toys of every sort: there was a drum, mounted in silver, that Napoleon
had given him on his first birthday, before the ill-fated army started
for Russia; there was a top in an ivory frame, and a Polish lancer who
could move his legs; there was a wonderful pearl and enamel box, with a
locket inside, and out of the locket a bird jumped and sang. The King of
Rome cherished them all; but best he loved a woolly sheep with a velvet
collar and golden bells. He would play with this sheep for hours
together, pretending it was the lamb that the wicked wolf was trying to
catch, as told in his favourite story. When he went out, he had two real
white sheep to draw him, in a beautiful little carriage given him on his
birthday by his aunt, Caroline Murat, and in this he drove along the
riverside terrace of the Tuileries, dressed in white muslin and lace,
with the red ribbon of the Legion of Honour peeping out of the folds.
And the Parisians were always delighted to see him, and at the bidding
of his governess he smiled and waved his hand, for the Emperor was most
particular about his manners. He was also anxious that the child should
grow up as strong and hardy as he himself had done, so every day,
whatever the weather, the little prince drove out in his carriage, with
a merino pelisse over his muslin frock, and a pink or blue loose coat on
top. The Empress thought it a pity, and feared her son might catch cold,
but in this matter Napoleon had his way.
Long before this the château at Meudon had been prepared as a sort of
school for the Imperial children; if indeed the King of Rome should have
any brothers or sisters. It was a rest for Napoleon to turn from the
thoughts of war, and to plan every detail of the education that was to
be given to his son. He collected a library of 6,000 volumes, which it
would be years before the boy could read or understand. After the
fashion of the day he ordered a dinner-service to be made at the
manufactory at Sèvres, and each of the seventy plates contained a
lesson. Eleven of them were painted with scenes from Roman history,
thirty-two with famous victories of the French; while the rest were
covered with pictures of sun, moon, and stars, or birds, beasts, and
fishes. His rooms were hung with blue velvet, and the backs of the
chairs and sofas, as well as the walls, were covered with drawings of
the most celebrated Roman buildings. It was in the same spirit that
Madame de Genlis desired to teach Roman history to her two pupils, Louis
Philippe and his sister, only she wished to have the events woven into
tapestries, which would have taken even longer to make than the
dinner-set and have been still more costly.
So the little prince was sent, with his governesses and his nurses and
his own staff of servants, to Meudon, and Madame de Montesquiou wrote
constant reports of him to his parents at the Tuileries. At fourteen
months he had for dinner soup, beef, chicken, and pudding; at least
these things appeared on his table, though most likely he was not
allowed to eat them all. Directly the dinner was ready, the dishes were
placed in a large box, which was carefully locked by the head cook, who
gave it to a footman, and by him it was carried to the prince's
apartments, where the box was unlocked by Madame de Montesquiou with a
second key. These precautions dated back from many centuries, when
poison, or rather the fear of it, played so large a part in the life of
Courts. Certainly nobody wanted to poison the poor little King of Rome,
and if they had, they would hardly have liked to face the consequences!
Instead, he was adored by all his attendants, as a good-tempered,
healthy baby generally is. They loved to stand and peep through the
door, when 'Maman Quiou' was not looking, and watch him staggering and
tumbling about on the mattresses, three feet thick, that were spread in
his rooms, so that he might learn to walk without hurting himself; and
they would wait behind the curtains to see him start for his drive, with
his two white sheep beautifully combed and curled, the golden bells of
their collars tinkling as they went.
[Illustration: Napoleon shows the portrait to the Generals]
For some months the baby and his household remained at Meudon with his
governess, while the Emperor had begun the fatal war with Russia, and
the Empress was enjoying herself at Dresden with her father, Francis II.
Madame de Montesquiou writes her reports to the Emperor as usual, and no
matter how busy he is, he never fails to answer. Sometimes these letters
are accompanied by a bust or a miniature, and by-and-by Marie Louise
herself sends a full-length portrait of him by Gérard, which arrives on
September 6, 1812, the day of the battle of the Moskowa. For an instant
Russia ceases to exist for Napoleon: the world holds nothing but a
little boy in a white frock. 'Summon my generals,' he says, and they
come crowding into his tent, where the portrait of the King of Rome
stands upon a rough table. As they look the Emperor turns to them with a
wave of his hand. 'Gentlemen, if my son were fifteen years old instead
of eighteen months, it is not only in his portrait that he would be
present to-day.' Then, steadying his voice, which had trembled as he
spoke, he added, 'Take it away; it is too soon for him to look upon a
field of battle.'
