Sometimes he is very nervous. Once, when I was singing "Voi che sapete,"

the tears rolled down his cheeks, and another time, when he was showing me how to sing it "so," I burst into tears, and the poor man had to order his servant to bring me some sherry to restore my nerves. There is one phrase in this song which I never can hear sung, or never can sing myself, without emotion.

The season is getting so late mama thinks we ought to leave London, especially as Garcia is taking his vacation, and we are going in a few days to Paris.

Garcia has given us a letter to his sister, Madame Viardot (of whom he said she had brains but no voice). He wrote: "I send you my pupil. Do all you can to persuade her to go on the stage. She has it in her."

But Madame Viardot may "do all she can"; I will never go on the stage.

If "it" is in me, it must work out some other way.

PARIS, _May, 1861._

DEAR A.,--Mother will have written to you of my engagement to Charles Moulton. I wish you would come and see me married, and that I could present all my future family to the most lovable of aunts.

I think I shall have everything to make me happy. In the first place, my fiance is very musical, composes charming things, and plays delightfully on the piano; my future mother-in-law is a dear old lady, musical and universally talented; my future father-in-law is a _bona-fide_ American, a dear quixotic old gentleman who speaks the most awful French. Although he has lived in Paris for forty years, he has never conquered the p.r.o.nunciation of the French language, but has invented a unique dialect of his own. Every word that can be p.r.o.nounced in English he p.r.o.nounces in English, as well as all numbers. For instance, a phrase such as _La guerre de mille huit cent quinze etait une demonstration de la liberte nationale_ would sound like this: "La gur de 1815 (in English) etait une demonstration (in English) de la liberty national." It is almost impossible to understand him; but he will read for hours unabashed, not only to us, the drowsy and inattentive members of his family, but to the most fastidious and ill.u.s.trious Frenchmen. There are two brothers and a sweet little sister. I shall have a beautiful home, or rather homes, because they have not only a handsome hotel in Paris, but an ideal country place (Pet.i.t Val) and a villa in Dinard.

Good-by. Greet all the united family from me, and tell them not to worry over my future, as you wrote they were doing. I have renounced forever the pomps and allurements of the stage, and I trust the leaves on the genealogical tree will cease their trembling, and that the Fays, my ancestors, will not trouble themselves to turn in their graves, as you threatened they would if I did anything to disgrace them.

CHaTEAU DE PEt.i.t VAL, _June, 1862._

DEAREST A.,--I wish I could give you an idea of Pet.i.t Val and our life as lived by me. Pet.i.t Val is about twelve miles from Paris, and was built for the Marquis de Marigny, whose portrait still hangs in the salon--the brother of Madame de Pompadour--by the same architect who built and laid out the park of Pet.i.t Trianon.

There is an avenue of tall poplar-trees leading from Pet.i.t Val straight to Choisy-le-Roi, where Madame de Pompadour lived, a distance of ten miles.

Like Pet.i.t Trianon, Pet.i.t Val has little lakes with shady trees bordering them; it has grottos, waterfalls, winding paths, magnificent greenhouses, fountains, a _riviere_, pavilions, aviaries, terraces, _charmilles_, _berceaux_, _enfin tout!_ One feels like saying, "Mein Liebchen, was willst du mehr?" as the poet Heine says. The park is surrounded by a _saut de loup_ (a sunken wall about twenty feet high like "la Muette" in Paris).

There is no need of putting up sign-boards with "No trespa.s.sing here" as no one could scale the walls of the _saut de loup_, so we feel very safe, especially when the five iron gates are locked. Beyond the park are the _cha.s.se_, the farm, the vineyards, and the _potager_. We are so near Paris that we have many visitors. The drive out here is a pleasant one, going through Vincennes, Charenton, Alfort, etc., and one can get here in about an hour. Duke de Morny, the Duke de Persigny and the Rothschild family, Prince de Sagan, and different diplomats, not to speak of our numerous American friends who are thankful for a breath of fresh air, are frequent guests. The nearest chateau to us is Montalon, where Madame de Sevigne used to live, and from which she wrote some of her letters. If she ever wrote a tiresome one, it must surely have been from here, as the damp and moldy house, covered with creeping vines and overgrown with ivy, surrounded by melancholy cypress and poplar trees, which shut out the view, could scarcely have inspired her with brilliant ideas.

