“NAPOLEON THE LITTLE”

After Napoleon was forced to abdicate in 1814, one Bourbon after another sat on the throne until France was thoroughly tired of both them and the monarchy. First came Louis XVIII, who has been mentioned before. A new charter was made, and Louis was perfectly willing to rule according to its provisions. Indeed, he was more willing than the nobles who had now returned to France. Most of them had had rather a hard time in their exile, and they thought they ought to have privileges enough now to make up for it. They were still afraid of Napoleon, even though he was so closely guarded at Saint Helena, and before long a law was passed that none of the Bonaparte family should ever be allowed to enter France. Much good it did, as will be seen later.

When Louis XVIII died, in 1824, Charles X, another brother of Louis XVI, became king. He had no liking for the charter, and meant to rule just as far as possible in “the good old way.” This was the way because of which Louis XVI had lost his head; but Charles did not worry about that. When he saw that his subjects criticized him, then, in the old-fashioned style, he quietly forbade any articles contrary to his views to appear in print. He even punished poets for writing poems in praise of Napoleon, who had now been dead for some years. He ought to have taken a hint from the fact that the National Guards had ceased to cry, “Long live the King!” and now cried, “Long live the freedom of the press!” but no Bourbon ever could take a hint. He disbanded the National Guard, and thought that he had thus quieted all opposition. Then the Chamber of Peers and the Chamber of Deputies made it plain that they did not approve of his acts, and he dissolved them both.

The badge of the empire had been the red, white, and blue cockade; and before long the empire flag was planted over great barricades in the Paris streets, and fighting began. The king understood at last that this rebellion over which the flag of the empire waved, showed that France had had all it would endure of Charles X, and he wisely took his family and boarded a ship bound for England.

There was now a vacant throne, not a very comfortable one, to be sure, but yet a throne, ready for an occupant. Who should it be? Several men whose veins contained more or less of the blood royal were discussed as candidates. The most promising one was a certain Duke of Chartres, afterwards Duke of Orleans, a descendant of the brother of Louis XIV. Lafayette was sent to talk the matter over with him and find out how he was likely to behave if he should be made king.

This Duke of Orleans, Louis Philippe, had made a good record for himself. He had served with honor in the French army until, because of his drop of Bourbon blood, he had been forced to leave France to save his life. He took refuge in the mountains of Switzerland. His money gave out, and he became a teacher in a school. He gave an assumed name, and the boys who listened to his lectures on geography, mathematics, and history had no idea that “Monsieur Chabaud-Latour” would ever be a candidate for the throne of France. When he left the school, he carried away with him enthusiastic testimonials for the good work that he had done.

He wished to go to the United States, but he was too poor. He wandered about Norway and Sweden, and even made journeys on foot with the Laplanders. At length the way opened for him to go to America, and he landed at Philadelphia. He visited George Washington, went through much of New England, then for several years lived in old England. When Louis XVIII was put upon the throne, he returned to France. He had seen much and thought much. Moreover, he alone of all the Bourbons had learned by what he had seen. He was delighted to find that the French had not forgotten his early services. His large estates, which had been confiscated, were given back to him, and he now devoted himself to a quiet life with his family and the literary men who enjoyed his charming conversation and his hospitable home.

Such was the man whose ideas of what a government should be Lafayette went to find out. Both agreed that the Constitution of the United States was what they would like to see adopted in France, but that the country was not yet ready to become a republic. “It must be in form a monarchy--a popular monarchy,” said Lafayette, “but the institutions must be altogether republican.” The duke agreed. A few days later he was formally invited to become King of the French. Both chambers of government met together, the cannon were fired and the “Marseillaise” sung. The crown was offered him, and he accepted it and took a solemn oath to obey the charter. He was now a full-fledged King of France, and he moved into the Tuileries.

The throne of France was a rather slippery seat, and to keep on it the new king had to struggle against three parties. One party was satisfied to have the land ruled by a king, but they wanted to choose the king, and they preferred to see the grandson of Charles X on the throne. The second party would have nothing but a republic; and the third would have nothing but an empire with the “King of Rome,” whom his Austrian grandfather had made Duke of Reichstag, for emperor.

The Duke of Reichstag died, but not the hopes of the Napoleonists. The head of the Bonaparte family was now Louis Napoleon, son of Hortense and Napoleon’s brother. He tried to bring about an uprising in his behalf, but it failed, and the Government sent him off to America. Again he tried, and this time the Government sent him to a fortress at Ham, and sentenced him to remain there for life.

It began to look as if Louis Philippe, and after him his son, would rule France, but a runaway horse changed this prospect, for the son was killed, and _his_ little son was only four years old. The chances were that at the death of Louis Philippe--who was now seventy-four--the country would be left with a child for king. This was a condition of affairs which did not please even Louis’s strongest friends.

