aken me to the
truth of these precepts which my heart acknowledges, but also
confirm the resolution of applying them to practice!"

On the 2d of December, 1804, Napoleon placed the imperial crown upon
the head of Josephine, as she knelt before him on the platform of the
throne in the cathedral of Notre Dame. Her appearance at this moment
was most touching; tears of deep emotion fell from her eyes; she
remained for a space kneeling, with hands crossed upon her bosom,
then, slowly and gracefully rising, fixed upon her husband a look of
gratitude and tenderness. Napoleon returned the glance. It was a
silent but conscious interchange of the hopes, the promises, and the
memories, of years.

In the spring of the following year, at Milan, Josephine received from
her husband the crown of the ancient Lombard sovereigns. The
festivities which followed were interrupted by a summons to put down a
new combination against France. She resolved to accompany the emperor
on his return to Paris, though suffering most severely from the
rapidity of the journey. At each change of horses, it was necessary to
throw water on the smoking wheels; yet Napoleon kept calling from the
carriage, "On, on! We do not move!"

On his departure for the splendid campaign of Austerlitz, Josephine
was appointed regent of the empire. The victory, decisive of the fate
of Austria, was productive of renewed pleasure to the empress, by the
marriage of her Eugene with the princess royal of Bavaria. Joyfully
obeying the mandate which was to restore her for a time to the society
of those she loved, the empress left Paris for Munich, where the
marriage was celebrated. This union proved a most happy one; and the
domestic felicity of her son--now made viceroy of Italy--constituted,
both in her prosperous and adverse fortunes, a cause of rejoicing to
Josephine. Her daughter, Hortense, soon after became queen of Holland.
Could grandeur command or insure happiness, Josephine had subsequently
never known misfortune. Every wish, save one, was gratified. She found
herself on the most splendid of European thrones, beloved by the
wonderful man who had placed her there, adored by the French nation,
and respected even by enemies. Her children occupied stations second
only to herself, with the prospect, either directly or in their issue,
of succeeding to empire when death should relax the giant grasp which
now swayed the sceptre.

All these brilliant prospects were closed