A luncheon at "Caroline, d.u.c.h.ess of Montrose's," at two o'clock upset me for the whole day. I am not accustomed to those big _dejeuners- dinatoires_. I was sleepy and felt good for nothing the rest of the day; and when we dined at Lady Molesworth's that evening, "to meet their Royal Highnesses the Prince and Princess of Wales," and wanted to be extra up-to-the-mark, I felt just the contrary. However, after dinner the Prince of Wales asked me to sing, and I did not refuse, and even sang most of the evening. There was a charming Baron Hochschild, the Swedish Minister, who sang delightfully. He is a thorough musician, and accompanied himself perfectly with all the aplomb of an artist. He has a deep, rich barytone, and his _repertoire_ consisted of all the well-known old Italian songs.

Lady Molesworth is a beautiful old lady, who must have been a great beauty in her youth. She wears curls just like yours, dear mama, which made me love her. I met here Arthur Sullivan; he was full of compliments.

The next day we were invited to a _matinee musicale_ at Lady Dudley's, preceded by a luncheon, which Mr. Osbourne called "a snare," because, he said, I could not refuse to sing. I did not want to refuse, either. The piano was in the beautiful picture-gallery, all full of Greuze's pictures bought from the Vatican; it has the most wonderful acoustics, and the voice sounded splendidly in it. Lady Dudley is a celebrated beauty. Lord Dudley--before he succeeded to the t.i.tle--was Lord Ward. The Duke and d.u.c.h.ess of Sutherland asked us to dine. This was a very imposing affair; the Duke of Cambridge was at the dinner as the _grosse piece_, and there were many diplomats. After dinner several artists came from Covent Garden, and among them Madame Patti, who sang the "Cavatina" of "Lucia," with flute accompaniment, and how beautifully!

When I was introduced to her I said, "The first time I heard you sing was years ago when I was a little girl and you were in short dresses."

"In Rochester," I replied. "I shall never forget how exquisitely you sang 'Ah! non giunge' and 'Ernani.'"

"Yes, I remember quite well. I was singing in concerts with Ole Bull; but that was a long time ago."

"It was indeed," I said; "but I have never forgotten your voice, nor a lovely song you sang which I have never heard since, called 'Happy Birdling of the Forest.' And your trill! Just like the bird itself!"

We became quite good friends, and she made me promise to come to see her.

She is charming. Every one was most enthusiastic. Some one said she gets a thousand pounds for an evening. The Marquis de Caux (her husband) looked rather out of place. It seemed queer to see him again, not as the brilliant Marquis of the Tuileries (the "beau" _par excellence_), but simply as the husband of Patti. He did not find a chance to speak to me.

Some days later Lady Anglesey gave a luncheon for me. On the invitations were, "To meet Mrs. Moulton." I read between the lines: to hear Mrs.

Moulton sing. They always put on their invitations, "To meet" so and so.

Mr. Quimby said to me, "I liked you from the first moment I saw you, but I had no idea you were going to be such a beast." "Beast!" I echoed. "That is not very complimentary." "A lion is a beast, isn't it?" he jokingly replied.

"Am I going to be a lion? I did not know it."

"Well, you are a lioness, which is better."

He is considered the wit of London, and this is a specimen of his wit.

What do you think?

At the luncheon there were Jacques Blumenthal, the famous pianist and composer, and Arthur Sullivan, who asked me to sing in his little operetta, which some amateurs are rehearsing for a _soiree_ at Lady Harrington's; and on my acceptance he brought the music for me to try over with him the next morning. The _soiree_ was to be three days later. The music is nothing remarkable; in fact, the whole thing (it is called "The Prodigal Son") is not worthy of him. I have not met any of my fellow- performers yet. Forgive this jerky letter; I have been interrupted a thousand times. Charles thinks it is time to go back to Paris; but we have just received an invitation from Baron Alfred Rothschild to spend Ascot week--a _sejour de sept jours_--with a party at a house he has hired for the race-week there, and I could not resist.

