A rather amusing incident occurred at dinner. One of the foreign ministers, who is very vain of the smallness of his feet, had donned a pair of patent-leather shoes evidently much too tight for him. During the dinner he relieved his sufferings by slipping his aching toes out of them. All went well until his chair was suddenly drawn from underneath him, as their Majesties were about to pass. In utter despair he made the most frantic efforts to recover the wandering shoes from under the table; but, alas! the naughty things had made their escape far beyond reach (a little way shoes have of doing when left to themselves); consequently, he was obliged to trip across the red carpet as best he could without them. The Empress, who keenly appreciates a comical situation, had noticed with great amusement his manoeuvers and embarrassment, and (was it just for a little fun?) stopped in passing and spoke to him, much to his confusion, for it was impossible to prevent her from seeing his little, white shoeless feet.

On our returning to the salon the magnificent Cent Gardes stood just as we had left them, and I wondered if they had unbent for a moment all the time we had been at dinner.

The cercle began, and their Majesties circulated about among their guests. When the Empress was in front of me, she gave me her hand and said some very kind words to me. She noticed I wore the bracelet she had given me and seemed pleased. I do not know if you ever saw this handsome bracelet—it is composed of large rubies and diamonds set in three heavy gold coils. The date when the Empress gave it to me and her name are inscribed inside. The Prince Imperial spoke to every one he knew. He has a very sweet voice, such gentle manners and winning ways. He speaks excellent English and, of course, several other languages.

Waldteufel, le fabricant de valses, put himself at the piano (an upright one, standing at the extreme end of the immense ballroom), and played some of his charming entrainante music. But though he played as loudly as possible, it was difficult to distinguish what sort of music it was, the ballroom being so enormous. However it did not make much difference as there were only a few who wanted to dance and one could see that they were urged to do so by the chamberlains. Waldteufel has an apartment in the town of Compiegne, where he fabricates his waltzes by day and comes here to play them by night.

At ten o'clock their Majesties went into the Emperor's private salon with a selected few; then the dancing become general and livelier. Tea and cakes were served at eleven o'clock and their Majesties reentered, conversed a few moments, bowed to every one and withdrew, turned round on reaching the door, and, with a sweeping inclination of the head, disappeared.

We bade good night to our friends about us and withdrew, as did every one else, and I, for one, was glad to go to my Royal couch. Good night!

SUNDAY, November 23, 1866.

DEAR M.,—When we came down this morning into the salon we found it almost deserted, and only realized the reason why when we saw the Empress and other ladies holding their prayer-books devoutly in their hands returning from mass, which is celebrated in the chapel of the chateau. They wore black-lace veils in place of hats, the Empress wearing hers draped in true Spanish fashion, which was infinitely becoming to her, being, as she is, "to the manner born."

We remembered then that it was Sunday, and felt subdued, seeing so many who were more pious than we were. In fact, I felt so much so that I think it would have been impossible for me to have laughed during the dejeuner. Perhaps it was fortunate I sat next to the Duke de Fernan Nunez, whose sedate and polished manners suited the occasion perfectly. He did not encourage any attempt at gaiety. Oh dear, no! Far from it! I felt myself gradually freezing, and our conversation was of the most uninteresting character and dry almost to parching.

I began talking to him about Spain. I said I thought it must be such a lovely country, so full of romance, sentiment, and so forth. But he nipped my enthusiasm in the bud by informing me that he was not Spanish.

"I thought you were," I murmured.

"No; I am Italian." This staggered me a little. He was certainly the husband of the Duchess de Fernan Nunez, who was Spanish; why had he not the same name?

He told me that he was "Dei Principi Pio-Trivulzio," one of the oldest families in Milan, and that when he married his wife (who is a Grande d'Espagne) he was obliged, according to the traditions of Spain, to take her name and give up his own.

The dejeuner finished, we returned to the salon, and after their Majesties had talked a little with their guests the programme for the afternoon, which was to be an excursion to Pierrefonds, was offered to those who wished to go. We hurried to our rooms to put on our hats, coats, and furs, reappearing equipped for the fray.

The chars-a-bancs and the carriages of their Majesties were drawn up on the garden side of the terrace. The Emperor took Prince Metternich in his dog-cart; the Empress drove herself in her English phaeton, accompanied by the Duchess de Fernan Nunez. The rest of us were provided with big chars- a-bancs, each holding six or eight people, and had four horses ridden by two postilions. In the same carriage with me was the Duchess de Persigny, Count Golz, and others; and although it was very cold, we did not mind, as we were well wrapped in furs and had plenty of rugs. We enjoyed intensely the beautiful drive through the forest of Compiegne. Monsieur Davilliers told me that the forest contains about fifteen thousand hectares. I should think so, judging from the endless roads and cross-roads, the interminable avenues and wonderful vistas. There were sign-posts at every turn; those painted red pointed toward Compiegne.

It took us a long time to reach the forest at Pierrefonds, which joins that of Compiegne. By an abrupt turn of the road we came suddenly in view of the enormous castle of Pierrefonds and the little town, which is known for its sulphur baths, and only frequented in summer. No one need inform you what kind of baths they are, as their fumes pervade space and inform you themselves.



The imposing castle looks entirely out of place in its surroundings; the little hill on which it stands seems as if it had been put there in order to accommodate the castle.

We passed over two bridges and over a pont-levis at the foot of the castle; then through a second gateway into a court, and finally over a drawbridge to reach the entrance.

There we got out of the carriages, passed through a dark, vaulted chapel and mounted to the platform, where we had a splendid view of the town and the forest.

Viollet-le-Duc, who was with us, is the pet architect of the Emperor; he is working hard to restore these magnificent ruins, and has now been ten years about it, but says that they will never be finished in his lifetime. The Emperor is very proud of showing them as the work of his favorite architect, and Viollet-le-Duc is just as proud of having been chosen for this stupendous undertaking.

We were spared no details, you may be sure, from the smallest of gargoyles to the biggest of chimneys. There is a huge fireplace which reaches to the ceiling in the salle des gardes, with funny little squirrels peering at you with cunning eyes. I wish it had occurred to the great architect to have utilized this fireplace, for he could very well have put a few logs in it and prevented us poor visitors from freezing to death.

We walked (it must have been miles), examining everything in detail. We mounted two hundred steps to see the view, and then descended three hundred steps to see the arched cellars. The castle was first bought one hundred years ago as a ruin by some one, who only paid eight thousand francs for it; then Napoleon I. bought it, and now Napoleon III. is restoring it. It is seven thousand meters square. It has eight big towers, etc. I could go on forever, I am so brimful of statistics, but I spare you.

While the hampers brought from Compiegne were being unpacked we tried to rest our weary limbs in some prehistoric chairs, whose carvings pierced our bones to the marrow. I suppose this is what they call payer de sa personne. I consoled myself, while drinking my tea and eating my cake, with the thought that my personne was paying its little private tax to art.

After this interesting but fatiguing visit, and after the long drive through the cold, misty forest, the dead and dry leaves rustling under the horses' feet as they galloped along, I was glad to rest a moment by my cozy fire before dressing for dinner.

I was a little dismayed when I was told that the famous poet, Theophile Gautier, was to be my dinner companion. I was awed at the idea of such a neighbor, and feared I should not be able to rise to the occasion. Would he talk poetry to me? And should I have to talk poetry to him?

I tried to remember, during our promenade down the hall, Longfellow's "Psalm of Life," in case he should expect anything in this line, and I tried to remember something he himself had written; but for the life of me I could think of nothing but a very improper book called Mademoiselle de Maupeon, which I had never been allowed to read, so that would be of no use as conversation.

