LOUIS NAPOLEON AS A VENDER OF VIOLETS.
Gradually, the brilliancy of the sun that had so long dazzled the eyes
of all Europe began to wax pale, and the luminous star of Napoleon to
grow dim among the dark clouds that were gathering around him. Fortune
had accorded him all that it could bestow upon a mortal. It had laid all
the crowns of Europe at his feet, and made him master of all the
monarchies and peoples. Napoleon's antechamber in Erfurt and in Dresden
had been the rendezvous of the emperors, kings, and princes of Europe,
and England alone had never disguised its hostility beneath the mask of
friendship, and bent the knee to a hated and feared neighbor. Napoleon,
the master of Europe, whom emperors and kings gladly called "brother,"
could now proudly remember his past; he had now risen so high that he no
longer had cause to deny his humble origin; this very lowliness had now
become a new triumph of his grandeur.
On one occasion, during the congress at Erfurt, all the emperors, kings,
and princes, were assembled around Napoleon's table. He occupied the
seat between his enthusiastic friend the Emperor of Russia, and his
father-in-law, the Emperor of Austria. Opposite them sat the King of
Prussia, his ally, although Napoleon had deprived him of the Rhine
provinces; and the Kings of Bavaria and Würtemberg, to whom Napoleon had
given crowns, whose electorate and duchy he had converted into kingdoms,
and of whom the first had given his daughter in marriage to Napoleon's
adopted son, Eugene, and the second his daughter to Napoleon's brother
Jerome. There were, further, at the table, the King of Saxony and the
Grand-duke of Baden, to the latter of whom Napoleon had given the hand
of Josephine's niece, Stephanie de Beauharnais. All these were princes,
"by the grace of God," of brilliant and haughty dynasties; and in their
midst sat the son of the advocate of Corsica--he, the Emperor of
France--he, upon whom the gaze of all these emperors and kings was
fastened in admiration and respect. Napoleon's extraordinary memory had
just been the topic of conversation, and the emperor was about to
explain how he had brought it to such a state of perfection.
"While I was still a sub-lieutenant," began Napoleon, and instantly his
hearers let fall their gaze, and looked down in shame at their plates,
while a cloud of displeasure passed over the brow of the emperor of
Austria at this mention of the low origin of his son-in-law. Napoleon
observed this, and for an instant his eagle glance rested on the
embarrassed countenances that surrounded him; he then paused for a
moment. He began again, speaking with sharp emphasis: "When I still had
the honor of being a sub-lieutenant," said he, and the Emperor Alexander
of Russia, the only one of the princes who had remained unembarrassed,
laid his hand on the emperor's shoulder, smiled approvingly, and
listened with interest and pleasure to the emperor's narrative of the
time when he "still had the honor of being a sub-lieutenant[21]."
[Footnote 21: Bossuet, Mémoires, vol. V.]
Napoleon, as we have said, had already mounted so high that for him
there was no longer a summit to be attained, and now his heart's last
and dearest wish had been granted by destiny. His wife, Marie Louise,
had given birth to a son on the 20th of May, 1811, and the advent of the
little King of Rome had fulfilled the warmest desires of Napoleon and of
France. The emperor now had an heir; Napoleon's dynasty was assured.
Festivities were therefore held in honor of this event, in the
Tuileries, at the courts, of the Queen of Naples, of the Grand-duchess
de Guastalla, of all the dukes of the empire, and of the Queen
of Holland.
Hortense was ill and in pain; a nervous headache, that she had been
suffering from for some time, betrayed the secret of the pain and grief
she had so long concealed from observation. Her cheeks had grown pale,
and her eyes had lost their lustre. Her mother wept over her lost
happiness in Malmaison, and, when Hortense had wept with and consoled
her mother, she was compelled to dry her eyes and hasten to the
Tuileries, and appear, with a smiling countenance, before her who was
now her empress and her mother's happy rival.
But Hortense had accepted her destiny, and was determined to demean
herself as became her own and her mother's dignity. She endeavored to be
a true and sincere friend to the young empress, and fulfil the emperor's
wishes, and to give brilliant entertainments in honor of the King of
Rome, in spite of the pain it must cost her. "The emperor wills it, the
emperor requires it;" that was sufficient for all who were about him,
and it was sufficient for her. Her mother had gone because it was his
will, she had remained because it was his will, and she now gave these
entertainments for the same reason. But there was an element of sadness
and gloom even in these festivities of the carnival of 1813; the
presence of so many cripples and invalids recalled the memory of the
reverses of the past year. At the balls there was a great scarcity of
young men who could dance; incessant wars had made the youth of France
old before their time, and had converted vigorous men into cripples.
