Dear L.,--Ambassador Eustis has been replaced by General Porter. It is
fortunate for America that we have so clever and tactful a gentleman
for our representative, especially in this moment of the
Spanish-American War. The French sympathies are (or were) with the
Spaniards, and the articles in the newspapers are, to say the least,
satirical of the "Yankees."
When the reporters interviewed the Ambassador they got such a clear,
straight, and concise view of the situation that they changed entirely
their attitude, and _now_ at last the papers tell the truth.
General Porter and his wife have taken the beautiful Spitzer Hôtel and
are the personifications of hospitality. The marble staircase is
draped with the American flag. They receive in the ancestral hall
filled with knights in armor, and the guests sit in medieval chairs.
The picture-gallery, which is famous, is lighted at _al giorno_. I
fancy that most of the pictures have been taken away; however, there
are a few in each of the small rooms, through which the guests wander
with their heads at an angle giving an impression of subtle criticism.
General Porter always has a story _à propos_, no matter what you are
talking about. I wish I could remember some of the best. This one I
_do_ remember. He said: "I never believe but half of what is told me,
but," he added, laughing and pointing to a lady, who recently had
twins, "this does not apply to _her_." He borrowed from Coquelin the
following, "All American women are like pins--they go just as far as
their heads allow them." Is this original? I think it good if it is.
Do you remember Countess de Trobriand?
Well, she is still flourishing at the ripe age of eighty, and gives
_soirées_ in her apartments in the Champs Elysées. Some one said of
these entertainments that they were not _assez brilliant_ to be called
_trop brilliant_, but might be called _de trop_....
Zola is mixing himself up with _l'affaire_ (that is what one calls the
Dreyfus tragedy; there is no other "affair" that counts), and is
making himself very unpopular. He does not mind what he writes, and
his attacks reach far and wide and spare no one. If he stirs up mud at
the bottom of the well he does it in order to find the truth. At any
rate, he is honest, though he has had to pay dear for the best policy.
I do not read his books, but I have a great admiration for him. The
public feeling is so strong against him that crowds of the populace
rush about the streets pushing, howling, and screaming at the top of
their lungs, "_Conspuez Zola!_" which I cannot translate in other
words than, "Spit on Zola!" Mrs. Lawrence and I met a mob while
driving through the Place de la Concorde, and a more absurd exhibition
of vindictiveness cannot be imagined.
Poor Zola has been condemned to pay a fine of--how much do you think?
Twenty-five thousand francs! He would not or could not pay. The
authorities put all his worldly goods, which they valued at twenty
thousand francs, up at auction, and went, on the day of the sale,
belted with their official scarfes and armed with pretentions, and
commenced the farce of the auction. An old kitchen table was the first
thing to be sold. Two francs were offered. "Going, going, go--!" when
a voice struck in, "_Twenty-five thousand francs._" This sudden turn
nonplussed the authorities. The auction was called off and came to an
untimely end because no one knew exactly what to do.
_May, 1900._
Dear ----,--The opening of the Exposition was a grand affair. I never
saw so many people under one roof as there were yesterday at the Salle
des Fêtes. The order in the streets was something wonderful. The
police managed the enormous crowd as if it had been composed of so
many tin soldiers.
The ladies of the Diplomatic Corps and the wives of the foreign
commissioners sat with Madame Loubet in a tribune, on very hard
benches. The President stood on a raised platform overlooking the
multitude, surrounded by his Ministers, his official suite, and the
Ambassadors and Foreign Ministers in full uniform. It was a most
brilliant sight.
M. Loubet made his speech in as loud a voice as he could command, but
I doubt if it was very audible. Several orchestras played before and
after the speeches.
Since then I have been many times to the Exposition, and the only
fault I can find with it so far is that it is too enormous; but I
admire the cleverness of the architects, who have brought Paris into
the middle of it and made it a part of it. Both sides of the Seine are
utilized in the most practical manner.
Every country has its own superb building in the rue des Nations.
Frederick is the _commisaire_ from Denmark. The Danish Pavilion is the
first to be finished and is called a success. We baptized it with
great _éclat_. There were speeches and champagne, and the Dane-brog
was hoisted amid hurrahs of our compatriots.
The _tapis roulant_ (moving sidewalk) is a very good scheme, as it
takes you to every point. As yet people are a little shy about it and
will stand and stare a long time before venturing to put their feet on
it.
The _fêtes_ at this time of the Exposition are overpowering. All the
Ministers are outdoing themselves. They think nothing of inviting five
hundred people to dinner and serving twenty courses. I sat next to M.
L'Epine, _prefet de police_, and a more restless companion I never
had, although when quietly seated in his place he is a most charming
one. We had not been five minutes at the table before several
telegrams were brought to him. A riot in Montmartre, a fire in the rue
St. Honoré, or a duel at the Île de Puteaux, and he was up and down,
telephoning and telegraphing, until finally before the end of the
dinner he disappeared entirely. There were two concerts in different
_salons_ during the evening, one vocal and the other orchestral, each
guest choosing that which he liked best.
I go every day to the Exposition. There is always something new and
interesting. Yesterday it was a lunch with Prince Carl and Princess
Ingeborg (our Crown Prince's daughter, who married her handsome cousin
of Sweden) at a restaurant called _Restaurant bleu_, under the shadow
of the Eiffel Tower. The Prince wished to make the acquaintance of Mr.
Eiffel, and the Swedish Minister, who was present, secured the
distinguished architect's company.
He went with us to the very top of his modern tower of Babel, even to
his own particular den, which is the highest point, where he alone has
the right to go. The sensation of being up in the clouds is not
pleasant, and as you change from one elevator to the other and cast
your eyes down the giddy space you tremble. The view of Paris spread
out under you is stupendous, but I would not go up there again for
worlds.
The princely pair dined with us the same evening _en toilette de
ville_, and we went to the rue de Paris to see Sadi-Jako. The Japanese
Minister, who sat in the box next to us, introduced her when she came
in during the _entr'actes_ to pay her respects to him. She is very
small, and has the high, shrill voice which the Japanese women
cultivate. She is the first woman who has ever acted in a Japanese
theater. Otherwise the acting has always been done by men. Sadi's
husband performs also, and in a dreadfully realistic manner. He
stabbed himself with a sword, and with such vigor that real blood, so
It looked, ran down in bucketfuls over the stage, and he groaned and
writhed in his death-throes.
* * * * *
Paris would not be Paris if it did not keep us on the _qui-vive_.
Every kind of celebrity from everywhere is duly lionized. Paris, never
Republican at heart, still loves royalty in any shape, and at the
merest specimen of it the Parisians are down on their knees.
* * * * *
We have had the heavy-eyed Krueger straight from the Transvaal. Paris
made a great fuss over him, but he took his lionization very calmly.
At the Opéra people cheered and waved their handkerchiefs. He came
forward to the edge of the _ioge_, bowed stiffly, and looked intensely
bored. The _protocole_ furnishes the same program for each lion. A
dinner at the Elysées, a promenade, a gala opera, _et voilà_.
Fritjof Nansen, the blond and gentle Norwegian explorer, has just
finished his visit here. As a Scandinavian friend he came for a cup of
tea and made himself most agreeable, and was, unlike other
celebrities, willing to be drawn out. He told us of some of his most
exciting adventures. Starvation and exposure of all sorts belong to
explorers.
No one would think, to look at the mild and blue-eyed Nansen, that he
had gone through so many harrowing experiences.
"The worst were," he said, "losing my dogs. I loved them all. To see
them die from want of food and other sufferings broke my heart."