and Pittsburg, in which latter city I was to meet an American friend of
mine who was to help me to realise one of my dreams—at least, I fancied
so. In partnership with his brother, my friend was the owner of large
steel works and several petroleum wells. I had known him in Paris, and
had met him again at New York, where he offered to conduct me to
Buffalo, so that I could visit or rather he could initiate me into the
Falls of Niagara, for which he entertained a lover’s passion. Frequently
he would start off quite unexpectedly like a madman and take a rest at a
place just near the Niagara Falls. The deafening sound of the cataracts
seemed like music after the hard, hammering, strident noise of the
forges at work on the iron, and the limpidity of the silvery cascades
rested his eyes and refreshed his lungs, saturated as they were with
petroleum and smoke.
My friend’s buggy, drawn by two magnificent horses, took us along in a
bewildering whirlwind of mud splashing over us and snow blinding us. It
had been raining for a week, and Pittsburg in 1881 was not what it is at
present, although it was a city which impressed one on account of its
commercial genius. The black mud ran along the streets, and everywhere
in the sky rose huge patches of thick, black, opaque smoke; but there
was a certain grandeur about it all, for work was king there. Trains ran
through the streets laden with barrels of petroleum or piled as high as
possible with charcoal and coal. That fine river, the Ohio, carried
along with it steamers, barges, loads of timber fastened together and
forming enormous rafts, which floated down the river alone, to be
stopped on the way by the owner for whom they were destined. The timber
is marked, and no one else thinks of taking it. I am told that the wood
is not conveyed in this way now, which is a pity.
The carriage took us along through streets and squares in the midst of
railways, under the enervating vibration of the electric wires, which
ran like furrows across the sky. We crossed a bridge which shook under
the light weight of the buggy. It was a suspension bridge. Finally we
drew up at my friend’s home. He introduced his brother to me, a charming
man, but very cold and correct, and so quiet that I was astonished.
“My poor brother is deaf,” said my companion, after I had been exerting
myself for five minutes to talk to him in my gentlest voice. I looked at
this poor millionaire, who was living in the most extraordinary noise,
and who could not hear even the faintest echo of the outrageous uproar.
He could not hear anything at all, and I wondered whether he was to be
envied or pitied. I was then taken to visit his incandescent ovens and
his vats in a state of ebullition. I went into a room where some steel
discs were cooling, which looked like so many setting suns.
The heat from them seemed to scorch my lungs, and I felt as though my
hair would take fire.
We then went down a long, narrow road through which small trains were
running to and fro. Some of those trains were laden with incandescent
metals which made the atmosphere iridescent as they passed. We walked in
single file along the narrow passage reserved for foot passengers
between the rails. I did not feel at all safe, and my heart began to
beat fast. Blown first one way then the other by the wind from the two
trains coming in opposite directions and passing each other, I drew my
skirts closely round me so that they should not be caught. Perched on my
high heels, at every step I took I was afraid of slipping on this
narrow, greasy, coal-strewn pavement.
To sum up briefly, it was a very unpleasant moment, and very delighted I
was to come to the end of that interminable street, which led to an
enormous field stretching away as far as the eye could see. There were
rails lying all about here, which men were polishing and filing, &c. I
had had quite enough, though, and I asked to be allowed to go back and
rest. So we all three returned to the house.
On arriving there, valets arrayed in livery opened the doors, took our
furs, walking on tip-toe as they moved about. There was silence
everywhere, and I wondered why, as it seemed to me incomprehensible. My
friend’s brother scarcely spoke at all, and when he did his voice was so
low that I had great difficulty in understanding him. When we asked him
any question by gesticulating we had to listen most attentively to catch
his reply, and I noticed that an almost imperceptible smile lighted up
for an instant his stony face. I understood very soon that this man
hated humanity, and that he avenged himself in his own way for his
infirmity.
