Private Life of the Empress
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 the _fêtes_ at
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.