Society during the Second Empire -- The Court at Compiegne -- The
English element -- Their opinion of Louis-Napoleon -- The
difference between the court of Louis-Philippe and that of
Napoleon III. -- The luggage of M. Villemain -- The hunts in
Louis-Philippe's time -- Louis-Napoleon's advent -- Would have
made a better poet than an Emperor -- Looks for a La Valliere or
Montespan, and finds Mdlle. Eugenie de Montijo -- The latter
determined not to be a La Valliere or even a Pompadour -- Has her
great destiny foretold in her youth -- Makes up her mind that it
shall be realized by a right-handed and not a left-handed
marriage -- Queen Victoria stands her sponsor among the
sovereigns of Europe -- Mdlle. de Montijo's mother -- The
Comtesse de Montijo and Halevy's "Madame Cardinal" -- The first
invitations to Compiegne -- Mdlle. de Montijo's backers for the
Imperial stakes -- No other entries -- Louis-Napoleon utters the
word "marriage" -- What led up to it -- The Emperor officially
announces his betrothal -- The effect it produced -- The Faubourg
St.-Germain -- Dupin the elder gives his views -- The engaged
couple feel very uncomfortable -- Negotiations to organize the
Empress's future household -- Rebuffs -- Louis Napoleon's retorts
-- Mdlle. de Montijo's attempt at wit and sprightliness -- Her
iron will -- Her beauty -- Her marriage -- She takes
Marie-Antoinette for her model -- She fondly imagines that she
was born to rule -- She presumes to teach Princess Clotilde the
etiquette of courts -- The story of two detectives -- The hunts
at Compiegne -- Some of the mise en scene and _dramatis personae_
-- The shooting-parties -- Mrs. Grundy not banished, but
specially invited and drugged -- The programme of the gatherings
-- Compiegne in the season -- A story of an Englishman
accommodated for the night in one of the Imperial luggage-vans.
I was a frequent visitor to Compiegne throughout the Second Empire. I
doubt whether, besides Lord H---- and myself, there was a single English
guest there who went for the mere pleasure of going. Lords Palmerston,
Cowley, and Clarendon, and a good many others whom I could name, had
either political or private ends to serve. They all looked upon Napoleon
III. as an adventurer, but an adventurer whom they might use for their
own purpose. I am afraid that the same charge might be preferred against
persons in even a more exalted station. Prince Albert averred that
Napoleon III. had sold his soul to the devil; Lord Cowley, on being
asked by a lady whether the Emperor talked much, replied, "No, but he
always lies." Another diplomatist opined "that Napoleon lied so well,
that one could not even believe the contrary of what he said."
Enough. I went to the Compiegne of Napoleon III., just as I had gone to
the Compiegne of the latter years of Louis-Philippe--simply to enjoy
myself; with this difference, however,--that I enjoyed myself much
better at the former than at the latter. Louis-Philippe's hospitality
was very genuine, homely, and unpretending, but it lacked
excitement--especially for a young man of my age. The entertainments
were more in harmony with the tastes of the Guizots, Cousins, and
Villemains, who went down en redingote, and took little else; especially
the eminent professor and minister of public education, whose luggage
consisted of a brown paper parcel, containing a razor, a clean collar,
and the cordon of the Legion of Honour. There were some excellent hunts,
organized by the Grand Veneur, the Comte de Girardin, and the Chief
Ranger, the Baron de Larminat; but the evenings, notwithstanding the new
theatre built by Louis-Philippe, were frightfully dull, and barely
compensated for by the reviews at the camp of Compiegne, to which the
King conducted his Queen and the princesses in a tapissiere and four, he
himself driving, the Duc and Duchesse de Montpensier occupying the box
seat, the rest of the family ensconced in the carriage, "absolument en
bons bourgeois." With the advent of Louis-Napoleon, even before he
assumed the imperial purple, a spirit of change came over the place.