It was on December 18 that the Emperor, ill and dejected, returned to
France, leaving the remnant of his army behind him, to struggle with the
horrors of the retreat. He knew too well that at the first sign of
weakness and defeat the hatreds that his despotism had sown all over
Europe would spring in scores from the earth, armed to the teeth, and
for the first time in his career the thought entered like iron into his
soul that the star in which he so firmly believed might be setting.
Could anything be done, he wondered, in case, in case—it was as well to
be prepared for everything. Yes, that was it! His son must be crowned
Emperor by Pope Pius the Seventh, who was still a prisoner at
Fontainebleau, and then, if abdication was forced upon himself, his
dynasty would still sit on the throne of France. But though the Pope did
not refuse when Napoleon arrived unexpectedly at Fontainebleau, and even
allowed the day for the ceremony to be fixed, he made various
difficulties, and in the end retracted altogether the consent which had
been unwillingly wrung from him.
While his father was thus mapping out his future career, the little
prince was living happily at St. Cloud with Madame de Montesquiou. In
April, just after he had passed his second birthday, a great event
happened—he put on his first pair of trousers, and though they were
only made of muslin, his nurses were as proud as if they had been a pair
of jack boots! Nobody, they said, and it was quite true, would have
taken him for less than three, or even four, but still it was strange
that so quick and lively a child should be so slow in talking.
'Maman Quiou' agreed with them. It was very strange, but perhaps he
needed a friend of his own age, to play and even quarrel with. So she
made inquiries among the prince's attendants and chose the son of a
Madame Froment, about a year older than the prince, a good-tempered and
well-behaved boy who knew nothing about rank, only that they were two
little boys together. What fun they had on their ponies, those two! and
though of course they never went out without grooms to lead them, they
both felt as great as ever Napoleon had done after Marengo or
Austerlitz! Did they not wear the uniforms of Mamelouks or Turkish
guards; and did not the people smile and bow as they passed, and the
children look after them with envy? In the company of little Froment the
King of Rome soon found his tongue, and when on Sundays ministers and
marshals flocked to pay their court, he was able to stammer a few polite
words taught him by his governess. On these occasions he was always
dressed in a smart uniform, which soon became his daily costume. He was
either a Lancer, or a Grenadier, or a National Guard, and every Sunday
he drove round the park and looked at the waterfalls which were always a
joy to him. Once, as a special favour, a girls' school was allowed to
stand in the hall of the palace and watch him go by! They gazed silent
and awe-stricken at the fortunate baby, but when they got out into the
air once more, they chattered like magpies about his golden hair and his
lovely clothes, and his pretty manners. 'Oh! how nice to be a king,'
they said.
Of course he was much too little to read any of the books his father
provided for him, but he soon learned to know his letters, and to point
out which was Cæsar and which Henri IV. Fairy tales were strictly
forbidden to him; they were 'useless,' his father said, and the boy who
had begun his life like a fairy prince ended it early in the grimmest of
realities.
At the moment that the King of Rome was born Napoleon's power was at its
height. One by one he had forced the nations of Europe to bow to his
yoke, or to accept his alliance, except England, which still defied him,
and Spain and Portugal that with her help were shaking themselves free
of the chains that bound them. But soon there were signs that the vast
Empire was about to crumble. Russia was the first to rebel, and the
campaign against her in 1812 was full of disasters. The people did not
hesitate to set fire to their beloved city of Moscow, rather than allow
it to fall into the hands of the invaders, and its stores were destroyed
and its fire engines broken. In November began the retreat amidst the
winter snows. Thousands of French soldiers died from cold and exposure,
while, to add to the horrors, the Russian army hung on the rear, and
harassed them at every step. At the news of each check to the French
arms the hearts of Napoleon's many enemies beat faster, and soon it grew
plain that he would have to fight not only Prussia and Russia, but his
present ally Austria, and England, Portugal, and Spain: and that on the
victory depended, not his supremacy in Europe, but his hold over France.
