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diff --git a/40292-0.txt b/40292-0.txt index 2207955..594b9f0 100644 --- a/40292-0.txt +++ b/40292-0.txt @@ -1,28 +1,4 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Paris Vistas, by Helen Davenport Gibbons - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license - - -Title: Paris Vistas - -Author: Helen Davenport Gibbons - -Illustrator: Lester George Hornby - -Release Date: July 21, 2012 [EBook #40292] -[Last updated: August 17, 2012] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PARIS VISTAS *** - - - +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 40292 *** Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was @@ -9261,366 +9237,4 @@ the Théatre Français=>the Théâtre Français End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Paris Vistas, by Helen Davenport Gibbons -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PARIS VISTAS *** - -***** This file should be named 40292-0.txt or 40292-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/0/2/9/40292/ - -Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license - - -Title: Paris Vistas - -Author: Helen Davenport Gibbons - -Illustrator: Lester George Hornby - -Release Date: July 21, 2012 [EBook #40292] -[Last updated: August 17, 2012] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PARIS VISTAS *** - - - - -Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive) - - - - - - - - -PARIS -VISTAS - -HELEN DAVENPORT -GIBBONS - -[Illustration] - - - - -PARIS VISTAS - -[Illustration: The Invalides from Pont Alexandre III] - - - - -PARIS VISTAS - -BY - -HELEN DAVENPORT GIBBONS - -Author of "A Little Gray Home in France," -"Red Rugs of Tarsus," etc. - -WITH SIXTEEN ILLUSTRATIONS -BY - -LESTER GEORGE HORNBY - -[Illustration: colophon] - -NEW YORK -THE CENTURY CO. -1919 - -Copyright, 1919, by -THE CENTURY CO. - -_Published, December, 1919_ - - - - -TO -A CRITIC - -WHO LIVED MOST -OF THESE DAYS -WITH ME - - - - -FOREWORD - - -Webster defines a vista as "a view, especially a distant view, through -or between intervening objects." If I were literal-minded, I suppose I -should either abandon my title or make this book a series of -descriptions of Sacré Coeur, crowning Montmartre, as you see the -church from dark gray to ghostly white, according to the day, at the end -of apartment-house-lined streets from the _allée_ of the Observatoire, -from the Avenue Montaigne, from the rue de Solférino, and from the Rue -Taitbout. I ought to be writing about the vistas, than which no other -city possesses a more beautiful and varied array, that feature the Arc -de Triomphe, the Trocadéro, the Tour Eiffel, the Grande Roue, the -Invalides, the Palais Bourbon, the Madeleine, the Opéra, Saint-Augustin, -Val de Grâce and the Panthéon. - -But may not one's vistas be memories, with the years acting as -"intervening objects"? Has not distance as much to do with time as with -space? Vistas in words can no more convey the impression of things seen -than Lester Hornby's sketches. If you want a substitute for Baedeker, -please do not read this book! If you want a substitute for photographs, -you will be disappointed in Lester's sketches. - -The _monuments_ of Paris, ticketed by name and historical events to -tourists whose eyes have had hardly more time than the camera, known by -photographs to prospective tourists who dream of things as yet unseen, -are interwoven into the canvas of my life. The Gare Saint-Lazaire, for -instance, is the place where I was lost once as a kid, where I have had -to say goodbye to my husband starting on a long and perilous journey, -and over which I have seen a Zeppelin floating. Since Louis Philippe was -long before my time, the obelisk always has been in the Place de la -Concorde. And when you pass it, your eyes, meeting the Arc de Triomphe -at the end of the Champs-Elysées, the Carrousel at the end of the -Tuileries, the Madeleine at the end of the Rue Royale and the Palais -Bourbon at the end of the bridge, record vistas as natural, as familiar -as your mother's face in the doorway of the childhood home. Where else -could the Arc de Triomphe be? Of course it looks like that! - -I shall not attempt to apologize for the autobiography that comes to the -front in my Paris vistas. Perhaps my own insignificance and unimportance -and the lack of interest on the part of the public in what I do and -think--impressed upon me by more than one critic of earlier -volumes--should deter me from telling how I lived and brought up my -family in Paris. But it is the only way I can tell how I feel about -Paris. Whether the end justifies the means the reader must decide for -himself. - -H. D. G. - -_Paris, August, 1919._ - - - - -TABLE OF CONTENTS - - -(1887-1888) - -CHAPTER PAGE - -I CHILDHOOD VISTAS 3 - -(1899) - -II AT SIXTEEN 15 - -(1908) - -III A HONEYMOON PROMISE 31 - -(1909-1910) - -IV THE PROMISE FULFILLED 41 - -V THE PENSION IN THE RUE MADAME 51 - -VI LARES AND PENATES IN THE RUE SERVANDONI 63 - -VII GOLD IN THE CHIMNEY 76 - -VIII AT THE BIBLIOTHÈQUE NATIONALE 86 - -IX EMILIE IN MONOLOGUE 97 - -X HUNTING APACHES 104 - -XI DRIFTWOOD 112 - -XII SOME OF OUR GUESTS 119 - -XIII WALKS AT NIGHTFALL 132 - -XIV AFTER-DINNER COFFEE 142 - -XV REPOS HEBDOMADAIRE 148 - -XVI "MANY WATERS CANNOT QUENCH LOVE" 154 - -XVII REAL PARIS SHOWS 167 - -XVIII THE SPELL OF JUNE 181 - -(1913) - -XIX CHILDHOOD VISTAS FOR A NEW GENERATION 193 - -XX THE PROBLEM OF HOUSING 201 - -(1914) - -XXI "NACH PARIS!" 211 - -(1914-1916) - -XXII AT HOME IN THE WHIRLWIND 223 - -XXIII SAUVONS LES BÉBÉS 231 - -XXIV UNCOMFORTABLE NEUTRALITY 243 - -(1917) - -XXV HOW WE KEPT WARM 253 - -XXVI APRIL SIXTH 262 - -XXVII THE VANGUARD OF THE A. E. F. 269 - -(1918) - -XXVIII THE DARKEST DAYS 277 - -XXIX THE GOTHAS AND BIG BERTHA 294 - -XXX THE BIRD CHARMER OF THE TUILERIES 307 - -XXXI THE QUATORZE OF TESTING 313 - -XXXII THE LIBERATION OF LILLE 321 - -XXXIII ARMISTICE NIGHT 326 - -XXXIV ROYAL VISITORS 341 - -XXXV THE FIRST PEACE CHRISTMAS 348 - -(1919) - -XXXVI PLOTTING PEACE 361 - -XXXVII LA VIE CHÈRE 373 - -XXXVIII THE REVENGE OF VERSAILLES 378 - -XXXIX THE QUATORZE OF VICTORY 385 - - - - -LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS - - -The Invalides from Pont Alexandre III _Frontispiece_ - - FACING - PAGE - -The Madeleine Flower Market 16 - -Looking up the Avenue de l'Opéra 32 - -The Rue de Vaugirard by the Luxembourg 64 - -Château de la Reine Blanche: Rue des Gobelins 88 - -Where stood the walls of old Lutetia 120 - -The Panthéon from the Rue Soufflot 144 - -Hôtel de Ville from the Pont d'Arcole 168 - -Market day in the Rue de Seine 184 - -The first snow in the Luxembourg 224 - -A passage through the Louvre 256 - -In an Old Quarter 272 - -Saint-Germain l'Auxerrois 304 - -Old Paris is disappearing 320 - -The Grand Palais 336 - -Spire of the Saint-Chapelle from the Place Saint-Michel 368 - - - - -1887-1888 - - - - -PARIS VISTAS - - - - -CHAPTER I - -CHILDHOOD VISTAS - - -My Scotch-Irish grandfather was a Covenanter. He kept his whisky in a -high cupboard under lock and key. If any of his children were around -when he took his night-cap, he would admonish them against the use of -alcohol. When he read in the Bible about Babylon, he thought of Paris. -To Grandpa all "foreign places" were pretty bad. But Paris? His children -would never go there. The Scotch-Irish are awful about wills. But life -goes so by opposites that when my third baby, born in Paris a year -before the war, was christened in the Avenue de l'Alma Church, Grandpa -Brown's children and grandchildren and some of his great-grandchildren -were present. My bachelor uncle had been living in Paris most of the -time for thirty years. My mother, my brothers, and my sister were there. -We Browns had become Babylonians. We were no longer Covenanters. And we -had no high cupboard for the whisky. - -After Grandpa's death, the Philadelphia house was sublet for a year. In -the twilight we went through all the rooms to say good-by. Jocko, our -monkey-doll, was on the sitting-room floor. Papa picked him up and began -talking to him. Jocko tried to answer, but his voice was shaky, and he -hadn't much to say. Papa took a piece of string out of his desk drawer, -and tied it around Jocko's neck. He asked Jocko whether it was too -tight. The monkey answered, "No, sir." Jocko never forgot to say "sir." -We hung him on the shutter of a window in the west room where I learned -to watch the sunset. There we left him. What a parting if we had known -that the tenants' children were going to do for Jocko, and that we -should never see him again! It was bad enough as it was. It is hard for -me, even to-day, to believe that it was Papa and not Jocko who told us -stories about the fairies in Ireland. - -A carriage drove us to a place called Thelafayette-hotel. It was very -dark outside and we seemed to have been traveling all night. Papa -carried me upstairs to a room that had light green folding doors. My -little sister Emily was sound asleep and had to be put right to bed. -Papa sat me in a red arm-chair. Beside it were satchels and Papa's black -valise. Wide awake, I looked around and asked, "Is this Paris?" I did -not see why they had to laugh at me. - -A steward of my very own on the _Etruria_ told me that she was the -biggest transatlantic liner. People gave me chocolates until I was -sick. So Mama painted a picture of the poor little fishes that could get -no candy in mid-ocean. She made me feel so sorry that when I got more -chocolates I would slip to the railing and drop them overboard. Once, -before I had heard about the fishes, I was lying in my berth. After a -while I began to feel better and to wish that Papa and Mama had not left -me alone. My feelings were hurt because I had to stay all by myself. I -found my clothes and put on a good many of them. My steward came and was -surprised that I was not on deck. He brought me a wide, thin glass of -champagne. It was better than lemonade. The steward told me that by -staying in my cabin I had missed the chance to see the ship's garden. He -buttoned my dress and put on my coat. He found my bonnet. All the time -he was telling me how the ship's garden was hitched to the deck. He -carried me up those rubber-topped steps that smell so when your stomach -feels funny. He hurried all he could and got terribly out of breath. But -we did not reach the deck in time to see the garden. The steward said -that you had to get there just at a certain time to catch it. I wondered -how a ship could have a garden. He replied that he'd like to know where -a ship's cook would find vegetables and fruit, and how there were so -many freshly picked flowers on the dining-room table every day, if the -ship hadn't a garden. To prove it he brought me a plate of cool white -grapes--"picked before the garden went out of sight a few minutes ago," -he assured me. - -So the week at sea passed, and the next thing I remember is London. It -was not a pretty city. Too much rain and smoke that dirtied your frock -and pinafore. These funny names for my dress and apron, and calling a -clock Big Ben, and a queer way of speaking English, form my earliest -memories of London. No, I forgot sources of wonderment. The best orange -marmalade was bitter, and the tooth-powder was in a round tin hard to -open, that spilled and wasted a lot when you did succeed in prying the -lid off. - -And in Paris I found that my dress was a "robe" and my apron a -"tab-lee-ay." This was worse than "pinafore," but not so astonishing, -because one expected French words to be different. - -Which is the greater joy and satisfaction--always to have had a thing, -or, when you think of something in your life, to be able to remember how -and when it came into your possession? Paris is my home city in the -sense that I cannot remember first impressions of things in Paris. Of -events, yes, and sometimes connected with things, but of things -themselves, no. And I am glad of it. My husband did not see Paris until -he was twenty, and he learned to speak French by hard work. I have -always had a little feeling of superiority here, of belonging to Paris -as my children belong to Paris. But Herbert contests this point of -view. He claims that affection for what one adopts by an act of the -will is as strong as, if not stronger than, affection for what is yours -unwittingly. And he advances in refutation of what I say that he knew -Paris before he knew me! - -"_Cinquante-deux Rue Galilée._" I cannot remember learning to speak -French. That just came. But standing on a trunk in the corner of a -bedroom and repeating _Cinquante-deux Rue Galilée_ after Marie is just -as clear in my mind as if it were yesterday instead of thirty years ago. -It is a blank to me how and when we came to Paris and how and when we -got Marie Guyon for our nurse. I recall only learning the number and -street of our _pension_, and the impressiveness of Marie telling me how -little kids get lost in Paris and that in such a case I mustn't cry when -the blue-coated _agent_ came along, but simply say, "_Cinquante-deux Rue -Galilée_." - -Clear days were rare--days when it didn't look as if it were going to -rain. Then I would have my long walk with Papa, who didn't stay like -Marie on the Champs-Elysées or in the Tuileries, but who would take me -(Emily was too little) where there were crowds. We would climb to the -roof of the omnibus at the Madeleine and ride to the Place de la -République. Then we would walk back along the Grands Boulevards. Down -that way is a big clothing-store with sample suits on wooden models out -on the side-walk. One day Papa bumped into a dummy wearing a -dress-suit. Papa took off his hat, bowed, and said "_Pardon_." I thought -Papa believed it was a real man. So I told him that he had made a -mistake. But Papa replied that one never makes a mistake in being -polite. I used to dance with glee when we came to the Porte Saint-Denis. -For there, at the place the boulevard now cuts straight through a hill -leaving the houses high above the pavement, the pastry and _brioche_ and -waffle stands were sure of my patronage. Papa may not have had regard -for my digestion, but he always considered my feelings. I used to pity -other little children who were dragged remorselessly past the potent -appeal to eye and nose. The pastry places are still there on that -corner. And a new generation of kiddies passes, tugging, remonstrating, -sometimes crying. As for me, I beg the question. I walk my children on -the other side of the street. - -One afternoon Marie took us to buy Papa's newspaper. When we got to the -front door, it was raining. So Marie left us in the _bureau_ and told us -to wait until she returned. But the _valet de chambre_ came along with -his wood-basket empty. He always boasted he could carry any basket of -wood, no matter how high they piled it. So we asked if he could carry -us. Immediately he made us jump in, and told us we must pretend to be -good little kittens, and little kittens were never good unless they were -quiet, and they were never quiet unless they were asleep. When we got -to our room, we could look right in at Papa and Mama through the -transom. We reached out and knocked. The sound came from so high up that -Papa looked curiously at the door. When he opened it we ducked down into -the basket, and were not seen until the valet dumped us out on the bed. - -My first memory of a negro was in Paris. Probably they were common -enough in Philadelphia not to have made an impression and I had -forgotten that there were black men. I was paralyzed with fear, thinking -I saw Croqueminot _en chair et en os_. Marie saved me by teaching me on -the spot to stick out my index and little fingers, doubling over the two -between. This charm against evil helped and comforted me greatly. I -found it useful later when I saw suspicious-looking beggars in Rome. -Only, although the gesture was the same, it was _jettatura_ and not -_faire les cornes_ in Italy, and the charm was more efficacious if -concealed. I was glad my dress had a pocket. - -Mama and Marie took us to the Louvre. I was filled with anticipation. -For had I not heard some one say at our _pension_ that she had bought -things there for a song? Why spend Papa's money if just a song would do? -I could sing. Marie had taught me a pretty song about "La Fauvette." I -was willing to sing if I could get a doll's trunk. I'd sing two or three -songs for a pair of gloves with white fur on them. But when I sang "La -Fauvette" they only smiled at me. I asked the saleslady to take me to -the toy counter, as I could sing again for things I wanted. I had to -explain a whole lot to Mama and Marie and the saleslady. I suppose I -cried with disappointment. Then a man in black with a white tie came -along and heard the story. He gave me a red balloon and Mama consoled me -by buying me a blue velvet dress. - -A few months before the war I was walking in the Rue Saint-Honoré with -an old American friend who was doing Paris. He was brimming over with -French history. Your part was to mention the name of the place you -showed him. He would do the rest with enthusiasm and a wealth of detail. - -"What is that church?" he asked. - -"Saint-Roch," I answered. - -"Saint-Roch! Saint-Roch! Saint-Roch!" he cried in crescendo. "Of course, -OF COURSE, because this is the Rue Saint-Honoré. The Rue Saint-Honoré!" -Beside himself with excitement, he rushed across the street, and up on -the steps. I followed, mystified. My friend was waving his cane when I -reached his side. "It was here," he announced, as if he had made a -wonderful discovery, "right on this spot." - -"In Heaven's name what?" I queried. - -"The beginning of the most glorious epoch of French history, the birth -of the Napoleonic era." - -And then he told me the story of how young Bonaparte, called upon to -prevent a mob from rushing the Tuileries, put his guns on the steps of -Saint-Roch, swept the street in both directions, and demonstrated that -he was the first man since '89 who could dominate a Parisian crowd. "You -wouldn't have thought there was anything interesting about this old -church, would you?" he ended triumphantly. - -My eyes filled with tears, and my lips trembled. It was his turn to be -mystified, and mine to lead. I took him inside the church, and back to -the chapel of Saint Joseph. "Here," I said, "on Christmas Eve I came -with my father when I was five years old. It was the first time I -remember seeing the Nativity pictured. Good old Joseph looked down on -the interior of the inn. The three wise men were there with the gifts. -Le petit Jésus was in a real cradle, and I counted the jewels around the -Mother's neck. My father tried to explain to me what Christmas means. He -died when I was a little girl. I brought my firstborn here on Christmas -Eve and the others as they came along. I never knew about Napoleon's -connection with Saint-Roch before. And you asked me whether I would have -thought there was anything interesting about this old church!" - -The same place can mean so many different things to so many different -people. Paris was Babylon to my grandfather who never went there. And to -those who go there Paris gives what they seek, historical -reminiscences, esthetic pleasure, intellectual profit, inspiration to -paint or sing or play, a surfeit of the mundane, a diminution or an -increase of the sense of nationality, pretty clothes and hats and -perfumes, "rattling" good food and drink or a "howling" good time. You -can be bored in Paris just as quickly and as completely as in any other -place in the world. You can fill your life full of interesting and -engrossing pursuits more quickly and completely than in any other place -in the world. Best of all you make your home in Paris, with no sense of -exile, and enjoy what Paris alone offers in material and spiritual -values without being abnormal or living abnormally. - -My childhood vistas seem fragmentary when I put them down on paper. But -they have meant so much to me that I could choose for my children no -greater blessing than to know Paris as home at the beginning of their -lives. - - - - -1899 - - - - -CHAPTER II - -AT SIXTEEN - - -The family was abroad for the summer, one of those delightful May-first -to October thirty-first summers when school is missed at both ends. The -itinerary was supposed to be planned by letting each member drop into a -hat slips of paper indicating preferences. Mother was astonishingly good -about considering the wishes of all. But as the trip was undertaken for -education as well as vacation, the head of the family did not intend to -make it aimless rambling. Although, to get full benefit of the -strawberry season, we took our cathedrals from south to north in -England, none were omitted. By the time we reached Edinburg, Roman, -Saxon, Early Norman and Gothic were as mixed up in the head of the -sixteen-year-old member of the party as they were in the buildings -inspected. "Inspected"--just the word for an educational tour! Later -visits to East Coast cathedrals have not conquered the instinctive -desire to avoid going inside. Impressions of places were vivid enough. -But I fear Canterbury meant London the next stop; Ely a place near -Cambridge; Peterborough the view from the top of the tower; Lincoln -tea-cakes that crumbled in one's mouth; York a mean photographer who -never sent me films I left to be developed; and Durham a batch of -long-delayed letters from boys at home. - -At sixteen strawberries do not satisfy hunger: cathedrals do not feed -the soul. - -No, cathedrals and history and the origin of the political institutions -under which I lived interested me very mildly. At sixteen one is too -young to have love affairs that interfere with the appetite, and too -sophisticated to cling to the dream of a cloistered convent life that -followed giving up the hope of being a chorus-girl. The mental effort of -preparing for college (which the tour abroad was to stimulate) could not -claim me to the exclusion of clothes and an engrossing interest in the -doings of the group of boys and girls who formed my "crowd." The trip -abroad was going to give me something to talk about at dinner-parties -and the advantage of wearing clothes bought in Paris. One never looks -forward to the coming winter with as keen anticipation as during the -sixteen-year-old summer. Hair would be put up, and dances and dinners -were a certainty for every Friday and Saturday evening. - -[Illustration: The Madeleine Flower Market] - -If you believe in the value of first impressions and are in a mood to -love Paris, plan your introduction to the queen of the world for an -evening in June. Do not worry about your baggage. Send a porter from -the hotel afterwards for your trunks. Find a _fiacre_ if you can. An -_auto-taxi_ is second-best, but be sure that the top is off. _Baisser la -capote_ is a simple matter, done in the twinkling of an eye. Of course -the _chauffeur_ will scold. But handling _cochers_ and _chauffeurs_ in -Paris requires the instinct of a lion-tamer. If you let the animal get -the better of you, you are gone. You will never enjoy Paris. Mastery of -Parisian drivers, hippomobile and automobile, does not require a -knowledge of French. Your man will understand "put down the top" -accompanied by the proper gesture. Whether he puts it down depends upon -your iron will and not upon your French! - -Best of all stations for the first entry to Paris is the Gare de Lyon. -But that good fortune is yours only if you are coming from Italy or -Spain or if you have landed at Marseilles. The Dover and Boulogne routes -bring you to the Gare du Nord and the Dieppe and Havre and Cherbourg -routes to the Gare Saint-Lazare. In any case, ask to be driven first to -the Pont-Neuf, then along the _quais_ of the Rive Gauche to the -Pont-Alexandre Trois, then to the Avenue des Champs-Elysées. Only when -you have gone over this itinerary and have passed between the Grand -Palais and the Petit Palais are you ready to be driven to your hotel. It -is the difference between seeing a girl first at a dance or a -garden-party or running into her by accident in her mother's kitchen -when the cook is on a strike. - -How often, in the decades that have passed since June, 1899, have I -wished that the return to Paris had included this program, not only -initially but for every June and July evening of our weeks there. But it -did not. The passionate love of Paris, my home city, that was born in me -as a child, that was re-awakened and deepened in maturity, did not -manifest itself when I was a school-girl as it should have done. The -change from regular lessons to the governess-controlled days of -sightseeing was not as amusing at the time as it seems in retrospect. -Madame Raymond and I were not made for each other. It wasn't -incorrigibility on my part or severity in a nasty way on hers. We just -pulled in different directions, and shocked each other. It began on the -first day. She found that I spoke French well enough not to call for the -usual effort she had to make with American girls and that I did not need -to be told the names of _monuments_ and _jardins_ and _avenues_. The -memories of infancy had been carefully kept alive by word and picture. -Mother had seen to that. Paris meant to me my father. Consequently, I -suppose Madame Raymond's conscience stimulated her to lay stress upon -history and art. She wanted to earn her money. - -Mutual lack of comprehension began immediately. My first reading under -Madame Raymond's direction was a volume of Guy de Maupassant's stories, -with markers to show which could be read and which were forbidden. Next -day Madame was horrified to see the markers gone and to learn that I had -sat up late reading without censorship. She told me that a well-bred -_jeune fille_ ought to be ashamed of reading certain things, and refused -to argue about it when I asked her why a _jeune fille_ should be ashamed -of reading the stories she had indicated to be skipped. - -"To-day," said Madame Raymond, "I intend to take you to the Cluny -Museum, and then we shall begin the Louvre." - -"But," I protested, "I want to go first to Morgan Harjes." - -"What for? Madame your mother gave me fifty francs this morning." - -"She gave me a hundred and fifty. It isn't for money. I want my -letters." - -"If there are any letters for you, Madame your mother will give them to -you if it is good for you to have them!" snapped Madame Raymond. - -"Fiddlesticks! My mother doesn't read my letters." - -"Letters written to a _jeune fille_ of sixteen years can easily wait. -They are not important. Your education is. Anyway, who would write to -you over here?" - -"Well, there is Bill. I'm crazy to know if he passed his examinations -for Yale and how he liked going to the dance at the Country Club with -Margaret when he asked me first. Joe and Charlie went off on a fishing -trip to Canada before I sailed, and I've been waiting a month to know -if they caught anything. Then Harold. He's an older man. You can talk to -him about serious things and his advice is pretty good. Naturally, it -would be--Harold is a member of the bar and knows lots." - -"But," said Madame, "you mean to say you write to men and men write to -you?" - -"Certainly. Just ask mother. Here, I know how to fix it. You seem to be -in a hurry to go to the Museum. If it interests you, go right along. -I'll take a cab to the bank and follow you later. Meet you at the Cluny -in an hour." - -"Alone!" cried Madame; "my conscience would not allow it. Your mother -trusts me." - -Madame Raymond hailed a cabby. - -"To the Cluny Museum," said she, with finality. - -In its setting, the Cluny Museum is one of the most delightful spots in -Paris. On the Boulevard Saint-Michel and the Boulevard Saint-Germain one -has the life of Paris of to-day. Looking out from the little park with -its remains of Roman baths and archæological treasures of old Lutetia -scattered around in the shrubbery, one sees a fascinating _carrefour_ of -the Latin Quarter, noisy, bustling, ever-changing. It is a contrast more -striking than any that Rome affords. On the other side, where one enters -the Museum, you have the atmosphere of the middle ages, with the old -well and the court yard and the fifteenth-century façade. Across the -street, the great buildings of the Sorbonne and Collège de France seem -to be carrying on the traditions of the past. But if you had to go -inside with a governess who insisted on showing you everything in every -room, you would rebel as I did. - -Madame Raymond did not have it all in her head. She peered down over the -glass cases and read the descriptions in a high voice, adding pages out -of a guide book from time to time. She was near-sighted. As she droned -along, I plotted a scheme for kidnapping her spectacles. When we left, I -had seen embroideries and laces and carriages and cradles and slippers -of famous people and stolen stained-glass windows to _her_ heart's -content. - -We went to Foyot's, opposite the Luxembourg Palace, for lunch. After the -meal was ordered, the waiter brought the _carte de vins_. - -"A bottle of Medoc," said Madame. "I prefer red wine, don't you, my -dear?" - -"Plain water for me. No mineral water. _Eau fraîche_ out of a carafe," -said I. - -"Extraordinary!" cried Madame. - -"I think it is dreadful to drink wine," I protested, half in earnest and -half in joke. "The Bible says strong drink is a mockery. The first thing -I remember about Sunday school is that text." - -"Ridiculous," said Madame, "table wine is not alcohol." - -"Yes," I continued, "but it is the first steps toward strong drink. You -are going to order a _fine champagne_ with your coffee. You cannot tell -me that brandy is not strong drink." - -"Here in France," said Madame, "everybody takes a drink and nobody gets -drunk. You must understand, my dear child, that we have a different -point of view." - -"Maybe _you_ don't get drunk," said I, "but how about what one sees in -Brittany?" - -"You lack respect," answered Madame. She ignored Brittany. In France, -one is not accustomed to argue with a sixteen-year-old girl. Questioning -the judgment of one's elders is impertinent. Since I have brought up my -own children in France, I am more than half won over to French ideas. -The strong individualism of the American child shocks me now in somewhat -the same way as my "freshness" must have shocked Madame Raymond. I was -ready to contest her belief that American girls had no manners. I have -not taught my children to courtesy--for the simple reason that it is no -longer the fashion in France. But I am far from believing now, as I told -Madame Raymond, that courtesying is affectation. And I fear that my -children have had the example of French children in regard to wine. I am -trying to put down here how I was at sixteen. When, after years in -America, I returned to France, my point of view was different. - -But about some things maturity has not changed the opinion of a pert -young American _miss_. French ideas of sex relationship between -adolescents seem to me now as they did then, absurd and false. Nor have -I revised my opinion about high heels and tight corsets, powder and -paint. - -It was Madame's duty to take me to the dressmaker's. Before my dress -appeared in the fitting room, I was put into my first pair of corsets. -When they were laced up, I rebelled, took a long breath, and stretched -them out again. Madame Raymond and the fitting woman shook their heads -and assured me that my dress would not fit. My governess sided with the -girl, when she remonstrated against my stretching the lacings. I showed -little interest, too, in Madame Raymond's suggestion concerning the -purchase of a box and a pretty puff with a silk rose-bud for a handle, -which was to contain pink powder. - -"I never make up," I declared. "If you put powder and other stuff on -your face when you are young, you are not far-sighted. Ugh! I loathe -pink powder." - -One day we went to a _foire_, one of those delightful open-air -second-hand markets that never cease to fascinate Parisians. A man -darted out from a booth and offered to sell me a wedding gown. - -"How much is that dress?" I inquired. - -"Two hundred francs, Mademoiselle." - -"Let me see. I wonder if it is big enough for me. I'm getting married -next week. This would save me the bother of having one made, _n'est-ce -pas?_" - -"Certainly, Mademoiselle," cried the merchant delighted. - -He pulled out his tape-line and was preparing to measure me when Madame -dragged me away. - -"It is not _convenable_, what you are doing," she exclaimed heatedly. -"You must not speak lightly of marriage." - -"Oh, it comes to us all like death or whooping-cough." - -I must not give the impression that my mind at sixteen was absolutely -insensible to historical sight-seeing and the art treasures of Paris. I -always have loved some of the things in the Louvre, and after the Great -War broke out, I discovered what a privation it was not to be able to -drop in when I passed to look at something in the Luxembourg or the -Louvre. But I did not like overdoses. And I have never gotten accustomed -to crowds of pictures all at once in the field of vision or cabinets and -glass-covered cases filled with a bewildering variety of _bibelots_. How -I came to enjoy the Musée du Louvre will be told in a later chapter of -the decade after Madame Raymond. Why should I not confess frankly that -at sixteen I was more interested in the Magazin du Louvre, even though I -knew I could no longer hope to purchase what I wanted there "for a -song"? The best thing I took away from Paris in 1899 was an -evening-dress with a low neck--my first to go with hair put up. It was -in the middle tray of my trunk, packed with tissue paper and sachet. I -can see now the different colored flowers woven into the soft cream of -its background in such a way that, according to the girdle you chose to -put on, your color effect in night light could be lavender, blue or -rose. - -Ten years before my father had taught me to love to ride on the top of -an omnibus, on the _impériale_, as the French called it. Alas that I -should have to use the past tense here. _Impériales_, still the fashion -on Fifth Avenue and Riverside Drive, disappeared from Paris before the -war. I shall tell later of the last horse-driven omnibus. The auto-buses -started out with _impériales_, but banished the upstairs in 1912 and -1913. They were still the vogue in 1908. Madame Raymond objected to the -_impériale_. She hated climbing up and down the little stairs, -especially when carrying an umbrella prevented proper circumspection in -regard to gathering in skirts. And by riding inside one avoided a -_courant d'air_. - -On a sunshiny day with a long ride ahead of us, I could not bear the -thought of submitting to my governess's whim. I forgot my manners and -jumped on first. With this advantage I was able to climb quickly to the -top. There was nothing else for Madame Raymond to do but slip the -guide-book hastily into her black silk bag and climb up after me. A man -in uniform came along and stopped in front of me. I was reading, and -did not look up when I offered him the necessary coppers. He took my -money and sat down beside me. Then he laughed and handed it back to me. -He was a sous-lieutenant of the French army. I was not confused by my -mistake, for he gallantly took it as an opening. We chatted in English. -Madame Raymond plucked at my sleeve, whispering admonitions. I was deaf -on that side. Finally she told me that we had reached our destination, -got up and started down. Naturally I followed. I found that we were -still several blocks away from where we were going. We both held our -tempers until we got off. Then the fur began to fly. That night my -adventure was retailed to Mother at the hotel in the Rue de la -Tremoille. Mother sided with the governess. - -But the next week, when we were at the Opéra one night, I met my officer -on the Grand Escalier. He came right up to me, and I didn't have it in -my heart to turn my back or treat him coolly. When my governess turned -around, she recognized him. I did not bat an eyelash. I introduced him -to Mother and to her and he managed to get an invitation from Mother to -call on us. This is the only time I was ever glad about the long -intermission--the interminable intermission--between acts at the Paris -Opéra. Afterwards, nothing I could say would convince Madame Raymond -that the second meeting was pure hazard. She told me that she knew he -had slipped me his address and I had written to him to arrange the -rendez-vous. This did not make me mad. What did make me furious was her -condemnation of the supposed intrigue solely on the ground of my age and -my unmarried state. When does a girl cease being too young to talk to -men in France? And why should it not be worse for a married woman than -for an unmarried woman to encourage a little attention? - -These questions interested me later as much as they did then. Was the -Old World so different from the New World or was I taking for granted -both a latitude and an attitude at home different from what I was going -to meet? Little did I realize that I was destined to live in Paris as a -bride and to bring up my children there to the age when I should have -these problems to face from the standpoint of a mother of three girls. - - - - -1908 - - - - -CHAPTER III - -A HONEYMOON PROMISE - - -We left Oxford very suddenly. Six weeks in the Bodleian Library, in -spite of canoeing every afternoon, sufficed to go through a collection -of contemporary pamphlets about the Guises. And then we were getting -hungry. Since he never changes the menu, roast beef and roast lamb -alternating night after night, and accompanied by naked potatoes and -cabbage, must content the Englishman. But all who have not a British -birthright either lose their appetites or go wild after a time. We -thought that we could not stand another day of seeing that awful -two-compartment vegetable dish. It never contained a surprise. You could -swear with safety to your soul that when the lid was lifted a definite -combination of white and green would meet your eye. - -So, when in the early days of July nineteen hundred and eight the London -newspapers published telegrams from Constantinople that foreshadowed -startling changes in Turkey, we were ready to flit. We had planned to -spend our honeymoon winter in Asia Minor, anyway, and thought we might -as well get out there as soon as possible. The spirit of adventure is -strong in the blood of the twenties and decisions are made without -reflection. It is great to be young enough to have a sudden change of -plans matter to none, least of all to oneself. On Monday afternoon we -were canoeing on the Cherwell, with no other thought than the very -pleasant one of doing the same thing on the morrow. The next afternoon -we were in a train speeding from Calais to Paris, trying to recuperate -from the Channel passage. - -Herbert and I both knew Paris. But we did not know Paris together, and -that made all the difference in the world. When we reached the Gare du -Nord, we were as filled with the joy of the unknown as if we had been -entering Timbuktoo. On the train we discussed hotels. A slim pocketbook -was the only bank in the world to draw upon for a long journey. On the -other side was the less commonsense but more convincing argument, that -this was once in our lives, and that if it ever was excusable to do -things up right, now was the time. The pocketbook was so slim, however, -that until we stepped out into the dazzling lights, we were not -altogether sure that it would not be a modest little hotel. We -compounded with prudence by hailing a _fiacre_ instead of one of the new -auto-taxis, and directed the _cocher_ to take us where we wanted to go. - -[Illustration: Looking up the Avenue de l'Opéra] - -It was the thought of being in the heart of things, right at the Place -de l'Opéra, that prompted us to choose the Grand Hotel. The price of -rooms was preposterous. We took the cheapest they had on the top floor. -The economical choice is sometimes the lucky one. Next time you are in -the Place de l'Opéra, look up to the attic of the Grand Hotel, and you -will see little balconies between the windows. Each window represents a -room. So does each balcony. We drew a balcony. It was just wide enough -for two honeymoon chairs; and it was summer time. - -When I was waiting in the vestibule of a New York church for the first -strains of the wedding march, my brother pressed a five-dollar gold -piece inside my white glove. "For a bang-up dinner when you get to -London," he whispered. In London we had been entertained by friends. -This was the time to spend it. The initiated would open his eyes wide at -the thought of the "bang-up" dinner for two for twenty-five francs in -Paris today--or anywhere else in the world. But remember I am writing -about nineteen hundred and eight. Six years before the war, twenty-five -francs would do the trick, and do it well, on the Grands Boulevards. We -had fried chicken with peas, salad and _fruits rafraîchis_ at Pousset's, -and there was some change after a liberal (ante-bellum!) tip. - -After dinner we strolled along the Boulevards des Italiens. We came to a -big white place, with a wealth of electric lamps, that spelled -PATHE--PALACE. A barker walked up and down in front, wearing a -gold-braided cap and a green _redingote_. We paused as at the circus. -It was a cinema. Herbert wanted to go in, but I wasn't sure. I had never -seen moving pictures and had heard that they hurt one's eyes. To be a -good sport I yielded. It was a revelation to me, and I felt as I did a -year or two later when I first saw an aeroplane. My censor and literary -critic, who has not the imagination of an Irishman, wants to eliminate -this paragraph. But I have refused. It is true that I had never been to -the cinema before I married him, and I am not sure that it was not his -first time, too. The wonders of one decade are the commonplace of the -next, and in retrospect we should not forget this. "Nineteen-eight" was -to be the wonder year. Is there not an old Princeton song, still in the -book, which was sung with expectation by our fathers? It went something -like this: - - I'll sing of the days that will come, - Of the changes that many won't see, - Of the times years and years hence. - I can tell you where some of you'll be: - If you don't know I'll give you the tip. - So catch on and don't be too late: - If you do, you'll get left and you'll all lose your grip - In the year nineteen hundred and eight. - -And then the chorus, as they used to sing it--that older generation--on -the steps of Nassau Hall: - - In nineteen hundred and eight, in nineteen hundred and eight - You can go to the moon in a two day balloon; - In nineteen hundred and eight, in nineteen hundred and eight - To the north pole you can skate, - And you'll find Annie Laurie cutting grass on the Bowery, - In nineteen hundred and eight. - -After the movies we went back to the Hotel, and sat out on our balcony -with the brilliant vistas of the Avenue de l'Opéra and the Boulevard des -Italiens before us. We could hear the music of the opera orchestra, -faintly to be sure, but it was there. The spell of six and sixteen came -back. Nearly another decade had passed, but Paris was home to me, and I -had a twinge of regret that we were going farther afield. Had it not -been for the news of Niazi Bey and Enver taking to the mountains in a -revolt against the Sultan, I might have suggested giving up Turkey. - -I was glad that we would have to stay long enough to get our passports. -The passport, now the indispensable _vade mecum_ of travelers -everywhere, was needed only for Rumania and Turkey and Russia ten years -ago. To make up for the extravagance of the Grand Hotel we found our way -to the American Embassy and the Turkish Embassy afoot. Every corner of -the Champs-Elysées had brought back memories to me and I was able to -point out to Herbert the _guignol_ to which Marie had often taken my -little sister and me nearly twenty years before. We stopped to listen. -Some of the jokes were just the same. Judy had lost the stove-lid, and -Punch told her to sit on the hole herself. And a useful and -indispensable nursery household article (whose name I shall not mention) -was suddenly clapped by Punch over the policeman's head in the same old -way. The children laughed and clapped their hands in glee. Herbert, on -his side, showed me the walk he used to take every morning from his room -on the Rue d'Amsterdam by the Rue de la Boëtie and the Avenue d'Antin[A] -to the Exposition of 1900, when he was writing feature stories for the -Sunday edition of the _New York World_. - -[A] The Avenue d'Antin has become since the victory in the recent war -Avenue Victor Emmanuel III., in honor of Italy's intervention. - -With passports obtained and visaed, tickets bought and baggage -registered, we were having our last meal in Paris before taking the -train for Rome. It was a late breakfast on the _terrasse_ of the Café de -la Paix. The waiter was not surprised when we ordered eggs with our -coffee: but we were when we found they cost a franc apiece. As we sat -there, at the most interesting vantage point in Paris for seeing the -passing crowd, my childhood instinct came back with force. I cried, "O! -I do want to come here to live when we return from Turkey!" - -Herbert had a fellowship from Princeton for foreign study. It had been -postponed a year so that he could teach for a winter at an American -college in Asia Minor. Then and there we made a decision that was -prophetic. All the other men were going to Germany. The German -universities were a powerful attraction for American university men. The -German Ph.D. was almost a sine qua non in our educational system. You -could not get a Ph.D. in England or in France. Herbert gallantly -sacrificed his on the spot. It was not a revolt against Kultur. Nor was -it clairvoyance. - -"On one's honeymoon," Herbert said, "the wife's wish should be law. The -man who starts endeavoring to get the woman he has married to realize -that the things to do are the things he thinks should be done gets into -trouble, and stays in trouble." - -The last thing we were looking for on that perfect July morning was -trouble. - -"All right," said he, "we'll come back and study in Paris, and if you -want to live here afterwards, I guess we can find some way to do it." - - - - -1909-1910 - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -THE PROMISE FULFILLED - - -"It was alcohol! He was right, that old buck. It was alcohol!" - -We were sitting in the restaurant of the Hotel Terminus in Marseilles. -Our month-old baby was lying on the cushioned seat between us. The -maître d'hôtel told us she was the youngest lady that had ever come to -his establishment. Bowls of coffee were before us on the table, and we -were enjoying our French breakfast when Herbert burst out with the -remark I have just recorded. - -"What is the matter with you?" I asked. - -Shaking with laughter, he told me the story. - -"You know the basket with breakables in it? And those two champagne -bottles Major Doughty-Wylie gave us?" - -"One of them had boracic acid in it. Well?" - -"Yes, yes, that is just it. The customshouse officer spied the bottles -and it did not take him long to uncork one and smell it. He wanted to -stick me for duty." - -"What did you do?" - -"Protested against paying duty on boracic acid solution. I pointed you -out to him sitting over there with the baby. He yielded -finally--observing that Americans are queer, tough customers, and that -their babies must be husky if their eyes can stand such stuff. But he -got the wrong bottle. Don't you remember that in the second one is pure -grape alcohol, and that is what he sniffed." - -Traveling with a baby, when tickets do not allow one to take the -_rapide_ sleeping-cars, has its good points. People do not care to spend -the night in a compartment with a baby. We got to the train early--very -early. We put Christine's wicker basket (her bed) by the door, and found -it to be the best kind of a "reserved" sign. Half a hundred travelers -poked their heads in--and passed on. The sight of Christine acted like -magic to our advantage. The baby started to cry. "Don't feed her yet," -ordered her dad. "Until this train starts, the louder she cries the -better for her later comfort." As the wheels began to move, a man came -in, put his bag on the rack and sat down. Laughing, he closed the door -and pulled down the curtain. - -"I have been watching you," said he. "Yours is a clever game. I have -three little cabbages myself, and I know babies don't disturb people as -much as those who have none think. No," he added, "I must correct -myself, thinking of my mother and my mother-in-law. Even those who have -had many babies forget in the course of time how they were once used to -them. We'll have a comfortable night. Have a cigar, monsieur!" - -We did have a splendid sleep. Christine has always been one of those -wonder babies. So we were ready to see Paris cheerfully. Heaven knows we -needed every possible help to being cheerful! For we were embarked upon -a venture that looked more serious than it had the year before. A pair -of youngsters can knock around happily without worrying about -uncertainties. A baby means a home--and certain unavoidable expenses. -Where your progeny is concerned, you can't just do without. We had two -hundred and fifty francs in cash, and the prospect of a six hundred -dollar fellowship, payable in quarterly installments. That was all we -could count upon. Our only other asset was some correspondence sent to -the _New York Herald_ that had not been ordered, but for which we hoped -to be paid. - -The Marseilles express used to arrive at Paris at an outlandish hour. It -was not yet six when we were ready to leave the Gare de Lyon. Two -porters, laden down with hand-luggage, asked where we wanted to go. We -did not know. The Paris hotels that had been our habitats in days past -were no longer possible, even temporarily. There was no mother to foot -my bills, and Herbert wasn't a bachelor with only his own room and food -to pay for. I suggested the possibility of a small hotel by the station. -The porters took us out on the Boulevard Diderot. Across the street was -a hotel (whose gilt letters, however, did not omit the invariable -adjective "grand") that looked within our means. - -Once settled and breakfasted, the family council tackled the first -problem--Scrappie, gurgling on the big bed. Ever since she was born we -had been traveling, and she naturally had to be with us all the time. -Only now, after five weeks of parenthood, did the novel and amazing fact -dawn upon us that no longer could we "just go out." Scrappie was to be -considered. Without Scrappie, we could have set forth immediately upon -our search for a place to live. With Scrappie--? - -There always is a _deus ex machina_. In our case it was a _dea_. Marie -still lived in Paris. The contact had never been lost, and when we went -through Paris on our honeymoon the year before, I had taken my husband -to show him off to Marie. It was decided that I should go out -immediately and find her. A month before we had written that we were -coming to Paris in June, and she would be expecting us. Marie, and Marie -alone, meant freedom of movement. I could not think of trusting my baby -to anyone else. - -The address was at the tip of my tongue--22 Rue de Wattignies. A few -people know vaguely of the battle, but how many life-long Parisians know -the street? Not the _boulevardiers_ or the _faubouriens_ of -Saint-Germain, or the Americans, North and South, of the Etoile Quarter. -And yet the Rue de Wattignies is an artery of importance, copiously -inhabited. We had gone in a cab last year, and remembered that it was -somewhere beyond the Bastille. At the corner of the street beyond our -hotel, just opposite the great clock tower of the Gare de Lyon, I saw -the Bastille column not far away. Why waste money on cabs? To the right -of the Bastille lay the Rue de Wattignies, and not very far to the -right. I remembered perfectly, and started out unhesitatingly. - -Oh, the Paris vistas! No other city in the world has every hill top, -every great open space, marked by a building or monument that beckons to -you at the end of boulevard or avenue. No other city in the world has -familiar dome or tower or steeple popping up over housetops in the -distance to reassure you wherever you may have wandered, that you are -not far from, and that you can always find your way to, a familiar spot. -The Eiffel Tower, the Great Wheel, the Arc de Triomphe, Sacré Coeur, the -Panthéon, Val-de-Grâce, the Invalides, the Tour St. Jacques, give you -your direction. But when you dip into Paris streets, on your way to the -goal, you are lost. Even constant reference to a map and long experience -do not save you from the deceptive encouragement of Paris vistas. You -can walk in circles almost interminably. - -I had done this so often in the old days when I escaped from my -governess. I did so again when I tried to find the Rue de Wattignies. -Perhaps I did not try very hard: for one never minds wandering in -Paris. The life of the streets is a witchery that makes one forgot time -and distance and goal. When I lost sight of the Bastille column, the -labyrinth of St. Antoine streets led me on until I had crossed the canal -and found myself by the Hôpital St. Louis. After the year in the East, -and years before that in America, old houses and street markets held me -in a new world. It was a glorious June day to boot, and after steamer -and train, walking was a keen pleasure. Marital and parental -responsibilities were forgotten. The Hôpital St. Louis brought me back -to the realities of life. I knew that it was north of the Bastille, and -not in the direction of the Rue de Wattignies. Suddenly there came -uneasily into my mind the picture of a husband, a prisoner, patiently -waiting in a very small room in a very small hotel, and a baby demanding -lunch. Conscience insisted upon a cab: for nearly two hours had passed -since I started forth to find Marie. I had left the hotel early enough -to catch her before she might have gone out. What if Marie should not be -at home? "Hurry, _cocher_!" - -My panic was unjustified. Marie was at home. Delighted to hear of our -arrival, and eager to see her petite Hélène's baby, she put on her funny -little black hat, and went right down to the waiting cab. - -When we got to the hotel, Herbert was eating a second mid-morning petit -déjeuner. He had a copy of the Paris edition of the _New York Herald_, -and showed me, well played up in a prominent place, the last of the -Adana massacre stories he had forwarded by mail from Turkey. This was -the first time he realized that his "stuff" had been exclusive. There -was a pleasant prospect of drawing a little money. So my long absence -brought forth no remark, specially as Scrappie had slept like an angel. - -"We played a wise game," said Herbert, "when we sent the stories -smuggled through Cyprus to the _Herald_. We shall not have to correspond -with New York on a slim chance of a newspaper's gratitude. We can get at -James Gordon Bennet right here in Paris." Then he showed me some -advertisements picked out in the column of _pensions_ as promising and -within our means. We had decided to consider nothing outside of the -Latin Quarter. - -Marie had not changed a bit. She could not say the same for me although -she fussed over me as if I were five going on six. She forgot that -twenty years had gone since the last time she combed my hair. She -communicated to me the old sense of security. She bathed the baby. She -brought me food and sat beside me, observing that long ago she had to -coax me to take one more mouthful to please her. - -"You always were fussy about your food. Ma chère petite Hélène, you -don't eat enough to keep a sparrow alive. You are a naughty one." - -She insisted upon my drinking a cup of camomile tea, and took me -straight back to my sixth year by calling it _pipi du chat_. Knowing -that name for camomile tea is one of the tests of whether one really -knows French. - -"Marie," I begged, "show me how English people speak French--the way you -used to do!" - -But Herbert, who had gone out to get the _Daily Mail_ for its _pension_ -list, was coming in the door, and Marie would not show off before -Monsieur. Never did she call me _chère petite Hélène_ when he or any -other person was present. It was always Madame before company. The -_Mail_ had many advertisements of _pensions_ in streets near the -Luxembourg. Marie helped us pick them out. The Luxembourg Garden was an -integral part of the Latin Quarter, and we had to think of Scrappie's -outing. - -After lunch we turned Christine over thankfully to Marie and went out -_pension_-hunting together. - -"You were lucky in finding Marie," was all Herbert said. - -"Yes," I answered, "I really couldn't have left the baby with anyone -else." - -"But is Marie the only person in the world? Without her, would you be a -slave for ever and ever? There must be plenty of people that we could -get to look after Scrappie." - -"You don't know what it means to have a child!" said Scrappie's mother. - -"I guess I look pretty healthy for a fellow who has just landed in Paris -with a wife and a baby and 250 francs!" said my husband. - -"Can't make us mad," said I; "we're in Paris." - -You pile up on one side of the scale heaps of things that ought to worry -you, but if you put on the other side the fact that you are in Paris, -down goes the Paris side with a sure and cheerful bang, up goes the -other side, and the worries tumble off every which way into nowhere. - -The main threads of the world's spider web start very far from Paris in -all directions and the heaviest urge of traffic is towards the centre. -Paris was the centre of the spider web long before Peace Delegates came -here to discover the fact. Students, diplomats, travel-agencies, -theatrical troupes knew it and whole shelves of books have been written, -down the years, to prove it. If Paris is your birth-place, you learn -that you are in the capital of the world long before you know how to -read the books. If you are an expert on ancient coins, if you are a -wood-carver, if you are a singer wanting a voice that will make your -fortune because it was trained in France, if you are a baker, if you are -a burglar, if you are a silk merchant, if you are a professor from -Aberdeen hunting for manuscripts that will prove your thesis concerning -Pelagius, if you are an _apache_, if you are an English -nursemaid,--you'll never be lonely in Paris. No matter how isolated or -queer or misunderstood you were where you came from, in Paris you'll -find inspiration, competition, companionship, opportunity and pals. The -papers tell us every week that the birth rate is going down. But the -population of Paris is increasing. So in peace, in war and in peace -again, there was one constant quantity underpinning existence--Paris, -the centre of the spider web. The spider that lures is liberty to work -out one's ideas in one's own way in a friendly country. It is a wonder -the men who make maps in France can draw lines latitudinally and -longitudinally. What difference did it make then if we had only two -hundred and fifty francs? - - - - -CHAPTER V - -THE PENSION IN THE RUE MADAME - - -We started our search for a temporary home at the Observatoire, and good -fortune took our footsteps down the Rue d'Assas rather than down the -Boulevard Saint-Michel. Had we turned to the right instead of to the -left, we should probably have found a _pension_ that satisfied our -requirements on the Rue Gay-Lussac, the Rue Claude Bernard, the Rue -Soufflot, or behind the Panthéon. But a short distance down the Rue -d'Assas, we turned into the Rue Madame, which held two possibilities on -our list. The first place advertised proved to be a private apartment, -whose mistress was looking for boarders for one room who would not only -pay her rent but her food and her old father's as well. We got out -quickly, and kept our hopes up for the second place. It was a small -private hotel just below the Rue de Vaugirard, with a modest sign: -_Pension de Famille_. - -A beaming young woman, who told us that she was Mademoiselle Guyénot, -_propriétaire et directrice de la maison_, answered our first question -in a way that won our hearts forever. "Do I mind a baby!" she exclaimed. -"I love them. No trouble in the world. Wish the _bon dieu_ would allow -me to have one myself. If any boarder complains about babies crying in -my house, I ask them how they expect the world to keep on going. -_Parfait!_ Bring the little rabbit right along. Of course there is no -charge. Is it I who will feed her? Think of it, then!" And Mademoiselle -Guyénot opened wide her arms and lifted them Heavenward. Her eyes shone, -and she laughed. - -We engaged a room on the court, two flights up, for seventy francs a -week _tout compris_, lodging, food, boots, wine. Lights would not amount -to more than a franc a week. We could give what we wanted for -attendance. The arrangement with Marie was perfect. She would stay at -home and come for the days we wanted her. That meant only her noonday -meal on our _pension_ bill--one franc-fifty. - -We got out of the Boulevard Diderot hotel none too soon. The charges -were fully as much as at a first-class hotel (I have frequently since -found this to be the case in trying to economize in travel) and made a -serious dent in our nest-egg. When we reached the _pension_ with our -baby and baggage, we felt that it was only the square thing to acquaint -the new friend who loved babies with our financial situation. - -"Oh! la, la," cried Mademoiselle Guyénot, "you may pay me when you -like!" - -"You must understand," said my husband, "that we have just come out of -Turkey and have very little money. Of course, as soon as we get -settled, things will be all right again." - -Mademoiselle received us in the _bureau_ of her pension with open arms -and lightning French. I could not get it all, but we knew she was glad -to see us. She turned around on her chair and faced us as we sat on an -old stuffed sofa surrounded by our suitcases. - -"You must not worry," she exclaimed, "you must not worry _du tout, du -tout, du tout, du tout_.... If you don't pay me I'll keep the baby, -_pauvre chou_." - -Mademoiselle's voice went up the scale and down again, dying away only -when she opened her mouth wider to laugh. - -Mademoiselle ran the _pension_ single-handed in those days. Now she is -Madame and the mother of two little girls. Monsieur is a mechanical -genius and has himself installed many conveniences. He can paper a room, -rig up a table lamp at the head of a bed, carry in the coal, forage for -provisions with a hand-cart and a cheerful _jusqu'au boutisme_ that -stops at nothing. He is also able to make a quick change in clothes and -bobs up serenely within fifteen minutes after unloading the potatoes, -quite ready to make you a cocktail. - -Mademoiselle handled her clients with cheerful firmness. She used to -marshal the forces of her house with a strong and capable hand. You -could not put one over on her then any more than you can now, as some -transients discovered to their confusion. The regulars knew better than -to try. On the other hand if your case was good and your complaint -justified, she defended you with energy. _Liberté_, _égalité_, -_fraternité_ were realities in the Rue Madame. - -The clientele was French for the most part: elderly people who had got -tired of keeping house. Folks from the provinces who had come to town to -spend the winter after Monsieur retired from business. Young people, -mostly men, some of them long haired who were studying at the Sorbonne -or elsewhere. And a sprinkling of transients whose chief effect upon the -regulars was allowing them to shift about until they had possession of -the rooms they wanted to keep at a monthly rate. When we went to the -pension we were the only Americans. We paid five francs a day for room -and board like everybody else excepting the old lady who had come to the -house years ago when the rate was four francs fifty. German Hausfraus -may be marvels in management, but I defy any lady Boche to beat -Mademoiselle's efficiency. She got all the work of kitchen and -dining-room done, and well done too, by Victorine the tireless, Louis -the juggler and François the obsequious. Guillaume and Yvonne, a working -menage, looked after the rooms until they got a swell job at the Ritz -Hotel, where tips would count. The other three were fixtures. - -In spirit the Rue Madame _pension_ has not changed. The atmosphere -to-day is as it was in nineteen hundred and nine. The table is good, -plentiful, appetizing--and, oh, what a variety of meats and vegetables! -The potatoes are never served in the same way twice in a week, and -Madame Primel, as Mademoiselle is now called, cooks as many different -_plats de jour_ as her number in the street, which is forty-four. There -the reader has my secret! But five francs a day no longer holds. In -nineteen hundred and nineteen five francs will barely pay for a single -meal. Not only has the price of food more than doubled, but the traveler -is beginning to demand comforts that cost. We used to have buckets of -coal brought up, and make a cheerful fire. We used to grope in the dark -when we came home, strike a match, and look for our candle on the hall -table. We used to have a lamp--the best light in the world--in our room. -But now the _pension_ in the Rue Madame has yielded to the demands of a -discontented world. Steam heat, electric lights--these have had their -part in making five francs a day disappear forever. The five franc -_pension_ exists only in the memory of Paris lovers, or in story books -like mine. - -At our table were Mrs. Reilly, a sprightly Irish woman called by the -pensionnaires Madame Reely; Monsieur Mazeron, a law student with an -ascetic blond face and hair like a duckling; an elderly couple from -Normandy who had adopted Madame Reely, swallowed her at one gulp of -perfection, only to discover afterwards that they did not understand -her; a Polish doctor and his wife from Warsaw; and others. Madame Reely -made a pretty speech the first night at dinner, proposing that our table -volunteer to help us take care of the baby. - -"To-morrow is the Fête Dieu," said she. "I'll go to the early mass so -that I can come back and stay with the baby while you two go to the -later mass. You will see the priests in their robes of ceremony, the -Holy Relics, and a thousand children in the procession. It is too -lovely,--all those little things with their baskets of flowers, throwing -petals in the path of the priests. Who can tell," she went on in a -whispered aside to her neighbor, "it may impress them. One never knows -when new converts are to be added to the blessed Church!" - -"And I shall look at the baby," said the Doctor from Warsaw. "Children -are my specialty. That is why I am here, observing in the clinics of -Paris, you see. I shall come to your room to-morrow after breakfast. -Being an American mother, I suppose you give your baby orange juice?" - -"Certainly I give her orange juice," said I; "it is good for her." - -"_Au contraire! au contraire!_" cried the Doctor, waving his hands. The -Doctor was always "au contraire" no matter what was said and who said -it. Polish character. - -In a corner was a tiny table for one. It was for the starboarder, a -young Roumanian, who wore a purple tie held together by a large amethyst -ring. Possibly he wore it because he believed in the ancient legend -about amethysts being good to prevent intoxication. When we entered upon -the scene he was still in high favor. His downfall came later and had to -do with a wide-awake concierge and a luckless kiss at the front door. - -The food we had was the kind we used to have in Paris when many visitors -came here with no better excuse than to enjoy the _cuisine_. -Mademoiselle gave us two meat dishes for each meal. If you did not like -calves' liver, Louis would do a trick that landed a steaming plate of -crisp fried eggs (fried in butter, you remember) before you. And that -without being told. Behind the scenes was Victorine. - -Victorine invited me into her kitchen to learn how to make _sauce -piquante_. - -"Are you married, Victorine?" I queried. - -"My cookstove is my husband," she laughed; "his heart is good and warm -and he never leaves me." - -During meals Mademoiselle was to be found in the kitchen. She did the -carving herself and tasted everything before it was passed through a -window to Louis. - -There was no felt covering under the table-cloth. The serving of the -meal competed with piping, high-pitched, excited voices. Perhaps I -oughtn't to say excited, but the Frenchman in his most ordinary matter -of fact conversation sounds excited to the Anglo-Saxon. He asks you to -pass the bread in the same tone you would use in announcing an event of -moment. At each place was a glass knife-and-fork rest. In France, unless -the first dish happens to be fish, you keep the same knife and fork. -This is the custom in the best of homes. We are prodigal of cutlery -where the French are prodigal of plates. The same knife and fork didn't -matter, because the food was so good. Nor does it matter to-day, because -now there is only one meat dish. Times have changed. - -If fruit or pudding ran out, Mademoiselle opened a section of the wall, -finding the key on a bunch that was suspended from her belt on a piece -of faded black tape. From the cupboard she took tiny glasses filled with -confiture or perhaps a paste made of mashed chestnuts and flour slightly -sweetened. The glasses, to the touch, were cylindrical, but when you had -broken the paper pasted across the top and had eaten half way down, the -space was no wider than the fat part of your tea spoon. If your glass -was a cylinder outside, on the inside it was an inverted cone. - -The quantities of bread consumed in that house would be appalling to -anybody but a Frenchman. A Turk can live on bread and olives. But a -Frenchman can live on bread alone. If he had to choose between bread and -wine he would forget the wine. When the basket was passed around, the -_pensionnaires_, with a delightful absence of self-consciousness, would -cast their eye over it in order to select the biggest piece. There was -always one person who would look around the room furtively, take the -biggest piece on the plate, slip the second biggest piece into the lap -under the serviette, and then, gazing far away in ostrich fashion, glide -the bread into pocket or reticule. If the dessert happened to be fruit, -an orange or an apple would follow the bread for private consumption -later in the day. Perhaps these people came in for luncheon only and the -bread and fruit was devoured at twilight at some little café where it is -permitted to customers to bring their own supplies, if they buy a drink. -This stretching of luncheon procured the evening meal. If necessity is -the mother of invention, the students of Paris are necessity's -grandmother. - -Louis, the arch-juggler, was forced by public opinion to alternate day -by day his point of departure when passing the steaming _plat du jour_. -_Egalité_, you remember, is one-third of French philosophy. It would -never do for the same end of the dining-room to enjoy for two days -running the little privilege of having the first pick at the best piece -of meat in the plate. - -François helped in the dining-room. But he was everywhere else too. He -was useful for Louis to swear at and to blame. He was bell-hop, -scullery-boy, errand-man, who needed all of his amazing reserves of -cheerfulness. I wondered when François slept. He was on hand with his -grin and his _oui, madame_, early and late. Once when we slid out of the -house at five in the morning to go on an excursion, we found him in the -lower hall surrounded by the boots of the house. Back of his ear was a -piece of chalk used for marking the number of the room on the soles of -the boots. He was polishing away, moving his arm back and forth with a -diminutive imitation of the swing his legs had to accomplish when his -brush-clad feet were polishing the waxed floors. As a concession to the -early hour, he was whistling softly instead of singing. The whistling of -François fascinated everyone because it came through a tongue folded -funnel-wise and placed in the aperture where a front tooth was missing. -And we would often find him up and about when we came home late at -night. It was a pleasant surprise, when, after calling out your name, -you made ready to walk back to the candlestick table, hands stretched -out before you, to have François suddenly appear with a light. He would -hold out over the table his little hand lamp with the flourish a Gascon -alone can make. You picked out your candlestick by the number of your -room cut in its shining surface. The number had an old-fashioned swing -to its curve, suggesting that the solid bit of brass might have been dug -up from the garden of some moss-grown hostelry after a passage of the -Huns. - -Mademoiselle Guyénot insisted that the flagged pavement be washed every -day. François used to fill with water a tin can in the bottom of which -he had punched half a dozen holes. He swung it about the court until -figure eight shaped sprinkle-tracks lay all over the twelve-by-twenty -garden. Afterwards he would take a short-handled broom, bend himself -over like a hairpin, and sweep up the flag-stones. The dirt he -accumulated was made into a neat newspaper package and set aside to wait -until early to-morrow morning when it was put out on the street in the -garbage-pail. François' thin high voice sang incessantly and sounded for -all the world like the piping of a Kurdish shepherd above the timber -line in the Taurus Mountains. In those days woe betide you if you put -trash or garbage on a Paris street later than 8 A. M. It was as unseemly -an act as shaking carpets out of your window after the regulation hour. -Now, even if you are a late and leisurely bank clerk or fashionable -milliner and you don't have to show up at work before 10 o'clock, you -will see garbage-pails along curb-stones and likely as not get a dust -shower furious enough to make you wish you hadn't left your umbrella at -home. The old days--will they come back? - -When the band plays soft Eliza-crossing-the-ice music, my mind flies to -several Home-Sweet-Homes. I think of Tarsus, Constantinople, Oxford and -Princeton. But there is no twinge of homesickness. Paris and my present -home there satisfy every want and longing. Among the homes of the past, -however, I think of others in Paris as well as of those of other places. -I never forget the _pension_ in the Rue Madame. Thankfully it is still a -reality. During the past decade it has housed our mothers and sisters -and cousins and friends. We have gone there to see them. And we go there -to see our first warm friend in Paris and her husband and children. From -time to time we have a meal in the old dining-room. We hope the -_pension_ will not disappear or will not be converted into too grand a -hotel. For us it is a Paris landmark. - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -LARES AND PENATES IN THE RUE SERVANDONI - - -We spent the first anniversary of our wedding in Egypt. A week later we -arrived in Paris. For prospective residents as well as for tourists, -June is the best time of the year to reach Paris. You have good weather -and long days, both essentials of successful home-hunting. It is an -invariable rule in Paris to divide the year in quarters, beginning with -the fifteenth of January, April, July and October. Whether you are -looking for a modest _logement_ on a three months' lease or a _grand -appartement-confort moderne_--on a three years' lease, the dates of -entry are the same. One rarely breaks in between terms. If you have -passed one period, you must wait for the next _trimestre_. The person -who is leaving the apartment you rent might be perfectly willing to -accommodate you, but he has to wait to get into his new place. So when -we went to the _pension_, we had before us the best home-hunting weeks -of the year, with the expectation of being able to get settled somewhere -on July 15th. - -At the _pension_, our room faced on the court, and the _personnel_, from -Mademoiselle Guyénot down to Victorine and François, assured us that we -need not feel bound to stay at home on the days Marie could not come to -us. Marie for years had been sewing four different days of the week for -old _patrons_, and we did not feel certain enough of our own plans and -purse to accept the responsibility of her giving up a sure thing. - -"Go out all you want to," urged our friends. "You only have to think -about meal times for the baby. Someone is always in the court sewing or -sorting the laundry or preparing vegetables. Your window is open. We -cannot fail to hear the baby." - -But a chorus of _bien sûr_ and _parfaitement_ and _soyez tranquille_ did -not reassure what was as new born as Christine herself--the maternal -instinct. A letter from Herbert's father solved the problem. He inclosed -the money for a baby carriage. We carried Scrappie down the Boulevard -Raspail to the little square in front of the Bon Marché. I kept her on a -bench while Herbert went in to follow my directions as well as he could. -In a few minutes he came out and said he would rather take care of the -baby. It was the first time I had seen him stumped. So I had the joy I -had hoped would be mine all along but of which I did not want to deprive -my husband, seeing that we could not share it. The reader may ask why we -didn't take the baby inside. But it will not be a young mother who puts -that question! With one's firstborn, one sees contagion stalking in -every place where crowds gather indoors.[B] - -[B] The critic would have me insert a modification here. Why confine the -fear of the young mother to _indoors_? The critic insists that I used to -be afraid of taking Scrappie into any sort of a crowd, and that my -supersensitive ear translated the bark of every kiddie with a cold into -whooping cough, while I saw measles in mosquito bites on children's -faces. - -[Illustration: The Rue de Vaugirard by the Luxembourg] - -We did not intend to consider a home that was not within baby-carriage -distance of the Rue Madame. In fact, after a few days in the Luxembourg -Quarter, we were determined to live as near the Garden as possible. -There we were within walking distance of the Bibliothèque Nationale and -the Sorbonne and the Ecole Libre des Sciences Politiques. Marie, whom -the fact that I was my Mother's daughter did not blind to the extent of -the Gibbons family resources, urged the Bois de Vincennes. But we would -not hear of it. - -It is strange how rich and poor rub elbows with each other in their -homes. Paris is no different from American cities in this respect. The -kind of an apartment we _wanted_ would cost more than our total income, -as rents around the Luxembourg for places equipped with electric lights -and bathtubs and central heating seemed to be as expensive as around the -Etoile. Then in the same street--sometimes next door--you had the other -extreme. Our finances pointed to a _logement_ in a workingmen's -tenement. Care for Scrappie's health made our hearts sink every time we -were shown a place that seemed within our means. - -Of course there were reasonable places: for many others who demanded -cleanliness had no more money than we. But the Latin and Montparnasse -Quarters are the Mecca of slim-pursed foreigners. People foolish enough -to study or sing or paint are almost invariably poor. Perhaps that is -the reason! We had lots of exercise, and came to know every street -between the Luxembourg and the Seine. Our good fortune arrived -unexpectedly as good fortune always arrives to those who will not be -side-tracked. - -Between the Rue Vaugirard and Saint-Sulpice are three tiny streets, the -houses on the opposite sides of which almost rub cornices. The Rue Férou -is opposite the Musée de Luxembourg. On the Rue de Vaugirard is the home -of Massenet. We used to get a glimpse of him occasionally on his -_terrasse_--a sort of roof-garden with a vine-covered lattice on top of -the low Rue Férou wing of his house. The other two streets paralleling -the Rue Férou from the Palais du Luxembourg to the Eglise Saint-Sulpice -are the Rue Servandoni and the Rue Garancière. - -On the morning of the Fourth of July we had been diving in and out the -side streets of the Rue Bonaparte and the Boulevard Saint-Germain. At -Scrappie's meal time, we came to a bench in the Square in front of -Saint-Sulpice. It wasn't a bit like a holiday. It was sultry and looked -like rain. We were wondering whether we had better not hurry back to the -_pension_ for fear of getting the baby wet. Just then people began to -stop and look up. A huge balloon was above us. And it carried the -American flag. - -"You can't beat it," said my husband. "And we are Americans. Ergo, you -can't beat us!" - -Did the sight of the flag do the trick? Anyway, it was our Japanese -"last quarter of an hour." We had come down through the Rue Férou. We -went back for the twentieth time in twenty days through the Rue -Servandoni. Grey houses, topped with beehive chimneys, leaned amicably -against each other and broke the sky line as well as the municipal -_réglement_ (made long after they were) concerning the distance between -houses on opposite sides of streets. Our hearts nearly stopped beating -when we reached Number 21. There was the magic sign (it had not been -there yesterday): _Appartement à Louer_. We stopped short in the middle -of the street. The side-walks are not wide enough to walk on, much less -wheel a baby-carriage along. The grocer on the ground floor saw us take -the bait. Out he came. Did Monsieur and Madame care to see the -_appartement_? If so, he was concierge as well as grocer. He would show -us the place. We drew the new baby-carriage into the dark vestibule and -went up one easy flight of oak balustraded stairs. The grocer pulled a -red-braided bell rope. - -A man in shirt-sleeves opened the door. We stepped into a tiny -dining-room where the gas was lit although it was noon. The wall-paper -was yellow, and had sprawling brown figures like beetles. A dark passage -led into an immense room with a generous fireplace. Two windows opened -on the Rue Servandoni. It was a paper-hanger's shop with ladders, -brushes, buckets, rolls and rolls of paper and barrels of flour-paste -around. But the fellow in shirt-sleeves assured us that when his -fittings were out, we would realize what a handsome room it was. "The -dining-room is dark," he admitted, "but you can't match this room for -light and size in any two-room apartment in the Quarter. I know them -all. I am leaving because I have found a ground floor shop. I'll put new -paper on here very cheap." - -The _locataire_ assumed that we would take it. So did the -grocer-concierge. Without our asking, Monsieur Sempé told us that the -rent would be one hundred and fifty francs a quarter. We did not have to -make a troublesome lease, just a little agreement involving three -months' notification on either side. - -"Don't forget," said Sempé, "that this old house sits between two modern -apartment buildings. The walls are warm. Your neighbors have steam -heat." - -"True," confirmed the paper-hanger. But he did not want us to think that -we could be altogether vicariously heated. "Possibly you may not have -noticed," he added, "the fireplace in the dining-room. It heats almost -as well as this one. I'll sell you my grates. _Boulets_ make the best -fire." - -The thrill of admiration I had for my husband's magnificent courage when -he signed the paper, and paid out fifty of his last hundred francs "on -account" is with me still. - -"We are sure to be able to pay our rent," said he, as we went back to -the _pension_. "We couldn't expect to get anything for less than ten -dollars a month. The first installment of the fellowship money will come -next week, and before then I shall certainly get something out of the -_Herald_. It will have to be enough to buy our furniture." - -It never rains but it pours. At the _pension_ we found a letter from Mr. -James Gordon Bennett, asking Herbert to call that afternoon at three -o'clock at 104 Avenue des Champs-Elysées. It was in a blue envelope with -a little owl embossed on the flap, and was signed "J. G. BENNETT" in -blue pencil almost the color of the paper. How often we were to see this -envelope and this signature, and what luck it was going to bring us! We -thought the occasion demanded a celebration. I did Scrappie and myself -up in our best, and we set forth for the Champs-Elysées in an open -_fiacre_--our first ride since we came from the Boulevard Diderot to the -Rue Madame. We waited in the carriage while Herbert went in to collect -his money for the Adana massacre stories. - -I watched the door of the big apartment house anxiously. Our furniture -and the rest of the rent for the apartment depended upon the success of -the visit. Half an hour later Herbert's face told me that all was well. -He had sent in a bill of four hundred dollars, and fifty dollars -expenses. Mr. Bennett, he told me, began by scolding him for not making -it in francs, and then gave him a check for twenty-five hundred francs, -which more than covered what Herbert asked for. The Commodore then -offered Herbert a position at five hundred francs a week, and was -surprised when it was declined. He seemed much amused when Herbert -explained that he had come to Paris to study. "But you will go on -special trips in an emergency," said Mr. Bennett. It is enough to say -that the "emergencies" occurred often enough to tide over many a -financial difficulty during years that followed. - -Provided with funds after passing by the bank, we took Christine to -Rumpelmayer's to tea, and then drove back the Rue Servandoni to pay the -rest of our rent. When Monsieur Sempé gave us the _quittance_, he -admonished us that we must put enough furniture in the apartment to -cover six months' rent, that is to say, we must be prepared to spend at -least sixty dollars to set up our Lares and Penates. Bubbling over with -good will, Monsieur Sempé and Madame Sempé (who appeared on the scene -the moment it was a question of a receipt for our money) gave us -splendid advice about furniture-buying. They urged us to go to the Rue -de Rennes to some good-sized place where we would see second-hand -furniture on the side-walk, and not to a small _brocanteur_ or dealer in -antiques. - -The amount ticked up on the fiacre's taximetre was larger than we had -dreamed we should ever spend gadding about Paris. A few hours before it -would have worried us. We knew this could not keep up--in spite of the -crisp hundred franc notes. Wealth brings a strange sense of prudence. We -drove back to the _pension_, dismissed our _cocher_, and pushed the -baby-carriage around to the Rue de Rennes. - -MOBILIERS COMPLETS PAR MILLIERS. "Household furniture sets by the -thousand." That sign read promisingly. We entered, and found a -salesman--excuse me, the proprietor and salesman and cashier--who took -in my clothes and hat, and then assured us that he did not mind the baby -crying and could fit us up in anything from Louis Quatorze to the First -Empire, real or (this as a feeler) imitation. _Salle à manger_ from -eight hundred francs to four thousand; _chambre à coucher_ from four -hundred francs to two thousand six hundred; _salon_ from one thousand -francs to six thousand; splendid _garnitures_ (which means clocks and -candlesticks or vases) of all epochs for our _cheminées_; hatracks for -the hall; kitchen and servants' furniture--all, everything, anything we -needed. - -I knew what was in Herbert's reproachful look. He always did -ungraciously blame my mother for the fact that he had so frequently to -counteract my trousseau by embarrassed words. Mostly I let him stumble -along. But as this was his day and as I hadn't taken off the pretty -things worn in honor of the visit to the Champs-Elysées, which was a -break on my part, I thought it was up to me to let the furniture man see -how things stood. - -"We have a little apartment," I said, "bedroom and living-room combined, -a very small dining-room and a kitchen. I expect to buy the baby's crib -and mattress aside, but the rest must come out of five hundred francs--I -mean all of it. What can you give us for that?" - -I often think the French are essentially poor salesmen. They do not know -how to show their goods and they are too indifferent or too anxious. But -the blessed virtue of chivalry! The blessed sense of proportion! The -blessed instinct of moderation! Our furniture man rose to the occasion -with a grace that made me want to hug him. He kept his smile and bow and -changed with perfect ease from Louis and Napoleons to pitchpine. It -would require figuring. But it could be done. Yes, of course it could be -done. Down into the cellar he took us, and in half an hour he had -arranged to give us all we needed for Francs 532.70. I remember those -figures. And he agreed to take the whole lot back at half-price at the -end of a year! - -The furniture man bore a striking resemblance to some one I knew. I -watched him, and tried to place him, as he made out our bill in the -office--seven square feet of glassed-in suffocation surrounded by -_armoires_ and buffets. Dust clung to pages and blotters and yellowing -files; no air ever came in here to blow it away. Where had I seen the -double of our friend? Full forehead, closely-trimmed, pointed beard, -soft black tie--and the eyes. Where _had_ I seen him before? Writing -with flourishes in purple ink, slightly bending over the high desk, he -certainly fitted into some memory picture. Then it came to me! His pen -ought to be a quill. It was William Shakespeare. - -"Will-_yum_ Shakespeare!" I cried. - -My husband did not think I was crazy. For he was looking at the -furniture man when I made my involuntary exclamation. - -"What does Madame say? Is she not content?" asked William Shakespeare. -Herbert's hand shot out behind his back and grasped mine. "Shades of -Stratford-on-Avon," he murmured. We had passed a honeymoon day there -just a year ago. - -It was hard to wait until July 15, and then two days longer for the -necessary cleaning by a _femme de ménage_ hired for us by the Sempés. -July 17th was the magical day of our first housekeeping. Never before -had we been together in a place where everything was ours. Tables and -chairs and beds and mattresses, and even the piano rented at ten francs -a month, arrived at Twenty-One on hand-carts drawn by men who pulled -only a little harder against the greasy harness that bound them to their -job than did the dogs under the carts. - -Turkish women say that if you must move, abandon the furniture and -dishes; they can be had anywhere. But take with you the rugs and brass -that you love, and you have your home. During the previous winter in -Tarsus, we managed to buy several good rugs, a cradle-shawl, some -candlesticks and Damascus beaten-brass trays out of our eight-hundred -dollar salary. Don't ask me now how we did it. In retrospect it is a -mystery. But we had these things in two big boxes. They were as butter -is to bread with our pitch-pine. No, I'm not going to belittle that -pitch-pine. Years of usage had modified its yellowness, and it took to -our rubbing with a marvelous furniture polish. The floors could have -been better. The wood was hard, however, and we got some sort of a wax -shine on them. The Shakespeare furniture plus rugs and brasses--and -candle light--made a home than which we have never since had better. -Never mind if the dining-room was dark. Never mind if we had to sleep in -our study, and study in our bedroom. Never mind if Scrappie's nursery -was the _salon_, _cabinet de travail_ and _chambre à coucher_ combined. -Never mind if we were compelled to take our baths at the foot of our bed -in a tin basin. It was Paris, our dream city. - -We were fully installed by six o'clock. The _femme de ménage_ -volunteered to stay with Christine while we went out for supper. Before -finding a restaurant, we climbed the north tower of Saint-Sulpice. -Between us and the mass of verdure that marked the Jardin du Luxembourg -was our home. Up there near heaven, with the city at our feet, we danced -the Merry Widow Waltz, for sheer joy that we had a home of our own in -Paris. - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -GOLD IN THE CHIMNEY - - -How can two young people, with a baby and three hundred dollars in cash, -able to count upon a one-year fellowship yielding six hundred dollars, -live a year in Paris? The answer to that question is that it cannot be -done. But we were not in the position to answer it that way. We were in -Paris, and we had the baby. Pride and ambition are factors that refuse -to be overruled by the remorseless logic of figures. If you put a -proposition down on paper, you can prove that almost anything you want -to do is impossible. Successful undertakings are never the result of -logical thinking. Herbert and I would not have had a wedding at all if -we had thought the matter out and had considered the financial side of -life. - -Herbert was keeping, however, some prejudices and some prudent reserves, -remembering his father's caution that life has a financial basis. -Sitting there on the packing-case we had picked out for a coal-box in -our study-bedroom, he hauled out an account-book and was fussing over a -missing franc. Our first year was one of constant change of scene, and -we had not "kept house." Now, declared my husband, was the time to turn -over a new leaf. If we knew where and how our money went, financing the -proposition would be easier. With tears in my eyes and biting a pencil -with trembling lips, I rebelled. I could not get interested in that -missing franc. - -"I want you to realize now, once for all, that I'm not going to keep -this old cash account. I don't believe in worrying about money. I'm not -going to worry about money and neither are you. There are only three -financial questions: (1) how much money is there? (2) how long is it -going to last? (3) what are we going to do when it's all gone? Two -follows one, and three follows two--one, two, three--just like that!" - -I was laughing now, and raised three fingers successively under my -boss's nose. - -"As long as we are in one, we are not in two; and when we are in two, we -have not reached three. Let us wait for three until we are in three, or -at least until we know we are about to leave two." - -After paying a quarter's rent, the bill for the furniture and cleaning -up sundry little expenses, we had left fifteen hundred francs of the -Gordon Bennett capital. A thousand francs was deposited with Morgan, -Harjes and Company. The other five hundred, in twenty-franc gold-pieces, -the bank gave us in a shiny little pink pasteboard box. Our chimney had -a big hole in the plaster. The wall paper was torn but intact. An ideal -hiding-place. I put the box in the hole and smoothed down the paper. - -"This hole is our bank," I announced. "We shall keep no account, and you -and I will take the gold boys when we need them." - -Herbert saw a great light. From that moment to this day we have been -free from a useless drudgery and have been able to conserve our energy -for our work. Herbert said, "Agreed! And when the pile gets low, I'll be -like the little boy the old man saw digging." - -"What was the little boy digging for?" I chuckled. - -"Ground-hogs," answered my husband. "An old man came along and told him -he would never catch a gopher like that, for they could dig quicker than -folks. 'Can't get him?' said the boy. 'Got to get him, the family's out -of meat.'" - -Now that the financial credo of the home-makers in the Rue Servandoni is -set forth, I shall not have to talk any more about how we got our money -and how much there was of it. But I had to take my readers into my -confidence, for I did not want them to labor under the misapprehension -that persisted among our neighbors of the Rue Servandoni throughout our -year there. They took it for granted that _les petits américains_ were -living at Twenty-One because that sort of fun appealed to us. We were -just queer. Of course we had plenty of money, and could have lived at -Nineteen or Twenty-Three if we had wanted to! The Parisian, the -Frenchman, the European, of whatever social class, believes that America -is El Dorado and that every American is able to draw at will from -inexhaustible transatlantic gold-mines. During the war the Red Cross, -the Y.M.C.A., and the officers and men of the A.E.F. confirmed and -strengthened this traditional belief. I do not blame my compatriots for -what is a universal attitude among us towards money. On the contrary, my -long years of residence abroad have made me feel that we get more out of -life by looking upon money as our servant than Europeans do, who look -upon it as their master. - -The first thing--the practical and imperative thing--when you set up a -home in Paris is to make friends with the concierge. Without his -approval and cooperation, your money, your position, your brains will -not help you in making living conditions easy. The concierge stands -between you and servants, tradespeople, visitors. You are at his mercy. -Traveling in Russia, they used to say to us: lose your pocket-book or -your head, but hold on to your passport. In Paris, dismiss your prize -servant or fall out with your best friend, but hold on to the good-will -of the concierge. - -Our first skirmish with the Sempés was an easy victory. We could not -keep the baby-carriage in our apartment, even if we had been willing to -haul it up and down a flight of stairs. Boldly we announced that we -wanted to leave it in the lower hall. "Of course," agreed Monsieur -Sempé. "I was just going to suggest that and to tell you that in my shop -I carry everything, fruits and vegetables as well as dry-groceries." - -We took the hint, and seldom went farther afield to do our marketing. -Madame Sempé was the first to call us _les petits américains_. She was -capable and kindly, and our friendship became firmly rooted when she -discovered that we intended to patronize her shop. The Sempé commodities -were good. This was lucky in more ways than one. For the mice knew it -too, and never came upstairs to bother us. - -Sempé himself was a genial soul, partly because he always kept a bottle -uncorked. Hard work and temperament, he explained, made him require a -stimulant. He took just enough, you understand, to affect his -disposition pleasantly. If you had a little complaint to make or a favor -to ask, much as you deplored his thirst, you found yourself casting an -eye over the man to make sure of his mood before you spoke. If you -caught him when the bottle was not too full or too empty, he could fix a -lock or put a new mantle on the dining-room gas-jet most graciously. - -Our friendship became undying when Monsieur found out that we were the -solution of his financial pinches. He came up one night, and, hooking -his thumbs in his purple suspenders, asked for a loan of "_shong -shanquante francs shusqua sheudi_." _Jeudi_ never came. To Sempé's -intense relief, we agreed to take out the debt in groceries. This was -the beginning of a sort of gentlemen's agreement. A paper, thumb-tacked -to a shelf in the shop, kept the record of our transactions. When I came -to make purchases in the morning or when Herbert dropped in of an -evening to buy a supplement to our dinner for unexpected guests or our -own good appetites, we could see at a glance whether to pay cash for -what we bought or whether we should do a sum in subtraction. It was -generally subtraction, and Sempé, wagging his head, would say, "This -goes well--soon I shall be square with you." But the satisfaction of -being square with the world was never Sempé's for long. The arrival of a -barrel of wine or a load of potatoes would send him running up the -stairs for the money to help finance his business. In spite of our -slender resources we did not feel this to be a hardship. Not -infrequently it was an advantage. First of all things one has to eat. We -always began to get our money back immediately in the necessities of -life. Instead of having our money out in an uncertain loan we took the -attitude that our board was paid for two or three weeks in advance. - -In another connection, we had the benefit of the advantageous side of -the Golden Rule. - -In our study of Turkish history we had constant use of Von Hammer's -_Histoire de l'Empire Ottoman_. This meant much transcribing by -long-hand at the Bibliothèque Nationale where the typewriter could not -be used. If only we had Von Hammer at home! But it was a rare -book--eighteen volumes and an atlas--far beyond our means. One day we -were browsing at Welter's, the most wonderful bookshop in Paris, on the -Rue Bernard-Palissy off the Rue de Rennes near Saint-Germain-des-Près. -Monsieur Welter, who took pains to become acquainted with and discover -the specialty of every passing _client_, told us that he had a set of -Von Hammer, recently purchased at a London auction. He sent a boy to -bring it out. Oh how tempting it looked, beautifully bound in calf! We -handled it fondly, but turned regretfully away when he said that the -price was two hundred francs. - -"Do you not want it?" asked Monsieur Welter, astonished. "It is -indispensable for your work and you do not get a chance often to -purchase a set of Von Hammer. Never will you find it cheaper than this." - -"I do want it, and it isn't the price. I'll come back later, hoping you -will not have sold it." - -We each had a volume in our hands. I poked my nose between the pages of -mine to sniff the delightful odor to be found only in old books. -Monsieur looked at us, smiled, and said, "You mean that you haven't the -money. You will have it some day. No hurry. Give me your address and the -books will be sent around this afternoon." - -The delightful relationship thus began lasted until August, 1914, when -Welter (who never became naturalized although his sons were in the -French army) had to flee to escape internment. His business was -sequestrated. German though he was, we never cease to mourn the only -expert bookman in Paris. We have tried a dozen since, some of them -charming men, but none with the slightest idea of how to sell books. -Welter had book-buyers all over the world. Whenever he came across rare -books in your line, he mailed them to you with the bill. If you did not -want them, you sent them back. Every three months, a statement of the -quarter's purchases came, and you sent a check when you had the money. -One's attention was brought to many valuable sources, and one was able -to buy books of immense value, the possibility of whose acquisition one -had never dreamed of. - -Monsieur Welter told me years later, when I recalled the Von Hammer -incident, that he didn't lose five hundred francs a year in bad bills. -"The dealer in old books who does not give all the credit the buyers -need is crazy," he said. "What man interested in the things I deal in -would think of cheating me? Your husband wanted Von Hammer. I saw that. -Any man who wanted Von Hammer would pay for it in time." - -We had never had a French book-seller offer us credit, much less send -books on approval when we had not ordered them. - -When I think of the hundreds and hundreds of books we bought from -Welter, I realize one of the secrets of the inferiority of the French to -the Germans in business. The French cannot bring themselves to give -credit: they have an innate fear of being cheated, and understand -commercial transactions only in terms of cash. For years I have made a -point of watching French shopkeepers. Invariably they arrange that the -money is in their hands before they give you your package. - -The other night I went to the Champs-Elysées theatre to see a show given -by American soldiers of the 88th Division. One act opens with Hiram -Scarum bringing a military trunk into his hotel. Staggering under the -weight, Hiram hobbles across the stage, plants his trunk on the floor, -and sits down on it to mop his brow. He spies a paper across the room, -and investigates to find it is the tag belonging to the trunk. Pulling -himself together, Hiram spits on his hands, wearily shoulders the burden -again, and carries it across the room where he ties the tag to the -handle of the trunk. Then he picks up the trunk and carries it back -where he had first put it down. Hiram is like French commerce. The -Frenchman, with a sense of self-congratulation on his own industry, -carries the trunk to the tag. He is surprised to discover that while he -has been carrying the trunk to the tag, his German competitor has -carried a great many tags and has tied them to a great many trunks. We -hear much in these days about the war after the war. We are told by -Paris newspapers how the French business men are going to capture trade -from Germany. How can the French win in the commercial game? I'm sure I -don't know. One is concerned lest the inability to take the large view -end in disappointment and disaster for the Frenchmen we love. We are -just as sure that our French friends will continue to carry the trunk to -the tag as we are that they ought to get a hustle on, give up their old -ways, and win the game. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - -AT THE BIBLIOTHÈQUE NATIONALE - - -There are many libraries in Paris. Some of them are so famous that I -ought to hesitate to call the Bibliothèque Nationale simply "the -library." But I do call it that, not because it is the largest in the -world (a fact that calls forth instinctively admiration and respect from -Americans), but because we love the Bibliothèque from long and habitual -association. It is a part of our life like our home. - -In the beginning of the fellowship year, Herbert came to realize that -books could do more for him than lecturers. A magnetic and enthusiastic -lecturer communicates his inspiration: but most professors are decidedly -non-conductors. And then, with rare exceptions, university professors -are not sources themselves. What they do is to stand between you and the -sources. When they have something original and suggestive to say, why -not let them speak to you from the covers of a book? If a book does not -hold you, you can throw it aside and take up another: the lecturer has -you fast for an hour, and you often suffer because his baby did not -sleep well the night before. But when the professor speaks from the -printed page, he has had a chance to eliminate in his final revision -whatever effects of insomnia there may have been in the first draft. If -he hasn't done so, you do not need to read him. - -When students become full fledged post-graduates, they are at the -parting of the ways. Either they go directly to the sources, form -independent judgments, and produce original work as a result of -constructive thinking, or they continue to remain in intellectual -dependence upon their teachers. The latter alternative is the more -pleasant course. It requires less effort, and does not make one restless -and unhappy. The pleasant days of taking in are prolonged and the -agonizing days of giving out are postponed. But if a youngster is face -to face with books all day long every day, he either stops studying or -commences to produce for himself. Then, too, he is constantly under the -salutory influence of being confronted with his own appalling ignorance. -Whatever effort he makes, the volumes he summons from the shelves to his -desk keep reminding him that others have given years to what he hopes to -compass in days. The Bibliothèque teaches two lessons, and teaches them -with every tick of the clock from nine a. m. to four p. m.--humility and -industry. - -There was, of course, much to be learned at the Sorbonne. But my husband -had already passed through three years of post-graduate work, and was -tired of chasing around from one lecture to another. There were hours -between courses that could not be utilized, and the habit of loafing is -the easiest formed in the world. It was because we were jealous of every -hour in the Golden Year that Herbert and I first turned from the -Sorbonne to the Bibliothèque. Later we came to realize that the only -thing in common between Salles de Conférences of the Sorbonne and the -Salle de Lecture of the Bibliothèque was the lack of fresh air--the -universal and unavoidable torture of indoors everywhere in France. - -Nine to four, five days in the week, Herbert lived in the Bibliothèque, -and I went there mornings--when Scrappie was not on my conscience! One -did not have to go out to lunch, as the fare of the _buvette_ was quite -acceptable to those interested in books and manuscripts. The old law of -the time of Louis XIV holds good in this day. No light but that of -heaven has ever been introduced into the Bibliothèque. After gas was -discovered, the law was not changed. Even when electricity came, -presenting an infinitesimal risk of fire, the Government refused to have -the vast building wired. The prohibition of lights extends, of course, -to smoking. You cannot strike a match in the sacred precincts. So, after -lunch we used to go across the street and sit for half an hour in the -Square Louvois. - -[Illustration: Château de la Reine Blanche: Rue des Gobelins] - -Do you know the Square Louvois? I'll wager you do not. For when one -passes afoot up the Rue Richelieu, he is generally in a hurry to get to -the Bourse or the Grands Boulevards. If you go on the Clichy-Odéon -bus, you whizz by one of the most delightful little green spots in the -city of green spots without noticing it. The Square Louvois has on the -side opposite the Bibliothèque Nationale a good-sized hotel, which was -named after the square. The boundary streets on the north and south are -lined with modest restaurants and coffee bars, within the purse of -_petits commis_ and _midinettes_. In Europe there is not the hurry over -the mid-day meal that seems universal in America. Dyspepsia is unknown. -The humblest employee or laborer has from one hour and a half to two -hours off at noon. There is competition for benches and chairs in the -Square Louvois between twelve-thirty and two. Mothers who are their own -nursemaids have to resist the temporary encroachment of the Quarter's -business world. We from the Bibliothèque make an additional demand. We -must have our smoke and fresh air. And we never tire of the noble -monument to the rivers of France that is the fountain in the center of -the Square. - -"Funny, isn't it," said I, "how things turn out to be different from -what you expected--your thesis for instance. Gallicanism is simply a -closed door for the present." - -"I tackled too big a subject," admitted Herbert. - -We were smoking in the Square after lunching in the buffet of the -Bibliothèque Nationale with the Scholar from Oxford. - -"I'll wager," said Herbert, "that those greasy fellows in the _salle de -travail_ discovered long ago what I have just learned. You start with a -general subject and a century. You narrow down until you have a phase -and a decade. If I ever do Gallicanism, it'll be limited to the -influence of the conversion of Henry of Navarre upon the movement. I -could work till my hair was grey developing that. But I should be -narrow-minded and dry as bones when I finished." - -"Ah! You must not quarrel with the greasy fellows," put in the Scholar -from Oxford. "That is research. They are not narrow: they are -specialists." The Scholar is a canny Scotchman who gives his r's their -full value, and then some. - -Allowing the letter r to be heard for sure is another point of contact -and sympathy between Scott and Frank. Just as the cooler Teutonic -temperament seeks the sun, and has been seeking the sun right down -through history, in trying to reach the Mediterranean, the cooler Scotch -temperament seeks the sun where it is nearest to be found--in France. It -is the attraction of opposites. - -"You Americans," said the Scholar, "with your Rocky Mountains and your -Niagaras naturally approach research from the general to the particular. -It is far easier for men born in an older civilization to begin with a -specialist's point of view." - -"I know, I know," said Herbert, "I had to work that out and I had to -change my whole subject, too. I wobbled from Gallicanism to Ottoman -history." - -"That's no sin," declared Alick. "A man engrossed in research is human. -Going to Turkey was bound to influence your thinking. The traditions of -France still hold you, but the memory of Turkey is strong enough to -change the trend of your work. Go on with your origins of the Ottoman -Empire and be thankful you have discovered a line off the beaten track." - -"Yes," I cried, "and for goodness' sake stick to constructive ideas. You -research-fiends waste too much time trying to prove that the other -fellow is wrong. Instead of remaining scientists you get to be -quibblers. But I must leave you now. I cannot put my whole day into the -Bibliothèque. I have to mix up tea-kettles and dusting with pamphlets -and cards for the file." - -As Herbert and the Scholar from Oxford passed by the solemn guard at the -door of the _salle de travail_, I lingered in the lobby musing about -what we had been saying. I leaned for a minute against the pedestal of -the Sèvres vase and watched Herbert and Alick take their places side by -side at the old inked desks. I looked through the great polished plate -glass that makes the _salle de travail_ and the _travailleurs_ seem like -a picture in its frame. I knew from experience that once the two men had -got their noses in their books they would not look up. There was no use -in waiting for a smile. - -* * * * * - -"Boc ou demi?" asked the waiter. - -Herbert and I and the Scholar from Oxford were lunching together in the -Quarter. The Bibliothèque was closed for cleaning, so it was an off day. - -Herbert and the Scholar asked for _bocs_, and I thinking to be modest -chose a _demi_. My eyes nearly dropped out of my head when the men got -glasses of beer and before me stood a formidable mug that held a pint. -Emilie told me afterwards that if I wanted that much beer again the -waiter would understand better if I ordered "_un sérieux_." - -The Scholar from Oxford had the habit of living in our apartment when he -came to Paris. Memories of hospitality on the part of himself and his -wife when we were on our honeymoon in Oxford were fresh, and when the -time came for the Scholar's next look at manuscripts in the Bibliothèque -Nationale, there was no question in our mind--nor in his, for that -matter--as to where he should stay. We set up a folding-bed in the -dining-room and tucked him in. No matter if we did not come back to the -Rue Servandoni at meal time. If we did not want to bother getting up a -meal, we put the apartment key into our pocket and sallied forth on what -we called a baby-carriage promenade. There was always some little place -where we could eat when we got hungry. Once we dined in a _crémerie -chaude_ for no better reason than the attraction of a diverting sign on -the window--_Five o'clock à toute heure_. - -To-day we had decided against Brogart's, our usual haunt, on the rue de -Rivoli. At Brogart's you could lunch for Fr. 1.25 with the _plat du -jour_ and a satisfying range of choice in the fixings that went with it. -It was 1.20 if you invested in tickets. Then you were given a -napkin-ring to mark your serviette, and a numbered hole in the open-face -cupboard screwed to the wall beside the high desk where Madame sat while -she raked in the money and kept a sharp eye on her clients. There was a -division of opinion between Mother and me during a flying visit she made -us just before Christmas. We took her to Brogart's. She saw a fellow, -some kind of a wop with a greasy face and long hair, pick his teeth with -a fork. She never went back to Brogart's again. They don't do that in -Philadelphia. At least if they do, Mother had never happened to see -them. Herbert and Alick and I were less difficult to please. To-day it -was only because we had wandered far afield that Brogart's did not see -us. We had found a table that pleased us in a restaurant that bore the -sign "Au rendez-vous des cochers." We were not looking for a novel -experience. We were not tourists, you understand. It was on account of -the budget. - -Everybody knows that the cochers of Paris are no fools. They can drive a -horse, but they can drive a bargain too and afterwards settle down on -their high box and fling you shrewd observations about art or politics -or what not. But there is more to it than that. When you have lived a -while in the Latin quarter you know who are the expert judges of -cooking. In the old days, the meal you could buy in a tiny dark -_rendez-vous des cochers_ was as tasty as anything you could enjoy on a -Grand Boulevard at ten times the price. Minor details like a table-cloth -and clean forks and knives with each new plate are not missed when the -_gigot_ is done to a turn and the _sauce piquante_ is just right. The -_rendez-vous des cochers_ restaurant has one distinct advantage over the -swell place on the Boulevards. If you are in a hurry to go to the -Concert Rouge and have had no dinner, you can stop for a second at a cab -driver's restaurant while you buy a portion of _frites_. The luscious -golden potatoes, sprinkled with salt, are wrapped in a paper, and you -consume them as you walk up the Rue de Tournon. They don't mind babies -there. Scrappie was asleep in her carriage. Monsier le Patron came out -and rolled the carriage ever so gently under the awning beside the glass -screen by the restaurant door. He beamed at us benevolently, then -stepped over to explain that he was a _père de famille_ and that -_courants d'air_ inflame babies' eyes. - -The Scholar from Oxford is a Scotchman with the Scotch affection for -France. Before the war he came to France and Italy every year to make -enigmatical notes in his own handwriting reduced to cramped proportions. -The notes were placed within columns that were inked out years ago when -he began the monumental work. The columns are drawn across the short -dimension of the paper, so that you have to turn the thing sidewise to -read it. - -There is a variety of ink. The row of notes at the top is all in the -same color. Three quarters of an inch in black mark the first year's -hours spent in the Bibliothèque. Run your eye down a space the width of -your thumb and the ink changes. Count how many ink colors you see, and -you'll know how many times the Scholar from Oxford has come abroad on -his grant. He carries his papers in a shiny black oil cloth _serviette_. -He was modestly imperturbable when with my usual vehemence I gave him a -good scolding because he confessed he had no copy of the precious -sheets. - -"So worked the old monks in the days of the Reformation," said I, "when -a fellow spent his life time laboriously copying the Bible with his own -hand." - -"Ah," mused the Scotchman with his eyes far away, "they were great -scholars, the monks." - -"But it was slow," I protested, "often a man did not live long enough to -illuminate the device at the end of his chapter. Only a great enthusiasm -carried his successors to the end." - -"Without them, think what we should have lost!" - -"But they worked like that, you stubborn one, because there were no -typewriters or secretaries. You cannot persuade me, Alick, that there is -any extra virtue in using their methods today. You should adopt modern -methods so that you could accomplish more. You don't seem to realize -that thirty years from now the world will call you what you are, -Britain's greatest Latin scholar." - -Unconvinced that mediaeval methods belong to mediaeval times, the -Scholar from Oxford lit another cigarette. He still persists in carrying -around Europe, in spite of wars, his priceless record of years of labor. -But he has since become Professor of Humanity at a great University. The -chair that he holds dates back to the day of the methods to which he -remains faithful. - -Home again, I was making the coffee. But I was not out of the -conversation. Our kitchenette was six feet from the dining-room table. -Herbert started to light his cigar. - -"Ah, my lad," said the Scholar from Oxford, staying Herbert's hand, "you -haven't asked the lady's permission!" - -"I guess I can smoke in my dining-room," answered Herbert. - -"You have to ask my permission then," laughed Alick, "before you smoke -in my bedroom." - -Thank heaven, the Bibliothèque Nationale does not make my husband and my -guest stupid. If I could not look forward to jolly evenings, I should -make war upon research work, much as I like Bibliothèque Nationale. - - - - -CHAPTER IX - -EMILIE IN MONOLOGUE - - -"Carrots cost money!" - -"Yes, Emilie?" - -"I had to throw several sous' worth at your window before you got awake -this morning, and when they rolled back some of them fell in the gutter. -Old Sempé saw me take them, and I'm sure he'll ask you to pay for them," -said Emilie, nodding her round head with its well-oiled straight black -hair. Emilie was no more gifted hirsutely than in other feminine -adornments. Since the day we found her cleaning our apartment, at the -request of the Sempés, I had been studying her carefully to decide -whether new clothes and soap would help her appearance. Clean and togged -out in some of my things, she was not radically changed. But her heart -of gold shone in her eyes, and I was not long in learning to love her. - -"You never hear that bell," continued Emilie. "What a conscience you -must have to sleep that way. The carrots are cheaper than paying me from -eight o'clock when you sleep on." - -"Never mind about the carrots," I laughed. "We need you for an alarm -clock, and we did not wake up until one fell on the bed." - -Emilie was my first servant, and I did not have her all the time. All my -life I had been demanding things from servants, but I had never bossed -one in her housework. I dreaded tackling the problem. Emilie was the -easy solution. The _femme de ménage_ system is one of the advantages of -life in Paris. You do not have to house your servant, and she is not in -the way in a small apartment when you do not want her there. You can -have as much or as little of the _femme de ménage_ as you like, or (as -was more often the case in my first year of Paris housekeeping) as you -can afford to pay for. I put Emilie out of the house when the clock -showed the number of times forty centimes per hour that I could spare. -Forty centimes per hour, did I say? Yes, and that was ten centimes more -than others paid in our street. Now it is a franc per hour, and the -_femmes de ménage_ of 1919 growl most of the time and stop work when -they want to whether your house-cleaning or laundry is finished or not. -Emilie set in deliberately to attach herself to me and accepted all my -vagaries. I flatter myself that it was not so much for the extra two -sous per hour as for the fact that she liked me. My queer ways -interested her. She could never understand why I washed Scrappie's -silk-and-wool undershirts myself, but was willing to pay her several -francs for sitting on the coal-box reading a newspaper or dozing for -hours while I went to the opera. - -Emilie was a vaudeville singer and dancer who had lost her figure and -most of her teeth before the bi-decennial of her stage career. - -"To think, Madame, that a few years ago the posters on the _Kiosque_ at -the corner of this street used to announce my number at the music-halls, -and to-day I'm down on the floor washing your tiles!" - -I was pulling the baby's wool stockings on drying-boards. - -"You say you used to be on the stage?" I led on sociably. - -"Yes, Madame, _comique excentrique_. That is why I cannot cook. My -profession required me always to eat in restaurants, but I can wash -dishes, clean rooms and build fires. Thanks to God, for the service you -need, I know how to mind babies. I never had anyone to help me with -Marcelle." - -Marcelle was a fifteen year old girl, hare-lipped and cross-eyed, but -her mother loved her dearly. Emilie did not say who Marcelle's father -was. But she was not as reticent as the woman of Samaria, and would have -scorned to come to me under false pretenses. _Tout savoir est tout -pardonner._ If you cannot live up to the spirit of that motto, do not -plan a life without worry for yourself in Paris. - -"Last year, before I found you, Madame, Marcelle and I were out of -work. When you came in here in July we had earned only fifty francs in -two months. Marcelle did not get her job as laundry apprentice until -October. Oh no, we didn't exactly starve. You can get cold-boiled -potatoes and they sell bits of bread and left over coffee very cheap at -night when the restaurants close." - -Here she sat up to wring her floor-rag into the brown water of the pail. - -"I hope you'll not regret spoiling me the way you do. You let me talk, -but you can trust me not to forget myself. Take this afternoon when -those ladies are coming for tea. You know how I wait on the table. That -is a rôle. I get my happiness in considering everything a rôle. I play -at being _femme de ménage_. These dirty old clothes are my costume: the -bucket and mop are stage properties." - -"Do you like having company at tea?" I broke in. - -"That depends." - -"On what?" - -"On who they are." Here Emilie made up her mind to speak with firmness. -"Now, without indiscretion, Madame, the ladies you asked for this -afternoon are not interesting. I was here when two of them called and -you told them to come to tea." - -"Why not?" - -"The Latin Quarter is full of women like that. I know. I have worked for -them. I have been cleaning at studios and apartments like yours in this -neighborhood ever since I left the stage. I have seen what these women -paint. Oh la! la! Sometimes you cannot tell the canvas from the palette, -Cubism they call it, to hide the fact that they cannot draw and could -not reproduce a figure or any recognizable object to save their lives. -No, I'm not talking of beginners. I'm talking about the old ones, the -women, Americans and English, who do not know how to paint kitchen -chairs or carry a tune, and yet art schools and music academies flourish -on their fees. They were misfits where they came from. It pays their -relatives to send them money every month so they won't come home. But -why should Paris--that is, our part of Paris--be the dumping ground? You -say that there are more men of that kind than women? Yes, oh yes, many -more. But then, after a certain time men give up posing. They do not -mind being taken at their real value. When they are failures, they admit -it. The women keep on pretending." - -Emilie was as good as her word. With a shining face and hair well -slicked back from her ears she appeared at tea time. The ample front was -covered by a clean white apron. She stood at my elbow, her black beady -eyes keen to see what I needed before I asked for it. _Oui, Madame_ and -_voilà, Madame_ came as softly as though, born in a pantry, she had -always served tea. But she could not keep up the play without the -relief of an occasional entr'acte. When she brought me a pot of fresh -tea and guests happened to be looking the other way, she would give a -broad wink and bolt from the room. When the guests left, the kitchen -door was closed. - -"I ought to have made one more appearance, Madame," said Emilie a few -moments later as she settled herself comfortably in the steamer-chair -and took a pinch of snuff. "The model servant would have helped them on -with their coats. But I had all I could stand." - -"But you did very well, Emilie." - -"I got more fun out of it than you did. I said that you were wasting -your time on those people. What did they do? Told you you looked badly. -Asked why you were so tired. Advised you to get a doctor for the baby's -cough. And you think they meant well? That it was solicitude?" - -Here Emilie laughed heartily and wiped the snuff off her hands with the -greasy blue apron that now replaced the white one. - -"You are _naïve_, dear Madame. Women love to tease each other that way, -especially those who are not well or strong themselves. They hate you -for not having ills. If you told them that you had a physical -examination last week and the doctor said you were in perfect condition, -they would shake their heads gravely and warn you that you are -underweight for your height." - -"They did make me mad, I confess, when they volunteered advice about -Scrappie. They used to scold me for nursing my baby and they scolded me -to-day when they heard I had stopped nursing her." - -"That's it! That's it!" cried Emilie. "Next time they talk like that, -show them the little thing, beautiful _rose de mai_ that she is, and ask -them in what way she looks badly." - -Throughout the year at Twenty-One, Emilie was a tower of strength to me. -When we sent our pitchpine back to William Shakespeare and packed our -rugs and brasses, she was on hand as she had been the day we set up our -Lares and Penates in the Rue Servandoni. She urged that we take her to -Constantinople with us. We did, and never regretted it--if only for her -comments on the Turks and Greeks and Armenians. When she realized that -we needed other care than she could give us, Emilie quietly dismissed -herself and went back to France to live in Bordeaux. We see her there -occasionally. She still wears my old hats and blouses. She is still a -_femme de ménage_. And Marcelle has continued to wield the flat-iron. - - - - -CHAPTER X - -HUNTING APACHES - - -I was bathing Christine before the fire. Gabry and Esther came in. The -two girls settled themselves in steamer chairs. - -"We want to know if you will let us come and sleep in your dining-room -to-night," asked Esther. - -"Sure," I answered, "but, mercy me, the bed in there is a little bit of -a narrow one...." - -"That doesn't matter," said Gabry. - -"No, indeed," agreed Esther. "We can cuddle up close and we shan't be in -it very long." - -The baby began to howl. I had been listening to the girls and the side -of the tub had got hot. - -"Poor little dear," said Esther. "Her mother forgot her and she began to -parboil." - -I had the baby safely on my lap now wrapped in towels. Emilie carried -away the bath tub. - -"What's going on to-night?" I asked. - -"Well, it's a fling," said Esther. "You know how it is up at the Hostel. -They are so fussy--you would think it was an old ladies' home. Two boys -that came over in our ship have been studying forestry in some German -school. They are here for the holidays. We got them to promise to take -us with them to-night to see the town--café stuff, you know." - -"Where are you going?" I asked. - -"To a cellar where they do the Apache dance." - -"You don't want to see that," I suggested. "It isn't real. Just a plant -to catch parties like you. Why Herbert and I saw that stunt done in a -cinema the other night. There was a French couple back of us. They -giggled over it. The man said, 'Wait a minute. The police are sure to -come in after that party of Americans are comfortably settled with some -drinks.'" - -"You don't mean it," said Esther. "Don't take the edge off our spree." - -"I'm not taking off edges. Only in the cinema the other night it was -instructive the way the policemen came in. After they had driven out the -most murderous dancing Apaches, the Americans thought it was too hot and -fled. You ought to have seen the way fake Apaches and barmaids laughed -at them afterwards. What is your plan for the night?" - -"First to dinner in some spicy café, then the theatre. We're going to -see _Chantecler_. Everybody's crazy about it." - -"Excepting people who think it is silly," put in Gabry. - -"Well, if it's silly to see actors dressed up in peacock feathers," -cried Esther, "we'll have a good time. And there'll be supper somewhere -afterwards." - -"Going to make a regular night of it, aren't you?" - -"That's just the point. Helen, you're a dear to be so sympathetic. Up at -the student Hostel...." - -"Did they object there to your going?" - -"They don't know a thing about it. It would never do to tell them." - -"Why?" - -"They'd begin to preach," protested Esther. "A pack of school teachers -anyway. That's why we want to spend the night here. We'll just explain, -you understand, that we're going to spend the night with their dear -lovely Mrs. Gibbons. And they'll never know a thing about the fun." - -The girls were moving towards the door. - -"The boys will come here to get us," called Esther. "We'll come down -about half-past six. Herbert won't mind, will he?" - -"We must move along now," said Gabry. "I have a singing lesson." - -"And I have a fitting at the dressmaker's," added Esther. "Ta, ta, -Helen." - -I felt in my bones that I didn't quite know what to do about it and -would wait until Herbert came home. - -When Herbert returned from the Bibliothèque Nationale at noon, I told -him about my visitors. - -"Why on earth--" he began to comment. - -"Oh, they are going to do the Grand Boulevards with a couple of young -American fellows who are in Paris for a vacation," I said. - -"What's the matter with those girls," exclaimed Herbert. "What's gotten -into their heads? Do they think they can come here and start off on an -expedition like that? If they were older, it would be different. If -they're afraid to tell the Hostel people, it shows they know well enough -it isn't just the thing for them to do." - -"I thought so myself." - -"Well, why didn't you right up and say it from the beginning?" - -"Girls wouldn't take it from me. My game was to be absorbent and get the -whole story. They're nearly as old as I am. I couldn't dictate to them. -I don't know how to get out of it." - -"I see," mused Herbert. - -The girls came in about six o'clock to dress for dinner. They had their -suitcases and some flowers, and Esther brought her light blue hat in a -paper bundle. I had told them to telephone their boys to come to dinner -with us before starting out for the theater. This was the only way I -could think of to manage things so that Herbert could see them before -they started away. - -Esther put on the pretty bright blue dress she had bought at the model -shop to go with the light blue hat. She placed the hat, still in its -paper cover, on the top of the wardrobe in the dining-room. Gabry -played with Scrappie, sitting on the floor beside her, where she was -tied in her papa's steamer chair. Esther perched herself on the stool in -the kitchen and watched me frying sausages. Herbert came in after a bit -and wheeled right around from the front door into the kitchen. He didn't -have to walk. It wasn't far enough. - -"Hello, Esther, what are you up to?" said Herbert. - -"Hello, Herb." - -"Come on in the other room. I want to talk to you," said Herbert. - -He closed the door and I heard them talking hard. - -"Gee!" said Gabry. "Esther sounds mad, doesn't she?" - -"Herbert's telling her what he thinks of the party," I said. - -"He doesn't want us to go, does he?" said Gabry. - -"Oh, he's not breaking up the party. Not a bit of it. He only says that -seeing nobody of your crowd knows French and seeing that your mother -made us promise to look after you, he wants to know what café and -theatre you're going to." - -Just as a rather mad-looking Esther and a smiling Herbert appeared, -there was a ring at the bell, and in came the boys, two rosy-cheeked -American youngsters. They came into the kitchen to talk to me a moment, -and then Herbert took them into the dining-room to explain things. I -heard him talking with them, nice American chaps they were, not looking -for trouble a bit. Not the type out for the booze, just bright -youngsters who were going on the boulevards out of curiosity. - -We lighted up the candles in the bedroom-study. Herbert put some new -ones in the candlesticks on the piano and we soon got things going. One -of the boys was taken into the bedroom-study to play a tune on the -piano, and soon Esther cheered up with a face more or less of an April -one. - -"Hello, boys," said Herbert. "The girls have been telling us--Mrs. -Gibbons and I want you to have dinner with us here first so we can talk -over the party." - -"Sure," said John. "We have tickets for _Chantecler_." - -We sat down and tackled _coquilles Saint-Jacques_. - -"You don't want to get in any trouble over this game," Herbert went on. -"Not speaking French and all that...." - -"That's so, too," said Joe. - -"_Chantecler_ is fine and dandy," said Herbert. "If you want supper -afterwards, here's the address of a nice little café." - -"Sunday school picnic," moaned Esther. - -"Esther's inconsolable. She thinks I'm spoiling the fun. But these boys -don't want to get into a doubtful little hole. You don't know what -you're doing, Esther," said Herbert. - -"I'm as old as your wife, so there." - -"You fellows do not want to spend a terrible lot of money. I know you -don't. Esther is mad as a hornet at me because I am going to squelch her -idea of going to Montmartre or Les Halles for a hot old time. I don't -want to seem a poor sport, but you know some of those cafés are fakes, -others are what I shall not mention, and there is a third category of -really dangerous ones. The entire business is carried on to catch and -mulct tourists. If you happen to drift into the fake places, nothing -more serious would happen than getting stuck good and hard. You would -simply have to pay the waiter whatever was on the bill. If you were -considerably older and knew how to speak French, the slumming might -prove interesting--for one evening. But for you the game is not worth -the candle. I don't mind your going for a jaunt along the boulevards, -and I can tell you some of the cafés that are all right. But as for Les -Halles--that doesn't go." - -The boys were sensible. They fell in with our suggestions without -discussion. After dinner the four went off to their show. Next morning I -heard Esther telling Scrappie all about it. - -"The W.C.T.U. wasn't in it, baby. _Chantecler_ was written to please -kids of your age. There was nobody in that Y.M.C.A. café your daddy sent -us to. My blue hat was the most conspicuous object in the place. We -didn't see a thing. No _types_, no wickedness, no models, more than we -ordinarily see around the Quarter." - -Gabry's eyeglasses were shaking on her nose. - -"Tell her what Monsieur Sempé said," urged Gabry. - -"Yes, baby," said Esther, who was laughing in spite of herself now. "Our -mama boys wanted to be polite in the American way last night. They -brought us here and didn't want to leave us until they saw us inside -your saintly doors. But Monsieur Sempé stopped them down at the street -door. He simply yelled at the boys, '_Ça ne se fait pas à Paris, -Messieurs_.' - -"No," concluded Esther, "from start to finish, baby, there was nothing -about our party that would have hurt your lily-white soul." - - - - -CHAPTER XI - -DRIFTWOOD - - -I was nursing Scrappie. Herbert came into the bedroom and started to -speak slowly as if he wasn't sure how I would take what he was going to -say. - -"Fellow out here who is hungry. What shall I do?" - -"Feed him," said I. Herbert did not have to tell me that he had no money -to give the man to buy a meal. "Couldn't you ask him to dinner if he is -all right?" - -"Well, he is sort of an old chap," said Herbert doubtfully. - -I lighted a candle and put it on the end of the mantel-piece nearest to -the baby's bed. She was perfectly contented to go to sleep alone if she -could watch a candle flicker. - -When I had settled Scrappie and opened the window and closed the door -gently, I went into the dining-room and found Mr. Thompson. Sparse grey -hair, watery blue eyes, a talkative individual who hoped he was not -bothering us too much. He wore a frock coat with shiny revers. His cuffs -were unstarched and frayed, but they were clean. Herbert had brought in -some cold boiled potatoes. In those days you bought them cooked at the -_charcuterie_ for the same price that you got them raw at the -greengrocer's. It was a good scheme. You could peel them and slice them -in a jiffy,--then warm them with eggs broken up and scrambled in the pan -beside them. This with cheese and nuts and liqueurs made a meal without -using too much gas. You did it yourself, using no more energy than would -be taken out of you if it had been done by a cook. - -Mr. Thompson did not lie when he told Herbert he was hungry. He had -three helpings of everything. He said little during the meal, but he did -not eat with his knife. When it came to cigars, he pushed back his chair -and spread out his hands to the _boulet_ fire. Casting his eye from the -molding to the floor, he included the dining-room and all the rest of -the apartment with a sweeping gesture and a couple of "Ha-Has." - -"From the looks of this joint, you two youngsters haven't any more money -than you need. This is a good joke on me, too good a joke to keep to -myself. You have given me a square deal along with a square meal, and I -appreciate it. I have lived for years in this Quarter and have earned -precious little money. Sort of a down-and-outer. I am, I suppose, one of -the Quarter's charity patients. Don't worry. I am not going to beg of -you. First time I came to Paris, it was by way of England. I stayed a -long time in Oxford and made friends with the Cowley Fathers. Then I -buried myself in the Bibliothèque Nationale, for I was starting a thesis -in church history." - -"Indeed," cried Herbert. "I have a fellowship in Church History myself. -What is your subject?" - -"Religious orders after the Reformation," said Mr. Thompson. - -"Have you published anything?" asked my husband. - -"No," said Mr. Thompson. "Queer thing life is. We get loose from our -moorings when we least expect it. You won't believe me, but American -generosity was my undoing!" - -"How could that be?" I put in. - -"Don't you know," said Mr. Thompson, "that we are not as much the -captain of our souls as we like to think?" - -He was in a steamer chair now, and lying back, he blew smoke at the -ceiling. - -"But you were saying, Mr. Thompson," said I. - -"I was saying more than I ought to," he mused. - -He had forgotten his cigar. Herbert twisted a bit of newspaper, touched -it to the glowing _boulets_ and held it out to Mr. Thompson. Matches are -expensive in France. - -"Oh!" he started. "I was away back years ago. Thank you. I was wrong a -minute ago when I told you I had said too much. I have said too little. -You have made me feel at home, and I shall be frank with you. It -sometimes wrecks a fellow's career if he receives just a little too -much help. What I am talking about is quite a different thing from what -I may have suggested just now. Not a person spoiled with too much money. -But I was spoiled by the fact that at a certain time, I was able to put -my hands on ever so little money when it was not good for me. Not the -money itself, you understand, but the fact that the game is so easy." - -"But I don't understand," I protested. - -"Of course you don't," said Mr. Thompson. - -He threw the butt of his cigar on the floor, put his foot on it, and -took another from Herbert's box. - -"Sorry I haven't better cigars to give you," said my husband. "These -_carrés à deux sous_ just suit my speed." - -Alas for the _carrés à deux sous_! Of them as of many of our joys we -must say Ichabod. - -"The time came when I ran out of money--but altogether out of money, you -understand. I waited until I was pretty hungry before I told anybody. -Then the American Consul did something for me. Somebody gave me a pair -of shoes. Other persons gave me money, and the day was saved. Again I -became absorbed in my work, to be interrupted by poverty. This time I -went to the pastor of the American Church. He looked me over. Must have -thought I was a good case, as he saw to it that several people did -something for me. After all, it comes easily, and I have lived like -that for years. Sometimes my clothes don't fit very well, but what is -the difference. It has grown upon me until I am utterly unfit to earn my -living. You get nothing twice from the Consulate, and churches are not -good for much. Besides, the churches keep a list of dead-beats. It is -the individual Americans one meets that give away their money -carelessly. I found somebody who listened sympathetically to my -hard-luck story. The story itself was no lie the first time. But it was -so easy--there was the temptation. I tell you frankly that I fell. I -discovered that I could do it again when the hard-luck story was not -true." - -"I hunted you up," continued Mr. Thompson, "with the idea of getting -something out of you. I suppose if I put as much energy into holding -down a job as I do this, I could earn my living. But the habit of living -on the kindness of other people has me in its grip, and I do not stick -to work when it is given to me. I have been pretty faithful to the -Bibliothèque all these years, for it is heated there. I can read my -paper, write some letters and study a little on my church history. The -thesis is growing slowly, but that is all I can say I have done these -twelve years. - -"There are other people who do the same thing, you know. You have met -them without knowing it. Artist fellows, youngsters as well as old ones, -understand the game. Do you know how they work it? It is known now, for -instance, that you receive informally every Wednesday. There are other -days and hosts of women. So it goes. A fellow can get along very cheaply -like that. Pay thirty or forty francs a month for a place to live and -work, two sous each morning for _café au lait_ passed across the -zinc--good coffee too, as you perhaps know. They let you bring your roll -with you if you like. It will cost a sou. One roll and a cup of coffee -is enough after you get used to it. Your only large expense is the noon -meal. - -"Generally the evening meal you can pick up. You find in the social -register the names of all the ladies, kind and unobservant, who have -days at home. You stick a big paper on your wall and mark it off in -seven columns, one for each day of the week. You make a list of the -women who have receiving days, and you drop in somewhere every afternoon -about five-thirty. The tea party is pretty well finished, but there is -usually plenty of food left. The ladies have to provide for more than -really come. You do that yourself, Mrs. Gibbons. The ladies do not -notice that you eat more than one or two sandwiches and plenty of cake. -If they do notice it, it makes them feel happy, and there is your -supper. If you do it systematically with a list like mine, you do not -have to go to Mrs. X's house more than twice in the winter. A lot of -people in the American colony have receiving days. It is easy enough to -know them. All of the boys know a few, and we take each other around. -The artist fellows have a cinch. All they have to do, if they have a -conscience, is to present the hostesses to whom they are the most -indebted, with a couple of worthless sketches. Nobody ever suspects -anything. - -"You can slide in and out in the Latin Quarter and meet any number of -charming people. They never stay too long and there are always new ones -coming in. No hostess is superior to the flattery implied when her tea -is appreciated. I have learned to praise sandwiches so that I can get a -fair supply. I write an article occasionally, and that covers my rent. -Clothes are an easy matter. Any number of people in Paris will give away -clothes. You see I am a deadbeat. I was a deadbeat to-day when I saw in -the _Herald_ that Mrs. Gibbons was going to be at home this afternoon." - -Mr. Thompson got up to go. - -"Where did you put your overcoat?" asked Herbert. - -"I have none," said my guest. - -Herbert's eyes met mine. I telegraphed "Yes." - -Certainly we gave Herbert's old overcoat to Mr. Thompson. As we talked -about it afterwards, Herbert observed, - -"We could not help giving him the coat, could we?" - -"No, of course not." - -We never saw Mr. Thompson again. It isn't in the picture. Driftwood! - - - - -CHAPTER XII - -SOME OF OUR GUESTS - - -The best fun of having a home is sharing it with your friends. But you -deprive yourself of this fun--in a very large measure, at least--if you -make entertaining a burden or a great expense. In the Rue Servandoni we -tried out theories about hospitality that have become firmly rooted -family principles. Guests are _always_ welcome, and we never feed them -better than we feed ourselves. Company is the rule: not the exception. I -suppose my Irish temperament made this possible in the beginning. Now we -would not give up our way of living for anything in the world. By the -standards of my own family I am not regarded as a good housekeeper. I am -finicky only about cleanliness and the quality and quantity of food. The -rest doesn't matter. That is, I have no almanac to show me when to put -away the winter clothes and when to do Spring house-cleaning. I do not -get "all out of kelter" if the wash is done on Thursday instead of -Monday: and I never "put up" fruit or bake. I buy my preserves from the -grocer and my bread and cake from the baker. - -When I look back on Rue Servandoni days and try to analyze my attitude -towards housekeeping, I think first that I may have been demoralized by -living through the Armenian massacres just before going to Paris. It was -enough to make me happy in the morning to realize that my husband and -baby were alive. Did I have a new sense of values, born of suffering? Or -perhaps it wasn't anything as high-brow or pious as that. Perhaps it was -the inheritance of shiftlessness that came down to me from the ancient -Irish kings. This curious form of original sin persists and makes me -able to agree with one who sang when things all got messed up, - - "The cow's in the hammock, - The baby's in the lake, - The cat's in the garbage: - WHAT difference does it make?" - -Now I do not claim that my way is altogether right and that my maternal -Pennsylvania Dutch strain does not occasionally assert itself, though -feebly. I enjoy formal and well-ordered entertaining when it is not a -pretense--when I do not have the uncomfortable feeling that my hostess -has worn herself out getting the meal ready or is offering a meal beyond -her income. - -The alternative in the Rue Servandoni was to have friends take us as we -were or to make an occasional splurge. The latter was thoroughly -distasteful to us both. We held that what was good enough for ourselves -was good enough for our friends, and that they would rather come to our -simple meals than not come at all. How could we hope to compete with -the Café de Paris or Arménonville? And we knew that many who came to us -paid their cook more than our total income. - -[Illustration: Where stood the walls of old Lutetia] - -Is not the question of entertaining a good deal like the question of -other people's wealth? If you are continually striving to keep up with -friends richer than you, you are bound to feel poor. We could put our -heads out of our window, and pity ourselves because we were not living -in steam-heated, electric-lighted Number Nineteen or Number -Twenty-Three. But then, across the street, Number Twenty and Number -Eighteen had _logements_ beside which our apartment was a palace. - -Shortly after setting up our Lares and Penates in Number Twenty-One, a -friend from Denver dropped in just before supper. He was a judge and -silver-mine owner, the father of one of my Bryn Mawr college-mates. I -urged him to stay. He was excusing himself, when I volunteered the -information that our supper consisted of cornmeal mush with milk, and -that was all. He stayed, and told us that it was the best meal he had -eaten in Paris. "I just love cornmeal mush, and I cannot get it at my -hotel," he said. We believed him. He spoke the truth. - -There was always room at our table for friends. An extra plate, and a -little more of what we were having for ourselves--that was all there was -to it. In a big city, especially a city like Paris where shops are in -every street, getting more food quickly is no problem. Herbert would -just slip downstairs to Sempé's for eggs, another chop, another can of -peas, an additional bottle of wine. Next door was the bakery. - -The best friends of our married life have come to us through -unpretentious entertaining. The contact of the home is different from -the contact of the office or club or formal gathering, and it has -enabled me to take every step forward with my husband. Our broadened -vision, our intimate sources of information, the steps upward in our -profession are largely the result of the dinner-table and the -after-dinner smoke before the fire. One illustration shows how chance -influences the whole life. - -Early in the autumn of 1909, we received a letter from a Paris lawyer -who had just returned from settling insurance claims in -massacre-stricken Cilicia. He had been in Tarsus just after we left, and -wanted to meet us. I wrote back to him, as I would have done to anyone -with an introduction like his, "Come to dinner, and if there is a Mrs. -K. bring her with you." He sought us out in our little street. There was -no Mrs. K., but the spontaneity of the invitation and its inclusiveness -had prompted him to break his rule of not accepting dinner invitations. -He was a charming man, full of information and inspiration. When I -brought on the asparagus, he said that in Poland they put burnt bread -crumbs into drawn-butter sauce. I jumped right up, and exclaimed, -"Nothing easier! We shall have _asperges à la polonaise_ right away." In -three minutes the asparagus was to his taste. The lawyer thought out, -and made a suggestion that would certainly never have occurred to him -had I arranged a formal meeting in response to his letter. He told us -that the experience we had in Turkey we should not regard as accidental. -"Why did the massacres occur? You must have asked yourselves that. Now -drop your research into Gallicanism and French ecclesiastical history. A -thousand men are as well equipped for that as you. Turn your attention -to the Turks and the Eastern Question, and from that go into the study -of the contemporary diplomacy of Europe. The Russian and Hapsburg -Empires are built upon the Ottoman Empire. Study the relation of Turkey -to Poland. This is the field for you!" - -In the last few years I have often thought of that evening. We followed -the lawyer's advice. He helped us. He encouraged us. He used to come to -dinner every Tuesday night. We went back to Turkey and came again to -Paris before the Great War. During the years of absence, there had been -frequent correspondence. When we returned, the Tuesday evenings were -resumed. If my husband was ready for the work that came to him with the -war, it is thanks to the Paris lawyer. _The Foundation of the Ottoman -Empire_, _The New Map of Europe_, _The Reconstruction of Poland and the -Near East_, are the outcome of table-talks with the lawyer that began in -the Rue Servandoni. - -In the _pension_ of the Rue Madame we met people whom we invited to come -to see us in the Rue Servandoni. We asked them to our table. They came. -And they have been dinner guests in our different Paris homes during the -past decade. - -There was the Catholic Archbishop of Cairo, an Arab who had the -story-telling gift of his race. You do not know what it is to hear a -story told until you have listened to an Arab. The Archbishop unfolded -to us the lore of the East. There must have been something about _les -petits américains_ that interested him, for our meals could not compete -with Mademoiselle Guyenot's. He used to sit in the steamer-chair, with -his arms folded over his gold crucifix, his cape thrown back on both -shoulders (which gave a dash of red), the end of a long white beard -rubbing the most prominent buttons of his cassock front, and eyes -twinkling in unpriestly fashion. He was the reincarnation of Nasreddin -Hodja, prince of Anatolian story-tellers. Herbert pokes in his bath. One -night, when Scrappie went to sleep earlier than usual, Herbert started -to make his ablutions before the dining-room fire while I was busy in -the kitchen. The door-bell rang. In came the archbishop. There was a -swift change of persons and rooms. Herbert finished his bath in the -kitchen in an incredibly short time. He did not want to miss a moment -of the archbishop. - -Michi Kawai was with me in school as well as in college. Imagine my -delight at finding her one day looking at old furniture in the Rue des -Saints-Pères. If I ever thought of Michi, it was in Tokio. And I never -would have thought of Michi in connection with French antique furniture. -But that is Paris for you. Sooner or later all your friends come to -Paris. You run across them accidentally and invariably they are doing -something you would never have dreamed of associating them with. During -her months in Paris Michi was a frequent visitor in the Rue Servandoni. -She was one of those delightful combinations of Occident and Orient that -Japan produces better than any other nation. She was equally at home -with French and American friends, and, when Emilie was not there, knew -how to juggle my eight cups and saucers and spoons back and forth -between the tea-table and the kitchen, without guests catching on, more -dexterously than any of my American girl friends. - -We started our married life among the peoples of the Near East, and we -found them out there just like other folks, when we took the trouble to -come into intimate contact with them. Racially of course they are -different from us as they are different from each other. Greeks, -Bulgarians, Turks, Armenians, Syrians, Egyptians, Persians--each one of -these names calls up faces of people I love. I have known them in their -homes and in my home. A strong tie binds us to the Armenians. When you -have shared the sufferings, dangers and hardships of a people, they -belong to you and you belong to them in a peculiar way. Armenians came -to the Rue Servandoni, poor boys with no money and no home who had -escaped from Turkey, struggling students, successful painters, brilliant -musicians, wealthy merchants. Every collector of Egyptian curios, of -Turkish and Persian rugs, of Oriental pottery, knows Kelekian of the -Place Vendôme. His small shop is wedged in between a florist and a -ticket-scalper. In the window you never see more than half a dozen -objects. There is always a bowl as a _pièce de résistance_, a bowl that -only a Morgan could afford to own. Pause and look over the curtain, the -chances are that you will see Monsieur Kelekian sitting by a glass case -of Egyptian scarabs. He will be smoking, and his right hand will be on -the case. To know Monsieur Kelekian is to have faith in the resurrection -of Armenia and in the future of one of the oldest races of history. We -came to know him through his interest in the Adana massacres. He had -never heard of the Rue Servandoni, and the street was hardly wide enough -for his automobile. But he came to dinner with his wife--in spite of a -disapproving _chauffeur_, who thought there must be some mistake and who -insisted on inquiring for us first at Number Twenty-Three and then at -Number Nineteen. Although his nose never turned down, he became -accustomed to stopping in front of the grocery! - -Other _chauffeurs_ and _cochers_ learned during that winter a new street -in Paris, and the first time they, too, made the mistake of stopping -next door. Mrs. Evans, sister-in-law of the famous dentist, had a pair -of black horses that shone like the varnish of her victoria. "Dear Mrs. -Evans," as all the women called her, was interested in every good work. -She approved of my husband, because he was a parson, and of me because I -had lived in a missionary college. She knew we had no money and did not -expect us to have any. Her carriage was ours for afternoon rides in the -Bois de Bologne. Scrappie, "that darling missionary baby," must have her -weekly outing. Mrs. Evans, I am sure, believed that the air was not what -it ought to be in our quarter of Paris and that God had intrusted her -with the responsibility of seeing that we were occasionally transported -elsewhere. During that year we made other friends in the American -Colony, who, like Mrs. Evans, cared for us for what we were. They made -Paris home to us in the old-fashioned sense of the word, and the -intimacies then formed have never been broken. - -Gypsy Smith was an English evangelist who came to Paris that winter for -a series of revival meetings in the English-speaking community. He had -been traveling all over the world for twenty years. His wife had had to -stay at home to look after the children. Now, for the first time, she -was free to accompany him, and came to Paris with him. We showed the -Smiths some of the principal tourist points of interest one morning, and -they came home to lunch with us. In the way of entertaining, they had -been "touching the high spots" in Paris, as Gypsy Smith was sought after -by the substantial people of the British and American communities. Our -little home was a revelation to them of the fact that there were other -foreigners living in Paris than the rich. Mrs. Gypsy was greatly pleased -with the novelty of finding "just folks" in Paris. "A cozy little nest -you have here," she said, giving me a nudge with her elbow. - -There were so many people to see in Paris, old friends from home as well -as new friends, that I soon began to have my afternoon. On Wednesdays I -received in that tiny dining-room, with my eight cups and saucers and -spoons, just as if I were mistress of a large establishment. At first, -our neighbors thought it was a christening or funeral. When they -realized that _les petits américains_ over the _épicerie_ were having a -weekly "at home," they were confirmed in their impression of our wealth. -I confess that it was crowded at times and that the party had to -overflow into the bedroom. But it was fun, especially when one of my -girlhood friends, who had known me in Germantown days in my mother's -home, would bring her whole family along to see me, and exclaim, "Why, -Helen Brown--!" But I would get them all in. - -Two days after Christmas, my husband urged me to go walking with him. He -pointed out that no one would come. But I refused. I had more conscience -when I was young than I have now. Being "at home" meant sticking by the -game. I had cheered up the _boulet_ fire in the dining-room. The cups -were on the table. My china platter held a _gâteau mocha_ of dear -memory. Shall we ever again be able to buy layer-cakes with coffee icing -an inch thick done in the delectable ups and downs like a wedding cake? -And that at one franc-twenty-five? - -"Run down, dear, and get me some hot crescents. It's after four o'clock, -so they'll be ready." - -"Now, look here. You've got to be sensible. Everyone has hosts of things -to do Christmas week. Nobody will come. We'll eat the cakes for supper. -Let's go over the river." - -"No, that wouldn't be fair. Somebody might come." - -Herbert got the crescents, put more _boulets_ where I could get them -easily, and was gone. - -I settled myself in the steamer-chair. No sound except the ticking of -our little traveling-clock, and the dropping of a _boulet_ on the -hearth. An hour slipped by, and I began to realize that I might just as -well have gone out. A ring at the bell. When I opened the door, there -was my husband holding a bouquet of roses big enough for a bridesmaid. - -"Good afternoon," said he, bowing low; "do Mr. and Mrs. Gibbons live -here?" - -"To be sure," said I, stifling a giggle. "I am Mrs. Gibbons." - -"Indeed." My visitor shook hands with me and explained, "Mrs. Gibbons, I -am delighted to meet you. I knew your husband years and years -ago--before he was married, in fact. The first pleasure I have allowed -myself in Paris is to look up my friend Gibbons and his wife." - -He hung hat and overcoat in the hall, and handed me the flowers. "What a -charming dining-room. Dear me, have I intruded? You were having a -party?" - -"Just my day at home." - -We chatted for a full hour, discussing the fate of the House of Lords, -about which my new friend confided that he was writing an article. He -hoped some editor would publish it. We talked of the possibilities of -next year's Salons and disagreed on the subject of futurist painting. I -told my visitor about the many American friends that were turning up, -and how the Gibbonses realized that if they wanted to get any work done -in Paris they would have to stop acting as guides. What did he think -about adopting a policy of telling people that Thomas Cook had mighty -good guides at ten francs a day? Perhaps, however, we should make the -last exception with him, and show him the town. - -We talked of Christmas, and then I was asked if I had a baby. I replied -that of course I did. She was over in the Luxembourg Garden with Marie, -who kept her out late on my at-home day, but who would soon bring her -in. - -"People that see resemblance in coloring say she looks like me, but -those that see resemblance in contour say she's the image of her daddy." - -"So!" said my visitor. - -I put my arms around the contour. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - -WALKS AT NIGHTFALL - - -The Prince whom Tartarin met in Africa had lived a long time in -Tarascon, and knew remarkably well one side of the town. He knew nothing -of the other side. This puzzled Tartarin until he found out that his -noble friend's residence in Tartarin's native town was a compulsory one. -The Prince had ample time to study a certain aspect of Tarascon in -detail from the little window of his penitentiary cell. We do not all -have the privilege of devoting ourselves, as the Prince did, to a minute -study of just one view from just one vantage-point. And yet, in certain -things we share the Prince's experience. We become accustomed to a -definite aspect of the things we see to the exclusion of other aspects. -Thus it is that I know many parts of Paris familiarly as they appear at -nightfall. I could go to these quarters at other times, but I never -have. I fear the breaking of the spell. I fear disillusion. And if you -want to follow me in Paris walks through this chapter, plan your strolls -from five to seven during the winter months. - -It began this way. In the Bibliothèque Nationale, as in the Paris of -parks and gardens, the closing hour follows the sun. The Bibliothèque -has no lights. It turns you out at four, half-past four, five or six -according to the season. During the months of longer days, we stayed -until the last bell. In the winter we were put out before the afternoon -was over. One did not feel like making for home immediately. It was too -late to go far afield. We started in to explore Paris in a widening -circle from the Rue de Richelieu. My husband had covered much of this -ground in summer months with the Scholar from Oxford. When the light -held out until late, they had time to visit old Paris with the books of -Georges Cain for guides. In the winter months Herbert took me over this -ground again. But I saw it all at nightfall or after dark. - -It was a wonderful discovery, to combine exercise with interesting -sight-seeing at the end of the day. The habit of walks through city -streets, thus formed, has been persisted in through many busy years. I -recommend it, even to tourists. Use your precious days for churches and -museums and palaces. After they are closed, walk for an hour or two each -night. You will find diversity, and, like Horatio, things you never -dreamed of. And no matter how long you live in Paris, there is always -something new to explore and something equally new when you follow -beaten tracks. - -You have to be--or grow--catholic in your tastes if you want to enjoy -what Paris at nightfall offers. Of course in the beginning you look for -certain things. You have a goal: tracing the city walls from old -Lutetia to Henri IV; seeking traces of mediaeval days; spotting -Renaissance architecture; visiting historic spots or buildings -associated with famous names or events; reconstructing Paris of the -Revolution; or following the characters of Victor Hugo through _Les -Misérables_. Before long you join all these goals, and jump from -architecture to history, from history to literature. In the end, every -walk you take is the observation of living people inseparable from an -incomparably picturesque setting. It may take a long time to realize -that your primary interest is humankind. But when you do the world is a -kaleidoscope presenting new pictures, wherever you may be, each more -fascinating than the one that preceded it. - -"Seek and ye shall find" is a promise with a condition attached to it. -You have to look before you see. An effort of the will is required. -Without that effort, impressions are false or transitory or give no -reaction that sinks deep. We passed close to Messina just after the -earthquake. The captain of our ship obligingly slowed down to -quarter-speed. Passengers crowded against the rail on the Sicilian side -of the straits. - -"Why, Messina is all right!" someone cried. "The newspapers have been -exaggerating again." - -"Wait," suggested a lawyer. He got out his opera glasses. Others did the -same. As we studied Messina from the sea, and looked for the deep -fissures, the crumbling walls, we found them all along the coast. The -American soldier who told me, "Since I been in France I ain't seen -nothing but kilometres and rain," was not looking for anything else. - -Strolling after dark helps to bring into the foreground the human -element in the picture of Paris streets. Your field of vision is -limited. You do not see too many things at once. And you have to keep -your eyes open. Many a quaint corner, many a building, is less often -missed at nightfall than during the day. - -Paris is divided into arrondissements, each one with its local -administration, its _maire_, its _mairie_, its postal service, and its -police. The postal authorities have tried in vain to insist upon the -placing of the arrondissement indication upon the letters. But they have -never had much success. It is enough to remember where your friends live -without having to keep in mind twenty different arrondissements! Before -the war your arrondissement meant little to you, and you often did not -know its number if you wanted to be married, to register the birth of a -new baby, or got into difficulties with the police. Since the war, -residents in Paris came to know their own arrondissements because of -bread tickets, passports, income-tax declarations and other annoyances. -But in planning your walks at nightfall, it is helpful to take a map of -Paris and know something about the divisions of the city. We started our -explorations by hazard, and then found to our astonishment that we had -been going from one arrondissement to another, practically following the -numerical order. - -The Bibliothèque Nationale is just on the border between the First and -Second Arrondissements. Arrondissements One to Four are the old city on -the Rive Droite between the Grands Boulevards and the Seine. -Arrondissements Five to Seven include similar quarters on the Rive -Gauche. Some of the most interesting strolls are in the outer -arrondissements. But the seven inner arrondissements provide enough for -years without ever having to take the subway or tram. - -The four Rive Droite arrondissements stretch from the Place de la -Concorde to the Place de la Bastille, and include the Ile de la Cité and -the Ile Saint-Louis. The three Rive Gauche arrondissements stretch from -the Eiffel Tower to the Jardin des Plantes. On the Rive Droite the Place -de l'Opéra and the Place de la République, and on the Rive Gauche the -Place de Breteuil and the Place de l'Observatoire, are the outer corners -of the inner arrondissements. The Boulevard de Sébastopol on the Rive -Droite and the Boulevard Saint-Michel on the Rive Gauche form the only -straight route, cutting through the mass of tangled streets of -succeeding centuries. Running north and south, this central line divides -the arrondissements as the Seine does, running east and west. - -I have a horror of guide-books, partly because I do not know how to use -them (I never have learned!) and partly because I love to find my way -without pre-meditation and by accident. But many of my readers will -never have the same opportunity I have enjoyed of discovering -fascinating spots at nightfall. Why should I resist the temptation of -indicating some of the strolls that make the late winter afternoons -delectable? - -Everyone knows the Rue de Rivoli as far as the Oratoire or perhaps to -the Tour Saint-Jacques. At the crossing of the Boulevard Sébastopol, the -Rue de Rivoli leaves the familiar heart of Paris and enters the Fourth -Arrondissement. It becomes the Rue Saint-Antoine a couple of blocks -before the Eglise Saint-Paul. There the first break in the straight line -from the Place de la Concorde occurs. You deflect a little bit to the -right, and before you is the Bastille column. The Rue de Rivoli and the -Rue Saint-Antoine are the main artery of the Fourth Arrondissement. No -quarter of Paris affords more variety in walks at nightfall. Starting -from the Boulevard de Sébastopol, the streets on the left, at angles and -parallel to the main artery, are a labyrinth. Here is the Ghetto in a -setting incomparably more picturesque than the Ghettos of London and New -York. I doubt if even the oldest Paris _cocher_ finds his way here -unerringly. Through some of the streets no carriage can pass. The -narrowest street in Paris, the Rue de Venise, is here. Beginning -opposite the Hôtel de Ville, the Rue du Temple cuts through the Ghetto -all the way to the Place de la République. Then come the equally -interesting right-angle streets, the Rue des Archives and the Rue -Vieille du Temple. On the latter faces the Imprimerie Nationale. And do -not miss the parallel streets, Rue de la Verrerie, Rue du Roi de Sicile, -Rue Sainte-Croix de la Bretonne, Rue des Rosiers. Further along (now we -are in the Rue Saint-Antoine) the Rue de Birague leads one short block -into the Place des Vosges, one of the rare bits remaining of Paris of -Henri IV. - -On the right hand side we have the Hôtel de Ville, the old buildings -behind the Lycée Charlemagne and the Quai des Célestins. Several bridges -cross to the Ile de la Cité and the Ile Saint-Louis. The Pont -Saint-Louis connects the two islands. There is nothing more wonderful in -Paris than to cross the Pont Sully from the eastern end of the Quai des -Célestins, walk through the Rue Saint-Louis-en-l'Ile, and come suddenly -upon the apse of Notre Dame, protected by its flying buttresses. - -In the Second Arrondissement, start from the Place des Victoires at the -end of the Rue des Petits-Champs, and find your way through the various -tortuous routes that bring you out on the Grands Boulevards to the -Boulevard Poissonnière, the Boulevard Bonne-Nouvelle and the Boulevard -Saint-Denis. A few hundred feet from the Grands Boulevards, to the right -of the Rue Saint-Denis, as you go toward the river, Paris of the -Revolution remains in almost as full measure as in the Sixth -Arrondissement. - -We must not leave the Rive Droite without mentioning two walks at -nightfall in the outer arrondissement. From the Place de la République, -the most interesting glimpse of a crowded workingmen's quarter can be -gained in an hour by walking up the Rue du Faubourg du Temple, which -becomes the Rue de Belleville. There is a steep climb until you reach -the Eglise Saint-Jean-Baptiste. To the right is Ménilmontant, dominating -the famous Père-Lachaise cemetery, and to the left you can climb still -farther to Buttes-Chaumont. The second walk is along the Quai de -Jemmapes, which you reach by turning to the left from the Rue du -Faubourg du Temple just after crossing the canal. A few blocks up, on -the right, through the Rue Grange aux Belles you pass the Hôpital -Saint-Louis, a group of seventeenth-century buildings which continue to -do blessed work in the twentieth century. - -Dear me! I have forgotten Montmartre, where you climb endless flights of -stone steps and find--despite the tourist _réclame_--probably more of -old Paris than in any other part of the city. - -On the Rive Gauche, the walks at nightfall are more difficult to -indicate. You can go anywhere in the three inner arrondissements, and -you will not be disappointed. Walk year after year and you will begin to -wonder whether you ever will follow out the oftformed resolution of -returning to America to live. In the Seventh Arrondissement the region -between the Quai d'Orsay and the Rue de Sèvres, the Rue des Saints-Pères -and the Invalides is the Faubourg Saint-Germain, where are to be found -the finest residences in Paris, far ahead of anything in the Etoile -Quarter. But unless you are lucky enough to have the _entrée_ to -aristocratic and diplomatic Paris, you can only guess at the beauty of -the gardens whose trees thrust alluring limbs over high walls and at -what is behind the stately portals of the _hôtels_. - -In the Sixth Arrondissement the Boulevard Saint-Germain and the Rue de -Vaugirard are the best streets to take as guides in your wanderings. -Between the boulevard and the river, and between the boulevard and the -Rue de Vaugirard, most of the streets are thoroughfares, a swarming mass -of autos and wagons and push-carts, between five and seven. - -What shall I say of the Fifth Arrondissement, most fascinating of all to -me because I know it best at nightfall, I suppose? My favorite nightfall -walk in Paris is behind the Panthéon. Start at the Place Maubert, on the -Boulevard Saint-Germain, climb the Rue de la Mont Sainte-Geneviève. Turn -to the left through the Rue Descartes, and you will find yourself in the -Rue Mouffetard. Here you are as far from modern Paris as you will ever -get. You walk for nearly a mile with no interruption of trams and -omnibuses. No taxi cab or truck would dream of using the Rue Mouffetard -as a thoroughfare. And yet, on the Rue Mouffetard, to eat and drink and -dress yourself and furnish your house, you can buy all you need. You do -not have to hunt for it: it is displayed before your eyes. The Rue -Mouffetard. Here you are as far from modern Paris time, and I might -shrink from some of the foodstuffs, if not all, it offers, were I to buy -by sunlight. But by flickering torch-light the Rue Mouffetard is Araby -to me. And I never come out at the Avenue des Gobelins without a sigh. -Why isn't the Rue Mouffetard just a bit longer? - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - -AFTER-DINNER COFFEE - - -A visitor once asked me how it was possible for Paris to maintain so -many cafés, and said how distressing it was to see so many women in them -and there was more drinking than in New York or London--question and -inferences all in one breath, just like my sentence. My friend was -bewildered because he did not understand the _raison d'être_ of the café -in French life. He thought that a café was a place to drink according to -the American notion of drinking. The women were bad women in his eyes -and the men on the downward path. To one who holds this curious notion -the number of cafés in Paris and the crowds in them and at the little -tables in front of them are inexplicable and alarming. Cafés, -restaurants, _brasseries_ and _zincs_ line the boulevards, and there are -at least two or three to a block in every street. Owing to the intensive -apartment house life shops of all kinds are more frequent in Paris than -elsewhere, but you may have to walk to get anything you want. To drink -or eat, no. The place is right under your nose. - -All restaurants serve drinks. I know of only one non-alcoholic -restaurant in Paris: that is the vegetarian place on the Rue -Notre-Dame-des-Champs! If you did not eat in a "drinking-place," you'd -pretty soon starve. Many of the big cafés do not serve food. Some have -one dish, called the _plat du jour_, with cheese and fruit afterwards. -Others have oysters and snails and their own _specialités_. Others, -while not advertising meals, serve a _table d'hôte_ or a very limited _à -la carte_. In all, however, hot coffee is to be had at all hours and -every kind of a drink is on tap. The _zincs_ are little bits of places -where you get hot coffee, beer or a _petit verre_. Coal and wood -merchants also serve alcohol. In the more humble streets (which are to -be found in every quarter), cafés are dirty stuffy places, known as -_débits_. Rare is the "drinking-place" that has not its _terrasse_. This -may be only a chair or two and a single table on the side-walk. - -The _terrasses_ of restaurants as well as of cafés are maintained -throughout the winter. It is a familiar sight to see a table-cloth -flapping in the wind, held down by a salt-cellar and a mustard-pot. The -days are few that you cannot sit out. It does not get very cold in Paris -and an awning protects you from the rain. In some of the boulevard cafés -the _terrasses_ are actually heated by stoves! - -The Paris café is wholly different from the American saloon. None thinks -it is wrong to drink in France. Total abstinence is a funny American -idea to our friends overseas. Taking a drink in public is as natural as -putting your arm around your girl in public. Everybody does it. You -rarely see a drunken man or woman just as you rarely see poverty. -Alcoholism (by which is meant poisoning the system and breaking down the -health by excessive use of alcohol) is an evil France has to combat as -much as any other country. But the French have never had it preached to -them that the evil can be overcome by prohibiting the use of wines and -liquors or by the example of a part of the community voluntarily -abstaining for the sake of weaker brothers. The anti-alcohol movement in -France does exist. As the maintenance of war legislation against -absinthe and kindred spirits proves, it has public opinion behind it. -But the connotation of _alcoholic_ is limited in France. The Gallic -sense of proportion prevents the French from extremes in anything. Since -they do not drink to excess, they have no reason for regarding beer and -wines as alcohol. Often your French friends tell you that they never -touch alcohol. In the same breath they offer you delicious wine. - -Scruples understood and appreciated in America are often meaningless -when you live in another country. Stick to your white ribbon principles -if you will, but do not persist in your notion that cafés are places -where it is not respectable to be seen. Why cut yourself off from an -indispensable feature of Paris life? - -[Illustration: The Panthéon from the Rue Soufflot] - -The hour of the _apéritif_ finds the _terrasses_ of the cafés crowded. -You may have difficulty in getting a place outside. Having worked all -day and perhaps having walked home, the Parisian saves a half hour -before dinner for his appetizer. He sits at the little table in front of -his favorite café and watches the passing crowd. It is no hastily -swallowed cocktail, leaning against a bar and shut off from eyes like -mine by a swinging screen door. It is no prerogative of man. Sometimes -on week days and always on Sundays, his wife and children are with him. - -When we were living in the Rue Servandoni, we got into the habit of -going out for our after-dinner coffee. The reason was probably the same -as that of most Parisians. Living quarters were small. The baby was -asleep in the front room. Toward the end of the month especially we were -not always in a position to keep the tiny dining-room fire replenished -all evening. We thought of the gas bill. We liked to get a little air. -We were fond of music. Arm in arm we would walk along the Rue Vaugirard -to the Boul' Miche. From the Closerie des Lilas near the Observatoire to -the river you had plenty of choice for your after-dinner coffee. At the -foot of the Rue Soufflot is the Café du Panthéon. On the corner of the -Rue de la Sorbonne is the Café d'Harcourt. Just off the boulevard, on -the Rue de l'Ecole de Medecine, is the Taverne Pascal. These were our -favorites. Pascal has no _terrasse_. We went there when it rained or -when we thought of Munich beer. Harcourt used to have a red-coated -orchestra, and was the gayest place on the Boulevard Saint-Michel. At -the Panthéon you paid two sous more, but the coffee was better. We never -had to spend more than a franc for the two of us. A checker-board or -cards could be had of the waiter. If you wanted to write letters, you -asked for a blotter and pen and ink. - -Just around the corner from us, on the Rue de Tournon, was the -Concerts-Rouges, the blessed institution to make unnecessary the tragedy -of would-be musician and singer failing to get a hearing. Pianists, -violinists, cellists and future opera stars had a place to put on their -own concerts at little cost. We were the audience. Of course it was not -all amateurs: the management had to promise an audience. A good -orchestra gathered around the stove in the middle of the room. You sat -in a chair such as they have in school rooms, whose right arm spread out -generously to give space for your notebook. There was room, too, for -coffee-cup or stein. The only rule of the Concerts-Rouges was silence. -You could move your chair away from the music. When you were not -interested in the number, you read or wrote. Many theses and dramas and -poems have been worked out in the Concerts-Rouges. - -The Boulevard du Montparnasse, which has since become our home, was not -too far from the Rue Servandoni to be frequented for after-dinner -coffee. The Dôme, on the corner of the Boulevard Raspail, and -Versailles and Lavenue, opposite the Gare Montparnasse, were -after-dinner coffee haunts where friendships that have lasted through -the years were formed. We still sit there. Lavenue, after five years of -silence, again offers music. But we miss Schumacker, beloved of the -Quarter, who fell, they say, in the ranks of the enemy. His face is one -of those I cannot forget. I see him now, blue eyes and bright smile and -bushy hair, bending over his violin on the little platform by the piano. -He seemed to play his heart out and never tired. I always like to write -my letters at Lavenue. When I called for "_de quoi écrire_," the waiter -brought a tiny bottle of ink, spillable and square, sheets of ruled -writing paper and the cheapest quality of manila envelopes in a black -oilcloth folder, whose blotter never blotted. But you did not care. You -listened to the music after each page until it dried. - - - - -CHAPTER XV - -REPOS HEBDOMADAIRE - - -In Philadelphia you still find shutters with the rings at the middle of -their closing edge. To one of the rings is tied a piece of tape. In my -grandfather's house of a Sunday the shutters were together almost to the -touching point and held that way by the tape tied to the other ring. A -vertical bar of sunshine filtered through the slit. The parlor was cool -and quiet. Nothing moved. My father told me that when he was a little -boy he had to sit at one of those windows all Sunday afternoon -memorizing passages from the Bible. I wonder if in America there are -still many families who install in their children a repugnance for the -Scriptures by this sort of torture, whose observance of Sunday is -reached by a process of elimination of everything a normal person would -instinctively choose to do on a day of rest, and where there are more -don'ts for the children on Sunday than on Monday. Sunday seems to me a -happier day in America now than it was twenty-five years ago. But for -all that we do not enjoy it the way the French do. Until I lived in -France I never knew the full meaning of what I was singing in the hymn, -"O day of rest and gladness." - -The French dress up for Sunday as we do. I suppose as large a proportion -of the Parisians go to church as of Americans in any large city. But -once mass is over the day is given to recreation--and recreation out of -doors. What is more depressing than an English or American city on -Sunday? Sunday in Paris is the most animated day of the week. The French -word _endimanché_ is translated in dictionaries "in Sunday best." It has -a wider connotation. A place as well as a person can be _endimanché_. -The word brings up to the mind of one who has lived in Paris crowds, -laughter, fun, open air. How different from sitting on a chair in a room -with bowed shutters when common sense would dictate getting your lungs -filled with fresh air and worshipping God in communion with nature! - -In the Rue Servandoni days we came to know the joy and benefit of the -Continental Sunday. And ever since we have brought up our children to -look forward to Sunday as the best day of the week, the out-of-doors -day, when the family could be together from morning to night. - -The great thing about Sunday in Paris is that fathers and mothers and -children go out together, all bound for the same place, and stick -together. The family includes grandfathers and grandmothers, who are -always given the best places in the train, the choicest morsels to eat -and who to the day of their death are the adored center of the family -party. Mother carries the _filet_, a big net with handles filled with -good things to eat, and the baby too small to navigate alone is held in -father's strong arms. You can tell little sisters--and even big -ones--for they are dressed alike. Trams and trains for Versailles, the -Bois de Bologne, Saint-Germain-en-Laye and a dozen other equally -attractive suburbs are not taken by assault. The family waits in line at -the tram station, young and old clutching the precious little tickets -that tell them when it is their turn to get places. Everybody has his -chance, and there is no need to worry about grandmother or the baby. -Trams are not overcrowded: there are seats for all. If there is not the -money to go far from home, or if the weather is too threatening, each -quarter has its park, the Luxembourg, Montsouris, Monceau, -Buttes-Chaumont, Jardin des Plants, Vincennes, or the simple _squares_. -For two cents you have the right to sit on chairs near the band-stand. -First come, first served. The only restriction here is that -baby-carriages must stay outside of the enclosure for music-lovers. In -the baby-carriage zone, nobody minds if a baby howls: you may be in the -same condition at the next minute. - -Merry-go-rounds, Punch and Judy, swings and donkey-carts are everywhere -to be found for the children. At four o'clock the woman with fresh rolls -goes by. Hot _gauffrette_ and hokey-pokey venders are always near at -hand. If you do not want hokey-pokey, there is _coco_ to drink. The -innocent Sunday fun is not "the kind of thing no-one would think of -doing." Once I was waiting for the wife of a professor of the Ecole de -Guerre, who was later a brilliant general on the Marne. It was Sunday -afternoon. She excused herself for being late. "I stopped in the square -to listen to the band, and I had to have some _coco_. I never can pass a -_coco_ cart," she explained. More than once have I seen a mother, -elegantly dressed, come hurrying to the garden, sit down on a bench, and -nurse a baby handed to her by a nurse in cap and ribbons. I have done -that myself. Is there anything shocking about this? It is the natural -out-of-doors instinct. Distinguished looking gentlemen wearing rosettes -of the Legion of Honor head family excursions. They do not mind pushing -baby-carriages, either. - -On a good day the Seine boats are crowded. From Charenton to -Saint-Cloud, there is an endless procession of boats on a Sunday. -Parisians never tire of the spectacle of their city from the river. They -name the bridges as they pass under them and tell their stories to the -children. River clubs abound, and all Paris seems afloat in row-boats -and canoes. From one end of the city to the other the banks of the Seine -are lined with fishermen who seem never to become discouraged. Seine -boating is not without its dangers. But in the Bois de Boulogne the most -inexperienced learn to row and paddle in the shallow water of the lakes. -A miniature railway crosses a corner of the Bois from the Porte Maillot -to the Jardin d'Acclimatation, where kiddies can ride on elephants and -camels or be drawn by ostriches and zebras. - -No park is too small to have its ducks and swans with unlimited capacity -for bread-crumbs, its band-stand, its open-air restaurant where drinks -are served and you bring your own food, and its place without grass -where you can stretch your own tennis-net between trees. - -The Seine boats, the subway, and many tram lines land you at the foot of -the Eiffel Tower. An elevator quickly takes you above Paris for a view -that was unique before the days of aeroplanes. Near by is the Great -Wheel, always revolving from morning to night on Sundays. Parisians do -not feel the lack of the roofs of skyscrapers when they want to look -down on their city. - -For several hundred yards around the fortifications of Paris the law -forbids the erection of permanent buildings: at least, if you do build -in stone and mortar, you risk having your house destroyed, as many found -to their cost in 1914. This enormous land surface, between the city and -suburbs is covered with wooden shacks of rag-pickers and junk-dealers. -Everyone seems to have a very small holding, as the ground is of little -value either for residential or manufacturing purposes. Here thousands -of Parisians own cabins and have miniature vegetable gardens, which they -cultivate on Sunday, dreaming of the day when there will be enough -money in the bank to retire permanently to some quiet country spot. They -come home with arms filled with vegetables and flowers. - -In the year at the Rue Servandoni Herbert and I started to explore on -Sundays the _banlieue_ of Paris. Despite increasing "encumbrances" of -different ages, we have managed to keep up our delightful excursions -from early spring to chestnut time, and often on winter Sundays. But we -do not pretend to have exhausted in ten years the possibilities of -Sunday afternoons. We are always discovering new excursions for the -_repos hebdomadaire_. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI - -"MANY WATERS CANNOT QUENCH LOVE" - - -Higher than 1883; higher than 1879; higher than 1876; higher than 1802; -higher than 1740; higher than 1699; equalling the flood of 1658, the -worst in the history of Paris; finally breaking all records, both as to -height attained and as to damage done, such was the daily crescendo of -the press in recording the progress of _la Grande Crue_ during the last -week of January, 1910. No investing army, no Commune, no revolution, -threatened Paris this time. The best friend of Paris had turned against -her. For several days the older generation, who passed through the -trials of 1871, recalled painful memories and feared a worse peril from -the Seine than from the German invaders or the Internationalists. - -In the third week of January, from Tuesday to Friday, we were concerned -over the news of devastation wrought by floods in different parts of -France. There was much damage and suffering in our own suburbs. -Sympathetic editorials appeared in the newspapers: relief funds were -opened. On Friday afternoon, when we were taking a walk along the -_quais_ of the Rive Gauche, we had no suspicion what was going to -happen. - -Only on Saturday did Paris begin to worry for herself. Neuilly and -Courbevoie were flooded. Loroy reported ten drowned. The Seine, within -the city limits, suddenly rose ten feet. The first subway tunnel, that -of the "Métro" from the Chatelet under the Cité to the Place -Saint-Michel, was filled with water. The river spread into the original -"Métro" line under the Rue de Rivoli. The second tunnel, that of the -"Nord-Sud," was an easy prey because it was still in the course of -construction. The Gare d'Orléans was invaded. Its tracks, which parallel -the left bank of the river under the _quais_, disappeared. The Gare -d'Invalides, whose line runs the opposite direction along the Seine, was -also flooded. - -On Sunday morning we heard that in the Rue Félicien-David people were -rowing around in boats. We thought this interesting enough to invest in -a _fiacre_, and took Scrappie in the afternoon to Auteuil. On the way, -we got out and wormed ourselves through the crowd to hear the waters -swishing around the stair-cases down to the train levels at the two -flooded stations. When we reached the Rue Félicien-David and actually -saw people in boats, we bought photographs from an enterprising hawker, -wanting to preserve this souvenir of Paris. Little did most of the crowd -dream that within a few days they would not have to go farther than -their own front windows to see such a sight! - -On Monday evening everyone realized that the flood was not a curious -spectacle but a disaster. The river had been rising at the steady rate -of an inch an hour, and by nightfall was sixteen feet above its normal -height. Herbert decided to report the flood. This justified a taxi-cab -by the day. As this was an unheard-of luxury for the Gibbons family, -which had few chances to ride in automobiles at that stage of its -evolution, of course the baby and I decided to profit by the -opportunity, even though it was winter and not the best time of the year -for joy-rides. Anyway, I was interested in the great drama that was -being enacted, and we could tell Scrappie about it later. From notes -taken at the time, I am able to reconstruct the story of days as -stirring as any of those during the Great War. - -On Monday afternoon we went up and down the _quais_. All the river -industries, with their wooden buildings squatting on the river bank -under the shelter of the solid ramparts of the _quais_, were swept away. -Freight and customs stations and depots came within the grasp of the -river. At the Entrepôt de Bercy and the Halle aux Vins, barrels of the -spirits and wine were first gently floated and then drawn out into the -angry stream. The water in the Nord-Sud tunnel was threatening the Gare -Saint-Lazare. The Eiffel Tower moved slightly.[C] The cellars of the -public buildings along the river front--Palais de Justice, Chambre de -Deputés, Hôtel de Ville, Monnaie, Institut, Chancellerie de la Légion -d'Honneur, Grand Palais, Louvre--were gradually flooded until their -furnishings were extinguished. At Billancourt we saw the inundation of -the Renault automobile works and the Voisin aeroplane factory. The -effect of the latter disaster reached as far as Heliopolis in Egypt, -where an Aviation Week was scheduled. In those days aeroplanes were in -their infancy and depended upon a single factory for their motors. - -[C] My critic says this is not true. He did not see it, and he doesn't -think it is possible that the Tower would have remained standing, if it -had moved during the flood of 1910. But I find this statement in my -notes. Why shouldn't the Eiffel Tower move? I reminded my critic that we -had seen together on our honeymoon at Pisa a tower that had been leaning -for centuries. I do not intend to cross out this statement about the -most striking landmark of Paris, the participant in most of my vistas. - -Tuesday morning a heavy snow was falling. Awakened early by an -explosion, we thought that the Pont de l'Alma was being blown up. This -heroic measure had in fact been contemplated by the city engineers in -order to prevent the backing up of the water into the Champs-Elysées -district. The flood was rapidly gaining street after street in Auteuil -and Charenton. A rumor was afloat that we would soon be cut off from the -outside world. This meant a run on provisions and profiteering by -shopkeepers. We yielded to the common impulse and laid in kerosene and -potatoes for ourselves and condensed milk for Scrappie, paying double -prices and thinking we were lucky in having a chance to buy. - -On Wednesday morning commenced what we regarded at the time as a real -reign of terror. Underground communication ceased. Owing to the -inundation of their power houses, electric-trams stopped running. The -subway station at Bercy collapsed. Sewers began to burst in all quarters -of the city. A subterranean lake formed under the Rue Royal from the -Place de la Concorde to the Madeleine, and the street was closed to -traffic. In front of the Louvre and at the Pont de la Concorde soldiers -worked night and day raising the parapets higher and building barricades -with paving-stones and bags of cement. By evening the water had reached -a height of thirty feet, breaking all records since 1799. Refugees began -to pour into the city by the thousands and were lodged in the old -Seminary of Saint-Sulpice near us, the Panthéon and other public -buildings. The Red Cross began to be displayed throughout the city. -Boats and sailors arrived from seaports. The markets required -substantial police protection to prevent mobs from taking them by storm. - -On Thursday and Friday the fight against the ever-rising waters was -continued with desperate energy. In spite of all that human skill and -labor could accomplish, the Seine pushed its way over parapets and -through barricades, flooding rapidly the _quais_ and adjoining -quarters. By means of subways and sewers (channels opened to the river -by man's hand and that had not existed in the -seventeenth-and-eighteenth-century floods), districts far from the river -suffered equally. Auteuil, Grenelle, Charenton, Bercy were submerged. On -either side of the Trocadéro the palatial private homes of the _quais_ -were in the Seine up to the second story. The river appropriated to -itself the entire length of Cours-la-Reine from the Pont de l'Alma to -the Pont de la Concorde, reached the fashionable restaurants at the foot -of the Avenue des Champs-Elysées, and partly surrounded the two palaces -of Fine Arts, souvenirs of the Exposition of 1900. The streets between -the Avenue des Champs-Elysées and the river formed a transplanted -Venice. - -Hotels and stores on the Rue de Rivoli, the Théâtre Français--and even -the Opéra--found their heat and light cut off by the attack of the -Seine. Far away from the _quais_, in the neighborhood of the Gare -Saint-Lazare, the Seine, following the subway tunnel, burst forth into -the Place du Havre and the Cour de Rome. Hasty barricades were of no -avail. One could hardly trust his eyes when he looked up the Boulevard -Haussmann from the Opéra and saw boats flitting back and forth as far as -Saint-Augustin and the Boulevard Malesherbes. On the Rive Gauche the -aspect of Paris grew even more alarming. The Esplanade des Invalides and -the Quai d'Orsay joined the Seine. Soldiers threw a pontoon bridge -across the Esplanade for pedestrians. But taxi-cabs and buses were -compelled to plunge into the water hub-high. We saw motor-drawn vehicles -stalled because the water had reached their engines, while the -old-fashioned _cochers_ went merrily by, proud of their superiority. All -the people in _fiacres_ had to do was to put their feet up on the -_cocher's_ box. The Chamber of Deputies and the Ministery of Foreign -Affairs were approachable by boat. The angle formed by the Boulevard -Saint-Germain, the Quai d'Orsay and the Rue du Bac was all under water. -In this angle the Rue d'Université and the Rue de Lille were practically -inaccessible. We who lived in the Latin, Luxembourg and Montparnasse -Quarters could reach the Seine only by the Rue Dauphine or the Boulevard -Saint-Michel. For increasing torrents soon covered the Rue des -Saints-Pères, the Rue Bonaparte and the Rue de Seine. We had never -realized before how the early builders of Paris, in their determination -to stick to the river for purposes of defence, had reclaimed ground much -lower than the flood level of the Seine, relying upon the masonry of the -_quais_ to keep back the river. In modern times we have undermined the -natural defences of the Rive Gauche by bringing our railways to the -center of the city, by our sewers and by the subways. When you are on a -Seine river-boat, you can see all along the river how we have opened up -the city to floods. Paris, honeycombed underground, fell an easy prey -to the fury of the river. The very skill that added to the material -comfort and well-being of the city made Paris vulnerable when the -unexpected and unprecedented happened. - -The Jardin des Plantes, set apart originally for botanical purposes as -its name indicates, has gradually become the Paris "Zoo." Many American -tourists go there because it is the place where Cuvier worked and do not -realize that it is the home of wild animals also. The Jardin -d'Acclimatation in the Bois de Boulogne is more visited, and I have -often heard my compatriots express surprise at the paucity of what they -think is the Paris "Zoo." The Jardin des Plantes is less fashionable but -much richer in its variety of animals. As it is on the river, it was -invaded by the flood. In the first days, before we realized the calamity -of the rising waters, the Jardin des Plantes was thronged with visitors. -Interest centered around the bear-pits. The polar bears alone seemed to -enjoy splashing in the icy waters. The climbers were soon treed. It was -an engineering feat to rescue them with planks and prod them into -portable cages. The non-climbers narrowly escaped drowning. We watched -them lifted out by cranes, caught in sturdy nets. This was the only -means of rescue as they tore with their claws the bands that were first -placed around them by men whose only experience had been lifting horses -and cows from pits. - -When the river broke all records, the whole garden was flooded. Many -keepers were prevented from reaching their posts. The police took -charge. Food supplies were lacking, and the few keepers on hand did not -dare to let their dangerous charges loose. The furnaces were flooded and -there was no heat. In the monkey-houses the shivering animals, perched -high, scolded and growled with chattering teeth. We saw them form a -swinging bridge to lift out of the water's reach one of their number who -seemed unable to climb. Lions and tigers, cold and hungry, roared and -dashed themselves against their bars until the belated order arrived to -shoot them. The hippopotamus, contrary to tradition, drowned. Only the -birds, proud possessors of the secret of aviation, were superior to the -calamity. Here was the occasion for a new Noah. But alas, not even an -ark arrived, and it took Paris many years to restock the garden. Even -now there are no giraffes like those that used to look at us from their -sublime heights. - -On the River Droite, the Gare de Lyon was an island. Nearer the flood -took possession of the Quai des Grands Augustins with its famous book -shop, and, on the other side of the Place Saint-Michel, the quaint old -streets up to the Place Maubert. A depression there, where the walls of -old Paris once stood, brought the flood up to the roofs of some little -houses. - -In the Rue Servandoni we escaped the flood: for the ground rises -steadily from the Boulevard Saint-Germain to Montparnasse. This put us -considerably above the reach of the river. On Friday afternoon, when we -were facing a danger that stupified all, the flood was at its height. We -conceived the idea of viewing it from the top of Notre-Dame. It was a -long process for us, as hundreds of others thought of the same thing, -and we could not both go up together. I waited with the baby in the taxi -while Herbert _faisait la queue_ (if you do not know what this -expression means it would be well to learn it before visiting Paris!) -After he came down I had my turn. I was cold enough to enjoy the climb. -The view from the top of the tower was unique. The next day would have -been too late. We caught the flood at its flood. Paris was swimming. On -both sides the cathedral had become an angry, menacing rush of water. -Debris and wreckage was choked against the bridge piers. One realized -that habit had given us a sense of proportion to the cityscape. The -effect of diminished ground-floors and abbreviated lamp-posts and trees -was sinister. It was as if elemental forces, subdued and imprisoned when -the earth's surface cooled, had escaped. As I looked down on the scene, -I felt that abysmal water was breaking forth. Where would it end? - -After leaving Notre-Dame we rode up one side of the river to Auteuil and -down the other, frequently forced to make long detours. Our remorseless -enemy was making sad inroads upon the Ile-Saint Louis, and it seemed as -if it would soon sweep away the Cité. The Sainte-Chapelle was almost -afloat, as were the Conciergerie and the Tour de l'Horloge. The river -surpassed the parapets. The arches of most of the bridges had vanished. -The colossal statues of the Pont de l'Alma were submerged to their -chins. At the Pont d'Auteuil the water reached the wreath around the -letter N. Although the newspapers warned us that they might be swept -away, the bridges were crowded with sightseers. Curiosity is stronger -than fear. The current carried every conceivable object. At the Pont -d'Arcole the calamity was forgotten in the sport of watching huge -barrels sucked one by one under an arch and jumping high in the air as -they came out on the other side. - -Returning from Auteuil as darkness was falling, we had to pass above the -Trocadéro, the Rue de Bassano and the Champs-Elysées. Newsboys were -crying extras: "The river still rises!" We were in darkness. No lights -on the Avenue des Champs-Elysées. An engineer regiment was fighting the -water in the Place de la Concorde by the light of acetylene lamps. The -wheezing of an old pump taking water out of the cellar of Maxim's was -the only sign of life on the gay Rue Royale. To return to the Rive -Gauche we had to go down to the Pont-Neuf. The other bridges were now -barred. Does it not speak eloquently for the genius of our ancestors -that, with bridges every few hundred feet, the only one that could be -trusted--the sole link between Rive Droite and Rive Gauche--was the work -of Henri IV at the end of the sixteenth century? - -Our _chauffeur_, keeping up a running comment in which the hint as to -his expectation of a substantial _pourboire_ was uppermost, picked his -way as best he could back to the Rue Servandoni. We saw strange sights -that night, wooden paving-blocks floating in a messy jumble; a few -restaurants endeavoring to dispel the gloom with candles; soldiers with -fixed bayonets guarding the inundated quarters. It was bitter cold and -the glare of their fires was weirdly silhouetted in the rising waters, -mingled with the shadows of deserted houses. - -The river reached thirty-one feet seven inches at midnight Friday. -During the rest of the night and Saturday it remained stationary. -Saturday evening it began to fall slightly, and on Sunday all Paris was -out in gay holiday attire to view the damage and to celebrate the -retreat of the enemy. Lightheartedness returned immediately. Why worry -about what was over? This is the credo of Paris. But we had seen during -the dark week of flood-fighting a prophetic revelation of the real -character of the people among whom we lived. Little did we dream that -the precious qualities shown in the flood crisis were to be brought out -more than once again in future years. In 1914 we were not surprised at -the courage, persistence, unflagging energy and solidarity with -suffering of the Parisians. The flood, as I look back on it, did more -damage to Paris than was done during the war by German bombs. It was a -more formidable enemy than the Germans. I remember the comment of my old -Emilie: "_Mon Dieu_, this thing is worse than fire. You can fight fire -with water, but with what can you fight water?" - -When the newspapers Sunday morning assured us that the danger was over, -I realized how wonderful had been the struggle of civilians and soldiers -against the elemental. It was a manifestation of their love for their -city. And in the quick and generous relief given on all sides--and -unostentatiously--to those who were driven from their homes was the -proof that hearts beat fast and firm to help fellow-citizens as well as -to save the historic monuments that line the banks of the Seine. That is -why, when Herbert went out to preach in the Rue Roquépine church, I gave -him his text from the Hebrew songster: "Many waters cannot quench love; -neither can the floods drown it." - - - - -CHAPTER XVII - -REAL PARIS SHOWS - - -For many years the old expression that we can't get rid of, "the Salon," -has been a misnomer. There are five Salons, and, as going to see the -season's pictures and statues is a form of amusement and distraction in -Paris on a par with theatrical productions, all five are equally -important. Even if one desires to judge by the standard of art, -establishing categories of excellence and importance is impossible. The -longer one lives in Paris, the more one realizes the absolute lack of -criteria in judging artistic achievement. Painters and sculptors, poets -and playwrights and authors, singers and actors do not acknowledge the -existence of the jury of public opinion, much less newspaper critics, -art juries, _premiers prix_, medals, and organizations. Schools are -legion: standards are the taste and liking of the individual. So we let -those who claim temperament and genius have their chance, and we go to -the five Salons with equal zest, just as we look constantly for lights -under a bushel to please us far from the Académie Française and other -bodies of the Institut. In June the two "regular" Salons exhibit -separately, although simultaneously, in the Grand Palais. There is an -autumn Salon of the progressives. The humorists and cartoonists have -their own Salon. Last, but not least (in numbers!) the independents -exhibit what they please in wooden buildings erected on Cours-la-Reine. - -On a late June afternoon in 1914, I stood on the steps of the Grand -Palais, after an afternoon in the two big Salons--I mean to say -principal Salons--no, in order to escape criticism let me put it "most -universally accepted as important" Salons. It was raining hard. I never -saw the water come down in sheets the way it did that afternoon. Cabs -were of course unobtainable. The wind made umbrellas no protection. And -I was wearing my best frock. What a bother! Hundreds waited as I did, -preferring the additional fatigue of standing herded almost to -suffocation to spoiling their clothes. Suddenly, the rumor spread of a -flood, a flood as disastrous as 1910. Only this time the water came from -above. So heavy was the rainfall that sewers were bursting and new -excavations for subway extension were caving in. Enterprising newsboys -brought us the evening papers with scare headlines. Not far from where -we were an hour earlier choirboys, going home from practice, were -swallowed up in the earth in front of Saint-Philippe-de-Roule. A -taxi-cab hurrying along the Rue du Faubourg-Saint-Honoré disappeared. -The earth opened up under a newspaper _kiosque_ and a shoe store at the -corner of the Boulevard Haussmann and the Rue du Havre. _Eboulements_ -everywhere. The Place de l'Alma was a gaping hole, tramway tracks and -pavements falling into the new subway station. - -[Illustration: Hôtel de Ville from the Pont d'Arcole] - -My mind went back to the dark week of 1910, which I have just described. -Comments of the Salon crowd were identical in reaction to those we heard -after the flood. "Outrageous, the _incurie_ of the municipal -authorities! Something should be done to protect us against this -constant digging. Why, it won't be safe to stick your nose out of doors. -These awful accidents--in Paris, mind you! Something _must_ be done!" -For an hour it went on like that. Then the storm stopped. The sun, still -high at six in June, broke through the clouds. The wind died down. I -started up to the Champs-Elysées with the crowd. More newsboys! This -time the principal headline announced the trial of Madame Caillaux. The -Parisians--and I with them--went down into the Métro. An hour ago such a -risky undertaking would have caused us to shudder with horror. No more -underground for us! As I waited in line for my ticket, the man in front -of me said to his wife, "Now do you really think that Madame Caillaux--" - -I laughed to myself. The Medes and Persians boasted of not changing -their laws. The Parisians could boast of not changing their mentality. A -danger over is a danger forgotten. Hurrah for the new sensation! My -readers may think me guilty of skipping suddenly backwards and forwards -in this book from one thing to something entirely different. But -remember that I am writing in Paris and about Paris. Paris is like that. -I went forward to 1914 to get an illustration for 1910. The very day -after we were sure the flood was going down, we lost interest in the -Seine. Our great project of an emergency channel for turning the Seine -at flood-time died in twenty-four hours and will not be revived until -Paris is actually being once more submerged. _Actualité_ is a word for -which we Anglo-Saxons have no equivalent. It means the -thing-of-the-moment-which-is-of-prime-interest. And the press can create -a new _actualité_ overnight. - -The Government did this several times during the war in order to relieve -a tense internal political situation. During the last German drive we -had the affair of the false Rodins, and we turned to read about the new -statue exposed as a fake each day before we looked for the new German -advance. When the Clemenceau Cabinet was threatened, a twentieth-century -Bluebeard, with the police daily discovering new wives, was dished up to -us every morning in all the papers. - -Back in 1910 we turned from the flood to _Chantecler_. After seven years -of heralding and "puffing," after many mysterious delays that whetted -the appetite, the management of the Théâtre de la Porte Saint-Martin -announced that the curiosity of Paris would be rewarded at the end of -January. The flood was the last postponement. The waters had hardly -begun to recede before public interest was again centred upon -_Chantecler_. When the _répetition générale_ was given on February -sixth, oldest inhabitants and historians of the French theatre were -agreed that not even Hernani nor yet _Le Mariage de Figaro_ had created -so universal an anticipatory interest. Was _Chantecler_ merely an -eccentric literary endeavor or was it to prove a practical theatrical -venture? More than any living writer Rostand had been able to win for -his plays recognition as literature and recognition as "money-winners" -in the theatres of foreign countries as well as his own. - -Looking back over a decade I may be wrong in comparing a past with a -present event. But I honestly believe that there was far more interest -in Paris in what was going on at the Porte-Saint-Martin on the evening -of February 6, 1910, than in what took place at Versailles on the -afternoon of June 28, 1919. Interest was lost in the Treaty of -Versailles before it was signed. _Chantecler_ had a fighting chance to -succeed. Just as the curtain started to rise before the cream of French -literary and theatrical circles there was a cry of "_Pas encore!_" M. -Jean Coquelin sprang up from the prompter's box in conventional evening -dress. Was there to be another postponement--a fiasco in the presence of -the invited guests? No: for M. Coquelin began to recite a prologue, -inimitably phrased. He told the audience that they were to be introduced -to a barnyard as soon as the farmer's family had gone. It was Sunday -afternoon, and when the chores were finished, the animals would be left -to themselves. As he spoke, numerous illustrative sounds came from the -stage. We heard the young girls going off with a song on their lips, the -wheels of a receding carriage, the bells of the village church, and -shots of hunters out for their Sunday sport. Then M. Coquelin -disappeared, and the curtain went up. - -The first two acts were wildly received. The third act was too long and -modernisms marred the beauty of the verse. The lyrical continuity of the -play was broken by the introduction of a purely satirical effect. The -real reason for lack of sustained interest was the mental confusion and -weariness of having to imagine the actors as animals. The human mind is -incapable of receiving through the sense of vision a representation of -the unreal, where the real is at the same time glaringly evident, and -keep clear, harmonious, concordant images. No ingenuity could make an -actor's figure like a bird's. And then humans do not differ in size like -birds. There was no way of approximating widely different proportions of -the rooster, the black-bird, the pheasant and the nightingale. - -In watching _Chantecler_ I had the same painful impression of how we are -handicapped by the multiplicity of necessities we have created for -ourselves in modern days as I had in watching the flood. Our evolution -has bound us fast with chains of our own forging. Physically and -mentally, we have manufactured so many props to lean upon that we can no -longer stand on our own feet. _Chantecler_ cannot be compared with the -animal plays of Aristophanes for in Greek drama there was no attempt to -present to the spectators a visual image in harmony with the audile -image. Nor even in Shakespeare's time was the dramatist limited by the -difficulties of a _mise en scène_. A Midsummer Night's Dream was an -easier proposition for the Elizabethan actor than for Sir Herbert -Beerbohm Tree, despite the properties of Her Majesty's Theatre, the -hidden orchestra playing Mendelssohn's music, and the magic aerial -ballets. - -Our next "real show" was the political campaign for the new Chamber of -Deputies that was to inaugurate the fifth decade of the Third Republic -on June first. Herbert spent an inordinate amount of time, I thought, in -puzzling out the voting strength of the Ministerialist and Opposition -groups, and patiently wrote articles for American magazines about -Radical Socialists, Clemenceau and Caillaux, to vary his Turkish -articles. But whether he treated of French leaders and politics or of -Venizelos or of the Young Turks, his articles invariably came back with -a polite rejection slip. We put them away and sold them later, when they -were out of date, for more than we would have gotten then. Our money for -writing came from the _Herald_, and we realized that if you want to -make your living by writing the anchor to a newspaper is not lightly to -be weighed. - -But though I was not even mildly interested in Radical Socialists, -Republicans of the Left, Independent Socialists, Progressists and what -not, I did like to go to political meetings. They were good for your -French and good for the opportunity of studying the influence of -politics upon the Latin character. How the French love meetings! They -use our English word instead of _réunion_, just as they always speak of -self-government. But they are not at all like us in politics. There are -as many parties as there are leaders, and their campaigns center around -personalities, not principles. - -In 1910, the first round of the election was on April 24, and the final -round on May 8. It just happened that May first was a Sunday, and fell -between the two election Sundays. Throughout the Third Republic, Labor -Day has been a time of fear and trembling for the Paris _bourgeoisie_. -The Cabinet is always anxious on May first. You never can tell what is -going to happen when crowds gather in Paris: so the wise Government does -not allow trouble to be started. Encouraged by the success of their -Ferrer demonstration on the Boulevard de Clichy a few months before, the -revolutionary elements decided to make May Day a big event with the hope -of influencing the second round of the elections. Premier Briand decided -there would be no May Day parade. Believing that the Government would -not dare to come into conflict with them in the midst of their election -struggle, workingmen's unions plastered Paris with boastful posters -announcing a monster demonstration in the Bois de Bologne, followed by a -parade to the Place de la Concorde. This was in open defiance to the -law, which requires a permit for gatherings in the open air and for -parades. But M. Briand was equal to the occasion. Saturday night he -threw twenty thousand troops into Paris. They bivouacked in the Place de -la Concorde, the Place de l'Etoile, and in the Bois. I took Christine to -church. After the service, we went to the Bois for lunch. There were -troops on every road in the part of the Bois indicated in the posters as -the workingmen's rendez-vous. Here and there little tents with the Red -Cross flag were pitched, and to make the picture more impressive doctors -in white coats stood before the door. This scared the workingmen more -than the soldiers did. We saw many of them in their blue blouses. But -they took care not to stop or to walk in numbers. - -The _bourgeoisie_ were able to rest easy. Assured that order would be -kept, fashionable Paris flocked in great numbers to the Longchamp races. -Of course we went, too. As Herbert had a story, he bought the best -seats. We were not far from President Fallières, and we saw the spring -fashions. Scrappie created as much of a sensation as some of the gowns. -People who frequent Longchamp are not in the habit of bringing babies -with them. But with me it is always, "love me, love my child." - -The unions did not have good luck in the spring of 1910. But no more did -the clericals and monarchists. Hopes of a clerical reaction were -dissipated. Briand was as bitter against the orders as against the -unions. The royalists no longer count. We had many royalist friends. -Some we knew well enough to ask, "How goes the propaganda?" And they -knew us well enough to answer, "_Pas de blague! C'est à rire!_" "Stop -teasing me: it's a joke!" The Duke of Orleans has about as much chance -of being King of France as he has of being President of the United -States. In our estimates of political conditions are we not too apt to -judge France by her checkered past? There is no government in Europe -more assured of stability than the French Republic: and this was as true -in 1910 as it is in 1919. - -Public lectures are a source of diversion to Parisians. We Americans -think that we are great on listening to ourselves and others talk. But -crowds in France do not need a political campaign, a religious revival -or a return from near the North Pole to come together for a lecture. The -most surprising topics, treated by men who are not in the public eye, -draw attentive and assiduous audiences. Every day you have a wealth of -choice in free lectures in Paris. Some newspapers publish the lecture -program of the day just as naturally as they publish the theatrical -offerings. At the Sorbonne, the Collège de France, the Ecole des -Hautes-Etudes, the Ecole des Sciences Politiques, the Ecole des Chartes, -the various Musées, and a host of other organizations offer single -lectures and courses of lectures, week days and Sundays, either free or -for a very slight fee. Many of the best courses in the various Facultés -of the University of Paris are open to the public. Just to give one -instance of popular interest in a rather technical subject, we used to -attend the courses in physical geography of Professor Brunhes at the -Collége de France. That year he was treating the formation of the -mountainous center of France. If you did not go early, your chances of a -seat were slim. There were always people standing thronged at the doors -way out into the hall. This was not unusual. Any man who knew his -subject and who could treat it with vigor and wit was sure of a _salle -comble_. His subject did not matter. One did not have to spend money: -free courses were as attractive as those for which a fee was charged. We -discovered that Parisians never cease going to school. One is accustomed -to see only young faces in the class-rooms of American universities. In -the Sorbonne and the Collège de France there are students from sixteen -to seventy. - -If music is your passion, you can indulge it to the full in Paris. With -the Opéra and Opéra Comique and Opéra Municipal, there is something -that you really want to see every day, and when the music does not -particularly attract you, you can be sure of an excellent -_divertissement_, as the ballet spectacle is called. Parisians love -choregraphy. And there is choregraphy for all tastes and all moods. -Paris is the mother of the spectacle called _revue_. We have borrowed -the name but not the thing. No _revue_ can be successful in Paris unless -it possesses distinct quality in dances, costumes, _mise en scène_, and -especially in the dialogue. The _revue_ must reflect what Parisians are -thinking about, take into account _actualités_, and interpret the events -of the day. This means constant change in the dialogue, suppression of -old and introduction of new scenes, to the point where you can go to the -same _revue_ in the third month of its run and find something entirely -different as far as the lines go. For six months of the year the bands -of the Garde Républicaine and of the regiments stationed in Paris play -in the gardens and squares on Thursdays and Sundays. The Tuileries -offers from April to October open-air opera and concerts in the heart of -the city. You pay only for your chair. - -The foreigner resident in Paris soon becomes aware that he does not have -to leave his own quarter to find a good evening's entertainment. Real -Paris shows are perhaps best to be found far from the Grands Boulevards, -Clichy and Montmartre. From the heights of superior opportunity one -does not want to look down upon the tourist and tell him that he doesn't -really see Paris. But the fact remains that when theatres and -music-halls and restaurants become rendezvous for foreigners they -insensibly lose their distinctive local atmosphere. They begin to cater -to the tourist trade and give their audiences what they come to see. -This is so true of the Folies-Bergère, the Casino de Paris and other -large music-halls that the program has become half English and the -actresses and choruses and clowns are as often of London as of Paris -origin. The same foreign invasion on the stage, following the invasion -in the audience, is to be found at the Ambassadeurs and Marigny on the -Champs-Elysées. Alas! even the Concert Mayol type of music-hall has -succumbed to the temptation of catering to the big world. English and -American "turns" are dragged in by the ears to enliven _revues_ for -those who do not understand French, and the spectacle has become a -totally un-Parisian jumble of vaudeville. But in the little music-halls -of the quarters one still finds the atmosphere that Parisians love and a -program offered to their taste. Herbert and I used to go to a theatre on -the Boulevard Saint-Germain, just off the Boulevard Saint-Michel, where -plays were typically Parisian. Another such theatre exists in the Rue de -la Gaité. In the same street are three music-halls that put on songs and -stage _revues_ for Parisians. There are probably a hundred theatres and -music-halls of this kind whose names do not appear in Baedeker, and -which have resisted successfully the first decade of cinema competition. - -Last of all among real Paris shows the _foires_ must not be forgotten. -But I speak of these in another chapter because visiting them is a goal -for a _promenade_ and not the deliberate seeking of an evening's -entertainment. You take in a _foire_ as incidental to a walk, just as -your _apéritif_ or your after-dinner coffee is most often the price you -pay for a seat to watch the passing crowd, which, when all is said and -done, is the real Paris show. - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII - -THE SPELL OF JUNE - - -My critic points out that after having been so enthusiastic about walks -at nightfall and having put myself on record as to the exceptional -advantages of seeing Paris in the dark on winter afternoons, rain or -shine, I shall be inconsistent in extolling daylight Paris. Why the -spell of June, when your walks are wholly in daylight? If it were -inconsistency, being a woman I should be within my rights to ask the -critic what he expected. But is it inconsistent? I think not. If I love -to go out in the rain, if I enjoy city streets at night time, it does -not follow that I do not enjoy good weather and the long days of June. -It is another aspect of Paris that we get in our walks. We have time to -go on longer excursions. We "do" the river and open spaces more than old -quarters. And, best of all, in the two Junes of our early married life, -we took the baby with us on our strolls. I felt the spell of June when -we returned to Paris from Turkey in 1909. I felt it more when we were -going back to Turkey in 1910. And ever since, the Paris June has had a -charm all its own, deepening with the years. However I may like autumn -and winter and spring, June is the best month. The spell is partly due -to the knowledge that one is soon going off to the shore or mountains -for the summer, and partly to the thought that it might be the last -June. Each year we have felt that we ought to return to America in the -autumn. - -In the Rue Servandoni year, April and May were cold, wet months. Spring -fever did not get us until June. Then we decided that all the wisdom and -profit of our Paris year was not to be found in the Bibliothèque -Nationale. We began to divorce ourselves from daily study by the excuse -that we ought to get together a small library on Turkish history. Where -could the books be bought more advantageously than on the _quais_? From -the Pont des Saints-Pères to beyond Notre-Dame the parapets of the Rive -Gauche are used by second-hand booksellers for the display of their -wares. The _bouquinistes_ clamp wooden cases on the stone parapets. You -can go for more than a mile with the certainty of finding something -interesting at an astonishingly low price. There is no more delightful -form of loafing in the open air. The books are an excuse. They become a -habit. In order to prevent the habit from growing costly, you must make -out a budget. Some days you are only "finding out what is there"; other -days, before leaving home, you divest yourself of all the money in your -pocketbooks and wallet except what you feel you can afford to spend. -Then only are you safe! I do not know of a more insidious temptation to -buy what you do not need than loitering along the _quais_ of the Rive -Gauche. In a few days we spent all we could afford for Turkish history. -But the afternoon walk started earlier and ended later. We never tired -of the _quais_ and the river. We watched fishermen and the barges. We -were amused by the men who bathe and clip dogs. We explored the streets -between the Seine and the Boulevard Saint-Germain. We stood on the Pont -des Arts and watched the people coming home from work. We went often -into Notre-Dame. We glued our noses to the window-glass of the art print -shops around the Ecole des Beaux-Arts. We selected furniture (from the -side-walk!) displayed in the numerous antique shops of the Rue des -Saints-Pères, the Rue Bonaparte and the Rue de Seine. We always came -back at sunset, with the westward glow before us. That was when our -oldest daughter got the taste of going to bed late. - -The narrowest street in Paris is the Rue de Venise, which runs from the -Rue Beaubourg across the Rue Saint-Martin to the Rue Quicampoix. But -neither in itself nor in its location is it as picturesque as the Rue de -Nevers, luring you from the Pont Neuf as you cross to the Rive Gauche. -Nowhere else in Paris is one so completely held by the past as in the -Rue de Nevers. Here stood the Tour de Nesle. The Mint now comes up to -one side of this street for a few hundred feet, but elsewhere it is on -both sides as it was in the time of Henri IV. Massive doorways, with -bars of iron and peep-holes covered with grating, tell the story of a -time when one relied upon himself for protection. No _agents_ in the -Paris of the fifteenth century! Going down to the river from the Rue -Servandoni, we always took the Rue de Nevers. In it Scrappie's carriage -seemed like a full-grown vehicle. There was always the nervous fear that -something would be thrown out on us from upper windows, not unjustified, -as more than one narrow escape proved. We used to say that when the baby -was grown up, we should enjoy taking her on one of the promenades of her -infancy, and especially through the Rue de Nevers. We have shown -Christine the street, and hope that she will remember it. But she will -never show it to her children. Some sanitary engineer, successor of -Baron Haussmann, has conceived a project of widening the Rue Dauphine. -The Rue de Nevers will soon disappear. Our only hope is that the war -will have delayed a long time the fulfillment of projects that mean the -disappearance of what remains of mediaeval Paris. - -[Illustration: Market day in the Rue de Seine] - -The Parisian who goes to New York marvels at our skyscrapers. He is -properly impressed with the hustle and bustle of the New World. But it -does not take him long to note the absence of wide boulevards and the -lack of _ensemble_ in the cityscape. Then he will invariably make two -comments: "There are no trees," and "There is no place to sit down." -Except the Eiffel Tower, Paris does not boast of a "biggest in the -world." It will take Americans centuries to acquire a sense of harmony -and proportion in city building. But shall we ever learn to bring the -out-of-doors into city life? Until we do learn the big American city -will be intolerable in the summer months. Paris, built on ancient -foundations, has increased to a city of millions, and one still feels -that an outing does not mean going to the country. Boulevards and -_quais_ are lined with trees. Every open spot has grass and flowers. -Best of all, when you want to sit down to read your paper or look at the -crowd, there is always a bench. You do not have to go home or indoors to -rest, and wherever you live, a park or boulevard is near at hand. -Parisians are as closely huddled together as New Yorkers. But they can -spend all their leisure time in the open. The privilege of sitting down -on a bench is a blessing. All the year round you can eat or drink out of -doors. I have often marveled at the criticism that the French dislike -open air, simply because they, like other Europeans, do not keep their -windows open at night. The Parisian lives far more in the open air than -the American does. To be out of doors day and night is a natural -instinct from the cradle to the grave. Trees and benches are a large -part of the spell of June in Paris. - -Then there were the omnibuses with their _impériales_. When we did not -have the price of a cab, we could get on top of the Montsouris-Opéra or -Odéon-Clichy bus, and go for a few sous from south to north across the -river through the heart of Paris. We climbed to the _impériale_ of the -tram at Saint-Sulpice and rode to Auteuil, on the horse-drawn omnibus -from the Madeleine to the Bastille, from the Place Saint-Michel to the -Gare Saint-Lazare, from the Gare Montparnasse to La Villette, from the -Bourse to Passy, from the Panthéon to Courcelles. Alas! horses and -_impériales_ disappeared before the war. The last omnibus with three -horses abreast was the Panthéon-Courcelles line. It was replaced by -closed motor-bus in 1913. Each year, when June comes round, I long for -these rides. Horses, I suppose, are gone forever. But we still hope for -the revival of an upper story on our motor-buses. There never was--or -will be--a better way of having Paris vistas become a part of your very -being. - -_Foire_ means fair. But the term is used for a much more intimate and -vital sort of a fair than we have. The French have big formal fairs in -buildings and grounds, where a little fun is mixed in with a lot of -business. But they have also small street fairs, solely for amusement, -and selling street fairs, where amusements have their full share. The -Paris _foires_ are a distinct institution. There is a regular schedule -for them, as for Brittany _pardons_. From the end of March to the -beginning of November you can always find a _foire_ in the city or the -suburbs. They are held out of doors, generally in the center of a -boulevard. Some of them are important institutions. In the business -_foires_ you range from scrap-iron, old clothes and nicked china and -disreputable furniture at the Porte Saint-Ouen and on the Boulevard -Richard Lenoir to the costliest Paris has to offer on the Esplanade des -Invalides and building materials and engines in the Tuileries. The -purely amusement _foires_ on the Quai d'Orsay, the Boulevard de Clichy, -and at Saint-Cloud stretch for blocks and are attended by all Paris. To -go to them is the thing to do. - -But each quarter has its _foire_, underwritten by the shop-keepers and -café proprietors of the neighborhood. They are never widely heralded, -you stumble upon them by chance. And if you want to see real Paris the -little _foires_ give you the closest glimpse it is possible to get of -Paris at play. At the _foires de quartier_ there are no onlookers. -Everybody is taking part. If you do not feel the impulse to get on the -merry-go-round, the dipping boats, the scenic-railway; if you are averse -to having your fortune told; if you feel doubtful of your ability to -throw a wooden ring around the neck of a bottle of champagne; if you are -indifferent to the mysteries of the two-headed calf and the dancing -cobra; if your stomach does not digest _pain d'épice_ and candy made of -coal-tar; if you think your baby ought not to have a rubber-doll or a -woolly lamb or a jumping rabbit made of cat's fur--for heaven's sake -stay away from the _foires_! - -Most of the neighborhood _foires_ are held in June. Whatever direction -you take for your evening walk, your ears will give you a goal towards -which to work. The merry-go-rounds have the same class of music as in -America, and the tricks of the barkers--their figures of speech -even--are the same. But the difference between our amusement parks and -the Paris _foires_ is the spontaneous atmosphere of the _foires_, their -setting improvised in the midst of the city, and the amazing childlike -quality of the fun. Seven or seventy, you enjoy the wooden horses just -as much. And there is no dignity to lose. You do not care a bit if your -cook sees you wildly pushing a fake bicycle or standing engrossed in the -front row of the crowd watching a juggler. - -The glorious days of June, when we put work deliberately out of our -scheme of things, furnish opportunities for excursions of a different -character than those of Sunday. At the risk of being ridiculed again by -my critic, who has read my praise of _repos hebdomadaire_, I must -confess that Sunday has its drawbacks. The whole city is out on Sunday, -and every place is crowded. Your good time is somewhat marred all day -long by the anticipation of the crowded trains and trams, for a place in -which you wait with much less equanimity than when you left home in the -morning. On week days there are no waits and plenty of room. I can -entice my husband from his work--if it is June! - -It is surprising how far afield it is possible to go at little drain on -your strength and pocket-book on a June week-day. We wanted just the -country sometimes. Then it was the valley of Chevreuse, -Villers-Cotteret, luncheon in a tree at Robinson, or the Marne between -Meaux and Château-Thierry. On a very bright day one could choose the -shade of Compiègne, Chantilly, Rambouillet, Versailles, Marly, -Saint-Germain-en-Laye, Saint-Cloud, Fountainebleau, forests and parks -incomparable. Cathedral-hungry or in a mood for the past, Amiens, -Beauvais, Evreux, Dreux, Orléans, Mantes, Chartres, Sens, Troyes, -Rheims, Laon, Soissons, Noyon, and Senlis are from one to three hours by -train. A good luncheon at little cost is always easily found. And after -lunch you have no difficulty in getting a _cocher_ to take you to the -ruins of a castle or abbey for a few francs. - -Inexhaustible as is the _banlieue_ of Paris you are always glad to get -back. From whatever direction you return, the first you see of the great -city is the Eiffel Tower. It beckons you back to the spell of June--in -Paris. - - - - -1913 - - - - -CHAPTER XIX - -CHILDHOOD VISTAS FOR A NEW GENERATION - - -In September, 1910, we went to Constantinople for just one year, as we -had gone to Tarsus for one year. But the lure of the East held us. We -loved our home up above the Bosphorus behind the great castle of Rumeli -Hissar. When the Judas-trees were ablaze and nightingales were singing -that first spring in Constantinople, we forgot Paris and rashly promised -to stay two years longer. Life was full of adventure, the war with -Italy, the war between Turkey and the Balkan States during which our -city was the prize fought for, cholera, the coming of our second baby, -and a wonderful trip in the Balkans. We would not have missed it, no, -but Paris called us again, and we decided to leave the political unrest -and wars of the Near East to return to the peaceful atmosphere of the -Bibliothèque Nationale. - -My husband could not get away from Constantinople until the end of June -and then he wanted to pay his way back to Paris by traveling through the -Balkans again after peace was signed with Turkey. With my two children, -I sailed for Marseilles at the beginning of March and reached Paris just -in time to get the last weeks of winter. In the calendar seasons are -conventional. As in the United States, France frequently has winter -until April is well started. - -I found a little apartment on the Rue du Montparnasse just north of the -Boulevard. From the standpoint of my friends I suppose the Quarter was a -bit more _comme il faut_ than the Rue Servandoni. I missed the -picturesqueness of our old abode with the _épicerie_ on the ground floor -and the _moyenageux_ atmosphere. But the change to the Montparnasse -Quarter had its compensations. The air, none too good in the great city, -is better around the Boulevard du Montparnasse than in any other part of -the city except Montmartre, Belleville and Buttes-Chaumont. You are on -high ground away from the heavy mists and dampness of the river. -Communications are excellent. You do not have to sacrifice the feeling -of being in a real vital part of Paris, either. We still lived in the -midst of historical association. If Gondorcet hid in the Rue Servandoni -from those who would have chopped his head off during the Terror, -Lamartine was hauled from a house on the Rue du Montparnasse by the -soldiers of Louis Napoleon at the beginning of the _coup d'etat_ of -1851, and to the Rue du Montparnasse flocked the cream of Paris on -Mondays to hear Sainte-Beuve during the Third Empire. - -It was a new world opened for the eyes of Christine and Lloyd to live -cooped up in an apartment after the big house at Rumeli Hissar and to -have to walk through city streets to find a garden to play in instead of -simply stepping out of their own front door. But life has its -compensations--everywhere and at all times. You never get anything -without sacrificing something else for it. We have to choose at every -step, and we must turn away from some blessings to obtain others. I love -the country. Theoretically speaking, it is the best place to bring up -children. But living in the open does deprive them of the mental -alertness, of the broad vision from infancy, of the self-reliance, of -the habits of industry that childhood in the city alone can give. And -then, the doctor comes right away when you telephone. - -Thirty-Eight Rue du Montparnasse was opposite Notre-Dame-des-Champs, and -only a door down from the Boulevard. From the windows my tots could see -the passing show on the boulevard: and the church was a never-failing -source of interest. Just opposite us was the sexton's apartment, tucked -into the roof of the church. It is characteristic of Paris that a home -should be hidden away in an unexpected corner like this. From the -windows Christine and Lloyd could see the little church children playing -on their flat roof, and out of the door below the choir boys passed in -and out. We went into our apartment at First Communion season. My -childhood enjoyed the "little brides of Christ" in their white dresses -and veils. Every day had its weddings and funerals. The children did -not distinguish between life and death. Whenever carriages stopped in -front of the church, they would jump up and down and shout, "_Mariage_!" - -A little sister arrived at the beginning of May. When June came, I was -able to take Emily Elizabeth out to market. Every morning we went down -the Boulevard Raspail to Sadla's, on the corner of the Rue de Sèvres, -and twice a week to the market on the Boulevard Edgar-Quinet. They were -the blessed days, when I had no cook--which meant that I could buy what -I liked to eat, and no nurse--which meant that I saw something of my own -children. Servants are a necessary evil to the housewife and mother that -wants to see something of the world in which she lives. But an -occasional interlude, when everything devolves on mother, is good both -for her and the children. - -During the war Sadla's went bankrupt, and for several years the corner -opposite the Hotel Lutetia has been desolate. Probably the firm failed -for the very reason that made it unique among the provision-shops even -of Paris, where the selling of food is as much a work of art as the -cooking of it. We loved Sadla's. Marketing there was always a joy. Your -baby-carriage was not an inconvenience: for everything was displayed -outside on the street. You started with fish and ended with fruit and -flowers, passing by meats and vegetables, canned goods, groceries, -pastry, cakes and candies. The fish swam in a marble basin under a -fountain. You made your choice, and the victim was netted by a -white-clad boy and flopped over the counter to the scales. Live lobsters -sprawled in sea-weed, and boiled ones lay on ice. Oysters from fifty -centimes to five francs a dozen were packed in wicker baskets, passed by -their guardian every few minutes under the fountain. In the _hors -d'oeuvres_ and cold meat section, you had your choice of the cheapest -and the most expensive variety of tempting morsels. It made no -difference if you wanted a little chicken wing or a big turkey encased -in truffle-studded jelly, a slice of ham or a whole Yorkshire quarter, -one pickle or a hundred, twenty centimes worth of _salade Russe_ or an -earthenware dishful arranged like an Italian garden landscape, one -radish or a bunch of them. In Paris everybody is accustomed to -purchasing things to eat and drink of the best quality: so you do not -feel that the quality of what you want depends upon the quantity you ask -for. On the meat counters, for instance, single chops, and tiny cutlets -and roasts, and chickens of all sizes, are displayed side by side, each -with its price marked. Apples, pears, tomatoes, bananas, even plums, are -price-marked by the piece. Tarts and cakes are of all sizes. When you -come to flowers, you can buy single roses or carnations. I never tired -of shopping at Sadla's. Nor did the children. - -Vegetables and fruits and nuts are mostly bought in the open markets or -from the _marchandes des quatre saisons_, who deal also in dairy -products and poultry and flowers. The markets are held on certain days -in different quarters. The women with push-carts line the streets every -day. They go early in the morning to the Halles Centrales and buy -whatever they find is the bargain of the day, and hawk in their own -quarter, announcing their merchandise by queer cries that even to the -well-trained ear of the French woman need a glance at the push-cart to -confirm what is at the best a guess. - -It is fun to buy on the street, and the commodities and price are -sometimes an irresistible temptation. But you have to watch the -_marchandes des quatre saisons_. They have a way of throwing your -purchase on the scales in the manner of an American iceman, and you want -to be ready to put out your hand to steady the needle. Your eye must be -sharp too, to watch that some of the apples do not come, wormy and -spotted, from a less desirable layer underneath the selling layer. It is -a wonderful lesson in learning how to put the best foot forward to watch -the push-cart women arranging their wares on the side-walks around the -Halles Centrales before starting out on the daily round. From the -writings of Carlyle and other seekers after the picturesque, the legend -has grown that the _poissonnières_, who knitted before the guillotine, -are a race apart. But there is as much truth in this belief as in the -belief that our gallant marines did the trick alone at Château-Thierry. -Fish women are no more formidable among Parisiennes than the general run -of _marchandes des quatre saisons_. And ask almost anyone who has lived -in a Paris apartment about her concierge! - -Fresh from Montenegro, Herbert reached our new home on the morning of -July fourteenth. He explained that he had left the Greeks and Serbians -and Bulgarians to fight over the Turkish spoils to their heart's -content. He was sick of following wars. He wanted to see his new baby. -It had come over him one night in Albania, when sleeplessness was due to -the usual cause in that part of the world, that by catching a certain -boat from Cattaro to Venice he could get home for the Quatorze. - -After he had looked over his new acquisition, we started out for a -stroll by ourselves just to talk things over. We walked down the -Boulevard Montparnasse to the Place de l'Observatoire. Between the -Closerie des Lilas and the Bal Bullier was a big merry-go-round. The -onlookers were throwing multi-colored streamers at the girls they liked -the best among the riders. In the middle of the street a strong man in -pink tights was doing stunts with dumb-bells and the members of his -family. - -The same thought came to us both. What a pity the children are missing -this! We hurried back for them, forgetting that we had promised -ourselves a long just-us talk to bridge the months of separation. And we -returned to join in the celebration, my husband pushing the -baby-carriage and I with progeny hanging to both hands. Why do children -drag so, even when you are walking slowly? Every mother knows how they -lean on her literally as well as figuratively. - -That Quatorze was the beginning of a new epoch. A new generation was to -have childhood vistas of Paris, but parent-led and parent-shown, as it -had been for me thirty years before. For that is the way of the world. - - - - -CHAPTER XX - -THE PROBLEM OF HOUSING - - -When you are in Paris without children you can get along in a hotel or a -_pension_: and you can probably live as cheaply as, if not more cheaply -than, in a home of your own. There are several combinations. Inexpensive -rooms (in normal times) can be found in good hotels: and there are lots -of hotels that take only roomers. You do not, as at a _pension_, have to -be tied down to at least two meals where you live. The advantages of a -furnished-room or a _pension_ are: easy to find in the quarter you wish -to live in; no bother about service; and no necessity to tie yourself up -with a lease. But if you are making a protracted stay, it is wise to -weigh at the beginning the disadvantages with the advantages. You get -tired of the food; you have to associate daily with people whom you do -not like; and--especially if you are of my sex--you have no place to -receive your friends. I think in the end most people who go to Paris and -who follow the line of least resistance, either because it is that or -because they have the idea that they can learn French quicker in a -"French _pension_," regret having missed the opportunity of a home of -their own, of a _chez soi_, as the French say. For you really cannot -feel that you belong in Paris unless you are keeping house. "Be it ever -so humble," you can set up your own home, if you are determined to do -so. There are innumerable wee apartments--a hall big enough to hang up -your coat and hat, a kitchenette, and a room where your bed can be a -couch disguised with a rug and pillows during the day. Studios furnish -another opportunity of making a home of your own. Of course, during the -war and since Paris has been overcrowded. But there will be a return to -normal conditions. - -And if you have a family--even one baby--hotel or _pension_ life becomes -unendurable. - -When Herbert came back from Turkey in the summer of 1913, we found the -three little rooms and kitchen of Thirty-eight Rue du Montparnasse too -small for us. The first thing Herbert did was to "give notice." The -Paris system of renting is very advantageous if one is looking for a -modest apartment. Your lease is by the term--a term being three -months--and can be canceled upon giving one term's notice. This means -that you're tied down for only six months in the beginning, and after -that for only three months. One can buy simple furniture, as we did in -the Rue Servandoni, and sell it at the end of the year without a great -loss. It is possible to rent an apartment for a year, furnish it and -sell out, at about the same price you would pay for a furnished -apartment. And you will have had the pleasure of being surrounded by -your own things. - -The proposition of a furnished apartment looks better than it is. The -French are the worst people in the world for biting a penny. They are -meticulous to a point incomprehensible to Americans. The inventory is a -horror! In taking a villa, whether it be in Brittany, in Normandy, at -Aix-les-Bains, or on the Riviera, you are handed sheets of paper by the -arm's length, on which are recorded not only the objects in each room -but the state of walls, garden, woodwork, carpets, mattresses, pillows -and blankets. You wrestle with the agent when you enter. But he is -cleverer than you are. And when you come to leave, he finds spots and -cracks, nicks in the china, ink-stains, and all sorts of damages you -never thought of. He points to your signature--and you pay! You replace -what is broken or chipped by new objects. You repaint and repaper and -clean. The bill is as long as the inventory. And you find that your -original rent is simply an item. - -I do not want to infer that you are entirely free from this annoyance -and uncertain item of expense when you lease unfurnished. Your walls and -ceilings and floors, your mirrors (which in France are an integral part -of the building) and your _charges_ are to be considered. An architect, -if you please, draws up the _état des lieux_, which you are required to -sign as you do the _inventoire_ of a furnished apartment. But the longer -you remain in an apartment the less proportionately to your rent are -the damages liable to be. As for the _charges_, by which is meant your -share towards the carpets in the halls and on the stairs, the lighting, -elevator, etc., in many leases they are now represented by a fixed sum, -and where they are not, you can have a pretty definite idea as to what -they are going to be. The unexpected does not hit you. - -Most Paris leases are on the 3-6-9 year basis. You sign for three years. -If you do not give notice six months before the end of the three-year -term, the lease is automatically continued for another equal period. For -nine years, then, you are sure of undisturbed possession, and your -_propriétaire_ cannot raise the rent on you. Leases are generally -uniform in their clauses. You bind yourself to put furniture to the -value of at least one year's rent in the apartment to live in it -_bourgeoisement_ (that is, to carry on no business), to keep no dogs or -other pets,[D] and to sublet only with proprietor's consent. On his -side, the proprietor agrees to give you proper concierge and elevator -service, to heat the apartment for five months from November first to -March thirty-first, and to furnish water, hot and cold, at fixed rates -per cubic meter. The lease is registered at the _mairie_ at the -_locataire's_ expense. - -[D] This clause is a dead letter almost everywhere. You are much more -apt to be refused an apartment because you have children than because -you have dogs or birds. In fact, although you often see a sign or are -greeted by the statement NI CHIENS NI ENFANTS, the prohibition, when you -press the concierge, is limited to children. My bitter criticism of the -people among whom I live is the attitude of a large part of them towards -children. They do not like children. They do not want them. And they do -not understand why any woman is fool enough to have "a big family," as -they call my four. This is the most serious problem of contemporary -France. It makes the winning of the war a hollow victory. - -You pay the taxes, which are collected directly from you. The municipal -tax runs to about sixteen percent of the annual rental, and now includes -in a lump sum the old taxes for windows and doors. In addition, you pay -a very small tax to recompense the city for having suppressed the -_octroi_ on wines and liquors and mineral waters. A new tax, which no -resident in France who has an apartment can escape, is the income tax. -But unless you are a French subject, you are not compelled to make a -return of your sources of income. Should you choose to be taxed -_d'office_, the collector assesses you on a basis of having an income -seven times the amount of your rental. The concierge is forbidden to -allow you to move from your apartment until you have shown him the -receipts for the current year for all your taxes. - -Once you have signed your lease and have arranged to move in, your -troubles are not yet over. Proprietors furnish no chandeliers or other -lights, not even the simplest. You have to go to an electrician, buy -your fixtures, and have them installed, if you have not bought the -lights in the apartment from the previous _locataire_. You must sign -contracts and make deposits for your gas and electric light. The gas -company will rent you a stove and a meter. You pay the charges for -connecting you up. Telephones are in the hands of the government. If you -want a direct telephone, you have to sign a contract. If you want to -have your telephone through the concierge's _loge_, the telephone -service is charged on your quarterly rent bill. In any case, you pay for -the instrument and bell box and the charges for installation. A private -line is not much of an advantage in Paris. The service is scarcely any -quicker. With your telephone by way of the concierge, a message can be -left if you do not answer, and the person calling you is informed if you -are out of town. - -The last of your troubles is fire insurance. Thanks to the solid -construction of Paris and careful surveillance, fires are very rare. -During all the years I have lived in Paris I remember no fires except -those caused by the German bombs. However, you do not dare not to -insure. For French law holds you responsible for damage to neighbors' -apartments from water as well as fire, if the fire starts in yours. Your -insurance policy insures your neighbors as well as yourself. The French -law is excellent. It makes you careful. French law, also, by the way, -holds you liable for accidents to your servants, of any kind and no -matter how incurred. You cannot fall back on the joker of contributory -carelessness. All the servant has to prove is that the accident happened -while working for you. - -I have forgotten to mention one further formality that was not of -importance before the war but is indispensable now. An old French police -law requires all foreigners to secure a _certificat d'immatriculation_ -from the Prefecture of Police as the _sine qua non_ to residence in -Paris. Before the war, no one ever bothered about this. The only -foreigners watched by the police were Russians, due to a provision -France ought never to have agreed to in the alliance with Russia. When -the war broke out and my husband went to get his _permis de séjour_, he -was asked for the first time for this paper. And we had been living in -France on and off for six years, and had leased three apartments! This -was a reason for loving Paris. Nobody bothered you, and you could live -as you pleased and do as you pleased so long as you behaved yourself. -Foreigners were never made to feel that they were foreigners. They -enjoyed equality before the law with Frenchmen. Paris was cosmopolite in -a unique sense. Hindsight blamed the laxity of the French police. But -let us fervently hope that the old spirit of hospitality may not have -changed with the war and that France in regard to Germany may not be as -Rome in regard to Greece. Why be victor if one has to adopt the habits -of the vanquished? - -I have gone into the question of the housing problem with too much -precision and detail, I fear, for a book of Paris sketches. But so many -friends have asked me, so many strangers have written me, about taking -up their abode in Paris that I feel what I have said about it will be of -interest to all who are interested in Paris. - -We had three months to our new residence. You always have three months -at least in Paris. It is not enough if you are undecided or lazy. It is -plenty if you go about hunting for a home with the same energy and -persistence and enthusiasm that you put into other things. After all, -what is more important than a home? We tramped the quarter, as we had -done in the summer of 1909. But we now had a large family. And we had -realized the fundamental truth of the beautiful old Scotch saying, -"Every bairn brings its food wi' it." So we were able to aspire to two -salons and three bedrooms, to _confort moderne_ (which means central -heat, electric light, bath-rooms, elevator and hot water), and to palms -and red carpet in the doorway. - -For us the heart of Paris at that time was where the Boulevard du -Montparnasse is crossed by the Boulevard Raspail. On the Boulevard du -Montparnasse, between Baty's and the Rue Léopold-Robert, a new apartment -house was being built. Before the stairs were finished we climbed to the -sixth floor, lost our hearts to a view of all Paris, and signed a 3-6-9 -lease. The war has come and gone. We are still there. - - - - -1914 - - - - -CHAPTER XXI - -"NACH PARIS!" - - -Von Kluck and I had a race to see who would reach Paris first. It was -close. But I won. Lots of my friends thought then and since that I was -foolish to take my children back to Paris at such a time. An American -woman came to Ty Coz, my little summer cottage at Saint-Jean-du-Doigt in -Finistère, to remonstrate with me. - -"You must be crazy," she said in her most complimentary tone, "to take -those three children back to Paris now. The Germans are certainly going -to capture Paris, and if they don't do it right away, they'll bombard -the city until it surrenders. My dear Mrs. Gibbons, surely you read the -papers and you see what awful things the Germans are doing in Belgium. -Paris has no chance against their big guns. And they will cut the -railways. You will have no milk, no vegetables. And here you are in -Brittany, where they probably will not come, and if they do, you can get -off to England by sea." - -I did not argue. It would have been foolish to tell her that the Germans -would not take Paris. I was no prophet, and denying a danger is not -preventing it. Despite the tigress instinct of every mother to protect -her own, I simply could not feel that to go home was the wrong thing to -do. Herbert wrote and telegraphed approving my desire to return. As my -husband could not leave Paris to come to us, it was manifestly up to us -to go to him. We were more concerned about the possibility of being cut -off from each other than about what the Germans might do to us. I had -one advantage in making up my mind over other women around me. War and -sieges and bombardments did not loom up when I read about the march -through Belgium with the same sense of awfulness as to my neighbors. I -knew that things look worse from a distance than they are on the spot. I -remembered how normally we lived in the midst of massacre in Tarsus and -when the Bulgarians were attacking Constantinople. - -The removal of the Government to Bordeaux did not deter me at the last -minute. It did not seem to me an indication that the game was up, but -rather the decision to profit by experience of earlier wars and not -stake the whole war upon the defense of the capital. It was getting cold -at the seashore. I was anxious to direct myself the moving into the new -apartment we had taken. Yvonne, my cook, and Dorothy, my English nurse, -were as eager as I to get back to town. We just didn't let the Germans -bother us! The trunks and baby-beds were loaded in one two-wheeled cart -and the kiddies on hay in another. We grown-ups bicycled along behind -the seventeen kilometres to Morlaix. The Brest _rapide_ carried scarcely -any civilians. We broke in on the seclusion of a colonel sitting alone -in a compartment. - -"I pity you, sir," I said. - -"Why?" He smiled and threw away his newspaper. That was promising. When -a man puts down his newspaper for me, I know he is interesting. So few -men do. My husband doesn't always. I needed to make friends with the -officer. During the all night journey I wanted to manoeuvre for open -windows, and you cannot do that in France unless you are on the best of -terms with your fellow-travellers. - -"Why do I pity you? Because you are invaded by three babies and three -grown-ups when you hoped to keep the compartment for yourself. But you -may not be sorry when you see the supper you are going to help eat--two -roast chickens, salad sandwiches, pears just picked this morning in my -garden, and the best of cider. There is plenty of _café au lait_ in -thermos bottles for breakfast." - -The colonel's face brightened. Dining-cars had been suppressed since the -day of the mobilization. He assured me that a soldier did not mind -company at night and always liked food. But he was a bit puzzled about -my breakfast invitation. "Surely you are not going to Paris with these -children," he said. "Are you not afraid?" - -"Not as long as there is the French army between my children and the -enemy," I answered. - -The colonel leaned back in the corner and shut his eyes. Tears rolled -down his cheeks. It was a long time before he spoke, and all he said -was, "_Merci_! I shall tell that to my regiment to-morrow." - -"Monsieur," I insisted, "what I said was nothing. All the women in -France feel as I do. We have got to feel that way. You have the -strength--we must have the faith. If Paris were not my home, I should -not go. But it is my home, and this is the week I always return from the -shore." - -More than one hysterical person wrote wonderful and lurid accounts of -Paris in the autumn of 1914. There was an exodus of _froussards_ in the -first days of September and during the whole month refugees poured into -the city. But the great mass of the population was not affected by the -fright of a few. I arrived too late for the most critical days. My -husband assured me that there had been no panic except in the -imagination of certain individuals and officials. I found that very few -of my friends had run away. The _Herald_ appeared every morning, and -Percy Mitchell's voice over the telephone from the Rue du Louvre was -cheery and optimistic. There was no funk in the American colony. Most of -the people I knew were helping get the Ambulance at Neuilly started or -were launching _oeuvres_ of their own. I seized on the opening for -layette work immediately, and I started afternoon sewing for Russian and -Polish girls, too, in one of my servants' rooms. I am a quarrelsome -wretch when I get on committees with other women. So I did the -_layettes_ alone in my studio and had only the help of another Bryn Mawr -girl, who lived in Paris, in the _ouvroir_--as gatherings for sewing -were called. - -But the panic? The sense of danger? Suspense and worry over the fighting -between the Marne and Aisne? Dread of air raids? I saw none of this. I -heard nothing in the conversation of my friends or servants or -tradespeople to make me feel Paris was in a ferment of excitement or -fear. The anxiety was for loved ones fighting "out there"; the -depression was the pall of death over us. No music, no singing, theatres -closed, cafés shut up at eight o'clock, dark streets--these were the -abnormal features of Paris life in the early months of the war. Whoever -writes or talks in a way to make it appear that staying in Paris was a -test of personal courage is a sorry impostor. There was no danger. None -ever thought of danger. - -Nor did we have the discomforts and annoyances and deprivations during -the early period of the war that came to us later. Food was abundant and -prices did not go up. There was plenty of labor. You could get things -done without the exhausting hunt for workers with a willing spirit and -knowledge of their job that we have to make now. In the month of the -Battle of the Marne we moved into 120 Boulevard du Montparnasse. It was -a new house, and we had everything to think of, plumbing, heating, -fixtures, wiring for bells and lights, painting, paper-hanging, -carpentering. All was done without a hitch. The moving-vans worked as in -peace times. Things came by freight from Brittany and Normandy--thirty -boxes in all--and were delivered to us without delay just as if there -were no war. It seems incredible in retrospect that France and Paris -should have been normal (after the first confusion of the mobilization) -despite the terrific struggle for existence within hearing distance. But -it was so. I want to put down my testimony as a housewife and mother of -children in Paris that we lived normally and had no dangers or -difficulties to contend with when the Germans were trying to finish up -the war in a hurry. - -On the second Sunday of October we had our first visit from a group of -airplanes. Few bombs were dropped. Herbert and I were walking outside -the fortifications near the Porte d'Orléans when they arrived. We -thought of our kiddies, playing in the Luxembourg, and hurried there. -The children and Dorothy described graphically how two planes had been -over the Garden. But their feeling was wholly curiosity. At that time -Parisians did not realize the danger of air raids. - -One Sunday Herbert and I went chestnutting. Despite the swarms of -excursionists around Paris, there are lots of places to pick up on the -road all the chestnuts you can carry. We walked from Saint-Cyr across -country, skirting Versailles, to Marly. With heavy pockets, knotted -kerchief bundles, and the beginning of stiffness in our backs, we -stopped for lunch at a little country hostelry whose _cave_ still has a -big stock of Chambertin of golden years. The critic and I are agreed -upon the wisdom of censoring the name I unthinkingly put in the first -draft of this chapter. Why spoil a good thing? Life is short--and so are -stocks of Chambertin. And there are so many roads and so many hostelries -between Saint-Cyr and Saint-Germain-en-Laye that the little I have said -is a challenge to your love of Burgundy. - -Madame told us how history did not repeat itself until the end of the -story. What starts the same way does not always end the same way. We -hope German professors of history will impress this truth upon the next -generation of their close-cropped, bullet-headed students. They are at -liberty to use this illustration if they want. Why limit their Paris -vistas to the provoking sight of the Tour Eiffel in the distance? - -"In Soixante-Dix," said Madame, flipping teamsters' crumbs off our table -with a skilful swing of her _serviette_, "I saw my father bury our wines -out there in the garden. It took several days, and he had only my -brother and me to help him. I remember how he mumbled and shook his head -over the possible effect of disturbing the good _crus_. 