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

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I was a little dismayed when I was told that the famous poet, Théophile
Gautier, was to be my dinner companion. I was awed at the idea of such a
neighbor, and feared I should not be able to rise to the occasion. Would
he talk poetry to me? And should I have to talk poetry to him?

I tried to remember, during our promenade down the hall, Longfellow's
"Psalm of Life," in case he should expect anything in this line, and I
tried to remember something he himself had written; but for the life of me
I could think of nothing but a very improper book called _Mademoiselle
de Maupéon_, which I had never been allowed to read, so that would be
of no use as conversation.

I might have spared myself this worry, for, from the time he sat down at
the table, he talked of little else than cats and dogs. He loves all
animals. I liked him for that, and one could see that he preferred them to
any other topic.

I can't remember all the nonsense he talked. In appearance I think he must
resemble Charles Dickens. I have only seen the latter's photographs; but
had he not rather a skimpy hair brushed any which way and a stringy beard?
I fancied him so to myself. At any rate, Gautier looks like the Dickens of
the photographs.

He said he had eight or ten cats who ate with him at the table; each had
its own place and plate, and never by any chance made a mistake and sat in
another cat's place or ate off another cat's plate. He was sure that they
had a heaven and a hell of their own, where they went after their death,
according to their deserts, and that they had souls and consciences. All
his cats had classical names, and he talked to them as if they were human
beings. He said they understood every word he said. He also quoted some of
his conversation with them, which must have sounded very funny:

"Cleopatra, have you been in the kitchen drinking milk on the sly?

"Cleopatra puts her tail between her legs and her ears back and looks most
guilty, and I know then what the cook told me was true."

Then again: "Julius Caesar, you were out extremely late last night. What
were you doing?" He said that when he made these reproaches Julius Caesar
would get down from his chair and, with his tail high in the air, would
rub himself against his legs, as much as to say he would never do it
again.

"Depend upon it," he added, "they know everything we do, and more."

I asked, "When Julius Caesar comes from his nocturnal walks is he
_gris_ (tipsy)?"

"Gris! Que voulez-vous dire?"

"You once wrote a poem (how proud I was that I had recollected it), 'A
minuit tous les chats sont gris.'"

"C'est vrai, mais je parlais des Schahs de Perse."

"Est-ce que tous les Schahs de Perse sont gris à minuit?"

"Madame, tous les Schahs de Perse que j'ai eu l'honneur de voir à minuit
ont été gris comme des Polonais."

"But the 'chats' you wrote about go mewing on roofs at midnight. Do the
Schahs de Perse do that?"

"Did I write that?" said he. "Then I must have meant cats. You are very
inquisitive, Madame."

"I confess I am," I answered. "You see, that poem of yours has been set to
music, and I sing it; and you may imagine that I want to know what I am
singing about. One must sing with an entirely different expression if one
sings of gray cats or of tipsy Persian sovereigns."

He laughed and asked, with an innocent look, "Do you think I could have
meant that at midnight nothing has any particular color--that everything
is gray?"

"I don't know what you meant; but please tell me what you want me to
believe, because I believe everything I am told. I am so naïve."

"You naïve! You are the most _blasée_ person I ever met."

"I _blasée_! I! What an idea!"

Such an idea could only emanate from a poet's brain with an extra-poetical
poet's license. I was very indignant, and told him so, and said, "Est-ce
que tous les poètes sont fous à cette heure de la soirée?"

"Vous voyez," he retorted, "you are not only _blasée_; you are sarcastic."

I enjoyed my dinner immensely in spite of being _blasée_, and Gautier's
fun and amusing talk lasted until we were back in the salon. The Emperor
approached us while we were still laughing, and began to talk to us. I
told him that Monsieur Gautier had said that I was _blasée_. The Emperor
exclaimed: "Vous blasée! Il faut y mettre beaucoup de bonne volonté pour
être blasée à votre âge!"

I said I did not know whether to be angry or not with him.

"Be angry with him," answered the Emperor. "He deserves it."

Waldteufel began playing his delightful waltzes, and every one was boon
whirling about. I never heard him play with so much dash; he really seemed
inspired. Prince Metternich asked him to order a piano to be sent to his
salon in the chateau. "I cannot exist without a piano," said he. "It helps
me to write my tiresome _rapports_."

There were only two pianos, I believe, in the château; the one (upright)
in the ballroom and the Erard in the _salle de musique_.

