Lippincott'S Magazine Of Popular Literature And Science, Volume 26 December, 1880. by Various None (have you read this book txt) 📖

Happened To Us. There Was Nobody To Take The Letter: I Said

I Would Put It In The Box In The Rue Ponthieu."

 

"And Did You Post It?"

 

"No: I Could Not Get To The Rue Ponthieu. They Were Firing Down The

Street,  And Now I Dare Not."

 

"Trust It To Me,  Miss Leare,  And Promise Me To Send For Me If You Have

Any More Such Errands. You Must Never Run Such Risks Again."

Volume 26 Title 1 (Lippincott'S Magazine Of Popular Literature And Science) Pg 59

"I Have To Be The Man Of The Family," She Answered,  Almost With An

Apologetic Air.

 

"Do Not Say That Again. I Shall Come Over Three Times A Day While This

Thing Lasts To See If You Have Any Commissions."

 

She Smiled And Pressed My Hand As She Turned Into Her Own Porte-Cochere.

Frightened Servants And Their Friends Were In The Porter'S Lodge,  Who

Gazed After Her With Exclamations As She Went Up The Common Stair.

 

The Remainder Of That Day Passed With Very Little Fighting. Up To That

Time It Had Been A Riot Apropos Of A Change Of Ministry,  But In The

Night The Secret Societies Met And Flung Aside The Previous Question.

 

When We Awoke On Wednesday Morning,  February 23D,  We Were Struck By The

Strange Quiet Of The Streets. No Provisions Entered Paris Through The

Barrier,  No Vehicles Nor Venders Of Small Wares. The Absolute Silence,

Save When "Mourir Pour La Patrie" Sounded Hoarsely In The Distance,  Was

As Strange As It Was Unexpected. I Had Always Connected An Insurrection

With Noise. It Was Rumored That Guizot The Unpopular Had Been Dismissed,

And That Count Mole,  A Man Of Half Measures,  Had Been Called To The

King'S Councils. The Affair Looked To Me As If It Were Going To Die Out

For Want Of Fuel. But I Was Mistaken: The Blouses,  Who Had Not Had One

Gun To A Hundred The Day Before,  Had Been All Night Arming Themselves By

Domiciliary Requisitions. The National Guard Was Not Believed To Be

Firm.

 

The Night Before,  An Hour After I Had Parted With Miss Hermione,  I Had

Made An Attempt To See Her And Mrs. Leare,  Without Any Success. Not Even

Bribery Would Induce The Concierge To Let Me In. His Orders Were

Peremptory: "_Pas Un Seul,  Monsieur,  Personne_"--Madame Received Nobody.

 

Early On Wednesday Morning I Again Presented Myself: The Ladies Were Not

Visible. Later In The Day I Called Again,  And Was Again Refused. But

Several Times Amy Had Seen Hermione At A Window,  And They Had Made Signs

Across The Street To One Another. I Began To Understand That Mrs. Leare

Was Overwhelmed By The Responsibility She Had Incurred In Opening Her

Salon To Men Whom She Now Perceived To Have Been Conspirators,  And That

She Was Obstinately Determined Not To Compromise Herself Further By

Giving Admittance To Any One.

 

Our Bonne Had Been Able To Ascertain From The Concierge Of The Leare

House That Madame Was Hysterical,  And Could Hardly Be Controlled By

Mademoiselle.

 

I Was In The Streets Till Five O'Clock On Wednesday,  When,  Concluding

All Was Over,  I Came Home,  Intending To Make Another Effort To See The

Leares,  And If Possible To Take Miss Hermione,  With Ellen And Laetitia,

To View The Debris Of The Two Days' Fight--To Let Them Get Their First

Glimpse Of Real War In The Place De La Concorde,  Where A Regiment Was

Littering Down Its Horses For The Night,  And A Peep Into The Closed

Gardens Of The Tuileries.

 

When I Got Up To Our Rooms I Found My Sisters At A Window Overlooking

The Courtyard Of Mrs. Leare'S Hotel,  And They All Cried Out With One

Voice,  "Mrs. Leare'S Carriage Is Just Ready To Drive Away."

Volume 26 Title 1 (Lippincott'S Magazine Of Popular Literature And Science) Pg 60

I Looked. A Travelling-Equipage Stood In The Courtyard. On It The

Concierge Was Hoisting Trunks,  And Into It Was Being Heaped A

Promiscuous Variety Of Knick-Knackery And Wearing Apparel. A Country

Postilion--Who,  But For His Dirt,  Would Have Looked More Like A

Character In a Comedy Than A Real Live,  Serviceable Post-Boy--Was

Standing In carpet Slippers (Having Divested Himself Of His Boots Of

Office) Harnessing Three Undersized Gray Normandy Mares To An Elegant

Travelling-Carriage.

 

Hermione Herself,  Claribel Her Little Sister,  Mrs. Leare And The Old

Colored Nurse Got Quickly In. Mrs. Leare Was In Tears,  With Her Head

Muffled In a Yard Or Two Of Green _Barege_,  Then The Distinctive Mark Of

A Travelling American Woman. The Child'S-Nurse Had Long Gold Ear-Drops

And A Head-Dress Of Red Bandanna. There Was Not A Man Of Any Kind With

Them Except The Postilion. The Concierge Opened The Gates Of The

Courtyard.

 

"Stop! Stop!" I Cried,  And Rushed Down Our Own Staircase And Out Of Our

Front Door.

