In November, 1862, my wife and I received an invitation to spend a week at CompiÈgne with their Majesties the Emperor and Empress of the French. This was due to the circumstance that my wife’s father, Lord Wilton, as Commodore of the Royal Yacht Squadron, had entertained the Emperor during his visit to Cowes.

We found an express train with the imperial carriages awaiting the arrival of the English guests at the station du Nord. The only other English besides ourselves were Lord and Lady Winchilsea with Lady Florence Paget, and Lord and Lady Castlerosse, now Lord and Lady Kenmare. These, however, had preceded us, so that with the exception of M. Drouyn de Lhuys, we had the saloon carriage to ourselves.

The party was a very large one, including the Walewskis, the Persignys, the Metternichs—he, the Austrian Ambassador—Prince Henri VII. of Reuss, Prussian Ambassador, the Prince de la Moskowa, son of Marshal Ney, and the LabedoyÈres, amongst the historical names. Amongst those of art and literature, of whom there were many, the only one whom I made the acquaintance of was Octave Feuillet. I happened to have brought his ‘ComÉdies et Proverbes’ and another of his books with me, never expecting to meet him; this so pleased him that we became allies. I was surprised to find that he could not even read English, which I begged him to learn for the sake of Shakespeare alone.

We did not see their Majesties till dinner-time. When the guests were assembled, the women and the men were arranged separately on opposite sides of the room. The Emperor and Empress then entered, each respectively welcoming those of their own sex, shaking hands and saying some conventional word in passing. Me, he asked whether I had brought my guns, and hoped we should have a good week’s sport. To each one a word. Every night during the week we sat down over a hundred to dinner. The Army was largely represented. For the first time I tasted here the national frog, which is neither fish nor flesh. The wine was, of course, supreme; but after every dish a different wine was handed round. The evening entertainments were varied. There was the theatre in the Palace, and some of the best of the Paris artistes were requisitioned for the occasion. With them came DÈjazet, then nearly seventy, who had played before Buonaparte.

Almost every night there was dancing. Sometimes the Emperor would walk through a quadrille, but as a rule he would retire with one of his ministers, though only to a smaller boudoir at the end of the suite, where a couple of whist-tables were ready for the more sedate of the party. Here one evening I found Prince Metternich showing his Majesty a chess problem, of which he was the proud inventor. The Emperor asked whether I was fond of chess. I was very fond of chess, was one of the regular habituÉs of St. George’s Chess Club, and had made a study of the game for years. The Prince challenged me to solve his problem in four moves. It was not a very profound one. I had the hardihood to discover that three, rather obvious moves, were sufficient. But as I was not Gil Blas, and the Prince was not the Archbishop of Grenada, it did not much matter. Like the famous prelate, his Excellency proffered his felicitations, and doubtless also wished me ‘un peu plus de goÛt’ with the addition of ‘un peu moins de perspicacitÉ.’

One of the evening performances was an exhibition of poses-plastiques, the subjects being chosen from celebrated pictures in the Louvre. Theatrical costumiers, under the command of a noted painter, were brought from Paris. The ladies of the court were carefully rehearsed, and the whole thing was very perfectly and very beautifully done. All the English ladies were assigned parts. But, as nearly all these depended less upon the beauties of drapery than upon those of nature, the English ladies were more than a little staggered by the demands of the painter and of the—undressers. To the young and handsome Lady Castlerosse, then just married, was allotted the figure of Diana. But when informed that, in accordance with the original, the drapery of one leg would have to be looped up above the knee, her ladyship used very firm language; and, though of course perfectly ladylike, would, rendered into masculine terms, have signified that she would ‘see the painter d—d first.’ The celebrated ‘Cruche cassÉe’ of Greuze, was represented by the reigning beauty, the Marquise de Gallifet, with complete fidelity and success.

There was one stage of the performance which neither I nor Lord Castlerosse, both of us newly married, at all appreciated. This was the privileges of the Green-room, or rather of the dressing-rooms. The exhibition was given in the ball-room. On one side of this, until the night of the performances, an enclosure was boarded off. Within it, were compartments in which the ladies dressed and—undressed. At this operation, as we young husbands discovered, certain young gentlemen of the court were permitted to assist—I think I am not mistaken in saying that his Majesty was of the number. What kind of assistance was offered or accepted, Castlerosse and I, being on the wrong side of the boarding, were not in a position to know.

There was a door in the boarding, over which one expected to see, ‘No admittance except on business,’ or perhaps, ‘on pleasure.’ At this door I rapped, and rapped again impatiently. It was opened, only as wide as her face, by the empress.

‘What do you want, sir?’ was the angry demand.

‘To see my wife, madame,’ was the submissive reply.

‘You can’t see her; she is rehearsing.’

‘But, madame, other gentlemen—’

‘Ah! Mais, c’est un enfantillage! Allez-vous-en.’

And the door was slammed in my face.

‘Well,’ thought I, ‘the right woman is in the right place there, at all events.’