I might have spared myself this worry, for, from the time he sat down at the table, he talked of little else than cats and dogs. He loves all animals. I liked him for that, and one could see that he preferred them to any other topic.

I can't remember all the nonsense he talked. In appearance I think he must resemble Charles Dickens. I have only seen the latter's photographs; but had he not rather a skimpy hair brushed any which way and a stringy beard? I fancied him so to myself. At any rate, Gautier looks like the Dickens of the photographs.

He said he had eight or ten cats who ate with him at the table; each had its own place and plate, and never by any chance made a mistake and sat in another cat's place or ate off another cat's plate. He was sure that they had a heaven and a hell of their own, where they went after their death, according to their deserts, and that they had souls and consciences. All his cats had classical names, and he talked to them as if they were human beings. He said they understood every word he said. He also quoted some of his conversation with them, which must have sounded very funny:

"Cleopatra, have you been in the kitchen drinking milk on the sly?

"Cleopatra puts her tail between her legs and her ears back and looks most guilty, and I know then what the cook told me was true."

Then again: "Julius Caesar, you were out extremely late last night. What were you doing?" He said that when he made these reproaches Julius Caesar would get down from his chair and, with his tail high in the air, would rub himself against his legs, as much as to say he would never do it again.

"Depend upon it," he added, "they know everything we do, and more."

I asked, "When Julius Caesar comes from his nocturnal walks is he gris (tipsy)?"

"Gris! Que voulez-vous dire?"

"You once wrote a poem (how proud I was that I had recollected it), 'A minuit tous les chats sont gris.'"

"C'est vrai, mais je parlais des Schahs de Perse."

"Est-ce que tous les Schahs de Perse sont gris a minuit?"

"Madame, tous les Schahs de Perse que j'ai eu l'honneur de voir a minuit ont ete gris comme des Polonais."

"But the 'chats' you wrote about go mewing on roofs at midnight. Do the Schahs de Perse do that?"

"Did I write that?" said he. "Then I must have meant cats. You are very inquisitive, Madame."

"I confess I am," I answered. "You see, that poem of yours has been set to music, and I sing it; and you may imagine that I want to know what I am singing about. One must sing with an entirely different expression if one sings of gray cats or of tipsy Persian sovereigns."

He laughed and asked, with an innocent look, "Do you think I could have meant that at midnight nothing has any particular color—that everything is gray?"

"I don't know what you meant; but please tell me what you want me to believe, because I believe everything I am told. I am so naive."

"You naive! You are the most blasee person I ever met."

"I blasee! I! What an idea!"

Such an idea could only emanate from a poet's brain with an extra-poetical poet's license. I was very indignant, and told him so, and said, "Est-ce que tous les poetes sont fous a cette heure de la soiree?"

"Vous voyez," he retorted, "you are not only blasee; you are sarcastic."

I enjoyed my dinner immensely in spite of being blasee, and Gautier's fun and amusing talk lasted until we were back in the salon. The Emperor approached us while we were still laughing, and began to talk to us. I told him that Monsieur Gautier had said that I was blasee. The Emperor exclaimed: "Vous blasee! Il faut y mettre beaucoup de bonne volonte pour etre blasee a votre age!"

I said I did not know whether to be angry or not with him.

"Be angry with him," answered the Emperor. "He deserves it."

Waldteufel began playing his delightful waltzes, and every one was boon whirling about. I never heard him play with so much dash; he really seemed inspired. Prince Metternich asked him to order a piano to be sent to his salon in the chateau. "I cannot exist without a piano," said he. "It helps me to write my tiresome rapports."

There were only two pianos, I believe, in the chateau; the one (upright) in the ballroom and the Erard in the salle de musique.

At eleven o'clock we went into the Emperor's salon, where tea was served.

MONDAY, November 24, 1866.

DEAR M.,—At breakfast this morning I sat next to Prince Metternich. He told me that there was to be conseil de ministres to-day, and therefore there was no question of their Majesties' presence at excursions, and no particular plans projected for this afternoon.

Thus we were left to our own devices. Prince Metternich's fertile brain was already at work to imagine something amusing to divert their Majesties for the evening. He suggested charades. He is excellent at getting them up.

When we met in the salon he spoke to the different people who he thought would be helping elements.

The Marquise de Gallifet thought that tableaux would be better; Count de Voguee suggested games (he knew several new ones, which he proposed). All in vain! Prince Metternich insisted on charades; therefore charades carried the day, of course.

The Prince had already thought of the word "Exposition," and arranged in his mind what part each one of us was to have. The Vicomte de Laferriere, whom he was obliged to take into his confidence, told him that he would show us the room in which there was a stage for amateur performances.

As soon as their Majesties had departed we proceeded to the said room, where there was a little stage, a very little one, with red-velvet curtains. Next to this room was a long gallery, in which there was a quantity of chests containing every variety of costumes, wigs, pastiches, tinsel ornaments, and all sorts of appurtenances—enough to satisfy the most dramatic imagination.

Each garment, as it was held up to view, suggested endless possibilities; but the Prince stuck firmly to his first inspiration, and we were despatched to our different apartments to think out our roles and to imagine how funny we were going to be.

The Empress is always present at the conseils de ministres, which to-day must have lasted an unusually long time, as no one was invited to her tea. So we took ours with the Metternichs. The Prince had just returned from town, and was childishly eager to display the various and extraordinary purchases he had made, which he considered absolutely necessary for the finishing touches to our toilettes. His requisites consisted of an oil-can, a feather duster, a watchman's rattle, and wax enough to have made features for the whole Comedie Francaise, and paint and powder for us all. He would not tell us what he had procured for his own costume, as he said he wanted to surprise us, adding, what he could not buy he had borrowed.

Count Voguee gave me his arm for dinner. Of course, we talked of little else but the charade.

Their Majesties were informed of the surprise which was awaiting them in the little theater. The Empress said to Prince Metternich, after dinner, "I hear you have prepared something to amuse us this evening. Do you not wish to go and make your arrangements? We will be ready to join you in half an hour."

All of us who were to take part disappeared to dress, and returned to the gallery connecting with the stage in due time. Peeping through the hole in the curtain, we could see the imposing and elegant audience come in and take their seats with much ceremony and calmness. They little thought how impatient we were to begin and yet trembling with nervousness. Their Majesties, the guests, and all the ministers who had stayed for dinner more than filled the theater. It looked, indeed, uncomfortably crowded.

At last every one was seated, and the first syllable, "Ex," was played with great success. It represented a scene at Aix-les-Bains.

Invalids met (glasses in hand) and discussed and compared their various and seemingly very complicated diseases. They made very funny remarks on the subject of getting their systems in order in view of the possible incidents which might come up during the Exposition of the next year.

The Marquis de Gallifet was one of the invalids, and seeing the Minister of the Interior in the audience, looked straight at him and said, "C'est a vous, Monsieur le Ministre, de remedier a tout cela (It is your business, Monsieur le Ministre, to cure all that)," which made every one roar with laughter, though Prince Metternich (our impresario) was very provoked, as he had particularly forbidden any one to address the audience.

