Thus elevated to a throne, Eugénie burned with desire to make herself beloved by the people, to excite the admiration of those about her, and silence all hints as to her birth and checkered past. Controlling her naturally impulsive and passionate nature when necessary, concealing her pride and ambition under a modest, almost humble air, she left nothing undone to add to her popularity and strengthen her position. Two qualities invaluable to a sovereign she naturally possessed—magnanimity and an open hand. Before the wedding the official journals had brought many proofs of her kindness of heart to the knowledge of the public—such as, that the Empress, having beheld an accident to a poor workman who fell from a scaffold, sprang from her coach to hasten to the aid of the unfortunate man and had him carried to a hospital; and on another occasion, seeing a poor abandoned child wandering in the street, the Emperor’s bride had taken it into her own carriage and promised to provide for its future. Still another and striking instance of this was her refusal to accept a diamond necklace valued at six hundred thousand francs which the Municipal Council of Paris had intended to present to her. She wrote a most gracious letter conveying her thanks to the Council for their loyal intention, but declaring she could not consent that Paris should make so great a sacrifice in her behalf, or that the Emperor’s wedding should lay any more burdens on the country; adding that her sole desire was to share with the Emperor the affections of the people, and expressing a wish that the six hundred thousand francs might be devoted to charity. This could not fail to create a good impression; and after the wedding many other examples of the same kind occurred. She gave freely to all who approached her with petitions, conscious only that help was needed; and many kind and consoling words accompanied the large sums she privately bestowed. Indeed, in 1863 she went so far as to insure her life in favor of the poor that they might not suffer by her death; and she laid the foundations of many noble works of charity that will cause her name to be honored long after she herself is forgotten.
Besides her generosity Eugénie possessed a thousand ways of attracting and winning people to her. The Emperor’s love had raised her to the throne; it depended solely on herself and her tact to maintain her position on it. With her inborn dignity, her beauty, and her queenly grace, she was as well equipped by nature for the part as any royal princess; indeed many a sovereign born might well have envied her, as, sparkling with jewels, she stood beneath the canopy of the throne to receive the foreign diplomats and nobles of the Empire. When she appeared on horseback beside the Emperor at grand reviews, or rode through the city in the imperial coach, bowing in response to the shouts of the dazzled crowds, nothing could have been more beautiful. It was plain to all that the Empress well knew how to play her part.
Seldom have two persons better suited to one another than Napoleon and Eugénie, or more completely in accord, been united. In all the pomp and power of her sovereignty she never forgot that it was to him she owed it all; and in proportion as the sense of her own importance rose, her love and admiration for him increased also. In the eyes of the world he had taken a step downward in his choice of a bride; it was now her task to prove that “the adventuress” could be as useful to the dynasty as a consort born in the purple.
“I would rather be spoken ill of than not be spoken of at all!” Louis Napoleon had exclaimed when his first attempts to bring about a political revolution had only excited pity and derision. Even at that time he had studied the French people well, and knew their weak spot was vanity. To flatter the national vanity therefore became one of his principal agencies for maintaining his power; and while in private life he loved an almost plebeian simplicity, in public no effect was too striking or too spectacular to keep up his imperial state.
No one knew better than Eugénie how to arrange these brilliant effects. Ever since the days when she was the companion of toreadors and the heroine of the Corso, love of display and notoriety had been her ruling passion. She may not have been conscious of this in the beginning, but what was at first a habit became by degrees a necessity; and just as the actress thirsts for applause, so Eugénie craved the admiration and approval of the populace. As the actress eagerly searches the newspaper columns after each appearance for the notices of her performance, so Eugénie, after every public entertainment or review or excursion, devoured the descriptions published of her costumes and appearance, revelling in the praises lavished on her person, and spurred on thereby to fresh efforts to win public favor. She studied the question of hertoilettesas if it were a religion and she its high priestess. Most of the fashions of that brilliant period were set by her, and the lists of guests invited to court entertainments were subjected to her personal supervision. Even ladies of high rank were sometimes refused admission to the Tuileries should their costumes not suit Her Majesty.
Brought up among the Spanish aristocracy, famous for elegance and stateliness of manner, and yet perfectly familiar with the lighter customs of French society, Eugénie succeeded in imparting to her court a tone of delicacy as well as luxury and magnificence that made it famous, not only throughout France, but over half the world. Before she had been a month on the throne, a thousand tales were circulated of her beauty, wit, and generosity. The most enthusiastic accounts were printed of all she said and did; and the attention of the public was so occupied with her that it almost forgot to criticise the politics of the Emperor. Wherever the imperial pair appeared they were surrounded by eager throngs; and although here and there some expressions of disapproval might be heard, the Parisians were dazzled by a magnificence of display such as no other city of Europe could equal, and which conjured up memories of a glorious past that filled their hearts with pride.
