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

The Minister of Foreign Affairs, the Marquis Drouyn de l'Huys, gave a
costume ball which was even finer than the last. Worth, Laferrières, and
Félix outdid themselves. The Empress had a magnificent dress--_une
ancienne dame Bavaroise_. She looked superb, actually covered and
blazing with jewels.

The Comtesse de Castiglione had imagined a costume as "La Vérité." She was
dressed entirely in white, looking severe and classically beautiful, cold
as a winter day. She held in her hand a fan made of white feathers which
had a mirror in the center. It must be amusing to be a professional
beauty. When she goes to a ball, which she never does before midnight, she
does not take the trouble to speak to any one; she walks into the ballroom
and just stands in the middle of it to be looked at; people all make a
circle around her and glare. A gentleman will go and speak with her, and
they stand like two trees on an island, he doing the talking, and she
gazing around her to see what effect she is producing.

The Emperor made a bet that he would make her speak three words, and he
won it, because she answered a question of his by saying, "Pas beaucoup,
Sire." She lives at Passy, and calls herself _la recluse de Passy_; others
call her _la recluse du Passé_. I do not admire her beauty half as much as
I do the Empress's.

Countess Walewski was dressed like a fiery Vénitienne, all yellow and
gold. She looked dazzling and like a thorough Italian, which was not
difficult for her, as she is one.

The Duchesse de Mouchy's costume was a Louis XV. marquise, which did not
suit her at all; neither did the powdered wig nor the black patches on her
face become her.

I must tell you about my dress. It was really one of the prettiest there.
Worth said that he had put his whole soul on it. I thought that he had put
a pretty good round price on his soul. A skirt of gold tissue, round the
bottom of which was a band of silver, with all sorts of fantastic figures,
such as dragons, owls, and so forth, embroidered in different colors under
a skirt of white tulle with silver and gold spangles. The waist was a mass
of spangles and false stones on a gold stuff; gold-embroidered bands came
from the waist and fell in points over the skirt. I had wings of spangled
silvery material, with great glass-colored beads sewed all over them. But
the _chef-d'oeuvre_ was the head-dress, which was a sort of helmet with
gauze wings and the jewels of the family (Mrs. M.'s and mine) fastened on
it. From the helmet flowed a mane of gold tinsel, which I curled in with
my hair. The effect was very original, for it looked as though my head was
on fire; in fact, I looked as if I was all on fire. Before I left home all
the servants came to see me, and their _magnifique_, and _superbe_, and
_étonnant_ quite turned my head, even with the helmet on.

The Emperor and the Duke de Persigny went about in dominos, and flattered
themselves that no one recognized them; but every one did. Who could have
mistaken the broad back and the slow, undulating gait of the Emperor? And
though he changed his domino every little while from blue to pink, and
from white to black, there never was any doubt as to where he was in the
room, and every eye followed him. I was quite agitated when I saw his
unmistakable figure approaching me, and when he began, in a high, squeaky
voice (such as is adopted by masked people) to compliment me on my
toilette, it was all I could do not to make a courtesy. I answered him,
feeling very shy about tutoying him, as is the custom when addressing a
mask.

"Cela te plaît, beau masque (Do I please thee, handsome mask)?" I said.

"Beaucoup, belle dame, mais dis-moi ce que tu es (Very much, beautiful
lady, but what are you supposed to be?)."

"Je suis une salamandre; je peux traverser le feu et les flammes sans le
moindre danger (I am a salamander; I can go through fire and flame without
the slightest danger)."

"Oses-tu traverser le feu de mes yeux (Dost thou dare to brave the fire of
my eyes)?"

"Je ne vois pas tes yeux à travers ton masque, mon gentilhomme (I cannot
see thy eyes through thy mask, my gallant gentleman)."

"Oserais-tu traverser la flamme de mon coeur (Wouldst thou dare to go
through the flame of my heart)?"

"Je suis sûre que j'oserais. Si la flamme est si dangereuse, prends garde
que ton beau domino ne brûle pas (I am sure that I would dare. If the
flame is so dangerous take care your beautiful domino does not burn)."
Such silly talk! But he seemed amused, as he probably thought that I had
no idea to whom I was talking.

Taking a red counter out of his pocket and handing it to me he said, "Will
you take supper with me?"

"Not alone," I answered. "You are too dangerous."

He laughed and said, "I shall not be alone, my pretty lady." Then, giving
me another counter, he said: "This is for your husband. If you will be at
two o'clock at that door"--pointing to it--"it will be opened for you."

