Their Majesties withdrew. The guests from the château and those from Compiègne took their departure, and we all dispersed to our several apartments.
I am beginning to learn the ways of the life of Compiègne.
At nine o'clock our tea, coffee, or chocolate (as we choose) is brought to our rooms by a white-stockinged and powdered valet.
If you are very energetic, you can go for a walk in the park, or (as I did to my sorrow) a visit to the town. But you are not energetic more than once, because you do not find it worth your while, as you must hurry back, and change your dress and shoes before appearing in the salon a little before eleven o'clock, the hour for breakfast. You remain in the same dress until you change for dinner or the Empress's tea. You find every morning in your room a programme for the day.
Déjeuner à onze heures. Chasse à tir à deux heures. Comédie Française à neuf heures.
So you know what to wear and what to expect; but the invitation to tea is always made by the Empress's private huissier, who knocks at your door toward five o'clock and announces, "Her Majesty the Empress desires your presence at five o'clock."
The toilette de rigueur for this occasion is a high-necked long silk dress, and you generally remain until six o'clock.
If you are not summoned to her Majesty's tea, tea is served in your own salon, where you can invite people to take tea with you, or you are invited to take tea with other people.
If there is a hunt, the ladies wear their green-cloth costumes and the gentlemen wear their hunting gear (a red coat, velvet cap, and top-boots). The gentlemen wear culottes courtes the first evening they arrive, and on such fine occasions as the curée, and at the Gala Theater, where outsiders are invited; otherwise they always wear pantalon collant, which is the most unbecoming thing one can imagine in the way of manly attire.
At six o'clock you dress for dinner, always in ball dress, and a little before seven you meet in the Grande Salle des Fêtes. At dinner the guests are placed according to their rank, but at déjeuner there is no ceremony, and you engage your partner after your heart's desire. Those who are high up at dinner try to get as far down at the end of the table as possible.
With me it is all ups and downs; at breakfast I am 'way up to the very top, and at dinner 'way down.
After déjeuner the Master of Ceremonies inquires what you wish to do; that is to say, if there is nothing special mentioned on the programme, such as a review, or manoeuvers, or a chasse à courre, when all are expected to join.
Do you wish to walk? You can tramp up and down the one-thousand-metre-long trellis walk, sheltered from wind and rain.
Do you wish to drive? There are carriages of all descriptions, chars-à- bancs, landaus, pony-carriages, and even a donkey-cart, at your service.
Do you care to ride? There are one hundred and fifty horses eating their heads off in the Imperial stables waiting for you.
Do the gentlemen wish to go shooting? There are countless gamekeepers booted and spurred, with guns and game-bags on their shoulders, impatient to accompany you.
Whatever you do, you are expected to be in your rooms before four o'clock, which is the time the Empress will send for you, if she invites you for tea.
The cercle always follows each repast, and dancing or music always follows the cercle. Tea is served at the Emperor's salon at eleven o'clock, after which their Majesties retire, and you do the same.
November 26th.
DEAR M.,—A very embarrassing thing happened to me this morning.
We thought we could manage an excursion to the town. I wanted to see the
Cathedral, and it did not seem far away.
Therefore, bright and early, at nine o'clock we started on our trip.
We saw the Cathedral; but I had not counted on the time necessary for the change of toilette, which I had to make before déjeuner.
I found on my table an envelope containing this poetry, which I inclose, from Théophile Gautier. I suppose he considered it as a sort of amende honorable.
À MADAME CHARLES MOULTON
Vos prunelles ont bu la lumière et la vie; telle une mer sans fond boit l'infini des cieux, car rien ne peut remplir l'abîme de vos yeux, où, comme en un lotus, dort votre âme assouvie.
Pour vous plus de chimère ardemment poursuivie, quel que soit l'idéal, votre rêve vaut mieux, et vous avez surtout le biasement des Dieux, Psyché, qu'Éros lui-même à grand'peine eût ravi.
Votre satiété n'attend pas le banquet, et connaissant la coupe où le monde s'enivre, dédaigneuse à vos pieds vous le regardez vivre.
Et vous apparaissez par un geste coquet, rappelant Mnémosyné à son socle appuyée comme le souvenir d'une sphère oublié.
THÉOPHILE GAUTIER.
Charles had gone long before, and I became absorbed in reading it, and forgot to look at the clock, when suddenly, seeing how late it was, I rushed down into the gallery, and what was my horror at finding myself alone with the Cent Gardes, who were standing at ease! It was the first time I had ever seen them look like mortal beings, and not like statues, and it signified, naturally, that every one was in the salle à manger, and that I was too late. However, I thought I could slip into the room unnoticed, and a place at the table would be offered to me; but, alas! it happened that just this morning the Emperor had desired me to sit next to him at the table, and the valet de chambre had been and was still, waiting for me at the door to conduct me to my place on the sovereign's left hand.
I cannot tell you how I felt as I was being marshaled up the whole length of the room, stared at by every one, and criticized, probably, for this horrible breach of etiquette. I never was so mortified in all my life. I took my place, speechless and confused, and Prince Murat, who sat on the other side of me, kept saying, "The Emperor is piping mad." The Prince Murat is half American (his mother was a Miss Frazier, from New Jersey), therefore I will forgive him for wanting to tease me.
I suppose I must have looked very red, and I certainly was very out of breath, for the Emperor, probably noticing my embarrassment, kindly said, "Don't worry; you are not late."
I told him I had been sight-seeing in Compiègne, and I hoped he would forgive me.
The Empress smiled and nodded to me in the most gracious manner across the table, as if to put me at my ease.
The Emperor told me that he had sent up to Paris for a game of croquet, having heard from Prince Metternich that we all loved so much to play it, adding that he would like to see the game himself. "We are going to have a mock battle this afternoon," said he. "All these generals and officers who are here have come from everywhere to take part I think it will amuse you to see it, if you have never seen anything of the kind."
I assured him I had never seen a battle, mock or otherwise, and had no idea what it could be like.
"Well, you shall see," he said.
"Is there," I inquired, "as much firing as yesterday?"
"Much more; but this time with cannons," he replied.
"I hope the cannon-balls are also mock," I ventured to say.
I told the Emperor of the poetry which Gautier had sent to me, and, having it in my hand, showed it to him, saying, "Ought I to forgive him?"
"You ought to forgive him," he said. "This is the most exquisite thing I ever have read."
"If your Majesty says so, I will."
The manoeuvers were to commence at two o'clock. All the ladies wore their hunting-dresses, and I was proud to don my gold button.
The various equipages were waiting to take us to the field.
The Duchess de Persigny, Princess Murat, Baron Beyens, the Marquis de Caux, and I got in the same carriage; many of the ladies appeared on horseback. Princess Ghika rode one of the three horses she had brought with her to Compiègne. Madame de Vatry rode one of the Emperor's.
