THE Emperor visited Cremona, Verona, Mantua, Bologna, Modena, Parma, and Piacenza, and then went to Genoa, where he was received with enthusiasm. He sent for Le Brun, the Arch-Treasurer, to whom he intrusted the task of superintending the new administration to be established in that city. At Genoa also he parted with his sister Elisa, who had accompanied him on his journey, and to whom he gave the little Republic of Lucca, adding to it the State of Piombino. At this period the French began once more to wear foreign decorations. Prussian, Bavarian, and Spanish orders were sent to the Emperor, to be distributed by him at his pleasure. He divided them among his great officers, some of his ministers, and a few of his marshals.

At Verona a fight between dogs and bulls was given, for the entertainment of the Emperor, in the ancient amphitheatre, which contained forty thousand spectators. Loud applause greeted his arrival, and he was really affected by this reception, rendered impressive by the place, and by the magnitude of the crowd. The fÊtes at Genoa were very magnificent. Floating gardens were constructed on huge flat barges; these gardens led to a floating temple, which, approaching the land, received Bonaparte and his Court. Then the barges, which were all fastened together, were set in motion, and the Emperor found himself on a beautiful island in the middle of the harbor, whence he had a complete view of Genoa, and of the simultaneous displays of fireworks from various parts of the splendidly illuminated city.

M. de Talleyrand found amusement entirely to his taste during his stay at Genoa; for he was always pleased to detect an absurdity and to point it out to others. Cardinal Maury, who had retired to Rome since his emigration, had gained a great reputation there by the firmness of his attitude in our famous Constituent Assembly. Nevertheless, he was desirous of returning to France, and M. de Talleyrand wrote to him from Genoa, advising him to come at once and present himself to the Emperor. The Cardinal acted upon this, and, immediately assuming that obsequious attitude which he has ever since scrupulously retained, he entered Genoa, loudly proclaiming that he had come to see “the great man.”

He obtained an audience. “The great man” took his measure very quickly, and, while esteeming him at his proper value, resolved to make him give a complete contradiction to his past conduct. He gained him over easily by flattering him a little, and induced him to return to France, where we have since seen him play a somewhat ridiculous part. M. de Talleyrand, whose recollections of the Constituent Assembly were not effaced, took many opportunities of wreaking a petty revenge upon the Cardinal, by bringing out his silly sycophancy in the most skillful and cunning manner.

While the Emperor was thus traveling through Italy and consolidating his power, and everybody around him was getting tired of the continual full-dress parade at which he kept his Court; while the Empress, happy in the elevation of her son, and yet grieved by her separation from him, amused herself and distracted her mind by the perpetual fÊtes given in her honor, and took pleasure in exhibiting her magnificent jewels and her elegant costumes, I was leading a quiet and pleasant life in the valley of Montmorency, at the house of Mme. d’Houdetot. I have already mentioned this amiable and accomplished woman. Her recollections enabled me to reconstruct in my imagination those days of which she loved to talk. It gave me great pleasure to hear her speak of the famous philosophers whom she had known, and whose ways and sayings she remembered so clearly. I was so full of the “Confessions” of Jean Jacques Rousseau that I was not a little surprised to find her somewhat cold in her appreciation of him; and I may say, in passing, that the opinion of Mme. d’Houdetot, who would, I should think, have regarded Rousseau with exceptional indulgence, contributed not a little to make me distrust his character, and believe that he was only great in point of talent.

During the absence of the Court, Paris was quiet and dull. The Imperial family were living in the country. I sometimes saw Mme. Louis Bonaparte at Saint Leu, a place which her husband had just bought. Louis appeared to occupy himself exclusively with his garden. His wife was lonely, ill, and always afraid of letting some word at which he might be offended escape her. She had not ventured either to rejoice at the elevation of Prince EugÈne or to weep for his absence, which was, of course, indefinite. She wrote to him seldom and briefly, because she knew that the privacy of her letters was not respected. On one occasion, when I was visiting her, she told me a rumor had arisen that the Duc de Polignac and his brother, who were imprisoned in the ChÂteau of Ham, had attempted to escape; that they had been transferred to the Temple; and that Mme. Bonaparte and myself were accused of being concerned in the affair. The accusation, of which Mme. Louis suspected Murat to be the author, was utterly unfounded. Mme. Bonaparte never gave a thought to the two prisoners, and I had entirely lost sight of the Duchesse de Polignac.

