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

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

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28

Prince Metternich came out here the other day, I had not seen him since
the tragic death of Emperor Maximilian in Mexico. I never would have
believed that he could be so affected as he seemed to be by this. He cried
like a baby when he told us of the Emperor's last days, of his courage and
fortitude. It seems that, just as he was going to be shot, he went to each
of the men and gave them a twenty-franc gold piece, and said, "I beg you
to shoot straight at my heart."

How dreadful it must have been!

Prince Metternich was most indignant at Rochefort, and says he can never
forgive him because, in an article in _La Lanterne_, he called the royal
martyr "the Archdupe." Auber said:

"You must not forget that Rochefort would rather sell his soul than lose
an occasion to make a clever remark."

"Yes, I know," moaned the Prince. "But how can one be so cruel?"

"C'est un mauvais drôle," Auber answered (don't think Auber meant that
Rochefort was droll; on the contrary, this is a neat way that the French
have of calling a man the _worst kind of a scamp_), and added,
"Rochefort's brains are made of _pétards_," which is the French for
firecrackers.

Auber told many anecdotes. I fancy he wanted to cheer Prince Metternich up
a little. One of them was that, on taking leave of the Emperor, the Shah
had said:

"Sire, your Paris is wonderful, your palaces splendid, and your horses
magnificent, but," waving his hand toward the mature but noble _dames
d'honneur_ with an expression of disapproval, "you must change all
that." Imagine what their feelings would have been had they heard him.

PARIS, _August, 1867._

DEAR M.,--I thought there would be a little rest for me after the
distribution of prizes and before going to Dinard; but repose is a thing,
it seems, that I am destined never to get.

Monday morning I received a letter from Princess Metternich saying that
the Minister of Foreign Affairs had sent her his box for that evening, to
hear Schneider in "La Belle Hélène," adding that Cora Pearl was to appear
as Cupidon as an extra attraction, and asked if we would dine with them
first, and go afterward to the theater.

I could not resist an invitation from these two delightful people,
therefore we drove into Paris and reached the embassy at half-past six,
the hour named for dinner.

Prince Metternich told us that he had had a visit in the afternoon from
Monsieur Dué, the Swedish secretary, who had been on the verge of
desperation on account of his not having been able to secure a suitable
box for King Charles XIV. of Sweden, who arrived last night to spend a few
days here. He wished to see Schneider in "La Belle Hélène." Monsieur Dué
had gone to the Minister of Foreign Affairs and suggested that the
Minister offer his box; but that had already been given to the
Metternichs. When Prince Metternich was informed of this he did not
hesitate to place the box in question at the King's disposal; but, not to
disappoint the Princess and me, he had taken an ordinary box opposite. The
King was already in his _loge_ when we arrived. He is a large, handsome
man with a full, black beard, and has a very pleasant face.

Between the first and second acts Monsieur Dué came to Prince Metternich
and told him that the King desired to see him. Of course the Prince went
directly, and returned delighted with the King's affability, and to our
great surprise brought us a message from the King, asking us all to come
to his box and join him, and proposing to send Monsieur Dué and his
gentleman-in-waiting to take our places in our box.

We accepted with pleasure, and passed the rest of the evening in the
charming society of the most amiable of kings. He said to me that "Oscar,"
as he called his brother (Prince Oscar, the hereditary Prince), had spoken
about me and our singing the duet written by his brother, Prince Gustave,
and asked how I managed about the Swedish words. I replied that Prince
Oscar had taught them to me during the dinner preceding the singing.

"Could you understand the words?" he asked.

"No," I replied. "I only know that it was something about London and
Emma."

The King laughed most heartily, and said, "I shall tell that to Oscar when
I go home, and he will see how well you profited by his lessons."

We were all immensely amused at Cora Pearl's appearance; it was her debut
as an actress. I never saw any one look so sheepish as she did, in spite
of her paint and powder and beautiful legs. She wore high-heeled slippers,
so high that she could hardly walk, which made her even more awkward than
she naturally was. She only had a few lines to sing, and this she did so
badly that people nearly hissed her.

She was evidently engaged as a drawing-card; but the only thing she drew
was ridicule on herself.

During the second act Lord Lyons came into the box. He had known the King
before, and, having heard from the Minister of Foreign Affairs that the
King was at the theater, went there to pay his respects. The King,
noticing that he had a decoration on, said in French: "Please take that
off; I am here incognito. To-morrow I shall be official; then you can put
it on." So Lord Lyons took off his star and put it in his pocket. He
wanted to go after the second act, but the King said: "Monsieur Dué has
arranged a supper for us at _La Maison d'Or_. You must come also." Of
course Lord Lyons did not refuse.

