Chapter 17

Baron Rothschild had _carte-blanche_ to bring any guest, or as many as he liked. The Prince of Wales always lunched there, and any one that was of importance was sure to be present. I made many new acquaintances, and you may imagine how I enjoyed this glimpse of a world so entirely unknown to me. The races at Longchamps, Auteuil, and Chantilly I had seen many times; but I never saw anything like this exciting and bewildering scene.

The Prince of Wales gave a ball at Cooper's Hill (the house they had hired for the Ascot week), which was very charming and _sans façon_. I danced the cotillon with Baron Rothschild and a waltz with the Prince of Wales. The supper, which we had in the palm-garden, was an elaborate affair. We drove home in the early morning, just as the day was breaking.

The next day we lunched first at the barracks, and then afterward went to Virginia Water, where the Princess of Wales had arranged a picnic. There was boating on the pretty lake and tents on the lawn; tea was served during the afternoon, and a military band played the whole time. The great attraction was the echo. We all had to try our voices, and the gentlemen made bets as to how many times the echo would be heard. Some loud, piercing voices were repeated as many as eight times.

Here we bid our kind host good-by and took the train for Twickenham. We passed the night with Mr. and Mrs. Hoffman at their villa. The next day we were invited to a croquet-party and dinner by the Count and Countess de Paris.

We arrived at Twickenham Court at four o'clock, and began playing our game directly. Mrs. Hoffman had been praising me to the Countess de Paris to such a degree that she was fired with ambition to play against a "champion" of the first water, When we appeared on the ground I noticed that the Countess had a small ivory mallet. "This," I said to myself, "is a foregone conclusion; any one who plays with a fancy mallet, and that of ivory, is sure to be beaten." And in my conceit I thought I need not give myself much trouble about the game. Alas! I never appreciated the saying that "pride has a fall" until that day. At first I played with utter indifference, I was so sure of winning, and even when the Countess de Paris walked triumphantly over the ground, carrying everything before her, I smiled inwardly, saying to myself, "Just wait." But though I played my very best I never scored a game, and I could not even make a decent stroke. I felt so discouraged, and I was beaten all to pieces. The dinner was solemn and impressive, the whole Orléans family being present.

The Prince de Joinville, the Duke de Chartres, and the Count de Paris, with their wives; in all, about twenty at table. I was disgusted with myself, provoked at my silly self-assurance, and mortified that I had been beaten _à plate couture_, which in English means that all my seams had been turned down and ironed, and all my feathers were drooping.

We were (at least I was) glad to escape at ten o'clock. I don't think I ever was so tired. The week at Ascot, the picnic at Virginia Water, the balls, and the late sitting-up at night, all told on my nerves, and instead of resting at the Hoffmans', I passed a miserable and restless night.

The following day we returned to London in time to drive out, at one o'clock, with the Lionel Rothschilds to their country-place. It is the most magnificent estate; the cedar-trees are particularly beautiful, and the broad lawn, which stretches out in front of the house, is the finest I have ever seen. Baron Rothschild himself drove the coach and four horses, and we spun along the fine road, passing Richmond and all the pretty villas and gardens, which were full of roses. It was my birthday, and I had many splendid presents. From Baroness Rothschild I received a superb traveling-bag, all the fittings of silver gilt, with my initials. Baron Alfred Rothschild gave me a smelling-bottle, with the colors of his racing-stables in enamel. We had a delightful luncheon, and got back to London in time for dinner at Lady Sherbourne's. On hearing it was my birthday, she took a diamond-ring from her finger and gave it to me.

More balls, more dinners, luncheons, and garden-parties followed one another.

We intend to leave London after the ball at Marlborough House. I must go home, as I have nothing more to wear. We had accepted an invitation to the garden-party given by the Princess of Wales at Chiswick (their charming country-place). All the beauty and elegance of London graced the occasion. The Princess looked exquisite in her dainty summer toilette, and had a pleasant smile for every one. The Prince circulated among the guests, speaking to every one in his usual genial manner. The three little Princesses looked like three fluffy pink pin-cushions covered with white muslin. On the extensive lawn, which was like a green-velvet carpet, the ladies strolled about in their pretty, fresh dresses, sometimes sitting at the little tables which were shaded by large Japanese umbrellas placed between the terrace and the walk. It was a garden of living flowers.

