand had a large share in the honor of
forming this Confederation. He was in very high
repute at this time. He seemed destined to reduce
the wide and ambitious projects of the Emperor to a
definite system; but, at the same time, he did not neglect
the increase to his own fortune which was to be
got out of them. The German princes paid, as a
matter of course, for slight advantages obtained by
them in the arrangement; and the name of M. de
Talleyrand, being always connected with such important
negotiations, became more and more renowned
throughout Europe.</p>

<p class='pindent'>One of his favorite theories, and it is one which has
always seemed just and reasonable, is that the policy
of France ought to tend to the release of Poland
from a foreign yoke, and to the use of that country
as a barrier against Russia and a counterpoise to
Austria. He always exerted his influence in this
direction. I have often heard him say that the repose
of all Europe depended on Poland. It would appear
that the Emperor was of the same opinion, but that
he did not persevere sufficiently in endeavoring to
realize this project. Accidental circumstances also
interfered with it. He often complained of the passionate,
yet shallow, character of the Poles. “It was
impossible,” he said, “to guide them on any system.”
They required special and exclusive attention, and
Bonaparte could only think of Poland occasionally.
Moreover, as it was the Emperor Alexander’s interest
to obstruct French policy in this particular, he would
not have remained a quiet spectator of efforts in any
such direction; and so it happened that only a half-hearted
course was taken with respect to Poland, and
all the advantages that might have been gained were
lost. However, after some slight differences between
the Russians and ourselves about the cession of the
mouths of the Cattaro, the two Emperors apparently
came to terms, and Baron d’Oubril was sent to Paris
from St. Petersburg to sign a treaty of peace.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Although the return of our army was constantly
announced to us, yet it did not take place, either
because Bonaparte had already become aware of the
difficulty of keeping so large a number of soldiers in
France, a burden upon the citizens, or that he foresaw
fresh disturbances in Europe, and that the peace would
be of no long duration. A kind of bazaar for the
exhibition of French industrial produce was opened
on the Place des Invalides; but the fêtes promised to
the Grand Army were no longer spoken of. This
exhibition took place, and profitably occupied the
minds of the people.</p>

<p class='pindent'>In the beginning of September Jérôme Bonaparte
arrived in Paris. Every attempt which had been made
on the colonies had failed, and the Emperor gave up
naval enterprise for ever. He began to plan a marriage
for his young brother with one of the European
princesses, having insisted that his first marriage
should be regarded as null and void.</p>

<p class='pindent'>On creating the Confederation of the Rhine, Bonaparte
had declared that the Hanseatic towns should
retain their liberty; but, whenever there was a question
of liberty, it was natural enough to believe that the
Emperor’s gift of it was in reality but a temporary
loan, and his resolutions on the subject caused great
agitation in Prussian politics. The Queen and the
nobility urged the King of Prussia to war. Consequently,
during the campaign which was very shortly
begun, the former was made an object of vituperation
in the bulletins, frequently of a coarse kind. At first
she was compared to Armida, who, torch in hand,
tried to raise up enemies against us. As a contrast to
this poetical comparison, a few lines farther on we
find a phrase in an utterly different style: “What a
pity! for they say that the King of Prussia is a very
well-meaning man.” Bonaparte frequently said that
there is but one step from the sublime to the ridiculous;
this is true, both of actions and words, when
true art is neglected, and it must be owned that he
made little account of it.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Mr. Fox died in September, and the war party
resumed power. The Russian Ministry was changed;
a national movement was set on foot among the Russian
nobility; the people were beginning to respond;
the storm was gathering, and it suddenly burst when
the Czar refused to ratify the treaty signed in Paris
by his plenipotentiary, Baron d’Oubril. From that
moment war was inevitable. No official intimation
was made, but the matter was openly discussed.</p>

<p class='pindent'>At the beginning of the month I returned from
Cauterets, and I was enjoying the happiness of my
home circle when M. de Rémusat received a sudden
order to proceed to Mayence, whither the Emperor
was going a few days later. I was deeply grieved
by this fresh separation. As I enjoyed none of those
honors which offer compensation to some women even
for the sufferings of a soldier’s wife, I found it hard
to resign myself to these constantly recurring separations.
I remember the Emperor asking me, after M.
de Rémusat was gone, why I looked so sad, and, when
I answered that it was because my husband had left
me, he laughed at me. “Sire,” I added, “I know
nothing of the delights of heroism, and I always
meant to take out my share of glory in happiness.”
He laughed again. “Happiness?” he said. “Ah,
yes! much we think of happiness in this age.”</p>

<p class='pindent'>Before the departure for Mayence I again met M.
de Talleyrand, who was very friendly. He assured
me that nothing could be better for our prospects than
that M. de Rémusat should be in attendance on the
Emperor in all his journeys; but, as he saw tears in
my eyes, he spoke seriously, and I was grateful to
him for not jesting on a subject which to me only was
a real grief, but which certainly must have appeared
of slight consequence to the many wives and mothers
whose husbands and sons were leaving them for real
scenes of danger. M. de Talleyrand’s natural tact
and his admirable good taste lead him to adapt his
tone perfectly to those whom he addresses; this is one
of his most attractive characteristics.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The Emperor went away suddenly on the 25th of
September, without sending any message to the Senate
in explanation of his absence. The Empress, who
always parted with him unwillingly, had not been able
at first to obtain permission to accompany him, though
she hoped to rejoin him later. She, however, used
such persuasion, during the last day of his stay at
Saint Cloud, that toward midnight he yielded, and
she entered his traveling carriage with him and only
one attendant. The Imperial suite did not join her
until a few days later. I was no longer included in
these journeys; my health forbade. I may affirm that
the Empress, who had become accustomed to the gratification
to her vanity afforded her by ladies of a higher
rank than mine seeking to join her Court, had returned
in her heart to her former friendship, and now felt
real regret at my absence. As for the Emperor, I
counted for little in his eyes, and he was right. At his
Court a woman was nothing, and a woman in ill health
less than nothing.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Mme. Bonaparte told me that her husband entered
upon this Prussian campaign with some reluctance.
Luxury and ease had had their natural effect upon
him, and the hardships of camp-life now affected his
imagination unpleasantly. Nor was he devoid of
solicitude. The Prussian troops were renowned; their
cavalry was recognized as first-rate, while ours as yet
inspired no confidence, and our military men expected
a formidable resistance.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The prompt and unparalleled result of the battle of
Jena is one of those miracles which upset all human
calculations. The victory astonished and confounded
all Europe, proved the good fortune as well as the
genius of Bonaparte, and bore witness to French valor.</p>

<p class='pindent'>He did not remain long at Mayence; the Prussians
had marched into Saxony, and it was imperative to
follow them. At the opening of this campaign the
Emperor formed two new companies of gendarmes;
the command of one was given to the Vicomte de
Montmorency. This was an appeal to the nobility to
take their share of glory, to nibble at the bait of a
semblance of privilege; and, in fact, a few gentlemen
did join that regiment.</p>

<p class='pindent'>During the preparations for the important coming
events, it was decided that the Empress, with those
members of the Court who had accompanied her,
should remain at Mayence. M. de Rémusat was in
waiting, having the superintendence of her entire
household, and M. de Talleyrand was also to remain
until further orders.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Just before the Emperor’s departure, my husband
was present at a scene which made a great impression
on him. M. de Talleyrand was in the Emperor’s cabinet,
where M. de Rémusat was receiving final instructions;
it was evening, and the traveling-carriages
were waiting. The Emperor sent my husband to
summon the Empress; he returned with her in a few
moments. She was weeping. Agitated by her tears,
the Emperor held her for a long time in his arms, and
seemed almost unable to bid her farewell. He was
strongly moved, and M. de Talleyrand was also much
affected. The Emperor, still holding his wife to his
heart, approached M. de Talleyrand with outstretched
hand; then, throwing his arms round both at once,
he said to M. de Rémusat, “It is very hard to leave
the two persons one loves best.” As he uttered these
words, he was overcome by a sort of nervous emotion,
which increased to such a degree that he wept uncontrollably,
and almost immediately an attack of convulsions
ensued, which brought on vomiting. He was
placed in a chair, and drank some orange-flower
water, but continued to weep for fully a quarter of
an hour. At length he mastered himself, and, rising
suddenly, shook M. de Talleyrand by the hand, gave a
last embrace to his wife, and said to M. de Rémusat:
“Are the carriages ready? Call the suite, and let us
go.”</p>

<p class='pindent'>When, on his return, my husband described this
scene to me, it made me feel glad. The fact that
natural feeling had got the mastery over Bonaparte
always seemed to me a victory in which we were all
interested. He left Mayence on the 22d of October,
at 9 <span class='sc'>p. m.</span></p>

<p class='pindent'>No announcement had as yet been made to the
Senate, but every one expected a formidable war. It
was a national war on the part of the Prussians, for
in declaring it the King had yielded to the ardent
desire of all the nobility and a majority of the people.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Moreover, the rumors regarding the foundation of
a kingdom of Poland were disquieting to reigning
sovereigns. A Northern League was in contemplation,
which was to embrace all the states not comprised in
the Confederation of the Rhine.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The young Queen had much influence with her husband,
and great confidence in Prince Louis of Prussia,
who longed for an opportunity to distinguish himself.
He was brave, amiable, had great taste for the fine
arts, and had fired the youthful nobility with his own
ardor. The Prussian army, full of life and spirit,
inspired complete confidence in the new coalition; its
cavalry was considered the finest in Europe. When
we remember how easily all this was dispersed, we
must believe that the leaders were very incompetent,
and that the old Prince of Brunswick must once
more have misdirected the courageous soldiers confided
to him.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Even at the opening of this campaign, it was easy
to see that France was weary of the uncertainty which
was brought into both public and private affairs. Discontent
was visible in the expression of men’s countenances,
and it was evident that the Emperor must
indeed do wonders to rekindle feelings that were
beginning to chill. In vain did the newspapers contain
articles describing the zeal with which the new conscripts
came to be enrolled in all the departments; no
one was deceived by these accounts—no one even tried
to appear to be deceived. Paris fell into the gloomy
condition which war always produces in capital cities
while it lasts. The progress of our industrial pursuits
was admired at the Exhibition of which I have spoken,
but curiosity alone will not stir the heart of a nation;
and, when citizens may not take the least part in their
own government, they regard the improvements in
civilization which are due to that government merely
as a spectacle. We began to feel in France that there
was something mysterious in Bonaparte’s conduct
toward us. We perceived that it was not for us that
he lived and acted; that what he wanted from us was
an appearance of prosperity, brilliant rather than
solid, which should surround him with fresh lustre. I
recollect writing to my husband during the campaign
in the following terms: “The situation is greatly
changed; so are men’s minds: the military miracles
of this year do not produce half the effect of former
ones. The enthusiasm excited by the battle of Austerlitz
is not to be aroused now.” The Emperor himself
perceived it; for, when he had returned to Paris after
the treaty of Tilsit, he said: “Military glory soon palls
upon modern nations. Fifty battles produce little
more sensation than five or six. To the French I shall
always be the man of Marengo, rather than of Jena or
Friedland.”</p>

<p class='pindent'>As the Emperor’s designs on Europe increased in
magnitude, it became more and more needful for him
to centralize his administration, in order that his commands,
all emanating from the same point, might be
rapidly transmitted to the proper quarters. The submission
of the Senate might be taken for granted;
the importance of the Corps Législatif was lessening
every day. Bonaparte had doubtless resolved on seizing
the first pretext for ridding himself of the Tribunate,
and he extended the powers of the Council of
State, which consisted of men of ability, on whom he
exercised a direct pressure. By a new decree he now
appointed a Committee for Petitions in the Council of
State, which consisted of councilors, masters of requests,
and auditors. They met three times a week,
and reported to Bonaparte. MM. Molé and Pasquier,
both of them “Masters of Requests,” were members
of this committee. They had entered public life at
the same period; both, although widely differing in
age, bore names well known in the magistracy; they
had the same social connections, equal zeal, and similar
ambition, and they were beginning to make themselves
felt in the new Government. Meanwhile, the
Emperor already displayed a preference for M. Molé.
He exercised an ascendency over this young man,
who, although naturally of a grave disposition, was
yet capable of enthusiasm. He thought he could mold
his opinions in his own way, and he partly succeeded,
while he made use of the parliamentary tendencies of
M. Pasquier. “I use one,” he said sometimes, “but
I <span class='it'>create</span> the other.” I quote these words of his to
show how he was accustomed to analyze his own conduct
toward every one.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Horse-races, which had been decreed by the Emperor
himself when he was as yet only First Consul,
took place in Paris in the autumn of this year. In
fact, France had come to resemble a great audience
at a theatre, before whom performances of all kinds
were given on the sole condition that hands should
be raised only to applaud.</p>

<p class='pindent'>On the 4th of October the Senate was convoked.
The Arch-Chancellor, as he had done in the past, and
as he was to do in the future, announced the war in
an insignificant and pompous speech. After this, he
read a letter from the Emperor, dated from headquarters,
in which he stated that the King of Prussia was
the aggressor, and deplored the evil influence that constantly
disturbed the repose of France, while he
announced that the invasion of Saxony had obliged
him to march rapidly forward. This letter was
accompanied by the official report of the Minister of
Foreign Affairs. He could discover no valid cause for
war; he expressed surprise that the freedom granted
to the Hanseatic towns could have given umbrage to
the Prussian Government, and quoted a note from M.
de Knobelsdorff, the new envoy from Prussia.</p>

<p class='pindent'>A rumor arose that, some time previously, M. de
Lucchesini, who was devoted, it was said, to England,
had alarmed the Court by <span class='it'>unfounded</span> reports of a
universal monarchy planned by the French Government.
On being informed of this, the Emperor had
requested that M. de Lucchesini should be recalled.
M. de Knobelsdorff succeeded him, but no good result
ensued. The coolness between the two Cabinets increased.
The Emperor departed. The Prussian
Minister received a final note from his sovereign,
demanding the immediate evacuation of the whole of
Germany by the French troops, and requiring that the
ratification of this demand should be sent to the King
of Prussia’s headquarters by the 8th of October. M.
de Knobelsdorff dispatched this note to M. de Talleyrand,
then at Mayence, and it was forwarded by him
to the Emperor, who had already reached Bamberg.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The first bulletin on the opening of the campaign
gives the following account of what had taken place:
“On the 7th the Emperor received dispatches from
Mayence, consisting of M. de Knobelsdorff’s note and
a letter from the King of Prussia, twenty pages long—a
pamphlet, in fact, in the style of those written to
order for the English Government, by authors hired
for £500 a year. The Emperor did not read it
through, and remarked to the persons about him: ‘I
am sorry for my brother, the King of Prussia; he
does not understand French. He has certainly not
read this rhapsody.’ Then he turned to Marshal Berthier:
‘Marshal, they give us a rendezvous for the
8th; never has a Frenchman failed to keep such an
appointment. But, as it seems that a lovely Queen
wishes to be a spectator at our contest, let us be courteous,
and march without delay toward Saxony.’ ”</p>

<p class='pindent'>And, in fact, hostilities began on the 8th of October,
1806.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The Emperor’s proclamation to his soldiers was,
like the former ones, in a style peculiar to himself and
belonging to no particular epoch.</p>

<p class='pindent'>“Let us march,” he said, “since our moderation has
failed to cure them of their astounding folly. Let
the Prussian army meet the same fate as that which
befell it fourteen years ago. Let them learn that if
it is easy to acquire an increase of territory and of
power by means of the friendship of a great nation,
so its enmity, which can only be incurred by forsaking
all wisdom and reason, is more terrible than the
storms of ocean.”</p>

<p class='pindent'>At the same time, the King of Holland returned to
the Hague, in order to assemble the States, and to ask
them to pass a law enacting the payment in advance of
one year’s land-tax. Having obtained this, he moved
his headquarters to the frontier. Thus, the Dutch, to
whom a long continuation of prosperity, in return for
the surrender of their liberty, had been promised, were
from the very first threatened with war, and had to
endure a double taxation and a blockade of the continent,
which destroyed their trade.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Mme. Louis Bonaparte joined her brother at Mayence,
and seemed to breathe freely when once more
among her own people. The young Princess of
Baden also came to Mayence; there was still, at this
time, a great coolness between her husband and herself.
The Empress received a visit from the Prince
Primate and from some of the sovereigns belonging
to the Confederation. Her life at Mayence was very
bright and stirring; many distinguished personages
came thither to pay their respects to her. She would
have preferred to follow the Emperor, but, when she
wrote asking leave to join him, he answered: “I am
not able to send for you here. I am the slave of the
nature of things and the force of circumstances; we
must wait until they decide.”</p>

<p class='pindent'>The Empress, who was very anxious now that her
husband was about to incur fresh risks, had no friend
among her court circle to sympathize affectionately
with her. In her suite were several ladies who belonged
by their very names to memories which they
claimed a right to retain at the new Court; and they
took leave to disapprove of the war, and especially to
express an interest which was natural enough in the
beautiful Queen. She soon became an object of attack
in each successive bulletin. The death of Prince Louis
of Prussia, with whom some of the ladies-in-waiting
during the time of their emigration had been
acquainted, was also much lamented by them, and a
sort of disdainful opposition formed itself around our
Empress, of which Mme. de la Rochefoucauld took the
lead.</p>

<p class='pindent'>M. de Rémusat, who had the superintendence of
this miniature Court, became the recipient of the
complaints of the Empress, who, having nothing
serious to occupy her, was annoyed by foolish and
vain speeches which she ought to have despised. He
advised her to pay no attention to these vexations, and
by no means to mention them to the Emperor, who
would make them of more importance than was at all
desirable. Mme. Bonaparte, however, wrote all the
history to her husband, and subsequently M. de Talleyrand,
who was present during these little storms
which might have been so easily dispersed, thought to
amuse the Emperor with a description of them.
Bonaparte did not regard the matter in a harmless
light. I have dwelt on this in order, later on, to
explain what came of it to ourselves personally.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Meanwhile, a life so trivial and so empty was
wearisome to my husband. He amused himself by
learning German, in order, as he wrote to me, “at least
to occupy a portion of each day usefully.” He took
increasing pleasure in the society of M. de Talleyrand,
who treated him with confidence and warm friendship.
Whenever the slightest appearance of feeling is
attributed to M. de Talleyrand, one is obliged to put
the statement with strong affirmation, because it will
inevitably be received with doubt. The world judges
him with severity, or at least too sweepingly. I know
him to be capable of affection, and I venture to say
that, had he been altogether deceitful, I could not have
become so sincerely attached to him.</p>

<p class='pindent'>During this time I was living very quietly in Paris
with my mother, my sister, and my children. Some
distinguished people came to my house; also a number
of literary men, who were attracted thither by my
husband’s authority over the theatres. Princess Caroline
only (Duchess of Berg) required any court to be
paid to her. She lived at the Elysée with a certain
amount of state; people waited on her as they did on
the Arch-Chancellor Cambacérès. Occasional visits
had to be paid to the ministers, but the remainder of
one’s time was one’s own. News from the seat of war
was received without enthusiasm, but not without
interest, because every family was more or less connected
with the army.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The knowledge that every drawing-room was
watched by the police prevented all serious conversation;
every one was engrossed by secret anxieties and
a sort of isolation, which was just what the Emperor
wished, was the result.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Nevertheless, a little incident happened during the
campaign which amused all Paris for several weeks.
On the 23d of October Cardinal Maury was chosen—by
that class of the Institute which has received the
name of the French Academy—to succeed M. Target.
When the day for his reception drew near, some one
raised the question whether he should be addressed as
<span class='it'>Monseigneur</span>, and a great commotion ensued. Before
the Revolution a similar discussion had occurred on
the same subject. D’Alembert and the three members
of the Academy had pleaded for the rights of equality
in the sanctuary of letters; but the Academy, having
in 1806 become “the Right,” was disposed to grant
the title of <span class='it'>Monseigneur</span>, in opposition to the party
headed by Regnault de St. Jean d’Angely, his brother-in-law
Arnault, Chénier, etc. The discussion ran so
high, the Cardinal declared so positively that he would
not present himself unless he were to be addressed
according to his rank, the difficulty of arriving with
due freedom at any decision was so great, that it was
determined to refer the matter to the Emperor himself,
and this foolish dispute was actually brought
before him on the battle-field. Meanwhile, whenever
the Cardinal met any of the members of the Institute
who were hostile to him, he attacked them. On one
occasion he met M. Regnault dining at Mme. Murat’s,
and an amusing passage-at-arms, at which I was
present, took place between them. Almost at the very
beginning of the conversation, the Cardinal requested
M. Regnault to go into another room, to which M.
Regnault consented, provided that some of the other
guests would accompany him. The Cardinal, who was
annoyed, began to get excited. “You do not recollect,
then, sir,” he said, “that at the Constituent Assembly
I called you <span class='it'>little boy</span>.” “That is no reason,” replied
M. Regnault, “why we should give you a token of
respect at the present day.” “If my name were Montmorency,”
returned the Cardinal, “I could afford to
laugh at you; but I owe to my abilities only my elevation
to the Academy, and, if I yielded the point of
<span class='it'>Monseigneur</span>, the next day you would treat me as an
equal.” M. Regnault reminded us that once only had
the French Academy consented to use the title of
<span class='it'>Monseigneur</span>, and that then it was in favor of Cardinal
Dubois, who was received by Fontenelle. “But,”
he added, “times are greatly changed.” I must own
that, looking at Cardinal Maury, I ventured to think
men were not so much altered. Finally the discussion
became hot; it was reported to the Emperor, who sent
orders to the academicians to address the Cardinal as
<span class='it'>Monseigneur</span>. On this everybody immediately submitted,
and we heard no more about it.</p>

<hr class='pbk'/>

<div><span class='pageno' title='553' id='Page_553'></span><h1>CHAPTER&nbsp;&nbsp;XXII</h1></div>

<h2 class='nobreak'>(1806-1807.)</h2>

<p class='noindent'><img src='https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:c:claire-remusat-memoirs-josephine-vol-2-t.jpg' style='float:left;' alt='T'/>HE Emperor had left Bamberg, and was hastening
to the assistance of the King of Saxony.
Our armies, which had been gathered
together with the surprising rapidity that always
defeated the plans of the enemy, were marching onward.
The first skirmishes took place at Salfield,
between Marshal Lannes and the vanguard of Prince
Hohenlohe, commanded by Prince Louis of Prussia.
The latter, who was brave to rashness, fought in the
ranks until, coming to a hand-to-hand conflict with a
quartermaster and refusing to surrender, he fell covered
with wounds. His death disheartened the Prussians,
while it increased the ardor of our troops.
“If,” says the Imperial bulletin, “his last moments
were those of a bad citizen, his death was glorious
and deserving of regret. He died as every good soldier
must wish to die.”</p>

<p class='pindent'>I am ignorant whether, in Prussia, Prince Louis
was considered to have preferred his own glory to the
interests of his country by promoting the war. It
may have been imprudent to commence it when he
did; doubtless the right moment for declaring would
have been at the formation of the coalition in the
preceding year; yet the feelings of the Prince were,
even at this time, shared by a great number of his
countrymen.</p>

<p class='pindent'>For some days the bulletins gave accounts of several
partial engagements which were but the prelude
to the great battle of the 14th of October. The Prussian
Court was described as being in great confusion,
and despotic advice was given to those princes who
are led into hesitation by consulting the multitude on
great political interests above its comprehension! As
if nations, having reached their present degree of
enlightenment, could continue to intrust the money
taken from their coffers, and the men levied from
among their ranks, to their rulers, without ascertaining
the uses to which the gold and the soldiers are to
be put!</p>

<p class='pindent'>On the 14th of October the two armies met at Jena,
and in a few hours this important battle decided the
fate of the King of Prussia. The renowned Prussian
cavalry could not resist our infantry; confused orders
caused confusion in the ranks; a great number of
Prussians were killed or taken prisoners; several general
officers lay dead on the field of battle; the Prince
of Brunswick was severely wounded, and the King
was forced to fly. In fact, the rout was complete.
Our bulletins were full of the praises of Marshal
Davoust, who had in truth greatly contributed to the
success of the day, and the Emperor willingly acknowledged
this. He was not usually so ready to
render justice to his generals. When the Empress
questioned him on his return about the eulogiums he
had allowed to be lavished on Davoust on this occasion,
he answered her, laughingly: “I can heap upon
him as much glory as I please; he will never be strong
enough to carry it.”</p>

<p class='pindent'>On the evening of the battle a whimsical adventure
happened to M. Eugène de Montesquiou. He was an
orderly officer, and was sent by the Emperor to the
King of Prussia with a letter, to which I shall presently
allude. He was detained all day at the Prussian
headquarters, where the defeat of the French was
considered certain, and they wished him to witness it.
He remained, therefore, an agitated but inactive spectator
of the course of events. The generals, and
Blücher in particular, affected to give alarming orders
in his presence. Toward evening the young man, involved
in the flight of the Prussians, was endeavoring
to rejoin our camp. On his way he met with
two Frenchmen, who joined him, and the three together
contrived to get hold of eighteen disbanded
Prussians, whom they brought in triumph to the Emperor.
This capture greatly diverted him.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The battle of Jena was followed by one of the
rapid marches which Bonaparte was wont to impose
on his army in the hour of victory. No one ever
knew better how to profit by victory than he; he bewildered
the enemy, leaving him not a moment’s
repose.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The town of Erfurt capitulated on the 16th. The
King of Saxony was slightly reprimanded for having
yielded to the King of Prussia, by giving him the
entry of his states and taking part in the beginning
of the war, but his prisoners were restored to him.
General Clarke was made Governor of Erfurt.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The bulletins of this period are especially remarkable.
Bonaparte was angry at having been deceived
by the Emperor Alexander. He had calculated on the
unchanging neutrality of Prussia; he was mortified
at English influence on the Continent; and his ill
humor was perceptible in every word dictated by him.
He attacked in turn the English Government, the
Prussian nobility, whom he wished to denounce to
the people, the young Queen, women, etc. Grand
and noble expressions, often of a poetical nature,
were strangely contrasted with abusive terms. He
gratified his resentment and anger, but he lowered
himself by giving such expression to his own feelings,
and, above all, he sinned against Parisian good
taste. We were beginning to grow accustomed to
military wonders, and the form in which intelligence
of them was transmitted to us was freely criticised.
After all, the attention that nations pay to the words
of kings is not so foolish as it may appear. The
words of sovereigns, even more than their actions,
reveal their dispositions, and the disposition of their
ruler is of primary importance to subjects. The King
of Prussia, who was now pushed to extremity, asked
for an armistice: it was refused, and Leipsic was
taken.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The French marched across the battle-field of Rossbach,
and the column erected there in commemoration
of our former defeat was removed and sent to Paris.</p>

<p class='pindent'>On the 22d of October M. de Lucchesini came to
our headquarters. He brought a letter from the
King of Prussia, the publication of which, said the
“Moniteur,” was forbidden by the secrecy necessary
in diplomatic affairs. “But,” it continued, “the Emperor’s
reply was considered so admirable that a few
copies of it have been made; we have procured one,
and we hasten to lay the letter before our readers.”</p>

<p class='pindent'>Every determination taken by the Emperor, from
the greatest to the least, seems partly founded on the
lion’s reason in La Fontaine’s fable—“<span class='it'>Because my
name is Lion</span>.”</p>

<p class='pindent'>“The Prussians are surprised at the briskness of
our pursuit; they are probably accustomed to the
manœuvres of the Seven Years’ War.” And when
they asked for three days’ truce, in order to bury their
dead—“Think of the living,” replied the Emperor,
“and leave to us the care of burying the dead. That
needs no truce.”</p>

<p class='pindent'>The Emperor reached Potsdam on the 24th of October.
As may be supposed, he visited Sans-Souci,
and reminiscences of Frederick the Great are to be
found in the bulletins. “The handsome Emperor
(the Czar) and the lovely Queen” received fresh
insults in these documents, from which we gathered
that a war with Russia would follow the Prussian
war. Paris was thrown into consternation; the news
from the seat of war was read publicly at the theatres,
but the only applause that greeted it was hired.
“War, nothing but war, is all that is left to us.”
Such words as these, uttered with more or less of
wrath or grief, struck ominously on the ear of the
adherents of the Emperor, yet they could not contradict
them.</p>

<p class='pindent'>On the same day, the 25th of October, the fortress
of Spandau capitulated.</p>

<p class='pindent'>To all these accounts of the war was added a letter
supposed to be written by a private soldier from a
town in the duchy of Brunswick. It contained enthusiastic
praise of French valor, which it attributed to
the military system adopted in our army. “It is also
certain,” continues the writer, “that any soldier who
can say to himself, ‘It is not impossible for me to become
a Marshal of the Empire, a Prince, or a Duke,
as it has happened to others,’ must be greatly encouraged
by that thought. It was quite another thing at
Rossbach. The French army was commanded then
by gentlemen who owed their military rank only to
their birth, or to the patronage of a Pompadour; and
the troops were of so-called soldiers, on whose track,
after their defeat, were found nothing but pigtails
and powdering-bags.”</p>

<p class='pindent'>When the Emperor made his entry into Berlin on
the 26th of October, in the midst of acclamations, he
vented his displeasure on those among the Prussian
nobles who were presented to him. “My brother the
King of Prussia,” he said, “ceased to be King from
the day on which he failed to have Prince Louis
hanged, when he dared to go and break his Minister’s
windows.” And to Count Nesch he said roughly,
“I will bring the nobles of this Court down so
low that they shall be obliged to beg their bread.”</p>

<p class='pindent'>By violent speeches of this kind, which were published,
the Emperor not only gratified his anger
against the instigators of the war, but imagined that
he fulfilled obligations toward our Revolution. Although
he was a determined counter-revolutionist, he
was obliged from time to time to render some homage
to the ideas which, by a fatal deviation, had produced
his own accession. A mistaken longing for equality,
a noble desire for liberty, were the causes of our civil
discord; but in his thirst for power he gave us no
encouragement toward that freedom which, if we
succeed in obtaining it, will be the most glorious conquest
of our times, but limited himself, in his bargain
with the age, to advancing equality only. The love of
liberty is an unselfish sentiment, which a generous
ruler ought at the present day to foster in his people;
but Bonaparte only sought to aggrandize his own
power. Sometimes, with entire forgetfulness of his
own origin, he spoke and acted as if he were a king
by the grace of God, and then every word of his became,
as it were, feudal; while at other times he affected
a sort of Jacobinism, and then he would abuse
legitimate royalty, treat our old memories with disdain,
and denounce the nobility to the plebeians of
every country. Never did he seek to establish the
true rights of nations; and the unostentatious aristocracy
of letters and of a noble civilization was far
more displeasing to him, in reality, than that of titles
and privileges, which he could make use of as he
pleased.</p>

<p class='pindent'>On the 29th of October M. de Talleyrand left
Mayence to join the Emperor, who had sent for him.
M. de Rémusat felt much regret at his departure.
He had found his society a great resource; the somewhat
solemn idleness of court life made them necessary
to each other. M. de Talleyrand, having recognized
both the trustworthiness and the superior abilities
of my husband, would throw aside this habitual
reserve in his company, and would confide to him his
views on passing events and his opinion of their common
master. An aristocrat by taste, by conviction,
and by birth, M. de Talleyrand approved of Bonaparte’s
repression of what he regarded as the excesses
of the Revolution; but he would have wished that a
headstrong temper and a determined will had not led
the Emperor aside from a course in which his own
prudent counsels might have guided him aright. He
was thoroughly conversant with the European political
situation, and better versed in the law of nations
than in their true rights, and he propounded with
accuracy the diplomatic course that he would have
had the Emperor follow. He was alarmed at the
possible preponderance of Russia in Europe, and was
in favor of founding an independent power between
us and the Russians. For this reason he encouraged
the ardent, though vague, desires of the Poles. “A
kingdom of Poland,” he used to say, “ought to be
established. It would be the bulwark of our independence;
but it ought not to be done by halves.”
With his head full of this plan, he started to join the
Emperor, resolving on advising him to turn his brilliant
success to good account.</p>

<p class='pindent'>After M. de Talleyrand’s departure, M. de Rémusat
wrote me that the dullness of his life was extreme.
The Court at Mayence was monotonously regular.
There, as elsewhere and in all places, the Empress
was gentle, quiet, idle, and averse to take anything on
herself, because, whether far or near, she dreaded the
displeasure of her husband. Her daughter, who was
delighted to escape from her wretched home, spent
her time in diversions of a nature somewhat too
childish for her rank and position. Hortense rejoiced
with her mother over the promising qualities of her
little son, then full of life and beauty, and very forward
for his years.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The German princes came to pay their court at
Mayence; great banquets were given; elegant costumes
were worn; there was much walking and driving
about, and great eagerness for news. The Court
wanted to return to Paris; the Empress wanted to
go to Berlin; and there, as elsewhere, all was dependent
on the will of one man.</p>

<p class='pindent'>In Paris life was dull, but tranquil. The absence
of the Emperor was always a relief: if people did
not speak more freely, they seemed better able to
breathe, and this sense of alleviation was especially
to be observed in persons connected with his Government.
The impression produced by the Emperor’s
victories became weaker every day; and a tangible
proof was thus afforded to the world that lasting
national enthusiasm could no longer be kindled by
success in war.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Prince Eugène’s army was marching onward in
Albania, and Marshal Marmont was holding in check
the Russians, who were moving on that side. A fresh
proclamation was issued by the Emperor to his soldiers:
it announced a rupture with Russia and an onward
march, promised fresh triumphs, and alluded to
the “love” of Bonaparte for his army. Marshal
Brune, commanding the reserves stationed at Boulogne,
issued on this occasion a curious order of the
day, which was published by command in the “Moniteur”:</p>

<div class='blockquote'>

<p class='pindent'>“<span class='sc'>Soldiers</span>: You will read at mess, every day for
a fortnight, the sublime proclamation of his Majesty
the Emperor and King to the Grand Army. You will
learn it by heart; each one of you will shed tears of
courage, and will be filled with the irresistible enthusiasm
inspired by heroism.”</p>

</div>

<p class='pindent'>In Paris, no one was moved to tears, and the prolongation
of the war filled us with dismay.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Meanwhile, the Emperor remained at Berlin, where
he had established his headquarters. He announced
in his bulletins that the great Prussian army had vanished
like an autumnal mist, and he ordered his lieutenants
to complete the conquest of all the Prussian
states. At the same time a war-tax of one hundred
and fifty millions was raised; the towns surrendered
one by one—Küstrin and Stettin first, Magdeburg a
little later. Lübeck, which had offered resistance, was
stormed and horribly pillaged; there was fighting in
every street; and I remember that Prince Borghese,
who took part in the assault, gave us some particulars
of the cruelty practiced by the soldiers in that unfortunate
town. “What I then saw,” he told us, “gave
me an idea of the bloodthirsty intoxication which resistance
at first, and victory afterward, can produce
in soldiers.” He added: “At such a moment every
officer is a mere soldier. I was beyond all self-control;
I felt, like everybody else, a sort of passionate
longing to exert my strength against people and
things. I should be ashamed to recall some absurdly
horrible acts which I committed. In the midst of
imminent danger, when one must cut one’s way with
the sword, with everything around in flames, when
the thunder of cannon or the rattle of musketry mingles
with the cries of a dense crowd, in which are
people pressing in every direction, either seeking
others or trying to escape from them, and all this in
the narrow space of a street, then a man loses his
head completely. There is no act of atrocity or of
folly that he will not commit. He will wantonly
destroy without profit to anybody, and will give himself
up to an uncontrollable delirium of evil passions.”</p>

<p class='pindent'>After the fall of Lübeck, Marshal Bernadotte
remained there some time as governor of the town,
and it was then that he began to lay the foundation
of his future greatness. He behaved with perfect
equity, and did his best to assuage the evils that had
been caused by war. Strict discipline was maintained
among his troops; the gentleness of his bearing attracted
and consoled, and he won the admiration and
sincere affection of the people.</p>

<p class='pindent'>During the Emperor’s stay at Berlin, the Prince of
Hatzfeld, who had remained there, and who, said the
bulletins, “had accepted the post of governor,” kept
up a secret correspondence with the King of Prussia,
in which he gave full accounts of the movements of
our army. One of his letters was intercepted, and
the Emperor gave orders for his arrest and trial before
a military court. His wife, who was with child,
was in despair; she obtained an audience of the Emperor,
and threw herself at his feet. He showed her
the Prince’s letter, and when the poor young wife
gave way to her sorrow, the Emperor, moved with
pity, bade her rise, and said to her: “You have the
original document, on which your husband may be
condemned, in your own hand. Take my advice;
profit by this moment to burn it, and then there will
be no evidence to condemn him.” The Princess, without
a moment’s delay, threw the paper in the fire, and
bathed the Emperor’s hands with her tears. This
anecdote made a greater impression on Paris than all
our victories.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Our Senate sent a deputation to Berlin with congratulations
on so triumphant a campaign. The Emperor
intrusted the envoys, on their return to Paris,
with the sword of Frederick the Great, the ribbon of
the Black Eagle worn by him, and several flags, among
which, says the “Moniteur,” “there are several embroidered
by the hands of that fair Queen whose
beauty has been as fatal to the people of Prussia as
was the beauty of Helen to the Trojans.”</p>

<p class='pindent'>Every day our generals invaded some new district.
The King of Holland had advanced into Hanover,
which was again being attacked by us; but all at once
we heard that he had returned to his own states,
either because he disliked acting merely as one of his
brother’s lieutenants, or because Bonaparte preferred
that his conquests should be made by his own generals.
Marshal Mortier took possession of the city
of Hamburg on the 19th of November, and an enormous
quantity of English merchandise was confiscated.
A number of auditors belonging to the Council
of State were sent from Paris; among them were
M. d’Houdetot and M. de Tournon. These auditors
were made Intendants of Berlin, Bayreuth, and other
towns. By these young and active proconsuls the
conquered states were governed in the interests of
the conqueror, and victory was immediately followed
by an administration which turned it to the best advantage.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The Emperor gained the affections of the young of
every rank, by giving them opportunities for action,
for self-assertion, and for exercising an absolute
authority. Thus, he often said, “There is no conquest
I could not undertake, for with the help of my
soldiers and my auditors I could conquer and rule the
whole world.” We may suppose that the habits and
the despotic notions that these young men brought
back into their own country were rather perilous when
the government of French provinces was confided
to them. Most of them found it difficult not to rule
those provinces like a conquered country. These
young men, who were raised early in life to such important
posts, are at the present time idle and without
prospects, owing to the straitening of our territory.
They fret under their enforced idleness, and form
one of the most serious difficulties with which the
King’s Government is confronted.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The conquest of Prussia was completed, and our
troops marched into Poland. The season was far advanced;
they had not seen the Russians, but it was
known that they were approaching; a severe and difficult
campaign was anticipated. The cold was not
severe, but the march of our soldiers was impeded by
the marshy soil, in which men, guns, and carriages
were continually sinking. The accounts of the sufferings
endured by the army are terrible. Whole
squadrons often sank up to the middle of the men’s
bodies in the marsh, and it was impossible to save
them from a lingering death. Although the Emperor
was determined to make the most of his victories, he
felt the necessity of giving some repose to his troops,
and he eagerly accepted the King of Prussia’s offer
of a suspension of hostilities, during which he was to
remain on one bank of the Vistula, and the Prussians
on the other. But it is probable that the conditions
he annexed to this armistice were too severe, or perhaps
it was only proposed by Prussia in order to gain
time and effect a junction with the Russians; for the
negotiations dragged slowly along, and the Emperor,
on learning the movements of the Russian general,
Benningsen, suddenly left Berlin on the 25th of November.
He announced fresh danger and fresh success
to his troops by the following spirited words,
with which he closed his proclamation: “How should
the Russians overthrow such designs? Are not they
and we alike the soldiers of Austerlitz?”</p>

<p class='pindent'>A famous decree, dated from Berlin and preceded
by a lengthy preamble, appeared at the same time, in
which sundry grievances were set forth. This decree
proclaimed the British Isles to be in a state of blockade,
and it was only a reprisal on the usage of England,
who, when she enters upon a war, declares a
universal blockade, and in virtue thereof authorizes
her ships to take possession of all other vessels in
whatsoever seas. The Berlin decree divided the empire
of the world in two, opposing the power of the
Continent to the power of the seas. Every Englishman
who should be found either in France or in any
state occupied by us, or under our influence, was to
become a prisoner of war, and this hard enactment
was notified to all our sovereign allies. Thenceforth
it was manifest that the struggle which was beginning,
between despotic power in all its ramifications
and the strength of such a constitution as that which
rules and vivifies the English nation, could end only
by the complete destruction of one of the assailants.
Despotism has fallen, and, notwithstanding the terrible
cost to ourselves, we ought to be grateful to
Providence for the salvation of nations and the lessons
taught to posterity.</p>

<p class='pindent'>On the 28th of November Murat made his entry
into Warsaw. The French were enthusiastically received
by those among the Poles who hoped that the
liberty of their country would result from our conquests.
In the bulletin which announced the entry
these words occur: “Will the kingdom of Poland be
restored? God alone, who holds in His hand the
direction of events, can be the arbiter of this great
political problem.” Thenceforth Bonaparte’s family
began to covet the throne of Poland. His brother
Jérôme had some hopes of obtaining it. Murat, who
had displayed brilliant valor throughout all the campaign,
was the first to be sent to Warsaw, and made
his appearance there in the theatrical costume that he
affected—plumed bonnet, colored boots, and richly
laced cloak. His dress resembled that of the Polish
nobles, and he flattered himself that one day that great
country would be committed to his rule. His wife
received many congratulations in Paris, and this, perhaps,
made the Emperor, who disliked to be forestalled
on any point, change his mind. I know that
the Empress also had hopes of the Polish crown for
her son. When the Emperor, at a later date, became
father of a natural son, of whose fate I am at present
uninformed, the Poles fixed their hopes on that child.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Writers better acquainted with the secrets of diplomacy
than I, may explain why Bonaparte did not carry
out, but merely sketched his plans for Poland, notwithstanding
his own personal proclivities and M. de
Talleyrand’s influence and opinions on the subject.
It may be that events succeeded each other with such
rapidity, and clashed so rudely, that due care could
not be bestowed on the projected enterprise. Subsequently
to the Prussian campaign and the treaty of
Tilsit, the Emperor often regretted that he had not
pushed his innovations in Europe to the extent of
changing every existing dynasty. “There is nothing
to be gained,” he used to say, “by leaving any power in
the hands of people whom we have made discontented.
There is no use in half measures; old works will not
drive new machines. I ought to have made all other
kings accessory to my own greatness, and, so that
they should owe everything to me, they ought not to
have had any greatness in the past to point to. Not
that in my eyes this was of much value—certainly
not of value equal to that of founding a new race;
but nevertheless it has a certain influence over mankind.
My sympathy with certain sovereigns, my
compassion toward suffering nations, my fear, I know
not why, of causing an utter overthrow of all things,
withheld me. I have been greatly in the wrong, and
perhaps I may have to pay for it dearly.”</p>

