Monsieur de Lareinty said to the Empress at tea that there was an unusual
amount of musical talent among her guests--a real galaxy of stars seldom
to be found in amateurs.
The galaxy may have existed--but the stars! The Milky Way seen through the
wrong end of an opera glass was nothing to the smallness of their
magnitude.
The Empress caught at the idea directly, and the decree went out that
there should be a concert tomorrow evening; not mere desultory singing,
but singers and songs in regular order.
Auber said he was sorry he could not be there to applaud us. He
accompanied us when we went to our rooms, and then he had no idea how to
find his own. After having seen him handed over successively to three
different valets, we left him to his fate, hoping he would arrive at his
destination eventually. When we entered the salon for dinner Auber was
already there. If he had not brought his own servant with him, he never
would have been in time.
The troop of the Comédie Française played "La Joie fait Peur," by Musset.
The theater was brilliantly lighted; the guests, from the environs and the
_fine fleur_ of Compiègne, filled all the boxes. The gentlemen and the
officers were in the parquet. The Court and Imperial guests sat with their
Majesties in the Imperial box. It was a magnificent sight!
Madame Favart was most touching in her part, and everybody, I think, wept.
Coquelin was excellent; but I do not like him so much in his pathetic
rôles; his squeaky voice and nasal tones do not belong to the sentimental
style. After the play he gave a monologue, which was the funniest thing I
ever heard, "Les Obsèques de Madame X----." The whole house was laughing,
and most of all the Emperor. I could see his back shaking, and the
diplomatic and apoplectic Baron condescended to explode twice.
The representation lasted till half-past ten. The artists did not change
their toilettes, but came into the salon as they were dressed for the
play. They were received with great cordiality by their Majesties. The
Chamberlain gave them each a little package containing, I suppose, a
valuable souvenir from the sovereigns. A special train took them back to
Paris.
Auber bid me good-by, saying, "Au revoir until Paris, if you are not too
absorbed in these grandeurs to receive a poor, insignificant bourgeois
like me."
"You can always try," I answered with a laugh. "Bon soir et bon voyage!"
_December 2d._
What a day this has been! A storm of rain and hail raged all night, and
when I looked out of the window this morning I saw everything deluged in
water. The park looked dismal; all the paths were full of puddles; the
trees were dripping with rain, and, to judge from the dark skies and
threatening clouds, it seemed as if worse was to follow and there might be
thunder and lightning. On the programme for to-day there stood _chasse à
courre_; but of course _cela tombait dans l'eau_, as would have been its
natural end anyway in this weather. None of the ladies donned their green
costumes, as even one was so sure that the day would be passed indoors.
At _déjeuner_ I was fortunate enough to sit between Prince Metternich
and the Marquis de Gallifet. Certainly I could not have two more
delightful companions, each so different and yet so entertaining. The
Marquis was very aggressive and grumpy; but very amusing.
In French one says, "On a le vin triste," or "On a le vin gai." The
Marquis has "le déjeuner grincheux (grumpy)," I think.
He began by attacking me on the English language. He said it was utterly
absurd and illogical, and though he ought to know it, as he had an English
wife, he felt he never could learn it.
"Apropos of to-day's weather, you say, 'It never rains but it pours'--au
fond qu'est-ce que cela veut dire? 'Il ne pleut jamais, mais il pleut à
verse'; cela n'a pas le sens commun--you might as well say, 'It never
pours but it rains.'"
I had to confess that it did sound senseless, and tried to explain the
meaning; but he grumbled, "Why don't they say what they mean?" He told me
he was once traveling in England and put his head out of the carriage
window to see something, and some one inside cried, "Look out!" He put his
head still farther out, when the person continued to scream, "Look out!"
He answered, "I am looking out," at which a rude hand seized him by the
coat-collar and jerked him inside, saying, "Damn it, look in then!"
"How can any one conquer a language as stupid as that?"
I told him I felt humiliated to own such a language, and I ought to
apologize for it, though I had not invented it and did not feel
responsible for it; but he would not listen to me.