CHAPTER V

My Mother’s Recollections—The Cercle des Patineurs—Patti—Our _Appartement_ in the Rue d’Albe

My parents were at this time living in Paris, in a small hôtel in the Avenue d’Antin, which was so shut in by the houses that surrounded it, that the rooms were very dark, and, as it was winter, this made the house seem more gloomy than it would have done at another season of the year.

I was quite enchanted with Paris; everything about it delighted me, so different was it from any city I had ever seen. The only thing that displeased me was the hôtel in which we lived. Not only was it gloomy, but nothing could be seen from the windows, except a kind of courtyard, resembling a _patio_ in Spain. This courtyard was filled with flowers, very prettily arranged; nevertheless, it was depressing to be unable to see anything else when you looked out of the window.

I remember being taken to a box at the Théâtre des Italiens to hear Adelina Patti, in _La Gazza ladra_, by Rossini. It was the first time that I had heard her sing, and I was, of course, delighted with her voice; but my mother was disappointed, and I recall what she said at the time:—

“After having heard Grisi, Malibran, and even Jenny Lind, I do not think Patti is to be compared with them, neither so far as her voice is concerned, nor as an actress. She reminds me at times of Jenny Lind, yet I prefer the latter infinitely.”

My mother always had her own box at Her Majesty’s in the days when Grisi, Lablache, Malibran, and the dancers Taglioni, Fanny Elssler and Cerrito were enchanting the audience. One evening, during the visit of the Tsar Nicholas I. of Russia to England, my mother was invited by the Duke of Sussex and Mlle. d’Este to a box at the Opera facing that which the Tsar and Queen Victoria occupied. The Duke of Sussex paid £500 for this box.

My mother told me that the two finest sights she ever beheld in her life were the Coronation of Queen Victoria, when the peeresses all put on their coronets, sparkling with diamonds, emeralds and rubies, at the moment Her Majesty was crowned in Westminster Abbey; and at the Queen’s accession, when hundreds of schoolchildren, dressed in white and light blue, knelt down and recited the Lord’s Prayer by St. Paul’s, after which the Benediction was pronounced by the Archbishop of Canterbury.

My mother often met Disraeli in London society; and she told me that, in his youth, he always wore several diamond rings over his white kid gloves, and that she thought him a most affected and conceited young man. The two Greek countesses described in “Lothair” were the Countesses Zancarol. One married Colonel Lemesurier, of the Royal Horse Artillery; the other Major Geary, R.A. The latter married couple often dined with us in Paris, where Mrs. Geary was considered a great beauty. Major Geary and his brother, Sir Henry Le Quay Geary, K.C.B., were lifelong friends of my parents.

My maternal grandfather, Lieut.-General the Hon. George Murray, to whom George III. and his Queen were godfather and godmother, commanded the 2nd Life Guards. For ten years he refused to accept his pay, on account of a quarrel which he had with the Duke of York. So far as I can recollect, the cause of the quarrel was as follows:—

During the Peninsular War, an outward-bound troopship, having some troops on board commanded by my grandfather, and a great quantity of heavy luggage belonging to the Duke of York, encountered very bad weather, and was in danger of foundering. In order to lighten the vessel, the captain wanted to throw all the horses overboard. But this my grandfather would not allow, and proposed that the Duke’s luggage should be sacrificed instead, which was accordingly done, to the intense indignation of His Royal Highness, when he heard of it afterwards.

The statue to the Duke of York, erected in London, was reported to have been built so high in order to place him beyond the reach of his creditors, whose name was legion.

My grandfather used to say that he never could understand how the Duchess of Sutherland, with her £365,000 a year, could bring herself to stand the whole evening at the Opera behind the Prince Consort, who was only an insignificant German prince, with a tiny principality. His opinion of George IV. was that it would puzzle anyone who knew him to discover a good quality that he possessed.

It was about this time, when my parents were living in the Avenue d’Antin, that I first saw Hortense Schneider in _les Voyages de Gulliver_, at the Châtelet Théâtre, which all Paris rushed to see. The play was a charming one, and the children were particularly delighted when the Liliputians, represented by tiny little wooden figures, moved about the stage. Hortense Schneider, of course, represented Gulliver, and sang some very pretty songs in the course of the play.

The late Arthur Post, a young American living with his family in Paris, fell desperately in love at this time with Hortense Schneider, though she was very much older than himself. He drove about the Bois with her, accompanied her to theatres, and, in fact, was always with her. His infatuation greatly distressed his parents, and was the subject of universal comment. However, he did not marry her, though that was not his fault, as Hortense Schneider had several royal and other princes ready to lay their fortunes at her feet; and it was not until several years afterwards that she chose a very wealthy banker for her husband.

