At the Sommering pass a wall of rocks rising up into the clouds seems so completely to shut in the valley, here extremely narrow, as to leave absolutely no means of passing out of Styria into Austria. But for all that the traveller is able to reach the summit of the pass crowned by an ancient manor house, the walls and towers of which have been partly destroyed by the storms which have swept over them. The view from this point is magnificent, embracing as it does the rich plains of Austria and the banks of the Danube, with the towers and belfries of Vienna rising up against the horizon.

When I got back to the Emperor at Schönbrunn, I found him engaged in distributing rewards to those who had served him in the arduous campaigns just over. He could not without disorganising the whole army give promotion to all who deserved it; and, moreover, many of his bravest soldiers were illiterate men, whom it would not do to make officers. Anxious, however, to confer some real distinction on those brave fellows who had taken part in the actual defence of the flag, the eagle of their regiment, he conceived the idea of giving them a costume and equipment which should mark them out as specially honoured, and at the same time be suitable to the duties they had to perform.

The Emperor, therefore, sent for me, and asked me to make a sketch of a costume such as he wished to give to what he called his Eagle Guard, or those non-commissioned officers whose office it was to surround and defend the actual standard bearer. The chief weapons of each one were to be a pistol, a sword, and a lance, so that in the heat of the battle they would never have to trouble themselves about loading a gun. There was to be gold on their epaulettes, sword belts, and helmets. I made a drawing and took it to the Emperor, and he sent it with his own instructions on the subject.

Napoleon then asked me to draw, under his own eye, a design for the new Order he intended to institute. ‘The Order of the Golden Fleece,’ he said, ‘was typical of victory; my eagles have triumphed over the Golden Fleeces of the Kings of Spain and the Emperors of Germany, so I mean to create for the French Empire an Imperial Order of the Three Golden Fleeces. The sign of this Order shall be my own eagle with outspread wings, holding in each of its talons one of the ancient Golden Fleeces it has carried off, whilst hanging from its beak it will proudly display the Fleece I now institute.’ He then took a pen and roughly marked out the size I was to make my drawing. He also said he wished the chain on which the Order would be hung round the neck to be of very rich workmanship, with martial designs. ‘The chain of the ancient Orders,’ he explained to me, ‘consists of bits of flint which emit fire when they rub against each other; the new chain must be made of gleaming splinters of burning grenades.’ I made the drawings as desired, and he issued his orders accordingly. The institution of the new Order was duly announced in the ‘Moniteur,’ but the terms of the treaty of peace compelled him to suppress a distinction the chief aim of which had been to humiliate the conquered countries of Spain and Austria.

Peace had already been signed on the 14th, and the Emperor now returned to France.

Major-General Prince Berthier remained in Vienna at the head of the army. The important arrangements for the withdrawal of our troops, and the various precautions taken in case of any infringement of the conditions of the treaty, did not prevent us from devoting a good deal of time to amusement. The wives of several generals came to rejoin their husbands. The Countesses of Daru and Bertrand had also lately arrived in Vienna, charming every one about them with their grace and courtesy. Fêtes and balls succeeded each other rapidly, leaving us little time for repose. The young Viceroy, Prince Eugène, who was just at the age when pleasure is so fascinating, was not the least active in promoting the festivities.

Eight days had passed happily away in amusements when Prince Berthier sent me to Prince Poniatowski, at Cracow, to inform him of the additional clauses of the treaty of peace, to tell him where his future cantonments were to be, and to ascertain from him the condition of his troops, the state of his fortresses, and what his requirements were.

When the first news of the armistice of Znaim reached Prince Poniatowski, his army had already ascended the Vistula beyond Cracow, and he was master of the strongholds of Modlin, Sierosk, and Zamoski, which he had placed in a good state of defence. I went to Galicia by way of Brünn and Olmütz, the latter a strong fortress, where the Austrians put considerable difficulties in my way, detaining me for five hours, and passed thence by way of Teschen into Austrian Silesia, finally arriving at Cracow, where I found the Prince.

I had already frequently met him at Warsaw during our campaigns, and he now received me with all courtesy and honour. Prince Poniatowski was much beloved by the Poles, who all hoped the Emperor would place him on the throne of Poland. His handsome person was set off by his easy, graceful manners, the outcome of the truly chivalrous nature which made him the hero he was in war and in gallantry. No soldier was ever braver than he, and though perchance others may have been more faithful, no lover was ever more respectful. Very often was he to be seen sleeping on straw at night, as did the rest of us. He was always most careful for the welfare of his soldiers, and I used to see him sometimes in the midst of his cares toying with a very small gold ring, which he tried to get on to his little finger. No doubt when he took this ring from the willing hand which had bestowed it on him, he had promised never to part with it; and as he could not wear it, he was in constant dread of losing it.

I dismounted at the Prince’s quarters at Cracow, and found him surrounded by many of the chief nobles of Poland, who had flocked to his banner. Amongst them were Princes Lubomirski, Radzivil and Czartoriski, Counts Potocki, Kaminski, Sarekowski, &c., who all loaded one with attentions. The Russian General, Prince Suvaroff, son of the General who had fought against us in Italy, was at Cracow with his division, supposed to be there to cooperate with the Polish army in the interests of France; but the probability is that these troops were really waiting to profit by our defeat rather than to aid in our success, and everything Suvaroff did pointed to this conclusion. For all that, the Poles and Russians lived together in Cracow on very good terms, and Prince Suvaroff, to whom I went to pay my respects, received me as a friend. Near him, stretched out upon a big rug of sable fur, was a very beautiful woman, to whom he presented me. Her long black hair, into which were twisted strings of large pearls, hung about her shoulders in studied negligence, and her snow-white neck and arms were also decked with chains of magnificent pearls. The expression of her face was pleasing and gentle. I thought she was the Princess, wife of the General, and I began to address her, when the Prince said: ‘She does not understand you; she is a Circassian, whom I bought not long ago.’ He then acted as interpreter, and I had quite a long chat with her, feeling as if I were transported for the moment to an Eastern seraglio.

