Although totally unacquainted with politics, I read with keen interest the journal I received in my retreat after the great change which was styled the Restoration; and the simplest common sense was all I needed to see the glaring difference that existed between the fallen government and the new one. I saw the series of titled men everywhere replacing the lists of distinguished men who, under the Empire, had given so many proofs of merit and courage; but in spite of the great number of malcontents, I was far from thinking that the fortune of the Emperor and the wishes of the army would bring him back to the throne which he had voluntarily abdicated in order not to be the cause of a civil war in France. Hence it would be impossible for me to describe my astonishment and the multiplicity of different sentiments by which I was agitated when I received the first news of the Emperor's landing on the coast of Provence. I read with enthusiasm the admirable proclamation in which he announced that his eagles would fly from steeple to steeple, and that he would be close behind them in his triumphant march from the Gulf of Juan to Paris.

This is the place for the avowal: it was only after quitting the Emperor that I had comprehended all the immensity of his grandeur. Attached to his service almost from the beginning of the Consulate, at an epoch when I was still very young, he had grown, if I may say so, without my perceiving it, and what I had especially seen in him, on account of the nature of my service, was an excellent master still more than a great man; but how different an effect had distance produced on me from what it ordinarily produces! I had difficulty in believing, and I am even yet frequently astonished at the bold frankness with which I had often dared to sustain before the Emperor the things which I thought true; for very often, instead of being annoyed by my vehemence, he would say, with a gentleness accompanied by a benevolent smile: "Come! come! M. Constant; don't fly into a passion." Adorable kindness in a man of so lofty a rank! . . . Eh well! it is doubtful if I even noticed it when in his chamber; but since then I have felt all its worth.

On learning that the Emperor was to be restored to us, my first impulse was to go at once to the palace, so as to be there on his arrival ; but reflection and the counsels of my family made me conclude that it would be more suitable to await his orders, in case he wished to recall me to his service. I had to applaud myself for acting on the latter idea, since I had the happiness of learning that His Majesty approved my conduct; I learned, in effect, in the most positive manner, that the Emperor had barely arrived at the Tuileries when he deigned to say to M. Eible, concierge of the palace at the time : "Well, what is Constant doing? How is he? Where is he?" "Sire, he is at his country place, which he has not quitted." - "Good, very good. . . . He is lucky; he is planting his cabbages." I also learned that in the first days of his return, His Majesty, having had a list of the pensions on his privy purse drawn up, had the goodness to append a note to mine requiring it to be augmented. Lastly, I experienced a lively satisfaction, of another sort doubtless, but not less keen, - that of not having made an ingrate. It has been seen that I had been fortunate enough to place M. Marchand with the Emperor; now this is what was reported to me by a witness. In the beginning of the Hundred Days, M. Marchand happened to be in one of the salons of the Tuileries where several persons were assembled, some of whom expressed themselves concerning me in a rather ill-natured way. My successor with the Emperor quickly interrupted them, saying that there was no truth in the imputations of which I had been made the object, and adding that so long as I was in favor I had constantly obliged every member of the household who bad had recourse to me, and had never injured any one. As to that, I dare affirm that M. Marchand said nothing but the truth; but I was none the less affected by the uprightness of his conduct with regard to me, and especially in my absence.

Not having been at Paris, March 20, 1815, as has just been seen, I would have nothing to say about the circumstances of that memorable epoch, if I had not received from some of my friends a number of details concerning the night which followed the return of the Emperor to the palace become once more imperial. It may easily be believed that I was eager to know all that related to the great man who was then regarded as the savior of France.

I will begin by reporting exactly the account given me by a brave and excellent man of my acquaintance, then a sergeant of the Parisian National Guard, and who was on duty at the Tuileries, March 20. "At noon," he said to me, "three companies of the National Guards entered the court of the Tuileries to occupy the inner and outer posts of the palace. I was a member of one of these companies, belonging to the fourth legion. My comrades and myself were all impressed by the incredible sadness inspired by the sight of an abandoned palace. Everything was deserted, in fact; at most, one caught sight here and there of some men in the royal livery, occupied in taking down and carrying away some pictures representing different members of the Bourbon family. We were also assailed by the noisy shouts of a really frenzied multitude, climbing up the gates, trying to get over them, and pushing against them with such force that at some places they bent so as to make it seem likely that they would come down. This multitude presented a frightful appearance and seemed inclined to pillage the palace.

"We had not been in the inner court more than a quarter of an hour when an accident, not very serious in itself, threw into consternation both ourselves and the crowd thronging the whole length of the railings of the Carrousel; we saw sparks rising from the chimney of the King's chamber; it had been set afire by an enormous mass of papers which had just been burned there. This accident gave rise to the most sinister conjectures, and a rumor soon spread to the effect that the Tuileries had been ruined before the departure of Louis XVIII. A patrol of fifteen men of the National Guard was instantly formed, commanded by a sergeant; they went through the château in every direction, examined all the apartments, visited the cellars, and made sure that there was no sign of danger anywhere.

