The Comedy & Tragedy of the Second Empire: Paris Society in the Sixties; Including Letters of Napoleon III., M. Pietri, and Comte de la Chapelle, and Portraits of the Period

By Edward Legge

DigiCat Publishing presents to you this special edition of "The Comedy & Tragedy of the Second Empire" (Paris Society in the Sixties; Including Letters of Napoleon III., M. Pietri, and Comte de la Chapelle, and Portraits of the Period) by Edward Legge. DigiCat Publishing considers every written word to be a legacy of humankind. Every DigiCat book has been carefully reproduced for republishing in a new modern format. The books are available in print, as well as ebooks. DigiCat hopes you will treat this work with the acknowledgment and passion it deserves as a classic of world literature.

• Language: English
• Publisher: DigiCat
• Release date: Sep 4, 2022
• ISBN: 8596547224723

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Edward Legge

The Comedy & Tragedy of the Second Empire

Paris Society in the Sixties; Including Letters of Napoleon III., M. Pietri, and Comte de la Chapelle, and Portraits of the Period

EAN 8596547224723

DigiCat, 2022

Contact: [e-mail]

Table of Contents

PREFACE

CHAPTER I THE EMPRESS’S GIRLHOOD

CHAPTER II THE BOYHOOD AND YOUTH OF NAPOLEON III

CHAPTER III FROM LONDON TO HAM VIÂ BOULOGNE

CHAPTER IV COURTSHIP AND ENGAGEMENT

CHAPTER V CÆSAR’S WIFE

CHAPTER VI APOGEE OF THE SECOND EMPIRE

CHAPTER VII TWO EMPRESSES

CHAPTER VIII THE TUILERIES

CHAPTER IX FONTAINEBLEAU

CHAPTER X COMPIÈGNE

CHAPTER XI THE FOREIGN LEGION; AND SOME GREAT LADIES

CHAPTER XII THE SOVEREIGNS’ WAR DESPATCHES

CHAPTER XIII WHAT OUR EYES HAVE SEEN

CHAPTER XIV ON THE EVE OF EXILE

CHAPTER XV THESE THINGS ARE LITTLE; BUT, THEN, THEY’RE ALL

CHAPTER XVI THE EMPEROR AND THE COMTESSE DE MERCY-ARGENTEAU

CHAPTER XVII THE EMPEROR’S CORRESPONDENCE

CHAPTER XVIII CITIZEN—PRESIDENT—EMPEROR.

CHAPTER XIX THE PALE EMPEROR

CHAPTER XX THE EMPEROR’S COLLABORATOR

CHAPTER XXI FINANCING THE EMPEROR AND THE CAUSE

CHAPTER XXII THE MAN WHO GAVE THE WARNING

I.

II.

III.

IV.

V.

VI.

VII.

VIII.

CHAPTER XXIII PRINCE NAPOLEON The Empress in 1910-11.

The Marriage at Moncalieri.

The Home.

The Idyll.

The Family.

The Empress Eugénie : 1910-11.

THE PRINCE IMPERIAL (THE POET LAUREATE’S SONNET)

INDEX

PREFACE

Table of Contents

It

is due to the readers of The Empress Eugénie: 1870-1910, that they should know how that volume was received by the British and American Press. Leading critics like Mr. Courtney, Daily Telegraph; Mr. Richard Whiteing, Manchester Guardian; and Mr. Tighe Hopkins, Daily Chronicle, devoted much space to their analyses of the volume, as did the able reviewers of the work in the Morning Post, Daily Mail, Evening Standard, Scotsman, Illustrated London News, Observer, Athenæum, Church Times, Catholic Times, Onlooker, and many other influential and widely-circulated journals. Two editions were exhausted in this country and the United States. A remarkable, and severely-critical, article appeared in La Grande Revue (Paris), from the pen of the celebrated author and publicist, M. Gérard Harry, a strong anti-Bonapartist, who deprecated what he considered the excessive praise bestowed upon the Empress Eugénie. I had a distinctly good Press, and to that fact I attribute the success of the work, a French edition of which will be issued by the eminent Paris firm of Pierre Lafitte et Cie. The written words of Napoleon III., hurriedly jotted down at the hazard of the pen on his way from Sedan to Wilhelmshöhe; of General Fleury by the side of the captive; of the Empress, and those about her, addressed to Mgr. Goddard—all these documents, it was agreed by the Press, threw new light upon the period of the Second Empire.

