Chapter XX: The Emperor’s Collaborator

I have told, in “The Empress Eugénie: 1870-1910,”[139] how, on January 9, 1873, upon hearing of the unexpected death of Napoleon III., I hastened from the Temple to Chislehurst on behalf of the “Morning Post,” whose editor (he was not yet proprietor), the late Lord Glenesk (then Mr. Borthwick), had for many years enjoyed the intimate friendship and confidence of the Emperor. I told how, on my arrival at Camden Place, I sent in my card to Sir Henry Thompson, who blandly declined to open his lips except to assure me that the Emperor was dead, and that he, the eminent surgeon, would himself relate the facts “some day”--a day that never arrived. M. Pietri was too overcome with grief to say anything. But there was at hand--I have always found it so--the friend in need. He was the Grand Chamberlain, the Duc de Bassano. All that could be hastily told he told me, between his sobs. “Come to-morrow, ask for me, and you shall see our dear Emperor.” I went, and the veteran led me into the chamber of death. Two Sisters knelt by the bedside. I was alone with them--and the Dead.

There was at Camden Place, when I sought out Sir Henry Thompson, one who could have greatly enlightened me; at the moment I did not know him, even by name. Later I enjoyed the friendship of the Comte de La Chapelle, and I have retained it to this day. Moreover, I am honoured by the friendship of his eldest son, the Vicomte, who has rendered me infinite service in this essay to portray the Comedy and the Tragedy of the Second Empire.

The Comte de La Chapelle of the sixties and seventies--to-day, alas! but the shadow of his former self--was the confidant, the trusted and devoted friend and collaborator, of the Emperor, and equally the ami fidèle of “Napoléon IV.” He was a born fighter--with the pen, which, in his hand, was of more account than the sword. Much of what I thirsted to know on the Ninth of January, 1873--the fatal day at “Camden”--the Comte de La Chapelle could have told me at the moment. I console myself with the reflection that had he told me all he knew, and had I written it, the “Morning Post” would assuredly never have printed it--it was too tragic. I published in 1910 what this chivalrous friend of Napoleon III. knew a few hours after those last words had been murmured--“Etiez-vous à Sedan, Conneau?” And it gratified me not a little to find that many of the eminent critics who reviewed “The Empress Eugénie” in such generous terms selected that particular passage for comment or for quotation.

I must explain the status of the Comte de La Chapelle, who is the Empress Eugénie’s junior by four and M. Ollivier’s by five years. He descends from an essentially French Royalist family of Périgord, in the department of the Dordogne. His father was an officer of the bodyguard of Louis XVIII., and it was only a few years before his death that he forgave his son for seceding from the Royalist party and devoting himself heart and soul to the Imperialist cause. Perhaps it was the surviving Count’s Gascon blood which made him so energetic in the defence of Bonapartist interests at a time when they had fewest supporters.

After twenty years of travel in America and Australia the Count returned to Europe in 1869, and throughout the campaign of 1870 did the “Standard” splendid service as one of its war “specials,” a post for which he was eminently fitted. His admirable volume, “La Guerre de 1870,” was the first war-book given to the public. In 1872 there appeared, with the Count’s name on the title-page, “Les Forces Militaires de la France en 1870.” The authorship of this striking work was immediately attributed to Napoleon III., it being argued that none but the Emperor could possibly have obtained so much official information concerning the condition of the army at the beginning of the war. It was generally believed that this “Comte de La Chapelle” was a pseudonym adopted by the Emperor. This was an error, the fact being that the Count had become the collaborateur attitré of the august Exile at Chislehurst, who wished his friend to assume the nominal authorship of the volume. In 1873 the indefatigable and versatile Count--the most genial and generous of men--issued “Les Œuvres Posthumes de Napoléon III.”; and among his other works were “Paysans, on vous trompe,”[140] “Les Représentants du l’Appel au Peuple,” and “Déclarations des Napoléon,” this last containing a characteristic message from the Prince Imperial, whose claims to the throne were fervently and cogently set forth by the Count.

When “Les Forces Militaires de la France en 1870” appeared the Bonapartist journals, as well as papers of another colour, declined to review it! The Comte de La Chapelle was the man to get it “noticed.” At the Emperor’s request he took several copies of the brochure to Paris, for personal distribution among the editors and reviewers of the leading papers. In one copy the Emperor wrote his own name, and commended the work to the attention of the well-known publicist, M. Saint-Genest (a nom de plume), of the “Figaro,” which at the time was hostile to Napoleon III. Saint-Genest was himself inimical to the fallen Sovereign, but he was an eminently just man, and a day or two after he had received the brochure from the Count he wrote an elaborate, and scrupulously fair, review of it in the then unfriendly “Figaro.” Other papers followed Saint-Genest’s courageous lead, and in the end the Emperor’s convincing pamphlet was widely reviewed. We may be certain that the Emperor did not think the less of the Comte de La Chapelle for this triumph.

