“Then happy low, lie down;
Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.”—SHAKESPEARE.
“EVERYTHING happens in France,” says La Rochefoucauld; and indeed
it would seem so. The history of no other country of modern times
presents such a series of rapid changes, decided extremes, and strange
incongruities. Monarchies, empires, republics, follow each other in
rapid succession. Yet through it all—in base servility or in fierce
revolt, in licentiousness or prudery, in anarchy or order, in despotism
or demagogy; under Valois, Bourbon, or Bonaparte; from Versailles and
Louis XIV. to Malmaison of the First, and Compiègne of the Second
Empire—we see the same thoughts, the same ideas, the same traits of
character, though veiled under different garbs.
In 1685 the House of Bourbon was at the zenith of its glory. France,
crushed with oppression, bowed beneath its yoke. One hundred and
fifty thousand souls rioted in luxury. Twenty-five millions toiled to
administer to their luxury. The people cried for bread, and proud,
licentious nobles bid them “eat grass,” while the monarch, from his
gilded palace, thundered forth his arbitrary dictum, “_L’État c’est
moi!_”
“The kingdom is in a deplorable state,” said Mirabeau. “It can only be
regenerated by some great internal convulsion. But woe to those who
live to see that. _The French people do not do things by halves._” The
convulsion comes. The French people do not do things by halves. The
throne falls with a crash, and the guillotine stands in the _Place de
la Concorde_.
Then comes the Empire. Glory is the object sought, and glory is
attained. France is ablaze with glory. Rivoli. Austerlitz. Waterloo!
And the First Empire—with its glories and its triumphs, its crowns and
its sceptres, its stars and its crosses—fades like a dream, and is
gone. The Bourbons return to the homes of their ancestors. Again the
storm arises, and the Republic is proclaimed. The Republic becomes the
Empire. Laurels, crowns, triumph! Glory is sought, but ’tis pacific
glory. “The Empire is peace.” France prospers. But a dark cloud gathers
on the horizon. The thunder peals. War rages fast and furious. Defeat,
disaster, ruin! The Empire has fallen to pieces! Bourbon and Bonaparte
wander through Europe.
’Tis the height of the Paris “season,” and with its gayly dressed
crowds and splendid equipages, the _Avenue des Champs Élysées_ wears
a festive, smiling air. Bright shines the sun, gilding with its rays
the dome and turrets of the Tuileries, the terraces and statues, the
obelisk of Luxor, and sending back the waters of the fountains in
showers of glittering diamonds, while far in the distance the massive
outline of the _Arc de Triomphe_ looms lofty against the clear blue
sky. Carriages, horsemen, and pedestrians, a countless throng, are on
their way to and from the _Bois de Boulogne_; but one alone attracts
universal attention. A tall and graceful figure clad in a dark green
habit, and above whose head there floats a snow-white plume, she
sits proud and erect upon her splendid thoroughbred. Paris sees with
admiration, and in every mouth there is but one question, “Who is
yonder fair _equestrienne_, who sits so splendidly, who rides so
fearlessly?”
“Tis Eugénie de Montijo, Comtesse de Téba.”
Born in Spain in 1826, in the province of Granada, her early days were
passed among the picturesque scenery with which the pen of Irving has
made us familiar. Her father, the Count de Montijo and Téba, was a
grandee of Spain, and from him she inherited many titles of nobility.
Washington Irving, who was then in Spain, knew her mother, Maria
Manuela Kirkpatrick, and was a frequent visitor at her house, where he
soon made friends with the little Eugénie; and in later years, when
she was dazzling Europe with the costliness of her costumes and the
splendor of her court, he recalled with interest and amusement the many
times he had held upon his knee the future empress of the French, “when
she was an alert, dark-eyed little girl, doubtless very happy to be
entertained with such stories of her native land as he could tell her.”
