When at last we did arrive my mother-in-law's feathers were somewhat awry.

We mounted the stately staircase, lined on both sides by the superb Cent Gardes, standing like statues on each step.

Many chamberlains were waiting, and we were conducted to the Grand Maitre de Ceremonie, who pa.s.sed us on to a less grand Maitre de Ceremonie, who showed us to the place where we were to stand in the ballroom. It was a magnificent sight, and as long as I live I shall never forget it.

The beautifully dressed ladies were covered with jewels, and the gentlemen in their showy uniforms were covered with decorations. Each lady showed to great advantage, as, on account of the width of their crinolines, they had to stand very far apart.

The entire ballroom was lighted with wax candles, and was really a fairy scene. At the end of the ballroom was the platform on which stood the throne of their Majesties, a row of red-velvet gilded fauteuils placed behind them for the Imperial family. The hangings over the throne, which were of heavy red velvet with the Napoleonic eagle in gold, fell in great folds down to the floor.

It was not long before the doors were thrown open, and every one who had been limp and lax while waiting, chatting with his neighbor, straightened himself up and bowed to the ground, as the Emperor and the Empress walked in. Their Majesties stood for a moment at the door, and then went immediately to the throne.

A few moments later the _quadrille d'honneur_ was danced by the eight most princely of the guests. The Emperor danced with the Princess of Wales, who has the prettiest and sweetest face one can imagine. The Empress danced with the King of Saxony; the Prince of Wales with the Princess Mathilde, cousin of the Emperor; the Grand Duke of Russia with the Princess Clothilde.

Every one stood during the whole quadrille. After that was finished their Majesties circulated among us, talking to different people. Later on the Empress, when she had returned to the throne, sent a message to me by Prince Murat, that she wished me to come to her.

I was frightened to death to have to cross the ballroom, feeling as if all eyes were on me, and tripped along so quickly that Prince Murat, at my side, said, "Don't hurry so; I can't keep up with you."

While I stood before the steps of the throne the Empress came toward me, and with her exquisite smile, and with the peculiar charm she has when speaking, said, "I am so glad to see you here, Madame Moulton." "And I am so glad to be here, your Majesty; but I went through all the preliminary steps all the same," I said, "because _ma belle-mere_ insisted upon it."

This seemed to amuse her, and after a few gracious words she left me.

As this was the first time I had seen her in evening dress, I was completely dazed by her loveliness and beauty. I can't imagine a more beautiful apparition than she was. Her delicate coloring, the pose of her head, her hair, her expressive mouth, her beautiful shoulders, and wonderful grace make a perfect ensemble.

[Ill.u.s.tration: EMPRESS EUGeNIE]

She wore a white tulle dress trimmed with red velvet bows and gold fringes; her crown of diamonds and pearls and her necklace were magnificent.

On her breast shone the great diamond (the Regent) which belongs to the Crown.

When I gazed on her in all her glory and prestige I could hardly believe that we had been such chums a few days before, when skating, and that I had held her hands clasped in mine, and had kept her from falling.

Countess Castellane gave a beautiful costume ball the other evening, which I must tell you about, because it was so original. The stables were connected with the salons by a long, carpeted gallery, at the end of which was a huge fresco on the walls, representing a horse-race in a very lifelike manner. Through a large plate-gla.s.s window one could see the whole stable, which was, as you may imagine, in spick-and-span order; and Count Castellane's favorite horse was saddled and bridled, a groom in full livery standing by its side. It was amusing to see ladies in their ball dresses walking about in the stables, where the astonished horses were blinking in the gas-light.

In one of the quadrilles the ladies and gentlemen were dressed as children, in short socks and frocks with enormous sashes.

Princess Metternich was costumed as a milkmaid; she had real silver pails hung over her shoulders. d.u.c.h.esse de Persigny was a _chiffonniere_ with a _hotte_ on her back and a gray dress very much looped up, showing far above her wooden shoes.