Lunch had been prepared for us in the winter conservatory, a nook of
magnificent verdure and flowers. We had just taken our seats at the
table when the songs of a thousand birds burst forth like a veritable
fanfare. Underneath some large leaves, whole families of canaries were
imprisoned by invisible nets. They were everywhere, up in the air, down
below, under my chair, on the table behind me, all over the place. I
tried to quiet this shrill uproar by shaking my napkin and speaking in a
loud voice, but the little feathered tribe began to sing in a maddening
way. The deaf man was leaning back in a rocking-chair, and I noticed
that his face had lighted up. He laughed aloud in an evil, spiteful
manner. Just as my own temper was getting the better of me a feeling of
pity and indulgence came into my heart for this man, whose vengeance
seemed to me as pathetic as it was puerile. Promptly deciding to make
the best of my host’s spitefulness, and assisted by his brother, I took
my tea into the hall at the other end of the conservatory. I was nearly
dead with fatigue, and when my friend proposed that I should go with him
to see his petroleum wells, a few miles out of the city, I gazed at him
with such a scared, hopeless expression that he begged me in the most
friendly and polite way to forgive him.
It was five o’clock and quite dusk, and I wanted to go back to my hotel.
My host asked if I would allow him to take me back by the hills. The
road was rather longer, but I should be able to have a bird’s eye view
of Pittsburg, and he assured me that it was quite worth while. We
started off in the buggy with two fresh horses, and a few minutes later
I had the wildest dream. It seemed to me that he was Pluto, the god of
the infernal regions, and I was Proserpine. We were travelling through
our empire at a quick trot, drawn by our winged horses. All round us we
could see fire and flames. The blood-red sky was blurred with long black
trails that looked like widows’ veils. The ground was covered with long
arms of iron stretched heavenwards in a supreme imprecation. These arms
threw forth smoke, flames, or sparks, which fell again in a shower of
stars. The buggy carried us on up the hills, and the cold froze our
limbs while the fires excited our brains. It was then that my friend
told me of his love for the Niagara Falls. He spoke of them more like a
lover than an admirer, and told me he liked to go to them alone. He
said, though, that for me he would make an exception. He spoke of the
rapids with such intense passion that I felt rather uneasy, and began to
wonder whether the man was not mad. I grew alarmed, for he was driving
along over the very verge of the precipice, jumping the stone heaps. I
glanced at him sideways: his face was calm, but his under-lip twitched
slightly; and I had noticed this particularly with his deaf brother,
also.
By this time I was quite nervous. The cold and the fires, this
demoniacal drive, the sound of the anvil ringing out mournful chimes
which seemed to come from under the earth, and then the deep forge
whistle sounding like a desperate cry rending the silence of the night;
the chimney-stacks too, with their worn-out lungs spitting forth their
smoke with a perpetual death-rattle, and the wind which had just risen
twisting the streaks of smoke into spirals which it sent up towards the
sky or beat down all at once on to us, all this wild dance of the
natural and the human elements, affected my whole nervous system so that
it was quite time for me to get back to the hotel. I sprang out of the
carriage quickly on arriving, and arranged to see my friend at Buffalo,
but, alas! I was never to see him again. He took cold that very day, and
could not meet me there; and the following year I heard that he had been
dashed against the rocks when trying to navigate a boat in the rapids.
He died of his passion,—for his passion.
At the hotel all the artistes were awaiting me, as I had forgotten we
were to have a rehearsal of _La Princesse Georges_ at half-past four. I
noticed a face that was unknown to me among the members of our company,
and on making inquiries about this person found that he was an
illustrator who had come with an introduction from Jarrett. He asked to
be allowed to make a few sketches of me, and after giving orders that he
should be taken to a seat, I did not trouble any more about him. We had
to hurry through the rehearsal in order to be at the theatre in time for
the performance of _Froufrou_, which we were giving that night. The
rehearsal was accordingly rushed and gabbled through, so that it was
soon over, and the stranger took his departure, refusing to let me look
at his sketches on the plea that he wanted to touch them up before
showing them. My joy was great the following day when Jarrett arrived at
my hotel perfectly furious, holding in his hand the principal newspaper
of Pittsburg, in which our illustrator, who turned out to be a
journalist, had written an article giving at full length an account of
the dress rehearsal of _Froufrou_! “In the play of _Froufrou_,” wrote
this delightful imbecile, “there is only one scene of any importance,
and that is the one between the two sisters. Madame Sarah Bernhardt did
not impress me greatly, and as to the artistes of the Comédie Française,
I considered they were mediocre. The costumes were not very fine, and in
the ball scene the men did not wear dress suits.”
