With his wildest dreams realized, he felt that to be admired is nothing; the thing is to be loved. His heart was filled with reveries and longings; he aspired after the greatest happiness in life—love in marriage. His words were: “Until now my position has prevented me from marrying; amidst the cares of government, I have, alas! at this hour, in my own country, from which I have so long been absent, neither intimate friends nor acquaintances of childhood, nor relatives who could give me the sweetness of family life!”
After the coup d’état the friends and ministers of Louis Napoleon greatly desired that he should form an alliance with some princess of royal or imperial blood. The daughter of his cousin, the Grand Duchess of Baden, had married Prince Gustavus Vasa of Sweden, son of King Gustavus IV. The daughter of this marriage, Princess Caroline Vasa (afterwards Queen of Saxony), was the person selected to become the wife of Napoleon III. It seems that the Emperor of Austria had to be consulted, and his refusal was positive, in consideration of the fate of the two Archduchesses, Marie Antoinette and Marie Louise, who had been placed by Austria upon the throne of France. Louis Napoleon seemed to feel no regret as to the failure of the negotiation, as his heart was by no means engaged in it.
There was at this time in Paris a young Spanish lady of noble birth and high position and of very extraordinary beauty, Mademoiselle de Montijo, Comtesse de Teba. Like all foreigners of distinction, she and her mother, the Comtesse of Montijo, were received at the Elysée Palace by the Prince-President with the attention due their rank. When first he met her, in 1849, he was very deeply impressed by her great beauty, elegance and grace, and this feeling seemed constantly to increase. Although he treated her with the most marked reserve and dignity, his happiness was in being at her side. He inaugurated a series of sojourns at his palaces at Compiègne and Fontainebleau, where she and her mother were among his guests.
Her manner was full of charm and grace, and her nature of enthusiasm and poetry. Her conversation was bright and glowing, and the Emperor could not conceal the joy he felt in listening to her, nor the admiration aroused by her graceful and intrepid horsemanship. He was himself a bold and elegant rider, and in the forests of his country palaces he ordered that hunts should be given with the most brilliant surroundings.
Although her radiant beauty attracted the attention of all, none dreamed that in Mademoiselle de Montijo they saw their future Empress. The Emperor never departed from the most correct reserve; accustomed, as he was, to master and conceal his emotions, although softened, subdued and fascinated, his attitude throughout towards his lovely guest was irreproachable. Possibly his projected marriage was already settled in his own mind. Although an Emperor, and a man who wore a mask of gentle calmness in most trying moments, he was, at this time, above all else, a lover.
One bright autumnal morning, as they walked in the park, the beautiful Spaniard, full of poetical fancy, admired the magical effect of the dewdrops upon the clover leaves. The Emperor quietly drew aside one of his courtiers, who left in a few moments for Paris. The next evening there was a lottery drawn, and it was managed that Mademoiselle de Montijo should draw a clover leaf sparkling with superb diamonds. Simply, the Emperor was desperately in love; to him, as to any other man of deep sentiment, above all things earthly, even crowns and sceptres, was a beautiful face, the most beautiful sight of all, and the sweetest harmony was the tone of voice of the woman he loved.
On January 1st, 1853, he asked her in marriage, and on January 22nd, he summoned before him, in the throne-room of the Tuileries, the great constituent bodies of the empire to receive his announcement. In a clear and emphatic manner and voice he spoke:
“Gentlemen, I comply with the wish so often manifested by the country by coming to announce to you my marriage.... For the last seventy years foreign princesses have ascended the steps of the throne, only to see their offspring scattered by war or revolution. One woman alone has seemed to bring happiness and to live longer than others in the people’s memory; and this woman, the good and modest wife of General Bonaparte, was not the issue of royal blood.” This homage paid to his grandmother, the Empress Josephine, was greeted with applause and cries of “Long live the Emperor!” After speaking at length with regard to matters of state, with great emotion he expressed all his affection for his betrothed: “She who has become the object of my preference is of lofty birth.... Gifted with all the qualities of the soul, she will be the ornament of the throne, as in the hour of danger she would become one of its courageous supporters.... Catholic and pious, she will address to Heaven the same prayers that I do for the welfare of France; gracious and good, she will, in the same position, I firmly hope, renew the virtues of the Empress Josephine.”
He ended with these heartfelt words: “I come, then, gentlemen, to say to France, I have preferred a woman whom I love and respect to an unknown person, the advantages of an alliance with whom would be mingled with sacrifices. In placing independence, the qualities of the heart, family happiness above dynastic prejudices, I shall not be less strong, because I shall be more free. Very soon, in betaking myself to Nôtre Dame, I shall present the Empress to the people and the army; the confidence they have in me will assure their sympathy for her whom I have chosen, and you, gentlemen, in learning to know her, will be convinced that this time also I have been inspired by Providence.”
As soon as the announcement was made Mme. de Montijo and her daughter were installed in the Elysée Palace, where they were to reside until the marriage should take place, and where the Emperor went every day to pay court to his betrothed and to carry her bouquets. He laid not only his crown, but his heart, at her feet. This man, daring in deeds and gentle in feeling, had undergone deep pangs of suffering. Venerating his father, devotedly loving his brother and idolizing his mother, he had, one by one, been bereft of all near and dear to him. He seemed to long to take in his protecting arms and in his loving heart a woman whom he could love and honor and cherish as his wife, one worthy to be at his side upon a throne.