And she was complaining of not being able to read any longer without glasses!
We spoke of her grandchildren and her great grandchildren. I asked her if the happiness of being surrounded by so many affectionate people did not bring large compensation for the infirmities of age.
She replied:
“I love my children and my grandchildren, and I live in them. But that does not restore to me my eyesight. It is terrible not to be able to see.”
And she was right. Love gave her strength to bear her misfortune, but she feared that the prison of darkness would claim her as its prey. Before going to the dining-room she had taken her daughter’s arm. She had no assistance on the other hand in eating. Her good humour was unvarying.
She took some knitting from a work-basket, and said in a firm voice:
“I must work. I can no longer see well enough to be sure that my knitting is well done, but I have to keep busy, nevertheless.”
Mme. Claretie asked me if I was acquainted with Alexandre Dumas.
I told her how I had chanced to meet him. Then M. Claretie asked me numerous questions, which I tried to evade in order not to seem to talk about myself all the time. Imagine my astonishment when next morning I read in the Temps an article, a column and a half long, devoted entirely to our visit at M. Claretie’s and signed by the gentleman himself.
“Mme. Hanako,” he wrote, “is in town, a little person, delightfully odd and charming. In her blue or green robes, embroidered with flowers of many colours, she is like a costly doll, or a prettily animated idol, which should have a bird’s voice. The sculptor Rodin may possibly show us her refined features and keen eyes at the next Salon, for he is occupied just now with a study of her, and I believe a statue of the comedienne. He has never had a better model. These Japanese, who are so energetic, leaping into the fray like the ants upon a tree trunk, are likewise capable of the most complete immobility and the greatest patience. These divergent qualities constitute the strength of their race.