Hortense's second son would probably have made a better poet than an
emperor. His whole life has been a miscarried poem, miscarried by the
inexorable demands of European politics. He dreamt of being
L'Empereur-Soleil, as Louis XIV. had been Le Roi-Soleil. Visions of a
nineteenth-century La Valliere or Montespan, hanging fondly on his arm,
and dispelling the harassing cares of State by sweet smiles while
treading the cool umbrageous glades of the magnificent park, haunted his
brain. He would have gone as far as Louis le Bien-Aime, and built
another nest for another Pompadour. He did not mean to make a Maintenon
out of a Veuve Scarron, and, least of all, an empress out of a
Mademoiselle Eugenie de Montijo. Mdlle. de Montijo, on the other hand,
was determined not to be a Mdme. de Maintenon, let alone a La Valliere
or a Pompadour. At any rate, so she said, and the man most interested in
putting her assertion to the test was too infatuated to do so. "Quand on
ne s'attend a rien, la moindre des choses surprend." The proverb holds
good, more especially where a woman's resistance is concerned. Mdlle. de
Montijo was a Spaniard, or at least half a one, and that half contained
as much superstition as would have fitted out a score of her
countrywomen of unmixed blood. One day in Granada, while she was sitting
at her window, a gipsy, whose hand "she had crossed with silver," is
said to have foretold her that she should be queen. The young girl
probably attached but little importance to the words at that time;
"but," said my informant, "from the moment Louis-Napoleon breathed the
first protestations of love to her, the prophecy recurred to her in all
its vividness, and she made up her mind that the right hand and not the
left of Louis-Napoleon should set the seal upon its fulfilment." My
informant was an Englishman, very highly placed, and distinctly _au
courant_ of the private history of the Marquise de Montijo y Teba, as
well as that of her mother. Without the least fear of being
contradicted, I may say that the subsequent visit of Queen Victoria and
Prince Albert was due to his direct influence. I will not go as far as
to assert that Louis-Napoleon's participation in the Crimean war could
not have been had at that moment at any other price, or that England
could not have dispensed with that co-operation, but he, my informant,
considered then that the alliance would be more closely cemented by that
visit. Nor am I called upon to anticipate the final verdict of the
social historian with regard to "that act of courtesy" on the part of
the Queen of England, not the least justified boast of whose reign it is
that she purified the morals of her court by her own example. Still, one
may safely assume, in this instance, that the virtue of Mdlle. de
Montijo would have been proof against the "blandishments of the future
Emperor," even if she had not had the advice and countenance of her
mother, whose Scotch blood would not have stood trifling with her
daughter's affections and reputation. But to make the fortress of that
heart doubly impregnable, the Comtesse de Montijo scarcely ever left her
second daughter's side. It was a great sacrifice on her part, because
Mdlle. Eugenie de Montijo was not her favourite child; that position was
occupied by her elder, the Duchesse d'Albe. "Mais, on est mere, ou on ne
l'est pas?" says Madame Cardinal.[59]
[Footnote 59: The author alludes to the Madame Cardinal of
Ludovic Halevy, who sequestrates her daughter because the
baron, her would-be protector, is hanging back with the
settlements.--EDITOR.]
Mdlle. de Montijo, then, became the guiding spirit of the fetes at the
Elysee. She and her mother had travelled a great deal, so had
Louis-Napoleon; the latter not enough, apparently, to have learnt the
wisdom of the French proverb, "Gare a la femme dont le berceau a ete une
malle, et le pensionnat une table d'hote."
I have spoken elsewhere of the Coup d'Etat and of the company at the
Elysee, immediately previous to it and afterwards; early in 1852--
"The little done _did_ vanish to the mind,
Which forward _saw_ how much remained to do."
The Prince-President undertook a journey to the southern parts of
France, which he was pleased to call "an interrogation to the country."
It was that to a certain extent, only the country had been crammed with
one reply to it, "Vive l'empereur." Calmly reviewing things from a
distance of a quarter of a century, it was the best reply the nation
could have made. "Society has been too long like a pyramid turned upside
down. I replaced it on its base," said Louis-Napoleon, on the 29th of
March, 1852, when he opened the first session of the Chambers, and
inaugurated the new constitution which was his own work. "He is right,"
remarked one of his female critics, "and now we are going to dance on
the top of it. A quand les invitations?"
The invitations were issued almost immediately after the journey just
mentioned, and before the plebiscite had given the Prince-President the
Imperial crown. One of the first was for a series of fetes at Compiegne.
The chateau was got ready in hot haste; but, of course, the "hunts" were
not half so splendid as they became afterwards.
