When the women of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries write their
memoirs they boldly present themselves to the reader thus: "I have a
well-shaped mouth," said the Marquise of Courcelles, "beautiful lips,
pearly teeth, good forehead, cheeks, and expression, finely chiselled
throat, divine hands, passable arms (that is to say, they are a little
thin); but I find consolation for that misfortune in the fact that I
have the prettiest legs in the world."
And I will follow the marquise's example. Here is my portrait: Overskirt
of white illusion trimmed with fringe, and three flounces of blond
alternating with the fringe; court mantle of cherry silk girt by a high
flounce of white blond which falls over the fringe and is caught up by
Marie Antoinette satin; two other flounces of blond are placed behind at
intervals above; on each side from the waist up are facings composed of
little alternating flounces of blond, looped up with satin; the big puff
behind is bound by a flounce of white blond. A little white waist, the
front and shoulder-straps of which are of satin trimmed with blond. Belt
of red satin with large red butterfly.
The world was made in six days, I in three. And yet I too am in the
world--a little complicated world of silk, satin, blond, loops, and
fringes. Did God rest while he was making the world? I do not know; but
I do know that the scissors that cut me out and the needle that sewed me
rested neither day nor night from Monday evening, January 24, 1870, to
Thursday morning, January 27th. The slashes of the scissors and the
pricks of the needle caused me great pain at first, but I soon paid no
attention to them at all. I began to observe what was going on, to
understand that I was becoming a dress, and to discover that the dress
would be a marvel. From time to time M. Worth came himself to pay me
little visits. "Take in the waist," he would say, "add more fringe,
spread out the train, enlarge the butterfly," etc.
One thing worried me: For whom was I intended? I knew the name, nothing
more--the Baroness Z----. Princess would have been better; but still,
baroness did very well. I was ambitious. I dreaded the theatre. It
remained to be seen whether this baroness was young, pretty, and equal
to wearing me boldly, and whether she had a figure to show me off to
advantage. I was horribly afraid of falling into the hands of an ugly
woman, a provincial, or an old coquette.
How perfectly reassured I was as soon as I saw the baroness! Small,
delicate, supple, stylish, a fairy waist, the shoulders of a goddess,
and, besides all this, a certain little air of audacity, of raillery,
but in exquisite moderation.
I was spread out on a large pearl-gray lounge, and I was received with
marks of frank admiration. M. Worth had been good enough to bring me
_himself_, and he didn't trouble himself about all dresses.
"How original!" exclaimed the little baroness; "how new! But very dear,
isn't it?"
"One thousand and fifty francs."
"One thousand and fifty francs! And I furnished the lace! Ah, how
quickly I should leave you if I didn't owe you so much! For I owe you a
lot of money."
"Oh, very little, baroness--very little."
"No, no; a great deal. But we will discuss that another day."
That evening I made my first appearance in society, and I came out at
the Tuileries. We both of us, the baroness and myself, had an undeniable
success. When the Empress crossed the Salon of Diana, making pleasant
remarks to the right and left, she had the graciousness to stop before
us and make the following remark, which seemed to me extremely witty,
"Ah, baroness, what a dress--what a dress! It's a dream!" On that
occasion the Empress wore a dress of white tulle dotted with silver, on
a design of cloudy green, with epaulettes of sable. It was queer, not
ineffective, but in doubtful taste.
We received much attention, the baroness and I. The new Minister, M.
Émile Ollivier, was presented to us; we received him coldly, as the
little baroness did not approve, I believe, of liberal reforms, and
looked for nothing good from them. We had a long chat on the window-seat
with the Marshal Leboeuf. The only topic during that interesting
conversation was the execution of Troppmann. It was the great event of
the week.
At two o'clock we left--the baroness, I, and the baron. For there was a
husband, who for the time being was crowded in the corner of the
carriage, and hidden under the mass of my skirts and of my train, which
was thrown back on him all in a heap.
"Confess, Edward," said the little baroness--confess that I was pretty
to-night."
"Very."
"And my dress?"
"Oh, charming!"
"You say that indolently, without spirit or enthusiasm. I know you
well. You think I've been extravagant. Well, indeed I haven't. Do you
know how much this dress cost me? Four hundred francs--not a centime
more."
