Suddenly the emperor paused, and his face darkened. "Ah," he said, gloomily, putting his hand on the prince's head, "ah, we purpose building you a palace, but if they conquer me you will not even possess a cabin!" [Footnote: Napoleon's words.—Vide "Memoirs of the Duchess d'Abrantes.">[ The emperor's head dropped on his breast, and a pause ensued, which the child, usually so vivacious, did not venture to interrupt.
At length Napoleon said: "Go, Fontaine, and take your plans along; I will confer further about the matter. And you, ministers, come, we have to settle some questions of importance. But, first, I must take the king back to his governess."
The boy clung with almost anxious tenderness to his father. "Ah, dear, dear papa emperor," he begged, "let me stay here! I will be quiet—oh, so very quiet! I will only sit on your knee, lean my head on your breast, and not disturb you at all."
"Well, you may stay then," said Napoleon. "We shall see whether you really can be quiet and not disturb us."
The little child kept his word. Sitting quietly on the emperor's knee, and leaning his little head on his father's breast, he did not interrupt in the least the important conference of Napoleon and his ministers. An hour afterward the conference was over, and the dukes were dismissed.
"Now, sire," said Napoleon, turning toward the child, now "let us play."
But the little king, who always received these words with exultation, remained silent, and when the emperor bent over him, he saw that he had fallen asleep. "Happy king!" murmured Napoleon, "happy king! who can fall asleep in the midst of state business!" Softly and cautiously drawing the boy closer to his breast, and taking pains not to disturb his slumber, he sat still and motionless, scarcely breathing, although sad thoughts oppressed his mind. It was an interesting spectacle—this lovely boy leaning his head in smiling dreams on the breast of his father, who was looking down on him with grave and tender eyes.
The emperor sat thus a long time. Strange and wonderful thoughts stole upon him—thoughts of past happiness, of past love. He thought of how long he had yearned to possess a son, and how many tears his first consort shed—how ardently he had been loved by the noble and beautiful Josephine, whom, in his pride, which demanded an heir- apparent, he had thrust into solitude. Providence had given Bonaparte all that his heart had longed for—a beautiful young wife, who loved him, and who was the daughter of an emperor; and a sweet, lovely child that was to be the heir of his imperial throne. But Providence, by giving him all, had taken all from Josephine—the heart and hand of her husband, her dignity and authority as an empress and sovereign. She was now nothing but a deserted and unhappy lady, who had only tears for her past, no joy in the present, no hopes for the future.
All this was on account of the child adored by his father, and hailed by France; and yet, despite all the mischief this little boy had done her and the fact that he was the child of another woman, Josephine loved him, and often implored the emperor to let her see and embrace the little King of Rome. He had always refused to grant this request, in order not to stir up the jealousy of his young wife, but, at this quiet hour, when he was alone with his sleeping child, Napoleon thought of Josephine with melancholy tenderness. Amid the profound silence which surrounded him, his recollections spoke to him. They pointed him to Josephine in the imperishable splendor of her love, her grace, and goodness; he thought he saw her sweet lips, which had always a smile for him; her brilliant eyes, which had ever looked tenderly on him, and which had learned to read his most secret thoughts.
"Poor Josephine!" he murmured, "poor Josephine! she loved me ardently, and many things might be different now if she were still by my side. She was my guardian angel, and with her my success has departed. She sacrificed her happiness to me and my ambition; and while formerly all hastened to offer congratulations on this day and pay homage to the empress, she now sits lonely and deserted at Malmaison.—No," he then said aloud, "no, she shall not be lonely and deserted! I surely owe it to her to occasion her a moment of joy. She shall see my son—I myself will take him to her." He cautiously lifted up the boy in his arms and rose. The prince awoke and looked smilingly up to his father, who carried him to the sofa and laid him with tender care on the cushions. But little Napoleon jumped up, and said laughingly. "I am no longer tired. The dukes are gone now, and let us play, papa!"