[Footnote 64: Known on the English stage as the "Queen's Shilling," by Mr. G.o.dfrey.--EDITOR.]

"Voila un vrai, beau militaire," said the sovereign to one of his aides-de-camp; "allez demander son nom."

The aide-de-camp returned in a moment. "Il s'appelle Lafontaine, sire; et il appartient au regiment du Gymnase."

"Comment, au regiment du Gymnase?"

"Mais oui, sire; c'est Lafontaine, le comedien."

In fact, the a.s.sumption was so thoroughly realistic, that even a better judge than Louis-Napoleon might have been deceived by it.

Those performances were really most brilliant affairs, and an invitation to them was only less highly prized than that to the ball which always followed the play on November 15th, the Empress's fete-day.[65] The cost of each performance was estimated at between twenty and thirty thousand francs, according to the company performing. I am repeating the official statement, though inclined to think it somewhat exaggerated. Except the Opera or Opera-Comique, there was not then, nor is there now, a theatre in Paris whose nightly receipts, with "the greatest success," exceed seven or eight thousand francs. Allowing for an additional three thousand francs for railway travelling and sundry expenses, I fail to see how the remainder of the sum was disbursed, unless it was in douceurs to the performers. There is less doubt, however, about the expenses of the Chateau during this annual series of fetes. It could not have been less than forty-five thousand francs per diem, and must have often risen to fifty thousand francs, exclusive of the cost of the theatrical performances, because the luxe displayed on these occasions was truly astonishing--I had almost said appalling.

[Footnote 65: The Sainte-Eugenie, according to the Church Calendar. In France, it is not the birthday, but the day of the patron-saint whose name one bears, which is celebrated.--EDITOR.]

The theatre was built on the old-fashioned principle, and what we call stalls were not known in those days. There was something a.n.a.logous to them at the Opera and the Theatre-Francais, but they were exclusively reserved to the male s.e.x. Both these theatres still keep up the same traditions in that respect. At Compiegne the whole of the ground floor, parterre, or pit, as we have misnamed it--"groundlings" is a much more appropriate word, perhaps, than "pitt.i.tes"--was occupied by the officers of all grades of the regiments quartered at Compiegne and in the department. The chefs de corps and the chief dignitaries of State filled the amphitheatre, which rose in a gentle slope from the back of the parterre to just below the first tier of boxes, or rather to the balcony tier, seeing that the only box on it was the Imperial one. The latter, however, took up much more than the centre, for it had been constructed to seat about two hundred persons. Only a slight part.i.tion, elbow high, divided it from the rest of the tier, whence the sterner s.e.x was absolutely banished. The display of bare arms and shoulders was something marvellous, for they were by no means equally worthy of admiration, and the stranger, ignorant of the court regulations, must have often asked himself why certain ladies should have been so reckless as to invite comparison with their more favoured sisters. It was because there was no choice. The slightest gauze was rigorously prohibited, and woe to the lady who ventured to disobey these regulations. One of the chambellans was sure to request her to retire. "L'epaule ou l'epaulette"

was the t.i.tle of a comic song of those days, in allusion to the Empress's determination to suffer none but resplendent uniforms and ball dresses within sight of her. If I remember aright, the chorus went like this--

"Je ne porte pas l'epaulette, Je ne puis me decoll'ter, Je ne suis qu'un vieux bonhomme, Donc, je ne suis pas invite."

For even the guests in plain evening dress were mercilessly relegated to the tier above that of the Imperial box, and, even when there, were not permitted to occupy the first rows. These also were reserved for the fairer portion of humanity.

This fairer portion of humanity, thus ostensibly privileged, embittered the lives of the poor mayor and sub-prefect of Compiegne. The wives of the local notabilities and of the government officials, in addition to those of some of the landed gentry of the Empire, were not only anxious to be present at these gatherings, but generally insisted on having the front seats, at any rate in the second circle. Their applications, transmitted by these dignitaries to the Duc de Ba.s.sano, were always in excess of the room at his disposal, and, being an utter stranger to all these ladies, he had virtually to choose at random, or, if not at random, to be guided by the mayor and sub-prefect, who were consulted, not with regard to the greater or lesser degree of opulent charms and comeliness of features of these fair applicants, but with regard to their social status and fair fame. Now, it so happens that in France "L'amour fait des siennes" in the provinces as well as in the capital; he only disdains what Mirabeau used to call "les fees concombres." The Empress, provided the shoulders and arms were bare, did not trouble much about either their colour or "moulded outline;" the Emperor, on the contrary, objected, both from personal as well as artistic reasons, to have the curved symmetry of the two circles marred by the introduction of so many living problems of Euclid; and it really seemed as if the devil wanted to have all the good shapes to himself, for the reputedly virtuous spinsters, widows, and matrons were angular enough to have satisfied a tutor of mathematics. There was a dilemma: if they were put in the front rows, the Emperor scolded Ba.s.sano, who in his turn scolded the mayor and the sub-prefect. If the less virtuous but more attractive were put in the front rows, there was frequently a small scandal; for the Empress, at the first sight of them, had them expelled, after which she scolded Ba.s.sano, who avenged himself for his having been reprimanded on the mayor and sub-prefect. Furthermore, the contingent from Paris, some of whom were often provided with letters of introduction from influential personages to the latter gentleman, were not always without reproach though ever without fear; but how were two provincial magistrates to know this? Those sirens could almost impose upon them with impunity, and did; so, upon the whole, the magistrates did not have a pleasant time of it, for in the case of the former damsels or veuves de Malabar both the Emperor and the Empress were equally strict--though, perhaps, from utterly different motives.