Monsieur Dué left the box in advance of the rest of us, in order to
arrange everything before the King's arrival. The King called to him, as
he opened the door, "Don't forget the _écrevisses à la Bordelaise_; I
have been looking forward to them for a long time."

After the performance, with which the King was delighted (especially with
Hortense Schneider's song, "Dis-moi, Vénus, pourquoi," etc.), we drove to
the _Maison d'Or_, where we found Monsieur Dué awaiting us. We asked at
what time the carriages should come back. He said: "Not before two
o'clock. His Majesty never retires before." We were then shown into a
salon, where the Princess Metternich and I were asked by the King to take
off our hats. "It is so much more cozy," he said. So off our hats came. We
had not been seated ten minutes when we heard some very loud talking and
much discussion in the corridor outside. Lord Lyons, who was nearest the
door, jumped up to see what the matter was, opened the door, and peeped
out.

"Oh!" said he. "It is the Duke of Brunswick making a row; he is half-seas
over!" The King turned to Monsieur Dué (the King does not speak English)
and said, "What did Lord Lyons say?" Monsieur Dué's English did not go
very far, but he translated into Swedish what he had understood Lord Lyons
to say.

The King seemed very puzzled and, addressing Lord Lyons, said:

"Was not the Duke of Brunswick obliged to leave England for fear of being
arrested?" Lord Lyons coughed discreetly, and the King went on: "If I
remember rightly, the Duke, who was in the royal box, shot at and killed a
_danseuse_ who was on the stage! And did he not leave England in a
balloon? It always seemed such an extraordinary thing. Was it true?" Lord
Lyons cautiously answered that people had said all that; but it was some
time ago, and added, diplomatically, that he had forgotten all the
details.

"And I understood," said his Majesty, "that he can never go back there
again."

"You are right. He cannot go back to England, your Majesty."

"Oh! don't Majesty me. To-night I am a simple bourgeois," the King
interrupted, smilingly shaking his finger. "But tell me, how can the Duke
dare return there now?"

"He does not dare," repeated Lord Lyons. "He can _never_ go back."

"But," insisted the King, "my good Monsieur Dué says that he is on his way
there at this moment."

Lord Lyons replied, "I think Monsieur Dué must be mistaken, for the Duke
is out there in the corridor making all this [I am sure it was on his lips
to say "devil of a row," but he politely said] _noise_."

Monsieur Dué then remarked, "Did I not hear you say that he was half way
across the channel?"

"I certainly did not say _that_. What I did say was that he was 'half-seas
over' which is a slang expression we use in England instead of saying
tipsy, or _dans les vignes du Seigneur_, so prettily put by the French."

The King laughed very much at this _quid pro quo_ and, looking at Monsieur
Dué, said, "I thought your English more up to the mark."

The King was immediately fired with a desire to see the famous Duke who
had dared to cross the channel in a balloon rather than run the risk of
being shut up in prison, and we all waited with impatience to see whether
Lord Lyons's persuasive powers went so far as getting the Duke to show
himself. Well, they did, and both the gentlemen came into the salon. The
Duke bowed low and did not lose his balance. In fact, for a man half-seas
over, I thought he looked as if he could get to the end of his journey
without disgrace. He said, very politely, "I am afraid I have disturbed
you, but this is the salon which has always been put aside for me every
night, and I was surprised to learn that it was occupied."

The Duke is, or rather would have been, a very handsome man if he had not
such watery eyes and such a weak mouth; and then he wore the funniest-
looking wig I ever saw. It was made out of black (the blackest) sewing-
silk and plastered down over his ears. I wonder if it was a disguise, or
if he thought any one would ever really take it for his own hair.

The King was very nice to him, and did not seem in the least to mind his
being _dans les vignes_. I fancy, from what Monsieur Dué said, that in
Sweden people are used to see their friends _always_ in _Seigneurial_
vineyards--they never see them anywhere else! But he exaggerates, no
doubt.

The King said to the Duke of Brunswick, "Will you not sup with us to-
night?"

"I thank your Majesty, but I must crave permission to return, for I have
some ladies supping with me, including the Cupidon of to-night."

"Tell her," said the King, "if she wears such high heels she will come to
grief."

