_Palais des Tuileries, le 2 9'bre 1868._
_Premier Chambellan_
Monsieur,
Par ordre de l'Empereur, j'ai l'honneur de vous prévenir que vous êtes
invité, ainsi que Madame Ch. Moulton, à passer 9 jours au Palais de
Compiègne, du 27 9'bre au 5 décembre.
Des voitures de la Cour vous attendront le 27, à l'arrivée à Compiègne
du train partant de Paris à 2 heures 1/2 pour vous conduire au Palais.
Agréez, Monsieur, l'assurance de ma considération très distinguée.
_Le Premier Chambellan_,
V'te de Laferrière.
Monsieur Ch. Moulton.
My father-in-law thought it cost too much--my toilettes, the necessary
outlay, and especially the _pourboires_. He said that it was a lot of
money, and added, in his most choice French, "Le jeu [he pronounced it
'jew'] ne valait pas la chandelle." He was right from his point of view,
for he had none of the _jeu_ and all of the _chandelle_. I pined and
pouted the whole day, and considered myself the most down-trodden mortal
in existence.
Imagine my delight, a few days later, to receive a second document,
informing us that our names had been re-entered on the list, and that we
were expected, all the same, on the 27th to stay nine days. At the same
time there came a note from the Duke de Persigny, in which he said, "Their
Majesties desired us particularly to come." And he added: "Tell your
father-in-law that the question of pourboires has been settled now and
forever. No more pourboires to be given nor taken at Compiègne."
Then Mr. M---- gave his consent, and I was blissfully happy.
It seems that the Emperor's attention had been railed to the many very
disagreeable articles in the newspapers on the subject of the extravagant
_pourboires_ exacted at Compiègne. The Emperor was very much annoyed,
and gave immediate orders to suppress this system, which had been going on
for years without his knowledge.
Last night we stayed in Paris, to be ready at half-past two this
afternoon. To describe our departure, arrival, and reception would only be
to repeat what I have already written last year. Among the fifty or sixty
guests there were many who were here then. In addition there are Duke
d'Albe, with his daughters; Baron Beyens, the Belgian Minister; Mr.
Mallet, of the English Embassy, Mr. Dué of the Swedish Legation; the poet,
Prosper Mérimée; and many, of course, I do not know.
Singularly enough, we were shown into the same apartment we had before,
which made us feel quite at home. We found tea, chocolate, and cakes on
the table, of which I partook with enthusiasm, and then enjoyed an hour's
rest before dressing for dinner.
We met at seven o'clock in the _Salle des Fêtes_, the only room in this
huge chateau large enough to contain all the party here (I suppose there
must be one hundred and twenty people), for which reason it serves both as
reception and ballroom.
The Empress looked superb in a gown of an exquisite shade of lilac; she
wore her beautiful pearls and a tiara of diamonds and pearls. When she
approached me she held out her hand, and said she was very glad to see me.
The Emperor was kind and gracious, as usual.
The Baron Gourgaud was told to take me in to dinner, and we followed the
procession to the dining-room, passing the _Cent Gardes_, who looked like
an avenue of blue and glittering trees. The Baron Gourgaud and I are
neighbors in the country, their place, La Grange, being not far from Petit
Val. His conversation is not absorbing; but as he knows he is dull he does
not pretend to be anything else. I was thankful for this, as I felt that I
did not need to make the slightest effort to entertain him.
I cast my eyes round the table, and if I had not known that this was _la
série amusante_ I should never have guessed it--every one seemed so
spiritless and "sans le moindre entrain," as my neighbor remarked.
No excitement this evening but the dance. Waldteufel is suppressed! They
say that the Emperor, who has a horror of publicity in private life, was
very displeased last year by the indiscretions and personal anecdotes, and
especially the caricatures made by Gustave Doré, which appeared in the
_Figaro_. The Emperor vowed that no outsiders should be invited again;
therefore poor Waldteufel has to pay _les pots cassés_, and we must make
our own music.
Looking for a substitute for Waldteufel, a clever chamberlain discovered
the "Debain piano" (mechanical piano).
You remember I had one in my youth. How I loved it! How I used to love to
grind out all the beautiful music those ugly boxes contained! And how I
used to wonder that those common wooden slides could reproduce such
perfect imitations of the real thing.
I was so glad to see one again, and envied the perspiring chamberlain, who
looked bored to extinction having to turn the crank, instead of joining
the dance and turning the heads of the ladies. It took two of them to
manage the complexities of the piano, and as neither possessed a musical
turn of the wrist, and as neither had the remotest idea of time or
measure, it was very hard for us poor dancers!
When one of the martyrs wanted to explain to the other what to do he would
stop and forget to turn the crank. The dancers were thus obliged to pause,
one foot in the air, not knowing when to put it down, and when they did
put it down they did not fall in measure, and had to commence all over
again. This spasmodic waltzing almost made us crazy. As for me, I could
not bear it any longer. No chariot nor horses could have kept me away from
that piano; to feel again (after so many years) the delight of playing it!
And then I wanted to show how it should be played; so I went to the piano
and took the crank out of the tired hands of the chamberlain and ground
out a whole dance.