The Prince of Wales, in his peculiarly abrupt manner, said to me, "What have you been doing since Ascot?"

"I have been doing a great deal, sir: dining and dancing and enjoying myself generally."

"I am glad to know that. Been singing?"

"Not much, sir. We dined at Twickenham Court, where I played a disastrous game of croquet," I answered.

"Do they play croquet at Twickenham Court?"

"Indeed they do, sir. The Countess de Paris plays a very good game."

"What day did you dine there?"

"On the 17th, your Highness," I replied.

"Are you sure it was the 17th you dined there?"

"Yes, I am quite sure. I know it, because it was the day before my birthday."

"Was it a large dinner?"

"It was rather large. The whole Orléans family was there, and some others."

"Did you know that they had had a _conseil de famille_ that day?"

"No," I answered; "I heard nothing of it."

The Prince continued: "The whole family signed a petition to the Emperor Napoleon to be allowed to return to France and serve in the army. Can you imagine why they want to go back to France when they can live quietly here and be out of politics?" the Prince said.

"Do you think, sir, that the Emperor will refuse?"

"One never knows," said the Prince. "Qui vivra verra."

The Marlborough ball was very magnificent. The Princess of Wales looked exquisite. She is very lovely, and has gracious, sweet manners. I don't wonder that her people adore her; and I think the Prince is just as good as he can be.

_July, 1870._

On our return from London I remained quietly at delightful Petit Val.

On the 10th of July we received an invitation to a dinner at St. Cloud, but unfortunately we had promised Baroness Rothschild to spend some days at Ferrières, and when the invitation came we were obliged to send a telegram to St. Cloud expressing our regrets. There is such a talk of war, and so many rumors afloat, that every one is more than excited. Alphonse Rothschild says that, if there should be a war, it will be a tremendous one, and that Germany is better prepared than France. "But," said he, "you ought to know about that, as your brother-in-law Hatzfeldt is in the secrets of his country."

"That's just it," I answered; "because he is in the secrets of his country he is the last person to learn anything from, and we (the family) would be the last to know. But do you think that, if war were really imminent, the Emperor would think of giving a dinner?" I asked.

"That might be. We don't yet know what the result of Benedetti's interview with the King of Prussia at Ems will be," the Baron answered.

We stayed at Ferrières until the 14th, and returned to Petit Val, where we received another invitation to St. Cloud for the 17th, which we accepted. On the 15th we went to Chamarande, returning to Paris on the following afternoon. The Duke de Persigny was not at Chamarande, otherwise we should have been a little more _au courant_ of how desperate things looked in Paris. The Duchess had a word from the Duke the night before, "and he seemed," she said, "very despondent." But I remarked, as I did before, "Things could not be so threatening if they were giving a dinner." "Je n'y comprends rien," she replied, which was her invariable answer to any doubt expressed, or when one wanted a direct response.

We got back to town at half-past five, and I soon began dressing for the dinner. We drove out to St. Cloud, and arrived at the door of the château just before seven o'clock. What was our astonishment at not seeing any of the numerous servants who generally were waiting in the vestibule. There was only one man to be seen.

I began taking off my mantle, still wondering, when Monsieur de Laferrière came quickly out from one of the salons and said excitedly, "Did you not receive my letter countermanding the dinner?"

"Countermanding the dinner! What? Then there is no dinner?"

"No," he rejoined; "it has been countermanded."

As our carriage could not yet have got very far off, nothing was easier than to call it back and return to Paris. And I put on my wrap to depart, and stood there waiting for the coupé. Then Monsieur de Laferrière came out again and said, "Her Majesty says that, now that you are here, you had better stay."

"But," I protested, "it is much better for us to go back."

He looked puzzled and said, "But the Empress desires it; you cannot well refuse, can you?"