However the young Empress may have been regarded in other countries, it was generally agreed that she understood better than any of her predecessors how to hold the favor of the fickle Parisians. It was not public homage, however, that Eugénie craved so much as recognition from those princes and princesses who had scorned Mlle. Montijo, theparvenue. It rankled deeply in her mind that she was not of royal birth; and the most insignificant princess who could lay claim to the sovereignty which she adored became an object of envy to her. Since she could never hope to attain this or escape a past that must always serve as a weapon against her, she centred all her desires on being accepted as an equal by other reigning sovereigns and received as a guest in their palaces. Thus for a short time, at least, her origin might be forgotten.
To achieve this was by no means an easy task. All the crowned heads carefully avoided Paris, nor with all her efforts could she even win over the old aristocracy of France. Unable to comprehend that the devotion of the Legitimists tole Royand his heir was a sacred principle, linked with precious memories of the old kingly race, she nevertheless admired their loyalty and resorted to every possible device to lure thegrandes damesof the Faubourg St. Germain to her newly established court. But willingly as they had borne the yoke of the Bourbons, they were too proud to bend the knee before the Spaniard, and made it plain that any overtures from the usurper of their rightful sovereign’s throne would be rejected with contempt.
Compared with the sorrows of her after life, these humiliations were a small matter; but galling as they were to her vanity, they were one of the sharpest thorns in her new crown. In spite of her failure to win over the old French nobility, she was not long in earning the respect of the sovereigns of Europe. Her first opportunity was unexpectedly offered by the Crimean War (1854-56) in which France’s victories restored the country to its old place as foremost military power of Europe, and greatly increased the importance of Napoleon. England had reaped material advantage from the war and was loud in praise of the new Empire, and Victoria was finally forced to invite the usurper and his wife to visit her at Windsor. A personal acquaintance with the Queen of England had long been Eugénie’s most ardent wish, and this invitation afforded her the greatest satisfaction. Victoria had hitherto ignored her in a very marked manner, while at the time of her marriage the English journals had not only cast slurs upon her origin, but boldly criticised her life and conduct. Thus it was doubly desirable for her to be received at the court of England and to make a good impression there, for could she but accomplish this, her position among other sovereigns would be greatly strengthened. By no means certain as to the reception that awaited her, she persuaded Napoleon to send over one of his ministers in advance, ostensibly to arrange articles of peace with the other powers, but charged at the same time to settle all questions of etiquette concerning the impending visit.
The event itself, however, was of a kind to gratify the most susceptible vanity and the most aspiring ambition. Toward evening of the sixteenth of April, 1855, Napoleon and Eugénie with their suite landed on the shores of England, and on the following day set out on their journey to London, accompanied by the Prince Consort. Every town and village on their route was gaily decorated. They were greeted everywhere with the greatest enthusiasm. As they passed through Hyde Park, a long line of aristocratic equipages and equestrians was drawn up on either side. At Windsor triumphal arches had been erected. Shops were closed, houses decorated, and the whole town was on foot to greet Their Majesties. Amid the shouts and cheers of the populace they entered the old castle, where Victoria welcomed them most cordially, having personally seen to all the arrangements for her guests’ comfort.
The day after their arrival the Queen bestowed the Order of the Garter on Napoleon. Following this impressive ceremony was a state banquet at which the famous Windsor gold service made its appearance; and at the gala performance in the court theatre that evening a verse in honor of Napoleon was interpolated in the English National hymn. The next day London held a grand celebration. The Emperor and Empress were lauded in the most flattering songs and speeches; and the people who had been the deadly enemies of Napoleon the First, the country in which Prince Louis Napoleon had lived as a refugee, ill, friendless, often in dire need, now hailed Napoleon the Third as its friend and ally.
The results of this visit to Great Britain were most gratifying to the imperial pair. The enthusiasm of the British made an excellent impression in France and strengthened public confidence in Napoleon’s wisdom and prudence, while the friendship of the English royal family added importance to the young dynasty in Germany, and left no excuse for other sovereign houses to hold aloof from the Tuileries. Lastly, not only were Eugénie’s fondest hopes realized, but she had also made a life-long friend. At their very first meeting Eugénie’s charm completely won the Queen’s heart. This beautiful woman with her ease and dignity of manner bore little resemblance to the notorious belle of gay resorts as she had been described; and forgetting all these unpleasant rumors, she succumbed at once to the Empress’s attractions. The friendship thus begun grew closer with subsequent meetings and continued unbroken for many years.