At two o'clock we presented ourselves at the door of the said salon, which
was immediately opened on our showing the _jetons_, and we found
ourselves, as I thought we should, in the salon where their Majesties were
to sup. There were already many people assembled: the Metternichs, the
Persignys, the Gallifets, the Count and Countess Pourtales, etc.--I should
say, twenty-five in all. There was a magnificent display of flowers and
fruit on the table. The Emperor came in with the Empress, not looking in
the least Cæsar-like, with his hair matted down on his forehead and his
mustaches all unwaxed and drooping; but he soon twisted them up into their
usual stiffness. I noticed that people looked at me persistently, and I
fancied all sorts of awful things, and felt dreadfully embarrassed.

After supper the Empress came up to me and said, "Where can one buy such
lovely curls as you have, _chère Madame_?" I understood the reason now for
the notice I was attracting. They had thought that the curls were false. I
answered, hoping it would sound amusing, "Au Magasin du Bon-Dieu."

The Empress smiled and replied; "Nous voudrions toutes acheter dans ce
magasin-là; but tell me, are your curls real or false? You won't mind
telling me (and she hesitated a little). Some people have made bets about
it. How can we know," she said, "unless you tell us?" "My hair is all my
own, your Majesty, and, if you wish to make sure, I am perfectly willing
that you should see for yourself." And, removing my helmet, I took out the
comb and let my hair down. Every one crowded around me, and felt and
pulled my hair about until I had to beg for mercy. The Emperor, looking
on, cried out, "Bravo, Madame!" and, gathering some flowers off the table,
handed them to me, saying: "Votre succès tenait à un cheveu, n'est-ce
pas?"

Supposing the curls had been false, how I should have felt!

I put on my head-dress again with the flowing tinsel threads, and, some
one sending for a brush, I completed this exhibition by showing them how I
curled my hair around my fingers and made this coiffure. I inclose the
article about this supper which came out in the _Figaro_ (copied into
a New York paper).

The Emperor and Empress not unfrequently take a great liking to
persons accidentally presented to them, invite them to their most
select parties, make much of them, and sometimes rousing a little
jealousy by so doing among the persons belonging to the Court. Of
the ladies officially foremost, the reigning favorites are Princess
Metternich, extremely clever and piquante, who invents the oddest
toilettes, dances the oddest dances, and says the oddest things; the
Marquise de Gallifet, whose past life is a romance, not altogether
according to the French proverb (fitting school-girl reading), but
who is very handsome, brilliant, merry, and audacious; and two others,
the handsome and dashing wives of men high in the employment of the
Emperor. These ladies spend enormous sums on their toilette, and are
perpetually inventing some merry and brilliant nonsense for the
amusement of the Empress. Among the persons from the "outside" most in
favor just now, in the inner circle of the court, is a very handsome
and accomplished American lady, the youthful wife of a millionaire,
possessing a magnificent voice, a very amiable temper, and wonderfully
splendid hair. After a very small and very merry party in the
Empress's private apartments a few nights ago, the Imperial hosts and
their guests sat down to an exquisite "little supper," this lady being
one of the party. During the supper one of the Empress's ladies began
playfully to tease Mrs. ---- about her hair, declaring that no human
head could grow such a luxuriant mass of lustrous hair, and inviting
her to confess to sporting certain skilfully contrived additions to
the locks of nature's bestowing. Mrs. ---- modestly protested that her
hair, such as it was, was really and truly her own; in right of
growth, and not of purchase. All present speedily took part in the
laughing dispute; some declaring for the opinion of the Lady of Honor,
the others for that of Mrs. ----. The Emperor and Empress, greatly
amused at the dispute, professed a strong desire to know the facts of
the case; and the Emperor, declaring that it was clearly impossible to
get at the truth in any other way, invited Mrs. M---- to settle the
controversy by letting down her hair, and giving ocular demonstration
of its being her own. The lady, whereupon, drew out the comb and the
hairpins that held up her hair, and shook its heavy and shining masses
all over her shoulders, thus giving conclusive proof of the tenure by
which she held it. As Frenchwomen seldom have good heads of hair, it
is probable that some little disappointment may have been caused to
some of the ladies by this magnificent torrent of hair, displayed by
Mrs. M----, but the gentlemen were all in raptures at the really
beautiful spectacle, the lady's husband, who worships her, being as
proud of her triumph as though his wife's luxuriant locks were his own
creation.

