Paris under the Second Empire
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.”
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 court _kapellmeister_, 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 new _toilettes_, 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.
Next to court entertainments the most popular rendezvous for the world
of fashion in the days of the Empire was the opera; and although it then
had its home in the narrow _Rue Lepelletier_, instead of its present
magnificent palace, this did not deter royalty and all the highest
society from attending regularly. Full dress was required, and the
costly gowns and the jewels of the ladies, with the brilliant uniforms
of the men, lent an air of festivity to each performance that is usually
seen only on some gala occasion. But if grand opera were the temple of
art in which Eugénie showed herself most often, it was by no means her
favorite place of amusement. She not only lacked all knowledge of the
higher music, but it was distasteful to her; and even well written drama
at the Théâtre Français had no interest for her. On the other hand, she
adored anything amusing and had the greatest fondness for Offenbach’s
lively airs. Her musical taste may be judged by the fact that during the
Czar Alexander of Russia’s stay in Paris in 1867, she could think of no
greater mark of attention than to send him tickets for a performance of
the “Grande Duchesse de Gerolstein.”
Her fancied resemblance to Marie Antoinette has already been mentioned;
indeed, there were many points of similarity between the Spanish
Countess and Maria Theresa’s unfortunate daughter. Both possessed
remarkable beauty, charm, energy, and strength of character. Both were
boundlessly extravagant and open-handed, as both in their younger days
allowed the pursuit of pleasure to banish all serious occupations.
Eugénie avoided the imprudences of which Marie Antoinette was guilty,
and instead of risking her popularity, did all in her power to preserve
and strengthen it; yet she too was powerless to escape calumny. There
were but too many evil tongues ready to suggest that a woman who owed
her sovereignty to beauty alone was scarce likely to remain a pattern of
virtue, and we have seen how even in her own family she had enemies who
tried to undermine her reputation.
The court of the Second Empire was full of corruption and was abandoned
to a life of pleasure and luxury. But it is ever the way of aristocratic
society to seek amusement; and if at the courts of Berlin and London a
more serious tone prevailed, those of Vienna, St. Petersburg, and Madrid
were scarcely less frivolous than that of France under the Second
Empire.
The Empress’s daily life was very different from this; intermixed with
the feverish pursuit of pleasure were many days of weariness and ennui.
At eight o’clock she rose and devoted an hour regularly, sometimes two
or three, to her favorite occupation, the study of her _toilettes_. At
half-past eleven she breakfasted alone with the Emperor and the Prince
Imperial, after which Napoleon would smoke a cigarette in his wife’s
apartment, chatting and playing with his little son. Kindness of heart
was one of the Emperor’s most marked characteristics. Indeed he was
often over-indulgent with the child—a weakness Eugénie continually
struggled against, with the natural result that the little Prince
preferred his father to his mother. At one, every day he went for his
drive in the Bois de Boulogne, and the Empress retired to her study,
back of the audience chamber, where no one was allowed to enter. Here
her tastes and habits were best displayed, for in this room she had
surrounded herself with all her most precious possessions, portraits of
her family and intimate friends, busts, vases, statuettes, and all sorts
of personal souvenirs, and a small set of bookshelves containing the
works of French, Spanish, English, and Italian writers. Every day
Eugénie wrote to her mother, a sacred duty with which neither _fête_ nor
illness, travel nor court entertainment, was ever allowed to interfere.
Among others with whom she also kept up a lively correspondence were
Queen Victoria and the Queen of Holland. After the Empress’s personal
letters were finished she summoned her secretary, Damas Hinard, with
whom she went through the vast number of begging letters and appeals of
all kinds she received daily, to each of which she gave her personal
attention.
Adjoining Eugénie’s bedchamber was an anteroom without windows in which
a lamp was always burning, and from which a narrow stairway led to the
Emperor’s apartments. Concealed in the wainscoting of this room by
sliding panels were a number of caskets, all numbered and marked in
cipher. To look over and arrange their contents was one of Eugénie’s
favorite amusements. Here she kept not only her own private papers, but
many interesting contributions to the history of Napoleon the First and
his times, in the form of letters from statesmen, soldiers, and scholars.
All the Emperor’s discarded documents and correspondence were carefully
preserved by Eugénie, and stored away where only she could get at them.
Napoleon was much amused at this mania of hers for collecting, and she
herself used to laugh over it.
