PARIS!
There is something about the French nation which, in spite of its
dreary-looking cities, exhibits an air of metropolitan up-to-dateness.
I don’t know where outside of America you will find the snap and
intensity of emotion, ambition, and romance which you find everywhere
in French streets. The station, when we returned to it, was alive
with a crowd of bustling, hurrying people, buying books and papers
at news-stands, looking after their luggage in the baggage-room, and
chattering to the ticket-sellers through their windows. A train from
Paris was just in and they were hurrying to catch that; and as I made
my first French purchase--twenty centimes’ worth of post-cards of
Amiens--our train rolled in. It was from the North--such a long train
as you frequently see in America, with cars labeled Milan, Trieste,
Marseilles, Florence, and Rome. I could hardly believe it, and asked
Barfleur as he bustled about seeing that the luggage was put in the
proper carriage, where it came from. He thought that some of these cars
started from St. Petersburg and others from Denmark and Holland. They
had a long run ahead of them yet--over thirty hours to Rome, and Paris
was just one point in their journey. We crowded into one car--stuffy
with luggage, its windows damp with human breath, various nationalities
occupying the section--and disposed of our grips, portmanteaus, rugs
and so on, as best we could. I slipped the bustling old _facteur_ a
franc--not so much because he deserved it, but because he had such a
gay and rakish air. His apron swung around his legs like a skirt, and
his accordion-plaited cap was lolling gaily over one ear. He waved me
a smiling farewell and said something in French which I wished I could
understand. Then I realized for the first time what a pity it is not to
understand the language of the country in which you are traveling.
As the train sped on through the dark to Paris I fell to speculating on
the wonders I was to see. Barfleur was explaining to me that in order
to make my entrance into Paris properly gay and interesting, we were
to dine at the Café de Paris and then visit the Folies-Bergère and
afterwards have supper at the Abbaye Thélème.
I should say here that of all people I know Barfleur is as capable
of creating an atmosphere as any--perhaps more so. The man lives
so heartily in his moods, he sets the stage for his actions long
beforehand, and then walks on like a good actor and plays his part
thoroughly. All the way over--from the very first day we met in New
York, I think--he was either consciously or unconsciously building up
for me the glamour of smart and artistic life in Europe. Now these
things are absolutely according to your capacity to understand and
appreciate them; they are, if you please, a figment of the brain, a
frame of mind. If you love art, if you love history, if the romance
of sex and beauty enthralls you, Europe in places presents tremendous
possibilities. To reach these ethereal paradises of charm, you must
skip and blink and dispense with many things. All the long lines
of commonplaces through which you journey must be as nothing. You
buy and prepare and travel and polish and finally you reach the
center of this thing which is so wonderful; and then, when you get
there, it is a figment of your own mind. Paris and the Riviera are
great realities--there are houses and crowds and people and great
institutions and the remembrance and flavor of great deeds; but the
thing that you get out of all this for yourself is born of the attitude
or mood which you take with you. Toward gambling, show, romance,
a delicious scene, Barfleur carries a special mood. Life is only
significant because of these things. His great struggle is to avoid
the dingy and the dull, and to escape if possible the penalties of
encroaching age. I think he looks back on the glitter of his youth with
a pathetic eye, and I know he looks forward into the dark with stoic
solemnity. Just one hour of beauty, is his private cry, one more day of
delight. Let the future take care of itself. He realizes, too, with the
keenness of a realist, that if youth is not most vivid in yourself, it
can sometimes be achieved through the moods of others. I know he found
in me a zest and a curiosity and a wonder which he was keen to satisfy.
Now he would see this thing over as he had seen it years before. He
would observe me thrill and marvel, and so he would be able to thrill
and marvel himself once more. He clung to me with delicious enthusiasm,
and every now and then would say, “Come now, what are you thinking?
I want to know. I am enjoying this as much as you are.” He had a
delicious vivacity which acted on me like wine.