_March, 1864._

DEAR M.,--Auber, on hearing that the Empress had asked me to sing in the
chapel of the Tuileries, offered to compose a _Benedictus_ for me.
The orchestra of the Conservatoire was to accompany me, and Jules Cohen
was to play the organ. I had several rehearsals with Auber and one on the
preceding Saturday with the orchestra. The flute and I have a little
ramble together which is very pretty. The loft where the organ is, and
where I stood, was so high up that I could only see the people by
straining my neck over the edge of it, and even then only saw the black
veils of the ladies and the frequent bald heads of the gentlemen. The
Empress remained on her knees during the whole mass. The Emperor seemed
attentive; but stroked and pulled his mustaches all the time.

My _Benedictus_ went off very well. The chapel was very sonorous and
I was in good voice. I was a little nervous at first, but after the first
phrase I recovered confidence and did all that was expected of me. The
Duke de Bassano came up to the loft and begged me to come down into the
gallery, as their Majesties wished me and Charles to stay for breakfast. I
was sorry Auber was not invited. We found every one assembled in the
gallery outside the chapel. The Empress came straight toward me, thanked
me, and said many gracious things, as did the Emperor. There were very,
very few people at breakfast--only the household. I sat between the
Emperor and the little Prince, who said, "I told mama I knew when you
sang, for you said '_Benedictus_'; we say _benedicteus_."

The Princess Metternich receives after midnight every evening. If one is
in the theater or at a _soirée_ it is all right, but to sit up till
twelve o'clock to go to her is very tiresome, though when you are once
there you do not regret having gone. It is something to see her smoking
her enormous cigars. The other night Richard Wagner, who had been to the
theater with the Metternichs, was there. I was glad to see him, though he
is so dreadfully severe, solemn, and satirical. He found fault with
everything; he thought the theaters in Paris horribly dirty, _mal
soignés_, bad style, bad actors, orchestra second-rate, singers worse,
public ignorant, etc. He smiled once with such a conscious look and
scanned people's faces, as if to say, "I, Richard Wagner, have smiled!"
But he can very well put on airs, for he is a genius. At Les Italiens,
Patti, Mario, Alboni, and Delle Sedie are singing "Rigoletto." They are
all splendid. Alboni is immensely fat and round as a barrel--but what a
voice! It simply rolls out in billows of melody. The "quartette" was
magnificent, and was encored. Patti and Mario are at daggers drawn, and
hate each other like poison, so their love-making is reduced to a minimum,
and they make as little as possible. In their fondest embraces they hold
each other at arm's length and glare into each other's eyes. Mario is such
a splendid actor one would think he could conquer his dislike for her and
play the lover better. The _Barbier de Séville_ is, I think, his best
role; he acts with so much humor and sings so exquisitely and with such
refinement. Even in the tipsy scene he is the fine gentleman. Patti sings
in the singing lesson Venzano's waltz and "Il Bacio." Her execution is
wonderful, faultless, and brilliant.

We went to a _soirée_ given by the Marquise de Boissy, better known
as Byron's Countess Guiccioli, who inspired so many of his beautiful
poems; but when you see her dyed and painted you wonder how the _blasé_
Byron could have been all fire and flame for her. Fagnani, the painter,
who did that awful simpering portrait of me, painted her, it being
stipulated that he should make her look ten years younger than she is. He
had a hard time of it! But now, being old and married to the senator,
Marquis de Boissy, she has lost all claim to celebrity, and is reduced to
giving forlorn _soirées_ with a meager buffet.

Beaumont is a charming painter, and a friend of Henry's. When he comes
here, as he does very often, he puts us all in a good-humor; even my
father-in-law forgets to grumble at the reduced price of stocks and the
increased rate of exchange. His picture of Circé charming the pigs is very
pretty. Helen and I are both in it; he wanted her ear and hair and my eyes
and hair. I am not Circé; I only stand in the background admiring a pig.
To reward us he painted a fan for each: mine has arrows, doves, my
initials, "Beware," and cherubim all mixed up, making a lovely fan.

Baroness Alphonse Rothschild sent me her box for the opera, and I asked
the Metternichs and Herr Wagner, the composer, who was dining at the
Embassy, to go with me, and they accepted. The Rothschilds' box is one of
the largest in the opera-house. The Princess Metternich created a
sensation when we entered--she always does--but Herr Wagner passed
unnoticed. He sat behind and pretended to go to sleep. He thought
everything most mediocre. The opera was "Faust," which I thought was
beautifully put on the stage, with Madame Miolan Carvalho as Marguerite
and Faure as Mephistopheles. They both sang and acted to perfection; but
Wagner pooh-poohed at them and everything else. _Abscheulich_ and
_grässlich_ alternated in his condemning sentences. Nothing pleased
him.

