But in his babe he found relief,
This was a cure for all his grief,
For his delightful dulcet squall
Wou’d not allow a tear to fall.
What wondrous splendor was devised
When the dear Infant was baptized;
For Emperors, Kings, Queens, and Dukes
Assembled with their smiling looks,
Bestowing their congratulations,
And making curious observations.
With curiosity they eyed
The King of Rome—the father’s pride,
And some old gossips cried ‘Oh la!
How he resembles his papa.’
Madame Junot gives some interesting details of Napoleon as a father:—‘On my return to France, I found the Emperor much altered in appearance. His features had acquired a paternal character. What a beautiful child was the young King of Rome! How lovely he appeared as he rode through the gardens of the Tuileries in his shell-shaped calèche, drawn by two young deer, which had been trained by Franconi, and which were given him by his aunt, the Queen of Naples. He resembled one of those figures of Cupid which have been discovered in the ruins of Herculaneum. One day I had been visiting the young King, the Emperor was also there, and he was playing with the child—as he always played with those he loved—that is to say, he was tormenting him. The Emperor had been riding, and held in his hand a whip, which attracted the child’s notice. He stretched out his little hand, and when he seized the whip, burst into a fit of laughter, at the same time embracing his father. “Is he not a fine boy, Madame Junot?” said the Emperor; “you must confess that he is.” I could say so without flattery, for he certainly was a lovely boy. “You were not at Paris,” continued the Emperor, “when my son was born. It was on that day I learned how much the Parisians love me.... What did the army say on the birth of the child?” I told him the soldiers were enthusiastic during many days; he had already heard so, but was happy to receive a confirmation of their joy. He then pinched his son’s cheek and his nose; the child cried. “Come, come, sir,” said the Emperor, “do you suppose you are never to be thwarted, and do kings cry?”... He used to take the King of Rome in his arms, and toss him up in the air. The child would then laugh, until the tears stood in his eyes. Sometimes the Emperor would take him before a looking-glass, and work his face into all sorts of grimaces; and, if the child was frightened and shed tears, Napoleon would say: “What, Sire, do you cry? A King, and cry? Shame, Shame!”
‘The hours at which the young King was taken to the Emperor were not precisely fixed, nor could they be, but his visits were most frequently at the time of déjeûner. On these occasions the Emperor would give the child a little claret, by dipping his finger in the glass, and making him suck it. Sometimes he would daub the young Prince’s face with gravy. The child would laugh heartily at seeing his father as much a child as he was himself, and only loved him the more for it. Children invariably love those who play with them. I recollect that once when Napoleon had daubed the young King’s face, the child was highly amused, and asked the Emperor to do the same to Maman Quiou, for so he called his governess, Madame de Montesquiou.’
Rowlandson’s idea of the royal infant is given in a caricature (published April 14, 1811) called, ‘Nursing the Spawn of a Tyrant, or Frenchmen Sick of the Brood.’[23] Maria Louisa is aghast at her offspring, who, screaming, threatens her with a dagger. She thus pours out her woes: ‘There’s no condition sure, so curst as mine! Day and night to dandle such a dragon—the little angry cur snarls while it feeds; see how the blood is settled in its scarecrow face; what brutal mischief sits upon his brow. Rage and vengeance sparkle in his cheeks; the very spawn and spit of its tyrant father. Nay, now I look again, he is the very picture of his grandfather, the Devil!’ This must have been pleasant for Napoleon to hear, which he evidently does, as he is but partially concealed behind a curtain.
Some one (name unknown, August 20, 1811) has given us, ‘The Deputeys apointed by the Legislative Body, doing Homage to the King of Rome in the Nursery at St. Cloud.’ His gouvernante, Madame de Montesquiou, presents him to the Deputies, who kneel and kiss him, saying: ‘Madam Governess—not one of us can behold without a most lively interest, that August Infant—on whom rest so many Destinies, and whose Age and Charming Qualities inspire the most tender sentiments in the French and surrounding Nations.’ The lady replies: ‘Monsieurs—I thank you for the polite and flattering encomiums you are pleased to bestow on me—I thank you in the name of the young prince, whose Charms are inexpressible, and regret that he cannot add his personal sentiments to those which I entertain, to the Legislative Body.’ In another portion of the picture the foul linen of the precious child is being washed and hung to dry.
NURSING THE SPAWN OF A TYRANT, OR FRENCHMEN SICK OF THE BROOD.