One of several appreciative American critics did not appear quite satisfied with the evidence authenticating the Empress’s Case, the elaborate statement justifying Her Majesty’s severely-criticized political and domestic acts. If any doubt existed on that point I will now remove it. The assertions contained in that document were indeed those of the Empress herself, and would never have been published without her express approval and sanction.

Sovereigns who have been traduced do not rush into print with signed denials of accusations published to their discredit. They adopt other means of repelling attacks upon their honour, and sometimes upon their morality. Thus, the Emperor Napoleon, during his captivity at Wilhelmshöhe, wrote with his own hand a detailed explanation of his policy as the Ruler of France. It would not have been convenable—not in accordance with his dignity or with the rigid etiquette which guides Sovereigns even in their most trivial actions—for the Emperor (who had not then been formally deposed) to have issued that statement with his signature appended to it. The Duc de Persigny refused to father the document, and it was sent forth as by the Marquis de Gricourt, although, as General Count von Monts assures us, the Emperor was the actual author of the pamphlet,[1] and gave the General a copy of it. Some extracts from the Emperor’s Case are printed in the present volume.

The Emperor’s letters to the late Comtesse de Mercy-Argenteau display the workings of his mind during the crisis of his life as only intimate correspondence could do. This gifted and charming woman’s letters to Napoleon III. are in the Empress’s possession, and will probably, like all other correspondence, remain unpublished until fifty years after Her Majesty’s death. The Emperor’s letters came into the possession of Herr Paul Linderberg, of Berlin, by whose kindness I am privileged to print them in this volume.

English people who had held the Emperor in holy horror took a different view of him when they made his personal acquaintance. Lady Westmorland, for instance, had always felt a great antipathy for Napoleon III.; to her he was a clever ‘scoundrel.’ In 1863 her son was a guest at Compiègne, and there he became seriously ill. She went over to bring him home, and not only did she acknowledge the Emperor’s kindness, she was won by his personal charm, and recognized, as Queen Victoria had done, the evidence of his high-bred instinct: ‘He tried to put others at their ease, and he is always himself a perfect gentleman.’[2]

The Emperor, who lavished millions of francs upon others, was himself very economical. The bills of his fournisseurs show that he had his hats done up for four francs and his coats for fourteen francs. Napoleon III., says M. André Lefèvre, entering France with one or two million francs of debts, left it with twenty, thirty, or fifty millions owing to France.... We must not allow even the mummy of Chislehurst to sleep in peace. A beautiful sentiment, essentially French.

I have essayed, with the help of others, to paint the Pale Emperor as he was, and the Empress as she was, and is, and Paris Society as it was. Of those who knew both, some will agree, others will disagree, with me; but it is not for this little coterie that I write. I write for the English-speaking peoples all over the world.

As in my first volume, The Empress Eugénie: 1870-1910, the object primarily aimed at was to narrate the lives of the Imperial Family in England, I was precluded from dwelling upon the Reign. In the following pages I have endeavoured to portray some aspects of the Court and of Paris Society between 1852 and 1870. These are necessarily only bird’s-eye views; brief, however, as are these parts of the imperial story, I hope they will convey an idea of the real life of the period. It was very gay—not a doubt about it. Was it an orgy? One can hardly think so. Everything was New. To the severe critics—the sea-green incorruptibles—the Emperor was an adventurer, the Empress an adventuress, Society rotten.