Nevertheless, the esclandres were comparatively rare, and the house itself presented a sight unparalleled perhaps throughout the length and breadth of Europe. At nine o'clock, Comte Bacciochi, the first chambellan, in his court dress descended the few steps leading from the foyer to the Imperial box, and, advancing to the front, announced, "The Emperor." Every one rose and remained standing until the Emperor and Empress, who entered immediately afterwards, had seated themselves in the crimson velvet and gilt arm-chairs which the gentlemen-in-waiting (les chambellans de service) rolled forward.

I have spoken elsewhere of the immediate entourage of the Imperial hosts, and may therefore pa.s.s them over in silence here. As the Napoleonic dynasty became apparently more consolidated both at home and abroad, this entourage gradually changed--though no truthful observer could have honestly averred that the change was for the better. The decaves and the decla.s.sees of the first period disappeared altogether, or underwent a truly marvellous financial and social metamorphosis: the men, by means of speculations, chiefly connected with the "Haussmannizing" of Paris, the successful carrying out of which was greatly facilitated by their position at court; the women by marriages, the conditions of which I prefer not to discuss. An undoubtedly genuine leaven of names to be found in "D'Hozier,"[66] came to swell the ranks of the hitherto somewhat shady courtiers of both s.e.xes. Unfortunately, their blood was not only thicker than water, and consequently more easily heated, but they presumed upon the blueness of it to set public opinion at defiance.

[Footnote 66: "D'Hozier," the French "Burke," so named after its founder, Pierre D'Hozier, the creator of the science of French genealogy.--EDITOR.]

"Ce qui, chez les mortels, est une effronterie Entre nous autres demi-dieux N'est qu'honnete galanterie."

Thus wrote the d.u.c.h.esse du Maine[67] to her brother, of whom she was perhaps a little more fond than even their blood-relationship warranted. This privilege of stealing the horse, while the meaner-born might not even look over the hedge, was claimed by the sons and the daughters of the old n.o.blesse, who condescended to grace the court of Napoleon III., with a cynicism worthy of the most libertine traditions of the ancien regime; and neither the Empress nor the Emperor did anything to discountenance the claim. The former, provided that "tout se pa.s.sait en famille," closed her eyes to many things she ought not to have tolerated. At the Tuileries, a certain measure of decorum was preferred; at Compiegne and Fontainebleau, where the house was "packed"

as it were, the most flagrant eccentricities, to call them by no harsher name, were not only permitted, but tacitly encouraged by the Empress.

This was especially the case when the first series of guests was gone.

It generally included the most serious portion of the visitors, "les ennuyeurs, les empecheurs de danser en rond,"[68] as they were called.

The ladies belonging to, or cla.s.sed in that category, presented, no doubt, a striking contrast to those of the succeeding series, in which the English element was not always conspicuous by its absence. The costumes of the latter were something wonderful to behold. The cloth skirt, which had then been recently introduced from England, and the cloth dress, draped elegantly over it, enabled their wearers to defy all kinds of weather. And as they went tramping down the muddy roads, their coquettish little hats daintily poised on enormous chignons, their walking boots displaying more than the regulation part of ankle, the less sophisticated Compiegnois stared with all their might at the strange company from the Chateau, and no wonder. Still, the surprise of the inhabitants was small compared to that of the troopers of the garrison at the invasion of their riding-school by such a contingent, which indulged in ring-tilting, not unfrequently in tent-pegging, and, more frequently still, "in taking a header into s.p.a.ce," to the great amus.e.m.e.nt of their companions.

