About two months afterwards, on a warm evening of summer, I entered Vienna in a litter, along with some twelve hundred other wounded men, escorted by a regiment of cuirassiers. I was weak and unable to walk. The fever of my wound had reduced me to a skeleton; but I was consoled for everything by knowing that I was a captain on the Emperor’s own staff, and decorated by himself with the Cross of ‘the Legion.’ Nor were these my only distinctions, for my name had been included among the lists of the officiers dÉlite—a new institution of the Emperor, enjoying considerable privileges and increase of pay.

To this latter elevation, too, I owed my handsome quarters in the ‘Raab’ Palace at Vienna, and the sentry at my door, like that of a field-officer. Fortune, indeed, began to smile upon me, and never are her flatteries more welcome than in the first hours of returning health, after a long sickness. I was visited by the first men of the army; marshals and generals figured among the names of my intimates, and invitations flowed in upon me from all that were distinguished by rank and station.

Vienna, at that period, presented few features of a city occupied by an enemy. The guards, it is true, on all arsenals and forts, were French, and the gates were held by them; but there was no interruption to the course of trade and commerce. The theatres were open every night, and balls and receptions went on with only redoubled frequency. Unlike his policy towards Russia, Napoleon abstained from all that might humiliate the Austrians. Every possible concession was made to their natural tastes and feelings, and officers of all ranks in the French army were strictly enjoined to observe a conduct of conciliation and civility on every occasion of intercourse with the citizens. Few general orders could be more palatable to Frenchmen, and they set about the task of cultivating the good esteem of the Viennese with a most honest desire for success. Accident, too, aided their efforts not a little; for it chanced that a short time before the battle of Aspern, the city had been garrisoned by Croat and Wallachian regiments, whose officers, scarcely half civilised, and with all the brutal ferocity of barbarian tribes, were most favourably supplanted by Frenchmen in the best of possible tempers with themselves and the world.

It might be argued, that the Austrians would have shown more patriotism in holding themselves aloof, and avoiding all interchange of civilities with their conquerors. Perhaps, too, this line of conduct would have prevailed to a greater extent, had not those in high places set an opposite example. But so it was; and in the hope of obtaining more favourable treatment in their last extremity, the princes of the Imperial House, and the highest nobles of the land, freely accepted the invitations of our marshals, and as freely received them at their own tables.

There was something of pride, too, in the way these great families continued to keep up the splendour of their households—large retinues of servants and gorgeous equipages—when the very empire itself was crumbling to pieces. And to the costly expenditure of that fevered interval may be dated the ruin of some of the richest of the Austrian nobility. To maintain a corresponding style, and to receive the proud guests with suitable magnificence, enormous ‘allowances’ were made to the French generals; while in striking contrast to all the splendour, the Emperor Napoleon lived at SchÖnbrunn with a most simple household and restricted retinue.

‘Berthier’s’ Palace, in the ‘Graben,’ was, by its superior magnificence, the recognised centre of French society; and thither flocked every evening all that was most distinguished in rank of both nations. Motives of policy, or at least the terrible pressure of necessity, filled these salons with the highest personages of the empire; while as it accepting, as inevitable, the glorious ascendency of Napoleon, many of the French ÉmigrÉ families emerged from their retirement to pay their court to the favoured lieutenants of Napoleon. Marmont, who was highly connected with the French aristocracy, gave no slight aid to this movement, and, it was currently believed at the time, was secretly intrusted by the Emperor with the task of accomplishing what in modern phrase is styled, a ‘fusion.’

The real source of all these flattering attentions on the Austrian side, however, was the well-founded dread of the partition of the empire—a plan over which Napoleon was then hourly in deliberation, and to the non-accomplishment of which he ascribed, in the days of his last exile, all the calamities of his fall. Be this as it may, few thoughts of the graver interests at stake disturbed the pleasure we felt in the luxurious life of that delightful city; nor can I, through the whole of a long and varied career, call to mind any period of more unmixed enjoyment.