A few months later, the Queen of England with her husband and two eldest children came to Paris to return her new friend’s visit. For more than four hundred years no English sovereign had visited the French capital, so it was an event of great importance. The Queen, who writes with enthusiasm in her diary of the journey to France, describes their reception as follows:
“On the eighteenth of August we left Osborne about five o’clock in the morning on our yacht, the Victoria and Albert, reaching Boulogne about two, where we were greeted with shouts of welcome from the people and troops drawn up along the shore. The Emperor, with his staff, stood waiting in the sun till the gangplank was thrown out, when he stepped aboard. I went forward to meet him, and he kissed my hand. We four, that is, the Prince, the Prince of Wales, Princess Victoria, and myself, then entered a coach and drove through the streets, everywhere crowded with people and beautifully decorated with flags, to the railway station, the Emperor accompanying us on horseback.”
In the capital great preparations had been made for their reception, Napoleon having ridden about everywhere in person to see that all was complete. At the railway station, which was covered with floral decorations, eighty beautiful young girls were waiting to present the Queen with bouquets. Through a sea of light from lamps and torches, amid the strains of music, the rolling of drums, and incessant cheering, the royal party made its way through the Bois to St. Cloud, where the Empress, Princess Mathilde, and all the ladies of the court were waiting to receive it.
The World’s Exposition had just been opened in Paris at that time, and the week spent by the English guests at the French court was devoted to seeing that, as well as the sights of the city itself. Besides this, a number of state entertainments were given in their honor, concluding with a ball at Versailles that exceeded in magnificence any given since the time of Louis the Fourteenth. Three thousand invitations were issued for this, and all theéliteof France were present, with many distinguished foreigners. The gay uniforms and court dresses of the men and the gorgeous costumes of the ladies, who vied with one another in their display of jewels, laces, and brocades, made a scene of surpassing brilliancy.
The Empress, who appeared at this ball in all her radiant loveliness, was taken ill during the supper and obliged to retire to her own apartments. On several other occasions also she was indisposed and forced to excuse herself. Yet though unable to take an active part in public festivities, Eugénie and Victoria became all the more intimate in their own private circle. Napoleon and the Prince Consort sang duets together. Victoria made several sketches of the country about St. Cloud and often visited Eugénie in her own apartments where the two princesses sat for hours together in confidential talk. A friendship so close and lasting between such widely different natures must have been founded on more than physical attraction. A mutual appreciation of each other’s best qualities drew them together. Eugénie was bolder and more independent than her friend, and freer from prejudice; but Victoria had the strength and repose that come from an inherited consciousness of power, while they were united by a common devotion to their own families, and pride in the nations over which they ruled.
Early on the morning of the sixteenth of March, 1856, a son was born to the imperial pair, and a salute of a hundred and one guns proclaimed the great news to the public, who received it with the wildest enthusiasm. The whole city was decorated with flags, garlands, and portraits of the Emperor and Empress, and ablaze with illuminations at night; while the City Council granted a sum of two hundred thousand francs for a feast for the poor. Greater still was the joy of the royal parents. The Emperor took the little Prince in his arms and carried him out to show to the assembled court, with tears of pride and happiness. He at once ordered a million francs to be distributed in charity to celebrate the event; had it publicly proclaimed that he and the Empress would act as sponsors to all legitimate children born on that day within the borders of his Empire, and issued a decree permitting all political exiles to return to France on condition that they would swear to uphold the Government and obey the laws of the country.
Soon after the birth of the Prince Imperial a congress met to determine the articles of peace which concluded the Crimean War and restored the peace of Europe, and Napoleon was appointed arbiter. At the zenith of his power and with the future of his dynasty seemingly secured, it did not appear altogether presumptuous when in replying to the congratulations of the Assembly he expressed a hope in the brightness of his son’s future as heir to the throne of France.
Eugénie’s position was greatly strengthened by this happy event, for now, should she survive her husband (as seemed probable from the difference in their ages), as mother of Napoleon the Fourth she would have still greater influence in public affairs. Her marriage to Napoleon the Third had revived memories of Josephine. Like the wife of the great Emperor she had been born under a southern sky; like her she had seemed destined from the cradle to wear a crown; and as long as she remained childless there were not lacking hints that a similar fate might be in store for her. But Providence had ordained otherwise. As a mother Eugénie was seated more firmly than ever on the throne of France, and universally regarded with respect, almost with reverence. Gifts flowed in from all sides. No less than twenty-eight orders were bestowed on the baby Prince. Messages of congratulation came from all parts of the Empire. Even the fishwives of the Halle came to offer their good wishes, and engravings of the Empress and her child were scattered by hundreds of thousands throughout the country.
