Part 57

I had sung to many people, but I think I never sang to a more appreciative audience than this one.

Henry accompanied me in "Beware!" Their enthusiasm knew no bounds. They all gathered around me, eager to thank me for the unexpected pleasure. I really think they meant what they said.

When I returned to my room I looked out of my window and saw the sentinel pacing to and fro in the moonlight. I realized for the first time that the château was protected!

I mourned the beautiful and stately Lebanon cedar!

March 18th.

It seemed so strange to wake up and find myself in my room. An orderly brought me a very neatly arranged tray, with tea and buttered toast and a note from Henry announcing the terrible news that Paris was under arms--a revolution (rien que ça) had broken out, and all approaches to the city were barricaded. This was news indeed! I understood now why no carriage came last night, why trains were stopped, why telegraph wires were cut, and why no mother-in-law appeared.

Henry was waiting to communicate with me as soon as I was out of my room. Indeed, a more stranded mortal than I was could hardly be imagined! However, there seemed nothing for me to do but to await events.

The officers met us in the salon, and we discussed the situation and different possibilities, but without any practical result.

Every one was much excited about the news. The officers pretended not to know more than we did; perhaps what they did know they did not care to tell. We saw messengers flying in all directions, papers handed about, more messengers galloping down the avenue, agitation written on the faces around us. All I knew was that there was a revolution in Paris and I was here.

Going out to the stables, we found the soldiers grooming their horses unconcernedly. From there we went to the orangerie, which presented a queer sight. The soldiers, of whom there must have been sixty, had arranged their beds all along the walls on both sides, and to separate them one from another had placed a tub with its orange-tree. The aviary had been converted into a drying-ground for their lingerie; they had suspended ropes from side to side, and thereon hung their week's wash amid all its "unavoidable destruction." Henry told me that when the Germans first came to Petit Val they begged old Perault (the butler) to hand them the key of the wine-cellar, and on his refusing they had tied the old man to a tree in the park, and left him there the whole of one cold night to consider the situation. Needless to say, the next day the Germans had the key. After they had taken all the best Château-Lafitte and all the rare wines Mr. Moulton had bought during the Revolution of 1848, they emptied the casks containing the Petit Bleu, made on the estate! The result was disastrous, and could Mr. Moulton have only seen the poor creatures doubled up with torture he would have felt himself amply revenged.

We ascended the hill behind the château to the high terrace, from where one can see Paris. We saw no smoke, therefore Paris was not burning. But what was happening there? We returned to breakfast, where the military band was playing on the lawn (a superfluous luxury, I thought, but I did not realize that so trivial a thing as a revolution could not interfere with military order). We were treated to the eternal sausage and something they called beefsteak; it might as well have been called "suprême de donkey," it was so tough. However, the others ate it with iron jaws and without a pang. Count Arco suggested I should take a drive, en attendant les événements, and see the neighborhood. I acquiesced, thinking anything in the way of distraction would be a welcome relief. Imagine my feelings when I saw our calèche, a mere ghost of its former self, dragged by four artillery horses and postilioned by two heavy dragoons.

"The exigencies of war" had obliged the soldiers to remove the leather, the carpet, the cushions, and all the cloth; only the iron and wood remained to show that once this had been a carriage.

This ancient relic drew up with a thump on what had been flower-beds, and the Count opened the door for me to enter, but on observing my look of dismay when I saw the hard, cushionless seats, despatched an officer to try to find a cushion for me. Apparently, however, cushions were souvenirs our friends had forgotten to bring with them from other residences. Judging from the time we waited, the officer must have ransacked the whole house, but had found nothing better than a couple of bed-pillows, with which he appeared, carrying one under each arm, to the great amusement of the beholders. I mounted this grotesque equipage, the Count and Henry following, and sat enthroned on my pillows of state.

We asked, before starting, if there was any news from Paris, and receiving an answer in the negative, we drove off. Up hills, over lawns and flower- beds, zigzagging through vineyards and gardens, never by any chance keeping to the proper road, we made the tour of the environs.

