At nine o'clock our tea, coffee, or chocolate (as we choose) is brought to
our rooms by a white-stockinged and powdered valet.
If you are very energetic, you can go for a walk in the park, or (as I did
to my sorrow) a visit to the town. But you are not energetic more than
once, because you do not find it worth your while, as you must hurry back,
and change your dress and shoes before appearing in the salon a little
before eleven o'clock, the hour for breakfast. You remain in the same
dress until you change for dinner or the Empress's tea. You find every
morning in your room a programme for the day.
_Déjeuner à onze heures.
Chasse à tir à deux heures.
Comédie Française à neuf heures._
So you know what to wear and what to expect; but the invitation to tea is
always made by the Empress's private _huissier_, who knocks at your door
toward five o'clock and announces, "Her Majesty the Empress desires your
presence at five o'clock."
The _toilette de rigueur_ for this occasion is a high-necked long silk
dress, and you generally remain until six o'clock.
If you are not summoned to her Majesty's tea, tea is served in your own
salon, where you can invite people to take tea with you, or you are
invited to take tea with other people.
If there is a hunt, the ladies wear their green-cloth costumes and the
gentlemen wear their hunting gear (a red coat, velvet cap, and top-boots).
The gentlemen wear _culottes courtes_ the first evening they arrive, and
on such fine occasions as the _curée_, and at the Gala Theater, where
outsiders are invited; otherwise they always wear _pantalon collant_,
which is the most unbecoming thing one can imagine in the way of manly
attire.
At six o'clock you dress for dinner, always in ball dress, and a little
before seven you meet in the Grande Salle des Fêtes. At dinner the guests
are placed according to their rank, but at _déjeuner_ there is no
ceremony, and you engage your partner after your heart's desire. Those who
are high up at dinner try to get as far down at the end of the table as
possible.
With me it is all ups and downs; at breakfast I am 'way up to the very
top, and at dinner 'way down.
After _déjeuner_ the Master of Ceremonies inquires what you wish to do;
that is to say, if there is nothing special mentioned on the programme,
such as a review, or manoeuvers, or a _chasse à courre_, when all are
expected to join.
Do you wish to walk? You can tramp up and down the one-thousand-metre-long
trellis walk, sheltered from wind and rain.
Do you wish to drive? There are carriages of all descriptions, _chars-à-
bancs_, landaus, pony-carriages, and even a donkey-cart, at your service.
Do you care to ride? There are one hundred and fifty horses eating their
heads off in the Imperial stables waiting for you.
Do the gentlemen wish to go shooting? There are countless gamekeepers
booted and spurred, with guns and game-bags on their shoulders, impatient
to accompany you.
Whatever you do, you are expected to be in your rooms before four o'clock,
which is the time the Empress will send for you, if she invites you for
tea.
The _cercle_ always follows each repast, and dancing or music always
follows the _cercle_. Tea is served at the Emperor's salon at eleven
o'clock, after which their Majesties retire, and you do the same.
_November 26th._
DEAR M.,--A very embarrassing thing happened to me this morning.
We thought we could manage an excursion to the town. I wanted to see the
Cathedral, and it did not seem far away.
Therefore, bright and early, at nine o'clock we started on our trip.
We saw the Cathedral; but I had not counted on the time necessary for the
change of toilette, which I had to make before _déjeuner_.
I found on my table an envelope containing this poetry, which I inclose,
from Théophile Gautier. I suppose he considered it as a sort of _amende
honorable_.