"It will not be the first time," answered the Duke, with a laugh. "But
don't ask me to say anything like that to her; she would box my ears!"
Seeing the waiter making signs to him, the Duke then made a profound bow
and, stroking his sewing-silk locks left us.

The universal verdict on him was _Quel crétin!_

We had a very pleasant supper, and a most unceremonious one, as much so as
is possible where there is royalty.

The King said that he was going to be official all the next day, but that
he would like to go to the Exposition. Prince Metternich proposed a cup of
tea and the delicious hot rolls they turn out at the Vienna restaurant.
The King was delighted to accept, and named the hour of half past four in
the afternoon. We were also bidden, for which I was much pleased. King
Carl is the most delightful and fascinating of monarchs, and quite worthy
to be his brother's brother. To-morrow he is going to be still more
official, for he dines at the Tuileries, and there is a gala performance
at the opera; Christine Nilsson is going to sing "Faust" with Nicolini and
Faure.

To-morrow we leave for Dinard, where there will be no majesties nor
Exposition; just plain bread and butter and Brittany cider, which is as
hard as a relentless parent.

COMPIÈGNE, _November 27, 1868._

When the inclosed invitation came my father-in-law wet-blanketed the
whole thing, and I was brokenhearted. The Duke de Persigny, who happened
to be in Petit Val at that moment, sympathized with me and tried to change
the paternal mind; but the paternal mind was obdurate, and all pleadings
were, alas! in vain.

MAISON DE L'EMPEREUR

_Palais des Tuileries, le 2 9'bre 1868._

_Premier Chambellan_

Monsieur,

Par ordre de l'Empereur, j'ai l'honneur de vous prévenir que vous êtes
invité, ainsi que Madame Ch. Moulton, à passer 9 jours au Palais de
Compiègne, du 27 9'bre au 5 décembre.

Des voitures de la Cour vous attendront le 27, à l'arrivée à Compiègne
du train partant de Paris à 2 heures 1/2 pour vous conduire au Palais.

Agréez, Monsieur, l'assurance de ma considération très distinguée.

_Le Premier Chambellan_,
V'te de Laferrière.

Monsieur Ch. Moulton.

My father-in-law thought it cost too much--my toilettes, the necessary
outlay, and especially the _pourboires_. He said that it was a lot of
money, and added, in his most choice French, "Le jeu [he pronounced it
'jew'] ne valait pas la chandelle." He was right from his point of view,
for he had none of the _jeu_ and all of the _chandelle_. I pined and
pouted the whole day, and considered myself the most down-trodden mortal
in existence.

Imagine my delight, a few days later, to receive a second document,
informing us that our names had been re-entered on the list, and that we
were expected, all the same, on the 27th to stay nine days. At the same
time there came a note from the Duke de Persigny, in which he said, "Their
Majesties desired us particularly to come." And he added: "Tell your
father-in-law that the question of pourboires has been settled now and
forever. No more pourboires to be given nor taken at Compiègne."

Then Mr. M---- gave his consent, and I was blissfully happy.

It seems that the Emperor's attention had been railed to the many very
disagreeable articles in the newspapers on the subject of the extravagant
_pourboires_ exacted at Compiègne. The Emperor was very much annoyed,
and gave immediate orders to suppress this system, which had been going on
for years without his knowledge.

Last night we stayed in Paris, to be ready at half-past two this
afternoon. To describe our departure, arrival, and reception would only be
to repeat what I have already written last year. Among the fifty or sixty
guests there were many who were here then. In addition there are Duke
d'Albe, with his daughters; Baron Beyens, the Belgian Minister; Mr.
Mallet, of the English Embassy, Mr. Dué of the Swedish Legation; the poet,
Prosper Mérimée; and many, of course, I do not know.

Singularly enough, we were shown into the same apartment we had before,
which made us feel quite at home. We found tea, chocolate, and cakes on
the table, of which I partook with enthusiasm, and then enjoyed an hour's
rest before dressing for dinner.

We met at seven o'clock in the _Salle des Fêtes_, the only room in this
huge chateau large enough to contain all the party here (I suppose there
must be one hundred and twenty people), for which reason it serves both as
reception and ballroom.

The Empress looked superb in a gown of an exquisite shade of lilac; she
wore her beautiful pearls and a tiara of diamonds and pearls. When she
approached me she held out her hand, and said she was very glad to see me.
The Emperor was kind and gracious, as usual.

