His Majesty spent the two months and a half of this sojourn in cabinet business, which he seldom left, and always with regret. His amusements, as usual, were concerts and the play. He loved music passionately, above all Italian music, and, like all great amateurs, he was hard to please. He would have been glad to sing himself, if he only could, but his voice was the most incorrect that could possibly be imagined,—which did not prevent him from occasionally humming fragments of melodies that had pleased him. It was generally in the mornings that he was addicted to these little reminiscences; he used to regale me with them while I was dressing him. The air I heard him murder most frequently was the Marseillaise. The Emperor also whistled sometimes, but softly. The air of Malbrough, whistled by His Majesty, was for me a certain announcement of a near departure for the army. I remember that he never whistled so much, and was never so gay, as when about to set out for the Russian campaign.

His Majesty's favorite singers were Crescentini and Madame Grassini. I saw Crescentini make his debut at Paris in the rôle of Romeo, in Romeo and Juliet; he came preceded by the immense reputation of being the first singer of Italy, and he justified it completely, in spite of all the prejudices he had to overcome; for I still remember all that was said of him before he made his appearance at the court theatre. According to the so-called connoisseurs, he was a brawler, devoid of taste and method, a maker of absurd runs and variations, a cold and unintelligent actor, and a thousand objectionable things beside. He knew when he came on the stage how ill-disposed his critics were, but he did not betray the least embarrassment; his noble bearing agreeably surprised those who were expecting, on hearsay, an awkward and ill-shaped man; a flattering murmur greeted him therefore, and so electrified him that from the first act he captured all suffrages. Movements full of grace and dignity, a perfect knowledge of the stage, gestures moderate and in perfect accordance with the dialogue, a countenance on which every shade of passion depicted itself with the most surprising verity,—all these rare and precious qualities gave to the enchanting accents of this artist a magic of which it is impossible to give an idea to those who have not heard him. The interest he awakened grew in intensity with every scene, but at the third act the emotion and rapture of the spectators became a frenzy. In this act, played almost entirely by Crescentini, this admirable singer communicated to the soul of his hearers all the heartbreaking pathos of a love expressed by a delightful melody, by all that sorrow and despair can grasp in sublime music. The Emperor was enraptured, and he gave Crescentini a considerable gratuity, accompanied by the most flattering tokens of the pleasure he had experienced in listening to him.

On that day, as on every occasion when they have played together since, Crescentini was admirably seconded by Madame Grassini, a woman of superior talent, and possessed of the most astonishing voice ever heard on the stage. She and Madame Barili then shared the favor of the public.

The same evening, or else on the day following Crescentini's début, the French stage met an irreparable loss in the person of Dazincourt, who died when barely sixty. The illness of which he died had begun on his return from Erfurt. It was long and painful, and yet the public, to whose pleasure this great comedian had so long contributed, never inquired for him until his illness was beyond remedy and his last agony had begun. Formerly, when an esteemed actor (and who had better merited esteem than Dazincourt was long absent from the stage on account of sickness, the parterre was accustomed to manifest its regrets and make daily inquiries concerning the invalid; at the close of each performance, the actor whose business it was to make the announcements for the succeeding day would read to the assembly the bulletin of his comrade's health. It was not so for Dazincourt, and the parterre displayed ingratitude toward him.

I liked and sincerely esteemed Dazincourt, whose acquaintance I had made some years before his death; not many men have deserved better than he, or knew better how to conciliate esteem and affection. I will not speak of his talent, which rendered him the worthy successor of Préville, whose friend and pupil he was; all of his contemporaries must remember how Dazincourt played Figaro; but I will speak of the nobility of his character, his generosity, his tried integrity. His birth and education would seem to have removed him from the stage, circumstances alone impelled him thither; he was able to guard himself against the temptations of his position. Behind the scenes, amidst the intrigues of the green room, he remained a well-bred man, of pure morals. Received in the best society, which he delighted by the piquancy of his wit as well as by his good manners and urbanity, he amused people without reminding them that he was a comedian.

At the end of February His Majesty went to establish himself for a time at the Élysée palace. It was there, I think, that the contract of marriage was signed between one of his best lieutenants, Marshal Augereau, recently made Duc de Castiglione, and the daughter of an old superior officer, Mademoiselle Bourlon de Chavanges. It was there, also, that the imperial decree was issued which gave the grand duchy of Tuscany to the Princess Eliza, with the title of grand duchess.

