After a time, when the audience had worn itself through fever and frenzy to satisfaction or weariness, or both, a few of the tables were cleared away and the dancing began, occasional guests joining. There were charming dances in costume from Russia, from Scotland, from Hungary, and from Spain. I had the wonder of seeing an American girl rise from her table and dance with more skill and grace than the employed talent. A wine-enthused Englishman took the floor, a handsome youth of twenty-six or eight, and remained there gaily prancing about from table to table, dancing alone or with whomsoever would welcome him. What looked like a dangerous argument started at one time because some high-mettled Brazilian considered that he had been insulted. A cordon of waiters and the managers soon adjusted that. It was between three and four in the morning when we finally left; and I was very tired.
It was decided that we should meet for dinner; and since it was almost daylight I was glad when we had seen our ladies to their apartment and returned to the hotel.
CHAPTER XXII
A MORNING IN PARIS
I shall never forget my first morning in Paris—the morning that I woke up after about two hours’ sleep or less, prepared to put in a hard day at sight-seeing because Barfleur had a program which must be adhered to, and because he could only be with me until Monday, when he had to return. It was a bright day, fortunately, a little hazy and chill, but agreeable. I looked out of the window of my very comfortable room on the fifth floor which gave out on a balcony overhanging the Rue St. Honoré, and watched the crowd of French people below coming to shop or to work. It would be hard to say what makes the difference between a crowd of Englishmen and a crowd of Frenchmen, but there is a difference. It struck me that these French men and women walked faster and that their every movement was more spirited than either that of the English or the Americans. They looked more like Americans, though, than like the English; and they were much more cheerful than either, chatting and talking as they came. I was interested to see whether I could make the maid understand that I wanted coffee and rolls without talking French, but the wants of American travelers are an old story to French maids; and no sooner did I say café and make the sign of drinking from a cup than she said, “Oh, oui, oui, oui—oh, oui, oui, oui!” and disappeared. Presently the coffee was brought me—and rolls and butter and hot milk; and I ate my breakfast as I dressed.
About nine o’clock Barfleur arrived with his program. I was to walk in the Tuileries—which is close at hand—while he got a shave. We were to go for a walk in the Rue de Rivoli as far as a certain bootmaker’s, who was to make me a pair of shoes for the Riviera. Then we were to visit a haberdasher’s or two; and after that go straight about the work of sight-seeing—visiting the old bookstalls on the Seine, the churches of St. Étienne-du-Mont, Notre-Dame, Sainte-Chapelle, stopping at Foyot’s for lunch; and thereafter regulating our conduct by the wishes of several guests who were to appear—Miss N. and Mr. McG., two neo-impressionist artists, and a certain Mme. de B., who would not mind showing me around Paris if I cared for her company.
We started off quite briskly, and my first adventure in Paris led me straight to the gardens of the Tuileries, lying west of the Louvre. If any one wanted a proper introduction to Paris, I should recommend this above all others. Such a noble piece of gardening as this is the best testimony France has to offer of its taste, discrimination, and sense of the magnificent. I should say, on mature thought, that we shall never have anything like it in America. We have not the same lightness of fancy. And, besides, the Tuileries represents a classic period. I recall walking in here and being struck at once with the magnificent proportions of it all—the breadth and stately lengths of its walks, the utter wonder and charm of its statuary—snow-white marble nudes standing out on the green grass and marking the circles, squares and paths of its entire length. No such charm and beauty could be attained in America because we would not permit the public use of the nude in this fashion. Only the fancy of a monarch could create a realm such as this; and the Tuileries and the Place du Carrousel and the Place de la Concorde and the whole stretch of lovely tree-lined walks and drives that lead to the Arc de Triomphe and give into the Bois de Boulogne speak loudly of a noble fancy untrammeled by the dictates of an inartistic public opinion. I was astonished to find how much of the heart of Paris is devoted to public usage in this manner. It corresponds, in theory at least, to the space devoted to Central Park in New York—but this is so much more beautiful, or at least it is so much more in accord with the spirit of Paris. These splendid walks, devoted solely to the idling pedestrian, and set with a hundred sculptural fancies in marble, show the gay, pleasure-loving character of the life which created them. The grand monarchs of France knew what beauty was, and they had the courage and the taste to fulfil their desires. I got just an inkling of it all in the fifteen minutes that I walked here in the morning sun, waiting for Barfleur to get his shave.
From here we went to a Paris florist’s where Madame pinned bright boutonnières on our coats, and thence to the bootmaker’s where Madame again assisted her husband in the conduct of his business. Everywhere I went in Paris I was struck by this charming unity in the conduct of business between husband and wife and son and daughter. We talk much about the economic independence of women in America. It seems to me that the French have solved it in the only way that it can be solved. Madame helps her husband in his business and they make a success of it together. Monsieur Galoyer took the measurements for my shoes, but Madame entered them in a book; and to me the shop was fifty times as charming for her presence. She was pleasingly dressed, and the shop looked as though it had experienced the tasteful touches of a woman’s hand. It was clean and bright and smart, and smacked of good housekeeping; and this was equally true of bookstalls, haberdashers’ shops, art-stores, coffee-rooms, and places of public sale generally. Wherever Madame was, and she looked nice, there was a nice store; and Monsieur looked as fat and contented as could reasonably be expected under the circumstances.
The French have made much of the Seine