I made him observe that it would be very difficult for me to walk to my home in the Rue de Courcelles, and if his government wanted the horse it could come there and fetch it. He looked doubtfully at me, as if weighing the situation, then said, very courteously, "I understand, Madame, and I give you back your horse." And he even helped Louis to reharness the horse, who seemed happy to return to his shafts.
When I arrived home I had to go to bed, I was so exhausted. Mademoiselle
W—— administered the infallible camomile tea, her remedy for every ill.
Her mind cannot conceive of any disease which is not cured by camomile
tea, unless in extremis, when fleurs d'oranger takes its place.
24th of March.
The American secretary, Mr. Hoffman, and his wife, who are living in
Versailles, invited Mrs. Moulton and me to luncheon to-day, saying that
Mr. Washburn was also of the party; therefore we need have no fear of
being molested or inconvenienced on our way.
There were only two trains to Versailles now. We took the one at midday from Paris, and arrived slowly but surely at the dirty, smoky station, where we found Mr. Hoffman waiting for us with a landau, in which we drove to his house.
We had an excellent luncheon, to which we all did justice; after which Mr. Hoffman proposed our going to the Assemblée, which has its sittings in the Palace, and we readily consented. I was particularly glad to have an opportunity to see the notabilities whose names and actions had been our daily food these last months.
We sat in Mr. Hoffman's box, who, in his position as secretary of the American Legation, had been obliged to attend all these séances from the first. He knew all the celebrities, and most amiably pointed them out to me. Thiers was in the president's chair; Louis Blanc, Jules Favre, Jules Grévy, and others were on the platform.
I confess I was rather disappointed; I thought that this pleiades of brilliant minds would surely overcome me to such a degree that I should not sleep for weeks. But, strangely enough, they had just the opposite effect. I think Mr. Washburn must be writing a book on modern history, and Mr. Hoffman must be writing one on ancient history. I sat between them—a drowsy victim—feeling as if my brain was making spiral efforts to come out of the top of my head.
While I was trying with all my might to listen to Thiers's speech, who, I was sure, was saying something most interesting, Mr. Hoffman, on one side of me, would say, in a low tone, "Just think of it! Here, in these very same boxes, the pampered and powdered [or something like that] Court of Louis XIV. sat and listened to Rameau's operas." I tried to seem impressed. Then, on the other side, I would hear, "Do you know, Mrs. Moulton, that the Communists have just taken seven millions of francs from the Bank of France?" The distant, squeaky voice of Thiers trying to penetrate space, said, "La force ne fonde rien, parce qu'elle ne résout rien." And when I was hoping to comprehend why "La force" did not "fonder" anything I would hear Mr. Hoffman whisper, "When you think that Louis XVI. and Marie Antoinette passed the last evening they ever spent in Versailles in this theater!" "Really," I replied vaguely. My other neighbor remarked, "You know the 'Reds' are concentrating for a sortie to Versailles." "You don't say so!" I answered, dreadfully confused. There would be a moment's pause, and I caught the sound of General Billet's deep basso proposing that the French nation should adopt the family of General Lecomte, who had been so mercilessly butchered by the mob. Mr. Hoffman, continuing his train of thought, remembered that Napoleon III. gave that "magnificent dinner" to Queen Victoria in this theater. Jules Grévy talked at great length about something I did not hear, and when I asked Mr. Hoffman what it was, he answered me, something I did not understand. Jules Favre next spoke about the future glories of notre glorieux pays and the destiny of France. These remarks were received with tremendous applause. People stood up, and ladies waved their handkerchiefs, every one seeming very excited; but my American friends were not greatly impressed. "How typical!" says Mr. Hoffman. "What rubbish!" says Mr. Washburn.
When we returned to Paris we found Mr. Moulton in a flutter of agitation. Beaumont (the renowned and popular painter) had been at the house in the afternoon, and had asked Mr. Moulton's permission to bring Courbet (the celebrated artist, now a Communard) to see us. Mr. Moulton had no sooner said yes than he regretted his impulsiveness, but he forgot to call Beaumont back to tell him so. The result was that we had the visit of Courbet last evening.