'They will -never be the same again,' he said mournfully. Much good it did him! We -had our work for nothing. The Germans came. Right where you are sitting, -_M'sieu-dame_, the brutes thumped on the table and called for the best -in the cellar. My father said he had no wine. They went to the cave. -Empty. Then the officer laughed till the tears rolled down his cheeks. -He sat in a chair--sprawled in a chair that cracked under his -swinging--smacked his thighs, and when he could speak, he told his men -to go out into the garden. With their picks and shovels they unearthed -all--all, _M'sieu-dame_. - -"So this time I remembered--and I thought hard. My husband was off the -fourth day of the mobilization. Even if I had help, would not the garden -_cache_ a second time be foolish? And the old _crus_ ought not to be -shaken--you are going to taste my Chambertin, and you will agree that it -ought not to risk being shaken. It really ought not. What was I to do? -When the Germans come, will they know the difference? I asked myself. So -I took _vin ordinaire_. I put it in bottles. I sealed it red. I worked -two days to put it on the outer racks and the under racks with the good -wine between. Then I cobwebbed it and moistened it with dust. I built a -fire to dry it. If the Germans were in a hurry they would take the top. -If they had leisure, they would fish in the bottom rows. - -"But the Germans never came. I had my work a second time for nothing. -Do you think, _M'sieu-dame_, they will be fooled? I want to know what is -best for next time." - -"Next time," cried my husband. "Next time! Do you think there will be a -next time?" - -"_Bien sûr_, Monsieur," the woman answered without hesitation. "The -Germans will come again. They will always come. We are not as big, -_hélas_! They will come--unless your country--?" - -Suddenly we realized that not the keeper of the inn, but France, France -through a wife and mother, was speaking. A shadow fell upon us that -Chambertin and the crisp autumn air could not dispel. - - - - -1914-1915 - - - - -CHAPTER XXII - -AT HOME IN THE WHIRLWIND - - -After the initial days of mobilization, the German advance, the coming -of the refugees, and the aeroplane raids, Paris became again -astonishingly normal. We got used to the war quickly. A calamity is like -death. It comes. You cannot change it. You must accept it and go on -living. We were in the midst of the whirlwind. We had our ups and downs. -There were periods of unreasonable hope, when we thought the war was -going to end by the collapse of the Germans. And there were periods of -equally unreasoning depression when gloom spread like a plague. Who will -ever forget the hope that came with the Spring of 1915? Mysterious -rumors spread of German demoralization and of the irresistible fighting -machine the British were building up. Our armies were only waiting for -the rainy weather to finish. Then the forward march would commence. But -after a few unsuccessful attempts to break through, French and British -settled down to the life of the trenches. Fortunately the Germans were -equally immobilized. But during the summer, instead of our advance on -the western front, we had to read about the German advance in Poland. -The censorship worked overtime. _Communiqués_ were masterpieces of -clever dissimulation. News was withheld in the hope of a sudden reversal -of the fortune of arms. In the end we had to be told that Warsaw was in -the hands of the Central Empires and that _les Impériaux_ were closing -in on Brest-Litovsk. In the summer of 1915, at the very beginning of the -Italian intervention, the French lost faith in the new ally. Italy, -untouched so far by the war and with the power of making an offensive in -her own hands, could not even prevent Austria from lending powerful aid -in the great German offensive against Russia! Ink and breath were spent -in extolling the union of the Latin races: but the mass of the French -people--from that time on--looked no more for aid to Italy. - -[Illustration: The first snow in the Luxembourg] - -We deferred hope until the spring of 1916. Surely the British would now -be ready to cooperate with the French in the final offensive of the war! -But the Germans, feeling certain that they had disposed of the Russians, -struck first. The last days of February, 1916, were (if one except -possibly the spring months of 1918) the darkest days of the war. -Although the attacks against Verdun failed, the weather in Paris -combined with sickening anxiety to make us feel that it was -nip-and-tuck. As a contrast, the summer months of the Battle of the -Somme renewed our courage. And just as we were reluctantly realizing -that this onslaught of ours was as indecisive as the earlier German -offensive against Verdun, to which it was the reply, the intervention of -Rumania came to offset the admitted failure of the Dardanelles and -Mesopotamian campaigns. At last, the war was to be decided in the -Balkans! Before the third winter set in, however, we saw Rumania humbled -by Mackensen and the Salonica army as motionless as the armies on the -western front, even though Venizelos had at last succeeded in ranging -Greece on our side. The German machine was not crumbling before a -combination of superior numbers and superior equipment, and managed to -face its enemies on all sides. - -So much for what the newspapers said during those thirty months and for -what we thought about the _péripéties_ of the war. After each -disappointment we looked for new reasons to hope. We readjusted -ourselves to living in the midst of uncertainties, bereavements that -would have broken our hearts had they come to us "by the hand of God," -and increasing social and economic difficulties. France was saved -because the French people never faltered in their belief that _dulce et -decorum est pro patria mori_. France was saved because Paris led a -normal life in the midst of the whirlwind. The Turks have a proverb that -a fish begins to corrupt at the head. If the Parisians had become -demoralized, if they had given up the struggle to live normally and -tranquilly, France would have been lost. - -Initial reactions and early symptoms of war fever passed quickly. We -soon opened up our pianos, put on our phonograph records, and took to -singing again. We did not wear mourning. We insisted upon having our -theatres and music-halls. We celebrated Christmas. We stopped making -last year's suits do and refusing to buy finery. For the _poilus_, -coming home to find their women folks shabby, said it was gayer at the -front. We allowed all the German composers except Wagner to re-appear on -our programmes. Some stupidities, such as banishing the German language -from schools and burning German books, we were never guilty of. - -I remember reading with amusement and amazement an article in an -American newspaper, written by someone who "did" war-stricken France in -thirty days, in which this statement was made: "There are millions in -France who will never smile again." Upon this absurd and false -hypothesis the article was built. It was easy to be sure that the writer -knew nothing whatever about France in war-time or about psychology, for -that matter. Whoever has had any experience of horrors or who has lived -through a great crisis knows that if you do not laugh you will go crazy. -Normal human beings must have relaxation and recreation. They must -have--or create--normal conditions in abnormal surroundings. You must -go on living. You must have strength to meet burdens. So you laugh and -sing and dance. You entertain people and are entertained. You go to the -theatre. You take exercise. You enjoy your meals. A long face is either -a pose or a sign of mental derangement. In the spring of 1916 I checked -up a dozen of my women friends, all of whom had husbands or sons--or -both--in the war. More than half were widows or had sons killed. The -husbands of two were prisoners in German camps. But all of them were -planning to spend the summer in their country-homes or at the shore, -just as they had done before the war. Is not this the secret of our -ability to hold on during the "last quarter of an hour" and to continue -to hope for victory until we had obtained it? - -At the beginning of the second winter, in November, 1915, I sent my -three children to live for a few weeks in my studio, which I had fixed -up especially for them. They had a piano and a phonograph and books and -toys. They moved over with their nurse on a Sunday afternoon, and -thought it was a great lark. The next day their father went to see them -and told them about the arrival of a baby sister. - -Tuesday morning the children came to see us. Never shall I forget their -joy. Christine said immediately, "Hello, Hope, let me fix your feet. -Mama, could I tuck her blanket in? Hope's feet are cold. I want to hold -her soon." A little mother, she is. Lloyd, sensitive and reserved, -stood quietly looking. He patted my face and tried to speak. But his -mouth was turning down at the corners for just a second, and I had to -save the day by asking him a cheerful question. Mimi clapped her hands -and danced and said, "I like you, mama, dat's a fine baby." When Herbert -went over to the consulate to register the baby, he took Christine with -him. She heard him say to the Consul-General, Mr. Thackara, that his -French friends were teasing him about the large number of marriage dots -he will have to provide. Christine saw in this a reflection on girl -babies. With a volley of French reproof, which delighted the whole -consular office, she went for him tooth and nail. - -Isn't it a joke on me to have so many daughters? I have always thought -myself a good pal, understanding men much better than women. Miss Mary -Cassatt came in. Her comment was subtle. She said simply to Herbert that -she was glad of his assured increase of interest in women's suffrage. -Surprised, Herbert was betrayed into asking why. "Don't you realize," -exclaimed Miss Cassatt, "that you must begin now to interest yourself in -the future of your girls?" Although the coming of Hope increases the -problems of feminine psychology I shall have to deal with later on, I am -glad the war baby was a girl. My first thought, when they told me, was -that she should not have to carry a gun. - -This brings me to her name. 1915 was drawing to a close with so many -darkening shadows--but shadows that did not lessen our faith in the -outcome of the war--that I thought the name imposed upon us by -circumstances. I called her Hope Delarue. Dear old Père Delarue is one -of the best known research scholars in the Jesuit Order. Our friendship, -founded back in Constantinople days, has deepened during the war. When -Herbert went off on his many trips, anyone of which might have proved -the last, he left me in the care of Père Delarue. The dear old man had -been coming to us from time to time with the news of another loss in his -family. His brother, a general in the French army, was killed. His -nephews had fallen. I thought it would comfort him to feel that there -was a child in the world to bear his name. Before going to Suez, Herbert -gave me some flat silver marked H.D.G. It flashed into his brain the day -after the baby was born that the little thing had its mother's initials! - -I was up for the first time on Christmas Eve. We had a large party as -usual, with a tree for the children trimmed by the grown-ups. In spite -of the rain we tried to make our Christmas Day a joyful one. There was -the newborn baby to celebrate. At the end of the afternoon, Herbert gave -us a hurried kiss all around, and went out in the rain to catch the -train for Marseilles. He sailed the next day on the _André Lebon_ for -Port-Said. His was the only one of the three passenger boats that week -to escape the submarines. The P. and O. _Persia_ was sunk off Crete and -the Japanese mail went down seventy miles from the Canal. - -I did not see my husband for several months, and then he joined us in -Nice for a few days before going to Verdun. It was a joyful reunion. -Herbert admired his children and asked what they had done during his -absence. But he forgot all about poor little Hope, who was taking her -nap. Two hours after his arrival, a lusty cry brought back to his mind -the fact that the number of his children was four. - -Memories of these days are not painful, because we did not allow -ourselves to be dominated by pain while they were being lived. The -whirlwind was not of our making, nor had we gone deliberately into the -midst of it. But, finding ourselves there, we made the best of it. -Memories are precious. I would not have missed the Paris vistas of those -years. It is a blessed thing to have in one's mind the long lines of -adverse circumstances and difficulties and anxieties on either side if -at the end is hope realized. And I have my own tangible Hope, a child -whose merry, sunny nature is living proof of how Paris was at home in -the whirlwind. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII - -SAUVONS LES BÉBÉS - - -"M-M-M-Madame m-m-must not be f-f-frightened; he said so!" - -My Bretonne cook came to me pale and stammering. - -"What is the trouble, Rosali?" - -"P-p-policeman at the d-d-door s-s-says he m-m-must see you!" - -A spick and span _agent_ came into my drawing-room. He took the -cigarette offered him, and explained the reason for his visit. - -"My chief sent me around to ask madame to help. It is a baby case. We -came here because the mother said she got a layette at madame's studio. -Her name is Mlle. A----; do you remember her case? If madame could -come--" - -In a few minutes we were walking up the Rue Delambre to the police -station of the Fourteenth Arrondissement. Mlle. A---- had come to me for -baby clothes before she went to the hospital. The child's father was at -the front. When the mother appealed to him to recognize the child, with -the desperate way of a man who is in the trenches facing death, he -replied, - -"What's the use! How do I know that the child is mine?" - -Before going to the hospital the girl begged me to think of something to -do. When the baby was born we had him photographed and a copy sent to -his father, we wrote, "The baby looks like you as you can see from this -photograph. If you tear up the card or throw it away, the next shell -will kill you." - -At the police station, in the stuffy little room where the plain clothes -men sit close to the door leading to the office of the Monsieur le -Commissaire, I found Mlle. A---- and her baby. - -"O Madame," she cried, "Jean got our card. He was sitting in a little -circle with some comrades eating dinner. The mail arrived. His name was -called. He rose and walked over to the _vaguemestre_ and, oh, Madame, -just then the shell came. It exploded where Jean had been eating his -dinner, and all his comrades were killed. He says the baby, _pauvre -chou_, looks like him and saved his life." - -The _agent_ came with papers. "Will madame sign here?" Jean was -recognizing little Pierrot and was applying for permission to marry the -baby's mother. - -An old woman sitting nearby held in her hands a _livret de mariage_. -"_Quel beau bébé!_" she exclaimed. "Is it a girl?" - -"No, madame, a boy," replied mademoiselle, smoothing the baby's -swaddling blanket and pinning it tighter around Pierrot's little tummy. - -"That's it, that's it," cried the old woman. "I came here to get a -certificate myself. My daughter had a baby born this morning. It's a -boy, too. It was like that in Soixante-Dix. Nearly all the babies born -in war time are boys. O la, la, madame, what a baby! His father is -fighting so he won't have to carry a gun." Here she pulled out a -handkerchief. - -The poor help the poor, when it comes to _moral_, as in everything else. -I was sitting in my studio interviewing women who came for baby clothes. -A white-faced girl sat down in the chair at the opposite side of the -table. - -"What can I do for you?" said I. - -"A little white dress--" she sobbed. "Could you give me a little white -dress?" - -"Certainly I'll give it to you, and lots of other things too." - -"I don't need anything else," she said softly, "My baby died this -morning. They did everything at the hospital to save her. She was born -three weeks ago and they let me stay on. They wrapped her in a little -piece of sheeting. I can't stand it to bury her like that!" She put her -head down on the table and wept. - -"Shall I give madame a little white dress?" - -The twenty other mothers sitting there answered "Yes, give it to her." - -To some the tears had come. Others, dry-eyed, clutched their babies. - -"And flowers?" said one. - -"Yes, she must have money for flowers." I hardly knew what to say to the -girl, but soon the other mothers were talking to her. They were the best -comforters. - -How did amateur relief workers get the strength and energy to face the -awfulness of the situation? What we did was not "wonderful." Relief work -was a debt we owed to life. Fatigue could never be thought of. When my -apartment is in a mess from front door to kitchen, straightening looks -hopeless. It used to be discouraging until I pretended I had blinders on -my eyes and began with the nursery table. I took off everything that -didn't belong there and replaced the things that should be there. I -finished the table to the last detail before making the bed. I tried to -work in a leisurely frame of mind without too many glances at the clock. -After a bit one whole room was tidied. Kiddies were requested not to go -in there "till Mama says so." Then I tackled the next room, and so -on--and so on. In relief work, too, you must begin to work on one atom -of the problem. You must put blinders on your eyes to shut out all the -other atoms. It is fatal to let your imagination run away with you, -fatal to envisage the accumulated woe. - -Once in the Rue Servandoni days an Englishman came to ask Herbert to -bury his baby. He told me the story of how the baby died, and I cried -all night thinking of the mother. Herbert remonstrated with me for -trying to bear the whole of another's grief. Christ did that and it -broke His heart. His broken heart could save humanity; but as for little -me I could do nobody any good by breaking my heart over them. Relief -work must be constructive with respect to the patient and instructive -with respect to the worker. You have to exercise self-control of emotion -and help yourself to poise by quickly concentrating your mind on what -details of the problem you are fitted to cope with. You learn after a -while that your enthusiasm and sympathy will not do it all. You accept -the fact that you are not indispensable. You realize that you can put a -person on his feet but that to carry him is beyond you. You are not the -only influence for good that is touching his life. This attitude keeps -you both happy and humble. And so you develop confidence in life and -confidence in time. In relief work both life and time are good allies. - -My work started in a modest way in my studio in September, 1914. I -wanted to help mothers of newborn babies, and so I called my _oeuvre_ -SAUVONS LES BÉBÉS. I wrote to friends for money and layettes, and -depended--as all American women in France did--upon the personal -correspondence with individuals and organizations in America to maintain -and develop the work started. I had no committee, and, during the three -years I worked for the babies, only one associate. The French wife of an -American artist joined me in 1915. From Princeton, Germantown, -Philadelphia, Pittsburg, New York, Brooklyn and Boston people I knew and -my readers sent me money and boxes through the American Relief -Clearing-House. My best aids were always and invariably the police, who -sent cases to me and guarded me against imposition. It soon became known -in the Fourteenth (my own) Arrondissement, and the neighbouring Sixth, -Fifth, Thirteenth and Fifteenth Arrondissements, that an American woman -in the Rue Campagne-Première gave layettes to expectant mothers, and -sometimes helped with medicines, milk, vacations, clothes and shoes for -other children. I did not need to advertise or hang out a sign! In less -than three years four thousand mothers of five thousand babies found -their way to the Rue Campagne-Première. Sometimes I was swamped, badly -swamped, but I managed to get around to all in the end. I remember one -time, however, that babies were several months old before I could give -their mothers a complete layette. - -There was nothing unusual about my oeuvre, in its size, its -singlehandedness, or its spirit. Every American woman in France did what -she could from the very beginning by taking up work as she saw it at -hand--in her own home or neighborhood. Many did much more than I. There -were others in Paris looking after the new-born babies. - -In the summer of 1917 we Americans resident in France had to give up, -all of us, the individuality of our _oeuvres_. This meant that most of -them went out of existence. When the rumor ran from mouth to mouth in -the American colony that the Red Cross insisted on taking over -everything and would starve out the stubborn individualists, there was -consternation. Since the Red Cross was a Government organization and -controlled shipping, it was possible for them to tell us that we should -receive no more cases of supplies after September first, even if friends -at home kept on sending them. Some were furious; some were offended; -some would give a generous slice of their fortune to fight the -injunction; some laughed. But the charities' trust had come to stay, and -started in to handle things and ride rough-shod over people in a way -that I fear is typically American. - -In the early stages of war fever, the Y.M.C.A. and the Army showed the -same symptoms as the Red Cross in France. There was the idea that the -American way is always and exclusively the right way; impatience with -and resentment against existing organizations; a thirst for sweeping -reforms; and the determination that Americans who had been on the ground -from the beginning must be eliminated. The way our splendid Ambulance -at Neuilly was absorbed by the army is a story of Prussianism pure and -simple. The Red Cross men and their wives did not seem to get it into -their heads that we had been at war for three years. I attended a -drawing-room meeting one day, where a hundred women were gathered who -had been sacrificing themselves in relief work ever since the day France -mobilized. More than one had lost her son in the war. A new Red Cross -woman, fresh from America, lectured on what the Red Cross was going to -do. She smiled at us, and her peroration was this: "Now you must realize -that we are at war, and that we are going to put you all to work, all to -work!" - -When the excitement cooled down a bit, we realized that these Red Cross -volunteers meant well, that they were devoted and capable, and that we -could not take too tragically their ignorance and inexperience. We -realized that we were tired, that we needed a rest and change, and that -the Red Cross, with its enormous funds and abundant personnel, was in a -position to realize many of our dreams. Our initial resentment was in -part dismay at seeing newly arrived compatriots making the same mistakes -some of us had made in the beginning, and partly their obtuseness in -failing to get the French point of view. Contact with suffering such as -they had never seen before soon mellowed most of the Red Cross -volunteers and they realized that America was coming, as my husband put -it, "not to save France, but to help France save the world." - -Outside of hospitals, where there was a reason for it, we had never worn -uniforms: but we got accustomed to seeing them as the A.E.F. grew -although we never could master the meaning of many of them. One morning -a woman in uniform, with service cap and Sam-Browne belt (not forgetting -the nickel ring for hanging a dagger from), appeared in my studio. From -her pocket she took a crisp new loose-leaf notebook, the like of which -could no longer be indulged in by ordinary folks. As she unscrewed and -adjusted her fountain-pen, she said, - -"I've been sent to inspect your relief organization." - -"You come from the Children's Bureau?" I asked. - -"No, Civilian Relief. How do you handle the matter of investigation?" - -"Well," I answered, "I cast my eye over the person, size her up, and -give her what she needs. I cannot afford to investigate. You see, I have -no overhead charges and I need all the money I can get for materials and -all the time for handling them. The only expense is for sewing. Even -that money goes to my own women. I give the sewing out to mothers on my -list so they will not have to go out to work. This encourages them to -nurse their babies themselves instead of sending them to a _nourrice_." - -"People begging," said my visitor, "are splendid actors, you know." - -"Few women who are just about to have a baby are likely to act the -impostor," I answered, "and then I do not consider my women as beggars. -I'm sure that nine out of ten are not. They wouldn't need any aid if -their husbands were not in the trenches earning five sous a day. For the -first two years it was only one sou a day. You can generally tell the -difference between a shifty woman looking for a chance to get something -for nothing and the shattered little mother, unaccustomed to charity, -whose children would go without winter clothes were it not for some form -of outside help. Most of the women who come here look on me as a -neighbor who loves babies and who keeps flannel in her cupboard. I'd -rather give away an occasional layette to a dead beat than bruise the -feelings of timid souls at bay. If you could see them as they come in -here!" - -"But you know really that there can be an immense amount of waste of -good material if you don't investigate." - -"I may have wasted material, but I've never failed to help. Nobody -investigated me when my baby was born in a Turkish massacre. If they -had, I couldn't have stood it. Of course I have faced the question. I -figure that if I put in one column the number of layettes I give out and -their cost, and beside it what I would spend in time and taxi fares to -investigate, I should find that the price of a badly-placed layette or -two would be less than the cost of investigation." - -The inspector took full and rapid notes. Folding them neatly into her -pocket with one clap of her notebook, she left me. - -Three days later a young man appeared. He said, "I am here to represent -the Red Cross. Would you mind telling me about your baby work?" - -"Are you from the Children's Bureau?" - -"No, I am Vital Statistics." - -After the Refugees Bureau sent two inspectors to look into my -activities, the Children's Bureau finally did come. They "took over" my -work, which meant that no more babies in my quarter of Paris received -layettes from the United States. - -When I finally handed over my _oeuvre_ to the Red Cross, the interview -with the husky well-fed football player of a doctor was refreshing. He -was full of enthusiasm, and I felt instinctively that he was an able man -with broad vision and an open mind. But, like all the men at 4 Place de -la Concorde, he did not give the French credit for having already -thought of and worked out many of the problems he wanted to solve. His -attitude towards the French put them in what Abe and Mawruss would call -the "new beginner" class in the matter of baby welfare. He cheerfully -told me of organizing plans for saving French babies, plans which, -compared with what we had been doing, were Kolossal. But the plans -included some things which I knew would not go and others which the -French had already worked out more successfully than my own -compatriots. Puericulture is an advanced science in France, where baby -lives are more precious than anywhere else in the world. I had tried -some of the things he wanted to do and had run up against a stone wall. -So had other American women. I started to sputter, but stopped short of -speech. For I had a lightning vision of how parents must feel when their -children, grown to manhood, plunge into work and do things they might be -saved from if only--. I felt motherly towards this capable young man who -was as old as myself. But something about him gave me confidence that he -would work it out all right. And I knew that he was in no frame of mind -to benefit by my experience. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV - -UNCOMFORTABLE NEUTRALITY - - -The following letter was in my husband's mail one day: - - "A young American came to Paris about twenty-five years ago, lived - for a time in the Latin Quarter, and then, following the loss of - his income, obtained a minor position in the office of an importer - of American goods. He liked his work, rose to a place of - responsibility, eventually went into business for himself, and - developed the business to a prosperous issue. - - "He held the theory that the few Americans living and working - abroad formed the nucleus of American overseas industrial expansion - and that they were regarded by Europeans as representative of their - fellow-countrymen. He felt that it was his duty to conduct his - business and social activities in such a manner as to merit the - confidence and respect of his hosts. Had he been indifferent to - these responsibilities or had his patriotic fire ever burned low, - his association with the active members of the American Chamber of - Commerce in France and the American Club in Paris would have surely - recalled and revived them. Every one knows of the results attained - by these organizations in their effort to maintain the feeling of - sympathetic understanding between the two great sister republics - during the long and difficult period of 'watchful waiting.' Such - services enter into the realm of practical diplomacy and could have - been rendered efficient only by men of high standing and of the - highest order of patriotism. - - "I wish to call your attention to the editorial page of an - American weekly, which boasts of millions of readers, where we see - a vicious attack upon ourselves. I quote textually: 'Things had - reached a point among our expatriates, the _fifty-eighth and lowest - form of cootie_, that in home circles to be pro-American was really - bad form.' - - "Is this the general opinion in America? Is it shared by people of - intelligence? The editorial in question apparently adds another - high authority on public opinion to the previous judgment rendered - by Mr. Wilson when he classified us as 'unpatriotic Americans - living abroad.' I am interested in knowing the true facts. Must we - admit that we are held in small esteem by friends at home because - we live in France? - - "Sincerely yours, - - "ONE OF THE COOTIES." - -Being "cooties" ourselves, in the estimation of the American editorial -writer, we read the protest of the American business man resident in -Paris with the keenest interest and sympathy. In telling about the -attitude of the Red Cross toward our relief organizations, after the -United States intervened in the war, I spoke of only one phase of the -mistrust--even scorn--so many of our compatriots took no pains to -conceal when they learned that we belonged to the American colony. It -was inconceivable that we should be living in Paris and bringing up our -children there and still be good Americans. They questioned more than -our patriotism and our loyalty to the country of our birth. They felt -that there must be some skeleton in the closet of every American family -living abroad. I have never had an American tell me to my face that my -husband was a crook and that we were abroad "for our health," but I -have had them inquire pointedly why on earth this or that friend of mine -lived in exile. And I suppose my friends were asked about the past of -the Gibbons menage! - -"How long have you been over?" is a question as common as the "Oh!" with -a curious inflection that meets the confession of a protracted residence -abroad. - -I am sure I do not know why the writer in the American weekly read by -millions called us first "expatriates" and then "the fifty-eighth and -lowest form of cooties." I cannot imagine why. He is ignorant of the -people of whom he speaks. He has probably never met anyone in the -American colony of a European city, or has jumped to the conclusion that -an occasional bounder or cad or snob (these are always in evidence) -represents as intensely patriotic and loyal Americans as exist anywhere. -Or he thinks that living abroad means dislike of one's own country. - -There are Americans in Europe--and some of them are to be found in -Paris--who have no valid reason for being where they are more than in -another place. There are criminals and courtiers. There are those who -have forgotten their birthright. But they form an infinitesimally small -percentage of the American colony in Paris. Most of our American -residents are business men, painters, sculptors and writers, with the -necessary sprinkling of professional men to minister to their needs, of -the type of the writer of the letter quoted above. Many of them came to -Paris first by accident or as students and just stayed on. Without them -our country would be little known in Europe: and Europe would be little -known in our country. Until the war broke out, it was never realized how -many Americans resided in Paris. Most of them had lived along quietly, -doing their own work and minding their own business. But they had kept -alive the friendship begun in the days of Franklin. Art and literature -have their part in good understanding between nations: but the -foundation and the binding tie are furnished by commerce and banking. -The best representatives of Americanism are business men. - -We of the American colony found that out during the war; and we are -sorry for the ignorance and misapprehension and ingratitude of our -compatriots. They judged without inquiry and tried to put into Coventry -the very men whose patience and tact and devotion not only prevented a -break between France and the United States during the years of -uncomfortable neutrality but prepared the way for the intervention of -America and the downfall of Germany. - -I may not have perspective. I may be prejudiced. But I do feel that I -have a right to protest against the cruel snap judgments of us made by -those who never realized there was a war between right and wrong until -April, 1917. - -_Les amis de la première heure_--the friends of the first hour--as the -French love to call those who refused to obey the injunction to be -"neutral even in thought" were not confined to Americans resident in -France. We had behind us from the first day our friends in America, -friends by the hundreds of thousands, who sent money and medical -supplies, clothing and kits. All who could came to France to help -actively in relief work. But the machinery for the charitable effort of -the United States coming to the aid of France was provided by the -Americans who were permanent or partial residents in France. We were on -the ground. We knew the language. We knew the needs and the -peculiarities of those we were helping. - -The greatest service we were privileged to render to our own country and -to France was not ministering to the material needs. What we -accomplished was a drop in the bucket. It was the moral significance of -the relief work that counted. Our Government was neutral. The American -people in the mass were far away from the conflict. The French realized -all the same that individually and collectively the Americans who knew -France or who were in contact with France believed in the righteousness -of France's cause and in the final triumph of France's arms. - -Neutrality was uncomfortable. For thirty months we were in an awkward -position. We had to hold the balance between loyalty to America and -friendship for France. On the one hand, we were called upon to -comprehend the slowness of our fellow-countrymen to awaken to the moral -issues at stake, especially after the sinking of the _Lusitania_. On the -other hand, we were called upon to comprehend the impatience and -disappointment of our French friends. We tried to be sensible and to -realize that those who were far from the fray and to whom the war was -incidental could not be expected to share our intense feeling. With rare -exceptions, Americans in Paris did not allow themselves to criticize the -policy of their government in the presence of French or British friends. -That was hard, and required as much tact as we could muster. But when we -were _en famille_, the fur did fly! That was natural. We had a right to -our opinions, and everything we said from 1914 to the end of 1916, -President Wilson and all America with him said in 1917 and 1918. We were -never ashamed of being Americans. That accusation was untrue. But we -were sorry that the awakening came so late. For we saw the toll of human -life growing each month. We feared that France would come out of the war -too weakened to profit by victory if the war dragged on. We were -sometimes nervous about the aftermath. - -As I look back upon the first years of the war, American neutrality -appears as a tragedy. It was uncomfortable for us, and disastrous for -France. But we lived through it as we lived through other things. Our -French friends were splendid. Their patience was greater than ours. - -We kept our flags ready for the inevitable day. And when it arrived at -last, no Americans were prouder of the stars and stripes than we. - - - - -1917 - - - - -CHAPTER XXV - -HOW WE KEPT WARM - - -In Paris the child of the people is a born artist. He has the instinct -from his ancestors. His taste is formed and cultivated by what he sees -around him--of the present as well as of the past--from the time he -first begins to observe things. Inheritance and atmosphere influence -him. One June day in 1917, our dear friend Thiébault-Sisson, art critic -of the _Temps_, was lunching with us. He drew from his pocket a lot of -photographs. They illustrated the best and most striking of the drawings -by children in the primary schools of the city. M. Thiébault-Sisson had -organized an exposition of children's drawings, done in their ordinary -class work. The photographs were a surprise and a revelation. Having -lived in Paris since the beginning of the war, I could appreciate the -comments of a Parisian, proud of this eloquent showing of precocious -talent. I accepted with alacrity his invitation to see the originals. - -The outline, almost always enhanced by bright frank color, where the -three notes of the flag played a perpetual leit-motif, was a feast for -the eyes. In work of this character one expects to see the freshness -and freedom of childhood. What I found that was unusual was the maturity -born of suffering and intense emotion. In the drawings life in wartime -was reflected with a _naïveté_ that excluded neither precision nor vigor -of touch. With compositions of the simplest and most studied character -there was taste and a pretty feeling for color. - -The most popular form of drawing was the poster. In one school the -children were given the subject of calling upon the people to economize -gas. One little girl made a few bold strokes outlining a gas-jet and -wrote underneath, "Parisians--Economize Gas!" Asked to admonish the -public to eat less bread, a boy of ten used a potato as a face. The eyes -were almost human in their appeal. "Eat me please!" was written under -the drawing. A further caption stated that it was the duty of patriots -to save the bread for the soldiers. Sugar shortage inspired the idea of -a sugar cone and the same cone cut in half. Under the former was "In -1914" and under the latter "--and now!" The best of these posters were -reproduced by the thousand and put in tram-cars and railway stations. -They did more to call us to order than all the grave _affiches_ of the -Government. - -A dominating note, perhaps the strongest after that of the man on -furlough or the poignant expression of emotions experienced when the -news came that father would never return again, was the hunt for coal. -Little observers, inventing nothing of this (for it was seen over and -over again), pictured a coal wagon upon which two or three youngsters -had scrambled and were helping themselves. Generously they were firing -bits of the precious commodity to their little comrades. This was a -drawing made from memory of things seen. - -Winter in Paris is often mild: but early in 1917 came a protracted spell -of zero weather that would have taxed the facilities of Paris in -ordinary times. The coal shortage hit us at the worst possible moment. -Transportation was tied up. The mines were not producing. Stocks became -exhausted in a few days. The hunt for coal was cruel because it was -mostly fruitless and because it imposed upon the children weary waits, -hours at a time, in the street in snow and wind, with the thermometer -down to zero. - -Whoever saw the crowds massed in a long line in front of the coal -depots, old men, women, children stamping their feet painfully, jostled, -weeping or seized with mute despair at the curt announcement that there -was nothing to do but return to-morrow, will never forget the worst -calamity that fell upon Paris during the war. Children were hit by it -more than all the rest, and in a certain sense more than by the loss of -a father. For they suffered from it in their own flesh, in little hands -chapped till they opened into deep cracks, in little fingers stiffened -and swollen by monstrous chilblains, in frost-bitten feet. For six weeks -the quest for coal was the ruling passion. It inspired the children to -compositions all quite like each other in sentiment and all dominated by -the conviction of an implacable fatality. - -In common with most Parisians who lived in modern apartment-houses, we -never had to think of heat. Like hot water, you just turned it on. To -make an effort to have it no more entered into our scheme of things than -to help with the stoking when we were on ship-board. How naturally one -accepts the comforts and conveniences resulting from the work of others -and the smooth moving of modern city life! At first we felt the coal -shortage mildly. It meant piling on extra clothes and having our noses -turn red and then blue, like the dolls with barometrical petticoats. The -apartment was chilly, but we got up as late as we could. For once we -blessed the school system in France which works the children so many -hours that you wonder why the babies do not strike for an eight-hour -day. As long as the municipality could supply them, schools were -especially favored. After school hours and _devoirs_ (we had a wood fire -in one room), bed time soon came for the kids. We set the victrola -going, and everybody danced until they forgot the thermometer. - -[Illustration: A passage through the Louvre] - -Then we began to discover that coal means more than heat and light. We -found out how many trades were obliged to say "no coal, no work." In a -big city coal is certainly king, and not a limited monarch at that. -Transportation depends on coal, and everything else depends upon -transportation. One day there was a mass meeting of Paris laundresses. -The Government had promised them coal upon payment in advance of a large -part of the price. The order had been placed for weeks: no coal came. It -meant livelihood to the laundresses and cleanliness to the rest of us. -They had the Board of Health with them and the learned doctors of the -Académie de Médecine. Think of the menace of weeks of accumulated soiled -linen! It was all right for the papers to joke about abolishing starched -shirts and cuffs and collars. That was a small part of the problem, -affecting only men. The germs involved in not being able to wash were no -joke. - -Elderly people living alone and adult families calculated that it was -cheaper to go to a _pension_ than to keep house. In some cases it was -the only feasible thing. People who had the means started to go south -when conditions in Paris became intolerable. But with little children it -was dangerous to attempt a journey in freezing cold trains. - -Just when we had exhausted the little supply of wood we had laid in -originally for the luxury of a wood fire we did not need, our -_propriétaire_ notified us that he could get no more coal for heating or -hot water. And the same day an inspector called to place a maximum of -gas (our only means of cooking) at less than half the amount we -ordinarily consumed. - -The law of substitution came into force. We had long been ridiculing the -Germans for their _ersatz_ ingenuity. Were we now to have to seek -substitutes? Cooking is the most vital thing in life next to foodstuffs. -Paris blossomed out with what I thought was an American invention, the -fireless cooker. But they were called _marmites norvégiennes_. I suppose -if we keep on digging at Pompeii we shall find them there. Everyone who -could afford a _marmite_ bought one. You could get them at all prices -and sizes, and the newspapers published daily directions for using them. -If you could not afford a fireless cooker or if you were unable to buy -one (they soon gave out, of course), you took your hatbox from the -Galeries Lafayette and stuffed it with newspapers and sawdust with just -room in the middle for your soup-kettle. - -But fireless cookers would not wash clothes. They would not give the -necessary supply of hot water. The law of substitution has a limit. And -what was to be the _ersatz_ for fuel in heating? Gas? Your supply was -already cut down. Electricity? Ditto. Both of these depended upon coal. -Petroleum? The army had commandeered all the supplies for motor -transport and airplanes. Wood alcohol? There was none to be had. - -Then began the coal hunt for us. We had been pitying the poor. Now was -our turn. Money was of no value. Other _propriétaires_ had served the -same notice. People with larger purses than ours were in the market for -coal and wood. Our children began to suffer also in their own flesh. - -My husband and his secretary gave up work and joined the coal hunters. -They scoured the city in taxi-cabs. Herbert found a man who knew where -there was a ton of anthracite for eighty dollars. He tracked it down and -found that he was the tenth person applying for it that same afternoon. - -Then the kiddies came down with measles. Keeping them warm in the way -the doctor ordered was utterly impossible. All we could do was to give -them more blankets. When the baby got congestion of the lungs and heat -and hot baths meant the difference between life and death, I cast my eye -over the apartment appraising the furniture. I no longer thought of how -pretty my Brittany _armoire_ was or how I loved my Empire desk. The -cubic feet of wood was the sole criterion. Dining-room chairs went first -into the fire in Hope's bedroom. The dining-room table, sawed into -little blocks, heated the water for baths. Cupboard doors were taken off -their hinges and converted into fuel. Herbert got a hand-cart and stood -in line for his turn at a place where old lumber from torn-down houses -was being sold. There was a crowd besieging it as if it were a -gold-mine. It was, to the owners. The junk that had been there for years -disappeared at fabulous prices in a few days, doors, clapboards, -window-sashes, shutters, beams, flooring, even lathes. - -When our fight for Hope's life became known, friends appeared bringing -treasures. A prominent American manufacturer was at the door one -morning. He had climbed six flights of stairs with a huge bag of bits of -wood gleaned in his factory. - -"We calculate pretty close," he said apologetically. "We do not have -much waste in making roll-top desks." - -"Don't ask me where I got this sack of coal," said another respectable -Samaritan. I felt his guilt, confirmed when he told me the story -afterwards of how he had stolen it from the back of a wagon. But I was -not asking questions then! - -Two burly policemen, unmindful of dignity and uniforms, deposited sacks -of wood on my salon floor. They had come from the Commissariat in the -Fifth Arrondissement. Monsieur le Commissaire, they explained, had said -that the woman who was looking after so many Paris babies in her -_oeuvre_ must not be allowed to see her own baby die. They had agreed. -This was the wood from their own office. Why not? For the first time I -cried. Go through my experience, and you will understand how one can -have a passionate love for the French. I am relating here just one -little incident of help unsolicited that came in a crisis. I had never -seen that Commissaire. How he knew my baby was ill was a mystery. But I -have often experienced in my Paris life the impulsive generosity, -carried out at inconvenience and sacrifice, of which this is an example. -There were others who needed that wood as much as I did. But I was a -foreigner who had been working for babies in the Commissaire's district. -A point of honor was involved. Never will you find a Frenchman lacking -when he feels a sense of obligation. - -François Coppée wrote a beautiful story about a young French aristocrat -whose life in the army had taught him that half of the world goes -through life struggling constantly to obtain what the other half has -without effort. Perhaps you have read "La Croûte de Pain." After the war -of Soixante-Dix the aristocrat could not bear to see bread wasted. One -day he picked up a crust on the street, brushed off the mud with his -handkerchief and set it on the side-walk where one who needed it would -find it. And then he told his inquiring companion why. I shall always be -like that with coal. For I can never forget how we kept warm in -February, 1917. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI - -APRIL SIXTH - - -Never were Americans in France more perplexed about the state of feeling -in the United States than at the beginning of 1917. The sinking of the -_Lusitania_ and other _torpillages_ had brought forth note after note -from President Wilson: but his spokesmen among the Democratic senators, -especially Senator Hitchcock, were advocating measures to put an embargo -on the export of arms and ammunition. If these men had succeeded, they -would have helped Germany to win the war during 1916. Then President -Wilson was reelected on the slogan, "He has kept us out of the war." -Immediately after his re-election, Mr. Wilson began an attempt to make -peace that seemed to us at the time distinctly unfriendly to the -Entente. The idealism of President Wilson stirred us. But we were living -too close to the war to see the advantage of a "peace without victory." - -Our first intimation of a change of attitude in America came one day -when _L'Information_, one of our papers that comes out at noon, -published a cable-gram from Washington, stating that Secretary Lansing -had declared that the reason behind President Wilson's interest in peace -was that the United States felt herself on the brink of war. Herbert and -I were walking home from our studios. He stopped to buy the paper that -the boy on a bicycle was just giving our newswoman. Long experience had -taught us that the noon paper never gave anything new. But one was -always afraid to miss something. That's why afternoon papers are able to -bring out so many editions. When we read this message, we realized that -the President must be at the end of his rope, and that if Germany -persisted in her intention to declare unlimited submarine warfare, our -entering into the conflict was inevitable. - -The news of the rupture of diplomatic relations arrived on a Sunday -morning when the streets were full. The dispatches from Washington -contained long excerpts from President Wilson's splendid speech. Relief -rather than joy was the feeling we all had. We said to ourselves, "_At -last!_" Some of our intimate French friends, when we discussed the break -and the reasons the President gave for it, wondered why those reasons -had not been valid long before. It was an echo of our own thoughts. But -French and American were so happy over the new stand taken by the United -States, over the new note in the leadership of President Wilson, that we -did not allow ourselves to criticize the past. All was forgiven on that -last Sunday of January. Over night President Wilson became the most -popular man in France. And just one week before my Parisian friends had -been reading his Senate speech of January twenty-second with a puzzled -expression that turned into anger and indignation. - -We had an excellent barometer of what the French _bourgeois_ and -_universitaire_ was thinking in our dear old family doctor. Doctor -Charon had come to us first in the Rue Servandoni days. Christine was -sick one night for the first and only time in her babyhood. The young -father and mother were scared to death. Doctor Charon, whom we had not -known before, was called in. He assured us that there was nothing fatal. -After that he came again for colds. He knew how to scold us and make us -obey. Since then he has been the family friend and censor, entering into -our life as only a doctor can do. He always stopped to chat a minute. -His only son was at the war: he and his wife and two daughters were -doing hospital work. I often felt that his heart was breaking. He -suffered from the war in his soul, which was far worse than suffering in -the flesh. - -During the years of uncomfortable neutrality, Herbert and I tried to -reassure Doctor Charon and make him see how impossible it was that all -our compatriots, who had never been in France and knew nothing about -France, could feel the way we did. But we often felt that he loved us -despite the fact that we were Americans. On January 23, 1917, Doctor -Charon talked to us at length about the Senate speech. The way President -Wilson's mind worked was beyond him. He despaired of America. On January -30 he came in with a face transfigured, held out his arms, and kissed -me. We both cried. - -"I do not yet understand about your President," he said simply, "but you -were right in telling me not to lose hope in him. To-day he is our -prophet." - -During the two years that followed, Doctor and Madame Charon, in common -with all our French friends, had a revelation of the heart of America -beating for France. They saw at close range our relief work. Not only -did we give money without stint, but hundreds of Americans--who had -never known France before--came over to show by tireless personal -service that the friends of France were not limited to the Americans -resident in France or to those who had some point of personal contact. -In the end they realized that we were ready to be as prodigal with our -blood as with our treasure. When my husband received his red ribbon, the -Charons gave a dinner for us. Doctor Charon said: "I have one ambition -now in life--to go to America." - -As I have related in another chapter, February and March were tragic -months for Paris. Zero weather and no coal made a combination that took -our attention away from the evolution of public opinion across the -seas. Germany stood firm, resisting the threats and disregarding the -warnings of President Wilson's notes. But we had such an inherent -mistrust of notes that we were not sure until the end of March that some -sort of a modus vivendi would not be patched up, as after the -_Lusitania_ and the _Sussex_. - -Were we even sure in the first week of April? Herbert told me to get out -our flags that had been put carefully away since 1914. Although I was -not as optimistic as my husband, I brought out the flags and mended -them. I needed two for our studios. My voice trembled when I asked for -the stars and stripes at the Bon Marché. They had a large stock, mostly -brand-new. They were counting upon the imminent event. The sales girl -told me that they had sold more American flags in the last fortnight -than those of the other Allies put together since the beginning of the -war. She said it gleefully. The new broom was sweeping clean. With all -my pride in my own country, I had my misgivings about too great a -demonstration. Why did not the Government or some of the patriotic -organizations make a propaganda to have the flags of the Allies ready -for display everywhere with the American and French when the day -arrived? I suggested this to my husband, who was a member of the Union -des Grandes Associations Françaises. I knew how I would feel if I were a -Britisher who had been there from the beginning. Would not the French -show that wonderful characteristic of theirs, the sense of proportion? - -But when the day arrived, my internationalism and cosmopolitanism, a -gradual and unconscious growth, suddenly disappeared. It was a reversion -to type. I became blatantly American again, and gloried in the fact that -everywhere it was all Stars and Stripes. Why not? This was America's -day. And ever since, despite the theoretical internationalism (or -super-nationalism) I have advocated in common with my husband, I fear -that practically I have been lapsing into a narrow nationalism. It is a -curious phenomenon. I do not attempt to explain it. - -On Thursday, April sixth, Herbert went to the American Club to lunch. -Settling down to work had been hard that morning. We were feverishly -awaiting the news. I was just starting lunch with the children when the -telephone rang. Herbert's voice said, "Put out your flag," and then he -hung up. - -An hour later he came in a taxi-cab with Carroll Greenough, an American -architect who lived near us. We went for his wife. Then the four of us -did the Grands Boulevards, the Rue de la Paix, and the principal streets -in the heart of Paris. As if by magic the American flag appeared -everywhere. Paris had not waited for the poster of the Municipality, in -which the President of the Municipal Counsel called upon his fellow -citizens to _pavoiser_ in honor of the new Ally. Americans though we -were, we had never seen so many American flags. They expressed the hope -which, though long deferred, had not made the heart sick. - -We went to the Ambassadeurs for tea. The terraces were full. We watched -the crowds passing up and down the Champs-Elysées. All that was lacking -was the orchestra to play the Marseillaise and the Star Spangled Banner. -There had been no orchestras in Paris since the beginning of the war. - -But the music was in our hearts. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVII - -THE VANGUARD OF THE A. E. F. - - -"What class are yuh goin' to git?" - -The voice came from a wee island of khaki in a solid mass of horizon -blue. American soldiers! The first I had seen. The American army was to -the French army as were these half dozen doughboys to the station full -of shabby _poilus_. The Gare du Nord has many memories for me, happy and -poignant, but this will always be the most precious. Shall I ever forget -the ticket window around which our boys crowded? We had been saying "How -long, O Lord, how long?" And now they were with us. I moved nearer to -them. - -"Why, there's classes--foist, second, and thoid--accordin' to what yuh -pay--see?" - -"Aw! What dya mean?" - -"Buy fift' and we'll ride foist!" - -I volunteered to help them count their change. - -"She don't understand and neither do we," said one, hitching a thumb in -the general direction of the girl behind the grating. - -"Guess she's got mush in her brain." - -"Or feathers!" laughed another. - -It was not the class they would ride that was at the bottom of the -trouble. I found that the boys wanted to go to Versailles. They had come -into the Gare du Nord with baggage two days in advance of General -Pershing and his staff. Their officer had given them an afternoon off, -but told them that they were not to wander around Paris. He had -suggested Versailles. This was the only station they knew, and so they -were trying to get to Vers-ales. I took them to the Gare du Montparnasse -and put them on their way. This really was not necessary. I soon -discovered the American soldiers needed no interpreter. They always got -to whatever destination they set their minds upon. But this little scene -at the Gare du Nord was typical of the spirit of our boys during the two -years they were in France. Instead of getting angry, they smiled and -"joshed." In their very nature they had the secret of getting along with -the French. - -The afternoon of General Pershing's arrival, the streets around the Gare -du Nord held a crowd the like of which I had not seen in Paris since the -war began. It was the same at the Place de la Concorde. Rooms had been -engaged for the Pershing party at the Hotel Crillon. The ovation at the -Gare du Nord and along the route of the procession was remarkable. When -General Pershing came out on the balcony of the Crillon it was a scene -worthy of the occasion. Paris was not greeting an individual. France was -welcoming America. - -For the first time since the beginning of the war Paris celebrated. The -danger that still menaced the city and the bereavements of three years -were forgotten in the frenzy of joy over what everyone believed was the -entry of a decisive factor. Since April sixth insidious defeatist -propaganda had permeated the mass of the people. Seizing upon the -failure of the Champagne offensive in April, which had caused mutinies -in the army that could not be hushed up, German agents--often through -unconscious tools--spread their lies among a discouraged people. America -had declared war, yes, but she intended to limit her intervention to -money and materials. No American army would risk crossing the ocean. The -Americans, like the British, were ready "to fight to the last -Frenchman." - -Seeing was believing. Here were the American uniforms. The arrival of -the first American troops, we were assured, would be announced within -the next few days. Perhaps they had already landed at some port in -France? To baffle the submarines we understood that the censorship must -be vigorous. At any rate, an American general and his staff would not be -in Paris without the certainty of an army to follow. - -Another source of conviction was afforded us in the fact that on this -day of General Pershing's coming Marshal Joffre made his first public -appearance in Paris. Parisians had never had a chance before to acclaim -the victor of the Marne. - -The Americans set up their headquarters in two small _hôtels_ at the end -of the Rue de Constantine, opposite the Invalides. Immediately the boys -of the headquarters detachment marked out a diamond on the Esplanade des -Invalides, and passers-by had to learn to dodge base-balls. The police -did not interfere. Nothing was too good for the Americans. All Paris -flocked to see for themselves the khaki uniforms and to learn the -mysteries of our national game. There was always a crowd around the door -of General Pershing's home in the Rue de Varenne. - -The events of the next few weeks will always seem like a dream to me. -The scene of the drama that has influenced so profoundly the history of -the world was shifted from Paris. I went to Saint-Nazaire to see our -boys land and later to their first training-camp in the country of -Jeanne d'Arc. Many of them did not see Paris. Their idea of France was a -long journey of days and nights in freight-cars, with interminable -stops, and ending in small villages where they met rain and mud. But a -fortunate battalion of the First Division had the honor of being the -vanguard of the A. E. F. in Paris. - -[Illustration: In an Old Quarter] - -They were lodged in the Caserne de Reuilly. On the Fourth of July, -declared a national holiday by grateful France, they paraded through the -streets of our city. We were to become accustomed to American soldiers -in Paris. But these first boys made a unique impression. The moment -of their coming was psychological. Paris never needed encouragement -more. - -After this excitement we had another long and anxious wait of eight -months. The Americans came each week, but in dribbles. Between -Gondrecourt and the three ports of Saint-Nazaire, Bordeaux and Brest, it -was necessary to construct the lines of communication while a great army -in America was being gathered and trained. The defeatist propaganda -started up again, the word was spread that the Americans were coming too -slowly and that in France they were to be seen everywhere but at the -front. Were not the French still holding the lines against odds and -giving their lives, while the Americans were in safety? Despite the fact -that General Pershing moved G. H. Q. from Paris to Chaumont in the -Haute-Marne, the number of American soldiers in Paris, through the -necessities of the S. O. S. increased rapidly. The Hotel Mediterranée, -near the Gare de Lyon, was the first large building taken over. Then the -Elysée-Palace Hotel on the Avenue des Champs-Elysées was chartered. The -American flag soon appeared over barracks, garages and other buildings -in all parts of the city. You could go nowhere without seeing the -American uniform, and our automobiles learned to drive as rapidly as the -French. We got accustomed to hearing English spoken on the streets. The -Red Cross, the Y.M.C.A., the Knights of Columbus, and the Jewish -Welfare Board, established hotels and restaurants and reading-rooms and -leased theatres. Our American Ambulance at Neuilly, taken over by the -army, became only one of a number of hospitals. - -Not until the spring offensive of the next year were the Americans able -to come in large numbers. Then suddenly a single month brought as many -as the nine preceding months. We had our half million, our million, our -two millions. - -The faith of the French in us revived with Cantigny and Château-Thierry. -I am ahead of my chronology. But the men who first fell under the -American flag were those who marched through the streets of Paris, on -July Fourth, 1917. On parade they gave us hope. Fighting they gave us -certitude of victory. - - - - -1918 - - - - -CHAPTER XXVIII - -THE DARKEST DAYS - - -Problems of war time housekeeping in France did not go back to 1914. The -learned political economists who demonstrated to their own satisfaction -that a general European war would not last a year were dead wrong. -Millions were mobilized. Nations were at each other's throats. The -Germans were able to retaliate against the naval blockade by submarine -warfare that threatened to decrease seriously our own communications -with the outside world. But somehow we managed to go through year after -year without feeling the pinch of decreased productivity. And somehow we -accepted the inflation of currency and continued to subscribe cheerfully -to successive war loans with money that came from God knows where. One -hears now much about how we suffered in 1915 and 1916. Morally speaking, -I suppose we did suffer and that we were aware of the strain as time -went on. But from a material point of view the war did not make itself -felt much until 1917. It was only in the spring of that year that a -cartoonist was inspired to draw a necklace of anthracite, tipped off -with an egg for a pendant, over the caption, "Her Jewels." Coal cards, -sugar cards, and bread cards were to us the signs of Germany's weakness. - -Successive Cabinets realized well enough the prudence of anticipatory -restrictions. In the autumn of 1916 the newspapers put forth a _ballon -d'essai_. Every day they published a homily on the virtue of practicing -economy. It had no effect on my servants, this constant warning of a -shortage to come. No restaurants obeyed the voluntary rationing -measures. The Government did not dare to introduce obligatory rationing. -Public opinion rebels against restrictions of individual liberty. We had -to feel the pinch before rationing measures were tolerated. - -Sugar cards came first. They were "put over" on the public during the -rejoicing over the intervention of the United States. Coal cards were -instituted only after the bitter lesson of the late winter months of -1917 bid fair to repeat itself. Not until October, 1917, did I have to -put my signature as _chef de famille_ (my husband was so often away) on -an application for bread cards handed me by the concierge. A fourth New -Year of war came and went before we experienced what we had read about -in other countries--real lack of necessities. The reserves of everything -gave out suddenly. For the first time ability to spend money freely did -not solve household problems. - -Some difficulties were insoluble. They were the difficulties centering -around a shortage of coal supply. I never realized before that in our -modern civilization coal is really a dominating factor in making -tolerable existence in the city. The winter before the sudden giving out -of coal affected only our heating. In the first months of 1918 coal -rationing led to cutting down on gas, electricity and water. In modern -apartments, just as there is no way to heat them except by radiators, -there is no way to light them except by electricity and no way to have -hot water except by turning on the spigot. We were in what the French -call a _cercle vicieux_. We had a fox-and-geese-and-corn problem. For -instance, when a municipal ordinance forbade giving hot water except on -Saturdays and Sundays, your first thought was to heat water on the -kitchen gas-stove. But your allowance for gas was insufficient for -cooking. Nor could you use gas for lighting to save electricity. -Petroleum for lamps or cooking was unobtainable. Everyone made a rush -for candles and wood alcohol. They gave out. When you thought of honey -and jams to make up to the children what they lacked in sugar, everyone -else thought of honey and jams at the same time. We lived on the sixth -floor. The electricity rationing made possible running the elevator only -at certain hours. And when the elevator broke down, all the steel was -going into cannon and all the workers were turning out munitions. You -just walked up six flights of stairs all the time. - -Aside from cooking and baths and heat and light, the coal shortage -affected your laundry. So you couldn't change linen more frequently to -compensate for lost baths. In the old days the laundress would cast her -eyes around for more stuff to pack into her bundle, and if you gave her -a free hand, would gather up things that had never been soiled. Now she -picked out of the basket what she saw fit to take. In the same way, I -used to struggle to keep my milk supply down. It was a common trick for -the dairy people to load you up with milk and butter and eggs and cheese -in collusion with your cook. Now you had to beg for enough milk to give -the babies a cup apiece a day; butter arrived in exchange for a heavy -tip; and eggs appeared not when you ordered them but when the dairy -chose to send them--which was rarely. - -To have the laundress acting like that, and other people acting like -that, was living in Alice's Looking-Glass House. Things were -contrariwise. One day the laundress came to tell me that she could take -no more work. The wash house where the work used to be done had shut -down. My poor woman was dissolved in tears to think that a business that -she had spent twenty-three years in building up had to drop its -customers. I did the best I could by getting in a scrub woman for the -day to wash the most important things in cold water in the bath-room. -That was hard enough. But how dry them? Old tricks would not go: there -was no heat in the radiators. You see, as I said, all the troubles came -at once and were due primarily to coal shortage. There was no remedy. -Insufficient food supply because of lack of means of transportation. -Insufficient lack of means of transportation because of shortage of coal -for freight engines. - -I bought dark jersey dresses for the babies, and lived in dark things -myself. - -I was fortunate in having a good cook and nurse who stayed with me -through thick and thin. But when I came to get a _femme de ménage_ for -chamber work I realized how justified were the complaints of most of my -friends. Women could make big money in munition factories. The large -country element, scared away in 1914 or called home to take the place of -men at the front, did not feed Paris with help as in peace time. I had a -succession of giggling sixteen-year-olds, pottering grandmothers, and -useless loafers. One _femme de ménage_ I called "Toothless." She thought -it was an English pet name, and beamed under it. She was a farm hand -from the Marne district. The family fled before the Germans. She was -left in charge until the soldiers drove her out. "Toothless" put the -chickens in a little hay wagon, tied the cows to the back of it, and, -with her employer's silver on her lap, drove alone through the night to -safety. She was herded with other evacuated peasants on a steamer bound -for Bordeaux. The ship was torpedoed and she lost her teeth by the -explosion. I felt very sorry, and regarded her somewhat as a heroine -until the truth dawned on me that she was speaking of a plate. I didn't -think of this myself. She asked me for an advance one day, explaining -that she had to pay it down to a dentist when she ordered _more_ teeth. -A stranded Russian student followed "Toothless." She held out until her -prosperous father sent money from Petrograd through the Russian Embassy. -Try as hard as I could and offer more than I wanted to pay, I could not -get a regular third servant. I used to be amazed at the letters from -American friends, asking me to send them servants. It must have been the -popular notion in the United States that France was full of women eager -for the chance to work. - -In the fourth year of the war, we began to feel the drain on the -nation's manhood. The constant killing and crippling and calling to the -colors of older men and boys made it almost impossible to get any work -done. Bells or lights or plumbing out of order--you waited for months. -Where in 1915 I had found half a dozen paper-hangers and painters eager -to bid against each other for the job of renovating my studio, I had to -beg and bribe men to come in 1918. It took me four months to get what I -wanted done. Herbert became expert in carrying trunks and boxes: but -that did him no harm. There is a bright side to everything. - -Lines began to form at the grocers and the butchers. One waited and -waited and waited. My servants spent most of the day in the early months -of 1918 in sugar and meat-lines. All over Paris it was _faire la queue_ -for everything, even for tobacco and matches. - -Although it was an expensive proposition, I found it necessary, with my -large family and constant guests, to buy groceries through an agent. A -large English firm seemed to be able to furnish everything--if you paid -their price. The order-man who came around every week was a rascal named -Grimes. He had the genius of a book-agent, and worked you for an order -by playing on your fears. Here is a monologue that I wrote out one day -just to record how Grimes sold things. - -"Rice? First-class American rice?" (Why Grimes called rice "American" -was more than I could understand.) "Still got a little of it--please -don't ask me the price. Don't think of that now. Better let me put you -down for a hundred pounds of it and just shut your eyes to money. Golden -syrup? Just brought three cases of it up from Bordeaux myself. No -telling when we will see any more. The submarines are worse than ever: -awful, isn't it, but it's best that the newspapers don't tell us the -truth. I'm going to let you have two dozen tins of syrup if you don't -tell anyone. It's on account of your kiddies. I recommend that you don't -let older people touch it. Stack it away for the time when your sugar -card--I'm not pessimistic, but I believe you can't be too sure about -sugar cards. A funny fellow over at our place said a neat thing: 'It's -hard to believe in a paper shortage when the Government has voted sugar -cards and those new identity cards.' Biscuits, when have you and I seen -a biscuit? I got a few cases in from America. I'll let you have some. -I'll reserve a couple of hams and some sides of bacon and hang them in -our cellar for you. Gad, you're lucky to have those four babies. It's -only because they need the bacon this winter that I give it to you. Now, -didn't I tell you that you must not think about money? Trust me to give -you a square price. It's safe to say that the beans and other dried -vegetables I'm letting you have will make you shiver when you get the -bill. But if this order figures up to two thousand francs, you can rest -assured that three months from now it would cost you three thousand -francs. And six months from now, with all the good will in the world, I -couldn't get you the stuff. - -"No use mentioning flour. Can't give you any. They say that the -Government is meeting on the quiet half the price of the flour before -the bakers see it. Comes high but it pays 'em to keep the people quiet. -Everything else can go up, but not bread. No m'am, I say it positively; -got to give 'em bread and the chance to have a little fun." (I'm sure -that Grimes never studied Roman history, but he had arrived at the -formula of _panem et circenses_.) "But we shan't starve. Better off in -France than they are in England or Germany. Save the bread for lunch and -tea: give the children a cereal in the morning. Just by luck, I have a -few cases of American oatmeal and hominy grits. - -"Of course, the porridge means milk. I know what you're going to say. -But I've got hold of powdered milk made in Brittany. They say it's an -American invention. Only one big tin to a person, but then you're six -and we'll count the babies as grown ups. You can't tell how long they'll -be able to keep transporting milk to the city. Order as much canned -goods as I can give you. Canneries are running out of tin. Food we put -up in paraffined paste-board doesn't keep very well, and there is mighty -little paste-board. - -"It's a good thing you don't depend upon cocktails to keep you going. I -have a big auto-taxi ticking out there. The man who is going to pay for -it would be glad to let it tick all night just so he got what is inside. -One hundred bottles of gin. You know, the ordinary five-franc gin. I'm -going to get thirty francs a bottle at the Hotel Meurice bar. But -they'll be two bottles short. There they are--yours--right under my hat -on the table. - -"Now please let me read over the order. Not a luxury on it. Macaroni, -beans, lentils, prunes, dried-apricots, salt, and yes, there must be -some soap. Better let me put you down for a good hundred bars. The -Marseilles people tell us they have got to stop making it soon." - -Then he resumed his reading, and I didn't dare to say a word. On those -rare occasions I was pensive. My husband would say: "You don't need to -tell me. That scoundrel Grimes has been here. Good Lord, I wish we had -an anti-hording law, like England." - -"But, oh, Herbert, the children you know." - -I tell this story because I believe it illustrates the thought that was -uppermost in the minds of Paris women. We had faith in our armies. We -stuck to our homes. We were willing to stand anything. But the constant -talk of food shortage got on our nerves. We pictured our children -without milk and fats and bread. It was not hard for the Grimeses to -fill pages in their order-books. And you could not reason with us that -laying in supplies was a sin against the community. - -In my apartment-house (and it was the same all over Paris because of the -new law) the water-heater was having a good rest. I used to have the -kids bathed every night in the week except Sunday. Sunday was a real day -of rest. My servants liked to go to early mass and Sunday afternoon was -"off" for them and for the governess. Circumstances aided in keeping -this side of Sunday as my Covenanter grandfather would have had it. But -after the restrictions you bathed Sunday morning or never. And you had -to wait for your bath. Inferior coal, parsimoniously stoked, took the -water-heater a long time to get going. We chose the next best to -godliness. Church attendance fell off. The lawmakers who restricted -bathing to Sunday were anticlericals as well as traditionalists. - -I had been putting off doing over the apartment and our studios each -spring and fall since the war began, saying to myself that I would wait -until after the war. But in the autumn of 1917 the time had come to do -something. The painter was so short of men that I had to wait three -weeks before he sent someone simply to see what was to be done and to -make an estimate. The men cleaned half the paint in October. They never -came back to do the other half. I was tired of the dull grey wood-work -in my husband's studio and the painted grey wainscotting effect that ran -around the walls shoulder high. The place looked like a battle-ship -turned wrong-side out. Standing in the middle of that studio and looking -up to the skylight, I felt as if the hair was flying right off the top -of my head. The time came when I could stand it no longer. The painter's -soldier son, home on _permission_, agreed with me. But the father shook -his head when I asked him to paint the lower part a cheery buff and the -upper part cream-color. He had no helpers. I pled with him then to give -me the paint properly mixed, lend me brushes and ladders, and I would -send for them and do the work myself. It took me a whole morning to -remove a part of the imitation wainscotting. Then other things more -pressing came up. My husband, who had been oblivious to the old -combination, protested. Fortunately, one of my wounded _filleuls_, who -was able to get around without crutches, did the rest. I helped when I -could: for I do love to paint. - -The rugs in my drawing-room needed cleaning. At the Bon Marché they -offered to write my name down in their books. But they warned me that -they could not call for the rugs for three weeks, and that I must -understand that they could not be delivered before January. In the end I -sent the rugs to three different cleaning places and waited from four to -six weeks to get them back. - -The curtains of my drawing-room windows were dark green velvet, too -depressing a color for wartime. I wonder how I lived with them so long. -The drawing-room faces north, and I wanted yellow silk curtains to -invite the sunshine in. The curtains should be a frame for the best -picture in the drawing-room--a view of Paris that is the reverse of the -picture described in the first pages of Zola's Paris. The idea ran away -with me, and the momentum of it carried me through the difficulties I -found when I tried to get an upholsterer to make the curtains. We are -all learning new trades. The curtains were made finally by an artist, -who, in order to earn her living through the war years, learned to do -retouching of photographs. She and I worked together at those curtains, -and you would think that an upholsterer made them. - -Then the electric-bells--why can't they be fixed so one can wind them -up like a clock? They would not work; that was certain. I unscrewed -their little tops and punched the things like miniature -type-writer-spacers which the buttons ought to have hit: no ring. -Herbert said they "needed new juice" in the batteries. He had the -concierge send up some stuff that looked like salt. I climbed on the -pantry table to reach the suspicious-looking butter crocks hitched to -twisted waxy wires, and poured in the stuff with water according to -orders. Still no ring. Then I telephoned for the electrician. Perhaps he -would consent to send me Jean Claude, the nearsighted, who put in the -wires when we first came and had always been able to make them work. -Jean Claude, we heard, had come back from the war. But the electrician -answered that Jean Claude had been sent to the front again in spite of -his eyes. He would let me have apprentices. The boys were so short that -the big monkey-wrench in their tool-kit was as long as their forearms. -They climbed my step-ladder and tinkered with the bells for most of an -afternoon, while I held the ladder through a sense of paternal -protection for anything as young as that and was glad I had bandages and -ointment in my cupboard. When evening came, they were like the boy in -the song, who said: - - "I don't care what my Teacher says, - I cannot do that sum!" - -Quite naturally they explained that they must ask somebody at the shop -what to do and promised to come back next day. - -But they did not return. Luckily our dentist turned up on a forty-eight -hour furlough. He and his wife knocked long and loud at our front-door. -When the first surprise and delight of seeing him back, looking so -bronzed and fit, had passed, I apologized for the bell, and told my sad -story. The problem awakened the dentist's interest. He went walking -about tracing the wires. French wires are all just hitched somewhere -above the picture moulding line so you can see them. - -"Aha!" came from the pantry. It was the dentist's voice. At the same -moment there was a prolonged ringing. "That's what comes from earning -your living by making your brains speak through your fingers. Quite -simple, quite simple," said the dentist. "I only arranged this little -affair on the indicator. It was the fourth screw from the back at the -upper line of the plate." - -"Sakes," I cried, "get down from there before you give me a toothache!" - -We all go through the world lighting up its darkness with our own kind -of lantern. - -Throughout the war we have done with clothes as with our houses--making -things do. That went very well at first. But in the fourth winter wear -and tear had to be met. We learned a new scale of values for little -things. A green glass lampshade cost fifteen francs, and you were lucky -to get it. The plug to stick in the hole for an electric light you -scoured the town to purchase at seven francs. The steel wire your -_frotteur_ uses to polish floors quadrupled in price. My _frotteur_ went -to war long ago. His substitute, a chauffeur in the postal service, gave -us two afternoons in a month--his only free time. One day he defended -his service gallantly while he balanced a wet brown cigarette and -cake-walked the steel wire over my _salon_ floor. The long black autos -marked _postes et dépêches_, terror of pedestrians in Paris, do not -really go faster than other autos. We think they do because they were -the first autos to be used extensively in the city, and the fear of -being knocked down by them has stuck in the minds of the public. - -I used to have half a dozen "nice little dressmakers" on my list and as -many milliners to whom I could send friends confidently. But as the war -dragged on, one after the other they disappointed me. If it were not -poor cut and shoddy materials, it was inability to make delivery -anywhere near the time promised. Everyone must have been in my position, -because when I turned to the department stores for ready-made things, I -found long lines awaiting for a turn with the sales woman. It is not the -fault of dressmakers. One of them opened her heart to me. - -"It is very hard. Like everybody else, I keep hoping the war will end -suddenly. My reputation was made by my _premières ouvrières_. I still -keep on paying them good wages now although I eat into my savings to do -it. I cannot risk having my best girls go over to competitors. We had -our side in the strike of the _midinettes_. If it had not hit me hard, I -should have been amused to see these pretty young things dressed in -clothes cheap in material but _chic_ go marching along the boulevards -winning policemen over at every corner. I raised pay beyond my means, -and have granted the _semaine anglaise_. But they would go to-morrow for -the least thing. - -"For twenty years I have had three classes of customers in Paris: -_bourgeoises_ of the solid type, who come to me for the reserved sort of -clothes that sell on line, good material and long wear. They paid my -rent. American women, who came in the summer, or hurried through Paris -in February, headed for the Riviera, wanted an advance idea rapidly -executed. That trade paid my running expenses. From actresses and -mistresses I got fantastic prices for exclusive models I promised not to -repeat. From them I made my profits. - -"The first class are deft-fingered like all French women, and do their -own dressmaking now. They get their mourning from the houses that make a -specialty of that trade. The Americans do not come as they used to. My -profitable trade does not have the money for fine clothes or the -opportunity to show them off." - -Curious it seems to me now, when I sit down to write a chapter about the -darkest days of the war, that I find myself penning page after page of -the story of petty household difficulties. But I want to be what the -French call _véridique_. This is how we felt during the first winter of -the American intervention, when the A. E. F. was coming to France with -painful slowness and when we were aware that the Germans were preparing -a final desperate _coup_ before Pershing could marshal an army, -effective in training and equipment and numbers. In January and -February, 1918, we were under the reaction of the Russian collapse, of -the awakening to the falsehoods concerning German military strength that -had been spread consistently for three years, of the nervous dread that -the submarines might after all prevent the coming of the Americans. The -little things, strikes, petty annoyances of daily house keeping, steady -increase in the cost of living made the deep impression. - -Then came the new German onslaught, the daily long-distance bombardment -and the aeroplane raids every night. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIX - -THE GOTHAS AND BIG BERTHA - - -In the early days of the A. E. F., when I was speaking to American -soldiers in the camps, I used to leave a little time for questions at -the end of my talk. The boys always had something in their heads they -wanted to talk about. The scope and variety of their questions were -amazing. But some one was sure to ask: - -"Have you ever been in an air raid?" - -When I answered in the affirmative, he would say, - -"How did you feel?" - -For a long time I reasoned like the _poilu_, who said that if his number -was on a German shell it would find him. Herbert and I worked it out -mathematically that our chances of being hit in the enormous area of -Paris were not as great as of being knocked down by one of the crazy -Indians we had for chauffeurs. When any left-over of a man could get a -license to run a taxi-cab in Paris after a course of two days at fifty -francs, why worry about bombs dropped from an occasional Hun plane? If -we had to go, we'd rather be in our beds. Better to be warm and cosy and -run a slight risk, an infinitesimal risk, than the almost certain -alternative of a bad cold by huddling in a drafty cellar. I told the -boys that we took the raids as a matter of course--all in the day's -happenings. I explained my philosophy, which was this. - -I once knew a man so afraid of germs that he made his wife wash new -stockings in disinfectant solution. He kept strict surveillance over his -children's diet. No peanuts, pink lemonade, -little-store-around-the-corner candy for them. They were taught to -exercise minute precautions in the every-day round of living. And yet, -for all the bother, they had as many ailments as other children. When -one is leading a normal life and has only imaginary or petty things to -contend with, molehills are magnified. When one is facing a great -crisis, one realizes that health is often simply a matter of lack of -physical selfconsciousness. Most of the things you think about and guard -against do not happen. I remember once seeing a play, in which a Romeo -and a Juliet held the center of the stage, oblivious to fighting in the -distance. The man said: "That is only a battle; this is love." Some -people see the honey in the pot; others cannot take their eyes off the -fly. - -I still hold to this way of taking things. It saves a lot of trouble and -makes for peace of mind. But somehow it did not work out to the end in -the air raids. The Germans were finally able to reach Paris when they -wanted to and in appreciable number. - -From the beginning of the war to the end of 1917, air raids did not mean -much to Parisians. We read about the awful nights of terror when the -full moon came around in London, and the heavy bombardment of cities -just behind the front lines in France. Aeroplanes did come occasionally -to Paris. But up to 1918 we experienced curiosity and excitement rather -than fear. In 1915 we saw a Zeppelin over the Gare Saint-Lazare. I can -recall nothing particularly startling about any of these raids. When -aeroplanes came and we did not wake the babies, they scolded us the next -day. They wanted to see the fun. Our balconies, looking over the city -from the _sixième étage_ of the Boulevard du Montparnasse, gave us a -wonderful vantage point for seeing the raids. - -One January night at the beginning of 1918, the fire engines rushed -through the streets with their horns screaming the hysterical "pom-pom! -pom-pom!" with more vigor than usual. As was our custom, we turned the -lights carefully out and went on the balcony to watch the weird scene -that never failed to fascinate, rockets and searchlights and the firefly -effect of rising French planes. That always comforted us. We had little -thought that an _escadrille_ of German planes could reach Paris. They -never had before. The raids had been only an occasional plane flying -very high and dropping at random a few bombs which burst in different -quarters. The next day you had to hunt hard to find the damage they did. -Remembering our promise to Christine, we woke her up and took her out. - -The sounds of the alarm died away. Often we had waited in vain for the -fire from the forts around Paris to warn us that the raiders had -actually arrived in the vicinity of Paris. Then there was another wait -until the first bomb fell. Christine was a bit disgusted at being waked -up for nothing. During the long silence she asked impatiently, "What is -this? The _entre'acte_?" - -But Christine was not disappointed. Over our heads we heard distinctly -the harsh engine-sound that distinguished the new German Gotha from -French planes. We heard it several times. When the bombs began to drop, -it was not one or two, but dozens of explosions. We did not think of -going inside. The thought of danger to ourselves did not enter our -heads. - -Although we knew the raid had been something different from any we had -experienced up to this time, there was little in the papers about the -events of the night. We thought that we must have been mistaken in the -number of bombs that had fallen. It is not always easy to distinguish -between the explosions of a shell from the _tir de barrage_ and the -explosion of a bomb. Before we got through the first month of 1918 we -had the opportunity of becoming expert in this. - -We happened to be lunching with Robert and Edmée Chauvelot. Robert said, -"Did you go down to the cellar last night?" - -"No, we never do." - -"Why not?" cried Robert. - -I explained our air raid philosophy. - -"Nonsense!" exclaimed Madame Alphonse Daudet, Edmée's mother, "you must -go down next time. It isn't fair to your children. Your idea sounds -spunky and American--childish you understand. When we have epidemics, -the authorities study remedies. The Huns have decided to concentrate -their energies on Paris now. You must have read the warnings in the -newspapers. The police have collected statistics. We know now that most -of the people killed by German planes were standing at windows or front -doors, or were on the streets, or remained in their top-floor -apartments. What you have been telling your soldier boys in the camps is -all wrong. No precaution ought to be neglected. It is a question of -commonsense, not fear." - -"I know how to convince you," said Robert. After lunch he took us to the -Avenue de la Grande Armée not far from the Arc de Triomphe. - -"There!" He pointed to a house whose top floors had been blown away. -"That might just as well have been you." - -The house was a new one like ours and as solidly built of stone. The -apartment on the _sixième étage_ was pulverized, the one below it was -smashed, and the fourth floor damaged some. But the third floor was -intact. This convinced us. If air raids were now to be frequent, had we -the right to risk the kiddies? We could take the chance for ourselves. -But for them? - -All Paris reasoned in the same way. The Gothas began to come every night -during the full moon periods and other times when it was clear. In the -late afternoon we grew accustomed to watch the sky and calculate the -chances of cloudy weather. If the stars came out we were sure that there -would be no undisturbed night's rest. The Government intensified the -batteries of A.D.C. cannon around the city. Patrols of aeroplanes were -multiplied. The _tir de barrage_ became formidable. None could boast any -longer of being able to sleep through air raids. Sirens were put on all -the public buildings to replace the _alerte_ of the fire-trucks. When -the sirens began to wail, not a soul in Paris could complain of not -being warned. Frequently nothing happened after the sirens, because the -_alerte_ was given each time German planes were signalled crossing our -lines in the direction of Paris. Then we would simply wait for the -_berloque_, the bugle signal "all's over," which was sounded by the -firemen riding through the streets on their hook and ladder trucks. - -When the Gothas demonstrated their ability to come in numbers, as the -Zeppelins had been doing in London, the municipality, upon orders from -the Ministère de la Guerre, ordered every light out and the instant -stopping of tramway and underground services the moment the _alerte_ -was sounded. Engineers went around the city examining cellars and Métro -stations. Houses with solid cellars were compelled to keep their front -doors open until the number of persons they could hold had taken refuge -inside. In front of the house placards were posted with ABRI in large -letters and the number of persons allotted for shelter underneath. The -underground railways had to shut all stations except those deemed safe. -If you were on the street or in an underground train or tramway when the -_alerte_ sounded, you had the choice of walking home or of taking refuge -in the nearest _abri_. At first the theatres and moving-picture houses -protested against being closed down. But one January night a bomb -destroyed completely a house a hundred yards from the crowded -Folies-Bergère. This was enough. After that, if the _alerte_ sounded -before opening time, there was no show. If it sounded during a -performance, theatres and _cinémas_ were evacuated immediately by the -police. - -One can readily see the inconvenience of all this. If you planned to go -out for dinner or to a show, you risked a long walk home or being caught -for hours--and then the walk! For it was practically impossible to get -into the underground after the _berloque_ sounded. - -On account of the children, from January to April, we went far from home -only on a cloudy or rainy night. If there were engagements we had to -keep on a clear night, there was only one thing to do--bribe a chauffeur -to stand by you with his taxi-cab all evening. - -As the _alertes_ were often false alarms, we waited until the _tir de -barrage_ began. Then with servants carrying children wrapped in -blankets, we had to stumble down dark stairs. My husband was often away. -Sometimes I had to go on lecture trips. But we never left Paris at the -same time. Whenever I was out of town, I looked on clear weather as a -calamity and dreaded the full moon. The next morning I would eagerly -scan the paper for news of what happened in Paris. It was no fun. - -Cellars of modern apartment houses may be solid, but they are not -spacious. Each _locataire_ has two _caves_, one for storage and coal and -one for wine. The only refuge space is around the furnace and in the -long corridors that lead to the _caves_. We were allotted space for -three hundred. Such a crowd would gather from the streets! I could not -take my children there. At first we went to the concierge's _loge_. As -explosion succeeded explosion, I telephoned the _Herald_ office and -learned the location of the bomb a few minutes after it fell. This was a -way of knowing whether they were in our quarter or across the river. But -this soon ended. For telephone service during the raid was interrupted, -and the concierge's _loge_ was deemed by the police unsafe. Bombs -falling in the street or court were wrecking ground floors. A -solidarity manifested itself among the _locataires_. Those on the first -two or three floors took in the tenants from the upper floors. I was -lucky in having the use of a first-floor apartment alone for my family. -The _locataires_ of this apartment would leave the door open for me. -They went to the cellar! Everything is relative in this life. - -At first, the children objected to going down stairs. The younger ones -did not like to be wakened from their sleep. The older ones wanted to -see the raid from the balcony. We sympathized with them. We were missing -so much! After a while, as nothing ever happened to our house, I began -to regret having started to follow the advice of my friends. After all, -was the cellar safe? It was fifty-fifty. I wonder how my children will -feel about Germany as they grow up. They were old enough to have -impressed indelibly upon their minds the memory of these months. They -will never forget the sirens, the sudden waking from sleep, the _tir de -barrage_, and the explosions that sometimes shook our house. Mimi asked -once, "Do the Gothas make that siren noise with their heads or with -their tails?" Fancy the image in the child's mind: the German birds -swooping over Paris shrieking a song of hate and dropping bombs that -meant destruction and death. And when the _berloque_ sounded and we went -up stairs, we could see from our balcony fires here and there over the -city. For the Germans used incendiary bombs. - -But we were to have worse than air raids. - -The other day I put on the victrola a selection from "Die Walkyrie." -Wotan was singing. The orchestra thundered three motifs. The spring of -the instrument ran down before I could get to wind it up, there was a -rasping shriek. Mimi started. - -"That's like an air raid!" cried Lloyd. - -But they say the most potent way "to summon up remembrance of things -past" is the sense of smell. Burned toast means to me Big Bertha. - -One Saturday morning I was reading the depressing news of the rout of -the Fifth British army. After nearly four years of immobility in the -trenches, the Germans had once more started the march on Paris. The two -older children were out walking with Alice, their _gouvernante_. I was -at home with the babies. It was a jewel of a day, picked from an October -setting and smiling upon Paris in March. The feel of spring was in the -air. For months we had welcomed bad weather as an antidote for Gothas. -But I was glad the morning was so fine. At least there was nothing to -fear until evening. At the end of winter it is a blessing to have the -windows open once more. Suddenly the sirens started. We went out on the -balcony. The streets were filling with people, crowding into the Vavin -Métro station opposite and looking for the houses that were _abris_. -Still the crowds in the Boulevard du Montparnasse got larger. I was -sorry that Easter vacation was starting so early. Were the children in -school, they would be in the cellar. At the Ecole Alsacienne the -children were drilled for air raids as American school children are for -fire. Would Alice take the children to her own home or come back here? -If she went to her house, could she get there in time to telephone me -before the communications were cut off? It was impossible to go out and -look for Christine and Lloyd: for I must stay with the others. Often the -best thing is to sit tight. The children came in. - -"It isn't the Gothas--it's balloons. The Germans have sent a lot of them -over us. Everybody says so." - -In the unclouded sky there was no sign of aeroplanes. Could they be so -high as to be out of sight? And yet there were explosions near us every -few minutes. They lasted until late in the afternoon. The rumor of a big -gun spread. The noon newspapers and the earlier afternoon ones spoke of -a long distance bombardment to explain the explosions. Shells were -certainly falling. Bits of them, different from bombs, had been picked -up. But the opinion of interviewed experts scouted the theory of a gun -that would carry over a hundred kilometers. Was a new German advance -being hidden from us? Had they reached the gates of the city? - -[Illustration: Saint-Germain l'Auxerrois] - -That night we had our air raid as usual. The next morning the newspapers -told us that we could now expect to be shelled by day as well as bombed -by night. It was established that the Germans had discovered a means -of sending shells from their old lines all the way to Paris. - -We were in the axis of Big Bertha, as the cannon was immediately dubbed. -This was a new and more severe test for nerves. We got accustomed to it. -For the trial, the strength. The kiddies had to have exercise and you -yourself could not be home every minute of the time. But my feeling each -time a shell exploded is the most horrible memory of the war. You never -knew where it fell. On the third day when the children came home from -the Luxembourg, they told me that a shell from Big Bertha had torn away -a corner of the Grand Bassin. I tried to steel myself. One can become a -fatalist for oneself. But it is not easy to be a fatalist for your -children. - -Then we had a lull. We were assured that there was only one Big Bertha -or at the most two. The life of the cannon was a hundred shots. Counting -those that fell in the suburbs, the attempt to intimidate Paris was -over. - -We were thankful now that we had only the air raids. - -I woke up on Thursday morning, thinking to give the children a treat. I -built a wood fire, and started to make some toast. As I sat on the -floor, cutting pieces of bread, I told myself that it would not help to -worry. Perhaps it was true that the Germans had sprung a trick they -could not repeat. At any rate, the news from the front was good. The -British had made a magnificent recovery. The French were helping them -stop the hole. General Pershing was throwing all the Americans in France -into the breach north of Paris. There was something to be thankful for. -Even if Big Bertha started up again, we were as safe from shells in our -own home as anywhere else. I said to myself, "I am going to forget Big -Bertha and put my mind on the children's treat--hot buttered toast for -breakfast." There were enough embers now to make the toast. I speared a -piece of bread with the kitchen fork and held it over the fire. - -"Bing!" - -The toast dropped from my fork and was burned before I could pick it -out. - -Mimi, who was sleeping in the bed close by, woke up. - -"Hello, Mama," she said cheerfully. "Dat's Big Bertha again. I did hear -her." - - - - -CHAPTER XXX - -THE BIRD CHARMER OF THE TUILERIES - - -The Paris subway system is the best in the world. We make this boast -without fear of contradiction. In London the various lines do not -connect, and require a life study to arrive at the quickest combination. -Even then, old Londoners are in doubt. They say to you, "Piccadilly -Circus? Ah let me see--" Then your guide contradicts himself two or -three times before giving you directions of which he is reasonably sure. -In New York, you have to be certain you are on the uptown or downtown -side, and that you have not mistaken the Broadway line, where you drop -the money in the box, for the Seventh Avenue line, where you buy -tickets. Experience with the Forty-second Street shuttle teaches you -that it is quicker to walk than to ride: you have to walk most of the -way anyhow. New York subways are filthy and stuffy. In Boston you have a -bewildering variety of trolley-cars, stopping at different parts of the -platform and going every which way. - -But Paris underground is clean, well-ventilated, orderly. You can go -from any part of the city to any other part quickly and without -confusion. The resident knows his way instinctively. The stranger has -only to follow the abundant and clearly-marked signs. In every station -the signs bear the name of every other station, and if you are in doubt, -there is a map before you. On the doors of cars the stations are marked, -with junction-stops in red, and all the stations of the line you are -taking are indicated on a map which you cannot fail to see. - -The subway system of Paris is superb because it has to compete with -excellent surface transportation. It has also to compete with the beauty -of Paris. Unless you are in a hurry or it is a very rainy day, riding -underground is folly. One never tires of going through the streets of -Paris. The joy is constant. I am proud of the "Métro" and "Nord-Sud," as -the two subway systems are called. But I use them as little as possible. -An open _fiacre_ is a temptation never to be resisted. And, until the -last year of the war, it was a temptation thrust under your nose. Best -of all, I love to walk. Our way to the Rive Droite is down the Boulevard -Raspail. At the foot of the boulevard, you have three choices. You can -go straight ahead through the Rue du Bac and over the Pont Royal, by the -Boulevard Saint-Germain and across the Pont de Solférino, or to the end -of the Boulevard Saint-Germain and across the Pont de la Concorde. Each -route is equally inspiring. By the Pont Solférino you have before you a -perfect vista of the Vendôme Column and Sacré-Coeur in the background. -By the Pont de la Concorde you have the Obélisque and the Madeleine in -the background. But I used to prefer the Rue du Bac and the Pont Royal -because of Monsieur Pol. Alas that I have to say "used to"! - -After crossing the Seine by the Pont Royal, you enter the Tuileries -Garden at the end of the Louvre. On the left-hand side, before you -reached the Rue de Rivoli, ever since I can remember a little group was -gathered around a man feeding birds. I had to be in a great hurry on the -day I did not join that group. - -There is an old saying that every man drifts into his means of -livelihood. That is the reason so few people are doing what they planned -to do, and why there are so many queer ways of earning one's living. -Certainly the first time Monsieur Pol threw bread crumbs to the sparrows -in Tuileries he did not think of doing it for a living. Nor did he dream -that he would become as familiar a Paris landmark as Paul Deroulède in -marble and Jeanne d'Arc in gilt near by. A generation of Parisians may -have forgotten the features of former presidents of the Republic. But -who would not recognize Monsieur Pol? In fact, I have seen Emile Loubet -standing unrecognized in the crowd around the bird charmer. - -One day a one-legged soldier limped his way through the crowd to a good -place. In the lines of his face you could read suffering, but the -expression was of a happy child absorbed in the wonder of the moment. On -the sand around the old man's chair a hundred sparrows faced his way, -heads uplifted. - -"Get out of this, you rascals! I have had enough of you," cried Monsieur -Pol, stamping his foot and shaking a fist at his battalion. Do you think -they budged? The bird charmer shook his head, and remarked with a gentle -sigh, turning to the crowd, "You see, they have known me a good while. -Mind how you behave," he shouted, addressing the birds again, "here is a -soldier looking at you. Think how he will laugh if you do not stand up -straight. Look how well he's standing himself--with one leg gone." - -The birds heard a speech praising their defender, which turned into a -glorification of our _poilus_ in general. How those birds had to listen -to lessons in politics, shrewd comments on the news of the day, the -latest Cabinet crisis, talked-about play, scandal in high life! Since -the war it has been the Germans in Belgium, the Turks in Armenia, -Kerensky and the Bolshevists, and the last three o'clock _communiqué_. -The birds gave their attention to the end. They seemed to know when the -speech was done, when the lesson of faith in France and optimism had -been driven home. They began to fly about the charmer, billing around -his neck and perching on his wide-brimmed hat in search of -bread-crumbs. - -Feeding the sparrows was "_un métier comme un autre_." He had names for -all his pets. With "the Englishman" he talked about Edward the Seventh, -Sir Thomas Barclay and the Entente Cordiale, and pressed him on the -subject of the tunnel under the Channel. He complimented "the -Englishman" on the bravery of the Tommies and told him what the French -thought of Sir Douglas Haig. "The Deputy" received frank comments on the -doings at the Palais Bourbon. "The Drunk" was twitted for having to go -without absinthe, scolded for his excesses, and at the end of the -afternoon invited to accompany Monsieur Pol for a drink, the price of -which invariably came from someone in the crowd. Monsieur Pol and his -sparrows would have earned a fortune at any vaudeville house. He was as -witty as a cowboy rope-juggler I saw once in New York, and his lectures -to the birds, if taken down in shorthand, would have made a valuable -contemporary commentary on Paris during the Third Republic. Monsieur Pol -depended upon occasional gifts and the sale of postcards. - -During the war he grew gradually more feeble, but could not be persuaded -to accept the care of loving hands stretched out to him on all sides in -spite of the preoccupation of the struggle. When the bread restrictions -came in, he never lacked a sufficient supply for his little friends. I -have seen people give him strips of their own bread tickets. Monsieur -Pol kept coming to the Tuileries until he died in action as truly as -any soldier at the front. His best epitaph is a little verse on the -postcards he sold: - - "Auprès de ces petits, je suis toujours heureux. - Car je vois l'amitié pétiller dans leurs yeux, - Et j'éprouve aussitôt, avec un charme extrême, - Le plus doux des bonheurs: être aimé quand on aime."[E] - -[E] - - "Among these little ones I am always happy. - In their innocent eyes glows friendship, - And with swelling heart I know the charm - Of loving and of being loved." - - - - - - - -CHAPTER XXXI - -THE QUATORZE OF TESTING - - -Big Bertha, or rather her successors, kept up a sporadic bombardment of -Paris in April and May. A few shells fell again in June. But the effect -of the bombardment, materially and morally, was nothing like that of the -original Big Bertha. The culmination of horror and indignation was -reached on Good Friday afternoon, when a hundred people were killed in -the church of Saint-Gervais. After that the Germans made no other big -killing. They came to realize that Big Bertha could not intimidate or -demoralize Paris. Where the shells fell, however, we shall never forget. - -I used to listen with awe (and a bit of envy) to the stories of people -who passed through the siege of 1870. I remember well when I was a child -being told by my father's friends, as we drove in the city, "A shell -burst here in 1870 and tore the front out of a shop: I was sitting at a -café near by"; or, "On that spot the Versailles troops stormed a -barricade and lined its defenders against a wall--there was no quarter." -Now I have my stories to tell! There is hardly a street between the -Boulevard Montparnasse and the Seine that is not associated in my mind -with an aeroplane bomb or a Big Bertha shell. The compensation for -having lived through these days will be the privilege of telling -Americans who come to see us "all about it." As the years go by, I have -no doubt that legends will form themselves in my mind and that I shall -do my full share of innocent and unintentional lying. You want to -impress your listener: so you must make things graphic. - -But I shall never be eloquent enough to enhance upon or exaggerate the -nervous tension through which we passed during the spring and early -summer of 1918. From the moment we learned the news of the collapse of -the Fifth British Army, which brought the Germans to Montdidier, until -the tide of battle was definitely turned, we never had an easy moment. -The strain was worse than in 1914. For it lasted months instead of -weeks, and reverses after four years of fighting, with all the world -against Germany, were more difficult to understand and to stand. The -British were just recovering themselves when the Germans fell on the -French, captured the entire Craonne plateau for which we had been -struggling for three years, reoccupied Soissons, and started to advance -once more from the Aisne to the Marne. - -It was not easy to be an optimist. We had faith in the holding ability -of the French and British armies; we believed that the Germans were -shooting their last bolt; and we knew that the Americans were arriving -in large numbers. But we had been fooled so often about internal -conditions in Germany! And Russia and the submarine warfare were factors -concerning which we had no exact data. The people who recreate the past -with the advantage of hindsight will tell that they never worried a -minute. They knew things were coming out all right! To listen to them -one would think that they expected all along to happen just what did -happen in the way it did happen. When I hear this kind of talk now I -know that it was either a case of - - "Where ignorance is bliss - 'Tis folly to be wise," - -or hopeless bumptiousness. How strange it is that many of those who tell -you now that the Germans never had a chance ran away from Paris in 1914 -and again in 1918. - -Parisians passed no fortnight in which there was more anxiety and -uncertainty to their beloved city than the first two weeks of July. The -Germans were widening their pocket. They occupied the right bank of the -Marne from Château-Thierry to Dormans. They crossed the Marne. It was -too late for Germany to hope to win the war. But would they get to -Paris? - -On July Fourth I was in reconquered Alsace and my husband was speaking -at Tours. He telegraphed me to join him at Boulogne-Sur-Mer on July -seventh. It took me three days to go in slow trains, with an occasional -lift by motor, the entire length of the front. I saw everywhere reserves -of troops and endless lines of motor-trucks and trains with cannon and -ammunition. The American uniform was ubiquitous. All this gave me a hope -and confidence I had not felt in Paris, where I knew that the Government -was making more elaborate preparations than in 1914 to evacuate the -city. Herbert and I returned to Paris from Etaples on July ninth. The -direct route by Abbéville and Amiens was under the German cannon, so we -had to make a wide detour by Tréport and Beauvais. We both had a raging -fever and it was all we could do to get home from the Gare de Nord. - -Doctor Charon came early in the morning and told us that we were down -with the _grippe espagnole_, the plague that was sweeping France and -that had much to do with the general depression. Many a soldier who had -gone through four years of battle unscathed succumbed to this mysterious -disease. It hit one suddenly and the end came quickly. On the other -hand, if the first forty-eight hours passed without complications, -recovery was as rapid. Despite the protests of Doctor Charon, Herbert -got out of bed on the morning of the thirteenth to go to Lyons to the -inauguration of the Pont Président-Wilson. I was up to celebrate the -Quatorze. After it was over, I was glad of the illness that came to keep -me in Paris for this day when we whistled to keep up our courage. Had -the Spanish grip not interfered, I should have returned to my children -in the Little Gray Home near Saint-Nazaire. - -The military operations in July, 1918, were not critical from the -standpoint of the safety of France and the success of the Allied cause. -The size of the army America was sending to France put the Germans in -such a hopeless inferiority of numbers that as soon as the table of the -landing of the first million was published we knew that the Germans were -doomed _if the fighting continued_. But we had a growing number of -strikes and a wide-spread defeatist campaign in the rear to contend -with. If Paris were taken, what would be the effect on French public -opinion? This was the stake the Germans were fighting for, and they knew -it was their only hope of salvation. - -Never have I loved Paris more than on the Quatorze of testing. Music and -dancing were lacking, of course: for since 1914 we had not danced in -public out of respect to the dead and music had been barred in cafés. -Military bands had other places to play than in Paris. But happen what -might, Parisians were determined to celebrate the fête just as if the -Germans had not crossed the Marne. I went out for the day with friends. -We smiled and laughed and tried to have a good time. The relaxation -helped all to bear the burden. Within limits hedonism has its merits. -"Eat, drink and be merry, for to-morrow we die" is the philosophy that -wins out when a crisis is being faced. - -I went to the review in the morning, and made a round of the streets and -the Champs-Elysées Quarter that had been rebaptized in honor of our -Allies. The Paris Municipal Council cannot be accused of lacking -optimism in regard to persons as well as events. Belief in victory and -in the permanent esteem for those who were bringing it to pass led to -changes of names that may not in retrospect have popular approval. The -Avenue du Trocadéro has become the Avenue du Président-Wilson; the -Avenue d'Antin, the Avenue Victor-Emanuel III; the Avenue de l'Alma, the -Avenue Georges V; the Quai Débilly, the Quai de Tokio; part of the Rue -Pierre-Charron, the Rue Pierre I de Serbie; and the Place de l'Alma, the -Place des Alliés. - -When Herbert returned from the Quatorze at Lyons, we celebrated the -Franco-American victory of the Marne with a dinner at Parc Montsouris. -Whoever has been to the Pavillon du Lac becomes a regular client. We -discovered this unpretentious little restaurant many years ago when we -were exploring with Christine and the baby-carriage. Ever since Xavier -has been our friend. Xavier does not need to be on the Grands -Boulevards. He prepares the choicest dishes with utmost confidence that -his friends will bring their friends to Montsouris. The Pavillon du Lac -is nearly a mile from the nearest Métro station and no taxicabs are to -be found out there by the fortifications. But difficulty of -transportation is more than compensated for by the restfulness of the -Pavillon du Lac, its _cuisine_--and Xavier, with his good humor and -witticisms, waiting on the table. You eat on the _terrasse_ facing the -park, with its waterfall and lake, and you feel that it is all -yours--park and restaurant. From _patron_ to _chef_, everybody calls you -by name, and most of the people at the tables are your friends. In the -salon is a piano. You dance to your heart's content. Xavier dances with -you. - -When I try to write of the Pavillon du Lac, memories crowd in on me -thick and fast. I could have put this restaurant in almost any chapter -of my Paris vistas. - -But what place could a dinner at Montsouris enter more appropriately -than on the night of July 18, 1918? We were celebrating better than we -knew. The afternoon _communiqué_ brought with it the certainty that the -miracle of 1914 had been repeated and that Paris was saved again. Did we -realize that the day's fighting was the turning point of the war? I -think not. But we acted as if we did. - -Around our table were gathered the American General commanding the -troops in Paris, my husband's chief on the Committee of Public -Information, a French editor, colleagues of the American and British -press, and one of our dearest French friends, whose work for his country -in the hour of trial was bearing splendid fruit. Xavier was at his best. -Had I not recently been in his beloved Alsace from which he had been an -exile since childhood? From _hors d'oeuvres_ to _liqueurs_, there was -an uninterrupted flow of good cheer. The strain of years was passing -away. - -The climax came when Jim Kerney picked up his cordial glass, twirled it -with his thumb, looked at it regretfully, and sighed, - -"The fellow who blew this glass was certainly short of breath." - -[Illustration: Old Paris is disappearing] - - - - -CHAPTER XXXII - -THE LIBERATION OF LILLE - - -From the Boulevard des Capucines to the Avenue de l'Opéra there is a -convenient short-cut through the Rue Daunou. Newspaper men and other -Americans do not always use the Rue Daunou for the short-cut. It is -better known as the way to the Chatham bar. I ought to know nothing -about the Chatham bar. My acquaintance with that corner should be -limited to the Restaurant Volney and ladies' days at my husband's club -opposite. But I do know the Chatham bar and for a perfectly respectable -reason. It is where my old uncle used to be found when the clerk at his -hotel said that he was not in. The uncle makes me think of a friend of -his and a table with a little brass disk in the center of it to -commemorate assiduous attendance through a long period of years in the -Chatham bar. And the uncle's friend makes me think of the liberation of -Lille. Association of ideas is a strange thing. - -Herbert and I sat one evening in the autumn of 1915 before a big map -with my uncle's friend. His fingers lay upon the Flanders portion of -what we had come to call "the front." Bubbling over with excitement, he -exclaimed, - -"They have broken through here, I tell you, day before yesterday. I -always knew that when Kitchener's army was ready the trick would be -turned. Of course the censorship is holding up the news, but everybody -knows it. A sharp bombardment that overwhelmed the Boches, and then the -break through. The Boches were routed. Talk about not being able to -storm trenches! The cavalry has passed Lille. At this moment Lille is -liberated. The British must be there in force." - -"But," objected my husband, "this is too good to be true. They could not -hold back news like that, you know. If the British are in Lille, the war -is over." - -"Of course it is over," insisted my uncle's friend. "We shall have peace -by Christmas." - -Mr.--well I won't tell you his name--let us say Mr. Smith, was hardly to -blame for taking the wish for the fact. The rumor of a big break through -the Flanders front was everywhere in Paris. Fourteen months of war had -been enough. The French had waited a year for the British to form an -army. Why shouldn't it be true that now the end had come? - -Alas! we were to wait three years more before the lines in Flanders were -crossed; we were to have many costly disappointments like that of -Neuve-Chapelle. But when the moment finally did come, the liberation of -Lille was to mean the beginning of the end. - -In October, 1919, when I came back to Paris from the Little Gray Home, I -returned to a city where there was a feeling of victory in the air. The -most conservative had lost their habitual pessimism. The most resigned, -who had come to accept the war as a fatality that would never end as -long as there were men to fight, began to revise their opinions. The -most suspicious, who wagged their heads over _communiqués_ no matter -what the authorities said, felt that after all we were making "some -progress." Each day the list of liberated communes grew longer. But -until some big city was abandoned, Parisians were afraid of having to -pay too big a price to break down the Boche resistance. After all, they -had proved themselves stubborn fighters. They might elect to make a long -"last ditch" combat on lines of which we did not know the existence. But -if they abandoned Lille, that would mean the intention of falling back -to the Meuse. Genuine optimism is as hard to instil as it is to dispel. -In retrospect, many writers are now asserting that Parisians knew the -Boches were beaten after the failure of their last July offensive from -the Vesle to the Marne. But this is not true. Relief over the failure to -reach Paris did not mean certainty of the imminent collapse of -Ludendorf's war machine. - -When summertime was over, and darkness came suddenly from one day to -the next, Herbert and I resumed our walks at nightfall. During the war -we had lost our interest in buildings as memorials of the past. -Contemporary history had crowded out ante-bellum associations. The -Eiffel Tower was not a gigantic monstrosity, a relic of the Exposition. -It was a wireless-telegraphy station, the ear, the eye, the voice of -Paris. Tramping by the Champs de Mars, we saw the sentinels in their -faded blue coats of the fifth year and felt sorry for the men up there -always listening in the pitiless cold. Crossing the Pont Alexandre III, -we forgot the splendor of the Czars and thought of Nicholas in the hands -of the Bolsheviki. The Grand Palais no longer recalled brilliant Salons. -We thought of the blind in the hospital there and of the re-education of -mutilated _poilus_. The picture inside was a one-armed soldier learning -to run a typewriter, and a man with both legs amputated sitting on a low -bench, the light of renewed hope in his eyes: for he had found out that -he could still do a man's work in the world by becoming a cobbler. The -newspaper building, whose cellar windows used to fascinate us, was the -place where we waited for the posting of the _communiqué_. The Invalides -was no longer just Napoleon's tomb. It was the place where you went to -see your friends decorated and where you strolled about the central -court to show your children aeroplanes and cannon captured from the -Germans. And you were saddened by the thought that when the last -veterans of the Crimea and Soixante-Dix and colonial wars disappeared, -there would be thousands of others to take the vacant places. - -October is chestnut month. From some mysterious source the venders drew -their supply of charcoal when we could not get it. But we were glad of -their luck. Autumn walks would not be complete without the bag of -roasted chestnuts which I could fish out of Herbert's overcoat pocket. - -We were going down the Rue de Rennes one night and stopped to get our -chestnuts from the man at the corner of the Rue Sainte-Placide. Herbert -was fumbling for coppers. A boy thrust a newspaper under his nose. - -"The Liberation of Lille!" he cried. - -We hailed a taxi and made for the Chatham bar. Everything comes to him -who waits. Uncle Alex's friend was waiting. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIII - -ARMISTICE NIGHT - - -On the eleventh day of the eleventh month at the eleventh hour, Paris -heard the news. The big guns of Mont Valérian and the forts of Ivry -roared. The anti-aircraft cannon of the Buttes-Chaumont, -Issy-les-Moulineaux, the Eiffel Tower, the Arc de Triomphe and the Place -de la Bastille took up the message. The submarine moored by the Pont de -la Concorde spoke for the navy. And then the church bells began to ring. -We had heard the tocsin sounded by those same bells at four o'clock on -the afternoon of August 1, 1914. France to arms! We had heard those same -cannon during more than four years announcing the arrival of Tauben and -Zeppelins and Gothas over Paris. But Paris kept the faith and never -doubted that this day would come. The armistice was signed. The war was -over. The victory was ours. - -In the Rue Campagne-Première artists' studios are in the buildings with -workingmen's lodgings. House painter and canvas painter work side by -side; writer and printer and book-binder, sculptor, cobbler, and -mattress maker live in the same court. Our little community could exist -by itself, for we have within a few hundred feet all that we need, -tailor and laundress, baker and butcher, restaurant and milk woman, the -stationer who sells newspapers and notions, and the hardware shop where -artists' materials can be had. During these years of danger and -discouragement and depression we have exchanged hopes and fears as we -have bought and sold and worked. We have welcomed the _permissionniares_, -we have shared in the bereavements of almost every family, and we have -greeted the birth of each baby as if it were our own. I was in my studio -when the message of victory arrived. Windows in the large court opened -instantly, and then we hurried down the staircase to pour forth, hand in -hand, arm in arm, into the street. We kissed each other. Flags appeared -in every window and on every vehicle. - -The Boulevard du Montparnasse was ablaze with flags and bunting, and -processions were forming. Hands reached out to force me into line. I -managed to break away when I got to the door of my home for the crowd -paused to salute the huge American flag. Herbert, who had reached the -apartment first, was hanging from our balcony. My four children were in -the hall when the elevator stopped. School had been dismissed. They -danced around me. Mimi the five-year-old cried: "No more Gothas, no more -submarines, we can go home to see grandma, and the Americans finished -the war!" - -"It is peace, Mimi, peace!" I said. - -"What is peace?" asked Mimi bewildered. - -I tried to explain. She could not understand. The world since she began -to talk and receive ideas had been air raids and bombardments, and life -was the mighty effort to kill Germans, who were responsible for all -that, and also for the fact that there was not enough butter and milk -and sugar. Mimi knew no more about peace than she did about cake and -boxes of candy and white bread. Questioning my seven year old, I found -that his notions of a world in which men would not fight were as vague -as Mimi's. Lloyd was frankly puzzled. Like Mimi, he believed that the -armistice meant no more Gothas and no more submarines, but he thought -surely that we would go on fighting the Germans. Had not they always -been fighting us? And if we weren't going to fight them any longer, -chasing them back to their own country, what in the world would we do? -And how could Uncle Clem and all the other soldier friends be happy -without any work? - -The Artist dropped in for lunch. Together we had seen the war suddenly -come upon France. Together we were to see it as suddenly end. "Do you -know," he said, "everyone in the quarter is going to the Grands -Boulevards. Taxis have disappeared. The Métro and Nord-Sud are jammed. -We may have to foot it, like most people, but if we want to see the big -celebration, we must get over to the Rive Droite this afternoon." - -The Artist was right. As Lester and Herbert and I went down the -Boulevard Raspail and the Boulevard Saint-Germain, we seemed to be -following the entire population of the Rive Gauche. To cross the bridge -was the work of half an hour. We kept near the coping, and had time to -see the crew of the submarine _Montgolfier_ engaged in more strenuous -work than sailing under the seas. The _Montgolfier_ was brought up to -the center of Paris a fortnight before to stimulate subscriptions to the -Victory Loan. The Parisians had been allowed to subscribe on board. -To-day the crew was busy trying to keep people off without pushing them -into the river. The crowd in the Place de la Concorde overflowed to the -Champs-Elysées and the Tuileries. Boys were climbing over the German -tanks. They sat astride the big cannon trophies and invaded the captured -aeroplanes parked on the terrace of the Tuileries. Only its steep sides -saved the obelisk. - -For many months the horses of Marly, guarding the entrance to the -Champs-Elysées, had been protected by sand-bags and boxed up. A crowd -was tearing off the boards and punching holes in the bags. Air raids -were a thing of the past, and these hidden treasures were a painful -memory which Paris wanted to efface immediately. A gendarme interfered -only to point out the danger of the long nails in the ends of the -boards. He insisted that the nails should be taken out, and then the -boards were given to those who had torn them off. This kindly -interference appealed to the good sense of the crowd. Men were putting -the boards across their shoulders to parade the _poilus_ triumphantly -around the Place. The gendarme was awarded by the honor of a high seat, -too. - -The statues of the cities of France formed splendid vantage-points, and -they were crowded with the agile and venturesome. Lille and Strasbourg, -however, were respected. When Lille was delivered last month, the statue -had been covered with flowers and wreaths and flags. As it symbolized -all the invaded regions, new offerings had been coming each day from the -cities and towns that were being freed. In the midst of the joy of the -armistice, this tangible evidence of victory was receiving more -offerings each hour. We could see people moving towards Lille with arms -aloft, in order that flowers should not be crushed in the jam. There was -something sublimely pagan about the offerings to the huge statue. And -Strasbourg! After nearly half a century, this was Strasbourg's day. The -first instinct of the crowd was to tear off the crepe. But the -government had taken precautions. Strasbourg was to be unveiled on the -day Marshal Foch and his army enter the city. So Strasbourg was -protected by a _cordon_ of the Garde Municipale. - -On the Rue Royale side of the Hôtel de Coislin, which the American Red -Cross occupied since our entry into the war, the proclamation of the -mobilization was covered by some thoughtful person with glass. It has -remained through these years, defying wind and rain and -souvenir-hunters, a constant reminder in the busy thoroughfare of -Paris's last Great Day. This afternoon a fresh poster had been put -beside it. We read: - - -INHABITANTS OF PARIS - - It is the victory, the triumphal victory! On all the fronts the - conquered enemy has laid down his arms. Blood is going to cease - flowing. - - Let Paris come forth from the proud reserve which has won for her - the admiration of the world. - - Let us give free course to our joy, to our enthusiasm, and let us - keep back our tears. - - To witness to our great soldiers and to their incomparable chiefs - our infinite gratitude, let us display from all our houses the - French colors and those of our Allies. - - Our dead can sleep in peace. The sublime sacrifice which they have - made of their life for the future of the race and for the safety of - France will not be sterile. - - For them as for us "the day of glory has arrived." - - Vive la République! - - Vive la France Immortelle! - - THE MUNICIPAL COUNCIL. - -Paris had anticipated the advice of the City Fathers. Printers and bill -posters were not quick enough. But the proclamation was read with -enthusiasm. "_Ça y est cette fois-ci!_" cried a girl who had just come -out of Maxim's. - -The cry was taken up immediately by all who were gathered around the -poster, and we heard it passing from mouth to mouth as we worked our -way toward the Madeleine. Nothing could express more appropriately and -concisely the feeling of the Parisians than this short sentence. _Cette -fois-ci! This time!_ There had been other times when rejoicing was not -in order. There had been false hopes, just as there had been false -fears. The certitude of victory _cette fois-ci_--a certitude coming so -miraculously a few months after incertitude and doubt--was the -explanation of the fierce mad joy expressed in the pandemonium around -us. - -After a mile on the Grand Boulevards, a mile that reminded us of -football days, the Artist said, "This is great stuff now, and will be -greater stuff tonight. I wonder if we had not better try to get around -to other places before dark just to see, you know." Beyond the _Matin_ -office, in a side street near Marguéry's, we saw a taxi. The chauffeur -was shaking a five franc note, and heaping curses on a man who lost -himself in the boulevard crowd. We ran to the chauffeur and told him we -would make it up to him for the _cochon_ who had not been good to him. - -"Double fare, and a good _pourboire_ beside," Herbert insisted. The -Artist opened the door and started to help me in. - -"By all the virgins in France, No! A thousand times no!" growled the -chauffeur, trying to keep us out. - -"We meant triple fare," said Lester. I disappeared inside the cab. - -"Where do _Messieurs-Dame_ want to go?" asked the chauffeur -despairingly. - -"Rue Lafayette, Boulevard Haussmann, Etoile, Avenue des Champs-Elysées, -Invalides, and then we'll leave you at the Opéra," I suggested -hopefully. - -"What you want is an aeroplane," he remonstrated. But triple fare is -triple fare. With a show of reluctance, he cranked and we rattled off. -An hour later, after we had escaped being taken by assault a dozen -times, resisted attempts to pull us out and put us out, promised to pay -for a broken window and a stolen lamp, and used cigarettes and -persuasive French on the man upon whose goodwill our happiness depended, -we found ourselves on the Avenue de l'Opéra. By this time the chauffeur -was resigned, so resigned that he tried to cross the Place de l'Opéra. -We were tied up in a mass of other rashly-guided vehicles until the -taxi's tires flattened out under the weight of a dozen Australians who -had climbed on our roof. We were cheerful about it, and the chauffeur -seemed to gather equanimity with misfortune. November 11, 1918, comes -only once in a lifetime. We abandoned our taxi and our money, and tried -it afoot again. - -Fortune was with us. We arrived at the moment when Mademoiselle Chénal -appeared on the balcony of the Opéra and sang the "Marseillaise." There -was the stillness of death during the verse. But the prima donna's voice -was heard only in the first word of the chorus. When the crowd took up -the chorus, Paris lived one of the greatest moments of her history. Over -and over again Mademoiselle Chénal waved her flag, and the chorus was -repeated. Then she withdrew. Another verse would have been an -anti-climax. We were carried along the Boulevard des Italiens as far as -Appenrodt's. As Herbert and Lester were talking about the night, more -than four years ago, when they watched the crowd break the windows of -this and other German or supposedly German places, the arc lights along -the middle of the boulevard flashed on. Paris of peace days reappeared. - -In the midst of it all, my maternal instinct set me worrying. What if -Alice, the _gouvernante_, had taken the children out into the crowd? I -had gone off without thinking of my chicks. We tried to telephone. On -the last day of the war that proved as impossible as on the first. My -escorts were quite willing to return to the Rive Gauche. There was no -reason why the celebration would not be just as interesting on the Boul' -Miche. I left Herbert and Lester on the terrace of the Café Soufflet, -and hurried back to the Boulevard du Montparnasse. When I reappeared -half an hour later, Christine was with me. She had begged so hard to be -taken to the Grands Boulevards. After all, why not? Christine had lived -through all the war in France. It was her right to be in on the -rejoicing. And I confess that I wanted to hear what she would say when -she saw the lights. She was so young when the war started that she had -forgotten what lighted streets were. - -The two men were delighted with the idea of dining across the river. -Despite its reputation for making the most of a celebration, five long -years of the absence of youth had atrophied the Boul' Miche. It was -interesting, of course, but not what we thought it would be. - -We dined at the Grand Café. We went early, fearing that even being in -the good graces of the head waiter might not secure a table. But having -a table was not guarantee of the possibility of ordering a meal worthy -of the occasion. The run on food had been too severe for the past two -days. And the market people of the Halles Centrales, so the waiter said, -began their celebration on Saturday, when the German delegates appeared -to demand the armistice. They would withhold their produce for several -days, and get higher prices. The cellars held out nobly, however, so -food could be dispensed with. - -During the first hour, mostly waiting for dishes which did not come, -there was a lull. The effort of the afternoon had been exhausting. Some -groups were just about to leave for the theatre when a young American -officer jumped on his chair, holding a slipper in his hand. Pouring into -it champagne, he proposed the health of Marshal Foch, with the warning -that other toasts would follow. Immediately there was a bending under -tables, and other slippers appeared. The fun was on. Cosmopolitans have -seen New Year's Eve _réveillons_ that were "going some," but the -drinking of the health of Foch, Petain, Haig and Pershing will live in -the memory of all who were in the Grand Café on the night of November -11th. Tables were pushed together and pyramided. One after the other the -highest officer in rank in each of the Allied armies was dragged from -his place and lifted up between the chandeliers. Over the revolving -doors at the entrance a young lieutenant led the singing of the national -anthems, using flag after flag as they were handed up to him. The affair -was decidedly _à l'américaine_, as a beaming Frenchman at the next table -said. There was no rowdyness, no drunkenness. It was merrymaking into -which everyone entered. The owner of the first slipper was an American -head nurse, and the first Frenchwoman to jump up on a table had twin -sons in the Class of 1919. During years of anguish we had been subjected -to a severe nervous strain and to repressing our feelings. The French -bubbled over and the English, too, and they were willing to follow the -lead of the Americans, because we have a genius for celebrating audibly -and in public. - -[Illustration: The Grand Palais] - -Once more out in the night air, following and watching the night crowd, -and joining in or being drawn into the fun, we were struck by the -ubiquity of American soldiers and their leadership in every stunt which -drew the crowd. We felt, too, the spirit of good _camaraderie_ among -the merrymakers. Not a disagreeable incident did we see. The stars of a -cloudless sky looked down on Paris frolicking. But they saw nothing that -Paris, emerging from her noble dignity of suffering and anxiety, need be -ashamed of. Policemen and M.P.'s were part of the celebration. - -Lines of girls and _poilus_ danced along arm in arm. The girls wore -kepis, and the _poilus_ hats and veils. No soldier's hat and buttons and -collar insignia were safe. The price of the theft was a chase and a -kiss. Processions crisscrossed and collided. Mad parades of youngsters -not yet called out for military service bumped into ring-around-a-rosy -groups which held captive American and British and Italian soldiers. - -The officers and sergeants in charge of American garages were either -taking the day off or had been disregarded. For in the midst of the -throngs our huge army trucks moved slowly, carrying the full limit of -their three tons, Sammies and _midinettes_, waving flags and shouting. - -The trophies of the Place de la Concorde and the Champs-Elysées and the -Place de l'Hôtel de Ville were raided. Big cannon could not be moved, -and pushing far the tanks was too exhausting to be fun. But the smaller -cannon on wheels and the caissons took the route of the Grands -Boulevards. Minenwerfer and A.D.C. (anti-aircraft cannon) disappeared -during the afternoon. Why should the Government have all the trophies? -The aspirations of souvenir-hunters were not always limited to the -possible. We saw a group of _poilus_ pulling a 155-cm. cannon on the Rue -du Faubourg-Saint-Honoré, some distance from the Rue Royale. They were -actually making off with it! A policeman watched them with an indulgent -smile. - -"It's too big," he said. "They'll get tired before the night is over, -and they couldn't hide it anyway. It is good for them to work off their -alcohol. To-morrow the authorities will pick up that cannon somewhere." - -The clocks on the Boulevard "islands" were stopped at eight o'clock. -This was not a night to think what time it was, and whether the Métro -had ceased running. Every lamp-post had its cheer-leader or orator. - -Confetti and streamers of uncelebrated Mardi Gras and Mi-Carêmes had -their use this night, when four years of postponed festivals were made -up for in few wild and joyous hours. What had begun as a patriotic -demonstration was ending in a carnival. The "Marseillaise" gave place to -"Madelon," favorite doggerel of barracks and streets. - -The most dignified had to unbend. A British staff officer, captured by a -bunch of girls, was made to march before them as they held his Burberry -rain-coat like maids of honor carrying a bride's train. He was a good -sport, and reconciled himself to leading a dancing procession, beating -time with his bamboo cane. All the Tommies spied _en route_ were -pressed into line. A French General, who had unwisely come out in -uniform, was mobbed by the crowd. The girls kissed him, and older people -asked to shake his hand. He submitted to their grateful joy with -warm-hearted and gracious dignity. But when a band of _poilus_ came -along, brandishing wicker chairs stolen from a café and asked him to -lead them in a charge, that was too much even for November Eleventh. The -General retired to the safety of a darkened doorway. - -There were no bands. It was the people's night, not the army's night, -and tin cans, horns, flags, flowers, voices and kisses were enough for -the people's celebration. You could not have enjoyed it yourself if you -had not the spirit of a child. Children need no elaborate toys to -express themselves, and they don't like to have their games managed for -them, or to have the amusement provided when they are "just playing." - -Some Americans rigged up a skeleton with a German cap. They followed it -singing "Onward, Christian Soldiers." The song was as novel as the -skeleton. Where all the Americans came from only Heaven and the -Provost-Marshal knew, and there is a strong probability that the latter -had no official knowledge of the presence of most of them in Paris! Our -soldiers were disconsolate over the fact that they could not buy all the -flags they wanted. The shops were completely sold out, and the hawkers -were reduced to offering _cocardes_. We heard one boy say: "If I can't -get a flag soon, I'll climb one of them buildin's." - -"Gee! better not," advised his comrade; "they'd shoot you!" - -"Naw! Shootin' 's finished." - -The shooting was finished. That is what the signing of the armistice -meant to Paris. And, as it meant the same to the whole world, every city -in the Allied countries must have had its November Eleventh. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIV - -ROYAL VISITORS - - -One night the future King of Siam came to dine with us. I took him into -the nursery to see the children. Mimi sat bolt upright in her crib. She -eyed the young stranger and frowned. - -"Hello, king," she said, "where's your crown?" - -I confessed to a similar feeling when from the balcony of a friend's -home in the Avenue du Bois de Bologne I saw the King of England riding -into Paris for the first of the welcomes we were giving Allied -sovereigns. It was natural that Great Britain should come ahead of other -nations. England had been the comrade-in-arms from the first days and -aided powerfully in preventing the Germans from reaching Paris in the -fierce onslaught of 1914. But it is a pity that the King was not -accompanied by Marshal French or Sir Douglas Haig. Parisians are -peculiarly sensitive to personality. George V has none. There was -nothing in the rôle he had played during the war to make the crowd feel -that he personified the valiant armies of the greatest and most faithful -ally. If only Beatty or Jellicoe had ridden with him through the Avenue -du Bois and down the Champs-Elysées. The war had not deepened the -enthusiasm of the French for a monarch simply because he was a monarch. -A crown and a royal robe might have helped George with the Paris crowd. -I am not sure even then. As my concierge put it when I told her that I -was going to cheer the royal visitor, - -"_Voyons_, what has that king done in the war besides falling off his -horse?" - -And then the weather was against our British guest. I do not care what -the occasion is, rain and enthusiasm do not go together in a Paris -crowd. - -The King of the Belgians had good weather and received cheers that came -from the heart. We thought of him not as a royal personage but as the -man who had saved Paris at the beginning of the war because he put honor -and his country ahead of personal interest and blood. The French saw in -him also a soldier who had lived the life of the camp sharing the -hardships and dangers of his little army in the corner of Belgium the -Germans were never able to conquer. From the first day of the war to the -signing of the armistice, Albert I did not doff his uniform. He never -asked of his soldiers what he himself was not ready to do. And he came -to Paris with his queen, who had been idolized by the French. No woman -in the world was so popular in France as Elizabeth despite her German -origin. - -The protocol for the royal visits was as elaborate as the ceremony -proved to be simple. The guests were received by President and Madame -Poincaré at the little Ceinture station at the Porte Dauphine. Headed -and followed by a single row of _gardes républicaines_ on horse, they -rode in open carriages down the Avenue du Bois de Bologne and the -Champs-Elysées and across the Pont de la Concorde to the Palais d'Orsay -where they were lodged. Infantry regiments, lining the route, aided the -police in keeping order. There was no parade and no music. The attention -and the acclamation of the crowd were concentrated on the visitors. As -state carriages are swung high, every one was able to see the king. The -Avenue du Bois is ideal for a procession. The park slopes up on either -side, affording a clear view for hundreds of thousands. And there are -innumerable trees for boys. - -Those who were unable to get to the Avenue du Bois or the Champs-Elysées -at the time the visitors came had a chance to see them in the streets -afterward. For visits were exchanged between the royal visitors and -President Poincaré, and on the second day of the visit they rode in -state down the Rue de Rivoli to receive the freedom of Paris at the -Hôtel de Ville. The return from the Hôtel de Ville was made by the -Grands Boulevards and the Rue Royale. Then on the first evening was the -state dinner at the Elysée and on the second evening the gala -performance at the Opéra. If any one in Paris did not see the -sovereigns, it was not because of lack of opportunity. - -The evening before we were to receive President Wilson, Rosalie burst -into my room in great excitement. - -"Hush, hush!" I whispered. "I have just put the baby to bed." - -But my pretty little cook did not hear me. She hurried to the window and -bounced out on the balcony. I followed. - -"What is the matter?" I asked. - -"Madame has only to listen: every church bell in Paris is ringing. What -is it, Madame? In my Brittany village the bells rang that way only when -they posted the mobilization order at the _mairie_. Is it the tocsin? Is -the war going to begin again?" - -"Of course not," I answered. "It's a whole month since the armistice. -Cheer up, Rosalie, perhaps the Kaiser is dead." - -The older children and Elisa and Alice were now with us. The bells -continued ringing, and we heard cannon, one boom after another. It was -the salute that had been given for the royal visitors by the guns of -Mont Valérian. Now we realized that the special train from Brest had -arrived. - -"It is the _Président-Vilsonne_!" said Alice in the reverent tone, that -she had been taught to use in speaking of "l'Eternel." If you have heard -a French Protestant reciting a psalm, and pronouncing the beautiful -French word for Jehovah, you will understand what I mean. - -My young governess struck the note of the Wilsonian greeting. All that -has happened since that memorable December day has dispelled little by -little the legend of the Wilson who was to deliver the world from the -bondage of war. The French quickly discovered that their idol had feet -of clay. Whether they expected too much from what President Wilson had -said in his speeches or whether his failure to make good his promises -was due to circumstances beyond his power to control is not for us to -judge. We do not know the facts and we have no perspective. But at the -moment we did not foresee the disappointment in store for us. A merciful -providence, veiling the future, allows us the joy of entertaining hopes -without realizing that they are illusions. Legends are beautiful and -touching. But they are most precious when you think they are true, and -nothing can rob one of the memory of moments on the mountain top. - -Fearing that the Métro to the Place de l'Etoile would be crowded, we got -up very early that Saturday morning. The day of President Wilson's -coming--whatever day the great event would happen--had been declared -beforehand a holiday. So we could take the children with us. We were -none too soon. All Paris of our quarter was going in the same direction. -Without a grown person for each child, the Métro would have been -difficult. When we came up at Kléber station the aspect of the streets -around the Etoile assured us that the Wilson welcome would break all -records. We passed through side streets to the Avenue du Bois--by the -corner of the Etoile it was already impossible, and thanked our stars -that the friends who invited us to see the royal visits from their -apartment lived on the near side of the street. To cross the Avenue du -Bois would have been a problem. - -Lloyd struck against going up to the wonderful vantage point on a fourth -floor. The good things Aunt Eleanor and Aunt Caroline would certainly -have for him to eat meant nothing when he saw boys in trees. Having no -good reason to deny him, his father yielded. My son climbed a tree near -the side-walk with Herbert standing guardian below while the rest of us -were high above. - -I shall not attempt to describe the welcome given to President Wilson. -After the carriages passed and the crowd broke, the children went home. -Herbert and I followed the current of enthusiastic, delirious Parisians -down the Champs-Elysées, up the Rue Royale and the Avenue Malesherbes. -Wilson beamed and responded to the greeting of Paris. He did not grasp -what that greeting meant. Clemenceau, Parisian himself, knew that the -power to change the world was in the hands of the man riding ahead of -him. But this is retrospect! I did not realize then that one of the -greatest tragedies of history was being enacted under my eyes. Perhaps I -am wrong in thinking so now. Who knows? - -More significant in its potentiality than the initial greeting to -President Wilson was the acclamation that greeted him when he went to -the Hôtel de Ville. Belleville turned out. From the heart of the common -people came the cry, "_Vive la paix Wilsonienne!_" It was taken up and -re-echoed with frenzy when the guest of Paris appeared on the balcony of -the Hôtel de Ville. - -The coming of the King of Italy was an anti-climax. Paris, of course, -responded with her customary politeness to the duty of welcoming the -sovereign of France's Latin ally. But heart was lacking in the reception -to Victor Emanuel III. The comparative coolness was not intentional. I -am sure of that. It was simply that we were coming down from the -mountain top to earth. - -And when the Peace Conference assembled, Paris very quickly realized -that the hope of a new world was an illusion. Our royal visitors came at -the right moment. Paris will give enthusiastic welcome to other rulers -in future days. But not in our generation! A famous saying of Abraham -Lincoln's comes into my mind. There is no need to quote it. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXV - -THE FIRST PEACE CHRISTMAS - - -"Peace on earth: good-will towards men!" For five years the motto of -Christmas had seemed a mockery to us. Our city was the goal of the -German armies. They reached it sometimes with their aeroplanes, and -before the end of the war they reached it with their cannon. Scarcely -fifty miles away from us--within hearing distance when the bombardment -was violent--fathers and sons, brothers and sweethearts were fighting -through the weary years in constant danger of death. Each Christmas -brought more vacant places to mourn. Of course we celebrated Christmas -all through the war. There was little heart in it for grown-ups. But we -had the children to think of. The war must not be allowed to rob them of -childhood Christmas memories. - -In 1918, we were looking forward to a Christmas that would be Christmas. -All around us the Christmas spirit was accumulating. The war was over: -we had won. Ever since Armistice Night we had been saying to -ourselves--"And now for Christmas!" We might have to wait for a revival -of the second part of the Christ Child's message. But at least the -first part was once more a reality. - -Three days before Christmas I sent a telegram. I took my brother's -enigmatic military address and put two words in front of it, Commanding -Officer. I begged the gentleman to have a heart and send me my brother -for Christmas Day. I told him that I had not seen my family for five -years, that four little children born abroad wanted their uncle, and -that we would welcome the C. O., too, if Christmas in Paris tempted him. -On the morning of December 24 brother appeared, and before lunch many -others I had invited "to stay over Christmas" turned up or telephoned -that they would be with us. I had to plan hastily how the studios in the -Rue Campagne-Première could be turned into dormitories for a colonel of -infantry, a major of the General Staff, captains of aviation and -engineers and the Spa Armistice Commission, lieutenants and sergeants -and privates of all branches. Last year few of the invitations to men in -the field were accepted. This year all came--some all the way from the -Rhine. Bless my soul, we'd tuck them in somewhere. And on Christmas Eve -we were going to have open house for the A. E. F., welfare workers, -peace delegates and specialists, and fellow-craftsmen of our own. - -As each house guest arrived, I gave him a job. His "But can't I do -anything to help?" was scarcely finished before he was commissioned to -blankets, armycots, candles, nuts, fruits, bon-bons, drinks, or -sandwiches. "Just that one thing. I rely on _you_ for that," I would -say. None failed me, and the evening came with everything arranged as if -by magic. I have never found it hard to entertain, and the more the -merrier: but when you have American men to deal with, it is the easiest -thing in the world to have a party--in Paris or anywhere else. - -Of course I went shopping myself. Herbert and I would not miss that day -before Christmas last minute rush for anything. And even if I risk -seeming to talk against the sane and humane "shop early for Christmas" -propaganda, I am going to say that the fun and joy of Christmas shopping -is doing it on the twenty-fourth. Avoid the crowds? I don't want to! I -want to get right in the midst of them. I want to shove my way up to -counters. I want to buy things that catch my eye and that I never -thought of buying and wouldn't buy on any other day in the year than -December 24th. I want to spend more money than I can afford. I want to -experience that sweet panicky feeling that I really haven't enough -things and to worry over whether my purchases can be divided fairly -among my quartette. I want to go home after dark, revelling in the flare -of lamps on hawkers' carts lighting up mistletoe, holly wreaths and -Christmas trees, stopping here and there to buy another pound of candy -or box of dates or foolish bauble for the tree. I want to shove bundle -after bundle into the arms of my protesting husband and remind him that -Christmas comes but once a year until he becomes profane. And, once -home, on what other winter evening than December 24th, would you find -pleasure in dumping the whole lot on your bed, adding the jumble of toys -and books already purchased or sent by friends, and calmly making the -children's piles with puckered brow and all other thoughts banished, -despite aching back and legs, impatient husband, cross servants and a -dozen dinner guests waiting in the drawing-room? - -Paris is the ideal city for afternoon-before-Christmas shopping. Much of -the Christmas trading is on the streets. It gets dark early enough to -enjoy the effect of the lights for a couple of hours before you have to -go home. You have crowds to your heart's content. And Paris is the -department-store city _par excellence_. Scrooge would not have needed a -ghost in Paris. If you have no Christmas spirit, go to the Bazar de la -Rue de Rennes, the Bon Marché, the Trois-Quartiers, the Printemps, the -Galeries Lafayette, Dufayel, the Louvre, the Belle Jardinière and the -Bazar de l'Hôtel de Ville. Do not miss any of these, especially the -first and the last. At the Bazar de la Rue de Rennes the Christmas toys -are on counters according to price. Woolworth only tells you what you -can get for five or ten cents. The range of prices on the Rue de Rennes -is adjusted to all pocketbooks. At the Hôtel de Ville you do not have -to wait for a saleswoman at the outside _rayons_. You hold up the -article you want and catch the cashier's eye. He pokes out to you a box -on the end of a pole such as they used to use in churches before we -became honest enough to be trusted with a plate. You put your money in. -If there is change, he thrusts it back immediately. - -On the Grands Boulevards and in our own Montparnasse Quarter, the -Christmas crowds were like those of the happy days before we entered -into the valley of the shadow. As we did our rounds, falling back into -peace habits and the old frame of mind, I realized how hollow was our -celebration of the war Christmases, how we pretended and made the effort -for our children's sakes. The nightmare was finished! Really, I suppose, -we had less money than ever to spend and everything was dear. But -everybody was buying in a lavish way that was natural after the -repression of years. Bargaining--a practise in street buying before the -war--would have been bad taste. We paid cheerfully what was asked. - -I was hurrying home along the Rue de Rennes with one of my soldier -guests. Herbert and my brother had left us on the Boulevards to get ham -and tongue at Appenrodt's and peanuts and sweet potatoes at Hédiard's. A -vender, recognizing the American uniform, accosted my companion with a -grin, as she held out an armful of mimosa blossoms. - -"Fresh from Nice this morning, _mon capitaine_--only fifty francs for -all this!" - -"Come, Keith," I cried, "she wants to rob you!" - -The woman understood the intent if not the words. Barring our way, she -reached over to her cart and added another bunch, observing, "It's -Christmas and I give our allies good measure." Keith took it all, -saying, "Don't stop me; I haven't spent any money for months--and Mother -always made such a wonderful Christmas. I've got to spend money--a lot -of money." He patted his pocket. "Two months' pay here that I haven't -touched yet!" - -Christine arranged the mimosa in tall brass shell cases from -Château-Thierry. "See my flowers!" she exclaimed. "This is better than -war!" - -The Consul-General (always a Christmas Eve guest in our home); the -colonel commanding the hospital in the Rue de Chevreuse; a New York -editor and his wife; a _confrère_ of the French press and his wife; a -Peace Delegate; and the head of a New York publishing firm, who looked -in to see if we were really working; sat down with us to dinner, -squeezed in with our A. E. F. guests. When the last flicker of -plum-pudding sauce died down, we set to work for the Christmas Eve -preparations. There was no question of rank or age! Each one fell to the -task at hand. Dishes, glasses, bottles, doilies disappeared into the -kitchen. The table was set for the big party, piles of plates with -knives and forks on each corner, sandwiches and rolls, a cold boiled -ham, a tongue _écarlate_ as tongues come in Paris, turkeys roasted by -our baker, olives, salted almonds, army graham crackers, candy, a tall -glass jar of golden honey worth its weight in gold, and the fruit cake -with sprigs of holly that comes across the Atlantic every Christmas from -a dear American friend. People could help themselves. How and when--I -never worry about that. My only care is to have enough for all comers. - -We sent out no invitations. The news simply passed by word of mouth that -friends and friends' friends were welcome on Christmas Eve. In a corner -of the drawing-room the engineers of the party made the Christmas tree -stand up. The trimmings were on the floor. Whoever wanted to could -decorate. With the trenches of five years between us and Germany, -Christmas tree trimmings were pitiful if judged by ante-bellum -standards. I wonder what my children are going to think when they see -this Christmas a full-grown tree with the wealth of balls and stars and -tinsel Americans have to use. In Paris we had so few baubles and pieced -out with colored string and cotton and flags and ribbon. But the effect -was not bad with the brains of half a hundred trimmers contributing to -work out ideas on a tree that did not come up to my chin. - -We started the victrola--"Minuit, Chrétien," "It Came upon a Midnight -Clear," "Adeste Fideles," and--whisper it softly--"Heilige Nacht." Then -our guests began to come until salons and hall and dining-room -overflowed into bed-rooms. Never again can I hope to have under my roof -a party like that, representing many of the nations that had fought -together on the soil of France, but with homesick Americans, Christmas -hungry, predominating. The first to arrive were patients from the -American Hospital in the Rue de Chevreuse who had been unable to forget -the nightmare of war when the armistice came. - -Crutches and the music, the tree and my children, an American home--the -first reaction was not merriment. I felt instinctively that something -had to be done. "Heilige Nacht" brought a hush. Someone turned off the -phonograph. Bill took in the situation. Everyone in America who reads -knows Bill. He backed up into a corner by the bookcase, took off his -glasses, and began to make a speech. - -"Ladies and gentlemen, I am an unregenerate soul. There is not a -respectable bone in my body. I am going to sing you a little ditty, the -national anthem of California." Here Bill winked his eyes and opened his -mouth wide to sing: - - "Hallelujah! I'm a bum!" - -"The writer of the song is an I. W. W.," he interrupted himself, "and at -the end of the first line from upstairs is heard the voice of his wife -demanding (here Bill changed to high falsetto), - - "Oh, why don't you work - As other men do?" - -Then the I. W. W. answers gently, - - "Why the H---- should I work - When there is no work to do?" - -I told you I was an unregenerate soul. I see that I'm not alone, there -are others here like myself. I want a volunteer to sing my part with me -and volunteeresses, equally unregenerate, for the pointed question of -the I. W. W.'s wife. - -"The gentleman there with the eagles on his shoulders--I have for you a -fellow feeling, you are disreputable like me. Come! And the little girl -in the pink dress that only looks innocent. Come you here. And others of -like character join us as quickly as you can push your way through the -admiring audience." - -The surgeon from New York, who is as military as any regular army man, -was a good sport. So was the editor's wife. As he reached both hands to -the recruits, Bill did a simple dance step, the contagious step of the -Virginia Reel when other couples are doing the figures. Soon the chorus -was a line that reached the hall. At this moment there were shouts of -laughter at the front door. A parade of alternating khaki and nurse's -blue invaded the salon. Each had a flag or horn. The chorus and parade -joined forces, with Bill as leader, and soon - - "Hallelujah! I'm a bum!" - -was being sung in every room of the apartment at the same time. Crutches -were no deterrent to joining the serpentine march from room to room. The -chorus grew and the dining-room was deserted. Strong arms picked up -babies in nighties and we were all in the parade. - -I did not know half of my guests and never will. Some of them are sure -to read this and will remember that night in Paris when C. O.'s and -journalists tired of the grind, nurses weary of watching, wounded and -homesick who had not expected to laugh that Christmas Eve, and soldiers -fresh from chilly camps and remote and dirty villages caught the spirit -of Christmas. When people forget their cares and woes, they always -behave like children. The national anthem of California made my party, -where Christmas carols had proved too tear impelling. After "Hallelujah! -I'm a bum!" wore itself out, nobody needed to be introduced to anybody -else and everything disappeared from the dining-room table. - -While the party was still raging, Herbert and I slipped for a moment out -on the balcony. Merrymakers with lighted lanterns passed along the -Boulevard du Montparnasse, singing and shouting. Before us lay Paris, -not the Paris dark and fearful to which we had become accustomed when we -stood there after the warning of the sirens and listened for the _tir -de barrage_ to tell us whether the time had come to take the children -downstairs, but Paris alight and alive, Paris enjoying the reward of -having kept faith with France and with the civilized world. - - - - -1919 - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVI - -PLOTTING PEACE - - -"Was it on purpose, Madame," said the Persian Minister to Paris, "that -you wore a green hat today?" - -We were lunching with the Persian Delegation. I took off my turban and -dropped it on the floor at the side of the chair. - -"Poor hat!" said I. "Look at its color. Brand new, you know, and faded -like that. It happened on the first sunny day after I bought it. We need -to plot a peace so that we can find good German dyes for our clothes. -Why did you want to know if I wore it on purpose?" - -"Green is the sacred color of Persia," said the Minister smiling, "and -it pleases us to see it. You were speaking of peace. We need peace and -quickly. And after that--what? We were more or less prepared for war, -but who thought while we were at war about preparing for peace? Not one -of the countries sent delegates with a workable plan. Part of our -preparedness should have been a peace program. Nobody thought a year ago -to call a conference of specialists. That's why negotiations drag on -forever." - -"I know," I answered, "we are used to war and we must get used to peace -now that it is coming. The other day at luncheon my husband asked the -children to define war. - -"'War is men getting hurted. The Germans did do it and I don't like -'em,' said Mimi. - -"'War is men at the front and cannon going off,' said Lloyd. - -"'Yes, and war makes the mamas work in the subway, and when it's war you -can't have sugar in your milk and we have air raids and Big Berthas, and -it makes people cry when the soldiers go away from the railroad -station,' said Christine all in one breath. - -"And we realized that although it seemed like another world, we -grown-ups could look back to _before the war_; but little children begin -to remember in a world at war." - -"And what is peace?" said the Minister. "It will not exist again for -your children and mine until we educate our democracies in international -understanding. The people of one country must know the people of -another. When we say France wants this or Italy wants that, we are not -talking about the people. How much did our Persians know about America -beyond the fact that missionaries came from there? How much did you know -about Persia beyond rugs and kittens and the Rubaiyát? I mean you -collectively. How many of our people and how many of yours understood -what Morgan Shuster was trying to do? No, no, we must not drop -propaganda after the signature of peace. We must have exchange -students--in agriculture and commerce and the professions. And then," -continued the Minister, "peace must bring us work, work for everybody. -Work is the only remedy for most of the ills of the world. And that -means a common international effort to bring raw materials to, and to -aid in the reconstruction of, the countries that have been -battlefields." - -"Will peace give us all of that?" I enquired. "It sounds like the -millennium." - -"If we think of peace as an abstract something that will drop on us from -one day to another we shall have no change from the war-breeding -conditions of the past. Permanent peace is a state of mind. A state of -mind among the people and strong enough to control the actions of -political leaders. Understanding, I tell you, understanding is the only -way." - -"I am afraid," said I, "it will be a cold day before the people will -have much to say about war and peace. Throughout our politicians are all -tarred with the same brush. Invite a doctor, a brick-layer, a parson and -a mother of five children to come from each country. Sit them down -together at one big table and I'd wager they'd make a good peace -quickly. We like to say that the five per cent. of educated men rule the -other ninety-five per cent. What is the fiendish power that lets rotten -diplomacy order us out to kill each other? The world will have to suffer -a good deal more before we learn the lesson. When wire-pulling and -economic jealousies wish it, the politicians can plunge the peoples into -a war again without their knowing how and why!" - -"The war that was to end war," said the Minister, bitterly. He was -thinking of the mockery of the Society of Nations as applied to his own -country. - -"This war that was to end war could have ended it," I cried, "if the -Peace Delegates hadn't come here covering their greed and their -imperialism with a camouflage of _belles_ phrases. For the life of me, I -cannot see why some real leader does not emerge at this crisis, and -force the peacemakers to do what the doctor, the concierge, the little -tradesman, the professor,--the people--all knew in the beginning had to -be done. First make peace with Germany. Then sit around the table men -representing the world and draw up a League of Nations. A league without -Germany and Russia is only an offensive or defensive alliance. Same old -game over again. This peace conference doesn't recognize give and take. -It is all take. And they refuse to allow themselves and their frontiers -to be measured by the same tape-line we propose to use on our enemies. -This means simply that we are going to have once more the old-fashioned -peace of might making right. I believe in a League of Nations founded on -Christian principles. It is the only kind of a league that will give the -weak a chance where the strong are concerned. Civilization is on the -upgrade. The reason we are disappointed now and the cause of the unrest -is that we thought we had got far enough along in the process of -evolution to establish a new order of things. And we haven't. Nobody is -willing to give up special privileges, secret treaties, and the balance -of power. The Golden Rule is too simple to try." - -"Ah, Madame," said the Persian Minister, "our peacemakers are like the -sparrow in the Persian fable. The sparrow heard that the sky was going -to fall. She flew to her nest and sat there stretching out her wings so -that it would not fall on her little ones." - -In my attitude toward the Peace Conference I believe I reflected all -through the attitude of the common people of France, especially the -Parisians. We had suffered too much and too long to want to see Germany -let off easily. Our internationalism had nothing in it of pity for the -Germans. We did not worry about how they were going to feel when they -found out what they were up against. We knew that we could not make the -Germans suffer as they had made us suffer. But we wanted written into -the Treaty conditions that would make our enemies realize their guilt by -finding out that the enterprise had not proved profitable. But along -with this natural and justifiable desire we yearned for some greater -recompense for our own suffering and sacrifices. Our hatred of war had -become as intense as our hatred of the Germans who plunged us into war. -We hailed with joy the assurances of our statesmen that they would make -this time a durable peace, avoiding the mistakes and errors of the past. -Imagine our consternation when we realized that the delegates to the -Conference at Paris were not making peace along new lines. They were -plotting peace along old lines. Weary months passed. The censorship -still muzzled the press. But Parisians knew instinctively that something -was wrong. Before Easter we lost faith in the Conference and hope in its -intention of changing the old order of things. - -But the great fact remained that the war was over and that, despite the -soaring cost of living and labor unrest, we were free from having to go -through the horrors of the previous winter. We counted our blessings. - -Paris had been the centre of the world during the whole war, the prize -for which the Germans fought, because they knew that success or failure -depended upon taking Paris. When they recrossed the Marne a second time -and retreated from Château-Thierry, the war was lost: and they knew it -then, and only then. You know that last poem of Rostand about the Kaiser -climbing to the top of a tower to witness the final assault against -Paris. Paris deserved the Peace Conference. So logical was the choice -that none protested. It was the only point on which the "principal -Allied and Associated Powers" were agreed. As a resident of Paris I was -proud that we were going to continue for another winter to be the centre -of the world--without certain decided disadvantages the honor had cost -us in the four previous winters! As a writer and the wife of a writer, -tied up by contracts to report the Conference, it meant that we could -stay in our own home and in our own workshops instead of living in hotel -rooms in some other place for long months. - -We kept open house for all--from premiers of belligerent states and -plenipotentiaries to delegates of subject nationalities, ignored by the -Big Five. Greeks redeemed and unredeemed, Rumanians and Transylvanians, -Jugo-Slavs of all kinds, Russians from Grand Dukes to Bolshevists, -Lithuanians, Esthonians, Letts, Finns, Poles, Czecho-Slovaks, Ukranians, -Georgians, Armenians, Syrians, Egyptians, Arabs of every persuasion, -Albanians, Persians, Siamese, Chinese, not to speak of the specialists -and propagandists and newspapermen of the Big Five, wrote their names in -my guestbook, ate at my table, and discussed each other over cigars and -cordials before my salon fire. Few lacked honesty of purpose and -sincerity and loyalty to ideals. But the ideals were those of their own -national or racial interests. Aside from a desire to see justice done to -France and Belgium, there was no unity, no internationalism in the views -of my guests. Most of them I respected; many of them I admired; for some -I came to have real affection. My husband and I formed personal ties -that I trust will never be broken. But I confess that the more I -listened to tabletalk and salon talk in my own home, the more bewildered -I grew. I saw the Society of Nations vanishing in the thin air. My own -narrow nationalism, that had been gradually reviving ever since the A. -E. F. started to come to France, was strengthened. After all, was not -all human nature like the nature of my own paternal ancestors, who -believed--as they believed the Bible, with emphasis on the Old -Testament--that - - Ulster will fight - And Ulster will be right? - -I took refuge in the humorous side of the Peace Conference, as I did not -want to get mad or to become gloom-struck and weep. When Fiume came up, -for instance, I would talk to Jugo-Slavs and Italians about getting -seasick on the Adriatic and the respective merits of Abbazia and the -Lido and whether they ever felt like d'Annunzio's lovers talked. The -best fun was with my own compatriots. We Americans had nothing at stake -as a nation, and (if I except a few of Wilson's specialists who never -were listened to but always hoped they would be) the members of the -American Delegation lost no sleep while they were remaking the map of -Europe. - -[Illustration: Spire of the Saint-Chapelle from the Place Saint-Michel] - -A Pole was explaining to us one day that the Ukranians were not and -never had been a nation, and he was in dead earnest. A captain in the -American Navy had been listening politely for an hour. Then he thought -it was time to change the subject. He turned to me and broke in out of a -clear sky, "Helen, you have no idea how fussy Colonel House is. Found he -couldn't get waffles in Paris. Telegraphed an S. O. S. to Brest. My -machinist spent the better part of two days making a waffle-iron, and it -was so precious and the Colonel was in such a hurry that I sent the -machinist to Paris to take it to him. Don't you think that was the right -thing for me to do, Doctor ----sky? House is pretty close to our -Commander-in-Chief, you know." - -When touring Paris starts up again, the Cook megaphone man will add a -new item to his history of the Place de la Concorde: "See that building -on the corner opposite the Ministry of Marine I was tellin' yuh 'bout? -Number Four it is. Offices of the American Peace Commission during the -famous Conference, 'n b'fore that f'r t'ree years American Red Cross -Headquarters. 'N at tother end of the row is th' Hotel Crillon, where -th' Merican delegates lived. There President Wilson tried to make a -'Siety 'v Nashuns!" - -And from now on I shall never pass through the Place de la Concorde -without thinking of our press-room at Number Four, where we swapped -rumors and waited for an open covenant, openly arrived at. Press -headquarters were housed in the former concierge's _loge_--three wee -rooms on the ground floor to the right of the porte-cochère as you -enter, and one of those was the post-office of the Delegation. The -quarters were prophetic of the importance and dignity of the press as -looked upon by the leaders of the Conference. The Americans arrived in -Paris with different ideas. The name chosen by the Delegation and -printed on all the stationery was a sign of American naïvety, and caused -much merriment among our British and French friends. AMERICAN COMMISSION -TO NEGOTIATE PEACE. _Negotiate_ peace? Our European allies wondered -where and how such a notion entered the heads of the Americans. We stuck -to the name throughout--but not to the idea. - -The Hotel Crillon and Four Place de la Concorde were filled with -Americans--college professors, army and navy officers, New York -financiers, the mysterious Colonel and his family and family's friends, -the other Delegates, Embassy secretaries and clerks, stenographers, -soldiers and sailors, and journalists. The sensible ones were profiting -by the months in the center of the world to see Paris, old and new; hear -music; and do the theatres. For the time spent on their specialties, -trying to influence the course of the peace pourparlers and being -sympathetic to the swarm of representatives, official and otherwise, of -downtrodden races, did not budge a frontier an inch or write one line -into the Treaty of Versailles. - -When I applied for a press-card, an American major, whose acquaintance -with a razor seemed no more than what anyone could gain from looking at -a display in a drug-store window, looked me over doubtfully. Was I -really writing for the _Century_ and newspapers to boot? At length he -called a soldier. "Take this lady to get her photograph made," he said. -Up four flights of stairs we climbed. On every landing was a soldier at -a desk. "Through this way, mom," said my guide. He opened a tiny yellow -door all black around the knob, and there were more stairs. - -"Wouldn't it be fun to play hide-and-seek at Number Four and in the -Hotel Crillon?" I asked. - -"That's just what they're doing here most of the time," said Atlanta, -Georgia. "You never saw anything like it. But you mustn't speak of the -Hotel Crillon. This is the Island of Justice, mom. Yes, mom, it -certainly expects to be that if it isn't yet." - -In the garret room of the Signal Corps at the top of the stairs were -five soldiers. - -"Hello, boys, what do you think you are doing?" I asked. - -"We're still making this here peace," answered a stocky brown-eyed lad, -occupied vigorously with chewing-gum. "Since these guys've come over -from home to help us, though, it is not going as fast as it was before. -Mistake to have thought they'd do it quicker by talking than fighting." - -"That's right, too," put in another. "The doughboys c'd a-finished it -'thout all these perfessers and willy-boys. Sit down here, please." - -In the gable window was a chair with screens behind it. On the screen -above the chair they put up a number--1949. - -"My soul!" I exclaimed. "What's the matter with me? Is that the date?' - -"No, ma'am, that's the date when the Conference is going to quit talking -and we can go home." - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVII - -LA VIE CHÈRE - - -H.C. of L. is an abbreviation I see often in American newspapers. From -the context it was not hard to guess what it meant. In Paris we call -that "preoccupation" (note the euphemism for "nightmare") _la vie -chère_. But we never mention it in any other tone than that of complete -and definitive resignation. We do not kick against the pricks. We gave -up long ago berating the Government and thinking that anything we can do -would change matters. We pay or go without. Our motto is Kismet. These -are good days to be a Mohammedan or a Christian Scientist. The latter is -preferable, I think, because it is comfortable to get rid of a thing by -denying its existence. - -For the sake of record I have compiled a little table that tells more -eloquently than words the price we have paid--from the material point of -view--for the privilege of dictating peace to Germany. Is it not strange -that peace costs more than war? The greater part of the increases I -record here have come since the armistice. The figures opposite the -names of commodities represent the percentage of increase since August -1, 1914: - - - FOODSTUFFS - - Beef 400 - Mutton 350 - Veal 350 - Poultry 400 - Rabbit 400 - Ham 400 - Bacon 225 - Lard 225 - Paté de foie 300 - Potatoes 325 - Carrots 325 - Turnips 450 - Cabbage 850 - Cauliflower 725 - Artichokes 650 - Salads 200 - Radishes 500 - Oranges 200 - Bananas 400 - Figs 500 - Prunes 650 - Celery 1900 - Salt 150 - Pepper 250 - Sugar 225 - Olive oil 350 - Vinegar 225 - Coffee 150 - Macaroni 150 - Vermicelli 250 - Rice 25 - Canned goods 200-400 - Butter 350 - Eggs 400 - Cheese 400-600 - Milk 150 - Bread 50 - Flour 200 - Pastry 300-400 - Ordinary wine 300 - Vins de luxe 50-100 - Champagne 150 - Ordinary beer 200 - Cider 400 - - HEATING AND LIGHTING - - Coal 250 - Charcoal 250 - Kindling-wood 300 - Cut-wood 300 - Gasoline 125 - Wood-alcohol 500 - Gas 100 - Electricity 50 - - CLOTHING - - Tailored suits 150 - Ready-made suits 300 - Shoes 200-300 - Hats 250 - Neckties 150 - Cotton thread 500 - Cotton cloth 275 - Collars 150 - Shirts 150-350 - Gloves 150-250 - Millinery 150 - Stockings 150 - Needles 500 - Yarn 500 - - LAUNDRY - - Laundry work 150-200 - Potash 350 - Soap 550 - Blueing 200 - - FURNITURE - - In wood 200 - In iron 300 - Mirrors 400 - Bedding 300 - - HOUSEHOLD LINEN - - Sheets 750 - Linen sheeting 900 - Cotton sheeting 900 - Pillow-cases 400 - Dish-towels 600 - Bath and hand towels 400 - Napkins 500 - Table cloths 400 - - TABLE AND KITCHEN - - Cutlery 125 - Plated-ware 150 - Table china 300 - Kitchen china 200 - Copper kitchen ware 125 - Aluminum ware 100 - Crystal ware 225 - Cut glass 200-350 - Ordinary plates 200 - Fancy plates 150 - Brooms and brushes 125 - Lamps 250 - - MEANS OF TRANSPORT - - Railway tickets 50 - Excess baggage 250 - Sleeping births 400 - Commutation 75 - Taxi-cabs 75 - Omnibuses 35-50 - Tramways 35-50 - Postal cards 100 - - STATIONERY AND BOOKS - - Writing-paper 900 - Wrapping-paper 1000 - Paper for printing 500-800 - Newspapers 100 - Magazines 50 - Books 100 - - DRUGS AND PERFUMERY - - Fancy soaps 300-400 - Toilet waters 200 - Tisanes 150 - Eucalyptus 400 - Patent medicines 150-200 - Lozenges 250 - Powdered drugs 150 - Prescriptions 100 - Bottles for Prescriptions 300-525 - - TOBACCO - - Smoking tobacco 50-60 - Ordinary cigarettes 40-75 - Cigarette de luxe 100 - Ordinary cigars 50 - Cigars de luxe 100-150 - Snuff 50 - -While we decided upon what to do with the Germans, the rest of our -enemies, and the very troublesome races we had liberated, the Chamber of -Deputies passed a national eight-hour law. This did not bring down wages -by the day. In fact, shorter hours of labor led to more insistent -demands for higher wages to meet the increase in _la vie chère_. -Everyone borrowed from Peter to pay Paul. - -On the day the German plenipotentiaries arrived at Versailles, my -children insisted on going out to see them. We had to wait until Sunday, -when my husband was free. Out we went on a bright May morning. There -were six Gibbonses, four of them very small, and one of my American -soldier boys. Of course we ate in the famous restaurant of the Hôtel des -Réservoirs, where the Germans were lodged. We did not see the Germans. -The only sensation of the day was the bill for a simple luncheon--two -hundred and eight francs. - -"It pays to be the victors!" I exclaimed. - -"Those who have anything to sell," modified my husband, grinning -cheerfully (God knows why!) as he bit the end off a ten-franc cigar. - -"The children will never forget this historic day," he added, handing -the waiter twenty francs. - -"Nor I," said the children's mother. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVIII - -THE REVENGE OF VERSAILLES - - -The memory of my introduction to Versailles is a confused jumble of -stupid governess and more stupid guide-book. When I was sixteen a -governess piloted me through endless rooms of the palace with a pause -before each painting or piece of furniture. To avoid trouble I was -resigned and looked up at the painted ceiling until my neck was stiff. -But I never forgot the Salle des Glaces. It had no pictures or furniture -in it. An historical event connected with it was impressive enough to -hold my attention. I remembered a picture of the crowning of Wilhelm I -in a school-book. Bismarck looked sleek and content. The kings stood -with raised arms, crying "Hoch der Kaiser." Underneath was the caption: -THE BIRTH OF AN EMPIRE. - -I did not like that picture. I resented it as I resented the thought of -Alsace and Lorraine under German rule. Ever since a German barber in -Berne mistook me for a boy when I was a little girl and shaved my head -with horse-clippers I have had a grudge against the Germans. And then, -when you have lived long in France, that day in the Salle des Glaces -becomes unconsciously a part of your life. I cannot explain why or how, -but the Salle des Glaces and Metz and Strasbourg are in your heart like -Calais was in Queen Mary's. I have lived under two shadows, the shadow -of Islam and the shadow of Germany. In Constantinople you do not forget -the minarets towering over Saint Sofia. In France you do not forget -Soixante-Dix. - -Possessor of Aladdin's lamp, would I ever have dared to ask the genie to -transport me on his carpet to the Salle des Glaces to see Germany, -confessing her defeat before France, sign away Alsace and Lorraine? - -All this was in my thoughts on the morning of June 28, 1919, when -Herbert and I were riding in the train to Versailles. Could I be -dreaming when I looked at the square red card in my hand? And yet at -three o'clock in the Salle des Glaces the German delegates were to sign -a dictated peace, which they had not been allowed to discuss, and which -would wipe out the dishonor and the losses of Soixante-Dix. - -We went early and we took our lunch with us: for we said to ourselves -that all Paris would be going to Versailles. For once we felt that the -vast lifeless city of Versailles would be thronged. Except on a summer -Sunday when the fountains were playing I had never seen a crowd at -Versailles: and on the days of _les grandes eaux_ the Sunday throng did -not wander far from the streets that lead to the Palace. Always had we -been able to find a quiet café with empty tables on the _terrasse_ not -many steps from the Place des Armes. - -We might have saved ourselves the bother of bringing lunch. To our -surprise Versailles was not crowded. After we had wandered around for an -hour, we realized that even the signing of a victorious peace with -Germany was not going to wake up the sleepy old town. The automobiles of -press correspondents and secret service men were parked by the dozen at -the upper end of the Avenue des Reservoirs. Along the wooden palisade -shutting off the porch of the hotel occupied by the German delegation -were as many policemen as civilians. We ate a quiet luncheon in front of -a café down a side street from the reservoir. Besides ourselves there -were only a couple of teamsters on the terrace. Inside four chauffeurs -were playing bridge. Had we come too early for the crowd? At first we -thought this was the reason: afterwards it dawned upon us that the -Parisians were not attracted by the affair at all. How far we had -traveled in six months from the welcome given to President Wilson a week -before Christmas! - -The ceremony was spiritless. I pitied the men who had to cable several -thousand words of "atmosphere stuff" about it that night. If only the -Germans would balk at signing! Or if the Chinese would enter at the last -moment in order to get into the League of Nations! The only ripple of -excitement was a signed statement of protest handed out by Ray Stannard -Baker at General Smuts' request. The South African, remembering perhaps -when he was a vanquished enemy and all the painful years that followed -the Boer War, registered his disapproval of the Treaty, although he felt -it was up to him to sign it. - -It was all over in less than an hour. Cannon boomed to announce the -revenge of Versailles; out on the terrace a few airplanes did stunts -overhead; and for the first time since the war interrupted mid-summer -gaiety the fountains played. - -Margaret Greenough and I had the good luck to meet General Patrick at -the Grand Bassin. He offered to take us back to town in his car. Thus we -became part of the procession. Because of the stars on the wind-shield -and the American uniform, our car was cheered as we passed in the line. -Along the route to Saint-Cloud people gathered to see the -plenipotentiaries. But we felt that they were simply curious to pick out -the notables. There was no ovation, no sense of triumph. It was so -different from the way I expected it to be, from the way I expected to -feel. - -In my book of mementos I have the program of the plenary session of the -Peace Conference that was to crown six months of arduous labor, -following five years of war, and to mark a new era in world history. -Beside it is the program of the plenary session in the Palais d'Orsay, -when I heard President Wilson present the project of a League of -Nations. They are simple engraved folders with a couple of lines -recording the events under the heading AGENDA. I ought to regard them as -precious treasures. But they seem to me only the souvenirs of blasted -hopes. - -June 28, 1919, should have been an epic, an ecstatic day. It was a day -of disillusion and disappointment on which we abandoned the age-old and -stubborn hope of a peace that would end war. Were we foolish to have -forgotten in the early days of the Peace Conference how slowly the mills -of the gods do grind, and that our diplomats were children of their -ancestors, still fettered by the chains of the past, still confronting -the insoluble problems of unregenerate human nature? - -The Peace Conference was a Tower of Babel, where different tongues -championed divergent national interests. The only Esperanto was the old -diplomatic language of suspicion and greed. The mental pabulum that fed -the public was clothed in new terminology. When hammer struck anvil in -the high places, sparks shot out. We caught flashes of liberty, -brotherhood, the rights of small nations. But in the secret conferences -decisions were dominated by the consideration of the interests (as they -were judged by our leaders) of the most powerful. - -One day there appeared in our press room in the Place de la Concorde a -Lithuanian, who had made an incredibly long journey, much of it on foot, -to come to the Peace Conference. He had been fired by President -Wilson's speeches. He wanted to tell the American prophet how the Poles, -in his part of Europe, were interpreting self-determination. He did not -see the President. Although touched by his sincerity, we wondered at his -naïvety. Did he really believe that the same principle could be applied -everywhere? Practical common sense urged me to believe that the liberty -propaganda was overdone and that it was impossible to give justice to -everybody. But I was clinging to my idealism as the Lithuanian clung to -his. A plain body like me could not know or understand what was going -on. But why preach idealism in international relations, if an honest -effort to apply justice impartially was impossible? Surely the Great -Powers could act as judges in assigning boundaries between the smaller -nations. Liberty, like the love of God, is "broader than the measure of -man's mind." - -Quoting from a hymn I learned in childhood brings me to what I think was -the reason of the failure of the Peace Conference: men forgot. They -labored for the meat which perisheth. They posed as creators of a new -world order but ignored the means of establishing it. They forgot that -Jesus said, "He that findeth his life shall lose it: and he that loseth -his life for my sake shall find it." - -"But wait a minute," I hear one say, "did you expect a peace conference -to be run on those lines?" - -An ordinary peace conference such as we had always had, where the -victors divide the spoils--certainly not! But this was not to have been -an ordinary peace conference. We had been given to understand that the -Conference at Paris met to incorporate in a document the principles for -which millions had given their lives. Germany stood for the unclean -spirit that was to be exorcised. Men had died on the field of battle for -a definite object. There was the poem that was like a new Battle Hymn of -the Republic, "In Flanders Fields the Poppies Grow." - -When nations are not ready to love their enemy or even to love each -other, the creation of a League to do away with war is an absurdity. - -Either we believe in the coming of God's Kingdom or else we do not. The -remedy for sin and evil, the means of securing the triumph of right over -might, is in keeping the commandments. The peace-makers forgot the -summary of the law as Jesus gave it in two commandments. If they had -tested their own schemes for world peace by this measure, strange and -rapid changes would have followed. If they had listened to Him as He -spoke to them, it would have been as of old when "no man was able to -answer Him a word, neither durst any man from that day forth ask Him any -more questions." - -The ceremony of Versailles did not lift the shadow of Germany hanging -over France. And when I look at my son, I wonder what will come. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIX - -THE QUATORZE OF VICTORY - - -We may not have been sure of the peace. We were sure of the victory. The -soldiers had done their part. Academic newspaper discussion as to when -the victory parade would be held amused us. The only uncertainty was the -date of signing the Treaty. Once the Treaty was signed, it was taken for -granted that the Quatorze would be the day. Protests about shortness of -time were overruled. It was not a matter for discussion. Nobody paid any -attention to the argument of those intrusted with the organization of -the event. Public opinion demanded that the Allied Armies march under -the Arc de Triomphe and down the Champs-Elysées on July Fourteenth. -After the Quatorze of testing, the Quatorze of victory. There was no -question about it. So the powers that be got to work. - -There was no need to decide upon the route of the procession. Ever since -August 1, 1914, Parisians who lived on the Avenue de la Grande Armée, -the Avenue des Champs-Elysées, the Rue Royale and the Grands Boulevards, -had been realizing how numerous were their friends. From every part of -France letters had come from forgotten relatives, passing -acquaintances, business associates, who wanted to be remembered when - - Le jour de la victoire est arrivé. - -Public opinion dictated, also, two changes in the program as it was -announced. Marshal Joffre must ride the entire length of the route from -the Porte Maillot to the Place de la République beside Marshal Foch. And -the grandstands put up around the Arc de Triomphe and along the Avenue -Champs-Elysées for those who had "pull" must come down. This was to be -the day of the people, and everybody was to have an equal chance. When -it was seen that selling windows and standing place on roofs at fabulous -sums was to give the rich an unfair advantage, the Chamber of Deputies -was forced to pass a bill declaring these gains war-profits and taxing -them eighty per cent. This resulted in the offering of hospitality to -the wounded that big profits might have prevented. - -In looking down my vistas of the past year, I see Paris reacting -differently to almost every great day. - -On Armistice Night we went mad. From the _exaltés_ to the saddest and -most imperturbable, Parisians spent their feelings. The joy was acute -because it was the celebration of the end of the killing. When a soldier -is frank and you know him well he will tell you, "Any man who claims not -to be afraid at the front is lying." That fear was gone. Men could -unlearn blood-lust: and with honor now. Along with the relief of the -end of the fighting was the joy of the end of separations. - -On June 28, Paris thought her own thoughts, pondering over the peace -that had been won. Friends dined with us that night. My victrola played -The Star Spangled Banner--La Marseillaise--Sambre et Meuse--Marche -Lorraine. - -"Why don't you dance?" I said to the Inspecteur-Général d'Instruction -Publique. "It's peace! I want to celebrate. I need to shake off the -impression of Versailles this afternoon." - -"I asked my concierge that same question," said he, "and she answered, -'We don't rejoice to-day--we wait.' _Les Parisiens ne s'emballent pas._ -Wise woman, my concierge." - -On the night of July 13, Paris paid her tribute to the dead. Respect for -_les morts_ is ingrained in French character. At the moment of victory -those who had fallen were not forgotten. They came ahead of those who -lived. A gilded cenotaph, placed under the Arc de Triomphe, contained -earth from the many battlefields on which the French had fought. That -night we passed with the throng to pause for a moment with bowed heads -before this tomb that represented the sacrifice of more than a million -soldiers. I thought of Détaille's picture in the Panthéon, and looking -at the crowd about me, mostly women and children in mourning, I asked -myself if this were _La Gloire_. The level rays of the setting sun fell -upon the soldiers on guard. People spoke in whispers. None was tearless. -It was "_Debout les Morts_"! They passed first under the Arc de -Triomphe. Had they not blazed the way for those who would march on the -Quatorze of victory? - -Half way down the Champs-Elysées, at the Rond-Point, were heaps of -captured cannon that had stood along the Avenue and in the Place de la -Concorde through the winter since the armistice. They had been gathered -here, and surmounting them was the _coq gaulois_. But around the -Rond-Point huge urns commemorated the most costly battles of the war, -and in them incense was burning. - -"Are you going to see the parade?" I asked a friend who had lost two -brothers. - -"Certainly," she replied. "Last week my mother went to the grave of my -little brother in the Argonne. She put wreaths on it and prayed there. -The other brother was blown up by a shell. There is no grave for him. So -to-night we shall think of him when we pray before the cenotaph. We -shall spend the night there to have a good place to-morrow." - -Herbert and I thought of her and her mother and of many other friends -who were in the crowd around the Arc de Triomphe. We had our own reasons -for bowing before the cenotaph. Dear friends had been lost during those -awful years and in the last weeks one of our own family fell on the -front between the Le Cateau and Guise. It is strange how you go on -living in the midst of war, seeing others suffer, sharing their grief, -and never thinking that the death that is stalking about will enter your -own family circle until the telegram comes. You have helped others at -that moment: and then it is you. - -There is a fine sense of balance in French character. One remembers the -dead, but one does not forget the living. Most of those who intended to -go with hearts rejoicing and smiles and laughter to greet the _défilé_ -of the Quatorze could not have stood the ordeal unless it had been -preceded by the quiet night watch with the dead. - -The Quatorze has always meant to us an early start for the Bois du -Bologne to see the review. Throughout the Third Republic the day had a -distinctly military atmosphere. Who does not remember Longchamp before -the war? Each year Paris went to the review with pride not unmixed with -anxiety. There was a serious aspect impossible for the stranger to -realize and appreciate. After all, the army was not a small body of men -who had given themselves to a military career. It was the youth of the -nation performing a duty imposed upon it by the geographical position of -France. The army was the nation in arms, an institution as necessary for -well-being and security as the police. Longchamp on the Quatorze was the -assurance that the job of protecting France was being well looked -after. And the spectators were the fathers and mothers, the brothers and -sisters, of the army. Every Parisian had passed through the mill. How -often after the review, when the soldiers came from the field, have I -seen middle-aged civilians joking with them in the way one only does -with comrades of one's own fraternity. It was hard for the Anglo-Saxon -to understand this before the war. The Barrack-room Ballads would be -incomprehensible to a Frenchman. "Tommy" was everybody in France. - -But this review was different. The intimacy, the sense of the soldiers -belonging to the people and being of the people, had always been there. -Added to it now was the knowledge of what the army had done for France. -There is no country where _la patrie reconnaissante_ means more than in -France. And the great danger was so fresh in our minds! From the -standpoint of the soldier it was different, too. For five weary years -the _poilu_ constantly on duty and not knowing which day might be the -last saw in the soft blue rings of his cigarette smoke the _défilé_ -under the Arc de Triomphe and prayed that he and his comrades would be -there. That was the only uncertainty--whether he himself would be spared -for the _jour de la victoire_. If France's soldiers had doubted that the -day would arrive, they could not have continued to sing the -Marseillaise--and the war would have been lost then and there. The -Quatorze of peace days was fun to the spectators but a _corvée_ for the -soldiers who marched. The Quatorze of victory was the realization of the -dream that sustained the soldiers throughout the war. It was the reward -for having believed what they muttered doggedly through their teeth, -"_Nous allons les écraser comme des pommes de terre cuites!_" - -One of our _poilus_, a boy to whom we had been through the war as next -of kin, who wore the _médaille militaire_ and whose _croix de guerre_ -carried several palms, came to us late in the night before the victory -parade. He said with tears in his eyes, - -"The chains are down!" - -"What chains?" I asked. - -"The chains around the Arc de Triomphe. They have been there since -Soixante-Dix. Do you realize," he cried seizing my hands, "that the last -time soldiers marched under the arch it was Germans? Ah, the Huns, I -hate them! We are supposed to keep our eyes straight before us during -the march, but I shall look up under that arch. I shall never forget the -moment I have lived for." - -"And Albert, the ideals that made you enlist, have they survived?" - -"They are here," he replied, slapping his chest until his medals -jingled. I made up a lunch for Albert, and off he went to get to the -rendezvous at the Porte Maillot at two A. M. - -We had determined that the whole family should see the _défilé de la -victoire_. The younger children might not remember it, but we never -wanted them to reproach us afterwards. How to get there was a problem -that needed working out. The children had an invitation, which did not -include grownups, from Lieutenant Mitchell whose window was in the -American barracks on the north side of the Avenue near the Rue de Berri. -Dr. Lines asked Herbert's mother and Herbert and me to the New York Life -Insurance Company's office at the corner of the Rue Pierre-Charron on -the south side of the Avenue. How take the children to the other side -and get back to our places? There was only one answer. Taxi-cabs that -could go around through the Bois du Bologne and Neuilly or the Place de -la République. - -In the court of the building where we have our studios in the Rue -Campagne-Première lives Monsieur Robert, a taxi-chauffeur. Herbert -arranged with him to be in front of our house at six-thirty A. M., -promising him forty francs, with a premium of ten francs if he got there -before six-fifteen. Then, to guard against break-downs, he found another -chauffeur to whom he made the same offer. On Sunday afternoon Herbert -began to worry. It was bad to have all your eggs in two baskets when you -are looking forward to the biggest day of your life. So a third -chauffeur was found to whom the same offer looked attractive. - -We got up at five, had our breakfast, and prepared a mid-morning snack. -Lloyd was on the balcony before six to report. Three times he came to us -in triumph. Our faith in human nature was rewarded. When we got down to -the side-walk we found our chauffeurs examining their engines. My heart -sank. But they explained that feigning trouble with the works was the -only way of keeping from being taken by assault. - -We sent Grandmother and the baby directly to Rue Pierre-Charron. That -part was easy. Then, in the other two autos, we started our long morning -ride to get to the other side of the Champs-Elysées and back. -Fortunately, the chauffeurs had seen in the papers that a route across -the Grands Boulevards would be kept open from the Rue de Richelieu to -the Rue Drouot. After waiting a long time in line, we managed to get -across, and made a wide detour by the Boulevard Haussmann to the Rue de -Berri. Shortly after seven we delivered the kiddies to the care of -Lieutenant Mitchell. Our own places were just across the Avenue. But it -took us another hour and a wider detour to get to them. We were glad of -the two taxis. If one broke down, there was always the other. We wanted -to play safe. - -From our place on the balcony of the New York Life we had the sweep of -the Avenue des Champs-Elysées from the Arc de Triomphe to the -Rond-Point. On many buildings scaffolding had been run up to hold -spectators. People were gathered on roofs and chimneys. Every tree held -a perilous load of energetic boys. Hawkers with bright-colored -pasteboard periscopes did not have to cry their wares. Ladders and -chairs and boxes were bought up quickly. But the Avenue is wide. All may -not have been able to see. But those behind were not too crowded and at -no time during the morning was all the space taken from the side-walk to -the houses. - -At half-past eight the cannon boomed. Another interval: then the low hum -that comes from a crowd when something is happening. Then cheers. The -_défilé de la victoire_ had begun. The head of the procession was like a -hospital contingent out for an airing. There were one-legged men on -crutches and the blind kept in line by holding on to empty sleeves of -their comrades. The more able-bodied pushed the crippled in -rolling-chairs. The choicest of the flowers, brought for the marshals -and generals, went spontaneously to the wounded. Once again the French -proved their marvelous sense of the fitness of things. - -Then came the two leaders of France, Marshal Foch keeping his horse just -a little behind that of Marshal Joffre. For two hours we watched our -heroes pass. Aeroplanes, sailing above, dropped flowers and flags. The -best marching was done by the American troops. The French readily -acknowledged that. But they said: - -"It is still the flower of your youth that you can put into the parade. -Ours fell _là-bas_ long ago." - -After the crowd began to disperse, we made our way across the Avenue to -get the children. As I brought them out through the vestibule a soldier -caught sight of us. He cried: - -"Gosh, these ain't no tadpoles!" - -When the children acknowledged to being Americans, he asked Mimi whether -she liked rats. - -"Yas, I do," said Mimi. - -"You wait there a minute. I got a rat I bought from a _poilu_. It's a -tame one." - -The soldier brought his rat and did wonderful stunts with it. Mimi -squealed when the rat ran from the soldier's arm to hers and up on her -head. She didn't know whether to like it or be afraid. But the rat -evidently won, for when asked later what she liked best about the -parade, she put that rat ahead of Pershing and Foch. - -We never thanked our lucky stars for the view of Paris from our balcony -more than on the evening of the Quatorze of victory. To see all the -wonders of the illuminations we did not need to leave our apartment. -From every park roman candles and rockets burst into pots of flowers, -constellations, the flags of the Allies. The dome of the Panthéon -glowed red. Sacré Coeur stood out green and pink and white against the -northern sky. Revolving shafts of red, white and blue came from the Tour -Eiffel. Church bells rang and on every street corner there was music. - -The dear old custom of the night of the Quatorze was revived. We looked -down at the lanterns across the Boulevard Raspail at the intersection of -the Boulevard du Montparnasse. Tables and chairs overflowed from the -side-walk into the street. But there was a large open place around the -impromptu band-stand. People were dancing and the music never stopped. - -We heard the call. And we obeyed. When we reached the corner and got -into the street, Herbert held out his arms. - -"To everything there is a season," he said. - -"A time to mourn and a time to dance," I murmured. - -THE END - - * * * * * - -Typographical errors corrected by the etext transcriber: - -against the use of alchohol=>against the use of alcohol - -Eau fraiche=>Eau fraîche - -fruits rafraichis=>fruits rafraîchis - -which is fourty-four=>which is forty-four - -Eglise Saint-Suplice=>Eglise Saint-Sulpice - -You make a list of the woman=>You make a list of the women - -I have known in them in their homes=>I have known them in their homes - -pièce de resistance=>pièce de résistance - -What a charming dining-room? Dear me, have I intruded=>What a charming -dining-room. Dear me, have I intruded - -Lycé Charlemagne=>Lycée Charlemagne - -Rue da la Mont Sainte-Geneviève=>Rue de la Mont Sainte-Geneviève - -find yourself in the Rue Mouffetord=>find yourself in the Rue Mouffetard - -which are to found in every quarter=>which are to be found in every -quarter - -But in the Bois de Bologne=>But in the Bois de Boulogne - -Seminary of Saint-Suplice=>Seminary of Saint-Sulpice - -undetermined the natural defences=>undermined the natural defences - -Clichy and Montmarte=>Clichy and Montmartre - -they probably will not come, and if you do=>they probably will not come, -and if they do - -born or suffering=>born of suffering - -all the grave _offiches_=>all the grave _affiches_ - -the Académie de Medecine=>the Académie de Médecine - -Galéries Lafayette=>Galeries Lafayette - -un charme extrème=>un charme extrême - -permissioniares=>permissionniares - -Rue Royal side of the Hotel de Coislin=>Rue Royale side of the Hôtel de -Coislin - -Ca y est cette fois-ci!=>Ça y est cette fois-ci! - -a l'américaine=>á l'américaine - -cannon on the Rue du Faubourg-Saint-Honore=>cannon on the Rue du -Faubourg-Saint-Honoré - -Minuit, Crétien,=>Minuit, Chrétien, - -H.C. of L. is an abbrevation=>H.C. of L. is an abbreviation - -Pate de foie=>Paté de foie - -Coppen kitchen ware=>Copper kitchen ware - -Hôtel des Reservoirs=>Hôtel des Réservoirs - -la patrie reconnaisante=>la patrie reconnaissante - -_la-bas_ long ago=>_là-bas_ long ago - -consellations=>constellations - -proprietaire=>propriétaire - -Rue de Sevres=>Rue de Sèvres - -Theâtre de la Porte Saint-Martin=>Théâtre de la Porte Saint-Martin - -the Théatre Français=>the Théâtre Français - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Paris Vistas, by Helen Davenport Gibbons - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PARIS VISTAS *** - -***** This file should be named 40292-8.txt or 40292-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/0/2/9/40292/ - -Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license - - -Title: Paris Vistas - -Author: Helen Davenport Gibbons - -Illustrator: Lester George Hornby - -Release Date: July 21, 2012 [EBook #40292] -[Last updated: August 17, 2012] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PARIS VISTAS *** - - - - -Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive) - - - - - - - - -PARIS -VISTAS - -HELEN DAVENPORT -GIBBONS - -[Illustration] - - - - -PARIS VISTAS - -[Illustration: The Invalides from Pont Alexandre III] - - - - -PARIS VISTAS - -BY - -HELEN DAVENPORT GIBBONS - -Author of "A Little Gray Home in France," -"Red Rugs of Tarsus," etc. - -WITH SIXTEEN ILLUSTRATIONS -BY - -LESTER GEORGE HORNBY - -[Illustration: colophon] - -NEW YORK -THE CENTURY CO. -1919 - -Copyright, 1919, by -THE CENTURY CO. - -_Published, December, 1919_ - - - - -TO -A CRITIC - -WHO LIVED MOST -OF THESE DAYS -WITH ME - - - - -FOREWORD - - -Webster defines a vista as "a view, especially a distant view, through -or between intervening objects." If I were literal-minded, I suppose I -should either abandon my title or make this book a series of -descriptions of Sacré Coeur, crowning Montmartre, as you see the -church from dark gray to ghostly white, according to the day, at the end -of apartment-house-lined streets from the _allée_ of the Observatoire, -from the Avenue Montaigne, from the rue de Solférino, and from the Rue -Taitbout. I ought to be writing about the vistas, than which no other -city possesses a more beautiful and varied array, that feature the Arc -de Triomphe, the Trocadéro, the Tour Eiffel, the Grande Roue, the -Invalides, the Palais Bourbon, the Madeleine, the Opéra, Saint-Augustin, -Val de Grâce and the Panthéon. - -But may not one's vistas be memories, with the years acting as -"intervening objects"? Has not distance as much to do with time as with -space? Vistas in words can no more convey the impression of things seen -than Lester Hornby's sketches. If you want a substitute for Baedeker, -please do not read this book! If you want a substitute for photographs, -you will be disappointed in Lester's sketches. - -The _monuments_ of Paris, ticketed by name and historical events to -tourists whose eyes have had hardly more time than the camera, known by -photographs to prospective tourists who dream of things as yet unseen, -are interwoven into the canvas of my life. The Gare Saint-Lazaire, for -instance, is the place where I was lost once as a kid, where I have had -to say goodbye to my husband starting on a long and perilous journey, -and over which I have seen a Zeppelin floating. Since Louis Philippe was -long before my time, the obelisk always has been in the Place de la -Concorde. And when you pass it, your eyes, meeting the Arc de Triomphe -at the end of the Champs-Elysées, the Carrousel at the end of the -Tuileries, the Madeleine at the end of the Rue Royale and the Palais -Bourbon at the end of the bridge, record vistas as natural, as familiar -as your mother's face in the doorway of the childhood home. Where else -could the Arc de Triomphe be? Of course it looks like that! - -I shall not attempt to apologize for the autobiography that comes to the -front in my Paris vistas. Perhaps my own insignificance and unimportance -and the lack of interest on the part of the public in what I do and -think--impressed upon me by more than one critic of earlier -volumes--should deter me from telling how I lived and brought up my -family in Paris. But it is the only way I can tell how I feel about -Paris. Whether the end justifies the means the reader must decide for -himself. - -H. D. G. - -_Paris, August, 1919._ - - - - -TABLE OF CONTENTS - - -(1887-1888) - -CHAPTER PAGE - -I CHILDHOOD VISTAS 3 - -(1899) - -II AT SIXTEEN 15 - -(1908) - -III A HONEYMOON PROMISE 31 - -(1909-1910) - -IV THE PROMISE FULFILLED 41 - -V THE PENSION IN THE RUE MADAME 51 - -VI LARES AND PENATES IN THE RUE SERVANDONI 63 - -VII GOLD IN THE CHIMNEY 76 - -VIII AT THE BIBLIOTHÈQUE NATIONALE 86 - -IX EMILIE IN MONOLOGUE 97 - -X HUNTING APACHES 104 - -XI DRIFTWOOD 112 - -XII SOME OF OUR GUESTS 119 - -XIII WALKS AT NIGHTFALL 132 - -XIV AFTER-DINNER COFFEE 142 - -XV REPOS HEBDOMADAIRE 148 - -XVI "MANY WATERS CANNOT QUENCH LOVE" 154 - -XVII REAL PARIS SHOWS 167 - -XVIII THE SPELL OF JUNE 181 - -(1913) - -XIX CHILDHOOD VISTAS FOR A NEW GENERATION 193 - -XX THE PROBLEM OF HOUSING 201 - -(1914) - -XXI "NACH PARIS!" 