All the carriages, on reaching the field where the manoeuvers were to take place, were drawn up in line, in order that every one should have a good view. Then the Emperor and Empress, on their beautiful horses, and the Prince Imperial, full of youthful dignity, on his cream-colored pony, arrived, accompanied by the staff of splendidly uniformed generals and officers, who took up their positions behind their Majesties before the manoeuvers commenced.
The Empress looked radiantly beautiful, her well fitting riding-habit showing her fine figure to the greatest advantage.
It was, as the Emperor had said, a mock battle, but it seemed to me, not having had much experience in battles, to be very real.
Officers careered over the field for dear life; orderlies with enormous flat, four-cornered things flapping across their backs, scurried to and fro; trumpeters sounded bugles, waved flags, and made signals…. What could look more real and less mock than this?
It was France versus an imaginary enemy.
It seemed as if the one thing France craved and coveted was a poor, lonely farm-house in the distance, apparently unprotected. All the stratagems of war, all the trumpeting and capering about, were brought to bear on conquering that little house. The artillery collided up against it; the infantry, with drums beating, marched boldly to the very door-steps; the cavalry pranced around it…. But for the life of me, though I was staring as hard as I could through my opera-glasses, I could not tell whether France had got it or not. However, there was so much smoke, it might have capitulated without my noticing. I suppose the generals knew.
It made me think of Tennyson's "Charge of the Light Brigade."
Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon in front of them,
Volley'd and thunder'd.
The guns and cannons kept up such a continual firing that the ground actually shook under our feet.
I wondered why so much powder and energy should be wasted on a helpless farm-house, and dreaded to think what the real thing must he, if this was only sham.
When it was apparently finished, and every one in the neighborhood had surrendered, they sounded a grand fanfare, and blew a mighty blast of trumpets, the officers dashed up full tilt to the Emperor, and announced, "Victory all along the line!"
I can't tell you how sweet the little Prince looked when he distributed the médaille de mérite to the brave warriors, who received it with due modesty, saluting gravely.
The Emperor rode about among the carriages and asked us ladies how we had liked it, and if there had been too much noise.
The company at dinner to-night looked particularly brilliant; there must have been a hundred and fifty people present, as the generals and the officers were asked to remain to dinner. I had one general next to me at table, the famous General Changarnier, who my other neighbor said had one foot in the grave and the other dans le plat. He was so old and thin and bony that if his uniform had not kept him up he would have crumbled together before my eyes, and have become a zero instead of a hero. However, he kept together while dinner lasted, for which I was thankful, and I returned him safely to posterity and to the salon.
Their Majesties devoted themselves exclusively to the Army after dinner; but they sent word by a chamberlain that we were to commence dancing, though they had not finished the cercle.
Waldteufel was already seated at the piano, waiting.
The officers danced vigorously. The elder ones ventured on quadrilles, and danced them with great gusto.
Prince Murat, noticing the old general skipping about so youthfully, proposed a Virginia reel, with a view to giving them a little more exercise.
Every one entered into the spirit of it; but there were only a few who knew how to dance it.
Both Prince and Princess Metternich had learned it at Petit Val. Madame
Gallifet knew it as "Sir Roger de Coverley" from her English days, and
Prince Murat must have learned it from his American mother.
The Emperor danced with me, as he said he would only dance with an expert!
The Empress had Count Golz for her partner, and stood next to me; Princess
Metternich (full of fun) chose one of the most ancient warriors. Madame de
Persigny and Prince Murat were at the end of the line; the other guests
filled the intermediate places.
Prince Metternich, knowing the music, thought he was absolutely necessary at the piano, consequently he took Waldteufel's place there.
I, as "the expert," led off. The Emperor tried to imitate me, but became confused by the constant shouting from his cousin (Prince Murat) at the other end. However, he and I managed to finish our part; but the Emperor refused to be swung, and we marched down the middle of the line, hand in hand, disregarding the rules in a truly royal manner. Then, having watched the Empress go through her part (she also marched down in a royal manner), the Emperor seemed bored at looking at the others, and called the Marquis de Caux to take his place. Next, Prince Metternich began improvising reels of his own invention, which turned into all sorts of fantastic measures, which were impossible to dance by. Madame de Persigny, in turning, fell flat on her back; every one rushed to her rescue, which caused great confusion, as people lost their places and could not find them again.
This brought our famous reel, which proved to be a dead failure, to an abrupt close; and the old generals, for whose sake we danced it, never got a chance to show what they could do; and we were thankful when Waldteufel returned to the piano and played a waltz, to which we could dance until it was time for the Emperor's tea, and then,
Bonsoir!
November 27th.
DEAR M.,—Baron Haussmann took me in to déjeuner this morning. The Baron is the Préfet de Paris. He is very tall, bulky, and has an authoritative way of walking ahead and dragging his partner after him, which makes one feel as if one was a small tug being swept on by a man-of- war! I wondered if the Cent Gardes noticed how I tripped along, taking two steps to his one, until he reached his seat at the table, into which he dropped with a sigh of relief.
His body in profile defies any one's looking around the corner, so to speak. I could only see at intervals Marquise Chasselouplobat's shapely elbows and hands. Our conversation turned on the new improvements he intends to make in Paris. He asked me how I liked the boulevard of his name, just completed.
"I like it," I answered, "though it has deprived us of a good part of our garden." (It had cut off just half of it.)
"It brings you nearer the Bois," he added. "I hope the Government paid you well for it."
"I suppose the Government thinks it did; but our croquet-ground is gone forever."
"Forever!" he repeated. "Where do you play now?"
"Sometimes at the Austrian embassy."
"Is its garden large enough for that?"
I answered, "It is not large enough for a real croquet-ground; but the ambassador is such an ardent player that he has arranged a place under the trees where we play—sometimes at night with lamps on the ground."
"I should think that would be very difficult; quite impossible, in fact."
"What else can we do? We have no other place."
After a moment's hesitation he asked, "How would you like it if I put a piece of ground in the Bois at your disposal?"
I could have screamed with joy! What a piece of news to tell my friends after breakfast. I chanted a little Gloria under my breath, and asked him if he really meant it. He said, "Of course I mean it, and as soon as I return to Paris I will have the formal papers made out and sent to you, and you can claim the ground when you like." He added, gallantly, "I will have the document made out in your name, Madame, in souvenir of our breakfast to-day."
Is he not a very generous man? But if every time he sits next to a lady he gives her a slice of the Bois de Boulogne he will soon be out of the government books.
You can readily imagine the delight of my fellow-players when I told them all this after our return to the salon.
The weather looked unsettled; no one felt like driving or walking. However, later, the wind veered about, the sun came out of the heavy clouds, our spirits rose with the barometer, the elements seemed to point to outdoor amusements. What better than a game of croquet?