In the early Summer of 1856, terrific floods caused much suffering and distress in many parts of France, in consequence of which there was some talk of having the Prince Imperial’s christening celebrated quietly. Unwilling, however, to lose an opportunity of showing the world that his dynasty, though young in years was inferior to none of the older monarchies in wealth and splendor, Napoleon determined to send the flood victims one half of the sum which would originally have been devoted to the christening festivities, and with the other half he still managed to make an impressive display.
Not for many years had there been such excitement in Paris as on that summer day, which was to witness the baptism of the heir of Napoleon the Third. At six o’clock in the morning the pealing of bells and the thunder of cannon proclaimed that the great day had come, and at the first sound, swarms of eager spectators poured into the streets. All the boulevards and squares were filled in a few hours, and by the time incoming trains had deposited their freight of strangers and provincials, the crowds were so dense it was impossible to cross the Seine. A deafening shout greeted the appearance of the gilded state coach bearing the little Prince with his governess and nurse; nor was the enthusiasm lessened when close behind followed the happy parents with their suite. No less a person than the Holy Father at Rome was godfather to the Spaniard’s child, while Queen Josephine of Norway and Sweden acted as godmother. The ceremony at Notre Dame was most striking and impressive. All the clergy of France were present; on entering the great shadowy Cathedral, dimly lighted by the myriad wax tapers on the altar, one might easily have imagined himself suddenly transported to a scene in the Middle Ages.
That evening the city of Paris gave a magnificent banquet in honor of the imperial family, at which the whole court and many foreign guests were present. It was held in the great hall of the Hôtel de Ville, lit up by eighteen thousand wax candles. The silver service used was made expressly for the occasion at a cost of two hundred and fifty thousand francs and the flowers alone came to twenty thousand francs. Two orchestras alternated in furnishing music; and at the close all present rose and sang “Vive l’Empereur!” The popularity of the Empress was proven by a surprise that had been prepared for her in the form of a diorama representing the various places with which she had some special association:—Granada her birthplace; Madrid, with the Prado; the forest of Compiègne; Fontainebleau, where the Emperor had confessed his love for her; the chamber which she had occupied in the Élysée before her marriage; the wedding of the imperial pair at Notre Dame; the Prince Imperial’s apartment at the Tuileries; the palace of St. Cloud; and the cascade in the Bois de Boulogne. At the conclusion of the banquet Napoleon and Eugénie appeared on one of the balconies of the Hôtel de Ville and were greeted with the wildest enthusiasm by the crowds that had gathered to admire the fireworks and the illuminations. All were charmed with the Emperor’s graciousness and the beauty of the Empress, but most of all with the little Prince Imperial whom the people affectionately nicknamed “Lulu.”[1]
Napoleon’s position at this time seemed impregnable. France had played an honorable part in the Crimean War and covered herself with glory at the fall of Sebastopol. Yet the nephew of the great Napoleon had remained far from the field of battle himself, and felt the need of winning some personal laurels to add to his prestige. The shrewd policy of Count Cavour, the Italian statesman, had greatly increased the power of the kingdom of Sardinia; and thither the Emperor now turned his glances. At a secret meeting with Cavour he guaranteed the support of France to Sardinia in case of war with Austria; but before this pledge could be redeemed an event occurred which might have made the agreement of little avail. It deserves mention here as furnishing a proof of Eugénie’s courage.
On the eleventh of January, 1858, a special performance of grand opera was to be given, and a crowd of loyal subjects had gathered about the theatre to witness the arrival of the sovereigns. As the state coach drew up before the entrance, two bombs were hurled at it, and a frightful explosion followed. Windows in all the neighboring streets were shattered, and a hundred and sixty persons, among them a number of soldiers and outriders, were killed or badly wounded. A fragment of shell pierced the Emperor’s hat; and Eugénie, who tried to protect her husband’s body with her own, received a slight graze on the temple, bespattering her white silk dress with blood. Yet, perfectly calm and undismayed, she stood up at once and called out words of reassurance to the panic-stricken people. As if nothing had happened, Their Majesties entered the theatre, and with her usual winning smile the Empress bowed her thanks to the burst of applause that greeted them. Felix Orsini, the Italian who had thrown the bombs, was immediately seized and thrown into prison with his accomplices.