The Princess Metternich looked very comical dressed as a Parisian coachman, with a coachman's long coat of many capes; she wore top-boots, and had a whip in her hand and a pipe in her mouth, which she actually smoked, taking it out of her mouth every time she spoke and puffing the smoke right into the faces of the audience. She sang a very lively song, the words of which her husband had found time to write for her during the afternoon. It began, "C'est a Paris, qu' ca s'est passe." She cracked her whip and stamped her feet, and must have been very droll, to judge from the screams of delight in the audience. The song was full of quips and puns, and pleased so much that she had to repeat it.

The next word was "Position," and acted only by gentlemen. An amateur, or rather a novice, was taking lessons in fencing, in order to defend himself against probable attacks upon him by the barbaric foreigners who next year would invade Paris, and he wished to be prepared sufficiently to resent all their insults.

When the curtain came down all the sky came with it, which put the public in great glee.

The whole word "Exposition" was what we call "Mrs. Jarley's Wax Works."

Count de Voguee was the showman, and the servant assisting him was no less a person than the Austrian Ambassador himself, Prince Metternich. As the stage was small, it could not contain more than two couples at a time, so they were brought on in pairs.

First came Antony, and Cleopatra (the latter Marquise de Gallifet, beautiful as a dream) drank mechanically (having been wound up by the servant) an enormous pearl, and Antony (Prince Murat) looked on wonderingly and admiringly.

Madame de Bourgogne and Count Grammont were a Chinese chop-sticking couple. When wound up, their chop-sticks went everywhere except into their mouths. The Marquise de Chasselouplobat and the Marquis de Caux were shepherd and shepherdess, with the usual rakes, baskets, ribbons, etc.

I was a mechanical doll sent from America (the latest invention) for the Exposition. I was dressed as a Tyrolienne with a red skirt, a black bodice, and a hat with a ridiculous feather sticking out from the back of it, which Prince Metternich said I must have.

While the others were on the stage Princess Metternich wrapped a lot of silk paper around me and tied it with bows of wide ribbon, thus covering me completely, head and all. I was carried in and placed on a turning pedestal.

The showman explained the wonderful mechanism of this doll, unique of its kind, and capable of imitating the human voice to such a degree that no one could hear any difference.

When he had finished talking (I thought, as I stood there, motionless and stifling under my paper covering, he never would stop) he tore off the paper and called his assistant to wind me up.

I had so far been very successful in keeping my countenance; but I assure you, when I saw Prince Metternich's get-up, my efforts to keep myself from bursting out laughing almost amounted to genius. He had said he wished his costume to be a surprise. Well! The surprise almost made the mechanical doll a failure, and had not Count de Voguee quickly turned the pedestal around I don't know how I should have saved myself from disaster.

Prince Metternich was dressed as a servant. He had a velvetine coat, red vest, knickerbockers, white stockings, and servant's low shoes, and he wore a huge black beard and a black wig. He had made his eyebrows so bushy that they looked like mustaches; but his nose had preoccupied him more than anything else—I don't know much time he had spent in making it. First, he made it hooked and then changed it to retrousse, then again back to hooked, which he thought suited his style best. He commenced it when the first scene was being acted, and had just got it at the right angle when it was time for him to go on the stage. The result of his afternoon's labors must have been most gratifying, for he was a stupendous success.

He wound me up and I began singing; but everything went wrong. I sang snatches of well-known songs, cadences, trills, arpeggios, all pele- mele, until my exhibitors were in despair.

"Mais, c'est terrible," cried Voguee. "Ne pouvez-vous pas l'arreter? Est-ce qu'il n'y a pas de vis?"

"Il n'y a pas le moindre vice, Monsieur," shaking his head in despair.

Then I stopped short. How could I sing when I was convulsed with laughter?

"Il faut la remonter," the showman said, with a resigned air, and, turning to the audience, he announced that such a thing had never happened before. "La poupee a ete probablement derangee pendant le voyage." This caused much merriment. "Elle a besoin de l'huile," said the Prince in a loud stage whisper, and took the oil-can and flourished it about my shoulders.

They made so many jokes and puns that they were continually interrupted by the peals of laughter which followed each joke.

"Faites-la donc chanter," implored Voguee. "N'y a-t-il pas un clou?"

"S'il y en avait eu un, je l'aurais trouve, puisque c'est le clou de la soiree."

"Mon Dieu! Que faire? Et tout le monde qui attend. Cherchez bien. Vous trouverez peut-etre un bouton."

The Prince answered, sadly, "Not a sign of a button, Monsieur." And he added, in a loud voice, "We ought to have a button in gold, so that one can see it."

He said this with intention, thinking it might suggest to the Emperor to give me the gold button which he only gives to those he wishes to make life-members of his Hunts. Ladies do not often get them. At last, the mortified assistant applied the rattle and wound me up again. I gave a little nod with my head; they both struck attitudes of satisfaction, and one said, "Now she is going to sing 'Beware!'" which called forth a burst of applause from the audience. I sang "Beware!" and the Prince, thinking I made the trill too long, tried to stop me by using the rattle again, which was almost the death of me. I wore some long ribbons around my neck, and the more the Prince turned it, the tighter the ribbons choked me. Happily I had breath enough to go on singing; but I turned my head and fixed a glassy eye on my tormentor, and, instead of singing "Trust her not, she's fooling thee," I sang, "Trust him not, he's choking me, he's choking me."

Luckily he understood, and the people who knew English understood and appreciated the situation.

When it was all finished the Empress came hurriedly toward me, exclaiming: "Thank Heaven! I thought the Prince was going to strangle you. I was so frightened." She then kissed me on both cheeks, and the Emperor gallantly kissed my hand.

They both said they had never laughed so much in their lives, and were most profuse in their thanks, complimenting all those who had taken part in the charade; certainly Robert de Voguee and the Prince Metternich both outdid themselves.

It was one o'clock when tea was served in the Emperor's salon. You may imagine if I was tired.

November 25th.

DEAR M.,—As the programme announced this morning that there was to be a chasse a tir this afternoon, I put on my green costume brought for this purpose.

The Empress appeared also in a green dress, with a coquettish three- cornered hat trimmed with gold braid, and looked bewitchingly beautiful; the Emperor wore a shooting suit with leather gaiters, as did all the gentlemen. Every one looked very sportsmanlike.

M. Davilliers gave me his arm for dejeuner. He told me a great deal which I did not want to know about hunting-dogs.

For instance, "Les chiens anglais," he said, "etaient tres raillants, tres percants, mais hesitants dans les fourres." So much Greek to me, but I pretended to understand. He continued to say that the Emperor had an excellent trainer, who obtained the best results because he treated the dogs with kindness. I inwardly applauded the trainer.

He said it was better to let them have the entire use of their faculties; whereas, if the unhappy animals are stupefied by bad treatment they lose their initiative, being pursued by the thought of a beating, and they don't know what to do, instead of following their natural instincts.

I agreed with him entirely, and thought that our conversation was an excellent preface to the afternoon's sport.

As the Emperor passed me, before we started off, he said, handing me a little package he held in his hand, "Here is the gold button which you did not have last night; it makes you a life member of all Imperial hunts." (So Prince Metternich's ruse had succeeded.)

I bowed very low and thanked him, and asked if it would necessitate my hunting. "Certainly not, if you don't want to," his Majesty answered; "but have you ever seen a chasse a tir?"

At my answer that I had never seen one, nor anything nearer to one than people going out with a gun and coming back with nothing else, he laughed and said, "I must tell that to the Empress."

It is the Emperor's habit to say, when he hears anything which amuses him, "I must tell that to her Majesty." She is always in his thoughts.

I said, looking at the button, "Last year your Majesty gave me a gold medal for singing a Benedictus; now I shall sing a hallelujah for this."

