Why I came here I
do not know, save that I had heard it was near the mountains, was quiet,
and I could be at peace. There was something in me which could not be
content in the foolishness of idle life. All the time I kept thinking--
thinking. If I were only a Napoleon, how I would try to do great things!
Ah, my God! I loved the Great Napoleon. What had the Bonapartes done?
Nothing--nothing. Everything had slipped away from them. Not one of
them was like the Emperor. His own legitimate son was dead. None of the
others had the Master's blood, fire, daring in his veins. The thought
grew on me, and I used to imagine myself his son. I loved his memory,
all he did, all he was, better than any son could do. It had been my
whole life, thinking of him and the Empire, while I brushed the Prince's
clothes or combed his hair. Why should such tastes be given to a valet?
Some one somewhere was to blame, dear Cure. I really did not conceive or
plan imposture. I was only playing a comedian's part in front of the
Louis Quinze, till I heard Parpon sing a verse of 'Vive Napoleon!' Then
it all rushed on me, captured me--and the rest you know.
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