In a proclamation issued on January first, 1859, the Emperor revealed his intention of severing friendly relations with Austria; and on the outbreak of war between that country and Sardinia, he hastened to the support of his new ally, May 10, 1859, publicly declaring that “Italy must be free from the Alps to the Adriatic.” The victories of Magenta and Solferino, which followed, added fresh glories to the arms of France; and although the peace of Villafranca failed to redeem all his lofty promises, Napoleon was hailed as the deliverer of Italy.
Meanwhile there had been a change in the Government at home which greatly added to Eugénie’s importance. Shortly after Orsini’s unsuccessful attempt, the Assembly passed a law appointing her Regent of France in the Emperor’s absence, or during her son’s minority in case of his death; and on Napoleon’s departure for Italy the reins of government were placed for the first time in her hands. It was a critical period at which to confide the direction of affairs to a woman; had the war been less fortunate in its issue, the situation might have proved as dangerous as it afterwards became, in 1870.
If any decisive influence on French politics was attributed to Eugénie on this or subsequent occasions, it was a mistaken idea. As a matter of fact her regency was little more than an empty farce in which Napoleon allowed his wife to play the chief part. It deluded the people and flattered the Empress to see her name at the head of all state documents; but absent or present, although he permitted Eugénie to share in the ministerial councils, he was careful not to trust the reins of government for any length of time to other hands than his own. On the other hand, it cannot be denied that the Empress, when she chose to exert herself, well knew how to achieve her ends. Once an idea became fixed in her mind she would assail the Emperor with arguments and entreaties until he finally yielded, if only for the sake of peace; nor did she scruple to intrigue against the ministers when they refused to carry out her wishes in the bestowal of honors and positions on favorites of her own, often quite unworthy of such favors.
Her real political influence was greatly overestimated. Her talents did not lie in that direction, nor had she any conception of the intricate machinery of government. Absorbed in a thousand trifles, court festivals, fashions, and intrigues, she had neither time nor inclination to pursue such aims with any system or resolution. Yet there was one case in which she did make trouble by her interference. This was shortly before the Franco-Prussian War, when she brought all her influence to bear in behalf of the Church.
The Papal party had spared no pains to secure Eugénie’s friendship and strengthen her in the conviction that she had been chosen by Providence as one of the chief supports of God’s vicegerent on earth. Full of gratitude to the Deity for this special mark of favor, and firmly believing in her destiny, she yielded blindly to all the wishes of the clergy, thus openly proclaiming herself the head of the clerical party. She devoted her energies to the support of the Papal power and to a revival of the spirit of Catholicism throughout the country. No mercy was shown to those who dissented from the old faith. Even her attendants, with few exceptions, were chosen according to their religious views. Naturally this overzealousness could not fail to excite much opposition, and Eugénie soon had not only the envy and prejudice of society to contend against, but the enmity of the free-thinkers, including many of Napoleon’s best friends.
Of these, Prince Napoleon was the most bitter. Quite as firmly as Napoleon the Third believed it his mission to be sovereign of France, did this Prince feel himself destined to the throne; but while the former supported his ideas with Napoleonic tactics, the latter based his claims chiefly on a remarkable likeness to the first Emperor. Louis Napoleon had worked hard to attain his goal. His cousin contented himself with spending hours before his mirror, arranging the Napoleonic lock of hair upon his forehead—a sign that he should one day wear the crown of France. As long as the Emperor was without issue he regarded himself as certainly the heir. The birth of the Prince Imperial therefore was a bitter blow to him; and when the law was passed giving Eugénie the power of Regent, his rage and chagrin knew no bounds. He had never been able to endure the Spaniard, but had hidden his dislike at first under a mask of cold politeness. Now that he no longer had any reason for concealing his true feelings, he gave full vent to his malice, annoying the Empress constantly by petty personal attacks, and circulating the most shameful reports concerning her private life.
Eugénie returned the Prince’s hatred with all her heart. His dissolute life, evil tongue, and above all, the cowardice he had shown on more than one glaring occasion, made him detestable to her. She retaliated by exposing this side of his character on every possible occasion, thus provoking him constantly to fresh attacks. The relation between them was not improved by the Prince’s marriage in January, 1859, to Clothilde of Savoy, the lovely young Princess to whom the people of Paris gave the name of St. Clothilde. He knew that his marriage to a royal princess would enrage the Empress. While Clothilde had yielded to her father’s wishes in the matter, personally she felt nothing but aversion for the cynical, dissolute free-thinker, for many years the avowed lover of the actress Rachel; nor was he a person likely to capture the fancy of Victor Emanuel’s innocent young daughter.
