6. CHAPTER VI.
An account of the woes of an Emperor of France, which have never
before appeared in history.
In short (for I do not design particularizing my
transformations further), there was no conceit entered
my brain which Dr. Tibbikens did not cure
by a conceit; until, one morning, by some mysterious
revelation, the nature and means of which can
only be guessed at, I found that I had been elected
the Emperor of France, and announced my intention
to set sail for my government immediately, in
the first ship of the line which the American executive
could put at my disposal.
This fancy quite disconcerted Dr. Tibbikens, and
I heard him say to my sister, “He is a gone case
now,—quite mad, I assure you;” which expression
so much offended me, that I ordered him from my
presence, and told him that, were it not for my respect
for the American government, whose subject
he was, I would have his head for his impertinence.
But wo betide the day! the doctor returned to
me in less than an hour, bringing with him every
physician in the village, who, having looked at me
a moment, went into another apartment, where they
argued hotly together for another hour. At the expiration
of this they returned, led by Tibbikens,
who, to my great satisfaction, now fell on his
knees, and “begged my imperial majesty's pardon
for presuming to request that I would allow myself
to be dressed in my imperial majesty's robe of
state;” which robe of state, although I was surprised
at its plainness (for it was of a coarse linen
texture, without gold lace or jewels, and of a very
strange shape—closed in front and open in the
rear), I immediately consented to put on, so
pleased was I with the homage of the doctor.
If I was surprised at the appearance of the imperial
garment, much more was I astonished when,
having slipped my arms into its sleeves, I found
them,—that is, my arms,—suddenly pinioned,
buried, sewed up, as it were, among the folds of
the robe, so that, when it was tied behind me, as it
immediately was, I was as well secured as when I
was tied up for execution on a former occasion.
Alas! the disappointment to my pride! I understood
the whole matter in a moment: my imperial
robe of state was nothing less nor more than a
strait waistcoat, constructed upon the spur of the
moment, but still on scientific principles.
And now, being entirely at the mercy of the deceitful
Tibbikens, I was seized upon with a strong
hand, my head shaved and thrust into a sack of
pounded ice, from which it was not taken until after
a six days' congelation, and then only to be transferred
to a nightcap of Spanish flies, exceedingly
comfortable on the first application, but which, within
a few hours, I had every reason to pronounce
the most execrable covering in existence. And
what made it still more intolerable, I never complained
of it that Tibbikens did not assure me “it
was the imperial coronet of France,” and then exclaim,
in the words of some old play, “Uneasy lies
the head that wears a crown.”
And then I was physicked and starved, phlebotomized,
soused in cold water and scalded in hot,
rubbed down with rough blanket cloths and hair-brushes
as stiff as wool-cards, scorched with mustard
plasters, bombarded by an electrical machine, and
in general attacked by every weapon of art which
the zeal of my tormentors could bring into play
against me.
In this way, if I was not cured of my disease, I
was, at least, brought into subjection. I ceased
complaining, which I did at first, and with becoming
indignation, of the traitorous and sacrilegious
violence done to my anointed body, for such I at
first considered it. The arguments of my persecutors,
however, to prove the contrary, were irresistible,
being chiefly syllogisms, of which the
major proposition was calomel and jalap, the minor
mustard plasters and blisters, and the conclusion
cold water, phlebotomy, and flax-seed tea. The
same arguments, varied categorically according to
circumstances, convinced me that if my imperial
elevation, or the notion thereof, was not sheer insanity
on my own part, my doctors thought so—
which was the same thing in effect; and I therefore
took good care, when bewailing my hard fate, not
to charge it, as I at first did, to the democratic
wrath and jealousy of my tormentors.