Toward the middle of March the Emperor spent some days at Rambouillet. There were some excellent hunts there, and in one of them His Majesty himself ran down and killed a stag near Saint Hubert's pond. There was also a ball and a concert; Crescentini, Mesdames Grassini, and Barili, and several famous virtuosos sang, and Talma recited verses.

At four o'clock in the morning of April 13, the Emperor having received tidings of a new invasion of Bavaria by the Austrians, he set out for Strasburg with the Empress, whom he left in that city. On the 15th, at eleven in the morning, he crossed the Rhine at the head of his army. The Empress did not long remain alone, the Queen of Westphalia, the Queen of Holland and her sons, the Grand Duchess of Baden and her husband soon joined her.

The splendid campaign of 1809 commenced immediately. How glorious it was everybody knows, and also that one of the least deeds by which it was distinguished was the taking of Vienna.

At the taking of Ratisbonne, April 28, the Emperor received a spent ball on his right foot, which gave him a rather bad contusion. I was with the attendants when some grenadiers of the guard came running up to tell me that His Majesty was wounded. I made all haste, and arrived at the moment when M. Soan was dressing it. They cut and laced the Emperor's boot, and he instantly remounted his horse; several generals urged him to rest awhile, but he replied: "My dear fellows, must I not see everything?" Nothing could exceed the enthusiasm of the soldiers on learning that their chief had been wounded but that his wound was not dangerous. "The Emperor exposes himself as we do," said they; "he is no coward!"

The journals did not mention this event. Always before giving battle, the Emperor gave instructions that in case he were wounded every possible precaution should be taken to prevent the troops from knowing it. "Who knows," said he, "what horrible confusion might be produced by such a piece of news? The destinies of a great empire hang on my life. Remember that, gentlemen, and if I am wounded let no one know it, if that be possible. If I am killed, try to win the battle without me; it will be time enough to tell it afterwards."

Fifteen days after the taking of Ratisbonne, I was far ahead of His Majesty on the road to Vienna, alone in a carriage with an officer of the household, when we suddenly heard frightful cries from a house on the side of the road. I called a halt at once; we alighted, and on entering this house we beheld several soldiers, stragglers, such as there are in all armies, who, without disturbing themselves about the alliance between France and Bavaria, were treating most horribly a Bavarian family that occupied the house. An old grandmother, a young man, three children, and a young woman composed this family. Our embroidered coats luckily imposed on these madmen; we threatened them with the Emperor's anger, and succeeded in getting them out of the house, which we shortly afterwards quitted ourselves, covered with thanks. In the evening I told the Emperor what I had done he approved it highly, and said: "Do what I can, there are always dastards in an army, and it is they that do the harm. A brave and good soldier would blush at such things."

In the beginning of these Memoirs I had occasion to mention a controller of the kitchen, M. Pfister, one of the most faithful servants of His Majesty, and also one of those to whom the Emperor was most attached. M. Pfister had followed him to Egypt; he had incurred danger upon danger for him. The day of the battle of Landshut, which either preceded or very closely followed the taking of Ratisbonne, this poor man went mad. He ran out of his tent, hid himself in a wood near the field of battle, and stripped himself completely of his clothes. At the end of a few hours His Majesty sent for M. Pfister; he was looked for, inquired after, but no one could tell what had become of him. Fearing lest he might have been made prisoner, the Emperor sent an orderly to the Austrians to reclaim his kitchen controller and propose an exchange. The orderly returned, saying that the Austrians had not seen M. Pfister. Greatly disturbed, the Emperor ordered a search to be made in the environs, and it was then that the poor sick man was discovered, entirely unclothed, as I have said, crouching behind a tree, and in a frightful condition, all his body being torn with briars. They brought him back. He seemed quite tranquil; we thought him cured; he resumed his service, but shortly after our return to Paris he had a new attack. He was confided to the care of the learned Doctor Esquirol, who, notwithstanding all his talent, was unable to effect his cure. I often went to see him; he had no further attacks, but his brain was turned; he heard and understood very well, his responses, however, were those of a veritable lunatic. His attachment to the Emperor had not deserted him; he talked of him incessantly, and always believed himself on duty near him. One day he said in a mysterious way that he wished to confide to me a terrible secret, the secret of a conspiracy against His Majesty's life. At the same time he handed me a petition for His Majesty, and with it a bundle of little scraps of paper which he had scrawled upon himself, and which he took to be documentary evidence of the plot. At another time he remitted to me, as usual for the Emperor, a handful of small pebbles, which he called diamonds of great value: "There is more than a million's worth in what I have given you there," he said to me. The Emperor, to whom I gave an account of my visits, was extremely touched by the continual preoccupation of this unfortunate, all of whose thoughts and actions bore some reference to his former master. He died without recovering his reason.