On November 3, Prince Joseph Poniatowski held a review of 20,000 of his Poles on a fine plain six leagues from Cracow. We went to see it, escorted by more than a hundred officers. The Prince had sent me a magnificent and richly caparisoned horse, the only white one in the army; and when we arrived opposite the troops I noticed that the donor of my steed drew back a little, so as to give me the place of honour. I manœuvred in the same way to give place to him, and not succeeding, I begged him to excuse me from going first. Then with perfect grace and dignity he said, as he reined in his horse to allow me to pass, ‘You are here as the envoy of the Emperor.’ ‘Prince,’ I replied, ‘ your orders must of course be obeyed;’ and giving the reins to my horse, I let him show off his grace and docility before the eyes of the whole army, as I rode between Prince Poniatowski and Prince Suvaroff, but slightly in advance of them.

Before the march past the Prince had several manœuvres executed, and I congratulated him on his skill in achieving evolutions so much more rapid than those of our infantry, which always loses an incredible amount of time in deploying. This slowness of movement may add to the precision of a manœuvre, but it is dangerous under the fire of the enemy. I fought against it whenever I had anything to do with manœuvring troops, and I rejoiced greatly when, as long afterwards as 1840, the corps known as the Chasseurs d’Orléans was formed, and the so-called ‘pas gymnastique’ with greater rapidity of formation was introduced into the French army.

The 20,000 Poles, whether infantry, artillery, or cavalry, all wore uniforms similar to those of the French, and they seemed delighted at being reviewed by their Prince in sight of a French officer sent to them by the Emperor. I had been charged by him to congratulate them on the courage they had shown in the campaign, and to distribute rewards, such as increase of pay and crosses of the Legion of Honour, all of which were received with loud cheers.

Our return to Cracow after this fine review was like a cavalry charge, for we dashed at full gallop through the deep mud of Poland, which just now was at its worst; and when we arrived we were so completely coated with mire from head to foot, that we could only recognise each other by our voices. We had started all gleaming with gold – we came back reduced, men and horses alike, to one uniformly hideous state of chocolate colour. We all had baths and changed everything, so that when we appeared at dinner no traces were left of our mad ride; and our costumes at the ball after it were by no means the least brilliant there.

On the 4th I took leave of our allies and of their fair companions. A little later I met the Archduke Ferdinand at the Posoritz posting station, and he did me the honour of chatting with me for a few minutes. He asked me how I liked the country and if I knew it well, and I answered, smiling, that I had bivouacked in the garden of this very house on the eve of the battle of Austerlitz. The Prince frowned as he looked round on the memorable scene, but for all that he asked me to explain certain points, and as I did so I vividly recalled the glorious and interesting memories of four years before, over which, however, I could not very well gloat in the Archduke’s presence. The damage to his carriage, which had delayed him, having been repaired, he resumed his journey, and I went on to Brünn, where I found Austrian troops. I got back to Vienna on the 7th, having traversed 300 leagues going and returning.

The few days I had at Vienna were spent in fêtes given by Prince Eckmühl, the Countesses Daru and Bertrand, the Princess Czartoriska, and others, and when I left the city I had but just come from a ball. A little incident of my departure will give an idea of the Viennese mode of speeding their parting French guests. A coach-builder had made for me, and duly delivered, a handsome barouche, for which I paid him two hundred florins before I started in it for Cracow. The paper money I had given him had lost a twentieth part of its value during my absence, and on my return, hearing that I meant soon to be off again, the man demanded a hundred francs to make up for his loss. I refused, and the matter seemed at an end; but as the carriage – which was to be drawn by four horses – was to start before daybreak, my postillion went to look at the wheels, to see whether they were well greased, so that we might go at a good pace. Great was his surprise at discovering that the coach-builder had removed the screws of the wheels, evidently intending me to break my neck the first time the horses felt the whip. How these good Germans did love us, to be sure! And we fully returned their feelings. I sent some guards to the coach-builder to take all the screws he had, and having picked out those which fitted my wheels, I started.

I had the pleasure of meeting my brother with his regiment en route, and I reached Munich on November 14, where I joined Major-General Prince Berthier, now the Prince of Wagram..

The Prince of Wagram presented me to the Queen of Bavaria, and the King assigned me apartments in his palace next door to those of the sister of the Prince of Linange, whom I had met, as related above, in the Tyrol. The King, who was always good to me, showed me his fine pictures, and invited me to dinners and fêtes at Court, where I heard the celebrated Mademoiselle Longiu play the harp, and Mademoiselle Blangini, the well-known amateur, perform on the violin. The King congratulated me on having got back my nose, which he had heard had been shot off at Saragossa, and I took leave in very good spirits of my amiable host, to follow the Major-General, who was returning to France.

I was scarcely back in Paris before I found myself in a perfect whirl of fêtes, balls, and festivities of all kinds.

On the 4th the Municipality of Paris gave a grand ball at the Hôtel de Ville in honour of the Emperor. More than 6,000 persons were invited to this fête, and it was kept up until long after daybreak.

On the 6th the Prince of Wagram invited to his hunting seat, known as the Château de Gros Bois, all the kings and foreign princes who were in Paris, and during the few hours devoted to the chase the neighbouring forests resounded with the blowing of horns and the firing of guns. A splendid repast, a theatrical entertainment, and a ball concluded the day’s festivities.

Many of the attendants of the guests had on this occasion partaken too freely of the good things provided for their masters, and we soon discovered that our drivers were dead drunk. In fact, my men fell off the box of my carriage. It would have been inhuman to leave them lying helpless on the road, so, with the aid of a friend who was with me, I picked them up and put them inside, whilst he and I took their places outside, and drove them back to Paris. Many of the royalties would have been wise to follow our example, but of course they did not dare to do so, and they ran great risk of losing life and throne by being turned over or smashed up through the overpowering of their coachmen by the fumes of champagne.

On the 7th there was a grand theatrical entertainment at the Tuileries, and, as the Emperor expressed it a little later at Erfurt, ‘There was a regular parterre of kings.’ Talma, Crescentini, and Grassini were the chief stars of the evening, and surpassed themselves. I have some cause to remember that night, for I seem to have been so much absorbed in contemplation of a particular box that the Emperor asked the Prince of Wagram, ‘Which of your aides-de-camp is it who turns so persistently towards that one box?’

