On August 7 and 8 M. Maurice Richard saw the Emperor at Metz. His Majesty was much cast down, absorbed in studying a map, and made no answer when spoken to. Sighing, and pressing his hand upon his left side, he said every now and then, “What a misfortune!” But no words of recrimination escaped him. His bent figure and slow movements gave M. Richard the impression of a man who was at his last gasp—whose illness made him unfit to command. General Lebrun, M. Davilliers, and M. Franceschini Pietri advised the Emperor to return to Paris and hand over the command to Marshal Bazaine. The Government shared that opinion. The Empress also advised the transfer of the command to Bazaine. Pietri telegraphed to her proposing the Emperor’s return to Paris. Her Majesty’s reply was telegraphed direct to the Emperor, and ran: “Have you thought of all the consequences of your return to Paris after two defeats?”
Faced by this pregnant question, the suffering Emperor gave way, as always, for he dreaded above all his wife’s anger. One week of warfare had brought Napoleon III. to this piteous state. Bowed down by bodily pain, tortured by defeat following defeat, unable to “see daylight” in any direction, forbidden from returning to Paris, motiveless, powerless, the nominal head of disorganized forces, perhaps (fatalist that he was) even foreseeing what would happen three weeks hence—how vividly these despatches bring before us the picture of Hugo’s “Napoleon the Little”!
By comparison with her stricken, nerveless—shall we say deluded and betrayed?—husband, the Wife’s figure becomes almost colossal. Her hopefulness, her tenacity, her inflexible will had their effect upon some at least of those with whom she was in feverish consultation day and night. From the Emperor, even at this early stage, there was nothing to hope for. What could he have done in Paris, save precipitate the Revolution, which was already in gestation?
The man to whom the Empress turned for advice was the chief of the Bonapartist Parliamentary party—Jérôme David. “In 1867,” says M. Bapst, “during the debates on the Press laws and the right of public meeting, acting by the Empress’s request, he had endeavoured to procure the withdrawal of the projected laws, which had originated with the Emperor himself. David’s appeal for assistance in his task prompted a member of the Senate to reply, with not unkindly humour, that it seemed to him to be a question of a little Ministerial intrigue springing into existence from under the folds of a petticoat!”
After a meeting of Ministers, a deputation from the Chamber had an audience of the Empress, and asked her to sanction the immediate dismissal of Ollivier and his Ministers. To this mild request she answered that it was a question for the Chamber, not for her, to decide. “It would be regrettable to cause a Ministerial crisis at a moment of such gravity.”
One of the deputation, M. Durangel, remained after his colleagues had withdrawn. The Empress took him aside, and, bursting into tears, said: “What do you think of the Emperor’s proposed return to Paris?” Then, without giving him time to answer, she exclaimed, “It is impossible! A Napoleon cannot return to Paris unless he is victorious.” The Empress kept him in conversation until half-past one in the morning! She was now taking large doses of chloral every night, but the drug did not bring her any but the most fitful sleep.
By August 8 Captain Duperré had arrived from Cherbourg. The Empress told him he must go to Metz (as he did) and prevent the Emperor, and even the Prince, from returning to Paris. “I would rather see my son killed by the enemy than become another Louis XVII.!” she exclaimed, and seemed to gain some consolation by repeating it. It was reported that the Times had made the Empress say, “If the Prince returns to Paris, I will immediately take him back to the army.” To force her hand, the Government published an announcement that the Prince had returned to Paris!
Some troops had been ordered to station themselves in the courtyard of the Carrousel. The Empress suggested to Marshal Baraguay d’Hilliers (commanding the forces in Paris) that they should be supplied with rations from the Tuileries kitchens. “No,” said the old warrior; “people would say that it was the repast of the gardes du corps”—the allusion (says M. Bapst) being to the banquet in the Orangerie in 1789, when the appearance of Marie Antoinette had aroused the troops to enthusiasm, and caused them to reject the tricoloured cocardes. Previously the Empress had told the Marshal to prevent the mob from invading the Palais Bourbon, should an attempt be made to “rush” it. “Rioters! brawlers!” he exclaimed; “I would sweep them all out, and if it was necessary to fire upon them I would do so!” Her Majesty cut him short with the question, “But not without orders, would you?” This was too much for the fiery Marshal, and he retorted that he “did not wish to retain his command.” He remained intractable. Princesse Mathilde, who had been asked by the Empress to see if she could make him change his mind, told him he was a coward to desert his post, and there was nothing for it but to replace him by conferring the Paris command upon General Soumain. By August 9 Ministers had lost their authority, and at the opening of the Chambers they were overthrown.
On the morning of August 9, at the Tuileries, General Palikao was announced. The Empress was at a Council, and upon Palikao entering the room, she rose, shook hands with the old soldier, who had done good service in China, and appeared to be overjoyed at the arrival of “a Messiah, whose coming had been anxiously awaited.” The Empress poured forth her soul; it was difficult for anyone else to edge in a word, so excited was the Regent—anxious, perhaps, to let the warrior see how well acquainted she was with what was happening in Lorraine. So steeped was she in military lore that, hearing her expound theories and ideas, even experts might have been betrayed into accepting her speculations as facts. Would Palikao take command of the Paris forces? Or would he prefer to replace Marshal Lebœuf as Major-General of the army of the Rhine at Metz? He could have either post. Seeing how the land lay, Palikao asked abruptly, “Will you make me a Marshal?” The Empress hinted at something of the kind; but Palikao “opted” for the army of the Rhine, and everybody was satisfied. The Regent, bubbling over with delight, could not keep the good news from “Louis” for a moment.
The Empress to the Emperor.