[Footnote 67: Anne, Louise, Benedicte de Bourbon, Princesse de Conde, who married the Duc du Maine, the illegitimate son of Louis XIV. and Madame de Montespan. She disliked her husband, whom she considered socially beneath her, and who was very ugly besides. The lines quoted above are probably not hers, but Malezieu's, "her poet in ordinary," who also organized her amateur theatricals.--EDITOR.]

[Footnote 68: Idiomatically, "the bores, the spoil-sports, or wet-blankets."--EDITOR.]

In those days, Worth was not quite king; the cocodettes of the Imperial circle were still prophesying on their own account. The "a.r.s.enal des modes," as Madame emile de Girardin had boastingly called Paris but ten years previously, had as yet not been boldly taken by storm by a native of bucolic Lincolnshire. But in a very short time he became the absolute autocrat in matters of feminine apparel. It was not even an enlightened despotism. His will was law. Every different entertainment required its appropriate costume, and the costume was frequently the sole pretext for the entertainment. And when the ingenuity in devising both was in danger of becoming exhausted, the supreme resource of these ladies was to turn themselves into ballerinas; not into ballerinas as King Bomba, or the Comte Sosthene de la Rochefoucauld, or M. Rouher would have had them, but into ballerinas with the shortest of gauze skirts and pink silk fleshings.

One year, I am not certain of the exact one,--I know that the future Emperor of Germany was there,--the ladies. .h.i.t upon the idea of giving a surprise to the Emperor and Empress on the occasion of the latter's fete-day. A ballet-master was sent for in hot haste from Paris, and "Le Diable a Quatre" put in rehearsal. Unlike Peter the Great, who had a soldier hanged--he said shooting was too good for him--for having represented a disreputable character on the stage, the Emperor professed himself exceedingly pleased; and the ladies, among whom was Princess von Metternich, were sent for from the Imperial box to be complimented by the sovereign. At the ball which followed the entertainment, they appeared in their theatrical dresses. Every one was delighted. "Apres tout," said Napoleon, blinking his eyes, "avec cette manie des hommes de courir apres des danseuses, il vaut mieux leur en fournir de bonne maison."

The philosophy was una.s.sailable, and, to a certain extent, acted upon by its professor. Napoleon only admired dancers on the stage. He thought, with Balzac, that the extraordinary physical strain upon the lower extremities necessarily interfered with the intellectual development "at the other end." "L'esprit de la danseuse est dans ses jambes, et je n'aime pas les femmes betes," he remarked; for the Emperor, like most of the members of his family, did not scruple to apply the right word, when talking to his familiars.

Nevertheless, until he was a.s.sured of the stupidity of a woman by more intimate acquaintance, he was too much inclined to be attracted by the first handsome face he saw, or, to speak by the card, by the first handsome face he picked out for himself. The moment he was seated by the side of the Empress in the Imperial box, during one of those performances I mentioned just now, he swept the house with his opera-gla.s.s, and unerringly the gla.s.s stopped at what was really the handsomest woman in the house, whether she was seated on the tier with him or in the upper one--of course, I mean "the handsomest woman" among the strangers, because on such occasions the Emperor paid but little attention to those who were generally around him. The Empress was fain to put up with these peccadilloes: she could not be always running away to Schwalbach or to Scotland; besides, she knew that she would have to come back again. Some months previous to the performance of "Le Diable a Quatre," she went to the former place to hide her mortification. William of Prussia was at Baden-Baden at the time, and he immediately left the delightful society and the magnificent roulades of Pauline Lucca to offer his sympathies to the Griselda who had fled from her home troubles, forgetting that there was another one at home, who would have even been more glad of his company.

On the day after the shooting-party and the theatrical performance, there was generally an excursion to Pierrefonds, and afterwards to the magnificent Roman remains at Champlieu. In the evening there were charades and carpet dances as usual.

The third day was always reserved for the most important part of the programme--the stag-hunt. Candidly speaking, I doubt whether Napoleon, though a very excellent horseman, cared much for this sport, as conducted on the grand traditional lines of the French "code of venerie." His main object personally was a good stiff run with the hounds, such as he had been used to in England, troubling himself little whether the pack kept the scent or not. In fact, there were generally two packs out, one of purely English breed, which was followed by the Emperor and his guests; the other French, followed by the serious lovers of sport, who, as a rule, caught at every pretext to get away from the magnificently apparelled crowd, driving or riding in the wake of the sovereign. Among the former there was a considerable sprinkling of the landed gentry of the neighbourhood, monarchists and legitimists to a man, some of whom did not even condescend to honour the Emperor with a salute. Compiegne, Senart, etc., were, after all, public property, and they could do as they liked, though I have got an idea that this wilful slight was an instance of singular bad taste on the part of these gentlemen.

