In the Courts of Memory, 1858-1875 Part 9

She asked me a great many questions about my singing. Suddenly she said, "Make a trill for me."

I looked about for a piano to give me a note to start on. But a piano was evidently the thing where the Goldschmidts had drawn the line. I made as good a trill as I could without one.

"Very good!" said she, nodding her head approvingly. "I learned my trill this way." And she made a trill for me, accentuating the upper note.

Pointing her finger at me, she said, "You try it."

I tried it. Unless one has learned to trill so it is very difficult to do; but I managed it somehow.

Then she said, in her abrupt way, "What vocalizes do you sing?"

I replied that I had arranged Chopin's waltz in five flats as a vocalize.

"In the original key?" she asked. "I know it well. It is one of Goldschmidt's favorite concert pieces."

"Not in the original key. I have transposed it two notes lower, and put some sort of words to it. I also sing as a vocalize the first sixteen bars of the overture of Mendelssohn's 'Midsummer Night's Dream.'"

"I don't think that I could do that," she said.

"I am sure you could," I answered, upon which she tried it. She sang it slowly but perfectly, shutting her eyes as if feeling her way cautiously, for the intonations are very difficult.

Twelve o'clock sounded from a cuckoo-clock in the next room, and I felt that my visit, fascinating as my angel was, must come to an end. I left her still standing on the veranda in her white brocade, and as I walked off she made the trill as an adieu.

I reached the villa in time for breakfast, after which our hosts drove us down to the pier, where the little rowboat was waiting to take us out to the yacht.

I said that our trip was a failure! It was more than a failure. It meant a gale, thunder, lightning, and sudden death, and everything in the Litany, and we finished ignominiously by taking refuge in the first port we could reach, and going on to our destination by train.

PARIS, _February 12, 1866._

DEAR AUNTY,--There has been a regular deluge of b.a.l.l.s in Paris this winter. The Minister of Marine gave a gorgeous one, the _clou_ of which was the entrance at midnight precisely of _Les Quatres Continents_, being four long _corteges_ representing Europe, America, Africa, and Asia.

I was quite provoked that they did not ask me to be in the American _cortege_. I should have loved to have been an Indian squaw, except that a blanket is a rather warm _toilette de bal_. They wanted me to take a costume of a Spanish lady in the _cortege_ of Europe, but I refused; if I could not be in the American I did not want to be in any of the others.

Taking part in the _cortege_ meant waiting till midnight before appearing, and then, being in it, you did not see it. I had a ba.n.a.l and not a correct costume of an Amazone Louis XIII., and stayed in the ballroom all the evening, and saw the procession when it came in. It was very interesting and really beautifully arranged.

Africa (Mademoiselle de Sevres) was brought in on a camel fresh from the jungle of the Jardin des Plantes, and followed by quant.i.ties of natives of every variety of shade, from sepia to chocolate, as near to nature as they dared go without spoiling their beauty. Some of the costumes were very fantastic. Ladies dressed in skirts made of feathers, and beads hanging everywhere, copied after well-known pictures, and especially after the costumes of "l'Africaine," of the Opera. The men wore enormous wigs made of black wool, and black _tricots_, blacker than the most African of negroes.

Asia (Baronne Erlanger) was standing on a platform carried by menials hidden from view and smothered under tiger and other skins. She was poised with one foot on the head of a tiger, one hand was clutching a date-tree, and the other hand clinging to the back of a stuffed leopard, it must have been difficult for her to keep her balance; her platform seemed very shaky, and the date-tree waved as if it had been in a tornado. The natives who followed her were more beaded and feathery and multicolored than the Africans, otherwise they looked much alike.

America was represented by a pretty girl (a Miss Carter, of Boston). She was brought in reclining in a hammock of gay colors. The American natives were not of the kind one meets in New York and Boston; they were mostly the type taken from the most popular books. There was the sedate Puritan from Longfellow's "Evangeline"; the red Indians from Cooper's books; Hiawatha and Pocahontas, of course; and the type most beloved in the European market, that of the plantation tyrant who drags his victim to the whipping-post with pointed stakes and cudgels, _a la Oncle Tom_, and lastly the Mexican types with slouched hats and picturesque s.h.i.+rts and leather leggings, pistols bulging from their belts.

Europe (Madame d'Arjuson) was seated in a Roman chair, and looked very comfortable, in comparison with the other Continents; the platform on which she sat was loaded with flowers and dragged in on wheels. All the national costumes of Europe were extremely pretty and varied. The German peasants in great variety, the Italian _ciociara_, the Spanish toreador, and the Dutch fisherwoman with her wooden shoes--all were complete.

Worth and Bobergh had not slept for nights, thinking out the different costumes and worrying over the details. Worth had the most-brain work, and Bobergh was the sleepy partner.

The cotillon was superb; it commenced at two o'clock and finished at the break of day. The favors were of every nationality, imported from all over the world, and tied up with every imaginable national color. I danced with the Count Vogue, who is by far the best dancer in Paris. He got ma.s.ses of favors and gave them all to me, and I also received a great quant.i.ty; so that when I went to the carriage I almost needed a dray to carry them.