The descriptions of Fontainebleau and Compiègne are mainly derived from a work by M. Bouchot,[3] whose encyclopædic knowledge is only equalled by his fascinating style. Other details of life at Compiègne are from the brilliant pen of the Marquis de Massa, whose unexpected death in 1910 robbed Paris Society of one of its wittiest and most delightful figures. (The Marquis furnished the Imperial Theatre at Compiègne with many humorous saynètes, and was in great favour with the Emperor and the Empress.) From a lecture delivered in 1910 by the Marquis,[4] and from his entertaining and always reliable Souvenirs, I have selected some amusing items. The telegrams sent by the Emperor and Empress in August, 1870, form a history of the war up to the eve of Sedan. These despatches are taken from the fifth volume of M. Germain Bapst’s remarkable historical work, Le Maréchal Canrobert, the eminent publishers of which, MM. Plon-Nourrit et Cie., have very generously authorized me to reproduce them. M. Bapst’s running commentary on the dissensions of the Generals, Ministers, and politicians is deeply interesting, and I have quoted largely from it, convinced that it will be as fresh to English as it was to French readers. The picture of the Empress, so vividly sketched by M. Bapst, reveals her in a new light. Although critics are against me, I hazard the assertion that throughout that month of August she displayed most of the qualities of a competent Regent—qualities possessed by no other Empress or Queen of the period, with the single exception of Queen Victoria. But she strove to accomplish the impossible. No human power could convert inept Generals into strategists and tacticians, nor double the strength of the French forces, nor remedy the defects of organization. Every factor that makes for success was lacking, or we should not have a distinguished French soldier writing in 1910:

The authors of most of the works inspired by the war of 1870 have too willingly yielded to the temptation of looking for the guilty, and fixing them with the blame for all our reverses. In turn they have chosen for scapegoats the Emperor Napoleon III., that dreamer, straying into the field of politics, that idéologue, punished in excess of his faults by the pitiless decrees of destiny; Marshal Lebœuf, so fatally lacking in foresight; the Corps Législatif, so badly inspired in its contests with Marshal Niel; the Generals who succeeded each other in the command of our troops, from MacMahon to Bourbaki; and, finally, the Government of National Defence, especially its Delegates. How few have recognized the fact that the French army and our rulers in 1870-71 were purely and simply, with their qualities and their defects, the representation, the faithful image, of the nation![5]

It was a Frenchman, again, who wrote: The German schoolmaster was the real conqueror of France in 1870, for he it was who had for years developed in the hearts of the children the idea of Teutonic greatness.[6]

I recall, without in any way endorsing, a quaint reason seriously advanced for the French defeats: Don’t blame your late Emperor because the Germans thrashed you; the cause lies far deeper: it is due to the sneakishness of your male population.[7]

Quite recently I read in the Press that only two or three days before the outbreak of war Count Bismarck declared that he had no idea there would be a conflict. If he really said so (I do not credit it), he spoke in a very different strain in January, 1868, to a prominent German socialist. War, he is alleged to have said, is inevitable. And he continued:

It will be forced upon us by the French Emperor. I say that clearly. He is an adventurer, and will be forced into it. We have to be ready. We are ready. We shall win, and the result will be just the contrary to what Napoleon aims at—the total unification of Germany outside Austria, and probably Napoleon’s downfall.[8]

That prediction—assuming it to have been made—was fulfilled to the letter. Germany was ready—France was not. It is to be noted that M. Émile Ollivier’s new volume—the fifteenth!—is devoted to this question of preparedness or unpreparedness, for the work is entitled Were we Ready?[9] The veteran Prime Minister (the last) of Napoleon III. deals with three points—the military preparations, the diplomatic preparations, and the first war operations, down to the morning of August 6 (before the Battles of Wörth and Spicheren):

The conclusion is that, from the military point of view, we were sufficiently ready to conquer, and that, despite formal promises, no alliance was concluded by August 6. Finally, that if, from July 31 until August 6, we had adopted a vigorous offensive on the side of the River Sarre [i.e., at Saarbrücken] we should have gained that first victory which would have changed the conditions of the struggle.