The spot fixed for the meet was invariably the large clearing known as the Carrefour du Puits-du-Roi, whence radiated eight immense avenues, stretching as far as the uttermost confines of the forest of Compiegne.

The spot, apart from its a.s.sociations with royalty, from the days of Clovis up to our own, was admirably chosen, the mise-en-scene worthy of the greatest stage-manager on record. The huge centre itself was kept clear by the gendarmes de cha.s.se--a cross between a mounted constable and a ranger--from any but the officers of the garrison on horseback and other persons privileged to join the Emperor's suite. Six of the avenues were free to the pedestrians, who could watch every movement from their vantage point; the seventh was set apart for carriages of all sorts, from the humble shandrydan of the local notary and doctor to the magnificent break of the neighbouring landed proprietor, or the less correctly but more showily appointed barouches of the leaders of provincial society, who rarely missed an opportunity of attending these gatherings, where there were so many chances of coming in contact with the court. Relegated for at least ten months of the year--allowing for an annual visit to the capital--to the dull, humdrum, though often pretentious round of entertainments of her own circle, the Comtesse d'Esbargnas,[69] whether young or old, handsome or the reverse, matron or widow, of patrician or plebeian origin, sedulously watched the yearly recurring time and tide that might lead to a permanent footing at the Tuileries. What has happened once may happen again. Agnes Sorel, Diane de Poitiers, Gabrielle d'Estrees, Louise de la Valliere, let alone Jeanne Becu and Jeanne Poisson,[70] had by no means exhausted the possibilities of sudden elevations to within a step of the throne. These new aspirants would be content with a less giddy position. And who could say what might happen? Had not Alfred de Musset, the daring poet of "les grandes pa.s.sions," written a play ent.i.tled "Il ne faut jurer de rien"?

a.s.suredly what had happened once might happen again. Meanwhile the pleasure of watching all this splendour was worth coming for.

[Footnote 69: A character of one of Moliere's plays, who lends her name to the play itself, and who, with her provincial clique, apes the manners of the court.]

[Footnote 70: Mesdames Du Barry and Pompadour.]

The latter proposition hardly admitted of discussion. The sight was truly worth coming for. Though the Imperial suite never made its appearance before one, the main arteries of the forest became crowded as early as eleven. Half an hour later came La Trace and La Feuille with their equipage.[71] The kennelmen and huntsmen in full dress gathered round a roaring fire, their hounds lying at their feet. The stablemen and grooms, in undress livery of green and brown, walking the hunters of the Emperor and his suite to and fro, presented a picture full of colour and animation.

[Footnote 71: "equipage" is the right word. Applied to any but military or hunting uses, it is out of place, though frequently thus used.--EDITOR.]

As a rule the Imperial cortege was punctual on those occasions, though it was often remiss in that respect at gatherings of a different nature.

Among the familiars at the Tuileries the blame for this general unpunctuality was attributed in an equal measure to both the Emperor and the Empress. The latter dressed very slowly, and the former wanted to dress too quickly. The result of this difference of habit was always manifest to the most casual observer. The Empress, after the most fatiguing day or soiree, always looked as if she had just left her dressing-room, the Emperor at the beginning of the same as if he had scarcely been in it. But on "grand hunt-days" the Empress was never a minute late; and the reason, apart from the natural wish to exercise "la politesse des rois," exact.i.tude, was a curious one, but for the truth of which I can vouch. It gets dark early in November, and the Empress dreaded to be overtaken by darkness in the forest, even amidst a crowd.

It reminded her of a disagreeable episode during her first stay at Compiegne, when she was still Mdlle. Eugenie de Montijo. She and her future husband had got separated from the rest of the party. It was never accurately known what happened, but she was found sitting quietly but sorely distressed on her horse by M. de Saint-Paul, the sub-ranger, who escorted her back to the Chateau. She explained her lonely and uncomfortable position by the fact that her companion's horse had suddenly taken the bit between its teeth. The explanation was a lame one, seeing that the Prince-President, on his return, hours before, had looked perfectly composed and not as much as mentioned her name. The truth leaked out afterwards. Enraged at Mdlle. de Montijo's refusal to grant him a clandestine interview for that night, her princely suitor had left her to find her way back as best she could.

