Chapter 8

A strip of red velvet carpet laid over the polished floor surrounded the table. On the outer side of this carpet were the chair, to be pushed forward as soon as people were ready to sit down. The lackeys stood in a line all the way down the room, making a very imposing sight in their red- and-white liveries; there must have been forty or fifty of them at least. The Emperor's _chasseur_ always stands behind his chair and serves him, and him alone, taking a dish of each course, as it is brought in, from the maître d'hôtel. No one but this privileged _chasseur_ can hand anything in the way of food to his Majesty. When the Emperor has served himself, the _chasseur_ hands the dish back to the _maître d'hôtel_, who passes it on to the other servants, who then serve the guests. The Empress is served in the same way.

I suppose this custom dates back to the time of the Borgias, when, in order to save their own lives, they were willing to risk those of their trusty menials by making them taste the food before it was put on the table.

A military band played during the dinner. It was placed in a large circular loggia having windows opening on to a courtyard, thus serving two purposes: to let in the air and let out the music, which, fortunately, it did, otherwise we could not have heard ourselves speak.

The dinner lasted about an hour. (The Emperor dislikes sitting long at table.) It seemed almost impossible that so much eating and drinking and changing of plates--in fact, such an elaborate repast--could be got through within such a short time. But it was!

When their Majesties had finished they rose, and everyone followed their example. All the chairs were drawn from under you, _tant pis_ if you were in the act of eating a pear and had not yet washed your fingers; but, no matter, you had to skip across the red carpet in order to let their Majesties pass.

A rather amusing incident occurred at dinner. One of the foreign ministers, who is very vain of the smallness of his feet, had donned a pair of patent-leather shoes evidently much too tight for him. During the dinner he relieved his sufferings by slipping his aching toes out of them. All went well until his chair was suddenly drawn from underneath him, as their Majesties were about to pass. In utter despair he made the most frantic efforts to recover the wandering shoes from under the table; but, alas! the naughty things had made their escape far beyond reach (a little way shoes have of doing when left to themselves); consequently, he was obliged to trip across the red carpet as best he could without them. The Empress, who keenly appreciates a comical situation, had noticed with great amusement his manoeuvers and embarrassment, and (was it just for a little fun?) stopped in passing and spoke to him, much to his confusion, for it was impossible to prevent her from seeing his little, white shoeless feet.

On our returning to the salon the magnificent _Cent Gardes_ stood just as we had left them, and I wondered if they had unbent for a moment all the time we had been at dinner.

The _cercle_ began, and their Majesties circulated about among their guests. When the Empress was in front of me, she gave me her hand and said some very kind words to me. She noticed I wore the bracelet she had given me and seemed pleased. I do not know if you ever saw this handsome bracelet--it is composed of large rubies and diamonds set in three heavy gold coils. The date when the Empress gave it to me and her name are inscribed inside. The Prince Imperial spoke to every one he knew. He has a very sweet voice, such gentle manners and winning ways. He speaks excellent English and, of course, several other languages.

Waldteufel, _le fabricant de valses_, put himself at the piano (an upright one, standing at the extreme end of the immense ballroom), and played some of his charming _entraînante_ music. But though he played as loudly as possible, it was difficult to distinguish what sort of music it was, the ballroom being so enormous. However it did not make much difference as there were only a few who wanted to dance and one could see that they were urged to do so by the chamberlains. Waldteufel has an apartment in the town of Compiègne, where he fabricates his waltzes by day and comes here to play them by night.

At ten o'clock their Majesties went into the Emperor's private salon with a selected few; then the dancing become general and livelier. Tea and cakes were served at eleven o'clock and their Majesties reentered, conversed a few moments, bowed to every one and withdrew, turned round on reaching the door, and, with a sweeping inclination of the head, disappeared.

We bade good night to our friends about us and withdrew, as did every one else, and I, for one, was glad to go to my Royal couch. Good night!

SUNDAY, _November 23, 1866._

DEAR M.,--When we came down this morning into the salon we found it almost deserted, and only realized the reason why when we saw the Empress and other ladies holding their prayer-books devoutly in their hands returning from mass, which is celebrated in the chapel of the château. They wore black-lace veils in place of hats, the Empress wearing hers draped in true Spanish fashion, which was infinitely becoming to her, being, as she is, "to the _manner_ born."