The Emperor, as I said before, had sent to Paris for the game, and Prince Metternich felt it would be rude not to use it. We have been playing it so much this year that we have quite got it on the brain, and we were very excited and most eager to play, and orders were given to have the box brought out on the terrace.
Both their Majesties were highly interested; they examined everything with the greatest curiosity, unwrapped the balls themselves, and were quite anxious to begin.
The question was, where should the game be put up, and where should the wickets be put down? The lawn was wet, the gravel walks were too narrow. The only place that could be found was under the charmille on the terrace, where stood a grove of old platane trees.
Prince Metternich was, of course, the moving spirit, and undertook to manage everything. He and d'Espeuilles got a meter measure and measured off the distances with great care and precision before placing the wickets. This took a long time. Then he distributed the mallets and the corresponding balls to each person, and we stood in front of our weapons ready to commence. Prince Metternich was so long and particular about telling the rules that he succeeded only in confusing all the beginners.
The Empress was to play with the Prince Metternich, the Marquis de Gallifet with the Princess Metternich. The Emperor was to play with the Marquise de Gallifet, Monsieur d'Espeuilles was to play with me:—eight people in all! Nothing is so dreadful as a game of croquet with people four of whom are beginners.
The Empress was the first to play; her ball was placed so near the wicket that nothing short of genius could have prevented her from going through, which she did with great triumph; her next stroke went far beyond, and she worried it back by a succession of several pushing knocks into its position. No one made any remarks. Then the Emperor made a timid stroke, which gently turned the ball over. Prince Metternich remarked that he (the Emperor) should hit harder, at which his Majesty gave such a whack to his ball that it flew into the next county.
"Never mind," said Prince Metternich, and put another ball in front of the
Emperor's mallet, and somehow it got through the wicket.
Princess Metternich played next, and she was an adept, so all went well with her. I came after her, and managed to get his Majesty's ball on its way a bit. Tiresome pauses and long explanations followed.
Prince Metternich shouted, trying to rally the players.
"Marquis, where are you?" disturbing the Marquis from a flirtation. "It is your turn to play."
"Really; what shall I do?"
"Try to hit this ball."
"Par exemple! Which ball? Where is it? I do not even see it."
"Here it is behind this tree, if you caramboler against the tree you might hit it." And in this way it went on until the Emperor, bored to death, slowly disappeared and the Empress suddenly discovered that her feet were cold and went away, and couples flirtatiously inclined began wandering off, and it was nearly dark and tea-time before Prince Metternich (who was worn out trying to make people understand or take any interest in the game) realized that there were only a few devotees left on the battle-field amid damaged trees and chipped balls.
So ended our game of croquet; we felt crushed and crestfallen.
At the Empress's tea, to which we were bidden, we were not spared satirical gibes on the subject of our luckless game.
The Marquis de Gallifet, Officier d'Ordonnance de l'Empereur, whom I sat next to at dinner, is what one might call sarcastic—he actually tears people to pieces; he does not leave them with a shred of reputation, and what he does not say he implies. He thinks nothing of saying, "He! He's an abominable scoundrel. She! She is a shameless coquette!" and so forth. He spares no one; nevertheless, he is most amusing, very intelligent, and an excellent talker. He told me of his awful experience in the war of Mexico. He had been shot in the intestines and left for dead on the field of battle. He managed, by creeping and crawling, "toujours tenant mes entrailles dans mon képi" to reach a peasant's house, where the good people took care of him until he was able to be transported to a hospital. There he stayed through a dismal year of suffering. In order to keep the above-mentioned entrailles in their proper place, the doctors covered them with a silver plate. "I had my name engraved on it," he said.
He asked me, "Did you ever hear anything like that?" I tried to fancy how any one would look placarded like that, but replied that I had never heard of anything quite so awful; but I had heard that every cloud had a silver lining. He laughed and said, "I shall call myself a cloud in future."
The dinner to-night was very good. I give you the menu:
Potage tortue clair,
Crème de volaille,
Brisotins de foie gras,
Saumon Napolitain,
Filet de boeuf à la moderne,
Suprême de perdreaux,
Homards à la Parisienne,
Gelinottes rôties,
Salade,
Petits pois à l'Anglaise,
Ananas Montmorency,
Glaces assorties,
Café—Liqueur (both served at the table).
Dinner over, we filed before the Cent Gardes in their shining uniforms through the long gallery.
It was earlier than usual when we began to dance; but we were (at least I was) interrupted by receiving a message from their Majesties, asking me if I would kindly sing something for them. Of course I did not refuse, and we adjourned to the music-room, where the Erard piano was.
[Illustration: THE MUSIC HALL—CHÂTEAU DE COMPIÈGNE]
I did not exactly know what to sing; but Prince Metternich soon relieved my mind on that score by saying, "Don't bother about singing anything serious, and especially don't sing anything classical." The Princess Metternich could accompany anything which was not too difficult; therefore we thought I had better sing "Ma mère était bohémienne," of Massé, which I did. I saw directly that this melodramatic music, beautiful as it is, did not suit the occasion, for though the gaily attuned audience was visibly affected by the phrase, Et moi j'ai l'âme triste, they did not show more signs of emotion than by making a little dab at their eyes with their pocket-handkerchiefs.
The Princess remained at the piano, ready to accompany the other songs I had brought, which were of the same character, and I stood by her, trying to decide what I should sing next, when the Emperor came up and asked me for "Beware!" Charles accompanied that, and I sang it. The Empress asked me if I would sing some Spanish songs for her. I sang "Chiquita," which I learned with Garcia, and the "Habañero." She seemed very pleased, and made me many compliments. Then the Emperor begged me for some negro songs, and asked me if I knew "Massa's in the Cold, Cold Ground," or "Suwanee River," or "Nelly Bly," all of which he remembered having heard in America.
I sat down at the piano and commenced with "Suwanee River." I fortunately knew the words of that.
(Oh, Delsarte! what would you have said had you seen your pupil singing this claptrap music before your sovereigns and their most distinguished guests?)
Delsarte says that one can force the tears into one's eyes, one can make one's lips tremble, one can express the most harrowing emotions in one's voice, and not sing more than "do, re, mi, fa." I tried to profit by his teachings, and brought them to bear upon the pathetic words of "Oh, darkies, how my heart grows weary," and I could see that both their Majesties were deeply moved. I sang the word "weary" with such pathos that every one was more or less affected, and the phrase, "All the world is dark and dreary," I rendered in the most heart-broken tones.
I was sorry that I could not remember the words of "Massa's in the Cold, Cold Ground," as the Emperor wanted it; but I could not. I knew the music of "Nelly Bly," but had never known the words, so I tried to improvise some; but it was impossible for me to think of more than two words which rhymed with "Bly," and those were "sly" and "eye."
