Wednesday, 14 July 1880

Anniversary of the storming of the Bastille. Review, distribution of flags, illuminations, celebrations, balls at every crossroads.
Paris has a stamp of naivete that is entirely new and charming.
We take Saint-Amand to see the return of the review and stroll along the boulevards until six o'clock. At six, carriages no longer circulate. There was little crying of "Long live the Republic!" as the government passed. Only Gambetta was cheered. He was in a coupe with Joseph. The passing of the generals makes a sensation; Galliffet is superb. I have never seen a finer soldier on horseback; he is simply heroic. The white hair, that black moustache, that ruddy complexion, and that devil-may-care air --- there is something quite young and ravishing in his face.
At six o'clock, general rendezvous at our house: Mme de Quincy, Gaillard, Julian, my aunt, and myself. Soutzo sends a telegram to my aunt to excuse himself: obliged to spend the entire day with his family, would come to make his farewells tomorrow. I send him the following reply: "Stay with your family then and do not come to make your farewells; I make mine and my aunt's." But he is to be found neither at his home nor at Werbranck's. He is hiding in Paris from someone or something.
So at six o'clock, we take the circular railway at the Porte Maillot. I dressed in a pink dress costing 25 francs at the Printemps department store.
Note that we are going to see the illuminations and the riots in Belleville. We talk and laugh so much that we miss the station and change trains three times. What was alarming was that these neighborhoods seemed deserted. Finally we disembark in utter wilderness; it is eight o'clock and we are beginning to be hungry. Gaillard speaks of dining at Lac Saint-Fargeau --- delightful shade, a lake, good cooking, etc., etc. Agreed. We set off in search of it and enter a delightful park, the Buttes-Chaumont. We are atrociously hungry, but we console ourselves by finding the landscape superb, especially a certain pavilion that looks like a temple. Julian accosts nearly every passerby and inquires about the restaurant, which we are directed to from all sides. Finally, after walking and admiring the park to console ourselves, we glimpse a lake and an illuminated restaurant. It is superb; we rush forward; but after ten minutes of walking, we find a barrier. We must go back and take another way. It was distressing; the future Mme Gaillard was dying of hunger. And each time we predicted, for a joke, some misadventure, it happened. The lake was not Saint-Fargeau, and the restaurant was a simple cafe where there was nothing to eat.
"Go down to La Villette," said one.
"If you want to eat something good!" said a drunken citizen, "go in there," and he pointed to a low tavern.
O joy! A cab passes, but refuses to take us, and it is only after lively insistence and supplications that he consents. We pile in, all five of us, and set off for Lac Saint-Fargeau. I shall not describe this journey of a full hour through heaps of small, rather empty streets. We arrive; Lac Saint-Fargeau is not a lake but a dreadful puddle of water. It is half past nine; but scarcely are we seated when it rains. We move to a vast conference hall. I climb on a chair: "Gentlemen! I am an Opportunist above all; now, since at this hour it is opportune to eat, I propose we sit down to table again!"
As soon as I am a little recovered, I begin to speak to Julian about Amelie. Around ten o'clock, we think of the fireworks we were to see from the top of the Buttes-Chaumont. At the door of the restaurant we find our angelic coachman again. He is a little tipsy but shows ambassadorial skill in the difficult passages; indeed, cries of "Down with carriages!" are heard, but we reply with "Long live the Republic!"
I believe that at this hour there was not much more than one carriage in the streets; our cab made me think of the one in Madame Bovary (by Flaubert).
Finally we are stopped by sergeants who, after much negotiation, force us to get out, and at last we traverse Belleville on foot after turning back toward La Villette to return to Paris by railway, and ten other things.
A fine journey! Mme de Quincy with her high heels was exhausted after twenty minutes; I felt no more fatigue than if I were at home. We were talking with Julian about Amelie and Cassagnac. What strikes one is the calm that reigns everywhere. One would almost say sadness. Not a noisy drunkard, and such decorum and politeness.
We expected to see savages and we find shepherds dancing to the sound of rustic pipes.
At the Quai de Valmy we must stop at a cafe because of Mme de Quincy, again at the Place de la Republique, and finally at a cafe on the boulevard. Gaillard and Julian commandeer a private carriage, and in the pouring rain we return, leaving Mme de Quincy, who was weeping from exhaustion, at her home. At half past one, Julian brings us back to ours.