PARIS, _1863._

DEAR M.,--The ice in the Bois continues very good; I am skating every day.

I have commenced to teach the little Prince Imperial. He is very sweet, and talks very intelligently for his age. The other day, when I was skating with the Empress, a gentleman (I think he was an American), skating backward, knocked against us with such force that the Empress and I both fell. I tried with all my might to keep her from falling, but it was impossible. Her first words, when we were helped on our feet again, were, "Don't tell the Emperor; I think he did not see us."

That same evening there was a ball at the Tuileries, and when the Empress came to speak to me she said: "How are you? I can hardly stand up." I answered, "I am worse off, your Majesty; I can stand up, but I cannot sit down."

Yesterday, when I came home from my singing lesson with Delle Sedie, I found the family quite excited. The Empress's chamberlain had just been here to say that the Empress desired that we would come to the Tuileries next Monday, and expressed the wish that I should bring some music. I wrote to Delle Sedie and begged him to advise me what I should sing; he answered that he would come himself and talk it over with me, and Monsieur Plante, a young, budding pianist, who was ordered from the Tuileries to accompany my songs, was sent for, and Delle Sedie came at the same time.

Delle Sedie thought that I should begin with "Tre Giorni son che Nina," of Pergolesi, and then the air from "Lucia," and if I were asked to sing again the "Valse de Venzano."

On these occasions gentlemen wear the _pantalon collant_, which is a most unbecoming and trying costume, being of black cloth fitting very tight and tapering down to the ankle, where it finishes abruptly with a b.u.t.ton. Any one with a protruding ankle and thin legs cannot escape criticism.

_Le pet.i.t lundi_ of the Empress was not so _pet.i.t_ as I expected; there were at least four or five hundred people present.

I was presented to the Princess Mathilde (the cousin of the Emperor), a very handsome and distinguished-looking lady, who is married to and separated from Prince Demidoff. Her palace is directly opposite our hotel.

I was also presented to the Princess Clothilde, and many others. I was very nervous before singing, but after my first song I did very well.

There was dancing, and everything was very unceremonious and easy. I think (I will just say it to you, dear mama) that I had a success. Their Majesties were very kind, and thanked me many times, and the Duke de Morny said that he was very proud of his protegee, for it was he who had suggested to the Empress that I should sing for them. It was a delightful evening, and I enjoyed myself and my little triumph immensely. I made the acquaintance of the Austrian amba.s.sador and the Princess Metternich. She seemed very pleasant, and put me directly at my ease. She is far from being handsome, but dresses better than any woman in Paris, and has more _chic_. In fact, she sets the fashion as much as the Empress does.

The Emperor, at the instigation of the Duke de Morny, has given orders for the construction of a bridge over the Marne near Pet.i.t Val, a thing we needed greatly. When you were here, if you remember, one had to walk from the station to the river, about a little quarter of a mile. Once there you had to wave and shout for the ferryman, who, before allowing you to get on the boat, would attend to what cattle or merchandise were waiting there for transport. I do not think the bridge would have been built had not the Duke de Morny come out by train to Pet.i.t Val to avoid the long drive of twelve miles from Paris, and had been bored by this primitive means of transporting his august person. He said he was astonished and mortified that such a state of things should exist so near Paris. So was every one else. Otherwise the "bac" would have gone on forever.

The Carnival has never been so whirlwindy as it has been this year; and I don't know how the purses of our lords and masters are going to hold out; and while the poor, "whom we have always with us," are getting rich, the rich, whom we don't always have, alas! are getting poor. For the private fancy-dress ball at the Tuileries last Monday, to which the guests were invited by the Empress, Worth alone made costumes to the tune of two hundred thousand dollars, and yet there were not four hundred ladies invited.

