"Is it not true, too, that they called me the King of Rome?"
"Yes. You were called King of Rome."
"Well, then, grandpapa, what does being King of Rome mean?"
"It is useless to explain it to you, as you are no longer it."
"But why am I not?"
"My child," replied the emperor, "when you are grown up, it will be easy to instruct you on that point. For the moment, I will just tell you that, in addition to my title of Emperor of Austria, I join that of King of Jerusalem, without having any sort of power over the city. Very well, you are King of Rome as I am King of Jerusalem."
Another time the young prince was playing with lead soldiers, amongst which were a good number of irregular Cossacks. A painter, M. Hummel, who was painting his portrait, came to him.
"Have you ever seen Cossacks, monseigneur?" he asked.
"Yes, certainly, I have seen them," replied the child: "they were Cossacks who escorted us when we left France."