I lived in the strictest retirement, so that my solitude might supply a sufficient answer to any gossip concerning my conduct; but I was more and more distressed by the necessity for taking such precautions, and especially at being unable to use the position in which I was placed for any purposes of utility to the Emperor, to myself, or to those persons who wished to obtain certain favors from him through me. There was no want of kindness in my natural disposition; and, besides that, I felt a degree of pride, which I do not think was misplaced, in serving those who had formerly blamed me, and in silencing their criticisms of my conduct by favors which could not be said to lack generosity. I also believed that the Emperor might win many persons who now held aloof, by the permission which he had granted me to bring their solicitations and their necessities under his attention; and as I was still attached to him, although he inspired me with more fear than formerly, I would have gained all hearts for him had it been possible. But, as it became evident that my plan was not always approved by him, I found I had to think of defending myself, rather than assisting others.

My reflections were occasionally very sad. At other times I could make up my mind to the difficulties of my position, and resolve that I would only look at the agreeable side of it. I enjoyed a certain consideration in society, and I liked that; and we were fairly prosperous, though not free from the difficulties which always beset persons whose fortunes have no secure basis, and whose expenses are obligatory. But I was young, and I thought little of the future. I was surrounded by pleasant society; my mother was perfection to me, my husband most kind and good, my eldest son all I could wish. I lived on the pleasantest terms with my kind and charming sister. All this turned away my thoughts from the Court, and enabled me to bear the drawbacks of my position patiently. My health was a perpetual trial to me; it was always delicate, and an unquiet life was evidently injurious. I must not, however, dwell upon myself; I do not know how I have been tempted into doing so. If ever this narrative should be read by others, as well as by my son, all this ought to be suppressed without hesitation.

During the Emperor’s sojourn in Italy, two plays had a great success at the ComÉdie FranÇaise. The first was “Le Tartufe des Moeurs,” translated, or rather adapted, from Sheridan’s “School for Scandal,” by M. ChÉron; the second was “Les Templiers.” M. ChÉron had been a deputy to the Legislative Assembly. He married a niece of the AbbÉ Morellet; his wife and himself were intimate friends of mine. The AbbÉ had written to the Emperor to solicit a place for M. ChÉron; and, on Bonaparte’s return, “Le Tartufe des Moeurs” was acted before him. He was so much amused by the play that, having ascertained the name of its author from M. de RÉmusat, and also learned that M. ChÉron was well deserving of employment, he, in a moment of easy good nature, sent him to Poitiers as Prefect. Unfortunately, he died there three years afterward. His widow is a most estimable and talented person.

M. de Fontanes had read “Les Templiers” to Bonaparte, who approved of some portions of the piece, but objected to others. He wished to have certain corrections made, but the author refused, and the Emperor was annoyed. He was by no means pleased that “Les Templiers” had a brilliant success, and set himself against both the play and the author, with a petty despotism which was characteristic of him when either persons or things incurred his displeasure. All this happened when he came back.

Bonaparte expected that his wishes and his opinions should be accepted as rules. He had taken a fancy to the music of “Les Bardes,” an opera by Lesueur, and he was almost angry that the Parisian public did not think as highly of it as he did.

The Emperor came direct from Genoa to Paris. This was to be his last sight of fair Italy, that land in which he seemed to have exhausted every mode of impressing the minds of men, as a general, as a pacificator, and as a sovereign. He returned by Mont Cenis, and gave orders for great works which, like those of the Simplon Pass, should facilitate the communications between the two nations. The Court was increased in number by several Italian noblemen and ladies who were attached to it. The Emperor had already appointed some Belgians as additional chamberlains, and the obsequious forms in which he was addressed were now uttered in widely varying accents.

He arrrived at Fontainebleau on the 11th of July, and went thence to reside at Saint Cloud. Shortly after, the “Moniteur” began to bristle with notes, announcing in almost threatening language the storm which was so soon to burst over Europe. Certain expressions which occurred from time to time in these notes revealed the author who had dictated them. One of these in particular made an impression on my memory. It had been stated in the English newspapers that a supposed genealogy of the Bonaparte family, which retraced its nobility to an ancient origin, had been printed in London. “Researches of this kind are purposeless,” said the note. “To all those who may ask from what period dates the house of Bonaparte, there is a ready answer: ‘It dates from the 18th Brumaire.’”