He fidgeted about and was very cross during the fifth act, where the
ballet is danced.

"Why did Gounod insert that idiotic ballet? It is _banal_ and _de trop_."
(France is the only place where this fifth act is performed.)

"You must blame Goethe for that," retorted the Princess Metternich. "Why
did he make Faust go to the Champs Élysées if he did not want him to see
any dancing?"

"Why, indeed?" grumbled Wagner. "Goethe had much better have let
Marguerite die on her straw and not of send her up in clouds of glory like
the Madonna to heaven, and with ballet music."

"Well," said the Princess, "I don't see any difference between a ballet in
heaven and a ballet in Venusberg."

The Emperor has made a fine _coup de popularité_. He refused to have
the new boulevard named after his mother, and cleverly proposed it to be
called Richard Lenoir, the man who led his fellow-workmen in the
Revolution.

We were invited to one of Rossini's Saturday evenings. There was a queer
mixture of people: some diplomats, and some well-known members of society,
but I fancy that the guests were mostly artists; at least they looked so.
The most celebrated ones were pointed out to me. There were Saint-Saëns,
Prince Poniatowski, Gounod, and others. I wondered that Richard Wagner was
not there; but I suppose that there is little sympathy between these two
geniuses.

Prince Metternich told me that Rossini had once said to him that he wished
people would not always feel obliged to sing his music when they sang at
his house. "J'acclamerais avec délice 'Au clair de la lune,' même avec
variations," he said, in his comical way. Rossini's wife's name is Olga.
Some one called her Vulgar, she is so ordinary and pretentious, and would
make Rossini's home and salon very commonplace if it were not that the
master glorified all by his presence. I saw Rossini's writing-table, which
is a thing never to be forgotten: brushes, combs, toothpicks, nails, and
all sorts of rubbish lying about pell-mell; and promiscuous among them was
the tube that Rossini uses for his famous _macaroni à la Rossini_. Prince
Metternich said that no power on earth would induce him to touch any food
_à la Rossini_, especially the macaroni, which he said was stuffed with
hash and all sorts of remnants of last week's food and piled up on a dish
like a log cabin. "J'ai des frissons chaque fois que j'y pense."

Not long ago Baron James Rothschild sent Rossini some splendid grapes from
his hothouse. Rossini, in thanking him, wrote, "Bien que vos raisins
soient superbes, je n'aime pas mon vin en pillules." This Baron Rothschild
read as an invitation to send him some of his celebrated Château-Lafitte,
which he proceeded to do, for "the joke of it," he remarked. "It is so
amusing to tell the story afterward." Rossini does not dye his hair, but
wears the most wiggy of wigs. When he goes to mass he puts one wig on top
of the other, and if it is very cold he puts still a third one on, curlier
than the others, for the sake of warmth. No coquetry about him!

Rossini asked me to sing.

"I will, with pleasure," I said. "I only wish that I knew what to sing, I
know that you do not like people to sing your music when they come to your
house."

"Not every one," he said, beaming with a broad smile; "but I have heard
that you have an unusually beautiful voice, and I am curious to hear you."

"But," I mischievously answered, "I do not know 'Au clair de la lune,'
even with variations."

"Oh! the naughty Prince," said he, shaking his finger across to where
Prince Metternich was standing. "He told you that. But tell me, what do
you sing of mine?"

Auber had told me to take "Sombre Forêt," of "William Tell," in case I
should be asked. Therefore I said that I had brought "Sombre Forêt," and
if he liked I would sing that.

"Bene! bene!" he replied. "I will accompany you."

I was dreadfully nervous to sing before him, but when I had finished he
stretched out both hands to me and said:

"Merci! C'est comme cela que ça doit être chanté. Votre voix est
délicieuse, le timbre que j'aime--mezzo-soprano, avec ces notes hautes et
claires."

Auber came up flushed with delight at my success, and said to Rossini,
"Did I say too much about Madame Moulton's voice?"

"Not enough," replied Rossini. "She has more than voice; she has
intelligence and _le feu sacré--un rossignol doublé de velours_; and more
than all, she sings my music as I have written it. Every one likes to add
a little of their own. I said to Patti the other day: 'a chère_ Adelina,
when you sing the "Barbiere" do not make it too '_strakoschonée_'
[Strakosch is Patti's brother-in-law, and makes all her cadenzas for her].
If I had wanted to make all those little things, don't you think that I
could have made them myself?'"

Auber asked me, "Do you know what Rossini said about me?"

"No," I answered, "I know what he ought to have said. What did he say?"

