By the side of the King of Saxony was the King of Westphalia, Jerome Bonaparte, in a white satin tunic, and girdle ornamented with pearls and diamonds, which reached almost up to his arms.  His neck was bare and white, and he wore no whiskers and very little beard; a collar of magnificent lace fell over his shoulders; and a black velvet cap ornamented with white plumes, which was the most elegant in the assembly, completed this costume.  Next him was the King of Wurtemberg with his enormous stomach, which forced him to sit some distance from the table; and the King of Naples, in so magnificent a costume that it might almost be considered extravagant, covered with crosses and stars, who played with his fork, without eating or drinking.

On the right of the Empress was Madame Mere, the Queen of Westphalia, the Princess Borghese, and Queen Hortense, pale as the Empress, but rendered only more beautiful by her sadness, her face presenting a striking contrast on this occasion to that of the Princess Pauline, who never appeared in better spirits.  Princess Pauline wore an exceedingly handsome toilet; but this did not increase the charms of her person nearly so much as that worn by the Queen of Holland, which, though simple, was elegant and full of taste.

Next day a magnificent fete was held at the Hotel de Ville, where the Empress displayed her accustomed grace and kind consideration.  This was the last time she appeared on occasions of ceremony.

A few days after all these rejoicings, the Vice-king of Italy, Eugene de Beauharnais, arrived, and learned from the lips of the Empress herself the terrible measure which circumstances were about to render necessary.  This news overcame him:  agitated and despairing, he sought his Majesty; and, as if he could not believe what he had just heard asked the Emperor if it was true that a divorce was about to take place.  The Emperor made a sign in the affirmative, and, with deep grief depicted on his countenance, held out his hand to his adopted son.  “Sire, allow me to quit your service.”—­“What!”—­“Yes, Sire; the son of one who is no longer Empress cannot remain vice-king.  I wish to accompany my mother to her retreat, and console her.”—­“Do you wish to leave me, Eugene?  You?  Ah, you do not know how imperious are the reasons which force me to pursue such a course.  And if I obtain this son, the object of my most cherished wishes, this son who is so necessary to me, who will take my place with him when I shall be absent?  Who will be a father to him when I die?  Who will rear him, and who will make a man of him?” Tears filled the Emperor’s eyes as he pronounced these words; he again took Eugene’s hand, and drawing him to his arms, embraced him tenderly.  I did not hear the remainder of this interesting conversation.

At last the fatal day arrived; it was the 16th of December.  The Imperial family were assembled in ceremonial costume, when the Empress entered in a simple white dress, entirely devoid of ornament; she was pale, but calm, and leaned on the arm of Queen Hortense, who was equally as pale, and much more agitated than her august mother.  The Prince de Beauharnais stood beside the Emperor, and trembled so violently that it was thought he would fall every moment.  When the Empress entered, Count Regnaud de Saint-Jean d’Angely read the act of separation.