I met the Emperor after his return with mingled feelings. It was difficult not to be affected by his presence, but it was painful to me to feel that my emotion was tempered by the distrust with which he was beginning to inspire me. The Empress received me in a most friendly manner, and I avowed to her quite frankly the trouble that was on my mind. I expressed my surprise that no past proof of devotedness or disinterested service could avail with her husband against a sudden prejudice. She repeated my words to him, and he well understood what they meant; but he persisted in his own definition of what he called devotedness, which was an entire surrender of one’s being, of one’s sentiments and one’s opinions, and repeated that we ought to give up all our former habits, in order to have only one thought, that of his interest and his will. He promised, in recompense for this exaction, that we should be raised to a great height of rank and fortune, and have everything that could gratify our pride. “I will give them,” said he, speaking of us, “enough to enable them to laugh at those who find fault with them now; and, if they will break with my enemies, I will put their enemies under their feet.” Apart from this, I had but little annoyance in the household, and my position was easy enough, as Bonaparte’s mind was fixed on important affairs during his stay in France before the campaign of Austerlitz.

A circumstance recurs to my memory at this moment, which is only important because it serves to depict this strange man. I therefore give it a place here. The despotism of his will grew in proportion to the enlargement of the circle with which he surrounded himself; he wanted to be the sole arbiter of reputations, to make them and to unmake them at his pleasure. He branded a man or blighted a woman for a word, without any kind of hesitation; but he was much displeased that the public should venture to observe and to comment on the conduct of either the one or the other, if he had placed them within the rays of the aureole with which he surrounded himself.

During his journey in Italy, the idleness of life in palaces and its opportunities had given rise to several gallant adventures on his part, which were more or less serious, and these had been duly reported in France, where they fed the general appetite for gossip. One day, when several ladies of the Court—among them those who had been in Italy—were breakfasting with the Empress, Bonaparte came suddenly into the room and, leaning on the back of his wife’s chair, addressed to one and another of us a few words, at first insignificant enough. Then he began to question us about what we were all doing, and let us know, but only by hints, that some among us were considerably talked of by the public. The Empress, who knew her husband’s ways, and was aware that, when talking in this manner, he was apt to go very far, tried to interrupt him; but the Emperor, persisting in the conversation, presently gave it an exceedingly embarrassing turn. “Yes, ladies, you occupy the attention of the worthy inhabitants of the Faubourg St. Germain. They say, for instance, that you, Mme. ——, have a liaison with M. ——; that you, Mme. ——.” And so he went on, addressing himself to three or four ladies in succession. The effect upon us all of such an attack may easily be imagined. The Emperor was amused by the confusion into which he threw us. “But,” added he, “you need not suppose that I approve of talk of this kind. To attack my Court is to attack myself, and I do not choose that a word shall be said, either of me, or of my family, or of my Court.” While thus speaking, his countenance, which had previously been smiling, darkened, and his voice became extremely harsh. He then burst out violently against that section of Parisian society which was still rebellious, declaring that he would exile every woman who should say a word against any lady-in-waiting; and he proceeded to work himself into a violent passion upon this text, which he had entirely to himself, for not a single one of us attempted to make him an answer. The Empress at length rose from the table in order to terminate this unpleasant scene, and the general movement put an end to it. The Emperor left the room as suddenly as he had come in. One of our ladies, a sworn admirer of everything that Bonaparte said and did, began to expatiate upon the kindness of such a master, who desired that our reputation should be held a sacred thing. But Mme. de ——, a very clever woman, answered her impatiently, “Yes, madame, let the Emperor only defend us once again in that fashion, and we are lost.”

Bonaparte was greatly surprised when the Empress represented to him the absurdity of this scene, and he always insisted that we ought to have been grateful for the readiness with which he took offense when we were attacked.

