THE arrival of the Russian forces and the severe conditions exacted by the conqueror made the Emperor of Austria resolve on once more trying the fortune of war. Having assembled his forces and joined the Emperor Alexander, he awaited Bonaparte, who was advancing to meet him. The two immense armies met in Moravia, near the little village of Austerlitz, which, until then unknown, has become for ever memorable by reason of the great victory which France won there.

Bonaparte resolved to give battle on the following day, the 1st of December, the anniversary of his coronation.

The Czar had sent Prince Dolgorouki to our headquarters with proposals of peace, which, if the Emperor has told the truth in his bulletins, could hardly be entertained by a conqueror in possession of his enemy’s capital. If we may believe him, the surrender of Belgium was demanded, and that the Iron Crown should be placed on another head. The envoy was taken through a part of the encampment which had been purposely left in confusion; he was deceived by this, and misled the Emperors by his report of the state of things.

The bulletin of those two days, the 1st and 2d of December, states that the Emperor, on returning to his quarters toward evening, spoke these words: “This is the fairest evening of my life; but I regret to think that I must lose a good number of these brave fellows. I feel, by the pain it gives me, that they are indeed my children; and I reproach myself for this feeling, for I fear it may render me unfit to make war.”

The following day, in addressing his soldiers, he said: “This campaign must be ended by a thunderclap. If France is to make peace only on the terms proposed by Dolgorouki, Russia shall not obtain them, even were her army encamped on the heights of Montmartre.” Yet it was decreed that these same armies should, one day, be encamped there, and that at Belleville Alexander was to receive Napoleon’s envoy, coming to offer him peace on any terms he chose to dictate.

I will not transcribe the narrative of that battle, so truly honorable to our arms—it will be found in the “Moniteur”; and the Emperor of Russia, with characteristic and noble simplicity, declared that the dispositions taken by the Emperor to insure success, the skill of his generals, and the ardor of the French soldiers, were all alike incomparable. The flower of the three nations fought with unflagging determination; the two Emperors were obliged to fly in order to escape being taken, and, but for the conferences of the following day, it seems that the Emperor of Russia would have found his retreat very difficult.

The Emperor dictated almost from the field of battle the narrative of all that had taken place on the 1st, the 2d, and the 3d of December. He even wrote part of it himself. The dispatch, hurriedly composed, yet full of details and very interesting, even at the present day, on account of the spirit in which it was conceived, consisted of twenty-five pages covered with erasures and with references, and was sent to M. Maret at Vienna, to be immediately put in form and sent to the “Moniteur” in Paris.

On receiving this dispatch, M. Maret hastened to communicate it to M. de Talleyrand and M. de RÉmusat. All three were then residing in the palace of the Emperor of Austria; they shut themselves up in the Empress’s private apartment, then occupied by M. de Talleyrand, in order to decipher the manuscript. The handwriting of the Emperor, which was always very illegible, and his bad spelling, made this a somewhat lengthy task. The order of events had to be rearranged, and incorrect expressions to be replaced by more suitable ones, and then, by the advice of M. de Talleyrand and to the great terror of M. Maret, certain phrases were suppressed, as too humiliating to the foreign sovereigns, or so directly eulogistic of Bonaparte himself that one wonders he could have penned them. They retained certain phrases which were underscored, and to which it was evident he attached importance. This task lasted several hours, and was interesting to M. de RÉmusat, as it gave him an opportunity of observing the very different methods of serving the Emperor adopted by the two Ministers respectively.

After the battle, the Emperor Francis asked for an interview, which took place at the French Emperor’s quarters.

“This,” said Bonaparte, “has been my only palace for the last two months.”

“You make such good use of it,” replied the Emperor of Austria, “that it ought to be agreeable to you.”

“It is asserted,” says the bulletin, “that the Emperor, in speaking of the Emperor of Austria, used these words: ‘That man has led me to commit an error, for I could have followed up my victory, and have taken the whole Russian and Austrian army prisoners; but, after all, there will be some tears the less.’”