The Baron Gourgaud was told to take me in to dinner, and we followed the
procession to the dining-room, passing the _Cent Gardes_, who looked like
an avenue of blue and glittering trees. The Baron Gourgaud and I are
neighbors in the country, their place, La Grange, being not far from Petit
Val. His conversation is not absorbing; but as he knows he is dull he does
not pretend to be anything else. I was thankful for this, as I felt that I
did not need to make the slightest effort to entertain him.

I cast my eyes round the table, and if I had not known that this was _la
série amusante_ I should never have guessed it--every one seemed so
spiritless and "sans le moindre entrain," as my neighbor remarked.

No excitement this evening but the dance. Waldteufel is suppressed! They
say that the Emperor, who has a horror of publicity in private life, was
very displeased last year by the indiscretions and personal anecdotes, and
especially the caricatures made by Gustave Doré, which appeared in the
_Figaro_. The Emperor vowed that no outsiders should be invited again;
therefore poor Waldteufel has to pay _les pots cassés_, and we must make
our own music.

Looking for a substitute for Waldteufel, a clever chamberlain discovered
the "Debain piano" (mechanical piano).

You remember I had one in my youth. How I loved it! How I used to love to
grind out all the beautiful music those ugly boxes contained! And how I
used to wonder that those common wooden slides could reproduce such
perfect imitations of the real thing.

I was so glad to see one again, and envied the perspiring chamberlain, who
looked bored to extinction having to turn the crank, instead of joining
the dance and turning the heads of the ladies. It took two of them to
manage the complexities of the piano, and as neither possessed a musical
turn of the wrist, and as neither had the remotest idea of time or
measure, it was very hard for us poor dancers!

When one of the martyrs wanted to explain to the other what to do he would
stop and forget to turn the crank. The dancers were thus obliged to pause,
one foot in the air, not knowing when to put it down, and when they did
put it down they did not fall in measure, and had to commence all over
again. This spasmodic waltzing almost made us crazy. As for me, I could
not bear it any longer. No chariot nor horses could have kept me away from
that piano; to feel again (after so many years) the delight of playing it!
And then I wanted to show how it should be played; so I went to the piano
and took the crank out of the tired hands of the chamberlain and ground
out a whole dance.

I flatter myself that the dancers enjoyed at least this one.

His Majesty walked up to the piano while I was playing and said, "But,
Madame, you will tire yourself; you really must stop and let some one take
your place."

I replied: "If your Majesty only knew what a pleasure it is for me to play
this piano! I had one like it when I was a little girl, and have never
seen one since."

"Are these pianos not something quite new?" he asked. "I was told that
they were the latest invention."

"They may be," I answered, "the latest improvement on an old invention;
but the pianos are older than I am."

"That," answered the Emperor, smilingly, "does not make them very old."

He called one of the chamberlains, and I reluctantly gave up my place. The
Count d'Amelot was summoned, and as we were about to waltz off the Emperor
said, "If I danced, I should like to dance with you myself; but I do not
dance."

"Then," I said, "I must dance without you."

He laughed: "Vous avez toujours la réplique," and stood there watching us
with those peculiar eyes of his.

I never received so many compliments on piano-playing as I did to-night.

Here is the list of my dresses (the cause of so much grumbling):

MORNING COSTUMES.
Dark-blue poplin, trimmed with plush of the same color, toque,
muff to match.
Black velvet, trimmed with braid, sable hat, sable tippet and muff.
Brown cloth, trimmed with bands of sealskin, coat, hat, muff to match.
Purple plush, trimmed with bands of pheasant feathers, coat, hat to
match.
Gray velvet, trimmed with chinchilla, chinchilla hat, muff and coat.
Green cloth (hunting costume).
Traveling suit, dark-blue cloth cloak.

EVENING DRESSES.
Light green tulle, embroidered in silver, and for my locks, what they
call _une fantaisie_.
White tulle, embroidered with gold wheat ears.
Light-gray satin, quite plain, with only Brussels lace flounces.
Deep pink tulle, with satin ruchings and a lovely sash of lilac
ribbon.
Black lace over white tulle, with green velvet twisted bows.
Light-blue tulle with Valenciennes.

AFTERNOON GOWNS.
Lilac faille.
Light café au lait with trimmings of the same.
Green faille faced with blue and a red Charlotte Corday sash (Worth's
last gasp).
A red faille, quite plain.
Gray faille with light-blue facings.

Do you not think there is enough to last me as long as I live?

