In spite of the shade of Bohemianism which presided over the annual gatherings at Compiègne and at Fontainebleau, the invitations were always coveted, and with reason, for a week spent at either place was certainly most enjoyable. The autumn season generally saw the Sovereigns at Compiègne, which the Empress liked very much, and there could be met all the celebrities of modern France and a good many foreigners, whom the Imperial couple liked to encourage to visit France, and on whom they lavished every attention. They were generally asked to stay a full week, and privileged persons were sometimes invited to extend their sojourn. Life was very pleasant in this old home of the Bourbon dynasty, and the liberty left to the guests to do what they liked added to its charm. One rode, one hunted, one drove, and one flirted to one’s heart’s content, and the only thing which was asked was punctuality at meals and admiration for the beauty of the Empress.
The exceeding charm and beauty of the Empress was never more seen to advantage than in one of her country homes, where she felt more at her ease than in Paris. She used to ask privileged persons among her guests to drink tea with her in the afternoon. On these occasions she appeared at her best, talking on every subject, and discussing all the new books. She rather prided herself on being what French people call “un bel esprit,” and of caring for literature; she considered it a part of her duty ostensibly to interest herself in the literary and scientific movements of the day. She liked to make herself popular among writers and artists, of whom there was generally a good sprinkling at Compiègne. Among her favourites were Octave Feuillet, Mérimée, and Carpeaux. More than once Carpeaux implored her to allow him to carve her bust, to which, however, she would not agree. Mérimée had been a friend of her mother’s, the Countess de Montijo, and had known her as a little girl; indeed, people whispered softly that he had had a good deal to do with her elevation to the throne, having admirably advised her at that critical period of her existence when first she became the object of Napoleon’s adoration.
Mérimée was a charming man in spite of his misanthropic tendencies and his fits of bad temper, which caused him sometimes to say the rudest things imaginable, but which in reality he did not mean at all. He was, however, a privileged person, being customarily forgiven words which would not have been tolerated in anyone else. He was, perhaps, amidst the crowd which congregated in the vast halls and galleries of Compiègne, the one who judged most clearly what was going on around him, and I remember that one evening, when we were discussing the political situation, he suddenly asked me: “Et vous croyez que cela durera?” (“And you think that all this will last?”) Noticing my surprise, he did me the honour of a lengthy explanation: “You see, my friend, here in this beautiful France of ours we never look beyond the present day; we enjoy ourselves without any thought of what the morrow may bring. We have seen so many changes, so many revolutions, that we have entirely lost the feeling of stability, without which no nation can achieve really great things. In politics one must have either stability, faith in the principles which one is called upon to defend, or else enthusiasm like that felt by our troops at Marengo. Now can you imagine a spirit of enthusiasm for our master here?” And he winked in the direction of the Emperor’s private apartments. “He is good, and kind, and weak, but though the nation and the army shout ‘Vive l’Empereur’ when they see him, it is very doubtful whether they would sacrifice anything beyond the interests of their neighbours for him. And the Empress, she is as much to be pitied as she is to be envied. I am sorry to have to say so, because I am really attached to her, but what can one do! She does not realise that she is not by birth the equal of the other Queens of Europe, and there lies her great mistake. She is so beautiful that one would have worshipped at once Mademoiselle de Montijo, but the nation could not bring itself to respect the Comtesse de Téba in the same way as had she been a Princess born. Now, don’t betray me, please,” he added, “but I know that you are discreet, and, besides, who minds the sayings of that old grumbler Mérimée!”
This boutade left a deep impression on my mind at the time I heard it; it resounded like the “Mene, Tekel, Upharsin” of the Empire, uttered as it was by a man who was well known to have personally a great and sincere devotion for the fair Spaniard whom he had helped to place on the throne of France. Poor Mérimée was not destined to survive the fall of that Imperial regime of which he had been one of the strongest supporters. He died broken-hearted a few days after the disaster of Sedan, writing pathetically to one of his friends just before his end: “I have tried all my life to fight against prejudices, and to be a citizen of the world before being a Frenchman. But all these cloaks of philosophy are now of no avail to me. I bleed to-day of the same wounds as these idiots of Frenchmen, and I weep over their humiliation.”