"We will do as you advise."

"Then I advise you to stay," he answered.

And stay we did, and I never regretted anything so much in my life.

When we went into the drawing-room their Majesties were already there. The Empress came toward me and said kindly, "How do you do?" The Emperor held out his hand, but did not say a word. He looked so ill and tired. Never had I seen him look like that! The Prince Imperial seemed preoccupied and very serious.

Dinner was announced; the Emperor gave his arm to the Empress, and the Prince gave me his. There was no one beside ourselves and the Household, perhaps twenty in all, and dinner was served in the small dining-room looking toward Paris. On the other side of me was Count d'Arjuson, aide- de-camp to the Emperor.

You may imagine that I wished myself a hundred miles away. The Emperor never uttered a word; the Empress sat with her eyes fixed on the Emperor, and did not speak to a single person. No one spoke. The Emperor would receive telegram upon telegram; the gentleman sitting next to him opened the telegrams and put them before his Majesty. Every now and again the Emperor would look across the table to the Empress with such a distressed look it made me think that something terrible was happening, which was true. I could not learn much from my surroundings, as dead silence reigned. The dinner was very simple. How different from the gorgeous repasts of Compiègne, and how sad every one looked! I was glad when the signal for leaving the table was given and we re-entered the drawing-room.

The Emperor was immediately surrounded by his gentlemen. The Empress moved a little way off, but without taking her eyes from her husband. The Prince Imperial stood by his father, watching him. Then the Empress advanced toward his Majesty and took his arm to leave the room. Just as she neared the door she looked at me, turned back, and coming up to where I was standing held out her hand and said, "Bonsoir." The Emperor stood a moment irresolutely, then, bowing his head, left the room with the Empress on his arm, the Prince following.

We bade the _dames d'honneur_ good night and fled, found the coupé before the entrance, and weren't we glad to get in it and drive away? I never in my life felt what it was to be _de trop_ and even _deux de trop_. We reached the Rue de Courcelles at nine o'clock. It was too early to go to bed, and so I am sitting in my dressing-gown, while Charles has gone to his club to learn the latest news.

_19th July._

This morning war was declared for sure, and they say that the Emperor is leaving soon with the Prince. Every one is very confident of the success of the French Army, and people go about in the streets singing "À Berlin" to the tune of "Les lampions."

PETIT VAL, _28th July_.

The Emperor, with the Prince, left this morning for Metz, to take the command of the army. He did not come into Paris, but in order to avoid demonstrations, noise, etc., had a platform put up on the other side of the station at St. Cloud, where the Empress and her ladies could say their adieux without the crowd looking on. The last words the Empress said to her son were, "Louis, fais ton devoir." She is made the Regent during the absence of the Emperor.

_30th August_.

It looks now as if there might be war all over France. As it is, the Prussians are near Paris, and the French are trying to regain the ground they have lost. The news we get is very contradictory. According to the French official reports the French Army has been successful all the time. The English papers probably give the untarnished truth, unfavorable as it may be to France. Some people say that at the worst there is only a question of unimportant skirmishes.

We are well out of Paris and safely in Dinard, where Mr. Moulton is building a new house (we have already two). We left Petit Val rather precipitately, leaving everything behind us, clothes in wardrobes and letters in commodes. We shall not be away more than a month.

I can only say that we lead the most peaceful of lives during this time of war. I will not tell you any news, because it won't be news when you read it. We are and have been all the time fed on false reports, great placards pasted up everywhere telling of the French victories, but from our English papers we know the contrary. It is pitiful to see the poor, half-clad peasants being drilled on the beach with sticks in their hands instead of guns. It is the French idea of keeping up the spirits of the army.

I sang in the cathedral last Sunday, and the _quête_ (the money taken), they said, was a large sum. I doubt it! I know what the _quêtes_ are here. Anything that can rattle in the bag is good. Buttons are particularly popular, as no one can see what you put in, and it does not matter.

