THE EMPEROR’S COLLABORATOR
I have told, in “The Empress Eugénie: 1870-1910,”[139] how, on January
9, 1873, upon hearing of the unexpected death of Napoleon III., I
hastened from the Temple to Chislehurst on behalf of the “Morning Post,”
whose editor (he was not yet proprietor), the late Lord Glenesk (then
Mr. Borthwick), had for many years enjoyed the intimate friendship and
confidence of the Emperor. I told how, on my arrival at Camden Place, I
sent in my card to Sir Henry Thompson, who blandly declined to open his
lips except to assure me that the Emperor was dead, and that he, the
eminent surgeon, would himself relate the facts “some day”--a day that
never arrived. M. Pietri was too overcome with grief to say anything.
But there was at hand--I have always found it so--the friend in need. He
was the Grand Chamberlain, the Duc de Bassano. All that could be hastily
told he told me, between his sobs. “Come to-morrow, ask for me, and you
shall see our dear Emperor.” I went, and the veteran led me into the
chamber of death. Two Sisters knelt by the bedside. I was alone with
them--and the Dead.
There was at Camden Place, when I sought out Sir Henry Thompson, one who
could have greatly enlightened me; at the moment I did not know him,
even by name. Later I enjoyed the friendship of the Comte de La
Chapelle, and I have retained it to this day. Moreover, I am honoured by
the friendship of his eldest son, the Vicomte, who has rendered me
infinite service in this essay to portray the Comedy and the Tragedy of
the Second Empire.
The Comte de La Chapelle of the sixties and seventies--to-day, alas! but
the shadow of his former self--was the confidant, the trusted and
devoted friend and collaborator, of the Emperor, and equally the ami
fidèle of “Napoléon IV.” He was a born fighter--with the pen, which, in
his hand, was of more account than the sword. Much of what I thirsted to
know on the Ninth of January, 1873--the fatal day at “Camden”--the Comte
de La Chapelle could have told me at the moment. I console myself with
the reflection that had he told me all he knew, and had I written it,
the “Morning Post” would assuredly never have printed it--it was too
tragic. I published in 1910 what this chivalrous friend of Napoleon III.
knew a few hours after those last words had been murmured--“Etiez-vous à
Sedan, Conneau?” And it gratified me not a little to find that many of
the eminent critics who reviewed “The Empress Eugénie” in such generous
terms selected that particular passage for comment or for quotation.
I must explain the status of the Comte de La Chapelle, who is the
Empress Eugénie’s junior by four and M. Ollivier’s by five years. He
descends from an essentially French Royalist family of Périgord, in the
department of the Dordogne. His father was an officer of the bodyguard
of Louis XVIII., and it was only a few years before his death that he
forgave his son for seceding from the Royalist party and devoting
himself heart and soul to the Imperialist cause. Perhaps it was the
surviving Count’s Gascon blood which made him so energetic in the
defence of Bonapartist interests at a time when they had fewest
supporters.
After twenty years of travel in America and Australia the Count returned
to Europe in 1869, and throughout the campaign of 1870 did the
“Standard” splendid service as one of its war “specials,” a post for
which he was eminently fitted. His admirable volume, “La Guerre de
1870,” was the first war-book given to the public. In 1872 there
appeared, with the Count’s name on the title-page, “Les Forces
Militaires de la France en 1870.” The authorship of this striking work
was immediately attributed to Napoleon III., it being argued that none
but the Emperor could possibly have obtained so much official
information concerning the condition of the army at the beginning of the
war. It was generally believed that this “Comte de La Chapelle” was a
pseudonym adopted by the Emperor. This was an error, the fact being that
the Count had become the collaborateur attitré of the august Exile at
Chislehurst, who wished his friend to assume the nominal authorship of
the volume. In 1873 the indefatigable and versatile Count--the most
genial and generous of men--issued “Les Œuvres Posthumes de Napoléon
III.”; and among his other works were “Paysans, on vous trompe,”[140]
“Les Représentants du l’Appel au Peuple,” and “Déclarations des
Napoléon,” this last containing a characteristic message from the Prince
Imperial, whose claims to the throne were fervently and cogently set
forth by the Count.
When “Les Forces Militaires de la France en 1870” appeared the
Bonapartist journals, as well as papers of another colour, declined to
review it! The Comte de La Chapelle was the man to get it “noticed.” At
the Emperor’s request he took several copies of the brochure to Paris,
for personal distribution among the editors and reviewers of the leading
papers. In one copy the Emperor wrote his own name, and commended the
work to the attention of the well-known publicist, M. Saint-Genest (a
nom de plume), of the “Figaro,” which at the time was hostile to
Napoleon III. Saint-Genest was himself inimical to the fallen Sovereign,
but he was an eminently just man, and a day or two after he had received
the brochure from the Count he wrote an elaborate, and scrupulously
fair, review of it in the then unfriendly “Figaro.” Other papers
followed Saint-Genest’s courageous lead, and in the end the Emperor’s
convincing pamphlet was widely reviewed. We may be certain that the
Emperor did not think the less of the Comte de La Chapelle for this
triumph.