According to the bulletin, the Czar was let off easily. Here is the account of the visit which Savary was sent to make to him:

“The Emperor’s aide-de-camp had accompanied the Emperor of Germany after the interview, in order to learn whether the Emperor of Russia would agree to the capitulation. He found the remnant of the Russian army without artillery or baggage, and in frightful disorder.

“It was midnight; General Meerfeld had been repulsed from Golding by Marshal Davoust, and the Russian army was surrounded—not a man could escape. Prince Czartoryski presented General Savary to the Emperor.

“‘Tell your master,’ said the Czar, ‘that I am going away; that he did wonders yesterday, that his achievements have increased my admiration for him, that he is predestined by Heaven, and that my army would require a hundred years to equal his. But can I withdraw in safety?’ ‘Yes, sire, if your Majesty ratifies what the two Emperors of France and Austria have agreed upon in their interview.’ ‘And what is that?’ ‘That your Majesty’s army shall return home by stages to be regulated by the Emperor, and that it shall evacuate Germany and Austrian Poland. On these conditions I have it in commission to go to our outposts, and give them orders to protect your retreat, as the Emperor is desirous to protect the friend of the First Consul.’ ‘What guarantee is required?’ ‘Your word, sire.’ ‘I give it you.’

“General Savary set out on the instant at full gallop, and, having joined Davoust, he gave orders to suspend all operations and remain quiet. It is to be hoped that the generosity of the Emperor of France on this occasion may not be so soon forgotten in Russia as was his sending back six thousand men to the Emperor Paul, with expressions of his esteem.

“General Savary had an hour’s conversation with the Emperor of Russia, and found him all that a man of good sense and good feeling ought to be, whatever reverses he may have experienced.

“The Emperor asked him about the details of the day. ‘You were inferior to me,’ he said, ‘and yet you were superior upon all the points of attack.’ ‘That, sire,’ answered the General, ‘is the art of war, and the fruit of fifteen years of glory. This is the fortieth battle the Emperor has fought.’ ‘True. He is a great warrior. As for me, this is the first time I have seen fighting. I have never had any pretension to measure myself with him.’ ‘When you have experience, sire, you may perhaps surpass him.’ ‘I shall now go away to my capital. I came to lend my aid to the Emperor of Austria; he has had me informed that he is content, and I am the same.’”

There was a good deal of speculation at that time as to what was the Emperor’s real reason for consenting to make peace after this battle, instead of pushing his victory further; for, of course, nobody believed in the motive which was assigned for it, i. e., the sparing of so many tears which must otherwise have been shed.

May we conclude that the day of Austerlitz had cost him so dear as to make him shrink from incurring another like it, and that the Russian army was not so utterly defeated as he would have had us believe? Or was it that again he had done as he himself expressed it, when he was asked why he had put an end to the march of victory by the treaty of Leoben: “I was playing at vingt-et-un, and I stopped short at vingt”? May we believe that Bonaparte, in his first year of empire, did not yet venture to sacrifice the lives of the people as ruthlessly as he afterward sacrificed them, and that, having entire confidence in M. de Talleyrand at that period, he yielded more readily to the moderate policy of his Minister? Perhaps, too, he believed that he had reduced the Austrian power by his campaign more than he really had reduced it; for he said, after his return from Munich, “I have left the Emperor Francis too many subjects.”

Whatever may have been his motives, he deserves praise for the spirit of moderation that he maintained in the midst of an army heated by victory, and which certainly was at that moment desirous of prolonging the war. The marshals and all the officers about the Emperor did everything in their power to induce him to carry on the campaign; they were certain of victory everywhere, and by shaking the purpose of their chief they created for M. de Talleyrand all the difficulties that he had foreseen. The Minister, summoned to headquarters, had to contend with the disposition of the army. He maintained, alone and unsupported, that peace must be concluded—that the Austrian power was necessary to the equilibrium of Europe; and it was then that he said, “When you shall have weakened all the powers of the center, how are you to hinder those of the extremities—the Russians, for instance—from falling upon them?” In reply to this he was met by private interests, by a personal and insatiable desire for the chances of fortune which the continuance of the war might offer; and certain persons, who knew the Emperor’s character well, said, “If even we do not put an end to this affair on the spot, you will see that we shall commence another campaign by and by.”