During his stay at Saint Cloud he worked incessantly, and issued a great number of decrees relative to the administration of the new departments he had acquired in Italy. He also augmented his Council of State, to which he gave more influence from day to day, because he was quite sure of having it completely under his authority. He showed himself at the OpÉra, and was well received by the Parisians, whom, however, he still thought cold in comparison with the people of the provinces. He led a busy and laborious life, sometimes allowing himself the recreation of hunting; but he walked out for one hour a day only, and received company on but one day in each week. On that day the ComÉdie FranÇaise came to Saint Cloud, and acted tragedies or comedies in a very pretty theatre which had been recently built. Then began the difficulties of M. de RÉmusat in providing amusement for him whom Talleyrand called “the Unamusable.” In vain were the masterpieces of our theatrical rÉpertoire performed; in vain did our best actors strive their very best to please him: he generally appeared at these representations preoccupied and weighed down by the gravity of his thoughts. He laid the blame of his own want of attention to the play on his First Chamberlain, on Corneille, on Racine, or on the actors. He liked Talma’s acting, or rather Talma himself—there had been some sort of acquaintance between them during his obscure youth; he gave him a great deal of money, and received him familiarly; but even Talma could not succeed in interesting him. Just like an invalid, who blames others for the state of his own health, he was angry with those who could enjoy the pleasures that passed him by; and he always thought that by scolding and worrying he should get something invented which would succeed in amusing him. The man who was intrusted with Bonaparte’s pleasures was very seriously to be pitied; unfortunately for us, M. de RÉmusat was the man, and I can not describe what he had to bear.

At this time the Emperor was still flattering himself that he would be able to gain some naval triumphs over the English. The united French and Spanish fleets made several efforts, and an attempt was made to defend the colonies. Admiral Nelson, pursuing us everywhere, no doubt upset the greater part of our plans; but this was carefully concealed, and our newspapers taught us to believe that we were beating the English every day. It is likely that the project of the invasion was abandoned. The English Government was raising up formidable enemies for us upon the Continent. The Emperor of Russia, who was young and naturally inclined to independence, was perhaps already tempted to resent the preponderance that our Emperor desired to exercise, and some of his ministers were suspected of favoring the English policy, which aimed at making him our enemy. The peace with Austria held only by a thread. The King of Prussia alone seemed resolved to maintain his alliance with us. “Why,” said a note in the “Moniteur,” “while the Emperor of Russia exercises his influence upon the Porte, should he object to that of France being exercised upon certain portions of Italy? When with Herschel’s telescope he observes from the terrace of his palace that which passes between the Emperor of the French and a few Apennine populations, why should he exact that the Emperor of the French shall not see what is passing in the ancient empire of Solyman, and what is happening in Persia? It is the fashion to accuse France of ambition, and yet how great has been her past moderation,” etc., etc.

In the month of August the Emperor set out for Boulogne. It was no longer his purpose to inspect the flotillas, but he intended to review that numerous army encamped in the north, which before long he was destined to set in motion. During his absence the Empress made an excursion to the baths of PlombiÈres. I think I shall usefully employ this interval of leisure by retracing my steps, in order to mention certain particulars concerning M. de Talleyrand which I have hitherto omitted.

Talleyrand, who had come back to France some time before, was appointed “Minister of External Relations” through the influence of Mme. de StaËl, who induced Barras, the Director, to select him for that post. It was under the Directory that he made the acquaintance of Mme. Grand. Although she was no longer in her first youth, this lady, who was born in the East Indies, was still remarkable for her beauty. She wished to go to England, where her husband resided, and she applied to M. de Talleyrand for a passport. Her beauty and her visit produced, apparently, such an effect upon him that either the passport was not given, or it remained unused. Mme. Grand remained in Paris; shortly afterward she was observed to frequent the “Hotel of External Relations,” and after a while she took up her abode there. Meanwhile, Bonaparte was First Consul; his victories and his treaties brought the ambassadors of the first Powers in Europe and a crowd of other foreigners to Paris. Persons who were obliged by their position to frequent M. de Talleyrand’s society accepted the presence of Mme. Grand, who did the honors of his table and his salon with a good grace; but they were somewhat surprised at the weakness which had consented to put so prominently forward a woman who was indeed handsome, but so deficient in education and so faulty in temper that she was continually annoying Talleyrand by her foolish conduct, and disturbing him by her uncertain humor. M. de Talleyrand has a very good temper, and much laisser-aller in the events of every-day life. It is easy enough to rule him by frightening him, because he hates a disturbance, and Mme. Grand ruled him by her charms and her exactions. When, however, the ambassadresses were in question, difficulties arose, as some of them would not consent to be received at the Hotel of External Relations by Mme. Grand. She complained, and these protests on both sides came to the ears of the First Consul.