Her heart filled with dark forebodings, Hortense silently prepared
herself against the days of misfortune which she knew must inevitably
come. When these days should come, she wished to be ready to meet them
with a brave heart and a resolute soul, and she also endeavored to
impress on the minds of her two beloved sons the inconstancy of fortune,
in order that they might look misfortune boldly in the face. She had no
compassion with the tender youth of these boys, who were now eight and
six years old; no compassion, because she loved them too well not to
strive to prepare them for adversity.
One day the Duchess of Bassano gave a ball in honor of the queen, and
Hortense, although low-spirited and indisposed, summoned her resolution
to her aid, and arrayed herself for the occasion. Her blond hair, that
reached to her feet when unbound, was dressed in the ancient Greek
style, and adorned with a wreath of flowers, not natural flowers,
however, but consisting of Hortensias in diamonds. Her dress was of
pink-crape embroidered with Hortensias in silver. The hem of her dress
and its train was encircled with a garland of flowers composed of roses
and violets. A bouquet of Hortensias in diamonds glittered on her bosom,
and her necklace and bracelets consisted of little diamond Hortensias.
In this rich and tasteful attire, a present sent her by the Empress
Josephine the day before, Hortense entered the parlor where the ladies
and gentlemen of her court awaited her, brilliantly arrayed for
the occasion.
The parlor, filled with these ladies glittering with diamonds, and with
these cavaliers in their rich, gold-embroidered uniforms, presented a
brilliant spectacle. The queen's two sons, who came running into the
room at this moment to bid their "bonne petite maman" adieu, stood still
for an instant, dazzled by this magnificence, and then timidly
approached the mother who seemed to them a queen from the fairy-realm
floating in rosy clouds. The queen divined the thoughts of her boys,
whose countenances were for her an open book in which she read
every emotion.
She extended a hand to each of her children, and led them to a sofa, on
which she seated herself, taking the youngest, Louis Napoleon, who was
scarcely six years old, in her lap, while his elder brother, Napoleon
Louis, stood at her side, his curly head resting on Hortense's shoulder,
gazing tenderly into the pale, expressive face of his beautiful mother.
"I am very prettily dressed to-day, am I not, Napoleon?" said Hortense,
laying her little hand, that sparkled with diamonds, on the head of her
eldest son. "Would you like me less if I were poor, and wore no
diamonds, but merely a plain black dress? Would you love me less then?"
"No, _maman_!" exclaimed the boy, almost angrily, and little Louis
Napoleon, who sat in his mother's lap, repeated in his shrill little
voice: "No, _maman_!"
The queen smiled. "Diamonds and dress do not constitute happiness, and
we three would love each other just as much if we had no jewelry, and
were poor. But tell me, Napoleon, if you had nothing, and were entirely
alone in the world, what would you do for yourself?"
"I would become a soldier," cried Napoleon, with sparkling eyes, "and I
would fight so bravely that I should soon be made an officer."
"And you, Louis, what would you do to earn your daily bread?"
The little fellow had listened earnestly to his brother's words, and
seemed to be thinking over them still. Perhaps he felt that the knapsack
and musket were too heavy for his little shoulders, and that he was, as
yet, too weak to become a soldier.
"I," said he, after a pause, "I would sell bouquets of violets, like the
little boy who stands at the gates of the Tuileries, and from whom we
buy our flowers every day."
The ladies and cavaliers, who had listened to this curious conversation
in silence, now laughed loudly at this naive reply of the little prince.
"Do not laugh, ladies," said the queen, earnestly, as she now arose; "it
was no jest, but a lesson that I gave my children, who were so dazzled
by jewelry. It is the misfortune of princes that they believe that
everything is subject to them, that they are made of another stuff than
other men, and have no duties to perform. They know nothing of human
suffering and want, and do not believe that they can ever be affected by
anything of the kind. And this is why they are so astounded, and remain
so helpless, when the hand of misfortune does strike them. I wish to
preserve my sons from this[22]."
[Footnote 22: The queen's own words.]
She then stooped and kissed her boys, who, while she and her brilliant
suite were driving to the Tuileries, busied their little heads,
considering whether it was easier to earn one's bread as a soldier, or
by selling violets at the gates of the Tuileries, like the little
beggar-boy.