Part 52

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."

I am sure that what he said was true, he looked so kind and good.

Among other personages of distinction Paris greets is the Shah of Persia. The Elysées gave him the traditional gala dinner, to which the diplomats were invited. The ballroom was arranged as a winter-garden, with a stage put at the end of it. The ballet from the Opera danced and played an exquisite pantomime, but the august guest sat sullen and morose, hardly lifting his Oriental eyes. People were brought up to him to be introduced, but he did not condescend to favor them with more than a guttural muttering--probably his private opinion, meant only for his suite. He merely glanced at us and looked away, as if too much bored for words. M. Loubet stood on one side, and Madame Loubet sat in a fauteuil next to him, but he had nothing to say to either of them. The government had put Dr. Evans's beautiful and perfect villa in the Bois at his disposition. The persons belonging to the house say that it is swimming in dirt, and they never expect to get it clean again. The suite appear to have no other amusements than driving about the streets from morning to night. The Elysées must have a hundred carriages in use for them. Last evening there was a gala performance at the Grand Opéra for the blasé Shah. They gave "Copelia," with the lovely Mauri as prima ballerina. The audience made no demonstration, although it ought to have shown a certain amount of Te Deumness, on account of the Shah's escape from an attempt on his life. He was miraculously saved, and will go on living his emotionless life for ever and ever. May Allah protect him ... from us!

Speaking of Orientals, the Chinese Minister has taken a very large apartment in the Avenue Hoche. Evidently they expect to entertain on a large scale. The wife is called lady, but he is not called lord; the two pretty daughters look more European than Chinese, having pink-and-white complexions.

His Excellency was frightened out of his wits when M. Loubet, desiring a private interview, sent for him. He, not knowing European ways, thought his last hours had come, and, expecting speedy extermination, hid himself.

Milady, though half American, did not know exactly what Ascension day meant and asked her Chinese servant. He replied, "Great Churchman gone topside to-day."

Mr. Peck is the American commissioner to the Exposition, and Mr. Thomas Walsh is one of the members of the commission. He gave a colossal dinner at the restaurant at d'Armenonville, and begged Mr. Martin, who knows every one in Paris, to select the guests. It was only on the evening of the dinner he made the acquaintance of the one hundred people to whom he was host.

Nordica sang after dinner, and sang charmingly, as is her wont.

Mr. Walsh invited us to the American section. We sat on the tarred roof of a restaurant, where lunch was served a l'Américaine. My heart gladdened at the thought of hot griddle-cakes and corn fritters; but although everything was delicious, sitting on a tarred roof and being served by a loquacious black tyro was not appreciated by the foreign element.

A lady--I won't tell you her name, though you know it--showed the greatest interest in the house Mr. Walsh is building in Washington, and desired greatly to advise him and help him choose furniture for it. She thought Louis XVI. style very suitable for one salon, and proposed Renaissance style for the library, and Empire for the gallery, and so forth. Mr. Walsh said, in his dry way, "You must really not bother so much, madame; plain Tommy Walsh is good enough for me." After which she lost interest in him and gave him up.

We were horrified to hear of King Humbert's assassination at Monza. He was such a good man and loved his country so devotedly. To be struck down by one of his own people seems too cruel. How dreadful for Queen Margherita!

Court mourning is ordered for three weeks.

PARIS, 1900.

Dear L.,--Just a few lines from me to-day to answer your question, O merciless and adorable friend! Dreyfus has been brought back from the dreadful island where he has been confined these last five years. Five years of torture! He was taken to Rennes to be tried. His lawyer, Labori, has driven the judges almost out of their senses.

The sensational attacks of Zola and his sudden "J'accuse," the suicide of Henry, the repeated demissions of the Ministers and Générals, la femme Voilée, the disappearance of Esterhazy (stamped as a first-class scamp), the attempt to get Labori's papers by shooting him--the ludicrous and tragic episodes have at last come to an end. Dreyfus is declared innocent, and people are beginning to realize what has happened.