With shameful aplomb I sang these senseless words:
Nelly Bly wipes her eye,
On her little frock,
Nelly Bly, Nelly Bly,
Dick a dick a dock.
Happily the Emperor did not notice anything wrong, and was delighted to hear those old songs again, and thanked me repeatedly.
Once seated at the piano, I was not allowed to leave it until my répertoire of music of this character had been exhausted.
This brought the evening to a close.
Tea was served; their Majesties withdrew, and I fled to my apartment feeling that metaphorically I was covered with laurels.
November 28th.
DEAR A.,—To-day I was very high up, 'way up in the clouds, for I sat next to the Emperor.
Davilliers, one of the chamberlains, gave me his arm and conducted me to my place. The Emperor's first words were:
"I can't thank you enough for the pleasure you gave us last evening."
I tried to express my pleasure at these kind words.
"Did you see how we were affected when you sang 'Suwanee River'? I thought to laugh, instead of which I cried; how could you make it so pathetic?"
"That is my teacher's art," I replied.
"Who is your teacher?"
"Monsieur Delsarte. Your Majesty has perhaps heard of him?"
"No," answered the Emperor. "I have never heard of him. Is he a great singer?"
"He cannot sing at all, your Majesty; but he has wonderful theories which go to prove that one does not need any voice at all to sing; one only needs features to express one's emotions."
"He must be wonderful," the Emperor remarked.
"He is, your Majesty, and quite unique in his way. He says, for instance, when he sings, 'J'ai du bon tabac dans ma tabatière,' and comes to 'Tu n'en auras pas,' he can make people shed bitter tears, as though it were too much to bear."
"His tobacco must be very good?" laughed the Emperor.
"It is the worst thing of its kind, your Majesty, one can imagine," I answered.
"Is it perhaps Caporal?" said he, with a merry twinkle in his eye.
"I don't know anything about military grades, but, if there were anything lower than a Caporal I should say it was the name of his tobacco."
"Well," he said, "if he taught you to sing as you sing, il mérite de la patrie."
The Emperor was perfectly delightful, witty, amusing, and laughing continually, with such a keen appreciation he seemed really to enjoy himself.
As the programme in our room this morning read, chasse à courre, on went the green dress for the second time, and, of course, the button. The Duchess de Fernan Nuñez asked me to drive with her, which I was happy to do, as I like her very much. We sat on the front seat, so as to have the best view of the proceedings.
The Emperor and Empress were on horseback; all the gentlemen were in red coats, white breeches, top-boots, and velvet caps, which made them look very picturesque.
The rendezvous was at the Carrefour l'Étoile, and when we arrived the hunters and equipage, with the piqueurs and the chasseurs from the neighborhood, who belonged to the Imperial Hunt, were already there.
The Imperial équipage de chasse is composed of ten piqueurs, valets de chien, valets à pieds, valets à cheval, and valets de limiers, and one hundred English hounds. The hounds are trained by the use of drags, which are, as perhaps you know, bundles of something saturated in blood, which the horses drag and the scent of which the hounds follow. The carriages were drawn up on the side of the road to wait until their Majesties appeared.
The ladies dressed in rich furs and velvets, the riders in brilliant red coats on prancing horses, the attendant grooms, the piqueurs in their gay liveries, green and gold with green-velvet jockey caps, made a wonderful spectacle. The day was superb, the sun shone brilliantly through the autumn foliage, the hazy distances were of a tender hue, and everything had an exquisite tint. Never shall I forget it!
Unfortunately our coachman neglected to follow the other carriages, and we drove about a long time before we discovered that we were on the wrong road, and then he became quite bewildered and seemed to lose his head completely.
After driving from one cross-road to another, we at last chanced upon
Monsieur de Bourgogne, who told us that he was just in advance of their
Majesties, and that they would be there presently. He said that we had
better wait where we were, as the stag would probably pass by that way.
It seemed as if, in fact, we must be near, as we could hear the dogs yelping and the horns sounding (they call it "hallali"). Count de Grammont rode up to us and said we had better follow him, as we would then soon come in sight of the hunters. Despite all these contradictory advices, our coachman managed to arrive on the scene of action just in time for us to see the poor stag, who had taken to the water for dear life (they call it bat l'eau), and the dogs in a frenzy of excitement barking furiously and plunging after him.
We could not see all that happened, thank heaven! as our carriage was behind the whole assembled crowd.
With my tenderness toward all animals, my heart ached for the poor beast, and I hoped sincerely that he would escape his cruel pursuers. I could not see any pleasure or excitement in watching this painful spectacle, and was glad when the time came to turn our backs on the whole thing and return to the château.
At the Empress's tea no one talked of anything else but the events of the afternoon. I pretended that I had seen it all, even to the very end. Princess Ghika, beaming all over with joy, was given the foot, as she was in at the death.
Count de l'Aigle took me in to dinner. He is one of the neighbors, not one of the guests; but, as he belongs to the Imperial Hunt, he is always invited to this dinner.
The Empress looked superb in a brown tulle over satin, looped up with brooches of diamonds. She had had a diamond crescent in her hair like Diana. The Marquise de Gallifet was lovely in light-green tulle, with an aigret of diamonds in her blond hair.
The table was arranged most appropriately for the occasion, decorated by the whole biscuit de Sèvres service de chasse. Every one seemed gay and stimulated by the excitement of the day.
When the usual after-dinner ceremonies and the cercle in the salon were terminated, the Grand Chamberlain announced to his Majesty that all was ready for the curée, which was awaiting his permission to begin.
The Emperor and the Empress led the way into the long gallery, which overlooks the cour d'honneur. We ladies had provided ourselves with wraps and shawls, as we knew we should need them either on the balcony or at the windows of the gallery, of which there are about twenty.
The Empress braved the weather and stood out on the balcony with the
Emperor, well wrapped in furs, for the night was cold; and the gentlemen,
not finding sufficient room, went below and stood on the steps of the
"Perron," which gives on to the courtyard.
All the lackeys, valets, grooms, in fact, all the household servants, formed a large circle in the enormous cour d'honneur opposite the Imperial balcony, all bearing flaming torches made of tar, which lighted up the whole place. Behind these stood the populace of Compiègne, who are allowed to be present on these occasions.
At the farther side of the courtyard, and directly opposite their Majesties, the chief huntsman held up the skin of the stag, which contained the entrails, waving it backward and forward, in order to excite the hounds. The piqueurs stood in front of the "Perron," holding the dogs back with great difficulty, for they were struggling to get loose, and yelping in their eagerness and greediness to rush forward.
As the chasseur waved the skin, the piqueurs let the hounds loose, and when they were half-way across the court, approaching the object of their desire, the piqueurs called them back, in order to show how well disciplined and under what complete control they were.