211 - -(1914-1916) - -XXII AT HOME IN THE WHIRLWIND 223 - -XXIII SAUVONS LES BÉBÉS 231 - -XXIV UNCOMFORTABLE NEUTRALITY 243 - -(1917) - -XXV HOW WE KEPT WARM 253 - -XXVI APRIL SIXTH 262 - -XXVII THE VANGUARD OF THE A. E. F. 269 - -(1918) - -XXVIII THE DARKEST DAYS 277 - -XXIX THE GOTHAS AND BIG BERTHA 294 - -XXX THE BIRD CHARMER OF THE TUILERIES 307 - -XXXI THE QUATORZE OF TESTING 313 - -XXXII THE LIBERATION OF LILLE 321 - -XXXIII ARMISTICE NIGHT 326 - -XXXIV ROYAL VISITORS 341 - -XXXV THE FIRST PEACE CHRISTMAS 348 - -(1919) - -XXXVI PLOTTING PEACE 361 - -XXXVII LA VIE CHÈRE 373 - -XXXVIII THE REVENGE OF VERSAILLES 378 - -XXXIX THE QUATORZE OF VICTORY 385 - - - - -LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS - - -The Invalides from Pont Alexandre III _Frontispiece_ - - FACING - PAGE - -The Madeleine Flower Market 16 - -Looking up the Avenue de l'Opéra 32 - -The Rue de Vaugirard by the Luxembourg 64 - -Château de la Reine Blanche: Rue des Gobelins 88 - -Where stood the walls of old Lutetia 120 - -The Panthéon from the Rue Soufflot 144 - -Hôtel de Ville from the Pont d'Arcole 168 - -Market day in the Rue de Seine 184 - -The first snow in the Luxembourg 224 - -A passage through the Louvre 256 - -In an Old Quarter 272 - -Saint-Germain l'Auxerrois 304 - -Old Paris is disappearing 320 - -The Grand Palais 336 - -Spire of the Saint-Chapelle from the Place Saint-Michel 368 - - - - -1887-1888 - - - - -PARIS VISTAS - - - - -CHAPTER I - -CHILDHOOD VISTAS - - -My Scotch-Irish grandfather was a Covenanter. He kept his whisky in a -high cupboard under lock and key. If any of his children were around -when he took his night-cap, he would admonish them against the use of -alcohol. When he read in the Bible about Babylon, he thought of Paris. -To Grandpa all "foreign places" were pretty bad. But Paris? His children -would never go there. The Scotch-Irish are awful about wills. But life -goes so by opposites that when my third baby, born in Paris a year -before the war, was christened in the Avenue de l'Alma Church, Grandpa -Brown's children and grandchildren and some of his great-grandchildren -were present. My bachelor uncle had been living in Paris most of the -time for thirty years. My mother, my brothers, and my sister were there. -We Browns had become Babylonians. We were no longer Covenanters. And we -had no high cupboard for the whisky. - -After Grandpa's death, the Philadelphia house was sublet for a year. In -the twilight we went through all the rooms to say good-by. Jocko, our -monkey-doll, was on the sitting-room floor. Papa picked him up and began -talking to him. Jocko tried to answer, but his voice was shaky, and he -hadn't much to say. Papa took a piece of string out of his desk drawer, -and tied it around Jocko's neck. He asked Jocko whether it was too -tight. The monkey answered, "No, sir." Jocko never forgot to say "sir." -We hung him on the shutter of a window in the west room where I learned -to watch the sunset. There we left him. What a parting if we had known -that the tenants' children were going to do for Jocko, and that we -should never see him again! It was bad enough as it was. It is hard for -me, even to-day, to believe that it was Papa and not Jocko who told us -stories about the fairies in Ireland. - -A carriage drove us to a place called Thelafayette-hotel. It was very -dark outside and we seemed to have been traveling all night. Papa -carried me upstairs to a room that had light green folding doors. My -little sister Emily was sound asleep and had to be put right to bed. -Papa sat me in a red arm-chair. Beside it were satchels and Papa's black -valise. Wide awake, I looked around and asked, "Is this Paris?" I did -not see why they had to laugh at me. - -A steward of my very own on the _Etruria_ told me that she was the -biggest transatlantic liner. People gave me chocolates until I was -sick. So Mama painted a picture of the poor little fishes that could get -no candy in mid-ocean. She made me feel so sorry that when I got more -chocolates I would slip to the railing and drop them overboard. Once, -before I had heard about the fishes, I was lying in my berth. After a -while I began to feel better and to wish that Papa and Mama had not left -me alone. My feelings were hurt because I had to stay all by myself. I -found my clothes and put on a good many of them. My steward came and was -surprised that I was not on deck. He brought me a wide, thin glass of -champagne. It was better than lemonade. The steward told me that by -staying in my cabin I had missed the chance to see the ship's garden. He -buttoned my dress and put on my coat. He found my bonnet. All the time -he was telling me how the ship's garden was hitched to the deck. He -carried me up those rubber-topped steps that smell so when your stomach -feels funny. He hurried all he could and got terribly out of breath. But -we did not reach the deck in time to see the garden. The steward said -that you had to get there just at a certain time to catch it. I wondered -how a ship could have a garden. He replied that he'd like to know where -a ship's cook would find vegetables and fruit, and how there were so -many freshly picked flowers on the dining-room table every day, if the -ship hadn't a garden. To prove it he brought me a plate of cool white -grapes--"picked before the garden went out of sight a few minutes ago," -he assured me. - -So the week at sea passed, and the next thing I remember is London. It -was not a pretty city. Too much rain and smoke that dirtied your frock -and pinafore. These funny names for my dress and apron, and calling a -clock Big Ben, and a queer way of speaking English, form my earliest -memories of London. No, I forgot sources of wonderment. The best orange -marmalade was bitter, and the tooth-powder was in a round tin hard to -open, that spilled and wasted a lot when you did succeed in prying the -lid off. - -And in Paris I found that my dress was a "robe" and my apron a -"tab-lee-ay." This was worse than "pinafore," but not so astonishing, -because one expected French words to be different. - -Which is the greater joy and satisfaction--always to have had a thing, -or, when you think of something in your life, to be able to remember how -and when it came into your possession? Paris is my home city in the -sense that I cannot remember first impressions of things in Paris. Of -events, yes, and sometimes connected with things, but of things -themselves, no. And I am glad of it. My husband did not see Paris until -he was twenty, and he learned to speak French by hard work. I have -always had a little feeling of superiority here, of belonging to Paris -as my children belong to Paris. But Herbert contests this point of -view. He claims that affection for what one adopts by an act of the -will is as strong as, if not stronger than, affection for what is yours -unwittingly. And he advances in refutation of what I say that he knew -Paris before he knew me! - -"_Cinquante-deux Rue Galilée._" I cannot remember learning to speak -French. That just came. But standing on a trunk in the corner of a -bedroom and repeating _Cinquante-deux Rue Galilée_ after Marie is just -as clear in my mind as if it were yesterday instead of thirty years ago. -It is a blank to me how and when we came to Paris and how and when we -got Marie Guyon for our nurse. I recall only learning the number and -street of our _pension_, and the impressiveness of Marie telling me how -little kids get lost in Paris and that in such a case I mustn't cry when -the blue-coated _agent_ came along, but simply say, "_Cinquante-deux Rue -Galilée_." - -Clear days were rare--days when it didn't look as if it were going to -rain. Then I would have my long walk with Papa, who didn't stay like -Marie on the Champs-Elysées or in the Tuileries, but who would take me -(Emily was too little) where there were crowds. We would climb to the -roof of the omnibus at the Madeleine and ride to the Place de la -République. Then we would walk back along the Grands Boulevards. Down -that way is a big clothing-store with sample suits on wooden models out -on the side-walk. One day Papa bumped into a dummy wearing a -dress-suit. Papa took off his hat, bowed, and said "_Pardon_." I thought -Papa believed it was a real man. So I told him that he had made a -mistake. But Papa replied that one never makes a mistake in being -polite. I used to dance with glee when we came to the Porte Saint-Denis. -For there, at the place the boulevard now cuts straight through a hill -leaving the houses high above the pavement, the pastry and _brioche_ and -waffle stands were sure of my patronage. Papa may not have had regard -for my digestion, but he always considered my feelings. I used to pity -other little children who were dragged remorselessly past the potent -appeal to eye and nose. The pastry places are still there on that -corner. And a new generation of kiddies passes, tugging, remonstrating, -sometimes crying. As for me, I beg the question. I walk my children on -the other side of the street. - -One afternoon Marie took us to buy Papa's newspaper. When we got to the -front door, it was raining. So Marie left us in the _bureau_ and told us -to wait until she returned. But the _valet de chambre_ came along with -his wood-basket empty. He always boasted he could carry any basket of -wood, no matter how high they piled it. So we asked if he could carry -us. Immediately he made us jump in, and told us we must pretend to be -good little kittens, and little kittens were never good unless they were -quiet, and they were never quiet unless they were asleep. When we got -to our room, we could look right in at Papa and Mama through the -transom. We reached out and knocked. The sound came from so high up that -Papa looked curiously at the door. When he opened it we ducked down into -the basket, and were not seen until the valet dumped us out on the bed. - -My first memory of a negro was in Paris. Probably they were common -enough in Philadelphia not to have made an impression and I had -forgotten that there were black men. I was paralyzed with fear, thinking -I saw Croqueminot _en chair et en os_. Marie saved me by teaching me on -the spot to stick out my index and little fingers, doubling over the two -between. This charm against evil helped and comforted me greatly. I -found it useful later when I saw suspicious-looking beggars in Rome. -Only, although the gesture was the same, it was _jettatura_ and not -_faire les cornes_ in Italy, and the charm was more efficacious if -concealed. I was glad my dress had a pocket. - -Mama and Marie took us to the Louvre. I was filled with anticipation. -For had I not heard some one say at our _pension_ that she had bought -things there for a song? Why spend Papa's money if just a song would do? -I could sing. Marie had taught me a pretty song about "La Fauvette." I -was willing to sing if I could get a doll's trunk. I'd sing two or three -songs for a pair of gloves with white fur on them. But when I sang "La -Fauvette" they only smiled at me. I asked the saleslady to take me to -the toy counter, as I could sing again for things I wanted. I had to -explain a whole lot to Mama and Marie and the saleslady. I suppose I -cried with disappointment. Then a man in black with a white tie came -along and heard the story. He gave me a red balloon and Mama consoled me -by buying me a blue velvet dress. - -A few months before the war I was walking in the Rue Saint-Honoré with -an old American friend who was doing Paris. He was brimming over with -French history. Your part was to mention the name of the place you -showed him. He would do the rest with enthusiasm and a wealth of detail. - -"What is that church?" he asked. - -"Saint-Roch," I answered. - -"Saint-Roch! Saint-Roch! Saint-Roch!" he cried in crescendo. "Of course, -OF COURSE, because this is the Rue Saint-Honoré. The Rue Saint-Honoré!" -Beside himself with excitement, he rushed across the street, and up on -the steps. I followed, mystified. My friend was waving his cane when I -reached his side. "It was here," he announced, as if he had made a -wonderful discovery, "right on this spot." - -"In Heaven's name what?" I queried. - -"The beginning of the most glorious epoch of French history, the birth -of the Napoleonic era." - -And then he told me the story of how young Bonaparte, called upon to -prevent a mob from rushing the Tuileries, put his guns on the steps of -Saint-Roch, swept the street in both directions, and demonstrated that -he was the first man since '89 who could dominate a Parisian crowd. "You -wouldn't have thought there was anything interesting about this old -church, would you?" he ended triumphantly. - -My eyes filled with tears, and my lips trembled. It was his turn to be -mystified, and mine to lead. I took him inside the church, and back to -the chapel of Saint Joseph. "Here," I said, "on Christmas Eve I came -with my father when I was five years old. It was the first time I -remember seeing the Nativity pictured. Good old Joseph looked down on -the interior of the inn. The three wise men were there with the gifts. -Le petit Jésus was in a real cradle, and I counted the jewels around the -Mother's neck. My father tried to explain to me what Christmas means. He -died when I was a little girl. I brought my firstborn here on Christmas -Eve and the others as they came along. I never knew about Napoleon's -connection with Saint-Roch before. And you asked me whether I would have -thought there was anything interesting about this old church!" - -The same place can mean so many different things to so many different -people. Paris was Babylon to my grandfather who never went there. And to -those who go there Paris gives what they seek, historical -reminiscences, esthetic pleasure, intellectual profit, inspiration to -paint or sing or play, a surfeit of the mundane, a diminution or an -increase of the sense of nationality, pretty clothes and hats and -perfumes, "rattling" good food and drink or a "howling" good time. You -can be bored in Paris just as quickly and as completely as in any other -place in the world. You can fill your life full of interesting and -engrossing pursuits more quickly and completely than in any other place -in the world. Best of all you make your home in Paris, with no sense of -exile, and enjoy what Paris alone offers in material and spiritual -values without being abnormal or living abnormally. - -My childhood vistas seem fragmentary when I put them down on paper. But -they have meant so much to me that I could choose for my children no -greater blessing than to know Paris as home at the beginning of their -lives. - - - - -1899 - - - - -CHAPTER II - -AT SIXTEEN - - -The family was abroad for the summer, one of those delightful May-first -to October thirty-first summers when school is missed at both ends. The -itinerary was supposed to be planned by letting each member drop into a -hat slips of paper indicating preferences. Mother was astonishingly good -about considering the wishes of all. But as the trip was undertaken for -education as well as vacation, the head of the family did not intend to -make it aimless rambling. Although, to get full benefit of the -strawberry season, we took our cathedrals from south to north in -England, none were omitted. By the time we reached Edinburg, Roman, -Saxon, Early Norman and Gothic were as mixed up in the head of the -sixteen-year-old member of the party as they were in the buildings -inspected. "Inspected"--just the word for an educational tour! Later -visits to East Coast cathedrals have not conquered the instinctive -desire to avoid going inside. Impressions of places were vivid enough. -But I fear Canterbury meant London the next stop; Ely a place near -Cambridge; Peterborough the view from the top of the tower; Lincoln -tea-cakes that crumbled in one's mouth; York a mean photographer who -never sent me films I left to be developed; and Durham a batch of -long-delayed letters from boys at home. - -At sixteen strawberries do not satisfy hunger: cathedrals do not feed -the soul. - -No, cathedrals and history and the origin of the political institutions -under which I lived interested me very mildly. At sixteen one is too -young to have love affairs that interfere with the appetite, and too -sophisticated to cling to the dream of a cloistered convent life that -followed giving up the hope of being a chorus-girl. The mental effort of -preparing for college (which the tour abroad was to stimulate) could not -claim me to the exclusion of clothes and an engrossing interest in the -doings of the group of boys and girls who formed my "crowd." The trip -abroad was going to give me something to talk about at dinner-parties -and the advantage of wearing clothes bought in Paris. One never looks -forward to the coming winter with as keen anticipation as during the -sixteen-year-old summer. Hair would be put up, and dances and dinners -were a certainty for every Friday and Saturday evening. - -[Illustration: The Madeleine Flower Market] - -If you believe in the value of first impressions and are in a mood to -love Paris, plan your introduction to the queen of the world for an -evening in June. Do not worry about your baggage. Send a porter from -the hotel afterwards for your trunks. Find a _fiacre_ if you can. An -_auto-taxi_ is second-best, but be sure that the top is off. _Baisser la -capote_ is a simple matter, done in the twinkling of an eye. Of course -the _chauffeur_ will scold. But handling _cochers_ and _chauffeurs_ in -Paris requires the instinct of a lion-tamer. If you let the animal get -the better of you, you are gone. You will never enjoy Paris. Mastery of -Parisian drivers, hippomobile and automobile, does not require a -knowledge of French. Your man will understand "put down the top" -accompanied by the proper gesture. Whether he puts it down depends upon -your iron will and not upon your French! - -Best of all stations for the first entry to Paris is the Gare de Lyon. -But that good fortune is yours only if you are coming from Italy or -Spain or if you have landed at Marseilles. The Dover and Boulogne routes -bring you to the Gare du Nord and the Dieppe and Havre and Cherbourg -routes to the Gare Saint-Lazare. In any case, ask to be driven first to -the Pont-Neuf, then along the _quais_ of the Rive Gauche to the -Pont-Alexandre Trois, then to the Avenue des Champs-Elysées. Only when -you have gone over this itinerary and have passed between the Grand -Palais and the Petit Palais are you ready to be driven to your hotel. It -is the difference between seeing a girl first at a dance or a -garden-party or running into her by accident in her mother's kitchen -when the cook is on a strike. - -How often, in the decades that have passed since June, 1899, have I -wished that the return to Paris had included this program, not only -initially but for every June and July evening of our weeks there. But it -did not. The passionate love of Paris, my home city, that was born in me -as a child, that was re-awakened and deepened in maturity, did not -manifest itself when I was a school-girl as it should have done. The -change from regular lessons to the governess-controlled days of -sightseeing was not as amusing at the time as it seems in retrospect. -Madame Raymond and I were not made for each other. It wasn't -incorrigibility on my part or severity in a nasty way on hers. We just -pulled in different directions, and shocked each other. It began on the -first day. She found that I spoke French well enough not to call for the -usual effort she had to make with American girls and that I did not need -to be told the names of _monuments_ and _jardins_ and _avenues_. The -memories of infancy had been carefully kept alive by word and picture. -Mother had seen to that. Paris meant to me my father. Consequently, I -suppose Madame Raymond's conscience stimulated her to lay stress upon -history and art. She wanted to earn her money. - -Mutual lack of comprehension began immediately. My first reading under -Madame Raymond's direction was a volume of Guy de Maupassant's stories, -with markers to show which could be read and which were forbidden. Next -day Madame was horrified to see the markers gone and to learn that I had -sat up late reading without censorship. She told me that a well-bred -_jeune fille_ ought to be ashamed of reading certain things, and refused -to argue about it when I asked her why a _jeune fille_ should be ashamed -of reading the stories she had indicated to be skipped. - -"To-day," said Madame Raymond, "I intend to take you to the Cluny -Museum, and then we shall begin the Louvre." - -"But," I protested, "I want to go first to Morgan Harjes." - -"What for? Madame your mother gave me fifty francs this morning." - -"She gave me a hundred and fifty. It isn't for money. I want my -letters." - -"If there are any letters for you, Madame your mother will give them to -you if it is good for you to have them!" snapped Madame Raymond. - -"Fiddlesticks! My mother doesn't read my letters." - -"Letters written to a _jeune fille_ of sixteen years can easily wait. -They are not important. Your education is. Anyway, who would write to -you over here?" - -"Well, there is Bill. I'm crazy to know if he passed his examinations -for Yale and how he liked going to the dance at the Country Club with -Margaret when he asked me first. Joe and Charlie went off on a fishing -trip to Canada before I sailed, and I've been waiting a month to know -if they caught anything. Then Harold. He's an older man. You can talk to -him about serious things and his advice is pretty good. Naturally, it -would be--Harold is a member of the bar and knows lots." - -"But," said Madame, "you mean to say you write to men and men write to -you?" - -"Certainly. Just ask mother. Here, I know how to fix it. You seem to be -in a hurry to go to the Museum. If it interests you, go right along. -I'll take a cab to the bank and follow you later. Meet you at the Cluny -in an hour." - -"Alone!" cried Madame; "my conscience would not allow it. Your mother -trusts me." - -Madame Raymond hailed a cabby. - -"To the Cluny Museum," said she, with finality. - -In its setting, the Cluny Museum is one of the most delightful spots in -Paris. On the Boulevard Saint-Michel and the Boulevard Saint-Germain one -has the life of Paris of to-day. Looking out from the little park with -its remains of Roman baths and archæological treasures of old Lutetia -scattered around in the shrubbery, one sees a fascinating _carrefour_ of -the Latin Quarter, noisy, bustling, ever-changing. It is a contrast more -striking than any that Rome affords. On the other side, where one enters -the Museum, you have the atmosphere of the middle ages, with the old -well and the court yard and the fifteenth-century façade. Across the -street, the great buildings of the Sorbonne and Collège de France seem -to be carrying on the traditions of the past. But if you had to go -inside with a governess who insisted on showing you everything in every -room, you would rebel as I did. - -Madame Raymond did not have it all in her head. She peered down over the -glass cases and read the descriptions in a high voice, adding pages out -of a guide book from time to time. She was near-sighted. As she droned -along, I plotted a scheme for kidnapping her spectacles. When we left, I -had seen embroideries and laces and carriages and cradles and slippers -of famous people and stolen stained-glass windows to _her_ heart's -content. - -We went to Foyot's, opposite the Luxembourg Palace, for lunch. After the -meal was ordered, the waiter brought the _carte de vins_. - -"A bottle of Medoc," said Madame. "I prefer red wine, don't you, my -dear?" - -"Plain water for me. No mineral water. _Eau fraîche_ out of a carafe," -said I. - -"Extraordinary!" cried Madame. - -"I think it is dreadful to drink wine," I protested, half in earnest and -half in joke. "The Bible says strong drink is a mockery. The first thing -I remember about Sunday school is that text." - -"Ridiculous," said Madame, "table wine is not alcohol." - -"Yes," I continued, "but it is the first steps toward strong drink. You -are going to order a _fine champagne_ with your coffee. You cannot tell -me that brandy is not strong drink." - -"Here in France," said Madame, "everybody takes a drink and nobody gets -drunk. You must understand, my dear child, that we have a different -point of view." - -"Maybe _you_ don't get drunk," said I, "but how about what one sees in -Brittany?" - -"You lack respect," answered Madame. She ignored Brittany. In France, -one is not accustomed to argue with a sixteen-year-old girl. Questioning -the judgment of one's elders is impertinent. Since I have brought up my -own children in France, I am more than half won over to French ideas. -The strong individualism of the American child shocks me now in somewhat -the same way as my "freshness" must have shocked Madame Raymond. I was -ready to contest her belief that American girls had no manners. I have -not taught my children to courtesy--for the simple reason that it is no -longer the fashion in France. But I am far from believing now, as I told -Madame Raymond, that courtesying is affectation. And I fear that my -children have had the example of French children in regard to wine. I am -trying to put down here how I was at sixteen. When, after years in -America, I returned to France, my point of view was different. - -But about some things maturity has not changed the opinion of a pert -young American _miss_. French ideas of sex relationship between -adolescents seem to me now as they did then, absurd and false. Nor have -I revised my opinion about high heels and tight corsets, powder and -paint. - -It was Madame's duty to take me to the dressmaker's. Before my dress -appeared in the fitting room, I was put into my first pair of corsets. -When they were laced up, I rebelled, took a long breath, and stretched -them out again. Madame Raymond and the fitting woman shook their heads -and assured me that my dress would not fit. My governess sided with the -girl, when she remonstrated against my stretching the lacings. I showed -little interest, too, in Madame Raymond's suggestion concerning the -purchase of a box and a pretty puff with a silk rose-bud for a handle, -which was to contain pink powder. - -"I never make up," I declared. "If you put powder and other stuff on -your face when you are young, you are not far-sighted. Ugh! I loathe -pink powder." - -One day we went to a _foire_, one of those delightful open-air -second-hand markets that never cease to fascinate Parisians. A man -darted out from a booth and offered to sell me a wedding gown. - -"How much is that dress?" I inquired. - -"Two hundred francs, Mademoiselle." - -"Let me see. I wonder if it is big enough for me. I'm getting married -next week. This would save me the bother of having one made, _n'est-ce -pas?_" - -"Certainly, Mademoiselle," cried the merchant delighted. - -He pulled out his tape-line and was preparing to measure me when Madame -dragged me away. - -"It is not _convenable_, what you are doing," she exclaimed heatedly. -"You must not speak lightly of marriage." - -"Oh, it comes to us all like death or whooping-cough." - -I must not give the impression that my mind at sixteen was absolutely -insensible to historical sight-seeing and the art treasures of Paris. I -always have loved some of the things in the Louvre, and after the Great -War broke out, I discovered what a privation it was not to be able to -drop in when I passed to look at something in the Luxembourg or the -Louvre. But I did not like overdoses. And I have never gotten accustomed -to crowds of pictures all at once in the field of vision or cabinets and -glass-covered cases filled with a bewildering variety of _bibelots_. How -I came to enjoy the Musée du Louvre will be told in a later chapter of -the decade after Madame Raymond. Why should I not confess frankly that -at sixteen I was more interested in the Magazin du Louvre, even though I -knew I could no longer hope to purchase what I wanted there "for a -song"? The best thing I took away from Paris in 1899 was an -evening-dress with a low neck--my first to go with hair put up. It was -in the middle tray of my trunk, packed with tissue paper and sachet. I -can see now the different colored flowers woven into the soft cream of -its background in such a way that, according to the girdle you chose to -put on, your color effect in night light could be lavender, blue or -rose. - -Ten years before my father had taught me to love to ride on the top of -an omnibus, on the _impériale_, as the French called it. Alas that I -should have to use the past tense here. _Impériales_, still the fashion -on Fifth Avenue and Riverside Drive, disappeared from Paris before the -war. I shall tell later of the last horse-driven omnibus. The auto-buses -started out with _impériales_, but banished the upstairs in 1912 and -1913. They were still the vogue in 1908. Madame Raymond objected to the -_impériale_. She hated climbing up and down the little stairs, -especially when carrying an umbrella prevented proper circumspection in -regard to gathering in skirts. And by riding inside one avoided a -_courant d'air_. - -On a sunshiny day with a long ride ahead of us, I could not bear the -thought of submitting to my governess's whim. I forgot my manners and -jumped on first. With this advantage I was able to climb quickly to the -top. There was nothing else for Madame Raymond to do but slip the -guide-book hastily into her black silk bag and climb up after me. A man -in uniform came along and stopped in front of me. I was reading, and -did not look up when I offered him the necessary coppers. He took my -money and sat down beside me. Then he laughed and handed it back to me. -He was a sous-lieutenant of the French army. I was not confused by my -mistake, for he gallantly took it as an opening. We chatted in English. -Madame Raymond plucked at my sleeve, whispering admonitions. I was deaf -on that side. Finally she told me that we had reached our destination, -got up and started down. Naturally I followed. I found that we were -still several blocks away from where we were going. We both held our -tempers until we got off. Then the fur began to fly. That night my -adventure was retailed to Mother at the hotel in the Rue de la -Tremoille. Mother sided with the governess. - -But the next week, when we were at the Opéra one night, I met my officer -on the Grand Escalier. He came right up to me, and I didn't have it in -my heart to turn my back or treat him coolly. When my governess turned -around, she recognized him. I did not bat an eyelash. I introduced him -to Mother and to her and he managed to get an invitation from Mother to -call on us. This is the only time I was ever glad about the long -intermission--the interminable intermission--between acts at the Paris -Opéra. Afterwards, nothing I could say would convince Madame Raymond -that the second meeting was pure hazard. She told me that she knew he -had slipped me his address and I had written to him to arrange the -rendez-vous. This did not make me mad. What did make me furious was her -condemnation of the supposed intrigue solely on the ground of my age and -my unmarried state. When does a girl cease being too young to talk to -men in France? And why should it not be worse for a married woman than -for an unmarried woman to encourage a little attention? - -These questions interested me later as much as they did then. Was the -Old World so different from the New World or was I taking for granted -both a latitude and an attitude at home different from what I was going -to meet? Little did I realize that I was destined to live in Paris as a -bride and to bring up my children there to the age when I should have -these problems to face from the standpoint of a mother of three girls. - - - - -1908 - - - - -CHAPTER III - -A HONEYMOON PROMISE - - -We left Oxford very suddenly. Six weeks in the Bodleian Library, in -spite of canoeing every afternoon, sufficed to go through a collection -of contemporary pamphlets about the Guises. And then we were getting -hungry. Since he never changes the menu, roast beef and roast lamb -alternating night after night, and accompanied by naked potatoes and -cabbage, must content the Englishman. But all who have not a British -birthright either lose their appetites or go wild after a time. We -thought that we could not stand another day of seeing that awful -two-compartment vegetable dish. It never contained a surprise. You could -swear with safety to your soul that when the lid was lifted a definite -combination of white and green would meet your eye. - -So, when in the early days of July nineteen hundred and eight the London -newspapers published telegrams from Constantinople that foreshadowed -startling changes in Turkey, we were ready to flit. We had planned to -spend our honeymoon winter in Asia Minor, anyway, and thought we might -as well get out there as soon as possible. The spirit of adventure is -strong in the blood of the twenties and decisions are made without -reflection. It is great to be young enough to have a sudden change of -plans matter to none, least of all to oneself. On Monday afternoon we -were canoeing on the Cherwell, with no other thought than the very -pleasant one of doing the same thing on the morrow. The next afternoon -we were in a train speeding from Calais to Paris, trying to recuperate -from the Channel passage. - -Herbert and I both knew Paris. But we did not know Paris together, and -that made all the difference in the world. When we reached the Gare du -Nord, we were as filled with the joy of the unknown as if we had been -entering Timbuktoo. On the train we discussed hotels. A slim pocketbook -was the only bank in the world to draw upon for a long journey. On the -other side was the less commonsense but more convincing argument, that -this was once in our lives, and that if it ever was excusable to do -things up right, now was the time. The pocketbook was so slim, however, -that until we stepped out into the dazzling lights, we were not -altogether sure that it would not be a modest little hotel. We -compounded with prudence by hailing a _fiacre_ instead of one of the new -auto-taxis, and directed the _cocher_ to take us where we wanted to go. - -[Illustration: Looking up the Avenue de l'Opéra] - -It was the thought of being in the heart of things, right at the Place -de l'Opéra, that prompted us to choose the Grand Hotel. The price of -rooms was preposterous. We took the cheapest they had on the top floor. -The economical choice is sometimes the lucky one. Next time you are in -the Place de l'Opéra, look up to the attic of the Grand Hotel, and you -will see little balconies between the windows. Each window represents a -room. So does each balcony. We drew a balcony. It was just wide enough -for two honeymoon chairs; and it was summer time. - -When I was waiting in the vestibule of a New York church for the first -strains of the wedding march, my brother pressed a five-dollar gold -piece inside my white glove. "For a bang-up dinner when you get to -London," he whispered. In London we had been entertained by friends. -This was the time to spend it. The initiated would open his eyes wide at -the thought of the "bang-up" dinner for two for twenty-five francs in -Paris today--or anywhere else in the world. But remember I am writing -about nineteen hundred and eight. Six years before the war, twenty-five -francs would do the trick, and do it well, on the Grands Boulevards. We -had fried chicken with peas, salad and _fruits rafraîchis_ at Pousset's, -and there was some change after a liberal (ante-bellum!) tip. - -After dinner we strolled along the Boulevards des Italiens. We came to a -big white place, with a wealth of electric lamps, that spelled -PATHE--PALACE. A barker walked up and down in front, wearing a -gold-braided cap and a green _redingote_. We paused as at the circus. -It was a cinema. Herbert wanted to go in, but I wasn't sure. I had never -seen moving pictures and had heard that they hurt one's eyes. To be a -good sport I yielded. It was a revelation to me, and I felt as I did a -year or two later when I first saw an aeroplane. My censor and literary -critic, who has not the imagination of an Irishman, wants to eliminate -this paragraph. But I have refused. It is true that I had never been to -the cinema before I married him, and I am not sure that it was not his -first time, too. The wonders of one decade are the commonplace of the -next, and in retrospect we should not forget this. "Nineteen-eight" was -to be the wonder year. Is there not an old Princeton song, still in the -book, which was sung with expectation by our fathers? It went something -like this: - - I'll sing of the days that will come, - Of the changes that many won't see, - Of the times years and years hence. - I can tell you where some of you'll be: - If you don't know I'll give you the tip. - So catch on and don't be too late: - If you do, you'll get left and you'll all lose your grip - In the year nineteen hundred and eight. - -And then the chorus, as they used to sing it--that older generation--on -the steps of Nassau Hall: - - In nineteen hundred and eight, in nineteen hundred and eight - You can go to the moon in a two day balloon; - In nineteen hundred and eight, in nineteen hundred and eight - To the north pole you can skate, - And you'll find Annie Laurie cutting grass on the Bowery, - In nineteen hundred and eight. - -After the movies we went back to the Hotel, and sat out on our balcony -with the brilliant vistas of the Avenue de l'Opéra and the Boulevard des -Italiens before us. We could hear the music of the opera orchestra, -faintly to be sure, but it was there. The spell of six and sixteen came -back. Nearly another decade had passed, but Paris was home to me, and I -had a twinge of regret that we were going farther afield. Had it not -been for the news of Niazi Bey and Enver taking to the mountains in a -revolt against the Sultan, I might have suggested giving up Turkey. - -I was glad that we would have to stay long enough to get our passports. -The passport, now the indispensable _vade mecum_ of travelers -everywhere, was needed only for Rumania and Turkey and Russia ten years -ago. To make up for the extravagance of the Grand Hotel we found our way -to the American Embassy and the Turkish Embassy afoot. Every corner of -the Champs-Elysées had brought back memories to me and I was able to -point out to Herbert the _guignol_ to which Marie had often taken my -little sister and me nearly twenty years before. We stopped to listen. -Some of the jokes were just the same. Judy had lost the stove-lid, and -Punch told her to sit on the hole herself. And a useful and -indispensable nursery household article (whose name I shall not mention) -was suddenly clapped by Punch over the policeman's head in the same old -way. The children laughed and clapped their hands in glee. Herbert, on -his side, showed me the walk he used to take every morning from his room -on the Rue d'Amsterdam by the Rue de la Boëtie and the Avenue d'Antin[A] -to the Exposition of 1900, when he was writing feature stories for the -Sunday edition of the _New York World_. - -[A] The Avenue d'Antin has become since the victory in the recent war -Avenue Victor Emmanuel III., in honor of Italy's intervention. - -With passports obtained and visaed, tickets bought and baggage -registered, we were having our last meal in Paris before taking the -train for Rome. It was a late breakfast on the _terrasse_ of the Café de -la Paix. The waiter was not surprised when we ordered eggs with our -coffee: but we were when we found they cost a franc apiece. As we sat -there, at the most interesting vantage point in Paris for seeing the -passing crowd, my childhood instinct came back with force. I cried, "O! -I do want to come here to live when we return from Turkey!" - -Herbert had a fellowship from Princeton for foreign study. It had been -postponed a year so that he could teach for a winter at an American -college in Asia Minor. Then and there we made a decision that was -prophetic. All the other men were going to Germany. The German -universities were a powerful attraction for American university men. The -German Ph.D. was almost a sine qua non in our educational system. You -could not get a Ph.D. in England or in France. Herbert gallantly -sacrificed his on the spot. It was not a revolt against Kultur. Nor was -it clairvoyance. - -"On one's honeymoon," Herbert said, "the wife's wish should be law. The -man who starts endeavoring to get the woman he has married to realize -that the things to do are the things he thinks should be done gets into -trouble, and stays in trouble." - -The last thing we were looking for on that perfect July morning was -trouble. - -"All right," said he, "we'll come back and study in Paris, and if you -want to live here afterwards, I guess we can find some way to do it." - - - - -1909-1910 - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -THE PROMISE FULFILLED - - -"It was alcohol! He was right, that old buck. It was alcohol!" - -We were sitting in the restaurant of the Hotel Terminus in Marseilles. -Our month-old baby was lying on the cushioned seat between us. The -maître d'hôtel told us she was the youngest lady that had ever come to -his establishment. Bowls of coffee were before us on the table, and we -were enjoying our French breakfast when Herbert burst out with the -remark I have just recorded. - -"What is the matter with you?" I asked. - -Shaking with laughter, he told me the story. - -"You know the basket with breakables in it? And those two champagne -bottles Major Doughty-Wylie gave us?" - -"One of them had boracic acid in it. Well?" - -"Yes, yes, that is just it. The customshouse officer spied the bottles -and it did not take him long to uncork one and smell it. He wanted to -stick me for duty." - -"What did you do?" - -"Protested against paying duty on boracic acid solution. I pointed you -out to him sitting over there with the baby. He yielded -finally--observing that Americans are queer, tough customers, and that -their babies must be husky if their eyes can stand such stuff. But he -got the wrong bottle. Don't you remember that in the second one is pure -grape alcohol, and that is what he sniffed." - -Traveling with a baby, when tickets do not allow one to take the -_rapide_ sleeping-cars, has its good points. People do not care to spend -the night in a compartment with a baby. We got to the train early--very -early. We put Christine's wicker basket (her bed) by the door, and found -it to be the best kind of a "reserved" sign. Half a hundred travelers -poked their heads in--and passed on. The sight of Christine acted like -magic to our advantage. The baby started to cry. "Don't feed her yet," -ordered her dad. "Until this train starts, the louder she cries the -better for her later comfort." As the wheels began to move, a man came -in, put his bag on the rack and sat down. Laughing, he closed the door -and pulled down the curtain. - -"I have been watching you," said he. "Yours is a clever game. I have -three little cabbages myself, and I know babies don't disturb people as -much as those who have none think. No," he added, "I must correct -myself, thinking of my mother and my mother-in-law. Even those who have -had many babies forget in the course of time how they were once used to -them. We'll have a comfortable night. Have a cigar, monsieur!" - -We did have a splendid sleep. Christine has always been one of those -wonder babies. So we were ready to see Paris cheerfully. Heaven knows we -needed every possible help to being cheerful! For we were embarked upon -a venture that looked more serious than it had the year before. A pair -of youngsters can knock around happily without worrying about -uncertainties. A baby means a home--and certain unavoidable expenses. -Where your progeny is concerned, you can't just do without. We had two -hundred and fifty francs in cash, and the prospect of a six hundred -dollar fellowship, payable in quarterly installments. That was all we -could count upon. Our only other asset was some correspondence sent to -the _New York Herald_ that had not been ordered, but for which we hoped -to be paid. - -The Marseilles express used to arrive at Paris at an outlandish hour. It -was not yet six when we were ready to leave the Gare de Lyon. Two -porters, laden down with hand-luggage, asked where we wanted to go. We -did not know. The Paris hotels that had been our habitats in days past -were no longer possible, even temporarily. There was no mother to foot -my bills, and Herbert wasn't a bachelor with only his own room and food -to pay for. I suggested the possibility of a small hotel by the station. -The porters took us out on the Boulevard Diderot. Across the street was -a hotel (whose gilt letters, however, did not omit the invariable -adjective "grand") that looked within our means. - -Once settled and breakfasted, the family council tackled the first -problem--Scrappie, gurgling on the big bed. Ever since she was born we -had been traveling, and she naturally had to be with us all the time. -Only now, after five weeks of parenthood, did the novel and amazing fact -dawn upon us that no longer could we "just go out." Scrappie was to be -considered. Without Scrappie, we could have set forth immediately upon -our search for a place to live. With Scrappie--? - -There always is a _deus ex machina_. In our case it was a _dea_. Marie -still lived in Paris. The contact had never been lost, and when we went -through Paris on our honeymoon the year before, I had taken my husband -to show him off to Marie. It was decided that I should go out -immediately and find her. A month before we had written that we were -coming to Paris in June, and she would be expecting us. Marie, and Marie -alone, meant freedom of movement. I could not think of trusting my baby -to anyone else. - -The address was at the tip of my tongue--22 Rue de Wattignies. A few -people know vaguely of the battle, but how many life-long Parisians know -the street? Not the _boulevardiers_ or the _faubouriens_ of -Saint-Germain, or the Americans, North and South, of the Etoile Quarter. -And yet the Rue de Wattignies is an artery of importance, copiously -inhabited. We had gone in a cab last year, and remembered that it was -somewhere beyond the Bastille. At the corner of the street beyond our -hotel, just opposite the great clock tower of the Gare de Lyon, I saw -the Bastille column not far away. Why waste money on cabs? To the right -of the Bastille lay the Rue de Wattignies, and not very far to the -right. I remembered perfectly, and started out unhesitatingly. - -Oh, the Paris vistas! No other city in the world has every hill top, -every great open space, marked by a building or monument that beckons to -you at the end of boulevard or avenue. No other city in the world has -familiar dome or tower or steeple popping up over housetops in the -distance to reassure you wherever you may have wandered, that you are -not far from, and that you can always find your way to, a familiar spot. -The Eiffel Tower, the Great Wheel, the Arc de Triomphe, Sacré Coeur, the -Panthéon, Val-de-Grâce, the Invalides, the Tour St. Jacques, give you -your direction. But when you dip into Paris streets, on your way to the -goal, you are lost. Even constant reference to a map and long experience -do not save you from the deceptive encouragement of Paris vistas. You -can walk in circles almost interminably. - -I had done this so often in the old days when I escaped from my -governess. I did so again when I tried to find the Rue de Wattignies. -Perhaps I did not try very hard: for one never minds wandering in -Paris. The life of the streets is a witchery that makes one forgot time -and distance and goal. When I lost sight of the Bastille column, the -labyrinth of St. Antoine streets led me on until I had crossed the canal -and found myself by the Hôpital St. Louis. After the year in the East, -and years before that in America, old houses and street markets held me -in a new world. It was a glorious June day to boot, and after steamer -and train, walking was a keen pleasure. Marital and parental -responsibilities were forgotten. The Hôpital St. Louis brought me back -to the realities of life. I knew that it was north of the Bastille, and -not in the direction of the Rue de Wattignies. Suddenly there came -uneasily into my mind the picture of a husband, a prisoner, patiently -waiting in a very small room in a very small hotel, and a baby demanding -lunch. Conscience insisted upon a cab: for nearly two hours had passed -since I started forth to find Marie. I had left the hotel early enough -to catch her before she might have gone out. What if Marie should not be -at home? "Hurry, _cocher_!" - -My panic was unjustified. Marie was at home. Delighted to hear of our -arrival, and eager to see her petite Hélène's baby, she put on her funny -little black hat, and went right down to the waiting cab. - -When we got to the hotel, Herbert was eating a second mid-morning petit -déjeuner. He had a copy of the Paris edition of the _New York Herald_, -and showed me, well played up in a prominent place, the last of the -Adana massacre stories he had forwarded by mail from Turkey. This was -the first time he realized that his "stuff" had been exclusive. There -was a pleasant prospect of drawing a little money. So my long absence -brought forth no remark, specially as Scrappie had slept like an angel. - -"We played a wise game," said Herbert, "when we sent the stories -smuggled through Cyprus to the _Herald_. We shall not have to correspond -with New York on a slim chance of a newspaper's gratitude. We can get at -James Gordon Bennet right here in Paris." Then he showed me some -advertisements picked out in the column of _pensions_ as promising and -within our means. We had decided to consider nothing outside of the -Latin Quarter. - -Marie had not changed a bit. She could not say the same for me although -she fussed over me as if I were five going on six. She forgot that -twenty years had gone since the last time she combed my hair. She -communicated to me the old sense of security. She bathed the baby. She -brought me food and sat beside me, observing that long ago she had to -coax me to take one more mouthful to please her. - -"You always were fussy about your food. Ma chère petite Hélène, you -don't eat enough to keep a sparrow alive. You are a naughty one." - -She insisted upon my drinking a cup of camomile tea, and took me -straight back to my sixth year by calling it _pipi du chat_. Knowing -that name for camomile tea is one of the tests of whether one really -knows French. - -"Marie," I begged, "show me how English people speak French--the way you -used to do!" - -But Herbert, who had gone out to get the _Daily Mail_ for its _pension_ -list, was coming in the door, and Marie would not show off before -Monsieur. Never did she call me _chère petite Hélène_ when he or any -other person was present. It was always Madame before company. The -_Mail_ had many advertisements of _pensions_ in streets near the -Luxembourg. Marie helped us pick them out. The Luxembourg Garden was an -integral part of the Latin Quarter, and we had to think of Scrappie's -outing. - -After lunch we turned Christine over thankfully to Marie and went out -_pension_-hunting together. - -"You were lucky in finding Marie," was all Herbert said. - -"Yes," I answered, "I really couldn't have left the baby with anyone -else." - -"But is Marie the only person in the world? Without her, would you be a -slave for ever and ever? There must be plenty of people that we could -get to look after Scrappie." - -"You don't know what it means to have a child!" said Scrappie's mother. - -"I guess I look pretty healthy for a fellow who has just landed in Paris -with a wife and a baby and 250 francs!" said my husband. - -"Can't make us mad," said I; "we're in Paris." - -You pile up on one side of the scale heaps of things that ought to worry -you, but if you put on the other side the fact that you are in Paris, -down goes the Paris side with a sure and cheerful bang, up goes the -other side, and the worries tumble off every which way into nowhere. - -The main threads of the world's spider web start very far from Paris in -all directions and the heaviest urge of traffic is towards the centre. -Paris was the centre of the spider web long before Peace Delegates came -here to discover the fact. Students, diplomats, travel-agencies, -theatrical troupes knew it and whole shelves of books have been written, -down the years, to prove it. If Paris is your birth-place, you learn -that you are in the capital of the world long before you know how to -read the books. If you are an expert on ancient coins, if you are a -wood-carver, if you are a singer wanting a voice that will make your -fortune because it was trained in France, if you are a baker, if you are -a burglar, if you are a silk merchant, if you are a professor from -Aberdeen hunting for manuscripts that will prove your thesis concerning -Pelagius, if you are an _apache_, if you are an English -nursemaid,--you'll never be lonely in Paris. No matter how isolated or -queer or misunderstood you were where you came from, in Paris you'll -find inspiration, competition, companionship, opportunity and pals. The -papers tell us every week that the birth rate is going down. But the -population of Paris is increasing. So in peace, in war and in peace -again, there was one constant quantity underpinning existence--Paris, -the centre of the spider web. The spider that lures is liberty to work -out one's ideas in one's own way in a friendly country. It is a wonder -the men who make maps in France can draw lines latitudinally and -longitudinally. What difference did it make then if we had only two -hundred and fifty francs? - - - - -CHAPTER V - -THE PENSION IN THE RUE MADAME - - -We started our search for a temporary home at the Observatoire, and good -fortune took our footsteps down the Rue d'Assas rather than down the -Boulevard Saint-Michel. Had we turned to the right instead of to the -left, we should probably have found a _pension_ that satisfied our -requirements on the Rue Gay-Lussac, the Rue Claude Bernard, the Rue -Soufflot, or behind the Panthéon. But a short distance down the Rue -d'Assas, we turned into the Rue Madame, which held two possibilities on -our list. The first place advertised proved to be a private apartment, -whose mistress was looking for boarders for one room who would not only -pay her rent but her food and her old father's as well. We got out -quickly, and kept our hopes up for the second place. It was a small -private hotel just below the Rue de Vaugirard, with a modest sign: -_Pension de Famille_. - -A beaming young woman, who told us that she was Mademoiselle Guyénot, -_propriétaire et directrice de la maison_, answered our first question -in a way that won our hearts forever. "Do I mind a baby!" she exclaimed. -"I love them. No trouble in the world. Wish the _bon dieu_ would allow -me to have one myself. If any boarder complains about babies crying in -my house, I ask them how they expect the world to keep on going. -_Parfait!_ Bring the little rabbit right along. Of course there is no -charge. Is it I who will feed her? Think of it, then!" And Mademoiselle -Guyénot opened wide her arms and lifted them Heavenward. Her eyes shone, -and she laughed. - -We engaged a room on the court, two flights up, for seventy francs a -week _tout compris_, lodging, food, boots, wine. Lights would not amount -to more than a franc a week. We could give what we wanted for -attendance. The arrangement with Marie was perfect. She would stay at -home and come for the days we wanted her. That meant only her noonday -meal on our _pension_ bill--one franc-fifty. - -We got out of the Boulevard Diderot hotel none too soon. The charges -were fully as much as at a first-class hotel (I have frequently since -found this to be the case in trying to economize in travel) and made a -serious dent in our nest-egg. When we reached the _pension_ with our -baby and baggage, we felt that it was only the square thing to acquaint -the new friend who loved babies with our financial situation. - -"Oh! la, la," cried Mademoiselle Guyénot, "you may pay me when you -like!" - -"You must understand," said my husband, "that we have just come out of -Turkey and have very little money. Of course, as soon as we get -settled, things will be all right again." - -Mademoiselle received us in the _bureau_ of her pension with open arms -and lightning French. I could not get it all, but we knew she was glad -to see us. She turned around on her chair and faced us as we sat on an -old stuffed sofa surrounded by our suitcases. - -"You must not worry," she exclaimed, "you must not worry _du tout, du -tout, du tout, du tout_.... If you don't pay me I'll keep the baby, -_pauvre chou_." - -Mademoiselle's voice went up the scale and down again, dying away only -when she opened her mouth wider to laugh. - -Mademoiselle ran the _pension_ single-handed in those days. Now she is -Madame and the mother of two little girls. Monsieur is a mechanical -genius and has himself installed many conveniences. He can paper a room, -rig up a table lamp at the head of a bed, carry in the coal, forage for -provisions with a hand-cart and a cheerful _jusqu'au boutisme_ that -stops at nothing. He is also able to make a quick change in clothes and -bobs up serenely within fifteen minutes after unloading the potatoes, -quite ready to make you a cocktail. - -Mademoiselle handled her clients with cheerful firmness. She used to -marshal the forces of her house with a strong and capable hand. You -could not put one over on her then any more than you can now, as some -transients discovered to their confusion. The regulars knew better than -to try. On the other hand if your case was good and your complaint -justified, she defended you with energy. _Liberté_, _égalité_, -_fraternité_ were realities in the Rue Madame. - -The clientele was French for the most part: elderly people who had got -tired of keeping house. Folks from the provinces who had come to town to -spend the winter after Monsieur retired from business. Young people, -mostly men, some of them long haired who were studying at the Sorbonne -or elsewhere. And a sprinkling of transients whose chief effect upon the -regulars was allowing them to shift about until they had possession of -the rooms they wanted to keep at a monthly rate. When we went to the -pension we were the only Americans. We paid five francs a day for room -and board like everybody else excepting the old lady who had come to the -house years ago when the rate was four francs fifty. German Hausfraus -may be marvels in management, but I defy any lady Boche to beat -Mademoiselle's efficiency. She got all the work of kitchen and -dining-room done, and well done too, by Victorine the tireless, Louis -the juggler and François the obsequious. Guillaume and Yvonne, a working -menage, looked after the rooms until they got a swell job at the Ritz -Hotel, where tips would count. The other three were fixtures. - -In spirit the Rue Madame _pension_ has not changed. The atmosphere -to-day is as it was in nineteen hundred and nine. The table is good, -plentiful, appetizing--and, oh, what a variety of meats and vegetables! -The potatoes are never served in the same way twice in a week, and -Madame Primel, as Mademoiselle is now called, cooks as many different -_plats de jour_ as her number in the street, which is forty-four. There -the reader has my secret! But five francs a day no longer holds. In -nineteen hundred and nineteen five francs will barely pay for a single -meal. Not only has the price of food more than doubled, but the traveler -is beginning to demand comforts that cost. We used to have buckets of -coal brought up, and make a cheerful fire. We used to grope in the dark -when we came home, strike a match, and look for our candle on the hall -table. We used to have a lamp--the best light in the world--in our room. -But now the _pension_ in the Rue Madame has yielded to the demands of a -discontented world. Steam heat, electric lights--these have had their -part in making five francs a day disappear forever. The five franc -_pension_ exists only in the memory of Paris lovers, or in story books -like mine. - -At our table were Mrs. Reilly, a sprightly Irish woman called by the -pensionnaires Madame Reely; Monsieur Mazeron, a law student with an -ascetic blond face and hair like a duckling; an elderly couple from -Normandy who had adopted Madame Reely, swallowed her at one gulp of -perfection, only to discover afterwards that they did not understand -her; a Polish doctor and his wife from Warsaw; and others. Madame Reely -made a pretty speech the first night at dinner, proposing that our table -volunteer to help us take care of the baby. - -"To-morrow is the Fête Dieu," said she. "I'll go to the early mass so -that I can come back and stay with the baby while you two go to the -later mass. You will see the priests in their robes of ceremony, the -Holy Relics, and a thousand children in the procession. It is too -lovely,--all those little things with their baskets of flowers, throwing -petals in the path of the priests. Who can tell," she went on in a -whispered aside to her neighbor, "it may impress them. One never knows -when new converts are to be added to the blessed Church!" - -"And I shall look at the baby," said the Doctor from Warsaw. "Children -are my specialty. That is why I am here, observing in the clinics of -Paris, you see. I shall come to your room to-morrow after breakfast. -Being an American mother, I suppose you give your baby orange juice?" - -"Certainly I give her orange juice," said I; "it is good for her." - -"_Au contraire! au contraire!_" cried the Doctor, waving his hands. The -Doctor was always "au contraire" no matter what was said and who said -it. Polish character. - -In a corner was a tiny table for one. It was for the starboarder, a -young Roumanian, who wore a purple tie held together by a large amethyst -ring. Possibly he wore it because he believed in the ancient legend -about amethysts being good to prevent intoxication. When we entered upon -the scene he was still in high favor. His downfall came later and had to -do with a wide-awake concierge and a luckless kiss at the front door. - -The food we had was the kind we used to have in Paris when many visitors -came here with no better excuse than to enjoy the _cuisine_. -Mademoiselle gave us two meat dishes for each meal. If you did not like -calves' liver, Louis would do a trick that landed a steaming plate of -crisp fried eggs (fried in butter, you remember) before you. And that -without being told. Behind the scenes was Victorine. - -Victorine invited me into her kitchen to learn how to make _sauce -piquante_. - -"Are you married, Victorine?" I queried. - -"My cookstove is my husband," she laughed; "his heart is good and warm -and he never leaves me." - -During meals Mademoiselle was to be found in the kitchen. She did the -carving herself and tasted everything before it was passed through a -window to Louis. - -There was no felt covering under the table-cloth. The serving of the -meal competed with piping, high-pitched, excited voices. Perhaps I -oughtn't to say excited, but the Frenchman in his most ordinary matter -of fact conversation sounds excited to the Anglo-Saxon. He asks you to -pass the bread in the same tone you would use in announcing an event of -moment. At each place was a glass knife-and-fork rest. In France, unless -the first dish happens to be fish, you keep the same knife and fork. -This is the custom in the best of homes. We are prodigal of cutlery -where the French are prodigal of plates. The same knife and fork didn't -matter, because the food was so good. Nor does it matter to-day, because -now there is only one meat dish. Times have changed. - -If fruit or pudding ran out, Mademoiselle opened a section of the wall, -finding the key on a bunch that was suspended from her belt on a piece -of faded black tape. From the cupboard she took tiny glasses filled with -confiture or perhaps a paste made of mashed chestnuts and flour slightly -sweetened. The glasses, to the touch, were cylindrical, but when you had -broken the paper pasted across the top and had eaten half way down, the -space was no wider than the fat part of your tea spoon. If your glass -was a cylinder outside, on the inside it was an inverted cone. - -The quantities of bread consumed in that house would be appalling to -anybody but a Frenchman. A Turk can live on bread and olives. But a -Frenchman can live on bread alone. If he had to choose between bread and -wine he would forget the wine. When the basket was passed around, the -_pensionnaires_, with a delightful absence of self-consciousness, would -cast their eye over it in order to select the biggest piece. There was -always one person who would look around the room furtively, take the -biggest piece on the plate, slip the second biggest piece into the lap -under the serviette, and then, gazing far away in ostrich fashion, glide -the bread into pocket or reticule. If the dessert happened to be fruit, -an orange or an apple would follow the bread for private consumption -later in the day. Perhaps these people came in for luncheon only and the -bread and fruit was devoured at twilight at some little café where it is -permitted to customers to bring their own supplies, if they buy a drink. -This stretching of luncheon procured the evening meal. If necessity is -the mother of invention, the students of Paris are necessity's -grandmother. - -Louis, the arch-juggler, was forced by public opinion to alternate day -by day his point of departure when passing the steaming _plat du jour_. -_Egalité_, you remember, is one-third of French philosophy. It would -never do for the same end of the dining-room to enjoy for two days -running the little privilege of having the first pick at the best piece -of meat in the plate. - -François helped in the dining-room. But he was everywhere else too. He -was useful for Louis to swear at and to blame. He was bell-hop, -scullery-boy, errand-man, who needed all of his amazing reserves of -cheerfulness. I wondered when François slept. He was on hand with his -grin and his _oui, madame_, early and late. Once when we slid out of the -house at five in the morning to go on an excursion, we found him in the -lower hall surrounded by the boots of the house. Back of his ear was a -piece of chalk used for marking the number of the room on the soles of -the boots. He was polishing away, moving his arm back and forth with a -diminutive imitation of the swing his legs had to accomplish when his -brush-clad feet were polishing the waxed floors. As a concession to the -early hour, he was whistling softly instead of singing. The whistling of -François fascinated everyone because it came through a tongue folded -funnel-wise and placed in the aperture where a front tooth was missing. -And we would often find him up and about when we came home late at -night. It was a pleasant surprise, when, after calling out your name, -you made ready to walk back to the candlestick table, hands stretched -out before you, to have François suddenly appear with a light. He would -hold out over the table his little hand lamp with the flourish a Gascon -alone can make. You picked out your candlestick by the number of your -room cut in its shining surface. The number had an old-fashioned swing -to its curve, suggesting that the solid bit of brass might have been dug -up from the garden of some moss-grown hostelry after a passage of the -Huns. - -Mademoiselle Guyénot insisted that the flagged pavement be washed every -day. François used to fill with water a tin can in the bottom of which -he had punched half a dozen holes. He swung it about the court until -figure eight shaped sprinkle-tracks lay all over the twelve-by-twenty -garden. Afterwards he would take a short-handled broom, bend himself -over like a hairpin, and sweep up the flag-stones. The dirt he -accumulated was made into a neat newspaper package and set aside to wait -until early to-morrow morning when it was put out on the street in the -garbage-pail. François' thin high voice sang incessantly and sounded for -all the world like the piping of a Kurdish shepherd above the timber -line in the Taurus Mountains. In those days woe betide you if you put -trash or garbage on a Paris street later than 8 A. M. It was as unseemly -an act as shaking carpets out of your window after the regulation hour. -Now, even if you are a late and leisurely bank clerk or fashionable -milliner and you don't have to show up at work before 10 o'clock, you -will see garbage-pails along curb-stones and likely as not get a dust -shower furious enough to make you wish you hadn't left your umbrella at -home. The old days--will they come back? - -When the band plays soft Eliza-crossing-the-ice music, my mind flies to -several Home-Sweet-Homes. I think of Tarsus, Constantinople, Oxford and -Princeton. But there is no twinge of homesickness. Paris and my present -home there satisfy every want and longing. Among the homes of the past, -however, I think of others in Paris as well as of those of other places. -I never forget the _pension_ in the Rue Madame. Thankfully it is still a -reality. During the past decade it has housed our mothers and sisters -and cousins and friends. We have gone there to see them. And we go there -to see our first warm friend in Paris and her husband and children. From -time to time we have a meal in the old dining-room. We hope the -_pension_ will not disappear or will not be converted into too grand a -hotel. For us it is a Paris landmark. - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -LARES AND PENATES IN THE RUE SERVANDONI - - -We spent the first anniversary of our wedding in Egypt. A week later we -arrived in Paris. For prospective residents as well as for tourists, -June is the best time of the year to reach Paris. You have good weather -and long days, both essentials of successful home-hunting. It is an -invariable rule in Paris to divide the year in quarters, beginning with -the fifteenth of January, April, July and October. Whether you are -looking for a modest _logement_ on a three months' lease or a _grand -appartement-confort moderne_--on a three years' lease, the dates of -entry are the same. One rarely breaks in between terms. If you have -passed one period, you must wait for the next _trimestre_. The person -who is leaving the apartment you rent might be perfectly willing to -accommodate you, but he has to wait to get into his new place. So when -we went to the _pension_, we had before us the best home-hunting weeks -of the year, with the expectation of being able to get settled somewhere -on July 15th. - -At the _pension_, our room faced on the court, and the _personnel_, from -Mademoiselle Guyénot down to Victorine and François, assured us that we -need not feel bound to stay at home on the days Marie could not come to -us. Marie for years had been sewing four different days of the week for -old _patrons_, and we did not feel certain enough of our own plans and -purse to accept the responsibility of her giving up a sure thing. - -"Go out all you want to," urged our friends. "You only have to think -about meal times for the baby. Someone is always in the court sewing or -sorting the laundry or preparing vegetables. Your window is open. We -cannot fail to hear the baby." - -But a chorus of _bien sûr_ and _parfaitement_ and _soyez tranquille_ did -not reassure what was as new born as Christine herself--the maternal -instinct. A letter from Herbert's father solved the problem. He inclosed -the money for a baby carriage. We carried Scrappie down the Boulevard -Raspail to the little square in front of the Bon Marché. I kept her on a -bench while Herbert went in to follow my directions as well as he could. -In a few minutes he came out and said he would rather take care of the -baby. It was the first time I had seen him stumped. So I had the joy I -had hoped would be mine all along but of which I did not want to deprive -my husband, seeing that we could not share it. The reader may ask why we -didn't take the baby inside. But it will not be a young mother who puts -that question! With one's firstborn, one sees contagion stalking in -every place where crowds gather indoors.[B] - -[B] The critic would have me insert a modification here. Why confine the -fear of the young mother to _indoors_? The critic insists that I used to -be afraid of taking Scrappie into any sort of a crowd, and that my -supersensitive ear translated the bark of every kiddie with a cold into -whooping cough, while I saw measles in mosquito bites on children's -faces. - -[Illustration: The Rue de Vaugirard by the Luxembourg] - -We did not intend to consider a home that was not within baby-carriage -distance of the Rue Madame. In fact, after a few days in the Luxembourg -Quarter, we were determined to live as near the Garden as possible. -There we were within walking distance of the Bibliothèque Nationale and -the Sorbonne and the Ecole Libre des Sciences Politiques. Marie, whom -the fact that I was my Mother's daughter did not blind to the extent of -the Gibbons family resources, urged the Bois de Vincennes. But we would -not hear of it. - -It is strange how rich and poor rub elbows with each other in their -homes. Paris is no different from American cities in this respect. The -kind of an apartment we _wanted_ would cost more than our total income, -as rents around the Luxembourg for places equipped with electric lights -and bathtubs and central heating seemed to be as expensive as around the -Etoile. Then in the same street--sometimes next door--you had the other -extreme. Our finances pointed to a _logement_ in a workingmen's -tenement. Care for Scrappie's health made our hearts sink every time we -were shown a place that seemed within our means. - -Of course there were reasonable places: for many others who demanded -cleanliness had no more money than we. But the Latin and Montparnasse -Quarters are the Mecca of slim-pursed foreigners. People foolish enough -to study or sing or paint are almost invariably poor. Perhaps that is -the reason! We had lots of exercise, and came to know every street -between the Luxembourg and the Seine. Our good fortune arrived -unexpectedly as good fortune always arrives to those who will not be -side-tracked. - -Between the Rue Vaugirard and Saint-Sulpice are three tiny streets, the -houses on the opposite sides of which almost rub cornices. The Rue Férou -is opposite the Musée de Luxembourg. On the Rue de Vaugirard is the home -of Massenet. We used to get a glimpse of him occasionally on his -_terrasse_--a sort of roof-garden with a vine-covered lattice on top of -the low Rue Férou wing of his house. The other two streets paralleling -the Rue Férou from the Palais du Luxembourg to the Eglise Saint-Sulpice -are the Rue Servandoni and the Rue Garancière. - -On the morning of the Fourth of July we had been diving in and out the -side streets of the Rue Bonaparte and the Boulevard Saint-Germain. At -Scrappie's meal time, we came to a bench in the Square in front of -Saint-Sulpice. It wasn't a bit like a holiday. It was sultry and looked -like rain. We were wondering whether we had better not hurry back to the -_pension_ for fear of getting the baby wet. Just then people began to -stop and look up. A huge balloon was above us. And it carried the -American flag. - -"You can't beat it," said my husband. "And we are Americans. Ergo, you -can't beat us!" - -Did the sight of the flag do the trick? Anyway, it was our Japanese -"last quarter of an hour." We had come down through the Rue Férou. We -went back for the twentieth time in twenty days through the Rue -Servandoni. Grey houses, topped with beehive chimneys, leaned amicably -against each other and broke the sky line as well as the municipal -_réglement_ (made long after they were) concerning the distance between -houses on opposite sides of streets. Our hearts nearly stopped beating -when we reached Number 21. There was the magic sign (it had not been -there yesterday): _Appartement à Louer_. We stopped short in the middle -of the street. The side-walks are not wide enough to walk on, much less -wheel a baby-carriage along. The grocer on the ground floor saw us take -the bait. Out he came. Did Monsieur and Madame care to see the -_appartement_? If so, he was concierge as well as grocer. He would show -us the place. We drew the new baby-carriage into the dark vestibule and -went up one easy flight of oak balustraded stairs. The grocer pulled a -red-braided bell rope. - -A man in shirt-sleeves opened the door. We stepped into a tiny -dining-room where the gas was lit although it was noon. The wall-paper -was yellow, and had sprawling brown figures like beetles. A dark passage -led into an immense room with a generous fireplace. Two windows opened -on the Rue Servandoni. It was a paper-hanger's shop with ladders, -brushes, buckets, rolls and rolls of paper and barrels of flour-paste -around. But the fellow in shirt-sleeves assured us that when his -fittings were out, we would realize what a handsome room it was. "The -dining-room is dark," he admitted, "but you can't match this room for -light and size in any two-room apartment in the Quarter. I know them -all. I am leaving because I have found a ground floor shop. I'll put new -paper on here very cheap." - -The _locataire_ assumed that we would take it. So did the -grocer-concierge. Without our asking, Monsieur Sempé told us that the -rent would be one hundred and fifty francs a quarter. We did not have to -make a troublesome lease, just a little agreement involving three -months' notification on either side. - -"Don't forget," said Sempé, "that this old house sits between two modern -apartment buildings. The walls are warm. Your neighbors have steam -heat." - -"True," confirmed the paper-hanger. But he did not want us to think that -we could be altogether vicariously heated. "Possibly you may not have -noticed," he added, "the fireplace in the dining-room. It heats almost -as well as this one. I'll sell you my grates. _Boulets_ make the best -fire." - -The thrill of admiration I had for my husband's magnificent courage when -he signed the paper, and paid out fifty of his last hundred francs "on -account" is with me still. - -"We are sure to be able to pay our rent," said he, as we went back to -the _pension_. "We couldn't expect to get anything for less than ten -dollars a month. The first installment of the fellowship money will come -next week, and before then I shall certainly get something out of the -_Herald_. It will have to be enough to buy our furniture." - -It never rains but it pours. At the _pension_ we found a letter from Mr. -James Gordon Bennett, asking Herbert to call that afternoon at three -o'clock at 104 Avenue des Champs-Elysées. It was in a blue envelope with -a little owl embossed on the flap, and was signed "J. G. BENNETT" in -blue pencil almost the color of the paper. How often we were to see this -envelope and this signature, and what luck it was going to bring us! We -thought the occasion demanded a celebration. I did Scrappie and myself -up in our best, and we set forth for the Champs-Elysées in an open -_fiacre_--our first ride since we came from the Boulevard Diderot to the -Rue Madame. We waited in the carriage while Herbert went in to collect -his money for the Adana massacre stories. - -I watched the door of the big apartment house anxiously. Our furniture -and the rest of the rent for the apartment depended upon the success of -the visit. Half an hour later Herbert's face told me that all was well. -He had sent in a bill of four hundred dollars, and fifty dollars -expenses. Mr. Bennett, he told me, began by scolding him for not making -it in francs, and then gave him a check for twenty-five hundred francs, -which more than covered what Herbert asked for. The Commodore then -offered Herbert a position at five hundred francs a week, and was -surprised when it was declined. He seemed much amused when Herbert -explained that he had come to Paris to study. "But you will go on -special trips in an emergency," said Mr. Bennett. It is enough to say -that the "emergencies" occurred often enough to tide over many a -financial difficulty during years that followed. - -Provided with funds after passing by the bank, we took Christine to -Rumpelmayer's to tea, and then drove back the Rue Servandoni to pay the -rest of our rent. When Monsieur Sempé gave us the _quittance_, he -admonished us that we must put enough furniture in the apartment to -cover six months' rent, that is to say, we must be prepared to spend at -least sixty dollars to set up our Lares and Penates. Bubbling over with -good will, Monsieur Sempé and Madame Sempé (who appeared on the scene -the moment it was a question of a receipt for our money) gave us -splendid advice about furniture-buying. They urged us to go to the Rue -de Rennes to some good-sized place where we would see second-hand -furniture on the side-walk, and not to a small _brocanteur_ or dealer in -antiques. - -The amount ticked up on the fiacre's taximetre was larger than we had -dreamed we should ever spend gadding about Paris. A few hours before it -would have worried us. We knew this could not keep up--in spite of the -crisp hundred franc notes. Wealth brings a strange sense of prudence. We -drove back to the _pension_, dismissed our _cocher_, and pushed the -baby-carriage around to the Rue de Rennes. - -MOBILIERS COMPLETS PAR MILLIERS. "Household furniture sets by the -thousand." That sign read promisingly. We entered, and found a -salesman--excuse me, the proprietor and salesman and cashier--who took -in my clothes and hat, and then assured us that he did not mind the baby -crying and could fit us up in anything from Louis Quatorze to the First -Empire, real or (this as a feeler) imitation. _Salle à manger_ from -eight hundred francs to four thousand; _chambre à coucher_ from four -hundred francs to two thousand six hundred; _salon_ from one thousand -francs to six thousand; splendid _garnitures_ (which means clocks and -candlesticks or vases) of all epochs for our _cheminées_; hatracks for -the hall; kitchen and servants' furniture--all, everything, anything we -needed. - -I knew what was in Herbert's reproachful look. He always did -ungraciously blame my mother for the fact that he had so frequently to -counteract my trousseau by embarrassed words. Mostly I let him stumble -along. But as this was his day and as I hadn't taken off the pretty -things worn in honor of the visit to the Champs-Elysées, which was a -break on my part, I thought it was up to me to let the furniture man see -how things stood. - -"We have a little apartment," I said, "bedroom and living-room combined, -a very small dining-room and a kitchen. I expect to buy the baby's crib -and mattress aside, but the rest must come out of five hundred francs--I -mean all of it. What can you give us for that?" - -I often think the French are essentially poor salesmen. They do not know -how to show their goods and they are too indifferent or too anxious. But -the blessed virtue of chivalry! The blessed sense of proportion! The -blessed instinct of moderation! Our furniture man rose to the occasion -with a grace that made me want to hug him. He kept his smile and bow and -changed with perfect ease from Louis and Napoleons to pitchpine. It -would require figuring. But it could be done. Yes, of course it could be -done. Down into the cellar he took us, and in half an hour he had -arranged to give us all we needed for Francs 532.70. I remember those -figures. And he agreed to take the whole lot back at half-price at the -end of a year! - -The furniture man bore a striking resemblance to some one I knew. I -watched him, and tried to place him, as he made out our bill in the -office--seven square feet of glassed-in suffocation surrounded by -_armoires_ and buffets. Dust clung to pages and blotters and yellowing -files; no air ever came in here to blow it away. Where had I seen the -double of our friend? Full forehead, closely-trimmed, pointed beard, -soft black tie--and the eyes. Where _had_ I seen him before? Writing -with flourishes in purple ink, slightly bending over the high desk, he -certainly fitted into some memory picture. Then it came to me! His pen -ought to be a quill. It was William Shakespeare. - -"Will-_yum_ Shakespeare!" I cried. - -My husband did not think I was crazy. For he was looking at the -furniture man when I made my involuntary exclamation. - -"What does Madame say? Is she not content?" asked William Shakespeare. -Herbert's hand shot out behind his back and grasped mine. "Shades of -Stratford-on-Avon," he murmured. We had passed a honeymoon day there -just a year ago. - -It was hard to wait until July 15, and then two days longer for the -necessary cleaning by a _femme de ménage_ hired for us by the Sempés. -July 17th was the magical day of our first housekeeping. Never before -had we been together in a place where everything was ours. Tables and -chairs and beds and mattresses, and even the piano rented at ten francs -a month, arrived at Twenty-One on hand-carts drawn by men who pulled -only a little harder against the greasy harness that bound them to their -job than did the dogs under the carts. - -Turkish women say that if you must move, abandon the furniture and -dishes; they can be had anywhere. But take with you the rugs and brass -that you love, and you have your home. During the previous winter in -Tarsus, we managed to buy several good rugs, a cradle-shawl, some -candlesticks and Damascus beaten-brass trays out of our eight-hundred -dollar salary. Don't ask me now how we did it. In retrospect it is a -mystery. But we had these things in two big boxes. They were as butter -is to bread with our pitch-pine. No, I'm not going to belittle that -pitch-pine. Years of usage had modified its yellowness, and it took to -our rubbing with a marvelous furniture polish. The floors could have -been better. The wood was hard, however, and we got some sort of a wax -shine on them. The Shakespeare furniture plus rugs and brasses--and -candle light--made a home than which we have never since had better. -Never mind if the dining-room was dark. Never mind if we had to sleep in -our study, and study in our bedroom. Never mind if Scrappie's nursery -was the _salon_, _cabinet de travail_ and _chambre à coucher_ combined. -Never mind if we were compelled to take our baths at the foot of our bed -in a tin basin. It was Paris, our dream city. - -We were fully installed by six o'clock. The _femme de ménage_ -volunteered to stay with Christine while we went out for supper. Before -finding a restaurant, we climbed the north tower of Saint-Sulpice. -Between us and the mass of verdure that marked the Jardin du Luxembourg -was our home. Up there near heaven, with the city at our feet, we danced -the Merry Widow Waltz, for sheer joy that we had a home of our own in -Paris. - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -GOLD IN THE CHIMNEY - - -How can two young people, with a baby and three hundred dollars in cash, -able to count upon a one-year fellowship yielding six hundred dollars, -live a year in Paris? The answer to that question is that it cannot be -done. But we were not in the position to answer it that way. We were in -Paris, and we had the baby. Pride and ambition are factors that refuse -to be overruled by the remorseless logic of figures. If you put a -proposition down on paper, you can prove that almost anything you want -to do is impossible. Successful undertakings are never the result of -logical thinking. Herbert and I would not have had a wedding at all if -we had thought the matter out and had considered the financial side of -life. - -Herbert was keeping, however, some prejudices and some prudent reserves, -remembering his father's caution that life has a financial basis. -Sitting there on the packing-case we had picked out for a coal-box in -our study-bedroom, he hauled out an account-book and was fussing over a -missing franc. Our first year was one of constant change of scene, and -we had not "kept house." Now, declared my husband, was the time to turn -over a new leaf. If we knew where and how our money went, financing the -proposition would be easier. With tears in my eyes and biting a pencil -with trembling lips, I rebelled. I could not get interested in that -missing franc. - -"I want you to realize now, once for all, that I'm not going to keep -this old cash account. I don't believe in worrying about money. I'm not -going to worry about money and neither are you. There are only three -financial questions: (1) how much money is there? (2) how long is it -going to last? (3) what are we going to do when it's all gone? Two -follows one, and three follows two--one, two, three--just like that!" - -I was laughing now, and raised three fingers successively under my -boss's nose. - -"As long as we are in one, we are not in two; and when we are in two, we -have not reached three. Let us wait for three until we are in three, or -at least until we know we are about to leave two." - -After paying a quarter's rent, the bill for the furniture and cleaning -up sundry little expenses, we had left fifteen hundred francs of the -Gordon Bennett capital. A thousand francs was deposited with Morgan, -Harjes and Company. The other five hundred, in twenty-franc gold-pieces, -the bank gave us in a shiny little pink pasteboard box. Our chimney had -a big hole in the plaster. The wall paper was torn but intact. An ideal -hiding-place. I put the box in the hole and smoothed down the paper. - -"This hole is our bank," I announced. "We shall keep no account, and you -and I will take the gold boys when we need them." - -Herbert saw a great light. From that moment to this day we have been -free from a useless drudgery and have been able to conserve our energy -for our work. Herbert said, "Agreed! And when the pile gets low, I'll be -like the little boy the old man saw digging." - -"What was the little boy digging for?" I chuckled. - -"Ground-hogs," answered my husband. "An old man came along and told him -he would never catch a gopher like that, for they could dig quicker than -folks. 'Can't get him?' said the boy. 'Got to get him, the family's out -of meat.'" - -Now that the financial credo of the home-makers in the Rue Servandoni is -set forth, I shall not have to talk any more about how we got our money -and how much there was of it. But I had to take my readers into my -confidence, for I did not want them to labor under the misapprehension -that persisted among our neighbors of the Rue Servandoni throughout our -year there. They took it for granted that _les petits américains_ were -living at Twenty-One because that sort of fun appealed to us. We were -just queer. Of course we had plenty of money, and could have lived at -Nineteen or Twenty-Three if we had wanted to! The Parisian, the -Frenchman, the European, of whatever social class, believes that America -is El Dorado and that every American is able to draw at will from -inexhaustible transatlantic gold-mines. During the war the Red Cross, -the Y.M.C.A., and the officers and men of the A.E.F. confirmed and -strengthened this traditional belief. I do not blame my compatriots for -what is a universal attitude among us towards money. On the contrary, my -long years of residence abroad have made me feel that we get more out of -life by looking upon money as our servant than Europeans do, who look -upon it as their master. - -The first thing--the practical and imperative thing--when you set up a -home in Paris is to make friends with the concierge. Without his -approval and cooperation, your money, your position, your brains will -not help you in making living conditions easy. The concierge stands -between you and servants, tradespeople, visitors. You are at his mercy. -Traveling in Russia, they used to say to us: lose your pocket-book or -your head, but hold on to your passport. In Paris, dismiss your prize -servant or fall out with your best friend, but hold on to the good-will -of the concierge. - -Our first skirmish with the Sempés was an easy victory. We could not -keep the baby-carriage in our apartment, even if we had been willing to -haul it up and down a flight of stairs. Boldly we announced that we -wanted to leave it in the lower hall. "Of course," agreed Monsieur -Sempé. "I was just going to suggest that and to tell you that in my shop -I carry everything, fruits and vegetables as well as dry-groceries." - -We took the hint, and seldom went farther afield to do our marketing. -Madame Sempé was the first to call us _les petits américains_. She was -capable and kindly, and our friendship became firmly rooted when she -discovered that we intended to patronize her shop. The Sempé commodities -were good. This was lucky in more ways than one. For the mice knew it -too, and never came upstairs to bother us. - -Sempé himself was a genial soul, partly because he always kept a bottle -uncorked. Hard work and temperament, he explained, made him require a -stimulant. He took just enough, you understand, to affect his -disposition pleasantly. If you had a little complaint to make or a favor -to ask, much as you deplored his thirst, you found yourself casting an -eye over the man to make sure of his mood before you spoke. If you -caught him when the bottle was not too full or too empty, he could fix a -lock or put a new mantle on the dining-room gas-jet most graciously. - -Our friendship became undying when Monsieur found out that we were the -solution of his financial pinches. He came up one night, and, hooking -his thumbs in his purple suspenders, asked for a loan of "_shong -shanquante francs shusqua sheudi_." _Jeudi_ never came. To Sempé's -intense relief, we agreed to take out the debt in groceries. This was -the beginning of a sort of gentlemen's agreement. A paper, thumb-tacked -to a shelf in the shop, kept the record of our transactions. When I came -to make purchases in the morning or when Herbert dropped in of an -evening to buy a supplement to our dinner for unexpected guests or our -own good appetites, we could see at a glance whether to pay cash for -what we bought or whether we should do a sum in subtraction. It was -generally subtraction, and Sempé, wagging his head, would say, "This -goes well--soon I shall be square with you." But the satisfaction of -being square with the world was never Sempé's for long. The arrival of a -barrel of wine or a load of potatoes would send him running up the -stairs for the money to help finance his business. In spite of our -slender resources we did not feel this to be a hardship. Not -infrequently it was an advantage. First of all things one has to eat. We -always began to get our money back immediately in the necessities of -life. Instead of having our money out in an uncertain loan we took the -attitude that our board was paid for two or three weeks in advance. - -In another connection, we had the benefit of the advantageous side of -the Golden Rule. - -In our study of Turkish history we had constant use of Von Hammer's -_Histoire de l'Empire Ottoman_. This meant much transcribing by -long-hand at the Bibliothèque Nationale where the typewriter could not -be used. If only we had Von Hammer at home! But it was a rare -book--eighteen volumes and an atlas--far beyond our means. One day we -were browsing at Welter's, the most wonderful bookshop in Paris, on the -Rue Bernard-Palissy off the Rue de Rennes near Saint-Germain-des-Près. -Monsieur Welter, who took pains to become acquainted with and discover -the specialty of every passing _client_, told us that he had a set of -Von Hammer, recently purchased at a London auction. He sent a boy to -bring it out. Oh how tempting it looked, beautifully bound in calf! We -handled it fondly, but turned regretfully away when he said that the -price was two hundred francs. - -"Do you not want it?" asked Monsieur Welter, astonished. "It is -indispensable for your work and you do not get a chance often to -purchase a set of Von Hammer. Never will you find it cheaper than this." - -"I do want it, and it isn't the price. I'll come back later, hoping you -will not have sold it." - -We each had a volume in our hands. I poked my nose between the pages of -mine to sniff the delightful odor to be found only in old books. -Monsieur looked at us, smiled, and said, "You mean that you haven't the -money. You will have it some day. No hurry. Give me your address and the -books will be sent around this afternoon." - -The delightful relationship thus began lasted until August, 1914, when -Welter (who never became naturalized although his sons were in the -French army) had to flee to escape internment. His business was -sequestrated. German though he was, we never cease to mourn the only -expert bookman in Paris. We have tried a dozen since, some of them -charming men, but none with the slightest idea of how to sell books. -Welter had book-buyers all over the world. Whenever he came across rare -books in your line, he mailed them to you with the bill. If you did not -want them, you sent them back. Every three months, a statement of the -quarter's purchases came, and you sent a check when you had the money. -One's attention was brought to many valuable sources, and one was able -to buy books of immense value, the possibility of whose acquisition one -had never dreamed of. - -Monsieur Welter told me years later, when I recalled the Von Hammer -incident, that he didn't lose five hundred francs a year in bad bills. -"The dealer in old books who does not give all the credit the buyers -need is crazy," he said. "What man interested in the things I deal in -would think of cheating me? Your husband wanted Von Hammer. I saw that. -Any man who wanted Von Hammer would pay for it in time." - -We had never had a French book-seller offer us credit, much less send -books on approval when we had not ordered them. - -When I think of the hundreds and hundreds of books we bought from -Welter, I realize one of the secrets of the inferiority of the French to -the Germans in business. The French cannot bring themselves to give -credit: they have an innate fear of being cheated, and understand -commercial transactions only in terms of cash. For years I have made a -point of watching French shopkeepers. Invariably they arrange that the -money is in their hands before they give you your package. - -The other night I went to the Champs-Elysées theatre to see a show given -by American soldiers of the 88th Division. One act opens with Hiram -Scarum bringing a military trunk into his hotel. Staggering under the -weight, Hiram hobbles across the stage, plants his trunk on the floor, -and sits down on it to mop his brow. He spies a paper across the room, -and investigates to find it is the tag belonging to the trunk. Pulling -himself together, Hiram spits on his hands, wearily shoulders the burden -again, and carries it across the room where he ties the tag to the -handle of the trunk. Then he picks up the trunk and carries it back -where he had first put it down. Hiram is like French commerce. The -Frenchman, with a sense of self-congratulation on his own industry, -carries the trunk to the tag. He is surprised to discover that while he -has been carrying the trunk to the tag, his German competitor has -carried a great many tags and has tied them to a great many trunks. We -hear much in these days about the war after the war. We are told by -Paris newspapers how the French business men are going to capture trade -from Germany. How can the French win in the commercial game? I'm sure I -don't know. One is concerned lest the inability to take the large view -end in disappointment and disaster for the Frenchmen we love. We are -just as sure that our French friends will continue to carry the trunk to -the tag as we are that they ought to get a hustle on, give up their old -ways, and win the game. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - -AT THE BIBLIOTHÈQUE NATIONALE - - -There are many libraries in Paris. Some of them are so famous that I -ought to hesitate to call the Bibliothèque Nationale simply "the -library." But I do call it that, not because it is the largest in the -world (a fact that calls forth instinctively admiration and respect from -Americans), but because we love the Bibliothèque from long and habitual -association. It is a part of our life like our home. - -In the beginning of the fellowship year, Herbert came to realize that -books could do more for him than lecturers. A magnetic and enthusiastic -lecturer communicates his inspiration: but most professors are decidedly -non-conductors. And then, with rare exceptions, university professors -are not sources themselves. What they do is to stand between you and the -sources. When they have something original and suggestive to say, why -not let them speak to you from the covers of a book? If a book does not -hold you, you can throw it aside and take up another: the lecturer has -you fast for an hour, and you often suffer because his baby did not -sleep well the night before. But when the professor speaks from the -printed page, he has had a chance to eliminate in his final revision -whatever effects of insomnia there may have been in the first draft. If -he hasn't done so, you do not need to read him. - -When students become full fledged post-graduates, they are at the -parting of the ways. Either they go directly to the sources, form -independent judgments, and produce original work as a result of -constructive thinking, or they continue to remain in intellectual -dependence upon their teachers. The latter alternative is the more -pleasant course. It requires less effort, and does not make one restless -and unhappy. The pleasant days of taking in are prolonged and the -agonizing days of giving out are postponed. But if a youngster is face -to face with books all day long every day, he either stops studying or -commences to produce for himself. Then, too, he is constantly under the -salutory influence of being confronted with his own appalling ignorance. -Whatever effort he makes, the volumes he summons from the shelves to his -desk keep reminding him that others have given years to what he hopes to -compass in days. The Bibliothèque teaches two lessons, and teaches them -with every tick of the clock from nine a. m. to four p. m.--humility and -industry. - -There was, of course, much to be learned at the Sorbonne. But my husband -had already passed through three years of post-graduate work, and was -tired of chasing around from one lecture to another. There were hours -between courses that could not be utilized, and the habit of loafing is -the easiest formed in the world. It was because we were jealous of every -hour in the Golden Year that Herbert and I first turned from the -Sorbonne to the Bibliothèque. Later we came to realize that the only -thing in common between Salles de Conférences of the Sorbonne and the -Salle de Lecture of the Bibliothèque was the lack of fresh air--the -universal and unavoidable torture of indoors everywhere in France. - -Nine to four, five days in the week, Herbert lived in the Bibliothèque, -and I went there mornings--when Scrappie was not on my conscience! One -did not have to go out to lunch, as the fare of the _buvette_ was quite -acceptable to those interested in books and manuscripts. The old law of -the time of Louis XIV holds good in this day. No light but that of -heaven has ever been introduced into the Bibliothèque. After gas was -discovered, the law was not changed. Even when electricity came, -presenting an infinitesimal risk of fire, the Government refused to have -the vast building wired. The prohibition of lights extends, of course, -to smoking. You cannot strike a match in the sacred precincts. So, after -lunch we used to go across the street and sit for half an hour in the -Square Louvois. - -[Illustration: Château de la Reine Blanche: Rue des Gobelins] - -Do you know the Square Louvois? I'll wager you do not. For when one -passes afoot up the Rue Richelieu, he is generally in a hurry to get to -the Bourse or the Grands Boulevards. If you go on the Clichy-Odéon -bus, you whizz by one of the most delightful little green spots in the -city of green spots without noticing it. The Square Louvois has on the -side opposite the Bibliothèque Nationale a good-sized hotel, which was -named after the square. The boundary streets on the north and south are -lined with modest restaurants and coffee bars, within the purse of -_petits commis_ and _midinettes_. In Europe there is not the hurry over -the mid-day meal that seems universal in America. Dyspepsia is unknown. -The humblest employee or laborer has from one hour and a half to two -hours off at noon. There is competition for benches and chairs in the -Square Louvois between twelve-thirty and two. Mothers who are their own -nursemaids have to resist the temporary encroachment of the Quarter's -business world. We from the Bibliothèque make an additional demand. We -must have our smoke and fresh air. And we never tire of the noble -monument to the rivers of France that is the fountain in the center of -the Square. - -"Funny, isn't it," said I, "how things turn out to be different from -what you expected--your thesis for instance. Gallicanism is simply a -closed door for the present." - -"I tackled too big a subject," admitted Herbert. - -We were smoking in the Square after lunching in the buffet of the -Bibliothèque Nationale with the Scholar from Oxford. - -"I'll wager," said Herbert, "that those greasy fellows in the _salle de -travail_ discovered long ago what I have just learned. You start with a -general subject and a century. You narrow down until you have a phase -and a decade. If I ever do Gallicanism, it'll be limited to the -influence of the conversion of Henry of Navarre upon the movement. I -could work till my hair was grey developing that. But I should be -narrow-minded and dry as bones when I finished." - -"Ah! You must not quarrel with the greasy fellows," put in the Scholar -from Oxford. "That is research. They are not narrow: they are -specialists." The Scholar is a canny Scotchman who gives his r's their -full value, and then some. - -Allowing the letter r to be heard for sure is another point of contact -and sympathy between Scott and Frank. Just as the cooler Teutonic -temperament seeks the sun, and has been seeking the sun right down -through history, in trying to reach the Mediterranean, the cooler Scotch -temperament seeks the sun where it is nearest to be found--in France. It -is the attraction of opposites. - -"You Americans," said the Scholar, "with your Rocky Mountains and your -Niagaras naturally approach research from the general to the particular. -It is far easier for men born in an older civilization to begin with a -specialist's point of view." - -"I know, I know," said Herbert, "I had to work that out and I had to -change my whole subject, too. I wobbled from Gallicanism to Ottoman -history." - -"That's no sin," declared Alick. "A man engrossed in research is human. -Going to Turkey was bound to influence your thinking. The traditions of -France still hold you, but the memory of Turkey is strong enough to -change the trend of your work. Go on with your origins of the Ottoman -Empire and be thankful you have discovered a line off the beaten track." - -"Yes," I cried, "and for goodness' sake stick to constructive ideas. You -research-fiends waste too much time trying to prove that the other -fellow is wrong. Instead of remaining scientists you get to be -quibblers. But I must leave you now. I cannot put my whole day into the -Bibliothèque. I have to mix up tea-kettles and dusting with pamphlets -and cards for the file." - -As Herbert and the Scholar from Oxford passed by the solemn guard at the -door of the _salle de travail_, I lingered in the lobby musing about -what we had been saying. I leaned for a minute against the pedestal of -the Sèvres vase and watched Herbert and Alick take their places side by -side at the old inked desks. I looked through the great polished plate -glass that makes the _salle de travail_ and the _travailleurs_ seem like -a picture in its frame. I knew from experience that once the two men had -got their noses in their books they would not look up. There was no use -in waiting for a smile. - - - -"Boc ou demi?" asked the waiter. - -Herbert and I and the Scholar from Oxford were lunching together in the -Quarter. The Bibliothèque was closed for cleaning, so it was an off day. - -Herbert and the Scholar asked for _bocs_, and I thinking to be modest -chose a _demi_. My eyes nearly dropped out of my head when the men got -glasses of beer and before me stood a formidable mug that held a pint. -Emilie told me afterwards that if I wanted that much beer again the -waiter would understand better if I ordered "_un sérieux_." - -The Scholar from Oxford had the habit of living in our apartment when he -came to Paris. Memories of hospitality on the part of himself and his -wife when we were on our honeymoon in Oxford were fresh, and when the -time came for the Scholar's next look at manuscripts in the Bibliothèque -Nationale, there was no question in our mind--nor in his, for that -matter--as to where he should stay. We set up a folding-bed in the -dining-room and tucked him in. No matter if we did not come back to the -Rue Servandoni at meal time. If we did not want to bother getting up a -meal, we put the apartment key into our pocket and sallied forth on what -we called a baby-carriage promenade. There was always some little place -where we could eat when we got hungry. Once we dined in a _crémerie -chaude_ for no better reason than the attraction of a diverting sign on -the window--_Five o'clock à toute heure_. - -To-day we had decided against Brogart's, our usual haunt, on the rue de -Rivoli. At Brogart's you could lunch for Fr. 1.25 with the _plat du -jour_ and a satisfying range of choice in the fixings that went with it. -It was 1.20 if you invested in tickets. Then you were given a -napkin-ring to mark your serviette, and a numbered hole in the open-face -cupboard screwed to the wall beside the high desk where Madame sat while -she raked in the money and kept a sharp eye on her clients. There was a -division of opinion between Mother and me during a flying visit she made -us just before Christmas. We took her to Brogart's. She saw a fellow, -some kind of a wop with a greasy face and long hair, pick his teeth with -a fork. She never went back to Brogart's again. They don't do that in -Philadelphia. At least if they do, Mother had never happened to see -them. Herbert and Alick and I were less difficult to please. To-day it -was only because we had wandered far afield that Brogart's did not see -us. We had found a table that pleased us in a restaurant that bore the -sign "Au rendez-vous des cochers." We were not looking for a novel -experience. We were not tourists, you understand. It was on account of -the budget. - -Everybody knows that the cochers of Paris are no fools. They can drive a -horse, but they can drive a bargain too and afterwards settle down on -their high box and fling you shrewd observations about art or politics -or what not. But there is more to it than that. When you have lived a -while in the Latin quarter you know who are the expert judges of -cooking. In the old days, the meal you could buy in a tiny dark -_rendez-vous des cochers_ was as tasty as anything you could enjoy on a -Grand Boulevard at ten times the price. Minor details like a table-cloth -and clean forks and knives with each new plate are not missed when the -_gigot_ is done to a turn and the _sauce piquante_ is just right. The -_rendez-vous des cochers_ restaurant has one distinct advantage over the -swell place on the Boulevards. If you are in a hurry to go to the -Concert Rouge and have had no dinner, you can stop for a second at a cab -driver's restaurant while you buy a portion of _frites_. The luscious -golden potatoes, sprinkled with salt, are wrapped in a paper, and you -consume them as you walk up the Rue de Tournon. They don't mind babies -there. Scrappie was asleep in her carriage. Monsier le Patron came out -and rolled the carriage ever so gently under the awning beside the glass -screen by the restaurant door. He beamed at us benevolently, then -stepped over to explain that he was a _père de famille_ and that -_courants d'air_ inflame babies' eyes. - -The Scholar from Oxford is a Scotchman with the Scotch affection for -France. Before the war he came to France and Italy every year to make -enigmatical notes in his own handwriting reduced to cramped proportions. -The notes were placed within columns that were inked out years ago when -he began the monumental work. The columns are drawn across the short -dimension of the paper, so that you have to turn the thing sidewise to -read it. - -There is a variety of ink. The row of notes at the top is all in the -same color. Three quarters of an inch in black mark the first year's -hours spent in the Bibliothèque. Run your eye down a space the width of -your thumb and the ink changes. Count how many ink colors you see, and -you'll know how many times the Scholar from Oxford has come abroad on -his grant. He carries his papers in a shiny black oil cloth _serviette_. -He was modestly imperturbable when with my usual vehemence I gave him a -good scolding because he confessed he had no copy of the precious -sheets. - -"So worked the old monks in the days of the Reformation," said I, "when -a fellow spent his life time laboriously copying the Bible with his own -hand." - -"Ah," mused the Scotchman with his eyes far away, "they were great -scholars, the monks." - -"But it was slow," I protested, "often a man did not live long enough to -illuminate the device at the end of his chapter. Only a great enthusiasm -carried his successors to the end." - -"Without them, think what we should have lost!" - -"But they worked like that, you stubborn one, because there were no -typewriters or secretaries. You cannot persuade me, Alick, that there is -any extra virtue in using their methods today. You should adopt modern -methods so that you could accomplish more. You don't seem to realize -that thirty years from now the world will call you what you are, -Britain's greatest Latin scholar." - -Unconvinced that mediaeval methods belong to mediaeval times, the -Scholar from Oxford lit another cigarette. He still persists in carrying -around Europe, in spite of wars, his priceless record of years of labor. -But he has since become Professor of Humanity at a great University. The -chair that he holds dates back to the day of the methods to which he -remains faithful. - -Home again, I was making the coffee. But I was not out of the -conversation. Our kitchenette was six feet from the dining-room table. -Herbert started to light his cigar. - -"Ah, my lad," said the Scholar from Oxford, staying Herbert's hand, "you -haven't asked the lady's permission!" - -"I guess I can smoke in my dining-room," answered Herbert. - -"You have to ask my permission then," laughed Alick, "before you smoke -in my bedroom." - -Thank heaven, the Bibliothèque Nationale does not make my husband and my -guest stupid. If I could not look forward to jolly evenings, I should -make war upon research work, much as I like Bibliothèque Nationale. - - - - -CHAPTER IX - -EMILIE IN MONOLOGUE - - -"Carrots cost money!" - -"Yes, Emilie?" - -"I had to throw several sous' worth at your window before you got awake -this morning, and when they rolled back some of them fell in the gutter. -Old Sempé saw me take them, and I'm sure he'll ask you to pay for them," -said Emilie, nodding her round head with its well-oiled straight black -hair. Emilie was no more gifted hirsutely than in other feminine -adornments. Since the day we found her cleaning our apartment, at the -request of the Sempés, I had been studying her carefully to decide -whether new clothes and soap would help her appearance. Clean and togged -out in some of my things, she was not radically changed. But her heart -of gold shone in her eyes, and I was not long in learning to love her. - -"You never hear that bell," continued Emilie. "What a conscience you -must have to sleep that way. The carrots are cheaper than paying me from -eight o'clock when you sleep on." - -"Never mind about the carrots," I laughed. "We need you for an alarm -clock, and we did not wake up until one fell on the bed." - -Emilie was my first servant, and I did not have her all the time. All my -life I had been demanding things from servants, but I had never bossed -one in her housework. I dreaded tackling the problem. Emilie was the -easy solution. The _femme de ménage_ system is one of the advantages of -life in Paris. You do not have to house your servant, and she is not in -the way in a small apartment when you do not want her there. You can -have as much or as little of the _femme de ménage_ as you like, or (as -was more often the case in my first year of Paris housekeeping) as you -can afford to pay for. I put Emilie out of the house when the clock -showed the number of times forty centimes per hour that I could spare. -Forty centimes per hour, did I say? Yes, and that was ten centimes more -than others paid in our street. Now it is a franc per hour, and the -_femmes de ménage_ of 1919 growl most of the time and stop work when -they want to whether your house-cleaning or laundry is finished or not. -Emilie set in deliberately to attach herself to me and accepted all my -vagaries. I flatter myself that it was not so much for the extra two -sous per hour as for the fact that she liked me. My queer ways -interested her. She could never understand why I washed Scrappie's -silk-and-wool undershirts myself, but was willing to pay her several -francs for sitting on the coal-box reading a newspaper or dozing for -hours while I went to the opera. - -Emilie was a vaudeville singer and dancer who had lost her figure and -most of her teeth before the bi-decennial of her stage career. - -"To think, Madame, that a few years ago the posters on the _Kiosque_ at -the corner of this street used to announce my number at the music-halls, -and to-day I'm down on the floor washing your tiles!" - -I was pulling the baby's wool stockings on drying-boards. - -"You say you used to be on the stage?" I led on sociably. - -"Yes, Madame, _comique excentrique_. That is why I cannot cook. My -profession required me always to eat in restaurants, but I can wash -dishes, clean rooms and build fires. Thanks to God, for the service you -need, I know how to mind babies. I never had anyone to help me with -Marcelle." - -Marcelle was a fifteen year old girl, hare-lipped and cross-eyed, but -her mother loved her dearly. Emilie did not say who Marcelle's father -was. But she was not as reticent as the woman of Samaria, and would have -scorned to come to me under false pretenses. _Tout savoir est tout -pardonner._ If you cannot live up to the spirit of that motto, do not -plan a life without worry for yourself in Paris. - -"Last year, before I found you, Madame, Marcelle and I were out of -work. When you came in here in July we had earned only fifty francs in -two months. Marcelle did not get her job as laundry apprentice until -October. Oh no, we didn't exactly starve. You can get cold-boiled -potatoes and they sell bits of bread and left over coffee very cheap at -night when the restaurants close." - -Here she sat up to wring her floor-rag into the brown water of the pail. - -"I hope you'll not regret spoiling me the way you do. You let me talk, -but you can trust me not to forget myself. Take this afternoon when -those ladies are coming for tea. You know how I wait on the table. That -is a rôle. I get my happiness in considering everything a rôle. I play -at being _femme de ménage_. These dirty old clothes are my costume: the -bucket and mop are stage properties." - -"Do you like having company at tea?" I broke in. - -"That depends." - -"On what?" - -"On who they are." Here Emilie made up her mind to speak with firmness. -"Now, without indiscretion, Madame, the ladies you asked for this -afternoon are not interesting. I was here when two of them called and -you told them to come to tea." - -"Why not?" - -"The Latin Quarter is full of women like that. I know. I have worked for -them. I have been cleaning at studios and apartments like yours in this -neighborhood ever since I left the stage. I have seen what these women -paint. Oh la! la! Sometimes you cannot tell the canvas from the palette, -Cubism they call it, to hide the fact that they cannot draw and could -not reproduce a figure or any recognizable object to save their lives. -No, I'm not talking of beginners. I'm talking about the old ones, the -women, Americans and English, who do not know how to paint kitchen -chairs or carry a tune, and yet art schools and music academies flourish -on their fees. They were misfits where they came from. It pays their -relatives to send them money every month so they won't come home. But -why should Paris--that is, our part of Paris--be the dumping ground? You -say that there are more men of that kind than women? Yes, oh yes, many -more. But then, after a certain time men give up posing. They do not -mind being taken at their real value. When they are failures, they admit -it. The women keep on pretending." - -Emilie was as good as her word. With a shining face and hair well -slicked back from her ears she appeared at tea time. The ample front was -covered by a clean white apron. She stood at my elbow, her black beady -eyes keen to see what I needed before I asked for it. _Oui, Madame_ and -_voilà , Madame_ came as softly as though, born in a pantry, she had -always served tea. But she could not keep up the play without the -relief of an occasional entr'acte. When she brought me a pot of fresh -tea and guests happened to be looking the other way, she would give a -broad wink and bolt from the room. When the guests left, the kitchen -door was closed. - -"I ought to have made one more appearance, Madame," said Emilie a few -moments later as she settled herself comfortably in the steamer-chair -and took a pinch of snuff. "The model servant would have helped them on -with their coats. But I had all I could stand." - -"But you did very well, Emilie." - -"I got more fun out of it than you did. I said that you were wasting -your time on those people. What did they do? Told you you looked badly. -Asked why you were so tired. Advised you to get a doctor for the baby's -cough. And you think they meant well? That it was solicitude?" - -Here Emilie laughed heartily and wiped the snuff off her hands with the -greasy blue apron that now replaced the white one. - -"You are _naïve_, dear Madame. Women love to tease each other that way, -especially those who are not well or strong themselves. They hate you -for not having ills. If you told them that you had a physical -examination last week and the doctor said you were in perfect condition, -they would shake their heads gravely and warn you that you are -underweight for your height." - -"They did make me mad, I confess, when they volunteered advice about -Scrappie. They used to scold me for nursing my baby and they scolded me -to-day when they heard I had stopped nursing her." - -"That's it! That's it!" cried Emilie. "Next time they talk like that, -show them the little thing, beautiful _rose de mai_ that she is, and ask -them in what way she looks badly." - -Throughout the year at Twenty-One, Emilie was a tower of strength to me. -When we sent our pitchpine back to William Shakespeare and packed our -rugs and brasses, she was on hand as she had been the day we set up our -Lares and Penates in the Rue Servandoni. She urged that we take her to -Constantinople with us. We did, and never regretted it--if only for her -comments on the Turks and Greeks and Armenians. When she realized that -we needed other care than she could give us, Emilie quietly dismissed -herself and went back to France to live in Bordeaux. We see her there -occasionally. She still wears my old hats and blouses. She is still a -_femme de ménage_. And Marcelle has continued to wield the flat-iron. - - - - -CHAPTER X - -HUNTING APACHES - - -I was bathing Christine before the fire. Gabry and Esther came in. The -two girls settled themselves in steamer chairs. - -"We want to know if you will let us come and sleep in your dining-room -to-night," asked Esther. - -"Sure," I answered, "but, mercy me, the bed in there is a little bit of -a narrow one...." - -"That doesn't matter," said Gabry. - -"No, indeed," agreed Esther. "We can cuddle up close and we shan't be in -it very long." - -The baby began to howl. I had been listening to the girls and the side -of the tub had got hot. - -"Poor little dear," said Esther. "Her mother forgot her and she began to -parboil." - -I had the baby safely on my lap now wrapped in towels. Emilie carried -away the bath tub. - -"What's going on to-night?" I asked. - -"Well, it's a fling," said Esther. "You know how it is up at the Hostel. -They are so fussy--you would think it was an old ladies' home. Two boys -that came over in our ship have been studying forestry in some German -school. They are here for the holidays. We got them to promise to take -us with them to-night to see the town--café stuff, you know." - -"Where are you going?" I asked. - -"To a cellar where they do the Apache dance." - -"You don't want to see that," I suggested. "It isn't real. Just a plant -to catch parties like you. Why Herbert and I saw that stunt done in a -cinema the other night. There was a French couple back of us. They -giggled over it. The man said, 'Wait a minute. The police are sure to -come in after that party of Americans are comfortably settled with some -drinks.'" - -"You don't mean it," said Esther. "Don't take the edge off our spree." - -"I'm not taking off edges. Only in the cinema the other night it was -instructive the way the policemen came in. After they had driven out the -most murderous dancing Apaches, the Americans thought it was too hot and -fled. You ought to have seen the way fake Apaches and barmaids laughed -at them afterwards. What is your plan for the night?" - -"First to dinner in some spicy café, then the theatre. We're going to -see _Chantecler_. Everybody's crazy about it." - -"Excepting people who think it is silly," put in Gabry. - -"Well, if it's silly to see actors dressed up in peacock feathers," -cried Esther, "we'll have a good time. And there'll be supper somewhere -afterwards." - -"Going to make a regular night of it, aren't you?" - -"That's just the point. Helen, you're a dear to be so sympathetic. Up at -the student Hostel...." - -"Did they object there to your going?" - -"They don't know a thing about it. It would never do to tell them." - -"Why?" - -"They'd begin to preach," protested Esther. "A pack of school teachers -anyway. That's why we want to spend the night here. We'll just explain, -you understand, that we're going to spend the night with their dear -lovely Mrs. Gibbons. And they'll never know a thing about the fun." - -The girls were moving towards the door. - -"The boys will come here to get us," called Esther. "We'll come down -about half-past six. Herbert won't mind, will he?" - -"We must move along now," said Gabry. "I have a singing lesson." - -"And I have a fitting at the dressmaker's," added Esther. "Ta, ta, -Helen." - -I felt in my bones that I didn't quite know what to do about it and -would wait until Herbert came home. - -When Herbert returned from the Bibliothèque Nationale at noon, I told -him about my visitors. - -"Why on earth--" he began to comment. - -"Oh, they are going to do the Grand Boulevards with a couple of young -American fellows who are in Paris for a vacation," I said. - -"What's the matter with those girls," exclaimed Herbert. "What's gotten -into their heads? Do they think they can come here and start off on an -expedition like that? If they were older, it would be different. If -they're afraid to tell the Hostel people, it shows they know well enough -it isn't just the thing for them to do." - -"I thought so myself." - -"Well, why didn't you right up and say it from the beginning?" - -"Girls wouldn't take it from me. My game was to be absorbent and get the -whole story. They're nearly as old as I am. I couldn't dictate to them. -I don't know how to get out of it." - -"I see," mused Herbert. - -The girls came in about six o'clock to dress for dinner. They had their -suitcases and some flowers, and Esther brought her light blue hat in a -paper bundle. I had told them to telephone their boys to come to dinner -with us before starting out for the theater. This was the only way I -could think of to manage things so that Herbert could see them before -they started away. - -Esther put on the pretty bright blue dress she had bought at the model -shop to go with the light blue hat. She placed the hat, still in its -paper cover, on the top of the wardrobe in the dining-room. Gabry -played with Scrappie, sitting on the floor beside her, where she was -tied in her papa's steamer chair. Esther perched herself on the stool in -the kitchen and watched me frying sausages. Herbert came in after a bit -and wheeled right around from the front door into the kitchen. He didn't -have to walk. It wasn't far enough. - -"Hello, Esther, what are you up to?" said Herbert. - -"Hello, Herb." - -"Come on in the other room. I want to talk to you," said Herbert. - -He closed the door and I heard them talking hard. - -"Gee!" said Gabry. "Esther sounds mad, doesn't she?" - -"Herbert's telling her what he thinks of the party," I said. - -"He doesn't want us to go, does he?" said Gabry. - -"Oh, he's not breaking up the party. Not a bit of it. He only says that -seeing nobody of your crowd knows French and seeing that your mother -made us promise to look after you, he wants to know what café and -theatre you're going to." - -Just as a rather mad-looking Esther and a smiling Herbert appeared, -there was a ring at the bell, and in came the boys, two rosy-cheeked -American youngsters. They came into the kitchen to talk to me a moment, -and then Herbert took them into the dining-room to explain things. I -heard him talking with them, nice American chaps they were, not looking -for trouble a bit. Not the type out for the booze, just bright -youngsters who were going on the boulevards out of curiosity. - -We lighted up the candles in the bedroom-study. Herbert put some new -ones in the candlesticks on the piano and we soon got things going. One -of the boys was taken into the bedroom-study to play a tune on the -piano, and soon Esther cheered up with a face more or less of an April -one. - -"Hello, boys," said Herbert. "The girls have been telling us--Mrs. -Gibbons and I want you to have dinner with us here first so we can talk -over the party." - -"Sure," said John. "We have tickets for _Chantecler_." - -We sat down and tackled _coquilles Saint-Jacques_. - -"You don't want to get in any trouble over this game," Herbert went on. -"Not speaking French and all that...." - -"That's so, too," said Joe. - -"_Chantecler_ is fine and dandy," said Herbert. "If you want supper -afterwards, here's the address of a nice little café." - -"Sunday school picnic," moaned Esther. - -"Esther's inconsolable. She thinks I'm spoiling the fun. But these boys -don't want to get into a doubtful little hole. You don't know what -you're doing, Esther," said Herbert. - -"I'm as old as your wife, so there." - -"You fellows do not want to spend a terrible lot of money. I know you -don't. Esther is mad as a hornet at me because I am going to squelch her -idea of going to Montmartre or Les Halles for a hot old time. I don't -want to seem a poor sport, but you know some of those cafés are fakes, -others are what I shall not mention, and there is a third category of -really dangerous ones. The entire business is carried on to catch and -mulct tourists. If you happen to drift into the fake places, nothing -more serious would happen than getting stuck good and hard. You would -simply have to pay the waiter whatever was on the bill. If you were -considerably older and knew how to speak French, the slumming might -prove interesting--for one evening. But for you the game is not worth -the candle. I don't mind your going for a jaunt along the boulevards, -and I can tell you some of the cafés that are all right. But as for Les -Halles--that doesn't go." - -The boys were sensible. They fell in with our suggestions without -discussion. After dinner the four went off to their show. Next morning I -heard Esther telling Scrappie all about it. - -"The W.C.T.U. wasn't in it, baby. _Chantecler_ was written to please -kids of your age. There was nobody in that Y.M.C.A. café your daddy sent -us to. My blue hat was the most conspicuous object in the place. We -didn't see a thing. No _types_, no wickedness, no models, more than we -ordinarily see around the Quarter." - -Gabry's eyeglasses were shaking on her nose. - -"Tell her what Monsieur Sempé said," urged Gabry. - -"Yes, baby," said Esther, who was laughing in spite of herself now. "Our -mama boys wanted to be polite in the American way last night. They -brought us here and didn't want to leave us until they saw us inside -your saintly doors. But Monsieur Sempé stopped them down at the street -door. He simply yelled at the boys, '_Ça ne se fait pas à Paris, -Messieurs_.' - -"No," concluded Esther, "from start to finish, baby, there was nothing -about our party that would have hurt your lily-white soul." - - - - -CHAPTER XI - -DRIFTWOOD - - -I was nursing Scrappie. Herbert came into the bedroom and started to -speak slowly as if he wasn't sure how I would take what he was going to -say. - -"Fellow out here who is hungry. What shall I do?" - -"Feed him," said I. Herbert did not have to tell me that he had no money -to give the man to buy a meal. "Couldn't you ask him to dinner if he is -all right?" - -"Well, he is sort of an old chap," said Herbert doubtfully. - -I lighted a candle and put it on the end of the mantel-piece nearest to -the baby's bed. She was perfectly contented to go to sleep alone if she -could watch a candle flicker. - -When I had settled Scrappie and opened the window and closed the door -gently, I went into the dining-room and found Mr. Thompson. Sparse grey -hair, watery blue eyes, a talkative individual who hoped he was not -bothering us too much. He wore a frock coat with shiny revers. His cuffs -were unstarched and frayed, but they were clean. Herbert had brought in -some cold boiled potatoes. In those days you bought them cooked at the -_charcuterie_ for the same price that you got them raw at the -greengrocer's. It was a good scheme. You could peel them and slice them -in a jiffy,--then warm them with eggs broken up and scrambled in the pan -beside them. This with cheese and nuts and liqueurs made a meal without -using too much gas. You did it yourself, using no more energy than would -be taken out of you if it had been done by a cook. - -Mr. Thompson did not lie when he told Herbert he was hungry. He had -three helpings of everything. He said little during the meal, but he did -not eat with his knife. When it came to cigars, he pushed back his chair -and spread out his hands to the _boulet_ fire. Casting his eye from the -molding to the floor, he included the dining-room and all the rest of -the apartment with a sweeping gesture and a couple of "Ha-Has." - -"From the looks of this joint, you two youngsters haven't any more money -than you need. This is a good joke on me, too good a joke to keep to -myself. You have given me a square deal along with a square meal, and I -appreciate it. I have lived for years in this Quarter and have earned -precious little money. Sort of a down-and-outer. I am, I suppose, one of -the Quarter's charity patients. Don't worry. I am not going to beg of -you. First time I came to Paris, it was by way of England. I stayed a -long time in Oxford and made friends with the Cowley Fathers. Then I -buried myself in the Bibliothèque Nationale, for I was starting a thesis -in church history." - -"Indeed," cried Herbert. "I have a fellowship in Church History myself. -What is your subject?" - -"Religious orders after the Reformation," said Mr. Thompson. - -"Have you published anything?" asked my husband. - -"No," said Mr. Thompson. "Queer thing life is. We get loose from our -moorings when we least expect it. You won't believe me, but American -generosity was my undoing!" - -"How could that be?" I put in. - -"Don't you know," said Mr. Thompson, "that we are not as much the -captain of our souls as we like to think?" - -He was in a steamer chair now, and lying back, he blew smoke at the -ceiling. - -"But you were saying, Mr. Thompson," said I. - -"I was saying more than I ought to," he mused. - -He had forgotten his cigar. Herbert twisted a bit of newspaper, touched -it to the glowing _boulets_ and held it out to Mr. Thompson. Matches are -expensive in France. - -"Oh!" he started. "I was away back years ago. Thank you. I was wrong a -minute ago when I told you I had said too much. I have said too little. -You have made me feel at home, and I shall be frank with you. It -sometimes wrecks a fellow's career if he receives just a little too -much help. What I am talking about is quite a different thing from what -I may have suggested just now. Not a person spoiled with too much money. -But I was spoiled by the fact that at a certain time, I was able to put -my hands on ever so little money when it was not good for me. Not the -money itself, you understand, but the fact that the game is so easy." - -"But I don't understand," I protested. - -"Of course you don't," said Mr. Thompson. - -He threw the butt of his cigar on the floor, put his foot on it, and -took another from Herbert's box. - -"Sorry I haven't better cigars to give you," said my husband. "These -_carrés à deux sous_ just suit my speed." - -Alas for the _carrés à deux sous_! Of them as of many of our joys we -must say Ichabod. - -"The time came when I ran out of money--but altogether out of money, you -understand. I waited until I was pretty hungry before I told anybody. -Then the American Consul did something for me. Somebody gave me a pair -of shoes. Other persons gave me money, and the day was saved. Again I -became absorbed in my work, to be interrupted by poverty. This time I -went to the pastor of the American Church. He looked me over. Must have -thought I was a good case, as he saw to it that several people did -something for me. After all, it comes easily, and I have lived like -that for years. Sometimes my clothes don't fit very well, but what is -the difference. It has grown upon me until I am utterly unfit to earn my -living. You get nothing twice from the Consulate, and churches are not -good for much. Besides, the churches keep a list of dead-beats. It is -the individual Americans one meets that give away their money -carelessly. I found somebody who listened sympathetically to my -hard-luck story. The story itself was no lie the first time. But it was -so easy--there was the temptation. I tell you frankly that I fell. I -discovered that I could do it again when the hard-luck story was not -true." - -"I hunted you up," continued Mr. Thompson, "with the idea of getting -something out of you. I suppose if I put as much energy into holding -down a job as I do this, I could earn my living. But the habit of living -on the kindness of other people has me in its grip, and I do not stick -to work when it is given to me. I have been pretty faithful to the -Bibliothèque all these years, for it is heated there. I can read my -paper, write some letters and study a little on my church history. The -thesis is growing slowly, but that is all I can say I have done these -twelve years. - -"There are other people who do the same thing, you know. You have met -them without knowing it. Artist fellows, youngsters as well as old ones, -understand the game. Do you know how they work it? It is known now, for -instance, that you receive informally every Wednesday. There are other -days and hosts of women. So it goes. A fellow can get along very cheaply -like that. Pay thirty or forty francs a month for a place to live and -work, two sous each morning for _café au lait_ passed across the -zinc--good coffee too, as you perhaps know. They let you bring your roll -with you if you like. It will cost a sou. One roll and a cup of coffee -is enough after you get used to it. Your only large expense is the noon -meal. - -"Generally the evening meal you can pick up. You find in the social -register the names of all the ladies, kind and unobservant, who have -days at home. You stick a big paper on your wall and mark it off in -seven columns, one for each day of the week. You make a list of the -women who have receiving days, and you drop in somewhere every afternoon -about five-thirty. The tea party is pretty well finished, but there is -usually plenty of food left. The ladies have to provide for more than -really come. You do that yourself, Mrs. Gibbons. The ladies do not -notice that you eat more than one or two sandwiches and plenty of cake. -If they do notice it, it makes them feel happy, and there is your -supper. If you do it systematically with a list like mine, you do not -have to go to Mrs. X's house more than twice in the winter. A lot of -people in the American colony have receiving days. It is easy enough to -know them. All of the boys know a few, and we take each other around. -The artist fellows have a cinch. All they have to do, if they have a -conscience, is to present the hostesses to whom they are the most -indebted, with a couple of worthless sketches. Nobody ever suspects -anything. - -"You can slide in and out in the Latin Quarter and meet any number of -charming people. They never stay too long and there are always new ones -coming in. No hostess is superior to the flattery implied when her tea -is appreciated. I have learned to praise sandwiches so that I can get a -fair supply. I write an article occasionally, and that covers my rent. -Clothes are an easy matter. Any number of people in Paris will give away -clothes. You see I am a deadbeat. I was a deadbeat to-day when I saw in -the _Herald_ that Mrs. Gibbons was going to be at home this afternoon." - -Mr. Thompson got up to go. - -"Where did you put your overcoat?" asked Herbert. - -"I have none," said my guest. - -Herbert's eyes met mine. I telegraphed "Yes." - -Certainly we gave Herbert's old overcoat to Mr. Thompson. As we talked -about it afterwards, Herbert observed, - -"We could not help giving him the coat, could we?" - -"No, of course not." - -We never saw Mr. Thompson again. It isn't in the picture. Driftwood! - - - - -CHAPTER XII - -SOME OF OUR GUESTS - - -The best fun of having a home is sharing it with your friends. But you -deprive yourself of this fun--in a very large measure, at least--if you -make entertaining a burden or a great expense. In the Rue Servandoni we -tried out theories about hospitality that have become firmly rooted -family principles. Guests are _always_ welcome, and we never feed them -better than we feed ourselves. Company is the rule: not the exception. I -suppose my Irish temperament made this possible in the beginning. Now we -would not give up our way of living for anything in the world. By the -standards of my own family I am not regarded as a good housekeeper. I am -finicky only about cleanliness and the quality and quantity of food. The -rest doesn't matter. That is, I have no almanac to show me when to put -away the winter clothes and when to do Spring house-cleaning. I do not -get "all out of kelter" if the wash is done on Thursday instead of -Monday: and I never "put up" fruit or bake. I buy my preserves from the -grocer and my bread and cake from the baker. - -When I look back on Rue Servandoni days and try to analyze my attitude -towards housekeeping, I think first that I may have been demoralized by -living through the Armenian massacres just before going to Paris. It was -enough to make me happy in the morning to realize that my husband and -baby were alive. Did I have a new sense of values, born of suffering? Or -perhaps it wasn't anything as high-brow or pious as that. Perhaps it was -the inheritance of shiftlessness that came down to me from the ancient -Irish kings. This curious form of original sin persists and makes me -able to agree with one who sang when things all got messed up, - - "The cow's in the hammock, - The baby's in the lake, - The cat's in the garbage: - WHAT difference does it make?" - -Now I do not claim that my way is altogether right and that my maternal -Pennsylvania Dutch strain does not occasionally assert itself, though -feebly. I enjoy formal and well-ordered entertaining when it is not a -pretense--when I do not have the uncomfortable feeling that my hostess -has worn herself out getting the meal ready or is offering a meal beyond -her income. - -The alternative in the Rue Servandoni was to have friends take us as we -were or to make an occasional splurge. The latter was thoroughly -distasteful to us both. We held that what was good enough for ourselves -was good enough for our friends, and that they would rather come to our -simple meals than not come at all. How could we hope to compete with -the Café de Paris or Arménonville? And we knew that many who came to us -paid their cook more than our total income. - -[Illustration: Where stood the walls of old Lutetia] - -Is not the question of entertaining a good deal like the question of -other people's wealth? If you are continually striving to keep up with -friends richer than you, you are bound to feel poor. We could put our -heads out of our window, and pity ourselves because we were not living -in steam-heated, electric-lighted Number Nineteen or Number -Twenty-Three. But then, across the street, Number Twenty and Number -Eighteen had _logements_ beside which our apartment was a palace. - -Shortly after setting up our Lares and Penates in Number Twenty-One, a -friend from Denver dropped in just before supper. He was a judge and -silver-mine owner, the father of one of my Bryn Mawr college-mates. I -urged him to stay. He was excusing himself, when I volunteered the -information that our supper consisted of cornmeal mush with milk, and -that was all. He stayed, and told us that it was the best meal he had -eaten in Paris. "I just love cornmeal mush, and I cannot get it at my -hotel," he said. We believed him. He spoke the truth. - -There was always room at our table for friends. An extra plate, and a -little more of what we were having for ourselves--that was all there was -to it. In a big city, especially a city like Paris where shops are in -every street, getting more food quickly is no problem. Herbert would -just slip downstairs to Sempé's for eggs, another chop, another can of -peas, an additional bottle of wine. Next door was the bakery. - -The best friends of our married life have come to us through -unpretentious entertaining. The contact of the home is different from -the contact of the office or club or formal gathering, and it has -enabled me to take every step forward with my husband. Our broadened -vision, our intimate sources of information, the steps upward in our -profession are largely the result of the dinner-table and the -after-dinner smoke before the fire. One illustration shows how chance -influences the whole life. - -Early in the autumn of 1909, we received a letter from a Paris lawyer -who had just returned from settling insurance claims in -massacre-stricken Cilicia. He had been in Tarsus just after we left, and -wanted to meet us. I wrote back to him, as I would have done to anyone -with an introduction like his, "Come to dinner, and if there is a Mrs. -K. bring her with you." He sought us out in our little street. There was -no Mrs. K., but the spontaneity of the invitation and its inclusiveness -had prompted him to break his rule of not accepting dinner invitations. -He was a charming man, full of information and inspiration. When I -brought on the asparagus, he said that in Poland they put burnt bread -crumbs into drawn-butter sauce. I jumped right up, and exclaimed, -"Nothing easier! We shall have _asperges à la polonaise_ right away." In -three minutes the asparagus was to his taste. The lawyer thought out, -and made a suggestion that would certainly never have occurred to him -had I arranged a formal meeting in response to his letter. He told us -that the experience we had in Turkey we should not regard as accidental. -"Why did the massacres occur? You must have asked yourselves that. Now -drop your research into Gallicanism and French ecclesiastical history. A -thousand men are as well equipped for that as you. Turn your attention -to the Turks and the Eastern Question, and from that go into the study -of the contemporary diplomacy of Europe. The Russian and Hapsburg -Empires are built upon the Ottoman Empire. Study the relation of Turkey -to Poland. This is the field for you!" - -In the last few years I have often thought of that evening. We followed -the lawyer's advice. He helped us. He encouraged us. He used to come to -dinner every Tuesday night. We went back to Turkey and came again to -Paris before the Great War. During the years of absence, there had been -frequent correspondence. When we returned, the Tuesday evenings were -resumed. If my husband was ready for the work that came to him with the -war, it is thanks to the Paris lawyer. _The Foundation of the Ottoman -Empire_, _The New Map of Europe_, _The Reconstruction of Poland and the -Near East_, are the outcome of table-talks with the lawyer that began in -the Rue Servandoni. - -In the _pension_ of the Rue Madame we met people whom we invited to come -to see us in the Rue Servandoni. We asked them to our table. They came. -And they have been dinner guests in our different Paris homes during the -past decade. - -There was the Catholic Archbishop of Cairo, an Arab who had the -story-telling gift of his race. You do not know what it is to hear a -story told until you have listened to an Arab. The Archbishop unfolded -to us the lore of the East. There must have been something about _les -petits américains_ that interested him, for our meals could not compete -with Mademoiselle Guyenot's. He used to sit in the steamer-chair, with -his arms folded over his gold crucifix, his cape thrown back on both -shoulders (which gave a dash of red), the end of a long white beard -rubbing the most prominent buttons of his cassock front, and eyes -twinkling in unpriestly fashion. He was the reincarnation of Nasreddin -Hodja, prince of Anatolian story-tellers. Herbert pokes in his bath. One -night, when Scrappie went to sleep earlier than usual, Herbert started -to make his ablutions before the dining-room fire while I was busy in -the kitchen. The door-bell rang. In came the archbishop. There was a -swift change of persons and rooms. Herbert finished his bath in the -kitchen in an incredibly short time. He did not want to miss a moment -of the archbishop. - -Michi Kawai was with me in school as well as in college. Imagine my -delight at finding her one day looking at old furniture in the Rue des -Saints-Pères. If I ever thought of Michi, it was in Tokio. And I never -would have thought of Michi in connection with French antique furniture. -But that is Paris for you. Sooner or later all your friends come to -Paris. You run across them accidentally and invariably they are doing -something you would never have dreamed of associating them with. During -her months in Paris Michi was a frequent visitor in the Rue Servandoni. -She was one of those delightful combinations of Occident and Orient that -Japan produces better than any other nation. She was equally at home -with French and American friends, and, when Emilie was not there, knew -how to juggle my eight cups and saucers and spoons back and forth -between the tea-table and the kitchen, without guests catching on, more -dexterously than any of my American girl friends. - -We started our married life among the peoples of the Near East, and we -found them out there just like other folks, when we took the trouble to -come into intimate contact with them. Racially of course they are -different from us as they are different from each other. Greeks, -Bulgarians, Turks, Armenians, Syrians, Egyptians, Persians--each one of -these names calls up faces of people I love. I have known them in their -homes and in my home. A strong tie binds us to the Armenians. When you -have shared the sufferings, dangers and hardships of a people, they -belong to you and you belong to them in a peculiar way. Armenians came -to the Rue Servandoni, poor boys with no money and no home who had -escaped from Turkey, struggling students, successful painters, brilliant -musicians, wealthy merchants. Every collector of Egyptian curios, of -Turkish and Persian rugs, of Oriental pottery, knows Kelekian of the -Place Vendôme. His small shop is wedged in between a florist and a -ticket-scalper. In the window you never see more than half a dozen -objects. There is always a bowl as a _pièce de résistance_, a bowl that -only a Morgan could afford to own. Pause and look over the curtain, the -chances are that you will see Monsieur Kelekian sitting by a glass case -of Egyptian scarabs. He will be smoking, and his right hand will be on -the case. To know Monsieur Kelekian is to have faith in the resurrection -of Armenia and in the future of one of the oldest races of history. We -came to know him through his interest in the Adana massacres. He had -never heard of the Rue Servandoni, and the street was hardly wide enough -for his automobile. But he came to dinner with his wife--in spite of a -disapproving _chauffeur_, who thought there must be some mistake and who -insisted on inquiring for us first at Number Twenty-Three and then at -Number Nineteen. Although his nose never turned down, he became -accustomed to stopping in front of the grocery! - -Other _chauffeurs_ and _cochers_ learned during that winter a new street -in Paris, and the first time they, too, made the mistake of stopping -next door. Mrs. Evans, sister-in-law of the famous dentist, had a pair -of black horses that shone like the varnish of her victoria. "Dear Mrs. -Evans," as all the women called her, was interested in every good work. -She approved of my husband, because he was a parson, and of me because I -had lived in a missionary college. She knew we had no money and did not -expect us to have any. Her carriage was ours for afternoon rides in the -Bois de Bologne. Scrappie, "that darling missionary baby," must have her -weekly outing. Mrs. Evans, I am sure, believed that the air was not what -it ought to be in our quarter of Paris and that God had intrusted her -with the responsibility of seeing that we were occasionally transported -elsewhere. During that year we made other friends in the American -Colony, who, like Mrs. Evans, cared for us for what we were. They made -Paris home to us in the old-fashioned sense of the word, and the -intimacies then formed have never been broken. - -Gypsy Smith was an English evangelist who came to Paris that winter for -a series of revival meetings in the English-speaking community. He had -been traveling all over the world for twenty years. His wife had had to -stay at home to look after the children. Now, for the first time, she -was free to accompany him, and came to Paris with him. We showed the -Smiths some of the principal tourist points of interest one morning, and -they came home to lunch with us. In the way of entertaining, they had -been "touching the high spots" in Paris, as Gypsy Smith was sought after -by the substantial people of the British and American communities. Our -little home was a revelation to them of the fact that there were other -foreigners living in Paris than the rich. Mrs. Gypsy was greatly pleased -with the novelty of finding "just folks" in Paris. "A cozy little nest -you have here," she said, giving me a nudge with her elbow. - -There were so many people to see in Paris, old friends from home as well -as new friends, that I soon began to have my afternoon. On Wednesdays I -received in that tiny dining-room, with my eight cups and saucers and -spoons, just as if I were mistress of a large establishment. At first, -our neighbors thought it was a christening or funeral. When they -realized that _les petits américains_ over the _épicerie_ were having a -weekly "at home," they were confirmed in their impression of our wealth. -I confess that it was crowded at times and that the party had to -overflow into the bedroom. But it was fun, especially when one of my -girlhood friends, who had known me in Germantown days in my mother's -home, would bring her whole family along to see me, and exclaim, "Why, -Helen Brown--!" But I would get them all in. - -Two days after Christmas, my husband urged me to go walking with him. He -pointed out that no one would come. But I refused. I had more conscience -when I was young than I have now. Being "at home" meant sticking by the -game. I had cheered up the _boulet_ fire in the dining-room. The cups -were on the table. My china platter held a _gâteau mocha_ of dear -memory. Shall we ever again be able to buy layer-cakes with coffee icing -an inch thick done in the delectable ups and downs like a wedding cake? -And that at one franc-twenty-five? - -"Run down, dear, and get me some hot crescents. It's after four o'clock, -so they'll be ready." - -"Now, look here. You've got to be sensible. Everyone has hosts of things -to do Christmas week. Nobody will come. We'll eat the cakes for supper. -Let's go over the river." - -"No, that wouldn't be fair. Somebody might come." - -Herbert got the crescents, put more _boulets_ where I could get them -easily, and was gone. - -I settled myself in the steamer-chair. No sound except the ticking of -our little traveling-clock, and the dropping of a _boulet_ on the -hearth. An hour slipped by, and I began to realize that I might just as -well have gone out. A ring at the bell. When I opened the door, there -was my husband holding a bouquet of roses big enough for a bridesmaid. - -"Good afternoon," said he, bowing low; "do Mr. and Mrs. Gibbons live -here?" - -"To be sure," said I, stifling a giggle. "I am Mrs. Gibbons." - -"Indeed." My visitor shook hands with me and explained, "Mrs. Gibbons, I -am delighted to meet you. I knew your husband years and years -ago--before he was married, in fact. The first pleasure I have allowed -myself in Paris is to look up my friend Gibbons and his wife." - -He hung hat and overcoat in the hall, and handed me the flowers. "What a -charming dining-room. Dear me, have I intruded? You were having a -party?" - -"Just my day at home." - -We chatted for a full hour, discussing the fate of the House of Lords, -about which my new friend confided that he was writing an article. He -hoped some editor would publish it. We talked of the possibilities of -next year's Salons and disagreed on the subject of futurist painting. I -told my visitor about the many American friends that were turning up, -and how the Gibbonses realized that if they wanted to get any work done -in Paris they would have to stop acting as guides. What did he think -about adopting a policy of telling people that Thomas Cook had mighty -good guides at ten francs a day? Perhaps, however, we should make the -last exception with him, and show him the town. - -We talked of Christmas, and then I was asked if I had a baby. I replied -that of course I did. She was over in the Luxembourg Garden with Marie, -who kept her out late on my at-home day, but who would soon bring her -in. - -"People that see resemblance in coloring say she looks like me, but -those that see resemblance in contour say she's the image of her daddy." - -"So!" said my visitor. - -I put my arms around the contour. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - -WALKS AT NIGHTFALL - - -The Prince whom Tartarin met in Africa had lived a long time in -Tarascon, and knew remarkably well one side of the town. He knew nothing -of the other side. This puzzled Tartarin until he found out that his -noble friend's residence in Tartarin's native town was a compulsory one. -The Prince had ample time to study a certain aspect of Tarascon in -detail from the little window of his penitentiary cell. We do not all -have the privilege of devoting ourselves, as the Prince did, to a minute -study of just one view from just one vantage-point. And yet, in certain -things we share the Prince's experience. We become accustomed to a -definite aspect of the things we see to the exclusion of other aspects. -Thus it is that I know many parts of Paris familiarly as they appear at -nightfall. I could go to these quarters at other times, but I never -have. I fear the breaking of the spell. I fear disillusion. And if you -want to follow me in Paris walks through this chapter, plan your strolls -from five to seven during the winter months. - -It began this way. In the Bibliothèque Nationale, as in the Paris of -parks and gardens, the closing hour follows the sun. The Bibliothèque -has no lights. It turns you out at four, half-past four, five or six -according to the season. During the months of longer days, we stayed -until the last bell. In the winter we were put out before the afternoon -was over. One did not feel like making for home immediately. It was too -late to go far afield. We started in to explore Paris in a widening -circle from the Rue de Richelieu. My husband had covered much of this -ground in summer months with the Scholar from Oxford. When the light -held out until late, they had time to visit old Paris with the books of -Georges Cain for guides. In the winter months Herbert took me over this -ground again. But I saw it all at nightfall or after dark. - -It was a wonderful discovery, to combine exercise with interesting -sight-seeing at the end of the day. The habit of walks through city -streets, thus formed, has been persisted in through many busy years. I -recommend it, even to tourists. Use your precious days for churches and -museums and palaces. After they are closed, walk for an hour or two each -night. You will find diversity, and, like Horatio, things you never -dreamed of. And no matter how long you live in Paris, there is always -something new to explore and something equally new when you follow -beaten tracks. - -You have to be--or grow--catholic in your tastes if you want to enjoy -what Paris at nightfall offers. Of course in the beginning you look for -certain things. You have a goal: tracing the city walls from old -Lutetia to Henri IV; seeking traces of mediaeval days; spotting -Renaissance architecture; visiting historic spots or buildings -associated with famous names or events; reconstructing Paris of the -Revolution; or following the characters of Victor Hugo through _Les -Misérables_. Before long you join all these goals, and jump from -architecture to history, from history to literature. In the end, every -walk you take is the observation of living people inseparable from an -incomparably picturesque setting. It may take a long time to realize -that your primary interest is humankind. But when you do the world is a -kaleidoscope presenting new pictures, wherever you may be, each more -fascinating than the one that preceded it. - -"Seek and ye shall find" is a promise with a condition attached to it. -You have to look before you see. An effort of the will is required. -Without that effort, impressions are false or transitory or give no -reaction that sinks deep. We passed close to Messina just after the -earthquake. The captain of our ship obligingly slowed down to -quarter-speed. Passengers crowded against the rail on the Sicilian side -of the straits. - -"Why, Messina is all right!" someone cried. "The newspapers have been -exaggerating again." - -"Wait," suggested a lawyer. He got out his opera glasses. Others did the -same. As we studied Messina from the sea, and looked for the deep -fissures, the crumbling walls, we found them all along the coast. The -American soldier who told me, "Since I been in France I ain't seen -nothing but kilometres and rain," was not looking for anything else. - -Strolling after dark helps to bring into the foreground the human -element in the picture of Paris streets. Your field of vision is -limited. You do not see too many things at once. And you have to keep -your eyes open. Many a quaint corner, many a building, is less often -missed at nightfall than during the day. - -Paris is divided into arrondissements, each one with its local -administration, its _maire_, its _mairie_, its postal service, and its -police. The postal authorities have tried in vain to insist upon the -placing of the arrondissement indication upon the letters. But they have -never had much success. It is enough to remember where your friends live -without having to keep in mind twenty different arrondissements! Before -the war your arrondissement meant little to you, and you often did not -know its number if you wanted to be married, to register the birth of a -new baby, or got into difficulties with the police. Since the war, -residents in Paris came to know their own arrondissements because of -bread tickets, passports, income-tax declarations and other annoyances. -But in planning your walks at nightfall, it is helpful to take a map of -Paris and know something about the divisions of the city. We started our -explorations by hazard, and then found to our astonishment that we had -been going from one arrondissement to another, practically following the -numerical order. - -The Bibliothèque Nationale is just on the border between the First and -Second Arrondissements. Arrondissements One to Four are the old city on -the Rive Droite between the Grands Boulevards and the Seine. -Arrondissements Five to Seven include similar quarters on the Rive -Gauche. Some of the most interesting strolls are in the outer -arrondissements. But the seven inner arrondissements provide enough for -years without ever having to take the subway or tram. - -The four Rive Droite arrondissements stretch from the Place de la -Concorde to the Place de la Bastille, and include the Ile de la Cité and -the Ile Saint-Louis. The three Rive Gauche arrondissements stretch from -the Eiffel Tower to the Jardin des Plantes. On the Rive Droite the Place -de l'Opéra and the Place de la République, and on the Rive Gauche the -Place de Breteuil and the Place de l'Observatoire, are the outer corners -of the inner arrondissements. The Boulevard de Sébastopol on the Rive -Droite and the Boulevard Saint-Michel on the Rive Gauche form the only -straight route, cutting through the mass of tangled streets of -succeeding centuries. Running north and south, this central line divides -the arrondissements as the Seine does, running east and west. - -I have a horror of guide-books, partly because I do not know how to use -them (I never have learned!) and partly because I love to find my way -without pre-meditation and by accident. But many of my readers will -never have the same opportunity I have enjoyed of discovering -fascinating spots at nightfall. Why should I resist the temptation of -indicating some of the strolls that make the late winter afternoons -delectable? - -Everyone knows the Rue de Rivoli as far as the Oratoire or perhaps to -the Tour Saint-Jacques. At the crossing of the Boulevard Sébastopol, the -Rue de Rivoli leaves the familiar heart of Paris and enters the Fourth -Arrondissement. It becomes the Rue Saint-Antoine a couple of blocks -before the Eglise Saint-Paul. There the first break in the straight line -from the Place de la Concorde occurs. You deflect a little bit to the -right, and before you is the Bastille column. The Rue de Rivoli and the -Rue Saint-Antoine are the main artery of the Fourth Arrondissement. No -quarter of Paris affords more variety in walks at nightfall. Starting -from the Boulevard de Sébastopol, the streets on the left, at angles and -parallel to the main artery, are a labyrinth. Here is the Ghetto in a -setting incomparably more picturesque than the Ghettos of London and New -York. I doubt if even the oldest Paris _cocher_ finds his way here -unerringly. Through some of the streets no carriage can pass. The -narrowest street in Paris, the Rue de Venise, is here. Beginning -opposite the Hôtel de Ville, the Rue du Temple cuts through the Ghetto -all the way to the Place de la République. Then come the equally -interesting right-angle streets, the Rue des Archives and the Rue -Vieille du Temple. On the latter faces the Imprimerie Nationale. And do -not miss the parallel streets, Rue de la Verrerie, Rue du Roi de Sicile, -Rue Sainte-Croix de la Bretonne, Rue des Rosiers. Further along (now we -are in the Rue Saint-Antoine) the Rue de Birague leads one short block -into the Place des Vosges, one of the rare bits remaining of Paris of -Henri IV. - -On the right hand side we have the Hôtel de Ville, the old buildings -behind the Lycée Charlemagne and the Quai des Célestins. Several bridges -cross to the Ile de la Cité and the Ile Saint-Louis. The Pont -Saint-Louis connects the two islands. There is nothing more wonderful in -Paris than to cross the Pont Sully from the eastern end of the Quai des -Célestins, walk through the Rue Saint-Louis-en-l'Ile, and come suddenly -upon the apse of Notre Dame, protected by its flying buttresses. - -In the Second Arrondissement, start from the Place des Victoires at the -end of the Rue des Petits-Champs, and find your way through the various -tortuous routes that bring you out on the Grands Boulevards to the -Boulevard Poissonnière, the Boulevard Bonne-Nouvelle and the Boulevard -Saint-Denis. A few hundred feet from the Grands Boulevards, to the right -of the Rue Saint-Denis, as you go toward the river, Paris of the -Revolution remains in almost as full measure as in the Sixth -Arrondissement. - -We must not leave the Rive Droite without mentioning two walks at -nightfall in the outer arrondissement. From the Place de la République, -the most interesting glimpse of a crowded workingmen's quarter can be -gained in an hour by walking up the Rue du Faubourg du Temple, which -becomes the Rue de Belleville. There is a steep climb until you reach -the Eglise Saint-Jean-Baptiste. To the right is Ménilmontant, dominating -the famous Père-Lachaise cemetery, and to the left you can climb still -farther to Buttes-Chaumont. The second walk is along the Quai de -Jemmapes, which you reach by turning to the left from the Rue du -Faubourg du Temple just after crossing the canal. A few blocks up, on -the right, through the Rue Grange aux Belles you pass the Hôpital -Saint-Louis, a group of seventeenth-century buildings which continue to -do blessed work in the twentieth century. - -Dear me! I have forgotten Montmartre, where you climb endless flights of -stone steps and find--despite the tourist _réclame_--probably more of -old Paris than in any other part of the city. - -On the Rive Gauche, the walks at nightfall are more difficult to -indicate. You can go anywhere in the three inner arrondissements, and -you will not be disappointed. Walk year after year and you will begin to -wonder whether you ever will follow out the oftformed resolution of -returning to America to live. In the Seventh Arrondissement the region -between the Quai d'Orsay and the Rue de Sèvres, the Rue des Saints-Pères -and the Invalides is the Faubourg Saint-Germain, where are to be found -the finest residences in Paris, far ahead of anything in the Etoile -Quarter. But unless you are lucky enough to have the _entrée_ to -aristocratic and diplomatic Paris, you can only guess at the beauty of -the gardens whose trees thrust alluring limbs over high walls and at -what is behind the stately portals of the _hôtels_. - -In the Sixth Arrondissement the Boulevard Saint-Germain and the Rue de -Vaugirard are the best streets to take as guides in your wanderings. -Between the boulevard and the river, and between the boulevard and the -Rue de Vaugirard, most of the streets are thoroughfares, a swarming mass -of autos and wagons and push-carts, between five and seven. - -What shall I say of the Fifth Arrondissement, most fascinating of all to -me because I know it best at nightfall, I suppose? My favorite nightfall -walk in Paris is behind the Panthéon. Start at the Place Maubert, on the -Boulevard Saint-Germain, climb the Rue de la Mont Sainte-Geneviève. Turn -to the left through the Rue Descartes, and you will find yourself in the -Rue Mouffetard. Here you are as far from modern Paris as you will ever -get. You walk for nearly a mile with no interruption of trams and -omnibuses. No taxi cab or truck would dream of using the Rue Mouffetard -as a thoroughfare. And yet, on the Rue Mouffetard, to eat and drink and -dress yourself and furnish your house, you can buy all you need. You do -not have to hunt for it: it is displayed before your eyes. The Rue -Mouffetard. Here you are as far from modern Paris time, and I might -shrink from some of the foodstuffs, if not all, it offers, were I to buy -by sunlight. But by flickering torch-light the Rue Mouffetard is Araby -to me. And I never come out at the Avenue des Gobelins without a sigh. -Why isn't the Rue Mouffetard just a bit longer? - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - -AFTER-DINNER COFFEE - - -A visitor once asked me how it was possible for Paris to maintain so -many cafés, and said how distressing it was to see so many women in them -and there was more drinking than in New York or London--question and -inferences all in one breath, just like my sentence. My friend was -bewildered because he did not understand the _raison d'être_ of the café -in French life. He thought that a café was a place to drink according to -the American notion of drinking. The women were bad women in his eyes -and the men on the downward path. To one who holds this curious notion -the number of cafés in Paris and the crowds in them and at the little -tables in front of them are inexplicable and alarming. Cafés, -restaurants, _brasseries_ and _zincs_ line the boulevards, and there are -at least two or three to a block in every street. Owing to the intensive -apartment house life shops of all kinds are more frequent in Paris than -elsewhere, but you may have to walk to get anything you want. To drink -or eat, no. The place is right under your nose. - -All restaurants serve drinks. I know of only one non-alcoholic -restaurant in Paris: that is the vegetarian place on the Rue -Notre-Dame-des-Champs! If you did not eat in a "drinking-place," you'd -pretty soon starve. Many of the big cafés do not serve food. Some have -one dish, called the _plat du jour_, with cheese and fruit afterwards. -Others have oysters and snails and their own _specialités_. Others, -while not advertising meals, serve a _table d'hôte_ or a very limited _à -la carte_. In all, however, hot coffee is to be had at all hours and -every kind of a drink is on tap. The _zincs_ are little bits of places -where you get hot coffee, beer or a _petit verre_. Coal and wood -merchants also serve alcohol. In the more humble streets (which are to -be found in every quarter), cafés are dirty stuffy places, known as -_débits_. Rare is the "drinking-place" that has not its _terrasse_. This -may be only a chair or two and a single table on the side-walk. - -The _terrasses_ of restaurants as well as of cafés are maintained -throughout the winter. It is a familiar sight to see a table-cloth -flapping in the wind, held down by a salt-cellar and a mustard-pot. The -days are few that you cannot sit out. It does not get very cold in Paris -and an awning protects you from the rain. In some of the boulevard cafés -the _terrasses_ are actually heated by stoves! - -The Paris café is wholly different from the American saloon. None thinks -it is wrong to drink in France. Total abstinence is a funny American -idea to our friends overseas. Taking a drink in public is as natural as -putting your arm around your girl in public. Everybody does it. You -rarely see a drunken man or woman just as you rarely see poverty. -Alcoholism (by which is meant poisoning the system and breaking down the -health by excessive use of alcohol) is an evil France has to combat as -much as any other country. But the French have never had it preached to -them that the evil can be overcome by prohibiting the use of wines and -liquors or by the example of a part of the community voluntarily -abstaining for the sake of weaker brothers. The anti-alcohol movement in -France does exist. As the maintenance of war legislation against -absinthe and kindred spirits proves, it has public opinion behind it. -But the connotation of _alcoholic_ is limited in France. The Gallic -sense of proportion prevents the French from extremes in anything. Since -they do not drink to excess, they have no reason for regarding beer and -wines as alcohol. Often your French friends tell you that they never -touch alcohol. In the same breath they offer you delicious wine. - -Scruples understood and appreciated in America are often meaningless -when you live in another country. Stick to your white ribbon principles -if you will, but do not persist in your notion that cafés are places -where it is not respectable to be seen. Why cut yourself off from an -indispensable feature of Paris life? - -[Illustration: The Panthéon from the Rue Soufflot] - -The hour of the _apéritif_ finds the _terrasses_ of the cafés crowded. -You may have difficulty in getting a place outside. Having worked all -day and perhaps having walked home, the Parisian saves a half hour -before dinner for his appetizer. He sits at the little table in front of -his favorite café and watches the passing crowd. It is no hastily -swallowed cocktail, leaning against a bar and shut off from eyes like -mine by a swinging screen door. It is no prerogative of man. Sometimes -on week days and always on Sundays, his wife and children are with him. - -When we were living in the Rue Servandoni, we got into the habit of -going out for our after-dinner coffee. The reason was probably the same -as that of most Parisians. Living quarters were small. The baby was -asleep in the front room. Toward the end of the month especially we were -not always in a position to keep the tiny dining-room fire replenished -all evening. We thought of the gas bill. We liked to get a little air. -We were fond of music. Arm in arm we would walk along the Rue Vaugirard -to the Boul' Miche. From the Closerie des Lilas near the Observatoire to -the river you had plenty of choice for your after-dinner coffee. At the -foot of the Rue Soufflot is the Café du Panthéon. On the corner of the -Rue de la Sorbonne is the Café d'Harcourt. Just off the boulevard, on -the Rue de l'Ecole de Medecine, is the Taverne Pascal. These were our -favorites. Pascal has no _terrasse_. We went there when it rained or -when we thought of Munich beer. Harcourt used to have a red-coated -orchestra, and was the gayest place on the Boulevard Saint-Michel. At -the Panthéon you paid two sous more, but the coffee was better. We never -had to spend more than a franc for the two of us. A checker-board or -cards could be had of the waiter. If you wanted to write letters, you -asked for a blotter and pen and ink. - -Just around the corner from us, on the Rue de Tournon, was the -Concerts-Rouges, the blessed institution to make unnecessary the tragedy -of would-be musician and singer failing to get a hearing. Pianists, -violinists, cellists and future opera stars had a place to put on their -own concerts at little cost. We were the audience. Of course it was not -all amateurs: the management had to promise an audience. A good -orchestra gathered around the stove in the middle of the room. You sat -in a chair such as they have in school rooms, whose right arm spread out -generously to give space for your notebook. There was room, too, for -coffee-cup or stein. The only rule of the Concerts-Rouges was silence. -You could move your chair away from the music. When you were not -interested in the number, you read or wrote. Many theses and dramas and -poems have been worked out in the Concerts-Rouges. - -The Boulevard du Montparnasse, which has since become our home, was not -too far from the Rue Servandoni to be frequented for after-dinner -coffee. The Dôme, on the corner of the Boulevard Raspail, and -Versailles and Lavenue, opposite the Gare Montparnasse, were -after-dinner coffee haunts where friendships that have lasted through -the years were formed. We still sit there. Lavenue, after five years of -silence, again offers music. But we miss Schumacker, beloved of the -Quarter, who fell, they say, in the ranks of the enemy. His face is one -of those I cannot forget. I see him now, blue eyes and bright smile and -bushy hair, bending over his violin on the little platform by the piano. -He seemed to play his heart out and never tired. I always like to write -my letters at Lavenue. When I called for "_de quoi écrire_," the waiter -brought a tiny bottle of ink, spillable and square, sheets of ruled -writing paper and the cheapest quality of manila envelopes in a black -oilcloth folder, whose blotter never blotted. But you did not care. You -listened to the music after each page until it dried. - - - - -CHAPTER XV - -REPOS HEBDOMADAIRE - - -In Philadelphia you still find shutters with the rings at the middle of -their closing edge. To one of the rings is tied a piece of tape. In my -grandfather's house of a Sunday the shutters were together almost to the -touching point and held that way by the tape tied to the other ring. A -vertical bar of sunshine filtered through the slit. The parlor was cool -and quiet. Nothing moved. My father told me that when he was a little -boy he had to sit at one of those windows all Sunday afternoon -memorizing passages from the Bible. I wonder if in America there are -still many families who install in their children a repugnance for the -Scriptures by this sort of torture, whose observance of Sunday is -reached by a process of elimination of everything a normal person would -instinctively choose to do on a day of rest, and where there are more -don'ts for the children on Sunday than on Monday. Sunday seems to me a -happier day in America now than it was twenty-five years ago. But for -all that we do not enjoy it the way the French do. Until I lived in -France I never knew the full meaning of what I was singing in the hymn, -"O day of rest and gladness." - -The French dress up for Sunday as we do. I suppose as large a proportion -of the Parisians go to church as of Americans in any large city. But -once mass is over the day is given to recreation--and recreation out of -doors. What is more depressing than an English or American city on -Sunday? Sunday in Paris is the most animated day of the week. The French -word _endimanché_ is translated in dictionaries "in Sunday best." It has -a wider connotation. A place as well as a person can be _endimanché_. -The word brings up to the mind of one who has lived in Paris crowds, -laughter, fun, open air. How different from sitting on a chair in a room -with bowed shutters when common sense would dictate getting your lungs -filled with fresh air and worshipping God in communion with nature! - -In the Rue Servandoni days we came to know the joy and benefit of the -Continental Sunday. And ever since we have brought up our children to -look forward to Sunday as the best day of the week, the out-of-doors -day, when the family could be together from morning to night. - -The great thing about Sunday in Paris is that fathers and mothers and -children go out together, all bound for the same place, and stick -together. The family includes grandfathers and grandmothers, who are -always given the best places in the train, the choicest morsels to eat -and who to the day of their death are the adored center of the family -party. Mother carries the _filet_, a big net with handles filled with -good things to eat, and the baby too small to navigate alone is held in -father's strong arms. You can tell little sisters--and even big -ones--for they are dressed alike. Trams and trains for Versailles, the -Bois de Bologne, Saint-Germain-en-Laye and a dozen other equally -attractive suburbs are not taken by assault. The family waits in line at -the tram station, young and old clutching the precious little tickets -that tell them when it is their turn to get places. Everybody has his -chance, and there is no need to worry about grandmother or the baby. -Trams are not overcrowded: there are seats for all. If there is not the -money to go far from home, or if the weather is too threatening, each -quarter has its park, the Luxembourg, Montsouris, Monceau, -Buttes-Chaumont, Jardin des Plants, Vincennes, or the simple _squares_. -For two cents you have the right to sit on chairs near the band-stand. -First come, first served. The only restriction here is that -baby-carriages must stay outside of the enclosure for music-lovers. In -the baby-carriage zone, nobody minds if a baby howls: you may be in the -same condition at the next minute. - -Merry-go-rounds, Punch and Judy, swings and donkey-carts are everywhere -to be found for the children. At four o'clock the woman with fresh rolls -goes by. Hot _gauffrette_ and hokey-pokey venders are always near at -hand. If you do not want hokey-pokey, there is _coco_ to drink. The -innocent Sunday fun is not "the kind of thing no-one would think of -doing." Once I was waiting for the wife of a professor of the Ecole de -Guerre, who was later a brilliant general on the Marne. It was Sunday -afternoon. She excused herself for being late. "I stopped in the square -to listen to the band, and I had to have some _coco_. I never can pass a -_coco_ cart," she explained. More than once have I seen a mother, -elegantly dressed, come hurrying to the garden, sit down on a bench, and -nurse a baby handed to her by a nurse in cap and ribbons. I have done -that myself. Is there anything shocking about this? It is the natural -out-of-doors instinct. Distinguished looking gentlemen wearing rosettes -of the Legion of Honor head family excursions. They do not mind pushing -baby-carriages, either. - -On a good day the Seine boats are crowded. From Charenton to -Saint-Cloud, there is an endless procession of boats on a Sunday. -Parisians never tire of the spectacle of their city from the river. They -name the bridges as they pass under them and tell their stories to the -children. River clubs abound, and all Paris seems afloat in row-boats -and canoes. From one end of the city to the other the banks of the Seine -are lined with fishermen who seem never to become discouraged. Seine -boating is not without its dangers. But in the Bois de Boulogne the most -inexperienced learn to row and paddle in the shallow water of the lakes. -A miniature railway crosses a corner of the Bois from the Porte Maillot -to the Jardin d'Acclimatation, where kiddies can ride on elephants and -camels or be drawn by ostriches and zebras. - -No park is too small to have its ducks and swans with unlimited capacity -for bread-crumbs, its band-stand, its open-air restaurant where drinks -are served and you bring your own food, and its place without grass -where you can stretch your own tennis-net between trees. - -The Seine boats, the subway, and many tram lines land you at the foot of -the Eiffel Tower. An elevator quickly takes you above Paris for a view -that was unique before the days of aeroplanes. Near by is the Great -Wheel, always revolving from morning to night on Sundays. Parisians do -not feel the lack of the roofs of skyscrapers when they want to look -down on their city. - -For several hundred yards around the fortifications of Paris the law -forbids the erection of permanent buildings: at least, if you do build -in stone and mortar, you risk having your house destroyed, as many found -to their cost in 1914. This enormous land surface, between the city and -suburbs is covered with wooden shacks of rag-pickers and junk-dealers. -Everyone seems to have a very small holding, as the ground is of little -value either for residential or manufacturing purposes. Here thousands -of Parisians own cabins and have miniature vegetable gardens, which they -cultivate on Sunday, dreaming of the day when there will be enough -money in the bank to retire permanently to some quiet country spot. They -come home with arms filled with vegetables and flowers. - -In the year at the Rue Servandoni Herbert and I started to explore on -Sundays the _banlieue_ of Paris. Despite increasing "encumbrances" of -different ages, we have managed to keep up our delightful excursions -from early spring to chestnut time, and often on winter Sundays. But we -do not pretend to have exhausted in ten years the possibilities of -Sunday afternoons. We are always discovering new excursions for the -_repos hebdomadaire_. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI - -"MANY WATERS CANNOT QUENCH LOVE" - - -Higher than 1883; higher than 1879; higher than 1876; higher than 1802; -higher than 1740; higher than 1699; equalling the flood of 1658, the -worst in the history of Paris; finally breaking all records, both as to -height attained and as to damage done, such was the daily crescendo of -the press in recording the progress of _la Grande Crue_ during the last -week of January, 1910. No investing army, no Commune, no revolution, -threatened Paris this time. The best friend of Paris had turned against -her. For several days the older generation, who passed through the -trials of 1871, recalled painful memories and feared a worse peril from -the Seine than from the German invaders or the Internationalists. - -In the third week of January, from Tuesday to Friday, we were concerned -over the news of devastation wrought by floods in different parts of -France. There was much damage and suffering in our own suburbs. -Sympathetic editorials appeared in the newspapers: relief funds were -opened. On Friday afternoon, when we were taking a walk along the -_quais_ of the Rive Gauche, we had no suspicion what was going to -happen. - -Only on Saturday did Paris begin to worry for herself. Neuilly and -Courbevoie were flooded. Loroy reported ten drowned. The Seine, within -the city limits, suddenly rose ten feet. The first subway tunnel, that -of the "Métro" from the Chatelet under the Cité to the Place -Saint-Michel, was filled with water. The river spread into the original -"Métro" line under the Rue de Rivoli. The second tunnel, that of the -"Nord-Sud," was an easy prey because it was still in the course of -construction. The Gare d'Orléans was invaded. Its tracks, which parallel -the left bank of the river under the _quais_, disappeared. The Gare -d'Invalides, whose line runs the opposite direction along the Seine, was -also flooded. - -On Sunday morning we heard that in the Rue Félicien-David people were -rowing around in boats. We thought this interesting enough to invest in -a _fiacre_, and took Scrappie in the afternoon to Auteuil. On the way, -we got out and wormed ourselves through the crowd to hear the waters -swishing around the stair-cases down to the train levels at the two -flooded stations. When we reached the Rue Félicien-David and actually -saw people in boats, we bought photographs from an enterprising hawker, -wanting to preserve this souvenir of Paris. Little did most of the crowd -dream that within a few days they would not have to go farther than -their own front windows to see such a sight! - -On Monday evening everyone realized that the flood was not a curious -spectacle but a disaster. The river had been rising at the steady rate -of an inch an hour, and by nightfall was sixteen feet above its normal -height. Herbert decided to report the flood. This justified a taxi-cab -by the day. As this was an unheard-of luxury for the Gibbons family, -which had few chances to ride in automobiles at that stage of its -evolution, of course the baby and I decided to profit by the -opportunity, even though it was winter and not the best time of the year -for joy-rides. Anyway, I was interested in the great drama that was -being enacted, and we could tell Scrappie about it later. From notes -taken at the time, I am able to reconstruct the story of days as -stirring as any of those during the Great War. - -On Monday afternoon we went up and down the _quais_. All the river -industries, with their wooden buildings squatting on the river bank -under the shelter of the solid ramparts of the _quais_, were swept away. -Freight and customs stations and depots came within the grasp of the -river. At the Entrepôt de Bercy and the Halle aux Vins, barrels of the -spirits and wine were first gently floated and then drawn out into the -angry stream. The water in the Nord-Sud tunnel was threatening the Gare -Saint-Lazare. The Eiffel Tower moved slightly.[C] The cellars of the -public buildings along the river front--Palais de Justice, Chambre de -Deputés, Hôtel de Ville, Monnaie, Institut, Chancellerie de la Légion -d'Honneur, Grand Palais, Louvre--were gradually flooded until their -furnishings were extinguished. At Billancourt we saw the inundation of -the Renault automobile works and the Voisin aeroplane factory. The -effect of the latter disaster reached as far as Heliopolis in Egypt, -where an Aviation Week was scheduled. In those days aeroplanes were in -their infancy and depended upon a single factory for their motors. - -[C] My critic says this is not true. He did not see it, and he doesn't -think it is possible that the Tower would have remained standing, if it -had moved during the flood of 1910. But I find this statement in my -notes. Why shouldn't the Eiffel Tower move? I reminded my critic that we -had seen together on our honeymoon at Pisa a tower that had been leaning -for centuries. I do not intend to cross out this statement about the -most striking landmark of Paris, the participant in most of my vistas. - -Tuesday morning a heavy snow was falling. Awakened early by an -explosion, we thought that the Pont de l'Alma was being blown up. This -heroic measure had in fact been contemplated by the city engineers in -order to prevent the backing up of the water into the Champs-Elysées -district. The flood was rapidly gaining street after street in Auteuil -and Charenton. A rumor was afloat that we would soon be cut off from the -outside world. This meant a run on provisions and profiteering by -shopkeepers. We yielded to the common impulse and laid in kerosene and -potatoes for ourselves and condensed milk for Scrappie, paying double -prices and thinking we were lucky in having a chance to buy. - -On Wednesday morning commenced what we regarded at the time as a real -reign of terror. Underground communication ceased. Owing to the -inundation of their power houses, electric-trams stopped running. The -subway station at Bercy collapsed. Sewers began to burst in all quarters -of the city. A subterranean lake formed under the Rue Royal from the -Place de la Concorde to the Madeleine, and the street was closed to -traffic. In front of the Louvre and at the Pont de la Concorde soldiers -worked night and day raising the parapets higher and building barricades -with paving-stones and bags of cement. By evening the water had reached -a height of thirty feet, breaking all records since 1799. Refugees began -to pour into the city by the thousands and were lodged in the old -Seminary of Saint-Sulpice near us, the Panthéon and other public -buildings. The Red Cross began to be displayed throughout the city. -Boats and sailors arrived from seaports. The markets required -substantial police protection to prevent mobs from taking them by storm. - -On Thursday and Friday the fight against the ever-rising waters was -continued with desperate energy. In spite of all that human skill and -labor could accomplish, the Seine pushed its way over parapets and -through barricades, flooding rapidly the _quais_ and adjoining -quarters. By means of subways and sewers (channels opened to the river -by man's hand and that had not existed in the -seventeenth-and-eighteenth-century floods), districts far from the river -suffered equally. Auteuil, Grenelle, Charenton, Bercy were submerged. On -either side of the Trocadéro the palatial private homes of the _quais_ -were in the Seine up to the second story. The river appropriated to -itself the entire length of Cours-la-Reine from the Pont de l'Alma to -the Pont de la Concorde, reached the fashionable restaurants at the foot -of the Avenue des Champs-Elysées, and partly surrounded the two palaces -of Fine Arts, souvenirs of the Exposition of 1900. The streets between -the Avenue des Champs-Elysées and the river formed a transplanted -Venice. - -Hotels and stores on the Rue de Rivoli, the Théâtre Français--and even -the Opéra--found their heat and light cut off by the attack of the -Seine. Far away from the _quais_, in the neighborhood of the Gare -Saint-Lazare, the Seine, following the subway tunnel, burst forth into -the Place du Havre and the Cour de Rome. Hasty barricades were of no -avail. One could hardly trust his eyes when he looked up the Boulevard -Haussmann from the Opéra and saw boats flitting back and forth as far as -Saint-Augustin and the Boulevard Malesherbes. On the Rive Gauche the -aspect of Paris grew even more alarming. The Esplanade des Invalides and -the Quai d'Orsay joined the Seine. Soldiers threw a pontoon bridge -across the Esplanade for pedestrians. But taxi-cabs and buses were -compelled to plunge into the water hub-high. We saw motor-drawn vehicles -stalled because the water had reached their engines, while the -old-fashioned _cochers_ went merrily by, proud of their superiority. All -the people in _fiacres_ had to do was to put their feet up on the -_cocher's_ box. The Chamber of Deputies and the Ministery of Foreign -Affairs were approachable by boat. The angle formed by the Boulevard -Saint-Germain, the Quai d'Orsay and the Rue du Bac was all under water. -In this angle the Rue d'Université and the Rue de Lille were practically -inaccessible. We who lived in the Latin, Luxembourg and Montparnasse -Quarters could reach the Seine only by the Rue Dauphine or the Boulevard -Saint-Michel. For increasing torrents soon covered the Rue des -Saints-Pères, the Rue Bonaparte and the Rue de Seine. We had never -realized before how the early builders of Paris, in their determination -to stick to the river for purposes of defence, had reclaimed ground much -lower than the flood level of the Seine, relying upon the masonry of the -_quais_ to keep back the river. In modern times we have undermined the -natural defences of the Rive Gauche by bringing our railways to the -center of the city, by our sewers and by the subways. When you are on a -Seine river-boat, you can see all along the river how we have opened up -the city to floods. Paris, honeycombed underground, fell an easy prey -to the fury of the river. The very skill that added to the material -comfort and well-being of the city made Paris vulnerable when the -unexpected and unprecedented happened. - -The Jardin des Plantes, set apart originally for botanical purposes as -its name indicates, has gradually become the Paris "Zoo." Many American -tourists go there because it is the place where Cuvier worked and do not -realize that it is the home of wild animals also. The Jardin -d'Acclimatation in the Bois de Boulogne is more visited, and I have -often heard my compatriots express surprise at the paucity of what they -think is the Paris "Zoo." The Jardin des Plantes is less fashionable but -much richer in its variety of animals. As it is on the river, it was -invaded by the flood. In the first days, before we realized the calamity -of the rising waters, the Jardin des Plantes was thronged with visitors. -Interest centered around the bear-pits. The polar bears alone seemed to -enjoy splashing in the icy waters. The climbers were soon treed. It was -an engineering feat to rescue them with planks and prod them into -portable cages. The non-climbers narrowly escaped drowning. We watched -them lifted out by cranes, caught in sturdy nets. This was the only -means of rescue as they tore with their claws the bands that were first -placed around them by men whose only experience had been lifting horses -and cows from pits. - -When the river broke all records, the whole garden was flooded. Many -keepers were prevented from reaching their posts. The police took -charge. Food supplies were lacking, and the few keepers on hand did not -dare to let their dangerous charges loose. The furnaces were flooded and -there was no heat. In the monkey-houses the shivering animals, perched -high, scolded and growled with chattering teeth. We saw them form a -swinging bridge to lift out of the water's reach one of their number who -seemed unable to climb. Lions and tigers, cold and hungry, roared and -dashed themselves against their bars until the belated order arrived to -shoot them. The hippopotamus, contrary to tradition, drowned. Only the -birds, proud possessors of the secret of aviation, were superior to the -calamity. Here was the occasion for a new Noah. But alas, not even an -ark arrived, and it took Paris many years to restock the garden. Even -now there are no giraffes like those that used to look at us from their -sublime heights. - -On the River Droite, the Gare de Lyon was an island. Nearer the flood -took possession of the Quai des Grands Augustins with its famous book -shop, and, on the other side of the Place Saint-Michel, the quaint old -streets up to the Place Maubert. A depression there, where the walls of -old Paris once stood, brought the flood up to the roofs of some little -houses. - -In the Rue Servandoni we escaped the flood: for the ground rises -steadily from the Boulevard Saint-Germain to Montparnasse. This put us -considerably above the reach of the river. On Friday afternoon, when we -were facing a danger that stupified all, the flood was at its height. We -conceived the idea of viewing it from the top of Notre-Dame. It was a -long process for us, as hundreds of others thought of the same thing, -and we could not both go up together. I waited with the baby in the taxi -while Herbert _faisait la queue_ (if you do not know what this -expression means it would be well to learn it before visiting Paris!) -After he came down I had my turn. I was cold enough to enjoy the climb. -The view from the top of the tower was unique. The next day would have -been too late. We caught the flood at its flood. Paris was swimming. On -both sides the cathedral had become an angry, menacing rush of water. -Debris and wreckage was choked against the bridge piers. One realized -that habit had given us a sense of proportion to the cityscape. The -effect of diminished ground-floors and abbreviated lamp-posts and trees -was sinister. It was as if elemental forces, subdued and imprisoned when -the earth's surface cooled, had escaped. As I looked down on the scene, -I felt that abysmal water was breaking forth. Where would it end? - -After leaving Notre-Dame we rode up one side of the river to Auteuil and -down the other, frequently forced to make long detours. Our remorseless -enemy was making sad inroads upon the Ile-Saint Louis, and it seemed as -if it would soon sweep away the Cité. The Sainte-Chapelle was almost -afloat, as were the Conciergerie and the Tour de l'Horloge. The river -surpassed the parapets. The arches of most of the bridges had vanished. -The colossal statues of the Pont de l'Alma were submerged to their -chins. At the Pont d'Auteuil the water reached the wreath around the -letter N. Although the newspapers warned us that they might be swept -away, the bridges were crowded with sightseers. Curiosity is stronger -than fear. The current carried every conceivable object. At the Pont -d'Arcole the calamity was forgotten in the sport of watching huge -barrels sucked one by one under an arch and jumping high in the air as -they came out on the other side. - -Returning from Auteuil as darkness was falling, we had to pass above the -Trocadéro, the Rue de Bassano and the Champs-Elysées. Newsboys were -crying extras: "The river still rises!" We were in darkness. No lights -on the Avenue des Champs-Elysées. An engineer regiment was fighting the -water in the Place de la Concorde by the light of acetylene lamps. The -wheezing of an old pump taking water out of the cellar of Maxim's was -the only sign of life on the gay Rue Royale. To return to the Rive -Gauche we had to go down to the Pont-Neuf. The other bridges were now -barred. Does it not speak eloquently for the genius of our ancestors -that, with bridges every few hundred feet, the only one that could be -trusted--the sole link between Rive Droite and Rive Gauche--was the work -of Henri IV at the end of the sixteenth century? - -Our _chauffeur_, keeping up a running comment in which the hint as to -his expectation of a substantial _pourboire_ was uppermost, picked his -way as best he could back to the Rue Servandoni. We saw strange sights -that night, wooden paving-blocks floating in a messy jumble; a few -restaurants endeavoring to dispel the gloom with candles; soldiers with -fixed bayonets guarding the inundated quarters. It was bitter cold and -the glare of their fires was weirdly silhouetted in the rising waters, -mingled with the shadows of deserted houses. - -The river reached thirty-one feet seven inches at midnight Friday. -During the rest of the night and Saturday it remained stationary. -Saturday evening it began to fall slightly, and on Sunday all Paris was -out in gay holiday attire to view the damage and to celebrate the -retreat of the enemy. Lightheartedness returned immediately. Why worry -about what was over? This is the credo of Paris. But we had seen during -the dark week of flood-fighting a prophetic revelation of the real -character of the people among whom we lived. Little did we dream that -the precious qualities shown in the flood crisis were to be brought out -more than once again in future years. In 1914 we were not surprised at -the courage, persistence, unflagging energy and solidarity with -suffering of the Parisians. The flood, as I look back on it, did more -damage to Paris than was done during the war by German bombs. It was a -more formidable enemy than the Germans. I remember the comment of my old -Emilie: "_Mon Dieu_, this thing is worse than fire. You can fight fire -with water, but with what can you fight water?" - -When the newspapers Sunday morning assured us that the danger was over, -I realized how wonderful had been the struggle of civilians and soldiers -against the elemental. It was a manifestation of their love for their -city. And in the quick and generous relief given on all sides--and -unostentatiously--to those who were driven from their homes was the -proof that hearts beat fast and firm to help fellow-citizens as well as -to save the historic monuments that line the banks of the Seine. That is -why, when Herbert went out to preach in the Rue Roquépine church, I gave -him his text from the Hebrew songster: "Many waters cannot quench love; -neither can the floods drown it." - - - - -CHAPTER XVII - -REAL PARIS SHOWS - - -For many years the old expression that we can't get rid of, "the Salon," -has been a misnomer. There are five Salons, and, as going to see the -season's pictures and statues is a form of amusement and distraction in -Paris on a par with theatrical productions, all five are equally -important. Even if one desires to judge by the standard of art, -establishing categories of excellence and importance is impossible. The -longer one lives in Paris, the more one realizes the absolute lack of -criteria in judging artistic achievement. Painters and sculptors, poets -and playwrights and authors, singers and actors do not acknowledge the -existence of the jury of public opinion, much less newspaper critics, -art juries, _premiers prix_, medals, and organizations. Schools are -legion: standards are the taste and liking of the individual. So we let -those who claim temperament and genius have their chance, and we go to -the five Salons with equal zest, just as we look constantly for lights -under a bushel to please us far from the Académie Française and other -bodies of the Institut. In June the two "regular" Salons exhibit -separately, although simultaneously, in the Grand Palais. There is an -autumn Salon of the progressives. The humorists and cartoonists have -their own Salon. Last, but not least (in numbers!) the independents -exhibit what they please in wooden buildings erected on Cours-la-Reine. - -On a late June afternoon in 1914, I stood on the steps of the Grand -Palais, after an afternoon in the two big Salons--I mean to say -principal Salons--no, in order to escape criticism let me put it "most -universally accepted as important" Salons. It was raining hard. I never -saw the water come down in sheets the way it did that afternoon. Cabs -were of course unobtainable. The wind made umbrellas no protection. And -I was wearing my best frock. What a bother! Hundreds waited as I did, -preferring the additional fatigue of standing herded almost to -suffocation to spoiling their clothes. Suddenly, the rumor spread of a -flood, a flood as disastrous as 1910. Only this time the water came from -above. So heavy was the rainfall that sewers were bursting and new -excavations for subway extension were caving in. Enterprising newsboys -brought us the evening papers with scare headlines. Not far from where -we were an hour earlier choirboys, going home from practice, were -swallowed up in the earth in front of Saint-Philippe-de-Roule. A -taxi-cab hurrying along the Rue du Faubourg-Saint-Honoré disappeared. -The earth opened up under a newspaper _kiosque_ and a shoe store at the -corner of the Boulevard Haussmann and the Rue du Havre. _Eboulements_ -everywhere. The Place de l'Alma was a gaping hole, tramway tracks and -pavements falling into the new subway station. - -[Illustration: Hôtel de Ville from the Pont d'Arcole] - -My mind went back to the dark week of 1910, which I have just described. -Comments of the Salon crowd were identical in reaction to those we heard -after the flood. "Outrageous, the _incurie_ of the municipal -authorities! Something should be done to protect us against this -constant digging. Why, it won't be safe to stick your nose out of doors. -These awful accidents--in Paris, mind you! Something _must_ be done!" -For an hour it went on like that. Then the storm stopped. The sun, still -high at six in June, broke through the clouds. The wind died down. I -started up to the Champs-Elysées with the crowd. More newsboys! This -time the principal headline announced the trial of Madame Caillaux. The -Parisians--and I with them--went down into the Métro. An hour ago such a -risky undertaking would have caused us to shudder with horror. No more -underground for us! As I waited in line for my ticket, the man in front -of me said to his wife, "Now do you really think that Madame Caillaux--" - -I laughed to myself. The Medes and Persians boasted of not changing -their laws. The Parisians could boast of not changing their mentality. A -danger over is a danger forgotten. Hurrah for the new sensation! My -readers may think me guilty of skipping suddenly backwards and forwards -in this book from one thing to something entirely different. But -remember that I am writing in Paris and about Paris. Paris is like that. -I went forward to 1914 to get an illustration for 1910. The very day -after we were sure the flood was going down, we lost interest in the -Seine. Our great project of an emergency channel for turning the Seine -at flood-time died in twenty-four hours and will not be revived until -Paris is actually being once more submerged. _Actualité_ is a word for -which we Anglo-Saxons have no equivalent. It means the -thing-of-the-moment-which-is-of-prime-interest. And the press can create -a new _actualité_ overnight. - -The Government did this several times during the war in order to relieve -a tense internal political situation. During the last German drive we -had the affair of the false Rodins, and we turned to read about the new -statue exposed as a fake each day before we looked for the new German -advance. When the Clemenceau Cabinet was threatened, a twentieth-century -Bluebeard, with the police daily discovering new wives, was dished up to -us every morning in all the papers. - -Back in 1910 we turned from the flood to _Chantecler_. After seven years -of heralding and "puffing," after many mysterious delays that whetted -the appetite, the management of the Théâtre de la Porte Saint-Martin -announced that the curiosity of Paris would be rewarded at the end of -January. The flood was the last postponement. The waters had hardly -begun to recede before public interest was again centred upon -_Chantecler_. When the _répetition générale_ was given on February -sixth, oldest inhabitants and historians of the French theatre were -agreed that not even Hernani nor yet _Le Mariage de Figaro_ had created -so universal an anticipatory interest. Was _Chantecler_ merely an -eccentric literary endeavor or was it to prove a practical theatrical -venture? More than any living writer Rostand had been able to win for -his plays recognition as literature and recognition as "money-winners" -in the theatres of foreign countries as well as his own. - -Looking back over a decade I may be wrong in comparing a past with a -present event. But I honestly believe that there was far more interest -in Paris in what was going on at the Porte-Saint-Martin on the evening -of February 6, 1910, than in what took place at Versailles on the -afternoon of June 28, 1919. Interest was lost in the Treaty of -Versailles before it was signed. _Chantecler_ had a fighting chance to -succeed. Just as the curtain started to rise before the cream of French -literary and theatrical circles there was a cry of "_Pas encore!_" M. -Jean Coquelin sprang up from the prompter's box in conventional evening -dress. Was there to be another postponement--a fiasco in the presence of -the invited guests? No: for M. Coquelin began to recite a prologue, -inimitably phrased. He told the audience that they were to be introduced -to a barnyard as soon as the farmer's family had gone. It was Sunday -afternoon, and when the chores were finished, the animals would be left -to themselves. As he spoke, numerous illustrative sounds came from the -stage. We heard the young girls going off with a song on their lips, the -wheels of a receding carriage, the bells of the village church, and -shots of hunters out for their Sunday sport. Then M. Coquelin -disappeared, and the curtain went up. - -The first two acts were wildly received. The third act was too long and -modernisms marred the beauty of the verse. The lyrical continuity of the -play was broken by the introduction of a purely satirical effect. The -real reason for lack of sustained interest was the mental confusion and -weariness of having to imagine the actors as animals. The human mind is -incapable of receiving through the sense of vision a representation of -the unreal, where the real is at the same time glaringly evident, and -keep clear, harmonious, concordant images. No ingenuity could make an -actor's figure like a bird's. And then humans do not differ in size like -birds. There was no way of approximating widely different proportions of -the rooster, the black-bird, the pheasant and the nightingale. - -In watching _Chantecler_ I had the same painful impression of how we are -handicapped by the multiplicity of necessities we have created for -ourselves in modern days as I had in watching the flood. Our evolution -has bound us fast with chains of our own forging. Physically and -mentally, we have manufactured so many props to lean upon that we can no -longer stand on our own feet. _Chantecler_ cannot be compared with the -animal plays of Aristophanes for in Greek drama there was no attempt to -present to the spectators a visual image in harmony with the audile -image. Nor even in Shakespeare's time was the dramatist limited by the -difficulties of a _mise en scène_. A Midsummer Night's Dream was an -easier proposition for the Elizabethan actor than for Sir Herbert -Beerbohm Tree, despite the properties of Her Majesty's Theatre, the -hidden orchestra playing Mendelssohn's music, and the magic aerial -ballets. - -Our next "real show" was the political campaign for the new Chamber of -Deputies that was to inaugurate the fifth decade of the Third Republic -on June first. Herbert spent an inordinate amount of time, I thought, in -puzzling out the voting strength of the Ministerialist and Opposition -groups, and patiently wrote articles for American magazines about -Radical Socialists, Clemenceau and Caillaux, to vary his Turkish -articles. But whether he treated of French leaders and politics or of -Venizelos or of the Young Turks, his articles invariably came back with -a polite rejection slip. We put them away and sold them later, when they -were out of date, for more than we would have gotten then. Our money for -writing came from the _Herald_, and we realized that if you want to -make your living by writing the anchor to a newspaper is not lightly to -be weighed. - -But though I was not even mildly interested in Radical Socialists, -Republicans of the Left, Independent Socialists, Progressists and what -not, I did like to go to political meetings. They were good for your -French and good for the opportunity of studying the influence of -politics upon the Latin character. How the French love meetings! They -use our English word instead of _réunion_, just as they always speak of -self-government. But they are not at all like us in politics. There are -as many parties as there are leaders, and their campaigns center around -personalities, not principles. - -In 1910, the first round of the election was on April 24, and the final -round on May 8. It just happened that May first was a Sunday, and fell -between the two election Sundays. Throughout the Third Republic, Labor -Day has been a time of fear and trembling for the Paris _bourgeoisie_. -The Cabinet is always anxious on May first. You never can tell what is -going to happen when crowds gather in Paris: so the wise Government does -not allow trouble to be started. Encouraged by the success of their -Ferrer demonstration on the Boulevard de Clichy a few months before, the -revolutionary elements decided to make May Day a big event with the hope -of influencing the second round of the elections. Premier Briand decided -there would be no May Day parade. Believing that the Government would -not dare to come into conflict with them in the midst of their election -struggle, workingmen's unions plastered Paris with boastful posters -announcing a monster demonstration in the Bois de Bologne, followed by a -parade to the Place de la Concorde. This was in open defiance to the -law, which requires a permit for gatherings in the open air and for -parades. But M. Briand was equal to the occasion. Saturday night he -threw twenty thousand troops into Paris. They bivouacked in the Place de -la Concorde, the Place de l'Etoile, and in the Bois. I took Christine to -church. After the service, we went to the Bois for lunch. There were -troops on every road in the part of the Bois indicated in the posters as -the workingmen's rendez-vous. Here and there little tents with the Red -Cross flag were pitched, and to make the picture more impressive doctors -in white coats stood before the door. This scared the workingmen more -than the soldiers did. We saw many of them in their blue blouses. But -they took care not to stop or to walk in numbers. - -The _bourgeoisie_ were able to rest easy. Assured that order would be -kept, fashionable Paris flocked in great numbers to the Longchamp races. -Of course we went, too. As Herbert had a story, he bought the best -seats. We were not far from President Fallières, and we saw the spring -fashions. Scrappie created as much of a sensation as some of the gowns. -People who frequent Longchamp are not in the habit of bringing babies -with them. But with me it is always, "love me, love my child." - -The unions did not have good luck in the spring of 1910. But no more did -the clericals and monarchists. Hopes of a clerical reaction were -dissipated. Briand was as bitter against the orders as against the -unions. The royalists no longer count. We had many royalist friends. -Some we knew well enough to ask, "How goes the propaganda?" And they -knew us well enough to answer, "_Pas de blague! C'est à rire!_" "Stop -teasing me: it's a joke!" The Duke of Orleans has about as much chance -of being King of France as he has of being President of the United -States. In our estimates of political conditions are we not too apt to -judge France by her checkered past? There is no government in Europe -more assured of stability than the French Republic: and this was as true -in 1910 as it is in 1919. - -Public lectures are a source of diversion to Parisians. We Americans -think that we are great on listening to ourselves and others talk. But -crowds in France do not need a political campaign, a religious revival -or a return from near the North Pole to come together for a lecture. The -most surprising topics, treated by men who are not in the public eye, -draw attentive and assiduous audiences. Every day you have a wealth of -choice in free lectures in Paris. Some newspapers publish the lecture -program of the day just as naturally as they publish the theatrical -offerings. At the Sorbonne, the Collège de France, the Ecole des -Hautes-Etudes, the Ecole des Sciences Politiques, the Ecole des Chartes, -the various Musées, and a host of other organizations offer single -lectures and courses of lectures, week days and Sundays, either free or -for a very slight fee. Many of the best courses in the various Facultés -of the University of Paris are open to the public. Just to give one -instance of popular interest in a rather technical subject, we used to -attend the courses in physical geography of Professor Brunhes at the -Collége de France. That year he was treating the formation of the -mountainous center of France. If you did not go early, your chances of a -seat were slim. There were always people standing thronged at the doors -way out into the hall. This was not unusual. Any man who knew his -subject and who could treat it with vigor and wit was sure of a _salle -comble_. His subject did not matter. One did not have to spend money: -free courses were as attractive as those for which a fee was charged. We -discovered that Parisians never cease going to school. One is accustomed -to see only young faces in the class-rooms of American universities. In -the Sorbonne and the Collège de France there are students from sixteen -to seventy. - -If music is your passion, you can indulge it to the full in Paris. With -the Opéra and Opéra Comique and Opéra Municipal, there is something -that you really want to see every day, and when the music does not -particularly attract you, you can be sure of an excellent -_divertissement_, as the ballet spectacle is called. Parisians love -choregraphy. And there is choregraphy for all tastes and all moods. -Paris is the mother of the spectacle called _revue_. We have borrowed -the name but not the thing. No _revue_ can be successful in Paris unless -it possesses distinct quality in dances, costumes, _mise en scène_, and -especially in the dialogue. The _revue_ must reflect what Parisians are -thinking about, take into account _actualités_, and interpret the events -of the day. This means constant change in the dialogue, suppression of -old and introduction of new scenes, to the point where you can go to the -same _revue_ in the third month of its run and find something entirely -different as far as the lines go. For six months of the year the bands -of the Garde Républicaine and of the regiments stationed in Paris play -in the gardens and squares on Thursdays and Sundays. The Tuileries -offers from April to October open-air opera and concerts in the heart of -the city. You pay only for your chair. - -The foreigner resident in Paris soon becomes aware that he does not have -to leave his own quarter to find a good evening's entertainment. Real -Paris shows are perhaps best to be found far from the Grands Boulevards, -Clichy and Montmartre. From the heights of superior opportunity one -does not want to look down upon the tourist and tell him that he doesn't -really see Paris. But the fact remains that when theatres and -music-halls and restaurants become rendezvous for foreigners they -insensibly lose their distinctive local atmosphere. They begin to cater -to the tourist trade and give their audiences what they come to see. -This is so true of the Folies-Bergère, the Casino de Paris and other -large music-halls that the program has become half English and the -actresses and choruses and clowns are as often of London as of Paris -origin. The same foreign invasion on the stage, following the invasion -in the audience, is to be found at the Ambassadeurs and Marigny on the -Champs-Elysées. Alas! even the Concert Mayol type of music-hall has -succumbed to the temptation of catering to the big world. English and -American "turns" are dragged in by the ears to enliven _revues_ for -those who do not understand French, and the spectacle has become a -totally un-Parisian jumble of vaudeville. But in the little music-halls -of the quarters one still finds the atmosphere that Parisians love and a -program offered to their taste. Herbert and I used to go to a theatre on -the Boulevard Saint-Germain, just off the Boulevard Saint-Michel, where -plays were typically Parisian. Another such theatre exists in the Rue de -la Gaité. In the same street are three music-halls that put on songs and -stage _revues_ for Parisians. There are probably a hundred theatres and -music-halls of this kind whose names do not appear in Baedeker, and -which have resisted successfully the first decade of cinema competition. - -Last of all among real Paris shows the _foires_ must not be forgotten. -But I speak of these in another chapter because visiting them is a goal -for a _promenade_ and not the deliberate seeking of an evening's -entertainment. You take in a _foire_ as incidental to a walk, just as -your _apéritif_ or your after-dinner coffee is most often the price you -pay for a seat to watch the passing crowd, which, when all is said and -done, is the real Paris show. - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII - -THE SPELL OF JUNE - - -My critic points out that after having been so enthusiastic about walks -at nightfall and having put myself on record as to the exceptional -advantages of seeing Paris in the dark on winter afternoons, rain or -shine, I shall be inconsistent in extolling daylight Paris. Why the -spell of June, when your walks are wholly in daylight? If it were -inconsistency, being a woman I should be within my rights to ask the -critic what he expected. But is it inconsistent? I think not. If I love -to go out in the rain, if I enjoy city streets at night time, it does -not follow that I do not enjoy good weather and the long days of June. -It is another aspect of Paris that we get in our walks. We have time to -go on longer excursions. We "do" the river and open spaces more than old -quarters. And, best of all, in the two Junes of our early married life, -we took the baby with us on our strolls. I felt the spell of June when -we returned to Paris from Turkey in 1909. I felt it more when we were -going back to Turkey in 1910. And ever since, the Paris June has had a -charm all its own, deepening with the years. However I may like autumn -and winter and spring, June is the best month. The spell is partly due -to the knowledge that one is soon going off to the shore or mountains -for the summer, and partly to the thought that it might be the last -June. Each year we have felt that we ought to return to America in the -autumn. - -In the Rue Servandoni year, April and May were cold, wet months. Spring -fever did not get us until June. Then we decided that all the wisdom and -profit of our Paris year was not to be found in the Bibliothèque -Nationale. We began to divorce ourselves from daily study by the excuse -that we ought to get together a small library on Turkish history. Where -could the books be bought more advantageously than on the _quais_? From -the Pont des Saints-Pères to beyond Notre-Dame the parapets of the Rive -Gauche are used by second-hand booksellers for the display of their -wares. The _bouquinistes_ clamp wooden cases on the stone parapets. You -can go for more than a mile with the certainty of finding something -interesting at an astonishingly low price. There is no more delightful -form of loafing in the open air. The books are an excuse. They become a -habit. In order to prevent the habit from growing costly, you must make -out a budget. Some days you are only "finding out what is there"; other -days, before leaving home, you divest yourself of all the money in your -pocketbooks and wallet except what you feel you can afford to spend. -Then only are you safe! I do not know of a more insidious temptation to -buy what you do not need than loitering along the _quais_ of the Rive -Gauche. In a few days we spent all we could afford for Turkish history. -But the afternoon walk started earlier and ended later. We never tired -of the _quais_ and the river. We watched fishermen and the barges. We -were amused by the men who bathe and clip dogs. We explored the streets -between the Seine and the Boulevard Saint-Germain. We stood on the Pont -des Arts and watched the people coming home from work. We went often -into Notre-Dame. We glued our noses to the window-glass of the art print -shops around the Ecole des Beaux-Arts. We selected furniture (from the -side-walk!) displayed in the numerous antique shops of the Rue des -Saints-Pères, the Rue Bonaparte and the Rue de Seine. We always came -back at sunset, with the westward glow before us. That was when our -oldest daughter got the taste of going to bed late. - -The narrowest street in Paris is the Rue de Venise, which runs from the -Rue Beaubourg across the Rue Saint-Martin to the Rue Quicampoix. But -neither in itself nor in its location is it as picturesque as the Rue de -Nevers, luring you from the Pont Neuf as you cross to the Rive Gauche. -Nowhere else in Paris is one so completely held by the past as in the -Rue de Nevers. Here stood the Tour de Nesle. The Mint now comes up to -one side of this street for a few hundred feet, but elsewhere it is on -both sides as it was in the time of Henri IV. Massive doorways, with -bars of iron and peep-holes covered with grating, tell the story of a -time when one relied upon himself for protection. No _agents_ in the -Paris of the fifteenth century! Going down to the river from the Rue -Servandoni, we always took the Rue de Nevers. In it Scrappie's carriage -seemed like a full-grown vehicle. There was always the nervous fear that -something would be thrown out on us from upper windows, not unjustified, -as more than one narrow escape proved. We used to say that when the baby -was grown up, we should enjoy taking her on one of the promenades of her -infancy, and especially through the Rue de Nevers. We have shown -Christine the street, and hope that she will remember it. But she will -never show it to her children. Some sanitary engineer, successor of -Baron Haussmann, has conceived a project of widening the Rue Dauphine. -The Rue de Nevers will soon disappear. Our only hope is that the war -will have delayed a long time the fulfillment of projects that mean the -disappearance of what remains of mediaeval Paris. - -[Illustration: Market day in the Rue de Seine] - -The Parisian who goes to New York marvels at our skyscrapers. He is -properly impressed with the hustle and bustle of the New World. But it -does not take him long to note the absence of wide boulevards and the -lack of _ensemble_ in the cityscape. Then he will invariably make two -comments: "There are no trees," and "There is no place to sit down." -Except the Eiffel Tower, Paris does not boast of a "biggest in the -world." It will take Americans centuries to acquire a sense of harmony -and proportion in city building. But shall we ever learn to bring the -out-of-doors into city life? Until we do learn the big American city -will be intolerable in the summer months. Paris, built on ancient -foundations, has increased to a city of millions, and one still feels -that an outing does not mean going to the country. Boulevards and -_quais_ are lined with trees. Every open spot has grass and flowers. -Best of all, when you want to sit down to read your paper or look at the -crowd, there is always a bench. You do not have to go home or indoors to -rest, and wherever you live, a park or boulevard is near at hand. -Parisians are as closely huddled together as New Yorkers. But they can -spend all their leisure time in the open. The privilege of sitting down -on a bench is a blessing. All the year round you can eat or drink out of -doors. I have often marveled at the criticism that the French dislike -open air, simply because they, like other Europeans, do not keep their -windows open at night. The Parisian lives far more in the open air than -the American does. To be out of doors day and night is a natural -instinct from the cradle to the grave. Trees and benches are a large -part of the spell of June in Paris. - -Then there were the omnibuses with their _impériales_. When we did not -have the price of a cab, we could get on top of the Montsouris-Opéra or -Odéon-Clichy bus, and go for a few sous from south to north across the -river through the heart of Paris. We climbed to the _impériale_ of the -tram at Saint-Sulpice and rode to Auteuil, on the horse-drawn omnibus -from the Madeleine to the Bastille, from the Place Saint-Michel to the -Gare Saint-Lazare, from the Gare Montparnasse to La Villette, from the -Bourse to Passy, from the Panthéon to Courcelles. Alas! horses and -_impériales_ disappeared before the war. The last omnibus with three -horses abreast was the Panthéon-Courcelles line. It was replaced by -closed motor-bus in 1913. Each year, when June comes round, I long for -these rides. Horses, I suppose, are gone forever. But we still hope for -the revival of an upper story on our motor-buses. There never was--or -will be--a better way of having Paris vistas become a part of your very -being. - -_Foire_ means fair. But the term is used for a much more intimate and -vital sort of a fair than we have. The French have big formal fairs in -buildings and grounds, where a little fun is mixed in with a lot of -business. But they have also small street fairs, solely for amusement, -and selling street fairs, where amusements have their full share. The -Paris _foires_ are a distinct institution. There is a regular schedule -for them, as for Brittany _pardons_. From the end of March to the -beginning of November you can always find a _foire_ in the city or the -suburbs. They are held out of doors, generally in the center of a -boulevard. Some of them are important institutions. In the business -_foires_ you range from scrap-iron, old clothes and nicked china and -disreputable furniture at the Porte Saint-Ouen and on the Boulevard -Richard Lenoir to the costliest Paris has to offer on the Esplanade des -Invalides and building materials and engines in the Tuileries. The -purely amusement _foires_ on the Quai d'Orsay, the Boulevard de Clichy, -and at Saint-Cloud stretch for blocks and are attended by all Paris. To -go to them is the thing to do. - -But each quarter has its _foire_, underwritten by the shop-keepers and -café proprietors of the neighborhood. They are never widely heralded, -you stumble upon them by chance. And if you want to see real Paris the -little _foires_ give you the closest glimpse it is possible to get of -Paris at play. At the _foires de quartier_ there are no onlookers. -Everybody is taking part. If you do not feel the impulse to get on the -merry-go-round, the dipping boats, the scenic-railway; if you are averse -to having your fortune told; if you feel doubtful of your ability to -throw a wooden ring around the neck of a bottle of champagne; if you are -indifferent to the mysteries of the two-headed calf and the dancing -cobra; if your stomach does not digest _pain d'épice_ and candy made of -coal-tar; if you think your baby ought not to have a rubber-doll or a -woolly lamb or a jumping rabbit made of cat's fur--for heaven's sake -stay away from the _foires_! - -Most of the neighborhood _foires_ are held in June. Whatever direction -you take for your evening walk, your ears will give you a goal towards -which to work. The merry-go-rounds have the same class of music as in -America, and the tricks of the barkers--their figures of speech -even--are the same. But the difference between our amusement parks and -the Paris _foires_ is the spontaneous atmosphere of the _foires_, their -setting improvised in the midst of the city, and the amazing childlike -quality of the fun. Seven or seventy, you enjoy the wooden horses just -as much. And there is no dignity to lose. You do not care a bit if your -cook sees you wildly pushing a fake bicycle or standing engrossed in the -front row of the crowd watching a juggler. - -The glorious days of June, when we put work deliberately out of our -scheme of things, furnish opportunities for excursions of a different -character than those of Sunday. At the risk of being ridiculed again by -my critic, who has read my praise of _repos hebdomadaire_, I must -confess that Sunday has its drawbacks. The whole city is out on Sunday, -and every place is crowded. Your good time is somewhat marred all day -long by the anticipation of the crowded trains and trams, for a place in -which you wait with much less equanimity than when you left home in the -morning. On week days there are no waits and plenty of room. I can -entice my husband from his work--if it is June! - -It is surprising how far afield it is possible to go at little drain on -your strength and pocket-book on a June week-day. We wanted just the -country sometimes. Then it was the valley of Chevreuse, -Villers-Cotteret, luncheon in a tree at Robinson, or the Marne between -Meaux and Château-Thierry. On a very bright day one could choose the -shade of Compiègne, Chantilly, Rambouillet, Versailles, Marly, -Saint-Germain-en-Laye, Saint-Cloud, Fountainebleau, forests and parks -incomparable. Cathedral-hungry or in a mood for the past, Amiens, -Beauvais, Evreux, Dreux, Orléans, Mantes, Chartres, Sens, Troyes, -Rheims, Laon, Soissons, Noyon, and Senlis are from one to three hours by -train. A good luncheon at little cost is always easily found. And after -lunch you have no difficulty in getting a _cocher_ to take you to the -ruins of a castle or abbey for a few francs. - -Inexhaustible as is the _banlieue_ of Paris you are always glad to get -back. From whatever direction you return, the first you see of the great -city is the Eiffel Tower. It beckons you back to the spell of June--in -Paris. - - - - -1913 - - - - -CHAPTER XIX - -CHILDHOOD VISTAS FOR A NEW GENERATION - - -In September, 1910, we went to Constantinople for just one year, as we -had gone to Tarsus for one year. But the lure of the East held us. We -loved our home up above the Bosphorus behind the great castle of Rumeli -Hissar. When the Judas-trees were ablaze and nightingales were singing -that first spring in Constantinople, we forgot Paris and rashly promised -to stay two years longer. Life was full of adventure, the war with -Italy, the war between Turkey and the Balkan States during which our -city was the prize fought for, cholera, the coming of our second baby, -and a wonderful trip in the Balkans. We would not have missed it, no, -but Paris called us again, and we decided to leave the political unrest -and wars of the Near East to return to the peaceful atmosphere of the -Bibliothèque Nationale. - -My husband could not get away from Constantinople until the end of June -and then he wanted to pay his way back to Paris by traveling through the -Balkans again after peace was signed with Turkey. With my two children, -I sailed for Marseilles at the beginning of March and reached Paris just -in time to get the last weeks of winter. In the calendar seasons are -conventional. As in the United States, France frequently has winter -until April is well started. - -I found a little apartment on the Rue du Montparnasse just north of the -Boulevard. From the standpoint of my friends I suppose the Quarter was a -bit more _comme il faut_ than the Rue Servandoni. I missed the -picturesqueness of our old abode with the _épicerie_ on the ground floor -and the _moyenageux_ atmosphere. But the change to the Montparnasse -Quarter had its compensations. The air, none too good in the great city, -is better around the Boulevard du Montparnasse than in any other part of -the city except Montmartre, Belleville and Buttes-Chaumont. You are on -high ground away from the heavy mists and dampness of the river. -Communications are excellent. You do not have to sacrifice the feeling -of being in a real vital part of Paris, either. We still lived in the -midst of historical association. If Gondorcet hid in the Rue Servandoni -from those who would have chopped his head off during the Terror, -Lamartine was hauled from a house on the Rue du Montparnasse by the -soldiers of Louis Napoleon at the beginning of the _coup d'etat_ of -1851, and to the Rue du Montparnasse flocked the cream of Paris on -Mondays to hear Sainte-Beuve during the Third Empire. - -It was a new world opened for the eyes of Christine and Lloyd to live -cooped up in an apartment after the big house at Rumeli Hissar and to -have to walk through city streets to find a garden to play in instead of -simply stepping out of their own front door. But life has its -compensations--everywhere and at all times. You never get anything -without sacrificing something else for it. We have to choose at every -step, and we must turn away from some blessings to obtain others. I love -the country. Theoretically speaking, it is the best place to bring up -children. But living in the open does deprive them of the mental -alertness, of the broad vision from infancy, of the self-reliance, of -the habits of industry that childhood in the city alone can give. And -then, the doctor comes right away when you telephone. - -Thirty-Eight Rue du Montparnasse was opposite Notre-Dame-des-Champs, and -only a door down from the Boulevard. From the windows my tots could see -the passing show on the boulevard: and the church was a never-failing -source of interest. Just opposite us was the sexton's apartment, tucked -into the roof of the church. It is characteristic of Paris that a home -should be hidden away in an unexpected corner like this. From the -windows Christine and Lloyd could see the little church children playing -on their flat roof, and out of the door below the choir boys passed in -and out. We went into our apartment at First Communion season. My -childhood enjoyed the "little brides of Christ" in their white dresses -and veils. Every day had its weddings and funerals. The children did -not distinguish between life and death. Whenever carriages stopped in -front of the church, they would jump up and down and shout, "_Mariage_!" - -A little sister arrived at the beginning of May. When June came, I was -able to take Emily Elizabeth out to market. Every morning we went down -the Boulevard Raspail to Sadla's, on the corner of the Rue de Sèvres, -and twice a week to the market on the Boulevard Edgar-Quinet. They were -the blessed days, when I had no cook--which meant that I could buy what -I liked to eat, and no nurse--which meant that I saw something of my own -children. Servants are a necessary evil to the housewife and mother that -wants to see something of the world in which she lives. But an -occasional interlude, when everything devolves on mother, is good both -for her and the children. - -During the war Sadla's went bankrupt, and for several years the corner -opposite the Hotel Lutetia has been desolate. Probably the firm failed -for the very reason that made it unique among the provision-shops even -of Paris, where the selling of food is as much a work of art as the -cooking of it. We loved Sadla's. Marketing there was always a joy. Your -baby-carriage was not an inconvenience: for everything was displayed -outside on the street. You started with fish and ended with fruit and -flowers, passing by meats and vegetables, canned goods, groceries, -pastry, cakes and candies. The fish swam in a marble basin under a -fountain. You made your choice, and the victim was netted by a -white-clad boy and flopped over the counter to the scales. Live lobsters -sprawled in sea-weed, and boiled ones lay on ice. Oysters from fifty -centimes to five francs a dozen were packed in wicker baskets, passed by -their guardian every few minutes under the fountain. In the _hors -d'Å“uvres_ and cold meat section, you had your choice of the cheapest -and the most expensive variety of tempting morsels. It made no -difference if you wanted a little chicken wing or a big turkey encased -in truffle-studded jelly, a slice of ham or a whole Yorkshire quarter, -one pickle or a hundred, twenty centimes worth of _salade Russe_ or an -earthenware dishful arranged like an Italian garden landscape, one -radish or a bunch of them. In Paris everybody is accustomed to -purchasing things to eat and drink of the best quality: so you do not -feel that the quality of what you want depends upon the quantity you ask -for. On the meat counters, for instance, single chops, and tiny cutlets -and roasts, and chickens of all sizes, are displayed side by side, each -with its price marked. Apples, pears, tomatoes, bananas, even plums, are -price-marked by the piece. Tarts and cakes are of all sizes. When you -come to flowers, you can buy single roses or carnations. I never tired -of shopping at Sadla's. Nor did the children. - -Vegetables and fruits and nuts are mostly bought in the open markets or -from the _marchandes des quatre saisons_, who deal also in dairy -products and poultry and flowers. The markets are held on certain days -in different quarters. The women with push-carts line the streets every -day. They go early in the morning to the Halles Centrales and buy -whatever they find is the bargain of the day, and hawk in their own -quarter, announcing their merchandise by queer cries that even to the -well-trained ear of the French woman need a glance at the push-cart to -confirm what is at the best a guess. - -It is fun to buy on the street, and the commodities and price are -sometimes an irresistible temptation. But you have to watch the -_marchandes des quatre saisons_. They have a way of throwing your -purchase on the scales in the manner of an American iceman, and you want -to be ready to put out your hand to steady the needle. Your eye must be -sharp too, to watch that some of the apples do not come, wormy and -spotted, from a less desirable layer underneath the selling layer. It is -a wonderful lesson in learning how to put the best foot forward to watch -the push-cart women arranging their wares on the side-walks around the -Halles Centrales before starting out on the daily round. From the -writings of Carlyle and other seekers after the picturesque, the legend -has grown that the _poissonnières_, who knitted before the guillotine, -are a race apart. But there is as much truth in this belief as in the -belief that our gallant marines did the trick alone at Château-Thierry. -Fish women are no more formidable among Parisiennes than the general run -of _marchandes des quatre saisons_. And ask almost anyone who has lived -in a Paris apartment about her concierge! - -Fresh from Montenegro, Herbert reached our new home on the morning of -July fourteenth. He explained that he had left the Greeks and Serbians -and Bulgarians to fight over the Turkish spoils to their heart's -content. He was sick of following wars. He wanted to see his new baby. -It had come over him one night in Albania, when sleeplessness was due to -the usual cause in that part of the world, that by catching a certain -boat from Cattaro to Venice he could get home for the Quatorze. - -After he had looked over his new acquisition, we started out for a -stroll by ourselves just to talk things over. We walked down the -Boulevard Montparnasse to the Place de l'Observatoire. Between the -Closerie des Lilas and the Bal Bullier was a big merry-go-round. The -onlookers were throwing multi-colored streamers at the girls they liked -the best among the riders. In the middle of the street a strong man in -pink tights was doing stunts with dumb-bells and the members of his -family. - -The same thought came to us both. What a pity the children are missing -this! We hurried back for them, forgetting that we had promised -ourselves a long just-us talk to bridge the months of separation. And we -returned to join in the celebration, my husband pushing the -baby-carriage and I with progeny hanging to both hands. Why do children -drag so, even when you are walking slowly? Every mother knows how they -lean on her literally as well as figuratively. - -That Quatorze was the beginning of a new epoch. A new generation was to -have childhood vistas of Paris, but parent-led and parent-shown, as it -had been for me thirty years before. For that is the way of the world. - - - - -CHAPTER XX - -THE PROBLEM OF HOUSING - - -When you are in Paris without children you can get along in a hotel or a -_pension_: and you can probably live as cheaply as, if not more cheaply -than, in a home of your own. There are several combinations. Inexpensive -rooms (in normal times) can be found in good hotels: and there are lots -of hotels that take only roomers. You do not, as at a _pension_, have to -be tied down to at least two meals where you live. The advantages of a -furnished-room or a _pension_ are: easy to find in the quarter you wish -to live in; no bother about service; and no necessity to tie yourself up -with a lease. But if you are making a protracted stay, it is wise to -weigh at the beginning the disadvantages with the advantages. You get -tired of the food; you have to associate daily with people whom you do -not like; and--especially if you are of my sex--you have no place to -receive your friends. I think in the end most people who go to Paris and -who follow the line of least resistance, either because it is that or -because they have the idea that they can learn French quicker in a -"French _pension_," regret having missed the opportunity of a home of -their own, of a _chez soi_, as the French say. For you really cannot -feel that you belong in Paris unless you are keeping house. "Be it ever -so humble," you can set up your own home, if you are determined to do -so. There are innumerable wee apartments--a hall big enough to hang up -your coat and hat, a kitchenette, and a room where your bed can be a -couch disguised with a rug and pillows during the day. Studios furnish -another opportunity of making a home of your own. Of course, during the -war and since Paris has been overcrowded. But there will be a return to -normal conditions. - -And if you have a family--even one baby--hotel or _pension_ life becomes -unendurable. - -When Herbert came back from Turkey in the summer of 1913, we found the -three little rooms and kitchen of Thirty-eight Rue du Montparnasse too -small for us. The first thing Herbert did was to "give notice." The -Paris system of renting is very advantageous if one is looking for a -modest apartment. Your lease is by the term--a term being three -months--and can be canceled upon giving one term's notice. This means -that you're tied down for only six months in the beginning, and after -that for only three months. One can buy simple furniture, as we did in -the Rue Servandoni, and sell it at the end of the year without a great -loss. It is possible to rent an apartment for a year, furnish it and -sell out, at about the same price you would pay for a furnished -apartment. And you will have had the pleasure of being surrounded by -your own things. - -The proposition of a furnished apartment looks better than it is. The -French are the worst people in the world for biting a penny. They are -meticulous to a point incomprehensible to Americans. The inventory is a -horror! In taking a villa, whether it be in Brittany, in Normandy, at -Aix-les-Bains, or on the Riviera, you are handed sheets of paper by the -arm's length, on which are recorded not only the objects in each room -but the state of walls, garden, woodwork, carpets, mattresses, pillows -and blankets. You wrestle with the agent when you enter. But he is -cleverer than you are. And when you come to leave, he finds spots and -cracks, nicks in the china, ink-stains, and all sorts of damages you -never thought of. He points to your signature--and you pay! You replace -what is broken or chipped by new objects. You repaint and repaper and -clean. The bill is as long as the inventory. And you find that your -original rent is simply an item. - -I do not want to infer that you are entirely free from this annoyance -and uncertain item of expense when you lease unfurnished. Your walls and -ceilings and floors, your mirrors (which in France are an integral part -of the building) and your _charges_ are to be considered. An architect, -if you please, draws up the _état des lieux_, which you are required to -sign as you do the _inventoire_ of a furnished apartment. But the longer -you remain in an apartment the less proportionately to your rent are -the damages liable to be. As for the _charges_, by which is meant your -share towards the carpets in the halls and on the stairs, the lighting, -elevator, etc., in many leases they are now represented by a fixed sum, -and where they are not, you can have a pretty definite idea as to what -they are going to be. The unexpected does not hit you. - -Most Paris leases are on the 3-6-9 year basis. You sign for three years. -If you do not give notice six months before the end of the three-year -term, the lease is automatically continued for another equal period. For -nine years, then, you are sure of undisturbed possession, and your -_propriétaire_ cannot raise the rent on you. Leases are generally -uniform in their clauses. You bind yourself to put furniture to the -value of at least one year's rent in the apartment to live in it -_bourgeoisement_ (that is, to carry on no business), to keep no dogs or -other pets,[D] and to sublet only with proprietor's consent. On his -side, the proprietor agrees to give you proper concierge and elevator -service, to heat the apartment for five months from November first to -March thirty-first, and to furnish water, hot and cold, at fixed rates -per cubic meter. The lease is registered at the _mairie_ at the -_locataire's_ expense. - -[D] This clause is a dead letter almost everywhere. You are much more -apt to be refused an apartment because you have children than because -you have dogs or birds. In fact, although you often see a sign or are -greeted by the statement NI CHIENS NI ENFANTS, the prohibition, when you -press the concierge, is limited to children. My bitter criticism of the -people among whom I live is the attitude of a large part of them towards -children. They do not like children. They do not want them. And they do -not understand why any woman is fool enough to have "a big family," as -they call my four. This is the most serious problem of contemporary -France. It makes the winning of the war a hollow victory. - -You pay the taxes, which are collected directly from you. The municipal -tax runs to about sixteen percent of the annual rental, and now includes -in a lump sum the old taxes for windows and doors. In addition, you pay -a very small tax to recompense the city for having suppressed the -_octroi_ on wines and liquors and mineral waters. A new tax, which no -resident in France who has an apartment can escape, is the income tax. -But unless you are a French subject, you are not compelled to make a -return of your sources of income. Should you choose to be taxed -_d'office_, the collector assesses you on a basis of having an income -seven times the amount of your rental. The concierge is forbidden to -allow you to move from your apartment until you have shown him the -receipts for the current year for all your taxes. - -Once you have signed your lease and have arranged to move in, your -troubles are not yet over. Proprietors furnish no chandeliers or other -lights, not even the simplest. You have to go to an electrician, buy -your fixtures, and have them installed, if you have not bought the -lights in the apartment from the previous _locataire_. You must sign -contracts and make deposits for your gas and electric light. The gas -company will rent you a stove and a meter. You pay the charges for -connecting you up. Telephones are in the hands of the government. If you -want a direct telephone, you have to sign a contract. If you want to -have your telephone through the concierge's _loge_, the telephone -service is charged on your quarterly rent bill. In any case, you pay for -the instrument and bell box and the charges for installation. A private -line is not much of an advantage in Paris. The service is scarcely any -quicker. With your telephone by way of the concierge, a message can be -left if you do not answer, and the person calling you is informed if you -are out of town. - -The last of your troubles is fire insurance. Thanks to the solid -construction of Paris and careful surveillance, fires are very rare. -During all the years I have lived in Paris I remember no fires except -those caused by the German bombs. However, you do not dare not to -insure. For French law holds you responsible for damage to neighbors' -apartments from water as well as fire, if the fire starts in yours. Your -insurance policy insures your neighbors as well as yourself. The French -law is excellent. It makes you careful. French law, also, by the way, -holds you liable for accidents to your servants, of any kind and no -matter how incurred. You cannot fall back on the joker of contributory -carelessness. All the servant has to prove is that the accident happened -while working for you. - -I have forgotten to mention one further formality that was not of -importance before the war but is indispensable now. An old French police -law requires all foreigners to secure a _certificat d'immatriculation_ -from the Prefecture of Police as the _sine qua non_ to residence in -Paris. Before the war, no one ever bothered about this. The only -foreigners watched by the police were Russians, due to a provision -France ought never to have agreed to in the alliance with Russia. When -the war broke out and my husband went to get his _permis de séjour_, he -was asked for the first time for this paper. And we had been living in -France on and off for six years, and had leased three apartments! This -was a reason for loving Paris. Nobody bothered you, and you could live -as you pleased and do as you pleased so long as you behaved yourself. -Foreigners were never made to feel that they were foreigners. They -enjoyed equality before the law with Frenchmen. Paris was cosmopolite in -a unique sense. Hindsight blamed the laxity of the French police. But -let us fervently hope that the old spirit of hospitality may not have -changed with the war and that France in regard to Germany may not be as -Rome in regard to Greece. Why be victor if one has to adopt the habits -of the vanquished? - -I have gone into the question of the housing problem with too much -precision and detail, I fear, for a book of Paris sketches. But so many -friends have asked me, so many strangers have written me, about taking -up their abode in Paris that I feel what I have said about it will be of -interest to all who are interested in Paris. - -We had three months to our new residence. You always have three months -at least in Paris. It is not enough if you are undecided or lazy. It is -plenty if you go about hunting for a home with the same energy and -persistence and enthusiasm that you put into other things. After all, -what is more important than a home? We tramped the quarter, as we had -done in the summer of 1909. But we now had a large family. And we had -realized the fundamental truth of the beautiful old Scotch saying, -"Every bairn brings its food wi' it." So we were able to aspire to two -salons and three bedrooms, to _confort moderne_ (which means central -heat, electric light, bath-rooms, elevator and hot water), and to palms -and red carpet in the doorway. - -For us the heart of Paris at that time was where the Boulevard du -Montparnasse is crossed by the Boulevard Raspail. On the Boulevard du -Montparnasse, between Baty's and the Rue Léopold-Robert, a new apartment -house was being built. Before the stairs were finished we climbed to the -sixth floor, lost our hearts to a view of all Paris, and signed a 3-6-9 -lease. The war has come and gone. We are still there. - - - - -1914 - - - - -CHAPTER XXI - -"NACH PARIS!" - - -Von Kluck and I had a race to see who would reach Paris first. It was -close. But I won. Lots of my friends thought then and since that I was -foolish to take my children back to Paris at such a time. An American -woman came to Ty Coz, my little summer cottage at Saint-Jean-du-Doigt in -Finistère, to remonstrate with me. - -"You must be crazy," she said in her most complimentary tone, "to take -those three children back to Paris now. The Germans are certainly going -to capture Paris, and if they don't do it right away, they'll bombard -the city until it surrenders. My dear Mrs. Gibbons, surely you read the -papers and you see what awful things the Germans are doing in Belgium. -Paris has no chance against their big guns. And they will cut the -railways. You will have no milk, no vegetables. And here you are in -Brittany, where they probably will not come, and if they do, you can get -off to England by sea." - -I did not argue. It would have been foolish to tell her that the Germans -would not take Paris. I was no prophet, and denying a danger is not -preventing it. Despite the tigress instinct of every mother to protect -her own, I simply could not feel that to go home was the wrong thing to -do. Herbert wrote and telegraphed approving my desire to return. As my -husband could not leave Paris to come to us, it was manifestly up to us -to go to him. We were more concerned about the possibility of being cut -off from each other than about what the Germans might do to us. I had -one advantage in making up my mind over other women around me. War and -sieges and bombardments did not loom up when I read about the march -through Belgium with the same sense of awfulness as to my neighbors. I -knew that things look worse from a distance than they are on the spot. I -remembered how normally we lived in the midst of massacre in Tarsus and -when the Bulgarians were attacking Constantinople. - -The removal of the Government to Bordeaux did not deter me at the last -minute. It did not seem to me an indication that the game was up, but -rather the decision to profit by experience of earlier wars and not -stake the whole war upon the defense of the capital. It was getting cold -at the seashore. I was anxious to direct myself the moving into the new -apartment we had taken. Yvonne, my cook, and Dorothy, my English nurse, -were as eager as I to get back to town. We just didn't let the Germans -bother us! The trunks and baby-beds were loaded in one two-wheeled cart -and the kiddies on hay in another. We grown-ups bicycled along behind -the seventeen kilometres to Morlaix. The Brest _rapide_ carried scarcely -any civilians. We broke in on the seclusion of a colonel sitting alone -in a compartment. - -"I pity you, sir," I said. - -"Why?" He smiled and threw away his newspaper. That was promising. When -a man puts down his newspaper for me, I know he is interesting. So few -men do. My husband doesn't always. I needed to make friends with the -officer. During the all night journey I wanted to manoeuvre for open -windows, and you cannot do that in France unless you are on the best of -terms with your fellow-travellers. - -"Why do I pity you? Because you are invaded by three babies and three -grown-ups when you hoped to keep the compartment for yourself. But you -may not be sorry when you see the supper you are going to help eat--two -roast chickens, salad sandwiches, pears just picked this morning in my -garden, and the best of cider. There is plenty of _café au lait_ in -thermos bottles for breakfast." - -The colonel's face brightened. Dining-cars had been suppressed since the -day of the mobilization. He assured me that a soldier did not mind -company at night and always liked food. But he was a bit puzzled about -my breakfast invitation. "Surely you are not going to Paris with these -children," he said. "Are you not afraid?" - -"Not as long as there is the French army between my children and the -enemy," I answered. - -The colonel leaned back in the corner and shut his eyes. Tears rolled -down his cheeks. It was a long time before he spoke, and all he said -was, "_Merci_! I shall tell that to my regiment to-morrow." - -"Monsieur," I insisted, "what I said was nothing. All the women in -France feel as I do. We have got to feel that way. You have the -strength--we must have the faith. If Paris were not my home, I should -not go. But it is my home, and this is the week I always return from the -shore." - -More than one hysterical person wrote wonderful and lurid accounts of -Paris in the autumn of 1914. There was an exodus of _froussards_ in the -first days of September and during the whole month refugees poured into -the city. But the great mass of the population was not affected by the -fright of a few. I arrived too late for the most critical days. My -husband assured me that there had been no panic except in the -imagination of certain individuals and officials. I found that very few -of my friends had run away. The _Herald_ appeared every morning, and -Percy Mitchell's voice over the telephone from the Rue du Louvre was -cheery and optimistic. There was no funk in the American colony. Most of -the people I knew were helping get the Ambulance at Neuilly started or -were launching _Å“uvres_ of their own. I seized on the opening for -layette work immediately, and I started afternoon sewing for Russian and -Polish girls, too, in one of my servants' rooms. I am a quarrelsome -wretch when I get on committees with other women. So I did the -_layettes_ alone in my studio and had only the help of another Bryn Mawr -girl, who lived in Paris, in the _ouvroir_--as gatherings for sewing -were called. - -But the panic? The sense of danger? Suspense and worry over the fighting -between the Marne and Aisne? Dread of air raids? I saw none of this. I -heard nothing in the conversation of my friends or servants or -tradespeople to make me feel Paris was in a ferment of excitement or -fear. The anxiety was for loved ones fighting "out there"; the -depression was the pall of death over us. No music, no singing, theatres -closed, cafés shut up at eight o'clock, dark streets--these were the -abnormal features of Paris life in the early months of the war. Whoever -writes or talks in a way to make it appear that staying in Paris was a -test of personal courage is a sorry impostor. There was no danger. None -ever thought of danger. - -Nor did we have the discomforts and annoyances and deprivations during -the early period of the war that came to us later. Food was abundant and -prices did not go up. There was plenty of labor. You could get things -done without the exhausting hunt for workers with a willing spirit and -knowledge of their job that we have to make now. In the month of the -Battle of the Marne we moved into 120 Boulevard du Montparnasse. It was -a new house, and we had everything to think of, plumbing, heating, -fixtures, wiring for bells and lights, painting, paper-hanging, -carpentering. All was done without a hitch. The moving-vans worked as in -peace times. Things came by freight from Brittany and Normandy--thirty -boxes in all--and were delivered to us without delay just as if there -were no war. It seems incredible in retrospect that France and Paris -should have been normal (after the first confusion of the mobilization) -despite the terrific struggle for existence within hearing distance. But -it was so. I want to put down my testimony as a housewife and mother of -children in Paris that we lived normally and had no dangers or -difficulties to contend with when the Germans were trying to finish up -the war in a hurry. - -On the second Sunday of October we had our first visit from a group of -airplanes. Few bombs were dropped. Herbert and I were walking outside -the fortifications near the Porte d'Orléans when they arrived. We -thought of our kiddies, playing in the Luxembourg, and hurried there. -The children and Dorothy described graphically how two planes had been -over the Garden. But their feeling was wholly curiosity. At that time -Parisians did not realize the danger of air raids. - -One Sunday Herbert and I went chestnutting. Despite the swarms of -excursionists around Paris, there are lots of places to pick up on the -road all the chestnuts you can carry. We walked from Saint-Cyr across -country, skirting Versailles, to Marly. With heavy pockets, knotted -kerchief bundles, and the beginning of stiffness in our backs, we -stopped for lunch at a little country hostelry whose _cave_ still has a -big stock of Chambertin of golden years. The critic and I are agreed -upon the wisdom of censoring the name I unthinkingly put in the first -draft of this chapter. Why spoil a good thing? Life is short--and so are -stocks of Chambertin. And there are so many roads and so many hostelries -between Saint-Cyr and Saint-Germain-en-Laye that the little I have said -is a challenge to your love of Burgundy. - -Madame told us how history did not repeat itself until the end of the -story. What starts the same way does not always end the same way. We -hope German professors of history will impress this truth upon the next -generation of their close-cropped, bullet-headed students. They are at -liberty to use this illustration if they want. Why limit their Paris -vistas to the provoking sight of the Tour Eiffel in the distance? - -"In Soixante-Dix," said Madame, flipping teamsters' crumbs off our table -with a skilful swing of her _serviette_, "I saw my father bury our wines -out there in the garden. It took several days, and he had only my -brother and me to help him. I remember how he mumbled and shook his head -over the possible effect of disturbing the good _crus_. 