grievous it might be, glory had at least some
consolation to offer to the widow of the grand marshal. But when her
young daughter, sole heiress of a great name and an illustrious title,
was suddenly taken away by death from all the expectations and the
devotion of her mother, who could dare to offer her consolation? If
there could be any (which I do not believe), it would be found in the
remembrance of the cares and tenderness lavished on her to the last by
maternal love. Such recollections, in which bitterness is mingled with
sweetness, were not wanting to the duchess.

The religious ceremony of marriage between Louis and Hortense took place
Jan. 7, in a house in the Rue de la Victoire; and the marriage of General
Murat with Caroline Bonaparte, which had been acknowledged only before
the civil authorities, was consecrated on the same day. Both Louis and
his bride were very sad. She wept bitterly during the whole ceremony,
and her tears were not soon dried. She made no attempt to win the
affection of her husband; while he, on his side, was too proud and too
deeply wounded to pursue her with his wooing. The good Josephine did all
she could to reconcile them; for she must have felt that this union,
which had begun so badly, was her work, in which she had tried to combine
her own interest, or at least that which she considered such, and the
happiness of her daughter. But her efforts, as well as her advice and
her prayers, availed nothing; and I have many a time seen Hortense seek
the solitude of her own room, and the heart of a friend, there to pour
out her tears. Tears fell from her eyes sometimes even in the midst of
one of the First Consul's receptions, where we saw with sorrow this young
woman, brilliant and gay, who had so often gracefully done the honors on
such occasions and attended to all the details of its etiquette, retire
into a corner, or into the embrasure of a window, with one of her most
intimate friends, there to sadly make her the a confidante of her trials.
During this conversation, from which she rose with red and swollen eyes,
her husband remained thoughtful and taciturn at the opposite end of the
room. Her Majesty, the Queen of Holland, has been accused of many sins;
but everything said or written against this princess is marked by
shameful exaggeration. So high a fortune drew all eyes to her, and
excited bitter jealousy; and yet those who envied her would not have
failed to bemoan themselves, if they