COMPIÈGNE
The social history of the Second Empire was resumed in the Tuileries,
St. Cloud, Fontainebleau, Biarritz, and Compiègne. The name of the
latter lingered fondly on the lips of the fine fleur of English society
between 1855 and the winter of 1869-70. It is well to remember that it
was to Queen Victoria that we owed the entente cordiale. That, as time
passed, the mutual understanding which she secured flickered, and gave
place to bad blood after the “attempt” of Orsini, Pierri, Rudio, and
Gomez, was no fault of Queen Victoria. But the bombs were designed by
the master-mind in Belgium, and manufactured at Birmingham, and London
was the scene of the “conspirations.” It is true that the personal
relations between the Sovereigns, which had been securely cemented in
1855 at Windsor, London, Osborne, and St. Cloud, remained unchanged, and
naturally. Was not Queen Victoria the best friend the French Sovereigns
possessed in Europe? What angered the French nation was the shelter
given to the Italian assassins by England. Had it been otherwise, the
tragedy of January 14, 1858, would have been more difficult--perhaps
impossible--of achievement. Such was the French view, and not an
unreasonable one.
But even the attempted murder of Napoleon III. and the Empress Eugénie
did not, we may assume, cause English people who were honoured with
invitations to Compiègne to think twice before accepting them. Those
“Compiègnes”--how many souvenirs the mention of them evokes! Was it not
at Compiègne that Mme. Fortoul’s gross insult had as an immediate result
the Emperor’s belated “proposal” to Mlle. Eugénie de Montijo? Was it not
there that the Prince and Princess of Wales were the principal figures
in 1868, when any Cassandra who had ventured to predict the imminence of
a “Sedan” would have been derided and scorned?[65]
The first of what came to be known as “the Compiègnes” dates from
December 18, 1852, six weeks before the marriage, and the Comtesse de
Montijo and her daughter were of the party. The Emperor of a fortnight
had arrived at the château a few days previously amidst the roar of
cannon; he had passed under triumphal arches and between rows of troops
and the local firemen; his unmusical ears had been amused by the
“tralalas” of the peasantry gathered from the countryside for miles
around. With him came his cousins, Prince Jérôme Napoleon (not yet
married to Princesse Clotilde, one of the survivors of to-day) and
Princesse Mathilde (who had been long separated from her impossible
husband, Prince Anatole Demidoff), Ambassadors and Imperial Ministers,
and, of course, many ladies--Mme. Drouyn de Lhuys, Mme. de Persigny, and
Mme. de Contades, to mention a few.
[Illustration: THE EMPRESS EUGÉNIE IN SPANISH COSTUME.
THE EMPRESS EUGÉNIE IN CIRCASSIAN COSTUME.
Her Imperial Majesty represented these characters at costume balls
given at the Palace of the Tuileries. The illustrations are from
private photographs, and are reproduced by permission of the
proprietors of _Femina_, the popular illustrated Paris paper, in
which they originally appeared.
_To face p. 128._]
The Emperor knew what was expected of him. He had not been four years
President without learning the métier. The festivities began with a ball
on the 18th; on the 20th there was a great “meet,” attended by two
hundred ladies, all mounted, and in Louis XV. costume--“casaque à
basques” and “chapeau mousquetaire.” Of course, “the Montijos” were
among the “dames chasseresses,” and provoked criticism as well as
admiration at the “meet” at the carrefour Bourbon and in the evening at
the curée, by torchlight, in the court of the château. At this stag-hunt
the first of the “boutons” made their appearance; these were favoured
persons allowed by the Sovereign to wear the green uniform and
three-cornered hat, which, to unæsthetic British “pursuers,” smacked of
the theatrical, just as scarlet coats may have seemed to Frenchmen who
were occasionally seen in our shires.
The two “foreign ladies”--Mme. and Mlle. de Montijo--were ardent
sportswomen. They rode boldly in the stag-hunts, and they appeared at
the “shoots” with guns--delicately-made weapons--“jolis joujoux,” M.
Bouchot calls them. They tramped through the coverts alongside the
Emperor; no other ladies shared this privilege. This alone was enough to
set envious tongues wagging. Nobody admitted the possibility of what
actually happened; nobody believed in an “engagement”; but many believed
in “adventures” which never occurred. In reality there was played in the
alleys and coverts of Compiègne a final act of diplomacy, in which Spain
wasted less powder and shot than the spectators imagined.
Between December 18 and 25--that fateful week for the Emperor and Mlle.
de Montijo--the Gymnase company performed the “Fils de Famille,” and on
Christmas Day came another big “meet” of the imperial hounds. The
“foreign ladies” assisted at both these events, which preceded by a few
days the news of the engagement. Every year thereafter the Court removed
to Compiègne in November, and there the Festival of Ste. Eugénie was
regularly celebrated on the 15th.
