The Victorians remembered Napoleon I rather as we do Hitler and regarded France as a land of frog-eating maniacs. They were astonished to learn that ‘Boney’s’ nephew was coming to England, Prince Albert commenting privately that George III’s ghost must be turning in its grave. (The dear old king had been in the habit of asking the boys at Eton, ‘I hope you hate the French?’) France was no less astounded by the prospect of her emperor being welcomed by her ancient enemies. If the prime minister, Lord Palmerston, deserved credit for so imaginative an invitation, so did Napoleon III for accepting it.
Queen Victoria was less than enthusiastic. One of her aunts, the late Queen Louise of Belgium, had been a daughter of Louis-Philippe, a king whom Victoria had always respected. ‘The emperor’s reception here ought to be a boon to him and not a boon to us’, she wrote tartly to her foreign minister.
The emperor and empress set sail from Calais on 16 April 1855 on board the Pélican, a fast mail-steamer, accompanied by the Pétrel which carried Eugénie’s hairdresser M. Félix together with her wardrobe and jewel boxes. Thick fog descended during the crossing, and Eugénie was sick. Met at Dover by Prince Albert, who accompanied them for the rest of the journey, they went on by royal train to London, where they alighted at a long-forgotten station (Bricklayers’ Arms, in the Old Kent Road) and then, in an open carriage with an escort from the Household Cavalry, drove across London to Paddington, to board another royal train for Windsor. The empress’s tact in wearing a tartan dress was much appreciated, as was the friendly way she waved back; the cheering crowds grew so out of hand that the party was held up for two hours.
Queen Victoria and her children greeted them at Windsor Castle. She may have been a dumpy little woman, but her dignity was overwhelming. The exhausted Eugénie was then horrified to learn that the Pétrel had been delayed – not only was Félix unavailable, but she would have to go down to dinner without her jewels. She borrowed a plain blue silk dress from one of her ladies, who did their best with her hair, a bunch of forget-me-nots replacing the jewels. Such simplicity charmed her hosts, however, and the queen began to refer to ‘the dear sweet Empress’ in her diary. Noticing how nervous she was, Victoria explained to Napoleon that Eugénie did not find her position easy, ‘from not having been brought up to it’.
Next morning the emperor was made a Knight of the Garter in St George’s Chapel. ‘At last I am a gentleman,’ he joked. An accomplished flatterer, he soon captivated the very human Victoria, with his quiet manner and good humour – ‘his voice is low and soft’, she observed. He told her, ‘I feel bound to Your Majesty for ever’, adding that no one could spend a few days with herself and Albert without succumbing to the charm of ‘the happiest of families’. In the fascinated queen’s view, he possessed ‘indomitable courage, unflinching firmness of purpose, self-reliance, perseverance, and great secrecy; to this should be added great reliance on what he calls his Star.’ Her analysis was not far from the truth.
In the evening there was a state banquet, and then a ball in the Waterloo Gallery – tactfully renamed for the evening. Victoria danced happily with ‘the nephew of our great enemy, the emperor, now my most firm ally …’. She grew enchanted by the empress, ‘so gentle, graceful and kind, and so modest and retiring’. She had already endeared herself by playing with the royal children and ‘talked away to me with Spanish liveliness.’ Victoria noted that Albert liked and admired Eugénie in a way he did very few women.
Next day the royal family took their guests to London, where they stayed at Buckingham Palace. Driving through wildly cheering crowds, the emperor and empress lunched at the Guildhall with the Lord Mayor, and went to the opera in the evening, the imperial anthem ‘Partant pour la Syrie’, being played with real enthusiasm on both occasions. Everybody raved about Eugénie except for Benjamin Disraeli, who disliked both her looks (‘Chinese eyes’) and her manner (‘too natural for a sovereign’). Victoria and Albert saw them off at the station when they left for France on 21 April. The fourteen-year-old Princess Royal, who had become devoted to the empress, wept when they said goodbye; the queen herself had moist eyes. After the carriage door had been shut, Napoleon reopened it and jumped out in tears, flinging his arms around Victoria and kissing her on both cheeks.
The French were delighted by the visit’s success. ‘The emperor and empress returned from London today’, Hübner noted sourly. ‘People say they are intoxicated by the tremendous welcome they received from John Bull.’ Napoleon was convinced the Anglo-French alliance would continue and that he had overthrown the anti-French peace settlement of 1815.
Pianori’s attempt at assassination in May brought home to the emperor that the Second Empire depended entirely on his survival and he abandoned any thought of visiting the Crimea. It meant leaving Plon-Plon in charge and the Prince was unreliable. The war dragged on.