He immediately had a decisive interview on this subject with Talleyrand, and informed his minister that he must banish Mme. Grand from his house. No sooner had Mme. Grand been apprised of this decision, than she went to Mme. Bonaparte, whom she induced, by dint of tears and supplications, to procure for her an interview with Bonaparte. She was admitted to his presence, fell on her knees, and entreated him to revoke a decree which reduced her to despair. Bonaparte alowed himself to be moved by the tears and sobs of this fair personage, and, after having quieted her, he said: “I see only one way of managing this. Let Talleyrand marry you, and all will be arranged; but you must bear his name, or you can not appear in his house.” Mme. Grand was much pleased with this decision; the Consul repeated it to Talleyrand, and gave him twenty-four hours to make up his mind. It is said that Bonaparte took a malign pleasure in making Talleyrand marry, and was secretly delighted to have this opportunity of branding his character, and thus, according to his favorite system, getting a guarantee of his fidelity. It is very possible that he may have entertained such an idea; it is also certain that Mme. Bonaparte, over whom tears always exercised a great influence, used all her power with her husband to induce him to favor Mme. Grand’s petition.

Talleyrand went back to his hotel, gravely troubled by the prompt decision which was required of him. There he had to encounter tumultuous scenes. He was attacked by all the devices likely to exhaust his patience. He was pressed, pursued, urged against his inclination. Some remains of love, the power of habit, perhaps also the fear of irritating a woman whom it is impossible to suppose he had not admitted to his confidence, combined to influence him. He yielded, set out for the country, and found, in a village in the valley of Montmorency, a curÉ who consented to perform the marriage ceremony. Two days afterward we were informed that Mme. Grand had become Mme. de Talleyrand, and the difficulty of the Corps Diplomatique was at an end. It appears that M. Grand, who lived in England, although little desirous of recovering a wife from whom he had long been parted, contrived to get himself largely paid for withholding the protest against this marriage with which he repeatedly menaced the newly wedded couple. M. de Talleyrand, wanting something to amuse him in his own house, brought over from London the daughter of one of his friends, who on her deathbed, had confided the child to him. This child was that little Charlotte who was, as we all know, brought up in his house, and who has been very erroneously believed to be his daughter. He attached himself strongly to his young ward, educated her carefully, and, having adopted her and bestowed his name upon her, married her in her seventeenth year to his cousin Baron de Talleyrand. The Talleyrands were at first justly annoyed by this marriage, but she ultimately succeeded in gaining their friendship.

Those persons who are acquainted with Talleyrand, who know to what a height he carries delicacy of taste, wit, and grace in conversation, and how much he needs repose, are astonished that he should have united himself with a person so uncongenial to him. It is, therefore, most likely that imperative circumstances compelled him to do so, and that Bonaparte’s command and the short time allowed him in which to come to a decision prevented a rupture, which in fact would have suited him much better. What a difference it would have made for Talleyrand if he had then dissolved this illicit union, and set himself to merit and effect a future reconciliation with the Church he had abandoned! Apart from desiring for him that that reconciliation had been made then in good faith, how much consideration would he have gained if afterward, when all things were reordered and replaced, he had resumed the Roman purple in the autumn of his days, and at least repaired in the eyes of the world the scandal of his life! As a cardinal, a noble, and a truly distinguished man, he would have had a right to respect and regard, and his course would not have been beset with embarrassment and hesitation.

