Immediately everything was done to dazzle the imagination of the girl.  She had dressed always in the simplicity of the school-room.  Her only ornaments had been a few colored stones which she sometimes wore as a necklace or a bracelet.  Now the resources of all France were drawn upon.  Precious laces foamed about her.  Cascades of diamonds flashed before her eyes.  The costliest and most exquisite creations of the Parisian shops were spread around her to make up a trousseau fit for the princess who was soon to become the bride of the man who had mastered continental Europe.

The archives of Vienna were ransacked for musty documents which would show exactly what had been done for other Austrian princesses who had married rulers of France.  Everything was duplicated down to the last detail.  Ladies-in-waiting thronged about the young archduchess; and presently there came to her Queen Caroline of Naples, Napoleon’s sister, of whom Napoleon himself once said:  “She is the only man among my sisters, as Joseph is the only woman among my brothers.”  Caroline, by virtue of her rank as queen, could have free access to her husband’s future bride.  Also, there came presently Napoleon’s famous marshal, Berthier, Prince of Neuchatel, the chief of the Old Guard, who had just been created Prince of Wagram—­a title which, very naturally, he did not use in Austria.  He was to act as proxy for Napoleon in the preliminary marriage service at Vienna.

All was excitement.  Vienna had never been so gay.  Money was lavished under the direction of Caroline and Berthier.  There were illuminations and balls.  The young girl found herself the center of the world’s interest; and the excitement made her dizzy.  She could not but be flattered, and yet there were many hours when her heart misgave her.  More than once she was found in tears.  Her father, an affectionate though narrow soul, spent an entire day with her consoling and reassuring her.  One thought she always kept in mind—­what she had said to Metternich at the very first:  “I want only what my duty bids me want.”  At last came the official marriage, by proxy, in the presence of a splendid gathering.  The various documents were signed, the dowry was arranged for.  Gifts were scattered right and left.  At the opera there were gala performances.  Then Marie Louise bade her father a sad farewell.  Almost suffocated by sobs and with her eyes streaming with tears, she was led between two hedges of bayonets to her carriage, while cannon thundered and all the church-bells of Vienna rang a joyful peal.

She set out for France accompanied by a long train of carriages filled with noblemen and noblewomen, with ladies-in-waiting and scores of attendant menials.  The young bride—­the wife of a man whom she had never seen—­was almost dead with excitement and fatigue.  At a station in the outskirts of Vienna she scribbled a few lines to her father, which are a commentary upon her state of mind: