A HORSE TAMER
One morning, not long after the ball, Betsy took a slight revenge on the
Emperor. She had a certain favor to ask of him, and she had gone to look
for him in his favorite retreat in his garden, the Grapery, near a large
pond of clear water, full of gold and silver fish. Though called a
grapery, vines of many different kinds twined over the trellis-work,
while the grapevines were chiefly over an arbor at the end.
In the sultriest weather this little arbor was cool and pleasant, and
here Napoleon was in the habit of taking his books and papers when he
wished to work out of doors.
He had no regular hour for rising, and sometimes he would go there as
early as four o'clock and write until breakfast, or dictate to Las
Cases. No one was permitted to intrude on him there, no one but Betsy
occasionally, and then it could hardly be called intruding, for she
usually went at the Emperor's request, or, as it might be said, she had
a general invitation. When Betsy said, "Come and unlock the garden
door," Napoleon stopped, even in the middle of the sentence he might be
dictating, and she was always admitted. This general invitation,
however, might have been withdrawn if Betsy had not been too sensible to
interrupt the Emperor often. She was careful not to abuse what was for
her a special privilege.
On this particular morning she went to the arbor door with some
hesitation. One of her friends from the valley, a very charming girl,
had come to pass the morning with her.
"Now, Betsy," she had said, "I hear that you are a great favorite with
Napoleon and you must introduce me, for I am just dying to see him."
"I do not think I can," replied Betsy. "It is a very hot morning and I
saw him go early to the arbor. I do not like to disturb him when he is
busy."
"Busy! How can a prisoner be busy? It cannot matter whether he is idle
or busy."
"He is not a prisoner, at least we don't call him so," retorted Betsy
indignantly, "and he is writing books."
"Oh, I suppose you know best, but if you cannot be obliging, I shall be
mortified when I go home to say that I did not see him. I heard you knew
him so well, that I supposed you wouldn't mind introducing me."
Thus put on her mettle, Betsy yielded against her better judgment and
went down to the arbor.
At first there was no answer to her knock. Napoleon had fallen asleep
over his papers. At last she succeeded in arousing him. "What do you
want?" he asked rather gruffly as he came to the little door.
"Let me in, and you will know."
"No, tell me first what you want and then I will let you in."
Betsy was not so sure of this, but since she could not help it, she had
to explain her errand.
"I wish to introduce a young lady to you."
"Oh, no, indeed; I am not well."
"But she will be so disappointed,--and she is so pretty."
"Not like the lady I was obliged to say agreeable things to yesterday?"
"Oh, no, she is very different. She is really young and handsome."
"Very well, then, since you have promised, I suppose I must go, but come
in for a minute,"--this not very politely, it must be admitted. As Betsy
entered the little enclosure she rushed to the table and rather rudely
snatched up some of the papers on which Napoleon had been at work.
"Now," she said, "for your ill-nature in making me stand so long at the
door, I shall keep these and find out all your secrets."
The Emperor looked at Betsy with some alarm. He did not like to see his
papers in her hands.
"Put them down instantly," he cried.
"No, no," rejoined Betsy, running around the garden with the papers held
high above her head. The Emperor looked at her sternly.
"Very well! Unless you obey me at once, I shall no longer be your
friend."
[Illustration]
Hardly ever before had Betsy heard Napoleon speak so severely. She saw
that he was in earnest and that she must obey. She saw, too, that she
was in danger of losing his regard, and even without looking far ahead
she realized that he might not go to her friend, if her own foolishness
continued longer. So, giving up her trophies, she seized the Emperor's
hand and led him to the house.
Now that he had yielded to Betsy's wishes, Napoleon was most courteous
to her guest. He talked graciously to the young lady, complimented her
on her beauty, and when she was ready to go home helped her on her
horse.
"She is a very pretty girl," he said later to Betsy, "but she has the
airs of a _marchande de modes_."
In thus intruding on Napoleon in his arbor study, Betsy had shown a
rashness that no one else in the family would have ventured to imitate.
One day, however, Betsy aided an intruder, whose behavior the Emperor
could not resent although he was disturbed by it.
It happened in this way. One morning while Napoleon was busy in his
outdoor study making notes, Betsy was romping about in the garden near
by.
"Come, Tom Pipes!" she called loudly; and a second later a beautiful
Newfoundland dog rushed to her side. Tom Pipes belonged to Sir George
Cockburn, the Admiral, and was well known to every one at The Briars, as
he was in the habit of accompanying his master on his occasional visits
to Mr. Balcombe's house. After his long run up the mountainous road
under the hot sun, Tom Pipes was always delighted to reach The Briars,
for the place had many ponds and little streams, into which the
intelligent dog would plunge for a swim.
On this particular day, Tom needed no second word from Betsy to make him
accept her invitation to take a dip in the pond, stocked with gold and
silver fish, that was near Napoleon's arbor. The dog bathed and swam and
amused himself in the water, and at last clambered up the bank. A moment
later, as if tired from his exertions, he lay down by Napoleon's side.