Fortune stood by me in everything. Marshal Marmont required as the head of his État-major an officer who could speak and write German, and, if possible, who understood the Tyrol dialect. I was selected for the appointment; but then there arose a difficulty. The etiquette of the service demanded that the chef d État-major should be at least a lieutenant-colonel, and I was but a captain.

‘No matter,’ said he; ‘you are officier dÉlite, which always gives brevet rank, and so one step more will place you where we want you. Come with me to SchÔnbrunn to-night, and I’ll try and arrange it.’

I was still very weak, and unable for any fatigue, as I accompanied the marshal to the quaint old palace which, at about a league from the capital, formed the headquarters of the Emperor. Up to this time I had never been presented to Napoleon, and had formed to myself the most gorgeous notions of the state and splendour that should surround such majesty. Guess then my astonishment, and, need I own, disappointment, as we drove up a straight avenue, very sparingly lighted, and descended at a large door, where a lieutenant’s guard was stationed. It was customary for the marshals and generals of division to present themselves each evening at SchÖnbrunn, from six to nine o’clock, and we found that eight or ten carriages were already in waiting when we arrived. An officer of the household recognised the marshal as he alighted, and as we mounted the stairs whispered a few words hurriedly in his ear, of which I only caught one, ‘Komorn,’ the name of the Hungarian fortress on the Danube where the Imperial family of Vienna and the cabinet had sought refuge.

‘Diantre!’ exclaimed Marmont—‘bad news! My dear Tiernay, we have fallen on an unlucky moment to ask a favour! The despatches from Komorn are, it would seem, unsatisfactory. The Tyrol is far from quiet. Kuffstein, I think that’s the name, or some such place, is attacked by a large force, and likely to fall into their hands from assault.’

‘That can scarcely be, sir,’ said I, interrupting; ‘I know Kuffstein well I was two years a prisoner there; and, except by famine, the fortress is inaccessible.’

‘What! are you certain of this?’ cried he eagerly; ‘is there not one side on which escalade is possible?’

‘Quite impracticable on every quarter, believe me, sir. A hundred men of the line and twenty gunners might hold Kuffstein against the world.’

You hear what he says, Lefebvre,’ said Marmont to the officer; ‘I think I might venture to bring him up?’ The other shook his head doubtfully, and said nothing. ‘Well, announce me, then,’ said the marshal; ‘and, Tiernay, do you throw yourself on one of those sofas there, and wait for me.’

I did as I was bade, and, partly from the unusual fatigue, and in part from the warmth of a summer evening, soon fell off into a heavy sleep. I was suddenly awakened by a voice saying, ‘Come along, captain, be quick, your name has been called twice!’ I sprang up and looked about me, without the very vaguest notion of where I was. ‘Where to? Where am I going?’ asked I, in my confusion. ‘Follow that gentleman,’ was the brief reply; and so I did, in the same dreamy state that a sleep-walker might have done. Some confused impression that I was in attendance on General Marmont was all that I could collect, when I found myself standing in a great room densely crowded with officers of rank. Though gathered in groups and knots chatting, there was, from time to time, a sort of movement in the mass that seemed communicated by some single impulse; and then all would remain watchful and attentive for some seconds, their eyes turned in the direction of a large door at the end of the apartment. At last this was thrown suddenly open, and a number of persons entered, at whose appearance every tongue was hushed, and the very slightest gesture subdued. The crowd meanwhile fell back, forming a species of circle round the room, in front of which this newly entered group walked. I cannot now remember what struggling efforts I made to collect my faculties, and think where I was then standing; but if a thunderbolt had struck the ground before me, it could not have given me a more terrific shock than that I felt on seeing the Emperor himself address the general officer beside me.

