The Comedy & Tragedy of the Second Empire. Edward Legge

I.’s nephew, and the Empress Joséphine’s grandson. He was baptized at the Palace of Fontainebleau by Cardinal Fesch, uncle of Napoleon I., and held at the font by the Great Emperor himself. In the Moniteur of April 21 his birth was thus chronicled:

      Yesterday (Wednesday) Her Majesty the Queen of Holland was happily delivered of a Prince. In conformity with Article XL. of the Act of the Constitutions of the 20 Florial, year XII., his Serene Highness Monseigneur the Prince Arch-Chancellor of the Empire was present at the birth. His Highness wrote immediately to His Majesty the Emperor and King, to Her Majesty the Empress and Queen, and to His Majesty the King of Holland, informing them of the event. At 5 p.m. the certificate of birth was received by His Serene Highness the Prince Arch-Chancellor, assisted by His Excellency M. Régnault de St. Jean d’Angély, Minister of State and Secretary of the Imperial Family. In the absence of His Majesty the Emperor and King, the infant did not receive any Christian name; this he will be given by a later act, in accordance with His Majesty’s orders.

      Napoleon I. and Joséphine had been divorced previous to the birth of the child, whose godmother was Marie Louise, Napoleon’s second consort. At the time of his birth the parents of the future Napoleon III. were living apart. “I am sorry Louis is not here,” said the mother; “this infant would have reconciled us.”

      It was said that the King of Holland was not the father of the young Louis Napoleon.[21] It is difficult, however, to adduce proofs of that assertion. There is one fact concerning which there is general agreement. There was no physical or moral resemblance between the brother of Napoleon I. and the son of Hortense de Beauharnais. The infant had neither the face nor the character of the Bonapartes; on the contrary, he was the image of his mother, whose large heart, as well as many other characteristics, he inherited. Ambition and superstition were the principal features of the life of Queen Hortense. “She inspired her son,” said Henri Martin, “with a fanatical faith in his destiny,” and circumstances developed in both mother and son a firm belief in their lucky star. With the exception of the King of Rome, Louis Napoleon was the only Prince born under the imperial régime—the only one whose birth was greeted by military honours and the people’s homage. Was not that (asks M. Stéfane-Pol) a presage of his destiny? A family register, devoted to the children of the imperial dynasty, was deposited at the Senate as the grand-livre of the right of succession. The name of Prince Louis was the first to be inscribed in it, with all the pomp of a consecration. What better auspices could there have been for an aspirant Emperor?

      Later, when the Duchesse de Saint-Leu (Queen Hortense), mother of Prince Louis Napoleon, occupied the leisure afforded her by her exile in roaming through Switzerland with Mlle. Cochelet, she had no object in view except that which chance offered. “All our distractions during these wanderings,” wrote Mlle. Cochelet, “were confined to searching for four-leaved shamrocks, to which were attached various ideas. ‘If,’ said the Duchesse, ‘I find a four-leaved shamrock, it will signify that we shall return to France before very long, or that I shall receive a letter from my son to-morrow,’ and so on.” The author does not add, “Or perhaps I shall reign through my son,” but that is implied in most of the wishes of the ex-Queen of Holland.

      In 1834 Louis Napoleon and his mother travelled in Italy. They had been in Rome for some time, when one day Hortense consulted a negress, a somnambulist, who, according to M. de La Guéronnière, had produced some remarkable phenomena. A clever magnetizer sent the negress to sleep, and presently, in response to the eager questions of Hortense, the somnambulist exclaimed suddenly, as if inspired, “I see your son happy and triumphant. A great nation takes him for chief.” “For Emperor, you mean, do you not?” asked the mother breathlessly. “For chief,” replied the somnambulist. Hortense could not obtain from the negress anything more satisfactory, but the prediction was confirmed subsequently by what the doyen of Paris priests said to Louis Napoleon, then President of the Republic: “Monseigneur, the will of God will be fulfilled quand même.”