At court, as in her own household, Clothilde stood well-nigh alone, therefore. She excited the jealousy rather than the sympathy of Eugénie—while in her own heart the Princess of royal birth felt little but contempt for the adventurous Empress. She absented herself from court as much as possible and gathered about her a little circle of her own, those aristocrats who had scorned to pay homage to the Countess Montijo. Yet whenever obliged to appear at the Imperial Court, she fulfilled all the requirements of her position with charming dignity. Once when Eugénie, who found court etiquette most tiresome and fatiguing, asked if it did not weary her, she replied innocently, unconscious of the sting that lay within the words, “Certainly not! I have been accustomed to it all my life.”
Although Prince Napoleon was the most hated of all Eugénie’s enemies, he was by no means the only member of the Emperor’s family who disliked her. Even the kindly, gentle Princess Mathilde looked askance at her cousin’s wife, though she was tactful enough not to betray her feeling. Napoleon’s friendly attachment for her had continued even after his marriage, and he used often to ask her advice in important matters; but the Empress never visited her, and the Princess, who had once presided at the Tuileries, no longer appeared there except on state occasions when it was unavoidable.
The general feeling against Eugénie that prevailed did not find open expression till 1861, when the Emperor returned as victor to his capital from Italy. The Italian people had chosen Victor Emanuel as their sovereign, and the unity of that country met with such approval in France, that when Napoleon failed formally to recognize the new order of things, many attributed his delay to Eugénie’s influence. As a devout Catholic she would gladly have seen the hated Victor Emanuel’s kingdom overthrown and the Pope’s supremacy restored; and while Napoleon can scarcely have shared these feelings, he realized that it was to his interest to keep on good terms with the clerical party, and that to renounce the friendship of the Pope would deprive him of a powerful support. He therefore permitted the Pope to retain Rome and the “Patrimonium St. Petri,” and, on the Empress’s insistence, he agreed to leave a body of French troops in Italy to defend the Papal interests, at the same time publicly recognizing Victor Emanuel as King of Italy, and the provinces revolting from the Church as parts of the new kingdom. This vacillating course pleased neither party, and blame was laid chiefly on the Empress, whose zeal for the Papacy was but too well known. Her exclamation, “If the Pope leaves the Quirinal, I shall leave the Tuileries! I would rather have the Emperor murdered than see him delivered over to everlasting damnation!” passed from mouth to mouth and added still further to the prejudice against her among the intelligent population of France.
Besides the annoyances caused by the ill-will of the anti-clerical party, Eugénie at this time had also sorrows and anxieties of her own to endure. Painful as her youthful passion for the Duke of Alva had been, it had failed to affect the close affection of the two sisters—an attachment that only deepened as time went on. The Duchess and her husband frequently spent their winters in Paris, and were always sure of a cordial welcome from the imperial pair.
Eugénie’s life before her marriage was one of such freedom that although she fulfilled all her duties as sovereign with dignity and apparent content, there were many lonely hours when her thoughts turned longingly to those youthful days in Spain and to the dear ones there, especially her mother, with whom the Duchess of Alva was now her only link. The Duchess had been afflicted for some time with an incurable malady, though Eugénie was ignorant of its serious nature. While travelling with the Emperor in August, 1860, she was shocked to receive word that her sister’s condition had changed greatly for the worse. The august travellers were then in Algiers, and Eugénie begged Napoleon to turn back at once. But elaborate preparations had been made for their entertainment and to abandon the festivities would have been too great a disappointment to the people. Torn with anxiety, the Empress attended a grand ball given in their honor, and not till it was over did she learn the sad truth that her sister was dying. She sailed at once for France, but it was too late. Before she reached land the Duchess had expired. It was a terrible blow to Eugénie; overcome with grief she shut herself up in her own apartments, refusing to see any one. It was months before she recovered herself sufficiently to appear again in court circles.
Nor was this all. Although Napoleon’s marriage with the beautiful Spaniard had been one of love alone, yet the passion with which she inspired him gradually cooled, and although he continued to treat his wife invariably with the same respect and admiration he had shown in their early married life, there were many occasions when he gave her cause for jealousy.
In these conjugal trials the Duchess of Alva had been her confidante and had helped her through many bitter hours. Now that this gentle comforter was gone she felt doubly the neglect so hard for her warm and generous nature to endure; and these sorrows, added to anxiety for the health of her son, cast a permanent shadow over her bright spirits. She fell more and more under the influence of the priesthood, devoted herself to religious works, had new convents built, and even thought of making a pilgrimage to Jerusalem. This plan was afterwards abandoned, but her irritability, capriciousness, and bigotry reduced her household to desperation. The constant alternations of religious frenzy and feverish pursuit of pleasure, of extreme gayety and deepest melancholy, characteristic of the Empress’s later life, were no doubt due to an overwrought nervous system, like the hysterical fits of laughing or weeping that often seized her without any apparent cause. But with so gay and sanguine a temperament as hers, these moods never lasted long; and her warm-heartedness never failed to win the affection of those about her.