"It is not worth so much," the Emperor said, with a kind smile.

"Would you like to accompany me this afternoon," he asked, "and see for yourself what a chasse a tir is?"

I answered that I should be delighted, and said, "Shall I come with a gun?"

"Oh dear, no! Please don't!" the Emperor exclaimed, hurriedly. "But come with stout boots and a warm coat."

The carriages were waiting, and we were soon packed in our rugs and started for the shooting.

The Emperor drove Baron Beyens in his dog-cart; the Empress drove with the Princess Metternich in a victoria to the field, where she left her and returned to the chateau. I fancy she was afraid of the dampness of this bleak November day.

We arrived at a great open place and found all the company assembled, and I should say the whole populace of Compiegne had turned into beaters and spectators. The gentlemen took their places in a long line, the Emperor being in the middle; on his right the person highest in rank (Prince Metternich), on his left Count Golz, and so forth.

Madame de Gallifet and I were a little behind the Emperor, between him and Prince Metternich. Behind us were the gamekeepers, loading and handing the guns to their masters as fast as they could. The three first gentlemen had their own chasseurs and two guns each. After the gamekeepers came the men whose duties were to pick up the dead and wounded victims and put them in the bags.

It was a dreadful sight! How I hate it! I am sure I shall not sleep for a week, for I shall always see the forms and faces of those quivering, dying creatures in my dreams. I never will go to a chasse again.

And the worst was, they had frightened the birds and animals into a sort of circle, where they could not escape; the butchery was awful. The victims numbered close on four thousand. Prince Metternich alone shot twelve hundred.

How happy I was when it all was over and I could get away from these horrors and this miserable sport! We were invited to the tea in the Empress's salon. I had time to change my dress and put on the high silk gown prescribed for this function.

Such beautiful rooms! First an antechamber, with cabinets of Italian carving and vitrines and inlaid tables; then the Empress's salon, a very large room filled with low arm-chairs, tables covered with knickknacks, books with paper-cutters still in them, as if they were just being read, screens with engravings a la Louis Seize, and beautiful fans on the walls, also splendid tapestries. It had a lovely ceiling, painted by some celebrated artist, mostly angels and smiling cherubs, who seemed to possess more than their share of legs and arms, floating about in the clouds.

The Empress generally has a distinguished person, or some kind of celebrity, either a traveler or an inventor, even a prestidigitateur (ugh, what a word!), always some one who is en vue for the moment. To-day it was a man who had invented a machine to count the pulse. He strapped a little band on your wrist and told you to concentrate your thought on one subject, then a little pencil attached to the leather handcuff began muffing up and down slowly or quickly, as your pulse indicated.

The Empress seemed much interested, and called those in the room whose pulse she wished to have tested. She said, "Now let us have an American pulse." My pulse seemed to be very normal, and the exhibitor did not make any comments, neither did any one else.

"Shall we now have a Germanic pulse?" the Empress risked, and called Comte Solms. "Think of something pleasant," said the inventor. "A ballet is a nice thing to think of," said the Princess Metternich, in her shrill voice.

"Regarde, comme il va vite," the inventor cried, and he showed the paper with the most extraordinary wavy lines. Every one laughed, and no one more than Comte Solms himself.

Six o'clock came very quickly, and the Empress, rising, gave the signal for our departure.

The Marquis de Caux took me in to dinner. He is the most popular and sought-after gentleman in all Paris. No ball is complete without him, and his presence at any dinner is sufficient to assure its success. He leads all the cotillons worth speaking of, and is a universal favorite. He allowed his secret to leak out (un secret de Polichinelle), which all Paris is talking about.

I swore secrecy; but I can tell you that it can be contained in one word, and that word is SIMPATICO, which is Italian for his rendezvous with HER at the American Doctor Sim's house, for it is there he meets her. Devine qui peut! (Guess who can!) I have not said anything.

At nine o'clock we all adjourned to the theater in the Palace, to reach which we passed through many rooms we had never seen before, and through a long gallery. The theater is very handsome, and as large as most of the theaters in Paris. There is always one theatrical performance during each week while their Majesties are in Compiegne. The company of the Theatre Francais had been commanded to play this evening. The piece chosen was the latest one of Emile Augier, which has had a great success in Paris, called "Le fils Giboyer." Emile Augier, who was invited specially, was present.

Madeleine Brohan, Coquelin, Breton, and Madame Favard had the principal roles. Such distinguished artistes as those could not but give the greatest enjoyment. The theater is very handsome; there are only boxes and the parquet; the Imperial Loge reaches from the first tier of boxes to the last seats of the parquet in the shape of a shell. Any one standing up there could touch, on raising the arm, the velvet draperies of the Imperial box.

The theater is entirely lighted by wax candles, of which there must have been thousands, and all the scenery belonging to the play was sent especially from Paris.

Their Majesties sat in the center of the Imperial Loge, and the lady guests and the most important gentlemen, according to their rank, were placed beside and behind them.

The other gentlemen sat in the parquet, and circulated about between the acts.

In the boxes were places for the Court ladies, also the ladies invited from the neighboring chateau and from Compiegne.

The whole assemblage certainly presented the most dazzling and magnificent sight. The ladies in their beautiful toilettes and superb jewels showed to the greatest advantage in this brilliantly lighted theater. The Empress was gorgeous in yellow tulle covered with lace and jewels. She wore the famous Regent diamond, which belongs to the French Crown, in her corsage, and a superb diamond tiara and necklace. Princess Metternich, who is known to be the best dressed lady in Paris, had a black tulle dress embroidered in gold; she wore a tiara of diamonds and emeralds and a necklace of the same.

When their Majesties entered every one rose and courtesied deeply; their Majesties bowed graciously in response. The Master of Ceremonies gave the signal, and the curtain rose immediately.

The actors seemed inspired to do their best, as well they might, with such a brilliant audience before them.

I wondered if they did not miss the claque, to which actors are so accustomed in France. You know the claque is a set of men who are hired to clap at certain points in the play indicated beforehand to them, in order that the audience may appreciate the most salient points and join the applause, if they wish to.

Every one enjoyed the play immensely. There were portions of it which were very pathetic. I noticed the Emperor was visibly affected, and the Empress wiped from her eyes una furtiva lagrima, as Donizetti's song has it.

I know I cried my lace handkerchief wet.

The representation lasted till about half-past ten, and after our return to the salon the Emperor sent for the artists, who had by this time changed their toilettes. Their Majesties talked long, and, I should say, familiarly with them, and, judging from the way they laughed and chatted, they seemed to feel quite at their ease, especially Coquelin, who apparently put the Emperor in a very good humor. At eleven o'clock refreshments were passed round, the carriages were announced, and making a deferential "reverence" the artists took their leave, carrying with them an ornament with the monograms of their Majesties as a souvenir of their visit.

I never saw the Empress look so beautiful as she did to-night. She certainly is the most exquisite creature, and what is so charming about her is her utter lack of self-consciousness. Her smile is bewitching beyond description, her complexion perfect, her hair of the Venetian type, and her profile classical. Her head is so beautifully put on her shoulders, her neck and shoulders are absolutely faultless. None of the many portraits painted of her, not even Winterhalter's, do her the least justice; no brush can paint and no words can describe her charm. I think the famous beauty, Countess Castiglione, cannot begin to compare with her.

Their Majesties withdrew. The guests from the chateau and those from Compiegne took their departure, and we all dispersed to our several apartments.

I am beginning to learn the ways of the life of Compiegne.