<p class='pindent'>When the Emperor spoke in this sense, he took
pains to dwell on the necessity imposed by the Revolution
of the renewal of all things. But, as I have
already said, he in his secret heart thought he had
done enough for the Revolution in changing the frontiers
of states and the sovereigns who ruled them. A
citizen King, chosen either from among his own
kinsfolk, or from the ranks of the army, ought, he
considered, to satisfy all the citizen classes of modern
society by his sudden elevation; and, provided the
despotism of the new sovereign could be turned to
the advantage of his own projects, he should not be
interfered with. It must be owned, however, that if
“the spirit of the age,” as Bonaparte called it, had
resulted only in nations being governed by men whom
a lucky chance had drawn from their native obscurity,
it was scarcely worth while to make such a fuss about
it. If we are to be ruled by a despot, surely the despot
who can point to the greatness of his ancestors,
and who exercises his authority in virtue of ancient
rights made sacred by ancient glory, or even in virtue
of rights whose origin is lost in the obscurity of ages,
is the least mortifying to human pride.</p>

<p class='pindent'>At the close of the war Poland found that she was
free only in that portion of the country which had
been seized by Prussia. His treaties with the Emperor
of Russia, the temporary need of repose, the
fear of displeasing Austria by interfering with her
possessions, cramped Bonaparte’s plans. It may be
that they could not have been carried out; but, being
only half attempted, they bore within them the elements
of their own destruction.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The advantages and disadvantages of the continental
policy with regard to the English nation have
often been discussed. I am not competent either to
state the objections raised to this system or the reasons
for which many disinterested persons approve
of it; still less would I venture to draw hasty conclusions.
The system in question imposed conditions
on the allies of France which were too much in opposition
to their interests to be long endured by them
for, although it encouraged continental industry, it
interfered with the luxuries of life, and with some
few of its daily necessaries. It was also felt to be
an act of tyranny. Moreover, it caused every Englishman
to share the aversion of the British Government
toward Bonaparte, because an attack upon trade
is an attack on the fountain-head of every Englishman’s
existence. Thus the war with us became a
national one for our enemies, and from that time was
vigorously carried on by the English.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Meanwhile I have heard it said by well-informed
persons that the consequence of this rigorous policy
would in the end strike a fatal blow at the English
Constitution, and that on this account especially it
was advantageous to pursue it. The English Government
was obliged, in order to act with the same
rapidity as the enemy, to encroach little by little on
the rights of the people. The people made no opposition,
because they felt the necessity of resistance.
Parliament, less jealous of its liberties, would not
venture on any opposition; and by degrees the English
were becoming a military people. The national
debt was increased, in order to afford supplies to the
coalition and the army; the executive was becoming
accustomed to encroachments which had been tolerated
in the beginning, and it would willingly have
maintained them as an acquired right. Thus, the
strained situation into which every Government was
forced by the Emperor was changing the Constitution
of Great Britain, and possibly, had the continental
system lasted for a length of time, the English
could only have recovered their liberties through violence
or sedition. This was the Emperor’s secret
hope. He fomented rebellion in Ireland; supported
as he was by every absolute sovereign on the Continent,
he helped and protected the Opposition in England
by all the means in his power, while the London
newspapers in his pay stirred up the people to claim
their liberties.</p>

<p class='pindent'>At a later period I heard M. de Talleyrand, who
was greatly alarmed at this contest, express himself
with more warmth than he usually displays in stating
his opinions. “Tremble, foolish people that you
are,” said he, “at the Emperor’s success over the
English; for, if the English Constitution is destroyed,
understand clearly that the civilization of the world
will be shaken to its very foundations.”</p>

<p class='pindent'>Before leaving Berlin the Emperor issued several
decrees, dated thence, showing that, although he was
at the camp, he had both leisure and will to attend to
other pursuits besides those of war. Such were the
appointment of certain prefects, a decree for the organization
of the Naval Office, and one designating
the site of the Madeleine, on the Boulevard, for the
monument to be erected to the glory of the French
army. Competition for designs for this monument
was invited by circulars from the Minister of the Interior,
which were distributed in every direction.
Numerous promotions were made in the army, and
there was a general distribution of crosses.</p>

<p class='pindent'>On the 25th of November the Emperor departed
for Posen. The bad state of the roads obliged him
to exchange his traveling-carriage for a country
wagon. The Grand Marshal of the Palace was overturned
in his <span class='it'>calèche</span>, and dislocated his collar bone.
The same accident happened to M. de Talleyrand’s
carriage, but he escaped without hurt; on account of
his lameness, he had to remain four and twenty hours
on the road in his overturned carriage, until means
could be found to enable him to continue his journey.
About this time he took occasion to answer a letter I
had written to him. “I reply to your letter,” he
writes, “in the midst of the mud of Poland; next
year, perhaps, I may address you from the sandy
deserts of I know not what country. I beg you to
remember me in your prayers.” The Emperor
was only too much inclined to despise the obstacles
that destroyed part of his army. Moreover, it was
imperative to march onward. The Russians were
advancing, and he did not choose to await them in
Prussia.</p>

<p class='pindent'>On the 2d of December the Senate was convoked in
Paris. The Arch-Chancellor read a letter from the
Emperor, giving an account of his victories, promising
others in the future, and requesting a <span class='it'>senatus consultum</span>
which should order an immediate levy of the
conscripts of 1807. This levy, in ordinary times, was
made in September only. A commission was appointed
for form’s sake. This commission sat in consultation
upon the request for one morning only, and
the next day but one—that is, on the 4th—the <span class='it'>senatus
consultum</span> was reported.</p>

<p class='pindent'>It was also about this epoch that the dispute between
the Academy and Cardinal Maury was settled.
The Emperor decided the question, and a long article
appeared anonymously in the “Moniteur,” which
ended with these words: “The Academy, doubtless,
has no wish to deprive a man, whose great abilities
were conspicuous during a time of civil discord, of
a right which custom confers upon him. His admission
to the Academy was another step toward the
entire oblivion of past events which can alone insure
the duration of the tranquillity that has been restored
to us. This is a long article on a subject which is
apparently of very small importance; nevertheless,
the light in which some persons have endeavored to
place it gives rise to serious consideration. We perceive
to what fluctuations we should once more be
exposed, into what uncertainty we should again be
thrown, only that fortunately for us the helm of the
state is in the hands of a pilot whose arm is strong,
whose steering is steady, and who has but one aim
in view—the happiness of the country.”</p>

<p class='pindent'>While Bonaparte forced his soldiers to endure terrible
hardships of all kinds in the prosecution of the
war, he lost no opportunity of proving that nothing
interfered with the interest he, in the midst of camps,
took in the progress of civilization.</p>

<p class='pindent'>An order of the day, dated from headquarters of
the Grand Army, is as follows: “In the name of the
Emperor. The University of Jena, its professors,
teachers, and students, its possessions, revenues, and
other prerogatives whatsoever, are placed under the
special protection of the commanders of the French
and allied troops. The course of study will be continued.
Students are consequently authorized to return
to Jena, and it is the Emperor’s intention to favor
that town as much as possible.”</p>

<p class='pindent'>The King of Saxony, subdued by the power of the
conqueror, broke off his alliance with Prussia and concluded
a treaty with the Emperor. During a long
reign this prince had enjoyed the blessings of peace
and order. Venerated by his subjects, and occupied
solely with their welfare, nothing but the hurricane
of Bonaparte’s success could have brought the horrors
of war among the peaceful valleys of his kingdom.
He was too weak to resist the shock; he submitted,
and tried to save his people by accepting the
victor’s terms. But his fidelity to treaties could not
save him, because Saxony subsequently became of
necessity the battle-field on which the neighboring sovereigns
contended more than once for victory.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Meanwhile, Paris and its inhabitants became every
day more gloomy. The bulletins contained only
vague accounts of bloody conflicts, with small results.
It was easy to infer, from occasional allusions
to the severity of the season and the ruggedness of
the country, that our soldiers had great obstacles to
surmount and much suffering to bear. Private letters,
although cautiously written, or they would not
have reached their destination, betrayed general anxiety
and distress. The least movements of our army
were represented as victories, but the Emperor’s very
triumphs involved him in difficulty.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The distinct advantage with which the campaign
had opened made the Parisians hard to please as the
war went on. Much trouble was taken to keep up the
enthusiasm. The bulletins were solemnly read at
the theatres; guns were fired from the Invalides immediately
on receipt of news from the army; poets
were paid for hastily written odes, chants of victory,
and interludes, which were splendidly represented at
the Opéra, and on the following day articles written
to order commented on the heartiness of the
applause.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The Empress, who was restless, idle, and tired of
Mayence, wrote continually, begging to be allowed to
go to Berlin. The Emperor was on the point of yielding
to her, and I learned from M. de Rémusat with
fresh sorrow that in all probability his absence would
be prolonged. But the arrival of the Russians, and
the obligation he was under of marching into Poland,
made Bonaparte change his mind. Moreover, he was
informed that Paris was dull, and that the tradespeople
were complaining of the harm done them by
the general uneasiness. He sent orders to his wife
to return to the Tuileries, there to keep up the accustomed
splendor of her Court, and we all received commands
to amuse ourselves ostentatiously.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Meanwhile, after a few partial engagements, the
Emperor determined on going into winter quarters;
but the Russians, who were better used to the severity
of the climate and the rudeness of the country, would
not allow of this, and after measuring their strength
in some bloody encounters, where our success was
dearly bought, the two armies met face to face near
the village of Preussisch Eylau, which has given its
name to a sanguinary battle. One shudders even now
at the description of that terrible day. The cold was
piercing, and the snow falling fast; but the opposition
of the elements only increased the ferocity of both
armies. For twelve hours they fought, without either
side being able to claim the victory. The loss of men
was immense. Toward evening the Russians retreated
in good order, leaving a considerable number
of their wounded on the field of battle. Both sovereigns,
Russian and French, ordered the <span class='it'>Te Deum</span> to
be sung. The fact is, this horrible butchery was to
no purpose, and the Emperor afterward said that, if
the Russian army had attacked him on the following
day, it is probable he would have been beaten. But
this was an additional reason for him to exult over
the victory loudly. He wrote to the bishops, informed
the Senate of his alleged success, contradicted in his
own journals the foreign versions of the event, and
concealed as much as possible the losses that we had
sustained. It is said that he visited the battle-field,
and that the awful spectacle made a great impression
on him. This would seem to be true, because the
bulletin in which the fact is stated is written in a very
simple style, unlike that of the others, in which he
generally figures in a theatrical attitude.</p>

<p class='pindent'>On his return, he ordered a very fine painting from
Gros the artist, in which he is represented among the
dead and dying, lifting his eyes to heaven, as if praying
for resignation. The expression given to him by
the painter is extremely beautiful. I have often gazed
at the picture with emotion, hoping with all my heart—for
it still desired to cling to him—that such had
really been the expression of his countenance on that
occasion.</p>

<p class='pindent'>M. Denon, Director of the Museum, and one of
the most obsequious servants of the Emperor, always
followed him in his campaigns, in order to select
objects of value in every conquered city, to add to the
treasures of that magnificent collection. He fulfilled
his task with exactness, which, people said, resembled
rapacity, and he was accused of appropriating a share
of the plunder. Our soldiers knew him only by the
name of “The Auctioneer.” After the battle of
Eylau, and while at Warsaw, he received orders to
have a monument erected in commemoration of the
day. The more doubtful it was, the more the Emperor
insisted on its being held to be a victory. Denon
sent to Paris a poetical account of the Emperor’s
visit to the wounded. Many persons have declared
that the painting by Gros represented a fiction, like
that of the visit to the pest-stricken at Jaffa. But
why should it be denied that Bonaparte could sometimes
feel?</p>

<p class='pindent'>The subject was open to competition among our
principal painters. A considerable number of sketches
were sent in. Gros obtained every vote, and the
choice fell upon him.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The battle of Eylau was fought on the 10th of
February, 1807.</p>

<hr class='pbk'/>

<div class='figcenter'>
<img src='https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:c:claire-remusat-memoirs-josephine-vol-2-illo-573.jpg' alt='' id='illo-573' style='width:100%;height:auto;'/>
<p class='caption'><span style='font-size:smaller'>One shudders even now at the description of that terrible day.<br/> For twelve hours they fought without either side being able to claim the victory.</span></p>
</div>

<hr class='pbk'/>

<div><span class='pageno' title='576' id='Page_576'></span><h1>CHAPTER&nbsp;&nbsp;XXIII</h1></div>

<h2 class='nobreak'>(1807.)</h2>

<p class='noindent'><img src='https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:c:claire-remusat-memoirs-josephine-vol-2-a.jpg' style='float:left;' alt='A'/>FTER the battle of Eylau, both armies were
forced to come to a halt, in consequence of
the confusion produced by a thaw, and both
went into winter quarters. Our troops were in cantonments
near Marienwerder, and the Emperor established
himself in a country-house near Osterode.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The Empress had returned to Paris at the end of
January. She was out of spirits, vaguely anxious,
and not overpleased with those members of the Court
who had accompanied her to Mayence. Besides this,
she was in a state of nervousness, as she always was
during the Emperor’s absence, for she dreaded his
disapproval of her actions. She was most gracious,
and showed all her former friendship for me. It was
said by some members of the Court that her low
spirits were partly caused by tender feelings which
she entertained toward a certain young equerry, then
absent with the Emperor. I never inquired into the
truth of this story, nor did she ever mention it to me;
but, on the contrary, she was distressed by the stories
she was told by some Polish ladies then in Paris, concerning
the Emperor and a young countrywoman of
theirs. Her affection for her husband was always
dashed with the dread of divorce; and, of all her feelings,
this was, I believe, the strongest. She would
occasionally introduce a few words on the subject in
her letters to Bonaparte, but he never made the least
reply to them.</p>

<p class='pindent'>She tried to conform to the Emperor’s wishes.
She gave and accepted invitations, and could at any
time find relief from her cares in the delight of displaying
a magnificent dress. She behaved to her sisters-in-law
coldly, but with prudence; she received
a great number of persons, and always graciously,
and she never said a word that was not studiously
insignificant.</p>

<p class='pindent'>I once suggested to her that she might divert her
mind by going to the theatre; but she told me that
she did not derive enough amusement from the plays
to go <span class='it'>incognito</span>, and that she could not venture to go
publicly. “Why, madame?” I asked her. “I think
the applause you would receive would be pleasing to
the Emperor.” “You do not know him, then,” was
her reply. “If I was received with much cordiality,
I am sure he would be jealous of any little triumph
which he would not have shared. When I am applauded
he likes to take part in my success; and I
should only mortify him by seeking any when he can
not be present.”</p>

<p class='pindent'>The uneasiness of the Empress Josephine was increased
by any appearance of mutual understanding
between several persons about her; she always imagined
they were conspiring to injure her. Bonaparte
had infected her with his habitual suspicion. She felt
no fear of Mme. Joseph Bonaparte, who, although at
that time Queen of Naples, was residing quietly at
the Luxembourg Palace, being reluctant to exchange
her peaceful life for that of a sovereign. The two
Princes—one the Arch-Chancellor, the other the
Arch-Treasurer of the Empire—were timorous and
reserved; they paid her an assiduous court, and inspired
her with no distrust.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Princess Borghese, who combined constant ill
health with a life of intrigue, joined in no political
schemes, excepting such as were common to the whole
family. But the Grand Duchess of Berg caused her
sister-in-law constant jealousy and apprehension.
She lived in great splendor at the Elysée-Bourbon
Palace. Her beauty was set off by the most exquisite
dress; her pretensions were great, her manners affable
when she thought it prudent, and more than affable
to men whom she wished to fascinate. She was unscrupulous
when intent on injuring, and she hated
the Empress, yet never lost her self-control. Of such
a woman Josephine might well be afraid. At this
time, as I have said, Caroline was desirous of obtaining
the crown of Poland, and she endeavored to make
friends among the influential members of the Government
who might be useful to her. General Junot,
Governor of Paris, became one of her ardent admirers,
and, either from a reciprocal feeling or from
interested motives, she contrived to make his tender
sentiments serve her purpose; so that the Governor
of Paris, in his reports to the Emperor—a certain
branch of police being in his charge—always
gave favorable accounts of the Grand Duchess of
Berg.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Another intimacy, in which there was no question
of love, but which was of great use to her, was that
between Fouché and herself. Fouché was on bad
terms with M. de Talleyrand, who was no favorite
of Mme. Murat’s. She wanted to secure her present
position, and especially to elevate her husband in
spite of himself. She hinted to the Minister of Police
that M. de Talleyrand would contrive to have
him removed, and she tried to gain his affection by a
number of other little confidential communications.
This intimacy gave daily recurring distress to the poor
frightened Empress, who narrowly watched all her
words and actions. Parisian society concerned itself
little with these Court secrets, and took no interest in
the members of the Court circle. We had the appearance
of being, and we were in fact, merely a living
puppet-show, set up to surround the Emperor with
what seemed to him necessary state. The conviction
that no one had any influence over him led people to
concern themselves little with his surroundings.
Every one knew beforehand that his will only would
finally determine all things.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Meanwhile, the sovereigns who were either related
or allied to the Emperor sent deputations to Poland,
to congratulate him on his victories. From Naples,
Amsterdam, and Milan came envoys to Warsaw, offering
homage from the various states. The kingdom
of Naples was disquieted by disturbances in
Calabria only, but this was enough to keep it in agitation.
The new King, a lover of pleasure, did not
carry out with sufficient firmness the plan which the
Emperor had laid down for the kingdoms he had
called into existence. The Emperor also found fault
with his brother Louis; but those reproaches did
honor to the latter.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Louis’s domestic affairs became every day more deplorable.
Mme. Louis, who had enjoyed some liberty
at Mayence, no doubt found it hard to return to
the dreary bondage in which she was held by her husband;
and the depression, which she did not sufficiently
conceal, embittered him, perhaps, still more.
The division between them increased until they lived
apart in the palace—she in retirement with two or
three of her ladies, and he immersed in affairs, and
making no secret of his dissatisfaction with his wife.
He would not allow the Dutch to impute all the blame
of the notorious domestic troubles to him. Who can
say to what such a position of affairs might have led,
but for the common misfortune which shortly fell
upon the unhappy pair, and which drew them together
in a common sorrow?</p>

<p class='pindent'>Toward the end of the winter an order from the
Emperor reached Paris, to the effect that the newspapers
were to remind persons distinguished either
in art or science that the decree, dated from Aix-la-Chapelle,
24th Fructidor, year 12, concerning the decennial
prizes, was to come into effect at the expiration
of one year and eight months from the then date.
This decree promised considerable rewards to every
author of an important work, of any kind whatsoever.
The prizes were to be assigned at intervals of
ten years, dating from the 18th Brumaire, and the
jury which was to allot them was to consist of members
of the Institute. This project has real greatness
in it; we shall see, hereafter, how it fell to pieces in
consequence of a fit of ill humor on the part of the
Emperor.</p>

<p class='pindent'>In March the Vice-Queen of Italy gave birth to a
daughter, and the Empress was much pleased at being
grandmother to a little princess related to all the
greatest powers in Europe.</p>

<p class='pindent'>During the suspension of war on both sides, from
the inclemency of the season, the Emperor took every
means to insure that in the spring his army should
be more formidable than ever. The kingdoms of
Italy and Naples had to furnish further contingents.
Men born under the smiling skies of those beautiful
lands were suddenly transported to the wild banks
of the Vistula; and they might wonder at the change,
until others were seen marching from Cadiz, to perish
beneath the walls of Moscow, thus affording a
proof of the courage and strength of which men are
capable, and also of what can be done by the strength
of the human will. The army was reorganized; our
newspapers were filled with columns of promotions,
and it is curious, among these military decrees, to
come upon one dated, like the rest, from Osterode,
appointing bishops to vacant sees both in France and
in Italy.</p>

<p class='pindent'>But, notwithstanding our victories, or perhaps because
of them, our army had suffered considerable
loss. The extreme humidity of the climate caused
sickness among the troops. Russia was evidently
about to make an immense effort. The Emperor felt
that this campaign must be decisive; and, not feeling
satisfied that the numerous troops furnished to him
were sufficient to insure victory, he put his own power
and our submission to the test. After having, at the
end of December, 1806, levied the conscription for
1807, he demanded from the Senate in April the levy
for 1808. The Prince of Neufchâtel’s report, which
was published in the “Moniteur,” announced that
during the year the army had been augmented by one
hundred and sixty thousand men, levied by the conscriptions
of 1806 and 1807; sixteen thousand men
were non-combatants either from sickness or superannuation,
and, without troubling himself with calculations,
which it was too certain no one would venture
to make, because it was our system to conceal our
losses, he put down the “casualties” of the campaign
at fourteen thousand men. As our army had been
increased by only a hundred and thirty thousand efficient
soldiers, prudence required that the eighty thousand
men of the conscription of 1808 should be raised,
and drilled, each in his own department. “Were this
delayed,” said the report, “the men would have to
march at once to the seat of war; but, by making the
levy six months in advance, they will acquire strength
and knowledge, and will be better able to defend themselves.”</p>

<p class='pindent'>State Councilor Regnault de St. Jean d’Angely,
who was the bearer of the Imperial message to the
Senate, paused when he came to this portion of the
report, and called the attention of the Senators to
the paternal goodness of the Emperor, who would not
allow the new conscripts to brave the dangers of war
without some previous preparation. The Emperor’s
letter announced that the whole of Europe was again
in arms—that two hundred thousand recruits had
been raised in England; and declared his own desire
for peace, on condition that the English were not
prompted by passion to seek their own prosperity in
our abasement.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The Senate passed the required decree, and voted
an address of congratulation and thanks to the Emperor.
He must have smiled on receiving it.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The minds of men who wield absolute power need
to be very generous, in order to resist the temptation
to despise the human species—a temptation which is
only too well justified by the submission that is accorded
to them. When Bonaparte beheld a whole nation
giving him its life-blood and its treasure in order
to satisfy his insatiable ambition, when educated men
of that nation consented to veil his acts of invasion
on the human will in plausible phrases, how could
he fail to regard the whole world as a vast field, open
to the first person who would undertake to occupy
and till it? Heroic greatness of soul alone could have
discerned that the adulatory words and the blind obedience
of the citizens who were isolated by the tyranny
of his institutions, and then decimated at his
command, were dictated by constraint only.</p>

<p class='pindent'>And yet, although Bonaparte had none of those
generous feelings, reasonable observation might have
shown him that the alert obedience with which the
French marched to the battle-field was but a misdirection
of that national spirit which a great Revolution
had aroused in a great people. The cry of liberty
had awakened generous enthusiasm, but the confusion
that ensued had rendered men afraid to complete
their work. The Emperor skillfully seized on this
moment of hesitation, and turned it to his own advantage.
For the last thirty years the French character
has been so developed that the bulk of our citizens
of every class have been possessed by the desire
to live, or, if to live were impossible, by the desire
to die, for some particular object. Bonaparte did
not, however, invariably mistake the bent of the genius
of the people whom he had undertaken to rule,
but he felt within himself the strength to control it,
and he directed it, or rather misdirected it, to his own
advantage.</p>

<p class='pindent'>It was becoming hard to serve him; feelings which
seemed instinctively to warn us of what was to come
were not to be repressed. Many were the sad reflections
of my husband and myself—I remember them
well—in the midst of the splendor and luxury of a
position for which we were no doubt envied. As I
have said, our means were small when we joined the
First Consul’s Court. His gifts, which were sold
rather than freely bestowed, had surrounded us with
luxury on which he insisted. I was still young, and
I found myself enabled to gratify the tastes of youth
and to enjoy the pleasures of a brilliant position. I
had a beautiful house; I had fine diamonds; every
day I might vary my elegant dress; a chosen circle
of friends dined at my table; every theatre was open
to me; there was no fête given in Paris to which I
was not invited; and yet even then an inexplicable
cloud hung over me. Often on our return from a
splendid entertainment at the Tuileries, and while still
wearing our garb of state—or shall I say, of servitude?—my
husband and I would seriously discuss all
that was passing around us. A secret anxiety as to
the future, an ever-growing distrust of our master,
oppressed us both. Without distinctly knowing what
we dreaded, we were aware that there was something
to dread. “I am unfitted,” my husband used to say,
“for the narrow and idle life of a Court.”  “I can
not admire,” I would say to him, “that which costs
so much blood and misery.” We were weary of
military glory, and shocked at the fierce severity it
often inspires in those who have gained it; and perhaps
the repugnance we felt for it was a presentiment
of the price which Bonaparte was to make France pay
for the greatness that he forced upon her.</p>

<p class='pindent'>To these painful feelings was added the fear of
being unable to feel any affection for him whom we
must still continue to serve. This was one of my
secret troubles. I clung with the enthusiasm of youth
and imagination to the admiration for the Emperor
that I desired to retain; I sincerely tried to deceive
myself with regard to him; I eagerly recalled cases
when he had acted up to my hopes. The struggle
was painful and vain, but I suffered more after I had
relinquished it. In 1814 numbers of people wondered
at my ardent desire for the fall of the founder of
our fortune, and for the return of those who would
ruin it; they accused us of ingratitude in so promptly
forsaking the cause of the Emperor, and honored us
with their surprise because of the patience with which
we endured our heavy loss. They were unable to read
our hearts; they were ignorant of the impressions that
had been made on us long before. The return of
the King ruined us, but it set our hearts and minds
at liberty. It promised a future in which our child
might freely yield to the noble inspirations of his
youth. “My son,” said his father, “will perhaps be
poor, but he will not be shackled and hampered as
we have been.” It is not sufficiently known in the
world—that is, in the regulated and factitious society
of a great city—that there is happiness in a position
which allows of the complete development of one’s
feelings and of freedom in all one’s thoughts.</p>

<p class='pindent'>On the feast of St. Joseph, Princess Borghese and
Princess Caroline gave a little fête in honor of the
Empress. A large party was invited. A comedy or
vaudeville was acted, full of verses in honor of the
Emperor and in praise of Josephine. The two Princesses
represented shepherdesses, and looked exquisitely
lovely. General Junot took the part of a soldier
just returned from the army, and in love with
one of the young girls. The position seemed to suit
them perfectly, whether on the stage or elsewhere.
But Bonaparte’s two sisters, although Princesses,
sang out of tune; and, as each could detect this in the
other, she ridiculed her sister’s performance. Both
my sister and I took part in the piece. I was greatly
amused at the rehearsals by the mutual spitefulness
of the two sisters, who had little love for each other,
and the vexation of the author and the composer.
Both thought a good deal of the production; they were
annoyed at hearing their verses and songs badly rendered;
they dared not complain, and, when they ventured
on timid remonstrance, every one hastened to
silence them.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The play was ill performed. The Empress cared
little for the insincere homage of her sisters-in-law,
and remembered that on this same stage, a few years
before, she had seen her own children, young, gay,
and loving, touch even Bonaparte’s heart by offering
him flowers. She told me that during the whole
evening this recollection had been present with her.
She was now away from her husband, anxious about
him, uneasy about herself, far from her son and
daughter. Ever since the day she ascended the throne
she had regretted her happier past.</p>

<p class='pindent'>On the occasion of her fête-day the Emperor wrote
affectionately to her: “I dislike very much being so
far away from you. The chill of the climate seems
to lay hold of my heart. We are all longing for
Paris, that Paris which one regrets in every place,
and for whose sake we are always in pursuit of glory,
and after all, Josephine, only that we may be applauded
on our return by the crowd at the Opéra.
When spring comes, I hope to beat the Russians thoroughly,
and then, mesdames, we will go home, and
you shall crown us with laurel.”</p>

<p class='pindent'>During the winter the siege of Dantzic was begun.
Bonaparte took it into his head to give some glory
(as he called it) to Savary. The military reputation
of the latter did not stand very high with the army;
but he was useful to the Emperor in other ways, and
covetous of reward. The Emperor foresaw that some
day he would be obliged to give him a decoration, in
order to be able to use him as occasion might arise;
so he chose to say that Savary had obtained an advantage
of some kind over the Russians, and bestowed
on him the grand cordon of the Legion of
Honor. Military men disapproved, but Bonaparte
cared as little for them as for others, and to bestow
reward independently of merit or desert was a favorite
exercise of his independence.</p>

<p class='pindent'>He seldom left his headquarters at Osterode, except
for the purpose of inspecting the various cantonments.
He issued decrees on a great number of subjects.
He wrote a letter to M. de Champagny, the
Minister of the Interior, which was mentioned in the
“Moniteur,” ordering him to announce to the Institute
that a statue would be presented to it in honor
of D’Alembert, the French mathematician, who, more
than any other, had contributed to the advancement
of science.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The bulletins contained statements of the position
of the army only, and of the Emperor’s health, which
continued to be excellent. He often rode forty
leagues in a day. He continued to make numerous
promotions in his army, which were published in the
“Moniteur” indiscriminately, and under the same
date with the appointment of certain bishops.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The Empress of Austria’s death occurred at this
time. She was only thirty-four years of age. She
left four sons and five daughters. The Princes of
Bavaria and Baden, and some others belonging to
the Confederation of the Rhine, were staying with the
army and paying court to the Emperor. When the
day’s work was over, he attended concerts, given for
him by Paër the musician, whom he had met at Berlin,
and whom he engaged in his service and brought
back with him to Paris. M. de Talleyrand’s society
was no doubt a great resource to the Emperor, but
he frequently left him, in order to pass some days in
great state at Warsaw, where he conversed with the
nobles, and kept up the hopes which it was thought
desirable they should not abandon. It was at Warsaw
that M. de Talleyrand negotiated on the Emperor’s
behalf with ambassadors from the Porte and from
Persia. Bonaparte permitted them to witness some
manœuvres by a part of his army. At Warsaw also
a suspension of arms between France and Sweden
was signed.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The difficulty about the <span class='it'>Monseigneur</span> having been
settled, Cardinal Maury was admitted to the Institute,
and delivered a panegyric on the Abbé de Radovilliers
as the usual reception speech. An immense
crowd was present, but the Cardinal disappointed public
expectation. His discourse was long and tedious,
and it was justly inferred that his abilities were absolutely
worn out. His pastorals and some Lenten sermons
which he preached subsequently confirm that
impression.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The death of her little grandson, Napoleon, on the
5th of May, was a severe blow to the Empress. The
child, after a few days’ illness, died of croup. The despair
of the Queen of Holland surpassed description.
She clung to the body of her son, and had to
be removed by force. Louis Bonaparte, who was terrified
as well as grieved at the state of his wife,
treated her with great tenderness, and their loss
brought about a sincere, though only temporary,
reconciliation between them. At intervals the Queen
became completely delirious, shrieking, calling on her
son, and invoking death; and she was unable to recognize
those who approached her. When reason partly
returned, she remained buried in profound silence,
and was indifferent to all around. At times, however,
she would gently thank her husband for his care, in
a manner which showed her deep regret that such a
misfortune had been needed to change their mutual
feelings. On one of these occasions, Louis, true to
his strange and jealous temper, while standing beside
his wife’s bed, and promising her that in future he
would do all he could to make her happy, insisted on
her confessing the faults he imagined she had committed.
“Confide your errors to me,” he said; “I
will forgive them all. We are about to begin a new
life which will for ever efface the past.” With all
the solemnity of grief, and in the hope of death, the
Queen assured him that, ready as she was to appear
before the throne of God, she had not even the semblance
of a guilty thought of which to accuse herself.
The King, still unconvinced, asked her to swear this;
but, even after she had taken an oath of her truth, he
could not believe her, but recommenced his importunities,
until his wife, exhausted by her grief, by the
answers she had made, and by this dreadful persecution,
felt herself about to faint, and said: “Leave
me in peace; I shall not escape from you. We will
resume the subject to-morrow.” And with these
words she again lost consciousness.</p>

<p class='pindent'>When the young Prince’s death was made known
in Paris, a courier was dispatched to the Emperor,
Mme. Murat started for the Hague, and a few days
later the Empress went to Brussels, whither Louis
himself brought his wife and their surviving little
son, in order to place them under the care of the Empress.
He seemed to be in great grief, and to be very
anxious about Queen Hortense, who remained in a
state approaching delirium. It was settled that, after
a few days’ repose at Malmaison, she was to pass
several months in the Pyrenees, where her husband
would subsequently join her. After staying one day
at the palace of Lacken, near Brussels, the King returned
to Holland, and the Empress, her daughter,
the latter’s second son, thenceforth of necessity called
Napoleon, and the Grand Duchess of Berg, who was
ill calculated to console two persons whom she so
greatly disliked, came back to Paris. M. de Rémusat,
who was in attendance on the Empress on this melancholy
journey, told me on his return of the attention
with which Louis had treated his wife, and that he
had observed that Mme. Murat was displeased by it.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Mme. Louis Bonaparte remained at Malmaison for
a fortnight in profound retirement and deep dejection.
Toward the end of May she left for Cauterets.
She was indifferent to all things, tearless, sleepless,
speechless. She would press the hand of any one who
spoke to her, and every day, at the hour of her son’s
death, she had a violent hysterical attack. I never
beheld grief so painful to witness. She was pale, motionless,
her eyes rigidly fixed—one could not but
weep on approaching her; then she would utter these
few words: “Why do you weep? He is dead—I
know it well; but I do not suffer. I assure you I feel
nothing.”</p>

<p class='pindent'>During her journey to the south, a tremendous
storm roused her from this state of lethargy. There
had been a storm on the day that her son died. When
the thunder roared this time, she listened to it attentively;
as it increased in violence, she was seized with
a terrible nervous attack, followed by a flood of tears;
and from that instant she regained the power of feeling
and of suffering, and gave herself up to a profound
grief which never completely subsided. Although
I can not continue her history without anticipating
dates, I will nevertheless conclude this episode
in her life at once. She took up her abode among the
mountains with a small suite, and tried to escape
from herself by continually walking, so as to exhaust
her strength. In a state of constant painful excitement,
she wandered through the valleys of the Pyrenees,
or climbed the rocks, attempting the most difficult
ascents, and seemed, I have been told by others,
as if only bent on wearing herself out.</p>

<p class='pindent'>At Cauterets she met by chance with M. Decazes,
who was then young, unknown to fame, and, like the
Queen, in deep grief. He had lost his young wife,
and was in bad health. These two met and understood
each other’s grief. It is extremely probable that
Mme. Louis, who was too unhappy to restrict herself
to the conventionalities of her rank, and refused to
receive unsympathetic persons, was more accessible to
a man suffering from a sorrow like her own. M. Decazes
was young and handsome; the idle sojourners
at a watering-place and the inconsiderate tongue of
scandal pretended there was something more than
friendship in this. The Queen was too much absorbed
in her sorrow to take notice of anything that was
going on around her. Her only companions were
young friends devoted to her, anxious about her
health, and eager to procure her the least alleviation.
Meanwhile letters were written to Paris full of gossip
about the Queen and M. Decazes.</p>

<p class='pindent'>At the end of the summer King Louis rejoined his
wife in the south of France. It would seem that the
sight of the sorrowing mother and of his only surviving
son softened his heart. The interview was
affectionate on both sides, and the married pair, who
for long had lived in estrangement, were once more
reconciled. Had Louis returned immediately to the
Hague, it is probable that the reconciliation would
have been lasting; but he accompanied his wife to
Paris, and their domestic union displeased Mme.
Murat. I was told by the Empress that at first, on
their return to Paris, her daughter was deeply
touched by the grief of her husband, and said that,
through suffering, a new bond had been formed between
them, and that she felt she could forgive the
past. But Mme. Murat—or so the Empress believed
on what appeared to be good grounds—began once
more to disturb her brother’s mind. She related to
him, without appearing to believe them herself, the
stories told of the Queen’s meetings with M. Decazes.
Less than this would have sufficed to rekindle Louis’s
jealousy and suspicion. I can not now remember
whether he had himself met M. Decazes in the Pyrenees,
or whether he had merely heard him spoken
of by his wife; for, as she attached not the least importance
to her acquaintance with him, she often said,
before other persons, how much she had been touched
by the similarity of their sorrows, and how deeply
she felt, in her own grief, for the desolation of the
bereaved husband.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The Empress, who was alarmed at the emaciated
condition of her daughter, and who feared for her the
fatigue of another journey, as well as the climate of
Holland, entreated the Emperor, who had then returned
to Paris, to persuade Louis to allow his wife
to remain in Paris for her confinement. The Emperor
obtained permission for her by commanding
Louis to grant it. The latter, who was angry, embittered,
and no doubt ill pleased at being forced to
return alone to the gloomy mists of his kingdom, and
who was beset by his own bad temper, resumed his
suspicions and his ill humor, and once more vented
both on his wife. At first she could hardly believe
him to be in earnest; but, when she found herself
again being insulted, when she began to understand
that even in her sorrow she was not respected, and
that she had been thought capable of an intrigue at
a time when she had been only longing for death, she
fell into a state of utter dejection. Indifferent to the
present, to the future, to every tie she felt contempt
for her husband, which perhaps she allowed to be too
plainly perceptible, and she thought only of how she
might contrive to live apart from him. All this took
place in the autumn of 1807. When I shall have
reached that date, I may have more to say about this
unhappy woman.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The Empress shed many tears over the death of
her grandson. Besides the ardent affection she had
cherished for this child, who was of a lovable disposition,
her own position was, she felt, endangered by
his death. She had hoped that Louis’s children would
make up to the Emperor for her lack of offspring,
and the terrible divorce, which cost her so often such
agonizing dread, seemed after this sad loss once more
to threaten her. She spoke to me at the time of her
secret fears, and I had much difficulty in soothing
her.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Even at the present day the impression produced by
M. de Fontanes’ fine speech on this misfortune, into
which he contrived to introduce a remarkable description
of Bonaparte’s prosperity, is not yet forgotten.
The Emperor had ordered that the colors taken from
the enemy in this last campaign and the sword of
Frederick the Great should be borne in state to the
Invalides. A <span class='it'>Te Deum</span> was to be sung, and an oration
delivered in the presence of the great dignitaries,
the Ministers, the Senate, and the pensioners themselves.
The ceremony, which took place on the 17th
of May, 1807, was very imposing, and the speech of
M. de Fontanes will perpetuate for us the remembrance
of those sacred spoils, which have since been
restored to their former owners. The orator was
admired for aggrandizing his hero, and yet for refraining
from insult to the vanquished, and for reserving
his praise for what was really heroic. It was
added that, strictly speaking, his praise might be taken
for advice; and such was the state of submission and
fear in those days that M. de Fontanes was held to
have displayed remarkable courage.</p>

<p class='pindent'>In his peroration he described his hero surrounded
with the pomp of victory, but turning from it to weep
over a child. But the hero did not weep. He was at
first painfully affected by the boy’s death, then shook
off the feeling as soon as possible. M. de Talleyrand
told me afterward that the very next day after hearing
the news the Emperor was conversing freely
and just as usual with those around him, and that
when he was about to grant an audience to some of
the great nobles from the Court of Warsaw, who
came to offer their condolence, he (M. de Talleyrand)
thought himself obliged to remind him to assume
a serious expression, and ventured to offer a
remark on his apparent indifference, to which the
Emperor replied that “he had no time to amuse himself
with feelings and regrets like other men.”</p>

<hr class='pbk'/>

<div><span class='pageno' title='595' id='Page_595'></span><h1>CHAPTER&nbsp;&nbsp;XXIV</h1></div>

<h2 class='nobreak'>(1807.)</h2>

<p class='noindent'><img src='https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:c:claire-remusat-memoirs-josephine-vol-2-m.jpg' style='float:left;' alt='M'/>EANWHILE the severity of winter gradually
lessened in Poland, and everything indicated
a renewal of hostilities. The bulletin of the
16th of May informed us that the Emperor of Russia
had rejoined his army; and the temperate language in
which the sovereigns were spoken of, together with
the epithet of “brave soldiers” applied to the Russians,
made us understand that a vigorous resistance
was expected. The siege of Dantzic was intrusted to
Marshal Lefebvre; some skirmishing took place, and
finally, on the 24th of May, Dantzic capitulated. The
Emperor immediately removed thither. To reward
the Marshal, he made him Duke of Dantzic, and,
together with the title, granted him a considerable sum
of money. This was the first creation of the kind. He
pointed out its advantages, in his own way, in a letter
which he wrote to the Senate on the occasion; and he
endeavored to lay particular stress on those reasons
for this step which would be least unwelcome to lovers
of equality, whose opinions he was always careful to
respect. I have often heard him speak of the motives
which led him to create an intermediate caste, as he
called it, between himself and the vast democracy of
France. His reasons were, the necessity of rewarding
important services in a way not onerous to the
state, and of contenting French vanity, and also that
he might have a court about him, like the other sovereigns
of Europe. “Liberty,” he used to say, “is
needed by a small and privileged class, who are gifted
by nature with abilities greater than those of the bulk
of mankind. It can therefore be restricted with impunity.
Equality, on the other hand, delights the
multitude. I do not hurt that principle by giving
titles to certain men, without respect of birth, which
is now an exploded notion. I act monarchically in
creating hereditary rank, but I remain within the
principles of the Revolution, because my nobility is
not exclusive. The titles I bestow are a kind of civic
crown; they may be won by good actions. Besides,
it is a sign of ability when rulers communicate to those
they govern the same impulses they have themselves.
Now, I move by ascending, and the nation must rise
in the same way.”</p>

<p class='pindent'>On one occasion, after laying down this system in
his wife’s presence and mine, he suddenly paused—he
had been walking up and down the room, as was
his habit—and said: “It is not that I do not perceive
that all these nobles whom I create, and especially the
dukes whom I endow with enormous sums of money,
will become partially independent of me. Their
honors and riches will tempt them to get loose, and
they will acquire probably what they will call the
<span class='it'>spirit of their class</span>.” On this he resumed his walk
and was silent for a few minutes; then, turning to us
abruptly, he added, with a smile of which I can not
attempt to analyze the expression, “Ah, but they
won’t run so fast but that I shall be able to catch
them!”</p>

<p class='pindent'>Although Lefebvre’s military services were a sufficient
reason for the gifts which the Emperor assigned
to him from the battle-field, yet the mocking humor
of the Parisians, unaffected by even justly won glory,
exercised itself upon the dignity of the new Duke.
There was something of the barrack-room about him
which partly encouraged this, and his wife, who was
old and excessively homely in her manners, became
the object of general ridicule. She openly expressed
her preference for the pecuniary part of the Emperor’s
gifts, and when she made this admission in the drawing-room
at Saint Cloud, and the simplicity of the speech
made some of us laugh, she reddened with anger and
said to the Empress, “Madame, I beg you to make
your young hussies hold their tongues.” It may be
imagined that such a sally did not lessen our mirth.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The Emperor would willingly have put a stop to
jesting on these points, but that was beyond his power;
and, as it was known that he was sensitive on the
subject, this was a favorite way of retaliating upon
him for his tyranny.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Witty sayings and <span class='it'>calembourgs</span> were current in
Paris, and written off to the army. The Emperor, in
his vexation, rebuked the Minister of Police for his
carelessness. The latter, affecting a certain disdainful
liberality, replied that he thought he might as well
leave idle people amusement of this kind. However,
on learning that contemptuous or ill-natured remarks
had been made in any Paris drawing-room, the Minister
would send for the master or mistress of the house,
advise them to keep a better watch over their guests,
and dismiss them full of an undefined suspicion of
their social circle.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Afterward the Emperor contrived to reconcile the
old to the new nobility, by offering the former a share
in his gifts; and they, feeling that every concession,
however small in itself, was a recognition of their
privileges, did not disdain favors which replaced them
in their former position.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Meanwhile, the army was strongly reënforced. All
our allies contributed to it. Spaniards hurried across
France in order to fight against Russians on the Vistula;
not a sovereign ventured to disobey the orders
he received. The bulletin of the 12th of June
announced that hostilities had recommenced; it also
contained an account of the efforts that had been
made to bring about a peace. M. de Talleyrand
anxiously desired this; perhaps the Emperor himself
was not averse to it: but the English Government
refused to consent; the young Czar flattered himself
that Austerlitz would be forgotten; Prussia was weary
of us and wishing for the return of her King; Bonaparte,
as conqueror, imposed severe conditions, and
war broke out again. Some partial engagements were
to our advantage, and our usual activity was resumed.
The two armies met at Friedland, and we gained
another great and hardly contested victory. Yet,
notwithstanding our success, the Emperor felt assured
that, whenever he should be pitted against the Russians,
he must be prepared for a severe struggle, and
that on himself and Alexander depended the fate of
the Continent.</p>

