Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon in front of them,
Volley'd and thunder'd.
The guns and cannons kept up such a continual firing that the ground
actually shook under our feet.
I wondered why so much powder and energy should be wasted on a helpless
farm-house, and dreaded to think what the real thing must he, if this was
only sham.
When it was apparently finished, and every one in the neighborhood had
surrendered, they sounded a grand fanfare, and blew a mighty blast of
trumpets, the officers dashed up full tilt to the Emperor, and announced,
"Victory all along the line!"
I can't tell you how sweet the little Prince looked when he distributed
the _médaille de mérite_ to the brave warriors, who received it with
due modesty, saluting gravely.
The Emperor rode about among the carriages and asked us ladies how we had
liked it, and if there had been too much noise.
The company at dinner to-night looked particularly brilliant; there must
have been a hundred and fifty people present, as the generals and the
officers were asked to remain to dinner. I had one general next to me at
table, the famous General Changarnier, who my other neighbor said had one
foot in the grave and the other _dans le plat_. He was so old and thin and
bony that if his uniform had not kept him up he would have crumbled
together before my eyes, and have become a zero instead of a hero.
However, he kept together while dinner lasted, for which I was thankful,
and I returned him safely to posterity and to the salon.
Their Majesties devoted themselves exclusively to the Army after dinner;
but they sent word by a chamberlain that we were to commence dancing,
though they had not finished the _cercle_.
Waldteufel was already seated at the piano, waiting.
The officers danced vigorously. The elder ones ventured on quadrilles, and
danced them with great gusto.
Prince Murat, noticing the old general skipping about so youthfully,
proposed a Virginia reel, with a view to giving them a little more
exercise.
Every one entered into the spirit of it; but there were only a few who
knew how to dance it.
Both Prince and Princess Metternich had learned it at Petit Val. Madame
Gallifet knew it as "Sir Roger de Coverley" from her English days, and
Prince Murat must have learned it from his American mother.
The Emperor danced with me, as he said he would only dance with an
_expert_!
The Empress had Count Golz for her partner, and stood next to me; Princess
Metternich (full of fun) chose one of the most ancient warriors. Madame de
Persigny and Prince Murat were at the end of the line; the other guests
filled the intermediate places.
Prince Metternich, knowing the music, thought he was absolutely necessary
at the piano, consequently he took Waldteufel's place there.
I, as "the expert," led off. The Emperor tried to imitate me, but became
confused by the constant shouting from his cousin (Prince Murat) at the
other end. However, he and I managed to finish our part; but the Emperor
refused to be swung, and we marched down the middle of the line, hand in
hand, disregarding the rules in a truly royal manner. Then, having watched
the Empress go through her part (she also marched down in a royal manner),
the Emperor seemed bored at looking at the others, and called the Marquis
de Caux to take his place. Next, Prince Metternich began improvising reels
of his own invention, which turned into all sorts of fantastic measures,
which were impossible to dance by. Madame de Persigny, in turning, fell
flat on her back; every one rushed to her rescue, which caused great
confusion, as people lost their places and could not find them again.
This brought our famous reel, which proved to be a dead failure, to an
abrupt close; and the old generals, for whose sake we danced it, never got
a chance to show what they could do; and we were thankful when Waldteufel
returned to the piano and played a waltz, to which we could dance until it
was time for the Emperor's tea, and then,
_Bonsoir!_
_November 27th._
DEAR M.,--Baron Haussmann took me in to _déjeuner_ this morning. The
Baron is the Préfet de Paris. He is very tall, bulky, and has an
authoritative way of walking ahead and dragging his partner after him,
which makes one feel as if one was a small tug being swept on by a man-of-
war! I wondered if the _Cent Gardes_ noticed how I tripped along, taking
two steps to his one, until he reached his seat at the table, into which
he dropped with a sigh of relief.
His body in profile defies any one's looking around the corner, so to
speak. I could only see at intervals Marquise Chasselouplobat's shapely
elbows and hands. Our conversation turned on the new improvements he
intends to make in Paris. He asked me how I liked the boulevard of his
name, just completed.
"I like it," I answered, "though it has deprived us of a good part of our
garden." (It had cut off just half of it.)
"It brings you nearer the Bois," he added. "I hope the Government paid you
well for it."
"I suppose the Government thinks it did; but our croquet-ground is gone
forever."
"Forever!" he repeated. "Where do you play now?"
"Sometimes at the Austrian embassy."
"Is its garden large enough for that?"
