“Who art thou, thou pantaloonless one?” asked he, “and wherefore makest thou this lamentation?”
“I am Louis the Esteemed, King of France and Navarre,” replied the distrousered personage, “and I lament for my pantaloons, which I have been enforced to pawn, inasmuch as the broker would advance nothing upon my coat or my shirt.”
And Napoleon went upon his knees and divested himself of his own nether garments, and arrayed the king therein, to the great diversion of those who stood about.
“Thou hast done wickedly,” said the king when he heard who Napoleon was, “in that thou hast presumed to fight battles and win victories without any commission from me. Go, nevertheless, and lose an arm, a leg, and an eye in my service, then shall thy offence be forgiven thee.”
And Napoleon raised a great army, and gained a great battle for the king, and lost an arm. And he gained another greater battle, and lost a leg. And he gained the greatest battle of all; and the king sat on the throne of his ancestors, and was called Louis the Victorious: but Napoleon had lost an eye. And he came into the king’s presence, bearing his eye, his arm, and his leg.
“Thou art pardoned,” said the king, “and I will even confer a singular honour upon thee. Thou shalt defray the expense of my coronation, which shall be the most splendid ever seen in France.”
So Napoleon lost all his substance, and no man pitied him. But after certain days the keeper of the royal wardrobe rushed into the king’s presence, crying “Treason! treason! O Majesty, whence these republican and revolutionary pantaloons?”
“They are those I deigned to receive from the rebel Buonaparte,” said the king. “It were meet to return them. Where abides he now?”
“Saving your Majesty’s presence,” they said, “he lieth upon a certain dunghill.”
“If this be so,” said the king, “life can be no gratification to him, and it were humane to relieve him of it. Moreover, he is a dangerous man. Go, therefore, and strangle him with his own pantaloons. Yet, let a monument be raised to him, and engrave upon it, ‘Here lies Napoleon Buonaparte, whom Louis the Victorious raised from the dunghill.’”