Chapter 30

THE FIRST OFFICIAL DINNER.

December 24, 1848.

Louis Bonaparte gave his first dinner last evening, Saturday
the 23rd, two days after his elevation to the Presidency
of the Republic.

The Chamber had adjourned for the Christmas holidays.
I was at home in my new lodging in the Rue de la Tour
d'Auvergne, occupied with I know not what bagatelles,
~totus in illis~, when a letter addressed to me and brought
by a dragoon was handed to me. I opened the envelope,
and this is what I read:

The orderly officer on duty has the honour to inform Monsieur the
General Changarnier that he is invited to dinner at the Elysee-National
on Saturday, at 7 o'clock.

I wrote below it: "Delivered by mistake to M. Victor
Hugo," and sent the letter back by the dragoon who had
brought it. An hour later came another letter from M.
de Persigny, Prince Louis's former companion in plots,
to-day his private secretary. This letter contained profuse
apologies for the error committed and advised me that I
was among those invited. My letter had been addressed by
mistake to M. Conti, the Representative from Corsica.

At the head of M. de Persigny's letter, written with a
pen, were the words: "Household of the President."

I remarked that the form of these invitations was exactly
similar to the form employed by King Louis Philippe. As
I did not wish to do anything that might resemble
intentional coldness, I dressed; it was half past 6, and
I set out immediately for the Elysee.

Half past 7 struck as I arrived there.

As I passed I glanced at the sinister portal of the Praslin
mansion adjoining the Elysee. The large green carriage
entrance, enframed between two Doric pillars of the time
of the Empire, was closed, gloomy, and vaguely outlined
by the light of a street lamp. One of the double doors of
the entrance to the Elysee was closed; two soldiers of the
line were on guard. The court-yard was scarcely lighted,
and a mason in his working clothes with a ladder on his
shoulder was crossing it; nearly all the windows of the
outhouses on the right had been broken, and were mended
with paper. I entered by the door on the perron. Three
servants in black coats received me; one opened the door,
another took my mantle, the third said: "Monsieur, on
the first floor!" I ascended the grand staircase. There
were a carpet and flowers on it, but that chilly and
unsettled air about it peculiar to places into which one is
moving.

On the first floor an usher asked:

"Monsieur has come to dinner?"

"Yes," I said. "Are they at table?"

"Yes, Monsieur."

"In that case, I am