I cannot pretend to have enjoyed many opportunities of royal notice. At the time I speak of, such distinction was altogether unknown to me; but even when most highly favoured in that respect, I have never been able to divest myself of a most crushing feeling of my inferiority—a sense at once so humiliating and painful, that I longed to be away and out of a presence where I might dare to look at him who addressed me, and venture on something beyond mere replies to interrogatories. This situation, good reader, with your courtly breeding and aplomb to boot, is never totally free of constraint; but imagine what it can be when, instead of standing in the faint sunshine of a royal smile, you find yourself cowering under the stern and relentless look of anger, and that anger an emperor’s.

This was precisely my predicament, for in my confusion I had not noticed how, as the Emperor drew near to any individual to converse, the others, at either side, immediately retired out of hearing, preserving an air of obedient attention, but without in any way obtruding themselves on the royal notice. The consequence was, that as his Majesty stood to talk with Marshal Oudinot, I maintained my place, never perceiving my awkwardness till I saw that I made one of three figures isolated in the floor of the chamber. To say that I had rather have stood in face of an enemy’s battery, is no exaggeration. I’d have walked up to a gun with a stouter heart than I felt at this terrible moment; and yet there was something in that sidelong glance of angry meaning that actually nailed me to the spot, and I could not have fallen back to save my life. There were, I afterwards learned, no end of signals and telegraphic notices to me from the officers-in-waiting. Gestures and indications for my guidance abounded, but I saw none of them. I had drawn myself up in an attitude of parade stiffness—neither looked right nor left—and waited as a criminal might have waited for the fall of the axe that was to end his sufferings for ever.

That the Emperor remained something like two hours and a half in conversation with the marshal, I should have been quite ready to verify on oath; but the simple fact was, that the interview occupied under four minutes, and then General Oudinot backed out of the presence, leaving me alone in front of his Majesty.

The silence of the chamber was quite dreadful, as, with his hands clasped behind his back, and his head slightly thrown forward, the Emperor stared steadily at me. I am more than half ashamed of the confession, but, what between the effect of long illness and suffering, the length of time I had been standing, and the emotion I experienced, I felt myself growing dizzy, and a sickly faintness began to creep over me, and, but for the support of my sabre, I should actually have fallen.

‘You seem weak; you had better sit down,’ said the Emperor, in a soft and mild voice.

‘Yes, sire, I have not quite recovered yet,’ muttered I indistinctly; but before I could well finish the sentence, Marmont was beside the Emperor, and speaking rapidly to him.

‘Ah, indeed!’ cried Napoleon, tapping his snuff-box, and smiling. ‘This is Tiernay, then. Parbleu! we have heard something of you before.’

Marmont still continued to talk on; and I heard the words, Rhine, Genoa, and Kuffstein distinctly fall from him. The Emperor smiled twice, and nodded his head slowly, as if assenting to what was said.

‘But his wound?’ said Napoleon doubtingly. ‘He says that your Majesty cured him when the doctor despaired,’ said Marmont. ‘I’m sure, sire, he has equal faith in what you still could do for him.’

‘Well, sir,’ said the Emperor, addressing me, ‘if all I hear of you be correct, you carry a stouter heart before the enemy than you seem to wear here. Your name is high in Marshal MassÉna’s list; and General Marmont desires to have your services on his staff. I make no objection; you shall have your grade.’

I bowed without speaking; indeed, I could not have uttered a word, even if it had been my duty.

‘They have extracted the ball, I hope?’ said the Emperor to me, and pointing to my thigh.

‘It never lodged, sire; it was a round shot,’ said I. ‘Diable! a round shot! You’re a lucky fellow, Colonel Tiernay,’ said he, laying a stress on the title—‘a very lucky fellow.’

‘I shall ever think so, sire, since your Majesty has said it,’ was my answer.

‘I was not a lieutenant-colonel at your age,’ resumed Napoleon; ‘nor were you either, Marmont. You see, sir, that we live in better times—at least, in times when merit is better rewarded.’ And with this he passed on; and Marmont, slipping my arm within his own, led me away, down the great stair, through crowds of attendant orderlies and groups of servants. At last we reached our carriage, and in half an hour re-entered Vienna, my heart wild with excitement, and burning with zealous ardour to do something for the service of the Emperor.