As we neared Paris he had built this city up so thoroughly in my
mood that I am satisfied that I could not have seen it with a
realistic eye if I had tried. It was something--I cannot tell you
what--Napoleon, the Louvre, the art quarter, Montmartre, the gay
restaurants, the boulevards, Balzac, Hugo, the Seine and the soldiery,
a score and a hundred things too numerous to mention and all greatly
exaggerated. I hoped to see something which was perfect in its artistic
appearance--exteriorly speaking. I expected, after reading George Moore
and others, a wine-like atmosphere; a throbbing world of gay life;
women of exceptional charm of face and dress; the bizarre, the unique,
the emotional, the spirited. At Amiens I had seen enough women entering
the trains to realize that the dreary commonplace of the English woman
was gone. Instead the young married women that we saw were positively
daring compared to what England could show--shapely, piquant,
sensitive, their eyes showing a birdlike awareness of what this world
has to offer. I fancied Paris would be like that, only more so; and
as I look back on it now I can honestly say that I was not greatly
disappointed. It was not all that I thought it would be, but it was
enough. It is a gay, brilliant, beautiful city, with the spirit of New
York and more than the distinction of London. It is like a brilliant,
fragile child--not made for contests and brutal battles, but gay beyond
reproach.
When the train rolled into the Gare du Nord it must have been about
eight o’clock. Barfleur, as usual, was on the qui vive for precedence
and advantage. He had industriously piled all the bags close to the
door, and was hanging out of a window doing his best to signal a
facteur. I was to stay in the car and hand all the packages down
rapidly while he ran to secure a taxi and an inspector and in other
ways to clear away the impediments to our progress. With great
executive enthusiasm he told me that we must be at the Hotel Normandy
by eight-fifteen or twenty and that by nine o’clock we must be ready
to sit down in the Café de Paris to an excellent dinner which he had
ordered by telegraph.
I recall my wonder in entering Paris--the lack of any long extended
suburbs, the sudden flash of electric lights and electric cars. Mostly
we seemed to be entering through a tunnel or gully, and then we were
there. The noisy facteurs in their caps and blue jumpers were all
around the cars. They ran and chattered and gesticulated--so unlike
the porters in Paddington and Waterloo and Victoria and Euston. The one
we finally secured, a husky little enthusiast, did his best to gather
all our packages in one grand mass and shoulder them, stringing them on
a single strap. The result of it was that the strap broke right over a
small pool of water, and among other things the canvas bag containing
my blanket and magnificent shoes fell into the water. “Oh, my God,”
exclaimed Barfleur, “my hat box!”
“The fool ass,” I added, “I knew he would do just that--My blanket! My
shoes!”
The excited facteur was fairly dancing in anguish, doing his best to
get the packages strung together. Between us we relieved him of about
half of them, and from about his waist he unwrapped another large strap
and strung the remainder on that. Then we hurried on--for nothing would
do but that we must hurry. A taxi was secured and all our luggage piled
on it. It looked half suffocated under bundles as it swung out into the
street, and we were off at a mad clip through crowded, electric-lighted
streets. I pressed my nose to the window and took in as much as I
could, while Barfleur between calculations as to how much time this
would take, and that would take, and whether my trunk had arrived
safely, expatiated laconically on French characteristics.
“You smell this air--it is all over Paris.”
“The taxis always go like this.” (We were going like mad.)
“There is an excellent type--look at her.”
“Now you see the chairs out in front--they are that way all over Paris.”
I was looking at the interesting restaurant life which never really
seems to be interrupted anywhere in Paris. You can always find a dozen
chairs somewhere, if not fifty or a hundred, out on the sidewalk under
the open sky, or a glass roof--little stone-topped tables beside them,
the crowd surging to and fro in front. Here you can sit and have your
coffee, your liqueur, your sandwich. Everybody seems to do it--it is as
common as walking in the streets.
We whirled through street after street partaking of this atmosphere,
and finally swung up in front of a rather plain hotel which, I learned
this same night, was close to the Avenue de l’Opéra, on the corner of
the Rue St. Honoré and the Rue de l’Echelle. Our luggage was quickly
distributed and I was shown into my room by a maid who could not speak
English. I unlocked my belongings and was rapidly changing my clothes
when Barfleur, breathing mightily, fully arrayed, appeared to say that
I should await him at the door below where he would arrive with two
guests. I did so, and in fifteen minutes he returned, the car spinning
up out of a steady stream that was flowing by. I think my head was
dizzy with the whirl of impressions which I was garnering, but I did my
best to keep a sane view of things, and to get my impressions as sharp
and clear as I could.
