The Prince Imperial, who had come in, was then about thirteen years of age. He helped me to arrange the plants, and laughed wildly when Agar mounted the steps to try the effect.
He was delicious, with his magnificent eyes with heavy lids like those of his mother, and with his father’s long eyelashes. He was witty, like the Emperor, whom people surnamed “Louis the Imbecile,” and who certainly had the most refined, subtle, and at the same time the most generous wit.
We arranged everything as well as we could, and it was decided that we should return two days later for a rehearsal before their majesties.
How gracefully the Prince Imperial asked permission to be present at the rehearsal! His request was granted, and the Empress then took leave of us in the most charming manner; but her voice was very ugly. She told the two ladies who were with her to give us wine and biscuits and to show us over the palace if we wished to see it. I did not care much about this, but ma petite dame and Agar seemed so delighted at the offer that I gave in to them.
I have regretted ever since that I did so, for nothing could have been uglier than the private rooms, with the exception of the Emperor’s study and the staircases. This inspection of the palace bored me terribly. A few of the pictures consoled me, and I stayed some time gazing at Winterhalter’s portrait representing the Empress Eugénie. She looked beautiful, and I thanked Heaven that the portrait could not speak, for it served to explain and justify the wonderful good luck of her majesty.
The rehearsal took place without any special incident. The young prince did his utmost to prove to us his gratitude and delight, for it was a dress rehearsal on his account, as he was not to be present at the soirée. He sketched my costume, and intended to have it copied for a costume ball which was to be given for the imperial child. Our performance was in honor of the Queen of Holland, accompanied by the Prince of Orange, commonly known in Paris as “Prince Citron.”
A rather amusing incident occurred during the evening. The Empress had remarkably small feet, and, in order to make them look still smaller, she forced them into shoes that were too narrow. She looked wonderfully beautiful that night, with her pretty sloping shoulders emerging from a dress of pale blue satin, embroidered with silver. On her lovely hair she was wearing a little diadem of turquoises and diamonds, and her small feet were on a cushion of silver brocade. All through Coppée’s piece, my eyes wandered frequently to this cushion, and I saw the two little feet moving restlessly about. Finally, I saw one of the shoes pushing its little brother very, very gently, and then I saw the heel of the empress come out of its prison. The foot was then only covered at the toe, and I was very anxious to know how it would get back, for, under such circumstances, the foot swells and cannot go into a shoe that is too narrow. When the piece was over, we were recalled twice, and as it was the Empress who gave the signal for the applause, I thought she was putting off the moment for getting up, and I saw her pretty little sore foot trying in vain to get back into its shoe. The light curtain went down, and as I had told Agar about the cushion drama, we watched the various phases through the divisions in the curtains.
The Emperor rose and everyone followed his example. He offered his arm to the Queen of Holland, but she looked at the Empress, who had not yet risen. The Emperor’s face lighted up with that smile which I had already seen. He said a word to General Fleury, and immediately the generals and other officers on duty, who were seated behind the sovereigns, formed a rampart between the crowd and the Empress. The Emperor and the Queen of Holland then passed on, without appearing to have noticed her majesty’s distress, and the Prince of Orange, with one knee on the ground, helped the beautiful sovereign to put on her Cinderella-like slipper. I saw that the Empress leaned more heavily on the prince’s arm than she liked, for her pretty foot was evidently rather painful.
We were then sent for to be complimented, and we were surrounded and fêted so much that we were delighted with our evening.