Part 51

Every one came, although invited at the eleventh hour. It was a merry meeting, and such souveniring!

The King walked to my house accompanied by Herr Ancacronra, and the gentlemen whom the French government attached to his Majesty during his visit. They were surprised that a King should prefer walking through the streets to being driven in a landau from the Elysées.

The King brought several photographs, which he distributed to his friends, and, wishing to write his name on them, desired me to give him "a nice pen with a broad point." Oh dear! Not a "nice" pen could be found in the house! And one with a broad point did not exist. As for the ink, it was thick at the bottom and thin on the top. He had to stir it about each time he put the pen in.

I was more than mortified.

PARIS, 1899.

Dear L.,--Ambassador Eustis has been replaced by General Porter.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.

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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.

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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.