As for the Emperor himself, disturbed by this diversity of opinion, urged by his first love of war, and influenced by his habitual distrust, he allowed M. de Talleyrand to perceive that he suspected him of a secret understanding with the Austrian ambassador, and of sacrificing the interests of France. M. de Talleyrand answered with that firmness which he always maintains in great affairs, when he has taken a certain line: “You deceive yourself. My object is to sacrifice the interest of your generals, which is no concern of mine, to the interests of France. Reflect that you lower yourself by saying such things as they say, and that you are worthy to be something more than a mere soldier.” The Emperor was flattered by being praised at the expense of his former companions in arms; and by adroitness of this kind M. de Talleyrand succeeded in gaining his ends. At length he brought the Emperor to resolve on sending him to Presburg, where the negotiations were to take place; but it is a strange and probably unexampled fact that Bonaparte, while giving M. de Talleyrand powers to treat for peace, actually deceived him on a point of vital importance, and placed in his path the greatest difficulty that ever a negotiator had experienced.

On the occasion of the meeting of the two Emperors after the battle, the Emperor of Austria consented to relinquish the State of Venice; but he had demanded that the portion of the Tyrol conquered by MassÉna should be restored to Austria, and Napoleon, no doubt affected in spite of his mastery over his emotions, and a little off his guard in the presence of this vanquished sovereign, who had come to discuss his interests in person on the battle-field where the bodies of his subjects who had fallen in his cause still lay, had not been able to maintain his inflexibility. He gave up the Tyrol; but no sooner had the interview come to an end than he repented of what he had done, and, when giving M. de Talleyrand details of the engagements to which he had pledged himself, he kept that one secret.

The Minister having set out for Presburg, Bonaparte returned to Vienna, and took up his abode in the palace at SchÖnbrunn. He occupied himself in reviewing his army, verifying his losses, and reforming each corps as it presented itself for inspection. In his pride and satisfaction in the results of the campaign, he was good-humored with everybody, behaved well to all those members of the Court who awaited him at Vienna, and took great pleasure in relating the wonders of the war.

On one point only did he exhibit displeasure. He was greatly surprised that his presence produced so little effect upon the Viennese, and that it was so difficult to induce them to attend the fÊtes he provided for them, and the dinners at the palace to which he invited them. Bonaparte could not understand their attachment to a conquered sovereign—one, too, so much inferior to himself. One day he spoke quite openly about this to M. de RÉmusat. “You have passed some time at Vienna,” he said, “and have had opportunities of observing them. What a strange people they are! They seem insensible alike to glory and to reverses.” M. de RÉmusat, who had formed a high opinion of the Viennese, and admired their disinterested and loyal character, replied by praising them, and relating several instances of their attachment to their sovereign of which he had been an eye-witness. “But,” said Bonaparte, “they must sometimes have talked of me. What do they say?” “Sire,” answered M. de RÉmusat, “they say, ‘The Emperor Napoleon is a great man, it is true; but our Emperor is perfectly good, and we can love none but him.’” These sentiments, which were all unchanged by misfortune, were incomprehensible to a man who recognized no merit except in success. When, after his return to Paris, he heard of the touching reception given by the Viennese to their vanquished Emperor, he exclaimed: “What people! If I came back to Paris thus, I should certainly not be received after that fashion.”