<p class='pindent'>A considerable number of our general officers were
wounded at Friedland. M. de Nansouty, my brother-in-law,
behaved most gallantly: in order to support
the movements of the army, he endured the enemy’s
fire for several hours at the head of his division of
heavy cavalry, maintaining his men, by his own
example, in a state of very trying inaction, which may
be said to have been as sanguinary as the thick of the
fight. Prince Borghese was sent from the battle-field
to Saint Cloud to convey the news of the victory to the
Empress; he held out at the same time the hope of an
early peace, and the rumor, which was soon spread,
was no little enhancement of the victory.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The battle of Friedland was followed by a rapid
march of our troops. The Emperor reached the
village of Tilsit, on the banks of the Niemen. The
river separated the two armies. An armistice was
proposed by the Russian commander and accepted by
us; negotiations were begun.</p>

<p class='pindent'>While these events were taking place, I had gone
to Aix-la-Chapelle, where I was leading a quiet life,
and waiting, like the rest of Europe, for the end of
this terrible war. I met there M. Alexandre de
Lameth, who was Prefect of the department. After
taking a conspicuous part at the beginning of the
Revolution, he had emigrated, and, after long years in
an Austrian prison, had eventually returned to France
at the same time as M. de la Fayette. Entering the
Emperor’s service, he attained the post of Prefect of
the department of the Roer, as it was called, and
managed it extremely well. The education I had
received, the opinions I had heard expressed by my
mother and her friends, had prejudiced me strongly
against all who had aided the Revolution in 1789. I
looked upon M. de Lameth as simply factious and
ungrateful toward the Court, and as having thrown
himself into opposition as a means of obtaining a
celebrity flattering to his ambition. I was still more
inclined to hold this opinion, because I found that he
was a great admirer of Bonaparte, who certainly did
not govern France on a system which emanated from
the Constituent Assembly. But it may be that, like
the majority of Frenchmen, our anarchy had sickened
him of liberty so dearly bought, and that he
sincerely welcomed a despotism which restored order
to the country.</p>

<p class='pindent'>My acquaintance with him gave me the opportunity
of hearing him discourse upon the rights of citizens,
the balance of power, and liberty in a restricted
sense, M. de Lameth defended the intentions of the
Constituent Assembly, and I had no inclination to
dispute the point with him; it seemed of little importance
at the date we had then reached. He
attempted to justify the conduct of the deputies in
1789; and, though I was unequal to arguing with him,
I felt confusedly that he was wrong, and that the Constituent
Assembly had not fulfilled its mission with
due impartiality and conscientiousness. But I was
struck with the utility to a nation of less ephemeral
institutions, and the ardent words to which I listened,
together with the depression produced in me by our
endless wars, sowed in my mind the seeds of wholesome
and generous thought, which subsequent events
have developed in full. But, whatever our ideas may
have been at that time, our reason or our instinct was
forced to bend before the triumphant fortune which
was then raising Napoleon to the zenith of his fame.
He could no longer be judged by ordinary rule;
fortune was so constantly at his side that, in rushing
onward to the most brilliant as well as the most
deplorable excesses, he seemed to be obeying destiny.</p>

<p class='pindent'>In the mean time the important political circumstances
gave rise, at Aix-la-Chapelle as well as in
Paris, to rumors of every kind. The kingdom of
Poland was to be founded, and given to Jérôme Bonaparte,
who was to marry a daughter of the Emperor
of Austria, and our Emperor was to carry out the old
project of the divorce. The public mind was excited
by the gigantic proportions of actual events, and
became more and more possessed by that longing for
the extraordinary which the Emperor so ably turned
to advantage. And, indeed, why should not the
country, seeing what was happening, expect that anything
might happen? Mme. d’Houdetot, who was
then living, said of Bonaparte, “He diminishes history
and enlarges imagination.”</p>

<p class='pindent'>After the battle of Friedland the Emperor wrote a
really fine letter to the bishops. The following phrase
occurs in it: “This victory has commemorated the
anniversary of the battle of Marengo—of that day
when, still covered with the dust of the battle-field,
our first thought, our first care, were for the reëstablishment
of order and peace in the Church of France.”
In Paris the <span class='it'>Te Deum</span> was sung and the city was
illuminated.</p>

<p class='pindent'>On the 25th of June the two Emperors, having embarked
one on each bank of the Niemen, in presence
of a portion of the two armies, set foot at the same
moment in the pavilion that had been erected for them
on a raft in the middle of the river. They embraced
on meeting, and remained together for two hours.
The Emperor Napoleon was accompanied by Dumas,
his Grand Marshal, and Caulaincourt, his Grand
Equerry; the Czar, by his brother Constantine and two
great personages of his Court. In that interview the
peace was definitely settled. Bonaparte consented to
restore a portion of his states to the King of Prussia,
although his own inclination was toward a complete
change of the form of the conquered countries, because
an entire transformation would better suit his policy,
which had universal dominion for its basis. He was,
however, obliged to sacrifice some part of his projects
during this final treaty. The Czar might still be a
formidable enemy, and Napoleon knew that France
was growing weary of the war and demanded his
presence. A longer campaign would have led the army
into enterprises of which none could foresee the issue.
It was, therefore, necessary to postpone a portion of
the great plan, and once more to call a halt. The
Poles, who had reckoned upon complete liberation,
beheld the portion of Poland that had belonged to
Prussia turned into the duchy of Warsaw, and given
to the King of Saxony as in pledge. Dantzic became
a free town, and the King of Prussia undertook to
close his ports to the English. The Emperor of
Russia offered to mediate with England for peace;
and Napoleon imagined that the great importance of
the mediator would terminate the quarrel. His vanity
was deeply concerned in bringing our insular neighbors
to recognize his royalty. He frequently said
afterward that he felt at Tilsit that the question of
continental empire would one day be decided between
the Czar and himself; and that the magnanimity which
Alexander displayed, the young Prince’s admiration
of him, and the genuine enthusiasm with which he
had been inspired in his presence, had captivated him,
and led him to desire that, instead of a total rupture,
a firm and lasting alliance should take place, which
might lead to the division of the Continent between
two great sovereigns.</p>

<p class='pindent'>On the 26th the King of Prussia joined the illustrious
party on the raft, and after the conference the
three sovereigns repaired to Tilsit, where they remained
while the negotiations lasted, exchanging
visits every day, dining together, holding reviews,
and appearing to be on the best possible terms. Bonaparte
employed all the resources of his mind on this
occasion, and kept a close watch over himself. He
flattered the young Emperor, and completely captivated
him. M. de Talleyrand completed the conquest
by the skill and grace with which he sustained and
colored his master’s policy; so that Alexander conceived
a great friendship for him, and trusted him
entirely. The Queen of Prussia came to Tilsit, and
Bonaparte did all he could to efface the impression of
his bulletins, by treating her with the utmost attention.
Neither the Queen nor her husband could complain.
They, the two dispossessed, were forced to
receive what was restored to them of their states
with gratitude. These illustrious conquered ones concealed
their pain, and the Emperor believed that he
had gained them to his cause by reëstablishing them
in the parceled-out kingdom from which he was unable
to drive them altogether. He secured to himself in his
treaty means of constant supervision, by leaving
French garrisons in the states of certain second-rate
princes; for instance, in Saxony, Coburg, Oldenburg,
and Mecklenburg-Schwerin. A portion of his army
still remained on the northern coast, because it
appeared that the King of Sweden would not enter
into the treaty. And, lastly, this war gave birth to a
new kingdom, composed of Westphalia and a portion
of the Prussian states. Jérôme Bonaparte was
adorned with this new kingship, and his marriage with
the Princess Catherine was arranged.</p>

<p class='pindent'>M. de Talleyrand and Prince Kourakine signed this
treaty on the 9th of July, 1807, and the Emperor,
wearing the decoration of the Russian Order of St.
Andrew, immediately visited the Czar. He asked to
see the Russian soldier who had conducted himself
best during the campaign, and gave him the cross of
the Legion with his own hand. The two sovereigns
embraced anew, and parted, after having promised
each other an eternal friendship. Decorations were
distributed on both sides. Farewells were exchanged
with great pomp between Bonaparte and the King of
Prussia, and the Continent was once more pacified.</p>

<p class='pindent'>It was impossible to withhold admiration from
glory such as this, but it is certain that the country
took much less part in it than formerly. People began
to perceive that it was of the nature of a yoke for us,
though a brilliant one; and, as they were coming to
know and distrust Bonaparte, they feared the consequences
of the intoxication which his power might
produce in him. Lastly, the predominance of the military
element was exciting uneasiness; the foreseen
vanities of the sword wounded individual pride. A
secret trouble mingled with the general admiration,
and the gloom which it produced was chiefly observable
among those whose places or whose rank must
bring them again into contact with Napoleon. We
wondered whether the rude despotism of his manners
would not be more than ever apparent in all his daily
actions. We were still smaller than before in his sight,
by all the difference of his added greatness, and we
foresaw that he would make us feel this. Each of us
made his examination of conscience with scrupulous
care, seeking to discover on what point our hard
master would manifest his displeasure on his return.
Wife, family, great dignitaries, Ministers, the whole
Court—in fact, everybody suffered from this apprehension;
and the Empress, who knew him better than
anybody else, expressed her uneasiness in the simplest
way, saying, “The Emperor is so lucky that he will
be sure to scold a great deal.” The magnanimity of
kings consists in elevating those around them by pouring
out upon them a portion of their own moral
greatness; but Bonaparte, who was naturally jealous
always isolated himself, and dreaded anything like
sharing. His gifts were immense after this campaign,
but it was perceived that he paid for services
in order that he might hear no more of them; and
his recompenses were so evidently the closing of an
account that they excited no gratitude, while they did,
on the contrary, revive claims.</p>

<p class='pindent'>While the momentous interviews of Tilsit were
taking place, nothing happened at Paris except the
removal of the body of the young Napoleon from
Saint Leu, in the valley of Montmorency (the residence
of Prince Louis), to Notre Dame. The Arch-Chancellor
received the coffin at the church, and it
was committed to the care of the Cardinal Archbishop
of Paris (De Belloy) until the termination of the
repairs of Saint Denis, when it was to be placed in
the ancient abbey. The vaults which had contained the
ashes of our kings were then in course of reconstruction.
The scattered remains, which had been outraged
during the Reign of Terror, were now collected together,
and the Emperor had given orders for the
erection of expiatory altars in reparation of the sacrilege
that had been perpetrated upon the illustrious
dead. This fine and princely idea did him great honor,
and was fitly extolled by some of the poets of the
period.</p>

<p class='pindent'>When the Emperor returned to France, his wife
was living at Saint Cloud with all possible precaution
and the strictest prudence. His mother was living
quietly in Paris; her brother, Cardinal Fesch, resided
with her. Mme. Murat inhabited the Elysée, and was
skillfully conducting a number of small schemes. The
Princess Borghese was leading the only kind of life
she understood or cared for. Louis and his wife were
in the Pyrenees; they had left their child with the
Empress. Joseph Bonaparte was reigning at Naples,
benevolently but feebly, disputing Calabria with the
rebels, and his ports with the English. Lucien was
living at Rome, devoting himself to leisure and the
fine arts. Jérôme brought back a crown; Murat, a
strong desire to obtain one, and a deeply cherished
animosity against M. de Talleyrand, whom he regarded
as his enemy. He had formed an intimacy
with Maret, the Secretary of State, who was secretly
jealous of the Secretary for Foreign Affairs, and he
highly approved of his wife’s friendship with Fouché.
These four persons were well aware that the Emperor
had conceived, and was cherishing, the project of a
divorce and an illustrious alliance; and they endeavored
by every means to destroy the last links which
still bound Josephine to Bonaparte, so that they might
please the Emperor by aiding him to carry out this
idea, and might also foil the Beauharnais and prevent
M. de Talleyrand from acquiring a fresh claim to the
confidence of his master. They wanted to have the
direction of this affair in their own hands only.</p>

<p class='pindent'>M. de Talleyrand had been laboring for several
years to acquire a European reputation, which, on the
whole, he well deserved. No doubt he had more than
once approached the subject of the divorce, but he was
especially anxious that this step should lead to the
Emperor’s contracting a great alliance, of which he
(M. de Talleyrand) should have the negotiation. So
that, so long as he did not feel certain of succeeding
in his objects, he contrived to restrain the Emperor in
this matter by representing to him that it was of the
utmost importance to select the fitting moment for
action. When he returned from this campaign, the
Emperor seemed to place more confidence than ever
in M. de Talleyrand, who had been very useful to him
in Poland and in each of his treaties. His new dignity
gave M. de Talleyrand the right to replace Prince
Joseph wherever the rank of Grand Elector called
him; but it also obliged him to relinquish the Ministry
of Foreign Affairs, which was beneath his present
rank. He was, however, entirely in Napoleon’s confidence
with respect to foreign affairs, and was
consulted by him in preference to the real Minister.
Some would-be wise persons claimed afterward to
have foreseen that M. de Talleyrand was exchanging
a secure post for a brilliant but precarious position;
and Bonaparte himself let it appear sometimes that
he had not returned from Tilsit without feeling some
displeasure at the preponderance of his Minister in
Europe, and that he was annoyed at the generally
prevalent belief that M. de Talleyrand was necessary
to him. By changing his office, and availing himself
of his services in consultation only, he made use of
him just as he wished, while reserving the power of
setting him aside or of not following his guidance
whenever either course should suit him. I remember
an anecdote which illustrates this position of affairs.
M. de Champagny, a clever but narrow-minded man,
was transferred from the Ministry of the Interior to
that of Foreign Affairs, and M. de Talleyrand, on
presenting to him the various persons who were to be
under his authority, said: “Here, sir, are many highly
commendable persons. They will give you every satisfaction.
You will find them capable, punctual, exact,
and trustworthy, but, thanks to my training, not at all
zealous.” At these words M. de Champagny
expressed some surprise. “Yes,” continued M. de
Talleyrand, affecting the utmost seriousness; “with
the exception of a few dispatching clerks, who fold up
their covers with undue precipitation, every one here
observes the greatest calmness, and all are totally
unused to haste. When you have had to transact the
business of the interests of Europe with the Emperor
for a little while, you will see how important it is not
to be in any hurry to seal and send off his decisions.”
M. de Talleyrand amused the Emperor by relating
this incident, and describing the crestfallen and
astonished air with which his successor received the
useful hint. It will not be inappropriate to place here
a statement of the cumulative income of which M. de
Talleyrand was at this time in the receipt:</p>

<table id='tab3' summary='' class='center'>
<colgroup>
<col span='1' style='width: 22em;'/>
<col span='1' style='width: 5em;'/>
</colgroup>
<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle4'>Francs.</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle3'>As Grand Elector</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle4'>330,000</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle3'>As Grand Chamberlain</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle4'>40,000</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle3'>From the Principality of Benevento</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle4'>120,000</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle3'>As Grand Cross of the Legion of Honor</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle4'>5,000</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle3'></td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle4'>————</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tab3c1 tdStyle3'>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Total</td><td class='tab3c2 tdStyle4'>495,000</td></tr>
</table>

<p class='pindent'>Certain endowments were afterward added to this
sum. His personal fortune was estimated at three
hundred thousand louis per annum; I never knew
whether this was correct. The various treaties brought
him immense sums of money and presents of enormous
value. He lived in great style, and made very
handsome allowances to his brothers. He bought the
fine estate of Valençay, and furnished the house most
luxuriously. At the time of which I am now speaking
he had a fancy for books, and his library was superb.
That year the Emperor ordered him to make a sumptuous
display, and to purchase a house suitable to his
dignity as a prince, promising that he himself would
pay for it. M. de Talleyrand bought the Hôtel de
Monaco, Rue de Varenne, enlarged it, and decorated
it extensively. The Emperor, having quarreled with
him, did not keep his word, but threw him into considerable
embarrassment by obliging him to pay for
this palace himself.</p>

<p class='pindent'>In concluding my sketch of the position of the
Imperial family, I must add that Prince Eugène was
then governing his fair realm of Italy with wisdom
and prudence, happy in the affection of his wife, and
rejoicing in the birth of their little daughter.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The Arch-Chancellor Cambacérès, who was cautious
both by nature and training, remained in Paris,
maintaining a certain state assigned to him by the
Emperor, and which delighted his childish vanity.
With equal prudence he presided over the State Council,
conducting the debates with method and discernment,
and contriving that the prescribed limits should
never be exceeded. Le Brun, the Arch-Treasurer,
interfered little with affairs; he kept up a certain state
and managed his own revenues, giving no cause of
offense and exerting no influence.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The Ministers confined themselves to their respective
duties, preserving the attitude of attentive and
docile clerks, and conducting the affairs with which
they were intrusted on a uniform system, which had
for its basis the will and the interests of their master.
Each one’s orders were the same: “<span class='it'>Promptitude</span> and
<span class='it'>submission</span>.” The Minister of Police allowed himself
a greater liberty of speech than the others. He was
careful to keep on good terms with the Jacobins, for
whose good behavior he made himself responsible to
the Emperor. On this very account he was a little
more independent, for he was at the head of a party.
He had the direction of the various branches of police
set over France, and was master of the details. Bonaparte
and he may have often told each other falsehoods
in their interviews, but probably neither of them
was deceived.</p>

<p class='pindent'>M. de Champagny, subsequently Duc de Cadore,
who had been Minister of the Interior, was placed at
the head of foreign affairs, and was succeeded in his
former post by State Councilor Crétet, who had been
at first Director-General of Public Works (Ponts et
Chaussées). He was not a clever man, but hard-working
and assiduous, and that was all that the Emperor
required.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Requier, the Chief Judge, subsequently Duc de
Massa, of whom I have already spoken, administered
justice with persevering mediocrity. The Emperor
was anxious that neither the authority nor the independence
of the law should increase.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The Prince de Neufchâtel made an able War Minister.
General Dejean was at the head of the Commissariat
Department. Both were under the personal
superintendence of the Emperor.</p>

<p class='pindent'>M. Gaudin, the wise Minister of Finance, observed
an order and regularity in the management of taxes
and receipts which rendered him valuable to the Emperor.
This was his sole employment. Afterward
he was created Due de Gaëta.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The Minister of the Treasury, M. Mollien, subsequently
created a count, showed more talent and much
financial sagacity.</p>

<p class='pindent'>M. Portalis, the Minister of Public Worship, was
a man of talent and ability, and had maintained
harmony between the clergy and the Government. It
must be stated that the clergy, out of gratitude for
the security and consideration which they owed to
Bonaparte, submitted to him very willingly, and were
partisans of a despotic authority conducive to universal
order. When he demanded the levy of the conscripts
of 1808, of which I have already spoken, he ordered
the bishops, according to his usual custom, to exhort
the peasantry to submit to the conscription. Their
pastoral letters were very remarkable. In that of the
Bishop of Quimper were these words: “What French
heart will not ardently bless Divine Providence for
having bestowed on this magnificent empire, when it
was on the point of being for ever crushed beneath
blood-stained ruins, the only man who, as Emperor
and King, could repair its misfortunes and throw a
veil of glory over the period of its dishonor?”</p>

<p class='pindent'>The death of M. Portalis occurred during this year,
and he was succeeded by an excellent though less able
man, M. Bigot de Préameneu, Councilor of State,
who was subsequently made a count.</p>

<p class='pindent'>In conclusion, the Naval Minister had little occupation
from the time that Bonaparte, giving up the
hope of subduing England at sea, and vexed with the
failure of all his maritime undertakings, had ceased to
interest himself in naval affairs. M. Décrès, a man
of real ability, was altogether pleasing to his master.
His manners were rather rough, but he flattered Bonaparte
after an unusual fashion. He cared little for
public esteem, and was willing to bear the odium of
the injustice with which the Emperor treated the
French navy, so that it never appeared to emanate
from Bonaparte himself. With unfaltering devotion,
M. Décrès incurred and endured the resentment of all
his former companions and friends. The Emperor
afterward made him a duke.</p>

<p class='pindent'>At the time of which I am writing the Court atmosphere
was cold and silent. There, especially, we were
all impressed with the conviction that our privileges
depended solely on the will of the master; and, as that
will was apt to be capricious, the difficulty of providing
against it led each individual to avoid taking needless
action, and to restrict himself to the more or less
narrow circle of the duties of his office. The ladies
of the Court were still more cautious, and did not
attempt anything beyond winning admiration either
by their beauty or their attire. In Paris itself people
were becoming more and more indifferent to the working
of a mechanism of which they could see the results
and feel the power, but in whose action they knew
they could have no share. Social life was not wanting
in attractions. French people, if they are but at peace,
will immediately seek for pleasure. But credit was
restricted, interest in national affairs was languid,
and all the higher and nobler sentiments of public life
were wellnigh paralyzed. Thoughtful minds were
disturbed, and true citizens must have felt that they
were leading useless lives. As a sort of compensation,
they accepted the pleasures of an agreeable and varied
social existence. Civilization was increased by luxury,
which, while enervating the mind, makes social relations
pleasanter. It procures for people of the world
a number of little interests, which are almost always
sufficient for them, and with which they do not feel
ashamed of being satisfied, when for a length of time
they have been suffering from the greater political
disorders. The recollection of the latter was still
fresh in our memory, and it made us prize this period
of brilliant slavery and elegant idleness.</p>

<hr class='pbk'/>

<div class='figcenter'>
<img src='https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:c:claire-remusat-memoirs-josephine-vol-2-illo-602.jpg' alt='' id='illo-602' style='width:100%;height:auto;'/>
<p class='caption'><span style='font-size:smaller'>Queen Louise trying to win favour from Napoleon for Prussia.</span></p>
</div>

<hr class='pbk'/>

<div><span class='pageno' title='613' id='Page_613'></span><h1>CHAPTER&nbsp;&nbsp;XXV</h1></div>

<h2 class='nobreak'>(1807.)</h2>

<p class='noindent'><img src='https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:c:claire-remusat-memoirs-josephine-vol-2-w.jpg' style='float:left;' alt='W'/>HEN the Emperor reached Paris on the 27th
of July, 1807, I was still at Aix-le-Chapelle,
and was beginning to feel anxious
as to the temper in which he had returned. I have
already said that this was a prevailing uneasiness at
Court whenever he was expected. I could make no
inquiries, for none dared to write openly to their
correspondents; thus it was only when I myself returned
that I could learn any particulars.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The Emperor came back elated at his inconceivable
good fortune, and it soon became evident that his
imagination exaggerated the distance between himself
and every other person. He showed, moreover,
increased indignation at what he called the “gossip
of the Faubourg Saint Germain.” The first time that
he saw M. de Rémusat, he rebuked him for not having
given information respecting the persons in society
in Paris, in some letters he wrote to Duroc, Grand
Marshal of the Palace. “You are in a position,”
said he, “to know what is said in a number of drawing-rooms,
and it is your duty to keep me informed.
I can not accept the slight excuses on which you have
withheld information from me.” To this M. de Rémusat
replied that there was very little to withhold,
because people were naturally careful as to what they
said before him, and that he would have been loath
to attach any importance to idle words, which might
have caused serious consequences to those who had
uttered them, often without any really hostile feeling.
On such an answer being made to him, the Emperor
would shrug his shoulders, turn on his heel, and say
to Duroc or to Savary: “I am very sorry, but Rémusat
will not get on; he is not devoted to me as I understand
devotion.”</p>

<p class='pindent'>It may be thought, at least, that a man of honor,
who was determined rather to mar his prospects than
to purchase fortune by a sacrifice of his self-respect,
would have been placed by that very resolution out
of danger of those quarrels which result from what,
alike in city and Court, is called tittle-tattle. But such
was not the case; Bonaparte liked nobody to be at
peace, and he knew admirably well how to compromise
or embroil those who most desired to live in
quiet.</p>

<p class='pindent'>It will be remembered that, during the stay of the
Empress at Mayence, some ladies of the Court, of
whom Mme. de la Rochefoucauld was the chief, had
ventured to criticise the Prussian war with some
severity, and to compassionate Prince Louis, and still
more the beautiful and cruelly insulted Queen. The
Empress, displeased by their freedom, had written full
accounts to her husband of this movement of sympathy,
begging him never to let it be known that she
had mentioned the matter to him. That she had done
so she confided to M. de Rémusat, who expressed his
disapproval, but kept her secret. When M. de Talleyrand
joined the Emperor, he too related what had
been taking place at Mayence, but more with the intention
of amusing Napoleon than from any hostility
toward the Lady of Honor, whom he neither liked
nor disliked. Bonaparte was, however, greatly displeased
with her, and the first time they met he reproached
her with his usual violence for her opinions
and her utterances. Mme. de la Rochefoucauld was
taken by surprise, and, for want of a better excuse,
denied everything. The Emperor rejoined by a positive
reiteration, and, when she inquired who had
made this fine report about her, he instantly named
M. de Rémusat. On hearing this, Mme. de la Rochefoucauld
was astounded. She was friendly to my
husband and to me; and, believing rightly that she
might rely on our discretion, she had often confided
her most secret thoughts to us. She felt, therefore,
extreme surprise and anger, the more so that she herself
was a sincere person, and incapable of such baseness
as that attributed to my husband.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Being thus prejudiced against him, she avoided any
opportunity of explanation, but was cold and constrained
in her demeanor. For a long time he could
not understand the reason of the estrangement; but,
a few months afterward, some circumstances connected
with the divorce rendered certain interviews
and conversations between Mme. de la Rochefoucauld
and ourselves necessary, and she questioned my husband
on the matter which I have just related, and
then learned the whole truth. She had made an opportunity
of speaking freely to the Empress, who did
not undeceive her, but allowed suspicion still to rest
on M. de Rémusat, adding only that M. de Talleyrand
had probably said more than he. Mme. de la Rochefoucauld
was an intimate friend of M. de Ségur, Grand
Master of Ceremonies, and she confided her feelings
to him. For a time this caused a coolness between
him and us; it also set him against M. de Talleyrand,
the sharpness and occasional bitterness of whose satire
leagued all commonplace people together against
him, and he amused himself mercilessly at their expense.
They took their revenge when and how they
could. The Emperor did not confine his reproaches
to persons of the Court; he complained likewise of
high society in Paris. He rebuked M. Fouché for the
imperfection of his supervision; he sent certain ladies
into exile, threatened some persons of distinction, and
implied that, to avoid the effects of his displeasure,
former acts of indiscretion must be repaired by steps
which would show that his authority was recognized.
Many persons felt themselves in consequence obliged
to be presented at Court; some few made their own
safety a pretext for this, and the splendor of his Court
was increased.</p>

<p class='pindent'>As he always took care to make his presence felt
by disturbing everybody, he did not spare his own
family. He severely, though very ineffectually,
scolded his sister Pauline for her lightness of conduct,
which Prince Borghese beheld with real or affected
indifference. Nor did he hide from his sister Caroline
that he was aware of her secret and ambitious
projects. She bent before the inevitable storm with
her usual suppleness, and brought him by degrees to
own that, with such blood running in her veins, she
was not very guilty in desiring a superior rank, while
she took care to make her defense with all her usual
charm. When he had thus, to use his own expression,
roused up everybody all round, he felt satisfied
with the terror he had excited, and, appearing to forget
what had passed, resumed his customary way of
life.</p>

<p class='pindent'>M. de Talleyrand, whose return occurred a little
later, expressed great pleasure at meeting M. de Rémusat.
He now took up a habit of frequently coming
to see me, and our intimacy became closer. I recollect
that, at first, notwithstanding the gratitude with
which his kindness inspired me, and the great pleasure
I felt in his conversation, I was for a long time ill at
ease in his company. M. de Talleyrand was justly
reckoned as a very clever man; he was a very important
personage; but he was said to be hard to please
and of a sarcastic disposition. His manners, although
highly polished, seem to place the person whom he is
addressing in a relatively inferior position. Nevertheless,
as the customs of society in France always
accord to women a certain importance and liberty,
they could, if they chose, hold their own with M. de
Talleyrand, who likes women and is not afraid of
them. Yet few of them chose to do so; the desire
of pleasing restrained them. They hold themselves
in a sort of bondage to him, and, in fact, to use a common
expression, they have <span class='it'>spoiled him</span>. Lastly, as
he is reserved, <span class='it'>blasé</span> on a multitude of subjects, indifferent
on many others, and with feelings difficult to
touch, a woman who designs to conquer or retain
him, or even only to amuse him, undertakes a hard
task.</p>

<p class='pindent'>All that I knew about him, all that I discovered in
becoming more intimate with him, made me constrained
in his presence. I was gratified by his friendliness,
but I did not venture to tell him so; I was
afraid of disclosing my habitual thoughts and anxieties,
because I imagined they would excite his sarcasm.
I asked him no questions either about himself
or on public affairs, for fear he might think me curious.
My mind was strained in his presence, so that I
sometimes experienced actual fatigue. I listened to
him with the greatest attention, in order that, even if
I could not always reply fittingly, at least I should
have procured him the pleasure of an attentive auditor;
for I own that pride was flattered by his preference
for me. When I think it all over now, I am
amused at the mingled distress and pleasure which I
experienced when my folding-doors were opened (on
both sides) and the Prince of Benevento was announced.
Large drops sometimes stood on my forehead
from the efforts I made to express myself wittily,
and there is no doubt that I was in consequence
less agreeable than had I behaved more naturally,
when, at any rate, I should have had the advantage
of sincerity and of harmony in my whole deportment.
Although naturally grave and inclined to deep feeling,
I tried to emulate the lightness with which he
could pass from one subject to another. I was kind-hearted
by nature, and averse to malicious talk, and
yet I was always ready to smile at his jests. At the
beginning, then, he exerted over me the influence
which was customary to him; and, had our intimacy
continued on the same footing, I should have seemed
to him but one woman the more to swell the ranks
of those worshippers who rivalled each other in applauding
his defects and encouraging the worst
points of his character. He would probably have
ended by breaking with me, for I should have ill sustained
a rôle for which I was so little suited. I will
presently relate the painful circumstances which made
me resume my natural character, and which caused
me to conceive a sincere affection for him, which has
never wavered.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Our new-formed intimacy was soon remarked at
Court, and the Emperor did not at first seem displeased.
M. de Talleyrand was not without influence
over him; the opinions he pronounced in speaking of
M. de Rémusat were of service to us; a few words let
us perceive that we were held in increased esteem.
The Empress, who found in most things a subject
for fear, showed me great kindness, thinking I might
serve her cause with M. de Talleyrand. His enemies
at Court watched us, but, as he was powerful, we were
treated with great consideration. His numerous circle
of acquaintance began to look with curious eyes
on a quiet, straightforward, and taciturn man, who
never flattered and was incapable of intrigue, yet
whose abilities were praised, and whose society was
courted by M. de Talleyrand. I myself, a little person
of twenty-seven years of age, ordinary-looking,
cold and reserved, in nowise remarkable, devoted to
the duties of a pure and virtuous life, thus distinguished
by the notice of so eminent a personage, also
became an object of attention! It was probable that
M. de Talleyrand, being just then in want of amusement,
found something novel and attractive in gaining
the affection of two persons completely outside
his own sphere of ideas, so that, when wearied by the
constraint of his existence, he turned sometimes with
relief to a companionship which he knew he could
trust; while our attachment to him, openly professed
at a time when his disgrace shook our own position,
caused a solid friendship to succeed to mutual liking.</p>

<p class='pindent'>It was then that, visiting oftener at his house, which
we had not before this been in the habit of frequenting,
I became acquainted with a section of society
hitherto almost unknown to me. There were always
a number of people at M. de Talleyrand’s—foreigners
who paid him obsequious attention, great nobles of
the former order of things, and men of the new, all
wondering at finding themselves under the same roof—all
remarkable for some reason or other, but whose
character was not always equal to their celebrity.
Well-known women were there also, of whom it must
be said he had in general been rather the lover than
the friend, and who were on the kind of terms with
him that he preferred.</p>

<p class='pindent'>His wife must be named first among the persons to
whom I allude. Her beauty was daily waning on
account of her increasing size. She was always handsomely
dressed, and occupied by right the place of
honor, but was unacquainted with most of the company.
M. de Talleyrand never seemed to perceive
that she was present; he never spoke to her, still less
did he listen to what she said, and I believe he suffered
acutely, but with resignation, for the error
which had forced him into this extraordinary marriage.
His wife seldom went to Court: the Emperor
treated her coldly, and she received no consideration
there. It never occurred to M. de Talleyrand to complain
of this, nor yet of the compensation she was
said to seek in the attentions of certain strangers.
Bonaparte would sometimes jest on this subject with
M. de Talleyrand, who would answer with indifference
and let the matter drop. Mme. de Talleyrand
habitually disliked all her husband’s friends, whether
men or women. It is probable that she made no exception
in my favor, but I always behaved to her with
such ceremonious civility, I held myself so totally
aloof from her private affairs, that we scarcely came
into contact.</p>

<p class='pindent'>In these reception-rooms I also met some old
friends of M. de Talleyrand, who began to regard
me with curiosity, much to my amusement. Among
these were the Duchesse de Luynes and the Princesse
de Vaudemont, both of them excellent women. They
were sincerely attached and true to him, and very
kind to me because they saw that my regard for him
was sincere, straightforward, and without any ulterior
design. The Vicomtesse de Laval was less well
pleased, and, being rather ill-natured, she judged me
with some severity. The Princesse de Lieskiewitz,
sister of Prince Poniatowski, had lately made the acquaintance
of M. de Talleyrand at Warsaw, and had
followed him to Paris. This poor lady, notwithstanding
her forty-five years and her glass eye, was
unfortunately passionately in love with him; and her
attachment, of which he was manifestly weary, made
her alive to the least preference shown by him. It is
possible she may have honored me with a little jealousy.
The Princesse de X—— yielded to the same
infirmity, for it was truly an infirmity to “love” M.
de Talleyrand. I also met the Duchesse de Fleury, a
very clever woman, who had obtained a divorce from
her husband, M. de Montrond; Mesdames de Bellegarde,
whose only claim to importance in society was
their extreme license of speech; Mme. de K——, to
whom M. de Talleyrand paid attention, in order to
keep on good terms with the Grand Equerry; Mme.
de Brignoli, one of the Ladies-in-waiting—a very
agreeable and elegant Genoese; and Mme. de Souza,
formerly Mme. de Flahaut—a talented woman, who
had been in her early youth a friend of M. de Talleyrand,
and for whom he still retained much regard.
She had written several pretty tales, and was, at the
time of which I speak, the wife of M. de Souza, who
had been ambassador to Portugal. Lastly, I met the
ambassadresses, the foreign princesses then in Paris,
and a great number of all the distinguished people in
Europe.</p>

<p class='pindent'>I was entertained by this social magic lantern; but,
warned by an instinctive feeling to make no friendships
among the crowd, I always stood on the strictest
ceremony, and much preferred receiving M. de
Talleyrand at my own fireside. My own circle felt
some surprise at his so frequently joining us—some of
my friends were even alarmed; for he inspired a general
apprehension lest, immersed in important affairs
as he was, he might find himself in a dangerous position
and drag us down in his fall. We did not share
the alarm of these friends, as perhaps we ought to
have done. M. de Rémusat’s office as First Chamberlain
brought us into contact with M. de Talleyrand,
and it was pleasanter that our intercourse should be
friendly; we held aloof from all serious affairs, and
had no thought of benefiting by his influence. Disinterested
persons are apt to deceive themselves on
this head; they imagine that others must know, or at
any rate must perceive, what their real motives are,
and as they act with simple sincerity they do not
apprehend that they will be suspected of double-dealing.
It was a great blunder, at that time, to expect
to be estimated at one’s real worth.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The Emperor saw Louis’s second son when he
went to Saint Cloud, and treated him affectionately,
so that the Empress began to hope he would think
of this child as his heir, as he had formerly thought
of the elder boy. Bonaparte had been impressed by
the extreme rapidity of the progress of the disease
that had so suddenly carried off the elder brother, and
he offered a competitive prize of twelve thousand
francs for essays upon the malady called croup.
Some valuable works were published in consequence.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The pacification of Europe did not at once bring
back the whole army to France. In the first place,
the King of Sweden, prevailed on by the English
Government, and in spite of the opposition of his
people, announced the rupture of his armistice with
us. Thirteen days after the signature of peace at Tilsit,
a partial war broke out in Pomerania. Marshal
Martier was at the head of this expedition; he entered
Stralsund, and obliged the King of Sweden to
take ship and escape. On this the English sent a considerable
fleet to the Baltic, and, having attacked Denmark,
laid siege to Copenhagen, of which they soon
obtained possession. These various events were
chronicled in the “Moniteur,” accompanied with
notes attacking the English as usual, while the aberration
of mind of the King of Sweden was proclaimed
to Europe.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Speaking of the subsidy which the English Government
allowed the Swedes for carrying on the war,
the Emperor expressed himself as follows in the
“Moniteur”: “Gallant and unfortunate Swedes, this
subsidy costs you dear! If England could only repair
the harm she does to your trade and to your honor,
or could replace the blood she has already cost and
still costs you! But you must feel that you are to be
pitied for having lost all your privileges and all consideration,
and for being, thus defenseless and disorganized,
subject to the caprices of an invalid King.”</p>

<p class='pindent'>General Rapp remained at Dantzic as governor,
with a garrison. He was a brave and honest man—rather
rough in his ways, faithful, frank, careless of
what went on about him, and of everything except
the orders he received. He served his master with
great fidelity, more than once nearly losing his life
for him, without having ever made the least inquiry
into the qualities or the vices of his character.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The Emperor also considered himself bound to
support the new constitution established in Poland by
the King of Saxony, and sent a considerable garrison
thither to be added to the Polish garrison. Marshal
Davoust had the command of this cantonment. By
thus dispersing his troops through Europe, Bonaparte
secured his influence over his allies, kept his soldiers
in practice, and relieved France from the burden of
supporting so many armed men. His aggressive policy
obliged him to be always in readiness; and, moreover,
to insure the entire devotion of his army, it was
necessary to keep the men far from their homes. He
succeeded in so completely altering the nature of his
troops that they became unreservedly devoted to his
service; they lost all national sentiment, and cared
only for their chief, for victory, and for plunder,
which in the eyes of a soldier is a great embellishment
of danger. They drew down by degrees on the
fatherland which they had forgotten those feelings of
hatred and revenge which resulted in the European
crusade against us in 1813 and 1814.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Fresh adulation awaited the Emperor on his return.
Language was exhausted for formulas of
praise, to which he listened with disdainful composure.
There is little doubt, however, that his indifference
was feigned; for he loved praise from no matter what
lips, and more than once he was duped by it. There
were men who had influence over him only because
their compliments were inexhaustible. Unfailing admiration,
even though somewhat foolishly expressed,
never failed to please him.</p>

<p class='pindent'>On the 10th of August he sent a message to the
Senate, announcing the elevation of M. de Talleyrand
to the dignity of Vice-Grand Elector, and that
of Marshal Berthier to the rank of Vice-Grand Constable.
General Clarke succeeded to the latter as
Minister of War, and found opportunities for displaying
the devoted admiration to which I have alluded,
even more fully than before. The Emperor’s
habitual attention to all war matters, the high intelligence
of Berthier, Major-General of the army, and
the careful administration of General Dejean, the
chief of the Commissariat, made any great abilities
in General Clarke unnecessary. Punctual, upright,
and submissive, he fulfilled all the requirements of
his position. MM. Champagny and Cretét obtained
the two ministerial posts of which I have spoken, and
State Councilor Regnault was made State Secretary
to the Imperial Family.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Meanwhile we read every day of fresh military
promotions, of the distribution of rewards, of the
creation of official posts—in fact, of everything that
tends to keep ambition, covetousness, and vanity on
the alert. Then the Corps Législatif opened its session.
M. de Fontanes, who, as usual, was named
President, made, as usual, a fine speech on the truly
brilliant position of France. A very great number
of laws appertaining to rule and order were brought
before the Assembly for its sanction, as was likewise
a budget which proclaimed our finances to be in a
flourishing condition; and, lastly, an account of the
public works of all kinds in contemplation, or begun,
or already terminated, in all parts of the Empire.
The cost of all these was defrayed by the contributions
exacted throughout Europe, and all France
might witness improvements which nevertheless did
not augment a single tax. The Emperor, in addressing
the legislative bodies, spoke to the whole French
nation; gave them an account of his victories; mentioned
the 5,179 officers and the 123,000 subalterns
and privates taken prisoners in this war; spoke of the
complete conquest of Prussia, of his soldiers encamped
on the banks of the Vistula, of the fall of the
power of England, which, he said, must be the result
of so many victories; and ended by an expression of
satisfaction with the nation, which had so faithfully
served him in gaining for him such triumphant success.
“Frenchmen,” he said, “I am well pleased
with you; you are a good and a great people.”</p>

<p class='pindent'>The opening of the Corps Législatif was an imposing
ceremony. The hall had been lavishly decorated;
the dress of the deputies was handsome, that of the
courtiers surrounding the Emperor was magnificent,
and he himself was resplendent in gold and diamonds
on that day. Although in every ceremonial he was
too precipitate, the great pomp he insisted upon took
the place of that dignity which was wanting. When
Bonaparte, in the course of any ceremony, had to
walk toward the throne prepared for him, he always
seemed to rush at it. One could not but feel, on observing
him, that this was no legitimate sovereign
taking peaceful possession of the royal seat bequeathed
to him by his ancestors; but an all-powerful
master, who, each time that he wore the crown,
seemed to reiterate the words he had once uttered at
Milan, “Guai à chi la toccherà.”</p>

<p class='pindent'>On these state occasions Bonaparte’s incorrect pronunciation
was a great drawback. In general he had
his speech drawn up for him. M. Maret, I believe,
most frequently undertook that task, but sometimes
it fell to M. Vignaud, or even to M. de Fontanes;
and he would try to learn it by heart, but with little
success; for the least constraint was insupportable to
him. He always ended by resolving to read his
speech, and it was copied out for him in a large hand;
for he was little accustomed to read writing, and could
have made nothing out of his own. Then he would
be instructed in the proper pronunciation of the
words; but when he came to speak he forgot his lesson,
and in a muffled voice, with lips scarcely parted,
would read the speech in an accent more strange even
than it was foreign, most unpleasant, and indeed vulgar.
I have heard numbers of persons say that they
always felt a painful sensation on hearing him speak
in public. The indisputable testimony of his accent
to the fact that he was a foreigner struck painfully on
the ear and the mind alike. I have myself sometimes
experienced this involuntary sensation.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The fêtes of the 15th of August were splendid. The
whole Court, glittering with precious stones, was
present at a concert in the palace, and at the ballet
which followed it. The reception-rooms of the Tuileries
were thronged with a brilliant and gorgeous company;
there were ambassadors, the greatest nobles of
all Europe, princes, and many kings who, although
new-made, appeared in becoming state. There, too,
were lovely women, magnificently attired, who, together
with the first musicians in the world, and all
that the opera-ballets could lend of grace and elegance,
combined to form a scene of Oriental splendor.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Public games and rejoicings were given to the city
of Paris. The Parisians, who are naturally gay when
gathered together, and eager to join any crowd, hurried
into the streets to see the illuminations and the
fireworks, and showed the delight they felt in scenes
of pleasure and in the beauty of the season. But
there were no acclamations in honor of the Emperor.
There seemed to be no thought of him, as the people
enjoyed the amusements he had provided for them;
but every one diverted himself according to his own
character and taste, and these, perhaps, make the
French the least serious people in the world, but the
most pleasant.</p>

