[Illustration: _EUGÉNIE_]
_Life Stories for Young People_
EUGÉNIE
EMPRESS OF THE FRENCH
_Translated from the German of
Erich Holm_
BY
GEORGE P. UPTON
_Author of “Musical Memories,” “Standard Operas,” etc._
_Translator of “Memories,” “Immensee,” etc._
WITH FOUR ILLUSTRATIONS
[Illustration: A. C. McCLURG & CO.]
CHICAGO
A. C. McCLURG & CO.
1910
Copyright
A. C. McCLURG & Co.
1910
Published September 24, 1910
THE · PLIMPTON · PRESS
[W · D · O]
NORWOOD · MASS · U · S · A
Preface
In a recent interview at her villa in the Riviera, the ex-Empress
Eugénie is reported to have said: “I have lived; I have been; I do not
ask more. I ask not to be remembered. Between my past and my present
there exists not half a century, but ten centuries. Men have changed,
times have changed. It is a dream that is dissipated.” It is a
fascinating story, as told in these pages, the career of this
granddaughter of a Scotch wine-merchant, who by the power of her
personal charm, the incentive of her ambition, and the boldness of her
resolution, achieved her purpose, though stigmatized an upstart and
adventuress, and eventually driven from the throne and doomed to spend
her remaining days brooding over the loss of her power and her beauty;
over France’s crushing defeat in what the short-sighted Empress lightly
termed “my war”; over her folly in urging Napoleon into the war;
sorrowing over his death, and chiefly, lamenting the death of her son at
the hands of Zulu savages in that far-away land whither she had urged
him to go. Hers is an adventurous, a romantic, in every way an
extraordinary, life-story. It shows what one of determined will and
fixed purpose may do. But was it worth the doing? In these days, looking
back over her career, all she can say is: “I am the past. I am the
distant horizon where exists a mirage, a shadow, a phantom, a living
sorrow. I am an old woman, poor in everything that makes a woman rich.
My husband, my son—that brave boy—they are gone. My eyes no longer turn
to the future. I live only in my youth. There is nothing for me but to
wait. My dreary winter is nearly over.” Poor Eugénie! That she still
clings to the hope of seeing a descendant of Napoleon on the throne of
France is evidenced by a letter to an old soldier who recently appealed
to her for help, in which she says: “As her majesty admits that every
old soldier of the empire has remained faithful to the sacred cause, to
the imperial eagles, it is necessary so that her majesty may be assured
of a devotion of which she—or rather the legitimate heir to the
throne—will perhaps have need sooner than one thinks, that she receives
from you a letter in which she will find the expression of your
unshakable devotion to the memory of Napoleon III and to the Imperial
cause, as well as the expression of your mistrust of the present
regime.”
G. P. U.
Chicago, _July_, 1910.
Contents
Chapter Page
I The Youth of Eugénie 11
II Eugénie’s Marriage to Louis Napoleon 23
III Eugénie’s Personality 36
IV State Visit to England 42
V Birth of the Prince Imperial 49
VI The Empress in Politics 54
VII Private Life of the Empress 62
VIII Paris under the Second Empire 68
IX Eugénie as a Leader of Fashion 79
X Decline of the Empire 88
XI The War of 1870 97
XII Eugénie’s Flight to England 109
XIII The Empress in Exile 119
XIV Death of the Prince Imperial 126
Appendix 136
Illustrations
Eugénie _Frontispiece_
Empress Eugénie 30
Napoleon the Third 92
The Empress-Widow 134
Eugénie
Empress of the French
Chapter I
The Youth of Eugénie
At the beginning of the last century there dwelt in the city of Malaga
in Spain a merchant named Kirkpatrick. Although descended from a Scotch
family of distinction that had been forced by the fall of the Stuarts to
flee their native land, this later scion of the race earned his
livelihood by the sale of wines which he dispensed with his own hand in
a room at the rear of his shop. The business prospered and he became a
rich man, exporting large quantities of Spanish wines to foreign
countries; but he still kept his wine-room in Malaga, assisted by his
four daughters, who did much to attract custom.