I am quite satisfied of one thing in this world, and that is that
the commonest intelligence is very frequently confused or hypnotized
or overpersuaded by certain situations, and that the weaker ones are
ever full of the wildest forms of illusion. We talk about the sanity
of life--I question whether it exists. Mostly it is a succession of
confusing, disturbing impressions which are only rarely valid. This
night I know I was moving in a sort of maze, and when I stepped into
the car and was introduced to the two girls who were with Barfleur, I
easily succumbed to what was obviously their great beauty.
The artist Greuze has painted the type that I saw before me over
and over--soft, buxom, ruddy womanhood. I think the two may have
been twenty-four and twenty-six. The elder was smaller than the
younger--although both were of good size--and not so ruddy; but they
were both perfectly plump, round-faced, dimpled, and with a wealth of
brownish-black hair, even white teeth, smooth plump arms and necks and
shoulders. Their chins were adorably rounded, their lips red, and their
eyes laughing and gay. They began laughing and chattering the moment I
entered, extending their soft white hands and saying things in French
which I could not understand. Barfleur was smiling--beaming through
his monocle in an amused, superior way. The older girl was arrayed in
pearl-colored silk with a black mantilla spangled with silver, and
the younger had a dress of peach-blow hue with a white lace mantilla
also spangled, and they breathed a faint perfume. We were obviously in
beautiful, if not moral, company.
I shall never forget the grand air with which this noble company
entered the Café de Paris. Barfleur was in fine feather and the ladies
radiated a charm and a flavor which immediately attracted attention.
This brilliant café was aglow with lights and alive with people. It is
not large in size--quite small in fact--and triangular in shape. The
charm of it comes not so much from the luxury of the fittings, which
are luxurious enough, but from their exceeding good taste, and the fame
of the cuisine. One does not see a bill of fare here that indicates
prices. You order what you like and are charged what is suitable.
Champagne is not an essential wine as it is in some restaurants--you
may drink what you like. There is a delicious sparkle and spirit to the
place which can only spring from a high sense of individuality. Paris
is supposed to provide nothing better than the Café de Paris, in so far
as food is concerned. It is as good a place to go for dinner as the
city provides.
It amuses me now when I think of how the managerial ability of Barfleur
had been working through all this. As the program had been arranged in
his mind, I was to take the elder of the two ladies as my partner and
he had reserved the younger for himself. As a matter of fact they were
really equally pretty and charming--and I was interested in both until,
after a few parleys and when I had exchanged a few laughing signs with
the younger, he informed me that she was really closely tied up with
some one else and was not available. This I really did not believe;
but it did not make any particular difference. I turned my attention
to the elder who was quite as vivacious, if not quite so forceful as
her younger sister. I never knew what it meant before to sit in a
company of this kind, welcome as a friend, looked to for gaiety as a
companion and admirer, and yet not able to say a word in the language
of the occasion. There were certain words which could be quickly
acquired on an occasion of this kind, such as “beautiful,” “charming,”
“very delightful,” and so on, for which Barfleur gave me the French
equivalent, and then I could make complimentary remarks which he would
translate for all, and the ladies would say things in reply which
would come to me by the same medium. It went gaily enough--for the
conversation would not have been of a high order if I had been able
to speak French. Barfleur objected to being used constantly as an
interpreter, and when he became stubborn and chattered gaily without
stopping to explain, I was compelled to fall back on the resources of
looks and smiles and gestures. It interested me to see how quick these
women were to adapt themselves to the difficulties of the situation.