'They will -never be the same again,' he said mournfully. Much good it did him! We -had our work for nothing. The Germans came. Right where you are sitting, -_M'sieu-dame_, the brutes thumped on the table and called for the best -in the cellar. My father said he had no wine. They went to the cave. -Empty. Then the officer laughed till the tears rolled down his cheeks. -He sat in a chair--sprawled in a chair that cracked under his -swinging--smacked his thighs, and when he could speak, he told his men -to go out into the garden. With their picks and shovels they unearthed -all--all, _M'sieu-dame_. - -"So this time I remembered--and I thought hard. My husband was off the -fourth day of the mobilization. Even if I had help, would not the garden -_cache_ a second time be foolish? And the old _crus_ ought not to be -shaken--you are going to taste my Chambertin, and you will agree that it -ought not to risk being shaken. It really ought not. What was I to do? -When the Germans come, will they know the difference? I asked myself. So -I took _vin ordinaire_. I put it in bottles. I sealed it red. I worked -two days to put it on the outer racks and the under racks with the good -wine between. Then I cobwebbed it and moistened it with dust. I built a -fire to dry it. If the Germans were in a hurry they would take the top. -If they had leisure, they would fish in the bottom rows. - -"But the Germans never came. I had my work a second time for nothing. -Do you think, _M'sieu-dame_, they will be fooled? I want to know what is -best for next time." - -"Next time," cried my husband. "Next time! Do you think there will be a -next time?" - -"_Bien sûr_, Monsieur," the woman answered without hesitation. "The -Germans will come again. They will always come. We are not as big, -_hélas_! They will come--unless your country--?" - -Suddenly we realized that not the keeper of the inn, but France, France -through a wife and mother, was speaking. A shadow fell upon us that -Chambertin and the crisp autumn air could not dispel. - - - - -1914-1915 - - - - -CHAPTER XXII - -AT HOME IN THE WHIRLWIND - - -After the initial days of mobilization, the German advance, the coming -of the refugees, and the aeroplane raids, Paris became again -astonishingly normal. We got used to the war quickly. A calamity is like -death. It comes. You cannot change it. You must accept it and go on -living. We were in the midst of the whirlwind. We had our ups and downs. -There were periods of unreasonable hope, when we thought the war was -going to end by the collapse of the Germans. And there were periods of -equally unreasoning depression when gloom spread like a plague. Who will -ever forget the hope that came with the Spring of 1915? Mysterious -rumors spread of German demoralization and of the irresistible fighting -machine the British were building up. Our armies were only waiting for -the rainy weather to finish. Then the forward march would commence. But -after a few unsuccessful attempts to break through, French and British -settled down to the life of the trenches. Fortunately the Germans were -equally immobilized. But during the summer, instead of our advance on -the western front, we had to read about the German advance in Poland. -The censorship worked overtime. _Communiqués_ were masterpieces of -clever dissimulation. News was withheld in the hope of a sudden reversal -of the fortune of arms. In the end we had to be told that Warsaw was in -the hands of the Central Empires and that _les Impériaux_ were closing -in on Brest-Litovsk. In the summer of 1915, at the very beginning of the -Italian intervention, the French lost faith in the new ally. Italy, -untouched so far by the war and with the power of making an offensive in -her own hands, could not even prevent Austria from lending powerful aid -in the great German offensive against Russia! Ink and breath were spent -in extolling the union of the Latin races: but the mass of the French -people--from that time on--looked no more for aid to Italy. - -[Illustration: The first snow in the Luxembourg] - -We deferred hope until the spring of 1916. Surely the British would now -be ready to cooperate with the French in the final offensive of the war! -But the Germans, feeling certain that they had disposed of the Russians, -struck first. The last days of February, 1916, were (if one except -possibly the spring months of 1918) the darkest days of the war. -Although the attacks against Verdun failed, the weather in Paris -combined with sickening anxiety to make us feel that it was -nip-and-tuck. As a contrast, the summer months of the Battle of the -Somme renewed our courage. And just as we were reluctantly realizing -that this onslaught of ours was as indecisive as the earlier German -offensive against Verdun, to which it was the reply, the intervention of -Rumania came to offset the admitted failure of the Dardanelles and -Mesopotamian campaigns. At last, the war was to be decided in the -Balkans! Before the third winter set in, however, we saw Rumania humbled -by Mackensen and the Salonica army as motionless as the armies on the -western front, even though Venizelos had at last succeeded in ranging -Greece on our side. The German machine was not crumbling before a -combination of superior numbers and superior equipment, and managed to -face its enemies on all sides. - -So much for what the newspapers said during those thirty months and for -what we thought about the _péripéties_ of the war. After each -disappointment we looked for new reasons to hope. We readjusted -ourselves to living in the midst of uncertainties, bereavements that -would have broken our hearts had they come to us "by the hand of God," -and increasing social and economic difficulties. France was saved -because the French people never faltered in their belief that _dulce et -decorum est pro patria mori_. France was saved because Paris led a -normal life in the midst of the whirlwind. The Turks have a proverb that -a fish begins to corrupt at the head. If the Parisians had become -demoralized, if they had given up the struggle to live normally and -tranquilly, France would have been lost. - -Initial reactions and early symptoms of war fever passed quickly. We -soon opened up our pianos, put on our phonograph records, and took to -singing again. We did not wear mourning. We insisted upon having our -theatres and music-halls. We celebrated Christmas. We stopped making -last year's suits do and refusing to buy finery. For the _poilus_, -coming home to find their women folks shabby, said it was gayer at the -front. We allowed all the German composers except Wagner to re-appear on -our programmes. Some stupidities, such as banishing the German language -from schools and burning German books, we were never guilty of. - -I remember reading with amusement and amazement an article in an -American newspaper, written by someone who "did" war-stricken France in -thirty days, in which this statement was made: "There are millions in -France who will never smile again." Upon this absurd and false -hypothesis the article was built. It was easy to be sure that the writer -knew nothing whatever about France in war-time or about psychology, for -that matter. Whoever has had any experience of horrors or who has lived -through a great crisis knows that if you do not laugh you will go crazy. -Normal human beings must have relaxation and recreation. They must -have--or create--normal conditions in abnormal surroundings. You must -go on living. You must have strength to meet burdens. So you laugh and -sing and dance. You entertain people and are entertained. You go to the -theatre. You take exercise. You enjoy your meals. A long face is either -a pose or a sign of mental derangement. In the spring of 1916 I checked -up a dozen of my women friends, all of whom had husbands or sons--or -both--in the war. More than half were widows or had sons killed. The -husbands of two were prisoners in German camps. But all of them were -planning to spend the summer in their country-homes or at the shore, -just as they had done before the war. Is not this the secret of our -ability to hold on during the "last quarter of an hour" and to continue -to hope for victory until we had obtained it? - -At the beginning of the second winter, in November, 1915, I sent my -three children to live for a few weeks in my studio, which I had fixed -up especially for them. They had a piano and a phonograph and books and -toys. They moved over with their nurse on a Sunday afternoon, and -thought it was a great lark. The next day their father went to see them -and told them about the arrival of a baby sister. - -Tuesday morning the children came to see us. Never shall I forget their -joy. Christine said immediately, "Hello, Hope, let me fix your feet. -Mama, could I tuck her blanket in? Hope's feet are cold. I want to hold -her soon." A little mother, she is. Lloyd, sensitive and reserved, -stood quietly looking. He patted my face and tried to speak. But his -mouth was turning down at the corners for just a second, and I had to -save the day by asking him a cheerful question. Mimi clapped her hands -and danced and said, "I like you, mama, dat's a fine baby." When Herbert -went over to the consulate to register the baby, he took Christine with -him. She heard him say to the Consul-General, Mr. Thackara, that his -French friends were teasing him about the large number of marriage dots -he will have to provide. Christine saw in this a reflection on girl -babies. With a volley of French reproof, which delighted the whole -consular office, she went for him tooth and nail. - -Isn't it a joke on me to have so many daughters? I have always thought -myself a good pal, understanding men much better than women. Miss Mary -Cassatt came in. Her comment was subtle. She said simply to Herbert that -she was glad of his assured increase of interest in women's suffrage. -Surprised, Herbert was betrayed into asking why. "Don't you realize," -exclaimed Miss Cassatt, "that you must begin now to interest yourself in -the future of your girls?" Although the coming of Hope increases the -problems of feminine psychology I shall have to deal with later on, I am -glad the war baby was a girl. My first thought, when they told me, was -that she should not have to carry a gun. - -This brings me to her name. 1915 was drawing to a close with so many -darkening shadows--but shadows that did not lessen our faith in the -outcome of the war--that I thought the name imposed upon us by -circumstances. I called her Hope Delarue. Dear old Père Delarue is one -of the best known research scholars in the Jesuit Order. Our friendship, -founded back in Constantinople days, has deepened during the war. When -Herbert went off on his many trips, anyone of which might have proved -the last, he left me in the care of Père Delarue. The dear old man had -been coming to us from time to time with the news of another loss in his -family. His brother, a general in the French army, was killed. His -nephews had fallen. I thought it would comfort him to feel that there -was a child in the world to bear his name. Before going to Suez, Herbert -gave me some flat silver marked H.D.G. It flashed into his brain the day -after the baby was born that the little thing had its mother's initials! - -I was up for the first time on Christmas Eve. We had a large party as -usual, with a tree for the children trimmed by the grown-ups. In spite -of the rain we tried to make our Christmas Day a joyful one. There was -the newborn baby to celebrate. At the end of the afternoon, Herbert gave -us a hurried kiss all around, and went out in the rain to catch the -train for Marseilles. He sailed the next day on the _André Lebon_ for -Port-Said. His was the only one of the three passenger boats that week -to escape the submarines. The P. and O. _Persia_ was sunk off Crete and -the Japanese mail went down seventy miles from the Canal. - -I did not see my husband for several months, and then he joined us in -Nice for a few days before going to Verdun. It was a joyful reunion. -Herbert admired his children and asked what they had done during his -absence. But he forgot all about poor little Hope, who was taking her -nap. Two hours after his arrival, a lusty cry brought back to his mind -the fact that the number of his children was four. - -Memories of these days are not painful, because we did not allow -ourselves to be dominated by pain while they were being lived. The -whirlwind was not of our making, nor had we gone deliberately into the -midst of it. But, finding ourselves there, we made the best of it. -Memories are precious. I would not have missed the Paris vistas of those -years. It is a blessed thing to have in one's mind the long lines of -adverse circumstances and difficulties and anxieties on either side if -at the end is hope realized. And I have my own tangible Hope, a child -whose merry, sunny nature is living proof of how Paris was at home in -the whirlwind. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII - -SAUVONS LES BÉBÉS - - -"M-M-M-Madame m-m-must not be f-f-frightened; he said so!" - -My Bretonne cook came to me pale and stammering. - -"What is the trouble, Rosali?" - -"P-p-policeman at the d-d-door s-s-says he m-m-must see you!" - -A spick and span _agent_ came into my drawing-room. He took the -cigarette offered him, and explained the reason for his visit. - -"My chief sent me around to ask madame to help. It is a baby case. We -came here because the mother said she got a layette at madame's studio. -Her name is Mlle. A----; do you remember her case? If madame could -come--" - -In a few minutes we were walking up the Rue Delambre to the police -station of the Fourteenth Arrondissement. Mlle. A---- had come to me for -baby clothes before she went to the hospital. The child's father was at -the front. When the mother appealed to him to recognize the child, with -the desperate way of a man who is in the trenches facing death, he -replied, - -"What's the use! How do I know that the child is mine?" - -Before going to the hospital the girl begged me to think of something to -do. When the baby was born we had him photographed and a copy sent to -his father, we wrote, "The baby looks like you as you can see from this -photograph. If you tear up the card or throw it away, the next shell -will kill you." - -At the police station, in the stuffy little room where the plain clothes -men sit close to the door leading to the office of the Monsieur le -Commissaire, I found Mlle. A---- and her baby. - -"O Madame," she cried, "Jean got our card. He was sitting in a little -circle with some comrades eating dinner. The mail arrived. His name was -called. He rose and walked over to the _vaguemestre_ and, oh, Madame, -just then the shell came. It exploded where Jean had been eating his -dinner, and all his comrades were killed. He says the baby, _pauvre -chou_, looks like him and saved his life." - -The _agent_ came with papers. "Will madame sign here?" Jean was -recognizing little Pierrot and was applying for permission to marry the -baby's mother. - -An old woman sitting nearby held in her hands a _livret de mariage_. -"_Quel beau bébé!_" she exclaimed. "Is it a girl?" - -"No, madame, a boy," replied mademoiselle, smoothing the baby's -swaddling blanket and pinning it tighter around Pierrot's little tummy. - -"That's it, that's it," cried the old woman. "I came here to get a -certificate myself. My daughter had a baby born this morning. It's a -boy, too. It was like that in Soixante-Dix. Nearly all the babies born -in war time are boys. O la, la, madame, what a baby! His father is -fighting so he won't have to carry a gun." Here she pulled out a -handkerchief. - -The poor help the poor, when it comes to _moral_, as in everything else. -I was sitting in my studio interviewing women who came for baby clothes. -A white-faced girl sat down in the chair at the opposite side of the -table. - -"What can I do for you?" said I. - -"A little white dress--" she sobbed. "Could you give me a little white -dress?" - -"Certainly I'll give it to you, and lots of other things too." - -"I don't need anything else," she said softly, "My baby died this -morning. They did everything at the hospital to save her. She was born -three weeks ago and they let me stay on. They wrapped her in a little -piece of sheeting. I can't stand it to bury her like that!" She put her -head down on the table and wept. - -"Shall I give madame a little white dress?" - -The twenty other mothers sitting there answered "Yes, give it to her." - -To some the tears had come. Others, dry-eyed, clutched their babies. - -"And flowers?" said one. - -"Yes, she must have money for flowers." I hardly knew what to say to the -girl, but soon the other mothers were talking to her. They were the best -comforters. - -How did amateur relief workers get the strength and energy to face the -awfulness of the situation? What we did was not "wonderful." Relief work -was a debt we owed to life. Fatigue could never be thought of. When my -apartment is in a mess from front door to kitchen, straightening looks -hopeless. It used to be discouraging until I pretended I had blinders on -my eyes and began with the nursery table. I took off everything that -didn't belong there and replaced the things that should be there. I -finished the table to the last detail before making the bed. I tried to -work in a leisurely frame of mind without too many glances at the clock. -After a bit one whole room was tidied. Kiddies were requested not to go -in there "till Mama says so." Then I tackled the next room, and so -on--and so on. In relief work, too, you must begin to work on one atom -of the problem. You must put blinders on your eyes to shut out all the -other atoms. It is fatal to let your imagination run away with you, -fatal to envisage the accumulated woe. - -Once in the Rue Servandoni days an Englishman came to ask Herbert to -bury his baby. He told me the story of how the baby died, and I cried -all night thinking of the mother. Herbert remonstrated with me for -trying to bear the whole of another's grief. Christ did that and it -broke His heart. His broken heart could save humanity; but as for little -me I could do nobody any good by breaking my heart over them. Relief -work must be constructive with respect to the patient and instructive -with respect to the worker. You have to exercise self-control of emotion -and help yourself to poise by quickly concentrating your mind on what -details of the problem you are fitted to cope with. You learn after a -while that your enthusiasm and sympathy will not do it all. You accept -the fact that you are not indispensable. You realize that you can put a -person on his feet but that to carry him is beyond you. You are not the -only influence for good that is touching his life. This attitude keeps -you both happy and humble. And so you develop confidence in life and -confidence in time. In relief work both life and time are good allies. - -My work started in a modest way in my studio in September, 1914. I -wanted to help mothers of newborn babies, and so I called my _Å“uvre_ -SAUVONS LES BÉBÉS. I wrote to friends for money and layettes, and -depended--as all American women in France did--upon the personal -correspondence with individuals and organizations in America to maintain -and develop the work started. I had no committee, and, during the three -years I worked for the babies, only one associate. The French wife of an -American artist joined me in 1915. From Princeton, Germantown, -Philadelphia, Pittsburg, New York, Brooklyn and Boston people I knew and -my readers sent me money and boxes through the American Relief -Clearing-House. My best aids were always and invariably the police, who -sent cases to me and guarded me against imposition. It soon became known -in the Fourteenth (my own) Arrondissement, and the neighbouring Sixth, -Fifth, Thirteenth and Fifteenth Arrondissements, that an American woman -in the Rue Campagne-Première gave layettes to expectant mothers, and -sometimes helped with medicines, milk, vacations, clothes and shoes for -other children. I did not need to advertise or hang out a sign! In less -than three years four thousand mothers of five thousand babies found -their way to the Rue Campagne-Première. Sometimes I was swamped, badly -swamped, but I managed to get around to all in the end. I remember one -time, however, that babies were several months old before I could give -their mothers a complete layette. - -There was nothing unusual about my Å“uvre, in its size, its -singlehandedness, or its spirit. Every American woman in France did what -she could from the very beginning by taking up work as she saw it at -hand--in her own home or neighborhood. Many did much more than I. There -were others in Paris looking after the new-born babies. - -In the summer of 1917 we Americans resident in France had to give up, -all of us, the individuality of our _Å“uvres_. This meant that most of -them went out of existence. When the rumor ran from mouth to mouth in -the American colony that the Red Cross insisted on taking over -everything and would starve out the stubborn individualists, there was -consternation. Since the Red Cross was a Government organization and -controlled shipping, it was possible for them to tell us that we should -receive no more cases of supplies after September first, even if friends -at home kept on sending them. Some were furious; some were offended; -some would give a generous slice of their fortune to fight the -injunction; some laughed. But the charities' trust had come to stay, and -started in to handle things and ride rough-shod over people in a way -that I fear is typically American. - -In the early stages of war fever, the Y.M.C.A. and the Army showed the -same symptoms as the Red Cross in France. There was the idea that the -American way is always and exclusively the right way; impatience with -and resentment against existing organizations; a thirst for sweeping -reforms; and the determination that Americans who had been on the ground -from the beginning must be eliminated. The way our splendid Ambulance -at Neuilly was absorbed by the army is a story of Prussianism pure and -simple. The Red Cross men and their wives did not seem to get it into -their heads that we had been at war for three years. I attended a -drawing-room meeting one day, where a hundred women were gathered who -had been sacrificing themselves in relief work ever since the day France -mobilized. More than one had lost her son in the war. A new Red Cross -woman, fresh from America, lectured on what the Red Cross was going to -do. She smiled at us, and her peroration was this: "Now you must realize -that we are at war, and that we are going to put you all to work, all to -work!" - -When the excitement cooled down a bit, we realized that these Red Cross -volunteers meant well, that they were devoted and capable, and that we -could not take too tragically their ignorance and inexperience. We -realized that we were tired, that we needed a rest and change, and that -the Red Cross, with its enormous funds and abundant personnel, was in a -position to realize many of our dreams. Our initial resentment was in -part dismay at seeing newly arrived compatriots making the same mistakes -some of us had made in the beginning, and partly their obtuseness in -failing to get the French point of view. Contact with suffering such as -they had never seen before soon mellowed most of the Red Cross -volunteers and they realized that America was coming, as my husband put -it, "not to save France, but to help France save the world." - -Outside of hospitals, where there was a reason for it, we had never worn -uniforms: but we got accustomed to seeing them as the A.E.F. grew -although we never could master the meaning of many of them. One morning -a woman in uniform, with service cap and Sam-Browne belt (not forgetting -the nickel ring for hanging a dagger from), appeared in my studio. From -her pocket she took a crisp new loose-leaf notebook, the like of which -could no longer be indulged in by ordinary folks. As she unscrewed and -adjusted her fountain-pen, she said, - -"I've been sent to inspect your relief organization." - -"You come from the Children's Bureau?" I asked. - -"No, Civilian Relief. How do you handle the matter of investigation?" - -"Well," I answered, "I cast my eye over the person, size her up, and -give her what she needs. I cannot afford to investigate. You see, I have -no overhead charges and I need all the money I can get for materials and -all the time for handling them. The only expense is for sewing. Even -that money goes to my own women. I give the sewing out to mothers on my -list so they will not have to go out to work. This encourages them to -nurse their babies themselves instead of sending them to a _nourrice_." - -"People begging," said my visitor, "are splendid actors, you know." - -"Few women who are just about to have a baby are likely to act the -impostor," I answered, "and then I do not consider my women as beggars. -I'm sure that nine out of ten are not. They wouldn't need any aid if -their husbands were not in the trenches earning five sous a day. For the -first two years it was only one sou a day. You can generally tell the -difference between a shifty woman looking for a chance to get something -for nothing and the shattered little mother, unaccustomed to charity, -whose children would go without winter clothes were it not for some form -of outside help. Most of the women who come here look on me as a -neighbor who loves babies and who keeps flannel in her cupboard. I'd -rather give away an occasional layette to a dead beat than bruise the -feelings of timid souls at bay. If you could see them as they come in -here!" - -"But you know really that there can be an immense amount of waste of -good material if you don't investigate." - -"I may have wasted material, but I've never failed to help. Nobody -investigated me when my baby was born in a Turkish massacre. If they -had, I couldn't have stood it. Of course I have faced the question. I -figure that if I put in one column the number of layettes I give out and -their cost, and beside it what I would spend in time and taxi fares to -investigate, I should find that the price of a badly-placed layette or -two would be less than the cost of investigation." - -The inspector took full and rapid notes. Folding them neatly into her -pocket with one clap of her notebook, she left me. - -Three days later a young man appeared. He said, "I am here to represent -the Red Cross. Would you mind telling me about your baby work?" - -"Are you from the Children's Bureau?" - -"No, I am Vital Statistics." - -After the Refugees Bureau sent two inspectors to look into my -activities, the Children's Bureau finally did come. They "took over" my -work, which meant that no more babies in my quarter of Paris received -layettes from the United States. - -When I finally handed over my _Å“uvre_ to the Red Cross, the interview -with the husky well-fed football player of a doctor was refreshing. He -was full of enthusiasm, and I felt instinctively that he was an able man -with broad vision and an open mind. But, like all the men at 4 Place de -la Concorde, he did not give the French credit for having already -thought of and worked out many of the problems he wanted to solve. His -attitude towards the French put them in what Abe and Mawruss would call -the "new beginner" class in the matter of baby welfare. He cheerfully -told me of organizing plans for saving French babies, plans which, -compared with what we had been doing, were Kolossal. But the plans -included some things which I knew would not go and others which the -French had already worked out more successfully than my own -compatriots. Puericulture is an advanced science in France, where baby -lives are more precious than anywhere else in the world. I had tried -some of the things he wanted to do and had run up against a stone wall. -So had other American women. I started to sputter, but stopped short of -speech. For I had a lightning vision of how parents must feel when their -children, grown to manhood, plunge into work and do things they might be -saved from if only--. I felt motherly towards this capable young man who -was as old as myself. But something about him gave me confidence that he -would work it out all right. And I knew that he was in no frame of mind -to benefit by my experience. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV - -UNCOMFORTABLE NEUTRALITY - - -The following letter was in my husband's mail one day: - - "A young American came to Paris about twenty-five years ago, lived - for a time in the Latin Quarter, and then, following the loss of - his income, obtained a minor position in the office of an importer - of American goods. He liked his work, rose to a place of - responsibility, eventually went into business for himself, and - developed the business to a prosperous issue. - - "He held the theory that the few Americans living and working - abroad formed the nucleus of American overseas industrial expansion - and that they were regarded by Europeans as representative of their - fellow-countrymen. He felt that it was his duty to conduct his - business and social activities in such a manner as to merit the - confidence and respect of his hosts. Had he been indifferent to - these responsibilities or had his patriotic fire ever burned low, - his association with the active members of the American Chamber of - Commerce in France and the American Club in Paris would have surely - recalled and revived them. Every one knows of the results attained - by these organizations in their effort to maintain the feeling of - sympathetic understanding between the two great sister republics - during the long and difficult period of 'watchful waiting.' Such - services enter into the realm of practical diplomacy and could have - been rendered efficient only by men of high standing and of the - highest order of patriotism. - - "I wish to call your attention to the editorial page of an - American weekly, which boasts of millions of readers, where we see - a vicious attack upon ourselves. I quote textually: 'Things had - reached a point among our expatriates, the _fifty-eighth and lowest - form of cootie_, that in home circles to be pro-American was really - bad form.' - - "Is this the general opinion in America? Is it shared by people of - intelligence? The editorial in question apparently adds another - high authority on public opinion to the previous judgment rendered - by Mr. Wilson when he classified us as 'unpatriotic Americans - living abroad.' I am interested in knowing the true facts. Must we - admit that we are held in small esteem by friends at home because - we live in France? - - "Sincerely yours, - - "ONE OF THE COOTIES." - -Being "cooties" ourselves, in the estimation of the American editorial -writer, we read the protest of the American business man resident in -Paris with the keenest interest and sympathy. In telling about the -attitude of the Red Cross toward our relief organizations, after the -United States intervened in the war, I spoke of only one phase of the -mistrust--even scorn--so many of our compatriots took no pains to -conceal when they learned that we belonged to the American colony. It -was inconceivable that we should be living in Paris and bringing up our -children there and still be good Americans. They questioned more than -our patriotism and our loyalty to the country of our birth. They felt -that there must be some skeleton in the closet of every American family -living abroad. I have never had an American tell me to my face that my -husband was a crook and that we were abroad "for our health," but I -have had them inquire pointedly why on earth this or that friend of mine -lived in exile. And I suppose my friends were asked about the past of -the Gibbons menage! - -"How long have you been over?" is a question as common as the "Oh!" with -a curious inflection that meets the confession of a protracted residence -abroad. - -I am sure I do not know why the writer in the American weekly read by -millions called us first "expatriates" and then "the fifty-eighth and -lowest form of cooties." I cannot imagine why. He is ignorant of the -people of whom he speaks. He has probably never met anyone in the -American colony of a European city, or has jumped to the conclusion that -an occasional bounder or cad or snob (these are always in evidence) -represents as intensely patriotic and loyal Americans as exist anywhere. -Or he thinks that living abroad means dislike of one's own country. - -There are Americans in Europe--and some of them are to be found in -Paris--who have no valid reason for being where they are more than in -another place. There are criminals and courtiers. There are those who -have forgotten their birthright. But they form an infinitesimally small -percentage of the American colony in Paris. Most of our American -residents are business men, painters, sculptors and writers, with the -necessary sprinkling of professional men to minister to their needs, of -the type of the writer of the letter quoted above. Many of them came to -Paris first by accident or as students and just stayed on. Without them -our country would be little known in Europe: and Europe would be little -known in our country. Until the war broke out, it was never realized how -many Americans resided in Paris. Most of them had lived along quietly, -doing their own work and minding their own business. But they had kept -alive the friendship begun in the days of Franklin. Art and literature -have their part in good understanding between nations: but the -foundation and the binding tie are furnished by commerce and banking. -The best representatives of Americanism are business men. - -We of the American colony found that out during the war; and we are -sorry for the ignorance and misapprehension and ingratitude of our -compatriots. They judged without inquiry and tried to put into Coventry -the very men whose patience and tact and devotion not only prevented a -break between France and the United States during the years of -uncomfortable neutrality but prepared the way for the intervention of -America and the downfall of Germany. - -I may not have perspective. I may be prejudiced. But I do feel that I -have a right to protest against the cruel snap judgments of us made by -those who never realized there was a war between right and wrong until -April, 1917. - -_Les amis de la première heure_--the friends of the first hour--as the -French love to call those who refused to obey the injunction to be -"neutral even in thought" were not confined to Americans resident in -France. We had behind us from the first day our friends in America, -friends by the hundreds of thousands, who sent money and medical -supplies, clothing and kits. All who could came to France to help -actively in relief work. But the machinery for the charitable effort of -the United States coming to the aid of France was provided by the -Americans who were permanent or partial residents in France. We were on -the ground. We knew the language. We knew the needs and the -peculiarities of those we were helping. - -The greatest service we were privileged to render to our own country and -to France was not ministering to the material needs. What we -accomplished was a drop in the bucket. It was the moral significance of -the relief work that counted. Our Government was neutral. The American -people in the mass were far away from the conflict. The French realized -all the same that individually and collectively the Americans who knew -France or who were in contact with France believed in the righteousness -of France's cause and in the final triumph of France's arms. - -Neutrality was uncomfortable. For thirty months we were in an awkward -position. We had to hold the balance between loyalty to America and -friendship for France. On the one hand, we were called upon to -comprehend the slowness of our fellow-countrymen to awaken to the moral -issues at stake, especially after the sinking of the _Lusitania_. On the -other hand, we were called upon to comprehend the impatience and -disappointment of our French friends. We tried to be sensible and to -realize that those who were far from the fray and to whom the war was -incidental could not be expected to share our intense feeling. With rare -exceptions, Americans in Paris did not allow themselves to criticize the -policy of their government in the presence of French or British friends. -That was hard, and required as much tact as we could muster. But when we -were _en famille_, the fur did fly! That was natural. We had a right to -our opinions, and everything we said from 1914 to the end of 1916, -President Wilson and all America with him said in 1917 and 1918. We were -never ashamed of being Americans. That accusation was untrue. But we -were sorry that the awakening came so late. For we saw the toll of human -life growing each month. We feared that France would come out of the war -too weakened to profit by victory if the war dragged on. We were -sometimes nervous about the aftermath. - -As I look back upon the first years of the war, American neutrality -appears as a tragedy. It was uncomfortable for us, and disastrous for -France. But we lived through it as we lived through other things. Our -French friends were splendid. Their patience was greater than ours. - -We kept our flags ready for the inevitable day. And when it arrived at -last, no Americans were prouder of the stars and stripes than we. - - - - -1917 - - - - -CHAPTER XXV - -HOW WE KEPT WARM - - -In Paris the child of the people is a born artist. He has the instinct -from his ancestors. His taste is formed and cultivated by what he sees -around him--of the present as well as of the past--from the time he -first begins to observe things. Inheritance and atmosphere influence -him. One June day in 1917, our dear friend Thiébault-Sisson, art critic -of the _Temps_, was lunching with us. He drew from his pocket a lot of -photographs. They illustrated the best and most striking of the drawings -by children in the primary schools of the city. M. Thiébault-Sisson had -organized an exposition of children's drawings, done in their ordinary -class work. The photographs were a surprise and a revelation. Having -lived in Paris since the beginning of the war, I could appreciate the -comments of a Parisian, proud of this eloquent showing of precocious -talent. I accepted with alacrity his invitation to see the originals. - -The outline, almost always enhanced by bright frank color, where the -three notes of the flag played a perpetual leit-motif, was a feast for -the eyes. In work of this character one expects to see the freshness -and freedom of childhood. What I found that was unusual was the maturity -born of suffering and intense emotion. In the drawings life in wartime -was reflected with a _naïveté_ that excluded neither precision nor vigor -of touch. With compositions of the simplest and most studied character -there was taste and a pretty feeling for color. - -The most popular form of drawing was the poster. In one school the -children were given the subject of calling upon the people to economize -gas. One little girl made a few bold strokes outlining a gas-jet and -wrote underneath, "Parisians--Economize Gas!" Asked to admonish the -public to eat less bread, a boy of ten used a potato as a face. The eyes -were almost human in their appeal. "Eat me please!" was written under -the drawing. A further caption stated that it was the duty of patriots -to save the bread for the soldiers. Sugar shortage inspired the idea of -a sugar cone and the same cone cut in half. Under the former was "In -1914" and under the latter "--and now!" The best of these posters were -reproduced by the thousand and put in tram-cars and railway stations. -They did more to call us to order than all the grave _affiches_ of the -Government. - -A dominating note, perhaps the strongest after that of the man on -furlough or the poignant expression of emotions experienced when the -news came that father would never return again, was the hunt for coal. -Little observers, inventing nothing of this (for it was seen over and -over again), pictured a coal wagon upon which two or three youngsters -had scrambled and were helping themselves. Generously they were firing -bits of the precious commodity to their little comrades. This was a -drawing made from memory of things seen. - -Winter in Paris is often mild: but early in 1917 came a protracted spell -of zero weather that would have taxed the facilities of Paris in -ordinary times. The coal shortage hit us at the worst possible moment. -Transportation was tied up. The mines were not producing. Stocks became -exhausted in a few days. The hunt for coal was cruel because it was -mostly fruitless and because it imposed upon the children weary waits, -hours at a time, in the street in snow and wind, with the thermometer -down to zero. - -Whoever saw the crowds massed in a long line in front of the coal -depots, old men, women, children stamping their feet painfully, jostled, -weeping or seized with mute despair at the curt announcement that there -was nothing to do but return to-morrow, will never forget the worst -calamity that fell upon Paris during the war. Children were hit by it -more than all the rest, and in a certain sense more than by the loss of -a father. For they suffered from it in their own flesh, in little hands -chapped till they opened into deep cracks, in little fingers stiffened -and swollen by monstrous chilblains, in frost-bitten feet. For six weeks -the quest for coal was the ruling passion. It inspired the children to -compositions all quite like each other in sentiment and all dominated by -the conviction of an implacable fatality. - -In common with most Parisians who lived in modern apartment-houses, we -never had to think of heat. Like hot water, you just turned it on. To -make an effort to have it no more entered into our scheme of things than -to help with the stoking when we were on ship-board. How naturally one -accepts the comforts and conveniences resulting from the work of others -and the smooth moving of modern city life! At first we felt the coal -shortage mildly. It meant piling on extra clothes and having our noses -turn red and then blue, like the dolls with barometrical petticoats. The -apartment was chilly, but we got up as late as we could. For once we -blessed the school system in France which works the children so many -hours that you wonder why the babies do not strike for an eight-hour -day. As long as the municipality could supply them, schools were -especially favored. After school hours and _devoirs_ (we had a wood fire -in one room), bed time soon came for the kids. We set the victrola -going, and everybody danced until they forgot the thermometer. - -[Illustration: A passage through the Louvre] - -Then we began to discover that coal means more than heat and light. We -found out how many trades were obliged to say "no coal, no work." In a -big city coal is certainly king, and not a limited monarch at that. -Transportation depends on coal, and everything else depends upon -transportation. One day there was a mass meeting of Paris laundresses. -The Government had promised them coal upon payment in advance of a large -part of the price. The order had been placed for weeks: no coal came. It -meant livelihood to the laundresses and cleanliness to the rest of us. -They had the Board of Health with them and the learned doctors of the -Académie de Médecine. Think of the menace of weeks of accumulated soiled -linen! It was all right for the papers to joke about abolishing starched -shirts and cuffs and collars. That was a small part of the problem, -affecting only men. The germs involved in not being able to wash were no -joke. - -Elderly people living alone and adult families calculated that it was -cheaper to go to a _pension_ than to keep house. In some cases it was -the only feasible thing. People who had the means started to go south -when conditions in Paris became intolerable. But with little children it -was dangerous to attempt a journey in freezing cold trains. - -Just when we had exhausted the little supply of wood we had laid in -originally for the luxury of a wood fire we did not need, our -_propriétaire_ notified us that he could get no more coal for heating or -hot water. And the same day an inspector called to place a maximum of -gas (our only means of cooking) at less than half the amount we -ordinarily consumed. - -The law of substitution came into force. We had long been ridiculing the -Germans for their _ersatz_ ingenuity. Were we now to have to seek -substitutes? Cooking is the most vital thing in life next to foodstuffs. -Paris blossomed out with what I thought was an American invention, the -fireless cooker. But they were called _marmites norvégiennes_. I suppose -if we keep on digging at Pompeii we shall find them there. Everyone who -could afford a _marmite_ bought one. You could get them at all prices -and sizes, and the newspapers published daily directions for using them. -If you could not afford a fireless cooker or if you were unable to buy -one (they soon gave out, of course), you took your hatbox from the -Galeries Lafayette and stuffed it with newspapers and sawdust with just -room in the middle for your soup-kettle. - -But fireless cookers would not wash clothes. They would not give the -necessary supply of hot water. The law of substitution has a limit. And -what was to be the _ersatz_ for fuel in heating? Gas? Your supply was -already cut down. Electricity? Ditto. Both of these depended upon coal. -Petroleum? The army had commandeered all the supplies for motor -transport and airplanes. Wood alcohol? There was none to be had. - -Then began the coal hunt for us. We had been pitying the poor. Now was -our turn. Money was of no value. Other _propriétaires_ had served the -same notice. People with larger purses than ours were in the market for -coal and wood. Our children began to suffer also in their own flesh. - -My husband and his secretary gave up work and joined the coal hunters. -They scoured the city in taxi-cabs. Herbert found a man who knew where -there was a ton of anthracite for eighty dollars. He tracked it down and -found that he was the tenth person applying for it that same afternoon. - -Then the kiddies came down with measles. Keeping them warm in the way -the doctor ordered was utterly impossible. All we could do was to give -them more blankets. When the baby got congestion of the lungs and heat -and hot baths meant the difference between life and death, I cast my eye -over the apartment appraising the furniture. I no longer thought of how -pretty my Brittany _armoire_ was or how I loved my Empire desk. The -cubic feet of wood was the sole criterion. Dining-room chairs went first -into the fire in Hope's bedroom. The dining-room table, sawed into -little blocks, heated the water for baths. Cupboard doors were taken off -their hinges and converted into fuel. Herbert got a hand-cart and stood -in line for his turn at a place where old lumber from torn-down houses -was being sold. There was a crowd besieging it as if it were a -gold-mine. It was, to the owners. The junk that had been there for years -disappeared at fabulous prices in a few days, doors, clapboards, -window-sashes, shutters, beams, flooring, even lathes. - -When our fight for Hope's life became known, friends appeared bringing -treasures. A prominent American manufacturer was at the door one -morning. He had climbed six flights of stairs with a huge bag of bits of -wood gleaned in his factory. - -"We calculate pretty close," he said apologetically. "We do not have -much waste in making roll-top desks." - -"Don't ask me where I got this sack of coal," said another respectable -Samaritan. I felt his guilt, confirmed when he told me the story -afterwards of how he had stolen it from the back of a wagon. But I was -not asking questions then! - -Two burly policemen, unmindful of dignity and uniforms, deposited sacks -of wood on my salon floor. They had come from the Commissariat in the -Fifth Arrondissement. Monsieur le Commissaire, they explained, had said -that the woman who was looking after so many Paris babies in her -_Å“uvre_ must not be allowed to see her own baby die. They had agreed. -This was the wood from their own office. Why not? For the first time I -cried. Go through my experience, and you will understand how one can -have a passionate love for the French. I am relating here just one -little incident of help unsolicited that came in a crisis. I had never -seen that Commissaire. How he knew my baby was ill was a mystery. But I -have often experienced in my Paris life the impulsive generosity, -carried out at inconvenience and sacrifice, of which this is an example. -There were others who needed that wood as much as I did. But I was a -foreigner who had been working for babies in the Commissaire's district. -A point of honor was involved. Never will you find a Frenchman lacking -when he feels a sense of obligation. - -François Coppée wrote a beautiful story about a young French aristocrat -whose life in the army had taught him that half of the world goes -through life struggling constantly to obtain what the other half has -without effort. Perhaps you have read "La Croûte de Pain." After the war -of Soixante-Dix the aristocrat could not bear to see bread wasted. One -day he picked up a crust on the street, brushed off the mud with his -handkerchief and set it on the side-walk where one who needed it would -find it. And then he told his inquiring companion why. I shall always be -like that with coal. For I can never forget how we kept warm in -February, 1917. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI - -APRIL SIXTH - - -Never were Americans in France more perplexed about the state of feeling -in the United States than at the beginning of 1917. The sinking of the -_Lusitania_ and other _torpillages_ had brought forth note after note -from President Wilson: but his spokesmen among the Democratic senators, -especially Senator Hitchcock, were advocating measures to put an embargo -on the export of arms and ammunition. If these men had succeeded, they -would have helped Germany to win the war during 1916. Then President -Wilson was reelected on the slogan, "He has kept us out of the war." -Immediately after his re-election, Mr. Wilson began an attempt to make -peace that seemed to us at the time distinctly unfriendly to the -Entente. The idealism of President Wilson stirred us. But we were living -too close to the war to see the advantage of a "peace without victory." - -Our first intimation of a change of attitude in America came one day -when _L'Information_, one of our papers that comes out at noon, -published a cable-gram from Washington, stating that Secretary Lansing -had declared that the reason behind President Wilson's interest in peace -was that the United States felt herself on the brink of war. Herbert and -I were walking home from our studios. He stopped to buy the paper that -the boy on a bicycle was just giving our newswoman. Long experience had -taught us that the noon paper never gave anything new. But one was -always afraid to miss something. That's why afternoon papers are able to -bring out so many editions. When we read this message, we realized that -the President must be at the end of his rope, and that if Germany -persisted in her intention to declare unlimited submarine warfare, our -entering into the conflict was inevitable. - -The news of the rupture of diplomatic relations arrived on a Sunday -morning when the streets were full. The dispatches from Washington -contained long excerpts from President Wilson's splendid speech. Relief -rather than joy was the feeling we all had. We said to ourselves, "_At -last!_" Some of our intimate French friends, when we discussed the break -and the reasons the President gave for it, wondered why those reasons -had not been valid long before. It was an echo of our own thoughts. But -French and American were so happy over the new stand taken by the United -States, over the new note in the leadership of President Wilson, that we -did not allow ourselves to criticize the past. All was forgiven on that -last Sunday of January. Over night President Wilson became the most -popular man in France. And just one week before my Parisian friends had -been reading his Senate speech of January twenty-second with a puzzled -expression that turned into anger and indignation. - -We had an excellent barometer of what the French _bourgeois_ and -_universitaire_ was thinking in our dear old family doctor. Doctor -Charon had come to us first in the Rue Servandoni days. Christine was -sick one night for the first and only time in her babyhood. The young -father and mother were scared to death. Doctor Charon, whom we had not -known before, was called in. He assured us that there was nothing fatal. -After that he came again for colds. He knew how to scold us and make us -obey. Since then he has been the family friend and censor, entering into -our life as only a doctor can do. He always stopped to chat a minute. -His only son was at the war: he and his wife and two daughters were -doing hospital work. I often felt that his heart was breaking. He -suffered from the war in his soul, which was far worse than suffering in -the flesh. - -During the years of uncomfortable neutrality, Herbert and I tried to -reassure Doctor Charon and make him see how impossible it was that all -our compatriots, who had never been in France and knew nothing about -France, could feel the way we did. But we often felt that he loved us -despite the fact that we were Americans. On January 23, 1917, Doctor -Charon talked to us at length about the Senate speech. The way President -Wilson's mind worked was beyond him. He despaired of America. On January -30 he came in with a face transfigured, held out his arms, and kissed -me. We both cried. - -"I do not yet understand about your President," he said simply, "but you -were right in telling me not to lose hope in him. To-day he is our -prophet." - -During the two years that followed, Doctor and Madame Charon, in common -with all our French friends, had a revelation of the heart of America -beating for France. They saw at close range our relief work. Not only -did we give money without stint, but hundreds of Americans--who had -never known France before--came over to show by tireless personal -service that the friends of France were not limited to the Americans -resident in France or to those who had some point of personal contact. -In the end they realized that we were ready to be as prodigal with our -blood as with our treasure. When my husband received his red ribbon, the -Charons gave a dinner for us. Doctor Charon said: "I have one ambition -now in life--to go to America." - -As I have related in another chapter, February and March were tragic -months for Paris. Zero weather and no coal made a combination that took -our attention away from the evolution of public opinion across the -seas. Germany stood firm, resisting the threats and disregarding the -warnings of President Wilson's notes. But we had such an inherent -mistrust of notes that we were not sure until the end of March that some -sort of a modus vivendi would not be patched up, as after the -_Lusitania_ and the _Sussex_. - -Were we even sure in the first week of April? Herbert told me to get out -our flags that had been put carefully away since 1914. Although I was -not as optimistic as my husband, I brought out the flags and mended -them. I needed two for our studios. My voice trembled when I asked for -the stars and stripes at the Bon Marché. They had a large stock, mostly -brand-new. They were counting upon the imminent event. The sales girl -told me that they had sold more American flags in the last fortnight -than those of the other Allies put together since the beginning of the -war. She said it gleefully. The new broom was sweeping clean. With all -my pride in my own country, I had my misgivings about too great a -demonstration. Why did not the Government or some of the patriotic -organizations make a propaganda to have the flags of the Allies ready -for display everywhere with the American and French when the day -arrived? I suggested this to my husband, who was a member of the Union -des Grandes Associations Françaises. I knew how I would feel if I were a -Britisher who had been there from the beginning. Would not the French -show that wonderful characteristic of theirs, the sense of proportion? - -But when the day arrived, my internationalism and cosmopolitanism, a -gradual and unconscious growth, suddenly disappeared. It was a reversion -to type. I became blatantly American again, and gloried in the fact that -everywhere it was all Stars and Stripes. Why not? This was America's -day. And ever since, despite the theoretical internationalism (or -super-nationalism) I have advocated in common with my husband, I fear -that practically I have been lapsing into a narrow nationalism. It is a -curious phenomenon. I do not attempt to explain it. - -On Thursday, April sixth, Herbert went to the American Club to lunch. -Settling down to work had been hard that morning. We were feverishly -awaiting the news. I was just starting lunch with the children when the -telephone rang. Herbert's voice said, "Put out your flag," and then he -hung up. - -An hour later he came in a taxi-cab with Carroll Greenough, an American -architect who lived near us. We went for his wife. Then the four of us -did the Grands Boulevards, the Rue de la Paix, and the principal streets -in the heart of Paris. As if by magic the American flag appeared -everywhere. Paris had not waited for the poster of the Municipality, in -which the President of the Municipal Counsel called upon his fellow -citizens to _pavoiser_ in honor of the new Ally. Americans though we -were, we had never seen so many American flags. They expressed the hope -which, though long deferred, had not made the heart sick. - -We went to the Ambassadeurs for tea. The terraces were full. We watched -the crowds passing up and down the Champs-Elysées. All that was lacking -was the orchestra to play the Marseillaise and the Star Spangled Banner. -There had been no orchestras in Paris since the beginning of the war. - -But the music was in our hearts. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVII - -THE VANGUARD OF THE A. E. F. - - -"What class are yuh goin' to git?" - -The voice came from a wee island of khaki in a solid mass of horizon -blue. American soldiers! The first I had seen. The American army was to -the French army as were these half dozen doughboys to the station full -of shabby _poilus_. The Gare du Nord has many memories for me, happy and -poignant, but this will always be the most precious. Shall I ever forget -the ticket window around which our boys crowded? We had been saying "How -long, O Lord, how long?" And now they were with us. I moved nearer to -them. - -"Why, there's classes--foist, second, and thoid--accordin' to what yuh -pay--see?" - -"Aw! What dya mean?" - -"Buy fift' and we'll ride foist!" - -I volunteered to help them count their change. - -"She don't understand and neither do we," said one, hitching a thumb in -the general direction of the girl behind the grating. - -"Guess she's got mush in her brain." - -"Or feathers!" laughed another. - -It was not the class they would ride that was at the bottom of the -trouble. I found that the boys wanted to go to Versailles. They had come -into the Gare du Nord with baggage two days in advance of General -Pershing and his staff. Their officer had given them an afternoon off, -but told them that they were not to wander around Paris. He had -suggested Versailles. This was the only station they knew, and so they -were trying to get to Vers-ales. I took them to the Gare du Montparnasse -and put them on their way. This really was not necessary. I soon -discovered the American soldiers needed no interpreter. They always got -to whatever destination they set their minds upon. But this little scene -at the Gare du Nord was typical of the spirit of our boys during the two -years they were in France. Instead of getting angry, they smiled and -"joshed." In their very nature they had the secret of getting along with -the French. - -The afternoon of General Pershing's arrival, the streets around the Gare -du Nord held a crowd the like of which I had not seen in Paris since the -war began. It was the same at the Place de la Concorde. Rooms had been -engaged for the Pershing party at the Hotel Crillon. The ovation at the -Gare du Nord and along the route of the procession was remarkable. When -General Pershing came out on the balcony of the Crillon it was a scene -worthy of the occasion. Paris was not greeting an individual. France was -welcoming America. - -For the first time since the beginning of the war Paris celebrated. The -danger that still menaced the city and the bereavements of three years -were forgotten in the frenzy of joy over what everyone believed was the -entry of a decisive factor. Since April sixth insidious defeatist -propaganda had permeated the mass of the people. Seizing upon the -failure of the Champagne offensive in April, which had caused mutinies -in the army that could not be hushed up, German agents--often through -unconscious tools--spread their lies among a discouraged people. America -had declared war, yes, but she intended to limit her intervention to -money and materials. No American army would risk crossing the ocean. The -Americans, like the British, were ready "to fight to the last -Frenchman." - -Seeing was believing. Here were the American uniforms. The arrival of -the first American troops, we were assured, would be announced within -the next few days. Perhaps they had already landed at some port in -France? To baffle the submarines we understood that the censorship must -be vigorous. At any rate, an American general and his staff would not be -in Paris without the certainty of an army to follow. - -Another source of conviction was afforded us in the fact that on this -day of General Pershing's coming Marshal Joffre made his first public -appearance in Paris. Parisians had never had a chance before to acclaim -the victor of the Marne. - -The Americans set up their headquarters in two small _hôtels_ at the end -of the Rue de Constantine, opposite the Invalides. Immediately the boys -of the headquarters detachment marked out a diamond on the Esplanade des -Invalides, and passers-by had to learn to dodge base-balls. The police -did not interfere. Nothing was too good for the Americans. All Paris -flocked to see for themselves the khaki uniforms and to learn the -mysteries of our national game. There was always a crowd around the door -of General Pershing's home in the Rue de Varenne. - -The events of the next few weeks will always seem like a dream to me. -The scene of the drama that has influenced so profoundly the history of -the world was shifted from Paris. I went to Saint-Nazaire to see our -boys land and later to their first training-camp in the country of -Jeanne d'Arc. Many of them did not see Paris. Their idea of France was a -long journey of days and nights in freight-cars, with interminable -stops, and ending in small villages where they met rain and mud. But a -fortunate battalion of the First Division had the honor of being the -vanguard of the A. E. F. in Paris. - -[Illustration: In an Old Quarter] - -They were lodged in the Caserne de Reuilly. On the Fourth of July, -declared a national holiday by grateful France, they paraded through the -streets of our city. We were to become accustomed to American soldiers -in Paris. But these first boys made a unique impression. The moment -of their coming was psychological. Paris never needed encouragement -more. - -After this excitement we had another long and anxious wait of eight -months. The Americans came each week, but in dribbles. Between -Gondrecourt and the three ports of Saint-Nazaire, Bordeaux and Brest, it -was necessary to construct the lines of communication while a great army -in America was being gathered and trained. The defeatist propaganda -started up again, the word was spread that the Americans were coming too -slowly and that in France they were to be seen everywhere but at the -front. Were not the French still holding the lines against odds and -giving their lives, while the Americans were in safety? Despite the fact -that General Pershing moved G. H. Q. from Paris to Chaumont in the -Haute-Marne, the number of American soldiers in Paris, through the -necessities of the S. O. S. increased rapidly. The Hotel Mediterranée, -near the Gare de Lyon, was the first large building taken over. Then the -Elysée-Palace Hotel on the Avenue des Champs-Elysées was chartered. The -American flag soon appeared over barracks, garages and other buildings -in all parts of the city. You could go nowhere without seeing the -American uniform, and our automobiles learned to drive as rapidly as the -French. We got accustomed to hearing English spoken on the streets. The -Red Cross, the Y.M.C.A., the Knights of Columbus, and the Jewish -Welfare Board, established hotels and restaurants and reading-rooms and -leased theatres. Our American Ambulance at Neuilly, taken over by the -army, became only one of a number of hospitals. - -Not until the spring offensive of the next year were the Americans able -to come in large numbers. Then suddenly a single month brought as many -as the nine preceding months. We had our half million, our million, our -two millions. - -The faith of the French in us revived with Cantigny and Château-Thierry. -I am ahead of my chronology. But the men who first fell under the -American flag were those who marched through the streets of Paris, on -July Fourth, 1917. On parade they gave us hope. Fighting they gave us -certitude of victory. - - - - -1918 - - - - -CHAPTER XXVIII - -THE DARKEST DAYS - - -Problems of war time housekeeping in France did not go back to 1914. The -learned political economists who demonstrated to their own satisfaction -that a general European war would not last a year were dead wrong. -Millions were mobilized. Nations were at each other's throats. The -Germans were able to retaliate against the naval blockade by submarine -warfare that threatened to decrease seriously our own communications -with the outside world. But somehow we managed to go through year after -year without feeling the pinch of decreased productivity. And somehow we -accepted the inflation of currency and continued to subscribe cheerfully -to successive war loans with money that came from God knows where. One -hears now much about how we suffered in 1915 and 1916. Morally speaking, -I suppose we did suffer and that we were aware of the strain as time -went on. But from a material point of view the war did not make itself -felt much until 1917. It was only in the spring of that year that a -cartoonist was inspired to draw a necklace of anthracite, tipped off -with an egg for a pendant, over the caption, "Her Jewels." Coal cards, -sugar cards, and bread cards were to us the signs of Germany's weakness. - -Successive Cabinets realized well enough the prudence of anticipatory -restrictions. In the autumn of 1916 the newspapers put forth a _ballon -d'essai_. Every day they published a homily on the virtue of practicing -economy. It had no effect on my servants, this constant warning of a -shortage to come. No restaurants obeyed the voluntary rationing -measures. The Government did not dare to introduce obligatory rationing. -Public opinion rebels against restrictions of individual liberty. We had -to feel the pinch before rationing measures were tolerated. - -Sugar cards came first. They were "put over" on the public during the -rejoicing over the intervention of the United States. Coal cards were -instituted only after the bitter lesson of the late winter months of -1917 bid fair to repeat itself. Not until October, 1917, did I have to -put my signature as _chef de famille_ (my husband was so often away) on -an application for bread cards handed me by the concierge. A fourth New -Year of war came and went before we experienced what we had read about -in other countries--real lack of necessities. The reserves of everything -gave out suddenly. For the first time ability to spend money freely did -not solve household problems. - -Some difficulties were insoluble. They were the difficulties centering -around a shortage of coal supply. I never realized before that in our -modern civilization coal is really a dominating factor in making -tolerable existence in the city. The winter before the sudden giving out -of coal affected only our heating. In the first months of 1918 coal -rationing led to cutting down on gas, electricity and water. In modern -apartments, just as there is no way to heat them except by radiators, -there is no way to light them except by electricity and no way to have -hot water except by turning on the spigot. We were in what the French -call a _cercle vicieux_. We had a fox-and-geese-and-corn problem. For -instance, when a municipal ordinance forbade giving hot water except on -Saturdays and Sundays, your first thought was to heat water on the -kitchen gas-stove. But your allowance for gas was insufficient for -cooking. Nor could you use gas for lighting to save electricity. -Petroleum for lamps or cooking was unobtainable. Everyone made a rush -for candles and wood alcohol. They gave out. When you thought of honey -and jams to make up to the children what they lacked in sugar, everyone -else thought of honey and jams at the same time. We lived on the sixth -floor. The electricity rationing made possible running the elevator only -at certain hours. And when the elevator broke down, all the steel was -going into cannon and all the workers were turning out munitions. You -just walked up six flights of stairs all the time. - -Aside from cooking and baths and heat and light, the coal shortage -affected your laundry. So you couldn't change linen more frequently to -compensate for lost baths. In the old days the laundress would cast her -eyes around for more stuff to pack into her bundle, and if you gave her -a free hand, would gather up things that had never been soiled. Now she -picked out of the basket what she saw fit to take. In the same way, I -used to struggle to keep my milk supply down. It was a common trick for -the dairy people to load you up with milk and butter and eggs and cheese -in collusion with your cook. Now you had to beg for enough milk to give -the babies a cup apiece a day; butter arrived in exchange for a heavy -tip; and eggs appeared not when you ordered them but when the dairy -chose to send them--which was rarely. - -To have the laundress acting like that, and other people acting like -that, was living in Alice's Looking-Glass House. Things were -contrariwise. One day the laundress came to tell me that she could take -no more work. The wash house where the work used to be done had shut -down. My poor woman was dissolved in tears to think that a business that -she had spent twenty-three years in building up had to drop its -customers. I did the best I could by getting in a scrub woman for the -day to wash the most important things in cold water in the bath-room. -That was hard enough. But how dry them? Old tricks would not go: there -was no heat in the radiators. You see, as I said, all the troubles came -at once and were due primarily to coal shortage. There was no remedy. -Insufficient food supply because of lack of means of transportation. -Insufficient lack of means of transportation because of shortage of coal -for freight engines. - -I bought dark jersey dresses for the babies, and lived in dark things -myself. - -I was fortunate in having a good cook and nurse who stayed with me -through thick and thin. But when I came to get a _femme de ménage_ for -chamber work I realized how justified were the complaints of most of my -friends. Women could make big money in munition factories. The large -country element, scared away in 1914 or called home to take the place of -men at the front, did not feed Paris with help as in peace time. I had a -succession of giggling sixteen-year-olds, pottering grandmothers, and -useless loafers. One _femme de ménage_ I called "Toothless." She thought -it was an English pet name, and beamed under it. She was a farm hand -from the Marne district. The family fled before the Germans. She was -left in charge until the soldiers drove her out. "Toothless" put the -chickens in a little hay wagon, tied the cows to the back of it, and, -with her employer's silver on her lap, drove alone through the night to -safety. She was herded with other evacuated peasants on a steamer bound -for Bordeaux. The ship was torpedoed and she lost her teeth by the -explosion. I felt very sorry, and regarded her somewhat as a heroine -until the truth dawned on me that she was speaking of a plate. I didn't -think of this myself. She asked me for an advance one day, explaining -that she had to pay it down to a dentist when she ordered _more_ teeth. -A stranded Russian student followed "Toothless." She held out until her -prosperous father sent money from Petrograd through the Russian Embassy. -Try as hard as I could and offer more than I wanted to pay, I could not -get a regular third servant. I used to be amazed at the letters from -American friends, asking me to send them servants. It must have been the -popular notion in the United States that France was full of women eager -for the chance to work. - -In the fourth year of the war, we began to feel the drain on the -nation's manhood. The constant killing and crippling and calling to the -colors of older men and boys made it almost impossible to get any work -done. Bells or lights or plumbing out of order--you waited for months. -Where in 1915 I had found half a dozen paper-hangers and painters eager -to bid against each other for the job of renovating my studio, I had to -beg and bribe men to come in 1918. It took me four months to get what I -wanted done. Herbert became expert in carrying trunks and boxes: but -that did him no harm. There is a bright side to everything. - -Lines began to form at the grocers and the butchers. One waited and -waited and waited. My servants spent most of the day in the early months -of 1918 in sugar and meat-lines. All over Paris it was _faire la queue_ -for everything, even for tobacco and matches. - -Although it was an expensive proposition, I found it necessary, with my -large family and constant guests, to buy groceries through an agent. A -large English firm seemed to be able to furnish everything--if you paid -their price. The order-man who came around every week was a rascal named -Grimes. He had the genius of a book-agent, and worked you for an order -by playing on your fears. Here is a monologue that I wrote out one day -just to record how Grimes sold things. - -"Rice? First-class American rice?" (Why Grimes called rice "American" -was more than I could understand.) "Still got a little of it--please -don't ask me the price. Don't think of that now. Better let me put you -down for a hundred pounds of it and just shut your eyes to money. Golden -syrup? Just brought three cases of it up from Bordeaux myself. No -telling when we will see any more. The submarines are worse than ever: -awful, isn't it, but it's best that the newspapers don't tell us the -truth. I'm going to let you have two dozen tins of syrup if you don't -tell anyone. It's on account of your kiddies. I recommend that you don't -let older people touch it. Stack it away for the time when your sugar -card--I'm not pessimistic, but I believe you can't be too sure about -sugar cards. A funny fellow over at our place said a neat thing: 'It's -hard to believe in a paper shortage when the Government has voted sugar -cards and those new identity cards.' Biscuits, when have you and I seen -a biscuit? I got a few cases in from America. I'll let you have some. -I'll reserve a couple of hams and some sides of bacon and hang them in -our cellar for you. Gad, you're lucky to have those four babies. It's -only because they need the bacon this winter that I give it to you. Now, -didn't I tell you that you must not think about money? Trust me to give -you a square price. It's safe to say that the beans and other dried -vegetables I'm letting you have will make you shiver when you get the -bill. But if this order figures up to two thousand francs, you can rest -assured that three months from now it would cost you three thousand -francs. And six months from now, with all the good will in the world, I -couldn't get you the stuff. - -"No use mentioning flour. Can't give you any. They say that the -Government is meeting on the quiet half the price of the flour before -the bakers see it. Comes high but it pays 'em to keep the people quiet. -Everything else can go up, but not bread. No m'am, I say it positively; -got to give 'em bread and the chance to have a little fun." (I'm sure -that Grimes never studied Roman history, but he had arrived at the -formula of _panem et circenses_.) "But we shan't starve. Better off in -France than they are in England or Germany. Save the bread for lunch and -tea: give the children a cereal in the morning. Just by luck, I have a -few cases of American oatmeal and hominy grits. - -"Of course, the porridge means milk. I know what you're going to say. -But I've got hold of powdered milk made in Brittany. They say it's an -American invention. Only one big tin to a person, but then you're six -and we'll count the babies as grown ups. You can't tell how long they'll -be able to keep transporting milk to the city. Order as much canned -goods as I can give you. Canneries are running out of tin. Food we put -up in paraffined paste-board doesn't keep very well, and there is mighty -little paste-board. - -"It's a good thing you don't depend upon cocktails to keep you going. I -have a big auto-taxi ticking out there. The man who is going to pay for -it would be glad to let it tick all night just so he got what is inside. -One hundred bottles of gin. You know, the ordinary five-franc gin. I'm -going to get thirty francs a bottle at the Hotel Meurice bar. But -they'll be two bottles short. There they are--yours--right under my hat -on the table. - -"Now please let me read over the order. Not a luxury on it. Macaroni, -beans, lentils, prunes, dried-apricots, salt, and yes, there must be -some soap. Better let me put you down for a good hundred bars. The -Marseilles people tell us they have got to stop making it soon." - -Then he resumed his reading, and I didn't dare to say a word. On those -rare occasions I was pensive. My husband would say: "You don't need to -tell me. That scoundrel Grimes has been here. Good Lord, I wish we had -an anti-hording law, like England." - -"But, oh, Herbert, the children you know." - -I tell this story because I believe it illustrates the thought that was -uppermost in the minds of Paris women. We had faith in our armies. We -stuck to our homes. We were willing to stand anything. But the constant -talk of food shortage got on our nerves. We pictured our children -without milk and fats and bread. It was not hard for the Grimeses to -fill pages in their order-books. And you could not reason with us that -laying in supplies was a sin against the community. - -In my apartment-house (and it was the same all over Paris because of the -new law) the water-heater was having a good rest. I used to have the -kids bathed every night in the week except Sunday. Sunday was a real day -of rest. My servants liked to go to early mass and Sunday afternoon was -"off" for them and for the governess. Circumstances aided in keeping -this side of Sunday as my Covenanter grandfather would have had it. But -after the restrictions you bathed Sunday morning or never. And you had -to wait for your bath. Inferior coal, parsimoniously stoked, took the -water-heater a long time to get going. We chose the next best to -godliness. Church attendance fell off. The lawmakers who restricted -bathing to Sunday were anticlericals as well as traditionalists. - -I had been putting off doing over the apartment and our studios each -spring and fall since the war began, saying to myself that I would wait -until after the war. But in the autumn of 1917 the time had come to do -something. The painter was so short of men that I had to wait three -weeks before he sent someone simply to see what was to be done and to -make an estimate. The men cleaned half the paint in October. They never -came back to do the other half. I was tired of the dull grey wood-work -in my husband's studio and the painted grey wainscotting effect that ran -around the walls shoulder high. The place looked like a battle-ship -turned wrong-side out. Standing in the middle of that studio and looking -up to the skylight, I felt as if the hair was flying right off the top -of my head. The time came when I could stand it no longer. The painter's -soldier son, home on _permission_, agreed with me. But the father shook -his head when I asked him to paint the lower part a cheery buff and the -upper part cream-color. He had no helpers. I pled with him then to give -me the paint properly mixed, lend me brushes and ladders, and I would -send for them and do the work myself. It took me a whole morning to -remove a part of the imitation wainscotting. Then other things more -pressing came up. My husband, who had been oblivious to the old -combination, protested. Fortunately, one of my wounded _filleuls_, who -was able to get around without crutches, did the rest. I helped when I -could: for I do love to paint. - -The rugs in my drawing-room needed cleaning. At the Bon Marché they -offered to write my name down in their books. But they warned me that -they could not call for the rugs for three weeks, and that I must -understand that they could not be delivered before January. In the end I -sent the rugs to three different cleaning places and waited from four to -six weeks to get them back. - -The curtains of my drawing-room windows were dark green velvet, too -depressing a color for wartime. I wonder how I lived with them so long. -The drawing-room faces north, and I wanted yellow silk curtains to -invite the sunshine in. The curtains should be a frame for the best -picture in the drawing-room--a view of Paris that is the reverse of the -picture described in the first pages of Zola's Paris. The idea ran away -with me, and the momentum of it carried me through the difficulties I -found when I tried to get an upholsterer to make the curtains. We are -all learning new trades. The curtains were made finally by an artist, -who, in order to earn her living through the war years, learned to do -retouching of photographs. She and I worked together at those curtains, -and you would think that an upholsterer made them. - -Then the electric-bells--why can't they be fixed so one can wind them -up like a clock? They would not work; that was certain. I unscrewed -their little tops and punched the things like miniature -type-writer-spacers which the buttons ought to have hit: no ring. -Herbert said they "needed new juice" in the batteries. He had the -concierge send up some stuff that looked like salt. I climbed on the -pantry table to reach the suspicious-looking butter crocks hitched to -twisted waxy wires, and poured in the stuff with water according to -orders. Still no ring. Then I telephoned for the electrician. Perhaps he -would consent to send me Jean Claude, the nearsighted, who put in the -wires when we first came and had always been able to make them work. -Jean Claude, we heard, had come back from the war. But the electrician -answered that Jean Claude had been sent to the front again in spite of -his eyes. He would let me have apprentices. The boys were so short that -the big monkey-wrench in their tool-kit was as long as their forearms. -They climbed my step-ladder and tinkered with the bells for most of an -afternoon, while I held the ladder through a sense of paternal -protection for anything as young as that and was glad I had bandages and -ointment in my cupboard. When evening came, they were like the boy in -the song, who said: - - "I don't care what my Teacher says, - I cannot do that sum!" - -Quite naturally they explained that they must ask somebody at the shop -what to do and promised to come back next day. - -But they did not return. Luckily our dentist turned up on a forty-eight -hour furlough. He and his wife knocked long and loud at our front-door. -When the first surprise and delight of seeing him back, looking so -bronzed and fit, had passed, I apologized for the bell, and told my sad -story. The problem awakened the dentist's interest. He went walking -about tracing the wires. French wires are all just hitched somewhere -above the picture moulding line so you can see them. - -"Aha!" came from the pantry. It was the dentist's voice. At the same -moment there was a prolonged ringing. "That's what comes from earning -your living by making your brains speak through your fingers. Quite -simple, quite simple," said the dentist. "I only arranged this little -affair on the indicator. It was the fourth screw from the back at the -upper line of the plate." - -"Sakes," I cried, "get down from there before you give me a toothache!" - -We all go through the world lighting up its darkness with our own kind -of lantern. - -Throughout the war we have done with clothes as with our houses--making -things do. That went very well at first. But in the fourth winter wear -and tear had to be met. We learned a new scale of values for little -things. A green glass lampshade cost fifteen francs, and you were lucky -to get it. The plug to stick in the hole for an electric light you -scoured the town to purchase at seven francs. The steel wire your -_frotteur_ uses to polish floors quadrupled in price. My _frotteur_ went -to war long ago. His substitute, a chauffeur in the postal service, gave -us two afternoons in a month--his only free time. One day he defended -his service gallantly while he balanced a wet brown cigarette and -cake-walked the steel wire over my _salon_ floor. The long black autos -marked _postes et dépêches_, terror of pedestrians in Paris, do not -really go faster than other autos. We think they do because they were -the first autos to be used extensively in the city, and the fear of -being knocked down by them has stuck in the minds of the public. - -I used to have half a dozen "nice little dressmakers" on my list and as -many milliners to whom I could send friends confidently. But as the war -dragged on, one after the other they disappointed me. If it were not -poor cut and shoddy materials, it was inability to make delivery -anywhere near the time promised. Everyone must have been in my position, -because when I turned to the department stores for ready-made things, I -found long lines awaiting for a turn with the sales woman. It is not the -fault of dressmakers. One of them opened her heart to me. - -"It is very hard. Like everybody else, I keep hoping the war will end -suddenly. My reputation was made by my _premières ouvrières_. I still -keep on paying them good wages now although I eat into my savings to do -it. I cannot risk having my best girls go over to competitors. We had -our side in the strike of the _midinettes_. If it had not hit me hard, I -should have been amused to see these pretty young things dressed in -clothes cheap in material but _chic_ go marching along the boulevards -winning policemen over at every corner. I raised pay beyond my means, -and have granted the _semaine anglaise_. But they would go to-morrow for -the least thing. - -"For twenty years I have had three classes of customers in Paris: -_bourgeoises_ of the solid type, who come to me for the reserved sort of -clothes that sell on line, good material and long wear. They paid my -rent. American women, who came in the summer, or hurried through Paris -in February, headed for the Riviera, wanted an advance idea rapidly -executed. That trade paid my running expenses. From actresses and -mistresses I got fantastic prices for exclusive models I promised not to -repeat. From them I made my profits. - -"The first class are deft-fingered like all French women, and do their -own dressmaking now. They get their mourning from the houses that make a -specialty of that trade. The Americans do not come as they used to. My -profitable trade does not have the money for fine clothes or the -opportunity to show them off." - -Curious it seems to me now, when I sit down to write a chapter about the -darkest days of the war, that I find myself penning page after page of -the story of petty household difficulties. But I want to be what the -French call _véridique_. This is how we felt during the first winter of -the American intervention, when the A. E. F. was coming to France with -painful slowness and when we were aware that the Germans were preparing -a final desperate _coup_ before Pershing could marshal an army, -effective in training and equipment and numbers. In January and -February, 1918, we were under the reaction of the Russian collapse, of -the awakening to the falsehoods concerning German military strength that -had been spread consistently for three years, of the nervous dread that -the submarines might after all prevent the coming of the Americans. The -little things, strikes, petty annoyances of daily house keeping, steady -increase in the cost of living made the deep impression. - -Then came the new German onslaught, the daily long-distance bombardment -and the aeroplane raids every night. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIX - -THE GOTHAS AND BIG BERTHA - - -In the early days of the A. E. F., when I was speaking to American -soldiers in the camps, I used to leave a little time for questions at -the end of my talk. The boys always had something in their heads they -wanted to talk about. The scope and variety of their questions were -amazing. But some one was sure to ask: - -"Have you ever been in an air raid?" - -When I answered in the affirmative, he would say, - -"How did you feel?" - -For a long time I reasoned like the _poilu_, who said that if his number -was on a German shell it would find him. Herbert and I worked it out -mathematically that our chances of being hit in the enormous area of -Paris were not as great as of being knocked down by one of the crazy -Indians we had for chauffeurs. When any left-over of a man could get a -license to run a taxi-cab in Paris after a course of two days at fifty -francs, why worry about bombs dropped from an occasional Hun plane? If -we had to go, we'd rather be in our beds. Better to be warm and cosy and -run a slight risk, an infinitesimal risk, than the almost certain -alternative of a bad cold by huddling in a drafty cellar. I told the -boys that we took the raids as a matter of course--all in the day's -happenings. I explained my philosophy, which was this. - -I once knew a man so afraid of germs that he made his wife wash new -stockings in disinfectant solution. He kept strict surveillance over his -children's diet. No peanuts, pink lemonade, -little-store-around-the-corner candy for them. They were taught to -exercise minute precautions in the every-day round of living. And yet, -for all the bother, they had as many ailments as other children. When -one is leading a normal life and has only imaginary or petty things to -contend with, molehills are magnified. When one is facing a great -crisis, one realizes that health is often simply a matter of lack of -physical selfconsciousness. Most of the things you think about and guard -against do not happen. I remember once seeing a play, in which a Romeo -and a Juliet held the center of the stage, oblivious to fighting in the -distance. The man said: "That is only a battle; this is love." Some -people see the honey in the pot; others cannot take their eyes off the -fly. - -I still hold to this way of taking things. It saves a lot of trouble and -makes for peace of mind. But somehow it did not work out to the end in -the air raids. The Germans were finally able to reach Paris when they -wanted to and in appreciable number. - -From the beginning of the war to the end of 1917, air raids did not mean -much to Parisians. We read about the awful nights of terror when the -full moon came around in London, and the heavy bombardment of cities -just behind the front lines in France. Aeroplanes did come occasionally -to Paris. But up to 1918 we experienced curiosity and excitement rather -than fear. In 1915 we saw a Zeppelin over the Gare Saint-Lazare. I can -recall nothing particularly startling about any of these raids. When -aeroplanes came and we did not wake the babies, they scolded us the next -day. They wanted to see the fun. Our balconies, looking over the city -from the _sixième étage_ of the Boulevard du Montparnasse, gave us a -wonderful vantage point for seeing the raids. - -One January night at the beginning of 1918, the fire engines rushed -through the streets with their horns screaming the hysterical "pom-pom! -pom-pom!" with more vigor than usual. As was our custom, we turned the -lights carefully out and went on the balcony to watch the weird scene -that never failed to fascinate, rockets and searchlights and the firefly -effect of rising French planes. That always comforted us. We had little -thought that an _escadrille_ of German planes could reach Paris. They -never had before. The raids had been only an occasional plane flying -very high and dropping at random a few bombs which burst in different -quarters. The next day you had to hunt hard to find the damage they did. -Remembering our promise to Christine, we woke her up and took her out. - -The sounds of the alarm died away. Often we had waited in vain for the -fire from the forts around Paris to warn us that the raiders had -actually arrived in the vicinity of Paris. Then there was another wait -until the first bomb fell. Christine was a bit disgusted at being waked -up for nothing. During the long silence she asked impatiently, "What is -this? The _entre'acte_?" - -But Christine was not disappointed. Over our heads we heard distinctly -the harsh engine-sound that distinguished the new German Gotha from -French planes. We heard it several times. When the bombs began to drop, -it was not one or two, but dozens of explosions. We did not think of -going inside. The thought of danger to ourselves did not enter our -heads. - -Although we knew the raid had been something different from any we had -experienced up to this time, there was little in the papers about the -events of the night. We thought that we must have been mistaken in the -number of bombs that had fallen. It is not always easy to distinguish -between the explosions of a shell from the _tir de barrage_ and the -explosion of a bomb. Before we got through the first month of 1918 we -had the opportunity of becoming expert in this. - -We happened to be lunching with Robert and Edmée Chauvelot. Robert said, -"Did you go down to the cellar last night?" - -"No, we never do." - -"Why not?" cried Robert. - -I explained our air raid philosophy. - -"Nonsense!" exclaimed Madame Alphonse Daudet, Edmée's mother, "you must -go down next time. It isn't fair to your children. Your idea sounds -spunky and American--childish you understand. When we have epidemics, -the authorities study remedies. The Huns have decided to concentrate -their energies on Paris now. You must have read the warnings in the -newspapers. The police have collected statistics. We know now that most -of the people killed by German planes were standing at windows or front -doors, or were on the streets, or remained in their top-floor -apartments. What you have been telling your soldier boys in the camps is -all wrong. No precaution ought to be neglected. It is a question of -commonsense, not fear." - -"I know how to convince you," said Robert. After lunch he took us to the -Avenue de la Grande Armée not far from the Arc de Triomphe. - -"There!" He pointed to a house whose top floors had been blown away. -"That might just as well have been you." - -The house was a new one like ours and as solidly built of stone. The -apartment on the _sixième étage_ was pulverized, the one below it was -smashed, and the fourth floor damaged some. But the third floor was -intact. This convinced us. If air raids were now to be frequent, had we -the right to risk the kiddies? We could take the chance for ourselves. -But for them? - -All Paris reasoned in the same way. The Gothas began to come every night -during the full moon periods and other times when it was clear. In the -late afternoon we grew accustomed to watch the sky and calculate the -chances of cloudy weather. If the stars came out we were sure that there -would be no undisturbed night's rest. The Government intensified the -batteries of A.D.C. cannon around the city. Patrols of aeroplanes were -multiplied. The _tir de barrage_ became formidable. None could boast any -longer of being able to sleep through air raids. Sirens were put on all -the public buildings to replace the _alerte_ of the fire-trucks. When -the sirens began to wail, not a soul in Paris could complain of not -being warned. Frequently nothing happened after the sirens, because the -_alerte_ was given each time German planes were signalled crossing our -lines in the direction of Paris. Then we would simply wait for the -_berloque_, the bugle signal "all's over," which was sounded by the -firemen riding through the streets on their hook and ladder trucks. - -When the Gothas demonstrated their ability to come in numbers, as the -Zeppelins had been doing in London, the municipality, upon orders from -the Ministère de la Guerre, ordered every light out and the instant -stopping of tramway and underground services the moment the _alerte_ -was sounded. Engineers went around the city examining cellars and Métro -stations. Houses with solid cellars were compelled to keep their front -doors open until the number of persons they could hold had taken refuge -inside. In front of the house placards were posted with ABRI in large -letters and the number of persons allotted for shelter underneath. The -underground railways had to shut all stations except those deemed safe. -If you were on the street or in an underground train or tramway when the -_alerte_ sounded, you had the choice of walking home or of taking refuge -in the nearest _abri_. At first the theatres and moving-picture houses -protested against being closed down. But one January night a bomb -destroyed completely a house a hundred yards from the crowded -Folies-Bergère. This was enough. After that, if the _alerte_ sounded -before opening time, there was no show. If it sounded during a -performance, theatres and _cinémas_ were evacuated immediately by the -police. - -One can readily see the inconvenience of all this. If you planned to go -out for dinner or to a show, you risked a long walk home or being caught -for hours--and then the walk! For it was practically impossible to get -into the underground after the _berloque_ sounded. - -On account of the children, from January to April, we went far from home -only on a cloudy or rainy night. If there were engagements we had to -keep on a clear night, there was only one thing to do--bribe a chauffeur -to stand by you with his taxi-cab all evening. - -As the _alertes_ were often false alarms, we waited until the _tir de -barrage_ began. Then with servants carrying children wrapped in -blankets, we had to stumble down dark stairs. My husband was often away. -Sometimes I had to go on lecture trips. But we never left Paris at the -same time. Whenever I was out of town, I looked on clear weather as a -calamity and dreaded the full moon. The next morning I would eagerly -scan the paper for news of what happened in Paris. It was no fun. - -Cellars of modern apartment houses may be solid, but they are not -spacious. Each _locataire_ has two _caves_, one for storage and coal and -one for wine. The only refuge space is around the furnace and in the -long corridors that lead to the _caves_. We were allotted space for -three hundred. Such a crowd would gather from the streets! I could not -take my children there. At first we went to the concierge's _loge_. As -explosion succeeded explosion, I telephoned the _Herald_ office and -learned the location of the bomb a few minutes after it fell. This was a -way of knowing whether they were in our quarter or across the river. But -this soon ended. For telephone service during the raid was interrupted, -and the concierge's _loge_ was deemed by the police unsafe. Bombs -falling in the street or court were wrecking ground floors. A -solidarity manifested itself among the _locataires_. Those on the first -two or three floors took in the tenants from the upper floors. I was -lucky in having the use of a first-floor apartment alone for my family. -The _locataires_ of this apartment would leave the door open for me. -They went to the cellar! Everything is relative in this life. - -At first, the children objected to going down stairs. The younger ones -did not like to be wakened from their sleep. The older ones wanted to -see the raid from the balcony. We sympathized with them. We were missing -so much! After a while, as nothing ever happened to our house, I began -to regret having started to follow the advice of my friends. After all, -was the cellar safe? It was fifty-fifty. I wonder how my children will -feel about Germany as they grow up. They were old enough to have -impressed indelibly upon their minds the memory of these months. They -will never forget the sirens, the sudden waking from sleep, the _tir de -barrage_, and the explosions that sometimes shook our house. Mimi asked -once, "Do the Gothas make that siren noise with their heads or with -their tails?" Fancy the image in the child's mind: the German birds -swooping over Paris shrieking a song of hate and dropping bombs that -meant destruction and death. And when the _berloque_ sounded and we went -up stairs, we could see from our balcony fires here and there over the -city. For the Germans used incendiary bombs. - -But we were to have worse than air raids. - -The other day I put on the victrola a selection from "Die Walkyrie." -Wotan was singing. The orchestra thundered three motifs. The spring of -the instrument ran down before I could get to wind it up, there was a -rasping shriek. Mimi started. - -"That's like an air raid!" cried Lloyd. - -But they say the most potent way "to summon up remembrance of things -past" is the sense of smell. Burned toast means to me Big Bertha. - -One Saturday morning I was reading the depressing news of the rout of -the Fifth British army. After nearly four years of immobility in the -trenches, the Germans had once more started the march on Paris. The two -older children were out walking with Alice, their _gouvernante_. I was -at home with the babies. It was a jewel of a day, picked from an October -setting and smiling upon Paris in March. The feel of spring was in the -air. For months we had welcomed bad weather as an antidote for Gothas. -But I was glad the morning was so fine. At least there was nothing to -fear until evening. At the end of winter it is a blessing to have the -windows open once more. Suddenly the sirens started. We went out on the -balcony. The streets were filling with people, crowding into the Vavin -Métro station opposite and looking for the houses that were _abris_. -Still the crowds in the Boulevard du Montparnasse got larger. I was -sorry that Easter vacation was starting so early. Were the children in -school, they would be in the cellar. At the Ecole Alsacienne the -children were drilled for air raids as American school children are for -fire. Would Alice take the children to her own home or come back here? -If she went to her house, could she get there in time to telephone me -before the communications were cut off? It was impossible to go out and -look for Christine and Lloyd: for I must stay with the others. Often the -best thing is to sit tight. The children came in. - -"It isn't the Gothas--it's balloons. The Germans have sent a lot of them -over us. Everybody says so." - -In the unclouded sky there was no sign of aeroplanes. Could they be so -high as to be out of sight? And yet there were explosions near us every -few minutes. They lasted until late in the afternoon. The rumor of a big -gun spread. The noon newspapers and the earlier afternoon ones spoke of -a long distance bombardment to explain the explosions. Shells were -certainly falling. Bits of them, different from bombs, had been picked -up. But the opinion of interviewed experts scouted the theory of a gun -that would carry over a hundred kilometers. Was a new German advance -being hidden from us? Had they reached the gates of the city? - -[Illustration: Saint-Germain l'Auxerrois] - -That night we had our air raid as usual. The next morning the newspapers -told us that we could now expect to be shelled by day as well as bombed -by night. It was established that the Germans had discovered a means -of sending shells from their old lines all the way to Paris. - -We were in the axis of Big Bertha, as the cannon was immediately dubbed. -This was a new and more severe test for nerves. We got accustomed to it. -For the trial, the strength. The kiddies had to have exercise and you -yourself could not be home every minute of the time. But my feeling each -time a shell exploded is the most horrible memory of the war. You never -knew where it fell. On the third day when the children came home from -the Luxembourg, they told me that a shell from Big Bertha had torn away -a corner of the Grand Bassin. I tried to steel myself. One can become a -fatalist for oneself. But it is not easy to be a fatalist for your -children. - -Then we had a lull. We were assured that there was only one Big Bertha -or at the most two. The life of the cannon was a hundred shots. Counting -those that fell in the suburbs, the attempt to intimidate Paris was -over. - -We were thankful now that we had only the air raids. - -I woke up on Thursday morning, thinking to give the children a treat. I -built a wood fire, and started to make some toast. As I sat on the -floor, cutting pieces of bread, I told myself that it would not help to -worry. Perhaps it was true that the Germans had sprung a trick they -could not repeat. At any rate, the news from the front was good. The -British had made a magnificent recovery. The French were helping them -stop the hole. General Pershing was throwing all the Americans in France -into the breach north of Paris. There was something to be thankful for. -Even if Big Bertha started up again, we were as safe from shells in our -own home as anywhere else. I said to myself, "I am going to forget Big -Bertha and put my mind on the children's treat--hot buttered toast for -breakfast." There were enough embers now to make the toast. I speared a -piece of bread with the kitchen fork and held it over the fire. - -"Bing!" - -The toast dropped from my fork and was burned before I could pick it -out. - -Mimi, who was sleeping in the bed close by, woke up. - -"Hello, Mama," she said cheerfully. "Dat's Big Bertha again. I did hear -her." - - - - -CHAPTER XXX - -THE BIRD CHARMER OF THE TUILERIES - - -The Paris subway system is the best in the world. We make this boast -without fear of contradiction. In London the various lines do not -connect, and require a life study to arrive at the quickest combination. -Even then, old Londoners are in doubt. They say to you, "Piccadilly -Circus? Ah let me see--" Then your guide contradicts himself two or -three times before giving you directions of which he is reasonably sure. -In New York, you have to be certain you are on the uptown or downtown -side, and that you have not mistaken the Broadway line, where you drop -the money in the box, for the Seventh Avenue line, where you buy -tickets. Experience with the Forty-second Street shuttle teaches you -that it is quicker to walk than to ride: you have to walk most of the -way anyhow. New York subways are filthy and stuffy. In Boston you have a -bewildering variety of trolley-cars, stopping at different parts of the -platform and going every which way. - -But Paris underground is clean, well-ventilated, orderly. You can go -from any part of the city to any other part quickly and without -confusion. The resident knows his way instinctively. The stranger has -only to follow the abundant and clearly-marked signs. In every station -the signs bear the name of every other station, and if you are in doubt, -there is a map before you. On the doors of cars the stations are marked, -with junction-stops in red, and all the stations of the line you are -taking are indicated on a map which you cannot fail to see. - -The subway system of Paris is superb because it has to compete with -excellent surface transportation. It has also to compete with the beauty -of Paris. Unless you are in a hurry or it is a very rainy day, riding -underground is folly. One never tires of going through the streets of -Paris. The joy is constant. I am proud of the "Métro" and "Nord-Sud," as -the two subway systems are called. But I use them as little as possible. -An open _fiacre_ is a temptation never to be resisted. And, until the -last year of the war, it was a temptation thrust under your nose. Best -of all, I love to walk. Our way to the Rive Droite is down the Boulevard -Raspail. At the foot of the boulevard, you have three choices. You can -go straight ahead through the Rue du Bac and over the Pont Royal, by the -Boulevard Saint-Germain and across the Pont de Solférino, or to the end -of the Boulevard Saint-Germain and across the Pont de la Concorde. Each -route is equally inspiring. By the Pont Solférino you have before you a -perfect vista of the Vendôme Column and Sacré-Coeur in the background. -By the Pont de la Concorde you have the Obélisque and the Madeleine in -the background. But I used to prefer the Rue du Bac and the Pont Royal -because of Monsieur Pol. Alas that I have to say "used to"! - -After crossing the Seine by the Pont Royal, you enter the Tuileries -Garden at the end of the Louvre. On the left-hand side, before you -reached the Rue de Rivoli, ever since I can remember a little group was -gathered around a man feeding birds. I had to be in a great hurry on the -day I did not join that group. - -There is an old saying that every man drifts into his means of -livelihood. That is the reason so few people are doing what they planned -to do, and why there are so many queer ways of earning one's living. -Certainly the first time Monsieur Pol threw bread crumbs to the sparrows -in Tuileries he did not think of doing it for a living. Nor did he dream -that he would become as familiar a Paris landmark as Paul Deroulède in -marble and Jeanne d'Arc in gilt near by. A generation of Parisians may -have forgotten the features of former presidents of the Republic. But -who would not recognize Monsieur Pol? In fact, I have seen Emile Loubet -standing unrecognized in the crowd around the bird charmer. - -One day a one-legged soldier limped his way through the crowd to a good -place. In the lines of his face you could read suffering, but the -expression was of a happy child absorbed in the wonder of the moment. On -the sand around the old man's chair a hundred sparrows faced his way, -heads uplifted. - -"Get out of this, you rascals! I have had enough of you," cried Monsieur -Pol, stamping his foot and shaking a fist at his battalion. Do you think -they budged? The bird charmer shook his head, and remarked with a gentle -sigh, turning to the crowd, "You see, they have known me a good while. -Mind how you behave," he shouted, addressing the birds again, "here is a -soldier looking at you. Think how he will laugh if you do not stand up -straight. Look how well he's standing himself--with one leg gone." - -The birds heard a speech praising their defender, which turned into a -glorification of our _poilus_ in general. How those birds had to listen -to lessons in politics, shrewd comments on the news of the day, the -latest Cabinet crisis, talked-about play, scandal in high life! Since -the war it has been the Germans in Belgium, the Turks in Armenia, -Kerensky and the Bolshevists, and the last three o'clock _communiqué_. -The birds gave their attention to the end. They seemed to know when the -speech was done, when the lesson of faith in France and optimism had -been driven home. They began to fly about the charmer, billing around -his neck and perching on his wide-brimmed hat in search of -bread-crumbs. - -Feeding the sparrows was "_un métier comme un autre_." He had names for -all his pets. With "the Englishman" he talked about Edward the Seventh, -Sir Thomas Barclay and the Entente Cordiale, and pressed him on the -subject of the tunnel under the Channel. He complimented "the -Englishman" on the bravery of the Tommies and told him what the French -thought of Sir Douglas Haig. "The Deputy" received frank comments on the -doings at the Palais Bourbon. "The Drunk" was twitted for having to go -without absinthe, scolded for his excesses, and at the end of the -afternoon invited to accompany Monsieur Pol for a drink, the price of -which invariably came from someone in the crowd. Monsieur Pol and his -sparrows would have earned a fortune at any vaudeville house. He was as -witty as a cowboy rope-juggler I saw once in New York, and his lectures -to the birds, if taken down in shorthand, would have made a valuable -contemporary commentary on Paris during the Third Republic. Monsieur Pol -depended upon occasional gifts and the sale of postcards. - -During the war he grew gradually more feeble, but could not be persuaded -to accept the care of loving hands stretched out to him on all sides in -spite of the preoccupation of the struggle. When the bread restrictions -came in, he never lacked a sufficient supply for his little friends. I -have seen people give him strips of their own bread tickets. Monsieur -Pol kept coming to the Tuileries until he died in action as truly as -any soldier at the front. His best epitaph is a little verse on the -postcards he sold: - - "Auprès de ces petits, je suis toujours heureux. - Car je vois l'amitié pétiller dans leurs yeux, - Et j'éprouve aussitôt, avec un charme extrême, - Le plus doux des bonheurs: être aimé quand on aime."[E] - -[E] - - "Among these little ones I am always happy. - In their innocent eyes glows friendship, - And with swelling heart I know the charm - Of loving and of being loved." - - - - - - - -CHAPTER XXXI - -THE QUATORZE OF TESTING - - -Big Bertha, or rather her successors, kept up a sporadic bombardment of -Paris in April and May. A few shells fell again in June. But the effect -of the bombardment, materially and morally, was nothing like that of the -original Big Bertha. The culmination of horror and indignation was -reached on Good Friday afternoon, when a hundred people were killed in -the church of Saint-Gervais. After that the Germans made no other big -killing. They came to realize that Big Bertha could not intimidate or -demoralize Paris. Where the shells fell, however, we shall never forget. - -I used to listen with awe (and a bit of envy) to the stories of people -who passed through the siege of 1870. I remember well when I was a child -being told by my father's friends, as we drove in the city, "A shell -burst here in 1870 and tore the front out of a shop: I was sitting at a -café near by"; or, "On that spot the Versailles troops stormed a -barricade and lined its defenders against a wall--there was no quarter." -Now I have my stories to tell! There is hardly a street between the -Boulevard Montparnasse and the Seine that is not associated in my mind -with an aeroplane bomb or a Big Bertha shell. The compensation for -having lived through these days will be the privilege of telling -Americans who come to see us "all about it." As the years go by, I have -no doubt that legends will form themselves in my mind and that I shall -do my full share of innocent and unintentional lying. You want to -impress your listener: so you must make things graphic. - -But I shall never be eloquent enough to enhance upon or exaggerate the -nervous tension through which we passed during the spring and early -summer of 1918. From the moment we learned the news of the collapse of -the Fifth British Army, which brought the Germans to Montdidier, until -the tide of battle was definitely turned, we never had an easy moment. -The strain was worse than in 1914. For it lasted months instead of -weeks, and reverses after four years of fighting, with all the world -against Germany, were more difficult to understand and to stand. The -British were just recovering themselves when the Germans fell on the -French, captured the entire Craonne plateau for which we had been -struggling for three years, reoccupied Soissons, and started to advance -once more from the Aisne to the Marne. - -It was not easy to be an optimist. We had faith in the holding ability -of the French and British armies; we believed that the Germans were -shooting their last bolt; and we knew that the Americans were arriving -in large numbers. But we had been fooled so often about internal -conditions in Germany! And Russia and the submarine warfare were factors -concerning which we had no exact data. The people who recreate the past -with the advantage of hindsight will tell that they never worried a -minute. They knew things were coming out all right! To listen to them -one would think that they expected all along to happen just what did -happen in the way it did happen. When I hear this kind of talk now I -know that it was either a case of - - "Where ignorance is bliss - 'Tis folly to be wise," - -or hopeless bumptiousness. How strange it is that many of those who tell -you now that the Germans never had a chance ran away from Paris in 1914 -and again in 1918. - -Parisians passed no fortnight in which there was more anxiety and -uncertainty to their beloved city than the first two weeks of July. The -Germans were widening their pocket. They occupied the right bank of the -Marne from Château-Thierry to Dormans. They crossed the Marne. It was -too late for Germany to hope to win the war. But would they get to -Paris? - -On July Fourth I was in reconquered Alsace and my husband was speaking -at Tours. He telegraphed me to join him at Boulogne-Sur-Mer on July -seventh. It took me three days to go in slow trains, with an occasional -lift by motor, the entire length of the front. I saw everywhere reserves -of troops and endless lines of motor-trucks and trains with cannon and -ammunition. The American uniform was ubiquitous. All this gave me a hope -and confidence I had not felt in Paris, where I knew that the Government -was making more elaborate preparations than in 1914 to evacuate the -city. Herbert and I returned to Paris from Etaples on July ninth. The -direct route by Abbéville and Amiens was under the German cannon, so we -had to make a wide detour by Tréport and Beauvais. We both had a raging -fever and it was all we could do to get home from the Gare de Nord. - -Doctor Charon came early in the morning and told us that we were down -with the _grippe espagnole_, the plague that was sweeping France and -that had much to do with the general depression. Many a soldier who had -gone through four years of battle unscathed succumbed to this mysterious -disease. It hit one suddenly and the end came quickly. On the other -hand, if the first forty-eight hours passed without complications, -recovery was as rapid. Despite the protests of Doctor Charon, Herbert -got out of bed on the morning of the thirteenth to go to Lyons to the -inauguration of the Pont Président-Wilson. I was up to celebrate the -Quatorze. After it was over, I was glad of the illness that came to keep -me in Paris for this day when we whistled to keep up our courage. Had -the Spanish grip not interfered, I should have returned to my children -in the Little Gray Home near Saint-Nazaire. - -The military operations in July, 1918, were not critical from the -standpoint of the safety of France and the success of the Allied cause. -The size of the army America was sending to France put the Germans in -such a hopeless inferiority of numbers that as soon as the table of the -landing of the first million was published we knew that the Germans were -doomed _if the fighting continued_. But we had a growing number of -strikes and a wide-spread defeatist campaign in the rear to contend -with. If Paris were taken, what would be the effect on French public -opinion? This was the stake the Germans were fighting for, and they knew -it was their only hope of salvation. - -Never have I loved Paris more than on the Quatorze of testing. Music and -dancing were lacking, of course: for since 1914 we had not danced in -public out of respect to the dead and music had been barred in cafés. -Military bands had other places to play than in Paris. But happen what -might, Parisians were determined to celebrate the fête just as if the -Germans had not crossed the Marne. I went out for the day with friends. -We smiled and laughed and tried to have a good time. The relaxation -helped all to bear the burden. Within limits hedonism has its merits. -"Eat, drink and be merry, for to-morrow we die" is the philosophy that -wins out when a crisis is being faced. - -I went to the review in the morning, and made a round of the streets and -the Champs-Elysées Quarter that had been rebaptized in honor of our -Allies. The Paris Municipal Council cannot be accused of lacking -optimism in regard to persons as well as events. Belief in victory and -in the permanent esteem for those who were bringing it to pass led to -changes of names that may not in retrospect have popular approval. The -Avenue du Trocadéro has become the Avenue du Président-Wilson; the -Avenue d'Antin, the Avenue Victor-Emanuel III; the Avenue de l'Alma, the -Avenue Georges V; the Quai Débilly, the Quai de Tokio; part of the Rue -Pierre-Charron, the Rue Pierre I de Serbie; and the Place de l'Alma, the -Place des Alliés. - -When Herbert returned from the Quatorze at Lyons, we celebrated the -Franco-American victory of the Marne with a dinner at Parc Montsouris. -Whoever has been to the Pavillon du Lac becomes a regular client. We -discovered this unpretentious little restaurant many years ago when we -were exploring with Christine and the baby-carriage. Ever since Xavier -has been our friend. Xavier does not need to be on the Grands -Boulevards. He prepares the choicest dishes with utmost confidence that -his friends will bring their friends to Montsouris. The Pavillon du Lac -is nearly a mile from the nearest Métro station and no taxicabs are to -be found out there by the fortifications. But difficulty of -transportation is more than compensated for by the restfulness of the -Pavillon du Lac, its _cuisine_--and Xavier, with his good humor and -witticisms, waiting on the table. You eat on the _terrasse_ facing the -park, with its waterfall and lake, and you feel that it is all -yours--park and restaurant. From _patron_ to _chef_, everybody calls you -by name, and most of the people at the tables are your friends. In the -salon is a piano. You dance to your heart's content. Xavier dances with -you. - -When I try to write of the Pavillon du Lac, memories crowd in on me -thick and fast. I could have put this restaurant in almost any chapter -of my Paris vistas. - -But what place could a dinner at Montsouris enter more appropriately -than on the night of July 18, 1918? We were celebrating better than we -knew. The afternoon _communiqué_ brought with it the certainty that the -miracle of 1914 had been repeated and that Paris was saved again. Did we -realize that the day's fighting was the turning point of the war? I -think not. But we acted as if we did. - -Around our table were gathered the American General commanding the -troops in Paris, my husband's chief on the Committee of Public -Information, a French editor, colleagues of the American and British -press, and one of our dearest French friends, whose work for his country -in the hour of trial was bearing splendid fruit. Xavier was at his best. -Had I not recently been in his beloved Alsace from which he had been an -exile since childhood? From _hors d'Å“uvres_ to _liqueurs_, there was -an uninterrupted flow of good cheer. The strain of years was passing -away. - -The climax came when Jim Kerney picked up his cordial glass, twirled it -with his thumb, looked at it regretfully, and sighed, - -"The fellow who blew this glass was certainly short of breath." - -[Illustration: Old Paris is disappearing] - - - - -CHAPTER XXXII - -THE LIBERATION OF LILLE - - -From the Boulevard des Capucines to the Avenue de l'Opéra there is a -convenient short-cut through the Rue Daunou. Newspaper men and other -Americans do not always use the Rue Daunou for the short-cut. It is -better known as the way to the Chatham bar. I ought to know nothing -about the Chatham bar. My acquaintance with that corner should be -limited to the Restaurant Volney and ladies' days at my husband's club -opposite. But I do know the Chatham bar and for a perfectly respectable -reason. It is where my old uncle used to be found when the clerk at his -hotel said that he was not in. The uncle makes me think of a friend of -his and a table with a little brass disk in the center of it to -commemorate assiduous attendance through a long period of years in the -Chatham bar. And the uncle's friend makes me think of the liberation of -Lille. Association of ideas is a strange thing. - -Herbert and I sat one evening in the autumn of 1915 before a big map -with my uncle's friend. His fingers lay upon the Flanders portion of -what we had come to call "the front." Bubbling over with excitement, he -exclaimed, - -"They have broken through here, I tell you, day before yesterday. I -always knew that when Kitchener's army was ready the trick would be -turned. Of course the censorship is holding up the news, but everybody -knows it. A sharp bombardment that overwhelmed the Boches, and then the -break through. The Boches were routed. Talk about not being able to -storm trenches! The cavalry has passed Lille. At this moment Lille is -liberated. The British must be there in force." - -"But," objected my husband, "this is too good to be true. They could not -hold back news like that, you know. If the British are in Lille, the war -is over." - -"Of course it is over," insisted my uncle's friend. "We shall have peace -by Christmas." - -Mr.--well I won't tell you his name--let us say Mr. Smith, was hardly to -blame for taking the wish for the fact. The rumor of a big break through -the Flanders front was everywhere in Paris. Fourteen months of war had -been enough. The French had waited a year for the British to form an -army. Why shouldn't it be true that now the end had come? - -Alas! we were to wait three years more before the lines in Flanders were -crossed; we were to have many costly disappointments like that of -Neuve-Chapelle. But when the moment finally did come, the liberation of -Lille was to mean the beginning of the end. - -In October, 1919, when I came back to Paris from the Little Gray Home, I -returned to a city where there was a feeling of victory in the air. The -most conservative had lost their habitual pessimism. The most resigned, -who had come to accept the war as a fatality that would never end as -long as there were men to fight, began to revise their opinions. The -most suspicious, who wagged their heads over _communiqués_ no matter -what the authorities said, felt that after all we were making "some -progress." Each day the list of liberated communes grew longer. But -until some big city was abandoned, Parisians were afraid of having to -pay too big a price to break down the Boche resistance. After all, they -had proved themselves stubborn fighters. They might elect to make a long -"last ditch" combat on lines of which we did not know the existence. But -if they abandoned Lille, that would mean the intention of falling back -to the Meuse. Genuine optimism is as hard to instil as it is to dispel. -In retrospect, many writers are now asserting that Parisians knew the -Boches were beaten after the failure of their last July offensive from -the Vesle to the Marne. But this is not true. Relief over the failure to -reach Paris did not mean certainty of the imminent collapse of -Ludendorf's war machine. - -When summertime was over, and darkness came suddenly from one day to -the next, Herbert and I resumed our walks at nightfall. During the war -we had lost our interest in buildings as memorials of the past. -Contemporary history had crowded out ante-bellum associations. The -Eiffel Tower was not a gigantic monstrosity, a relic of the Exposition. -It was a wireless-telegraphy station, the ear, the eye, the voice of -Paris. Tramping by the Champs de Mars, we saw the sentinels in their -faded blue coats of the fifth year and felt sorry for the men up there -always listening in the pitiless cold. Crossing the Pont Alexandre III, -we forgot the splendor of the Czars and thought of Nicholas in the hands -of the Bolsheviki. The Grand Palais no longer recalled brilliant Salons. -We thought of the blind in the hospital there and of the re-education of -mutilated _poilus_. The picture inside was a one-armed soldier learning -to run a typewriter, and a man with both legs amputated sitting on a low -bench, the light of renewed hope in his eyes: for he had found out that -he could still do a man's work in the world by becoming a cobbler. The -newspaper building, whose cellar windows used to fascinate us, was the -place where we waited for the posting of the _communiqué_. The Invalides -was no longer just Napoleon's tomb. It was the place where you went to -see your friends decorated and where you strolled about the central -court to show your children aeroplanes and cannon captured from the -Germans. And you were saddened by the thought that when the last -veterans of the Crimea and Soixante-Dix and colonial wars disappeared, -there would be thousands of others to take the vacant places. - -October is chestnut month. From some mysterious source the venders drew -their supply of charcoal when we could not get it. But we were glad of -their luck. Autumn walks would not be complete without the bag of -roasted chestnuts which I could fish out of Herbert's overcoat pocket. - -We were going down the Rue de Rennes one night and stopped to get our -chestnuts from the man at the corner of the Rue Sainte-Placide. Herbert -was fumbling for coppers. A boy thrust a newspaper under his nose. - -"The Liberation of Lille!" he cried. - -We hailed a taxi and made for the Chatham bar. Everything comes to him -who waits. Uncle Alex's friend was waiting. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIII - -ARMISTICE NIGHT - - -On the eleventh day of the eleventh month at the eleventh hour, Paris -heard the news. The big guns of Mont Valérian and the forts of Ivry -roared. The anti-aircraft cannon of the Buttes-Chaumont, -Issy-les-Moulineaux, the Eiffel Tower, the Arc de Triomphe and the Place -de la Bastille took up the message. The submarine moored by the Pont de -la Concorde spoke for the navy. And then the church bells began to ring. -We had heard the tocsin sounded by those same bells at four o'clock on -the afternoon of August 1, 1914. France to arms! We had heard those same -cannon during more than four years announcing the arrival of Tauben and -Zeppelins and Gothas over Paris. But Paris kept the faith and never -doubted that this day would come. The armistice was signed. The war was -over. The victory was ours. - -In the Rue Campagne-Première artists' studios are in the buildings with -workingmen's lodgings. House painter and canvas painter work side by -side; writer and printer and book-binder, sculptor, cobbler, and -mattress maker live in the same court. Our little community could exist -by itself, for we have within a few hundred feet all that we need, -tailor and laundress, baker and butcher, restaurant and milk woman, the -stationer who sells newspapers and notions, and the hardware shop where -artists' materials can be had. During these years of danger and -discouragement and depression we have exchanged hopes and fears as we -have bought and sold and worked. We have welcomed the _permissionniares_, -we have shared in the bereavements of almost every family, and we have -greeted the birth of each baby as if it were our own. I was in my studio -when the message of victory arrived. Windows in the large court opened -instantly, and then we hurried down the staircase to pour forth, hand in -hand, arm in arm, into the street. We kissed each other. Flags appeared -in every window and on every vehicle. - -The Boulevard du Montparnasse was ablaze with flags and bunting, and -processions were forming. Hands reached out to force me into line. I -managed to break away when I got to the door of my home for the crowd -paused to salute the huge American flag. Herbert, who had reached the -apartment first, was hanging from our balcony. My four children were in -the hall when the elevator stopped. School had been dismissed. They -danced around me. Mimi the five-year-old cried: "No more Gothas, no more -submarines, we can go home to see grandma, and the Americans finished -the war!" - -"It is peace, Mimi, peace!" I said. - -"What is peace?" asked Mimi bewildered. - -I tried to explain. She could not understand. The world since she began -to talk and receive ideas had been air raids and bombardments, and life -was the mighty effort to kill Germans, who were responsible for all -that, and also for the fact that there was not enough butter and milk -and sugar. Mimi knew no more about peace than she did about cake and -boxes of candy and white bread. Questioning my seven year old, I found -that his notions of a world in which men would not fight were as vague -as Mimi's. Lloyd was frankly puzzled. Like Mimi, he believed that the -armistice meant no more Gothas and no more submarines, but he thought -surely that we would go on fighting the Germans. Had not they always -been fighting us? And if we weren't going to fight them any longer, -chasing them back to their own country, what in the world would we do? -And how could Uncle Clem and all the other soldier friends be happy -without any work? - -The Artist dropped in for lunch. Together we had seen the war suddenly -come upon France. Together we were to see it as suddenly end. "Do you -know," he said, "everyone in the quarter is going to the Grands -Boulevards. Taxis have disappeared. The Métro and Nord-Sud are jammed. -We may have to foot it, like most people, but if we want to see the big -celebration, we must get over to the Rive Droite this afternoon." - -The Artist was right. As Lester and Herbert and I went down the -Boulevard Raspail and the Boulevard Saint-Germain, we seemed to be -following the entire population of the Rive Gauche. To cross the bridge -was the work of half an hour. We kept near the coping, and had time to -see the crew of the submarine _Montgolfier_ engaged in more strenuous -work than sailing under the seas. The _Montgolfier_ was brought up to -the center of Paris a fortnight before to stimulate subscriptions to the -Victory Loan. The Parisians had been allowed to subscribe on board. -To-day the crew was busy trying to keep people off without pushing them -into the river. The crowd in the Place de la Concorde overflowed to the -Champs-Elysées and the Tuileries. Boys were climbing over the German -tanks. They sat astride the big cannon trophies and invaded the captured -aeroplanes parked on the terrace of the Tuileries. Only its steep sides -saved the obelisk. - -For many months the horses of Marly, guarding the entrance to the -Champs-Elysées, had been protected by sand-bags and boxed up. A crowd -was tearing off the boards and punching holes in the bags. Air raids -were a thing of the past, and these hidden treasures were a painful -memory which Paris wanted to efface immediately. A gendarme interfered -only to point out the danger of the long nails in the ends of the -boards. He insisted that the nails should be taken out, and then the -boards were given to those who had torn them off. This kindly -interference appealed to the good sense of the crowd. Men were putting -the boards across their shoulders to parade the _poilus_ triumphantly -around the Place. The gendarme was awarded by the honor of a high seat, -too. - -The statues of the cities of France formed splendid vantage-points, and -they were crowded with the agile and venturesome. Lille and Strasbourg, -however, were respected. When Lille was delivered last month, the statue -had been covered with flowers and wreaths and flags. As it symbolized -all the invaded regions, new offerings had been coming each day from the -cities and towns that were being freed. In the midst of the joy of the -armistice, this tangible evidence of victory was receiving more -offerings each hour. We could see people moving towards Lille with arms -aloft, in order that flowers should not be crushed in the jam. There was -something sublimely pagan about the offerings to the huge statue. And -Strasbourg! After nearly half a century, this was Strasbourg's day. The -first instinct of the crowd was to tear off the crepe. But the -government had taken precautions. Strasbourg was to be unveiled on the -day Marshal Foch and his army enter the city. So Strasbourg was -protected by a _cordon_ of the Garde Municipale. - -On the Rue Royale side of the Hôtel de Coislin, which the American Red -Cross occupied since our entry into the war, the proclamation of the -mobilization was covered by some thoughtful person with glass. It has -remained through these years, defying wind and rain and -souvenir-hunters, a constant reminder in the busy thoroughfare of -Paris's last Great Day. This afternoon a fresh poster had been put -beside it. We read: - - -INHABITANTS OF PARIS - - It is the victory, the triumphal victory! On all the fronts the - conquered enemy has laid down his arms. Blood is going to cease - flowing. - - Let Paris come forth from the proud reserve which has won for her - the admiration of the world. - - Let us give free course to our joy, to our enthusiasm, and let us - keep back our tears. - - To witness to our great soldiers and to their incomparable chiefs - our infinite gratitude, let us display from all our houses the - French colors and those of our Allies. - - Our dead can sleep in peace. The sublime sacrifice which they have - made of their life for the future of the race and for the safety of - France will not be sterile. - - For them as for us "the day of glory has arrived." - - Vive la République! - - Vive la France Immortelle! - - THE MUNICIPAL COUNCIL. - -Paris had anticipated the advice of the City Fathers. Printers and bill -posters were not quick enough. But the proclamation was read with -enthusiasm. "_Ça y est cette fois-ci!_" cried a girl who had just come -out of Maxim's. - -The cry was taken up immediately by all who were gathered around the -poster, and we heard it passing from mouth to mouth as we worked our -way toward the Madeleine. Nothing could express more appropriately and -concisely the feeling of the Parisians than this short sentence. _Cette -fois-ci! This time!_ There had been other times when rejoicing was not -in order. There had been false hopes, just as there had been false -fears. The certitude of victory _cette fois-ci_--a certitude coming so -miraculously a few months after incertitude and doubt--was the -explanation of the fierce mad joy expressed in the pandemonium around -us. - -After a mile on the Grand Boulevards, a mile that reminded us of -football days, the Artist said, "This is great stuff now, and will be -greater stuff tonight. I wonder if we had not better try to get around -to other places before dark just to see, you know." Beyond the _Matin_ -office, in a side street near Marguéry's, we saw a taxi. The chauffeur -was shaking a five franc note, and heaping curses on a man who lost -himself in the boulevard crowd. We ran to the chauffeur and told him we -would make it up to him for the _cochon_ who had not been good to him. - -"Double fare, and a good _pourboire_ beside," Herbert insisted. The -Artist opened the door and started to help me in. - -"By all the virgins in France, No! A thousand times no!" growled the -chauffeur, trying to keep us out. - -"We meant triple fare," said Lester. I disappeared inside the cab. - -"Where do _Messieurs-Dame_ want to go?" asked the chauffeur -despairingly. - -"Rue Lafayette, Boulevard Haussmann, Etoile, Avenue des Champs-Elysées, -Invalides, and then we'll leave you at the Opéra," I suggested -hopefully. - -"What you want is an aeroplane," he remonstrated. But triple fare is -triple fare. With a show of reluctance, he cranked and we rattled off. -An hour later, after we had escaped being taken by assault a dozen -times, resisted attempts to pull us out and put us out, promised to pay -for a broken window and a stolen lamp, and used cigarettes and -persuasive French on the man upon whose goodwill our happiness depended, -we found ourselves on the Avenue de l'Opéra. By this time the chauffeur -was resigned, so resigned that he tried to cross the Place de l'Opéra. -We were tied up in a mass of other rashly-guided vehicles until the -taxi's tires flattened out under the weight of a dozen Australians who -had climbed on our roof. We were cheerful about it, and the chauffeur -seemed to gather equanimity with misfortune. November 11, 1918, comes -only once in a lifetime. We abandoned our taxi and our money, and tried -it afoot again. - -Fortune was with us. We arrived at the moment when Mademoiselle Chénal -appeared on the balcony of the Opéra and sang the "Marseillaise." There -was the stillness of death during the verse. But the prima donna's voice -was heard only in the first word of the chorus. When the crowd took up -the chorus, Paris lived one of the greatest moments of her history. Over -and over again Mademoiselle Chénal waved her flag, and the chorus was -repeated. Then she withdrew. Another verse would have been an -anti-climax. We were carried along the Boulevard des Italiens as far as -Appenrodt's. As Herbert and Lester were talking about the night, more -than four years ago, when they watched the crowd break the windows of -this and other German or supposedly German places, the arc lights along -the middle of the boulevard flashed on. Paris of peace days reappeared. - -In the midst of it all, my maternal instinct set me worrying. What if -Alice, the _gouvernante_, had taken the children out into the crowd? I -had gone off without thinking of my chicks. We tried to telephone. On -the last day of the war that proved as impossible as on the first. My -escorts were quite willing to return to the Rive Gauche. There was no -reason why the celebration would not be just as interesting on the Boul' -Miche. I left Herbert and Lester on the terrace of the Café Soufflet, -and hurried back to the Boulevard du Montparnasse. When I reappeared -half an hour later, Christine was with me. She had begged so hard to be -taken to the Grands Boulevards. After all, why not? Christine had lived -through all the war in France. It was her right to be in on the -rejoicing. And I confess that I wanted to hear what she would say when -she saw the lights. She was so young when the war started that she had -forgotten what lighted streets were. - -The two men were delighted with the idea of dining across the river. -Despite its reputation for making the most of a celebration, five long -years of the absence of youth had atrophied the Boul' Miche. It was -interesting, of course, but not what we thought it would be. - -We dined at the Grand Café. We went early, fearing that even being in -the good graces of the head waiter might not secure a table. But having -a table was not guarantee of the possibility of ordering a meal worthy -of the occasion. The run on food had been too severe for the past two -days. And the market people of the Halles Centrales, so the waiter said, -began their celebration on Saturday, when the German delegates appeared -to demand the armistice. They would withhold their produce for several -days, and get higher prices. The cellars held out nobly, however, so -food could be dispensed with. - -During the first hour, mostly waiting for dishes which did not come, -there was a lull. The effort of the afternoon had been exhausting. Some -groups were just about to leave for the theatre when a young American -officer jumped on his chair, holding a slipper in his hand. Pouring into -it champagne, he proposed the health of Marshal Foch, with the warning -that other toasts would follow. Immediately there was a bending under -tables, and other slippers appeared. The fun was on. Cosmopolitans have -seen New Year's Eve _réveillons_ that were "going some," but the -drinking of the health of Foch, Petain, Haig and Pershing will live in -the memory of all who were in the Grand Café on the night of November -11th. Tables were pushed together and pyramided. One after the other the -highest officer in rank in each of the Allied armies was dragged from -his place and lifted up between the chandeliers. Over the revolving -doors at the entrance a young lieutenant led the singing of the national -anthems, using flag after flag as they were handed up to him. The affair -was decidedly _à l'américaine_, as a beaming Frenchman at the next table -said. There was no rowdyness, no drunkenness. It was merrymaking into -which everyone entered. The owner of the first slipper was an American -head nurse, and the first Frenchwoman to jump up on a table had twin -sons in the Class of 1919. During years of anguish we had been subjected -to a severe nervous strain and to repressing our feelings. The French -bubbled over and the English, too, and they were willing to follow the -lead of the Americans, because we have a genius for celebrating audibly -and in public. - -[Illustration: The Grand Palais] - -Once more out in the night air, following and watching the night crowd, -and joining in or being drawn into the fun, we were struck by the -ubiquity of American soldiers and their leadership in every stunt which -drew the crowd. We felt, too, the spirit of good _camaraderie_ among -the merrymakers. Not a disagreeable incident did we see. The stars of a -cloudless sky looked down on Paris frolicking. But they saw nothing that -Paris, emerging from her noble dignity of suffering and anxiety, need be -ashamed of. Policemen and M.P.'s were part of the celebration. - -Lines of girls and _poilus_ danced along arm in arm. The girls wore -kepis, and the _poilus_ hats and veils. No soldier's hat and buttons and -collar insignia were safe. The price of the theft was a chase and a -kiss. Processions crisscrossed and collided. Mad parades of youngsters -not yet called out for military service bumped into ring-around-a-rosy -groups which held captive American and British and Italian soldiers. - -The officers and sergeants in charge of American garages were either -taking the day off or had been disregarded. For in the midst of the -throngs our huge army trucks moved slowly, carrying the full limit of -their three tons, Sammies and _midinettes_, waving flags and shouting. - -The trophies of the Place de la Concorde and the Champs-Elysées and the -Place de l'Hôtel de Ville were raided. Big cannon could not be moved, -and pushing far the tanks was too exhausting to be fun. But the smaller -cannon on wheels and the caissons took the route of the Grands -Boulevards. Minenwerfer and A.D.C. (anti-aircraft cannon) disappeared -during the afternoon. Why should the Government have all the trophies? -The aspirations of souvenir-hunters were not always limited to the -possible. We saw a group of _poilus_ pulling a 155-cm. cannon on the Rue -du Faubourg-Saint-Honoré, some distance from the Rue Royale. They were -actually making off with it! A policeman watched them with an indulgent -smile. - -"It's too big," he said. "They'll get tired before the night is over, -and they couldn't hide it anyway. It is good for them to work off their -alcohol. To-morrow the authorities will pick up that cannon somewhere." - -The clocks on the Boulevard "islands" were stopped at eight o'clock. -This was not a night to think what time it was, and whether the Métro -had ceased running. Every lamp-post had its cheer-leader or orator. - -Confetti and streamers of uncelebrated Mardi Gras and Mi-Carêmes had -their use this night, when four years of postponed festivals were made -up for in few wild and joyous hours. What had begun as a patriotic -demonstration was ending in a carnival. The "Marseillaise" gave place to -"Madelon," favorite doggerel of barracks and streets. - -The most dignified had to unbend. A British staff officer, captured by a -bunch of girls, was made to march before them as they held his Burberry -rain-coat like maids of honor carrying a bride's train. He was a good -sport, and reconciled himself to leading a dancing procession, beating -time with his bamboo cane. All the Tommies spied _en route_ were -pressed into line. A French General, who had unwisely come out in -uniform, was mobbed by the crowd. The girls kissed him, and older people -asked to shake his hand. He submitted to their grateful joy with -warm-hearted and gracious dignity. But when a band of _poilus_ came -along, brandishing wicker chairs stolen from a café and asked him to -lead them in a charge, that was too much even for November Eleventh. The -General retired to the safety of a darkened doorway. - -There were no bands. It was the people's night, not the army's night, -and tin cans, horns, flags, flowers, voices and kisses were enough for -the people's celebration. You could not have enjoyed it yourself if you -had not the spirit of a child. Children need no elaborate toys to -express themselves, and they don't like to have their games managed for -them, or to have the amusement provided when they are "just playing." - -Some Americans rigged up a skeleton with a German cap. They followed it -singing "Onward, Christian Soldiers." The song was as novel as the -skeleton. Where all the Americans came from only Heaven and the -Provost-Marshal knew, and there is a strong probability that the latter -had no official knowledge of the presence of most of them in Paris! Our -soldiers were disconsolate over the fact that they could not buy all the -flags they wanted. The shops were completely sold out, and the hawkers -were reduced to offering _cocardes_. We heard one boy say: "If I can't -get a flag soon, I'll climb one of them buildin's." - -"Gee! better not," advised his comrade; "they'd shoot you!" - -"Naw! Shootin' 's finished." - -The shooting was finished. That is what the signing of the armistice -meant to Paris. And, as it meant the same to the whole world, every city -in the Allied countries must have had its November Eleventh. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIV - -ROYAL VISITORS - - -One night the future King of Siam came to dine with us. I took him into -the nursery to see the children. Mimi sat bolt upright in her crib. She -eyed the young stranger and frowned. - -"Hello, king," she said, "where's your crown?" - -I confessed to a similar feeling when from the balcony of a friend's -home in the Avenue du Bois de Bologne I saw the King of England riding -into Paris for the first of the welcomes we were giving Allied -sovereigns. It was natural that Great Britain should come ahead of other -nations. England had been the comrade-in-arms from the first days and -aided powerfully in preventing the Germans from reaching Paris in the -fierce onslaught of 1914. But it is a pity that the King was not -accompanied by Marshal French or Sir Douglas Haig. Parisians are -peculiarly sensitive to personality. George V has none. There was -nothing in the rôle he had played during the war to make the crowd feel -that he personified the valiant armies of the greatest and most faithful -ally. If only Beatty or Jellicoe had ridden with him through the Avenue -du Bois and down the Champs-Elysées. The war had not deepened the -enthusiasm of the French for a monarch simply because he was a monarch. -A crown and a royal robe might have helped George with the Paris crowd. -I am not sure even then. As my concierge put it when I told her that I -was going to cheer the royal visitor, - -"_Voyons_, what has that king done in the war besides falling off his -horse?" - -And then the weather was against our British guest. I do not care what -the occasion is, rain and enthusiasm do not go together in a Paris -crowd. - -The King of the Belgians had good weather and received cheers that came -from the heart. We thought of him not as a royal personage but as the -man who had saved Paris at the beginning of the war because he put honor -and his country ahead of personal interest and blood. The French saw in -him also a soldier who had lived the life of the camp sharing the -hardships and dangers of his little army in the corner of Belgium the -Germans were never able to conquer. From the first day of the war to the -signing of the armistice, Albert I did not doff his uniform. He never -asked of his soldiers what he himself was not ready to do. And he came -to Paris with his queen, who had been idolized by the French. No woman -in the world was so popular in France as Elizabeth despite her German -origin. - -The protocol for the royal visits was as elaborate as the ceremony -proved to be simple. The guests were received by President and Madame -Poincaré at the little Ceinture station at the Porte Dauphine. Headed -and followed by a single row of _gardes républicaines_ on horse, they -rode in open carriages down the Avenue du Bois de Bologne and the -Champs-Elysées and across the Pont de la Concorde to the Palais d'Orsay -where they were lodged. Infantry regiments, lining the route, aided the -police in keeping order. There was no parade and no music. The attention -and the acclamation of the crowd were concentrated on the visitors. As -state carriages are swung high, every one was able to see the king. The -Avenue du Bois is ideal for a procession. The park slopes up on either -side, affording a clear view for hundreds of thousands. And there are -innumerable trees for boys. - -Those who were unable to get to the Avenue du Bois or the Champs-Elysées -at the time the visitors came had a chance to see them in the streets -afterward. For visits were exchanged between the royal visitors and -President Poincaré, and on the second day of the visit they rode in -state down the Rue de Rivoli to receive the freedom of Paris at the -Hôtel de Ville. The return from the Hôtel de Ville was made by the -Grands Boulevards and the Rue Royale. Then on the first evening was the -state dinner at the Elysée and on the second evening the gala -performance at the Opéra. If any one in Paris did not see the -sovereigns, it was not because of lack of opportunity. - -The evening before we were to receive President Wilson, Rosalie burst -into my room in great excitement. - -"Hush, hush!" I whispered. "I have just put the baby to bed." - -But my pretty little cook did not hear me. She hurried to the window and -bounced out on the balcony. I followed. - -"What is the matter?" I asked. - -"Madame has only to listen: every church bell in Paris is ringing. What -is it, Madame? In my Brittany village the bells rang that way only when -they posted the mobilization order at the _mairie_. Is it the tocsin? Is -the war going to begin again?" - -"Of course not," I answered. "It's a whole month since the armistice. -Cheer up, Rosalie, perhaps the Kaiser is dead." - -The older children and Elisa and Alice were now with us. The bells -continued ringing, and we heard cannon, one boom after another. It was -the salute that had been given for the royal visitors by the guns of -Mont Valérian. Now we realized that the special train from Brest had -arrived. - -"It is the _Président-Vilsonne_!" said Alice in the reverent tone, that -she had been taught to use in speaking of "l'Eternel." If you have heard -a French Protestant reciting a psalm, and pronouncing the beautiful -French word for Jehovah, you will understand what I mean. - -My young governess struck the note of the Wilsonian greeting. All that -has happened since that memorable December day has dispelled little by -little the legend of the Wilson who was to deliver the world from the -bondage of war. The French quickly discovered that their idol had feet -of clay. Whether they expected too much from what President Wilson had -said in his speeches or whether his failure to make good his promises -was due to circumstances beyond his power to control is not for us to -judge. We do not know the facts and we have no perspective. But at the -moment we did not foresee the disappointment in store for us. A merciful -providence, veiling the future, allows us the joy of entertaining hopes -without realizing that they are illusions. Legends are beautiful and -touching. But they are most precious when you think they are true, and -nothing can rob one of the memory of moments on the mountain top. - -Fearing that the Métro to the Place de l'Etoile would be crowded, we got -up very early that Saturday morning. The day of President Wilson's -coming--whatever day the great event would happen--had been declared -beforehand a holiday. So we could take the children with us. We were -none too soon. All Paris of our quarter was going in the same direction. -Without a grown person for each child, the Métro would have been -difficult. When we came up at Kléber station the aspect of the streets -around the Etoile assured us that the Wilson welcome would break all -records. We passed through side streets to the Avenue du Bois--by the -corner of the Etoile it was already impossible, and thanked our stars -that the friends who invited us to see the royal visits from their -apartment lived on the near side of the street. To cross the Avenue du -Bois would have been a problem. - -Lloyd struck against going up to the wonderful vantage point on a fourth -floor. The good things Aunt Eleanor and Aunt Caroline would certainly -have for him to eat meant nothing when he saw boys in trees. Having no -good reason to deny him, his father yielded. My son climbed a tree near -the side-walk with Herbert standing guardian below while the rest of us -were high above. - -I shall not attempt to describe the welcome given to President Wilson. -After the carriages passed and the crowd broke, the children went home. -Herbert and I followed the current of enthusiastic, delirious Parisians -down the Champs-Elysées, up the Rue Royale and the Avenue Malesherbes. -Wilson beamed and responded to the greeting of Paris. He did not grasp -what that greeting meant. Clemenceau, Parisian himself, knew that the -power to change the world was in the hands of the man riding ahead of -him. But this is retrospect! I did not realize then that one of the -greatest tragedies of history was being enacted under my eyes. Perhaps I -am wrong in thinking so now. Who knows? - -More significant in its potentiality than the initial greeting to -President Wilson was the acclamation that greeted him when he went to -the Hôtel de Ville. Belleville turned out. From the heart of the common -people came the cry, "_Vive la paix Wilsonienne!_" It was taken up and -re-echoed with frenzy when the guest of Paris appeared on the balcony of -the Hôtel de Ville. - -The coming of the King of Italy was an anti-climax. Paris, of course, -responded with her customary politeness to the duty of welcoming the -sovereign of France's Latin ally. But heart was lacking in the reception -to Victor Emanuel III. The comparative coolness was not intentional. I -am sure of that. It was simply that we were coming down from the -mountain top to earth. - -And when the Peace Conference assembled, Paris very quickly realized -that the hope of a new world was an illusion. Our royal visitors came at -the right moment. Paris will give enthusiastic welcome to other rulers -in future days. But not in our generation! A famous saying of Abraham -Lincoln's comes into my mind. There is no need to quote it. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXV - -THE FIRST PEACE CHRISTMAS - - -"Peace on earth: good-will towards men!" For five years the motto of -Christmas had seemed a mockery to us. Our city was the goal of the -German armies. They reached it sometimes with their aeroplanes, and -before the end of the war they reached it with their cannon. Scarcely -fifty miles away from us--within hearing distance when the bombardment -was violent--fathers and sons, brothers and sweethearts were fighting -through the weary years in constant danger of death. Each Christmas -brought more vacant places to mourn. Of course we celebrated Christmas -all through the war. There was little heart in it for grown-ups. But we -had the children to think of. The war must not be allowed to rob them of -childhood Christmas memories. - -In 1918, we were looking forward to a Christmas that would be Christmas. -All around us the Christmas spirit was accumulating. The war was over: -we had won. Ever since Armistice Night we had been saying to -ourselves--"And now for Christmas!" We might have to wait for a revival -of the second part of the Christ Child's message. But at least the -first part was once more a reality. - -Three days before Christmas I sent a telegram. I took my brother's -enigmatic military address and put two words in front of it, Commanding -Officer. I begged the gentleman to have a heart and send me my brother -for Christmas Day. I told him that I had not seen my family for five -years, that four little children born abroad wanted their uncle, and -that we would welcome the C. O., too, if Christmas in Paris tempted him. -On the morning of December 24 brother appeared, and before lunch many -others I had invited "to stay over Christmas" turned up or telephoned -that they would be with us. I had to plan hastily how the studios in the -Rue Campagne-Première could be turned into dormitories for a colonel of -infantry, a major of the General Staff, captains of aviation and -engineers and the Spa Armistice Commission, lieutenants and sergeants -and privates of all branches. Last year few of the invitations to men in -the field were accepted. This year all came--some all the way from the -Rhine. Bless my soul, we'd tuck them in somewhere. And on Christmas Eve -we were going to have open house for the A. E. F., welfare workers, -peace delegates and specialists, and fellow-craftsmen of our own. - -As each house guest arrived, I gave him a job. His "But can't I do -anything to help?" was scarcely finished before he was commissioned to -blankets, armycots, candles, nuts, fruits, bon-bons, drinks, or -sandwiches. "Just that one thing. I rely on _you_ for that," I would -say. None failed me, and the evening came with everything arranged as if -by magic. I have never found it hard to entertain, and the more the -merrier: but when you have American men to deal with, it is the easiest -thing in the world to have a party--in Paris or anywhere else. - -Of course I went shopping myself. Herbert and I would not miss that day -before Christmas last minute rush for anything. And even if I risk -seeming to talk against the sane and humane "shop early for Christmas" -propaganda, I am going to say that the fun and joy of Christmas shopping -is doing it on the twenty-fourth. Avoid the crowds? I don't want to! I -want to get right in the midst of them. I want to shove my way up to -counters. I want to buy things that catch my eye and that I never -thought of buying and wouldn't buy on any other day in the year than -December 24th. I want to spend more money than I can afford. I want to -experience that sweet panicky feeling that I really haven't enough -things and to worry over whether my purchases can be divided fairly -among my quartette. I want to go home after dark, revelling in the flare -of lamps on hawkers' carts lighting up mistletoe, holly wreaths and -Christmas trees, stopping here and there to buy another pound of candy -or box of dates or foolish bauble for the tree. I want to shove bundle -after bundle into the arms of my protesting husband and remind him that -Christmas comes but once a year until he becomes profane. And, once -home, on what other winter evening than December 24th, would you find -pleasure in dumping the whole lot on your bed, adding the jumble of toys -and books already purchased or sent by friends, and calmly making the -children's piles with puckered brow and all other thoughts banished, -despite aching back and legs, impatient husband, cross servants and a -dozen dinner guests waiting in the drawing-room? - -Paris is the ideal city for afternoon-before-Christmas shopping. Much of -the Christmas trading is on the streets. It gets dark early enough to -enjoy the effect of the lights for a couple of hours before you have to -go home. You have crowds to your heart's content. And Paris is the -department-store city _par excellence_. Scrooge would not have needed a -ghost in Paris. If you have no Christmas spirit, go to the Bazar de la -Rue de Rennes, the Bon Marché, the Trois-Quartiers, the Printemps, the -Galeries Lafayette, Dufayel, the Louvre, the Belle Jardinière and the -Bazar de l'Hôtel de Ville. Do not miss any of these, especially the -first and the last. At the Bazar de la Rue de Rennes the Christmas toys -are on counters according to price. Woolworth only tells you what you -can get for five or ten cents. The range of prices on the Rue de Rennes -is adjusted to all pocketbooks. At the Hôtel de Ville you do not have -to wait for a saleswoman at the outside _rayons_. You hold up the -article you want and catch the cashier's eye. He pokes out to you a box -on the end of a pole such as they used to use in churches before we -became honest enough to be trusted with a plate. You put your money in. -If there is change, he thrusts it back immediately. - -On the Grands Boulevards and in our own Montparnasse Quarter, the -Christmas crowds were like those of the happy days before we entered -into the valley of the shadow. As we did our rounds, falling back into -peace habits and the old frame of mind, I realized how hollow was our -celebration of the war Christmases, how we pretended and made the effort -for our children's sakes. The nightmare was finished! Really, I suppose, -we had less money than ever to spend and everything was dear. But -everybody was buying in a lavish way that was natural after the -repression of years. Bargaining--a practise in street buying before the -war--would have been bad taste. We paid cheerfully what was asked. - -I was hurrying home along the Rue de Rennes with one of my soldier -guests. Herbert and my brother had left us on the Boulevards to get ham -and tongue at Appenrodt's and peanuts and sweet potatoes at Hédiard's. A -vender, recognizing the American uniform, accosted my companion with a -grin, as she held out an armful of mimosa blossoms. - -"Fresh from Nice this morning, _mon capitaine_--only fifty francs for -all this!" - -"Come, Keith," I cried, "she wants to rob you!" - -The woman understood the intent if not the words. Barring our way, she -reached over to her cart and added another bunch, observing, "It's -Christmas and I give our allies good measure." Keith took it all, -saying, "Don't stop me; I haven't spent any money for months--and Mother -always made such a wonderful Christmas. I've got to spend money--a lot -of money." He patted his pocket. "Two months' pay here that I haven't -touched yet!" - -Christine arranged the mimosa in tall brass shell cases from -Château-Thierry. "See my flowers!" she exclaimed. "This is better than -war!" - -The Consul-General (always a Christmas Eve guest in our home); the -colonel commanding the hospital in the Rue de Chevreuse; a New York -editor and his wife; a _confrère_ of the French press and his wife; a -Peace Delegate; and the head of a New York publishing firm, who looked -in to see if we were really working; sat down with us to dinner, -squeezed in with our A. E. F. guests. When the last flicker of -plum-pudding sauce died down, we set to work for the Christmas Eve -preparations. There was no question of rank or age! Each one fell to the -task at hand. Dishes, glasses, bottles, doilies disappeared into the -kitchen. The table was set for the big party, piles of plates with -knives and forks on each corner, sandwiches and rolls, a cold boiled -ham, a tongue _écarlate_ as tongues come in Paris, turkeys roasted by -our baker, olives, salted almonds, army graham crackers, candy, a tall -glass jar of golden honey worth its weight in gold, and the fruit cake -with sprigs of holly that comes across the Atlantic every Christmas from -a dear American friend. People could help themselves. How and when--I -never worry about that. My only care is to have enough for all comers. - -We sent out no invitations. The news simply passed by word of mouth that -friends and friends' friends were welcome on Christmas Eve. In a corner -of the drawing-room the engineers of the party made the Christmas tree -stand up. The trimmings were on the floor. Whoever wanted to could -decorate. With the trenches of five years between us and Germany, -Christmas tree trimmings were pitiful if judged by ante-bellum -standards. I wonder what my children are going to think when they see -this Christmas a full-grown tree with the wealth of balls and stars and -tinsel Americans have to use. In Paris we had so few baubles and pieced -out with colored string and cotton and flags and ribbon. But the effect -was not bad with the brains of half a hundred trimmers contributing to -work out ideas on a tree that did not come up to my chin. - -We started the victrola--"Minuit, Chrétien," "It Came upon a Midnight -Clear," "Adeste Fideles," and--whisper it softly--"Heilige Nacht." Then -our guests began to come until salons and hall and dining-room -overflowed into bed-rooms. Never again can I hope to have under my roof -a party like that, representing many of the nations that had fought -together on the soil of France, but with homesick Americans, Christmas -hungry, predominating. The first to arrive were patients from the -American Hospital in the Rue de Chevreuse who had been unable to forget -the nightmare of war when the armistice came. - -Crutches and the music, the tree and my children, an American home--the -first reaction was not merriment. I felt instinctively that something -had to be done. "Heilige Nacht" brought a hush. Someone turned off the -phonograph. Bill took in the situation. Everyone in America who reads -knows Bill. He backed up into a corner by the bookcase, took off his -glasses, and began to make a speech. - -"Ladies and gentlemen, I am an unregenerate soul. There is not a -respectable bone in my body. I am going to sing you a little ditty, the -national anthem of California." Here Bill winked his eyes and opened his -mouth wide to sing: - - "Hallelujah! I'm a bum!" - -"The writer of the song is an I. W. W.," he interrupted himself, "and at -the end of the first line from upstairs is heard the voice of his wife -demanding (here Bill changed to high falsetto), - - "Oh, why don't you work - As other men do?" - -Then the I. W. W. answers gently, - - "Why the H---- should I work - When there is no work to do?" - -I told you I was an unregenerate soul. I see that I'm not alone, there -are others here like myself. I want a volunteer to sing my part with me -and volunteeresses, equally unregenerate, for the pointed question of -the I. W. W.'s wife. - -"The gentleman there with the eagles on his shoulders--I have for you a -fellow feeling, you are disreputable like me. Come! And the little girl -in the pink dress that only looks innocent. Come you here. And others of -like character join us as quickly as you can push your way through the -admiring audience." - -The surgeon from New York, who is as military as any regular army man, -was a good sport. So was the editor's wife. As he reached both hands to -the recruits, Bill did a simple dance step, the contagious step of the -Virginia Reel when other couples are doing the figures. Soon the chorus -was a line that reached the hall. At this moment there were shouts of -laughter at the front door. A parade of alternating khaki and nurse's -blue invaded the salon. Each had a flag or horn. The chorus and parade -joined forces, with Bill as leader, and soon - - "Hallelujah! I'm a bum!" - -was being sung in every room of the apartment at the same time. Crutches -were no deterrent to joining the serpentine march from room to room. The -chorus grew and the dining-room was deserted. Strong arms picked up -babies in nighties and we were all in the parade. - -I did not know half of my guests and never will. Some of them are sure -to read this and will remember that night in Paris when C. O.'s and -journalists tired of the grind, nurses weary of watching, wounded and -homesick who had not expected to laugh that Christmas Eve, and soldiers -fresh from chilly camps and remote and dirty villages caught the spirit -of Christmas. When people forget their cares and woes, they always -behave like children. The national anthem of California made my party, -where Christmas carols had proved too tear impelling. After "Hallelujah! -I'm a bum!" wore itself out, nobody needed to be introduced to anybody -else and everything disappeared from the dining-room table. - -While the party was still raging, Herbert and I slipped for a moment out -on the balcony. Merrymakers with lighted lanterns passed along the -Boulevard du Montparnasse, singing and shouting. Before us lay Paris, -not the Paris dark and fearful to which we had become accustomed when we -stood there after the warning of the sirens and listened for the _tir -de barrage_ to tell us whether the time had come to take the children -downstairs, but Paris alight and alive, Paris enjoying the reward of -having kept faith with France and with the civilized world. - - - - -1919 - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVI - -PLOTTING PEACE - - -"Was it on purpose, Madame," said the Persian Minister to Paris, "that -you wore a green hat today?" - -We were lunching with the Persian Delegation. I took off my turban and -dropped it on the floor at the side of the chair. - -"Poor hat!" said I. "Look at its color. Brand new, you know, and faded -like that. It happened on the first sunny day after I bought it. We need -to plot a peace so that we can find good German dyes for our clothes. -Why did you want to know if I wore it on purpose?" - -"Green is the sacred color of Persia," said the Minister smiling, "and -it pleases us to see it. You were speaking of peace. We need peace and -quickly. And after that--what? We were more or less prepared for war, -but who thought while we were at war about preparing for peace? Not one -of the countries sent delegates with a workable plan. Part of our -preparedness should have been a peace program. Nobody thought a year ago -to call a conference of specialists. That's why negotiations drag on -forever." - -"I know," I answered, "we are used to war and we must get used to peace -now that it is coming. The other day at luncheon my husband asked the -children to define war. - -"'War is men getting hurted. The Germans did do it and I don't like -'em,' said Mimi. - -"'War is men at the front and cannon going off,' said Lloyd. - -"'Yes, and war makes the mamas work in the subway, and when it's war you -can't have sugar in your milk and we have air raids and Big Berthas, and -it makes people cry when the soldiers go away from the railroad -station,' said Christine all in one breath. - -"And we realized that although it seemed like another world, we -grown-ups could look back to _before the war_; but little children begin -to remember in a world at war." - -"And what is peace?" said the Minister. "It will not exist again for -your children and mine until we educate our democracies in international -understanding. The people of one country must know the people of -another. When we say France wants this or Italy wants that, we are not -talking about the people. How much did our Persians know about America -beyond the fact that missionaries came from there? How much did you know -about Persia beyond rugs and kittens and the Rubaiyát? I mean you -collectively. How many of our people and how many of yours understood -what Morgan Shuster was trying to do? No, no, we must not drop -propaganda after the signature of peace. We must have exchange -students--in agriculture and commerce and the professions. And then," -continued the Minister, "peace must bring us work, work for everybody. -Work is the only remedy for most of the ills of the world. And that -means a common international effort to bring raw materials to, and to -aid in the reconstruction of, the countries that have been -battlefields." - -"Will peace give us all of that?" I enquired. "It sounds like the -millennium." - -"If we think of peace as an abstract something that will drop on us from -one day to another we shall have no change from the war-breeding -conditions of the past. Permanent peace is a state of mind. A state of -mind among the people and strong enough to control the actions of -political leaders. Understanding, I tell you, understanding is the only -way." - -"I am afraid," said I, "it will be a cold day before the people will -have much to say about war and peace. Throughout our politicians are all -tarred with the same brush. Invite a doctor, a brick-layer, a parson and -a mother of five children to come from each country. Sit them down -together at one big table and I'd wager they'd make a good peace -quickly. We like to say that the five per cent. of educated men rule the -other ninety-five per cent. What is the fiendish power that lets rotten -diplomacy order us out to kill each other? The world will have to suffer -a good deal more before we learn the lesson. When wire-pulling and -economic jealousies wish it, the politicians can plunge the peoples into -a war again without their knowing how and why!" - -"The war that was to end war," said the Minister, bitterly. He was -thinking of the mockery of the Society of Nations as applied to his own -country. - -"This war that was to end war could have ended it," I cried, "if the -Peace Delegates hadn't come here covering their greed and their -imperialism with a camouflage of _belles_ phrases. For the life of me, I -cannot see why some real leader does not emerge at this crisis, and -force the peacemakers to do what the doctor, the concierge, the little -tradesman, the professor,--the people--all knew in the beginning had to -be done. First make peace with Germany. Then sit around the table men -representing the world and draw up a League of Nations. A league without -Germany and Russia is only an offensive or defensive alliance. Same old -game over again. This peace conference doesn't recognize give and take. -It is all take. And they refuse to allow themselves and their frontiers -to be measured by the same tape-line we propose to use on our enemies. -This means simply that we are going to have once more the old-fashioned -peace of might making right. I believe in a League of Nations founded on -Christian principles. It is the only kind of a league that will give the -weak a chance where the strong are concerned. Civilization is on the -upgrade. The reason we are disappointed now and the cause of the unrest -is that we thought we had got far enough along in the process of -evolution to establish a new order of things. And we haven't. Nobody is -willing to give up special privileges, secret treaties, and the balance -of power. The Golden Rule is too simple to try." - -"Ah, Madame," said the Persian Minister, "our peacemakers are like the -sparrow in the Persian fable. The sparrow heard that the sky was going -to fall. She flew to her nest and sat there stretching out her wings so -that it would not fall on her little ones." - -In my attitude toward the Peace Conference I believe I reflected all -through the attitude of the common people of France, especially the -Parisians. We had suffered too much and too long to want to see Germany -let off easily. Our internationalism had nothing in it of pity for the -Germans. We did not worry about how they were going to feel when they -found out what they were up against. We knew that we could not make the -Germans suffer as they had made us suffer. But we wanted written into -the Treaty conditions that would make our enemies realize their guilt by -finding out that the enterprise had not proved profitable. But along -with this natural and justifiable desire we yearned for some greater -recompense for our own suffering and sacrifices. Our hatred of war had -become as intense as our hatred of the Germans who plunged us into war. -We hailed with joy the assurances of our statesmen that they would make -this time a durable peace, avoiding the mistakes and errors of the past. -Imagine our consternation when we realized that the delegates to the -Conference at Paris were not making peace along new lines. They were -plotting peace along old lines. Weary months passed. The censorship -still muzzled the press. But Parisians knew instinctively that something -was wrong. Before Easter we lost faith in the Conference and hope in its -intention of changing the old order of things. - -But the great fact remained that the war was over and that, despite the -soaring cost of living and labor unrest, we were free from having to go -through the horrors of the previous winter. We counted our blessings. - -Paris had been the centre of the world during the whole war, the prize -for which the Germans fought, because they knew that success or failure -depended upon taking Paris. When they recrossed the Marne a second time -and retreated from Château-Thierry, the war was lost: and they knew it -then, and only then. You know that last poem of Rostand about the Kaiser -climbing to the top of a tower to witness the final assault against -Paris. Paris deserved the Peace Conference. So logical was the choice -that none protested. It was the only point on which the "principal -Allied and Associated Powers" were agreed. As a resident of Paris I was -proud that we were going to continue for another winter to be the centre -of the world--without certain decided disadvantages the honor had cost -us in the four previous winters! As a writer and the wife of a writer, -tied up by contracts to report the Conference, it meant that we could -stay in our own home and in our own workshops instead of living in hotel -rooms in some other place for long months. - -We kept open house for all--from premiers of belligerent states and -plenipotentiaries to delegates of subject nationalities, ignored by the -Big Five. Greeks redeemed and unredeemed, Rumanians and Transylvanians, -Jugo-Slavs of all kinds, Russians from Grand Dukes to Bolshevists, -Lithuanians, Esthonians, Letts, Finns, Poles, Czecho-Slovaks, Ukranians, -Georgians, Armenians, Syrians, Egyptians, Arabs of every persuasion, -Albanians, Persians, Siamese, Chinese, not to speak of the specialists -and propagandists and newspapermen of the Big Five, wrote their names in -my guestbook, ate at my table, and discussed each other over cigars and -cordials before my salon fire. Few lacked honesty of purpose and -sincerity and loyalty to ideals. But the ideals were those of their own -national or racial interests. Aside from a desire to see justice done to -France and Belgium, there was no unity, no internationalism in the views -of my guests. Most of them I respected; many of them I admired; for some -I came to have real affection. My husband and I formed personal ties -that I trust will never be broken. But I confess that the more I -listened to tabletalk and salon talk in my own home, the more bewildered -I grew. I saw the Society of Nations vanishing in the thin air. My own -narrow nationalism, that had been gradually reviving ever since the A. -E. F. started to come to France, was strengthened. After all, was not -all human nature like the nature of my own paternal ancestors, who -believed--as they believed the Bible, with emphasis on the Old -Testament--that - - Ulster will fight - And Ulster will be right? - -I took refuge in the humorous side of the Peace Conference, as I did not -want to get mad or to become gloom-struck and weep. When Fiume came up, -for instance, I would talk to Jugo-Slavs and Italians about getting -seasick on the Adriatic and the respective merits of Abbazia and the -Lido and whether they ever felt like d'Annunzio's lovers talked. The -best fun was with my own compatriots. We Americans had nothing at stake -as a nation, and (if I except a few of Wilson's specialists who never -were listened to but always hoped they would be) the members of the -American Delegation lost no sleep while they were remaking the map of -Europe. - -[Illustration: Spire of the Saint-Chapelle from the Place Saint-Michel] - -A Pole was explaining to us one day that the Ukranians were not and -never had been a nation, and he was in dead earnest. A captain in the -American Navy had been listening politely for an hour. Then he thought -it was time to change the subject. He turned to me and broke in out of a -clear sky, "Helen, you have no idea how fussy Colonel House is. Found he -couldn't get waffles in Paris. Telegraphed an S. O. S. to Brest. My -machinist spent the better part of two days making a waffle-iron, and it -was so precious and the Colonel was in such a hurry that I sent the -machinist to Paris to take it to him. Don't you think that was the right -thing for me to do, Doctor ----sky? House is pretty close to our -Commander-in-Chief, you know." - -When touring Paris starts up again, the Cook megaphone man will add a -new item to his history of the Place de la Concorde: "See that building -on the corner opposite the Ministry of Marine I was tellin' yuh 'bout? -Number Four it is. Offices of the American Peace Commission during the -famous Conference, 'n b'fore that f'r t'ree years American Red Cross -Headquarters. 'N at tother end of the row is th' Hotel Crillon, where -th' Merican delegates lived. There President Wilson tried to make a -'Siety 'v Nashuns!" - -And from now on I shall never pass through the Place de la Concorde -without thinking of our press-room at Number Four, where we swapped -rumors and waited for an open covenant, openly arrived at. Press -headquarters were housed in the former concierge's _loge_--three wee -rooms on the ground floor to the right of the porte-cochère as you -enter, and one of those was the post-office of the Delegation. The -quarters were prophetic of the importance and dignity of the press as -looked upon by the leaders of the Conference. The Americans arrived in -Paris with different ideas. The name chosen by the Delegation and -printed on all the stationery was a sign of American naïvety, and caused -much merriment among our British and French friends. AMERICAN COMMISSION -TO NEGOTIATE PEACE. _Negotiate_ peace? Our European allies wondered -where and how such a notion entered the heads of the Americans. We stuck -to the name throughout--but not to the idea. - -The Hotel Crillon and Four Place de la Concorde were filled with -Americans--college professors, army and navy officers, New York -financiers, the mysterious Colonel and his family and family's friends, -the other Delegates, Embassy secretaries and clerks, stenographers, -soldiers and sailors, and journalists. The sensible ones were profiting -by the months in the center of the world to see Paris, old and new; hear -music; and do the theatres. For the time spent on their specialties, -trying to influence the course of the peace pourparlers and being -sympathetic to the swarm of representatives, official and otherwise, of -downtrodden races, did not budge a frontier an inch or write one line -into the Treaty of Versailles. - -When I applied for a press-card, an American major, whose acquaintance -with a razor seemed no more than what anyone could gain from looking at -a display in a drug-store window, looked me over doubtfully. Was I -really writing for the _Century_ and newspapers to boot? At length he -called a soldier. "Take this lady to get her photograph made," he said. -Up four flights of stairs we climbed. On every landing was a soldier at -a desk. "Through this way, mom," said my guide. He opened a tiny yellow -door all black around the knob, and there were more stairs. - -"Wouldn't it be fun to play hide-and-seek at Number Four and in the -Hotel Crillon?" I asked. - -"That's just what they're doing here most of the time," said Atlanta, -Georgia. "You never saw anything like it. But you mustn't speak of the -Hotel Crillon. This is the Island of Justice, mom. Yes, mom, it -certainly expects to be that if it isn't yet." - -In the garret room of the Signal Corps at the top of the stairs were -five soldiers. - -"Hello, boys, what do you think you are doing?" I asked. - -"We're still making this here peace," answered a stocky brown-eyed lad, -occupied vigorously with chewing-gum. "Since these guys've come over -from home to help us, though, it is not going as fast as it was before. -Mistake to have thought they'd do it quicker by talking than fighting." - -"That's right, too," put in another. "The doughboys c'd a-finished it -'thout all these perfessers and willy-boys. Sit down here, please." - -In the gable window was a chair with screens behind it. On the screen -above the chair they put up a number--1949. - -"My soul!" I exclaimed. "What's the matter with me? Is that the date?' - -"No, ma'am, that's the date when the Conference is going to quit talking -and we can go home." - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVII - -LA VIE CHÈRE - - -H.C. of L. is an abbreviation I see often in American newspapers. From -the context it was not hard to guess what it meant. In Paris we call -that "preoccupation" (note the euphemism for "nightmare") _la vie -chère_. But we never mention it in any other tone than that of complete -and definitive resignation. We do not kick against the pricks. We gave -up long ago berating the Government and thinking that anything we can do -would change matters. We pay or go without. Our motto is Kismet. These -are good days to be a Mohammedan or a Christian Scientist. The latter is -preferable, I think, because it is comfortable to get rid of a thing by -denying its existence. - -For the sake of record I have compiled a little table that tells more -eloquently than words the price we have paid--from the material point of -view--for the privilege of dictating peace to Germany. Is it not strange -that peace costs more than war? The greater part of the increases I -record here have come since the armistice. The figures opposite the -names of commodities represent the percentage of increase since August -1, 1914: - - - FOODSTUFFS - - Beef 400 - Mutton 350 - Veal 350 - Poultry 400 - Rabbit 400 - Ham 400 - Bacon 225 - Lard 225 - Paté de foie 300 - Potatoes 325 - Carrots 325 - Turnips 450 - Cabbage 850 - Cauliflower 725 - Artichokes 650 - Salads 200 - Radishes 500 - Oranges 200 - Bananas 400 - Figs 500 - Prunes 650 - Celery 1900 - Salt 150 - Pepper 250 - Sugar 225 - Olive oil 350 - Vinegar 225 - Coffee 150 - Macaroni 150 - Vermicelli 250 - Rice 25 - Canned goods 200-400 - Butter 350 - Eggs 400 - Cheese 400-600 - Milk 150 - Bread 50 - Flour 200 - Pastry 300-400 - Ordinary wine 300 - Vins de luxe 50-100 - Champagne 150 - Ordinary beer 200 - Cider 400 - - HEATING AND LIGHTING - - Coal 250 - Charcoal 250 - Kindling-wood 300 - Cut-wood 300 - Gasoline 125 - Wood-alcohol 500 - Gas 100 - Electricity 50 - - CLOTHING - - Tailored suits 150 - Ready-made suits 300 - Shoes 200-300 - Hats 250 - Neckties 150 - Cotton thread 500 - Cotton cloth 275 - Collars 150 - Shirts 150-350 - Gloves 150-250 - Millinery 150 - Stockings 150 - Needles 500 - Yarn 500 - - LAUNDRY - - Laundry work 150-200 - Potash 350 - Soap 550 - Blueing 200 - - FURNITURE - - In wood 200 - In iron 300 - Mirrors 400 - Bedding 300 - - HOUSEHOLD LINEN - - Sheets 750 - Linen sheeting 900 - Cotton sheeting 900 - Pillow-cases 400 - Dish-towels 600 - Bath and hand towels 400 - Napkins 500 - Table cloths 400 - - TABLE AND KITCHEN - - Cutlery 125 - Plated-ware 150 - Table china 300 - Kitchen china 200 - Copper kitchen ware 125 - Aluminum ware 100 - Crystal ware 225 - Cut glass 200-350 - Ordinary plates 200 - Fancy plates 150 - Brooms and brushes 125 - Lamps 250 - - MEANS OF TRANSPORT - - Railway tickets 50 - Excess baggage 250 - Sleeping births 400 - Commutation 75 - Taxi-cabs 75 - Omnibuses 35-50 - Tramways 35-50 - Postal cards 100 - - STATIONERY AND BOOKS - - Writing-paper 900 - Wrapping-paper 1000 - Paper for printing 500-800 - Newspapers 100 - Magazines 50 - Books 100 - - DRUGS AND PERFUMERY - - Fancy soaps 300-400 - Toilet waters 200 - Tisanes 150 - Eucalyptus 400 - Patent medicines 150-200 - Lozenges 250 - Powdered drugs 150 - Prescriptions 100 - Bottles for Prescriptions 300-525 - - TOBACCO - - Smoking tobacco 50-60 - Ordinary cigarettes 40-75 - Cigarette de luxe 100 - Ordinary cigars 50 - Cigars de luxe 100-150 - Snuff 50 - -While we decided upon what to do with the Germans, the rest of our -enemies, and the very troublesome races we had liberated, the Chamber of -Deputies passed a national eight-hour law. This did not bring down wages -by the day. In fact, shorter hours of labor led to more insistent -demands for higher wages to meet the increase in _la vie chère_. -Everyone borrowed from Peter to pay Paul. - -On the day the German plenipotentiaries arrived at Versailles, my -children insisted on going out to see them. We had to wait until Sunday, -when my husband was free. Out we went on a bright May morning. There -were six Gibbonses, four of them very small, and one of my American -soldier boys. Of course we ate in the famous restaurant of the Hôtel des -Réservoirs, where the Germans were lodged. We did not see the Germans. -The only sensation of the day was the bill for a simple luncheon--two -hundred and eight francs. - -"It pays to be the victors!" I exclaimed. - -"Those who have anything to sell," modified my husband, grinning -cheerfully (God knows why!) as he bit the end off a ten-franc cigar. - -"The children will never forget this historic day," he added, handing -the waiter twenty francs. - -"Nor I," said the children's mother. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVIII - -THE REVENGE OF VERSAILLES - - -The memory of my introduction to Versailles is a confused jumble of -stupid governess and more stupid guide-book. When I was sixteen a -governess piloted me through endless rooms of the palace with a pause -before each painting or piece of furniture. To avoid trouble I was -resigned and looked up at the painted ceiling until my neck was stiff. -But I never forgot the Salle des Glaces. It had no pictures or furniture -in it. An historical event connected with it was impressive enough to -hold my attention. I remembered a picture of the crowning of Wilhelm I -in a school-book. Bismarck looked sleek and content. The kings stood -with raised arms, crying "Hoch der Kaiser." Underneath was the caption: -THE BIRTH OF AN EMPIRE. - -I did not like that picture. I resented it as I resented the thought of -Alsace and Lorraine under German rule. Ever since a German barber in -Berne mistook me for a boy when I was a little girl and shaved my head -with horse-clippers I have had a grudge against the Germans. And then, -when you have lived long in France, that day in the Salle des Glaces -becomes unconsciously a part of your life. I cannot explain why or how, -but the Salle des Glaces and Metz and Strasbourg are in your heart like -Calais was in Queen Mary's. I have lived under two shadows, the shadow -of Islam and the shadow of Germany. In Constantinople you do not forget -the minarets towering over Saint Sofia. In France you do not forget -Soixante-Dix. - -Possessor of Aladdin's lamp, would I ever have dared to ask the genie to -transport me on his carpet to the Salle des Glaces to see Germany, -confessing her defeat before France, sign away Alsace and Lorraine? - -All this was in my thoughts on the morning of June 28, 1919, when -Herbert and I were riding in the train to Versailles. Could I be -dreaming when I looked at the square red card in my hand? And yet at -three o'clock in the Salle des Glaces the German delegates were to sign -a dictated peace, which they had not been allowed to discuss, and which -would wipe out the dishonor and the losses of Soixante-Dix. - -We went early and we took our lunch with us: for we said to ourselves -that all Paris would be going to Versailles. For once we felt that the -vast lifeless city of Versailles would be thronged. Except on a summer -Sunday when the fountains were playing I had never seen a crowd at -Versailles: and on the days of _les grandes eaux_ the Sunday throng did -not wander far from the streets that lead to the Palace. Always had we -been able to find a quiet café with empty tables on the _terrasse_ not -many steps from the Place des Armes. - -We might have saved ourselves the bother of bringing lunch. To our -surprise Versailles was not crowded. After we had wandered around for an -hour, we realized that even the signing of a victorious peace with -Germany was not going to wake up the sleepy old town. The automobiles of -press correspondents and secret service men were parked by the dozen at -the upper end of the Avenue des Reservoirs. Along the wooden palisade -shutting off the porch of the hotel occupied by the German delegation -were as many policemen as civilians. We ate a quiet luncheon in front of -a café down a side street from the reservoir. Besides ourselves there -were only a couple of teamsters on the terrace. Inside four chauffeurs -were playing bridge. Had we come too early for the crowd? At first we -thought this was the reason: afterwards it dawned upon us that the -Parisians were not attracted by the affair at all. How far we had -traveled in six months from the welcome given to President Wilson a week -before Christmas! - -The ceremony was spiritless. I pitied the men who had to cable several -thousand words of "atmosphere stuff" about it that night. If only the -Germans would balk at signing! Or if the Chinese would enter at the last -moment in order to get into the League of Nations! The only ripple of -excitement was a signed statement of protest handed out by Ray Stannard -Baker at General Smuts' request. The South African, remembering perhaps -when he was a vanquished enemy and all the painful years that followed -the Boer War, registered his disapproval of the Treaty, although he felt -it was up to him to sign it. - -It was all over in less than an hour. Cannon boomed to announce the -revenge of Versailles; out on the terrace a few airplanes did stunts -overhead; and for the first time since the war interrupted mid-summer -gaiety the fountains played. - -Margaret Greenough and I had the good luck to meet General Patrick at -the Grand Bassin. He offered to take us back to town in his car. Thus we -became part of the procession. Because of the stars on the wind-shield -and the American uniform, our car was cheered as we passed in the line. -Along the route to Saint-Cloud people gathered to see the -plenipotentiaries. But we felt that they were simply curious to pick out -the notables. There was no ovation, no sense of triumph. It was so -different from the way I expected it to be, from the way I expected to -feel. - -In my book of mementos I have the program of the plenary session of the -Peace Conference that was to crown six months of arduous labor, -following five years of war, and to mark a new era in world history. -Beside it is the program of the plenary session in the Palais d'Orsay, -when I heard President Wilson present the project of a League of -Nations. They are simple engraved folders with a couple of lines -recording the events under the heading AGENDA. I ought to regard them as -precious treasures. But they seem to me only the souvenirs of blasted -hopes. - -June 28, 1919, should have been an epic, an ecstatic day. It was a day -of disillusion and disappointment on which we abandoned the age-old and -stubborn hope of a peace that would end war. Were we foolish to have -forgotten in the early days of the Peace Conference how slowly the mills -of the gods do grind, and that our diplomats were children of their -ancestors, still fettered by the chains of the past, still confronting -the insoluble problems of unregenerate human nature? - -The Peace Conference was a Tower of Babel, where different tongues -championed divergent national interests. The only Esperanto was the old -diplomatic language of suspicion and greed. The mental pabulum that fed -the public was clothed in new terminology. When hammer struck anvil in -the high places, sparks shot out. We caught flashes of liberty, -brotherhood, the rights of small nations. But in the secret conferences -decisions were dominated by the consideration of the interests (as they -were judged by our leaders) of the most powerful. - -One day there appeared in our press room in the Place de la Concorde a -Lithuanian, who had made an incredibly long journey, much of it on foot, -to come to the Peace Conference. He had been fired by President -Wilson's speeches. He wanted to tell the American prophet how the Poles, -in his part of Europe, were interpreting self-determination. He did not -see the President. Although touched by his sincerity, we wondered at his -naïvety. Did he really believe that the same principle could be applied -everywhere? Practical common sense urged me to believe that the liberty -propaganda was overdone and that it was impossible to give justice to -everybody. But I was clinging to my idealism as the Lithuanian clung to -his. A plain body like me could not know or understand what was going -on. But why preach idealism in international relations, if an honest -effort to apply justice impartially was impossible? Surely the Great -Powers could act as judges in assigning boundaries between the smaller -nations. Liberty, like the love of God, is "broader than the measure of -man's mind." - -Quoting from a hymn I learned in childhood brings me to what I think was -the reason of the failure of the Peace Conference: men forgot. They -labored for the meat which perisheth. They posed as creators of a new -world order but ignored the means of establishing it. They forgot that -Jesus said, "He that findeth his life shall lose it: and he that loseth -his life for my sake shall find it." - -"But wait a minute," I hear one say, "did you expect a peace conference -to be run on those lines?" - -An ordinary peace conference such as we had always had, where the -victors divide the spoils--certainly not! But this was not to have been -an ordinary peace conference. We had been given to understand that the -Conference at Paris met to incorporate in a document the principles for -which millions had given their lives. Germany stood for the unclean -spirit that was to be exorcised. Men had died on the field of battle for -a definite object. There was the poem that was like a new Battle Hymn of -the Republic, "In Flanders Fields the Poppies Grow." - -When nations are not ready to love their enemy or even to love each -other, the creation of a League to do away with war is an absurdity. - -Either we believe in the coming of God's Kingdom or else we do not. The -remedy for sin and evil, the means of securing the triumph of right over -might, is in keeping the commandments. The peace-makers forgot the -summary of the law as Jesus gave it in two commandments. If they had -tested their own schemes for world peace by this measure, strange and -rapid changes would have followed. If they had listened to Him as He -spoke to them, it would have been as of old when "no man was able to -answer Him a word, neither durst any man from that day forth ask Him any -more questions." - -The ceremony of Versailles did not lift the shadow of Germany hanging -over France. And when I look at my son, I wonder what will come. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIX - -THE QUATORZE OF VICTORY - - -We may not have been sure of the peace. We were sure of the victory. The -soldiers had done their part. Academic newspaper discussion as to when -the victory parade would be held amused us. The only uncertainty was the -date of signing the Treaty. Once the Treaty was signed, it was taken for -granted that the Quatorze would be the day. Protests about shortness of -time were overruled. It was not a matter for discussion. Nobody paid any -attention to the argument of those intrusted with the organization of -the event. Public opinion demanded that the Allied Armies march under -the Arc de Triomphe and down the Champs-Elysées on July Fourteenth. -After the Quatorze of testing, the Quatorze of victory. There was no -question about it. So the powers that be got to work. - -There was no need to decide upon the route of the procession. Ever since -August 1, 1914, Parisians who lived on the Avenue de la Grande Armée, -the Avenue des Champs-Elysées, the Rue Royale and the Grands Boulevards, -had been realizing how numerous were their friends. From every part of -France letters had come from forgotten relatives, passing -acquaintances, business associates, who wanted to be remembered when - - Le jour de la victoire est arrivé. - -Public opinion dictated, also, two changes in the program as it was -announced. Marshal Joffre must ride the entire length of the route from -the Porte Maillot to the Place de la République beside Marshal Foch. And -the grandstands put up around the Arc de Triomphe and along the Avenue -Champs-Elysées for those who had "pull" must come down. This was to be -the day of the people, and everybody was to have an equal chance. When -it was seen that selling windows and standing place on roofs at fabulous -sums was to give the rich an unfair advantage, the Chamber of Deputies -was forced to pass a bill declaring these gains war-profits and taxing -them eighty per cent. This resulted in the offering of hospitality to -the wounded that big profits might have prevented. - -In looking down my vistas of the past year, I see Paris reacting -differently to almost every great day. - -On Armistice Night we went mad. From the _exaltés_ to the saddest and -most imperturbable, Parisians spent their feelings. The joy was acute -because it was the celebration of the end of the killing. When a soldier -is frank and you know him well he will tell you, "Any man who claims not -to be afraid at the front is lying." That fear was gone. Men could -unlearn blood-lust: and with honor now. Along with the relief of the -end of the fighting was the joy of the end of separations. - -On June 28, Paris thought her own thoughts, pondering over the peace -that had been won. Friends dined with us that night. My victrola played -The Star Spangled Banner--La Marseillaise--Sambre et Meuse--Marche -Lorraine. - -"Why don't you dance?" I said to the Inspecteur-Général d'Instruction -Publique. "It's peace! I want to celebrate. I need to shake off the -impression of Versailles this afternoon." - -"I asked my concierge that same question," said he, "and she answered, -'We don't rejoice to-day--we wait.' _Les Parisiens ne s'emballent pas._ -Wise woman, my concierge." - -On the night of July 13, Paris paid her tribute to the dead. Respect for -_les morts_ is ingrained in French character. At the moment of victory -those who had fallen were not forgotten. They came ahead of those who -lived. A gilded cenotaph, placed under the Arc de Triomphe, contained -earth from the many battlefields on which the French had fought. That -night we passed with the throng to pause for a moment with bowed heads -before this tomb that represented the sacrifice of more than a million -soldiers. I thought of Détaille's picture in the Panthéon, and looking -at the crowd about me, mostly women and children in mourning, I asked -myself if this were _La Gloire_. The level rays of the setting sun fell -upon the soldiers on guard. People spoke in whispers. None was tearless. -It was "_Debout les Morts_"! They passed first under the Arc de -Triomphe. Had they not blazed the way for those who would march on the -Quatorze of victory? - -Half way down the Champs-Elysées, at the Rond-Point, were heaps of -captured cannon that had stood along the Avenue and in the Place de la -Concorde through the winter since the armistice. They had been gathered -here, and surmounting them was the _coq gaulois_. But around the -Rond-Point huge urns commemorated the most costly battles of the war, -and in them incense was burning. - -"Are you going to see the parade?" I asked a friend who had lost two -brothers. - -"Certainly," she replied. "Last week my mother went to the grave of my -little brother in the Argonne. She put wreaths on it and prayed there. -The other brother was blown up by a shell. There is no grave for him. So -to-night we shall think of him when we pray before the cenotaph. We -shall spend the night there to have a good place to-morrow." - -Herbert and I thought of her and her mother and of many other friends -who were in the crowd around the Arc de Triomphe. We had our own reasons -for bowing before the cenotaph. Dear friends had been lost during those -awful years and in the last weeks one of our own family fell on the -front between the Le Cateau and Guise. It is strange how you go on -living in the midst of war, seeing others suffer, sharing their grief, -and never thinking that the death that is stalking about will enter your -own family circle until the telegram comes. You have helped others at -that moment: and then it is you. - -There is a fine sense of balance in French character. One remembers the -dead, but one does not forget the living. Most of those who intended to -go with hearts rejoicing and smiles and laughter to greet the _défilé_ -of the Quatorze could not have stood the ordeal unless it had been -preceded by the quiet night watch with the dead. - -The Quatorze has always meant to us an early start for the Bois du -Bologne to see the review. Throughout the Third Republic the day had a -distinctly military atmosphere. Who does not remember Longchamp before -the war? Each year Paris went to the review with pride not unmixed with -anxiety. There was a serious aspect impossible for the stranger to -realize and appreciate. After all, the army was not a small body of men -who had given themselves to a military career. It was the youth of the -nation performing a duty imposed upon it by the geographical position of -France. The army was the nation in arms, an institution as necessary for -well-being and security as the police. Longchamp on the Quatorze was the -assurance that the job of protecting France was being well looked -after. And the spectators were the fathers and mothers, the brothers and -sisters, of the army. Every Parisian had passed through the mill. How -often after the review, when the soldiers came from the field, have I -seen middle-aged civilians joking with them in the way one only does -with comrades of one's own fraternity. It was hard for the Anglo-Saxon -to understand this before the war. The Barrack-room Ballads would be -incomprehensible to a Frenchman. "Tommy" was everybody in France. - -But this review was different. The intimacy, the sense of the soldiers -belonging to the people and being of the people, had always been there. -Added to it now was the knowledge of what the army had done for France. -There is no country where _la patrie reconnaissante_ means more than in -France. And the great danger was so fresh in our minds! From the -standpoint of the soldier it was different, too. For five weary years -the _poilu_ constantly on duty and not knowing which day might be the -last saw in the soft blue rings of his cigarette smoke the _défilé_ -under the Arc de Triomphe and prayed that he and his comrades would be -there. That was the only uncertainty--whether he himself would be spared -for the _jour de la victoire_. If France's soldiers had doubted that the -day would arrive, they could not have continued to sing the -Marseillaise--and the war would have been lost then and there. The -Quatorze of peace days was fun to the spectators but a _corvée_ for the -soldiers who marched. The Quatorze of victory was the realization of the -dream that sustained the soldiers throughout the war. It was the reward -for having believed what they muttered doggedly through their teeth, -"_Nous allons les écraser comme des pommes de terre cuites!_" - -One of our _poilus_, a boy to whom we had been through the war as next -of kin, who wore the _médaille militaire_ and whose _croix de guerre_ -carried several palms, came to us late in the night before the victory -parade. He said with tears in his eyes, - -"The chains are down!" - -"What chains?" I asked. - -"The chains around the Arc de Triomphe. They have been there since -Soixante-Dix. Do you realize," he cried seizing my hands, "that the last -time soldiers marched under the arch it was Germans? Ah, the Huns, I -hate them! We are supposed to keep our eyes straight before us during -the march, but I shall look up under that arch. I shall never forget the -moment I have lived for." - -"And Albert, the ideals that made you enlist, have they survived?" - -"They are here," he replied, slapping his chest until his medals -jingled. I made up a lunch for Albert, and off he went to get to the -rendezvous at the Porte Maillot at two A. M. - -We had determined that the whole family should see the _défilé de la -victoire_. The younger children might not remember it, but we never -wanted them to reproach us afterwards. How to get there was a problem -that needed working out. The children had an invitation, which did not -include grownups, from Lieutenant Mitchell whose window was in the -American barracks on the north side of the Avenue near the Rue de Berri. -Dr. Lines asked Herbert's mother and Herbert and me to the New York Life -Insurance Company's office at the corner of the Rue Pierre-Charron on -the south side of the Avenue. How take the children to the other side -and get back to our places? There was only one answer. Taxi-cabs that -could go around through the Bois du Bologne and Neuilly or the Place de -la République. - -In the court of the building where we have our studios in the Rue -Campagne-Première lives Monsieur Robert, a taxi-chauffeur. Herbert -arranged with him to be in front of our house at six-thirty A. M., -promising him forty francs, with a premium of ten francs if he got there -before six-fifteen. Then, to guard against break-downs, he found another -chauffeur to whom he made the same offer. On Sunday afternoon Herbert -began to worry. It was bad to have all your eggs in two baskets when you -are looking forward to the biggest day of your life. So a third -chauffeur was found to whom the same offer looked attractive. - -We got up at five, had our breakfast, and prepared a mid-morning snack. -Lloyd was on the balcony before six to report. Three times he came to us -in triumph. Our faith in human nature was rewarded. When we got down to -the side-walk we found our chauffeurs examining their engines. My heart -sank. But they explained that feigning trouble with the works was the -only way of keeping from being taken by assault. - -We sent Grandmother and the baby directly to Rue Pierre-Charron. That -part was easy. Then, in the other two autos, we started our long morning -ride to get to the other side of the Champs-Elysées and back. -Fortunately, the chauffeurs had seen in the papers that a route across -the Grands Boulevards would be kept open from the Rue de Richelieu to -the Rue Drouot. After waiting a long time in line, we managed to get -across, and made a wide detour by the Boulevard Haussmann to the Rue de -Berri. Shortly after seven we delivered the kiddies to the care of -Lieutenant Mitchell. Our own places were just across the Avenue. But it -took us another hour and a wider detour to get to them. We were glad of -the two taxis. If one broke down, there was always the other. We wanted -to play safe. - -From our place on the balcony of the New York Life we had the sweep of -the Avenue des Champs-Elysées from the Arc de Triomphe to the -Rond-Point. On many buildings scaffolding had been run up to hold -spectators. People were gathered on roofs and chimneys. Every tree held -a perilous load of energetic boys. Hawkers with bright-colored -pasteboard periscopes did not have to cry their wares. Ladders and -chairs and boxes were bought up quickly. But the Avenue is wide. All may -not have been able to see. But those behind were not too crowded and at -no time during the morning was all the space taken from the side-walk to -the houses. - -At half-past eight the cannon boomed. Another interval: then the low hum -that comes from a crowd when something is happening. Then cheers. The -_défilé de la victoire_ had begun. The head of the procession was like a -hospital contingent out for an airing. There were one-legged men on -crutches and the blind kept in line by holding on to empty sleeves of -their comrades. The more able-bodied pushed the crippled in -rolling-chairs. The choicest of the flowers, brought for the marshals -and generals, went spontaneously to the wounded. Once again the French -proved their marvelous sense of the fitness of things. - -Then came the two leaders of France, Marshal Foch keeping his horse just -a little behind that of Marshal Joffre. For two hours we watched our -heroes pass. Aeroplanes, sailing above, dropped flowers and flags. The -best marching was done by the American troops. The French readily -acknowledged that. But they said: - -"It is still the flower of your youth that you can put into the parade. -Ours fell _là -bas_ long ago." - -After the crowd began to disperse, we made our way across the Avenue to -get the children. As I brought them out through the vestibule a soldier -caught sight of us. He cried: - -"Gosh, these ain't no tadpoles!" - -When the children acknowledged to being Americans, he asked Mimi whether -she liked rats. - -"Yas, I do," said Mimi. - -"You wait there a minute. I got a rat I bought from a _poilu_. It's a -tame one." - -The soldier brought his rat and did wonderful stunts with it. Mimi -squealed when the rat ran from the soldier's arm to hers and up on her -head. She didn't know whether to like it or be afraid. But the rat -evidently won, for when asked later what she liked best about the -parade, she put that rat ahead of Pershing and Foch. - -We never thanked our lucky stars for the view of Paris from our balcony -more than on the evening of the Quatorze of victory. To see all the -wonders of the illuminations we did not need to leave our apartment. -From every park roman candles and rockets burst into pots of flowers, -constellations, the flags of the Allies. The dome of the Panthéon -glowed red. Sacré Coeur stood out green and pink and white against the -northern sky. Revolving shafts of red, white and blue came from the Tour -Eiffel. Church bells rang and on every street corner there was music. - -The dear old custom of the night of the Quatorze was revived. We looked -down at the lanterns across the Boulevard Raspail at the intersection of -the Boulevard du Montparnasse. Tables and chairs overflowed from the -side-walk into the street. But there was a large open place around the -impromptu band-stand. People were dancing and the music never stopped. - -We heard the call. And we obeyed. When we reached the corner and got -into the street, Herbert held out his arms. - -"To everything there is a season," he said. - -"A time to mourn and a time to dance," I murmured. - -THE END - - * * * * * - -Typographical errors corrected by the etext transcriber: - -against the use of alchohol=>against the use of alcohol - -Eau fraiche=>Eau fraîche - -fruits rafraichis=>fruits rafraîchis - -which is fourty-four=>which is forty-four - -Eglise Saint-Suplice=>Eglise Saint-Sulpice - -You make a list of the woman=>You make a list of the women - -I have known in them in their homes=>I have known them in their homes - -pièce de resistance=>pièce de résistance - -What a charming dining-room? Dear me, have I intruded=>What a charming -dining-room. Dear me, have I intruded - -Lycé Charlemagne=>Lycée Charlemagne - -Rue da la Mont Sainte-Geneviève=>Rue de la Mont Sainte-Geneviève - -find yourself in the Rue Mouffetord=>find yourself in the Rue Mouffetard - -which are to found in every quarter=>which are to be found in every -quarter - -But in the Bois de Bologne=>But in the Bois de Boulogne - -Seminary of Saint-Suplice=>Seminary of Saint-Sulpice - -undetermined the natural defences=>undermined the natural defences - -Clichy and Montmarte=>Clichy and Montmartre - -they probably will not come, and if you do=>they probably will not come, -and if they do - -born or suffering=>born of suffering - -all the grave _offiches_=>all the grave _affiches_ - -the Académie de Medecine=>the Académie de Médecine - -Galéries Lafayette=>Galeries Lafayette - -un charme extrème=>un charme extrême - -permissioniares=>permissionniares - -Rue Royal side of the Hotel de Coislin=>Rue Royale side of the Hôtel de -Coislin - -Ca y est cette fois-ci!=>Ça y est cette fois-ci! - -a l'américaine=>á l'américaine - -cannon on the Rue du Faubourg-Saint-Honore=>cannon on the Rue du -Faubourg-Saint-Honoré - -Minuit, Crétien,=>Minuit, Chrétien, - -H.C. of L. is an abbrevation=>H.C. of L. is an abbreviation - -Pate de foie=>Paté de foie - -Coppen kitchen ware=>Copper kitchen ware - -Hôtel des Reservoirs=>Hôtel des Réservoirs - -la patrie reconnaisante=>la patrie reconnaissante - -_la-bas_ long ago=>_là -bas_ long ago - -consellations=>constellations - -proprietaire=>propriétaire - -Rue de Sevres=>Rue de Sèvres - -Theâtre de la Porte Saint-Martin=>Théâtre de la Porte Saint-Martin - -the Théatre Français=>the Théâtre Français - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Paris Vistas, by Helen Davenport Gibbons - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PARIS VISTAS *** - -***** This file should be named 40292-0.txt or 40292-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/0/2/9/40292/ - -Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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Thus, we do not necessarily -keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. - - -Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: - - http://www.gutenberg.org - -This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/old/40292-0.zip b/old/40292-0.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 75d3e92..0000000 --- a/old/40292-0.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/40292-8.txt b/old/40292-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 8d09013..0000000 --- a/old/40292-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,9626 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Paris Vistas, by Helen Davenport Gibbons - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license - - -Title: Paris Vistas - -Author: Helen Davenport Gibbons - -Illustrator: Lester George Hornby - -Release Date: July 21, 2012 [EBook #40292] -[Last updated: August 17, 2012] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PARIS VISTAS *** - - - - -Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive) - - - - - - - - -PARIS -VISTAS - -HELEN DAVENPORT -GIBBONS - -[Illustration] - - - - -PARIS VISTAS - -[Illustration: The Invalides from Pont Alexandre III] - - - - -PARIS VISTAS - -BY - -HELEN DAVENPORT GIBBONS - -Author of "A Little Gray Home in France," -"Red Rugs of Tarsus," etc. - -WITH SIXTEEN ILLUSTRATIONS -BY - -LESTER GEORGE HORNBY - -[Illustration: colophon] - -NEW YORK -THE CENTURY CO. -1919 - -Copyright, 1919, by -THE CENTURY CO. - -_Published, December, 1919_ - - - - -TO -A CRITIC - -WHO LIVED MOST -OF THESE DAYS -WITH ME - - - - -FOREWORD - - -Webster defines a vista as "a view, especially a distant view, through -or between intervening objects." If I were literal-minded, I suppose I -should either abandon my title or make this book a series of -descriptions of Sacré Coeur, crowning Montmartre, as you see the -church from dark gray to ghostly white, according to the day, at the end -of apartment-house-lined streets from the _allée_ of the Observatoire, -from the Avenue Montaigne, from the rue de Solférino, and from the Rue -Taitbout. I ought to be writing about the vistas, than which no other -city possesses a more beautiful and varied array, that feature the Arc -de Triomphe, the Trocadéro, the Tour Eiffel, the Grande Roue, the -Invalides, the Palais Bourbon, the Madeleine, the Opéra, Saint-Augustin, -Val de Grâce and the Panthéon. - -But may not one's vistas be memories, with the years acting as -"intervening objects"? Has not distance as much to do with time as with -space? Vistas in words can no more convey the impression of things seen -than Lester Hornby's sketches. If you want a substitute for Baedeker, -please do not read this book! If you want a substitute for photographs, -you will be disappointed in Lester's sketches. - -The _monuments_ of Paris, ticketed by name and historical events to -tourists whose eyes have had hardly more time than the camera, known by -photographs to prospective tourists who dream of things as yet unseen, -are interwoven into the canvas of my life. The Gare Saint-Lazaire, for -instance, is the place where I was lost once as a kid, where I have had -to say goodbye to my husband starting on a long and perilous journey, -and over which I have seen a Zeppelin floating. Since Louis Philippe was -long before my time, the obelisk always has been in the Place de la -Concorde. And when you pass it, your eyes, meeting the Arc de Triomphe -at the end of the Champs-Elysées, the Carrousel at the end of the -Tuileries, the Madeleine at the end of the Rue Royale and the Palais -Bourbon at the end of the bridge, record vistas as natural, as familiar -as your mother's face in the doorway of the childhood home. Where else -could the Arc de Triomphe be? Of course it looks like that! - -I shall not attempt to apologize for the autobiography that comes to the -front in my Paris vistas. Perhaps my own insignificance and unimportance -and the lack of interest on the part of the public in what I do and -think--impressed upon me by more than one critic of earlier -volumes--should deter me from telling how I lived and brought up my -family in Paris. But it is the only way I can tell how I feel about -Paris. Whether the end justifies the means the reader must decide for -himself. - -H. D. G. - -_Paris, August, 1919._ - - - - -TABLE OF CONTENTS - - -(1887-1888) - -CHAPTER PAGE - -I CHILDHOOD VISTAS 3 - -(1899) - -II AT SIXTEEN 15 - -(1908) - -III A HONEYMOON PROMISE 31 - -(1909-1910) - -IV THE PROMISE FULFILLED 41 - -V THE PENSION IN THE RUE MADAME 51 - -VI LARES AND PENATES IN THE RUE SERVANDONI 63 - -VII GOLD IN THE CHIMNEY 76 - -VIII AT THE BIBLIOTHÈQUE NATIONALE 86 - -IX EMILIE IN MONOLOGUE 97 - -X HUNTING APACHES 104 - -XI DRIFTWOOD 112 - -XII SOME OF OUR GUESTS 119 - -XIII WALKS AT NIGHTFALL 132 - -XIV AFTER-DINNER COFFEE 142 - -XV REPOS HEBDOMADAIRE 148 - -XVI "MANY WATERS CANNOT QUENCH LOVE" 154 - -XVII REAL PARIS SHOWS 167 - -XVIII THE SPELL OF JUNE 181 - -(1913) - -XIX CHILDHOOD VISTAS FOR A NEW GENERATION 193 - -XX THE PROBLEM OF HOUSING 201 - -(1914) - -XXI "NACH PARIS!" 211 - -(1914-1916) - -XXII AT HOME IN THE WHIRLWIND 223 - -XXIII SAUVONS LES BÉBÉS 231 - -XXIV UNCOMFORTABLE NEUTRALITY 243 - -(1917) - -XXV HOW WE KEPT WARM 253 - -XXVI APRIL SIXTH 262 - -XXVII THE VANGUARD OF THE A. E. F. 269 - -(1918) - -XXVIII THE DARKEST DAYS 277 - -XXIX THE GOTHAS AND BIG BERTHA 294 - -XXX THE BIRD CHARMER OF THE TUILERIES 307 - -XXXI THE QUATORZE OF TESTING 313 - -XXXII THE LIBERATION OF LILLE 321 - -XXXIII ARMISTICE NIGHT 326 - -XXXIV ROYAL VISITORS 341 - -XXXV THE FIRST PEACE CHRISTMAS 348 - -(1919) - -XXXVI PLOTTING PEACE 361 - -XXXVII LA VIE CHÈRE 373 - -XXXVIII THE REVENGE OF VERSAILLES 378 - -XXXIX THE QUATORZE OF VICTORY 385 - - - - -LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS - - -The Invalides from Pont Alexandre III _Frontispiece_ - - FACING - PAGE - -The Madeleine Flower Market 16 - -Looking up the Avenue de l'Opéra 32 - -The Rue de Vaugirard by the Luxembourg 64 - -Château de la Reine Blanche: Rue des Gobelins 88 - -Where stood the walls of old Lutetia 120 - -The Panthéon from the Rue Soufflot 144 - -Hôtel de Ville from the Pont d'Arcole 168 - -Market day in the Rue de Seine 184 - -The first snow in the Luxembourg 224 - -A passage through the Louvre 256 - -In an Old Quarter 272 - -Saint-Germain l'Auxerrois 304 - -Old Paris is disappearing 320 - -The Grand Palais 336 - -Spire of the Saint-Chapelle from the Place Saint-Michel 368 - - - - -1887-1888 - - - - -PARIS VISTAS - - - - -CHAPTER I - -CHILDHOOD VISTAS - - -My Scotch-Irish grandfather was a Covenanter. He kept his whisky in a -high cupboard under lock and key. If any of his children were around -when he took his night-cap, he would admonish them against the use of -alcohol. When he read in the Bible about Babylon, he thought of Paris. -To Grandpa all "foreign places" were pretty bad. But Paris? His children -would never go there. The Scotch-Irish are awful about wills. But life -goes so by opposites that when my third baby, born in Paris a year -before the war, was christened in the Avenue de l'Alma Church, Grandpa -Brown's children and grandchildren and some of his great-grandchildren -were present. My bachelor uncle had been living in Paris most of the -time for thirty years. My mother, my brothers, and my sister were there. -We Browns had become Babylonians. We were no longer Covenanters. And we -had no high cupboard for the whisky. - -After Grandpa's death, the Philadelphia house was sublet for a year. In -the twilight we went through all the rooms to say good-by. Jocko, our -monkey-doll, was on the sitting-room floor. Papa picked him up and began -talking to him. Jocko tried to answer, but his voice was shaky, and he -hadn't much to say. Papa took a piece of string out of his desk drawer, -and tied it around Jocko's neck. He asked Jocko whether it was too -tight. The monkey answered, "No, sir." Jocko never forgot to say "sir." -We hung him on the shutter of a window in the west room where I learned -to watch the sunset. There we left him. What a parting if we had known -that the tenants' children were going to do for Jocko, and that we -should never see him again! It was bad enough as it was. It is hard for -me, even to-day, to believe that it was Papa and not Jocko who told us -stories about the fairies in Ireland. - -A carriage drove us to a place called Thelafayette-hotel. It was very -dark outside and we seemed to have been traveling all night. Papa -carried me upstairs to a room that had light green folding doors. My -little sister Emily was sound asleep and had to be put right to bed. -Papa sat me in a red arm-chair. Beside it were satchels and Papa's black -valise. Wide awake, I looked around and asked, "Is this Paris?" I did -not see why they had to laugh at me. - -A steward of my very own on the _Etruria_ told me that she was the -biggest transatlantic liner. People gave me chocolates until I was -sick. So Mama painted a picture of the poor little fishes that could get -no candy in mid-ocean. She made me feel so sorry that when I got more -chocolates I would slip to the railing and drop them overboard. Once, -before I had heard about the fishes, I was lying in my berth. After a -while I began to feel better and to wish that Papa and Mama had not left -me alone. My feelings were hurt because I had to stay all by myself. I -found my clothes and put on a good many of them. My steward came and was -surprised that I was not on deck. He brought me a wide, thin glass of -champagne. It was better than lemonade. The steward told me that by -staying in my cabin I had missed the chance to see the ship's garden. He -buttoned my dress and put on my coat. He found my bonnet. All the time -he was telling me how the ship's garden was hitched to the deck. He -carried me up those rubber-topped steps that smell so when your stomach -feels funny. He hurried all he could and got terribly out of breath. But -we did not reach the deck in time to see the garden. The steward said -that you had to get there just at a certain time to catch it. I wondered -how a ship could have a garden. He replied that he'd like to know where -a ship's cook would find vegetables and fruit, and how there were so -many freshly picked flowers on the dining-room table every day, if the -ship hadn't a garden. To prove it he brought me a plate of cool white -grapes--"picked before the garden went out of sight a few minutes ago," -he assured me. - -So the week at sea passed, and the next thing I remember is London. It -was not a pretty city. Too much rain and smoke that dirtied your frock -and pinafore. These funny names for my dress and apron, and calling a -clock Big Ben, and a queer way of speaking English, form my earliest -memories of London. No, I forgot sources of wonderment. The best orange -marmalade was bitter, and the tooth-powder was in a round tin hard to -open, that spilled and wasted a lot when you did succeed in prying the -lid off. - -And in Paris I found that my dress was a "robe" and my apron a -"tab-lee-ay." This was worse than "pinafore," but not so astonishing, -because one expected French words to be different. - -Which is the greater joy and satisfaction--always to have had a thing, -or, when you think of something in your life, to be able to remember how -and when it came into your possession? Paris is my home city in the -sense that I cannot remember first impressions of things in Paris. Of -events, yes, and sometimes connected with things, but of things -themselves, no. And I am glad of it. My husband did not see Paris until -he was twenty, and he learned to speak French by hard work. I have -always had a little feeling of superiority here, of belonging to Paris -as my children belong to Paris. But Herbert contests this point of -view. He claims that affection for what one adopts by an act of the -will is as strong as, if not stronger than, affection for what is yours -unwittingly. And he advances in refutation of what I say that he knew -Paris before he knew me! - -"_Cinquante-deux Rue Galilée._" I cannot remember learning to speak -French. That just came. But standing on a trunk in the corner of a -bedroom and repeating _Cinquante-deux Rue Galilée_ after Marie is just -as clear in my mind as if it were yesterday instead of thirty years ago. -It is a blank to me how and when we came to Paris and how and when we -got Marie Guyon for our nurse. I recall only learning the number and -street of our _pension_, and the impressiveness of Marie telling me how -little kids get lost in Paris and that in such a case I mustn't cry when -the blue-coated _agent_ came along, but simply say, "_Cinquante-deux Rue -Galilée_." - -Clear days were rare--days when it didn't look as if it were going to -rain. Then I would have my long walk with Papa, who didn't stay like -Marie on the Champs-Elysées or in the Tuileries, but who would take me -(Emily was too little) where there were crowds. We would climb to the -roof of the omnibus at the Madeleine and ride to the Place de la -République. Then we would walk back along the Grands Boulevards. Down -that way is a big clothing-store with sample suits on wooden models out -on the side-walk. One day Papa bumped into a dummy wearing a -dress-suit. Papa took off his hat, bowed, and said "_Pardon_." I thought -Papa believed it was a real man. So I told him that he had made a -mistake. But Papa replied that one never makes a mistake in being -polite. I used to dance with glee when we came to the Porte Saint-Denis. -For there, at the place the boulevard now cuts straight through a hill -leaving the houses high above the pavement, the pastry and _brioche_ and -waffle stands were sure of my patronage. Papa may not have had regard -for my digestion, but he always considered my feelings. I used to pity -other little children who were dragged remorselessly past the potent -appeal to eye and nose. The pastry places are still there on that -corner. And a new generation of kiddies passes, tugging, remonstrating, -sometimes crying. As for me, I beg the question. I walk my children on -the other side of the street. - -One afternoon Marie took us to buy Papa's newspaper. When we got to the -front door, it was raining. So Marie left us in the _bureau_ and told us -to wait until she returned. But the _valet de chambre_ came along with -his wood-basket empty. He always boasted he could carry any basket of -wood, no matter how high they piled it. So we asked if he could carry -us. Immediately he made us jump in, and told us we must pretend to be -good little kittens, and little kittens were never good unless they were -quiet, and they were never quiet unless they were asleep. When we got -to our room, we could look right in at Papa and Mama through the -transom. We reached out and knocked. The sound came from so high up that -Papa looked curiously at the door. When he opened it we ducked down into -the basket, and were not seen until the valet dumped us out on the bed. - -My first memory of a negro was in Paris. Probably they were common -enough in Philadelphia not to have made an impression and I had -forgotten that there were black men. I was paralyzed with fear, thinking -I saw Croqueminot _en chair et en os_. Marie saved me by teaching me on -the spot to stick out my index and little fingers, doubling over the two -between. This charm against evil helped and comforted me greatly. I -found it useful later when I saw suspicious-looking beggars in Rome. -Only, although the gesture was the same, it was _jettatura_ and not -_faire les cornes_ in Italy, and the charm was more efficacious if -concealed. I was glad my dress had a pocket. - -Mama and Marie took us to the Louvre. I was filled with anticipation. -For had I not heard some one say at our _pension_ that she had bought -things there for a song? Why spend Papa's money if just a song would do? -I could sing. Marie had taught me a pretty song about "La Fauvette." I -was willing to sing if I could get a doll's trunk. I'd sing two or three -songs for a pair of gloves with white fur on them. But when I sang "La -Fauvette" they only smiled at me. I asked the saleslady to take me to -the toy counter, as I could sing again for things I wanted. I had to -explain a whole lot to Mama and Marie and the saleslady. I suppose I -cried with disappointment. Then a man in black with a white tie came -along and heard the story. He gave me a red balloon and Mama consoled me -by buying me a blue velvet dress. - -A few months before the war I was walking in the Rue Saint-Honoré with -an old American friend who was doing Paris. He was brimming over with -French history. Your part was to mention the name of the place you -showed him. He would do the rest with enthusiasm and a wealth of detail. - -"What is that church?" he asked. - -"Saint-Roch," I answered. - -"Saint-Roch! Saint-Roch! Saint-Roch!" he cried in crescendo. "Of course, -OF COURSE, because this is the Rue Saint-Honoré. The Rue Saint-Honoré!" -Beside himself with excitement, he rushed across the street, and up on -the steps. I followed, mystified. My friend was waving his cane when I -reached his side. "It was here," he announced, as if he had made a -wonderful discovery, "right on this spot." - -"In Heaven's name what?" I queried. - -"The beginning of the most glorious epoch of French history, the birth -of the Napoleonic era." - -And then he told me the story of how young Bonaparte, called upon to -prevent a mob from rushing the Tuileries, put his guns on the steps of -Saint-Roch, swept the street in both directions, and demonstrated that -he was the first man since '89 who could dominate a Parisian crowd. "You -wouldn't have thought there was anything interesting about this old -church, would you?" he ended triumphantly. - -My eyes filled with tears, and my lips trembled. It was his turn to be -mystified, and mine to lead. I took him inside the church, and back to -the chapel of Saint Joseph. "Here," I said, "on Christmas Eve I came -with my father when I was five years old. It was the first time I -remember seeing the Nativity pictured. Good old Joseph looked down on -the interior of the inn. The three wise men were there with the gifts. -Le petit Jésus was in a real cradle, and I counted the jewels around the -Mother's neck. My father tried to explain to me what Christmas means. He -died when I was a little girl. I brought my firstborn here on Christmas -Eve and the others as they came along. I never knew about Napoleon's -connection with Saint-Roch before. And you asked me whether I would have -thought there was anything interesting about this old church!" - -The same place can mean so many different things to so many different -people. Paris was Babylon to my grandfather who never went there. And to -those who go there Paris gives what they seek, historical -reminiscences, esthetic pleasure, intellectual profit, inspiration to -paint or sing or play, a surfeit of the mundane, a diminution or an -increase of the sense of nationality, pretty clothes and hats and -perfumes, "rattling" good food and drink or a "howling" good time. You -can be bored in Paris just as quickly and as completely as in any other -place in the world. You can fill your life full of interesting and -engrossing pursuits more quickly and completely than in any other place -in the world. Best of all you make your home in Paris, with no sense of -exile, and enjoy what Paris alone offers in material and spiritual -values without being abnormal or living abnormally. - -My childhood vistas seem fragmentary when I put them down on paper. But -they have meant so much to me that I could choose for my children no -greater blessing than to know Paris as home at the beginning of their -lives. - - - - -1899 - - - - -CHAPTER II - -AT SIXTEEN - - -The family was abroad for the summer, one of those delightful May-first -to October thirty-first summers when school is missed at both ends. The -itinerary was supposed to be planned by letting each member drop into a -hat slips of paper indicating preferences. Mother was astonishingly good -about considering the wishes of all. But as the trip was undertaken for -education as well as vacation, the head of the family did not intend to -make it aimless rambling. Although, to get full benefit of the -strawberry season, we took our cathedrals from south to north in -England, none were omitted. By the time we reached Edinburg, Roman, -Saxon, Early Norman and Gothic were as mixed up in the head of the -sixteen-year-old member of the party as they were in the buildings -inspected. "Inspected"--just the word for an educational tour! Later -visits to East Coast cathedrals have not conquered the instinctive -desire to avoid going inside. Impressions of places were vivid enough. -But I fear Canterbury meant London the next stop; Ely a place near -Cambridge; Peterborough the view from the top of the tower; Lincoln -tea-cakes that crumbled in one's mouth; York a mean photographer who -never sent me films I left to be developed; and Durham a batch of -long-delayed letters from boys at home. - -At sixteen strawberries do not satisfy hunger: cathedrals do not feed -the soul. - -No, cathedrals and history and the origin of the political institutions -under which I lived interested me very mildly. At sixteen one is too -young to have love affairs that interfere with the appetite, and too -sophisticated to cling to the dream of a cloistered convent life that -followed giving up the hope of being a chorus-girl. The mental effort of -preparing for college (which the tour abroad was to stimulate) could not -claim me to the exclusion of clothes and an engrossing interest in the -doings of the group of boys and girls who formed my "crowd." The trip -abroad was going to give me something to talk about at dinner-parties -and the advantage of wearing clothes bought in Paris. One never looks -forward to the coming winter with as keen anticipation as during the -sixteen-year-old summer. Hair would be put up, and dances and dinners -were a certainty for every Friday and Saturday evening. - -[Illustration: The Madeleine Flower Market] - -If you believe in the value of first impressions and are in a mood to -love Paris, plan your introduction to the queen of the world for an -evening in June. Do not worry about your baggage. Send a porter from -the hotel afterwards for your trunks. Find a _fiacre_ if you can. An -_auto-taxi_ is second-best, but be sure that the top is off. _Baisser la -capote_ is a simple matter, done in the twinkling of an eye. Of course -the _chauffeur_ will scold. But handling _cochers_ and _chauffeurs_ in -Paris requires the instinct of a lion-tamer. If you let the animal get -the better of you, you are gone. You will never enjoy Paris. Mastery of -Parisian drivers, hippomobile and automobile, does not require a -knowledge of French. Your man will understand "put down the top" -accompanied by the proper gesture. Whether he puts it down depends upon -your iron will and not upon your French! - -Best of all stations for the first entry to Paris is the Gare de Lyon. -But that good fortune is yours only if you are coming from Italy or -Spain or if you have landed at Marseilles. The Dover and Boulogne routes -bring you to the Gare du Nord and the Dieppe and Havre and Cherbourg -routes to the Gare Saint-Lazare. In any case, ask to be driven first to -the Pont-Neuf, then along the _quais_ of the Rive Gauche to the -Pont-Alexandre Trois, then to the Avenue des Champs-Elysées. Only when -you have gone over this itinerary and have passed between the Grand -Palais and the Petit Palais are you ready to be driven to your hotel. It -is the difference between seeing a girl first at a dance or a -garden-party or running into her by accident in her mother's kitchen -when the cook is on a strike. - -How often, in the decades that have passed since June, 1899, have I -wished that the return to Paris had included this program, not only -initially but for every June and July evening of our weeks there. But it -did not. The passionate love of Paris, my home city, that was born in me -as a child, that was re-awakened and deepened in maturity, did not -manifest itself when I was a school-girl as it should have done. The -change from regular lessons to the governess-controlled days of -sightseeing was not as amusing at the time as it seems in retrospect. -Madame Raymond and I were not made for each other. It wasn't -incorrigibility on my part or severity in a nasty way on hers. We just -pulled in different directions, and shocked each other. It began on the -first day. She found that I spoke French well enough not to call for the -usual effort she had to make with American girls and that I did not need -to be told the names of _monuments_ and _jardins_ and _avenues_. The -memories of infancy had been carefully kept alive by word and picture. -Mother had seen to that. Paris meant to me my father. Consequently, I -suppose Madame Raymond's conscience stimulated her to lay stress upon -history and art. She wanted to earn her money. - -Mutual lack of comprehension began immediately. My first reading under -Madame Raymond's direction was a volume of Guy de Maupassant's stories, -with markers to show which could be read and which were forbidden. Next -day Madame was horrified to see the markers gone and to learn that I had -sat up late reading without censorship. She told me that a well-bred -_jeune fille_ ought to be ashamed of reading certain things, and refused -to argue about it when I asked her why a _jeune fille_ should be ashamed -of reading the stories she had indicated to be skipped. - -"To-day," said Madame Raymond, "I intend to take you to the Cluny -Museum, and then we shall begin the Louvre." - -"But," I protested, "I want to go first to Morgan Harjes." - -"What for? Madame your mother gave me fifty francs this morning." - -"She gave me a hundred and fifty. It isn't for money. I want my -letters." - -"If there are any letters for you, Madame your mother will give them to -you if it is good for you to have them!" snapped Madame Raymond. - -"Fiddlesticks! My mother doesn't read my letters." - -"Letters written to a _jeune fille_ of sixteen years can easily wait. -They are not important. Your education is. Anyway, who would write to -you over here?" - -"Well, there is Bill. I'm crazy to know if he passed his examinations -for Yale and how he liked going to the dance at the Country Club with -Margaret when he asked me first. Joe and Charlie went off on a fishing -trip to Canada before I sailed, and I've been waiting a month to know -if they caught anything. Then Harold. He's an older man. You can talk to -him about serious things and his advice is pretty good. Naturally, it -would be--Harold is a member of the bar and knows lots." - -"But," said Madame, "you mean to say you write to men and men write to -you?" - -"Certainly. Just ask mother. Here, I know how to fix it. You seem to be -in a hurry to go to the Museum. If it interests you, go right along. -I'll take a cab to the bank and follow you later. Meet you at the Cluny -in an hour." - -"Alone!" cried Madame; "my conscience would not allow it. Your mother -trusts me." - -Madame Raymond hailed a cabby. - -"To the Cluny Museum," said she, with finality. - -In its setting, the Cluny Museum is one of the most delightful spots in -Paris. On the Boulevard Saint-Michel and the Boulevard Saint-Germain one -has the life of Paris of to-day. Looking out from the little park with -its remains of Roman baths and archæological treasures of old Lutetia -scattered around in the shrubbery, one sees a fascinating _carrefour_ of -the Latin Quarter, noisy, bustling, ever-changing. It is a contrast more -striking than any that Rome affords. On the other side, where one enters -the Museum, you have the atmosphere of the middle ages, with the old -well and the court yard and the fifteenth-century façade. Across the -street, the great buildings of the Sorbonne and Collège de France seem -to be carrying on the traditions of the past. But if you had to go -inside with a governess who insisted on showing you everything in every -room, you would rebel as I did. - -Madame Raymond did not have it all in her head. She peered down over the -glass cases and read the descriptions in a high voice, adding pages out -of a guide book from time to time. She was near-sighted. As she droned -along, I plotted a scheme for kidnapping her spectacles. When we left, I -had seen embroideries and laces and carriages and cradles and slippers -of famous people and stolen stained-glass windows to _her_ heart's -content. - -We went to Foyot's, opposite the Luxembourg Palace, for lunch. After the -meal was ordered, the waiter brought the _carte de vins_. - -"A bottle of Medoc," said Madame. "I prefer red wine, don't you, my -dear?" - -"Plain water for me. No mineral water. _Eau fraîche_ out of a carafe," -said I. - -"Extraordinary!" cried Madame. - -"I think it is dreadful to drink wine," I protested, half in earnest and -half in joke. "The Bible says strong drink is a mockery. The first thing -I remember about Sunday school is that text." - -"Ridiculous," said Madame, "table wine is not alcohol." - -"Yes," I continued, "but it is the first steps toward strong drink. You -are going to order a _fine champagne_ with your coffee. You cannot tell -me that brandy is not strong drink." - -"Here in France," said Madame, "everybody takes a drink and nobody gets -drunk. You must understand, my dear child, that we have a different -point of view." - -"Maybe _you_ don't get drunk," said I, "but how about what one sees in -Brittany?" - -"You lack respect," answered Madame. She ignored Brittany. In France, -one is not accustomed to argue with a sixteen-year-old girl. Questioning -the judgment of one's elders is impertinent. Since I have brought up my -own children in France, I am more than half won over to French ideas. -The strong individualism of the American child shocks me now in somewhat -the same way as my "freshness" must have shocked Madame Raymond. I was -ready to contest her belief that American girls had no manners. I have -not taught my children to courtesy--for the simple reason that it is no -longer the fashion in France. But I am far from believing now, as I told -Madame Raymond, that courtesying is affectation. And I fear that my -children have had the example of French children in regard to wine. I am -trying to put down here how I was at sixteen. When, after years in -America, I returned to France, my point of view was different. - -But about some things maturity has not changed the opinion of a pert -young American _miss_. French ideas of sex relationship between -adolescents seem to me now as they did then, absurd and false. Nor have -I revised my opinion about high heels and tight corsets, powder and -paint. - -It was Madame's duty to take me to the dressmaker's. Before my dress -appeared in the fitting room, I was put into my first pair of corsets. -When they were laced up, I rebelled, took a long breath, and stretched -them out again. Madame Raymond and the fitting woman shook their heads -and assured me that my dress would not fit. My governess sided with the -girl, when she remonstrated against my stretching the lacings. I showed -little interest, too, in Madame Raymond's suggestion concerning the -purchase of a box and a pretty puff with a silk rose-bud for a handle, -which was to contain pink powder. - -"I never make up," I declared. "If you put powder and other stuff on -your face when you are young, you are not far-sighted. Ugh! I loathe -pink powder." - -One day we went to a _foire_, one of those delightful open-air -second-hand markets that never cease to fascinate Parisians. A man -darted out from a booth and offered to sell me a wedding gown. - -"How much is that dress?" I inquired. - -"Two hundred francs, Mademoiselle." - -"Let me see. I wonder if it is big enough for me. I'm getting married -next week. This would save me the bother of having one made, _n'est-ce -pas?