We arrived home, which was a step from the Tuileries, in the Place
Vendôme. The baron went to his rooms, the baroness to hers; and while
Hermance, the maid, cleverly and swiftly untied all my rosettes and took
out the pins, the little baroness kept repeating: "How becoming this
dress is to me! And I seem to become it, too. I shall wear it on
Thursday, Hermance, to go to the Austrian Embassy. Wait a minute, till I
see the effect of the butterfly in the back. Bring the lamp nearer;
nearer yet. Yes, that's it. Ah, how pretty it is! I am enchanted with
this dress, Hermance--really enchanted!"
If the little baroness was enchanted with me, I was equally enchanted
with the baroness. We two made the most tender, the most intimate, and
the most united of families. We comprehended, understood, and completed
each other so well. I had not to do with one of those mechanical
dolls--stupidly and brutally laced into a padded corset. Between the
little baroness and myself there was absolutely nothing but lace and
fine linen. We could confidentially and surely depend on one another.
The beauty of the little baroness was a real beauty, without garniture,
conjuring, or trickery.
So the following Thursday I went to the Austrian Embassy, and a week
later to the Princess Mathilde's. But, alas! the next morning the little
baroness said to her maid: "Hermance, take that dress to the reserve. I
love it, and I'd wear it every evening; but it has been seen
sufficiently for this winter. Yesterday several people said to me, 'Ah,
that's your dress of the Tuileries; it's your dress of the Austrian
Embassy.' It must be given up till next year. Good-bye, dear little
dress."
And, having said that, she placed her charming lips at hap-hazard among
my laces and kissed me in the dearest way in the world. Ah, how pleased
and proud I was of that childish and sweet fellowship! I remembered that
the evening before, on our return, the little baroness had kissed her
husband; but the kiss she had given him was a quick, dry kiss--one of
those hurried kisses with which one wishes to get through; whereas my
kiss had been prolonged and passionate. She had cordiality for the
baron, and love for me. The little baroness wasn't twenty, and she was a
coquette to the core. I say this, in the first place, to excuse her,
and, in the second place, to give an exact impression of her character.
So at noon, in the arms of Hermance, I made my entry to the reserve. It
was a dormitory of dresses, an immense room on the third story, very
large, and lined with wardrobes of white oak, carefully locked. In the
middle of the room was an ottoman, on which Hermance deposited me; after
which she slid back ten or twelve wardrobe doors, one after the other.
Dresses upon dresses! I should never be able to tell how many. All were
hung in the air by silk tape on big triangles. Hermance, however, seemed
much embarrassed.
"In the reserve," she murmured, "in the reserve; that is easy to say.
But where is there any room? And this one needs a lot." At last
Hermance, after having given a number of little taps to the right and
left, succeeded in making a sort of slit, into which I had great
difficulty in sliding. Hermance gave me and my neighbors some more
little taps to lump us together, and then shut the door. Darkness
reigned. I was placed between a blue velvet dress and a mauve satin one.
Towards the end of April we received a visit from the little baroness,
and in consequence of that visit there was great disturbance. Winter
dresses were hung up; spring dresses were got down. At the beginning of
July another visit, another disturbance--entry of the costumes from the
races; departure of others for the watering-places. I lost my neighbor
to the right, the mauve dress, and kept my neighbor on the left, the
blue dress, a cross and crabbed person who was forever groaning,
complaining, and saying to me, "Oh, my dear, you do take up so much
room; do get out of the way a little." I must admit that the poor blue
velvet dress was much to be pitied. It was three years old, having been
a part of the little baroness's trousseau, and had never been worn. "A
high-neck blue velvet dress, at my age, with my shoulders and arms!" had
exclaimed the little baroness; "I should look like a grandmother!" Thus
it was decreed, and the unfortunate blue dress had gone from the
trousseau straight to the reserve.
A week or ten days after the departure of the dresses for Baden-Baden we
heard a noise, the voices of women, and all the doors were opened. It
was the little baroness, who had brought her friend the Countess N----.