SUNDAY, _November 28th._

The mass is at ten o'clock on Sunday, and one meets in the grand salon
before going to the chapel.

Madame de Gallifet and I, being Protestants, were not expected; but, as we
wanted to go, we decided to don a black lace veil and follow the others.

The chapel is not large, but it is very richly decorated.

The Empress sat in a tribune facing the altar with a chosen few and her
_dames d'honneur_.

The Emperor was not present.

It seemed to me that the mass was very hurried and curtailed. The chorus
boys swung their censers nonchalantly, as though they were fanning
themselves; probably they were impatient for their breakfast.

The curé did not preach any sermon; he only made an exhortation against
the pomps and vanities of this wicked world, and told us that we had
better be prepared for death, as it might come at any moment. This was
nothing new; any one could have said it. He advised us to have our lamps
trimmed, for, when our time came we would be cut down like grass and
gathered in the garners. Perhaps he meant we ought to make our hay while
the sun was shining. I wondered to myself, if some of those old gentlemen
sinners who had sown so liberally would not be gathered in as oats. The
curé was going on to say that we should not indulge too freely in the good
things of this world; but pulled himself up in time, remembering, no
doubt, that he was going to breakfast, as he did every Sunday, at the
Imperial board and partake of its luxuries.

And before we knew it the mass was finished.

When we returned to the salon it was eleven o'clock, and every one was
assembled for _déjeuner_.

The Marquis d'Aoust happened to sit next to me at table (I say happened,
but I believe he manoeuvered so as to do so), and, taking me unawares
between two mouthfuls of _truites saumonées_, decoyed me into accepting a
stupendous proposition of his, which was to help him to get up an operetta
which he had had the courage to compose. He said the idea had just come
into his head; but I thought, for an impromptu idea, it was rather a ripe
one, as he had brought the music with him, and had already picked out
those he thought could help, and checked them off on his lean fingers. He
said the operetta had one act only, which I thought was fortunate, and
that it needed only four actors, which I thought was still more fortunate.

The next thing to be done, he said, was to get the singers' consent. I
should have said it was the first thing to be done; but he was so bubbling
over with enthusiasm that he was sure every one would jump at the chance
of taking part.

He seized the first moment after their Majesties had retired to pounce
upon those he had selected, and having obtained their consent he proposed
a walk in the long, so-called Treille or Berceau. Napoleon I. built this
walk, which is one thousand meters in length and reaches to the edge of
the forest, for the Queen Marie Louise. I must say I pitied her toes if
she walked there often on as cold a day as to-day; I know mine ached as we
paced to and fro while the Marquis explained the operetta. It was really
too cold to stay out-of-doors, and we turned back to the little salon,
called the _Salon Japonais_, to finish the séance there.

"What part am I to take?" asked Prince Metternich.

As he could not be anything else, he accepted the role of prompter, and
promised all the help he could give. When I went to the Empress's tea this
afternoon I took those questions Aunt M* sent me from America. You know
them. You have to write what your favorite virtues are, and if you were
not yourself, who you would like to be, and so forth.

I was glad to have something new and original which might amuse people.
The Empress, seeing the papers in my hand, asked me what they were. I told
her that they were some questions: a new intellectual pastime just
invented in America.

"Do they invent intellectual pastimes in America?" she asked, looking at
me with a smile. "I thought they only invented money-making."

"They do that, too," I replied; "but they have also invented these
questions, which probe the mind to the marrow and unveil the soul."

She laughed and said, "Do you wish me to unveil my soul, _comme cela, à
l'improviste_?"

I answered, "Perhaps your Majesty will look at them at your leisure. I
hardly dare to ask the Emperor; but if he would also look at them I should
be so happy."

"Leave them with me, and to-morrow we will see; in any case my soul is not
prepared to-day."

So I left the papers with her.

It is the fashion this year for ladies to wear lockets on a black-velvet
ribbon around their necks. The more lockets you can collect and wear, the
finer you are. Each locket represents an event, such as a birthday, a bet,
an anniversary of any kind, and so forth. Any excuse is good for the
sending of a locket. The Empress had seventeen beautiful ones to-day (I
counted them). They have a rather cannibalish look, I think. Is it not in
Hayti (or in which country is it?) that the black citizens wear their
rivals' teeth as trophies on their black necks?

Who should offer me his arm for dinner to night but Prosper Mérimée, the
lion of lions, the pampered poet, who entrances all those who listen to
him whenever he opens his lips.

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28