From Spain she was sent to Toulouse, and afterwards to Bristol,
to pursue her education; and when she left school, beautiful and
accomplished, easy in manners and fluent in conversation,—which she
could carry on with apparently equal ease in Spanish, English, or in
French,—possessing more than average information, and displaying a
readiness and aptness of _repartee_ approaching the brilliancy of wit,
with a beauty striking and exceptional, a form slender and perfectly
moulded, a complexion brilliantly fair, and black eyes, large and
expressive, it is not surprising that she became successively the belle
of the season in London, Paris, and Madrid.
While in London she was introduced to Louis Napoleon, then an exile
from France, and distinguished chiefly for the disastrous failure of
his first attempt to overthrow the government of Louis Philippe. In
1851 she met him again. He was then called _Napoleon III._, and she was
regarded as one of the leaders of fashion in Paris. His attentions to
her gradually became marked and suggestive, and finally he offered to
share with her his throne. On the 22d of January, 1853, the approaching
nuptials were announced publicly to the Senate. In this communication,
Napoleon thus expressed himself:—
“I come, then, gentlemen,” he said, “to announce that I have preferred
the woman whom I love and whom I respect, to one who is unknown, and
whose alliance would have had advantages mingled with sacrifices.
She who has been the object of my preference is of princely descent.
French in heart, by education, and the recollection of the blood shed
by her father in the cause of the Empire, she has, as a Spaniard,
the advantage of not having in France a family to whom it might be
necessary to give honors and fortune. Endowed with all the qualities of
mind, she will be the ornament of the throne. In the day of danger she
will be one of its courageous supporters. A Catholic, she will address
to Heaven the same prayers with me for the happiness of France. In
fine, by her grace and her goodness, she will, I firmly hope, endeavor
to revive in the same position the virtues of the Empress Josephine.”
On the 29th of January, the civil marriage of Louis Napoleon with
Mademoiselle de Montijo took place at the Tuileries, and on the
following day the religious ceremonies were celebrated at the cathedral
of Nôtre Dame. Never had the arches of that venerable pile looked
down upon a more brilliant assemblage. The imperial couple sat on two
thrones erected in front of the high altar, and the representatives
of the army, of the Senate, of the municipal authorities, and of
the diplomatic corps surrounded them. All the pomp and splendor of
the Catholic service, all the opulence of France’s great capital,
all the beauty and brilliancy of the court, all the grim majesty of
the military; science, art, and lavish luxury,—all were united and
exhausted on the incidents and displays of this momentous occasion.
At last all was over, and to the echoing shouts of “_Vive
l’Impératrice!_” Eugénie de Montijo returned with her imperial consort
to the palace of the Tuileries.
The career of the great Napoleonic dynasty is without a parallel
either in ancient or modern times. Long since, the universal judgment
of mankind has decided that its founder, Napoleon I., was in every
respect as great a hero, and probably a greater, than Alexander, Cæsar,
or Charlemagne, the three most renowned representatives of ambitious
daring in the world’s history. The variety and extent of Napoleon’s
abilities, both as a commander, a legislator, and a ruler, place him
above all his rivals; while the splendor of his victories, the extent
of his conquests, and the grandeur of his elevation, exceeds theirs in
an eminent degree.
“But in addition to all these elements of superior greatness, the
family of Napoleon I. add an unequal attraction to his career. None of
his illustrious rivals could boast of a wife as graceful and bewitching
as Josephine, or as high-born and nobly descended as Maria Louisa. None
could claim brothers as sagacious as Joseph, as gallant as Murat, as
capable as Lucien, as romantic as Jerome. None could point to as many
relatives who were sovereign princes and princesses, and who owed their
lofty elevations to his own powerful arm. And none had a successor
equal in talent and in desperate, successful daring, to Napoleon III.”
Charles Louis Napoleon Bonaparte, son of Louis Napoleon, king of
Holland, and Hortense, daughter of the Empress Josephine and of her
first husband, the Viscomte de Beauharnais, was born at Paris, on the
20th of April, 1808. Along the whole line of the _grande armée_, and
throughout the entire extent of the Empire, from Hamburg to Genoa,
and from the Danube to the Atlantic, salvos of artillery announced
the happy event. This was an honor which fell to the lot of only two
members of the imperial family, Louis Napoleon and the king of Rome,
for they only were born under the imperial _régime_. It is not our
purpose, in this short sketch of the life of the Empress Eugénie, to
trace the career of Napoleon III., except in so much only as it bears
upon her own.
