“There is an excellent type; look at her.”
“Now you see the chairs out in front. They are this way all over Paris.”
I was looking at the interesting restaurant life, which never really seems to be interrupted anywhere in Paris. One can always find a dozen chairs, if not fifty or a hundred, somewhere out on the sidewalk, under the open sky or a glass roof, with little stone-topped tables beside them, the crowd surging to and fro in front. Here one can sit and have one’s coffee, liqueur, sandwich. Everybody seems to do it; it is as common as walking in the streets.
We whirled through street after street, partaking of this atmosphere, and finally swung up in front of a rather plain hotel, which was close to the Avenue de l’Opéra, on the corner of the Rue St. Honoré and the Rue de l’Echelle. Our luggage was quickly distributed, and I was shown into my room by a maid who could not speak English. I unlocked my belongings and rapidly changed my clothes, while X., breathing mightily, fully arrayed, soon appeared, saying that I should await him at the door below, where he would arrive with our guests. I did so, and in fifteen minutes he returned, the taxi spinning up out of a steady stream that was flowing by. I think my head was dizzy with the whirl of impressions which I was garnering, but I did my best to keep a sane view of things, and to get my impressions as sharp and clear as I could.
I am satisfied of one thing in this world, and that is that the commonest intelligence is very frequently confused or hypnotized or overpersuaded by certain situations, and that the weaker ones are ever full of the wildest forms of illusion. We talk about the sanity of life. I question whether it exists. Mostly it is a succession of confusing, disturbing impressions which are only rarely valid. This night I know I was moving in a sort of maze, and when I stepped into the taxi and was introduced to two ladies, I easily succumbed to what was obviously their great beauty.
Greuze has painted over and over the type that I saw before me—soft, buxom, ruddy womanhood. I think the two may have been respectively twenty-four and twenty-six. The elder was smaller than the younger, although both were of good size, and not so ruddy; but both were plump, round-faced, dimpled, and with a wealth of brownish-black hair, white teeth, smooth, plump arms, necks, and shoulders. Their chins were adorably rounded, their lips red, and their eyes laughing and gay. They began laughing and chattering the moment I entered, extending their soft, white hands, and saying things in French which I could not understand. X. was smiling, beaming through his monocle in an amused, superior way. The older girl was arrayed in pearl-colored silk, with a black mantilla spangled with silver, and the younger had a dress of peachblow hue, with a white lace mantilla, that was also spangled, and they breathed a faint perfume.
I shall never forget the grand air with which this noble band went into the Café de Paris. We were in fine feather, and the ladies radiated a charm and a flavor which immediately attracted attention. This brilliant café was aglow with lights and alive with people. It is not large in size, and is triangular in shape. The charm of it comes not so much from the luxury of the fittings, which are luxurious enough, but from their exceedingly good taste and the fame of the cuisine. One does not see a bill of fare here that indicates prices. You order what you like, and are charged what is suitable. Champagne is not an essential wine, as it is in some restaurants; you may drink what you please. There is a delicious sparkle and spirit to the place which can spring only from a high sense of individuality. Paris is supposed to provide nothing better than the Café de Paris in so far as food is concerned.
I turned my attention to the elder of the two ladies, who was quite as vivacious, if not quite so forceful, as her younger sister. I never before knew what it meant to sit in a company of this kind, welcomed as a friend, looked to for gaiety as a companion and admirer, and yet not able to say a word in the language of the occasion. There were certain words which could be quickly acquired, such as “beautiful,” “charming,” “very delightful,” and so on, for which X. gave me the French equivalent, and then I could make complimentary remarks, which he would translate for all, and the ladies would say things in reply which would come to me by the same medium. It went gaily enough, for the conversation would not have been of a high order if I had been able to speak French. X. objected to being used constantly as an interpreter, and when he became stubborn and chatted gaily without stopping to explain, I was compelled to fall back on the resources of looks, smiles, and gestures. It interested me to see how quick these women were to adapt themselves to the difficulties of the situation. They were constantly laughing and chaffing between themselves, looking at me and saying obviously flattering things, and then laughing at my discomfiture in not being able to understand. The elder explained what certain objects were by lifting them up and insisting on the French name. X. was constantly telling me of the remarks they made at my expense, and how sad they thought it was that I could not speak French.
We departed finally for the Folies-Bergère, where the newest sensation of Paris, Mistinguett, was playing. She proved to be a brilliant hoyden to look upon; a gay, slim, yellow-haired tomboy who seemed to fascinate the large audience by her boyish manners and her wayward air. There was a brilliant chorus in spangled silks and satins. The vaudeville acts were about as good as they are anywhere. I did not think that the performance was any better than one might see in one or two places in New York, though of course the humor was much broader. Now and then one of their remarkable bons mots was translated for me by X. just to give me an inkling of the character of the place. Back of the seats was a great lobby, or promenade, where some of the demi-monde of Paris were congregated—beautiful creatures, in many instances, and as unconventional as you please. I was particularly struck with the smartness of their costumes and the cheerfulness of their faces. The companion type in London and New York is somewhat colder-looking. Their eyes snapped with Gallic intelligence, and they walked as though the whole world held their point of view and no other.
From here at midnight we left for the Abbaye Thélème, and there I encountered the best that Paris has to show in the way of that gaiety and color and beauty and smartness for which it is famous. One really ought to say a great deal about the Abbaye Thélème, because it is the last word, the quintessence, of midnight excitement and international savoir-faire. The Russian and the Brazilian, the Frenchman, the American, the Englishman, the German, and the Italian—all these meet here on common ground. I saw much of restaurant life in Paris while I was there, but nothing better than this. Like the Café de Paris, it was very small when compared with restaurants of similar repute in New York and London. I fancy it was not more than sixty feet square; only it was not square, but pentagonal, almost circular. To begin with, the tables were around the walls, with seats which had the wall for the back; and then, as the guests poured in, the interior space was filled with tables brought in for the purpose. Later in the morning, when the guests began to leave, these tables were taken out again, and the space was devoted to dancing and entertainers.