Ah, me! I was both complimented and proud. But my humiliation soon
came. When I called to thank the kind donor and speak of the fine
frame the mountain big-horn was now in, I was surprised to have Mr.
Bierstadt present to me a tall, distinguished-looking foreigner as
Munkacsy, the well-known Hungarian artist. He was most cordial, saying
in French that he was glad to meet an American woman who could
doubtless answer many questions he was anxious to ask. I could only
partially get his meaning, so Bierstadt translated it to me. And I,
who could read and translate French easily, had never found time to
learn to chat freely in any language but my own. I could have cried
right there; it was so mortifying, and I was losing such a pleasure. I
had the same pathetic experience with a Russian artist, Verestchagin,
whose immense picture, revealing the horrors of war, was then on
exhibition in New York.

Again and again I have felt like a dummy, if not an idiot, in such a
position. I therefore beg all young persons to determine to speak and
write at least one language beside their own.

Tom Hood wrote:

"Never go to France
Unless you know the lingo
If you do, like me,
You'll repent by jingo."

But it's even worse to be unable in your own country to greet and talk
with guests from other countries.