Marie Louis was a very handsome woman. She had a majestic figure and
noble bearing, fresh complexion, blond hair, and blue eyes full of
expression; her hands and feet were the admiration of the court.
Her figure was, perhaps, a trifle too stout; but she lost some of this
superfluous flesh during her stay in France, though thereby she gained as
much in grace and beauty. Such was her appearance. In her intercourse
with those immediately around her she was affable and cordial; and the
enjoyment she felt in the freedom of these conversations was depicted on
her countenance, which grew animated, and took on an infinite grace.
But when she was obliged to appear in public she became extremely timid;
formal society served of itself to isolate her; and as persons who are
not naturally haughty always appear so with a poor grace, Marie Louise,
being always much embarrassed on reception days, was often the subject of
unjust criticism; for, as I have said, her coldness in reality arose from
an excessive timidity.
Immediately after her arrival in France, Marie Louise suffered from this
embarrassment to a very great degree, which can be easily understood in a
young princess who found herself so suddenly transported into an entirely
new society, to whose habits and tastes she felt obliged to conform, and
in which, although her high position must naturally attract the world to
her, the circumstances of this position rendered it necessary that she
should take the initiative in any advances made, a fact which explains
the awkwardness of her early relations with the ladies of her court.
After intimacies had been formed, and the young Empress had chosen her
friends with all the abandon of her young heart, then haughtiness and
constraint vanished, or reappeared only on occasions of ceremony.
Marie Louise was of a calm, thoughtful character; it took little to
arouse her sensitive spirit; and yet, although easily moved, she was by
no means demonstrative. The Empress had received a very careful
education, her mind was cultivated and her tastes very simple, and she
possessed every accomplishment.
She detested the insipid hours passed in idleness, and liked occupation
because it suited her tastes, and also because in a proper employment of
her time she found the only means of driving away ennui. I think she
was, in fact, a most congenial wife for the Emperor. She was too much
interested in the concerns of her own private life to ever mingle in
political intrigues, and, although she was both Empress and Queen, very
often was in entire ignorance of public affairs, except what knowledge
she obtained from the journals. The Emperor at the end of days filled
with agitation could find a little relaxation only in a quiet domestic
hearth, which restored to him the happiness of family life; and,
consequently, an intriguing woman or a talkative politician would have
annoyed him exceedingly.
Nevertheless, the Emperor sometimes complained of the want of affability
the Empress showed to the ladies of her court, and said that this
excessive reserve was injurious to him in a country where the opposite
extreme is most common.
This was because he was recalling the past somewhat, and thinking of the
Empress Josephine, whose constant gayety was the chief charm of the
court. He was necessarily struck by the contrast; but was there not some
injustice at the foundation of this? The Empress Marie Louise was the
daughter of an Emperor, and had seen and known only courtiers, and,
having no acquaintance with any other class, knew nothing of any world
outside the walls of the palace of Vienna. She arrived one fine day at
the Tuileries, in the midst of a people whom she had never seen except as
soldiers; and on this account the constraint of her manner towards the
persons composing the brilliant society of Paris seems to me to a certain
point excusable. It seems to me, besides, that the Empress was expected
to show a frankness and simplicity which were entirely misplaced; and,
by being cautioned over and over again to be natural, she was prevented
from the observance of that formality also suitable on the part of the
great, who should be approached only when they themselves give the
signal. The Empress Josephine loved the people because she had been one
of them; and in mounting a throne her expansive nature had everything to
gain, for she found it was only extending her friendship among a larger
circle. Inspired by her own kind heart, the Empress Marie Louise sought
to make those around her happy; and her benevolent deeds were long the
subject of conversation, and, above all, the delicate manner in which
they were performed. Each month she took from the sum allotted for her
toilet ten thousand francs for the poor, which was not the limit of her
charities; for she always welcomed with the greatest interest those who
came to tell her of distresses to be alleviated. From the eagerness with
which she listened to those soliciting aid, it would seem that she had
been recalled suddenly to a duty; and yet it was simply an evidence that
the chords of her sensitive heart had been touched. I do not know if any
one ever received from her a refusal of a demand of this sort. The
Emperor was deeply touched each time that he was informed of a benevolent
act of the Empress. At eight o'clock in the morning the curtains and
blinds were half opened in the apartments of the Empress Marie Louise,
and the papers were handed her; after reading which, chocolate or coffee
was served, with a kind of pastry called tongue. This first breakfast
she took in bed. At nine o'clock Marie Louise arose, made her morning
toilet, and received those persons privileged to attend at this hour.