Jarrett was wild with rage and I was wild with joy. He knew my horror of
reporters, and he had introduced this one in an underhand way, hoping to
get a good advertisement out of it. The journalist imagined that we were
having a dress rehearsal of _Froufrou_, and we were merely rehearsing
Alexandre Dumas’s _Princesse Georges_ for the sake of refreshing our
memory. He had mistaken the scene between Princesse Georges and the
Comtesse de Terremonde for the scene in the third act between the two
sisters in _Froufrou_. We were all of us wearing our travelling
costumes, and he was surprised at not seeing the men in dress coats and
the women in evening dress. What fun this was for our company and for
all the town, and I may add what a subject it furnished for the jokes of
all the rival newspapers.
I had to play two days at Pittsburg, and then go on to Bradford, Erie,
Toronto, and arrive at Buffalo on Sunday. It was my intention to give
all the members of my company a day’s outing at Niagara Falls, but Abbey
too wanted to invite them. We had a discussion on the subject, and it
was extremely animated. He was very dictatorial, and so was I, and we
both preferred giving the whole thing up rather than yield to each
other. Jarrett, however, pointed out the fact to us that this course
would deprive the artistes of a little festivity about which they heard
a great deal and to which they were looking forward. We therefore gave
in finally, and in order to settle the matter we agreed to share the
outlay between us. The artistes accepted our invitation with the most
charming good grace, and we took the train for Buffalo, where we arrived
at ten minutes past six in the morning. We had telegraphed beforehand
for carriages and coffee to be in readiness, and to have food provided
for us, as it is simply madness for thirty-two persons to arrive on a
Sunday in such towns as these without giving notice of such an event. We
had a special train going at full speed over the lines, which were
entirely clear on Sundays, and it was decorated with festoons of
flowers. The younger artistes were as delighted as children; those who
had already seen everything before told about it; then there was the
eloquence of those who had heard of it, &c. &c.; and all this, together
with the little bouquets of flowers distributed among the women and the
cigars and cigarettes presented to the men, made every one good-
humoured, so that all appeared to be happy. The carriages met our train
and took us to the Hotel d’Angleterre, which had been kept open for us.
There were flowers everywhere, and any number of small tables upon which
were coffee, chocolate, or tea. Every table was soon surrounded with
guests. I had my sister, Abbey, Jarrett, and the principal artistes at
my table. The meal was of short duration and very gay and animated. We
then went to the Falls, and I remained more than an hour on the balcony
hollowed out of the rock. My eyes filled with tears as I stood there,
for I was deeply moved by the splendour of the sight. A radiant sun made
the air around us iridescent. There were rainbows everywhere, lighting
up the atmosphere with their soft silvery colours. The pendants of hard
ice hanging down along the rocks on each side looked like enormous
jewels. I was sorry to leave this balcony. We went down in narrow cages
which glided gently into a tube arranged in the cleft of the enormous
rock. We arrived in this way under the American Falls. They were there
almost over our heads, sprinkling us with their blue, pink, and mauve
drops. In front of us, protecting us from the Falls, was a heap of
icicles forming quite a little mountain. We climbed over this to the
best of our ability. My heavy fur mantle tired me, and about half way
down I took it off and let it slip over the side of the ice mountain, to
take it again when I reached the bottom. I was wearing a dress of white
cloth with a satin blouse, and every one screamed with surprise on
seeing me. Abbey took off his overcoat and threw it over my shoulders. I
shook this off quickly, and Abbey’s coat went to join my fur cloak
below. The poor _impresario’s_ face looked very blank. As he had taken a
fair number of cocktails, he staggered, fell down on the ice, got up,
and immediately fell again, to the amusement of every one. I was not at
all cold, as I never am when out of doors. I only feel the cold inside
houses when I am inactive.
