Her fancied resemblance to Marie Antoinette has already been mentioned; indeed, there were many points of similarity between the Spanish Countess and Maria Theresa’s unfortunate daughter. Both possessed remarkable beauty, charm, energy, and strength of character. Both were boundlessly extravagant and open-handed, as both in their younger days allowed the pursuit of pleasure to banish all serious occupations. Eugénie avoided the imprudences of which Marie Antoinette was guilty, and instead of risking her popularity, did all in her power to preserve and strengthen it; yet she too was powerless to escape calumny. There were but too many evil tongues ready to suggest that a woman who owed her sovereignty to beauty alone was scarce likely to remain a pattern of virtue, and we have seen how even in her own family she had enemies who tried to undermine her reputation.
The court of the Second Empire was full of corruption and was abandoned to a life of pleasure and luxury. But it is ever the way of aristocratic society to seek amusement; and if at the courts of Berlin and London a more serious tone prevailed, those of Vienna, St. Petersburg, and Madrid were scarcely less frivolous than that of France under the Second Empire.
The Empress’s daily life was very different from this; intermixed with the feverish pursuit of pleasure were many days of weariness and ennui. At eight o’clock she rose and devoted an hour regularly, sometimes two or three, to her favorite occupation, the study of her toilettes. At half-past eleven she breakfasted alone with the Emperor and the Prince Imperial, after which Napoleon would smoke a cigarette in his wife’s apartment, chatting and playing with his little son. Kindness of heart was one of the Emperor’s most marked characteristics. Indeed he was often over-indulgent with the child—a weakness Eugénie continually struggled against, with the natural result that the little Prince preferred his father to his mother. At one, every day he went for his drive in the Bois de Boulogne, and the Empress retired to her study, back of the audience chamber, where no one was allowed to enter. Here her tastes and habits were best displayed, for in this room she had surrounded herself with all her most precious possessions, portraits of her family and intimate friends, busts, vases, statuettes, and all sorts of personal souvenirs, and a small set of bookshelves containing the works of French, Spanish, English, and Italian writers. Every day Eugénie wrote to her mother, a sacred duty with which neither fête nor illness, travel nor court entertainment, was ever allowed to interfere. Among others with whom she also kept up a lively correspondence were Queen Victoria and the Queen of Holland. After the Empress’s personal letters were finished she summoned her secretary, Damas Hinard, with whom she went through the vast number of begging letters and appeals of all kinds she received daily, to each of which she gave her personal attention.
Adjoining Eugénie’s bedchamber was an anteroom without windows in which a lamp was always burning, and from which a narrow stairway led to the Emperor’s apartments. Concealed in the wainscoting of this room by sliding panels were a number of caskets, all numbered and marked in cipher. To look over and arrange their contents was one of Eugénie’s favorite amusements. Here she kept not only her own private papers, but many interesting contributions to the history of Napoleon the First and his times, in the form of letters from statesmen, soldiers, and scholars. All the Emperor’s discarded documents and correspondence were carefully preserved by Eugénie, and stored away where only she could get at them. Napoleon was much amused at this mania of hers for collecting, and she herself used to laugh over it.
“I am like a little mouse, running around after the Emperor and picking up all the crumbs he lets fall,” she once said.
The ladies-in-waiting did not live in the Tuileries; it was only during the summer that they were constantly with her, whether travelling about or at one of the summer palaces. Of these, some were naturally more congenial than others, but Eugénie had no choice in the matter of a companion; this was regulated strictly by the law of precedence. Day after day she entered her carriage, accompanied by whichever lady was entitled by etiquette to a seat in the imperial equipage, and drove through the Bois, bowing incessantly to left and right, and day after day she returned at exactly the same hour in time to dress for dinner.
Besides these monotonous outings, she sometimes drove out in the morning in a carriage drawn by only two horses. Each man and footman wore the plainest livery, and she and her companion were quite simply dressed. On these occasions she attended to all her charitable errands. She liked to investigate in person all the cases that especially appealed to her sympathies, and always carried with her a well filled purse, the money thus dispensed often amounting to a considerable sum in the course of a year.
“I could just as well send what I give to the poor,” she declared, “but one should do a little good oneself. The sight of so much misery and suffering makes it easier to bear one’s own troubles.”
Of all the Empress’s attendants the one to whom she was most attached was Madame Pollet, or Pépa as she called her. This woman, the only Spaniard in her service, had entered it in early youth, and remained with her ever after. She had accompanied her on all her travels and shared all the vicissitudes of her mistress, whom she adored and for whom she would have gladly died. She had charge of the Empress’s wardrobe and personal belongings, and was untiring in her efforts to fulfil the slightest wish of Eugénie, who on her part, while she never allowed the distance between them to be forgotten, returned the affection and reposed the most boundless confidence in Pépa. Madame Pollet was supposed to have great influence with the Empress, and wives of high officials were not ashamed to court her favor and load her with gifts when they wanted something of her mistress. But Pépa, a modest little creature, had no desire to meddle with matters that did not concern her; besides she was far too busy and too much in demand by Eugénie to have time for other things.
The dinner hour at the Tuileries was half-past seven. At this meal the Prince Imperial, after his eighth year, was present as well as all the ladies and gentlemen of the court. Shortly before the hour, the Emperor went to his wife’s apartments and escorted her to the Hall of Apollo, where the court awaited Their Majesties. As soon as dinner was served the palace prefect was notified, who in turn informed the Emperor; Napoleon gave his arm to Eugénie and the rest followed in order of rank. The ceremony was simple but strictly in accordance with etiquette. At table a young blackamoor, whom she had brought with her from Algiers, always stood behind Eugénie’s chair, and waited on her with as lofty an air as if he were fulfilling some sacred office. He was said to be of noble birth, and proudly refused to serve any one but the Empress.