He was fourteen, delicate and rather backward for his age, owing to
the inevitable drawbacks of his environment. Since the salvo of a
hundred-and-one guns announcing the birth of a Prince Imperial had
crashed from the battery of the Esplanade of the Invalides, to be
echoed from every fortress throughout the Empire; and bells had
pealed from every steeple, flags had broached from every staff-head,
and dusk-fall had seen every city, town, or village, ablaze with
illumination,--had he not been environed with precautions, lapped in
luxury? Where another baby would have slumbered in a wicker
bassinette, the child of France cried in a cradle of artistic
goldsmithery. And the three great official bodies of the State, the
Delegates from all the constituted Authorities paid homage. And they
enrolled him in the First Regiment of Grenadiers of the Imperial
Guard on the day of his birth, and pinned the Grand Cross of the
Legion of Honor on his bib when he was forty-eight hours old.
To gratify the paternal ambition of a father who had dreaded the
stigma of childlessness, this graft of his race was to be forced into
precocious maturity. You might have seen the little creature at six
months of age strapped in a cane chair-saddle upon the back of a
Shetland pony. At five he could ride a military charger. Dressed in
the white-faced blue uniform of the First Grenadiers of the Guard,
his tiny face hidden in a huge fur shako with a white plume and
_galons_ and a huge brass-eagled fore-plate, you saw him with the
Emperor at Imperial Reviews.
It is uncertain whether he was ever soothed to sleep with the French
equivalent of the rhyme of Baby Bunting, whether he ever learned of
the Archer who shot at a frog, or was thrilled by the adventures of
Jack the Giant Killer. We know that the Napoleonic tradition was his
ABC, the Third Empire his primer. At the time of the war with Italy,
he being then some three years of age, his utterances on the subject
were quoted in the daily papers as miracles of wisdom--marvels of
acumen. His seventh birthday had been celebrated by the production
of a Military Spectacle, in the course of which real cannon were
fired and real military evolutions performed upon the stage. His
great-uncle on a white horse, in the little cocked hat and gray
capote of History, was the hero, you may be sure; and three hundred
soldiers' sons of his own age filled the dress circle, stalls and
upper tiers. One likes the pretty story of the fair-haired child
going down among these little comrades to distribute smiles and
bonbons. One can understand the father's pride in the laborious
pot-hooks and hangers that compliment him upon the taking of
Mexico--word of ill omen in Imperialist ears!--and the scrawled
postscript that tells how his horse kicked at exercise that morning,
but that he sat tight and did not fall. It was not for a long, long
time to dawn upon the expanding mind behind the beautiful, bright
blue eyes, that the Throne Imperial of France was a saddle insecurely
girthed upon a kicking charger, and that the paternal horsemanship
had been, and frequently was severely taxed in the effort to stick on.
You may imagine the query, Why?--forming in the mind of seven years.
Perhaps you see him in his lace-collared, belted blouse and wide
Breton breeches of black velvet, scarlet silk stockings and buckled
shoes, curled up upon the blue-and-golden cushion of the gilded chair
of State upon the three-step daïs in the Throne Boom of the
Tuileries, where, while their Imperial Majesties dined, he loved to
play hide-and-seek with his tutor and an _aide-de-camp_ or so; and
wearied with play, conceive him dreaming under the gorgeous crimson
velvet canopy powdered with golden N's and symbolical bees, edged
with laurel leaves of beaten gold, and surmounted by a great golden
eagle, perched with outstretched wings upon a laurel Crown.
Under the brooding wings of the Eagle on the Crown this child of the
Empire wondered about many things.... Did any discovery connected
with the peculiar duties devolving upon the Cent Gardes and the
Tuileries Police ever make the bright young head toss restlessly on
its pillow of down? For he must one day have learned that noiseless
footsteps patroled the corridors, that observant eyes twinkled at
every keyhole--that sharp ears were listening at every chink for
suspicious sounds not only by night, for the terror that walketh in
the noonday is the peculiar bugbear of Emperors and Kings and
Presidents.
One may be very sure that long ere another seven years had browned
the fair hair, he was familiar with the fact that the guardian angels
of M. Hyrvoix and M. Legrange kept unsleeping watch over the personal
safety of his father, his mother, and himself. That officials,
functionaries, ladies of the Court, and lackeys, male and female,
were maintained under constant and vigilant surveillance. That there
were even Police to watch the Police who kept the Police under
observation. That precautions of a peculiarly special and delicate
nature were observed with regard to the food prepared in the Imperial
Kitchens and the wine that came from the Imperial Cellars, lest
deadly poison should be mingled therein by those who did not love the
name of Bonaparte.