Finally we arrived at the highest point of the ice, and the cataract was
really most threatening. We were covered by the impalpable mist; which
rises in the midst of the tumultuous noise. I gazed at it all,
bewildered and fascinated by the rapid movement of the water, which
looked like a wide curtain of silver, unfolding itself to be dashed
violently into a rebounding, splashing heap with a noise unlike any
sound I had ever heard. I very easily turn dizzy, and I know very well
that if I had been alone I should have remained there for ever with my
eyes fixed on the sheet of water hurrying along at full speed, my mind
lulled by the fascinating sound, and my limbs numbed by the treacherous
cold which encircled us. I had to be dragged away, but I am soon myself
again when confronted by an obstacle.
We had to go down again, and this was not as easy as it had been to
climb up. I took the walking-stick belonging to one of my friends, and
then sat down on the ice. By putting the stick under my legs I was able
to slide down to the bottom. All the others imitated me, and it was a
comical sight to see thirty-two people descending the ice-hill in this
way. There were several somersaults and collisions, and plenty of
laughter. A quarter of an hour later we were all at the hotel, where
luncheon had been ordered.
We were all cold and hungry; it was warm inside the hotel, and the meal
smelt good. When luncheon was over the landlord of the hotel asked me to
go into a small drawing-room, where a surprise awaited me. On entering I
saw on a table, protected under a long glass box, the Niagara Falls in
miniature, with the rocks looking like pebbles. A large glass
represented the sheet of water, and glass threads represented the Falls.
Here and there was some foliage of a hard, crude green. Standing up on a
little hillock of ice was a figure intended for me. It was enough to
make any one howl with horror, for it was all so hideous. I managed to
raise a broad smile for the benefit of the hotel keeper by way of
congratulating him on his good taste, but I was petrified on recognising
the man-servant of my friends the Th—— brothers of Pittsburg. They had
sent this monstrous caricature of the most beautiful thing in the world.
I read the letter which their domestic handed me, and all my disdain
melted away. They had gone to so much trouble in order to explain what
they wanted me to understand, and they were so delighted at the idea of
giving me any pleasure.
I dismissed the valet, after giving him a letter for his masters, and I
asked the hotel keeper to send the work of art to Paris, packed
carefully. I hoped that it might arrive in fragments.
The thought of it haunted me, though, and I wondered how my friend’s
passion for the Falls could be reconciled with the idea of such a gift.
Whilst admitting that his imaginative mind might have hoped to be able
to carry out his idea, how was it that he was not indignant at the sight
of this grotesque imitation? How had he dared to send it to me? How was
it that my friend loved the Falls, and what had he understood of their
marvellous grandeur? Since his death I have questioned my own memory of
him a hundred times, but all in vain. He died for them, tossed about in
their waters, killed by their caresses; and I cannot think that he could
ever have seen how beautiful they really were. Fortunately I was called
away, as the carriage was there and every one waiting for me. The horses
started off with us, trotting in that weary way peculiar to tourists’
horses.
When we arrived on the Canadian shore we had to go underground and array
ourselves in black or yellow mackintoshes. We looked like so many heavy,
dumpy sailors who were wearing these garments for the first time. There
were two large cells to shelter us, one for the women and the other for
the men. Every one undressed more or less in the midst of wild
confusion, and making a little package of our clothes, we gave this into
the keeping of the woman in charge. With the mackintosh hood drawn
tightly under the chin, hiding the hair entirely, an enormous blouse
much too wide covering the whole body, fur boots with roughed soles to
avoid broken legs and heads, and immense mackintosh breeches in zouave
style, the prettiest and slenderest woman was at once transformed into a
huge, cumbersome, awkward bear. An iron-tipped cudgel to carry in the
hand completed this becoming costume. I looked more ridiculous than the
others, for I would not cover my hair, and in the most pretentious way I
had fastened some roses into my mackintosh blouse. The women went into
raptures on seeing me. “How pretty she looks like that!” they exclaimed.
“She always finds a way to be _chic, quand-même!_” The men kissed my
bear’s paw in the most gallant way, bowing low and saying in low tones:
“Always and _quand-même_ the queen, the fairy, the goddess, the
divinity,” &c. &c. And I went along, purring with content and quite
satisfied with myself, until, as I passed by the counter where the girl
who gives the tickets was sitting, I caught sight of myself in the
glass. I looked enormous and ridiculous with my roses pinned in, and the
curly locks of hair forming a kind of peak to my clumsy hood. I appeared
to be stouter than all the others, because of the silver belt I was
wearing round my waist, as this drew up the hard folds of the mackintosh
round my hips. My thin face was nearly covered by my hair, which was
flattened down by my hood. My eyes could not be seen, and only my mouth
served to show that this barrel was a human being. Furious with myself
for my pretentious coquetry, and ashamed of my own weakness in having
been so content with the pitiful, insincere flattery of people who were
making fun of me, I decided to remain as I was as a punishment for my
stupid vanity. There were a number of strangers among us, who nudged
each other, pointing to me and laughing slyly at my absurd get-up, and
this was only what I deserved.
