ian
archduchess was woefully deficient. She was pious, and, as her letters
declare, had spent much of the previous winter in praying that
Providence would choose another consort for Napoleon. But with the
resignation of her faith, which some call fatalism, and with the
obedience which German life demands from all women, even those of the
highest station, she had accepted her destiny. These qualities,
combined with her capacity for motherhood, soon gained a courteous and
affectionate support from her husband, and together they defied both
irreconcilable royalists and radical republicans, who, in spite of
their ever-waning influence and ever-thinning ranks, still annoyed the
Emperor by significant whisperings and glances. Both were in despair
because the strongest indictment they had urged was now quashed. One
pretext of England, Napoleon declared, had been that he intended to
destroy the ancient dynasties of Europe. Circumstances having opened
the way to his choice of a consort, he had used the opportunity in
order to destroy the flimsy plea under which Great Britain had
disturbed the nations and had stirred up the strife which had
inundated Europe with blood. Metternich heard people wondering in
Vienna whether a new French dynasty was really to be established for
the peace and welfare of France, or whether the alliance was intended
to throw the strength of a hitherto implacable and courageous foe into
another Napoleonic combination for the conquest of Europe and the
world.

The solution of this enigma has never been found. There was at the
moment a lull in the storm; for a time it seemed as if it would
lengthen into a prolonged calm. During the ceremonies at the Louvre
the Austrian ambassador, who had taken to himself the credit of what
was passing, and had impressively accepted the congratulations
showered on him, caught up a wine-glass from the breakfast-table, and,
appearing at the window, announced in a loud voice that he drank to
the "King of Rome," a title reserved under the Holy Roman Empire for
the heir apparent. It was but a short time since Schwarzenberg's proud
master had renounced his proudest style, that of Roman emperor. The
crowd knew that the toast as now given was intended for Napoleon's
issue, and they burst into cheers at this new sign of Austrian amity.
The captive Spaniards at Valencay were not to be outdone. They chanted
a "Te Deum" in their chapel, and drank toasts to the health "of our
august s