In the situation in which he was placed by his marriage, he had to take constant precaution to escape, as far as possible, from the ridicule which was always suspended over him. No doubt he managed better than others might have done in such a position. Profound silence respecting his private troubles, an appearance of complete indifference to the foolish things which his wife was always saying and the blunders which she was always making, a haughty demeanor to those who ventured to smile at him or at her, extreme politeness, which was called benevolence, great social influence and political weight, a large fortune, unalterable patience under insult, and great dexterity in taking his revenge, were the weapons with which he met the general condemnation; and, notwithstanding his great faults, the public have never dared to despise him. Nevertheless, it is not to be supposed that he has not paid the private penalty of his imprudent conduct. Deprived of domestic happiness, almost at variance with his family, who could not associate with Mme. de Talleyrand, he was obliged to resort to an entirely factitious existence, in order to escape from the dreariness of his home, and perhaps from the bitterness of his secret thoughts. Public affairs occupied him, and such leisure as they left him he gave to play. He was always attended by a crowd of followers, and by giving his mornings to business, his evenings to society, and his nights to cards, he never exposed himself to a tiresome tÊte-À-tÊte with his wife, or to the dangers of solitude, which would have brought serious reflections. Bent on getting away from himself, he never sought sleep until he was quite sure that extreme fatigue would enable him to procure it.

The Emperor did not make up for the obligation which he had imposed on him by his conduct to Mme. de Talleyrand. He treated her coldly, even rudely; never admitted her to the distinctions of the rank to which she was raised, without making a difficulty about it; and did not disguise the repugnance with which she inspired him, even while Talleyrand still possessed his entire confidence. Talleyrand bore all this, never allowed the slightest complaint to escape him, and arranged so that his wife should appear but seldom at Court. She received all distinguished foreigners on certain days, and on certain other days the Government officials. She made no visits, none were exacted from her; in fact, she counted for nothing. Provided each person bowed to her on entering and leaving his salon, Talleyrand asked no more. Let me say, in conclusion, that he always seemed to bear with perfectly resigned courage the fatal “tu l’as voulu” of MoliÈre’s comedy.

In the course of these Memoirs I shall have to speak of M. de Talleyrand again, when I shall have reached the period of our intimacy with him.

I did not know Mme. Grand in the prime of her life and beauty, but I have heard it said that she was one of the most charming women of her time. She was tall, and her figure had all the suppleness and grace so common to women born in the East. Her complexion was dazzling, her eyes of the brightest blue, and her slightly retroussÉ nose gave her, singularly enough, a look of Talleyrand himself. Her fair golden hair was of proverbial beauty. I think she was about thirty-six when she married M. de Talleyrand. The elegance of her figure was already slightly injured by her becoming stout. This afterward increased, and by degrees her features lost their delicacy and her complexion became very red. The tone of her voice was disagreeable, her manners were abrupt; she was of an unamiable disposition, and so intolerably stupid that she never by any chance said the right thing. Talleyrand’s intimate friends were the objects of her particular dislike, and they cordially detested her. Her elevation gave her little happiness, and what she had to suffer never excited anybody’s interest.

While the Emperor was reviewing the whole of his army, Mme. Murat went to Boulogne to pay him a visit, and he desired that Mme. Louis Bonaparte, who had accompanied her husband to the baths of Saint Amand, should also attend him there, and bring her son. On several occasions he went through the ranks of his soldiers, carrying this child in his arms. The army was then remarkably fine, strictly disciplined, full of the best spirit, well provided, and impatient for war. This desire was destined to be satisfied before long.

Notwithstanding the reports in our newspapers, we were almost always stopped in everything that we attempted to do for the protection of our colonies. The proposed invasion appeared day by day more perilous. It became necessary to astonish Europe by a less doubtful novelty. “We are no longer,” said the notes of the “Moniteur,” addressed to the English Government, “those Frenchmen who were sold and betrayed by perfidious ministers, covetous mistresses, and indolent kings. You march toward an inevitable destiny.”

The two nations, English and French, each claimed the victory in the naval combat off Cape Finisterre, where no doubt our national bravery opposed a strong resistance to the science of the enemy, but which had no other result than to oblige our fleet to reËnter the port. Shortly afterward our journals were full of complaints of the insults which the flag of Venice had sustained since it had become a dependency of Austria. We soon learned that the Austrian troops were moving; that an alliance between the Emperors of Austria and Russia was formed against us; and the English journals triumphantly announced a continental war. This year the birthday of Napoleon was celebrated with great pomp from one end of France to the other. He returned from Boulogne on the 3d of September, and at that time the Senate issued a decree by which the Gregorian calendar was to be resumed on the 1st of January, 1806. Thus disappeared, little by little, the last traces of the Republic, which had lasted, or appeared to last, for thirteen years.