The lofty family traditions of the Kirkpatricks of Closeburn could
scarcely have been expected to be remembered amid the practical duties
of the merchant’s busy life, but his beautiful daughters were by no
means unaware of their high descent nor without hope of elevating
themselves once more to the rank of their ancestors. Of the four
sisters, Manuela, the third, was the most aspiring as well as the most
beautiful. Even when busy serving wine and chatting gayly with the
gentlemen who frequented her father’s wine-room, her mind was constantly
dwelling on the traditions of her house, and in the glories of the past
she forgot the sordid surroundings of the present. Although a true
daughter of the soil from which she sprang, Manuela was very different
from the ordinary Spanish girl, who is often indolent and ignorant; for
with her Scotch blood she inherited the energy without which her dreams
and ambitions could never have been realized. Determined to rise in the
world, and with nothing but herself and her beauty to depend upon, she
decided that only a brilliant marriage could accomplish her ends; and to
achieve this she was ready to use any means or make any sacrifice.
Among the officers stationed at that time in Malaga, most of whom were
frequent patrons of Kirkpatrick’s wine-room, was a colonel of artillery
in the Spanish army, Count Manuel Fernandez de Teba. No longer young,
and far from attractive in person, having lost an eye, and being very
short-sighted besides, he was little fitted to awaken tender sentiments
in the fair sex; but Manuela was not to be daunted by this. His heart
seemed a citadel not too difficult of conquest, and without regard to
his appearance she devoted herself to the study of his antecedents. The
result of these genealogical researches exceeded her fondest hopes, for
they proved that the bluest blood of Spain flowed in Count Teba’s veins.
He was descended from the noble Genoese family of Porto-Carrero, which,
emigrating to Estremadura in the fourteenth century, had secured by
marriage the right to bear some of the most illustrious names of Spain
as well as the heirship to the joint estates of Teba, Banos, and Mora.
He was the second son, it is true, but his elder brother was unmarried;
and if she united her future with his, the ambitious maiden could reckon
with some security on attaining in time the rank and position to which
she aspired.
Her father’s increasing prosperity, no less than her own remarkable
beauty, caused many younger and handsomer suitors to lay their homage at
Manuela’s feet, but however favored any one of these may have believed
himself, he was now cast remorselessly aside. Her course once decided
on, she lost not a moment in setting her hand to the work. She showed
Count Teba the most delicate attentions, the most flattering deference;
for him were reserved her sweetest smiles, her tenderest glances, until
at last the credulous nobleman’s admiration kindled into passion, and
without even consulting his family, Manuel Fernandez, afterwards Count
de Montijo and Duke de Peneranda, married Maria Manuela, daughter of the
wine-merchant Kirkpatrick. The young Countess at once set up an
establishment on the grandest scale. Her salons became the resort of the
richest and most distinguished officers, and she charmed every one with
her hospitality, her beauty, and her wit.
While she was enjoying her triumph to the full, however, evil tongues
were soon busy over the free and easy tone said to prevail in the home
of the worthy pair—a rumor that quickly found its way to the Count de
Montijo. From the first he had strongly disapproved of his brother’s
unsuitable marriage, and, indignant at the gossip caused by his
sister-in-law’s behavior, he determined to prevent their becoming his
heirs, by making a marriage himself in his old age. Manuela was seized
with fury at this news; but prudence soon gained the upper hand, and
instead of sulkily avoiding her new relatives she made every effort to
win their approval, a course that was the less difficult for her to
pursue, as, to her secret joy, the marriage remained childless. Tired of
living in her native place where she was constantly reminded of her
humble origin, she finally persuaded her husband to leave Malaga; and
with their little daughter Francisca Theresa they moved to Granada,
where the Count’s brother had his residence. There, on the fifth of May,
1826, the future Empress of the French, Maria Eugénie, was born—the same
day of the same month on which Napoleon the Great had died.
Eugénie’s mother was a perfect woman of the world. Brilliant and clever
and mistress of the art of conversation, she far surpassed the ordinary
Spanish woman in intellect as well as wit. It was not strange,
therefore, that with all these charms at her command she had succeeded
in winning over her brother-in-law and sister-in-law, and establishing
herself in their favor; so that Count Teba’s family soon became welcome
guests at all the Montijo entertainments, where they were received with
the utmost courtesy and respect. But even this did not satisfy Manuela.
She longed for a life of more freedom and unrestraint, and to climb yet
higher in the ranks of society. Her ambition was destined to be
fulfilled, for before many years had passed Count Teba stood beside the
bier of his childless brother; and his wife now persuaded him to take up
his residence in Madrid.
The domestic life of Eugénie’s parents had never been a harmonious one.
