After dinner, which was served with such smoothness and precision that it seldom lasted more than three-quarters of an hour, the court returned to the Hall of Apollo, where the evening was spent, usually in a most tedious manner. The presence of the sovereigns prevented any spontaneous general conversation. The Emperor himself rarely spoke at all, while Eugénie, finding this atmosphere of repression unbearable, talked incessantly with the nervous vivacity peculiar to her. To vary the monotony of these evenings, reading aloud was sometimes suggested but it was difficult to find anything suitable for such an assemblage. A French or English romance would entertain the Empress but bored the Emperor horribly; while if a scientific work that interested Napoleon were chosen, Eugénie would yawn, therefore this too had to be abandoned.
The Emperor was fond of solitaire, which he often played; but it did not amuse Eugénie except when she did not feel like talking, which was seldom the case. There was never music or card-playing at the palace. Once in a great while the Empress would have a sudden fancy to do something, as when, for example, late one evening a courtier was hastily despatched to procure all the necessary materials for making artificial flowers, that she might learn the art at once. On another occasion it was the desire to model in clay that must be gratified on the spot.
Punctually at ten, a table was brought in with tea and cakes, which the ladies served themselves, and conversation now became general. Between eleven and twelve the Empress withdrew to her own apartments and generally retired at once though she sometimes kept her reader, Mlle. Bouvet, to read aloud to her after she was in bed. As a general rule, however, she preferred to read to herself which she did often and very rapidly.
Chapter IX
Eugénie as a Leader of Fashion
The stairways and corridors in the Tuileries were so dark that they had to be lighted summer and winter; and this, with the bad ventilation, made the palace so unbearable in warm weather that the court spent the summer months away from Paris, at Fontainebleau, St. Cloud, or Biarritz. Of these resorts Napoleon’s favorite was St. Cloud, where he usually went to recuperate from the severe attacks of illness to which he was subject. Here he was quite happy, playing with his dog Nero, a faithful companion for many years, or tending his roses in the palace garden.
Eugénie, on her part, preferred Biarritz, in the Pyrenees, and it was owing largely to her that this resort became by far the most popular in France, casting Dieppe, Trouville, and Boulogne completely in the shade. Nowhere in the world could there have been found such a medley of wealth and poverty, aristocrats and adventurers, high-born dames and demi-mondaines of all classes, as at Biarritz in the days of the Second Empire. It had attractions of all sorts, hotels and restaurants, shops and bazars of every description, as well as a casino containing a theatre, concert hall, ball and gaming rooms, from the broad terrace of which there was a most charming view.
Opposite the town, on a rocky plateau across a narrow arm of the sea, stood the Château Eugénie. It looked more like a barracks than a palace, and owing to the salt spray flung all around it in time of storm, no sort of vegetation would thrive there; but when the Empress stepped out on her terrace in the morning, the sea lay spread out at her feet. The ever changing lights and shades of sky and water lent variety to the solitary landscape; while looking the other way she could watch the gay equipages rolling by toward the baths. This to her was the ideal combination of nature and civilization. In this beautiful spot Eugénie spent some of her happiest hours, forgetful of the tedium of court life, her husband’s infidelities, and the persecutions of Prince Napoleon and his followers. Here her natural high spirits found vent, and she romped like a child with her little son, or revelled in the sea-bathing, feeling for the first time since her early youth the charms of a life free from excitement or ambitious aims.
Like all the children of Spain, she had the deepest affection and reverence for her native land, that land with which were connected so many happy as well as painful memories, and where her mother still lived. Now that her griefs had lost their sting, she often longed for Spanish ways and customs and to hear once more her childhood’s tongue. From Biarritz she could make frequent excursions into Spain, where she hailed even the poorest peasants with delight, chatting with them in their native language, overwhelming them with gifts, and receiving in return so warm a welcome that it more than repaid her for all the humiliations of her youth. She also visited Madrid, the scene of her early adventures, and was received with the greatest distinction by Queen Isabella, from whose court she had once been dismissed on so slight a suspicion.
But it was not only in Spain that Eugénie won all hearts. Whether receiving royal guests or visiting some charitable institution, presiding at court or opening an exhibition, it could not be denied that she had been wonderfully equipped by nature for the great role she had been called upon to play on the world’s stage. Part of her popularity was also due to the kindness of heart which was such a conspicuous trait in her character through all her changes of fortune. Many admirable institutions in Paris owe their origin to the Empress Eugénie’s benevolence. In the Summer of 1865, while acting as Regent during the Emperor’s stay in Algiers, she devoted herself to improving conditions in the reform schools for children. Accompanied by a prefect of police she made a visit in person to “La Petite Roquette,” a house of correction. A terrible state of affairs existed in this institution, where, since it was intended more for abandoned children than those in need of punishment, a cell system had been introduced to prevent communication between the two classes. The dark court was also divided by high walls; and here the five hundred wretched inmates could be seen creeping about their cages like wild beasts, with bowed heads and dull, vacant faces.
The Empress’s motherly heart overflowed with pity at sight of these children’s sufferings. She appointed a commission at once to make a change in this dreadful system and attended all the meetings, which were held at the Tuileries, with the greatest interest and enthusiasm. A member of the commission took advantage of one of these meetings to oppose the Empress’s project. “The idea is all very well, Madame,” he declared, “but there are so many obstacles in the way of its execution that it is difficult to see how any remedy can be provided. To discuss the question is merely an excursion into the realm of sentiment.”