I bowed and followed the prince from the library to the picture gallery.
Upon an easel rested a portrait that had just been brought back from the framer; it was waiting for the name of the original to be painted on the frame. It was a portrait of the emperor, painted by Manzaisse. To find, in 1829, a portrait of the emperor in the palace of the first prince of the blood royal was such a novel species of boldness that I could do nothing but wonder at it.
"What do you think of that portrait?" asked the Duc d'Orléans.
"I am "not very fond of the paintings of M. Mauzaisse, monseigneur."
"Ah, true, I forgot you were a romanticist in painting and in literature. You admire the painting of M. Delacroix?"
"Yes, monseigneur; also of M. Delacroix, M. Scheffer, M. Granet, M. Decamps, M. Boulanger, M. Eugène Devéria—oh! we allow a wide margin!"
"Excellent! I am aware you know all about these gentlemen—but that is not to my present purpose. This is a portrait which I have just had painted for my gallery; and there is nothing wanting, as you see, except the insertion of the name. Ought I to put Bonaparte? It would look like affectation only to recognise the First Consul. Ought I to put Napoléon? It would seem an affectation to call him emperor; that was the point on which I wished to consult Vatout."
"But," I replied, "it seems a very simple matter to me; put Napoléon Bonaparte, monseigneur."
"Yes; but that still implies the emperor.... Napoleon, if my memory serves me correctly, was unjust to your family and you have no love for him, I believe."
"Monseigneur, I must confess that where that great man is concerned I share Madame Turenne's opinion of him, that of admiration."