The tantalizing of the poor animals was repeated several times. At last the fanfare was sounded, and the hounds were allowed to rush forward midst the tooting of horns, the cracking of whips, and the cries and shouts of the crowd. The torches were waved high in the air, giving a weird light to the whole scene, and the entrails at last were thrown to the dogs, and before you could say "Jack Robinson" everything was devoured. You can picture to yourself what a unique and fantastic sight this must have been!
It was eleven o'clock when we returned to the salon, where tea and refreshments were served. Those returning to Paris took leave of their Majesties and drove to the station, where the special Imperial train provided for them was waiting.
Later their Majesties took leave of us.
We lingered a little, as it was our last evening.
On returning to my apartment, I saw on my table a package, on which was written, De la part de l'Empereur. You can imagine how eager I was to open it. Those magic words brought untold visions before my eyes. What might it not be?
I opened the package feverishly, and what was my surprise and disappointment to find a rather ordinary-looking tabatière and a package of tobacco, written on it, Du bon tabac pour le maître de chant de Madame Moulton.
Was it not a cruel blow?
November 30th.
Here we are again in Paris, glad to be at home after our gay week in Compiègne, charming and delightful as it was; there is always great fatigue and tension attending such visits. To-day I luxuriate in one dress; no changing five times a day. I allowed my maid to go out for the day, and we are going to dine at a restaurant…. What a contrast! It seems as if I had been away a month!
Before we left Compiègne yesterday, when we were taking our morning tea, we were interrupted by the coming in of the majordomo, who handed us a paper. We were not unprepared for this visit, as we had been told by one of the guests, who had been here before, that every one was expected to remain in their rooms until this important personage had made his rounds, in order to collect the pourboire. I say THE pourboire, because what one generally gives separately is lumped into one sum. This paper, which he handed to us almost at the point of his hallebarde, proved to be a già scritto receipt for six hundred francs—our pourboire!
During breakfast yesterday the Emperor took up his glass, and, looking at me across the table, drank my health. Among the guests there was a great deal of health-drinking.
Gustave Doré had made some very clever caricatures of some events which he had drawn beautifully and touched off with aquarelle, as he alone could do it. The little album was passed stealthily from hand to hand under the shelter of the table, with the strictest injunctions not to let any one see it except your immediate neighbor! With these injunctions it managed to travel about half-way down the table.
He had made a lovely sketch of her Majesty driving a chariot like the "Aurora" in the Rospigliosi Gallery, and had depicted the Emperor seated on an enormous white horse, leading a charge of cavalry, his arm uplifted.
The Princess Metternich was represented as the coachman in the charade, hat on one side, pipe in her mouth, and looking very débonnaire. Prince Metternich was shown standing in the middle of an arena, in full diplomatic uniform, with masses of decorations and cordons. He had a long whip, such as are used in circuses, and men and women (meaning us, I suppose) capering around doing their tricks.
The sketch of Madame de Persigny was very funny. A mass of tulle petticoats, in the midst of which two little feet in the air, and a crown rolling away in the distance.
The picture he made of me was the mechanical doll, ribbons floating all about, and on every turn of the ribbons was written "Beware!"
The diplomat's shoe was not forgotten. There was a table a mile long, and at the very end of it a little shoe seen underneath.
We were in our traveling costumes, and on our return to the salon their
Majesties went about saying pleasant and gracious things to every one.
They hoped we would remember our visit with as much pleasure as they
would, etc.
There was a greater animation than usual, and less ceremony; people talked louder and with less restraint; every one bade good-by to the ladies and gentlemen of the Household who remained. The Empress gave her hand to be kissed by the gentlemen (some of them, not all), kissed some ladies, and shook hands with others.
When their Majesties were ready to dismiss us they bowed, and we all departed to get our hats and wraps,
I gave a lingering look at the lovely rooms I was leaving, which were now devoid of our trunks and little personal trinkets, nodded a farewell to our particular valet, who was probably thinking already of our successors, descended l'Escalier d'honneur, and passed through the beautiful Galerie des Gardes to the colonnades, where the chars-à-bancs were ready waiting to carry us to the station. We were a rather subdued party in the train; the conversation mostly turned on the subject of pourboires. The huissier decides the exact amount that each ought to give. For instance, he knows an ambassador ought to give two thousand francs. For a minister of state one thousand francs suffices. Unofficial people like ourselves cannot be expected to be out of pocket more than six hundred francs. As for the poor nobility of France, they escape with five hundred!
Some were of opinion that it was pleasanter to give en masse, in one big sum, than to give in driblets; others thought it more satisfactory to hand one's offering personally to the different servants; but we all, with one voice, voted the officious beadle an imposition.
The daily expenses of Compiègne, so the Gouverneur de la Maison told us, and he ought to know, are not less than ten thousand francs a day, and there are more than nine hundred people living in the Palace at a time, to be fed and warmed.
To-day, at five o'clock, the fourth série will come; it is called la série des oubliés, as ours was called la série élégante. The first is called la série obligatoire, the second les ennuyeux.
We found our carriage at the station. Our simple coupé seemed a great come-down from the beautiful carriages we had been driving in, and good Louis and the footman, in their quiet liveries, seemed in fierce contrast to the gorgeous creatures we had been familiar with so lately.
The family is at Petit Val, and we remain there quietly until January.
We found among our belongings an enormous bourriche, containing a quantity of game, hares, pheasants, and so forth.
Good night! I am tired.
PARIS, 1867.
DEAR M.,—You will have heard so much about the Exposition, that I cannot tell you anything new. It is now in full swing, and I think it is magnificent. Of course I cannot compare it to any other, as it is the only one that I have ever seen.
I have a season ticket (costing one hundred francs) containing my photograph and my autograph; therefore no one but myself can use it. The Exposition building is round, and the section of one thing goes through all the countries; for instance, art, which seems to be the smallest thing, is in the inner circle. If you only want to study one particular industry you go round the circle; but if you want to study a country you go down a section. The outer circle is for machinery, and outside in the grounds, in front of the different countries, are the cafés belonging to them. Here you can listen to the different national musics, and see the different national types and costumes, and eat the different national foods. We go almost every day, and it is always a delight. You can see the whole art of cutting diamonds, from the gravel in which they are found to their final polish. The villa of the Bey of Tunis, a Buddhist temple, a Viennese bakery, where people flock to taste the delicious rolls hot from the oven, and where Hungarian bands of highly colored handsome zitherists play from morning till night, and a hundred other attractions, make the Exposition a complete success. You pass from one lovely thing to the other. The gardens are laid through avenues of trees and shrubs, where fountains play, and beds of flowers and bouquets of plants are arranged with the most artistic taste. All these wonders will in six months' time be reduced to the level and monotony of the Champ de Mars. One can't believe that these large horse-chestnut trees in full bloom are only temporary visitors, like the people.