There was a tremendous storm last night, and many of the slates of the new villa were blown off. The servants who sleep there thought that the Germans had come at last, and were frightened out of the few wits they own.

Madame Gignoux, our neighbor at Petit Val, who is living in her other château in Brittany, sent a letter to me which I should send to Helen in Berlin, to be sent to Paul, who is in Versailles, to be sent to Mr. Washburn, in Paris, who is to give it to Henry at Petit Val. Rather roundabout way! I can't tell you how much of that sort of thing I am constantly doing for people who are afraid of doing anything for themselves; they think every one is a spy or a traitor.

PARIS, _March 14, 1871._

DEAR MAMA,--You will be surprised to see that I am in Paris; but you will understand why when I tell you that I received a letter from Mrs. Moulton to this effect: "If you wish to go to Petit Val to look after the things you left there when you went to Dinard last August, you had better come to Paris without delay, as the trains are running regularly now." The trains may have been running regularly (I left Dinard the next day), but they were certainly not running on time, for we missed all connections, and only arrived at Rennes after seven o'clock, too late to catch the evening train for Paris. The fine omnibus at the station made me imagine that it belonged to an equally fine hotel, but the hotel proved to be anything but fine. It was dreadfully dirty and shabby, and filled to overflowing. It was with the greatest difficulty I was able to secure a room for myself. My grumbling maid had to content herself with the sofa. The _salle à manger_ was thronged with officers clanking their swords on the brick floor and all talking at once. I passed a sleepless night, being kept awake by the loud and incessant conversations in the corridor and the continual tramping of soldiers under my window. We started for Paris the next morning at eight o'clock. The train was crowded with people who, like myself, were eager to return home after so many months of anxious waiting. In all the stations through which we passed one saw nothing but soldiers, their ragged uniforms hanging on their emaciated forms; their feet--which had been frozen in January (poor things!)--were still bandaged, and hardly any of them possessed shoes. They did look, indeed, the picture of abject dejection and misery.

At Le Mans, the place where we stopped for luncheon, the soldiers were lying about on the brick pavement of the station, too tired and worn out to move, and presenting the saddest sight it has ever fallen to my lot to witness. They were waiting for the cattle vans to take them away. In these they would be obliged to stand until they reached Paris and its hospitals. Every one of the travelers was anxious to alleviate their misery in some way, by offering them cigars, food, and money. My heart bled for the poor creatures, and I gave them all I had in my purse, and my luncheon also. They represented the debris of Faidherbe's army, which of all the troops had seen the most desperate fighting during the war. All the trains we passed were packed tight with soldiers, herded together like cattle, patient misery painted on their pale, tired faces.

Hungry and penniless I arrived at last in Paris, where I was delighted to see a healthy, normal-looking person in the shape of my brother-in-law, Henry, who met me at the station. He had plenty to tell me of his experiences since last September. He had been living at Petit Val throughout the whole campaign, and was still there looking after our interests, _faisant la navette_ between Petit Val, Paris, and Versailles at his will. He had free passes for all these places. On my arrival at the Rue de Courcelles I found the family well, Mrs. Moulton knitting as usual, Mademoiselle Wissembourg napping, and Mr. Moulton reading the _Journal des Débats_ out loud in his peculiar French.

I thought of the "Brook," by Tennyson: "Men may come and men may go, but I go on for ever." The family had not eaten cats and dogs during the siege as, according to the newspapers, other people had done.

Mr. Moulton having been in Paris at the time of the Revolution of 1848, and knowing about revolutions, had had the forethought to lay in a stock of provisions, such as ham, biscuit, rice, etc., and all sorts of canned things, which he deemed would be sufficient for all their requirements. They had even given dinner-parties limited to a very choice few, who sometimes brought welcome additions in the shape of other canned delicacies.

When the family moved from Petit Val to Paris last September, the French Government had given them permission to keep one or two cows. They also brought a calf, a sheep, and some chickens with them. The cows and the sheep shared the stables with the horses, while the chickens were let loose in the conservatory, and were expected to lay enough eggs to pay for their board. The gardener had cleverly converted the conservatory into a sort of kitchen garden, and had planted some useful vegetables, such as radishes, carrots, salad, etc., so you see the family took good care that it should have enough to eat, and mice and rats only appeared on the table after the repasts.