At nine o'clock our tea, coffee, or chocolate (as we choose) is brought to our rooms by a white-stockinged and powdered valet.

If you are very energetic, you can go for a walk in the park, or (as I did to my sorrow) a visit to the town. But you are not energetic more than once, because you do not find it worth your while, as you must hurry back, and change your dress and shoes before appearing in the salon a little before eleven o'clock, the hour for breakfast. You remain in the same dress until you change for dinner or the Empress's tea. You find every morning in your room a programme for the day.

Dejeuner a onze heures. Chasse a tir a deux heures. Comedie Francaise a neuf heures.

So you know what to wear and what to expect; but the invitation to tea is always made by the Empress's private huissier, who knocks at your door toward five o'clock and announces, "Her Majesty the Empress desires your presence at five o'clock."

The toilette de rigueur for this occasion is a high-necked long silk dress, and you generally remain until six o'clock.

If you are not summoned to her Majesty's tea, tea is served in your own salon, where you can invite people to take tea with you, or you are invited to take tea with other people.

If there is a hunt, the ladies wear their green-cloth costumes and the gentlemen wear their hunting gear (a red coat, velvet cap, and top-boots). The gentlemen wear culottes courtes the first evening they arrive, and on such fine occasions as the curee, and at the Gala Theater, where outsiders are invited; otherwise they always wear pantalon collant, which is the most unbecoming thing one can imagine in the way of manly attire.

At six o'clock you dress for dinner, always in ball dress, and a little before seven you meet in the Grande Salle des Fetes. At dinner the guests are placed according to their rank, but at dejeuner there is no ceremony, and you engage your partner after your heart's desire. Those who are high up at dinner try to get as far down at the end of the table as possible.

With me it is all ups and downs; at breakfast I am 'way up to the very top, and at dinner 'way down.

After dejeuner the Master of Ceremonies inquires what you wish to do; that is to say, if there is nothing special mentioned on the programme, such as a review, or manoeuvers, or a chasse a courre, when all are expected to join.

Do you wish to walk? You can tramp up and down the one-thousand-metre-long trellis walk, sheltered from wind and rain.

Do you wish to drive? There are carriages of all descriptions, chars-a- bancs, landaus, pony-carriages, and even a donkey-cart, at your service.

Do you care to ride? There are one hundred and fifty horses eating their heads off in the Imperial stables waiting for you.

Do the gentlemen wish to go shooting? There are countless gamekeepers booted and spurred, with guns and game-bags on their shoulders, impatient to accompany you.

Whatever you do, you are expected to be in your rooms before four o'clock, which is the time the Empress will send for you, if she invites you for tea.

The cercle always follows each repast, and dancing or music always follows the cercle. Tea is served at the Emperor's salon at eleven o'clock, after which their Majesties retire, and you do the same.

November 26th.

DEAR M.,—A very embarrassing thing happened to me this morning.

We thought we could manage an excursion to the town. I wanted to see the Cathedral, and it did not seem far away.

Therefore, bright and early, at nine o'clock we started on our trip.

We saw the Cathedral; but I had not counted on the time necessary for the change of toilette, which I had to make before dejeuner.

I found on my table an envelope containing this poetry, which I inclose, from Theophile Gautier. I suppose he considered it as a sort of amende honorable.

A MADAME CHARLES MOULTON

Vos prunelles ont bu la lumiere et la vie; telle une mer sans fond boit l'infini des cieux, car rien ne peut remplir l'abime de vos yeux, ou, comme en un lotus, dort votre ame assouvie.

Pour vous plus de chimere ardemment poursuivie, quel que soit l'ideal, votre reve vaut mieux, et vous avez surtout le biasement des Dieux, Psyche, qu'Eros lui-meme a grand'peine eut ravi.

Votre satiete n'attend pas le banquet, et connaissant la coupe ou le monde s'enivre, dedaigneuse a vos pieds vous le regardez vivre.

Et vous apparaissez par un geste coquet, rappelant Mnemosyne a son socle appuyee comme le souvenir d'une sphere oublie.

THEOPHILE GAUTIER.

Charles had gone long before, and I became absorbed in reading it, and forgot to look at the clock, when suddenly, seeing how late it was, I rushed down into the gallery, and what was my horror at finding myself alone with the Cent Gardes, who were standing at ease! It was the first time I had ever seen them look like mortal beings, and not like statues, and it signified, naturally, that every one was in the salle a manger, and that I was too late. However, I thought I could slip into the room unnoticed, and a place at the table would be offered to me; but, alas! it happened that just this morning the Emperor had desired me to sit next to him at the table, and the valet de chambre had been and was still, waiting for me at the door to conduct me to my place on the sovereign's left hand.

I cannot tell you how I felt as I was being marshaled up the whole length of the room, stared at by every one, and criticized, probably, for this horrible breach of etiquette. I never was so mortified in all my life. I took my place, speechless and confused, and Prince Murat, who sat on the other side of me, kept saying, "The Emperor is piping mad." The Prince Murat is half American (his mother was a Miss Frazier, from New Jersey), therefore I will forgive him for wanting to tease me.

I suppose I must have looked very red, and I certainly was very out of breath, for the Emperor, probably noticing my embarrassment, kindly said, "Don't worry; you are not late."

I told him I had been sight-seeing in Compiegne, and I hoped he would forgive me.

The Empress smiled and nodded to me in the most gracious manner across the table, as if to put me at my ease.

The Emperor told me that he had sent up to Paris for a game of croquet, having heard from Prince Metternich that we all loved so much to play it, adding that he would like to see the game himself. "We are going to have a mock battle this afternoon," said he. "All these generals and officers who are here have come from everywhere to take part I think it will amuse you to see it, if you have never seen anything of the kind."

I assured him I had never seen a battle, mock or otherwise, and had no idea what it could be like.

"Well, you shall see," he said.

"Is there," I inquired, "as much firing as yesterday?"

"Much more; but this time with cannons," he replied.

"I hope the cannon-balls are also mock," I ventured to say.

I told the Emperor of the poetry which Gautier had sent to me, and, having it in my hand, showed it to him, saying, "Ought I to forgive him?"

"You ought to forgive him," he said. "This is the most exquisite thing I ever have read."

"If your Majesty says so, I will."

The manoeuvers were to commence at two o'clock. All the ladies wore their hunting-dresses, and I was proud to don my gold button.

The various equipages were waiting to take us to the field.

The Duchess de Persigny, Princess Murat, Baron Beyens, the Marquis de Caux, and I got in the same carriage; many of the ladies appeared on horseback. Princess Ghika rode one of the three horses she had brought with her to Compiegne. Madame de Vatry rode one of the Emperor's.

All the carriages, on reaching the field where the manoeuvers were to take place, were drawn up in line, in order that every one should have a good view. Then the Emperor and Empress, on their beautiful horses, and the Prince Imperial, full of youthful dignity, on his cream-colored pony, arrived, accompanied by the staff of splendidly uniformed generals and officers, who took up their positions behind their Majesties before the manoeuvers commenced.

The Empress looked radiantly beautiful, her well fitting riding-habit showing her fine figure to the greatest advantage.

It was, as the Emperor had said, a mock battle, but it seemed to me, not having had much experience in battles, to be very real.

Officers careered over the field for dear life; orderlies with enormous flat, four-cornered things flapping across their backs, scurried to and fro; trumpeters sounded bugles, waved flags, and made signals.... What could look more real and less mock than this?

It was France versus an imaginary enemy.