He learned, next,--perhaps the knowledge floated in the air he
breathed like some strange pollen, or was realized from certain
experiences garnered during Imperial Progresses, Distributions of
Awards, Opening Ceremonies, and other public Functions,--that there
were many of these naughty people, who, while the soldiers and
certain of the townsfolk in the streets cried "_Vive l'Empereur!_"
"_Vive l'Impératrice!_" and "_Vive le Prince Impérial!_" remained
silent even though they uncovered, and a vast number who not only did
not cheer, but kept their hats on, and sometimes hissed. Following,
came the shocking discovery that there existed a party of extremists
who were not content with being rude and making ugly noises, but had
even tried--and tried more than once--to kill the Emperor....
"_To kill papa, who is so good to me! ..._"
In a glass case in the Empress's cabinet were preserved the crush-hat
and the cloak worn by the Emperor on the night of Orsini's attempt
outside the Opera, and damaged by a splinter from one of the
exploding bombs. Perhaps that glass case now yielded up its sinister
secret to the curious questionings of a child.
The discovery that this father, so indulgent, so tender, and so much
beloved, should be the object of such destroying hate as was
cherished by these nameless men was terrible. You may go farther
into the thing, and suppose its breaking in upon him presently that
many thousands of his father's subjects, not criminals or murderers,
but rather estimable persons than otherwise, thrilled with something
else than tenderness at the mention of the paternal name, and that
the Empire, which had hitherto signified for him the adamantine hub
on which rests the pivot of this spinning world of ours--was not as
solidly founded as his pedagogues had taught him. That the Army, the
Peasantry, certain of the Nobility--not of the Ancient Régime--and a
section of the Bourgeoisie supported it; but that by the educated
middle-class, and by the intellectual, professional and
working-classes it was held in abomination--execrated and detested;
hated with a bitterness that intensified from day to day.
The cat came out of the bag a full-grown tiger. Revelations,
discoveries, succeeded one another. Disillusions came crowding thick
and fast. When it was discovered that he was backward for his age,
and the question of a new private tutor was being discussed, he had
asked his Governor:
"Could I not go to a day-school like Corvisart and Fleury and the
Labédoyère boys?"
"Impossible, Monseigneur!" was the answer.
He urged:
"But, _mon cher Général_, you answer that to so many questions.
Pray, this time explain why?"
Horribly nonplussed, the military governor stammered:
"The heir to an Imperial Throne could not be sent twice daily to a
day-school. Not to be dreamed of! Such an innovation would be the
signal for fresh insults, provocation of new perils.... Never could
it be allowed!"
The boy's were rather dreamy eyes, under the silken plume of hair,
chestnut-brown like his beautiful mother's. They were proud eyes,
too, when they had flashed at the word "insult." And brave, for
mention of "perils" only made them smile. He said thoughtfully that
morning, leaning his elbow on an unfinished Latin exercise that lay
on the table in the window of his study at the Château of St. Cloud:
"An 'innovation' means something that is new. But Primoli and
Joachim Murat are being educated at a French College, and did not the
late King send his sons to be boarders at the Lycée Henri IV.? Could
not I be a boarder at the Lycée Napoléon, or the Lycée Bonaparte, M.
le Général?"
With labored clearness and a great deal of circumlocution, M. le
Général explained:
"The heir of a Democratic Empire, Monseigneur, and the sons of a
bourgeois Royalty cannot be regarded upon the same level, or educated
upon identical principles. But a plan has been devised for bringing
your Imperial Highness into actual touch with the life of a public
school...."
"How? Tell me quickly, M. le Général!"
The child's delicate face flushed bright red. His eyes shone. He
sat upright in his chair as though a vivifying breath had passed
through him, waiting the reply. It came....
"One of the Professors of the Elementary Class has been engaged to
take your Imperial Highness through the course prescribed for the
other pupils. He will attend daily here, or at the Tuileries."
The child said, with a catching of the breath that was almost a sob,
and a look of bitter disappointment:
"The boys.... Then I shall not know the boys?"
"No, Monseigneur, except by hearsay. The Professor will tell you
their names, ages, and--ah!--leading characteristics.... You will
learn with them, and every week you will write a composition with
them, recapitulating what you have learned. And that they will hear
of you goes without saying. Frequently, Monseigneur, but frequently!"
His pupil interrupted:
"They will hear of me, but what is that? They will never see me--I
shall never see them! Never join in their games--never be just
another boy with them! Never be friends or foes with them--never
beat them or be---- No! I should not like to be beaten at all!"