Anastasie Jouvin

A Story of the Second Empire

It was a glittering morning in March—one of those mornings upon which all Paris turns out of bed, as if by common consent, and the streets, boulevards and parks are thronged with joyous humanity, while the Champs Elysées are all aglow with color, and the puppet shows and peripatetic venders of refreshment do a roaring business—this before the déjeûner à la fourchette.

It was in the gorgeousness of the Empire. The frown of Napoleon III. made sovereigns uneasy; his smile filled them with rapture. Eugénie’s receptions at the Tuileries were gradually in-drawing even the haughty and defiant denizens of the Faubourg St. Germain. “Lou-lou,” as the Prince Imperial, poor lad, was familiarly named, was just emerging from his theatrical nursery-days, and how theatrical they were!

The boy, in babyhood, was prigged up in a grenadier’s uniform—for was not “mon fils, tête d’armée!” the injunction of the dying Napoleon at St. Helena? When he went out to drive in his nurse’s arms, she was flanked by an admiral’s widow, bearing the sonorous title of “Gouvernante des Enfants de France,” and two other ladies of quality sat facing her, with their backs to the horses. A guard rode at the door next to the Imperial child. This equipage was drawn by four blood horses, and driven by postilions in green and gold liveries. A pair of outriders, splendidly mounted, preceded to clear the road, and enveloping… Read More