[4] Joseph has taken the title of Survilliers from a small village on
the estate of Morfontaine, which was once his property. Louis gets
that of St. Leu also from an estate. His wife, Hortense, is styled the
_Duchess_ of St. Leu, while he is called the Count. Lucien has been
created Prince of Canino, by the Pope; and his eldest son, Charles, has
obtained the title of Prince of Musignano, in the same manner. Jerome
has been created Prince of Montfort, by his brother-in-law, the King of
Bavaria. Joseph has no son, but two daughters,--the Princess Musignano,
and the Princess Charlotte, the widow of her cousin Napoleon, the
eldest son of Louis. Lucien has many children, by different wives.
Of these the writer has seen the Prince of Musignano, the Princess
Hercolani, the Princess Gabrielli, Lady Dudley Stuart, and Mrs.
Bonaparte Wyse. Jerome has several children,--one by Miss Patterson,
and the others by the Princess of Wurtemberg. The family is generally
distinguished for abilities. _Madame Mère_ was a slight attenuated old
lady, with the little remains of beauty, when seen by the writer, (the
winter of 1829-30,) except fine black eyes. It may be true that she
had the talents of the race; but, in several interviews, she did not
manifest it. A good mother, and, under her peculiar circumstances, an
energetic one, she certainly was; but, beyond this, it is probable her
reputation was factitious. She possessed a bust of her husband that
was strictly Bonapartean, not one of her sons bearing any material
resemblance to herself. In any ordinary situation she would have passed
for a respectable country lady,--one who came so lately into the great
world as not to have acquired its usages, or its appearance. Her French
was Italian, and her Italian far from good. She was quiet, simple, and
totally without pretension, however,--in short, _motherly_.
[5] On a particular occasion the writer was invited to take a seat
_with the critics_, in the Park Theatre. As an interlude, two dancers
exhibited, one in front of a large gilded frame that had gauze in
it, and the other behind it; the aim being to produce the effect of
reflection. Both backs and both faces being exhibited at the same
time; the writer, in his capacity of critic, felt himself bound to
hiss; whereupon he was himself incontinently hissed down. What! tell
a New York corps of critics, that a man looking into a glass did not
see the back of his own head! The writer merited his castigation, and
seizes this occasion to admit how far he was behind the Manhattanese
philosophy.