At eleven o'clock we went into the Emperor's salon, where tea was served.

MONDAY, _November 24, 1866._

DEAR M.,--At breakfast this morning I sat next to Prince Metternich. He
told me that there was to be _conseil de ministres_ to-day, and therefore
there was no question of their Majesties' presence at excursions, and no
particular plans projected for this afternoon.

Thus we were left to our own devices. Prince Metternich's fertile brain
was already at work to imagine something amusing to divert their Majesties
for the evening. He suggested charades. He is excellent at getting them
up.

When we met in the salon he spoke to the different people who he thought
would be helping elements.

The Marquise de Gallifet thought that tableaux would be better; Count de
Vogüé suggested games (he knew several new ones, which he proposed). All
in vain! Prince Metternich insisted on charades; therefore charades
carried the day, of course.

The Prince had already thought of the word "Exposition," and arranged in
his mind what part each one of us was to have. The Vicomte de Laferrière,
whom he was obliged to take into his confidence, told him that he would
show us the room in which there was a stage for amateur performances.

As soon as their Majesties had departed we proceeded to the said room,
where there was a little stage, a very little one, with red-velvet
curtains. Next to this room was a long gallery, in which there was a
quantity of chests containing every variety of costumes, wigs, pastiches,
tinsel ornaments, and all sorts of appurtenances--enough to satisfy the
most dramatic imagination.

Each garment, as it was held up to view, suggested endless possibilities;
but the Prince stuck firmly to his first inspiration, and we were
despatched to our different apartments to think out our rôles and to
imagine how funny we were going to be.

The Empress is always present at the _conseils de ministres_, which
to-day must have lasted an unusually long time, as no one was invited to
her tea. So we took ours with the Metternichs. The Prince had just
returned from town, and was childishly eager to display the various and
extraordinary purchases he had made, which he considered absolutely
necessary for the finishing touches to our toilettes. His requisites
consisted of an oil-can, a feather duster, a watchman's rattle, and wax
enough to have made features for the whole Comédie Française, and paint
and powder for us all. He would not tell us what he had procured for his
_own_ costume, as he said he wanted to surprise us, adding, what he
could not buy he had borrowed.

Count Vogüé gave me his arm for dinner. Of course, we talked of little
else but the charade.

Their Majesties were informed of the surprise which was awaiting them in
the little theater. The Empress said to Prince Metternich, after dinner,
"I hear you have prepared something to amuse us this evening. Do you not
wish to go and make your arrangements? We will be ready to join you in
half an hour."

All of us who were to take part disappeared to dress, and returned to the
gallery connecting with the stage in due time. Peeping through the hole in
the curtain, we could see the imposing and elegant audience come in and
take their seats with much ceremony and calmness. They little thought how
impatient we were to begin and yet trembling with nervousness. Their
Majesties, the guests, and all the ministers who had stayed for dinner
more than filled the theater. It looked, indeed, uncomfortably crowded.

At last every one was seated, and the first syllable, "Ex," was played
with great success. It represented a scene at Aix-les-Bains.

Invalids met (glasses in hand) and discussed and compared their various
and seemingly very complicated diseases. They made very funny remarks on
the subject of getting their systems in order in view of the possible
incidents which might come up during the Exposition of the next year.

The Marquis de Gallifet was one of the invalids, and seeing the Minister
of the Interior in the audience, looked straight at him and said, "C'est à
vous, Monsieur le Ministre, de remédier à tout cela (It is your business,
Monsieur le Ministre, to cure all that)," which made every one roar with
laughter, though Prince Metternich (our impresario) was very provoked, as
he had particularly forbidden any one to address the audience.

The Princess Metternich looked very comical dressed as a Parisian
coachman, with a coachman's long coat of many capes; she wore top-boots,
and had a whip in her hand and a pipe in her mouth, which she actually
smoked, taking it out of her mouth every time she spoke and puffing the
smoke right into the faces of the audience. She sang a very lively song,
the words of which her husband had found time to write for her during the
afternoon. It began, "C'est à Paris, qu' ça s'est passé." She cracked her
whip and stamped her feet, and must have been very droll, to judge from
the screams of delight in the audience. The song was full of quips and
puns, and pleased so much that she had to repeat it.

The next word was "Position," and acted only by gentlemen. An amateur, or
rather a novice, was taking lessons in fencing, in order to defend himself
against probable attacks upon him by the barbaric foreigners who next year
would invade Paris, and he wished to be prepared sufficiently to resent
all their insults.

