“That would not matter at all,” I argued. “Wealthy people are always in a hurry and the poor never are. And then, considering what is awaiting them in the land to which they are going....”
“It is the Promised Land.”
“Oh! poor things ... poor things ... with their Promised Land—Dakota or Colorado! In the daytime they have the sun which makes their brains boil, scorches the ground, dries up the springs, and brings forth endless numbers of mosquitoes to sting their bodies and try their patience. The Promised Land! At night they have the terrible cold to make their eyes smart, to stiffen their joints, and ruin their lungs. The Promised Land! It is just death in some out-of-the-world place after fruitless appeals to the justice of their fellow countrymen. They will breathe their life out in a sob or in a terrible curse of hatred. God will have mercy on all of them, though, for it is piteous to think that all these poor creatures are delivered over with their feet bound by suffering, and their hands bound by hope, to the slave drivers who trade in white slaves. And when I think that the money is in the purser’s cash box which the slave driver has paid for the transport of all these poor creatures! Money that has been collected by rough hands or trembling fingers. Poor money economized, copper by copper, tear by tear. When I think of all this it makes me wish that we could be shipwrecked, that we could be all killed, and all of those saved.”
With these words I hurried away to my cabin to have a good cry, for I was seized with a great love for humanity and intense grief that I could do nothing, absolutely nothing!...
The following morning I awoke late, as I had not fallen asleep until near dawn. My cabin was full of visitors and they were all holding small parcels half concealed. I rubbed my sleepy eyes and could not quite understand the meaning of their invasion.
“My dear Sarah,” said Mme. Guérard, coming to me and kissing me, “don’t imagine that this day, your fête day, could be forgotten by those who love you.”
“Oh!” I exclaimed, “is it the 23d?”
“Yes, and here is the first of the remembrances from the absent ones.”
My eyes filled with tears and it was through a mist that I saw the portrait of that young being more precious to me than anything else in the world, with a few words in his own hand writing.... Then there were some presents from friends ... pieces of work from humble admirers. My little godson of the previous evening was brought to me in a basket, with oranges, apples, and tangerines all round him. He had a golden star on his forehead, a star cut out of some gold paper in which chocolate had been wrapped. My maid Félicie, and Claude, her husband, who were most devoted to me, had prepared some very ingenious little surprises. Presently there was a knock at my door and on calling out “Come in,” I saw, to my surprise, three sailors carrying a superb bouquet which they presented to me in the name of the whole crew. I was wild with admiration and wanted to know how they had managed to keep the flowers in such good condition. It was an enormous bouquet, but when I took it in my hands I let it fall to the ground in an uncontrollable fit of laughter. The flowers were all cut out of vegetables, but so perfectly done that the illusion was complete at a little distance. Magnificent roses were cut out of carrots, camellias out of turnips, small radishes had furnished sprays of rosebuds stuck on to long leeks dyed green, and all these relieved by carrot leaves artistically arranged to imitate the grassy plants used for elegant bouquets. The stalks were tied together with a bow of tri-colored ribbon. One of the sailors made a very touching little speech on behalf of his comrades, who wished to thank me for a trifling service rendered. I shook hands cordially and thanked them heartily and this was the signal for a little concert that had been organized in the cabin of my petite dame. There had been a private rehearsal with two violins and a flute, so that for the next hour I was lulled by the most delightful music, which transported me to my own dear ones, to my hall which seemed so distant to me at that moment, and for the first time since my departure I regretted having set out. This little fête, which was almost a domestic one, together with the music, had evoked the tender and restful side of my life, and the tears that all this called forth fell without grief, bitterness, or regret. I wept simply because I was deeply moved, and I was tired, nervous, and weary, and had a longing for rest and peace. I fell asleep in the midst of my tears, sighs, and sobs.
Finally, the boat stopped on the 27th of October, at half past six in the morning. I was asleep, worn out by three days and nights of wild storms. My maid had some difficulty in rousing me. I could not believe that we had arrived, and I wanted to go on sleeping until the last minute. I had to give in to the evidence, however, as the boat had stopped. This sudden arrival delighted me and everything seemed to be transformed in a minute. I forgot all my discomforts, and the weariness of the eleven days’ crossing. The sun was rising, pale but rose tinted, dispersing the mists and shining over the river. I had entered the New World in the midst of a display of sunshine. This seemed to me a good omen. I am so superstitious that if I had arrived when there was no sunshine I should have been wretched, and most anxious until after my first performance. It is a perfect torture to be superstitious to this degree and, unfortunately for me, I am ten times more so now than I was in those days, for besides the superstitions of my own country I have, thanks to my travels, added to my stock all the superstitions of the other countries. I know them all now and in any critical moment of my life they all rise up in armed legions, for or against me. I cannot walk a single step, or make any movement or gesture, sit down, go out, look at the sky or the ground, without finding some reason for hope or for despair until at last, exasperated by the trammels put upon my actions by my thought, I defy all my superstitions and just act as I want to. Delighted, then, with what seemed to me to be a good omen I began to dress gleefully. Mr. Jarrett had just knocked at my door.