"Sit there, my dear, on that ottoman," said the little baroness. "I have
come to look over my dresses. I am very hurried; I arrived but just now
from Baden, and I start again to-night for Anjou. We can chatter while
Hermance shows me the dresses. Oh, those Prussians, my dear, the
monsters! We had to run away, Blanche and myself, like thieves. (Very
simple dresses, Hermance, every-day dresses, and walking and boating
dresses.) Yes, my dear, like thieves! They threw stones at us, real
stones, in the Avenue of Lichtental, and called us 'Rascally
Frenchwomen! French rabble!' The Emperor did well to declare war against
such people. (Dresses for horseback, Hermance--my brown riding-habit.)
At any rate, there's no need to worry. My husband dined yesterday with
Guy; you know, the tall Guy, who is an aide of Leboeuf. Well, we are
ready, admirably ready, and the Prussians not at all. (Very simple, I
said, Hermance. You are showing me ball-dresses. I don't intend to dance
during the war.) And then, my dear, it seems that this war was
absolutely necessary from a dynastic point of view. I don't quite know
why, but I tell it to you as I heard it. (These dozen dresses, Hermance,
will be sufficient. But there are thirteen. I never could have thirteen.
Take away the green one; or, no, add another--that blue one; that's
all.) Now let's go down, my dear."
Whereupon she departed. So war was declared, and with Prussia. I was
much moved. I was a French dress and a Bonapartist dress. I was afraid
for France and afraid for the dynasty, but the words of the tall Guy
were so perfectly reassuring.
For two months there was no news; but about the 10th of September the
little baroness arrived with Hermance. She was very pale, poor little
baroness--very pale and agitated.
"Dark dresses, Hermance," she said, "black dresses. I know! What remains
of Aunt Pauline's mourning? There must remain quite a lot of things. You
see, I am too sad--"
"But if madame expects to remain long in England?"
"Ah! as long as the Republic lasts."
"Then it may be a long time."
"What do you mean--a long time? What _do_ you mean, Hermance? Who can
tell you such things?"
"It seems to me that if I were madame I'd take for precaution's sake a
few winter dresses, a few evening-dresses--"
"Evening-dresses! Why, what are you thinking of? I shall go nowhere,
Hermance, alone in England, without my husband, who stays in Paris in
the National Guard."
"But if madame should go to see their Majesties in England?"
"Yes, of course I shall, Hermance."
"Well, it's because I know madame's feelings and views that--"
"You are right; put in some evening-dresses."
"Will madame take her last white satin dress?"
"Oh no, not that one; it would be too sad a memory for the Empress, who
noticed it at the last ball at the Tuileries. And then the dress
wouldn't stand the voyage. My poor white satin dress! Shall I ever wear
it again?"
That is why I did not emigrate, and how I found myself blockaded in
Paris during the siege. From the few words that we had heard of the
conversation of the little baroness and Hermance we had a pretty clear
idea of the situation. The Empire was overthrown and the Republic
proclaimed. The Republic! There were among us several old family laces
who had seen the first Republic--that of '93. The Reign of Terror! Ah,
what tales they told us! The fall of the Empire, however, did not
displease these old laces, who were all Legitimists or Orleanists. In my
neighborhood, on a gooseberry satin skirt, there were four flounces of
lace who had had the honor of attending the coronation of Charles X.,
and who were delighted, and kept saying to us: "The Bonapartes brought
about invasion; invasion brings back the Bourbons. Long live Henry V.!"
We all had, however, a common preoccupation. Should we remain in style?
We were nearly all startling, risky, and loud--so much so that we were
quite anxious, except three or four quiet dresses, velvet and dark cloth
dresses, who joined in the chorus with the old laces, and said to us:
"Ah, here's an end to the carnival, to this masquerade of an empire!
Republic or monarchy, little we care; we are sensible and in good
taste." We felt they were somewhat in the right in talking thus. From
September to February we remained shut up in the wardrobes, wrangling
with each other, listening to the cannon, and knowing nothing of what
was going on.
Towards the middle of February all the doors were opened. It was the
little baroness--the little baroness!
"Ah!" she exclaimed, "my dresses, my beloved dresses, there they are;
how happy I am to see them!"
We could say nothing; but we, too, were very happy to see the little
baroness.
"Now, then, Hermance," continued the little baroness, "let us hunt
around a little. What can I take to Bordeaux? After such disasters I
must have quiet and sombre dresses."
"Madame hasn't very many."
