December 3d.
The chasse à courre is generally fixed for the last day of the série; but their Majesties, at the suggestion of the thoughtful Vicomte Walsh, ordered it to be changed to this afternoon, in order that the operetta should arrive at a riper stage of perfection. Would it ever be near enough? We had never had a moment yet when we could rehearse all together. Vicomte de V——'s costume had not come from Paris, and he was bordering on brain-fever, in a state of expectancy and impatience. Neither he nor d'Espeuilles knew their songs, and the chorus needed much drilling. The Princess Metternich put her salon at the Marquis's disposal, and he spent half his time teaching some of his pupils.
The days of the chasse à courre the gentlemen appear in red coats and the ladies in green-cloth dresses. Those that had le bouton put it in their buttonhole. You may be sure I wore mine!
All the carriages, the horses, and grooms were before the terrace at two o'clock, and after the usual delay we drove off to the forest. Their Majesties and the Prince Imperial were on horseback. The Duchess de Sesto invited me to drive with her, and in the same char-à-banc with us were Baronne de la Poeze, Comtesse Pourtales, and four or five others. The Duchess looked very dainty, wrapped in her chinchilla furs. I had had so little time to learn the talking part of my rôle that I took it with me in the carriage, hoping to be able to study it. They all sympathized with me, as they knew the operetta was to be given to-morrow evening.
The roads were full of mud; but we splashed through them regardless of such minor details as dirt Fortunately it did not rain, and the sun made a few spasmodic efforts to come out, but it was far from being the ideal day of last year.
This chasse varies but little, and I described my first acquaintance with it in a letter last year, so I will spare you the repetition of details. I fancy the route we took was the same; but I am not quite sure, for all the roads and avenues resemble one another.
Once, as we halted at an étoile, we saw a beautiful stag bound past us, full of life and strength, with enormous horns (they said it was a dix cors). Every one in the carriage stood up in their excitement to look after it. How I wished he would escape and live his free and happy life in the forest. I hate this chasse; I hate to write about it; I hate to be present at it. It is all so pitiful and painful to me! How can any one find pleasure in such cruel sport?
To kill a living creature, to take the life of an animal that has done you no harm, seems horrible to me. But I will say no more on this subject. It always puts me in a bad temper, and makes me disgusted with my fellow- creatures.
We followed the other part of the cavalcade and arrived at the carrefour in time to see the death of one stag. The others saw it, but I was occupied with my manuscript.
There were two stags taken, two beautiful creatures that ought to have lived.