A few days after the Emperor’s return, M. de Talleyrand arrived at Vienna from Presburg, to the great surprise of everybody. The Austrian ministers at Presburg had brought forward the subject of the Tyrol; he had been obliged to admit that he had no instructions on that point, and he now came to obtain them. He was much displeased at having been treated in such a manner. When he spoke of this to the Emperor, the latter told him that in a yielding moment, of which he now repented, he had acceded to the request of the Emperor Francis, but that he was quite resolved not to keep his word. M. de RÉmusat told me that M. de Talleyrand, of whom he saw a great deal at this time, was really indignant. Not only did he perceive that war was about to begin again, but that the Cabinet of France was stained by perfidy, and a portion of the dishonor would inevitably fall upon him. His mission to Presburg would henceforth be ridiculous, would show how little influence over his master he possessed, and would destroy his personal credit in Europe, when he took such care to preserve. The marshals raised their war-cry anew. Murat, Berthier, Maret, all the flatterers of the Emperor’s ruling passion, seeing to which side he leaned, urged him on toward what they called “glory.” M. de Talleyrand had to bear reproaches from every one, and he often said to my husband, bitterly enough: “I find no one but yourself here to show me any friendship; it would take very little more to make those people regard me as a traitor.” His conduct at this period, and his patience, did him honor. He succeeded in bringing the Emperor back to his way of thinking upon the necessity of making peace, and, after having extracted from him the final word which he required, he set out a second time for Presburg, better satisfied, although he could not obtain the restitution of the Tyrol. On taking leave of M. de RÉmusat, he said, “I shall settle the affair of the Tyrol, and induce the Emperor to make peace, in spite of himself.”

During Bonaparte’s stay at SchÖnbrunn he received a letter from Prince Charles, to the effect that, being full of admiration for his person, the Prince wished to see and converse with him. The Emperor, flattered by this compliment from a man who enjoyed a high reputation in Europe, fixed upon a small hunting-lodge a few leagues from the palace as the place of meeting, and directed M. de RÉmusat to join the other persons who were to accompany him. He also bade him take with him a very richly mounted sword. “After our conversation,” said he, “you will hand it to me. I wish to present it to the Prince on leaving him.”

The Emperor joined the Prince, and they remained in private conference for some time. When he came out of the room my husband approached him, according to the orders he had received. Bonaparte impatiently waved him off, telling him that he might take the sword away; and when he returned to SchÖnbrunn he spoke slightingly of the Prince, saying that he had found him very commonplace and by no means worthy of the present he had intended for him.

I must now relate an incident which concerned M. de RÉmusat personally, and which once more checked the favor that the Emperor seemed disposed to extend toward him. I have frequently remarked that our destiny always arranged matters so that we should not profit by the advantages of our position, but since that time I have often felt thankful to Providence; for that very contrariety preserved us from a more disastrous fall.

In the early years of the Consular Government the King’s party had clung to the hope of a revival of favorable chance for him in France, and they had more than once tried to establish an understanding with the country. M. d’AndrÉ, formerly a deputy to the Constituent Assembly, an ÉmigrÉ, and devoted to the royal cause, had undertaken Royalist missions to some of the sovereigns of Europe, and Bonaparte was perfectly aware of that fact. M. d’AndrÉ was, like M. de RÉmusat, a native of Provence, and they had been schoolfellows. M. d’AndrÉ had also been a magistrate prior to the Revolution (he was Councilor to the Parliament of Aix), and, although they did not keep up any mutual relations, they were not entirely strangers. At the period of which I am writing, M. d’AndrÉ, disheartened by the failure of his fruitless efforts, convinced that the Imperial cause was absolutely victorious, and weary of a wandering life and consequently straitened means, was longing to return to his own country. Being in Hungary during the campaign of 1805, he sent his wife to Vienna, and appealed to his friend General Mathieu Dumas to obtain leave for him. The General, although rather alarmed at having to undertake such a mission, promised to take steps in the matter, but advised Mme. d’AndrÉ to see M. de RÉmusat and procure his interest. One morning Mme. d’AndrÉ arrived. My husband received her as he conceived he ought to receive the wife of a former friend; he was much concerned at the position in which she represented M. d’AndrÉ to be, and, not knowing that there were particular circumstances in the case which were likely to render the Emperor implacable, thinking besides that his victories might incline him to clemency, consented to present her petition. His official position as Keeper of the Wardrobe gave him the right to enter the Emperor’s dressing-room. He hastened down to his Majesty’s apartment, and found him half dressed and in a good humor, whereupon he immediately gave him an account of Mme. d’AndrÉ’s visit, and preferred the request which he had undertaken to urge.