The most observed of all the guests was Mdlle. de Montijo, accompanied
by her mother, but no one suspected for a single moment that the
handsome Spanish girl who was galloping by Louis-Napoleon's side would
be in a few months Empress of the French. Only a few knowing ones
offered to back her for the Imperial Stakes at any odds; I took them,
and, of course, lost heavily. This is not a figure of speech, but a
literal fact. There were, however, no quotations "for a place," backers
and bookies alike being agreed that she would be first or nowhere in the
race.
How it would have fared with the favourite had there been any other
entries, it would be difficult to say, but there were none; the various
European sovereigns declined the honour of an alliance with the house
of Bonaparte, so Mdlle. Eugenie de Montijo simply walked over the
course. One evening the rumour spread that Louis-Napoleon had uttered
the magic word "marriage," in consequence of a violent fit of coughing
which had choked the word "mistress" down his throat. Not to mince
matters, the affair happened in this way, and I speak on excellent
authority. The day before, there had been a hunt, and between the return
from the forest and the dinner-hour, Napoleon had presented himself
unannounced in Mdlle. de Montijo's apartment. Neither I nor the others
who were at the chateau at the time could satisfactorily account for the
prologue to this visit, but that there was such a prologue, and that it
was conceived and enacted by at least two out of the three actors in the
best spirit of the "comedie d'intrigue," so dear to the heart of Scribe,
admits of no doubt; because, though the first dinner-bell had already
rung, Mdlle. de Montijo was still in her riding-habit, consequently on
the alert. Nay, even her dainty hunting-crop was within her reach, as
the intruder found to his cost; and reports were rife to the effect
that, if the one had failed, the mother, who was in the next room, would
have come to the rescue of her injured daughter.
The Comtesse de Montijo was spared this act of heroism; Lucrece herself
sufficed for the task of defending her own honour: nevertheless, the
mother's part was not at an end, even when the decisive word had been
pronounced. According to her daughter, she objected to the union, from a
sincere regard for her would-be-son-in-law, from an all-absorbing love
for her own darling. The social gulf between the two was too wide ever
to be bridged, etc. "And though it will break my heart to have to obey
her, I have no alternative," added Mdlle. de Montijo, if not in these
selfsame words, at least in words to that effect. "There remains but one
hope. Write to her."
And Louis-Napoleon did write. The letter has been religiously preserved
by the Montijo family. In less than three mouths afterwards France was
officially or semi-officially apprised of the Emperor's intended union;
but, of course, the news had spread long before then, and a very varied
effect it produced. Candidly speaking, it satisfied no one, and every
one delivered judgment in two separate, if not different, capacities--as
private citizens and as patriotic Frenchmen. The lower classes,
containing the ultra-democratic element, would have perhaps applauded
the bold departure from the old traditions that had hitherto presided at
sovereign unions, if the bride had been French, instead of being a
foreigner. They were sensible enough not to expect their new Emperor to
choose from the bourgeoisie; but, in spite of their prejudices against
the old noblesse, they would, in default of a princess of royal blood,
have liked to see one of that noblesse's daughters share the Imperial
throne. They were not deceived by Napoleon's specious argument that
France had better assume openly the position of a parvenu rather than
make the new principle of the unrestricted suffrage of a great nation
pass for an old one by trying to introduce herself at any cost into a
family of kings.
The bourgeoisie itself was more disgusted still. Incredible as it may
seem, they did resent Napoleon's slight of their daughters. "A defaut
d'une princesse de sang royal, une de nos filles eut fait aussi bien
qu'une etrangere, dont le grand pere, apres tout, etait negociant comme
nous. Le premier empire a ete fait avec le sang de garcons d'ecurie, de
tonnelliers; le second empire aurait pu prendre un pen de ce sang sans
se mesallier." The bourgeois Voltairien was more biting in his sarcasm.
In his speech to the grand officers of State and corporations, Napoleon
had alluded to Empress Josephine: "France has not forgotten that for the
last seventy years foreign princesses have only ascended the steps of
the throne to see their race scattered and proscribed, either by war or
revolution. One woman alone appears to have brought the people better
luck, and to have left a more lasting impression on their memory, and
that woman, the modest and kindly wife of General Bonaparte, was not
descended from royal blood." Then, speaking of the empress that was to
be, he concluded, "A good and pious Catholic, she will, like myself,
offer up the same prayers for the welfare and happiness of France; I
cherish the firm hope that, gracious and kind as she is, she will, while
occupying a similar position, revive once more the virtues of
Josephine." All of which references to the undoubtedly skittish widow of
General de Beauharnais made the satirically inclined bourgeois, who knew
the chronique scandaleuse of the Directoire quite as well as
Louis-Napoleon, sneer. Said one, "It is a strange present to put into a
girl's trousseau, the virtues of Josephine; the Nessus-shirt given to
Hercules was nothing to it."