The next morning I removed to General Marmont’s quarters, and for the first time put on the golden aigrette of chef de État-major, not a little to the astonishment of all who saw the ‘boy colonel,’ as, half in sarcasm, half in praise, they styled me. From an early hour of the morning till the time of a late dinner, I was incessantly occupied. The staff duties were excessively severe, and the number of letters to be read and replied to almost beyond belief. The war had again assumed something of importance in the Tyrol. Hofer and Spechbacher were at the head of considerable forces, which in the fastnesses of their native mountains were more than a match for any regular soldiery. The news from Spain was gloomy: England was already threatening her long-planned attack on the Scheldt. Whatever real importance might attach to these movements, the Austrian cabinet made them the pretext for demanding more favourable conditions; and Metternich was emboldened to go so far as to ask for the restoration of the Empire in all its former integrity.

These negotiations between the two cabinets at the time assumed the most singular form which probably was ever adopted in such intercourse—all the disagreeable intelligences and disastrous tidings being communicated from one side to the other with the mock politeness of friendly relations. As, for instance, the Austrian cabinet would forward an extract from one of Hofer’s descriptions of a victory; to which the French would reply by a bulletin of EugÈne Beauharnais, or, as Napoleon on one occasion did, by a copy of a letter from the Emperor Alexander, filled with expressions of friendship, and professing the most perfect confidence in his ‘brother of France.’ So far was this petty and most contemptible warfare carried, that every little gossip and every passing story was pressed into the service, and if not directly addressed to the cabinet, at least conveyed to its knowledge by some indirect channel.

It is probable I should have forgotten this curious feature of the time, if not impressed on my memory by personal circumstances too important to be easily obliterated from memory. An Austrian officer arrived one morning from Komorn, with an account of the defeat of Lefebvre’s force before Schenatz, and of a great victory gained by Hofer and Spechbacher over the French and Bavarians. Two thousand prisoners were said to have been taken, and the French driven across the Inn, and in full retreat on Kuffstein. Now, as I had been confined at Kuffstein, and could speak of its impregnable character from actual observation, I was immediately sent off with despatches, about some indifferent matter, to the cabinet, with injunctions to speak freely about the fortress, and declare that we were perfectly confident of its security. I may mention incidentally, and as showing the real character of my mission, that a secret despatch from Lefebvre had already reached Vienna, in which he declared that he should be compelled to evacuate the Tyrol, and fall back into Bavaria.

‘I have provided you with introductions that will secure your friendly reception,’ said Marmont to me. ‘The replies to these despatches will require some days, during which you will have time to make many acquaintances about the Court, and, if practicable, to effect a very delicate object.’

This, after considerable injunctions as to secrecy, and so forth, was no less than to obtain a miniature, or a copy of a miniature, of the young archduchess, who had been so dangerously ill during the siege of Vienna, and whom report represented as exceedingly handsome. A good-looking young fellow, a colonel, of two or three-and-twenty, with unlimited bribery, if needed, at command, should find little difficulty in the mission; at least, so Marmont assured me; and from his enthusiasm on the subject, I saw, or fancied I saw, that he would have had no objection to be employed in the service himself. For while professing how absurd it was to offer any advice or suggestion on such a subject to one like myself, he entered into details, and sketched out a plan of campaign, that might well have made a chapter of Gil Blas. It would possibly happen, he reminded me, that the Austrian Court would grow suspectful of me, and not exactly feel at ease were my stay prolonged beyond a day or two; in which case it was left entirely to my ingenuity to devise reasons for my remaining; and I was at liberty to despatch couriers for instructions, and await replies, to any extent I thought requisite. In fact, I had a species of general commission to press into the service whatever resources could forward the object of my mission, success being the only point not to be dispensed with.

‘Take a week, if you like—a month, if you must, Tiernay,’ said he to me at parting; ‘but, above all, no failure! mind that—no failure!’