It was not till the entertainment was over that the Prince could see my face, tell the Emperor my name, and make fun of me.

Four days later, on the 15th, the divorce took place. It was a regular day of mourning to all who loved the Emperor and the Empress Josephine, whose very name was synonymous with grace and benevolence. Public opinion agreed in looking upon the union between that Princess and the Emperor as a talisman indispensable to the fulfilment of his lofty destiny. When the Empress, with her gentle grace and her ever ready sympathy for the unfortunate, descended from the throne, the star of the Emperor lost something of its lustre, and his prosperity perhaps received something like a check. That was, at least, the opinion of all the good-hearted men of the time, who looked upon Prince Eugène, the son of the Empress, and the adopted child of the Emperor, as the possessor of the right qualities for carrying out, after the Emperor’s death, all the grand schemes which that great man might leave unfinished. Politicians, on the other hand, considered a grand marriage and a union with some one of royal blood and long descent indispensable to the consolidation of the Empire and future fortunes of France. The Emperor, too ambitious from his very childhood, was greatly flattered at the idea of the Emperor of Russia being willing to give him his sister, and the Emperor of Austria his daughter. The latter was of the same religion as Napoleon, she was descended from the old Hapsburg family, and it was to her that French politicians wished the Emperor to pay court. The winning of such an ally as the Emperor of Austria could but increase his power, and there seemed no longer any doubt as to his choice.

On the 17th the Empress left the Palace of the Tuileries, and retired to the Château Malmaison, whilst the Emperor went to Trianon near Versailles, whither he was accompanied by his three sisters and their ladies-in-waiting. The Prince of Wagram followed him thither with a few officers, including myself. During the ten days Napoleon spent at Trianon he gave up his mornings to visiting the late Empress Josephine at Malmaison, and we witnessed a renewal of the heartrending partings, accompanied by protestations of an eternal affection sacrificed in the interests of the Empire alone. The men were full of admiration for the courage and strength of Napoleon the politician, the women were astonished at the inconstancy of Napoleon the ambitious conqueror, but for all that they did their best to please him.

During my stay with the Court at Trianon, a little episode occurred in which I did not figure exactly as a hero. A lady to whom I took all the greater fancy because she had reason to complain of her husband’s inconstancy, but who had hitherto repelled my advances, had at last consented to grant me an interview.

I was very much afraid of being prevented from keeping my appointment with her, and did my utmost not to fail her. On the day named I mounted my fleetest steed, got to Paris in capital time, took up my post in a half-open carriage, drew back out of sight, and awaited events. Some twenty paces off, in the same avenue of the Champs-Elysées, a second hired carriage drew up, evidently also waiting for some one. Our two coachmen were on the watch, and the first person to appear was my fair one, who, trembling and so closely veiled that I did not recognise her, sprang furtively into the carriage she thought was mine, and was driven off at a brisk trot. I waited for two hours, but no lady came. I learnt afterwards that she had flung herself into the arms of her husband, who was waiting for another lady, and that each had explained the rencontre by expressing jealousy of the other. The peace thus restored remains still unbroken, so that I had my journey and lost my time for nothing. Anyhow I have the pleasure of knowing that I aided in re-establishing harmony in a somewhat unsettled home. I got back to Trianon before I was missed, but, as may be imagined, I felt somewhat crestfallen.

On the 28th the Emperor returned to Paris, and until December 31 our time was spent in Court festivities, parades, brilliant reviews of the corps returning from the army, or in balls given by the Queens, sisters of the Emperor, and others, at which the display of costly materials, embroideries, jewels, &c., gave an immense impulse to the trade of Paris.

Amongst these balls a very remarkable one was given by Marescalchi, the Italian Minister, at which a grand quadrille was danced, representing a game of chess, the thirty-two dancers being dressed in exceedingly rich costumes, as the kings and princes of Egypt and Persia with certain of their subjects. On account of my height I was told off to be Sesostris or the great Ptolemy, the lovely Madame de Barral was my queen, and our purple and gold garments sparkled with the rubies with which they were lavishly sprinkled. The beautiful Duchess of Bassano, her costume one blaze of lapis lazuli and sapphires, and M. de Legrange, who was called Apollo, sat side by side opposite to us on the throne of Persia, which was assaulted, taken, and checkmated by the soldiers of Pharaoh. These soldiers were the most beautiful of the princesses and duchesses of the day. My pawn was the Princess of Aremberg. These charming battalions, who had no offensive weapons but the bewitching glances from their eyes, were attacked, supported, and defended by men dressed up as fools, bells and all, who gambolled about in true fool’s style; and by horsemen amounted on docile yet fiery steeds, caparisoned in silk and gold, whose cardboard feet were not likely to trample any one down, whilst behind them rose frowning but gilded towers with battlements unmanned by archers, representing the ramparts of the Empire. The brilliant actors of the scene manœuvred on a floor marked out to represent an ivory and ebony chess-board. The Queen advanced in a cold, imperious, and threatening manner; and the good King, compelled to submit to the laws of the game, greatly regretted not to be able to advance more than one step at a time in the direction of her pretty soldiers.

The news of the divorce and of the approaching marriage of the Emperor was received with considerable grief by the army, and great was the dismay when it was found that his choice had fallen on a foreign princess. But no notice was taken of this feeling of regret; diplomatic notes were exchanged between the French and Austrian Courts, and the marriage of the Emperor with an Archduchess was definitely arranged.

The Emperor now named the ladies who were to form the household of the new Empress; and the Duchess of Montebello, widow of Marshal Lannes, who had been created Duke of Montebello before his death, was made one of her maids of honour. On the same day the Emperor addressed a message to the Senate to announce that he was sending the Prince of Neuchatel (Marshal Berthier) to Vienna as ambassador extraordinary to represent him at the ceremonies of betrothal and marriage. The Prince did me the honour of taking me with him, and I started for Vienna once more on February 24. This time I arrived in a carriage drawn by six horses, and not, as before, on horseback with drawn sword. The cannon greeted us yet again, but only to do us honour. I took my friend M. le Paillot with me, for I wanted him to share in the festivities; and as it was carnival time, we had a good deal of amusement of one kind and another.