When the curtain came down all the sky came with it, which put the public
in great glee.

The whole word "Exposition" was what we call "Mrs. Jarley's Wax Works."

Count de Vogüé was the showman, and the servant assisting him was no less
a person than the Austrian Ambassador himself, Prince Metternich. As the
stage was small, it could not contain more than two couples at a time, so
they were brought on in pairs.

First came Antony, and Cleopatra (the latter Marquise de Gallifet,
beautiful as a dream) drank mechanically (having been wound up by the
servant) an enormous pearl, and Antony (Prince Murat) looked on
wonderingly and admiringly.

Madame de Bourgogne and Count Grammont were a Chinese chop-sticking
couple. When wound up, their chop-sticks went everywhere except into their
mouths. The Marquise de Chasselouplobat and the Marquis de Caux were
shepherd and shepherdess, with the usual rakes, baskets, ribbons, etc.

I was a mechanical doll sent from America (the latest invention) for the
Exposition. I was dressed as a Tyrolienne with a red skirt, a black
bodice, and a hat with a ridiculous feather sticking out from the back of
it, which Prince Metternich said I _must_ have.

While the others were on the stage Princess Metternich wrapped a lot of
silk paper around me and tied it with bows of wide ribbon, thus covering
me completely, head and all. I was carried in and placed on a turning
pedestal.

The showman explained the wonderful mechanism of this doll, unique of its
kind, and capable of imitating the human voice to such a degree that no
one could hear any difference.

When he had finished talking (I thought, as I stood there, motionless and
stifling under my paper covering, he never would stop) he tore off the
paper and called his assistant to wind me up.

I had so far been very successful in keeping my countenance; but I assure
you, when I saw Prince Metternich's get-up, my efforts to keep myself from
bursting out laughing almost amounted to genius. He had said he wished his
costume to be a surprise. Well! The surprise almost made the mechanical
doll a failure, and had not Count de Vogüé quickly turned the pedestal
around I don't know how I should have saved myself from disaster.

Prince Metternich was dressed as a servant. He had a velvetine coat, red
vest, knickerbockers, white stockings, and servant's low shoes, and he
wore a huge black beard and a black wig. He had made his eyebrows so bushy
that they looked like mustaches; but his nose had preoccupied him more
than anything else--I don't know much time he had spent in making it.
First, he made it hooked and then changed it to _retroussé_, then again
back to hooked, which he thought suited his style best. He commenced
it when the first scene was being acted, and had just got it at the right
angle when it was time for him to go on the stage. The result of his
afternoon's labors must have been most gratifying, for he was a stupendous
success.

He wound me up and I began singing; but everything went wrong. I sang
snatches of well-known songs, cadences, trills, arpeggios, all _pêle-
mêle_, until my exhibitors were in despair.

"Mais, c'est terrible," cried Vogüé. "Ne pouvez-vous pas l'arrêter? Est-ce
qu'il n'y a pas de vis?"

"Il n'y a pas le moindre vice, Monsieur," shaking his head in despair.

Then I stopped short. How could I sing when I was convulsed with laughter?

"Il faut la remonter," the showman said, with a resigned air, and, turning
to the audience, he announced that such a thing had never happened before.
"La poupée a été probablement dérangée pendant le voyage." This caused
much merriment. "Elle a besoin de l'huile," said the Prince in a loud
stage whisper, and took the oil-can and flourished it about my shoulders.

They made so many jokes and puns that they were continually interrupted by
the peals of laughter which followed each joke.

"Faites-la donc chanter," implored Vogüé. "N'y a-t-il pas un clou?"

"S'il y en avait eu un, je l'aurais trouvé, puisque c'est le clou de la
soirée."

"Mon Dieu! Que faire? Et tout le monde qui attend. Cherchez bien. Vous
trouverez peut-être un bouton."

The Prince answered, sadly, "Not a sign of a button, Monsieur." And he
added, in a loud voice, "We ought to have a button in _gold_, so that
one can see it."

He said this with intention, thinking it might suggest to the Emperor to
give me the gold button which he only gives to those he wishes to make
life-members of his Hunts. Ladies do not often get them. At last, the
mortified assistant applied the rattle and wound me up again. I gave a
little nod with my head; they both struck attitudes of satisfaction, and
one said, "Now she is going to sing 'Beware!'" which called forth a burst
of applause from the audience. I sang "Beware!" and the Prince, thinking I
made the trill too long, tried to stop me by using the rattle again, which
was almost the death of me. I wore some long ribbons around my neck, and
the more the Prince turned it, the tighter the ribbons choked me. Happily
I had breath enough to go on singing; but I turned my head and fixed a
glassy eye on my tormentor, and, instead of singing "Trust her not, she's
fooling thee," I sang, "Trust him not, he's choking me, he's choking me."

