Volume Ii Part 14 (1/2)

There I had been walking from Versailles, and waiting for a parade some two hours after it was all over, among crowds of people who could have told me at once if I had not been so excessively modest as not to ask.

About that time an American might have been seen precipitately seeking the railroad. I had _not_ seen the elephant. It was hot, dusty, and there was neither cab nor _caleche_ in reach.

I arrived at the railroad station just in time to see the train go out at one end as I came in at the other. This was conducive to a frame of mind that scarcely needs remark. Out of that depot (it was half past four, and at six they dine in Paris) with augmented zeal and decision I pitched into a cab.

”_A l'autre station, vite, vite!_”--To the other station, quick, quick! He mounted the box, and commenced las.h.i.+ng his Rosinante, who was a subject for crows to mourn over, (because they could hope for nothing in trying to pick him,) and in an ambling, scrambling pace, composed of a trot, a canter, and a kick, we made a descent like an avalanche into the station yard. There Richard was himself again. I a.s.sumed at once the air of a gentleman who had seen the review, and walked about with composure and dignity. No doubt I had seen the emperor and all the troops. I succeeded in getting home just in the middle of dinner, and by dint of hard eating caught up at the third course with the rest.

That I consider a very white day. Some might call it _green_, but I mark such days with white always.

In the evening we attended the _salon_ of Lady Elgin, a friend of our hostess. Found there the Marquis de M., whose book on the spiritual rappings comes out next week. We conversed on the rappings _ad nauseam_.

By the way, her ladys.h.i.+p rents the Hotel de la Rochefoucauld, in the Rue de Varenne, Faubourg St. Germain.

St. Germain is full of these princely, aristocratic mansions.

Mournfully beautiful--desolately grand. Out of the stern, stony street, we entered a wide, square court, under a ma.s.sive arched gateway, then through the Rez-de-Chaussee, or lower suite of rooms, pa.s.sed out into the rear of the house to find ourselves in the garden, or rather a kind of park, with tall trees, flooded in moonlight, bathed in splendors, and with their distant, leafy arches (cut with artistic skill) reminding one of a Gothic temple. Such a magnificent forest scene in the very heart of Paris!

Sat.u.r.day, June 18. After breakfast rode out to Arc de Triomphe--de l'Etoile, and thence round the exterior barriers and boulevards to Pere la Chaise.

At every entrance to the city past the barriers, (which are now only a street,) there is a gate, and a building marked ”Octroi,” which means customs.

No carriage can pa.s.s without being examined, though the examination is a mere form.

Pere la Chaise did not interest me much, except that from the top of the hill I gained a good view of the city. It is filled with tombs and monuments, and laid out in streets. The houses of the dead are smaller than the houses of the living, but they are made like houses, with doors, windows, and an empty place inside for an altar, crucifix, lamps, wreaths, &c. Tombs have no charm for me. I am not at all interested or inspired by them. They do not serve with me the purpose intended, viz., of calling up the memory of the departed. On the contrary, their memory is a.s.sociated with their deeds, their works, the places where they wrought, and the monuments of themselves they have left. Here, however, in the charnel house is commemorated but the event of their deepest shame and degradation, their total vanquishment under the dominion of death, the triumph of corruption.

Here all that was visible of them is insulted by the last enemy, in the deepest, most humiliating posture of contumely.

From Pere la Chaise I came home to dinner at six. H., meanwhile, had been sitting to M. Belloc.

After dinner H. and the two Misses C. rode out to the Bois de Boulogne, the fas.h.i.+onable drive of Paris.

We saw all the splendid turnouts, and all the _not_ splendid. Our horse was noted for the springhalt. It is well to have something to attract attention about one, you know.

Sabbath, June 19. After breakfast went with Miss W. to the temple St.

Marie, to hear Adolphe Monod. Was able to understand him very well.

Gained a new idea of the capabilities of the French language as the vehicle of religious thought and experience. I had thought that it was a language incapable of being made to express the Hebrew mind and feeling of Scripture. I think differently. The language of Canaan can make its way through all languages, and in the French it has a pathos, point, and simplicity which are wonderful. There were thoughts in the sermon which I shall never forget. I feel myself highly rewarded for going.

The congregation was as large as the church could possibly hold, and composed of very interesting and intelligent-looking people. His subject was, ”If any man lack wisdom, let him ask of G.o.d, who giveth willingly, and without upbraiding,” &c. It was most touchingly adapted to the wants of the unhappy French, and of all poor sinners; and it came home to me in particular, as if it had been addressed to me singly, so that I could not help crying.

The afternoon and evening spent at home, reading. H. went in the morning with Madame de T. to the Catholic service, at the church St.

Germaine l'Auxerrois, and her companion pointed out the different parts of the service.

H. said she was moved with compa.s.sion towards these mult.i.tudes, who seem so very earnest and solemn. Their prayer books contain much that is excellent, if it was not mixed with so much that is idolatrous.

Monday, June 20. Went to have our pa.s.sport _vised_. The sky was black, and the rain pouring in torrents. As I reached the quay the Seine was rus.h.i.+ng dark, and turbidly foaming. I crept into a fiacre, and was amused, as we rattled on, to see the plight of gay and glittering Paris. One poor organ grinder, on the Pont National, sat with his umbrella over his head, and his body behind the parapet, grinding away, in the howling storm. It was the best use for a hand organ I ever saw. The gardens of the Tuileries presented a sorry sight. The sentries slunk within their boxes. The chairs were stacked and laid on their sides. The paths were flooded; and the cla.s.sic statues looked as though they had a dismal time of it, in the general shower bath.

My pa.s.sport went through the office of the American emba.s.sy, prefecture of the police, and the _bureau des affaires etrangeres_, and the Swiss legation, and we were all right for the frontier.

Our fair hostesses are all Alpine mountaineers, posted up in mountain lore. They make you look blank one moment with horror at some escape of theirs from being dashed down a precipice; the next they run you a rig indeed over the Righi; anon you shamble through Chamounix, and break your neck over the Col-de-balme, and, before you are aware, are among the lacking at Interlachen.

Wednesday, June 22. Adieu to Paris! Ho for Chalons sur Saone! After affectionate farewells of our kind friends, by eleven o'clock we were rus.h.i.+ng, in the pleasantest of cars, over the smoothest of rails, through Burgundy that was; I reading to H. out of Dumas'

_Impressions de Voyage_, going over our very route. We arrived at Chalons at nine in the evening, and were soon established in the Hotel du Park, in two small, brick-floored chambers, looking out upon the steamboat landing.