Part 47

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.

PARIS, 1897.

Dear L.,--Social life here is very confusing and fatiguing; physically, because distances are so immense. People live everywhere, from the Île St.-Louis to the gates of St.-Cloud. Hardly a part of Paris where some one you know does not live. The very act of leaving a few cards takes a whole afternoon.

In reality there are three societies which make life for a diplomat, whose duty it is to be well with every one, very complicated and unending. The official season for dinners, receptions, and soirées is in the winter; French society, just returned from the Riviera and Italy, has its real season in spring, when Longchamps and Auteuil have races and Puteaux has its sports. The autumn is the time when strangers flock to Paris; then commence the restaurant and theater parties. How can any lady have a reception-day where people of all countries, all politics, and all societies meet? Impossible! I have tried it, and I am sorry to say that my receptions are dead failures. Still, I persevere, as I am told it is my duty to receive.

When our first invitation to the ball of the Élysées came I was most anxious to see what it would be like. Is it not strange that the cards of invitation are the same used in the Empire. "La Présidence de la République Française" stands instead of "La Maison de l'Empereur." I have the two before me, the old and the new, and they are exactly alike, color, paper, and engraving!

The Diplomatic Corps has a separate entrance at the Élysées. We were met and conducted by a master of ceremonies to the room where the President and Madame Faure were standing. M. Faure is called un Président décoratif. He is tall, handsome, and has what you might call princely manners. The privileged ones passed before them and shook hands, quite à l'Américaine. I was named by M, Crozier and got from M. Faure an extra squeeze by way of emphasizing that I was a new-comer.

We then passed into the salon where our colleagues were assembled, and did not move from there until the presidential pair came in at eleven o'clock. At these balls there are a great many--too many--people invited. I have been told that there are six thousand invitations sent out. To one gentleman is assigned the duty to stay in the first salon and pass in review the toilets of the promiscuous guests and judge if they are suitable. When he sees a lady (?) in a high woolen dress with thick and soiled boots in which she has probably walked to the ball, he politely tells her that there must be some mistake about her invitation, and she walks meekly back to her comptoir.

When M, and Madame Faure had finished receiving, they came into the room where the diplomats were; and the President, giving his arm to the lady highest in rank (the protocole arranged the other couples) we marched through the crowd of gazers-on, through the ballroom, where some youths and maidens were whirling in the dance, through the palm-filled winter garden, where the people were crowded around a buffet, and through all the salons until we reached the last one, quite at the end of the palace, where a sumptuous buffet awaited us. At one o'clock we returned home. It amused me to see old Waldteufel still wielding his bâton and playing his waltzes as of old. I wanted to speak to him, but, being in the procession, I could not stop.

Yesterday I had a visit from Adelina Patti. I had not seen her for a long time. It seemed only the other day that I had written a letter condoling with her on the death of Nicolini, her second husband. This time she was accompanied by her third husband, Baron Cederstrom, a very fine-looking Swede whose family we knew well in Sweden. The diva looked wonderfully young, and handsomer than ever. When they came into the salon together one could not have remarked very much difference in their ages, though he is many years younger than she is.

Massenet comes often to see me. He is a great man now. He and Saint-Saëns are the most famous musicians of France at the present moment. Massenet has never forgotten old kindnesses; and, no matter where he is, whether on a platform at a concert, or in a drawing-room full of people, he always plays as a prelude or an improvization the first bars of a favorite song of his I used to sing. He sends me a copy of everything he composes, and always writes the three bars of that song on the first page.

Among others we find our friend Marquise de Podesta. She is a sort of lady in waiting to Ex-Queen Isabella of Spain. I went to see her at the Queen's beautiful palace in the avenue Kléber. I was delighted when she asked me if I would like to make the acquaintance of the Queen. I went two days later to what she called an "audience." The Queen received me in a beautiful room lined with old Gobelin tapestry and furnished with great taste. She is rather heavy and stout and wears a quantity of brown hair plastered over her temples, which does not give her the height a Queen ought to have. She was very amiable, asked many questions about places and people I knew, and before I was aware of it I found myself spinning out lengthy tales. I should have much preferred she do the talking.

The Empress Eugénie is now here. And fancy! living at the Hôtel Continental, right opposite the gardens of the Tuileries. I have not seen her for six years (since Cap-Martin). Baron Petri, who always accompanies her, answered my note asking if I might come to see her, saying that the Empress would receive me with pleasure. You may imagine my emotion at seeing her again. I found her seated at the window facing the Tuileries. How could she bear to be so near her old home? As if reading my thoughts, she said: "You wonder that I came here to this hôtel. It is very sad. There are so many memories. But it seems to bring me nearer mon fils bien aimé. I have him always before me. My poor Louis! I can see him as a little boy, when he used to drive out in his carriage, always surrounded by the cent gardes." She told me of the terrible journey she had made to South Africa. She had wished to go over the same route that the Prince had taken on his way to Zululand. How dreadful it must have been for her! Can one imagine anything more tragic? Her only child, whom she loved beyond anything in the world, whom she hoped to see on the throne! The future monarch of France! a Napoleon! to be killed by a few Zulus, in a war not in any way connected with France. The Empress appeared weighed down with grief; nevertheless, she seemed to like to talk with me. I wish I could have heard more, but the arrival of the Princess Mathilde interrupted us, and I left.

The papal nonce (Ambassador of the Pope) had his official reception last week in his hotel, rue Legendre, which is far too small to hold all the people who went there. All Paris, in fact. No one is invited to these receptions, but every one thinks it a duty and a politeness to attend; consequently, there are a great number of people who walk in, are presented, and walk out.

The nonce is a charming man, simple in his manner, kind and gentle. I felt very proud the other evening to be on his arm after the dinner at the Minister of Foreign Affair's, and walk about with him. When we passed by some of the unclothed Dianas and Venuses the dear old man held up his hand to cover his eyes: "Non devo guardare!" Nevertheless I caught him peeping under his eyelids. He came on my Thursday to see me, accompanied by Monsignore Montagnini, his secretary, and sat a long time lingering over his teacup, and made himself very agreeable to the many ladies present.

The nonce accepted our invitation to dine on the 26th (he fixed the day himself). That evening I received a note from the secretary to say that the nonce had forgotten that the 26th was Ash Wednesday, and, naturally, could not have the pleasure, etc.