In the Courts of Memory, 1858-1875 Part 32

Hungry and penniless I arrived at last in Paris, where I was delighted to see a healthy, normal-looking person in the shape of my brother-in-law, Henry, who met me at the station. He had plenty to tell me of his experiences since last September. He had been living at Pet.i.t Val throughout the whole campaign, and was still there looking after our interests, _faisant la navette_ between Pet.i.t Val, Paris, and Versailles at his will. He had free pa.s.ses for all these places. On my arrival at the Rue de Courcelles I found the family well, Mrs. Moulton knitting as usual, Mademoiselle Wissembourg napping, and Mr. Moulton reading the _Journal des Debats_ out loud in his peculiar French.

I thought of the "Brook," by Tennyson: "Men may come and men may go, but I go on for ever." The family had not eaten cats and dogs during the siege as, according to the newspapers, other people had done.

Mr. Moulton having been in Paris at the time of the Revolution of 1848, and knowing about revolutions, had had the forethought to lay in a stock of provisions, such as ham, biscuit, rice, etc., and all sorts of canned things, which he deemed would be sufficient for all their requirements.

They had even given dinner-parties limited to a very choice few, who sometimes brought welcome additions in the shape of other canned delicacies.

When the family moved from Pet.i.t Val to Paris last September, the French Government had given them permission to keep one or two cows. They also brought a calf, a sheep, and some chickens with them. The cows and the sheep shared the stables with the horses, while the chickens were let loose in the conservatory, and were expected to lay enough eggs to pay for their board. The gardener had cleverly converted the conservatory into a sort of kitchen garden, and had planted some useful vegetables, such as radishes, carrots, salad, etc., so you see the family took good care that it should have enough to eat, and mice and rats only appeared on the table after the repasts.

PARIS, _March 16, 1871._

DEAR MAMA,--This has been a very fatiguing day for me, so you will only receive a short letter.

Paul [Footnote: Count Hatzfeldt, my brother-in-law.] invited Mrs. Moulton and me to come to Versailles, and offered us a cup of tea as an inducement. You know Paul is Count Bismarck's private secretary, having been with him and the German sovereign during the entire war. He is still at Versailles, but expects to leave for Berlin one of these first days. He came to fetch us at the station with the fat ponies and the basket-wagon (the ponies had escaped the fate of other fat ponies, and they had not furnished steaks for famished Parisians, but continued to trot complacently about, as of old). Fortunately they were not too fat to carry us through the park at a lively pace, and land us at Paul's palatial residence. It seemed strange to see German officers, in their tight- fitting uniforms, strolling leisurely about in the park, where before I had only seen the rather slovenly _pious-pious_ on holidays, when the fountains played by day and the fireworks by night.

The park looked enchanting in its spring toilette, and made me think of the last time I was here. Could it have been only last May? It seems years ago!

Paul had invited some of his German officer friends to take tea with us.

Paul had been with the King of Prussia and Jules Favre and Bismarck at Ferrieres, where they had met, he said, "with no other result than to see Jules Favre weep."

Paul had been at Versailles when the King was proclaimed Emperor in the _salle de glaces_--the greatest emotion he had ever experienced, he said.

He had also been witness of the signing of the armistice. The pen with which it was signed had been given him as a souvenir, and it was lying on his table.

Paul thought the Emperor Napoleon more to be pitied than blamed. He had gone into this war without really knowing the true state of things. He was made to believe that there were four hundred thousand men ready to take the field, when in reality there were only half that number, and those certainly not fit to be pitted against the Germans, who had been provided with better and newer maps than the French, and knew France and its army more thoroughly than the French themselves. We could have talked on this subject for hours had not the fat ponies come to take us to the station, where we bade farewell to Paul and the officers, and returned to Paris for the modest repast which we dignified by the name of dinner.

_March 17th._

DEAR MAMA,--Such a funny thing happened to-day.

I don't know whether I told you of some Americans, called the O----s, I met in Dinard fresh from America (_via_ Southampton). When I bade them good-by, I said, in an offhand way, "When you come to Paris you must come and see me."

"Oh! that will be nice," gushingly replied Mrs. O----. "Where do you live?"

(Every one of the O----s' phrases commenced with "Oh!")

"I live in the Rue de Courcelles," I answered.

"Oh! Roue de Carrousel," she repeated. "What number?"

"Rue de Courcelles," I replied, correctingly; "twenty-seven."

Mrs. O----'s next question was, "Oh! have you a flat?"

"A flat!! No," I said, "we have a hotel. Every one knows our hotel in the Rue de Courcelles."

I then proceeded to forget the O----s and everything concerning them. This morning, when we were at luncheon, the _concierge_ came rushing in, the ta.s.sels on his _calotte_ bristling with agitation.

"Madame," he gasped, "there is a fiacre full of people with a lot of trunks asking to come in to Madame. I can't understand what they want."

His emotion choked him.

We all said in unison: "Ask for their cards. Who can they be?"

The _concierge_ came back with Mr. O----'s card.

I recollected my impulsive invitation and thought it very polite of them to be so _empresses_. I went into the salon, followed by Mademoiselle W----, where we found Mr. O---- seated at his ease in a _fauteuil_, his feet reposing on the white-bear rug.

I apologized for having kept him waiting, but explained that we had been at luncheon.

He (complacently), "Oh, that's all right; we have just arrived in Paris and we came straight to you."

I felt overwhelmed at such a keen appreciation of my politeness.

"How is Mrs. O----?" I said.

He answered with the inevitable "Oh!" "Oh! she's all right. She's outside in the cab."

"Indeed!" I said, and wondered why she had not sent her card in with his, though I supposed she was waiting to be asked to come in, if he found me at home.

"We thought before trying anywhere else we would see if you could take us in."

This staggered me considerably. I tried to take _him_ "in" as he stood before me with traveling cap and umbrella.

"Are you full?" he went on. Mademoiselle and I wondered if we showed signs of a too copious luncheon.

"Why, what a nice place you have here!" looking about. "Well," he continued, nothing daunted, "you see, we only want one bedroom, for us, with a room next for baby, and one not too far off for Arthur."

What was he driving at? Mademoiselle W---- thought he was either a spy or a burglar who had come to take a survey of the hotel. Her bracelets and bunch of keys rattled ominously as the thought of burglars entered her brain.

He, familiarly settling himself down for a chat, "Do you think you could pick up a maid for Mrs. O----?"

Mademoiselle and I exchanged a glance of intelligent indulgence and thought: All our friends wanted, probably, was a few addresses before settling themselves in Paris. How stupid of us not to have thought of this sooner! I hastened to promise all sorts of names and addresses of tradespeople, thinking he would take his departure.

Not he! On the contrary, he tucked his umbrella more firmly under his arm, and turned to Mademoiselle W----: "Have you got a register?" taking her, no doubt, for _la dame du comptoir_.

Mademoiselle draped herself in her most Rachel-like att.i.tude and glanced knowingly at the hot-air flue which she had been told was a register.

"We have," she answered curtly, wondering if this extraordinary creature could be suffering from cold on this warm spring day.

"I had better write my name down!" This was too much! Mademoiselle thought now that he was not only a burglar, but a lunatic.

"I think," I said, "I can give you the address of a very nice maid,"

trying to lead him back into the paths we had trodden before.

"Oh! that'll be all right. You have perhaps a maid in the house?"

"Certainly we have," answered Mademoiselle with asperity, giving her velvet bow an agitated pat.

"Money is no object," continued he; "I'm always willing to pay what one asks." Mademoiselle now thought he was drunk and was for sending for the servants.