They were constantly laughing and chaffing between themselves--looking
at me and saying obviously flattering things, and then laughing at my
discomfiture in not being able to understand. The elder explained what
certain objects were by lifting them up and insisting on the French
name. Barfleur was constantly telling me of the compliments they made
and how sad they thought it was that I could not speak French. We
departed finally for the Folies-Bergère where the newest sensation of
Paris, Mistinguett, was playing. She proved to be a brilliant hoyden to
look upon; a gay, slim, yellow-haired tomboy who seemed to fascinate
the large audience by her boyish manners and her wayward air. There
was a brilliant chorus in spangled silks and satins, and finally a
beautiful maiden without any clothing at all who was cloaked by the
soldiery of the stage before she had half crossed it. The vaudeville
acts were about as good as they are anywhere. I did not think that the
performance was any better than one might see in one or two places in
New York, but of course the humor was much broader. Now and then one
of their remarkable _bons mots_ was translated for me by Barfleur just
to give me an inkling of the character of the place. Back of the seats
was a great lobby or promenade where a fragment of the demi-monde of
Paris was congregated--beautiful creatures, in many instances, and
as unconventional as you please. I was particularly struck with the
smartness of their costumes and the cheerful character of their faces.
The companion type in London and New York is somewhat colder-looking.
Their eyes snapped with Gallic intelligence, and they walked as though
the whole world held their point of view and no other.
From here at midnight we left for the Abbaye Thélème; and there I
encountered the best that Paris has to show in the way of that gaiety
and color and beauty and smartness for which it is famous. One really
ought to say a great deal about the Abbaye Thélème, because it is the
last word, the quintessence of midnight excitement and international
_savoir faire_. The Russian and the Brazilian, the Frenchman, the
American, the Englishman, the German and the Italian all meet here
on common ground. I saw much of restaurant life in Paris while I was
there, but nothing better than this. Like the Café de Paris it was
small--very small--when compared to restaurants of similar repute
in New York and London. I fancy it was not more than sixty feet
square--only it was not square but pentagonal, almost circular. The
tables, to begin with, went round the walls, with seats which had the
wall for a back; and then, as the guests poured in, the interior space
was filled up with tables which were brought in for the purpose; and,
later in the morning, when the guests began to leave, these tables were
taken out again, and the space devoted to dancing and entertainers.
As in the Café de Paris I noticed that it was not so much the quality
of the furnishings as the spirit of the place which was important.
This latter was compounded of various elements--success, perfection
of service, absolute distinction of cooking, and lastly the subtlety
and magnetism of sex which is capitalized and used in Paris as it is
nowhere else in the world. I never actually realized until I stepped
into this restaurant what it is that draws a certain moneyed element
to Paris. The Tomb of Napoleon and the Panthéon and the Louvre are
not the significant attractions of that important city. Those things
have their value--they constitute an historical and artistic element
that is appealing, romantic and forceful. But over and above that
there is something else--and that is sex. I did not learn what I am
going to say now until later, but it might as well be said here, for
it illustrates the point exactly. A little experience and inquiry
in Paris quickly taught me that the owners and managers of the more
successful restaurants encourage and help to sustain a certain type
of woman whose presence is desirable. She must be young, beautiful,
or attractive, and above all things possessed of temperament. A woman
can rise in the café and restaurant world of Paris quite as she can
on the stage; and she can easily graduate from the Abbaye Thélème and
Maxim’s to the stage, though the path is villainous. On the other
hand, the stage contributes freely to the atmosphere of Maxim’s, the
Abbaye Thélème, and other restaurants of their kind. A large number of
the figures seen here and at the Folies-Bergère and other places of
the same type, are interchangeable. They are in the restaurants when
they are not on the stage, and they are on the stage when they are not
in the restaurants. They rise or fall by a world of strange devices,
and you can hear brilliant or ghastly stories illustrating either
conclusion. Paris--this aspect of it--is a perfect maelstrom of sex;
and it is sustained by the wealth and the curiosity of the stranger, as
well as the Frenchman.
The Abbaye Thélème on this occasion presented a brilliant scene.