At the mention of the name of M. d’AndrÉ, the Emperor’s face darkened. “Do you know,” said he, “that you are talking to me of a mortal enemy?”

“No, Sire,” replied M. de RÉmusat; “I am ignorant whether your Majesty has really reason to complain of him; but, if such be the case, I would venture to ask pardon for him. M. d’AndrÉ is poor and proscribed; he asks only that he may return and grow old in our common country.” “Have you any relations with him?” “None, Sire.” “And why do you interest yourself in him?” “Sire, he is a ProvenÇal; he was educated with me at Juilly, he is of my own profession, and he was my friend.” “You are very fortunate,” said the Emperor, darting a fierce glance at him, “to have such motives to excuse you. Never speak of him to me again; and know this: if he were at Vienna, and I could get hold of him, he should be hanged within twenty-four hours.” Having said these words, the Emperor turned his back on M. de RÉmusat.

Wherever the Emperor was with his Court, he habitually held what was called his levÉe every morning. So soon as he was dressed, he entered a reception-room, and those persons who formed what was Called the “service” were summoned. These were the great officers of his household, M. de RÉmusat, as Keeper of the Wardrobe and First Chamberlain, and the generals of his guard. The second levÉe was composed of the Chamberlains, of such generals of the army as could present themselves, and, in Paris, of the Prefect of Police, the Princes, and the Ministers. Sometimes he greeted all these personages silently, with a mere bow, and dismissed them at once. He gave orders when it was necessary, and he did not hesitate to scold any one with whom he was displeased, without the slightest regard to the awkwardness of giving or receiving reprimands before a crowd of witnesses.

After he left M. de RÉmusat, the Emperor held his levÉe; then he sent everybody away, and held a long conversation with General Savary. On its conclusion, Savary rejoined my husband in one of the reception-rooms, took him aside, and addressed him after a fashion which would appear very strange to any one unacquainted with the crudity of the General’s principles in certain matters.

“Let me congratulate you,” said he, accosting M. de RÉmusat, “on a fine opportunity of making your fortune, of which I strongly advise you to avail yourself. You played a dangerous game just now by talking to the Emperor of M. d’AndrÉ, but all may be set right again. Where is he? But, now I think of it, he is in Hungary—at least, his wife told me so. Ah, bah! don’t dissimulate about it. The Emperor believes that he is in Vienna; he is convinced that you know where he is, and he wants you to tell.” “I assure you, General,” replied M. de RÉmusat, “that I am absolutely ignorant of where he is. I had no correspondence with him. His wife came to see me to-day for the first time; she begged me to speak for her husband to the Emperor; I have done so, and that is all.” “Well, then, if that be so, send for her to come to you again. She will have no suspicion of you. Make her talk, and try to elicit from her where her husband is. You can not imagine how much you will please the Emperor by rendering him this service.”

M. de RÉmusat, utterly confounded at this speech, was quite unable to conceal his astonishment. “What!” he exclaimed, “you make such a proposal as that to me? I told the Emperor that I was the friend of M. d’AndrÉ; you also know that, and you would have me betray him, give him up, and that by means of his wife, who has trusted me!” Savary was astonished, in his turn, at the indignation of M. de RÉmusat. “What folly!” said he. “Take care you do not spoil your luck! The Emperor has more than once had occasion to doubt that you are as entirely devoted to him as he would have you to be. Now, here is an opportunity for removing his suspicions, and you will be very unwise if you let it escape.”