Although reassured on this point, we were still not without anxieties. As we were repairing to our post we had heard numerous groups shouting: Long live the King! Long live the Bourbons! and we soon had proof of the exasperation and fury of a portion of the people against Napoleon; for a superior officer who had imprudently donned the tricolored cockade too soon only reached us with the greatest difficulty, having been pursued all the way from the rue Saint-Denis. We took him under our protection, and brought him inside; and certainly he had need of it. At this moment we received orders to send away the people, who were more than ever bent or climbing over the gates, and to do so we were forced to use our weapons.

"We had occupied the post of the Tuileries for an hour at most, when General Excelmans, who had been made commander-in-chief of the château guard, ordered the tricolored flag to be hoisted over the middle pavilion. The reappearance of the national colors moved us to lively satisfaction; and thereupon, to the cries of Long live the King! the people suddenly substituted that of Long live the Emperor! and we heard no other all the rest of the day. As for us, when we were told to put on the tricolored cockade, it was a very easy matter; for a great many of the National Guards, had preserved their old one, which they had merely covered with a scrap of folded white percale. We were told to stack our arms in front of the arch of triumph, and nothing extraordinary happened until six o'clock in the evening. Then lanterns began to be lighted along the road it was supposed the Emperor would take. A considerable number of officers on half pay had assembled beside the Pavilion of Flora; and I learned from one of them, M. Saunier, who had been decorated, that it was from this side that the Emperor would re-enter the palace of the Tuileries; I went there in all haste, and, as I was hurrying to catch a glimpse of him, I had the good luck to meet a commanding officer who placed me on duty at the very door of Napoleon's apartment, and I owe to this circumstance the fact of having witnessed what I have yet to tell you.

"I had been waiting for a long time, and almost in solitude, when, at a quarter of nine, an extraordinary hubbub on the outside announced to me the arrival of the Emperor. A few moments later I saw him appear amidst cries of enthusiasm, borne on the arms of the officers who had accompanied him to the island of Elba. The Emperor urgently entreated them to let him walk; but his prayers were in vain; they carried him in this way to the door of his apartment, where they set him down quite close to me. I had not seen the Emperor since the day he bade farewell to the National Guard in the grand apartments of the palace; and notwithstanding the fact that I was greatly excited by what was going on, I could not avoid noticing that His Majesty had grown considerably stouter.

"The Emperor had scarcely entered his apartment when my service became interior. Marshal Bertrand, who bad just replaced General Excelmans in command of the Tuileries, ordered me not to allow any person to enter without first notifying him, and giving him the names of all who presented themselves to see the Emperor. One of the first who came was Cambacérès, who seemed to me paler than usual. Soon after came the father of General Bertrand; and as this venerable old man was about to begin by paying homage to the Emperor, the latter said to him: 'No, sir; nature first.' And in saying it, by a movement as prompt as his remark, Napoleon threw him, as it were, into the arms of his son. Next came Queen Hortense, accompanied by her two children; then Comte Regnault de Saint-Jean d'Angély, and many other persons whose names have escaped me. I did not see again those whose presence I announced to Marshal Bertrand, because they all passed out through another door. I continued this service until eleven o'clock in the evening, when I was relieved of my sentry duty and invited to supper at an immense table, laid, it seemed to me, for at least three hundred persons. All who were in the palace took their place in turn. I saw the Duc de Vicenza there, and I sat opposite General Excelmans. As to the Emperor, he supped alone in his chamber with Marshal Bertrand, and their supper was not nearly so splendid as ours, for it was composed merely of roasted chicken and a dish of lentils; and yet I learned from an officer who had not quitted him since he left Fontainebleau, that His Majesty had eaten nothing since morning. The Emperor was extremely fatigued; I had occasion to notice this every time that the door of his chamber was opened. He was sitting on a chair opposite the fire, with his feet up, resting against the mantlepiece.

"As we all remained at the Tuileries, some one came at one o'clock in the morning to say that the Emperor had just gone to bed, and that in case any of the soldiers who had accompanied him should arrive in the night, he had given orders to have them take the service of the palace conjointly with the National Guard. The poor wretches were hardly in condition to obey such an order. At two o'clock in the morning we saw two of them arrive in a pitiable state; they were emaciated and the skin was all worn off their feet; all they could do was to throw themselves down on their sacks, where they fell, one might say, fast asleep; for they did not wake up even when we made it a duty to dress their feet in the very apartment where they had but just arrived. There was no sort of attention we were not in haste to lavish on them; and I own I have always regretted not having inquired the names of these two brave grenadiers who inspired in all of us an interest which I could not describe.

"Having gone to bed at one o'clock, the Emperor was up at five in the morning; and orders were immediately given to the half-pay officers to hold themselves in readiness for a review. At daybreak they were drawn up in three ranks. At this moment I was told to watch an officer who had been pointed out as suspicious, and who, it was said, had arrived from Saint-Denis: it was M. de Saint-Chamans. After a quarter of an hour of surveillance which involved nothing painful, he was simply asked to withdraw. Meanwhile the Emperor had descended from the palace and passed into the ranks of the half-pay officers, speaking to all of them, shaking hands with many, and saying to them: ‘My friends, I have need of your services; I rely on you as you may rely on me.' Magical words in the mouth of Napoleon, which drew tears of emotion from all these heroes whose services had been contemned for more than a year.