I answered, "It is not large enough for a real croquet-ground; but the
ambassador is such an ardent player that he has arranged a place under the
trees where we play--sometimes at night with lamps on the ground."
"I should think that would be very difficult; quite impossible, in fact."
"What else can we do? We have no other place."
After a moment's hesitation he asked, "How would you like it if I put a
piece of ground in the Bois at your disposal?"
I could have screamed with joy! What a piece of news to tell my friends
after breakfast. I chanted a little _Gloria_ under my breath, and asked
him if he really meant it. He said, "Of course I mean it, and as soon as I
return to Paris I will have the formal papers made out and sent to you,
and you can claim the ground when you like." He added, gallantly, "I will
have the document made out in your name, Madame, in souvenir of our
breakfast to-day."
Is he not a very generous man? But if every time he sits next to a lady he
gives her a slice of the Bois de Boulogne he will soon be out of the
government books.
You can readily imagine the delight of my fellow-players when I told them
all this after our return to the salon.
The weather looked unsettled; no one felt like driving or walking.
However, later, the wind veered about, the sun came out of the heavy
clouds, our spirits rose with the barometer, the elements seemed to point
to outdoor amusements. What better than a game of croquet?
The Emperor, as I said before, had sent to Paris for the game, and Prince
Metternich felt it would be rude not to use it. We have been playing it so
much this year that we have quite got it on the brain, and we were very
excited and most eager to play, and orders were given to have the box
brought out on the terrace.
Both their Majesties were highly interested; they examined everything with
the greatest curiosity, unwrapped the balls themselves, and were quite
anxious to begin.
The question was, where should the game be put up, and where should the
wickets be put down? The lawn was wet, the gravel walks were too narrow.
The only place that could be found was under the _charmille_ on the
terrace, where stood a grove of old platane trees.
Prince Metternich was, of course, the moving spirit, and undertook to
manage everything. He and d'Espeuilles got a meter measure and measured
off the distances with great care and precision before placing the
wickets. This took a long time. Then he distributed the mallets and the
corresponding balls to each person, and we stood in front of our weapons
ready to commence. Prince Metternich was so long and particular about
telling the rules that he succeeded only in confusing all the beginners.
The Empress was to play with the Prince Metternich, the Marquis de
Gallifet with the Princess Metternich. The Emperor was to play with the
Marquise de Gallifet, Monsieur d'Espeuilles was to play with me:--eight
people in all! Nothing is so dreadful as a game of croquet with people
four of whom are beginners.
The Empress was the first to play; her ball was placed so near the wicket
that nothing short of genius could have prevented her from going through,
which she did with great triumph; her next stroke went far beyond, and she
worried it back by a succession of several pushing knocks into its
position. No one made any remarks. Then the Emperor made a timid stroke,
which gently turned the ball over. Prince Metternich remarked that he (the
Emperor) should hit harder, at which his Majesty gave such a whack to his
ball that it flew into the next county.
"Never mind," said Prince Metternich, and put another ball in front of the
Emperor's mallet, and somehow it got through the wicket.
Princess Metternich played next, and she was an adept, so all went well
with her. I came after her, and managed to get his Majesty's ball on its
way a bit. Tiresome pauses and long explanations followed.
Prince Metternich shouted, trying to rally the players.
"Marquis, where are you?" disturbing the Marquis from a flirtation. "It is
your turn to play."
"Really; what shall I do?"
"Try to hit this ball."
"_Par exemple!_ Which ball? Where is it? I do not even see it."
"Here it is behind this tree, if you _caramboler_ against the tree you
might hit it." And in this way it went on until the Emperor, bored to
death, slowly disappeared and the Empress suddenly discovered that her
feet were cold and went away, and couples flirtatiously inclined began
wandering off, and it was nearly dark and tea-time before Prince
Metternich (who was worn out trying to make people understand or take any
interest in the game) realized that there were only a few devotees left on
the battle-field amid damaged trees and chipped balls.
So ended our game of croquet; we felt crushed and crestfallen.
At the Empress's tea, to which we were bidden, we were not spared
satirical gibes on the subject of our luckless game.
The Marquis de Gallifet, _Officier d'Ordonnance de l'Empereur_, whom
I sat next to at dinner, is what one might call sarcastic--he actually
tears people to pieces; he does not leave them with a shred of reputation,
and what he does not say he implies. He thinks nothing of saying, "He!
