FAILURE OF EXPEDITIONS TO SPAIN, PORTUGAL, AND HOLLAND--
NAPOLEON’S WOOING OF, AND MARRIAGE WITH, MARIA LOUISA
--BIRTH OF THE KING OF ROME--NAPOLEON IN THE NURSERY.
In closing the record of this year, I cannot omit to mention the fact
of the failures of the expeditions to Spain, Portugal, and Holland. The
latter, or Walcheren expedition, as it was called, was just returning
in a woful plight, fever having thoroughly done its work among the
troops; and, in December, the City of London, through the Lord Mayor,
memorialised the King on the subject of this latter expedition, and
prayed ‘your Majesty will direct enquiry to be forthwith instituted, in
order to ascertain the causes which have occasioned it.’
‘To which Address and Petition his Majesty was graciously pleased to
return the following answer:--
‘“I thank you for your expressions of duty and attachment to me and to
my Family.
‘“The recent Expedition to the Scheldt was directed to several objects
of great importance in the interest of my Allies, and to the security
of my dominions.
‘“I regret that, of these objects, a part only has been accomplished.
I have not judged it necessary to direct any Military Inquiry into the
conduct of my Commanders by sea or land, in this conjoint service.
‘“It will be for my Parliament, in their wisdom, to ask for such
information, or to take such measures upon this subject as they shall
judge most conducive to the public good.”’
This was the Royal, or Ministerial, snubbing to those men who were then
giving of their blood, and treasure, without stint, and without grumble.
The ‘Times’ of December 21, 1809, is very wroth about it, and the
sturdy citizens answered it by having a Common Hall on January 9,
1810, at which it was resolved that instructions be given to the
representatives of the City, to move or support an address to his
Majesty, praying an inquiry into the cause of the failures of the late
expeditions to Spain, Portugal, and Holland; they also voted a similar
address themselves; and asserted a right to deliver their addresses or
petitions to the King upon his throne. But they got no redress.
The year 1810 is mostly noteworthy to the caricaturist by Napoleon’s
second marriage. On February 1, 1810, a grand council was called
together to help the Emperor in selecting another empress. But Napoleon
had not been wasting his time since his divorce from Josephine. He had
sent to the Emperor Alexander, proposing to marry his sister, the Grand
Duchess Anna Paulovna; but the Russian Emperor, although he professed
great friendship for Napoleon, hardly cared about a closer alliance
with him, and the proposal was declined.
The Council, in their wisdom, thought of an Austrian princess, and
a proposal was made to the Austrian ambassador for the hand of the
Arch-Duchess Maria Louisa, the result of which should have been, if
there is any truth in the old rhyme,
Happy’s the wooing
That’s not long a-doing,
the perfection of bliss to the principal parties concerned. It was all
settled in four-and-twenty hours, and Berthier, as Napoleon’s proxy,
married Maria Louisa at Vienna on March 11, and, two days afterwards,
she started on her journey to France.
We are indebted to Madame Junot for an insight into her innocent and
childlike character: ‘At length the day of departure arrived. The
young Empress bade farewell to all the members of her family, and then
retired to her apartment, where etiquette required that she should
wait till Berthier came to conduct her to her carriage. When Berthier
entered the cabinet, he found her bathed in tears. With a voice choked
with sobs, she apologised for appearing so childish: “But,” says she,
“my grief is excusable. See how I am surrounded here by a thousand
things that are dear to me. These are my sister’s drawings; that
tapestry was wrought by my mother; those paintings are by my uncle
Charles.” In this manner she went through the inventory of her cabinet,
and there was scarcely a thing, down to the carpet on the floor, which
was not the work of some beloved hand.
‘There were her singing birds, her parrot, and, above all, the object
which she seemed to value most, and most to regret--a little dog. It
was of course known at the Court of Vienna how greatly the Emperor
used to be annoyed by Josephine’s favourite pet dogs, with _Fortuné_
at their head. Therefore, Francis II., like a prudent father, took
care that his daughter should leave her pet dog at Vienna. Yet it was
a cruel separation, and the princess and her favourite parted with a
tender _duo_ of complaint.’
But the surprises in store for her on her journey soon made her forget
her dog and parrot. She was met at Braunau by Caroline Bonaparte, Queen
of Naples, and sister of the Emperor. At this place, on the frontier of
Austria and Bavaria (the latter of which was then part of the French
empire), a wooden building had been erected for the use of the French
and Austrian suites. Napoleon could play many parts, and he played the
_rôle_ of devoted lover to perfection. At Munich an officer met the new
Empress with a letter from her husband. At Strasburg a page was waiting
for her with another letter, some choice flowers, and some pheasants
shot by the imperial gun; and every morning brought a page with a
letter, which the young bride immediately answered.