<p class='pindent'>English people who were present at these rejoicings
were quite astonished at the good order, the frank
gayety, and the harmony which reign on such occasions
throughout all classes of society. Every one
enjoys himself, and does not think of interfering with
his neighbor’s enjoyment; there is no quarreling nor
ill humor, no revolting and dangerous drunkenness.
Women and children may mix with impunity in the
crowd, and are protected. People who are strangers
to each other take their pleasure together; they sing
and laugh in chorus, though they have never met
before. On such occasions an unobservant sovereign
might easily be misled. This constitutional hilarity,
temporarily called forth by extraneous circumstances,
may be mistaken for the expression of the feelings of
a contented and loyal people. But, if the sovereigns
who are destined to reign over Frenchmen do not
want to be deceived, they will interrogate their own
conscience rather than the popular cry, if they would
learn whether they inspire affection and give happiness
to their people.</p>

<p class='pindent'>In this respect the flattery of a Court is really astonishing;
numbers of courtiers, in describing the
behavior of the Parisian public, endeavored to represent
it to the Emperor as a proof of the people’s gratitude
toward him! I will not affirm that he was never
deceived by this, but for the most part he remained
stolidly unmoved. Bonaparte seldom listened to
others, and joyousness was foreign to his nature.</p>

<p class='pindent'>During the month of August several of the German
princes arrived in Paris—some in order to visit
the Emperor, others to solicit some favor, or some
liberty in behalf of their petty states.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The Prince Primate of the Confederation of the
Rhine came at about this time, to celebrate the marriage
of Princess Catherine of Würtemberg, who herself
arrived on the 21st of August. She was, I think,
about twenty years of age, and was a nice-looking
girl; her figure was already rather stout, and seemed
to indicate that she would take after her father, whose
size was so enormous that he could only sit on chairs
specially constructed for him, and had to dine at a
table which had been hollowed out in a semicircle to
make room for his unwieldy figure.</p>

<p class='pindent'>This King of Würtemberg was a very able man,
but had the reputation of being the most worthless
prince in Europe. He was hated by his subjects, who,
it is said, more than once tried to rid themselves of
him. He is now dead.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The marriage of Princess Catherine and the King
of Westphalia took place at the Tuileries with great
splendor. The civil ceremony was performed in the
Gallery of Diana, as in the case of the Princess of
Baden’s wedding; and on Sunday, the 23d, at eight
in the morning, the religious marriage was solemnized
at the Tuileries, in presence of the whole
Court.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The Prince and Princess of Baden had also come
to Paris. She was prettier than ever. The Emperor
did not appear to notice her particularly. I will speak
of her again presently.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The King and Queen of Holland arrived at the end
of August. They seemed to be on good terms, but
still depressed on account of their loss. The Queen
was thin, and suffering all the <span class='it'>malaise</span> of an early
stage of pregnancy. She had been a very short time
in Paris when seeds of the old distrust and disquiet
were once more sown in the mind of her husband.
Evil tongues insinuated falsehoods respecting the life
that the unhappy woman had led at the Pyrenean
watering-place. Her grief, the tears that were still
flowing, her downcast air, her too evident ill health,
failed to disarm her enemies. She talked of the excursions
she had made among the mountains, and of
the soothing effects of the mountain scenery. She
told how she had met M. Decazes, and pitied the profound
grief into which his wife’s death had plunged
him. All this she related in the most frank and simple
manner, but calumny laid hold of it, and the suspicions
of Louis were reawakened. He wished, naturally
but selfishly, to take his wife and son back to
Holland. Mme. Louis was as submissive as he could
require her to be; but the Empress, alarmed by the
declining state of her daughter, insisted on a consultation
of physicians being held. The doctors were
unanimous in pronouncing the climate of Holland
unfit for a woman in the Queen’s situation, whose
chest was already delicate; and the Emperor settled
the question by announcing that he intended to keep
his step-daughter and her child with himself for the
present. The King submitted sullenly, and bitterly
resented to his wife a decision which she had not
solicited, but which, I believe, was in accordance with
her wishes. Discord once more reigned in that
wretched household; and Queen Hortense, profoundly
offended this time by the jealous suspicions of her
husband, lost for ever the interest which she had recently
felt in him, and conceived a positive aversion
toward him. “From that time forth,” she has often
said to me, “I was fully aware that my unhappiness
must always be irremediable. I regarded my hopes as
entirely and irrevocably ruined. All grandeur inspired
me with horror. As for the throne, and what so many
people called my ‘luck,’ I cursed them many a time.
I was a stranger to every enjoyment of life. All my
dreams had vanished; I was wellnigh dead to all that
was passing around me.”</p>

<p class='pindent'>About this time the Academy lost two of its most
distinguished members: Le Brun the poet, who has
left some beautiful odes and the reputation of great
poetical talent, and M. Dureau de la Malle, the esteemed
translator of Tacitus and the intimate friend
of Delille.</p>

<p class='pindent'>M. Delille lived peaceably in the enjoyment of a
moderate fortune, surrounded by friends, popular in
society, left to his repose and his freedom by the
Emperor, who had given up the idea of conquering
him. He published certain works from time to time,
and reaped the reward of his natural amiability in the
favor with which they were received. His life was
indeed a peaceful one, untroubled by any bitter
thoughts or hostile opinions. M. Delille was a professor
at the College of France, and received the salary
of a chair of literature, but Le Gouvé did its work
for him. This was the only boon which he consented
to accept from Bonaparte. He prided himself on
preserving a faithful remembrance of Queen Marie
Antoinette, whom he called his benefactress. It was
known that he was composing a poem in honor of
her, the King, and the <span class='it'>émigrés</span>, but no one resented
this to him. A Government which was always anxious
to efface such memoirs respected them in Delille,
and would not have ventured to incur the odium of
persecuting the amiable, grateful, and generally beloved
old man.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The two vacant seats in the Academy were much
discussed in the salons of Paris. M. de Chateaubriand
was mentioned for one of them. The Emperor
was angry with him, and the young writer—who
was pursuing a course which gained him celebrity,
procured him the support of a party, and nevertheless
did not expose him to any real danger—kept
up an opposition which gained strength from the fact
that it excited the Emperor’s anger. The French
Academy, imbued at that time with the revolutionary
and would-be philosophical incredulity that had come
into fashion in the last century, opposed the choice
of a man who had hoisted religious colors as the banner
of his genius. It was said by those who most
frequented M. de Chateaubriand’s society, that the
habits of his life were by no means in harmony with
the precepts that adorned his compositions. Excessive
pride was imputed to him. Women, captivated
by his talents, his peculiar manner, his handsome face,
and his reputation, vied with each other in admiring
and petting him, and he showed himself by no means
insensible to their advances. His extreme vanity, the
exalted opinion of himself which he entertained, made
us all believe that, if the Emperor had only coaxed
him a little, he would have succeeded in gaining him
over to his side, although, of course, he would have
to pay the high price at which M. de Chateaubriand
himself would have rated his partisanship.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The silent labors of the Corps Législatif were continued.
It ratified all the laws that emanated from
the Council of State, and the administrative organization
of the power of the Emperor was completed without
opposition. It was now certain that he could rule
France, by the strength of his own genius and by the
proved ability of the members of this Council of
State, with an appearance of legality which reduced
the country to silence and pleased his orderly mind;
and, regarding the remains of the Tribunate as merely
a center of opposition, which, however feeble, might
be troublesome to him, he resolved to make an end
of it. The Tribunate had been considerably lessened
in number under the Consulate. By a <span class='it'>senatus consultum</span>
the tribunes were transferred to the Corps
Législatif, and the session was immediately closed.
The speeches delivered at the last sitting of the Tribunate
are remarkable. It is surprising that men
should mutually consent to act such a farce, and yet
we had become so much accustomed to that sort of
thing, that nobody noticed it particularly at the time.</p>

<p class='pindent'>First, M. Béranger, Councilor of State, appeared
with certain of his colleagues, and, after having recapitulated
the services which the Tribunate had rendered
to France, he went on to say that the new
decree was about to confer on the Corps Législatif
a plenitude of importance which guaranteed national
rights. The President replied, on behalf of the entire
Tribunate, that this resolution was received with
respect and confidence by them all, and that they appreciated
its positive advantages. Then a tribune
(M. Carrion-Nisas) moved that an address should
be presented to the Emperor thanking him for the
evidence of esteem and regard which he had deigned
to offer to the Tribunate; and the speaker added that
he believed himself to be the interpreter of the feelings
of each of his colleagues, in proposing to lay at
the foot of the throne, as the last act of an honorable
existence, an address which should impress the people
with the idea that the tribunes, whose attachment
to the monarchy was unalterable, had received the act
of the Senate without regret, and without solicitude
for the country. This proposition was adopted with
unanimity. The President of the Tribunate, Fabre
de l’Aude, was named Senator.</p>

<p class='pindent'>At this time the Emperor organized the Cour des
Comptes, and, his displeasure with M. Barbé-Marbois
having passed away, he recalled him and made him
President of that Court.</p>

<p class='pindent'>In September the Emperor of Austria married for
the second time. His bride was his first cousin, the
daughter of the old Archduke Ferdinand of Milan.
Shortly afterward his brother, the Grand Duke of
Würzburg, who is now Grand Duke of Tuscany, came
to Paris.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The Court was increased from time to time by the
arrival of a number of great personages. Toward the
end of September a sojourn at Fontainebleau was
announced. On this occasion the greatest magnificence
was to be displayed; fêtes were to take place in
honor of the Queen of Westphalia; the <span class='it'>élite</span> of the
actors and musicians of Paris were to be brought
down to the palace, and the Court received orders to
appear in the utmost splendor. The Princes and
Princesses of the Imperial family brought a portion
of their households, and they, as well as the great
dignitaries and the Ministers who were to accompany
the Emperor, were to have separate tables.</p>

<p class='pindent'>On the 21st of September Bonaparte left Paris with
the Empress, and during the following days the
Queen of Holland, the Queen of Naples, the King
and Queen of Westphalia, the Grand Duke and Grand
Duchess of Berg, the Princess Pauline, Madame
Mère, the Grand Duke and Grand Duchess of Baden,
the Prince Primate, the Grand Duke of Würzburg,
the Princes of Mecklenburg and Saxe-Gotha, M. de
Talleyrand, the Prince de Neufchâtel, Maret (Secretary
of State), the great officers of the Imperial
houses, several Ministers of the kingdom of Italy,
and a number of Marshals, arrived at Fontainebleau.
M. de Rémusat, several Chamberlains, the Ladies of
Honor, the Ladies-in-Waiting, and the Women of the
Bedchamber were included in the traveling party.
We were all summoned by a letter from the Grand
Marshal Duroc, which announced to each that she
had been selected by the Emperor. I had just come
from Aix-la-Chapelle, and, being comprised in the
list, I rejoined the Court and my husband at Fontainebleau,
after the delay of a few days in Paris with my
mother and my children.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Marshal Lannes had been nominated Colonel-General
of the Swiss Guard on the 20th of September.</p>

<hr class='pbk'/>

<div><span class='pageno' title='635' id='Page_635'></span><h1>CHAPTER&nbsp;&nbsp;XXVI</h1></div>

<h2 class='nobreak'>(1807.)</h2>

<p class='noindent'><img src='https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:c:claire-remusat-memoirs-josephine-vol-2-l.jpg' style='float:left;' alt='L'/>ET us suppose an individual, ignorant of all
antecedent events, and suddenly introduced to
the life of the palace at Fontainebleau at the
time of which I am speaking. That individual, dazzled
by the magnificence of this royal dwelling, and
struck by the authoritative air of the master and the
obsequious reverence of the great personages who
surrounded him, would undoubtedly have believed
that he beheld a sovereign peacefully seated upon the
greatest throne in the world, in virtue of the joint
rights of power and legitimacy.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Bonaparte was then king in the eyes of all and in
his own eyes; he forgot the past, he did not fear the
future. He walked with a firm step, foreseeing no
obstacles, or at least certain that he could easily overthrow
any which might arise. It appeared to him, it
appeared to us, that he could not fall except by an
event so unforeseen, so strange, and which would
produce so universal a catastrophe, that all the interests
of order and tranquillity were solemnly pledged
to his support. He was either the master or the
friend of all the continental kings. He was allied to
several of them either by foreign treaties or by foreign
marriages. He had made sure of Europe by the partitions
which he had effected. He had strong garrisons
upon his most distant frontiers to insure the execution
of his will, and all the resources of France were placed
absolutely in his hands. He possessed an immense
treasury; he was in the prime of life, admired, feared,
and scrupulously obeyed. Had he not then surmounted
every obstacle?</p>

<p class='pindent'>For all this, a worm was gnawing at the vitals of
his glory. The French Revolution was not a process
by which the public mind was to be led to submit to
arbitrary power; the illumination of the age, the progress
of sound principles, the spread of liberty, were
all against him, and they were destined to overthrow
this brilliant edifice of authority, founded in opposition
to the march of the human intellect. The sacred
flame of liberty was burning in England. Happily
for the welfare of nations, that sanctuary was defended
by a barrier which the armies of Bonaparte
could not break down. A few leagues of sea protected
the civilization of the world, and saved it from being
forced to abandon the field of battle to one who might
not perhaps have utterly beaten it, but who would have
stifled it for the space of a whole generation.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The English Government, jealous of so colossal a
power, and, notwithstanding the ill success of so many
enterprises, though always conquered, never discouraged,
found an unfailing resource against the Emperor
in the national sentiments. The pride and industry of
England, attacked both in its position and its interests,
were equally irritated, and the people consented
eagerly to every sacrifice which was demanded of
them. Large sums were voted for the augmentation
of a naval service which should secure the blockade
of the entire continent of Europe.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The kings who were afraid of our artillery submitted
to the prohibitive system which we exacted of
them, but their people suffered. The luxuries of life,
the necessities created by prosperity, the innumerable
wants which are the result of high civilization, all
fought the battle of the English. Murmurs arose at
St. Petersburg, on the Baltic, in Holland, in all the
French ports; and the discontent which dared not
express itself took all the deeper root in the public
mind that it might be long before it could find a voice.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The threats or reproaches which we were suddenly
made aware our Government was addressing to its
allies were, however, indications of the true state of
things. We in France were in complete ignorance of
all that was passing outside of us, without communications
(at least of an intellectual kind) with other
nations, incredulous of the truth of the articles written
to order in our dull journals; but, nevertheless, we
were led by the line taken in the “Moniteur” to the
conclusion that the Imperial will was balked by the
necessities of the nation. The Emperor had bitterly
reproached his brother Louis with a too feeble execution
of his orders in Holland. He now sent him back
to his kingdom with a positive injunction that his will
was to be scrupulously obeyed.</p>

<p class='pindent'>“Holland,” said the “Moniteur,” “since the new
measures taken there, will no longer correspond with
England. English commerce must find the whole
continent closed to it, and these enemies of the nations
must be outlawed. There are peoples who know not
how to do anything but complain; they must learn to
suffer with fortitude, to take every means of injuring
the common enemy and obliging him to recognize the
principles which actuate all the continental nations.
If Holland had taken her measures from the commencement
of the blockade, perhaps England would
have already made peace.”</p>

<p class='pindent'>At another time every effort was made to stigmatize
what was called the invasion of continental liberties.
The English Government was compared, in its policy,
to Marat. “What did he ever do that was more
atrocious?” was asked. “The spectacle of a perpetual
war is presented to the world. The oligarchical ringleaders
who direct English policy will end, as all exaggerated
and infuriated men do end, by earning the
opprobrium of their own country and the hatred of
other nations.”</p>

<p class='pindent'>The Emperor, when dictating this and similar
tirades against oligarchical governments, was using
for his own purposes the democratic idea which he
well knew existed in the nation. When he employed
some of the revolutionary phrases, he believed that he
was carrying out the principles of the Revolution.
“Equality”—nothing but “Equality”—was the rallying-cry
between the Revolution and him. He did not
fear its consequences for himself; he knew that he
had excited those desires which pervert the most
generous dispositions; he turned liberty aside, as I
have often said, he bewildered all parties, he falsified
all meanings, he outraged reason. The power which
his sword conferred upon him he sustained by sophistry,
and proved that it was from motives of sound
wisdom that he deviated from the path of progress
and set aside the spirit of the time. He called the
power of speech to his aid, and perverted language
to lead us astray.</p>

<p class='pindent'>That which makes Bonaparte one of the most remarkable
of human beings, which places him apart,
and at the head of all those powerful men who have
been called to rule over their fellows, is that he perfectly
knew and always contended with his epoch. Of
his own free will he chose a course which was at once
difficult and contrary to the spirit of his time. He
did not disguise this from himself; he frequently said
that he alone had checked the Revolution, and that
after him it would resume its course. He allied himself
with the Revolution to oppress it; but he presumed
too far upon his strength, and in the end the Revolution
recovered its advantage, conquered and repulsed
him.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The English Government, alarmed by the fervor
with which the Czar, who was rather fascinated than
convinced, had embraced the policy of the Emperor,
closely attentive to the troubles which were beginning
to manifest themselves in Sweden, uneasy at the sentiments
which Denmark manifested toward us, and
which must lead to the closing of the Sound against
themselves, increased their armament, and assembled
their forces for the blockade of Copenhagen. They
succeeded in taking that city; but the Prince Royal,
fortified by the love of his people, defended himself
bravely, and fought even after he had lost his capital,
so that the English found themselves obliged to
evacuate Copenhagen, and to content themselves, there
as elsewhere, with the general blockade.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The Opposition declared against the expedition, and
the Emperor, in his ignorance of the British Constitution,
flattered himself that the Parliamentary debates
on this point would be useful to him. Little accustomed
to opposition, he estimated that of a political
party in England by the effect which would have been
produced in France had the same violence of opinion
which he remarked in the London journals been manifested
here, and he believed the English Government
was lost on the evidence of the diatribes of the
“Morning Chronicle.” These articles were a welcome
aliment to his own impatience, but his hopes always
proved vain. The Opposition declaimed, but its
remonstrances came to nothing, and the Government
always found means to carry on the necessary
struggle.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Nothing could exceed the Emperor’s anger when he
read the debates in the English Parliament, and the
violent attacks upon himself in which the free English
press indulged. He took advantage, on his own part,
of the liberty of the press in England to hire writers
in London, who might print what he wanted with
impunity. These duels of the pen served no purpose.
The abuse which he dictated was answered by abuse
of him which reached Paris. All these articles had to
be translated and shown to him. Those whose duty
it was to bring them under his notice trembled as they
did so, so terrible was his anger, whether silent or displayed
in violent passion; and ill indeed was the
fortune of any one whose position in the household
brought him in contact with the Emperor immediately
after he had read the English newspapers. We were
always made aware of the state of his temper on those
occasions. The officials whose business it was to
provide for his amusements were much to be pitied.
At this time what I must really call the “torture” of
M. de Rémusat commenced. I shall have more to say
of this subject when I have to describe our Court life
at Fontainebleau.</p>

<p class='pindent'>All those persons who were to accompany their
Majesties were assembled, and informed of the rules
which they would have to observe. The different
evenings of the week were to be passed in the respective
apartments of the great personages. On one evening
the Emperor would receive; there would be music,
and afterward cards. On two other evenings there
would be a play—on one, followed by a ball in the
apartment of the Grand Duchess of Berg, and, on the
other, by a ball in the apartment of the Princess Borghese.
On the fifth, there would be a reception and
cards in the apartment of the Empress. The Princes
and Ministers were to give dinners, and to invite all
the members of the Court in turn. The Grand Marshal
was to do the same; twenty-five covers were to be
laid at his table every day. The Lady of Honor was
likewise to entertain. And, lastly, there was to be a
table for all those who had not received a special
invitation elsewhere. Princes and Kings were to dine
with the Emperor only when invited. He reserved to
himself the liberty of his <span class='it'>tête-à-tête</span> dinner with his
wife, and chose whom he pleased when he thought fit
to depart from that rule.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Hunting took place on fixed days, and the guests
were invited to accompany the hunt, either on horseback
or in elegant <span class='it'>calèches</span>.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The Emperor took it into his head that the ladies
should have a hunting costume, and to that the
Empress agreed very willingly. The famous costumer
Leroy was consulted, and a very brilliant uniform was
arranged. Each Princess selected a different color
for herself and her household. The costume of the
Empress was amaranth velvet, embroidered in gold,
with a <span class='it'>toque</span> also embroidered in gold, and a plume of
white feathers. All the Ladies-in-Waiting wore
amaranth. Queen Hortense chose blue and silver;
Mme. Murat, pink and silver; Princess Borghese, lilac
and silver. The dress was a sort of tunic, or short
<span class='it'>redingote</span> in velvet, worn over a gown of embroidered
white satin; velvet boots to match the dress, and a
<span class='it'>toque</span> with a white plume. The Emperor and all the
gentlemen wore green coats, with gold or silver lace.
These brilliant costumes, worn either on horseback or
in carriages, and by a numerous assemblage, had a
charming effect in the beautiful forest of Fontainebleau.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The Emperor liked hunting rather for the exercise
which it forced him to take than for the pleasure of
the chase itself. He did not follow the deer very
carefully, but, setting off at a gallop, would take the
first road that lay before him. Sometimes he forgot the
object of the hunt altogether, and followed the winding
paths of the forest, or seemed to abandon himself
to the fancy of his horse, being plunged the while in
deep reverie. He rode well, but ungracefully. He
preferred Arab horses, because they are so trained
that they stop on the instant. Horses of this kind
were very carefully broken for him, as, from his habit
of starting at full gallop with a loose rein, he would
have been in danger of falling had not great precaution
been taken. He would go down steep hills at
full speed, to the great risk of those who had to follow
him at the same pace. He had a few severe falls, but
they were never alluded to. He would not have liked
any mention of them.</p>

<p class='pindent'>He took up for a while a fancy for driving a <span class='it'>calèche</span>
or a buggy, and he was a very unsafe coachman, for
he took no precaution in turning corners or to avoid
difficult roads. He was determined always to conquer
every obstacle, and would retreat before none. One
day, at Saint Cloud, he undertook to drive four-in-hand,
and turned the horses, which he could not manage,
so awkwardly through a gateway, that the
carriage was upset. The Empress and some other
persons were in the vehicle and were all thrown out;
but, fortunately, no serious accident occurred, and he
himself escaped with a sprained wrist. After that
he gave up driving, remarking, with a laugh, that “in
even the smallest things every man should stick to his
own business.”</p>

<p class='pindent'>Although he took no great interest in the success of
a hunt, he would scold violently if the deer were not
taken, and be very angry if it were represented to him
that he had, by changing the course, misled the dogs.
He was surprised and impatient at the slightest non-success.</p>

<p class='pindent'>He worked very hard at Fontainebleau, as, indeed,
he did everywhere. He rose at seven, held his <span class='it'>levée</span>,
breakfasted alone, and, on the days when there was
no hunt, remained in his cabinet or held councils until
five or six o’clock. The Ministers and Councilors of
State came from Paris as if we had been at Saint
Cloud. He never considered distances, and carried
this to such an extent that, having expressed an intention
to “receive” on Sunday, after Mass, as he did at
Saint Cloud, people had to leave Paris in the night
in order to reach Fontainebleau at the prescribed hour.
The persons who had made this journey would be
placed in one of the galleries of the château, through
which he would walk, sometimes without taking the
trouble of rewarding them by a word or a look for
the fatigue and inconvenience they had undergone.</p>

<p class='pindent'>While he remained all the morning in his cabinet,
the Empress, elegantly dressed, breakfasted with her
daughter and her ladies, and afterward went into her
drawing-room and received visits from persons living
in the château. Such of us as cared to do so might
occupy ourselves with needlework, and this was a
great relief to the fatigue of idle and trifling conversation.
Mme. Bonaparte did not like to be alone, but
she had no taste for any kind of occupation. At four
o’clock we left her; she then gave herself up to the
business of her toilet, we to the business of ours, and
this was a momentous affair. A number of Parisian
shopkeepers had brought their very best merchandise
to Fontainebleau, and they easily disposed of it by
presenting themselves at our rooms.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Between five and six o’clock the Emperor would go
down to his wife’s apartment, and then go out in a
carriage alone with her for a drive before dinner. At
six o’clock we dined, and afterward we met in the
theatre or at the apartment of the person who was
charged with providing the especial amusement of the
particular evening.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The princes, marshals, great officers, or chamberlains
who had the <span class='it'>entrée</span>, might present themselves at
the Empress’s apartment. They knocked at the door,
the chamberlain on duty announced them, and the
Emperor said, “Let them come in.” Ladies would
sit down in silence; gentlemen would remain standing
against the wall in the order in which they entered
the room. The Emperor would generally be walking
backward and forward, sometimes silently and deep
in thought, without taking any notice of those around;
at others, he would make an opportunity of talking,
but almost without interruption, for it was always
difficult to reply to him, and had become more so
than ever. He neither knew how to put people at
their ease nor cared to do so; for he dreaded the
slightest appearance of familiarity, and he inspired all
who were in his presence with the apprehension that
some disparaging or unkind word would be said to
him or her before witnesses.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The receptions did not differ much from these more
private and privileged occasions. All about him
suffered from <span class='it'>ennui</span>; he did so himself, and frequently
complained of the fact, resenting to others the dull
and constrained silence which was in reality imposed
by him. I have heard him say: “It is a singular thing:
I have brought together a lot of people at Fontainebleau;
I wanted them to amuse themselves; I arranged
every sort of pleasure for them; and here they are
with long faces, all looking dull and tired.”</p>

<p class='pindent'>“That,” replied M. de Talleyrand, “is because
pleasure can not be summoned by beat of drum, and
here, just as when you are with the army, you always
seem to say to us all, ‘Come, ladies and gentlemen,
forward! march!’.” The Emperor was not annoyed
by this speech; he was in a very good humor at this
time. M. de Talleyrand passed long hours alone with
him, and was then free to say anything he chose; but,
in a great room and among forty other persons, M.
de Talleyrand was just as silent as the rest.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Of the whole Court, the person who was most
oppressed by the care of the Emperor’s pleasures was,
beyond all comparison, M. de Rémusat. The fêtes
and the plays were in the department of the Grand
Chamberlain, and M. de Rémusat, in his capacity as
First Chamberlain, had all the responsibility and labor.
That word is perfectly appropriate, for the imperious
and harassing will of Bonaparte rendered this sort of
business exceedingly troublesome. It always was, as
M. de Talleyrand said, a case of “amusing the
unamusable.”</p>

<p class='pindent'>The Emperor chose to have two plays in the week,
and that they should always be different. Only the
actors of the Comédie Française performed in these
plays, which alternated with representations of Italian
operas. Nothing but tragedy was played—Corneille
frequently, a few of Racine’s pieces, and Voltaire,
whose dramatic works Bonaparte did not like, very
rarely.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The Emperor approved the entire repertory for
Fontainebleau, positively insisted that the best actors
of the company must perform there, and commanded
that the representations in Paris should undergo no
interruption; all the arrangements were made accordingly.
Then, all of a sudden, he would upset the
whole arrangement, demand another play or another
actor, and that on the morning of the day on which
the piece, as previously set down, was to be acted. He
would not listen to any observation on the subject,
and sometimes would be quite angry about it; and the
best that was to be hoped for was that he would say,
with a smile: “Bah! take a little trouble, and you
will succeed. I wish it to be so; it is your business to
find the means.”</p>

<p class='pindent'>When the Emperor uttered that irrevocable <span class='it'>Je le
veux</span>, the words echoed through the whole palace.
Duroc, and especially Savary, pronounced them in
the same tone as himself, and M. de Rémusat was
obliged to repeat them to the unfortunate actors, who
were bewildered and overtaxed by the sudden efforts
of memory, or the entire disarrangement of their
studies, to which they were subjected. Then messengers
would be dispatched at full speed to seek the
necessary persons and “properties.” The day passed
in a whirl of petty agitation—in the fear that an accident,
or an illness, or some unforeseen circumstance
might prevent the execution of the order; and my
husband, who occasionally came to my room for a
moment’s rest, would sigh at the thought that a
reasonable man should be forced to exhaust his
patience and all the efforts of his intellect in such
trifles, which, however, were of real importance because
of the consequences to which they might lead.</p>

<p class='pindent'>One would need to have lived in courts to realize
how small things can become grave matters, and how
hard to bear is the displeasure of the master, even
when its cause is utterly insignificant. Kings are in
the habit of displaying their displeasure before everybody,
and it is unbearable to receive a complaint or a
rebuff in the presence of a number of people who look
on it as if they were at a play. Bonaparte, the most
arbitrary of sovereigns, never hesitated to “scold” in
the harshest way, frequently without the slightest
reason, and would humiliate or threaten anybody at
the prompting of a whim. The fear which he excited
was infectious, and his harsh words resounded long
and far.</p>

<p class='pindent'>When with very great trouble one had succeeded
in satisfying him, it is not to be supposed that he
would testify that satisfaction. Silence was the best
one had to expect. He would go to the play preoccupied,
irritated by reading some English journal, or,
perhaps, only fatigued with the day’s hunting, and
he would either fall into reverie or go to sleep. No
applause was permitted in his presence, and the silent
representation was exceedingly dull and cold. The
Court grew intolerably weary of these eternal tragedies.
The younger ladies simply slept through them;
every one went away depressed and dissatisfied. The
Emperor perceived this, was angry at it, attacked his
First Chamberlain, blamed the actors, insisted on
others being found, although he had the best, and
would command different pieces for the ensuing days,
which were received in precisely the same manner. It
rarely happened otherwise, and our theatrical experiences
were, it must be confessed, eminently unpleasant.
Those days at Fontainebleau were a constantly
recurring source of misery to me; the frivolity of the
thing itself, and the importance of its consequences,
rendered it a great trial.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The Emperor admired Talma’s acting; he persuaded
himself that he liked it very much, but I think he
rather knew than felt that Talma was a great actor.
He had not in himself that which enables one to take
pleasure in the representation of a fiction on the stage;
he was deficient in education, and his mind was too
rarely disengaged, he was too entirely occupied by his
own actual circumstances, to be able to give his attention
to the development of a feigned passion. He
occasionally appeared moved by a scene, or even by a
word pronounced with great effect; but that emotion
detracted from his pleasure as a whole, because he
wanted it to be prolonged in all its strength, and he
never took those secondary impressions into account,
which are produced by the beauty of the verse or the
harmony which a great actor lends to his entire <span class='it'>rôle</span>.
In general, he thought our French drama cold, our
actors too measured, and he resented to others that he
found it impossible to be pleased with what the multitude
accepted as a diversion.</p>

<p class='pindent'>It was the same with regard to music. He had little
feeling for the arts, but he had an intellectual appreciation
of them, and, demanding from them more than
they could give him, he complained of not having felt
what his nature did not permit him to experience.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The first singers in Italy had been attracted to the
Emperor’s Court. He paid them largely; his vanity
was gratified by the power of taking them away from
other sovereigns; but he listened to their strains
moodily, and seldom with any interest. M. de Rémusat
bethought himself of enlivening the concerts by a
sort of representation of the pieces of music that were
executed in the Emperor’s presence. These concerts
were sometimes given on the stage, and they included
the finest scenes from the Italian operas. The singers
wore the appropriate costumes, and really acted; the
decorations represented the scene in which the action
of the song was supposed to pass. All this was arranged
and mounted with the greatest care, but, like
everything else, failed in its effect. And yet not completely;
for it must be said that, if so much attention
and pains were labor lost so far as his pleasure was
concerned, the pomp of all these various spectacles
and entertainments pleased Bonaparte, for it consorted
with his policy, and he liked to display a
superiority which extended to everything before the
crowd of foreigners who surrounded him.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The same moody and discontented temper, which
was inseparable from him, cast a cloud over the balls
and receptions at Fontainebleau. At eight o’clock in
the evening, the Court, all in splendid attire, would
assemble in the apartment of the Princess whose turn
it was to receive company. We placed ourselves in a
circle, and looked at each other without speaking.
Thus we awaited the arrival of their Majesties. The
Empress came in first, made the tour of the reception-room
with her unfailing grace, and then took her place
and kept silence like the rest, until the Emperor at
length appeared. He would seat himself by her side,
and look on at the dancing with a countenance so little
encouraging to gayety, that enjoyment was out of the
question on these occasions. Sometimes, during a
pause in the dancing, he would walk about the room,
addressing some trifling remarks to the ladies. These
observations were, for the most part, jests about their
attire, of anything but a delicate kind. He withdrew
very soon, and shortly afterward the party would
break up.</p>

<p class='pindent'>During the sojourn of the Court at Fontainebleau,
a very pretty woman made her appearance, and
attracted the attention of the Emperor. She was an
Italian.&nbsp;.&nbsp;.&nbsp;. M. de Talleyrand had seen her in Italy,
and persuaded the Emperor to appoint her “Reader”
to the Empress. Her husband was made Receiver-General.
The Empress was at first indignant at the
appearance of this fair lady on the scenes; but she
promptly made up her mind to lend herself with
complacency to what she was powerless to oppose, and
this time she shut her eyes to the state of affairs. The
lady was a quiet person, acquiescent rather than elated;
she yielded to her master from a sort of conviction
that she ought not to resist him. But she made no
display, she gave herself no airs in consequence of her
success, and she contrived to combine a real attachment
to Mme. Bonaparte with submission to Bonaparte’s
fancy for her. The result was that the affair
was conducted without any scandal or disturbance.
This lady was certainly the handsomest woman in the
Court, which boasted a number of beauties. I have
never seen more beautiful eyes, finer features, or a
more exquisitely harmonious face. She was tall, and
had an elegant figure, but she was a little too slight.
The Emperor never cared very much for her; he told
his wife all about the affair at once, and made her mind
quite easy by his unreserved confidence respecting
this brief and unsentimental <span class='it'>liaison</span>. The lady was
lodged in the palace of Fontainebleau in such a manner
as to be within call whenever he desired her presence.
It was whispered about that she came down in the
evening to his apartment, or he went to hers; but in
the ordinary circle he did not talk to her more than
to any other lady, and the Court paid no great attention
to this affair, because it was plainly unlikely to
lead to any change. M. de Talleyrand, who had in
the first instance persuaded Bonaparte to select this
Italian as a mistress, received his confidences concerning
her, and that was all.</p>

<p class='pindent'>If I were asked whether the idleness of our Court
life at Fontainebleau led to the formation of <span class='it'>liaisons</span>
of a similar kind on the part of the courtiers, I should
hardly know how to answer that question. The Emperor’s
service demanded such entire subjection, and
involved such close though trifling occupation, that
the men had not time for gallantry, and the women
were too much afraid of what Bonaparte might say of
them to yield without very great precaution. In so
cold, constrained, and conventional a society, in which
no one would venture on a word or a movement more
than the others, no coquetry was ever displayed, and
every arrangement was made in silence, and with a
promptitude which eluded observation. Another
peculiarity of the time which acted as a safeguard to
women was that men took no pains to please: they
merely asserted the pretensions of victory without
wasting time in the preliminaries of love. Thus,
among the Emperor’s surroundings, only passing
intrigues, whose <span class='it'>dénoûment</span> both parties seemed
anxious to hasten as much as possible, took place.
Besides, Bonaparte desired that his Court should be
grave, and he would not have permitted women to
assume the slightest ascendency in it. To himself
alone he reserved the right to every kind of liberty. He
tolerated the misconduct of certain members of his
own family, because he knew that he was powerless
to restrain them, and that the attempt to do so only
gave the facts additional publicity. For the same
reason, he would have dissembled the anger he might
have felt had his wife allowed herself any “distractions”;
but at this period she no longer seemed disposed
to do so. I am absolutely unacquainted with
the secrets of her private life, and I always saw her
exclusively occupied with the difficulties of her own
position, and tremblingly apprehensive of displeasing
her husband. She was entirely devoid of coquetry;
her manner was perfectly modest and reserved; she
never spoke to men, except to find out what was going
on; and her grand subject of care and dread was the
divorce which was always hanging over her head.
Lastly, the women of that Court had great need to
be on their guard and to take care what they did; for,
whenever the Emperor was informed of anything—and
he always was informed—he would invariably
make the husband acquainted with the facts of the
case. It is true that he interdicted any complaint or
action in consequence. Thus, we all know that he has
made S—— aware of certain adventures of his wife’s,
and so imperiously ordered him to display no anger
that S——, who was always entirely submissive to
him, consented to allow himself to be deceived, and
ended, partly through this weak compliance, and partly
through his desire to think his wife innocent, by not
believing facts which were of public notoriety.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Mme. de X—— was at Fontainebleau, but the Emperor
never paid her any attention; and, if the rumor
that the former <span class='it'>liaison</span> between them was temporarily
renewed had any truth at all in it, the revived intimacy
must have been very transitory, and it did not restore
any of her vanished importance to the lady.</p>

<p class='pindent'>We had, however, during our stay at Fontainebleau,
the spectacle of one really ardent love-affair. Jérôme,
as I have already said, had recently married the
Princess Catherine, and his young wife became deeply
attached to him, but very shortly after their marriage
he gave her cause for jealousy. The young Princess
of Baden was at this time a very fascinating person,
and on very bad terms with her husband. She was
coquettish, frivolous, gay, and clever, and she had a
great success in society. Jérôme fell in love with her,
and his passion seemed to afford her considerable
amusement. She danced with him at all the balls.
The Princess Catherine, who was even then too fat,
did not dance, and she would remain seated, sadly
contemplating the gayety of the two young people,
who passed and repassed before her, quite indifferent
to the pain they were inflicting on her. At length, one
evening, in the midst of a fête, the good understanding
between them being too plain to be mistaken, the
young Queen of Westphalia was observed to turn
deadly pale, and burst into tears; in another minute
she had slid from her chair and swooned completely
away. The ball was interrupted; she was carried into
another room, the Empress and some of the ladies
hastened to her aid, and we heard the Emperor address
a severe rebuke to his brother, after which he
retired. Jérôme, greatly frightened, went at once to
his wife, took her upon his knee, and endeavored to
restore her to consciousness by his caresses. The
Princess, on coming to herself, wept bitterly, and
seemed to be unaware that a number of persons surrounded
her. I looked on at this scene in silence,
deeply impressed by its strangeness, by the sight of
this Jérôme—whom a succession of circumstances, all
entirely independent of any merit of his own, had
raised to a throne—figuring as the object of the passionate
love of a real Princess, with the right to her
love, and also a right to neglect her. I can not describe
what I felt at seeing her sitting upon his knees, her
head upon his shoulder, and receiving his kisses, while
he called her by her name, “Catherine,” over and over
again, entreating her to calm herself, and using the
familiar <span class='it'>tutoiement</span>. A few minutes later the young
couple retired to their own apartment.</p>

<p class='pindent'>On the following day Bonaparte ordered his wife
to speak strongly to her young niece, and I also was
instructed to make her listen to reason. She received
me very well, and listened to me with attention. I
represented to her that she was compromising her
future, and urged upon her that her duty and her
interest alike bound her to live on proper terms with
the Prince of Baden; that she was destined to live in
other countries than France; that levity which might
be tolerated in Paris would probably be resented in
Germany; and that she ought most carefully to avoid
giving any excuse for the spread of calumny against
her. She acknowledged that she had more than once
reproached herself for the imprudence of her behavior,
but that there really was nothing in it except the desire
to amuse herself; and she added that she was quite
aware that all her present importance was due to her
being Princess of Baden, for she was no longer treated
at the French Court as she had been in times past.
This was, in fact, quite true; for the Emperor, who
had outlived his fancy for her, had changed the whole
ceremonial with respect to her, and, paying no attention
to the rules which he had himself laid down at
the time of her marriage, no longer treated her as his
adopted daughter, but accorded her merely the precedence
of a Princess of the Confederation of the Rhine,
which came very far after that of the Queens and
Princesses of the Imperial family. Lastly, she knew
that she was a cause of disturbance, and the young
Prince, who did not venture to express his displeasure,
manifested it only by his extreme dejection. Our
conversation lasted for a long time, and she was much
impressed by it and by her own reflections. When
she dismissed me, it was with an embrace, and saying,
“You shall see that you will be pleased with me.”</p>

<p class='pindent'>That same evening there was a ball, and the
Princess approached her husband, and spoke to him in
an affectionate manner, while toward all others she
adopted a reserved demeanor, which everybody
observed. During the evening she came to me, and
asked me, in the sweetest and most graceful way,
whether I was pleased with her; and from that
moment, until the end of the sojourn of the Court at
Fontainebleau, not a single disparaging observation
could possibly be made respecting her. She showed
no reluctance to return to Baden; when there, she
conducted herself well. She has since had children
by the Prince, and lived happily with him; she also
won the affection of his subjects. She is now a
widow, and has only two daughters left; but she is
held in high consideration by her brother-in-law, the
Emperor of Russia, who has on several occasions
evinced a great interest in her.</p>

<p class='pindent'>As for Jérôme, he went shortly afterward to take
possession of his kingdom of Westphalia, where his
conduct must have given the Princess Catherine cause
more than once to shed tears: this, however, did not
cure her of her love for him, for since the Revolution
of 1814 she has never ceased to share his exile.</p>

<p class='pindent'>While pleasure, and especially etiquette, reigned at
Fontainebleau, the poor Queen of Holland lived in the
château, as much apart as she could from all; suffering
much from her condition, grieving incessantly for her
son, spitting blood at the least exertion, quite disconsolate,
and unable even to wish for anything except
rest. At this time she often said to me, with tears in
her eyes: “I hold my life for my brother’s sake only.
When I think of him, I take pleasure in our greatness;
but to myself it is a torment.” The Emperor displayed
invariable esteem and affection for his step-daughter;
it was always to her that he intrusted the task of
conveying to her mother such hints as he thought
necessary. Mme. Bonaparte and her daughter were
good friends, but they were too dissimilar to understand
each other, and the former was conscious of a
certain inferiority which affected her to some extent.
And, then, Hortense had experienced such great trials
that she could not deeply compassionate cares which
seemed to her so light in comparison with the burden
that she herself had to carry. When the Empress
would tell her of a quarrel with Bonaparte about some
foolish expense or some passing fit of jealousy, or
would talk of her fear of divorce, her daughter would
say, with a melancholy smile, “Are these things misfortunes?”
The two undoubtedly loved, but I do
not think they ever understood, each other.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The Emperor, who had, I believe, a much greater
regard for Mme. Louis than for his brother, but who
was, nevertheless, swayed to a certain extent by the
spirit of the family, interfered in their domestic affairs
with reluctance and caution. He had consented to
keep his step-daughter with him until after her confinement,
but he always spoke in the sense of wishing
that she should ultimately return to Holland. She
told him repeatedly that she would not go back to a
country in which her child had died, and where misery
awaited her. “My reputation is blasted,” said she;
“my health is destroyed; I expect no more happiness
in this life. Banish me from your Court, if you will;
place me in a convent: I want neither throne nor
fortune. Give my mother peace, and Eugène the <span class='it'>éclat</span>
which he deserves, but let me live quietly and in
solitude.” When she spoke thus, she succeeded in
touching the Emperor’s feelings; he consoled and
encouraged her, promising her his aid and support,
and advising her to trust to time, but he utterly
scouted the idea of a divorce between her and Louis.
He was, no doubt, thinking of his own, and felt that
a repetition of the same incident in the family would
bring them into ridicule. Mme. Louis submitted, and
let time pass by; but she was privately quite resolved
that nothing should induce her to renew a union, at
the thought of which she shuddered. It did not seem
that the King wished for her return; on the contrary,
he was embittered against his wife, loved her no better
than she loved him, and in Holland, where he wanted
to pass for a victim, openly accused her. Many people
believed his story: kings easily find credulous ears.
One thing is certain: the husband and wife were most
unhappy, but my belief is that, with his disposition,
Louis would have made troubles for himself anywhere,
under any circumstances; whereas Hortense was eminently
calculated for a calm and happy domestic life.
She did not seem to know the meaning of passion;
her mind and feelings were disposed toward profound
quiet.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The Grand Duchess of Berg applied herself to being
extremely agreeable to us all at Fontainebleau. She
could be very gay and pleasant when she was in the
humor, and she could even assume an air of <span class='it'>bonhomie</span>.
She lived in the château at her own expense, very
luxuriously, and kept a sumptuous table. She always
used gilt plate, in this outdoing the Emperor, whose
silver-gilt services were used on state occasions only.
She invited all the dwellers in the palace by turns,
receiving them most graciously, even those whom she
did not like, and appeared to be thinking of nothing
but pleasure; but, nevertheless, she was not wasting
her time. She frequently saw Count Metternich, the
Austrian Ambassador. He was young and handsome,
and he appeared to admire the sister of the Emperor.
From that time forth, whether from a spirit of
coquetry or from a far-sighted ambition which
prompted such a measure of precaution, she began to
accept the homage of the Minister with readiness. He
was said to be held in high consideration and to have
great influence at his Court, and he might be placed,
by the course of events, in a position to serve her.
Whether she had this idea beforehand or not, events
justified it, and Metternich never failed her.</p>