"I beg your pardon, Hermance, I have dark dresses--this one and that
one. The blue velvet dress! The blue velvet dress is just the thing, and
I've never worn it."
And so my neighbor the blue dress was taken down, and was at last going
to make her first appearance in the world. However, the little baroness
herself, with great activity, rummaged round in the wardrobes.
"Nothing, nothing," she said; "four or five dresses only. All the rest
are impossible, and would not accord with the Government we shall have
in Bordeaux. Well, I shall be obliged to have some republican dresses
made--very moderate republican, but still republican."
The little baroness went away, to come back a month later, always with
Hermance, who was an excellent maid, and much thought of by her
mistress. New deliberation.
"Hermance," said the little baroness, "what can I take to Versailles? I
think we shall be able to have a little more freedom. There will be
receptions and dinners with M. Thiers; then the princes are coming. I
might risk transition dresses. Do you know what I mean by that,
Hermance--transition dresses?"
"Perfectly, madame--pearl grays, mauves, violets, lilacs."
"Yes, that's it, Hermance; light but quiet colors. You are an
invaluable maid. You understand me perfectly."
The little baroness started for Versailles with a collection of
transition dresses. There must have been twenty. It was a good
beginning, and filled us with hope. She had begun at Bordeaux with
sombre colors, and continued on at Versailles with light ones,
Versailles was evidently only a stepping-stone between Bordeaux and
Paris. The little baroness was soon coming back to Paris, and once the
little baroness was in Paris we could feel assured that we should not
stay long in the wardrobes.
But it happened that a few days after the departure of the little
baroness for Versailles we heard loud firing beneath the windows of the
house (we lived in the Place Vendôme). Was it another revolt, another
revolution? For a week nothing more was heard; there was silence. Then
at the end of that week the cannonade began around Paris worse than
ever. Was the war recommencing with the Prussians? Was it a new siege?
The days passed, and the boom of the cannon continued. Finally, one
morning there was a great racket in the court-yard of our house. Cries,
threats, oaths! The noise came up and up. Great blows with the butt ends
of muskets were struck on the wardrobe doors. They were smashed in and
we perceived eight or ten slovenly looking, dirty, and bearded men.
Among these men was a woman, a little brunette; fairly pretty, I must
say, but queerly gotten up. A black dress with a short skirt, little
boots with red bows, a round gray felt hat with a large red plume, and a
sort of red scarf worn crosswise. It was a peculiar style, but it was
style all the same.
"Oh, oh!" exclaimed the little woman, "here's luck! What a lot of
dresses! Well, clear away all this, sergeant, and take those duds to
headquarters."
Then all those men threw themselves upon us with a sort of fury. We felt
ourselves gripped and dishonored by coarse, dirty hands.
"Don't soil them too much, citizens," the little woman would cry. "Do
them up in packages, and take the packages down to the
ammunition-wagon."
The headquarters was the apartment of the young lady of the red plume.
Our new mistress was the wife of a general of the Commune. We were
destined to remain official dresses. Official during the Empire, and
official during the Commune. The first thought of Mme. General was to
hold a review of us, and I had the honor of being the object of her
special attention and admiration.
"Ah, look, Émile!" (Émile was the General.) "Look! this is the toniest
of the whole concern. I'll keep it for the Tuileries."
I was to be kept for the Tuileries! What tales of woe and what
lamentations there were in the sort of alcove where we were thrown like
rags! Mme. General went into society every evening, and never put on the
same dress twice. My poor companions the day after told me their
adventures of the day before. This one had dined at Citizen Raoul
Rigault's, the Préfecture of Police; that one attended a performance of
"Andromaque" at the Théâtre Français, in the Empress's box, etc. At last
it was my turn. The 17th of May was the day of the grand concert at the
Tuileries.
Oh, my dear little baroness, what had become of you? Where were your
long soft muslin petticoats and your fine white satin corsets? Where
were your transparent linen chemisettes? Mme. General had coarse
petticoats of starched calico. Mme. General wore such a corset! Mme.
General had such a crinoline! My poor skirts of lace and satin were
abominably stiffened and tossed about by the hard crinoline hoops. As to
the basque, the strange thing happened that the basque of the little
baroness was much too tight for Mme. General at the waist, and, on the
contrary, above the waist it was--I really do not know how to explain
such things. At any rate, it was just the opposite of small, so much so
that it had to be padded. Horrible! Most horrible!