_" - -"Certainly, Mademoiselle," cried the merchant delighted. - -He pulled out his tape-line and was preparing to measure me when Madame -dragged me away. - -"It is not _convenable_, what you are doing," she exclaimed heatedly. -"You must not speak lightly of marriage." - -"Oh, it comes to us all like death or whooping-cough." - -I must not give the impression that my mind at sixteen was absolutely -insensible to historical sight-seeing and the art treasures of Paris. I -always have loved some of the things in the Louvre, and after the Great -War broke out, I discovered what a privation it was not to be able to -drop in when I passed to look at something in the Luxembourg or the -Louvre. But I did not like overdoses. And I have never gotten accustomed -to crowds of pictures all at once in the field of vision or cabinets and -glass-covered cases filled with a bewildering variety of _bibelots_. How -I came to enjoy the Musée du Louvre will be told in a later chapter of -the decade after Madame Raymond. Why should I not confess frankly that -at sixteen I was more interested in the Magazin du Louvre, even though I -knew I could no longer hope to purchase what I wanted there "for a -song"? The best thing I took away from Paris in 1899 was an -evening-dress with a low neck--my first to go with hair put up. It was -in the middle tray of my trunk, packed with tissue paper and sachet. I -can see now the different colored flowers woven into the soft cream of -its background in such a way that, according to the girdle you chose to -put on, your color effect in night light could be lavender, blue or -rose. - -Ten years before my father had taught me to love to ride on the top of -an omnibus, on the _impériale_, as the French called it. Alas that I -should have to use the past tense here. _Impériales_, still the fashion -on Fifth Avenue and Riverside Drive, disappeared from Paris before the -war. I shall tell later of the last horse-driven omnibus. The auto-buses -started out with _impériales_, but banished the upstairs in 1912 and -1913. They were still the vogue in 1908. Madame Raymond objected to the -_impériale_. She hated climbing up and down the little stairs, -especially when carrying an umbrella prevented proper circumspection in -regard to gathering in skirts. And by riding inside one avoided a -_courant d'air_. - -On a sunshiny day with a long ride ahead of us, I could not bear the -thought of submitting to my governess's whim. I forgot my manners and -jumped on first. With this advantage I was able to climb quickly to the -top. There was nothing else for Madame Raymond to do but slip the -guide-book hastily into her black silk bag and climb up after me. A man -in uniform came along and stopped in front of me. I was reading, and -did not look up when I offered him the necessary coppers. He took my -money and sat down beside me. Then he laughed and handed it back to me. -He was a sous-lieutenant of the French army. I was not confused by my -mistake, for he gallantly took it as an opening. We chatted in English. -Madame Raymond plucked at my sleeve, whispering admonitions. I was deaf -on that side. Finally she told me that we had reached our destination, -got up and started down. Naturally I followed. I found that we were -still several blocks away from where we were going. We both held our -tempers until we got off. Then the fur began to fly. That night my -adventure was retailed to Mother at the hotel in the Rue de la -Tremoille. Mother sided with the governess. - -But the next week, when we were at the Opéra one night, I met my officer -on the Grand Escalier. He came right up to me, and I didn't have it in -my heart to turn my back or treat him coolly. When my governess turned -around, she recognized him. I did not bat an eyelash. I introduced him -to Mother and to her and he managed to get an invitation from Mother to -call on us. This is the only time I was ever glad about the long -intermission--the interminable intermission--between acts at the Paris -Opéra. Afterwards, nothing I could say would convince Madame Raymond -that the second meeting was pure hazard. She told me that she knew he -had slipped me his address and I had written to him to arrange the -rendez-vous. This did not make me mad. What did make me furious was her -condemnation of the supposed intrigue solely on the ground of my age and -my unmarried state. When does a girl cease being too young to talk to -men in France? And why should it not be worse for a married woman than -for an unmarried woman to encourage a little attention? - -These questions interested me later as much as they did then. Was the -Old World so different from the New World or was I taking for granted -both a latitude and an attitude at home different from what I was going -to meet? Little did I realize that I was destined to live in Paris as a -bride and to bring up my children there to the age when I should have -these problems to face from the standpoint of a mother of three girls. - - - - -1908 - - - - -CHAPTER III - -A HONEYMOON PROMISE - - -We left Oxford very suddenly. Six weeks in the Bodleian Library, in -spite of canoeing every afternoon, sufficed to go through a collection -of contemporary pamphlets about the Guises. And then we were getting -hungry. Since he never changes the menu, roast beef and roast lamb -alternating night after night, and accompanied by naked potatoes and -cabbage, must content the Englishman. But all who have not a British -birthright either lose their appetites or go wild after a time. We -thought that we could not stand another day of seeing that awful -two-compartment vegetable dish. It never contained a surprise. You could -swear with safety to your soul that when the lid was lifted a definite -combination of white and green would meet your eye. - -So, when in the early days of July nineteen hundred and eight the London -newspapers published telegrams from Constantinople that foreshadowed -startling changes in Turkey, we were ready to flit. We had planned to -spend our honeymoon winter in Asia Minor, anyway, and thought we might -as well get out there as soon as possible. The spirit of adventure is -strong in the blood of the twenties and decisions are made without -reflection. It is great to be young enough to have a sudden change of -plans matter to none, least of all to oneself. On Monday afternoon we -were canoeing on the Cherwell, with no other thought than the very -pleasant one of doing the same thing on the morrow. The next afternoon -we were in a train speeding from Calais to Paris, trying to recuperate -from the Channel passage. - -Herbert and I both knew Paris. But we did not know Paris together, and -that made all the difference in the world. When we reached the Gare du -Nord, we were as filled with the joy of the unknown as if we had been -entering Timbuktoo. On the train we discussed hotels. A slim pocketbook -was the only bank in the world to draw upon for a long journey. On the -other side was the less commonsense but more convincing argument, that -this was once in our lives, and that if it ever was excusable to do -things up right, now was the time. The pocketbook was so slim, however, -that until we stepped out into the dazzling lights, we were not -altogether sure that it would not be a modest little hotel. We -compounded with prudence by hailing a _fiacre_ instead of one of the new -auto-taxis, and directed the _cocher_ to take us where we wanted to go. - -[Illustration: Looking up the Avenue de l'Opéra] - -It was the thought of being in the heart of things, right at the Place -de l'Opéra, that prompted us to choose the Grand Hotel. The price of -rooms was preposterous. We took the cheapest they had on the top floor. -The economical choice is sometimes the lucky one. Next time you are in -the Place de l'Opéra, look up to the attic of the Grand Hotel, and you -will see little balconies between the windows. Each window represents a -room. So does each balcony. We drew a balcony. It was just wide enough -for two honeymoon chairs; and it was summer time. - -When I was waiting in the vestibule of a New York church for the first -strains of the wedding march, my brother pressed a five-dollar gold -piece inside my white glove. "For a bang-up dinner when you get to -London," he whispered. In London we had been entertained by friends. -This was the time to spend it. The initiated would open his eyes wide at -the thought of the "bang-up" dinner for two for twenty-five francs in -Paris today--or anywhere else in the world. But remember I am writing -about nineteen hundred and eight. Six years before the war, twenty-five -francs would do the trick, and do it well, on the Grands Boulevards. We -had fried chicken with peas, salad and _fruits rafraîchis_ at Pousset's, -and there was some change after a liberal (ante-bellum!) tip. - -After dinner we strolled along the Boulevards des Italiens. We came to a -big white place, with a wealth of electric lamps, that spelled -PATHE--PALACE. A barker walked up and down in front, wearing a -gold-braided cap and a green _redingote_. We paused as at the circus. -It was a cinema. Herbert wanted to go in, but I wasn't sure. I had never -seen moving pictures and had heard that they hurt one's eyes. To be a -good sport I yielded. It was a revelation to me, and I felt as I did a -year or two later when I first saw an aeroplane. My censor and literary -critic, who has not the imagination of an Irishman, wants to eliminate -this paragraph. But I have refused. It is true that I had never been to -the cinema before I married him, and I am not sure that it was not his -first time, too. The wonders of one decade are the commonplace of the -next, and in retrospect we should not forget this. "Nineteen-eight" was -to be the wonder year. Is there not an old Princeton song, still in the -book, which was sung with expectation by our fathers? It went something -like this: - - I'll sing of the days that will come, - Of the changes that many won't see, - Of the times years and years hence. - I can tell you where some of you'll be: - If you don't know I'll give you the tip. - So catch on and don't be too late: - If you do, you'll get left and you'll all lose your grip - In the year nineteen hundred and eight. - -And then the chorus, as they used to sing it--that older generation--on -the steps of Nassau Hall: - - In nineteen hundred and eight, in nineteen hundred and eight - You can go to the moon in a two day balloon; - In nineteen hundred and eight, in nineteen hundred and eight - To the north pole you can skate, - And you'll find Annie Laurie cutting grass on the Bowery, - In nineteen hundred and eight. - -After the movies we went back to the Hotel, and sat out on our balcony -with the brilliant vistas of the Avenue de l'Opéra and the Boulevard des -Italiens before us. We could hear the music of the opera orchestra, -faintly to be sure, but it was there. The spell of six and sixteen came -back. Nearly another decade had passed, but Paris was home to me, and I -had a twinge of regret that we were going farther afield. Had it not -been for the news of Niazi Bey and Enver taking to the mountains in a -revolt against the Sultan, I might have suggested giving up Turkey. - -I was glad that we would have to stay long enough to get our passports. -The passport, now the indispensable _vade mecum_ of travelers -everywhere, was needed only for Rumania and Turkey and Russia ten years -ago. To make up for the extravagance of the Grand Hotel we found our way -to the American Embassy and the Turkish Embassy afoot. Every corner of -the Champs-Elysées had brought back memories to me and I was able to -point out to Herbert the _guignol_ to which Marie had often taken my -little sister and me nearly twenty years before. We stopped to listen. -Some of the jokes were just the same. Judy had lost the stove-lid, and -Punch told her to sit on the hole herself. And a useful and -indispensable nursery household article (whose name I shall not mention) -was suddenly clapped by Punch over the policeman's head in the same old -way. The children laughed and clapped their hands in glee. Herbert, on -his side, showed me the walk he used to take every morning from his room -on the Rue d'Amsterdam by the Rue de la Boëtie and the Avenue d'Antin[A] -to the Exposition of 1900, when he was writing feature stories for the -Sunday edition of the _New York World_. - -[A] The Avenue d'Antin has become since the victory in the recent war -Avenue Victor Emmanuel III., in honor of Italy's intervention. - -With passports obtained and visaed, tickets bought and baggage -registered, we were having our last meal in Paris before taking the -train for Rome. It was a late breakfast on the _terrasse_ of the Café de -la Paix. The waiter was not surprised when we ordered eggs with our -coffee: but we were when we found they cost a franc apiece. As we sat -there, at the most interesting vantage point in Paris for seeing the -passing crowd, my childhood instinct came back with force. I cried, "O! -I do want to come here to live when we return from Turkey!" - -Herbert had a fellowship from Princeton for foreign study. It had been -postponed a year so that he could teach for a winter at an American -college in Asia Minor. Then and there we made a decision that was -prophetic. All the other men were going to Germany. The German -universities were a powerful attraction for American university men. The -German Ph.D. was almost a sine qua non in our educational system. You -could not get a Ph.D. in England or in France. Herbert gallantly -sacrificed his on the spot. It was not a revolt against Kultur. Nor was -it clairvoyance. - -"On one's honeymoon," Herbert said, "the wife's wish should be law. The -man who starts endeavoring to get the woman he has married to realize -that the things to do are the things he thinks should be done gets into -trouble, and stays in trouble." - -The last thing we were looking for on that perfect July morning was -trouble. - -"All right," said he, "we'll come back and study in Paris, and if you -want to live here afterwards, I guess we can find some way to do it." - - - - -1909-1910 - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -THE PROMISE FULFILLED - - -"It was alcohol! He was right, that old buck. It was alcohol!" - -We were sitting in the restaurant of the Hotel Terminus in Marseilles. -Our month-old baby was lying on the cushioned seat between us. The -maître d'hôtel told us she was the youngest lady that had ever come to -his establishment. Bowls of coffee were before us on the table, and we -were enjoying our French breakfast when Herbert burst out with the -remark I have just recorded. - -"What is the matter with you?" I asked. - -Shaking with laughter, he told me the story. - -"You know the basket with breakables in it? And those two champagne -bottles Major Doughty-Wylie gave us?" - -"One of them had boracic acid in it. Well?" - -"Yes, yes, that is just it. The customshouse officer spied the bottles -and it did not take him long to uncork one and smell it. He wanted to -stick me for duty." - -"What did you do?" - -"Protested against paying duty on boracic acid solution. I pointed you -out to him sitting over there with the baby. He yielded -finally--observing that Americans are queer, tough customers, and that -their babies must be husky if their eyes can stand such stuff. But he -got the wrong bottle. Don't you remember that in the second one is pure -grape alcohol, and that is what he sniffed." - -Traveling with a baby, when tickets do not allow one to take the -_rapide_ sleeping-cars, has its good points. People do not care to spend -the night in a compartment with a baby. We got to the train early--very -early. We put Christine's wicker basket (her bed) by the door, and found -it to be the best kind of a "reserved" sign. Half a hundred travelers -poked their heads in--and passed on. The sight of Christine acted like -magic to our advantage. The baby started to cry. "Don't feed her yet," -ordered her dad. "Until this train starts, the louder she cries the -better for her later comfort." As the wheels began to move, a man came -in, put his bag on the rack and sat down. Laughing, he closed the door -and pulled down the curtain. - -"I have been watching you," said he. "Yours is a clever game. I have -three little cabbages myself, and I know babies don't disturb people as -much as those who have none think. No," he added, "I must correct -myself, thinking of my mother and my mother-in-law. Even those who have -had many babies forget in the course of time how they were once used to -them. We'll have a comfortable night. Have a cigar, monsieur!" - -We did have a splendid sleep. Christine has always been one of those -wonder babies. So we were ready to see Paris cheerfully. Heaven knows we -needed every possible help to being cheerful! For we were embarked upon -a venture that looked more serious than it had the year before. A pair -of youngsters can knock around happily without worrying about -uncertainties. A baby means a home--and certain unavoidable expenses. -Where your progeny is concerned, you can't just do without. We had two -hundred and fifty francs in cash, and the prospect of a six hundred -dollar fellowship, payable in quarterly installments. That was all we -could count upon. Our only other asset was some correspondence sent to -the _New York Herald_ that had not been ordered, but for which we hoped -to be paid. - -The Marseilles express used to arrive at Paris at an outlandish hour. It -was not yet six when we were ready to leave the Gare de Lyon. Two -porters, laden down with hand-luggage, asked where we wanted to go. We -did not know. The Paris hotels that had been our habitats in days past -were no longer possible, even temporarily. There was no mother to foot -my bills, and Herbert wasn't a bachelor with only his own room and food -to pay for. I suggested the possibility of a small hotel by the station. -The porters took us out on the Boulevard Diderot. Across the street was -a hotel (whose gilt letters, however, did not omit the invariable -adjective "grand") that looked within our means. - -Once settled and breakfasted, the family council tackled the first -problem--Scrappie, gurgling on the big bed. Ever since she was born we -had been traveling, and she naturally had to be with us all the time. -Only now, after five weeks of parenthood, did the novel and amazing fact -dawn upon us that no longer could we "just go out." Scrappie was to be -considered. Without Scrappie, we could have set forth immediately upon -our search for a place to live. With Scrappie--? - -There always is a _deus ex machina_. In our case it was a _dea_. Marie -still lived in Paris. The contact had never been lost, and when we went -through Paris on our honeymoon the year before, I had taken my husband -to show him off to Marie. It was decided that I should go out -immediately and find her. A month before we had written that we were -coming to Paris in June, and she would be expecting us. Marie, and Marie -alone, meant freedom of movement. I could not think of trusting my baby -to anyone else. - -The address was at the tip of my tongue--22 Rue de Wattignies. A few -people know vaguely of the battle, but how many life-long Parisians know -the street? Not the _boulevardiers_ or the _faubouriens_ of -Saint-Germain, or the Americans, North and South, of the Etoile Quarter. -And yet the Rue de Wattignies is an artery of importance, copiously -inhabited. We had gone in a cab last year, and remembered that it was -somewhere beyond the Bastille. At the corner of the street beyond our -hotel, just opposite the great clock tower of the Gare de Lyon, I saw -the Bastille column not far away. Why waste money on cabs? To the right -of the Bastille lay the Rue de Wattignies, and not very far to the -right. I remembered perfectly, and started out unhesitatingly. - -Oh, the Paris vistas! No other city in the world has every hill top, -every great open space, marked by a building or monument that beckons to -you at the end of boulevard or avenue. No other city in the world has -familiar dome or tower or steeple popping up over housetops in the -distance to reassure you wherever you may have wandered, that you are -not far from, and that you can always find your way to, a familiar spot. -The Eiffel Tower, the Great Wheel, the Arc de Triomphe, Sacré Coeur, the -Panthéon, Val-de-Grâce, the Invalides, the Tour St. Jacques, give you -your direction. But when you dip into Paris streets, on your way to the -goal, you are lost. Even constant reference to a map and long experience -do not save you from the deceptive encouragement of Paris vistas. You -can walk in circles almost interminably. - -I had done this so often in the old days when I escaped from my -governess. I did so again when I tried to find the Rue de Wattignies. -Perhaps I did not try very hard: for one never minds wandering in -Paris. The life of the streets is a witchery that makes one forgot time -and distance and goal. When I lost sight of the Bastille column, the -labyrinth of St. Antoine streets led me on until I had crossed the canal -and found myself by the Hôpital St. Louis. After the year in the East, -and years before that in America, old houses and street markets held me -in a new world. It was a glorious June day to boot, and after steamer -and train, walking was a keen pleasure. Marital and parental -responsibilities were forgotten. The Hôpital St. Louis brought me back -to the realities of life. I knew that it was north of the Bastille, and -not in the direction of the Rue de Wattignies. Suddenly there came -uneasily into my mind the picture of a husband, a prisoner, patiently -waiting in a very small room in a very small hotel, and a baby demanding -lunch. Conscience insisted upon a cab: for nearly two hours had passed -since I started forth to find Marie. I had left the hotel early enough -to catch her before she might have gone out. What if Marie should not be -at home? "Hurry, _cocher_!" - -My panic was unjustified. Marie was at home. Delighted to hear of our -arrival, and eager to see her petite Hélène's baby, she put on her funny -little black hat, and went right down to the waiting cab. - -When we got to the hotel, Herbert was eating a second mid-morning petit -déjeuner. He had a copy of the Paris edition of the _New York Herald_, -and showed me, well played up in a prominent place, the last of the -Adana massacre stories he had forwarded by mail from Turkey. This was -the first time he realized that his "stuff" had been exclusive. There -was a pleasant prospect of drawing a little money. So my long absence -brought forth no remark, specially as Scrappie had slept like an angel. - -"We played a wise game," said Herbert, "when we sent the stories -smuggled through Cyprus to the _Herald_. We shall not have to correspond -with New York on a slim chance of a newspaper's gratitude. We can get at -James Gordon Bennet right here in Paris." Then he showed me some -advertisements picked out in the column of _pensions_ as promising and -within our means. We had decided to consider nothing outside of the -Latin Quarter. - -Marie had not changed a bit. She could not say the same for me although -she fussed over me as if I were five going on six. She forgot that -twenty years had gone since the last time she combed my hair. She -communicated to me the old sense of security. She bathed the baby. She -brought me food and sat beside me, observing that long ago she had to -coax me to take one more mouthful to please her. - -"You always were fussy about your food. Ma chère petite Hélène, you -don't eat enough to keep a sparrow alive. You are a naughty one." - -She insisted upon my drinking a cup of camomile tea, and took me -straight back to my sixth year by calling it _pipi du chat_. Knowing -that name for camomile tea is one of the tests of whether one really -knows French. - -"Marie," I begged, "show me how English people speak French--the way you -used to do!" - -But Herbert, who had gone out to get the _Daily Mail_ for its _pension_ -list, was coming in the door, and Marie would not show off before -Monsieur. Never did she call me _chère petite Hélène_ when he or any -other person was present. It was always Madame before company. The -_Mail_ had many advertisements of _pensions_ in streets near the -Luxembourg. Marie helped us pick them out. The Luxembourg Garden was an -integral part of the Latin Quarter, and we had to think of Scrappie's -outing. - -After lunch we turned Christine over thankfully to Marie and went out -_pension_-hunting together. - -"You were lucky in finding Marie," was all Herbert said. - -"Yes," I answered, "I really couldn't have left the baby with anyone -else." - -"But is Marie the only person in the world? Without her, would you be a -slave for ever and ever? There must be plenty of people that we could -get to look after Scrappie." - -"You don't know what it means to have a child!" said Scrappie's mother. - -"I guess I look pretty healthy for a fellow who has just landed in Paris -with a wife and a baby and 250 francs!" said my husband. - -"Can't make us mad," said I; "we're in Paris." - -You pile up on one side of the scale heaps of things that ought to worry -you, but if you put on the other side the fact that you are in Paris, -down goes the Paris side with a sure and cheerful bang, up goes the -other side, and the worries tumble off every which way into nowhere. - -The main threads of the world's spider web start very far from Paris in -all directions and the heaviest urge of traffic is towards the centre. -Paris was the centre of the spider web long before Peace Delegates came -here to discover the fact. Students, diplomats, travel-agencies, -theatrical troupes knew it and whole shelves of books have been written, -down the years, to prove it. If Paris is your birth-place, you learn -that you are in the capital of the world long before you know how to -read the books. If you are an expert on ancient coins, if you are a -wood-carver, if you are a singer wanting a voice that will make your -fortune because it was trained in France, if you are a baker, if you are -a burglar, if you are a silk merchant, if you are a professor from -Aberdeen hunting for manuscripts that will prove your thesis concerning -Pelagius, if you are an _apache_, if you are an English -nursemaid,--you'll never be lonely in Paris. No matter how isolated or -queer or misunderstood you were where you came from, in Paris you'll -find inspiration, competition, companionship, opportunity and pals. The -papers tell us every week that the birth rate is going down. But the -population of Paris is increasing. So in peace, in war and in peace -again, there was one constant quantity underpinning existence--Paris, -the centre of the spider web. The spider that lures is liberty to work -out one's ideas in one's own way in a friendly country. It is a wonder -the men who make maps in France can draw lines latitudinally and -longitudinally. What difference did it make then if we had only two -hundred and fifty francs? - - - - -CHAPTER V - -THE PENSION IN THE RUE MADAME - - -We started our search for a temporary home at the Observatoire, and good -fortune took our footsteps down the Rue d'Assas rather than down the -Boulevard Saint-Michel. Had we turned to the right instead of to the -left, we should probably have found a _pension_ that satisfied our -requirements on the Rue Gay-Lussac, the Rue Claude Bernard, the Rue -Soufflot, or behind the Panthéon. But a short distance down the Rue -d'Assas, we turned into the Rue Madame, which held two possibilities on -our list. The first place advertised proved to be a private apartment, -whose mistress was looking for boarders for one room who would not only -pay her rent but her food and her old father's as well. We got out -quickly, and kept our hopes up for the second place. It was a small -private hotel just below the Rue de Vaugirard, with a modest sign: -_Pension de Famille_. - -A beaming young woman, who told us that she was Mademoiselle Guyénot, -_propriétaire et directrice de la maison_, answered our first question -in a way that won our hearts forever. "Do I mind a baby!" she exclaimed. -"I love them. No trouble in the world. Wish the _bon dieu_ would allow -me to have one myself. If any boarder complains about babies crying in -my house, I ask them how they expect the world to keep on going. -_Parfait!_ Bring the little rabbit right along. Of course there is no -charge. Is it I who will feed her? Think of it, then!" And Mademoiselle -Guyénot opened wide her arms and lifted them Heavenward. Her eyes shone, -and she laughed. - -We engaged a room on the court, two flights up, for seventy francs a -week _tout compris_, lodging, food, boots, wine. Lights would not amount -to more than a franc a week. We could give what we wanted for -attendance. The arrangement with Marie was perfect. She would stay at -home and come for the days we wanted her. That meant only her noonday -meal on our _pension_ bill--one franc-fifty. - -We got out of the Boulevard Diderot hotel none too soon. The charges -were fully as much as at a first-class hotel (I have frequently since -found this to be the case in trying to economize in travel) and made a -serious dent in our nest-egg. When we reached the _pension_ with our -baby and baggage, we felt that it was only the square thing to acquaint -the new friend who loved babies with our financial situation. - -"Oh! la, la," cried Mademoiselle Guyénot, "you may pay me when you -like!" - -"You must understand," said my husband, "that we have just come out of -Turkey and have very little money. Of course, as soon as we get -settled, things will be all right again." - -Mademoiselle received us in the _bureau_ of her pension with open arms -and lightning French. I could not get it all, but we knew she was glad -to see us. She turned around on her chair and faced us as we sat on an -old stuffed sofa surrounded by our suitcases. - -"You must not worry," she exclaimed, "you must not worry _du tout, du -tout, du tout, du tout_.... If you don't pay me I'll keep the baby, -_pauvre chou_." - -Mademoiselle's voice went up the scale and down again, dying away only -when she opened her mouth wider to laugh. - -Mademoiselle ran the _pension_ single-handed in those days. Now she is -Madame and the mother of two little girls. Monsieur is a mechanical -genius and has himself installed many conveniences. He can paper a room, -rig up a table lamp at the head of a bed, carry in the coal, forage for -provisions with a hand-cart and a cheerful _jusqu'au boutisme_ that -stops at nothing. He is also able to make a quick change in clothes and -bobs up serenely within fifteen minutes after unloading the potatoes, -quite ready to make you a cocktail. - -Mademoiselle handled her clients with cheerful firmness. She used to -marshal the forces of her house with a strong and capable hand. You -could not put one over on her then any more than you can now, as some -transients discovered to their confusion. The regulars knew better than -to try. On the other hand if your case was good and your complaint -justified, she defended you with energy. _Liberté_, _égalité_, -_fraternité_ were realities in the Rue Madame. - -The clientele was French for the most part: elderly people who had got -tired of keeping house. Folks from the provinces who had come to town to -spend the winter after Monsieur retired from business. Young people, -mostly men, some of them long haired who were studying at the Sorbonne -or elsewhere. And a sprinkling of transients whose chief effect upon the -regulars was allowing them to shift about until they had possession of -the rooms they wanted to keep at a monthly rate. When we went to the -pension we were the only Americans. We paid five francs a day for room -and board like everybody else excepting the old lady who had come to the -house years ago when the rate was four francs fifty. German Hausfraus -may be marvels in management, but I defy any lady Boche to beat -Mademoiselle's efficiency. She got all the work of kitchen and -dining-room done, and well done too, by Victorine the tireless, Louis -the juggler and François the obsequious. Guillaume and Yvonne, a working -menage, looked after the rooms until they got a swell job at the Ritz -Hotel, where tips would count. The other three were fixtures. - -In spirit the Rue Madame _pension_ has not changed. The atmosphere -to-day is as it was in nineteen hundred and nine. The table is good, -plentiful, appetizing--and, oh, what a variety of meats and vegetables! -The potatoes are never served in the same way twice in a week, and -Madame Primel, as Mademoiselle is now called, cooks as many different -_plats de jour_ as her number in the street, which is forty-four. There -the reader has my secret! But five francs a day no longer holds. In -nineteen hundred and nineteen five francs will barely pay for a single -meal. Not only has the price of food more than doubled, but the traveler -is beginning to demand comforts that cost. We used to have buckets of -coal brought up, and make a cheerful fire. We used to grope in the dark -when we came home, strike a match, and look for our candle on the hall -table. We used to have a lamp--the best light in the world--in our room. -But now the _pension_ in the Rue Madame has yielded to the demands of a -discontented world. Steam heat, electric lights--these have had their -part in making five francs a day disappear forever. The five franc -_pension_ exists only in the memory of Paris lovers, or in story books -like mine. - -At our table were Mrs. Reilly, a sprightly Irish woman called by the -pensionnaires Madame Reely; Monsieur Mazeron, a law student with an -ascetic blond face and hair like a duckling; an elderly couple from -Normandy who had adopted Madame Reely, swallowed her at one gulp of -perfection, only to discover afterwards that they did not understand -her; a Polish doctor and his wife from Warsaw; and others. Madame Reely -made a pretty speech the first night at dinner, proposing that our table -volunteer to help us take care of the baby. - -"To-morrow is the Fête Dieu," said she. "I'll go to the early mass so -that I can come back and stay with the baby while you two go to the -later mass. You will see the priests in their robes of ceremony, the -Holy Relics, and a thousand children in the procession. It is too -lovely,--all those little things with their baskets of flowers, throwing -petals in the path of the priests. Who can tell," she went on in a -whispered aside to her neighbor, "it may impress them. One never knows -when new converts are to be added to the blessed Church!" - -"And I shall look at the baby," said the Doctor from Warsaw. "Children -are my specialty. That is why I am here, observing in the clinics of -Paris, you see. I shall come to your room to-morrow after breakfast. -Being an American mother, I suppose you give your baby orange juice?" - -"Certainly I give her orange juice," said I; "it is good for her." - -"_Au contraire! au contraire!_" cried the Doctor, waving his hands. The -Doctor was always "au contraire" no matter what was said and who said -it. Polish character. - -In a corner was a tiny table for one. It was for the starboarder, a -young Roumanian, who wore a purple tie held together by a large amethyst -ring. Possibly he wore it because he believed in the ancient legend -about amethysts being good to prevent intoxication. When we entered upon -the scene he was still in high favor. His downfall came later and had to -do with a wide-awake concierge and a luckless kiss at the front door. - -The food we had was the kind we used to have in Paris when many visitors -came here with no better excuse than to enjoy the _cuisine_. -Mademoiselle gave us two meat dishes for each meal. If you did not like -calves' liver, Louis would do a trick that landed a steaming plate of -crisp fried eggs (fried in butter, you remember) before you. And that -without being told. Behind the scenes was Victorine. - -Victorine invited me into her kitchen to learn how to make _sauce -piquante_. - -"Are you married, Victorine?" I queried. - -"My cookstove is my husband," she laughed; "his heart is good and warm -and he never leaves me." - -During meals Mademoiselle was to be found in the kitchen. She did the -carving herself and tasted everything before it was passed through a -window to Louis. - -There was no felt covering under the table-cloth. The serving of the -meal competed with piping, high-pitched, excited voices. Perhaps I -oughtn't to say excited, but the Frenchman in his most ordinary matter -of fact conversation sounds excited to the Anglo-Saxon. He asks you to -pass the bread in the same tone you would use in announcing an event of -moment. At each place was a glass knife-and-fork rest. In France, unless -the first dish happens to be fish, you keep the same knife and fork. -This is the custom in the best of homes. We are prodigal of cutlery -where the French are prodigal of plates. The same knife and fork didn't -matter, because the food was so good. Nor does it matter to-day, because -now there is only one meat dish. Times have changed. - -If fruit or pudding ran out, Mademoiselle opened a section of the wall, -finding the key on a bunch that was suspended from her belt on a piece -of faded black tape. From the cupboard she took tiny glasses filled with -confiture or perhaps a paste made of mashed chestnuts and flour slightly -sweetened. The glasses, to the touch, were cylindrical, but when you had -broken the paper pasted across the top and had eaten half way down, the -space was no wider than the fat part of your tea spoon. If your glass -was a cylinder outside, on the inside it was an inverted cone. - -The quantities of bread consumed in that house would be appalling to -anybody but a Frenchman. A Turk can live on bread and olives. But a -Frenchman can live on bread alone. If he had to choose between bread and -wine he would forget the wine. When the basket was passed around, the -_pensionnaires_, with a delightful absence of self-consciousness, would -cast their eye over it in order to select the biggest piece. There was -always one person who would look around the room furtively, take the -biggest piece on the plate, slip the second biggest piece into the lap -under the serviette, and then, gazing far away in ostrich fashion, glide -the bread into pocket or reticule. If the dessert happened to be fruit, -an orange or an apple would follow the bread for private consumption -later in the day. Perhaps these people came in for luncheon only and the -bread and fruit was devoured at twilight at some little café where it is -permitted to customers to bring their own supplies, if they buy a drink. -This stretching of luncheon procured the evening meal. If necessity is -the mother of invention, the students of Paris are necessity's -grandmother. - -Louis, the arch-juggler, was forced by public opinion to alternate day -by day his point of departure when passing the steaming _plat du jour_. -_Egalité_, you remember, is one-third of French philosophy. It would -never do for the same end of the dining-room to enjoy for two days -running the little privilege of having the first pick at the best piece -of meat in the plate. - -François helped in the dining-room. But he was everywhere else too. He -was useful for Louis to swear at and to blame. He was bell-hop, -scullery-boy, errand-man, who needed all of his amazing reserves of -cheerfulness. I wondered when François slept. He was on hand with his -grin and his _oui, madame_, early and late. Once when we slid out of the -house at five in the morning to go on an excursion, we found him in the -lower hall surrounded by the boots of the house. Back of his ear was a -piece of chalk used for marking the number of the room on the soles of -the boots. He was polishing away, moving his arm back and forth with a -diminutive imitation of the swing his legs had to accomplish when his -brush-clad feet were polishing the waxed floors. As a concession to the -early hour, he was whistling softly instead of singing. The whistling of -François fascinated everyone because it came through a tongue folded -funnel-wise and placed in the aperture where a front tooth was missing. -And we would often find him up and about when we came home late at -night. It was a pleasant surprise, when, after calling out your name, -you made ready to walk back to the candlestick table, hands stretched -out before you, to have François suddenly appear with a light. He would -hold out over the table his little hand lamp with the flourish a Gascon -alone can make. You picked out your candlestick by the number of your -room cut in its shining surface. The number had an old-fashioned swing -to its curve, suggesting that the solid bit of brass might have been dug -up from the garden of some moss-grown hostelry after a passage of the -Huns. - -Mademoiselle Guyénot insisted that the flagged pavement be washed every -day. François used to fill with water a tin can in the bottom of which -he had punched half a dozen holes. He swung it about the court until -figure eight shaped sprinkle-tracks lay all over the twelve-by-twenty -garden. Afterwards he would take a short-handled broom, bend himself -over like a hairpin, and sweep up the flag-stones. The dirt he -accumulated was made into a neat newspaper package and set aside to wait -until early to-morrow morning when it was put out on the street in the -garbage-pail. François' thin high voice sang incessantly and sounded for -all the world like the piping of a Kurdish shepherd above the timber -line in the Taurus Mountains. In those days woe betide you if you put -trash or garbage on a Paris street later than 8 A. M. It was as unseemly -an act as shaking carpets out of your window after the regulation hour. -Now, even if you are a late and leisurely bank clerk or fashionable -milliner and you don't have to show up at work before 10 o'clock, you -will see garbage-pails along curb-stones and likely as not get a dust -shower furious enough to make you wish you hadn't left your umbrella at -home. The old days--will they come back? - -When the band plays soft Eliza-crossing-the-ice music, my mind flies to -several Home-Sweet-Homes. I think of Tarsus, Constantinople, Oxford and -Princeton. But there is no twinge of homesickness. Paris and my present -home there satisfy every want and longing. Among the homes of the past, -however, I think of others in Paris as well as of those of other places. -I never forget the _pension_ in the Rue Madame. Thankfully it is still a -reality. During the past decade it has housed our mothers and sisters -and cousins and friends. We have gone there to see them. And we go there -to see our first warm friend in Paris and her husband and children. From -time to time we have a meal in the old dining-room. We hope the -_pension_ will not disappear or will not be converted into too grand a -hotel. For us it is a Paris landmark. - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -LARES AND PENATES IN THE RUE SERVANDONI - - -We spent the first anniversary of our wedding in Egypt. A week later we -arrived in Paris. For prospective residents as well as for tourists, -June is the best time of the year to reach Paris. You have good weather -and long days, both essentials of successful home-hunting. It is an -invariable rule in Paris to divide the year in quarters, beginning with -the fifteenth of January, April, July and October. Whether you are -looking for a modest _logement_ on a three months' lease or a _grand -appartement-confort moderne_--on a three years' lease, the dates of -entry are the same. One rarely breaks in between terms. If you have -passed one period, you must wait for the next _trimestre_. The person -who is leaving the apartment you rent might be perfectly willing to -accommodate you, but he has to wait to get into his new place. So when -we went to the _pension_, we had before us the best home-hunting weeks -of the year, with the expectation of being able to get settled somewhere -on July 15th. - -At the _pension_, our room faced on the court, and the _personnel_, from -Mademoiselle Guyénot down to Victorine and François, assured us that we -need not feel bound to stay at home on the days Marie could not come to -us. Marie for years had been sewing four different days of the week for -old _patrons_, and we did not feel certain enough of our own plans and -purse to accept the responsibility of her giving up a sure thing. - -"Go out all you want to," urged our friends. "You only have to think -about meal times for the baby. Someone is always in the court sewing or -sorting the laundry or preparing vegetables. Your window is open. We -cannot fail to hear the baby." - -But a chorus of _bien sûr_ and _parfaitement_ and _soyez tranquille_ did -not reassure what was as new born as Christine herself--the maternal -instinct. A letter from Herbert's father solved the problem. He inclosed -the money for a baby carriage. We carried Scrappie down the Boulevard -Raspail to the little square in front of the Bon Marché. I kept her on a -bench while Herbert went in to follow my directions as well as he could. -In a few minutes he came out and said he would rather take care of the -baby. It was the first time I had seen him stumped. So I had the joy I -had hoped would be mine all along but of which I did not want to deprive -my husband, seeing that we could not share it. The reader may ask why we -didn't take the baby inside. But it will not be a young mother who puts -that question! With one's firstborn, one sees contagion stalking in -every place where crowds gather indoors.[B] - -[B] The critic would have me insert a modification here. Why confine the -fear of the young mother to _indoors_? The critic insists that I used to -be afraid of taking Scrappie into any sort of a crowd, and that my -supersensitive ear translated the bark of every kiddie with a cold into -whooping cough, while I saw measles in mosquito bites on children's -faces. - -[Illustration: The Rue de Vaugirard by the Luxembourg] - -We did not intend to consider a home that was not within baby-carriage -distance of the Rue Madame. In fact, after a few days in the Luxembourg -Quarter, we were determined to live as near the Garden as possible. -There we were within walking distance of the Bibliothèque Nationale and -the Sorbonne and the Ecole Libre des Sciences Politiques. Marie, whom -the fact that I was my Mother's daughter did not blind to the extent of -the Gibbons family resources, urged the Bois de Vincennes. But we would -not hear of it. - -It is strange how rich and poor rub elbows with each other in their -homes. Paris is no different from American cities in this respect. The -kind of an apartment we _wanted_ would cost more than our total income, -as rents around the Luxembourg for places equipped with electric lights -and bathtubs and central heating seemed to be as expensive as around the -Etoile. Then in the same street--sometimes next door--you had the other -extreme. Our finances pointed to a _logement_ in a workingmen's -tenement. Care for Scrappie's health made our hearts sink every time we -were shown a place that seemed within our means. - -Of course there were reasonable places: for many others who demanded -cleanliness had no more money than we. But the Latin and Montparnasse -Quarters are the Mecca of slim-pursed foreigners. People foolish enough -to study or sing or paint are almost invariably poor. Perhaps that is -the reason! We had lots of exercise, and came to know every street -between the Luxembourg and the Seine. Our good fortune arrived -unexpectedly as good fortune always arrives to those who will not be -side-tracked. - -Between the Rue Vaugirard and Saint-Sulpice are three tiny streets, the -houses on the opposite sides of which almost rub cornices. The Rue Férou -is opposite the Musée de Luxembourg. On the Rue de Vaugirard is the home -of Massenet. We used to get a glimpse of him occasionally on his -_terrasse_--a sort of roof-garden with a vine-covered lattice on top of -the low Rue Férou wing of his house. The other two streets paralleling -the Rue Férou from the Palais du Luxembourg to the Eglise Saint-Sulpice -are the Rue Servandoni and the Rue Garancière. - -On the morning of the Fourth of July we had been diving in and out the -side streets of the Rue Bonaparte and the Boulevard Saint-Germain. At -Scrappie's meal time, we came to a bench in the Square in front of -Saint-Sulpice. It wasn't a bit like a holiday. It was sultry and looked -like rain. We were wondering whether we had better not hurry back to the -_pension_ for fear of getting the baby wet. Just then people began to -stop and look up. A huge balloon was above us. And it carried the -American flag. - -"You can't beat it," said my husband. "And we are Americans. Ergo, you -can't beat us!" - -Did the sight of the flag do the trick? Anyway, it was our Japanese -"last quarter of an hour." We had come down through the Rue Férou. We -went back for the twentieth time in twenty days through the Rue -Servandoni. Grey houses, topped with beehive chimneys, leaned amicably -against each other and broke the sky line as well as the municipal -_réglement_ (made long after they were) concerning the distance between -houses on opposite sides of streets. Our hearts nearly stopped beating -when we reached Number 21. There was the magic sign (it had not been -there yesterday): _Appartement à Louer_. We stopped short in the middle -of the street. The side-walks are not wide enough to walk on, much less -wheel a baby-carriage along. The grocer on the ground floor saw us take -the bait. Out he came. Did Monsieur and Madame care to see the -_appartement_? If so, he was concierge as well as grocer. He would show -us the place. We drew the new baby-carriage into the dark vestibule and -went up one easy flight of oak balustraded stairs. The grocer pulled a -red-braided bell rope. - -A man in shirt-sleeves opened the door. We stepped into a tiny -dining-room where the gas was lit although it was noon. The wall-paper -was yellow, and had sprawling brown figures like beetles. A dark passage -led into an immense room with a generous fireplace. Two windows opened -on the Rue Servandoni. It was a paper-hanger's shop with ladders, -brushes, buckets, rolls and rolls of paper and barrels of flour-paste -around. But the fellow in shirt-sleeves assured us that when his -fittings were out, we would realize what a handsome room it was. "The -dining-room is dark," he admitted, "but you can't match this room for -light and size in any two-room apartment in the Quarter. I know them -all. I am leaving because I have found a ground floor shop. I'll put new -paper on here very cheap." - -The _locataire_ assumed that we would take it. So did the -grocer-concierge. Without our asking, Monsieur Sempé told us that the -rent would be one hundred and fifty francs a quarter. We did not have to -make a troublesome lease, just a little agreement involving three -months' notification on either side. - -"Don't forget," said Sempé, "that this old house sits between two modern -apartment buildings. The walls are warm. Your neighbors have steam -heat." - -"True," confirmed the paper-hanger. But he did not want us to think that -we could be altogether vicariously heated. "Possibly you may not have -noticed," he added, "the fireplace in the dining-room. It heats almost -as well as this one. I'll sell you my grates. _Boulets_ make the best -fire." - -The thrill of admiration I had for my husband's magnificent courage when -he signed the paper, and paid out fifty of his last hundred francs "on -account" is with me still. - -"We are sure to be able to pay our rent," said he, as we went back to -the _pension_. "We couldn't expect to get anything for less than ten -dollars a month. The first installment of the fellowship money will come -next week, and before then I shall certainly get something out of the -_Herald_. It will have to be enough to buy our furniture." - -It never rains but it pours. At the _pension_ we found a letter from Mr. -James Gordon Bennett, asking Herbert to call that afternoon at three -o'clock at 104 Avenue des Champs-Elysées. It was in a blue envelope with -a little owl embossed on the flap, and was signed "J. G. BENNETT" in -blue pencil almost the color of the paper. How often we were to see this -envelope and this signature, and what luck it was going to bring us! We -thought the occasion demanded a celebration. I did Scrappie and myself -up in our best, and we set forth for the Champs-Elysées in an open -_fiacre_--our first ride since we came from the Boulevard Diderot to the -Rue Madame. We waited in the carriage while Herbert went in to collect -his money for the Adana massacre stories. - -I watched the door of the big apartment house anxiously. Our furniture -and the rest of the rent for the apartment depended upon the success of -the visit. Half an hour later Herbert's face told me that all was well. -He had sent in a bill of four hundred dollars, and fifty dollars -expenses. Mr. Bennett, he told me, began by scolding him for not making -it in francs, and then gave him a check for twenty-five hundred francs, -which more than covered what Herbert asked for. The Commodore then -offered Herbert a position at five hundred francs a week, and was -surprised when it was declined. He seemed much amused when Herbert -explained that he had come to Paris to study. "But you will go on -special trips in an emergency," said Mr. Bennett. It is enough to say -that the "emergencies" occurred often enough to tide over many a -financial difficulty during years that followed. - -Provided with funds after passing by the bank, we took Christine to -Rumpelmayer's to tea, and then drove back the Rue Servandoni to pay the -rest of our rent. When Monsieur Sempé gave us the _quittance_, he -admonished us that we must put enough furniture in the apartment to -cover six months' rent, that is to say, we must be prepared to spend at -least sixty dollars to set up our Lares and Penates. Bubbling over with -good will, Monsieur Sempé and Madame Sempé (who appeared on the scene -the moment it was a question of a receipt for our money) gave us -splendid advice about furniture-buying. They urged us to go to the Rue -de Rennes to some good-sized place where we would see second-hand -furniture on the side-walk, and not to a small _brocanteur_ or dealer in -antiques. - -The amount ticked up on the fiacre's taximetre was larger than we had -dreamed we should ever spend gadding about Paris. A few hours before it -would have worried us. We knew this could not keep up--in spite of the -crisp hundred franc notes. Wealth brings a strange sense of prudence. We -drove back to the _pension_, dismissed our _cocher_, and pushed the -baby-carriage around to the Rue de Rennes. - -MOBILIERS COMPLETS PAR MILLIERS. "Household furniture sets by the -thousand." That sign read promisingly. We entered, and found a -salesman--excuse me, the proprietor and salesman and cashier--who took -in my clothes and hat, and then assured us that he did not mind the baby -crying and could fit us up in anything from Louis Quatorze to the First -Empire, real or (this as a feeler) imitation. _Salle à manger_ from -eight hundred francs to four thousand; _chambre à coucher_ from four -hundred francs to two thousand six hundred; _salon_ from one thousand -francs to six thousand; splendid _garnitures_ (which means clocks and -candlesticks or vases) of all epochs for our _cheminées_; hatracks for -the hall; kitchen and servants' furniture--all, everything, anything we -needed. - -I knew what was in Herbert's reproachful look. He always did -ungraciously blame my mother for the fact that he had so frequently to -counteract my trousseau by embarrassed words. Mostly I let him stumble -along. But as this was his day and as I hadn't taken off the pretty -things worn in honor of the visit to the Champs-Elysées, which was a -break on my part, I thought it was up to me to let the furniture man see -how things stood. - -"We have a little apartment," I said, "bedroom and living-room combined, -a very small dining-room and a kitchen. I expect to buy the baby's crib -and mattress aside, but the rest must come out of five hundred francs--I -mean all of it. What can you give us for that?" - -I often think the French are essentially poor salesmen. They do not know -how to show their goods and they are too indifferent or too anxious. But -the blessed virtue of chivalry! The blessed sense of proportion! The -blessed instinct of moderation! Our furniture man rose to the occasion -with a grace that made me want to hug him. He kept his smile and bow and -changed with perfect ease from Louis and Napoleons to pitchpine. It -would require figuring. But it could be done. Yes, of course it could be -done. Down into the cellar he took us, and in half an hour he had -arranged to give us all we needed for Francs 532.70. I remember those -figures. And he agreed to take the whole lot back at half-price at the -end of a year! - -The furniture man bore a striking resemblance to some one I knew. I -watched him, and tried to place him, as he made out our bill in the -office--seven square feet of glassed-in suffocation surrounded by -_armoires_ and buffets. Dust clung to pages and blotters and yellowing -files; no air ever came in here to blow it away. Where had I seen the -double of our friend? Full forehead, closely-trimmed, pointed beard, -soft black tie--and the eyes. Where _had_ I seen him before? Writing -with flourishes in purple ink, slightly bending over the high desk, he -certainly fitted into some memory picture. Then it came to me! His pen -ought to be a quill. It was William Shakespeare. - -"Will-_yum_ Shakespeare!" I cried. - -My husband did not think I was crazy. For he was looking at the -furniture man when I made my involuntary exclamation. - -"What does Madame say? Is she not content?" asked William Shakespeare. -Herbert's hand shot out behind his back and grasped mine. "Shades of -Stratford-on-Avon," he murmured. We had passed a honeymoon day there -just a year ago. - -It was hard to wait until July 15, and then two days longer for the -necessary cleaning by a _femme de ménage_ hired for us by the Sempés. -July 17th was the magical day of our first housekeeping. Never before -had we been together in a place where everything was ours. Tables and -chairs and beds and mattresses, and even the piano rented at ten francs -a month, arrived at Twenty-One on hand-carts drawn by men who pulled -only a little harder against the greasy harness that bound them to their -job than did the dogs under the carts. - -Turkish women say that if you must move, abandon the furniture and -dishes; they can be had anywhere. But take with you the rugs and brass -that you love, and you have your home. During the previous winter in -Tarsus, we managed to buy several good rugs, a cradle-shawl, some -candlesticks and Damascus beaten-brass trays out of our eight-hundred -dollar salary. Don't ask me now how we did it. In retrospect it is a -mystery. But we had these things in two big boxes. They were as butter -is to bread with our pitch-pine. No, I'm not going to belittle that -pitch-pine. Years of usage had modified its yellowness, and it took to -our rubbing with a marvelous furniture polish. The floors could have -been better. The wood was hard, however, and we got some sort of a wax -shine on them. The Shakespeare furniture plus rugs and brasses--and -candle light--made a home than which we have never since had better. -Never mind if the dining-room was dark. Never mind if we had to sleep in -our study, and study in our bedroom. Never mind if Scrappie's nursery -was the _salon_, _cabinet de travail_ and _chambre à coucher_ combined. -Never mind if we were compelled to take our baths at the foot of our bed -in a tin basin. It was Paris, our dream city. - -We were fully installed by six o'clock. The _femme de ménage_ -volunteered to stay with Christine while we went out for supper. Before -finding a restaurant, we climbed the north tower of Saint-Sulpice. -Between us and the mass of verdure that marked the Jardin du Luxembourg -was our home. Up there near heaven, with the city at our feet, we danced -the Merry Widow Waltz, for sheer joy that we had a home of our own in -Paris. - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -GOLD IN THE CHIMNEY - - -How can two young people, with a baby and three hundred dollars in cash, -able to count upon a one-year fellowship yielding six hundred dollars, -live a year in Paris? The answer to that question is that it cannot be -done. But we were not in the position to answer it that way. We were in -Paris, and we had the baby. Pride and ambition are factors that refuse -to be overruled by the remorseless logic of figures. If you put a -proposition down on paper, you can prove that almost anything you want -to do is impossible. Successful undertakings are never the result of -logical thinking. Herbert and I would not have had a wedding at all if -we had thought the matter out and had considered the financial side of -life. - -Herbert was keeping, however, some prejudices and some prudent reserves, -remembering his father's caution that life has a financial basis. -Sitting there on the packing-case we had picked out for a coal-box in -our study-bedroom, he hauled out an account-book and was fussing over a -missing franc. Our first year was one of constant change of scene, and -we had not "kept house." Now, declared my husband, was the time to turn -over a new leaf. If we knew where and how our money went, financing the -proposition would be easier. With tears in my eyes and biting a pencil -with trembling lips, I rebelled. I could not get interested in that -missing franc. - -"I want you to realize now, once for all, that I'm not going to keep -this old cash account. I don't believe in worrying about money. I'm not -going to worry about money and neither are you. There are only three -financial questions: (1) how much money is there? (2) how long is it -going to last? (3) what are we going to do when it's all gone? Two -follows one, and three follows two--one, two, three--just like that!" - -I was laughing now, and raised three fingers successively under my -boss's nose. - -"As long as we are in one, we are not in two; and when we are in two, we -have not reached three. Let us wait for three until we are in three, or -at least until we know we are about to leave two." - -After paying a quarter's rent, the bill for the furniture and cleaning -up sundry little expenses, we had left fifteen hundred francs of the -Gordon Bennett capital. A thousand francs was deposited with Morgan, -Harjes and Company. The other five hundred, in twenty-franc gold-pieces, -the bank gave us in a shiny little pink pasteboard box. Our chimney had -a big hole in the plaster. The wall paper was torn but intact. An ideal -hiding-place. I put the box in the hole and smoothed down the paper. - -"This hole is our bank," I announced. "We shall keep no account, and you -and I will take the gold boys when we need them." - -Herbert saw a great light. From that moment to this day we have been -free from a useless drudgery and have been able to conserve our energy -for our work. Herbert said, "Agreed! And when the pile gets low, I'll be -like the little boy the old man saw digging." - -"What was the little boy digging for?" I chuckled. - -"Ground-hogs," answered my husband. "An old man came along and told him -he would never catch a gopher like that, for they could dig quicker than -folks. 'Can't get him?' said the boy. 'Got to get him, the family's out -of meat.'" - -Now that the financial credo of the home-makers in the Rue Servandoni is -set forth, I shall not have to talk any more about how we got our money -and how much there was of it. But I had to take my readers into my -confidence, for I did not want them to labor under the misapprehension -that persisted among our neighbors of the Rue Servandoni throughout our -year there. They took it for granted that _les petits américains_ were -living at Twenty-One because that sort of fun appealed to us. We were -just queer. Of course we had plenty of money, and could have lived at -Nineteen or Twenty-Three if we had wanted to! The Parisian, the -Frenchman, the European, of whatever social class, believes that America -is El Dorado and that every American is able to draw at will from -inexhaustible transatlantic gold-mines. During the war the Red Cross, -the Y.M.C.A., and the officers and men of the A.E.F. confirmed and -strengthened this traditional belief. I do not blame my compatriots for -what is a universal attitude among us towards money. On the contrary, my -long years of residence abroad have made me feel that we get more out of -life by looking upon money as our servant than Europeans do, who look -upon it as their master. - -The first thing--the practical and imperative thing--when you set up a -home in Paris is to make friends with the concierge. Without his -approval and cooperation, your money, your position, your brains will -not help you in making living conditions easy. The concierge stands -between you and servants, tradespeople, visitors. You are at his mercy. -Traveling in Russia, they used to say to us: lose your pocket-book or -your head, but hold on to your passport. In Paris, dismiss your prize -servant or fall out with your best friend, but hold on to the good-will -of the concierge. - -Our first skirmish with the Sempés was an easy victory. We could not -keep the baby-carriage in our apartment, even if we had been willing to -haul it up and down a flight of stairs. Boldly we announced that we -wanted to leave it in the lower hall. "Of course," agreed Monsieur -Sempé. "I was just going to suggest that and to tell you that in my shop -I carry everything, fruits and vegetables as well as dry-groceries." - -We took the hint, and seldom went farther afield to do our marketing. -Madame Sempé was the first to call us _les petits américains_. She was -capable and kindly, and our friendship became firmly rooted when she -discovered that we intended to patronize her shop. The Sempé commodities -were good. This was lucky in more ways than one. For the mice knew it -too, and never came upstairs to bother us. - -Sempé himself was a genial soul, partly because he always kept a bottle -uncorked. Hard work and temperament, he explained, made him require a -stimulant. He took just enough, you understand, to affect his -disposition pleasantly. If you had a little complaint to make or a favor -to ask, much as you deplored his thirst, you found yourself casting an -eye over the man to make sure of his mood before you spoke. If you -caught him when the bottle was not too full or too empty, he could fix a -lock or put a new mantle on the dining-room gas-jet most graciously. - -Our friendship became undying when Monsieur found out that we were the -solution of his financial pinches. He came up one night, and, hooking -his thumbs in his purple suspenders, asked for a loan of "_shong -shanquante francs shusqua sheudi_." _Jeudi_ never came. To Sempé's -intense relief, we agreed to take out the debt in groceries. This was -the beginning of a sort of gentlemen's agreement. A paper, thumb-tacked -to a shelf in the shop, kept the record of our transactions. When I came -to make purchases in the morning or when Herbert dropped in of an -evening to buy a supplement to our dinner for unexpected guests or our -own good appetites, we could see at a glance whether to pay cash for -what we bought or whether we should do a sum in subtraction. It was -generally subtraction, and Sempé, wagging his head, would say, "This -goes well--soon I shall be square with you." But the satisfaction of -being square with the world was never Sempé's for long. The arrival of a -barrel of wine or a load of potatoes would send him running up the -stairs for the money to help finance his business. In spite of our -slender resources we did not feel this to be a hardship. Not -infrequently it was an advantage. First of all things one has to eat. We -always began to get our money back immediately in the necessities of -life. Instead of having our money out in an uncertain loan we took the -attitude that our board was paid for two or three weeks in advance. - -In another connection, we had the benefit of the advantageous side of -the Golden Rule. - -In our study of Turkish history we had constant use of Von Hammer's -_Histoire de l'Empire Ottoman_. This meant much transcribing by -long-hand at the Bibliothèque Nationale where the typewriter could not -be used. If only we had Von Hammer at home! But it was a rare -book--eighteen volumes and an atlas--far beyond our means. One day we -were browsing at Welter's, the most wonderful bookshop in Paris, on the -Rue Bernard-Palissy off the Rue de Rennes near Saint-Germain-des-Près. -Monsieur Welter, who took pains to become acquainted with and discover -the specialty of every passing _client_, told us that he had a set of -Von Hammer, recently purchased at a London auction. He sent a boy to -bring it out. Oh how tempting it looked, beautifully bound in calf! We -handled it fondly, but turned regretfully away when he said that the -price was two hundred francs. - -"Do you not want it?" asked Monsieur Welter, astonished. "It is -indispensable for your work and you do not get a chance often to -purchase a set of Von Hammer. Never will you find it cheaper than this." - -"I do want it, and it isn't the price. I'll come back later, hoping you -will not have sold it." - -We each had a volume in our hands. I poked my nose between the pages of -mine to sniff the delightful odor to be found only in old books. -Monsieur looked at us, smiled, and said, "You mean that you haven't the -money. You will have it some day. No hurry. Give me your address and the -books will be sent around this afternoon." - -The delightful relationship thus began lasted until August, 1914, when -Welter (who never became naturalized although his sons were in the -French army) had to flee to escape internment. His business was -sequestrated. German though he was, we never cease to mourn the only -expert bookman in Paris. We have tried a dozen since, some of them -charming men, but none with the slightest idea of how to sell books. -Welter had book-buyers all over the world. Whenever he came across rare -books in your line, he mailed them to you with the bill. If you did not -want them, you sent them back. Every three months, a statement of the -quarter's purchases came, and you sent a check when you had the money. -One's attention was brought to many valuable sources, and one was able -to buy books of immense value, the possibility of whose acquisition one -had never dreamed of. - -Monsieur Welter told me years later, when I recalled the Von Hammer -incident, that he didn't lose five hundred francs a year in bad bills. -"The dealer in old books who does not give all the credit the buyers -need is crazy," he said. "What man interested in the things I deal in -would think of cheating me? Your husband wanted Von Hammer. I saw that. -Any man who wanted Von Hammer would pay for it in time." - -We had never had a French book-seller offer us credit, much less send -books on approval when we had not ordered them. - -When I think of the hundreds and hundreds of books we bought from -Welter, I realize one of the secrets of the inferiority of the French to -the Germans in business. The French cannot bring themselves to give -credit: they have an innate fear of being cheated, and understand -commercial transactions only in terms of cash. For years I have made a -point of watching French shopkeepers. Invariably they arrange that the -money is in their hands before they give you your package. - -The other night I went to the Champs-Elysées theatre to see a show given -by American soldiers of the 88th Division. One act opens with Hiram -Scarum bringing a military trunk into his hotel. Staggering under the -weight, Hiram hobbles across the stage, plants his trunk on the floor, -and sits down on it to mop his brow. He spies a paper across the room, -and investigates to find it is the tag belonging to the trunk. Pulling -himself together, Hiram spits on his hands, wearily shoulders the burden -again, and carries it across the room where he ties the tag to the -handle of the trunk. Then he picks up the trunk and carries it back -where he had first put it down. Hiram is like French commerce. The -Frenchman, with a sense of self-congratulation on his own industry, -carries the trunk to the tag. He is surprised to discover that while he -has been carrying the trunk to the tag, his German competitor has -carried a great many tags and has tied them to a great many trunks. We -hear much in these days about the war after the war. We are told by -Paris newspapers how the French business men are going to capture trade -from Germany. How can the French win in the commercial game? I'm sure I -don't know. One is concerned lest the inability to take the large view -end in disappointment and disaster for the Frenchmen we love. We are -just as sure that our French friends will continue to carry the trunk to -the tag as we are that they ought to get a hustle on, give up their old -ways, and win the game. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - -AT THE BIBLIOTHÈQUE NATIONALE - - -There are many libraries in Paris. Some of them are so famous that I -ought to hesitate to call the Bibliothèque Nationale simply "the -library." But I do call it that, not because it is the largest in the -world (a fact that calls forth instinctively admiration and respect from -Americans), but because we love the Bibliothèque from long and habitual -association. It is a part of our life like our home. - -In the beginning of the fellowship year, Herbert came to realize that -books could do more for him than lecturers. A magnetic and enthusiastic -lecturer communicates his inspiration: but most professors are decidedly -non-conductors. And then, with rare exceptions, university professors -are not sources themselves. What they do is to stand between you and the -sources. When they have something original and suggestive to say, why -not let them speak to you from the covers of a book? If a book does not -hold you, you can throw it aside and take up another: the lecturer has -you fast for an hour, and you often suffer because his baby did not -sleep well the night before. But when the professor speaks from the -printed page, he has had a chance to eliminate in his final revision -whatever effects of insomnia there may have been in the first draft. If -he hasn't done so, you do not need to read him. - -When students become full fledged post-graduates, they are at the -parting of the ways. Either they go directly to the sources, form -independent judgments, and produce original work as a result of -constructive thinking, or they continue to remain in intellectual -dependence upon their teachers. The latter alternative is the more -pleasant course. It requires less effort, and does not make one restless -and unhappy. The pleasant days of taking in are prolonged and the -agonizing days of giving out are postponed. But if a youngster is face -to face with books all day long every day, he either stops studying or -commences to produce for himself. Then, too, he is constantly under the -salutory influence of being confronted with his own appalling ignorance. -Whatever effort he makes, the volumes he summons from the shelves to his -desk keep reminding him that others have given years to what he hopes to -compass in days. The Bibliothèque teaches two lessons, and teaches them -with every tick of the clock from nine a. m. to four p. m.--humility and -industry. - -There was, of course, much to be learned at the Sorbonne. But my husband -had already passed through three years of post-graduate work, and was -tired of chasing around from one lecture to another. There were hours -between courses that could not be utilized, and the habit of loafing is -the easiest formed in the world. It was because we were jealous of every -hour in the Golden Year that Herbert and I first turned from the -Sorbonne to the Bibliothèque. Later we came to realize that the only -thing in common between Salles de Conférences of the Sorbonne and the -Salle de Lecture of the Bibliothèque was the lack of fresh air--the -universal and unavoidable torture of indoors everywhere in France. - -Nine to four, five days in the week, Herbert lived in the Bibliothèque, -and I went there mornings--when Scrappie was not on my conscience! One -did not have to go out to lunch, as the fare of the _buvette_ was quite -acceptable to those interested in books and manuscripts. The old law of -the time of Louis XIV holds good in this day. No light but that of -heaven has ever been introduced into the Bibliothèque. After gas was -discovered, the law was not changed. Even when electricity came, -presenting an infinitesimal risk of fire, the Government refused to have -the vast building wired. The prohibition of lights extends, of course, -to smoking. You cannot strike a match in the sacred precincts. So, after -lunch we used to go across the street and sit for half an hour in the -Square Louvois. - -[Illustration: Château de la Reine Blanche: Rue des Gobelins] - -Do you know the Square Louvois? I'll wager you do not. For when one -passes afoot up the Rue Richelieu, he is generally in a hurry to get to -the Bourse or the Grands Boulevards. If you go on the Clichy-Odéon -bus, you whizz by one of the most delightful little green spots in the -city of green spots without noticing it. The Square Louvois has on the -side opposite the Bibliothèque Nationale a good-sized hotel, which was -named after the square. The boundary streets on the north and south are -lined with modest restaurants and coffee bars, within the purse of -_petits commis_ and _midinettes_. In Europe there is not the hurry over -the mid-day meal that seems universal in America. Dyspepsia is unknown. -The humblest employee or laborer has from one hour and a half to two -hours off at noon. There is competition for benches and chairs in the -Square Louvois between twelve-thirty and two. Mothers who are their own -nursemaids have to resist the temporary encroachment of the Quarter's -business world. We from the Bibliothèque make an additional demand. We -must have our smoke and fresh air. And we never tire of the noble -monument to the rivers of France that is the fountain in the center of -the Square. - -"Funny, isn't it," said I, "how things turn out to be different from -what you expected--your thesis for instance. Gallicanism is simply a -closed door for the present." - -"I tackled too big a subject," admitted Herbert. - -We were smoking in the Square after lunching in the buffet of the -Bibliothèque Nationale with the Scholar from Oxford. - -"I'll wager," said Herbert, "that those greasy fellows in the _salle de -travail_ discovered long ago what I have just learned. You start with a -general subject and a century. You narrow down until you have a phase -and a decade. If I ever do Gallicanism, it'll be limited to the -influence of the conversion of Henry of Navarre upon the movement. I -could work till my hair was grey developing that. But I should be -narrow-minded and dry as bones when I finished." - -"Ah! You must not quarrel with the greasy fellows," put in the Scholar -from Oxford. "That is research. They are not narrow: they are -specialists." The Scholar is a canny Scotchman who gives his r's their -full value, and then some. - -Allowing the letter r to be heard for sure is another point of contact -and sympathy between Scott and Frank. Just as the cooler Teutonic -temperament seeks the sun, and has been seeking the sun right down -through history, in trying to reach the Mediterranean, the cooler Scotch -temperament seeks the sun where it is nearest to be found--in France. It -is the attraction of opposites. - -"You Americans," said the Scholar, "with your Rocky Mountains and your -Niagaras naturally approach research from the general to the particular. -It is far easier for men born in an older civilization to begin with a -specialist's point of view." - -"I know, I know," said Herbert, "I had to work that out and I had to -change my whole subject, too. I wobbled from Gallicanism to Ottoman -history." - -"That's no sin," declared Alick. "A man engrossed in research is human. -Going to Turkey was bound to influence your thinking. The traditions of -France still hold you, but the memory of Turkey is strong enough to -change the trend of your work. Go on with your origins of the Ottoman -Empire and be thankful you have discovered a line off the beaten track." - -"Yes," I cried, "and for goodness' sake stick to constructive ideas. You -research-fiends waste too much time trying to prove that the other -fellow is wrong. Instead of remaining scientists you get to be -quibblers. But I must leave you now. I cannot put my whole day into the -Bibliothèque. I have to mix up tea-kettles and dusting with pamphlets -and cards for the file." - -As Herbert and the Scholar from Oxford passed by the solemn guard at the -door of the _salle de travail_, I lingered in the lobby musing about -what we had been saying. I leaned for a minute against the pedestal of -the Sèvres vase and watched Herbert and Alick take their places side by -side at the old inked desks. I looked through the great polished plate -glass that makes the _salle de travail_ and the _travailleurs_ seem like -a picture in its frame. I knew from experience that once the two men had -got their noses in their books they would not look up. There was no use -in waiting for a smile. - -* * * * * - -"Boc ou demi?" asked the waiter. - -Herbert and I and the Scholar from Oxford were lunching together in the -Quarter. The Bibliothèque was closed for cleaning, so it was an off day. - -Herbert and the Scholar asked for _bocs_, and I thinking to be modest -chose a _demi_. My eyes nearly dropped out of my head when the men got -glasses of beer and before me stood a formidable mug that held a pint. -Emilie told me afterwards that if I wanted that much beer again the -waiter would understand better if I ordered "_un sérieux_." - -The Scholar from Oxford had the habit of living in our apartment when he -came to Paris. Memories of hospitality on the part of himself and his -wife when we were on our honeymoon in Oxford were fresh, and when the -time came for the Scholar's next look at manuscripts in the Bibliothèque -Nationale, there was no question in our mind--nor in his, for that -matter--as to where he should stay. We set up a folding-bed in the -dining-room and tucked him in. No matter if we did not come back to the -Rue Servandoni at meal time. If we did not want to bother getting up a -meal, we put the apartment key into our pocket and sallied forth on what -we called a baby-carriage promenade. There was always some little place -where we could eat when we got hungry. Once we dined in a _crémerie -chaude_ for no better reason than the attraction of a diverting sign on -the window--_Five o'clock à toute heure_. - -To-day we had decided against Brogart's, our usual haunt, on the rue de -Rivoli. At Brogart's you could lunch for Fr. 1.25 with the _plat du -jour_ and a satisfying range of choice in the fixings that went with it. -It was 1.20 if you invested in tickets. Then you were given a -napkin-ring to mark your serviette, and a numbered hole in the open-face -cupboard screwed to the wall beside the high desk where Madame sat while -she raked in the money and kept a sharp eye on her clients. There was a -division of opinion between Mother and me during a flying visit she made -us just before Christmas. We took her to Brogart's. She saw a fellow, -some kind of a wop with a greasy face and long hair, pick his teeth with -a fork. She never went back to Brogart's again. They don't do that in -Philadelphia. At least if they do, Mother had never happened to see -them. Herbert and Alick and I were less difficult to please. To-day it -was only because we had wandered far afield that Brogart's did not see -us. We had found a table that pleased us in a restaurant that bore the -sign "Au rendez-vous des cochers." We were not looking for a novel -experience. We were not tourists, you understand. It was on account of -the budget. - -Everybody knows that the cochers of Paris are no fools. They can drive a -horse, but they can drive a bargain too and afterwards settle down on -their high box and fling you shrewd observations about art or politics -or what not. But there is more to it than that. When you have lived a -while in the Latin quarter you know who are the expert judges of -cooking. In the old days, the meal you could buy in a tiny dark -_rendez-vous des cochers_ was as tasty as anything you could enjoy on a -Grand Boulevard at ten times the price. Minor details like a table-cloth -and clean forks and knives with each new plate are not missed when the -_gigot_ is done to a turn and the _sauce piquante_ is just right. The -_rendez-vous des cochers_ restaurant has one distinct advantage over the -swell place on the Boulevards. If you are in a hurry to go to the -Concert Rouge and have had no dinner, you can stop for a second at a cab -driver's restaurant while you buy a portion of _frites_. The luscious -golden potatoes, sprinkled with salt, are wrapped in a paper, and you -consume them as you walk up the Rue de Tournon. They don't mind babies -there. Scrappie was asleep in her carriage. Monsier le Patron came out -and rolled the carriage ever so gently under the awning beside the glass -screen by the restaurant door. He beamed at us benevolently, then -stepped over to explain that he was a _père de famille_ and that -_courants d'air_ inflame babies' eyes. - -The Scholar from Oxford is a Scotchman with the Scotch affection for -France. Before the war he came to France and Italy every year to make -enigmatical notes in his own handwriting reduced to cramped proportions. -The notes were placed within columns that were inked out years ago when -he began the monumental work. The columns are drawn across the short -dimension of the paper, so that you have to turn the thing sidewise to -read it. - -There is a variety of ink. The row of notes at the top is all in the -same color. Three quarters of an inch in black mark the first year's -hours spent in the Bibliothèque. Run your eye down a space the width of -your thumb and the ink changes. Count how many ink colors you see, and -you'll know how many times the Scholar from Oxford has come abroad on -his grant. He carries his papers in a shiny black oil cloth _serviette_. -He was modestly imperturbable when with my usual vehemence I gave him a -good scolding because he confessed he had no copy of the precious -sheets. - -"So worked the old monks in the days of the Reformation," said I, "when -a fellow spent his life time laboriously copying the Bible with his own -hand." - -"Ah," mused the Scotchman with his eyes far away, "they were great -scholars, the monks." - -"But it was slow," I protested, "often a man did not live long enough to -illuminate the device at the end of his chapter. Only a great enthusiasm -carried his successors to the end." - -"Without them, think what we should have lost!" - -"But they worked like that, you stubborn one, because there were no -typewriters or secretaries. You cannot persuade me, Alick, that there is -any extra virtue in using their methods today. You should adopt modern -methods so that you could accomplish more. You don't seem to realize -that thirty years from now the world will call you what you are, -Britain's greatest Latin scholar." - -Unconvinced that mediaeval methods belong to mediaeval times, the -Scholar from Oxford lit another cigarette. He still persists in carrying -around Europe, in spite of wars, his priceless record of years of labor. -But he has since become Professor of Humanity at a great University. The -chair that he holds dates back to the day of the methods to which he -remains faithful. - -Home again, I was making the coffee. But I was not out of the -conversation. Our kitchenette was six feet from the dining-room table. -Herbert started to light his cigar. - -"Ah, my lad," said the Scholar from Oxford, staying Herbert's hand, "you -haven't asked the lady's permission!" - -"I guess I can smoke in my dining-room," answered Herbert. - -"You have to ask my permission then," laughed Alick, "before you smoke -in my bedroom." - -Thank heaven, the Bibliothèque Nationale does not make my husband and my -guest stupid. If I could not look forward to jolly evenings, I should -make war upon research work, much as I like Bibliothèque Nationale. - - - - -CHAPTER IX - -EMILIE IN MONOLOGUE - - -"Carrots cost money!" - -"Yes, Emilie?" - -"I had to throw several sous' worth at your window before you got awake -this morning, and when they rolled back some of them fell in the gutter. -Old Sempé saw me take them, and I'm sure he'll ask you to pay for them," -said Emilie, nodding her round head with its well-oiled straight black -hair. Emilie was no more gifted hirsutely than in other feminine -adornments. Since the day we found her cleaning our apartment, at the -request of the Sempés, I had been studying her carefully to decide -whether new clothes and soap would help her appearance. Clean and togged -out in some of my things, she was not radically changed. But her heart -of gold shone in her eyes, and I was not long in learning to love her. - -"You never hear that bell," continued Emilie. "What a conscience you -must have to sleep that way. The carrots are cheaper than paying me from -eight o'clock when you sleep on." - -"Never mind about the carrots," I laughed. "We need you for an alarm -clock, and we did not wake up until one fell on the bed." - -Emilie was my first servant, and I did not have her all the time. All my -life I had been demanding things from servants, but I had never bossed -one in her housework. I dreaded tackling the problem. Emilie was the -easy solution. The _femme de ménage_ system is one of the advantages of -life in Paris. You do not have to house your servant, and she is not in -the way in a small apartment when you do not want her there. You can -have as much or as little of the _femme de ménage_ as you like, or (as -was more often the case in my first year of Paris housekeeping) as you -can afford to pay for. I put Emilie out of the house when the clock -showed the number of times forty centimes per hour that I could spare. -Forty centimes per hour, did I say? Yes, and that was ten centimes more -than others paid in our street. Now it is a franc per hour, and the -_femmes de ménage_ of 1919 growl most of the time and stop work when -they want to whether your house-cleaning or laundry is finished or not. -Emilie set in deliberately to attach herself to me and accepted all my -vagaries. I flatter myself that it was not so much for the extra two -sous per hour as for the fact that she liked me. My queer ways -interested her. She could never understand why I washed Scrappie's -silk-and-wool undershirts myself, but was willing to pay her several -francs for sitting on the coal-box reading a newspaper or dozing for -hours while I went to the opera. - -Emilie was a vaudeville singer and dancer who had lost her figure and -most of her teeth before the bi-decennial of her stage career. - -"To think, Madame, that a few years ago the posters on the _Kiosque_ at -the corner of this street used to announce my number at the music-halls, -and to-day I'm down on the floor washing your tiles!" - -I was pulling the baby's wool stockings on drying-boards. - -"You say you used to be on the stage?" I led on sociably. - -"Yes, Madame, _comique excentrique_. That is why I cannot cook. My -profession required me always to eat in restaurants, but I can wash -dishes, clean rooms and build fires. Thanks to God, for the service you -need, I know how to mind babies. I never had anyone to help me with -Marcelle." - -Marcelle was a fifteen year old girl, hare-lipped and cross-eyed, but -her mother loved her dearly. Emilie did not say who Marcelle's father -was. But she was not as reticent as the woman of Samaria, and would have -scorned to come to me under false pretenses. _Tout savoir est tout -pardonner._ If you cannot live up to the spirit of that motto, do not -plan a life without worry for yourself in Paris. - -"Last year, before I found you, Madame, Marcelle and I were out of -work. When you came in here in July we had earned only fifty francs in -two months. Marcelle did not get her job as laundry apprentice until -October. Oh no, we didn't exactly starve. You can get cold-boiled -potatoes and they sell bits of bread and left over coffee very cheap at -night when the restaurants close." - -Here she sat up to wring her floor-rag into the brown water of the pail. - -"I hope you'll not regret spoiling me the way you do. You let me talk, -but you can trust me not to forget myself. Take this afternoon when -those ladies are coming for tea. You know how I wait on the table. That -is a rôle. I get my happiness in considering everything a rôle. I play -at being _femme de ménage_. These dirty old clothes are my costume: the -bucket and mop are stage properties." - -"Do you like having company at tea?" I broke in. - -"That depends." - -"On what?" - -"On who they are." Here Emilie made up her mind to speak with firmness. -"Now, without indiscretion, Madame, the ladies you asked for this -afternoon are not interesting. I was here when two of them called and -you told them to come to tea." - -"Why not?" - -"The Latin Quarter is full of women like that. I know. I have worked for -them. I have been cleaning at studios and apartments like yours in this -neighborhood ever since I left the stage. I have seen what these women -paint. Oh la! la! Sometimes you cannot tell the canvas from the palette, -Cubism they call it, to hide the fact that they cannot draw and could -not reproduce a figure or any recognizable object to save their lives. -No, I'm not talking of beginners. I'm talking about the old ones, the -women, Americans and English, who do not know how to paint kitchen -chairs or carry a tune, and yet art schools and music academies flourish -on their fees. They were misfits where they came from. It pays their -relatives to send them money every month so they won't come home. But -why should Paris--that is, our part of Paris--be the dumping ground? You -say that there are more men of that kind than women? Yes, oh yes, many -more. But then, after a certain time men give up posing. They do not -mind being taken at their real value. When they are failures, they admit -it. The women keep on pretending." - -Emilie was as good as her word. With a shining face and hair well -slicked back from her ears she appeared at tea time. The ample front was -covered by a clean white apron. She stood at my elbow, her black beady -eyes keen to see what I needed before I asked for it. _Oui, Madame_ and -_voilà, Madame_ came as softly as though, born in a pantry, she had -always served tea. But she could not keep up the play without the -relief of an occasional entr'acte. When she brought me a pot of fresh -tea and guests happened to be looking the other way, she would give a -broad wink and bolt from the room. When the guests left, the kitchen -door was closed. - -"I ought to have made one more appearance, Madame," said Emilie a few -moments later as she settled herself comfortably in the steamer-chair -and took a pinch of snuff. "The model servant would have helped them on -with their coats. But I had all I could stand." - -"But you did very well, Emilie." - -"I got more fun out of it than you did. I said that you were wasting -your time on those people. What did they do? Told you you looked badly. -Asked why you were so tired. Advised you to get a doctor for the baby's -cough. And you think they meant well? That it was solicitude?" - -Here Emilie laughed heartily and wiped the snuff off her hands with the -greasy blue apron that now replaced the white one. - -"You are _naïve_, dear Madame. Women love to tease each other that way, -especially those who are not well or strong themselves. They hate you -for not having ills. If you told them that you had a physical -examination last week and the doctor said you were in perfect condition, -they would shake their heads gravely and warn you that you are -underweight for your height." - -"They did make me mad, I confess, when they volunteered advice about -Scrappie. They used to scold me for nursing my baby and they scolded me -to-day when they heard I had stopped nursing her." - -"That's it! That's it!" cried Emilie. "Next time they talk like that, -show them the little thing, beautiful _rose de mai_ that she is, and ask -them in what way she looks badly." - -Throughout the year at Twenty-One, Emilie was a tower of strength to me. -When we sent our pitchpine back to William Shakespeare and packed our -rugs and brasses, she was on hand as she had been the day we set up our -Lares and Penates in the Rue Servandoni. She urged that we take her to -Constantinople with us. We did, and never regretted it--if only for her -comments on the Turks and Greeks and Armenians. When she realized that -we needed other care than she could give us, Emilie quietly dismissed -herself and went back to France to live in Bordeaux. We see her there -occasionally. She still wears my old hats and blouses. She is still a -_femme de ménage_. And Marcelle has continued to wield the flat-iron. - - - - -CHAPTER X - -HUNTING APACHES - - -I was bathing Christine before the fire. Gabry and Esther came in. The -two girls settled themselves in steamer chairs. - -"We want to know if you will let us come and sleep in your dining-room -to-night," asked Esther. - -"Sure," I answered, "but, mercy me, the bed in there is a little bit of -a narrow one...." - -"That doesn't matter," said Gabry. - -"No, indeed," agreed Esther. "We can cuddle up close and we shan't be in -it very long." - -The baby began to howl. I had been listening to the girls and the side -of the tub had got hot. - -"Poor little dear," said Esther. "Her mother forgot her and she began to -parboil." - -I had the baby safely on my lap now wrapped in towels. Emilie carried -away the bath tub. - -"What's going on to-night?" I asked. - -"Well, it's a fling," said Esther. "You know how it is up at the Hostel. -They are so fussy--you would think it was an old ladies' home. Two boys -that came over in our ship have been studying forestry in some German -school. They are here for the holidays. We got them to promise to take -us with them to-night to see the town--café stuff, you know." - -"Where are you going?" I asked. - -"To a cellar where they do the Apache dance." - -"You don't want to see that," I suggested. "It isn't real. Just a plant -to catch parties like you. Why Herbert and I saw that stunt done in a -cinema the other night. There was a French couple back of us. They -giggled over it. The man said, 'Wait a minute. The police are sure to -come in after that party of Americans are comfortably settled with some -drinks.'" - -"You don't mean it," said Esther. "Don't take the edge off our spree." - -"I'm not taking off edges. Only in the cinema the other night it was -instructive the way the policemen came in. After they had driven out the -most murderous dancing Apaches, the Americans thought it was too hot and -fled. You ought to have seen the way fake Apaches and barmaids laughed -at them afterwards. What is your plan for the night?" - -"First to dinner in some spicy café, then the theatre. We're going to -see _Chantecler_. Everybody's crazy about it." - -"Excepting people who think it is silly," put in Gabry. - -"Well, if it's silly to see actors dressed up in peacock feathers," -cried Esther, "we'll have a good time. And there'll be supper somewhere -afterwards." - -"Going to make a regular night of it, aren't you?" - -"That's just the point. Helen, you're a dear to be so sympathetic. Up at -the student Hostel...." - -"Did they object there to your going?" - -"They don't know a thing about it. It would never do to tell them." - -"Why?" - -"They'd begin to preach," protested Esther. "A pack of school teachers -anyway. That's why we want to spend the night here. We'll just explain, -you understand, that we're going to spend the night with their dear -lovely Mrs. Gibbons. And they'll never know a thing about the fun." - -The girls were moving towards the door. - -"The boys will come here to get us," called Esther. "We'll come down -about half-past six. Herbert won't mind, will he?" - -"We must move along now," said Gabry. "I have a singing lesson." - -"And I have a fitting at the dressmaker's," added Esther. "Ta, ta, -Helen." - -I felt in my bones that I didn't quite know what to do about it and -would wait until Herbert came home. - -When Herbert returned from the Bibliothèque Nationale at noon, I told -him about my visitors. - -"Why on earth--" he began to comment. - -"Oh, they are going to do the Grand Boulevards with a couple of young -American fellows who are in Paris for a vacation," I said. - -"What's the matter with those girls," exclaimed Herbert. "What's gotten -into their heads? Do they think they can come here and start off on an -expedition like that? If they were older, it would be different. If -they're afraid to tell the Hostel people, it shows they know well enough -it isn't just the thing for them to do." - -"I thought so myself." - -"Well, why didn't you right up and say it from the beginning?" - -"Girls wouldn't take it from me. My game was to be absorbent and get the -whole story. They're nearly as old as I am. I couldn't dictate to them. -I don't know how to get out of it." - -"I see," mused Herbert. - -The girls came in about six o'clock to dress for dinner. They had their -suitcases and some flowers, and Esther brought her light blue hat in a -paper bundle. I had told them to telephone their boys to come to dinner -with us before starting out for the theater. This was the only way I -could think of to manage things so that Herbert could see them before -they started away. - -Esther put on the pretty bright blue dress she had bought at the model -shop to go with the light blue hat. She placed the hat, still in its -paper cover, on the top of the wardrobe in the dining-room. Gabry -played with Scrappie, sitting on the floor beside her, where she was -tied in her papa's steamer chair. Esther perched herself on the stool in -the kitchen and watched me frying sausages. Herbert came in after a bit -and wheeled right around from the front door into the kitchen. He didn't -have to walk. It wasn't far enough. - -"Hello, Esther, what are you up to?" said Herbert. - -"Hello, Herb." - -"Come on in the other room. I want to talk to you," said Herbert. - -He closed the door and I heard them talking hard. - -"Gee!" said Gabry. "Esther sounds mad, doesn't she?" - -"Herbert's telling her what he thinks of the party," I said. - -"He doesn't want us to go, does he?" said Gabry. - -"Oh, he's not breaking up the party. Not a bit of it. He only says that -seeing nobody of your crowd knows French and seeing that your mother -made us promise to look after you, he wants to know what café and -theatre you're going to." - -Just as a rather mad-looking Esther and a smiling Herbert appeared, -there was a ring at the bell, and in came the boys, two rosy-cheeked -American youngsters. They came into the kitchen to talk to me a moment, -and then Herbert took them into the dining-room to explain things. I -heard him talking with them, nice American chaps they were, not looking -for trouble a bit. Not the type out for the booze, just bright -youngsters who were going on the boulevards out of curiosity. - -We lighted up the candles in the bedroom-study. Herbert put some new -ones in the candlesticks on the piano and we soon got things going. One -of the boys was taken into the bedroom-study to play a tune on the -piano, and soon Esther cheered up with a face more or less of an April -one. - -"Hello, boys," said Herbert. "The girls have been telling us--Mrs. -Gibbons and I want you to have dinner with us here first so we can talk -over the party." - -"Sure," said John. "We have tickets for _Chantecler_." - -We sat down and tackled _coquilles Saint-Jacques_. - -"You don't want to get in any trouble over this game," Herbert went on. -"Not speaking French and all that...." - -"That's so, too," said Joe. - -"_Chantecler_ is fine and dandy," said Herbert. "If you want supper -afterwards, here's the address of a nice little café." - -"Sunday school picnic," moaned Esther. - -"Esther's inconsolable. She thinks I'm spoiling the fun. But these boys -don't want to get into a doubtful little hole. You don't know what -you're doing, Esther," said Herbert. - -"I'm as old as your wife, so there." - -"You fellows do not want to spend a terrible lot of money. I know you -don't. Esther is mad as a hornet at me because I am going to squelch her -idea of going to Montmartre or Les Halles for a hot old time. I don't -want to seem a poor sport, but you know some of those cafés are fakes, -others are what I shall not mention, and there is a third category of -really dangerous ones. The entire business is carried on to catch and -mulct tourists. If you happen to drift into the fake places, nothing -more serious would happen than getting stuck good and hard. You would -simply have to pay the waiter whatever was on the bill. If you were -considerably older and knew how to speak French, the slumming might -prove interesting--for one evening. But for you the game is not worth -the candle. I don't mind your going for a jaunt along the boulevards, -and I can tell you some of the cafés that are all right. But as for Les -Halles--that doesn't go." - -The boys were sensible. They fell in with our suggestions without -discussion. After dinner the four went off to their show. Next morning I -heard Esther telling Scrappie all about it. - -"The W.C.T.U. wasn't in it, baby. _Chantecler_ was written to please -kids of your age. There was nobody in that Y.M.C.A. café your daddy sent -us to. My blue hat was the most conspicuous object in the place. We -didn't see a thing. No _types_, no wickedness, no models, more than we -ordinarily see around the Quarter." - -Gabry's eyeglasses were shaking on her nose. - -"Tell her what Monsieur Sempé said," urged Gabry. - -"Yes, baby," said Esther, who was laughing in spite of herself now. "Our -mama boys wanted to be polite in the American way last night. They -brought us here and didn't want to leave us until they saw us inside -your saintly doors. But Monsieur Sempé stopped them down at the street -door. He simply yelled at the boys, '_Ça ne se fait pas à Paris, -Messieurs_.' - -"No," concluded Esther, "from start to finish, baby, there was nothing -about our party that would have hurt your lily-white soul." - - - - -CHAPTER XI - -DRIFTWOOD - - -I was nursing Scrappie. Herbert came into the bedroom and started to -speak slowly as if he wasn't sure how I would take what he was going to -say. - -"Fellow out here who is hungry. What shall I do?" - -"Feed him," said I. Herbert did not have to tell me that he had no money -to give the man to buy a meal. "Couldn't you ask him to dinner if he is -all right?" - -"Well, he is sort of an old chap," said Herbert doubtfully. - -I lighted a candle and put it on the end of the mantel-piece nearest to -the baby's bed. She was perfectly contented to go to sleep alone if she -could watch a candle flicker. - -When I had settled Scrappie and opened the window and closed the door -gently, I went into the dining-room and found Mr. Thompson. Sparse grey -hair, watery blue eyes, a talkative individual who hoped he was not -bothering us too much. He wore a frock coat with shiny revers. His cuffs -were unstarched and frayed, but they were clean. Herbert had brought in -some cold boiled potatoes. In those days you bought them cooked at the -_charcuterie_ for the same price that you got them raw at the -greengrocer's. It was a good scheme. You could peel them and slice them -in a jiffy,--then warm them with eggs broken up and scrambled in the pan -beside them. This with cheese and nuts and liqueurs made a meal without -using too much gas. You did it yourself, using no more energy than would -be taken out of you if it had been done by a cook. - -Mr. Thompson did not lie when he told Herbert he was hungry. He had -three helpings of everything. He said little during the meal, but he did -not eat with his knife. When it came to cigars, he pushed back his chair -and spread out his hands to the _boulet_ fire. Casting his eye from the -molding to the floor, he included the dining-room and all the rest of -the apartment with a sweeping gesture and a couple of "Ha-Has." - -"From the looks of this joint, you two youngsters haven't any more money -than you need. This is a good joke on me, too good a joke to keep to -myself. You have given me a square deal along with a square meal, and I -appreciate it. I have lived for years in this Quarter and have earned -precious little money. Sort of a down-and-outer. I am, I suppose, one of -the Quarter's charity patients. Don't worry. I am not going to beg of -you. First time I came to Paris, it was by way of England. I stayed a -long time in Oxford and made friends with the Cowley Fathers. Then I -buried myself in the Bibliothèque Nationale, for I was starting a thesis -in church history." - -"Indeed," cried Herbert. "I have a fellowship in Church History myself. -What is your subject?" - -"Religious orders after the Reformation," said Mr. Thompson. - -"Have you published anything?" asked my husband. - -"No," said Mr. Thompson. "Queer thing life is. We get loose from our -moorings when we least expect it. You won't believe me, but American -generosity was my undoing!" - -"How could that be?" I put in. - -"Don't you know," said Mr. Thompson, "that we are not as much the -captain of our souls as we like to think?" - -He was in a steamer chair now, and lying back, he blew smoke at the -ceiling. - -"But you were saying, Mr. Thompson," said I. - -"I was saying more than I ought to," he mused. - -He had forgotten his cigar. Herbert twisted a bit of newspaper, touched -it to the glowing _boulets_ and held it out to Mr. Thompson. Matches are -expensive in France. - -"Oh!" he started. "I was away back years ago. Thank you. I was wrong a -minute ago when I told you I had said too much. I have said too little. -You have made me feel at home, and I shall be frank with you. It -sometimes wrecks a fellow's career if he receives just a little too -much help. What I am talking about is quite a different thing from what -I may have suggested just now. Not a person spoiled with too much money. -But I was spoiled by the fact that at a certain time, I was able to put -my hands on ever so little money when it was not good for me. Not the -money itself, you understand, but the fact that the game is so easy." - -"But I don't understand," I protested. - -"Of course you don't," said Mr. Thompson. - -He threw the butt of his cigar on the floor, put his foot on it, and -took another from Herbert's box. - -"Sorry I haven't better cigars to give you," said my husband. "These -_carrés à deux sous_ just suit my speed." - -Alas for the _carrés à deux sous_! Of them as of many of our joys we -must say Ichabod. - -"The time came when I ran out of money--but altogether out of money, you -understand. I waited until I was pretty hungry before I told anybody. -Then the American Consul did something for me. Somebody gave me a pair -of shoes. Other persons gave me money, and the day was saved. Again I -became absorbed in my work, to be interrupted by poverty. This time I -went to the pastor of the American Church. He looked me over. Must have -thought I was a good case, as he saw to it that several people did -something for me. After all, it comes easily, and I have lived like -that for years. Sometimes my clothes don't fit very well, but what is -the difference. It has grown upon me until I am utterly unfit to earn my -living. You get nothing twice from the Consulate, and churches are not -good for much. Besides, the churches keep a list of dead-beats. It is -the individual Americans one meets that give away their money -carelessly. I found somebody who listened sympathetically to my -hard-luck story. The story itself was no lie the first time. But it was -so easy--there was the temptation. I tell you frankly that I fell. I -discovered that I could do it again when the hard-luck story was not -true." - -"I hunted you up," continued Mr. Thompson, "with the idea of getting -something out of you. I suppose if I put as much energy into holding -down a job as I do this, I could earn my living. But the habit of living -on the kindness of other people has me in its grip, and I do not stick -to work when it is given to me. I have been pretty faithful to the -Bibliothèque all these years, for it is heated there. I can read my -paper, write some letters and study a little on my church history. The -thesis is growing slowly, but that is all I can say I have done these -twelve years. - -"There are other people who do the same thing, you know. You have met -them without knowing it. Artist fellows, youngsters as well as old ones, -understand the game. Do you know how they work it? It is known now, for -instance, that you receive informally every Wednesday. There are other -days and hosts of women. So it goes. A fellow can get along very cheaply -like that. Pay thirty or forty francs a month for a place to live and -work, two sous each morning for _café au lait_ passed across the -zinc--good coffee too, as you perhaps know. They let you bring your roll -with you if you like. It will cost a sou. One roll and a cup of coffee -is enough after you get used to it. Your only large expense is the noon -meal. - -"Generally the evening meal you can pick up. You find in the social -register the names of all the ladies, kind and unobservant, who have -days at home. You stick a big paper on your wall and mark it off in -seven columns, one for each day of the week. You make a list of the -women who have receiving days, and you drop in somewhere every afternoon -about five-thirty. The tea party is pretty well finished, but there is -usually plenty of food left. The ladies have to provide for more than -really come. You do that yourself, Mrs. Gibbons. The ladies do not -notice that you eat more than one or two sandwiches and plenty of cake. -If they do notice it, it makes them feel happy, and there is your -supper. If you do it systematically with a list like mine, you do not -have to go to Mrs. X's house more than twice in the winter. A lot of -people in the American colony have receiving days. It is easy enough to -know them. All of the boys know a few, and we take each other around. -The artist fellows have a cinch. All they have to do, if they have a -conscience, is to present the hostesses to whom they are the most -indebted, with a couple of worthless sketches. Nobody ever suspects -anything. - -"You can slide in and out in the Latin Quarter and meet any number of -charming people. They never stay too long and there are always new ones -coming in. No hostess is superior to the flattery implied when her tea -is appreciated. I have learned to praise sandwiches so that I can get a -fair supply. I write an article occasionally, and that covers my rent. -Clothes are an easy matter. Any number of people in Paris will give away -clothes. You see I am a deadbeat. I was a deadbeat to-day when I saw in -the _Herald_ that Mrs. Gibbons was going to be at home this afternoon." - -Mr. Thompson got up to go. - -"Where did you put your overcoat?" asked Herbert. - -"I have none," said my guest. - -Herbert's eyes met mine. I telegraphed "Yes." - -Certainly we gave Herbert's old overcoat to Mr. Thompson. As we talked -about it afterwards, Herbert observed, - -"We could not help giving him the coat, could we?" - -"No, of course not." - -We never saw Mr. Thompson again. It isn't in the picture. Driftwood! - - - - -CHAPTER XII - -SOME OF OUR GUESTS - - -The best fun of having a home is sharing it with your friends. But you -deprive yourself of this fun--in a very large measure, at least--if you -make entertaining a burden or a great expense. In the Rue Servandoni we -tried out theories about hospitality that have become firmly rooted -family principles. Guests are _always_ welcome, and we never feed them -better than we feed ourselves. Company is the rule: not the exception. I -suppose my Irish temperament made this possible in the beginning. Now we -would not give up our way of living for anything in the world. By the -standards of my own family I am not regarded as a good housekeeper. I am -finicky only about cleanliness and the quality and quantity of food. The -rest doesn't matter. That is, I have no almanac to show me when to put -away the winter clothes and when to do Spring house-cleaning. I do not -get "all out of kelter" if the wash is done on Thursday instead of -Monday: and I never "put up" fruit or bake. I buy my preserves from the -grocer and my bread and cake from the baker. - -When I look back on Rue Servandoni days and try to analyze my attitude -towards housekeeping, I think first that I may have been demoralized by -living through the Armenian massacres just before going to Paris. It was -enough to make me happy in the morning to realize that my husband and -baby were alive. Did I have a new sense of values, born of suffering? Or -perhaps it wasn't anything as high-brow or pious as that. Perhaps it was -the inheritance of shiftlessness that came down to me from the ancient -Irish kings. This curious form of original sin persists and makes me -able to agree with one who sang when things all got messed up, - - "The cow's in the hammock, - The baby's in the lake, - The cat's in the garbage: - WHAT difference does it make?" - -Now I do not claim that my way is altogether right and that my maternal -Pennsylvania Dutch strain does not occasionally assert itself, though -feebly. I enjoy formal and well-ordered entertaining when it is not a -pretense--when I do not have the uncomfortable feeling that my hostess -has worn herself out getting the meal ready or is offering a meal beyond -her income. - -The alternative in the Rue Servandoni was to have friends take us as we -were or to make an occasional splurge. The latter was thoroughly -distasteful to us both. We held that what was good enough for ourselves -was good enough for our friends, and that they would rather come to our -simple meals than not come at all. How could we hope to compete with -the Café de Paris or Arménonville? And we knew that many who came to us -paid their cook more than our total income. - -[Illustration: Where stood the walls of old Lutetia] - -Is not the question of entertaining a good deal like the question of -other people's wealth? If you are continually striving to keep up with -friends richer than you, you are bound to feel poor. We could put our -heads out of our window, and pity ourselves because we were not living -in steam-heated, electric-lighted Number Nineteen or Number -Twenty-Three. But then, across the street, Number Twenty and Number -Eighteen had _logements_ beside which our apartment was a palace. - -Shortly after setting up our Lares and Penates in Number Twenty-One, a -friend from Denver dropped in just before supper. He was a judge and -silver-mine owner, the father of one of my Bryn Mawr college-mates. I -urged him to stay. He was excusing himself, when I volunteered the -information that our supper consisted of cornmeal mush with milk, and -that was all. He stayed, and told us that it was the best meal he had -eaten in Paris. "I just love cornmeal mush, and I cannot get it at my -hotel," he said. We believed him. He spoke the truth. - -There was always room at our table for friends. An extra plate, and a -little more of what we were having for ourselves--that was all there was -to it. In a big city, especially a city like Paris where shops are in -every street, getting more food quickly is no problem. Herbert would -just slip downstairs to Sempé's for eggs, another chop, another can of -peas, an additional bottle of wine. Next door was the bakery. - -The best friends of our married life have come to us through -unpretentious entertaining. The contact of the home is different from -the contact of the office or club or formal gathering, and it has -enabled me to take every step forward with my husband. Our broadened -vision, our intimate sources of information, the steps upward in our -profession are largely the result of the dinner-table and the -after-dinner smoke before the fire. One illustration shows how chance -influences the whole life. - -Early in the autumn of 1909, we received a letter from a Paris lawyer -who had just returned from settling insurance claims in -massacre-stricken Cilicia. He had been in Tarsus just after we left, and -wanted to meet us. I wrote back to him, as I would have done to anyone -with an introduction like his, "Come to dinner, and if there is a Mrs. -K. bring her with you." He sought us out in our little street. There was -no Mrs. K., but the spontaneity of the invitation and its inclusiveness -had prompted him to break his rule of not accepting dinner invitations. -He was a charming man, full of information and inspiration. When I -brought on the asparagus, he said that in Poland they put burnt bread -crumbs into drawn-butter sauce. I jumped right up, and exclaimed, -"Nothing easier! We shall have _asperges à la polonaise_ right away." In -three minutes the asparagus was to his taste. The lawyer thought out, -and made a suggestion that would certainly never have occurred to him -had I arranged a formal meeting in response to his letter. He told us -that the experience we had in Turkey we should not regard as accidental. -"Why did the massacres occur? You must have asked yourselves that. Now -drop your research into Gallicanism and French ecclesiastical history. A -thousand men are as well equipped for that as you. Turn your attention -to the Turks and the Eastern Question, and from that go into the study -of the contemporary diplomacy of Europe. The Russian and Hapsburg -Empires are built upon the Ottoman Empire. Study the relation of Turkey -to Poland. This is the field for you!" - -In the last few years I have often thought of that evening. We followed -the lawyer's advice. He helped us. He encouraged us. He used to come to -dinner every Tuesday night. We went back to Turkey and came again to -Paris before the Great War. During the years of absence, there had been -frequent correspondence. When we returned, the Tuesday evenings were -resumed. If my husband was ready for the work that came to him with the -war, it is thanks to the Paris lawyer. _The Foundation of the Ottoman -Empire_, _The New Map of Europe_, _The Reconstruction of Poland and the -Near East_, are the outcome of table-talks with the lawyer that began in -the Rue Servandoni. - -In the _pension_ of the Rue Madame we met people whom we invited to come -to see us in the Rue Servandoni. We asked them to our table. They came. -And they have been dinner guests in our different Paris homes during the -past decade. - -There was the Catholic Archbishop of Cairo, an Arab who had the -story-telling gift of his race. You do not know what it is to hear a -story told until you have listened to an Arab. The Archbishop unfolded -to us the lore of the East. There must have been something about _les -petits américains_ that interested him, for our meals could not compete -with Mademoiselle Guyenot's. He used to sit in the steamer-chair, with -his arms folded over his gold crucifix, his cape thrown back on both -shoulders (which gave a dash of red), the end of a long white beard -rubbing the most prominent buttons of his cassock front, and eyes -twinkling in unpriestly fashion. He was the reincarnation of Nasreddin -Hodja, prince of Anatolian story-tellers. Herbert pokes in his bath. One -night, when Scrappie went to sleep earlier than usual, Herbert started -to make his ablutions before the dining-room fire while I was busy in -the kitchen. The door-bell rang. In came the archbishop. There was a -swift change of persons and rooms. Herbert finished his bath in the -kitchen in an incredibly short time. He did not want to miss a moment -of the archbishop. - -Michi Kawai was with me in school as well as in college. Imagine my -delight at finding her one day looking at old furniture in the Rue des -Saints-Pères. If I ever thought of Michi, it was in Tokio. And I never -would have thought of Michi in connection with French antique furniture. -But that is Paris for you. Sooner or later all your friends come to -Paris. You run across them accidentally and invariably they are doing -something you would never have dreamed of associating them with. During -her months in Paris Michi was a frequent visitor in the Rue Servandoni. -She was one of those delightful combinations of Occident and Orient that -Japan produces better than any other nation. She was equally at home -with French and American friends, and, when Emilie was not there, knew -how to juggle my eight cups and saucers and spoons back and forth -between the tea-table and the kitchen, without guests catching on, more -dexterously than any of my American girl friends. - -We started our married life among the peoples of the Near East, and we -found them out there just like other folks, when we took the trouble to -come into intimate contact with them. Racially of course they are -different from us as they are different from each other. Greeks, -Bulgarians, Turks, Armenians, Syrians, Egyptians, Persians--each one of -these names calls up faces of people I love. I have known them in their -homes and in my home. A strong tie binds us to the Armenians. When you -have shared the sufferings, dangers and hardships of a people, they -belong to you and you belong to them in a peculiar way. Armenians came -to the Rue Servandoni, poor boys with no money and no home who had -escaped from Turkey, struggling students, successful painters, brilliant -musicians, wealthy merchants. Every collector of Egyptian curios, of -Turkish and Persian rugs, of Oriental pottery, knows Kelekian of the -Place Vendôme. His small shop is wedged in between a florist and a -ticket-scalper. In the window you never see more than half a dozen -objects. There is always a bowl as a _pièce de résistance_, a bowl that -only a Morgan could afford to own. Pause and look over the curtain, the -chances are that you will see Monsieur Kelekian sitting by a glass case -of Egyptian scarabs. He will be smoking, and his right hand will be on -the case. To know Monsieur Kelekian is to have faith in the resurrection -of Armenia and in the future of one of the oldest races of history. We -came to know him through his interest in the Adana massacres. He had -never heard of the Rue Servandoni, and the street was hardly wide enough -for his automobile. But he came to dinner with his wife--in spite of a -disapproving _chauffeur_, who thought there must be some mistake and who -insisted on inquiring for us first at Number Twenty-Three and then at -Number Nineteen. Although his nose never turned down, he became -accustomed to stopping in front of the grocery! - -Other _chauffeurs_ and _cochers_ learned during that winter a new street -in Paris, and the first time they, too, made the mistake of stopping -next door. Mrs. Evans, sister-in-law of the famous dentist, had a pair -of black horses that shone like the varnish of her victoria. "Dear Mrs. -Evans," as all the women called her, was interested in every good work. -She approved of my husband, because he was a parson, and of me because I -had lived in a missionary college. She knew we had no money and did not -expect us to have any. Her carriage was ours for afternoon rides in the -Bois de Bologne. Scrappie, "that darling missionary baby," must have her -weekly outing. Mrs. Evans, I am sure, believed that the air was not what -it ought to be in our quarter of Paris and that God had intrusted her -with the responsibility of seeing that we were occasionally transported -elsewhere. During that year we made other friends in the American -Colony, who, like Mrs. Evans, cared for us for what we were. They made -Paris home to us in the old-fashioned sense of the word, and the -intimacies then formed have never been broken. - -Gypsy Smith was an English evangelist who came to Paris that winter for -a series of revival meetings in the English-speaking community. He had -been traveling all over the world for twenty years. His wife had had to -stay at home to look after the children. Now, for the first time, she -was free to accompany him, and came to Paris with him. We showed the -Smiths some of the principal tourist points of interest one morning, and -they came home to lunch with us. In the way of entertaining, they had -been "touching the high spots" in Paris, as Gypsy Smith was sought after -by the substantial people of the British and American communities. Our -little home was a revelation to them of the fact that there were other -foreigners living in Paris than the rich. Mrs. Gypsy was greatly pleased -with the novelty of finding "just folks" in Paris. "A cozy little nest -you have here," she said, giving me a nudge with her elbow. - -There were so many people to see in Paris, old friends from home as well -as new friends, that I soon began to have my afternoon. On Wednesdays I -received in that tiny dining-room, with my eight cups and saucers and -spoons, just as if I were mistress of a large establishment. At first, -our neighbors thought it was a christening or funeral. When they -realized that _les petits américains_ over the _épicerie_ were having a -weekly "at home," they were confirmed in their impression of our wealth. -I confess that it was crowded at times and that the party had to -overflow into the bedroom. But it was fun, especially when one of my -girlhood friends, who had known me in Germantown days in my mother's -home, would bring her whole family along to see me, and exclaim, "Why, -Helen Brown--!" But I would get them all in. - -Two days after Christmas, my husband urged me to go walking with him. He -pointed out that no one would come. But I refused. I had more conscience -when I was young than I have now. Being "at home" meant sticking by the -game. I had cheered up the _boulet_ fire in the dining-room. The cups -were on the table. My china platter held a _gâteau mocha_ of dear -memory. Shall we ever again be able to buy layer-cakes with coffee icing -an inch thick done in the delectable ups and downs like a wedding cake? -And that at one franc-twenty-five? - -"Run down, dear, and get me some hot crescents. It's after four o'clock, -so they'll be ready." - -"Now, look here. You've got to be sensible. Everyone has hosts of things -to do Christmas week. Nobody will come. We'll eat the cakes for supper. -Let's go over the river." - -"No, that wouldn't be fair. Somebody might come." - -Herbert got the crescents, put more _boulets_ where I could get them -easily, and was gone. - -I settled myself in the steamer-chair. No sound except the ticking of -our little traveling-clock, and the dropping of a _boulet_ on the -hearth. An hour slipped by, and I began to realize that I might just as -well have gone out. A ring at the bell. When I opened the door, there -was my husband holding a bouquet of roses big enough for a bridesmaid. - -"Good afternoon," said he, bowing low; "do Mr. and Mrs. Gibbons live -here?" - -"To be sure," said I, stifling a giggle. "I am Mrs. Gibbons." - -"Indeed." My visitor shook hands with me and explained, "Mrs. Gibbons, I -am delighted to meet you. I knew your husband years and years -ago--before he was married, in fact. The first pleasure I have allowed -myself in Paris is to look up my friend Gibbons and his wife." - -He hung hat and overcoat in the hall, and handed me the flowers. "What a -charming dining-room. Dear me, have I intruded? You were having a -party?" - -"Just my day at home." - -We chatted for a full hour, discussing the fate of the House of Lords, -about which my new friend confided that he was writing an article. He -hoped some editor would publish it. We talked of the possibilities of -next year's Salons and disagreed on the subject of futurist painting. I -told my visitor about the many American friends that were turning up, -and how the Gibbonses realized that if they wanted to get any work done -in Paris they would have to stop acting as guides. What did he think -about adopting a policy of telling people that Thomas Cook had mighty -good guides at ten francs a day? Perhaps, however, we should make the -last exception with him, and show him the town. - -We talked of Christmas, and then I was asked if I had a baby. I replied -that of course I did. She was over in the Luxembourg Garden with Marie, -who kept her out late on my at-home day, but who would soon bring her -in. - -"People that see resemblance in coloring say she looks like me, but -those that see resemblance in contour say she's the image of her daddy." - -"So!" said my visitor. - -I put my arms around the contour. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - -WALKS AT NIGHTFALL - - -The Prince whom Tartarin met in Africa had lived a long time in -Tarascon, and knew remarkably well one side of the town. He knew nothing -of the other side. This puzzled Tartarin until he found out that his -noble friend's residence in Tartarin's native town was a compulsory one. -The Prince had ample time to study a certain aspect of Tarascon in -detail from the little window of his penitentiary cell. We do not all -have the privilege of devoting ourselves, as the Prince did, to a minute -study of just one view from just one vantage-point. And yet, in certain -things we share the Prince's experience. We become accustomed to a -definite aspect of the things we see to the exclusion of other aspects. -Thus it is that I know many parts of Paris familiarly as they appear at -nightfall. I could go to these quarters at other times, but I never -have. I fear the breaking of the spell. I fear disillusion. And if you -want to follow me in Paris walks through this chapter, plan your strolls -from five to seven during the winter months. - -It began this way. In the Bibliothèque Nationale, as in the Paris of -parks and gardens, the closing hour follows the sun. The Bibliothèque -has no lights. It turns you out at four, half-past four, five or six -according to the season. During the months of longer days, we stayed -until the last bell. In the winter we were put out before the afternoon -was over. One did not feel like making for home immediately. It was too -late to go far afield. We started in to explore Paris in a widening -circle from the Rue de Richelieu. My husband had covered much of this -ground in summer months with the Scholar from Oxford. When the light -held out until late, they had time to visit old Paris with the books of -Georges Cain for guides. In the winter months Herbert took me over this -ground again. But I saw it all at nightfall or after dark. - -It was a wonderful discovery, to combine exercise with interesting -sight-seeing at the end of the day. The habit of walks through city -streets, thus formed, has been persisted in through many busy years. I -recommend it, even to tourists. Use your precious days for churches and -museums and palaces. After they are closed, walk for an hour or two each -night. You will find diversity, and, like Horatio, things you never -dreamed of. And no matter how long you live in Paris, there is always -something new to explore and something equally new when you follow -beaten tracks. - -You have to be--or grow--catholic in your tastes if you want to enjoy -what Paris at nightfall offers. Of course in the beginning you look for -certain things. You have a goal: tracing the city walls from old -Lutetia to Henri IV; seeking traces of mediaeval days; spotting -Renaissance architecture; visiting historic spots or buildings -associated with famous names or events; reconstructing Paris of the -Revolution; or following the characters of Victor Hugo through _Les -Misérables_. Before long you join all these goals, and jump from -architecture to history, from history to literature. In the end, every -walk you take is the observation of living people inseparable from an -incomparably picturesque setting. It may take a long time to realize -that your primary interest is humankind. But when you do the world is a -kaleidoscope presenting new pictures, wherever you may be, each more -fascinating than the one that preceded it. - -"Seek and ye shall find" is a promise with a condition attached to it. -You have to look before you see. An effort of the will is required. -Without that effort, impressions are false or transitory or give no -reaction that sinks deep. We passed close to Messina just after the -earthquake. The captain of our ship obligingly slowed down to -quarter-speed. Passengers crowded against the rail on the Sicilian side -of the straits. - -"Why, Messina is all right!" someone cried. "The newspapers have been -exaggerating again." - -"Wait," suggested a lawyer. He got out his opera glasses. Others did the -same. As we studied Messina from the sea, and looked for the deep -fissures, the crumbling walls, we found them all along the coast. The -American soldier who told me, "Since I been in France I ain't seen -nothing but kilometres and rain," was not looking for anything else. - -Strolling after dark helps to bring into the foreground the human -element in the picture of Paris streets. Your field of vision is -limited. You do not see too many things at once. And you have to keep -your eyes open. Many a quaint corner, many a building, is less often -missed at nightfall than during the day. - -Paris is divided into arrondissements, each one with its local -administration, its _maire_, its _mairie_, its postal service, and its -police. The postal authorities have tried in vain to insist upon the -placing of the arrondissement indication upon the letters. But they have -never had much success. It is enough to remember where your friends live -without having to keep in mind twenty different arrondissements! Before -the war your arrondissement meant little to you, and you often did not -know its number if you wanted to be married, to register the birth of a -new baby, or got into difficulties with the police. Since the war, -residents in Paris came to know their own arrondissements because of -bread tickets, passports, income-tax declarations and other annoyances. -But in planning your walks at nightfall, it is helpful to take a map of -Paris and know something about the divisions of the city. We started our -explorations by hazard, and then found to our astonishment that we had -been going from one arrondissement to another, practically following the -numerical order. - -The Bibliothèque Nationale is just on the border between the First and -Second Arrondissements. Arrondissements One to Four are the old city on -the Rive Droite between the Grands Boulevards and the Seine. -Arrondissements Five to Seven include similar quarters on the Rive -Gauche. Some of the most interesting strolls are in the outer -arrondissements. But the seven inner arrondissements provide enough for -years without ever having to take the subway or tram. - -The four Rive Droite arrondissements stretch from the Place de la -Concorde to the Place de la Bastille, and include the Ile de la Cité and -the Ile Saint-Louis. The three Rive Gauche arrondissements stretch from -the Eiffel Tower to the Jardin des Plantes. On the Rive Droite the Place -de l'Opéra and the Place de la République, and on the Rive Gauche the -Place de Breteuil and the Place de l'Observatoire, are the outer corners -of the inner arrondissements. The Boulevard de Sébastopol on the Rive -Droite and the Boulevard Saint-Michel on the Rive Gauche form the only -straight route, cutting through the mass of tangled streets of -succeeding centuries. Running north and south, this central line divides -the arrondissements as the Seine does, running east and west. - -I have a horror of guide-books, partly because I do not know how to use -them (I never have learned!) and partly because I love to find my way -without pre-meditation and by accident. But many of my readers will -never have the same opportunity I have enjoyed of discovering -fascinating spots at nightfall. Why should I resist the temptation of -indicating some of the strolls that make the late winter afternoons -delectable? - -Everyone knows the Rue de Rivoli as far as the Oratoire or perhaps to -the Tour Saint-Jacques. At the crossing of the Boulevard Sébastopol, the -Rue de Rivoli leaves the familiar heart of Paris and enters the Fourth -Arrondissement. It becomes the Rue Saint-Antoine a couple of blocks -before the Eglise Saint-Paul. There the first break in the straight line -from the Place de la Concorde occurs. You deflect a little bit to the -right, and before you is the Bastille column. The Rue de Rivoli and the -Rue Saint-Antoine are the main artery of the Fourth Arrondissement. No -quarter of Paris affords more variety in walks at nightfall. Starting -from the Boulevard de Sébastopol, the streets on the left, at angles and -parallel to the main artery, are a labyrinth. Here is the Ghetto in a -setting incomparably more picturesque than the Ghettos of London and New -York. I doubt if even the oldest Paris _cocher_ finds his way here -unerringly. Through some of the streets no carriage can pass. The -narrowest street in Paris, the Rue de Venise, is here. Beginning -opposite the Hôtel de Ville, the Rue du Temple cuts through the Ghetto -all the way to the Place de la République. Then come the equally -interesting right-angle streets, the Rue des Archives and the Rue -Vieille du Temple. On the latter faces the Imprimerie Nationale. And do -not miss the parallel streets, Rue de la Verrerie, Rue du Roi de Sicile, -Rue Sainte-Croix de la Bretonne, Rue des Rosiers. Further along (now we -are in the Rue Saint-Antoine) the Rue de Birague leads one short block -into the Place des Vosges, one of the rare bits remaining of Paris of -Henri IV. - -On the right hand side we have the Hôtel de Ville, the old buildings -behind the Lycée Charlemagne and the Quai des Célestins. Several bridges -cross to the Ile de la Cité and the Ile Saint-Louis. The Pont -Saint-Louis connects the two islands. There is nothing more wonderful in -Paris than to cross the Pont Sully from the eastern end of the Quai des -Célestins, walk through the Rue Saint-Louis-en-l'Ile, and come suddenly -upon the apse of Notre Dame, protected by its flying buttresses. - -In the Second Arrondissement, start from the Place des Victoires at the -end of the Rue des Petits-Champs, and find your way through the various -tortuous routes that bring you out on the Grands Boulevards to the -Boulevard Poissonnière, the Boulevard Bonne-Nouvelle and the Boulevard -Saint-Denis. A few hundred feet from the Grands Boulevards, to the right -of the Rue Saint-Denis, as you go toward the river, Paris of the -Revolution remains in almost as full measure as in the Sixth -Arrondissement. - -We must not leave the Rive Droite without mentioning two walks at -nightfall in the outer arrondissement. From the Place de la République, -the most interesting glimpse of a crowded workingmen's quarter can be -gained in an hour by walking up the Rue du Faubourg du Temple, which -becomes the Rue de Belleville. There is a steep climb until you reach -the Eglise Saint-Jean-Baptiste. To the right is Ménilmontant, dominating -the famous Père-Lachaise cemetery, and to the left you can climb still -farther to Buttes-Chaumont. The second walk is along the Quai de -Jemmapes, which you reach by turning to the left from the Rue du -Faubourg du Temple just after crossing the canal. A few blocks up, on -the right, through the Rue Grange aux Belles you pass the Hôpital -Saint-Louis, a group of seventeenth-century buildings which continue to -do blessed work in the twentieth century. - -Dear me! I have forgotten Montmartre, where you climb endless flights of -stone steps and find--despite the tourist _réclame_--probably more of -old Paris than in any other part of the city. - -On the Rive Gauche, the walks at nightfall are more difficult to -indicate. You can go anywhere in the three inner arrondissements, and -you will not be disappointed. Walk year after year and you will begin to -wonder whether you ever will follow out the oftformed resolution of -returning to America to live. In the Seventh Arrondissement the region -between the Quai d'Orsay and the Rue de Sèvres, the Rue des Saints-Pères -and the Invalides is the Faubourg Saint-Germain, where are to be found -the finest residences in Paris, far ahead of anything in the Etoile -Quarter. But unless you are lucky enough to have the _entrée_ to -aristocratic and diplomatic Paris, you can only guess at the beauty of -the gardens whose trees thrust alluring limbs over high walls and at -what is behind the stately portals of the _hôtels_. - -In the Sixth Arrondissement the Boulevard Saint-Germain and the Rue de -Vaugirard are the best streets to take as guides in your wanderings. -Between the boulevard and the river, and between the boulevard and the -Rue de Vaugirard, most of the streets are thoroughfares, a swarming mass -of autos and wagons and push-carts, between five and seven. - -What shall I say of the Fifth Arrondissement, most fascinating of all to -me because I know it best at nightfall, I suppose? My favorite nightfall -walk in Paris is behind the Panthéon. Start at the Place Maubert, on the -Boulevard Saint-Germain, climb the Rue de la Mont Sainte-Geneviève. Turn -to the left through the Rue Descartes, and you will find yourself in the -Rue Mouffetard. Here you are as far from modern Paris as you will ever -get. You walk for nearly a mile with no interruption of trams and -omnibuses. No taxi cab or truck would dream of using the Rue Mouffetard -as a thoroughfare. And yet, on the Rue Mouffetard, to eat and drink and -dress yourself and furnish your house, you can buy all you need. You do -not have to hunt for it: it is displayed before your eyes. The Rue -Mouffetard. Here you are as far from modern Paris time, and I might -shrink from some of the foodstuffs, if not all, it offers, were I to buy -by sunlight. But by flickering torch-light the Rue Mouffetard is Araby -to me. And I never come out at the Avenue des Gobelins without a sigh. -Why isn't the Rue Mouffetard just a bit longer? - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - -AFTER-DINNER COFFEE - - -A visitor once asked me how it was possible for Paris to maintain so -many cafés, and said how distressing it was to see so many women in them -and there was more drinking than in New York or London--question and -inferences all in one breath, just like my sentence. My friend was -bewildered because he did not understand the _raison d'être_ of the café -in French life. He thought that a café was a place to drink according to -the American notion of drinking. The women were bad women in his eyes -and the men on the downward path. To one who holds this curious notion -the number of cafés in Paris and the crowds in them and at the little -tables in front of them are inexplicable and alarming. Cafés, -restaurants, _brasseries_ and _zincs_ line the boulevards, and there are -at least two or three to a block in every street. Owing to the intensive -apartment house life shops of all kinds are more frequent in Paris than -elsewhere, but you may have to walk to get anything you want. To drink -or eat, no. The place is right under your nose. - -All restaurants serve drinks. I know of only one non-alcoholic -restaurant in Paris: that is the vegetarian place on the Rue -Notre-Dame-des-Champs! If you did not eat in a "drinking-place," you'd -pretty soon starve. Many of the big cafés do not serve food. Some have -one dish, called the _plat du jour_, with cheese and fruit afterwards. -Others have oysters and snails and their own _specialités_. Others, -while not advertising meals, serve a _table d'hôte_ or a very limited _à -la carte_. In all, however, hot coffee is to be had at all hours and -every kind of a drink is on tap. The _zincs_ are little bits of places -where you get hot coffee, beer or a _petit verre_. Coal and wood -merchants also serve alcohol. In the more humble streets (which are to -be found in every quarter), cafés are dirty stuffy places, known as -_débits_. Rare is the "drinking-place" that has not its _terrasse_. This -may be only a chair or two and a single table on the side-walk. - -The _terrasses_ of restaurants as well as of cafés are maintained -throughout the winter. It is a familiar sight to see a table-cloth -flapping in the wind, held down by a salt-cellar and a mustard-pot. The -days are few that you cannot sit out. It does not get very cold in Paris -and an awning protects you from the rain. In some of the boulevard cafés -the _terrasses_ are actually heated by stoves! - -The Paris café is wholly different from the American saloon. None thinks -it is wrong to drink in France. Total abstinence is a funny American -idea to our friends overseas. Taking a drink in public is as natural as -putting your arm around your girl in public. Everybody does it. You -rarely see a drunken man or woman just as you rarely see poverty. -Alcoholism (by which is meant poisoning the system and breaking down the -health by excessive use of alcohol) is an evil France has to combat as -much as any other country. But the French have never had it preached to -them that the evil can be overcome by prohibiting the use of wines and -liquors or by the example of a part of the community voluntarily -abstaining for the sake of weaker brothers. The anti-alcohol movement in -France does exist. As the maintenance of war legislation against -absinthe and kindred spirits proves, it has public opinion behind it. -But the connotation of _alcoholic_ is limited in France. The Gallic -sense of proportion prevents the French from extremes in anything. Since -they do not drink to excess, they have no reason for regarding beer and -wines as alcohol. Often your French friends tell you that they never -touch alcohol. In the same breath they offer you delicious wine. - -Scruples understood and appreciated in America are often meaningless -when you live in another country. Stick to your white ribbon principles -if you will, but do not persist in your notion that cafés are places -where it is not respectable to be seen. Why cut yourself off from an -indispensable feature of Paris life? - -[Illustration: The Panthéon from the Rue Soufflot] - -The hour of the _apéritif_ finds the _terrasses_ of the cafés crowded. -You may have difficulty in getting a place outside. Having worked all -day and perhaps having walked home, the Parisian saves a half hour -before dinner for his appetizer. He sits at the little table in front of -his favorite café and watches the passing crowd. It is no hastily -swallowed cocktail, leaning against a bar and shut off from eyes like -mine by a swinging screen door. It is no prerogative of man. Sometimes -on week days and always on Sundays, his wife and children are with him. - -When we were living in the Rue Servandoni, we got into the habit of -going out for our after-dinner coffee. The reason was probably the same -as that of most Parisians. Living quarters were small. The baby was -asleep in the front room. Toward the end of the month especially we were -not always in a position to keep the tiny dining-room fire replenished -all evening. We thought of the gas bill. We liked to get a little air. -We were fond of music. Arm in arm we would walk along the Rue Vaugirard -to the Boul' Miche. From the Closerie des Lilas near the Observatoire to -the river you had plenty of choice for your after-dinner coffee. At the -foot of the Rue Soufflot is the Café du Panthéon. On the corner of the -Rue de la Sorbonne is the Café d'Harcourt. Just off the boulevard, on -the Rue de l'Ecole de Medecine, is the Taverne Pascal. These were our -favorites. Pascal has no _terrasse_. We went there when it rained or -when we thought of Munich beer. Harcourt used to have a red-coated -orchestra, and was the gayest place on the Boulevard Saint-Michel. At -the Panthéon you paid two sous more, but the coffee was better. We never -had to spend more than a franc for the two of us. A checker-board or -cards could be had of the waiter. If you wanted to write letters, you -asked for a blotter and pen and ink. - -Just around the corner from us, on the Rue de Tournon, was the -Concerts-Rouges, the blessed institution to make unnecessary the tragedy -of would-be musician and singer failing to get a hearing. Pianists, -violinists, cellists and future opera stars had a place to put on their -own concerts at little cost. We were the audience. Of course it was not -all amateurs: the management had to promise an audience. A good -orchestra gathered around the stove in the middle of the room. You sat -in a chair such as they have in school rooms, whose right arm spread out -generously to give space for your notebook. There was room, too, for -coffee-cup or stein. The only rule of the Concerts-Rouges was silence. -You could move your chair away from the music. When you were not -interested in the number, you read or wrote. Many theses and dramas and -poems have been worked out in the Concerts-Rouges. - -The Boulevard du Montparnasse, which has since become our home, was not -too far from the Rue Servandoni to be frequented for after-dinner -coffee. The Dôme, on the corner of the Boulevard Raspail, and -Versailles and Lavenue, opposite the Gare Montparnasse, were -after-dinner coffee haunts where friendships that have lasted through -the years were formed. We still sit there. Lavenue, after five years of -silence, again offers music. But we miss Schumacker, beloved of the -Quarter, who fell, they say, in the ranks of the enemy. His face is one -of those I cannot forget. I see him now, blue eyes and bright smile and -bushy hair, bending over his violin on the little platform by the piano. -He seemed to play his heart out and never tired. I always like to write -my letters at Lavenue. When I called for "_de quoi écrire_," the waiter -brought a tiny bottle of ink, spillable and square, sheets of ruled -writing paper and the cheapest quality of manila envelopes in a black -oilcloth folder, whose blotter never blotted. But you did not care. You -listened to the music after each page until it dried. - - - - -CHAPTER XV - -REPOS HEBDOMADAIRE - - -In Philadelphia you still find shutters with the rings at the middle of -their closing edge. To one of the rings is tied a piece of tape. In my -grandfather's house of a Sunday the shutters were together almost to the -touching point and held that way by the tape tied to the other ring. A -vertical bar of sunshine filtered through the slit. The parlor was cool -and quiet. Nothing moved. My father told me that when he was a little -boy he had to sit at one of those windows all Sunday afternoon -memorizing passages from the Bible. I wonder if in America there are -still many families who install in their children a repugnance for the -Scriptures by this sort of torture, whose observance of Sunday is -reached by a process of elimination of everything a normal person would -instinctively choose to do on a day of rest, and where there are more -don'ts for the children on Sunday than on Monday. Sunday seems to me a -happier day in America now than it was twenty-five years ago. But for -all that we do not enjoy it the way the French do. Until I lived in -France I never knew the full meaning of what I was singing in the hymn, -"O day of rest and gladness." - -The French dress up for Sunday as we do. I suppose as large a proportion -of the Parisians go to church as of Americans in any large city. But -once mass is over the day is given to recreation--and recreation out of -doors. What is more depressing than an English or American city on -Sunday? Sunday in Paris is the most animated day of the week. The French -word _endimanché_ is translated in dictionaries "in Sunday best." It has -a wider connotation. A place as well as a person can be _endimanché_. -The word brings up to the mind of one who has lived in Paris crowds, -laughter, fun, open air. How different from sitting on a chair in a room -with bowed shutters when common sense would dictate getting your lungs -filled with fresh air and worshipping God in communion with nature! - -In the Rue Servandoni days we came to know the joy and benefit of the -Continental Sunday. And ever since we have brought up our children to -look forward to Sunday as the best day of the week, the out-of-doors -day, when the family could be together from morning to night. - -The great thing about Sunday in Paris is that fathers and mothers and -children go out together, all bound for the same place, and stick -together. The family includes grandfathers and grandmothers, who are -always given the best places in the train, the choicest morsels to eat -and who to the day of their death are the adored center of the family -party. Mother carries the _filet_, a big net with handles filled with -good things to eat, and the baby too small to navigate alone is held in -father's strong arms. You can tell little sisters--and even big -ones--for they are dressed alike. Trams and trains for Versailles, the -Bois de Bologne, Saint-Germain-en-Laye and a dozen other equally -attractive suburbs are not taken by assault. The family waits in line at -the tram station, young and old clutching the precious little tickets -that tell them when it is their turn to get places. Everybody has his -chance, and there is no need to worry about grandmother or the baby. -Trams are not overcrowded: there are seats for all. If there is not the -money to go far from home, or if the weather is too threatening, each -quarter has its park, the Luxembourg, Montsouris, Monceau, -Buttes-Chaumont, Jardin des Plants, Vincennes, or the simple _squares_. -For two cents you have the right to sit on chairs near the band-stand. -First come, first served. The only restriction here is that -baby-carriages must stay outside of the enclosure for music-lovers. In -the baby-carriage zone, nobody minds if a baby howls: you may be in the -same condition at the next minute. - -Merry-go-rounds, Punch and Judy, swings and donkey-carts are everywhere -to be found for the children. At four o'clock the woman with fresh rolls -goes by. Hot _gauffrette_ and hokey-pokey venders are always near at -hand. If you do not want hokey-pokey, there is _coco_ to drink. The -innocent Sunday fun is not "the kind of thing no-one would think of -doing." Once I was waiting for the wife of a professor of the Ecole de -Guerre, who was later a brilliant general on the Marne. It was Sunday -afternoon. She excused herself for being late. "I stopped in the square -to listen to the band, and I had to have some _coco_. I never can pass a -_coco_ cart," she explained. More than once have I seen a mother, -elegantly dressed, come hurrying to the garden, sit down on a bench, and -nurse a baby handed to her by a nurse in cap and ribbons. I have done -that myself. Is there anything shocking about this? It is the natural -out-of-doors instinct. Distinguished looking gentlemen wearing rosettes -of the Legion of Honor head family excursions. They do not mind pushing -baby-carriages, either. - -On a good day the Seine boats are crowded. From Charenton to -Saint-Cloud, there is an endless procession of boats on a Sunday. -Parisians never tire of the spectacle of their city from the river. They -name the bridges as they pass under them and tell their stories to the -children. River clubs abound, and all Paris seems afloat in row-boats -and canoes. From one end of the city to the other the banks of the Seine -are lined with fishermen who seem never to become discouraged. Seine -boating is not without its dangers. But in the Bois de Boulogne the most -inexperienced learn to row and paddle in the shallow water of the lakes. -A miniature railway crosses a corner of the Bois from the Porte Maillot -to the Jardin d'Acclimatation, where kiddies can ride on elephants and -camels or be drawn by ostriches and zebras. - -No park is too small to have its ducks and swans with unlimited capacity -for bread-crumbs, its band-stand, its open-air restaurant where drinks -are served and you bring your own food, and its place without grass -where you can stretch your own tennis-net between trees. - -The Seine boats, the subway, and many tram lines land you at the foot of -the Eiffel Tower. An elevator quickly takes you above Paris for a view -that was unique before the days of aeroplanes. Near by is the Great -Wheel, always revolving from morning to night on Sundays. Parisians do -not feel the lack of the roofs of skyscrapers when they want to look -down on their city. - -For several hundred yards around the fortifications of Paris the law -forbids the erection of permanent buildings: at least, if you do build -in stone and mortar, you risk having your house destroyed, as many found -to their cost in 1914. This enormous land surface, between the city and -suburbs is covered with wooden shacks of rag-pickers and junk-dealers. -Everyone seems to have a very small holding, as the ground is of little -value either for residential or manufacturing purposes. Here thousands -of Parisians own cabins and have miniature vegetable gardens, which they -cultivate on Sunday, dreaming of the day when there will be enough -money in the bank to retire permanently to some quiet country spot. They -come home with arms filled with vegetables and flowers. - -In the year at the Rue Servandoni Herbert and I started to explore on -Sundays the _banlieue_ of Paris. Despite increasing "encumbrances" of -different ages, we have managed to keep up our delightful excursions -from early spring to chestnut time, and often on winter Sundays. But we -do not pretend to have exhausted in ten years the possibilities of -Sunday afternoons. We are always discovering new excursions for the -_repos hebdomadaire_. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI - -"MANY WATERS CANNOT QUENCH LOVE" - - -Higher than 1883; higher than 1879; higher than 1876; higher than 1802; -higher than 1740; higher than 1699; equalling the flood of 1658, the -worst in the history of Paris; finally breaking all records, both as to -height attained and as to damage done, such was the daily crescendo of -the press in recording the progress of _la Grande Crue_ during the last -week of January, 1910. No investing army, no Commune, no revolution, -threatened Paris this time. The best friend of Paris had turned against -her. For several days the older generation, who passed through the -trials of 1871, recalled painful memories and feared a worse peril from -the Seine than from the German invaders or the Internationalists. - -In the third week of January, from Tuesday to Friday, we were concerned -over the news of devastation wrought by floods in different parts of -France. There was much damage and suffering in our own suburbs. -Sympathetic editorials appeared in the newspapers: relief funds were -opened. On Friday afternoon, when we were taking a walk along the -_quais_ of the Rive Gauche, we had no suspicion what was going to -happen. - -Only on Saturday did Paris begin to worry for herself. Neuilly and -Courbevoie were flooded. Loroy reported ten drowned. The Seine, within -the city limits, suddenly rose ten feet. The first subway tunnel, that -of the "Métro" from the Chatelet under the Cité to the Place -Saint-Michel, was filled with water. The river spread into the original -"Métro" line under the Rue de Rivoli. The second tunnel, that of the -"Nord-Sud," was an easy prey because it was still in the course of -construction. The Gare d'Orléans was invaded. Its tracks, which parallel -the left bank of the river under the _quais_, disappeared. The Gare -d'Invalides, whose line runs the opposite direction along the Seine, was -also flooded. - -On Sunday morning we heard that in the Rue Félicien-David people were -rowing around in boats. We thought this interesting enough to invest in -a _fiacre_, and took Scrappie in the afternoon to Auteuil. On the way, -we got out and wormed ourselves through the crowd to hear the waters -swishing around the stair-cases down to the train levels at the two -flooded stations. When we reached the Rue Félicien-David and actually -saw people in boats, we bought photographs from an enterprising hawker, -wanting to preserve this souvenir of Paris. Little did most of the crowd -dream that within a few days they would not have to go farther than -their own front windows to see such a sight! - -On Monday evening everyone realized that the flood was not a curious -spectacle but a disaster. The river had been rising at the steady rate -of an inch an hour, and by nightfall was sixteen feet above its normal -height. Herbert decided to report the flood. This justified a taxi-cab -by the day. As this was an unheard-of luxury for the Gibbons family, -which had few chances to ride in automobiles at that stage of its -evolution, of course the baby and I decided to profit by the -opportunity, even though it was winter and not the best time of the year -for joy-rides. Anyway, I was interested in the great drama that was -being enacted, and we could tell Scrappie about it later. From notes -taken at the time, I am able to reconstruct the story of days as -stirring as any of those during the Great War. - -On Monday afternoon we went up and down the _quais_. All the river -industries, with their wooden buildings squatting on the river bank -under the shelter of the solid ramparts of the _quais_, were swept away. -Freight and customs stations and depots came within the grasp of the -river. At the Entrepôt de Bercy and the Halle aux Vins, barrels of the -spirits and wine were first gently floated and then drawn out into the -angry stream. The water in the Nord-Sud tunnel was threatening the Gare -Saint-Lazare. The Eiffel Tower moved slightly.[C] The cellars of the -public buildings along the river front--Palais de Justice, Chambre de -Deputés, Hôtel de Ville, Monnaie, Institut, Chancellerie de la Légion -d'Honneur, Grand Palais, Louvre--were gradually flooded until their -furnishings were extinguished. At Billancourt we saw the inundation of -the Renault automobile works and the Voisin aeroplane factory. The -effect of the latter disaster reached as far as Heliopolis in Egypt, -where an Aviation Week was scheduled. In those days aeroplanes were in -their infancy and depended upon a single factory for their motors. - -[C] My critic says this is not true. He did not see it, and he doesn't -think it is possible that the Tower would have remained standing, if it -had moved during the flood of 1910. But I find this statement in my -notes. Why shouldn't the Eiffel Tower move? I reminded my critic that we -had seen together on our honeymoon at Pisa a tower that had been leaning -for centuries. I do not intend to cross out this statement about the -most striking landmark of Paris, the participant in most of my vistas. - -Tuesday morning a heavy snow was falling. Awakened early by an -explosion, we thought that the Pont de l'Alma was being blown up. This -heroic measure had in fact been contemplated by the city engineers in -order to prevent the backing up of the water into the Champs-Elysées -district. The flood was rapidly gaining street after street in Auteuil -and Charenton. A rumor was afloat that we would soon be cut off from the -outside world. This meant a run on provisions and profiteering by -shopkeepers. We yielded to the common impulse and laid in kerosene and -potatoes for ourselves and condensed milk for Scrappie, paying double -prices and thinking we were lucky in having a chance to buy. - -On Wednesday morning commenced what we regarded at the time as a real -reign of terror. Underground communication ceased. Owing to the -inundation of their power houses, electric-trams stopped running. The -subway station at Bercy collapsed. Sewers began to burst in all quarters -of the city. A subterranean lake formed under the Rue Royal from the -Place de la Concorde to the Madeleine, and the street was closed to -traffic. In front of the Louvre and at the Pont de la Concorde soldiers -worked night and day raising the parapets higher and building barricades -with paving-stones and bags of cement. By evening the water had reached -a height of thirty feet, breaking all records since 1799. Refugees began -to pour into the city by the thousands and were lodged in the old -Seminary of Saint-Sulpice near us, the Panthéon and other public -buildings. The Red Cross began to be displayed throughout the city. -Boats and sailors arrived from seaports. The markets required -substantial police protection to prevent mobs from taking them by storm. - -On Thursday and Friday the fight against the ever-rising waters was -continued with desperate energy. In spite of all that human skill and -labor could accomplish, the Seine pushed its way over parapets and -through barricades, flooding rapidly the _quais_ and adjoining -quarters. By means of subways and sewers (channels opened to the river -by man's hand and that had not existed in the -seventeenth-and-eighteenth-century floods), districts far from the river -suffered equally. Auteuil, Grenelle, Charenton, Bercy were submerged. On -either side of the Trocadéro the palatial private homes of the _quais_ -were in the Seine up to the second story. The river appropriated to -itself the entire length of Cours-la-Reine from the Pont de l'Alma to -the Pont de la Concorde, reached the fashionable restaurants at the foot -of the Avenue des Champs-Elysées, and partly surrounded the two palaces -of Fine Arts, souvenirs of the Exposition of 1900. The streets between -the Avenue des Champs-Elysées and the river formed a transplanted -Venice. - -Hotels and stores on the Rue de Rivoli, the Théâtre Français--and even -the Opéra--found their heat and light cut off by the attack of the -Seine. Far away from the _quais_, in the neighborhood of the Gare -Saint-Lazare, the Seine, following the subway tunnel, burst forth into -the Place du Havre and the Cour de Rome. Hasty barricades were of no -avail. One could hardly trust his eyes when he looked up the Boulevard -Haussmann from the Opéra and saw boats flitting back and forth as far as -Saint-Augustin and the Boulevard Malesherbes. On the Rive Gauche the -aspect of Paris grew even more alarming. The Esplanade des Invalides and -the Quai d'Orsay joined the Seine. Soldiers threw a pontoon bridge -across the Esplanade for pedestrians. But taxi-cabs and buses were -compelled to plunge into the water hub-high. We saw motor-drawn vehicles -stalled because the water had reached their engines, while the -old-fashioned _cochers_ went merrily by, proud of their superiority. All -the people in _fiacres_ had to do was to put their feet up on the -_cocher's_ box. The Chamber of Deputies and the Ministery of Foreign -Affairs were approachable by boat. The angle formed by the Boulevard -Saint-Germain, the Quai d'Orsay and the Rue du Bac was all under water. -In this angle the Rue d'Université and the Rue de Lille were practically -inaccessible. We who lived in the Latin, Luxembourg and Montparnasse -Quarters could reach the Seine only by the Rue Dauphine or the Boulevard -Saint-Michel. For increasing torrents soon covered the Rue des -Saints-Pères, the Rue Bonaparte and the Rue de Seine. We had never -realized before how the early builders of Paris, in their determination -to stick to the river for purposes of defence, had reclaimed ground much -lower than the flood level of the Seine, relying upon the masonry of the -_quais_ to keep back the river. In modern times we have undermined the -natural defences of the Rive Gauche by bringing our railways to the -center of the city, by our sewers and by the subways. When you are on a -Seine river-boat, you can see all along the river how we have opened up -the city to floods. Paris, honeycombed underground, fell an easy prey -to the fury of the river. The very skill that added to the material -comfort and well-being of the city made Paris vulnerable when the -unexpected and unprecedented happened. - -The Jardin des Plantes, set apart originally for botanical purposes as -its name indicates, has gradually become the Paris "Zoo." Many American -tourists go there because it is the place where Cuvier worked and do not -realize that it is the home of wild animals also. The Jardin -d'Acclimatation in the Bois de Boulogne is more visited, and I have -often heard my compatriots express surprise at the paucity of what they -think is the Paris "Zoo." The Jardin des Plantes is less fashionable but -much richer in its variety of animals. As it is on the river, it was -invaded by the flood. In the first days, before we realized the calamity -of the rising waters, the Jardin des Plantes was thronged with visitors. -Interest centered around the bear-pits. The polar bears alone seemed to -enjoy splashing in the icy waters. The climbers were soon treed. It was -an engineering feat to rescue them with planks and prod them into -portable cages. The non-climbers narrowly escaped drowning. We watched -them lifted out by cranes, caught in sturdy nets. This was the only -means of rescue as they tore with their claws the bands that were first -placed around them by men whose only experience had been lifting horses -and cows from pits. - -When the river broke all records, the whole garden was flooded. Many -keepers were prevented from reaching their posts. The police took -charge. Food supplies were lacking, and the few keepers on hand did not -dare to let their dangerous charges loose. The furnaces were flooded and -there was no heat. In the monkey-houses the shivering animals, perched -high, scolded and growled with chattering teeth. We saw them form a -swinging bridge to lift out of the water's reach one of their number who -seemed unable to climb. Lions and tigers, cold and hungry, roared and -dashed themselves against their bars until the belated order arrived to -shoot them. The hippopotamus, contrary to tradition, drowned. Only the -birds, proud possessors of the secret of aviation, were superior to the -calamity. Here was the occasion for a new Noah. But alas, not even an -ark arrived, and it took Paris many years to restock the garden. Even -now there are no giraffes like those that used to look at us from their -sublime heights. - -On the River Droite, the Gare de Lyon was an island. Nearer the flood -took possession of the Quai des Grands Augustins with its famous book -shop, and, on the other side of the Place Saint-Michel, the quaint old -streets up to the Place Maubert. A depression there, where the walls of -old Paris once stood, brought the flood up to the roofs of some little -houses. - -In the Rue Servandoni we escaped the flood: for the ground rises -steadily from the Boulevard Saint-Germain to Montparnasse. This put us -considerably above the reach of the river. On Friday afternoon, when we -were facing a danger that stupified all, the flood was at its height. We -conceived the idea of viewing it from the top of Notre-Dame. It was a -long process for us, as hundreds of others thought of the same thing, -and we could not both go up together. I waited with the baby in the taxi -while Herbert _faisait la queue_ (if you do not know what this -expression means it would be well to learn it before visiting Paris!) -After he came down I had my turn. I was cold enough to enjoy the climb. -The view from the top of the tower was unique. The next day would have -been too late. We caught the flood at its flood. Paris was swimming. On -both sides the cathedral had become an angry, menacing rush of water. -Debris and wreckage was choked against the bridge piers. One realized -that habit had given us a sense of proportion to the cityscape. The -effect of diminished ground-floors and abbreviated lamp-posts and trees -was sinister. It was as if elemental forces, subdued and imprisoned when -the earth's surface cooled, had escaped. As I looked down on the scene, -I felt that abysmal water was breaking forth. Where would it end? - -After leaving Notre-Dame we rode up one side of the river to Auteuil and -down the other, frequently forced to make long detours. Our remorseless -enemy was making sad inroads upon the Ile-Saint Louis, and it seemed as -if it would soon sweep away the Cité. The Sainte-Chapelle was almost -afloat, as were the Conciergerie and the Tour de l'Horloge. The river -surpassed the parapets. The arches of most of the bridges had vanished. -The colossal statues of the Pont de l'Alma were submerged to their -chins. At the Pont d'Auteuil the water reached the wreath around the -letter N. Although the newspapers warned us that they might be swept -away, the bridges were crowded with sightseers. Curiosity is stronger -than fear. The current carried every conceivable object. At the Pont -d'Arcole the calamity was forgotten in the sport of watching huge -barrels sucked one by one under an arch and jumping high in the air as -they came out on the other side. - -Returning from Auteuil as darkness was falling, we had to pass above the -Trocadéro, the Rue de Bassano and the Champs-Elysées. Newsboys were -crying extras: "The river still rises!" We were in darkness. No lights -on the Avenue des Champs-Elysées. An engineer regiment was fighting the -water in the Place de la Concorde by the light of acetylene lamps. The -wheezing of an old pump taking water out of the cellar of Maxim's was -the only sign of life on the gay Rue Royale. To return to the Rive -Gauche we had to go down to the Pont-Neuf. The other bridges were now -barred. Does it not speak eloquently for the genius of our ancestors -that, with bridges every few hundred feet, the only one that could be -trusted--the sole link between Rive Droite and Rive Gauche--was the work -of Henri IV at the end of the sixteenth century? - -Our _chauffeur_, keeping up a running comment in which the hint as to -his expectation of a substantial _pourboire_ was uppermost, picked his -way as best he could back to the Rue Servandoni. We saw strange sights -that night, wooden paving-blocks floating in a messy jumble; a few -restaurants endeavoring to dispel the gloom with candles; soldiers with -fixed bayonets guarding the inundated quarters. It was bitter cold and -the glare of their fires was weirdly silhouetted in the rising waters, -mingled with the shadows of deserted houses. - -The river reached thirty-one feet seven inches at midnight Friday. -During the rest of the night and Saturday it remained stationary. -Saturday evening it began to fall slightly, and on Sunday all Paris was -out in gay holiday attire to view the damage and to celebrate the -retreat of the enemy. Lightheartedness returned immediately. Why worry -about what was over? This is the credo of Paris. But we had seen during -the dark week of flood-fighting a prophetic revelation of the real -character of the people among whom we lived. Little did we dream that -the precious qualities shown in the flood crisis were to be brought out -more than once again in future years. In 1914 we were not surprised at -the courage, persistence, unflagging energy and solidarity with -suffering of the Parisians. The flood, as I look back on it, did more -damage to Paris than was done during the war by German bombs. It was a -more formidable enemy than the Germans. I remember the comment of my old -Emilie: "_Mon Dieu_, this thing is worse than fire. You can fight fire -with water, but with what can you fight water?" - -When the newspapers Sunday morning assured us that the danger was over, -I realized how wonderful had been the struggle of civilians and soldiers -against the elemental. It was a manifestation of their love for their -city. And in the quick and generous relief given on all sides--and -unostentatiously--to those who were driven from their homes was the -proof that hearts beat fast and firm to help fellow-citizens as well as -to save the historic monuments that line the banks of the Seine. That is -why, when Herbert went out to preach in the Rue Roquépine church, I gave -him his text from the Hebrew songster: "Many waters cannot quench love; -neither can the floods drown it." - - - - -CHAPTER XVII - -REAL PARIS SHOWS - - -For many years the old expression that we can't get rid of, "the Salon," -has been a misnomer. There are five Salons, and, as going to see the -season's pictures and statues is a form of amusement and distraction in -Paris on a par with theatrical productions, all five are equally -important. Even if one desires to judge by the standard of art, -establishing categories of excellence and importance is impossible. The -longer one lives in Paris, the more one realizes the absolute lack of -criteria in judging artistic achievement. Painters and sculptors, poets -and playwrights and authors, singers and actors do not acknowledge the -existence of the jury of public opinion, much less newspaper critics, -art juries, _premiers prix_, medals, and organizations. Schools are -legion: standards are the taste and liking of the individual. So we let -those who claim temperament and genius have their chance, and we go to -the five Salons with equal zest, just as we look constantly for lights -under a bushel to please us far from the Académie Française and other -bodies of the Institut. In June the two "regular" Salons exhibit -separately, although simultaneously, in the Grand Palais. There is an -autumn Salon of the progressives. The humorists and cartoonists have -their own Salon. Last, but not least (in numbers!) the independents -exhibit what they please in wooden buildings erected on Cours-la-Reine. - -On a late June afternoon in 1914, I stood on the steps of the Grand -Palais, after an afternoon in the two big Salons--I mean to say -principal Salons--no, in order to escape criticism let me put it "most -universally accepted as important" Salons. It was raining hard. I never -saw the water come down in sheets the way it did that afternoon. Cabs -were of course unobtainable. The wind made umbrellas no protection. And -I was wearing my best frock. What a bother! Hundreds waited as I did, -preferring the additional fatigue of standing herded almost to -suffocation to spoiling their clothes. Suddenly, the rumor spread of a -flood, a flood as disastrous as 1910. Only this time the water came from -above. So heavy was the rainfall that sewers were bursting and new -excavations for subway extension were caving in. Enterprising newsboys -brought us the evening papers with scare headlines. Not far from where -we were an hour earlier choirboys, going home from practice, were -swallowed up in the earth in front of Saint-Philippe-de-Roule. A -taxi-cab hurrying along the Rue du Faubourg-Saint-Honoré disappeared. -The earth opened up under a newspaper _kiosque_ and a shoe store at the -corner of the Boulevard Haussmann and the Rue du Havre. _Eboulements_ -everywhere. The Place de l'Alma was a gaping hole, tramway tracks and -pavements falling into the new subway station. - -[Illustration: Hôtel de Ville from the Pont d'Arcole] - -My mind went back to the dark week of 1910, which I have just described. -Comments of the Salon crowd were identical in reaction to those we heard -after the flood. "Outrageous, the _incurie_ of the municipal -authorities! Something should be done to protect us against this -constant digging. Why, it won't be safe to stick your nose out of doors. -These awful accidents--in Paris, mind you! Something _must_ be done!" -For an hour it went on like that. Then the storm stopped. The sun, still -high at six in June, broke through the clouds. The wind died down. I -started up to the Champs-Elysées with the crowd. More newsboys! This -time the principal headline announced the trial of Madame Caillaux. The -Parisians--and I with them--went down into the Métro. An hour ago such a -risky undertaking would have caused us to shudder with horror. No more -underground for us! As I waited in line for my ticket, the man in front -of me said to his wife, "Now do you really think that Madame Caillaux--" - -I laughed to myself. The Medes and Persians boasted of not changing -their laws. The Parisians could boast of not changing their mentality. A -danger over is a danger forgotten. Hurrah for the new sensation! My -readers may think me guilty of skipping suddenly backwards and forwards -in this book from one thing to something entirely different. But -remember that I am writing in Paris and about Paris. Paris is like that. -I went forward to 1914 to get an illustration for 1910. The very day -after we were sure the flood was going down, we lost interest in the -Seine. Our great project of an emergency channel for turning the Seine -at flood-time died in twenty-four hours and will not be revived until -Paris is actually being once more submerged. _Actualité_ is a word for -which we Anglo-Saxons have no equivalent. It means the -thing-of-the-moment-which-is-of-prime-interest. And the press can create -a new _actualité_ overnight. - -The Government did this several times during the war in order to relieve -a tense internal political situation. During the last German drive we -had the affair of the false Rodins, and we turned to read about the new -statue exposed as a fake each day before we looked for the new German -advance. When the Clemenceau Cabinet was threatened, a twentieth-century -Bluebeard, with the police daily discovering new wives, was dished up to -us every morning in all the papers. - -Back in 1910 we turned from the flood to _Chantecler_. After seven years -of heralding and "puffing," after many mysterious delays that whetted -the appetite, the management of the Théâtre de la Porte Saint-Martin -announced that the curiosity of Paris would be rewarded at the end of -January. The flood was the last postponement. The waters had hardly -begun to recede before public interest was again centred upon -_Chantecler_. When the _répetition générale_ was given on February -sixth, oldest inhabitants and historians of the French theatre were -agreed that not even Hernani nor yet _Le Mariage de Figaro_ had created -so universal an anticipatory interest. Was _Chantecler_ merely an -eccentric literary endeavor or was it to prove a practical theatrical -venture? More than any living writer Rostand had been able to win for -his plays recognition as literature and recognition as "money-winners" -in the theatres of foreign countries as well as his own. - -Looking back over a decade I may be wrong in comparing a past with a -present event. But I honestly believe that there was far more interest -in Paris in what was going on at the Porte-Saint-Martin on the evening -of February 6, 1910, than in what took place at Versailles on the -afternoon of June 28, 1919. Interest was lost in the Treaty of -Versailles before it was signed. _Chantecler_ had a fighting chance to -succeed. Just as the curtain started to rise before the cream of French -literary and theatrical circles there was a cry of "_Pas encore!_" M. -Jean Coquelin sprang up from the prompter's box in conventional evening -dress. Was there to be another postponement--a fiasco in the presence of -the invited guests? No: for M. Coquelin began to recite a prologue, -inimitably phrased. He told the audience that they were to be introduced -to a barnyard as soon as the farmer's family had gone. It was Sunday -afternoon, and when the chores were finished, the animals would be left -to themselves. As he spoke, numerous illustrative sounds came from the -stage. We heard the young girls going off with a song on their lips, the -wheels of a receding carriage, the bells of the village church, and -shots of hunters out for their Sunday sport. Then M. Coquelin -disappeared, and the curtain went up. - -The first two acts were wildly received. The third act was too long and -modernisms marred the beauty of the verse. The lyrical continuity of the -play was broken by the introduction of a purely satirical effect. The -real reason for lack of sustained interest was the mental confusion and -weariness of having to imagine the actors as animals. The human mind is -incapable of receiving through the sense of vision a representation of -the unreal, where the real is at the same time glaringly evident, and -keep clear, harmonious, concordant images. No ingenuity could make an -actor's figure like a bird's. And then humans do not differ in size like -birds. There was no way of approximating widely different proportions of -the rooster, the black-bird, the pheasant and the nightingale. - -In watching _Chantecler_ I had the same painful impression of how we are -handicapped by the multiplicity of necessities we have created for -ourselves in modern days as I had in watching the flood. Our evolution -has bound us fast with chains of our own forging. Physically and -mentally, we have manufactured so many props to lean upon that we can no -longer stand on our own feet. _Chantecler_ cannot be compared with the -animal plays of Aristophanes for in Greek drama there was no attempt to -present to the spectators a visual image in harmony with the audile -image. Nor even in Shakespeare's time was the dramatist limited by the -difficulties of a _mise en scène_. A Midsummer Night's Dream was an -easier proposition for the Elizabethan actor than for Sir Herbert -Beerbohm Tree, despite the properties of Her Majesty's Theatre, the -hidden orchestra playing Mendelssohn's music, and the magic aerial -ballets. - -Our next "real show" was the political campaign for the new Chamber of -Deputies that was to inaugurate the fifth decade of the Third Republic -on June first. Herbert spent an inordinate amount of time, I thought, in -puzzling out the voting strength of the Ministerialist and Opposition -groups, and patiently wrote articles for American magazines about -Radical Socialists, Clemenceau and Caillaux, to vary his Turkish -articles. But whether he treated of French leaders and politics or of -Venizelos or of the Young Turks, his articles invariably came back with -a polite rejection slip. We put them away and sold them later, when they -were out of date, for more than we would have gotten then. Our money for -writing came from the _Herald_, and we realized that if you want to -make your living by writing the anchor to a newspaper is not lightly to -be weighed. - -But though I was not even mildly interested in Radical Socialists, -Republicans of the Left, Independent Socialists, Progressists and what -not, I did like to go to political meetings. They were good for your -French and good for the opportunity of studying the influence of -politics upon the Latin character. How the French love meetings! They -use our English word instead of _réunion_, just as they always speak of -self-government. But they are not at all like us in politics. There are -as many parties as there are leaders, and their campaigns center around -personalities, not principles. - -In 1910, the first round of the election was on April 24, and the final -round on May 8. It just happened that May first was a Sunday, and fell -between the two election Sundays. Throughout the Third Republic, Labor -Day has been a time of fear and trembling for the Paris _bourgeoisie_. -The Cabinet is always anxious on May first. You never can tell what is -going to happen when crowds gather in Paris: so the wise Government does -not allow trouble to be started. Encouraged by the success of their -Ferrer demonstration on the Boulevard de Clichy a few months before, the -revolutionary elements decided to make May Day a big event with the hope -of influencing the second round of the elections. Premier Briand decided -there would be no May Day parade. Believing that the Government would -not dare to come into conflict with them in the midst of their election -struggle, workingmen's unions plastered Paris with boastful posters -announcing a monster demonstration in the Bois de Bologne, followed by a -parade to the Place de la Concorde. This was in open defiance to the -law, which requires a permit for gatherings in the open air and for -parades. But M. Briand was equal to the occasion. Saturday night he -threw twenty thousand troops into Paris. They bivouacked in the Place de -la Concorde, the Place de l'Etoile, and in the Bois. I took Christine to -church. After the service, we went to the Bois for lunch. There were -troops on every road in the part of the Bois indicated in the posters as -the workingmen's rendez-vous. Here and there little tents with the Red -Cross flag were pitched, and to make the picture more impressive doctors -in white coats stood before the door. This scared the workingmen more -than the soldiers did. We saw many of them in their blue blouses. But -they took care not to stop or to walk in numbers. - -The _bourgeoisie_ were able to rest easy. Assured that order would be -kept, fashionable Paris flocked in great numbers to the Longchamp races. -Of course we went, too. As Herbert had a story, he bought the best -seats. We were not far from President Fallières, and we saw the spring -fashions. Scrappie created as much of a sensation as some of the gowns. -People who frequent Longchamp are not in the habit of bringing babies -with them. But with me it is always, "love me, love my child." - -The unions did not have good luck in the spring of 1910. But no more did -the clericals and monarchists. Hopes of a clerical reaction were -dissipated. Briand was as bitter against the orders as against the -unions. The royalists no longer count. We had many royalist friends. -Some we knew well enough to ask, "How goes the propaganda?" And they -knew us well enough to answer, "_Pas de blague! C'est à rire!_" "Stop -teasing me: it's a joke!" The Duke of Orleans has about as much chance -of being King of France as he has of being President of the United -States. In our estimates of political conditions are we not too apt to -judge France by her checkered past? There is no government in Europe -more assured of stability than the French Republic: and this was as true -in 1910 as it is in 1919. - -Public lectures are a source of diversion to Parisians. We Americans -think that we are great on listening to ourselves and others talk. But -crowds in France do not need a political campaign, a religious revival -or a return from near the North Pole to come together for a lecture. The -most surprising topics, treated by men who are not in the public eye, -draw attentive and assiduous audiences. Every day you have a wealth of -choice in free lectures in Paris. Some newspapers publish the lecture -program of the day just as naturally as they publish the theatrical -offerings. At the Sorbonne, the Collège de France, the Ecole des -Hautes-Etudes, the Ecole des Sciences Politiques, the Ecole des Chartes, -the various Musées, and a host of other organizations offer single -lectures and courses of lectures, week days and Sundays, either free or -for a very slight fee. Many of the best courses in the various Facultés -of the University of Paris are open to the public. Just to give one -instance of popular interest in a rather technical subject, we used to -attend the courses in physical geography of Professor Brunhes at the -Collége de France. That year he was treating the formation of the -mountainous center of France. If you did not go early, your chances of a -seat were slim. There were always people standing thronged at the doors -way out into the hall. This was not unusual. Any man who knew his -subject and who could treat it with vigor and wit was sure of a _salle -comble_. His subject did not matter. One did not have to spend money: -free courses were as attractive as those for which a fee was charged. We -discovered that Parisians never cease going to school. One is accustomed -to see only young faces in the class-rooms of American universities. In -the Sorbonne and the Collège de France there are students from sixteen -to seventy. - -If music is your passion, you can indulge it to the full in Paris. With -the Opéra and Opéra Comique and Opéra Municipal, there is something -that you really want to see every day, and when the music does not -particularly attract you, you can be sure of an excellent -_divertissement_, as the ballet spectacle is called. Parisians love -choregraphy. And there is choregraphy for all tastes and all moods. -Paris is the mother of the spectacle called _revue_. We have borrowed -the name but not the thing. No _revue_ can be successful in Paris unless -it possesses distinct quality in dances, costumes, _mise en scène_, and -especially in the dialogue. The _revue_ must reflect what Parisians are -thinking about, take into account _actualités_, and interpret the events -of the day. This means constant change in the dialogue, suppression of -old and introduction of new scenes, to the point where you can go to the -same _revue_ in the third month of its run and find something entirely -different as far as the lines go. For six months of the year the bands -of the Garde Républicaine and of the regiments stationed in Paris play -in the gardens and squares on Thursdays and Sundays. The Tuileries -offers from April to October open-air opera and concerts in the heart of -the city. You pay only for your chair. - -The foreigner resident in Paris soon becomes aware that he does not have -to leave his own quarter to find a good evening's entertainment. Real -Paris shows are perhaps best to be found far from the Grands Boulevards, -Clichy and Montmartre. From the heights of superior opportunity one -does not want to look down upon the tourist and tell him that he doesn't -really see Paris. But the fact remains that when theatres and -music-halls and restaurants become rendezvous for foreigners they -insensibly lose their distinctive local atmosphere. They begin to cater -to the tourist trade and give their audiences what they come to see. -This is so true of the Folies-Bergère, the Casino de Paris and other -large music-halls that the program has become half English and the -actresses and choruses and clowns are as often of London as of Paris -origin. The same foreign invasion on the stage, following the invasion -in the audience, is to be found at the Ambassadeurs and Marigny on the -Champs-Elysées. Alas! even the Concert Mayol type of music-hall has -succumbed to the temptation of catering to the big world. English and -American "turns" are dragged in by the ears to enliven _revues_ for -those who do not understand French, and the spectacle has become a -totally un-Parisian jumble of vaudeville. But in the little music-halls -of the quarters one still finds the atmosphere that Parisians love and a -program offered to their taste. Herbert and I used to go to a theatre on -the Boulevard Saint-Germain, just off the Boulevard Saint-Michel, where -plays were typically Parisian. Another such theatre exists in the Rue de -la Gaité. In the same street are three music-halls that put on songs and -stage _revues_ for Parisians. There are probably a hundred theatres and -music-halls of this kind whose names do not appear in Baedeker, and -which have resisted successfully the first decade of cinema competition. - -Last of all among real Paris shows the _foires_ must not be forgotten. -But I speak of these in another chapter because visiting them is a goal -for a _promenade_ and not the deliberate seeking of an evening's -entertainment. You take in a _foire_ as incidental to a walk, just as -your _apéritif_ or your after-dinner coffee is most often the price you -pay for a seat to watch the passing crowd, which, when all is said and -done, is the real Paris show. - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII - -THE SPELL OF JUNE - - -My critic points out that after having been so enthusiastic about walks -at nightfall and having put myself on record as to the exceptional -advantages of seeing Paris in the dark on winter afternoons, rain or -shine, I shall be inconsistent in extolling daylight Paris. Why the -spell of June, when your walks are wholly in daylight? If it were -inconsistency, being a woman I should be within my rights to ask the -critic what he expected. But is it inconsistent? I think not. If I love -to go out in the rain, if I enjoy city streets at night time, it does -not follow that I do not enjoy good weather and the long days of June. -It is another aspect of Paris that we get in our walks. We have time to -go on longer excursions. We "do" the river and open spaces more than old -quarters. And, best of all, in the two Junes of our early married life, -we took the baby with us on our strolls. I felt the spell of June when -we returned to Paris from Turkey in 1909. I felt it more when we were -going back to Turkey in 1910. And ever since, the Paris June has had a -charm all its own, deepening with the years. However I may like autumn -and winter and spring, June is the best month. The spell is partly due -to the knowledge that one is soon going off to the shore or mountains -for the summer, and partly to the thought that it might be the last -June. Each year we have felt that we ought to return to America in the -autumn. - -In the Rue Servandoni year, April and May were cold, wet months. Spring -fever did not get us until June. Then we decided that all the wisdom and -profit of our Paris year was not to be found in the Bibliothèque -Nationale. We began to divorce ourselves from daily study by the excuse -that we ought to get together a small library on Turkish history. Where -could the books be bought more advantageously than on the _quais_? From -the Pont des Saints-Pères to beyond Notre-Dame the parapets of the Rive -Gauche are used by second-hand booksellers for the display of their -wares. The _bouquinistes_ clamp wooden cases on the stone parapets. You -can go for more than a mile with the certainty of finding something -interesting at an astonishingly low price. There is no more delightful -form of loafing in the open air. The books are an excuse. They become a -habit. In order to prevent the habit from growing costly, you must make -out a budget. Some days you are only "finding out what is there"; other -days, before leaving home, you divest yourself of all the money in your -pocketbooks and wallet except what you feel you can afford to spend. -Then only are you safe! I do not know of a more insidious temptation to -buy what you do not need than loitering along the _quais_ of the Rive -Gauche. In a few days we spent all we could afford for Turkish history. -But the afternoon walk started earlier and ended later. We never tired -of the _quais_ and the river. We watched fishermen and the barges. We -were amused by the men who bathe and clip dogs. We explored the streets -between the Seine and the Boulevard Saint-Germain. We stood on the Pont -des Arts and watched the people coming home from work. We went often -into Notre-Dame. We glued our noses to the window-glass of the art print -shops around the Ecole des Beaux-Arts. We selected furniture (from the -side-walk!) displayed in the numerous antique shops of the Rue des -Saints-Pères, the Rue Bonaparte and the Rue de Seine. We always came -back at sunset, with the westward glow before us. That was when our -oldest daughter got the taste of going to bed late. - -The narrowest street in Paris is the Rue de Venise, which runs from the -Rue Beaubourg across the Rue Saint-Martin to the Rue Quicampoix. But -neither in itself nor in its location is it as picturesque as the Rue de -Nevers, luring you from the Pont Neuf as you cross to the Rive Gauche. -Nowhere else in Paris is one so completely held by the past as in the -Rue de Nevers. Here stood the Tour de Nesle. The Mint now comes up to -one side of this street for a few hundred feet, but elsewhere it is on -both sides as it was in the time of Henri IV. Massive doorways, with -bars of iron and peep-holes covered with grating, tell the story of a -time when one relied upon himself for protection. No _agents_ in the -Paris of the fifteenth century! Going down to the river from the Rue -Servandoni, we always took the Rue de Nevers. In it Scrappie's carriage -seemed like a full-grown vehicle. There was always the nervous fear that -something would be thrown out on us from upper windows, not unjustified, -as more than one narrow escape proved. We used to say that when the baby -was grown up, we should enjoy taking her on one of the promenades of her -infancy, and especially through the Rue de Nevers. We have shown -Christine the street, and hope that she will remember it. But she will -never show it to her children. Some sanitary engineer, successor of -Baron Haussmann, has conceived a project of widening the Rue Dauphine. -The Rue de Nevers will soon disappear. Our only hope is that the war -will have delayed a long time the fulfillment of projects that mean the -disappearance of what remains of mediaeval Paris. - -[Illustration: Market day in the Rue de Seine] - -The Parisian who goes to New York marvels at our skyscrapers. He is -properly impressed with the hustle and bustle of the New World. But it -does not take him long to note the absence of wide boulevards and the -lack of _ensemble_ in the cityscape. Then he will invariably make two -comments: "There are no trees," and "There is no place to sit down." -Except the Eiffel Tower, Paris does not boast of a "biggest in the -world." It will take Americans centuries to acquire a sense of harmony -and proportion in city building. But shall we ever learn to bring the -out-of-doors into city life? Until we do learn the big American city -will be intolerable in the summer months. Paris, built on ancient -foundations, has increased to a city of millions, and one still feels -that an outing does not mean going to the country. Boulevards and -_quais_ are lined with trees. Every open spot has grass and flowers. -Best of all, when you want to sit down to read your paper or look at the -crowd, there is always a bench. You do not have to go home or indoors to -rest, and wherever you live, a park or boulevard is near at hand. -Parisians are as closely huddled together as New Yorkers. But they can -spend all their leisure time in the open. The privilege of sitting down -on a bench is a blessing. All the year round you can eat or drink out of -doors. I have often marveled at the criticism that the French dislike -open air, simply because they, like other Europeans, do not keep their -windows open at night. The Parisian lives far more in the open air than -the American does. To be out of doors day and night is a natural -instinct from the cradle to the grave. Trees and benches are a large -part of the spell of June in Paris. - -Then there were the omnibuses with their _impériales_. When we did not -have the price of a cab, we could get on top of the Montsouris-Opéra or -Odéon-Clichy bus, and go for a few sous from south to north across the -river through the heart of Paris. We climbed to the _impériale_ of the -tram at Saint-Sulpice and rode to Auteuil, on the horse-drawn omnibus -from the Madeleine to the Bastille, from the Place Saint-Michel to the -Gare Saint-Lazare, from the Gare Montparnasse to La Villette, from the -Bourse to Passy, from the Panthéon to Courcelles. Alas! horses and -_impériales_ disappeared before the war. The last omnibus with three -horses abreast was the Panthéon-Courcelles line. It was replaced by -closed motor-bus in 1913. Each year, when June comes round, I long for -these rides. Horses, I suppose, are gone forever. But we still hope for -the revival of an upper story on our motor-buses. There never was--or -will be--a better way of having Paris vistas become a part of your very -being. - -_Foire_ means fair. But the term is used for a much more intimate and -vital sort of a fair than we have. The French have big formal fairs in -buildings and grounds, where a little fun is mixed in with a lot of -business. But they have also small street fairs, solely for amusement, -and selling street fairs, where amusements have their full share. The -Paris _foires_ are a distinct institution. There is a regular schedule -for them, as for Brittany _pardons_. From the end of March to the -beginning of November you can always find a _foire_ in the city or the -suburbs. They are held out of doors, generally in the center of a -boulevard. Some of them are important institutions. In the business -_foires_ you range from scrap-iron, old clothes and nicked china and -disreputable furniture at the Porte Saint-Ouen and on the Boulevard -Richard Lenoir to the costliest Paris has to offer on the Esplanade des -Invalides and building materials and engines in the Tuileries. The -purely amusement _foires_ on the Quai d'Orsay, the Boulevard de Clichy, -and at Saint-Cloud stretch for blocks and are attended by all Paris. To -go to them is the thing to do. - -But each quarter has its _foire_, underwritten by the shop-keepers and -café proprietors of the neighborhood. They are never widely heralded, -you stumble upon them by chance. And if you want to see real Paris the -little _foires_ give you the closest glimpse it is possible to get of -Paris at play. At the _foires de quartier_ there are no onlookers. -Everybody is taking part. If you do not feel the impulse to get on the -merry-go-round, the dipping boats, the scenic-railway; if you are averse -to having your fortune told; if you feel doubtful of your ability to -throw a wooden ring around the neck of a bottle of champagne; if you are -indifferent to the mysteries of the two-headed calf and the dancing -cobra; if your stomach does not digest _pain d'épice_ and candy made of -coal-tar; if you think your baby ought not to have a rubber-doll or a -woolly lamb or a jumping rabbit made of cat's fur--for heaven's sake -stay away from the _foires_! - -Most of the neighborhood _foires_ are held in June. Whatever direction -you take for your evening walk, your ears will give you a goal towards -which to work. The merry-go-rounds have the same class of music as in -America, and the tricks of the barkers--their figures of speech -even--are the same. But the difference between our amusement parks and -the Paris _foires_ is the spontaneous atmosphere of the _foires_, their -setting improvised in the midst of the city, and the amazing childlike -quality of the fun. Seven or seventy, you enjoy the wooden horses just -as much. And there is no dignity to lose. You do not care a bit if your -cook sees you wildly pushing a fake bicycle or standing engrossed in the -front row of the crowd watching a juggler. - -The glorious days of June, when we put work deliberately out of our -scheme of things, furnish opportunities for excursions of a different -character than those of Sunday. At the risk of being ridiculed again by -my critic, who has read my praise of _repos hebdomadaire_, I must -confess that Sunday has its drawbacks. The whole city is out on Sunday, -and every place is crowded. Your good time is somewhat marred all day -long by the anticipation of the crowded trains and trams, for a place in -which you wait with much less equanimity than when you left home in the -morning. On week days there are no waits and plenty of room. I can -entice my husband from his work--if it is June! - -It is surprising how far afield it is possible to go at little drain on -your strength and pocket-book on a June week-day. We wanted just the -country sometimes. Then it was the valley of Chevreuse, -Villers-Cotteret, luncheon in a tree at Robinson, or the Marne between -Meaux and Château-Thierry. On a very bright day one could choose the -shade of Compiègne, Chantilly, Rambouillet, Versailles, Marly, -Saint-Germain-en-Laye, Saint-Cloud, Fountainebleau, forests and parks -incomparable. Cathedral-hungry or in a mood for the past, Amiens, -Beauvais, Evreux, Dreux, Orléans, Mantes, Chartres, Sens, Troyes, -Rheims, Laon, Soissons, Noyon, and Senlis are from one to three hours by -train. A good luncheon at little cost is always easily found. And after -lunch you have no difficulty in getting a _cocher_ to take you to the -ruins of a castle or abbey for a few francs. - -Inexhaustible as is the _banlieue_ of Paris you are always glad to get -back. From whatever direction you return, the first you see of the great -city is the Eiffel Tower. It beckons you back to the spell of June--in -Paris. - - - - -1913 - - - - -CHAPTER XIX - -CHILDHOOD VISTAS FOR A NEW GENERATION - - -In September, 1910, we went to Constantinople for just one year, as we -had gone to Tarsus for one year. But the lure of the East held us. We -loved our home up above the Bosphorus behind the great castle of Rumeli -Hissar. When the Judas-trees were ablaze and nightingales were singing -that first spring in Constantinople, we forgot Paris and rashly promised -to stay two years longer. Life was full of adventure, the war with -Italy, the war between Turkey and the Balkan States during which our -city was the prize fought for, cholera, the coming of our second baby, -and a wonderful trip in the Balkans. We would not have missed it, no, -but Paris called us again, and we decided to leave the political unrest -and wars of the Near East to return to the peaceful atmosphere of the -Bibliothèque Nationale. - -My husband could not get away from Constantinople until the end of June -and then he wanted to pay his way back to Paris by traveling through the -Balkans again after peace was signed with Turkey. With my two children, -I sailed for Marseilles at the beginning of March and reached Paris just -in time to get the last weeks of winter. In the calendar seasons are -conventional. As in the United States, France frequently has winter -until April is well started. - -I found a little apartment on the Rue du Montparnasse just north of the -Boulevard. From the standpoint of my friends I suppose the Quarter was a -bit more _comme il faut_ than the Rue Servandoni. I missed the -picturesqueness of our old abode with the _épicerie_ on the ground floor -and the _moyenageux_ atmosphere. But the change to the Montparnasse -Quarter had its compensations. The air, none too good in the great city, -is better around the Boulevard du Montparnasse than in any other part of -the city except Montmartre, Belleville and Buttes-Chaumont. You are on -high ground away from the heavy mists and dampness of the river. -Communications are excellent. You do not have to sacrifice the feeling -of being in a real vital part of Paris, either. We still lived in the -midst of historical association. If Gondorcet hid in the Rue Servandoni -from those who would have chopped his head off during the Terror, -Lamartine was hauled from a house on the Rue du Montparnasse by the -soldiers of Louis Napoleon at the beginning of the _coup d'etat_ of -1851, and to the Rue du Montparnasse flocked the cream of Paris on -Mondays to hear Sainte-Beuve during the Third Empire. - -It was a new world opened for the eyes of Christine and Lloyd to live -cooped up in an apartment after the big house at Rumeli Hissar and to -have to walk through city streets to find a garden to play in instead of -simply stepping out of their own front door. But life has its -compensations--everywhere and at all times. You never get anything -without sacrificing something else for it. We have to choose at every -step, and we must turn away from some blessings to obtain others. I love -the country. Theoretically speaking, it is the best place to bring up -children. But living in the open does deprive them of the mental -alertness, of the broad vision from infancy, of the self-reliance, of -the habits of industry that childhood in the city alone can give. And -then, the doctor comes right away when you telephone. - -Thirty-Eight Rue du Montparnasse was opposite Notre-Dame-des-Champs, and -only a door down from the Boulevard. From the windows my tots could see -the passing show on the boulevard: and the church was a never-failing -source of interest. Just opposite us was the sexton's apartment, tucked -into the roof of the church. It is characteristic of Paris that a home -should be hidden away in an unexpected corner like this. From the -windows Christine and Lloyd could see the little church children playing -on their flat roof, and out of the door below the choir boys passed in -and out. We went into our apartment at First Communion season. My -childhood enjoyed the "little brides of Christ" in their white dresses -and veils. Every day had its weddings and funerals. The children did -not distinguish between life and death. Whenever carriages stopped in -front of the church, they would jump up and down and shout, "_Mariage_!" - -A little sister arrived at the beginning of May. When June came, I was -able to take Emily Elizabeth out to market. Every morning we went down -the Boulevard Raspail to Sadla's, on the corner of the Rue de Sèvres, -and twice a week to the market on the Boulevard Edgar-Quinet. They were -the blessed days, when I had no cook--which meant that I could buy what -I liked to eat, and no nurse--which meant that I saw something of my own -children. Servants are a necessary evil to the housewife and mother that -wants to see something of the world in which she lives. But an -occasional interlude, when everything devolves on mother, is good both -for her and the children. - -During the war Sadla's went bankrupt, and for several years the corner -opposite the Hotel Lutetia has been desolate. Probably the firm failed -for the very reason that made it unique among the provision-shops even -of Paris, where the selling of food is as much a work of art as the -cooking of it. We loved Sadla's. Marketing there was always a joy. Your -baby-carriage was not an inconvenience: for everything was displayed -outside on the street. You started with fish and ended with fruit and -flowers, passing by meats and vegetables, canned goods, groceries, -pastry, cakes and candies. The fish swam in a marble basin under a -fountain. You made your choice, and the victim was netted by a -white-clad boy and flopped over the counter to the scales. Live lobsters -sprawled in sea-weed, and boiled ones lay on ice. Oysters from fifty -centimes to five francs a dozen were packed in wicker baskets, passed by -their guardian every few minutes under the fountain. In the _hors -d'oeuvres_ and cold meat section, you had your choice of the cheapest -and the most expensive variety of tempting morsels. It made no -difference if you wanted a little chicken wing or a big turkey encased -in truffle-studded jelly, a slice of ham or a whole Yorkshire quarter, -one pickle or a hundred, twenty centimes worth of _salade Russe_ or an -earthenware dishful arranged like an Italian garden landscape, one -radish or a bunch of them. In Paris everybody is accustomed to -purchasing things to eat and drink of the best quality: so you do not -feel that the quality of what you want depends upon the quantity you ask -for. On the meat counters, for instance, single chops, and tiny cutlets -and roasts, and chickens of all sizes, are displayed side by side, each -with its price marked. Apples, pears, tomatoes, bananas, even plums, are -price-marked by the piece. Tarts and cakes are of all sizes. When you -come to flowers, you can buy single roses or carnations. I never tired -of shopping at Sadla's. Nor did the children. - -Vegetables and fruits and nuts are mostly bought in the open markets or -from the _marchandes des quatre saisons_, who deal also in dairy -products and poultry and flowers. The markets are held on certain days -in different quarters. The women with push-carts line the streets every -day. They go early in the morning to the Halles Centrales and buy -whatever they find is the bargain of the day, and hawk in their own -quarter, announcing their merchandise by queer cries that even to the -well-trained ear of the French woman need a glance at the push-cart to -confirm what is at the best a guess. - -It is fun to buy on the street, and the commodities and price are -sometimes an irresistible temptation. But you have to watch the -_marchandes des quatre saisons_. They have a way of throwing your -purchase on the scales in the manner of an American iceman, and you want -to be ready to put out your hand to steady the needle. Your eye must be -sharp too, to watch that some of the apples do not come, wormy and -spotted, from a less desirable layer underneath the selling layer. It is -a wonderful lesson in learning how to put the best foot forward to watch -the push-cart women arranging their wares on the side-walks around the -Halles Centrales before starting out on the daily round. From the -writings of Carlyle and other seekers after the picturesque, the legend -has grown that the _poissonnières_, who knitted before the guillotine, -are a race apart. But there is as much truth in this belief as in the -belief that our gallant marines did the trick alone at Château-Thierry. -Fish women are no more formidable among Parisiennes than the general run -of _marchandes des quatre saisons_. And ask almost anyone who has lived -in a Paris apartment about her concierge! - -Fresh from Montenegro, Herbert reached our new home on the morning of -July fourteenth. He explained that he had left the Greeks and Serbians -and Bulgarians to fight over the Turkish spoils to their heart's -content. He was sick of following wars. He wanted to see his new baby. -It had come over him one night in Albania, when sleeplessness was due to -the usual cause in that part of the world, that by catching a certain -boat from Cattaro to Venice he could get home for the Quatorze. - -After he had looked over his new acquisition, we started out for a -stroll by ourselves just to talk things over. We walked down the -Boulevard Montparnasse to the Place de l'Observatoire. Between the -Closerie des Lilas and the Bal Bullier was a big merry-go-round. The -onlookers were throwing multi-colored streamers at the girls they liked -the best among the riders. In the middle of the street a strong man in -pink tights was doing stunts with dumb-bells and the members of his -family. - -The same thought came to us both. What a pity the children are missing -this! We hurried back for them, forgetting that we had promised -ourselves a long just-us talk to bridge the months of separation. And we -returned to join in the celebration, my husband pushing the -baby-carriage and I with progeny hanging to both hands. Why do children -drag so, even when you are walking slowly? Every mother knows how they -lean on her literally as well as figuratively. - -That Quatorze was the beginning of a new epoch. A new generation was to -have childhood vistas of Paris, but parent-led and parent-shown, as it -had been for me thirty years before. For that is the way of the world. - - - - -CHAPTER XX - -THE PROBLEM OF HOUSING - - -When you are in Paris without children you can get along in a hotel or a -_pension_: and you can probably live as cheaply as, if not more cheaply -than, in a home of your own. There are several combinations. Inexpensive -rooms (in normal times) can be found in good hotels: and there are lots -of hotels that take only roomers. You do not, as at a _pension_, have to -be tied down to at least two meals where you live. The advantages of a -furnished-room or a _pension_ are: easy to find in the quarter you wish -to live in; no bother about service; and no necessity to tie yourself up -with a lease. But if you are making a protracted stay, it is wise to -weigh at the beginning the disadvantages with the advantages. You get -tired of the food; you have to associate daily with people whom you do -not like; and--especially if you are of my sex--you have no place to -receive your friends. I think in the end most people who go to Paris and -who follow the line of least resistance, either because it is that or -because they have the idea that they can learn French quicker in a -"French _pension_," regret having missed the opportunity of a home of -their own, of a _chez soi_, as the French say. For you really cannot -feel that you belong in Paris unless you are keeping house. "Be it ever -so humble," you can set up your own home, if you are determined to do -so. There are innumerable wee apartments--a hall big enough to hang up -your coat and hat, a kitchenette, and a room where your bed can be a -couch disguised with a rug and pillows during the day. Studios furnish -another opportunity of making a home of your own. Of course, during the -war and since Paris has been overcrowded. But there will be a return to -normal conditions. - -And if you have a family--even one baby--hotel or _pension_ life becomes -unendurable. - -When Herbert came back from Turkey in the summer of 1913, we found the -three little rooms and kitchen of Thirty-eight Rue du Montparnasse too -small for us. The first thing Herbert did was to "give notice." The -Paris system of renting is very advantageous if one is looking for a -modest apartment. Your lease is by the term--a term being three -months--and can be canceled upon giving one term's notice. This means -that you're tied down for only six months in the beginning, and after -that for only three months. One can buy simple furniture, as we did in -the Rue Servandoni, and sell it at the end of the year without a great -loss. It is possible to rent an apartment for a year, furnish it and -sell out, at about the same price you would pay for a furnished -apartment. And you will have had the pleasure of being surrounded by -your own things. - -The proposition of a furnished apartment looks better than it is. The -French are the worst people in the world for biting a penny. They are -meticulous to a point incomprehensible to Americans. The inventory is a -horror! In taking a villa, whether it be in Brittany, in Normandy, at -Aix-les-Bains, or on the Riviera, you are handed sheets of paper by the -arm's length, on which are recorded not only the objects in each room -but the state of walls, garden, woodwork, carpets, mattresses, pillows -and blankets. You wrestle with the agent when you enter. But he is -cleverer than you are. And when you come to leave, he finds spots and -cracks, nicks in the china, ink-stains, and all sorts of damages you -never thought of. He points to your signature--and you pay! You replace -what is broken or chipped by new objects. You repaint and repaper and -clean. The bill is as long as the inventory. And you find that your -original rent is simply an item. - -I do not want to infer that you are entirely free from this annoyance -and uncertain item of expense when you lease unfurnished. Your walls and -ceilings and floors, your mirrors (which in France are an integral part -of the building) and your _charges_ are to be considered. An architect, -if you please, draws up the _état des lieux_, which you are required to -sign as you do the _inventoire_ of a furnished apartment. But the longer -you remain in an apartment the less proportionately to your rent are -the damages liable to be. As for the _charges_, by which is meant your -share towards the carpets in the halls and on the stairs, the lighting, -elevator, etc., in many leases they are now represented by a fixed sum, -and where they are not, you can have a pretty definite idea as to what -they are going to be. The unexpected does not hit you. - -Most Paris leases are on the 3-6-9 year basis. You sign for three years. -If you do not give notice six months before the end of the three-year -term, the lease is automatically continued for another equal period. For -nine years, then, you are sure of undisturbed possession, and your -_propriétaire_ cannot raise the rent on you. Leases are generally -uniform in their clauses. You bind yourself to put furniture to the -value of at least one year's rent in the apartment to live in it -_bourgeoisement_ (that is, to carry on no business), to keep no dogs or -other pets,[D] and to sublet only with proprietor's consent. On his -side, the proprietor agrees to give you proper concierge and elevator -service, to heat the apartment for five months from November first to -March thirty-first, and to furnish water, hot and cold, at fixed rates -per cubic meter. The lease is registered at the _mairie_ at the -_locataire's_ expense. - -[D] This clause is a dead letter almost everywhere. You are much more -apt to be refused an apartment because you have children than because -you have dogs or birds. In fact, although you often see a sign or are -greeted by the statement NI CHIENS NI ENFANTS, the prohibition, when you -press the concierge, is limited to children. My bitter criticism of the -people among whom I live is the attitude of a large part of them towards -children. They do not like children. They do not want them. And they do -not understand why any woman is fool enough to have "a big family," as -they call my four. This is the most serious problem of contemporary -France. It makes the winning of the war a hollow victory. - -You pay the taxes, which are collected directly from you. The municipal -tax runs to about sixteen percent of the annual rental, and now includes -in a lump sum the old taxes for windows and doors. In addition, you pay -a very small tax to recompense the city for having suppressed the -_octroi_ on wines and liquors and mineral waters. A new tax, which no -resident in France who has an apartment can escape, is the income tax. -But unless you are a French subject, you are not compelled to make a -return of your sources of income. Should you choose to be taxed -_d'office_, the collector assesses you on a basis of having an income -seven times the amount of your rental. The concierge is forbidden to -allow you to move from your apartment until you have shown him the -receipts for the current year for all your taxes. - -Once you have signed your lease and have arranged to move in, your -troubles are not yet over. Proprietors furnish no chandeliers or other -lights, not even the simplest. You have to go to an electrician, buy -your fixtures, and have them installed, if you have not bought the -lights in the apartment from the previous _locataire_. You must sign -contracts and make deposits for your gas and electric light. The gas -company will rent you a stove and a meter. You pay the charges for -connecting you up. Telephones are in the hands of the government. If you -want a direct telephone, you have to sign a contract. If you want to -have your telephone through the concierge's _loge_, the telephone -service is charged on your quarterly rent bill. In any case, you pay for -the instrument and bell box and the charges for installation. A private -line is not much of an advantage in Paris. The service is scarcely any -quicker. With your telephone by way of the concierge, a message can be -left if you do not answer, and the person calling you is informed if you -are out of town. - -The last of your troubles is fire insurance. Thanks to the solid -construction of Paris and careful surveillance, fires are very rare. -During all the years I have lived in Paris I remember no fires except -those caused by the German bombs. However, you do not dare not to -insure. For French law holds you responsible for damage to neighbors' -apartments from water as well as fire, if the fire starts in yours. Your -insurance policy insures your neighbors as well as yourself. The French -law is excellent. It makes you careful. French law, also, by the way, -holds you liable for accidents to your servants, of any kind and no -matter how incurred. You cannot fall back on the joker of contributory -carelessness. All the servant has to prove is that the accident happened -while working for you. - -I have forgotten to mention one further formality that was not of -importance before the war but is indispensable now. An old French police -law requires all foreigners to secure a _certificat d'immatriculation_ -from the Prefecture of Police as the _sine qua non_ to residence in -Paris. Before the war, no one ever bothered about this. The only -foreigners watched by the police were Russians, due to a provision -France ought never to have agreed to in the alliance with Russia. When -the war broke out and my husband went to get his _permis de séjour_, he -was asked for the first time for this paper. And we had been living in -France on and off for six years, and had leased three apartments! This -was a reason for loving Paris. Nobody bothered you, and you could live -as you pleased and do as you pleased so long as you behaved yourself. -Foreigners were never made to feel that they were foreigners. They -enjoyed equality before the law with Frenchmen. Paris was cosmopolite in -a unique sense. Hindsight blamed the laxity of the French police. But -let us fervently hope that the old spirit of hospitality may not have -changed with the war and that France in regard to Germany may not be as -Rome in regard to Greece. Why be victor if one has to adopt the habits -of the vanquished? - -I have gone into the question of the housing problem with too much -precision and detail, I fear, for a book of Paris sketches. But so many -friends have asked me, so many strangers have written me, about taking -up their abode in Paris that I feel what I have said about it will be of -interest to all who are interested in Paris. - -We had three months to our new residence. You always have three months -at least in Paris. It is not enough if you are undecided or lazy. It is -plenty if you go about hunting for a home with the same energy and -persistence and enthusiasm that you put into other things. After all, -what is more important than a home? We tramped the quarter, as we had -done in the summer of 1909. But we now had a large family. And we had -realized the fundamental truth of the beautiful old Scotch saying, -"Every bairn brings its food wi' it." So we were able to aspire to two -salons and three bedrooms, to _confort moderne_ (which means central -heat, electric light, bath-rooms, elevator and hot water), and to palms -and red carpet in the doorway. - -For us the heart of Paris at that time was where the Boulevard du -Montparnasse is crossed by the Boulevard Raspail. On the Boulevard du -Montparnasse, between Baty's and the Rue Léopold-Robert, a new apartment -house was being built. Before the stairs were finished we climbed to the -sixth floor, lost our hearts to a view of all Paris, and signed a 3-6-9 -lease. The war has come and gone. We are still there. - - - - -1914 - - - - -CHAPTER XXI - -"NACH PARIS!" - - -Von Kluck and I had a race to see who would reach Paris first. It was -close. But I won. Lots of my friends thought then and since that I was -foolish to take my children back to Paris at such a time. An American -woman came to Ty Coz, my little summer cottage at Saint-Jean-du-Doigt in -Finistère, to remonstrate with me. - -"You must be crazy," she said in her most complimentary tone, "to take -those three children back to Paris now. The Germans are certainly going -to capture Paris, and if they don't do it right away, they'll bombard -the city until it surrenders. My dear Mrs. Gibbons, surely you read the -papers and you see what awful things the Germans are doing in Belgium. -Paris has no chance against their big guns. And they will cut the -railways. You will have no milk, no vegetables. And here you are in -Brittany, where they probably will not come, and if they do, you can get -off to England by sea." - -I did not argue. It would have been foolish to tell her that the Germans -would not take Paris. I was no prophet, and denying a danger is not -preventing it. Despite the tigress instinct of every mother to protect -her own, I simply could not feel that to go home was the wrong thing to -do. Herbert wrote and telegraphed approving my desire to return. As my -husband could not leave Paris to come to us, it was manifestly up to us -to go to him. We were more concerned about the possibility of being cut -off from each other than about what the Germans might do to us. I had -one advantage in making up my mind over other women around me. War and -sieges and bombardments did not loom up when I read about the march -through Belgium with the same sense of awfulness as to my neighbors. I -knew that things look worse from a distance than they are on the spot. I -remembered how normally we lived in the midst of massacre in Tarsus and -when the Bulgarians were attacking Constantinople. - -The removal of the Government to Bordeaux did not deter me at the last -minute. It did not seem to me an indication that the game was up, but -rather the decision to profit by experience of earlier wars and not -stake the whole war upon the defense of the capital. It was getting cold -at the seashore. I was anxious to direct myself the moving into the new -apartment we had taken. Yvonne, my cook, and Dorothy, my English nurse, -were as eager as I to get back to town. We just didn't let the Germans -bother us! The trunks and baby-beds were loaded in one two-wheeled cart -and the kiddies on hay in another. We grown-ups bicycled along behind -the seventeen kilometres to Morlaix. The Brest _rapide_ carried scarcely -any civilians. We broke in on the seclusion of a colonel sitting alone -in a compartment. - -"I pity you, sir," I said. - -"Why?" He smiled and threw away his newspaper. That was promising. When -a man puts down his newspaper for me, I know he is interesting. So few -men do. My husband doesn't always. I needed to make friends with the -officer. During the all night journey I wanted to manoeuvre for open -windows, and you cannot do that in France unless you are on the best of -terms with your fellow-travellers. - -"Why do I pity you? Because you are invaded by three babies and three -grown-ups when you hoped to keep the compartment for yourself. But you -may not be sorry when you see the supper you are going to help eat--two -roast chickens, salad sandwiches, pears just picked this morning in my -garden, and the best of cider. There is plenty of _café au lait_ in -thermos bottles for breakfast." - -The colonel's face brightened. Dining-cars had been suppressed since the -day of the mobilization. He assured me that a soldier did not mind -company at night and always liked food. But he was a bit puzzled about -my breakfast invitation. "Surely you are not going to Paris with these -children," he said. "Are you not afraid?" - -"Not as long as there is the French army between my children and the -enemy," I answered. - -The colonel leaned back in the corner and shut his eyes. Tears rolled -down his cheeks. It was a long time before he spoke, and all he said -was, "_Merci_! I shall tell that to my regiment to-morrow." - -"Monsieur," I insisted, "what I said was nothing. All the women in -France feel as I do. We have got to feel that way. You have the -strength--we must have the faith. If Paris were not my home, I should -not go. But it is my home, and this is the week I always return from the -shore." - -More than one hysterical person wrote wonderful and lurid accounts of -Paris in the autumn of 1914. There was an exodus of _froussards_ in the -first days of September and during the whole month refugees poured into -the city. But the great mass of the population was not affected by the -fright of a few. I arrived too late for the most critical days. My -husband assured me that there had been no panic except in the -imagination of certain individuals and officials. I found that very few -of my friends had run away. The _Herald_ appeared every morning, and -Percy Mitchell's voice over the telephone from the Rue du Louvre was -cheery and optimistic. There was no funk in the American colony. Most of -the people I knew were helping get the Ambulance at Neuilly started or -were launching _oeuvres_ of their own. I seized on the opening for -layette work immediately, and I started afternoon sewing for Russian and -Polish girls, too, in one of my servants' rooms. I am a quarrelsome -wretch when I get on committees with other women. So I did the -_layettes_ alone in my studio and had only the help of another Bryn Mawr -girl, who lived in Paris, in the _ouvroir_--as gatherings for sewing -were called. - -But the panic? The sense of danger? Suspense and worry over the fighting -between the Marne and Aisne? Dread of air raids? I saw none of this. I -heard nothing in the conversation of my friends or servants or -tradespeople to make me feel Paris was in a ferment of excitement or -fear. The anxiety was for loved ones fighting "out there"; the -depression was the pall of death over us. No music, no singing, theatres -closed, cafés shut up at eight o'clock, dark streets--these were the -abnormal features of Paris life in the early months of the war. Whoever -writes or talks in a way to make it appear that staying in Paris was a -test of personal courage is a sorry impostor. There was no danger. None -ever thought of danger. - -Nor did we have the discomforts and annoyances and deprivations during -the early period of the war that came to us later. Food was abundant and -prices did not go up. There was plenty of labor. You could get things -done without the exhausting hunt for workers with a willing spirit and -knowledge of their job that we have to make now. In the month of the -Battle of the Marne we moved into 120 Boulevard du Montparnasse. It was -a new house, and we had everything to think of, plumbing, heating, -fixtures, wiring for bells and lights, painting, paper-hanging, -carpentering. All was done without a hitch. The moving-vans worked as in -peace times. Things came by freight from Brittany and Normandy--thirty -boxes in all--and were delivered to us without delay just as if there -were no war. It seems incredible in retrospect that France and Paris -should have been normal (after the first confusion of the mobilization) -despite the terrific struggle for existence within hearing distance. But -it was so. I want to put down my testimony as a housewife and mother of -children in Paris that we lived normally and had no dangers or -difficulties to contend with when the Germans were trying to finish up -the war in a hurry. - -On the second Sunday of October we had our first visit from a group of -airplanes. Few bombs were dropped. Herbert and I were walking outside -the fortifications near the Porte d'Orléans when they arrived. We -thought of our kiddies, playing in the Luxembourg, and hurried there. -The children and Dorothy described graphically how two planes had been -over the Garden. But their feeling was wholly curiosity. At that time -Parisians did not realize the danger of air raids. - -One Sunday Herbert and I went chestnutting. Despite the swarms of -excursionists around Paris, there are lots of places to pick up on the -road all the chestnuts you can carry. We walked from Saint-Cyr across -country, skirting Versailles, to Marly. With heavy pockets, knotted -kerchief bundles, and the beginning of stiffness in our backs, we -stopped for lunch at a little country hostelry whose _cave_ still has a -big stock of Chambertin of golden years. The critic and I are agreed -upon the wisdom of censoring the name I unthinkingly put in the first -draft of this chapter. Why spoil a good thing? Life is short--and so are -stocks of Chambertin. And there are so many roads and so many hostelries -between Saint-Cyr and Saint-Germain-en-Laye that the little I have said -is a challenge to your love of Burgundy. - -Madame told us how history did not repeat itself until the end of the -story. What starts the same way does not always end the same way. We -hope German professors of history will impress this truth upon the next -generation of their close-cropped, bullet-headed students. They are at -liberty to use this illustration if they want. Why limit their Paris -vistas to the provoking sight of the Tour Eiffel in the distance? - -"In Soixante-Dix," said Madame, flipping teamsters' crumbs off our table -with a skilful swing of her _serviette_, "I saw my father bury our wines -out there in the garden. It took several days, and he had only my -brother and me to help him. I remember how he mumbled and shook his head -over the possible effect of disturbing the good _crus_. 'They will -never be the same again,' he said mournfully. Much good it did him! We -had our work for nothing. The Germans came. Right where you are sitting, -_M'sieu-dame_, the brutes thumped on the table and called for the best -in the cellar. My father said he had no wine. They went to the cave. -Empty. Then the officer laughed till the tears rolled down his cheeks. -He sat in a chair--sprawled in a chair that cracked under his -swinging--smacked his thighs, and when he could speak, he told his men -to go out into the garden. With their picks and shovels they unearthed -all--all, _M'sieu-dame_. - -"So this time I remembered--and I thought hard. My husband was off the -fourth day of the mobilization. Even if I had help, would not the garden -_cache_ a second time be foolish? And the old _crus_ ought not to be -shaken--you are going to taste my Chambertin, and you will agree that it -ought not to risk being shaken. It really ought not. What was I to do? -When the Germans come, will they know the difference? I asked myself. So -I took _vin ordinaire_. I put it in bottles. I sealed it red. I worked -two days to put it on the outer racks and the under racks with the good -wine between. Then I cobwebbed it and moistened it with dust. I built a -fire to dry it. If the Germans were in a hurry they would take the top. -If they had leisure, they would fish in the bottom rows. - -"But the Germans never came. I had my work a second time for nothing. -Do you think, _M'sieu-dame_, they will be fooled? I want to know what is -best for next time." - -"Next time," cried my husband. "Next time! Do you think there will be a -next time?" - -"_Bien sûr_, Monsieur," the woman answered without hesitation. "The -Germans will come again. They will always come. We are not as big, -_hélas_! They will come--unless your country--?" - -Suddenly we realized that not the keeper of the inn, but France, France -through a wife and mother, was speaking. A shadow fell upon us that -Chambertin and the crisp autumn air could not dispel. - - - - -1914-1915 - - - - -CHAPTER XXII - -AT HOME IN THE WHIRLWIND - - -After the initial days of mobilization, the German advance, the coming -of the refugees, and the aeroplane raids, Paris became again -astonishingly normal. We got used to the war quickly. A calamity is like -death. It comes. You cannot change it. You must accept it and go on -living. We were in the midst of the whirlwind. We had our ups and downs. -There were periods of unreasonable hope, when we thought the war was -going to end by the collapse of the Germans. And there were periods of -equally unreasoning depression when gloom spread like a plague. Who will -ever forget the hope that came with the Spring of 1915? Mysterious -rumors spread of German demoralization and of the irresistible fighting -machine the British were building up. Our armies were only waiting for -the rainy weather to finish. Then the forward march would commence. But -after a few unsuccessful attempts to break through, French and British -settled down to the life of the trenches. Fortunately the Germans were -equally immobilized. But during the summer, instead of our advance on -the western front, we had to read about the German advance in Poland. -The censorship worked overtime. _Communiqués_ were masterpieces of -clever dissimulation. News was withheld in the hope of a sudden reversal -of the fortune of arms. In the end we had to be told that Warsaw was in -the hands of the Central Empires and that _les Impériaux_ were closing -in on Brest-Litovsk. In the summer of 1915, at the very beginning of the -Italian intervention, the French lost faith in the new ally. Italy, -untouched so far by the war and with the power of making an offensive in -her own hands, could not even prevent Austria from lending powerful aid -in the great German offensive against Russia! Ink and breath were spent -in extolling the union of the Latin races: but the mass of the French -people--from that time on--looked no more for aid to Italy. - -[Illustration: The first snow in the Luxembourg] - -We deferred hope until the spring of 1916. Surely the British would now -be ready to cooperate with the French in the final offensive of the war! -But the Germans, feeling certain that they had disposed of the Russians, -struck first. The last days of February, 1916, were (if one except -possibly the spring months of 1918) the darkest days of the war. -Although the attacks against Verdun failed, the weather in Paris -combined with sickening anxiety to make us feel that it was -nip-and-tuck. As a contrast, the summer months of the Battle of the -Somme renewed our courage. And just as we were reluctantly realizing -that this onslaught of ours was as indecisive as the earlier German -offensive against Verdun, to which it was the reply, the intervention of -Rumania came to offset the admitted failure of the Dardanelles and -Mesopotamian campaigns. At last, the war was to be decided in the -Balkans! Before the third winter set in, however, we saw Rumania humbled -by Mackensen and the Salonica army as motionless as the armies on the -western front, even though Venizelos had at last succeeded in ranging -Greece on our side. The German machine was not crumbling before a -combination of superior numbers and superior equipment, and managed to -face its enemies on all sides. - -So much for what the newspapers said during those thirty months and for -what we thought about the _péripéties_ of the war. After each -disappointment we looked for new reasons to hope. We readjusted -ourselves to living in the midst of uncertainties, bereavements that -would have broken our hearts had they come to us "by the hand of God," -and increasing social and economic difficulties. France was saved -because the French people never faltered in their belief that _dulce et -decorum est pro patria mori_. France was saved because Paris led a -normal life in the midst of the whirlwind. The Turks have a proverb that -a fish begins to corrupt at the head. If the Parisians had become -demoralized, if they had given up the struggle to live normally and -tranquilly, France would have been lost. - -Initial reactions and early symptoms of war fever passed quickly. We -soon opened up our pianos, put on our phonograph records, and took to -singing again. We did not wear mourning. We insisted upon having our -theatres and music-halls. We celebrated Christmas. We stopped making -last year's suits do and refusing to buy finery. For the _poilus_, -coming home to find their women folks shabby, said it was gayer at the -front. We allowed all the German composers except Wagner to re-appear on -our programmes. Some stupidities, such as banishing the German language -from schools and burning German books, we were never guilty of. - -I remember reading with amusement and amazement an article in an -American newspaper, written by someone who "did" war-stricken France in -thirty days, in which this statement was made: "There are millions in -France who will never smile again." Upon this absurd and false -hypothesis the article was built. It was easy to be sure that the writer -knew nothing whatever about France in war-time or about psychology, for -that matter. Whoever has had any experience of horrors or who has lived -through a great crisis knows that if you do not laugh you will go crazy. -Normal human beings must have relaxation and recreation. They must -have--or create--normal conditions in abnormal surroundings. You must -go on living. You must have strength to meet burdens. So you laugh and -sing and dance. You entertain people and are entertained. You go to the -theatre. You take exercise. You enjoy your meals. A long face is either -a pose or a sign of mental derangement. In the spring of 1916 I checked -up a dozen of my women friends, all of whom had husbands or sons--or -both--in the war. More than half were widows or had sons killed. The -husbands of two were prisoners in German camps. But all of them were -planning to spend the summer in their country-homes or at the shore, -just as they had done before the war. Is not this the secret of our -ability to hold on during the "last quarter of an hour" and to continue -to hope for victory until we had obtained it? - -At the beginning of the second winter, in November, 1915, I sent my -three children to live for a few weeks in my studio, which I had fixed -up especially for them. They had a piano and a phonograph and books and -toys. They moved over with their nurse on a Sunday afternoon, and -thought it was a great lark. The next day their father went to see them -and told them about the arrival of a baby sister. - -Tuesday morning the children came to see us. Never shall I forget their -joy. Christine said immediately, "Hello, Hope, let me fix your feet. -Mama, could I tuck her blanket in? Hope's feet are cold. I want to hold -her soon." A little mother, she is. Lloyd, sensitive and reserved, -stood quietly looking. He patted my face and tried to speak. But his -mouth was turning down at the corners for just a second, and I had to -save the day by asking him a cheerful question. Mimi clapped her hands -and danced and said, "I like you, mama, dat's a fine baby." When Herbert -went over to the consulate to register the baby, he took Christine with -him. She heard him say to the Consul-General, Mr. Thackara, that his -French friends were teasing him about the large number of marriage dots -he will have to provide. Christine saw in this a reflection on girl -babies. With a volley of French reproof, which delighted the whole -consular office, she went for him tooth and nail. - -Isn't it a joke on me to have so many daughters? I have always thought -myself a good pal, understanding men much better than women. Miss Mary -Cassatt came in. Her comment was subtle. She said simply to Herbert that -she was glad of his assured increase of interest in women's suffrage. -Surprised, Herbert was betrayed into asking why. "Don't you realize," -exclaimed Miss Cassatt, "that you must begin now to interest yourself in -the future of your girls?" Although the coming of Hope increases the -problems of feminine psychology I shall have to deal with later on, I am -glad the war baby was a girl. My first thought, when they told me, was -that she should not have to carry a gun. - -This brings me to her name. 1915 was drawing to a close with so many -darkening shadows--but shadows that did not lessen our faith in the -outcome of the war--that I thought the name imposed upon us by -circumstances. I called her Hope Delarue. Dear old Père Delarue is one -of the best known research scholars in the Jesuit Order. Our friendship, -founded back in Constantinople days, has deepened during the war. When -Herbert went off on his many trips, anyone of which might have proved -the last, he left me in the care of Père Delarue. The dear old man had -been coming to us from time to time with the news of another loss in his -family. His brother, a general in the French army, was killed. His -nephews had fallen. I thought it would comfort him to feel that there -was a child in the world to bear his name. Before going to Suez, Herbert -gave me some flat silver marked H.D.G. It flashed into his brain the day -after the baby was born that the little thing had its mother's initials! - -I was up for the first time on Christmas Eve. We had a large party as -usual, with a tree for the children trimmed by the grown-ups. In spite -of the rain we tried to make our Christmas Day a joyful one. There was -the newborn baby to celebrate. At the end of the afternoon, Herbert gave -us a hurried kiss all around, and went out in the rain to catch the -train for Marseilles. He sailed the next day on the _André Lebon_ for -Port-Said. His was the only one of the three passenger boats that week -to escape the submarines. The P. and O. _Persia_ was sunk off Crete and -the Japanese mail went down seventy miles from the Canal. - -I did not see my husband for several months, and then he joined us in -Nice for a few days before going to Verdun. It was a joyful reunion. -Herbert admired his children and asked what they had done during his -absence. But he forgot all about poor little Hope, who was taking her -nap. Two hours after his arrival, a lusty cry brought back to his mind -the fact that the number of his children was four. - -Memories of these days are not painful, because we did not allow -ourselves to be dominated by pain while they were being lived. The -whirlwind was not of our making, nor had we gone deliberately into the -midst of it. But, finding ourselves there, we made the best of it. -Memories are precious. I would not have missed the Paris vistas of those -years. It is a blessed thing to have in one's mind the long lines of -adverse circumstances and difficulties and anxieties on either side if -at the end is hope realized. And I have my own tangible Hope, a child -whose merry, sunny nature is living proof of how Paris was at home in -the whirlwind. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII - -SAUVONS LES BÉBÉS - - -"M-M-M-Madame m-m-must not be f-f-frightened; he said so!" - -My Bretonne cook came to me pale and stammering. - -"What is the trouble, Rosali?" - -"P-p-policeman at the d-d-door s-s-says he m-m-must see you!" - -A spick and span _agent_ came into my drawing-room. He took the -cigarette offered him, and explained the reason for his visit. - -"My chief sent me around to ask madame to help. It is a baby case. We -came here because the mother said she got a layette at madame's studio. -Her name is Mlle. A----; do you remember her case? If madame could -come--" - -In a few minutes we were walking up the Rue Delambre to the police -station of the Fourteenth Arrondissement. Mlle. A---- had come to me for -baby clothes before she went to the hospital. The child's father was at -the front. When the mother appealed to him to recognize the child, with -the desperate way of a man who is in the trenches facing death, he -replied, - -"What's the use! How do I know that the child is mine?" - -Before going to the hospital the girl begged me to think of something to -do. When the baby was born we had him photographed and a copy sent to -his father, we wrote, "The baby looks like you as you can see from this -photograph. If you tear up the card or throw it away, the next shell -will kill you." - -At the police station, in the stuffy little room where the plain clothes -men sit close to the door leading to the office of the Monsieur le -Commissaire, I found Mlle. A---- and her baby. - -"O Madame," she cried, "Jean got our card. He was sitting in a little -circle with some comrades eating dinner. The mail arrived. His name was -called. He rose and walked over to the _vaguemestre_ and, oh, Madame, -just then the shell came. It exploded where Jean had been eating his -dinner, and all his comrades were killed. He says the baby, _pauvre -chou_, looks like him and saved his life." - -The _agent_ came with papers. "Will madame sign here?" Jean was -recognizing little Pierrot and was applying for permission to marry the -baby's mother. - -An old woman sitting nearby held in her hands a _livret de mariage_. -"_Quel beau bébé!_" she exclaimed. "Is it a girl?" - -"No, madame, a boy," replied mademoiselle, smoothing the baby's -swaddling blanket and pinning it tighter around Pierrot's little tummy. - -"That's it, that's it," cried the old woman. "I came here to get a -certificate myself. My daughter had a baby born this morning. It's a -boy, too. It was like that in Soixante-Dix. Nearly all the babies born -in war time are boys. O la, la, madame, what a baby! His father is -fighting so he won't have to carry a gun." Here she pulled out a -handkerchief. - -The poor help the poor, when it comes to _moral_, as in everything else. -I was sitting in my studio interviewing women who came for baby clothes. -A white-faced girl sat down in the chair at the opposite side of the -table. - -"What can I do for you?" said I. - -"A little white dress--" she sobbed. "Could you give me a little white -dress?" - -"Certainly I'll give it to you, and lots of other things too." - -"I don't need anything else," she said softly, "My baby died this -morning. They did everything at the hospital to save her. She was born -three weeks ago and they let me stay on. They wrapped her in a little -piece of sheeting. I can't stand it to bury her like that!" She put her -head down on the table and wept. - -"Shall I give madame a little white dress?" - -The twenty other mothers sitting there answered "Yes, give it to her." - -To some the tears had come. Others, dry-eyed, clutched their babies. - -"And flowers?" said one. - -"Yes, she must have money for flowers." I hardly knew what to say to the -girl, but soon the other mothers were talking to her. They were the best -comforters. - -How did amateur relief workers get the strength and energy to face the -awfulness of the situation? What we did was not "wonderful." Relief work -was a debt we owed to life. Fatigue could never be thought of. When my -apartment is in a mess from front door to kitchen, straightening looks -hopeless. It used to be discouraging until I pretended I had blinders on -my eyes and began with the nursery table. I took off everything that -didn't belong there and replaced the things that should be there. I -finished the table to the last detail before making the bed. I tried to -work in a leisurely frame of mind without too many glances at the clock. -After a bit one whole room was tidied. Kiddies were requested not to go -in there "till Mama says so." Then I tackled the next room, and so -on--and so on. In relief work, too, you must begin to work on one atom -of the problem. You must put blinders on your eyes to shut out all the -other atoms. It is fatal to let your imagination run away with you, -fatal to envisage the accumulated woe. - -Once in the Rue Servandoni days an Englishman came to ask Herbert to -bury his baby. He told me the story of how the baby died, and I cried -all night thinking of the mother. Herbert remonstrated with me for -trying to bear the whole of another's grief. Christ did that and it -broke His heart. His broken heart could save humanity; but as for little -me I could do nobody any good by breaking my heart over them. Relief -work must be constructive with respect to the patient and instructive -with respect to the worker. You have to exercise self-control of emotion -and help yourself to poise by quickly concentrating your mind on what -details of the problem you are fitted to cope with. You learn after a -while that your enthusiasm and sympathy will not do it all. You accept -the fact that you are not indispensable. You realize that you can put a -person on his feet but that to carry him is beyond you. You are not the -only influence for good that is touching his life. This attitude keeps -you both happy and humble. And so you develop confidence in life and -confidence in time. In relief work both life and time are good allies. - -My work started in a modest way in my studio in September, 1914. I -wanted to help mothers of newborn babies, and so I called my _oeuvre_ -SAUVONS LES BÉBÉS. I wrote to friends for money and layettes, and -depended--as all American women in France did--upon the personal -correspondence with individuals and organizations in America to maintain -and develop the work started. I had no committee, and, during the three -years I worked for the babies, only one associate. The French wife of an -American artist joined me in 1915. From Princeton, Germantown, -Philadelphia, Pittsburg, New York, Brooklyn and Boston people I knew and -my readers sent me money and boxes through the American Relief -Clearing-House. My best aids were always and invariably the police, who -sent cases to me and guarded me against imposition. It soon became known -in the Fourteenth (my own) Arrondissement, and the neighbouring Sixth, -Fifth, Thirteenth and Fifteenth Arrondissements, that an American woman -in the Rue Campagne-Première gave layettes to expectant mothers, and -sometimes helped with medicines, milk, vacations, clothes and shoes for -other children. I did not need to advertise or hang out a sign! In less -than three years four thousand mothers of five thousand babies found -their way to the Rue Campagne-Première. Sometimes I was swamped, badly -swamped, but I managed to get around to all in the end. I remember one -time, however, that babies were several months old before I could give -their mothers a complete layette. - -There was nothing unusual about my oeuvre, in its size, its -singlehandedness, or its spirit. Every American woman in France did what -she could from the very beginning by taking up work as she saw it at -hand--in her own home or neighborhood. Many did much more than I. There -were others in Paris looking after the new-born babies. - -In the summer of 1917 we Americans resident in France had to give up, -all of us, the individuality of our _oeuvres_. This meant that most of -them went out of existence. When the rumor ran from mouth to mouth in -the American colony that the Red Cross insisted on taking over -everything and would starve out the stubborn individualists, there was -consternation. Since the Red Cross was a Government organization and -controlled shipping, it was possible for them to tell us that we should -receive no more cases of supplies after September first, even if friends -at home kept on sending them. Some were furious; some were offended; -some would give a generous slice of their fortune to fight the -injunction; some laughed. But the charities' trust had come to stay, and -started in to handle things and ride rough-shod over people in a way -that I fear is typically American. - -In the early stages of war fever, the Y.M.C.A. and the Army showed the -same symptoms as the Red Cross in France. There was the idea that the -American way is always and exclusively the right way; impatience with -and resentment against existing organizations; a thirst for sweeping -reforms; and the determination that Americans who had been on the ground -from the beginning must be eliminated. The way our splendid Ambulance -at Neuilly was absorbed by the army is a story of Prussianism pure and -simple. The Red Cross men and their wives did not seem to get it into -their heads that we had been at war for three years. I attended a -drawing-room meeting one day, where a hundred women were gathered who -had been sacrificing themselves in relief work ever since the day France -mobilized. More than one had lost her son in the war. A new Red Cross -woman, fresh from America, lectured on what the Red Cross was going to -do. She smiled at us, and her peroration was this: "Now you must realize -that we are at war, and that we are going to put you all to work, all to -work!" - -When the excitement cooled down a bit, we realized that these Red Cross -volunteers meant well, that they were devoted and capable, and that we -could not take too tragically their ignorance and inexperience. We -realized that we were tired, that we needed a rest and change, and that -the Red Cross, with its enormous funds and abundant personnel, was in a -position to realize many of our dreams. Our initial resentment was in -part dismay at seeing newly arrived compatriots making the same mistakes -some of us had made in the beginning, and partly their obtuseness in -failing to get the French point of view. Contact with suffering such as -they had never seen before soon mellowed most of the Red Cross -volunteers and they realized that America was coming, as my husband put -it, "not to save France, but to help France save the world." - -Outside of hospitals, where there was a reason for it, we had never worn -uniforms: but we got accustomed to seeing them as the A.E.F. grew -although we never could master the meaning of many of them. One morning -a woman in uniform, with service cap and Sam-Browne belt (not forgetting -the nickel ring for hanging a dagger from), appeared in my studio. From -her pocket she took a crisp new loose-leaf notebook, the like of which -could no longer be indulged in by ordinary folks. As she unscrewed and -adjusted her fountain-pen, she said, - -"I've been sent to inspect your relief organization." - -"You come from the Children's Bureau?" I asked. - -"No, Civilian Relief. How do you handle the matter of investigation?" - -"Well," I answered, "I cast my eye over the person, size her up, and -give her what she needs. I cannot afford to investigate. You see, I have -no overhead charges and I need all the money I can get for materials and -all the time for handling them. The only expense is for sewing. Even -that money goes to my own women. I give the sewing out to mothers on my -list so they will not have to go out to work. This encourages them to -nurse their babies themselves instead of sending them to a _nourrice_." - -"People begging," said my visitor, "are splendid actors, you know." - -"Few women who are just about to have a baby are likely to act the -impostor," I answered, "and then I do not consider my women as beggars. -I'm sure that nine out of ten are not. They wouldn't need any aid if -their husbands were not in the trenches earning five sous a day. For the -first two years it was only one sou a day. You can generally tell the -difference between a shifty woman looking for a chance to get something -for nothing and the shattered little mother, unaccustomed to charity, -whose children would go without winter clothes were it not for some form -of outside help. Most of the women who come here look on me as a -neighbor who loves babies and who keeps flannel in her cupboard. I'd -rather give away an occasional layette to a dead beat than bruise the -feelings of timid souls at bay. If you could see them as they come in -here!" - -"But you know really that there can be an immense amount of waste of -good material if you don't investigate." - -"I may have wasted material, but I've never failed to help. Nobody -investigated me when my baby was born in a Turkish massacre. If they -had, I couldn't have stood it. Of course I have faced the question. I -figure that if I put in one column the number of layettes I give out and -their cost, and beside it what I would spend in time and taxi fares to -investigate, I should find that the price of a badly-placed layette or -two would be less than the cost of investigation." - -The inspector took full and rapid notes. Folding them neatly into her -pocket with one clap of her notebook, she left me. - -Three days later a young man appeared. He said, "I am here to represent -the Red Cross. Would you mind telling me about your baby work?" - -"Are you from the Children's Bureau?" - -"No, I am Vital Statistics." - -After the Refugees Bureau sent two inspectors to look into my -activities, the Children's Bureau finally did come. They "took over" my -work, which meant that no more babies in my quarter of Paris received -layettes from the United States. - -When I finally handed over my _oeuvre_ to the Red Cross, the interview -with the husky well-fed football player of a doctor was refreshing. He -was full of enthusiasm, and I felt instinctively that he was an able man -with broad vision and an open mind. But, like all the men at 4 Place de -la Concorde, he did not give the French credit for having already -thought of and worked out many of the problems he wanted to solve. His -attitude towards the French put them in what Abe and Mawruss would call -the "new beginner" class in the matter of baby welfare. He cheerfully -told me of organizing plans for saving French babies, plans which, -compared with what we had been doing, were Kolossal. But the plans -included some things which I knew would not go and others which the -French had already worked out more successfully than my own -compatriots. Puericulture is an advanced science in France, where baby -lives are more precious than anywhere else in the world. I had tried -some of the things he wanted to do and had run up against a stone wall. -So had other American women. I started to sputter, but stopped short of -speech. For I had a lightning vision of how parents must feel when their -children, grown to manhood, plunge into work and do things they might be -saved from if only--. I felt motherly towards this capable young man who -was as old as myself. But something about him gave me confidence that he -would work it out all right. And I knew that he was in no frame of mind -to benefit by my experience. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV - -UNCOMFORTABLE NEUTRALITY - - -The following letter was in my husband's mail one day: - - "A young American came to Paris about twenty-five years ago, lived - for a time in the Latin Quarter, and then, following the loss of - his income, obtained a minor position in the office of an importer - of American goods. He liked his work, rose to a place of - responsibility, eventually went into business for himself, and - developed the business to a prosperous issue. - - "He held the theory that the few Americans living and working - abroad formed the nucleus of American overseas industrial expansion - and that they were regarded by Europeans as representative of their - fellow-countrymen. He felt that it was his duty to conduct his - business and social activities in such a manner as to merit the - confidence and respect of his hosts. Had he been indifferent to - these responsibilities or had his patriotic fire ever burned low, - his association with the active members of the American Chamber of - Commerce in France and the American Club in Paris would have surely - recalled and revived them. Every one knows of the results attained - by these organizations in their effort to maintain the feeling of - sympathetic understanding between the two great sister republics - during the long and difficult period of 'watchful waiting.' Such - services enter into the realm of practical diplomacy and could have - been rendered efficient only by men of high standing and of the - highest order of patriotism. - - "I wish to call your attention to the editorial page of an - American weekly, which boasts of millions of readers, where we see - a vicious attack upon ourselves. I quote textually: 'Things had - reached a point among our expatriates, the _fifty-eighth and lowest - form of cootie_, that in home circles to be pro-American was really - bad form.' - - "Is this the general opinion in America? Is it shared by people of - intelligence? The editorial in question apparently adds another - high authority on public opinion to the previous judgment rendered - by Mr. Wilson when he classified us as 'unpatriotic Americans - living abroad.' I am interested in knowing the true facts. Must we - admit that we are held in small esteem by friends at home because - we live in France? - - "Sincerely yours, - - "ONE OF THE COOTIES." - -Being "cooties" ourselves, in the estimation of the American editorial -writer, we read the protest of the American business man resident in -Paris with the keenest interest and sympathy. In telling about the -attitude of the Red Cross toward our relief organizations, after the -United States intervened in the war, I spoke of only one phase of the -mistrust--even scorn--so many of our compatriots took no pains to -conceal when they learned that we belonged to the American colony. It -was inconceivable that we should be living in Paris and bringing up our -children there and still be good Americans. They questioned more than -our patriotism and our loyalty to the country of our birth. They felt -that there must be some skeleton in the closet of every American family -living abroad. I have never had an American tell me to my face that my -husband was a crook and that we were abroad "for our health," but I -have had them inquire pointedly why on earth this or that friend of mine -lived in exile. And I suppose my friends were asked about the past of -the Gibbons menage! - -"How long have you been over?" is a question as common as the "Oh!" with -a curious inflection that meets the confession of a protracted residence -abroad. - -I am sure I do not know why the writer in the American weekly read by -millions called us first "expatriates" and then "the fifty-eighth and -lowest form of cooties." I cannot imagine why. He is ignorant of the -people of whom he speaks. He has probably never met anyone in the -American colony of a European city, or has jumped to the conclusion that -an occasional bounder or cad or snob (these are always in evidence) -represents as intensely patriotic and loyal Americans as exist anywhere. -Or he thinks that living abroad means dislike of one's own country. - -There are Americans in Europe--and some of them are to be found in -Paris--who have no valid reason for being where they are more than in -another place. There are criminals and courtiers. There are those who -have forgotten their birthright. But they form an infinitesimally small -percentage of the American colony in Paris. Most of our American -residents are business men, painters, sculptors and writers, with the -necessary sprinkling of professional men to minister to their needs, of -the type of the writer of the letter quoted above. Many of them came to -Paris first by accident or as students and just stayed on. Without them -our country would be little known in Europe: and Europe would be little -known in our country. Until the war broke out, it was never realized how -many Americans resided in Paris. Most of them had lived along quietly, -doing their own work and minding their own business. But they had kept -alive the friendship begun in the days of Franklin. Art and literature -have their part in good understanding between nations: but the -foundation and the binding tie are furnished by commerce and banking. -The best representatives of Americanism are business men. - -We of the American colony found that out during the war; and we are -sorry for the ignorance and misapprehension and ingratitude of our -compatriots. They judged without inquiry and tried to put into Coventry -the very men whose patience and tact and devotion not only prevented a -break between France and the United States during the years of -uncomfortable neutrality but prepared the way for the intervention of -America and the downfall of Germany. - -I may not have perspective. I may be prejudiced. But I do feel that I -have a right to protest against the cruel snap judgments of us made by -those who never realized there was a war between right and wrong until -April, 1917. - -_Les amis de la première heure_--the friends of the first hour--as the -French love to call those who refused to obey the injunction to be -"neutral even in thought" were not confined to Americans resident in -France. We had behind us from the first day our friends in America, -friends by the hundreds of thousands, who sent money and medical -supplies, clothing and kits. All who could came to France to help -actively in relief work. But the machinery for the charitable effort of -the United States coming to the aid of France was provided by the -Americans who were permanent or partial residents in France. We were on -the ground. We knew the language. We knew the needs and the -peculiarities of those we were helping. - -The greatest service we were privileged to render to our own country and -to France was not ministering to the material needs. What we -accomplished was a drop in the bucket. It was the moral significance of -the relief work that counted. Our Government was neutral. The American -people in the mass were far away from the conflict. The French realized -all the same that individually and collectively the Americans who knew -France or who were in contact with France believed in the righteousness -of France's cause and in the final triumph of France's arms. - -Neutrality was uncomfortable. For thirty months we were in an awkward -position. We had to hold the balance between loyalty to America and -friendship for France. On the one hand, we were called upon to -comprehend the slowness of our fellow-countrymen to awaken to the moral -issues at stake, especially after the sinking of the _Lusitania_. On the -other hand, we were called upon to comprehend the impatience and -disappointment of our French friends. We tried to be sensible and to -realize that those who were far from the fray and to whom the war was -incidental could not be expected to share our intense feeling. With rare -exceptions, Americans in Paris did not allow themselves to criticize the -policy of their government in the presence of French or British friends. -That was hard, and required as much tact as we could muster. But when we -were _en famille_, the fur did fly! That was natural. We had a right to -our opinions, and everything we said from 1914 to the end of 1916, -President Wilson and all America with him said in 1917 and 1918. We were -never ashamed of being Americans. That accusation was untrue. But we -were sorry that the awakening came so late. For we saw the toll of human -life growing each month. We feared that France would come out of the war -too weakened to profit by victory if the war dragged on. We were -sometimes nervous about the aftermath. - -As I look back upon the first years of the war, American neutrality -appears as a tragedy. It was uncomfortable for us, and disastrous for -France. But we lived through it as we lived through other things. Our -French friends were splendid. Their patience was greater than ours. - -We kept our flags ready for the inevitable day. And when it arrived at -last, no Americans were prouder of the stars and stripes than we. - - - - -1917 - - - - -CHAPTER XXV - -HOW WE KEPT WARM - - -In Paris the child of the people is a born artist. He has the instinct -from his ancestors. His taste is formed and cultivated by what he sees -around him--of the present as well as of the past--from the time he -first begins to observe things. Inheritance and atmosphere influence -him. One June day in 1917, our dear friend Thiébault-Sisson, art critic -of the _Temps_, was lunching with us. He drew from his pocket a lot of -photographs. They illustrated the best and most striking of the drawings -by children in the primary schools of the city. M. Thiébault-Sisson had -organized an exposition of children's drawings, done in their ordinary -class work. The photographs were a surprise and a revelation. Having -lived in Paris since the beginning of the war, I could appreciate the -comments of a Parisian, proud of this eloquent showing of precocious -talent. I accepted with alacrity his invitation to see the originals. - -The outline, almost always enhanced by bright frank color, where the -three notes of the flag played a perpetual leit-motif, was a feast for -the eyes. In work of this character one expects to see the freshness -and freedom of childhood. What I found that was unusual was the maturity -born of suffering and intense emotion. In the drawings life in wartime -was reflected with a _naïveté_ that excluded neither precision nor vigor -of touch. With compositions of the simplest and most studied character -there was taste and a pretty feeling for color. - -The most popular form of drawing was the poster. In one school the -children were given the subject of calling upon the people to economize -gas. One little girl made a few bold strokes outlining a gas-jet and -wrote underneath, "Parisians--Economize Gas!" Asked to admonish the -public to eat less bread, a boy of ten used a potato as a face. The eyes -were almost human in their appeal. "Eat me please!" was written under -the drawing. A further caption stated that it was the duty of patriots -to save the bread for the soldiers. Sugar shortage inspired the idea of -a sugar cone and the same cone cut in half. Under the former was "In -1914" and under the latter "--and now!" The best of these posters were -reproduced by the thousand and put in tram-cars and railway stations. -They did more to call us to order than all the grave _affiches_ of the -Government. - -A dominating note, perhaps the strongest after that of the man on -furlough or the poignant expression of emotions experienced when the -news came that father would never return again, was the hunt for coal. -Little observers, inventing nothing of this (for it was seen over and -over again), pictured a coal wagon upon which two or three youngsters -had scrambled and were helping themselves. Generously they were firing -bits of the precious commodity to their little comrades. This was a -drawing made from memory of things seen. - -Winter in Paris is often mild: but early in 1917 came a protracted spell -of zero weather that would have taxed the facilities of Paris in -ordinary times. The coal shortage hit us at the worst possible moment. -Transportation was tied up. The mines were not producing. Stocks became -exhausted in a few days. The hunt for coal was cruel because it was -mostly fruitless and because it imposed upon the children weary waits, -hours at a time, in the street in snow and wind, with the thermometer -down to zero. - -Whoever saw the crowds massed in a long line in front of the coal -depots, old men, women, children stamping their feet painfully, jostled, -weeping or seized with mute despair at the curt announcement that there -was nothing to do but return to-morrow, will never forget the worst -calamity that fell upon Paris during the war. Children were hit by it -more than all the rest, and in a certain sense more than by the loss of -a father. For they suffered from it in their own flesh, in little hands -chapped till they opened into deep cracks, in little fingers stiffened -and swollen by monstrous chilblains, in frost-bitten feet. For six weeks -the quest for coal was the ruling passion. It inspired the children to -compositions all quite like each other in sentiment and all dominated by -the conviction of an implacable fatality. - -In common with most Parisians who lived in modern apartment-houses, we -never had to think of heat. Like hot water, you just turned it on. To -make an effort to have it no more entered into our scheme of things than -to help with the stoking when we were on ship-board. How naturally one -accepts the comforts and conveniences resulting from the work of others -and the smooth moving of modern city life! At first we felt the coal -shortage mildly. It meant piling on extra clothes and having our noses -turn red and then blue, like the dolls with barometrical petticoats. The -apartment was chilly, but we got up as late as we could. For once we -blessed the school system in France which works the children so many -hours that you wonder why the babies do not strike for an eight-hour -day. As long as the municipality could supply them, schools were -especially favored. After school hours and _devoirs_ (we had a wood fire -in one room), bed time soon came for the kids. We set the victrola -going, and everybody danced until they forgot the thermometer. - -[Illustration: A passage through the Louvre] - -Then we began to discover that coal means more than heat and light. We -found out how many trades were obliged to say "no coal, no work." In a -big city coal is certainly king, and not a limited monarch at that. -Transportation depends on coal, and everything else depends upon -transportation. One day there was a mass meeting of Paris laundresses. -The Government had promised them coal upon payment in advance of a large -part of the price. The order had been placed for weeks: no coal came. It -meant livelihood to the laundresses and cleanliness to the rest of us. -They had the Board of Health with them and the learned doctors of the -Académie de Médecine. Think of the menace of weeks of accumulated soiled -linen! It was all right for the papers to joke about abolishing starched -shirts and cuffs and collars. That was a small part of the problem, -affecting only men. The germs involved in not being able to wash were no -joke. - -Elderly people living alone and adult families calculated that it was -cheaper to go to a _pension_ than to keep house. In some cases it was -the only feasible thing. People who had the means started to go south -when conditions in Paris became intolerable. But with little children it -was dangerous to attempt a journey in freezing cold trains. - -Just when we had exhausted the little supply of wood we had laid in -originally for the luxury of a wood fire we did not need, our -_propriétaire_ notified us that he could get no more coal for heating or -hot water. And the same day an inspector called to place a maximum of -gas (our only means of cooking) at less than half the amount we -ordinarily consumed. - -The law of substitution came into force. We had long been ridiculing the -Germans for their _ersatz_ ingenuity. Were we now to have to seek -substitutes? Cooking is the most vital thing in life next to foodstuffs. -Paris blossomed out with what I thought was an American invention, the -fireless cooker. But they were called _marmites norvégiennes_. I suppose -if we keep on digging at Pompeii we shall find them there. Everyone who -could afford a _marmite_ bought one. You could get them at all prices -and sizes, and the newspapers published daily directions for using them. -If you could not afford a fireless cooker or if you were unable to buy -one (they soon gave out, of course), you took your hatbox from the -Galeries Lafayette and stuffed it with newspapers and sawdust with just -room in the middle for your soup-kettle. - -But fireless cookers would not wash clothes. They would not give the -necessary supply of hot water. The law of substitution has a limit. And -what was to be the _ersatz_ for fuel in heating? Gas? Your supply was -already cut down. Electricity? Ditto. Both of these depended upon coal. -Petroleum? The army had commandeered all the supplies for motor -transport and airplanes. Wood alcohol? There was none to be had. - -Then began the coal hunt for us. We had been pitying the poor. Now was -our turn. Money was of no value. Other _propriétaires_ had served the -same notice. People with larger purses than ours were in the market for -coal and wood. Our children began to suffer also in their own flesh. - -My husband and his secretary gave up work and joined the coal hunters. -They scoured the city in taxi-cabs. Herbert found a man who knew where -there was a ton of anthracite for eighty dollars. He tracked it down and -found that he was the tenth person applying for it that same afternoon. - -Then the kiddies came down with measles. Keeping them warm in the way -the doctor ordered was utterly impossible. All we could do was to give -them more blankets. When the baby got congestion of the lungs and heat -and hot baths meant the difference between life and death, I cast my eye -over the apartment appraising the furniture. I no longer thought of how -pretty my Brittany _armoire_ was or how I loved my Empire desk. The -cubic feet of wood was the sole criterion. Dining-room chairs went first -into the fire in Hope's bedroom. The dining-room table, sawed into -little blocks, heated the water for baths. Cupboard doors were taken off -their hinges and converted into fuel. Herbert got a hand-cart and stood -in line for his turn at a place where old lumber from torn-down houses -was being sold. There was a crowd besieging it as if it were a -gold-mine. It was, to the owners. The junk that had been there for years -disappeared at fabulous prices in a few days, doors, clapboards, -window-sashes, shutters, beams, flooring, even lathes. - -When our fight for Hope's life became known, friends appeared bringing -treasures. A prominent American manufacturer was at the door one -morning. He had climbed six flights of stairs with a huge bag of bits of -wood gleaned in his factory. - -"We calculate pretty close," he said apologetically. "We do not have -much waste in making roll-top desks." - -"Don't ask me where I got this sack of coal," said another respectable -Samaritan. I felt his guilt, confirmed when he told me the story -afterwards of how he had stolen it from the back of a wagon. But I was -not asking questions then! - -Two burly policemen, unmindful of dignity and uniforms, deposited sacks -of wood on my salon floor. They had come from the Commissariat in the -Fifth Arrondissement. Monsieur le Commissaire, they explained, had said -that the woman who was looking after so many Paris babies in her -_oeuvre_ must not be allowed to see her own baby die. They had agreed. -This was the wood from their own office. Why not? For the first time I -cried. Go through my experience, and you will understand how one can -have a passionate love for the French. I am relating here just one -little incident of help unsolicited that came in a crisis. I had never -seen that Commissaire. How he knew my baby was ill was a mystery. But I -have often experienced in my Paris life the impulsive generosity, -carried out at inconvenience and sacrifice, of which this is an example. -There were others who needed that wood as much as I did. But I was a -foreigner who had been working for babies in the Commissaire's district. -A point of honor was involved. Never will you find a Frenchman lacking -when he feels a sense of obligation. - -François Coppée wrote a beautiful story about a young French aristocrat -whose life in the army had taught him that half of the world goes -through life struggling constantly to obtain what the other half has -without effort. Perhaps you have read "La Croûte de Pain." After the war -of Soixante-Dix the aristocrat could not bear to see bread wasted. One -day he picked up a crust on the street, brushed off the mud with his -handkerchief and set it on the side-walk where one who needed it would -find it. And then he told his inquiring companion why. I shall always be -like that with coal. For I can never forget how we kept warm in -February, 1917. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI - -APRIL SIXTH - - -Never were Americans in France more perplexed about the state of feeling -in the United States than at the beginning of 1917. The sinking of the -_Lusitania_ and other _torpillages_ had brought forth note after note -from President Wilson: but his spokesmen among the Democratic senators, -especially Senator Hitchcock, were advocating measures to put an embargo -on the export of arms and ammunition. If these men had succeeded, they -would have helped Germany to win the war during 1916. Then President -Wilson was reelected on the slogan, "He has kept us out of the war." -Immediately after his re-election, Mr. Wilson began an attempt to make -peace that seemed to us at the time distinctly unfriendly to the -Entente. The idealism of President Wilson stirred us. But we were living -too close to the war to see the advantage of a "peace without victory." - -Our first intimation of a change of attitude in America came one day -when _L'Information_, one of our papers that comes out at noon, -published a cable-gram from Washington, stating that Secretary Lansing -had declared that the reason behind President Wilson's interest in peace -was that the United States felt herself on the brink of war. Herbert and -I were walking home from our studios. He stopped to buy the paper that -the boy on a bicycle was just giving our newswoman. Long experience had -taught us that the noon paper never gave anything new. But one was -always afraid to miss something. That's why afternoon papers are able to -bring out so many editions. When we read this message, we realized that -the President must be at the end of his rope, and that if Germany -persisted in her intention to declare unlimited submarine warfare, our -entering into the conflict was inevitable. - -The news of the rupture of diplomatic relations arrived on a Sunday -morning when the streets were full. The dispatches from Washington -contained long excerpts from President Wilson's splendid speech. Relief -rather than joy was the feeling we all had. We said to ourselves, "_At -last!_" Some of our intimate French friends, when we discussed the break -and the reasons the President gave for it, wondered why those reasons -had not been valid long before. It was an echo of our own thoughts. But -French and American were so happy over the new stand taken by the United -States, over the new note in the leadership of President Wilson, that we -did not allow ourselves to criticize the past. All was forgiven on that -last Sunday of January. Over night President Wilson became the most -popular man in France. And just one week before my Parisian friends had -been reading his Senate speech of January twenty-second with a puzzled -expression that turned into anger and indignation. - -We had an excellent barometer of what the French _bourgeois_ and -_universitaire_ was thinking in our dear old family doctor. Doctor -Charon had come to us first in the Rue Servandoni days. Christine was -sick one night for the first and only time in her babyhood. The young -father and mother were scared to death. Doctor Charon, whom we had not -known before, was called in. He assured us that there was nothing fatal. -After that he came again for colds. He knew how to scold us and make us -obey. Since then he has been the family friend and censor, entering into -our life as only a doctor can do. He always stopped to chat a minute. -His only son was at the war: he and his wife and two daughters were -doing hospital work. I often felt that his heart was breaking. He -suffered from the war in his soul, which was far worse than suffering in -the flesh. - -During the years of uncomfortable neutrality, Herbert and I tried to -reassure Doctor Charon and make him see how impossible it was that all -our compatriots, who had never been in France and knew nothing about -France, could feel the way we did. But we often felt that he loved us -despite the fact that we were Americans. On January 23, 1917, Doctor -Charon talked to us at length about the Senate speech. The way President -Wilson's mind worked was beyond him. He despaired of America. On January -30 he came in with a face transfigured, held out his arms, and kissed -me. We both cried. - -"I do not yet understand about your President," he said simply, "but you -were right in telling me not to lose hope in him. To-day he is our -prophet." - -During the two years that followed, Doctor and Madame Charon, in common -with all our French friends, had a revelation of the heart of America -beating for France. They saw at close range our relief work. Not only -did we give money without stint, but hundreds of Americans--who had -never known France before--came over to show by tireless personal -service that the friends of France were not limited to the Americans -resident in France or to those who had some point of personal contact. -In the end they realized that we were ready to be as prodigal with our -blood as with our treasure. When my husband received his red ribbon, the -Charons gave a dinner for us. Doctor Charon said: "I have one ambition -now in life--to go to America." - -As I have related in another chapter, February and March were tragic -months for Paris. Zero weather and no coal made a combination that took -our attention away from the evolution of public opinion across the -seas. Germany stood firm, resisting the threats and disregarding the -warnings of President Wilson's notes. But we had such an inherent -mistrust of notes that we were not sure until the end of March that some -sort of a modus vivendi would not be patched up, as after the -_Lusitania_ and the _Sussex_. - -Were we even sure in the first week of April? Herbert told me to get out -our flags that had been put carefully away since 1914. Although I was -not as optimistic as my husband, I brought out the flags and mended -them. I needed two for our studios. My voice trembled when I asked for -the stars and stripes at the Bon Marché. They had a large stock, mostly -brand-new. They were counting upon the imminent event. The sales girl -told me that they had sold more American flags in the last fortnight -than those of the other Allies put together since the beginning of the -war. She said it gleefully. The new broom was sweeping clean. With all -my pride in my own country, I had my misgivings about too great a -demonstration. Why did not the Government or some of the patriotic -organizations make a propaganda to have the flags of the Allies ready -for display everywhere with the American and French when the day -arrived? I suggested this to my husband, who was a member of the Union -des Grandes Associations Françaises. I knew how I would feel if I were a -Britisher who had been there from the beginning. Would not the French -show that wonderful characteristic of theirs, the sense of proportion? - -But when the day arrived, my internationalism and cosmopolitanism, a -gradual and unconscious growth, suddenly disappeared. It was a reversion -to type. I became blatantly American again, and gloried in the fact that -everywhere it was all Stars and Stripes. Why not? This was America's -day. And ever since, despite the theoretical internationalism (or -super-nationalism) I have advocated in common with my husband, I fear -that practically I have been lapsing into a narrow nationalism. It is a -curious phenomenon. I do not attempt to explain it. - -On Thursday, April sixth, Herbert went to the American Club to lunch. -Settling down to work had been hard that morning. We were feverishly -awaiting the news. I was just starting lunch with the children when the -telephone rang. Herbert's voice said, "Put out your flag," and then he -hung up. - -An hour later he came in a taxi-cab with Carroll Greenough, an American -architect who lived near us. We went for his wife. Then the four of us -did the Grands Boulevards, the Rue de la Paix, and the principal streets -in the heart of Paris. As if by magic the American flag appeared -everywhere. Paris had not waited for the poster of the Municipality, in -which the President of the Municipal Counsel called upon his fellow -citizens to _pavoiser_ in honor of the new Ally. Americans though we -were, we had never seen so many American flags. They expressed the hope -which, though long deferred, had not made the heart sick. - -We went to the Ambassadeurs for tea. The terraces were full. We watched -the crowds passing up and down the Champs-Elysées. All that was lacking -was the orchestra to play the Marseillaise and the Star Spangled Banner. -There had been no orchestras in Paris since the beginning of the war. - -But the music was in our hearts. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVII - -THE VANGUARD OF THE A. E. F. - - -"What class are yuh goin' to git?" - -The voice came from a wee island of khaki in a solid mass of horizon -blue. American soldiers! The first I had seen. The American army was to -the French army as were these half dozen doughboys to the station full -of shabby _poilus_. The Gare du Nord has many memories for me, happy and -poignant, but this will always be the most precious. Shall I ever forget -the ticket window around which our boys crowded? We had been saying "How -long, O Lord, how long?" And now they were with us. I moved nearer to -them. - -"Why, there's classes--foist, second, and thoid--accordin' to what yuh -pay--see?" - -"Aw! What dya mean?" - -"Buy fift' and we'll ride foist!" - -I volunteered to help them count their change. - -"She don't understand and neither do we," said one, hitching a thumb in -the general direction of the girl behind the grating. - -"Guess she's got mush in her brain." - -"Or feathers!" laughed another. - -It was not the class they would ride that was at the bottom of the -trouble. I found that the boys wanted to go to Versailles. They had come -into the Gare du Nord with baggage two days in advance of General -Pershing and his staff. Their officer had given them an afternoon off, -but told them that they were not to wander around Paris. He had -suggested Versailles. This was the only station they knew, and so they -were trying to get to Vers-ales. I took them to the Gare du Montparnasse -and put them on their way. This really was not necessary. I soon -discovered the American soldiers needed no interpreter. They always got -to whatever destination they set their minds upon. But this little scene -at the Gare du Nord was typical of the spirit of our boys during the two -years they were in France. Instead of getting angry, they smiled and -"joshed." In their very nature they had the secret of getting along with -the French. - -The afternoon of General Pershing's arrival, the streets around the Gare -du Nord held a crowd the like of which I had not seen in Paris since the -war began. It was the same at the Place de la Concorde. Rooms had been -engaged for the Pershing party at the Hotel Crillon. The ovation at the -Gare du Nord and along the route of the procession was remarkable. When -General Pershing came out on the balcony of the Crillon it was a scene -worthy of the occasion. Paris was not greeting an individual. France was -welcoming America. - -For the first time since the beginning of the war Paris celebrated. The -danger that still menaced the city and the bereavements of three years -were forgotten in the frenzy of joy over what everyone believed was the -entry of a decisive factor. Since April sixth insidious defeatist -propaganda had permeated the mass of the people. Seizing upon the -failure of the Champagne offensive in April, which had caused mutinies -in the army that could not be hushed up, German agents--often through -unconscious tools--spread their lies among a discouraged people. America -had declared war, yes, but she intended to limit her intervention to -money and materials. No American army would risk crossing the ocean. The -Americans, like the British, were ready "to fight to the last -Frenchman." - -Seeing was believing. Here were the American uniforms. The arrival of -the first American troops, we were assured, would be announced within -the next few days. Perhaps they had already landed at some port in -France? To baffle the submarines we understood that the censorship must -be vigorous. At any rate, an American general and his staff would not be -in Paris without the certainty of an army to follow. - -Another source of conviction was afforded us in the fact that on this -day of General Pershing's coming Marshal Joffre made his first public -appearance in Paris. Parisians had never had a chance before to acclaim -the victor of the Marne. - -The Americans set up their headquarters in two small _hôtels_ at the end -of the Rue de Constantine, opposite the Invalides. Immediately the boys -of the headquarters detachment marked out a diamond on the Esplanade des -Invalides, and passers-by had to learn to dodge base-balls. The police -did not interfere. Nothing was too good for the Americans. All Paris -flocked to see for themselves the khaki uniforms and to learn the -mysteries of our national game. There was always a crowd around the door -of General Pershing's home in the Rue de Varenne. - -The events of the next few weeks will always seem like a dream to me. -The scene of the drama that has influenced so profoundly the history of -the world was shifted from Paris. I went to Saint-Nazaire to see our -boys land and later to their first training-camp in the country of -Jeanne d'Arc. Many of them did not see Paris. Their idea of France was a -long journey of days and nights in freight-cars, with interminable -stops, and ending in small villages where they met rain and mud. But a -fortunate battalion of the First Division had the honor of being the -vanguard of the A. E. F. in Paris. - -[Illustration: In an Old Quarter] - -They were lodged in the Caserne de Reuilly. On the Fourth of July, -declared a national holiday by grateful France, they paraded through the -streets of our city. We were to become accustomed to American soldiers -in Paris. But these first boys made a unique impression. The moment -of their coming was psychological. Paris never needed encouragement -more. - -After this excitement we had another long and anxious wait of eight -months. The Americans came each week, but in dribbles. Between -Gondrecourt and the three ports of Saint-Nazaire, Bordeaux and Brest, it -was necessary to construct the lines of communication while a great army -in America was being gathered and trained. The defeatist propaganda -started up again, the word was spread that the Americans were coming too -slowly and that in France they were to be seen everywhere but at the -front. Were not the French still holding the lines against odds and -giving their lives, while the Americans were in safety? Despite the fact -that General Pershing moved G. H. Q. from Paris to Chaumont in the -Haute-Marne, the number of American soldiers in Paris, through the -necessities of the S. O. S. increased rapidly. The Hotel Mediterranée, -near the Gare de Lyon, was the first large building taken over. Then the -Elysée-Palace Hotel on the Avenue des Champs-Elysées was chartered. The -American flag soon appeared over barracks, garages and other buildings -in all parts of the city. You could go nowhere without seeing the -American uniform, and our automobiles learned to drive as rapidly as the -French. We got accustomed to hearing English spoken on the streets. The -Red Cross, the Y.M.C.A., the Knights of Columbus, and the Jewish -Welfare Board, established hotels and restaurants and reading-rooms and -leased theatres. Our American Ambulance at Neuilly, taken over by the -army, became only one of a number of hospitals. - -Not until the spring offensive of the next year were the Americans able -to come in large numbers. Then suddenly a single month brought as many -as the nine preceding months. We had our half million, our million, our -two millions. - -The faith of the French in us revived with Cantigny and Château-Thierry. -I am ahead of my chronology. But the men who first fell under the -American flag were those who marched through the streets of Paris, on -July Fourth, 1917. On parade they gave us hope. Fighting they gave us -certitude of victory. - - - - -1918 - - - - -CHAPTER XXVIII - -THE DARKEST DAYS - - -Problems of war time housekeeping in France did not go back to 1914. The -learned political economists who demonstrated to their own satisfaction -that a general European war would not last a year were dead wrong. -Millions were mobilized. Nations were at each other's throats. The -Germans were able to retaliate against the naval blockade by submarine -warfare that threatened to decrease seriously our own communications -with the outside world. But somehow we managed to go through year after -year without feeling the pinch of decreased productivity. And somehow we -accepted the inflation of currency and continued to subscribe cheerfully -to successive war loans with money that came from God knows where. One -hears now much about how we suffered in 1915 and 1916. Morally speaking, -I suppose we did suffer and that we were aware of the strain as time -went on. But from a material point of view the war did not make itself -felt much until 1917. It was only in the spring of that year that a -cartoonist was inspired to draw a necklace of anthracite, tipped off -with an egg for a pendant, over the caption, "Her Jewels." Coal cards, -sugar cards, and bread cards were to us the signs of Germany's weakness. - -Successive Cabinets realized well enough the prudence of anticipatory -restrictions. In the autumn of 1916 the newspapers put forth a _ballon -d'essai_. Every day they published a homily on the virtue of practicing -economy. It had no effect on my servants, this constant warning of a -shortage to come. No restaurants obeyed the voluntary rationing -measures. The Government did not dare to introduce obligatory rationing. -Public opinion rebels against restrictions of individual liberty. We had -to feel the pinch before rationing measures were tolerated. - -Sugar cards came first. They were "put over" on the public during the -rejoicing over the intervention of the United States. Coal cards were -instituted only after the bitter lesson of the late winter months of -1917 bid fair to repeat itself. Not until October, 1917, did I have to -put my signature as _chef de famille_ (my husband was so often away) on -an application for bread cards handed me by the concierge. A fourth New -Year of war came and went before we experienced what we had read about -in other countries--real lack of necessities. The reserves of everything -gave out suddenly. For the first time ability to spend money freely did -not solve household problems. - -Some difficulties were insoluble. They were the difficulties centering -around a shortage of coal supply. I never realized before that in our -modern civilization coal is really a dominating factor in making -tolerable existence in the city. The winter before the sudden giving out -of coal affected only our heating. In the first months of 1918 coal -rationing led to cutting down on gas, electricity and water. In modern -apartments, just as there is no way to heat them except by radiators, -there is no way to light them except by electricity and no way to have -hot water except by turning on the spigot. We were in what the French -call a _cercle vicieux_. We had a fox-and-geese-and-corn problem. For -instance, when a municipal ordinance forbade giving hot water except on -Saturdays and Sundays, your first thought was to heat water on the -kitchen gas-stove. But your allowance for gas was insufficient for -cooking. Nor could you use gas for lighting to save electricity. -Petroleum for lamps or cooking was unobtainable. Everyone made a rush -for candles and wood alcohol. They gave out. When you thought of honey -and jams to make up to the children what they lacked in sugar, everyone -else thought of honey and jams at the same time. We lived on the sixth -floor. The electricity rationing made possible running the elevator only -at certain hours. And when the elevator broke down, all the steel was -going into cannon and all the workers were turning out munitions. You -just walked up six flights of stairs all the time. - -Aside from cooking and baths and heat and light, the coal shortage -affected your laundry. So you couldn't change linen more frequently to -compensate for lost baths. In the old days the laundress would cast her -eyes around for more stuff to pack into her bundle, and if you gave her -a free hand, would gather up things that had never been soiled. Now she -picked out of the basket what she saw fit to take. In the same way, I -used to struggle to keep my milk supply down. It was a common trick for -the dairy people to load you up with milk and butter and eggs and cheese -in collusion with your cook. Now you had to beg for enough milk to give -the babies a cup apiece a day; butter arrived in exchange for a heavy -tip; and eggs appeared not when you ordered them but when the dairy -chose to send them--which was rarely. - -To have the laundress acting like that, and other people acting like -that, was living in Alice's Looking-Glass House. Things were -contrariwise. One day the laundress came to tell me that she could take -no more work. The wash house where the work used to be done had shut -down. My poor woman was dissolved in tears to think that a business that -she had spent twenty-three years in building up had to drop its -customers. I did the best I could by getting in a scrub woman for the -day to wash the most important things in cold water in the bath-room. -That was hard enough. But how dry them? Old tricks would not go: there -was no heat in the radiators. You see, as I said, all the troubles came -at once and were due primarily to coal shortage. There was no remedy. -Insufficient food supply because of lack of means of transportation. -Insufficient lack of means of transportation because of shortage of coal -for freight engines. - -I bought dark jersey dresses for the babies, and lived in dark things -myself. - -I was fortunate in having a good cook and nurse who stayed with me -through thick and thin. But when I came to get a _femme de ménage_ for -chamber work I realized how justified were the complaints of most of my -friends. Women could make big money in munition factories. The large -country element, scared away in 1914 or called home to take the place of -men at the front, did not feed Paris with help as in peace time. I had a -succession of giggling sixteen-year-olds, pottering grandmothers, and -useless loafers. One _femme de ménage_ I called "Toothless." She thought -it was an English pet name, and beamed under it. She was a farm hand -from the Marne district. The family fled before the Germans. She was -left in charge until the soldiers drove her out. "Toothless" put the -chickens in a little hay wagon, tied the cows to the back of it, and, -with her employer's silver on her lap, drove alone through the night to -safety. She was herded with other evacuated peasants on a steamer bound -for Bordeaux. The ship was torpedoed and she lost her teeth by the -explosion. I felt very sorry, and regarded her somewhat as a heroine -until the truth dawned on me that she was speaking of a plate. I didn't -think of this myself. She asked me for an advance one day, explaining -that she had to pay it down to a dentist when she ordered _more_ teeth. -A stranded Russian student followed "Toothless." She held out until her -prosperous father sent money from Petrograd through the Russian Embassy. -Try as hard as I could and offer more than I wanted to pay, I could not -get a regular third servant. I used to be amazed at the letters from -American friends, asking me to send them servants. It must have been the -popular notion in the United States that France was full of women eager -for the chance to work. - -In the fourth year of the war, we began to feel the drain on the -nation's manhood. The constant killing and crippling and calling to the -colors of older men and boys made it almost impossible to get any work -done. Bells or lights or plumbing out of order--you waited for months. -Where in 1915 I had found half a dozen paper-hangers and painters eager -to bid against each other for the job of renovating my studio, I had to -beg and bribe men to come in 1918. It took me four months to get what I -wanted done. Herbert became expert in carrying trunks and boxes: but -that did him no harm. There is a bright side to everything. - -Lines began to form at the grocers and the butchers. One waited and -waited and waited. My servants spent most of the day in the early months -of 1918 in sugar and meat-lines. All over Paris it was _faire la queue_ -for everything, even for tobacco and matches. - -Although it was an expensive proposition, I found it necessary, with my -large family and constant guests, to buy groceries through an agent. A -large English firm seemed to be able to furnish everything--if you paid -their price. The order-man who came around every week was a rascal named -Grimes. He had the genius of a book-agent, and worked you for an order -by playing on your fears. Here is a monologue that I wrote out one day -just to record how Grimes sold things. - -"Rice? First-class American rice?" (Why Grimes called rice "American" -was more than I could understand.) "Still got a little of it--please -don't ask me the price. Don't think of that now. Better let me put you -down for a hundred pounds of it and just shut your eyes to money. Golden -syrup? Just brought three cases of it up from Bordeaux myself. No -telling when we will see any more. The submarines are worse than ever: -awful, isn't it, but it's best that the newspapers don't tell us the -truth. I'm going to let you have two dozen tins of syrup if you don't -tell anyone. It's on account of your kiddies. I recommend that you don't -let older people touch it. Stack it away for the time when your sugar -card--I'm not pessimistic, but I believe you can't be too sure about -sugar cards. A funny fellow over at our place said a neat thing: 'It's -hard to believe in a paper shortage when the Government has voted sugar -cards and those new identity cards.' Biscuits, when have you and I seen -a biscuit? I got a few cases in from America. I'll let you have some. -I'll reserve a couple of hams and some sides of bacon and hang them in -our cellar for you. Gad, you're lucky to have those four babies. It's -only because they need the bacon this winter that I give it to you. Now, -didn't I tell you that you must not think about money? Trust me to give -you a square price. It's safe to say that the beans and other dried -vegetables I'm letting you have will make you shiver when you get the -bill. But if this order figures up to two thousand francs, you can rest -assured that three months from now it would cost you three thousand -francs. And six months from now, with all the good will in the world, I -couldn't get you the stuff. - -"No use mentioning flour. Can't give you any. They say that the -Government is meeting on the quiet half the price of the flour before -the bakers see it. Comes high but it pays 'em to keep the people quiet. -Everything else can go up, but not bread. No m'am, I say it positively; -got to give 'em bread and the chance to have a little fun." (I'm sure -that Grimes never studied Roman history, but he had arrived at the -formula of _panem et circenses_.) "But we shan't starve. Better off in -France than they are in England or Germany. Save the bread for lunch and -tea: give the children a cereal in the morning. Just by luck, I have a -few cases of American oatmeal and hominy grits. - -"Of course, the porridge means milk. I know what you're going to say. -But I've got hold of powdered milk made in Brittany. They say it's an -American invention. Only one big tin to a person, but then you're six -and we'll count the babies as grown ups. You can't tell how long they'll -be able to keep transporting milk to the city. Order as much canned -goods as I can give you. Canneries are running out of tin. Food we put -up in paraffined paste-board doesn't keep very well, and there is mighty -little paste-board. - -"It's a good thing you don't depend upon cocktails to keep you going. I -have a big auto-taxi ticking out there. The man who is going to pay for -it would be glad to let it tick all night just so he got what is inside. -One hundred bottles of gin. You know, the ordinary five-franc gin. I'm -going to get thirty francs a bottle at the Hotel Meurice bar. But -they'll be two bottles short. There they are--yours--right under my hat -on the table. - -"Now please let me read over the order. Not a luxury on it. Macaroni, -beans, lentils, prunes, dried-apricots, salt, and yes, there must be -some soap. Better let me put you down for a good hundred bars. The -Marseilles people tell us they have got to stop making it soon." - -Then he resumed his reading, and I didn't dare to say a word. On those -rare occasions I was pensive. My husband would say: "You don't need to -tell me. That scoundrel Grimes has been here. Good Lord, I wish we had -an anti-hording law, like England." - -"But, oh, Herbert, the children you know." - -I tell this story because I believe it illustrates the thought that was -uppermost in the minds of Paris women. We had faith in our armies. We -stuck to our homes. We were willing to stand anything. But the constant -talk of food shortage got on our nerves. We pictured our children -without milk and fats and bread. It was not hard for the Grimeses to -fill pages in their order-books. And you could not reason with us that -laying in supplies was a sin against the community. - -In my apartment-house (and it was the same all over Paris because of the -new law) the water-heater was having a good rest. I used to have the -kids bathed every night in the week except Sunday. Sunday was a real day -of rest. My servants liked to go to early mass and Sunday afternoon was -"off" for them and for the governess. Circumstances aided in keeping -this side of Sunday as my Covenanter grandfather would have had it. But -after the restrictions you bathed Sunday morning or never. And you had -to wait for your bath. Inferior coal, parsimoniously stoked, took the -water-heater a long time to get going. We chose the next best to -godliness. Church attendance fell off. The lawmakers who restricted -bathing to Sunday were anticlericals as well as traditionalists. - -I had been putting off doing over the apartment and our studios each -spring and fall since the war began, saying to myself that I would wait -until after the war. But in the autumn of 1917 the time had come to do -something. The painter was so short of men that I had to wait three -weeks before he sent someone simply to see what was to be done and to -make an estimate. The men cleaned half the paint in October. They never -came back to do the other half. I was tired of the dull grey wood-work -in my husband's studio and the painted grey wainscotting effect that ran -around the walls shoulder high. The place looked like a battle-ship -turned wrong-side out. Standing in the middle of that studio and looking -up to the skylight, I felt as if the hair was flying right off the top -of my head. The time came when I could stand it no longer. The painter's -soldier son, home on _permission_, agreed with me. But the father shook -his head when I asked him to paint the lower part a cheery buff and the -upper part cream-color. He had no helpers. I pled with him then to give -me the paint properly mixed, lend me brushes and ladders, and I would -send for them and do the work myself. It took me a whole morning to -remove a part of the imitation wainscotting. Then other things more -pressing came up. My husband, who had been oblivious to the old -combination, protested. Fortunately, one of my wounded _filleuls_, who -was able to get around without crutches, did the rest. I helped when I -could: for I do love to paint. - -The rugs in my drawing-room needed cleaning. At the Bon Marché they -offered to write my name down in their books. But they warned me that -they could not call for the rugs for three weeks, and that I must -understand that they could not be delivered before January. In the end I -sent the rugs to three different cleaning places and waited from four to -six weeks to get them back. - -The curtains of my drawing-room windows were dark green velvet, too -depressing a color for wartime. I wonder how I lived with them so long. -The drawing-room faces north, and I wanted yellow silk curtains to -invite the sunshine in. The curtains should be a frame for the best -picture in the drawing-room--a view of Paris that is the reverse of the -picture described in the first pages of Zola's Paris. The idea ran away -with me, and the momentum of it carried me through the difficulties I -found when I tried to get an upholsterer to make the curtains. We are -all learning new trades. The curtains were made finally by an artist, -who, in order to earn her living through the war years, learned to do -retouching of photographs. She and I worked together at those curtains, -and you would think that an upholsterer made them. - -Then the electric-bells--why can't they be fixed so one can wind them -up like a clock? They would not work; that was certain. I unscrewed -their little tops and punched the things like miniature -type-writer-spacers which the buttons ought to have hit: no ring. -Herbert said they "needed new juice" in the batteries. He had the -concierge send up some stuff that looked like salt. I climbed on the -pantry table to reach the suspicious-looking butter crocks hitched to -twisted waxy wires, and poured in the stuff with water according to -orders. Still no ring. Then I telephoned for the electrician. Perhaps he -would consent to send me Jean Claude, the nearsighted, who put in the -wires when we first came and had always been able to make them work. -Jean Claude, we heard, had come back from the war. But the electrician -answered that Jean Claude had been sent to the front again in spite of -his eyes. He would let me have apprentices. The boys were so short that -the big monkey-wrench in their tool-kit was as long as their forearms. -They climbed my step-ladder and tinkered with the bells for most of an -afternoon, while I held the ladder through a sense of paternal -protection for anything as young as that and was glad I had bandages and -ointment in my cupboard. When evening came, they were like the boy in -the song, who said: - - "I don't care what my Teacher says, - I cannot do that sum!" - -Quite naturally they explained that they must ask somebody at the shop -what to do and promised to come back next day. - -But they did not return. Luckily our dentist turned up on a forty-eight -hour furlough. He and his wife knocked long and loud at our front-door. -When the first surprise and delight of seeing him back, looking so -bronzed and fit, had passed, I apologized for the bell, and told my sad -story. The problem awakened the dentist's interest. He went walking -about tracing the wires. French wires are all just hitched somewhere -above the picture moulding line so you can see them. - -"Aha!" came from the pantry. It was the dentist's voice. At the same -moment there was a prolonged ringing. "That's what comes from earning -your living by making your brains speak through your fingers. Quite -simple, quite simple," said the dentist. "I only arranged this little -affair on the indicator. It was the fourth screw from the back at the -upper line of the plate." - -"Sakes," I cried, "get down from there before you give me a toothache!" - -We all go through the world lighting up its darkness with our own kind -of lantern. - -Throughout the war we have done with clothes as with our houses--making -things do. That went very well at first. But in the fourth winter wear -and tear had to be met. We learned a new scale of values for little -things. A green glass lampshade cost fifteen francs, and you were lucky -to get it. The plug to stick in the hole for an electric light you -scoured the town to purchase at seven francs. The steel wire your -_frotteur_ uses to polish floors quadrupled in price. My _frotteur_ went -to war long ago. His substitute, a chauffeur in the postal service, gave -us two afternoons in a month--his only free time. One day he defended -his service gallantly while he balanced a wet brown cigarette and -cake-walked the steel wire over my _salon_ floor. The long black autos -marked _postes et dépêches_, terror of pedestrians in Paris, do not -really go faster than other autos. We think they do because they were -the first autos to be used extensively in the city, and the fear of -being knocked down by them has stuck in the minds of the public. - -I used to have half a dozen "nice little dressmakers" on my list and as -many milliners to whom I could send friends confidently. But as the war -dragged on, one after the other they disappointed me. If it were not -poor cut and shoddy materials, it was inability to make delivery -anywhere near the time promised. Everyone must have been in my position, -because when I turned to the department stores for ready-made things, I -found long lines awaiting for a turn with the sales woman. It is not the -fault of dressmakers. One of them opened her heart to me. - -"It is very hard. Like everybody else, I keep hoping the war will end -suddenly. My reputation was made by my _premières ouvrières_. I still -keep on paying them good wages now although I eat into my savings to do -it. I cannot risk having my best girls go over to competitors. We had -our side in the strike of the _midinettes_. If it had not hit me hard, I -should have been amused to see these pretty young things dressed in -clothes cheap in material but _chic_ go marching along the boulevards -winning policemen over at every corner. I raised pay beyond my means, -and have granted the _semaine anglaise_. But they would go to-morrow for -the least thing. - -"For twenty years I have had three classes of customers in Paris: -_bourgeoises_ of the solid type, who come to me for the reserved sort of -clothes that sell on line, good material and long wear. They paid my -rent. American women, who came in the summer, or hurried through Paris -in February, headed for the Riviera, wanted an advance idea rapidly -executed. That trade paid my running expenses. From actresses and -mistresses I got fantastic prices for exclusive models I promised not to -repeat. From them I made my profits. - -"The first class are deft-fingered like all French women, and do their -own dressmaking now. They get their mourning from the houses that make a -specialty of that trade. The Americans do not come as they used to. My -profitable trade does not have the money for fine clothes or the -opportunity to show them off." - -Curious it seems to me now, when I sit down to write a chapter about the -darkest days of the war, that I find myself penning page after page of -the story of petty household difficulties. But I want to be what the -French call _véridique_. This is how we felt during the first winter of -the American intervention, when the A. E. F. was coming to France with -painful slowness and when we were aware that the Germans were preparing -a final desperate _coup_ before Pershing could marshal an army, -effective in training and equipment and numbers. In January and -February, 1918, we were under the reaction of the Russian collapse, of -the awakening to the falsehoods concerning German military strength that -had been spread consistently for three years, of the nervous dread that -the submarines might after all prevent the coming of the Americans. The -little things, strikes, petty annoyances of daily house keeping, steady -increase in the cost of living made the deep impression. - -Then came the new German onslaught, the daily long-distance bombardment -and the aeroplane raids every night. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIX - -THE GOTHAS AND BIG BERTHA - - -In the early days of the A. E. F., when I was speaking to American -soldiers in the camps, I used to leave a little time for questions at -the end of my talk. The boys always had something in their heads they -wanted to talk about. The scope and variety of their questions were -amazing. But some one was sure to ask: - -"Have you ever been in an air raid?" - -When I answered in the affirmative, he would say, - -"How did you feel?" - -For a long time I reasoned like the _poilu_, who said that if his number -was on a German shell it would find him. Herbert and I worked it out -mathematically that our chances of being hit in the enormous area of -Paris were not as great as of being knocked down by one of the crazy -Indians we had for chauffeurs. When any left-over of a man could get a -license to run a taxi-cab in Paris after a course of two days at fifty -francs, why worry about bombs dropped from an occasional Hun plane? If -we had to go, we'd rather be in our beds. Better to be warm and cosy and -run a slight risk, an infinitesimal risk, than the almost certain -alternative of a bad cold by huddling in a drafty cellar. I told the -boys that we took the raids as a matter of course--all in the day's -happenings. I explained my philosophy, which was this. - -I once knew a man so afraid of germs that he made his wife wash new -stockings in disinfectant solution. He kept strict surveillance over his -children's diet. No peanuts, pink lemonade, -little-store-around-the-corner candy for them. They were taught to -exercise minute precautions in the every-day round of living. And yet, -for all the bother, they had as many ailments as other children. When -one is leading a normal life and has only imaginary or petty things to -contend with, molehills are magnified. When one is facing a great -crisis, one realizes that health is often simply a matter of lack of -physical selfconsciousness. Most of the things you think about and guard -against do not happen. I remember once seeing a play, in which a Romeo -and a Juliet held the center of the stage, oblivious to fighting in the -distance. The man said: "That is only a battle; this is love." Some -people see the honey in the pot; others cannot take their eyes off the -fly. - -I still hold to this way of taking things. It saves a lot of trouble and -makes for peace of mind. But somehow it did not work out to the end in -the air raids. The Germans were finally able to reach Paris when they -wanted to and in appreciable number. - -From the beginning of the war to the end of 1917, air raids did not mean -much to Parisians. We read about the awful nights of terror when the -full moon came around in London, and the heavy bombardment of cities -just behind the front lines in France. Aeroplanes did come occasionally -to Paris. But up to 1918 we experienced curiosity and excitement rather -than fear. In 1915 we saw a Zeppelin over the Gare Saint-Lazare. I can -recall nothing particularly startling about any of these raids. When -aeroplanes came and we did not wake the babies, they scolded us the next -day. They wanted to see the fun. Our balconies, looking over the city -from the _sixième étage_ of the Boulevard du Montparnasse, gave us a -wonderful vantage point for seeing the raids. - -One January night at the beginning of 1918, the fire engines rushed -through the streets with their horns screaming the hysterical "pom-pom! -pom-pom!" with more vigor than usual. As was our custom, we turned the -lights carefully out and went on the balcony to watch the weird scene -that never failed to fascinate, rockets and searchlights and the firefly -effect of rising French planes. That always comforted us. We had little -thought that an _escadrille_ of German planes could reach Paris. They -never had before. The raids had been only an occasional plane flying -very high and dropping at random a few bombs which burst in different -quarters. The next day you had to hunt hard to find the damage they did. -Remembering our promise to Christine, we woke her up and took her out. - -The sounds of the alarm died away. Often we had waited in vain for the -fire from the forts around Paris to warn us that the raiders had -actually arrived in the vicinity of Paris. Then there was another wait -until the first bomb fell. Christine was a bit disgusted at being waked -up for nothing. During the long silence she asked impatiently, "What is -this? The _entre'acte_?" - -But Christine was not disappointed. Over our heads we heard distinctly -the harsh engine-sound that distinguished the new German Gotha from -French planes. We heard it several times. When the bombs began to drop, -it was not one or two, but dozens of explosions. We did not think of -going inside. The thought of danger to ourselves did not enter our -heads. - -Although we knew the raid had been something different from any we had -experienced up to this time, there was little in the papers about the -events of the night. We thought that we must have been mistaken in the -number of bombs that had fallen. It is not always easy to distinguish -between the explosions of a shell from the _tir de barrage_ and the -explosion of a bomb. Before we got through the first month of 1918 we -had the opportunity of becoming expert in this. - -We happened to be lunching with Robert and Edmée Chauvelot. Robert said, -"Did you go down to the cellar last night?" - -"No, we never do." - -"Why not?" cried Robert. - -I explained our air raid philosophy. - -"Nonsense!" exclaimed Madame Alphonse Daudet, Edmée's mother, "you must -go down next time. It isn't fair to your children. Your idea sounds -spunky and American--childish you understand. When we have epidemics, -the authorities study remedies. The Huns have decided to concentrate -their energies on Paris now. You must have read the warnings in the -newspapers. The police have collected statistics. We know now that most -of the people killed by German planes were standing at windows or front -doors, or were on the streets, or remained in their top-floor -apartments. What you have been telling your soldier boys in the camps is -all wrong. No precaution ought to be neglected. It is a question of -commonsense, not fear." - -"I know how to convince you," said Robert. After lunch he took us to the -Avenue de la Grande Armée not far from the Arc de Triomphe. - -"There!" He pointed to a house whose top floors had been blown away. -"That might just as well have been you." - -The house was a new one like ours and as solidly built of stone. The -apartment on the _sixième étage_ was pulverized, the one below it was -smashed, and the fourth floor damaged some. But the third floor was -intact. This convinced us. If air raids were now to be frequent, had we -the right to risk the kiddies? We could take the chance for ourselves. -But for them? - -All Paris reasoned in the same way. The Gothas began to come every night -during the full moon periods and other times when it was clear. In the -late afternoon we grew accustomed to watch the sky and calculate the -chances of cloudy weather. If the stars came out we were sure that there -would be no undisturbed night's rest. The Government intensified the -batteries of A.D.C. cannon around the city. Patrols of aeroplanes were -multiplied. The _tir de barrage_ became formidable. None could boast any -longer of being able to sleep through air raids. Sirens were put on all -the public buildings to replace the _alerte_ of the fire-trucks. When -the sirens began to wail, not a soul in Paris could complain of not -being warned. Frequently nothing happened after the sirens, because the -_alerte_ was given each time German planes were signalled crossing our -lines in the direction of Paris. Then we would simply wait for the -_berloque_, the bugle signal "all's over," which was sounded by the -firemen riding through the streets on their hook and ladder trucks. - -When the Gothas demonstrated their ability to come in numbers, as the -Zeppelins had been doing in London, the municipality, upon orders from -the Ministère de la Guerre, ordered every light out and the instant -stopping of tramway and underground services the moment the _alerte_ -was sounded. Engineers went around the city examining cellars and Métro -stations. Houses with solid cellars were compelled to keep their front -doors open until the number of persons they could hold had taken refuge -inside. In front of the house placards were posted with ABRI in large -letters and the number of persons allotted for shelter underneath. The -underground railways had to shut all stations except those deemed safe. -If you were on the street or in an underground train or tramway when the -_alerte_ sounded, you had the choice of walking home or of taking refuge -in the nearest _abri_. At first the theatres and moving-picture houses -protested against being closed down. But one January night a bomb -destroyed completely a house a hundred yards from the crowded -Folies-Bergère. This was enough. After that, if the _alerte_ sounded -before opening time, there was no show. If it sounded during a -performance, theatres and _cinémas_ were evacuated immediately by the -police. - -One can readily see the inconvenience of all this. If you planned to go -out for dinner or to a show, you risked a long walk home or being caught -for hours--and then the walk! For it was practically impossible to get -into the underground after the _berloque_ sounded. - -On account of the children, from January to April, we went far from home -only on a cloudy or rainy night. If there were engagements we had to -keep on a clear night, there was only one thing to do--bribe a chauffeur -to stand by you with his taxi-cab all evening. - -As the _alertes_ were often false alarms, we waited until the _tir de -barrage_ began. Then with servants carrying children wrapped in -blankets, we had to stumble down dark stairs. My husband was often away. -Sometimes I had to go on lecture trips. But we never left Paris at the -same time. Whenever I was out of town, I looked on clear weather as a -calamity and dreaded the full moon. The next morning I would eagerly -scan the paper for news of what happened in Paris. It was no fun. - -Cellars of modern apartment houses may be solid, but they are not -spacious. Each _locataire_ has two _caves_, one for storage and coal and -one for wine. The only refuge space is around the furnace and in the -long corridors that lead to the _caves_. We were allotted space for -three hundred. Such a crowd would gather from the streets! I could not -take my children there. At first we went to the concierge's _loge_. As -explosion succeeded explosion, I telephoned the _Herald_ office and -learned the location of the bomb a few minutes after it fell. This was a -way of knowing whether they were in our quarter or across the river. But -this soon ended. For telephone service during the raid was interrupted, -and the concierge's _loge_ was deemed by the police unsafe. Bombs -falling in the street or court were wrecking ground floors. A -solidarity manifested itself among the _locataires_. Those on the first -two or three floors took in the tenants from the upper floors. I was -lucky in having the use of a first-floor apartment alone for my family. -The _locataires_ of this apartment would leave the door open for me. -They went to the cellar! Everything is relative in this life. - -At first, the children objected to going down stairs. The younger ones -did not like to be wakened from their sleep. The older ones wanted to -see the raid from the balcony. We sympathized with them. We were missing -so much! After a while, as nothing ever happened to our house, I began -to regret having started to follow the advice of my friends. After all, -was the cellar safe? It was fifty-fifty. I wonder how my children will -feel about Germany as they grow up. They were old enough to have -impressed indelibly upon their minds the memory of these months. They -will never forget the sirens, the sudden waking from sleep, the _tir de -barrage_, and the explosions that sometimes shook our house. Mimi asked -once, "Do the Gothas make that siren noise with their heads or with -their tails?" Fancy the image in the child's mind: the German birds -swooping over Paris shrieking a song of hate and dropping bombs that -meant destruction and death. And when the _berloque_ sounded and we went -up stairs, we could see from our balcony fires here and there over the -city. For the Germans used incendiary bombs. - -But we were to have worse than air raids. - -The other day I put on the victrola a selection from "Die Walkyrie." -Wotan was singing. The orchestra thundered three motifs. The spring of -the instrument ran down before I could get to wind it up, there was a -rasping shriek. Mimi started. - -"That's like an air raid!" cried Lloyd. - -But they say the most potent way "to summon up remembrance of things -past" is the sense of smell. Burned toast means to me Big Bertha. - -One Saturday morning I was reading the depressing news of the rout of -the Fifth British army. After nearly four years of immobility in the -trenches, the Germans had once more started the march on Paris. The two -older children were out walking with Alice, their _gouvernante_. I was -at home with the babies. It was a jewel of a day, picked from an October -setting and smiling upon Paris in March. The feel of spring was in the -air. For months we had welcomed bad weather as an antidote for Gothas. -But I was glad the morning was so fine. At least there was nothing to -fear until evening. At the end of winter it is a blessing to have the -windows open once more. Suddenly the sirens started. We went out on the -balcony. The streets were filling with people, crowding into the Vavin -Métro station opposite and looking for the houses that were _abris_. -Still the crowds in the Boulevard du Montparnasse got larger. I was -sorry that Easter vacation was starting so early. Were the children in -school, they would be in the cellar. At the Ecole Alsacienne the -children were drilled for air raids as American school children are for -fire. Would Alice take the children to her own home or come back here? -If she went to her house, could she get there in time to telephone me -before the communications were cut off? It was impossible to go out and -look for Christine and Lloyd: for I must stay with the others. Often the -best thing is to sit tight. The children came in. - -"It isn't the Gothas--it's balloons. The Germans have sent a lot of them -over us. Everybody says so." - -In the unclouded sky there was no sign of aeroplanes. Could they be so -high as to be out of sight? And yet there were explosions near us every -few minutes. They lasted until late in the afternoon. The rumor of a big -gun spread. The noon newspapers and the earlier afternoon ones spoke of -a long distance bombardment to explain the explosions. Shells were -certainly falling. Bits of them, different from bombs, had been picked -up. But the opinion of interviewed experts scouted the theory of a gun -that would carry over a hundred kilometers. Was a new German advance -being hidden from us? Had they reached the gates of the city? - -[Illustration: Saint-Germain l'Auxerrois] - -That night we had our air raid as usual. The next morning the newspapers -told us that we could now expect to be shelled by day as well as bombed -by night. It was established that the Germans had discovered a means -of sending shells from their old lines all the way to Paris. - -We were in the axis of Big Bertha, as the cannon was immediately dubbed. -This was a new and more severe test for nerves. We got accustomed to it. -For the trial, the strength. The kiddies had to have exercise and you -yourself could not be home every minute of the time. But my feeling each -time a shell exploded is the most horrible memory of the war. You never -knew where it fell. On the third day when the children came home from -the Luxembourg, they told me that a shell from Big Bertha had torn away -a corner of the Grand Bassin. I tried to steel myself. One can become a -fatalist for oneself. But it is not easy to be a fatalist for your -children. - -Then we had a lull. We were assured that there was only one Big Bertha -or at the most two. The life of the cannon was a hundred shots. Counting -those that fell in the suburbs, the attempt to intimidate Paris was -over. - -We were thankful now that we had only the air raids. - -I woke up on Thursday morning, thinking to give the children a treat. I -built a wood fire, and started to make some toast. As I sat on the -floor, cutting pieces of bread, I told myself that it would not help to -worry. Perhaps it was true that the Germans had sprung a trick they -could not repeat. At any rate, the news from the front was good. The -British had made a magnificent recovery. The French were helping them -stop the hole. General Pershing was throwing all the Americans in France -into the breach north of Paris. There was something to be thankful for. -Even if Big Bertha started up again, we were as safe from shells in our -own home as anywhere else. I said to myself, "I am going to forget Big -Bertha and put my mind on the children's treat--hot buttered toast for -breakfast." There were enough embers now to make the toast. I speared a -piece of bread with the kitchen fork and held it over the fire. - -"Bing!" - -The toast dropped from my fork and was burned before I could pick it -out. - -Mimi, who was sleeping in the bed close by, woke up. - -"Hello, Mama," she said cheerfully. "Dat's Big Bertha again. I did hear -her." - - - - -CHAPTER XXX - -THE BIRD CHARMER OF THE TUILERIES - - -The Paris subway system is the best in the world. We make this boast -without fear of contradiction. In London the various lines do not -connect, and require a life study to arrive at the quickest combination. -Even then, old Londoners are in doubt. They say to you, "Piccadilly -Circus? Ah let me see--" Then your guide contradicts himself two or -three times before giving you directions of which he is reasonably sure. -In New York, you have to be certain you are on the uptown or downtown -side, and that you have not mistaken the Broadway line, where you drop -the money in the box, for the Seventh Avenue line, where you buy -tickets. Experience with the Forty-second Street shuttle teaches you -that it is quicker to walk than to ride: you have to walk most of the -way anyhow. New York subways are filthy and stuffy. In Boston you have a -bewildering variety of trolley-cars, stopping at different parts of the -platform and going every which way. - -But Paris underground is clean, well-ventilated, orderly. You can go -from any part of the city to any other part quickly and without -confusion. The resident knows his way instinctively. The stranger has -only to follow the abundant and clearly-marked signs. In every station -the signs bear the name of every other station, and if you are in doubt, -there is a map before you. On the doors of cars the stations are marked, -with junction-stops in red, and all the stations of the line you are -taking are indicated on a map which you cannot fail to see. - -The subway system of Paris is superb because it has to compete with -excellent surface transportation. It has also to compete with the beauty -of Paris. Unless you are in a hurry or it is a very rainy day, riding -underground is folly. One never tires of going through the streets of -Paris. The joy is constant. I am proud of the "Métro" and "Nord-Sud," as -the two subway systems are called. But I use them as little as possible. -An open _fiacre_ is a temptation never to be resisted. And, until the -last year of the war, it was a temptation thrust under your nose. Best -of all, I love to walk. Our way to the Rive Droite is down the Boulevard -Raspail. At the foot of the boulevard, you have three choices. You can -go straight ahead through the Rue du Bac and over the Pont Royal, by the -Boulevard Saint-Germain and across the Pont de Solférino, or to the end -of the Boulevard Saint-Germain and across the Pont de la Concorde. Each -route is equally inspiring. By the Pont Solférino you have before you a -perfect vista of the Vendôme Column and Sacré-Coeur in the background. -By the Pont de la Concorde you have the Obélisque and the Madeleine in -the background. But I used to prefer the Rue du Bac and the Pont Royal -because of Monsieur Pol. Alas that I have to say "used to"! - -After crossing the Seine by the Pont Royal, you enter the Tuileries -Garden at the end of the Louvre. On the left-hand side, before you -reached the Rue de Rivoli, ever since I can remember a little group was -gathered around a man feeding birds. I had to be in a great hurry on the -day I did not join that group. - -There is an old saying that every man drifts into his means of -livelihood. That is the reason so few people are doing what they planned -to do, and why there are so many queer ways of earning one's living. -Certainly the first time Monsieur Pol threw bread crumbs to the sparrows -in Tuileries he did not think of doing it for a living. Nor did he dream -that he would become as familiar a Paris landmark as Paul Deroulède in -marble and Jeanne d'Arc in gilt near by. A generation of Parisians may -have forgotten the features of former presidents of the Republic. But -who would not recognize Monsieur Pol? In fact, I have seen Emile Loubet -standing unrecognized in the crowd around the bird charmer. - -One day a one-legged soldier limped his way through the crowd to a good -place. In the lines of his face you could read suffering, but the -expression was of a happy child absorbed in the wonder of the moment. On -the sand around the old man's chair a hundred sparrows faced his way, -heads uplifted. - -"Get out of this, you rascals! I have had enough of you," cried Monsieur -Pol, stamping his foot and shaking a fist at his battalion. Do you think -they budged? The bird charmer shook his head, and remarked with a gentle -sigh, turning to the crowd, "You see, they have known me a good while. -Mind how you behave," he shouted, addressing the birds again, "here is a -soldier looking at you. Think how he will laugh if you do not stand up -straight. Look how well he's standing himself--with one leg gone." - -The birds heard a speech praising their defender, which turned into a -glorification of our _poilus_ in general. How those birds had to listen -to lessons in politics, shrewd comments on the news of the day, the -latest Cabinet crisis, talked-about play, scandal in high life! Since -the war it has been the Germans in Belgium, the Turks in Armenia, -Kerensky and the Bolshevists, and the last three o'clock _communiqué_. -The birds gave their attention to the end. They seemed to know when the -speech was done, when the lesson of faith in France and optimism had -been driven home. They began to fly about the charmer, billing around -his neck and perching on his wide-brimmed hat in search of -bread-crumbs. - -Feeding the sparrows was "_un métier comme un autre_." He had names for -all his pets. With "the Englishman" he talked about Edward the Seventh, -Sir Thomas Barclay and the Entente Cordiale, and pressed him on the -subject of the tunnel under the Channel. He complimented "the -Englishman" on the bravery of the Tommies and told him what the French -thought of Sir Douglas Haig. "The Deputy" received frank comments on the -doings at the Palais Bourbon. "The Drunk" was twitted for having to go -without absinthe, scolded for his excesses, and at the end of the -afternoon invited to accompany Monsieur Pol for a drink, the price of -which invariably came from someone in the crowd. Monsieur Pol and his -sparrows would have earned a fortune at any vaudeville house. He was as -witty as a cowboy rope-juggler I saw once in New York, and his lectures -to the birds, if taken down in shorthand, would have made a valuable -contemporary commentary on Paris during the Third Republic. Monsieur Pol -depended upon occasional gifts and the sale of postcards. - -During the war he grew gradually more feeble, but could not be persuaded -to accept the care of loving hands stretched out to him on all sides in -spite of the preoccupation of the struggle. When the bread restrictions -came in, he never lacked a sufficient supply for his little friends. I -have seen people give him strips of their own bread tickets. Monsieur -Pol kept coming to the Tuileries until he died in action as truly as -any soldier at the front. His best epitaph is a little verse on the -postcards he sold: - - "Auprès de ces petits, je suis toujours heureux. - Car je vois l'amitié pétiller dans leurs yeux, - Et j'éprouve aussitôt, avec un charme extrême, - Le plus doux des bonheurs: être aimé quand on aime."[E] - -[E] - - "Among these little ones I am always happy. - In their innocent eyes glows friendship, - And with swelling heart I know the charm - Of loving and of being loved." - - - - - - - -CHAPTER XXXI - -THE QUATORZE OF TESTING - - -Big Bertha, or rather her successors, kept up a sporadic bombardment of -Paris in April and May. A few shells fell again in June. But the effect -of the bombardment, materially and morally, was nothing like that of the -original Big Bertha. The culmination of horror and indignation was -reached on Good Friday afternoon, when a hundred people were killed in -the church of Saint-Gervais. After that the Germans made no other big -killing. They came to realize that Big Bertha could not intimidate or -demoralize Paris. Where the shells fell, however, we shall never forget. - -I used to listen with awe (and a bit of envy) to the stories of people -who passed through the siege of 1870. I remember well when I was a child -being told by my father's friends, as we drove in the city, "A shell -burst here in 1870 and tore the front out of a shop: I was sitting at a -café near by"; or, "On that spot the Versailles troops stormed a -barricade and lined its defenders against a wall--there was no quarter." -Now I have my stories to tell! There is hardly a street between the -Boulevard Montparnasse and the Seine that is not associated in my mind -with an aeroplane bomb or a Big Bertha shell. The compensation for -having lived through these days will be the privilege of telling -Americans who come to see us "all about it." As the years go by, I have -no doubt that legends will form themselves in my mind and that I shall -do my full share of innocent and unintentional lying. You want to -impress your listener: so you must make things graphic. - -But I shall never be eloquent enough to enhance upon or exaggerate the -nervous tension through which we passed during the spring and early -summer of 1918. From the moment we learned the news of the collapse of -the Fifth British Army, which brought the Germans to Montdidier, until -the tide of battle was definitely turned, we never had an easy moment. -The strain was worse than in 1914. For it lasted months instead of -weeks, and reverses after four years of fighting, with all the world -against Germany, were more difficult to understand and to stand. The -British were just recovering themselves when the Germans fell on the -French, captured the entire Craonne plateau for which we had been -struggling for three years, reoccupied Soissons, and started to advance -once more from the Aisne to the Marne. - -It was not easy to be an optimist. We had faith in the holding ability -of the French and British armies; we believed that the Germans were -shooting their last bolt; and we knew that the Americans were arriving -in large numbers. But we had been fooled so often about internal -conditions in Germany! And Russia and the submarine warfare were factors -concerning which we had no exact data. The people who recreate the past -with the advantage of hindsight will tell that they never worried a -minute. They knew things were coming out all right! To listen to them -one would think that they expected all along to happen just what did -happen in the way it did happen. When I hear this kind of talk now I -know that it was either a case of - - "Where ignorance is bliss - 'Tis folly to be wise," - -or hopeless bumptiousness. How strange it is that many of those who tell -you now that the Germans never had a chance ran away from Paris in 1914 -and again in 1918. - -Parisians passed no fortnight in which there was more anxiety and -uncertainty to their beloved city than the first two weeks of July. The -Germans were widening their pocket. They occupied the right bank of the -Marne from Château-Thierry to Dormans. They crossed the Marne. It was -too late for Germany to hope to win the war. But would they get to -Paris? - -On July Fourth I was in reconquered Alsace and my husband was speaking -at Tours. He telegraphed me to join him at Boulogne-Sur-Mer on July -seventh. It took me three days to go in slow trains, with an occasional -lift by motor, the entire length of the front. I saw everywhere reserves -of troops and endless lines of motor-trucks and trains with cannon and -ammunition. The American uniform was ubiquitous. All this gave me a hope -and confidence I had not felt in Paris, where I knew that the Government -was making more elaborate preparations than in 1914 to evacuate the -city. Herbert and I returned to Paris from Etaples on July ninth. The -direct route by Abbéville and Amiens was under the German cannon, so we -had to make a wide detour by Tréport and Beauvais. We both had a raging -fever and it was all we could do to get home from the Gare de Nord. - -Doctor Charon came early in the morning and told us that we were down -with the _grippe espagnole_, the plague that was sweeping France and -that had much to do with the general depression. Many a soldier who had -gone through four years of battle unscathed succumbed to this mysterious -disease. It hit one suddenly and the end came quickly. On the other -hand, if the first forty-eight hours passed without complications, -recovery was as rapid. Despite the protests of Doctor Charon, Herbert -got out of bed on the morning of the thirteenth to go to Lyons to the -inauguration of the Pont Président-Wilson. I was up to celebrate the -Quatorze. After it was over, I was glad of the illness that came to keep -me in Paris for this day when we whistled to keep up our courage. Had -the Spanish grip not interfered, I should have returned to my children -in the Little Gray Home near Saint-Nazaire. - -The military operations in July, 1918, were not critical from the -standpoint of the safety of France and the success of the Allied cause. -The size of the army America was sending to France put the Germans in -such a hopeless inferiority of numbers that as soon as the table of the -landing of the first million was published we knew that the Germans were -doomed _if the fighting continued_. But we had a growing number of -strikes and a wide-spread defeatist campaign in the rear to contend -with. If Paris were taken, what would be the effect on French public -opinion? This was the stake the Germans were fighting for, and they knew -it was their only hope of salvation. - -Never have I loved Paris more than on the Quatorze of testing. Music and -dancing were lacking, of course: for since 1914 we had not danced in -public out of respect to the dead and music had been barred in cafés. -Military bands had other places to play than in Paris. But happen what -might, Parisians were determined to celebrate the fête just as if the -Germans had not crossed the Marne. I went out for the day with friends. -We smiled and laughed and tried to have a good time. The relaxation -helped all to bear the burden. Within limits hedonism has its merits. -"Eat, drink and be merry, for to-morrow we die" is the philosophy that -wins out when a crisis is being faced. - -I went to the review in the morning, and made a round of the streets and -the Champs-Elysées Quarter that had been rebaptized in honor of our -Allies. The Paris Municipal Council cannot be accused of lacking -optimism in regard to persons as well as events. Belief in victory and -in the permanent esteem for those who were bringing it to pass led to -changes of names that may not in retrospect have popular approval. The -Avenue du Trocadéro has become the Avenue du Président-Wilson; the -Avenue d'Antin, the Avenue Victor-Emanuel III; the Avenue de l'Alma, the -Avenue Georges V; the Quai Débilly, the Quai de Tokio; part of the Rue -Pierre-Charron, the Rue Pierre I de Serbie; and the Place de l'Alma, the -Place des Alliés. - -When Herbert returned from the Quatorze at Lyons, we celebrated the -Franco-American victory of the Marne with a dinner at Parc Montsouris. -Whoever has been to the Pavillon du Lac becomes a regular client. We -discovered this unpretentious little restaurant many years ago when we -were exploring with Christine and the baby-carriage. Ever since Xavier -has been our friend. Xavier does not need to be on the Grands -Boulevards. He prepares the choicest dishes with utmost confidence that -his friends will bring their friends to Montsouris. The Pavillon du Lac -is nearly a mile from the nearest Métro station and no taxicabs are to -be found out there by the fortifications. But difficulty of -transportation is more than compensated for by the restfulness of the -Pavillon du Lac, its _cuisine_--and Xavier, with his good humor and -witticisms, waiting on the table. You eat on the _terrasse_ facing the -park, with its waterfall and lake, and you feel that it is all -yours--park and restaurant. From _patron_ to _chef_, everybody calls you -by name, and most of the people at the tables are your friends. In the -salon is a piano. You dance to your heart's content. Xavier dances with -you. - -When I try to write of the Pavillon du Lac, memories crowd in on me -thick and fast. I could have put this restaurant in almost any chapter -of my Paris vistas. - -But what place could a dinner at Montsouris enter more appropriately -than on the night of July 18, 1918? We were celebrating better than we -knew. The afternoon _communiqué_ brought with it the certainty that the -miracle of 1914 had been repeated and that Paris was saved again. Did we -realize that the day's fighting was the turning point of the war? I -think not. But we acted as if we did. - -Around our table were gathered the American General commanding the -troops in Paris, my husband's chief on the Committee of Public -Information, a French editor, colleagues of the American and British -press, and one of our dearest French friends, whose work for his country -in the hour of trial was bearing splendid fruit. Xavier was at his best. -Had I not recently been in his beloved Alsace from which he had been an -exile since childhood? From _hors d'oeuvres_ to _liqueurs_, there was -an uninterrupted flow of good cheer. The strain of years was passing -away. - -The climax came when Jim Kerney picked up his cordial glass, twirled it -with his thumb, looked at it regretfully, and sighed, - -"The fellow who blew this glass was certainly short of breath." - -[Illustration: Old Paris is disappearing] - - - - -CHAPTER XXXII - -THE LIBERATION OF LILLE - - -From the Boulevard des Capucines to the Avenue de l'Opéra there is a -convenient short-cut through the Rue Daunou. Newspaper men and other -Americans do not always use the Rue Daunou for the short-cut. It is -better known as the way to the Chatham bar. I ought to know nothing -about the Chatham bar. My acquaintance with that corner should be -limited to the Restaurant Volney and ladies' days at my husband's club -opposite. But I do know the Chatham bar and for a perfectly respectable -reason. It is where my old uncle used to be found when the clerk at his -hotel said that he was not in. The uncle makes me think of a friend of -his and a table with a little brass disk in the center of it to -commemorate assiduous attendance through a long period of years in the -Chatham bar. And the uncle's friend makes me think of the liberation of -Lille. Association of ideas is a strange thing. - -Herbert and I sat one evening in the autumn of 1915 before a big map -with my uncle's friend. His fingers lay upon the Flanders portion of -what we had come to call "the front." Bubbling over with excitement, he -exclaimed, - -"They have broken through here, I tell you, day before yesterday. I -always knew that when Kitchener's army was ready the trick would be -turned. Of course the censorship is holding up the news, but everybody -knows it. A sharp bombardment that overwhelmed the Boches, and then the -break through. The Boches were routed. Talk about not being able to -storm trenches! The cavalry has passed Lille. At this moment Lille is -liberated. The British must be there in force." - -"But," objected my husband, "this is too good to be true. They could not -hold back news like that, you know. If the British are in Lille, the war -is over." - -"Of course it is over," insisted my uncle's friend. "We shall have peace -by Christmas." - -Mr.--well I won't tell you his name--let us say Mr. Smith, was hardly to -blame for taking the wish for the fact. The rumor of a big break through -the Flanders front was everywhere in Paris. Fourteen months of war had -been enough. The French had waited a year for the British to form an -army. Why shouldn't it be true that now the end had come? - -Alas! we were to wait three years more before the lines in Flanders were -crossed; we were to have many costly disappointments like that of -Neuve-Chapelle. But when the moment finally did come, the liberation of -Lille was to mean the beginning of the end. - -In October, 1919, when I came back to Paris from the Little Gray Home, I -returned to a city where there was a feeling of victory in the air. The -most conservative had lost their habitual pessimism. The most resigned, -who had come to accept the war as a fatality that would never end as -long as there were men to fight, began to revise their opinions. The -most suspicious, who wagged their heads over _communiqués_ no matter -what the authorities said, felt that after all we were making "some -progress." Each day the list of liberated communes grew longer. But -until some big city was abandoned, Parisians were afraid of having to -pay too big a price to break down the Boche resistance. After all, they -had proved themselves stubborn fighters. They might elect to make a long -"last ditch" combat on lines of which we did not know the existence. But -if they abandoned Lille, that would mean the intention of falling back -to the Meuse. Genuine optimism is as hard to instil as it is to dispel. -In retrospect, many writers are now asserting that Parisians knew the -Boches were beaten after the failure of their last July offensive from -the Vesle to the Marne. But this is not true. Relief over the failure to -reach Paris did not mean certainty of the imminent collapse of -Ludendorf's war machine. - -When summertime was over, and darkness came suddenly from one day to -the next, Herbert and I resumed our walks at nightfall. During the war -we had lost our interest in buildings as memorials of the past. -Contemporary history had crowded out ante-bellum associations. The -Eiffel Tower was not a gigantic monstrosity, a relic of the Exposition. -It was a wireless-telegraphy station, the ear, the eye, the voice of -Paris. Tramping by the Champs de Mars, we saw the sentinels in their -faded blue coats of the fifth year and felt sorry for the men up there -always listening in the pitiless cold. Crossing the Pont Alexandre III, -we forgot the splendor of the Czars and thought of Nicholas in the hands -of the Bolsheviki. The Grand Palais no longer recalled brilliant Salons. -We thought of the blind in the hospital there and of the re-education of -mutilated _poilus_. The picture inside was a one-armed soldier learning -to run a typewriter, and a man with both legs amputated sitting on a low -bench, the light of renewed hope in his eyes: for he had found out that -he could still do a man's work in the world by becoming a cobbler. The -newspaper building, whose cellar windows used to fascinate us, was the -place where we waited for the posting of the _communiqué_. The Invalides -was no longer just Napoleon's tomb. It was the place where you went to -see your friends decorated and where you strolled about the central -court to show your children aeroplanes and cannon captured from the -Germans. And you were saddened by the thought that when the last -veterans of the Crimea and Soixante-Dix and colonial wars disappeared, -there would be thousands of others to take the vacant places. - -October is chestnut month. From some mysterious source the venders drew -their supply of charcoal when we could not get it. But we were glad of -their luck. Autumn walks would not be complete without the bag of -roasted chestnuts which I could fish out of Herbert's overcoat pocket. - -We were going down the Rue de Rennes one night and stopped to get our -chestnuts from the man at the corner of the Rue Sainte-Placide. Herbert -was fumbling for coppers. A boy thrust a newspaper under his nose. - -"The Liberation of Lille!" he cried. - -We hailed a taxi and made for the Chatham bar. Everything comes to him -who waits. Uncle Alex's friend was waiting. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIII - -ARMISTICE NIGHT - - -On the eleventh day of the eleventh month at the eleventh hour, Paris -heard the news. The big guns of Mont Valérian and the forts of Ivry -roared. The anti-aircraft cannon of the Buttes-Chaumont, -Issy-les-Moulineaux, the Eiffel Tower, the Arc de Triomphe and the Place -de la Bastille took up the message. The submarine moored by the Pont de -la Concorde spoke for the navy. And then the church bells began to ring. -We had heard the tocsin sounded by those same bells at four o'clock on -the afternoon of August 1, 1914. France to arms! We had heard those same -cannon during more than four years announcing the arrival of Tauben and -Zeppelins and Gothas over Paris. But Paris kept the faith and never -doubted that this day would come. The armistice was signed. The war was -over. The victory was ours. - -In the Rue Campagne-Première artists' studios are in the buildings with -workingmen's lodgings. House painter and canvas painter work side by -side; writer and printer and book-binder, sculptor, cobbler, and -mattress maker live in the same court. Our little community could exist -by itself, for we have within a few hundred feet all that we need, -tailor and laundress, baker and butcher, restaurant and milk woman, the -stationer who sells newspapers and notions, and the hardware shop where -artists' materials can be had. During these years of danger and -discouragement and depression we have exchanged hopes and fears as we -have bought and sold and worked. We have welcomed the _permissionniares_, -we have shared in the bereavements of almost every family, and we have -greeted the birth of each baby as if it were our own. I was in my studio -when the message of victory arrived. Windows in the large court opened -instantly, and then we hurried down the staircase to pour forth, hand in -hand, arm in arm, into the street. We kissed each other. Flags appeared -in every window and on every vehicle. - -The Boulevard du Montparnasse was ablaze with flags and bunting, and -processions were forming. Hands reached out to force me into line. I -managed to break away when I got to the door of my home for the crowd -paused to salute the huge American flag. Herbert, who had reached the -apartment first, was hanging from our balcony. My four children were in -the hall when the elevator stopped. School had been dismissed. They -danced around me. Mimi the five-year-old cried: "No more Gothas, no more -submarines, we can go home to see grandma, and the Americans finished -the war!" - -"It is peace, Mimi, peace!" I said. - -"What is peace?" asked Mimi bewildered. - -I tried to explain. She could not understand. The world since she began -to talk and receive ideas had been air raids and bombardments, and life -was the mighty effort to kill Germans, who were responsible for all -that, and also for the fact that there was not enough butter and milk -and sugar. Mimi knew no more about peace than she did about cake and -boxes of candy and white bread. Questioning my seven year old, I found -that his notions of a world in which men would not fight were as vague -as Mimi's. Lloyd was frankly puzzled. Like Mimi, he believed that the -armistice meant no more Gothas and no more submarines, but he thought -surely that we would go on fighting the Germans. Had not they always -been fighting us? And if we weren't going to fight them any longer, -chasing them back to their own country, what in the world would we do? -And how could Uncle Clem and all the other soldier friends be happy -without any work? - -The Artist dropped in for lunch. Together we had seen the war suddenly -come upon France. Together we were to see it as suddenly end. "Do you -know," he said, "everyone in the quarter is going to the Grands -Boulevards. Taxis have disappeared. The Métro and Nord-Sud are jammed. -We may have to foot it, like most people, but if we want to see the big -celebration, we must get over to the Rive Droite this afternoon." - -The Artist was right. As Lester and Herbert and I went down the -Boulevard Raspail and the Boulevard Saint-Germain, we seemed to be -following the entire population of the Rive Gauche. To cross the bridge -was the work of half an hour. We kept near the coping, and had time to -see the crew of the submarine _Montgolfier_ engaged in more strenuous -work than sailing under the seas. The _Montgolfier_ was brought up to -the center of Paris a fortnight before to stimulate subscriptions to the -Victory Loan. The Parisians had been allowed to subscribe on board. -To-day the crew was busy trying to keep people off without pushing them -into the river. The crowd in the Place de la Concorde overflowed to the -Champs-Elysées and the Tuileries. Boys were climbing over the German -tanks. They sat astride the big cannon trophies and invaded the captured -aeroplanes parked on the terrace of the Tuileries. Only its steep sides -saved the obelisk. - -For many months the horses of Marly, guarding the entrance to the -Champs-Elysées, had been protected by sand-bags and boxed up. A crowd -was tearing off the boards and punching holes in the bags. Air raids -were a thing of the past, and these hidden treasures were a painful -memory which Paris wanted to efface immediately. A gendarme interfered -only to point out the danger of the long nails in the ends of the -boards. He insisted that the nails should be taken out, and then the -boards were given to those who had torn them off. This kindly -interference appealed to the good sense of the crowd. Men were putting -the boards across their shoulders to parade the _poilus_ triumphantly -around the Place. The gendarme was awarded by the honor of a high seat, -too. - -The statues of the cities of France formed splendid vantage-points, and -they were crowded with the agile and venturesome. Lille and Strasbourg, -however, were respected. When Lille was delivered last month, the statue -had been covered with flowers and wreaths and flags. As it symbolized -all the invaded regions, new offerings had been coming each day from the -cities and towns that were being freed. In the midst of the joy of the -armistice, this tangible evidence of victory was receiving more -offerings each hour. We could see people moving towards Lille with arms -aloft, in order that flowers should not be crushed in the jam. There was -something sublimely pagan about the offerings to the huge statue. And -Strasbourg! After nearly half a century, this was Strasbourg's day. The -first instinct of the crowd was to tear off the crepe. But the -government had taken precautions. Strasbourg was to be unveiled on the -day Marshal Foch and his army enter the city. So Strasbourg was -protected by a _cordon_ of the Garde Municipale. - -On the Rue Royale side of the Hôtel de Coislin, which the American Red -Cross occupied since our entry into the war, the proclamation of the -mobilization was covered by some thoughtful person with glass. It has -remained through these years, defying wind and rain and -souvenir-hunters, a constant reminder in the busy thoroughfare of -Paris's last Great Day. This afternoon a fresh poster had been put -beside it. We read: - - -INHABITANTS OF PARIS - - It is the victory, the triumphal victory! On all the fronts the - conquered enemy has laid down his arms. Blood is going to cease - flowing. - - Let Paris come forth from the proud reserve which has won for her - the admiration of the world. - - Let us give free course to our joy, to our enthusiasm, and let us - keep back our tears. - - To witness to our great soldiers and to their incomparable chiefs - our infinite gratitude, let us display from all our houses the - French colors and those of our Allies. - - Our dead can sleep in peace. The sublime sacrifice which they have - made of their life for the future of the race and for the safety of - France will not be sterile. - - For them as for us "the day of glory has arrived." - - Vive la République! - - Vive la France Immortelle! - - THE MUNICIPAL COUNCIL. - -Paris had anticipated the advice of the City Fathers. Printers and bill -posters were not quick enough. But the proclamation was read with -enthusiasm. "_Ça y est cette fois-ci!_" cried a girl who had just come -out of Maxim's. - -The cry was taken up immediately by all who were gathered around the -poster, and we heard it passing from mouth to mouth as we worked our -way toward the Madeleine. Nothing could express more appropriately and -concisely the feeling of the Parisians than this short sentence. _Cette -fois-ci! This time!_ There had been other times when rejoicing was not -in order. There had been false hopes, just as there had been false -fears. The certitude of victory _cette fois-ci_--a certitude coming so -miraculously a few months after incertitude and doubt--was the -explanation of the fierce mad joy expressed in the pandemonium around -us. - -After a mile on the Grand Boulevards, a mile that reminded us of -football days, the Artist said, "This is great stuff now, and will be -greater stuff tonight. I wonder if we had not better try to get around -to other places before dark just to see, you know." Beyond the _Matin_ -office, in a side street near Marguéry's, we saw a taxi. The chauffeur -was shaking a five franc note, and heaping curses on a man who lost -himself in the boulevard crowd. We ran to the chauffeur and told him we -would make it up to him for the _cochon_ who had not been good to him. - -"Double fare, and a good _pourboire_ beside," Herbert insisted. The -Artist opened the door and started to help me in. - -"By all the virgins in France, No! A thousand times no!" growled the -chauffeur, trying to keep us out. - -"We meant triple fare," said Lester. I disappeared inside the cab. - -"Where do _Messieurs-Dame_ want to go?" asked the chauffeur -despairingly. - -"Rue Lafayette, Boulevard Haussmann, Etoile, Avenue des Champs-Elysées, -Invalides, and then we'll leave you at the Opéra," I suggested -hopefully. - -"What you want is an aeroplane," he remonstrated. But triple fare is -triple fare. With a show of reluctance, he cranked and we rattled off. -An hour later, after we had escaped being taken by assault a dozen -times, resisted attempts to pull us out and put us out, promised to pay -for a broken window and a stolen lamp, and used cigarettes and -persuasive French on the man upon whose goodwill our happiness depended, -we found ourselves on the Avenue de l'Opéra. By this time the chauffeur -was resigned, so resigned that he tried to cross the Place de l'Opéra. -We were tied up in a mass of other rashly-guided vehicles until the -taxi's tires flattened out under the weight of a dozen Australians who -had climbed on our roof. We were cheerful about it, and the chauffeur -seemed to gather equanimity with misfortune. November 11, 1918, comes -only once in a lifetime. We abandoned our taxi and our money, and tried -it afoot again. - -Fortune was with us. We arrived at the moment when Mademoiselle Chénal -appeared on the balcony of the Opéra and sang the "Marseillaise." There -was the stillness of death during the verse. But the prima donna's voice -was heard only in the first word of the chorus. When the crowd took up -the chorus, Paris lived one of the greatest moments of her history. Over -and over again Mademoiselle Chénal waved her flag, and the chorus was -repeated. Then she withdrew. Another verse would have been an -anti-climax. We were carried along the Boulevard des Italiens as far as -Appenrodt's. As Herbert and Lester were talking about the night, more -than four years ago, when they watched the crowd break the windows of -this and other German or supposedly German places, the arc lights along -the middle of the boulevard flashed on. Paris of peace days reappeared. - -In the midst of it all, my maternal instinct set me worrying. What if -Alice, the _gouvernante_, had taken the children out into the crowd? I -had gone off without thinking of my chicks. We tried to telephone. On -the last day of the war that proved as impossible as on the first. My -escorts were quite willing to return to the Rive Gauche. There was no -reason why the celebration would not be just as interesting on the Boul' -Miche. I left Herbert and Lester on the terrace of the Café Soufflet, -and hurried back to the Boulevard du Montparnasse. When I reappeared -half an hour later, Christine was with me. She had begged so hard to be -taken to the Grands Boulevards. After all, why not? Christine had lived -through all the war in France. It was her right to be in on the -rejoicing. And I confess that I wanted to hear what she would say when -she saw the lights. She was so young when the war started that she had -forgotten what lighted streets were. - -The two men were delighted with the idea of dining across the river. -Despite its reputation for making the most of a celebration, five long -years of the absence of youth had atrophied the Boul' Miche. It was -interesting, of course, but not what we thought it would be. - -We dined at the Grand Café. We went early, fearing that even being in -the good graces of the head waiter might not secure a table. But having -a table was not guarantee of the possibility of ordering a meal worthy -of the occasion. The run on food had been too severe for the past two -days. And the market people of the Halles Centrales, so the waiter said, -began their celebration on Saturday, when the German delegates appeared -to demand the armistice. They would withhold their produce for several -days, and get higher prices. The cellars held out nobly, however, so -food could be dispensed with. - -During the first hour, mostly waiting for dishes which did not come, -there was a lull. The effort of the afternoon had been exhausting. Some -groups were just about to leave for the theatre when a young American -officer jumped on his chair, holding a slipper in his hand. Pouring into -it champagne, he proposed the health of Marshal Foch, with the warning -that other toasts would follow. Immediately there was a bending under -tables, and other slippers appeared. The fun was on. Cosmopolitans have -seen New Year's Eve _réveillons_ that were "going some," but the -drinking of the health of Foch, Petain, Haig and Pershing will live in -the memory of all who were in the Grand Café on the night of November -11th. Tables were pushed together and pyramided. One after the other the -highest officer in rank in each of the Allied armies was dragged from -his place and lifted up between the chandeliers. Over the revolving -doors at the entrance a young lieutenant led the singing of the national -anthems, using flag after flag as they were handed up to him. The affair -was decidedly _à l'américaine_, as a beaming Frenchman at the next table -said. There was no rowdyness, no drunkenness. It was merrymaking into -which everyone entered. The owner of the first slipper was an American -head nurse, and the first Frenchwoman to jump up on a table had twin -sons in the Class of 1919. During years of anguish we had been subjected -to a severe nervous strain and to repressing our feelings. The French -bubbled over and the English, too, and they were willing to follow the -lead of the Americans, because we have a genius for celebrating audibly -and in public. - -[Illustration: The Grand Palais] - -Once more out in the night air, following and watching the night crowd, -and joining in or being drawn into the fun, we were struck by the -ubiquity of American soldiers and their leadership in every stunt which -drew the crowd. We felt, too, the spirit of good _camaraderie_ among -the merrymakers. Not a disagreeable incident did we see. The stars of a -cloudless sky looked down on Paris frolicking. But they saw nothing that -Paris, emerging from her noble dignity of suffering and anxiety, need be -ashamed of. Policemen and M.P.'s were part of the celebration. - -Lines of girls and _poilus_ danced along arm in arm. The girls wore -kepis, and the _poilus_ hats and veils. No soldier's hat and buttons and -collar insignia were safe. The price of the theft was a chase and a -kiss. Processions crisscrossed and collided. Mad parades of youngsters -not yet called out for military service bumped into ring-around-a-rosy -groups which held captive American and British and Italian soldiers. - -The officers and sergeants in charge of American garages were either -taking the day off or had been disregarded. For in the midst of the -throngs our huge army trucks moved slowly, carrying the full limit of -their three tons, Sammies and _midinettes_, waving flags and shouting. - -The trophies of the Place de la Concorde and the Champs-Elysées and the -Place de l'Hôtel de Ville were raided. Big cannon could not be moved, -and pushing far the tanks was too exhausting to be fun. But the smaller -cannon on wheels and the caissons took the route of the Grands -Boulevards. Minenwerfer and A.D.C. (anti-aircraft cannon) disappeared -during the afternoon. Why should the Government have all the trophies? -The aspirations of souvenir-hunters were not always limited to the -possible. We saw a group of _poilus_ pulling a 155-cm. cannon on the Rue -du Faubourg-Saint-Honoré, some distance from the Rue Royale. They were -actually making off with it! A policeman watched them with an indulgent -smile. - -"It's too big," he said. "They'll get tired before the night is over, -and they couldn't hide it anyway. It is good for them to work off their -alcohol. To-morrow the authorities will pick up that cannon somewhere." - -The clocks on the Boulevard "islands" were stopped at eight o'clock. -This was not a night to think what time it was, and whether the Métro -had ceased running. Every lamp-post had its cheer-leader or orator. - -Confetti and streamers of uncelebrated Mardi Gras and Mi-Carêmes had -their use this night, when four years of postponed festivals were made -up for in few wild and joyous hours. What had begun as a patriotic -demonstration was ending in a carnival. The "Marseillaise" gave place to -"Madelon," favorite doggerel of barracks and streets. - -The most dignified had to unbend. A British staff officer, captured by a -bunch of girls, was made to march before them as they held his Burberry -rain-coat like maids of honor carrying a bride's train. He was a good -sport, and reconciled himself to leading a dancing procession, beating -time with his bamboo cane. All the Tommies spied _en route_ were -pressed into line. A French General, who had unwisely come out in -uniform, was mobbed by the crowd. The girls kissed him, and older people -asked to shake his hand. He submitted to their grateful joy with -warm-hearted and gracious dignity. But when a band of _poilus_ came -along, brandishing wicker chairs stolen from a café and asked him to -lead them in a charge, that was too much even for November Eleventh. The -General retired to the safety of a darkened doorway. - -There were no bands. It was the people's night, not the army's night, -and tin cans, horns, flags, flowers, voices and kisses were enough for -the people's celebration. You could not have enjoyed it yourself if you -had not the spirit of a child. Children need no elaborate toys to -express themselves, and they don't like to have their games managed for -them, or to have the amusement provided when they are "just playing." - -Some Americans rigged up a skeleton with a German cap. They followed it -singing "Onward, Christian Soldiers." The song was as novel as the -skeleton. Where all the Americans came from only Heaven and the -Provost-Marshal knew, and there is a strong probability that the latter -had no official knowledge of the presence of most of them in Paris! Our -soldiers were disconsolate over the fact that they could not buy all the -flags they wanted. The shops were completely sold out, and the hawkers -were reduced to offering _cocardes_. We heard one boy say: "If I can't -get a flag soon, I'll climb one of them buildin's." - -"Gee! better not," advised his comrade; "they'd shoot you!" - -"Naw! Shootin' 's finished." - -The shooting was finished. That is what the signing of the armistice -meant to Paris. And, as it meant the same to the whole world, every city -in the Allied countries must have had its November Eleventh. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIV - -ROYAL VISITORS - - -One night the future King of Siam came to dine with us. I took him into -the nursery to see the children. Mimi sat bolt upright in her crib. She -eyed the young stranger and frowned. - -"Hello, king," she said, "where's your crown?" - -I confessed to a similar feeling when from the balcony of a friend's -home in the Avenue du Bois de Bologne I saw the King of England riding -into Paris for the first of the welcomes we were giving Allied -sovereigns. It was natural that Great Britain should come ahead of other -nations. England had been the comrade-in-arms from the first days and -aided powerfully in preventing the Germans from reaching Paris in the -fierce onslaught of 1914. But it is a pity that the King was not -accompanied by Marshal French or Sir Douglas Haig. Parisians are -peculiarly sensitive to personality. George V has none. There was -nothing in the rôle he had played during the war to make the crowd feel -that he personified the valiant armies of the greatest and most faithful -ally. If only Beatty or Jellicoe had ridden with him through the Avenue -du Bois and down the Champs-Elysées. The war had not deepened the -enthusiasm of the French for a monarch simply because he was a monarch. -A crown and a royal robe might have helped George with the Paris crowd. -I am not sure even then. As my concierge put it when I told her that I -was going to cheer the royal visitor, - -"_Voyons_, what has that king done in the war besides falling off his -horse?" - -And then the weather was against our British guest. I do not care what -the occasion is, rain and enthusiasm do not go together in a Paris -crowd. - -The King of the Belgians had good weather and received cheers that came -from the heart. We thought of him not as a royal personage but as the -man who had saved Paris at the beginning of the war because he put honor -and his country ahead of personal interest and blood. The French saw in -him also a soldier who had lived the life of the camp sharing the -hardships and dangers of his little army in the corner of Belgium the -Germans were never able to conquer. From the first day of the war to the -signing of the armistice, Albert I did not doff his uniform. He never -asked of his soldiers what he himself was not ready to do. And he came -to Paris with his queen, who had been idolized by the French. No woman -in the world was so popular in France as Elizabeth despite her German -origin. - -The protocol for the royal visits was as elaborate as the ceremony -proved to be simple. The guests were received by President and Madame -Poincaré at the little Ceinture station at the Porte Dauphine. Headed -and followed by a single row of _gardes républicaines_ on horse, they -rode in open carriages down the Avenue du Bois de Bologne and the -Champs-Elysées and across the Pont de la Concorde to the Palais d'Orsay -where they were lodged. Infantry regiments, lining the route, aided the -police in keeping order. There was no parade and no music. The attention -and the acclamation of the crowd were concentrated on the visitors. As -state carriages are swung high, every one was able to see the king. The -Avenue du Bois is ideal for a procession. The park slopes up on either -side, affording a clear view for hundreds of thousands. And there are -innumerable trees for boys. - -Those who were unable to get to the Avenue du Bois or the Champs-Elysées -at the time the visitors came had a chance to see them in the streets -afterward. For visits were exchanged between the royal visitors and -President Poincaré, and on the second day of the visit they rode in -state down the Rue de Rivoli to receive the freedom of Paris at the -Hôtel de Ville. The return from the Hôtel de Ville was made by the -Grands Boulevards and the Rue Royale. Then on the first evening was the -state dinner at the Elysée and on the second evening the gala -performance at the Opéra. If any one in Paris did not see the -sovereigns, it was not because of lack of opportunity. - -The evening before we were to receive President Wilson, Rosalie burst -into my room in great excitement. - -"Hush, hush!" I whispered. "I have just put the baby to bed." - -But my pretty little cook did not hear me. She hurried to the window and -bounced out on the balcony. I followed. - -"What is the matter?" I asked. - -"Madame has only to listen: every church bell in Paris is ringing. What -is it, Madame? In my Brittany village the bells rang that way only when -they posted the mobilization order at the _mairie_. Is it the tocsin? Is -the war going to begin again?" - -"Of course not," I answered. "It's a whole month since the armistice. -Cheer up, Rosalie, perhaps the Kaiser is dead." - -The older children and Elisa and Alice were now with us. The bells -continued ringing, and we heard cannon, one boom after another. It was -the salute that had been given for the royal visitors by the guns of -Mont Valérian. Now we realized that the special train from Brest had -arrived. - -"It is the _Président-Vilsonne_!" said Alice in the reverent tone, that -she had been taught to use in speaking of "l'Eternel." If you have heard -a French Protestant reciting a psalm, and pronouncing the beautiful -French word for Jehovah, you will understand what I mean. - -My young governess struck the note of the Wilsonian greeting. All that -has happened since that memorable December day has dispelled little by -little the legend of the Wilson who was to deliver the world from the -bondage of war. The French quickly discovered that their idol had feet -of clay. Whether they expected too much from what President Wilson had -said in his speeches or whether his failure to make good his promises -was due to circumstances beyond his power to control is not for us to -judge. We do not know the facts and we have no perspective. But at the -moment we did not foresee the disappointment in store for us. A merciful -providence, veiling the future, allows us the joy of entertaining hopes -without realizing that they are illusions. Legends are beautiful and -touching. But they are most precious when you think they are true, and -nothing can rob one of the memory of moments on the mountain top. - -Fearing that the Métro to the Place de l'Etoile would be crowded, we got -up very early that Saturday morning. The day of President Wilson's -coming--whatever day the great event would happen--had been declared -beforehand a holiday. So we could take the children with us. We were -none too soon. All Paris of our quarter was going in the same direction. -Without a grown person for each child, the Métro would have been -difficult. When we came up at Kléber station the aspect of the streets -around the Etoile assured us that the Wilson welcome would break all -records. We passed through side streets to the Avenue du Bois--by the -corner of the Etoile it was already impossible, and thanked our stars -that the friends who invited us to see the royal visits from their -apartment lived on the near side of the street. To cross the Avenue du -Bois would have been a problem. - -Lloyd struck against going up to the wonderful vantage point on a fourth -floor. The good things Aunt Eleanor and Aunt Caroline would certainly -have for him to eat meant nothing when he saw boys in trees. Having no -good reason to deny him, his father yielded. My son climbed a tree near -the side-walk with Herbert standing guardian below while the rest of us -were high above. - -I shall not attempt to describe the welcome given to President Wilson. -After the carriages passed and the crowd broke, the children went home. -Herbert and I followed the current of enthusiastic, delirious Parisians -down the Champs-Elysées, up the Rue Royale and the Avenue Malesherbes. -Wilson beamed and responded to the greeting of Paris. He did not grasp -what that greeting meant. Clemenceau, Parisian himself, knew that the -power to change the world was in the hands of the man riding ahead of -him. But this is retrospect! I did not realize then that one of the -greatest tragedies of history was being enacted under my eyes. Perhaps I -am wrong in thinking so now. Who knows? - -More significant in its potentiality than the initial greeting to -President Wilson was the acclamation that greeted him when he went to -the Hôtel de Ville. Belleville turned out. From the heart of the common -people came the cry, "_Vive la paix Wilsonienne!_" It was taken up and -re-echoed with frenzy when the guest of Paris appeared on the balcony of -the Hôtel de Ville. - -The coming of the King of Italy was an anti-climax. Paris, of course, -responded with her customary politeness to the duty of welcoming the -sovereign of France's Latin ally. But heart was lacking in the reception -to Victor Emanuel III. The comparative coolness was not intentional. I -am sure of that. It was simply that we were coming down from the -mountain top to earth. - -And when the Peace Conference assembled, Paris very quickly realized -that the hope of a new world was an illusion. Our royal visitors came at -the right moment. Paris will give enthusiastic welcome to other rulers -in future days. But not in our generation! A famous saying of Abraham -Lincoln's comes into my mind. There is no need to quote it. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXV - -THE FIRST PEACE CHRISTMAS - - -"Peace on earth: good-will towards men!" For five years the motto of -Christmas had seemed a mockery to us. Our city was the goal of the -German armies. They reached it sometimes with their aeroplanes, and -before the end of the war they reached it with their cannon. Scarcely -fifty miles away from us--within hearing distance when the bombardment -was violent--fathers and sons, brothers and sweethearts were fighting -through the weary years in constant danger of death. Each Christmas -brought more vacant places to mourn. Of course we celebrated Christmas -all through the war. There was little heart in it for grown-ups. But we -had the children to think of. The war must not be allowed to rob them of -childhood Christmas memories. - -In 1918, we were looking forward to a Christmas that would be Christmas. -All around us the Christmas spirit was accumulating. The war was over: -we had won. Ever since Armistice Night we had been saying to -ourselves--"And now for Christmas!" We might have to wait for a revival -of the second part of the Christ Child's message. But at least the -first part was once more a reality. - -Three days before Christmas I sent a telegram. I took my brother's -enigmatic military address and put two words in front of it, Commanding -Officer. I begged the gentleman to have a heart and send me my brother -for Christmas Day. I told him that I had not seen my family for five -years, that four little children born abroad wanted their uncle, and -that we would welcome the C. O., too, if Christmas in Paris tempted him. -On the morning of December 24 brother appeared, and before lunch many -others I had invited "to stay over Christmas" turned up or telephoned -that they would be with us. I had to plan hastily how the studios in the -Rue Campagne-Première could be turned into dormitories for a colonel of -infantry, a major of the General Staff, captains of aviation and -engineers and the Spa Armistice Commission, lieutenants and sergeants -and privates of all branches. Last year few of the invitations to men in -the field were accepted. This year all came--some all the way from the -Rhine. Bless my soul, we'd tuck them in somewhere. And on Christmas Eve -we were going to have open house for the A. E. F., welfare workers, -peace delegates and specialists, and fellow-craftsmen of our own. - -As each house guest arrived, I gave him a job. His "But can't I do -anything to help?" was scarcely finished before he was commissioned to -blankets, armycots, candles, nuts, fruits, bon-bons, drinks, or -sandwiches. "Just that one thing. I rely on _you_ for that," I would -say. None failed me, and the evening came with everything arranged as if -by magic. I have never found it hard to entertain, and the more the -merrier: but when you have American men to deal with, it is the easiest -thing in the world to have a party--in Paris or anywhere else. - -Of course I went shopping myself. Herbert and I would not miss that day -before Christmas last minute rush for anything. And even if I risk -seeming to talk against the sane and humane "shop early for Christmas" -propaganda, I am going to say that the fun and joy of Christmas shopping -is doing it on the twenty-fourth. Avoid the crowds? I don't want to! I -want to get right in the midst of them. I want to shove my way up to -counters. I want to buy things that catch my eye and that I never -thought of buying and wouldn't buy on any other day in the year than -December 24th. I want to spend more money than I can afford. I want to -experience that sweet panicky feeling that I really haven't enough -things and to worry over whether my purchases can be divided fairly -among my quartette. I want to go home after dark, revelling in the flare -of lamps on hawkers' carts lighting up mistletoe, holly wreaths and -Christmas trees, stopping here and there to buy another pound of candy -or box of dates or foolish bauble for the tree. I want to shove bundle -after bundle into the arms of my protesting husband and remind him that -Christmas comes but once a year until he becomes profane. And, once -home, on what other winter evening than December 24th, would you find -pleasure in dumping the whole lot on your bed, adding the jumble of toys -and books already purchased or sent by friends, and calmly making the -children's piles with puckered brow and all other thoughts banished, -despite aching back and legs, impatient husband, cross servants and a -dozen dinner guests waiting in the drawing-room? - -Paris is the ideal city for afternoon-before-Christmas shopping. Much of -the Christmas trading is on the streets. It gets dark early enough to -enjoy the effect of the lights for a couple of hours before you have to -go home. You have crowds to your heart's content. And Paris is the -department-store city _par excellence_. Scrooge would not have needed a -ghost in Paris. If you have no Christmas spirit, go to the Bazar de la -Rue de Rennes, the Bon Marché, the Trois-Quartiers, the Printemps, the -Galeries Lafayette, Dufayel, the Louvre, the Belle Jardinière and the -Bazar de l'Hôtel de Ville. Do not miss any of these, especially the -first and the last. At the Bazar de la Rue de Rennes the Christmas toys -are on counters according to price. Woolworth only tells you what you -can get for five or ten cents. The range of prices on the Rue de Rennes -is adjusted to all pocketbooks. At the Hôtel de Ville you do not have -to wait for a saleswoman at the outside _rayons_. You hold up the -article you want and catch the cashier's eye. He pokes out to you a box -on the end of a pole such as they used to use in churches before we -became honest enough to be trusted with a plate. You put your money in. -If there is change, he thrusts it back immediately. - -On the Grands Boulevards and in our own Montparnasse Quarter, the -Christmas crowds were like those of the happy days before we entered -into the valley of the shadow. As we did our rounds, falling back into -peace habits and the old frame of mind, I realized how hollow was our -celebration of the war Christmases, how we pretended and made the effort -for our children's sakes. The nightmare was finished! Really, I suppose, -we had less money than ever to spend and everything was dear. But -everybody was buying in a lavish way that was natural after the -repression of years. Bargaining--a practise in street buying before the -war--would have been bad taste. We paid cheerfully what was asked. - -I was hurrying home along the Rue de Rennes with one of my soldier -guests. Herbert and my brother had left us on the Boulevards to get ham -and tongue at Appenrodt's and peanuts and sweet potatoes at Hédiard's. A -vender, recognizing the American uniform, accosted my companion with a -grin, as she held out an armful of mimosa blossoms. - -"Fresh from Nice this morning, _mon capitaine_--only fifty francs for -all this!" - -"Come, Keith," I cried, "she wants to rob you!" - -The woman understood the intent if not the words. Barring our way, she -reached over to her cart and added another bunch, observing, "It's -Christmas and I give our allies good measure." Keith took it all, -saying, "Don't stop me; I haven't spent any money for months--and Mother -always made such a wonderful Christmas. I've got to spend money--a lot -of money." He patted his pocket. "Two months' pay here that I haven't -touched yet!" - -Christine arranged the mimosa in tall brass shell cases from -Château-Thierry. "See my flowers!" she exclaimed. "This is better than -war!" - -The Consul-General (always a Christmas Eve guest in our home); the -colonel commanding the hospital in the Rue de Chevreuse; a New York -editor and his wife; a _confrère_ of the French press and his wife; a -Peace Delegate; and the head of a New York publishing firm, who looked -in to see if we were really working; sat down with us to dinner, -squeezed in with our A. E. F. guests. When the last flicker of -plum-pudding sauce died down, we set to work for the Christmas Eve -preparations. There was no question of rank or age! Each one fell to the -task at hand. Dishes, glasses, bottles, doilies disappeared into the -kitchen. The table was set for the big party, piles of plates with -knives and forks on each corner, sandwiches and rolls, a cold boiled -ham, a tongue _écarlate_ as tongues come in Paris, turkeys roasted by -our baker, olives, salted almonds, army graham crackers, candy, a tall -glass jar of golden honey worth its weight in gold, and the fruit cake -with sprigs of holly that comes across the Atlantic every Christmas from -a dear American friend. People could help themselves. How and when--I -never worry about that. My only care is to have enough for all comers. - -We sent out no invitations. The news simply passed by word of mouth that -friends and friends' friends were welcome on Christmas Eve. In a corner -of the drawing-room the engineers of the party made the Christmas tree -stand up. The trimmings were on the floor. Whoever wanted to could -decorate. With the trenches of five years between us and Germany, -Christmas tree trimmings were pitiful if judged by ante-bellum -standards. I wonder what my children are going to think when they see -this Christmas a full-grown tree with the wealth of balls and stars and -tinsel Americans have to use. In Paris we had so few baubles and pieced -out with colored string and cotton and flags and ribbon. But the effect -was not bad with the brains of half a hundred trimmers contributing to -work out ideas on a tree that did not come up to my chin. - -We started the victrola--"Minuit, Chrétien," "It Came upon a Midnight -Clear," "Adeste Fideles," and--whisper it softly--"Heilige Nacht." Then -our guests began to come until salons and hall and dining-room -overflowed into bed-rooms. Never again can I hope to have under my roof -a party like that, representing many of the nations that had fought -together on the soil of France, but with homesick Americans, Christmas -hungry, predominating. The first to arrive were patients from the -American Hospital in the Rue de Chevreuse who had been unable to forget -the nightmare of war when the armistice came. - -Crutches and the music, the tree and my children, an American home--the -first reaction was not merriment. I felt instinctively that something -had to be done. "Heilige Nacht" brought a hush. Someone turned off the -phonograph. Bill took in the situation. Everyone in America who reads -knows Bill. He backed up into a corner by the bookcase, took off his -glasses, and began to make a speech. - -"Ladies and gentlemen, I am an unregenerate soul. There is not a -respectable bone in my body. I am going to sing you a little ditty, the -national anthem of California." Here Bill winked his eyes and opened his -mouth wide to sing: - - "Hallelujah! I'm a bum!" - -"The writer of the song is an I. W. W.," he interrupted himself, "and at -the end of the first line from upstairs is heard the voice of his wife -demanding (here Bill changed to high falsetto), - - "Oh, why don't you work - As other men do?" - -Then the I. W. W. answers gently, - - "Why the H---- should I work - When there is no work to do?" - -I told you I was an unregenerate soul. I see that I'm not alone, there -are others here like myself. I want a volunteer to sing my part with me -and volunteeresses, equally unregenerate, for the pointed question of -the I. W. W.'s wife. - -"The gentleman there with the eagles on his shoulders--I have for you a -fellow feeling, you are disreputable like me. Come! And the little girl -in the pink dress that only looks innocent. Come you here. And others of -like character join us as quickly as you can push your way through the -admiring audience." - -The surgeon from New York, who is as military as any regular army man, -was a good sport. So was the editor's wife. As he reached both hands to -the recruits, Bill did a simple dance step, the contagious step of the -Virginia Reel when other couples are doing the figures. Soon the chorus -was a line that reached the hall. At this moment there were shouts of -laughter at the front door. A parade of alternating khaki and nurse's -blue invaded the salon. Each had a flag or horn. The chorus and parade -joined forces, with Bill as leader, and soon - - "Hallelujah! I'm a bum!" - -was being sung in every room of the apartment at the same time. Crutches -were no deterrent to joining the serpentine march from room to room. The -chorus grew and the dining-room was deserted. Strong arms picked up -babies in nighties and we were all in the parade. - -I did not know half of my guests and never will. Some of them are sure -to read this and will remember that night in Paris when C. O.'s and -journalists tired of the grind, nurses weary of watching, wounded and -homesick who had not expected to laugh that Christmas Eve, and soldiers -fresh from chilly camps and remote and dirty villages caught the spirit -of Christmas. When people forget their cares and woes, they always -behave like children. The national anthem of California made my party, -where Christmas carols had proved too tear impelling. After "Hallelujah! -I'm a bum!" wore itself out, nobody needed to be introduced to anybody -else and everything disappeared from the dining-room table. - -While the party was still raging, Herbert and I slipped for a moment out -on the balcony. Merrymakers with lighted lanterns passed along the -Boulevard du Montparnasse, singing and shouting. Before us lay Paris, -not the Paris dark and fearful to which we had become accustomed when we -stood there after the warning of the sirens and listened for the _tir -de barrage_ to tell us whether the time had come to take the children -downstairs, but Paris alight and alive, Paris enjoying the reward of -having kept faith with France and with the civilized world. - - - - -1919 - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVI - -PLOTTING PEACE - - -"Was it on purpose, Madame," said the Persian Minister to Paris, "that -you wore a green hat today?" - -We were lunching with the Persian Delegation. I took off my turban and -dropped it on the floor at the side of the chair. - -"Poor hat!" said I. "Look at its color. Brand new, you know, and faded -like that. It happened on the first sunny day after I bought it. We need -to plot a peace so that we can find good German dyes for our clothes. -Why did you want to know if I wore it on purpose?" - -"Green is the sacred color of Persia," said the Minister smiling, "and -it pleases us to see it. You were speaking of peace. We need peace and -quickly. And after that--what? We were more or less prepared for war, -but who thought while we were at war about preparing for peace? Not one -of the countries sent delegates with a workable plan. Part of our -preparedness should have been a peace program. Nobody thought a year ago -to call a conference of specialists. That's why negotiations drag on -forever." - -"I know," I answered, "we are used to war and we must get used to peace -now that it is coming. The other day at luncheon my husband asked the -children to define war. - -"'War is men getting hurted. The Germans did do it and I don't like -'em,' said Mimi. - -"'War is men at the front and cannon going off,' said Lloyd. - -"'Yes, and war makes the mamas work in the subway, and when it's war you -can't have sugar in your milk and we have air raids and Big Berthas, and -it makes people cry when the soldiers go away from the railroad -station,' said Christine all in one breath. - -"And we realized that although it seemed like another world, we -grown-ups could look back to _before the war_; but little children begin -to remember in a world at war." - -"And what is peace?" said the Minister. "It will not exist again for -your children and mine until we educate our democracies in international -understanding. The people of one country must know the people of -another. When we say France wants this or Italy wants that, we are not -talking about the people. How much did our Persians know about America -beyond the fact that missionaries came from there? How much did you know -about Persia beyond rugs and kittens and the Rubaiyát? I mean you -collectively. How many of our people and how many of yours understood -what Morgan Shuster was trying to do? No, no, we must not drop -propaganda after the signature of peace. We must have exchange -students--in agriculture and commerce and the professions. And then," -continued the Minister, "peace must bring us work, work for everybody. -Work is the only remedy for most of the ills of the world. And that -means a common international effort to bring raw materials to, and to -aid in the reconstruction of, the countries that have been -battlefields." - -"Will peace give us all of that?" I enquired. "It sounds like the -millennium." - -"If we think of peace as an abstract something that will drop on us from -one day to another we shall have no change from the war-breeding -conditions of the past. Permanent peace is a state of mind. A state of -mind among the people and strong enough to control the actions of -political leaders. Understanding, I tell you, understanding is the only -way." - -"I am afraid," said I, "it will be a cold day before the people will -have much to say about war and peace. Throughout our politicians are all -tarred with the same brush. Invite a doctor, a brick-layer, a parson and -a mother of five children to come from each country. Sit them down -together at one big table and I'd wager they'd make a good peace -quickly. We like to say that the five per cent. of educated men rule the -other ninety-five per cent. What is the fiendish power that lets rotten -diplomacy order us out to kill each other? The world will have to suffer -a good deal more before we learn the lesson. When wire-pulling and -economic jealousies wish it, the politicians can plunge the peoples into -a war again without their knowing how and why!" - -"The war that was to end war," said the Minister, bitterly. He was -thinking of the mockery of the Society of Nations as applied to his own -country. - -"This war that was to end war could have ended it," I cried, "if the -Peace Delegates hadn't come here covering their greed and their -imperialism with a camouflage of _belles_ phrases. For the life of me, I -cannot see why some real leader does not emerge at this crisis, and -force the peacemakers to do what the doctor, the concierge, the little -tradesman, the professor,--the people--all knew in the beginning had to -be done. First make peace with Germany. Then sit around the table men -representing the world and draw up a League of Nations. A league without -Germany and Russia is only an offensive or defensive alliance. Same old -game over again. This peace conference doesn't recognize give and take. -It is all take. And they refuse to allow themselves and their frontiers -to be measured by the same tape-line we propose to use on our enemies. -This means simply that we are going to have once more the old-fashioned -peace of might making right. I believe in a League of Nations founded on -Christian principles. It is the only kind of a league that will give the -weak a chance where the strong are concerned. Civilization is on the -upgrade. The reason we are disappointed now and the cause of the unrest -is that we thought we had got far enough along in the process of -evolution to establish a new order of things. And we haven't. Nobody is -willing to give up special privileges, secret treaties, and the balance -of power. The Golden Rule is too simple to try." - -"Ah, Madame," said the Persian Minister, "our peacemakers are like the -sparrow in the Persian fable. The sparrow heard that the sky was going -to fall. She flew to her nest and sat there stretching out her wings so -that it would not fall on her little ones." - -In my attitude toward the Peace Conference I believe I reflected all -through the attitude of the common people of France, especially the -Parisians. We had suffered too much and too long to want to see Germany -let off easily. Our internationalism had nothing in it of pity for the -Germans. We did not worry about how they were going to feel when they -found out what they were up against. We knew that we could not make the -Germans suffer as they had made us suffer. But we wanted written into -the Treaty conditions that would make our enemies realize their guilt by -finding out that the enterprise had not proved profitable. But along -with this natural and justifiable desire we yearned for some greater -recompense for our own suffering and sacrifices. Our hatred of war had -become as intense as our hatred of the Germans who plunged us into war. -We hailed with joy the assurances of our statesmen that they would make -this time a durable peace, avoiding the mistakes and errors of the past. -Imagine our consternation when we realized that the delegates to the -Conference at Paris were not making peace along new lines. They were -plotting peace along old lines. Weary months passed. The censorship -still muzzled the press. But Parisians knew instinctively that something -was wrong. Before Easter we lost faith in the Conference and hope in its -intention of changing the old order of things. - -But the great fact remained that the war was over and that, despite the -soaring cost of living and labor unrest, we were free from having to go -through the horrors of the previous winter. We counted our blessings. - -Paris had been the centre of the world during the whole war, the prize -for which the Germans fought, because they knew that success or failure -depended upon taking Paris. When they recrossed the Marne a second time -and retreated from Château-Thierry, the war was lost: and they knew it -then, and only then. You know that last poem of Rostand about the Kaiser -climbing to the top of a tower to witness the final assault against -Paris. Paris deserved the Peace Conference. So logical was the choice -that none protested. It was the only point on which the "principal -Allied and Associated Powers" were agreed. As a resident of Paris I was -proud that we were going to continue for another winter to be the centre -of the world--without certain decided disadvantages the honor had cost -us in the four previous winters! As a writer and the wife of a writer, -tied up by contracts to report the Conference, it meant that we could -stay in our own home and in our own workshops instead of living in hotel -rooms in some other place for long months. - -We kept open house for all--from premiers of belligerent states and -plenipotentiaries to delegates of subject nationalities, ignored by the -Big Five. Greeks redeemed and unredeemed, Rumanians and Transylvanians, -Jugo-Slavs of all kinds, Russians from Grand Dukes to Bolshevists, -Lithuanians, Esthonians, Letts, Finns, Poles, Czecho-Slovaks, Ukranians, -Georgians, Armenians, Syrians, Egyptians, Arabs of every persuasion, -Albanians, Persians, Siamese, Chinese, not to speak of the specialists -and propagandists and newspapermen of the Big Five, wrote their names in -my guestbook, ate at my table, and discussed each other over cigars and -cordials before my salon fire. Few lacked honesty of purpose and -sincerity and loyalty to ideals. But the ideals were those of their own -national or racial interests. Aside from a desire to see justice done to -France and Belgium, there was no unity, no internationalism in the views -of my guests. Most of them I respected; many of them I admired; for some -I came to have real affection. My husband and I formed personal ties -that I trust will never be broken. But I confess that the more I -listened to tabletalk and salon talk in my own home, the more bewildered -I grew. I saw the Society of Nations vanishing in the thin air. My own -narrow nationalism, that had been gradually reviving ever since the A. -E. F. started to come to France, was strengthened. After all, was not -all human nature like the nature of my own paternal ancestors, who -believed--as they believed the Bible, with emphasis on the Old -Testament--that - - Ulster will fight - And Ulster will be right? - -I took refuge in the humorous side of the Peace Conference, as I did not -want to get mad or to become gloom-struck and weep. When Fiume came up, -for instance, I would talk to Jugo-Slavs and Italians about getting -seasick on the Adriatic and the respective merits of Abbazia and the -Lido and whether they ever felt like d'Annunzio's lovers talked. The -best fun was with my own compatriots. We Americans had nothing at stake -as a nation, and (if I except a few of Wilson's specialists who never -were listened to but always hoped they would be) the members of the -American Delegation lost no sleep while they were remaking the map of -Europe. - -[Illustration: Spire of the Saint-Chapelle from the Place Saint-Michel] - -A Pole was explaining to us one day that the Ukranians were not and -never had been a nation, and he was in dead earnest. A captain in the -American Navy had been listening politely for an hour. Then he thought -it was time to change the subject. He turned to me and broke in out of a -clear sky, "Helen, you have no idea how fussy Colonel House is. Found he -couldn't get waffles in Paris. Telegraphed an S. O. S. to Brest. My -machinist spent the better part of two days making a waffle-iron, and it -was so precious and the Colonel was in such a hurry that I sent the -machinist to Paris to take it to him. Don't you think that was the right -thing for me to do, Doctor ----sky? House is pretty close to our -Commander-in-Chief, you know." - -When touring Paris starts up again, the Cook megaphone man will add a -new item to his history of the Place de la Concorde: "See that building -on the corner opposite the Ministry of Marine I was tellin' yuh 'bout? -Number Four it is. Offices of the American Peace Commission during the -famous Conference, 'n b'fore that f'r t'ree years American Red Cross -Headquarters. 'N at tother end of the row is th' Hotel Crillon, where -th' Merican delegates lived. There President Wilson tried to make a -'Siety 'v Nashuns!" - -And from now on I shall never pass through the Place de la Concorde -without thinking of our press-room at Number Four, where we swapped -rumors and waited for an open covenant, openly arrived at. Press -headquarters were housed in the former concierge's _loge_--three wee -rooms on the ground floor to the right of the porte-cochère as you -enter, and one of those was the post-office of the Delegation. The -quarters were prophetic of the importance and dignity of the press as -looked upon by the leaders of the Conference. The Americans arrived in -Paris with different ideas. The name chosen by the Delegation and -printed on all the stationery was a sign of American naïvety, and caused -much merriment among our British and French friends. AMERICAN COMMISSION -TO NEGOTIATE PEACE. _Negotiate_ peace? Our European allies wondered -where and how such a notion entered the heads of the Americans. We stuck -to the name throughout--but not to the idea. - -The Hotel Crillon and Four Place de la Concorde were filled with -Americans--college professors, army and navy officers, New York -financiers, the mysterious Colonel and his family and family's friends, -the other Delegates, Embassy secretaries and clerks, stenographers, -soldiers and sailors, and journalists. The sensible ones were profiting -by the months in the center of the world to see Paris, old and new; hear -music; and do the theatres. For the time spent on their specialties, -trying to influence the course of the peace pourparlers and being -sympathetic to the swarm of representatives, official and otherwise, of -downtrodden races, did not budge a frontier an inch or write one line -into the Treaty of Versailles. - -When I applied for a press-card, an American major, whose acquaintance -with a razor seemed no more than what anyone could gain from looking at -a display in a drug-store window, looked me over doubtfully. Was I -really writing for the _Century_ and newspapers to boot? At length he -called a soldier. "Take this lady to get her photograph made," he said. -Up four flights of stairs we climbed. On every landing was a soldier at -a desk. "Through this way, mom," said my guide. He opened a tiny yellow -door all black around the knob, and there were more stairs. - -"Wouldn't it be fun to play hide-and-seek at Number Four and in the -Hotel Crillon?" I asked. - -"That's just what they're doing here most of the time," said Atlanta, -Georgia. "You never saw anything like it. But you mustn't speak of the -Hotel Crillon. This is the Island of Justice, mom. Yes, mom, it -certainly expects to be that if it isn't yet." - -In the garret room of the Signal Corps at the top of the stairs were -five soldiers. - -"Hello, boys, what do you think you are doing?" I asked. - -"We're still making this here peace," answered a stocky brown-eyed lad, -occupied vigorously with chewing-gum. "Since these guys've come over -from home to help us, though, it is not going as fast as it was before. -Mistake to have thought they'd do it quicker by talking than fighting." - -"That's right, too," put in another. "The doughboys c'd a-finished it -'thout all these perfessers and willy-boys. Sit down here, please." - -In the gable window was a chair with screens behind it. On the screen -above the chair they put up a number--1949. - -"My soul!" I exclaimed. "What's the matter with me? Is that the date?' - -"No, ma'am, that's the date when the Conference is going to quit talking -and we can go home." - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVII - -LA VIE CHÈRE - - -H.C. of L. is an abbreviation I see often in American newspapers. From -the context it was not hard to guess what it meant. In Paris we call -that "preoccupation" (note the euphemism for "nightmare") _la vie -chère_. But we never mention it in any other tone than that of complete -and definitive resignation. We do not kick against the pricks. We gave -up long ago berating the Government and thinking that anything we can do -would change matters. We pay or go without. Our motto is Kismet. These -are good days to be a Mohammedan or a Christian Scientist. The latter is -preferable, I think, because it is comfortable to get rid of a thing by -denying its existence. - -For the sake of record I have compiled a little table that tells more -eloquently than words the price we have paid--from the material point of -view--for the privilege of dictating peace to Germany. Is it not strange -that peace costs more than war? The greater part of the increases I -record here have come since the armistice. The figures opposite the -names of commodities represent the percentage of increase since August -1, 1914: - - - FOODSTUFFS - - Beef 400 - Mutton 350 - Veal 350 - Poultry 400 - Rabbit 400 - Ham 400 - Bacon 225 - Lard 225 - Paté de foie 300 - Potatoes 325 - Carrots 325 - Turnips 450 - Cabbage 850 - Cauliflower 725 - Artichokes 650 - Salads 200 - Radishes 500 - Oranges 200 - Bananas 400 - Figs 500 - Prunes 650 - Celery 1900 - Salt 150 - Pepper 250 - Sugar 225 - Olive oil 350 - Vinegar 225 - Coffee 150 - Macaroni 150 - Vermicelli 250 - Rice 25 - Canned goods 200-400 - Butter 350 - Eggs 400 - Cheese 400-600 - Milk 150 - Bread 50 - Flour 200 - Pastry 300-400 - Ordinary wine 300 - Vins de luxe 50-100 - Champagne 150 - Ordinary beer 200 - Cider 400 - - HEATING AND LIGHTING - - Coal 250 - Charcoal 250 - Kindling-wood 300 - Cut-wood 300 - Gasoline 125 - Wood-alcohol 500 - Gas 100 - Electricity 50 - - CLOTHING - - Tailored suits 150 - Ready-made suits 300 - Shoes 200-300 - Hats 250 - Neckties 150 - Cotton thread 500 - Cotton cloth 275 - Collars 150 - Shirts 150-350 - Gloves 150-250 - Millinery 150 - Stockings 150 - Needles 500 - Yarn 500 - - LAUNDRY - - Laundry work 150-200 - Potash 350 - Soap 550 - Blueing 200 - - FURNITURE - - In wood 200 - In iron 300 - Mirrors 400 - Bedding 300 - - HOUSEHOLD LINEN - - Sheets 750 - Linen sheeting 900 - Cotton sheeting 900 - Pillow-cases 400 - Dish-towels 600 - Bath and hand towels 400 - Napkins 500 - Table cloths 400 - - TABLE AND KITCHEN - - Cutlery 125 - Plated-ware 150 - Table china 300 - Kitchen china 200 - Copper kitchen ware 125 - Aluminum ware 100 - Crystal ware 225 - Cut glass 200-350 - Ordinary plates 200 - Fancy plates 150 - Brooms and brushes 125 - Lamps 250 - - MEANS OF TRANSPORT - - Railway tickets 50 - Excess baggage 250 - Sleeping births 400 - Commutation 75 - Taxi-cabs 75 - Omnibuses 35-50 - Tramways 35-50 - Postal cards 100 - - STATIONERY AND BOOKS - - Writing-paper 900 - Wrapping-paper 1000 - Paper for printing 500-800 - Newspapers 100 - Magazines 50 - Books 100 - - DRUGS AND PERFUMERY - - Fancy soaps 300-400 - Toilet waters 200 - Tisanes 150 - Eucalyptus 400 - Patent medicines 150-200 - Lozenges 250 - Powdered drugs 150 - Prescriptions 100 - Bottles for Prescriptions 300-525 - - TOBACCO - - Smoking tobacco 50-60 - Ordinary cigarettes 40-75 - Cigarette de luxe 100 - Ordinary cigars 50 - Cigars de luxe 100-150 - Snuff 50 - -While we decided upon what to do with the Germans, the rest of our -enemies, and the very troublesome races we had liberated, the Chamber of -Deputies passed a national eight-hour law. This did not bring down wages -by the day. In fact, shorter hours of labor led to more insistent -demands for higher wages to meet the increase in _la vie chère_. -Everyone borrowed from Peter to pay Paul. - -On the day the German plenipotentiaries arrived at Versailles, my -children insisted on going out to see them. We had to wait until Sunday, -when my husband was free. Out we went on a bright May morning. There -were six Gibbonses, four of them very small, and one of my American -soldier boys. Of course we ate in the famous restaurant of the Hôtel des -Réservoirs, where the Germans were lodged. We did not see the Germans. -The only sensation of the day was the bill for a simple luncheon--two -hundred and eight francs. - -"It pays to be the victors!" I exclaimed. - -"Those who have anything to sell," modified my husband, grinning -cheerfully (God knows why!) as he bit the end off a ten-franc cigar. - -"The children will never forget this historic day," he added, handing -the waiter twenty francs. - -"Nor I," said the children's mother. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVIII - -THE REVENGE OF VERSAILLES - - -The memory of my introduction to Versailles is a confused jumble of -stupid governess and more stupid guide-book. When I was sixteen a -governess piloted me through endless rooms of the palace with a pause -before each painting or piece of furniture. To avoid trouble I was -resigned and looked up at the painted ceiling until my neck was stiff. -But I never forgot the Salle des Glaces. It had no pictures or furniture -in it. An historical event connected with it was impressive enough to -hold my attention. I remembered a picture of the crowning of Wilhelm I -in a school-book. Bismarck looked sleek and content. The kings stood -with raised arms, crying "Hoch der Kaiser." Underneath was the caption: -THE BIRTH OF AN EMPIRE. - -I did not like that picture. I resented it as I resented the thought of -Alsace and Lorraine under German rule. Ever since a German barber in -Berne mistook me for a boy when I was a little girl and shaved my head -with horse-clippers I have had a grudge against the Germans. And then, -when you have lived long in France, that day in the Salle des Glaces -becomes unconsciously a part of your life. I cannot explain why or how, -but the Salle des Glaces and Metz and Strasbourg are in your heart like -Calais was in Queen Mary's. I have lived under two shadows, the shadow -of Islam and the shadow of Germany. In Constantinople you do not forget -the minarets towering over Saint Sofia. In France you do not forget -Soixante-Dix. - -Possessor of Aladdin's lamp, would I ever have dared to ask the genie to -transport me on his carpet to the Salle des Glaces to see Germany, -confessing her defeat before France, sign away Alsace and Lorraine? - -All this was in my thoughts on the morning of June 28, 1919, when -Herbert and I were riding in the train to Versailles. Could I be -dreaming when I looked at the square red card in my hand? And yet at -three o'clock in the Salle des Glaces the German delegates were to sign -a dictated peace, which they had not been allowed to discuss, and which -would wipe out the dishonor and the losses of Soixante-Dix. - -We went early and we took our lunch with us: for we said to ourselves -that all Paris would be going to Versailles. For once we felt that the -vast lifeless city of Versailles would be thronged. Except on a summer -Sunday when the fountains were playing I had never seen a crowd at -Versailles: and on the days of _les grandes eaux_ the Sunday throng did -not wander far from the streets that lead to the Palace. Always had we -been able to find a quiet café with empty tables on the _terrasse_ not -many steps from the Place des Armes. - -We might have saved ourselves the bother of bringing lunch. To our -surprise Versailles was not crowded. After we had wandered around for an -hour, we realized that even the signing of a victorious peace with -Germany was not going to wake up the sleepy old town. The automobiles of -press correspondents and secret service men were parked by the dozen at -the upper end of the Avenue des Reservoirs. Along the wooden palisade -shutting off the porch of the hotel occupied by the German delegation -were as many policemen as civilians. We ate a quiet luncheon in front of -a café down a side street from the reservoir. Besides ourselves there -were only a couple of teamsters on the terrace. Inside four chauffeurs -were playing bridge. Had we come too early for the crowd? At first we -thought this was the reason: afterwards it dawned upon us that the -Parisians were not attracted by the affair at all. How far we had -traveled in six months from the welcome given to President Wilson a week -before Christmas! - -The ceremony was spiritless. I pitied the men who had to cable several -thousand words of "atmosphere stuff" about it that night. If only the -Germans would balk at signing! Or if the Chinese would enter at the last -moment in order to get into the League of Nations! The only ripple of -excitement was a signed statement of protest handed out by Ray Stannard -Baker at General Smuts' request. The South African, remembering perhaps -when he was a vanquished enemy and all the painful years that followed -the Boer War, registered his disapproval of the Treaty, although he felt -it was up to him to sign it. - -It was all over in less than an hour. Cannon boomed to announce the -revenge of Versailles; out on the terrace a few airplanes did stunts -overhead; and for the first time since the war interrupted mid-summer -gaiety the fountains played. - -Margaret Greenough and I had the good luck to meet General Patrick at -the Grand Bassin. He offered to take us back to town in his car. Thus we -became part of the procession. Because of the stars on the wind-shield -and the American uniform, our car was cheered as we passed in the line. -Along the route to Saint-Cloud people gathered to see the -plenipotentiaries. But we felt that they were simply curious to pick out -the notables. There was no ovation, no sense of triumph. It was so -different from the way I expected it to be, from the way I expected to -feel. - -In my book of mementos I have the program of the plenary session of the -Peace Conference that was to crown six months of arduous labor, -following five years of war, and to mark a new era in world history. -Beside it is the program of the plenary session in the Palais d'Orsay, -when I heard President Wilson present the project of a League of -Nations. They are simple engraved folders with a couple of lines -recording the events under the heading AGENDA. I ought to regard them as -precious treasures. But they seem to me only the souvenirs of blasted -hopes. - -June 28, 1919, should have been an epic, an ecstatic day. It was a day -of disillusion and disappointment on which we abandoned the age-old and -stubborn hope of a peace that would end war. Were we foolish to have -forgotten in the early days of the Peace Conference how slowly the mills -of the gods do grind, and that our diplomats were children of their -ancestors, still fettered by the chains of the past, still confronting -the insoluble problems of unregenerate human nature? - -The Peace Conference was a Tower of Babel, where different tongues -championed divergent national interests. The only Esperanto was the old -diplomatic language of suspicion and greed. The mental pabulum that fed -the public was clothed in new terminology. When hammer struck anvil in -the high places, sparks shot out. We caught flashes of liberty, -brotherhood, the rights of small nations. But in the secret conferences -decisions were dominated by the consideration of the interests (as they -were judged by our leaders) of the most powerful. - -One day there appeared in our press room in the Place de la Concorde a -Lithuanian, who had made an incredibly long journey, much of it on foot, -to come to the Peace Conference. He had been fired by President -Wilson's speeches. He wanted to tell the American prophet how the Poles, -in his part of Europe, were interpreting self-determination. He did not -see the President. Although touched by his sincerity, we wondered at his -naïvety. Did he really believe that the same principle could be applied -everywhere? Practical common sense urged me to believe that the liberty -propaganda was overdone and that it was impossible to give justice to -everybody. But I was clinging to my idealism as the Lithuanian clung to -his. A plain body like me could not know or understand what was going -on. But why preach idealism in international relations, if an honest -effort to apply justice impartially was impossible? Surely the Great -Powers could act as judges in assigning boundaries between the smaller -nations. Liberty, like the love of God, is "broader than the measure of -man's mind." - -Quoting from a hymn I learned in childhood brings me to what I think was -the reason of the failure of the Peace Conference: men forgot. They -labored for the meat which perisheth. They posed as creators of a new -world order but ignored the means of establishing it. They forgot that -Jesus said, "He that findeth his life shall lose it: and he that loseth -his life for my sake shall find it." - -"But wait a minute," I hear one say, "did you expect a peace conference -to be run on those lines?" - -An ordinary peace conference such as we had always had, where the -victors divide the spoils--certainly not! But this was not to have been -an ordinary peace conference. We had been given to understand that the -Conference at Paris met to incorporate in a document the principles for -which millions had given their lives. Germany stood for the unclean -spirit that was to be exorcised. Men had died on the field of battle for -a definite object. There was the poem that was like a new Battle Hymn of -the Republic, "In Flanders Fields the Poppies Grow." - -When nations are not ready to love their enemy or even to love each -other, the creation of a League to do away with war is an absurdity. - -Either we believe in the coming of God's Kingdom or else we do not. The -remedy for sin and evil, the means of securing the triumph of right over -might, is in keeping the commandments. The peace-makers forgot the -summary of the law as Jesus gave it in two commandments. If they had -tested their own schemes for world peace by this measure, strange and -rapid changes would have followed. If they had listened to Him as He -spoke to them, it would have been as of old when "no man was able to -answer Him a word, neither durst any man from that day forth ask Him any -more questions." - -The ceremony of Versailles did not lift the shadow of Germany hanging -over France. And when I look at my son, I wonder what will come. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIX - -THE QUATORZE OF VICTORY - - -We may not have been sure of the peace. We were sure of the victory. The -soldiers had done their part. Academic newspaper discussion as to when -the victory parade would be held amused us. The only uncertainty was the -date of signing the Treaty. Once the Treaty was signed, it was taken for -granted that the Quatorze would be the day. Protests about shortness of -time were overruled. It was not a matter for discussion. Nobody paid any -attention to the argument of those intrusted with the organization of -the event. Public opinion demanded that the Allied Armies march under -the Arc de Triomphe and down the Champs-Elysées on July Fourteenth. -After the Quatorze of testing, the Quatorze of victory. There was no -question about it. So the powers that be got to work. - -There was no need to decide upon the route of the procession. Ever since -August 1, 1914, Parisians who lived on the Avenue de la Grande Armée, -the Avenue des Champs-Elysées, the Rue Royale and the Grands Boulevards, -had been realizing how numerous were their friends. From every part of -France letters had come from forgotten relatives, passing -acquaintances, business associates, who wanted to be remembered when - - Le jour de la victoire est arrivé. - -Public opinion dictated, also, two changes in the program as it was -announced. Marshal Joffre must ride the entire length of the route from -the Porte Maillot to the Place de la République beside Marshal Foch. And -the grandstands put up around the Arc de Triomphe and along the Avenue -Champs-Elysées for those who had "pull" must come down. This was to be -the day of the people, and everybody was to have an equal chance. When -it was seen that selling windows and standing place on roofs at fabulous -sums was to give the rich an unfair advantage, the Chamber of Deputies -was forced to pass a bill declaring these gains war-profits and taxing -them eighty per cent. This resulted in the offering of hospitality to -the wounded that big profits might have prevented. - -In looking down my vistas of the past year, I see Paris reacting -differently to almost every great day. - -On Armistice Night we went mad. From the _exaltés_ to the saddest and -most imperturbable, Parisians spent their feelings. The joy was acute -because it was the celebration of the end of the killing. When a soldier -is frank and you know him well he will tell you, "Any man who claims not -to be afraid at the front is lying." That fear was gone. Men could -unlearn blood-lust: and with honor now. Along with the relief of the -end of the fighting was the joy of the end of separations. - -On June 28, Paris thought her own thoughts, pondering over the peace -that had been won. Friends dined with us that night. My victrola played -The Star Spangled Banner--La Marseillaise--Sambre et Meuse--Marche -Lorraine. - -"Why don't you dance?" I said to the Inspecteur-Général d'Instruction -Publique. "It's peace! I want to celebrate. I need to shake off the -impression of Versailles this afternoon." - -"I asked my concierge that same question," said he, "and she answered, -'We don't rejoice to-day--we wait.' _Les Parisiens ne s'emballent pas._ -Wise woman, my concierge." - -On the night of July 13, Paris paid her tribute to the dead. Respect for -_les morts_ is ingrained in French character. At the moment of victory -those who had fallen were not forgotten. They came ahead of those who -lived. A gilded cenotaph, placed under the Arc de Triomphe, contained -earth from the many battlefields on which the French had fought. That -night we passed with the throng to pause for a moment with bowed heads -before this tomb that represented the sacrifice of more than a million -soldiers. I thought of Détaille's picture in the Panthéon, and looking -at the crowd about me, mostly women and children in mourning, I asked -myself if this were _La Gloire_. The level rays of the setting sun fell -upon the soldiers on guard. People spoke in whispers. None was tearless. -It was "_Debout les Morts_"! They passed first under the Arc de -Triomphe. Had they not blazed the way for those who would march on the -Quatorze of victory? - -Half way down the Champs-Elysées, at the Rond-Point, were heaps of -captured cannon that had stood along the Avenue and in the Place de la -Concorde through the winter since the armistice. They had been gathered -here, and surmounting them was the _coq gaulois_. But around the -Rond-Point huge urns commemorated the most costly battles of the war, -and in them incense was burning. - -"Are you going to see the parade?" I asked a friend who had lost two -brothers. - -"Certainly," she replied. "Last week my mother went to the grave of my -little brother in the Argonne. She put wreaths on it and prayed there. -The other brother was blown up by a shell. There is no grave for him. So -to-night we shall think of him when we pray before the cenotaph. We -shall spend the night there to have a good place to-morrow." - -Herbert and I thought of her and her mother and of many other friends -who were in the crowd around the Arc de Triomphe. We had our own reasons -for bowing before the cenotaph. Dear friends had been lost during those -awful years and in the last weeks one of our own family fell on the -front between the Le Cateau and Guise. It is strange how you go on -living in the midst of war, seeing others suffer, sharing their grief, -and never thinking that the death that is stalking about will enter your -own family circle until the telegram comes. You have helped others at -that moment: and then it is you. - -There is a fine sense of balance in French character. One remembers the -dead, but one does not forget the living. Most of those who intended to -go with hearts rejoicing and smiles and laughter to greet the _défilé_ -of the Quatorze could not have stood the ordeal unless it had been -preceded by the quiet night watch with the dead. - -The Quatorze has always meant to us an early start for the Bois du -Bologne to see the review. Throughout the Third Republic the day had a -distinctly military atmosphere. Who does not remember Longchamp before -the war? Each year Paris went to the review with pride not unmixed with -anxiety. There was a serious aspect impossible for the stranger to -realize and appreciate. After all, the army was not a small body of men -who had given themselves to a military career. It was the youth of the -nation performing a duty imposed upon it by the geographical position of -France. The army was the nation in arms, an institution as necessary for -well-being and security as the police. Longchamp on the Quatorze was the -assurance that the job of protecting France was being well looked -after. And the spectators were the fathers and mothers, the brothers and -sisters, of the army. Every Parisian had passed through the mill. How -often after the review, when the soldiers came from the field, have I -seen middle-aged civilians joking with them in the way one only does -with comrades of one's own fraternity. It was hard for the Anglo-Saxon -to understand this before the war. The Barrack-room Ballads would be -incomprehensible to a Frenchman. "Tommy" was everybody in France. - -But this review was different. The intimacy, the sense of the soldiers -belonging to the people and being of the people, had always been there. -Added to it now was the knowledge of what the army had done for France. -There is no country where _la patrie reconnaissante_ means more than in -France. And the great danger was so fresh in our minds! From the -standpoint of the soldier it was different, too. For five weary years -the _poilu_ constantly on duty and not knowing which day might be the -last saw in the soft blue rings of his cigarette smoke the _défilé_ -under the Arc de Triomphe and prayed that he and his comrades would be -there. That was the only uncertainty--whether he himself would be spared -for the _jour de la victoire_. If France's soldiers had doubted that the -day would arrive, they could not have continued to sing the -Marseillaise--and the war would have been lost then and there. The -Quatorze of peace days was fun to the spectators but a _corvée_ for the -soldiers who marched. The Quatorze of victory was the realization of the -dream that sustained the soldiers throughout the war. It was the reward -for having believed what they muttered doggedly through their teeth, -"_Nous allons les écraser comme des pommes de terre cuites!_" - -One of our _poilus_, a boy to whom we had been through the war as next -of kin, who wore the _médaille militaire_ and whose _croix de guerre_ -carried several palms, came to us late in the night before the victory -parade. He said with tears in his eyes, - -"The chains are down!" - -"What chains?" I asked. - -"The chains around the Arc de Triomphe. They have been there since -Soixante-Dix. Do you realize," he cried seizing my hands, "that the last -time soldiers marched under the arch it was Germans? Ah, the Huns, I -hate them! We are supposed to keep our eyes straight before us during -the march, but I shall look up under that arch. I shall never forget the -moment I have lived for." - -"And Albert, the ideals that made you enlist, have they survived?" - -"They are here," he replied, slapping his chest until his medals -jingled. I made up a lunch for Albert, and off he went to get to the -rendezvous at the Porte Maillot at two A. M. - -We had determined that the whole family should see the _défilé de la -victoire_. The younger children might not remember it, but we never -wanted them to reproach us afterwards. How to get there was a problem -that needed working out. The children had an invitation, which did not -include grownups, from Lieutenant Mitchell whose window was in the -American barracks on the north side of the Avenue near the Rue de Berri. -Dr. Lines asked Herbert's mother and Herbert and me to the New York Life -Insurance Company's office at the corner of the Rue Pierre-Charron on -the south side of the Avenue. How take the children to the other side -and get back to our places? There was only one answer. Taxi-cabs that -could go around through the Bois du Bologne and Neuilly or the Place de -la République. - -In the court of the building where we have our studios in the Rue -Campagne-Première lives Monsieur Robert, a taxi-chauffeur. Herbert -arranged with him to be in front of our house at six-thirty A. M., -promising him forty francs, with a premium of ten francs if he got there -before six-fifteen. Then, to guard against break-downs, he found another -chauffeur to whom he made the same offer. On Sunday afternoon Herbert -began to worry. It was bad to have all your eggs in two baskets when you -are looking forward to the biggest day of your life. So a third -chauffeur was found to whom the same offer looked attractive. - -We got up at five, had our breakfast, and prepared a mid-morning snack. -Lloyd was on the balcony before six to report. Three times he came to us -in triumph. Our faith in human nature was rewarded. When we got down to -the side-walk we found our chauffeurs examining their engines. My heart -sank. But they explained that feigning trouble with the works was the -only way of keeping from being taken by assault. - -We sent Grandmother and the baby directly to Rue Pierre-Charron. That -part was easy. Then, in the other two autos, we started our long morning -ride to get to the other side of the Champs-Elysées and back. -Fortunately, the chauffeurs had seen in the papers that a route across -the Grands Boulevards would be kept open from the Rue de Richelieu to -the Rue Drouot. After waiting a long time in line, we managed to get -across, and made a wide detour by the Boulevard Haussmann to the Rue de -Berri. Shortly after seven we delivered the kiddies to the care of -Lieutenant Mitchell. Our own places were just across the Avenue. But it -took us another hour and a wider detour to get to them. We were glad of -the two taxis. If one broke down, there was always the other. We wanted -to play safe. - -From our place on the balcony of the New York Life we had the sweep of -the Avenue des Champs-Elysées from the Arc de Triomphe to the -Rond-Point. On many buildings scaffolding had been run up to hold -spectators. People were gathered on roofs and chimneys. Every tree held -a perilous load of energetic boys. Hawkers with bright-colored -pasteboard periscopes did not have to cry their wares. Ladders and -chairs and boxes were bought up quickly. But the Avenue is wide. All may -not have been able to see. But those behind were not too crowded and at -no time during the morning was all the space taken from the side-walk to -the houses. - -At half-past eight the cannon boomed. Another interval: then the low hum -that comes from a crowd when something is happening. Then cheers. The -_défilé de la victoire_ had begun. The head of the procession was like a -hospital contingent out for an airing. There were one-legged men on -crutches and the blind kept in line by holding on to empty sleeves of -their comrades. The more able-bodied pushed the crippled in -rolling-chairs. The choicest of the flowers, brought for the marshals -and generals, went spontaneously to the wounded. Once again the French -proved their marvelous sense of the fitness of things. - -Then came the two leaders of France, Marshal Foch keeping his horse just -a little behind that of Marshal Joffre. For two hours we watched our -heroes pass. Aeroplanes, sailing above, dropped flowers and flags. The -best marching was done by the American troops. The French readily -acknowledged that. But they said: - -"It is still the flower of your youth that you can put into the parade. -Ours fell _là-bas_ long ago." - -After the crowd began to disperse, we made our way across the Avenue to -get the children. As I brought them out through the vestibule a soldier -caught sight of us. He cried: - -"Gosh, these ain't no tadpoles!" - -When the children acknowledged to being Americans, he asked Mimi whether -she liked rats. - -"Yas, I do," said Mimi. - -"You wait there a minute. I got a rat I bought from a _poilu_. It's a -tame one." - -The soldier brought his rat and did wonderful stunts with it. Mimi -squealed when the rat ran from the soldier's arm to hers and up on her -head. She didn't know whether to like it or be afraid. But the rat -evidently won, for when asked later what she liked best about the -parade, she put that rat ahead of Pershing and Foch. - -We never thanked our lucky stars for the view of Paris from our balcony -more than on the evening of the Quatorze of victory. To see all the -wonders of the illuminations we did not need to leave our apartment. -From every park roman candles and rockets burst into pots of flowers, -constellations, the flags of the Allies. The dome of the Panthéon -glowed red. Sacré Coeur stood out green and pink and white against the -northern sky. Revolving shafts of red, white and blue came from the Tour -Eiffel. Church bells rang and on every street corner there was music. - -The dear old custom of the night of the Quatorze was revived. We looked -down at the lanterns across the Boulevard Raspail at the intersection of -the Boulevard du Montparnasse. Tables and chairs overflowed from the -side-walk into the street. But there was a large open place around the -impromptu band-stand. People were dancing and the music never stopped. - -We heard the call. And we obeyed. When we reached the corner and got -into the street, Herbert held out his arms. - -"To everything there is a season," he said. - -"A time to mourn and a time to dance," I murmured. - -THE END - - * * * * * - -Typographical errors corrected by the etext transcriber: - -against the use of alchohol=>against the use of alcohol - -Eau fraiche=>Eau fraîche - -fruits rafraichis=>fruits rafraîchis - -which is fourty-four=>which is forty-four - -Eglise Saint-Suplice=>Eglise Saint-Sulpice - -You make a list of the woman=>You make a list of the women - -I have known in them in their homes=>I have known them in their homes - -pièce de resistance=>pièce de résistance - -What a charming dining-room? Dear me, have I intruded=>What a charming -dining-room. Dear me, have I intruded - -Lycé Charlemagne=>Lycée Charlemagne - -Rue da la Mont Sainte-Geneviève=>Rue de la Mont Sainte-Geneviève - -find yourself in the Rue Mouffetord=>find yourself in the Rue Mouffetard - -which are to found in every quarter=>which are to be found in every -quarter - -But in the Bois de Bologne=>But in the Bois de Boulogne - -Seminary of Saint-Suplice=>Seminary of Saint-Sulpice - -undetermined the natural defences=>undermined the natural defences - -Clichy and Montmarte=>Clichy and Montmartre - -they probably will not come, and if you do=>they probably will not come, -and if they do - -born or suffering=>born of suffering - -all the grave _offiches_=>all the grave _affiches_ - -the Académie de Medecine=>the Académie de Médecine - -Galéries Lafayette=>Galeries Lafayette - -un charme extrème=>un charme extrême - -permissioniares=>permissionniares - -Rue Royal side of the Hotel de Coislin=>Rue Royale side of the Hôtel de -Coislin - -Ca y est cette fois-ci!=>Ça y est cette fois-ci! - -a l'américaine=>á l'américaine - -cannon on the Rue du Faubourg-Saint-Honore=>cannon on the Rue du -Faubourg-Saint-Honoré - -Minuit, Crétien,=>Minuit, Chrétien, - -H.C. of L. is an abbrevation=>H.C. of L. is an abbreviation - -Pate de foie=>Paté de foie - -Coppen kitchen ware=>Copper kitchen ware - -Hôtel des Reservoirs=>Hôtel des Réservoirs - -la patrie reconnaisante=>la patrie reconnaissante - -_la-bas_ long ago=>_là-bas_ long ago - -consellations=>constellations - -proprietaire=>propriétaire - -Rue de Sevres=>Rue de Sèvres - -Theâtre de la Porte Saint-Martin=>Théâtre de la Porte Saint-Martin - -the Théatre Français=>the Théâtre Français - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Paris Vistas, by Helen Davenport Gibbons - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PARIS VISTAS *** - -***** This file should be named 40292-8.txt or 40292-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/0/2/9/40292/ - -Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license - - -Title: Paris Vistas - -Author: Helen Davenport Gibbons - -Illustrator: Lester George Hornby - -Release Date: July 21, 2012 [EBook #40292] -[Last updated: August 17, 2012] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PARIS VISTAS *** - - - - -Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive) - - - - - - -</pre> - -<hr class="full" /> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/cover_lg.jpg"> -<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="358" height="550" alt="image of the book's cover" title="image of the book's cover" /></a> -</p> - -<p class="cb">PARIS VISTAS</p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/il_frontispiece_lg.jpg"> -<img src="images/il_frontispiece_sml.jpg" width="471" height="550" alt="The Invalides from Pont Alexandre III" title="The Invalides from Pont Alexandre III" /></a> -<br /> -<span class="caption">The Invalides from Pont Alexandre III</span> -</p> - -<h1>PARIS VISTAS</h1> - -<p class="cb">BY<br /> -<big>HELEN DAVENPORT GIBBONS</big><br /> -<small>Author of "A Little Gray Home in France,"<br /> -"Red Rugs of Tarsus," etc.</small><br /> -<br /><br /><br /> -<small>WITH SIXTEEN ILLUSTRATIONS</small><br /> -<small>BY</small><br /> -LESTER GEORGE HORNBY<br /> -<br /><br /> -<img src="images/colophon.png" -width="100" -height="97" -alt="colophon" title="colophon" /> -<br /> -<br /><br /> -NEW YORK<br /> -THE CENTURY CO.<br /> -1919<br /> -<br /><br /><br /> -Copyright, 1919, by<br /> -T<small>HE</small> C<small>ENTURY</small> C<small>O</small>.<br /> -———<br /> -<i>Published, December, 1919</i></p> - -<p> </p> -<p> </p> - -<p class="c"> -TO<br /> -A CRITIC<br /> -WHO LIVED MOST<br /> -OF THESE DAYS<br /> -WITH ME</p> - -<p> </p> -<p> </p> - -<h3>FOREWORD</h3> - -<p>Webster defines a vista as "a view, especially a distant view, through -or between intervening objects." If I were literal-minded, I suppose I -should either abandon my title or make this book a series of -descriptions of Sacré Coeur, crowning Montmartre, as you see the -church from dark gray to ghostly white, according to the day, at the end -of apartment-house-lined streets from the <i>allée</i> of the Observatoire, -from the Avenue Montaigne, from the rue de Solférino, and from the Rue -Taitbout. I ought to be writing about the vistas, than which no other -city possesses a more beautiful and varied array, that feature the Arc -de Triomphe, the Trocadéro, the Tour Eiffel, the Grande Roue, the -Invalides, the Palais Bourbon, the Madeleine, the Opéra, Saint-Augustin, -Val de Grâce and the Panthéon.</p> - -<p>But may not one's vistas be memories, with the years acting as -"intervening objects"? Has not distance as much to do with time as with -space? Vistas in words can no more convey the impression of things seen -than Lester Hornby's sketches. If you want a substitute for Baedeker, -please do not read this book! If you want a substitute for photographs, -you will be disappointed in Lester's sketches.</p> - -<p>The <i>monuments</i> of Paris, ticketed by name and historical events to -tourists whose eyes have had hardly more time than the camera, known by -photographs to prospective tourists who dream of things as yet unseen, -are interwoven into the canvas of my life. The Gare Saint-Lazaire, for -instance, is the place where I was lost once as a kid, where I have had -to say goodbye to my husband starting on a long and perilous journey, -and over which I have seen a Zeppelin floating. Since Louis Philippe was -long before my time, the obelisk always has been in the Place de la -Concorde. And when you pass it, your eyes, meeting the Arc de Triomphe -at the end of the Champs-Elysées, the Carrousel at the end of the -Tuileries, the Madeleine at the end of the Rue Royale and the Palais -Bourbon at the end of the bridge, record vistas as natural, as familiar -as your mother's face in the doorway of the childhood home. Where else -could the Arc de Triomphe be? Of course it looks like that!</p> - -<p>I shall not attempt to apologize for the autobiography that comes to the -front in my Paris vistas. Perhaps my own insignificance and unimportance -and the lack of interest on the part of the public in what I do and -think—impressed upon me by more than one critic of earlier -volumes—should deter me from telling how I lived and brought up my -family in Paris. But it is the only way I can tell how I feel about -Paris. Whether the end justifies the means the reader must decide for -himself.</p> - -<p class="r">H. D. G.</p> - -<p><i>Paris, August, 1919.</i></p> - -<h3><a name="TABLE_OF_CONTENTS" id="TABLE_OF_CONTENTS"></a>TABLE OF CONTENTS</h3> - -<table border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" summary=""> - -<tr><td align="center" colspan="2"><a href="#y1887-1888">(1887-1888)</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td><small>CHAPTER</small></td><td> </td><td align="right"><small>PAGE</small></td></tr> - -<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_I">I</a></td><td><span class="smcap">Childhood Vistas</span></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_003">3</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td align="center" colspan="2"><a href="#y1899">(1899)</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_II">II</a></td><td><span class="smcap">At Sixteen</span></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_015">15</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td align="center" colspan="2"><a href="#y1908">(1908)</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_III">III</a></td><td><span class="smcap">A Honeymoon Promise</span></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_031">31</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td align="center" colspan="2"><a href="#y1909-1910">(1909-1910)</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_IV">IV</a></td><td><span class="smcap">The Promise Fulfilled</span></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_041">41</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_V">V</a></td><td><span class="smcap">The Pension in the Rue Madame</span></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_051">51</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_VI">VI</a></td><td><span class="smcap">Lares and Penates in the Rue Servandoni</span></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_063">63</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_VII">VII</a></td><td><span class="smcap">Gold in the Chimney</span></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_076">76</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">VIII</a></td><td><span class="smcap">At the Bibliothèque Nationale</span></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_086">86</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_IX">IX</a></td><td><span class="smcap">Emilie in Monologue</span></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_097">97</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_X">X</a></td><td><span class="smcap">Hunting Apaches</span></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_104">104</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XI">XI</a></td><td><span class="smcap">Driftwood</span></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_112">112</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XII">XII</a></td><td><span class="smcap">Some of Our Guests</span></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_119">119</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">XIII</a></td><td><span class="smcap">Walks at Nightfall</span></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_132">132</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">XIV</a></td><td><span class="smcap">After-dinner Coffee</span></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_142">142</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XV">XV</a></td><td><span class="smcap">Repos Hebdomadaire</span></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_148">148</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">XVI</a></td><td>"<span class="smcap">Many Waters Cannot Quench Love</span>"</td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_154">154</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVII">XVII</a></td><td><span class="smcap">Real Paris Shows</span></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_167">167</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII">XVIII</a></td><td><span class="smcap">The Spell of June</span></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_181">181</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td align="center" colspan="2"><a href="#y1913">(1913)</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIX">XIX</a></td><td><span class="smcap">Childhood Vistas for a New Generation</span></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_193">193</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XX">XX</a></td><td><span class="smcap">The Problem of Housing</span></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_201">201</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td align="center" colspan="2"><a href="#y1914">(1914)</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXI">XXI</a></td><td>"<span class="smcap">Nach Paris!</span>"</td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_211">211</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td align="center" colspan="2"><a href="#y1914-1915">(1914-1915)</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXII">XXII</a></td><td><span class="smcap">At Home in the Whirlwind</span></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_223">223</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIII">XXIII</a></td><td><span class="smcap">Sauvons Les Bébés</span></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_231">231</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIV">XXIV</a></td><td><span class="smcap">Uncomfortable Neutrality</span></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_243">243</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td align="center" colspan="2"><a href="#y1917">(1917)</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXV">XXV</a></td><td><span class="smcap">How We Kept Warm</span></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_253">253</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVI">XXVI</a></td><td><span class="smcap">April Sixth</span></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_262">262</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVII">XXVII</a></td><td><span class="smcap">The Vanguard of the A. E. F.</span></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_269">269</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td align="center" colspan="2"><a href="#y1918">(1918)</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVIII">XXVIII</a></td><td><span class="smcap">The Darkest Days</span></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_277">277</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIX">XXIX</a></td><td><span class="smcap">The Gothas and Big Bertha</span></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_294">294</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXX">XXX</a></td><td><span class="smcap">The Bird Charmer of the Tuileries</span></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_307">307</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXI">XXXI</a></td><td><span class="smcap">The Quatorze of Testing</span></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_313">313</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXII">XXXII</a></td><td><span class="smcap">The Liberation of Lille</span></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_321">321</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIII">XXXIII</a></td><td><span class="smcap">Armistice Night</span></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_326">326</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIV">XXXIV</a></td><td><span class="smcap">Royal Visitors</span></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_341">341</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXV">XXXV</a></td><td><span class="smcap">The First Peace Christmas</span></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_348">348</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td align="center" colspan="2"><a href="#y1919">(1919)</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXVI">XXXVI</a></td><td><span class="smcap">Plotting Peace</span></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_361">361</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXVII">XXXVII</a></td><td><span class="smcap">La Vie Chère</span></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_373">373</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXVIII">XXXVIII</a></td><td><span class="smcap">The Revenge of Versailles</span></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_378">378</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td align="right"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIX">XXXIX</a></td><td><span class="smcap">The Quatorze of Victory</span></td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_385">385</a></td></tr> -</table> - -<h3><a name="LIST_OF_ILLUSTRATIONS" id="LIST_OF_ILLUSTRATIONS"></a>LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS</h3> - -<table border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" summary=""> - -<tr><td>The Invalides from Pont Alexandre III</td> -<td align="right"><i>Frontispiece</i></td></tr> - - -<tr><td align="right" colspan="2"><small>FACING<br /> -PAGE</small></td></tr> - -<tr><td>The Madeleine Flower Market</td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_016">16</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>Looking up the Avenue de l'Opéra</td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_032">32</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>The Rue de Vaugirard by the Luxembourg</td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_064">64</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>Château de la Reine Blanche: Rue des Gobelins</td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_088">88</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>Where stood the walls of old Lutetia</td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_120">120</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>The Panthéon from the Rue Soufflot</td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_144">144</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>Hôtel de Ville from the Pont d'Arcole</td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_168">168</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>Market day in the Rue de Seine</td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_184">184</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>The first snow in the Luxembourg</td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_224">224</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>A passage through the Louvre</td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_256">256</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>In an Old Quarter</td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_272">272</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>Saint-Germain l'Auxerrois</td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_304">304</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>Old Paris is disappearing</td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_320">320</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>The Grand Palais</td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_336">336</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>Spire of the Saint-Chapelle from the Place Saint-Michel</td><td align="right" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_368">368</a></td></tr> -</table> - -<p><a name="page_001" id="page_001"></a></p> - -<h2><a name="y1887-1888" id="y1887-1888"></a>1887-1888</h2> - -<p><a name="page_002" id="page_002"></a></p> - -<p><a name="page_003" id="page_003"></a></p> - -<h1>PARIS VISTAS</h1> - -<h3><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I<br /><br /> -<small>CHILDHOOD VISTAS</small></h3> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">M</span>Y Scotch-Irish grandfather was a Covenanter. He kept his whisky in a -high cupboard under lock and key. If any of his children were around -when he took his night-cap, he would admonish them against the use of -alcohol. When he read in the Bible about Babylon, he thought of Paris. -To Grandpa all "foreign places" were pretty bad. But Paris? His children -would never go there. The Scotch-Irish are awful about wills. But life -goes so by opposites that when my third baby, born in Paris a year -before the war, was christened in the Avenue de l'Alma Church, Grandpa -Brown's children and grandchildren and some of his great-grandchildren -were present. My bachelor uncle had been living in Paris most of the -time for thirty years. My mother, my brothers, and my sister were there. -We Browns had become Babylonians. We were no longer Covenanters. And we -had no high cupboard for the whisky.</p> - -<p>After Grandpa's death, the Philadelphia house was<a name="page_004" id="page_004"></a> sublet for a year. In -the twilight we went through all the rooms to say good-by. Jocko, our -monkey-doll, was on the sitting-room floor. Papa picked him up and began -talking to him. Jocko tried to answer, but his voice was shaky, and he -hadn't much to say. Papa took a piece of string out of his desk drawer, -and tied it around Jocko's neck. He asked Jocko whether it was too -tight. The monkey answered, "No, sir." Jocko never forgot to say "sir." -We hung him on the shutter of a window in the west room where I learned -to watch the sunset. There we left him. What a parting if we had known -that the tenants' children were going to do for Jocko, and that we -should never see him again! It was bad enough as it was. It is hard for -me, even to-day, to believe that it was Papa and not Jocko who told us -stories about the fairies in Ireland.</p> - -<p>A carriage drove us to a place called Thelafayette-hotel. It was very -dark outside and we seemed to have been traveling all night. Papa -carried me upstairs to a room that had light green folding doors. My -little sister Emily was sound asleep and had to be put right to bed. -Papa sat me in a red arm-chair. Beside it were satchels and Papa's black -valise. Wide awake, I looked around and asked, "Is this Paris?" I did -not see why they had to laugh at me.</p> - -<p>A steward of my very own on the <i>Etruria</i> told me that she was the -biggest transatlantic liner. People<a name="page_005" id="page_005"></a> gave me chocolates until I was -sick. So Mama painted a picture of the poor little fishes that could get -no candy in mid-ocean. She made me feel so sorry that when I got more -chocolates I would slip to the railing and drop them overboard. Once, -before I had heard about the fishes, I was lying in my berth. After a -while I began to feel better and to wish that Papa and Mama had not left -me alone. My feelings were hurt because I had to stay all by myself. I -found my clothes and put on a good many of them. My steward came and was -surprised that I was not on deck. He brought me a wide, thin glass of -champagne. It was better than lemonade. The steward told me that by -staying in my cabin I had missed the chance to see the ship's garden. He -buttoned my dress and put on my coat. He found my bonnet. All the time -he was telling me how the ship's garden was hitched to the deck. He -carried me up those rubber-topped steps that smell so when your stomach -feels funny. He hurried all he could and got terribly out of breath. But -we did not reach the deck in time to see the garden. The steward said -that you had to get there just at a certain time to catch it. I wondered -how a ship could have a garden. He replied that he'd like to know where -a ship's cook would find vegetables and fruit, and how there were so -many freshly picked flowers on the dining-room table every day, if the -ship hadn't a garden. To prove it he brought me a plate of cool<a name="page_006" id="page_006"></a> white -grapes—"picked before the garden went out of sight a few minutes ago," -he assured me.</p> - -<p>So the week at sea passed, and the next thing I remember is London. It -was not a pretty city. Too much rain and smoke that dirtied your frock -and pinafore. These funny names for my dress and apron, and calling a -clock Big Ben, and a queer way of speaking English, form my earliest -memories of London. No, I forgot sources of wonderment. The best orange -marmalade was bitter, and the tooth-powder was in a round tin hard to -open, that spilled and wasted a lot when you did succeed in prying the -lid off.</p> - -<p>And in Paris I found that my dress was a "robe" and my apron a -"tab-lee-ay." This was worse than "pinafore," but not so astonishing, -because one expected French words to be different.</p> - -<p>Which is the greater joy and satisfaction—always to have had a thing, -or, when you think of something in your life, to be able to remember how -and when it came into your possession? Paris is my home city in the -sense that I cannot remember first impressions of things in Paris. Of -events, yes, and sometimes connected with things, but of things -themselves, no. And I am glad of it. My husband did not see Paris until -he was twenty, and he learned to speak French by hard work. I have -always had a little feeling of superiority here, of belonging to Paris -as my children belong to Paris. But Herbert contests this point of -view.<a name="page_007" id="page_007"></a> He claims that affection for what one adopts by an act of the -will is as strong as, if not stronger than, affection for what is yours -unwittingly. And he advances in refutation of what I say that he knew -Paris before he knew me!</p> - -<p>"<i>Cinquante-deux Rue Galilée.</i>" I cannot remember learning to speak -French. That just came. But standing on a trunk in the corner of a -bedroom and repeating <i>Cinquante-deux Rue Galilée</i> after Marie is just -as clear in my mind as if it were yesterday instead of thirty years ago. -It is a blank to me how and when we came to Paris and how and when we -got Marie Guyon for our nurse. I recall only learning the number and -street of our <i>pension</i>, and the impressiveness of Marie telling me how -little kids get lost in Paris and that in such a case I mustn't cry when -the blue-coated <i>agent</i> came along, but simply say, "<i>Cinquante-deux Rue -Galilée</i>."</p> - -<p>Clear days were rare—days when it didn't look as if it were going to -rain. Then I would have my long walk with Papa, who didn't stay like -Marie on the Champs-Elysées or in the Tuileries, but who would take me -(Emily was too little) where there were crowds. We would climb to the -roof of the omnibus at the Madeleine and ride to the Place de la -République. Then we would walk back along the Grands Boulevards. Down -that way is a big clothing-store with sample suits on wooden models out -on the side-walk.<a name="page_008" id="page_008"></a> One day Papa bumped into a dummy wearing a -dress-suit. Papa took off his hat, bowed, and said "<i>Pardon</i>." I thought -Papa believed it was a real man. So I told him that he had made a -mistake. But Papa replied that one never makes a mistake in being -polite. I used to dance with glee when we came to the Porte Saint-Denis. -For there, at the place the boulevard now cuts straight through a hill -leaving the houses high above the pavement, the pastry and <i>brioche</i> and -waffle stands were sure of my patronage. Papa may not have had regard -for my digestion, but he always considered my feelings. I used to pity -other little children who were dragged remorselessly past the potent -appeal to eye and nose. The pastry places are still there on that -corner. And a new generation of kiddies passes, tugging, remonstrating, -sometimes crying. As for me, I beg the question. I walk my children on -the other side of the street.</p> - -<p>One afternoon Marie took us to buy Papa's newspaper. When we got to the -front door, it was raining. So Marie left us in the <i>bureau</i> and told us -to wait until she returned. But the <i>valet de chambre</i> came along with -his wood-basket empty. He always boasted he could carry any basket of -wood, no matter how high they piled it. So we asked if he could carry -us. Immediately he made us jump in, and told us we must pretend to be -good little kittens, and little kittens were never good unless they were -quiet, and they were<a name="page_009" id="page_009"></a> never quiet unless they were asleep. When we got -to our room, we could look right in at Papa and Mama through the -transom. We reached out and knocked. The sound came from so high up that -Papa looked curiously at the door. When he opened it we ducked down into -the basket, and were not seen until the valet dumped us out on the bed.</p> - -<p>My first memory of a negro was in Paris. Probably they were common -enough in Philadelphia not to have made an impression and I had -forgotten that there were black men. I was paralyzed with fear, thinking -I saw Croqueminot <i>en chair et en os</i>. Marie saved me by teaching me on -the spot to stick out my index and little fingers, doubling over the two -between. This charm against evil helped and comforted me greatly. I -found it useful later when I saw suspicious-looking beggars in Rome. -Only, although the gesture was the same, it was <i>jettatura</i> and not -<i>faire les cornes</i> in Italy, and the charm was more efficacious if -concealed. I was glad my dress had a pocket.</p> - -<p>Mama and Marie took us to the Louvre. I was filled with anticipation. -For had I not heard some one say at our <i>pension</i> that she had bought -things there for a song? Why spend Papa's money if just a song would do? -I could sing. Marie had taught me a pretty song about "La Fauvette." I -was willing to sing if I could get a doll's trunk. I'd sing two or three -songs for a pair of gloves with white fur on them.<a name="page_010" id="page_010"></a> But when I sang "La -Fauvette" they only smiled at me. I asked the saleslady to take me to -the toy counter, as I could sing again for things I wanted. I had to -explain a whole lot to Mama and Marie and the saleslady. I suppose I -cried with disappointment. Then a man in black with a white tie came -along and heard the story. He gave me a red balloon and Mama consoled me -by buying me a blue velvet dress.</p> - -<p>A few months before the war I was walking in the Rue Saint-Honoré with -an old American friend who was doing Paris. He was brimming over with -French history. Your part was to mention the name of the place you -showed him. He would do the rest with enthusiasm and a wealth of detail.</p> - -<p>"What is that church?" he asked.</p> - -<p>"Saint-Roch," I answered.</p> - -<p>"Saint-Roch! Saint-Roch! Saint-Roch!" he cried in crescendo. "Of course, -<span class="smcap">OF COURSE</span>, because this is the Rue Saint-Honoré. The Rue Saint-Honoré!" -Beside himself with excitement, he rushed across the street, and up on -the steps. I followed, mystified. My friend was waving his cane when I -reached his side. "It was here," he announced, as if he had made a -wonderful discovery, "right on this spot."</p> - -<p>"In Heaven's name what?" I queried.</p> - -<p>"The beginning of the most glorious epoch of French history, the birth -of the Napoleonic era."</p> - -<p>And then he told me the story of how young Bonaparte,<a name="page_011" id="page_011"></a> called upon to -prevent a mob from rushing the Tuileries, put his guns on the steps of -Saint-Roch, swept the street in both directions, and demonstrated that -he was the first man since '89 who could dominate a Parisian crowd. "You -wouldn't have thought there was anything interesting about this old -church, would you?" he ended triumphantly.</p> - -<p>My eyes filled with tears, and my lips trembled. It was his turn to be -mystified, and mine to lead. I took him inside the church, and back to -the chapel of Saint Joseph. "Here," I said, "on Christmas Eve I came -with my father when I was five years old. It was the first time I -remember seeing the Nativity pictured. Good old Joseph looked down on -the interior of the inn. The three wise men were there with the gifts. -Le petit Jésus was in a real cradle, and I counted the jewels around the -Mother's neck. My father tried to explain to me what Christmas means. He -died when I was a little girl. I brought my firstborn here on Christmas -Eve and the others as they came along. I never knew about Napoleon's -connection with Saint-Roch before. And you asked me whether I would have -thought there was anything interesting about this old church!"</p> - -<p>The same place can mean so many different things to so many different -people. Paris was Babylon to my grandfather who never went there. And to -those who go there Paris gives what they seek, historical<a name="page_012" id="page_012"></a> -reminiscences, esthetic pleasure, intellectual profit, inspiration to -paint or sing or play, a surfeit of the mundane, a diminution or an -increase of the sense of nationality, pretty clothes and hats and -perfumes, "rattling" good food and drink or a "howling" good time. You -can be bored in Paris just as quickly and as completely as in any other -place in the world. You can fill your life full of interesting and -engrossing pursuits more quickly and completely than in any other place -in the world. Best of all you make your home in Paris, with no sense of -exile, and enjoy what Paris alone offers in material and spiritual -values without being abnormal or living abnormally.</p> - -<p>My childhood vistas seem fragmentary when I put them down on paper. But -they have meant so much to me that I could choose for my children no -greater blessing than to know Paris as home at the beginning of their -lives.<a name="page_013" id="page_013"></a></p> - -<h2><a name="y1899" id="y1899"></a>1899</h2> - -<p><a name="page_014" id="page_014"></a></p> - -<p><a name="page_015" id="page_015"></a></p> - -<h3><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II<br /><br /> -<small>AT SIXTEEN</small></h3> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">T</span>HE family was abroad for the summer, one of those delightful May-first -to October thirty-first summers when school is missed at both ends. The -itinerary was supposed to be planned by letting each member drop into a -hat slips of paper indicating preferences. Mother was astonishingly good -about considering the wishes of all. But as the trip was undertaken for -education as well as vacation, the head of the family did not intend to -make it aimless rambling. Although, to get full benefit of the -strawberry season, we took our cathedrals from south to north in -England, none were omitted. By the time we reached Edinburg, Roman, -Saxon, Early Norman and Gothic were as mixed up in the head of the -sixteen-year-old member of the party as they were in the buildings -inspected. "Inspected"—just the word for an educational tour! Later -visits to East Coast cathedrals have not conquered the instinctive -desire to avoid going inside. Impressions of places were vivid enough. -But I fear Canterbury meant London the next stop; Ely a place near -Cambridge; Peterborough the view from<a name="page_016" id="page_016"></a> the top of the tower; Lincoln -tea-cakes that crumbled in one's mouth; York a mean photographer who -never sent me films I left to be developed; and Durham a batch of -long-delayed letters from boys at home.</p> - -<p>At sixteen strawberries do not satisfy hunger: cathedrals do not feed -the soul.</p> - -<p>No, cathedrals and history and the origin of the political institutions -under which I lived interested me very mildly. At sixteen one is too -young to have love affairs that interfere with the appetite, and too -sophisticated to cling to the dream of a cloistered convent life that -followed giving up the hope of being a chorus-girl. The mental effort of -preparing for college (which the tour abroad was to stimulate) could not -claim me to the exclusion of clothes and an engrossing interest in the -doings of the group of boys and girls who formed my "crowd." The trip -abroad was going to give me something to talk about at dinner-parties -and the advantage of wearing clothes bought in Paris. One never looks -forward to the coming winter with as keen anticipation as during the -sixteen-year-old summer. Hair would be put up, and dances and dinners -were a certainty for every Friday and Saturday evening.</p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ilp016_lg.jpg"> -<img src="images/ilp016_sml.jpg" width="550" height="389" alt="The Madeleine Flower Market" title="The Madeleine Flower Market" /></a> -<br /> -<span class="caption">The Madeleine Flower Market</span> -</p> - -<p>If you believe in the value of first impressions and are in a mood to -love Paris, plan your introduction to the queen of the world for an -evening in June. Do not worry about your baggage. Send a porter from -the<a name="page_017" id="page_017"></a> hotel afterwards for your trunks. Find a <i>fiacre</i> if you can. An -<i>auto-taxi</i> is second-best, but be sure that the top is off. <i>Baisser la -capote</i> is a simple matter, done in the twinkling of an eye. Of course -the <i>chauffeur</i> will scold. But handling <i>cochers</i> and <i>chauffeurs</i> in -Paris requires the instinct of a lion-tamer. If you let the animal get -the better of you, you are gone. You will never enjoy Paris. Mastery of -Parisian drivers, hippomobile and automobile, does not require a -knowledge of French. Your man will understand "put down the top" -accompanied by the proper gesture. Whether he puts it down depends upon -your iron will and not upon your French!</p> - -<p>Best of all stations for the first entry to Paris is the Gare de Lyon. -But that good fortune is yours only if you are coming from Italy or -Spain or if you have landed at Marseilles. The Dover and Boulogne routes -bring you to the Gare du Nord and the Dieppe and Havre and Cherbourg -routes to the Gare Saint-Lazare. In any case, ask to be driven first to -the Pont-Neuf, then along the <i>quais</i> of the Rive Gauche to the -Pont-Alexandre Trois, then to the Avenue des Champs-Elysées. Only when -you have gone over this itinerary and have passed between the Grand -Palais and the Petit Palais are you ready to be driven to your hotel. It -is the difference between seeing a girl first at a dance or a -garden-party or running into her by accident in her mother's kitchen -when the cook is on a strike.<a name="page_018" id="page_018"></a></p> - -<p>How often, in the decades that have passed since June, 1899, have I -wished that the return to Paris had included this program, not only -initially but for every June and July evening of our weeks there. But it -did not. The passionate love of Paris, my home city, that was born in me -as a child, that was re-awakened and deepened in maturity, did not -manifest itself when I was a school-girl as it should have done. The -change from regular lessons to the governess-controlled days of -sightseeing was not as amusing at the time as it seems in retrospect. -Madame Raymond and I were not made for each other. It wasn't -incorrigibility on my part or severity in a nasty way on hers. We just -pulled in different directions, and shocked each other. It began on the -first day. She found that I spoke French well enough not to call for the -usual effort she had to make with American girls and that I did not need -to be told the names of <i>monuments</i> and <i>jardins</i> and <i>avenues</i>. The -memories of infancy had been carefully kept alive by word and picture. -Mother had seen to that. Paris meant to me my father. Consequently, I -suppose Madame Raymond's conscience stimulated her to lay stress upon -history and art. She wanted to earn her money.</p> - -<p>Mutual lack of comprehension began immediately. My first reading under -Madame Raymond's direction was a volume of Guy de Maupassant's stories, -with markers to show which could be read and which were<a name="page_019" id="page_019"></a> forbidden. Next -day Madame was horrified to see the markers gone and to learn that I had -sat up late reading without censorship. She told me that a well-bred -<i>jeune fille</i> ought to be ashamed of reading certain things, and refused -to argue about it when I asked her why a <i>jeune fille</i> should be ashamed -of reading the stories she had indicated to be skipped.</p> - -<p>"To-day," said Madame Raymond, "I intend to take you to the Cluny -Museum, and then we shall begin the Louvre."</p> - -<p>"But," I protested, "I want to go first to Morgan Harjes."</p> - -<p>"What for? Madame your mother gave me fifty francs this morning."</p> - -<p>"She gave me a hundred and fifty. It isn't for money. I want my -letters."</p> - -<p>"If there are any letters for you, Madame your mother will give them to -you if it is good for you to have them!" snapped Madame Raymond.</p> - -<p>"Fiddlesticks! My mother doesn't read my letters."</p> - -<p>"Letters written to a <i>jeune fille</i> of sixteen years can easily wait. -They are not important. Your education is. Anyway, who would write to -you over here?"</p> - -<p>"Well, there is Bill. I'm crazy to know if he passed his examinations -for Yale and how he liked going to the dance at the Country Club with -Margaret when he asked me first. Joe and Charlie went off on a fishing -trip to Canada before I sailed, and I've been<a name="page_020" id="page_020"></a> waiting a month to know -if they caught anything. Then Harold. He's an older man. You can talk to -him about serious things and his advice is pretty good. Naturally, it -would be—Harold is a member of the bar and knows lots."</p> - -<p>"But," said Madame, "you mean to say you write to men and men write to -you?"</p> - -<p>"Certainly. Just ask mother. Here, I know how to fix it. You seem to be -in a hurry to go to the Museum. If it interests you, go right along. -I'll take a cab to the bank and follow you later. Meet you at the Cluny -in an hour."</p> - -<p>"Alone!" cried Madame; "my conscience would not allow it. Your mother -trusts me."</p> - -<p>Madame Raymond hailed a cabby.</p> - -<p>"To the Cluny Museum," said she, with finality.</p> - -<p>In its setting, the Cluny Museum is one of the most delightful spots in -Paris. On the Boulevard Saint-Michel and the Boulevard Saint-Germain one -has the life of Paris of to-day. Looking out from the little park with -its remains of Roman baths and archæological treasures of old Lutetia -scattered around in the shrubbery, one sees a fascinating <i>carrefour</i> of -the Latin Quarter, noisy, bustling, ever-changing. It is a contrast more -striking than any that Rome affords. On the other side, where one enters -the Museum, you have the atmosphere of the middle ages, with the old -well and the court yard and the fifteenth-century façade.<a name="page_021" id="page_021"></a> Across the -street, the great buildings of the Sorbonne and Collège de France seem -to be carrying on the traditions of the past. But if you had to go -inside with a governess who insisted on showing you everything in every -room, you would rebel as I did.</p> - -<p>Madame Raymond did not have it all in her head. She peered down over the -glass cases and read the descriptions in a high voice, adding pages out -of a guide book from time to time. She was near-sighted. As she droned -along, I plotted a scheme for kidnapping her spectacles. When we left, I -had seen embroideries and laces and carriages and cradles and slippers -of famous people and stolen stained-glass windows to <i>her</i> heart's -content.</p> - -<p>We went to Foyot's, opposite the Luxembourg Palace, for lunch. After the -meal was ordered, the waiter brought the <i>carte de vins</i>.</p> - -<p>"A bottle of Medoc," said Madame. "I prefer red wine, don't you, my -dear?"</p> - -<p>"Plain water for me. No mineral water. <i>Eau fraîche</i> out of a carafe," -said I.</p> - -<p>"Extraordinary!" cried Madame.</p> - -<p>"I think it is dreadful to drink wine," I protested, half in earnest and -half in joke. "The Bible says strong drink is a mockery. The first thing -I remember about Sunday school is that text."</p> - -<p>"Ridiculous," said Madame, "table wine is not alcohol."<a name="page_022" id="page_022"></a></p> - -<p>"Yes," I continued, "but it is the first steps toward strong drink. You -are going to order a <i>fine champagne</i> with your coffee. You cannot tell -me that brandy is not strong drink."