To give you an idea how completely the châteaux had been ransacked, I can tell you that I picked up about a yard and a half of handsome Brussels lace in the courtyard of the château of Sucy. We drove hastily through the adjoining estate of Grand Val, which looked even more deplorable than Sucy. I began to wonder if the artillery horses and the carcass of the vehicle in which we sat would be capable of carrying me to Paris, or at least within walking distance of it. You see, I was beginning to get desperate. Here was I, with the day almost over, without any apparent prospect of getting away. But, as the Psalmist puts it, "Sorrow endureth for a night, but joy cometh in the morning." My joy came late in the afternoon, on returning to Petit Val, where I found the landeau of the American Legation, my mother-in-law, and (hobnobbing with the German officers) the American Minister himself, the popular and omnipotent Mr. Washburn.

They were overjoyed to see me, as they had been as anxious as I had been, having tried every means in their power to reach me. To telegraph was impossible; to send a groom on horseback equally so. Finally, as a last resource, they had written to Mr. Washburn to see if he could not solve the difficult question, which he did by driving out himself with Mrs. Moulton to fetch me.

As soon as the horses were sufficiently rested (my hosts and I being profuse in our mutual thanks), we started for Paris, passing through Alfort, Charenton, and many villages, all more or less in ruins. There were plenty of people lounging about in the streets. We reached Vincennes without difficulty; but thenceforth our troubles commenced in earnest.

Mr. Washburn thought it more prudent to close the carriage, cautioning the coachman to drive slower. We were stopped at every moment by soldiers and barricades; then Mr. Washburn would show his card and his laissez passer, after which we were allowed to pass on, until we came to more soldiers and more barricades. Omnibuses turned over, paving-stones piled up, barrels, ladders, ropes stretched across the streets, anything to stop the circulation. Poor Mr. Washburn was tired out popping his head first out of one window then out of the other, with his card in his hand.

The men who accosted us were not discourteous, but spoke quite decidedly, as if they did not expect to be contradicted. We did not care to contradict them, either.

"We know you, Monsieur, by reputation, and we know that you are well disposed toward France. How do you feel toward la Commune?" Mr. Washburn hesitating a moment, the man added, cynically, "Perhaps you would like to add a stone to our barricades." He made as if he would open the door of the carriage; but Mr. Washburn answered, holding back the door, "I take it for granted, Monsieur, that I have your permission to drive on, as I have something very important to attend to at my Legation," and gave the man a defiant look, which rather frightened him, and we drove through the crowd. All along the Rue de Rivoli we saw the soldiers massing together in groups, La Garde nationale (Mr. Washburn said they so called themselves since yesterday), a miserable-looking set of men, talking very loud and flourishing their guns as if they were walking-sticks.

In passing the Rue Castiglione we saw it was full of soldiers, and looking toward the Place de la Concorde we saw more barricades there.

This was a sight to behold! The space around the Column was filled with paving-stones and all sorts of débris (strange to say, my eyes saw more brooms than anything else); and cannon pointing everywhere. A very impertinent, common-looking voyou said, on looking at Mr. Washburn's card, "Vous êtes tous très chic... mais vous ne passerez pas, tout de même."

We shook in our shoes.

But Mr. Washburn, equal to the occasion, said something which had the desired effect, and we passed on.

All along the Rue de Rivoli the yesterday-fledged soldiers were straggling about, glad to have a day of leisure. They brandished their bayonets with a newly acquired grace, pointing them in front of them in such a reckless way that people made a large circle around them, frightened to death.

As we passed the Hôtel de Ville we saw the red flag of the Communards waving over the Palace. Barricades and cannon filled the space between that and the Rue de Rivoli. Here we were stopped again, and tired Mr. Washburn, annoyed to death, answered more stupid questions, showed his card and documents, and gave a little biography of himself. I thought we should never get on.

I could have cried when I saw the Tuileries; it was only last August I had had a delightful half-hour with the Empress (she asked me to take tea with her). Then she was full of confidence in the triumph of the Emperor (who could have doubted it?), pleased that her son should have received le baptême du feu, as the Emperor telegraphed--oh, the pity of it all! and that was only last August--seven months ago.

As we drove by I thought of the famous ball given at the Tuileries last May (Le bal de Plébiscite), the most splendid thing of its kind one had ever seen.