At ten that evening I was climbing for the second time the grand
staircase of the Tuileries, in the midst of a dense and ignoble mob. One
of the General's aides-de-camp tried in vain to open a passage.
"Room, room, for the wife of the General!" he cried.
Much they cared for the wife of the General! Great big boots trampled on
my train, sharp spurs tore my laces, and the bones of the corsets of
Mme. General hurt me terribly.
At midnight I returned to Mme. General's den. I returned in rags,
shreds, soiled, dishonored, and stained with wine, tobacco, and mud. A
hateful little maid brutally tore me from the shoulders of Mme. General,
and said to her mistress:
"Well, madame, was it beautiful?"
"No, Victoria," replied Mme. General, "it was too mixed. But do hurry
up! tear it off if it won't come. I know where to find others at the
same price."
And I was thrown like a rag on a heap of pieces. The heap of pieces was
composed of ball-dresses of the little baroness.
One morning, three or four days later, the aide-de-camp rushed in,
crying, "The Versaillists! The Versaillists are in Paris!"
Thereupon Mme. General put on a sort of military costume, took two
revolvers, filled them with cartridges, and hung them on a black leather
belt which she wore around her waist. "Where is the General?" she said
to the aide-de-camp.
"At the Tuileries."
"Very well, I shall go there with you." And on that she departed, with
her little gray felt hat jauntily tilted over her ear.
The cannonade and firing redoubled and came nearer. Evidently there was
fighting very near us, quite close to us. The next day towards noon we
saw them both come back, the General and Mme. General. And in what a
condition! Panting, frightened, forbidding, with clothes white with
dust, and hands and faces black with powder. The General was wounded in
the left hand, he had twisted around his wrist a handkerchief bathed in
blood.
"Does your arm hurt you?" Mme. General said to him.
"It stings a little, that's all."
"Are they following us?"
"Yes, I think so."
"Listen! There are noises, shouts."
"Look out of the window without showing yourself."
"The red trousers! They are here!"
"Lock and bolt the door. Get the revolvers and load them. I can't on
account of my arm. This wound is a bore."
"You are so pale!"
"Yes; I am losing blood--a good deal of blood."
"They are coming up the stairs!"
"Into the alcove--let us go into the alcove, on the dresses."
"Here they are!"
"Give me the revolver."
The door gave way violently under the hammering of the butts of the
guns. A shower of bullets fell on us and around us. The General, with a
single movement, fell heavily at full length on the bed of silk, muslin,
and laces that we made for him. Three or four men with red trousers
threw themselves on Mme. General, who fought, bit, and screamed,
"Assassins! assassins!"
A soldier tore away the bell-cord, firmly tied her hands, and carried
her away like a bundle. She continued to repeat, in a strangled voice,
"Assassins! assassins!" The soldiers approached the alcove and looked at
the General. "As to him," they said, "he's done for; he doesn't need
anything more. Let's be off."
They left us, and we remained there for two days, crushed beneath that
corpse and covered with blood. Finally, at the end of those two days, a
man arrived who was called a Commissioner, and who wore a tricolored
scarf around his waist. "This corpse has been forgotten," he said. "Take
it away."
They tried to lift the body, but with fingers stiffened by death the
General held my big cherry satin butterfly. They had nearly to break his
fingers to get it out.
Meantime the Commissioner examined and searched curiously among that
brilliant heap of rags on which the General had died. My waist appeared
to catch his eye. "Here is a mark," he said to one of his men--"a mark
inside the waist, with the name and number of the maker. We can learn
where these dresses came from. Wrap this waist in a newspaper and I'll
take it."
They wrapped me in an old number of the _Official Journal of the
Commune_. The following day we went to M. Worth, the Commissioner and I.
The conversation was not long.
"Was this dress made by you?" the Commissioner asked.
"Yes; here's the mark."
"And for whom was it made?"
"Number 18,223. Wait a moment; I'll consult my books." The dress-maker
came back in five minutes, and said to the Commissioner, "It was for the
Baroness Z---- that I made this dress, eighteen months ago, and it isn't
paid for."