The Faubourg St.-Germain made common cause for once with the Orleanists
salons, which were avenging the confiscation of the princes' property;
and both, if less brutal than the speaker just quoted, were not less
cruel. The daughter had to bear the brunt of the mother's reputation.
Public securities went down two francs at the announcement of the
marriage. There was but one man who stood steadfast by the Emperor and
his bride, Dupin the elder; but his ironical defence of the choice was
nearly as bad as his opposition to it could have been. "People care very
little as to what I say and think, and perhaps they are right," he
remarked; "but still, the Emperor acts more sensibly by marrying the
woman he likes than by eating humble-pie and bargaining for some
strait-laced, stuck-up German princess, with feet as large as mine. At
any rate, when he kisses his wife, it will be because he feels inclined,
and not because he feels compelled."[60]
[Footnote 60: Dupin's feet were enormous, and, furthermore,
invariably shod in thick, hobnailed bluchers. He himself was
always jestingly alluding to them; and one day, on the occasion
of a funeral of a friend, which he could not possibly attend,
he suggested sending his boots instead. "People send their
empty conveyance: I'll send mine," he said.--EDITOR.]
Nevertheless, amidst all this flouting and jeering, the Emperor and his
future consort felt very uncomfortable, but they showed a brave front.
He inferred, rather than said to one and all who advanced objections,
that his love for Mdlle. de Montijo was not the sole motive for his
contemplated union. He wished to induce them into the belief that
political motives were not foreign to it--that he was, as it were,
flinging the gauntlet to monarchical Europe, which, not content with
refusing him a wife, was determined to throw a spoke in his matrimonial
wheel.
Unfortunately, he and his bride felt that they could not altogether
dispense with the pomp and circumstance of courts. Like his uncle,
Napoleon III. was exceedingly fond of grand ceremonial display, and he
set his heart upon his Empress having a brilliant escort of fair and
illustrious women on the day of her nuptials. To seek for such an escort
among the grandes dames of the old noblesse would, he knew, be so much
waste of time; but he was justified in the hope that the descendants of
those who owed some of their titles and most of their fortunes to his
uncle would prove more amenable. In this he was mistaken: both the
Duchesse de Vicence and the Duchesse des Lesparres, besides several
others to whom the highest positions in the Empress's household were
offered, declined the honour. The Duc de Bassano did worse. Much as the
De Caulaincourts and the De Lesparres owed to the son of the Corsican
lawyer, the Marets owed him infinitely more. Yet their descendant, but a
few days before the marriage, went about repeating everywhere that he
absolutely objected to see his wife figure in the suite of the daughter
of the Comtesse de Montijo, "who" (the daughter) "was a little too much
of a posthumous child." He not only relented with regard to the duchesse
at the eleventh hour, but accepted the office of Grand Chambellan, which
office he filled to the end of his life.
In fact, honours and titles went absolutely a-begging in those days. Let
me not be misunderstood. There were plenty of men and women ready to
accept both, and to deck out their besmirched, though very authentic,
scutcheons with them; but of these the Empress, at any rate, would have
none. She would have willingly thrown overboard the whole of her family
with its doubtful antecedents, which naturally identified it with that
brilliant and cosmopolitan society, "dans laquelle en fait d'hommes, il
n'y a que des declasses, et en fait de femmes que des trop-bien
classees." The Bonapartes themselves had, after all, a by no means
cleaner bill of health, but, as usual, the woman was made the scapegoat;
for though a good many men of ancient lineage, such as the Prince
Charles de Beauveau, the Duc de Crillon, the Duc de Beauveau-Craon, the
Duc de Montmorency, the Marquis de Larochejaquelein, the Marquis de
Gallifet, the Duc de Mouchy, etc., rallied to the new regime, most of
them refused at first to bring their wives and daughters to the
Tuileries, albeit that they went themselves. When a man neglects to
introduce his womenkind to the mistress of the house at which he visits,
one generally knows the opinion he and the world entertain--rightly or
wrongly--of the status of the lady; and the rule is supposed to hold
good everywhere throughout civilized society. Yet the Emperor tolerated
this.