ASCOT, LONDON, _June, 1870._

DEAR M.,--Viscount Sydney thought that we ought to ask for an audience of the Princess of Wales, and we did it. The audience was accorded, and we presented ourselves at the appointed hour and were received by the lady of honor and shown into the beautifully arranged drawing-room. The Princess was most gracious; she certainly is the loveliest lady I have ever seen. I told her we were going to Ascot for the week, and she said that they were also going there and hoped they would see us. Our interview came to an end, as such interviews do, without anything very interesting happening, and, finally, we backed ourselves out of the royal presence.

That evening there was a ball at Lady Waldegrave's, who lives at Strawberry Hill, a mile or so out of London. Baron Alfred Rothschild offered to take us out there in his coach and-four. We dined first with the Baron Meyer Rothschild, and afterward drove out to Strawberry Hill. It is the most beautiful place you can imagine. I never saw anything so grand as the cedar-trees.

The cotillon lasted very late; the Duke of Saxe-Weimar talked a long time with me, mostly about music. He is very musical, and knows Liszt intimately, and told me a quant.i.ty of anecdotes about him. He was interested in what I told him about Liszt's going to the Conservatoire with Auber and me, and about the "Tannhauser" overture incident. It was six o'clock when we drove back to London. We saw the milk-carts on their morning rounds and the street-sweepers at work. One felt ashamed of oneself at being in ball-dress and jewels at this early hour, galloping through the streets in a fine carriage, making such a dreadful contrast to the poor working-people.

I had great fun at Lady Harrington's musical _soiree_, where Arthur Sullivan's "Prodigal Son" was to be sung.

We had been dining at Lady Londonderry's, and arrived rather late at Lady Harrington's. The whole staircase was crowded with people, and even down in the hall it was so full of ladies and gentlemen that there was no question of moving about. However, I made my way as far as the stairs, every one wondering at my audacity, and I murmured gently:

"May I pa.s.s?" There was a chorus of "Quite impossible!" "Perfectly useless!" and other such discouraging remarks. I said to a gentleman who sat stolidly on his step:

"Do you think I could send word to Mr. Sullivan that the Prodigal Son's mother cannot get to him?"

"What do you mean?" said he. "Are you--"

"Yes, I am; and if you don't let me pa.s.s you won't have any music."

You should have seen them jump up and make a pathway for me. I marched through it like the children of Israel through the Red Sea. I was enchanted to have my little fun. I joined the other performers, and the mother of the Prodigal Son was received with open arms. The Prodigal Son's father was pathos itself, and we rejoiced together over our weak tenor- boy. The only fatted calves that were to be seen belonged to the fat flunkeys.

We had a beautiful time at Ascot. Alfred Rothschild was an excellent host.

Among the other guests were the Archibald Campbells, the Hochschilds, Mr.

Osbourne, the Duke and d.u.c.h.ess of Newcastle, Hon. and Mrs. Stoner, one of the ladies of the Queen, Mr. Mitford, and others. Lady Campbell had only one dress with her (they must be very poor!); it was a black velvet (fancy, in the middle of summer!). She wore it high-necked for the races in the daytime and low-necked in the evening. We drove to Ascot every day at one o'clock. We had seats in the Queen's stand, and after seeing one race we went to lunch with Mr. Delane, who had open table for one hundred people every day. Mr. Delane belongs to the _Times_ newspaper.

Baron Rothschild had _carte-blanche_ to bring any guest, or as many as he liked. The Prince of Wales always lunched there, and any one that was of importance was sure to be present. I made many new acquaintances, and you may imagine how I enjoyed this glimpse of a world so entirely unknown to me. The races at Longchamps, Auteuil, and Chantilly I had seen many times; but I never saw anything like this exciting and bewildering scene.

The Prince of Wales gave a ball at Cooper's Hill (the house they had hired for the Ascot week), which was very charming and _sans facon_. I danced the cotillon with Baron Rothschild and a waltz with the Prince of Wales.

The supper, which we had in the palm-garden, was an elaborate affair. We drove home in the early morning, just as the day was breaking.