Another difficulty, and the most important of all, was the system of voting, for the result of this was that representatives were elected, not by the whole nation, but only by the wealthy people. The party that wanted a republic set to work to bring about a reform. They took rather original means to arouse the people to see what was needed, for they held great banquets in various towns of France, and at these banquets made speeches explaining what ought to be done. After a while the Government realized what an influence the banquets were having, and when an especially large one, to which fifteen hundred people were invited, was announced to be held in Paris, it was suddenly forbidden.

Now there was uproar, indeed. Mobs gathered in the streets. People armed themselves, threw up barricades across many of the highways, and demanded of every passer-by whether he favored reform or not. The regular troops in trying to keep order fired upon the rioters. This only made matters worse, and on the following day a savage mob surrounded the Tuileries. Even the National Guard now joined the uprising. King Louis Philippe was seventy-five years old; he had neither desire nor power to rule under such circumstances, and he fled. He was more skillful in his flight than Louis XVI, for he did not depart in a big yellow coach, but ordered a cab, put his wife in, and very sensibly and comfortably drove away from the city and its troubles, and entered England as “Mr. Smith.”

Here was a whole country without a government. Paris was running wild, and many feared that the awful scenes of 1793 were to be repeated. What was to be done? It was not a politician, but a poet named Lamartine who came to the rescue. He scolded the people good-naturedly and he laughed at them. Best of all, he made them laugh at themselves. Then the victory was won, and they were ready to listen to whatever he had to suggest. Lamartine proposed that a number of men, whom he named, including himself among them, should rule for the time being until a government could be formed. That suited the people. This provisional government decreed that every man, whether rich or poor, should have the right to vote for members of an Assembly. This was fair and just, and nine hundred members were elected. They decided that they had had enough of kings, and that what was wanted was a republic and a president. This president was to be elected as the members had been, that is, by the votes of all the people. Who should it be?

Now when people are wildly excited, if one man keeps calm and serene and has a definite plan, the chances are that the others will accept it. In this case, although there were several prominent candidates for the presidency, there was one man who had long been planning to become ruler of the French, and that man was Louis Bonaparte. He had been sent to Ham for life, as has been said, but in 1846 he had cut off his mustache, made himself four inches taller by wearing high-heeled boots inside wooden shoes, put on a blouse, loose pantaloons, an old blue linen apron, a cap, and a wig of long black hair. He stained his hands red, swung a shelf from his bookcase over his shoulder, and quietly walked out of prison as a carpenter, leaving a dummy in his bed to personate the invalid whom he pretended to be, and so delayed pursuit.

This was the man who appeared in Paris when Louis Philippe abdicated. His special agent set under way a real Napoleonic “propaganda.” Pictures, sketches, medals of the first Napoleon and his nephew were scattered throughout France; so were books and pamphlets about the great Corsican. The whole country was made to think of Napoleon, of his greatness and his devotion to France and the interests of the people. It was not then difficult to get the nephew elected to the Assembly, and a little later, to elect him as President of France for four years. Thus was the Revolution of 1848 carried out and for a second time a republic established.

The new president made himself as popular as possible. He wandered about among the workshops of the city with a single attendant, helping with his purse and with kind words wherever he found need, and winning friends everywhere. He put his chief supporters into important offices, and strengthened his power in every possible manner. Before three years had passed, there was heard among the shouts of “Long live the President!” with which he was greeted, an occasional cry of “Long live the _Emperor_!” The minds of the people had been prepared.

One morning when the Parisians awoke, they found the whole city plastered with proclamations. These declared that the Assembly was dissolved and that a new constitution was to be formed. A little later in the day, seventy-eight prominent opponents of the president were arrested, most of them in their beds, and safely stowed away in prison; the National troops took possession of the Hall of the Assembly; and armed forces were stationed at different places in the city. Of course barricades were erected, and bloodshed followed; but within three days the whole affair was over. Louis Napoleon had had a _coup d’état_ as well as his uncle. He asked the people to vote whether he should be president for ten years, with what was in reality absolute power. They voted for him--who would not when votes could not be dropped into ballot boxes, but must be given publicly, and when the voter had to march up between two rows of bayonets which were devoted to the service of the new chief? A few months later, the president had himself proclaimed Emperor of France. He was now Napoleon III.

Victor Hugo, the French novelist, declared scornfully that once France was ruled by Napoleon the Great, but now she was ruled by Napoleon the Little. As a whole, however, matters went on fairly well. To be sure, the highest aristocracy of the land were inclined to keep away from the court of the new empire, no matter how brilliant it might be; but, to make up for this, was the fact that the other countries of Europe, delighted to see France in order, recognized, one by one, Louis Napoleon as emperor.

This third Napoleon, however, was as eager as the first Napoleon had been, not only to rule, but to establish a ruling family; and therefore he set about finding himself a wife. Of course he would have been glad to get one from some royal family, but no royal family was anxious to get him. Perhaps this was all the better, he thought, for what was more fitting in the emperor of a democracy than to marry a bride quite without royal blood? The daughter of one of the officers of Napoleon I, Eugénie de Montijo, was beautiful and charming, and soon she became the choice of the emperor. In announcing to the senate that she was to be his wife, Louis shrewdly reminded the senators that the future empress, being partly Spanish, did not possess in France a family to whom it might be necessary to give honors and fortune.

