Mocquard also belonged to the few friends of Napoleon III. who had known his mother Queen Hortense, and who had devoted his life to the cause of the Bonapartes. He was one of the pleasantest men of his day, always on the alert to learn or to hear everything that could be useful to his Imperial master. Gifted with singular tact, he was able with advantage to come out of the most entangled and awkward situations. His reply to Berryer, who had written to him telling him that his political convictions prevented him from asking to be presented to the Emperor on his election to the French Academy, is well known, and proves his ability in that respect. The great advocate, in writing to Mocquard, had appealed to him as a former colleague. Napoleon’s private secretary at once responded to his request, and gave him the most courteous and most respectful reproof, in which the dignity of his Sovereign and that of the great advocate were equally taken into account.
“The Emperor,” wrote Mocquard, “regrets that M. Berryer has allowed his political leanings to get the upper hand of his duties as Academician. M. Berryer’s presence at the Tuileries would not have embarrassed His Majesty, as he seems to dread. From the height on which he finds himself raised, the Emperor would only have seen in the new Academician an orator and a writer; in to-day’s adversary, the defender of yesterday. M. Berryer is perfectly free to obey the general practice imposed by the Academy, or to follow his personal repugnances.”
A friend of Berryer, who happened to be with him when that letter reached him, related to me later that that famous ornament of the French Bar for once in his life felt embarrassed, and acknowledged his regret at thus having drawn upon himself a well deserved and tactfully administered rebuff.
When Mocquard died his place was taken by M. Conti, also a clever man, who was in possession of the post at the time I arrived in Paris. He did not succeed in gaining the confidence of the Emperor, as his predecessor had done, and I believe never felt quite at ease in his difficult position. I do not know what became of him after the fall of the Empire.
General Fleury was already Ambassador in St. Petersburg at the time of which I am speaking. He had been, and still was, one of the most intimate friends of the Emperor, but he was not liked by the Empress, whose influence he had always tried to thwart. Eugénie was delighted when he was sent on his foreign mission; she had never got used to the General: perhaps he knew too many things relating to that distant time when Mademoiselle de Montijo had never dreamt that fate held a crown in reserve for her. And then one of the Empress’s closest acquaintances, the Comtesse de Beaulaincourt, the daughter of the Marshal de Castellane, and formerly Marquise de Contades, had an undying grudge against General Fleury. It must be owned that he had not behaved altogether well in regard to her, and she used her best endeavours to harm him in the mind of the impressionable Eugénie, to whom she represented the General as one of her worst enemies. This was not the case; but Fleury had no sympathy for the Empress, and certainly did nothing to further her views or her opinions in regard to politics, as she would have liked him to do. To him is credited the most severe comment that ever was made on the subject of the marriage between the Emperor and the lovely Spaniard who had captivated his fancy; that comment was revealed to the world through the indiscretion of Madame de Contades, as she was at that time. Fleury had been asked why he objected so much to his future Sovereign: “I do not like her,” he replied, “because I feel that she will insist upon wearing her crown in her bed and her night-cap in public.” This bitter remark being repeated to the person whom it most concerned, was never forgiven by her.
Fleury, Persigny, and Morny had been the most trusted advisers of Napoleon III., but unfortunately I never had opportunity to meet any of them. With their removal from the political scene, the Empire lost its most solid supports. The ability of M. Rouher could not stave off the supreme calamity that was to cast it into the abyss; and as for M. Emile Ollivier, about whom I shall have more to say presently, he had neither the energy nor the moral courage to resist the current that went against him and that swept away a regime.
In general, when I look back upon those last two years of the Second Empire, and try to recapitulate all that I saw, I cannot find anyone, with the few exceptions already mentioned, who was really the friend of either the Emperor or the Empress. Surrounded by flatterers, admirers, courtiers, they had around them no really devoted people willing to risk anything in order to prove their affection. The Tuileries seemed to be one vast Liberty Hall, inhabited by men and women who knew very well that they had but a short time before them to enjoy the good things of this world, and whose only care was how they could escape with the most advantage from situations which all the time they felt to be shaking under their feet. Indeed, the Court reminded one of a vast cuvée out of which everybody tried to snatch some prize. It was a case of eating, drinking and being merry, but without thinking that for all these things there would one day be a reckoning.
CHAPTER III
Fontainebleau and Compiègne
Though still a young man when I was appointed to Paris—a man of thirty-two years is considered to be quite young—I had already a considerable experience of the world, and knew the society of most European capitals, having been at every European Court. I was very well able, therefore, to judge of what I saw, and to form a reliable opinion, good or bad, of the people with whom I came into contact.
I must confess at once that I arrived in France with certain prejudices against the regime, and I did not examine it at first with over-indulgent eyes. But as I grew to know the Emperor and the Empress well, many of these prejudices vanished. The kindness of the Emperor, and his boundless generosity, could not but impress favourably, and as for Eugénie, her powerful charm made one forget other sides of her character. When in their presence it was difficult to realise that they were Sovereigns, or to have the feeling, whether at the Tuileries, at Compiègne, or at Fontainebleau, that one was at a Royal Court. A mixture of formality and of gaiety without restraint was prevalent, which entirely upset one’s notions of what should constitute the atmosphere of a Court. Eugénie was an incomparable hostess, even if sometimes eccentric; Napoleon was the most thoughtful of hosts, though restless at times, and showing some impatience at different vagaries indulged in by his guests; still, though each was addressed as “Your Majesty,” it was in much the same spirit that one would have said “Monsieur” or “Madame”; deference was lacking.