The conversation lasted for some time. M. de RÉmusat was, of course, unshaken; he assured Savary that, far from seeking out Mme. d’AndrÉ, he would not even consent to see her, and he informed her, through General Mathieu Dumas, of the failure of his mission. Savary returned to the subject in the course of the day, and said, over and over again: “You are throwing away your chances; I confess I can not make you out.” “That does not matter,” my husband would reply.

And, in fact, the Emperor did resent this refusal, and assumed toward M. de RÉmusat the harsh, icy tone which was always a mark of his displeasure. M. de RÉmusat endured it with resignation, and complained only to Duroc, the Grand Marshal of the Palace, who understood his difficulty better than Savary could, but regretted that anything should have occurred to diminish his favor with Bonaparte. He also congratulated my husband on his conduct, which seemed to him an act of the greatest courage; for not to obey the Emperor was, in his eyes, the most wonderful thing in the world.

Duroc was a man of a singular character. His mind was narrow; his feelings and thoughts were always, perhaps deliberately, confined to a small circle; but he lacked neither cleverness nor clear-sightedness. He was filled, perhaps, rather with submission than devotion to Bonaparte, and believed that no one placed near him could use any or every faculty better than in exactly obeying him.

In order not to fail in this, which he considered a strict duty, he would not allow himself even a thought beyond the obligations of his post. Cold, silent, and impenetrable as to every secret confided to him, I believe he had made it a law to himself never to reflect on the orders he received. He did not flatter the Emperor; he did not seek to please him by tale-bearing, which, though often tending to no result, was yet gratifying to Bonaparte’s naturally suspicious mind; but, like a mirror, Duroc reflected for his master all that had taken place in his presence, and, like an echo, he repeated his master’s words in the same tone and manner in which they had been uttered. Were we to have fallen dead before his eyes in consequence of a message of which he was the bearer, he would still have delivered it with imperturbable precision.

I do not think he ever inquired of himself whether the Emperor was or was not a great man; he was the master, and that was enough. His obedience made him of great use to the Emperor; the interior of the palace, the entire management of the household and its expenditure, was his charge, and everything was regulated with perfect order and extreme economy, and yet with great magnificence.

Marshal Duroc had married a Spanish lady of great fortune, little beauty, and a good deal of intelligence. She was the daughter of a Spanish banker named Hervas, who had been employed in some second-rate diplomatic capacity, and had subsequently been created Marquis d’Abruenara. He was Minister in Spain under Joseph Bonaparte. Mme. Duroc had been brought up at Mme. Campan’s school, where Mme. Louis Bonaparte, Mme. Savary, Mme. Davoust, Mme. Ney, and others, had also been educated.

She and her husband lived together on good terms, but without that perfect union which is so great a source of consolation to those who have to endure the restraints of a Court. He would not allow her to hold an opinion of her own on passing events, or to have any familiar friend; and he had none himself. I have never known any one who felt less need of friendship, or who cared less for the pleasures of conversation. He had not the slightest idea of social life; he did not know the meaning of a taste for literature or art; and this indifference to things in general, which he combined with the most perfect obedience to orders, while he never showed any sign of weariness or constraint, nor yet the slightest appearance of enthusiasm, made him quite a remarkable character, and interesting to observe. He was greatly esteemed at Court, or at any rate was of great importance. Everything was referred to him, and to him all complaints were addressed. He attended to everybody, seldom offering an opinion, still less a counsel; but he listened with attention, faithfully reported what was said, and never showed either the slightest mark of ill will or the least sign of interest.

Bonaparte, who had great skill in utilizing men, liked to be served by one who stood so completely apart from others. There was no danger in aggrandizing such a man as this; he therefore loaded him with honors and riches. His gifts to Savary, which were also very considerable, were dictated by a different motive. “That is a man,” he used to say, “who must continually be bought; he would belong to any one who would give him a crown more than I do.” And yet, strange to say, notwithstanding this feeling, Bonaparte trusted him, or at any rate believed the tales he brought. He knew, in truth, that Savary would refuse him nothing, and he would say of him sometimes, “If I ordered Savary to rid himself of his wife and children, I am sure he would not hesitate.”