PARIS, _March 16, 1871._

DEAR MAMA,--This has been a very fatiguing day for me, so you will only receive a short letter.

Paul [Footnote: Count Hatzfeldt, my brother-in-law.] invited Mrs. Moulton and me to come to Versailles, and offered us a cup of tea as an inducement. You know Paul is Count Bismarck's private secretary, having been with him and the German sovereign during the entire war. He is still at Versailles, but expects to leave for Berlin one of these first days. He came to fetch us at the station with the fat ponies and the basket-wagon (the ponies had escaped the fate of other fat ponies, and they had not furnished steaks for famished Parisians, but continued to trot complacently about, as of old). Fortunately they were not too fat to carry us through the park at a lively pace, and land us at Paul's palatial residence. It seemed strange to see German officers, in their tight- fitting uniforms, strolling leisurely about in the park, where before I had only seen the rather slovenly _pious-pious_ on holidays, when the fountains played by day and the fireworks by night.

The park looked enchanting in its spring toilette, and made me think of the last time I was here. Could it have been only last May? It seems years ago!

Paul had invited some of his German officer friends to take tea with us. Paul had been with the King of Prussia and Jules Favre and Bismarck at Ferrières, where they had met, he said, "with no other result than to see Jules Favre weep."

Paul had been at Versailles when the King was proclaimed Emperor in the _salle de glaces_--the greatest emotion he had ever experienced, he said. He had also been witness of the signing of the armistice. The pen with which it was signed had been given him as a souvenir, and it was lying on his table.

Paul thought the Emperor Napoleon more to be pitied than blamed. He had gone into this war without really knowing the true state of things. He was made to believe that there were four hundred thousand men ready to take the field, when in reality there were only half that number, and those certainly not fit to be pitted against the Germans, who had been provided with better and newer maps than the French, and knew France and its army more thoroughly than the French themselves. We could have talked on this subject for hours had not the fat ponies come to take us to the station, where we bade farewell to Paul and the officers, and returned to Paris for the modest repast which we dignified by the name of dinner.

_March 17th._

DEAR MAMA,--Such a funny thing happened to-day.

I don't know whether I told you of some Americans, called the O----s, I met in Dinard fresh from America (_via_ Southampton). When I bade them good-by, I said, in an offhand way, "When you come to Paris you must come and see me."

"Oh! that will be nice," gushingly replied Mrs. O----. "Where do you live?" (Every one of the O----s' phrases commenced with "Oh!")

"I live in the Rue de Courcelles," I answered.

"Oh! Roue de Carrousel," she repeated. "What number?"

"Rue de Courcelles," I replied, correctingly; "twenty-seven."

Mrs. O----'s next question was, "Oh! have you a flat?"

"A flat!! No," I said, "we have a hotel. Every one knows our hotel in the Rue de Courcelles."

I then proceeded to forget the O----s and everything concerning them. This morning, when we were at luncheon, the _concierge_ came rushing in, the tassels on his _calotte_ bristling with agitation.

"Madame," he gasped, "there is a fiacre full of people with a lot of trunks asking to come in to Madame. I can't understand what they want." His emotion choked him.

We all said in unison: "Ask for their cards. Who can they be?"

The _concierge_ came back with Mr. O----'s card.

I recollected my impulsive invitation and thought it very polite of them to be so _empressés_. I went into the salon, followed by Mademoiselle W----, where we found Mr. O---- seated at his ease in a _fauteuil_, his feet reposing on the white-bear rug.

I apologized for having kept him waiting, but explained that we had been at luncheon.

He (complacently), "Oh, that's all right; we have just arrived in Paris and we came straight to you."

I felt overwhelmed at such a keen appreciation of my politeness.

"How is Mrs. O----?" I said.

He answered with the inevitable "Oh!" "Oh! she's all right. She's outside in the cab."