Fioretti was then the _première danseuse_ at the Grand Opéra. Her dancing always gave me greater pleasure than anything else there. She was, besides, very beautiful, and King Ludwig II. of Bavaria was so captivated by her graceful dancing and personal attraction, that he induced her to leave Paris for Munich, to dance there instead.

I went also to the Palais-Royal, and saw _le Train de Minuit_, a play in which a railway-carriage is by accident left behind in the middle of the night at a station, and the people awake and find themselves at some miserable little village, instead of in Paris, as they had expected. They, of course, cannot obtain what they require in the way of refreshments, and are nearly perishing with cold, as it is the depth of winter, and the carriage is no longer heated; and the complications that ensue are very amusing.

One day, I went with my parents to Saint-Germain, to visit Captain and Mrs. Lennox Berkeley, who were living there. Their son, Hastings, a good-looking boy, told us that his father was learning to play the zither, which Captain Berkeley showed us, though he could not be persuaded to let us hear him play it. Saint-Germain, with its charming woods and pretty walks, is delightful in summer, the country all around being lovely. When we returned to Paris, I did not give my father any peace until he had bought a zither for me. It was not easy to obtain one, and I remember that we wandered about half Paris, until at length we discovered what we wanted in the Rue de Rivoli. I had also great difficulty in finding a master, until finally I discovered a German who played the instrument very well.

In the winter months, I went several times with my father to the Cercle des Patineurs. This was a very exclusive and very expensive resort, where, to secure admittance for yourself and family, you had to be a member of the Jockey Club, while each person had to pay twenty francs in the afternoon and forty francs in the morning and evening. There were some Americans who skated marvellously, amongst them being Mrs. Ronalds, who was a very fine skater. I was told that Napoleon III. and the Empress Eugénie admired her graceful skating so much that they complimented her on several occasions at the Cercle des Patineurs, and she became a frequent guest at the Tuileries. The Princess Metternich, the Austrian Ambassadress, was also an _habituée_; in fact, the place was patronized by all the _beau monde_ of those days.

I frequently went at that time to Musards’ concerts, which on fine summer evenings were given out of doors, in a garden, and always enjoyed them immensely. Sometimes I went with my mother to meet friends there; but when I went alone, I usually sat with the Piétris, near relatives of the Préfet de Police, who was so much attached to the Emperor and Empress. Their daughter, Julie, was a lovely girl of thirteen, and when I had learned to play the zither better, we often performed duets together, as she was a most accomplished pianist. I can remember we often played Schubert’s _Ständchen_, which sounded very well, as it is rather melancholy. Sad airs, in my opinion, are best suited to the zither, particularly when it is accompanied by the piano. When the German who was teaching me the zither left Paris, I took lessons from a Mlle. Reichemberg, who, at that time, was also teaching Adelina Patti, and learned a Polish romance which the latter was very fond of playing. Patti became extremely fond of the zither, which she played a good deal in her leisure hours, though she never sang to it, I was told.

Hofrath Hanslick, the late celebrated critic of the Austrian _Neue Freie Presse_, said of Patti:—

“She appears to me to be most perfect in rôles like Zerlina, in _Don Juan_, Norina, in _Don Pasquale_, Rosina, in the _Barbiere di Seviglia_. What a fresh, youthful voice, which in its range from the tenor C to F in alt, moves about with such wonderful ease! The most perfect and delightful, though, were the lively rôles of Patti, principally the one of Zerlina, in _Don Juan_. She gave us the true ideal of Zerlina. With these advantages, and especially, too, in the development of dazzling virtuosity, Patti shines as Rosina in Rossini’s _Barbiere_, and as Norina in Donizetti’s graceful opera, _Don Pasquale_. In the _Barbiere_ one can judge best, perhaps, of her marvellous art in singing. Of her later rôles, in Leonora, in Verdi’s _Trovatore_, she attained almost the highest pitch. The _Traviata_, which is decidedly a far better opera, shows Patti to more advantage dramatically. I always disliked _Dinorah_, almost as much as I did formerly the _Traviata_, which I saw the first time badly performed. Two rôles of Patti which I cannot praise as much as the two before-mentioned are Valentine, in the _Huguenots_, and Gretchen, in the _Faust_ of Gounod. In the valse of Venzano, she sings a roulade of seventeen bars in one breath, smiling, as if it were child’s play. There is no doubt that the Valentine of Pauline Lucca and the Marguerite of Christine Nilsson surpass the performance of Patti in these rôles. A clever writer once called Italy the conservatoire of God. In this conservatoire Adelina Patti has without doubt taken away the first prize.”