Still, he had faith in his star, and in his soldiers, and shut out all
doubts from his mind as he made his preparations.
It was on January 23, 1813, that, wearing the uniform of the National
Guard, the King of Rome was carried by Madame de Montesquiou into the
Salle des Maréchaux in the Tuileries, which was filled with the officers
of the regiment. The Emperor signed to the governess to put the child on
the ground, and, placing him by his side, advanced with the Empress into
the middle of the room. 'I am on the eve of starting to lead my army to
fresh victories,' he said, 'and I leave my wife and son to your care.
Will you defend them? Say! will you defend them? Can I trust you; will
you defend them?' A great shout answered him; then, snatching up the
boy, he carried him down to the Place du Carrousel where the privates
were assembled, crying, 'Long live the Emperor! Long live the King of
Rome!' The boy waved his hand and smiled, and Napoleon smiled also. 'He
knows you are my friends,' he said, and the shouts grew louder than
before.
All that year, while Napoleon was desperately fighting the allied army
in order to retain the Empire that was slipping from him, his son was
living quietly with 'Maman Quiou,' who did her best to train him for the
position she was beginning to doubt that he would ever occupy. In spite
of the care which she had exercised to treat him as an ordinary child,
and the blows that had been given and taken by little Froment, it had
naturally proved impossible to prevent foolish people from flattering
and indulging him. 'As papa is away I am master,' he once said, not
knowing that the 'master' was no longer himself or his father, but the
Allies, for Napoleon's star had set at last. He was beaten.
Marie Louise and her son were sent to Blois, where they remained for a
short time, the Empress, who was wholly Austrian at heart, nourishing
hopes of a kingdom to be created for her by her father, Francis II. In
vain did Méneval, the Secretary, and Madame de Montesquiou urge her to
join her husband at Fontainebleau, and stand by him when he signed, on
April 13, the act of abdication. To take her share in any trouble was
never the way of Marie Louise; but she seems to have been satisfied when
she learned that she was still to be called 'Empress,' and to have the
duchies of Parma, Piacenza, and Guastalla as her dowry. As for
accompanying Napoleon to the island of Elba, which had been chosen for
his prison, it never so much as occurred to her. The 'General,' as she
henceforth called him, had passed out of her life. Scraps of
conversation and anxious looks caused the little boy, 'King of Rome' no
more, but 'Prince of Parma,' to feel that something terrible was in the
air, something that had to do with himself and his father and mother,
and he soon found out what it was. 'Blücher is my enemy,' he said one
day to his governess, and on his way to Vienna he remarked to one of his
attendants, 'Louis XVIII. has taken papa's place, and has kept all my
toys, but he must be made to give them up,' while another time he added
sadly, 'I see that I am not a king any more, as I have no pages.'
It was at the château of Rambouillet, not far from Pau, that Marie
Louise met her father, whom she welcomed with pure delight, as if the
visit had been only one of pleasure. The arrangements for the journey to
Vienna were soon made, and her son's attendants chosen. They were to be
Madame de Montesquiou, who left her family behind so that the little
prince might not feel himself forsaken; Madame Soufflot, and her
daughter Fanny, a girl of fifteen, who, the boy thought, made a better
playfellow than his friend Froment, from whom he was now parted; Madame
Marchand, his nurse; and Gobereau, the valet, with his wife and little
son. Most of his possessions were, as he said, left behind for Louis
XVIII., but he was allowed to take with him to the country palace of
Schönbrunn the wonderful cradle given him by the City of Paris, and some
of his favourite toys, selected by himself. How hard it was to know what
to choose out of those multitudes of beautiful things. 'Oh! I can't
leave _that_! I must take _that_!' he would cry, as his nurses and
governesses pulled out one toy after another, and it was very difficult
to make him understand that he could not take them all. At length, after
many tears, a few were put aside: two wooden horses, a stable, a
grenadier, a hussar, a cow and a milkmaid, a Turk playing on a
mandoline, a grocer's shop—these and a few others were what he took
with him, but dearer than all were his little carriage drawn by the
sheep, and a hundred and fifty pebbles which he had collected himself.