The Prince Oscar of Sweden (he will one day be the King) came often to the Exposition, and went about with us. He was very much interested in everything he saw, especially in the American Steinway pianos. He sent me several times some of the famous punch they make in Sweden, also some silver brooches which the Swedish peasants wear. He has a bateau mouche, in which he takes his friends up and down the Seine. The Princess Mathilde and Madame de Gallifet were of the party last Monday. We mouched as far as Boulogne, where Baron James Rothschild has a charming place called Bagatelle, which the Prince wanted very much to see.
We got out of the boat and walked up to the entrance of the park; but the porter refused, in spite of all pleadings, to let us in, and was almost rude until Monsieur Dué mentioned the name of the illustrious visitor; then the gates were thrown wide open, and we walked in and all over the place. The porter, becoming most humble and servile, offered to escort us over the house, and even asked us to take tea; but we did not succumb to either of these temptations.
There are so many kings and sovereigns here: the Emperor of Russia, who is very handsome and stately; the King of Prussia, who is accompanied by the colossal Count Bismarck, very noticeable in his dazzling white uniform, and wearing a shining helmet with an enormous spread eagle on top of it, which made him tower still more above ordinary mortals, and reminded me of all the mythological heroes I knew of. He clanked his sword on the pavement, quite indifferent to the stare of wondering Frenchmen, and was followed by several other tall Germans, who regarded everything de haut en bas with Teutonic phlegm. The Prince of Italy (Umberto) looks rather small by the side of these German giants. The Khedive of Egypt, the Shah of Persia, the ex-Queen of Spain, and other sovereigns are flitting about.
The Baron James Rothschild invited us to go to Ferrière's with Prince Oscar of Sweden. That was very amusing! We had a special train from Paris and Rothschild's special car; when we arrived at Ferrière's we first had refreshments, then we walked in the grounds till it was time to dress for dinner. We met before dining in the enormous salon in the center of the château. This salon is two stories high, with a gallery around it, and was so large that a billiard-table in one corner seemed too small to be noticed, and the concert-grand piano standing at the other end looked insignificant. The dining-table was beautifully decorated with garlands of roses and a whole collection of antique goblets, worth a fortune. There were huge bouquets of roses for the ladies, almost too big to carry.
Prince Oscar's brother had once written a very pretty song, called "I Rosens duft," which some one had arranged as a duet, and the Prince wanted me to sing it with him (he had thoughtfully brought the music). All through dinner he was teaching me the Swedish words, so that we could sing it afterward. He was so intent (and so was I) that every one, I am sure, thought we were having a tremendous flirtation, as they saw our heads almost touching when he was writing the words on the menu. He also wrote a poem to me (which I inclose), which he said he composed on the spot. How can he be so clever?
PRINCE OSCAR'S POEM
WRITTEN AT THE DINNER-TABLE AT LAFERRIÈRE'S 1867
Din sång, hur skön, hur underbar!
En balsamdoft på dina läppar hvila,
En välljudsström från ditt hjarta ila,
Vill mana fram ur verldens haf ett svar:
Din sång, hur skön, hur underbar!
Din ton, hur stark, hur ljuf, hur ren!
En altareld som ingen flägt få störa,
Och dock en storm som sjalens djup kan röra,
En glod som smalta kan "de visas sten":
Så är din ton—så stark, så ren.
Sjung mer, sjung mer, det här så godt
En stund få glämma verldens hvimmel
Och lyss till samklang ur en öppnad himmel,
Om ock för en minut i drömma blott:
Sjung mer, sjung mer, det gör mit hjärta godt.
(Translated literally)
Your voice, how beautiful, how wonderful!
A perfume of balsam rests on your lips,
A torrent of melody rushes from your heart,
That can only be echoed by the world's ocean:
Your voice, how beautiful, how wonderful!
Your voice, how full of power, how enchanting and pure!
A sacred fire which no breeze can trouble,
And yet a tempest that stirs the very soul,
A glowing flame which can melt the philosopher's stone:
Such is your voice—so powerful, so pure.
Sing more, sing more, it is so good
For one moment to forget the tumult of this world
And listen to the harmony of a heaven unveiled,
And if only for a moment to dream:
Sing more, sing more, it makes my heart rejoice.
We sang the duet after dinner with such success that we had to repeat it. Before our departure there was a grand display of fireworks: O's appeared in every dimension and design, and a blaze of fire and Bengal lights in rapid succession kept us in a continual state of admiration.
I received a little note from Jenny Lind. She is in Paris, and wished to know when she could come to see me. I wrote to her directly that I would let Monsieur Auber know, and he would probably come at four o'clock (his usual hour). Therefore, it all came about. Jenny Lind came, so did Auber. The meeting was a pleasure to them both. They talked music, art, told many anecdotes of celebrated acquaintances: Alboni, Nilsson, Patti, etc. He had brought some of his music with him, and Jenny Lind and I sang the duo of his latest opera "Le Premier Jour de Bonheur." He consulted me as to whether he might dare to ask her to dine with him, with a few congenial spirits. I said I was sure she would be enchanted to do so, which she was.
As to the congenial spirits, Auber suggested the Metternichs, Gounod, Duke de Massa, and ourselves, making ten in all.
No one refused, and we had the most delightful dinner. The Princess proposed to Auber to give his arm to Jenny Lind, and to put her at his right hand, la place d'honneur, adding, with her most ironical smile, "le génie avant la beauté." Auber made a charming host, telling one funny anecdote after the other in his quiet and typical manner. Gounod, in his low and drawly voice, said: "Vous nous donnez, mon cher Auber, des choses par trop ennuyeuses aux concerts du Conservatoire. A la pensée des 'Quatre saisons' de Haydn je m'endors. Pourquoi ne s'est-il pas contenté d'une saison?" Princess Metternich replied, "Que probablement en les composant Haydn s'est mis en quatre." "La moitié m'aurait suffi," said Auber; "pour moi, elles sont toutes mon automne." (monotone).
When we returned to the salon we discreetly waited for the promised song.
Suddenly Jenny Lind jumped up, saying, "Shall I sing something?"
Of course, every one was wild to hear her. She went to the piano and accompanied herself in "Qui la voce," of "I Puritani." We were all enchanted, clapping our hands with enthusiasm. Then Gounod played and sang, or rather hummed, a new song of his, saying to Jenny Lind, when he took his place at the piano, "I am not worthy to succeed you."
We thought him much too modest.
He hummed deliriously!
They asked me to sing, and, though I really hated to sing after these great artists, I did so to please Auber, who accompanied me in "Los Djins," of which he is very proud, because it has the same bass all the way through. How little it takes to please genius!
After this Jenny Lind and I performed the duo from "Le Premier Jour de Bonheur" we had practised at my house. She put her arm around my waist while we were singing, as if we were two school-girls.
Prince Metternich played one of his brilliant Austrian waltzes, which was so bewildering that if any man had dared to put his arm round Jenny Lind's matronly waist I am sure she would have skipped off in the dance.