One Sunday evening, I went with Captain Berkeley to see some fine illuminations in the Champs-Elysées. I recollect telling him how much I disliked a crowd, to which he replied:—

“It is the only day on which the poor people can enjoy themselves, and they have as much right to do so as the rich. I am always so delighted to see the poor creatures happy.” One day, a beggar came up to him and asked for some coppers, upon which he said to him:—

“_Mon cher ami, c’est défendu de mendier, mais voici un franc; ne le faites plus._”

I called one day with my father at an hôtel in the Champs-Elysées. As the lady we had come to see happened to be out, we were asked to wait in a salon, where an English lady sat, reading. My father made some casual remark about its being fine weather to be out of doors, to which the lady answered that she had only just arrived in Paris and intended to have a rest. My father then said that he supposed she would go out the next day.

“No,” was the answer. “I told you, I have come here for a rest.”

He asked how long she intended resting, when she replied:

“Six months.”

My father was so astonished at this reply that he was quite unable to refrain from laughing, which rather annoyed the lady. On our leaving the hôtel soon afterwards, he said to me:

“That old woman is mad with her rest, and to come to Paris, of all places, to have it. She must be out of her mind.”

I frequently went to the galleries of the Louvre and the Luxembourg, and always had a great liking for Greuze’s paintings, particularly the _Cruche Cassée_ and _l’Accordée du Village_. The former I have often seen in engravings by Masard and other engravers, but no reproduction has ever come up to the beautiful face of the original. There is always _quelque chose à désirer_ in the copies, and even in the photographs from the picture itself; it is something in the expression, and not alone in the colouring.

At the time of which I am speaking, there was a Spaniard in Paris, a friend of some acquaintances of ours, who built a large hôtel and a theatre for himself attached to it. The former was heated to a certain temperature, and his doctor called upon him every day, receiving a napoleon for each visit, and on certain fête days a hundred francs. The doctor used merely to feel his patient’s pulse, when he was not ill. This Spaniard had two lady friends, a brunette and a blonde, each of whom was in the habit of spending certain fixed days in the week with him. Notwithstanding the very regular life he led, he did not attain the age of forty, but died of fever almost suddenly. He was an immensely wealthy man, but of a very nervous temperament. During the winter he never went out of doors, from fear of taking cold.

Lord Lyons, who was then British Ambassador in Paris, was celebrated for two things particularly, apart from his diplomatic capabilities: his horses and the excellent dinners he gave. An old Englishman, of over seventy, with whom we were well acquainted, used to look forward to dining at the British Embassy for weeks in advance. But his wife said she positively dreaded his going there, as he was invariably laid up for a fortnight after partaking of one of these too-appetizing banquets.

In the following summer, my parents left the Avenue d’Antin and lived for a time in the Avenue Joséphine, until an _appartement_ which my mother had taken unfurnished in the Rue d’Albe, in the Champs-Elysées, had been got ready for us. I recollect she ordered the furniture from the celebrated Maison Krieger, in the Faubourg Saint-Antoine. The salon was furnished in Louis Quinze style, with some tiny chairs with gilt backs and the seats in satin with designs of various birds of gorgeous plumage in different colours, all worked in silk by hand. The sides of the fauteuils were of gilt, while the backs and the seats were all in Aubusson tapestry, representing roses on a white foundation. The sofa was in Aubusson to match the fauteuils, the curtains as well. The carpet, which covered the middle of the room only, as the floor was a parquet, was a lovely design with a white foundation, the edges of which and the centre represented clusters of red and pink roses. The carpet was in Aubusson tapestry, and rather a small one, though my mother had paid 7,500 francs for it. Dr. Bishop, brother-in-law of the late Lord Iddesleigh, declared that the carpet was so lovely that he was really afraid to walk on it. He was a very tall, stout man, and he always sat on the delicate chairs in preference to the others. This made my mother feel very uneasy, less because she feared that the chair might get broken than because she was afraid that he might have a severe fall. The tables in the salon were Louis Quinze style, in marqueterie, all inlaid with tortoiseshell and mother-of-pearl in Boule style, and on the chimney-piece stood a clock and various figures and lamps in old Sèvres porcelain. The walls were white, with gold decorations, and were adorned with numerous mirrors. I asked my mother to have my bedroom furnished in yellow and black satin, which she had done. I was extremely fond of the Austrian national colours, and, besides, they were the same as those of a room which I had occupied some little time before when on a visit to Mrs. Reynolds, formerly Miss Lethbridge, at Poundsford Park, near Taunton.

As I was about to go to Eton, my mother was anxious that I should have the correct Eton collar. No one in Paris knew what it was like, so Lady Caroline Murray sent her the pattern of a collar worn by one of the twin brothers Lambton, who were both then at Eton. The elder is now Earl of Durham. The Eton jacket was also a bit of a puzzle, and, though I had it made as near the correct thing as possible, I found, when I got to Eton, that, to be quite in the mode, I must get my jackets made by Manley, of Windsor. This I did all the time I was at Eton, as well as other clothes I wore there.

[Illustration: The Author.

Aged 9. Aged 14. Aged 16.

[_To face p. 62._]