IN November, 1862, my wife and I received an invitation to spend a week
at Compiègne with their Majesties the Emperor and Empress of the French.
This was due to the circumstance that my wife’s father, Lord Wilton, as
Commodore of the Royal Yacht Squadron, had entertained the Emperor during
his visit to Cowes.
We found an express train with the imperial carriages awaiting the
arrival of the English guests at the station du Nord. The only other
English besides ourselves were Lord and Lady Winchilsea with Lady
Florence Paget, and Lord and Lady Castlerosse, now Lord and Lady Kenmare.
These, however, had preceded us, so that with the exception of M. Drouyn
de Lhuys, we had the saloon carriage to ourselves.
The party was a very large one, including the Walewskis, the Persignys,
the Metternichs—he, the Austrian Ambassador—Prince Henri VII. of Reuss,
Prussian Ambassador, the Prince de la Moskowa, son of Marshal Ney, and
the Labedoyères, amongst the historical names. Amongst those of art and
literature, of whom there were many, the only one whom I made the
acquaintance of was Octave Feuillet. I happened to have brought his
‘Comédies et Proverbes’ and another of his books with me, never expecting
to meet him; this so pleased him that we became allies. I was surprised
to find that he could not even read English, which I begged him to learn
for the sake of Shakespeare alone.
We did not see their Majesties till dinner-time. When the guests were
assembled, the women and the men were arranged separately on opposite
sides of the room. The Emperor and Empress then entered, each
respectively welcoming those of their own sex, shaking hands and saying
some conventional word in passing. Me, he asked whether I had brought my
guns, and hoped we should have a good week’s sport. To each one a word.
Every night during the week we sat down over a hundred to dinner. The
Army was largely represented. For the first time I tasted here the
national frog, which is neither fish nor flesh. The wine was, of course,
supreme; but after every dish a different wine was handed round. The
evening entertainments were varied. There was the theatre in the Palace,
and some of the best of the Paris artistes were requisitioned for the
occasion. With them came Dèjazet, then nearly seventy, who had played
before Buonaparte.
Almost every night there was dancing. Sometimes the Emperor would walk
through a quadrille, but as a rule he would retire with one of his
ministers, though only to a smaller boudoir at the end of the suite,
where a couple of whist-tables were ready for the more sedate of the
party. Here one evening I found Prince Metternich showing his Majesty a
chess problem, of which he was the proud inventor. The Emperor asked
whether I was fond of chess. I was very fond of chess, was one of the
regular _habitués_ of St. George’s Chess Club, and had made a study of
the game for years. The Prince challenged me to solve his problem in
four moves. It was not a very profound one. I had the hardihood to
discover that three, rather obvious moves, were sufficient. But as I was
not Gil Blas, and the Prince was not the Archbishop of Grenada, it did
not much matter. Like the famous prelate, his Excellency proffered his
felicitations, and doubtless also wished me ‘un peu plus de goût’ with
the addition of ‘un peu moins de perspicacité.’
One of the evening performances was an exhibition of _poses-plastiques_,
the subjects being chosen from celebrated pictures in the Louvre.
Theatrical costumiers, under the command of a noted painter, were brought
from Paris. The ladies of the court were carefully rehearsed, and the
whole thing was very perfectly and very beautifully done. All the
English ladies were assigned parts. But, as nearly all these depended
less upon the beauties of drapery than upon those of nature, the English
ladies were more than a little staggered by the demands of the painter
and of the—_un_dressers. To the young and handsome Lady Castlerosse,
then just married, was allotted the figure of Diana. But when informed
that, in accordance with the original, the drapery of one leg would have
to be looped up above the knee, her ladyship used very firm language;
and, though of course perfectly ladylike, would, rendered into masculine
terms, have signified that she would ‘see the painter d—d first.’ The
celebrated ‘Cruche cassée’ of Greuze, was represented by the reigning
beauty, the Marquise de Gallifet, with complete fidelity and success.