This will strike many as a splendidly-audacious proposition; yet it is neither audacious nor new. The two hours’ fighting at Saarbrücken on August 2 was entirely to the advantage of the French force (overwhelmingly superior in numbers) under Frossard; but the victory was not followed up, and thus proved wholly fruitless. M. Ollivier is, therefore, entitled to this expression of opinion, over-sanguine as some war critics may deem it; and his view must be received with respect, even by those who differ from it.

The great years of the Reign were 1855, when Queen Victoria and the Prince Consort (the Princess Royal and the Prince of Wales with them) returned the visit paid to them by the Emperor and Empress of the French; and 1867, when all the Sovereigns were the guests of the imperial pair. The events of the latter year were brilliantly and amusingly recorded by that most vivacious chronicler, M. Adrien Marx, in Les Souverains à Paris,[10] from which I have translated some salient passages.

In L’Impératrice Eugénie,[11] one of M. Pierre de Lano’s vigorous and much documented works relating to the Second Empire, there are to be found many tableaux vivants of the epoch—mordant pages, glowing with colour, of that Exotic society which, more than aught else, tended to bring the Second Empire into disrepute; and impressions of the imperial lady which are nothing if not frank and unconventional. The extracts which I have made from M. de Lano’s valuable work cannot fail to be appreciated by impartial readers, who, perhaps, will be startled by the audacity of this highly-original and exceptionally-gifted author.

Two recently-issued works—one by M. Irénée Mauget,[12] the other by M. Gaston Stiegler[13]—strongly appealed to me. To the first I am indebted for some diverting material; to the second for the delightful picture of the Emperor intime in the early days of the Reign and the grim story of the Orsini attempt, into which M. Stiegler has infused a few deft touches of romanticism.

The papers of my valued friend Mgr. Goddard have again provided me with much material otherwise unobtainable, and have left me with a reserve for future use.

Immediately after the death of the Emperor Napoleon III. at Camden Place, Chislehurst, the Empress Eugénie permitted Mr. Albert Bruce-Joy to take a cast of the head of His Majesty. The sculptor later executed the bust. In June, 1911, at my request, Mr. Bruce-Joy courteously allowed a photograph of his beautiful work to be taken for reproduction in this volume. As the distinguished sculptor worked from the mask taken with his own hands, there can be no question of the perfect fidelity of the portrait. The Empress Eugénie has graciously accepted a photograph of the bust, which I had the honour of sending to Her Imperial Majesty in June.

On May 7, 1910, Queen Alexandra graciously allowed Mr. Bruce-Joy to take a cast of the features of King Edward VII.; and the sculptor’s bust of our late beloved Sovereign was a prominent feature of the Royal Academy Exhibition in 1911. It was executed for Manchester University. Mr. Bruce-Joy’s most recent work is a colossal bronze statue of the late Lord Kelvin.

Prince Roland Bonaparte has again been very generous in sending me some very finely executed photographs, for which I tender His Highness my respectful thanks. These are (1) H.R.H. Princess George of Greece, the Prince’s only daughter (née Princesse Marie Bonaparte); (2) the deeply-regretted Marquise de Villeneuve-Esclapon (née Princesse Jeanne Bonaparte, Prince Roland’s only sister); and (3) Prince Roland himself, in the costume of President of the Geographical Society of France. These photographs are primeurs. The portrait of the charming and gifted Consort of Queen Alexandra’s nephew is particularly à propos, for Princess George was the solitary member of the House of Bonaparte present at the Coronation of King George V. as (with Prince George) a Royal guest.

I have to thank Messrs. Russell and Sons, Baker Street, for their kindness in specially preparing, and, allowing me to use in this volume, the beautiful picture showing the Empress Eugénie on board the royal yacht with our beloved King Edward, Queen Alexandra, and other Royal personages, when, in 1902, the late King reviewed the fleet. This is the only picture of the kind ever taken, and will be treasured as a souvenir of the affectionate relations between the Empress and the principal members of our Reigning House. Of the latter Messrs. Russell and Sons have taken hundreds of superb photographs during the last forty years.

