Instead Of Trying To Defeat Her Purpose, And Force Her
Into Publicity, The Few Who Know Of Her Presence Seem To Try To Help
Her Carry It Out, And See How Much They Can Do For Her, Consistently
Therewith.
Tuesday, June 14.
To-day we dined at six P. M., and read till nine.
Then drove to an evening _salon_ - quite an early little party at
Mrs. Putnam's. Saw there Peter Parley and La Rochejaquelin, the only
one of the old nobility that joined Louis Napoleon. Peter Parley is
consul no longer, it seems. We discussed the empire a very little. "To
be, or not to be, that is the question." Opinions are various as the
circles. Every circle draws into itself items of information, that
tend to indicate what it wishes to be about to happen. Still, Peter
Parley and I, and some other equally cautious people, think that
_this_ cannot always last. By _this_, of course, we mean
this "thing" - this empire, so called. Sooner or later it must end in
revolution; and then what? Said a gentleman the other day, "Nothing
holds him up but fear of the RED." [Footnote: That is, fear of the Red
Republicans.]
After chatting a while, Weston and I slipped out, and drove to the
Jardin Mabille, a garden in the Champs Elysees, whither thousands go
every night. We entered by an avenue of poplars and other trees and
shrubs, so illuminated by jets of gas sprinkled amongst the foliage as
to give it the effect of enchantment.
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