In the Courts of Memory 1858 1875. by L. de Hegermann Lindencrone

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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!

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