NAPOLEONPART VII—NAPOLEON IIIBy Anna Erwin Woods
By Anna Erwin Woods
The year 1848 came bearing revolution on its wings. Again France cast aside the Bourbon dynasty, and declared for a republic. Once more began the exile of King Louis Philippe; driven from his native land in old age, as in youth.
The man of Boulogne and Strasbourg waited and watched his opportunity. A republican, a great minister, a member of the provisional government declared, “The renown of Napoleon remains as one of those immense souvenirs which extend over the history of a people, and cover it with an eternal splendor. All that is popular in this glory we accept with eagerness; the proscription of his family by the France of to-day would be a shame.” France gave heed to these words and the National Assembly declared: “Article 6 of the law of April 10, 1852, relative to the banishment of the Bonaparte family is abrogated.”
Another republican leader made the following assertion: “The Republic is like the sun. Allow the nephew of the Emperor to approach it, I am sure he will disappear in its beams.” Events proved that it was not the nephew of the emperor who was to disappear. But, in fact, the real antagonist of the republic was not the living nephew—it was the dead emperor himself, the ever-living name—Napoleon. Living or dead, France belonged to him.
After thirty-three years of proscription and exile, Louis Napoleon was elected by his native city of Paris to a seat in the National Assembly.
On December 20, 1848, Charles Louis Napoleon was declared President of the Republic of France. The question arose, “Will he take the oath of office wearing the costume of Napoleon as First Consul, or appear in military dress?” Upon taking his oath the Prince-President wore a black coat with the star of the Legion of Honor.
During the year 1852, the vote of the people of France was taken as to whether or not the imperial dignity should be re-established in the person of Prince Louis Napoleon. And “by the grace of God and the National Will” Charles Louis Napoleon became “Napoleon III, Emperor of the French.” On the night of December 1, 1852, the dignitaries of the new Empire went to the Palace of St. Cloud carrying the Imperial Crown, and the next day the proclamation of the empire was made in Paris with stately ceremony. The Emperor Napoleon III rode from the palace of St. Cloudto the Tuileries. The procession marched between lines of soldiers with arms presented; the cannon roared, the bells rang gaily, and the military bands played “Partant pour la Syrie,” the stirring air composed by Queen Hortense.
Mrs. Jessie Benton Fremont (whom it is scarcely necessary to mention as being the daughter of Thomas H. Benton and the wife of John C. Fremont) says in “Souvenirs of My Life”: “We saw the official entrance into Paris of the Emperor, our position on the Champs Elysées being about midway between the Arc de Triomphe and the Tuileries. On that 2nd day of December, 1852, the courage of Louis Napoleon was tested. The republicans who had put him in power, had warned him that he should die if he altered the republican form of government. Whether he had courage or not I do not know. What I do know is that I saw him ride, alone, no troops, not a single officer within forty feet of him to his front or rear, and open space on either side of him, along the broad avenue densely lined by crowds. Quite separated and alone, his head bare, holding in one hand the reins, in the other his hat. Only his horse was to share any harm that might come to him. To us the thrill of response to such evident courage came with sudden conviction and the applause from our balcony was strong and sincere.”
England hastened to recognize the new Emperor, and the other Great Powers promptly followed her example. Immense sums of money were voted by the National Assembly to be placed at the disposal of the Emperor in order to maintain the splendor of his position. The prisoner of Ham had become the absolute ruler of the foremost nation of continental Europe.
In the hour of triumph, in the midst of his state and magnificence the friends of his years of adversity were not forgotten. Charles Thelin, the devoted valet, became Treasurer of the Privy Purse—a purse much heavier than the one from which Thelin had paid for the workman’s costume at Ham! None of the adherents of the evil days of Louis Napoleon were forgotten; in his heart there seemed to rest a grateful memory of every kindness.
“Now, too, the joy most like divine,Of all I ever dreamed or knew;To see thee, hear thee, call thee mine—Oh, Fate, and wilt thou give that, too?”
“Now, too, the joy most like divine,Of all I ever dreamed or knew;To see thee, hear thee, call thee mine—Oh, Fate, and wilt thou give that, too?”
“Now, too, the joy most like divine,Of all I ever dreamed or knew;To see thee, hear thee, call thee mine—Oh, Fate, and wilt thou give that, too?”
