It was near two o’clock in the afternoon when she was thus shut up.  Remembering the recent flattery of her courtiers, and comparing it with the unfeeling treatment of her husband, she found herself so much the more unfortunate, as the expressions of the former were regarded by her as praise due to her merit, while the unkindness of the latter was unavailingly resented as the undeserved oppression of a capricious despot.

Business, or perhaps malice, made Napoleon forget to send her any dinner; and when, at eight o’clock, his brothers and sisters came, according to invitation, to take tea, he said coldly: 

“Apropos, I forgot it.  My wife has not dined yet; she is busy, I suppose, in her philosophical meditations in her study.”

Madame Louis Bonaparte, her daughter, flew directly towards the study, and her mother could scarcely, for her tears, inform her that—­she was a prisoner, and that her husband was her gaoler.

“Oh, Sire!” said Madame Louis, returning, “even this remarkable day is a day of mourning for my poor mother!”

“She deserves worse,” answered Napoleon, “but, for your sake, she shall be released; here is the key, let her out.”

Madame Napoleon was, however, not in a situation to wish to appear before her envious brothers and sisters-in-law.  Her eyes were so swollen with crying that she could hardly see; and her tears had stained those Imperial robes which the unthinking and inconsiderate no doubt believed a certain preservative against sorrow and affliction.  At nine o’clock, however, another aide-de-camp of her husband presented himself, and gave her the choice either to accompany him back to the study or to join the family party of the Bonapartes.

In deploring her mother’s situation, Madame Louis Bonaparte informed her former governess, Madame Cam—–­n, of these particulars, which I heard her relate at Madame de M——­r’s, almost verbatim as I report them to you.  Such, and other scenes, nearly of the same description, are neither rare nor singular, in the most singular Court that ever existed in civilized Europe.

LETTER VII.

Paris, August, 1805.

My lord:—­Though Government suffer a religious, or, rather, anti-religious liberty of the Press, the authors who libel or ridicule the Christian, particularly the Roman Catholic, religion, are excluded from all prospect of advancement, or if in place, are not trusted or liked.  Cardinal Caprara, the nuncio of the Pope, proposed last year, in a long memorial, the same severe restrictions on the discussions or publications in religious matters as were already ordered in those concerning politics.  But both Bonaparte and his Minister in the affairs of the Church, Portalis, refused the introduction of what they called a tyranny on the conscience.  Caprara then addressed himself to the ex-Bishop Talleyrand, who, on this occasion, was more explicit than he generally is.