Invariably, then, at the stroke of one, the Imperial procession was signalled, for it was nothing less than a procession. At its head rode the chief ranger of Compiegne, Baron de Wimpffen, in a magnificent hunting-coat of green and gold, the laced tricornered hat, surmounted by a bunch of black plumes, jackboots, and white doeskins. Then came the Imperial break, drawn by six horses, mounted by postilions in powdered wigs, the Imperial host and hostess on the front seat, the members of the family, or some ill.u.s.trious guests, behind; the rest of the breaks were only four-horsed, and the procession was closed by the carriage of M. Hyrvoix, the chief of the secret police. In Paris this arrangement was reversed, and M. Hyrvoix, who had the rank of a prefect, and took his place as such at all public functions, preceded instead of following the Imperial carriage.

I am inclined to think, notwithstanding the frequent outcries against the secret police during the second empire, that M. Hyrvoix was a thoroughly upright and conscientious servant. Unfortunately for himself and his Imperial masters, his position was a difficult one; for though professedly employed to gauge public opinion with regard to the dynasty, his reports to that effect were not always received with the consideration due to honest truth, at any rate by the Empress.

Throughout these pages, I have endeavoured as far as possible to jot down my recollections in a kind of chronological order, rather than in the order they occurred to me; but in this, as in many other instances, I have been obliged to antic.i.p.ate the course of events lest they should slip my memory, for I had no doc.u.ments to go by, and also to avoid unnecessary repet.i.tions. This particular part of my somewhat disjointed narrative was meant to deal with the festivities at Compiegne and the company there; on reading it over, I find that it has developed into a fragment of biography of the Emperor and his Consort. As such, the following stories will throw a valuable side light on their different dispositions.

When the news of Emperor Maximilian's death reached Paris, there was the rumbling of a storm which foreboded no good. For days before, there had been vague rumours of the catastrophe. It had been whispered at the annual distribution of prizes at the College de France, where one of the young Cavaignacs had refused to receive his reward at the hands of the Prince Imperial. In short, indignation was rife among all cla.s.ses.

The Empress, on hearing of the insult, had burst into hysterical tears, and been obliged to leave the reception-rooms. In short, a dark cloud hung over the Tuileries. I have spoken elsewhere of the Mexican expedition, so need not enlarge upon it here. We will take it that both Napoleon and his wife were altogether blameless in the affair--which was by no means the case,--but a moment's reflection ought to have shown them that appearances were against them, and that the discontent expressed was so far justified. I am under the impression that Napoleon himself looked at it in that way; he bowed to the storm; he regretted, but did not resent people speaking ill of him. Not so the Empress; the truth was only welcome to her when it flattered her; she really fancied herself an autocrat by the Grace of G.o.d, as the previous Bourbons interpreted the term. In spite of all that has been said about her amiability, about her charity, Eugenie was in reality cruel at heart. No woman, not cruel, could have taken the princ.i.p.al part in a scene which I will describe presently. But she was vindictive also, and, what was worse, blindly vindictive. Though firmly convinced that she reigned by right divine, she had felt more than once that private revenge on "the people" who abused her was beyond her power. She not only fretted accordingly, but often vented her wrath on the first victim that came to hand, albeit that the latter was generally the mere innocent conveyance through which the voice of "the people" reached her. M. Hyrvoix, in virtue of his functions, often found himself the echo of that voice. He was generally the first of all the officials to present his daily report. The Emperor gave him his cue by asking, "What do the people say?"

On that particular morning, after the death of Maximilian had become known, the answer came not as readily as usual; for the chief of the secret police was not in the habit of mincing matters. This time, however, M. Hyrvoix kept silent for a while, then replied, "The people do not say anything, sire."

Napoleon must have noticed the hesitating manner; for he said at once, "You are not telling me the truth. What do the people say?"

"Well, sire, if you wish to know, not only the people, but every one is deeply indignant and disgusted with the consequences of this unfortunate war. It is commented upon everywhere in the selfsame spirit. They say it is the fault of ----"

"The fault of whom?" repeated Napoleon.

Whereupon M. Hyrvoix kept silent once more.

"The fault of whom?" insisted Napoleon.

"Sire," stammered M. Hyrvoix, "in the time of Louis XVI. people said, 'It is the fault of the Austrian woman.'"

"Yes, go on."

"Under Napoleon III. people say, 'It is the fault of the Spanish woman.'"

The words had scarcely left M. Hyrvoix' lips, when a door leading to the inner apartments opened, and the Empress appeared on the threshold. "She looked like a beautiful fury," said M. Hyrvoix to his friend, from whom I have got the story. "She wore a white dressing-gown, her hair was waving on her shoulders, and her eyes shot flames. She hissed, rather than spoke, as she bounded towards me; and, ridiculous as it may seem, I felt afraid for the moment. 'You will please repeat what you said just now, M. Hyrvoix,' she gasped in a voice hoa.r.s.e with anger.