One of the things which astonished me most, and which astonishes me still more when I think of it now, was the inconceivable activity of the Emperor; far from diminishing, it seemed daily to take a new extension, as if the very exercise of his forces had redoubled them. I could not give an idea of the manner in which His Majesty's time was occupied at the period of which I am writing. Besides, since he had once more seen the Empress and his son, the Emperor had regained his serenity: I no longer surprised in him, or at least but rarely, those external signs of depression which he had not always concealed in private life after our return to Moscow. He occupied himself still more ostensibly than usual in the numerous works he was having executed in Paris. This was a salutary diversion from his grand ideas of war and the afflicting news he was receiving from the army. Nearly every day troops equipped as by enchantment were reviewed by His Majesty and sent immediately to the Rhine, nearly the whole line of which was threatened; the danger, of which we scarcely dreamed, must then have seemed imminent to the inhabitants of the capital, who were not carried away as we were by the sort of charm exerted by the Emperor over all who had the honor of approaching his august person. It was at this period that for the first time we saw the Senate asked for a contingent of men not due until the following year, and moreover, each day brought disagreeable tidings. Thus, during the autumn, we witnessed the return of the prince arch-treasurer, who had been forced to leave Holland after the evacuation of that kingdom by our troops, while Marshal
Gouvion Saint-Cyr was forced to sign a capitulation at Dresden for himself and the thirty thousand men whom he had retained in that city.

The capitulation of Marshal Saint-Cyr will assuredly not occupy an honorable place in the history of the cabinet of Vienna. It is not my business to criticise political combinations; but I cannot forget the indignation manifested by everybody in the palace when it was learned that this capitulation had been outrageously violated by those who had become the strongest. The capitulation provided that the Marshal should return to France with the troops under his command, bringing a part of his artillery; that these troops might be exchanged against an equal number of those of the allied powers; that the sick Frenchmen remaining in Dresden should be forwarded to France as fast as they recovered, and that, in fine, the Marshal should begin his march November 16. Nothing of the sort occurred. Fancy, then, the indignation of the Emperor, already so profoundly afflicted by the capitulation of Dresden, when he learned that, in defiance of all the stipulated agreements, his troops had been made prisoners by Prince Schwarzenberg. I remember that I was in His Majesty's cabinet one day when Prince de Neufchâtel was there, and that the Emperor said to him angrily: "You talk to me about peace! Eh!f———! how do you suppose that I can believe in the good faith of those people? — See what has happened to Dresden! No! I tell you, they don't want to treat; they are only trying to gain time. It is our business not to lose any." The Prince made no answer, or, at least, I did not hear his response, for I left the cabinet then, having executed the order that had called me there. Moreover, I can add, as a further proof of the confidence with which His Majesty deigned to honor me, that he never interrupted what he was saying on my entrance, no matter how important it might be, and I dare affirm that if my memory were better, these souvenirs would be far more valuable than they are.

Since I have spoken of the bad tidings which assailed the Emperor almost uninterruptedly during the latter months of 1813, there is one which I must not omit to mention, because it affected His Majesty so painfully: I refer to the death of Count Louis de Narbonne. Of all the persons who had not begun their career under the eye of the Emperor, M. de Narbonne was probably the one whom he most liked; and it must be owned that it would be impossible to combine real merit with more attractive manners. The Emperor considered him the most suitable person to conduct a negotiation successfully: "Narbonne is a born ambassador," he said of him one day. It was known in the palace why the Emperor had appointed him his aide-de-camp at the time when he was forming the household of the Empress Marie-Louise. It had been at first the Emperor's intention to make him knight of honor to the new Empress; but a cleverly contrived intrigue induced the latter to refuse him, and it was as a sort of indemnity for this that he received the appointment of aide-de-camp of His Majesty. At that time there was not one in France which was more highly esteemed. Many foreign princes, and even sovereigns, vainly solicited this high favor; among these I can adduce Prince Leopold of Saxe-Coburg, the husband of the Princess Charlotte of England, who refused to be King of Greece after having failed to become the Emperor's aide-de-camp.

I would not venture to say, after carefully consulting my memory, that nobody at court was jealous at seeing M. de Narbonne an aide-de-camp of the Emperor; but I forget the names. However that might be, he soon became a favorite, and the Emperor daily appreciated more highly his qualities and services. Concerning this I recollect hearing His Majesty say, and I think it was at Dresden, that he had never well understood the cabinet of Vienna until Narbonne's sharp nose — these are his own expressions — had smelled out its old diplomatists. After the presence at negotiations of which I have spoken already, and which occupied the whole time of the armistice of 1813 at Dresden, M. de Narbonne had resided in Germany, where the Emperor had confided to him the government of Torgau. It was there he died, November 17, in consequence of a fall from his horse, in spite of the skilful attentions lavished on him by Baron Desgenettes. Since the death of Marshal Duroc and that of Prince Poniatowski, I do not recollect having seen the Emperor display more regret than on this occurrence.

Meanwhile, almost at the time when he lost M. de Narbonne, but before hearing of his death, the Emperor had provided a substitute near his person in the man whom he had loved most, not excepting General Desaix. He had just summoned General Bertrand to the high functions of grand marshal of the palace, and this choice was generally approved by all those who had the honor of knowing Count Bertrand. But what can I have to say here of a man whose name history will never separate from that of the Emperor? The same period had seen the death of the Duc d'Istrie, one of the four colonels-general of the guard, and of Marshal Duroc; the same nomination united the names of their successors; Marshal Suchet was appointed at the same time as General Bertrand, and replaced Marshal Bessières as colonel-general in the guard.