<p class='pindent'>In addition to this, she took the influence of M. de
Talleyrand into consideration, and did her best to
cultivate him while keeping up as secretly as possible
her relations with Fouché, who visited her with extreme
precaution, in consequence of the displeasure
with which the Emperor regarded any intimacy of
the kind. We observed her making up to M. de
Talleyrand in the drawing-room at Fontainebleau,
talking to him, laughing at his <span class='it'>bons mots</span>, looking at
him when she said anything remarkable, and even
addressing such observations to him. M. de Talleyrand
showed no reluctance, but met her advances, and
then their interviews became more serious. Mme.
Murat did not conceal from him that the spectacle of
her brothers seated on thrones inspired her with envy,
as she felt herself quite capable of wielding a scepter,
and she reproached him with opposing this. M. de
Talleyrand objected that Murat’s abilities were not
brilliant, and made some jokes at his expense, which
were not resented very strongly. The Princess
delivered up her husband to M. de Talleyrand’s sarcasms
readily enough, but she urged that she would
not leave the whole charge of ruling in Murat’s hands;
and she gradually, by certain seductive methods, led
M. de Talleyrand to be less opposed to her wishes.
At the same time she also flattered and cultivated
M. Maret, who, in his heavy way, repeatedly praised
the intelligence and ability of the Emperor’s sister to
her all-powerful brother.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Bonaparte himself had a great opinion of her, and
he found it supported by a variety of testimony which
he knew was not concerted. He began to treat his
sister with greater consideration, whereas Murat, who
lost something by what she gained, thought proper to
take offense and complain. Thence ensued conjugal
“scenes,” in which the husband insisted on resuming
his right and his rank. He bullied the Princess, and
she was a good deal frightened; but, partly by adroitness,
partly by threats—by being now caressing, and
again haughty and distant, by acting on some occasions
the submissive wife, and on others the sister of the
master of all—she bewildered her husband, resumed
her ascendency, and proved to him that she was serving
his interests in all she was doing. It seems that
quarrels of the same kind occurred when she was at
Naples, that Murat’s vanity took umbrage, and that he
was deeply hurt; but every one agrees that, if he made
mistakes, it was always when he ceased to follow
her advice.</p>

<p class='pindent'>I have said that the sojourn of the Court at Fontainebleau
was marked by a brilliant succession of
foreign visitors. With the Prince Primate we had
very agreeable conversations; he was witty, had fine
manners, delighted in recalling the days of his youth,
when he had been acquainted in Paris with all the
men of letters of the epoch. The Grand Duke of
Würzburg, who remained all the time at Fontainebleau,
was very good-natured, and put every one at
ease with him. He was passionately fond of music,
and had a voice like that of a precentor; but he enjoyed
himself so much when he was allowed to take a part
in a piece of concerted music that no one had the heart
to spoil his harmless pleasure by smiling at his performance.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Next to the two whom I have just mentioned, the
Princes of Mecklenburg were objects of special attention.
They were both young, and very polite—indeed,
even obliging—to everybody. They were in some awe
of the Emperor; the magnificence of his Court dazzled
them, and so impressed were they by his power and
the splendor amid which it was displayed that they
were in a state of perpetual admiration, and paid court
even to the chamberlains.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The Prince of Mecklenburg-Strelitz, brother to the
Queen of Prussia, was rather deaf, and found it difficult
to communicate his ideas; but the Prince of Mecklenburg-Schwerin,
who was also young and very
good-looking, was extremely affable. His object in
coming was to endeavor to obtain the removal of the
French garrisons from his states. The Emperor kept
him amused by fair promises; he explained his wishes
to the Empress, and she listened to him with gracious
patience. The unfailing kindness that distinguished
Josephine, her sweet face, her lovely figure, the
suave elegance of her person, were not without their
effect on the Prince. We saw, or believed we saw, that
he was captivated; she laughed, and was amused.
Bonaparte also laughed, but he afterward took the
matter ill. This change of his humor occurred on his
return from a journey to Italy, which he made at the
end of the autumn. The two Princes were treated
with less cordiality toward the close of their stay in
Paris.</p>

<p class='pindent'>I do not think Bonaparte felt any real annoyance,
but he did not choose to be the subject of any kind of
jest. The Prince, no doubt, retained some sort of
feeling for the Empress; for she told me that, on the
occasion of the divorce, the Emperor suggested to her
that, if she wished to marry again, she should select
the Prince of Mecklenburg as her husband, and she
declined. I am not quite sure whether she did not
tell me that the Prince had written to ask for her hand.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Such of the Princes as were not invited to the Emperor’s
table dined with the Queens, the Ministers, the
Grand Marshal, or the Lady of Honor. Mme. de la
Rochefoucauld had a fine suite of rooms, where the
foreigners were accustomed to assemble. She received
them with much grace and cordiality, and time passed
there pleasantly.</p>

<p class='pindent'>How curious a spectacle is a Court! There we see
the most illustrious personages of the time, men of
the highest social rank; each of them is supposed to
be occupied with important interests; but the silence
enforced by prudence and custom reduces all conversation
to complete insignificance, and it frequently
happens that princes and other great men, not daring
to act like men under such circumstances, assume the
behavior of mere children. This reflection was
forced upon my mind even more strongly at Fontainebleau
than elsewhere. All these foreigners were aware
that they were drawn thither by force. All were more
or less vanquished or dispossessed; they had come to
entreat either favor or justice; they knew that in a
corner of the château their fate was being decided;
and all of them, assuming a similar appearance of good
spirits and entire freedom of mind, followed the chase,
and acquiesced in everything required of them. These
requirements included dancing, playing at blind-man’s-buff,
and other games, so that, being thus employed,
no one need either listen or reply to them. How often
have I sat at Mme. de la Rochefoucauld’s piano, playing,
at her request, those Italian dances which our
lovely Italian inmate had brought into fashion!
Princes, Electors, Marshals, and chamberlains, conquerors
and conquered, nobles and plebeians, passed
before me, dancing indiscriminately together; all the
quarterings of Germany contrasting with the Revolutionary
swords or the decorated uniforms of our
“illustration”—an “illustration” much more real
and weighty, at that period, than that of the ancient
title-deeds and patents which the smoke of our guns
had nearly obliterated. I often reflected very seriously
on the events then taking place before my eyes, but I
took good care not to confide these thoughts to any of
my companions, and would not have ventured for the
world to smile at either them or myself. “Herein is
the wisdom of courtiers,” says Sully. “It is agreed
that, though they all wear grotesque masks, none shall
ever be held to be ridiculous by the others!”</p>

<p class='pindent'>In another place he says: “A truly great man
knows how to be everything by turns and according to
circumstances—a master or an equal, a king or a
citizen. He loses nothing by thus accommodating himself
in private, provided that on other occasions he
shows himself equally able to political and military
affairs; the courtier will never forget that he is in the
presence of his master.”</p>

<p class='pindent'>But the Emperor was by no means disposed to adopt
these axioms, and, from design as well as from inclination,
he never relaxed his kingly state. And, indeed, a
usurper could, perhaps, hardly do so with impunity.</p>

<p class='pindent'>When the hour struck for us to leave our childish
games in order to present ourselves before him, the
expression of every face became constrained. Each
of us wore a serious countenance, as we proceeded
slowly and ceremoniously to the great apartments.
Hand in hand, we entered the Empress’s anteroom.
A chamberlain announced the names. Then, sooner
or later, we were received—sometimes only those who
had the <span class='it'>entrée</span>, at other times everybody. We silently
fell into our places, as I have said before, and listened
to the few and vague phrases the Emperor addressed
to each. Wearied like us, he soon called for the card-tables,
to which we would sit down for appearance’
sake, and shortly after the Emperor would retire.
Nearly every evening he sent for M. de Talleyrand,
with whom he sat up far into the night.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The state of Europe at this time was, doubtless, the
ordinary subject of their conversations. The expedition
of the English into Denmark had greatly angered
the Emperor. He found himself totally unable to
assist his ally, and this, added to the destruction of
the Danish fleet and the blockade established everywhere
by English ships, made him eagerly seek every
opportunity of harming them. He exacted with
greater urgency than ever that his allies should devote
themselves to carrying out his vengeance. The Emperor
of Russia, who had taken steps toward a general
peace, having been repulsed by the English Government,
threw himself thoroughly into the alliance with
Bonaparte. On the 26th of October he made a declaration,
by which he announced that he had broken off
all communication with England up to the time when
she should enter into a treaty of peace with us. His
ambassador, Count Tolstoi, arrived at Fontainebleau
shortly afterward; he was received with great honor,
and included among the “members of the Journey,”
as it was called.</p>

<p class='pindent'>At the beginning of the month a rupture took place
between ourselves and Portugal. The Prince Regent
of that kingdom gave no support to those continental
prohibitions which so harassed the people. Bonaparte
grew angry; violent paragraphs against the house of
Braganza appeared in the newspapers, the ambassadors
were recalled, and our army entered Spain in
order to march on Lisbon. Junot was in command.
In November the Prince Regent, seeing he could offer
no resistance to such an invasion, resolved to emigrate
from Europe, and to go and reign in Brazil. He
embarked on the 29th of November.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The Spanish Government had taken good care not
to oppose the passage of the French troops through
its territories. A great deal of scheming was going
on at that time between the Court of Madrid and that
of France. For a long time past there had been a
close correspondence between the Prince of the Peace
and Murat The Prince, absolutely master of his
King’s mind, and the implacable enemy of the Infante
Don Ferdinand, heir to the throne, had devoted himself
to Bonaparte and served him zealously. He
repeatedly promised Murat to satisfy him on every
point, and the latter, in return, was instructed to
promise him a crown (the “kingdom of the
Algarves”), and efficient support from us. A crowd
of schemers, both French and Spanish, were mixed
up in all this. They deceived Bonaparte and Murat
as to the true spirit of Spain, and they most carefully
concealed that the Prince of the Peace was hated
throughout the kingdom. Having gained over this
Minister, we fancied ourselves masters of the country,
and we fell willfully into many errors for which we
have since had to pay very dearly.</p>

<p class='pindent'>M. de Talleyrand was not always consulted or
believed on these points. Better informed than Murat,
he often spoke to the Emperor of the true state of the
case, but he was suspected of being jealous of Murat.
The latter asserted that it was to injure him that
Talleyrand threw a doubt upon the success for which
the Prince of the Peace made himself answerable, and
Bonaparte allowed himself to be deceived. It has been
said that the Prince of the Peace made enormous
presents to Murat; the latter flattered himself that,
after betraying the Spanish Minister, and by his means
causing a rupture between the King of Spain and his
son, and finally bringing about the wished-for revolution,
he would have the throne of Spain as his reward;
and, dazzled by this prospect, he would not permit
himself to doubt the truth of all the flattery that was
lavished upon him.</p>

<p class='pindent'>It happened that a conspiracy was suddenly formed
at Madrid against the King; Prince Ferdinand was
accused in the reports that were made to King Charles;
and whether there was truth in the matter, or it was
only a wretched intrigue against the life of the young
Prince, the charge was published widely. The King
of Spain, having caused his son to be put on his trial
before a tribunal, suffered himself to be disarmed by
the letters which fear dictated to the Infante—letters
in which he acknowledged his crime, real or pretended—and
the Court was in a deplorable state of turmoil.
The King’s weakness was extreme; he was infatuated
with his Minister, who ruled over the Queen with all
the authority of a master and former lover. The
Queen detested her son, to whom the Spanish nation
was attached in consequence of the hatred inspired by
the Prince of the Peace. There was in this situation
sufficient to flatter the Emperor’s hopes. If we add
the state of Spain itself, the political incapacity of the
effete nobility, the ignorance of the people, the influence
of the clergy, the prevalence of superstition, the
miserable state of the finances, the influence which the
English Government was trying to gain, and the occupation
of Portugal by the French, it is plain that such
a condition of things threatened revolution.</p>

<p class='pindent'>I had often heard M. de Talleyrand talking to M.
de Rémusat of the situation of Spain. Once, when
he was conversing with us about the establishment of
Bonaparte’s dynasty, he said, “A Prince of the house
of Bourbon is but a bad neighbor for him, and I do
not think he will be able to retain him.” But at this
date, in 1807, M. de Talleyrand, thoroughly well
informed as to the real disposition of Spain, was of
opinion that, far from intriguing by means of a man
of so little capacity and so ill esteemed as the Prince
of the Peace, the way to propitiate the nation was
by procuring his dismissal, and, if the King refused
this, by declaring war, taking part with the people
against him, and, according to events, either dethroning
all the Bourbon family or making a compromise in
Bonaparte’s interest by marrying Prince Ferdinand to
a lady of the Imperial house. It was toward this
latter plan that M. de Talleyrand was most inclined,
and he predicted even then to the Emperor that any
other line of conduct would involve him in difficulties.</p>

<p class='pindent'>One of the greatest defects of Bonaparte—I do not
know if I have already mentioned it—was to jumble
all men together on the level of his own views, ignoring
the differences in character which manners and
customs produce. He looked upon the Spaniards as
he looked upon any other nation. He knew that in
France the progress of skepticism had led to indifference
toward the priests, and he persuaded himself that,
by holding forth on the other side of the Pyrenees in
the philosophic language which had preceded the
French Revolution, he would induce the inhabitants of
Spain to join the movement which had carried away
the French. “When I come,” said he, “with the
words <span class='it'>liberty, deliverance from superstition, destruction
of the nobility</span>, inscribed upon my banner, I shall
be received as I was in Italy, and all truly national
classes will be with me. I shall rouse a once generous
people from their interest; I shall develop them in industry
which will increase their wealth, and you will see
that I shall be looked upon as the liberator of Spain.”</p>

<p class='pindent'>Murat carried some of this talk to the Prince of the
Peace, who did not fail to assure him that such results
were, in fact, highly probable. M. de Talleyrand’s
warnings were vain; they would not listen to him.
This was the first check to his influence, and it shook
it at first imperceptibly, but his enemies took advantage
of it. M. Maret adopted the tone of Murat,
finding that it pleased the Emperor. The Minister of
Foreign Affairs, humiliated at being reduced to functions
of which M. de Talleyrand took the best part
from him, thought proper to adopt and hold a different
opinion from his. The Emperor, thus circumvented,
allowed himself to be deceived, and a few months
later embarked in this perfidious and deplorable enterprise.</p>

<p class='pindent'>While we were at Fontainebleau, I saw a great deal
of M. de Talleyrand. He often came to my apartment,
and seemed to be amused by my observations about
our Court; he also gave me his own opinions, which
were entertaining. Sometimes, indeed, our conversations
took a serious turn. He would come in wearied
or even displeased with the Emperor, and would then
dwell upon the more or less hidden vices of his character;
and, thus enlightening me with truly funereal
gleams, he fixed my as yet unsettled opinions, and
caused me much sincere concern.</p>

<p class='pindent'>One evening, when more communicative than usual,
he told me some of the anecdotes which I have related
in these pages; and, as he was insisting strongly on
what he called the <span class='it'>knavery</span> of our master, representing
him as incapable of a single generous sentiment, he
was astonished to observe that, as I listened, I was
weeping silently. “What is it?” he exclaimed.
“What is the matter with you?” “The matter is,” I
replied, “that you make me really wretched. You
politicians do not want to feel any affection for those
you serve. As for me, a poor woman, how do you
suppose I can endure the disgust your stories inspire,
and what will become of me if I must remain where
I am without being able to retain a single illusion?”</p>

<p class='pindent'>“Child that you are,” replied M. de Talleyrand,
“must you always want to put your heart into all
you do? Take my advice: do not try to feel any
affection for this man, but rest assured that, with all
his faults, he is at present necessary to France. He
knows how to uphold the country, and each of us
ought to do his best to aid him. However,” added he,
“if he listens to the sage advice he is receiving at
present, I will not answer for anything. He is now
embarked in a pitiable intrigue. Murat wants to be
King of Spain; they are cajoling the Prince of the
Peace, and want to gain him over, as if he had any
importance in Spain! It is fine policy for the Emperor
to arrive in a country with the reputation of a close
alliance with a detested minister. I know well enough
that he deceives that minister, and will throw him over
when he perceives that he counts for nothing; but he
might have spared himself this despicable perfidy.</p>

<p class='pindent'>“The Emperor will not see that he was called by
his destiny to be everywhere and always <span class='it'>the man of
the nations</span>, the founder of useful and possible innovations.
To restore religion, morality, and order to
France; to applaud the civilization of England while
restraining her policy; to strengthen his frontiers by
the Confederation of the Rhine; to make Italy a kingdom
independent both of Austria and himself; to keep
the Czar shut up at home, by creating the natural
barrier which Poland offers—these are what ought to
have been the Emperor’s designs, and it was to these
that each of my treaties was leading him. But ambition,
anger, pride, and the fools to whom he listens,
often mislead him. He suspects me whenever I speak
to him of ‘moderation’; and, if ever he ceases to trust
me, you will see he will compromise both himself and
us by imprudence and folly. Nevertheless, I shall
watch over him to the end. I have associated myself
with the creation of his Empire; I should like it to
hold together as my last work; and, so long as I can
see my way to the success of my plan, I will not
renounce it.”</p>

<p class='pindent'>The confidence which M. de Talleyrand reposed in
me pleased me very much. He soon saw how well
founded it was, and that, both by taste and by habit,
I brought perfect trustworthiness to our friendly intercourse.
With me he enjoyed the rare pleasure of
being able to speak freely, to give vent to his feelings
without any misgivings, and this just when he felt
inclined; for I never sought his confidences, and I
always stopped where he pleased. As he was endowed
with great tact, he quickly discerned my reserve and
discretion, and they formed a new link between us.
When this business or our duties gave us a little leisure,
he would come to my rooms, where we three passed
a good deal of time together. In proportion as M. de
Talleyrand grew more friendly toward me, I felt more
at my ease with him. I resumed the manners natural
to my disposition, the little prejudice of which I have
spoken melted away, and I gave myself up to a
pleasure all the greater to me that it was to be found
within the walls of a palace where solicitude, fear, and
mediocrity hindered all real companionship between
its inmates.</p>

<p class='pindent'>This intimacy, moreover, became very useful to us.
M. de Talleyrand, as I have said, talked to the Emperor
about us, and convinced him that we were well
qualified to keep a great house, and to entertain the
foreigners who would undoubtedly frequent Paris in
great numbers thenceforth. Upon this the Emperor
determined to give us the means of establishing ourselves
in Paris in handsome style. He increased M.
de Rémusat’s salary on the condition that, on his
return to Paris, he should set up a house; he appointed
him superintendent of the Imperial theatres. M. de
Talleyrand was commissioned to announce these
favors to us, and I was very happy to owe them to
him. This moment was the culminating point of our
position, for it opened to us an agreeable prospect of
ease and many opportunities of amusement. We
received several congratulations, and we experienced
the greatest, the only pleasure of a life passed at Court—I
mean that of becoming important.</p>

<p class='pindent'>In the midst of all these things the Emperor worked
incessantly, and issued decrees almost daily. Some of
these were of great utility. For example, he improved
the public offices in the departments, increased the
salaries of the curés, and reëstablished the Sisters of
Charity. He caused a <span class='it'>senatus consultum</span> to declare
the judges irremovable at the end of five years. He
also took care to encourage talent, especially when his
own glory was the aim of its efforts. The “Triomphe
de Trajan” was given at the Paris Opéra. The poem
was by Esménard, and both he and the composer
received presents. The work admitted of significant
applications. Trajan was represented burning papers
that contained the secret of a conspiracy with his own
hand. This recalled what Bonaparte had done at
Berlin. The triumph of Trajan was represented with
magnificent pomp. The decorations were superb; the
conqueror appeared in a chariot drawn by four white
horses. All Paris flocked to the spectacle; the applause
was unstinted, and charmed the Emperor. Soon afterward
“La Vestale,” the libretto by Mme. Jouy, the
music by Spontini, was performed. This work, which
is good as a poem, and remarkable as a musical composition,
also included a “triumph,” which was much
applauded, and the authors received a liberal recompense.</p>

<p class='pindent'>About this time the Emperor appointed M. de
Caulaincourt ambassador to St. Petersburg. He had
great trouble in inducing him to accept this mission;
M. de Caulaincourt was very reluctant to part from
a person whom he loved, and he refused. Bonaparte
at length, by dint of flattering and affectionate persuasions,
brought him to consent, promising that his
brilliant exile should not be prolonged beyond two
years. An immense sum was granted to the ambassador
for the expenses of his establishment, and his
salary was fixed at from seven to eight hundred thousand
francs. The Emperor charged him to eclipse
all the other ambassadors in splendor. On his arrival
at St. Petersburg, M. de Caulaincourt found himself
at first in an embarrassing position. The crime of the
death of the Duc d’Enghien had left a stain upon him.
The Empress-Mother would not see him; a great
number of ladies refused to receive him. The Czar
received him graciously, and soon conceived a liking
for him, which grew into friendship; and then the
great world, following his example, treated the ambassador
with less severity. When the Emperor
learned that a mere memory of this kind had affected
the position of his ambassador, he was astonished.
“What!” said he, “do they remember that old
story?” He made use of the same expression every
time he found that the circumstance was not forgotten,
which indeed was frequently; and he would add:
“What childishness! Nevertheless, what is done, is
done.”</p>

<p class='pindent'>Prince Eugène was Arch-Chancellor of State. M.
de Talleyrand had to replace the Prince in the discharge
of the functions attached to that post; so that
the former united a number of dignities in his own
person. The Emperor also began to settle great revenues
on his marshals and generals, and to found those
fortunes which seemed immense, and which were
destined to disappear with himself. A man would
find himself endowed with a considerable revenue,
perhaps declared proprietor of a vast number of
leagues of territory in Poland, Hanover, or Westphalia.
But there were great difficulties about realizing
the revenues. The conquered countries gave them
up reluctantly, and the agents sent to collect them
found themselves in an embarrassing position. Transactions
and concessions became inevitable; a portion
of the promised sums only could be had. Nevertheless,
the desire of pleasing the Emperor, the taste for
luxury, an imprudent confidence in the future, induced
these men to place their expenditure on the footing of
the presumed income which they expected to receive.
Debts accumulated, embarrassments cropped up, in the
midst of this seeming opulence; the public, beholding
extreme luxury, took immense fortunes for granted;
and yet nothing real, nothing secure, was at the bottom
of all this.</p>

<p class='pindent'>We have seen most of the Marshals coming to the
Emperor, when pressed by their creditors, to solicit
aid, which he granted according to his fancy, or the
interests to be served by binding certain persons to
himself. These demands became excessive, and perhaps
the necessity for satisfying them counted for
much among the motives of the subsequent wars.
Marshal Ney bought a house; its purchase and the
sums expended upon it cost him more than a million,
and he has since complained bitterly of the difficulties
into which this purchase threw him. Marshal Davoust
was in the same case. The Emperor prescribed to
each of his marshals the purchase of a house, which
involved a great establishment and large expenditure
in furniture. Rich stuffs and precious objects of all
kinds adorned these dwellings; splendid services of
plate glittered on the Marshals’ tables. Their wives
wore valuable jewels; their equipages and dress cost
great sums. This display pleased Bonaparte, satisfied
the shopkeepers, dazzled everybody, and, by removing
individuals from their proper sphere, augmented their
dependence on the Emperor—in fact, perfectly carried
out his intentions.</p>

<p class='pindent'>During this time the old nobility of France lived
simply, collecting its ruins together, finding itself
under no particular obligations, boasting of its poverty
rather than complaining, but in reality recovering its
estates by degrees, and reamassing those fortunes
which at the present day it enjoys. The confiscations
of the National Convention were not always a misfortune
for the French nobility, especially in cases
where the lands were not sold. Before the Revolution
that class was heavily in debt, for extravagance
was one of the luxuries of our former <span class='it'>grands
seigneurs</span>. The emigration and the laws of 1793, by
depriving them of their estates, set them free from
their creditors, and from a certain portion of the
charges that weighed upon great houses; and, when
they recovered their property, they profited by that
liberation, which, in truth, they had bought at a high
price. I remember that M. Gaudin, Minister of
Finance, related once before me how the Emperor had
asked him which was the most heavily taxed class in
France, and he had answered that it was still that of
the old nobility. Bonaparte seemed uneasy at this,
and remarked, “But we must take order with that.”</p>

<p class='pindent'>Under the Empire a certain number of tolerably
large fortunes were made; several persons, military
men especially, who had nothing formerly, found
themselves in possession of ten, fifteen, or twenty
thousand livres per annum, because, in proportion as
they were remote from the observation of the Emperor,
they could live according to their own fancy,
and expend their income with order and economy. Of
those immense fortunes with which the grandees of
Bonaparte’s Court were so gratuitously accredited, but
little remains; and on this point, as on many others,
the party who, on the return of the King, thought that
the state might be enriched by seizing upon the treasures
supposed to be amassed under the Empire, advised
an arbitrary and vexatious measure which led to no
result.</p>

<p class='pindent'>At this period my family had a share in the gifts of
the Emperor. My brother-in-law, General Nansouty,
was given the Grand Cross of the Legion of Honor.
He had been First Chamberlain to the Empress, and
was made First Equerry, replacing M. de Caulaincourt
in his absence. He received a grant of thirty
thousand francs in Hanover, and one hundred thousand
francs for the purchase of a house, which might,
if he chose, be of greater value, but which became
inalienable by the fact of this grant. The amount
went toward its price.</p>

<hr class='pbk'/>

<div><span class='pageno' title='674' id='Page_674'></span><h1>CHAPTER&nbsp;&nbsp;XXVII</h1></div>

<h2 class='nobreak'>(1807-1808.)</h2>

<p class='noindent'><img src='https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:c:claire-remusat-memoirs-josephine-vol-2-i.jpg' style='float:left;' alt='I'/> THINK it well to devote a separate chapter to
the events which were taking place at Fontainebleau
in connection with the Emperor’s divorce
at this time. Although Bonaparte had not spoken to
his wife on the subject for some years, except on occasions
when he had some quarrel with her, and those
occasions had become exceedingly rare in consequence
of the amiability and self-control of the Empress, it is
nevertheless probable that he never entirely lost sight
of the idea. The death of the eldest son of Louis
had deeply impressed him. His victories, while increasing
his power, had also expanded his ideas of
greatness; and his policy, as well as his vanity, was
concerned in an alliance with a European sovereign.
The rumor was at first spread that Napoleon had cast
his eyes on the daughter of the King of Saxony; but
an alliance with that Princess would not have procured
him any valuable support for his continental
authority. The King of Saxony reigned only because
France authorized him to reign. Besides this, his
daughter was now at least thirty years of age, and by
no means handsome. Bonaparte, on his return from
Tilsit, spoke of her to his wife in a manner which set
Josephine’s mind completely at ease.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The conferences at Tilsit very reasonably inflated
Napoleon’s pride. The admiration which the young
Czar felt for him, the assent which he yielded to certain
of his projects, especially to the dismemberment
of Spain, the complaisance of his new ally with regard
to his wishes, all combined to lead Napoleon to
form designs of a closer alliance. No doubt he spoke
openly of these to M. de Talleyrand, but I do not
think that anything was said about them to the Czar;
the whole matter was referred to a future, more or
less near, according to circumstances.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The Emperor returned to France. On rejoining
his wife, he once more yielded to that sort of affection
with which she always inspired him, and which was
sometimes a trouble to him, because it rendered him
uncomfortable when he had deeply grieved her.</p>

<p class='pindent'>On one occasion, when he was talking with her
about the quarrels of the King of Holland and his
wife, the death of the young Napoleon, and the delicate
health of the only child remaining to the
ill-assorted pair, he spoke of the obligation which
might one day be imposed upon himself of taking a
wife who should give him children. He approached
the subject with some emotion, and added: “If such
a thing should happen, Josephine, it will be for you
to help me to make the sacrifice. I shall count upon
your love to save me from all the odium of a forced
rupture. You would take the initiative, would you
not? You would enter into my position, and you
would have the courage to withdraw?” The Empress
knew her husband’s character too well to facilitate
beforehand, by one imprudent word, the step which
she repelled as much as she could; so that during this
conversation, far from leading him to hope that she
would contribute to soften the effect of such a proceeding
by her conduct, she assured him that she
would obey his orders, but that she would never anticipate
them. She made this reply in that calm and
dignified tone which she always did well to assume
toward Bonaparte, and it was not without effect.
“Sire,” said she (it should be remarked that from
the beginning of his reign she always addressed him,
even when they were alone, with the forms of ceremonious
respect), “you are the master, and you shall
decide my fate. If you should order me to quit the
Tuileries, I will obey on the instant; but the least you
can do is to give me that order in a positive manner.
I am your wife; I have been crowned by you in the
presence of the Pope. Such honors, at least, demand
that they should not be voluntarily renounced. If
you divorce me, all France shall know that it is you
who send me away, and shall be ignorant neither of
my obedience nor of my profound grief.” This manner
of replying, which was always the same, did not
annoy the Emperor, and even seemed occasionally to
touch him; for, when on several occasions he recurred
to the subject, he frequently wept, and was genuinely
agitated by contending feelings.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Mme. Bonaparte, who retained her self-control so
admirably while in his presence, gave way to excessive
emotion on relating to me all that had passed.
Sometimes she wept bitterly; at other moments she
would dwell on the ingratitude of such conduct. She
recalled to mind that when she married Bonaparte he
had considered himself highly honored by her alliance,
and she asserted that it was an odious deed to
repudiate her in his greatness, after she had consented
to share his low fortunes. Sometimes she became so
excited that she even yielded to apprehensions concerning
her personal safety. “I will never give in to
him; I will demean myself entirely as his victim; but,
if I stand too resolutely in his way, who can tell of
what he would be capable, or whether he would resist
the necessity of getting rid of me!” When she
spoke thus, I made every effort to calm her imagination,
which no doubt led her too far. Whatever I
might think of the facility with which Bonaparte
yielded to political necessity, I did not believe for a
moment that he would be capable of conceiving and
executing the black designs of which she then suspected
him. But he had acted in such a way on several
occasions, and he had used such language, that
it was not wonderful that misery such as hers should
inspire her with suspicions of the sort. And, although
I solemnly declare that in my conscience I did not
believe he had ever contemplated such a means of getting
out of his difficulty, I was unable to make any
other reply to the Empress than, “Madame, be quite
sure that he is not capable of going so far.”</p>

<p class='pindent'>For my own part, I was astonished that a woman
so completely disenchanted concerning her husband,
tortured by a dreadful suspicion, detached from
every affection, and indifferent to fame, should hold
so strongly to the enjoyment of such a precarious
royalty; but, seeing that nothing availed to disgust
her with it, I contented myself with entreating her,
as I had always done, to keep silence, and to maintain
her calm, sorrowful, but determined attitude in
the presence of the Emperor, for I knew well that by
these means only could she turn aside or delay the
storm. He knew that his wife was generally beloved.
Day by day public opinion was becoming alienated
from him, and he was afraid of incensing it.</p>

<p class='pindent'>When the Empress confided her sorrows to her
daughter, she did not, as I have already said, find her
very capable of understanding her. Since the death
of her child, the sorrows of vanity had appeared
more than ever inexplicable to Queen Hortense, and
her sole answer to her mother always was, “How can
any one regret a throne?”</p>

<p class='pindent'>Mme. de la Rochefoucauld, to whom Mme. Bonaparte
also spoke, was, as I have said, somewhat frivolous,
and passed over everything as lightly as she
could. The burden of the Empress’s confidence fell,
therefore, upon me. The Emperor was aware of the
fact, but did not at that time resent it to me. I know
he even said to M. de Talleyrand, “It must be acknowledged
that the Empress is well advised.” When
his passions gave his intellect a chance, he could estimate
fairly and wisely enough conduct which embarrassed
him, provided it only embarrassed him a
little, because he always knew that when he chose he
could surmount the light obstacles that were opposed
to him; and he allowed one to play one’s own cards,
because he knew that in the end he should none the
less surely win the game.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Meanwhile we went to Fontainebleau, and the
fêtes, the presence of foreign princes, and above all
the drama which Bonaparte was preparing for Spain,
diverted his mind from the question of the divorce,
and at first everything went smoothly enough.</p>

<p class='pindent'>My friendship with Talleyrand became confirmed,
and the Empress was rejoiced at this, because she
hoped that when occasion arose it would be useful, or
at least convenient, to herself. I have said that just
then the sovereigns of the duchy of Berg and Fouché
the Minister of Police were scheming in concert.
Mme. Murat always contrived to quarrel with anybody
who was about the Empress, and spared no
pains for that end. Talleyrand and Fouché were
jealous and distrustful of each other, and at this
period the great importance of the former gave umbrage
to all.</p>

<p class='pindent'>About two or three weeks before the end of our
sojourn at Fontainebleau the Minister of Police
arrived one morning. He remained a long time in
the Emperor’s cabinet, and was afterward invited to
dine with him, an honor rarely accorded to any one.
During dinner Bonaparte was in high spirits. Some
sort of amusement, I forget what, filled up the evening.
Toward midnight, when every one had retired,
one of the Empress’s attendants knocked at my door.
My maid told him I had gone to bed. The man
replied that I need not get up, but that the Empress
begged my husband would come to her at once.</p>

<p class='pindent'>M. de Rémusat, who had not yet left my room,
immediately repaired to the Empress’s apartment.
He found her half undressed, pale, and in great agitation.
She sent away her women, and, exclaiming
that she was lost, placed in my husband’s hands a long
letter, written upon large paper, and signed by
Fouché himself. In this letter Fouché began by protesting
that his former devotion to her was quite unaltered,
and assuring her that it was in consequence
of that sentiment he ventured to ask her to consider
her position and the Emperor’s. He represented the
Emperor as all-powerful, depicted him at the height
of his glory, sovereign master of France, but accountable
to that same France for the present and for the
future which were confided to him. “We must not
disguise from ourselves, Madame,” said he, “that the
political future of France is compromised by the want
of an heir to the Emperor. As Minister of Police, I
am placed in a position to judge of public opinion,
and I know that the succession to such an empire
gives rise to public uneasiness. Picture to yourself
what would be the strength of his Majesty’s throne
to-day, if it were supported by the existence of a
son.” This advantage was dwelt upon skillfully and
at length, as indeed it might well be. Fouché then
spoke of the opposition between the conjugal affection
of the Emperor and his policy. He foresaw that he
would never bring himself to prescribe so grievous a
sacrifice, and he therefore ventured to advise Mme.
Bonaparte to make a courageous effort on her own
part, to resign herself, to immolate herself for France;
and he drew a very pathetic picture of the <span class='it'>éclat</span> which
such an action would cast upon her now and in the
future. Lastly, the letter ended with a declaration
that the Emperor was quite ignorant of its having
been written, that the writer knew it would be displeasing
to him, and earnestly entreated the Empress
to keep it a profound secret.</p>

<p class='pindent'>We may easily imagine all the oratorical phrases
that adorned this letter, which had every appearance
of having been written with care and reflection. The
first thought of M. de Rémusat was that Fouché had
not attempted such a proceeding without an understanding
with the Emperor; he, however, took good
care not to indicate this conviction to the Empress,
who was making visible efforts to repel the same suspicions
on her own part, while her tears and agitation
proved that she dared not count upon the Emperor
on this occasion. “What shall I do?” asked she.
“How shall I avert this storm?” “Madame,” said
M. de Rémusat, “I strongly advise you to go this
instant to the Emperor’s room, if he has not yet retired,
or, at all events, to go to him very early to-morrow.
Remember that you must seem to have consulted
nobody. Make him read that letter; watch
him if you can, but at any rate show him that you are
angry at this side-winded advice, and declare to him
anew that you will only obey positive orders pronounced
by himself.”</p>

<p class='pindent'>The Empress adopted this advice. She begged
my husband to tell M. de Talleyrand all that had occurred,
and to report to her what he said; then, as it
was late, she put off her conversation with the Emperor
until next morning. When she showed Bonaparte
the letter, he affected to be extremely angry,
and declared that he was totally ignorant of this proceeding;
that Fouché had exhibited quite uncalled-for
zeal, and that, if he had not set out for Paris, he
should have been severely reprimanded. The Emperor
added that he would punish the Minister of
Police if the Empress wished it, and would even go
so far as to remove him from the Ministry, should
she exact such a reparation. He accompanied this
declaration with many caresses; but his manner did
not convince the Empress, who told me the same day
that she was aware he was greatly embarrassed during
this explanation.</p>

<p class='pindent'>In the mean time the matter was discussed between
my husband and myself. We saw very clearly that
Fouché had been induced to take this step by a superior
order, and we said to each other that, if the
Emperor was seriously thinking of divorce, it was
exceedingly unlikely Talleyrand would be opposed to
the step. What was our surprise to find that at this
moment he was so! Talleyrand listened to us very
attentively, and like a man who was totally unaware
of what had happened. He considered Fouché’s letter
improper and ridiculous, and added that the idea
of the divorce appeared to him utterly mistaken. He
took my view, and that vehemently; advised that the
Empress should take a very high tone with the Minister
of Police, and should tell him that he had no
business to interfere in such a matter. He added that,
if the affair were ever arranged, it ought to be settled
without any go-between. The Empress was delighted
with this advice, and she and I together composed
a cold and dignified reply to Fouché’s letter.
Talleyrand read and approved of this, and desired us
to show it to the Emperor, who, he said, would not
venture to find fault with it. He was right; and
Bonaparte, who had not yet made up his mind, continued
to play the same part, to exhibit increasing
anger, to indulge in violent threats, and to declare
with so much iteration that he would dismiss the Minister
of Police if she wished it, that the Empress,
tranquillized by degrees and deceived anew, ceased to
feel any resentment toward Fouché, whom she no
longer feared, and refused the offered reparation,
telling her husband that she would not on any account
have him deprive himself of the services of a man
who was useful to him, and that it would be enough
if he “scolded him well.”</p>

<p class='pindent'>Fouché came back to Fontainebleau a few days
afterward. In Mme. Bonaparte’s presence her husband
treated him with scrupulous coldness; but the
Minister did not seem to mind that in the least, which
confirmed me in my belief that the whole thing had
been arranged. He repeated to the Empress all that
he had written. The Emperor told his wife that he
went over precisely the same ground with him. “It
is an excess of zeal,” said he. “We must not be
angry with him for it; it is quite enough that we are
determined to reject his advice, and you know well
that I could not live without you.” Bonaparte repeated
these same words to his wife day and night.
He was much more with her than he had recently
been, was really agitated, would take her in his arms
and protest the most passionate love; and in these
scenes, which were at first, as I believe, acted for a
purpose, he involuntarily became quite carried away,
and ended by experiencing sincere emotion.</p>

<p class='pindent'>All that he said was confided to me, and I repeated
it to Talleyrand, who dictated the line of conduct to
be observed. His advice steadily tended to avert the
divorce, and he guided Mme. Bonaparte very well. I
could not refrain from letting him see that I was
somewhat astonished he should oppose a project which
had certainly a reasonable political aspect, and that he
should take so much interest in the purely domestic
side of the affair. He replied that it was not altogether
so domestic as I imagined. “There is nobody,”
he said, “in the palace who ought not to desire
that this woman should remain with Bonaparte. She
is gentle and good, she has the art of keeping him
quiet, and she enters quite sufficiently into everybody’s
position. She is a refuge for us on a thousand occasions.
If a Princess were to come here, we should
find the Emperor break with all the Court, and we
should all be crushed.”</p>

<p class='pindent'>Giving me these reasons, Talleyrand convinced me
that he was speaking sincerely; but yet he was not
telling me all his secret, for, while he repeated to me
that we must all unite to avert the divorce, he frequently
asked me what would become of me if by
any chance the Emperor carried the plan into effect.
I replied that without hesitation I should share the
fate of my Empress. “But,” said he, “do you love
her well enough to do that?” “Certainly,” I replied,
“I am attached to her; nevertheless, as I know
her well, as I know her to be frivolous and hardly
capable of a steady affection, it would not be the dictates
of my heart that I should follow on this occasion,
so much as those of propriety. I came to this
Court through Mme. Bonaparte’s influence; I have
always passed in the eyes of the world as her intimate
friend; I have had the burden and the confidence of
that friendship; and, although she has been too much
taken up with her own position to care much about
me, although she has thrown me aside and taken me
up again, as it suited her convenience, the public, who
can not enter into the secrets of our mutual relations,
and to whom I shall not confide them, would, I am
sure, be astonished if I did not share her exile.”
“But,” said Talleyrand, “this would gratuitously
put you into a position which might be very unpleasant
for yourself and your husband, and would perhaps
separate you. You would have to encounter
many small difficulties, for which assuredly she would
not pay you.” “I know that as well as you,” said I.
“She is changeable and even whimsical. I can foresee
that in such a case she would be at first very grateful
for my devotion, then she would get used to it,
and finally she would think no more about it. But
her character shall not prevent me from acting in
accordance with my own, and I will do what seems
to be my duty without expecting the smallest reward.”</p>

<p class='pindent'>In fact, when speaking, about this time, of the
chances of the divorce, I promised the Empress that
I would leave the Court if she ever left it. She
seemed deeply touched by this declaration, which I
made with tears and sincere emotion. Assuredly she
ought to have resisted the suspicions which she afterward
conceived against me, and of which I shall give
an account in due time. I placed only one restriction
upon the promise which I made: “I will not be Lady-in-Waiting
to another Empress. If you retire into
some country place, I will follow you, being always
happy to share your solitude; and I will never leave
you, except you should quit France.”</p>

<p class='pindent'>No one could tell what was really passing in the
Emperor’s mind, and he had once said to his wife:
“If you quit me, I would not have you lose state or
rank by it; you shall reign somewhere, perhaps even
at Rome.” It is to be remarked that when he was
thus speaking the Pope was in that same Rome, and
that there was no reason to suppose he would have to
leave the city. But the most serious events seemed
perfectly simple to Napoleon; and from time to time,
if one listened attentively, a word dropped here and
there sufficed to indicate the succession of projects
which he was forming.</p>

