“My dear Marie,” said the Emperor to the beautiful woman, scarcely more than a girl just out of her teens, “allow me to present my friend, Monsieur ——, who comes as a suitor for your hand.” With this the Emperor retired, and was seen no more!
The poet found the lady quite willing to accept his wooing, and, knowing that the imperial favour depended upon his discretion, did not make any inquiries as to madame’s history. A few weeks later they were quietly married, and the husband found that his bride’s dowry was the handsome sum of £100,000. He was never again invited to the Tuileries, nor did he ever have another interview with the Emperor. To his surprise, one morning he received an appointment in the Diplomatic Service in a distant country. Needless to say, he accepted the post, and resided, with his wife, at the scene of his labours until his death more than a quarter of a century ago. His widow returned to Paris and married a Russian noble. When the news of the poet-diplomatist’s death reached Paris, General Fleury, who knew the faiblesses of Napoleon III. better than most men, pleasantly remarked: “Ah! he was a lucky fellow to get such a wife; but it was hard luck for the Emperor to have to pay such a price to get rid of so charming an encumbrance!”
Mlle. de Montijo had not been an Empress many weeks before her greatness and the luxe by which she was surrounded began to be distasteful. “She had never loved the Emperor. Her heart remained faithful to the Marquis d’Alcanises, her former fiancé. The Marquise de Bedmar, one of Her Majesty’s Spanish friends, told me that the Empress said to her, on the eve of the wedding: ‘If Alcanises came to fetch me, I would go away with him!’ But Alcanises never came, and, some years later, when he was the Duc de Sesto, married the widow of the Duc de Morny.”[37]
The strict etiquette which the Emperor insisted should be observed weighed upon the lady who had hitherto revelled in complete independence, while she was exasperated at the surveillance of the Palace ladies, even the domestics. This irritation disappeared as if by magic after she and her consort had visited Queen Victoria and the Prince Consort, and seen how things were done at the model English Court. How bored she was she showed very plainly in a letter written to one of the friends of the old days, begging to be “thou’d” as in former times: “Je suis seule dans mon palais, et très chagrinée des bouderies [sulkiness] que je sens autour de moi.”
A collection of what M. Mauget describes as “Notes of a Member of the Imperial Police” provides curious reading:
March 8, 1853.
The Comtesse de Montijo is still residing in Paris, and it is said that her influence is by no means so trifling as some have believed it to be. At the last soirée M. Fould[38] was very assiduous in his attentions to her. That is not surprising when one recalls the intrigante of the salon at Madrid.
March 24, 1853.
Mme. de Montijo has left [Paris] on very bad terms with the august occupants of the Tuileries.
The Journal d’Indre-et-Loire reports the arrival at Tours of the Comtesse de Montijo, accompanied by M. Mérimée.