In Madeira Place | Page 6

eagerness
while I practised my French upon him, explaining to his wondering
mind the relations of the States to each other and to the general
government, and the system of State and Federal courts. He was very
quick, and he took in the ingenious scheme with great facility. Then he
would tell me about the workings of government in the French villages
and departments; and as he read French papers, he had always
something in the way of news or explanation of recent events. I have
since come to believe that he was exceedingly well informed.
The most singular thing about him to me was how he could cherish on
the one hand such devotion as he plainly did, to France, and on the
other hand such a passionate attachment to the United States. In truth,
that double patriotism is one of the characteristic features of our
country.
I could lead him, in twenty minutes, through the whole gamut of
emotion, by talking about Auguste, and then of politics. It was
irresistible, the temptation to lead him out. A word about Auguste, and
he would wipe tears from his eyes. A mention of Gambetta, and the
bare idea filled him with enthusiasm; he was instantly, in imagination,
one of a surging crowd, throwing his hat in the air, or drawing
Gambetta's carriage through the streets of Paris. I had only to speak of
Alsace to bring him to a mood of sullen ugliness and hatred. He was, I
have no doubt, a pretty good-tempered man; he was certainly

warm-hearted; his apparent harshness to his balloon-venders was
probably nothing more than necessary parental severity, and he was
always ready to recognize their successes. But I have never seen a more
wicked and desperate expression than an allusion to Alsace called up in
his face and in his whole bearing. Sometimes he would laugh, when I
mentioned the severed province; but it was with a hard, metallic, cruel
laugh.' He felt the loss as he would have felt the loss of a limb. The first
time I brought up the topic, I saw the whole bitter story of the
dismembering of France.
There was another subject which called out that same bitter revengeful
look, and that cruel nasal laugh,--the royalist factions and the
Bonapartists. When we spoke of them, and I watched his face and
heard his soulless laughter, I saw the French Revolution.
But he could always be brought back to open childish delight and
warmth by a reference to the United States. Our government, in his
eyes, embodied all that was good. France was now a "république," to
be sure, and he rejoiced in the fact; but he plainly felt the power and
settled stability of our republic, and he seemed to have a filial devotion
toward it closely akin to his love for Auguste.
How fortunate we were! Here were no Légitimistes, no Orléanistes, no
Bonapartistes, for a perpetual menace! Here all citizens, however else
their views might differ, believed, at least, in the republic, and desired
to stay her hands. There were no factions here continually plotting in
the darkness. Here the machinery of government was all in view, and
open to discussion and improvement Ah, what a proud, happy country
is this!"Que c'est une république!"
I gathered enthusiasm myself from this stranger's ardor for the country
of his adoption. I think that I appreciated better, through him, the free
openness of our institutions. It is of great advantage to meet an intense
man, of associations different from your own, who, by his very
intensity and narrowness, instantly puts you at his standpoint. I viewed
the United States from the shores of a sister republic which has to
contend against strong and organized political forces not fully
recognized in the laws, working beneath the surface, which

nevertheless are facts.
One acquaintance leads to another. Through Sorel, whose house was
the final resort of Frenchmen in distress, and their asylum if they were
helpless, not only Fidèle, but a number of other Frenchmen of that
neighborhood, began to come to me with their small affairs. I was the
avocat who "speak French." I am afraid that they were surprised at my
"French" when they heard it.
There was a willow-worker from the Pas-de-Calais, a deformed man,
walking high and low, and always wanting to rise from his chair and
lay his hand upon my shoulder, as he talked, who came to consult me
about the recovery of a hundred francs which he had advanced at
Anvers to a Belgian tailor upon the pledge of a sewing-machine, on
consideration that the tailor, who was to come in a different steamer,
should take charge of the willow-worker's dog on the voyage: the
willow-worker had a wife and six children to look after. This