Another little incident at the performance itself also recalled the days and manners of the court of Louis XV. Between each tableau, which was lighted solely from the raised stage, the lights were put out, and the whole room left in complete darkness. Whenever this happened, the sounds of immoderate kissing broke out in all directions, accompanied by little cries of resistance and protestation. Until then, I had always been under the impression that humour of this kind was confined to the servants’ hall. One could not help thinking of another court, where things were managed differently.

But the truth is, these trivial episodes were symptomatic of a pervading tone. A no inconsiderable portion of the ladies seemed to an outsider to have been invited for the sake of their personal charms. After what has just been related, one could not help fancying that there were some amongst them who had availed themselves of the privilege which, according to Tacitus, was claimed by Vistilia before the Ædiles. So far, however, from any of these noble ladies being banished to the Isle of Seriphos, they seemed as much attached to the court as the court to them; and whatever the Roman Emperor might have done, the Emperor of the French was all that was most indulgent.

There were two days’ shooting, one day’s stag hunting, an expedition to Pierrefonds, and a couple of days spent in riding and skating. The shooting was very much after the fashion of that already described at Prince Esterhazy’s, though of a much more Imperial character. As in Hungary, the game had been driven into coverts cut down to the height of the waist, with paths thirty to forty yards apart, for the guns.

The weather was cold, with snow on the ground, but it was a beautifully sunny day. This was the party: the two ambassadors, the Prince de la Moskowa, Persigny, Walewski—Bonaparte’s natural son, and the image of his father—the Marquis de Toulongeon, Master of the Horse, and we three Englishmen. We met punctually at eleven in the grand saloon. Here the Emperor joined us, with his cigarette in his mouth, shook hands with each, and bade us take our places in the char-a-bancs. Four splendid Normandy greys, with postilions in the picturesque old costume, glazed hats and huge jack-boots, took us through the forest at full gallop, and in half an hour we were at the covert side. The Emperor was very cheery all the way. He cautioned me not to shoot back for the beaters’ sakes, and asked me how many guns I had brought.

‘Two only? that’s not enough, I will lend you some of mine.’

Arrived at our beat—‘Tire de Royallieu,’ we found a squadron of dismounted cavalry drawn up in line, ready to commence operations. They were in stable dress, with canvas trousers and spurs to their boots. Several officers were galloping about giving orders, the whole being under the command of a mounted chief in green uniform and cocked hat! The place of each shooter had been settled by M. de Toulongeon. I, being the only Nobody of the lot, was put on the extreme outside. The Emperor was in the middle; and although, as I noticed, he made some beautiful shots at rocketers, he was engaged much of the time in talking to ministers who walked behind, or beside, him.

Our servants were already in the places allotted to their masters, and each of us had two keepers to carry spare guns (the Emperor had not forgotten to send me two of his, which I could not shoot with, and never used), and a sergeant with a large card to prick off each head of game, not as it fell to the gun, but only after it was picked up. This conscientious scoring amused me greatly; for, as it chanced, my bag was a heavy one, and the Emperor’s marker sent constant messages to mine to compare notes, and so arrange, as it transpired, to keep His Majesty at the top of the score.

About half-past one we reached a clearing where dÉjeuner was awaiting us. The scene presented was striking. Around a tent in which every delicacy was spread out were numbers of little charcoal fires, where a still greater number of cooks in white caps and jackets were preparing dainty dishes; while the Imperial footmen bustling about brightened the picture with colour. After coffee all the cards were brought to his Majesty. When he had scanned them, he said to me across the table:

‘I congratulate you, Mr. Coke, upon having killed the most.’

My answer was, ‘After you, Sir.’

‘Yes,’ said he, giving his moustache an upward twist, but with perfect gravity, ‘I always kill the most.’

Just then the Empress and the whole court drove up. Presently she came into the tent and, addressing her husband, exclaimed:

‘Avez-vous bientÔt fini, vous autres? Ah! que vous Êtes des gourmands!’

Till the finish, she and the rest walked with the shooters. By four it was over. The total score was 1,387 head. Mine was 182, which included thirty-six partridges, two woodcocks, and four roedeer. This, in three and a half hours’ shooting, with two muzzle-loaders (breech-loaders were not then in use), was an unusually good bag.

Fashion is capricious. When lunch was over I went to one of the charcoal fires, quite in the background, to light a cigarette. An aide-de-camp immediately pounced upon me, with the information that this was not permitted in company with the Empress. It reminded one at once of the ejaculation at Oliver Twist’s bedside, ‘Ladies is present, Mr. Giles.’ After the shooting, I was told to go to tea with the Empress—a terrible ordeal, for one had to face the entire feminine force of the palace, nearly every one of whom, from the highest to the lowest, was provided with her own cavaliere servente.