The Revolution of 1848 was over, and France needed a monarch skilled
to rule in a reign of peace. Three very poor specimens of that article
had been tried, in the persons of Louis XVIII., Charles X., and Louis
Philippe, and had proved miserable failures. They did no great harm,
because they did nothing at all.
“Providence wrested the useless sceptre from the last, and bestowed it
upon Napoleon III.”
Truly “there is nothing so successful as success,” and never has it
been more clearly illustrated than in the history of Louis Napoleon.
All writers who have narrated the events of his life, when in the
full plentitude of his power he sat upon his throne at the Tuileries,
have extolled him as a demi-god, and praised in most extravagant
terms his wonderful abilities; but those who have written since the
fall of the Empire denounce him as a cold and selfish conspirator and
revolutionist, _roué_, and libertine; and declare “that among the
rulers of Christendom in modern times there is not one whose record
is so utterly devoid of any redeeming act, so entirely dictated by
selfishness, lust, and sordid greed, as that of Charles Louis Napoleon.”
Between these two extremes lies the truth, and among the defeats and
disasters of 1870 we must not forget the glories and triumphs of 1855.
This much is certain, that from the time of his attainment of the
supreme power, Louis Napoleon exhibited _administrative talent_ of
the first order. France was governed with the regularity and system
of a gigantic piece of machinery. More vigor, energy, and harmony had
never before pervaded the administration. It was said of Augustus,
that he found Rome brick and left it marble. That saying would not be
exaggerated if applied to Louis Napoleon and Paris. The gay capital of
the Empire was the special object of his care, and Paris seemed to have
thrown off the dingy and faded habiliments of past ages, which still
clung to her, and to have assumed the freshness, beauty, and energy
of youth. Public monuments, palaces, temples, and boulevards were,
by his orders, embellished, enlarged, renovated, and repaired. Old
Paris disappeared, and new Paris started up in its place. Dark, dirty,
ill-paved, and worse-drained streets were replaced by noble boulevards
full of palaces. He completed the Louvre, reconstructed the Tuileries,
regenerated the Palais Royal, and interminably prolonged the Rue de
Rivoli.
“His acts and deeds speak for themselves, and they prove, on undeniable
evidence, that France was never better governed than by him. A people
as fickle as the wind, as restless as the sea; a people as whimsical as
women, as fanciful as children; a people with whom novelty is a mania
and faction a disease; a people brave, intelligent, and generous by
fits, and treacherous, frivolous, and vindictive by starts,—such a
people could have been governed at that crisis only by such a ruler.
And single-handed, by the sheer force of his genius, and the moral
power which is the body-guard of genius, he governed them wisely and
well. In spite of almost invincible opposition, in the face of almost
unsurmountable obstacles, he raised them, step by step, to be regarded
as the most enlightened nation of Europe; he unsparingly promoted their
national welfare, he perceptibly diminished their national evils; in
short, for nearly twenty years he was the glory of France and the
wonder of the world.”
The alliance between France and England having terminated so gloriously
for the arms and diplomacy of both countries, the emperor and empress
of the French, in 1855, visited Queen Victoria in her own dominions,
probably the first instance on record in which a reigning French
monarch set foot upon the soil of his hereditary foes. The rejoicings
on this occasion were prodigious, and Louis Napoleon, who had once
paced the streets of London a penniless wanderer, was received in
the same capital with universal greetings, with flying banners, with
military salutes, with the congratulations of the sovereign and
nobility, and with the joyful acclamations of the millions. Albert
and Victoria in a short time returned the compliment, and the scene
was transferred from London to Paris. “On that memorable occasion
France’s gay and brilliant capital, that great centre of the world’s
civilization and luxury, assumed unwonted hues of splendor, exhibited
scenes of unusual festivity and rejoicing, and exhausted her varied and
infinite resources to impress, delight, and charm her august visitors.”