Luckily he understood, and the people who knew English understood and
appreciated the situation.

When it was all finished the Empress came hurriedly toward me, exclaiming:
"Thank Heaven! I thought the Prince was going to strangle you. I was so
frightened." She then kissed me on both cheeks, and the Emperor gallantly
kissed my hand.

They both said they had never laughed so much in their lives, and were
most profuse in their thanks, complimenting all those who had taken part
in the charade; certainly Robert de Vogüé and the Prince Metternich both
outdid themselves.

It was one o'clock when tea was served in the Emperor's salon. You may
imagine if I was tired.

_November 25th._

DEAR M.,--As the programme announced this morning that there was to be a
_chasse à tir_ this afternoon, I put on my green costume brought for this
purpose.

The Empress appeared also in a green dress, with a coquettish three-
cornered hat trimmed with gold braid, and looked bewitchingly beautiful;
the Emperor wore a shooting suit with leather gaiters, as did all the
gentlemen. Every one looked very sportsmanlike.

M. Davilliers gave me his arm for _déjeuner_. He told me a great deal
which I did not _want_ to know about hunting-dogs.

For instance, "Les chiens anglais," he said, "étaient très raillants, très
perçants, mais hésitants dans les fourrés." So much Greek to me, but I
pretended to understand. He continued to say that the Emperor had an
excellent trainer, who obtained the best results because he treated the
dogs with kindness. I inwardly applauded the trainer.

He said it was better to let them have the entire use of their faculties;
whereas, if the unhappy animals are stupefied by bad treatment they lose
their _initiative_, being pursued by the thought of a beating, and they
don't know what to do, instead of following their natural instincts.

I agreed with him entirely, and thought that our conversation was an
excellent preface to the afternoon's sport.

As the Emperor passed me, before we started off, he said, handing me a
little package he held in his hand, "Here is the gold button which you did
not have last night; it makes you a life member of all Imperial hunts."
(So Prince Metternich's ruse had succeeded.)

I bowed very low and thanked him, and asked if it would necessitate my
hunting. "Certainly not, if you don't want to," his Majesty answered; "but
have you ever seen a _chasse à tir_?"

At my answer that I had never seen one, nor anything nearer to one than
people going out with a gun and coming back with nothing else, he laughed
and said, "I must tell that to the Empress."

It is the Emperor's habit to say, when he hears anything which amuses him,
"I must tell that to her Majesty." She is always in his thoughts.

I said, looking at the button, "Last year your Majesty gave me a gold
medal for singing a _Benedictus_; now I shall sing a hallelujah for this."

"It is not worth so much," the Emperor said, with a kind smile.

"Would you like to accompany me this afternoon," he asked, "and see for
yourself what a _chasse à tir_ is?"

I answered that I should be delighted, and said, "Shall I come with a
gun?"

"Oh dear, no! Please don't!" the Emperor exclaimed, hurriedly. "But come
with stout boots and a warm coat."

The carriages were waiting, and we were soon packed in our rugs and
started for the shooting.

The Emperor drove Baron Beyens in his dog-cart; the Empress drove with the
Princess Metternich in a victoria to the field, where she left her and
returned to the chateau. I fancy she was afraid of the dampness of this
bleak November day.

We arrived at a great open place and found all the company assembled, and
I should say the whole populace of Compiègne had turned into beaters and
spectators. The gentlemen took their places in a long line, the Emperor
being in the middle; on his right the person highest in rank (Prince
Metternich), on his left Count Golz, and so forth.

Madame de Gallifet and I were a little behind the Emperor, between him and
Prince Metternich. Behind us were the gamekeepers, loading and handing the
guns to their masters as fast as they could. The three first gentlemen had
their own _chasseurs_ and two guns each. After the gamekeepers came the
men whose duties were to pick up the dead and wounded victims and put them
in the bags.

It was a dreadful sight! How I hate it! I am sure I shall not sleep for a
week, for I shall always see the forms and faces of those quivering, dying
creatures in my dreams. I never will go to a _chasse_ again.