In those days the Emperor was generally derided by the French Press, which, as M. Émile Ollivier has recently shown in the fifteenth volume of his masterly work, “L’Empire Libéral,” and also in the “Revue des Deux Mondes,” drove him into the declaration of war. The Comte de La Chapelle and Paul de Cassagnac were almost the only supporters of the Emperor. Inertia prevailed amongst a large section of the Bonapartists, and probably they felt somewhat ashamed of their slackness when they read De La Chapelle’s fiery and pungent exhortations, which afforded the Emperor the greatest consolation. But there was reason in what the admiring Prince Imperial said to the Count after His Majesty’s death: “Not everybody here likes you.”

It is with sincere gratification that I now introduce as narrator the venerable Count’s eldest son.

_Reminiscences of Bazaine, Napoleon III., and the Prince Imperial._[141]

Marshal Bazaine,[142] immediately after his escape from the Island of St. Marguerite, came direct to London, saw my father, and sought an interview with the Empress Eugénie at Chislehurst. It was reported at the time that the Marshal did not, as he was originally said to have done, escape from the fortress by means of a rope, but owed his liberty to a friendly (and bribed) gaoler. Bazaine himself, however, told my father that he freed himself with

Collaborator and Friend of the Emperor Napoleon III.

_A private photograph, lent for this work by the Vicomte de La
Chapelle._

_To face p. 304._]

the aid of a rope, and he showed his much-lacerated hands as evidence of the truth of his assertion. My father was once discussing with Napoleon III. the question of the Marshal’s generally assumed treachery, when the Emperor said: “Pas traître, pas traître; mais, mais!”--accompanying the two last words with a significant shake of the head and a very serious look.

My father often had confidential talks with the Emperor, sometimes for hours together, and at such times Napoleon would get the Count to relate his adventures and experiences in the various countries which he had visited. These little stories greatly interested and diverted the Emperor, and aroused his old enthusiasm.

Some time before the death of Napoleon III. determined efforts were made to bring about a restoration of the Empire, and my father and a few--very few--others were let into the secret.[143] I remember, as a small boy, my father concealing in the lining of the hat which he wore when travelling important documents entrusted to him by the Emperor for transmission abroad, especially to Paris. At the same time my father was “shadowed” everywhere by the detectives of the French Republic, and subjected to the greatest annoyance. The propaganda for the restoration of the Empire continued even after the Emperor’s death.

When, after his release from captivity at Wilhelmshöhe, the Emperor arrived in this country, in March, 1871, he was very short of money, and through my father’s untiring efforts large sums were raised for His Majesty and for the Restoration propaganda. I mention this because it was falsely reported that the Emperor had left France taking a great deal of money with him. As a matter of fact, when the Emperor reached Chislehurst his finances were at a very low ebb. In my father’s own words, “Il était très gêné” (he was very short of cash).

The Prince Imperial, as many are probably aware, was an excellent swordsman. He attended regularly at Bertrand’s fencing academy, in Warwick Street, Regent Street, where the courteous maître d’armes, a fencer of the old school, used to put the Prince through his lessons with much dignity and infinite ceremony. M. Bertrand passed away long since; but there may still be seen in the academy over which he so worthily presided a bust of the Prince, his foils, his épées de combat, and other of his weapons, which, on one occasion, the veteran professor, with pathetic solemnity, allowed me to handle when I was a favoured pupil many years ago.

The Prince was also a first-rate rider, and my father has often told me with what agility the imperial youth would vault into the saddle. It was really this cleverness in mounting which cost him his life when he and his party were surprised by the Zulus on June 1, 1879. Lieutenant Carey (who, whatever may be said to the contrary, _was_ in command of the ill-fated reconnoitring-party) gave the order to mount, and the Prince, in attempting to vault into the saddle, put a great strain either on the flap or the girth, with the result that it gave way, and the Prince fell to the ground. By this time the Zulus were close upon him, but were checked in their advance by two of the troopers (who had not “bolted”), until they were both killed by assegais. Then our dear, brave little Prince drew his sword, and, with a skilled fencer’s natural instinct, endeavoured to ward off the spears, which were now thrown at only a few yards’ distance. With his sword he contrived to deflect some of the assegais, but they came so rapidly and numerously that ultimately he was struck in one of his eyes and pierced in various places. I need say no more.

The exuberant spirits of the Prince Imperial may be illustrated by this little story: One day, at Camden Place, he invited my father to a bout at singlestick. The result of a very unequal match was that in a few minutes the Prince so belaboured my father that he was black and blue all over his body, and scarcely able to move for three or four days! My father often laughed over this incident, but my mother was very angry with the Prince.