I alighted at the Imperial Palace, where apartments had been prepared for the ambassador; and when I took possession of my quarters in the evening of the same day, a little accident occurred to me which gave me a strange insight into the real nature of the apparently rich appointments of the Emperor’s grand residence.

My rooms were adorned with a profusion of gilded bronzes, and the chandelier of the salon was of specially elegant design. I noticed the rich gleam from it and its delicacy of finish, and an unlucky impulse made me think I should like to try and lift it to see how much the twenty-four branches of which it consisted weighed, for the golden chain from which it hung looked very thin. I climbed a chair, and what was my surprise at finding, when I lifted the chandelier, that it weighed no more than pasteboard or the lightest wood! I was so taken aback that I was perhaps not quite careful enough in removing my hands, and the four chains all gave way at once; the magnificent chandelier, falling with a crash, broke into a thousand pieces on the floor, revealing that the material of the whole thing – ornaments and all – was nothing more than larchwood. There was a fire burning in a magnificent grate, so I hastened to fling all the rubbish which had thus fallen a victim to my curiosity into the flames, and I never heard another word about the matter. But my thoughts involuntarily turned to the illusions of one kind and another which had led our Emperor to fix his choice on a foreign princess, and I feared that some day worse deceptions would be practised on him by the Court of Austria than that which on this occasion at Vienna made me realise so sadly the truth of the old proverb, ‘All is not gold that glitters.’

I afterwards learnt that the Tyrolese have made quite an industry of copying French bronzes in wood, which the Germans buy at a small cost as decorations for their residences, the brilliant imitations passing muster except when tampered with by clumsy visitors.

Soon after I got to Vienna I had to go and officially inform M. Otto, the French Ambassador, and all the principal personages at the Court, of the arrival of the Ambassador Extraordinary. A few hours later the Prince of Neuchatel, who had to make a public and ceremonious entry, went with his suite to the palace of the Prince von Schwarzenberg in the suburb of Carinthia, whence he was escorted with a pomp worthy of the heirs of Charlemagne – his party, all in gala costumes, driving in some twenty or thirty gilded chariots, each drawn by six horses and surrounded by valets and footmen running before and beside them. Hungarian squadrons formed the escort, and the procession traversed the most densely populated quarters of the town, between two lines of regiments, who presented arms.

Arrived at the castle, where the staircases were lined by the halberdiers, the Imperial Guard, the lifeguardsmen, the arquebusiers, and the Hungarian ‘Noble Guard’ in their antique costumes, the Ambassador was ushered into the anteroom; the wide folding doors between it and the Great Hall, which had been prepared for the audience, were flung open; and with equal ceremony he was announced to the Emperor, awaiting him surrounded by his entire Court.

After the three salutes prescribed by etiquette, the Ambassador made a short speech to the Emperor, to which that monarch replied; Prince Berthier then presented each of us in turn as the gentlemen of his suite. From this audience the Ambassador went to the apartments of the Empress, where the same ceremonial was observed. That Princess, one of the most remarkable women of the day, distinguished for the highest qualities alike of head and heart, though suffering greatly just then, did not refuse to receive us. Her Majesty replied to Prince Berthier’s speech with such purity of language and in terms so flattering and touching that we were deeply moved. We were all presented to her, and she addressed a few most gracious words to each one of us.

The Ambassador Extraordinary then passed to the apartments of the five young Archdukes, four of whom had commanded the armies with which we had been at war. These four wore the white field marshal’s uniform, but the fifth and youngest was dressed as a cardinal. Their Imperial Highnesses were ranged in a row according to their age and rank on a dais covered with green cloth and raised some two feet above the body of the hall. They looked not unlike motionless wax figures. The Prince of Neuchatel addressed a few complimentary remarks to them, and the eldest replied but could find little to say to us. They had provoked the war in the hope of conquering France, and had not yet forgiven us for their defeat.

After all these solemn interviews the Ambassador went to the palace of Prince Charles, where I had the good fortune to see that illustrious warrior, who during the last fifteen years had caused us to pass so many anxious nights by the Rhine and the Danube. There was nothing in his quiet face with its grave and gentle expression, or in his simple, modest, unassuming manner, to denote the mighty man of war; but no one who met his eyes could doubt him to be a genius.

The Ambassador asked his Imperial Highness if he would represent the Emperor Napoleon at the marriage ceremony, and in a voice the genuine tone of which went straight to our hearts, he replied, ‘I accept with pleasure the proposal made to me by the Emperor of the French. I am flattered by his choice of me, and feel convinced that the projected alliance will result in a happy future for the two nations so worthy of each other’s esteem. I shall count amongst the happiest moments of my life that in which in token of a frank and loyal union I shall offer my hand to the Archduchess Maria Louisa in the name of the great monarch whose delegate you are. I beg of you to convey to the whole French nation my desire that this union may cement for ever the friendship of our sovereigns and assure the happiness of their people.’

In the evening there was a public ball in the Apollo Hall, to which 6,000 persons were admitted. This Apollo Hall is a good-sized building used for public gatherings, and the Emperor is often there with his family, mixing as a friend or rather as a good father amongst his Subjects. Every one dresses just as he likes on these occasions, some going masked or otherwise disguised, others with faces uncovered, but the members of the higher nobility keep their hats on and wear a false nose; they also sport a little black cloak on their shoulders – these three peculiarities signifying that they are incognito. The conversation is as free as if they were completely masked. The people are all so full of respect and affection for the upper classes, that the Emperor, his ministers, and indeed his whole Court, mix familiarly with the lower orders without ever meeting with anything to annoy them. A band played the minuets, waltzes, and quadrilles, and nothing amused us more than the exceeding gravity with which the good Germans danced the melancholy minuet they are so fond of. Several rooms were decked out to represent groves full of flowers and shrubs, caves with fountains playing, or Chinese summer houses. Rivers of beer were poured out on every side, and the roast chicken and ham, without which no fête can be held in Vienna, were washed down with tokay.

There were plenty of seats everywhere, but nevertheless many young ladies sat on the knees of gentlemen (probably of very low degree), and no one seemed to think it at all bad manners to behave in this way in public. It all appeared to amuse the Emperor very much, and like any good citizen he received the congratulations of his subjects on his daughter’s approaching marriage without showing the least annoyance at the indiscreet zeal displayed by some few.