The carpet, as I recall it, was a rich green velvet; the walls a
lavender-white. From the ceiling six magnificently prismed electroliers
were suspended--three glowing with a clear peach-blow hue and three
with a brilliant white. Outside a small railing near the door several
negro singers, a mandolin and a guitar-player, several stage dancers,
and others were congregated. A perfect storm of people was pouring
through the doors--all with their tables previously arranged for. Out
in the lobby, where a January wind was blowing, you could hear a wild
uproar of slamming taxi doors, and the calls of doormen and chauffeurs
getting their vehicles in and out of the way. The company generally,
as on all such occasions, was on the qui vive to see who else were
present and what the general spirit of the occasion was to be.
Instantly I detected a number of Americans; three amazingly beautiful
English women, such as I never saw in England, and their escorts; a few
Spaniards or South Americans; and, after that, a variety of individuals
whom I took to be largely French, although it was impossible to tell.
The English women interested me because, during all my stay in Europe,
I never saw three other women quite so beautiful, and because, during
all my stay in England, I scarcely saw a good-looking English woman.
Barfleur suggested that they were of that high realm of fashion which
rarely remains in London during the winter season--when I was there;
that if I came again in May or June and went to the races I would see
plenty of them. Their lovely hair was straw-colored and their cheeks
and foreheads a faint pink and cream. Their arms and shoulders were
delightfully bare, and they carried themselves with amazing hauteur.
By one o’clock, when the majority of the guests had arrived, this room
fairly shimmered with white silks and satins, white arms and shoulders,
roses in black hair and blue and lavender ribbons fastened about
coiffures of lighter complexion. There were jewels in plenty--opals and
amethysts and turquoises and rubies--and there was a perfect artillery
of champagne corks. Every table was attended by its silver bucket
of ice; and the mandolins and guitars in their crowded angle were
strumming mightily.
I speculated interestedly as we seated ourselves as to what drew all
these people from all parts of the world to see this, to be here
together. Barfleur was eager to come here first and to have me see
this, without delay. I do not know where you could go, and for a
hundred francs see more of really amazing feminine beauty. I do not
know where for the same money you could buy the same atmosphere of
lightness and gaiety and enthusiasm. This place was fairly vibrating
with a wild desire to live. I fancy the majority of those who were
here for the first time--particularly of the young--would tell you
that they would rather be here than in any other spot you could name.
The place had a peculiar glitter of beauty which was compounded by
the managers with great skill. The waiters were all of them deft,
swift, suave, good-looking; the dancers who stepped out on the floor
after a few moments were of an orchid-like Spanish type--ruddy, brown,
full-bodied, black-haired, black-eyed. They had on dresses that were as
close fitting as the scales of a fish and that glittered with the same
radiance. They waved and rattled and clashed castanets and tambourines
and danced wildly and sinuously to and fro among the tables. Some of
them sang, or voices accompanied them from the raised platform devoted
to music.
After a while red, blue, pink and green balloons were introduced,
anchored to the champagne bottles, and allowed to float gaily in the
air. Paper parcels of small paste balls of all colors, as light as
feathers, were distributed for the guests to throw at one another. In
ten minutes a wild artillery battle was raging. Young girls were up
on their feet, their hands full of these colored weapons, pelting the
male strangers of their selection. You would see tall Englishmen and
Americans exchanging a perfect volley of colored spheres with girls of
various nationalities, laughing, chattering, calling, screaming. The
cocotte in all her dazzling radiance was here--exquisitely dressed, her
white arms shimmering, perfectly willing to strike up an understanding
with the admirer who was pelting her.
After a time, when the audience had worn itself through fever and
frenzy to satisfaction or weariness, or both, a few of the tables
were cleared away and the dancing began, occasional guests joining.
There were charming dances in costume from Russia, from Scotland,
from Hungary, and from Spain. I had the wonder of seeing an American
girl rise from her table and dance with more skill and grace than the
employed talent. A wine-enthused Englishman took the floor, a handsome
youth of twenty-six or eight, and remained there gaily prancing about
from table to table, dancing alone or with whomsoever would welcome
him. What looked like a dangerous argument started at one time because
some high-mettled Brazilian considered that he had been insulted. A
cordon of waiters and the managers soon adjusted that. It was between
three and four in the morning when we finally left; and I was very
tired.
It was decided that we should meet for dinner; and since it was almost
daylight I was glad when we had seen our ladies to their apartment and
returned to the hotel.