One day she asked me to beg Madame Aurèle, the directrice of the Theatre, to let her sing a song at the Casino which she had not been allowed to sing, and which was called “Les allumettes du Général.” Mademoiselle Tusini said it was her greatest success, and that when she had sung it at Nancy, nobody knew where to look. I pleaded her cause; but Madame Aurèle said, “Un jour quand il n’y aura que des Messieurs,” so I am afraid the song can hardly have been quite nice. When we went away, Mademoiselle Tusini gave me a large photograph of herself in the rôle of a commère, carrying a wand. Chérie was slightly astonished when she saw it, and when I described the great beauty and the wonderful goodness of Mademoiselle Tusini, she was not as enthusiastically sympathetic as I could have wished.
There were a great many French children at Contrexéville, and I was allowed to join in their games. There was a charming old curé who I made friends with in the village, and his church was the first Catholic church I ever entered.
My mother and father used to go to the Casino play every night. I was allowed to go once or twice, as Mademoiselle Tusini had threatened to strike if I left Contrexéville without seeing her act, so I was taken to Monsieur Choufleury restera chez lui, a harmless farce, which is, I believe, often acted by amateurs.
We stayed there three weeks, and I left in sorrow and tears. We went on for a Nachkur to a place in the Vosges called Géradmer, which is near a lake. One day we drove to a place called the Schlucht, and saw the stone marking the frontier into Alsace, which was, of course, Germany. It was suggested that we should cross over, but I, mindful of Chérie, refused to set foot on the stolen and violated territory.
On the way back we stayed a day and night in Paris, and bought presents for all those at home. In the evening we went to the Théâtre français and saw no less an actor than Delaunay in Musset’s play, On ne badine pas avec l’Amour. Delaunay had a voice like silver, and his diction on the stage was incomparable. I remember Count Benckendorff once saying about him that whereas one often bewailed the failure of an actor to look the part of a grand seigneur, when one saw Delaunay one wished anyone off the stage could be half as distinguished as he was on the stage.
My father took me to the Louvre and showed me the Mona Lisa and Watteau’s large picture of a Pierrot: “Gilles” and the Galérie d’Apollon, and late in the afternoon we drove to the Bois de Boulogne.
Chérie had always told us of the Magasin du Louvre, where as children went out they were given, as George, in the poem, when he had been as good as gold, an immense balloon. This balloon had always been one of my dreams, and we went there, and the reality was fully up to all expectations.
We bought some nonnettes in the Rue St. Honoré and a great many toys at the Paradis des Enfants.
The next time I went to Contrexéville I was at school. I wore an Eton jacket and a top hat in Paris; this created a sensation. A man said to me in the Rue de Rivoli, “Monsieur a son Gibus.” I also remember receiving a wonderful welcome in the Galeries.