In my quest for suitable portraits of the Second Empire period I have been greatly aided by that universally-popular lady, Mrs. Ronalds, who, with charming courtesy, placed her valuable collection of imperial, royal, and other photographs (all autograph) at my disposal. These include rare pictures of the Emperor Napoleon, the Empress Eugénie, and the Prince Imperial, enriched with their signatures. Unfortunately, I could only avail myself of this generous offer to a limited extent, for I have been confronted by an embarras des richesses. The portraits I selected are those of Mrs. Ronalds and her sister, Miss Josephine Carter. Of their beauty and esprit the chroniclers of the epoch speak in the most flattering terms. Mrs. Ronalds enjoyed the distinction of being a guest of their Imperial Majesties at the Tuileries.

Miss Carter represented America at the magnificent fancy-dress ball given in 1866 at the Ministère de la Marine. Other ladies appeared as Europe, Asia, and Africa, and I have it on the authority of a surviving eye-witness of this notable fête that the costumes of the fair representatives of the five quarters of the globe were gorgeous. Miss Carter was carried on a large platform by twelve of her compatriots dressed as Indians. She was seen reclining in a hammock suspended from two palm-trees. Her dress was artistically embroidered with emblems of the victorious Republic, and her corsage was studded with diamond stars. On her beautiful golden hair she wore a Phrygian cap. In the cortège of America were many charming American women, distinguished (as was Maud) by dead perfection. Oceania was represented.

I have been so fortunate as to obtain from the Vicomte de La Chapelle some exceptionally interesting reminiscences of Napoleon III. and the Prince Imperial, as well as a curious story of Marshal Bazaine. His father—one of the comparatively few survivors of the Bonapartist régime—was, as I well remember, one of the stanchest and most valued friends of the Emperor, who made him his political and literary collaborator and confidant. I have also to thank the Vicomte de La Chapelle for the portrait of his father (the venerable Comte de La Chapelle) and the picture of the Emperor on the field of Sedan.

The welcome co-operation of the Vicomte de La Chapelle—a popular figure in legal, City, and social circles—has enabled me to print a number of letters written by his aged father to the Emperor Napoleon. I have given an outline of the Comte de La Chapelle’s career, and I will not dwell upon it further here except to say that he was the trusted and valued collaborator of the august Exile from 1871 until the unexpected happened on January 9, 1873. But I must mention the invaluable services which he rendered to Napoleon III. at a time when His Majesty did not know where to turn for money. I noticed this question in my previous volume,[14] and in proof of the correctness of my assertions quoted a letter written by the great house of Barings, and published in the Times, denying the absurd statements that they had invested immense sums on the Emperor’s account. The accuracy of what I wrote in 1910 is now further confirmed by my valued friend the Comte de La Chapelle, whose letters to the Emperor on the subject of his financial embarrassment I am now privileged to make public. It was the Comte de La Chapelle who, by his influence, energy, and devotion to Napoleon III., succeeded in raising large sums for the personal use of the Emperor and to keep the Bonapartist cause going. The name of one of these generous helpers is very well known to me, and in the early seventies it was familiar to the commercial world generally. These letters form a most interesting chapter in the Emperor’s amazing career.

The Comtesse Edmond de Pourtalès, with the most charming and kindly grace, sent me, at my earnest request, a very rare photograph of herself, taken in the later period of the imperial reign. The Empress Eugénie will, I am confident, be gratified at seeing the portrait of this great lady—the most lovely of all the belles dames who surrounded Her Imperial Majesty in the years of her splendour, and one of the very few surviving intimate friends of the still radiant châtelaine of Farnborough Hill.

The proprietors of the well-known and deservedly popular Paris illustrated paper, Femina, have been exceedingly generous in this important matter of pictures. But for their good offices I could not have given the delightful and piquant portraits of the Empress Eugénie in various costumes, or the large picture of Her Imperial Majesty at La Malmaison, with portraits of M. Franceschini Pietri and Comte Joseph Primoli. Certain difficulties arose in the preparation of these historically valuable pictures, but these obstacles were overcome by the great goodwill and liberality of the proprietors of Femina, to whom I shall always be grateful for their kindness.

