Chapter X: Part I: Italy in the Eighties (9)

We got back yesterday morning early. Hubert and the big mare were waiting for us, and we were whirled up to the house in a very un-Italian manner (for the horses in Italy are just as easy-going as the people and never hurry themselves nor display any undue energy). Francis and "nounou" were waiting at the door--he really quite excited and pleased to see us--and the sisters appeared about 11. We talked a little and they helped me unpack; and I went to see mother directly after breakfast and stayed there all the afternoon. This morning I am writing as usual at the window and hearing all the familiar Paris sounds. The goat-boy has just passed with his 6 goats and curious reed pipe, the marchande de cressons with her peculiar cry advertising her merchandise, and ending "pour la sante du corps" on a long shrill note--the man who sits on the pavement and mends china. He is just at our door, and has a collection of broken plates and cups around him. I suppose some are ours. The "light lady" next door is standing at her door in her riding habit, the skirt already very short and held well up over her arm displaying a fair amount of trousers and high boots. She is haranguing in very forcible language the groom who is cantering the horse up and down the street, and of course even in our quiet street there are always badauds who stop and ask questions, and hang around the porte-cocheres to see all that is going on. W. has just started on horseback and that is a most interesting moment for the street, for his big black "Paddy" has a most uncomfortable trick. From the moment he takes the bridle in his hand and prepares to mount, the horse snorts, and stamps and backs, making such a noise in the little court-yard you would think he was kicking everything to pieces. As soon as the big doors are opened and he can get out he is as quiet as a lamb.

It is a beautiful morning and Paris looks its best--all the horse-chestnuts in full bloom, the sky a bright blue, and quantities of equipages and riders streaming out to the Bois. I suppose I shall ride too in a day or so, and by the end of the week Italy will be a thing of the past, and I shall be leading my ordinary Paris life.

There was a procession of people here all the afternoon yesterday to see W., and now he is quite au courant of all that has taken place in his absence, and I think in his heart he is delighted to be back and in the thick of the fight again. He is going to the Senate this afternoon.

We had a most comfortable journey from Turin--a lit-salon to ourselves, the maid just behind us. All the first hours were charming as long as we could see as all the country about Turin is so lovely. We passed Moncalieri which stands high on the hills--a long low building, and one or two other fine old castles, all perched high on the slope of the mountains. I always sleep so well in a train that I was hardly awake when we passed at Modane, though I was dimly conscious of the stop, the lanterns flashing along the train and a great deal of conversation. Nobody disturbed us as we had given our "laissez-passer" to the garde, but I fancy we made a long halt there as the train was very crowded. We had our coffee at Dijon very early in the morning. It was quite pleasant to see the regular little French brioche again.

I went to tea with Mother and afterward we went for a turn in the Bois, which looked beautiful--so green--all the horse-chestnuts out (the road from Auteuil to Boulogne with the rows of red horse-chestnuts on each side quite enchanting); the hills, St. Cloud and Mont Valerien blue and standing out sharply against the sky, but I missed the delicious soft atmosphere of Italy and the haze that always hung around the hills and softened all the outlines. The Seine looked quite animated. There really were one or two small boats out, and near Puteaux (the club) some women rowing, and of course the little river steamers flying up and down, crowded.

We are dining with l'Oncle Alphonse who will give us all the news of the day, and the opinion of the "Union."