Compiègne was neither a Fontainebleau nor a St. Cloud; in some respects
it was like the Tuileries. The Empress’s “Compiègnes” were at once
sans-gêne and dignified--an amalgam of town and country festivities;
château life carried to an excess of luxuriousness; an intermediate
existence between summer at Fontainebleau and winter at the Tuileries.
In the country, amongst the vast woods, with relays of guests, the
Empress was happy. In the day there was now a “meet,” anon a “shoot”; at
night there were raouts, dances, charades, theatrical performances. The
invités, as a rule, remained four or five days; others, a week or so. On
the Empress’s fête-day (Ste. Eugénie) there was a family gathering.
Towards the end of November snow or rain usually interfered with hunting
and shooting.
Each of the “seriés” was composed of from sixty to eighty
persons--social stars, actors and actresses, singers, authors, painters,
journalists, and mere gens d’esprit. They left Paris by a special train
at two o’clock, and it was often dark when they reached the château in
the English chars-à-bancs. Amongst the guests of every variety were some
who were not remarkable for social graces. Here and there were men who
apparently did not find it easy to tie a white cravat properly; yet for
these the sunniest smiles of the imperial host and hostess were
reserved. Some of the guests were encumbered by baggage--huge boxes and
trunks choked with uniforms and dresses. The sorting of these, under the
superintendence of valets and suisses, provided amusement for those who
watched the scene from the upper windows.
By a quarter-past seven the guests had to be correctly dressed--the men
in tail-coats, short breeches, black silk stockings, and shoes with
steel buckles--and in the large drawing-room awaiting the entry of the
Sovereigns. Only the official personages had places allotted to them at
table; the others sat where they pleased, or where they could. Dinners
at Courts are said to be very much alike. But those at Compiègne had a
spécialité; everything was superlatively good, and the music excellent.
On the stuccoed columns of the dining-room were statues of Mme. Lætitia
and Napoleon I. The plates were of Sèvres, the girandoles of silver, a
surtout in biscuit (which faced the Emperor) was adorned with a hunting
scene. The legion of servants wore coats with gold lace; their perruques
were powdered, their stockings of pink silk. The head-servants--maîtres
d’hôtels--wore plum-coloured tail-coats, embroidered with silver; each
had a sword. The unseen orchestra played softly, so that conversation
was undisturbed. In less than three-quarters of an hour the Emperor and
Empress rose; the guests, passing through the salle des gardes, returned
to the salons.
When professional actors and actresses appeared at Compiègne, the great
salle de spectacle was more than usually crowded, for on these occasions
the audience was composed, not only of the Sovereigns’ guests, but of
the officers of the garrison and many of the principal residents. The
comédies de salon were represented in a gallery on the ground-floor of
the Palace, where a temporary stage--technically known as a
“fit-up”--was erected. These amateur performances were given for the
exclusive benefit of the imperial couple’s guests, the “house-party.” On
evenings when there was no acting there were “games” of various kinds,
some of them very similar to those provided for children’s gatherings;
or there was an informal dance, to the strains of a piano-organ,
“played” by the guests in turn, and sometimes by the Emperor himself.
It was in the little theatre on the ground-floor of the château that
Octave Feuillet’s piece, “Les Portraits de la Marquise,” was originally
produced. This was an event, for the Empress played the principal part,
which was “specially written” for her. Here, too, was given M. Legouvé’s
spirituelle charade, the word being “anniversaire,” and the occasion the
Festival of Ste. Eugénie (November 15).
In the autumn of 1865 (says the Marquis de Massa[66]) the little
private theatre of the Palace of Compiègne was placed at my
disposal for the production of a revue de circonstance, the
principal scenes and the “cast” (comprising thirty characters!)
having been approved of by the Empress after she had suggested a
few alterations. The first volume of the Emperor’s work, “Les
Commentaires de César,” had just been published, and this was the
title of my revue. Of the ladies who appeared in the piece, the
“star” was the Princesse de Metternich, with such charming
satellites as the Comtesse Edmond de Pourtalès, the Marquise de
Galliffet, the Baronne de Poïlly, and Mme. Bartholoni.[67] Baron
Lambert (then “Lieutenant” of the Imperial Hunt) was the compère
[the stage butt], Edmond Davilliers the manager, and Viollet-le-Duc
[the eminent architect and antiquarian] the prompter. The
“orchestra” was a piano, played by Prince de Metternich, who as an
amateur accompanist was unexcelled. The dresses were designed by
Marcelin and by Émile Perrin, director of the Opéra.