Every detail of her progress had been settled with rigid ceremonial,
and at one place (Compiègne) it was appointed that he was to meet her,
when ‘the Empress should prepare to kneel, and the Emperor should raise
her, embrace, and seat her beside him.’ But the imperial bridegroom
was far too impatient for that. Accompanied by the King of Naples
(Murat), he left the palace privately, and pushed on to the village of
Courcelles, where he anxiously awaited her arrival. When the carriage
stopped, he ran towards it, opened the door himself, and jumped in
without any announcement, the bride being only advised of his advent a
moment before by the startled exclamation of the Queen of Spain: ‘It is
the Emperor!’
Two days afterwards they made their state entry into Paris, where
Napoleon, from a balcony at the Tuileries, presented his young bride to
the assembled multitude.
Once more to quote Madame Junot: ‘On returning from the balcony, he
said to her, “Well, Louise, I must give you some little reward for the
happiness you have conferred on me,” and, leading her into one of the
narrow corridors of the palace, lighted only by one lamp, he hurried on
with his beloved Empress, who exclaimed, “Where are we going?”--“Come,
Louise, are you afraid to follow me?” replied the Emperor, who now
pressed to his bosom, with much affectionate tenderness, his young
bride.
‘Suddenly they stopped at a closed door, within which they heard a
dog that was endeavouring to escape from the apparent prison. The
Emperor opened this private door, and desired Louise to enter. She
found herself in a room magnificently lighted; the glare of the lamps
prevented her for some moments from distinguishing any object. Imagine
her surprise when she found her favourite dog from Vienna was there to
greet her; the apartment was furnished with the same chairs, carpet,
the paintings of her sisters, her birds--in short, every object was
there, and placed in the same manner as she had left them on quitting
her paternal roof.
‘The Empress, in joy and gratitude, threw herself in Napoleon’s arms,
and the moment of a great victory would not have been to the conqueror
of the world so sweet as this instant of ecstasy was to the infatuated
heart of the adoring bridegroom. After a few minutes had been spent in
examining the apartment, the Emperor opened a small door; he beckoned
to Berthier, who entered. Napoleon then said, “Louise, it is to him you
are indebted for this unexpected joy: I desire you will embrace him,
as a just recompense.” Berthier took the hand of the Empress; but the
Emperor added, “No, no, you must kiss my old and faithful friend.”’
The civil marriage was celebrated on April 1 at St. Cloud, and the
religious marriage on the 2nd in the Chapel of the Louvre; Napoleon’s
uncle, Cardinal Fesch, officiating.
We have just read the real story of the wooing and home-coming; I will
not spoil it by repeating the caricaturist’s version, quoting only a
few lines:--
Louisa off for Paris set,
And by her anxious swain was met.
To see the lady, what a throng!
The road with flow’rs they strew’d along.
No sooner Nap beheld her charms
Than round the maid he threw his arms,
And gave her a true lover’s kiss,
As prelude to his greater bliss.
* * * * *
Oh what rejoicings and what fêtes!
What hurly-burly in the streets!
The marriage, as it was advised,
Now publicly was solemnized;
The first of April, as they say,
Was chosen for the happy day,
When children, in and out of school,
Are trying to make each a fool.
[Illustration: FIRST INTERVIEW WITH MARIA LOUISA.]
This year is so unproductive of Napoleonic caricatures, that I can only
find one worth mentioning, and this is apropos of the marriage: it is
called ‘Three Weeks after Marriage, or the Great little Emperor playing
at Bo-peep,’ and is by Rowlandson (May 15, 1810). It shows the conjugal
relations of Napoleon and his Empress, as they were supposed to be. She
is in a violent rage, and, having knocked down Talleyrand, she hits him
over the head with a sceptre; he, meanwhile, making moan: ‘Begar she
will give us all de finishing stroke. I shall never rise again.’ She
has plucked off her crown, and is about to throw it at the Emperor, who
dodges behind an armchair, calling out, ‘Oh Tally, Tally, rise and
rally.’ She fiercely declaims, ‘By the head of Jove, I hate him worse
than Famine or Disease. Perish his Family; let inveterate Hate commence
between our Houses from this Moment, and, meeting, never let them
bloodless part.’ Somebody, probably one of the marshals, has got behind
the curtains for safety, calling out, ‘Marblue. Vat a _Crown Cracker_
she be.’