Pet.i.t Val's _potager_ is known far and wide for the best peaches and pears in France, and the gardener takes all the prizes in the shows: if the prizes are in money, he pockets them; if they are diplomas, he allows us to keep them. He is a rare old scamp.

When Mr. Moulton bought the place he had the right to call himself "De Pet.i.t Val," and he could have--if he had wished to--been "Moulton de Pet.i.t Val." But he turned up his American nose at such cheap n.o.bility as this; still he was obliged, much against his will, to conform to the obligations which belonged to the estate. For instance, he had to give so many bushels of potatoes to the cure, so many bushels of grain to the doctor, so many bushels of vegetables to the postmaster, and to them all so many casks of the awful wine we produce on the estate, known in the vernacular as "_le pet.i.t bleu_."

When this sour wine is in the golden period of effervescing, any sick child in the village ticketed by the doctor can be brought to the wine- presses and dipped in. If labeled "_tres malade_," he is dipped in twice. Don't you think that this is a dreadful custom? I think that it is awful to put such an article as this on the market; but then we know that if a person has tasted it once they never do it again. We try to grow green corn here; but it degenerates unless the seed is brought every year from America. This year, not having been renewed, the corn is a failure; but the American melons ripen here in perfection, and rivalize successfully with the big French melons. The other day an amba.s.sador ate so many of them that he begged us to let him stay all night. We were quite anxious about him, as he had an audience with the Emperor the next morning; but he managed it somehow.

An important member of the family I must not forget! the governess, Mademoiselle Wissembourg, who is very much of a personage. After she has given my sister-in-law and myself our French lessons (for I still go on studying), she gives the cook his orders, gives out the linen, writes the letters, smooths away all annoyances, pays the bills, and keeps the accounts, which she does in an oriental sort of way, with such fantastic summings-up that my poor father-in-law is often on the verge of distraction.

Our stables are well garnished; there are eleven horses (my pair included), fourteen carriages, three coachmen, and no end of stable-boys.

My coachman, who was one of the "anciens zouaves"--so renowned for their bravery--generally has cramps when he is told that I am going to drive myself to Paris. And when I drive those twelve miles I do it in double- quick time with Medje and Hilda, my two "limousin" horses. No wonder Louis offers up a prayer to the saints before starting, and sits, holding with both hands on to his little seat back of me, with an expression on his face of "O Lord, what is going to happen?"

PARIS, _January, 1863._

DEAREST MAMA,--I have been expecting letters from you and home for a long time, but nothing has come yet.

The coldest day that Paris has ever known, since goodness knows when, has suddenly burst upon us, and skating is just dawning on the Parisians.

The ice on the little lake of Suresnes has frozen _d'emblee_, and I was crazy to go there and skate. We had stayed late in the country, having spent Christmas _en famille_, and only returned to Paris a few days ago. I had just received the skates you sent me for my Christmas present, and I was wild to try them. What beauties they are! My old ones, with their screws and their innumerable straps, seem horribly complicated and clumsy. As you advised, I had very tight-fitting boots with low heels made for them. I drove out to the Bois with baby and his _nounou_, and to gain time put on my skates in the carriage, and when I arrived, I walked down to the lake. I never saw such splendid ice (and I have seen many ices). No tardy layers, no treacherous holes, just one even mirror of marble. Imagine my surprise at not seeing a person on the ice; but there were ma.s.ses of spectators gathered on the edge of the lake looking at it.

The Emperor and the Empress were there. I knew them by sight; but the only one I knew personally was Prince Joachim Murat, our neighbor in the country. He married Elizabeth Wagram, and they lived with her parents at Gros-Bois, near Pet.i.t Val.