Knowing what I do of Napoleon's private character, I am inclined to
think that, but for dynastic and political reasons, he would have
willingly dispensed with the rigidly virtuous woman at the Tuileries,
then and afterwards. But at that moment he was perforce obliged to make
advances to her, and the rebuffs received in consequence were taken with
a sang-froid which made those who administered them wince more than
once. At each renewed refusal he was ready with an epigram: "Encore une
dame qui n'est pas assez sure de son passe pour braver l'opinion
publique;" "Celle-la, c'est la femme de Cesar, hors de tout soupcon,
comme il y a des criminels qui sont hors la loi;" "Madame de ----; il
n'y a pas de faux pas dans sa vie, il n'y a qu'un faux papa, le pere de
ses enfants."
For Louis-Napoleon could be exceedingly witty when he liked, and his wit
lost nothing by the manner in which he delivered his witticisms. Not a
muscle of his face moved--he merely blinked his eyes.
"Si on avait voulu me donner une princesse allemande," he said to his
most intimate friends, "je l'aurais epousee: si je ne l'avais pas autant
aimee que j'aime Mademoiselle de Montijo, j'aurais au moins ete plus sur
de sa betise; avec une Espagnole on n'est jamais sur."
Whether he meant the remark for his future consort or not, I am unable
to say, but Mademoiselle de Montijo was not witty. There was a kittenish
attempt at wit now and then, as when she said, "Ici, il n'y a que moi de
legitimiste;" but intellectually she was in no way distinguished from
the majority of her countrywomen.[61] On the other hand, she had an iron
will, and was very handsome. A woman's beauty is rarely capable of being
analyzed; he who undertakes such a task is surely doomed to the
disappointment of the boy who cut the drum to find out where the noise
came from.
[Footnote 61: Merimee, the author of "Carmen," who knew
something of Spanish women, and of the female members of the
Montijo family in particular, said that God had given them the
choice between love and wit, and that they had chosen the
former.--EDITOR.]
I cannot say wherein Mdlle. de Montijo's beauty lay, but she was
beautiful indeed.
Her iron will ably seconded the Emperor's attempts at gaining
aristocratic recruits round his standard, and when the Duc de Guiche
joined their ranks--the Duc de Guiche whom the Duchesse d'Angouleme had
left close upon forty thousand pounds a year--Mdlle. de Montijo might
well be elated with her success. Still, at the celebration of her
nuptials, the gathering was not le dessus du panier. The old noblesse
had the right to stay away; they had not the right to do what they did.
I am perfectly certain of my facts, else I should not have committed
them to paper.
As usual, on the day of the ceremony, portraits of the new Empress and
her biography were hawked about. There was nothing offensive in either,
because the risk of printing anything objectionable would have been too
great. In reality, the account of her life was rather too laudatory. But
there was one picture, better executed than the rest, which bore the
words, "_The portrait and the virtues of the Empress_; _the whole for
two sous_;" and that was decidedly the work of the Legitimists and
Orleanists combined. I have ample proof of what I say. I heard
afterwards that the lithograph had been executed in England.
For several months after the marriage nothing was spoken or thought of
at the Tuileries but rules of precedence, court dresses, the revival of
certain ceremonies, functions and entertainments that used to be the
fashion under the ancien regime. The Empress was especially anxious to
model her surroundings, her code of life, upon those of
Marie-Antoinette,--"mon type," as she familiarly called the daughter of
Marie-Therese. If, in fact, after a little while, some one had been
ill-advised enough to tell her that she had not been born in the
Imperial purple, she would have scarcely believed it. When a daughter of
the House of Savoy had the misfortune to marry Napoleon's cousin, the
Empress thought fit to give the young princess some hints as to her
toilette and sundry other things. "You appear to forget, madame," was
the answer, "that I was born at a court." Empress Eugenie was furious,
and never forgave Princess Clotilde. Her anger reminds me of that of a
French detective who, having been charged with a very important case,
took up his quarters with a colleague in one of the best Paris hotels,
exclusively frequented by foreigners of distinction. He assumed the role
of a retired ambassador, his comrade enacted the part of his valet, and
both enacted them to perfection. For a fortnight or more they did not
make a single mistake in their parts. The ambassador was kind but
distant to his servant, the latter never omitted to address him as "Your
Excellency." When their mission was at an end, they returned to their
ordinary duties; but the "ambassador" had become so identified with his
part that, on his colleague addressing him in the usual way, he turned
round indignantly, and exclaimed, "You seem to forget yourself. What do
you mean by such familiarity?"