On March 6, after having paid a great many visits and admiring the extraordinary collections of curios belonging to the Count of Fries, which included ancient and modern violins, valuable on account of the great performers who had played on them, fine statues by Canova, &c., we returned to the Palace, where the Emperor received us at a grand gala banquet.

Hitherto only those who could prove thirty-two quarterings of nobility, which involved a genealogy to be traced back for seven or eight centuries, had been admitted to the Imperial table, but victory had broken through this superannuated etiquette, and here were we, twenty children of the people, raised up by the fortunes of war, courted and petted by the descendants of Charlemagne and Charles V. After the meal the salons were thrown open, in which were assembled many noble dames in disguise, whilst the beauty and grace of others who remained unmasked made us feel how much we lost in not being allowed to look upon the charms of those who had disguised themselves.

The salons presented a most dazzling appearance. Several rows of gleaming white stucco columns upheld the ceiling, from which hung a great number of chandeliers formed of oblong-shaped pendants of Bohemian crystal, in which the light of countless candles was reflected in rainbow hues. I had never seen any illumination in France to compare in brilliancy with this. Equally unrivalled were the variety and richness of the costumes worn by the ladies, whose necks, waists, and arms were encircled with strings of the finest pearls I ever set eyes on, and who together made up most bewitching groups. The Hungarian ladies especially excelled all others, and amongst them I may name the beautiful young Countess Zicky, the Princess Kraschalkovitz, and Princess Esterhazy, whose hair was golden and whose shoulders were as white as alabaster. Her husband wore the rich Hungarian costume which is handed down in his family from father to son. Prince Ludwig von Liechtenstein, who was good enough to tell me the names of the chief people at the ball, called his friend Esterhazy to his side and said to him, ‘Turn round so that the Colonel can see your clothes.’ We had met before in Paris, and the Hungarian Prince was very polite to me, allowing me to examine in detail the huge pearls and diamonds forming the buttons of his pelisse, dolman, and even of his boots, and he assured me that the harness and trappings of his horse were even more valuable. The complete get-up was said to be worth more than six million francs, for which sum it had been several times pledged. I asked him to meet me at the next battle, and he promised laughing to do so in that very costume.

The Emperor, Empress, and the Archduchess Maria Louisa spent several hours at this fête, the young Princess attracting all eyes.

On the morning of the 7th the French Ambassador held a grand reception, and at two o’clock he went to dine with Prince Charles. At this dinner I saw many of the illustrious men whom I had learnt to know and honour in our wars. All these princes and veteran field marshals, whom I might well have dreaded meeting in the camp, now received us as friends. I sat near the old Marshal, the Prince von Ligne, who was in his eighty-seventh year. He was still very handsome; his white hair was brushed up and curled as if he were still but thirty years old; he was full of life and spirits, and his memory was excellent. The conversation turned on his extraordinary journey in the Crimea with Potemkin in the suite of Catherine, Empress of Russia; and on the bombardment of Lille, when his only son was killed beside him. I reminded him of that son, as I was about the same age as he had been at his death, and the old man’s eyes filled with tears. He also spoke a good deal of his friend the Duchesse de Coigny, a very witty woman, whom I also had the honour of knowing.

On March 8 there was a great gathering at the Palace for the ceremony of asking the hand of the Archduchess in marriage. The Emperor, surrounded by all the chief dignitaries of the Court, received the Ambassador Extraordinary, who made the formal proposal of marriage, which concluded in the following words: ‘The Princess called to a great throne will make the happiness of a great people and of a great man.’ The Emperor made a gracious reply, ending with the words, ‘I grant the hand of my daughter to the Emperor of the French.’

The Empress then appeared leading the young Archduchess, to whom the Ambassador addressed a few courteous words, concluding by saying, ‘Political considerations may have influenced the decision of the two monarchs, but the Emperor Napoleon cares more to win your heart, Madame, than anything else.’ To which the Archduchess replied, ‘I have always made my father’s will my own. I consent with my father’s permission to my union with the Emperor Napoleon.’

The Prince of Neuchatel then took the portrait of Napoleon, set in big diamonds, from the hands of the Comte de Laborde, and handing it to the Emperor begged him to give it to our future Empress, who seemed pleased to receive it. After this interview there was a grand matinée in the fine hall known as that of the Columns.

The next day the Court went in state to the Grand Theatre, the Emperor having the Empress on his left and the Archduchess on his right. The Ambassador and his suite were admitted to the Imperial box, where the light was as strong as sunshine. I was very near the Archduchess, and without being seen by her, for I was hidden by the feathers of the ladies, I made a drawing of her profile. My neighbours made signs to me that they thought it a capital likeness, whilst we listened to the music of Gluck in the opera of ‘Iphigenia in Aulis,’ and admired the easy grace of the Viennese dancers.

On the 10th, part of the day was occupied in witnessing a far more interesting scene, recalling the days of chivalry, for there was a solemn distribution of the orders of chivalry of the Empire. The Emperor, wearing the robes, mantle, and big antique cap of the Grand Masters of the Teutonic Order, went attended by a huge retinue to the palace of the Grand Master, there to hold a chapter of the orders. When I entered the great hall enriched with the beautiful armour, banners, portraits, and emblazoned escutcheons of the great barons of the Empire, with the quaint antique arm-chairs, now occupied by some fifty knights, each wearing a robe and mantle of purple velvet similar to those of the Emperor, I felt for a moment as if I were transported back ten centuries to a feudal gathering of the Middle Ages. The speeches were made in Latin. The diplomas, written on parchment, to each of which were appended the huge sigillum of the Order and the seals of the Empire, were given to the recipients as they knelt before the Emperor, who then placed the chain of the Order round their necks.

Then came the knights who were to receive the Order of the Golden Fleece, succeeded by the Grand Cross Knights or cordons bleus ¹ of the Order of St. Stephen, originally instituted as the National Order of Hungary, now adopted by the Imperial Family and the grand dignitaries of the Royal Order of Leopold of Hungary for personal merit, of which I was made a Knight.