He travelled in a carriage with Madame de Montesquiou, as his mother
soon grew tired of him, and much preferred the company of her
lady-in-waiting, Madame de Montebello. It was a long journey, and they
did not travel fast, so that it was the end of May before they reached
Schönbrunn. There the child began to feel as if he was a king again, so
warm was the welcome of the people, who were charmed with his fair hair
and merry smile. Indeed, though he did not forget his father, and often
asked about him, he was quite happy for a few months, surrounded by his
French friends who so dearly loved him. By this time he could read, and
every morning after he got up and had had some coffee and rolls, he
learned a little history and geography, with Gobereau, the valet's son,
as a companion in his studies. When these were finished, an Italian
master came and taught him the Italian names of the things in the room
and short sentences, and _he_ was followed by a German, whom the child
did not like as well. After the German took leave of him, his playtime
began, and he had great games at soldiers with himself and Fanny
Soufflot on one side, and his little uncle the Archduke Francis and
Gobereau on the other. From his earliest years war had been a passion
with him; guns never frightened him, and military music made him dance
with excitement. Little though he knew of his father—for his Austrian
tutors did not encourage conversation about Napoleon—he was at any rate
aware that he had been a great general, and the older the prince grew,
the more ardently he longed to tread in his footsteps. But the
Revolution, which had given Napoleon his chance, was past and gone,
though perhaps if the Eaglet (as the prince was called) had inherited
his father's genius, he would have made an opportunity for himself. But
he had not genius, only ambition; and the circumstances of his life were
against him.
One March morning the news flashed through Europe that Napoleon had
landed in France from Elba, and that with every fresh day many thousands
joined his standard. Not for one moment did Marie Louise think of
joining him, or of watching with any feeling but that of dismay the
struggle which was yet to come. Her child was hurriedly removed from
Schönbrunn into Vienna itself, so that he should run no risk of being
carried off by his father's friends. To make all safer, his grandfather,
Francis II., ordered Madame de Montesquiou to deliver the boy to him,
and to return at once to her own country, though as a matter of fact she
was kept in a sort of confinement till the battle of Waterloo had
decided the fate of Napoleon and his son.
Madame de Montesquiou heard the command with a feeling of despair. For
four years her life had been absorbed in that of the prince as it had
never been absorbed in that of her own children. From seven in the
morning, when he got up, to the time that he went to bed, he was
scarcely out of her presence for half an hour. During these four years
he had been of more importance to her than anything in the world, not
only from duty, but from love, and he knew it, and came to her for
everything. It would have been hard enough to have parted from him had
they still been in France—had Napoleon been there to watch over and
protect him—but it was a thousand times more bitter to leave him alone,
for he _was_ alone, though his mother and his grandfather were both in
Vienna.
Sorely though the boy wept at parting with 'Maman Quiou' there still
remained the Soufflots and Marchand, the nurse, to console him, and they
did their best. New games were invented for him and wonderful stories
were told him, and when he grew tired of them he would go to Méneval,
who knew all about soldiers, and could show him how they advanced to
cross a river or besiege a fort. But by-and-by there came about him a
strange lady whom he did not like, and who did not seem to like him
either. She gave orders to Madame Soufflot and to Fanny, who curtsied
and turned red, and said as little as possible; but though after she had
gone they went back to their games, they did not enjoy them as heartily
as before.
At last, one dreadful day, Méneval entered the room when the lady was
present, and, with a low bow, he informed 'his Imperial Highness the
Prince of Parma' that he was about to quit Vienna for France, and wished
to know whether he had any messages for his father. The prince, grown
dull and silent during the last few days, did not answer, but walked
slowly down to the furthest window and looked out. Méneval followed him
to take leave, when the child whispered quickly, 'Tell him that I always
love him, Monsieur Méva.'
He not only loved him, but thought about him, and listened eagerly to
what his elders might let fall, though, as long as he had his French
attendants with him, he rarely put any questions to his German tutors.