Savary, though an object of general terror, was, in spite of his mode of life and his actions, hidden or otherwise, not radically a bad man. Love of money was his ruling passion. He had no military talent, and was even accused by his brave comrades of being wanting in courage on the battle-field. He had, therefore, to build up his fortune in a different fashion from that of his companions in arms. He perceived a way open to him in the system of cunning and tale-bearing which Bonaparte favored; and, having once entered on it, it was not possible for him to retrace his steps. He was, intrinsically, better than his reputation; that is, his first impulses were superior to his subsequent action. He was not wanting in natural ability; could be kindled to a momentary enthusiasm of the imagination; was ignorant, but with a desire for information, and had an instinctively right judgment. He was rather a liar than a deceitful man; harsh in manner, but very timid in reality. He had reasons of his own for knowing Bonaparte and trembling before him. Nevertheless, while he was Minister, he ventured on some show of opposition, and then appeared to entertain a certain desire to gain public esteem. He, perhaps, like many others, owed the development of his views to the times he lived in, which stifled the better side of his character. The Emperor sedulously cultivated evil passions in the men who served him, and they flourished abundantly under his reign.

To return. M. de Talleyrand’s negotiations were slowly advancing. In spite of every obstacle, he succeeded, by means of correspondence, in persuading the Emperor to make peace; and the Tyrol, that stumbling-block of the treaty, was ceded by the Emperor Francis to the King of Bavaria. When, a few years afterward, the Emperor had quarreled with M. de Talleyrand, he would angrily refer to this treaty, and complain that his Minister had wrested from him the fruit of victory, and brought about the second Austrian campaign by leaving too much power in the hands of the sovereign of that country.

The Emperor had time, before leaving Vienna, to receive a deputation from four of the mayors of the city of Paris, who came to congratulate him on his victories. Shortly afterward he departed for Munich, having announced that he was about to place the regal crown on the head of the Elector of Bavaria, and to conclude the marriage of Prince EugÈne.

The Empress, who had been staying at Munich for some time, was overjoyed at a union which would ally her son with the greatest houses of Europe. She greatly wished that Mme. Louis Bonaparte should be present at the ceremony; but the request met with an obstinate refusal from Louis, and, as usual, his wife was obliged to submit.

The Emperor, who also wished to introduce a kinswoman to the Bavarians, summoned Mme. Murat to Munich. She came thither with mingled feelings. The pleasure of being regarded as a person of importance, and of displaying herself, was damped by the elevation of the Beauharnais family; and she had some difficulty, as I shall presently relate, in concealing her dissatisfaction.

M. de Talleyrand returned to the Court after signing the treaty, and once more peace seemed restored to Europe—at any rate, for a time. Peace was signed on Christmas Day, 1805.

In this treaty the Emperor of Austria recognized the Emperor Napoleon as King of Italy. He ceded the Venetian States to the kingdom of Italy. He recognized the Electors of Bavaria and WÜrtemburg as kings, ceding to the former several principalities and the Tyrol, to the latter a number of towns, and to the Elector of Baden part of the Brisgau.

The Emperor Napoleon undertook to obtain the principality of WÜrzburg from the King of Bavaria for the Archduke Ferdinand, who had been Grand Duke of Tuscany. The Venetian States were to be handed over within a fortnight. These were the principal conditions of the treaty.

[End of Volume I]

Misspelled words and printer errors have been corrected including SchÔnbrunn to SchÖnbrunn and cortÉge to cortÈge throughout both volumes.

Inconsistencies in punctuation have been maintained.

Some illustrations were moved to facilitate page layout.

[The end of Memoirs of the Empress Josephine, Vol. I, by Madame de RÉmusat.]