And the worst was, they had frightened the birds and animals into a sort
of circle, where they could not escape; the butchery was awful. The
victims numbered close on four thousand. Prince Metternich alone shot
twelve hundred.

How happy I was when it all was over and I could get away from these
horrors and this miserable sport! We were invited to the tea in the
Empress's salon. I had time to change my dress and put on the high silk
gown prescribed for this function.

Such beautiful rooms! First an antechamber, with cabinets of Italian
carving and vitrines and inlaid tables; then the Empress's salon, a very
large room filled with low arm-chairs, tables covered with knickknacks,
books with paper-cutters still in them, as if they were just being read,
screens with engravings _à la Louis Seize_, and beautiful fans on the
walls, also splendid tapestries. It had a lovely ceiling, painted by some
celebrated artist, mostly angels and smiling cherubs, who seemed to
possess more than their share of legs and arms, floating about in the
clouds.

The Empress generally has a distinguished person, or some kind of
celebrity, either a traveler or an inventor, even a prestidigitateur (ugh,
what a word!), always some one who is _en vue_ for the moment. To-day
it was a man who had invented a machine to count the pulse. He strapped a
little band on your wrist and told you to concentrate your thought on one
subject, then a little pencil attached to the leather handcuff began
muffing up and down slowly or quickly, as your pulse indicated.

The Empress seemed much interested, and called those in the room whose
pulse she wished to have tested. She said, "Now let us have an American
pulse." My pulse seemed to be very normal, and the exhibitor did not make
any comments, neither did any one else.

"Shall we now have a Germanic pulse?" the Empress risked, and called Comte
Solms. "Think of something pleasant," said the inventor. "A ballet is a
nice thing to think of," said the Princess Metternich, in her shrill
voice.

"Regarde, comme il va vite," the inventor cried, and he showed the paper
with the most extraordinary wavy lines. Every one laughed, and no one more
than Comte Solms himself.

Six o'clock came very quickly, and the Empress, rising, gave the signal
for our departure.

The Marquis de Caux took me in to dinner. He is the most popular and
sought-after gentleman in all Paris. No ball is complete without him, and
his presence at any dinner is sufficient to assure its success. He leads
all the cotillons worth speaking of, and is a universal favorite. He
allowed his secret to leak out (_un secret de Polichinelle_), which all
Paris is talking about.

I swore secrecy; but I can tell you that it can be contained in one word,
and that word is SIMPATICO, which is Italian for his rendezvous with HER
at the American Doctor Sim's house, for it is there he meets her. _Devine
qui peut!_ (Guess who can!) I have not said anything.

At nine o'clock we all adjourned to the theater in the Palace, to reach
which we passed through many rooms we had never seen before, and through a
long gallery. The theater is very handsome, and as large as most of the
theaters in Paris. There is always one theatrical performance during each
week while their Majesties are in Compiègne. The company of the Théâtre
Français had been commanded to play this evening. The piece chosen was the
latest one of Émile Augier, which has had a great success in Paris, called
"Le fils Giboyer." Émile Augier, who was invited specially, was present.

Madeleine Brohan, Coquelin, Breton, and Madame Favard had the principal
rôles. Such distinguished artistes as those could not but give the
greatest enjoyment. The theater is very handsome; there are only boxes and
the parquet; the Imperial Loge reaches from the first tier of boxes to the
last seats of the parquet in the shape of a shell. Any one standing up
there could touch, on raising the arm, the velvet draperies of the
Imperial box.

The theater is entirely lighted by wax candles, of which there must have
been thousands, and all the scenery belonging to the play was sent
especially from Paris.

Their Majesties sat in the center of the Imperial Loge, and the lady
guests and the most important gentlemen, according to their rank, were
placed beside and behind them.

The other gentlemen sat in the parquet, and circulated about between the
acts.

In the boxes were places for the Court ladies, also the ladies invited
from the neighboring château and from Compiègne.

The whole assemblage certainly presented the most dazzling and magnificent
sight. The ladies in their beautiful toilettes and superb jewels showed to
the greatest advantage in this brilliantly lighted theater. The Empress
was gorgeous in yellow tulle covered with lace and jewels. She wore the
famous Regent diamond, which belongs to the French Crown, in her corsage,
and a superb diamond tiara and necklace. Princess Metternich, who is known
to be the best dressed lady in Paris, had a black tulle dress embroidered
in gold; she wore a tiara of diamonds and emeralds and a necklace of the
same.

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