The social history of the Second Empire was resumed in the Tuileries, St. Cloud, Fontainebleau, Biarritz, and CompiÈgne. The name of the latter lingered fondly on the lips of the fine fleur of English society between 1855 and the winter of 1869-70. It is well to remember that it was to Queen Victoria that we owed the entente cordiale. That, as time passed, the mutual understanding which she secured flickered, and gave place to bad blood after the “attempt” of Orsini, Pierri, Rudio, and Gomez, was no fault of Queen Victoria. But the bombs were designed by the master-mind in Belgium, and manufactured at Birmingham, and London was the scene of the “conspirations.” It is true that the personal relations between the Sovereigns, which had been securely cemented in 1855 at Windsor, London, Osborne, and St. Cloud, remained unchanged, and naturally. Was not Queen Victoria the best friend the French Sovereigns possessed in Europe? What angered the French nation was the shelter given to the Italian assassins by England. Had it been otherwise, the tragedy of January 14, 1858, would have been more difficult—perhaps impossible—of achievement. Such was the French view, and not an unreasonable one.

But even the attempted murder of Napoleon III. and the Empress EugÉnie did not, we may assume, cause English people who were honoured with invitations to CompiÈgne to think twice before accepting them. Those “CompiÈgnes”—how many souvenirs the mention of them evokes! Was it not at CompiÈgne that Mme. Fortoul’s gross insult had as an immediate result the Emperor’s belated “proposal” to Mlle. EugÉnie de Montijo? Was it not there that the Prince and Princess of Wales were the principal figures in 1868, when any Cassandra who had ventured to predict the imminence of a “Sedan” would have been derided and scorned?[65]

The first of what came to be known as “the CompiÈgnes” dates from December 18, 1852, six weeks before the marriage, and the Comtesse de Montijo and her daughter were of the party. The Emperor of a fortnight had arrived at the chÂteau a few days previously amidst the roar of cannon; he had passed under triumphal arches and between rows of troops and the local firemen; his unmusical ears had been amused by the “tralalas” of the peasantry gathered from the countryside for miles around. With him came his cousins, Prince JÉrÔme Napoleon (not yet married to Princesse Clotilde, one of the survivors of to-day) and Princesse Mathilde (who had been long separated from her impossible husband, Prince Anatole Demidoff), Ambassadors and Imperial Ministers, and, of course, many ladies—Mme. Drouyn de Lhuys, Mme. de Persigny, and Mme. de Contades, to mention a few.

The Emperor knew what was expected of him. He had not been four years President without learning the mÉtier. The festivities began with a ball on the 18th; on the 20th there was a great “meet,” attended by two hundred ladies, all mounted, and in Louis XV. costume—“casaque À basques” and “chapeau mousquetaire.” Of course, “the Montijos” were among the “dames chasseresses,” and provoked criticism as well as admiration at the “meet” at the carrefour Bourbon and in the evening at the curÉe, by torchlight, in the court of the chÂteau. At this stag-hunt the first of the “boutons” made their appearance; these were favoured persons allowed by the Sovereign to wear the green uniform and three-cornered hat, which, to unÆsthetic British “pursuers,” smacked of the theatrical, just as scarlet coats may have seemed to Frenchmen who were occasionally seen in our shires.

The two “foreign ladies”—Mme. and Mlle. de Montijo—were ardent sportswomen. They rode boldly in the stag-hunts, and they appeared at the “shoots” with guns—delicately-made weapons—“jolis joujoux,” M. Bouchot calls them. They tramped through the coverts alongside the Emperor; no other ladies shared this privilege. This alone was enough to set envious tongues wagging. Nobody admitted the possibility of what actually happened; nobody believed in an “engagement”; but many believed in “adventures” which never occurred. In reality there was played in the alleys and coverts of CompiÈgne a final act of diplomacy, in which Spain wasted less powder and shot than the spectators imagined.

Between December 18 and 25—that fateful week for the Emperor and Mlle. de Montijo—the Gymnase company performed the “Fils de Famille,” and on Christmas Day came another big “meet” of the imperial hounds. The “foreign ladies” assisted at both these events, which preceded by a few days the news of the engagement. Every year thereafter the Court removed to CompiÈgne in November, and there the Festival of Ste. EugÉnie was regularly celebrated on the 15th.

CompiÈgne was neither a Fontainebleau nor a St. Cloud; in some respects it was like the Tuileries. The Empress’s “CompiÈgnes” were at once sans-gÊne and dignified—an amalgam of town and country festivities; chÂteau life carried to an excess of luxuriousness; an intermediate existence between summer at Fontainebleau and winter at the Tuileries. In the country, amongst the vast woods, with relays of guests, the Empress was happy. In the day there was now a “meet,” anon a “shoot”; at night there were raouts, dances, charades, theatrical performances. The invitÉs, as a rule, remained four or five days; others, a week or so. On the Empress’s fÊte-day (Ste. EugÉnie) there was a family gathering. Towards the end of November snow or rain usually interfered with hunting and shooting.