Of all the entertainments of the ancien regime lending themselves to
sumptuary and scenic display, "la chasse" was undoubtedly the one most
likely to appeal to the Imperial couple. Louis-Napoleon had, at any
rate, the good sense not to attempt to rival Le Roi-Soleil in
spectacular ballet, or to revive the Eglinton tournament on the Place du
Carrousel. But--
"Il ne fallait au fier Romain
Que des spectacles et du pain;
Mais aux Francais, plus que Romain,
Le spectacle suffit sans pain."
No one was better aware of this tendency of the Parisian to be dazzled
by court pageants than the new Emperor, but he was also aware that,
except at the risk of making himself and his new court ridiculous, some
sort of raison d'etre would have to be found for such open-air displays
in the capital; pending the invention of a plausible pretext, "les
grandes chasses" at Compiegne were decided upon. They were to be
different from what they had been on the occasion referred to above:
special costumes were to be worn, splendid horses purchased; the most
experienced kennel and huntsmen, imbued with all the grand traditions of
"la Venerie," recruited from the former establishments of the Condes and
Rohans;--in short, such eclat was to be given to them as to make them
not only the talk of the whole of France, but of Europe besides. The
experiment was worth trying. Compiegne was less than a hundred miles
from Paris; thousands would flock, not only from the neighbouring towns,
but from the capital also, and the glowing accounts they would be sure
to bring back would produce their effect. There would be, moreover, less
risk of incurring the remarks of an irreverent Paris mob, a mob which
instinctively finds out the ridiculous side of every ceremonial
instituted by the court, except those calculated to gratify its love of
military pomp and splendour. As yet, it was too early to belie the
words, "L'empire, c'est la paix;" we had not got beyond the "tame eagle"
period, albeit that those behind the scenes, among others a near
connection of mine, who was more than half a Frenchman himself,
predicted that the predatory instincts would soon reveal themselves,
against the Russian bear, probably, and in conjunction with the British
lion,--if not in conjunction with the latter, perhaps against him.
At any rate, les grandes chasses et fetes de Compiegne formed the first
item of that programme of "La France qui s'amuse,"--a programme and
play which, for nearly eighteen years, drew from all parts of the
civilized world would-be critics and spectators, few of whom perceived
that the theatre was undermined, the piece running to a fatal denoument,
and the bill itself the most fraudulent concoction that had ever issued
from the sanctum of a bogus impressario. But had not Lamartine, only a
few years previously, suggested, as it were, the tendency of the piece,
when, in the Chamber of Deputies, he said, "Messieurs, j'ai l'honneur et
le regret de vous avertir que la France s'ennuie"? Louis-Napoleon was
determined that no such reproach should be made during his reign. He
probably did not mean his fireworks to end in the conflagration of
Bazeilles, and to read the criticism on his own drama at Wilhelmshoehe,
but he should have held a tighter hand over his stage-managers. Some of
these were now getting their reward for having contributed to the
efficient representation of the prologue, which one might entitle "the
Coup d'Etat." General Magnan was appointed grand veneur--let us say,
master of the buckhounds,--with a stipend of a hundred thousand francs;
Comte Edgar Ney, his chief coadjutor, with forty thousand francs.
History sees the last of the latter gentleman on a cold, dull, drizzly
September morning, of the year 1870. He is seated in an open
char-a-bancs, by the side of some Prussian officers, and the vehicle, in
the rear of that of his Imperial master, is on its way to the Belgian
frontier, en route for Cassel. He is pointing to some artillery which,
notwithstanding its French model, is being driven by German gunners. "A
qui ces canons-la?" "Ils ne sont pas des notres, monsieur," is the
courteous and guarded reply. Verily, his father's exit, after all is
said and done, was a more dignified one. Michel Ney, at any rate, fell
pierced by bullets; the pity was that they were not the enemy's. In
addition to the grand veneur and premier veneur, there were three
lieutenants de venerie, a capitaine des chasses a tir,--whom we will
call a sublimated head-gamekeeper;--and all these dignitaries had other
emoluments and charges besides, because Louis-Napoleon, to his credit be
it said, never forgot a friend.