To begin at the top, the Empress was dressed as the wife of a doge of Venice of the sixteenth century. She wore all the crown jewels and many others. She was literally _cuira.s.see_ in diamonds, and glittered like a sun-G.o.ddess. Her skirt of black velvet over a robe of scarlet satin was caught up by cl.u.s.ters of diamond brooches. The Prince Imperial was allowed to be present; he was dressed in a black-velvet costume and knee breeches; his little, thin legs black-stockinged, and a _manteau Venitien_ over his shoulders. He danced twice, once with Mademoiselle de Chateaubourg, and then with his cousin, Princess Anna Murat, who, being made on Junoesque lines, and dressed as a Dutch peasant with enormous gold ornaments over her ears, and a flowing white lace cap, towered above her youthful partner. He is only seven years old, and rather small for his age, which made the contrast between him and his colossal partner very striking. Princess Mathilde looked superb as Holbein's Anne of Cleves. She wore her famous collection of emeralds, which are world-known.

Princess Clothilde had also copied a picture from the Louvre; but her robe of silver brocade, standing out in great folds about her waist, was anything but becoming to her style of figure. Princess Augustine Bonaparte (Gabrielli) was in a gorgeous costume of something or other; one had not time to find out exactly what she was intended to represent; she was covered with jewelry (some people pretended it was false, but it did not look less brilliant, for that). A fancy ball is an occasion which allows and excuses any extravagance in jewelry; whereas, at an ordinary ball it is considered not in good taste to wear too much. I just mention this casually, in case you should want to make a display when you lunch at Miss Bryant's some Sunday.

Countess Walewski had powdered her hair and wore a Louis XV. amazon costume, a most unbecoming yellow satin gown with ma.s.ses of gold b.u.t.tons sewed on in every direction. This was not very successful.

Marquise de Gallifet, as the Angel Gabriel, with enormous real swan's wings suspended from her shoulders, looked the part to perfection, and most angelic with her lovely smile, blond hair, and graceful figure.

Princess Metternich was dressed as Night, in dark-blue tulle covered with diamond stars. Her husband said to me, "Don't you think that Pauline looks well in her nightgown?"

Countess Castiglione, the famous beauty, was dressed as Salammbo in a costume remarkable for its lack of stuff, the idea taken from the new Carthaginian novel of Gustave Flaubert. The whole dress was of black satin, the waist without any sleeves, showing more than an usual amount of bare arms and shoulders; the train was open to the waist, disclosing the countess's n.o.ble leg as far up as it went incased in black-silk tights.

The young Count de Choiseul, who had blackened his face to represent an Egyptian page, not only carried her train, but held over the head of the daughter of Hamilcar an umbrella of Robinson Crusoe dimensions. Her gold crown fell off once while walking about, and Choiseul made every one laugh when he picked it up and put it on his own black locks. She walked on all unconscious, and wondered why people laughed.

My costume was that of a Spanish dancer. Worth told me that he had put his whole mind upon it; it did not feel much heavier for that: a ba.n.a.l yellow satin skirt, with black lace over it, the traditional red rose in my hair, red boots and a bolero embroidered in steel beads, and small steel b.a.l.l.s dangling all over me. Some com-pliments were paid to me, but unfortunately not enough to pay the bill; if compliments would only do that sometimes, how gladly we would receive them! But they are, as it is, a drug in the market.

The Emperor was in domino--his favorite disguise--which is no disguise at all, for every one recognizes him.

[Ill.u.s.tration: DANIEL FRANcOIS ESPRIT AUBER]

I met the famous Auber at the Tuileries ball. The Duke de Persigny brought him and introduced him to me, not because Auber asked to be presented, but because I was most anxious to make his acquaintance, and begged the duke to bring him. He is a short, dapper little man, with such a refined and clever face.

