I had occasion, in the beginning of these Memoirs, to speak of the steward, M. Pfister, one of his Majesty’s most faithful servants, and also one of those to whom his Majesty was most attached.  M. Pfister had followed him to Egypt, and had faced countless dangers in his service.  The day of the battle of Landshut, which either preceded or followed very closely the taking of Ratisbon this poor man became insane, rushed out of his tent, and concealed himself in a wood near the field of battle, after taking off all his clothing.  At the end of a few hours his Majesty asked for M. Pfister.  He was sought for, and every one was questioned; but no one could tell what had become of him.  The Emperor, fearing that he might have been taken prisoner, sent an orderly officer to the Austrians to recover his steward, and propose an exchange; but the officer returned, saying that the Austrians had not seen M. Pfister.  The Emperor, much disquieted, ordered a search to be made in the neighborhood; and by this means the poor fellow was discovered entirely naked, as I have said, cowering behind a tree, in a frightful condition, his body torn by thorns.  He was brought back, and having become perfectly quiet, was thought to be well, and resumed his duties; but a short time after our return to Paris he had a new attack.  The character of his malady was exceedingly obscene; and he presented himself before the Empress Josephine in such a state of disorder, and with such indecent gestures, that it was necessary to take precautions in regard to him.  He was confided to the care of the wise Doctor Esquirol, who, in spite of his great skill, could not effect a cure.  I went to see him often.  He had no more violent attacks; but his brain was diseased, and though he heard and understood perfectly, his replies were those of a real madman.  He never lost his devotion to the Emperor, spoke of him incessantly, and imagined himself on duty near him.  One day he told me with a most mysterious air that he wished to confide to me a terrible secret, the plot of a conspiracy against his Majesty’s life, handing me at the same time a note for his Majesty, with a package of about twenty scraps of paper, which he had scribbled off himself, and thought were the details of the plot.  Another time he handed me, for the Emperor, a handful of little stones, which he called diamonds of great value.  “There is more than a million in what I hand you,” said he.  The Emperor, whom I told of my visits, was exceedingly touched by the continued monomania of this poor unfortunate, whose every thought, every act, related to his old master, and who died without regaining his reason.

On the 10th of May, at nine o’clock in the morning, the first line of defense of the Austrian capital was attacked and taken by Marshal Oudinot the faubourgs surrendering at discretion.  The Duke of Montebello then advanced on the esplanade at the head of his division; but the gates having been closed, the garrison poured a frightful discharge from the top of the ramparts, which fortunately however killed only a very small number.  The Duke of Montebello summoned the garrison to surrender the town, but the response of the Archduke Maximilian was that he would defend Vienna with his last breath; which reply was conveyed to the Emperor.