“Now, too, the joy most like divine,
Of all I ever dreamed or knew;
To see thee, hear thee, call thee mine—
Oh, Fate, and wilt thou give that, too?”
To most men comes love’s young dream, and then ambition. To this, which is the common fate, this man of strange destiny, Louis Napoleon, was to offer a contradiction. His life was now passed under triumphal arches, listening to words of adulation. It was at Fontainebleau that the great Emperor had signed his abdication and taken leave of his guard as he departed for his first captivity upon the Island of Elba. And it was at Fontainebleau that Napoleon III sat unmoved and listened to these words: “Our single wish is that, having been the last to salute Napoleon I, we may be the first to salute Napoleon III.” But it is with emotion which he could not control that on the spot where he and his mother had stood together, sad pilgrims (1831), he heard these words in her honor: “Crowned artist, queen of grace and genius, mother of a glorious child, preserved by her through exile and danger to give repose to France.”
With his wildest dreams realized, he felt that to be admired is nothing; the thing is to be loved. His heart was filled with reveries and longings; he aspired after the greatest happiness in life—love in marriage. His words were: “Until now my position has prevented me from marrying; amidst the cares of government, I have, alas! at this hour, in my own country, from which I have so long been absent, neither intimate friends nor acquaintances of childhood, nor relatives who could give me the sweetness of family life!”
After the coup d’état the friends and ministers of Louis Napoleon greatly desired that he should forman alliance with some princess of royal or imperial blood. The daughter of his cousin, the Grand Duchess of Baden, had married Prince Gustavus Vasa of Sweden, son of King Gustavus IV. The daughter of this marriage, Princess Caroline Vasa (afterwards Queen of Saxony), was the person selected to become the wife of Napoleon III. It seems that the Emperor of Austria had to be consulted, and his refusal was positive, in consideration of the fate of the two Archduchesses, Marie Antoinette and Marie Louise, who had been placed by Austria upon the throne of France. Louis Napoleon seemed to feel no regret as to the failure of the negotiation, as his heart was by no means engaged in it.
There was at this time in Paris a young Spanish lady of noble birth and high position and of very extraordinary beauty, Mademoiselle de Montijo, Comtesse de Teba. Like all foreigners of distinction, she and her mother, the Comtesse of Montijo, were received at the Elysée Palace by the Prince-President with the attention due their rank. When first he met her, in 1849, he was very deeply impressed by her great beauty, elegance and grace, and this feeling seemed constantly to increase. Although he treated her with the most marked reserve and dignity, his happiness was in being at her side. He inaugurated a series of sojourns at his palaces at Compiègne and Fontainebleau, where she and her mother were among his guests.
Her manner was full of charm and grace, and her nature of enthusiasm and poetry. Her conversation was bright and glowing, and the Emperor could not conceal the joy he felt in listening to her, nor the admiration aroused by her graceful and intrepid horsemanship. He was himself a bold and elegant rider, and in the forests of his country palaces he ordered that hunts should be given with the most brilliant surroundings.
Although her radiant beauty attracted the attention of all, none dreamed that in Mademoiselle de Montijo they saw their future Empress. The Emperor never departed from the most correct reserve; accustomed, as he was, to master and conceal his emotions, although softened, subdued and fascinated, his attitude throughout towards his lovely guest was irreproachable. Possibly his projected marriage was already settled in his own mind. Although an Emperor, and a man who wore a mask of gentle calmness in most trying moments, he was, at this time, above all else, a lover.
One bright autumnal morning, as they walked in the park, the beautiful Spaniard, full of poetical fancy, admired the magical effect of the dewdrops upon the clover leaves. The Emperor quietly drew aside one of his courtiers, who left in a few moments for Paris. The next evening there was a lottery drawn, and it was managed that Mademoiselle de Montijo should draw a clover leaf sparkling with superb diamonds. Simply, the Emperor was desperately in love; to him, as to any other man of deep sentiment, above all things earthly, even crowns and sceptres, was a beautiful face, the most beautiful sight of all, and the sweetest harmony was the tone of voice of the woman he loved.