Every day in the Emperor's absence, the Empress ascended to the apartment
of Madame de Montebello, her lady of honor, followed by her service,
composed of the chevalier of honor, and some of the ladies of the palace;
and on her return to her apartments, a light breakfast was served,
consisting of pastry and fruits. After her lessons in drawing, painting,
and music, she commenced her grand toilet. Between six and seven o'clock
she dined with the Emperor, or in his absence with Madame de Montebello,
the dinner comprising only one course. The evening was spent in
receptions, or at concerts, plays, etc.; and the Empress retired at
eleven o'clock. One of her women always slept in the room in front of
her bedroom, and it was through this the Emperor was obliged to pass when
he spent the night in his wife's room.
This customary routine of the Empress was changed, however, when the
Emperor was at the chateau; but when alone she was punctual in all her
employments, and did exactly the same things at the same hours. Her
personal domestics seemed much attached to her; for though cool and
distant in her manner, they always found her good and just.
In the Emperor's absence the portrait of the Duchess of Montebello
ornamented the Empress's room with those of the entire Imperial family of
Austria; but when the Emperor returned, the portrait of the duchess was
removed; and during the war between Napoleon and the Emperors of Austria
and Russia, the portrait of Francis II. was removed from his daughter's
room, by order of his Majesty, and was, I think, consigned to some secret
spot.
The King of Rome was a very fine child; and though he resembled the
Emperor less than the son of Hortense had done, his features were an
agreeable union of those of his father and mother. I never knew him
except in his infancy, and what was most remarkable in him at that age
was the great kindness and affection he showed to those around him. He
was much devoted to a young and pretty person named Fanny Soufflot,
daughter of the first lady of the bedchamber, who was his constant
companion; and, as he liked to see her always well dressed, he begged of
Marie Louise, or his governess, Madame the Countess of Montesquiou, any
finery that struck his fancy, which he wished to give to his young
friend. He made her promise to follow him to the war when he was grown,
and said many charming things which showed his affectionate disposition.
There was chosen as companion for the little king (as he styled himself)
a young child named Albert Froment, I think, the son of one of the ladies
of honor. One morning as they were playing together in the garden on
which the apartments of the king opened at Saint-Cloud, Mademoiselle
Fanny was watching them without interfering with their games, Albert
tried to take the king's wheelbarrow; and, when the latter resisted,
Albert struck him, whereupon the king exclaimed, "Oh, suppose some one
had seen you! But I will not tell!" I consider this a fine evidence of
character.
One day he was at the windows of the chateau with his governess, amusing
himself by looking at the passers-by, and pointing out with his finger
those who attracted his attention. While standing there he saw below a
woman in deep mourning, holding by the hand a little boy also dressed in
mourning. The little child carried a petition, which he waved from a
distance to the prince, and seemed to be entreating him to receive.
Their black clothing made a deep impression on the prince, and he asked
why the poor child was dressed all in black. "Doubtless because his papa
is dead," replied the governess, whereupon the child expressed an earnest
desire to speak to the little petitioner. Madame de Montesquiou, who
especially desired to cultivate in her young pupil this disposition to
mercy, gave orders that the mother and child should be brought up. She
proved to be the widow of a brave man who had lost his life in the last
campaign; and by his death she had been reduced to poverty, and compelled
to solicit a pension from the Emperor. The young prince took the
petition, and promised to present it to his papa. And next day when he
went as usual to pay his respects to his father, and handed him all the
petitions presented to him the evening before, one alone was kept apart;
it was that of his little protege. "Papa," said he, "here is a petition
from a little boy whose father was killed on your account; give him a
pension." Napoleon was deeply moved, and embraced his son, and orders
for the pension were given that day. This conduct in so young a child
gives undeniable evidence of an excellent heart.