During the Terrible Year a Times leader-writer took as his text for a powerful essay some extracts from the Reports of Colonel Stoffel, French Military Attaché at Berlin (1866-1870), to his Government; and in the course of his article he did not hesitate to assert that it was a puzzle how anyone who had read those documents could ever have dreamt of plunging France into a war with Prussia. After reading M. Franceschini’s letters to Stoffel the puzzle would appear greater still were it not now, thanks to M. Émile Ollivier, matter of common knowledge that the Emperor and his Government were goaded into a declaration of war by the French Press and by the nation en masse. These letters (from which, by the great courtesy of the director of the Revue de Paris, I have been able to give extracts) are in every way remarkable, but their main importance lies in the fact that they were written by M. Pietri. In 1866, as later, he was the mouthpiece of Napoleon III. When he wrote to Colonel Stoffel he expressed not only the Emperor’s views, but his own. He shows us that Stoffel’s opinions were highly valued by the Emperor and by Marshal Niel, then Minister of War. Both Sovereign and War Minister set special store upon the Military Attaché’s Reports. The Emperor could not hear too often from him. M. Pietri was always urging the Colonel to write. The Emperor dictated to M. Pietri questions which Stoffel was required to answer. The Prussians, in their campaign against Austria, in 1866, used the needle-gun for the first time in warfare, and M. Pietri sent Stoffel funds wherewith to purchase one of the new rifles for the Emperor. These lettres révélatrices are further remarkable for their ardent patriotism and wide knowledge of political and military affairs. It is hardly too much to say that in these epistles M. Franceschini Pietri shines as the Admirable Crichton of Bonapartism. Sometimes he is amusingly audacious and delightfully humorous, but always he is the Emperor’s man to the backbone. With a few hundred of such letters it would be possible to construct a history of the Second Empire which only the publication of the Empress Eugénie’s Memoirs could rival. And perhaps the Secretary’s letters would be the more historically interesting of the two.

Proof-sheets of the chapter, Prince Napoleon’s Policy, were sent to His Imperial Highness’s Secretary, M. Beneyton, and returned to me by that gentleman with his wonted courtesy. If I mention these incidents, it is simply to show that I have always taken the utmost pains to secure absolute accuracy in all which I have written concerning the Imperial Family. Similarly, I based my exposé of the forged Mémoires de l’Impératrice Eugénie on the written statements courteously furnished me by M. Franceschini Pietri in January, 1910.[15]

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I have been honoured by the letter of M. Pietri conveying the Empress Eugénie’s thanks, and also by these gracious communications:

Sandringham, Norfolk

, June 29, 1911.

Dear Sir

,

I am commanded by Queen Alexandra to thank you very much for the excellent photograph of the Emperor Napoleon the Third’s Bust, which Her Majesty is very glad to have.

Believe me,

Yours truly,

Charlotte Knollys

.

Paris. 10, Avenue d’Ièna

, 30 juin, 1911.

Cher Monsieur

,

J’ai recu votre aimable lettre du 27 ct., ainsi que la photographie du buste de l’Empereur Napoléon III. et les paragraphes sur la représentation de la Maison Bonaparte aux fêtes du couronnement de S.M. le Roi Georges V.

Je me suis empressé de remettre le tout à S.A.I. Monseigneur le Prince Roland Bonaparte, qui me charge de vous en remercier vivement, et de vous dire combien Elle a été sensible à cette délicate attention.

Veuillez agréer, cher Monsieur, l’expression de mes sentiments les plus distingués.

G. Faussez des Mares.

Translation.

Paris, 10, Avenue d’Ièna

, June 30, 1911.

Dear Sir

,

I have received your amiable letter of the 27th inst., and also the photograph of the bust of the Emperor Napoleon III. and the paragraphs referring to the representation of the House of Bonaparte at the Coronation fêtes of H.M. King George V.

I hastened to hand the whole to H.I.H. Monseigneur Prince Roland Bonaparte, who directs me to warmly thank you, and to tell you how sensible he is of your delicate attention.

Accept, dear sir, the expression of my most distinguished sentiments.