Wit and repartee sparkle in his keen eyes. His music is being very much played now--"Fra Diavolo" and "Dieu et la Bayadere," and others of his operas. His music is like himself--fine and dainty, and full of _esprit_; his name is Daniel Francois Esprit. M. de Persigny said, "Madame Moulton desires to know you, Monsieur Auber." I said, "I hope you will not think me indiscreet, but I did want to see you and know the most-talked- about person in Paris." In reply he said: "You have the advantage over me, Madame. I have never heard myself talked about." Then the Duke de Persigny said something about my voice. Auber turned to me, and said, "May I not also have the privilege of hearing you?" Of course I was tremendously pleased, and we fixed a day and hour then and there for his visit.

Prince Jerome, who is a cousin of the Emperor (people call him Plon-Plon), is not popular; in fact, he is just the contrary. But his wife, the Princess Clothilde, would be exceedingly popular if she gave the Parisians a chance to see her oftener. She is so shy, so young, and the least pretentious of princesses, hates society, and never goes out if she can avoid it. Prince Jerome is, of all the Napoleonic family, the one who most resembles Napoleon I. in appearance, but not in character. There is nothing of the hero about him. Since he had the misfortune to be suddenly indisposed the night before the battle of Solferino, and did not appear, they call him "craint-plomb." _Se non e vero e ben trovato._

The stories people tell of the Prince are awful; but one is not obliged to believe them if one does not want to.

There was such an amusing _soiree_ at the Duke de Morny's in honor of the d.u.c.h.ess's birthday. They gave a play called "Monsieur Choufleuri restera chez lui le.......," which the Duke wrote himself, and for which Offenbach composed the music inspired by the Duke, who vowed that he "really did make the most of it." But, his conscience p.r.i.c.king him, he added, "At least some!" which I think was nearer the truth.

It was a great success, whether by the Duke de Morny or by Offenbach, and was the funniest thing I ever saw. Every one was roaring with laughter, and when the delighted audience called for "l'auteur," the Duke came out leading Offenbach, each waving his hand toward the other, as if success belonged to him alone, and went off bowing their thanks together. Apropos of the Duke de Morny, he said of himself: "I am a very complicated person.

_Je suis le fils d'une reine, frere d'un Empereur et gendre d'un Empereur, et tous sont illegitimes_." It does sound queer! But he really is the son of Queen Hortense (his father being Count Flahaut); he is in this way an illegitimate brother of Napoleon III., and his wife is the daughter of the Emperor Nicholas of Russia. There you have a complicated case. My young sister-in-law has just married Count Hatzfeldt, of the German Emba.s.sy (second secretary). He is very good-looking without being handsome, and belongs to one of the most distinguished families in Germany. Countess Mercy-Argenteau appeared, comet-like, in Paris, and although she is a very beautiful woman, full of musical talent, and calls herself _une femme politique_, she is not a success. The gentlemen say she lacks charm. At any rate, none of the _elegantes_ are jealous of her, which speaks for itself. She is not as beautiful as Madame de Gallifet, nor as _elegante_ as Countess Pourtales, nor as clever as Princess Metternich.

Madame Musard, a beautiful American, has a friendship (_en tout deshonneur_) with a foreign royalty who made her a present of some-- what he thought valueless--shares of a petroleum company in America. These shares turned into gold in her hands.

The royal gentleman gnashes his false teeth in vain, and has scene after scene with the royal son, who, green with rage, reproaches him for having parted with these treasures. But the shares are safely in the clutches of papa in New York, far away, and furnishing the wherewithal to provide his daughter with the most wonderful horses and equipages in Paris. She pays as much for one horse as her husband gains by his music in a year, and as for the poor prodigal prince, who is overrun with debts, he would be thankful to have even a widowed papa's mite of her vast wealth. Another lady, whose virtue is some one else's reward, has a magnificent and much- talked-of hotel in the Champs elysees, where there is a staircase worth a million francs, made of real alabaster. Prosper Merimee said: "C'est par la qu'on monte a la vertu."

Her salons are filled every evening with cultured men of the world, and they say that the most refined tone reigns supreme--that is more than one can say of every salon in Paris.