His early training was excellent; as Madame de Montesquiou had an
unbounded influence over him, owing to the manner at once gentle and
grave in which she corrected his faults. The child was generally docile,
but, nevertheless, sometimes had violent fits of anger, which his
governess had adopted an excellent means of correcting, which was to
remain perfectly unmoved until he himself controlled his fury. When the
child returned to himself, a few severe and pertinent remarks transformed
him into a little Cato for the remainder of the day. One day as he was
rolling on the floor refusing to listen to the remonstrances of his
governess, she closed tie windows and shutters; and the child, astonished
by this performance, forgot what had enraged him, and asked her why she
did this. "I did it because I was afraid you would be heard; do you
suppose the French people would want you as their prince, if they knew
that you gave way to such fits of anger?"--"Do you think they heard me?"
he inquired; "I would be very sorry if they had. Pardon, Mamma Quiou
[this was his name for her], I will not do it again."
The Emperor was passionately devoted to his son; took him in his arms
every time he saw him, and jumped him up and down most merrily, and was
delighted with the joy he manifested. He teased him by carrying him in
front of the glass and making grimaces, at which the child laughed till
he cried. While at breakfast he took him on his knee, dipped his finger
in the sauce and made him suck it, and smeared his face with it; and when
the governess scolded, the Emperor laughed still more heartily, and the
child, who enjoyed the sport, begged his father to repeat it. This was
an opportune moment for the arrival of petitions at the chateau; for they
were always well received at such times, thanks to the all-powerful
credit of the little mediator.
The Emperor in his tender moods was sometimes even more childish than his
son. The young prince was only four months old when his father put his
three-cornered hat on the pretty infant.
The child usually cried a good deal, and at these times the Emperor
embraced him with an ardor and delight which none but a tender father
could feel, saying to him,
"What, Sire, you crying! A king weeping; fie, then, how ugly that is!"
He was just a year old when I saw the Emperor, on the lawn in front of
the chateau, place his sword-belt over the shoulders of the king, and his
hat on his head, and holding out his arms to the child, who tottered to
him, his little feet now and then entangled in his father's sword; and it
was beautiful to see the eagerness with which the Emperor extended his
arms to keep him from falling.
One day in his cabinet the Emperor was lying on the floor, the king
riding horseback on his knee, mounting by jumps up to his father's face,
and kissing him. On another occasion the child entered the council
chamber after the meeting had ended, and ran into his father's arms
without paying attention to any one else, upon which the Emperor said to
him, "Sire, you have not saluted these gentlemen." The child turned,
bowed most gracefully, and his father then took him in his arms.
Sometimes when going to visit the Emperor, he ran so fast that he left
Madame de Montesquiou far behind, and said to the usher, "Open the door
for me, I want to see papa." The usher replied, "Sire, I cannot do it."
--"But I am the little king."--"No, Sire, I cannot open it." At this
moment his governess appeared; and strong in her protection he proudly
repeated, "Open the door, the king desires it."
Madame de Montesquiou had added to the prayers which the child repeated
morning and evening, these words: "My God, inspire papa to make peace for
the happiness of France." One evening the Emperor was present when his
son was retiring, and he made the same prayer, whereupon the Emperor
embraced him in silence, smiling most kindly on Madame de Montesquiou.
The Emperor was accustomed to say to the King of Rome when he was
frightened at any noise or at his grimaces, "Come, come! a king should
have no fear."
I recall another anecdote concerning the young son of the Emperor, which
was related to me by his Majesty himself one evening when I was
undressing him as usual, and at which the Emperor laughed most heartily.
"You would not believe," said he, "the singular reward my son desired of
his governess for being good. Would she not allow him to go and wade in
the mud?" This was, true, and proves, it seems to me, that the greatness
which surrounds the cradle of princes cannot eradicate from their minds
the singular caprices of childhood.