PARIS DURING THE PEACE CONFERENCE
Shortly after I arrived in Paris I found one could get "Luxury Tax
Tickets." I had never heard of a Luxury Tax up North, but it was in
force in Paris right enough. So I went to H.Q. Central Area, and
inside the door whom should I meet but my one-time "Colonel" of G.H.Q.
"Hello!" said he. "What are you doing in Paris?" "Painting the Peace
Conference, sir," said I. "Well, what do you want here?" he asked.
"I've come for some Luxury Tax Tickets, sir." "To what are you
attached now?" he asked. "C.P.G.H.Q., sir," said I. "Well," he said,
"if you are attached to G.H.Q. you must go there and get your Luxury
Tax Tickets. You can't get them here." "Right, sir," said I. "Will you
please sign an order for me to proceed to G.H.Q. to obtain Luxury Tax
Tickets and return? and I will start right away, sir." "Well," he
said, "perhaps, after all, I will allow you to have some here, as you
are working in Paris." "Thank you very much indeed, sir," said I,
clicking my heels and saluting. But it was no good, we never could
become friends, as I said before.
One afternoon in the hall at the "Astoria" I saw a strange man--a
paintable person--and I asked the Security Officers to get him to sit
to me. He was a Polish messenger. He came along the next morning, sat
down and smoked his silver pipe. I said: "Can you understand any (p. 112)
English?" "Yes," said he, in a strong Irish accent, "I can a bit."
"But," I said, "you talk it very well. Have you lived in Ireland?"
"No," said he, "but I went to the States for about six months some
fifteen years or more back, and that's where I picked up the wee bit I
have." I began to think he must be de Valera or some other hero in
disguise. Perhaps he was.
Field-Marshal Sir Henry Wilson asked me to dine at the "Majestic" one
night. In the afternoon I got a telephone message that the place for
the dinner had been changed from the "Majestic" to the Embassy. When I
reached there I was received by Sir Henry (Lord and Lady Derby were
also present). He apologised to me for the room being a little cold.
At dinner, which was perfect, he found fault and apologised for the
food, for the wine, for the waiting--nothing was right. It was great
fun. He kept it up all the evening. When saying good-bye to Their
Excellencies, he said: "I can't tell you how sorry I am about
everything being so bad to-night, but I'll ask you out to a restaurant
another night and give you some decent food and drink."
About this time I painted Lord Riddell, who, with George Mair and
others, was looking after the interests of the Press. Meetings were
held twice a day and news was doled out by Riddell, such news as the
P.M. saw fit that the Press should know. Great was the trouble when
George Adam would suddenly burst into print with some news that had
not been received through this particular official channel. Adam,
having worked in Paris for years, knew endless channels for news that
the others had no knowledge of.
Riddell was a great chap, full of energy, full of an immense burning (p. 113)
desire for knowledge on every subject, too, in the world. One always
found him asking questions, often about things that one would think it
was impossible he should take any interest in. He must have a
tremendous amount of knowledge stored up in that fine brain of his,
for he never forgets, not even little things. He was most kind to us
all and was hospitality itself. He personally was a very simple
feeder, and he never drank any wine or spirits, but nothing was too
good for those he entertained. A lovable man, well worthy of all the
honours he has received. He had a great support in his secretary, Mrs.
Read, a charming, gracious lady, who probably worked harder during
those days than anyone else, except, perhaps, Sir Maurice Hankey.
[Illustration: XLIX. _Lord Riddell._]
One night I dined at "Ciro's" with George Adam and some others. I was
late when I came in. Before we went into the dining-room, Adam told me
to take notice of an English lady who was sitting a couple of tables
away from ours. This I did, and I remembered having seen her
constantly at the "Berkeley Hotel," London, years before. She was most
peculiarly dressed in some sort of stuff that looked like curtains,
tall and slim, with a refined, good-looking face, but a somewhat
strange look in her eyes. She was with two men. Presently a lady
joined the group from another table. Dancing began, and she left with
one of the men, danced and came back again. I could not remember her
name, so I asked Philippe, who told me she was an English duchess, but
he could not remember what she duched over.
After dinner we went out and sat and watched the dancing and I forgot
all about her. About eleven o'clock, during a lull between dances, she
appeared before me. The moment she appeared two large waiters seized (p. 114)
her by the back of the neck and ran her up the dance-hall and threw
her out. A strange sight, surely! An English "duchess" being thrown
out of a dance-hall in Paris.
Having been given a most excellent dinner by Adam, my feelings were
roused at this peculiar treatment of the English aristocracy, so I
went over to Philippe and asked him what he meant by this disgraceful
behaviour to an English lady. He replied: "The men she was with left
an hour ago." "But," said I, "I never saw her behave badly. Why didn't
you ask her to leave?" "I did," said he, "but she just patted me on
the back, and said, 'Don't let that worry you, old chap.'" Still, my
feelings--thanks still to the dinner--were roused, so I went out into
the hall to try and find her, as I had noticed she was wearing about
twenty thousand pounds' worth of pearls round her neck. Not that I
meant to take these, but I hated the thought of someone else doing so,
and I wished to see her safely home, but she had gone--vanished! The
only thing I learnt was that she was staying at the "Ritz." But when I
inquired there they informed me that they were housing no English
duchess.
A few days later I was passing the "Hôtel Chatham" and I saw her
coming towards me, very well dressed, in white furs this time and the
large globes of pearls still round her neck. She walked straight up to
me: "I want you to do something for me," she said. I don't remember
what I replied, but she said: "Don't be frightened--it's not immoral.
I'm not that sort. I just want you to come along with me to 'The Hole
in the Wall.'" "Where is it?" I asked. "I don't know," she said.
"That's what I want you for. I want you to find 'The Hole in the
Wall.'" "I'm sorry, Madam," I said, "I can't do it. I've got an (p. 115)
engagement." She wiggled her finger in front of my nose, and said:
"Ah, naughty, naughty boy!" and went on her way. I followed at a safe
distance. Every man she met, no matter what class or nationality, she
stopped, all the way down the boulevard, and asked them to find "The
Hole in the Wall" for her.
None did, however, even though she was quite near it all the time, and
the last I saw of her was when she disappeared down the steps of
Olympia alone. Not quite the place for an English "duchess" to go
alone, with twenty thousand pounds' worth of pearls in full view. I
wonder who she was and where she is now? Perhaps in "The Hole in the
Wall."
About this time I introduced Lord Riddell to Mrs. Glyn, and we had
some very amusing out-of-door dinners at Laurent's. During dinner and
afterwards, Mrs. Glyn would teach us many things about life, Nature
and love: why women lost their lovers; why men did not keep their
wives; the correct way to make love; the stupid ordinary methods of
the male; what the female expected; what she ought to expect, and what
she mostly got. It was all very pleasant, the modulated voice of
Elinor under the trees and twinkling stars. Her elocution was
certainly remarkable, and Lord Riddell's dinners excellent.