It seemed as if the one thing France craved and coveted was a poor, lonely farm-house in the distance, apparently unprotected. All the stratagems of war, all the trumpeting and capering about, were brought to bear on conquering that little house. The artillery collided up against it; the infantry, with drums beating, marched boldly to the very door-steps; the cavalry pranced around it.... But for the life of me, though I was staring as hard as I could through my opera-glasses, I could not tell whether France had got it or not. However, there was so much smoke, it might have capitulated without my noticing. I suppose the generals knew.

It made me think of Tennyson's "Charge of the Light Brigade."

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 medaille de merite 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 dejeuner this morning. The Baron is the Prefet 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 kepi" 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, Creme de volaille, Brisotins de foie gras, Saumon Napolitain, Filet de boeuf a la moderne, Supreme de perdreaux, Homards a la Parisienne, Gelinottes roties, Salade, Petits pois a l'Anglaise, Ananas Montmorency, Glaces assorties, Cafe—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.



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 mere etait bohemienne," of Masse, 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'ame 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 "Habanero." 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 repertoire 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."

I tried to express my pleasure at these kind words.

"Did you see how we were affected when you sang 'Suwanee River'? I thought to laugh, instead of which I cried; how could you make it so pathetic?"

"That is my teacher's art," I replied.

"Who is your teacher?"

"Monsieur Delsarte. Your Majesty has perhaps heard of him?"

"No," answered the Emperor. "I have never heard of him. Is he a great singer?"

"He cannot sing at all, your Majesty; but he has wonderful theories which go to prove that one does not need any voice at all to sing; one only needs features to express one's emotions."

"He must be wonderful," the Emperor remarked.

"He is, your Majesty, and quite unique in his way. He says, for instance, when he sings, 'J'ai du bon tabac dans ma tabatiere,' and comes to 'Tu n'en auras pas,' he can make people shed bitter tears, as though it were too much to bear."

"His tobacco must be very good?" laughed the Emperor.

"It is the worst thing of its kind, your Majesty, one can imagine," I answered.

"Is it perhaps Caporal?" said he, with a merry twinkle in his eye.

"I don't know anything about military grades, but, if there were anything lower than a Caporal I should say it was the name of his tobacco."

"Well," he said, "if he taught you to sing as you sing, il merite de la patrie."

The Emperor was perfectly delightful, witty, amusing, and laughing continually, with such a keen appreciation he seemed really to enjoy himself.

As the programme in our room this morning read, chasse a courre, on went the green dress for the second time, and, of course, the button. The Duchess de Fernan Nunez asked me to drive with her, which I was happy to do, as I like her very much. We sat on the front seat, so as to have the best view of the proceedings.

The Emperor and Empress were on horseback; all the gentlemen were in red coats, white breeches, top-boots, and velvet caps, which made them look very picturesque.

The rendezvous was at the Carrefour l'Etoile, and when we arrived the hunters and equipage, with the piqueurs and the chasseurs from the neighborhood, who belonged to the Imperial Hunt, were already there.

The Imperial equipage de chasse is composed of ten piqueurs, valets de chien, valets a pieds, valets a cheval, and valets de limiers, and one hundred English hounds. The hounds are trained by the use of drags, which are, as perhaps you know, bundles of something saturated in blood, which the horses drag and the scent of which the hounds follow. The carriages were drawn up on the side of the road to wait until their Majesties appeared.

The ladies dressed in rich furs and velvets, the riders in brilliant red coats on prancing horses, the attendant grooms, the piqueurs in their gay liveries, green and gold with green-velvet jockey caps, made a wonderful spectacle. The day was superb, the sun shone brilliantly through the autumn foliage, the hazy distances were of a tender hue, and everything had an exquisite tint. Never shall I forget it!

Unfortunately our coachman neglected to follow the other carriages, and we drove about a long time before we discovered that we were on the wrong road, and then he became quite bewildered and seemed to lose his head completely.

After driving from one cross-road to another, we at last chanced upon Monsieur de Bourgogne, who told us that he was just in advance of their Majesties, and that they would be there presently. He said that we had better wait where we were, as the stag would probably pass by that way.

It seemed as if, in fact, we must be near, as we could hear the dogs yelping and the horns sounding (they call it "hallali"). Count de Grammont rode up to us and said we had better follow him, as we would then soon come in sight of the hunters. Despite all these contradictory advices, our coachman managed to arrive on the scene of action just in time for us to see the poor stag, who had taken to the water for dear life (they call it bat l'eau), and the dogs in a frenzy of excitement barking furiously and plunging after him.

We could not see all that happened, thank heaven! as our carriage was behind the whole assembled crowd.

With my tenderness toward all animals, my heart ached for the poor beast, and I hoped sincerely that he would escape his cruel pursuers. I could not see any pleasure or excitement in watching this painful spectacle, and was glad when the time came to turn our backs on the whole thing and return to the chateau.

At the Empress's tea no one talked of anything else but the events of the afternoon. I pretended that I had seen it all, even to the very end. Princess Ghika, beaming all over with joy, was given the foot, as she was in at the death.

Count de l'Aigle took me in to dinner. He is one of the neighbors, not one of the guests; but, as he belongs to the Imperial Hunt, he is always invited to this dinner.

The Empress looked superb in a brown tulle over satin, looped up with brooches of diamonds. She had had a diamond crescent in her hair like Diana. The Marquise de Gallifet was lovely in light-green tulle, with an aigret of diamonds in her blond hair.

The table was arranged most appropriately for the occasion, decorated by the whole biscuit de Sevres service de chasse. Every one seemed gay and stimulated by the excitement of the day.

When the usual after-dinner ceremonies and the cercle in the salon were terminated, the Grand Chamberlain announced to his Majesty that all was ready for the curee, which was awaiting his permission to begin.

The Emperor and the Empress led the way into the long gallery, which overlooks the cour d'honneur. We ladies had provided ourselves with wraps and shawls, as we knew we should need them either on the balcony or at the windows of the gallery, of which there are about twenty.

The Empress braved the weather and stood out on the balcony with the Emperor, well wrapped in furs, for the night was cold; and the gentlemen, not finding sufficient room, went below and stood on the steps of the "Perron," which gives on to the courtyard.

All the lackeys, valets, grooms, in fact, all the household servants, formed a large circle in the enormous cour d'honneur opposite the Imperial balcony, all bearing flaming torches made of tar, which lighted up the whole place. Behind these stood the populace of Compiegne, who are allowed to be present on these occasions.

At the farther side of the courtyard, and directly opposite their Majesties, the chief huntsman held up the skin of the stag, which contained the entrails, waving it backward and forward, in order to excite the hounds. The piqueurs stood in front of the "Perron," holding the dogs back with great difficulty, for they were struggling to get loose, and yelping in their eagerness and greediness to rush forward.

As the chasseur waved the skin, the piqueurs let the hounds loose, and when they were half-way across the court, approaching the object of their desire, the piqueurs called them back, in order to show how well disciplined and under what complete control they were.

The tantalizing of the poor animals was repeated several times. At last the fanfare was sounded, and the hounds were allowed to rush forward midst the tooting of horns, the cracking of whips, and the cries and shouts of the crowd. The torches were waved high in the air, giving a weird light to the whole scene, and the entrails at last were thrown to the dogs, and before you could say "Jack Robinson" everything was devoured. You can picture to yourself what a unique and fantastic sight this must have been!

It was eleven o'clock when we returned to the salon, where tea and refreshments were served. Those returning to Paris took leave of their Majesties and drove to the station, where the special Imperial train provided for them was waiting.