¹ The expression cordons bleus as applied to these knights, even if intended as symbolic only, is somewhat inappropriate, as their ribbon was crimson with green stripes. – Trans.

More interesting than anything else in this grand spectacle was, however, the distribution of the decorations of the Maria Theresa Order, founded by the Empress of that name for officers distinguished in war only, which could be given to none but those who had performed some brilliant feat of courage in the service of their country, duly recorded in the official army reports and attested by incontrovertible witnesses. The account of the historic deed which has merited the decoration is read aloud in German in the presence of the whole chapter of the Order, and no one ever becomes a Maria Theresa knight without the whole nation being informed of what has won him that great honour.

On the 11th we all went in a grand procession to the Imperial Palace, and thence to the Cathedral of St. Stephen, where the marriage ceremony was performed with the greatest solemnity beneath a canopy in the presence of the Imperial Family, the Prince Archbishop, his numerous clergy, and the whole Court. A drawing room was then held in a vast gallery, at which from eight to ten thousand persons were present, the greatest silence and decorum being preserved. The Imperial Family sat on a raised platform, the newly made Empress of the French occupying the seat of honour in the centre of the group, and wearing the brilliantly set portrait of Napoleon. We were presented, and the ceremony of kissing hands began, the young Princess taking off her glove. The Ambassador was the first, and I was the fourth or fifth, to have the honour of doing reverence to our Empress.

In the evening a drawing room was held at Court in the big Throne Room, after which there was a grand supper at the Imperial table, the good burghers circulating about the room meanwhile in the most respectful silence.

Thus ended the marriage ceremonies at Vienna, and the departure for Paris of those of us who were to precede the Empress was fixed for the next day.

Just as I was getting into my carriage, a dealer in precious stones came up to me, and asked me to take to a fellow merchant in Paris a little green round box about the size of an apricot. I consented with great readiness, but thought I would just ask him what was in it. ‘There are two diamonds,’ he replied as he opened the box; ‘this one is worth 30,000 francs, and that one, though not so large, is worth 100,000 francs.’ ‘Oh, indeed!’ I exclaimed. ‘Well, take your box back; I should not like you to risk losing all that, and I might be robbed on the way.’ He insisted, however, on my doing as he asked, adding that I should be rendering him a very great service. Much against my will, I consented at last, and fortunately the only inconvenience I experienced was that of being afraid of thieves for the first time in my life.

I arrived at Stuttgart before the Empress on the 20th. I find that my notes made when in that town express my astonishment at the luxury and magnificence displayed at the Court of Würtemberg, which resembled that of Louis XIV. at Versailles, though on a very much smaller scale. The richness of the uniforms and accoutrements of the bodyguards, the splendour of the furniture, table services, illuminations, &c., the extraordinary éclat with which the grand opera of ‘Solomon’ with Winter’s music was put upon the boards, all alike appeared most remarkable at a German Court of secondary rank. We were all received, lodged, and feasted at the palace as if we had ourselves been grand princes.

In the midst of the pleasures of the Court, when I was thinking of anything but my duties, I was suddenly summoned to the presence of Caroline Murat, then Queen of Naples, and the Prince of Neuchatel, who had arrived at Stuttgart with the Empress. They entrusted me with a message for the Emperor, and before daybreak the next morning I was rolling along in the midst of clouds of dust in a carriage drawn by six posthorses, taking with me a note from the Queen and many regrets of my own. It was March 20, a day I never forgot.

The Prince of Bauveau, one of the old noblesse of the former Court of France who had rallied round the Emperor, and was now his Grand Chamberlain, was also on his way to Paris with a letter from the Empress. I joined him at Strasburg, and we travelled together, finding the Emperor at Compiègne, where he was awaiting his new bride. The Emperor received the Prince with great honour in the salon, and then took me into his private apartments, where, altogether laying aside his regal manner, he began chatting away with the most delightful abandon, making me tell him all about the festivities at Vienna, Munich, and Stuttgart. He had the portrait of the Empress brought to him, and asked me if was really like her. I showed him also the profile sketch I had made, and he exclaimed at once, ‘Yes, she has the regular Austrian lip of the Hapsburgs!’ Then he pointed out the same peculiarity in some medals, and making me stand close to him, he leant over the table so as to get the light of the lamp on the portrait, with which he seemed quite in love. He asked me yet again if I thought it like her – if it were flattered. ‘And are her eyes really like that? as blue as that? Is not her nose smaller? . . . It really is the Austrian lip, isn’t it?’ he went on, as he pouted his own lips a little. ‘Is she taking at first sight? Has she a bright smile? Is she as tall as that? (indicating his own height). Is she this, that, and the other? Tell me! tell me! tell me everything about her!’

‘Yes, sire! Yes, sire!’ I kept on repeating; and then, rubbing his hands together like a thoroughly happy man, he began again. ‘Well, how did the Vienna fêtes go off? I hope those we are going to give will please every one still more. We mean to astonish them. France is the only place for real good taste. So the King of Würtemberg had a fine display too? Yes, he has the grand manner, he is a regular Louis XIV. In miniature; he’ll ruin himself. The people of Germany seem very pleased about the marriage, then?’ In a word, his Majesty was in a most charming mood, and would have liked to ask me a great many more questions, showing how eager he was to see the Empress, only some one interrupted us to tell him that a wing of the Palace had caught fire, and he dismissed me.

A few days later the Emperor’s longing was fulfilled by the arrival of the Empress. He rode out unattended for several miles to meet her, and as soon as he caught sight of the procession he galloped up to her carriage, sprang off his horse, made the attendants open the door, and flinging his arms round his bride embraced her tenderly, much to the surprise of the Princess, who was in the singular position of finding herself being kissed by a stranger who had given no one time to introduce him.

When I got to Paris, I really had had enough of festivities, and I enjoyed being able to take up my brushes again. In the ceremonies which now rapidly succeeded each other, I only took the share forced on me by my position. The civil marriage of the Imperial couple took place with great pomp at Saint-Cloud on April 1, and I remember that some of those who had opposed it from the first whispered to me that they looked upon the perjury of that day as a very ominous augury for the future.

The Emperor wore his imperial robes, and the Empress had on her head the crown set with diamonds.

After the ceremony of the civil marriage there was a grand banquet, and in the evening Paris was brilliantly illuminated.