"From morning the crowd grew rapidly larger at all the approaches to the Tuileries, and a mass of people assembled under the windows of the château were asking to see Napoleon. Marshal Bertrand having apprised him of this, the Emperor showed himself at a window, where he was saluted by the cries which his presence had so often excited. Afterwards the Emperor himself presented Marshal Bertrand to them, keeping his arm around the Marshal's shoulder, and pressing him to his heart with demonstrations of the liveliest affection. During this scene, which affected all the spectators and was greeted with loud acclamations, some officers, standing behind the Emperor and his friend, held above their heads flags surmounted by eagles, with which they formed a sort of national arch. At eleven o'clock the Emperor mounted a horse and went to review the different regiments which were arriving from all quarters, and the heroes of the island of Elba who had reached the Tuileries during the night. We could not weary of contemplating the faces of these good fellows, tanned by the sun of Italy, and who had just marched nearly two hundred leagues in twenty days."

Such are the curious details furnished me by a friend; and I can guarantee the exactness of his story as if I had myself witnessed all that he saw during the memorable night of March 20-21, 1815.

Having continued to live in my retreat during the Hundred Days, and long afterwards, I have nothing to say concerning this grand epoch of the Emperor's history which is not as well known to everybody as to me. I have shed many tears over his sufferings at the moment of his second abdication, and over the tortures he was subjected to at Saint-Helena by the miserable Hudson Lowe, whose infamy will traverse the centuries incrusted in the glory of the Emperor. I will content myself with merely adding to what has gone before a certain document which has been confided to me concerning the former Queen of Westphalia, and finally a word about the distinction I thought fit to give to the first cross of the Legion of Honor which had been worn by the First Consul.

Princess Catherine of Würtemberg, married, as is known, to Prince Jérôme, is very beautiful; but she is also endowed with more solid qualities which time does not diminish, but increases. To much natural intelligence she joins great cultivation of mind, a character truly worthy of a sister-in-law of the Emperor, and a love of her duties which almost amounts to fanaticism. Events have not permitted her to become a great queen, but they could not prevent her from remaining an accomplished woman. Her sentiments are noble and elevated, but, nevertheless, she is not haughty to any one; hence all who surround her take pleasure in praising the charms of her kindliness in private life, and in saying that she possesses the most fortunate of natural gifts, - that of inspiring love in all. Prince Jérôme is not lacking in a certain grandeur of manners and that showy generosity an apprenticeship to which he made on the throne of Cassel; but in general people find him very haughty. Although since the great changes occasioned in Europe by the downfall of the Emperor Prince Jérôme owes the fine existence he still enjoys in great part to the love of the Princess, the latter none the less displays a truly exemplary submission to all his wishes. Princess Catherine is chiefly occupied with her children, of whom she has three, two boys and a girl, all of whom are very handsome. The eldest was born in August, 1814. Her daughter, Princess Mathilde, owes her education to her mother's special cares; she is pretty, yet less so than her brothers, all of whom have their mother's features.

After the not flattering portrait just drawn of Princess Catherine, it will doubtless be found surprising that, gifted as she is with so many solid qualities, she has never been able to conquer an inexplicable leaning to petty superstitions. Thus, for example, she dreads extremely to sit down at a table where there are thirteen guests. Here is a fact whose authenticity can be guaranteed, and which may flatter the weakness of persons tainted by the same superstition as the Princess of Würtemberg. One day, at Florence, being present at a family dinner, she noticed that there were but thirteen covers; suddenly she turned pale and obstinately refused to sit down. Princess Elisa Bacciochi mocked at her sister-in-law, shrugged her shoulders, and said to her with a smile: "There is no danger; we shall be fourteen, for I am pregnant." Princess Catherine yielded, but with extreme reluctance. Not long after she had to put on mourning for her sister-in-law; and the death of Princess Elisa contributed not a little, as may be believed, to make her more superstitious than ever about the number thirteen. Eh well! let the strong-minded brag as much as they please; but I can console the feeble, for I venture to affirm that if the Emperor had witnessed a similar event in his own family, an instinct stronger than reflection, stronger than his all-powerful reason, would have caused him some moments of painful uneasiness.

And now nothing remains but to give an account of the use to which I put the First Consul's first cross of honor. Let nobody be disturbed; I did not make a bad use of it: it is on the breast of a hero of our old army. In 1817, I made the acquaintance of M. Godeau, a former captain of the imperial guard. He had been grievously wounded at Leipsic by a cannon-ball which ploughed through his thigh. I saw in him so plain and frank an admiration for the Emperor, he urged me so many times to give him something, no matter what, which had belonged to His Majesty, that I made him a present of the cross of honor I speak of, he having long been decorated with that order. This cross is, I may say, an historic monument; first, because it is, as I have said, the first that the Emperor wore. It is of silver, of medium size, and not surmounted by the imperial crown. The Emperor wore it for a year; it decorated his breast for the last time the day of the battle of Austerlitz. After that day, in fact, His Majesty took an officer's cross in gold with the crown, and never again wore the cross of a simple legionary.