<p class='pindent'>M. de Rémusat thought with me respecting my
proper line of conduct. He was perfectly alive to the
inconvenience which might possibly result from it;
but that consideration did not deter him, and he repeated
to the Empress that she might count upon
my fidelity in her misfortunes, should they ever fall
upon her. We shall see that she was afterward induced
to place no reliance upon a promise which was
given with perfect sincerity.</p>

<p class='pindent'>It was at this period, and upon the subject of the
divorce, that we had certain conversations with Mme.
de la Rochefoucauld, which brought about the explanations
to which I have previously referred, and that
M. de Rémusat became acquainted with what had
passed respecting him on his return from the Prussian
campaign. These new lights added considerably
to the painful impression of our successive discoveries
relating to the Emperor’s character.</p>

<p class='pindent'>I will now tell what I learned of the motives which
induced Talleyrand and the Minister of Police to act
in the manner which I have just recorded. I have
said that Fouché, who was fascinated by Mme. Murat,
was forced in consequence to break with what was
called “the party of the Beauharnais.” I do not know
whether he really wished to do so; but, when a man
mixes himself up in certain intrigues in which women
play a part, he can not tell at what point he may be
able to stop, because there are so many little sayings,
little denunciations, and little treacheries, that in the
end he gets lost among them. Mme. Murat, who detested
her sister-in-law, and did all in her power to
drive her off the throne, longed for an alliance with
a European Princess for her own pride’s sake, and
plied the Emperor with flattery on this point. Fouché
thought that it would be useful to the new
dynasty to be supported by a direct heir. He knew
Bonaparte too well not to foresee that, sooner or later,
policy would take precedence of every other consideration
with him. He was afraid that he himself might
not be employed in this affair, which seemed to be
entirely in Talleyrand’s line, and he was anxious to
deprive him of the honor and the advantages of such
a negotiation. With this intention he broke the ice
with the Emperor, and spoke to him on the important
point. Finding him disposed to entertain it, he dwelt
upon all the motives which were so easy to urge, and
ultimately succeeded in extracting from Bonaparte
an order, or at least a proposal, that he should play
the part of mediator between the Emperor and the
Empress in all negotiations on the point. He went
further; he made public opinion declare itself! With
the assistance of the police, he got speeches made on
the subject of the divorce at several places of general
assembly in Paris. The people began to discuss in
the cafés the necessity of the Emperor’s having an
heir. These utterances, which were prompted by
Fouché, were reported by him and the rest of the
police, who gave an exact account of all that took
place; and the Emperor believed that the public were
far more occupied with this subject than they really
were.</p>

<p class='pindent'>On his return from Fontainebleau, Fouché told the
Emperor that there was great excitement in Paris,
and that the populace might possibly assemble under
his windows and ask him to contract another marriage.
The Emperor was at first taken with this idea,
from which M. de Talleyrand adroitly contrived to
turn him aside. Not that the latter had really any
repugnance to the divorce, but he wanted it to be
effected in his own way, at his own time, and with
great utility and dignity. He was quick to perceive
that the zeal of Fouché tended to deprive him of the
palm, and he could not endure that any other scheme
should take the place of his on his own ground.</p>

<p class='pindent'>France had formed a close alliance with Russia,
but M. de Talleyrand, who was very able in the use
he made of his knowledge of the actual state of Europe,
thought it necessary to keep a close watch on
Austria, and had already come to the conclusion that
another tie between us and that Power would be the
most useful move for us. Besides, he knew that the
Empress-Mother of Russia did not share the Czar’s
admiration for Napoleon, and that she would refuse
to give us one of her daughters for an Empress.
Again, it was possible that a hurried divorce might
not be quickly followed by a marriage, and the Emperor
would in that case be placed in a disagreeable
position. The contest which might break out at any
moment in Spain would rouse the attention of Europe,
and it was not a moment to engage ourselves
in two enterprises, both of which would demand grave
deliberation.</p>

<p class='pindent'>These were, no doubt, the considerations which led
M. de Talleyrand to thwart Fouché, and to espouse
the interests of Mme. Bonaparte for the time being.
Neither she nor I was clever enough to see through
his motives at the time, and it was not until afterward
that I became aware of them. M. de Rémusat had
not so much confidence in M. de Talleyrand’s apparent
acquiescence in what we desired, but he was of
opinion that we might turn it to account; so that, with
various intentions, we were all pursuing the same
course.</p>

<p class='pindent'>While the Emperor was in Paris, in the short
interval between his journey to Italy and his journey
to Bayonne, while Fouché was constantly plying him
with what he stated to be popular opinions, M. de
Talleyrand seized an opportunity of showing him that
in this instance the Minister of Police was misleading
him. “Fouché,” he said to the Emperor, “is, and
always will be, a revolutionist. Look well to it, and
you will see that he would lead you, by factious
means, to an act that should only be accomplished
with the parade and pomp befitting a monarch. He
wishes that a mob, collected by his orders, should
come and vociferously demand of you an heir, just
as they forced concessions from Louis XVI., who was
never able to refuse them. When you have accustomed
the people to meddle with your affairs after
this fashion, how do you know that it will not occur
to them to do so again, and how can you tell what
they may subsequently demand of you? And, after
all, no one will be duped by these gatherings, while
you will be accused of having got them up.” The
Emperor was impressed by these observations, and
imposed silence upon Fouché.</p>

<p class='pindent'>From that moment the question of the divorce was
no longer discussed in the cafés, and the “national
wish” remained unexpressed. The effect on the Emperor
of this silence was favorable to his wife, and
she felt somewhat reassured. He continued, however,
to show great agitation at times, and their intercourse
was constrained and often interrupted by long fits
of silence; after which he would return to the subject,
dwelling upon the disadvantage of not having
a direct posterity on which to found his dynasty, and
saying that he did not know what to do. He suffered
much from conflicting feelings at this time.</p>

<p class='pindent'>He was particularly confidential with M. de Talleyrand,
who repeated to me a portion of their conversations.
“In separating myself from my wife,”
Bonaparte said, “I renounce all the charm which her
presence gives to my home-life. I should have to
study the tastes and habits of a young wife. This
one accommodates herself to everything; she understands
me perfectly, and I should be making her an
ungrateful return for all she has done for me. The
people care little for me as it is, and then it would be
much worse. She is a link between me and them, and
especially between me and a certain party in Paris,
which I should have to give up.” After regrets of
this kind, he would dwell upon the reasons which
made it a state question; and M. de Talleyrand told
my husband it was his conviction that this creditable
hesitation would one day give way before political
considerations—that the divorce might be delayed, but
that it was vain to hope that it could be ultimately
avoided. He concluded by saying that we might rely
upon it he had no influence in the matter, and that
the Empress would do well to adhere to the course
which she had adopted.</p>

<p class='pindent'>M. de Rémusat and I agreed that we would say
nothing to the Empress about the first part of this
statement, which would have so much increased her
apprehensions as perhaps to betray her into some false
step; and we saw no use in inspiring her with distrust
of M. de Talleyrand, who had at that time no
interest in injuring her, but who might have had
such an interest had she allowed an imprudent word
to escape her. For my part, I resolved to await the
future without trying to foresee it, and to be guided
by the prudence and dignity which should always distinguish
those who hold a prominent position, and
who are surrounded by a hundred eyes that watch,
and a hundred mouths ready to repeat all they say.
It was at this period that the Emperor said to M. de
Talleyrand, “The Empress is well advised.”</p>

<p class='pindent'>Shortly before his departure for Bayonne, another
explanation on the subject of the divorce took place.
This was the last at this time, and it showed that the
Emperor, willful as he was, was yet capricious in
his moods, and that he was sometimes carried away
by genuine feeling.</p>

<p class='pindent'>M. de Talleyrand, coming out of the Emperor’s
cabinet one morning, met M. de Rémusat, and said to
him, as they walked toward his carriage: “I think
your wife will have to meet the trial that she fears
sooner than she anticipates. The Emperor is again
most eager on the subject of a divorce; he has spoken
to me of it as of a thing almost decided upon, and we
shall all do well to take it as such, and not vainly
oppose it.” My husband repeated these words to me;
they caused me great pain. There was to be a reception
at Court that evening. I had just lost my mother,
and did not go into society. M. de Rémusat returned
to the palace to superintend the play that was to be
performed. The apartments were crowded. Princes,
ambassadors, and courtiers were all assembled, and
at length the order was given to begin the play, without
waiting for their Majesties, who would not appear.
The fête went off badly, and the guests dispersed
as soon as they could.</p>

<p class='pindent'>M. de Talleyrand and M. de Rémusat, before leaving
the palace, went to the private apartments of the
Emperor, where they were told that he had retired
with his wife at eight o’clock, that he had ordered
the door to be closed, and that he should not be disturbed
until the next day. M. de Talleyrand went
away in dudgeon. “What a devil of a man!” said
he. “How he yields to sudden impulses, as if he did
not really know what he wanted! Why can he not
come to some decision, and cease making us the puppets
of his moods, not knowing what attitude we are
to assume toward him?”</p>

<p class='pindent'>The Empress received my husband the next day,
and told him that at six o’clock she had joined the
Emperor at dinner; that he was then sad and silent;
that afterward she had left him to dress for the evening,
and while she was preparing for the reception
an attendant came to fetch her, saying that the Emperor
was ill. She found him suffering from severe
spasms, and in a highly nervous state. On seeing
her, he burst into tears, and, drawing her toward the
bed on which he had thrown himself, without taking
heed of her elegant attire, he folded her in his arms,
repeating again and again, “My poor Josephine, I
can not leave you.” She added that his state inspired
her with more compassion than tenderness, and that
she kept saying to him time after time: “Sire, be
calm; make up your mind what you really want to
do, and let us have an end of these scenes.” Her
words seemed only to add to his excitement, which
became so excessive that she advised him to give up
the idea of appearing in public, and to go to bed. He
consented to this, but only on condition that she would
remain with him; and she was obliged at once to undress
and to share that bed, which, she said, he literally
bathed with his tears, repeating constantly,
“They harass me, they torment me, they make me
miserable!” and the night was thus passed in alternate
fits of tenderness and intervals of agitated sleep.
After this evening he gained command over himself,
and never again gave way to such vehement emotion.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The Empress alternated between hope and fear.
She placed no reliance on these pathetic scenes, and
declared that Bonaparte passed too quickly from tender
protestations to quarreling with her about flirtations
of which he accused her, or to other subjects of
complaint; that he wanted to break down her resistance,
to make her ill, or perhaps even worse—for, as
I have already said, her imagination pictured every
extreme. Sometimes she would say that he was trying
to disgust her with him by incessantly tormenting
her. It is true that, either intentionally or because
of his own agitation, he kept her in a constant state
of unrest, which affected her health.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Fouché talked openly of the divorce, to the Empress,
to me, and to every one, saying that he might
be dismissed, but that he should not be prevented
from offering good advice. M. de Talleyrand listened
to him in disdainful silence, and consented to
being considered by the public to be opposed to the
divorce. Bonaparte saw through all this, without
blaming the conduct of the one or the other, or, indeed,
that of any one.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The Court observed even stricter silence than usual,
for there was no positive indication as to which of
these great personages it would be prudent to side
with.</p>

<p class='pindent'>In the midst of these troubles the tragic event in
Spain took place, and the divorce question was for
a time laid aside.</p>

<hr class='pbk'/>

<div><span class='pageno' title='693' id='Page_693'></span><h1>CHAPTER&nbsp;&nbsp;XXVIII</h1></div>

<h2 class='nobreak'>(1807-1808.)</h2>

<p class='noindent'><img src='https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:c:claire-remusat-memoirs-josephine-vol-2-a.jpg' style='float:left;' alt='A'/>T or about this time M. Molé was nominated
Prefect of the Côte-d’Or. The Emperor, who
had remarked his abilities on many occasions,
had to a certain extent adopted him, and in his own
mind decided on his promotion. He was more and
more pleased by his conversations with him, in which
he brought out all that was most remarkable in Molé’s
mind, and Bonaparte knew how to attract the sympathies
of youth. M. Molé showed some dislike to
the idea of leaving Paris, where he was pleasantly
settled with his family. “We must not hurt people’s
feelings,” the Emperor said to him, “by sudden promotions.
Besides, some experience in the affairs of
administration will be very useful to you. I will only
keep you one year at Dijon, and then you shall return,
and you will have reason to be pleased with me.” He
kept his word to M. Molé.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The sojourn of the Court at Fontainebleau came to
an end toward the middle of November, at which
there was general satisfaction; for every one was
tired of the fêtes, and the restraint which they occasioned.
Most of the foreign princes returned to their
homes, dazzled by our magnificence, which had been
“administered,” if I may be permitted the expression,
with the most perfect order; for the Emperor would
not have allowed any other system in the management
of his private affairs. He was very much
pleased when M. de Rémusat asked of him only 150,000
francs for the expenses incurred for the fêtes and
plays; and certainly, if this sum be considered relatively
to the results produced, it is evident that minute
attention must have been paid to every detail of
the expenditure. The Emperor, who wished to be
informed of all these details, referred on this occasion
to the sum that it formerly cost the Court of
France to make such journeys, and he drew the comparison
with a complacency justified by the facts.
The household was strictly administered by the Grand
Marshal, and the accounts were kept and paid with
the utmost regularity.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Duroc acquitted himself remarkably well of this
charge, but with a harshness of manner which was
doubtless inspired by his master’s severity. When
the Emperor scolded, the consequences were felt by
every servant in the palace, in the rude treatment to
which they were subjected. Discipline was strict, and
punishments were severe; vigilance was never relaxed,
so that each one was always to be found at his post,
and everything was done with silent regularity.
Every abuse was guarded against, and all wages were
paid punctually and in advance. In the offices, and
in the kitchens, a plate of soup or a glass of <span class='it'>eau
sucrée</span> was not given out without the authorization
of the Marshal, who was invariably informed of all
that happened in the palace. His discretion never
failed, and he repeated whatever occurred to the Emperor
only.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The Emperor left Fontainebleau to make a short
tour in Italy. He wished to visit Milan again, to
show himself in Venice, and to communicate with his
brother Joseph; and I believe he wished to arrive,
above all, at a decision with regard to the kingdom
of Italy—a decision by which he hoped to reassure
Europe. He also intended to signify to the Queen
of Etruria, daughter of the King of Spain, that she
must quit her kingdom. As he was secretly preparing
to invade Spain, he admitted that the idea of the
union of the crowns of France and Italy had alarmed
Europe. In naming Eugène as successor to the throne
of Italy, he wished it to be understood that this union
was not to last for ever, and believed that the concession
which did not dispossess him would be received,
and the power of his successor be thus limited.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Murat, who had every interest in keeping up daily
communication with his brother-in-law, obtained permission
to accompany him in this little tour, to the
great annoyance of M. de Talleyrand, who foresaw
that advantage would be taken of his absence to frustrate
his plans.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The Emperor left Fontainebleau on the 10th of
November, and the Empress returned to Paris. The
Prince Primate remained there some time longer, as
well as the Princes of Mecklenburg. They came to
the Tuileries every evening, where they played or conversed,
and listened to the music.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The Empress talked more with the Prince of Mecklenburg-Schwerin
than with the others: this was remarked
upon, as I have mentioned before. Most
people laughed, and attached so little importance to it
as even to joke with the Empress herself about it.
Others viewed the subject more seriously, and wrote
to the Emperor; and on his return he rebuked her
severely. Although accustomed to gratify all his own
fancies, he was very severe on those of others.</p>

<p class='pindent'>During this journey, a vaudeville was represented
at one of the small theatres with such success that
every one wished to see it, Mme. Bonaparte as well
as others. She requested M. de Rémusat to get her
a box, and in a simple dress, and in a carriage without
arms, she went privately to the theatre, accompanied
by some ladies and the two Princes of Mecklenburg.
This was immediately reported at Milan,
and the Emperor wrote a furious letter to his wife,
and on his return reproached her for a want of dignity.
I even remember that, in his annoyance, he reminded
her that the last Queen of France had done
herself the greatest harm by forgetting what was due
to her rank, and indulging in frivolities of a similar
kind.</p>

<p class='pindent'>During his absence the Imperial Guard made a triumphal
entry into Paris. The Prefect received them
with a speech, and many fêtes were given in their
honor.</p>

<p class='pindent'>As I have said elsewhere, the Sisters of Charity
were reëstablished. They assembled, by order of the
Minister of the Interior, in the apartments of Mme.
Mère, where he distributed medals to them. The
Emperor wished his mother to be at the head of every
charitable institution, but there was nothing in her
manner to make her popular, and she acquitted
herself of the task imposed on her without ability or
taste.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The Emperor appeared to be satisfied with the administration
of affairs in Italy, and traveled from one
end of the country to the other. He went to Venice,
where he was joined by his brother Joseph, and by
the King and Queen of Bavaria. Mme. Bacciochi
went to solicit an extension of her estates.</p>

<p class='pindent'>During this time Russia broke completely with England.
A part of our army, still in the north of Germany,
held the King of Sweden in check. Bernadotte
was at Hamburg in communication with the
malcontent Swedes, and he acquired a personal reputation
which he carefully maintained. He expended
large sums in bribes. It is not likely that he could
have had an idea at that time of what was afterward
to happen; but his ambition, as yet vague, led him to
turn every happy chance that befell him to account,
and at that period one might, in certain situations,
undertake everything and hope for anything.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The Prince of Brazil left Lisbon on the 29th of
November, and General Junot entered that city a few
days afterward with our army, declaring, according
to custom, that we came to free the Portuguese from
the yoke of the English.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Toward the end of the month the Emperor, having
assembled the Corps Législatif at Milan, declared that
he solemnly adopted Eugène, who became heir to the
crown of Italy should the Emperor have no male
issue. At the same time he endowed him with the
title of Prince of Venice, and he created the little
princess, who was just born, Princess of Bologna.
He then returned to Paris, where he arrived on the
1st of January, 1808.</p>

<p class='pindent'>I was engrossed just then by melancholy duties.
On my return from Fontainebleau, I had found my
mother ill. She continued for some time in a languid
state without actually causing me anxiety. Notwithstanding
her illness, she evinced great satisfaction at
the improvement that had taken place in our position,
and I began during the first days of her illness to put
our establishment on the footing which the Emperor
desired. Toward the end of December my mother’s
state became so alarming, that we thought of nothing
but the care she needed, and our house was closed to
visitors. Three weeks afterward we had the misfortune
to lose her, and one of the most tender ties
of my life, one of its dearest enjoyments, was lost to
me for ever. My mother was in every way a remarkable
person. She was possessed of great talent and
judgment, which were much appreciated in society.
She was useful and agreeable to us at every moment
of the day. She was universally regretted, and her
loss overwhelmed us with grief. My husband wept
for her like a son; we were pitied even at Court, because
even there her worth was appreciated. The
Emperor expressed himself kindly on hearing of our
calamity, and spoke of it in suitable terms to M. de
Rémusat when he saw him; but, as I have already said,
the life of retirement, into which good taste, as well
as my sorrow, caused us to withdraw, was opposed to
his views, and two or three months afterward he
deprived us of that increase to our income which he
had granted us that we might entertain in good style,
on the pretext that it was now useless to us. Thus
we were left encumbered with debts which he had
obliged us to contract.</p>

<p class='pindent'>I passed that winter very sorrowfully. I wept bitterly
for my mother; I was separated from my eldest
son, whom we had placed at college, so that he might
cultivate those talents for which he has since been
remarkable, and which were even then noticeable; my
health was bad, and my spirits were depressed. My
society could not have been very amusing to M. de
Talleyrand, yet he did not forsake me in my sadness.
He was, on the contrary, one of the most assiduous
and attentive of our visitors. He had known my
mother formerly, and he liked to speak of her, and to
listen to all my recollections of her. In the depth of
my sorrow I lost all my little ambition to appear
clever, and I did not endeavor to check my tears in his
presence.</p>

<p class='pindent'>When alone with my husband and me, he showed
no impatience with my grief nor with the tenderness
of M. de Rémusat’s efforts to console me. It seems
to me now, on thinking of it, that he observed us with
curiosity. His own life had been devoid of natural
affections, and ours was a novel spectacle to him,
which touched him not a little. He then learned for
the first time what mutual love, united with moral
principle, can do to give comfort and courage amid
the trials of life. That which he witnessed in my
house appeared to rest him after what passed elsewhere,
and colored even his recollections, for more
than once at this time he spoke to me of himself with
regret, and, I might almost say, with disgust. We
responded to his affection with gratitude which sprang
from our hearts. He came to see us more and more
frequently, and he remained a long time at each visit.
We no longer jested at or ridiculed others. Restored
to my better self, I let him see to the depths of a sensitive
nature, which domestic happiness had rendered
sympathetic. In my sorrow and deep melancholy, and
in my ignorance of all that was taking place outside,
I led him into regions until then unknown to him;
their discovery seemed to give him pleasure, and by
degrees I might say what I chose to him. He even
allowed me to censure and judge him severely, which
I occasionally did. He never grew angry at my sincerity;
and from this time there existed between us
a friendship very precious to both. When I succeeded
in awakening any emotion in him, I was as much
elated as if I had gained a victory; and he was grateful
to me for having stirred his soul, which had fallen
asleep from habit or through indifference.</p>

<p class='pindent'>On one occasion, when, impatient at his inconsistency,
I went so far as to say, “Good heavens! what a
pity it is that you have taken such pains to spoil yourself,
for I can not help believing that the real you is
better than you are,” he smiled and said: “Our entire
life is influenced by the manner in which we pass
the early years of it; and, were I to tell you how my
youth was spent, you would cease to wonder at many
things that now astonish you.”</p>

<p class='pindent'>Then he told me that, being lame and the eldest of
his family, and having by this accident disappointed
the hopes and prevented the fulfillment of that custom
which before the Revolution destined the eldest
son of every noble family to a military career, he had
been discarded from his home, and sent to live with
an old aunt in one of the provinces. Without returning
to his parents’ roof, he had then been placed in a
seminary, and it was intimated to him that he was
to become an ecclesiastic—a profession for which he
had not the slightest taste. During the years which
he passed at Saint Sulpice, he was almost always
obliged to stay in his room and alone, his infirmity
rarely permitting him to remain long standing, or to
take part in the active amusements of the young. He
then fell into a deep melancholy, formed a low opinion
of social life, and revolted against the priestly
state, to which he had been condemned in spite of himself.
He held that he was not bound scrupulously to
observe the duties that had been imposed upon him
without his consent. He added that he felt a profound
disgust to the world, and anger at its prejudices,
and that he only avoided falling into despair
by encouraging in himself complete indifference toward
all men and all things. When at length he returned
to his parents, he was received by them with
the greatest coldness, and as if he were displeasing in
their sight, and he never had a word of consolation or
kindness addressed to him.</p>

<p class='pindent'>“You see,” he would say to me, “that I must either
have died of grief, or become callous to all that must
ever be wanting in my life. I chose the latter alternative,
and I am now willing to admit to you that I was
wrong. It would have been better to have resigned
myself to suffer, and to have kept alive the faculty of
feeling with acuteness; for this cold-heartedness, with
which you reproach me, has often disgusted me with
myself. I have not loved others enough, but I have
loved myself no better. I have never taken sufficient
interest in myself.</p>

<p class='pindent'>“On one occasion I was drawn out of this indifference
by my love for the Princess Charlotte de
Montmorency. She was much attached to me, and I
rebelled more than ever against the obstacle which
prevented my marrying her.</p>

<p class='pindent'>“I made several efforts to get a dispensation from
vows that were odious to me. I think I should have
succeeded if the Revolution, which then broke out,
had not prevented the Pope from granting me what
I wished. You will easily understand that, in the disposition
of my mind, I hailed that Revolution with
eagerness. It attacked the principles and the customs
of which I had been a victim; it seemed to me just
what I wanted to break my chains, and so in every
way it was pleasing to me. I espoused it readily, and,
since then, events have disposed of me.”</p>

<p class='pindent'>When M. de Talleyrand spoke to me in this manner,
I pitied him with my whole heart, because I fully
understood the sad influence which his unhappy youth
had exercised over all the rest of his life; but I felt
persuaded, too, that a more vigorous character might
have avoided falling into such errors, and I frankly
deplored to him that he should have so stained his
life.</p>

<p class='pindent'>A most fatal indifference to good and evil, right
and wrong, formed the basis of M. de Talleyrand’s
nature; but we must do him the justice to admit that
he never sought to make a principle of what was
immoral. He is aware of the worth of high principles
in others; he praises it, holds it in esteem, and
never seeks to corrupt it. It appears to me that he
even dwells on it with pleasure. He has not, like
Bonaparte, the fatal idea that virtue has no existence,
and that the appearance of it is only a trick or an
affectation the more. I have often heard him praise
actions which were a severe criticism of his own.
His conversation is never immoral or irreligious; he
respects good priests, and applauds them; there is in
his heart both goodness and justice; but he does not
apply to himself the rule by which he judges others.
He regards himself as a being apart; all things are
different for him. He has long been <span class='it'>blasé</span> on every
point, and he seeks for excitement as a fastidious
palate seeks pungent food. All serious reflections applied
to moral or natural sentiments are distasteful to
him, because they lead him into a train of thought
which he fears, and from which he tries to escape by
a jest or a sarcasm. A combination of circumstances
has surrounded him with persons of light or depraved
character, who have encouraged him in a thousand
follies. These people are congenial to him, because
they draw him away from his own thoughts; but they
can not save him from profound weariness, and from
that he seeks refuge in great affairs. These affairs
do not fatigue him, because he rarely enters into them
completely; indeed, he seldom enters heart and soul
into anything. His intellect is lofty, and often just;
he perceives correctly; but he has a certain carelessness
and desultoriness about him, which make him
disappoint one’s hopes. He pleases much, but satisfies
never, and at last inspires one with a sort of pity,
which leads, if one sees much of him, to real affection.</p>

<p class='pindent'>I believe that our intimacy did him good while it
lasted. I succeeded in rousing in him feelings that
had long slumbered, and in awakening him to more
elevated thoughts; I interested him in many subjects
that were new to him, or which he had forgotten. To
me he owed many fresh sympathies; he owned this,
and was grateful for it. He often sought thy society,
and I appreciated his doing so, because I never flattered
his weaknesses, but spoke to him in a style that
he had not been accustomed to.</p>

<p class='pindent'>He was at that time strongly opposed to the plots
that were being concocted against Spain. The truly
diabolical artifices employed by the Emperor, if they
did not offend his moral sense, were at least very displeasing
to that good taste which M. de Talleyrand
displayed in political as well as in social life. He
foresaw the consequences, and prophesied to me what
they would be. “This ill-advised man,” he said,
“will call his whole position in question again.” He
was always anxious that war should be frankly declared
against the King of Spain, if he would not
accede to what was required of him; that advantageous
conditions should be dictated to him; that
the Prince of the Peace (Godoy) should be sent away,
and an alliance by marriage effected with the Infante
Ferdinand.</p>

<p class='pindent'>But the Emperor conceived that additional security
would be guaranteed to him by the expulsion of the
house of Bourbon, and was obstinate in his views,
being once more the dupe of the schemers by whom
he was surrounded. Murat and the Prince of the
Peace flattered themselves with the hope of gaining
two thrones, but the Emperor had no notion of giving
them any such satisfaction. He deceived them, and
believed too easily in their readiness to facilitate his
plans in the hope of securing their own. Thus every
one in this affair overreached every one else, and was
at the same time deceived.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The winter passed brilliantly. The theatre in the
Tuileries was finished; on reception days theatrical
representations were given, most frequently in Italian,
and sometimes in French. The Court attended
in full dress, and tickets for the upper galleries were
distributed to the citizens. We, too, formed a spectacle
to them. Everybody was eager to be present
at these representations, where there was a great display
of splendor.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Full-dress and masked balls were given. These
were novelties to the Emperor, and he liked them.
Some of his Ministers, his sister, Murat, and the
Prince de Neufchâtel, received orders to invite a certain
number of persons belonging to the Court or to
the city. The men wore dominoes, the women elegant
costumes, and the pleasure of being disguised was
almost the only one they enjoyed in these assemblies,
where it was known that the Emperor was present,
and where the fear of meeting him made the guests
silent and circumspect.</p>

<p class='pindent'>He was closely masked, and yet easy to recognize
by that peculiar air and gait which he could not disguise,
as he walked through the rooms, generally
leaning on the arm of Duroc. He accosted the ladies
freely, and was often very unscrupulous in his remarks
to them; and, if he was answered, and unable
at once to recognize who it was that spoke to him,
he would pull off the speaker’s mask, revealing himself
by this rude act of power. He also took great
pleasure, under cover of his disguise, in seeking out
certain husbands and tormenting them with anecdotes,
true or false, of their wives. If he learned afterward
that these revelations had been followed by unpleasant
consequences, he became very angry; for he would
not permit the displeasure which he had himself excited
to be independent of him. It must be said, because
it is the truth, that there is in Bonaparte a natural
badness, which makes him like to do evil in small
as well as in great things.</p>

<p class='pindent'>In the midst of all these amusements he worked
hard, and was much occupied by his personal strife
with the English Government. He devised various
methods for sustaining his continental policy. He
flattered himself that, by articles in the newspapers,
he could subdue the discontent caused by the increase
in the price of sugar and coffee, and the scarcity of
English merchandise. He encouraged every new invention,
and believed that the sugar extracted from
beet-root and other things would enable us to dispense
with the help of foreigners in certain productions,
such as the making of colors. He caused the Minister
of the Interior to address a public report to him, stating
that he had obtained, through the Prefects, letters
from the Chambers of Commerce in approbation of
the system, which, although it might involve some
temporary privations, must ultimately secure the freedom
of the seas.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The English were molested everywhere. They
were made prisoners at Verdun; their property was
confiscated in Portugal; Prussia was forced into a
league against them; and the King of Sweden was
menaced because he obstinately persisted in maintaining
his alliance with them.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The cord was thus tightened at both ends and
stretched to its utmost. It became impossible not to
see that only the ruin of one or the other of the contending
parties could terminate the quarrel, and wise
people became profoundly anxious. As, however, we
were always being deceived, we regarded the journals
with constant distrust. We read them, indeed, but
without believing what they stated.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The Emperor exhausted himself in writing, but he
did not convince us. He became deeply incensed at
this want of confidence, and each day his aversion to
the Parisians increased. It hurt his vanity to find that
he was not believed, and the exercise of his power
was incomplete when its influence could not be extended
to the very thoughts of the people. In order
to please him, one had to be credulous. “You like
Berthier,” said M. de Talleyrand to Bonaparte, “because
he believes in you.”</p>

<p class='pindent'>Occasionally, as a change from political articles,
the newspapers would relate the daily words and actions
of the Emperor. For example, we were told
how he had gone to see the picture of his coronation
painted by David, and had much admired it, and how
he had surprised the painter by his acute observations;
also, that when he was leaving the studio he had taken
off his hat and saluted David, in proof of “<span class='it'>the sentiments
of benevolence which he bestowed on all
artists</span>.”</p>

<p class='pindent'>This reminds me that he once found fault with
M. de Luçay, one of the Prefects of the Palace, who
had the superintendence of the Opéra, with being too
distant in his manner to the actors who went to him
on business. “Are you aware,” he said, “that talent
of any kind is positive power, and that even I take
off my hat when I receive Talma?” There was, no
doubt, some exaggeration in this statement; but it is
nevertheless true that he was very gracious to artists
of any distinction, that he encouraged them by his
liberality and his praise; provided, however, that they
were always willing to dedicate their art to his praises,
or to the furtherance of his projects; for any great
reputation acquired without his concurrence seemed
to offend him, and he had no sympathy with glory that
he had not bestowed. He persecuted Mme. de Staël
because she overstepped the line he had laid down for
her, and he neglected the Abbé Delille, who lived in
retirement far from him.</p>

<p class='pindent'>At this period two distinguished artists, Esménard
and Spontini, produced the opera entitled “La Vestale,”
which had an immense success. The Emperor—I
know not for what reason—was determined to
prefer the French music of Lesueur, the author of
“Les Bardes,” and was greatly displeased with the
Parisians for not thinking as he did in the matter.
He thenceforth cherished a prejudice against all Italian
music, and the influence of this was felt when the
distribution of the decennial prizes took place.</p>

<p class='pindent'>On the 21st of January, 1808, the assembled Senate
granted a levy of eighty thousand men on the conscription
of 1809. Regnault, the Councilor of State,
who was, as usual, the speaker on the occasion, argued
that even as the preceding levies had served to secure
the continental peace, so this one would at length obtain
for us the freedom of the seas; and no one opposed
this reasoning. We knew that Senator Languenais
and some others occasionally tried, during the
Emperor’s reign, to make certain representations to
the Senate on the subject of these severe and numerous
levies; but their observations dispersed themselves in
the air of the senatorial palace, and effected no change
in decisions which had been arrived at beforehand.
The Senate was timid and submissive; it inspired no
confidence in the national mind, and had even come
by degrees to be regarded with a sort of contempt.
Men are severe toward their fellows; they do not pardon
each other’s weaknesses, and they applaud virtues
of which they themselves are seldom capable. In
short, whatever tyranny may be exercised, public opinion
is more or less avenged, because it is invariably
heard. No despot is ignorant of the feelings which he
inspires and the condemnation which he excites. Bonaparte
knew perfectly well how he stood in the estimation
of the French nation, for good or evil, but he
imagined that he could override everything.</p>

<p class='pindent'>In the report made to him by his Minister of War,
General Clarke, on the occasion of the fresh levies,
we find these words: “A vulgar policy would be a
calamity for France; it would hinder those great results
which you have prepared.” No one was duped
by this formula. The question in the comedy, “<span class='it'>Qui
est ce donc qu’on trompe ici?</span>” was appropriate to the
occasion; but everybody kept silence, and that was
enough for Napoleon. Shortly after, the towns of
Kehl, Cassel, Wesel, and Flushing were united to the
Empire, being regarded as keys which it was necessary
we should hold in our hands. At Antwerp great
works were carried on, and all was stir and
activity.</p>

<p class='pindent'>When the English Parliament opened, the Emperor
evidently hoped for a disagreement between the English
Government and the nation. There was a great
deal of sharp dissension, and the Opposition declaimed
in its usual style. The Emperor helped it with all his
might. The tone or the notes in the “Moniteur”
was very violent; certain English journalists were
subsidized, and there is no doubt Bonaparte flattered
himself that he would be able to bring about a revolt.
But the English Ministry was pursuing a course
which, though difficult, was honorable to the country,
and it had a majority at every vote. The Emperor
was incensed, and declared that he “could not understand
that form of liberal government in which the
voice of the popular party never had any weight.”
Sometimes he would say, with a sort of paradoxical
audacity: “In reality, there is more liberty in France
than in England, because nothing can be worse for a
nation than the power of expressing its will without
being listened to. When all is said, that is the merest
farce, a vain semblance of liberty. As for me, it is
not the case that the true state of France is kept from
me. I know everything, for I have exact reports, and
I would not be so mad as to venture on doing anything
in direct opposition to French interests or to the
French character. Intelligence of all kinds comes to
me as to a common center, and I act in accordance
with it; whereas our neighbors never depart from
their national system, maintaining the oligarchy at
any price; and in this age men are more ready to
accept the authority of one able and absolute man than
the humiliating power of an effete nobility.”</p>

<p class='pindent'>When Bonaparte talked thus, it was hard to know
whether he was trying to deceive others or to deceive
himself. Was it that his imagination, which was
naturally lively, exerted its influence over his intellect,
which was generally mathematical? Did the lassitude
and inaction of the nation deceive him? Was he trying
to persuade himself that what he desired was the
case? We have often thought that he forced himself
to do this, and that he sometimes succeeded.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Besides, as I have already said, Bonaparte always
believed that he was acting in conformity with the
spirit of the Revolution, by attacking what he called
oligarchs. At every turn he would insist upon equality,
which in his mouth meant leveling. Leveling is
to equality exactly what despotism is to liberty; for it
crushes those faculties and neutralizes those situations
to which equality opens a career. The aristocracy of
classes levels, in fact, all that exists outside those
privileged classes, by reducing strength to the condition
of weakness, and merit to the condition of mediocrity.
True equality, on the contrary, by permitting
each to be that which he is, and to rise as high as he
can, utilizes every faculty and all legitimate influence.
It also forms an aristocracy, not of class, but of individuals—an
aristocracy which draws into it all who
deserve to form a portion of it.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The Emperor felt this distinction, and, notwithstanding
his nobles, his decorations, his senatorships,
and all his fine talk, his system tended solely to base
his absolute power upon a vast democracy, also of the
leveling order, with political rights which, although
they had the appearance of being accorded to all,
were in reality within the reach of none.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Toward the beginning of February the marriage of
Mlle. de Tascher, Mme. Bonaparte’s cousin, was solemnized.
She was raised to the rank of Princess, and
her husband’s relatives were in the greatest delight,
and remarkably obsequious on the occasion. They
flattered themselves that they would be exalted to a
great position; but the divorce undeceived the D’Arenberg
family, and they quarreled with the young Princess,
who had not brought them quite so much as they
expected.</p>

<p class='pindent'>At this time Count Romanzoff, the Russian Minister
of Foreign Affairs, arrived in Paris. He was
a man of knowledge and of sense, and he came there
full of admiration for the Emperor, and affected by
the genuine enthusiasm that his own young sovereign
felt for Napoleon. He was, however, sufficiently master
of himself to observe the Emperor with close attention.
He perceived the constraint of the Parisians,
who looked on at all the glory of the army without
appropriating it to themselves. He was struck with
certain remarkable disparities, and he formed a modified
judgment which, no doubt, had afterward some
influence on the Czar. The Emperor said to him on
one occasion, “How do you consider that I govern
the French?” “Sire,” he replied, “a little too seriously.”</p>

<p class='pindent'>Bonaparte, with the aid of a <span class='it'>senatus consultum</span>,
created a new “grand dignity of the Empire,” under
the title of “Governor-General beyond the Alps”;
and he conferred this dignity on Prince Borghese, who
was sent to Turin with his wife. The Prince was
obliged to sell the finest statues in the Villa Borghese
to the Emperor, and they were placed in our Museum.
This collection of all the masterpieces that Europe
had possessed was superb. They were grouped in the
Louvre with the greatest care and elegance, and that
was a conquest of a kind which appealed eloquently
to French vanity and French taste.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Bonaparte had a report made to him, in a sitting of
the Council of State, upon the progress of science, letters,
and art since 1789, by a deputation, at the head
of which was M. de Bougainville. After the report
had been read, he replied in these terms: “I have
heard you upon the progress of the human mind in
these latter days, in order that what you say to me may
be heard by all nations, and may silence the detractors
of our age, who are endeavoring to force the human
mind to retrograde, and who seem to aim at its extinction.
I desired to know what remains for me to
do for the encouragement of your labors, in order to
console myself for being unable to contribute otherwise
to their success. The welfare of my people and
the glory of my throne are equally interested in the
prosperity of the sciences. My Minister of the Interior
shall make me a report upon all your demands;
you may confidently count upon my protection.”
Thus did the Emperor occupy himself with everything
at the same time, and thus ably did he associate
all that was illustrious with the <span class='it'>éclat</span> and the grandeur
of his reign.</p>

<p class='pindent'>I have already said that he was desirous of founding
families which should perpetuate the remembrance
of the dignities that he had accorded to those whom
he favored. He was greatly annoyed at the resistance
he had met with from M. de Caulaincourt, who
had gone away to Russia, declaring very positively
that, as he could not marry Mme. de ——, he would
never marry.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The Emperor did his best to overcome the opposition
which he also encountered from the man for
whom he cared most—Marshal Berthier, Prince de
Neufchâtel. Berthier had been for many years deeply
attached to an Italian lady, who, although she was
nearer fifty than forty, was still remarkably beautiful.
She exercised supreme influence over him, even to the
extent of making him pardon several acts of levity
which she did not hesitate to indulge in before his
eyes. These she represented in any colors which she
chose, and he forgave them.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Marshal Berthier, who was importuned on this
point by the Emperor, would often entreat his master
to spare him with respect to this cherished weakness,
for the sake of his fidelity; and Bonaparte would laugh
at him, get angry, return to the charge, but could
never conquer his resistance. This went on for years;
but at length, by dint of talking and urgency, he carried
his point, and Berthier, although he shed bitter
tears on the occasion, consented to marry a princess
of the house of Bavaria. The Princess Marie was
brought to Paris, and the marriage was solemnized in
the presence of the Emperor and Empress. Berthier’s
bride was by no means handsome, or calculated
to make her husband forget the sentiments which he
had cherished for so long; and, indeed, his passion for
the Italian lady ended only with his life. The Princess
was an excellent person, but in no way remarkable.
She was liked at the French Court, and she was
always of the opinion that she had made a good marriage.
The Prince de Neufchâtel, who was largely
endowed with gifts by the Emperor, possessed an immense
revenue, and the household of three lived on
the best possible terms. After the Restoration they
lived in Paris. The Marshal, who was ill with fever
when Bonaparte returned from Elba on the 20th of
March, 1815, was so terrified by that event that he
lost his senses, and either threw himself or fell out of
a window, and was killed. He left two sons. The
Princess remained in Paris, and the fair Italian keeps
up her former relations with her.</p>

<p class='pindent'>At this time the Emperor showed more plainly than
ever what a monarchical turn his ideas were taking, by
founding the institution of the “Majorats.” That
institution was approved by many, blamed by others,
envied by a certain class, and readily adopted by many
families, who welcomed this opportunity of conferring
importance on their eldest sons and perpetuating their
name. The Arch-Chancellor carried the decree to the
Senate, and represented in his speech that hereditary
distinctions were of the essence of monarchy, that they
kept alive what is in France called honor, and that our
national character should lead us to approve them.
He then proceeded to pacify the men of the Revolution
by adding that all citizens would be none the less equal
before the law, and that distinctions impartially accorded
to all who merited them ought to stimulate
the zeal of all without exciting the jealousy of any.
The Senate received all this with its ordinary approbation,
and voted an address of thanks and admiration
to the Emperor.</p>

<p class='pindent'>M. de Talleyrand warmly praised this new institution.
He could not understand a monarchy without a
nobility. A council was created to superintend the
administration of the laws by which the foundation
of a Majorat was to be obtained. M. de Pasquier,
chief Master of Requests, was named Procurator-General;
titles were granted to those who held great
offices in the state. This was at first ridiculed, because
certain names allied themselves oddly enough to the
title of Count or Baron; but the public soon got accustomed
to it, and, as all hoped to arrive at some distinction,
they tolerated and even approved the new
system.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The Emperor was ingenious in his method of demonstrating
to all parties how entirely they ought to
approve of these creations. “I am securing the Revolution,”
said he to one party; “this intermediate
class which I am founding is eminently democratic,
for everybody is called to it.” “It will support the
throne,” said he to the <span class='it'>grands seigneurs</span>. Then he
added, turning toward those who wanted a modified
monarchy: “It will oppose itself to the encroachments
of absolute authority, because it will itself be a power
in the state.” To genuine Jacobins he said, “You
ought to rejoice, for here is the old <span class='it'>noblesse</span> finally
annihilated;” and to that old <span class='it'>noblesse</span> he said, “By
arraying yourselves in new dignities, you resuscitate
yourselves and perpetuate your ancient rights.” We
listened to him; we wished to believe him; and, besides,
he did not give us much time to reflect—he carried
us away in the whirlwinds of contradictions of
every kind. He even imposed his benefits by force
when it was necessary; and this was an adroitness the
more, for there were people who wanted to be forced
to accept.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Another institution which seemed really grand and
imposing succeeded this one. I allude to the University.
Public instruction was concentrated in a clear
and comprehensive system, and it was admitted that
the decree was very nobly conceived.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Ultimately, however, that which happened to everything
else happened to the University; Bonaparte’s
own despotic disposition took fright at the powers
which he had accorded, because they might possibly
become obstacles to certain of his desires. The Minister
of the Interior, the Prefect, the general administration—that
is to say, the absolute system—mixed
itself up with the operations which the University
corps were attempting, contradicted them, and overruled
them when they indicated the very least traces
of independence. In this respect also we present the
spectacle rather of a fine façade than of a solid building.</p>

