It would seem as if Fate had chosen the Baron to be the butt of all the
_plaisanteries_ to-day.
Later in the afternoon we drove in _chars-à-bancs_ to St. Corneille,
a lovely excursion through the woods. The carriages spun along over the
smooth roads, the postilions cracked their whips and tooted their horns,
the air was cold and deliciously invigorating, and we were the gayest
party imaginable. One would have thought that even the worst grumbler
would have been put in good spirits by these circumstances; but no! our
distinguished diplomat was silent and sullen, resenting all fun and
nonsense. No wonder that all conspired together to tease him.
At St. Corneille there are some beautiful ruins of an old abbey and an old
Roman camp. When we came to the "Fontaine des Miracles" Mr. Mallet (of the
English embassy) pulled out of his pocket a Baedeker and read in a low
tone to those about him what was said about the miracles of the fountain.
The Marquis de Gallifet, not wishing any amusement to take place without
helping it on and adding some touches of his own, thereupon interposed in
a stage whisper (evidently intended to be heard by the Baron), "The waters
of this fountain are supposed to remove [then raising his voice]
barrenness."
"Baroness who?" asked the diplomat, who was now all alert.
Mr. Mallet, to our amazement (who ever could have imagined him so jocose),
said quite gravely, "Probably the wife of the barren fig-tree."
"Ah!" said the Baron, "I don't know them," thus snubbing all the fig-
trees.
"A very old family," said Mallet, "mentioned in the Bible."
This seemed to stagger our friend, who evidently prided himself on knowing
every family worth knowing. The Marquis de Gallifet, seeing his chance,
hurried to tell the story of the d'Albe family, which the crestfallen
Baron drank in with open mouth and swallowed whole. As the Duke d'Albe was
there himself, listening attentively and smiling, the story must have been
true! The Marquis de Gallifet said, when Noah was ready to depart in the
ark he saw a man swimming for dear life toward the boat, waving something
in the air. Noah called out to him:
"Don't ask to be taken in. We can't carry any more passengers, we are
already too full."
The man answered, "I don't want to be taken in; I don't care for myself;
but, pray, save the papers of the family."
The Baron looked very grave, and turning to the Duke asked, in an
extremely solemn tone, "Is this really true?"
"Perfectly," answered the Duke, without moving a muscle. "The saying,
'Après moi le déluge,' originated in our family; but we say, 'Nous
d'abord, et _puis_ le déluge!'"
"How interesting!" said the Baron.
Then Monsieur Dué, not wishing to be outdone, said his family was as old
(if not older), having taken the name of Dué from the dove [in Swedish
"dué" means dove] which carried the olive-branch to the ark. By this time
the poor Baron, utterly staggered and bewildered in presence of such a
concourse of ancient nobility, did not know on which leg to stand. How
could he and his family ever hold up their heads again?
We returned to Compiègne by St. Périne, where there was a most enchanting
view, and drove straight through a long avenue and entered _La cour
d'honneur_. It was almost half-past five when we reached our rooms.
I thought I had had enough of fossils and ruins for one day, from
breakfast onward, so when old General Changarnier came to offer me his arm
for dinner I said to myself, "This is the climax!"
But, on the contrary (the unexpected always arrives), he was so delightful
and genial that my heart was warmed through, which, indeed, it needed,
after the ice-chest I had had for _déjeuner_. He did not try to raise
me to his level, but simply let himself down to mine, and talked small
talk so youthfully that I felt we were about the same age. He was a
charming man.
Monsieur de Laferrière arranged a sort of ball for this evening. There was
an unusual flutter, for everything was going to be extra fine, and we put
on our prettiest dresses. Programmes with dangling pencils were lavished
on us, on which regular dances were set down--quadrilles, waltzes, polkas,
and lancers.
The usual _cercle_ was curtailed, in view of the ball.
The chamberlains, to facilitate matters, had arranged the boxes of music
for the mechanical piano very methodically on a table, so there should be
no mistakes or fumbling with the slides.