The felicity of Louis Napoleon was now about to receive a further
augmentation, and his sudden and vigorous empire to be strengthened by
an additional element of perpetuity and power. On the 16th of March,
1856, a son was born at the palace of the Tuileries. On that occasion,
the emperor thus addressed the Senate: “The Senate has participated
in my joy on hearing that Heaven has given me a son, and you have
hailed as a happy event the birth of a child of France. I intentionally
make use of that expression. In fact, the Emperor Napoleon, my uncle,
who had applied to the new system created by the Revolution all that
was great and elevated in the old _régime_, had resumed that ancient
denomination of the children of France. The reason is, gentlemen, that
when an heir is born who is destined to perpetuate a national system,
that child is not only the scion of a family, but also in truth the
son of the whole country, and that appellation points out to him his
duties. If this were true under the old monarchy, which represented
exclusively the privileged class, how much more so is it now, when the
sovereign is the elect of the nation, the first citizen of the country,
and the representative of the interests of all? I thank you for the
kind wishes which you have expressed for this child of France and for
the empress.”
The birth of the Prince Imperial realized national hopes long deferred.
And never was title more perfectly representative of truth and fact,
than that of “_Fils de France_.” The son of France,—the son of the
nation,—the gift of Providence to the people. It was in this sense
that the title was bestowed, and in this sense that it was interpreted
by the country. Throughout France the joy manifested was excessive,
and the municipal authorities and public bodies of all kinds came
forward with affectionate eagerness to manifest their sympathy in the
happiness of their sovereign. What prophet could then have foretold
that Napoleon Eugène Louis Jean Joseph, Prince Imperial, and _Fils de
France_, whose birth was now so proudly hailed, whose future seemed so
brilliant, and who was heir to the grandest throne in Europe, would,
in a few years, be an exile in a foreign land, and that ultimately, at
the early age of twenty-three, the javelins of hostile savages would
terminate his career amid the wilds of Africa?
It is a bright May afternoon in the year 1857, and every avenue leading
to the vast area of the _Champ de Mars_ is crowded with endless masses
of troops, marching with stately tread and martial music to the grand
rendezvous. For his Majesty Napoleon III. is to hold, in honor of
the Grand Duke Constantine of Russia, one of those public reviews by
which he exhibits, to such great advantage, the strength and majesty
of his army. As far as the eye can reach, along both banks of the
Seine, and through the immense perspective of the adjacent boulevards,
glittering arms of cavalry and infantry flash brightly in the rays of
the refulgent sun. As the hour of two tolls from the lofty towers of
the Invalides, seventy thousand men, disposed so as to produce the most
sublime and impressive effect, stand motionless in military array,
awaiting the approach of that single man who has so heroically grasped
and maintained the sceptre of dominion in France.
The noble _façade_ of the _École Militaire_, the splendid dome of the
_Hotel des Invalides_, the towering mass of the _Arc de Triomphe_,
and a hundred other monuments of architectural beauty and historic
celebrity, are within the view, combining, with the majesty of
military power assembled in their centre, a _coup d’œil_ of unrivalled
magnificence.
At length the graceful waving of red and white plumes, and the gleam of
polished silver helmets on the _Pont de Jena_, the roll of a thousand
drums and the music of a thousand trumpets indicate the approach of
Louis Napoleon and his illustrious guest.
Surrounded by his magnificent _État Major_, composed of the chief
officers of all the regiments, the emperor rides with military
precision into the centre of the gorgeous array. The _Champ de Mars_,
familiar as it has been with the glories of the First Empire, has never
seen the conqueror of Marengo and Austerlitz surrounded with a halo
of greater martial grandeur than this which now encompasses this man
who has never seen a solitary conflict of arms or commanded a single
battalion in the field.
On the right of the emperor, in the costume of a Russian admiral, rides
the Grand Duke Constantine, and on his left the Prince Napoleon and the
Duke of Nassau, while behind them, in a sumptuous carriage, arrayed
in the most gorgeous and elegant of _toilettes_, the very picture of
loveliness and beauty, comes the Empress Eugénie.