"He said," Auber replied, with a merry twinkle in his eye, 'Auber est un
grand musicien qui fait de la petite musique.'"

"That was pure envy," I said. "I should like to know what you said about
Rossini."

"Well, I said," and he hesitated before continuing, "I said that Rossini
_est un très grand musicien et fait de la belle musique, mais une
exécrable cuisine_."

Rossini adores Alboni, but deplores her want of confidence in herself. She
has such stage frights that she swears that she will have to leave the
stage. He has written "La Messe solennelle" for her voice. The "Agnus Dei"
is perfectly wonderful. She sang it after I had sung. If she had been
first, I never should have had the courage to open my mouth.

Auber asked him how he had liked the representation of "Tannhäuser"?
Rossini answered, with a satirical smile, "It is a music one must hear
several times. I am not going again."

Rossini said that neither Weber nor Wagner understood the voice. Wagner's
interminable dissonances were insupportable. That these two composers
imagine that to sing is simply to _dégoiser_ the note; but the art of
singing, or technic was considered by them to be secondary and
insignificant Phrasing or any sort of _finesse_ was superfluous. The
orchestra must be all powerful. "If Wagner gets the upper hand," Rossini
continued, "as he is sure to do, for people will run after the New, then
what will become of the art of singing? No more _bel canto_, no more
phrasing, no more enunciation! What is the use, when all that is required
of you is to _beugler_ (bellow)? Any _cornet à piston_ is just as good as
the best tenor, and better, for it can be heard over the orchestra. But
the instrumentation is magnificent. There Wagner excels. The overture of
Tannhäuser is a _chef-d'oeuvre;_ there is a swing, a sway, and a shush
that carries you off your feet.... I wish I had composed it myself."

Auber is a true Parisian, adores his Paris, and never leaves it even
during the summer, when Paris is insufferable. He comes very often to see
me, and we play duets. He loves Bach, and we play Mendelssohn overtures
and Haydn symphonies when we are through with Bach. Auber always takes the
second piano, or, if a four-handed piece, he takes the base. Sometimes he
says, "Je vous donne rendez-vous en bas de la page. Si vous y arrivez la
première, attendez-moi, et je ferai de même." He is so clever and full of
repartees.

I do not think I ever talked with a wittier person than he is. I always
wish I could remember what he says; but, alas! when he goes my memory goes
with him.

Though so old (he must be over eighty) he is always beautifully dressed in
the latest fashion, trim and neat. He says that he has never heard his
operas seated in the audience; it makes him too nervous. He has his seat
every night in the parquet of all the theaters in Paris. He only has to
choose where to go. He once said: "Je suis trop vieux; on ne devrait pas
vieillir, mais que faire? c'est le seul moyen de devenir vieux. Un
vieillard m'a toujours paru un personnage terrible et inutile, mais me
voici un vieillard sans le savoir et je n'en suis pas triste." He is not
deaf, nor does he wear glasses except to "déchiffrer ma propre musique"--
as he says. Another time he said: "I am glad that I never was married. My
wife would now have been an old, wrinkled woman. I never would have had
the courage to come home of an evening. Aussi j'aurais voulu avoir une
fille (une fille comme vous), et elle m'aurait certainement donné un
garçon."

I quote the following from a Paris newspaper:

_Parmi les dames qu'on admire le plus, il convient de citer Mme Moulton.--
C'est la première fois que nous revoyons Mme Moulton au théâtre depuis son
retour d'Amérique.--Serait-elle revenue exprès pour la pièce d'Auber.--On
dit, en effet, que dans tous ses opéras, Auber offre le principal rôle à
Mme Moulton, qui possède une voix ravissante._

The Emperor once said to Auber: "Dites-moi, quel âge avez-vous? On dit que
vous avez quatre-vingt ans." "Sire," answered Auber, "je n'ai pas quatre-
vingt ans, mais quatre fois vingt ans." Is he not clever? Some one was
talking about the Marquise B---- and her friendship (_sic_) for Monsieur
de M----, and said, "On dit que ce n'est que l'amitié." "Oh," said Auber,
"je connais ces amitiés-là; on dit que l'amour et l'amitié sont frère et
soeur. Cela se peut, mais ils ne sont pas du même lit."

And another time (I am remembering all his witty sayings while I can),
Prince Metternich, who smokes one cigarette after the other, said to
Auber, "Vous me permettez?" wanting to put his ashes in Auber's tea-
saucer. Auber said, "Certainement, mais j'aime mieux monter que
descendre." In other words, _J'aime mieux mon thé que des cendres_.
How can people be so quick-witted?

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