Napoleon, like every one else at The Briars, knew and admired the dog,
and if he noticed Tom Pipes's approach had no objection to it. He was so
absorbed in his work, however, that he probably was hardly aware of the
nearness of the creature. After a few minutes' rest, Tom Pipes realized
that he had not completed his toilet. So, rising to his feet, he began
to shake himself vigorously. Instantly a shower of water bespattered
Napoleon's face and clothing, and drenched the papers on the table. The
sheet on which he was writing was entirely spoiled, and he himself
looked rather ridiculous, as he tried to brush off the drops of water.
In spite of his annoyance, Napoleon could not help laughing, for
although he scolded and did his best to drive Tom Pipes away, the dog
could not understand him. The two had been shipmates on the
_Northumberland_, and the dog was so delighted to see Napoleon again
that instead of running away, he kept jumping on him, leaving on the
Emperor's clothing repeated imprints of his wet and muddy paws.
While all this was happening, Betsy, looking on, was convulsed with
laughter. She had not had this particular ending in mind when she had
called Tom Pipes to play with her, but no deliberate practical joke of
hers had ever been more amusing to her; and the best part of it was that
the Emperor could not really blame her nor punish Tom Pipes.
Very often, however, it was not Betsy who got the best of a practical
joke. Not infrequently she lost her temper over little things that were
not worth minding, and Napoleon, to whom she was a constant source of
amusement, could not forbear teasing her, just to see how she would take
his fun. One day, looking over Betsy's shoulder, Napoleon discovered
that her translation was not finished. Her father required this bit of
work from her every day, and now Napoleon saw a way to pay her back in
some of her own coin.
Taking the paper from Betsy, and holding it aloft, the Emperor
approached Mr. Balcombe, who was now mounting his horse for a ride.
"Balcombe," he cried, "_voila le theme de Mdlle. Betsee. Qu'elle a bien
travaille!_" he concluded sarcastically.
Betsy's father looked at the sheet of paper which was quite blank, and,
entering into the spirit of the thing with Napoleon, he professed to be
very angry. Calling Betsy to him, he reproved her severely.
"If your translation is not ready when I return home to dinner, I will
punish you severely." Mortified by this reproof, Betsy cherished plans
of retaliation against the Emperor, which she carried out when she
pinioned him in the corner with her sword.
Yet after all she deserved the reproof, since her father had made a
rigid rule that his daughters should have a translation from English
into French ready every morning before the hour when Napoleon visited
The Briars. He rightly considered it a great privilege for the young
girls that the great man should be willing to look at their French
themes, with a view to improving their use of his language.
One morning the sisters observed Archambaud, Napoleon's groom, leading a
beautiful horse in front of the house.
"That is the Arab they have bought for him to ride."
"I shouldn't think he'd care to ride that horse," responded the timid
Jane. "See how he rears and plunges."
"He's afraid of that white cloth on the lawn."
"Yes, but they've put it there on purpose, to break him of the habit of
shying."
While they were speaking, Napoleon approached.
"Sir," said the confident Betsy, "I don't believe you can ride that
horse."
"I! Don't you think me a good rider?"
"Yes; I think you look better on horseback than any one I have ever
seen."
"Only _look_!" Napoleon was trying to draw her out.
"But you really ride better than anyone else, as I told you the other
day when you rode around the lawn. I didn't suppose any one could make a
horse wheel in such a narrow circle."
"Yet you think this Arab could conquer me!"
"But it looks so ugly,--I mean its disposition."
The Emperor, without replying directly, called Archambaud to him and
bade him dismount, while he took his seat on the fiery horse. The girls
looked on in horror, but Napoleon only smiled the more, as he compelled
the horse to pass the cloth and continued his discipline until he made
the creature put his foot on it.
Archambaud gazed open-mouthed, hardly knowing whether to laugh or to
cry. The Emperor persevered, and in a short time the horse was
absolutely obedient to him, and the groom, though chagrined at his own
failure, was pleased by the Emperor's success.
"Ah," said Napoleon, dismounting, "it would be a strange horse that did
not understand me. There was one that I rode once one hundred and
twenty-nine miles in one day. My mother was ill, and I had to do it; but
the horse, poor thing, died in the course of the night."
"And you?" asked Betsy.
"Ah, I was fatigued, but in or out of the saddle makes little difference
to me. I could almost sleep in the saddle. But, come, young ladies," he
continued, "I came here to invite you to see my china. It is all
unpacked."
The girls followed the Emperor toward the house, and "Oh!" and "Ah!"
they exclaimed loudly as they looked at the beautiful dishes lately
arrived from France. Among them there were plates that had cost
twenty-five napoleons, each of them painted by a great artist. It was a
beautiful set, given to the Emperor by the people of Paris, and the
pictures were chiefly battle scenes commemorating his great victories.
Before one of these paintings, Betsy stood enraptured. It represented a
slim youth, who looked almost tall, standing on a bridge and evidently
cheering others on, while nearer him were the dead and dying.
"And this was really you?" exclaimed Betsy, for she recognized the
standing figure.
"Yes," replied Napoleon, sighing, as if for his dead youth. "I was that
boy. That was almost the beginning. I was more slender then than now."
