The Empress in Exile
Early on the morning of the eighth of September, the landlord of the
Hotel York in Ryde was awakened by a loud knocking, and found a man and
two women standing outside the door. They had gone first to another inn,
but had been refused admittance, their appearance was so bedraggled and
forlorn. Yet worn and travel-stained as they were, the doors of the York
were opened to them without hesitation, and here the Empress and her
companions were able to rest for a few hours after their exhausting
journey. That same afternoon, however, they went on to Brighton, where
the Empress heard that the Prince Imperial had escaped through Belgium
and landed at Dover the preceding day. Through all her own danger and
distress she had been tortured by constant suspense as to the fate of
her son. Now, therefore, she hurried at once to Hastings where she hoped
to meet him; and that day witnessed the reunion of mother and child. But
how different, alas, was this meeting from that of which Eugénie had
dreamed, when the Prince—hailed with cheers from the troops and the
people, and followed by a mother’s proud hopes—had departed “à Berlin”
under his father’s care!
There could have been no greater contrast than that of the life that now
began for Eugénie in Hastings, with her brilliant career as Empress, or
even with that troubled war-time and the dangers and excitements through
which she had passed. Torn by alternations of hope, fear, and
disappointment, she had scarcely had time during the past month to think
of herself, much less give way to her feelings. Here, at the Marine
Hotel, for the first time she found leisure to look back on what had
happened and to review her past life—that inevitable time of reckoning
from which no life is wholly free. Hitherto she had known nothing but
gratified desires, glittering triumphs, and realized ambitions. She had
had no cause to distrust friends or doubt their loyalty, no experience
of ingratitude. Rarely forgetful of a service done her, and incapable of
falsehood herself, she had preserved an almost childlike faith in human
nature. Now, for the first time, fate was to make her thoroughly
familiar with this bitterest chapter in the book of experience. Scarcely
had she turned her back on the Tuileries before her own servants rifled
her apartments. Later, when news came that the rabble had broken into
the palace and wrought havoc there, Eugénie’s first thought was “Poor
Trochu!”
“Why do you pity him?” asked her companion, in surprise.
“Because he has sworn so often to me that only over his dead body should
any assailant enter my palace, that I feel sure he must be dead,” was
the reply.
That this General, who so basely deserted his sovereign in the hour of
danger, was on the contrary quite well and enjoying life in his
self-appointed position as head of the Government is only a single
instance of how those who in time of prosperity bowed lowest before the
Empress were the first to desert her in misfortune. Every newspaper that
she saw showed her the meaning of adversity. Those who had received the
most signal marks of favor were the loudest now to denounce the
defenceless woman. With petty spite, the Government of National Defence
had destroyed all the emblems of imperialism and done everything in its
power to represent the dynasty, which for nearly twenty years had upheld
the welfare and prosperity of France, as a curse to the country. Anxious
to discover, if possible, something derogatory to the character of the
Empress, it had caused the palace to be searched for any private papers
she might have left behind, but without success. Even the few letters
that were published for the purpose of exposing her disclosed nothing in
the least compromising.
Her jewels and dresses, with some ready money that was found in the
Tuileries after her flight, were sent to her in England. Yet although
she was forced to dispose of her diamonds to defray necessary expenses;
and although Napoleon, to provide himself with funds, sold his private
estate in Rome, the “Palazzo dei Cesari,” for a few hundred thousand
francs, it was persistently asserted in Paris that the imperial family
were in possession of millions of francs with which they had enriched
themselves at the people’s expense; also that Napoleon had made enormous
sums in foreign speculation and owned capital in Dutch, English, and
American bonds.
Filled with anger and despair at these lies and petty persecutions,
Eugénie found life at Hastings unendurable. The prying curiosity of the
townspeople and of the crowds of strangers that flocked thither was a
torment to her. Even the sea air she so loved did her no good; the
magnificent view only served to rouse bitter memories of the happy days
at Biarritz. The King of Prussia had offered her and her son a residence
in Wilhelmshöhe, but she would accept no hospitality from France’s
enemy. At length, through Dr. Evans, she rented Camden House at
Chiselhurst, whither she moved toward the end of September.
