eighteen millions of livres, (750,0007.) a sum sufficient to palliate many faux pas, in the eyes of a husband more sensible and more delicate than her present Serene Idiot, as she styles the Prince of Borghese. This lady is the favourite sister of Napoleone, the ablest, but also the most wicked of the female Buonapartes. She has, almost from her infancy, passed through all the filth of prostitution, debauchery, and profligacy, before she attained her present elevation; rank, however, has not altered her morals, but only procured her the means of indulging in new excesses. Ever since the wedding night, the Prince of Borghese has been excluded from her bed; for she declared frankly to him, as well as to her brother, that she would never endure the approach of a man with a bad breath; though many, who, from the opportunities they have had of judging, certainly ought to know, pretend that her own breath is not the sweetest in the world. When her husband had marched towards the Rhine, she asked her brother, as a favour, to procure the Prince of Borghese, after an useless life, a glorious death. This curious demand of a wife was made in Madame Buonaparte's drawing-room, in the presence of fifty persons. "You are always etourdie," replied Napoleone, smiling. If Buonaparte, however, overlooks the intrigues of his sisters, he is not so easly pacified, when any reports reach him, inculpating the virtues of his sisters-in-law. Some gallants of Madame Joseph Buonaparte, have already disappeared to return no more, or are wandering in the wilds of Cayenne; but the Emperor is particularly attentive to every thing concerning the morality of Madame Louis, whose descendants are destined to continue the Buonaparte dynasty. Two officers, after being cashiered, were, with two of Madame Louis's maids, shut up last month in the Temple, and have not since been heard of, upon suspicion that the Princess preferred their society to that of her husband. Louis Buonaparte, whose constitution has been much impaired by his debaucheries, was last July advised by his physicians to use the baths at St. Amand. After his wife had accompanied him as far as Lille, she went to visit one of her friends, Madame Ney, the wife of general Ney, who commanded the camp near Montreuil. This lady resided in a castle called Leck, in, the vicinity, where dinners, concerts, balls, and other festivities, ། celebrated the arrival of the Princess; and to these the principal officers of the camp were invited. One morning, about an hour after the company had retired to bed, the whole castle was disturbed and alarmed by an uproar in the anti-room of Princess Louis's bed-chamber: on coming to the scene of riot, two officers were found there fighting, and the Princess Louis more than half undressed, came out and called the sentries on duty to separate the combatants, who were both wounded. This affair occasioned great scandal; and General Ney, after having put the officers under arrest, sent a courier to Napoleone at Boulogne, relating the particulars, and demanding his Majesty's orders. It was related and believed as a fact, that the quarrel originated about two of the maids of the Princess (whose virtue was never suspected) with whom the officers were intriguing. The Emperor ordered the culprits to be broken, and delivered up to his minister of police, who knew how to proceed. The Princess Louis also received an invitation to join her sister-in-law, Madame Murat, then in the camp at Boulogne, and to remain under her care until her husband's return from St. Amand. General Murat was then at Paris, and his lady was merely on a visit to her Imperial brother, who made her responsible for Madame Louis, whom he severely reprimanded for the misconduct of her maids. The bed-rooms of the two sisters were on the same floor; one night Princess Louis thought she heard the footsteps of a person on the stair-case, not like those of a female, and afterwards the door of Madame Murat's room opened softly. This occurrence deprived her of all desire to sleep; and curiosity or perhaps revenge excited her to remove her doubts concerning the virtue of her guardian. In about an hour afterwards, she stole into Madame Murat's bed-room, by the way of their sitting room, the door in the passage being bolted. Passing her hand over the pillow, she almost pricked herself with the strong beard of a man, and screaming out, awoke her sister, who inquired what she could want at such an unusual hour. "I believe," re、plied the Princess," my room is haunted, I have not shut my eyes, and intended to ask for a place by your side, but I find it is already engaged." "My maid always sleeps with me when my husband is absent," said Madame Murat. "It is very rude of your maid to go to bed with her mistress, without first shaving herself," said the Princess, and left the room. The next morn ing an explanation took place; the ladies understood each other, and each during the remaining part of her husband's absence, had for consolation, a maid for a bed fellow.-Madame Murat also convinced the Emperor that his suspicions with regard to the Princess Louis were totally unfounded; and he, with some precious presents, indemnified her for his harsh treatment. It is reported, that the two maids of Princess Louis, when before Fouche, first denied all acquaintance with the officers; but being threatened with tortures, they signed a proces verbal, acknowledging their guilt. This valuable and authentic document the minister sent by an extra courier to the Emperor, who showed it to his step-daughter. Her generosity is proverbial here, and therefore nobody is surprised that she has given a handsome sum of money to the parents of her maids, who had in vain applied to see their children; Fouche having told them affairs of state still required their confinement. One of them, Mariothe, has been in the service of the Princess ever since her marriage, and is known to possess all her confidence; though during that period of four years she has twice been in a state of pregnancy, through the condescending attentions of her princely master. LETTER LVII. MY LORD, Paris, September, 1805. WHEN preparations were made for the departure of our Army of England for Germany, it excited both laughter and murmuring among the troops. Those who always had regarded the conquest of England as impracticable in present circumstances, laughed; and those who had in their imagination shared the wealth of your country, showed themselves vexed at their disappointment. To keep them in good spirits, the company of the theatre of the Vaudevilles were ordered from hence to Boulogne, and several plays composed for the occasion were performed, in which the Germans were represented as defeated, and the English begging for peace on their knees, which the Emperor of the French grants, upon condition that one hundred guineas, ready money, should be paid to each of his soldiers and sailors. Every corps in its turn was admitted gratis, to witness this exhibition of the end of all their labours; and you can form no idea what effect it produced, though you are not a stranger to our fickle and inconsiderate character. Ballads, with the same predictions, and the same promises, were written, and distributed among the soldiers, and sung by women sent by Fouche to the coast. As all productions of this sort were, as usual, liberally rewarded by the Emperor, they poured in from all parts of his empire. Three poets and authors for the theatre of the Vaudevilles, Barre, Radet, and Desfontaines, received each two hundred Napoleone's d'ors, for their common production of a ballad, called "les adieux d'un Grenadier du Camp de Boulogne;" from this, I have extracted the following sample, by which you may judge of the remainder: Le tambour bat; il faut partir : Ailleurs on nous appelle : Une moisson nouvelle. Pour troubler l'Allemagne, Tant pis pour eux, tant mieux pour nous, La par ses exploits éclatans On connoît notre armée; Vont triompher d'emblée; C'est le pays ou les lauriers Sont en couple reglée. Adieu, mon cher petit jardin, Ma cabane jolie, Toi que j'ai planté de ma main, Et toi que j'ai batie ! Puisqu'il faut prendre mon mousquet, Et quitter ma chaumière, Je m'en vais planter le piquet Par de-la la frontiere. Adieu, poules, pigeons, lapins, Et ma chatte gentille, Toi mon chien, ne me quitte pas SANS ADIEU, peniches, bâteaux, THE GRENADIER'S ADIEU TO THE CAMP AT BOULOGNE. The drum is beating, we must march, Of war in Germany again The loss is theirs-the gain is ours March! march! commence the bright campaign. |