We went down the flight of steps cut in the block of ice in order to get
underneath the Canadian Falls. The sight there was most strange and
extraordinary. Above me I saw an immense cupola of ice hanging over in
space, attached only on one side to the rock. From this cupola thousands
of icicles of the most varied shapes were hanging. There were dragons,
arrows, crosses, laughing faces, sorrowful faces, hands with six
fingers, deformed feet, incomplete human bodies, and women’s long locks
of hair. In fact, with the help of the imagination and by fixing the
gaze when looking with half-shut eyes, the illusion is complete, and in
less time than it takes to describe all this one can evoke all the
pictures of nature and of our dreams, all the wild conceptions of a
diseased mind, or the realities of a reflective brain.
In front of us were small steeples of ice, some of them proud and erect,
standing out against the sky, others ravaged by the wind which gnaws the
ice, looking like minarets ready for the muezzin. On the right a cascade
was rushing down as noisily as on the other side, but the sun had
commenced its descent towards the west, and everything was tinged with a
rosy hue. The water splashed over us, and we were suddenly covered with
small silvery waves which when shaken slightly stiffened against our
mackintoshes. It was a shoal of very small fish which had had the
misfortune to be driven into the current, and which had come to die in
the dazzling brilliancy of the setting sun. On the other side there was
a small block which looked like a rhinoceros entering the water.
“I should love to mount on that!” I exclaimed.
“Yes, but it is impossible,” replied one of my friends.
“Oh, as to that, nothing is impossible,” I said. “There is only the
risk; the crevice to be covered is not a yard long.”
“No, but it is deep,” remarked an artiste who was with us.
“Well,” I said, “my dog is just dead. We will bet a dog—and if I win I
am to choose my dog—that I go.”
Abbey was fetched immediately, but he only arrived in time to see me on
the block. I came very near falling into the crevice, and when I was on
the back of the rhinoceros I could not stand up. It was as smooth and
transparent as artificial ice. I sat down on its back, holding on to the
little hump, and I declared that if no one came to fetch me I should
stay where I was, as I had not the courage to move a step on this
slippery back; and then, too, it seemed to me as though it moved
slightly. I began to lose my self-possession. I felt dizzy, but I had
won my dog. My excitement was over, and I was seized with fright. Every
one gazed at me in a bewildered way, and that increased my terror. My
sister went into hysterics, and my dear Guérard groaned in a
heartrending way, “Oh heavens, my dear Sarah, oh heavens!” An artist was
making sketches; fortunately the members of our company had gone up
again in order to go and see the Rapids. Abbey besought me to return;
poor Jarrett besought me. But I felt dizzy, and I could not and would
not cross again. Angelo then sprang across the crevice, and remaining
there, called for a plank of wood and a hatchet.
“Bravo! bravo!” I exclaimed from the back of my rhinoceros.
The plank was brought. It was an old, black-looking piece of wood, and I
glanced at it suspiciously. The hatchet cut into the tail of my
rhinoceros, and the plank was fixed firmly by Angelo on my side and held
by Abbey, Jarrett, and Claude on the other side. I let myself slide over
the crupper of my rhinoceros, and I then started, not without terror,
along the rotten plank of wood, which was so narrow that I was obliged
to put one foot in front of the other, the heel over the toe. I returned
in a very feverish state to the hotel, and the artist brought me the
droll sketches he had taken.
After a light luncheon I was to start again by the train, which had been
waiting for us twenty minutes. All the others had taken their seats some
time before. I was leaving without having seen the rapids in which my
poor Pittsburg friend met his death.
XXXVIII
THE RETURN TO FRANCE—THE WELCOME AT HÂVRE