Later their Majesties took leave of us.

We lingered a little, as it was our last evening.

On returning to my apartment, I saw on my table a package, on which was written, De la part de l'Empereur. You can imagine how eager I was to open it. Those magic words brought untold visions before my eyes. What might it not be?

I opened the package feverishly, and what was my surprise and disappointment to find a rather ordinary-looking tabatiere and a package of tobacco, written on it, Du bon tabac pour le maitre de chant de Madame Moulton.

Was it not a cruel blow?

November 30th.

Here we are again in Paris, glad to be at home after our gay week in Compiegne, charming and delightful as it was; there is always great fatigue and tension attending such visits. To-day I luxuriate in one dress; no changing five times a day. I allowed my maid to go out for the day, and we are going to dine at a restaurant.... What a contrast! It seems as if I had been away a month!

Before we left Compiegne yesterday, when we were taking our morning tea, we were interrupted by the coming in of the majordomo, who handed us a paper. We were not unprepared for this visit, as we had been told by one of the guests, who had been here before, that every one was expected to remain in their rooms until this important personage had made his rounds, in order to collect the pourboire. I say THE pourboire, because what one generally gives separately is lumped into one sum. This paper, which he handed to us almost at the point of his hallebarde, proved to be a gia scritto receipt for six hundred francs—our pourboire!

During breakfast yesterday the Emperor took up his glass, and, looking at me across the table, drank my health. Among the guests there was a great deal of health-drinking.

Gustave Dore had made some very clever caricatures of some events which he had drawn beautifully and touched off with aquarelle, as he alone could do it. The little album was passed stealthily from hand to hand under the shelter of the table, with the strictest injunctions not to let any one see it except your immediate neighbor! With these injunctions it managed to travel about half-way down the table.

He had made a lovely sketch of her Majesty driving a chariot like the "Aurora" in the Rospigliosi Gallery, and had depicted the Emperor seated on an enormous white horse, leading a charge of cavalry, his arm uplifted.

The Princess Metternich was represented as the coachman in the charade, hat on one side, pipe in her mouth, and looking very debonnaire. Prince Metternich was shown standing in the middle of an arena, in full diplomatic uniform, with masses of decorations and cordons. He had a long whip, such as are used in circuses, and men and women (meaning us, I suppose) capering around doing their tricks.

The sketch of Madame de Persigny was very funny. A mass of tulle petticoats, in the midst of which two little feet in the air, and a crown rolling away in the distance.

The picture he made of me was the mechanical doll, ribbons floating all about, and on every turn of the ribbons was written "Beware!"

The diplomat's shoe was not forgotten. There was a table a mile long, and at the very end of it a little shoe seen underneath.

We were in our traveling costumes, and on our return to the salon their Majesties went about saying pleasant and gracious things to every one. They hoped we would remember our visit with as much pleasure as they would, etc.

There was a greater animation than usual, and less ceremony; people talked louder and with less restraint; every one bade good-by to the ladies and gentlemen of the Household who remained. The Empress gave her hand to be kissed by the gentlemen (some of them, not all), kissed some ladies, and shook hands with others.

When their Majesties were ready to dismiss us they bowed, and we all departed to get our hats and wraps,

I gave a lingering look at the lovely rooms I was leaving, which were now devoid of our trunks and little personal trinkets, nodded a farewell to our particular valet, who was probably thinking already of our successors, descended l'Escalier d'honneur, and passed through the beautiful Galerie des Gardes to the colonnades, where the chars-a-bancs were ready waiting to carry us to the station. We were a rather subdued party in the train; the conversation mostly turned on the subject of pourboires. The huissier decides the exact amount that each ought to give. For instance, he knows an ambassador ought to give two thousand francs. For a minister of state one thousand francs suffices. Unofficial people like ourselves cannot be expected to be out of pocket more than six hundred francs. As for the poor nobility of France, they escape with five hundred!

Some were of opinion that it was pleasanter to give en masse, in one big sum, than to give in driblets; others thought it more satisfactory to hand one's offering personally to the different servants; but we all, with one voice, voted the officious beadle an imposition.

The daily expenses of Compiegne, so the Gouverneur de la Maison told us, and he ought to know, are not less than ten thousand francs a day, and there are more than nine hundred people living in the Palace at a time, to be fed and warmed.

To-day, at five o'clock, the fourth serie will come; it is called la serie des oublies, as ours was called la serie elegante. The first is called la serie obligatoire, the second les ennuyeux.

We found our carriage at the station. Our simple coupe seemed a great come-down from the beautiful carriages we had been driving in, and good Louis and the footman, in their quiet liveries, seemed in fierce contrast to the gorgeous creatures we had been familiar with so lately.

The family is at Petit Val, and we remain there quietly until January.

We found among our belongings an enormous bourriche, containing a quantity of game, hares, pheasants, and so forth.

Good night! I am tired.

PARIS, 1867.

DEAR M.,—You will have heard so much about the Exposition, that I cannot tell you anything new. It is now in full swing, and I think it is magnificent. Of course I cannot compare it to any other, as it is the only one that I have ever seen.

I have a season ticket (costing one hundred francs) containing my photograph and my autograph; therefore no one but myself can use it. The Exposition building is round, and the section of one thing goes through all the countries; for instance, art, which seems to be the smallest thing, is in the inner circle. If you only want to study one particular industry you go round the circle; but if you want to study a country you go down a section. The outer circle is for machinery, and outside in the grounds, in front of the different countries, are the cafes belonging to them. Here you can listen to the different national musics, and see the different national types and costumes, and eat the different national foods. We go almost every day, and it is always a delight. You can see the whole art of cutting diamonds, from the gravel in which they are found to their final polish. The villa of the Bey of Tunis, a Buddhist temple, a Viennese bakery, where people flock to taste the delicious rolls hot from the oven, and where Hungarian bands of highly colored handsome zitherists play from morning till night, and a hundred other attractions, make the Exposition a complete success. You pass from one lovely thing to the other. The gardens are laid through avenues of trees and shrubs, where fountains play, and beds of flowers and bouquets of plants are arranged with the most artistic taste. All these wonders will in six months' time be reduced to the level and monotony of the Champ de Mars. One can't believe that these large horse-chestnut trees in full bloom are only temporary visitors, like the people.

The Prince Oscar of Sweden (he will one day be the King) came often to the Exposition, and went about with us. He was very much interested in everything he saw, especially in the American Steinway pianos. He sent me several times some of the famous punch they make in Sweden, also some silver brooches which the Swedish peasants wear. He has a bateau mouche, in which he takes his friends up and down the Seine. The Princess Mathilde and Madame de Gallifet were of the party last Monday. We mouched as far as Boulogne, where Baron James Rothschild has a charming place called Bagatelle, which the Prince wanted very much to see.

We got out of the boat and walked up to the entrance of the park; but the porter refused, in spite of all pleadings, to let us in, and was almost rude until Monsieur Due mentioned the name of the illustrious visitor; then the gates were thrown wide open, and we walked in and all over the place. The porter, becoming most humble and servile, offered to escort us over the house, and even asked us to take tea; but we did not succumb to either of these temptations.