For la bonne bouche she gave us a Swedish peasant song, which was simply bewitching. Her high notes were exquisitely pure, the lower ones I thought weak; but that might have been owing to the good dinner she had eaten—at least she said so.
There is a musical phenomenon here just now in the shape of an American negro; he is blind and idiotic, but has a most extraordinary intelligence for music. All his senses seem to have been concentrated in this one sense. Prince and Princess Metternich, Auber, and ourselves went to his concert. Auber said, "Cet idiot, noir et aveugle, est vraiment merveilleux." Blind Tom had learned his répertoire entirely by ear; therefore it was very limited, as he could only remember what he had heard played a few days before. His memory did not last long. He was wonderful. Not only could he execute well, but he could imitate any one's mannerisms and their way of playing. The impresario came forward, saying, "I am told that Monsieur Auber is in the audience. May I dare to ask him to come up and play something?" Auber said he thought he should die of fright. We all urged him, for the curiosity of the thing, to play something of his new opera, which no one as yet had heard, therefore no one could have known it.
Auber mounted the platform, amid the enthusiastic applause of the audience, and performed his solo. Then Blind Tom sat down and played it after him so accurately, with the same staccato, old-fashioned touch of Auber, that no one could have told whether Auber was still at the piano. Auber returned and bowed to the wildly excited public and to us. He said, "This is my first appearance as a pianist, and my last."
Prince Metternich, inspired by Auber's pluck, followed his example, and mounting the stage rattled off one of his own fiery, dashing waltzes, which Blind Tom repeated in the Prince's particular manner. After the concert we went into the artist's room to speak with the impresario, and found poor Tom banging his head against the wall like the idiot he was. Auber remarked, "C'est humiliant pour nous autres."
PARIS, June, 1867.
DEAR M.,—The famous pianist Liszt, the new Abbé, is pervading Paris just now, and is, I think, very pleased to be a priestly lion, taking his success as a matter of course. There are a succession of dinners in his honor, where he does ample honor to the food, and is in no way bashful about his appetite.
He does a great deal of beaming, he has (as some one said) "so much countenance."
He dined with us the other night, the Metternichs, and twenty-five other people, among whom were Auber and Massenet.
In the boudoir, before dinner, he spied a manuscript which Auber had brought that afternoon. He took it up, looked at it, and said, "C'est très joli!" and laid it down again. When we went in to dinner, and after his cigar in the conservatory (he is a great smoker), he went to the piano and played the "joli" little thing of Auber's. Was that not wonderful, that he could remember it all the time during the dinner? He seemed only to have glanced at it, and yet he could play it like that off from memory. He is so kind and good, especially to struggling artists, trying to help them in every way. He seemed extraordinarily amiable that evening, for he sat down at the piano without being asked and played a great many of his compositions—quite an unusual thing for him to do! One has generally to tease and beg him, and then he refuses. But I think, when he heard Massenet improvising at one of the pianos he was inspired, and he put himself at the other (we have two grand pianos), and they played divinely, both of them improvising. He is by far the finest pianist I have ever heard, and has a very seductive way of looking at you while playing, as if he was only playing for you, and when he smiles you simply go to pieces. I don't wonder he is such a lady-killer, and that no woman can resist him; even my father-in-law stayed in the salon, being completely hypnotized by Liszt, who ought to consider this as one of his greatest triumphs, if he only knew.
I sang some of Massenet's songs, accompanied, of course, by Massenet. Liszt was most attentive and most enthusiastic. He said Massenet had a great future, and he complimented me on my singing, especially my phrasing and expression.
I wonder if the story be true that he was engaged to be married to Princess Wittgenstein, and on the day of the wedding, when the bridal- dress was ready to be put on, she got a letter from her fiancé (can any one imagine Liszt as a fiancé) saying that he had taken holy orders that very morning.
They say that she bore it very well and wrote a sweet letter to him. It sounds rather unnatural; but one can believe anything from a person who was under Liszt's influence. He has the most wonderful magnetism. His appearance is certainly original as you see him in his soutane, his long hair, and his numerous moles, that stand out in profile, whichever way he turns his broad face.
But one forgets everything when one hears him play. He is now fifty-five years old. I invited him to go to the Conservatoire with me in the box which Auber had given me for last Sunday's concert. I inclose his letter of acceptance. (See page 164.)
Auber often gives me his box, which holds six people, and I have the pleasure of making four people happy. Auber sits in the back and generally dozes. We are all crowded together like sardines. Auber, being the director of the Conservatoire, has, of course, the best box, except the Imperial one, which is always empty.
The orchestra played Wagner's overture to "Tannhäuser." The applause was not as enthusiastic as Liszt thought it ought to be, so he stood up in the box, and with his great hands clapped so violently that the whole audience turned toward him, and, recognizing him (indeed, it would have been difficult not to recognize him, such a striking figure as he is), began clapping their hands for him. He cried, "Bis!" And the audience in chorus shouted, "Bis!" And the orchestra repeated the whole overture. Then the audience turned again to Liszt and screamed, "Vive Liszt!"
[Illustration: FAC-SIMILE OF LISZT LETTER
Madame,
Permettez-moi de venir vous remercier demain au Conservatoire de votre gracieuse invitation dont je serai charmé de profiter.
Mille respectueux hommages,
F. Listz
Dimanche matin.]
Auber said such a thing had never been seen or heard before in the annals of these severe and classical concerts. People quite lost their heads, and Auber, being afraid that there would be a demonstration at the sortie, advised us to leave before the end.
I think Liszt was very pleased with his afternoon.
The sovereigns are working themselves to death, and almost killing their attendants. Prince Radzivill said, speaking of the King of Prussia: "I would have liked him better if he had stayed at home. He has to be ready every morning at half-past eight, and is often up till three in the morning." Radzivill and the others not only have to go to all the balls, but they must attend all the various civil, military, and charitable functions, and then the Exposition takes a lot of time and energy.
Prince Umberto is here from Italy. When Princess Metternich asked him how long he was going to stay he answered, with a toss of his head toward Italy, "Cela dépend des circonstances. Les affaires vont très mal là-bas."
Aunt M—— says she wishes you had been at a matinée which Baroness Nathaniel Rothschild gave this afternoon at her beautiful new palace in the Faubourg St.-Honoré. At the entrance there were ten servants in gorgeous livery, and a huissier who rattled his mace down on the pavement as each guest passed. There was, besides all the élite of Paris, an Archduke of Austria. I sang the "Ave Maria" of Gounod, accompanied by Madame Norman Neruda, an Austrian violiniste, the best woman violinist in the world. Baroness Rothschild played the piano part.
PARIS, May 29, 1867.
