TO THE EMPRESS EUGENIA."The new Empress of France had fifty-eight splendid wedding dresses made a few days previous to her marriage. Her pocket handkerchiefs, it is said, cost 2000 francs apiece." IT can't be possible, my dear woman,
that you sold all your bright charms for that silly trash! It is my
female opinion, that those "two thousand franc" pocket handkerchiefs
will be pretty well tear-stained before you get through with them.
You ambitious little monkey! you played your card to perfection. I
like you for that, because I like to see everything thoroughly done,
if it is only courting; but if you don't get tired to death of that
old roue, my name is not Fanny. He bears
about as much resemblance to his "uncle," as Tom Thumb does to the
Colossus of Rhodes. He is an effeminate, weak-minded, vacillating,
contemptible apology for a man;—never has done anything worthy the
name of Napoleon, that ever I heard of. Keep him under your thumb,
you beautiful little witch, or your pretty head may pay the
forfeit,—who knows? It won't require much diplomacy, for you are the
smarter of the two, unquestionably; but you had better look as meek as
Moses, and "keep dark"
about that. Don't let that managing mother of yours be poking her Spanish nose into French state secrets. Give her a baby to tend, and keep her quiet. Look as handsome as you can. Frenchmen adore beauty;—in that respect differ from men in general! Keep on good terms with the common people, and don't flirt—if you can help it—with the prime ministers. If you can get a chance to think, and to improve your mind, I would;—but it don't matter much; you are so handsome you will be a "card," anyhow. I wonder if you have a true woman's heart, hey!—or are you nothing but a miserable little butterfly of a coquette? Do you like anything so well as your own pretty self? And have you any resources when your youth and beauty have flown? Bless my soul! what a stupid Americanism! I humbly beg your Highness' pardon,—I forgot that a French woman never grows old or ugly! Well, dance away, little Empress; but I tell you that you are dancing over a volcano. I would not be in your satin slippers for a bright sixpence. In the first place, I should despise such a doll-baby husband. In the next place, I hate form, and state, and etiquette. I should be as nervous as an eel in a frying-pan, to have all those maids of honor tagging at my heels. I know that I should be sure to laugh in the wrong place, and cry when I felt like it, spite of dukes and duchesses. I should be just as likely to tell Napoleon to tie up my slipper, or pull his moustache, if he said anything I did not like. Yes, a French court would not tame my republican blood. I will give you permission, my dear, to drop me a line now and then, when your old gentleman is asleep, or closeted with some of his old "parlez vous," and tell me if you don't tire of all their old French grandeur, and long to drop your regal robes, and slip off incog, to some dim old wood, where you can lay your soft cheek to the cool grass, and hear only the little birds sing! My name is Fanny Fern, your Highness; and any further information you may require, you can procure of anybody in the United States, for they all know more about my own affairs than I do myself! |