Napoleon III of France, nephew of Napoleon Bonaparte, fell in love with Marie Eugenic Ignace Augustine de Montijo, Countess of Teba, the most beautiful woman in the world - and married her. His advisors pointed out that she was only the daughter of an insignificant Spanish count. But Napoleon retorted: What of it? Her grace, her youth, her charm, her beauty filled him with divine felicity. In a speech hurled from the throne, he defied an entire nation: I have preferred a woman I love and respect, he proclaimed, to a woman unknown to me. Napoleon and his bride had health, wealth, power, fame, beauty, love, adoration - all the requirements for a perfect romance. Never did the sacred fire of marriage glow with a brighter incandescence. But, alas, the holy flame soon flickered and the incandescence cooled - and turned to embers. Napoleon could make Eugenic an empress; but nothing in all la belle France, neither the power of his love nor the might of his throne, could keep her from nagging. Bedeviled by jealousy, devoured by suspicion, she flouted his orders; she denied him even a show of privacy. She broke into his office while he was engaged in affairs of state. She interrupted his most important discussions. She refused to leave him alone, always fearing that he might be consorting with another woman. Often she ran to her sister, complaining of her husband, complaining, weeping, nagging, and threatening. Forcing her way into his study, she stormed at him and abused him. Napoleon, master of a dozen sumptuous palaces, Emperor of France, could not find a cupboard in which he could call his soul his own. And what did Eugenic accomplish by all this? Here is the answer. I am quoting now from E.A. Rheinhardt's engrossing book, Napoleon and Eugenic: The Tragicomedy of an Empire: So it came about that Napoleon frequently would steal out by a little side door at night, with a soft hat pulled over his eyes, and, accompanied by one of his intimates, really betake himself to some fair lady who was expecting him, or else stroll about the great city as of old, passing through streets of the kind which an Emperor hardly sees outside a fairy tale, and breathing the atmosphere of might-have-beens. That is what nagging accomplished for Eugenic. True, she sat on the throne of France. True, she was the most beautiful woman in the world. But neither royalty nor beauty can keep love alive amidst the poisonous fumes of nagging.