At the time of the marriage the English newspapers were much taken up
with Sir Francis Burdett, and consequently Napoleon’s marriage did not
receive the attention it otherwise might have claimed. In a notice of
the religious ceremony, however, the ‘Times’ breaks out with a little
bit of spite, ‘The Imperial Ruffian, and his spouse, again knelt at the
“_Ite, missa est_.”’
The only other great event during this year, connected with Napoleon,
was the abdication of the crown of Holland by his brother Louis, and
the absorption of his kingdom into the French empire.
The birth of the King of Rome (on March 20, 1811) at last gave Napoleon
the hope of founding a dynasty. He was very anxious about the welfare
of Maria Louisa, hardly bestowing a thought upon his son, until assured
of her safety.
‘As[21] soon as the King of Rome was born, the event was announced by
telegraph to all the principal towns of the empire. At four o’clock
the same afternoon, the marks of rejoicing in the provinces equalled
those in Paris. The Emperor’s couriers, pages, and officers, were
despatched to the different foreign Courts, with intelligence of the
happy event. The Senate of Italy, and the municipal bodies of Rome and
Milan, had immediate notice of it. The different fortresses received
orders to fire salutes; the seaports were enlivened by the display
of colours from the vessels; and everywhere the people voluntarily
illuminated their houses. Those who regard these popular demonstrations
as expressions of the secret sentiments of a people might have remarked
that in all the faubourgs, as well as the lowest and poorest quarters
of Paris, the houses were illuminated to the very uttermost stories.
A fête was got up on the occasion by the watermen of the Seine, which
was prolonged until a late hour of the night. Much of all this was not
ordered: it came spontaneously from the hearts of the people. That same
people, who, for thirty-five years previously, had experienced so many
emotions, had wept over so many reverses, and had rejoiced for so many
victories, still showed, by their enthusiasm on this occasion, that
they retained affections as warm and vivid as in the morning of their
greatness.
‘The King of Rome was baptized on the very day of his birth (March
20, 1811). The ceremony was performed, at nine in the evening, in the
chapel of the Tuileries. The whole of the imperial family attended, and
the Emperor witnessed the ceremony with the deepest emotion. Napoleon
proceeded to the chapel, followed by the members of the household,
those of the Empress, of Madame Mère, the princesses, his sisters, and
of the kings, his brothers. He took his station under a canopy in the
centre of the chapel, having before him a stool to kneel on. A socle
of granite had been placed on a carpet of white velvet embroidered
with gold bees, and on the socle stood a gold vase destined for the
baptismal font. When the Emperor approached the font bearing the King
of Rome in his arms, the most profound silence pervaded. It was a
religious silence, unaccompanied by the parade which might have been
expected on such an occasion. This stillness formed a striking contrast
with the joyous acclamations of the people outside.’
The news was announced to the British public in the ‘Times’ of March
25; and in the ‘Morning Herald’ of March 26 is an amusing
IMPROMPTU
_On the French General_ Victor’s _Defeat before_ Cadiz.
His VICTOR _vanquish’d_, and his Eagle taken,
BONEY will stay at home to save his bacon;
Sip Caudle with his wife, and for young _Nap_,
Make with parental daddle, sugar’d pap;
Content to see the Nurs’ry colours fly,
By holding out his bantling’s clouts to dry.
Rowlandson caricatures the birth of the King of Rome (April 9, 1811)
in ‘Boney the Second, or the little Babboon created to devour French
Monkies.’ The young Napoleon, naked, with the exception of a cocked
hat, but with the cloven hoofs, and tail, of a devil, is being
presented on a cushion to his father by a very buxom nurse. The cushion
rests on a cradle, on which is inscribed ‘Devil’s Darling.’ Napoleon
is looking after the nursery arrangements, and is cooking a caudle of
‘French blood,’ which is to be drunk out of a ‘Bitter Cup.’ He turns
his face towards his little son, and exclaims: ‘Rejoice O ye Frenchmen,
the Fruits of my Labour has produced a little image of myself. I shall,
for the love I owe to your country, instill in my Noble Offspring the
same principles of Lying, Thieving, Treachery, Letchery, Murder, and
all other foul deeds for which I am now worshipped and adored.’ The
Pope is on his knees pronouncing a benediction, which, however, is of
rather doubtful character.
The Owl shrieked at thy Birth, an evil Sight,[22]
The Night Crow cry’d foreboding luckless time,
Dogs howl’d, and hideous Tempests shook down Trees,
The Raven rook’d her on the Chimney Top,
And Chattering Pies in dismal discord sung.
Napoleon was very fond of his little boy, and the caricaturist
represents him in the nursery, thus--
[Illustration]
But in his babe he found relief,
This was a cure for all his grief,
For his delightful dulcet squall
Wou’d not allow a tear to fall.