The next day we lunched first at the barracks, and then afterward went to Virginia Water, where the Princess of Wales had arranged a picnic. There was boating on the pretty lake and tents on the lawn; tea was served during the afternoon, and a military band played the whole time. The great attraction was the echo. We all had to try our voices, and the gentlemen made bets as to how many times the echo would be heard. Some loud, piercing voices were repeated as many as eight times.

Here we bid our kind host good-by and took the train for Twickenham. We pa.s.sed the night with Mr. and Mrs. Hoffman at their villa. The next day we were invited to a croquet-party and dinner by the Count and Countess de Paris.

We arrived at Twickenham Court at four o'clock, and began playing our game directly. Mrs. Hoffman had been praising me to the Countess de Paris to such a degree that she was fired with ambition to play against a "champion" of the first water, When we appeared on the ground I noticed that the Countess had a small ivory mallet. "This," I said to myself, "is a foregone conclusion; any one who plays with a fancy mallet, and that of ivory, is sure to be beaten." And in my conceit I thought I need not give myself much trouble about the game. Alas! I never appreciated the saying that "pride has a fall" until that day. At first I played with utter indifference, I was so sure of winning, and even when the Countess de Paris walked triumphantly over the ground, carrying everything before her, I smiled inwardly, saying to myself, "Just wait." But though I played my very best I never scored a game, and I could not even make a decent stroke. I felt so discouraged, and I was beaten all to pieces. The dinner was solemn and impressive, the whole Orleans family being present.

The Prince de Joinville, the Duke de Chartres, and the Count de Paris, with their wives; in all, about twenty at table. I was disgusted with myself, provoked at my silly self-a.s.surance, and mortified that I had been beaten _a plate couture_, which in English means that all my seams had been turned down and ironed, and all my feathers were drooping.

We were (at least I was) glad to escape at ten o'clock. I don't think I ever was so tired. The week at Ascot, the picnic at Virginia Water, the b.a.l.l.s, and the late sitting-up at night, all told on my nerves, and instead of resting at the Hoffmans', I pa.s.sed a miserable and restless night.

The following day we returned to London in time to drive out, at one o'clock, with the Lionel Rothschilds to their country-place. It is the most magnificent estate; the cedar-trees are particularly beautiful, and the broad lawn, which stretches out in front of the house, is the finest I have ever seen. Baron Rothschild himself drove the coach and four horses, and we spun along the fine road, pa.s.sing Richmond and all the pretty villas and gardens, which were full of roses. It was my birthday, and I had many splendid presents. From Baroness Rothschild I received a superb traveling-bag, all the fittings of silver gilt, with my initials. Baron Alfred Rothschild gave me a smelling-bottle, with the colors of his racing-stables in enamel. We had a delightful luncheon, and got back to London in time for dinner at Lady Sherbourne's. On hearing it was my birthday, she took a diamond-ring from her finger and gave it to me.

More b.a.l.l.s, more dinners, luncheons, and garden-parties followed one another.

We intend to leave London after the ball at Marlborough House. I must go home, as I have nothing more to wear. We had accepted an invitation to the garden-party given by the Princess of Wales at Chiswick (their charming country-place). All the beauty and elegance of London graced the occasion.

The Princess looked exquisite in her dainty summer toilette, and had a pleasant smile for every one. The Prince circulated among the guests, speaking to every one in his usual genial manner. The three little Princesses looked like three fluffy pink pin-cushions covered with white muslin. On the extensive lawn, which was like a green-velvet carpet, the ladies strolled about in their pretty, fresh dresses, sometimes sitting at the little tables which were shaded by large j.a.panese umbrellas placed between the terrace and the walk. It was a garden of living flowers.

The Prince of Wales, in his peculiarly abrupt manner, said to me, "What have you been doing since Ascot?"

"I have been doing a great deal, sir: dining and dancing and enjoying myself generally."

"I am glad to know that. Been singing?"

"Not much, sir. We dined at Twickenham Court, where I played a disastrous game of croquet," I answered.

"Do they play croquet at Twickenham Court?"

"Indeed they do, sir. The Countess de Paris plays a very good game."

"What day did you dine there?"

"On the 17th, your Highness," I replied.

"Are you sure it was the 17th you dined there?"

"Yes, I am quite sure. I know it, because it was the day before my birthday."