</p> - -<p>"Here in France," said Madame, "everybody takes a drink and nobody gets -drunk. You must understand, my dear child, that we have a different -point of view."</p> - -<p>"Maybe <i>you</i> don't get drunk," said I, "but how about what one sees in -Brittany?"</p> - -<p>"You lack respect," answered Madame. She ignored Brittany. In France, -one is not accustomed to argue with a sixteen-year-old girl. Questioning -the judgment of one's elders is impertinent. Since I have brought up my -own children in France, I am more than half won over to French ideas. -The strong individualism of the American child shocks me now in somewhat -the same way as my "freshness" must have shocked Madame Raymond. I was -ready to contest her belief that American girls had no manners. I have -not taught my children to courtesy—for the simple reason that it is no -longer the fashion in France. But I am far from believing now, as I told -Madame Raymond, that courtesying is affectation. And I fear that my -children have had the example of French children in regard to wine. I am -trying to put down here how I was at sixteen. When, after years in -America, I returned to France, my point of view was different.<a name="page_023" id="page_023"></a></p> - -<p>But about some things maturity has not changed the opinion of a pert -young American <i>miss</i>. French ideas of sex relationship between -adolescents seem to me now as they did then, absurd and false. Nor have -I revised my opinion about high heels and tight corsets, powder and -paint.</p> - -<p>It was Madame's duty to take me to the dressmaker's. Before my dress -appeared in the fitting room, I was put into my first pair of corsets. -When they were laced up, I rebelled, took a long breath, and stretched -them out again. Madame Raymond and the fitting woman shook their heads -and assured me that my dress would not fit. My governess sided with the -girl, when she remonstrated against my stretching the lacings. I showed -little interest, too, in Madame Raymond's suggestion concerning the -purchase of a box and a pretty puff with a silk rose-bud for a handle, -which was to contain pink powder.</p> - -<p>"I never make up," I declared. "If you put powder and other stuff on -your face when you are young, you are not far-sighted. Ugh! I loathe -pink powder."</p> - -<p>One day we went to a <i>foire</i>, one of those delightful open-air -second-hand markets that never cease to fascinate Parisians. A man -darted out from a booth and offered to sell me a wedding gown.</p> - -<p>"How much is that dress?" I inquired.</p> - -<p>"Two hundred francs, Mademoiselle."</p> - -<p>"Let me see. I wonder if it is big enough for me.<a name="page_024" id="page_024"></a> I'm getting married -next week. This would save me the bother of having one made, <i>n'est-ce -pas?</i>"</p> - -<p>"Certainly, Mademoiselle," cried the merchant delighted.</p> - -<p>He pulled out his tape-line and was preparing to measure me when Madame -dragged me away.</p> - -<p>"It is not <i>convenable</i>, what you are doing," she exclaimed heatedly. -"You must not speak lightly of marriage."</p> - -<p>"Oh, it comes to us all like death or whooping-cough."</p> - -<p>I must not give the impression that my mind at sixteen was absolutely -insensible to historical sight-seeing and the art treasures of Paris. I -always have loved some of the things in the Louvre, and after the Great -War broke out, I discovered what a privation it was not to be able to -drop in when I passed to look at something in the Luxembourg or the -Louvre. But I did not like overdoses. And I have never gotten accustomed -to crowds of pictures all at once in the field of vision or cabinets and -glass-covered cases filled with a bewildering variety of <i>bibelots</i>. How -I came to enjoy the Musée du Louvre will be told in a later chapter of -the decade after Madame Raymond. Why should I not confess frankly that -at sixteen I was more interested in the Magazin du Louvre, even though I -knew I could no longer hope to purchase what I wanted there "for a -song"? The best thing I took away from Paris in<a name="page_025" id="page_025"></a> 1899 was an -evening-dress with a low neck—my first to go with hair put up. It was -in the middle tray of my trunk, packed with tissue paper and sachet. I -can see now the different colored flowers woven into the soft cream of -its background in such a way that, according to the girdle you chose to -put on, your color effect in night light could be lavender, blue or -rose.</p> - -<p>Ten years before my father had taught me to love to ride on the top of -an omnibus, on the <i>impériale</i>, as the French called it. Alas that I -should have to use the past tense here. <i>Impériales</i>, still the fashion -on Fifth Avenue and Riverside Drive, disappeared from Paris before the -war. I shall tell later of the last horse-driven omnibus. The auto-buses -started out with <i>impériales</i>, but banished the upstairs in 1912 and -1913. They were still the vogue in 1908. Madame Raymond objected to the -<i>impériale</i>. She hated climbing up and down the little stairs, -especially when carrying an umbrella prevented proper circumspection in -regard to gathering in skirts. And by riding inside one avoided a -<i>courant d'air</i>.</p> - -<p>On a sunshiny day with a long ride ahead of us, I could not bear the -thought of submitting to my governess's whim. I forgot my manners and -jumped on first. With this advantage I was able to climb quickly to the -top. There was nothing else for Madame Raymond to do but slip the -guide-book hastily into her black silk bag and climb up after me. A man -in<a name="page_026" id="page_026"></a> uniform came along and stopped in front of me. I was reading, and -did not look up when I offered him the necessary coppers. He took my -money and sat down beside me. Then he laughed and handed it back to me. -He was a sous-lieutenant of the French army. I was not confused by my -mistake, for he gallantly took it as an opening. We chatted in English. -Madame Raymond plucked at my sleeve, whispering admonitions. I was deaf -on that side. Finally she told me that we had reached our destination, -got up and started down. Naturally I followed. I found that we were -still several blocks away from where we were going. We both held our -tempers until we got off. Then the fur began to fly. That night my -adventure was retailed to Mother at the hotel in the Rue de la -Tremoille. Mother sided with the governess.</p> - -<p>But the next week, when we were at the Opéra one night, I met my officer -on the Grand Escalier. He came right up to me, and I didn't have it in -my heart to turn my back or treat him coolly. When my governess turned -around, she recognized him. I did not bat an eyelash. I introduced him -to Mother and to her and he managed to get an invitation from Mother to -call on us. This is the only time I was ever glad about the long -intermission—the interminable intermission—between acts at the Paris -Opéra. Afterwards, nothing I could say would convince Madame Raymond -that the second meeting was pure hazard. She told me that she<a name="page_027" id="page_027"></a> knew he -had slipped me his address and I had written to him to arrange the -rendez-vous. This did not make me mad. What did make me furious was her -condemnation of the supposed intrigue solely on the ground of my age and -my unmarried state. When does a girl cease being too young to talk to -men in France? And why should it not be worse for a married woman than -for an unmarried woman to encourage a little attention?</p> - -<p>These questions interested me later as much as they did then. Was the -Old World so different from the New World or was I taking for granted -both a latitude and an attitude at home different from what I was going -to meet? Little did I realize that I was destined to live in Paris as a -bride and to bring up my children there to the age when I should have -these problems to face from the standpoint of a mother of three girls.</p> - -<p><a name="page_028" id="page_028"></a></p> - -<p><a name="page_029" id="page_029"></a></p> - -<h2><a name="y1908" id="y1908"></a>1908</h2> - -<p><a name="page_030" id="page_030"></a></p> - -<p><a name="page_031" id="page_031"></a></p> - -<h3><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III<br /><br /> -<small>A HONEYMOON PROMISE</small></h3> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">W</span>E left Oxford very suddenly. Six weeks in the Bodleian Library, in -spite of canoeing every afternoon, sufficed to go through a collection -of contemporary pamphlets about the Guises. And then we were getting -hungry. Since he never changes the menu, roast beef and roast lamb -alternating night after night, and accompanied by naked potatoes and -cabbage, must content the Englishman. But all who have not a British -birthright either lose their appetites or go wild after a time. We -thought that we could not stand another day of seeing that awful -two-compartment vegetable dish. It never contained a surprise. You could -swear with safety to your soul that when the lid was lifted a definite -combination of white and green would meet your eye.</p> - -<p>So, when in the early days of July nineteen hundred and eight the London -newspapers published telegrams from Constantinople that foreshadowed -startling changes in Turkey, we were ready to flit. We had planned to -spend our honeymoon winter in Asia Minor, anyway, and thought we might -as well get out there as soon as possible. The spirit of adventure is -strong in<a name="page_032" id="page_032"></a> the blood of the twenties and decisions are made without -reflection. It is great to be young enough to have a sudden change of -plans matter to none, least of all to oneself. On Monday afternoon we -were canoeing on the Cherwell, with no other thought than the very -pleasant one of doing the same thing on the morrow. The next afternoon -we were in a train speeding from Calais to Paris, trying to recuperate -from the Channel passage.</p> - -<p>Herbert and I both knew Paris. But we did not know Paris together, and -that made all the difference in the world. When we reached the Gare du -Nord, we were as filled with the joy of the unknown as if we had been -entering Timbuktoo. On the train we discussed hotels. A slim pocketbook -was the only bank in the world to draw upon for a long journey. On the -other side was the less commonsense but more convincing argument, that -this was once in our lives, and that if it ever was excusable to do -things up right, now was the time. The pocketbook was so slim, however, -that until we stepped out into the dazzling lights, we were not -altogether sure that it would not be a modest little hotel. We -compounded with prudence by hailing a <i>fiacre</i> instead of one of the new -auto-taxis, and directed the <i>cocher</i> to take us where we wanted to go.</p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ilp032_lg.jpg"> -<img src="images/ilp032_sml.jpg" width="550" height="384" alt="Looking up the Avenue de l'Opéra" title="Looking up the Avenue de l'Opéra" /></a> -<br /> -<span class="caption">Looking up the Avenue de l'Opéra</span> -</p> - -<p>It was the thought of being in the heart of things, right at the Place -de l'Opéra, that prompted us to choose the Grand Hotel. The price of -rooms was <a name="page_033" id="page_033"></a>preposterous. We took the cheapest they had on the top floor. -The economical choice is sometimes the lucky one. Next time you are in -the Place de l'Opéra, look up to the attic of the Grand Hotel, and you -will see little balconies between the windows. Each window represents a -room. So does each balcony. We drew a balcony. It was just wide enough -for two honeymoon chairs; and it was summer time.</p> - -<p>When I was waiting in the vestibule of a New York church for the first -strains of the wedding march, my brother pressed a five-dollar gold -piece inside my white glove. "For a bang-up dinner when you get to -London," he whispered. In London we had been entertained by friends. -This was the time to spend it. The initiated would open his eyes wide at -the thought of the "bang-up" dinner for two for twenty-five francs in -Paris today—or anywhere else in the world. But remember I am writing -about nineteen hundred and eight. Six years before the war, twenty-five -francs would do the trick, and do it well, on the Grands Boulevards. We -had fried chicken with peas, salad and <i>fruits rafraîchis</i> at Pousset's, -and there was some change after a liberal (ante-bellum!) tip.</p> - -<p>After dinner we strolled along the Boulevards des Italiens. We came to a -big white place, with a wealth of electric lamps, that spelled -PATHE—PALACE. A barker walked up and down in front, wearing a -gold-braided cap and a green <i>redingote</i>. We paused as at<a name="page_034" id="page_034"></a> the circus. -It was a cinema. Herbert wanted to go in, but I wasn't sure. I had never -seen moving pictures and had heard that they hurt one's eyes. To be a -good sport I yielded. It was a revelation to me, and I felt as I did a -year or two later when I first saw an aeroplane. My censor and literary -critic, who has not the imagination of an Irishman, wants to eliminate -this paragraph. But I have refused. It is true that I had never been to -the cinema before I married him, and I am not sure that it was not his -first time, too. The wonders of one decade are the commonplace of the -next, and in retrospect we should not forget this. "Nineteen-eight" was -to be the wonder year. Is there not an old Princeton song, still in the -book, which was sung with expectation by our fathers? It went something -like this:</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I'll sing of the days that will come,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of the changes that many won't see,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of the times years and years hence.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I can tell you where some of you'll be:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">If you don't know I'll give you the tip.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So catch on and don't be too late:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">If you do, you'll get left and you'll all lose your grip<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In the year nineteen hundred and eight.<br /></span> -</div></div> - -<p>And then the chorus, as they used to sing it—that older generation—on -the steps of Nassau Hall:</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">In nineteen hundred and eight, in nineteen hundred and eight<br /></span> -<span class="i0">You can go to the moon in a two day balloon;<a name="page_035" id="page_035"></a><br /></span> -<span class="i0">In nineteen hundred and eight, in nineteen hundred and eight<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To the north pole you can skate,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And you'll find Annie Laurie cutting grass on the Bowery,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In nineteen hundred and eight.<br /></span> -</div></div> - -<p>After the movies we went back to the Hotel, and sat out on our balcony -with the brilliant vistas of the Avenue de l'Opéra and the Boulevard des -Italiens before us. We could hear the music of the opera orchestra, -faintly to be sure, but it was there. The spell of six and sixteen came -back. Nearly another decade had passed, but Paris was home to me, and I -had a twinge of regret that we were going farther afield. Had it not -been for the news of Niazi Bey and Enver taking to the mountains in a -revolt against the Sultan, I might have suggested giving up Turkey.</p> - -<p>I was glad that we would have to stay long enough to get our passports. -The passport, now the indispensable <i>vade mecum</i> of travelers -everywhere, was needed only for Rumania and Turkey and Russia ten years -ago. To make up for the extravagance of the Grand Hotel we found our way -to the American Embassy and the Turkish Embassy afoot. Every corner of -the Champs-Elysées had brought back memories to me and I was able to -point out to Herbert the <i>guignol</i> to which Marie had often taken my -little sister and me nearly twenty years before. We stopped to listen. -Some of the jokes were just the same. Judy had lost the stove-lid, and -Punch told her to sit on the hole herself. And<a name="page_036" id="page_036"></a> a useful and -indispensable nursery household article (whose name I shall not mention) -was suddenly clapped by Punch over the policeman's head in the same old -way. The children laughed and clapped their hands in glee. Herbert, on -his side, showed me the walk he used to take every morning from his room -on the Rue d'Amsterdam by the Rue de la Boëtie and the Avenue d'Antin<a name="FNanchor_A_1" id="FNanchor_A_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_A_1" class="fnanchor">[A]</a> -to the Exposition of 1900, when he was writing feature stories for the -Sunday edition of the <i>New York World</i>.</p> - -<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_A_1" id="Footnote_A_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_A_1"><span class="label">[A]</span></a> The Avenue d'Antin has become since the victory in the -recent war Avenue Victor Emmanuel III., in honor of Italy's -intervention.</p></div> - -<p>With passports obtained and visaed, tickets bought and baggage -registered, we were having our last meal in Paris before taking the -train for Rome. It was a late breakfast on the <i>terrasse</i> of the Café de -la Paix. The waiter was not surprised when we ordered eggs with our -coffee: but we were when we found they cost a franc apiece. As we sat -there, at the most interesting vantage point in Paris for seeing the -passing crowd, my childhood instinct came back with force. I cried, "O! -I do want to come here to live when we return from Turkey!"</p> - -<p>Herbert had a fellowship from Princeton for foreign study. It had been -postponed a year so that he could teach for a winter at an American -college in Asia Minor. Then and there we made a decision that was -prophetic. All the other men were going to Germany.<a name="page_037" id="page_037"></a> The German -universities were a powerful attraction for American university men. The -German Ph.D. was almost a sine qua non in our educational system. You -could not get a Ph.D. in England or in France. Herbert gallantly -sacrificed his on the spot. It was not a revolt against Kultur. Nor was -it clairvoyance.</p> - -<p>"On one's honeymoon," Herbert said, "the wife's wish should be law. The -man who starts endeavoring to get the woman he has married to realize -that the things to do are the things he thinks should be done gets into -trouble, and stays in trouble."</p> - -<p>The last thing we were looking for on that perfect July morning was -trouble.</p> - -<p>"All right," said he, "we'll come back and study in Paris, and if you -want to live here afterwards, I guess we can find some way to do it."</p> - -<p><a name="page_038" id="page_038"></a></p> - -<p><a name="page_039" id="page_039"></a></p> - -<h2><a name="y1909-1910" id="y1909-1910"></a>1909-1910</h2> - -<p><a name="page_040" id="page_040"></a></p> - -<p><a name="page_041" id="page_041"></a></p> - -<h3><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV<br /><br /> -<small>THE PROMISE FULFILLED</small></h3> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">"I</span>T was alcohol! He was right, that old buck. It was alcohol!"</p> - -<p>We were sitting in the restaurant of the Hotel Terminus in Marseilles. -Our month-old baby was lying on the cushioned seat between us. The -maître d'hôtel told us she was the youngest lady that had ever come to -his establishment. Bowls of coffee were before us on the table, and we -were enjoying our French breakfast when Herbert burst out with the -remark I have just recorded.</p> - -<p>"What is the matter with you?" I asked.</p> - -<p>Shaking with laughter, he told me the story.</p> - -<p>"You know the basket with breakables in it? And those two champagne -bottles Major Doughty-Wylie gave us?"</p> - -<p>"One of them had boracic acid in it. Well?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, yes, that is just it. The customshouse officer spied the bottles -and it did not take him long to uncork one and smell it. He wanted to -stick me for duty."</p> - -<p>"What did you do?"</p> - -<p>"Protested against paying duty on boracic acid solution.<a name="page_042" id="page_042"></a> I pointed you -out to him sitting over there with the baby. He yielded -finally—observing that Americans are queer, tough customers, and that -their babies must be husky if their eyes can stand such stuff. But he -got the wrong bottle. Don't you remember that in the second one is pure -grape alcohol, and that is what he sniffed."</p> - -<p>Traveling with a baby, when tickets do not allow one to take the -<i>rapide</i> sleeping-cars, has its good points. People do not care to spend -the night in a compartment with a baby. We got to the train early—very -early. We put Christine's wicker basket (her bed) by the door, and found -it to be the best kind of a "reserved" sign. Half a hundred travelers -poked their heads in—and passed on. The sight of Christine acted like -magic to our advantage. The baby started to cry. "Don't feed her yet," -ordered her dad. "Until this train starts, the louder she cries the -better for her later comfort." As the wheels began to move, a man came -in, put his bag on the rack and sat down. Laughing, he closed the door -and pulled down the curtain.</p> - -<p>"I have been watching you," said he. "Yours is a clever game. I have -three little cabbages myself, and I know babies don't disturb people as -much as those who have none think. No," he added, "I must correct -myself, thinking of my mother and my mother-in-law. Even those who have -had many babies forget in the course of time how they were once used to -them.<a name="page_043" id="page_043"></a> We'll have a comfortable night. Have a cigar, monsieur!"</p> - -<p>We did have a splendid sleep. Christine has always been one of those -wonder babies. So we were ready to see Paris cheerfully. Heaven knows we -needed every possible help to being cheerful! For we were embarked upon -a venture that looked more serious than it had the year before. A pair -of youngsters can knock around happily without worrying about -uncertainties. A baby means a home—and certain unavoidable expenses. -Where your progeny is concerned, you can't just do without. We had two -hundred and fifty francs in cash, and the prospect of a six hundred -dollar fellowship, payable in quarterly installments. That was all we -could count upon. Our only other asset was some correspondence sent to -the <i>New York Herald</i> that had not been ordered, but for which we hoped -to be paid.</p> - -<p>The Marseilles express used to arrive at Paris at an outlandish hour. It -was not yet six when we were ready to leave the Gare de Lyon. Two -porters, laden down with hand-luggage, asked where we wanted to go. We -did not know. The Paris hotels that had been our habitats in days past -were no longer possible, even temporarily. There was no mother to foot -my bills, and Herbert wasn't a bachelor with only his own room and food -to pay for. I suggested the possibility of a small hotel by the station. -The porters took us out on<a name="page_044" id="page_044"></a> the Boulevard Diderot. Across the street was -a hotel (whose gilt letters, however, did not omit the invariable -adjective "grand") that looked within our means.</p> - -<p>Once settled and breakfasted, the family council tackled the first -problem—Scrappie, gurgling on the big bed. Ever since she was born we -had been traveling, and she naturally had to be with us all the time. -Only now, after five weeks of parenthood, did the novel and amazing fact -dawn upon us that no longer could we "just go out." Scrappie was to be -considered. Without Scrappie, we could have set forth immediately upon -our search for a place to live. With Scrappie—?</p> - -<p>There always is a <i>deus ex machina</i>. In our case it was a <i>dea</i>. Marie -still lived in Paris. The contact had never been lost, and when we went -through Paris on our honeymoon the year before, I had taken my husband -to show him off to Marie. It was decided that I should go out -immediately and find her. A month before we had written that we were -coming to Paris in June, and she would be expecting us. Marie, and Marie -alone, meant freedom of movement. I could not think of trusting my baby -to anyone else.</p> - -<p>The address was at the tip of my tongue—22 Rue de Wattignies. A few -people know vaguely of the battle, but how many life-long Parisians know -the street? Not the <i>boulevardiers</i> or the <i>faubouriens</i> of -Saint-Germain, or the Americans, North and South, of the Etoile Quarter. -And yet the Rue de Wattignies is an<a name="page_045" id="page_045"></a> artery of importance, copiously -inhabited. We had gone in a cab last year, and remembered that it was -somewhere beyond the Bastille. At the corner of the street beyond our -hotel, just opposite the great clock tower of the Gare de Lyon, I saw -the Bastille column not far away. Why waste money on cabs? To the right -of the Bastille lay the Rue de Wattignies, and not very far to the -right. I remembered perfectly, and started out unhesitatingly.</p> - -<p>Oh, the Paris vistas! No other city in the world has every hill top, -every great open space, marked by a building or monument that beckons to -you at the end of boulevard or avenue. No other city in the world has -familiar dome or tower or steeple popping up over housetops in the -distance to reassure you wherever you may have wandered, that you are -not far from, and that you can always find your way to, a familiar spot. -The Eiffel Tower, the Great Wheel, the Arc de Triomphe, Sacré Coeur, the -Panthéon, Val-de-Grâce, the Invalides, the Tour St. Jacques, give you -your direction. But when you dip into Paris streets, on your way to the -goal, you are lost. Even constant reference to a map and long experience -do not save you from the deceptive encouragement of Paris vistas. You -can walk in circles almost interminably.</p> - -<p>I had done this so often in the old days when I escaped from my -governess. I did so again when I tried to find the Rue de Wattignies. -Perhaps I did not try<a name="page_046" id="page_046"></a> very hard: for one never minds wandering in -Paris. The life of the streets is a witchery that makes one forgot time -and distance and goal. When I lost sight of the Bastille column, the -labyrinth of St. Antoine streets led me on until I had crossed the canal -and found myself by the Hôpital St. Louis. After the year in the East, -and years before that in America, old houses and street markets held me -in a new world. It was a glorious June day to boot, and after steamer -and train, walking was a keen pleasure. Marital and parental -responsibilities were forgotten. The Hôpital St. Louis brought me back -to the realities of life. I knew that it was north of the Bastille, and -not in the direction of the Rue de Wattignies. Suddenly there came -uneasily into my mind the picture of a husband, a prisoner, patiently -waiting in a very small room in a very small hotel, and a baby demanding -lunch. Conscience insisted upon a cab: for nearly two hours had passed -since I started forth to find Marie. I had left the hotel early enough -to catch her before she might have gone out. What if Marie should not be -at home? "Hurry, <i>cocher</i>!"</p> - -<p>My panic was unjustified. Marie was at home. Delighted to hear of our -arrival, and eager to see her petite Hélène's baby, she put on her funny -little black hat, and went right down to the waiting cab.</p> - -<p>When we got to the hotel, Herbert was eating a second mid-morning petit -déjeuner. He had a copy<a name="page_047" id="page_047"></a> of the Paris edition of the <i>New York Herald</i>, -and showed me, well played up in a prominent place, the last of the -Adana massacre stories he had forwarded by mail from Turkey. This was -the first time he realized that his "stuff" had been exclusive. There -was a pleasant prospect of drawing a little money. So my long absence -brought forth no remark, specially as Scrappie had slept like an angel.</p> - -<p>"We played a wise game," said Herbert, "when we sent the stories -smuggled through Cyprus to the <i>Herald</i>. We shall not have to correspond -with New York on a slim chance of a newspaper's gratitude. We can get at -James Gordon Bennet right here in Paris." Then he showed me some -advertisements picked out in the column of <i>pensions</i> as promising and -within our means. We had decided to consider nothing outside of the -Latin Quarter.</p> - -<p>Marie had not changed a bit. She could not say the same for me although -she fussed over me as if I were five going on six. She forgot that -twenty years had gone since the last time she combed my hair. She -communicated to me the old sense of security. She bathed the baby. She -brought me food and sat beside me, observing that long ago she had to -coax me to take one more mouthful to please her.</p> - -<p>"You always were fussy about your food. Ma chère petite Hélène, you -don't eat enough to keep a sparrow alive. You are a naughty one."<a name="page_048" id="page_048"></a></p> - -<p>She insisted upon my drinking a cup of camomile tea, and took me -straight back to my sixth year by calling it <i>pipi du chat</i>. Knowing -that name for camomile tea is one of the tests of whether one really -knows French.</p> - -<p>"Marie," I begged, "show me how English people speak French—the way you -used to do!"</p> - -<p>But Herbert, who had gone out to get the <i>Daily Mail</i> for its <i>pension</i> -list, was coming in the door, and Marie would not show off before -Monsieur. Never did she call me <i>chère petite Hélène</i> when he or any -other person was present. It was always Madame before company. The -<i>Mail</i> had many advertisements of <i>pensions</i> in streets near the -Luxembourg. Marie helped us pick them out. The Luxembourg Garden was an -integral part of the Latin Quarter, and we had to think of Scrappie's -outing.</p> - -<p>After lunch we turned Christine over thankfully to Marie and went out -<i>pension</i>-hunting together.</p> - -<p>"You were lucky in finding Marie," was all Herbert said.</p> - -<p>"Yes," I answered, "I really couldn't have left the baby with anyone -else."</p> - -<p>"But is Marie the only person in the world? Without her, would you be a -slave for ever and ever? There must be plenty of people that we could -get to look after Scrappie."<a name="page_049" id="page_049"></a></p> - -<p>"You don't know what it means to have a child!" said Scrappie's mother.</p> - -<p>"I guess I look pretty healthy for a fellow who has just landed in Paris -with a wife and a baby and 250 francs!" said my husband.</p> - -<p>"Can't make us mad," said I; "we're in Paris."</p> - -<p>You pile up on one side of the scale heaps of things that ought to worry -you, but if you put on the other side the fact that you are in Paris, -down goes the Paris side with a sure and cheerful bang, up goes the -other side, and the worries tumble off every which way into nowhere.</p> - -<p>The main threads of the world's spider web start very far from Paris in -all directions and the heaviest urge of traffic is towards the centre. -Paris was the centre of the spider web long before Peace Delegates came -here to discover the fact. Students, diplomats, travel-agencies, -theatrical troupes knew it and whole shelves of books have been written, -down the years, to prove it. If Paris is your birth-place, you learn -that you are in the capital of the world long before you know how to -read the books. If you are an expert on ancient coins, if you are a -wood-carver, if you are a singer wanting a voice that will make your -fortune because it was trained in France, if you are a baker, if you are -a burglar, if you are a silk merchant, if you are a professor from -Aberdeen hunting for manuscripts<a name="page_050" id="page_050"></a> that will prove your thesis concerning -Pelagius, if you are an <i>apache</i>, if you are an English -nursemaid,—you'll never be lonely in Paris. No matter how isolated or -queer or misunderstood you were where you came from, in Paris you'll -find inspiration, competition, companionship, opportunity and pals. The -papers tell us every week that the birth rate is going down. But the -population of Paris is increasing. So in peace, in war and in peace -again, there was one constant quantity underpinning existence—Paris, -the centre of the spider web. The spider that lures is liberty to work -out one's ideas in one's own way in a friendly country. It is a wonder -the men who make maps in France can draw lines latitudinally and -longitudinally. What difference did it make then if we had only two -hundred and fifty francs?<a name="page_051" id="page_051"></a></p> - -<h3><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V<br /><br /> -<small>THE PENSION IN THE RUE MADAME</small></h3> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">W</span>E started our search for a temporary home at the Observatoire, and good -fortune took our footsteps down the Rue d'Assas rather than down the -Boulevard Saint-Michel. Had we turned to the right instead of to the -left, we should probably have found a <i>pension</i> that satisfied our -requirements on the Rue Gay-Lussac, the Rue Claude Bernard, the Rue -Soufflot, or behind the Panthéon. But a short distance down the Rue -d'Assas, we turned into the Rue Madame, which held two possibilities on -our list. The first place advertised proved to be a private apartment, -whose mistress was looking for boarders for one room who would not only -pay her rent but her food and her old father's as well. We got out -quickly, and kept our hopes up for the second place. It was a small -private hotel just below the Rue de Vaugirard, with a modest sign: -<i>Pension de Famille</i>.</p> - -<p>A beaming young woman, who told us that she was Mademoiselle Guyénot, -<i>propriétaire et directrice de la maison</i>, answered our first question -in a way that won our hearts forever. "Do I mind a baby!" she exclaimed. -"I love them. No trouble in the world.<a name="page_052" id="page_052"></a> Wish the <i>bon dieu</i> would allow -me to have one myself. If any boarder complains about babies crying in -my house, I ask them how they expect the world to keep on going. -<i>Parfait!</i> Bring the little rabbit right along. Of course there is no -charge. Is it I who will feed her? Think of it, then!" And Mademoiselle -Guyénot opened wide her arms and lifted them Heavenward. Her eyes shone, -and she laughed.</p> - -<p>We engaged a room on the court, two flights up, for seventy francs a -week <i>tout compris</i>, lodging, food, boots, wine. Lights would not amount -to more than a franc a week. We could give what we wanted for -attendance. The arrangement with Marie was perfect. She would stay at -home and come for the days we wanted her. That meant only her noonday -meal on our <i>pension</i> bill—one franc-fifty.</p> - -<p>We got out of the Boulevard Diderot hotel none too soon. The charges -were fully as much as at a first-class hotel (I have frequently since -found this to be the case in trying to economize in travel) and made a -serious dent in our nest-egg. When we reached the <i>pension</i> with our -baby and baggage, we felt that it was only the square thing to acquaint -the new friend who loved babies with our financial situation.</p> - -<p>"Oh! la, la," cried Mademoiselle Guyénot, "you may pay me when you -like!"</p> - -<p>"You must understand," said my husband, "that we have just come out of -Turkey and have very little<a name="page_053" id="page_053"></a> money. Of course, as soon as we get -settled, things will be all right again."</p> - -<p>Mademoiselle received us in the <i>bureau</i> of her pension with open arms -and lightning French. I could not get it all, but we knew she was glad -to see us. She turned around on her chair and faced us as we sat on an -old stuffed sofa surrounded by our suitcases.</p> - -<p>"You must not worry," she exclaimed, "you must not worry <i>du tout, du -tout, du tout, du tout</i>.... If you don't pay me I'll keep the baby, -<i>pauvre chou</i>."</p> - -<p>Mademoiselle's voice went up the scale and down again, dying away only -when she opened her mouth wider to laugh.</p> - -<p>Mademoiselle ran the <i>pension</i> single-handed in those days. Now she is -Madame and the mother of two little girls. Monsieur is a mechanical -genius and has himself installed many conveniences. He can paper a room, -rig up a table lamp at the head of a bed, carry in the coal, forage for -provisions with a hand-cart and a cheerful <i>jusqu'au boutisme</i> that -stops at nothing. He is also able to make a quick change in clothes and -bobs up serenely within fifteen minutes after unloading the potatoes, -quite ready to make you a cocktail.</p> - -<p>Mademoiselle handled her clients with cheerful firmness. She used to -marshal the forces of her house with a strong and capable hand. You -could not put one over on her then any more than you can now, as some<a name="page_054" id="page_054"></a> -transients discovered to their confusion. The regulars knew better than -to try. On the other hand if your case was good and your complaint -justified, she defended you with energy. <i>Liberté</i>, <i>égalité</i>, -<i>fraternité</i> were realities in the Rue Madame.</p> - -<p>The clientele was French for the most part: elderly people who had got -tired of keeping house. Folks from the provinces who had come to town to -spend the winter after Monsieur retired from business. Young people, -mostly men, some of them long haired who were studying at the Sorbonne -or elsewhere. And a sprinkling of transients whose chief effect upon the -regulars was allowing them to shift about until they had possession of -the rooms they wanted to keep at a monthly rate. When we went to the -pension we were the only Americans. We paid five francs a day for room -and board like everybody else excepting the old lady who had come to the -house years ago when the rate was four francs fifty. German Hausfraus -may be marvels in management, but I defy any lady Boche to beat -Mademoiselle's efficiency. She got all the work of kitchen and -dining-room done, and well done too, by Victorine the tireless, Louis -the juggler and François the obsequious. Guillaume and Yvonne, a working -menage, looked after the rooms until they got a swell job at the Ritz -Hotel, where tips would count. The other three were fixtures.</p> - -<p>In spirit the Rue Madame <i>pension</i> has not changed.<a name="page_055" id="page_055"></a> The atmosphere -to-day is as it was in nineteen hundred and nine. The table is good, -plentiful, appetizing—and, oh, what a variety of meats and vegetables! -The potatoes are never served in the same way twice in a week, and -Madame Primel, as Mademoiselle is now called, cooks as many different -<i>plats de jour</i> as her number in the street, which is forty-four. There -the reader has my secret! But five francs a day no longer holds. In -nineteen hundred and nineteen five francs will barely pay for a single -meal. Not only has the price of food more than doubled, but the traveler -is beginning to demand comforts that cost. We used to have buckets of -coal brought up, and make a cheerful fire. We used to grope in the dark -when we came home, strike a match, and look for our candle on the hall -table. We used to have a lamp—the best light in the world—in our room. -But now the <i>pension</i> in the Rue Madame has yielded to the demands of a -discontented world. Steam heat, electric lights—these have had their -part in making five francs a day disappear forever. The five franc -<i>pension</i> exists only in the memory of Paris lovers, or in story books -like mine.</p> - -<p>At our table were Mrs. Reilly, a sprightly Irish woman called by the -pensionnaires Madame Reely; Monsieur Mazeron, a law student with an -ascetic blond face and hair like a duckling; an elderly couple from -Normandy who had adopted Madame Reely, swallowed her at one gulp of -perfection, only to discover afterwards<a name="page_056" id="page_056"></a> that they did not understand -her; a Polish doctor and his wife from Warsaw; and others. Madame Reely -made a pretty speech the first night at dinner, proposing that our table -volunteer to help us take care of the baby.</p> - -<p>"To-morrow is the Fête Dieu," said she. "I'll go to the early mass so -that I can come back and stay with the baby while you two go to the -later mass. You will see the priests in their robes of ceremony, the -Holy Relics, and a thousand children in the procession. It is too -lovely,—all those little things with their baskets of flowers, throwing -petals in the path of the priests. Who can tell," she went on in a -whispered aside to her neighbor, "it may impress them. One never knows -when new converts are to be added to the blessed Church!"</p> - -<p>"And I shall look at the baby," said the Doctor from Warsaw. "Children -are my specialty. That is why I am here, observing in the clinics of -Paris, you see. I shall come to your room to-morrow after breakfast. -Being an American mother, I suppose you give your baby orange juice?"</p> - -<p>"Certainly I give her orange juice," said I; "it is good for her."</p> - -<p>"<i>Au contraire! au contraire!</i>" cried the Doctor, waving his hands. The -Doctor was always "au contraire" no matter what was said and who said -it. Polish character.<a name="page_057" id="page_057"></a></p> - -<p>In a corner was a tiny table for one. It was for the starboarder, a -young Roumanian, who wore a purple tie held together by a large amethyst -ring. Possibly he wore it because he believed in the ancient legend -about amethysts being good to prevent intoxication. When we entered upon -the scene he was still in high favor. His downfall came later and had to -do with a wide-awake concierge and a luckless kiss at the front door.</p> - -<p>The food we had was the kind we used to have in Paris when many visitors -came here with no better excuse than to enjoy the <i>cuisine</i>. -Mademoiselle gave us two meat dishes for each meal. If you did not like -calves' liver, Louis would do a trick that landed a steaming plate of -crisp fried eggs (fried in butter, you remember) before you. And that -without being told. Behind the scenes was Victorine.</p> - -<p>Victorine invited me into her kitchen to learn how to make <i>sauce -piquante</i>.</p> - -<p>"Are you married, Victorine?" I queried.</p> - -<p>"My cookstove is my husband," she laughed; "his heart is good and warm -and he never leaves me."</p> - -<p>During meals Mademoiselle was to be found in the kitchen. She did the -carving herself and tasted everything before it was passed through a -window to Louis.</p> - -<p>There was no felt covering under the table-cloth. The serving of the -meal competed with piping, high-pitched, excited voices. Perhaps I -oughtn't to say excited, but the Frenchman in his most ordinary matter<a name="page_058" id="page_058"></a> -of fact conversation sounds excited to the Anglo-Saxon. He asks you to -pass the bread in the same tone you would use in announcing an event of -moment. At each place was a glass knife-and-fork rest. In France, unless -the first dish happens to be fish, you keep the same knife and fork. -This is the custom in the best of homes. We are prodigal of cutlery -where the French are prodigal of plates. The same knife and fork didn't -matter, because the food was so good. Nor does it matter to-day, because -now there is only one meat dish. Times have changed.</p> - -<p>If fruit or pudding ran out, Mademoiselle opened a section of the wall, -finding the key on a bunch that was suspended from her belt on a piece -of faded black tape. From the cupboard she took tiny glasses filled with -confiture or perhaps a paste made of mashed chestnuts and flour slightly -sweetened. The glasses, to the touch, were cylindrical, but when you had -broken the paper pasted across the top and had eaten half way down, the -space was no wider than the fat part of your tea spoon. If your glass -was a cylinder outside, on the inside it was an inverted cone.</p> - -<p>The quantities of bread consumed in that house would be appalling to -anybody but a Frenchman. A Turk can live on bread and olives. But a -Frenchman can live on bread alone. If he had to choose between bread and -wine he would forget the wine. When the basket was passed around, the -<i>pensionnaires</i>, with a delightful<a name="page_059" id="page_059"></a> absence of self-consciousness, would -cast their eye over it in order to select the biggest piece. There was -always one person who would look around the room furtively, take the -biggest piece on the plate, slip the second biggest piece into the lap -under the serviette, and then, gazing far away in ostrich fashion, glide -the bread into pocket or reticule. If the dessert happened to be fruit, -an orange or an apple would follow the bread for private consumption -later in the day. Perhaps these people came in for luncheon only and the -bread and fruit was devoured at twilight at some little café where it is -permitted to customers to bring their own supplies, if they buy a drink. -This stretching of luncheon procured the evening meal. If necessity is -the mother of invention, the students of Paris are necessity's -grandmother.</p> - -<p>Louis, the arch-juggler, was forced by public opinion to alternate day -by day his point of departure when passing the steaming <i>plat du jour</i>. -<i>Egalité</i>, you remember, is one-third of French philosophy. It would -never do for the same end of the dining-room to enjoy for two days -running the little privilege of having the first pick at the best piece -of meat in the plate.</p> - -<p>François helped in the dining-room. But he was everywhere else too. He -was useful for Louis to swear at and to blame. He was bell-hop, -scullery-boy, errand-man, who needed all of his amazing reserves of -cheerfulness. I wondered when François slept. He<a name="page_060" id="page_060"></a> was on hand with his -grin and his <i>oui, madame</i>, early and late. Once when we slid out of the -house at five in the morning to go on an excursion, we found him in the -lower hall surrounded by the boots of the house. Back of his ear was a -piece of chalk used for marking the number of the room on the soles of -the boots. He was polishing away, moving his arm back and forth with a -diminutive imitation of the swing his legs had to accomplish when his -brush-clad feet were polishing the waxed floors. As a concession to the -early hour, he was whistling softly instead of singing. The whistling of -François fascinated everyone because it came through a tongue folded -funnel-wise and placed in the aperture where a front tooth was missing. -And we would often find him up and about when we came home late at -night. It was a pleasant surprise, when, after calling out your name, -you made ready to walk back to the candlestick table, hands stretched -out before you, to have François suddenly appear with a light. He would -hold out over the table his little hand lamp with the flourish a Gascon -alone can make. You picked out your candlestick by the number of your -room cut in its shining surface. The number had an old-fashioned swing -to its curve, suggesting that the solid bit of brass might have been dug -up from the garden of some moss-grown hostelry after a passage of the -Huns.</p> - -<p>Mademoiselle Guyénot insisted that the flagged pavement<a name="page_061" id="page_061"></a> be washed every -day. François used to fill with water a tin can in the bottom of which -he had punched half a dozen holes. He swung it about the court until -figure eight shaped sprinkle-tracks lay all over the twelve-by-twenty -garden. Afterwards he would take a short-handled broom, bend himself -over like a hairpin, and sweep up the flag-stones. The dirt he -accumulated was made into a neat newspaper package and set aside to wait -until early to-morrow morning when it was put out on the street in the -garbage-pail. François' thin high voice sang incessantly and sounded for -all the world like the piping of a Kurdish shepherd above the timber -line in the Taurus Mountains. In those days woe betide you if you put -trash or garbage on a Paris street later than 8 <small>A. M.</small> It was as unseemly -an act as shaking carpets out of your window after the regulation hour. -Now, even if you are a late and leisurely bank clerk or fashionable -milliner and you don't have to show up at work before 10 o'clock, you -will see garbage-pails along curb-stones and likely as not get a dust -shower furious enough to make you wish you hadn't left your umbrella at -home. The old days—will they come back?</p> - -<p>When the band plays soft Eliza-crossing-the-ice music, my mind flies to -several Home-Sweet-Homes. I think of Tarsus, Constantinople, Oxford and -Princeton. But there is no twinge of homesickness. Paris and my present -home there satisfy every want and longing.<a name="page_062" id="page_062"></a> Among the homes of the past, -however, I think of others in Paris as well as of those of other places. -I never forget the <i>pension</i> in the Rue Madame. Thankfully it is still a -reality. During the past decade it has housed our mothers and sisters -and cousins and friends. We have gone there to see them. And we go there -to see our first warm friend in Paris and her husband and children. From -time to time we have a meal in the old dining-room. We hope the -<i>pension</i> will not disappear or will not be converted into too grand a -hotel. For us it is a Paris landmark.<a name="page_063" id="page_063"></a></p> - -<h3><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI<br /><br /> -<small>LARES AND PENATES IN THE RUE SERVANDONI</small></h3> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">W</span>E spent the first anniversary of our wedding in Egypt. A week later we -arrived in Paris. For prospective residents as well as for tourists, -June is the best time of the year to reach Paris. You have good weather -and long days, both essentials of successful home-hunting. It is an -invariable rule in Paris to divide the year in quarters, beginning with -the fifteenth of January, April, July and October. Whether you are -looking for a modest <i>logement</i> on a three months' lease or a <i>grand -appartement-confort moderne</i>—on a three years' lease, the dates of -entry are the same. One rarely breaks in between terms. If you have -passed one period, you must wait for the next <i>trimestre</i>. The person -who is leaving the apartment you rent might be perfectly willing to -accommodate you, but he has to wait to get into his new place. So when -we went to the <i>pension</i>, we had before us the best home-hunting weeks -of the year, with the expectation of being able to get settled somewhere -on July 15th.</p> - -<p>At the <i>pension</i>, our room faced on the court, and the <i>personnel</i>, from -Mademoiselle Guyénot down to Victorine and François, assured us that we -need not feel bound to stay at home on the days Marie could not<a name="page_064" id="page_064"></a> come to -us. Marie for years had been sewing four different days of the week for -old <i>patrons</i>, and we did not feel certain enough of our own plans and -purse to accept the responsibility of her giving up a sure thing.</p> - -<p>"Go out all you want to," urged our friends. "You only have to think -about meal times for the baby. Someone is always in the court sewing or -sorting the laundry or preparing vegetables. Your window is open. We -cannot fail to hear the baby."</p> - -<p>But a chorus of <i>bien sûr</i> and <i>parfaitement</i> and <i>soyez tranquille</i> did -not reassure what was as new born as Christine herself—the maternal -instinct. A letter from Herbert's father solved the problem. He inclosed -the money for a baby carriage. We carried Scrappie down the Boulevard -Raspail to the little square in front of the Bon Marché. I kept her on a -bench while Herbert went in to follow my directions as well as he could. -In a few minutes he came out and said he would rather take care of the -baby. It was the first time I had seen him stumped. So I had the joy I -had hoped would be mine all along but of which I did not want to deprive -my husband, seeing that we could not share it. The reader may ask why we -didn't take the baby inside. But it will not be a young mother who puts -that question! With one's firstborn, one sees contagion stalking in -every place where crowds gather indoors.<a name="FNanchor_B_2" id="FNanchor_B_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_B_2" class="fnanchor">[B]</a></p> - -<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_B_2" id="Footnote_B_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_B_2"><span class="label">[B]</span></a> The critic would have me insert a modification here. Why -confine the fear of the young mother to <i>indoors</i>? The critic insists -that I used to be afraid of taking Scrappie into any sort of a crowd, -and that my supersensitive ear translated the bark of every kiddie with -a cold into whooping cough, while I saw measles in mosquito bites on -children's faces.</p></div> - -<p><a name="page_065" id="page_065"></a></p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ilp064_lg.jpg"> -<img src="images/ilp064_sml.jpg" width="371" height="550" alt="The Rue de Vaugirard by the Luxembourg" title="The Rue de Vaugirard by the Luxembourg" /></a> -<br /> -<span class="caption">The Rue de Vaugirard by the Luxembourg</span> -</p> - -<p>We did not intend to consider a home that was not within baby-carriage -distance of the Rue Madame. In fact, after a few days in the Luxembourg -Quarter, we were determined to live as near the Garden as possible. -There we were within walking distance of the Bibliothèque Nationale and -the Sorbonne and the Ecole Libre des Sciences Politiques. Marie, whom -the fact that I was my Mother's daughter did not blind to the extent of -the Gibbons family resources, urged the Bois de Vincennes. But we would -not hear of it.</p> - -<p>It is strange how rich and poor rub elbows with each other in their -homes. Paris is no different from American cities in this respect. The -kind of an apartment we <i>wanted</i> would cost more than our total income, -as rents around the Luxembourg for places equipped with electric lights -and bathtubs and central heating seemed to be as expensive as around the -Etoile. Then in the same street—sometimes next door—you had the other -extreme. Our finances pointed to a <i>logement</i> in a workingmen's -tenement. Care for Scrappie's health made our hearts sink every time we -were shown a place that seemed within our means.</p> - -<p>Of course there were reasonable places: for many others who demanded -cleanliness had no more money<a name="page_066" id="page_066"></a> than we. But the Latin and Montparnasse -Quarters are the Mecca of slim-pursed foreigners. People foolish enough -to study or sing or paint are almost invariably poor. Perhaps that is -the reason! We had lots of exercise, and came to know every street -between the Luxembourg and the Seine. Our good fortune arrived -unexpectedly as good fortune always arrives to those who will not be -side-tracked.</p> - -<p>Between the Rue Vaugirard and Saint-Sulpice are three tiny streets, the -houses on the opposite sides of which almost rub cornices. The Rue Férou -is opposite the Musée de Luxembourg. On the Rue de Vaugirard is the home -of Massenet. We used to get a glimpse of him occasionally on his -<i>terrasse</i>—a sort of roof-garden with a vine-covered lattice on top of -the low Rue Férou wing of his house. The other two streets paralleling -the Rue Férou from the Palais du Luxembourg to the Eglise Saint-Sulpice -are the Rue Servandoni and the Rue Garancière.</p> - -<p>On the morning of the Fourth of July we had been diving in and out the -side streets of the Rue Bonaparte and the Boulevard Saint-Germain. At -Scrappie's meal time, we came to a bench in the Square in front of -Saint-Sulpice. It wasn't a bit like a holiday. It was sultry and looked -like rain. We were wondering whether we had better not hurry back to the -<i>pension</i> for fear of getting the baby wet. Just then people<a name="page_067" id="page_067"></a> began to -stop and look up. A huge balloon was above us. And it carried the -American flag.</p> - -<p>"You can't beat it," said my husband. "And we are Americans. Ergo, you -can't beat us!"</p> - -<p>Did the sight of the flag do the trick? Anyway, it was our Japanese -"last quarter of an hour." We had come down through the Rue Férou. We -went back for the twentieth time in twenty days through the Rue -Servandoni. Grey houses, topped with beehive chimneys, leaned amicably -against each other and broke the sky line as well as the municipal -<i>réglement</i> (made long after they were) concerning the distance between -houses on opposite sides of streets. Our hearts nearly stopped beating -when we reached Number 21. There was the magic sign (it had not been -there yesterday): <i>Appartement à Louer</i>. We stopped short in the middle -of the street. The side-walks are not wide enough to walk on, much less -wheel a baby-carriage along. The grocer on the ground floor saw us take -the bait. Out he came. Did Monsieur and Madame care to see the -<i>appartement</i>? If so, he was concierge as well as grocer. He would show -us the place. We drew the new baby-carriage into the dark vestibule and -went up one easy flight of oak balustraded stairs. The grocer pulled a -red-braided bell rope.</p> - -<p>A man in shirt-sleeves opened the door. We stepped into a tiny -dining-room where the gas was lit although<a name="page_068" id="page_068"></a> it was noon. The wall-paper -was yellow, and had sprawling brown figures like beetles. A dark passage -led into an immense room with a generous fireplace. Two windows opened -on the Rue Servandoni. It was a paper-hanger's shop with ladders, -brushes, buckets, rolls and rolls of paper and barrels of flour-paste -around. But the fellow in shirt-sleeves assured us that when his -fittings were out, we would realize what a handsome room it was. "The -dining-room is dark," he admitted, "but you can't match this room for -light and size in any two-room apartment in the Quarter. I know them -all. I am leaving because I have found a ground floor shop. I'll put new -paper on here very cheap."</p> - -<p>The <i>locataire</i> assumed that we would take it. So did the -grocer-concierge. Without our asking, Monsieur Sempé told us that the -rent would be one hundred and fifty francs a quarter. We did not have to -make a troublesome lease, just a little agreement involving three -months' notification on either side.</p> - -<p>"Don't forget," said Sempé, "that this old house sits between two modern -apartment buildings. The walls are warm. Your neighbors have steam -heat."</p> - -<p>"True," confirmed the paper-hanger. But he did not want us to think that -we could be altogether vicariously heated. "Possibly you may not have -noticed," he added, "the fireplace in the dining-room. It heats<a name="page_069" id="page_069"></a> almost -as well as this one. I'll sell you my grates. <i>Boulets</i> make the best -fire."</p> - -<p>The thrill of admiration I had for my husband's magnificent courage when -he signed the paper, and paid out fifty of his last hundred francs "on -account" is with me still.</p> - -<p>"We are sure to be able to pay our rent," said he, as we went back to -the <i>pension</i>. "We couldn't expect to get anything for less than ten -dollars a month. The first installment of the fellowship money will come -next week, and before then I shall certainly get something out of the -<i>Herald</i>. It will have to be enough to buy our furniture."</p> - -<p>It never rains but it pours. At the <i>pension</i> we found a letter from Mr. -James Gordon Bennett, asking Herbert to call that afternoon at three -o'clock at 104 Avenue des Champs-Elysées. It was in a blue envelope with -a little owl embossed on the flap, and was signed "J. G. BENNETT" in -blue pencil almost the color of the paper. How often we were to see this -envelope and this signature, and what luck it was going to bring us! We -thought the occasion demanded a celebration. I did Scrappie and myself -up in our best, and we set forth for the Champs-Elysées in an open -<i>fiacre</i>—our first ride since we came from the Boulevard Diderot to the -Rue Madame. We waited in the carriage while Herbert went in to collect -his money for the Adana massacre stories.<a name="page_070" id="page_070"></a></p> - -<p>I watched the door of the big apartment house anxiously. Our furniture -and the rest of the rent for the apartment depended upon the success of -the visit. Half an hour later Herbert's face told me that all was well. -He had sent in a bill of four hundred dollars, and fifty dollars -expenses. Mr. Bennett, he told me, began by scolding him for not making -it in francs, and then gave him a check for twenty-five hundred francs, -which more than covered what Herbert asked for. The Commodore then -offered Herbert a position at five hundred francs a week, and was -surprised when it was declined. He seemed much amused when Herbert -explained that he had come to Paris to study. "But you will go on -special trips in an emergency," said Mr. Bennett. It is enough to say -that the "emergencies" occurred often enough to tide over many a -financial difficulty during years that followed.</p> - -<p>Provided with funds after passing by the bank, we took Christine to -Rumpelmayer's to tea, and then drove back the Rue Servandoni to pay the -rest of our rent. When Monsieur Sempé gave us the <i>quittance</i>, he -admonished us that we must put enough furniture in the apartment to -cover six months' rent, that is to say, we must be prepared to spend at -least sixty dollars to set up our Lares and Penates. Bubbling over with -good will, Monsieur Sempé and Madame Sempé (who appeared on the scene -the moment it was a question of a receipt for our money) gave us -splendid advice about<a name="page_071" id="page_071"></a> furniture-buying. They urged us to go to the Rue -de Rennes to some good-sized place where we would see second-hand -furniture on the side-walk, and not to a small <i>brocanteur</i> or dealer in -antiques.</p> - -<p>The amount ticked up on the fiacre's taximetre was larger than we had -dreamed we should ever spend gadding about Paris. A few hours before it -would have worried us. We knew this could not keep up—in spite of the -crisp hundred franc notes. Wealth brings a strange sense of prudence. We -drove back to the <i>pension</i>, dismissed our <i>cocher</i>, and pushed the -baby-carriage around to the Rue de Rennes.</p> - -<p>MOBILIERS COMPLETS PAR MILLIERS. "Household furniture sets by the -thousand." That sign read promisingly. We entered, and found a -salesman—excuse me, the proprietor and salesman and cashier—who took -in my clothes and hat, and then assured us that he did not mind the baby -crying and could fit us up in anything from Louis Quatorze to the First -Empire, real or (this as a feeler) imitation. <i>Salle à manger</i> from -eight hundred francs to four thousand; <i>chambre à coucher</i> from four -hundred francs to two thousand six hundred; <i>salon</i> from one thousand -francs to six thousand; splendid <i>garnitures</i> (which means clocks and -candlesticks or vases) of all epochs for our <i>cheminées</i>; hatracks for -the hall; kitchen and servants' furniture—all, everything, anything we -needed.<a name="page_072" id="page_072"></a></p> - -<p>I knew what was in Herbert's reproachful look. He always did -ungraciously blame my mother for the fact that he had so frequently to -counteract my trousseau by embarrassed words. Mostly I let him stumble -along. But as this was his day and as I hadn't taken off the pretty -things worn in honor of the visit to the Champs-Elysées, which was a -break on my part, I thought it was up to me to let the furniture man see -how things stood.</p> - -<p>"We have a little apartment," I said, "bedroom and living-room combined, -a very small dining-room and a kitchen. I expect to buy the baby's crib -and mattress aside, but the rest must come out of five hundred francs—I -mean all of it. What can you give us for that?"</p> - -<p>I often think the French are essentially poor salesmen. They do not know -how to show their goods and they are too indifferent or too anxious. But -the blessed virtue of chivalry! The blessed sense of proportion! The -blessed instinct of moderation! Our furniture man rose to the occasion -with a grace that made me want to hug him. He kept his smile and bow and -changed with perfect ease from Louis and Napoleons to pitchpine. It -would require figuring. But it could be done. Yes, of course it could be -done. Down into the cellar he took us, and in half an hour he had -arranged to give us all we needed for Francs 532.70. I remember those -figures. And he agreed to<a name="page_073" id="page_073"></a> take the whole lot back at half-price at the -end of a year!</p> - -<p>The furniture man bore a striking resemblance to some one I knew. I -watched him, and tried to place him, as he made out our bill in the -office—seven square feet of glassed-in suffocation surrounded by -<i>armoires</i> and buffets. Dust clung to pages and blotters and yellowing -files; no air ever came in here to blow it away. Where had I seen the -double of our friend? Full forehead, closely-trimmed, pointed beard, -soft black tie—and the eyes. Where <i>had</i> I seen him before? Writing -with flourishes in purple ink, slightly bending over the high desk, he -certainly fitted into some memory picture. Then it came to me! His pen -ought to be a quill. It was William Shakespeare.</p> - -<p>"Will-<i>yum</i> Shakespeare!" I cried.</p> - -<p>My husband did not think I was crazy. For he was looking at the -furniture man when I made my involuntary exclamation.</p> - -<p>"What does Madame say? Is she not content?" asked William Shakespeare. -Herbert's hand shot out behind his back and grasped mine. "Shades of -Stratford-on-Avon," he murmured. We had passed a honeymoon day there -just a year ago.</p> - -<p>It was hard to wait until July 15, and then two days longer for the -necessary cleaning by a <i>femme de ménage</i> hired for us by the Sempés. -July 17th was the magical day of our first housekeeping. Never before -had we<a name="page_074" id="page_074"></a> been together in a place where everything was ours. Tables and -chairs and beds and mattresses, and even the piano rented at ten francs -a month, arrived at Twenty-One on hand-carts drawn by men who pulled -only a little harder against the greasy harness that bound them to their -job than did the dogs under the carts.</p> - -<p>Turkish women say that if you must move, abandon the furniture and -dishes; they can be had anywhere. But take with you the rugs and brass -that you love, and you have your home. During the previous winter in -Tarsus, we managed to buy several good rugs, a cradle-shawl, some -candlesticks and Damascus beaten-brass trays out of our eight-hundred -dollar salary. Don't ask me now how we did it. In retrospect it is a -mystery. But we had these things in two big boxes. They were as butter -is to bread with our pitch-pine. No, I'm not going to belittle that -pitch-pine. Years of usage had modified its yellowness, and it took to -our rubbing with a marvelous furniture polish. The floors could have -been better. The wood was hard, however, and we got some sort of a wax -shine on them. The Shakespeare furniture plus rugs and brasses—and -candle light—made a home than which we have never since had better. -Never mind if the dining-room was dark. Never mind if we had to sleep in -our study, and study in our bedroom. Never mind if Scrappie's nursery -was the <i>salon</i>, <i>cabinet de travail</i> and <i>chambre à <a name="page_075" id="page_075"></a> coucher</i> combined. -Never mind if we were compelled to take our baths at the foot of our bed -in a tin basin. It was Paris, our dream city.</p> - -<p>We were fully installed by six o'clock. The <i>femme de ménage</i> -volunteered to stay with Christine while we went out for supper. Before -finding a restaurant, we climbed the north tower of Saint-Sulpice. -Between us and the mass of verdure that marked the Jardin du Luxembourg -was our home. Up there near heaven, with the city at our feet, we danced -the Merry Widow Waltz, for sheer joy that we had a home of our own in -Paris.<a name="page_076" id="page_076"></a></p> - -<h3><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII<br /><br /> -<small>GOLD IN THE CHIMNEY</small></h3> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">H</span>OW can two young people, with a baby and three hundred dollars in cash, -able to count upon a one-year fellowship yielding six hundred dollars, -live a year in Paris? The answer to that question is that it cannot be -done. But we were not in the position to answer it that way. We were in -Paris, and we had the baby. Pride and ambition are factors that refuse -to be overruled by the remorseless logic of figures. If you put a -proposition down on paper, you can prove that almost anything you want -to do is impossible. Successful undertakings are never the result of -logical thinking. Herbert and I would not have had a wedding at all if -we had thought the matter out and had considered the financial side of -life.</p> - -<p>Herbert was keeping, however, some prejudices and some prudent reserves, -remembering his father's caution that life has a financial basis. -Sitting there on the packing-case we had picked out for a coal-box in -our study-bedroom, he hauled out an account-book and was fussing over a -missing franc. Our first year was one of constant change of scene, and -we had not "kept house." Now, declared my husband, was the time to<a name="page_077" id="page_077"></a> turn -over a new leaf. If we knew where and how our money went, financing the -proposition would be easier. With tears in my eyes and biting a pencil -with trembling lips, I rebelled. I could not get interested in that -missing franc.</p> - -<p>"I want you to realize now, once for all, that I'm not going to keep -this old cash account. I don't believe in worrying about money. I'm not -going to worry about money and neither are you. There are only three -financial questions: (1) how much money is there? (2) how long is it -going to last? (3) what are we going to do when it's all gone? Two -follows one, and three follows two—one, two, three—just like that!"</p> - -<p>I was laughing now, and raised three fingers successively under my -boss's nose.</p> - -<p>"As long as we are in one, we are not in two; and when we are in two, we -have not reached three. Let us wait for three until we are in three, or -at least until we know we are about to leave two."</p> - -<p>After paying a quarter's rent, the bill for the furniture and cleaning -up sundry little expenses, we had left fifteen hundred francs of the -Gordon Bennett capital. A thousand francs was deposited with Morgan, -Harjes and Company. The other five hundred, in twenty-franc gold-pieces, -the bank gave us in a shiny little pink pasteboard box. Our chimney had -a big hole in the plaster. The wall paper was torn but intact.<a name="page_078" id="page_078"></a> An ideal -hiding-place. I put the box in the hole and smoothed down the paper.</p> - -<p>"This hole is our bank," I announced. "We shall keep no account, and you -and I will take the gold boys when we need them."</p> - -<p>Herbert saw a great light. From that moment to this day we have been -free from a useless drudgery and have been able to conserve our energy -for our work. Herbert said, "Agreed! And when the pile gets low, I'll be -like the little boy the old man saw digging."</p> - -<p>"What was the little boy digging for?" I chuckled.</p> - -<p>"Ground-hogs," answered my husband. "An old man came along and told him -he would never catch a gopher like that, for they could dig quicker than -folks. 'Can't get him?' said the boy. 'Got to get him, the family's out -of meat.'"</p> - -<p>Now that the financial credo of the home-makers in the Rue Servandoni is -set forth, I shall not have to talk any more about how we got our money -and how much there was of it. But I had to take my readers into my -confidence, for I did not want them to labor under the misapprehension -that persisted among our neighbors of the Rue Servandoni throughout our -year there. They took it for granted that <i>les petits américains</i> were -living at Twenty-One because that sort of fun appealed to us. We were -just queer. Of course we had plenty of money, and could have lived at -Nineteen or Twenty-Three if we had wanted to! The Parisian, the<a name="page_079" id="page_079"></a> -Frenchman, the European, of whatever social class, believes that America -is El Dorado and that every American is able to draw at will from -inexhaustible transatlantic gold-mines. During the war the Red Cross, -the Y.M.C.A., and the officers and men of the A.E.F. confirmed and -strengthened this traditional belief. I do not blame my compatriots for -what is a universal attitude among us towards money. On the contrary, my -long years of residence abroad have made me feel that we get more out of -life by looking upon money as our servant than Europeans do, who look -upon it as their master.</p> - -<p>The first thing—the practical and imperative thing—when you set up a -home in Paris is to make friends with the concierge. Without his -approval and cooperation, your money, your position, your brains will -not help you in making living conditions easy. The concierge stands -between you and servants, tradespeople, visitors. You are at his mercy. -Traveling in Russia, they used to say to us: lose your pocket-book or -your head, but hold on to your passport. In Paris, dismiss your prize -servant or fall out with your best friend, but hold on to the good-will -of the concierge.</p> - -<p>Our first skirmish with the Sempés was an easy victory. We could not -keep the baby-carriage in our apartment, even if we had been willing to -haul it up and down a flight of stairs. Boldly we announced that we -wanted to leave it in the lower hall. "Of course,"<a name="page_080" id="page_080"></a> agreed Monsieur -Sempé. "I was just going to suggest that and to tell you that in my shop -I carry everything, fruits and vegetables as well as dry-groceries."</p> - -<p>We took the hint, and seldom went farther afield to do our marketing. -Madame Sempé was the first to call us <i>les petits américains</i>. She was -capable and kindly, and our friendship became firmly rooted when she -discovered that we intended to patronize her shop. The Sempé commodities -were good. This was lucky in more ways than one. For the mice knew it -too, and never came upstairs to bother us.</p> - -<p>Sempé himself was a genial soul, partly because he always kept a bottle -uncorked. Hard work and temperament, he explained, made him require a -stimulant. He took just enough, you understand, to affect his -disposition pleasantly. If you had a little complaint to make or a favor -to ask, much as you deplored his thirst, you found yourself casting an -eye over the man to make sure of his mood before you spoke. If you -caught him when the bottle was not too full or too empty, he could fix a -lock or put a new mantle on the dining-room gas-jet most graciously.</p> - -<p>Our friendship became undying when Monsieur found out that we were the -solution of his financial pinches. He came up one night, and, hooking -his thumbs in his purple suspenders, asked for a loan of "<i>shong -shanquante francs shusqua sheudi</i>." <i>Jeudi</i> never came. To Sempé's -intense relief, we agreed to<a name="page_081" id="page_081"></a> take out the debt in groceries. This was -the beginning of a sort of gentlemen's agreement. A paper, thumb-tacked -to a shelf in the shop, kept the record of our transactions. When I came -to make purchases in the morning or when Herbert dropped in of an -evening to buy a supplement to our dinner for unexpected guests or our -own good appetites, we could see at a glance whether to pay cash for -what we bought or whether we should do a sum in subtraction. It was -generally subtraction, and Sempé, wagging his head, would say, "This -goes well—soon I shall be square with you." But the satisfaction of -being square with the world was never Sempé's for long. The arrival of a -barrel of wine or a load of potatoes would send him running up the -stairs for the money to help finance his business. In spite of our -slender resources we did not feel this to be a hardship. Not -infrequently it was an advantage. First of all things one has to eat. We -always began to get our money back immediately in the necessities of -life. Instead of having our money out in an uncertain loan we took the -attitude that our board was paid for two or three weeks in advance.</p> - -<p>In another connection, we had the benefit of the advantageous side of -the Golden Rule.</p> - -<p>In our study of Turkish history we had constant use of Von Hammer's -<i>Histoire de l'Empire Ottoman</i>. This meant much transcribing by -long-hand at the Bibliothèque Nationale where the typewriter could not<a name="page_082" id="page_082"></a> -be used. If only we had Von Hammer at home! But it was a rare -book—eighteen volumes and an atlas—far beyond our means. One day we -were browsing at Welter's, the most wonderful bookshop in Paris, on the -Rue Bernard-Palissy off the Rue de Rennes near Saint-Germain-des-Près. -Monsieur Welter, who took pains to become acquainted with and discover -the specialty of every passing <i>client</i>, told us that he had a set of -Von Hammer, recently purchased at a London auction. He sent a boy to -bring it out. Oh how tempting it looked, beautifully bound in calf! We -handled it fondly, but turned regretfully away when he said that the -price was two hundred francs.</p> - -<p>"Do you not want it?" asked Monsieur Welter, astonished. "It is -indispensable for your work and you do not get a chance often to -purchase a set of Von Hammer. Never will you find it cheaper than this."</p> - -<p>"I do want it, and it isn't the price. I'll come back later, hoping you -will not have sold it."</p> - -<p>We each had a volume in our hands. I poked my nose between the pages of -mine to sniff the delightful odor to be found only in old books. -Monsieur looked at us, smiled, and said, "You mean that you haven't the -money. You will have it some day. No hurry. Give me your address and the -books will be sent around this afternoon."</p> - -<p>The delightful relationship thus began lasted until August, 1914, when -Welter (who never became naturalized<a name="page_083" id="page_083"></a> although his sons were in the -French army) had to flee to escape internment. His business was -sequestrated. German though he was, we never cease to mourn the only -expert bookman in Paris. We have tried a dozen since, some of them -charming men, but none with the slightest idea of how to sell books. -Welter had book-buyers all over the world. Whenever he came across rare -books in your line, he mailed them to you with the bill. If you did not -want them, you sent them back. Every three months, a statement of the -quarter's purchases came, and you sent a check when you had the money. -One's attention was brought to many valuable sources, and one was able -to buy books of immense value, the possibility of whose acquisition one -had never dreamed of.</p> - -<p>Monsieur Welter told me years later, when I recalled the Von Hammer -incident, that he didn't lose five hundred francs a year in bad bills. -"The dealer in old books who does not give all the credit the buyers -need is crazy," he said. "What man interested in the things I deal in -would think of cheating me? Your husband wanted Von Hammer. I saw that. -Any man who wanted Von Hammer would pay for it in time."</p> - -<p>We had never had a French book-seller offer us credit, much less send -books on approval when we had not ordered them.</p> - -<p>When I think of the hundreds and hundreds of books<a name="page_084" id="page_084"></a> we bought from -Welter, I realize one of the secrets of the inferiority of the French to -the Germans in business. The French cannot bring themselves to give -credit: they have an innate fear of being cheated, and understand -commercial transactions only in terms of cash. For years I have made a -point of watching French shopkeepers. Invariably they arrange that the -money is in their hands before they give you your package.</p> - -<p>The other night I went to the Champs-Elysées theatre to see a show given -by American soldiers of the 88th Division. One act opens with Hiram -Scarum bringing a military trunk into his hotel. Staggering under the -weight, Hiram hobbles across the stage, plants his trunk on the floor, -and sits down on it to mop his brow. He spies a paper across the room, -and investigates to find it is the tag belonging to the trunk. Pulling -himself together, Hiram spits on his hands, wearily shoulders the burden -again, and carries it across the room where he ties the tag to the -handle of the trunk. Then he picks up the trunk and carries it back -where he had first put it down. Hiram is like French commerce. The -Frenchman, with a sense of self-congratulation on his own industry, -carries the trunk to the tag. He is surprised to discover that while he -has been carrying the trunk to the tag, his German competitor has -carried a great many tags and has tied them to a great many trunks. We -hear much in these days about the war after the war. We are told by -Paris newspapers how<a name="page_085" id="page_085"></a> the French business men are going to capture trade -from Germany. How can the French win in the commercial game? I'm sure I -don't know. One is concerned lest the inability to take the large view -end in disappointment and disaster for the Frenchmen we love. We are -just as sure that our French friends will continue to carry the trunk to -the tag as we are that they ought to get a hustle on, give up their old -ways, and win the game.<a name="page_086" id="page_086"></a></p> - -<h3><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII<br /><br /> -<small>AT THE BIBLIOTHÈQUE NATIONALE</small></h3> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">T</span>HERE are many libraries in Paris. Some of them are so famous that I -ought to hesitate to call the Bibliothèque Nationale simply "the -library." But I do call it that, not because it is the largest in the -world (a fact that calls forth instinctively admiration and respect from -Americans), but because we love the Bibliothèque from long and habitual -association. It is a part of our life like our home.</p> - -<p>In the beginning of the fellowship year, Herbert came to realize that -books could do more for him than lecturers. A magnetic and enthusiastic -lecturer communicates his inspiration: but most professors are decidedly -non-conductors. And then, with rare exceptions, university professors -are not sources themselves. What they do is to stand between you and the -sources. When they have something original and suggestive to say, why -not let them speak to you from the covers of a book? If a book does not -hold you, you can throw it aside and take up another: the lecturer has -you fast for an hour, and you often suffer because his baby did not -sleep well the night before. But when the professor speaks from the -printed page, he has had a chance to<a name="page_087" id="page_087"></a> eliminate in his final revision -whatever effects of insomnia there may have been in the first draft. If -he hasn't done so, you do not need to read him.</p> - -<p>When students become full fledged post-graduates, they are at the -parting of the ways. Either they go directly to the sources, form -independent judgments, and produce original work as a result of -constructive thinking, or they continue to remain in intellectual -dependence upon their teachers. The latter alternative is the more -pleasant course. It requires less effort, and does not make one restless -and unhappy. The pleasant days of taking in are prolonged and the -agonizing days of giving out are postponed. But if a youngster is face -to face with books all day long every day, he either stops studying or -commences to produce for himself. Then, too, he is constantly under the -salutory influence of being confronted with his own appalling ignorance. -Whatever effort he makes, the volumes he summons from the shelves to his -desk keep reminding him that others have given years to what he hopes to -compass in days. The Bibliothèque teaches two lessons, and teaches them -with every tick of the clock from nine a. m. to four p. m.—humility and -industry.</p> - -<p>There was, of course, much to be learned at the Sorbonne. But my husband -had already passed through three years of post-graduate work, and was -tired of chasing around from one lecture to another. There were hours -between courses that could not be utilized,<a name="page_088" id="page_088"></a> and the habit of loafing is -the easiest formed in the world. It was because we were jealous of every -hour in the Golden Year that Herbert and I first turned from the -Sorbonne to the Bibliothèque. Later we came to realize that the only -thing in common between Salles de Conférences of the Sorbonne and the -Salle de Lecture of the Bibliothèque was the lack of fresh air—the -universal and unavoidable torture of indoors everywhere in France.</p> - -<p>Nine to four, five days in the week, Herbert lived in the Bibliothèque, -and I went there mornings—when Scrappie was not on my conscience! One -did not have to go out to lunch, as the fare of the <i>buvette</i> was quite -acceptable to those interested in books and manuscripts. The old law of -the time of Louis XIV holds good in this day. No light but that of -heaven has ever been introduced into the Bibliothèque. After gas was -discovered, the law was not changed. Even when electricity came, -presenting an infinitesimal risk of fire, the Government refused to have -the vast building wired. The prohibition of lights extends, of course, -to smoking. You cannot strike a match in the sacred precincts. So, after -lunch we used to go across the street and sit for half an hour in the -Square Louvois.</p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ilp088_lg.jpg"> -<img src="images/ilp088_sml.jpg" width="416" height="550" alt="Château de la Reine Blanche: Rue des Gobelins" title="Château de la Reine Blanche: Rue des Gobelins" /></a> -<br /> -<span class="caption">Château de la Reine Blanche: Rue des Gobelins</span> -</p> - -<p>Do you know the Square Louvois? I'll wager you do not. For when one -passes afoot up the Rue Richelieu, he is generally in a hurry to get to -the Bourse or the Grands Boulevards. If you go on the Clichy-Odéon<a name="page_089" id="page_089"></a> -bus, you whizz by one of the most delightful little green spots in the -city of green spots without noticing it. The Square Louvois has on the -side opposite the Bibliothèque Nationale a good-sized hotel, which was -named after the square. The boundary streets on the north and south are -lined with modest restaurants and coffee bars, within the purse of -<i>petits commis</i> and <i>midinettes</i>. In Europe there is not the hurry over -the mid-day meal that seems universal in America. Dyspepsia is unknown. -The humblest employee or laborer has from one hour and a half to two -hours off at noon. There is competition for benches and chairs in the -Square Louvois between twelve-thirty and two. Mothers who are their own -nursemaids have to resist the temporary encroachment of the Quarter's -business world. We from the Bibliothèque make an additional demand. We -must have our smoke and fresh air. And we never tire of the noble -monument to the rivers of France that is the fountain in the center of -the Square.</p> - -<p>"Funny, isn't it," said I, "how things turn out to be different from -what you expected—your thesis for instance. Gallicanism is simply a -closed door for the present."</p> - -<p>"I tackled too big a subject," admitted Herbert.</p> - -<p>We were smoking in the Square after lunching in the buffet of the -Bibliothèque Nationale with the Scholar from Oxford.<a name="page_090" id="page_090"></a></p> - -<p>"I'll wager," said Herbert, "that those greasy fellows in the <i>salle de -travail</i> discovered long ago what I have just learned. You start with a -general subject and a century. You narrow down until you have a phase -and a decade. If I ever do Gallicanism, it'll be limited to the -influence of the conversion of Henry of Navarre upon the movement. I -could work till my hair was grey developing that. But I should be -narrow-minded and dry as bones when I finished."</p> - -<p>"Ah! You must not quarrel with the greasy fellows," put in the Scholar -from Oxford. "That is research. They are not narrow: they are -specialists." The Scholar is a canny Scotchman who gives his r's their -full value, and then some.</p> - -<p>Allowing the letter r to be heard for sure is another point of contact -and sympathy between Scott and Frank. Just as the cooler Teutonic -temperament seeks the sun, and has been seeking the sun right down -through history, in trying to reach the Mediterranean, the cooler Scotch -temperament seeks the sun where it is nearest to be found—in France. It -is the attraction of opposites.</p> - -<p>"You Americans," said the Scholar, "with your Rocky Mountains and your -Niagaras naturally approach research from the general to the particular. -It is far easier for men born in an older civilization to begin with a -specialist's point of view."</p> - -<p>"I know, I know," said Herbert, "I had to work that<a name="page_091" id="page_091"></a> out and I had to -change my whole subject, too. I wobbled from Gallicanism to Ottoman -history."</p> - -<p>"That's no sin," declared Alick. "A man engrossed in research is human. -Going to Turkey was bound to influence your thinking. The traditions of -France still hold you, but the memory of Turkey is strong enough to -change the trend of your work. Go on with your origins of the Ottoman -Empire and be thankful you have discovered a line off the beaten track."</p> - -<p>"Yes," I cried, "and for goodness' sake stick to constructive ideas. You -research-fiends waste too much time trying to prove that the other -fellow is wrong. Instead of remaining scientists you get to be -quibblers. But I must leave you now. I cannot put my whole day into the -Bibliothèque. I have to mix up tea-kettles and dusting with pamphlets -and cards for the file."</p> - -<p>As Herbert and the Scholar from Oxford passed by the solemn guard at the -door of the <i>salle de travail</i>, I lingered in the lobby musing about -what we had been saying. I leaned for a minute against the pedestal of -the Sèvres vase and watched Herbert and Alick take their places side by -side at the old inked desks. I looked through the great polished plate -glass that makes the <i>salle de travail</i> and the <i>travailleurs</i> seem like -a picture in its frame. I knew from experience that once the two men had -got their noses in their books they would not look up. There was no use -in waiting for a smile.<a name="page_092" id="page_092"></a></p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>"Boc ou demi?" asked the waiter.</p> - -<p>Herbert and I and the Scholar from Oxford were lunching together in the -Quarter. The Bibliothèque was closed for cleaning, so it was an off day.</p> - -<p>Herbert and the Scholar asked for <i>bocs</i>, and I thinking to be modest -chose a <i>demi</i>. My eyes nearly dropped out of my head when the men got -glasses of beer and before me stood a formidable mug that held a pint. -Emilie told me afterwards that if I wanted that much beer again the -waiter would understand better if I ordered "<i>un sérieux</i>."</p> - -<p>The Scholar from Oxford had the habit of living in our apartment when he -came to Paris. Memories of hospitality on the part of himself and his -wife when we were on our honeymoon in Oxford were fresh, and when the -time came for the Scholar's next look at manuscripts in the Bibliothèque -Nationale, there was no question in our mind—nor in his, for that -matter—as to where he should stay. We set up a folding-bed in the -dining-room and tucked him in. No matter if we did not come back to the -Rue Servandoni at meal time. If we did not want to bother getting up a -meal, we put the apartment key into our pocket and sallied forth on what -we called a baby-carriage promenade. There was always some little place -where we could eat when we got hungry. Once we dined in a <i>crémerie -chaude</i> for no better reason than the attraction of a diverting sign on -the window—<i>Five o'clock à toute heure</i>.<a name="page_093" id="page_093"></a></p> - -<p>To-day we had decided against Brogart's, our usual haunt, on the rue de -Rivoli. At Brogart's you could lunch for Fr. 1.25 with the <i>plat du -jour</i> and a satisfying range of choice in the fixings that went with it. -It was 1.20 if you invested in tickets. Then you were given a -napkin-ring to mark your serviette, and a numbered hole in the open-face -cupboard screwed to the wall beside the high desk where Madame sat while -she raked in the money and kept a sharp eye on her clients. There was a -division of opinion between Mother and me during a flying visit she made -us just before Christmas. We took her to Brogart's. She saw a fellow, -some kind of a wop with a greasy face and long hair, pick his teeth with -a fork. She never went back to Brogart's again. They don't do that in -Philadelphia. At least if they do, Mother had never happened to see -them. Herbert and Alick and I were less difficult to please. To-day it -was only because we had wandered far afield that Brogart's did not see -us. We had found a table that pleased us in a restaurant that bore the -sign "Au rendez-vous des cochers." We were not looking for a novel -experience. We were not tourists, you understand. It was on account of -the budget.</p> - -<p>Everybody knows that the cochers of Paris are no fools. They can drive a -horse, but they can drive a bargain too and afterwards settle down on -their high box and fling you shrewd observations about art or politics -or what not. But there is more to it than that.<a name="page_094" id="page_094"></a> When you have lived a -while in the Latin quarter you know who are the expert judges of -cooking. In the old days, the meal you could buy in a tiny dark -<i>rendez-vous des cochers</i> was as tasty as anything you could enjoy on a -Grand Boulevard at ten times the price. Minor details like a table-cloth -and clean forks and knives with each new plate are not missed when the -<i>gigot</i> is done to a turn and the <i>sauce piquante</i> is just right. The -<i>rendez-vous des cochers</i> restaurant has one distinct advantage over the -swell place on the Boulevards. If you are in a hurry to go to the -Concert Rouge and have had no dinner, you can stop for a second at a cab -driver's restaurant while you buy a portion of <i>frites</i>. The luscious -golden potatoes, sprinkled with salt, are wrapped in a paper, and you -consume them as you walk up the Rue de Tournon. They don't mind babies -there. Scrappie was asleep in her carriage. Monsier le Patron came out -and rolled the carriage ever so gently under the awning beside the glass -screen by the restaurant door. He beamed at us benevolently, then -stepped over to explain that he was a <i>père de famille</i> and that -<i>courants d'air</i> inflame babies' eyes.</p> - -<p>The Scholar from Oxford is a Scotchman with the Scotch affection for -France. Before the war he came to France and Italy every year to make -enigmatical notes in his own handwriting reduced to cramped proportions. -The notes were placed within columns that were inked out years ago when -he began the monumental<a name="page_095" id="page_095"></a> work. The columns are drawn across the short -dimension of the paper, so that you have to turn the thing sidewise to -read it.</p> - -<p>There is a variety of ink. The row of notes at the top is all in the -same color. Three quarters of an inch in black mark the first year's -hours spent in the Bibliothèque. Run your eye down a space the width of -your thumb and the ink changes. Count how many ink colors you see, and -you'll know how many times the Scholar from Oxford has come abroad on -his grant. He carries his papers in a shiny black oil cloth <i>serviette</i>. -He was modestly imperturbable when with my usual vehemence I gave him a -good scolding because he confessed he had no copy of the precious -sheets.</p> - -<p>"So worked the old monks in the days of the Reformation," said I, "when -a fellow spent his life time laboriously copying the Bible with his own -hand."</p> - -<p>"Ah," mused the Scotchman with his eyes far away, "they were great -scholars, the monks."</p> - -<p>"But it was slow," I protested, "often a man did not live long enough to -illuminate the device at the end of his chapter. Only a great enthusiasm -carried his successors to the end."</p> - -<p>"Without them, think what we should have lost!"</p> - -<p>"But they worked like that, you stubborn one, because there were no -typewriters or secretaries. You cannot persuade me, Alick, that there is -any extra virtue in using their methods today. You should adopt modern<a name="page_096" id="page_096"></a> -methods so that you could accomplish more. You don't seem to realize -that thirty years from now the world will call you what you are, -Britain's greatest Latin scholar."</p> - -<p>Unconvinced that mediaeval methods belong to mediaeval times, the -Scholar from Oxford lit another cigarette. He still persists in carrying -around Europe, in spite of wars, his priceless record of years of labor. -But he has since become Professor of Humanity at a great University. The -chair that he holds dates back to the day of the methods to which he -remains faithful.</p> - -<p>Home again, I was making the coffee. But I was not out of the -conversation. Our kitchenette was six feet from the dining-room table. -Herbert started to light his cigar.</p> - -<p>"Ah, my lad," said the Scholar from Oxford, staying Herbert's hand, "you -haven't asked the lady's permission!"</p> - -<p>"I guess I can smoke in my dining-room," answered Herbert.</p> - -<p>"You have to ask my permission then," laughed Alick, "before you smoke -in my bedroom."</p> - -<p>Thank heaven, the Bibliothèque Nationale does not make my husband and my -guest stupid. If I could not look forward to jolly evenings, I should -make war upon research work, much as I like Bibliothèque Nationale.<a name="page_097" id="page_097"></a></p> - -<h3><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX<br /><br /> -<small>EMILIE IN MONOLOGUE</small></h3> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">"C</span>ARROTS cost money!"</p> - -<p>"Yes, Emilie?"</p> - -<p>"I had to throw several sous' worth at your window before you got awake -this morning, and when they rolled back some of them fell in the gutter. -Old Sempé saw me take them, and I'm sure he'll ask you to pay for them," -said Emilie, nodding her round head with its well-oiled straight black -hair. Emilie was no more gifted hirsutely than in other feminine -adornments. Since the day we found her cleaning our apartment, at the -request of the Sempés, I had been studying her carefully to decide -whether new clothes and soap would help her appearance. Clean and togged -out in some of my things, she was not radically changed. But her heart -of gold shone in her eyes, and I was not long in learning to love her.</p> - -<p>"You never hear that bell," continued Emilie. "What a conscience you -must have to sleep that way. The carrots are cheaper than paying me from -eight o'clock when you sleep on."</p> - -<p>"Never mind about the carrots," I laughed. "We<a name="page_098" id="page_098"></a> need you for an alarm -clock, and we did not wake up until one fell on the bed."</p> - -<p>Emilie was my first servant, and I did not have her all the time. All my -life I had been demanding things from servants, but I had never bossed -one in her housework. I dreaded tackling the problem. Emilie was the -easy solution. The <i>femme de ménage</i> system is one of the advantages of -life in Paris. You do not have to house your servant, and she is not in -the way in a small apartment when you do not want her there. You can -have as much or as little of the <i>femme de ménage</i> as you like, or (as -was more often the case in my first year of Paris housekeeping) as you -can afford to pay for. I put Emilie out of the house when the clock -showed the number of times forty centimes per hour that I could spare. -Forty centimes per hour, did I say? Yes, and that was ten centimes more -than others paid in our street. Now it is a franc per hour, and the -<i>femmes de ménage</i> of 1919 growl most of the time and stop work when -they want to whether your house-cleaning or laundry is finished or not. -Emilie set in deliberately to attach herself to me and accepted all my -vagaries. I flatter myself that it was not so much for the extra two -sous per hour as for the fact that she liked me. My queer ways -interested her. She could never understand why I washed Scrappie's -silk-and-wool undershirts myself, but was willing to pay her several -francs for sitting on the coal-box reading<a name="page_099" id="page_099"></a> a newspaper or dozing for -hours while I went to the opera.</p> - -<p>Emilie was a vaudeville singer and dancer who had lost her figure and -most of her teeth before the bi-decennial of her stage career.</p> - -<p>"To think, Madame, that a few years ago the posters on the <i>Kiosque</i> at -the corner of this street used to announce my number at the music-halls, -and to-day I'm down on the floor washing your tiles!"</p> - -<p>I was pulling the baby's wool stockings on drying-boards.</p> - -<p>"You say you used to be on the stage?" I led on sociably.</p> - -<p>"Yes, Madame, <i>comique excentrique</i>. That is why I cannot cook. My -profession required me always to eat in restaurants, but I can wash -dishes, clean rooms and build fires. Thanks to God, for the service you -need, I know how to mind babies. I never had anyone to help me with -Marcelle."</p> - -<p>Marcelle was a fifteen year old girl, hare-lipped and cross-eyed, but -her mother loved her dearly. Emilie did not say who Marcelle's father -was. But she was not as reticent as the woman of Samaria, and would have -scorned to come to me under false pretenses. <i>Tout savoir est tout -pardonner.</i> If you cannot live up to the spirit of that motto, do not -plan a life without worry for yourself in Paris.</p> - -<p>"Last year, before I found you, Madame, Marcelle<a name="page_100" id="page_100"></a> and I were out of -work. When you came in here in July we had earned only fifty francs in -two months. Marcelle did not get her job as laundry apprentice until -October. Oh no, we didn't exactly starve. You can get cold-boiled -potatoes and they sell bits of bread and left over coffee very cheap at -night when the restaurants close."</p> - -<p>Here she sat up to wring her floor-rag into the brown water of the pail.</p> - -<p>"I hope you'll not regret spoiling me the way you do. You let me talk, -but you can trust me not to forget myself. Take this afternoon when -those ladies are coming for tea. You know how I wait on the table. That -is a rôle. I get my happiness in considering everything a rôle. I play -at being <i>femme de ménage</i>. These dirty old clothes are my costume: the -bucket and mop are stage properties."</p> - -<p>"Do you like having company at tea?" I broke in.</p> - -<p>"That depends."</p> - -<p>"On what?"</p> - -<p>"On who they are." Here Emilie made up her mind to speak with firmness. -"Now, without indiscretion, Madame, the ladies you asked for this -afternoon are not interesting. I was here when two of them called and -you told them to come to tea."</p> - -<p>"Why not?"</p> - -<p>"The Latin Quarter is full of women like that. I know. I have worked for -them. I have been cleaning<a name="page_101" id="page_101"></a> at studios and apartments like yours in this -neighborhood ever since I left the stage. I have seen what these women -paint. Oh la! la! Sometimes you cannot tell the canvas from the palette, -Cubism they call it, to hide the fact that they cannot draw and could -not reproduce a figure or any recognizable object to save their lives. -No, I'm not talking of beginners. I'm talking about the old ones, the -women, Americans and English, who do not know how to paint kitchen -chairs or carry a tune, and yet art schools and music academies flourish -on their fees. They were misfits where they came from. It pays their -relatives to send them money every month so they won't come home. But -why should Paris—that is, our part of Paris—be the dumping ground? You -say that there are more men of that kind than women? Yes, oh yes, many -more. But then, after a certain time men give up posing. They do not -mind being taken at their real value. When they are failures, they admit -it. The women keep on pretending."</p> - -<p>Emilie was as good as her word. With a shining face and hair well -slicked back from her ears she appeared at tea time. The ample front was -covered by a clean white apron. She stood at my elbow, her black beady -eyes keen to see what I needed before I asked for it. <i>Oui, Madame</i> and -<i>voilà , Madame</i> came as softly as though, born in a pantry, she had -always served tea. But she could not keep up the play without<a name="page_102" id="page_102"></a> the -relief of an occasional entr'acte. When she brought me a pot of fresh -tea and guests happened to be looking the other way, she would give a -broad wink and bolt from the room. When the guests left, the kitchen -door was closed.</p> - -<p>"I ought to have made one more appearance, Madame," said Emilie a few -moments later as she settled herself comfortably in the steamer-chair -and took a pinch of snuff. "The model servant would have helped them on -with their coats. But I had all I could stand."</p> - -<p>"But you did very well, Emilie."</p> - -<p>"I got more fun out of it than you did. I said that you were wasting -your time on those people. What did they do? Told you you looked badly. -Asked why you were so tired. Advised you to get a doctor for the baby's -cough. And you think they meant well? That it was solicitude?"</p> - -<p>Here Emilie laughed heartily and wiped the snuff off her hands with the -greasy blue apron that now replaced the white one.</p> - -<p>"You are <i>naïve</i>, dear Madame. Women love to tease each other that way, -especially those who are not well or strong themselves. They hate you -for not having ills. If you told them that you had a physical -examination last week and the doctor said you were in perfect condition, -they would shake their heads gravely<a name="page_103" id="page_103"></a> and warn you that you are -underweight for your height."</p> - -<p>"They did make me mad, I confess, when they volunteered advice about -Scrappie. They used to scold me for nursing my baby and they scolded me -to-day when they heard I had stopped nursing her."</p> - -<p>"That's it! That's it!" cried Emilie. "Next time they talk like that, -show them the little thing, beautiful <i>rose de mai</i> that she is, and ask -them in what way she looks badly."</p> - -<p>Throughout the year at Twenty-One, Emilie was a tower of strength to me. -When we sent our pitchpine back to William Shakespeare and packed our -rugs and brasses, she was on hand as she had been the day we set up our -Lares and Penates in the Rue Servandoni. She urged that we take her to -Constantinople with us. We did, and never regretted it—if only for her -comments on the Turks and Greeks and Armenians. When she realized that -we needed other care than she could give us, Emilie quietly dismissed -herself and went back to France to live in Bordeaux. We see her there -occasionally. She still wears my old hats and blouses. She is still a -<i>femme de ménage</i>. And Marcelle has continued to wield the flat-iron.<a name="page_104" id="page_104"></a></p> - -<h3><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X<br /><br /> -<small>HUNTING APACHES</small></h3> - -<p><span class="letra">I</span> WAS bathing Christine before the fire. Gabry and Esther came in. The -two girls settled themselves in steamer chairs.</p> - -<p>"We want to know if you will let us come and sleep in your dining-room -to-night," asked Esther.</p> - -<p>"Sure," I answered, "but, mercy me, the bed in there is a little bit of -a narrow one...."</p> - -<p>"That doesn't matter," said Gabry.</p> - -<p>"No, indeed," agreed Esther. "We can cuddle up close and we shan't be in -it very long."</p> - -<p>The baby began to howl. I had been listening to the girls and the side -of the tub had got hot.</p> - -<p>"Poor little dear," said Esther. "Her mother forgot her and she began to -parboil."</p> - -<p>I had the baby safely on my lap now wrapped in towels. Emilie carried -away the bath tub.</p> - -<p>"What's going on to-night?" I asked.</p> - -<p>"Well, it's a fling," said Esther. "You know how it is up at the Hostel. -They are so fussy—you would think it was an old ladies' home. Two boys -that came over in our ship have been studying forestry in some German -school. They are here for the holidays. We<a name="page_105" id="page_105"></a> got them to promise to take -us with them to-night to see the town—café stuff, you know."</p> - -<p>"Where are you going?" I asked.</p> - -<p>"To a cellar where they do the Apache dance."</p> - -<p>"You don't want to see that," I suggested. "It isn't real. Just a plant -to catch parties like you. Why Herbert and I saw that stunt done in a -cinema the other night. There was a French couple back of us. They -giggled over it. The man said, 'Wait a minute. The police are sure to -come in after that party of Americans are comfortably settled with some -drinks.'"</p> - -<p>"You don't mean it," said Esther. "Don't take the edge off our spree."</p> - -<p>"I'm not taking off edges. Only in the cinema the other night it was -instructive the way the policemen came in. After they had driven out the -most murderous dancing Apaches, the Americans thought it was too hot and -fled. You ought to have seen the way fake Apaches and barmaids laughed -at them afterwards. What is your plan for the night?"</p> - -<p>"First to dinner in some spicy café, then the theatre. We're going to -see <i>Chantecler</i>. Everybody's crazy about it."</p> - -<p>"Excepting people who think it is silly," put in Gabry.</p> - -<p>"Well, if it's silly to see actors dressed up in peacock feathers," -cried Esther, "we'll have a good time. And there'll be supper somewhere -afterwards."<a name="page_106" id="page_106"></a></p> - -<p>"Going to make a regular night of it, aren't you?"</p> - -<p>"That's just the point. Helen, you're a dear to be so sympathetic. Up at -the student Hostel...."</p> - -<p>"Did they object there to your going?"</p> - -<p>"They don't know a thing about it. It would never do to tell them."</p> - -<p>"Why?"</p> - -<p>"They'd begin to preach," protested Esther. "A pack of school teachers -anyway. That's why we want to spend the night here. We'll just explain, -you understand, that we're going to spend the night with their dear -lovely Mrs. Gibbons. And they'll never know a thing about the fun."</p> - -<p>The girls were moving towards the door.</p> - -<p>"The boys will come here to get us," called Esther. "We'll come down -about half-past six. Herbert won't mind, will he?"</p> - -<p>"We must move along now," said Gabry. "I have a singing lesson."</p> - -<p>"And I have a fitting at the dressmaker's," added Esther. "Ta, ta, -Helen."</p> - -<p>I felt in my bones that I didn't quite know what to do about it and -would wait until Herbert came home.</p> - -<p>When Herbert returned from the Bibliothèque Nationale at noon, I told -him about my visitors.</p> - -<p>"Why on earth—" he began to comment.</p> - -<p>"Oh, they are going to do the Grand Boulevards with<a name="page_107" id="page_107"></a> a couple of young -American fellows who are in Paris for a vacation," I said.</p> - -<p>"What's the matter with those girls," exclaimed Herbert. "What's gotten -into their heads? Do they think they can come here and start off on an -expedition like that? If they were older, it would be different. If -they're afraid to tell the Hostel people, it shows they know well enough -it isn't just the thing for them to do."</p> - -<p>"I thought so myself."</p> - -<p>"Well, why didn't you right up and say it from the beginning?"</p> - -<p>"Girls wouldn't take it from me. My game was to be absorbent and get the -whole story. They're nearly as old as I am. I couldn't dictate to them. -I don't know how to get out of it."</p> - -<p>"I see," mused Herbert.</p> - -<p>The girls came in about six o'clock to dress for dinner. They had their -suitcases and some flowers, and Esther brought her light blue hat in a -paper bundle. I had told them to telephone their boys to come to dinner -with us before starting out for the theater. This was the only way I -could think of to manage things so that Herbert could see them before -they started away.</p> - -<p>Esther put on the pretty bright blue dress she had bought at the model -shop to go with the light blue hat. She placed the hat, still in its -paper cover, on the top<a name="page_108" id="page_108"></a> of the wardrobe in the dining-room. Gabry -played with Scrappie, sitting on the floor beside her, where she was -tied in her papa's steamer chair. Esther perched herself on the stool in -the kitchen and watched me frying sausages. Herbert came in after a bit -and wheeled right around from the front door into the kitchen. He didn't -have to walk. It wasn't far enough.</p> - -<p>"Hello, Esther, what are you up to?" said Herbert.</p> - -<p>"Hello, Herb."</p> - -<p>"Come on in the other room. I want to talk to you," said Herbert.</p> - -<p>He closed the door and I heard them talking hard.</p> - -<p>"Gee!" said Gabry. "Esther sounds mad, doesn't she?"</p> - -<p>"Herbert's telling her what he thinks of the party," I said.</p> - -<p>"He doesn't want us to go, does he?" said Gabry.</p> - -<p>"Oh, he's not breaking up the party. Not a bit of it. He only says that -seeing nobody of your crowd knows French and seeing that your mother -made us promise to look after you, he wants to know what café and -theatre you're going to."</p> - -<p>Just as a rather mad-looking Esther and a smiling Herbert appeared, -there was a ring at the bell, and in came the boys, two rosy-cheeked -American youngsters. They came into the kitchen to talk to me a moment, -and then Herbert took them into the dining-room to<a name="page_109" id="page_109"></a> explain things. I -heard him talking with them, nice American chaps they were, not looking -for trouble a bit. Not the type out for the booze, just bright -youngsters who were going on the boulevards out of curiosity.</p> - -<p>We lighted up the candles in the bedroom-study. Herbert put some new -ones in the candlesticks on the piano and we soon got things going. One -of the boys was taken into the bedroom-study to play a tune on the -piano, and soon Esther cheered up with a face more or less of an April -one.</p> - -<p>"Hello, boys," said Herbert. "The girls have been telling us—Mrs. -Gibbons and I want you to have dinner with us here first so we can talk -over the party."</p> - -<p>"Sure," said John. "We have tickets for <i>Chantecler</i>."</p> - -<p>We sat down and tackled <i>coquilles Saint-Jacques</i>.</p> - -<p>"You don't want to get in any trouble over this game," Herbert went on. -"Not speaking French and all that...."</p> - -<p>"That's so, too," said Joe.</p> - -<p>"<i>Chantecler</i> is fine and dandy," said Herbert. "If you want supper -afterwards, here's the address of a nice little café."</p> - -<p>"Sunday school picnic," moaned Esther.</p> - -<p>"Esther's inconsolable. She thinks I'm spoiling the fun. But these boys -don't want to get into a doubtful little hole. You don't know what -you're doing, Esther," said Herbert.<a name="page_110" id="page_110"></a></p> - -<p>"I'm as old as your wife, so there."</p> - -<p>"You fellows do not want to spend a terrible lot of money. I know you -don't. Esther is mad as a hornet at me because I am going to squelch her -idea of going to Montmartre or Les Halles for a hot old time. I don't -want to seem a poor sport, but you know some of those cafés are fakes, -others are what I shall not mention, and there is a third category of -really dangerous ones. The entire business is carried on to catch and -mulct tourists. If you happen to drift into the fake places, nothing -more serious would happen than getting stuck good and hard. You would -simply have to pay the waiter whatever was on the bill. If you were -considerably older and knew how to speak French, the slumming might -prove interesting—for one evening. But for you the game is not worth -the candle. I don't mind your going for a jaunt along the boulevards, -and I can tell you some of the cafés that are all right. But as for Les -Halles—that doesn't go."</p> - -<p>The boys were sensible. They fell in with our suggestions without -discussion. After dinner the four went off to their show. Next morning I -heard Esther telling Scrappie all about it.</p> - -<p>"The W.C.T.U. wasn't in it, baby. <i>Chantecler</i> was written to please -kids of your age. There was nobody in that Y.M.C.A. café your daddy sent -us to. My blue hat was the most conspicuous object in the place. We -didn't see a thing. No <i>types</i>, no wickedness,<a name="page_111" id="page_111"></a> no models, more than we -ordinarily see around the Quarter."</p> - -<p>Gabry's eyeglasses were shaking on her nose.</p> - -<p>"Tell her what Monsieur Sempé said," urged Gabry.</p> - -<p>"Yes, baby," said Esther, who was laughing in spite of herself now. "Our -mama boys wanted to be polite in the American way last night. They -brought us here and didn't want to leave us until they saw us inside -your saintly doors. But Monsieur Sempé stopped them down at the street -door. He simply yelled at the boys, '<i>Ça ne se fait pas à Paris, -Messieurs</i>.'</p> - -<p>"No," concluded Esther, "from start to finish, baby, there was nothing -about our party that would have hurt your lily-white soul."<a name="page_112" id="page_112"></a></p> - -<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI<br /><br /> -<small>DRIFTWOOD</small></h3> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">I</span> WAS nursing Scrappie. Herbert came into the bedroom and started to -speak slowly as if he wasn't sure how I would take what he was going to -say.</p> - -<p>"Fellow out here who is hungry. What shall I do?"</p> - -<p>"Feed him," said I. Herbert did not have to tell me that he had no money -to give the man to buy a meal. "Couldn't you ask him to dinner if he is -all right?"</p> - -<p>"Well, he is sort of an old chap," said Herbert doubtfully.</p> - -<p>I lighted a candle and put it on the end of the mantel-piece nearest to -the baby's bed. She was perfectly contented to go to sleep alone if she -could watch a candle flicker.</p> - -<p>When I had settled Scrappie and opened the window and closed the door -gently, I went into the dining-room and found Mr. Thompson. Sparse grey -hair, watery blue eyes, a talkative individual who hoped he was not -bothering us too much. He wore a frock coat with shiny revers. His cuffs -were unstarched and frayed, but they were clean. Herbert had brought in -some cold boiled potatoes. In those days you bought them<a name="page_113" id="page_113"></a> cooked at the -<i>charcuterie</i> for the same price that you got them raw at the -greengrocer's. It was a good scheme. You could peel them and slice them -in a jiffy,—then warm them with eggs broken up and scrambled in the pan -beside them. This with cheese and nuts and liqueurs made a meal without -using too much gas. You did it yourself, using no more energy than would -be taken out of you if it had been done by a cook.</p> - -<p>Mr. Thompson did not lie when he told Herbert he was hungry. He had -three helpings of everything. He said little during the meal, but he did -not eat with his knife. When it came to cigars, he pushed back his chair -and spread out his hands to the <i>boulet</i> fire. Casting his eye from the -molding to the floor, he included the dining-room and all the rest of -the apartment with a sweeping gesture and a couple of "Ha-Has."</p> - -<p>"From the looks of this joint, you two youngsters haven't any more money -than you need. This is a good joke on me, too good a joke to keep to -myself. You have given me a square deal along with a square meal, and I -appreciate it. I have lived for years in this Quarter and have earned -precious little money. Sort of a down-and-outer. I am, I suppose, one of -the Quarter's charity patients. Don't worry. I am not going to beg of -you. First time I came to Paris, it was by way of England. I stayed a -long time in Oxford and made friends with the Cowley Fathers. Then I<a name="page_114" id="page_114"></a> -buried myself in the Bibliothèque Nationale, for I was starting a thesis -in church history."</p> - -<p>"Indeed," cried Herbert. "I have a fellowship in Church History myself. -What is your subject?"</p> - -<p>"Religious orders after the Reformation," said Mr. Thompson.</p> - -<p>"Have you published anything?" asked my husband.</p> - -<p>"No," said Mr. Thompson. "Queer thing life is. We get loose from our -moorings when we least expect it. You won't believe me, but American -generosity was my undoing!"</p> - -<p>"How could that be?" I put in.</p> - -<p>"Don't you know," said Mr. Thompson, "that we are not as much the -captain of our souls as we like to think?"</p> - -<p>He was in a steamer chair now, and lying back, he blew smoke at the -ceiling.</p> - -<p>"But you were saying, Mr. Thompson," said I.</p> - -<p>"I was saying more than I ought to," he mused.</p> - -<p>He had forgotten his cigar. Herbert twisted a bit of newspaper, touched -it to the glowing <i>boulets</i> and held it out to Mr. Thompson. Matches are -expensive in France.</p> - -<p>"Oh!" he started. "I was away back years ago. Thank you. I was wrong a -minute ago when I told you I had said too much. I have said too little. -You have made me feel at home, and I shall be frank with you. It -sometimes wrecks a fellow's career<a name="page_115" id="page_115"></a> if he receives just a little too -much help. What I am talking about is quite a different thing from what -I may have suggested just now. Not a person spoiled with too much money. -But I was spoiled by the fact that at a certain time, I was able to put -my hands on ever so little money when it was not good for me. Not the -money itself, you understand, but the fact that the game is so easy."</p> - -<p>"But I don't understand," I protested.</p> - -<p>"Of course you don't," said Mr. Thompson.</p> - -<p>He threw the butt of his cigar on the floor, put his foot on it, and -took another from Herbert's box.</p> - -<p>"Sorry I haven't better cigars to give you," said my husband. "These -<i>carrés à deux sous</i> just suit my speed."</p> - -<p>Alas for the <i>carrés à deux sous</i>! Of them as of many of our joys we -must say Ichabod.</p> - -<p>"The time came when I ran out of money—but altogether out of money, you -understand. I waited until I was pretty hungry before I told anybody. -Then the American Consul did something for me. Somebody gave me a pair -of shoes. Other persons gave me money, and the day was saved. Again I -became absorbed in my work, to be interrupted by poverty. This time I -went to the pastor of the American Church. He looked me over. Must have -thought I was a good case, as he saw to it that several people did -something for me. After all, it comes easily, and I have lived like -that<a name="page_116" id="page_116"></a> for years. Sometimes my clothes don't fit very well, but what is -the difference. It has grown upon me until I am utterly unfit to earn my -living. You get nothing twice from the Consulate, and churches are not -good for much. Besides, the churches keep a list of dead-beats. It is -the individual Americans one meets that give away their money -carelessly. I found somebody who listened sympathetically to my -hard-luck story. The story itself was no lie the first time. But it was -so easy—there was the temptation. I tell you frankly that I fell. I -discovered that I could do it again when the hard-luck story was not -true."</p> - -<p>"I hunted you up," continued Mr. Thompson, "with the idea of getting -something out of you. I suppose if I put as much energy into holding -down a job as I do this, I could earn my living. But the habit of living -on the kindness of other people has me in its grip, and I do not stick -to work when it is given to me. I have been pretty faithful to the -Bibliothèque all these years, for it is heated there. I can read my -paper, write some letters and study a little on my church history. The -thesis is growing slowly, but that is all I can say I have done these -twelve years.</p> - -<p>"There are other people who do the same thing, you know. You have met -them without knowing it. Artist fellows, youngsters as well as old ones, -understand the game. Do you know how they work it? It is known now, for -instance, that you receive informally<a name="page_117" id="page_117"></a> every Wednesday. There are other -days and hosts of women. So it goes. A fellow can get along very cheaply -like that. Pay thirty or forty francs a month for a place to live and -work, two sous each morning for <i>café au lait</i> passed across the -zinc—good coffee too, as you perhaps know. They let you bring your roll -with you if you like. It will cost a sou. One roll and a cup of coffee -is enough after you get used to it. Your only large expense is the noon -meal.</p> - -<p>"Generally the evening meal you can pick up. You find in the social -register the names of all the ladies, kind and unobservant, who have -days at home. You stick a big paper on your wall and mark it off in -seven columns, one for each day of the week. You make a list of the -women who have receiving days, and you drop in somewhere every afternoon -about five-thirty. The tea party is pretty well finished, but there is -usually plenty of food left. The ladies have to provide for more than -really come. You do that yourself, Mrs. Gibbons. The ladies do not -notice that you eat more than one or two sandwiches and plenty of cake. -If they do notice it, it makes them feel happy, and there is your -supper. If you do it systematically with a list like mine, you do not -have to go to Mrs. X's house more than twice in the winter. A lot of -people in the American colony have receiving days. It is easy enough to -know them. All of the boys know a few, and we take each other around. -The artist fellows have a cinch.<a name="page_118" id="page_118"></a> All they have to do, if they have a -conscience, is to present the hostesses to whom they are the most -indebted, with a couple of worthless sketches. Nobody ever suspects -anything.</p> - -<p>"You can slide in and out in the Latin Quarter and meet any number of -charming people. They never stay too long and there are always new ones -coming in. No hostess is superior to the flattery implied when her tea -is appreciated. I have learned to praise sandwiches so that I can get a -fair supply. I write an article occasionally, and that covers my rent. -Clothes are an easy matter. Any number of people in Paris will give away -clothes. You see I am a deadbeat. I was a deadbeat to-day when I saw in -the <i>Herald</i> that Mrs. Gibbons was going to be at home this afternoon."</p> - -<p>Mr. Thompson got up to go.</p> - -<p>"Where did you put your overcoat?" asked Herbert.</p> - -<p>"I have none," said my guest.</p> - -<p>Herbert's eyes met mine. I telegraphed "Yes."</p> - -<p>Certainly we gave Herbert's old overcoat to Mr. Thompson. As we talked -about it afterwards, Herbert observed,</p> - -<p>"We could not help giving him the coat, could we?"</p> - -<p>"No, of course not."</p> - -<p>We never saw Mr. Thompson again. It isn't in the picture. Driftwood!<a name="page_119" id="page_119"></a></p> - -<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII<br /><br /> -<small>SOME OF OUR GUESTS</small></h3> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">T</span>HE best fun of having a home is sharing it with your friends. But you -deprive yourself of this fun—in a very large measure, at least—if you -make entertaining a burden or a great expense. In the Rue Servandoni we -tried out theories about hospitality that have become firmly rooted -family principles. Guests are <i>always</i> welcome, and we never feed them -better than we feed ourselves. Company is the rule: not the exception. I -suppose my Irish temperament made this possible in the beginning. Now we -would not give up our way of living for anything in the world. By the -standards of my own family I am not regarded as a good housekeeper. I am -finicky only about cleanliness and the quality and quantity of food. The -rest doesn't matter. That is, I have no almanac to show me when to put -away the winter clothes and when to do Spring house-cleaning. I do not -get "all out of kelter" if the wash is done on Thursday instead of -Monday: and I never "put up" fruit or bake. I buy my preserves from the -grocer and my bread and cake from the baker.</p> - -<p>When I look back on Rue Servandoni days and try to analyze my attitude -towards housekeeping, I think<a name="page_120" id="page_120"></a> first that I may have been demoralized by -living through the Armenian massacres just before going to Paris. It was -enough to make me happy in the morning to realize that my husband and -baby were alive. Did I have a new sense of values, born of suffering? Or -perhaps it wasn't anything as high-brow or pious as that. Perhaps it was -the inheritance of shiftlessness that came down to me from the ancient -Irish kings. This curious form of original sin persists and makes me -able to agree with one who sang when things all got messed up,</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">"The cow's in the hammock,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">The baby's in the lake,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">The cat's in the garbage:<br /></span> -<span class="i1">W<small>HAT</small> difference does it make?"<br /></span> -</div></div> - -<p>Now I do not claim that my way is altogether right and that my maternal -Pennsylvania Dutch strain does not occasionally assert itself, though -feebly. I enjoy formal and well-ordered entertaining when it is not a -pretense—when I do not have the uncomfortable feeling that my hostess -has worn herself out getting the meal ready or is offering a meal beyond -her income.</p> - -<p>The alternative in the Rue Servandoni was to have friends take us as we -were or to make an occasional splurge. The latter was thoroughly -distasteful to us both. We held that what was good enough for ourselves -was good enough for our friends, and that they would rather come to our -simple meals than not come<a name="page_121" id="page_121"></a> at all. How could we hope to compete with -the Café de Paris or Arménonville? And we knew that many who came to us -paid their cook more than our total income.</p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ilp120_lg.jpg"> -<img src="images/ilp120_sml.jpg" width="388" height="550" alt="Where stood the walls of old Lutetia" title="Where stood the walls of old Lutetia" /></a> -<br /> -<span class="caption">Where stood the walls of old Lutetia</span> -</p> - -<p>Is not the question of entertaining a good deal like the question of -other people's wealth? If you are continually striving to keep up with -friends richer than you, you are bound to feel poor. We could put our -heads out of our window, and pity ourselves because we were not living -in steam-heated, electric-lighted Number Nineteen or Number -Twenty-Three. But then, across the street, Number Twenty and Number -Eighteen had <i>logements</i> beside which our apartment was a palace.</p> - -<p>Shortly after setting up our Lares and Penates in Number Twenty-One, a -friend from Denver dropped in just before supper. He was a judge and -silver-mine owner, the father of one of my Bryn Mawr college-mates. I -urged him to stay. He was excusing himself, when I volunteered the -information that our supper consisted of cornmeal mush with milk, and -that was all. He stayed, and told us that it was the best meal he had -eaten in Paris. "I just love cornmeal mush, and I cannot get it at my -hotel," he said. We believed him. He spoke the truth.</p> - -<p>There was always room at our table for friends. An extra plate, and a -little more of what we were having for ourselves—that was all there was -to it. In a big<a name="page_122" id="page_122"></a> city, especially a city like Paris where shops are in -every street, getting more food quickly is no problem. Herbert would -just slip downstairs to Sempé's for eggs, another chop, another can of -peas, an additional bottle of wine. Next door was the bakery.</p> - -<p>The best friends of our married life have come to us through -unpretentious entertaining. The contact of the home is different from -the contact of the office or club or formal gathering, and it has -enabled me to take every step forward with my husband. Our broadened -vision, our intimate sources of information, the steps upward in our -profession are largely the result of the dinner-table and the -after-dinner smoke before the fire. One illustration shows how chance -influences the whole life.</p> - -<p>Early in the autumn of 1909, we received a letter from a Paris lawyer -who had just returned from settling insurance claims in -massacre-stricken Cilicia. He had been in Tarsus just after we left, and -wanted to meet us. I wrote back to him, as I would have done to anyone -with an introduction like his, "Come to dinner, and if there is a Mrs. -K. bring her with you." He sought us out in our little street. There was -no Mrs. K., but the spontaneity of the invitation and its inclusiveness -had prompted him to break his rule of not accepting dinner invitations. -He was a charming man, full of information and inspiration. When I -brought on the asparagus, he said that in Poland they put burnt<a name="page_123" id="page_123"></a> bread -crumbs into drawn-butter sauce. I jumped right up, and exclaimed, -"Nothing easier! We shall have <i>asperges à la polonaise</i> right away." In -three minutes the asparagus was to his taste. The lawyer thought out, -and made a suggestion that would certainly never have occurred to him -had I arranged a formal meeting in response to his letter. He told us -that the experience we had in Turkey we should not regard as accidental. -"Why did the massacres occur? You must have asked yourselves that. Now -drop your research into Gallicanism and French ecclesiastical history. A -thousand men are as well equipped for that as you. Turn your attention -to the Turks and the Eastern Question, and from that go into the study -of the contemporary diplomacy of Europe. The Russian and Hapsburg -Empires are built upon the Ottoman Empire. Study the relation of Turkey -to Poland. This is the field for you!"</p> - -<p>In the last few years I have often thought of that evening. We followed -the lawyer's advice. He helped us. He encouraged us. He used to come to -dinner every Tuesday night. We went back to Turkey and came again to -Paris before the Great War. During the years of absence, there had been -frequent correspondence. When we returned, the Tuesday evenings were -resumed. If my husband was ready for the work that came to him with the -war, it is thanks to the Paris lawyer. <i>The Foundation of the Ottoman<a name="page_124" id="page_124"></a> -Empire</i>, <i>The New Map of Europe</i>, <i>The Reconstruction of Poland and the -Near East</i>, are the outcome of table-talks with the lawyer that began in -the Rue Servandoni.</p> - -<p>In the <i>pension</i> of the Rue Madame we met people whom we invited to come -to see us in the Rue Servandoni. We asked them to our table. They came. -And they have been dinner guests in our different Paris homes during the -past decade.</p> - -<p>There was the Catholic Archbishop of Cairo, an Arab who had the -story-telling gift of his race. You do not know what it is to hear a -story told until you have listened to an Arab. The Archbishop unfolded -to us the lore of the East. There must have been something about <i>les -petits américains</i> that interested him, for our meals could not compete -with Mademoiselle Guyenot's. He used to sit in the steamer-chair, with -his arms folded over his gold crucifix, his cape thrown back on both -shoulders (which gave a dash of red), the end of a long white beard -rubbing the most prominent buttons of his cassock front, and eyes -twinkling in unpriestly fashion. He was the reincarnation of Nasreddin -Hodja, prince of Anatolian story-tellers. Herbert pokes in his bath. One -night, when Scrappie went to sleep earlier than usual, Herbert started -to make his ablutions before the dining-room fire while I was busy in -the kitchen. The door-bell rang. In came the archbishop. There was a -swift change of persons and rooms. Herbert finished his bath in the -kitchen in an incredibly short time. He<a name="page_125" id="page_125"></a> did not want to miss a moment -of the archbishop.</p> - -<p>Michi Kawai was with me in school as well as in college. Imagine my -delight at finding her one day looking at old furniture in the Rue des -Saints-Pères. If I ever thought of Michi, it was in Tokio. And I never -would have thought of Michi in connection with French antique furniture. -But that is Paris for you. Sooner or later all your friends come to -Paris. You run across them accidentally and invariably they are doing -something you would never have dreamed of associating them with. During -her months in Paris Michi was a frequent visitor in the Rue Servandoni. -She was one of those delightful combinations of Occident and Orient that -Japan produces better than any other nation. She was equally at home -with French and American friends, and, when Emilie was not there, knew -how to juggle my eight cups and saucers and spoons back and forth -between the tea-table and the kitchen, without guests catching on, more -dexterously than any of my American girl friends.</p> - -<p>We started our married life among the peoples of the Near East, and we -found them out there just like other folks, when we took the trouble to -come into intimate contact with them. Racially of course they are -different from us as they are different from each other. Greeks, -Bulgarians, Turks, Armenians, Syrians, Egyptians, Persians—each one of -these names calls up faces of people I love. I have known them in their -homes<a name="page_126" id="page_126"></a> and in my home. A strong tie binds us to the Armenians. When you -have shared the sufferings, dangers and hardships of a people, they -belong to you and you belong to them in a peculiar way. Armenians came -to the Rue Servandoni, poor boys with no money and no home who had -escaped from Turkey, struggling students, successful painters, brilliant -musicians, wealthy merchants. Every collector of Egyptian curios, of -Turkish and Persian rugs, of Oriental pottery, knows Kelekian of the -Place Vendôme. His small shop is wedged in between a florist and a -ticket-scalper. In the window you never see more than half a dozen -objects. There is always a bowl as a <i>pièce de résistance</i>, a bowl that -only a Morgan could afford to own. Pause and look over the curtain, the -chances are that you will see Monsieur Kelekian sitting by a glass case -of Egyptian scarabs. He will be smoking, and his right hand will be on -the case. To know Monsieur Kelekian is to have faith in the resurrection -of Armenia and in the future of one of the oldest races of history. We -came to know him through his interest in the Adana massacres. He had -never heard of the Rue Servandoni, and the street was hardly wide enough -for his automobile. But he came to dinner with his wife—in spite of a -disapproving <i>chauffeur</i>, who thought there must be some mistake and who -insisted on inquiring for us first at Number Twenty-Three and then at -Number Nineteen. Although his nose never turned<a name="page_127" id="page_127"></a> down, he became -accustomed to stopping in front of the grocery!</p> - -<p>Other <i>chauffeurs</i> and <i>cochers</i> learned during that winter a new street -in Paris, and the first time they, too, made the mistake of stopping -next door. Mrs. Evans, sister-in-law of the famous dentist, had a pair -of black horses that shone like the varnish of her victoria. "Dear Mrs. -Evans," as all the women called her, was interested in every good work. -She approved of my husband, because he was a parson, and of me because I -had lived in a missionary college. She knew we had no money and did not -expect us to have any. Her carriage was ours for afternoon rides in the -Bois de Bologne. Scrappie, "that darling missionary baby," must have her -weekly outing. Mrs. Evans, I am sure, believed that the air was not what -it ought to be in our quarter of Paris and that God had intrusted her -with the responsibility of seeing that we were occasionally transported -elsewhere. During that year we made other friends in the American -Colony, who, like Mrs. Evans, cared for us for what we were. They made -Paris home to us in the old-fashioned sense of the word, and the -intimacies then formed have never been broken.</p> - -<p>Gypsy Smith was an English evangelist who came to Paris that winter for -a series of revival meetings in the English-speaking community. He had -been traveling all over the world for twenty years. His wife had had to -stay at home to look after the children. Now, for<a name="page_128" id="page_128"></a> the first time, she -was free to accompany him, and came to Paris with him. We showed the -Smiths some of the principal tourist points of interest one morning, and -they came home to lunch with us. In the way of entertaining, they had -been "touching the high spots" in Paris, as Gypsy Smith was sought after -by the substantial people of the British and American communities. Our -little home was a revelation to them of the fact that there were other -foreigners living in Paris than the rich. Mrs. Gypsy was greatly pleased -with the novelty of finding "just folks" in Paris. "A cozy little nest -you have here," she said, giving me a nudge with her elbow.</p> - -<p>There were so many people to see in Paris, old friends from home as well -as new friends, that I soon began to have my afternoon. On Wednesdays I -received in that tiny dining-room, with my eight cups and saucers and -spoons, just as if I were mistress of a large establishment. At first, -our neighbors thought it was a christening or funeral. When they -realized that <i>les petits américains</i> over the <i>épicerie</i> were having a -weekly "at home," they were confirmed in their impression of our wealth. -I confess that it was crowded at times and that the party had to -overflow into the bedroom. But it was fun, especially when one of my -girlhood friends, who had known me in Germantown days in my mother's -home, would bring her whole family along to<a name="page_129" id="page_129"></a> see me, and exclaim, "Why, -Helen Brown—!" But I would get them all in.</p> - -<p>Two days after Christmas, my husband urged me to go walking with him. He -pointed out that no one would come. But I refused. I had more conscience -when I was young than I have now. Being "at home" meant sticking by the -game. I had cheered up the <i>boulet</i> fire in the dining-room. The cups -were on the table. My china platter held a <i>gâteau mocha</i> of dear -memory. Shall we ever again be able to buy layer-cakes with coffee icing -an inch thick done in the delectable ups and downs like a wedding cake? -And that at one franc-twenty-five?</p> - -<p>"Run down, dear, and get me some hot crescents. It's after four o'clock, -so they'll be ready."</p> - -<p>"Now, look here. You've got to be sensible. Everyone has hosts of things -to do Christmas week. Nobody will come. We'll eat the cakes for supper. -Let's go over the river."</p> - -<p>"No, that wouldn't be fair. Somebody might come."</p> - -<p>Herbert got the crescents, put more <i>boulets</i> where I could get them -easily, and was gone.</p> - -<p>I settled myself in the steamer-chair. No sound except the ticking of -our little traveling-clock, and the dropping of a <i>boulet</i> on the -hearth. An hour slipped by, and I began to realize that I might just as -well have<a name="page_130" id="page_130"></a> gone out. A ring at the bell. When I opened the door, there -was my husband holding a bouquet of roses big enough for a bridesmaid.</p> - -<p>"Good afternoon," said he, bowing low; "do Mr. and Mrs. Gibbons live -here?"</p> - -<p>"To be sure," said I, stifling a giggle. "I am Mrs. Gibbons."</p> - -<p>"Indeed." My visitor shook hands with me and explained, "Mrs. Gibbons, I -am delighted to meet you. I knew your husband years and years -ago—before he was married, in fact. The first pleasure I have allowed -myself in Paris is to look up my friend Gibbons and his wife."</p> - -<p>He hung hat and overcoat in the hall, and handed me the flowers. "What a -charming dining-room. Dear me, have I intruded? You were having a -party?"</p> - -<p>"Just my day at home."</p> - -<p>We chatted for a full hour, discussing the fate of the House of Lords, -about which my new friend confided that he was writing an article. He -hoped some editor would publish it. We talked of the possibilities of -next year's Salons and disagreed on the subject of futurist painting. I -told my visitor about the many American friends that were turning up, -and how the Gibbonses realized that if they wanted to get any work done -in Paris they would have to stop acting as guides. What did he think -about adopting a policy of telling<a name="page_131" id="page_131"></a> people that Thomas Cook had mighty -good guides at ten francs a day? Perhaps, however, we should make the -last exception with him, and show him the town.</p> - -<p>We talked of Christmas, and then I was asked if I had a baby. I replied -that of course I did. She was over in the Luxembourg Garden with Marie, -who kept her out late on my at-home day, but who would soon bring her -in.</p> - -<p>"People that see resemblance in coloring say she looks like me, but -those that see resemblance in contour say she's the image of her daddy."</p> - -<p>"So!" said my visitor.</p> - -<p>I put my arms around the contour.<a name="page_132" id="page_132"></a></p> - -<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII"></a>CHAPTER XIII<br /><br /> -<small>WALKS AT NIGHTFALL</small></h3> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">T</span>HE Prince whom Tartarin met in Africa had lived a long time in -Tarascon, and knew remarkably well one side of the town. He knew nothing -of the other side. This puzzled Tartarin until he found out that his -noble friend's residence in Tartarin's native town was a compulsory one. -The Prince had ample time to study a certain aspect of Tarascon in -detail from the little window of his penitentiary cell. We do not all -have the privilege of devoting ourselves, as the Prince did, to a minute -study of just one view from just one vantage-point. And yet, in certain -things we share the Prince's experience. We become accustomed to a -definite aspect of the things we see to the exclusion of other aspects. -Thus it is that I know many parts of Paris familiarly as they appear at -nightfall. I could go to these quarters at other times, but I never -have. I fear the breaking of the spell. I fear disillusion. And if you -want to follow me in Paris walks through this chapter, plan your strolls -from five to seven during the winter months.</p> - -<p>It began this way. In the Bibliothèque Nationale, as in the Paris of -parks and gardens, the closing hour<a name="page_133" id="page_133"></a> follows the sun. The Bibliothèque -has no lights. It turns you out at four, half-past four, five or six -according to the season. During the months of longer days, we stayed -until the last bell. In the winter we were put out before the afternoon -was over. One did not feel like making for home immediately. It was too -late to go far afield. We started in to explore Paris in a widening -circle from the Rue de Richelieu. My husband had covered much of this -ground in summer months with the Scholar from Oxford. When the light -held out until late, they had time to visit old Paris with the books of -Georges Cain for guides. In the winter months Herbert took me over this -ground again. But I saw it all at nightfall or after dark.</p> - -<p>It was a wonderful discovery, to combine exercise with interesting -sight-seeing at the end of the day. The habit of walks through city -streets, thus formed, has been persisted in through many busy years. I -recommend it, even to tourists. Use your precious days for churches and -museums and palaces. After they are closed, walk for an hour or two each -night. You will find diversity, and, like Horatio, things you never -dreamed of. And no matter how long you live in Paris, there is always -something new to explore and something equally new when you follow -beaten tracks.</p> - -<p>You have to be—or grow—catholic in your tastes if you want to enjoy -what Paris at nightfall offers. Of course in the beginning you look for -certain things.<a name="page_134" id="page_134"></a> You have a goal: tracing the city walls from old -Lutetia to Henri IV; seeking traces of mediaeval days; spotting -Renaissance architecture; visiting historic spots or buildings -associated with famous names or events; reconstructing Paris of the -Revolution; or following the characters of Victor Hugo through <i>Les -Misérables</i>. Before long you join all these goals, and jump from -architecture to history, from history to literature. In the end, every -walk you take is the observation of living people inseparable from an -incomparably picturesque setting. It may take a long time to realize -that your primary interest is humankind. But when you do the world is a -kaleidoscope presenting new pictures, wherever you may be, each more -fascinating than the one that preceded it.</p> - -<p>"Seek and ye shall find" is a promise with a condition attached to it. -You have to look before you see. An effort of the will is required. -Without that effort, impressions are false or transitory or give no -reaction that sinks deep. We passed close to Messina just after the -earthquake. The captain of our ship obligingly slowed down to -quarter-speed. Passengers crowded against the rail on the Sicilian side -of the straits.</p> - -<p>"Why, Messina is all right!" someone cried. "The newspapers have been -exaggerating again."</p> - -<p>"Wait," suggested a lawyer. He got out his opera glasses. Others did the -same. As we studied Messina from the sea, and looked for the deep -fissures, the<a name="page_135" id="page_135"></a> crumbling walls, we found them all along the coast. The -American soldier who told me, "Since I been in France I ain't seen -nothing but kilometres and rain," was not looking for anything else.</p> - -<p>Strolling after dark helps to bring into the foreground the human -element in the picture of Paris streets. Your field of vision is -limited. You do not see too many things at once. And you have to keep -your eyes open. Many a quaint corner, many a building, is less often -missed at nightfall than during the day.</p> - -<p>Paris is divided into arrondissements, each one with its local -administration, its <i>maire</i>, its <i>mairie</i>, its postal service, and its -police. The postal authorities have tried in vain to insist upon the -placing of the arrondissement indication upon the letters. But they have -never had much success. It is enough to remember where your friends live -without having to keep in mind twenty different arrondissements! Before -the war your arrondissement meant little to you, and you often did not -know its number if you wanted to be married, to register the birth of a -new baby, or got into difficulties with the police. Since the war, -residents in Paris came to know their own arrondissements because of -bread tickets, passports, income-tax declarations and other annoyances. -But in planning your walks at nightfall, it is helpful to take a map of -Paris and know something about the divisions of the city. We started our -explorations<a name="page_136" id="page_136"></a> by hazard, and then found to our astonishment that we had -been going from one arrondissement to another, practically following the -numerical order.</p> - -<p>The Bibliothèque Nationale is just on the border between the First and -Second Arrondissements. Arrondissements One to Four are the old city on -the Rive Droite between the Grands Boulevards and the Seine. -Arrondissements Five to Seven include similar quarters on the Rive -Gauche. Some of the most interesting strolls are in the outer -arrondissements. But the seven inner arrondissements provide enough for -years without ever having to take the subway or tram.</p> - -<p>The four Rive Droite arrondissements stretch from the Place de la -Concorde to the Place de la Bastille, and include the Ile de la Cité and -the Ile Saint-Louis. The three Rive Gauche arrondissements stretch from -the Eiffel Tower to the Jardin des Plantes. On the Rive Droite the Place -de l'Opéra and the Place de la République, and on the Rive Gauche the -Place de Breteuil and the Place de l'Observatoire, are the outer corners -of the inner arrondissements. The Boulevard de Sébastopol on the Rive -Droite and the Boulevard Saint-Michel on the Rive Gauche form the only -straight route, cutting through the mass of tangled streets of -succeeding centuries. Running north and south, this central line divides -the arrondissements as the Seine does, running east and west.</p> - -<p>I have a horror of guide-books, partly because I do<a name="page_137" id="page_137"></a> not know how to use -them (I never have learned!) and partly because I love to find my way -without pre-meditation and by accident. But many of my readers will -never have the same opportunity I have enjoyed of discovering -fascinating spots at nightfall. Why should I resist the temptation of -indicating some of the strolls that make the late winter afternoons -delectable?</p> - -<p>Everyone knows the Rue de Rivoli as far as the Oratoire or perhaps to -the Tour Saint-Jacques. At the crossing of the Boulevard Sébastopol, the -Rue de Rivoli leaves the familiar heart of Paris and enters the Fourth -Arrondissement. It becomes the Rue Saint-Antoine a couple of blocks -before the Eglise Saint-Paul. There the first break in the straight line -from the Place de la Concorde occurs. You deflect a little bit to the -right, and before you is the Bastille column. The Rue de Rivoli and the -Rue Saint-Antoine are the main artery of the Fourth Arrondissement. No -quarter of Paris affords more variety in walks at nightfall. Starting -from the Boulevard de Sébastopol, the streets on the left, at angles and -parallel to the main artery, are a labyrinth. Here is the Ghetto in a -setting incomparably more picturesque than the Ghettos of London and New -York. I doubt if even the oldest Paris <i>cocher</i> finds his way here -unerringly. Through some of the streets no carriage can pass. The -narrowest street in Paris, the Rue de Venise, is here. Beginning -opposite<a name="page_138" id="page_138"></a> the Hôtel de Ville, the Rue du Temple cuts through the Ghetto -all the way to the Place de la République. Then come the equally -interesting right-angle streets, the Rue des Archives and the Rue -Vieille du Temple. On the latter faces the Imprimerie Nationale. And do -not miss the parallel streets, Rue de la Verrerie, Rue du Roi de Sicile, -Rue Sainte-Croix de la Bretonne, Rue des Rosiers. Further along (now we -are in the Rue Saint-Antoine) the Rue de Birague leads one short block -into the Place des Vosges, one of the rare bits remaining of Paris of -Henri IV.</p> - -<p>On the right hand side we have the Hôtel de Ville, the old buildings -behind the Lycée Charlemagne and the Quai des Célestins. Several bridges -cross to the Ile de la Cité and the Ile Saint-Louis. The Pont -Saint-Louis connects the two islands. There is nothing more wonderful in -Paris than to cross the Pont Sully from the eastern end of the Quai des -Célestins, walk through the Rue Saint-Louis-en-l'Ile, and come suddenly -upon the apse of Notre Dame, protected by its flying buttresses.</p> - -<p>In the Second Arrondissement, start from the Place des Victoires at the -end of the Rue des Petits-Champs, and find your way through the various -tortuous routes that bring you out on the Grands Boulevards to the -Boulevard Poissonnière, the Boulevard Bonne-Nouvelle and the Boulevard -Saint-Denis. A few hundred feet from the Grands Boulevards, to the right -of the Rue Saint-Denis, as you go toward the river, Paris of the<a name="page_139" id="page_139"></a> -Revolution remains in almost as full measure as in the Sixth -Arrondissement.</p> - -<p>We must not leave the Rive Droite without mentioning two walks at -nightfall in the outer arrondissement. From the Place de la République, -the most interesting glimpse of a crowded workingmen's quarter can be -gained in an hour by walking up the Rue du Faubourg du Temple, which -becomes the Rue de Belleville. There is a steep climb until you reach -the Eglise Saint-Jean-Baptiste. To the right is Ménilmontant, dominating -the famous Père-Lachaise cemetery, and to the left you can climb still -farther to Buttes-Chaumont. The second walk is along the Quai de -Jemmapes, which you reach by turning to the left from the Rue du -Faubourg du Temple just after crossing the canal. A few blocks up, on -the right, through the Rue Grange aux Belles you pass the Hôpital -Saint-Louis, a group of seventeenth-century buildings which continue to -do blessed work in the twentieth century.</p> - -<p>Dear me! I have forgotten Montmartre, where you climb endless flights of -stone steps and find—despite the tourist <i>réclame</i>—probably more of -old Paris than in any other part of the city.</p> - -<p>On the Rive Gauche, the walks at nightfall are more difficult to -indicate. You can go anywhere in the three inner arrondissements, and -you will not be disappointed. Walk year after year and you will begin to -wonder whether you ever will follow out the oftformed<a name="page_140" id="page_140"></a> resolution of -returning to America to live. In the Seventh Arrondissement the region -between the Quai d'Orsay and the Rue de Sèvres, the Rue des Saints-Pères -and the Invalides is the Faubourg Saint-Germain, where are to be found -the finest residences in Paris, far ahead of anything in the Etoile -Quarter. But unless you are lucky enough to have the <i>entrée</i> to -aristocratic and diplomatic Paris, you can only guess at the beauty of -the gardens whose trees thrust alluring limbs over high walls and at -what is behind the stately portals of the <i>hôtels</i>.</p> - -<p>In the Sixth Arrondissement the Boulevard Saint-Germain and the Rue de -Vaugirard are the best streets to take as guides in your wanderings. -Between the boulevard and the river, and between the boulevard and the -Rue de Vaugirard, most of the streets are thoroughfares, a swarming mass -of autos and wagons and push-carts, between five and seven.</p> - -<p>What shall I say of the Fifth Arrondissement, most fascinating of all to -me because I know it best at nightfall, I suppose? My favorite nightfall -walk in Paris is behind the Panthéon. Start at the Place Maubert, on the -Boulevard Saint-Germain, climb the Rue de la Mont Sainte-Geneviève. Turn -to the left through the Rue Descartes, and you will find yourself in the -Rue Mouffetard. Here you are as far from modern Paris as you will ever -get. You walk for nearly a mile with no interruption of trams and -omnibuses. No taxi cab<a name="page_141" id="page_141"></a> or truck would dream of using the Rue Mouffetard -as a thoroughfare. And yet, on the Rue Mouffetard, to eat and drink and -dress yourself and furnish your house, you can buy all you need. You do -not have to hunt for it: it is displayed before your eyes. The Rue -Mouffetard. Here you are as far from modern Paris time, and I might -shrink from some of the foodstuffs, if not all, it offers, were I to buy -by sunlight. But by flickering torch-light the Rue Mouffetard is Araby -to me. And I never come out at the Avenue des Gobelins without a sigh. -Why isn't the Rue Mouffetard just a bit longer?<a name="page_142" id="page_142"></a></p> - -<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV"></a>CHAPTER XIV<br /><br /> -<small>AFTER-DINNER COFFEE</small></h3> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">A</span> VISITOR once asked me how it was possible for Paris to maintain so -many cafés, and said how distressing it was to see so many women in them -and there was more drinking than in New York or London—question and -inferences all in one breath, just like my sentence. My friend was -bewildered because he did not understand the <i>raison d'être</i> of the café -in French life. He thought that a café was a place to drink according to -the American notion of drinking. The women were bad women in his eyes -and the men on the downward path. To one who holds this curious notion -the number of cafés in Paris and the crowds in them and at the little -tables in front of them are inexplicable and alarming. Cafés, -restaurants, <i>brasseries</i> and <i>zincs</i> line the boulevards, and there are -at least two or three to a block in every street. Owing to the intensive -apartment house life shops of all kinds are more frequent in Paris than -elsewhere, but you may have to walk to get anything you want. To drink -or eat, no. The place is right under your nose.</p> - -<p>All restaurants serve drinks. I know of only one<a name="page_143" id="page_143"></a> non-alcoholic -restaurant in Paris: that is the vegetarian place on the Rue -Notre-Dame-des-Champs! If you did not eat in a "drinking-place," you'd -pretty soon starve. Many of the big cafés do not serve food. Some have -one dish, called the <i>plat du jour</i>, with cheese and fruit afterwards. -Others have oysters and snails and their own <i>specialités</i>. Others, -while not advertising meals, serve a <i>table d'hôte</i> or a very limited <i>à -la carte</i>. In all, however, hot coffee is to be had at all hours and -every kind of a drink is on tap. The <i>zincs</i> are little bits of places -where you get hot coffee, beer or a <i>petit verre</i>. Coal and wood -merchants also serve alcohol. In the more humble streets (which are to -be found in every quarter), cafés are dirty stuffy places, known as -<i>débits</i>. Rare is the "drinking-place" that has not its <i>terrasse</i>. This -may be only a chair or two and a single table on the side-walk.</p> - -<p>The <i>terrasses</i> of restaurants as well as of cafés are maintained -throughout the winter. It is a familiar sight to see a table-cloth -flapping in the wind, held down by a salt-cellar and a mustard-pot. The -days are few that you cannot sit out. It does not get very cold in Paris -and an awning protects you from the rain. In some of the boulevard cafés -the <i>terrasses</i> are actually heated by stoves!</p> - -<p>The Paris café is wholly different from the American saloon. None thinks -it is wrong to drink in France. Total abstinence is a funny American -idea to our<a name="page_144" id="page_144"></a> friends overseas. Taking a drink in public is as natural as -putting your arm around your girl in public. Everybody does it. You -rarely see a drunken man or woman just as you rarely see poverty. -Alcoholism (by which is meant poisoning the system and breaking down the -health by excessive use of alcohol) is an evil France has to combat as -much as any other country. But the French have never had it preached to -them that the evil can be overcome by prohibiting the use of wines and -liquors or by the example of a part of the community voluntarily -abstaining for the sake of weaker brothers. The anti-alcohol movement in -France does exist. As the maintenance of war legislation against -absinthe and kindred spirits proves, it has public opinion behind it. -But the connotation of <i>alcoholic</i> is limited in France. The Gallic -sense of proportion prevents the French from extremes in anything. Since -they do not drink to excess, they have no reason for regarding beer and -wines as alcohol. Often your French friends tell you that they never -touch alcohol. In the same breath they offer you delicious wine.</p> - -<p>Scruples understood and appreciated in America are often meaningless -when you live in another country. Stick to your white ribbon principles -if you will, but do not persist in your notion that cafés are places -where it is not respectable to be seen. Why cut yourself off from an -indispensable feature of Paris life?<a name="page_145" id="page_145"></a></p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ilp144_lg.jpg"> -<img src="images/ilp144_sml.jpg" width="429" height="550" alt="The Panthéon from the Rue Soufflot" title="The Panthéon from the Rue Soufflot" /></a> -<br /> -<span class="caption">The Panthéon from the Rue Soufflot</span> -</p> - -<p>The hour of the <i>apéritif</i> finds the <i>terrasses</i> of the cafés crowded. -You may have difficulty in getting a place outside. Having worked all -day and perhaps having walked home, the Parisian saves a half hour -before dinner for his appetizer. He sits at the little table in front of -his favorite café and watches the passing crowd. It is no hastily -swallowed cocktail, leaning against a bar and shut off from eyes like -mine by a swinging screen door. It is no prerogative of man. Sometimes -on week days and always on Sundays, his wife and children are with him.</p> - -<p>When we were living in the Rue Servandoni, we got into the habit of -going out for our after-dinner coffee. The reason was probably the same -as that of most Parisians. Living quarters were small. The baby was -asleep in the front room. Toward the end of the month especially we were -not always in a position to keep the tiny dining-room fire replenished -all evening. We thought of the gas bill. We liked to get a little air. -We were fond of music. Arm in arm we would walk along the Rue Vaugirard -to the Boul' Miche. From the Closerie des Lilas near the Observatoire to -the river you had plenty of choice for your after-dinner coffee. At the -foot of the Rue Soufflot is the Café du Panthéon. On the corner of the -Rue de la Sorbonne is the Café d'Harcourt. Just off the boulevard, on -the Rue de l'Ecole de Medecine, is the Taverne Pascal. These were our -favorites. Pascal has no <i>terrasse</i>. We went there when it rained or -when we thought of<a name="page_146" id="page_146"></a> Munich beer. Harcourt used to have a red-coated -orchestra, and was the gayest place on the Boulevard Saint-Michel. At -the Panthéon you paid two sous more, but the coffee was better. We never -had to spend more than a franc for the two of us. A checker-board or -cards could be had of the waiter. If you wanted to write letters, you -asked for a blotter and pen and ink.</p> - -<p>Just around the corner from us, on the Rue de Tournon, was the -Concerts-Rouges, the blessed institution to make unnecessary the tragedy -of would-be musician and singer failing to get a hearing. Pianists, -violinists, cellists and future opera stars had a place to put on their -own concerts at little cost. We were the audience. Of course it was not -all amateurs: the management had to promise an audience. A good -orchestra gathered around the stove in the middle of the room. You sat -in a chair such as they have in school rooms, whose right arm spread out -generously to give space for your notebook. There was room, too, for -coffee-cup or stein. The only rule of the Concerts-Rouges was silence. -You could move your chair away from the music. When you were not -interested in the number, you read or wrote. Many theses and dramas and -poems have been worked out in the Concerts-Rouges.</p> - -<p>The Boulevard du Montparnasse, which has since become our home, was not -too far from the Rue Servandoni to be frequented for after-dinner -coffee. The<a name="page_147" id="page_147"></a> Dôme, on the corner of the Boulevard Raspail, and -Versailles and Lavenue, opposite the Gare Montparnasse, were -after-dinner coffee haunts where friendships that have lasted through -the years were formed. We still sit there. Lavenue, after five years of -silence, again offers music. But we miss Schumacker, beloved of the -Quarter, who fell, they say, in the ranks of the enemy. His face is one -of those I cannot forget. I see him now, blue eyes and bright smile and -bushy hair, bending over his violin on the little platform by the piano. -He seemed to play his heart out and never tired. I always like to write -my letters at Lavenue. When I called for "<i>de quoi écrire</i>," the waiter -brought a tiny bottle of ink, spillable and square, sheets of ruled -writing paper and the cheapest quality of manila envelopes in a black -oilcloth folder, whose blotter never blotted. But you did not care. You -listened to the music after each page until it dried.<a name="page_148" id="page_148"></a></p> - -<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV"></a>CHAPTER XV<br /><br /> -<small>REPOS HEBDOMADAIRE</small></h3> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">I</span>N Philadelphia you still find shutters with the rings at the middle of -their closing edge. To one of the rings is tied a piece of tape. In my -grandfather's house of a Sunday the shutters were together almost to the -touching point and held that way by the tape tied to the other ring. A -vertical bar of sunshine filtered through the slit. The parlor was cool -and quiet. Nothing moved. My father told me that when he was a little -boy he had to sit at one of those windows all Sunday afternoon -memorizing passages from the Bible. I wonder if in America there are -still many families who install in their children a repugnance for the -Scriptures by this sort of torture, whose observance of Sunday is -reached by a process of elimination of everything a normal person would -instinctively choose to do on a day of rest, and where there are more -don'ts for the children on Sunday than on Monday. Sunday seems to me a -happier day in America now than it was twenty-five years ago. But for -all that we do not enjoy it the way the French do. Until I lived in -France I never knew the full meaning of what I was singing in the hymn, -"O day of rest and gladness."<a name="page_149" id="page_149"></a></p> - -<p>The French dress up for Sunday as we do. I suppose as large a proportion -of the Parisians go to church as of Americans in any large city. But -once mass is over the day is given to recreation—and recreation out of -doors. What is more depressing than an English or American city on -Sunday? Sunday in Paris is the most animated day of the week. The French -word <i>endimanché</i> is translated in dictionaries "in Sunday best." It has -a wider connotation. A place as well as a person can be <i>endimanché</i>. -The word brings up to the mind of one who has lived in Paris crowds, -laughter, fun, open air. How different from sitting on a chair in a room -with bowed shutters when common sense would dictate getting your lungs -filled with fresh air and worshipping God in communion with nature!</p> - -<p>In the Rue Servandoni days we came to know the joy and benefit of the -Continental Sunday. And ever since we have brought up our children to -look forward to Sunday as the best day of the week, the out-of-doors -day, when the family could be together from morning to night.</p> - -<p>The great thing about Sunday in Paris is that fathers and mothers and -children go out together, all bound for the same place, and stick -together. The family includes grandfathers and grandmothers, who are -always given the best places in the train, the choicest morsels to eat -and who to the day of their death are the adored center of the family -party. Mother carries the<a name="page_150" id="page_150"></a> <i>filet</i>, a big net with handles filled with -good things to eat, and the baby too small to navigate alone is held in -father's strong arms. You can tell little sisters—and even big -ones—for they are dressed alike. Trams and trains for Versailles, the -Bois de Bologne, Saint-Germain-en-Laye and a dozen other equally -attractive suburbs are not taken by assault. The family waits in line at -the tram station, young and old clutching the precious little tickets -that tell them when it is their turn to get places. Everybody has his -chance, and there is no need to worry about grandmother or the baby. -Trams are not overcrowded: there are seats for all. If there is not the -money to go far from home, or if the weather is too threatening, each -quarter has its park, the Luxembourg, Montsouris, Monceau, -Buttes-Chaumont, Jardin des Plants, Vincennes, or the simple <i>squares</i>. -For two cents you have the right to sit on chairs near the band-stand. -First come, first served. The only restriction here is that -baby-carriages must stay outside of the enclosure for music-lovers. In -the baby-carriage zone, nobody minds if a baby howls: you may be in the -same condition at the next minute.</p> - -<p>Merry-go-rounds, Punch and Judy, swings and donkey-carts are everywhere -to be found for the children. At four o'clock the woman with fresh rolls -goes by. Hot <i>gauffrette</i> and hokey-pokey venders are always near at -hand. If you do not want hokey-pokey, there is <i>coco</i> to drink. The -innocent Sunday fun is not<a name="page_151" id="page_151"></a> "the kind of thing no-one would think of -doing." Once I was waiting for the wife of a professor of the Ecole de -Guerre, who was later a brilliant general on the Marne. It was Sunday -afternoon. She excused herself for being late. "I stopped in the square -to listen to the band, and I had to have some <i>coco</i>. I never can pass a -<i>coco</i> cart," she explained. More than once have I seen a mother, -elegantly dressed, come hurrying to the garden, sit down on a bench, and -nurse a baby handed to her by a nurse in cap and ribbons. I have done -that myself. Is there anything shocking about this? It is the natural -out-of-doors instinct. Distinguished looking gentlemen wearing rosettes -of the Legion of Honor head family excursions. They do not mind pushing -baby-carriages, either.</p> - -<p>On a good day the Seine boats are crowded. From Charenton to -Saint-Cloud, there is an endless procession of boats on a Sunday. -Parisians never tire of the spectacle of their city from the river. They -name the bridges as they pass under them and tell their stories to the -children. River clubs abound, and all Paris seems afloat in row-boats -and canoes. From one end of the city to the other the banks of the Seine -are lined with fishermen who seem never to become discouraged. Seine -boating is not without its dangers. But in the Bois de Boulogne the most -inexperienced learn to row and paddle in the shallow water of the lakes. -A miniature railway crosses a corner of the Bois from the Porte<a name="page_152" id="page_152"></a> Maillot -to the Jardin d'Acclimatation, where kiddies can ride on elephants and -camels or be drawn by ostriches and zebras.</p> - -<p>No park is too small to have its ducks and swans with unlimited capacity -for bread-crumbs, its band-stand, its open-air restaurant where drinks -are served and you bring your own food, and its place without grass -where you can stretch your own tennis-net between trees.</p> - -<p>The Seine boats, the subway, and many tram lines land you at the foot of -the Eiffel Tower. An elevator quickly takes you above Paris for a view -that was unique before the days of aeroplanes. Near by is the Great -Wheel, always revolving from morning to night on Sundays. Parisians do -not feel the lack of the roofs of skyscrapers when they want to look -down on their city.</p> - -<p>For several hundred yards around the fortifications of Paris the law -forbids the erection of permanent buildings: at least, if you do build -in stone and mortar, you risk having your house destroyed, as many found -to their cost in 1914. This enormous land surface, between the city and -suburbs is covered with wooden shacks of rag-pickers and junk-dealers. -Everyone seems to have a very small holding, as the ground is of little -value either for residential or manufacturing purposes. Here thousands -of Parisians own cabins and have miniature vegetable gardens, which they -cultivate on Sunday, dreaming of the day when there will be<a name="page_153" id="page_153"></a> enough -money in the bank to retire permanently to some quiet country spot. They -come home with arms filled with vegetables and flowers.</p> - -<p>In the year at the Rue Servandoni Herbert and I started to explore on -Sundays the <i>banlieue</i> of Paris. Despite increasing "encumbrances" of -different ages, we have managed to keep up our delightful excursions -from early spring to chestnut time, and often on winter Sundays. But we -do not pretend to have exhausted in ten years the possibilities of -Sunday afternoons. We are always discovering new excursions for the -<i>repos hebdomadaire</i>.<a name="page_154" id="page_154"></a></p> - -<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XVI" id="CHAPTER_XVI"></a>CHAPTER XVI<br /><br /> -<small>"MANY WATERS CANNOT QUENCH LOVE"</small></h3> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">H</span>IGHER than 1883; higher than 1879; higher than 1876; higher than 1802; -higher than 1740; higher than 1699; equalling the flood of 1658, the -worst in the history of Paris; finally breaking all records, both as to -height attained and as to damage done, such was the daily crescendo of -the press in recording the progress of <i>la Grande Crue</i> during the last -week of January, 1910. No investing army, no Commune, no revolution, -threatened Paris this time. The best friend of Paris had turned against -her. For several days the older generation, who passed through the -trials of 1871, recalled painful memories and feared a worse peril from -the Seine than from the German invaders or the Internationalists.</p> - -<p>In the third week of January, from Tuesday to Friday, we were concerned -over the news of devastation wrought by floods in different parts of -France. There was much damage and suffering in our own suburbs. -Sympathetic editorials appeared in the newspapers: relief funds were -opened. On Friday afternoon, when we were taking a walk along the -<i>quais</i> of the Rive Gauche, we had no suspicion what was going to -happen.<a name="page_155" id="page_155"></a></p> - -<p>Only on Saturday did Paris begin to worry for herself. Neuilly and -Courbevoie were flooded. Loroy reported ten drowned. The Seine, within -the city limits, suddenly rose ten feet. The first subway tunnel, that -of the "Métro" from the Chatelet under the Cité to the Place -Saint-Michel, was filled with water. The river spread into the original -"Métro" line under the Rue de Rivoli. The second tunnel, that of the -"Nord-Sud," was an easy prey because it was still in the course of -construction. The Gare d'Orléans was invaded. Its tracks, which parallel -the left bank of the river under the <i>quais</i>, disappeared. The Gare -d'Invalides, whose line runs the opposite direction along the Seine, was -also flooded.</p> - -<p>On Sunday morning we heard that in the Rue Félicien-David people were -rowing around in boats. We thought this interesting enough to invest in -a <i>fiacre</i>, and took Scrappie in the afternoon to Auteuil. On the way, -we got out and wormed ourselves through the crowd to hear the waters -swishing around the stair-cases down to the train levels at the two -flooded stations. When we reached the Rue Félicien-David and actually -saw people in boats, we bought photographs from an enterprising hawker, -wanting to preserve this souvenir of Paris. Little did most of the crowd -dream that within a few days they would not have to go farther than -their own front windows to see such a sight!<a name="page_156" id="page_156"></a></p> - -<p>On Monday evening everyone realized that the flood was not a curious -spectacle but a disaster. The river had been rising at the steady rate -of an inch an hour, and by nightfall was sixteen feet above its normal -height. Herbert decided to report the flood. This justified a taxi-cab -by the day. As this was an unheard-of luxury for the Gibbons family, -which had few chances to ride in automobiles at that stage of its -evolution, of course the baby and I decided to profit by the -opportunity, even though it was winter and not the best time of the year -for joy-rides. Anyway, I was interested in the great drama that was -being enacted, and we could tell Scrappie about it later. From notes -taken at the time, I am able to reconstruct the story of days as -stirring as any of those during the Great War.</p> - -<p>On Monday afternoon we went up and down the <i>quais</i>. All the river -industries, with their wooden buildings squatting on the river bank -under the shelter of the solid ramparts of the <i>quais</i>, were swept away. -Freight and customs stations and depots came within the grasp of the -river. At the Entrepôt de Bercy and the Halle aux Vins, barrels of the -spirits and wine were first gently floated and then drawn out into the -angry stream. The water in the Nord-Sud tunnel was threatening the Gare -Saint-Lazare. The Eiffel Tower moved slightly.<a name="FNanchor_C_3" id="FNanchor_C_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_C_3" class="fnanchor">[C]</a> The cellars of the -public buildings<a name="page_157" id="page_157"></a> along the river front—Palais de Justice, Chambre de -Deputés, Hôtel de Ville, Monnaie, Institut, Chancellerie de la Légion -d'Honneur, Grand Palais, Louvre—were gradually flooded until their -furnishings were extinguished. At Billancourt we saw the inundation of -the Renault automobile works and the Voisin aeroplane factory. The -effect of the latter disaster reached as far as Heliopolis in Egypt, -where an Aviation Week was scheduled. In those days aeroplanes were in -their infancy and depended upon a single factory for their motors.</p> - -<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_C_3" id="Footnote_C_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_C_3"><span class="label">[C]</span></a> My critic says this is not true. He did not see it, and he -doesn't think it is possible that the Tower would have remained -standing, if it had moved during the flood of 1910. But I find this -statement in my notes. Why shouldn't the Eiffel Tower move? I reminded -my critic that we had seen together on our honeymoon at Pisa a tower -that had been leaning for centuries. I do not intend to cross out this -statement about the most striking landmark of Paris, the participant in -most of my vistas.</p></div> - -<p>Tuesday morning a heavy snow was falling. Awakened early by an -explosion, we thought that the Pont de l'Alma was being blown up. This -heroic measure had in fact been contemplated by the city engineers in -order to prevent the backing up of the water into the Champs-Elysées -district. The flood was rapidly gaining street after street in Auteuil -and Charenton. A rumor was afloat that we would soon be cut off from the -outside world. This meant a run on provisions and profiteering by -shopkeepers. We yielded to the common impulse and laid in kerosene and -potatoes for ourselves and condensed milk for Scrappie,<a name="page_158" id="page_158"></a> paying double -prices and thinking we were lucky in having a chance to buy.</p> - -<p>On Wednesday morning commenced what we regarded at the time as a real -reign of terror. Underground communication ceased. Owing to the -inundation of their power houses, electric-trams stopped running. The -subway station at Bercy collapsed. Sewers began to burst in all quarters -of the city. A subterranean lake formed under the Rue Royal from the -Place de la Concorde to the Madeleine, and the street was closed to -traffic. In front of the Louvre and at the Pont de la Concorde soldiers -worked night and day raising the parapets higher and building barricades -with paving-stones and bags of cement. By evening the water had reached -a height of thirty feet, breaking all records since 1799. Refugees began -to pour into the city by the thousands and were lodged in the old -Seminary of Saint-Sulpice near us, the Panthéon and other public -buildings. The Red Cross began to be displayed throughout the city. -Boats and sailors arrived from seaports. The markets required -substantial police protection to prevent mobs from taking them by storm.</p> - -<p>On Thursday and Friday the fight against the ever-rising waters was -continued with desperate energy. In spite of all that human skill and -labor could accomplish, the Seine pushed its way over parapets and -through barricades, flooding rapidly the <i>quais</i> and adjoining<a name="page_159" id="page_159"></a> -quarters. By means of subways and sewers (channels opened to the river -by man's hand and that had not existed in the -seventeenth-and-eighteenth-century floods), districts far from the river -suffered equally. Auteuil, Grenelle, Charenton, Bercy were submerged. On -either side of the Trocadéro the palatial private homes of the <i>quais</i> -were in the Seine up to the second story. The river appropriated to -itself the entire length of Cours-la-Reine from the Pont de l'Alma to -the Pont de la Concorde, reached the fashionable restaurants at the foot -of the Avenue des Champs-Elysées, and partly surrounded the two palaces -of Fine Arts, souvenirs of the Exposition of 1900. The streets between -the Avenue des Champs-Elysées and the river formed a transplanted -Venice.</p> - -<p>Hotels and stores on the Rue de Rivoli, the Théâtre Français—and even -the Opéra—found their heat and light cut off by the attack of the -Seine. Far away from the <i>quais</i>, in the neighborhood of the Gare -Saint-Lazare, the Seine, following the subway tunnel, burst forth into -the Place du Havre and the Cour de Rome. Hasty barricades were of no -avail. One could hardly trust his eyes when he looked up the Boulevard -Haussmann from the Opéra and saw boats flitting back and forth as far as -Saint-Augustin and the Boulevard Malesherbes. On the Rive Gauche the -aspect of Paris grew even more alarming. The Esplanade des Invalides and -the Quai d'Orsay joined the Seine. Soldiers<a name="page_160" id="page_160"></a> threw a pontoon bridge -across the Esplanade for pedestrians. But taxi-cabs and buses were -compelled to plunge into the water hub-high. We saw motor-drawn vehicles -stalled because the water had reached their engines, while the -old-fashioned <i>cochers</i> went merrily by, proud of their superiority. All -the people in <i>fiacres</i> had to do was to put their feet up on the -<i>cocher's</i> box. The Chamber of Deputies and the Ministery of Foreign -Affairs were approachable by boat. The angle formed by the Boulevard -Saint-Germain, the Quai d'Orsay and the Rue du Bac was all under water. -In this angle the Rue d'Université and the Rue de Lille were practically -inaccessible. We who lived in the Latin, Luxembourg and Montparnasse -Quarters could reach the Seine only by the Rue Dauphine or the Boulevard -Saint-Michel. For increasing torrents soon covered the Rue des -Saints-Pères, the Rue Bonaparte and the Rue de Seine. We had never -realized before how the early builders of Paris, in their determination -to stick to the river for purposes of defence, had reclaimed ground much -lower than the flood level of the Seine, relying upon the masonry of the -<i>quais</i> to keep back the river. In modern times we have undermined the -natural defences of the Rive Gauche by bringing our railways to the -center of the city, by our sewers and by the subways. When you are on a -Seine river-boat, you can see all along the river how we have opened up -the city to floods. Paris,<a name="page_161" id="page_161"></a> honeycombed underground, fell an easy prey -to the fury of the river. The very skill that added to the material -comfort and well-being of the city made Paris vulnerable when the -unexpected and unprecedented happened.</p> - -<p>The Jardin des Plantes, set apart originally for botanical purposes as -its name indicates, has gradually become the Paris "Zoo." Many American -tourists go there because it is the place where Cuvier worked and do not -realize that it is the home of wild animals also. The Jardin -d'Acclimatation in the Bois de Boulogne is more visited, and I have -often heard my compatriots express surprise at the paucity of what they -think is the Paris "Zoo." The Jardin des Plantes is less fashionable but -much richer in its variety of animals. As it is on the river, it was -invaded by the flood. In the first days, before we realized the calamity -of the rising waters, the Jardin des Plantes was thronged with visitors. -Interest centered around the bear-pits. The polar bears alone seemed to -enjoy splashing in the icy waters. The climbers were soon treed. It was -an engineering feat to rescue them with planks and prod them into -portable cages. The non-climbers narrowly escaped drowning. We watched -them lifted out by cranes, caught in sturdy nets. This was the only -means of rescue as they tore with their claws the bands that were first -placed around them by men whose only experience had been lifting horses -and cows from pits.</p> - -<p>When the river broke all records, the whole garden<a name="page_162" id="page_162"></a> was flooded. Many -keepers were prevented from reaching their posts. The police took -charge. Food supplies were lacking, and the few keepers on hand did not -dare to let their dangerous charges loose. The furnaces were flooded and -there was no heat. In the monkey-houses the shivering animals, perched -high, scolded and growled with chattering teeth. We saw them form a -swinging bridge to lift out of the water's reach one of their number who -seemed unable to climb. Lions and tigers, cold and hungry, roared and -dashed themselves against their bars until the belated order arrived to -shoot them. The hippopotamus, contrary to tradition, drowned. Only the -birds, proud possessors of the secret of aviation, were superior to the -calamity. Here was the occasion for a new Noah. But alas, not even an -ark arrived, and it took Paris many years to restock the garden. Even -now there are no giraffes like those that used to look at us from their -sublime heights.</p> - -<p>On the River Droite, the Gare de Lyon was an island. Nearer the flood -took possession of the Quai des Grands Augustins with its famous book -shop, and, on the other side of the Place Saint-Michel, the quaint old -streets up to the Place Maubert. A depression there, where the walls of -old Paris once stood, brought the flood up to the roofs of some little -houses.</p> - -<p>In the Rue Servandoni we escaped the flood: for the ground rises -steadily from the Boulevard Saint-Germain<a name="page_163" id="page_163"></a> to Montparnasse. This put us -considerably above the reach of the river. On Friday afternoon, when we -were facing a danger that stupified all, the flood was at its height. We -conceived the idea of viewing it from the top of Notre-Dame. It was a -long process for us, as hundreds of others thought of the same thing, -and we could not both go up together. I waited with the baby in the taxi -while Herbert <i>faisait la queue</i> (if you do not know what this -expression means it would be well to learn it before visiting Paris!) -After he came down I had my turn. I was cold enough to enjoy the climb. -The view from the top of the tower was unique. The next day would have -been too late. We caught the flood at its flood. Paris was swimming. On -both sides the cathedral had become an angry, menacing rush of water. -Debris and wreckage was choked against the bridge piers. One realized -that habit had given us a sense of proportion to the cityscape. The -effect of diminished ground-floors and abbreviated lamp-posts and trees -was sinister. It was as if elemental forces, subdued and imprisoned when -the earth's surface cooled, had escaped. As I looked down on the scene, -I felt that abysmal water was breaking forth. Where would it end?</p> - -<p>After leaving Notre-Dame we rode up one side of the river to Auteuil and -down the other, frequently forced to make long detours. Our remorseless -enemy was making sad inroads upon the Ile-Saint Louis, and it<a name="page_164" id="page_164"></a> seemed as -if it would soon sweep away the Cité. The Sainte-Chapelle was almost -afloat, as were the Conciergerie and the Tour de l'Horloge. The river -surpassed the parapets. The arches of most of the bridges had vanished. -The colossal statues of the Pont de l'Alma were submerged to their -chins. At the Pont d'Auteuil the water reached the wreath around the -letter N. Although the newspapers warned us that they might be swept -away, the bridges were crowded with sightseers. Curiosity is stronger -than fear. The current carried every conceivable object. At the Pont -d'Arcole the calamity was forgotten in the sport of watching huge -barrels sucked one by one under an arch and jumping high in the air as -they came out on the other side.</p> - -<p>Returning from Auteuil as darkness was falling, we had to pass above the -Trocadéro, the Rue de Bassano and the Champs-Elysées. Newsboys were -crying extras: "The river still rises!" We were in darkness. No lights -on the Avenue des Champs-Elysées. An engineer regiment was fighting the -water in the Place de la Concorde by the light of acetylene lamps. The -wheezing of an old pump taking water out of the cellar of Maxim's was -the only sign of life on the gay Rue Royale. To return to the Rive -Gauche we had to go down to the Pont-Neuf. The other bridges were now -barred. Does it not speak eloquently for the genius of our ancestors -that, with bridges every few hundred<a name="page_165" id="page_165"></a> feet, the only one that could be -trusted—the sole link between Rive Droite and Rive Gauche—was the work -of Henri IV at the end of the sixteenth century?</p> - -<p>Our <i>chauffeur</i>, keeping up a running comment in which the hint as to -his expectation of a substantial <i>pourboire</i> was uppermost, picked his -way as best he could back to the Rue Servandoni. We saw strange sights -that night, wooden paving-blocks floating in a messy jumble; a few -restaurants endeavoring to dispel the gloom with candles; soldiers with -fixed bayonets guarding the inundated quarters. It was bitter cold and -the glare of their fires was weirdly silhouetted in the rising waters, -mingled with the shadows of deserted houses.</p> - -<p>The river reached thirty-one feet seven inches at midnight Friday. -During the rest of the night and Saturday it remained stationary. -Saturday evening it began to fall slightly, and on Sunday all Paris was -out in gay holiday attire to view the damage and to celebrate the -retreat of the enemy. Lightheartedness returned immediately. Why worry -about what was over? This is the credo of Paris. But we had seen during -the dark week of flood-fighting a prophetic revelation of the real -character of the people among whom we lived. Little did we dream that -the precious qualities shown in the flood crisis were to be brought out -more than once again in future years. In 1914 we were not surprised at -the courage, persistence, unflagging energy and<a name="page_166" id="page_166"></a> solidarity with -suffering of the Parisians. The flood, as I look back on it, did more -damage to Paris than was done during the war by German bombs. It was a -more formidable enemy than the Germans. I remember the comment of my old -Emilie: "<i>Mon Dieu</i>, this thing is worse than fire. You can fight fire -with water, but with what can you fight water?"</p> - -<p>When the newspapers Sunday morning assured us that the danger was over, -I realized how wonderful had been the struggle of civilians and soldiers -against the elemental. It was a manifestation of their love for their -city. And in the quick and generous relief given on all sides—and -unostentatiously—to those who were driven from their homes was the -proof that hearts beat fast and firm to help fellow-citizens as well as -to save the historic monuments that line the banks of the Seine. That is -why, when Herbert went out to preach in the Rue Roquépine church, I gave -him his text from the Hebrew songster: "Many waters cannot quench love; -neither can the floods drown it."<a name="page_167" id="page_167"></a></p> - -<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XVII" id="CHAPTER_XVII"></a>CHAPTER XVII<br /><br /> -<small>REAL PARIS SHOWS</small></h3> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">F</span>OR many years the old expression that we can't get rid of, "the Salon," -has been a misnomer. There are five Salons, and, as going to see the -season's pictures and statues is a form of amusement and distraction in -Paris on a par with theatrical productions, all five are equally -important. Even if one desires to judge by the standard of art, -establishing categories of excellence and importance is impossible. The -longer one lives in Paris, the more one realizes the absolute lack of -criteria in judging artistic achievement. Painters and sculptors, poets -and playwrights and authors, singers and actors do not acknowledge the -existence of the jury of public opinion, much less newspaper critics, -art juries, <i>premiers prix</i>, medals, and organizations. Schools are -legion: standards are the taste and liking of the individual. So we let -those who claim temperament and genius have their chance, and we go to -the five Salons with equal zest, just as we look constantly for lights -under a bushel to please us far from the Académie Française and other -bodies of the Institut. In June the two "regular" Salons exhibit -separately, although simultaneously, in the Grand Palais. There is an<a name="page_168" id="page_168"></a> -autumn Salon of the progressives. The humorists and cartoonists have -their own Salon. Last, but not least (in numbers!) the independents -exhibit what they please in wooden buildings erected on Cours-la-Reine.</p> - -<p>On a late June afternoon in 1914, I stood on the steps of the Grand -Palais, after an afternoon in the two big Salons—I mean to say -principal Salons—no, in order to escape criticism let me put it "most -universally accepted as important" Salons. It was raining hard. I never -saw the water come down in sheets the way it did that afternoon. Cabs -were of course unobtainable. The wind made umbrellas no protection. And -I was wearing my best frock. What a bother! Hundreds waited as I did, -preferring the additional fatigue of standing herded almost to -suffocation to spoiling their clothes. Suddenly, the rumor spread of a -flood, a flood as disastrous as 1910. Only this time the water came from -above. So heavy was the rainfall that sewers were bursting and new -excavations for subway extension were caving in. Enterprising newsboys -brought us the evening papers with scare headlines. Not far from where -we were an hour earlier choirboys, going home from practice, were -swallowed up in the earth in front of Saint-Philippe-de-Roule. A -taxi-cab hurrying along the Rue du Faubourg-Saint-Honoré disappeared. -The earth opened up under a newspaper <i>kiosque</i> and a shoe store at the -corner of the Boulevard Haussmann and the Rue du Havre. <i>Eboulements</i><a name="page_169" id="page_169"></a> -everywhere. The Place de l'Alma was a gaping hole, tramway tracks and -pavements falling into the new subway station.</p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ilp168_lg.jpg"> -<img src="images/ilp168_sml.jpg" width="550" height="373" alt="Hôtel de Ville from the Pont d'Arcole" title="Hôtel de Ville from the Pont d'Arcole" /></a> -<br /> -<span class="caption">Hôtel de Ville from the Pont d'Arcole</span> -</p> - -<p>My mind went back to the dark week of 1910, which I have just described. -Comments of the Salon crowd were identical in reaction to those we heard -after the flood. "Outrageous, the <i>incurie</i> of the municipal -authorities! Something should be done to protect us against this -constant digging. Why, it won't be safe to stick your nose out of doors. -These awful accidents—in Paris, mind you! Something <i>must</i> be done!" -For an hour it went on like that. Then the storm stopped. The sun, still -high at six in June, broke through the clouds. The wind died down. I -started up to the Champs-Elysées with the crowd. More newsboys! This -time the principal headline announced the trial of Madame Caillaux. The -Parisians—and I with them—went down into the Métro. An hour ago such a -risky undertaking would have caused us to shudder with horror. No more -underground for us! As I waited in line for my ticket, the man in front -of me said to his wife, "Now do you really think that Madame Caillaux—"</p> - -<p>I laughed to myself. The Medes and Persians boasted of not changing -their laws. The Parisians could boast of not changing their mentality. A -danger over is a danger forgotten. Hurrah for the new sensation! My -readers may think me guilty of skipping<a name="page_170" id="page_170"></a> suddenly backwards and forwards -in this book from one thing to something entirely different. But -remember that I am writing in Paris and about Paris. Paris is like that. -I went forward to 1914 to get an illustration for 1910. The very day -after we were sure the flood was going down, we lost interest in the -Seine. Our great project of an emergency channel for turning the Seine -at flood-time died in twenty-four hours and will not be revived until -Paris is actually being once more submerged. <i>Actualité</i> is a word for -which we Anglo-Saxons have no equivalent. It means the -thing-of-the-moment-which-is-of-prime-interest. And the press can create -a new <i>actualité</i> overnight.</p> - -<p>The Government did this several times during the war in order to relieve -a tense internal political situation. During the last German drive we -had the affair of the false Rodins, and we turned to read about the new -statue exposed as a fake each day before we looked for the new German -advance. When the Clemenceau Cabinet was threatened, a twentieth-century -Bluebeard, with the police daily discovering new wives, was dished up to -us every morning in all the papers.</p> - -<p>Back in 1910 we turned from the flood to <i>Chantecler</i>. After seven years -of heralding and "puffing," after many mysterious delays that whetted -the appetite, the management of the Théâtre de la Porte Saint-Martin -announced that the curiosity of Paris would be rewarded at the end of -January. The flood was the last<a name="page_171" id="page_171"></a> postponement. The waters had hardly -begun to recede before public interest was again centred upon -<i>Chantecler</i>. When the <i>répetition générale</i> was given on February -sixth, oldest inhabitants and historians of the French theatre were -agreed that not even Hernani nor yet <i>Le Mariage de Figaro</i> had created -so universal an anticipatory interest. Was <i>Chantecler</i> merely an -eccentric literary endeavor or was it to prove a practical theatrical -venture? More than any living writer Rostand had been able to win for -his plays recognition as literature and recognition as "money-winners" -in the theatres of foreign countries as well as his own.</p> - -<p>Looking back over a decade I may be wrong in comparing a past with a -present event. But I honestly believe that there was far more interest -in Paris in what was going on at the Porte-Saint-Martin on the evening -of February 6, 1910, than in what took place at Versailles on the -afternoon of June 28, 1919. Interest was lost in the Treaty of -Versailles before it was signed. <i>Chantecler</i> had a fighting chance to -succeed. Just as the curtain started to rise before the cream of French -literary and theatrical circles there was a cry of "<i>Pas encore!</i>" M. -Jean Coquelin sprang up from the prompter's box in conventional evening -dress. Was there to be another postponement—a fiasco in the presence of -the invited guests? No: for M. Coquelin began to recite a prologue, -inimitably phrased. He told the audience that they were to be introduced -to a<a name="page_172" id="page_172"></a> barnyard as soon as the farmer's family had gone. It was Sunday -afternoon, and when the chores were finished, the animals would be left -to themselves. As he spoke, numerous illustrative sounds came from the -stage. We heard the young girls going off with a song on their lips, the -wheels of a receding carriage, the bells of the village church, and -shots of hunters out for their Sunday sport. Then M. Coquelin -disappeared, and the curtain went up.</p> - -<p>The first two acts were wildly received. The third act was too long and -modernisms marred the beauty of the verse. The lyrical continuity of the -play was broken by the introduction of a purely satirical effect. The -real reason for lack of sustained interest was the mental confusion and -weariness of having to imagine the actors as animals. The human mind is -incapable of receiving through the sense of vision a representation of -the unreal, where the real is at the same time glaringly evident, and -keep clear, harmonious, concordant images. No ingenuity could make an -actor's figure like a bird's. And then humans do not differ in size like -birds. There was no way of approximating widely different proportions of -the rooster, the black-bird, the pheasant and the nightingale.</p> - -<p>In watching <i>Chantecler</i> I had the same painful impression of how we are -handicapped by the multiplicity of necessities we have created for -ourselves in modern days as I had in watching the flood. Our evolution<a name="page_173" id="page_173"></a> -has bound us fast with chains of our own forging. Physically and -mentally, we have manufactured so many props to lean upon that we can no -longer stand on our own feet. <i>Chantecler</i> cannot be compared with the -animal plays of Aristophanes for in Greek drama there was no attempt to -present to the spectators a visual image in harmony with the audile -image. Nor even in Shakespeare's time was the dramatist limited by the -difficulties of a <i>mise en scène</i>. A Midsummer Night's Dream was an -easier proposition for the Elizabethan actor than for Sir Herbert -Beerbohm Tree, despite the properties of Her Majesty's Theatre, the -hidden orchestra playing Mendelssohn's music, and the magic aerial -ballets.</p> - -<p>Our next "real show" was the political campaign for the new Chamber of -Deputies that was to inaugurate the fifth decade of the Third Republic -on June first. Herbert spent an inordinate amount of time, I thought, in -puzzling out the voting strength of the Ministerialist and Opposition -groups, and patiently wrote articles for American magazines about -Radical Socialists, Clemenceau and Caillaux, to vary his Turkish -articles. But whether he treated of French leaders and politics or of -Venizelos or of the Young Turks, his articles invariably came back with -a polite rejection slip. We put them away and sold them later, when they -were out of date, for more than we would have gotten then. Our money for -writing came from the <i>Herald</i>, and we realized that<a name="page_174" id="page_174"></a> if you want to -make your living by writing the anchor to a newspaper is not lightly to -be weighed.</p> - -<p>But though I was not even mildly interested in Radical Socialists, -Republicans of the Left, Independent Socialists, Progressists and what -not, I did like to go to political meetings. They were good for your -French and good for the opportunity of studying the influence of -politics upon the Latin character. How the French love meetings! They -use our English word instead of <i>réunion</i>, just as they always speak of -self-government. But they are not at all like us in politics. There are -as many parties as there are leaders, and their campaigns center around -personalities, not principles.</p> - -<p>In 1910, the first round of the election was on April 24, and the final -round on May 8. It just happened that May first was a Sunday, and fell -between the two election Sundays. Throughout the Third Republic, Labor -Day has been a time of fear and trembling for the Paris <i>bourgeoisie</i>. -The Cabinet is always anxious on May first. You never can tell what is -going to happen when crowds gather in Paris: so the wise Government does -not allow trouble to be started. Encouraged by the success of their -Ferrer demonstration on the Boulevard de Clichy a few months before, the -revolutionary elements decided to make May Day a big event with the hope -of influencing the second round of the elections. Premier Briand decided -there would be<a name="page_175" id="page_175"></a> no May Day parade. Believing that the Government would -not dare to come into conflict with them in the midst of their election -struggle, workingmen's unions plastered Paris with boastful posters -announcing a monster demonstration in the Bois de Bologne, followed by a -parade to the Place de la Concorde. This was in open defiance to the -law, which requires a permit for gatherings in the open air and for -parades. But M. Briand was equal to the occasion. Saturday night he -threw twenty thousand troops into Paris. They bivouacked in the Place de -la Concorde, the Place de l'Etoile, and in the Bois. I took Christine to -church. After the service, we went to the Bois for lunch. There were -troops on every road in the part of the Bois indicated in the posters as -the workingmen's rendez-vous. Here and there little tents with the Red -Cross flag were pitched, and to make the picture more impressive doctors -in white coats stood before the door. This scared the workingmen more -than the soldiers did. We saw many of them in their blue blouses. But -they took care not to stop or to walk in numbers.</p> - -<p>The <i>bourgeoisie</i> were able to rest easy. Assured that order would be -kept, fashionable Paris flocked in great numbers to the Longchamp races. -Of course we went, too. As Herbert had a story, he bought the best -seats. We were not far from President Fallières, and we saw the spring -fashions. Scrappie created as much of a sensation as some of the gowns. -People who frequent<a name="page_176" id="page_176"></a> Longchamp are not in the habit of bringing babies -with them. But with me it is always, "love me, love my child."</p> - -<p>The unions did not have good luck in the spring of 1910. But no more did -the clericals and monarchists. Hopes of a clerical reaction were -dissipated. Briand was as bitter against the orders as against the -unions. The royalists no longer count. We had many royalist friends. -Some we knew well enough to ask, "How goes the propaganda?" And they -knew us well enough to answer, "<i>Pas de blague! C'est à rire!</i>" "Stop -teasing me: it's a joke!" The Duke of Orleans has about as much chance -of being King of France as he has of being President of the United -States. In our estimates of political conditions are we not too apt to -judge France by her checkered past? There is no government in Europe -more assured of stability than the French Republic: and this was as true -in 1910 as it is in 1919.</p> - -<p>Public lectures are a source of diversion to Parisians. We Americans -think that we are great on listening to ourselves and others talk. But -crowds in France do not need a political campaign, a religious revival -or a return from near the North Pole to come together for a lecture. The -most surprising topics, treated by men who are not in the public eye, -draw attentive and assiduous audiences. Every day you have a wealth of -choice in free lectures in Paris. Some newspapers<a name="page_177" id="page_177"></a> publish the lecture -program of the day just as naturally as they publish the theatrical -offerings. At the Sorbonne, the Collège de France, the Ecole des -Hautes-Etudes, the Ecole des Sciences Politiques, the Ecole des Chartes, -the various Musées, and a host of other organizations offer single -lectures and courses of lectures, week days and Sundays, either free or -for a very slight fee. Many of the best courses in the various Facultés -of the University of Paris are open to the public. Just to give one -instance of popular interest in a rather technical subject, we used to -attend the courses in physical geography of Professor Brunhes at the -Collége de France. That year he was treating the formation of the -mountainous center of France. If you did not go early, your chances of a -seat were slim. There were always people standing thronged at the doors -way out into the hall. This was not unusual. Any man who knew his -subject and who could treat it with vigor and wit was sure of a <i>salle -comble</i>. His subject did not matter. One did not have to spend money: -free courses were as attractive as those for which a fee was charged. We -discovered that Parisians never cease going to school. One is accustomed -to see only young faces in the class-rooms of American universities. In -the Sorbonne and the Collège de France there are students from sixteen -to seventy.</p> - -<p>If music is your passion, you can indulge it to the full in Paris. With -the Opéra and Opéra Comique<a name="page_178" id="page_178"></a> and Opéra Municipal, there is something -that you really want to see every day, and when the music does not -particularly attract you, you can be sure of an excellent -<i>divertissement</i>, as the ballet spectacle is called. Parisians love -choregraphy. And there is choregraphy for all tastes and all moods. -Paris is the mother of the spectacle called <i>revue</i>. We have borrowed -the name but not the thing. No <i>revue</i> can be successful in Paris unless -it possesses distinct quality in dances, costumes, <i>mise en scène</i>, and -especially in the dialogue. The <i>revue</i> must reflect what Parisians are -thinking about, take into account <i>actualités</i>, and interpret the events -of the day. This means constant change in the dialogue, suppression of -old and introduction of new scenes, to the point where you can go to the -same <i>revue</i> in the third month of its run and find something entirely -different as far as the lines go. For six months of the year the bands -of the Garde Républicaine and of the regiments stationed in Paris play -in the gardens and squares on Thursdays and Sundays. The Tuileries -offers from April to October open-air opera and concerts in the heart of -the city. You pay only for your chair.</p> - -<p>The foreigner resident in Paris soon becomes aware that he does not have -to leave his own quarter to find a good evening's entertainment. Real -Paris shows are perhaps best to be found far from the Grands Boulevards, -Clichy and Montmartre. From the heights of<a name="page_179" id="page_179"></a> superior opportunity one -does not want to look down upon the tourist and tell him that he doesn't -really see Paris. But the fact remains that when theatres and -music-halls and restaurants become rendezvous for foreigners they -insensibly lose their distinctive local atmosphere. They begin to cater -to the tourist trade and give their audiences what they come to see. -This is so true of the Folies-Bergère, the Casino de Paris and other -large music-halls that the program has become half English and the -actresses and choruses and clowns are as often of London as of Paris -origin. The same foreign invasion on the stage, following the invasion -in the audience, is to be found at the Ambassadeurs and Marigny on the -Champs-Elysées. Alas! even the Concert Mayol type of music-hall has -succumbed to the temptation of catering to the big world. English and -American "turns" are dragged in by the ears to enliven <i>revues</i> for -those who do not understand French, and the spectacle has become a -totally un-Parisian jumble of vaudeville. But in the little music-halls -of the quarters one still finds the atmosphere that Parisians love and a -program offered to their taste. Herbert and I used to go to a theatre on -the Boulevard Saint-Germain, just off the Boulevard Saint-Michel, where -plays were typically Parisian. Another such theatre exists in the Rue de -la Gaité. In the same street are three music-halls that put on songs and -stage <i>revues</i> for Parisians. There are probably a hundred theatres<a name="page_180" id="page_180"></a> and -music-halls of this kind whose names do not appear in Baedeker, and -which have resisted successfully the first decade of cinema competition.</p> - -<p>Last of all among real Paris shows the <i>foires</i> must not be forgotten. -But I speak of these in another chapter because visiting them is a goal -for a <i>promenade</i> and not the deliberate seeking of an evening's -entertainment. You take in a <i>foire</i> as incidental to a walk, just as -your <i>apéritif</i> or your after-dinner coffee is most often the price you -pay for a seat to watch the passing crowd, which, when all is said and -done, is the real Paris show.<a name="page_181" id="page_181"></a></p> - -<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XVIII" id="CHAPTER_XVIII"></a>CHAPTER XVIII<br /><br /> -<small>THE SPELL OF JUNE</small></h3> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">M</span>Y critic points out that after having been so enthusiastic about walks -at nightfall and having put myself on record as to the exceptional -advantages of seeing Paris in the dark on winter afternoons, rain or -shine, I shall be inconsistent in extolling daylight Paris. Why the -spell of June, when your walks are wholly in daylight? If it were -inconsistency, being a woman I should be within my rights to ask the -critic what he expected. But is it inconsistent? I think not. If I love -to go out in the rain, if I enjoy city streets at night time, it does -not follow that I do not enjoy good weather and the long days of June. -It is another aspect of Paris that we get in our walks. We have time to -go on longer excursions. We "do" the river and open spaces more than old -quarters. And, best of all, in the two Junes of our early married life, -we took the baby with us on our strolls. I felt the spell of June when -we returned to Paris from Turkey in 1909. I felt it more when we were -going back to Turkey in 1910. And ever since, the Paris June has had a -charm all its own, deepening with the<a name="page_182" id="page_182"></a> years. However I may like autumn -and winter and spring, June is the best month. The spell is partly due -to the knowledge that one is soon going off to the shore or mountains -for the summer, and partly to the thought that it might be the last -June. Each year we have felt that we ought to return to America in the -autumn.</p> - -<p>In the Rue Servandoni year, April and May were cold, wet months. Spring -fever did not get us until June. Then we decided that all the wisdom and -profit of our Paris year was not to be found in the Bibliothèque -Nationale. We began to divorce ourselves from daily study by the excuse -that we ought to get together a small library on Turkish history. Where -could the books be bought more advantageously than on the <i>quais</i>? From -the Pont des Saints-Pères to beyond Notre-Dame the parapets of the Rive -Gauche are used by second-hand booksellers for the display of their -wares. The <i>bouquinistes</i> clamp wooden cases on the stone parapets. You -can go for more than a mile with the certainty of finding something -interesting at an astonishingly low price. There is no more delightful -form of loafing in the open air. The books are an excuse. They become a -habit. In order to prevent the habit from growing costly, you must make -out a budget. Some days you are only "finding out what is there"; other -days, before leaving home, you divest yourself of all the money in your -pocketbooks and wallet except<a name="page_183" id="page_183"></a> what you feel you can afford to spend. -Then only are you safe! I do not know of a more insidious temptation to -buy what you do not need than loitering along the <i>quais</i> of the Rive -Gauche. In a few days we spent all we could afford for Turkish history. -But the afternoon walk started earlier and ended later. We never tired -of the <i>quais</i> and the river. We watched fishermen and the barges. We -were amused by the men who bathe and clip dogs. We explored the streets -between the Seine and the Boulevard Saint-Germain. We stood on the Pont -des Arts and watched the people coming home from work. We went often -into Notre-Dame. We glued our noses to the window-glass of the art print -shops around the Ecole des Beaux-Arts. We selected furniture (from the -side-walk!) displayed in the numerous antique shops of the Rue des -Saints-Pères, the Rue Bonaparte and the Rue de Seine. We always came -back at sunset, with the westward glow before us. That was when our -oldest daughter got the taste of going to bed late.</p> - -<p>The narrowest street in Paris is the Rue de Venise, which runs from the -Rue Beaubourg across the Rue Saint-Martin to the Rue Quicampoix. But -neither in itself nor in its location is it as picturesque as the Rue de -Nevers, luring you from the Pont Neuf as you cross to the Rive Gauche. -Nowhere else in Paris is one so completely held by the past as in the -Rue de Nevers. Here stood the Tour de Nesle. The Mint now comes<a name="page_184" id="page_184"></a> up to -one side of this street for a few hundred feet, but elsewhere it is on -both sides as it was in the time of Henri IV. Massive doorways, with -bars of iron and peep-holes covered with grating, tell the story of a -time when one relied upon himself for protection. No <i>agents</i> in the -Paris of the fifteenth century! Going down to the river from the Rue -Servandoni, we always took the Rue de Nevers. In it Scrappie's carriage -seemed like a full-grown vehicle. There was always the nervous fear that -something would be thrown out on us from upper windows, not unjustified, -as more than one narrow escape proved. We used to say that when the baby -was grown up, we should enjoy taking her on one of the promenades of her -infancy, and especially through the Rue de Nevers. We have shown -Christine the street, and hope that she will remember it. But she will -never show it to her children. Some sanitary engineer, successor of -Baron Haussmann, has conceived a project of widening the Rue Dauphine. -The Rue de Nevers will soon disappear. Our only hope is that the war -will have delayed a long time the fulfillment of projects that mean the -disappearance of what remains of mediaeval Paris.</p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ilp184_lg.jpg"> -<img src="images/ilp184_sml.jpg" width="393" height="550" alt="Market day in the Rue de Seine" title="Market day in the Rue de Seine" /></a> -<br /> -<span class="caption">Market day in the Rue de Seine</span> -</p> - -<p>The Parisian who goes to New York marvels at our skyscrapers. He is -properly impressed with the hustle and bustle of the New World. But it -does not take him long to note the absence of wide boulevards and the -lack of <i>ensemble</i> in the cityscape. Then he will invariably<a name="page_185" id="page_185"></a> make two -comments: "There are no trees," and "There is no place to sit down." -Except the Eiffel Tower, Paris does not boast of a "biggest in the -world." It will take Americans centuries to acquire a sense of harmony -and proportion in city building. But shall we ever learn to bring the -out-of-doors into city life? Until we do learn the big American city -will be intolerable in the summer months. Paris, built on ancient -foundations, has increased to a city of millions, and one still feels -that an outing does not mean going to the country. Boulevards and -<i>quais</i> are lined with trees. Every open spot has grass and flowers. -Best of all, when you want to sit down to read your paper or look at the -crowd, there is always a bench. You do not have to go home or indoors to -rest, and wherever you live, a park or boulevard is near at hand. -Parisians are as closely huddled together as New Yorkers. But they can -spend all their leisure time in the open. The privilege of sitting down -on a bench is a blessing. All the year round you can eat or drink out of -doors. I have often marveled at the criticism that the French dislike -open air, simply because they, like other Europeans, do not keep their -windows open at night. The Parisian lives far more in the open air than -the American does. To be out of doors day and night is a natural -instinct from the cradle to the grave. Trees and benches are a large -part of the spell of June in Paris.<a name="page_186" id="page_186"></a></p> - -<p>Then there were the omnibuses with their <i>impériales</i>. When we did not -have the price of a cab, we could get on top of the Montsouris-Opéra or -Odéon-Clichy bus, and go for a few sous from south to north across the -river through the heart of Paris. We climbed to the <i>impériale</i> of the -tram at Saint-Sulpice and rode to Auteuil, on the horse-drawn omnibus -from the Madeleine to the Bastille, from the Place Saint-Michel to the -Gare Saint-Lazare, from the Gare Montparnasse to La Villette, from the -Bourse to Passy, from the Panthéon to Courcelles. Alas! horses and -<i>impériales</i> disappeared before the war. The last omnibus with three -horses abreast was the Panthéon-Courcelles line. It was replaced by -closed motor-bus in 1913. Each year, when June comes round, I long for -these rides. Horses, I suppose, are gone forever. But we still hope for -the revival of an upper story on our motor-buses. There never was—or -will be—a better way of having Paris vistas become a part of your very -being.</p> - -<p><i>Foire</i> means fair. But the term is used for a much more intimate and -vital sort of a fair than we have. The French have big formal fairs in -buildings and grounds, where a little fun is mixed in with a lot of -business. But they have also small street fairs, solely for amusement, -and selling street fairs, where amusements have their full share. The -Paris <i>foires</i> are a distinct institution. There is a regular schedule -for them, as for Brittany <i>pardons</i>. From the end of March to the<a name="page_187" id="page_187"></a> -beginning of November you can always find a <i>foire</i> in the city or the -suburbs. They are held out of doors, generally in the center of a -boulevard. Some of them are important institutions. In the business -<i>foires</i> you range from scrap-iron, old clothes and nicked china and -disreputable furniture at the Porte Saint-Ouen and on the Boulevard -Richard Lenoir to the costliest Paris has to offer on the Esplanade des -Invalides and building materials and engines in the Tuileries. The -purely amusement <i>foires</i> on the Quai d'Orsay, the Boulevard de Clichy, -and at Saint-Cloud stretch for blocks and are attended by all Paris. To -go to them is the thing to do.</p> - -<p>But each quarter has its <i>foire</i>, underwritten by the shop-keepers and -café proprietors of the neighborhood. They are never widely heralded, -you stumble upon them by chance. And if you want to see real Paris the -little <i>foires</i> give you the closest glimpse it is possible to get of -Paris at play. At the <i>foires de quartier</i> there are no onlookers. -Everybody is taking part. If you do not feel the impulse to get on the -merry-go-round, the dipping boats, the scenic-railway; if you are averse -to having your fortune told; if you feel doubtful of your ability to -throw a wooden ring around the neck of a bottle of champagne; if you are -indifferent to the mysteries of the two-headed calf and the dancing -cobra; if your stomach does not digest <i>pain d'épice</i> and candy made of -coal-tar; if you think your<a name="page_188" id="page_188"></a> baby ought not to have a rubber-doll or a -woolly lamb or a jumping rabbit made of cat's fur—for heaven's sake -stay away from the <i>foires</i>!</p> - -<p>Most of the neighborhood <i>foires</i> are held in June. Whatever direction -you take for your evening walk, your ears will give you a goal towards -which to work. The merry-go-rounds have the same class of music as in -America, and the tricks of the barkers—their figures of speech -even—are the same. But the difference between our amusement parks and -the Paris <i>foires</i> is the spontaneous atmosphere of the <i>foires</i>, their -setting improvised in the midst of the city, and the amazing childlike -quality of the fun. Seven or seventy, you enjoy the wooden horses just -as much. And there is no dignity to lose. You do not care a bit if your -cook sees you wildly pushing a fake bicycle or standing engrossed in the -front row of the crowd watching a juggler.</p> - -<p>The glorious days of June, when we put work deliberately out of our -scheme of things, furnish opportunities for excursions of a different -character than those of Sunday. At the risk of being ridiculed again by -my critic, who has read my praise of <i>repos hebdomadaire</i>, I must -confess that Sunday has its drawbacks. The whole city is out on Sunday, -and every place is crowded. Your good time is somewhat marred all day -long by the anticipation of the crowded trains and trams, for a place in -which you wait with much less equanimity than when you left home in the -morning. On week days<a name="page_189" id="page_189"></a> there are no waits and plenty of room. I can -entice my husband from his work—if it is June!</p> - -<p>It is surprising how far afield it is possible to go at little drain on -your strength and pocket-book on a June week-day. We wanted just the -country sometimes. Then it was the valley of Chevreuse, -Villers-Cotteret, luncheon in a tree at Robinson, or the Marne between -Meaux and Château-Thierry. On a very bright day one could choose the -shade of Compiègne, Chantilly, Rambouillet, Versailles, Marly, -Saint-Germain-en-Laye, Saint-Cloud, Fountainebleau, forests and parks -incomparable. Cathedral-hungry or in a mood for the past, Amiens, -Beauvais, Evreux, Dreux, Orléans, Mantes, Chartres, Sens, Troyes, -Rheims, Laon, Soissons, Noyon, and Senlis are from one to three hours by -train. A good luncheon at little cost is always easily found. And after -lunch you have no difficulty in getting a <i>cocher</i> to take you to the -ruins of a castle or abbey for a few francs.</p> - -<p>Inexhaustible as is the <i>banlieue</i> of Paris you are always glad to get -back. From whatever direction you return, the first you see of the great -city is the Eiffel Tower. It beckons you back to the spell of June—in -Paris.</p> - -<p><a name="page_190" id="page_190"></a></p> - -<p><a name="page_191" id="page_191"></a></p> - -<h2><a name="y1913" id="y1913"></a>1913</h2> - -<p><a name="page_192" id="page_192"></a></p> - -<p><a name="page_193" id="page_193"></a></p> - -<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XIX" id="CHAPTER_XIX"></a>CHAPTER XIX<br /><br /> -<small>CHILDHOOD VISTAS FOR A NEW GENERATION</small></h3> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">I</span>N September, 1910, we went to Constantinople for just one year, as we -had gone to Tarsus for one year. But the lure of the East held us. We -loved our home up above the Bosphorus behind the great castle of Rumeli -Hissar. When the Judas-trees were ablaze and nightingales were singing -that first spring in Constantinople, we forgot Paris and rashly promised -to stay two years longer. Life was full of adventure, the war with -Italy, the war between Turkey and the Balkan States during which our -city was the prize fought for, cholera, the coming of our second baby, -and a wonderful trip in the Balkans. We would not have missed it, no, -but Paris called us again, and we decided to leave the political unrest -and wars of the Near East to return to the peaceful atmosphere of the -Bibliothèque Nationale.</p> - -<p>My husband could not get away from Constantinople until the end of June -and then he wanted to pay his way back to Paris by traveling through the -Balkans again after peace was signed with Turkey. With my two children, -I sailed for Marseilles at the beginning of March and reached Paris just -in time to get the last<a name="page_194" id="page_194"></a> weeks of winter. In the calendar seasons are -conventional. As in the United States, France frequently has winter -until April is well started.</p> - -<p>I found a little apartment on the Rue du Montparnasse just north of the -Boulevard. From the standpoint of my friends I suppose the Quarter was a -bit more <i>comme il faut</i> than the Rue Servandoni. I missed the -picturesqueness of our old abode with the <i>épicerie</i> on the ground floor -and the <i>moyenageux</i> atmosphere. But the change to the Montparnasse -Quarter had its compensations. The air, none too good in the great city, -is better around the Boulevard du Montparnasse than in any other part of -the city except Montmartre, Belleville and Buttes-Chaumont. You are on -high ground away from the heavy mists and dampness of the river. -Communications are excellent. You do not have to sacrifice the feeling -of being in a real vital part of Paris, either. We still lived in the -midst of historical association. If Gondorcet hid in the Rue Servandoni -from those who would have chopped his head off during the Terror, -Lamartine was hauled from a house on the Rue du Montparnasse by the -soldiers of Louis Napoleon at the beginning of the <i>coup d'etat</i> of -1851, and to the Rue du Montparnasse flocked the cream of Paris on -Mondays to hear Sainte-Beuve during the Third Empire.</p> - -<p>It was a new world opened for the eyes of Christine and Lloyd to live -cooped up in an apartment after the<a name="page_195" id="page_195"></a> big house at Rumeli Hissar and to -have to walk through city streets to find a garden to play in instead of -simply stepping out of their own front door. But life has its -compensations—everywhere and at all times. You never get anything -without sacrificing something else for it. We have to choose at every -step, and we must turn away from some blessings to obtain others. I love -the country. Theoretically speaking, it is the best place to bring up -children. But living in the open does deprive them of the mental -alertness, of the broad vision from infancy, of the self-reliance, of -the habits of industry that childhood in the city alone can give. And -then, the doctor comes right away when you telephone.</p> - -<p>Thirty-Eight Rue du Montparnasse was opposite Notre-Dame-des-Champs, and -only a door down from the Boulevard. From the windows my tots could see -the passing show on the boulevard: and the church was a never-failing -source of interest. Just opposite us was the sexton's apartment, tucked -into the roof of the church. It is characteristic of Paris that a home -should be hidden away in an unexpected corner like this. From the -windows Christine and Lloyd could see the little church children playing -on their flat roof, and out of the door below the choir boys passed in -and out. We went into our apartment at First Communion season. My -childhood enjoyed the "little brides of Christ" in their white dresses -and veils. Every day<a name="page_196" id="page_196"></a> had its weddings and funerals. The children did -not distinguish between life and death. Whenever carriages stopped in -front of the church, they would jump up and down and shout, "<i>Mariage</i>!"</p> - -<p>A little sister arrived at the beginning of May. When June came, I was -able to take Emily Elizabeth out to market. Every morning we went down -the Boulevard Raspail to Sadla's, on the corner of the Rue de Sèvres, -and twice a week to the market on the Boulevard Edgar-Quinet. They were -the blessed days, when I had no cook—which meant that I could buy what -I liked to eat, and no nurse—which meant that I saw something of my own -children. Servants are a necessary evil to the housewife and mother that -wants to see something of the world in which she lives. But an -occasional interlude, when everything devolves on mother, is good both -for her and the children.</p> - -<p>During the war Sadla's went bankrupt, and for several years the corner -opposite the Hotel Lutetia has been desolate. Probably the firm failed -for the very reason that made it unique among the provision-shops even -of Paris, where the selling of food is as much a work of art as the -cooking of it. We loved Sadla's. Marketing there was always a joy. Your -baby-carriage was not an inconvenience: for everything was displayed -outside on the street. You started with fish and ended with fruit and -flowers, passing by meats and vegetables, canned goods, groceries, -pastry, cakes and<a name="page_197" id="page_197"></a> candies. The fish swam in a marble basin under a -fountain. You made your choice, and the victim was netted by a -white-clad boy and flopped over the counter to the scales. Live lobsters -sprawled in sea-weed, and boiled ones lay on ice. Oysters from fifty -centimes to five francs a dozen were packed in wicker baskets, passed by -their guardian every few minutes under the fountain. In the <i>hors -d'Å“uvres</i> and cold meat section, you had your choice of the cheapest -and the most expensive variety of tempting morsels. It made no -difference if you wanted a little chicken wing or a big turkey encased -in truffle-studded jelly, a slice of ham or a whole Yorkshire quarter, -one pickle or a hundred, twenty centimes worth of <i>salade Russe</i> or an -earthenware dishful arranged like an Italian garden landscape, one -radish or a bunch of them. In Paris everybody is accustomed to -purchasing things to eat and drink of the best quality: so you do not -feel that the quality of what you want depends upon the quantity you ask -for. On the meat counters, for instance, single chops, and tiny cutlets -and roasts, and chickens of all sizes, are displayed side by side, each -with its price marked. Apples, pears, tomatoes, bananas, even plums, are -price-marked by the piece. Tarts and cakes are of all sizes. When you -come to flowers, you can buy single roses or carnations. I never tired -of shopping at Sadla's. Nor did the children.</p> - -<p>Vegetables and fruits and nuts are mostly bought in<a name="page_198" id="page_198"></a> the open markets or -from the <i>marchandes des quatre saisons</i>, who deal also in dairy -products and poultry and flowers. The markets are held on certain days -in different quarters. The women with push-carts line the streets every -day. They go early in the morning to the Halles Centrales and buy -whatever they find is the bargain of the day, and hawk in their own -quarter, announcing their merchandise by queer cries that even to the -well-trained ear of the French woman need a glance at the push-cart to -confirm what is at the best a guess.</p> - -<p>It is fun to buy on the street, and the commodities and price are -sometimes an irresistible temptation. But you have to watch the -<i>marchandes des quatre saisons</i>. They have a way of throwing your -purchase on the scales in the manner of an American iceman, and you want -to be ready to put out your hand to steady the needle. Your eye must be -sharp too, to watch that some of the apples do not come, wormy and -spotted, from a less desirable layer underneath the selling layer. It is -a wonderful lesson in learning how to put the best foot forward to watch -the push-cart women arranging their wares on the side-walks around the -Halles Centrales before starting out on the daily round. From the -writings of Carlyle and other seekers after the picturesque, the legend -has grown that the <i>poissonnières</i>, who knitted before the guillotine, -are a race apart. But there is as much truth in this belief as in the -belief that our gallant marines did the trick alone at Château-Thierry.<a name="page_199" id="page_199"></a> -Fish women are no more formidable among Parisiennes than the general run -of <i>marchandes des quatre saisons</i>. And ask almost anyone who has lived -in a Paris apartment about her concierge!</p> - -<p>Fresh from Montenegro, Herbert reached our new home on the morning of -July fourteenth. He explained that he had left the Greeks and Serbians -and Bulgarians to fight over the Turkish spoils to their heart's -content. He was sick of following wars. He wanted to see his new baby. -It had come over him one night in Albania, when sleeplessness was due to -the usual cause in that part of the world, that by catching a certain -boat from Cattaro to Venice he could get home for the Quatorze.</p> - -<p>After he had looked over his new acquisition, we started out for a -stroll by ourselves just to talk things over. We walked down the -Boulevard Montparnasse to the Place de l'Observatoire. Between the -Closerie des Lilas and the Bal Bullier was a big merry-go-round. The -onlookers were throwing multi-colored streamers at the girls they liked -the best among the riders. In the middle of the street a strong man in -pink tights was doing stunts with dumb-bells and the members of his -family.</p> - -<p>The same thought came to us both. What a pity the children are missing -this! We hurried back for them, forgetting that we had promised -ourselves a long just-us talk to bridge the months of separation. And we -returned<a name="page_200" id="page_200"></a> to join in the celebration, my husband pushing the -baby-carriage and I with progeny hanging to both hands. Why do children -drag so, even when you are walking slowly? Every mother knows how they -lean on her literally as well as figuratively.</p> - -<p>That Quatorze was the beginning of a new epoch. A new generation was to -have childhood vistas of Paris, but parent-led and parent-shown, as it -had been for me thirty years before. For that is the way of the world.<a name="page_201" id="page_201"></a></p> - -<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XX" id="CHAPTER_XX"></a>CHAPTER XX<br /><br /> -<small>THE PROBLEM OF HOUSING</small></h3> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">W</span>HEN you are in Paris without children you can get along in a hotel or a -<i>pension</i>: and you can probably live as cheaply as, if not more cheaply -than, in a home of your own. There are several combinations. Inexpensive -rooms (in normal times) can be found in good hotels: and there are lots -of hotels that take only roomers. You do not, as at a <i>pension</i>, have to -be tied down to at least two meals where you live. The advantages of a -furnished-room or a <i>pension</i> are: easy to find in the quarter you wish -to live in; no bother about service; and no necessity to tie yourself up -with a lease. But if you are making a protracted stay, it is wise to -weigh at the beginning the disadvantages with the advantages. You get -tired of the food; you have to associate daily with people whom you do -not like; and—especially if you are of my sex—you have no place to -receive your friends. I think in the end most people who go to Paris and -who follow the line of least resistance, either because it is that or -because they have the idea that they can learn French quicker in a -"French <i>pension</i>," regret having missed the opportunity of a<a name="page_202" id="page_202"></a> home of -their own, of a <i>chez soi</i>, as the French say. For you really cannot -feel that you belong in Paris unless you are keeping house. "Be it ever -so humble," you can set up your own home, if you are determined to do -so. There are innumerable wee apartments—a hall big enough to hang up -your coat and hat, a kitchenette, and a room where your bed can be a -couch disguised with a rug and pillows during the day. Studios furnish -another opportunity of making a home of your own. Of course, during the -war and since Paris has been overcrowded. But there will be a return to -normal conditions.</p> - -<p>And if you have a family—even one baby—hotel or <i>pension</i> life becomes -unendurable.</p> - -<p>When Herbert came back from Turkey in the summer of 1913, we found the -three little rooms and kitchen of Thirty-eight Rue du Montparnasse too -small for us. The first thing Herbert did was to "give notice." The -Paris system of renting is very advantageous if one is looking for a -modest apartment. Your lease is by the term—a term being three -months—and can be canceled upon giving one term's notice. This means -that you're tied down for only six months in the beginning, and after -that for only three months. One can buy simple furniture, as we did in -the Rue Servandoni, and sell it at the end of the year without a great -loss. It is possible to rent an apartment for a year, furnish it and -sell out, at about the same price you would<a name="page_203" id="page_203"></a> pay for a furnished -apartment. And you will have had the pleasure of being surrounded by -your own things.</p> - -<p>The proposition of a furnished apartment looks better than it is. The -French are the worst people in the world for biting a penny. They are -meticulous to a point incomprehensible to Americans. The inventory is a -horror! In taking a villa, whether it be in Brittany, in Normandy, at -Aix-les-Bains, or on the Riviera, you are handed sheets of paper by the -arm's length, on which are recorded not only the objects in each room -but the state of walls, garden, woodwork, carpets, mattresses, pillows -and blankets. You wrestle with the agent when you enter. But he is -cleverer than you are. And when you come to leave, he finds spots and -cracks, nicks in the china, ink-stains, and all sorts of damages you -never thought of. He points to your signature—and you pay! You replace -what is broken or chipped by new objects. You repaint and repaper and -clean. The bill is as long as the inventory. And you find that your -original rent is simply an item.</p> - -<p>I do not want to infer that you are entirely free from this annoyance -and uncertain item of expense when you lease unfurnished. Your walls and -ceilings and floors, your mirrors (which in France are an integral part -of the building) and your <i>charges</i> are to be considered. An architect, -if you please, draws up the <i>état des lieux</i>, which you are required to -sign as you do the <i>inventoire</i> of a furnished apartment. But the longer -you remain<a name="page_204" id="page_204"></a> in an apartment the less proportionately to your rent are -the damages liable to be. As for the <i>charges</i>, by which is meant your -share towards the carpets in the halls and on the stairs, the lighting, -elevator, etc., in many leases they are now represented by a fixed sum, -and where they are not, you can have a pretty definite idea as to what -they are going to be. The unexpected does not hit you.</p> - -<p>Most Paris leases are on the 3-6-9 year basis. You sign for three years. -If you do not give notice six months before the end of the three-year -term, the lease is automatically continued for another equal period. For -nine years, then, you are sure of undisturbed possession, and your -<i>propriétaire</i> cannot raise the rent on you. Leases are generally -uniform in their clauses. You bind yourself to put furniture to the -value of at least one year's rent in the apartment to live in it -<i>bourgeoisement</i> (that is, to carry on no business), to keep no dogs or -other pets,<a name="FNanchor_D_4" id="FNanchor_D_4"></a><a href="#Footnote_D_4" class="fnanchor">[D]</a> and to sublet only with proprietor's consent. On his -side, the proprietor agrees to give you<a name="page_205" id="page_205"></a> proper concierge and elevator -service, to heat the apartment for five months from November first to -March thirty-first, and to furnish water, hot and cold, at fixed rates -per cubic meter. The lease is registered at the <i>mairie</i> at the -<i>locataire's</i> expense.</p> - -<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_D_4" id="Footnote_D_4"></a><a href="#FNanchor_D_4"><span class="label">[D]</span></a> This clause is a dead letter almost everywhere. You are -much more apt to be refused an apartment because you have children than -because you have dogs or birds. In fact, although you often see a sign -or are greeted by the statement NI CHIENS NI ENFANTS, the prohibition, -when you press the concierge, is limited to children. My bitter -criticism of the people among whom I live is the attitude of a large -part of them towards children. They do not like children. They do not -want them. And they do not understand why any woman is fool enough to -have "a big family," as they call my four. This is the most serious -problem of contemporary France. It makes the winning of the war a hollow -victory.</p></div> - -<p>You pay the taxes, which are collected directly from you. The municipal -tax runs to about sixteen percent of the annual rental, and now includes -in a lump sum the old taxes for windows and doors. In addition, you pay -a very small tax to recompense the city for having suppressed the -<i>octroi</i> on wines and liquors and mineral waters. A new tax, which no -resident in France who has an apartment can escape, is the income tax. -But unless you are a French subject, you are not compelled to make a -return of your sources of income. Should you choose to be taxed -<i>d'office</i>, the collector assesses you on a basis of having an income -seven times the amount of your rental. The concierge is forbidden to -allow you to move from your apartment until you have shown him the -receipts for the current year for all your taxes.</p> - -<p>Once you have signed your lease and have arranged to move in, your -troubles are not yet over. Proprietors furnish no chandeliers or other -lights, not even the simplest. You have to go to an electrician, buy -your fixtures, and have them installed, if you have not bought the -lights in the apartment from the previous <i>locataire</i>. You must sign -contracts and make deposits for your gas<a name="page_206" id="page_206"></a> and electric light. The gas -company will rent you a stove and a meter. You pay the charges for -connecting you up. Telephones are in the hands of the government. If you -want a direct telephone, you have to sign a contract. If you want to -have your telephone through the concierge's <i>loge</i>, the telephone -service is charged on your quarterly rent bill. In any case, you pay for -the instrument and bell box and the charges for installation. A private -line is not much of an advantage in Paris. The service is scarcely any -quicker. With your telephone by way of the concierge, a message can be -left if you do not answer, and the person calling you is informed if you -are out of town.</p> - -<p>The last of your troubles is fire insurance. Thanks to the solid -construction of Paris and careful surveillance, fires are very rare. -During all the years I have lived in Paris I remember no fires except -those caused by the German bombs. However, you do not dare not to -insure. For French law holds you responsible for damage to neighbors' -apartments from water as well as fire, if the fire starts in yours. Your -insurance policy insures your neighbors as well as yourself. The French -law is excellent. It makes you careful. French law, also, by the way, -holds you liable for accidents to your servants, of any kind and no -matter how incurred. You cannot fall back on the joker of contributory -carelessness. All the servant has to prove is that the accident happened -while working for you.<a name="page_207" id="page_207"></a></p> - -<p>I have forgotten to mention one further formality that was not of -importance before the war but is indispensable now. An old French police -law requires all foreigners to secure a <i>certificat d'immatriculation</i> -from the Prefecture of Police as the <i>sine qua non</i> to residence in -Paris. Before the war, no one ever bothered about this. The only -foreigners watched by the police were Russians, due to a provision -France ought never to have agreed to in the alliance with Russia. When -the war broke out and my husband went to get his <i>permis de séjour</i>, he -was asked for the first time for this paper. And we had been living in -France on and off for six years, and had leased three apartments! This -was a reason for loving Paris. Nobody bothered you, and you could live -as you pleased and do as you pleased so long as you behaved yourself. -Foreigners were never made to feel that they were foreigners. They -enjoyed equality before the law with Frenchmen. Paris was cosmopolite in -a unique sense. Hindsight blamed the laxity of the French police. But -let us fervently hope that the old spirit of hospitality may not have -changed with the war and that France in regard to Germany may not be as -Rome in regard to Greece. Why be victor if one has to adopt the habits -of the vanquished?</p> - -<p>I have gone into the question of the housing problem with too much -precision and detail, I fear, for a book of Paris sketches. But so many -friends have asked me, so many strangers have written me, about taking<a name="page_208" id="page_208"></a> -up their abode in Paris that I feel what I have said about it will be of -interest to all who are interested in Paris.</p> - -<p>We had three months to our new residence. You always have three months -at least in Paris. It is not enough if you are undecided or lazy. It is -plenty if you go about hunting for a home with the same energy and -persistence and enthusiasm that you put into other things. After all, -what is more important than a home? We tramped the quarter, as we had -done in the summer of 1909. But we now had a large family. And we had -realized the fundamental truth of the beautiful old Scotch saying, -"Every bairn brings its food wi' it." So we were able to aspire to two -salons and three bedrooms, to <i>confort moderne</i> (which means central -heat, electric light, bath-rooms, elevator and hot water), and to palms -and red carpet in the doorway.</p> - -<p>For us the heart of Paris at that time was where the Boulevard du -Montparnasse is crossed by the Boulevard Raspail. On the Boulevard du -Montparnasse, between Baty's and the Rue Léopold-Robert, a new apartment -house was being built. Before the stairs were finished we climbed to the -sixth floor, lost our hearts to a view of all Paris, and signed a 3-6-9 -lease. The war has come and gone. We are still there.<a name="page_209" id="page_209"></a></p> - -<h2><a name="y1914" id="y1914"></a>1914</h2> - -<p><a name="page_210" id="page_210"></a></p> - -<p><a name="page_211" id="page_211"></a></p> - -<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XXI" id="CHAPTER_XXI"></a>CHAPTER XXI<br /><br /> -<small>"NACH PARIS!"</small></h3> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">V</span>ON KLUCK and I had a race to see who would reach Paris first. It was -close. But I won. Lots of my friends thought then and since that I was -foolish to take my children back to Paris at such a time. An American -woman came to Ty Coz, my little summer cottage at Saint-Jean-du-Doigt in -Finistère, to remonstrate with me.</p> - -<p>"You must be crazy," she said in her most complimentary tone, "to take -those three children back to Paris now. The Germans are certainly going -to capture Paris, and if they don't do it right away, they'll bombard -the city until it surrenders. My dear Mrs. Gibbons, surely you read the -papers and you see what awful things the Germans are doing in Belgium. -Paris has no chance against their big guns. And they will cut the -railways. You will have no milk, no vegetables. And here you are in -Brittany, where they probably will not come, and if they do, you can get -off to England by sea."