“My dear Louise,—­My resolution gives you pain!  You all accuse me of childish waywardness.  You are unjust!  My mother can follow the Duke de Vicenza’s counsel; she will go to Malmaison, but I remain here, and I have good reasons for doing so.  I cannot separate my interests from those of my children.  It is they, it is their nearest relatives, who are being sacrificed by all that is taking place, and I am, therefore, determined not to approach those who are working our ruin.  I must be saddened by our great misfortune, and I will appear so, and abstain from approaching those who would still consider me a supplicant, even though I should demand nothing of them.

“I can readily believe that the Emperor Alexander is kindly disposed toward me; I have heard much good of him, even from the Emperor Napoleon.  Although I was once anxious to make his acquaintance, I at this moment have no desire to see him.  Is he not our vanquisher?  In their hearts, your friends must all approve of my determination, whatever they may say.  I find retirement congenial.  When you have seen enough of your friends, you will return to me.  I am suffering in my breast, and shall perhaps go to some watering-place.  I do not know whether it is due to the air of Novara, but since I have been here I cannot breathe.  My friends maintain that it is due to the mental shocks resulting from the great events that have transpired; but they are in error; death has spared us all, and the loss of a glittering position is not the greatest loss one can sustain.  What personal happiness do I lose?  My brother will, I trust, be well and suitably provided for, and he will be no longer exposed to danger.  He must be very uneasy on our account, and yet I dare not write to him, as my letters would probably never reach him; if an opportunity should present itself, please let him know that we are no longer surrounded by dangers.  Adieu.  I entreat you once more to undertake nothing in my behalf.  I fear your impetuosity and friendship, and yet I love to be able to count on you.  My children are well.  My mother opposes all my plans; she asserts that she has need of me; but I shall, nevertheless, go to her who must now be more unhappy than all of us.

HORTENSE.”

She of whom Hortense thought that she must be more unhappy than all of them, was the wife of Napoleon, Marie Louise, who had now left Blois, to which place she had gone as empress-regent, and repaired to Rambouillet, to await the decision of the allies with regard to the future of herself and son.  It was certainly one of the most peculiar features of this period, so rich in extraordinary occurrences, to see the sovereigns of Europe, the overthrown rulers of France, and those who were about to grasp the sceptre once more, thrown confusedly together in Paris, and within a circuit of some fifty miles around that city:  a Bourbon in the Tuileries, Bonaparte at Fontainebleau, his wife and his son at Rambouillet, the divorced empress at Novara, the Emperors of Russia and Austria, and the King of Prussia, at Paris; moreover, a whole train of little German potentates and princes, and the Napoleonic kings and princes, who were all sojourning in Paris or its vicinity.