What wondrous splendor was devised
When the dear Infant was baptized;
For Emperors, Kings, Queens, and Dukes
Assembled with their smiling looks,
Bestowing their congratulations,
And making curious observations.
With curiosity they eyed
The King of Rome--the father’s pride,
And some old gossips cried ‘Oh la!
How he resembles his papa.’
Madame Junot gives some interesting details of Napoleon as a
father:--‘On my return to France, I found the Emperor much altered
in appearance. His features had acquired a paternal character. What
a beautiful child was the young King of Rome! How lovely he appeared
as he rode through the gardens of the Tuileries in his shell-shaped
_calèche_, drawn by two young deer, which had been trained by Franconi,
and which were given him by his aunt, the Queen of Naples. He resembled
one of those figures of Cupid which have been discovered in the ruins
of Herculaneum. One day I had been visiting the young King, the Emperor
was also there, and he was playing with the child--as he always played
with those he loved--that is to say, he was tormenting him. The Emperor
had been riding, and held in his hand a whip, which attracted the
child’s notice. He stretched out his little hand, and when he seized
the whip, burst into a fit of laughter, at the same time embracing
his father. “Is he not a fine boy, Madame Junot?” said the Emperor;
“you must confess that he is.” I could say so without flattery, for
he certainly was a lovely boy. “You were not at Paris,” continued the
Emperor, “when my son was born. It was on that day I learned how much
the Parisians love me.... What did the army say on the birth of the
child?” I told him the soldiers were enthusiastic during many days; he
had already heard so, but was happy to receive a confirmation of their
joy. He then pinched his son’s cheek and his nose; the child cried.
“Come, come, sir,” said the Emperor, “do you suppose you are never to
be thwarted, and do kings cry?”... He used to take the King of Rome
in his arms, and toss him up in the air. The child would then laugh,
until the tears stood in his eyes. Sometimes the Emperor would take him
before a looking-glass, and work his face into all sorts of grimaces;
and, if the child was frightened and shed tears, Napoleon would say:
“What, Sire, do you cry? A King, and cry? Shame, Shame!”
‘The hours at which the young King was taken to the Emperor were not
precisely fixed, nor could they be, but his visits were most frequently
at the time of _déjeûner_. On these occasions the Emperor would give
the child a little claret, by dipping his finger in the glass, and
making him suck it. Sometimes he would daub the young Prince’s face
with gravy. The child would laugh heartily at seeing his father as much
a child as he was himself, and only loved him the more for it. Children
invariably love those who play with them. I recollect that once when
Napoleon had daubed the young King’s face, the child was highly amused,
and asked the Emperor to do the same to _Maman Quiou_, for so he called
his governess, Madame de Montesquiou.’
Rowlandson’s idea of the royal infant is given in a caricature
(published April 14, 1811) called, ‘Nursing the Spawn of a Tyrant,
or Frenchmen Sick of the Brood.’[23] Maria Louisa is aghast at her
offspring, who, screaming, threatens her with a dagger. She thus pours
out her woes: ‘There’s no condition sure, so curst as mine! Day and
night to dandle such a dragon--the little angry cur snarls while it
feeds; see how the blood is settled in its scarecrow face; what brutal
mischief sits upon his brow. Rage and vengeance sparkle in his cheeks;
the very spawn and spit of its tyrant father. Nay, now I look again, he
is the very picture of his grandfather, _the Devil_!’ This must have
been pleasant for Napoleon to hear, which he evidently does, as he is
but partially concealed behind a curtain.
Some one (name unknown, August 20, 1811) has given us, ‘The Deputeys
apointed by the Legislative Body, doing Homage to the King of Rome in
the Nursery at St. Cloud.’ His _gouvernante_, Madame de Montesquiou,
presents him to the Deputies, who kneel and kiss him, saying: ‘Madam
Governess--not one of us can behold without a most lively interest,
that August Infant--on whom rest so many Destinies, and whose Age and
Charming Qualities inspire the most tender sentiments in the French
and surrounding Nations.’ The lady replies: ‘Monsieurs--I thank you
for the polite and flattering encomiums you are pleased to bestow on
me--I thank you in the name of the young prince, whose Charms are
inexpressible, and regret that he cannot add his personal sentiments to
those which I entertain, to the Legislative Body.’ In another portion
of the picture the foul linen of the precious child is being washed and
hung to dry.
[Illustration: NURSING THE SPAWN OF A TYRANT, OR FRENCHMEN SICK OF THE
BROOD.]