Reminiscences of Peace and War. Sara Agnes Rice Pryor
his shoulders and said, 'Mais, Monsieur! they are Americans!' as if that explained everything. However, he informed me that they had left the hotel that morning.
"A few days later I was sitting in my room at the legation, when I received a visitor — a slender female closely veiled, who said in a troubled whisper that she had come to claim protection of the French government. I told her I could not confer with her while she was disguised, and she slowly raised her hand and held her veil aside. I never saw a lovelier face.
"She could not have been older than eighteen years. Her features were delicate, her eyes large and expressive, her brow shaded by golden-brown hair. She was deathly white. I never saw such pallor. 'What can I do for you, my child?' I asked. Well, it was a sad story. Married to a dissipated young fellow, away on her wedding journey; threatened, and in terror of losing her life. She wished the protection of the police. She said she should never have had the courage to ask it alone, but that she knew I had slept near her at the Maison Dorée. I had heard! I could understand. I was the American Minister, and I could help.
"'But think,' I said, 'I heard nothing but harsh language. We cannot go with this to the préfet. He will not consider it cause for action against your husband.'
"The girl hesitated. Finally, with a burst of tears, she unfastened her gown at the throat, turned it down, and disclosed the dark print of fingers on the delicate skin.
"It was enough. She had been choked into silence — this frail American girl — on the night when I heard the smothered sob.
"Of course you may imagine my zeal in her behalf. I had daughters of my own. I arranged to accompany the young wife at once to the office of the préfet, and having ascertained the address of her bankers I resolved to make arrangements to get her out of Paris in case she felt her life to be in danger.
"Well, I waited long at the office of the préfet. Finally our turn came. I rose and made my statement. Imagine my feelings when my fair client threw back her veil, and with a surprised look said:
"'I think the American Minister has been dreaming!'
"I felt as if a tub of ice-water had been poured over me. Of course my position was perfectly ridiculous. Before I could recover she had slipped through the crowd and was gone. While we waited she had changed her mind!"
"The wretch!" exclaimed one of the listeners. "That just proves that women are always attracted by brutality."
"Really?" said Mr. Mason.
"Not exactly, perhaps, but there was once an English countess who explained a divorce suit of one of her relatives thus: —
"'You see, Ermentrude was one of those women who needed kicking down the stairs, and Ferdinand was gentle; he was not up to it!'"
An agreeable function, no longer in vogue in this country, was the evening party. Lady Napier gave one of these parties to present her friends to Edward Everett.
These parties were arranged that pleasant people might meet distinguished strangers and each other. As this was the prime object of these occasions, there were no blatant bands to make conversation impossible, but there was no lack of delightful music. Miss Nerissa Saunders played exquisitely upon the harp; Mrs. Gales's niece, Juliana May, sang divinely; many young ladies had cultivated voices. Nobody thought of hiring entertainment for guests. The guests were bright talkers and could entertain each other. If a ball room were attached to the salon, dancing was expected; but the parlors were distant and people could talk! Of course it is always stupid to collect a lot of dull people together, but the wives of the brilliant men of Mr. Buchanan's administration understood entertaining. There were always gifted conversationalists present who liked talking better than eating, with cleverness enough to draw out, and not forestall, the wit of others. This art could not be claimed by the great talkers of old English society, Johnson, Macaulay, Coleridge, De Quincey, and the rest. We should not now, I am sure, care much for these monopolists. Sheridan, for instance, must have been rather a quenching element at an evening party; for in addition to his own witty creations, he had a trick of preserving the bon mots of others, leading conversation into channels where they would fit in, and using them accordingly. Thus in talking with Sheridan his friends had a dozen wits to cope with withal.
Our Washington hostesses always gave a supper — not a fine supper — a good supper, where the old family receipt book had been consulted, especially if our hostess had come from Kentucky, Maryland, or Virginia. The canvasback ducks, terrapin, and oysters were unlike Gautier's. We all know that rubies are now less rare in this country than good cooks. We may essay the triumphs of the old Washington of the fifties, but beneath our own fig tree they become failures and shabby makeshifts. There are mysteries in cooking unattainable to any but the elect — and of the elect were the sable priestesses of the Washington kitchens.
1. New York Herald, February 7, 1904.
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