A few days after the Emperor’s return, M. de Talleyrand arrived at Vienna from Presburg, to the great surprise of everybody. The Austrian ministers at Presburg had brought forward the subject of the Tyrol; he had been obliged to admit that he had no instructions on that point, and he now came to obtain them. He was much displeased at having been treated in such a manner. When he spoke of this to the Emperor, the latter told him that in a yielding moment, of which he now repented, he had acceded to the request of the Emperor Francis, but that he was quite resolved not to keep his word. M. de Rémusat told me that M. de Talleyrand, of whom he saw a great deal at this time, was really indignant. Not only did he perceive that war was about to begin again, but that the Cabinet of France was stained by perfidy, and a portion of the dishonor would inevitably fall upon him. His mission to Presburg would henceforth be ridiculous, would show how little influence over his master he possessed, and would destroy his personal credit in Europe, when he took such care to preserve. The marshals raised their war-cry anew. Murat, Berthier, Maret, all the flatterers of the Emperor’s ruling passion, seeing to which side he leaned, urged him on toward what they called “glory.” M. de Talleyrand had to bear reproaches from every one, and he often said to my husband, bitterly enough: “I find no one but yourself here to show me any friendship; it would take very little more to make those people regard me as a traitor.” His conduct at this period, and his patience, did him honor. He succeeded in bringing the Emperor back to his way of thinking upon the necessity of making peace, and, after having extracted from him the final word which he required, he set out a second time for Presburg, better satisfied, although he could not obtain the restitution of the Tyrol. On taking leave of M. de Rémusat, he said, “I shall settle the affair of the Tyrol, and induce the Emperor to make peace, in spite of himself.”
During Bonaparte’s stay at Schönbrunn he received a letter from Prince Charles, to the effect that, being full of admiration for his person, the Prince wished to see and converse with him. The Emperor, flattered by this compliment from a man who enjoyed a high reputation in Europe, fixed upon a small hunting-lodge a few leagues from the palace as the place of meeting, and directed M. de Rémusat to join the other persons who were to accompany him. He also bade him take with him a very richly mounted sword. “After our conversation,” said he, “you will hand it to me. I wish to present it to the Prince on leaving him.”
The Emperor joined the Prince, and they remained in private conference for some time. When he came out of the room my husband approached him, according to the orders he had received. Bonaparte impatiently waved him off, telling him that he might take the sword away; and when he returned to Schönbrunn he spoke slightingly of the Prince, saying that he had found him very commonplace and by no means worthy of the present he had intended for him.
I must now relate an incident which concerned M. de Rémusat personally, and which once more checked the favor that the Emperor seemed disposed to extend toward him. I have frequently remarked that our destiny always arranged matters so that we should not profit by the advantages of our position, but since that time I have often felt thankful to Providence; for that very contrariety preserved us from a more disastrous fall.
In the early years of the Consular Government the King’s party had clung to the hope of a revival of favorable chance for him in France, and they had more than once tried to establish an understanding with the country. M. d’André, formerly a deputy to the Constituent Assembly, an émigré, and devoted to the royal cause, had undertaken Royalist missions to some of the sovereigns of Europe, and Bonaparte was perfectly aware of that fact. M. d’André was, like M. de Rémusat, a native of Provence, and they had been schoolfellows. M. d’André had also been a magistrate prior to the Revolution (he was Councilor to the Parliament of Aix), and, although they did not keep up any mutual relations, they were not entirely strangers. At the period of which I am writing, M. d’André, disheartened by the failure of his fruitless efforts, convinced that the Imperial cause was absolutely victorious, and weary of a wandering life and consequently straitened means, was longing to return to his own country. Being in Hungary during the campaign of 1805, he sent his wife to Vienna, and appealed to his friend General Mathieu Dumas to obtain leave for him. The General, although rather alarmed at having to undertake such a mission, promised to take steps in the matter, but advised Mme. d’André to see M. de Rémusat and procure his interest. One morning Mme. d’André arrived. My husband received her as he conceived he ought to receive the wife of a former friend; he was much concerned at the position in which she represented M. d’André to be, and, not knowing that there were particular circumstances in the case which were likely to render the Emperor implacable, thinking besides that his victories might incline him to clemency, consented to present her petition. His official position as Keeper of the Wardrobe gave him the right to enter the Emperor’s dressing-room. He hastened down to his Majesty’s apartment, and found him half dressed and in a good humor, whereupon he immediately gave him an account of Mme. d’André’s visit, and preferred the request which he had undertaken to urge.
At the mention of the name of M. d’André, the Emperor’s face darkened. “Do you know,” said he, “that you are talking to me of a mortal enemy?”
“No, Sire,” replied M. de Rémusat; “I am ignorant whether your Majesty has really reason to complain of him; but, if such be the case, I would venture to ask pardon for him. M. d’André is poor and proscribed; he asks only that he may return and grow old in our common country.” “Have you any relations with him?” “None, Sire.” “And why do you interest yourself in him?” “Sire, he is a Provençal; he was educated with me at Juilly, he is of my own profession, and he was my friend.” “You are very fortunate,” said the Emperor, darting a fierce glance at him, “to have such motives to excuse you. Never speak of him to me again; and know this: if he were at Vienna, and I could get hold of him, he should be hanged within twenty-four hours.” Having said these words, the Emperor turned his back on M. de Rémusat.
Wherever the Emperor was with his Court, he habitually held what was called his levée every morning. So soon as he was dressed, he entered a reception-room, and those persons who formed what was Called the “service” were summoned. These were the great officers of his household, M. de Rémusat, as Keeper of the Wardrobe and First Chamberlain, and the generals of his guard. The second levée was composed of the Chamberlains, of such generals of the army as could present themselves, and, in Paris, of the Prefect of Police, the Princes, and the Ministers. Sometimes he greeted all these personages silently, with a mere bow, and dismissed them at once. He gave orders when it was necessary, and he did not hesitate to scold any one with whom he was displeased, without the slightest regard to the awkwardness of giving or receiving reprimands before a crowd of witnesses.
After he left M. de Rémusat, the Emperor held his levée; then he sent everybody away, and held a long conversation with General Savary. On its conclusion, Savary rejoined my husband in one of the reception-rooms, took him aside, and addressed him after a fashion which would appear very strange to any one unacquainted with the crudity of the General’s principles in certain matters.
“Let me congratulate you,” said he, accosting M. de Rémusat, “on a fine opportunity of making your fortune, of which I strongly advise you to avail yourself. You played a dangerous game just now by talking to the Emperor of M. d’André, but all may be set right again. Where is he? But, now I think of it, he is in Hungary—at least, his wife told me so. Ah, bah! don’t dissimulate about it. The Emperor believes that he is in Vienna; he is convinced that you know where he is, and he wants you to tell.” “I assure you, General,” replied M. de Rémusat, “that I am absolutely ignorant of where he is. I had no correspondence with him. His wife came to see me to-day for the first time; she begged me to speak for her husband to the Emperor; I have done so, and that is all.” “Well, then, if that be so, send for her to come to you again. She will have no suspicion of you. Make her talk, and try to elicit from her where her husband is. You can not imagine how much you will please the Emperor by rendering him this service.”