Three times the splendid _cortège_ passes through the field; after
which the emperor, the empress, and the grand duke take up their
positions under the central pavilion of the _École Militaire_, and the
_defile_ begins. During three hours seventy thousand men, composed of
seventy-four battalions of foot, sixty squadrons of cavalry, and a
hundred and fifty pieces of artillery, all arrayed in new uniforms,
with untarnished arms and accoutrements, march by to the inspiring
notes of martial melody, and beneath a bright and propitious sky. “Many
of the regiments bear immortal names upon their banners, which must
forcibly remind the Grand Duke Constantine of those far-famed and
bloody struggles in which the colossal power of the First Empire strove
with desperate energy and effort to crush forever the throne of the
Muscovite kings. Nevertheless, the grand duke looks on complacently,
and utters nothing but polite phrases of praise and commendation.”
With such pageantries Louis Napoleon regaled and impressed the
splendor-loving Parisians. All the _pacific_ splendors of the First
Empire were restored, and he neglected no means of impressing upon his
subjects and upon the world the greatness of his power and the security
with which he sat upon his throne.
In the early part of the month of January, 1858, as the carriage of
the emperor and empress was approaching the Italian Opera House, three
bombs were aimed at their persons, and exploded beneath the wheels.
Many persons were wounded, and some of those forming the imperial
escort were killed; but Napoleon and Eugénie escaped unharmed.
The chief conspirators were Italian refugees, some of whom suffered the
well-merited penalty of death for their sanguinary but unsuccessful
purpose.
In an address, soon after, to the legislature, the emperor mentioned
the event. “I thank Heaven,” he said, “for the visible protection which
it has granted to the empress and myself; and I deeply deplore that a
plan for destroying one life should have ended in the loss of so many.
Yet this thwarted scheme can teach us some useful lessons. The recourse
to such desperate means is but a proof of the feebleness and impotence
of the conspirators.
“And again, there never was an assassination which served the interests
of the men who armed the murderer. Neither the party who struck
Cæsar, nor that which slew Henry IV., profited by their overthrow.
God sometimes permits the death of the just, but he never allows the
triumph of the evil agent. Thus these attempts neither disturb my
security in the present nor my trust in the future. If I live, the
Empire lives with me; if I fall, the Empire will be strengthened by my
death, for the indignation of the people and of the army will be a new
support for the throne of my son. Let us, then, face the future with
confidence, and calmly devote ourselves to the welfare and to the honor
of our country. _Dieu protege la France!_”
Alas! that Louis Napoleon, the prudent and sagacious administrator of
1858, and the wise and powerful monarch of 1867, should have become the
short-sighted and inefficient general of 1870.
And when, upon the ensanguined field of Sedan, the star of the Second
Empire fell to rise no more, and the bloody demons of the Commune
were carrying destruction and death through the streets of beautiful
Paris, Europe and America—in short, the civilized world—re-echoed the
sentiment, exclaiming in the fulness of their anxious minds, “_Dieu
protege la France!_”
The year 1867 was a memorable one in the annals of the Second Empire,
for in it was held the Exposition Universelle, in which the arts,
the sciences, and industries of the whole world were displayed with
unequalled magnificence.
France on that occasion fraternized with all nations, and her
resplendent capital was the admiration of eyes of the universe.
Here was the culmination of the happy reign of Louis Napoleon and
Eugénie. “The Empire was peace,” and nations of every clime beheld
the marvellous progress of France under the administration of
her sagacious rulers. Unclouded happiness pervaded the land, and
untarnished glory shed a lustre over the Empire.
The first of July, 1867, a lovely day. The sun shone brightly in a
clear sky, and beautiful Paris never looked so fair. The Exposition
was at its height, and the gay capital was crowded with distinguished
visitors. On this day Napoleon III. was to distribute prizes to the
successful competitors.
