Read Ebook: In the Courts of Memory 1858-1875; from Contemporary Letters by Hegermann Lindencrone L De Lillie De

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I will write as soon as we arrive on the other side. On whatever side I am, I am always your loving niece, who thinks that there is no one in the wide world to compare to you, that no one is as clever as you, that no one can sing like you, and that there never was any one who can hold a candle to you. There!

DEAR AUNT,--At last we have arrived at our journey's end, and we are happy to have got out of and away from the steamer, where we have been cooped up for the last weeks. However, we had a very gay time during those weeks, and some very sprightly companions. Among them a runaway couple; he was a Mr. Aulick Palmer, but I don't know who she was. One could have learned it easily enough for the asking, as they were delighted to talk about themselves and their elopement, and how they did it. It was their favorite topic of conversation. I was intensely interested in them; I had never been so near a romance in my life. They had been married one hour when they came on board; she told her parents that she was going out shopping, and then, after the marriage, wrote a note to them to say that she was married and off to Europe, adding that she was not sorry for what she had done. He is a handsome man, tall and dark; she is a jolly, buxom blonde, with a charming smile which shows all her thirty and something teeth, and makes her red, thick lips uncurl. I thought, for such a newly married couple, they were not at all sentimental, which I should have supposed natural. She became sea-sick directly, and he called attention to her as she lay stretched out on a bench looking dreadfully green in the face: "We are a sick couple--home-sick, love-sick, and sea-sick."

Mama and I both gasped for breath, and I could have cried for disappointment as well as mortification. However, I felt he was right, and, strange to say, mama felt so too. He said, "Take six months' rest and don't sing a single note, then come back to me." When he saw the crestfallen look on my face, he added, kindly, "Then we shall see something wonderful."

We leave for Dresden this evening.... Love to all.

Your humble

LILLIE.

I have been already three weeks studying hard with Garcia, who is not only a wonderful teacher, but is a wonderful personality. I simply worship him, though he is very severe and pulls me up directly I "slipshod," as he calls it; and so far I have literally sung nothing but scales. He says that a scale must be like a beautiful row of pearls: each note like a pearl, perfect in roundness and color.

This is so easy to say, but very difficult to accomplish. Stone-breaking on the highroad is nothing to it. I come home tired out from my lessons, only to begin singing scales again. I tell mama I feel like a fish with the scales being taken off him.

No question of a song yet. "Qui la voce" seems way back in the Middle Ages. Garcia says, "If, when your voice is well oiled , you are not intelligent enough to sing a song by yourself, then you had better knit stockings for the poor."

"Then," I answered, "I had better begin at once to learn to knit stockings."

"Not quite yet!" he laughed. "Wait till I have finished with you." More than once he has said, "Your voice reminds me of my sister Marie's ; but she had no brains to speak of, whereas you have, and you ought to be thankful for it."

I murmured that I was glad he thought so, and, if I really had some brains, I should be thankful; but I was not quite sure that I had. "Trust me to tell you if you have not," said he.

I trusted him, indeed, for I knew very well that he would not let the occasion slip had he anything of that sort to say.

DEAR A.,--Still hard at work. I wonder at mama's patience and endurance. To hear scales, cadenzas, and trills from morning till night must be terribly wearing on the nerves. I said as much to the master, and he consented to give me "Bel raggio," of "Semiramide." It is as good as an exercise, anyway, because it is nothing but cadenzas. Then he allowed me to sing "Una voce poco fa." I told him that mama had put on a pound of flesh since I was permitted to roam in these fresh pastures. This made him laugh. After he had seen that I had "brains enough" to sing these songs according to his august liking, he said, "Now we will try 'Voi che sapete,' of Mozart."

Garcia has not the ghost of a voice; but he has the most enchanting way of singing mezzo-voce, and occasionally says, "Sing this so," and sings the phrase for me. It sounds delightfully when he does it; but I do not think he would have liked me to "sing it so" and would probably swear a gentle little Spanish swear under his garlicky breath, because the dear master eats garlic--pounds of it, I fear--and his voice is highly scented when it cracks, which it often does.

He once said, "You may imitate my way of singing, but don't imitate my crack."

"Oh," I said, "I love to hear you sing. I don't even hear the crack."

"Ah," he sighed, "if it had not been for that crack I should be in the opera now."

"I am glad," I answered, "that you are not there; for then you would not be here, teaching me." I think this pleased him.

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 . 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.

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.

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.

DEAREST A.,--I wish I could give you an idea of Petit Val and our life as lived by me. Petit 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 Petit Trianon.

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

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 , 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 , 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 Medj? 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?"

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.

Therefore, I stood unknown and unnoticed. I ventured one foot on the indiscreet, reflecting surface, then the other; and while the assembled 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 grass and stones at the bottom.

This was an exhilarating moment!

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 Majest?"; 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!"

I 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 Majest?," he said, "Oserai-je demander ? une patineuse si parfaite de patiner avec un humble patineur ?"

I replied: "Your Majesty , 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 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 , 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 coup?, 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.

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 glass in front, white satin inside, with steps to let down, and swung on eight undulating springs. Charles went in our coup?, and I must say I envied him.

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 Ma?tre de C?r?monie, who passed us on to a less grand Ma?tre de C?r?monie, 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.

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