Octave Feuillet was a great favourite of the Empress. He was a charming man, but always ill and always preoccupied with nursing his health, and his malade imaginaire. His novels were undoubtedly pretty, and created a great sensation at the time. He was the fashionable novelist of his generation, and certainly some of his works deserve to pass to posterity because of their fine observation. He was middle-class to the core, and this made him worship everything that seemed to be above him. He took himself far too much in earnest, and even carried so far his appreciation of his own merit that he wrote once or twice to the Emperor, proffering unsought his advice in political matters. Napoleon III. was far too kind to rebuff him, and sometimes even replied to him, flattering his vanity, as he was accustomed to flatter writers and journalists, in whom he saw the manufacturers of public opinion, and whom he liked to conciliate as far as possible. Octave Feuillet professed a great admiration for the Empress, and he must be given his due—he remained faithful to her after her fall. He was one of the few who went to Chislehurst to present their respects to the exiled and dethroned Sovereigns.
In violent contrast to his behaviour can be instanced that of the architect Viollet-le-Duc, who, after having been loaded with money and kindnesses by the Emperor and his Consort, turned his back upon them after the fall of the Empire, and even tried to make excuses for ever having known them. Unfortunately, he was but one of many, and bitter must have been the thoughts of Napoleon III. and Eugénie when they saw that all the good they had done, the boundless generosity they had exercised, had only made them a few more enemies among the ranks of those who owed them so much.
Carpeaux, in spite of his rudeness, was very much appreciated at Compiègne, and I often saw him there, as indeed I met also most of the illustrious Frenchmen the Empire could boast of at that time. These celebrities, and the number of pretty women who were also invited, made the gatherings unique. The members of the fair sex who were nearly always present were the Princess Metternich, the pretty Comtesse Mélanie de Pourtalès, the Marquise de Galiffet, then separated from her husband, who had already struck up that strange friendship with the Princesse de Sagan, née Seillères, which gave rise to so much talk later on. Mme. de Galiffet was one of the loveliest women of the Imperial Court, and certainly the one who knew the best how to dress. She was an élégante before everything else, and I believe cared even more for her dresses than for her lovers. Her relations with General Galiffet were most strange. They used to meet sometimes in society, and he was always most polite towards her; it was even said that the warmest admirer the Marquise de Galiffet had ever had was her husband. This did not prevent them never agreeing upon any subject save one, and that, it was rumoured, reunited them sometimes, not under the same roof, but under the same tent, as the Marquise de Caux once said with more wit than kindness.
Another habitué of Compiègne was the Baronne de Poilly. She was a daring horsewoman, an eccentric character, full of brusquerie and kindness, but not liked, and very much talked about. She was, with the Comtesse de Beaulaincourt, ex-Marquise de Contades, one of the most dreaded persons in the whole of Paris society.
Speaking of Madame de Beaulaincourt reminds me of various episodes in that lady’s career, which set me wondering how the strict Faubourg St. Germain, as well as the frivolous society of the Second Empire, could have taken her to their hearts in the way they did. She was bad for badness’ sake, as unsparing in her words as in her judgments; always on the look out for something evil to do, or something unpleasant to say. Full of wit with it all, this last circumstance only made her the more dangerous. She was a rare example of a vicious woman who had no charitable instincts; it seemed as if she condemned others the more bitterly because she knew that there was needing much pardon in herself. Nevertheless, Madame de Beaulaincourt was one of the most remarkable personalities at the Court of the Emperor Napoleon III., and as such she deserves to be remembered.
The members of the Cabinet and their wives were generally asked to Compiègne in turn. At Fontainebleau, where the Court used to spend the summer months, this was rarely the case. St. Cloud was too near Paris to be really pleasant as a summer residence. Fontainebleau was quite in the country, and its lovely forest afforded many opportunities for riding, driving, or hunting, which appealed to Eugénie’s tastes. There she used to live a family life free from the restraints of the Court, with the guests whom she asked to share her villégiature. At Fontainebleau, too, the Emperor, always a great stickler for etiquette, allowed it to be relaxed, considering his stay there as a kind of holiday. He was more often in the company of his guests than at Compiègne, and his presence was very much appreciated. When he liked, Napoleon III. could be a charming man and an interesting talker, but it was not often that he allowed himself to become expansive.