On April 2, a day of bright sunshine succeeding a night of storm, the religious marriage was celebrated in the grand salon of the Louvre, which had been converted into a chapel consecrated and decorated for the occasion. On their way to it the august pair walked through the great gallery of the Louvre, lined on either side from end to end by platforms on which were seated several rows of ladies in full dress. It would be impossible to imagine a more brilliant scene, and I for one never saw anything equal to it. Temporary staircases were erected along the quays and on the Place du Carrousel to facilitate the exit of the crowds invited to the fête.

A calm and very dark night added to the lustre of the millions of cressets,1 variegated lamps, Bengal fires, and other illuminations, which outlined alike the form and the ornamentation of every building, the arches of the bridges, &c. At a great height above the towers of Notre-Dame rose a brilliant Temple of Hymen, and the whole of Paris resembled a sea of fire which was reflected in the waters of the Seine. The Place de la Concorde, especially surrounded as it was by richly decorated and illuminated buildings, presented a most extraordinary appearance. The Champs-Elysées were crowded with bands of music, dancers, and various shows. But when daylight came every one had dispersed, and nothing was left of the magnificent display but the memory of it.

1 These are old-fashioned illuminations, consisting of open iron baskets filled with combustibles. – Trans.

This great 2nd of April was marked by a happy innovation. It had been the custom in Paris for centuries on all occasions of public rejoicing to have the fountains run with wine, and for all manner of good things to eat to be flung from platforms and balconies to the crowd below. Horrible scenes used to take place amongst the people jostling each other round the fountains and beneath the platforms, the strongest of course getting the best of everything, whilst the weak were often trodden under foot and rolled over in the dust amongst the men who had fallen down dead drunk. For many a long day the ignoble spectacle of broken glasses and tipsy men stained with wine had been an inseparable adjunct to every outdoor fête; but the Emperor, who was most anxious to raise the tone of public manners and morality, determined that there should be no coarse vulgarity about the largesse he bestowed, although it was in fact on a more liberal scale than had ever before been known. He ordered good food to be taken to the homes of the indigent, and organised a distribution of lottery tickets, the thousands of prizes including such things as pies, hams, loaves of bread, &c. The distribution took place in perfect order, very little liquid was spilled, and I only saw a few men staggering about tipsy who had brought nothing to receive their wine in, and had drunk their share off at a single draught.

The panorama of the battle of Wagram from my sketches was making rapid progress, and I received orders to put in the movements of the troops. I was already looked upon in Paris as the chief historical painter of our campaigns, and I received the kindest advice from the celebrities of our day, especially from David. Not depending as so many did on my art work for my daily bread, I was never afraid of giving too much time to details. One day, when I was making an excuse to David for having been so long over a painting, he reassured me by saying, ‘What is quickly done is quickly seen, and would not bear the test of careful examination.’

The Imperial Guard was anxious in its turn to give a fête in honour of the Empress. The vast plain of the Champ de Mars, the buildings of the Military College, and the great courts connected with it, were crowded with those invited to witness the display. The grand balcony and all the apartments of the College, which was a regular palace, were richly decorated for the reception of the Imperial pair and their Court, who were to witness during the day numerous chariot and horse races, great numbers competing at a time, the winners amongst the drivers and riders, got up in gala array, coming up to receive their prizes from the hands of the Empress. All manner of equestrian games and tournaments were organised to amuse the crowds, and one excitement succeeded another for several hours. At last as the sun began to set a number of balloons, launched at a considerable height, were seen to traverse space, catching and reflecting the dying beams as the twilight gathered about us. The atmosphere was perfectly clear and calm, and we could distinctly follow the course of the balloons through the air. Then, as a climax to the whole fête, Mademoiselle Blanchard, the celebrated aeronaut, having received the signal to start, had the cords cut which held down her huge balloon, richly decorated with mottoes and various devices, and as it rose majestically into the air she flung down amongst the spectators baskets of flowers and thousands of light silk scarves, handkerchiefs, fichus, &c., which as they fell assumed the appearance of many-coloured flames. The delight of the people below at receiving these dainty ornaments of the toilette knew no bounds. Night soon fell, and from the balloons, which still slowly floated above us, were flung fireworks representing luminous meteors, which lit up the whole sky for a great distance and fell in golden showers. The beautiful face and figure with the courage of the fair young aeronaut excited the greatest interest among us, and we trembled for her when we realised the danger she ran of setting herself on fire as she lit the many fireworks launched by her. Fortunately, however, she escaped this time, though she met a terrible fate later, for having ascended above the clouds she was flung upon a roof in Paris and killed on the spot.

After the grand display of fireworks, Marshal Bessières, as president of the fête, went to beg the Empress, as he presented to her the golden wand of Medea, to act as the enchantress and by a touch from it set free the dragon who was to light up all the palaces of fairyland.

At this every one around the bride began to laugh, and the Emperor with the warriors of his suite shouted with merriment as they saw the terrified hesitation with which the young Princess received the alarming request that she would set fire to a dragon, for she evidently thought that was what was meant, and that the animal would go off with a roar like that of a cannon. The Emperor, however, insisted on her complying, and guided her trembling little hand. She shut her eyes, and when she opened them again there was a magnificent dragon just flinging itself like a thunderbolt from the balcony, to go to the Champ de Mars and with the flames issuing from it light up one after another the grandest illuminations ever seen, including representations of palaces and temples, allegorical scenes, inscriptions, all manner of devices in coloured fire, sheafs of flames, showers of stars and sparks, and one huge volcano, by the light of which we could see as in broad day the crowds, numbering some 600,000 persons, drawn to the slopes of the Champ de Mars by the magnificent spectacle. It was eleven o’clock before we could tear ourselves away, and retire to the rooms prepared for dancing.

The courts of the College were transformed for the nonce into grand halls, in one of which supper was served, whilst a ball was held in the others. The decorations, all of a martial character, were very effective and tasty. Every one of note in Paris was present, and the most perfect order was maintained.