Therefore, I stood unknown and unnoticed. I ventured one foot on the indiscreet, reflecting surface, then the other; and while the a.s.sembled crowd gazed at me in amazement, I made the tour of the lake on my skates.

My experience of seven years on Fresh Pond did not fail me, and I skimmed over the flawless ice on the outer edge, like a bird with close-fitting wings; indeed, I felt like one. The ice was so clear that one could see the gra.s.s and stones at the bottom.

This was an exhilarating moment!

When I returned to the starting-place I saw that no one had dared to follow my example, and as an act of (I hardly dare to write it) silly _bravoura_ I took baby out of the nurse's arms, and with him gurgling and chuckling with delight, his little head on my shoulder, I skated around with him. _Only once!_ Don't scold me! I felt directly what a wicked thing I was doing, for, if there had been a stone or a branch frozen in the ice, I might have fallen, and then--what might not have happened! But as long as I was alone and sure of my skates I was not afraid. I saw some of the more courageous skaters beginning to invade the ice, and I flew back, thoroughly ashamed of myself, and delivered my rosy burden into the arms of its nurse, who stood aghast, like a frozen Niobe, with wide eyes, watching me, the foolish mother. I sent them back to Paris in the coupe, begging my husband to come and fetch me. I was vain enough to wish him to see me in my glory.

Prince Murat came up to speak to me. As we saw the Emperor, who was on skates, coming toward us, Prince Murat said, "Here comes the Emperor to speak to you." I felt dreadfully frightened, for I was not sure--it being the first time I had ever spoken to a sovereign--what was the proper manner to address him. I knew I must say "Sire," and "votre Majeste"; but when and how often I did not know. His Majesty held in his hand a short stick with an iron point, such as are used in climbing the Alps, and managed to propel himself forward by little right-legged shunts, his left leg not daring to do anything but slide, and stopped like an engine nearing a station, puffing and out of breath. Prince Murat moved aside, and his Majesty looked at me, then at Prince Murat, who, in an introductory manner, said "This is Madame Moulton, your Majesty, the daughter-in-law of our neighbor, whom you know." "Ah!" said the Emperor, and, turning to me, he said, "How beautifully you skate, Madame; it is wonderful to look at you!"

[Ill.u.s.tration: EMPEROR NAPOLEON III]

I (frightened out of my wits) murmured that I had skated since I was eight years old. "One can only skate like that when one learns young," the Emperor said. And while I was wondering when I should say "Votre Majeste,"

he said, "Oserai-je demander a une patineuse si parfaite de patiner avec un humble patineur (Dare I ask such a perfect skater as you to skate with so humble a skater as myself)?"

He was a humble skater indeed! I answered that it would be a great honor to me. He then stretched out his hands, and I took them very much as I would have taken any one else's hands, and we ambled forth, I supporting and upholding the tottering steps of the monarch of the French nation. I felt that the eye of the nation was on me, and, indeed, it was, as much of the nation as happened to be there; but, proud as I was, I wished that some one would relieve me of this responsibility. Suppose his Majesty should fall!... Dreadful thought! The Emperor skated on silently, intent on balancing himself, and I, you may be sure, was intent on keeping him intent. He stumbled at every stroke; but as I was on his left side--the weak one--we got along very nicely, and we felt that we were being admired --_patineus.e.m.e.nt_. His hat fell off once (he skated in a tall hat), and I had to pick it up for him while he clung to my hand and lifted his other hand to put the hat on his head. In our course we came upon the Empress, and we slowed down neatly. She was being supported by two very "trembling"

chamberlains, who almost knocked us down in their efforts to keep their balance. When we had come to anchor the Emperor said to the Empress, "This is Madame Moulton! Does she not skate beautifully?" I ought to have made a courtesy, but how could I--on skates?

The Empress was dressed in a more suitable style than the other ladies, who evidently were going on to some reception (the idea of combining visiting and skating!), and had rather long dresses, high heels and hats.