PARIS, _March, 1866._

DEAR M.,--I think of your sitting in your Cambridge home and reading this account of the frivolities of your daughter. While the scene of last night is just in my mind, I will tell you about it.

Yesterday was Count Pourtales's birthday, and Prince Metternich thought out a wonderful scheme for a surprise for Count Pourtales and the rest of us. Princess Metternich and Countess Pourtales were the only ones taken into his confidence.

There was a dinner at the Pourtales' in honor of the occasion, and the guests were Baron Alphonse Rothschild, Count and Countess Moltke, Prince Sagan, the Duke de Croy, and ourselves.

On arriving at seven o'clock we were ushered into the salon, and later went in to dinner. All the lights were placed on the table, leaving the rest of the room in darkness. The servants seemed to me princ.i.p.ally butlers with the traditional side-whiskers, or cha.s.seurs with beards or mustaches. I thought that they might be extra servants brought in for the occasion.

The first course was served. A little awkward spilling of soup on the table-cloth was not remarked upon. The dish came on with its sauce. A startled cry came from a lady on receiving some drops of it on her bare neck, to which no one paid any particular attention. Then, a few moments later, some wine was carelessly spilled on one of the gentlemen's heads.

These things can so easily happen, no one said anything.

The filet was handed to me, and at the same time the sauce-dish was uncomfortably near my neck, and directly under my nose. This was too nonchalant, and my surprise was still greater when the servant, in an unnatural and gruff voice, said, "Do you want any of this stuff?" I looked up at the man, and recognized a twinkle in a familiar eye, and as the twinkle was accentuated by a powerful wink I began to understand and held my tongue.

Things might have gone on longer if one of the waiters had not been too bold, and on serving Countess Moltke, a very pretty American lady married to a Dane, pushed her arm a little roughly, and in an obviously disguised voice said, "Better take some of this, you won't get another chance."

She called out in an indignant voice, "Did you ever hear the like?" Count Pourtales seemed dazed, while his wife looked as unconcerned as if there was nothing unusual. Then the insolent waiters began talking across the table to each other. One said, "Don't you see that lady with the rose has not got any salad?" The other answered, "Attend to your own affairs."

Count Pourtales, crimson with mortification, was about to get up and apologize, when he was suddenly pulled back into his seat, and the absurd waiters began throwing pellets of bread at him.

Imagine his feelings! To be treated in this way in one's own house, by one's own servants! Every one of them must have suddenly gone crazy, or else they were drunk. For a moment consternation was depicted on all the countenances; we thought the end of the world had come.

When things had gone so far, Prince Metternich stood up and made a pretty little speech for the host, and we all drank his health, and the waiters all took off their wigs and false beards and waved them in the air.

Six of the most fas.h.i.+onable young gentlemen of Paris had been serving us!

The Pourtales' own servants, who had kept aloof, now came in, and the _ci-devant_ waiters drew up chairs between those at the table, and the dinner finished amidst great hilarity.

PARIS, _August, 1866._

DEAR M.,--We were invited to go out to Fontainebleau yesterday for dinner.

We found it a very hot ride from Paris, and really suffered in the crowded train. When we arrived at the station we found a coupe from the Imperial stables waiting for us, and an extra carriage for the maid, the valet, and the trunk, which contained our change of dress for dinner. I wished that the coupe had been an open carriage. I love to drive through those lovely avenues in the park. Princess Metternich suggested that we should take some green corn with us, as the Empress had expressed the wish to taste this American delicacy, and I took some from Pet.i.t Val.

On reaching the palace we were met by the Vicomte Walsh, who led the way to the apartment of the Baroness de Pierres, one of the _dames d'honneur_ of the Empress (an American lady, formerly Miss Thorne, of New York), who was expecting us.

You may imagine my astonishment at seeing her smoking--what do you think?

Nothing less than a real common clay pipe, and you may imagine her surprise at seeing me, followed by my servant, who carried a large basket containing the corn. I told her about it, and that I had brought some at the instigation of the Princess Metternich, in order that the Empress could try it. She seemed to be delighted at the idea, and exclaimed, "We must get hold of the chef at once and tell him how to cook it." She rang her bell and gave the order. Promptly Monsieur Jean appeared in his fresh white ap.r.o.n and immaculate jacket and white _couvre-chef_. Baroness de Pierres and I surpa.s.sed ourselves in giving contradictory directions as to the cooking of it. She thought it ought to be boiled a long time, while I maintained that it required very little time.

"You must leave the silk on," said she.

"Has it got silk?" asked the bewildered chef.

I was of the opinion that the husks should be taken off. "By no means!"

she declared, and explained that in America the corn was always served in the husk.

The chef, trying to a.n.a.lyze this unusual article of food, lifted one of the ears from the basket and examined it.

"En robe de chambre, alors, Madame!" said he, and looked dismayed at these complications.