He's an abominable scoundrel. She! She is a shameless coquette!" and so
forth. He spares no one; nevertheless, he is most amusing, very
intelligent, and an excellent talker. He told me of his awful experience
in the war of Mexico. He had been shot in the intestines and left for dead
on the field of battle. He managed, by creeping and crawling, "_toujours
tenant mes entrailles dans mon képi_" to reach a peasant's house, where
the good people took care of him until he was able to be transported to a
hospital. There he stayed through a dismal year of suffering. In order to
keep the above-mentioned _entrailles_ in their proper place, the doctors
covered them with a silver plate. "I had my name engraved on it," he said.
He asked me, "Did you ever hear anything like that?" I tried to fancy how
any one would look placarded like that, but replied that I had never heard
of anything quite so awful; but I _had_ heard that every cloud had a
silver lining. He laughed and said, "I shall call myself a cloud in
future."
The dinner to-night was very good. I give you the menu:
Potage tortue clair,
Crème de volaille,
Brisotins de foie gras,
Saumon Napolitain,
Filet de boeuf à la moderne,
Suprême de perdreaux,
Homards à la Parisienne,
Gelinottes rôties,
Salade,
Petits pois à l'Anglaise,
Ananas Montmorency,
Glaces assorties,
Café--Liqueur (both served at the table).
Dinner over, we filed before the _Cent Gardes_ in their shining uniforms
through the long gallery.
It was earlier than usual when we began to dance; but we were (at least I
was) interrupted by receiving a message from their Majesties, asking me if
I would kindly sing something for them. Of course I did not refuse, and we
adjourned to the music-room, where the Erard piano was.
[Illustration: THE MUSIC HALL--CHÂTEAU DE COMPIÈGNE]
I did not exactly know what to sing; but Prince Metternich soon relieved
my mind on that score by saying, "Don't bother about singing anything
serious, and especially _don't_ sing anything classical." The Princess
Metternich could accompany anything which was not too difficult; therefore
we thought I had better sing "_Ma mère était bohémienne_," of Massé, which
I did. I saw directly that this melodramatic music, beautiful as it is,
did not suit the occasion, for though the gaily attuned audience was
visibly affected by the phrase, _Et moi j'ai l'âme triste_, they did not
show more signs of emotion than by making a little dab at their eyes with
their pocket-handkerchiefs.
The Princess remained at the piano, ready to accompany the other songs I
had brought, which were of the same character, and I stood by her, trying
to decide what I should sing next, when the Emperor came up and asked me
for "Beware!" Charles accompanied that, and I sang it. The Empress asked
me if I would sing some Spanish songs for her. I sang "Chiquita," which I
learned with Garcia, and the "_Habañero_." She seemed very pleased, and
made me many compliments. Then the Emperor begged me for some negro songs,
and asked me if I knew "Massa's in the Cold, Cold Ground," or "Suwanee
River," or "Nelly Bly," all of which he remembered having heard in
America.
I sat down at the piano and commenced with "Suwanee River." I fortunately
knew the words of that.
(Oh, Delsarte! what would you have said had you seen your pupil singing
this claptrap music before your sovereigns and their most distinguished
guests?)
Delsarte says that one can force the tears into one's eyes, one can make
one's lips tremble, one can express the most harrowing emotions in one's
voice, and not sing more than "do, re, mi, fa." I tried to profit by his
teachings, and brought them to bear upon the pathetic words of "Oh,
darkies, how my heart grows weary," and I could see that both their
Majesties were deeply moved. I sang the word "weary" with such pathos that
every one was more or less affected, and the phrase, "All the world is
dark and dreary," I rendered in the most heart-broken tones.
I was sorry that I could not remember the words of "Massa's in the Cold,
Cold Ground," as the Emperor wanted it; but I could not. I knew the music
of "Nelly Bly," but had never known the words, so I tried to improvise
some; but it was impossible for me to think of more than two words which
rhymed with "Bly," and those were "sly" and "eye."
With shameful _aplomb_ I sang these senseless words:
Nelly Bly wipes her eye,
On her little frock,
Nelly Bly, Nelly Bly,
Dick a dick a dock.
Happily the Emperor did not notice anything wrong, and was delighted to
hear those old songs again, and thanked me repeatedly.
Once seated at the piano, I was not allowed to leave it until my
_répertoire_ of music of this character had been exhausted.
This brought the evening to a close.
Tea was served; their Majesties withdrew, and I fled to my apartment
feeling that metaphorically I was covered with laurels.
_November 28th._
DEAR A.,--To-day I was very high up, _'way up in the clouds_, for I sat
next to the Emperor.
Davilliers, one of the chamberlains, gave me his arm and conducted me to
my place. The Emperor's first words were:
"I can't thank you enough for the pleasure you gave us last evening."