The prologue was a very simple one. The compère--a worthy tradesman
arriving in Paris to witness an assault-at-arms on the
Champ-de-Mars--was surprised to hear that the event was in honour
of Julius Cæsar, who, having been recently exhumed, was going to
review our modern legions and our centurions. As, however, the
Roman General did not make his appearance, the military review was
transformed into a theatrical revue, in which the events of the
year were treated, with comments by the compère.
The scenes of actualité in the first act included a parody of a
kicking mule, performing every evening at the Champs Elysées
circus, the person who succeeded in mounting the animal receiving
100 francs. The requisite accessories had been lent to me by Jules
Noriac, director of the Variétés, and the mule was represented by
two of the Prince Imperial’s young friends, Conneau and Pierre de
Bourgoing, who ensconced themselves in the cardboard carcass, one
in front, the other behind. As they found it difficult to see where
they were going, Lambert, at the first rehearsals, was obliged to
raise the animal’s tail, and give them instructions by this most
curious telephone. Princesse de Metternich took several
characters, her best being the one called “La Chanson,” containing
some verses having a direct reference to the Empress, and alluding
to her presence at the bedsides of the victims of the cholera
epidemic at Amiens.
A recent cordial meeting of the French and English squadrons at
Plymouth formed the subject of an allegorical scene in the second
act. England was represented by Mme. Bartholoni, Imperial France by
Mme. Edmond de Pourtalès. The first was accompanied by an old
sailor and a soldier in scarlet uniform; the second by one of the
corps of the “invalides,” wearing the St. Helena medal, and a young
soldier of the 90th Foot Regiment, who had been in the fighting at
the taking of Puebla. In this scene the Prince Imperial appeared,
in a grenadier’s uniform, as the “Future” (l’Avenir).
“Les Commentaires de César” was so successful that it was performed
the next night, when the Emperor complimented me, and gave me a
copy of his book, inscribed “Souvenir du Commentateur de ‘César’ au
commentateur de ‘César.’” The Emperor added: “But you must not let
your profession of dramatic author interfere with your military
duties.” “Heaven forbid, Sire,” I replied; and I proffered a
request to be sent to Mexico (where war was then raging). “Well,”
said His Majesty, “I will think over it.” A few days later my
request was granted.
“Some may perhaps consider,” said the Marquis, “that I have availed
myself of ‘reportage,’ sprinkled with water blessed by the Court, but
‘holy water’ sprinkled sorrowfully over cinders, for what remains to-day
to represent that Court of the Tuileries which was so splendid? Only
some disinterested partisans, who, without conspiring, sometimes cross
the frontier to salute the noble heir of the name of Napoleon. And
elsewhere Pietri, the faithful and devoted secretary, and the Duchesse
de Mouchy, a weeping niece--two waifs, tending with pious care, forty
years after the shipwreck, an august widow, sacred by misfortune, after
having worn a crown, and standing on the shore--a foreign
shore--guarding two tombs.”
At Compiègne, in the autumn of 1861, the talk was mainly of Mexico and
its proposed Emperor. This “Idée Napoléonienne” was quite outside the
intentions of the three Powers (France, England, and Spain) as expressed
in the Convention signed on October 31, 1861, and the Emperor’s idea was
not suspected by the guests then at Compiègne. Among them were some of
the Portuguese Princes. Consternation fell upon the Court when, in the
midst of the festivities, news arrived, first of the sudden death of the
Infant Don Fernando, then of the young King of Portugal, Dom Pedro V.
The convenances had to be observed; there was an end of the programme of
entertainments arranged for that particular “series.”
After the regulation period of the Court “mourning” for the Infant and
the King (poisoning had been darkly hinted at), fêtes were organized for
the next batch of guests and the following “séries,” and mingling with
Princes of the Blood were many intellectual lights--Octave Feuillet and
Prosper Mérimée (both quite at home at the château), Gounod and
Meissonier, Camille Doucet and Paul de Musset (brother of Alfred, the
poet), Jules Sandeau and Cabanel (the renowned painter). The Empress was
in exceptionally high spirits, for she was aware of her consort’s secret
views concerning Mexico, and rejoiced at the coming struggle. Had not
her beloved Spain been grossly insulted and its Ambassador expelled? Had
not Juarez disregarded treaties and shown contempt for the two
Vice-Consuls of France? The expedition would be at once an avenging and
a civilizing army, which would make a country in which the flag of
Castille had long floated respect order and the Catholic faith. Vain
dreams!
[Illustration: THE EMPRESS EUGÉNIE AS AN ODALISQUE (TURKISH
DANCING-GIRL).
THE EMPRESS EUGÉNIE AS MARIE ANTOINETTE.
Her Imperial Majesty represented these characters at costume balls
given at the Palace of the Tuileries. The illustrations are from
private photographs, and are reproduced by permission of the
proprietors of Femina, the popular illustrated Paris paper, in
which they originally appeared.
_To face p. 136._]