The following night, when we assembled for dinner, I received orders to sit next to the Empress. This was still more embarrassing. It is true, one does not speak to a sovereign unless one is spoken to; but still one is permitted to make the initiative easy. I found that I was expected to take my share of the task; and by a happy inspiration, introduced the subject of the Prince Imperial, then a child of eight years old. The mondaine Empress was at once merged in the adoring mother; her whole soul was wrapped up in the boy. It was easy enough then to speculate on his career, at least so far as the building of castles in the air for fantasies to roam in. What a future he had before him!—to consolidate the Empire! to perfect the great achievement of his father, and render permanent the foundation of the Napoleonic dynasty! to build a superstructure as transcendent for the glories of Peace, as those of his immortal ancestor had been for War!

It was not difficult to play the game with such court cards in one’s hand. Nor was it easy to coin these phrases de sucrecandi without sober and earnest reflections on the import of their contents. What, indeed, might or might not be the consequences to millions, of the wise or unwise or evil development of the life of that bright and handsome little fellow, now trotting around the dessert table, with the long curls tumbling over his velvet jacket, and the flowers in his hand for some pretty lady who was privileged to kiss him? Who could foretell the cruel doom—heedless of such favours and such splendid promises—that awaited the pretty child? Who could hear the brave young soldier’s last shrieks of solitary agony? Who could see the forsaken body slashed with knives and assegais? Ah! who could dream of that fond mother’s heart, when the end came, which eclipsed even the disasters of a nation!

One by-day, when my wife and I were riding with the Emperor through the forest of CompiÈgne, a rough-looking man in a blouse, with a red comforter round his neck, sprang out from behind a tree; and before he could be stopped, seized the Emperor’s bridle. In an instant the Emperor struck his hand with a heavy hunting stock; and being free, touched his horse with the spur and cantered on. I took particular notice of his features and his demeanour, from the very first moment of the surprise. Nothing happened but what I have described. The man seemed fierce and reckless. The Emperor showed not the faintest signs of discomposure. All he said was, turning to my wife, ‘Comme il avait l’air sournois, cet homme!’ and resumed the conversation at the point where it was interrupted.

Before we had gone a hundred yards I looked back to see what had become of the offender. He was in the hands of two gens d’armes, who had been invisible till then.

‘Poor devil,’ thought I, ‘this spells dungeon for you.’

Now, with Kinglake’s acrimonious charge of the Emperor’s personal cowardice running in my head, I felt that this exhibition of sang froid, when taken completely unawares, went far to refute the imputation. What happened later in the day strongly confirmed this opinion.

After dark, about six o’clock, I took a stroll by myself through the town of CompiÈgne. Coming home, when crossing the bridge below the Palace, I met the Emperor arm-in-arm with Walewski. Not ten minutes afterwards, whom should I stumble upon but the ruffian who had seized the Emperor’s bridle? The same red comforter was round his neck, the same wild look was in his face. I turned after he had passed, and at the same moment he turned to look at me.

Would this man have been at large but for the Emperor’s orders? Assuredly not. For, supposing he were crazy, who could have answered for his deeds? Most likely he was shadowed; and to a certainty the Emperor would be so. Still, what could save the latter from a pistol-shot? Yet, here he was, sauntering about the badly lighted streets of a town where his kenspeckle figure was familiar to every inhabitant. Call this fatalism if you will; but these were not the acts of a coward. I told this story to a friend who was well ‘posted’ in the club gossip of the day. He laughed.

‘Don’t you know the meaning of Kinglake’s spite against the Emperor?’ said he. ‘Cherchez la femme. Both of them were in love with Mrs. —’

This is the way we write our histories.

Wishing to explore the grounds about the palace before anyone was astir, I went out one morning about half-past eight. Seeing what I took to be a mausoleum, I walked up to it, found the door opened, and peeped in. It turned out to be a museum of Roman antiquities, and the Emperor was inside, arranging them. I immediately withdrew, but he called to me to come in.

He was at this time busy with his Life of CÆsar; and, in his enthusiasm, seemed pleased to have a listener to his instructive explanations; he even encouraged the curiosity which the valuable collection and his own remarks could not fail to awaken.

Not long ago, I saw some correspondence in the Times’ and other papers about what Heine calls ‘Das kleine welthistorische HÛtchen,’ which the whole of Europe knew so well, to its cost. Some six or seven of the Buonaparte hats, so it appears, are still in existence. But I noticed, that though all were located, no mention was made of the one in the Luxembourg.

When we left CompiÈgne for Paris we were magnificently furnished with orders for royal boxes at theatres, and for admission to places of interest not open to the public. Thus provided, we had access to many objects of historical interest and of art—amongst the former, the relics of the great conqueror. In one glass case, under lock and key, was the ‘world-historical little hat.’ The official who accompanied us, having stated that we were the Emperor’s guests, requested the keeper to take it out and show it to us. I hope no Frenchman will know it, but, I put the hat upon my head. In one sense it was a ‘little’ hat—that is to say, it fitted a man with a moderate sized skull—but the flaps were much larger than pictures would lead one to think, and such was the weight that I am sure it would give any ordinary man accustomed to our head-gear a still neck to wear it for an hour. What has become of this hat if it is not still in the Luxembourg?