The whole of the "working personnel" was, as I have already said,
recruited from the former establishments of the Condes at Chantilly, of
the late Duc d'Orleans, the Ducs de Nemours and d'Aumale; and such men
as La Feuille, whose real name was Fergus, and La Trace could not have
failed to make comparisons between their old masters and the new, not
always to the advantage of the latter. For though the spectacle was
magnificent enough, there was little or no hunting, as far as the
majority of the guests were concerned. After a great deal of
deliberation, dark green cloth, with crimson velvet collars, cuffs, and
facings, and gold lace, had been adopted. In Louis XV.'s time, and in
that of the latter Bourbons, the colour had been blue with silver lace;
but for this difference the costume was virtually the same, even to the
buckskins, jackboots, and the "lampion," also edged with gold instead of
silver.[62] The Emperor's and Empress's had a trimming of white
ostrich-feathers. The dress could not be worn, however, by any but the
members of the Imperial household, without special permission. The
latter, of course, wore it by right; but even men like the Duc de
Vicence, the Baron d'Offremont, the Marquis de Gallifet, the Marquis de
Cadore, women like the Comtesse de Pourtales, the Comtesse de Brigode,
the Marquise de Contades, who held no special charge at court, had to
receive "le bouton" before they could don it.[63]
[Footnote 62: The lampion was the three-cornered hat, cocked on
all sides alike in the shape of a spout, and stiffened with
wire.--EDITOR.]
[Footnote 63: "Wearing the king's button" is a very old French
sporting term, signifying permission to wear the dress or the
buttons or both, similar to those of the monarch when following
the hounds.--EDITOR.]
The locale of these gatherings differed according to the seasons.
Fontainebleau was chosen for the spring ones, but throughout the reign
Compiegne always offered the most brilliant spectacle, especially after
the Crimean war, when Napoleon III. was tacitly admitted to the family
circle of the crowned heads of Europe. The shooting-parties were a
tribute offered to the taste of the English visitors, who, after that
period, became more numerous every succeeding autumn, and who,
accustomed as they were to their own magnificent meets and lavish
hospitality at the most renowned country seats, could not help
expressing their surprise at the utterly reckless expenditure; and, if
the truth must be told, enjoyed the freedom from all restraint, though
it was cunningly hidden beneath an apparently very formidable code of
courtly etiquette. As one of these distinguished Englishmen said, "They
have done better than banish Mrs. Grundy; they have given her a special
invitation, and drugged her the moment she came in."
The Court invariably arrived on the first of November, and generally
stayed for three weeks or a month, according to the date fixed for the
opening of the Chambers. From that moment the town, a very sleepy though
exceedingly pretty one, became like a fair. Unless you had engaged your
room beforehand at one of the hotels, the chances were a thousand to one
in favour of your having to roam the streets; for there were hundreds
and hundreds of sight-seers, French as well as foreign, desirous of
following the hounds, which every one was free to do. In addition to
these, many functionaries, not sufficiently important to be favoured
with an invitation to the Chateau, but eager for an opportunity of
attracting the notice of the sovereign--for Napoleon was a very
impulsive monarch, who often took sudden fancies--had to be
accommodated, not to mention flying columns of the demi-monde, "pas trop
bien assurees sur la fidelite de leurs protecteurs en-titre et voulant
les sauvegarder contre les attaques de leurs rivales dans l'entourage
imperial." What with these and others, a room, on the top story, was
often quoted at sixty or seventy francs per day. I know a worthy
lieutenant of the cavalry of the Garde who made a pretty sum, for two
years running, by engaging three apartments at each of the five good
hotels, for the whole of the Emperor's stay. His regiment was quartered
at Compiegne, and, as a matter of course, his friends from Paris applied
to him.