DEAR M.,—The Metternichs' big ball last night was a splendid affair, the finest of the many fine balls. We were invited for ten o'clock, and about half-past ten every one was there.
The Emperor and Empress came at eleven o'clock. Waldteufel, with full orchestra, was already playing in the ballroom of the embassy, which was beautifully decorated. At twelve o'clock the doors, or rather all the windows that had been made into doors, were opened into the new ballroom, which the Princess Metternich, with her wonderful taste and the help of Monsieur Alphand, had constructed in the garden, and which had transformed the embassy into a thousand-and-one-nights' palace.
The ballroom was a marvel; the walls were hung with lilac and pink satin, and the immense chandelier was one mass of candles and flowers; from each panel in the room there were suspended baskets of flowers and plants, and between the panels were mirrors which reflected the thousands of candles.
One would never have recognized the garden; it was transformed into a green glade; all the paths were covered with fresh grass sod, making it look like a vast lawn; clusters of plants and palms seemed to be growing everywhere, as if native to the soil; flower-beds by the hundreds; mysterious grottos loomed out of the background, and wonderful vistas with a cleverly painted perspective. At the same moment that their Majesties entered this wonderful ballroom, which no one had dreamed of, the famous Johann Strauss, brought from Vienna especially for this occasion, stood waiting with uplifted baton and struck up the "Blue Danube," heard for the first time in Paris.
When their Majesties approached the huge plate-glass window opening into the garden a full-fledged cascade fell over the stucco rocks, and powerful Bengal lights, red and green, made a most magical effect: the water looked like a torrent of fiery lava en miniature. It was thrilling.
No one thought of dancing; every one wanted to listen to the waltz. And how Strauss played it!… With what fire and entrain! We had thought Waldteufel perfect; but when you heard Strauss you said to yourself you had never heard a waltz before. The musicians were partly hidden by gigantic palmettos, plants, and pots of flowers arranged in the most attractive way. But he!—Johann Strauss!—stood well in front, looking very handsome, very Austrian, and very pleased with himself.
Then came the quadrille d'honneur. The Emperor danced with the Queen of
Belgium, the Crown Prince of Prussia with the Empress, the King of Belgium
with the Princess Mathilde, the Prince Leuchtenberg with the Princess
Metternich.
The cotillon was led by Count Deym and Count Bergen, and they led it to perfection; there was not a hitch anywhere. Every one was animated and gay; certainly the music was inspiring enough to have made an Egyptian mummy get out of his sarcophagus and caper about. I danced with a German Durchlaucht, who, though far in the sear and yellow leaf, danced like a school-boy, standing for hours with his arm around my waist before venturing (he could only start when the tune commenced), counting one— two—three under his breath, which made me, his partner, feel like a perfect fool. When at last he made up his mind to start nothing short of an earthquake could have stopped him. He hunched up his shoulders to his ears, arched his leg like a prancing horse, and off we went on our wild career, lurching into every couple on the floor, and bumping into all the outsiders. When we were not careering together, he sat glued to his chair, refusing to dance. If any lady came up with a favor he would say, "I am a little out of breath; I will come and fetch you later." And then he would put the favor in his pocket and never go near her. He seized everything in the way of favors that came his way; some he gave to me, and the rest he took home to his small children.
I was glad, all the same, to have him for a partner, as, being a Durchlaucht, he was entitled to a seat in the front row, and I preferred prancing about with my hochgeboren high-stepper to having to take a back seat in the third row with a minor geboren. After my partner and I had bounded about and butted into every living thing on the floor I brought him to anchor near his chair by clutching his Golden Fleece chain which hung around his neck. I felt like singing Tennyson's "Home I brought my warrior (half) dead." He was puffing and blowing, the perspiration glazing his face, his yellow hair matted on his forehead, and his mustaches all out of kilter.
I really felt sorry for him, and wondered why he exerted himself so much, when he could have been quietly seated watching others, or, better still, at home in bed.
The supper was served at one o'clock. Their Majesties the King and Queen of Belgium, Prince Alfred, the Prince and Princess of Prussia, the Prince of Saxe-Weimar, and all the other gros bonnets—too many to write about —went up-stairs through an avenue of plants and palms to a salon arranged especially for them where there were two large tables. The Emperor presided at one and the Empress at the other. Besides the salle à manger and some smaller salons, two enormous tents were put up in the garden, which contained numerous tables, holding about ten people each, and lighted by masses of candles and festooned with bright-colored Chinese lanterns. Prince Metternich told me later that the candles were replaced three times during the evening.
The favors for the cotillon were very pretty, most of them brought from Vienna. One of the prettiest was fans of gray wood with "Ambassade d'Autriche, 28th May, 1867," painted in blue forget-me-nots.
We danced "till morning did appear," and it appeared only too soon. The cotillon finished at half-past five, and the daylight poured in, making us all look ghastly, especially my sear and yellow leaf, whose children must have wondered why papa kam so spät nach hause.
PARIS, 1867.
Last week, in the beautiful palace built by Egypt for the Exposition, there was arranged a sort of entertainment for the Viceroy, to which we were invited with the Prince and Princess Metternich. This palace is a large, square, white building of oriental ornamentation and architecture, with a courtyard in the center, where we were received by the Khedive and his suite. A fountain was playing in the middle of the courtyard of marble, surrounded by palmettos and plants of every description. A band of Turkish musicians were seated cross-legged in one of the corners playing on their weird instruments, and making what they seemed to think was music. We sat in low basket-chairs, our feet resting on the richest of oriental rugs, and admired the graceful movements of the dancing-girls, who had not more space than an ordinary square rug to dance upon. There were also some jugglers, who performed the most marvelous and incomprehensible tricks with only an apparently transparent basket, from which they produced every imaginable object.
Coffee à la Turque was served in small cups with their silver filigree undercup, and Turkish paste flavored with attar of roses, and nauseatingly sweet, was passed about, with a glass of water to wash it down. Also cigarettes of every description were lavishly strewn on all the little tables, and hovering about us all the time were the thin-legged, turbaned black menials with baggy silk trousers and bright silk sashes.
Everything was so Oriental that, had I stayed there a little longer, I should not have been surprised to see myself sitting cross-legged on a divan smoking a narghile. I said as much as this to the Khedive, who said, in his funny pigeon-French-English, "Alas! Were it so!"
I cast my eyes down and put on my sainte-ni-touche air, which at times I can assume, and as I looked at his Highness's dusky suite, who did not look over and above immaculate, in spite of the Mussulman's Mussulmania for washing, I thanked my stars that it "were not so."
The interpreter who was on duty said to Prince Metternich: "Mussulmans drink no wine, nor does the Prophet allow them to eat off silver. Therefore, to ease our consciences" (he said, mettre nos consciences à couvert), "we tell them that the silver plates on which they eat are iron plated with silver. They think the forks are also iron, otherwise they would eat with their fingers."