There was one stage of the performance which neither I nor Lord
Castlerosse, both of us newly married, at all appreciated. This was the
privileges of the Green-room, or rather of the dressing-rooms. The
exhibition was given in the ball-room. On one side of this, until the
night of the performances, an enclosure was boarded off. Within it, were
compartments in which the ladies dressed and—undressed. At this
operation, as we young husbands discovered, certain young gentlemen of
the court were permitted to assist—I think I am not mistaken in saying
that his Majesty was of the number. What kind of assistance was offered
or accepted, Castlerosse and I, being on the wrong side of the boarding,
were not in a position to know.
There was a door in the boarding, over which one expected to see, ‘No
admittance except on business,’ or perhaps, ‘on pleasure.’ At this door
I rapped, and rapped again impatiently. It was opened, only as wide as
her face, by the empress.
‘What do you want, sir?’ was the angry demand.
‘To see my wife, madame,’ was the submissive reply.
‘You can’t see her; she is rehearsing.’
‘But, madame, other gentlemen—’
‘Ah! Mais, c’est un enfantillage! Allez-vous-en.’
And the door was slammed in my face.
‘Well,’ thought I, ‘the right woman is in the right place there, at all
events.’
Another little incident at the performance itself also recalled the days
and manners of the court of Louis XV. Between each tableau, which was
lighted solely from the raised stage, the lights were put out, and the
whole room left in complete darkness. Whenever this happened, the sounds
of immoderate kissing broke out in all directions, accompanied by little
cries of resistance and protestation. Until then, I had always been
under the impression that humour of this kind was confined to the
servants’ hall. One could not help thinking of another court, where
things were managed differently.
But the truth is, these trivial episodes were symptomatic of a pervading
tone. A no inconsiderable portion of the ladies seemed to an outsider to
have been invited for the sake of their personal charms. After what has
just been related, one could not help fancying that there were some
amongst them who had availed themselves of the privilege which, according
to Tacitus, was claimed by Vistilia before the Ædiles. So far, however,
from any of these noble ladies being banished to the Isle of Seriphos,
they seemed as much attached to the court as the court to them; and
whatever the Roman Emperor might have done, the Emperor of the French was
all that was most indulgent.
There were two days’ shooting, one day’s stag hunting, an expedition to
Pierrefonds, and a couple of days spent in riding and skating. The
shooting was very much after the fashion of that already described at
Prince Esterhazy’s, though of a much more Imperial character. As in
Hungary, the game had been driven into coverts cut down to the height of
the waist, with paths thirty to forty yards apart, for the guns.
The weather was cold, with snow on the ground, but it was a beautifully
sunny day. This was the party: the two ambassadors, the Prince de la
Moskowa, Persigny, Walewski—Bonaparte’s natural son, and the image of his
father—the Marquis de Toulongeon, Master of the Horse, and we three
Englishmen. We met punctually at eleven in the grand saloon. Here the
Emperor joined us, with his cigarette in his mouth, shook hands with
each, and bade us take our places in the char-a-bancs. Four splendid
Normandy greys, with postilions in the picturesque old costume, glazed
hats and huge jack-boots, took us through the forest at full gallop, and
in half an hour we were at the covert side. The Emperor was very cheery
all the way. He cautioned me not to shoot back for the beaters’ sakes,
and asked me how many guns I had brought.
‘Two only? that’s not enough, I will lend you some of mine.’
Arrived at our beat—‘Tire de Royallieu,’ we found a squadron of
dismounted cavalry drawn up in line, ready to commence operations. They
were in stable dress, with canvas trousers and spurs to their boots.
Several officers were galloping about giving orders, the whole being
under the command of a mounted chief in green uniform and cocked hat!
The place of each shooter had been settled by M. de Toulongeon. I, being
the only Nobody of the lot, was put on the extreme outside. The Emperor
was in the middle; and although, as I noticed, he made some beautiful
shots at rocketers, he was engaged much of the time in talking to
ministers who walked behind, or beside, him.