 

As I Ran Past Their Entrance A Woman Put A Paper Into My Hand. I Had No

Time To Glance At It,  For The Carriage Had Already Turned Into The Rue

Ponthieu. For Some Distance I Ran After It,  Encountering At Every Step

Excited Groups Of People,  Some Of Whom Seemed To Me In Search Of

Mischief,  While Some Had Apparently Come Out To Gather News. There Were

No Other Carriages In The Streets,  And That Alone Enabled Me To Track

The One I Was In chase Of,  For Everybody I Met Had Noticed Which Way It

Had Turned. It Wound Its Way Most Deviously Through By-Streets To Avoid

Those In Which Paving-Stones Had Been Torn Up Or Barricades Been Formed,

And The Postilion Made All Possible Speed,  Fearing The Carriage Might Be

Seized And Detached From His Horses. But The Day'S Work Was Finished And

The Disorders Of The Night Were Not Begun.

 

Forced At Last To Slacken My Speed And To Take Breath,  I Glanced At The

Paper That I Still Held In My Hand. It Contained A Few Words From

Hermione: "Thank You For All The Kindness You Have Tried To Show Us,

Dear Sir. My Mother Has Heard That All The English In Paris Are To Be

Massacred At Midnight By The Mob,  And Directs Me To Give You Notice,

Which Is The Reason I Address This Note To You And Not To Amy. Mamma Is

Afraid Of Being Mistaken For An Englishwoman. We Have Secured

Post-Horses And Are Setting Out For Argenteuil,  Where We Shall Take The

Railway. Again,  Thank You: Your Kindness Will Not Be Forgotten By H.

Leare."

 

This Note Reassured Me. I No Longer Endeavored To Overtake The Carriage,

But I Pushed My Way As Fast As Possible Beyond The Nearest Barrier. Once

Outside The Wall Of Paris,  I Was In The Banlieu,  That Zone Of Rascality

Whose Inhabitants Are All Suspected By The Police And Live Under The

Ban. Of Course On Such A Gala-Day Of Lawlessness This Hive Was All

Astir. At A Village I Passed Through I Tried To Hire A Conveyance To

Argenteuil. I Also Tried To Get Some Railway Information,  But Nobody

Could Tell Me Anything And All Were Ravenous For News. I Secured,

However,  Without Losing Too Much Time,  A Seat With A Stout Young

Country-Man Who Drove A Little Country Cart With A Powerful Gray Horse,

And Was Going In The Direction I Wanted To Travel.

 

"What Will Be The Result Of This Affair?" I Said To Him When He Had Got

Volume 26 Title 1 (Lippincott'S Magazine Of Popular Literature And Science) Pg 61

His Beast Into A Steady Trot.

 

He Shrugged His Shoulders. A French Workingman Has A Far Larger

Vocabulary At His Command Than The English Laborer. "Bon Dieu!" He

Exclaimed: "Who Knows What Will Come Of It? A Land Without A Master Is

No Civilized Land. We Shall Fall Back Into Barbarism. What There Is

Certain Is,  That We Shall All Be Ruined."

 

At Length,  To My Great Relief,  We Saw A Carriage Before Us; And We Drove

Into The Railway-Station At The Same Moment As The Leares.

 

Before The Ladies Could Alight I Was Beside The Window Of Their

Carriage.

 

"You Here,  Mr. Farquhar?" Cried Hermione. "How Good Of You! You Cannot

Guess The Relief. Help Me To Get Them Out,  These Helpless Ones."

 

We Lifted Mrs. Leare On To The Platform Of The Railway,  Weeping And

Trembling. The Old Colored Nurse Could Not Speak French,  And Seemed To

Think Her Only Duty Was To Hold The Hand Of Little Claribel And To Stand

Where Her Young Mistress Placed Her. All Looked To Hermione. She Carried

A Canvas Bag Of Five-Franc Pieces And Paid Right And Left. I Tried To

Interfere,  As She Was Giving The Postilion An Exorbitant Sum.

 

"No,  Hush!" She Whispered: "We Can Afford To Pay,  But In Our Situation

We Cannot Afford To Dispute."

 

She Then Deputed Me To See After The "Baggage," As She Called The

Luggage Of The Party,  And Went With Her Mother Into The Glass Cage That

The French Call A _Salle D'Attente_ At A Railway-Station.

 

We Had Come From The Seat Of War,  And Every One Crowded Around Us Asking

For News. I Had Little To Tell,  But Replied That I Believed The Affair

Was Nearly Over. I Did Not Foresee That Two Hours Later A Procession

Roaring "Mourir Pour La Patrie" Under The Windows Of The Hotel Des

Affaires Etrangeres Would Be Fired Into By Accident,  And That The

_Emeute_ Of February,  1848,  Would Be Converted Into A Revolution.

 

It Was Nine O'Clock In The Evening. The Lamps Were Lighted In The

Station. The Night Was Cloudy,  But Far Off On The Horizon We Could See A

Gleam Of Radiance,  Marking The Locality Of The Great City.

 

After An Hour Of Very Anxious Waiting,  During Which Mrs. Leare Was

Beside Herself With Nervous Agitation,  The Locked Doors Of Our Prison

Were Flung Open And We Were Permitted To Seat Ourselves In a

Railway-Carriage.

 

Hermione'S Tender Devotion To Her Mother,  The Old Servant And The Child

Was Beautiful To Witness. Now That Mrs. Leare Was Helpless On Her

Daughter'S Hands,  They Seemed To Have Found Their Natural Relations.

Hermione Said Few Words To Me,  But A Glance Now And Then Thanked Me For

Being With Them. The Train Started. For About Three Miles All Went On

Well,  Although We Travelled Cautiously,  Fearing Obstructions. Suddenly

The Speed Of Our Train Was Checked,  And There Was A Cry Of Consternation

As We Rounded A Sharp Curve. The Bridge Over The Seine At Its Third Bend

Was Ablaze Before Us!