In the Courts of Memory, 1858-1875 Part 33

I asked him, "How is the baby?"

"Oh! baby's all right. The nurse has been a little upset by the journey.

You might give us the address of your doctor."

"Yes, yes." I gave him the name instantly, hoping he would go.

"We don't need him right off; he can come here later, and you can talk to him yourself. Maria does not speak French."

Mademoiselle gasped for breath, while he looked about him approvingly.

"Real nice house you have, Madame, not very central, but we don't mind being in a quiet part of Paris, as Maria wants to learn French"; and seeing the conservatory, he remarked: "Arthur can play in there. That'll do splendidly." After an awkward pause: "Well, if the rooms are ready, we can come right in. Maria will be wondering why I have been so long."

_I_ also wondered why he had been so long!

To cap the climax, he handed Mademoiselle a five-franc piece, saying: "I guess this will cover the cab. The coachman can keep the change."

A light dawned on me! He thought this was a hotel!

I said, "When you get settled in your hotel I will come and see you."

"What! Can't you take us in? We counted on coming to your hotel."

I laughed outright. Mademoiselle raised what she is pleased to call her eyebrows and shrugged her shoulders,

I explained to my guest his mistake. Instead of saying, "Oh! that's all right," he said, "Well, I'll be blessed," and without wasting any more time than for a hasty good-by he marched out to join the tired Maria, the baby, the nurse, and Arthur. We watched them as they drove off, all gazing out of the window at the hotel which was _not_ a hotel.

May Allah protect them!

_March 19th._

DEAR MOTHER,--The day before yesterday Henry and I decided to go to Pet.i.t Val. I looked forward with delight to seeing my beautiful home again. Mrs.

Moulton promised to drive out and bring me back to Paris late in the afternoon. We drove to the Gare de la Bastille and took our tickets for La Varenne. The station was so horribly dirty, it looked as if it had not been swept or cleaned since the commencement of the war, and as for the first-cla.s.s compartment we entered I really hesitated to sit down on the shabby and dilapidated cus.h.i.+ons.

We traveled very slowly, and stopped at every station mentioned in the time-table. Although these were devoid of travelers, the conductor opened the doors of all the carriages, and after waiting the allotted time shouted mechanically, "En voiture," though there was absolutely no one to get in.

I thought we never would arrive!

All the little towns, once so thrifty and prosperous, are now hardly more than ruins. It is no wonder that this part of the country (Vincennes, St.

Maur, Chenvieres, etc.) is so destroyed, because it was all about here that the French, shut up in Paris, had made the most frequent sorties.

Everything was terribly changed.

Now my beautiful bridge is a thing of the past. There is one arch half in water and debris of stone and mortar on the sh.o.r.e.

Henry and I, having no alternative, were obliged to walk from the station to the pontoon bridge, made, Henry said, in one night. I don't know about that; but what I do know is that the French blew up my bridge _in one night_. Then we made the whole distance to Pet.i.t Val on foot, pa.s.sing by the chateaux of Ormesson, Chenvieres, Grand Val, and Montalon.

All the chateaux we pa.s.sed are utterly abandoned, some quite in ruins; one can see, for instance, right through beautiful Grand Val, bereft of windows and doors.

But worse was awaiting me! My heart sank within me when we came in sight of the _potager_, the glory of Pet.i.t Val, so renowned in its day for its fruits and vegetables. Now it is frightful to see! Its walls torn asunder; cannon put in its crenelated sides, dilapidated and destroyed; the garden filled with rubbish of all description. But, as though nature were protesting against all this disorder and neglect, the cherry-trees were placidly blossoming; the almond-trees, with their delicate pink flowers, filled the air with perfume: everything, in short, doing its part in spite of war and bloodshed. Your heart would ache if you could see the place as it is now. The porter's lodge is completely gutted, windowless and doorless, open to wind and weather.

It seems strange to see a sentry-box stationed at the entrance of the park and a sentinel pacing to and fro. Henry gave the pa.s.sword, and we walked up the avenue toward the chateau. I will not weary you by trying to depict my feelings, but will leave you to imagine what they must have been. I looked in vain for the beautiful Lebanon cedar which, you remember, stood where my nightingale used to sing, on the broad lawn. Henry said that it had been the first tree that the Germans had cut down, and it had been lying there on the lawn just as it fell, where the soldiers could conveniently cut their fuel. Henry called my attention to a white flag flying on the chateau, which, at Paul's request, Count Bismarck had ordered to be put there.

Henry said it signified in military language that only staff officers were to occupy the chateau, and that no unnecessary damage should be done "if we are quiet." Did Bismarck think we were likely to be unruly and go about shooting people? The one thing in the world we wanted was to be quiet. The flag also signified that the chateau should be protected. Henry had once complained to Bismarck of the damage done by the German soldiers at Pet.i.t Val, and Bismarck had replied, "a la guerre comme a la guerre," adding, "The German Government will hold itself responsible for private losses, with the exception of those which are consequences of a state of war ...

there is always a certain amount of unavoidable destruction."