But even though dethroned and an exile, Eugénie did not altogether cease
to concern herself with politics. While she was at Hastings, and the
situation following her flight was so new as still to warrant
recognition of her authority as Regent, Bismarck sent an envoy to her to
discuss terms of peace. She replied that so long as there remained a
single enemy on French soil, or there was question of even the smallest
cession of territory, she would enter into no negotiations with him.
Bismarck was not the only one who tried to induce her to intervene in
this matter. There was still one post in France that held out against
the Germans, still one general at least who was loyal to the Empire.
Marshal Bazaine was in Metz with a force of 170,000 men, all picked
troops, including the Imperial guard which had so often filled the
Parisian populace with pride at state reviews. Believing himself strong
enough to exert some influence over the question of peace or a
continuation of hostilities, he sent General Bourbaki to Chiselhurst,
with the consent of the King of Prussia, to inform the Empress that he
was in favor of concluding peace if she would so authorize him. Tempting
as this opportunity of again wielding power was to Eugénie’s active
nature, she prudently forbore, realizing that her best plan was to
withdraw entirely from the field of politics at present and await a more
favorable opportunity, when she might work with redoubled energy for the
restoration of her family. This course was also in accordance with the
wishes of Napoleon, to whom she made a secret visit in October in order
to consult with him, while General Bourbaki was at Chiselhurst awaiting
an answer.
In spite of Eugénie’s continued refusal to mix in any public affairs,
the “salon at Chiselhurst” was persistently reported to be the centre of
political intrigue; and Prince Jerome Napoleon, who in the absence of
the Emperor wished to appear as head of the imperial family, presented
himself at Camden House one day to demand of the Empress an explanation.
A stormy scene followed between these two bitter enemies, and the “red
Prince” was careful that a properly distorted account of the interview
should be made public.
After an imprisonment of about seven months, Napoleon was at last free
to return to his wife and son at the little home in Chiselhurst, where
the imperial family continued to live in the simplest manner; for
although Camden House did not lack comfort and even elegance, it was so
limited as to space that it was impossible to accommodate more than one
or two guests at a time. Yet the joys of family life compensated in a
measure for all the luxury and state of which they had been deprived by
fortune, and in this smaller sphere Eugénie lost none of the dignity and
charm of manner for which she had been so conspicuous. It was the more
easy for her to adapt herself to these new conditions as gradually a
circle of their old friends began to gather about the exiles, and
expressions of loyalty and devotion arrived nearly every day from
France, with many proofs of friendship from Queen Victoria and other
royalties.
A great task still lay before her—to provide for the future of her son.
She had always been a wise as well as devoted mother, and had not failed
to impress on the young Prince that more would be required of him than
of others, in order properly to fit himself for the high position he
would one day be called upon to occupy. Now that the throne must be won
back again, it was doubly important that he should receive a thorough
military education. This son was now her only thought. She centred in
him all her hopes and expectations, for the Emperor’s health—which had
been poor for years—was now rapidly failing. She could never count on
Napoleon the Third’s return to the throne; but as the mother of Napoleon
the Fourth she saw herself in fancy once again in France, more highly
honored, even prouder and happier if possible, than before.
The chronic ailment from which the Emperor had always suffered
threatened, toward the close of 1872, to take a fatal turn and his
physicians advised an operation. Personally, Napoleon was strongly
opposed to it; but the Empress, not realizing the danger, and perhaps
with the secret hope that it might enable her husband to become once
more a power in French politics, urged him to yield to the physician’s
advice. He submitted accordingly to the operation, but had not strength
enough to recover from the shock; and on the ninth of January, 1873, the
“dreamer” passed quietly away without a word or a sign.