      Louis Napoleon was imbued with all his mother’s superstitious ideas. One of his friends having asked him why the attempt at Strasburg had failed, the Prince smilingly furnished an explanation which doubtless accorded with his fatalistic instincts—a wheel of his carriage had come off between Lehr and Strasburg! But his instincts required guiding, and Hortense was not equal to the task. While she was making lint for the wounded and weaving patriotic romances to cheer the faint-hearted, the mother of the future Emperor (then Queen of Holland) inculcated in the young Louis those bellicose ideas which were quite foreign to his calm and dreamy nature. “Supposing you had not a sou in the world to call your own,” she said to her eldest boy one day, “what would you do, Napoleon, to gain a livelihood?” “I should go for a soldier,” was the reply. “And you, Louis, what would you do?” “I should sell violets, like the little boy who stands at the gates of the Tuileries,” answered the child whom Destiny had marked out for an Emperor. There was something in this boy’s character to reform, and his mother set about the task, invoking the aid of all around her—amongst them Napoleon I. and Mme. Bure, the faithful nurse, who was jealous of the attention bestowed upon the boy by Mme. de Boubers and the Abbé Bertrand.

      Henceforward the young Louis made considerable progress. Although he was always extremely sensitive, he longed to share the dangers of others. Renault, imitating Mlle. Cochelet, tells this story of him:

      At this time Prince Louis Napoleon was seven years old. One day, on the eve of the departure for that fatal campaign which, after two striking victories, ended with the disaster of Waterloo, Napoleon I., accompanied by Marshal Soult, entered his cabinet. He appeared sad and thoughtful. The tones of his voice, sharp and emphatic, revealed the preoccupation of his mind. Suddenly a child slips into the room. His features are stamped with grief, and he vainly struggles to restrain his emotion. He approaches, kneels before the Emperor, and, laying his head and hands on Napoleon’s knees, bursts into tears.

      “What is the matter with you, Louis?” exclaims the Emperor, in a tone showing his annoyance at being interrupted. “Why have you come here? Why are you crying?”

      The child, frightened, can only reply with sobs. By degrees he becomes calm, and then, in a sweet, sad voice, says: “Sire, my governess has just told me that you are leaving for the war. Oh! do not go—do not go!”

      The Emperor could not but be touched by this solicitude, for the child was Prince Louis, the nephew whom he loved above all others.

      “And why do you wish me not to go?” asked the Emperor sadly. Then, passing his hand through the child’s golden curls, he said: “Mon enfant, it is not the first time that I go to the war. Why should it trouble you? Never mind; I shall soon return.”

      “Oh, my dear uncle,” said the boy, again bursting into tears, “those wicked Allies want to kill you! Oh, uncle, let me go with you!”

      For a time the Emperor did not speak. Taking the child on his knee, he pressed him to his heart and embraced him warmly. The Emperor was deeply moved, but presently, when he had steadied his voice, he called, “Hortense! Hortense!” And as the Queen came hurrying into the room, Napoleon said: “Here, take my nephew out and give his governess a severe scolding for thoughtlessly putting such words into his mouth and exalting his sensibility.” Then, after addressing the boy affectionately, the Emperor, turning to Marshal Soult, who was labouring under deep emotion, said vivaciously: “Embrace him—he will have a good heart and a beautiful soul. He may be the hope of my race.”

      Hortense must have relished these last words. Are not great captains regarded as oracles? When, at Paris, as at St. Leu, some of the visitors discussed metaphysics, or grouped themselves around La Bédoyère, reading Racine or Shakespeare; when others posed to Garnerey for their portraits, and others played billiards, Louis Napoleon and his brother listened open-mouthed to the tales of heroism which Mlle. Cochelet was instructed to tell them. Later, in the land of exile, while the Duchesse de St. Leu and her suite played diabolo—one room serving as salon and salle à manger—and when the only book at their disposal was a volume of “Anecdotes de la Cour de Philippe-Auguste,” discovered, after a long search, by the Abbé Bernard, the ex-Queen of Holland would watch her sons playing at soldiers with the common children. And the day came when she saw Louis at the military school