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 soirée at Lady Harrington's; and on my acceptance he brought the music for me to try over with him the next morning. The soirée 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 séjour 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.