Björnstjerne Björnson, the famous Norwegian poet, has, from the beginning, taken Dreyfus's defense and written article after article in the papers and proclaimed in every manner his belief in his innocence. He hurried to Paris when he heard that Dreyfus had returned. We were very glad when an invitation came from the Swedish Minister (Mr. Ackermann) to lunch with the great author. I wish that you could see him, for to see him is to know him. He has the kindest and noblest face in the world. I wept over his account of the interview between him and Dreyfus. The day and hour were fixed for his visit. He found Madame Dreyfus alone. She begged him to wait a moment, because her husband was so agitated at the thought of seeing him that he could not trust himself to appear. When at last Dreyfus came into the room Björnson opened his arms. Dreyfus fell weeping into them and sobbed, "Merci! Merci! Vous avez crû en moi"--Björnson replied: "Mon ami, j'ai souffert pour vous, mon pauvre ami." Of course, this is only a very little part of what he told me, but it was all in this strain. He said that during the interview, which lasted an hour, Dreyfus did not utter a word of reproach against his tormentors.

Björnson gave a tea-party at his daughter's house in Passy, and invited us. I hoped that possibly Dreyfus might be there, but he was not. However, I had the pleasure of seeing Colonel Picquard again, and we had a long talk together. Afterward, when I bade Björnson good-by, he stooped down and kissed me on my forehead before the roomful of people. Imagine my embarrassment at this unexpected and gratuitous token of friendship, but, the kisser being Björnson, every one knew that the accolade was merely the outpouring of a kind and good heart.

PARIS, August 15, 1900.

The hottest day we have had! The thermometer was way up in the clouds. My maid, in doing my hair this morning, informed me of this fact. We conferred about my toilet for the afternoon fête in the Elysées Gardens. We heard that twelve thousand people were invited. Certainly I should be lost in a crowd like that and need not be dressed in my best. My maid thought a rather flimsy gown of about year before last would be good enough. Johan thought that he would be so entirely out of sight that he was on the point of not going at all. Well, we had a queer awakening. I was very much astonished when the master of ceremonies met me at the entrance and led me into the garden, where the vast lawn was one mass of humanity. He bade me take the first seat. I said to myself, "It is only for the moment; I shall have to move farther on later, when a higher-ranked lady arrives." Not at all! I remained in the place of honor, to the right of Madame Loubet, to the very end.

In the middle of the lawn were placed a dozen large red arm-chairs before which a strip of carpet was stretched, where we sat.

Three performances were arranged for the afternoon. To the right was a Japanese theater where Sadi-Jako and her troupe played their répertoire. In the center was a Grecian temple, before which a ballet of pretty girls danced on the grass in Grecian dresses. The effect was charming. To the left was a little Renaissance theater where people of different nationalities danced and sang in their national costumes. I never saw anything so wonderfully complete. Only the French can do things like that. When the moment arrived for the official promenade, you may imagine how I felt when I saw Monsieur Loubet approach me and offer me his arm. After all, I was the first lady! Why was I not dressed in my best?

Monsieur and I walked at the head of the procession. We made the tour of the gardens and through the whole palace, gazed on and stared at by the entire crowd of the twelve thousand spectators, until at last we reached the salon where the buffet was established.

PARIS, 1902.

Dear L.,--You might think that we are nearly exhausted, but health and energy seem to assert themselves, and we bob up like those weighted playthings children have. We have turned heads-up from our journey to Denmark. We celebrated our silver wedding at Aalholm. I won't bother you with the usual phrase, "How the time has flown!" Twenty-five years! You have seen what an ordinary wedding in Denmark is like. You can coat this one with silver, and then you will but know half the excitement. The setting being Aalholm, the chief actors J. and I, the chorus being family and friends, you may imagine that this fête left nothing to be desired. Guests came from everywhere to the number of forty. Even our best man came from Norway. Deputations and telegrams dropped on us by the hundreds; presents of silver in every form and shape. My dress was silver, and silver sprays in my hair, and J. wore them in his buttonhole. The dinner arranged by Frederick on viking lines was splendid. Speeches at every change of plates. I wept tears of pathos. An address of five hundred names, adorned with water-color sketches of our different Legations, bearing a silver cover and a coat of arms, was presented by the Danish colony in Paris. It was all very touching and gratifying.

The famous beauty, Countess Castiglione, departed this world a few days ago. She was the woman most talked of in the sixties.

When I first saw her she was already passée. There is nothing that has not been said about her, but of this I know absolutely very little. She used to live in Passy, and was called "La recluse du passé." She was so extraordinarily dressed and always created a sensation.