“I am like a little mouse, running around after the Emperor and picking
up all the crumbs he lets fall,” she once said.
The ladies-in-waiting did not live in the Tuileries; it was only during
the summer that they were constantly with her, whether travelling about
or at one of the summer palaces. Of these, some were naturally more
congenial than others, but Eugénie had no choice in the matter of a
companion; this was regulated strictly by the law of precedence. Day
after day she entered her carriage, accompanied by whichever lady was
entitled by etiquette to a seat in the imperial equipage, and drove
through the Bois, bowing incessantly to left and right, and day after
day she returned at exactly the same hour in time to dress for dinner.
Besides these monotonous outings, she sometimes drove out in the morning
in a carriage drawn by only two horses. Each man and footman wore the
plainest livery, and she and her companion were quite simply dressed. On
these occasions she attended to all her charitable errands. She liked to
investigate in person all the cases that especially appealed to her
sympathies, and always carried with her a well filled purse, the money
thus dispensed often amounting to a considerable sum in the course of a
year.
“I could just as well send what I give to the poor,” she declared, “but
one should do a little good oneself. The sight of so much misery and
suffering makes it easier to bear one’s own troubles.”
Of all the Empress’s attendants the one to whom she was most attached
was Madame Pollet, or Pépa as she called her. This woman, the only
Spaniard in her service, had entered it in early youth, and remained
with her ever after. She had accompanied her on all her travels and
shared all the vicissitudes of her mistress, whom she adored and for
whom she would have gladly died. She had charge of the Empress’s
wardrobe and personal belongings, and was untiring in her efforts to
fulfil the slightest wish of Eugénie, who on her part, while she never
allowed the distance between them to be forgotten, returned the
affection and reposed the most boundless confidence in Pépa. Madame
Pollet was supposed to have great influence with the Empress, and wives
of high officials were not ashamed to court her favor and load her with
gifts when they wanted something of her mistress. But Pépa, a modest
little creature, had no desire to meddle with matters that did not
concern her; besides she was far too busy and too much in demand by
Eugénie to have time for other things.
The dinner hour at the Tuileries was half-past seven. At this meal the
Prince Imperial, after his eighth year, was present as well as all the
ladies and gentlemen of the court. Shortly before the hour, the Emperor
went to his wife’s apartments and escorted her to the Hall of Apollo,
where the court awaited Their Majesties. As soon as dinner was served
the palace prefect was notified, who in turn informed the Emperor;
Napoleon gave his arm to Eugénie and the rest followed in order of rank.
The ceremony was simple but strictly in accordance with etiquette. At
table a young blackamoor, whom she had brought with her from Algiers,
always stood behind Eugénie’s chair, and waited on her with as lofty an
air as if he were fulfilling some sacred office. He was said to be of
noble birth, and proudly refused to serve any one but the Empress.
After dinner, which was served with such smoothness and precision that
it seldom lasted more than three-quarters of an hour, the court returned
to the Hall of Apollo, where the evening was spent, usually in a most
tedious manner. The presence of the sovereigns prevented any spontaneous
general conversation. The Emperor himself rarely spoke at all, while
Eugénie, finding this atmosphere of repression unbearable, talked
incessantly with the nervous vivacity peculiar to her. To vary the
monotony of these evenings, reading aloud was sometimes suggested but it
was difficult to find anything suitable for such an assemblage. A French
or English romance would entertain the Empress but bored the Emperor
horribly; while if a scientific work that interested Napoleon were
chosen, Eugénie would yawn, therefore this too had to be abandoned.
The Emperor was fond of solitaire, which he often played; but it did not
amuse Eugénie except when she did not feel like talking, which was
seldom the case. There was never music or card-playing at the palace.
Once in a great while the Empress would have a sudden fancy to do
something, as when, for example, late one evening a courtier was hastily
despatched to procure all the necessary materials for making artificial
flowers, that she might learn the art at once. On another occasion it
was the desire to model in clay that must be gratified on the spot.
Punctually at ten, a table was brought in with tea and cakes, which the
ladies served themselves, and conversation now became general. Between
eleven and twelve the Empress withdrew to her own apartments and
generally retired at once though she sometimes kept her reader, Mlle.
Bouvet, to read aloud to her after she was in bed. As a general rule,
however, she preferred to read to herself which she did often and very
rapidly.