On August 1—the day before the first engagement at Saarbrücken, when the Prince Imperial received his “baptism of fire”—the Emperor Napoleon, at his urgent request, was presented by Austria and Italy with a new project of alliance, containing these important clauses:

1. The diplomatic campaign projected against Prussia will be commenced only after September 15

2. Austria-Hungary undertakes to effectively support Italy, in order that that country may obtain conditions favourable to her interests in the Roman question.

In opposition to Prince Napoleon, the Emperor demanded the withdrawal from the Treaty of the paragraph relating to Rome and the fixing of a date for changing the phrase “armed neutrality” into “armed co-operation.” To this proposal Austria and Italy gave a point-blank refusal. Thus France was left to carry on the struggle single-handed.

Nevertheless, the military party at Vienna pushed on preparations for war. The Tsar was highly incensed, and the Austrian Ambassador at St. Petersburg telegraphed that His Imperial Majesty had spoken to him “very bitterly” concerning the Austrian preparations. This had its effect at Vienna, and the war party subsided. The result of the failure of Austria and Italy to join France was that the Emperor Napoleon, who had confidently reckoned upon the armed support of those countries, took the field, with fatal consequences.[138]

CHAPTER XX
THE EMPEROR’S COLLABORATOR

I have told, in “The Empress Eugénie: 1870-1910,”[139] how, on January 9, 1873, upon hearing of the unexpected death of Napoleon III., I hastened from the Temple to Chislehurst on behalf of the “Morning Post,” whose editor (he was not yet proprietor), the late Lord Glenesk (then Mr. Borthwick), had for many years enjoyed the intimate friendship and confidence of the Emperor. I told how, on my arrival at Camden Place, I sent in my card to Sir Henry Thompson, who blandly declined to open his lips except to assure me that the Emperor was dead, and that he, the eminent surgeon, would himself relate the facts “some day”—a day that never arrived. M. Pietri was too overcome with grief to say anything. But there was at hand—I have always found it so—the friend in need. He was the Grand Chamberlain, the Duc de Bassano. All that could be hastily told he told me, between his sobs. “Come to-morrow, ask for me, and you shall see our dear Emperor.” I went, and the veteran led me into the chamber of death. Two Sisters knelt by the bedside. I was alone with them—and the Dead.

There was at Camden Place, when I sought out Sir Henry Thompson, one who could have greatly enlightened me; at the moment I did not know him, even by name. Later I enjoyed the friendship of the Comte de La Chapelle, and I have retained it to this day. Moreover, I am honoured by the friendship of his eldest son, the Vicomte, who has rendered me infinite service in this essay to portray the Comedy and the Tragedy of the Second Empire.

The Comte de La Chapelle of the sixties and seventies—to-day, alas! but the shadow of his former self—was the confidant, the trusted and devoted friend and collaborator, of the Emperor, and equally the ami fidèle of “Napoléon IV.” He was a born fighter—with the pen, which, in his hand, was of more account than the sword. Much of what I thirsted to know on the Ninth of January, 1873—the fatal day at “Camden”—the Comte de La Chapelle could have told me at the moment. I console myself with the reflection that had he told me all he knew, and had I written it, the “Morning Post” would assuredly never have printed it—it was too tragic. I published in 1910 what this chivalrous friend of Napoleon III. knew a few hours after those last words had been murmured—“Etiez-vous à Sedan, Conneau?” And it gratified me not a little to find that many of the eminent critics who reviewed “The Empress Eugénie” in such generous terms selected that particular passage for comment or for quotation.

I must explain the status of the Comte de La Chapelle, who is the Empress Eugénie’s junior by four and M. Ollivier’s by five years. He descends from an essentially French Royalist family of Périgord, in the department of the Dordogne. His father was an officer of the bodyguard of Louis XVIII., and it was only a few years before his death that he forgave his son for seceding from the Royalist party and devoting himself heart and soul to the Imperialist cause. Perhaps it was the surviving Count’s Gascon blood which made him so energetic in the defence of Bonapartist interests at a time when they had fewest supporters.