"This is the ibis?" asked Betsy, pointing to a bird that appeared on
many plates.
"Yes; these are mostly pictures of Egypt;" and the ibis led him to a
long discourse on the Egyptian campaign.
"But don't go to Egypt, Miss Betsy," he concluded. "You will catch
ophthalmia and spoil your eyes."
"_Pourquoi avez-vous tourne turque?_" ["Why did you turn Turk?"]
interposed Betsy abruptly.
"What is that to you?" he asked, laughing. The question referred to his
having become a Mahometan, but at first it was not clear to Napoleon
what she meant.
"I mean, why did you change your religion?" Betsy explained.
"Fighting is a soldier's religion," he replied. "I never changed that.
The other is the affair of women and priests. _Quant a moi_, I always
adopt the religion of the country I am in. And now," he said at last,
"you have seen all the plates, and there are your little brothers coming
up to find out what our Santini has made for them."
Santini was Napoleon's lamplighter, a clever little fellow, who could
make all kinds of toys and was always ready to play amusing tricks to
entertain the children.
"What has he now?" the little boys asked as the man approached with a
box under his arm.
The children jumped about excitedly. Even the girls were curious, as,
taking the box from under his arm, Santini displayed a tiny carriage to
which were harnessed two pairs of mice. In spite of Santini's efforts,
they did not at once start off, as he had expected, to draw the
carriage, and the boys appealed to the Emperor.
"Pinch the tails of the leaders, and then they will go," commanded
Napoleon.
The boys obeyed, and to the great delight of the children the mice
started off at full speed. As they watched the carriage and the
scampering steeds, the children shouted and clapped their hands.
* * * * *
One morning Betsy stood before Napoleon with an expression of
disappointment on her pretty face.
"Of course I thought you meant it."
"But you are a foolish child."
"Why shouldn't you give a ball before you leave The Briars? Not a very
great one, but just large enough for me to dance at. Soon you will be
away, at Longwood. I thought you promised."
"You must have known I was in fun."
At last Betsy noted a tone in the Emperor's voice that warned her to go
no further.
"But since you are so disappointed," said Napoleon kindly, "you may have
whatever you wish to ask of me. _Dites-moi, que veux-tu que je fosse
Mdlle. Betsee pour te consoler?_" ["Tell me, what do you wish me to do
to console you?"]
Betsy's face brightened.
"Let us play the game of blindman's buff you have so often promised.
Then I will forgive you for not having the ball, and never speak of it
again."
"Blindman's buff, as you describe it, did not seem to be just the game
for me. Can't you think of something else?"
"But you promised, and your room is splendid for it, and it wouldn't be
any fun without you."
Seeing that resistance was useless, the Emperor at last consented to
play. He began by binding his fine white handkerchief over Betsy's eyes.
"Can you see?"
"I cannot see you."
But Betsy, although she spoke truly in saying that she could not see the
Emperor, could yet detect a glimmer of light. Napoleon waved his hands
before her eyes, and the shadows and rush of air made her start.
"Ah, leetle monkey, you can see me!" he exclaimed, and he put another
handkerchief over her eyes.
Then, with Betsy in the middle of the room, the game began. Soon the
young girl felt some one pull her nose roughly. She knew who had touched
her, for, as he crept toward her, she recognized Napoleon's footsteps.
As she darted forward, he bounded away just as her hand touched his.
Then, as she groped about, Napoleon pulled her ear. She was sure that
she had recognized him and putting out her hand she cried triumphantly:
"I have you, I have you! Now it is your turn."
When Betsy uncovered her eyes she was mortified to find that it was her
sister she had captured. Napoleon, it was true, had pulled her ear, but
he had accomplished this by reaching his hand over Jane's head. Every
one now laughed at Betsy.
"Come," said Napoleon, "as you have made such a great mistake, you must
pay the penalty and remain blindfolded."
The Emperor continued to tease and quiz, pulling Betsy's ear or her
dress, and always managing to escape being caught.
At last, when the fun was at its height, a servant, entering, announced
that some one had called to see the Emperor. So the young people were
left to themselves for a while. The game was at an end.
"Now, Mees Betsy," exclaimed the Emperor, when he returned to the room,
"you and all the other players must come and dine with me."
"But we have already dined."
"Yet you must come. Now, Navarre," said the Emperor, when they had
reached the marquee, "Mees Betsy is very fond of creams. Bring some for
her."
"I cannot eat them," protested Betsy.
"But you told me you were so fond of them. Come, it is not kind to
refuse."
"But really I cannot eat."
"Oh, nonsense!"
Betsy made the effort, and ate half of a delicious cream.
"That is not enough. I will feed you, little _bambino_, I will feed
you;" and with spoon in hand Napoleon actually began to feed the little
girl, laughing steadily at her as he did so.
Only by running away did Betsy at last escape, and even then the Emperor
called after her:
"Stop, Mees Betsy, do stay and eat another. You know you told me you
liked them."
The next day Marchand brought to the sisters a box of bonbons with the
Emperor's compliments, and with them came some of the famous creams for
"Mdlle. Betsee."