</p> - -<p>I did not argue. It would have been foolish to tell her that the Germans -would not take Paris. I was no prophet, and denying a danger is not -preventing it.<a name="page_212" id="page_212"></a> Despite the tigress instinct of every mother to protect -her own, I simply could not feel that to go home was the wrong thing to -do. Herbert wrote and telegraphed approving my desire to return. As my -husband could not leave Paris to come to us, it was manifestly up to us -to go to him. We were more concerned about the possibility of being cut -off from each other than about what the Germans might do to us. I had -one advantage in making up my mind over other women around me. War and -sieges and bombardments did not loom up when I read about the march -through Belgium with the same sense of awfulness as to my neighbors. I -knew that things look worse from a distance than they are on the spot. I -remembered how normally we lived in the midst of massacre in Tarsus and -when the Bulgarians were attacking Constantinople.</p> - -<p>The removal of the Government to Bordeaux did not deter me at the last -minute. It did not seem to me an indication that the game was up, but -rather the decision to profit by experience of earlier wars and not -stake the whole war upon the defense of the capital. It was getting cold -at the seashore. I was anxious to direct myself the moving into the new -apartment we had taken. Yvonne, my cook, and Dorothy, my English nurse, -were as eager as I to get back to town. We just didn't let the Germans -bother us! The trunks and baby-beds were loaded in one two-wheeled cart -and the kiddies on hay in another. We grown-ups<a name="page_213" id="page_213"></a> bicycled along behind -the seventeen kilometres to Morlaix. The Brest <i>rapide</i> carried scarcely -any civilians. We broke in on the seclusion of a colonel sitting alone -in a compartment.</p> - -<p>"I pity you, sir," I said.</p> - -<p>"Why?" He smiled and threw away his newspaper. That was promising. When -a man puts down his newspaper for me, I know he is interesting. So few -men do. My husband doesn't always. I needed to make friends with the -officer. During the all night journey I wanted to manoeuvre for open -windows, and you cannot do that in France unless you are on the best of -terms with your fellow-travellers.</p> - -<p>"Why do I pity you? Because you are invaded by three babies and three -grown-ups when you hoped to keep the compartment for yourself. But you -may not be sorry when you see the supper you are going to help eat—two -roast chickens, salad sandwiches, pears just picked this morning in my -garden, and the best of cider. There is plenty of <i>café au lait</i> in -thermos bottles for breakfast."</p> - -<p>The colonel's face brightened. Dining-cars had been suppressed since the -day of the mobilization. He assured me that a soldier did not mind -company at night and always liked food. But he was a bit puzzled about -my breakfast invitation. "Surely you are not going to Paris with these -children," he said. "Are you not afraid?"<a name="page_214" id="page_214"></a></p> - -<p>"Not as long as there is the French army between my children and the -enemy," I answered.</p> - -<p>The colonel leaned back in the corner and shut his eyes. Tears rolled -down his cheeks. It was a long time before he spoke, and all he said -was, "<i>Merci</i>! I shall tell that to my regiment to-morrow."</p> - -<p>"Monsieur," I insisted, "what I said was nothing. All the women in -France feel as I do. We have got to feel that way. You have the -strength—we must have the faith. If Paris were not my home, I should -not go. But it is my home, and this is the week I always return from the -shore."</p> - -<p>More than one hysterical person wrote wonderful and lurid accounts of -Paris in the autumn of 1914. There was an exodus of <i>froussards</i> in the -first days of September and during the whole month refugees poured into -the city. But the great mass of the population was not affected by the -fright of a few. I arrived too late for the most critical days. My -husband assured me that there had been no panic except in the -imagination of certain individuals and officials. I found that very few -of my friends had run away. The <i>Herald</i> appeared every morning, and -Percy Mitchell's voice over the telephone from the Rue du Louvre was -cheery and optimistic. There was no funk in the American colony. Most of -the people I knew were helping get the Ambulance at Neuilly started or -were launching <i>Å“uvres</i> of their own. I seized on the opening<a name="page_215" id="page_215"></a> for -layette work immediately, and I started afternoon sewing for Russian and -Polish girls, too, in one of my servants' rooms. I am a quarrelsome -wretch when I get on committees with other women. So I did the -<i>layettes</i> alone in my studio and had only the help of another Bryn Mawr -girl, who lived in Paris, in the <i>ouvroir</i>—as gatherings for sewing -were called.</p> - -<p>But the panic? The sense of danger? Suspense and worry over the fighting -between the Marne and Aisne? Dread of air raids? I saw none of this. I -heard nothing in the conversation of my friends or servants or -tradespeople to make me feel Paris was in a ferment of excitement or -fear. The anxiety was for loved ones fighting "out there"; the -depression was the pall of death over us. No music, no singing, theatres -closed, cafés shut up at eight o'clock, dark streets—these were the -abnormal features of Paris life in the early months of the war. Whoever -writes or talks in a way to make it appear that staying in Paris was a -test of personal courage is a sorry impostor. There was no danger. None -ever thought of danger.</p> - -<p>Nor did we have the discomforts and annoyances and deprivations during -the early period of the war that came to us later. Food was abundant and -prices did not go up. There was plenty of labor. You could get things -done without the exhausting hunt for workers with a willing spirit and -knowledge of their job that we have to make now. In the month of the -Battle of<a name="page_216" id="page_216"></a> the Marne we moved into 120 Boulevard du Montparnasse. It was -a new house, and we had everything to think of, plumbing, heating, -fixtures, wiring for bells and lights, painting, paper-hanging, -carpentering. All was done without a hitch. The moving-vans worked as in -peace times. Things came by freight from Brittany and Normandy—thirty -boxes in all—and were delivered to us without delay just as if there -were no war. It seems incredible in retrospect that France and Paris -should have been normal (after the first confusion of the mobilization) -despite the terrific struggle for existence within hearing distance. But -it was so. I want to put down my testimony as a housewife and mother of -children in Paris that we lived normally and had no dangers or -difficulties to contend with when the Germans were trying to finish up -the war in a hurry.</p> - -<p>On the second Sunday of October we had our first visit from a group of -airplanes. Few bombs were dropped. Herbert and I were walking outside -the fortifications near the Porte d'Orléans when they arrived. We -thought of our kiddies, playing in the Luxembourg, and hurried there. -The children and Dorothy described graphically how two planes had been -over the Garden. But their feeling was wholly curiosity. At that time -Parisians did not realize the danger of air raids.</p> - -<p>One Sunday Herbert and I went chestnutting. Despite the swarms of -excursionists around Paris, there<a name="page_217" id="page_217"></a> are lots of places to pick up on the -road all the chestnuts you can carry. We walked from Saint-Cyr across -country, skirting Versailles, to Marly. With heavy pockets, knotted -kerchief bundles, and the beginning of stiffness in our backs, we -stopped for lunch at a little country hostelry whose <i>cave</i> still has a -big stock of Chambertin of golden years. The critic and I are agreed -upon the wisdom of censoring the name I unthinkingly put in the first -draft of this chapter. Why spoil a good thing? Life is short—and so are -stocks of Chambertin. And there are so many roads and so many hostelries -between Saint-Cyr and Saint-Germain-en-Laye that the little I have said -is a challenge to your love of Burgundy.</p> - -<p>Madame told us how history did not repeat itself until the end of the -story. What starts the same way does not always end the same way. We -hope German professors of history will impress this truth upon the next -generation of their close-cropped, bullet-headed students. They are at -liberty to use this illustration if they want. Why limit their Paris -vistas to the provoking sight of the Tour Eiffel in the distance?</p> - -<p>"In Soixante-Dix," said Madame, flipping teamsters' crumbs off our table -with a skilful swing of her <i>serviette</i>, "I saw my father bury our wines -out there in the garden. It took several days, and he had only my -brother and me to help him. I remember how he mumbled and shook his head -over the possible effect of<a name="page_218" id="page_218"></a> disturbing the good <i>crus</i>. 'They will -never be the same again,' he said mournfully. Much good it did him! We -had our work for nothing. The Germans came. Right where you are sitting, -<i>M'sieu-dame</i>, the brutes thumped on the table and called for the best -in the cellar. My father said he had no wine. They went to the cave. -Empty. Then the officer laughed till the tears rolled down his cheeks. -He sat in a chair—sprawled in a chair that cracked under his -swinging—smacked his thighs, and when he could speak, he told his men -to go out into the garden. With their picks and shovels they unearthed -all—all, <i>M'sieu-dame</i>.</p> - -<p>"So this time I remembered—and I thought hard. My husband was off the -fourth day of the mobilization. Even if I had help, would not the garden -<i>cache</i> a second time be foolish? And the old <i>crus</i> ought not to be -shaken—you are going to taste my Chambertin, and you will agree that it -ought not to risk being shaken. It really ought not. What was I to do? -When the Germans come, will they know the difference? I asked myself. So -I took <i>vin ordinaire</i>. I put it in bottles. I sealed it red. I worked -two days to put it on the outer racks and the under racks with the good -wine between. Then I cobwebbed it and moistened it with dust. I built a -fire to dry it. If the Germans were in a hurry they would take the top. -If they had leisure, they would fish in the bottom rows.</p> - -<p>"But the Germans never came. I had my work a<a name="page_219" id="page_219"></a> second time for nothing. -Do you think, <i>M'sieu-dame</i>, they will be fooled? I want to know what is -best for next time."</p> - -<p>"Next time," cried my husband. "Next time! Do you think there will be a -next time?"</p> - -<p>"<i>Bien sûr</i>, Monsieur," the woman answered without hesitation. "The -Germans will come again. They will always come. We are not as big, -<i>hélas</i>! They will come—unless your country—?"</p> - -<p>Suddenly we realized that not the keeper of the inn, but France, France -through a wife and mother, was speaking. A shadow fell upon us that -Chambertin and the crisp autumn air could not dispel.</p> - -<p><a name="page_220" id="page_220"></a></p> - -<p><a name="page_221" id="page_221"></a></p> - -<h2><a name="y1914-1915" id="y1914-1915"></a>1914-1915</h2> - -<p><a name="page_222" id="page_222"></a></p> - -<p><a name="page_223" id="page_223"></a></p> - -<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XXII" id="CHAPTER_XXII"></a>CHAPTER XXII<br /><br /> -<small>AT HOME IN THE WHIRLWIND</small></h3> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">A</span>FTER the initial days of mobilization, the German advance, the coming -of the refugees, and the aeroplane raids, Paris became again -astonishingly normal. We got used to the war quickly. A calamity is like -death. It comes. You cannot change it. You must accept it and go on -living. We were in the midst of the whirlwind. We had our ups and downs. -There were periods of unreasonable hope, when we thought the war was -going to end by the collapse of the Germans. And there were periods of -equally unreasoning depression when gloom spread like a plague. Who will -ever forget the hope that came with the Spring of 1915? Mysterious -rumors spread of German demoralization and of the irresistible fighting -machine the British were building up. Our armies were only waiting for -the rainy weather to finish. Then the forward march would commence. But -after a few unsuccessful attempts to break through, French and British -settled down to the life of the trenches. Fortunately the Germans were -equally immobilized. But during the summer, instead of our advance on -the<a name="page_224" id="page_224"></a> western front, we had to read about the German advance in Poland. -The censorship worked overtime. <i>Communiqués</i> were masterpieces of -clever dissimulation. News was withheld in the hope of a sudden reversal -of the fortune of arms. In the end we had to be told that Warsaw was in -the hands of the Central Empires and that <i>les Impériaux</i> were closing -in on Brest-Litovsk. In the summer of 1915, at the very beginning of the -Italian intervention, the French lost faith in the new ally. Italy, -untouched so far by the war and with the power of making an offensive in -her own hands, could not even prevent Austria from lending powerful aid -in the great German offensive against Russia! Ink and breath were spent -in extolling the union of the Latin races: but the mass of the French -people—from that time on—looked no more for aid to Italy.</p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ilp224_lg.jpg"> -<img src="images/ilp224_sml.jpg" width="550" height="382" alt="The first snow in the Luxembourg" title="The first snow in the Luxembourg" /></a> -<br /> -<span class="caption">The first snow in the Luxembourg</span> -</p> - -<p>We deferred hope until the spring of 1916. Surely the British would now -be ready to cooperate with the French in the final offensive of the war! -But the Germans, feeling certain that they had disposed of the Russians, -struck first. The last days of February, 1916, were (if one except -possibly the spring months of 1918) the darkest days of the war. -Although the attacks against Verdun failed, the weather in Paris -combined with sickening anxiety to make us feel that it was -nip-and-tuck. As a contrast, the summer months of the Battle of the -Somme renewed our courage. And<a name="page_225" id="page_225"></a> just as we were reluctantly realizing -that this onslaught of ours was as indecisive as the earlier German -offensive against Verdun, to which it was the reply, the intervention of -Rumania came to offset the admitted failure of the Dardanelles and -Mesopotamian campaigns. At last, the war was to be decided in the -Balkans! Before the third winter set in, however, we saw Rumania humbled -by Mackensen and the Salonica army as motionless as the armies on the -western front, even though Venizelos had at last succeeded in ranging -Greece on our side. The German machine was not crumbling before a -combination of superior numbers and superior equipment, and managed to -face its enemies on all sides.</p> - -<p>So much for what the newspapers said during those thirty months and for -what we thought about the <i>péripéties</i> of the war. After each -disappointment we looked for new reasons to hope. We readjusted -ourselves to living in the midst of uncertainties, bereavements that -would have broken our hearts had they come to us "by the hand of God," -and increasing social and economic difficulties. France was saved -because the French people never faltered in their belief that <i>dulce et -decorum est pro patria mori</i>. France was saved because Paris led a -normal life in the midst of the whirlwind. The Turks have a proverb that -a fish begins to corrupt at the head. If the Parisians had become -demoralized, if they had given up the struggle<a name="page_226" id="page_226"></a> to live normally and -tranquilly, France would have been lost.</p> - -<p>Initial reactions and early symptoms of war fever passed quickly. We -soon opened up our pianos, put on our phonograph records, and took to -singing again. We did not wear mourning. We insisted upon having our -theatres and music-halls. We celebrated Christmas. We stopped making -last year's suits do and refusing to buy finery. For the <i>poilus</i>, -coming home to find their women folks shabby, said it was gayer at the -front. We allowed all the German composers except Wagner to re-appear on -our programmes. Some stupidities, such as banishing the German language -from schools and burning German books, we were never guilty of.</p> - -<p>I remember reading with amusement and amazement an article in an -American newspaper, written by someone who "did" war-stricken France in -thirty days, in which this statement was made: "There are millions in -France who will never smile again." Upon this absurd and false -hypothesis the article was built. It was easy to be sure that the writer -knew nothing whatever about France in war-time or about psychology, for -that matter. Whoever has had any experience of horrors or who has lived -through a great crisis knows that if you do not laugh you will go crazy. -Normal human beings must have relaxation and recreation. They must -have—or create—normal conditions in abnormal<a name="page_227" id="page_227"></a> surroundings. You must -go on living. You must have strength to meet burdens. So you laugh and -sing and dance. You entertain people and are entertained. You go to the -theatre. You take exercise. You enjoy your meals. A long face is either -a pose or a sign of mental derangement. In the spring of 1916 I checked -up a dozen of my women friends, all of whom had husbands or sons—or -both—in the war. More than half were widows or had sons killed. The -husbands of two were prisoners in German camps. But all of them were -planning to spend the summer in their country-homes or at the shore, -just as they had done before the war. Is not this the secret of our -ability to hold on during the "last quarter of an hour" and to continue -to hope for victory until we had obtained it?</p> - -<p>At the beginning of the second winter, in November, 1915, I sent my -three children to live for a few weeks in my studio, which I had fixed -up especially for them. They had a piano and a phonograph and books and -toys. They moved over with their nurse on a Sunday afternoon, and -thought it was a great lark. The next day their father went to see them -and told them about the arrival of a baby sister.</p> - -<p>Tuesday morning the children came to see us. Never shall I forget their -joy. Christine said immediately, "Hello, Hope, let me fix your feet. -Mama, could I tuck her blanket in? Hope's feet are cold. I want to hold -her soon." A little mother, she is.<a name="page_228" id="page_228"></a> Lloyd, sensitive and reserved, -stood quietly looking. He patted my face and tried to speak. But his -mouth was turning down at the corners for just a second, and I had to -save the day by asking him a cheerful question. Mimi clapped her hands -and danced and said, "I like you, mama, dat's a fine baby." When Herbert -went over to the consulate to register the baby, he took Christine with -him. She heard him say to the Consul-General, Mr. Thackara, that his -French friends were teasing him about the large number of marriage dots -he will have to provide. Christine saw in this a reflection on girl -babies. With a volley of French reproof, which delighted the whole -consular office, she went for him tooth and nail.</p> - -<p>Isn't it a joke on me to have so many daughters? I have always thought -myself a good pal, understanding men much better than women. Miss Mary -Cassatt came in. Her comment was subtle. She said simply to Herbert that -she was glad of his assured increase of interest in women's suffrage. -Surprised, Herbert was betrayed into asking why. "Don't you realize," -exclaimed Miss Cassatt, "that you must begin now to interest yourself in -the future of your girls?" Although the coming of Hope increases the -problems of feminine psychology I shall have to deal with later on, I am -glad the war baby was a girl. My first thought, when they told me, was -that she should not have to carry a gun.<a name="page_229" id="page_229"></a></p> - -<p>This brings me to her name. 1915 was drawing to a close with so many -darkening shadows—but shadows that did not lessen our faith in the -outcome of the war—that I thought the name imposed upon us by -circumstances. I called her Hope Delarue. Dear old Père Delarue is one -of the best known research scholars in the Jesuit Order. Our friendship, -founded back in Constantinople days, has deepened during the war. When -Herbert went off on his many trips, anyone of which might have proved -the last, he left me in the care of Père Delarue. The dear old man had -been coming to us from time to time with the news of another loss in his -family. His brother, a general in the French army, was killed. His -nephews had fallen. I thought it would comfort him to feel that there -was a child in the world to bear his name. Before going to Suez, Herbert -gave me some flat silver marked H.D.G. It flashed into his brain the day -after the baby was born that the little thing had its mother's initials!</p> - -<p>I was up for the first time on Christmas Eve. We had a large party as -usual, with a tree for the children trimmed by the grown-ups. In spite -of the rain we tried to make our Christmas Day a joyful one. There was -the newborn baby to celebrate. At the end of the afternoon, Herbert gave -us a hurried kiss all around, and went out in the rain to catch the -train for Marseilles. He sailed the next day on the <i>André Lebon</i> for -Port-Said. His was the only one of the<a name="page_230" id="page_230"></a> three passenger boats that week -to escape the submarines. The P. and O. <i>Persia</i> was sunk off Crete and -the Japanese mail went down seventy miles from the Canal.</p> - -<p>I did not see my husband for several months, and then he joined us in -Nice for a few days before going to Verdun. It was a joyful reunion. -Herbert admired his children and asked what they had done during his -absence. But he forgot all about poor little Hope, who was taking her -nap. Two hours after his arrival, a lusty cry brought back to his mind -the fact that the number of his children was four.</p> - -<p>Memories of these days are not painful, because we did not allow -ourselves to be dominated by pain while they were being lived. The -whirlwind was not of our making, nor had we gone deliberately into the -midst of it. But, finding ourselves there, we made the best of it. -Memories are precious. I would not have missed the Paris vistas of those -years. It is a blessed thing to have in one's mind the long lines of -adverse circumstances and difficulties and anxieties on either side if -at the end is hope realized. And I have my own tangible Hope, a child -whose merry, sunny nature is living proof of how Paris was at home in -the whirlwind.<a name="page_231" id="page_231"></a></p> - -<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XXIII" id="CHAPTER_XXIII"></a>CHAPTER XXIII<br /><br /> -<small>SAUVONS LES BÉBÉS</small></h3> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">"M</span>-M-M-MADAME m-m-must not be f-f-frightened; he said so!"</p> - -<p>My Bretonne cook came to me pale and stammering.</p> - -<p>"What is the trouble, Rosali?"</p> - -<p>"P-p-policeman at the d-d-door s-s-says he m-m-must see you!"</p> - -<p>A spick and span <i>agent</i> came into my drawing-room. He took the -cigarette offered him, and explained the reason for his visit.</p> - -<p>"My chief sent me around to ask madame to help. It is a baby case. We -came here because the mother said she got a layette at madame's studio. -Her name is Mlle. A——; do you remember her case? If madame could -come—"</p> - -<p>In a few minutes we were walking up the Rue Delambre to the police -station of the Fourteenth Arrondissement. Mlle. A—— had come to me for -baby clothes before she went to the hospital. The child's father was at -the front. When the mother appealed to him to recognize the child, with -the desperate way of a man who is in the trenches facing death, he -replied,<a name="page_232" id="page_232"></a></p> - -<p>"What's the use! How do I know that the child is mine?"</p> - -<p>Before going to the hospital the girl begged me to think of something to -do. When the baby was born we had him photographed and a copy sent to -his father, we wrote, "The baby looks like you as you can see from this -photograph. If you tear up the card or throw it away, the next shell -will kill you."</p> - -<p>At the police station, in the stuffy little room where the plain clothes -men sit close to the door leading to the office of the Monsieur le -Commissaire, I found Mlle. A—— and her baby.</p> - -<p>"O Madame," she cried, "Jean got our card. He was sitting in a little -circle with some comrades eating dinner. The mail arrived. His name was -called. He rose and walked over to the <i>vaguemestre</i> and, oh, Madame, -just then the shell came. It exploded where Jean had been eating his -dinner, and all his comrades were killed. He says the baby, <i>pauvre -chou</i>, looks like him and saved his life."</p> - -<p>The <i>agent</i> came with papers. "Will madame sign here?" Jean was -recognizing little Pierrot and was applying for permission to marry the -baby's mother.</p> - -<p>An old woman sitting nearby held in her hands a <i>livret de mariage</i>. -"<i>Quel beau bébé!</i>" she exclaimed. "Is it a girl?"</p> - -<p>"No, madame, a boy," replied mademoiselle, smoothing<a name="page_233" id="page_233"></a> the baby's -swaddling blanket and pinning it tighter around Pierrot's little tummy.</p> - -<p>"That's it, that's it," cried the old woman. "I came here to get a -certificate myself. My daughter had a baby born this morning. It's a -boy, too. It was like that in Soixante-Dix. Nearly all the babies born -in war time are boys. O la, la, madame, what a baby! His father is -fighting so he won't have to carry a gun." Here she pulled out a -handkerchief.</p> - -<p>The poor help the poor, when it comes to <i>moral</i>, as in everything else. -I was sitting in my studio interviewing women who came for baby clothes. -A white-faced girl sat down in the chair at the opposite side of the -table.</p> - -<p>"What can I do for you?" said I.</p> - -<p>"A little white dress—" she sobbed. "Could you give me a little white -dress?"</p> - -<p>"Certainly I'll give it to you, and lots of other things too."</p> - -<p>"I don't need anything else," she said softly, "My baby died this -morning. They did everything at the hospital to save her. She was born -three weeks ago and they let me stay on. They wrapped her in a little -piece of sheeting. I can't stand it to bury her like that!" She put her -head down on the table and wept.</p> - -<p>"Shall I give madame a little white dress?"</p> - -<p>The twenty other mothers sitting there answered "Yes, give it to her."<a name="page_234" id="page_234"></a></p> - -<p>To some the tears had come. Others, dry-eyed, clutched their babies.</p> - -<p>"And flowers?" said one.</p> - -<p>"Yes, she must have money for flowers." I hardly knew what to say to the -girl, but soon the other mothers were talking to her. They were the best -comforters.</p> - -<p>How did amateur relief workers get the strength and energy to face the -awfulness of the situation? What we did was not "wonderful." Relief work -was a debt we owed to life. Fatigue could never be thought of. When my -apartment is in a mess from front door to kitchen, straightening looks -hopeless. It used to be discouraging until I pretended I had blinders on -my eyes and began with the nursery table. I took off everything that -didn't belong there and replaced the things that should be there. I -finished the table to the last detail before making the bed. I tried to -work in a leisurely frame of mind without too many glances at the clock. -After a bit one whole room was tidied. Kiddies were requested not to go -in there "till Mama says so." Then I tackled the next room, and so -on—and so on. In relief work, too, you must begin to work on one atom -of the problem. You must put blinders on your eyes to shut out all the -other atoms. It is fatal to let your imagination run away with you, -fatal to envisage the accumulated woe.</p> - -<p>Once in the Rue Servandoni days an Englishman came to ask Herbert to -bury his baby. He told me<a name="page_235" id="page_235"></a> the story of how the baby died, and I cried -all night thinking of the mother. Herbert remonstrated with me for -trying to bear the whole of another's grief. Christ did that and it -broke His heart. His broken heart could save humanity; but as for little -me I could do nobody any good by breaking my heart over them. Relief -work must be constructive with respect to the patient and instructive -with respect to the worker. You have to exercise self-control of emotion -and help yourself to poise by quickly concentrating your mind on what -details of the problem you are fitted to cope with. You learn after a -while that your enthusiasm and sympathy will not do it all. You accept -the fact that you are not indispensable. You realize that you can put a -person on his feet but that to carry him is beyond you. You are not the -only influence for good that is touching his life. This attitude keeps -you both happy and humble. And so you develop confidence in life and -confidence in time. In relief work both life and time are good allies.</p> - -<p>My work started in a modest way in my studio in September, 1914. I -wanted to help mothers of newborn babies, and so I called my <i>Å“uvre</i> -<small>SAUVONS LES BÉBÉS</small>. I wrote to friends for money and layettes, and -depended—as all American women in France did—upon the personal -correspondence with individuals and organizations in America to maintain -and develop the work started. I had no committee, and, during the<a name="page_236" id="page_236"></a> three -years I worked for the babies, only one associate. The French wife of an -American artist joined me in 1915. From Princeton, Germantown, -Philadelphia, Pittsburg, New York, Brooklyn and Boston people I knew and -my readers sent me money and boxes through the American Relief -Clearing-House. My best aids were always and invariably the police, who -sent cases to me and guarded me against imposition. It soon became known -in the Fourteenth (my own) Arrondissement, and the neighbouring Sixth, -Fifth, Thirteenth and Fifteenth Arrondissements, that an American woman -in the Rue Campagne-Première gave layettes to expectant mothers, and -sometimes helped with medicines, milk, vacations, clothes and shoes for -other children. I did not need to advertise or hang out a sign! In less -than three years four thousand mothers of five thousand babies found -their way to the Rue Campagne-Première. Sometimes I was swamped, badly -swamped, but I managed to get around to all in the end. I remember one -time, however, that babies were several months old before I could give -their mothers a complete layette.</p> - -<p>There was nothing unusual about my Å“uvre, in its size, its -singlehandedness, or its spirit. Every American woman in France did what -she could from the very beginning by taking up work as she saw it at -hand—in her own home or neighborhood. Many did much<a name="page_237" id="page_237"></a> more than I. There -were others in Paris looking after the new-born babies.</p> - -<p>In the summer of 1917 we Americans resident in France had to give up, -all of us, the individuality of our <i>Å“uvres</i>. This meant that most of -them went out of existence. When the rumor ran from mouth to mouth in -the American colony that the Red Cross insisted on taking over -everything and would starve out the stubborn individualists, there was -consternation. Since the Red Cross was a Government organization and -controlled shipping, it was possible for them to tell us that we should -receive no more cases of supplies after September first, even if friends -at home kept on sending them. Some were furious; some were offended; -some would give a generous slice of their fortune to fight the -injunction; some laughed. But the charities' trust had come to stay, and -started in to handle things and ride rough-shod over people in a way -that I fear is typically American.</p> - -<p>In the early stages of war fever, the Y.M.C.A. and the Army showed the -same symptoms as the Red Cross in France. There was the idea that the -American way is always and exclusively the right way; impatience with -and resentment against existing organizations; a thirst for sweeping -reforms; and the determination that Americans who had been on the ground -from the beginning must be eliminated. The way our splendid<a name="page_238" id="page_238"></a> Ambulance -at Neuilly was absorbed by the army is a story of Prussianism pure and -simple. The Red Cross men and their wives did not seem to get it into -their heads that we had been at war for three years. I attended a -drawing-room meeting one day, where a hundred women were gathered who -had been sacrificing themselves in relief work ever since the day France -mobilized. More than one had lost her son in the war. A new Red Cross -woman, fresh from America, lectured on what the Red Cross was going to -do. She smiled at us, and her peroration was this: "Now you must realize -that we are at war, and that we are going to put you all to work, all to -work!"</p> - -<p>When the excitement cooled down a bit, we realized that these Red Cross -volunteers meant well, that they were devoted and capable, and that we -could not take too tragically their ignorance and inexperience. We -realized that we were tired, that we needed a rest and change, and that -the Red Cross, with its enormous funds and abundant personnel, was in a -position to realize many of our dreams. Our initial resentment was in -part dismay at seeing newly arrived compatriots making the same mistakes -some of us had made in the beginning, and partly their obtuseness in -failing to get the French point of view. Contact with suffering such as -they had never seen before soon mellowed most of the Red Cross -volunteers and they realized that America was coming, as my husband put -it, "not to<a name="page_239" id="page_239"></a> save France, but to help France save the world."</p> - -<p>Outside of hospitals, where there was a reason for it, we had never worn -uniforms: but we got accustomed to seeing them as the A.E.F. grew -although we never could master the meaning of many of them. One morning -a woman in uniform, with service cap and Sam-Browne belt (not forgetting -the nickel ring for hanging a dagger from), appeared in my studio. From -her pocket she took a crisp new loose-leaf notebook, the like of which -could no longer be indulged in by ordinary folks. As she unscrewed and -adjusted her fountain-pen, she said,</p> - -<p>"I've been sent to inspect your relief organization."</p> - -<p>"You come from the Children's Bureau?" I asked.</p> - -<p>"No, Civilian Relief. How do you handle the matter of investigation?"</p> - -<p>"Well," I answered, "I cast my eye over the person, size her up, and -give her what she needs. I cannot afford to investigate. You see, I have -no overhead charges and I need all the money I can get for materials and -all the time for handling them. The only expense is for sewing. Even -that money goes to my own women. I give the sewing out to mothers on my -list so they will not have to go out to work. This encourages them to -nurse their babies themselves instead of sending them to a <i>nourrice</i>."</p> - -<p>"People begging," said my visitor, "are splendid actors, you know."<a name="page_240" id="page_240"></a></p> - -<p>"Few women who are just about to have a baby are likely to act the -impostor," I answered, "and then I do not consider my women as beggars. -I'm sure that nine out of ten are not. They wouldn't need any aid if -their husbands were not in the trenches earning five sous a day. For the -first two years it was only one sou a day. You can generally tell the -difference between a shifty woman looking for a chance to get something -for nothing and the shattered little mother, unaccustomed to charity, -whose children would go without winter clothes were it not for some form -of outside help. Most of the women who come here look on me as a -neighbor who loves babies and who keeps flannel in her cupboard. I'd -rather give away an occasional layette to a dead beat than bruise the -feelings of timid souls at bay. If you could see them as they come in -here!"</p> - -<p>"But you know really that there can be an immense amount of waste of -good material if you don't investigate."</p> - -<p>"I may have wasted material, but I've never failed to help. Nobody -investigated me when my baby was born in a Turkish massacre. If they -had, I couldn't have stood it. Of course I have faced the question. I -figure that if I put in one column the number of layettes I give out and -their cost, and beside it what I would spend in time and taxi fares to -investigate, I should find that the price of a badly-placed layette or -two would be less than the cost of investigation."<a name="page_241" id="page_241"></a></p> - -<p>The inspector took full and rapid notes. Folding them neatly into her -pocket with one clap of her notebook, she left me.</p> - -<p>Three days later a young man appeared. He said, "I am here to represent -the Red Cross. Would you mind telling me about your baby work?"</p> - -<p>"Are you from the Children's Bureau?"</p> - -<p>"No, I am Vital Statistics."</p> - -<p>After the Refugees Bureau sent two inspectors to look into my -activities, the Children's Bureau finally did come. They "took over" my -work, which meant that no more babies in my quarter of Paris received -layettes from the United States.</p> - -<p>When I finally handed over my <i>Å“uvre</i> to the Red Cross, the interview -with the husky well-fed football player of a doctor was refreshing. He -was full of enthusiasm, and I felt instinctively that he was an able man -with broad vision and an open mind. But, like all the men at 4 Place de -la Concorde, he did not give the French credit for having already -thought of and worked out many of the problems he wanted to solve. His -attitude towards the French put them in what Abe and Mawruss would call -the "new beginner" class in the matter of baby welfare. He cheerfully -told me of organizing plans for saving French babies, plans which, -compared with what we had been doing, were Kolossal. But the plans -included some things which I knew would not go and others which the -French had already worked<a name="page_242" id="page_242"></a> out more successfully than my own -compatriots. Puericulture is an advanced science in France, where baby -lives are more precious than anywhere else in the world. I had tried -some of the things he wanted to do and had run up against a stone wall. -So had other American women. I started to sputter, but stopped short of -speech. For I had a lightning vision of how parents must feel when their -children, grown to manhood, plunge into work and do things they might be -saved from if only—. I felt motherly towards this capable young man who -was as old as myself. But something about him gave me confidence that he -would work it out all right. And I knew that he was in no frame of mind -to benefit by my experience.<a name="page_243" id="page_243"></a></p> - -<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XXIV" id="CHAPTER_XXIV"></a>CHAPTER XXIV<br /><br /> -<small>UNCOMFORTABLE NEUTRALITY</small></h3> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">T</span>HE following letter was in my husband's mail one day:</p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p>"A young American came to Paris about twenty-five years ago, lived -for a time in the Latin Quarter, and then, following the loss of -his income, obtained a minor position in the office of an importer -of American goods. He liked his work, rose to a place of -responsibility, eventually went into business for himself, and -developed the business to a prosperous issue.</p> - -<p>"He held the theory that the few Americans living and working -abroad formed the nucleus of American overseas industrial expansion -and that they were regarded by Europeans as representative of their -fellow-countrymen. He felt that it was his duty to conduct his -business and social activities in such a manner as to merit the -confidence and respect of his hosts. Had he been indifferent to -these responsibilities or had his patriotic fire ever burned low, -his association with the active members of the American Chamber of -Commerce in France and the American Club in Paris would have surely -recalled and revived them. Every one knows of the results attained -by these organizations in their effort to maintain the feeling of -sympathetic understanding between the two great sister republics -during the long and difficult period of 'watchful waiting.' Such -services enter into the realm of practical diplomacy and could have -been rendered efficient only by men of high standing and of the -highest order of patriotism.</p> - -<p>"I wish to call your attention to the editorial page of an<a name="page_244" id="page_244"></a> -American weekly, which boasts of millions of readers, where we see -a vicious attack upon ourselves. I quote textually: 'Things had -reached a point among our expatriates, the <i>fifty-eighth and lowest -form of cootie</i>, that in home circles to be pro-American was really -bad form.'</p> - -<p>"Is this the general opinion in America? Is it shared by people of -intelligence? The editorial in question apparently adds another -high authority on public opinion to the previous judgment rendered -by Mr. Wilson when he classified us as 'unpatriotic Americans -living abroad.' I am interested in knowing the true facts. Must we -admit that we are held in small esteem by friends at home because -we live in France?</p> - -<p class="r"><span style="margin-right: 4em;">"Sincerely yours,</span><br /> -"O<small>NE OF THE</small> C<small>OOTIES</small>."</p></div> - -<p>Being "cooties" ourselves, in the estimation of the American editorial -writer, we read the protest of the American business man resident in -Paris with the keenest interest and sympathy. In telling about the -attitude of the Red Cross toward our relief organizations, after the -United States intervened in the war, I spoke of only one phase of the -mistrust—even scorn—so many of our compatriots took no pains to -conceal when they learned that we belonged to the American colony. It -was inconceivable that we should be living in Paris and bringing up our -children there and still be good Americans. They questioned more than -our patriotism and our loyalty to the country of our birth. They felt -that there must be some skeleton in the closet of every American family -living abroad. I have never had an American tell me to my face that my -husband<a name="page_245" id="page_245"></a> was a crook and that we were abroad "for our health," but I -have had them inquire pointedly why on earth this or that friend of mine -lived in exile. And I suppose my friends were asked about the past of -the Gibbons menage!</p> - -<p>"How long have you been over?" is a question as common as the "Oh!" with -a curious inflection that meets the confession of a protracted residence -abroad.</p> - -<p>I am sure I do not know why the writer in the American weekly read by -millions called us first "expatriates" and then "the fifty-eighth and -lowest form of cooties." I cannot imagine why. He is ignorant of the -people of whom he speaks. He has probably never met anyone in the -American colony of a European city, or has jumped to the conclusion that -an occasional bounder or cad or snob (these are always in evidence) -represents as intensely patriotic and loyal Americans as exist anywhere. -Or he thinks that living abroad means dislike of one's own country.</p> - -<p>There are Americans in Europe—and some of them are to be found in -Paris—who have no valid reason for being where they are more than in -another place. There are criminals and courtiers. There are those who -have forgotten their birthright. But they form an infinitesimally small -percentage of the American colony in Paris. Most of our American -residents are business men, painters, sculptors and writers, with the -necessary sprinkling of professional men to minister to<a name="page_246" id="page_246"></a> their needs, of -the type of the writer of the letter quoted above. Many of them came to -Paris first by accident or as students and just stayed on. Without them -our country would be little known in Europe: and Europe would be little -known in our country. Until the war broke out, it was never realized how -many Americans resided in Paris. Most of them had lived along quietly, -doing their own work and minding their own business. But they had kept -alive the friendship begun in the days of Franklin. Art and literature -have their part in good understanding between nations: but the -foundation and the binding tie are furnished by commerce and banking. -The best representatives of Americanism are business men.</p> - -<p>We of the American colony found that out during the war; and we are -sorry for the ignorance and misapprehension and ingratitude of our -compatriots. They judged without inquiry and tried to put into Coventry -the very men whose patience and tact and devotion not only prevented a -break between France and the United States during the years of -uncomfortable neutrality but prepared the way for the intervention of -America and the downfall of Germany.</p> - -<p>I may not have perspective. I may be prejudiced. But I do feel that I -have a right to protest against the cruel snap judgments of us made by -those who never realized there was a war between right and wrong until -April, 1917.<a name="page_247" id="page_247"></a></p> - -<p><i>Les amis de la première heure</i>—the friends of the first hour—as the -French love to call those who refused to obey the injunction to be -"neutral even in thought" were not confined to Americans resident in -France. We had behind us from the first day our friends in America, -friends by the hundreds of thousands, who sent money and medical -supplies, clothing and kits. All who could came to France to help -actively in relief work. But the machinery for the charitable effort of -the United States coming to the aid of France was provided by the -Americans who were permanent or partial residents in France. We were on -the ground. We knew the language. We knew the needs and the -peculiarities of those we were helping.</p> - -<p>The greatest service we were privileged to render to our own country and -to France was not ministering to the material needs. What we -accomplished was a drop in the bucket. It was the moral significance of -the relief work that counted. Our Government was neutral. The American -people in the mass were far away from the conflict. The French realized -all the same that individually and collectively the Americans who knew -France or who were in contact with France believed in the righteousness -of France's cause and in the final triumph of France's arms.</p> - -<p>Neutrality was uncomfortable. For thirty months we were in an awkward -position. We had to hold the balance between loyalty to America and -friendship for<a name="page_248" id="page_248"></a> France. On the one hand, we were called upon to -comprehend the slowness of our fellow-countrymen to awaken to the moral -issues at stake, especially after the sinking of the <i>Lusitania</i>. On the -other hand, we were called upon to comprehend the impatience and -disappointment of our French friends. We tried to be sensible and to -realize that those who were far from the fray and to whom the war was -incidental could not be expected to share our intense feeling. With rare -exceptions, Americans in Paris did not allow themselves to criticize the -policy of their government in the presence of French or British friends. -That was hard, and required as much tact as we could muster. But when we -were <i>en famille</i>, the fur did fly! That was natural. We had a right to -our opinions, and everything we said from 1914 to the end of 1916, -President Wilson and all America with him said in 1917 and 1918. We were -never ashamed of being Americans. That accusation was untrue. But we -were sorry that the awakening came so late. For we saw the toll of human -life growing each month. We feared that France would come out of the war -too weakened to profit by victory if the war dragged on. We were -sometimes nervous about the aftermath.</p> - -<p>As I look back upon the first years of the war, American neutrality -appears as a tragedy. It was uncomfortable for us, and disastrous for -France. But we lived through it as we lived through other things. Our<a name="page_249" id="page_249"></a> -French friends were splendid. Their patience was greater than ours.</p> - -<p>We kept our flags ready for the inevitable day. And when it arrived at -last, no Americans were prouder of the stars and stripes than we.</p> - -<p><a name="page_250" id="page_250"></a></p> - -<p><a name="page_251" id="page_251"></a></p> - -<h2><a name="y1917" id="y1917"></a>1917</h2> - -<p><a name="page_252" id="page_252"></a></p> - -<p><a name="page_253" id="page_253"></a></p> - -<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XXV" id="CHAPTER_XXV"></a>CHAPTER XXV<br /><br /> -<small>HOW WE KEPT WARM</small></h3> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">I</span>N Paris the child of the people is a born artist. He has the instinct -from his ancestors. His taste is formed and cultivated by what he sees -around him—of the present as well as of the past—from the time he -first begins to observe things. Inheritance and atmosphere influence -him. One June day in 1917, our dear friend Thiébault-Sisson, art critic -of the <i>Temps</i>, was lunching with us. He drew from his pocket a lot of -photographs. They illustrated the best and most striking of the drawings -by children in the primary schools of the city. M. Thiébault-Sisson had -organized an exposition of children's drawings, done in their ordinary -class work. The photographs were a surprise and a revelation. Having -lived in Paris since the beginning of the war, I could appreciate the -comments of a Parisian, proud of this eloquent showing of precocious -talent. I accepted with alacrity his invitation to see the originals.</p> - -<p>The outline, almost always enhanced by bright frank color, where the -three notes of the flag played a perpetual leit-motif, was a feast for -the eyes. In work<a name="page_254" id="page_254"></a> of this character one expects to see the freshness -and freedom of childhood. What I found that was unusual was the maturity -born of suffering and intense emotion. In the drawings life in wartime -was reflected with a <i>naïveté</i> that excluded neither precision nor vigor -of touch. With compositions of the simplest and most studied character -there was taste and a pretty feeling for color.</p> - -<p>The most popular form of drawing was the poster. In one school the -children were given the subject of calling upon the people to economize -gas. One little girl made a few bold strokes outlining a gas-jet and -wrote underneath, "Parisians—Economize Gas!" Asked to admonish the -public to eat less bread, a boy of ten used a potato as a face. The eyes -were almost human in their appeal. "Eat me please!" was written under -the drawing. A further caption stated that it was the duty of patriots -to save the bread for the soldiers. Sugar shortage inspired the idea of -a sugar cone and the same cone cut in half. Under the former was "In -1914" and under the latter "—and now!" The best of these posters were -reproduced by the thousand and put in tram-cars and railway stations. -They did more to call us to order than all the grave <i>affiches</i> of the -Government.</p> - -<p>A dominating note, perhaps the strongest after that of the man on -furlough or the poignant expression of emotions experienced when the -news came that father<a name="page_255" id="page_255"></a> would never return again, was the hunt for coal. -Little observers, inventing nothing of this (for it was seen over and -over again), pictured a coal wagon upon which two or three youngsters -had scrambled and were helping themselves. Generously they were firing -bits of the precious commodity to their little comrades. This was a -drawing made from memory of things seen.</p> - -<p>Winter in Paris is often mild: but early in 1917 came a protracted spell -of zero weather that would have taxed the facilities of Paris in -ordinary times. The coal shortage hit us at the worst possible moment. -Transportation was tied up. The mines were not producing. Stocks became -exhausted in a few days. The hunt for coal was cruel because it was -mostly fruitless and because it imposed upon the children weary waits, -hours at a time, in the street in snow and wind, with the thermometer -down to zero.</p> - -<p>Whoever saw the crowds massed in a long line in front of the coal -depots, old men, women, children stamping their feet painfully, jostled, -weeping or seized with mute despair at the curt announcement that there -was nothing to do but return to-morrow, will never forget the worst -calamity that fell upon Paris during the war. Children were hit by it -more than all the rest, and in a certain sense more than by the loss of -a father. For they suffered from it in their own flesh, in little hands -chapped till they opened into deep<a name="page_256" id="page_256"></a> cracks, in little fingers stiffened -and swollen by monstrous chilblains, in frost-bitten feet. For six weeks -the quest for coal was the ruling passion. It inspired the children to -compositions all quite like each other in sentiment and all dominated by -the conviction of an implacable fatality.</p> - -<p>In common with most Parisians who lived in modern apartment-houses, we -never had to think of heat. Like hot water, you just turned it on. To -make an effort to have it no more entered into our scheme of things than -to help with the stoking when we were on ship-board. How naturally one -accepts the comforts and conveniences resulting from the work of others -and the smooth moving of modern city life! At first we felt the coal -shortage mildly. It meant piling on extra clothes and having our noses -turn red and then blue, like the dolls with barometrical petticoats. The -apartment was chilly, but we got up as late as we could. For once we -blessed the school system in France which works the children so many -hours that you wonder why the babies do not strike for an eight-hour -day. As long as the municipality could supply them, schools were -especially favored. After school hours and <i>devoirs</i> (we had a wood fire -in one room), bed time soon came for the kids. We set the victrola -going, and everybody danced until they forgot the thermometer.<a name="page_257" id="page_257"></a></p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ilp256_lg.jpg"> -<img src="images/ilp256_sml.jpg" width="433" height="550" alt="A passage through the Louvre" title="A passage through the Louvre" /></a> -<br /> -<span class="caption">A passage through the Louvre</span> -</p> - -<p>Then we began to discover that coal means more than heat and light. We -found out how many trades were obliged to say "no coal, no work." In a -big city coal is certainly king, and not a limited monarch at that. -Transportation depends on coal, and everything else depends upon -transportation. One day there was a mass meeting of Paris laundresses. -The Government had promised them coal upon payment in advance of a large -part of the price. The order had been placed for weeks: no coal came. It -meant livelihood to the laundresses and cleanliness to the rest of us. -They had the Board of Health with them and the learned doctors of the -Académie de Médecine. Think of the menace of weeks of accumulated soiled -linen! It was all right for the papers to joke about abolishing starched -shirts and cuffs and collars. That was a small part of the problem, -affecting only men. The germs involved in not being able to wash were no -joke.</p> - -<p>Elderly people living alone and adult families calculated that it was -cheaper to go to a <i>pension</i> than to keep house. In some cases it was -the only feasible thing. People who had the means started to go south -when conditions in Paris became intolerable. But with little children it -was dangerous to attempt a journey in freezing cold trains.</p> - -<p>Just when we had exhausted the little supply of wood we had laid in -originally for the luxury of a wood fire we did not need, our -<i>propriétaire</i> notified us that he could get no more coal for heating or -hot water. And<a name="page_258" id="page_258"></a> the same day an inspector called to place a maximum of -gas (our only means of cooking) at less than half the amount we -ordinarily consumed.</p> - -<p>The law of substitution came into force. We had long been ridiculing the -Germans for their <i>ersatz</i> ingenuity. Were we now to have to seek -substitutes? Cooking is the most vital thing in life next to foodstuffs. -Paris blossomed out with what I thought was an American invention, the -fireless cooker. But they were called <i>marmites norvégiennes</i>. I suppose -if we keep on digging at Pompeii we shall find them there. Everyone who -could afford a <i>marmite</i> bought one. You could get them at all prices -and sizes, and the newspapers published daily directions for using them. -If you could not afford a fireless cooker or if you were unable to buy -one (they soon gave out, of course), you took your hatbox from the -Galeries Lafayette and stuffed it with newspapers and sawdust with just -room in the middle for your soup-kettle.</p> - -<p>But fireless cookers would not wash clothes. They would not give the -necessary supply of hot water. The law of substitution has a limit. And -what was to be the <i>ersatz</i> for fuel in heating? Gas? Your supply was -already cut down. Electricity? Ditto. Both of these depended upon coal. -Petroleum? The army had commandeered all the supplies for motor -transport and airplanes. Wood alcohol? There was none to be had.<a name="page_259" id="page_259"></a></p> - -<p>Then began the coal hunt for us. We had been pitying the poor. Now was -our turn. Money was of no value. Other <i>propriétaires</i> had served the -same notice. People with larger purses than ours were in the market for -coal and wood. Our children began to suffer also in their own flesh.</p> - -<p>My husband and his secretary gave up work and joined the coal hunters. -They scoured the city in taxi-cabs. Herbert found a man who knew where -there was a ton of anthracite for eighty dollars. He tracked it down and -found that he was the tenth person applying for it that same afternoon.</p> - -<p>Then the kiddies came down with measles. Keeping them warm in the way -the doctor ordered was utterly impossible. All we could do was to give -them more blankets. When the baby got congestion of the lungs and heat -and hot baths meant the difference between life and death, I cast my eye -over the apartment appraising the furniture. I no longer thought of how -pretty my Brittany <i>armoire</i> was or how I loved my Empire desk. The -cubic feet of wood was the sole criterion. Dining-room chairs went first -into the fire in Hope's bedroom. The dining-room table, sawed into -little blocks, heated the water for baths. Cupboard doors were taken off -their hinges and converted into fuel. Herbert got a hand-cart and stood -in line for his turn at a place where old lumber from torn-down houses -was being sold. There was a crowd besieging<a name="page_260" id="page_260"></a> it as if it were a -gold-mine. It was, to the owners. The junk that had been there for years -disappeared at fabulous prices in a few days, doors, clapboards, -window-sashes, shutters, beams, flooring, even lathes.</p> - -<p>When our fight for Hope's life became known, friends appeared bringing -treasures. A prominent American manufacturer was at the door one -morning. He had climbed six flights of stairs with a huge bag of bits of -wood gleaned in his factory.</p> - -<p>"We calculate pretty close," he said apologetically. "We do not have -much waste in making roll-top desks."</p> - -<p>"Don't ask me where I got this sack of coal," said another respectable -Samaritan. I felt his guilt, confirmed when he told me the story -afterwards of how he had stolen it from the back of a wagon. But I was -not asking questions then!</p> - -<p>Two burly policemen, unmindful of dignity and uniforms, deposited sacks -of wood on my salon floor. They had come from the Commissariat in the -Fifth Arrondissement. Monsieur le Commissaire, they explained, had said -that the woman who was looking after so many Paris babies in her -<i>Å“uvre</i> must not be allowed to see her own baby die. They had agreed. -This was the wood from their own office. Why not? For the first time I -cried. Go through my experience, and you will understand how one can -have a passionate love for the French. I am relating here just one -little<a name="page_261" id="page_261"></a> incident of help unsolicited that came in a crisis. I had never -seen that Commissaire. How he knew my baby was ill was a mystery. But I -have often experienced in my Paris life the impulsive generosity, -carried out at inconvenience and sacrifice, of which this is an example. -There were others who needed that wood as much as I did. But I was a -foreigner who had been working for babies in the Commissaire's district. -A point of honor was involved. Never will you find a Frenchman lacking -when he feels a sense of obligation.</p> - -<p>François Coppée wrote a beautiful story about a young French aristocrat -whose life in the army had taught him that half of the world goes -through life struggling constantly to obtain what the other half has -without effort. Perhaps you have read "La Croûte de Pain." After the war -of Soixante-Dix the aristocrat could not bear to see bread wasted. One -day he picked up a crust on the street, brushed off the mud with his -handkerchief and set it on the side-walk where one who needed it would -find it. And then he told his inquiring companion why. I shall always be -like that with coal. For I can never forget how we kept warm in -February, 1917.<a name="page_262" id="page_262"></a></p> - -<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XXVI" id="CHAPTER_XXVI"></a>CHAPTER XXVI<br /><br /> -<small>APRIL SIXTH</small></h3> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">N</span>EVER were Americans in France more perplexed about the state of feeling -in the United States than at the beginning of 1917. The sinking of the -<i>Lusitania</i> and other <i>torpillages</i> had brought forth note after note -from President Wilson: but his spokesmen among the Democratic senators, -especially Senator Hitchcock, were advocating measures to put an embargo -on the export of arms and ammunition. If these men had succeeded, they -would have helped Germany to win the war during 1916. Then President -Wilson was reelected on the slogan, "He has kept us out of the war." -Immediately after his re-election, Mr. Wilson began an attempt to make -peace that seemed to us at the time distinctly unfriendly to the -Entente. The idealism of President Wilson stirred us. But we were living -too close to the war to see the advantage of a "peace without victory."</p> - -<p>Our first intimation of a change of attitude in America came one day -when <i>L'Information</i>, one of our papers that comes out at noon, -published a cable-gram from Washington, stating that Secretary Lansing<a name="page_263" id="page_263"></a> -had declared that the reason behind President Wilson's interest in peace -was that the United States felt herself on the brink of war. Herbert and -I were walking home from our studios. He stopped to buy the paper that -the boy on a bicycle was just giving our newswoman. Long experience had -taught us that the noon paper never gave anything new. But one was -always afraid to miss something. That's why afternoon papers are able to -bring out so many editions. When we read this message, we realized that -the President must be at the end of his rope, and that if Germany -persisted in her intention to declare unlimited submarine warfare, our -entering into the conflict was inevitable.</p> - -<p>The news of the rupture of diplomatic relations arrived on a Sunday -morning when the streets were full. The dispatches from Washington -contained long excerpts from President Wilson's splendid speech. Relief -rather than joy was the feeling we all had. We said to ourselves, "<i>At -last!</i>" Some of our intimate French friends, when we discussed the break -and the reasons the President gave for it, wondered why those reasons -had not been valid long before. It was an echo of our own thoughts. But -French and American were so happy over the new stand taken by the United -States, over the new note in the leadership of President Wilson, that we -did not allow ourselves to criticize the past. All was forgiven on that -last Sunday<a name="page_264" id="page_264"></a> of January. Over night President Wilson became the most -popular man in France. And just one week before my Parisian friends had -been reading his Senate speech of January twenty-second with a puzzled -expression that turned into anger and indignation.</p> - -<p>We had an excellent barometer of what the French <i>bourgeois</i> and -<i>universitaire</i> was thinking in our dear old family doctor. Doctor -Charon had come to us first in the Rue Servandoni days. Christine was -sick one night for the first and only time in her babyhood. The young -father and mother were scared to death. Doctor Charon, whom we had not -known before, was called in. He assured us that there was nothing fatal. -After that he came again for colds. He knew how to scold us and make us -obey. Since then he has been the family friend and censor, entering into -our life as only a doctor can do. He always stopped to chat a minute. -His only son was at the war: he and his wife and two daughters were -doing hospital work. I often felt that his heart was breaking. He -suffered from the war in his soul, which was far worse than suffering in -the flesh.</p> - -<p>During the years of uncomfortable neutrality, Herbert and I tried to -reassure Doctor Charon and make him see how impossible it was that all -our compatriots, who had never been in France and knew nothing about -France, could feel the way we did. But we often felt that he loved us -despite the fact that we were Americans.<a name="page_265" id="page_265"></a> On January 23, 1917, Doctor -Charon talked to us at length about the Senate speech. The way President -Wilson's mind worked was beyond him. He despaired of America. On January -30 he came in with a face transfigured, held out his arms, and kissed -me. We both cried.</p> - -<p>"I do not yet understand about your President," he said simply, "but you -were right in telling me not to lose hope in him. To-day he is our -prophet."</p> - -<p>During the two years that followed, Doctor and Madame Charon, in common -with all our French friends, had a revelation of the heart of America -beating for France. They saw at close range our relief work. Not only -did we give money without stint, but hundreds of Americans—who had -never known France before—came over to show by tireless personal -service that the friends of France were not limited to the Americans -resident in France or to those who had some point of personal contact. -In the end they realized that we were ready to be as prodigal with our -blood as with our treasure. When my husband received his red ribbon, the -Charons gave a dinner for us. Doctor Charon said: "I have one ambition -now in life—to go to America."</p> - -<p>As I have related in another chapter, February and March were tragic -months for Paris. Zero weather and no coal made a combination that took -our attention away from the evolution of public opinion across the<a name="page_266" id="page_266"></a> -seas. Germany stood firm, resisting the threats and disregarding the -warnings of President Wilson's notes. But we had such an inherent -mistrust of notes that we were not sure until the end of March that some -sort of a modus vivendi would not be patched up, as after the -<i>Lusitania</i> and the <i>Sussex</i>.</p> - -<p>Were we even sure in the first week of April? Herbert told me to get out -our flags that had been put carefully away since 1914. Although I was -not as optimistic as my husband, I brought out the flags and mended -them. I needed two for our studios. My voice trembled when I asked for -the stars and stripes at the Bon Marché. They had a large stock, mostly -brand-new. They were counting upon the imminent event. The sales girl -told me that they had sold more American flags in the last fortnight -than those of the other Allies put together since the beginning of the -war. She said it gleefully. The new broom was sweeping clean. With all -my pride in my own country, I had my misgivings about too great a -demonstration. Why did not the Government or some of the patriotic -organizations make a propaganda to have the flags of the Allies ready -for display everywhere with the American and French when the day -arrived? I suggested this to my husband, who was a member of the Union -des Grandes Associations Françaises. I knew how I would feel if I were a -Britisher who had been there from the beginning. Would not the French -show<a name="page_267" id="page_267"></a> that wonderful characteristic of theirs, the sense of proportion?</p> - -<p>But when the day arrived, my internationalism and cosmopolitanism, a -gradual and unconscious growth, suddenly disappeared. It was a reversion -to type. I became blatantly American again, and gloried in the fact that -everywhere it was all Stars and Stripes. Why not? This was America's -day. And ever since, despite the theoretical internationalism (or -super-nationalism) I have advocated in common with my husband, I fear -that practically I have been lapsing into a narrow nationalism. It is a -curious phenomenon. I do not attempt to explain it.</p> - -<p>On Thursday, April sixth, Herbert went to the American Club to lunch. -Settling down to work had been hard that morning. We were feverishly -awaiting the news. I was just starting lunch with the children when the -telephone rang. Herbert's voice said, "Put out your flag," and then he -hung up.</p> - -<p>An hour later he came in a taxi-cab with Carroll Greenough, an American -architect who lived near us. We went for his wife. Then the four of us -did the Grands Boulevards, the Rue de la Paix, and the principal streets -in the heart of Paris. As if by magic the American flag appeared -everywhere. Paris had not waited for the poster of the Municipality, in -which the President of the Municipal Counsel called upon his fellow -citizens to <i>pavoiser</i> in honor of the new<a name="page_268" id="page_268"></a> Ally. Americans though we -were, we had never seen so many American flags. They expressed the hope -which, though long deferred, had not made the heart sick.</p> - -<p>We went to the Ambassadeurs for tea. The terraces were full. We watched -the crowds passing up and down the Champs-Elysées. All that was lacking -was the orchestra to play the Marseillaise and the Star Spangled Banner. -There had been no orchestras in Paris since the beginning of the war.</p> - -<p>But the music was in our hearts.<a name="page_269" id="page_269"></a></p> - -<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XXVII" id="CHAPTER_XXVII"></a>CHAPTER XXVII<br /><br /> -<small>THE VANGUARD OF THE A. E. F.</small></h3> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">"W</span>HAT class are yuh goin' to git?"</p> - -<p>The voice came from a wee island of khaki in a solid mass of horizon -blue. American soldiers! The first I had seen. The American army was to -the French army as were these half dozen doughboys to the station full -of shabby <i>poilus</i>. The Gare du Nord has many memories for me, happy and -poignant, but this will always be the most precious. Shall I ever forget -the ticket window around which our boys crowded? We had been saying "How -long, O Lord, how long?" And now they were with us. I moved nearer to -them.</p> - -<p>"Why, there's classes—foist, second, and thoid—accordin' to what yuh -pay—see?"</p> - -<p>"Aw! What dya mean?"</p> - -<p>"Buy fift' and we'll ride foist!"</p> - -<p>I volunteered to help them count their change.</p> - -<p>"She don't understand and neither do we," said one, hitching a thumb in -the general direction of the girl behind the grating.</p> - -<p>"Guess she's got mush in her brain."</p> - -<p>"Or feathers!" laughed another.</p> - -<p>It was not the class they would ride that was at the<a name="page_270" id="page_270"></a> bottom of the -trouble. I found that the boys wanted to go to Versailles. They had come -into the Gare du Nord with baggage two days in advance of General -Pershing and his staff. Their officer had given them an afternoon off, -but told them that they were not to wander around Paris. He had -suggested Versailles. This was the only station they knew, and so they -were trying to get to Vers-ales. I took them to the Gare du Montparnasse -and put them on their way. This really was not necessary. I soon -discovered the American soldiers needed no interpreter. They always got -to whatever destination they set their minds upon. But this little scene -at the Gare du Nord was typical of the spirit of our boys during the two -years they were in France. Instead of getting angry, they smiled and -"joshed." In their very nature they had the secret of getting along with -the French.</p> - -<p>The afternoon of General Pershing's arrival, the streets around the Gare -du Nord held a crowd the like of which I had not seen in Paris since the -war began. It was the same at the Place de la Concorde. Rooms had been -engaged for the Pershing party at the Hotel Crillon. The ovation at the -Gare du Nord and along the route of the procession was remarkable. When -General Pershing came out on the balcony of the Crillon it was a scene -worthy of the occasion. Paris was not greeting an individual. France was -welcoming America.<a name="page_271" id="page_271"></a></p> - -<p>For the first time since the beginning of the war Paris celebrated. The -danger that still menaced the city and the bereavements of three years -were forgotten in the frenzy of joy over what everyone believed was the -entry of a decisive factor. Since April sixth insidious defeatist -propaganda had permeated the mass of the people. Seizing upon the -failure of the Champagne offensive in April, which had caused mutinies -in the army that could not be hushed up, German agents—often through -unconscious tools—spread their lies among a discouraged people. America -had declared war, yes, but she intended to limit her intervention to -money and materials. No American army would risk crossing the ocean. The -Americans, like the British, were ready "to fight to the last -Frenchman."</p> - -<p>Seeing was believing. Here were the American uniforms. The arrival of -the first American troops, we were assured, would be announced within -the next few days. Perhaps they had already landed at some port in -France? To baffle the submarines we understood that the censorship must -be vigorous. At any rate, an American general and his staff would not be -in Paris without the certainty of an army to follow.</p> - -<p>Another source of conviction was afforded us in the fact that on this -day of General Pershing's coming Marshal Joffre made his first public -appearance in Paris. Parisians had never had a chance before to acclaim -the victor of the Marne.<a name="page_272" id="page_272"></a></p> - -<p>The Americans set up their headquarters in two small <i>hôtels</i> at the end -of the Rue de Constantine, opposite the Invalides. Immediately the boys -of the headquarters detachment marked out a diamond on the Esplanade des -Invalides, and passers-by had to learn to dodge base-balls. The police -did not interfere. Nothing was too good for the Americans. All Paris -flocked to see for themselves the khaki uniforms and to learn the -mysteries of our national game. There was always a crowd around the door -of General Pershing's home in the Rue de Varenne.</p> - -<p>The events of the next few weeks will always seem like a dream to me. -The scene of the drama that has influenced so profoundly the history of -the world was shifted from Paris. I went to Saint-Nazaire to see our -boys land and later to their first training-camp in the country of -Jeanne d'Arc. Many of them did not see Paris. Their idea of France was a -long journey of days and nights in freight-cars, with interminable -stops, and ending in small villages where they met rain and mud. But a -fortunate battalion of the First Division had the honor of being the -vanguard of the A. E. F. in Paris.</p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ilp272_lg.jpg"> -<img src="images/ilp272_sml.jpg" width="346" height="550" alt="In an Old Quarter" title="In an Old Quarter" /></a> -<br /> -<span class="caption">In an Old Quarter</span> -</p> - -<p>They were lodged in the Caserne de Reuilly. On the Fourth of July, -declared a national holiday by grateful France, they paraded through the -streets of our city. We were to become accustomed to American soldiers -in Paris. But these first boys made a unique<a name="page_273" id="page_273"></a> impression. The moment -of their coming was psychological. Paris never needed encouragement -more.</p> - -<p>After this excitement we had another long and anxious wait of eight -months. The Americans came each week, but in dribbles. Between -Gondrecourt and the three ports of Saint-Nazaire, Bordeaux and Brest, it -was necessary to construct the lines of communication while a great army -in America was being gathered and trained. The defeatist propaganda -started up again, the word was spread that the Americans were coming too -slowly and that in France they were to be seen everywhere but at the -front. Were not the French still holding the lines against odds and -giving their lives, while the Americans were in safety? Despite the fact -that General Pershing moved G. H. Q. from Paris to Chaumont in the -Haute-Marne, the number of American soldiers in Paris, through the -necessities of the S. O. S. increased rapidly. The Hotel Mediterranée, -near the Gare de Lyon, was the first large building taken over. Then the -Elysée-Palace Hotel on the Avenue des Champs-Elysées was chartered. The -American flag soon appeared over barracks, garages and other buildings -in all parts of the city. You could go nowhere without seeing the -American uniform, and our automobiles learned to drive as rapidly as the -French. We got accustomed to hearing English spoken on the streets. The -Red Cross, the<a name="page_274" id="page_274"></a> Y.M.C.A., the Knights of Columbus, and the Jewish -Welfare Board, established hotels and restaurants and reading-rooms and -leased theatres. Our American Ambulance at Neuilly, taken over by the -army, became only one of a number of hospitals.</p> - -<p>Not until the spring offensive of the next year were the Americans able -to come in large numbers. Then suddenly a single month brought as many -as the nine preceding months. We had our half million, our million, our -two millions.</p> - -<p>The faith of the French in us revived with Cantigny and Château-Thierry. -I am ahead of my chronology. But the men who first fell under the -American flag were those who marched through the streets of Paris, on -July Fourth, 1917. On parade they gave us hope. Fighting they gave us -certitude of victory.<a name="page_275" id="page_275"></a></p> - -<h2><a name="y1918" id="y1918"></a>1918</h2> - -<p><a name="page_276" id="page_276"></a></p> - -<p><a name="page_277" id="page_277"></a></p> - -<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XXVIII" id="CHAPTER_XXVIII"></a>CHAPTER XXVIII<br /><br /> -<small>THE DARKEST DAYS</small></h3> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">P</span>ROBLEMS of war time housekeeping in France did not go back to 1914. The -learned political economists who demonstrated to their own satisfaction -that a general European war would not last a year were dead wrong. -Millions were mobilized. Nations were at each other's throats. The -Germans were able to retaliate against the naval blockade by submarine -warfare that threatened to decrease seriously our own communications -with the outside world. But somehow we managed to go through year after -year without feeling the pinch of decreased productivity. And somehow we -accepted the inflation of currency and continued to subscribe cheerfully -to successive war loans with money that came from God knows where. One -hears now much about how we suffered in 1915 and 1916. Morally speaking, -I suppose we did suffer and that we were aware of the strain as time -went on. But from a material point of view the war did not make itself -felt much until 1917. It was only in the spring of that year that a -cartoonist was inspired to draw a necklace of anthracite, tipped off -with an egg for a pendant, over the caption, "Her Jewels." Coal cards,<a name="page_278" id="page_278"></a> -sugar cards, and bread cards were to us the signs of Germany's weakness.</p> - -<p>Successive Cabinets realized well enough the prudence of anticipatory -restrictions. In the autumn of 1916 the newspapers put forth a <i>ballon -d'essai</i>. Every day they published a homily on the virtue of practicing -economy. It had no effect on my servants, this constant warning of a -shortage to come. No restaurants obeyed the voluntary rationing -measures. The Government did not dare to introduce obligatory rationing. -Public opinion rebels against restrictions of individual liberty. We had -to feel the pinch before rationing measures were tolerated.</p> - -<p>Sugar cards came first. They were "put over" on the public during the -rejoicing over the intervention of the United States. Coal cards were -instituted only after the bitter lesson of the late winter months of -1917 bid fair to repeat itself. Not until October, 1917, did I have to -put my signature as <i>chef de famille</i> (my husband was so often away) on -an application for bread cards handed me by the concierge. A fourth New -Year of war came and went before we experienced what we had read about -in other countries—real lack of necessities. The reserves of everything -gave out suddenly. For the first time ability to spend money freely did -not solve household problems.</p> - -<p>Some difficulties were insoluble. They were the difficulties centering -around a shortage of coal supply.<a name="page_279" id="page_279"></a> I never realized before that in our -modern civilization coal is really a dominating factor in making -tolerable existence in the city. The winter before the sudden giving out -of coal affected only our heating. In the first months of 1918 coal -rationing led to cutting down on gas, electricity and water. In modern -apartments, just as there is no way to heat them except by radiators, -there is no way to light them except by electricity and no way to have -hot water except by turning on the spigot. We were in what the French -call a <i>cercle vicieux</i>. We had a fox-and-geese-and-corn problem. For -instance, when a municipal ordinance forbade giving hot water except on -Saturdays and Sundays, your first thought was to heat water on the -kitchen gas-stove. But your allowance for gas was insufficient for -cooking. Nor could you use gas for lighting to save electricity. -Petroleum for lamps or cooking was unobtainable. Everyone made a rush -for candles and wood alcohol. They gave out. When you thought of honey -and jams to make up to the children what they lacked in sugar, everyone -else thought of honey and jams at the same time. We lived on the sixth -floor. The electricity rationing made possible running the elevator only -at certain hours. And when the elevator broke down, all the steel was -going into cannon and all the workers were turning out munitions. You -just walked up six flights of stairs all the time.</p> - -<p>Aside from cooking and baths and heat and light,<a name="page_280" id="page_280"></a> the coal shortage -affected your laundry. So you couldn't change linen more frequently to -compensate for lost baths. In the old days the laundress would cast her -eyes around for more stuff to pack into her bundle, and if you gave her -a free hand, would gather up things that had never been soiled. Now she -picked out of the basket what she saw fit to take. In the same way, I -used to struggle to keep my milk supply down. It was a common trick for -the dairy people to load you up with milk and butter and eggs and cheese -in collusion with your cook. Now you had to beg for enough milk to give -the babies a cup apiece a day; butter arrived in exchange for a heavy -tip; and eggs appeared not when you ordered them but when the dairy -chose to send them—which was rarely.</p> - -<p>To have the laundress acting like that, and other people acting like -that, was living in Alice's Looking-Glass House. Things were -contrariwise. One day the laundress came to tell me that she could take -no more work. The wash house where the work used to be done had shut -down. My poor woman was dissolved in tears to think that a business that -she had spent twenty-three years in building up had to drop its -customers. I did the best I could by getting in a scrub woman for the -day to wash the most important things in cold water in the bath-room. -That was hard enough. But how dry them? Old tricks would not go: there -was no heat in the radiators. You see, as I<a name="page_281" id="page_281"></a> said, all the troubles came -at once and were due primarily to coal shortage. There was no remedy. -Insufficient food supply because of lack of means of transportation. -Insufficient lack of means of transportation because of shortage of coal -for freight engines.</p> - -<p>I bought dark jersey dresses for the babies, and lived in dark things -myself.</p> - -<p>I was fortunate in having a good cook and nurse who stayed with me -through thick and thin. But when I came to get a <i>femme de ménage</i> for -chamber work I realized how justified were the complaints of most of my -friends. Women could make big money in munition factories. The large -country element, scared away in 1914 or called home to take the place of -men at the front, did not feed Paris with help as in peace time. I had a -succession of giggling sixteen-year-olds, pottering grandmothers, and -useless loafers. One <i>femme de ménage</i> I called "Toothless." She thought -it was an English pet name, and beamed under it. She was a farm hand -from the Marne district. The family fled before the Germans. She was -left in charge until the soldiers drove her out. "Toothless" put the -chickens in a little hay wagon, tied the cows to the back of it, and, -with her employer's silver on her lap, drove alone through the night to -safety. She was herded with other evacuated peasants on a steamer bound -for Bordeaux. The ship was torpedoed and she lost her teeth by the -explosion. I felt very sorry, and regarded her somewhat<a name="page_282" id="page_282"></a> as a heroine -until the truth dawned on me that she was speaking of a plate. I didn't -think of this myself. She asked me for an advance one day, explaining -that she had to pay it down to a dentist when she ordered <i>more</i> teeth. -A stranded Russian student followed "Toothless." She held out until her -prosperous father sent money from Petrograd through the Russian Embassy. -Try as hard as I could and offer more than I wanted to pay, I could not -get a regular third servant. I used to be amazed at the letters from -American friends, asking me to send them servants. It must have been the -popular notion in the United States that France was full of women eager -for the chance to work.</p> - -<p>In the fourth year of the war, we began to feel the drain on the -nation's manhood. The constant killing and crippling and calling to the -colors of older men and boys made it almost impossible to get any work -done. Bells or lights or plumbing out of order—you waited for months. -Where in 1915 I had found half a dozen paper-hangers and painters eager -to bid against each other for the job of renovating my studio, I had to -beg and bribe men to come in 1918. It took me four months to get what I -wanted done. Herbert became expert in carrying trunks and boxes: but -that did him no harm. There is a bright side to everything.</p> - -<p>Lines began to form at the grocers and the butchers. One waited and -waited and waited. My servants spent most of the day in the early months -of 1918 in<a name="page_283" id="page_283"></a> sugar and meat-lines. All over Paris it was <i>faire la queue</i> -for everything, even for tobacco and matches.</p> - -<p>Although it was an expensive proposition, I found it necessary, with my -large family and constant guests, to buy groceries through an agent. A -large English firm seemed to be able to furnish everything—if you paid -their price. The order-man who came around every week was a rascal named -Grimes. He had the genius of a book-agent, and worked you for an order -by playing on your fears. Here is a monologue that I wrote out one day -just to record how Grimes sold things.</p> - -<p>"Rice? First-class American rice?" (Why Grimes called rice "American" -was more than I could understand.) "Still got a little of it—please -don't ask me the price. Don't think of that now. Better let me put you -down for a hundred pounds of it and just shut your eyes to money. Golden -syrup? Just brought three cases of it up from Bordeaux myself. No -telling when we will see any more. The submarines are worse than ever: -awful, isn't it, but it's best that the newspapers don't tell us the -truth. I'm going to let you have two dozen tins of syrup if you don't -tell anyone. It's on account of your kiddies. I recommend that you don't -let older people touch it. Stack it away for the time when your sugar -card—I'm not pessimistic, but I believe you can't be too sure about -sugar cards. A funny fellow over at our place said a neat thing: 'It's -hard to believe in a paper shortage when the<a name="page_284" id="page_284"></a> Government has voted sugar -cards and those new identity cards.' Biscuits, when have you and I seen -a biscuit? I got a few cases in from America. I'll let you have some. -I'll reserve a couple of hams and some sides of bacon and hang them in -our cellar for you. Gad, you're lucky to have those four babies. It's -only because they need the bacon this winter that I give it to you. Now, -didn't I tell you that you must not think about money? Trust me to give -you a square price. It's safe to say that the beans and other dried -vegetables I'm letting you have will make you shiver when you get the -bill. But if this order figures up to two thousand francs, you can rest -assured that three months from now it would cost you three thousand -francs. And six months from now, with all the good will in the world, I -couldn't get you the stuff.</p> - -<p>"No use mentioning flour. Can't give you any. They say that the -Government is meeting on the quiet half the price of the flour before -the bakers see it. Comes high but it pays 'em to keep the people quiet. -Everything else can go up, but not bread. No m'am, I say it positively; -got to give 'em bread and the chance to have a little fun." (I'm sure -that Grimes never studied Roman history, but he had arrived at the -formula of <i>panem et circenses</i>.) "But we shan't starve. Better off in -France than they are in England or Germany. Save the bread for lunch and -tea: give the children a cereal in the morning. Just by luck, I have<a name="page_285" id="page_285"></a> a -few cases of American oatmeal and hominy grits.</p> - -<p>"Of course, the porridge means milk. I know what you're going to say. -But I've got hold of powdered milk made in Brittany. They say it's an -American invention. Only one big tin to a person, but then you're six -and we'll count the babies as grown ups. You can't tell how long they'll -be able to keep transporting milk to the city. Order as much canned -goods as I can give you. Canneries are running out of tin. Food we put -up in paraffined paste-board doesn't keep very well, and there is mighty -little paste-board.</p> - -<p>"It's a good thing you don't depend upon cocktails to keep you going. I -have a big auto-taxi ticking out there. The man who is going to pay for -it would be glad to let it tick all night just so he got what is inside. -One hundred bottles of gin. You know, the ordinary five-franc gin. I'm -going to get thirty francs a bottle at the Hotel Meurice bar. But -they'll be two bottles short. There they are—yours—right under my hat -on the table.</p> - -<p>"Now please let me read over the order. Not a luxury on it. Macaroni, -beans, lentils, prunes, dried-apricots, salt, and yes, there must be -some soap. Better let me put you down for a good hundred bars. The -Marseilles people tell us they have got to stop making it soon."</p> - -<p>Then he resumed his reading, and I didn't dare to say a word. On those -rare occasions I was pensive.<a name="page_286" id="page_286"></a> My husband would say: "You don't need to -tell me. That scoundrel Grimes has been here. Good Lord, I wish we had -an anti-hording law, like England."</p> - -<p>"But, oh, Herbert, the children you know."</p> - -<p>I tell this story because I believe it illustrates the thought that was -uppermost in the minds of Paris women. We had faith in our armies. We -stuck to our homes. We were willing to stand anything. But the constant -talk of food shortage got on our nerves. We pictured our children -without milk and fats and bread. It was not hard for the Grimeses to -fill pages in their order-books. And you could not reason with us that -laying in supplies was a sin against the community.</p> - -<p>In my apartment-house (and it was the same all over Paris because of the -new law) the water-heater was having a good rest. I used to have the -kids bathed every night in the week except Sunday. Sunday was a real day -of rest. My servants liked to go to early mass and Sunday afternoon was -"off" for them and for the governess. Circumstances aided in keeping -this side of Sunday as my Covenanter grandfather would have had it. But -after the restrictions you bathed Sunday morning or never. And you had -to wait for your bath. Inferior coal, parsimoniously stoked, took the -water-heater a long time to get going. We chose the next best to -godliness. Church attendance fell off. The<a name="page_287" id="page_287"></a> lawmakers who restricted -bathing to Sunday were anticlericals as well as traditionalists.</p> - -<p>I had been putting off doing over the apartment and our studios each -spring and fall since the war began, saying to myself that I would wait -until after the war. But in the autumn of 1917 the time had come to do -something. The painter was so short of men that I had to wait three -weeks before he sent someone simply to see what was to be done and to -make an estimate. The men cleaned half the paint in October. They never -came back to do the other half. I was tired of the dull grey wood-work -in my husband's studio and the painted grey wainscotting effect that ran -around the walls shoulder high. The place looked like a battle-ship -turned wrong-side out. Standing in the middle of that studio and looking -up to the skylight, I felt as if the hair was flying right off the top -of my head. The time came when I could stand it no longer. The painter's -soldier son, home on <i>permission</i>, agreed with me. But the father shook -his head when I asked him to paint the lower part a cheery buff and the -upper part cream-color. He had no helpers. I pled with him then to give -me the paint properly mixed, lend me brushes and ladders, and I would -send for them and do the work myself. It took me a whole morning to -remove a part of the imitation wainscotting. Then other things more -pressing came up. My husband, who had been oblivious to the old -combination, protested.<a name="page_288" id="page_288"></a> Fortunately, one of my wounded <i>filleuls</i>, who -was able to get around without crutches, did the rest. I helped when I -could: for I do love to paint.</p> - -<p>The rugs in my drawing-room needed cleaning. At the Bon Marché they -offered to write my name down in their books. But they warned me that -they could not call for the rugs for three weeks, and that I must -understand that they could not be delivered before January. In the end I -sent the rugs to three different cleaning places and waited from four to -six weeks to get them back.</p> - -<p>The curtains of my drawing-room windows were dark green velvet, too -depressing a color for wartime. I wonder how I lived with them so long. -The drawing-room faces north, and I wanted yellow silk curtains to -invite the sunshine in. The curtains should be a frame for the best -picture in the drawing-room—a view of Paris that is the reverse of the -picture described in the first pages of Zola's Paris. The idea ran away -with me, and the momentum of it carried me through the difficulties I -found when I tried to get an upholsterer to make the curtains. We are -all learning new trades. The curtains were made finally by an artist, -who, in order to earn her living through the war years, learned to do -retouching of photographs. She and I worked together at those curtains, -and you would think that an upholsterer made them.</p> - -<p>Then the electric-bells—why can't they be fixed so<a name="page_289" id="page_289"></a> one can wind them -up like a clock? They would not work; that was certain. I unscrewed -their little tops and punched the things like miniature -type-writer-spacers which the buttons ought to have hit: no ring. -Herbert said they "needed new juice" in the batteries. He had the -concierge send up some stuff that looked like salt. I climbed on the -pantry table to reach the suspicious-looking butter crocks hitched to -twisted waxy wires, and poured in the stuff with water according to -orders. Still no ring. Then I telephoned for the electrician. Perhaps he -would consent to send me Jean Claude, the nearsighted, who put in the -wires when we first came and had always been able to make them work. -Jean Claude, we heard, had come back from the war. But the electrician -answered that Jean Claude had been sent to the front again in spite of -his eyes. He would let me have apprentices. The boys were so short that -the big monkey-wrench in their tool-kit was as long as their forearms. -They climbed my step-ladder and tinkered with the bells for most of an -afternoon, while I held the ladder through a sense of paternal -protection for anything as young as that and was glad I had bandages and -ointment in my cupboard. When evening came, they were like the boy in -the song, who said:</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">"I don't care what my Teacher says,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">I cannot do that sum!"<br /></span> -<a name="page_290" id="page_290"></a> -</div></div> - -<p class="nind">Quite naturally they explained that they must ask somebody at the shop -what to do and promised to come back next day.</p> - -<p>But they did not return. Luckily our dentist turned up on a forty-eight -hour furlough. He and his wife knocked long and loud at our front-door. -When the first surprise and delight of seeing him back, looking so -bronzed and fit, had passed, I apologized for the bell, and told my sad -story. The problem awakened the dentist's interest. He went walking -about tracing the wires. French wires are all just hitched somewhere -above the picture moulding line so you can see them.</p> - -<p>"Aha!" came from the pantry. It was the dentist's voice. At the same -moment there was a prolonged ringing. "That's what comes from earning -your living by making your brains speak through your fingers. Quite -simple, quite simple," said the dentist. "I only arranged this little -affair on the indicator. It was the fourth screw from the back at the -upper line of the plate."</p> - -<p>"Sakes," I cried, "get down from there before you give me a toothache!"</p> - -<p>We all go through the world lighting up its darkness with our own kind -of lantern.</p> - -<p>Throughout the war we have done with clothes as with our houses—making -things do. That went very well at first. But in the fourth winter wear -and tear had to be met. We learned a new scale of values for little -things. A green glass lampshade cost fifteen francs, and you were lucky -to get it. The plug to stick in the hole for an electric light you -scoured the town to purchase at seven francs. The steel wire your -<i>frotteur</i> uses to polish floors quadrupled in price. My <i>frotteur</i> went -to war long ago. His substitute, a chauffeur in the postal service, gave -us two afternoons in a month—his only free time. One day he defended -his service gallantly while he balanced a wet brown cigarette and -cake-walked the steel wire over my <i>salon</i> floor. The long black autos -marked <i>postes et dépêches</i>, terror of pedestrians in Paris, do not -really go faster than other autos. We think they do because they were -the first autos to be used extensively in the city, and the fear of -being knocked down by them has stuck in the minds of the public.</p> - -<p>I used to have half a dozen "nice little dressmakers" on my list and as -many milliners to whom I could send friends confidently. But as the war -dragged on, one after the other they disappointed me. If it were not -poor cut and shoddy materials, it was inability to make delivery -anywhere near the time promised. Everyone must have been in my position, -because when I turned to the department stores for ready-made things, I -found long lines awaiting for a turn with the sales woman. It is not the -fault of dressmakers. One of them opened her heart to me.</p> - -<p>"It is very hard. Like everybody else, I keep hoping the war will end -suddenly. My reputation was made by my <i>premières ouvrières</i>. I still -keep on paying them good wages now although I eat into my savings to do -it. I cannot risk having my best girls go over to competitors. We had -our side in the strike of the <i>midinettes</i>. If it had not hit me hard, I -should have been amused to see these pretty young things dressed in -clothes cheap in material but <i>chic</i> go marching along the boulevards -winning policemen over at every corner. I raised pay beyond my means, -and have granted the <i>semaine anglaise</i>. But they would go to-morrow for -the least thing.</p> - -<p>"For twenty years I have had three classes of customers in Paris: -<i>bourgeoises</i> of the solid type, who come to me for the reserved sort of -clothes that sell on line, good material and long wear. They paid my -rent. American women, who came in the summer, or hurried through Paris -in February, headed for the Riviera, wanted an advance idea rapidly -executed. That trade paid my running expenses. From actresses and -mistresses I got fantastic prices for exclusive models I promised not to -repeat. From them I made my profits.</p> - -<p>"The first class are deft-fingered like all French women, and do their -own dressmaking now. They get their mourning from the houses that make a -specialty of that trade. The Americans do not come as they used to. My -profitable trade does not have the money for fine clothes or the -opportunity to show them off."</p> - -<p>Curious it seems to me now, when I sit down to write a chapter about the -darkest days of the war, that I find myself penning page after page of -the story of petty household difficulties. But I want to be what the -French call <i>véridique</i>. This is how we felt during the first winter of -the American intervention, when the A. E. F. was coming to France with -painful slowness and when we were aware that the Germans were preparing -a final desperate <i>coup</i> before Pershing could marshal an army, -effective in training and equipment and numbers. In January and -February, 1918, we were under the reaction of the Russian collapse, of -the awakening to the falsehoods concerning German military strength that -had been spread consistently for three years, of the nervous dread that -the submarines might after all prevent the coming of the Americans. The -little things, strikes, petty annoyances of daily house keeping, steady -increase in the cost of living made the deep impression.</p> - -<p>Then came the new German onslaught, the daily long-distance bombardment -and the aeroplane raids every night.</p> - -<p><a name="page_294" id="page_294"></a></p> - -<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XXIX" id="CHAPTER_XXIX"></a>CHAPTER XXIX<br /><br /> -<small>THE GOTHAS AND BIG BERTHA</small></h3> - -<p>In the early days of the A. E. F., when I was speaking to American -soldiers in the camps, I used to leave a little time for questions at -the end of my talk. The boys always had something in their heads they -wanted to talk about. The scope and variety of their questions were -amazing. But some one was sure to ask:</p> - -<p>"Have you ever been in an air raid?"</p> - -<p>When I answered in the affirmative, he would say,</p> - -<p>"How did you feel?"</p> - -<p>For a long time I reasoned like the <i>poilu</i>, who said that if his number -was on a German shell it would find him. Herbert and I worked it out -mathematically that our chances of being hit in the enormous area of -Paris were not as great as of being knocked down by one of the crazy -Indians we had for chauffeurs. When any left-over of a man could get a -license to run a taxi-cab in Paris after a course of two days at fifty -francs, why worry about bombs dropped from an occasional Hun plane? If -we had to go, we'd rather be in our beds. Better to be warm and cosy and -run a slight risk, an infinitesimal risk, than the almost certain -alternative of a bad cold by huddling in a drafty cellar. I told the -boys that we took the raids as a matter of course—all in the day's -happenings. I explained my philosophy, which was this.</p> - -<p>I once knew a man so afraid of germs that he made his wife wash new -stockings in disinfectant solution. He kept strict surveillance over his -children's diet. No peanuts, pink lemonade, -little-store-around-the-corner candy for them. They were taught to -exercise minute precautions in the every-day round of living. And yet, -for all the bother, they had as many ailments as other children. When -one is leading a normal life and has only imaginary or petty things to -contend with, molehills are magnified. When one is facing a great -crisis, one realizes that health is often simply a matter of lack of -physical selfconsciousness. Most of the things you think about and guard -against do not happen. I remember once seeing a play, in which a Romeo -and a Juliet held the center of the stage, oblivious to fighting in the -distance. The man said: "That is only a battle; this is love." Some -people see the honey in the pot; others cannot take their eyes off the -fly.</p> - -<p>I still hold to this way of taking things. It saves a lot of trouble and -makes for peace of mind. But somehow it did not work out to the end in -the air raids. The Germans were finally able to reach Paris when they -wanted to and in appreciable number.</p> - -<p>From the beginning of the war to the end of 1917, air raids did not mean -much to Parisians. We read about the awful nights of terror when the -full moon came around in London, and the heavy bombardment of cities -just behind the front lines in France. Aeroplanes did come occasionally -to Paris. But up to 1918 we experienced curiosity and excitement rather -than fear. In 1915 we saw a Zeppelin over the Gare Saint-Lazare. I can -recall nothing particularly startling about any of these raids. When -aeroplanes came and we did not wake the babies, they scolded us the next -day. They wanted to see the fun. Our balconies, looking over the city -from the <i>sixième étage</i> of the Boulevard du Montparnasse, gave us a -wonderful vantage point for seeing the raids.</p> - -<p>One January night at the beginning of 1918, the fire engines rushed -through the streets with their horns screaming the hysterical "pom-pom! -pom-pom!" with more vigor than usual. As was our custom, we turned the -lights carefully out and went on the balcony to watch the weird scene -that never failed to fascinate, rockets and searchlights and the firefly -effect of rising French planes. That always comforted us. We had little -thought that an <i>escadrille</i> of German planes could reach Paris. They -never had before. The raids had been only an occasional plane flying -very high and dropping at random a few bombs which burst in different -quarters. The next day you had to hunt hard to find the damage they did. -Remembering our promise to Christine, we woke her up and took her out.</p> - -<p>The sounds of the alarm died away. Often we had waited in vain for the -fire from the forts around Paris to warn us that the raiders had -actually arrived in the vicinity of Paris. Then there was another wait -until the first bomb fell. Christine was a bit disgusted at being waked -up for nothing. During the long silence she asked impatiently, "What is -this? The <i>entre'acte</i>?"</p> - -<p>But Christine was not disappointed. Over our heads we heard distinctly -the harsh engine-sound that distinguished the new German Gotha from -French planes. We heard it several times. When the bombs began to drop, -it was not one or two, but dozens of explosions. We did not think of -going inside. The thought of danger to ourselves did not enter our -heads.</p> - -<p>Although we knew the raid had been something different from any we had -experienced up to this time, there was little in the papers about the -events of the night. We thought that we must have been mistaken in the -number of bombs that had fallen. It is not always easy to distinguish -between the explosions of a shell from the <i>tir de barrage</i> and the -explosion of a bomb. Before we got through the first month of 1918 we -had the opportunity of becoming expert in this.</p> - -<p>We happened to be lunching with Robert and Edmée Chauvelot. Robert said, -"Did you go down to the cellar last night?"</p> - -<p>"No, we never do."</p> - -<p>"Why not?" cried Robert.</p> - -<p>I explained our air raid philosophy.</p> - -<p>"Nonsense!" exclaimed Madame Alphonse Daudet, Edmée's mother, "you must -go down next time. It isn't fair to your children. Your idea sounds -spunky and American—childish you understand. When we have epidemics, -the authorities study remedies. The Huns have decided to concentrate -their energies on Paris now. You must have read the warnings in the -newspapers. The police have collected statistics. We know now that most -of the people killed by German planes were standing at windows or front -doors, or were on the streets, or remained in their top-floor -apartments. What you have been telling your soldier boys in the camps is -all wrong. No precaution ought to be neglected. It is a question of -commonsense, not fear."</p> - -<p>"I know how to convince you," said Robert. After lunch he took us to the -Avenue de la Grande Armée not far from the Arc de Triomphe.</p> - -<p>"There!" He pointed to a house whose top floors had been blown away. -"That might just as well have been you."</p> - -<p>The house was a new one like ours and as solidly built of stone. The -apartment on the <i>sixième étage</i> was pulverized, the one below it was -smashed, and the fourth floor damaged some. But the third floor was -intact. This convinced us. If air raids were now to be frequent, had we -the right to risk the kiddies? We could take the chance for ourselves. -But for them?</p> - -<p>All Paris reasoned in the same way. The Gothas began to come every night -during the full moon periods and other times when it was clear. In the -late afternoon we grew accustomed to watch the sky and calculate the -chances of cloudy weather. If the stars came out we were sure that there -would be no undisturbed night's rest. The Government intensified the -batteries of A.D.C. cannon around the city. Patrols of aeroplanes were -multiplied. The <i>tir de barrage</i> became formidable. None could boast any -longer of being able to sleep through air raids. Sirens were put on all -the public buildings to replace the <i>alerte</i> of the fire-trucks. When -the sirens began to wail, not a soul in Paris could complain of not -being warned. Frequently nothing happened after the sirens, because the -<i>alerte</i> was given each time German planes were signalled crossing our -lines in the direction of Paris. Then we would simply wait for the -<i>berloque</i>, the bugle signal "all's over," which was sounded by the -firemen riding through the streets on their hook and ladder trucks.</p> - -<p>When the Gothas demonstrated their ability to come in numbers, as the -Zeppelins had been doing in London, the municipality, upon orders from -the Ministère de la Guerre, ordered every light out and the instant -stopping of tramway and underground services the moment the <i>alerte</i> -was sounded. Engineers went around the city examining cellars and Métro -stations. Houses with solid cellars were compelled to keep their front -doors open until the number of persons they could hold had taken refuge -inside. In front of the house placards were posted with ABRI in large -letters and the number of persons allotted for shelter underneath. The -underground railways had to shut all stations except those deemed safe. -If you were on the street or in an underground train or tramway when the -<i>alerte</i> sounded, you had the choice of walking home or of taking refuge -in the nearest <i>abri</i>. At first the theatres and moving-picture houses -protested against being closed down. But one January night a bomb -destroyed completely a house a hundred yards from the crowded -Folies-Bergère. This was enough. After that, if the <i>alerte</i> sounded -before opening time, there was no show. If it sounded during a -performance, theatres and <i>cinémas</i> were evacuated immediately by the -police.</p> - -<p>One can readily see the inconvenience of all this. If you planned to go -out for dinner or to a show, you risked a long walk home or being caught -for hours—and then the walk! For it was practically impossible to get -into the underground after the <i>berloque</i> sounded.</p> - -<p>On account of the children, from January to April, we went far from home -only on a cloudy or rainy night. If there were engagements we had to -keep on a clear night, there was only one thing to do—bribe a chauffeur -to stand by you with his taxi-cab all evening.</p> - -<p>As the <i>alertes</i> were often false alarms, we waited until the <i>tir de</i> -<i>barrage</i> began. Then with servants carrying children wrapped in -blankets, we had to stumble down dark stairs. My husband was often away. -Sometimes I had to go on lecture trips. But we never left Paris at the -same time. Whenever I was out of town, I looked on clear weather as a -calamity and dreaded the full moon. The next morning I would eagerly -scan the paper for news of what happened in Paris. It was no fun.</p> - -<p>Cellars of modern apartment houses may be solid, but they are not -spacious. Each <i>locataire</i> has two <i>caves</i>, one for storage and coal and -one for wine. The only refuge space is around the furnace and in the -long corridors that lead to the <i>caves</i>. We were allotted space for -three hundred. Such a crowd would gather from the streets! I could not -take my children there. At first we went to the concierge's <i>loge</i>. As -explosion succeeded explosion, I telephoned the <i>Herald</i> office and -learned the location of the bomb a few minutes after it fell. This was a -way of knowing whether they were in our quarter or across the river. But -this soon ended. For telephone service during the raid was interrupted, -and the concierge's <i>loge</i> was deemed by the police unsafe. Bombs -falling in the street or court were wrecking ground floors. A -solidarity manifested itself among the <i>locataires</i>. Those on the first -two or three floors took in the tenants from the upper floors. I was -lucky in having the use of a first-floor apartment alone for my family. -The <i>locataires</i> of this apartment would leave the door open for me. -They went to the cellar! Everything is relative in this life.</p> - -<p>At first, the children objected to going down stairs. The younger ones -did not like to be wakened from their sleep. The older ones wanted to -see the raid from the balcony. We sympathized with them. We were missing -so much! After a while, as nothing ever happened to our house, I began -to regret having started to follow the advice of my friends. After all, -was the cellar safe? It was fifty-fifty. I wonder how my children will -feel about Germany as they grow up. They were old enough to have -impressed indelibly upon their minds the memory of these months. They -will never forget the sirens, the sudden waking from sleep, the <i>tir de</i> -<i>barrage</i>, and the explosions that sometimes shook our house. Mimi asked -once, "Do the Gothas make that siren noise with their heads or with -their tails?" Fancy the image in the child's mind: the German birds -swooping over Paris shrieking a song of hate and dropping bombs that -meant destruction and death. And when the <i>berloque</i> sounded and we went -up stairs, we could see from our balcony fires here and there over the -city. For the Germans used incendiary bombs.</p> - -<p>But we were to have worse than air raids.</p> - -<p>The other day I put on the victrola a selection from "Die Walkyrie." -Wotan was singing. The orchestra thundered three motifs. The spring of -the instrument ran down before I could get to wind it up, there was a -rasping shriek. Mimi started.</p> - -<p>"That's like an air raid!" cried Lloyd.</p> - -<p>But they say the most potent way "to summon up remembrance of things -past" is the sense of smell. Burned toast means to me Big Bertha.</p> - -<p>One Saturday morning I was reading the depressing news of the rout of -the Fifth British army. After nearly four years of immobility in the -trenches, the Germans had once more started the march on Paris. The two -older children were out walking with Alice, their <i>gouvernante</i>. I was -at home with the babies. It was a jewel of a day, picked from an October -setting and smiling upon Paris in March. The feel of spring was in the -air. For months we had welcomed bad weather as an antidote for Gothas. -But I was glad the morning was so fine. At least there was nothing to -fear until evening. At the end of winter it is a blessing to have the -windows open once more. Suddenly the sirens started. We went out on the -balcony. The streets were filling with people, crowding into the Vavin -Métro station opposite and looking for the houses that were <i>abris</i>. -Still the crowds in the Boulevard du Montparnasse got larger. I was -sorry that Easter vacation was starting so early. Were the children in -school, they would be in the cellar. At the Ecole Alsacienne the -children were drilled for air raids as American school children are for -fire. Would Alice take the children to her own home or come back here? -If she went to her house, could she get there in time to telephone me -before the communications were cut off? It was impossible to go out and -look for Christine and Lloyd: for I must stay with the others. Often the -best thing is to sit tight. The children came in.</p> - -<p>"It isn't the Gothas—it's balloons. The Germans have sent a lot of them -over us. Everybody says so."</p> - -<p>In the unclouded sky there was no sign of aeroplanes. Could they be so -high as to be out of sight? And yet there were explosions near us every -few minutes. They lasted until late in the afternoon. The rumor of a big -gun spread. The noon newspapers and the earlier afternoon ones spoke of -a long distance bombardment to explain the explosions. Shells were -certainly falling. Bits of them, different from bombs, had been picked -up. But the opinion of interviewed experts scouted the theory of a gun -that would carry over a hundred kilometers. Was a new German advance -being hidden from us? Had they reached the gates of the city?</p> - -<p><a name="page_304" id="page_304"></a></p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ilp304_lg.jpg"> -<img src="images/ilp304_sml.jpg" width="409" height="550" alt="Saint-Germain l'Auxerrois" title="Saint-Germain l'Auxerrois" /></a> -<br /> -<span class="caption">Saint-Germain l'Auxerrois</span> -</p> - -<p>That night we had our air raid as usual. The next morning the newspapers -told us that we could now expect to be shelled by day as well as bombed -by night. It was established that the Germans had discovered a means -of sending shells from their old lines all the way to Paris.</p> - -<p>We were in the axis of Big Bertha, as the cannon was immediately dubbed. -This was a new and more severe test for nerves. We got accustomed to it. -For the trial, the strength. The kiddies had to have exercise and you -yourself could not be home every minute of the time. But my feeling each -time a shell exploded is the most horrible memory of the war. You never -knew where it fell. On the third day when the children came home from -the Luxembourg, they told me that a shell from Big Bertha had torn away -a corner of the Grand Bassin. I tried to steel myself. One can become a -fatalist for oneself. But it is not easy to be a fatalist for your -children.</p> - -<p>Then we had a lull. We were assured that there was only one Big Bertha -or at the most two. The life of the cannon was a hundred shots. Counting -those that fell in the suburbs, the attempt to intimidate Paris was -over.</p> - -<p>We were thankful now that we had only the air raids.</p> - -<p>I woke up on Thursday morning, thinking to give the children a treat. I -built a wood fire, and started to make some toast. As I sat on the -floor, cutting pieces of bread, I told myself that it would not help to -worry. Perhaps it was true that the Germans had sprung a trick they -could not repeat. At any rate, the news from the front was good. The -British had made a magnificent recovery. The French were helping them -stop the hole. General Pershing was throwing all the Americans in France -into the breach north of Paris. There was something to be thankful for. -Even if Big Bertha started up again, we were as safe from shells in our -own home as anywhere else. I said to myself, "I am going to forget Big -Bertha and put my mind on the children's treat—hot buttered toast for -breakfast." There were enough embers now to make the toast. I speared a -piece of bread with the kitchen fork and held it over the fire.</p> - -<p>"Bing!"</p> - -<p>The toast dropped from my fork and was burned before I could pick it -out.</p> - -<p>Mimi, who was sleeping in the bed close by, woke up.</p> - -<p>"Hello, Mama," she said cheerfully. "Dat's Big Bertha again. I did hear -her."</p> - -<p><a name="page_307" id="page_307"></a></p> - -<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XXX" id="CHAPTER_XXX"></a>CHAPTER XXX<br /><br /> -<small>THE BIRD CHARMER OF THE TUILERIES</small></h3> - -<p>The Paris subway system is the best in the world. We make this boast -without fear of contradiction. In London the various lines do not -connect, and require a life study to arrive at the quickest combination. -Even then, old Londoners are in doubt. They say to you, "Piccadilly -Circus? Ah let me see—" Then your guide contradicts himself two or -three times before giving you directions of which he is reasonably sure. -In New York, you have to be certain you are on the uptown or downtown -side, and that you have not mistaken the Broadway line, where you drop -the money in the box, for the Seventh Avenue line, where you buy -tickets. Experience with the Forty-second Street shuttle teaches you -that it is quicker to walk than to ride: you have to walk most of the -way anyhow. New York subways are filthy and stuffy. In Boston you have a -bewildering variety of trolley-cars, stopping at different parts of the -platform and going every which way.</p> - -<p>But Paris underground is clean, well-ventilated, orderly. You can go -from any part of the city to any other part quickly and without -confusion. The resident knows his way instinctively. The stranger has -only to follow the abundant and clearly-marked signs. In every station -the signs bear the name of every other station, and if you are in doubt, -there is a map before you. On the doors of cars the stations are marked, -with junction-stops in red, and all the stations of the line you are -taking are indicated on a map which you cannot fail to see.</p> - -<p>The subway system of Paris is superb because it has to compete with -excellent surface transportation. It has also to compete with the beauty -of Paris. Unless you are in a hurry or it is a very rainy day, riding -underground is folly. One never tires of going through the streets of -Paris. The joy is constant. I am proud of the "Métro" and "Nord-Sud," as -the two subway systems are called. But I use them as little as possible. -An open <i>fiacre</i> is a temptation never to be resisted. And, until the -last year of the war, it was a temptation thrust under your nose. Best -of all, I love to walk. Our way to the Rive Droite is down the Boulevard -Raspail. At the foot of the boulevard, you have three choices. You can -go straight ahead through the Rue du Bac and over the Pont Royal, by the -Boulevard Saint-Germain and across the Pont de Solférino, or to the end -of the Boulevard Saint-Germain and across the Pont de la Concorde. Each -route is equally inspiring. By the Pont Solférino you have before you a -perfect vista of the Vendôme Column and Sacré-Coeur in the background. -By the Pont de la Concorde you have the Obélisque and the Madeleine in -the background. But I used to prefer the Rue du Bac and the Pont Royal -because of Monsieur Pol. Alas that I have to say "used to"!</p> - -<p>After crossing the Seine by the Pont Royal, you enter the Tuileries -Garden at the end of the Louvre. On the left-hand side, before you -reached the Rue de Rivoli, ever since I can remember a little group was -gathered around a man feeding birds. I had to be in a great hurry on the -day I did not join that group.</p> - -<p>There is an old saying that every man drifts into his means of -livelihood. That is the reason so few people are doing what they planned -to do, and why there are so many queer ways of earning one's living. -Certainly the first time Monsieur Pol threw bread crumbs to the sparrows -in Tuileries he did not think of doing it for a living. Nor did he dream -that he would become as familiar a Paris landmark as Paul Deroulède in -marble and Jeanne d'Arc in gilt near by. A generation of Parisians may -have forgotten the features of former presidents of the Republic. But -who would not recognize Monsieur Pol? In fact, I have seen Emile Loubet -standing unrecognized in the crowd around the bird charmer.</p> - -<p>One day a one-legged soldier limped his way through the crowd to a good -place. In the lines of his face you could read suffering, but the -expression was of a happy child absorbed in the wonder of the moment. On -the sand around the old man's chair a hundred sparrows faced his way, -heads uplifted.</p> - -<p>"Get out of this, you rascals! I have had enough of you," cried Monsieur -Pol, stamping his foot and shaking a fist at his battalion. Do you think -they budged? The bird charmer shook his head, and remarked with a gentle -sigh, turning to the crowd, "You see, they have known me a good while. -Mind how you behave," he shouted, addressing the birds again, "here is a -soldier looking at you. Think how he will laugh if you do not stand up -straight. Look how well he's standing himself—with one leg gone."</p> - -<p>The birds heard a speech praising their defender, which turned into a -glorification of our <i>poilus</i> in general. How those birds had to listen -to lessons in politics, shrewd comments on the news of the day, the -latest Cabinet crisis, talked-about play, scandal in high life! Since -the war it has been the Germans in Belgium, the Turks in Armenia, -Kerensky and the Bolshevists, and the last three o'clock <i>communiqué</i>. -The birds gave their attention to the end. They seemed to know when the -speech was done, when the lesson of faith in France and optimism had -been driven home. They began to fly about the charmer, billing around -his neck and perching on his wide-brimmed hat in search of -bread-crumbs.</p> - -<p>Feeding the sparrows was "<i>un métier comme un autre</i>." He had names for -all his pets. With "the Englishman" he talked about Edward the Seventh, -Sir Thomas Barclay and the Entente Cordiale, and pressed him on the -subject of the tunnel under the Channel. He complimented "the -Englishman" on the bravery of the Tommies and told him what the French -thought of Sir Douglas Haig. "The Deputy" received frank comments on the -doings at the Palais Bourbon. "The Drunk" was twitted for having to go -without absinthe, scolded for his excesses, and at the end of the -afternoon invited to accompany Monsieur Pol for a drink, the price of -which invariably came from someone in the crowd. Monsieur Pol and his -sparrows would have earned a fortune at any vaudeville house. He was as -witty as a cowboy rope-juggler I saw once in New York, and his lectures -to the birds, if taken down in shorthand, would have made a valuable -contemporary commentary on Paris during the Third Republic. Monsieur Pol -depended upon occasional gifts and the sale of postcards.</p> - -<p>During the war he grew gradually more feeble, but could not be persuaded -to accept the care of loving hands stretched out to him on all sides in -spite of the preoccupation of the struggle. When the bread restrictions -came in, he never lacked a sufficient supply for his little friends. I -have seen people give him strips of their own bread tickets. Monsieur -Pol kept coming to the Tuileries until he died in action as truly as -any soldier at the front. His best epitaph is a little verse on the -postcards he sold:</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">"Auprès de ces petits, je suis toujours heureux.<br /></span> -<span class="i1">Car je vois l'amitié pétiller dans leurs yeux,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">Et j'éprouve aussitôt, avec un charme extrême,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">Le plus doux des bonheurs: être aimé quand on aime."<a name="FNanchor_E_5" id="FNanchor_E_5"></a><a href="#Footnote_E_5" class="fnanchor">[E]</a><br /></span> -</div></div> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<a name="Footnote_E_5" id="Footnote_E_5"></a><a href="#FNanchor_E_5"><span class="label">[E]</span></a> -<span class="i0">"Among these little ones I am always happy.<br /></span> -<span class="i1">In their innocent eyes glows friendship,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">And with swelling heart I know the charm<br /></span> -<span class="i1">Of loving and of being loved."<br /></span> -</div></div> - -<p><a name="page_313" id="page_313"></a></p> - -<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XXXI" id="CHAPTER_XXXI"></a>CHAPTER XXXI<br /><br /> -<small>THE QUATORZE OF TESTING</small></h3> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">B</span>IG BERTHA, or rather her successors, kept up a sporadic bombardment of -Paris in April and May. A few shells fell again in June. But the effect -of the bombardment, materially and morally, was nothing like that of the -original Big Bertha. The culmination of horror and indignation was -reached on Good Friday afternoon, when a hundred people were killed in -the church of Saint-Gervais. After that the Germans made no other big -killing. They came to realize that Big Bertha could not intimidate or -demoralize Paris. Where the shells fell, however, we shall never forget.</p> - -<p>I used to listen with awe (and a bit of envy) to the stories of people -who passed through the siege of 1870. I remember well when I was a child -being told by my father's friends, as we drove in the city, "A shell -burst here in 1870 and tore the front out of a shop: I was sitting at a -café near by"; or, "On that spot the Versailles troops stormed a -barricade and lined its defenders against a wall—there was no quarter." -Now I have my stories to tell! There is hardly a street between the -Boulevard Montparnasse and the Seine that is not<a name="page_314" id="page_314"></a> associated in my mind -with an aeroplane bomb or a Big Bertha shell. The compensation for -having lived through these days will be the privilege of telling -Americans who come to see us "all about it." As the years go by, I have -no doubt that legends will form themselves in my mind and that I shall -do my full share of innocent and unintentional lying. You want to -impress your listener: so you must make things graphic.</p> - -<p>But I shall never be eloquent enough to enhance upon or exaggerate the -nervous tension through which we passed during the spring and early -summer of 1918. From the moment we learned the news of the collapse of -the Fifth British Army, which brought the Germans to Montdidier, until -the tide of battle was definitely turned, we never had an easy moment. -The strain was worse than in 1914. For it lasted months instead of -weeks, and reverses after four years of fighting, with all the world -against Germany, were more difficult to understand and to stand. The -British were just recovering themselves when the Germans fell on the -French, captured the entire Craonne plateau for which we had been -struggling for three years, reoccupied Soissons, and started to advance -once more from the Aisne to the Marne.</p> - -<p>It was not easy to be an optimist. We had faith in the holding ability -of the French and British armies; we believed that the Germans were -shooting their last bolt; and we knew that the Americans were arriving<a name="page_315" id="page_315"></a> -in large numbers. But we had been fooled so often about internal -conditions in Germany! And Russia and the submarine warfare were factors -concerning which we had no exact data. The people who recreate the past -with the advantage of hindsight will tell that they never worried a -minute. They knew things were coming out all right! To listen to them -one would think that they expected all along to happen just what did -happen in the way it did happen. When I hear this kind of talk now I -know that it was either a case of</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">"Where ignorance is bliss<br /></span> -<span class="i1">’Tis folly to be wise,"<br /></span> -</div></div> - -<p class="nind">or hopeless bumptiousness. How strange it is that many of those who tell -you now that the Germans never had a chance ran away from Paris in 1914 -and again in 1918.</p> - -<p>Parisians passed no fortnight in which there was more anxiety and -uncertainty to their beloved city than the first two weeks of July. The -Germans were widening their pocket. They occupied the right bank of the -Marne from Château-Thierry to Dormans. They crossed the Marne. It was -too late for Germany to hope to win the war. But would they get to -Paris?</p> - -<p>On July Fourth I was in reconquered Alsace and my husband was speaking -at Tours. He telegraphed me to join him at Boulogne-Sur-Mer on July -seventh. It took me three days to go in slow trains, with an occasional<a name="page_316" id="page_316"></a> -lift by motor, the entire length of the front. I saw everywhere reserves -of troops and endless lines of motor-trucks and trains with cannon and -ammunition. The American uniform was ubiquitous. All this gave me a hope -and confidence I had not felt in Paris, where I knew that the Government -was making more elaborate preparations than in 1914 to evacuate the -city. Herbert and I returned to Paris from Etaples on July ninth. The -direct route by Abbéville and Amiens was under the German cannon, so we -had to make a wide detour by Tréport and Beauvais. We both had a raging -fever and it was all we could do to get home from the Gare de Nord.</p> - -<p>Doctor Charon came early in the morning and told us that we were down -with the <i>grippe espagnole</i>, the plague that was sweeping France and -that had much to do with the general depression. Many a soldier who had -gone through four years of battle unscathed succumbed to this mysterious -disease. It hit one suddenly and the end came quickly. On the other -hand, if the first forty-eight hours passed without complications, -recovery was as rapid. Despite the protests of Doctor Charon, Herbert -got out of bed on the morning of the thirteenth to go to Lyons to the -inauguration of the Pont Président-Wilson. I was up to celebrate the -Quatorze. After it was over, I was glad of the illness that came to keep -me in Paris for this day when we whistled to keep up our courage. Had -the Spanish<a name="page_317" id="page_317"></a> grip not interfered, I should have returned to my children -in the Little Gray Home near Saint-Nazaire.</p> - -<p>The military operations in July, 1918, were not critical from the -standpoint of the safety of France and the success of the Allied cause. -The size of the army America was sending to France put the Germans in -such a hopeless inferiority of numbers that as soon as the table of the -landing of the first million was published we knew that the Germans were -doomed <i>if the fighting continued</i>. But we had a growing number of -strikes and a wide-spread defeatist campaign in the rear to contend -with. If Paris were taken, what would be the effect on French public -opinion? This was the stake the Germans were fighting for, and they knew -it was their only hope of salvation.</p> - -<p>Never have I loved Paris more than on the Quatorze of testing. Music and -dancing were lacking, of course: for since 1914 we had not danced in -public out of respect to the dead and music had been barred in cafés. -Military bands had other places to play than in Paris. But happen what -might, Parisians were determined to celebrate the fête just as if the -Germans had not crossed the Marne. I went out for the day with friends. -We smiled and laughed and tried to have a good time. The relaxation -helped all to bear the burden. Within limits hedonism has its merits. -"Eat, drink and be merry, for to-morrow we die" is the philosophy that -wins out when a crisis is being faced.<a name="page_318" id="page_318"></a></p> - -<p>I went to the review in the morning, and made a round of the streets and -the Champs-Elysées Quarter that had been rebaptized in honor of our -Allies. The Paris Municipal Council cannot be accused of lacking -optimism in regard to persons as well as events. Belief in victory and -in the permanent esteem for those who were bringing it to pass led to -changes of names that may not in retrospect have popular approval. The -Avenue du Trocadéro has become the Avenue du Président-Wilson; the -Avenue d'Antin, the Avenue Victor-Emanuel III; the Avenue de l'Alma, the -Avenue Georges V; the Quai Débilly, the Quai de Tokio; part of the Rue -Pierre-Charron, the Rue Pierre I de Serbie; and the Place de l'Alma, the -Place des Alliés.</p> - -<p>When Herbert returned from the Quatorze at Lyons, we celebrated the -Franco-American victory of the Marne with a dinner at Parc Montsouris. -Whoever has been to the Pavillon du Lac becomes a regular client. We -discovered this unpretentious little restaurant many years ago when we -were exploring with Christine and the baby-carriage. Ever since Xavier -has been our friend. Xavier does not need to be on the Grands -Boulevards. He prepares the choicest dishes with utmost confidence that -his friends will bring their friends to Montsouris. The Pavillon du Lac -is nearly a mile from the nearest Métro station and no taxicabs are to -be found out there by the fortifications. But difficulty of -transportation is more than compensated<a name="page_319" id="page_319"></a> for by the restfulness of the -Pavillon du Lac, its <i>cuisine</i>—and Xavier, with his good humor and -witticisms, waiting on the table. You eat on the <i>terrasse</i> facing the -park, with its waterfall and lake, and you feel that it is all -yours—park and restaurant. From <i>patron</i> to <i>chef</i>, everybody calls you -by name, and most of the people at the tables are your friends. In the -salon is a piano. You dance to your heart's content. Xavier dances with -you.</p> - -<p>When I try to write of the Pavillon du Lac, memories crowd in on me -thick and fast. I could have put this restaurant in almost any chapter -of my Paris vistas.</p> - -<p>But what place could a dinner at Montsouris enter more appropriately -than on the night of July 18, 1918? We were celebrating better than we -knew. The afternoon <i>communiqué</i> brought with it the certainty that the -miracle of 1914 had been repeated and that Paris was saved again. Did we -realize that the day's fighting was the turning point of the war? I -think not. But we acted as if we did.</p> - -<p>Around our table were gathered the American General commanding the -troops in Paris, my husband's chief on the Committee of Public -Information, a French editor, colleagues of the American and British -press, and one of our dearest French friends, whose work for his country -in the hour of trial was bearing splendid fruit. Xavier was at his best. -Had I not<a name="page_320" id="page_320"></a> recently been in his beloved Alsace from which he had been an -exile since childhood? From <i>hors d'Å“uvres</i> to <i>liqueurs</i>, there was -an uninterrupted flow of good cheer. The strain of years was passing -away.</p> - -<p>The climax came when Jim Kerney picked up his cordial glass, twirled it -with his thumb, looked at it regretfully, and sighed,</p> - -<p>"The fellow who blew this glass was certainly short of breath."<a name="page_321" id="page_321"></a></p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ilp320_lg.jpg"> -<img src="images/ilp320_sml.jpg" width="362" height="550" alt="Old Paris is disappearing" title="Old Paris is disappearing" /></a> -<br /> -<span class="caption">Old Paris is disappearing</span> -</p> - -<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XXXII" id="CHAPTER_XXXII"></a>CHAPTER XXXII<br /><br /> -<small>THE LIBERATION OF LILLE</small></h3> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">F</span>ROM the Boulevard des Capucines to the Avenue de l'Opéra there is a -convenient short-cut through the Rue Daunou. Newspaper men and other -Americans do not always use the Rue Daunou for the short-cut. It is -better known as the way to the Chatham bar. I ought to know nothing -about the Chatham bar. My acquaintance with that corner should be -limited to the Restaurant Volney and ladies' days at my husband's club -opposite. But I do know the Chatham bar and for a perfectly respectable -reason. It is where my old uncle used to be found when the clerk at his -hotel said that he was not in. The uncle makes me think of a friend of -his and a table with a little brass disk in the center of it to -commemorate assiduous attendance through a long period of years in the -Chatham bar. And the uncle's friend makes me think of the liberation of -Lille. Association of ideas is a strange thing.</p> - -<p>Herbert and I sat one evening in the autumn of 1915 before a big map -with my uncle's friend. His fingers<a name="page_322" id="page_322"></a> lay upon the Flanders portion of -what we had come to call "the front." Bubbling over with excitement, he -exclaimed,</p> - -<p>"They have broken through here, I tell you, day before yesterday. I -always knew that when Kitchener's army was ready the trick would be -turned. Of course the censorship is holding up the news, but everybody -knows it. A sharp bombardment that overwhelmed the Boches, and then the -break through. The Boches were routed. Talk about not being able to -storm trenches! The cavalry has passed Lille. At this moment Lille is -liberated. The British must be there in force."</p> - -<p>"But," objected my husband, "this is too good to be true. They could not -hold back news like that, you know. If the British are in Lille, the war -is over."</p> - -<p>"Of course it is over," insisted my uncle's friend. "We shall have peace -by Christmas."</p> - -<p>Mr.—well I won't tell you his name—let us say Mr. Smith, was hardly to -blame for taking the wish for the fact. The rumor of a big break through -the Flanders front was everywhere in Paris. Fourteen months of war had -been enough. The French had waited a year for the British to form an -army. Why shouldn't it be true that now the end had come?</p> - -<p>Alas! we were to wait three years more before the lines in Flanders were -crossed; we were to have many costly disappointments like that of -Neuve-Chapelle.<a name="page_323" id="page_323"></a> But when the moment finally did come, the liberation of -Lille was to mean the beginning of the end.</p> - -<p>In October, 1919, when I came back to Paris from the Little Gray Home, I -returned to a city where there was a feeling of victory in the air. The -most conservative had lost their habitual pessimism. The most resigned, -who had come to accept the war as a fatality that would never end as -long as there were men to fight, began to revise their opinions. The -most suspicious, who wagged their heads over <i>communiqués</i> no matter -what the authorities said, felt that after all we were making "some -progress." Each day the list of liberated communes grew longer. But -until some big city was abandoned, Parisians were afraid of having to -pay too big a price to break down the Boche resistance. After all, they -had proved themselves stubborn fighters. They might elect to make a long -"last ditch" combat on lines of which we did not know the existence. But -if they abandoned Lille, that would mean the intention of falling back -to the Meuse. Genuine optimism is as hard to instil as it is to dispel. -In retrospect, many writers are now asserting that Parisians knew the -Boches were beaten after the failure of their last July offensive from -the Vesle to the Marne. But this is not true. Relief over the failure to -reach Paris did not mean certainty of the imminent collapse of -Ludendorf's war machine.</p> - -<p><a name="page_324" id="page_324"></a>When summertime was over, and darkness came suddenly from one day to -the next, Herbert and I resumed our walks at nightfall. During the war -we had lost our interest in buildings as memorials of the past. -Contemporary history had crowded out ante-bellum associations. The -Eiffel Tower was not a gigantic monstrosity, a relic of the Exposition. -It was a wireless-telegraphy station, the ear, the eye, the voice of -Paris. Tramping by the Champs de Mars, we saw the sentinels in their -faded blue coats of the fifth year and felt sorry for the men up there -always listening in the pitiless cold. Crossing the Pont Alexandre III, -we forgot the splendor of the Czars and thought of Nicholas in the hands -of the Bolsheviki. The Grand Palais no longer recalled brilliant Salons. -We thought of the blind in the hospital there and of the re-education of -mutilated <i>poilus</i>. The picture inside was a one-armed soldier learning -to run a typewriter, and a man with both legs amputated sitting on a low -bench, the light of renewed hope in his eyes: for he had found out that -he could still do a man's work in the world by becoming a cobbler. The -newspaper building, whose cellar windows used to fascinate us, was the -place where we waited for the posting of the <i>communiqué</i>. The Invalides -was no longer just Napoleon's tomb. It was the place where you went to -see your friends decorated and where you strolled about the central -court to show your children aeroplanes and cannon captured from the -Germans. And you were saddened by the<a name="page_325" id="page_325"></a> thought that when the last -veterans of the Crimea and Soixante-Dix and colonial wars disappeared, -there would be thousands of others to take the vacant places.</p> - -<p>October is chestnut month. From some mysterious source the venders drew -their supply of charcoal when we could not get it. But we were glad of -their luck. Autumn walks would not be complete without the bag of -roasted chestnuts which I could fish out of Herbert's overcoat pocket.</p> - -<p>We were going down the Rue de Rennes one night and stopped to get our -chestnuts from the man at the corner of the Rue Sainte-Placide. Herbert -was fumbling for coppers. A boy thrust a newspaper under his nose.</p> - -<p>"The Liberation of Lille!" he cried.</p> - -<p>We hailed a taxi and made for the Chatham bar. Everything comes to him -who waits. Uncle Alex's friend was waiting.<a name="page_326" id="page_326"></a></p> - -<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XXXIII" id="CHAPTER_XXXIII"></a>CHAPTER XXXIII<br /><br /> -<small>ARMISTICE NIGHT</small></h3> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">O</span>N the eleventh day of the eleventh month at the eleventh hour, Paris -heard the news. The big guns of Mont Valérian and the forts of Ivry -roared. The anti-aircraft cannon of the Buttes-Chaumont, -Issy-les-Moulineaux, the Eiffel Tower, the Arc de Triomphe and the Place -de la Bastille took up the message. The submarine moored by the Pont de -la Concorde spoke for the navy. And then the church bells began to ring. -We had heard the tocsin sounded by those same bells at four o'clock on -the afternoon of August 1, 1914. France to arms! We had heard those same -cannon during more than four years announcing the arrival of Tauben and -Zeppelins and Gothas over Paris. But Paris kept the faith and never -doubted that this day would come. The armistice was signed. The war was -over. The victory was ours.</p> - -<p>In the Rue Campagne-Première artists' studios are in the buildings with -workingmen's lodgings. House painter and canvas painter work side by -side; writer and printer and book-binder, sculptor, cobbler, and -mattress maker live in the same court. Our little community could exist -by itself, for we have within a few<a name="page_327" id="page_327"></a> hundred feet all that we need, -tailor and laundress, baker and butcher, restaurant and milk woman, the -stationer who sells newspapers and notions, and the hardware shop where -artists' materials can be had. During these years of danger and -discouragement and depression we have exchanged hopes and fears as we -have bought and sold and worked. We have welcomed the -<i>permissionniares</i>, we have shared in the bereavements of almost every -family, and we have greeted the birth of each baby as if it were our -own. I was in my studio when the message of victory arrived. Windows in -the large court opened instantly, and then we hurried down the staircase -to pour forth, hand in hand, arm in arm, into the street. We kissed each -other. Flags appeared in every window and on every vehicle.</p> - -<p>The Boulevard du Montparnasse was ablaze with flags and bunting, and -processions were forming. Hands reached out to force me into line. I -managed to break away when I got to the door of my home for the crowd -paused to salute the huge American flag. Herbert, who had reached the -apartment first, was hanging from our balcony. My four children were in -the hall when the elevator stopped. School had been dismissed. They -danced around me. Mimi the five-year-old cried: "No more Gothas, no more -submarines, we can go home to see grandma, and the Americans finished -the war!"</p> - -<p>"It is peace, Mimi, peace!" I said.<a name="page_328" id="page_328"></a></p> - -<p>"What is peace?" asked Mimi bewildered.</p> - -<p>I tried to explain. She could not understand. The world since she began -to talk and receive ideas had been air raids and bombardments, and life -was the mighty effort to kill Germans, who were responsible for all -that, and also for the fact that there was not enough butter and milk -and sugar. Mimi knew no more about peace than she did about cake and -boxes of candy and white bread. Questioning my seven year old, I found -that his notions of a world in which men would not fight were as vague -as Mimi's. Lloyd was frankly puzzled. Like Mimi, he believed that the -armistice meant no more Gothas and no more submarines, but he thought -surely that we would go on fighting the Germans. Had not they always -been fighting us? And if we weren't going to fight them any longer, -chasing them back to their own country, what in the world would we do? -And how could Uncle Clem and all the other soldier friends be happy -without any work?</p> - -<p>The Artist dropped in for lunch. Together we had seen the war suddenly -come upon France. Together we were to see it as suddenly end. "Do you -know," he said, "everyone in the quarter is going to the Grands -Boulevards. Taxis have disappeared. The Métro and Nord-Sud are jammed. -We may have to foot it, like most people, but if we want to see the big -celebration, we must get over to the Rive Droite this afternoon."<a name="page_329" id="page_329"></a></p> - -<p>The Artist was right. As Lester and Herbert and I went down the -Boulevard Raspail and the Boulevard Saint-Germain, we seemed to be -following the entire population of the Rive Gauche. To cross the bridge -was the work of half an hour. We kept near the coping, and had time to -see the crew of the submarine <i>Montgolfier</i> engaged in more strenuous -work than sailing under the seas. The <i>Montgolfier</i> was brought up to -the center of Paris a fortnight before to stimulate subscriptions to the -Victory Loan. The Parisians had been allowed to subscribe on board. -To-day the crew was busy trying to keep people off without pushing them -into the river. The crowd in the Place de la Concorde overflowed to the -Champs-Elysées and the Tuileries. Boys were climbing over the German -tanks. They sat astride the big cannon trophies and invaded the captured -aeroplanes parked on the terrace of the Tuileries. Only its steep sides -saved the obelisk.</p> - -<p>For many months the horses of Marly, guarding the entrance to the -Champs-Elysées, had been protected by sand-bags and boxed up. A crowd -was tearing off the boards and punching holes in the bags. Air raids -were a thing of the past, and these hidden treasures were a painful -memory which Paris wanted to efface immediately. A gendarme interfered -only to point out the danger of the long nails in the ends of the -boards. He insisted that the nails should be taken out, and then the -boards were given to those who had torn them off.<a name="page_330" id="page_330"></a> This kindly -interference appealed to the good sense of the crowd. Men were putting -the boards across their shoulders to parade the <i>poilus</i> triumphantly -around the Place. The gendarme was awarded by the honor of a high seat, -too.</p> - -<p>The statues of the cities of France formed splendid vantage-points, and -they were crowded with the agile and venturesome. Lille and Strasbourg, -however, were respected. When Lille was delivered last month, the statue -had been covered with flowers and wreaths and flags. As it symbolized -all the invaded regions, new offerings had been coming each day from the -cities and towns that were being freed. In the midst of the joy of the -armistice, this tangible evidence of victory was receiving more -offerings each hour. We could see people moving towards Lille with arms -aloft, in order that flowers should not be crushed in the jam. There was -something sublimely pagan about the offerings to the huge statue. And -Strasbourg! After nearly half a century, this was Strasbourg's day. The -first instinct of the crowd was to tear off the crepe. But the -government had taken precautions. Strasbourg was to be unveiled on the -day Marshal Foch and his army enter the city. So Strasbourg was -protected by a <i>cordon</i> of the Garde Municipale.</p> - -<p>On the Rue Royale side of the Hôtel de Coislin, which the American Red -Cross occupied since our entry into the war, the proclamation of the -mobilization was covered<a name="page_331" id="page_331"></a> by some thoughtful person with glass. It has -remained through these years, defying wind and rain and -souvenir-hunters, a constant reminder in the busy thoroughfare of -Paris's last Great Day. This afternoon a fresh poster had been put -beside it. We read:</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> -<p class="c">INHABITANTS OF PARIS</p> - -<p>It is the victory, the triumphal victory! On all the fronts the -conquered enemy has laid down his arms. Blood is going to cease -flowing.</p> - -<p>Let Paris come forth from the proud reserve which has won for her -the admiration of the world.</p> - -<p>Let us give free course to our joy, to our enthusiasm, and let us -keep back our tears.</p> - -<p>To witness to our great soldiers and to their incomparable chiefs -our infinite gratitude, let us display from all our houses the -French colors and those of our Allies.</p> - -<p>Our dead can sleep in peace. The sublime sacrifice which they have -made of their life for the future of the race and for the safety of -France will not be sterile.</p> - -<p>For them as for us "the day of glory has arrived."</p> - -<p>Vive la République!</p> - -<p>Vive la France Immortelle!</p> - -<p class="r">T<small>HE</small> M<small>UNICIPAL</small> C<small>OUNCIL</small>.</p></div> - -<p>Paris had anticipated the advice of the City Fathers. Printers and bill -posters were not quick enough. But the proclamation was read with -enthusiasm. "<i>Ça y est cette fois-ci!</i>" cried a girl who had just come -out of Maxim's.</p> - -<p>The cry was taken up immediately by all who were gathered around the -poster, and we heard it passing<a name="page_332" id="page_332"></a> from mouth to mouth as we worked our -way toward the Madeleine. Nothing could express more appropriately and -concisely the feeling of the Parisians than this short sentence. <i>Cette -fois-ci! This time!</i> There had been other times when rejoicing was not -in order. There had been false hopes, just as there had been false -fears. The certitude of victory <i>cette fois-ci</i>—a certitude coming so -miraculously a few months after incertitude and doubt—was the -explanation of the fierce mad joy expressed in the pandemonium around -us.</p> - -<p>After a mile on the Grand Boulevards, a mile that reminded us of -football days, the Artist said, "This is great stuff now, and will be -greater stuff tonight. I wonder if we had not better try to get around -to other places before dark just to see, you know." Beyond the <i>Matin</i> -office, in a side street near Marguéry's, we saw a taxi. The chauffeur -was shaking a five franc note, and heaping curses on a man who lost -himself in the boulevard crowd. We ran to the chauffeur and told him we -would make it up to him for the <i>cochon</i> who had not been good to him.</p> - -<p>"Double fare, and a good <i>pourboire</i> beside," Herbert insisted. The -Artist opened the door and started to help me in.</p> - -<p>"By all the virgins in France, No! A thousand times no!" growled the -chauffeur, trying to keep us out.</p> - -<p>"We meant triple fare," said Lester. I disappeared inside the cab.<a name="page_333" id="page_333"></a></p> - -<p>"Where do <i>Messieurs-Dame</i> want to go?" asked the chauffeur -despairingly.</p> - -<p>"Rue Lafayette, Boulevard Haussmann, Etoile, Avenue des Champs-Elysées, -Invalides, and then we'll leave you at the Opéra," I suggested -hopefully.</p> - -<p>"What you want is an aeroplane," he remonstrated. But triple fare is -triple fare. With a show of reluctance, he cranked and we rattled off. -An hour later, after we had escaped being taken by assault a dozen -times, resisted attempts to pull us out and put us out, promised to pay -for a broken window and a stolen lamp, and used cigarettes and -persuasive French on the man upon whose goodwill our happiness depended, -we found ourselves on the Avenue de l'Opéra. By this time the chauffeur -was resigned, so resigned that he tried to cross the Place de l'Opéra. -We were tied up in a mass of other rashly-guided vehicles until the -taxi's tires flattened out under the weight of a dozen Australians who -had climbed on our roof. We were cheerful about it, and the chauffeur -seemed to gather equanimity with misfortune. November 11, 1918, comes -only once in a lifetime. We abandoned our taxi and our money, and tried -it afoot again.</p> - -<p>Fortune was with us. We arrived at the moment when Mademoiselle Chénal -appeared on the balcony of the Opéra and sang the "Marseillaise." There -was the stillness of death during the verse. But the prima donna's voice -was heard only in the first word of the chorus.<a name="page_334" id="page_334"></a> When the crowd took up -the chorus, Paris lived one of the greatest moments of her history. Over -and over again Mademoiselle Chénal waved her flag, and the chorus was -repeated. Then she withdrew. Another verse would have been an -anti-climax. We were carried along the Boulevard des Italiens as far as -Appenrodt's. As Herbert and Lester were talking about the night, more -than four years ago, when they watched the crowd break the windows of -this and other German or supposedly German places, the arc lights along -the middle of the boulevard flashed on. Paris of peace days reappeared.</p> - -<p>In the midst of it all, my maternal instinct set me worrying. What if -Alice, the <i>gouvernante</i>, had taken the children out into the crowd? I -had gone off without thinking of my chicks. We tried to telephone. On -the last day of the war that proved as impossible as on the first. My -escorts were quite willing to return to the Rive Gauche. There was no -reason why the celebration would not be just as interesting on the Boul' -Miche. I left Herbert and Lester on the terrace of the Café Soufflet, -and hurried back to the Boulevard du Montparnasse. When I reappeared -half an hour later, Christine was with me. She had begged so hard to be -taken to the Grands Boulevards. After all, why not? Christine had lived -through all the war in France. It was her right to be in on the -rejoicing. And I confess that I wanted to hear what she would say when -she saw<a name="page_335" id="page_335"></a> the lights. She was so young when the war started that she had -forgotten what lighted streets were.</p> - -<p>The two men were delighted with the idea of dining across the river. -Despite its reputation for making the most of a celebration, five long -years of the absence of youth had atrophied the Boul' Miche. It was -interesting, of course, but not what we thought it would be.</p> - -<p>We dined at the Grand Café. We went early, fearing that even being in -the good graces of the head waiter might not secure a table. But having -a table was not guarantee of the possibility of ordering a meal worthy -of the occasion. The run on food had been too severe for the past two -days. And the market people of the Halles Centrales, so the waiter said, -began their celebration on Saturday, when the German delegates appeared -to demand the armistice. They would withhold their produce for several -days, and get higher prices. The cellars held out nobly, however, so -food could be dispensed with.</p> - -<p>During the first hour, mostly waiting for dishes which did not come, -there was a lull. The effort of the afternoon had been exhausting. Some -groups were just about to leave for the theatre when a young American -officer jumped on his chair, holding a slipper in his hand. Pouring into -it champagne, he proposed the health of Marshal Foch, with the warning -that other toasts would follow. Immediately there was a bending under -tables, and other slippers appeared. The<a name="page_336" id="page_336"></a> fun was on. Cosmopolitans have -seen New Year's Eve <i>réveillons</i> that were "going some," but the -drinking of the health of Foch, Petain, Haig and Pershing will live in -the memory of all who were in the Grand Café on the night of November -11th. Tables were pushed together and pyramided. One after the other the -highest officer in rank in each of the Allied armies was dragged from -his place and lifted up between the chandeliers. Over the revolving -doors at the entrance a young lieutenant led the singing of the national -anthems, using flag after flag as they were handed up to him. The affair -was decidedly <i>à l'américaine</i>, as a beaming Frenchman at the next table -said. There was no rowdyness, no drunkenness. It was merrymaking into -which everyone entered. The owner of the first slipper was an American -head nurse, and the first Frenchwoman to jump up on a table had twin -sons in the Class of 1919. During years of anguish we had been subjected -to a severe nervous strain and to repressing our feelings. The French -bubbled over and the English, too, and they were willing to follow the -lead of the Americans, because we have a genius for celebrating audibly -and in public.</p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ilp336_lg.jpg"> -<img src="images/ilp336_sml.jpg" width="550" height="390" alt="The Grand Palais" title="The Grand Palais" /></a> -<br /> -<span class="caption">The Grand Palais</span> -</p> - -<p>Once more out in the night air, following and watching the night crowd, -and joining in or being drawn into the fun, we were struck by the -ubiquity of American soldiers and their leadership in every stunt which -drew the crowd. We felt, too, the spirit of good <i>camaraderie<a name="page_337" id="page_337"></a></i> among -the merrymakers. Not a disagreeable incident did we see. The stars of a -cloudless sky looked down on Paris frolicking. But they saw nothing that -Paris, emerging from her noble dignity of suffering and anxiety, need be -ashamed of. Policemen and M.P.'s were part of the celebration.</p> - -<p>Lines of girls and <i>poilus</i> danced along arm in arm. The girls wore -kepis, and the <i>poilus</i> hats and veils. No soldier's hat and buttons and -collar insignia were safe. The price of the theft was a chase and a -kiss. Processions crisscrossed and collided. Mad parades of youngsters -not yet called out for military service bumped into ring-around-a-rosy -groups which held captive American and British and Italian soldiers.</p> - -<p>The officers and sergeants in charge of American garages were either -taking the day off or had been disregarded. For in the midst of the -throngs our huge army trucks moved slowly, carrying the full limit of -their three tons, Sammies and <i>midinettes</i>, waving flags and shouting.</p> - -<p>The trophies of the Place de la Concorde and the Champs-Elysées and the -Place de l'Hôtel de Ville were raided. Big cannon could not be moved, -and pushing far the tanks was too exhausting to be fun. But the smaller -cannon on wheels and the caissons took the route of the Grands -Boulevards. Minenwerfer and A.D.C. (anti-aircraft cannon) disappeared -during the afternoon. Why should the Government have all the<a name="page_338" id="page_338"></a> trophies? -The aspirations of souvenir-hunters were not always limited to the -possible. We saw a group of <i>poilus</i> pulling a 155-cm. cannon on the Rue -du Faubourg-Saint-Honoré, some distance from the Rue Royale. They were -actually making off with it! A policeman watched them with an indulgent -smile.</p> - -<p>"It's too big," he said. "They'll get tired before the night is over, -and they couldn't hide it anyway. It is good for them to work off their -alcohol. To-morrow the authorities will pick up that cannon somewhere."</p> - -<p>The clocks on the Boulevard "islands" were stopped at eight o'clock. -This was not a night to think what time it was, and whether the Métro -had ceased running. Every lamp-post had its cheer-leader or orator.</p> - -<p>Confetti and streamers of uncelebrated Mardi Gras and Mi-Carêmes had -their use this night, when four years of postponed festivals were made -up for in few wild and joyous hours. What had begun as a patriotic -demonstration was ending in a carnival. The "Marseillaise" gave place to -"Madelon," favorite doggerel of barracks and streets.</p> - -<p>The most dignified had to unbend. A British staff officer, captured by a -bunch of girls, was made to march before them as they held his Burberry -rain-coat like maids of honor carrying a bride's train. He was a good -sport, and reconciled himself to leading a dancing procession, beating -time with his bamboo cane. All<a name="page_339" id="page_339"></a> the Tommies spied <i>en route</i> were -pressed into line. A French General, who had unwisely come out in -uniform, was mobbed by the crowd. The girls kissed him, and older people -asked to shake his hand. He submitted to their grateful joy with -warm-hearted and gracious dignity. But when a band of <i>poilus</i> came -along, brandishing wicker chairs stolen from a café and asked him to -lead them in a charge, that was too much even for November Eleventh. The -General retired to the safety of a darkened doorway.</p> - -<p>There were no bands. It was the people's night, not the army's night, -and tin cans, horns, flags, flowers, voices and kisses were enough for -the people's celebration. You could not have enjoyed it yourself if you -had not the spirit of a child. Children need no elaborate toys to -express themselves, and they don't like to have their games managed for -them, or to have the amusement provided when they are "just playing."</p> - -<p>Some Americans rigged up a skeleton with a German cap. They followed it -singing "Onward, Christian Soldiers." The song was as novel as the -skeleton. Where all the Americans came from only Heaven and the -Provost-Marshal knew, and there is a strong probability that the latter -had no official knowledge of the presence of most of them in Paris! Our -soldiers were disconsolate over the fact that they could not buy all the -flags they wanted. The shops were completely sold out, and the hawkers -were reduced to offering <i>cocardes<a name="page_340" id="page_340"></a></i>. We heard one boy say: "If I can't -get a flag soon, I'll climb one of them buildin's."</p> - -<p>"Gee! better not," advised his comrade; "they'd shoot you!"</p> - -<p>"Naw! Shootin' 's finished."</p> - -<p>The shooting was finished. That is what the signing of the armistice -meant to Paris. And, as it meant the same to the whole world, every city -in the Allied countries must have had its November Eleventh.<a name="page_341" id="page_341"></a></p> - -<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XXXIV" id="CHAPTER_XXXIV"></a>CHAPTER XXXIV<br /><br /> -<small>ROYAL VISITORS</small></h3> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">O</span>NE night the future King of Siam came to dine with us. I took him into -the nursery to see the children. Mimi sat bolt upright in her crib. She -eyed the young stranger and frowned.</p> - -<p>"Hello, king," she said, "where's your crown?"</p> - -<p>I confessed to a similar feeling when from the balcony of a friend's -home in the Avenue du Bois de Bologne I saw the King of England riding -into Paris for the first of the welcomes we were giving Allied -sovereigns. It was natural that Great Britain should come ahead of other -nations. England had been the comrade-in-arms from the first days and -aided powerfully in preventing the Germans from reaching Paris in the -fierce onslaught of 1914. But it is a pity that the King was not -accompanied by Marshal French or Sir Douglas Haig. Parisians are -peculiarly sensitive to personality. George V has none. There was -nothing in the rôle he had played during the war to make the crowd feel -that he personified the valiant armies of the greatest and most faithful -ally. If only Beatty or Jellicoe had ridden with him through the Avenue -du Bois and down the Champs-Elysées. The war had not<a name="page_342" id="page_342"></a> deepened the -enthusiasm of the French for a monarch simply because he was a monarch. -A crown and a royal robe might have helped George with the Paris crowd. -I am not sure even then. As my concierge put it when I told her that I -was going to cheer the royal visitor,</p> - -<p>"<i>Voyons</i>, what has that king done in the war besides falling off his -horse?"</p> - -<p>And then the weather was against our British guest. I do not care what -the occasion is, rain and enthusiasm do not go together in a Paris -crowd.</p> - -<p>The King of the Belgians had good weather and received cheers that came -from the heart. We thought of him not as a royal personage but as the -man who had saved Paris at the beginning of the war because he put honor -and his country ahead of personal interest and blood. The French saw in -him also a soldier who had lived the life of the camp sharing the -hardships and dangers of his little army in the corner of Belgium the -Germans were never able to conquer. From the first day of the war to the -signing of the armistice, Albert I did not doff his uniform. He never -asked of his soldiers what he himself was not ready to do. And he came -to Paris with his queen, who had been idolized by the French. No woman -in the world was so popular in France as Elizabeth despite her German -origin.</p> - -<p>The protocol for the royal visits was as elaborate as the ceremony -proved to be simple. The guests were received<a name="page_343" id="page_343"></a> by President and Madame -Poincaré at the little Ceinture station at the Porte Dauphine. Headed -and followed by a single row of <i>gardes républicaines</i> on horse, they -rode in open carriages down the Avenue du Bois de Bologne and the -Champs-Elysées and across the Pont de la Concorde to the Palais d'Orsay -where they were lodged. Infantry regiments, lining the route, aided the -police in keeping order. There was no parade and no music. The attention -and the acclamation of the crowd were concentrated on the visitors. As -state carriages are swung high, every one was able to see the king. The -Avenue du Bois is ideal for a procession. The park slopes up on either -side, affording a clear view for hundreds of thousands. And there are -innumerable trees for boys.</p> - -<p>Those who were unable to get to the Avenue du Bois or the Champs-Elysées -at the time the visitors came had a chance to see them in the streets -afterward. For visits were exchanged between the royal visitors and -President Poincaré, and on the second day of the visit they rode in -state down the Rue de Rivoli to receive the freedom of Paris at the -Hôtel de Ville. The return from the Hôtel de Ville was made by the -Grands Boulevards and the Rue Royale. Then on the first evening was the -state dinner at the Elysée and on the second evening the gala -performance at the Opéra. If any one in Paris did not see the -sovereigns, it was not because of lack of opportunity.<a name="page_344" id="page_344"></a></p> - -<p>The evening before we were to receive President Wilson, Rosalie burst -into my room in great excitement.</p> - -<p>"Hush, hush!" I whispered. "I have just put the baby to bed."</p> - -<p>But my pretty little cook did not hear me. She hurried to the window and -bounced out on the balcony. I followed.</p> - -<p>"What is the matter?" I asked.</p> - -<p>"Madame has only to listen: every church bell in Paris is ringing. What -is it, Madame? In my Brittany village the bells rang that way only when -they posted the mobilization order at the <i>mairie</i>. Is it the tocsin? Is -the war going to begin again?"</p> - -<p>"Of course not," I answered. "It's a whole month since the armistice. -Cheer up, Rosalie, perhaps the Kaiser is dead."</p> - -<p>The older children and Elisa and Alice were now with us. The bells -continued ringing, and we heard cannon, one boom after another. It was -the salute that had been given for the royal visitors by the guns of -Mont Valérian. Now we realized that the special train from Brest had -arrived.</p> - -<p>"It is the <i>Président-Vilsonne</i>!" said Alice in the reverent tone, that -she had been taught to use in speaking of "l'Eternel." If you have heard -a French Protestant reciting a psalm, and pronouncing the beautiful -French word for Jehovah, you will understand what I mean.<a name="page_345" id="page_345"></a></p> - -<p>My young governess struck the note of the Wilsonian greeting. All that -has happened since that memorable December day has dispelled little by -little the legend of the Wilson who was to deliver the world from the -bondage of war. The French quickly discovered that their idol had feet -of clay. Whether they expected too much from what President Wilson had -said in his speeches or whether his failure to make good his promises -was due to circumstances beyond his power to control is not for us to -judge. We do not know the facts and we have no perspective. But at the -moment we did not foresee the disappointment in store for us. A merciful -providence, veiling the future, allows us the joy of entertaining hopes -without realizing that they are illusions. Legends are beautiful and -touching. But they are most precious when you think they are true, and -nothing can rob one of the memory of moments on the mountain top.</p> - -<p>Fearing that the Métro to the Place de l'Etoile would be crowded, we got -up very early that Saturday morning. The day of President Wilson's -coming—whatever day the great event would happen—had been declared -beforehand a holiday. So we could take the children with us. We were -none too soon. All Paris of our quarter was going in the same direction. -Without a grown person for each child, the Métro would have been -difficult. When we came up at Kléber station the aspect of the streets -around the Etoile assured<a name="page_346" id="page_346"></a> us that the Wilson welcome would break all -records. We passed through side streets to the Avenue du Bois—by the -corner of the Etoile it was already impossible, and thanked our stars -that the friends who invited us to see the royal visits from their -apartment lived on the near side of the street. To cross the Avenue du -Bois would have been a problem.</p> - -<p>Lloyd struck against going up to the wonderful vantage point on a fourth -floor. The good things Aunt Eleanor and Aunt Caroline would certainly -have for him to eat meant nothing when he saw boys in trees. Having no -good reason to deny him, his father yielded. My son climbed a tree near -the side-walk with Herbert standing guardian below while the rest of us -were high above.</p> - -<p>I shall not attempt to describe the welcome given to President Wilson. -After the carriages passed and the crowd broke, the children went home. -Herbert and I followed the current of enthusiastic, delirious Parisians -down the Champs-Elysées, up the Rue Royale and the Avenue Malesherbes. -Wilson beamed and responded to the greeting of Paris. He did not grasp -what that greeting meant. Clemenceau, Parisian himself, knew that the -power to change the world was in the hands of the man riding ahead of -him. But this is retrospect! I did not realize then that one of the -greatest tragedies of history was being enacted under my eyes. Perhaps I -am wrong in thinking so now. Who knows?<a name="page_347" id="page_347"></a></p> - -<p>More significant in its potentiality than the initial greeting to -President Wilson was the acclamation that greeted him when he went to -the Hôtel de Ville. Belleville turned out. From the heart of the common -people came the cry, "<i>Vive la paix Wilsonienne!</i>" It was taken up and -re-echoed with frenzy when the guest of Paris appeared on the balcony of -the Hôtel de Ville.</p> - -<p>The coming of the King of Italy was an anti-climax. Paris, of course, -responded with her customary politeness to the duty of welcoming the -sovereign of France's Latin ally. But heart was lacking in the reception -to Victor Emanuel III. The comparative coolness was not intentional. I -am sure of that. It was simply that we were coming down from the -mountain top to earth.</p> - -<p>And when the Peace Conference assembled, Paris very quickly realized -that the hope of a new world was an illusion. Our royal visitors came at -the right moment. Paris will give enthusiastic welcome to other rulers -in future days. But not in our generation! A famous saying of Abraham -Lincoln's comes into my mind. There is no need to quote it.<a name="page_348" id="page_348"></a></p> - -<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XXXV" id="CHAPTER_XXXV"></a>CHAPTER XXXV<br /><br /> -<small>THE FIRST PEACE CHRISTMAS</small></h3> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">"P</span>EACE on earth: good-will towards men!" For five years the motto of -Christmas had seemed a mockery to us. Our city was the goal of the -German armies. They reached it sometimes with their aeroplanes, and -before the end of the war they reached it with their cannon. Scarcely -fifty miles away from us—within hearing distance when the bombardment -was violent—fathers and sons, brothers and sweethearts were fighting -through the weary years in constant danger of death. Each Christmas -brought more vacant places to mourn. Of course we celebrated Christmas -all through the war. There was little heart in it for grown-ups. But we -had the children to think of. The war must not be allowed to rob them of -childhood Christmas memories.</p> - -<p>In 1918, we were looking forward to a Christmas that would be Christmas. -All around us the Christmas spirit was accumulating. The war was over: -we had won. Ever since Armistice Night we had been saying to -ourselves—"And now for Christmas!" We might have to wait for a revival -of the second part of the<a name="page_349" id="page_349"></a> Christ Child's message. But at least the -first part was once more a reality.</p> - -<p>Three days before Christmas I sent a telegram. I took my brother's -enigmatic military address and put two words in front of it, Commanding -Officer. I begged the gentleman to have a heart and send me my brother -for Christmas Day. I told him that I had not seen my family for five -years, that four little children born abroad wanted their uncle, and -that we would welcome the C. O., too, if Christmas in Paris tempted him. -On the morning of December 24 brother appeared, and before lunch many -others I had invited "to stay over Christmas" turned up or telephoned -that they would be with us. I had to plan hastily how the studios in the -Rue Campagne-Première could be turned into dormitories for a colonel of -infantry, a major of the General Staff, captains of aviation and -engineers and the Spa Armistice Commission, lieutenants and sergeants -and privates of all branches. Last year few of the invitations to men in -the field were accepted. This year all came—some all the way from the -Rhine. Bless my soul, we'd tuck them in somewhere. And on Christmas Eve -we were going to have open house for the A. E. F., welfare workers, -peace delegates and specialists, and fellow-craftsmen of our own.</p> - -<p>As each house guest arrived, I gave him a job. His "But can't I do -anything to help?" was scarcely finished before he was commissioned to -blankets, armycots,<a name="page_350" id="page_350"></a> candles, nuts, fruits, bon-bons, drinks, or -sandwiches. "Just that one thing. I rely on <i>you</i> for that," I would -say. None failed me, and the evening came with everything arranged as if -by magic. I have never found it hard to entertain, and the more the -merrier: but when you have American men to deal with, it is the easiest -thing in the world to have a party—in Paris or anywhere else.</p> - -<p>Of course I went shopping myself. Herbert and I would not miss that day -before Christmas last minute rush for anything. And even if I risk -seeming to talk against the sane and humane "shop early for Christmas" -propaganda, I am going to say that the fun and joy of Christmas shopping -is doing it on the twenty-fourth. Avoid the crowds? I don't want to! I -want to get right in the midst of them. I want to shove my way up to -counters. I want to buy things that catch my eye and that I never -thought of buying and wouldn't buy on any other day in the year than -December 24th. I want to spend more money than I can afford. I want to -experience that sweet panicky feeling that I really haven't enough -things and to worry over whether my purchases can be divided fairly -among my quartette. I want to go home after dark, revelling in the flare -of lamps on hawkers' carts lighting up mistletoe, holly wreaths and -Christmas trees, stopping here and there to buy another pound of candy -or box of dates or foolish bauble for the tree. I want to<a name="page_351" id="page_351"></a> shove bundle -after bundle into the arms of my protesting husband and remind him that -Christmas comes but once a year until he becomes profane. And, once -home, on what other winter evening than December 24th, would you find -pleasure in dumping the whole lot on your bed, adding the jumble of toys -and books already purchased or sent by friends, and calmly making the -children's piles with puckered brow and all other thoughts banished, -despite aching back and legs, impatient husband, cross servants and a -dozen dinner guests waiting in the drawing-room?</p> - -<p>Paris is the ideal city for afternoon-before-Christmas shopping. Much of -the Christmas trading is on the streets. It gets dark early enough to -enjoy the effect of the lights for a couple of hours before you have to -go home. You have crowds to your heart's content. And Paris is the -department-store city <i>par excellence</i>. Scrooge would not have needed a -ghost in Paris. If you have no Christmas spirit, go to the Bazar de la -Rue de Rennes, the Bon Marché, the Trois-Quartiers, the Printemps, the -Galeries Lafayette, Dufayel, the Louvre, the Belle Jardinière and the -Bazar de l'Hôtel de Ville. Do not miss any of these, especially the -first and the last. At the Bazar de la Rue de Rennes the Christmas toys -are on counters according to price. Woolworth only tells you what you -can get for five or ten cents. The range of prices on the Rue de Rennes -is adjusted to all pocketbooks. At the Hôtel de Ville<a name="page_352" id="page_352"></a> you do not have -to wait for a saleswoman at the outside <i>rayons</i>. You hold up the -article you want and catch the cashier's eye. He pokes out to you a box -on the end of a pole such as they used to use in churches before we -became honest enough to be trusted with a plate. You put your money in. -If there is change, he thrusts it back immediately.</p> - -<p>On the Grands Boulevards and in our own Montparnasse Quarter, the -Christmas crowds were like those of the happy days before we entered -into the valley of the shadow. As we did our rounds, falling back into -peace habits and the old frame of mind, I realized how hollow was our -celebration of the war Christmases, how we pretended and made the effort -for our children's sakes. The nightmare was finished! Really, I suppose, -we had less money than ever to spend and everything was dear. But -everybody was buying in a lavish way that was natural after the -repression of years. Bargaining—a practise in street buying before the -war—would have been bad taste. We paid cheerfully what was asked.</p> - -<p>I was hurrying home along the Rue de Rennes with one of my soldier -guests. Herbert and my brother had left us on the Boulevards to get ham -and tongue at Appenrodt's and peanuts and sweet potatoes at Hédiard's. A -vender, recognizing the American uniform, accosted my companion with a -grin, as she held out an armful of mimosa blossoms.<a name="page_353" id="page_353"></a></p> - -<p>"Fresh from Nice this morning, <i>mon capitaine</i>—only fifty francs for -all this!"</p> - -<p>"Come, Keith," I cried, "she wants to rob you!"</p> - -<p>The woman understood the intent if not the words. Barring our way, she -reached over to her cart and added another bunch, observing, "It's -Christmas and I give our allies good measure." Keith took it all, -saying, "Don't stop me; I haven't spent any money for months—and Mother -always made such a wonderful Christmas. I've got to spend money—a lot -of money." He patted his pocket. "Two months' pay here that I haven't -touched yet!"</p> - -<p>Christine arranged the mimosa in tall brass shell cases from -Château-Thierry. "See my flowers!" she exclaimed. "This is better than -war!"</p> - -<p>The Consul-General (always a Christmas Eve guest in our home); the -colonel commanding the hospital in the Rue de Chevreuse; a New York -editor and his wife; a <i>confrère</i> of the French press and his wife; a -Peace Delegate; and the head of a New York publishing firm, who looked -in to see if we were really working; sat down with us to dinner, -squeezed in with our A. E. F. guests. When the last flicker of -plum-pudding sauce died down, we set to work for the Christmas Eve -preparations. There was no question of rank or age! Each one fell to the -task at hand. Dishes, glasses, bottles, doilies disappeared into the -kitchen. The table was set for the big party, piles of plates with -knives and<a name="page_354" id="page_354"></a> forks on each corner, sandwiches and rolls, a cold boiled -ham, a tongue <i>écarlate</i> as tongues come in Paris, turkeys roasted by -our baker, olives, salted almonds, army graham crackers, candy, a tall -glass jar of golden honey worth its weight in gold, and the fruit cake -with sprigs of holly that comes across the Atlantic every Christmas from -a dear American friend. People could help themselves. How and when—I -never worry about that. My only care is to have enough for all comers.</p> - -<p>We sent out no invitations. The news simply passed by word of mouth that -friends and friends' friends were welcome on Christmas Eve. In a corner -of the drawing-room the engineers of the party made the Christmas tree -stand up. The trimmings were on the floor. Whoever wanted to could -decorate. With the trenches of five years between us and Germany, -Christmas tree trimmings were pitiful if judged by ante-bellum -standards. I wonder what my children are going to think when they see -this Christmas a full-grown tree with the wealth of balls and stars and -tinsel Americans have to use. In Paris we had so few baubles and pieced -out with colored string and cotton and flags and ribbon. But the effect -was not bad with the brains of half a hundred trimmers contributing to -work out ideas on a tree that did not come up to my chin.</p> - -<p>We started the victrola—"Minuit, Chrétien," "It Came upon a Midnight -Clear," "Adeste Fideles," and—whisper it softly—"Heilige Nacht." Then -our<a name="page_355" id="page_355"></a> guests began to come until salons and hall and dining-room -overflowed into bed-rooms. Never again can I hope to have under my roof -a party like that, representing many of the nations that had fought -together on the soil of France, but with homesick Americans, Christmas -hungry, predominating. The first to arrive were patients from the -American Hospital in the Rue de Chevreuse who had been unable to forget -the nightmare of war when the armistice came.</p> - -<p>Crutches and the music, the tree and my children, an American home—the -first reaction was not merriment. I felt instinctively that something -had to be done. "Heilige Nacht" brought a hush. Someone turned off the -phonograph. Bill took in the situation. Everyone in America who reads -knows Bill. He backed up into a corner by the bookcase, took off his -glasses, and began to make a speech.</p> - -<p>"Ladies and gentlemen, I am an unregenerate soul. There is not a -respectable bone in my body. I am going to sing you a little ditty, the -national anthem of California." Here Bill winked his eyes and opened his -mouth wide to sing:</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">"Hallelujah! I'm a bum!"<br /></span> -</div></div> - -<p class="nind">"The writer of the song is an I. W. W.," he interrupted himself, "and at -the end of the first line from upstairs is heard the voice of his wife -demanding (here Bill changed to high falsetto),<a name="page_356" id="page_356"></a></p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">"Oh, why don't you work<br /></span> -<span class="i1">As other men do?"<br /></span> -</div></div> - -<p class="nind">Then the I. W. W. answers gently,</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">"Why the H—— should I work<br /></span> -<span class="i1">When there is no work to do?"<br /></span> -</div></div> - -<p class="nind">I told you I was an unregenerate soul. I see that I'm not alone, there -are others here like myself. I want a volunteer to sing my part with me -and volunteeresses, equally unregenerate, for the pointed question of -the I. W. W.'s wife.</p> - -<p>"The gentleman there with the eagles on his shoulders—I have for you a -fellow feeling, you are disreputable like me. Come! And the little girl -in the pink dress that only looks innocent. Come you here. And others of -like character join us as quickly as you can push your way through the -admiring audience."</p> - -<p>The surgeon from New York, who is as military as any regular army man, -was a good sport. So was the editor's wife. As he reached both hands to -the recruits, Bill did a simple dance step, the contagious step of the -Virginia Reel when other couples are doing the figures. Soon the chorus -was a line that reached the hall. At this moment there were shouts of -laughter at the front door. A parade of alternating khaki and nurse's -blue invaded the salon. Each had a flag or horn. The chorus and parade -joined forces, with Bill as leader, and soon<a name="page_357" id="page_357"></a></p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">"Hallelujah! I'm a bum!"<br /></span> -</div></div> - -<p class="nind">was being sung in every room of the apartment at the same time. Crutches -were no deterrent to joining the serpentine march from room to room. The -chorus grew and the dining-room was deserted. Strong arms picked up -babies in nighties and we were all in the parade.</p> - -<p>I did not know half of my guests and never will. Some of them are sure -to read this and will remember that night in Paris when C. O.'s and -journalists tired of the grind, nurses weary of watching, wounded and -homesick who had not expected to laugh that Christmas Eve, and soldiers -fresh from chilly camps and remote and dirty villages caught the spirit -of Christmas. When people forget their cares and woes, they always -behave like children. The national anthem of California made my party, -where Christmas carols had proved too tear impelling. After "Hallelujah! -I'm a bum!" wore itself out, nobody needed to be introduced to anybody -else and everything disappeared from the dining-room table.</p> - -<p>While the party was still raging, Herbert and I slipped for a moment out -on the balcony. Merrymakers with lighted lanterns passed along the -Boulevard du Montparnasse, singing and shouting. Before us lay Paris, -not the Paris dark and fearful to which we had become accustomed when we -stood there after the<a name="page_358" id="page_358"></a> warning of the sirens and listened for the <i>tir -de barrage</i> to tell us whether the time had come to take the children -downstairs, but Paris alight and alive, Paris enjoying the reward of -having kept faith with France and with the civilized world.<a name="page_359" id="page_359"></a></p> - -<h2><a name="y1919" id="y1919"></a>1919</h2> - -<p><a name="page_360" id="page_360"></a></p> - -<p><a name="page_361" id="page_361"></a></p> - -<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XXXVI" id="CHAPTER_XXXVI"></a>CHAPTER XXXVI<br /><br /> -<small>PLOTTING PEACE</small></h3> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">"W</span>AS it on purpose, Madame," said the Persian Minister to Paris, "that -you wore a green hat today?"</p> - -<p>We were lunching with the Persian Delegation. I took off my turban and -dropped it on the floor at the side of the chair.</p> - -<p>"Poor hat!" said I. "Look at its color. Brand new, you know, and faded -like that. It happened on the first sunny day after I bought it. We need -to plot a peace so that we can find good German dyes for our clothes. -Why did you want to know if I wore it on purpose?"</p> - -<p>"Green is the sacred color of Persia," said the Minister smiling, "and -it pleases us to see it. You were speaking of peace. We need peace and -quickly. And after that—what? We were more or less prepared for war, -but who thought while we were at war about preparing for peace? Not one -of the countries sent delegates with a workable plan. Part of our -preparedness should have been a peace program. Nobody thought a year ago -to call a conference of specialists. That's why negotiations drag on -forever."<a name="page_362" id="page_362"></a></p> - -<p>"I know," I answered, "we are used to war and we must get used to peace -now that it is coming. The other day at luncheon my husband asked the -children to define war.</p> - -<p>"'War is men getting hurted. The Germans did do it and I don't like -'em,' said Mimi.</p> - -<p>"'War is men at the front and cannon going off,' said Lloyd.</p> - -<p>"'Yes, and war makes the mamas work in the subway, and when it's war you -can't have sugar in your milk and we have air raids and Big Berthas, and -it makes people cry when the soldiers go away from the railroad -station,' said Christine all in one breath.</p> - -<p>"And we realized that although it seemed like another world, we -grown-ups could look back to <i>before the war</i>; but little children begin -to remember in a world at war."</p> - -<p>"And what is peace?" said the Minister. "It will not exist again for -your children and mine until we educate our democracies in international -understanding. The people of one country must know the people of -another. When we say France wants this or Italy wants that, we are not -talking about the people. How much did our Persians know about America -beyond the fact that missionaries came from there? How much did you know -about Persia beyond rugs and kittens and the Rubaiyát? I mean you -collectively. How many of our people and how many of yours understood -what<a name="page_363" id="page_363"></a> Morgan Shuster was trying to do? No, no, we must not drop -propaganda after the signature of peace. We must have exchange -students—in agriculture and commerce and the professions. And then," -continued the Minister, "peace must bring us work, work for everybody. -Work is the only remedy for most of the ills of the world. And that -means a common international effort to bring raw materials to, and to -aid in the reconstruction of, the countries that have been -battlefields."</p> - -<p>"Will peace give us all of that?" I enquired. "It sounds like the -millennium."</p> - -<p>"If we think of peace as an abstract something that will drop on us from -one day to another we shall have no change from the war-breeding -conditions of the past. Permanent peace is a state of mind. A state of -mind among the people and strong enough to control the actions of -political leaders. Understanding, I tell you, understanding is the only -way."</p> - -<p>"I am afraid," said I, "it will be a cold day before the people will -have much to say about war and peace. Throughout our politicians are all -tarred with the same brush. Invite a doctor, a brick-layer, a parson and -a mother of five children to come from each country. Sit them down -together at one big table and I'd wager they'd make a good peace -quickly. We like to say that the five per cent. of educated men rule the -other ninety-five per cent. What is the fiendish power that<a name="page_364" id="page_364"></a> lets rotten -diplomacy order us out to kill each other? The world will have to suffer -a good deal more before we learn the lesson. When wire-pulling and -economic jealousies wish it, the politicians can plunge the peoples into -a war again without their knowing how and why!"</p> - -<p>"The war that was to end war," said the Minister, bitterly. He was -thinking of the mockery of the Society of Nations as applied to his own -country.</p> - -<p>"This war that was to end war could have ended it," I cried, "if the -Peace Delegates hadn't come here covering their greed and their -imperialism with a camouflage of <i>belles</i> phrases. For the life of me, I -cannot see why some real leader does not emerge at this crisis, and -force the peacemakers to do what the doctor, the concierge, the little -tradesman, the professor,—the people—all knew in the beginning had to -be done. First make peace with Germany. Then sit around the table men -representing the world and draw up a League of Nations. A league without -Germany and Russia is only an offensive or defensive alliance. Same old -game over again. This peace conference doesn't recognize give and take. -It is all take. And they refuse to allow themselves and their frontiers -to be measured by the same tape-line we propose to use on our enemies. -This means simply that we are going to have once more the old-fashioned -peace of might making right. I believe in a League of Nations founded on -Christian principles. It is the only kind of a league that will give the -weak<a name="page_365" id="page_365"></a> a chance where the strong are concerned. Civilization is on the -upgrade. The reason we are disappointed now and the cause of the unrest -is that we thought we had got far enough along in the process of -evolution to establish a new order of things. And we haven't. Nobody is -willing to give up special privileges, secret treaties, and the balance -of power. The Golden Rule is too simple to try."</p> - -<p>"Ah, Madame," said the Persian Minister, "our peacemakers are like the -sparrow in the Persian fable. The sparrow heard that the sky was going -to fall. She flew to her nest and sat there stretching out her wings so -that it would not fall on her little ones."</p> - -<p>In my attitude toward the Peace Conference I believe I reflected all -through the attitude of the common people of France, especially the -Parisians. We had suffered too much and too long to want to see Germany -let off easily. Our internationalism had nothing in it of pity for the -Germans. We did not worry about how they were going to feel when they -found out what they were up against. We knew that we could not make the -Germans suffer as they had made us suffer. But we wanted written into -the Treaty conditions that would make our enemies realize their guilt by -finding out that the enterprise had not proved profitable. But along -with this natural and justifiable desire we yearned for some greater -recompense for our own suffering and sacrifices. Our hatred of war had -become as intense as<a name="page_366" id="page_366"></a> our hatred of the Germans who plunged us into war. -We hailed with joy the assurances of our statesmen that they would make -this time a durable peace, avoiding the mistakes and errors of the past. -Imagine our consternation when we realized that the delegates to the -Conference at Paris were not making peace along new lines. They were -plotting peace along old lines. Weary months passed. The censorship -still muzzled the press. But Parisians knew instinctively that something -was wrong. Before Easter we lost faith in the Conference and hope in its -intention of changing the old order of things.</p> - -<p>But the great fact remained that the war was over and that, despite the -soaring cost of living and labor unrest, we were free from having to go -through the horrors of the previous winter. We counted our blessings.</p> - -<p>Paris had been the centre of the world during the whole war, the prize -for which the Germans fought, because they knew that success or failure -depended upon taking Paris. When they recrossed the Marne a second time -and retreated from Château-Thierry, the war was lost: and they knew it -then, and only then. You know that last poem of Rostand about the Kaiser -climbing to the top of a tower to witness the final assault against -Paris. Paris deserved the Peace Conference. So logical was the choice -that none protested. It was the only point on which the "principal -Allied and Associated Powers" were agreed. As a resident of Paris I<a name="page_367" id="page_367"></a> was -proud that we were going to continue for another winter to be the centre -of the world—without certain decided disadvantages the honor had cost -us in the four previous winters! As a writer and the wife of a writer, -tied up by contracts to report the Conference, it meant that we could -stay in our own home and in our own workshops instead of living in hotel -rooms in some other place for long months.</p> - -<p>We kept open house for all—from premiers of belligerent states and -plenipotentiaries to delegates of subject nationalities, ignored by the -Big Five. Greeks redeemed and unredeemed, Rumanians and Transylvanians, -Jugo-Slavs of all kinds, Russians from Grand Dukes to Bolshevists, -Lithuanians, Esthonians, Letts, Finns, Poles, Czecho-Slovaks, Ukranians, -Georgians, Armenians, Syrians, Egyptians, Arabs of every persuasion, -Albanians, Persians, Siamese, Chinese, not to speak of the specialists -and propagandists and newspapermen of the Big Five, wrote their names in -my guestbook, ate at my table, and discussed each other over cigars and -cordials before my salon fire. Few lacked honesty of purpose and -sincerity and loyalty to ideals. But the ideals were those of their own -national or racial interests. Aside from a desire to see justice done to -France and Belgium, there was no unity, no internationalism in the views -of my guests. Most of them I respected; many of them I admired; for some -I came to have real affection. My husband and I formed personal<a name="page_368" id="page_368"></a> ties -that I trust will never be broken. But I confess that the more I -listened to tabletalk and salon talk in my own home, the more bewildered -I grew. I saw the Society of Nations vanishing in the thin air. My own -narrow nationalism, that had been gradually reviving ever since the A. -E. F. started to come to France, was strengthened. After all, was not -all human nature like the nature of my own paternal ancestors, who -believed—as they believed the Bible, with emphasis on the Old -Testament—that</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Ulster will fight<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And Ulster will be right?<br /></span> -</div></div> - -<p>I took refuge in the humorous side of the Peace Conference, as I did not -want to get mad or to become gloom-struck and weep. When Fiume came up, -for instance, I would talk to Jugo-Slavs and Italians about getting -seasick on the Adriatic and the respective merits of Abbazia and the -Lido and whether they ever felt like d'Annunzio's lovers talked. The -best fun was with my own compatriots. We Americans had nothing at stake -as a nation, and (if I except a few of Wilson's specialists who never -were listened to but always hoped they would be) the members of the -American Delegation lost no sleep while they were remaking the map of -Europe.</p> - -<p class="figcenter"> -<a href="images/ilp368_lg.jpg"> -<img src="images/ilp368_sml.jpg" width="396" height="550" alt="Spire of the Saint-Chapelle from the Place Saint-Michel" title="Spire of the Saint-Chapelle from the Place Saint-Michel" /></a> -<br /> -<span class="caption">Spire of the Saint-Chapelle from the Place Saint-Michel</span> -</p> - -<p>A Pole was explaining to us one day that the Ukranians were not and -never had been a nation, and he was<a name="page_369" id="page_369"></a> in dead earnest. A captain in the -American Navy had been listening politely for an hour. Then he thought -it was time to change the subject. He turned to me and broke in out of a -clear sky, "Helen, you have no idea how fussy Colonel House is. Found he -couldn't get waffles in Paris. Telegraphed an S. O. S. to Brest. My -machinist spent the better part of two days making a waffle-iron, and it -was so precious and the Colonel was in such a hurry that I sent the -machinist to Paris to take it to him. Don't you think that was the right -thing for me to do, Doctor ——sky? House is pretty close to our -Commander-in-Chief, you know."</p> - -<p>When touring Paris starts up again, the Cook megaphone man will add a -new item to his history of the Place de la Concorde: "See that building -on the corner opposite the Ministry of Marine I was tellin' yuh 'bout? -Number Four it is. Offices of the American Peace Commission during the -famous Conference, 'n b'fore that f'r t'ree years American Red Cross -Headquarters. 'N at tother end of the row is th' Hotel Crillon, where -th' Merican delegates lived. There President Wilson tried to make a -'Siety 'v Nashuns!"</p> - -<p>And from now on I shall never pass through the Place de la Concorde -without thinking of our press-room at Number Four, where we swapped -rumors and waited for an open covenant, openly arrived at. Press -headquarters were housed in the former concierge's <i>loge</i>—three wee -rooms on the ground floor to the right of the<a name="page_370" id="page_370"></a> porte-cochère as you -enter, and one of those was the post-office of the Delegation. The -quarters were prophetic of the importance and dignity of the press as -looked upon by the leaders of the Conference. The Americans arrived in -Paris with different ideas. The name chosen by the Delegation and -printed on all the stationery was a sign of American naïvety, and caused -much merriment among our British and French friends. AMERICAN COMMISSION -TO NEGOTIATE PEACE. <i>Negotiate</i> peace? Our European allies wondered -where and how such a notion entered the heads of the Americans. We stuck -to the name throughout—but not to the idea.</p> - -<p>The Hotel Crillon and Four Place de la Concorde were filled with -Americans—college professors, army and navy officers, New York -financiers, the mysterious Colonel and his family and family's friends, -the other Delegates, Embassy secretaries and clerks, stenographers, -soldiers and sailors, and journalists. The sensible ones were profiting -by the months in the center of the world to see Paris, old and new; hear -music; and do the theatres. For the time spent on their specialties, -trying to influence the course of the peace pourparlers and being -sympathetic to the swarm of representatives, official and otherwise, of -downtrodden races, did not budge a frontier an inch or write one line -into the Treaty of Versailles.</p> - -<p>When I applied for a press-card, an American major,<a name="page_371" id="page_371"></a> whose acquaintance -with a razor seemed no more than what anyone could gain from looking at -a display in a drug-store window, looked me over doubtfully. Was I -really writing for the <i>Century</i> and newspapers to boot? At length he -called a soldier. "Take this lady to get her photograph made," he said. -Up four flights of stairs we climbed. On every landing was a soldier at -a desk. "Through this way, mom," said my guide. He opened a tiny yellow -door all black around the knob, and there were more stairs.</p> - -<p>"Wouldn't it be fun to play hide-and-seek at Number Four and in the -Hotel Crillon?" I asked.</p> - -<p>"That's just what they're doing here most of the time," said Atlanta, -Georgia. "You never saw anything like it. But you mustn't speak of the -Hotel Crillon. This is the Island of Justice, mom. Yes, mom, it -certainly expects to be that if it isn't yet."</p> - -<p>In the garret room of the Signal Corps at the top of the stairs were -five soldiers.</p> - -<p>"Hello, boys, what do you think you are doing?" I asked.</p> - -<p>"We're still making this here peace," answered a stocky brown-eyed lad, -occupied vigorously with chewing-gum. "Since these guys've come over -from home to help us, though, it is not going as fast as it was before. -Mistake to have thought they'd do it quicker by talking than fighting."</p> - -<p>"That's right, too," put in another. "The doughboys<a name="page_372" id="page_372"></a> c'd a-finished it -'thout all these perfessers and willy-boys. Sit down here, please."</p> - -<p>In the gable window was a chair with screens behind it. On the screen -above the chair they put up a number—1949.</p> - -<p>"My soul!" I exclaimed. "What's the matter with me? Is that the date?'</p> - -<p>"No, ma'am, that's the date when the Conference is going to quit talking -and we can go home."<a name="page_373" id="page_373"></a></p> - -<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XXXVII" id="CHAPTER_XXXVII"></a>CHAPTER XXXVII<br /><br /> -<small>LA VIE CHÈRE</small></h3> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">H.</span>C. OF L. is an abbreviation I see often in American newspapers. From -the context it was not hard to guess what it meant. In Paris we call -that "preoccupation" (note the euphemism for "nightmare") <i>la vie -chère</i>. But we never mention it in any other tone than that of complete -and definitive resignation. We do not kick against the pricks. We gave -up long ago berating the Government and thinking that anything we can do -would change matters. We pay or go without. Our motto is Kismet. These -are good days to be a Mohammedan or a Christian Scientist. The latter is -preferable, I think, because it is comfortable to get rid of a thing by -denying its existence.</p> - -<p>For the sake of record I have compiled a little table that tells more -eloquently than words the price we have paid—from the material point of -view—for the privilege of dictating peace to Germany. Is it not strange -that peace costs more than war? The greater part of the increases I -record here have come since the armistice. The figures opposite the -names of commodities represent the percentage of increase since August -1, 1914:<a name="page_374" id="page_374"></a></p> - -<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary=""> -<tr><td align="center" colspan="2">F<small>OODSTUFFS</small></td></tr> -<tr><td>Beef</td><td align="right">400</td></tr> -<tr><td>Mutton</td><td align="right">350</td></tr> -<tr><td>Veal</td><td align="right">350</td></tr> -<tr><td>Poultry</td><td align="right">400</td></tr> -<tr><td>Rabbit</td><td align="right">400</td></tr> -<tr><td>Ham</td><td align="right">400</td></tr> -<tr><td>Bacon</td><td align="right">225</td></tr> -<tr><td>Lard</td><td align="right">225</td></tr> -<tr><td>Paté de foie</td><td align="right">300</td></tr> -<tr><td>Potatoes</td><td align="right">325</td></tr> -<tr><td>Carrots</td><td align="right">325</td></tr> -<tr><td>Turnips</td><td align="right">450</td></tr> -<tr><td>Cabbage</td><td align="right">850</td></tr> -<tr><td>Cauliflower</td><td align="right">725</td></tr> -<tr><td>Artichokes</td><td align="right">650</td></tr> -<tr><td>Salads</td><td align="right">200</td></tr> -<tr><td>Radishes</td><td align="right">500</td></tr> -<tr><td>Oranges</td><td align="right">200</td></tr> -<tr><td>Bananas</td><td align="right">400</td></tr> -<tr><td>Figs</td><td align="right">500</td></tr> -<tr><td>Prunes</td><td align="right">650</td></tr> -<tr><td>Celery</td><td align="right">1900</td></tr> -<tr><td>Salt</td><td align="right">150</td></tr> -<tr><td>Pepper</td><td align="right">250</td></tr> -<tr><td>Sugar</td><td align="right">225</td></tr> -<tr><td>Olive oil</td><td align="right">350</td></tr> -<tr><td>Vinegar</td><td align="right">225</td></tr> -<tr><td>Coffee</td><td align="right">150</td></tr> -<tr><td>Macaroni</td><td align="right">150</td></tr> -<tr><td>Vermicelli</td><td align="right">250</td></tr> -<tr><td>Rice</td><td align="right">25</td></tr> -<tr><td>Canned goods</td><td align="right">200-400</td></tr> -<tr><td>Butter</td><td align="right">350</td></tr> -<tr><td>Eggs</td><td align="right">400</td></tr> -<tr><td>Cheese</td><td align="right">400-600</td></tr> -<tr><td>Milk</td><td align="right">150</td></tr> -<tr><td>Bread</td><td align="right">50</td></tr> -<tr><td>Flour</td><td align="right">200</td></tr> -<tr><td>Pastry</td><td align="right">300-400</td></tr> -<tr><td>Ordinary wine</td><td align="right">300</td></tr> -<tr><td>Vins de luxe</td><td align="right">50-100</td></tr> -<tr><td>Champagne</td><td align="right">150</td></tr> -<tr><td>Ordinary beer</td><td align="right">200</td></tr> -<tr><td>Cider</td><td align="right">400</td></tr> -<tr><td align="center" colspan="2">H<small>EATING AND</small> L<small>IGHTING</small></td></tr> -<tr><td>Coal</td><td align="right">250</td></tr> -<tr><td>Charcoal</td><td align="right">250</td></tr> -<tr><td>Kindling-wood</td><td align="right">300</td></tr> -<tr><td>Cut-wood</td><td align="right">300</td></tr> -<tr><td>Gasoline</td><td align="right">125</td></tr> -<tr><td>Wood-alcohol</td><td align="right">500</td></tr> -<tr><td>Gas</td><td align="right">100</td></tr> -<tr><td>Electricity</td><td align="right">50</td></tr> -<tr><td align="center" colspan="2">C<small>LOTHING</small></td></tr> -<tr><td>Tailored suits</td><td align="right">150</td></tr> -<tr><td>Ready-made suits</td><td align="right">300</td></tr> -<tr><td>Shoes</td><td align="right">200-300</td></tr> -<tr><td>Hats</td><td align="right">250</td></tr> -<tr><td>Neckties</td><td align="right">150</td></tr> -<tr><td>Cotton thread</td><td align="right">500</td></tr> -<tr><td>Cotton cloth</td><td align="right">275</td></tr> -<tr><td>Collars</td><td align="right">150</td></tr> -<tr><td>Shirts</td><td align="right">150-350</td></tr> -<tr><td>Gloves</td><td align="right">150-250</td></tr> -<tr><td>Millinery</td><td align="right">150</td></tr> -<tr><td>Stockings</td><td align="right">150</td></tr> -<tr><td>Needles</td><td align="right">500</td></tr> -<tr><td>Yarn</td><td align="right">500</td></tr> -<tr><td align="center" colspan="2">L<small>AUNDRY</small></td></tr> -<tr><td>Laundry work</td><td align="right">150-200</td></tr> -<tr><td>Potash</td><td align="right">350</td></tr> -<tr><td>Soap</td><td align="right">550</td></tr> -<tr><td>Blueing</td><td align="right">200</td></tr> -<tr><td align="center" colspan="2">F<small>URNITURE</small></td></tr> -<tr><td>In wood</td><td align="right">200</td></tr> -<tr><td>In iron</td><td align="right">300</td></tr> -<tr><td>Mirrors</td><td align="right">400</td></tr> -<tr><td>Bedding</td><td align="right">300</td></tr> -<tr><td align="center" colspan="2">H<small>OUSEHOLD</small> L<small>INEN</small></td></tr> -<tr><td>Sheets</td><td align="right">750</td></tr> -<tr><td>Linen sheeting</td><td align="right">900</td></tr> -<tr><td>Cotton sheeting</td><td align="right">900</td></tr> -<tr><td>Pillow-cases</td><td align="right">400</td></tr> -<tr><td>Dish-towels</td><td align="right">600</td></tr> -<tr><td>Bath and hand towels</td><td align="right">400</td></tr> -<tr><td>Napkins</td><td align="right">500</td></tr> -<tr><td>Table cloths</td><td align="right">400</td></tr> -<tr><td align="center" colspan="2">T<small>ABLE AND</small> K<small>ITCHEN</small></td></tr> -<tr><td>Cutlery</td><td align="right">125</td></tr> -<tr><td>Plated-ware</td><td align="right">150</td></tr> -<tr><td>Table china</td><td align="right">300</td></tr> -<tr><td>Kitchen china</td><td align="right">200</td></tr> -<tr><td>Copper kitchen ware</td><td align="right">125</td></tr> -<tr><td>Aluminum ware</td><td align="right">100</td></tr> -<tr><td>Crystal ware</td><td align="right">225</td></tr> -<tr><td>Cut glass</td><td align="right">200-350</td></tr> -<tr><td>Ordinary plates</td><td align="right">200</td></tr> -<tr><td>Fancy plates</td><td align="right">150</td></tr> -<tr><td>Brooms and brushes</td><td align="right">125</td></tr> -<tr><td>Lamps</td><td align="right">250</td></tr> -<tr><td align="center" colspan="2">M<small>EANS OF</small> T<small>RANSPORT</small></td></tr> -<tr><td>Railway tickets</td><td align="right">50</td></tr> -<tr><td>Excess baggage</td><td align="right">250</td></tr> -<tr><td>Sleeping births</td><td align="right">400</td></tr> -<tr><td>Commutation</td><td align="right">75</td></tr> -<tr><td>Taxi-cabs</td><td align="right">75</td></tr> -<tr><td>Omnibuses</td><td align="right">35-50</td></tr> -<tr><td>Tramways</td><td align="right">35-50</td></tr> -<tr><td>Postal cards</td><td align="right">100</td></tr> -<tr><td align="center" colspan="2">S<small>TATIONERY AND</small> B<small>OOKS</small></td></tr> -<tr><td>Writing-paper</td><td align="right">900</td></tr> -<tr><td>Wrapping-paper</td><td align="right">1000</td></tr> -<tr><td>Paper for printing</td><td align="right">500-800</td></tr> -<tr><td>Newspapers</td><td align="right">100</td></tr> -<tr><td>Magazines</td><td align="right">50</td></tr> -<tr><td>Books</td><td align="right">100</td></tr> -<tr><td align="center" colspan="2">D<small>RUGS AND</small> P<small>ERFUMERY</small></td></tr> -<tr><td>Fancy soaps</td><td align="right">300-400</td></tr> -<tr><td>Toilet waters</td><td align="right">200</td></tr> -<tr><td>Tisanes</td><td align="right">150</td></tr> -<tr><td>Eucalyptus</td><td align="right">400</td></tr> -<tr><td>Patent medicines</td><td align="right">150-200</td></tr> -<tr><td>Lozenges</td><td align="right">250</td></tr> -<tr><td>Powdered drugs</td><td align="right">150</td></tr> -<tr><td>Prescriptions</td><td align="right">100</td></tr> -<tr><td>Bottles for Prescriptions</td><td align="right">300-525</td></tr> -<tr><td align="center" colspan="2">T<small>OBACCO</small></td></tr> -<tr><td>Smoking tobacco</td><td align="right">50-60</td></tr> -<tr><td>Ordinary cigarettes</td><td align="right">40-75</td></tr> -<tr><td>Cigarette de luxe</td><td align="right">100</td></tr> -<tr><td>Ordinary cigars</td><td align="right">50</td></tr> -<tr><td>Cigars de luxe</td><td align="right">100-150</td></tr> -<tr><td>Snuff</td><td align="right">50</td></tr> -</table> - -<p>While we decided upon what to do with the Germans, the rest of our -enemies, and the very troublesome races we had liberated, the Chamber of -Deputies passed a national eight-hour law. This did not bring down wages -by the day. In fact, shorter hours of labor led to more insistent -demands for higher wages to meet the increase in <i>la vie chère</i>. -Everyone borrowed from Peter to pay Paul.</p> - -<p>On the day the German plenipotentiaries arrived at Versailles, my -children insisted on going out to see them. We had to wait until Sunday, -when my husband was free. Out we went on a bright May morning. There -were six Gibbonses, four of them very small, and one of my American -soldier boys. Of course we ate in the famous restaurant of the Hôtel des -Réservoirs, where the Germans were lodged. We did not see the Germans. -The only sensation of the day was the bill for a simple luncheon—two -hundred and eight francs.</p> - -<p>"It pays to be the victors!" I exclaimed.</p> - -<p>"Those who have anything to sell," modified my husband, grinning -cheerfully (God knows why!) as he bit the end off a ten-franc cigar.<a name="page_377" id="page_377"></a></p> - -<p>"The children will never forget this historic day," he added, handing -the waiter twenty francs.</p> - -<p>"Nor I," said the children's mother.<a name="page_378" id="page_378"></a></p> - -<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XXXVIII" id="CHAPTER_XXXVIII"></a>CHAPTER XXXVIII<br /><br /> -<small>THE REVENGE OF VERSAILLES</small></h3> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">T</span>HE memory of my introduction to Versailles is a confused jumble of -stupid governess and more stupid guide-book. When I was sixteen a -governess piloted me through endless rooms of the palace with a pause -before each painting or piece of furniture. To avoid trouble I was -resigned and looked up at the painted ceiling until my neck was stiff. -But I never forgot the Salle des Glaces. It had no pictures or furniture -in it. An historical event connected with it was impressive enough to -hold my attention. I remembered a picture of the crowning of Wilhelm I -in a school-book. Bismarck looked sleek and content. The kings stood -with raised arms, crying "Hoch der Kaiser." Underneath was the caption: -<span class="smcap">The Birth of an Empire</span>.</p> - -<p>I did not like that picture. I resented it as I resented the thought of -Alsace and Lorraine under German rule. Ever since a German barber in -Berne mistook me for a boy when I was a little girl and shaved my head -with horse-clippers I have had a grudge against the Germans. And then, -when you have lived long in France, that day in the Salle des Glaces -becomes unconsciously a part of<a name="page_379" id="page_379"></a> your life. I cannot explain why or how, -but the Salle des Glaces and Metz and Strasbourg are in your heart like -Calais was in Queen Mary's. I have lived under two shadows, the shadow -of Islam and the shadow of Germany. In Constantinople you do not forget -the minarets towering over Saint Sofia. In France you do not forget -Soixante-Dix.</p> - -<p>Possessor of Aladdin's lamp, would I ever have dared to ask the genie to -transport me on his carpet to the Salle des Glaces to see Germany, -confessing her defeat before France, sign away Alsace and Lorraine?</p> - -<p>All this was in my thoughts on the morning of June 28, 1919, when -Herbert and I were riding in the train to Versailles. Could I be -dreaming when I looked at the square red card in my hand? And yet at -three o'clock in the Salle des Glaces the German delegates were to sign -a dictated peace, which they had not been allowed to discuss, and which -would wipe out the dishonor and the losses of Soixante-Dix.</p> - -<p>We went early and we took our lunch with us: for we said to ourselves -that all Paris would be going to Versailles. For once we felt that the -vast lifeless city of Versailles would be thronged. Except on a summer -Sunday when the fountains were playing I had never seen a crowd at -Versailles: and on the days of <i>les grandes eaux</i> the Sunday throng did -not wander far from the streets that lead to the Palace. Always had<a name="page_380" id="page_380"></a> we -been able to find a quiet café with empty tables on the <i>terrasse</i> not -many steps from the Place des Armes.</p> - -<p>We might have saved ourselves the bother of bringing lunch. To our -surprise Versailles was not crowded. After we had wandered around for an -hour, we realized that even the signing of a victorious peace with -Germany was not going to wake up the sleepy old town. The automobiles of -press correspondents and secret service men were parked by the dozen at -the upper end of the Avenue des Reservoirs. Along the wooden palisade -shutting off the porch of the hotel occupied by the German delegation -were as many policemen as civilians. We ate a quiet luncheon in front of -a café down a side street from the reservoir. Besides ourselves there -were only a couple of teamsters on the terrace. Inside four chauffeurs -were playing bridge. Had we come too early for the crowd? At first we -thought this was the reason: afterwards it dawned upon us that the -Parisians were not attracted by the affair at all. How far we had -traveled in six months from the welcome given to President Wilson a week -before Christmas!</p> - -<p>The ceremony was spiritless. I pitied the men who had to cable several -thousand words of "atmosphere stuff" about it that night. If only the -Germans would balk at signing! Or if the Chinese would enter at the last -moment in order to get into the League of Nations! The only ripple of -excitement was a signed statement of protest handed out by Ray Stannard -Baker at General<a name="page_381" id="page_381"></a> Smuts' request. The South African, remembering perhaps -when he was a vanquished enemy and all the painful years that followed -the Boer War, registered his disapproval of the Treaty, although he felt -it was up to him to sign it.</p> - -<p>It was all over in less than an hour. Cannon boomed to announce the -revenge of Versailles; out on the terrace a few airplanes did stunts -overhead; and for the first time since the war interrupted mid-summer -gaiety the fountains played.</p> - -<p>Margaret Greenough and I had the good luck to meet General Patrick at -the Grand Bassin. He offered to take us back to town in his car. Thus we -became part of the procession. Because of the stars on the wind-shield -and the American uniform, our car was cheered as we passed in the line. -Along the route to Saint-Cloud people gathered to see the -plenipotentiaries. But we felt that they were simply curious to pick out -the notables. There was no ovation, no sense of triumph. It was so -different from the way I expected it to be, from the way I expected to -feel.</p> - -<p>In my book of mementos I have the program of the plenary session of the -Peace Conference that was to crown six months of arduous labor, -following five years of war, and to mark a new era in world history. -Beside it is the program of the plenary session in the Palais d'Orsay, -when I heard President Wilson present the project of a League of -Nations. They are simple<a name="page_382" id="page_382"></a> engraved folders with a couple of lines -recording the events under the heading A<small>GENDA</small>. I ought to regard them as -precious treasures. But they seem to me only the souvenirs of blasted -hopes.</p> - -<p>June 28, 1919, should have been an epic, an ecstatic day. It was a day -of disillusion and disappointment on which we abandoned the age-old and -stubborn hope of a peace that would end war. Were we foolish to have -forgotten in the early days of the Peace Conference how slowly the mills -of the gods do grind, and that our diplomats were children of their -ancestors, still fettered by the chains of the past, still confronting -the insoluble problems of unregenerate human nature?</p> - -<p>The Peace Conference was a Tower of Babel, where different tongues -championed divergent national interests. The only Esperanto was the old -diplomatic language of suspicion and greed. The mental pabulum that fed -the public was clothed in new terminology. When hammer struck anvil in -the high places, sparks shot out. We caught flashes of liberty, -brotherhood, the rights of small nations. But in the secret conferences -decisions were dominated by the consideration of the interests (as they -were judged by our leaders) of the most powerful.</p> - -<p>One day there appeared in our press room in the Place de la Concorde a -Lithuanian, who had made an incredibly long journey, much of it on foot, -to come to the Peace Conference. He had been fired by President<a name="page_383" id="page_383"></a> -Wilson's speeches. He wanted to tell the American prophet how the Poles, -in his part of Europe, were interpreting self-determination. He did not -see the President. Although touched by his sincerity, we wondered at his -naïvety. Did he really believe that the same principle could be applied -everywhere? Practical common sense urged me to believe that the liberty -propaganda was overdone and that it was impossible to give justice to -everybody. But I was clinging to my idealism as the Lithuanian clung to -his. A plain body like me could not know or understand what was going -on. But why preach idealism in international relations, if an honest -effort to apply justice impartially was impossible? Surely the Great -Powers could act as judges in assigning boundaries between the smaller -nations. Liberty, like the love of God, is "broader than the measure of -man's mind."</p> - -<p>Quoting from a hymn I learned in childhood brings me to what I think was -the reason of the failure of the Peace Conference: men forgot. They -labored for the meat which perisheth. They posed as creators of a new -world order but ignored the means of establishing it. They forgot that -Jesus said, "He that findeth his life shall lose it: and he that loseth -his life for my sake shall find it."</p> - -<p>"But wait a minute," I hear one say, "did you expect a peace conference -to be run on those lines?"</p> - -<p>An ordinary peace conference such as we had always<a name="page_384" id="page_384"></a> had, where the -victors divide the spoils—certainly not! But this was not to have been -an ordinary peace conference. We had been given to understand that the -Conference at Paris met to incorporate in a document the principles for -which millions had given their lives. Germany stood for the unclean -spirit that was to be exorcised. Men had died on the field of battle for -a definite object. There was the poem that was like a new Battle Hymn of -the Republic, "In Flanders Fields the Poppies Grow."</p> - -<p>When nations are not ready to love their enemy or even to love each -other, the creation of a League to do away with war is an absurdity.</p> - -<p>Either we believe in the coming of God's Kingdom or else we do not. The -remedy for sin and evil, the means of securing the triumph of right over -might, is in keeping the commandments. The peace-makers forgot the -summary of the law as Jesus gave it in two commandments. If they had -tested their own schemes for world peace by this measure, strange and -rapid changes would have followed. If they had listened to Him as He -spoke to them, it would have been as of old when "no man was able to -answer Him a word, neither durst any man from that day forth ask Him any -more questions."</p> - -<p>The ceremony of Versailles did not lift the shadow of Germany hanging -over France. And when I look at my son, I wonder what will come.<a name="page_385" id="page_385"></a></p> - -<h3><a name="CHAPTER_XXXIX" id="CHAPTER_XXXIX"></a>CHAPTER XXXIX<br /><br /> -<small>THE QUATORZE OF VICTORY</small></h3> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">W</span>E may not have been sure of the peace. We were sure of the victory. The -soldiers had done their part. Academic newspaper discussion as to when -the victory parade would be held amused us. The only uncertainty was the -date of signing the Treaty. Once the Treaty was signed, it was taken for -granted that the Quatorze would be the day. Protests about shortness of -time were overruled. It was not a matter for discussion. Nobody paid any -attention to the argument of those intrusted with the organization of -the event. Public opinion demanded that the Allied Armies march under -the Arc de Triomphe and down the Champs-Elysées on July Fourteenth. -After the Quatorze of testing, the Quatorze of victory. There was no -question about it. So the powers that be got to work.</p> - -<p>There was no need to decide upon the route of the procession. Ever since -August 1, 1914, Parisians who lived on the Avenue de la Grande Armée, -the Avenue des Champs-Elysées, the Rue Royale and the Grands Boulevards, -had been realizing how numerous were their friends. From every part of -France letters had<a name="page_386" id="page_386"></a> come from forgotten relatives, passing -acquaintances, business associates, who wanted to be remembered when</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Le jour de la victoire est arrivé.<br /></span> -</div></div> - -<p>Public opinion dictated, also, two changes in the program as it was -announced. Marshal Joffre must ride the entire length of the route from -the Porte Maillot to the Place de la République beside Marshal Foch. And -the grandstands put up around the Arc de Triomphe and along the Avenue -Champs-Elysées for those who had "pull" must come down. This was to be -the day of the people, and everybody was to have an equal chance. When -it was seen that selling windows and standing place on roofs at fabulous -sums was to give the rich an unfair advantage, the Chamber of Deputies -was forced to pass a bill declaring these gains war-profits and taxing -them eighty per cent. This resulted in the offering of hospitality to -the wounded that big profits might have prevented.</p> - -<p>In looking down my vistas of the past year, I see Paris reacting -differently to almost every great day.</p> - -<p>On Armistice Night we went mad. From the <i>exaltés</i> to the saddest and -most imperturbable, Parisians spent their feelings. The joy was acute -because it was the celebration of the end of the killing. When a soldier -is frank and you know him well he will tell you, "Any man who claims not -to be afraid at the front is lying." That fear was gone. Men could -unlearn<a name="page_387" id="page_387"></a> blood-lust: and with honor now. Along with the relief of the -end of the fighting was the joy of the end of separations.</p> - -<p>On June 28, Paris thought her own thoughts, pondering over the peace -that had been won. Friends dined with us that night. My victrola played -The Star Spangled Banner—La Marseillaise—Sambre et Meuse—Marche -Lorraine.</p> - -<p>"Why don't you dance?" I said to the Inspecteur-Général d'Instruction -Publique. "It's peace! I want to celebrate. I need to shake off the -impression of Versailles this afternoon."</p> - -<p>"I asked my concierge that same question," said he, "and she answered, -'We don't rejoice to-day—we wait.' <i>Les Parisiens ne s'emballent pas.</i> -Wise woman, my concierge."</p> - -<p>On the night of July 13, Paris paid her tribute to the dead. Respect for -<i>les morts</i> is ingrained in French character. At the moment of victory -those who had fallen were not forgotten. They came ahead of those who -lived. A gilded cenotaph, placed under the Arc de Triomphe, contained -earth from the many battlefields on which the French had fought. That -night we passed with the throng to pause for a moment with bowed heads -before this tomb that represented the sacrifice of more than a million -soldiers. I thought of Détaille's picture in the Panthéon, and looking -at the crowd about me, mostly women and children in mourning,<a name="page_388" id="page_388"></a> I asked -myself if this were <i>La Gloire</i>. The level rays of the setting sun fell -upon the soldiers on guard. People spoke in whispers. None was tearless. -It was "<i>Debout les Morts</i>"! They passed first under the Arc de -Triomphe. Had they not blazed the way for those who would march on the -Quatorze of victory?</p> - -<p>Half way down the Champs-Elysées, at the Rond-Point, were heaps of -captured cannon that had stood along the Avenue and in the Place de la -Concorde through the winter since the armistice. They had been gathered -here, and surmounting them was the <i>coq gaulois</i>. But around the -Rond-Point huge urns commemorated the most costly battles of the war, -and in them incense was burning.</p> - -<p>"Are you going to see the parade?" I asked a friend who had lost two -brothers.</p> - -<p>"Certainly," she replied. "Last week my mother went to the grave of my -little brother in the Argonne. She put wreaths on it and prayed there. -The other brother was blown up by a shell. There is no grave for him. So -to-night we shall think of him when we pray before the cenotaph. We -shall spend the night there to have a good place to-morrow."</p> - -<p>Herbert and I thought of her and her mother and of many other friends -who were in the crowd around the Arc de Triomphe. We had our own reasons -for bowing before the cenotaph. Dear friends had been lost during those -awful years and in the last weeks<a name="page_389" id="page_389"></a> one of our own family fell on the -front between the Le Cateau and Guise. It is strange how you go on -living in the midst of war, seeing others suffer, sharing their grief, -and never thinking that the death that is stalking about will enter your -own family circle until the telegram comes. You have helped others at -that moment: and then it is you.</p> - -<p>There is a fine sense of balance in French character. One remembers the -dead, but one does not forget the living. Most of those who intended to -go with hearts rejoicing and smiles and laughter to greet the <i>défilé</i> -of the Quatorze could not have stood the ordeal unless it had been -preceded by the quiet night watch with the dead.</p> - -<p>The Quatorze has always meant to us an early start for the Bois du -Bologne to see the review. Throughout the Third Republic the day had a -distinctly military atmosphere. Who does not remember Longchamp before -the war? Each year Paris went to the review with pride not unmixed with -anxiety. There was a serious aspect impossible for the stranger to -realize and appreciate. After all, the army was not a small body of men -who had given themselves to a military career. It was the youth of the -nation performing a duty imposed upon it by the geographical position of -France. The army was the nation in arms, an institution as necessary for -well-being and security as the police. Longchamp on the Quatorze was the -assurance that the<a name="page_390" id="page_390"></a> job of protecting France was being well looked -after. And the spectators were the fathers and mothers, the brothers and -sisters, of the army. Every Parisian had passed through the mill. How -often after the review, when the soldiers came from the field, have I -seen middle-aged civilians joking with them in the way one only does -with comrades of one's own fraternity. It was hard for the Anglo-Saxon -to understand this before the war. The Barrack-room Ballads would be -incomprehensible to a Frenchman. "Tommy" was everybody in France.</p> - -<p>But this review was different. The intimacy, the sense of the soldiers -belonging to the people and being of the people, had always been there. -Added to it now was the knowledge of what the army had done for France. -There is no country where <i>la patrie reconnaissante</i> means more than in -France. And the great danger was so fresh in our minds! From the -standpoint of the soldier it was different, too. For five weary years -the <i>poilu</i> constantly on duty and not knowing which day might be the -last saw in the soft blue rings of his cigarette smoke the <i>défilé</i> -under the Arc de Triomphe and prayed that he and his comrades would be -there. That was the only uncertainty—whether he himself would be spared -for the <i>jour de la victoire</i>. If France's soldiers had doubted that the -day would arrive, they could not have continued to sing the -Marseillaise—and the war would have been lost then and<a name="page_391" id="page_391"></a> there. The -Quatorze of peace days was fun to the spectators but a <i>corvée</i> for the -soldiers who marched. The Quatorze of victory was the realization of the -dream that sustained the soldiers throughout the war. It was the reward -for having believed what they muttered doggedly through their teeth, -"<i>Nous allons les écraser comme des pommes de terre cuites!</i>"</p> - -<p>One of our <i>poilus</i>, a boy to whom we had been through the war as next -of kin, who wore the <i>médaille militaire</i> and whose <i>croix de guerre</i> -carried several palms, came to us late in the night before the victory -parade. He said with tears in his eyes,</p> - -<p>"The chains are down!"</p> - -<p>"What chains?" I asked.</p> - -<p>"The chains around the Arc de Triomphe. They have been there since -Soixante-Dix. Do you realize," he cried seizing my hands, "that the last -time soldiers marched under the arch it was Germans? Ah, the Huns, I -hate them! We are supposed to keep our eyes straight before us during -the march, but I shall look up under that arch. I shall never forget the -moment I have lived for."</p> - -<p>"And Albert, the ideals that made you enlist, have they survived?"</p> - -<p>"They are here," he replied, slapping his chest until his medals -jingled. I made up a lunch for Albert, and off he went to get to the -rendezvous at the Porte Maillot at two <a name="page_392" id="page_392"></a><small>A. M.</small></p> - -<p>We had determined that the whole family should see the <i>défilé de la -victoire</i>. The younger children might not remember it, but we never -wanted them to reproach us afterwards. How to get there was a problem -that needed working out. The children had an invitation, which did not -include grownups, from Lieutenant Mitchell whose window was in the -American barracks on the north side of the Avenue near the Rue de Berri. -Dr. Lines asked Herbert's mother and Herbert and me to the New York Life -Insurance Company's office at the corner of the Rue Pierre-Charron on -the south side of the Avenue. How take the children to the other side -and get back to our places? There was only one answer. Taxi-cabs that -could go around through the Bois du Bologne and Neuilly or the Place de -la République.</p> - -<p>In the court of the building where we have our studios in the Rue -Campagne-Première lives Monsieur Robert, a taxi-chauffeur. Herbert -arranged with him to be in front of our house at six-thirty <small>A. M.</small>, -promising him forty francs, with a premium of ten francs if he got there -before six-fifteen. Then, to guard against break-downs, he found another -chauffeur to whom he made the same offer. On Sunday afternoon Herbert -began to worry. It was bad to have all your eggs in two baskets when you -are looking forward to the biggest day of your life. So a third -chauffeur was found to whom the same offer looked attractive.<a name="page_393" id="page_393"></a></p> - -<p>We got up at five, had our breakfast, and prepared a mid-morning snack. -Lloyd was on the balcony before six to report. Three times he came to us -in triumph. Our faith in human nature was rewarded. When we got down to -the side-walk we found our chauffeurs examining their engines. My heart -sank. But they explained that feigning trouble with the works was the -only way of keeping from being taken by assault.</p> - -<p>We sent Grandmother and the baby directly to Rue Pierre-Charron. That -part was easy. Then, in the other two autos, we started our long morning -ride to get to the other side of the Champs-Elysées and back. -Fortunately, the chauffeurs had seen in the papers that a route across -the Grands Boulevards would be kept open from the Rue de Richelieu to -the Rue Drouot. After waiting a long time in line, we managed to get -across, and made a wide detour by the Boulevard Haussmann to the Rue de -Berri. Shortly after seven we delivered the kiddies to the care of -Lieutenant Mitchell. Our own places were just across the Avenue. But it -took us another hour and a wider detour to get to them. We were glad of -the two taxis. If one broke down, there was always the other. We wanted -to play safe.</p> - -<p>From our place on the balcony of the New York Life we had the sweep of -the Avenue des Champs-Elysées from the Arc de Triomphe to the -Rond-Point.<a name="page_394" id="page_394"></a> On many buildings scaffolding had been run up to hold -spectators. People were gathered on roofs and chimneys. Every tree held -a perilous load of energetic boys. Hawkers with bright-colored -pasteboard periscopes did not have to cry their wares. Ladders and -chairs and boxes were bought up quickly. But the Avenue is wide. All may -not have been able to see. But those behind were not too crowded and at -no time during the morning was all the space taken from the side-walk to -the houses.</p> - -<p>At half-past eight the cannon boomed. Another interval: then the low hum -that comes from a crowd when something is happening. Then cheers. The -<i>défilé de la victoire</i> had begun. The head of the procession was like a -hospital contingent out for an airing. There were one-legged men on -crutches and the blind kept in line by holding on to empty sleeves of -their comrades. The more able-bodied pushed the crippled in -rolling-chairs. The choicest of the flowers, brought for the marshals -and generals, went spontaneously to the wounded. Once again the French -proved their marvelous sense of the fitness of things.</p> - -<p>Then came the two leaders of France, Marshal Foch keeping his horse just -a little behind that of Marshal Joffre. For two hours we watched our -heroes pass. Aeroplanes, sailing above, dropped flowers and flags. The -best marching was done by the American troops.<a name="page_395" id="page_395"></a> The French readily -acknowledged that. But they said:</p> - -<p>"It is still the flower of your youth that you can put into the parade. -Ours fell <i>là -bas</i> long ago."</p> - -<p>After the crowd began to disperse, we made our way across the Avenue to -get the children. As I brought them out through the vestibule a soldier -caught sight of us. He cried:</p> - -<p>"Gosh, these ain't no tadpoles!"</p> - -<p>When the children acknowledged to being Americans, he asked Mimi whether -she liked rats.</p> - -<p>"Yas, I do," said Mimi.</p> - -<p>"You wait there a minute. I got a rat I bought from a <i>poilu</i>. It's a -tame one."</p> - -<p>The soldier brought his rat and did wonderful stunts with it. Mimi -squealed when the rat ran from the soldier's arm to hers and up on her -head. She didn't know whether to like it or be afraid. But the rat -evidently won, for when asked later what she liked best about the -parade, she put that rat ahead of Pershing and Foch.</p> - -<p>We never thanked our lucky stars for the view of Paris from our balcony -more than on the evening of the Quatorze of victory. To see all the -wonders of the illuminations we did not need to leave our apartment. -From every park roman candles and rockets burst into pots of flowers, -constellations, the flags of the Allies.<a name="page_396" id="page_396"></a> The dome of the Panthéon -glowed red. Sacré Coeur stood out green and pink and white against the -northern sky. Revolving shafts of red, white and blue came from the Tour -Eiffel. Church bells rang and on every street corner there was music.</p> - -<p>The dear old custom of the night of the Quatorze was revived. We looked -down at the lanterns across the Boulevard Raspail at the intersection of -the Boulevard du Montparnasse. Tables and chairs overflowed from the -side-walk into the street. But there was a large open place around the -impromptu band-stand. People were dancing and the music never stopped.</p> - -<p>We heard the call. And we obeyed. When we reached the corner and got -into the street, Herbert held out his arms.</p> - -<p>"To everything there is a season," he said.</p> - -<p>"A time to mourn and a time to dance," I murmured.</p> - -<p> </p> -<p> </p> - -<p class="c">THE END</p> - -<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="" -style="border:3px double gray;padding:2%;"> -<tr><th align="center">Typographical errors corrected by the etext transcriber:</th></tr> -<tr><td align="left">against the use of <span class="errata">alchohol</span>=>against the use of alcohol</td></tr> -<tr><td align="left">Eau <span class="errata">fraiche</span>=>Eau fraîche</td></tr> -<tr><td align="left">fruits <span class="errata">rafraichis</span>=>fruits rafraîchis</td></tr> -<tr><td align="left">which is <span class="errata">fourty</span>-four=>which is forty-four</td></tr> -<tr><td align="left">Eglise Saint-<span class="errata">Suplice</span>=>Eglise Saint-Sulpice</td></tr> -<tr><td align="left">You make a list of the <span class="errata">woman</span>=>You make a list of the women</td></tr> -<tr><td align="left">I have known <span class="errata">in</span> them in their homes=>I have known them in their homes</td></tr> -<tr><td align="left">pièce de <span class="errata">resistance</span>=>pièce de résistance</td></tr> -<tr><td align="left">What a charming <span class="errata">dining-room?</span> Dear me, have I intruded=>What a charming dining-room. Dear me, have I intruded</td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"><span class="errata">Lycé</span> Charlemagne=>Lycée Charlemagne</td></tr> -<tr><td align="left">Rue da la Mont Sainte-Geneviève=>Rue de la Mont Sainte-Geneviève</td></tr> -<tr><td align="left">find yourself in the Rue <span class="errata">Mouffetord</span>=>find yourself in the Rue Mouffetard</td></tr> -<tr><td align="left">which are <span class="errata">to found</span> in every quarter=>which are to be found in every quarter</td></tr> -<tr><td align="left">But in the Bois de <span class="errata">Bologne</span>=>But in the Bois de Boulogne</td></tr> -<tr><td align="left">Seminary of Saint-<span class="errata">Suplice</span>=>Seminary of Saint-Sulpice</td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"><span class="errata">undetermined</span> the natural defences=>undermined the natural defences</td></tr> -<tr><td align="left">Clichy and <span class="errata">Montmarte</span>=>Clichy and Montmartre</td></tr> -<tr><td align="left">they probably will not come, and if <span class="errata">you</span> do=>they probably will not come, and if they do</td></tr> -<tr><td align="left">born <span class="errata">or</span> suffering=>born of suffering</td></tr> -<tr><td align="left">all the grave <i><span class="errata">offiches</span></i>=>all the grave <i>affiches</i></td></tr> -<tr><td align="left">the Académie de <span class="errata">Medecine</span>=>the Académie de Médecine</td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"><span class="errata">Galéries</span> Lafayette=>Galeries Lafayette</td></tr> -<tr><td align="left">un charme <span class="errata">extrème</span>=>un charme extrême</td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"><span class="errata">permissioniares</span>=>permissionniares</td></tr> -<tr><td align="left">Rue Royal side of the Hotel de Coislin=>Rue Royale side of the Hôtel de Coislin</td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"><span class="errata">Ca</span> y est cette fois-ci!=>Ça y est cette fois-ci!</td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"><span class="errata">a</span> l'américaine=>á l'américaine</td></tr> -<tr><td align="left">cannon on the Rue du Faubourg-Saint-<span class="errata">Honore</span>=>cannon on the Rue du Faubourg-Saint-Honoré</td></tr> -<tr><td align="left">Minuit, <span class="errata">Crétien</span>,=>Minuit, Chrétien,</td></tr> -<tr><td align="left">H.C. of L. is an <span class="errata">abbrevation</span>=>H.C. of L. is an abbreviation</td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"><span class="errata">Pate</span> de foie=>Paté de foie</td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"><span class="errata">Coppen</span> kitchen ware=>Copper kitchen ware</td></tr> -<tr><td align="left">Hôtel des <span class="errata">Reservoirs</span>=>Hôtel des Réservoirs</td></tr> -<tr><td align="left">la patrie <span class="errata">reconnaisante</span>=>la patrie reconnaissante</td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"><i><span class="errata">la</span>-bas</i> long ago=><i>là -bas</i> long ago</td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"><span class="errata">consellations</span>=>constellations</td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"><span class="errata">proprietaire</span>=>propriétaire</td></tr> -<tr><td align="left">Rue de Sevres=>Rue de Sèvres</td></tr> -<tr><td align="left"><span class="errata">Theâtre</span> de la Porte Saint-Martin=>Théâtre de la Porte Saint-Martin</td></tr> -<tr><td align="left">the <span class="errata">Théatre</span> Français=>the Théâtre Français</td></tr> -</table> - -<hr class="full" /> - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Paris Vistas, by Helen Davenport Gibbons - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PARIS VISTAS *** - -***** This file should be named 40292-h.htm or 40292-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/0/2/9/40292/ - -Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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recent changes, if any, are reflected in the GitHub repository: -<a href="https://github.com/gutenbergbooks/40292">https://github.com/gutenbergbooks/40292</a> -</div> -</body> -</html> |