G. Faussez des Mares.

I have selected for detailed treatment 1867. In that year the Emperor Napoleon and the Empress Eugénie entertained three Emperors, eight Kings, one Viceroy, five Queens, nine Grand Dukes, two Grand Duchesses, two Archdukes, twenty-four Princes, seven Princesses, five Dukes, and two Duchesses. The Prince of Wales (King Edward VII.), the Duke of Edinburgh, and the Duke of Connaught were of the party. While 1867 is generally considered to have been the great year of the Imperial Reign, M. Hanotaux[16] inclines to the opinion that the climax of Napoleonic glory came in November, 1869, when the Empress Eugénie inaugurated the Suez Canal—ten months before Sedan.

CHAPTER I

THE EMPRESS’S GIRLHOOD

Table of Contents

It is August, 1840, and from the balcony of the Delesserts’ house a fair-complexioned, golden-haired girl of fourteen looks down on a man escorted by two gendarmes. Dishevelled, unkempt, in his shirtsleeves, the prisoner, who has been fished out of the salt water, passes out of sight, unaware of the child’s wistful looks and the sympathetic glances of her sister and their mother. Perchance he sees Goldenhair wave her handkerchief.

Mme. Delessert’s husband is Préfet of Paris. The ladies on the balcony are the Comtesse de Montijo and her daughters. The man in custody is Prince Louis Napoleon, the derided, but unabashed, hero of the Boulogne attempt; and he is two-and-thirty.

The

daughters of the Comte and Comtesse de Montijo made their acquaintance with Paris when they were not more than four or five. It was about 1830 or 1831 when the family went to reside there for a while. Prosper Mérimée, whose name can no more be kept out of the history of the Empress than could Mr. Dick suppress the mention of King Charles’s head, was there, and his friend of the British Museum, Dr. Panizzi, was kept informed of the strolls on the boulevards of the little Eugénie, and of her liking, not only for the author of the story of Carmen, which Bizet was later to set to music, but for the sweets given to her by Mérimée.

The Montijos seem to have been then in only fairly easy circumstances. Three or four years later their fortunes improved, the head of the family having died.

Eugénie’s education begins at a celebrated convent school, on whose books she figures as Eugénie Palafox, a name used by her for a score of years.

At the Sacré-Cœur, Rue de la Varenne, the little Montijo is supremely happy. Her holidays and those other days when she is allowed out she spends with her mother’s friend, the Comtesse de Laborde, at a country house at Passy, where a park runs down to the Seine. Mme. de Laborde has promised Madame mère to make Eugénie’s school life as pleasant as possible, and she fulfils her promise to the letter. The Comtesse de Laborde has three daughters, all well married, all charming mondaines: Mme. Delessert—who, as the wife of the Préfet, is a personage—Mme. Bocher, and Mme. Odiar. Eugénie is in the good graces of this captivating trio. But the lady to whom she is particularly attached is the Comtesse de Nadaillac, daughter of Mme. Delessert, and grand-daughter of the Comtesse de Laborde.

At the age of eleven (in 1837) she makes the vows imposed upon communicants, in the stereotyped phrase, La fille de la Comtesse de Téba (Montijo) fit sa première communion, in the chapel of the convent school. Soon—in March, 1839—there comes a hurried departure for Spain, whither her parents had returned a short time previously. Her father has died, and the child’s Parisian schooling is over. For some little time before the loss of their father Eugénie and her eldest sister, Francisca, familiarly Pacca, had been in the charge, in Paris, of an English governess, Miss Flowers,[17] who accompanied them to Madrid at the time of the Count’s death. Mérimée wrote: No one would credit the regret I feel at their departure (from Paris). I will note only in passing that Eugénie’s education was finished in this country at a school at Clifton, Bristol.