In those days the Emperor was generally derided by the French Press,
which, as M. Émile Ollivier has recently shown in the fifteenth volume
of his masterly work, “L’Empire Libéral,” and also in the “Revue des
Deux Mondes,” drove him into the declaration of war. The Comte de La
Chapelle and Paul de Cassagnac were almost the only supporters of the
Emperor. Inertia prevailed amongst a large section of the Bonapartists,
and probably they felt somewhat ashamed of their slackness when they
read De La Chapelle’s fiery and pungent exhortations, which afforded the
Emperor the greatest consolation. But there was reason in what the
admiring Prince Imperial said to the Count after His Majesty’s death:
“Not everybody here likes you.”
It is with sincere gratification that I now introduce as narrator the
venerable Count’s eldest son.
_Reminiscences of Bazaine, Napoleon III., and the Prince Imperial._[141]
Marshal Bazaine,[142] immediately after his escape from the Island of
St. Marguerite, came direct to London, saw my father, and sought an
interview with the Empress Eugénie at Chislehurst. It was reported at
the time that the Marshal did not, as he was originally said to have
done, escape from the fortress by means of a rope, but owed his liberty
to a friendly (and bribed) gaoler. Bazaine himself, however, told my
father that he freed himself with
[Illustration: THE COMTE A. DE LA CHAPELLE.
Collaborator and Friend of the Emperor Napoleon III.
_A private photograph, lent for this work by the Vicomte de La
Chapelle._
_To face p. 304._]
the aid of a rope, and he showed his much-lacerated hands as evidence of
the truth of his assertion. My father was once discussing with Napoleon
III. the question of the Marshal’s generally assumed treachery, when the
Emperor said: “Pas traître, pas traître; mais, mais!”--accompanying the
two last words with a significant shake of the head and a very serious
look.
My father often had confidential talks with the Emperor, sometimes for
hours together, and at such times Napoleon would get the Count to relate
his adventures and experiences in the various countries which he had
visited. These little stories greatly interested and diverted the
Emperor, and aroused his old enthusiasm.
Some time before the death of Napoleon III. determined efforts were made
to bring about a restoration of the Empire, and my father and a
few--very few--others were let into the secret.[143] I remember, as a
small boy, my father concealing in the lining of the hat which he wore
when travelling important documents entrusted to him by the Emperor for
transmission abroad, especially to Paris. At the same time my father was
“shadowed” everywhere by the detectives of the French Republic, and
subjected to the greatest annoyance. The propaganda for the restoration
of the Empire continued even after the Emperor’s death.
When, after his release from captivity at Wilhelmshöhe, the Emperor
arrived in this country, in March, 1871, he was very short of money,
and through my father’s untiring efforts large sums were raised for His
Majesty and for the Restoration propaganda. I mention this because it
was falsely reported that the Emperor had left France taking a great
deal of money with him. As a matter of fact, when the Emperor reached
Chislehurst his finances were at a very low ebb. In my father’s own
words, “Il était très gêné” (he was very short of cash).
The Prince Imperial, as many are probably aware, was an excellent
swordsman. He attended regularly at Bertrand’s fencing academy, in
Warwick Street, Regent Street, where the courteous maître d’armes, a
fencer of the old school, used to put the Prince through his lessons
with much dignity and infinite ceremony. M. Bertrand passed away long
since; but there may still be seen in the academy over which he so
worthily presided a bust of the Prince, his foils, his épées de combat,
and other of his weapons, which, on one occasion, the veteran professor,
with pathetic solemnity, allowed me to handle when I was a favoured
pupil many years ago.
The Prince was also a first-rate rider, and my father has often told me
with what agility the imperial youth would vault into the saddle. It was
really this cleverness in mounting which cost him his life when he and
his party were surprised by the Zulus on June 1, 1879. Lieutenant Carey
(who, whatever may be said to the contrary, _was_ in command of the
ill-fated reconnoitring-party) gave the order to mount, and the Prince,
in attempting to vault into the saddle, put a great strain either on the
flap or the girth, with the result that it gave way, and the Prince fell
to the ground. By this time the Zulus were close upon him, but were
checked in their advance by two of the troopers (who had not “bolted”),
until they were both killed by assegais. Then our dear, brave little
Prince drew his sword, and, with a skilled fencer’s natural instinct,
endeavoured to ward off the spears, which were now thrown at only a few
yards’ distance. With his sword he contrived to deflect some of the
assegais, but they came so rapidly and numerously that ultimately he was
struck in one of his eyes and pierced in various places. I need say no
more.
The exuberant spirits of the Prince Imperial may be illustrated by this
little story: One day, at Camden Place, he invited my father to a bout
at singlestick. The result of a very unequal match was that in a few
minutes the Prince so belaboured my father that he was black and blue
all over his body, and scarcely able to move for three or four days! My
father often laughed over this incident, but my mother was very angry
with the Prince.