Among the friendships formed by Eugénie, that with the Princess Metternich is of especial interest, since no lady of the Imperial Court was so much talked of and criticised as the young wife of the Austrian ambassador. From Vienna, where they had been favorites at the Austrian court, the Metternichs had come to Paris in 1860, shortly after the conclusion of peace between Italy, France, and Austria, and soon after their own marriage. Born of one of the oldest and most distinguished families in the country, Pauline Metternich was at once a type of the proud aristocrat and the gay, witty, thoughtless Viennese, full of original and daring ideas, which she took no pains to conceal. In the days of the Empire the Austrian Embassy was the rendezvous of all the rank, wealth, and intellect of Paris. Disciples of art and literature, diplomats and government officials and Legitimists from St. Germain met in these salons. Even the Emperor and Empress often made their appearance there.
At their very first meeting the Princess had conceived the greatest admiration for Eugénie; and with the exception of her young niece Anna Murat (afterward Duchess of Monchy), for whom the Empress had an almost motherly affection, no one was so close to her as the Princess Metternich. Perfect sympathy of tastes, and a certain magnetic attraction for which there is no explanation, proved the foundation of an intimate friendship that lasted for years. Pauline’s sparkling wit and vivacity were of just the sort to strike a responsive chord in so lively a nature as Eugénie’s. She was the soul of all thefêtesat Compiègne and Fontainebleau, and added to the long evenings at court a life and gayety they often sadly lacked.
At home the Princess Metternich was an excellent wife and mother, and attended personally to every detail of her household. In society, however, she disregarded all conventions, spoke her mind freely on all occasions, and had the courage to stand up for her convictions. The brilliant witticisms and clever sayings attributed to her are numberless; they were repeated not only among the court and diplomatic circles, but even by the public. Her influence in the world of fashion was almost equal to that of the Empress, but she was always causing painful embarrassments to her imitators. One day she would appear dressed with a simplicity and plainness that would not have been permitted in any one else; the next, her costume would be of a costliness no one could possibly hope to rival. She was a clever mimic, and would delight the whole court with her imitations of Madame Thérèse, a well known music-hall singer, the Empress usually leading in the applause; yet on formal occasions no one at court could appear with greater dignity and stateliness. In fact Eugénie’s fondness for her was partly founded on that weakness for birth and rank of which we have already spoken. She was peculiarly sensitive as to her own origin, and no greater insult could be inflicted upon her than any allusion to it. The French authoress Olympe Andouard relates an instance of this that almost severed the friendship between Eugénie and the Princess Metternich.
It was during one of the court evenings at Fontainebleau which happened to be most dull and tedious. Among those present, as usual, was the wife of the Austrian ambassador to whom private apartments had been assigned in a wing of the palace. Weary at last of the monotony, Pauline whispered to a friend that she would feign a bad headache and retire to her own rooms, whither the friend was to follow quietly with a dozen chosen ladies and cavaliers. No sooner said than done. The headache served as an excuse. The Princess withdrew and hastily prepared to receive her guests, who soon succeeded in stealing away unobserved. All was going well. The music and dancing were at their height, when suddenly the door opened and Eugénie appeared—to inquire for her poor Pauline whose “frightful headache” had filled her with sympathy. In spite of her nervous temperament Eugénie on certain occasions (usually unimportant) was not lacking in the necessary calm and self-possession. Instead of laughing at the lively scene before her, she was indignant and reproved the Princess sharply for her lack of proper respect.
“Madame!” replied the diplomat’s wife no less hotly, “you forget that I was born a great lady and submit to no reprimands!”
In consequence of this scene the Princess was forced to absent herself from court for a time, and only by degrees was the old familiarity restored.
Next to Pauline Metternich the most important member of the Empress’s small private circle was Prosper Merimée, the clever author—“the Empress’s court jester,” as he laughingly called himself. He had first met the Countess Montijo while Eugénie was still a child, and the acquaintance had ripened with years into a close friendship which was shared by the imperial pair. Although not strictly speaking a member of the court, both Napoleon and Eugénie treated him as a member of their family, and the bigoted Empress not only honored him as a gifted author, but felt an almost sisterly affection for the avowed free-thinker.
