Our
horse was noted for the springhalt. It is well to have something to
attract attention about one, you know.
Sabbath, June 19. After breakfast went with Miss W. to the temple St.
Marie, to hear Adolphe Monod. Was able to understand him very well.
Gained a new idea of the capabilities of the French language as the
vehicle of religious thought and experience. I had thought that it was
a language incapable of being made to express the Hebrew mind and
feeling of Scripture. I think differently. The language of Canaan can
make its way through all languages, and in the French it has a pathos,
point, and simplicity which are wonderful. There were thoughts in the
sermon which I shall never forget. I feel myself highly rewarded for
going.
The congregation was as large as the church could possibly hold, and
composed of very interesting and intelligent-looking people. His
subject was, "If any man lack wisdom, let him ask of God, who giveth
willingly, and without upbraiding," &c. It was most touchingly adapted
to the wants of the unhappy French, and of all poor sinners; and it
came home to me in particular, as if it had been addressed to me
singly, so that I could not help crying.
The afternoon and evening spent at home, reading. H. went in the
morning with Madame de T. to the Catholic service, at the church St.
Germaine l'Auxerrois, and her companion pointed out the different
parts of the service.
H. said she was moved with compassion towards these multitudes, who
seem so very earnest and solemn. Their prayer books contain much that
is excellent, if it was not mixed with so much that is idolatrous.
Monday, June 20. Went to have our passport _vised_. The sky was
black, and the rain pouring in torrents. As I reached the quay the
Seine was rushing dark, and turbidly foaming. I crept into a fiacre,
and was amused, as we rattled on, to see the plight of gay and
glittering Paris. One poor organ grinder, on the Pont National, sat
with his umbrella over his head, and his body behind the parapet,
grinding away, in the howling storm. It was the best use for a hand
organ I ever saw. The gardens of the Tuileries presented a sorry
sight. The sentries slunk within their boxes. The chairs were stacked
and laid on their sides. The paths were flooded; and the classic
statues looked as though they had a dismal time of it, in the general
shower bath.
My passport went through the office of the American embassy,
prefecture of the police, and the _bureau des affaires etrangeres_,
and the Swiss legation, and we were all right for the frontier.
Our fair hostesses are all Alpine mountaineers, posted up in mountain
lore.