The ladies were so agitated, fearing they would not get any partners, that
they made very transparent efforts to attract the attention of the
gentlemen. One would have thought they had never been to a ball in all
their lives. The gentlemen, just as agitated, rushed about to secure the
ladies, whom they could have had _without_ the rushing on other evenings.
The Empress looked exquisitely beautiful. The Emperor stood in the
doorway, smiling at this whirlwind of gaiety and animation. The Prince
Imperial danced untiringly with all the ladies.
Flowers were distributed about, and, wonder of wonders! ices were served
at intervals, as if it were a real ball. My old general was chivalry
itself. He even engaged a partner for the lancers, and skipped about
telling everybody he did not know how to dance them, which was
unnecessary, as one could see for oneself later.
There are four kinds of people in society:
Those who know the lancers.
Those who don't know the lancers.
Those who know the lancers and say they don't.
Those who don't know the lancers and say they do.
My old and venerable warrior belonged to class number two, and really did
not know the lancers, but tripped about pleasantly and let others guide
him. When we came to the _grande chaîne_ he was completely intoxicated
with his success. Every eye was on him. Every one was occupied with his
doings, and his alone. All the ladies were pulling him first one way and
then the other, trying to confuse him by getting him into another set,
until he found himself quite at the other end of the room, still being
pulled about and twirled in every direction, never knowing where he was or
when he was going to stop. At last, utterly exhausted and confused, he
stopped short and placed himself in the middle of the ballroom, delighted
to be the center of all eyes and to make this effective _finale._ But no
one could compare with him when he made his Louis-Quinze reverence; the
younger men had to acknowledge that he scored a point there, and he might
well be proud of himself. All this made us very gay, and almost
boisterous. Never before had the evening finished with such a burst of
merriment, and we all retired, agreeing that the ball had been a great
success, and that Monsieur de Laferrière could sleep on his laurels as
soundly as we intended to sleep on our pillows.
_December 1st._
Count Niewekerke offered me his arm for _déjeuner_ this morning. He is a
Dutchman (_Hollandais_ sounds better) by birth, but he lives in Paris. As
he is the greatest authority on art there, the Emperor has made him Count
and Director of the Galerie du Louvre. He is very handsome, tall, and
commanding, and has, besides other enviable qualities, the reputation of
being the great lady-killer _par excellence._
As we stood there together the Empress passed by us. She held up her
finger warningly, saying, "Take care! Beware! He is a very dangerous
person, _un vrai mangeur de coeur!"_ "I know, your Majesty," I answered,
"and I expect to be brought back on a litter."
She laughed and passed on.
Monsieur Niewekerke looked pleasantly conscious and flattered as we walked
to the dining-room, and I felt as if I was being led to the altar to be
sacrificed like poor little Isaac. His English is very cockney, and he got
so mixed up with "heart" and "art" that I did not know half the time
whether he was talking of the collection of the Louvre Gallery or of his
lady victims. He did not hesitate to call my attention to the presence of
some of them at the table, which I thought was very kind of him, in case I
was unaware of it.
He is as keen about the good things of the table as he is about art; in
fact, he is a great epicure. As he thought well of the menu, I will copy
it for you:
_Consommé en tasses._
Oeufs au fromage à l'Italienne.
Petites truites.
Cailles au riz.
Côtelettes de veau grillées.
Viande froide, salade.
Brioches à la vanille, fruits, dessert, café....
"Well," said the Empress, as she stopped in front of me after _déjeuner_,
"are you alive?"
"I am, your Majesty, and, strange to say, my heart is intact."
"Wonderful!" she said, "you are an exception."
We had the choice between going to a _chasse à tir_ (without the Emperor),
and a drive to Pierrefonds.
I had enough of the _chasse à tir_ last year, and I still see in my dreams
those poor birds fluttering in their death-agony. Anything better than
that!