The Danish writer, Hermann Bang, says:
“It was a strangely mixed society that formed the court of the Second Empire, and during this splendid period Paris became more than ever a brilliant social arena. New names and new celebrities sprang up like mushrooms and withered away as quickly. Since life was short, it must needs be rapid. Looking back upon it now, one is reminded of a juggler’s performance at the circus. The glittering balls fly about in bewildering numbers and seem to fill the whole air. Different performers come and go, but the dazzling display continues. This society was neither composed of the representative families of France nor yet of the mass of the population, who supported the Government, and to whom the Second Empire seemed a complete restoration of the glories of the First. Truly the richest legacy of greatness is the magic that lies in a name.”
“It was a strangely mixed society that formed the court of the Second Empire, and during this splendid period Paris became more than ever a brilliant social arena. New names and new celebrities sprang up like mushrooms and withered away as quickly. Since life was short, it must needs be rapid. Looking back upon it now, one is reminded of a juggler’s performance at the circus. The glittering balls fly about in bewildering numbers and seem to fill the whole air. Different performers come and go, but the dazzling display continues. This society was neither composed of the representative families of France nor yet of the mass of the population, who supported the Government, and to whom the Second Empire seemed a complete restoration of the glories of the First. Truly the richest legacy of greatness is the magic that lies in a name.”
Napoleon was well aware of the value of the name he bore. He had not forgotten that to it alone he owed his possession of the throne; and he determined that the name at which Europe had trembled and which all France adored should serve as the foundation of his power. As far as possible he tried to revive all the Napoleonic traditions and preserve the fond illusion of the Parisians. Everything about the court was conducted on a scale of the greatest magnificence. Uniforms of officials, ministers, and deputies were a mass of gold embroidery. The gorgeousness of the palace guards suggested the operatic stage; customs of the time of Louis the Fourteenth were even revived. Visits from foreign sovereigns were attended with an almost fabulous display, and with Napoleon’s rising importance these visits became more and more frequent. Indeed there were times during the Second Empire when whole solar systems of potentates revolved about one another.
On Thursday evenings during the winter, dinners were given at the Tuileries for diplomats and state officials, followed by receptions and dancing. Four court balls were given in the course of the season, to which as many as five thousand invitations were issued, and which were marked by the utmost splendor. Both sides of the grand staircase were lined with palace guards. Guests waited in the galleries until the arrival of the sovereigns, when the doors of the great salon were thrown open and the Emperor and Empress took their places on the dais, the princes and princesses grouped about them. The Empress danced only the opening quadrille on these occasions, and at eleven retired with the Emperor to a smaller salon where there was also dancing.
Eugénie possessed the truly royal gift of never forgetting a face or a name, and always had a kindly word or glance for every one as she passed through the crowded room; but when it was over and she reached her own apartments, she would be completely exhausted with the weight of the crown jewels, which she wore in the greatest profusion on these occasions. Sometimes she would not even wait for her women, but would snatch off the crown and heavy ornaments and toss them into the lap of the lady-in-waiting, who bore them carefully away, for each was worth a fortune. Besides these grand balls to which any one with the slightest claim to rank or position could easily obtain admission, the most splendid and original masquerades were given in Carnival time, to which invitations were more limited. During Lent there were no entertainments with the exception of four state concerts given under the direction of Auber, then courtkapellmeister, and Count Bacciocchi, director of the theatre, in which all the most famous artists took part.
Far more interesting than these semi-official affairs were the weekly Monday receptions held by the Empress in her own apartments. Only a select few were invited to these, and the Empress’s “Mondays” soon became famous all over Europe. Napoleon and Eugénie received their guests with the greatest cordiality, and conversed familiarly with all. Here Princess Metternich shone her brightest; here too were seen the beautiful Princess Murat, Duchess of Monchy; the gallant Count Walewski, who so closely resembled his father, the great Napoleon; the Emperor’s half-brother, the Duke de Morny; and his youthful friend and ally Duke Fialni de Persigny. Here Merimée’s inexhaustible fund of wit and humor found full play. Here the Emperor’s favorite, General Fleury, and the elegant Marquis de Caux (afterward the husband of Adelina Patti) led the cotillon and invented figures that made the rounds of Europe.
Scarcely less famous in their way were the hunting parties held by the court at Compiègne every autumn. To these only a few were invited at a time, and the weekly list of guests was prepared with as much care as if it had been some important affair of state. Fifteen new gowns of the costliest kind were regarded as indispensable by the feminine world for a visit to Compiègne. Many feigned illness to escape the expense of so many newtoilettes, while others were almost ruined by accepting the invitations. Art, literature, and science were well represented at these gatherings; and once arrived at Compiègne, all received the most cordial welcome, no matter what their political opinions.