But soon he noticed that both Madame Soufflot and Fanny had red circles
round their eyes, and could hardly look at him without crying. The
prince did not need to be told the reason; by this time he understood
many things. As usual he said nothing, but went straight to his room and
brought out all his treasures, the treasures that had come with him from
France a year and a half before. There was his little gun, his Order of
the Legion of Honour, his soldiers, the veil that he had worn at his
christening, the medals that had been struck at his birth. 'Take them,'
he said to Fanny Soufflot; 'take them back to France.'
Now there was only Marchand left, in whose presence he had slept every
night since he was born. She was only a peasant woman, and surely could
not be suspected of plotting against the Austrian Court! No, but she
might talk to him of his father, and keep alive memories which were
better let die. She put him to bed one night as usual, in the spring of
1816, but in the morning there stood at his bedside, not Marchand, but
an Austrian officer. Once more the boy understood. He turned a shade
paler, but asked no questions, merely saying, 'Monsieur Foresti, I
should like to get up.'
It had not been without a struggle that the friends of Napoleon had
allowed his son to be set aside. An effort was made to proclaim him
Napoleon II. when his father, for the second time, abdicated the French
throne. But the attempt met with no response, and was, indeed, quite
ignored by the Chamber of Deputies. The only result to the prince was to
surround him more strictly than before with German tutors and
attendants, and to discourage him to speak in French. Henceforth he was
to be an Austrian, and an Austrian only, and as he was not yet five
years old the task did not seem difficult. They were soon undeceived;
the child did not talk much about his former life to these strangers,
but every now and then he would put inconvenient questions.
'Why was I called "King of Rome?"' he asked his tutor one day.
'Because at the time you were born your father ruled over many
countries,' was the reply.
'Did Rome belong to my father?'
'No; Rome belongs to the Pope.'
'Is not my father in India now?'
'Oh dear no, certainly not.'
'Then he is in America?'
'Why should he be in America?'
'Where _is_ he, then?'
'That I cannot tell you.'
'I heard someone say that he was in great misery.'
'Well, you must have known that that was not likely to be true.'
'No, I thought it couldn't be,' answered the boy, with a smile of
relief.
All his teachers found that he was quick at his lessons, when he chose
to take the trouble to learn them, which was not always, and, like many
other little boys, he would listen for hours to what was read to him,
though at first he was not fond of reading to himself. However, when he
was about six he suddenly changed in this respect, and was often found
poring over the Old Testament, delighting in the descriptions of the
wars with the Amalekites or the exploits of Samson. As for his
amusements, sometimes he acted in theatricals at the Court, and in spite
of his age was present at the State balls, where everyone was struck
with his grace, for, unlike his father, he always loved to dance. His
tutors were quite kind to him, and did their best to bring him up in a
way that was suitable to the grandson of the Emperor of Austria, but by
trying to make him forget the country of his birth they went the wrong
way to work. His recollections and feelings refused to be stifled; he
was alone, and knew he had no place in the world; he had not a title,
for the Congress of Vienna had deprived him of the succession to his
mother's three duchies, and now even his name was taken from him. He was
no longer 'Napoleon,' but 'Prince Francis Charles.' As his custom was,
he kept silence about it, but this hurt him more than all the rest.
After a time, however, Francis II., who was really fond of him, saw that
it was not for his own dignity to leave his grandson in this position,
and created him Duke of Reichstadt, with coat-of-arms, and lands, and a
palace at Vienna.
Early in the year 1821, when he was ten years old, the Duke of
Reichstadt began his studies in a public school, which were to end in a
commission in the Austrian army. In spite of all his teaching he does
not seem to have had a much greater talent for languages than his
father, whose dislike of Latin he shared cordially. Great pains had been
taken at first to force him to forget French, and to make him speak only
the tongues used in the Austrian Empire, which were German and Italian,
but as he grew older his lessons in French were begun again. After
eleven years of study he was unable to write an Italian letter without
mistakes, while his French compositions show that he thought in German,
and then translated his ideas, so that it did not seem like real French
at all. Like Napoleon, again, he was fond of mathematics and loved
history, but best of all his drill. However idle he might be in other
things, he worked hard at this, and how proud he was when he earned his
promotion as a sergeant, and was allowed to mount guard before the room
of his grandfather.