The Empress, though crinolined and high-heeled, had a short skirt. I had a short cloth dress bordered with fur and a little fur toque. The Empress looked very kindly at me and said something to the Emperor which escaped me. When--oh, when--should I say "Your Majesty"? But I forgot everything, gazing at the Empress, who appeared as a vision of beauty, with a bright color in her cheeks, her eyes sparkling with animation. The Emperor said to her, "Tu devrais patiner avec Madame (You ought to skate with Madame),"

letting go my hands. With the sweetest smile she said to me, "Will _you_ skate with _me_?" Of course I was only too enchanted. Could I uphold the throne in which her Majesty was strapped? I took her two hands, and we sped on our way as best we could. I had sometimes to dig my skates in the ice to prevent too much speed, and to keep us both on our legs, one pair of which were Imperial. "How strange!" said her Majesty, in a moment of breath-taking, "that I should have never seen you before, and yet, as the Emperor says, you live in Paris!"

I replied: "Your Majesty [at last I said it], I spent last winter in the country taking care of my health, and last summer I was in Dinard."

"Ah, je comprends," with a lovely smile, "and now?"

"Now, your Majesty [I was getting on nicely], I am going to be presented to society in due form by my mother-in-law."

"You will then come to the Tuileries?"

"Of course, your Majesty [now I had complete court manners], I shall come there first. My mother-in law will take the necessary steps."

"But you will not need to go through all those steps," she said, smilingly, "now that we know you"; and added, most kindly, "To-morrow you must come and skate with us again."

After this little breathing spell we went off on another tour, and as all is well that ends better than you expect, I was thankful to bring her Majesty back safely. We were hailed with enthusiasm. Charles, coming back with the coupe, was duly complimented by both their Majesties on the prowess of his spouse. And so we drove home.

Here endeth the first chapter and my first appearance in Parisian society.

_January, 1863._

DEAR M.,--We received the invitation for the first ball at the Tuileries before my mother-in-law had presented me to the Grande Maitresse d.u.c.h.esse de Ba.s.sano; but her reception-day being on the same day as the ball I was able, fortunately, to go there and to be presented to her. Mrs. M--- preferred to make the "preliminary steps" with me in her wake.

My wedding-dress, trimmed with the beautiful lace (which came in my _corbeille_), seemed the proper thing to wear. The gentlemen's costumes are "_culottes courtes blanches_, white silk stockings, and a dress-coat with gold b.u.t.tons." My mother-in-law had been under the coiffeur's tongs for hours, and when she reappeared, frizzled and curled, she looked so unnatural that we hardly recognized her. My father-in-law refused point blank to go with us. When asked, "Don't you want to see Lillie's first appearance?" he answered, "I shall see her before she goes. It is not likely I shall see much of her when she is once there." Which would probably have been the case.

Mrs. Moulton, wishing to go in style, ordered the gala Cinderella coach which served at my wedding. It used to take my parents-in-law to and from the Tuileries in the time of Louis Philippe. One can see the like in Versailles, all gla.s.s in front, white satin inside, with steps to let down, and swung on eight undulating springs. Charles went in our coupe, and I must say I envied him.

It is a long drive from the Rue de Courcelles to the Tuileries, and it takes a long time, especially when the _queue_ commences at the Place de la Concorde. I was almost dizzy as we advanced step by step, pulling up at every moment, rocking and swaying like a row-boat in a gentle swell, and when we got a chance to go faster the carriage rocked from side to side, all the fringe on the coachman's box waving about. The coachman was a study in himself, with his white wig and silk stockings, ensconced like a hen on her nest. The valet, with powdered hair, white silk stockings, and plush breeches, stood on his little platform behind the carriage, holding on to the two cords on the side. I felt very fine, but not fine enough to prevent my feeling a little sea-sick, and I could not help thinking that it was a great pity to put on such style at night, when no one could see us. I would have liked better to have been seen in the daytime in this pomp and glory.