grandfather.
Miss Brown remarked that the French Revolution was a dreadful piece of history. “We shall be covering it when you have finished with the English Prime Ministers, Rebecca.” She added, turning to my grandparents: “I thought she should know something of them, as she will soon be living in political circles.”
“An excellent idea,” said my grandfather. “How interesting it must be.”
“These leaders are so important,” said my grandmother.
“The trouble is,” said Miss Brown, “that some of them are not truly fitted for the post. Perhaps all great men have some flaws.”
“As the rest of us do,” said my grandfather.
“Napoleon the Third certainly had his.”
“You know who he is, Rebecca?” My grandfather had turned to me. He never left me out of the conversation.
“Well, he was the French Emperor before the war, wasn’t he?”
“Exactly. It is a great mistake for people to have responsibility simply because they are related to the great. There was only one Napoleon. We did not need a second or a third.”
“I suppose it is their name,” I said. “And they have a right to it.”
“His father was Louis Bonaparte, King of Holland, brother of the first Napoleon, and his mother Hortense de Beauharnais, Napoleon the First’s stepdaughter,” said Miss Brown, who could never resist turning any conversation into a lesson. “From an early age he wanted to follow in his uncle’s footsteps.”
“So he succeeded in becoming Emperor,” said my grandmother.
“And his early career was one disaster after another,” continued my grandfather who was as interested in history as Miss Brown. “His vainglorious attempts to call attention to himself resulted in a term of imprisonment. First he was shipped to the United States and then he came here to England where he was for a while, but he saw his chance with the outbreak of the revolution in ’48, returned to France, acquired a seat in the National Assembly, and started to work for the imperial title.”
“Well, he succeeded in getting it, apparently,” said my grandmother.
“Yes, for a time.”
“Quite a long time, I believe,” she replied.
“He wanted a name to compare with that of his uncle. But he hadn’t the same genius.”
“And where did Napoleon’s genius lead him?” demanded my grandmother.
“Elba and St. Helena,” I cut in, eager to show them that I knew something of what they were talking about.
Miss Brown threw me a glance of approval.
“All might have been well,” continued my grandfather, “if he had not become jealous of the growing power of Prussia, and underestimated it. He provoked war with Prussia. He thought he could defeat them easily and win glory for himself. He reckoned without the discipline of the Prussians. He must have known his fate was sealed at Sedan.”
“And then the Bourdons decided to get away,” I said, trying to turn the conversation to a subject of more immediate concern to us.
“Very far-seeing indeed,” said my grandfather. “Revolution in Paris … disaster for Napoleon III. And as a consequence we have the Empress and her son at Camden House in Chislehurst … and the Emperor has now joined her … no longer a prisoner … but an exile from his country.”
“Like the Bourdons,” I said.
My grandmother smiled at me. “You should never let your grandfather get on to history,” she said. “There is no stopping him once he gets started.”
“A fascinating subject,” said Miss Brown with a smile.
Just as we were leaving the dining room, one of the grooms came in with a note for my grandmother.
The Bourdons were all delighted to accept her kind invitation to luncheon.
They came as arranged and it was a very interesting meeting.
Monsieur and Madame Bourdon were, as my grandmother commented afterwards, typically French. He had a trim pointed beard, crisp dark hair and a very gallant manner. He kissed hands … even mine … and the look he gave my grandmother
Miss Brown remarked that the French Revolution was a dreadful piece of history. “We shall be covering it when you have finished with the English Prime Ministers, Rebecca.” She added, turning to my grandparents: “I thought she should know something of them, as she will soon be living in political circles.”
“An excellent idea,” said my grandfather. “How interesting it must be.”
“These leaders are so important,” said my grandmother.
“The trouble is,” said Miss Brown, “that some of them are not truly fitted for the post. Perhaps all great men have some flaws.”
“As the rest of us do,” said my grandfather.
“Napoleon the Third certainly had his.”
“You know who he is, Rebecca?” My grandfather had turned to me. He never left me out of the conversation.
“Well, he was the French Emperor before the war, wasn’t he?”
“Exactly. It is a great mistake for people to have responsibility simply because they are related to the great. There was only one Napoleon. We did not need a second or a third.”
“I suppose it is their name,” I said. “And they have a right to it.”
“His father was Louis Bonaparte, King of Holland, brother of the first Napoleon, and his mother Hortense de Beauharnais, Napoleon the First’s stepdaughter,” said Miss Brown, who could never resist turning any conversation into a lesson. “From an early age he wanted to follow in his uncle’s footsteps.”
“So he succeeded in becoming Emperor,” said my grandmother.
“And his early career was one disaster after another,” continued my grandfather who was as interested in history as Miss Brown. “His vainglorious attempts to call attention to himself resulted in a term of imprisonment. First he was shipped to the United States and then he came here to England where he was for a while, but he saw his chance with the outbreak of the revolution in ’48, returned to France, acquired a seat in the National Assembly, and started to work for the imperial title.”
“Well, he succeeded in getting it, apparently,” said my grandmother.
“Yes, for a time.”
“Quite a long time, I believe,” she replied.
“He wanted a name to compare with that of his uncle. But he hadn’t the same genius.”
“And where did Napoleon’s genius lead him?” demanded my grandmother.
“Elba and St. Helena,” I cut in, eager to show them that I knew something of what they were talking about.
Miss Brown threw me a glance of approval.
“All might have been well,” continued my grandfather, “if he had not become jealous of the growing power of Prussia, and underestimated it. He provoked war with Prussia. He thought he could defeat them easily and win glory for himself. He reckoned without the discipline of the Prussians. He must have known his fate was sealed at Sedan.”
“And then the Bourdons decided to get away,” I said, trying to turn the conversation to a subject of more immediate concern to us.
“Very far-seeing indeed,” said my grandfather. “Revolution in Paris … disaster for Napoleon III. And as a consequence we have the Empress and her son at Camden House in Chislehurst … and the Emperor has now joined her … no longer a prisoner … but an exile from his country.”
“Like the Bourdons,” I said.
My grandmother smiled at me. “You should never let your grandfather get on to history,” she said. “There is no stopping him once he gets started.”
“A fascinating subject,” said Miss Brown with a smile.
Just as we were leaving the dining room, one of the grooms came in with a note for my grandmother.
The Bourdons were all delighted to accept her kind invitation to luncheon.
They came as arranged and it was a very interesting meeting.
Monsieur and Madame Bourdon were, as my grandmother commented afterwards, typically French. He had a trim pointed beard, crisp dark hair and a very gallant manner. He kissed hands … even mine … and the look he gave my grandmother
Similar Books
