The journey back to Paris was a silent one. Every one was occupied with his own thoughts. Prince Metternich sat in a corner talking with the impervious diplomat; I wondered if he were relating the salad's complicated relationships. We all bade one another good-by, adding, with assumed enthusiasm, that we hoped to meet soon again, when perhaps we were rejoicing in the thought that we would not do so for a long time to come.
What insincere creatures we are!
May, 1870.
We were invited to a picnic at Grand Trianon, given by the Emperor and
Empress for the Archduke of Austria.
The rendezvous was to be at St. Cloud, and we were asked to be there at four o'clock. On arriving we found the Metternichs, Édouard Delesert, Duperré, and Count Dehm, the Austrian Secretary. Their Majesties and the Prince Imperial joined us when we were all assembled. We then mounted the two char-à-bancs which were waiting for us in front of the chateau, with their postilions and four horses; the piqueurs, in their saddles, were all ready to precede us. The Emperor, Empress, the Prince Imperial, Princess Metternich, and the Archduke were in the first carriage; the rest of us were in the second—about fourteen people in all. We drove through the lovely forest of Marly, the long, tiresome avenues of Versailles, and through many roads known probably only to the postilions, and perhaps used only on rare occasions such as this royal excursion, for they were in such a bad condition, ruts and stones everywhere, that our heads and shoulders were bumping continually against our neighbors'. Finally we reached Petit Trianon, where we left the carriages and servants, who were ordered to meet us at Grand Trianon later, bringing our extra wraps with them. The air was deliciously balmy and warm, and was filled with the perfume of lilacs and acacias.
We wandered through the park, admiring the skill of the artist who had laid it out so cleverly, just like Petit Val. This is not surprising, as it was the same person who planned them both. All the surroundings recall the charming life which Marie Antoinette must have lived in the midst of this pastoral simplicity.
I wondered if the same thought passed through the Empress's mind which passed through mine. Could history ever repeat this unfortunate queen's horrible fate? We continued our walk to Grand Trianon, and found the table spread for our dinner under the wide charmille, near the lake. The Princess Metternich sat on the right of the Emperor, and I on his left.
The Emperor was in excellent spirits, and bandied repartees with Monsieur Delesert, who surpassed himself in wit, and told many and sometimes rather risky stories, which made every one laugh. The Prince Imperial could hardly wait till the end of the dinner, he was so impatient to get to the rowboat which was ready waiting for him on the lake. The Empress was quite nervous, and stood on the edge of the lake all the time he was on the water, calling to him, "Prends garde, Louis!" "Ne te penches pas, Louis!" and many other such counsels like any other anxious mother, and she never took her eyes from the little boat which was zigzagging about under the hands of the youthful prince.
It was after nine o'clock when we started to return to St. Cloud by another route. The piqueur, finding the gate locked through which we had to pass, knocked on the door of the lodge-keeper, who, awakened from his slumbers, appeared in a déshabillé more than hasty, intending to administer a savon (scolding) to such tardy comers. But on hearing from the piqueur that the monarch of all he surveyed was waiting in the carriage, he flew to open the gate, disclosing his scanty night-attire. The funniest part of it was that, as soon as he realized the situation, he thought it his duty to show his patriotism, so he stood on the steps of his lodge and, as we passed through the gate, he chanted a hoarse and sleepy! "Vive l'Empereur!" and waved his smoking candle.
The Emperor was convulsed with laughter. I, who sat behind him, could see his shoulders shaking.