On January 1st, 1853, he asked her in marriage, and on January 22nd, he summoned before him, in the throne-room of the Tuileries, the great constituent bodies of the empire to receive his announcement. In a clear and emphatic manner and voice he spoke:
“Gentlemen, I comply with the wish so often manifested by the country by coming to announce to you my marriage.... For the last seventy years foreign princesses have ascended the steps of the throne, only to see their offspring scattered by war or revolution. One woman alone has seemed to bring happiness and to live longer than others in the people’s memory; and this woman, the good and modest wife of General Bonaparte, was not the issue of royal blood.” This homage paid to his grandmother, the Empress Josephine, was greeted with applause and cries of“Long live the Emperor!” After speaking at length with regard to matters of state, with great emotion he expressed all his affection for his betrothed: “She who has become the object of my preference is of lofty birth.... Gifted with all the qualities of the soul, she will be the ornament of the throne, as in the hour of danger she would become one of its courageous supporters.... Catholic and pious, she will address to Heaven the same prayers that I do for the welfare of France; gracious and good, she will, in the same position, I firmly hope, renew the virtues of the Empress Josephine.”
He ended with these heartfelt words: “I come, then, gentlemen, to say to France, I have preferred a woman whom I love and respect to an unknown person, the advantages of an alliance with whom would be mingled with sacrifices. In placing independence, the qualities of the heart, family happiness above dynastic prejudices, I shall not be less strong, because I shall be more free. Very soon, in betaking myself to Nôtre Dame, I shall present the Empress to the people and the army; the confidence they have in me will assure their sympathy for her whom I have chosen, and you, gentlemen, in learning to know her, will be convinced that this time also I have been inspired by Providence.”
As soon as the announcement was made Mme. de Montijo and her daughter were installed in the Elysée Palace, where they were to reside until the marriage should take place, and where the Emperor went every day to pay court to his betrothed and to carry her bouquets. He laid not only his crown, but his heart, at her feet. This man, daring in deeds and gentle in feeling, had undergone deep pangs of suffering. Venerating his father, devotedly loving his brother and idolizing his mother, he had, one by one, been bereft of all near and dear to him. He seemed to long to take in his protecting arms and in his loving heart a woman whom he could love and honor and cherish as his wife, one worthy to be at his side upon a throne.
The Municipal Council of Paris had determined to offer to the Emperor’s betrothed a magnificent set of diamonds. The Prefect of the Seine received the following letter:
M. Prefect: I am much affected on learning the generous decision of the Municipal Council of Paris, which thus displays its sympathetic adhesion to the union the Emperor is contracting. Nevertheless, I experience a painful sentiment when I think that the first public act attaching to my name at the moment of the marriage is to be a considerable expense for the city of Paris. Permit me then not to accept your gift, however flattering to me; you would make me happier by employing in charity the sum you have fixed upon for the purchase of the ornaments the Municipal Council wished to offer me. I desire that my marriage shall not be the occasion of any new expense to the country to which I belong henceforward; and the sole thing I aspire to is to share with the Emperor the love and esteem of the French people. I beg you, M. Prefect, to express all my gratitude to the Council, and to receive for yourself the assurance of my distinguished consideration.Eugenie, Comtesse de Teba.Elysée Palace, January 26, 1855.
M. Prefect: I am much affected on learning the generous decision of the Municipal Council of Paris, which thus displays its sympathetic adhesion to the union the Emperor is contracting. Nevertheless, I experience a painful sentiment when I think that the first public act attaching to my name at the moment of the marriage is to be a considerable expense for the city of Paris. Permit me then not to accept your gift, however flattering to me; you would make me happier by employing in charity the sum you have fixed upon for the purchase of the ornaments the Municipal Council wished to offer me. I desire that my marriage shall not be the occasion of any new expense to the country to which I belong henceforward; and the sole thing I aspire to is to share with the Emperor the love and esteem of the French people. I beg you, M. Prefect, to express all my gratitude to the Council, and to receive for yourself the assurance of my distinguished consideration.
Eugenie, Comtesse de Teba.
Elysée Palace, January 26, 1855.
The money was employed in founding an establishment where poor young girls should receive a professional education, and which they would leave only when provided with suitable positions. This establishment was to bear the name of the Empress and be placed under her protection.
To be continued
To be continued
To be continued