Each of the “seriÉs” was composed of from sixty to eighty persons—social stars, actors and actresses, singers, authors, painters, journalists, and mere gens d’esprit. They left Paris by a special train at two o’clock, and it was often dark when they reached the chÂteau in the English chars-À-bancs. Amongst the guests of every variety were some who were not remarkable for social graces. Here and there were men who apparently did not find it easy to tie a white cravat properly; yet for these the sunniest smiles of the imperial host and hostess were reserved. Some of the guests were encumbered by baggage—huge boxes and trunks choked with uniforms and dresses. The sorting of these, under the superintendence of valets and suisses, provided amusement for those who watched the scene from the upper windows.

By a quarter-past seven the guests had to be correctly dressed—the men in tail-coats, short breeches, black silk stockings, and shoes with steel buckles—and in the large drawing-room awaiting the entry of the Sovereigns. Only the official personages had places allotted to them at table; the others sat where they pleased, or where they could. Dinners at Courts are said to be very much alike. But those at CompiÈgne had a spÉcialitÉ; everything was superlatively good, and the music excellent. On the stuccoed columns of the dining-room were statues of Mme. LÆtitia and Napoleon I. The plates were of SÈvres, the girandoles of silver, a surtout in biscuit (which faced the Emperor) was adorned with a hunting scene. The legion of servants wore coats with gold lace; their perruques were powdered, their stockings of pink silk. The head-servants—maÎtres d’hÔtels—wore plum-coloured tail-coats, embroidered with silver; each had a sword. The unseen orchestra played softly, so that conversation was undisturbed. In less than three-quarters of an hour the Emperor and Empress rose; the guests, passing through the salle des gardes, returned to the salons.

When professional actors and actresses appeared at CompiÈgne, the great salle de spectacle was more than usually crowded, for on these occasions the audience was composed, not only of the Sovereigns’ guests, but of the officers of the garrison and many of the principal residents. The comÉdies de salon were represented in a gallery on the ground-floor of the Palace, where a temporary stage—technically known as a “fit-up”—was erected. These amateur performances were given for the exclusive benefit of the imperial couple’s guests, the “house-party.” On evenings when there was no acting there were “games” of various kinds, some of them very similar to those provided for children’s gatherings; or there was an informal dance, to the strains of a piano-organ, “played” by the guests in turn, and sometimes by the Emperor himself.

It was in the little theatre on the ground-floor of the chÂteau that Octave Feuillet’s piece, “Les Portraits de la Marquise,” was originally produced. This was an event, for the Empress played the principal part, which was “specially written” for her. Here, too, was given M. LegouvÉ’s spirituelle charade, the word being “anniversaire,” and the occasion the Festival of Ste. EugÉnie (November 15).

“Some may perhaps consider,” said the Marquis, “that I have availed myself of ‘reportage,’ sprinkled with water blessed by the Court, but ‘holy water’ sprinkled sorrowfully over cinders, for what remains to-day to represent that Court of the Tuileries which was so splendid? Only some disinterested partisans, who, without conspiring, sometimes cross the frontier to salute the noble heir of the name of Napoleon. And elsewhere Pietri, the faithful and devoted secretary, and the Duchesse de Mouchy, a weeping niece—two waifs, tending with pious care, forty years after the shipwreck, an august widow, sacred by misfortune, after having worn a crown, and standing on the shore—a foreign shore—guarding two tombs.”

At CompiÈgne, in the autumn of 1861, the talk was mainly of Mexico and its proposed Emperor. This “IdÉe NapolÉonienne” was quite outside the intentions of the three Powers (France, England, and Spain) as expressed in the Convention signed on October 31, 1861, and the Emperor’s idea was not suspected by the guests then at CompiÈgne. Among them were some of the Portuguese Princes. Consternation fell upon the Court when, in the midst of the festivities, news arrived, first of the sudden death of the Infant Don Fernando, then of the young King of Portugal, Dom Pedro V. The convenances had to be observed; there was an end of the programme of entertainments arranged for that particular “series.”

After the regulation period of the Court “mourning” for the Infant and the King (poisoning had been darkly hinted at), fÊtes were organized for the next batch of guests and the following “sÉries,” and mingling with Princes of the Blood were many intellectual lights—Octave Feuillet and Prosper MÉrimÉe (both quite at home at the chÂteau), Gounod and Meissonier, Camille Doucet and Paul de Musset (brother of Alfred, the poet), Jules Sandeau and Cabanel (the renowned painter). The Empress was in exceptionally high spirits, for she was aware of her consort’s secret views concerning Mexico, and rejoiced at the coming struggle. Had not her beloved Spain been grossly insulted and its Ambassador expelled? Had not Juarez disregarded treaties and shown contempt for the two Vice-Consuls of France? The expedition would be at once an avenging and a civilizing army, which would make a country in which the flag of Castille had long floated respect order and the Catholic faith. Vain dreams!