The Empress and the Emperor gave the signal for the laughter and applause which followed.
When the Emperor, wearing a light waistcoat, a short jacket, trousers more or less “pegtoppy,” and a small black felt hat, was told that business awaited him, and that it was time for him to take his place on the throne, his face underwent a pitiful change. As a simple bourgeois he might have spent the whole day amusing himself; as Emperor he must go and seat himself in a chair higher than the others—not, perhaps, for very long, happily for himself and everybody else.
A marked difference between the imperial Court and that of the Kings of France was that at table at the former the conversation was general and almost without restriction. The Emperor, who usually spoke in a low tone, raised his voice at luncheon and at dinner, so that those whom he addressed could hear him, and had not to guess at some of his words. The Empress invariably spoke loudly, and on occasion—in moments of excitement, which were not seldom—even stridently.
During dinner the music of the Garde played softly. The “Beau Dunois” (“Partant pour la Syrie”) was followed by one of the choruses from “Faust” or a prayer from “L’Africaine.” To please the younger people songs were arranged as military marches—the “Bouton de Billou,” “Le pied qui r’mue,” or other minor works. The Emperor had no ear for music. At the Opera he would doze until aroused by a tap from the Empress’s fan. Something from the “Grande Duchesse,” or the duet of the “Deux Gendarmes” from “Madame Angot”—these were his favourites. At night, when he was going to his room, preceded by suisses, and followed by a group of silent personages, he would be heard humming:
“Brigadier, répondit Pandore,
Brigadier, vous avez raison.”
To the Empress, as to many of her friends and attendants, the principal features of life at Fontainebleau were the carriage drives, the déjeuners on the grass in the forest, the excursions to neighbouring villages, and visits to the churches. When the Emperor attended these rural outings his carriage was drawn by six horses—two more than those of the other vehicles. As the imperial party left the château the drums beat “aux champs,” the guard presented arms, and the cavalcade swept along to the music of the horses’ bells. Neither black clouds, threatening rain, nor mists, nor a scorching sun prevented an excursion if it had been arranged. One day, after a pelting shower, the Empress waded through muddy paths until she had reached the top of a steep hill. The Chevalier Nigra (Italian Ambassador) and M. Octave Feuillet followed her as they best could through the slush, to the ruin of their silk hats (!) and thin boots. The Empress had not a dry thread on her; some of her garments were in rags; the dripping branches made walking a heavy business. When in time they got back to the carriages, the sun was shining, making the men’s coats smoke like a chimney. Never had the Empress more enjoyed herself, never had she looked more beautiful. A quarter of an hour after her return to the château she was the first at table, laughing at the spectacle of the Ambassador and the author in their ruined hats, her cheeks still rosy from the long tramp in the sodden forest paths and up the slippery hillside. As, however, she insisted that she was late, she had wrapped in paper ten sous, the fine which all who were not punctual at dinner had to pay to General Lepic before daring to seat themselves at table. (This fine was a survival of the custom which had prevailed at the royal Courts. The Duchesse de Berry was so unpunctual that she was fined every day!)
In the early days of the Franco-Mexican campaign—after the defeat of the imperial forces in their hopeless attempt to capture Puebla—Count Bismarck was the guest of the Emperor and Empress at Fontainebleau. He had just been appointed Prussian Minister to France. No one could have had a warmer welcome than the diplomatist. Bismarck was well known to his host and hostess, who had received him in 1855, the year of the first Exhibition—the year also of the visit to France of Queen Victoria, the Prince Consort, the Princess Royal, and the Prince of Wales. Next he attended the conference held in Paris to settle the question of Neuchâtel. In 1857 Bismarck did not display any hostility to the Emperor Napoleon’s wish for a rapprochement between France and Prussia. The Emperor had said to his Foreign Minister, Thouvenel: “These two neighbouring States (France and Prussia), placed by their intellectual culture and their institutions at the head of civilization, ought to mutually support each other.”
Bismarck and the Emperor had a “political walk” through the grounds of Fontainebleau, then in their autumnal beauty (it was October, 1862). The Prussian Minister[63] had the art of making himself agreeable, and became a general favourite with the guests of the “séries,” among whom he was the most striking figure. As the Emperor unbosomed himself to his guest, and smoked and talked with him, nothing could have been farther from his thoughts than that, eight years later, he would find in Bismarck (who had yet to earn his sobriquet, the “Man of Blood and Iron”) his implacable enemy.
“The Emperor,” said Bismarck later, “asked me abruptly if I believed the King was disposed to conclude an alliance with him. I replied: ‘Circumstances alone can enable us to appreciate the necessity and the utility of alliances.’”
Bismarck had been almost the only man in his country who admired Napoleon III. He had even advised King Frederick William IV. to enter into an alliance with France. When he took over the Paris Legation he was received with much favour, not only by the Court, but by the official world; and the Foreign Minister (Thouvenel) wrote to the Duc de Gramont: “We are assured that Bismarck has the most friendly feeling for us.” When King William succeeded Frederick William IV. he was not far from sharing Bismarck’s views of the French Emperor. Those views underwent a change in 1863, the result of the intervention of Napoleon III. in the affairs of Poland—a step which did the Poles no good, and temporarily alienated the Tsar (Alexander II.) from Napoleon. Bismarck was not slow to see how he could utilize the Emperor’s mistake, and henceforth dismissed from his mind all idea of a Franco-Prussian alliance.[64]