At this period His Majesty made several other changes in the personnel of the superior administration of the Empire. A decree of the Senate having conferred on the Emperor the right to select the president of the Corps Législatif, His Majesty appointed the Duc de Massa to that post, replacing him in his functions as chief justice by Count Molé, the youngest minister the Emperor ever had. The Duc de Bassano resumed the secretaryship of State, and the Duc de Vicenza received the portfolio of foreign relations.

I have said that during the autumn of 1813, His Majesty went several times to visit the public works. He generally went on foot and almost alone to see those of the Tuileries and the Louvre; afterwards he would mount a horse, accompanied by at most one or two of his officers, and M. Fontaine, to examine those which were more distant. One day, nearly at the end of November, having profited by His Majesty's absence to take a few turns in the faubourg Saint-Germain, I unexpectedly found myself near him at the moment when he reached the entrance of rue de Tournon on his return from the Luxembourg, and I cannot describe with what lively satisfaction I heard the shouts of Long live the Emperor! as he approached. I was thrust very near the Emperor's horse by the pressure of the crowd; I did not suppose, however, that His Majesty had recognized me. I had proof to the contrary on his return: the Emperor had seen me; and as I was assisting him to change his garments, he said to me cheerfully: "Well! M. le drole, and what were you doing in the faubourg Saint-Germain? I see what it is! . . . that is very fine! . . . You go to spy upon me when I go out!" And many other speeches of the same sort, for on that day the Emperor was very gay; whence I inferred that he had been satisfied with his visit.

When, at this period, the Emperor experienced any anxieties, I thought I noticed that he liked to dispel them by showing himself in public, perhaps more frequently than during his other sojourns in Paris, yet always without affectation. He even went several times to the play; and, thanks to the kindly attentions of Count de Rémusat, I was very often present at those assemblies, which on such occasions always had a very festive appearance. Certainly, on the day of the first representation of the ballet of Nina, at the Opéra, it would have been difficult to suppose when Their Majesties entered their box that the Emperor already counted enemies among his subjects. It is true that the mothers and wives in mourning were not there; but what I can affirm is that I have never seen more enthusiasm. The Emperor enjoyed it this time from the bottom of his heart, more perhaps than after his victories. The idea of being loved by the French people made the most vivid impression on him. In the evening he spoke of it; shall I dare to say that he talked about it to me like a child who prides himself on the reward he has just received? Then, with all the simplicity of a private man, he often repeated: "My wife, my good Louise! she must have been well satisfied!" The fact is that there was such eagerness in Paris to see the Emperor at the play, that, as he always occupied the side box looking on the front of the stage, whenever it was supposed that he would be present the boxes on the other side of the theatre were taken with the utmost promptness; even the highest tier of boxes was preferred to the best ones on that side of the theatre whence it was most difficult to see him. No one who lived in Paris at that time can fail to recognize the exactness of these souvenirs.

Not long after the first representation of the ballet of Nina, the Emperor was present at another performance which I also witnessed. As on the previous occasion, he was accompanied by the Empress, and during the representation I could not escape the thought that possibly the Emperor experienced certain souvenirs capable of distracting his attention from the harmony of the music. It was at the Italian theatre, then located at the Odéon. Nazzolini's Cleopatra was given, and the performance was one of those that are styled extraordinary, because it was for the benefit of Madame Grassini. It was within a very short time that this singer, celebrated on so many accounts, had first shown herself in public upon a Parisian stage; in fact, I think that on this day she appeared for the third or fourth time at most, and to be exact, I must say that she did not produce on the Parisian public all the effect that was expected from her immense reputation. It was a long time since the Emperor had received her more privately. And yet, until then the tones of her voice and that of Crescentini had been reserved for the privileged ears of the spectators of Saint-Cloud or of the Tuileries theatre. On this occasion the Emperor was very generous to the beneficiary, but there was no interview, because, as was said by a poet at the time, the Cleopatra of Paris had not to do with another Antony.

Thus, as one sees, the Emperor stole a few evenings from the vast affairs which occupied him, less for the sake of enjoying the play than to show himself in public. All the useful establishments were the object of his cares; he did not even rely solely upon the information furnished by men who justly enjoyed his confidence, but he examined everything himself. Among the establishments specially protected by His Majesty was one which he particularly liked. I do not believe that the Emperor ever came to Paris in the intervals between one war and another without paying a visit to the establishment of the demoiselles of the Legion of Honor, under the direction of Madame Campan, at Ecouen in the first place, and afterwards at Saint-Denis. The Emperor went there in the month of November, and I recall an anecdote concerning these visits which I heard the Emperor relate and which greatly diverted him. I cannot be sure, however, whether it belongs to the visit of 1813 or to a previous one.

It must be known, to begin with, that, conformably with the regulations of the house of the demoiselles of the Legion of Honor, no man except the Emperor was admitted to the interior of the establishment; but as the Emperor always went there with some display, his suite was considered as part of himself and entered with him. In addition to his officers, two pages usually attended him. Now it happened in the evening, after returning from Saint-Denis, the Emperor said to me with a laugh on entering his chamber, where I was waiting to undress him: "Well, well! here are my pages trying to resemble the ancient pages. The little rogues! Do you know what they do? When I go to Saint-Denis they wrangle with each other as to who shall go with me! Ah! ah!" As he spoke, the Emperor was laughing and rubbing his hands; then, after repeating "The little rogues!" in the same tone a number of times, he added, as a consequence from one of those singular reflections which occurred to him now and then: "Constant, I would have been a very poor page, such an idea would never have come into my head. However, they are good young fellows; fine officers have come from them already. Marriages will result from it some day." It was seldom, in fact, that an apparently frivolous matter did not elicit a serious conclusion on the part of the Emperor. To me, also, barring some recollections of the past, there now remain none but serious things, and often very sad ones to relate; for here we are at a point where all assumes a grave appearance and is invested with colors that are often very sombre.