Our servants were already in the places allotted to their masters, and
each of us had two keepers to carry spare guns (the Emperor had not
forgotten to send me two of his, which I could not shoot with, and never
used), and a sergeant with a large card to prick off each head of game,
not as it fell to the gun, but only after it was picked up. This
conscientious scoring amused me greatly; for, as it chanced, my bag was a
heavy one, and the Emperor’s marker sent constant messages to mine to
compare notes, and so arrange, as it transpired, to keep His Majesty at
the top of the score.
About half-past one we reached a clearing where _déjeuner_ was awaiting
us. The scene presented was striking. Around a tent in which every
delicacy was spread out were numbers of little charcoal fires, where a
still greater number of cooks in white caps and jackets were preparing
dainty dishes; while the Imperial footmen bustling about brightened the
picture with colour. After coffee all the cards were brought to his
Majesty. When he had scanned them, he said to me across the table:
‘I congratulate you, Mr. Coke, upon having killed the most.’
My answer was, ‘After you, Sir.’
‘Yes,’ said he, giving his moustache an upward twist, but with perfect
gravity, ‘I always kill the most.’
Just then the Empress and the whole court drove up. Presently she came
into the tent and, addressing her husband, exclaimed:
‘Avez-vous bientôt fini, vous autres? Ah! que vous êtes des gourmands!’
Till the finish, she and the rest walked with the shooters. By four it
was over. The total score was 1,387 head. Mine was 182, which included
thirty-six partridges, two woodcocks, and four roedeer. This, in three
and a half hours’ shooting, with two muzzle-loaders (breech-loaders were
not then in use), was an unusually good bag.
Fashion is capricious. When lunch was over I went to one of the charcoal
fires, quite in the background, to light a cigarette. An aide-de-camp
immediately pounced upon me, with the information that this was not
permitted in company with the Empress. It reminded one at once of the
ejaculation at Oliver Twist’s bedside, ‘Ladies is present, Mr. Giles.’
After the shooting, I was told to go to tea with the Empress—a terrible
ordeal, for one had to face the entire feminine force of the palace,
nearly every one of whom, from the highest to the lowest, was provided
with her own _cavaliere servente_.
The following night, when we assembled for dinner, I received orders to
sit next to the Empress. This was still more embarrassing. It is true,
one does not speak to a sovereign unless one is spoken to; but still one
is permitted to make the initiative easy. I found that I was expected to
take my share of the task; and by a happy inspiration, introduced the
subject of the Prince Imperial, then a child of eight years old. The
_mondaine_ Empress was at once merged in the adoring mother; her whole
soul was wrapped up in the boy. It was easy enough then to speculate on
his career, at least so far as the building of castles in the air for
fantasies to roam in. What a future he had before him!—to consolidate
the Empire! to perfect the great achievement of his father, and render
permanent the foundation of the Napoleonic dynasty! to build a
superstructure as transcendent for the glories of Peace, as those of his
immortal ancestor had been for War!
It was not difficult to play the game with such court cards in one’s
hand. Nor was it easy to coin these _phrases de sucrecandi_ without
sober and earnest reflections on the import of their contents. What,
indeed, might or might not be the consequences to millions, of the wise
or unwise or evil development of the life of that bright and handsome
little fellow, now trotting around the dessert table, with the long curls
tumbling over his velvet jacket, and the flowers in his hand for some
pretty lady who was privileged to kiss him? Who could foretell the cruel
doom—heedless of such favours and such splendid promises—that awaited the
pretty child? Who could hear the brave young soldier’s last shrieks of
solitary agony? Who could see the forsaken body slashed with knives and
assegais? Ah! who could dream of that fond mother’s heart, when the end
came, which eclipsed even the disasters of a nation!
