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Bangs, John Kendrick, 1862-1922

"Mr. Bonaparte of Corsica"

Let them join the army. The Russians have
captured three thousand and forty-eight officers whose places must be
filled. If that isn't encouragement to join the army I expect to
raise next spring I don't know what is. As for the eagles--you can
get gold eagles in America for ten dollars apiece, so why repine! On
with the dance, let joy be unconfined!"
It was too late, however. The Empire had palled. Bonaparte could
have started a comic paper and still have failed to rouse Paris from
its lethargy, and Paris is the heart of France. Storms gathered,
war-clouds multiplied, the nations of the earth united against him,
the King of Rome began cutting his teeth and destroyed the Emperor's
rest. The foot-ball of fate that chance had kicked so high came down
to earth with a sickening thud, and Mr. Bonaparte of Corsica yielded
to the inevitable.
"Fouche," he said, sending for the exiled minister in his extremity,
"when I lost you I lost my leading man--the star of my enterprise.
During your absence the prompter's box has been empty, and I don't
know what to do. The world is against me--even France. I see but
one thing left. Do you think I could restore confidence by divorcing
Marie-Louise and remarrying Josephine? It strikes me that an annual
shaking-up of that nature would sort of liven matters up.


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