Her mother’s extravagance and coquetry, together with the jealous and
violent temper of her father, soon banished the genius of peace from the
household; and their quarrels were the more frequent and bitter from the
Countess’s lack of any real affection for her husband. Matters grew even
worse after their arrival in the capital, for Manuela gave herself up
entirely to intrigues and made her husband’s life miserable. Here, too,
she was prompted less by passion than by ambition, since it was through
her connection with influential persons that she hoped to obtain a
position at court. Among the many she attracted to her house was General
Narvaez, at that time the most powerful man in Spain. At his
intercession, the wine-merchant’s daughter was made first
lady-in-waiting to the youthful Queen Isabella. This coveted post she
could no doubt have easily retained had she not allowed her passions for
once to gain the upper hand. A young Italian for whom she had a fondness
disappeared one fine day with all her jewels; and on this occasion she
so far overstepped the bounds permissible even at the Spanish court that
it was intimated to her she would do well to leave Madrid.
While their mother was thus coquetting and intriguing at court, Eugénie
and her sister, two years older than herself, had been left at the
Sacred Heart Convent in Paris. The Countess now took the two girls away
with her, and, leaving her husband in Madrid, began a pleasant life of
travel, dividing her time between London, Paris, and the fashionable
watering-places, everywhere gathering about her a circle of friends and
adorers, many of them men distinguished in the world of art and
learning,—although the greater part of her admirers belonged to that
class which lives in enjoyment of the present, preferring the pleasures
of the senses to those of the mind. Over her young daughters’
acquaintances and associates, however, she kept a close watch; whatever
her own indiscretions may have been during this period, she carefully
guarded their innocence from all evil influences. She neglected no
opportunities for improving their minds, and it was then that the
foundations were laid of that excellent education which no one ever
ventured to deny the Empress Eugénie.
It was impossible for the careful mother not to perceive the attention
excited wherever they went by her younger daughter’s beauty, her regular
features, exquisite coloring, large clear eyes, and wonderful golden
hair; and while she little dreamed that Eugénie was destined to become
the sovereign of a great European nation, with justifiable maternal
pride she began to hope that her child might rise to even greater rank
than she herself had attained. To pave the way to this good fortune, the
Countess Montijo made another attempt to regain her position at court,
but met with a prompt refusal. Narvaez, however, who was still in power,
took her under his protection without more ado; and on the death of her
husband, in 1839, she determined to return to Madrid, where, at the
expiration of her period of mourning, the handsome widow accordingly
appeared, accompanied by her still more lovely daughters, Francisca, at
that time seventeen years old, and Eugénie, fifteen. The sisters were a
complete contrast to each other though equally beautiful. The elder was
darker and more slender, and her features were softer than Eugénie’s,
though her face had less character.
Through the zeal and influence of Narvaez and their mother’s prudence
and perseverance, the Queen was finally induced to take the young girls
into her court, but their position there was by no means an enviable
one. As daughters of a woman who in spite of her personal attractions
was well known to have led an irregular life, they were looked upon with
general suspicion; and as they constantly appeared with this mother in
society, it was only natural that members of their own sex should hold
aloof from them, while the men redoubled their attentions in
consequence. The Countess Montijo was shrewd enough to see that she must
proceed with caution if she wished her plans realized; therefore, to
protect her daughters from the reefs on which her own reputation had
been wrecked, she kept all undesirable cavaliers at a respectful
distance. Among all those who sought the young Countesses’ favor there
was only one she considered worthy to occupy the position of her
son-in-law, the Duke of Berwick and Alva; him she encouraged in every
way, permitting him to ride and drive with her daughters and accompany
them to the theatre, giving him an intimate footing in the family. His
companionship was a source of delight to both sisters, and he soon
became the centre of their thoughts, possessing as he did the art of
making himself so agreeable to both that each one fancied herself the
object of his preference.
Eugénie adored Alva with all the intensity of a first love, endowing him
with all the loftiest and most noble qualities; and, worshipping this
image created by her fancy, believed herself loved in return. The
mother, however, more experienced in the faithlessness of man, began to
suspect that he had no intention of choosing either daughter as a
companion for life; accordingly she set before him, when he came one day
to call, the serious alternative of declaring himself or severing all
intercourse with the family; to which ultimatum the Duke replied by
requesting the hand of the elder. When Francisca, radiant with joy,
hastened to her sister’s room to announce the great news she found her
in bed. At first she thought her asleep, but on coming closer discovered
to her horror that Eugénie’s eyes were fixed and staring, her forehead
covered with beads of moisture, her features drawn and convulsed—she had
taken poison! Francisca’s screams of distress quickly brought her mother
and the maid to the scene. A physician was summoned, and Eugénie was
restored to consciousness. A long and serious illness followed. In her
delirious ravings she betrayed the fact that, hidden behind a door, she
had overheard the Duke’s avowal and in despair had tried to end her
life. Her recovery was slow and tedious. Even after she had been
pronounced out of danger, her nervous system showed traces of the shock
in a slight trembling, a nervous quiver of the eyelids, that never
entirely left her. The sudden attacks of depression, the fits of weeping
that sometimes seized her in after years, even in the midst of some
festivity, may also be ascribed to the effects of the poison taken in
her youth.
