Viva la France, Part II
Tuileries Palace
Jean Louis Napoléon Bonaparte was sitting at his desk. His mother was with the younger children, and his father was inspecting the factories south of France. Responsibility had thus fallen to him, the eldest son and the heir to the throne, which his father had taken to calling "the Eagle Throne". It was a fanciful name, to be sure, but no one could blame the Emperor for it; the entire court was still jubilant that France had been retaken.
The reports he was reading and missives he was signing were dreadfully dull. Jean stood up and left the room. He decided to go and look at the art. He told the acting Captain of the Guard (as Lavigne had gone with the Emperor) of his intentions and left.
Jean was enthralled by the portraits of his grandfather. He went over to his favorite painting,
Napoleon Crosses the Alps.
He sighed. He hated the paperwork, hated the formalities the Emperor and his family were bound to. Art was his calling. He was no great shakes at military affairs either; he had not inherited the tactical prowess that had gained his family the throne. He wasn't fit for the throne, not at all. He would have preferred to pass it down to his younger brother, but he knew no one would hear of it. His parents would extol the virtues of being the Emperor and the strength of their family; his younger brother wouldn't like being the second choice; his wife, and particularly her family, would be appalled at the suggestion they give up the power they stood to gain.
A messenger came in, gasping for breath. "Message... from the Emperor...". He gave Jean the note then shambled off.
As he read it and his face grew stony. He sighed. It was important news, to be sure, but all it meant to him was more paperwork. Then the last line caught his eye; his presence was requested. He gave an even greater sigh and went to find the acting Captain.