An amusing incident happened in connection with this scarcity of
accommodation. The French railways in those days got a great many of
their rails from England. The representative of one of these English
makers found out, however, that the profits on his contracts were pretty
well being swallowed up by the baksheesh he had to distribute among the
various government officials and others. In his perplexity, he sought
advice of an English nobleman, who had his grandes et petites entrees to
the Tuileries, and the latter promised to get him an audience of the
Emperor. It so happened that the Court was on the eve of its departure,
but Napoleon wrote that he would see the agent at Compiegne. On the day
appointed, the Englishman came. Having made up his mind to combine
pleasure with business, he had brought his portmanteau in order to stay
for a day or so. Previous to the interview he had applied at every
hotel, at every private house where there was a chance of getting a
room, but without success. His luggage was in a cab on the Place du
Chateau. Napoleon was, as usual, very kind, promised him his aid, but
asked him to let the matter rest until the next day, when he would have
an opportunity of consulting a high authority on the subject who was
coming down that very afternoon. "Give me your address, and I will let
you know, the first thing in the morning, when I can see you," said the
Emperor in English.
The Englishman looked very embarrassed. "I have no address, sire. I have
been unable to get a room anywhere," he replied.
"Oh, I dare say we can put you up somewhere here," laughed the Emperor,
and called to one of his aides-de-camp, to whom he gave instructions.
The Englishman and the officer departed together, but the Chateau was
quite as full as the rest of the town.
"I'll ask Baptiste," said the officer at last, having tried every
possible means.
Baptiste was one of the Emperor's principal grooms, and very willing to
help; but, alas! he had only a very small room himself, and that was
shared by his wife.
"If monsieur don't mind," said Baptiste, "I will make him up a good bed
in one of the fourgons"--one of the luggage-vans.
So said, so done. The Englishman slept like a top, being very
tired,--too much like a top, for he never stirred until he found himself
rudely awakened by a heavy bundle of rugs and other paraphernalia being
flung on his chest. He was at the station. Baptiste had simply forgotten
to mention the fact of his having transformed the fourgon into a
bedroom; the doors that stood ajar during the night had been closed
without the servant looking inside; and when the occupant was discovered
he was, as Racine says--
"Dans le simple appareil
D'une beaute qu'on vient d'arracher au sommeil."
When he told the Emperor, the latter laughed, "as he had never seen him
laugh before," said the aide-de-camp, who had been the innocent cause of
the mischief by appealing to Baptiste.
The victim of the misadventure did not mind it much. For many years
afterwards, he averred that the sight of Compiegne in those days would
have compensated for the inconvenience of sleeping on a garden seat.
What was more, he and his firm were never troubled any more with
inexorable demands for baksheesh.
He was right; the sight of Compiegne in those days was very beautiful.
There was a good deal of the histrionic mixed up with it, but it was
very beautiful. In addition to the bands of the garrison, a regimental
band of the infantry of the Garde played in the courtyard of the
Chateau; the streets were alive with crowds dressed in their best;
almost every house was gay with bunting, the only exceptions being those
of the Legitimists, who, unlike Achilles, did not even skulk in their
tents, but shut up their establishments and flitted on the eve of the
arrival of the Court, after having despatched an address of unswerving
loyalty to the Comte de Chambord. After a little while, Napoleon did not
trouble about these expressions of hostility to his dynasty, though he
could not forbear to ask bitterly, now and then, whether the Comte de
Chambord or the Comte de Paris under a regency could have made the
country more prosperous than he had attempted to do, than he succeeded
in doing. And truth compels one to admit that France's material
prosperity was not a sham in those days, whatever else may have been;
for in those days, as I have already remarked, the end was still
distant, and there were probably not a thousand men in the whole of
Europe who foresaw the nature of it, albeit that a thirtieth or a
fortieth part of them may have been in Compiegne at the very time when
the Emperor, in his elegantly appointed break, drove from the Place du
Chateau amidst the acclamations of the serried crowds lining the roads.
On the day of the arrival of the Emperor--the train reached Compiegne
about four--there was neither dinner-party nor reception at the Chateau.
The civil and military authorities of Compiegne went to the station to
welcome the Imperial couple, the rangers of Compiegne and Laigue forests
waited upon his Majesty to arrange the programme, and generally joined
the Imperial party at dinner; but the fetes did not commence until the
second day after the arrival, _i. e._ with the advent of the first batch
of guests, who reached the Chateau exactly twenty-four hours after their
hosts.