The marriage was celebrated with great brilliancy. Then Napoleon set to work to make France the model state. In Paris he reared splendid buildings, planned a wonderfully excellent system of sewers, made parks and wide, handsome streets and boulevards. He and his empress took many journeys about the empire, noting where a new bridge or a better road or a bit of drainage would be of special advantage. Three years after the marriage, the Prince Imperial was born; and now there seemed nothing more for the ambitious ruler to ask.

In the bottom of his heart, however, this peace-loving emperor was eager for warfare. War would give people something to talk about. A victory or two would arouse the enthusiasm of his people for their ruler. It might even win over some of those who were opposed to him. At the very least, the opportunity to gain distinction and promotion would bind the army more strongly to its commander. Then, too, if France could become the ally of some other country of the first rank, his own standing at home and in other lands would be much strengthened.

Just at that time, Russia and Turkey had a quarrel. England was opposed to the Czar of Russia, and so supported Turkey, and Napoleon gladly joined England. At the close of the war, he succeeded in having the peace conference held at Paris. He was, of course, the most prominent figure, and both French army and French people as a whole gloried in their leader. Everything was going Napoleon’s way. He and the empress visited the English court, and Queen Victoria and Prince Albert visited him. The sovereigns were really becoming quite friendly with the prisoner of Ham.

The next chance for the French army was in Italy. When the European powers rearranged boundaries after Napoleon I was overcome, they gave much of Italy to Austria. One of the Italian princes, Victor Emanuel, and his minister Cavour urged the Emperor of the French to help them against Austria. Napoleon agreed. France and Italy were successful everywhere. One of the battles was that of Magenta; and in America a new color to which the name of “magenta” was given became promptly a favorite.

A few years later, Italy and Prussia made war upon Austria. Prussia won, and now Prussia was much the strongest of the German states.

For twelve years, from 1848 to 1860, Napoleon had had his will. He had reached the height of his glory; the rest of his reign was a slow downfall. The climax of his troubles came in 1870. Prussia was becoming stronger every year. Bismarck, prime minister, the man of “blood and iron,” was determined that the many German states should unite, and that Prussia should be at their head. France could not endure the thought of so strong a union of hostile countries being formed at her very doors. Worse yet, the throne of Spain was vacant, and a Hohenzollern prince had expressed himself as willing to accept it if he should be chosen. This would unite Prussia and Spain--possibly against France, and would never do.

France made her objections clear to the Prussian Government, and the prince agreed not to become a candidate for the throne. The French ambassador then urged King William to make a formal agreement to the effect that no Hohenzollern prince should ever occupy the throne of Spain. This the king refused to do. He telegraphed an account of the interview to Bismarck, allowing him to make the telegram public or not, as he thought best. Bismarck rewrote it, leaving the facts, but changing the tone, and, as he himself said, “The original was an order to retreat, now it is a summons to charge.” He had so “edited” the telegram that France felt insulted and declared war. This was just what Bismarck had been working to bring about. He had seen to it that the Germans were well prepared for war, and he knew that the French were not.

The emperor was seriously ill and often suffered intensely. He felt no enthusiasm for battle, but he and the crown prince of fourteen years at once joined the army. Only six weeks later came the battle of Sedan, and he had to telegraph to Eugénie, “The army is vanquished and in captivity. I am myself a prisoner.” The tutor of the young prince succeeded in getting the boy safely to England.

Then the German army marched straight through France and besieged Paris. For four months her brave people bore cold and hunger; but only actual starvation could make them yield. In January, 1871, they surrendered. The Germans were already in possession of beautiful Versailles. In the superb Hall of Mirrors, King William I of Prussia was proclaimed German Emperor. Bismarck had his wish; the German states had united, Prussia was the chief among them, and the King of Prussia and his children after him would rule the German empire. The victors allowed a three-weeks’ armistice so that a government might be formed, and there might be some authority with which they could treat. France was now obliged to agree to pay $1,000,000,000 as indemnity, and to surrender Alsace and the greater part of Lorraine, which she had captured in the days of Louis XIV.

For everything that had gone wrong the French blamed the Empress Eugénie even more than the emperor, and she had had to flee from the Tuileries to escape from a furious mob. “She was always extravagant,” they declared. “She is not a born Frenchwoman, and she cares nothing for France.” By the help of her American dentist, she escaped from Paris and made her way to England. Queen Victoria showed her all sympathy and kindness. Her husband was kept a prisoner for a few months, then he joined her, but lived only two years after the end of the war. The Prince Imperial, whose birth had been such a delight to the Napoleonists of France, was trained in an English military school and graduated with honors. When the Zulu War broke out in South Africa, he joined the English army and was slain. The Empress Eugénie still lives in England (1920), a sad, fragile woman of ninety-four, but with what a life to remember!