Having ceased to be a schoolgirl, the Señorita Eugénie de Montijo undergoes a transformation. She is, and for some years will remain, in her teens. At fifteen she is bewitching. In the saddle, what a charming and picturesque figure! Madrid has no such fearless rider. There is no particular evidence that now and then she gallops through the streets riding à califourchon; but legend has it so, and in this case legend may possibly not wholly err. In the forties she is heedless of criticism, perhaps because only her rivals can find it in their hearts to malign her. As yet she is not seen in the hunting-field. She little recks that ten years or so later she will be arousing the undisguised hostility of her sex at the imperial chasses at Compiègne.

The Señorita would hardly be Spanish were she not much in view when all Madrid foregathers at the bull-fights. Like her companions, she has her favourite toreadors, and is lavish of her rewards—gold and flowers. Matadors and picadors do her homage. She is coquette to her little finger-tips. A smile from that sunny face and a word from those rosebud lips are eagerly contended for, and she is not slow in according both. Meanwhile the élégants group themselves around her as thick as bees round the tulips and honeysuckles. In those Southern climes, if anywhere, flirtation is one of the fine arts. The Señorita Eugénie—Ugenia in her own language—is not the least ardent disciple of the genus flirt. She coquettes with this Duke and that Duke. He of Ossuna and he of Sesto (Alganices) are rivals. There is yet a third Duke—Alba—over whom she essays to cast a spell; but, alas! the course of true love is diverted—perhaps unconsciously—by Pacca, the beautiful sister, and she it is who becomes Duquesa. Around this episode of unrequited love how many histories have been woven, mostly apocryphal! Ugenia, some would have us believe, resorts to what she thinks is a phial of poison, and awakes from her torpor to discover—oh, horror!—that she has swallowed a portion of the disgusting, but harmless, contents of a blacking-bottle!

No salon in Madrid was more frequented than the Comtesse de Montijo’s. The daughters were not the only magnets. Madame mère was a woman of esprit, and had a genius for making friends and keeping them. Theatricals drew all Madrid to the house. Eugénie was seen in De Musset’s Caprice, with the enamoured Duc de Sesto in the cast. The summers—or a portion of them—were passed on the Montijo property at Carabanchel.

Every great lady in Madrid has her circle of young and middle-aged men, known as pollos—literally, chickens. Among the Comtesse de Montijo’s pollos, all more or less smitten by the radiant Señorita Eugénie, was General Espartero’s successful rival, General Narvaly, Duke of Valencia, short, dark, a stern soldier, as supple in the young lady’s hands as the youngest and most impressionable of her pollos. A lady well known in social London, the wife of a foreign diplomatist, and gifted with the pen of a ready writer, drew this somewhat caustic portrait of the future Empress when she was the most-discussed personage in Madrid:

Hardly a week passed without some fresh anecdote being circulated of which Eugénie de Montijo was the heroine. She justified curiosity and courted censure by her disregard of conventionalities; and she certainly possessed the Alcibidian temperament which craves for notoriety. She wielded her sceptre of society queen with no light hand, and her favourites of to-day were discarded by to-morrow’s caprice. In her own house she was seen devoting herself for the whole evening to the entertainment of some obscure musician, hanging on his arm, speaking to no one else, and finally dropping the curtains over a window recess to which she had led him; but the following week, if the poor infatuated wretch came confidently to bask in the intoxicating favour that had bewitched him, he was received with a supercilious arching of the lovely eyebrows. This idol could look at him as if he were a total stranger, and glide away from him with the coldest inclination of her head.

The variegated life of the Spanish girl who was destined to become Empress of the French—her life between the ages of fifteen and twenty-six—has never been, and never will be, described in detail. They were Wanderjähre, years of travel, visits to modish Continental resorts, and one or two sojourns in England. Once, in the summer of 1851, she and her mother (but not Pacca) attended a Court ball at Buckingham Palace—an incident which Queen Victoria may have recalled in one or other of her numerous meetings with the imperial lady, but not recorded by the Queen in her Leaves or her Letters. The presence of the Spanish ladies among the Queen’s guests was, however, noted in the official list, the compiler of which, or the printers, effectually mangled the names of both. A week later Lord Malmesbury saw them at Cambridge House, Piccadilly, the town residence of Viscount and Viscountess Palmerston,