Chapter 4

She wore a short-waisted jacket with a short skirt attached and a voluminous lace ruffle, a curly wig too long for a man and too short for a woman, upon which sat jauntily a Faust-like hat with a long, sweeping plume. This was her idea of a medieval Maffeo Orsini. As Azucena, the mother of a forty-year-old troubadour, she got herself up as a damsel of sixteen, with a much too short dress and a red bandana around her head, from which dangled a mass of sequins which she shook coquettishly at the prompter. The audience did not make any demonstration; they remained indifferent and tolerant, and there was not a breath of applause. The only criticism that appeared in the papers was: "Madame Philips, une Américaine, a fait son apparence dans 'Trovatore.' Elle joue assez bien, et si sa voix avait l'importance de ses jambes elle aurait eu sans doute du succès, car elle peut presque chanter." Poor Miss Philips! I felt so sorry for her. I thought of when I had seen her in America, where she had such success in the same rôles. But why did she get herself up so? There is nothing like ridicule for killing an artist in France, and any one who knew the French could have foreseen what her success would be the moment she came on the stage. She became ill after these two performances and left Paris.

PARIS, _May 7, 1863._

DEAR M.,--Auber procured us tickets for Meyerbeer's funeral, which took place to-day; it was a most splendid affair. Auber, who was one of the pall-bearers, looked very small and much agitated. The music of the church was magnificent. Auber himself had written an organ voluntary and Jules Cohen played it. Auber said, on going to the cemetery: "La prochaine fois sera pour mon propre compte."

We went to a dinner at Mr. William Gudin's (he is the celebrated painter) last night. There were the Prince and Princess Metternich, old Monsieur Dupin, Duke de Bassano, Monsieur Rouher, Baron Rothschild, and many other people. The gallery was lit up after dinner, and they smoked there (as a great exception). Smoking is against Madame Gudin's principles, but not against his, as the huge table covered with every kind of cigars and cigarettes could bear witness. Collecting cigarettes is a sort of hobby of Gudin's; he gets them from every one. The Emperor of Russia, the Chinese, the Turkish, and Japanese sovereigns, all send him cigarettes, even the Emperor. These last are steeped in a sort of liquid which is good for asthma. Every one who could boast of asthma got one to try. I must say they smelled rather uninvitingly. The Emperor loves Gudin dearly, and orders picture after picture from him, mostly commemorative of some fine event of which the Emperor is, of course, the principal figure, and destined for Versailles later. Gudin has a beautiful hotel and garden near us in the Rue Beaujon. The garden used to be square; but now it is a triangle, as a new boulevard has taken a part of it. Gudin talked much about his debts, as if they were feathers in his cap, and as for his law- suits, they are jewels in his crown!

His famous picture of the Emperor's visit to Venice, now in the Luxembourg, is an enormous canvas, rather _à la Turner_, with intense blue sky deepening into a green sunset, pink and purple waves lashing the sides of the fantastic vessel in which the Emperor stands in an opalescent coloring. Some black slaves are swimming about, their bodies half-way out of the water, holding up their enormous black arms loaded with chains, each link of which would sink an ordinary giant.

Baroness Alphonse Rothschild has one desire, which, in spite of a fathomless purse, seemed difficult at first to fulfil. What she wants is to play a sonata with the orchestra of the Conservatoire, _rien de moins_! She begged me to ask Auber how much it would cost. After due reflection he answered, twelve hundred francs. She was quite surprised at this modest sum; she had thought it would be so many thousands. Therefore she decided to convoke the orchestra, and has been studying her sonata with all zeal and with a Danish coach. I don't mean a carriage, but a man who can coach, after the English school system.

She asked me to keep her in countenance, and wished me to sing something with the orchestra; but what should I sing? Auber could think of nothing better than "Voi che sapete," as the orchestra would have the music for it, and for frivolity he proposed "La Mandolinata," of Paladilhe. He said, "Il faut avoir de tout dans sa poche;" and the dear old master transcribed it all himself, writing it out for the different instruments. I shall always keep these ten pages of his fine writing as one of my most precious autographs.

On account of his _concours_ Auber was asked to be present, as well as the Danish coach, whose occupation was to turn the leaves, and if necessary to help in critical moments. No one else was to be in the audience, not even our husbands. Well! the concert came off. We were four hours about it! It was a funny experience, when one thinks of it, and only Baroness Rothschild could have ever imagined such a thing or carried it through. In her enormous ballroom we two amateurs were performing with the most celebrated orchestra in the world--eighty picked musicians, all perfect artists--with no one to hear us. Auber professed politely to be delighted with all he heard, and clamored for more. The orchestra looked resignedly bored.

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.