<p class='pindent'>M. de Fontanes was nominated Grand Master of
the University. This choice, which was also generally
approved, suited the purpose of the master, who was
so jealous of preserving his daily and hourly authority
over men and things. M. de Fontanes, whose
noble intellect and reputation for perfect taste had
procured him a very distinguished position, injured
these qualities by carelessness and inertness, which
rendered him incapable of making a stand when it was
necessary. I must place him also, I fear, among the
fine façades.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Nevertheless, something was gained by this creation;
order was restored to education, the scope of
study was extended, and young people were occupied.
It has been said that under the Empire education at
the Lycées was entirely military, but that was not the
case. Letters were carefully cultivated, sound morals
were inculcated, and strict surveillance was practiced.
The system of education was, however, neither sufficiently
religious nor sufficiently national, and the time
had come when it was necessary that it should be both
one and the other. No effort was made to impart to
young people that moral and political knowledge
which trains citizens, and prepares them to take their
part in the labors of their Government. They were
obliged to attend the schools, but nobody spoke to
them of their religion; they heard much more about
the Emperor than they heard about the state, and they
were incited to a desire for military fame. Yet, notwithstanding
these drawbacks, and although the youth
of the French nation is not all that it ought to be, it
has been developed to a remarkable extent, and a
great difference may be discerned between those who
have availed themselves of the public education offered
to all and those who have held aloof from it. Mistrust,
party spirit, and a sort of general misgiving
induced the old French nobility and a portion of the
wealthy class to keep their children with themselves,
and to rear them in a number of prejudices, for which
they are now suffering. The pupils of the Lycées
acquired a superiority by their public education, which
it would now be vain to dispute.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The decree which created the University, after having
regulated the functions of those who were to compose
it, fixed their salaries at high rates. The officials
were given a handsome costume and an imposing organization.
After the Grand Master (the Bishop of
Bazas) came M. de Villaret as Chancellor. M. Delambre,
permanent secretary of the first class of the
Institute, who was held in high consideration, both
for his learning and character, was Treasurer. The
Council of the University was composed of distinguished
men; the names of M. de Beausset, formerly
Bishop of Alais, and now Cardinal, of M. Cuvier, M.
de Bonald, M. de Frayssinous, Royer-Collard, etc.,
were included in the number. The professors were
chosen with great care. In short, this creation met
with universal approbation; but ensuing events hindered
its action in the first place, and afterward disorganized
it like all the rest.</p>

<p class='pindent'>On the 23d of March, 1808, the Court went to
Saint Cloud. The Emperor always left Paris as soon
as he could: he disliked living at the Tuileries, because
of the impossibility of walking about there freely;
and then, the greater his power and splendor became,
the more ill at ease he found himself in the presence
of the Parisians. He could not endure any restraint,
and he knew that in the city people were aware of the
language which he was in the habit of using, and the
violence to which he gave way. He excited curiosity,
which annoyed him; he was coldly received in public;
a number of stories about him got into circulation;
in short, he was obliged to put some constraint
upon himself. Thus his sojourns in Paris became
more and more brief, and he began to talk of inhabiting
Versailles. The restoration of the palace was
decided upon, and Bonaparte observed more than once
that in reality he had no occasion to be in Paris, except
during the session of the Corps Législatif. When
he rode or drove to any distance from the town, he
used to say, as he approached it on his return, “Here
we are again, in the great Babylon.” He even formed
plans for the transplantation of the capital to Lyons.
It was only in imagination that he contemplated such
a displacement, but he took pleasure in the idea, and
it was one of his favorite dreams.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The Parisians were perfectly well aware that Bonaparte
did not like them, and they avenged themselves
by sarcastic jests and anecdotes, which were
for the most part pure inventions. They were submissive
to him, but cold and satirical. His courtiers
adopted the antipathy of their master, and never
spoke of Paris without some disparaging epithet.
More than once I have heard the Emperor say,
moodily, “They have not yet pardoned me for pointing
my guns upon them on the 13th Vendémiaire.”</p>

<p class='pindent'>An authentic collection of the observations that
Bonaparte made upon his own conduct would be
a very useful book to many sovereigns, and to their
advisers. When at the present time (I write in 1819)
I hear people, who seem to me to be mere novices in
the art of governing men, affirm that nothing is so
easy as to impose one’s will by force, and that by
trusting to the bayonet one may constrain a nation to
endure any <span class='it'>régime</span> which may be inflicted upon it, I
recall what the Emperor used to say about the difficulties
which had arisen from his first steps in his
political career, the complications produced by the employment
of force against the citizens, which beset
him from the very day after that on which he had
been obliged to avail himself of so terrible a resource.</p>

<p class='pindent'>I have heard his Ministers say that, when any violent
measure was proposed in the Council, he would
put the question, “Can you answer for it that the
people will not rise?” and that the smallest popular
movement always appeared to him grave and ominous.
I have seen him take pleasure in describing, or
in listening to a description of, the various emotions
that are experienced upon the field of battle, and turn
pale at a narrative of the excesses of a people in revolt;
and, if, when riding through the streets of Paris
on horseback, a workman threw himself in his way
to implore some favor, Bonaparte’s first movement
was always to shudder and recoil.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The generals of the Guard had strict orders to prevent
contact between the people and the soldiery. “I
could not,” said Bonaparte, “take the part of the latter.”
If any quarrel took place between soldiers and
citizens, the soldiers were invariably punished and
sent away. It is true they afterward received compensation
money, which quieted them.</p>

<p class='pindent'>All this time the north of Europe was in a state of
agitation. The King of Sweden was too faithful to
the policy imposed upon him by the English Government
for the interests of his subjects. He excited increasing
discontent among the Swedes, and his conduct
bore witness to the condition of his brain. The
Emperor of Russia having declared war against him,
and having at the same time commenced an expedition
to Finland, M. d’Alopeus, the Russian ambassador
at Stockholm, was placed under arrest in his own
house, contrary to all the rights of nations.</p>

<p class='pindent'>On this occasion the notes in the “Moniteur” were
eloquent indeed. One of them was as follows: “Poor
Swedish nation, into what hands have you fallen?
Your Charles XII. was, no doubt, a little mad, but he
was brave; and your King, who went to play braggart
in Pomerania while the armistice existed, was
the first to run away when the same armistice, which
he broke, had expired.” Such language as this could
only announce an impending storm.</p>

<p class='pindent'>At the beginning of the month of March the King
of Denmark, Christian VII., died; and his son, who
had long been Regent, ascended the throne under the
title of Frederick V., in the fortieth year of his age.</p>

<p class='pindent'>It is remarkable that, at a period when the troubled
nations seemed to have need of sovereigns of more
than ordinary intelligence and wisdom, several of the
thrones of Europe were filled by princes who had but
little use of reason, and in some instances had none
at all. Among those unfortunate sovereigns were the
Kings of England, Sweden, and Denmark, and the
Queen of Portugal.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Popular discontent manifested itself on the occasion
of the arrest of the Russian ambassador at Stockholm.
The King left that city and retired to the Castle of
Gripsholm, from which he issued orders for war,
either against the Russians or against the Danes.</p>

<p class='pindent'>All eyes were, however, soon turned away from
what was passing in the north, to fix themselves upon
the drama which was beginning in Spain. The Grand
Duke of Berg had been sent to take the command of
our army on the banks of the Ebro. The King of
Spain, who was feeble, timid, and ruled by his Minister,
made no opposition to the passage of the foreign
troops through his country, toward Portugal as it was
represented. The national party of the Spaniards, at
whose head was the Prince of the Asturias, were incensed
at this invasion, for they discerned its consequences.
They saw that they were sacrificed to the
ambition of the Prince of the Peace. A revolt against
that Minister broke out; the King and Queen were
attacked, and prepared to quit Spain. This was what
the Emperor wanted, for he was bent upon dethroning
the Prince of the Asturias afterward, and believed
that he should easily succeed in doing so. I have already
said that the Prince of the Peace, won by the
promises that had been made to him, had devoted
himself to the policy of the Emperor, who began by
making the tremendous mistake of introducing French
influence into Spain under the auspices of a detested
Minister.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Meanwhile the people of Madrid flocked to Aranjuez,
and sacked the palace of the Minister, who was
obliged to hide himself to escape the fury of the mob.
The King and Queen, greatly alarmed at the danger
of their favorite, and almost equally grieved, were
forced to demand that he should resign; and on the
16th of March, 1808, the King, yielding to pressure
from all sides, abdicated in favor of his son, announcing
that his health compelled him to seek a better
climate. This act of weakness checked the revolt.
The Prince of the Asturias took the name of Ferdinand
VII., and his first act of authority was to confiscate
the property of the Prince of the Peace. But he
had not sufficient strength of character to profit fully
by the new situation. He was frightened by his rupture
with his father, and hesitated at the moment
when he ought to have acted. On the other hand, the
King and Queen played the game of the Emperor by
calling the French army to their aid. The Grand
Duke of Berg joined them at Aranjuez, and promised
them his dangerous assistance. The vacillation of the
authorities, the fear inspired by our arms, the intrigues
of the Prince of the Peace, the severe and
imperious measures of Murat, all combined to produce
trouble and disorder in Spain; and the unfortunate
reigning family speedily perceived that this
disorganization was about to turn to the advantage of
the armed mediator, who assumed the position of a
judge. The “Moniteur” gave an account of these
events, deploring the misfortune of King Charles
IV.; and a few days later the Emperor, accompanied
by a brilliant Court, left Saint Cloud, under the pretext
of making a journey into the south of France.</p>

<p class='pindent'>I shall give the details of all these events when I
reach the fourth epoch of these Memoirs. We were
in the dark about them at the time of their occurrence.
We asked ourselves, what was the Emperor going to
do? Was this new journey an invasion? All these
secret intrigues, to which we had no clew, excited our
attention and curiosity, and the public disquiet increased
daily.</p>

<p class='pindent'>M. de Talleyrand, whom I saw frequently, was exceedingly
dissatisfied, and openly blamed all that was
done and was about to be done. He denounced Murat,
declaring that there was perfidy somewhere, but
that he was not mixed up with it, and repeating that
had he been Minister of Foreign Affairs he would
never have lent his name to such devices. The Emperor
was exceedingly angry at this freely expressed
condemnation. He saw that approbation of a new
kind was felt for M. de Talleyrand; he listened to
denunciations of his Minister, and their friendship
was interrupted. He has frequently asserted that M.
de Talleyrand advised this Spanish affair, and only
attempted to get out of it when he perceived that it
was a failure. I can bear witness to the fact that M.
de Talleyrand severely condemned it at the period of
which I am writing, and expressed himself with so
much vehemence against such a violation of all the
rights of nations that I had to advise him to moderate
his language. What he would have advised I can not
say, because he never explained himself on that point,
and I have now stated all that I know. It is, however,
certain that the public were with him at this
time, and declared for him because he did not dissemble
his dissatisfaction. “This,” he said, “is a
base intrigue. It is an enterprise against a national
aspiration; we declare ourselves thereby the enemy
of the people; it is a blunder which will never be repaired.”
Events have proved that M. de Talleyrand
was right, and that from that fatal event the moral
decline of him who at that time made all Europe
tremble may be dated.</p>

<p class='pindent'>About this time the mild and gentle Queen of Naples
set out to rejoin her husband in Spain, and to
take her place upon a throne from which she was
destined to descend before very long.</p>

<hr class='pbk'/>

<div><span class='pageno' title='723' id='Page_723'></span><h1>CHAPTER&nbsp;&nbsp;XXIX</h1></div>

<h2 class='nobreak'>(1808.)</h2>

<p class='noindent'><img src='https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:c:claire-remusat-memoirs-josephine-vol-2-o.jpg' style='float:left;' alt='O'/>N the 2d of July, 1808, the Emperor set out
on the pretext of visiting the southern provinces,
but in reality to watch what was going
on in Spain. I will give an idea of what that was as
succinctly as possible.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The transactions of Charles IV. with the different
Governments of France were well known. After
having vainly attempted in 1793 to save the life of
Louis XVI., at the close of a war nobly undertaken
but unskillfully conducted, the Spaniards had to submit
to the dictation of the conqueror, and the French
Government had always meddled more or less in their
affairs since that time.</p>

<p class='pindent'>At the head of the administration was Emanuel
Godoy—a man of ordinary capacity, who had risen
to the position which he now held, and was governing
the Spains, as the result of the feelings with which
he had inspired the Queen. On him had been heaped
all the dignities, honors, and treasures which any
favorite could possibly obtain. He was born in 1768,
of a noble family, and placed in the royal Bodyguard
in 1787. The Queen took him into favor, and he rose
rapidly from rank to rank, becoming lieutenant-general,
Duke of Alcudia, and in 1792 Minister of
Foreign Affairs. In 1795 he was made Prince of
the Peace. After the treaty which he concluded with
France in 1798, with so little honor to himself, he
ceased to be Minister; but he still directed affairs, and
all his life he exercised complete empire over King
Charles IV., who strangely shared the infatuation of
the Queen his wife. The Prince of the Peace married
a niece of the King.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The good understanding which existed between
France and Spain appeared to be intact until the
opening of the Prussian campaign, when the Prince of
the Peace, believing that the war would injure the
fortunes of the Emperor, proposed to arm Spain, so
that the country should be ready to profit by events
which might enable it to shake off the French yoke.
He issued a proclamation, inviting all Spaniards to
enroll themselves. This proclamation reached the
Emperor on the battle-field of Jena, and many persons
have said that from that moment he was resolved on
the destruction of the house of Bourbon in Spain.
After his great victories he distributed the Spanish
troops over all points of Europe, and the Prince of
the Peace obtained his protection only at the price of
submitting to his policy.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Bonaparte often asserted in 1808 that at Tilsit the
Czar had approved his designs upon Spain; and, in
fact, the interview of the two Emperors took place
so amicably at Erfurt, immediately after the overthrow
of Charles IV., that it is very likely they had
mutually authorized each other to pursue their projects,
the one toward the north and the other toward
the south. But I can not tell to what extent Bonaparte
deceived the Emperor of Russia, nor whether he did
not begin by hinting to him the division of the states
of King Charles IV., which he was pretending to prepare,
and the equivalent in Italy which he feigned to
intend to give him. Perhaps he had not yet arranged
his plan for entirely dispossessing him, and it is quite
certain that M. de Talleyrand was not in the plot.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Murat, in his correspondence with the Prince of the
Peace, bribed him with the government of a portion of
Portugal, which, he said, should become the kingdom
of the Algarves. Another portion of Portugal was to
belong to the King of Etruria, and Etruria was thenceforth
to become the empire of King Charles IV., who
was to keep the American colonies, and at the general
peace to take the title of Emperor of the Two
Americas.</p>

<p class='pindent'>In 1807 a treaty on these bases was concluded at
Fontainebleau, without the knowledge of M. de Talleyrand,
and the passage of our troops through Spain
for the conquest of Portugal was granted by the
Prince of the Peace. At Milan the Emperor signified
to the Queen of Etruria that she was to return to her
father. Meanwhile the Prince of the Peace was
becoming more and more odious to the Spanish nation,
and was especially hated by the Prince of the Asturias.
The latter, impelled by his own feelings and by the
advice of those who surrounded him, distressed by the
increasing alienation of his mother and the weakness
of his father, alarmed at the entry of our troops,
which made him suspect some fresh plot, and especially
indignant that the Prince of the Peace should endeavor
to make him contract a marriage with the sister of
the Princess, wrote to Bonaparte to apprise him of the
grievances of the Spaniards against the favorite, and
to request his support and the hand of a lady of the
Bonaparte family. To this request, which was probably
inspired by the ambassador of France, the Emperor
made no immediate reply. Shortly afterward
the Prince of the Asturias was denounced as a conspirator
and arrested, and his friends were exiled.
Several notes denunciatory of the exactions of the
Prince of the Peace were found among his papers,
and on this a charge of conspiracy was founded. The
Queen pursued her son with determined enmity, and
the Prince of the Asturias was about to be brought
to trial when letters from the Emperor, signifying
that he would not permit a question of the project of
marriage to be raised, reached Madrid. As it was
upon this point that the accusation of conspiracy was
to bear, the charge had to be abandoned. The Prince
of the Peace wanted to take credit for indulgence, and
pretended that he had solicited and obtained pardon
for the Prince of the Asturias. King Charles IV.
wrote to the Emperor, giving him an account of the
affair and of his own conduct; and Bonaparte became
adviser and arbitrator in all these difficulties, which
so far were favorable to his own designs. These
events took place in October, 1807.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Meanwhile our troops were establishing themselves
in Spain. The Spaniards, surprised by this invasion,
complained bitterly of the weakness of their sovereign
and the treason of the favorite. It was asked why the
Spanish armies were sent to the frontiers of Portugal,
far from the center of the kingdom, which was thus
delivered over without defense. Murat was marching
toward Madrid. The Prince of the Peace sent a
creature of his own, one Izquierdo, to Fontainebleau
for final instructions. This man had an interview with
M. de Talleyrand, in which the latter informed him
of the error into which the Prince of the Peace had
fallen, and showed him that the treaty just signed at
Fontainebleau involved the complete destruction of the
power of Spain. Izquierdo, thunderstruck at all he
heard, returned immediately to Madrid, and the Prince
of the Peace began to perceive how he had been
tricked. But it was too late. The troops were recalled,
and a project of imitating the conduct of the
Prince of Brazil by abandoning the Continent was
discussed. The Court was at Aranjuez; its preparations,
however, could not be so secretly conducted but
that they transpired in Madrid. The excitement in
the city was increased by intelligence of the approach
of Murat and of the intended departure of the King,
and soon broke out into a revolt; the people went in
crowds to Aranjuez, the King was detained as a
prisoner in the palace, and the house of the Prince of
the Peace was sacked, while he himself was thrown
into prison, barely escaping from the fury of the
populace. Charles IV. was forced to disgrace his
favorite and banish him from Spain. On the following
day the King, either feeling himself too weak to
rule over a country about to become the scene of
discord, or successfully coerced by the opposite party,
abdicated in favor of his son.</p>

<p class='pindent'>All this took place at a few leagues’ distance from
Madrid, where Murat had established his headquarters.
On the 19th of March, 1808, Charles IV. wrote
to the Emperor that, on account of his health, he was
unable to remain in Spain, and that he had just abdicated
in favor of his son. This occurrence upset all
Bonaparte’s plans. The fruit of the device which he
had been planning for six months was snatched from
him; Spain was about to pass under the sway of a
young Prince who, judging by recent events, appeared
capable of taking strong measures. The Spanish
nation would, no doubt, eagerly embrace the cause of
a sovereign whose aim would be the deliverance of his
country. Our army was coldly received at Madrid.
Murat had already been obliged to have recourse to
severe measures for the maintenance of order. A new
plan was necessary, and it was needful, above all, to be
nearer the theatre of events, so as to estimate them
aright.</p>

<p class='pindent'>For these reasons the Emperor resolved on going
to Bayonne. He left Saint Cloud on the 2d of April,
parting with coolness from M. de Talleyrand, and
abstaining from any disclosure of his plans. The
“Moniteur” announced that the Emperor was about
to visit the southern departments, and not until the
8th of April, after meager accounts of what was
taking place in Spain, did we learn that his presence
at Madrid was not only desired, but expected.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The Empress, who was both fond of traveling and
averse to being separated from her husband, obtained
permission to make the journey after his departure,
and she soon joined him at Bordeaux.</p>

<p class='pindent'>M. de Talleyrand was uneasy and displeased at the
Emperor’s movements. I am inclined to think that
for a long time past, as much from his dislike to
Murat as on account of other projects of which I am
ignorant, he had favored the party by whom the
Prince of the Asturias was guided. On this occasion
he found himself put aside, and realized for the first
time that Bonaparte was learning to do without him.
In Paris we were all mystified at what was going on.
The official articles in the “Moniteur” were extremely
obscure; nothing that emanated from the Emperor
could surprise us; but even curiosity was at last wearing
out, and, moreover, no great interest was felt in
the royal house of Spain. There was, therefore, very
little excitement, and we waited for time to enlighten
us. France was growing used to expect that Bonaparte
would use her simply for his own personal
ends.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Meanwhile Murat, who was acquainted with some
of the Emperor’s projects, and who saw that some of
them must fail through the abdication of Charles IV.,
acted with skillful duplicity at Madrid. He contrived
to avoid recognizing the Prince of the Asturias, and
all the evidence leads to the conclusion that he contributed
to excite the old King’s desire to resume his
crown. A dispatch from General Monthion, who had
been sent as envoy to Charles IV. at Aranjuez, was
published in the “Moniteur,” and Europe was informed
that the King had made bitter complaints of
his son, had declared that his abdication was forced,
and had placed himself in the Emperor’s hands, with
a special request that the life of the Prince of the
Peace should be spared. The Queen, in still more passionate
terms, accused her son, and seemed entirely
engrossed by anxiety for the fate of her favorite.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The Spaniards had accepted the abdication of their
King, and were rejoiced to be rid of the yoke of the
Prince of the Peace. They were impatient, especially
at Madrid, of the presence of the French, and of
their reserved behavior toward the young sovereign;
and Murat could repress the growing excitement only
by measures of severity, necessary under the circumstances,
but which completed the detestation in which
we were held.</p>

<p class='pindent'>On the Emperor’s arrival at Bayonne, he took up
his abode at the Château de Marrac, about a mile from
the town. He was uncertain as to what might come
of his present undertaking, and as a last resource was
prepared to go to Madrid; but he was fully determined
not to let the fruit of his endeavors escape him. No
one about him was in the secret: he controlled the
actions of all without confiding in any one. In the
Abbé de Pradt’s “History of the Revolution in
Spain,” there are some interesting notes and comments
on the force of character which enabled the Emperor
to bear quite alone the secret of his vast conceptions.
The Abbé de Pradt was at that time Bishop of Poitiers,
and Bonaparte, on passing through the city, attached
him to his suite, believing he should be able to make
use of his well-known talent and inclination for
intrigue.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Several persons who accompanied the Emperor on
this journey told me that their sojourn at Marrac was
dull, and that they all wished for a climax to the
events then taking place, in order that they might
return to Paris.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Savary was dispatched to Madrid, and in all probability
received orders to bring back the Prince of the
Asturias at any cost. He accomplished his mission
with the exactitude for which he was remarkable, and
which forbade him from criticising either the orders
he received or the means necessary to their fulfillment.
On the 7th of April Savary presented himself to the
Prince of the Asturias at Madrid. He announced the
Emperor’s journey into Spain as certain, assumed
the character of an ambassador coming to congratulate
a new King, and bound himself, in the name of his
master, not to meddle with any Spanish affairs if the
sovereign’s dispositions were friendly toward the
Emperor. He next insinuated that negotiations would
be greatly expedited by the Prince’s moving forward
to meet the Emperor, who intended very shortly to
repair to Madrid; and to the surprise of every one,
to the surprise of posterity also, he contrived to persuade
the Prince of the Asturias and his Court to
undertake the journey. We can hardly doubt that
advice on this occasion was backed by threats, and
that the unfortunate young Prince was caught in a
multitude of snares, all spread for him at once. He
was, no doubt, given to understand that this was the
price at which his crown must be purchased, and that,
as the Emperor wished him to take this step, no help
would be afforded him unless he consented to it; the
bait that the Emperor would meet him on the way was
also held out, and nothing was at first said about his
crossing the frontier.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The Prince of the Asturias found himself involved
by circumstances in an enterprise beyond his strength;
he was more the puppet than the chief of the party
who had placed him on the throne, and he could not
quite reconcile himself to the position of a son in open
rebellion against his father. Moreover, he was intimidated
by the presence of our troops, and dared not
answer to his people for the safety of their country if
he resisted us. His advisers were alarmed. Savary’s
counsels were mingled with threats, and the unhappy
Prince, who was influenced by the most generous sentiments,
consented to a step which was the proximate
cause of his ruin. I have heard Savary say that the
orders he had received were so positive that, when
once he had him on the road to Bayonne, he would
not have suffered him to turn back for any consideration
in the world; and, some faithful adherents having
conveyed a warning to the Prince, he watched him so
closely that he felt assured no human power could
snatch him from his grasp.</p>

<p class='pindent'>To further this wicked and ably laid plot, the Emperor
wrote the following letter, which was subsequently
published. It was handed to the Prince of
the Asturias at Vittoria, and I transcribe it here, as it
throws a light on the events which followed:</p>

<div class='blockquote'>

<p class='line' style='text-align:right;margin-right:1em;'>“<span class='sc'>Bayonne</span>, <span class='it'>April, 1808</span>.</p>

<p class='pindent'>“<span class='sc'>My Brother</span>: I have received your Royal Highness’s
letter. In the papers of the King, your father,
you must have seen proofs of the interest I have always
felt in your Royal Highness. You will permit me,
under present circumstances, to address you loyally
and frankly.</p>

<p class='pindent'>“I hoped, on reaching Madrid, to have persuaded
my illustrious friend to undertake some necessary
reforms in his states, and to satisfy in some measure
the public opinion of the country. The dismissal of
the Prince of the Peace seemed to me to be necessary
both for his own happiness and that of his subjects.
Affairs in the north have delayed my journey. Certain
events have taken place at Aranjuez. I pronounce no
judgment on these, nor on the conduct of the Prince
of the Peace; but I know this well, that it is dangerous
for kings to accustom their people to shed blood and
to administer justice to themselves. I pray God that
your Royal Highness may not learn this one day by
your own experience. It is not in the interest of
Spain to injure a Prince who is husband to a Princess
of the blood royal, and who has so long reigned over
the kingdom. He has now no friends, nor will your
Highness have any if misfortune overtake you. Men
are always ready to make us suffer for the honors they
have paid us. Besides, how could proceedings be
taken against the Prince of the Peace without implicating
the Queen and the King, your father? Such
a lawsuit will encourage dissensions and faction, and
the consequences will be fatal to your crown. Your
Royal Highness has no other claim to it than that
conferred on you by your mother; if the lawsuit
reflects dishonor on her, your Royal Highness’s rights
will be thereby destroyed. Close your ears, therefore,
to weak and perfidious counsel; you have no right to
sit in judgment on the Prince of the Peace. His
crimes, if he is accused of any, are absorbed in the
rights of the throne. I have often expressed a desire
that the Prince of the Peace should be removed from
the conduct of affairs. The friendship of King
Charles has often induced me to keep silence, and to
turn away my eyes from his weak attachment.
Wretched creatures that we all are! our motto should
be, ‘Weakness and Error.’ But all may be arranged.
Let the Prince of the Peace be banished from Spain;
I will offer him a refuge in France.</p>

<p class='pindent'>“As to the abdication of King Charles IV., he made
it at a time when my army was occupying Spain, and
in the eyes of Europe and of posterity I should appear
to have sent large numbers of troops thither merely
in order to turn my ally and my friend off his throne.
As a neighboring sovereign, I may be allowed to wait
for full and entire information before recognizing
this abdication. I say to your Royal Highness, to
all Spaniards, and to the whole world, if the abdication
of King Charles IV. is spontaneous, if it has not
been forced on him by the insurrection and the tumult
at Aranjuez I will make no difficulty about recognizing
it, and will acknowledge your Royal Highness to be
King of Spain. I desire, therefore, to converse with
you to this end. The caution with which I have
watched these things for the last month should be a
guarantee of the support I would afford you if, in
your turn, a factious spirit, of whatever kind, should
disturb you on your throne. When King Charles informed
me of the events of last October, I was painfully
impressed by them, and I may have contributed,
by the suggestions I then made, to the happy ending
of the Escurial affair. Your Royal Highness was
greatly to blame: no other proof of this is needed than
the letter you addressed to me, which I have persistently
ignored. When, in your turn, you are a King,
you will know how sacred are the rights of a throne.
Any advances made to a foreign sovereign are criminal.
Your Royal Highness must be on your guard
against outbursts of popular feeling. A few of my
soldiers might be murdered in isolated situations, but
the destruction of Spain would be the result. I already
perceive with regret that letters from the Captain-General
of Catalonia have been distributed about
Madrid, and that everything has been done to promote
disturbance there.</p>

<p class='pindent'>“I have now fully explained myself to your Royal
Highness; you perceive that I am hesitating between
various ideas, which require confirmation. You may
be assured that, in any case, I shall treat you as I
would treat the King, your father. I beg you to
believe in my desire for conciliation, and to grant me
an opportunity of proving my good will and high
esteem.”</p>

</div>

<p class='pindent'>We see by this letter that the Emperor still reserved
to himself the right of judging of the validity of the
abdication of Charles IV. It appears, however, that
Savary flattered the young King into the belief of
more positive approbation than was actually contained
in the letter, while Murat was secretly urging King
Charles to retract. By thus writing to the Prince of
the Asturias, the Emperor contrived a means of saving
the Prince of the Peace, if necessary, from taking part
with Charles IV., and finally of blaming the first
symptom of rebellion against his father on the part
of the Prince of the Asturias. It was known, however,
at this period that the ambassador of France had
suggested to the Prince the demand which he had
made for the hand of a Princess of the Imperial
family in marriage. It was this demand which had
most deeply offended the favorite.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The Prince of the Asturias left Madrid on the 10th
of April. He received tokens of affection from his
people on his way, and great anxiety was everywhere
displayed at his approach to the frontier. Savary reiterated
his assurances that by pushing on farther they
must meet the Emperor, and kept the Prince under
strict guard. On reaching Burgos, the Prince’s council
began to take alarm; but they continued their route
to Vittoria, where the people unharnessed the horses
from the carriage, the guard had to force a passage,
and this was done almost against the will of the
Prince, whose hopes were fading.</p>

<p class='pindent'>“At Vittoria,” Savary told me afterward, “I
thought for an instant that my prisoner was about to
escape, but I took care he should not. I frightened
him.” “But,” I answered, “do you mean that, if he
had resisted, you would have killed him?” “Oh
no,” he said; “but I protest that I would never have
let him go back.”</p>

<p class='pindent'>The Prince’s councilors, however, were reassured
by the reflection that a marriage would conciliate all
parties, and, being unable to understand the immensity
of the Imperial projects, they looked upon
such an alliance, together with the sacrifice of a few
men and of the liberty of trade, as the conclusion of
a definitive treaty. They yielded, therefore, to the soldierly
arguments of Savary, and finally crossed the
frontier.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The royal party entered Bayonne on the 21st of
April. Those persons of the household who were
then in attendance on the Emperor discovered, by the
change in his temper, how important for the success
of his projects was the arrival of the Infantes. Until
then he had seemed full of care, confiding in no one,
but dispatching courier after courier. He dared not
reckon on the success of his plan. He had invited the
old King to come to him, who, as well as the Queen
and the favorite, had just then nothing better to do;
but it seemed so likely that the new King would take
advantage of the revolt about to break out in Spain
and would rouse the new-born enthusiasm of all
classes for the deliverance of their country, that, until
the actual moment when he was informed that the
Prince had crossed the Pyrenees, the Emperor must
have looked on the event as wellnigh impossible. He
has since said that, dating from this blunder, he had
no longer a doubt of the incapacity of King Ferdinand.</p>

<p class='pindent'>On the 20th of April the Queen of Holland gave
birth to a son who was named Louis.</p>

<p class='pindent'>At this time the painter Robert died. He was
famous for his artistic talent, his taste in architecture,
and was, besides, an excellent and very clever
man.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The Abbé de Pradt has narrated all the circumstances
of the arrival of the Princes; and, as he witnessed
it, I again refer to his work, without feeling
bound to quote from it here. He says that the Emperor
came from Marrac to Bayonne; that he treated
the Prince of the Asturias as an equal; that he invited
him the same day to dinner, treating him with royal
honors; and that it was not until the evening of that
day, when the Prince had returned to his dwelling,
that Savary again came to him, with orders to inform
him of Bonaparte’s intentions. These intentions were
to overthrow the reigning dynasty, in order to put his
own in its place, and consequently the abdication of
the whole family was demanded. The Abbé de Pradt
is naturally astounded at the part which the Emperor
played during the day, and one can hardly conceive
why he gave himself the trouble to act a character in
the morning so contrary to that of the evening.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Whatever were his motives, one can understand the
amazement of the Spanish Princes, and what must
have been their regret, having thus delivered themselves
into the hands of their inflexible enemy. From
that time they made efforts, not to fly—for they
quickly perceived that flight was impossible—but to
inform the Junta, sitting at Madrid, of their captivity
and of the intentions which would cause the ruin of
the last Bourbons. The greater number of their
messengers were stopped, but some few got away
safely; the news they carried excited indignation in
Madrid, and thence throughout Spain. Some provinces
protested; in several towns the people rose in revolt;
in Madrid the safety of the French army was endangered.
Murat redoubled his severity, and became an
object of hatred, as well as terror, to all the inhabitants.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Every one knows now how greatly the Emperor
deceived himself as to the condition of Spain and the
character of the Spaniards. He was influenced in this
odious undertaking by those same defects of character
and judgment which had on other occasions led him
into such grave errors: first, his determination to prevail
by sheer force, and his thirst for instant submission,
which made him neglect intermediaries, who are
not always to be despised with impunity; and,
secondly, an obstinate conviction that men are but very
slightly influenced by their mode of government, and
that national differences are so unimportant that the
same policy will answer equally well in the north or
in the south, with Germans, Frenchmen, or Spaniards.
He has since admitted that he was greatly mistaken in
this. When he learned that there existed in Spain a
higher class, aware of the bad government under which
it lived, and anxious for some changes in the constitution,
he did not doubt but that the people too would
swallow the bait if a revolution like that of France
were offered to them. He believed that in Spain, as
elsewhere, men would be easily roused against the
temporal power of the priesthood. His keen perception
appreciated the movement which had caused the
revolt of Aranjuez, and had placed the reins of power
in the hands of a weak Prince, too evidently lacking
ability to make or control a revolution; and he imagined,
overleaping time and the obstacles or circumstances
which cause delay, that, the first impulse of
movement having been given to Spanish institutions, a
complete change would ensue. He believed himself to
be even rendering a service to the nation in thus forestalling
events, in seizing on the Spanish revolution
beforehand, and in guiding it at once to the goal which
he thought it destined to reach.</p>

<p class='pindent'>But even were it possible to persuade a whole nation,
and to induce it to accept, as the outcome of a wise
foresight, those things which it can never understand
except through the teaching of facts and often of
misfortune, the hatefulness of the means employed
by the Emperor blasted him in the eyes of those he
wished to win, and whom he believed he was serving;
“<span class='it'>for the heart of Jehu was not upright, nor his hands
clean</span>,” that Spain should receive him as the reformer
whom she needed. Moreover, a foreign yoke was
offensive to Spanish pride; while secret machinations,
the imprisonment of the sovereigns, unconcealed contempt
for religious beliefs, the threats that were used,
the executions that followed on them, and, later, the
exactions and cruelties of war, all concurred to prevent
any concord. The two contending parties, each inflamed
against the other, were soon filled with a
furious longing for mutual destruction. The Emperor
himself sacrificed everything rather than yield; he was
lavish of men and money only that he might prove
himself the strongest, for he could not endure the
shame of defeat before the eyes of Europe, and a
bloody war, terrible disasters, were the result of his
wounded pride and his tyrannical will. All he did,
therefore, was to throw Spain into a state of anarchy.
The people, finding themselves without an army,
believed that the defense of the soil devolved upon
them; and Bonaparte, who took pride in being the elect
of the people, and who also felt that therein lay his
security—Bonaparte, who, to be consistent in his
theories, should never have waged war except on kings—found
himself, after a few years, cut adrift from
that policy on which he had founded his power while
he revealed to the whole world that he used that power
for his personal advantage only.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Although he was conscious of some of these future
difficulties, he continued to tread the devious path on
which he had entered. The Prince of the Asturias
refused to sign an act of abdication, and this caused
him great perplexity. Fearing that the Prince might
escape him, he caused him to be strictly watched; he
tried him by every kind of persuasion and threat, and
all who surrounded the Emperor soon became aware
of the state of perturbation into which he had again
fallen. Duroc, Savary, and the Abbé de Pradt were
enjoined to bribe, to persuade, or to terrify the Prince’s
councilors. But how is it possible to persuade people
to consent to their own fall from power? If we abide
by the Emperor’s opinion, that every member of the
reigning family was equally stupid and incapable, the
wiser course would still have been to have left them
in possession of the throne; for the necessity of taking
action in times that were becoming so difficult must
have led them into many faults, of which their enemy
might have taken advantage. But, by the outrageous
insults put upon them, by the violation of every human
right in their regard, by the inaction to which they
were forced, by imposing on them the simple and
pathetic character of victims, their part was made so
easy to play that they became objects of interest without
having to take the smallest pains to excite that
sentiment. With respect to the Spanish Princes and
the Pope, the Emperor committed the same blunder
and incurred the same penalty.</p>

<p class='pindent'>Meanwhile, he was determined to end this state of
mental anxiety, and he decided on sending for King
Charles IV. to Bayonne, and on openly espousing the
cause of the dethroned old monarch. He foresaw that
this course of action must be followed by war, but he
flattered himself—his vivid imagination was always
ready to flatter him when he had fully decided on any
step—that this war would resemble all the others.
“Yes,” he said, “I feel that I am not doing right; but
why do not they declare war on me?” And when it
was pointed out to him that he could scarcely expect a
declaration of war from persons removed from their
own territory and deprived of their liberty, he exclaimed:
“But why did they come, then? They are
inexperienced young men, and have come here without
passports. I consider this enterprise as very
important, for my navy is defective, and it will cost
me the six vessels I have now at Cadiz.” On another
occasion he said: “If this were to cost me eighty
thousand men, I would not undertake it; but I shall
not need twelve thousand. It is a mere trifle. The
people here don’t know what a French brigade means.
The Prussians were just the same, and we know how
they fared in consequence. Depend upon it, this will
soon be over. I do not wish to harm any one, but,
when my big political car is started, it must go on its
way. Woe to those who get under the wheels!”</p>

<p class='pindent'>Toward the end of April the Prince of the Peace
arrived at Bayonne. Murat had released him from
the captivity in which he was held at Madrid. The
Junta, under the presidency of Don Antonio, brother
to Charles IV., gave him up unwillingly, but the time
for resistance was over. The favorite had lost any
hope of future sovereignty, his life was in danger in
Spain, and the Emperor’s protection was his only
resource; therefore there was little doubt but that he
would agree to anything required of him. He was
instructed to guide King Charles in the path the
Emperor wished him to follow, and he acquiesced
without a word.</p>

<p class='pindent'>I can not refrain from transcribing some reflections
of the Abbé de Pradt, which seem to me to be very
sensible and appropriate here.</p>

<p class='pindent'>“At this period,” he says, “that part of the scheme
which concerned the translation of Joseph to Madrid
was not as yet made public. It may have been discerned,
but Napoleon had not disclosed it. In the
interviews with Napoleon which the negotiation with
M. Escoiquiz procured for me he never made any
allusion to it. He left to time the task of unfolding
each feature of a plan which he revealed cautiously
and by slow degrees, and after he had cherished it for
a long succession of days in his own mind, without
relieving himself of the burden by one indiscreet word.
This was sad misuse of moral strength, but it proves
how great is the self-mastery of a man who can thus
control his words, especially when naturally inclined
to indiscretion, as Napoleon was, particularly when he
was angry.”</p>

<p class='pindent'>King Charles IV. reached Bayonne on the 1st of
May, accompanied by his wife, their youngest son, the
daughter of the Prince of the Peace, and the Queen of
Etruria and her son. Shortly afterward Don Antonio
arrived also; he had been obliged to leave the Junta
and to join his relatives.</p>

<hr class='pbk'/>

<div><span class='pageno' title='742' id='Page_742'></span><h1>CONCLUSION</h1></div>

<p class='noindent'><img src='https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:c:claire-remusat-memoirs-josephine-vol-2-t.jpg' style='float:left;' alt='T'/>HE Memoirs of my grandmother came to an
end here, and general regret will, no doubt, be
felt that she was prevented by death from continuing
them, at any rate so far as the divorce from
the Emperor, which, from the very beginning, hangs
threateningly over the head of the fascinating, lovable,
and yet somewhat uninteresting Josephine. No one
can supply what is wanting here; even the correspondence
of the author affords little political information
respecting the succeeding period, and during the
latter part of her life she seldom spoke of what she
had witnessed or endured. My father entertained at
times the idea of continuing her narrative, by putting
together what he had heard from his parents, anecdotes
of expressions of their opinions in the last days
of the Empire, and what he himself knew concerning
their lives. He did not carry out his plan in its
entirety, nor did he leave anything on the subject
complete. His notes, however, seem to me to be
valuable, and give the ending of the great drama which
has been described in the foregoing pages. It will be
interesting to read them as a continuation of the
Memoirs, which they complete, although he has
recorded his opinions concerning the latter days of the
Empire, and the period when he himself entered political
life, in a more extensive work. His political views
and clear definition of the conduct of officials and of
citizens in times of difficulty deserves to be made
known. I have added this chapter to the Memoirs,
and published the notes of which I speak in their
original unstudied form, confining myself to the slight
modifications necessary to make the narrative succinct
and clear.</p>

<p class='pindent'>The Spanish sovereigns arrived at Bayonne in May,
1808. The Emperor dispatched them to Fontainebleau,
and sent Ferdinand VII. to Valençay, an estate
belonging to M. de Talleyrand. Then he himself
returned, after having traveled through the southern
and western departments, and made a political journey
into La Vendée, where his presence produced a great
effect. He reached Paris about the middle of August.
Count de Rémusat writes:</p>

<div class='blockquote'>

<p class='pindent'>“My father, who was then First Chamberlain, was
appointed to receive the Spanish Bourbons at Fontainebleau.
He accomplished his task with the attention
and courtesy habitual to him. Although on his
return he gave us an account which conveyed no
exalted idea of the King, the Queen, or the Prince of
the Peace, who accompanied them, he had treated these
dethroned Princes with the respect due to rank and
misfortune. It would seem that some of the other
Court officials had behaved in a different fashion,
rather from ignorance than from ill feeling. Charles
IV. noticed this, and said, ‘Rémusat, at any rate,
knows that I am a Bourbon.’</p>

<p class='pindent'>“M. de Talleyrand happened to be actually staying
at Valençay when the Emperor sent him orders to
proceed thither, with an evident intention of committing
him to the Spanish affair, to receive the three
Infantes. He was not altogether pleased with the task,
nor on his return did he refrain from sarcastic remarks
concerning these strange descendants of Louis XIV.
He used to tell us that they bought children’s toys at
all the booths at the neighboring fairs, and when a
poor person begged an alms of them they would give
him a doll. He afterward accused them of dilapidations
at Valençay, and cleverly mentioned the fact to
Louis XVIII., who, being desirous to dismiss him
from Court, while he had not the courage to order
him to go, took occasion to praise the beauty and
splendor of his seat at Valençay. ‘Yes, it is pretty
fair,’ he said, ‘but the Spanish Princes entirely spoiled
it with the fireworks on St. Napoleon’s Day.’</p>