Still deeper were the traces left on the young girl’s character by this
unhappy experience. Though taught by pride to conquer her love for the
husband of her sister, she was forced to be a daily witness of that
sister’s happiness and to endure the pity with which she was universally
regarded, added to which was the galling conviction that the Duke
himself suspected her secret. The once shy and modest maiden became a
bold, forward coquette, striving to forget her sufferings in a whirl of
pleasure and amusement, craving admiration, ambitious and frivolous. As
a child she had always preferred boys’ sports to the usual occupations
of girls, and excelled in riding, swimming, and fencing. Now she might
be seen any afternoon galloping bareback through the streets of Madrid,
smoking a cigar or a cigarette. She devised all sorts of fanciful
costumes that only she could wear, often appearing in the Andalusian
national dress. She was a frequent visitor at the theatre and all public
places of amusement, and had a passion for bull-fights. One of the
toreadors, for whom she embroidered a splendid cloak, was her declared
lover. She rarely missed one of these gory festivals; and, seated on the
lowest tier among the most enthusiastic spectators, in her Andalusian
costume, she was always the centre of attraction. The womanly modesty
that had made Eugénie so charming in her early girlhood had vanished,
but she was even more beautiful and fascinating. She was surrounded by
admirers, and encouraged the addresses of dukes and princes till her
coquetries aroused the jealousy of the Queen. But no one paid court to
her seriously. Suitors were naturally shy of choosing a wife who often
appeared in masculine attire, who wore the most startling and
conspicuous bathing costumes to excite admiration while in the water,
and whose hand was as familiar with riding-whip and stiletto as with fan
or bouquet.
In spite of her many extravagances, however, Eugénie’s youth was marked
by a gay thoughtlessness and daring that were most attractive. Her
self-reliant nature could brook no restraint. She scorned prudence and
yielded rashly to every impulse. The attention she attracted could not
fail to furnish food for gossip, and malicious tongues were soon busy
with her reputation—a fact which did not deter her in the least from
pursuing her fondness for adventure. This indifference to public opinion
also led her, unfortunately, to defy custom and snap her fingers at the
strict etiquette prescribed at court. At last she went out alone one
evening with one of the young pages for a long walk. Whispers of this
romantic promenade soon reached the ears of Queen Isabella, who, though
setting the worst possible example herself in regard to morals, insisted
on the strictest propriety in the behavior of her ladies; and both
culprits were summarily dismissed from her service.
Like all Spanish girls, Eugénie had been brought up from her earliest
years a devout Catholic, with the deepest reverence for the Pope and the
Roman religion, a devotion that in time became almost fanaticism and
furnished her enemies with a weapon of attack against which she was
powerless to defend herself. After her dismissal from court she began to
reflect on the difference between a religious life and one of idle
pleasure. While at the convent, the contrast between the unselfish
devotion of the nuns and the atmosphere of her parents’ disordered
household made a deep impression on the young girl’s mind, and the
Church seemed a blissful refuge from the storms of life. Now—feeling
more and more conscious of the void within her—a passion for religion
seized her, a longing to escape from the world of lies and slander in
which she lived, into a purer atmosphere, a new field of activity. The
Church held out its arms to her, and in them she determined to seek
relief and to find strength to devote her life to the poor and
suffering. It is said that when Eugénie went to the convent prepared to
take the vows, an old half-witted nun approached, gazed at her with
dull, vacant eyes, and suddenly exclaimed, “My daughter, do not seek
shelter behind our walls. You are destined to adorn a throne!”
In her state of religious ecstasy these words could not fail to impress
Eugénie deeply. It seemed a voice from heaven, speaking to her through
the nun and consecrating her to the world. The Countess Montijo, too,
did all she could to strengthen her daughter in this conviction, and
persuaded her at length, instead of burying herself in a cloister, to
travel abroad with her again.