The aide-de-camp returned in a moment. "Il s'appelle Lafontaine, sire; et il appartient au régiment du Gymnase."
"Comment, au régiment du Gymnase?"
"Mais oui, sire; c'est Lafontaine, le comédien."
In fact, the assumption was so thoroughly realistic, that even a better judge than Louis-Napoléon might have been deceived by it.
Those performances were really most brilliant affairs, and an invitation to them was only less highly prized than that to the ball which always followed the play on November 15th, the Empress's fête-day.[65] The cost of each performance was estimated at between twenty and thirty thousand francs, according to the company performing. I am repeating the official statement, though inclined to think it somewhat exaggerated. Except the Opéra or Opéra-Comique, there was not then, nor is there now, a theatre in Paris whose nightly receipts, with "the greatest success," exceed seven or eight thousand francs. Allowing for an additional three thousand francs for railway travelling and sundry expenses, I fail to see how the remainder of the sum was disbursed, unless it was in douceurs to the performers. There is less doubt, however, about the expenses of the Château during this annual series of fêtes. It could not have been less than forty-five thousand francs per diem, and must have often risen to fifty thousand francs, exclusive of the cost of the theatrical performances, because the luxe displayed on these occasions was truly astonishing—I had almost said appalling.
The theatre was built on the old-fashioned principle, and what we call stalls were not known in those days. There was something analogous to them at the Opéra and the Théâtre-Français, but they were exclusively reserved to the male sex. Both these theatres still keep up the same traditions in that respect. At Compiègne the whole of the ground floor, parterre, or pit, as we have misnamed it—"groundlings" is a much more appropriate word, perhaps, than "pittites"—was occupied by the officers of all grades of the regiments quartered at Compiègne and in the department. The chefs de corps and the chief dignitaries of State filled the amphitheatre, which rose in a gentle slope from the back of the parterre to just below the first tier of boxes, or rather to the balcony tier, seeing that the only box on it was the Imperial one. The latter, however, took up much more than the centre, for it had been constructed to seat about two hundred persons. Only a slight partition, elbow high, divided it from the rest of the tier, whence the sterner sex was absolutely banished. The display of bare arms and shoulders was something marvellous, for they were by no means equally worthy of admiration, and the stranger, ignorant of the court regulations, must have often asked himself why certain ladies should have been so reckless as to invite comparison with their more favoured sisters. It was because there was no choice. The slightest gauze was rigorously prohibited, and woe to the lady who ventured to disobey these regulations. One of the chambellans was sure to request her to retire. "L'épaule ou l'épaulette" was the title of a comic song of those days, in allusion to the Empress's determination to suffer none but resplendent uniforms and ball dresses within sight of her. If I remember aright, the chorus went like this—
"Je ne porte pas l'épaulette,
Je ne puis me décoll'ter,
Je ne suis qu'un vieux bonhomme,
Donc, je ne suis pas invité."
For even the guests in plain evening dress were mercilessly relegated to the tier above that of the Imperial box, and, even when there, were not permitted to occupy the first rows. These also were reserved for the fairer portion of humanity.
This fairer portion of humanity, thus ostensibly privileged, embittered the lives of the poor mayor and sub-prefect of Compiègne. The wives of the local notabilities and of the government officials, in addition to those of some of the landed gentry of the Empire, were not only anxious to be present at these gatherings, but generally insisted on having the front seats, at any rate in the second circle. Their applications, transmitted by these dignitaries to the Duc de Bassano, were always in excess of the room at his disposal, and, being an utter stranger to all these ladies, he had virtually to choose at random, or, if not at random, to be guided by the mayor and sub-prefect, who were consulted, not with regard to the greater or lesser degree of opulent charms and comeliness of features of these fair applicants, but with regard to their social status and fair fame. Now, it so happens that in France "L'amour fait des siennes" in the provinces as well as in the capital; he only disdains what Mirabeau used to call "les fées concombres." The Empress, provided the shoulders and arms were bare, did not trouble much about either their colour or "moulded outline;" the Emperor, on the contrary, objected, both from personal as well as artistic reasons, to have the curved symmetry of the two circles marred by the introduction of so many living problems of Euclid; and it really seemed as if the devil wanted to have all the good shapes to himself, for the reputedly virtuous spinsters, widows, and matrons were angular enough to have satisfied a tutor of mathematics. There was a dilemma: if they were put in the front rows, the Emperor scolded Bassano, who in his turn scolded the mayor and the sub-prefect. If the less virtuous but more attractive were put in the front rows, there was frequently a small scandal; for the Empress, at the first sight of them, had them expelled, after which she scolded Bassano, who avenged himself for his having been reprimanded on the mayor and sub-prefect. Furthermore, the contingent from Paris, some of whom were often provided with letters of introduction from influential personages to the latter gentleman, were not always without reproach though ever without fear; but how were two provincial magistrates to know this? Those sirens could almost impose upon them with impunity, and did; so, upon the whole, the magistrates did not have a pleasant time of it, for in the case of the former damsels or veuves de Malabar both the Emperor and the Empress were equally strict—though, perhaps, from utterly different motives.
Nevertheless, the esclandres were comparatively rare, and the house itself presented a sight unparalleled perhaps throughout the length and breadth of Europe. At nine o'clock, Comte Bacciochi, the first chambellan, in his court dress descended the few steps leading from the foyer to the Imperial box, and, advancing to the front, announced, "The Emperor." Every one rose and remained standing until the Emperor and Empress, who entered immediately afterwards, had seated themselves in the crimson velvet and gilt arm-chairs which the gentlemen-in-waiting (les chambellans de service) rolled forward.