In the most gorgeous of state carriages, blazing with red and gold,
drawn by eight horses splendidly caparisoned, and preceded and followed
by Cent Gardes, squadrons of Lancers, and officers and servants of the
imperial household, the emperor and empress left the Tuileries, and at
precisely two o’clock arrived at the _Palais de l’Industrie_, in the
_Champs Élysées_. The interior of the edifice had been magnificently
decorated for the occasion. The semicircular glass roof was lined with
a thin white drapery dotted over with golden stars and bordered with a
band of pale green.
The galleries were hung with elegantly arranged crimson velvet
draperies trimmed with gold lace; while on the fronts of the columns
that supported the roof were displayed the armorial bearings of the
different nations that had taken part in the Exhibition. All around
the floor of the vast hall were ranged, tier upon tier, rows of
crimson-colored benches, enough to seat twenty thousand people. In
the centre of one side of the hall, and interrupting the terraces of
encircling benches, was the imperial throne, gorgeous in crimson and
gold, and whose velvet and golden, bee-spotted canopy, surmounted by a
massive crown, towered to the very roof. In great folds of velvet of
the richest hue,—darker than crimson, and lighter than purple,—and
relieved with embroidery of gold, the curtains sloped gracefully to the
crimson and black moquette carpet of the _dais_, filling the eye with a
splendid blaze of color.
Here the Emperor Napoleon sat enthroned in the midst of his guests and
of his court. On his right was the Sultan of Turkey, in a blue and
gold uniform, and wearing upon his breast the ribbon of the Legion of
Honor and a diamond star. On his left sat the Empress Eugénie dressed
in white, spotted with gold, with a mauve satin train. On her head she
wore a green wreath surmounted by diamonds; diamonds in her ears, a
diamond necklace which fell in long pendants upon her breast, and a
diamond stomacher. This glittering attire, in contrast with the dark
draperies of the throne, was very effective.
Next to the sultan sat the Prince of Wales. Then came the Prince of
Orange, the Prince of Saxony, and the Prince Imperial; and next to him,
the Grand Duchess Marie, the Duke of Aosta, the Duke of Cambridge,
and the Princess Mathilde, by the side of whom, in a crimson and gold
brocaded petticoat and a black tunic bordered with gold lace, sat the
brother of the Japanese Tycoon. On the left of the empress were the
Prince Royal of Prussia, the Princess of Saxony, Prince Humbert of
Italy, Prince Napoleon, and Abdul Hamed, son of the sultan.
In the second row were the members of the Murat and Bonaparte families,
and behind all were the marshals of France, the ministers of state, the
officers of the imperial household, and the Turkish beys and pachas in
attendance upon the sultan.
Between twenty and thirty thousand people were present at the ceremony,
the ladies attired in splendid toilets of the lightest and brightest
tints, while the gentlemen were either in evening dress, in some
picturesque national costume, or in uniform. Nothing could be more
striking than the immense variety of the latter.
“There were Turks in fezes and turbans, surtouts literally covered with
gold lace, and in long robes of gorgeous colors; Hungarian magnates in
blue velvet tunics bejewelled all over, crimson pantaloons fringed with
gold, and felt hats with diamond aigrettes and clusters of feathers;
Japanese dignitaries in cloth of gold, with light blue petticoats,
scarlet breeches, white stockings, patent leather shoes, and spiked
hats fringed with gold or silver lace; Tunisians in green and gold,
with diamond ornaments in front of their crimson fezes; Austrian uhlans
in their well-known and picturesque uniforms; Persians wearing the tall
national head-dress; and Siamese in their flat hats, short brocaded
tunics, and baggy satin breeches.
“There were, moreover, the members of the Council of State, senators,
deputies, and prefects in their elaborately embroidered costumes; with
the lord mayors of London and Dublin, aldermen, sheriffs, councilmen,
masters of arts, and doctors of divinity. Beyond these were endless
varieties of French, Russian, German, Italian, Dutch, and British
military and naval uniforms.
“Stars, crosses, and ribbons of every order under the sun, met the eye
in all directions.”
The proceedings were opened with Gluck’s overture to “Iphigenie en
Aulide.”
At its conclusion M. Rouher, vice-president of the Exposition,
addressed the emperor at considerable length.