My evenings were now all happily spent at balls, now at the house of Count Daru, now at that of one or another of the Ministers, and I spent the days working at my pictures, which many distinguished visitors came to look at, encouraging me very much. Amongst those I should like to name with gratitude on account of the interest they took in me were Prince Eugène, the Prince and Princess of Wagram (Marshal Berthier and his wife), the Princesses Jablonowska and Sapieha, &c.

At last came the fête given by the Prince von Schwarzenberg,¹ then Austrian Ambassador at the Imperial Court, in honour of the august marriage he had done so much to bring about. The Prince’s mansion, situated in the Rue de Montblanc (now the Rue de la Chaussée d’Antin), was surrounded by a beautiful garden, in which were represented many of the places where the young Empress had passed her childhood, in each of which some of the dancers connected with the Opera, wearing Austrian costumes, acted scenes from the early life of her Imperial Highness. This delicate attention made the first part of the fête very charming to the Empress, who was evidently greatly touched.

¹ He fought against the French at Wagram, negotiated the marriage between the Emperor and Maria Louisa, commanded the Austrian contingent on the French side in the war with Russia, defeated the French at Leipzig and Dresden, and finally took Paris in 1814. – Trans.

For the reception of the twelve or fifteen hundred invited guests the Prince had had a big room run up of boards, which was richly decorated with mirrors, flowers, pictures, and draperies, and lit up by an immense number of candles. The ball had been going on for about an hour, and in spite of the stifling heat a Scotch reel was being vigorously danced. The Empress, the Princess Borghese, the Princess von Schwarzenberg, sister-in-law of the Ambassador, and a hundred other ladies, were eagerly engaged in treading the energetic measure of that dance, when a candle in one of the lustres near the door fell and set fire to some drapery. Colonel de Tropbriant rushed with one bound to the curtain to try and drag it down, but his sudden clutch at the drapery only spread the flames, and in less than three seconds they had reached the ceiling, which had been smeared with spirit to make it dry quickly, and was moreover baked with the heat of the July sun, and further heated by the immense number of lighted candles. The flames rushed from end to end of the ceiling with the rapidity of lightning, and with a roar like that of thunder. In a moment all present found themselves beneath a vault of fire.

When the Emperor saw that there was no hope of extinguishing the conflagration, he calmly took the Empress by the hand and led her into the garden. The rest of the guests imitated the example of his coolness – there was not a single cry of alarm, and many of the dancers were still ignorant of the cause of the great increase in the light and heat. There seemed at first to be plenty of time to escape, and the company went towards the entrance to the garden without any hurry or crowding. Presently, however, the heat became insupportable, and those behind began to press on those in front, which led to several persons being thrown down on the steps leading to the garden. Fragments of the ceiling now began to fall, burning the hair and shoulders of the ladies, and setting fire to their clothes. In the terrible struggle which ensued the thicker garments of the men also caught fire, and many even of the strongest were flung down and trampled on. The sight of all these people in flames was truly awful. I had been able to get out easily amongst the first, escorting the Countess Sandizelle and Madame de Mathis, who were not hurt in the least, and having placed them in safety I made my way back to the entrance to the dancing room to try to help others. One of the first I was able to drag out of the fiery furnace was Prince Kourakin, the Russian Ambassador, who was in a horrible condition. One of his hands, all burnt away and bleeding, rested on my breast, and left its impress on my uniform. Beneath his body lay several half-burnt ladies, whom it was very difficult to extricate from the flames, as the swords of the men had got entangled in their clothes, and greatly hampered our efforts. On every side rose cries of agony and terror – mothers calling to their daughters, husbands to their wives. The garden, which was as light as at midday, was now full of distracted men and women seeking those they loved with heart-rending shrieks of despair, or flying with burning garments from the fiery furnace, struggling to extinguish the flames consuming them. Two mothers, the Princess von Schwarzenberg and the Princess de Layen, who had escaped to the garden and could not find their daughters there, impelled by their maternal love, heroically flung themselves back into the burning room to seek their children. The roof fell upon them, and only one, the Princess de Layen, got out alive. She died an hour afterwards, and the Princess von Schwarzenberg was never seen again until at the close of the awful scene her body, so terribly disfigured that it was only recognised by her diamonds and other jewels, was found amongst the débris left by the conflagration. Her diadem had been melted by the heat, and the silver setting had left its mark in a deep groove on her skull. Several ladies died the same night from their injuries, and others a long time afterwards, all in dreadful suffering. The men, whose clothes had protected them more, escaped better. Prince Kourakin, one of those who were the most hurt, did not fully recover for six months, and it was not till a year after the fire that the Countess Durosnel was able to leave her bed.

As soon as the Emperor had seen the Empress into her carriage he hastened back to the scene of the disaster to aid the sufferers, and remained until the morning, eagerly superintending all that was done on their behalf.

Amongst the victims was a lady, whom my friend Colonel Bontemps and I succeeded in dragging out of the flames on to the steps going down to the garden. She was so terribly burnt that her body was one wound, presenting a shocking spectacle. She bore the pain with marvellous courage, but we could not carry her or place her in a carriage, so we supported her one on each side by placing our arms under her armpits, the only part of her whole frame which was not burnt, and succeeded in getting her to her house in the Rue Royale after a most arduous and painful walk. One of her people ran off to fetch a doctor, and waiting for his arrival, which might be long delayed at this time of night, the happy idea occurred to my friend of sending for some olive oil, some fresh water, and the white of an egg. These he had all beaten up together, and then, soaking some rags in the liniment, he ordered them to be laid over the wounds. When the doctor came, long after we had left, he said we could not have done better. Our treatment was continued, and at the end of six weeks our patient had completely recovered. She turned out to be the wife of one of our best friends, M. Prévost, then holding a post in the War Department.

Ten people died from their injuries in the fire, and some hundred others were very badly hurt. The dismay in Paris was extreme when the news of the catastrophe was received; and all the veteran officers of the army, who had so regretted the union of the Emperor with the daughter of the hereditary enemy of France, did not fail to look upon the tragedy as an evil augury for the future, and to compare it with the catastrophe on the evening of the marriage of Louis XVI. with Marie Antoinette, when 3,000 persons were crushed to death or wounded in the Place Louis XV.¹

¹ This accident really happened a fortnight after the marriage, and was the result of a panic during a display of fireworks in its honour. – Trans.