We remembered _then_ that it was Sunday, and felt subdued, seeing so many who were more pious than we were. In fact, I felt so much so that I think it would have been impossible for me to have laughed during the _déjeuner_. Perhaps it was fortunate I sat next to the Duke de Fernan Nuñez, whose sedate and polished manners suited the occasion perfectly. He did not encourage any attempt at gaiety. Oh dear, no! Far from it! I felt myself gradually freezing, and our conversation was of the most uninteresting character and dry almost to parching.

I began talking to him about Spain. I said I thought it must be such a lovely country, so full of romance, sentiment, and so forth. But he nipped my enthusiasm in the bud by informing me that he was not Spanish.

"I thought you were," I murmured.

"No; I am Italian." This staggered me a little. He was certainly the husband of the Duchess de Fernan Nuñez, who was Spanish; why had he not the same name?

He told me that he was "Dei Principi Pio-Trivulzio," one of the oldest families in Milan, and that when he married his wife (who is a _Grande d'Espagne_) he was obliged, according to the traditions of Spain, to take her name and give up his own.

The _déjeuner_ finished, we returned to the salon, and after their Majesties had talked a little with their guests the programme for the afternoon, which was to be an excursion to Pierrefonds, was offered to those who wished to go. We hurried to our rooms to put on our hats, coats, and furs, reappearing equipped for the fray.

The _chars-à-bancs_ and the carriages of their Majesties were drawn up on the garden side of the terrace. The Emperor took Prince Metternich in his dog-cart; the Empress drove herself in her English phaëton, accompanied by the Duchess de Fernan Nuñez. The rest of us were provided with big _chars- à-bancs_, each holding six or eight people, and had four horses ridden by two postilions. In the same carriage with me was the Duchess de Persigny, Count Golz, and others; and although it was very cold, we did not mind, as we were well wrapped in furs and had plenty of rugs. We enjoyed intensely the beautiful drive through the forest of Compiègne. Monsieur Davilliers told me that the forest contains about fifteen thousand hectares. I should think so, judging from the endless roads and cross-roads, the interminable avenues and wonderful vistas. There were sign-posts at every turn; those painted red pointed toward Compiègne.

It took us a long time to reach the forest at Pierrefonds, which joins that of Compiègne. By an abrupt turn of the road we came suddenly in view of the enormous castle of Pierrefonds and the little town, which is known for its sulphur baths, and only frequented in summer. No one need inform you what kind of baths they are, as their fumes pervade space and inform you themselves.

The imposing castle looks entirely out of place in its surroundings; the little hill on which it stands seems as if it had been put there in order to accommodate the castle.

We passed over two bridges and over a _pont-levis_ at the foot of the castle; then through a second gateway into a court, and finally over a drawbridge to reach the entrance.

There we got out of the carriages, passed through a dark, vaulted chapel and mounted to the platform, where we had a splendid view of the town and the forest.

Viollet-le-Duc, who was with us, is the pet architect of the Emperor; he is working hard to restore these magnificent ruins, and has now been ten years about it, but says that they will never be finished in his lifetime. The Emperor is very proud of showing them as the work of his favorite architect, and Viollet-le-Duc is just as proud of having been chosen for this stupendous undertaking.

We were spared no details, you may be sure, from the smallest of gargoyles to the biggest of chimneys. There is a huge fireplace which reaches to the ceiling in the _salle des gardes_, with funny little squirrels peering at you with cunning eyes. I wish it had occurred to the great architect to have utilized this fireplace, for he could very well have put a few logs in it and prevented us poor visitors from freezing to death.

We walked (it must have been miles), examining everything in detail. We mounted two hundred steps to see the view, and then descended three hundred steps to see the arched cellars. The castle was first bought one hundred years ago as a ruin by some one, who only paid eight thousand francs for it; then Napoleon I. bought it, and now Napoleon III. is restoring it. It is seven thousand meters square. It has eight big towers, etc. I could go on forever, I am so brimful of statistics, but I spare you.

While the hampers brought from Compiègne were being unpacked we tried to rest our weary limbs in some prehistoric chairs, whose carvings pierced our bones to the marrow. I suppose this is what they call _payer de sa personne_. I consoled myself, while drinking my tea and eating my cake, with the thought that my _personne_ was paying its little private tax to art.

After this interesting but fatiguing visit, and after the long drive through the cold, misty forest, the dead and dry leaves rustling under the horses' feet as they galloped along, I was glad to rest a moment by my cozy fire before dressing for dinner.

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.