A little more jogging of the memory, and the ancient dame, knowing now who it is, falls at the Emperor’s feet. He lifts her, and still insists on the eggs and milk. She serves, he eats, both of them happy, and both of them full of reminiscences of the years long ago. Though he left her a purse of gold, Mother Marguerite probably was prouder of the fact that he came to her house and ate.
One more visit the great Emperor will pay Brienne, the year of the last visit being 1814. Foreign invaders will be encamped all round about the playgrounds of his boyhood. Prussian Blücher will be taking his ease and his dinner in the château. Prussian Blücher will give him battle at Brienne, and will rout him at La Rothière. And to his companions, the falling Emperor will again point out places of interest in the old school-ground, but not in the happy vein of 1804.
* * * * *
What should be done with Italy? French arms had wrested her from Austria and defended her from Russia. She was too weak to stand alone. Take away the support of France, and she would again be cut up and devoured by the stronger powers. On all sides she was threatened. The English were at Malta, the Russians at Corfu, the Austrians in Venice, while in Naples and Rome were apparent allies, but actual foes. Reasons of state made it imperative that Napoleon’s imperial system should embrace Italy, and the Italians themselves favored the change.
Napoleon tendered the crown to his brother Joseph. To the amazement of the world that preposterous egotist refused upon two grounds: first, Italy was too near to France for its king to enjoy that complete independence which Joseph felt necessary to his self-respect; second, the crown of France belonged to him, in prospect, as heir of the childless Napoleon; and Joseph would not exchange this selfish, shadowy claim for the certainty offered him by his too partial brother! Surely there never lived a man more be-cursed with ingrates of his own blood than Napoleon!
“I am sometimes tempted to believe,” said he, “that Joseph thinks I have robbed my elder brother of his share of the inheritance of the late king, our father!”
It was only after Joseph had resisted all persuasions that Napoleon decided to make himself king of Italy “until the peace.”
In April, 1805, taking Josephine with him, he crossed the Alps. Everywhere he was greeted with enthusiasm. On the field of Marengo he and Josephine sat upon a throne and viewed the splendid rehearsal of the battle in which the young hero had crushed Austria and rescued Italy at a blow.
In May, 1805, he placed upon his head, amid pomps and ceremonies in the cathedral of Milan, the iron crown of the Lombards. Josephine looked on from the gallery; she was not crowned queen of Italy; but her son, the loyal and gallant Eugène Beauharnais, was made Viceroy of the new kingdom. His Holiness, the Pope, was not present at the ceremony; his Holiness was chagrined and unfriendly; he had left Paris a disappointed man; he had asked many favors of Napoleon, “my son in Christ Jesus,” which had been denied, and already was to be seen the slender line of the rift between Napoleon and the Papacy which was to grow and grow, widening year by year, until the yawning chasm was to ingulf much of the strength of the Empire.
But, for the time being, the Pope went his way almost unnoticed, meekly implacable, humbly vindictive, waiting his chance to strike the ruler he had so recently oiled and blessed, while the vaulting Corsican, using an archbishop to manipulate the clerical machinery instead of a pope, inflated himself with pride as he felt upon his head the crown of Charlemagne.