One by-day, when my wife and I were riding with the Emperor through the
forest of Compiègne, a rough-looking man in a blouse, with a red
comforter round his neck, sprang out from behind a tree; and before he
could be stopped, seized the Emperor’s bridle. In an instant the Emperor
struck his hand with a heavy hunting stock; and being free, touched his
horse with the spur and cantered on. I took particular notice of his
features and his demeanour, from the very first moment of the surprise.
Nothing happened but what I have described. The man seemed fierce and
reckless. The Emperor showed not the faintest signs of discomposure.
All he said was, turning to my wife, ‘Comme il avait l’air sournois, cet
homme!’ and resumed the conversation at the point where it was
interrupted.
Before we had gone a hundred yards I looked back to see what had become
of the offender. He was in the hands of two _gens d’armes_, who had been
invisible till then.
‘Poor devil,’ thought I, ‘this spells dungeon for you.’
Now, with Kinglake’s acrimonious charge of the Emperor’s personal
cowardice running in my head, I felt that this exhibition of _sang
froid_, when taken completely unawares, went far to refute the
imputation. What happened later in the day strongly confirmed this
opinion.
After dark, about six o’clock, I took a stroll by myself through the town
of Compiègne. Coming home, when crossing the bridge below the Palace, I
met the Emperor arm-in-arm with Walewski. Not ten minutes afterwards,
whom should I stumble upon but the ruffian who had seized the Emperor’s
bridle? The same red comforter was round his neck, the same wild look
was in his face. I turned after he had passed, and at the same moment he
turned to look at me.
Would this man have been at large but for the Emperor’s orders?
Assuredly not. For, supposing he were crazy, who could have answered for
his deeds? Most likely he was shadowed; and to a certainty the Emperor
would be so. Still, what could save the latter from a pistol-shot? Yet,
here he was, sauntering about the badly lighted streets of a town where
his kenspeckle figure was familiar to every inhabitant. Call this
fatalism if you will; but these were not the acts of a coward. I told
this story to a friend who was well ‘posted’ in the club gossip of the
day. He laughed.
‘Don’t you know the meaning of Kinglake’s spite against the Emperor?’
said he. ‘_Cherchez la femme_. Both of them were in love with Mrs. —’
This is the way we write our histories.
Wishing to explore the grounds about the palace before anyone was astir,
I went out one morning about half-past eight. Seeing what I took to be a
mausoleum, I walked up to it, found the door opened, and peeped in. It
turned out to be a museum of Roman antiquities, and the Emperor was
inside, arranging them. I immediately withdrew, but he called to me to
come in.
He was at this time busy with his Life of Cæsar; and, in his enthusiasm,
seemed pleased to have a listener to his instructive explanations; he
even encouraged the curiosity which the valuable collection and his own
remarks could not fail to awaken.
Not long ago, I saw some correspondence in the Times’ and other papers
about what Heine calls ‘Das kleine welthistorische Hûtchen,’ which the
whole of Europe knew so well, to its cost. Some six or seven of the
Buonaparte hats, so it appears, are still in existence. But I noticed,
that though all were located, no mention was made of the one in the
Luxembourg.
When we left Compiègne for Paris we were magnificently furnished with
orders for royal boxes at theatres, and for admission to places of
interest not open to the public. Thus provided, we had access to many
objects of historical interest and of art—amongst the former, the relics
of the great conqueror. In one glass case, under lock and key, was the
‘world-historical little hat.’ The official who accompanied us, having
stated that we were the Emperor’s guests, requested the keeper to take it
out and show it to us. I hope no Frenchman will know it, but, I put the
hat upon my head. In one sense it was a ‘little’ hat—that is to say, it
fitted a man with a moderate sized skull—but the flaps were much larger
than pictures would lead one to think, and such was the weight that I am
sure it would give any ordinary man accustomed to our head-gear a still
neck to wear it for an hour. What has become of this hat if it is not
still in the Luxembourg?