Far, far more pleasant is a story told of the young Duchesse de Berri. On the day of her marriage to Louis’ nephew, she retired to her room after the ceremony, and was supposed to be resting. After a while her husband entered. Fancy the surprise, the amusement with which he witnessed his pretty bride’s diversion. She yet wore her magnificent marriage robes—a white brocade heavily embroidered with silver, and a diamond coronet surmounted by white ostrich plumes; but the enormous train—six yards long—she had twisted several times over her arm. Thus disencumbered, she was singing blithely, and dancing to her song with a pet spaniel she had brought from Naples, and which she held by the forepaws.
VICTOR EMMANUEL AND HIS DOG.
(From life photograph. )
Another turn of the wheel, a few years later, seated a third Napoleon and Eugénie upon the throne. The latter was particularly fond of a Mexican parrot called Montezuma. When, in 1870, the Empire came to an end, and she fled to England, all her possessions were left behind in her hurried flight from the Tuileries. It was not until the imperial family was settled at Chiselhurst, that, remembering Montezuma, she sent a trusty attendant to France, to search for him. Almost a year passed by before he was found, exposed for sale in a shop! Then he was re-bought; he crossed the Channel in safety; a few hours more, and the ex-empress was petting him as of old. But not as of old did he respond to her endearments, nibble the sweetmeats she offered, and say with flattering approval, Vive l’impératrice! No, all was changed. Sullenly he declined sugar, pineapple, sweet biscuit; sullenly he withdrew from her caressing touch; and sullenly at last he spoke: Vive la république! Truly the empire had passed away.
The princes of Savoy have always entertained a soldierly liking for horse and hound; and with war for their occupation, and hunting for diversion, they have had abundant opportunity to test the good qualities and friendship of these animals. There is a museum in Turin where many of their favorite horses—stuffed and mounted—are preserved. Especially interesting is the “Favorito Cavallo” of Carlo Alberto, which, according to the inscription, was his chosen mount in peace, and which bore him safely through the campaign of 1848-49. It accompanied him into exile, and finally (1866) died in Turin, at the age of thirty years.
Several horses in the museum belonged to Victor Emmanuel. This patriotic and jolly king was “innamorato dei cani,” especially of four hounds, the companions of his hunting trips. He was never so happy as when off on one of these expeditions. Often he would dismount and stretch himself on the ground beneath a tree, his horse and dogs grouped around him. Then, with a sigh of luxurious comfort, he would say: “Ouf! how happy am I here, and thus! What a beastly trade, what a pig-occupation, is this of being a king!” (Che porco mestiero è quello di fare il Re!)
And again: “How well off should I be if I only always could live quietly, at ease among these friends!” patting, as he spoke, first one dog, then another. Poor king! he had given a United Italy to his people; to himself he could grant few hours of ease.
V.