<p class='pindent'>“Although M. de Talleyrand was aware that his
position with the Emperor was altered, yet he found
Bonaparte when he joined him well disposed and inclined
to trust him. There was no perceptible cloud
between them. The Emperor had need of him for the
conference at Erfurt, to which they went together at
the end of September. My father was in attendance
on the Emperor. The letters which he doubtless wrote
thence to my mother have not been found; but their
correspondence was so strictly watched, and must
therefore have been so reserved, that its loss is, I
fancy, of little importance. My father’s general letters
referred to the good understanding between the
two Emperors, their mutual finessing, and the fine
manners of the Emperor Alexander.</p>

<p class='pindent'>“M. de Talleyrand composed a narrative of this
Erfurt conference, which he was in the habit of
reading aloud. He used to boast, on his return, that
as the two Emperors entered their respective carriages,
each about to journey in a different direction, he had
said to Alexander, while attending him, ‘If you could
only get into the wrong carriage!’ He had discerned
some fine qualities in the Czar, and had endeavored to
win favor, by which he profited in 1814; but, at the
time of which I am writing, he looked on a Russian
alliance as a merely accidental necessity during a war
with England, and he persistently held that friendship
with Austria, which would eventually become a basis
for an alliance with England, was the true system for
France in Europe. His conduct of political affairs,
whether at the time of Napoleon’s marriage, or in
1814, in 1815, or, again, in the reign of Louis Philippe,
was always consistent with this theory. He often
spoke of it to my mother.</p>

<p class='pindent'>“My mother, in order to complete the history of the
year 1808, would have had to narrate, first, the Erfurt
conference, according to the narratives of M. de
Talleyrand and of my father; and, secondly, the reaction
of the Spanish affair on the Court of the Tuileries
and on Parisian society. The Royalist section of the
Court and society was deeply moved by the presence
of the ancient Bourbons at Fontainebleau. Here, I
think, she would have placed the disgrace and exile
of Mme. de Chevreuse.</p>

<p class='pindent'>“The Emperor came back from Erfurt in October,
but he merely passed through Paris, and started immediately
for Spain, whence he returned at the beginning
of 1809, after an indecisive campaign.</p>

<p class='pindent'>“Public opinion was far from favorable to his
policy. For the first time the possibility of his loss had
occurred to the minds of men, especially of his sudden
death in the course of a war in which a motive of
patriotism might nerve an assassin’s hand. Various
reports, partly loyal and partly malicious, had made
the progress of disapprobation and discontent known
to him. Talleyrand and Fouché had not hesitated to
confirm those reports. The former, especially, was
always bold, and even imprudent, as are all men who
are proud of their powers of conversation and believe
in them as in a force. Fouché, who was more
reserved, or less often quoted in society, probably went
further in fact. After his positive fashion, he had
been practically considering the hypothesis of the
opening up of the Imperial succession, and this consideration
had brought him nearer to M. de Talleyrand’s
opinions.</p>

<p class='pindent'>“The Emperor returned in an angry mood, and
vented his irritation on the Court, and especially at the
Ministerial Council, in the celebrated scene in which he
dismissed M. de Talleyrand from his post of Grand
Chamberlain, and put M. de Montesquiou in his place.</p>

<p class='pindent'>“That important functionaries of the Empire, such
as Talleyrand and Fouché, as well as other less prominent
persons, should have behaved as they did on this
occasion, has been severely commented on. I am
ready to admit that vanity and talkativeness may have
led Talleyrand and Fouché to say more than was prudent;
but I maintain that, under an absolute government,
it is necessary that men holding important
offices should, in the case of public danger, or on perceiving
that affairs are being badly directed, not be
afraid to encourage, by a prudent opposition, the moral
resistance which alone can slacken or even divert the
mistaken course of authority. Still more, if they foresee
the possibility of disaster, against which no
preparations have been made, they should take thought
concerning what may yet be done. That the pride of
absolute power should be mortified, that endeavors
should be made to overcome and to suppress that
resistance when it is too isolated to avail, I understand.
But it would be none the less a boon to the
state and for the ruler, if this opposition were sufficiently
powerful to oblige him to modify his plans and
to reform his life.</p>

<p class='pindent'>“With regard to the case in point, let us suppose
that, instead of imputing the disapprobation of Talleyrand
or of Fouché to intrigue or treason, Napoleon
had received reports from Dubois, or others who had
presented it as a proof of the universal discontent;
that his Prefect of Police, himself sharing them, had
pointed out to him that these sentiments were felt and
expressed by Cambacérès, by Maret, by Caulaincourt,
by Murat, lastly by the Due de Gaëta, whom Thiers
quotes on this occasion—in short, by every important
personage in the Court and the Government—would
the service rendered to the Emperor have been an evil
one? And would not this unanimous opposition have
been the only means likely to enlighten him, to arrest
his steps, to turn him from the way of perdition at
a period when it was not yet too late?</p>

<p class='pindent'>“As to the reproach addressed to Talleyrand or
others, that they censured the Government after
having approved and served it, that is a natural one in
the mouth of Napoleon, who, moreover, did not hesitate
to exaggerate it by falsehood. But in itself it is
foolish; otherwise all honest men must hold themselves
forbidden, because they have once belonged to
a certain government, because they have formerly
supported, cloaked, or even justified its faults, either
in error or from weakness, to grow wiser as dangers
thicken and circumstances become developed. Unless
we are resolved on unceasing opposition or on unlimited
submission, a time must come when we no longer
approve what we approved yesterday, when we feel
bound to speak although hitherto we have been silent,
and when, drawbacks striking us more forcibly than
advantages, we recognize defects which we had
hitherto endeavored or pretended to ignore, and faults
which for a long time we have palliated! After all,
this is what happened in France with regard to Napoleon,
and the change took place in the mind of officials
and citizens alike, except when the former were
blinded by servility or corrupted by a base ambition.</p>

<p class='pindent'>“In our own modest sphere we never had to decide
under the Empire, except upon the direction of our
wishes and feelings, for we never took any part in
politics; yet we had to solve for ourselves that question
which continually recurs to me when I re-peruse
the Memoirs or the letters in which my mother has
preserved her impressions and her thoughts.</p>

<p class='pindent'>“My mother would have had to allude, at any rate
indirectly, to this grave subject in narrating the disgrace
of M. de Talleyrand. She saw him, at that
time, at least as often as formerly; she heard his own
statements. Nothing was better known just then to
the public than the cold silence (equally far removed
from weakness and from insolence) with which, leaning
against a console on account of his lameness, he
listened to the Emperor’s philippic. As is the custom
under absolute monarchy, he swallowed the affront,
and continued to present himself at Court with a coolness
which was not to be mistaken for humility; and
I have no recollection that his attitude under the
Empire was ever accused of weakness from that day
forth. It must, of course, be understood that the rules
of the point of honor are not in this case as they are
understood in a free country, nor the philosophic laws
of moral dignity as they are understood outside the
world of courts and politics.</p>

<p class='pindent'>“My mother would, after this, have had to relate
our own little episode in the drama. I am not sure
whether the Emperor, on his arrival, felt or showed
any displeasure toward my father. I do not know
whether it was not subsequent reports which caused
our disgrace. In any case, my father did not become
immediately aware of the truth, either because it was
so far from his thoughts that he suspected nothing, or
because the Emperor did not think of him at first.
He was a friend of M. de Talleyrand’s, and in his
confidence up to a certain point: this in itself was a
motive for suspicion and a cause of disfavor. We
had written no letter and taken no step that could tell
against us, and I remember that even our speech was
very guarded, and that, could the police spies have
witnessed the interviews with M. de Talleyrand in my
mother’s little drawing-room, where my parents
habitually received him alone, they could have discovered
nothing whereon to found a police report.
Such reports were made, however; my father felt no
doubt about that, although the Emperor never displayed
his resentment by any outbreak, nor did he
even enter into any serious explanation. But he acted
toward him with a cold malevolence and harshness
which made his service intolerable. Thenceforth my
parents felt themselves in a painful position with the
sovereign, which might, perhaps, lead to their quitting
the Court.</p>

<p class='pindent'>“There was no amelioration in this state of things
when Napoleon, who had gone to Germany in April,
1809, came back to Fontainebleau on the 6th of October,
the conqueror of Wagram, and proud of the peace
just signed at Vienna. Victories, however dearly
bought, did not make him more generous or kindly.
He was still performing work important enough to be
vain of his power, and, if it had been put to severe
tests, that was a stronger reason why he desired it to
be respected. However, he found, in reverting to the
recent souvenir of the descent of the English upon
Walcheren, a state of things in Spain quite unsatisfactory,
a quarrel with the Holy See pushed to its last
extremities, and public opinion more restless about his
inclination for war than reassured by his victories—defiant,
sad, even critical, and besetting with its suspicions
the man whom it had so long environed with
its fallacies.</p>

<p class='pindent'>“This time Fouché was the object of his thoughts.
Fouché had acted in his own way at the moment of
the descent of the English. He had assumed authority,
he had made an appeal to public sentiment, he had
reorganized the national guard, and employed Bernadotte
on our side. Everything in these proceedings,
both the conception and the details, had greatly displeased
the Emperor. All his ill-temper was concentrated
upon Fouché; and, besides, as he had come
back resolved upon the divorce, it was difficult to hold
M. de Talleyrand aloof from a deliberation in which
the knowledge of the condition of Europe should have
a decisive weight. In this must be still seen one of
those proofs, at that time less frequent each day, of
the almost impartial justice of his mind. He was
sometimes heard to say: ‘It is Talleyrand alone who
understands me; it is only Talleyrand with whom I
can talk.’ He consulted him, and at other moments
spoke of placing him at Vincennes. Thus he did not
fail to call him when he deliberated upon his marriage.
M. de Talleyrand strongly insisted that he should unite
himself to an Archduchess. He even thought that the
Emperor had sought an interview with him because
his intervention in this matter would contribute to
decide Austria. What is certain is the fact that he has
always alluded to his conduct in this instance as one
of the guarantees he had given of his fundamental
opinion in regard to the alliances of France and the
conditions of the independence of Europe.</p>

<p class='pindent'>“It is seen how, in all these matters—the state of
opinion during the campaign of the Danube, the
deliberations relative to the divorce, those which preceded
the marriage with Marie Louise—the Memoirs
of my mother would have been instructive and interesting.
It is unhappily impossible to supply this last
link. I am only able to recall that she said that the
Empress was wrong in doubting her fidelity on one
occasion, probably relative to the divorce. She has
announced that this matter was explained. I can not
explain it in its place, and I have no recollection that
she ever spoke to me of it. At the moment of the
divorce her devotion was appreciated, and Queen
Hortense went so far as to consult with her in regard
to it twice before enlisting her irrevocably in favor of
her mother. I have no wish to over-estimate the value
of what she did in that matter; the most refined
delicacy dictated her conduct; and, besides, with her
deplorable health, her forced inactivity, her former
relations to Josephine, and our new situation near the
Emperor, she would have had in a renovated Court,
near a new Empress, a most awkward and painful
position. It may be conceived, indeed, that nothing
in all that I am going to recall restored our credit at
the Court, and my family remained there irreparably
lessened in its influence. The Emperor, however,
approved of my mother’s remaining with the Empress
Josephine. He even praised her for it; this suited her.
He regarded her as a person on the retreat, with whom
he no longer needed to concern himself. Having less to
expect from him, less to demand from him, he reproached
us less in his thought for omitting to do anything
on our part to please him. He left my father
in the circle of his official duties, to which his character
and a certain mingling of discontent and fear kept
him closely enough confined. It was almost established
in the mind of Napoleon that he had nothing more to
do for us, and he no longer thought of us.</p>

<p class='pindent'>“This new situation makes it evident that the
Memoirs of my mother would have lost their interest.
She no longer visited the Court, going once only to
be presented to the Empress Marie Louise; then she
had later an audience of the Emperor, who wrote to
her asking it. She would, therefore, have had nothing
to relate of which she had been a witness in the imperial
palace. She was no longer placed under obligations
by any relations with the great personages of the
state—at least she considered herself relieved of them;
and yielding, perhaps too readily, to her tastes, and her
sufferings, she gradually isolated herself from everything
that would remind her of the Court and of the
Government.</p>

<p class='pindent'>“However, as my father did not cease to frequent
the palace to the end, as the confidence in M. de Talleyrand
seemed not to diminish, and, finally, as the rapid
and declining steps in the affairs of the Emperor more
and more affected public opinion, and soon stirred up
the restless attention of the nation, my mother had
still much with which to become acquainted, and much
to observe, and she would have been able to give to
the painting of the last five years of the Empire a
positive historic value.</p>

<p class='pindent'>“Some reflections on many events of those five
years will be taken, if it is desired, as a remembrance
of what I have heard, during this same time, from the
lips of my parents.</p>

<p class='pindent'>“Among the events of that year, 1809, one of the
most important, and which made the least noise, was
the action of the Emperor in regard to the Pope. The
facts were not well understood when they took place,
and, it is necessary to say, that among the nation that
Louis XIII. put under the protection of the Holy
Virgin no one thought of them. The Emperor had
begun by causing the Roman States to be occupied,
then went on by dismembering them, then by demanding
from the Pope that he should make war upon England,
then by driving him from the city of Rome, then
by depriving him of all temporal power, then, finally,
by causing him to be arrested and guarded as a
prisoner. How strange all this, assuredly! And yet it
seemed that no government of Catholic Europe seriously
offered assistance to the common father of the
faithful. The Pope certainly, deliberating in 1804
whether he should crown Napoleon, had not objected
on the ground that it was he who, in that year, had
caused the Duc d’Enghien to be shot. The Emperor
of Austria, deliberating in 1809 whether he should
give his daughter to Napoleon, did not object on the
ground that it was he who, in that same year, had
placed the Pope in prison. It is true that at that time
all the sovereigns of Europe had, in that which relates
to pontifical authority, entirely different ideas from
those ascribed to them, and from those attributed to
them to-day. The house of Austria, in particular, had
for a traditional rule that political testament in which
the Duke of Lorraine, Charles V., recommends that
the Pope should be reduced to the single domain of the
court of Rome, and makes sport ‘of the delusion of
excommunications, when the real point is that Jesus
Christ never established the temporal power of the
Church, and that the latter can possess nothing without
contradicting his example and without compromising
his Gospel.’</p>

<p class='pindent'>“In a letter of my mother she advised my father, in
the autumn of 1809, not to allow ‘Athalie’ to be
represented at Court, at a moment when it might be
said that there were some allusions to papal affairs in
that struggle of a queen and a priest, and in presence
of a prince so pious as the King of Saxony, who was
preparing to visit the Emperor. In this incident was
the <span class='it'>maximum</span> of evidence of the direction of her
thoughts excited by a tyrannic act of which so much
would now be heard, and in regard to which public
opinion would certainly be no more divided. I have
not heard it said that a single officer in this immense
empire would have separated himself from a government
of which the head was excommunicated, if not
by name, at least impliedly, by the bull launched
against all the authors or abettors of the attempts
against pontifical authority. I can not refrain from
alluding to the Duc de Cadore. He was a man not
without intelligence nor without honesty; but, accepting
as indisputable laws the intentions of the Emperor,
after having employed his ministry in the spoliation
of the Spanish dynasty, he concurred with the same
docility in that of the sovereign Pontiff, and, himself
excommunicated as a <span class='it'>mandatory, abettor, and counselor</span>,
he maintained with great composure that Napoleon
could resume that which Charlemagne had given,
and that now France was in the presence of Rome by
the rights of the Gallic Church.</p>

<p class='pindent'>“The situation of the Empire at the end of 1809
is summarized in these words by the great historian
of the Empire: ‘The Emperor had made himself, at
Vincennes, the rival of the regicides; at Bayonne, the
peer of those who would declare war on Europe to
establish a universal republic; at the Quirinal, the
peer certainly of those who had dethroned Pius VI.
to create the Roman Republic.’</p>

<p class='pindent'>“I am not one of those who assist by declamation
in intensifying the odium of these acts. I do not
regard them as unheard-of monstrosities reserved to
our century; I know that history is full of examples
with which it is not difficult to compare them, and that
analogous outrages can be found in the life of sovereigns
for whom posterity has preserved some respect.
It would not be difficult to find in the history of the
severities of the reign of Louis XIV. executions which
are not incomparable with the death of the Duc
d’Enghien. The affair of the Man in the Iron Mask,
especially if, as it is difficult not to believe, this man
was a brother of the King, is nothing that the murder
of Vincennes need be envious of; and power and
deception are not less worthily arrayed in the act by
which Louis XIV. seized Lorraine in 1661 than in
the fraudulent dismemberment of Spain in 1808. I
see in the abduction of the Pope hardly more than its
equivalent if we revert to the middle ages. I will
add that, even after these acts, for ever to be condemned,
it was still possible, by the use of a little
wisdom, to have assured the repose, the prosperity,
and the grandeur of France to the extent that no name
in history would have been more honored than that
of Napoleon. But if any one imagines that this is
what he has not done; that all the wars thereafter
undertaken were no more than the mad preparatory
steps to the ruin of the country; and that thenceforward
the character of the man already loaded with
such misdeeds was afflicted with a superciliousness and
a harshness which were discouraging to his best servants,
it is essential to clearly understand that, even at
Court, all those whom the servile complaisance of false
judgment had not led astray, sadly disabused, could
rightly serve without confidence, admire without
affection, fear more than hope, desire lessons of opposition
to a terrible power, in his successes to dread his
intoxication, and in his misfortunes to weep for
France rather than him.</p>

<p class='pindent'>“Such, in fact, is the spirit in which these Memoirs
would have been continued, and it will even be found
that, by a kind of retroactive effect, this spirit is shown
in the recitals anterior to 1809. At the epoch in which
history was enacting, this spirit was slow in manifesting
itself, as I have now described it. Years
glided away in sadness timid and defiant, but without
hate, and each time that a happy circumstance or a
wise measure gave their light to them, the star of hope
resumed the ascendant, and one tried to believe that
the progress in the direction of evil would have an
end.</p>

<p class='pindent'>“The years 1810 and 1811 are the two tranquil
years of the Empire. The marriage in the one and
the birth of the King of Rome in the other seemed
pledges of peace and stability. The hope would have
been without shadows, the security entire, if the torn
veil through which the Emperor could be seen had not
revealed passions and errors, seeds always productive
of gratuitous mistakes and senseless attempts. It was
seen that the love of excess had taken possession of
him, and was carrying all before it. Besides the interminable
duration of a war with England, with no
possibility of gloriously conquering her, or of doing
her any injury that was not damaging to us, and the
continuation of a struggle in Spain difficult and unfortunate,
were two trials that the pride of the Emperor
could not long endure in peace. It was necessary that
he should preserve his reputation at all cost, and that
by some astounding successes he should cause to be
forgotten those obstinate checks to his fortune.
Sound judgment pointed out that the Spanish question
was the one to end, I do not say by a return to justice
and by a generous concession—the Bonapartes are not
among those to whom such measures suggest themselves—but
by force. It can readily be believed that,
had the Emperor concentrated all the resources of his
genius and of his Empire upon the resistance of the
Peninsula, he would have conquered it. Unjust causes
are not always destined to fail in this world, and the
Emperor ought to have seen that, in humiliating
Spain, he was preparing the occasion, so vainly sought,
for striking England, since that nation rendered itself
vulnerable by landing her armies on the Continent.
Such an occasion made it worth while that something
should be risked. Napoleon should have gone there in
person, and himself entered the lists with Arthur
Wellesley. What glory, on the other hand, and what
fortune did he not reserve to himself and to his nation,
in persistently adjourning the struggle, and in confronting
them both finally on the mournful plains of
Waterloo!</p>

<p class='pindent'>“But the Emperor had no relish for the Spanish
question; he was tired of it. It had never yielded a
pleasant or glorious moment. He half understood that
he had begun it unjustly and conducted it feebly; that
he had singularly misconceived its difficulty and importance.
He tried to have a contempt for it, in
order not to be humiliated by it; he neglected it, in
order to avoid its anxieties. He had a childish repugnance,
if it was nothing worse, to risking himself in
a war which did not appeal to his imagination. Shall
we dare say that he was not absolutely sure of doing
the work well, and that the dangers of reverses turned
him from an enterprise which, even well carried to
its conclusions, would have gone too slowly and with
too many difficulties to have increased his grandeur?
A ready extemporizer, his plan seemed to be to allow
everything to die of old age that displeased him, and
to build up his fortune and fame in some new enterprise.
These causes, joined to the logical developments
of an absurd system, and to the developments
natural to an uncontrollable temper, annulled all the
guarantees of prudence and safety that the events of
the years 1810 and 1811 seemed to have given, turned
him from Spain to Russia, and brought about that
campaign of 1812 which logically drew him on to his
destruction.</p>

<p class='pindent'>“Two years in which hope had the ascendency of
fear, and three years in which fear left very little
place for hope—here we have the division of the five
last years of the reign of Napoleon.</p>

<p class='pindent'>“In speaking of 1810 and 1811, my mother would
have had to show how the two events, which ought to
have inspired in the Emperor the spirit of conservation
and of wisdom, his marriage and the birth of his
son, served in the sequel only to exalt his pride. In
the interval all the obstacles between him and the
execution of his will are seen to be removed. For
instance, since, long ago, he does not pardon Fouché
for having a will of his own. Fouché showed that
he desired peace. A violent scene occurs to recall that
of which Talleyrand had been the object, and the Duc
de Rovigo becomes Minister of Police, a choice which
beguiles, without doubt, the hopes of the Emperor and
the fears of the public, but which seems, however, to
expand still more the area in which arbitrary power
has sway. The existence of Holland and the indocible
character of its King are still an obstacle, at least a
limit. The King is compelled to abdicate, and Holland
is declared French. Rome itself becomes the capital
of a department, and the domain of St. Peter is united,
as formerly Dauphiné was, to furnish a title for the
heir to the Empire. The clerical order, driven with a
high hand, is violated in its customs and in its traditions.
An appearance of a council is attempted and
broken up, and prison and exile impose silence on the
Church. A councilor, submissive but modest, executes
the wishes of his master, but does not glorify him; he
lacks enthusiasm in his servitude: Champagny is set
aside for Maret and the lion is let loose in Europe, and
no voice is heard which rouses it to madness. And
as, during this time, the fortune of the conqueror and
the liberty of the people have found the one its limit,
the other its bulwark in those immortally celebrated
lines of Torres-Vedras, it becomes essential that this
restless and maddened force should dash itself in
pieces upon Moscow.</p>

<p class='pindent'>“This last period, so rich for the political historian
in its terrible pictures, has but little value to the simple
observer of the interior scenes of the government.
The cloud became dense around power, and France
knew as little what was done as if she had been lost
by a throw of dice. Nevertheless, there was still the
work of drawing the instructive picture of hearts and
of minds ignorant and restless, indignant and submissive,
desolated, reassured, imposed upon, unconcerned,
depressed—all that at intervals, and sometimes concentrated
into an hour; for despotism, which always
feigns to be happy, ill prepares the masses of the
people for misfortune, and believes in courage only
when it has deceived it.</p>

<p class='pindent'>“It is, I think, to this description of public sentiments
that my mother would have been able to consecrate
the end of her Memoirs, for she knew something
of what everybody saw. M. Pasquier, whom
she saw every day, observed, by taste as well as by a
sense of duty, the discretion prescribed to his functions.
Accustomed to conversations with the class of persons
whom he ruled without restraint, he was during a
great length of time careful to take political notes,
when all the world was free to talk politics. The Duc
de Rovigo, less discreet, divulged his opinions rather
than the facts; and the conversations of M. de Talleyrand,
more frank and more confident, were hardly
more than the disclosure of his judgments and of his
predictions.”</p>

</div>

<hr class='pbk'/>

<div><span class='pageno' title='760' id='Page_760'></span><h1>POSTSCRIPT</h1></div>

<p class='noindent'><img src='https://brian.carnell.com/wiki/_media/etext:c:claire-remusat-memoirs-josephine-vol-2-i.jpg' style='float:left;' alt='I'/>N the first volume of these Memoirs I attempted
to retrace the chief events of my grandmother’s
life, and I also narrated the circumstances which
induced her to rewrite the manuscript unhappily destroyed
in 1815. I considered it necessary to a right
comprehension and appreciation of her views that the
reader should learn how she had been brought up,
what were the position and circumstances of her parents,
for what reasons she accepted a place at Bonaparte’s
Court, through what phases of enthusiasm,
hope, and disenchantment she passed, how by degrees
liberal opinions gained a hold upon her, and what influence
her son, when he began to make a figure both
in society and in political life, exercised over her.</p>

<p class='pindent'>However strong may be his confidence in the success
of a publication, it is the duty of an editor to avail
himself of every aid, and to make sure, or nearly so,
that the author shall in everything be understood.
This was all the more necessary in the present instance,
because the editor, brought up to entertain the same
sentiments, and accustomed to hear the same opinions
and the same anecdotes repeated around him, might
well be afraid of deceiving himself respecting the
worth or the success of these reminiscences. Relatives
are seldom good judges either of the intellectual
or physical attributes of their kin. Family beauties
or prodigies, admired by the fireside or in select coteries,
are frequently found to be insignificant personages
on a larger stage, and when seen in broader daylight.
I therefore thought it well to relate all that
might be needed for the instruction of the reader, and,
by introducing him into the private life of the author,
to account for a mixture of admiration and severity
in these Memoirs which sometimes appears contradictory.
I should have been excused for adding my
own comments upon the ability of the writer and the
character of her hero; indeed, such comments would
have furnished the subject of a preface, of the kind
that we are told ought to precede every work of serious
importance. But I carefully avoided writing any
such preface, because I had one to offer which would
enhance the value of the book to the public, as it enhances
it to myself—a preface written by my father
more than twenty years ago. I may print that preface
now, for success has justified his previsions and
our hopes.</p>

<p class='pindent'>When my father wrote the pages that I am about
to lay before the reader, the Second Empire was still
in existence, and to all appearance secure. Nothing
short of a persistent trust in the undeviating principles
of justice and liberty could have led any one to believe
that its fall was possible or probable. Since then the
fullness of time has come, and events have marched
with a rapidity which could not have been foreseen.
Similar errors have brought about similar reverses;
the moody and wavering mind of Napoleon III. has
led him to adopt the same course which ruined the
brilliant and resolute genius of the great Emperor.
My father for the third time beheld the foreigner in
France, and vanquished France seeking in liberty a
consolation for defeat. He suffered by our misfortunes,
as he had suffered by them fifty years earlier,
and he had the melancholy honor of repairing a portion
of those misfortunes, of hastening the day of the
final deliverance of our soil. He contributed to the
foundation of a liberal and popular Government on
a heap of ruins. The last years of the Empire, the
War, the Commune, the difficult accession of the
Republic through so many perils, had no power to
change his convictions; and he would think to-day
just what he wrote twenty-two years ago of the vices
of absolute power, of the necessity for teaching nations
what conquerors cost them, of the right of his
mother to set down her impressions, and of the duty
of his son to publish them.</p>

<p class='line' style='text-align:right;margin-right:1em;'><span class='sc'>Paul de Rémusat.</span></p>

<h2 class='nobreak'>II</h2>

<div class='blockquote'>

<p class='line' style='text-align:right;margin-right:1em;'><span class='sc'>Laffitte</span>, <span class='it'>November, 1857</span>.</p>

<p class='pindent'>“I have once more taken up, after a long lapse of
time, the manuscript of these Memoirs, which my
mother composed nearly forty years ago; and, having
attentively reperused it, I now leave it to my sons and
to their children, with an injunction to publish it. I
believe that it will prove a useful historical testimony,
and, combined with her correspondence, will be a most
interesting monument to the intellect and the heart of
a gifted and good woman. This work will perpetuate
the memory of my mother.</p>

<p class='pindent'>“At whatever epoch these Memoirs may appear, I
foresee that they will not find the public ready to receive
them entirely without protest, and with satisfaction
complete at all points. Even should the Imperial
restoration which we now witness not be destined
to a prolonged future—should it not be, as I
hope it may not be, the final government of the France
of the Revolution—I suspect that, whether through
pride, weakness, or imagination, France, as a whole,
will continue to entertain a tolerably exalted opinion
of Napoleon, which it will be reluctant to submit to
the free examination of politics and philosophy. He
was one of those great men who are placed from the
beginning in the sphere of fancy rather than in that
of reason, and in his case poetry has taken the lead
of history. A somewhat puerile sympathy, a somewhat
weak generosity, has almost always made the
nation refuse to impute to Bonaparte those awful ills
which he brought down upon France. The nation has
pitied him the most for its own misfortunes, and
thought of him as the noblest victim of the calamities
of which he was the author. I know that the sentiments
which have led France to make this strange
mistake are excusable and even praiseworthy; but I
also know that national vanity, the lack of seriousness
of mind, levity which takes little heed of reason and
justice, are the sources of this patriotic error. Let us
lay aside the question of principle—since the nation
chooses to resolve that question differently at different
times, and glories in despising liberty at intervals—and
let us speak only the language of national independence.
How can he be in the eyes of the people
the hero of that independence who twice brought the
foreign conqueror into the capital of France, and
whose government is the only one which, for five hundred
years, since the time of the mad King Charles
VI., left French territory smaller than it found it?
Even Louis XV. and Charles X. did better than that.
Nevertheless, I am convinced the multitude will abide
in its error, and <span class='it'>non auferetur ab ea</span>.</p>

<p class='pindent'>“It is, then, very unlikely that the spirit in which
my mother has written will ever be popular, or that
all her readers will be convinced. I am prepared for
this, but I also think that among thoughtful people
the truth will make its way. Infatuation will not
have an endless duration, and, notwithstanding certain
obstinate prejudices, public opinion—especially if
liberty be at length restored to us and remain with us—will
be enlightened, and will never again sacrifice
the rights of reason and those of the public conscience
to glory. Will my mother appear sufficiently impartial
to these more impartial judges? I believe she will,
if they take account of the time at which she wrote,
and also of the sentiments and ideas which inspired
her; and so I have no hesitation in delivering up her
Memoirs to the judgment of the world.</p>

<p class='pindent'>“ ‘The further I go,’ wrote my mother to me, ‘the
more I am resolved that, until my death, you shall be
my only reader, and that is enough for me.’ And
again: ‘Your father says he knows no one to whom
I could show what I am writing. He says nobody carries
so far as I do “the talent of being true.” That
is his expression. Well, then, I do write for no one,
but one day you will find this among my effects, and
you may do with it what you will.’ She was not without
some apprehensions. ‘There is a thought which
sometimes troubles me. I say to myself, “If one day
my son should publish all this, what will be thought
of me!” The idea that I may be supposed to be evil-minded,
or, at least, ill-natured, makes me uneasy. I
exhaust myself with the effort to find something to
praise, but this man was such an exterminator (<span class='it'>assommateur</span>)
of worth, and we were brought so low, that
I grow utterly disheartened, and the cry of truth
utters itself irresistibly. I know no one but you to
whom I would intrust such confidences.’</p>

<p class='pindent'>“I hold myself formally authorized by these passages
to bequeath the work which my mother confided
to me to the public. As for the opinions which it expresses,
taking them upon myself, I will explain myself
freely respecting the Emperor and the Empire,
but not from the purely political point of view. All
that I might say on the subject of despotism (which
I hate) would be without importance in this case,
since the question is, What would be a just judgment
of the Emperor and the Empire formed by one who
had witnessed the 18th Brumaire, and shared the confident
readiness of the nation to divest itself of the
charge of its own destinies, by placing them in the
hands of one man? I deal with the moral, and not
the political, aspect of the matter.</p>

<p class='pindent'>“Let us first consider the Emperor, and discuss him
with those only who, while finding much to admire in
him, are willing to exercise their judgment upon what
they admire. It was commonly said, under his reign,
that he despised men. The motives by which he defended
his policy in his conversations were not taken
from among the noble qualities of the human heart,
but from that which he thoroughly understood, the
imagination of the people. Now, imagination is naturally
captivated by grand and beautiful things, and
the imagination of the Emperor, which was vivid and
daring, was accessible to this kind of charm. His extraordinary
faculties rendered him capable of great
things, and he employed them, with others, to captivate
France, the world, and posterity. Thence came
what was thoroughly admirable in his power and his
life; and, if we were to consider that only, we could
not place him too high. Nevertheless, a close observer
will discern that it was by that intelligence and imagination,
rather than the purely moral sentiments of
justice and of right, that all was done. Take, for
example, religion. It was not the truth of religion, it
was its influence and its prestige, which dictated what
he did for its cause; and so with all the rest. In his
contemptuous estimate of humanity, he recognized
only two springs of action—vanity and self-interest;
and to the masterly handling of these he applied himself
with remarkable ability. While by the <span class='it'>éclat</span> of
his acts, by the glory of his arms, by a permanent
embellishment of conservative social principles, he
gave to his government what was essential to prevent
self-love from blushing at the fact of its connection
with it, he carefully manipulated, he caressed,
he even exalted other sentiments more humble, which
may oftentimes be harmless, but which are not noble
and virtuous principles. Love of repose, fear of responsibility,
preoccupation with the pleasures of private
life, the desire of personal comfort, the taste of
riches, as well in the individual as in the family;
finally, all the weaknesses which usually accompany
these sentiments when they are exclusive, found in
him a protector. It is from this point of view that he
was everywhere recognized as essential to the preservation
of order. But, when men are governed by the
springs I am about to call to mind, and when the governor
is not upheld or restrained by the sentiment of
pure and true glory, by the instinct of a soul naturally
frank and generous, it is an easy step to the thought
that imagination, vanity, interest are paid with counterfeit
as well as good money; that abuses of power,
appearances of grandeur, success attained at all cost,
tranquillity maintained by oppression, riches distributed
by favor, prosperity realized by force or made
to seem to exist by falsehood—that, finally, all the triumphs
of artifice or of violence, all that despotism
can wrest from credulity and fear, are things which
also prosper among men; and that the world is often,
without serious objection, the plaything of the strongest
and most shrewd. But nothing in the nature of
the Emperor preserved him from the temptation of
employing such means for the advancement of his
power. Not satisfied with meriting power, he consented,
when he could not merit it, to take it by force
or to steal it. He made no distinction between prudence
and cunning, or between true statesmanship and
Machiavellism. Finally, policy is always in the path
of deception, and Napoleon was always a deceiver.</p>

<p class='pindent'>“It is deception which, in my judgment, most degraded
the Emperor, and, unhappily, with him his
empire. For this reason, it is to be regretted that
France yielded obedience to him, that men rendered
him service, whatever glory the nation has gained,
whatever probity and whatever talent the men have
shown. One can not wholly ignore the misfortune
of having been the dupe or the accomplice, in all cases
the instrument, of a system in which a cunning deception
plays as great a part as wisdom, and violence as
genius; of a system in which cunning deception and
violence must lead on to the desperate extremes of an
unwise policy. To such a policy France will not consent,
and it is only in the interest of self-love that
France exalts the glory of Napoleon.</p>

<p class='pindent'>“As to his associates, they likewise ought certainly
not to have been humiliated by what they did or what
they silently sustained. They were right in not publicly
denouncing what the nation did not denounce,
and in presenting services loyally rendered, honesty,
zeal, devotion, capacity, the patriotism which they
had displayed in the performance of public duties, as
an offset to the bitter denunciations of their adversaries,
to the trifling or corrupt parties, who had done
less or who had done worse. The recollections of the
Convention or those of the emigration could not be
brought against them to any advantage, and, after all,
they did well not to blush at their cause. Their justification
is found in the language of Tacitus, who, even
under a despotism, thinks that praise is due a capable
and efficient officer, though he may practice what he
calls <span class='it'>obsequium et modestia</span>.</p>

<p class='pindent'>“These last words are applicable to persons of high
character who, like the members of my family, served
the Emperor without mean selfishness and without
special distinction. But still, when, under his reign
itself, eyes were opened to the character of his despotism—when
the wail of the dying nation had been
heard, when later, in reflecting upon the fall of a dictatorial
power and on the succession of a constitutional
power, that policy was brought up for consideration
which does not place government and liberty
in the hands of enemies, it was impossible not to revert
with some embarrassment, with some bitterness
of heart, to those days in which example, confidence,
admiration, thoughtlessness, a justifiable ambition,
had united to urge good citizens to place themselves
among the supporters of absolute power. For he who
does not seek to make himself blind, he who is ready
to be honest with himself, will find it impossible to
conceal the fact that dignity of mind and character
is lost under the pressure of a despotism even glorious
and necessary, and more completely under one that is
harsh and maintained without reason. There is no
cause of self-reproach without doubt; but neither can
one praise his own acts, or be satisfied with what he
has done or what he has seen; and the more the soul
is opened to the convictions of liberty, the more one
turns his eyes with grief to the days in which liberty
was shut out from it—days of voluntary servitude, as
Boëtius characterizes it.</p>

<p class='pindent'>“What it has not been either necessary or proper
to say of one’s self to his contemporaries and of the
latter to themselves, it is a duty to frankly avow when
one writes for himself and for the future. What conscience
has felt and revealed, what experience and
reflection have taught, it is necessary to delineate, or
not write at all. Unbiased truth, disinterested truth,
is the controlling thought of the Memoirs. This is
the basis of those of my mother.</p>

<p class='pindent'>“She had suffered intensely during the years in
which her opinions were in opposition to her interests,
and during which the former could have triumphed
over the latter only <span class='it'>per abrupta</span>, as Tacitus says,
speaking of this same thing, <span class='it'>sed in nullum reipublicæ
usum</span>. Attempts of this kind, besides, never fall to
the lot of a woman; and, in a remarkable letter that
my mother wrote to one of her friends, she said to her
that women at least had always the expedient of saying
in the palace of Cæsar:</p>

<div class='blockquote'>

<div class='poetry-container' style=''><div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' -->
<p class='line0'>‘Mais le cœur d’Emilie est hors de ton pouvoir.’</p>
</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend -->

</div>

<p class='noindent'>And she declared to her that this line had been her
secret consolation.</p>

<p class='pindent'>“Her correspondence will reveal in its lightest
shades, in its deepest recesses, the sentiments of a pure
and active soul. It will there be seen how she united
a generous kindness to a penetrating observation of
all those weaknesses, of all those unhappy circumstances
of our nature, which give opportunity to the
painters of morals to display their talents. It will
there also be seen how, after having caused her much
suffering, Napoleon had kept a place in her thoughts;
how this memory still moved her; and how, when the
unhappiness of his exile at St. Helena was described,
she was deeply affected. When, in the summer of
1821, the news of the death of Napoleon was brought
to Paris, I saw her melt with tears, and she always
became sad when uttering his name. As to the men
of her time, I will say only one thing: she had learned
to know them at Court. The recollection she had preserved
of it left her no pleasure. I have somewhere
seen related a little circumstance that greatly interested
those who witnessed it. It was the time when the
French imitation of Schiller’s ‘Marie Stuart’ was in
fashion. There was a scene in which Leicester repels,
by pretending not to know him, a devoted young man
who, relying on his secret thoughts, comes to him with
a proposal to save the Queen of Scotland. Talma
represented admirably the haughty cowardice of the
courtier, who disavows his own affection for fear of
being compromised, and insolently repels the man
who makes him afraid: ‘What do you want of me?
I do not know you.’ The act terminated, and in the
box in which we were seated the entire company was
struck with this scene, and my mother in her agitation
suffered some words to escape whose import was:
‘That was it precisely! I have seen the same thing!’
When suddenly appeared at the entrance of the box
M. de B——, to whom no special application could
assuredly have been made, but who had been chamberlain
of the Emperor, my mother could no longer
restrain herself. She said to Mme. de Catellan,
‘If you knew, madame!’ .&nbsp;.&nbsp;. and she wept!</p>

<p class='pindent'>“It may be said that this condition of her mind has
influenced her in coloring her pictures. I do not think
it so. Saint-Simon has also painted a Court, and the
despotism in it was more becoming, more natural, and
the characters, perhaps, a little more strong in our
days. What does he do, however, if not justify, in
his truthful painting, what the teachers of his time
and the moralists of all times have said of Courts in
general? The exaggeration of Saint-Simon is in the
language. Of a fault he makes a vice; of a weakness,
a cowardice; of a negligence, a treason; and of a hesitation,
a crime. The expression is never strong enough
for his thought, and it is his style which is unjust
rather than his judgment.</p>

<p class='pindent'>“Let us mention a person of a less impulsive mind,
more reserved in her language, and who certainly had
her reasons for seeing with more indulgence than
Saint-Simon the people over whom Louis XIV.
reigned. How did Mme. de Maintenon speak of the
Court? ‘As to your friends of the Court,’ she wrote
to Mlle. de Glapion, ‘they are always with you, and,
if you could see what we see, you would find yourself
seeing (at Saint-Cyr) only irregularities, wayward
conduct, want of light; while we see murders, jealousies,
hatreds, treacheries, insatiable desires, degradations,
which are covered up by the name of grandeur,
of courage, etc., for I fly into a passion in merely
permitting myself to think of them.’ The judgments
of my mother are not characterized by such vivid expressions.
But, like Saint-Simon, like Mme. de Maintenon,
she had good reason to think that a constant
personality, which betrays itself by fear, jealousy,
complaisance, flattery, forgetfulness of others, contempt
of justice, and desire to injure others, reigns at
the Court of absolute kings, and that self-love and
interest are the two keys of every Court secret. My
mother has said no more; and her diction, without
being cold and tame, never exaggerates the facts with
which she deals, and allows, in almost everything she
has been compelled to relate, that excuse demanded by
human weakness in its struggle with bad example,
with the temptation of fortune, and with the seductions
of a power that does not find itself compelled to
respect its promises. It is not without reason that,
when we speak of the Empire, our eulogies are almost
exclusively addressed to its armies, because, at least,
in the business of war, intrepid contempt of death
and of suffering is such a triumphant victory over the
selfishness of ordinary life, that it covers up whatever
this selfishness can suggest, even to the soldiers themselves,
of bitter sacrifices to pride, to envy, to cupidity,
to ambition.</p>

<p class='pindent'>“Look through the centuries in which historians
and moralists endeavor to paint in its true colors every
evil that incessantly increases within the sphere of
government, especially in the shadow, or, if Louis
XIV. demands it, in <span class='it'>the sun</span> of absolute power. It is
strange, in fact, how that which ought to bring into
play only devotion, and to place the benefit of all above
personal interest—I mean the service of the state—furnishes
to human selfishness occasions to make mistakes
and means of being satisfied by the art of concealing
itself. But it is apparent that this has not
been said often enough, for I have not discovered that
the evil is soon to end, or even become less conspicuous.
Truth alone, incessantly presented to public
opinion, can arm it against falsehoods, of which party
spirit and state government raise a cloud concealing
the misfortunes of the body politic. The masses of
the people can never know too well at what price
human insolence sells them the necessary service of a
government. In times of revolution especially, misfortune
sometimes renders it indulgent to the forms
of government which have fallen, and the system
which triumphs covers with a deceptive veil everything
which makes its victory odious. Truthful books
must, some time or other, cause all masks to fall, and
leave to all our weaknesses the salutary fear of being
some day revealed.”</p>

</div>

<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:3em;font-size:.8em;'>THE END</p>

<hr class='pbk'/>
</html>