May 10, at nine o'clock in the morning, the first lines of defence of the Austrian capital were attacked and overcome by Marshal Oudinot; the faubourgs surrendered at discretion. Then the Duc de Montebello advanced upon the esplanade at the head of the division. But the garrison, having closed the gates, fired a terrible discharge from the top of the ramparts; fortunately, it killed very few people. The Duc de Montebello summoned the garrison to surrender, and the Archduke Maximilian responded that he would defend Vienna to his last breath. This reply was carried to the Emperor.

After holding a council with his generals, His Majesty charged Colonel Lagrange to summon the Archduke again, and the unlucky colonel had scarcely entered the city when he fell beneath the blows of the enraged populace. General O'Reilly saved his life by causing him to be picked up by his soldiers; but the Archduke Maximilian, in order to insult the Emperor still further, had the person who struck the first blow at the French flag of truce marched about in triumph in the midst of the National Guard. This attack, which had revolted even some of the Viennese themselves, did not alter His Majesty's intention; he meant to push moderation and deference as far as they would go, and Prince de Neufchâtel wrote, by his orders, to the Archduke the following letter, a copy of which chanced to fall into my hands:

"Prince de Neufchâtel to His Highness, the Archduke Maximilian, commanding the city of Vienna.

"His Majesty, the Emperor and King, wishes to spare this large and interesting population the calamities which menace it, and he charges me to represent to Your Highness that, if you persist in wishing to defend the place, you will cause the destruction of one of the most beautiful cities of Europe. In every country to which war has conducted him, my sovereign has made known his anxiety to avert the disasters it entails upon unarmed populations. Your Highness must be convinced that His Majesty is sensibly affected in beholding at the brink of ruin this city, which he is proud of having saved already. Nevertheless, contrary to the established usage in fortresses, Your Highness has fired cannon from the city side, when this discharge might kill, not an enemy of your sovereign, but the wife or child of his most zealous adherents. If Your Highness remain determined to defend the place, His Majesty will be forced to begin the assault, and the ruin of this immense capital will be consummated in thirty-six hours by the fire of howitzers and the bombs from our batteries, as the exterior city will be destroyed by the effect of yours. His Majesty is confident that these considerations will induce Your Highness to abandon a determination which will merely retard by some instants the taking of the place. In a word, if Your Highness does not decide upon a step which will save the city, its population, plunged by your fault into such frightful calamities, will be changed from faithful subjects into enemies of your family."

This letter did not prevent the Archduke from persisting in his project of defence. This obstinacy wearied the Emperor, and he finally gave orders to establish two batteries. An hour later bombs and bullets were raining into the city. The inhabitants, with true German coolness, came up on the glacis to observe the effect of the two fires of attack and defence; they seemed much more interested than alarmed by the spectacle. Several cannon balls had already fallen into the court of the imperial palace when a trumpeter came out of the city to announce that the Archduchess Marie-Louise had not been able to follow her father, but lay sick in the palace and exposed to all dangers from the artillery. The Emperor immediately gave orders to have the direction of the pieces changed, so that the bombs and cannon balls would pass over the palace. The Archduke did not hold out long before this brisk and energetic attack; he took to flight and abandoned Vienna to the victors.

The Emperor made his entry into Vienna on May 12, a month after the occupation of Munich by the Austrians. This circumstance made a vivid impression, and contributed greatly to propagate the superstitious ideas entertained by many soldiers concerning their chief. "Do you see!" said they; "all he needed was time to get here! That man must be a god!" "A devil, you mean," said the Austrians, whose stupefaction it is impossible to describe. It reached such a point that many allowed themselves to be taken with arms in their hands, without offering the least resistance, or even trying to escape, so convinced were they that the Emperor and the grenadiers of the guard were not men, and that sooner or later they must fall into the power of these supernatural enemies.