"Unavoidable destruction!" cried Henry; "this can cover a mult.i.tude of sins."

"The exigencies of war, if you like that better," rejoined Bismarck.

Paul Hatzfeldt wrote to Helen last September that the King of Prussia had promised to put Pet.i.t Val under special protection. He even wished to go there himself; but Paul thought Pet.i.t Val looked so spoiled that he was glad the King did not go. If it was spoiled in September last, imagine what it must have been six months later, with six months of soldiers to spoil it!

When we arrived at the chateau itself the officers, who had evidently just been lunching, came out to meet us, wondering, apparently, who this courageous lady (poor trembling me!) could possibly be. Henry knew their names, and presented them all to me; they clanked their heels together and made the most perfect of military salutes.

The commanding officer in charge of Pet.i.t Val is Count Arco, a major of a Bavarian regiment. I hastened to explain my presence among them, saying that I wished to collect the various things I had left in the chateau when I went away last August, and I had taken advantage of the first occasion which offered itself of coming here.

Count Arco held a short conversation with Henry, who told him I would like to go to my apartment. "Do not trouble to have anything disarranged for me," I said, "as I shall only be here for a short time. My mother-in-law is driving out later in the afternoon to take me back to Paris."

While we were talking Count Arco informed me that there were twenty six officers in the chateau itself and one hundred and twenty soldiers quartered round in the different pavilions, farm-houses, _ateliers_, and --I think he said--about fifty in the _orangerie_.

Presently an orderly appeared and conducted me to my rooms, which had evidently been hurriedly evacuated, but they looked quite nice and clean.

I was agreeably surprised to find my writing-desk and commodes pretty nearly as I remembered to have left them. At any rate, letters, trinkets, and so forth seemed undisturbed. I wish I could say the same for my wearing apparel, which had considerably diminished since my departure.

Waists without their skirts, and skirts without their waists, and I found various female articles unknown to me; but never mind! _Honi soit qui mal y pense!_

It was said in France that no German could resist a clock, and that the dearth of clocks after the war is quite noticeable. To prove the contrary, and to applaud the officers who had lived in Pet.i.t Val (and there had been many hundreds of them), my clock was ticking away as of old on my mantelpiece.

Having finished packing the things to take with me, I wished to have a look at _protected_ Pet.i.t Val.

The "unavoidable destruction" had been interpreted in a very liberal sense.

The salon was a sight never to be forgotten. The mirrors which paneled the whole of the east wall were broken, as if stones had been thrown at them; every picture had been pierced by bayonets. The beautiful portrait of the Marquis de Marigny (the former owner of Pet.i.t Val and brother of Madame de Pompadour) had vanished. Instead of the Aubusson furniture we had left, which, I suppose, has been transferred to other homes, I found two pianos, one grand (not ours), two billiard-tables (not ours), some iron tables, and some very hard iron chairs (certainly not ours), annexed, I should say, from a neighboring cafe.

The library, formerly containing such rare and valuable books, is now a bedroom--the shelves half empty, the books scattered about, some of them piled up in a corner and used as a table. Henry said that, when any one wanted to light a fire or a pipe, they simply tore a page out of a book.

What did they care? Was it not one of the "exigencies of war"? The frames and gla.s.ses of the engravings were broken; but, fortunately, all the engravings were not ruined.

You remember Mrs. Moulton's boudoir, where all was so dainty and complete?

The soldiers had converted it into a kitchen, and at the moment we were there they were cooking some very smelly cabbage _a la tedesco_.

My pretty pavilion! If you could have seen it!

Evidently the all-powerful flag had not protected this, for it was without doors, windows, and parquets. The only thing in it was a dear little calf munching his last meal before being killed. To make it look more like a slaughter-house, there were haunches of beef hanging on the Louis XV.

appliques, which had been left on the walls to serve as nails. Fresh blood was dropping from them on the sacks of potatoes underneath.

The officers had coffee served under the _charmille_.

I was glad to get something to sustain my sinking heart. Henry and I took a sad walk through the park. The once beautifully kept lawn is now like a ploughed field, full of ruts and stones.

The lake was s.h.i.+ning in the sun, but on it there were no boats. The grotto over which used to trickle a little waterfall was completely dry, showing the ugly stucco false rocks. It seemed dismal and forlorn. I wondered how I ever could have thought it beautiful! The _riviere_ was without its pretty rustic bridge; the picturesque pavilions were filled with soldiers; some were sitting on the porches mending their clothes.

Five o'clock came before we realized how late it was. We expected the carriage every moment; but there was no sign of it, though we scanned the length of the long avenue with the Count's field-gla.s.ses.