There are so many kings and sovereigns here: the Emperor of Russia, who is very handsome and stately; the King of Prussia, who is accompanied by the colossal Count Bismarck, very noticeable in his dazzling white uniform, and wearing a shining helmet with an enormous spread eagle on top of it, which made him tower still more above ordinary mortals, and reminded me of all the mythological heroes I knew of. He clanked his sword on the pavement, quite indifferent to the stare of wondering Frenchmen, and was followed by several other tall Germans, who regarded everything de haut en bas with Teutonic phlegm. The Prince of Italy (Umberto) looks rather small by the side of these German giants. The Khedive of Egypt, the Shah of Persia, the ex-Queen of Spain, and other sovereigns are flitting about.

The Baron James Rothschild invited us to go to Ferriere's with Prince Oscar of Sweden. That was very amusing! We had a special train from Paris and Rothschild's special car; when we arrived at Ferriere's we first had refreshments, then we walked in the grounds till it was time to dress for dinner. We met before dining in the enormous salon in the center of the chateau. This salon is two stories high, with a gallery around it, and was so large that a billiard-table in one corner seemed too small to be noticed, and the concert-grand piano standing at the other end looked insignificant. The dining-table was beautifully decorated with garlands of roses and a whole collection of antique goblets, worth a fortune. There were huge bouquets of roses for the ladies, almost too big to carry.

Prince Oscar's brother had once written a very pretty song, called "I Rosens duft," which some one had arranged as a duet, and the Prince wanted me to sing it with him (he had thoughtfully brought the music). All through dinner he was teaching me the Swedish words, so that we could sing it afterward. He was so intent (and so was I) that every one, I am sure, thought we were having a tremendous flirtation, as they saw our heads almost touching when he was writing the words on the menu. He also wrote a poem to me (which I inclose), which he said he composed on the spot. How can he be so clever?

PRINCE OSCAR'S POEM

WRITTEN AT THE DINNER-TABLE AT LAFERRIERE'S 1867

Din sang, hur skoen, hur underbar! En balsamdoft pa dina laeppar hvila, En vaelljudsstroem fran ditt hjarta ila, Vill mana fram ur verldens haf ett svar: Din sang, hur skoen, hur underbar!

Din ton, hur stark, hur ljuf, hur ren! En altareld som ingen flaegt fa stoera, Och dock en storm som sjalens djup kan roera, En glod som smalta kan "de visas sten": Sa aer din ton—sa stark, sa ren.

Sjung mer, sjung mer, det haer sa godt En stund fa glaemma verldens hvimmel Och lyss till samklang ur en oeppnad himmel, Om ock foer en minut i droemma blott: Sjung mer, sjung mer, det goer mit hjaerta godt.

(Translated literally)

Your voice, how beautiful, how wonderful! A perfume of balsam rests on your lips, A torrent of melody rushes from your heart, That can only be echoed by the world's ocean: Your voice, how beautiful, how wonderful!

Your voice, how full of power, how enchanting and pure! A sacred fire which no breeze can trouble, And yet a tempest that stirs the very soul, A glowing flame which can melt the philosopher's stone: Such is your voice—so powerful, so pure.

Sing more, sing more, it is so good For one moment to forget the tumult of this world And listen to the harmony of a heaven unveiled, And if only for a moment to dream: Sing more, sing more, it makes my heart rejoice.

We sang the duet after dinner with such success that we had to repeat it. Before our departure there was a grand display of fireworks: O's appeared in every dimension and design, and a blaze of fire and Bengal lights in rapid succession kept us in a continual state of admiration.

I received a little note from Jenny Lind. She is in Paris, and wished to know when she could come to see me. I wrote to her directly that I would let Monsieur Auber know, and he would probably come at four o'clock (his usual hour). Therefore, it all came about. Jenny Lind came, so did Auber. The meeting was a pleasure to them both. They talked music, art, told many anecdotes of celebrated acquaintances: Alboni, Nilsson, Patti, etc. He had brought some of his music with him, and Jenny Lind and I sang the duo of his latest opera "Le Premier Jour de Bonheur." He consulted me as to whether he might dare to ask her to dine with him, with a few congenial spirits. I said I was sure she would be enchanted to do so, which she was.

As to the congenial spirits, Auber suggested the Metternichs, Gounod, Duke de Massa, and ourselves, making ten in all.

No one refused, and we had the most delightful dinner. The Princess proposed to Auber to give his arm to Jenny Lind, and to put her at his right hand, la place d'honneur, adding, with her most ironical smile, "le genie avant la beaute." Auber made a charming host, telling one funny anecdote after the other in his quiet and typical manner. Gounod, in his low and drawly voice, said: "Vous nous donnez, mon cher Auber, des choses par trop ennuyeuses aux concerts du Conservatoire. A la pensee des 'Quatre saisons' de Haydn je m'endors. Pourquoi ne s'est-il pas contente d'une saison?" Princess Metternich replied, "Que probablement en les composant Haydn s'est mis en quatre." "La moitie m'aurait suffi," said Auber; "pour moi, elles sont toutes mon automne." (monotone).

When we returned to the salon we discreetly waited for the promised song.

Suddenly Jenny Lind jumped up, saying, "Shall I sing something?"

Of course, every one was wild to hear her. She went to the piano and accompanied herself in "Qui la voce," of "I Puritani." We were all enchanted, clapping our hands with enthusiasm. Then Gounod played and sang, or rather hummed, a new song of his, saying to Jenny Lind, when he took his place at the piano, "I am not worthy to succeed you."

We thought him much too modest.

He hummed deliriously!

They asked me to sing, and, though I really hated to sing after these great artists, I did so to please Auber, who accompanied me in "Los Djins," of which he is very proud, because it has the same bass all the way through. How little it takes to please genius!

After this Jenny Lind and I performed the duo from "Le Premier Jour de Bonheur" we had practised at my house. She put her arm around my waist while we were singing, as if we were two school-girls.

Prince Metternich played one of his brilliant Austrian waltzes, which was so bewildering that if any man had dared to put his arm round Jenny Lind's matronly waist I am sure she would have skipped off in the dance.

For la bonne bouche she gave us a Swedish peasant song, which was simply bewitching. Her high notes were exquisitely pure, the lower ones I thought weak; but that might have been owing to the good dinner she had eaten—at least she said so.

There is a musical phenomenon here just now in the shape of an American negro; he is blind and idiotic, but has a most extraordinary intelligence for music. All his senses seem to have been concentrated in this one sense. Prince and Princess Metternich, Auber, and ourselves went to his concert. Auber said, "Cet idiot, noir et aveugle, est vraiment merveilleux." Blind Tom had learned his repertoire entirely by ear; therefore it was very limited, as he could only remember what he had heard played a few days before. His memory did not last long. He was wonderful. Not only could he execute well, but he could imitate any one's mannerisms and their way of playing. The impresario came forward, saying, "I am told that Monsieur Auber is in the audience. May I dare to ask him to come up and play something?" Auber said he thought he should die of fright. We all urged him, for the curiosity of the thing, to play something of his new opera, which no one as yet had heard, therefore no one could have known it.

Auber mounted the platform, amid the enthusiastic applause of the audience, and performed his solo. Then Blind Tom sat down and played it after him so accurately, with the same staccato, old-fashioned touch of Auber, that no one could have told whether Auber was still at the piano. Auber returned and bowed to the wildly excited public and to us. He said, "This is my first appearance as a pianist, and my last."

Prince Metternich, inspired by Auber's pluck, followed his example, and mounting the stage rattled off one of his own fiery, dashing waltzes, which Blind Tom repeated in the Prince's particular manner. After the concert we went into the artist's room to speak with the impresario, and found poor Tom banging his head against the wall like the idiot he was. Auber remarked, "C'est humiliant pour nous autres."