Rémusat was made Prefect of the Palace, in 1802.

These Memoirs are an exact record of the life of the author, as well as a survey of the first years of the nineteenth century. They show us what changes the establishment of the Empire effected at Court, and how life there constantly shifted to reflect the changing fortunes of its master. The figure of Napoleon stands out boldly, albeit sketched with an unsympathetic pen. The lady-in-waiting’s loyalty was entirely upon the side of her mistress in the latter’s struggle against the Bonaparte family; and when the downfall of Josephine occurred, Madame de Rémusat followed her into retirement. It was then that she took up her pen to write of historic people and affairs. Her first manuscripts, however, were destroyed, in 1815, the author fearing that they would compromise her family politically by their outspoken criticisms. Napoleon had escaped from Elba, and none could prophesy what a day might bring forth.

In 1818 she began the subject afresh, inspired, as she says, by her “love of truth,” and desiring to refute certain opinions advanced by Madame de Staël’s newly published “Considerations upon the French Revolution.” The circumstances of the renewed literary labour are set forth interestingly in Paul de Rémusat’s story. The Memoirs, he says, were to have been divided into five parts, treating of five distinct epochs. Only three were completed, treating of the important interval between the years 1802 and 1809. This manuscript left unfinished at Madame de Rémusat’s death, in 1821, awaited publication for sixty years, when the people and the events which it described so freely had long since passed away. It was not until 1881, that the grandson of the author gave them to the world. His reasons therefor and the story of the manuscript itself are an appetising foretaste of this work written by a person famed for her sincerity, clear vision, and “talent for being true.”

VOLUME I

VOLUME II

I

Y father bequeathed to me the manuscript of the memoirs of my grandmother, who was lady-in-waiting to the Empress Josephine, accompanied by an injunction that I should publish them. He regarded those memoirs as extremely important to the history of the first portion of the present century, and had frequently contemplated publishing them himself; but he was always hindered from doing so, either by his other duties, by his many labors, or by certain scruples. He deferred the moment at which the public was to be made acquainted with these valuable reminiscences of an epoch—recent, indeed, but respecting which the present generation is so ill informed—precisely because that epoch was recent, and many persons who had been involved in its important events were still living. Although the author of these memoirs can not be accused of intentional malice, she passes judgment upon persons and things very freely. A certain consideration, which is not always consonant with the verity of history, is due, not only to the living, but to the children of the dead; the years passed on, however, and the reasons for silence diminished with the lapse of time.

About 1848 my father would perhaps have allowed this manuscript to see the light; but the empire and the Emperor returned, and then the book might have been regarded either as a piece of flattery tendered to the son of Queen Hortense, who is very gently handled by the writer, or as a direct insult, on other points, to the dynasty. Circumstances had thus given a polemic character—an aspect of actuality, as the phrase goes—to a work which should be regarded as a candid and impartial history, the narrative of a remarkable woman, who relates with simple sincerity that which she witnessed at the court and during the reign of the Emperor, and who records her estimate of him as an individual. In any case, it is probable that the book would have been prosecuted, and its publication interdicted. I may add, lest any should consider these reasons insufficient, that my father, who was always willing that his politics, his opinions, and his personal conduct should be discussed by the critics and the press, who lived in the full glare of publicity, yet shrank with great reluctance from placing names which were dear to him before the public. That they should incur the slightest censure, that they should be uttered with any severity of tone, he dreaded extremely. He was timid when either his mother or his son was in question. His love for his mother had been the “grand passion” of his life. To her he ascribed all the happiness of his youth, every merit which he possessed, and all the success of every kind that had come to him throughout his whole existence. He derived from her his qualities alike of heart and mind; he was bound to her by the tie of close similarity of ideas, as well as by that of filial affection. Her memory, her letters, her thoughts occupied a place in his life which few suspected, for he seldom spoke of her, precisely because he was always thinking of her, and he would have feared imperfect sympathy from others in his admiration of her who was incomparable in his eyes. Who among us does not know what it is to be united by a passionate, almost fierce affection to one who is no more; ceaselessly to think of that beloved one, to question, to dream, to be always under the impression of the vanished presence—of the silent counsels; to feel that the life gone from us is mixed up with our own life, every day, not only on