I went into a shop while the brilliant _cortège_ was passing and,
feigning ignorance, asked the woman at the counter:
"What is this procession?"
"_Oh! C'est un de ces diplomates_" she said, shrugging her
shoulders.
I left the shop without buying anything--a paltry revenge on my
part; still it was a revenge.
We have found a suitable apartment in the rue Pierre Charron, and
I have just now begun to look up some of my old friends. Alas!
there are not many left, but those who are seem glad to see me. My
first official visit was to Madame Faure. This was easily managed.
I simply went on one of her reception-days. An Elysian master of
ceremonies was waiting for me, and I followed him into the _salon_
where Madame Faure sat, surrounded by numerous ladies. A servant
wrestled in vain with my name, "Crone" being the only thing he
seized, but the master of ceremonies announced to the President
that I was the Danish Minister's wife, after which things went
smoothly. To leave no doubt in the other guests' minds that I was
a person of distinction and the wife of a Minister Madame Faure
asked me innumerable questions about _Monsieur le Ministre_.
We were scarcely settled when there came the awful catastrophe of
the burning of the _Bazar de Charité_, about which you have
probably read. I had promised to go to it, and I can say that my
life literally hung on a thread, for if my _couturière_ had kept
her word and sent my dress home at the time she promised I should
certainly have gone and would probably have been burned up with
the others. Marquise de Gallifet also owed her life to my not
going. She came to make me a visit and lingered a little. This
_little_ saved her life. She entered the fated bazar just a moment
before the fire broke out, and therefore managed to escape.
Frederikke and I drove to the offending dressmaker. (How I blessed
her afterward!) When we passed the Cours la Reine we were very
much astonished to see a man without a hat, very red in the face,
waving two blackened hands in the most excited manner. He jumped
into a cab and drove away as fast as the horse could gallop. Then
we saw a young lady, bareheaded, in a light dress, rushing through
the street, and another lady leaning up against the wall as if
fainting. The air was filled with the smell of burning tar and
straw, and we noticed some black smoke behind the houses. I
thought it must come from a stable burning in the neighborhood. We
had been so short a time in Paris that I did not realize how near
we were to the street where the bazar was held.
At half past five we drove through the rue François I'er on our
way home and saw a few people collected on the Place, otherwise
there seemed nothing unusual. When we passed through the avenue
Montaigne we met Monsieur Hanotaux (Minister of Foreign Affairs)
in a cab, looking wildly excited. He stood up and screamed to me,
"_Vous étes sauvée_." What could he mean?
I thought that he was crazy. I screamed back, "_Que dites vous_?"
but he was already out of hearing. It was only when we reached
home that we learned what had happened and understood what he had
meant.
How dreadful were the details!
The bazar was in a vacant lot inclosed by the walls of surrounding
houses, from which the only exit was through the room where a
cinematograph had been put up. This, being worked by a careless
operator, took fire.
The interior of the bazar consisted of canvas walls, of which one
part represented a street called _Vieux Paris_.
The bazar was crowded; the stalls were presided over by the most
fashionable ladies of Paris, and there were many gentlemen in the
crowd of buyers.
When the fire broke out a gentleman whose wife was one of the
stall-holders stood up near the door and cried out, "_Mesdames,
n'ayez pas peur. Il n'y a pas de danger_," and quietly went out,
leaving people to their fates.
Then came the panic.
Young ladies were trampled to death by their dancing-partners of
the evening before. One of them was engaged to be married, and
when her _fiancé_ walked over her body, in his frenzy to escape,
she cried to him, "_Suivez moi, pour l'amour de Dieu!_" He screamed
back, "_Tout le monde pour soi_," and disappeared.
She was saved by a groom from the stables opposite. She was
horribly burned, but probably will live, though disfigured for
life. Under the wooden floor were thrown all the _débris_--tar,
shavings, paper, etc. This burned very quickly, and the floor fell
in, engulfing those who could not escape; the tarred roof and the
canvas walls fell on them. What an awful death!
The kitchen of a small hotel, which formed one side of the vacant
lot, had one window about four feet from the ground. This was
covered with stout iron bars. The cook, when he realized the
disaster, managed to break the bars and, pushing out a chair, was
able to drag a great many women through the window. He and the
stable-boy were the only persons who seemed to have done anything
toward helping.
Of course, around the uprooted and demolished turn-stile was the
greatest number of victims, but masses were found heaped together
before the canvas representing the street of _Vieux Paris_. The
poor things in their agony imagined that it really was a street.
It was all over in an hour. It seems almost incredible that such a
tragedy could have taken place in so short a time. And to think
that the whole catastrophe could have been averted by the
expenditure of a few francs! When the architect heard that there
was to be a cinematograph put up he pointed out the danger and
begged that some firemen should be engaged. The president of the
committee asked how much this would cost and, on being told twenty
francs for each fireman, replied, "I think we will do without
them."
The Duchesse d'Alençon and the wife and daughters of the Danish
Consul-General were among the victims. The dead were all taken to
the Palais de l'Industrie and laid out in rows. Through the whole
night people searched with lanterns among the dead for their loved
ones. It was remarked that, though there were many men's canes and
hats, there was not one man found among the burned. Not one man in
all Paris acknowledged that he had been to the Bazar.
Within an incredibly short time subscriptions amounting to over a
million francs were collected. From America came many messages of
sympathy and a great deal of money. But no one could be found
except the cook and the stable-boy who had done anything to merit
a reward. After giving them large sums the rest of the money went
to form a fund for the building of a chapel in commemoration of
the disaster.