CHAPTER VII
THE BITER, THE BITTEN, AND THE UN-BITTEN
"Mais tout le monde," began the chasseur of the Hotel desMichetons--"mais, monsieur, tout le grand monde----"
"Exactly," said I, complacently. "Le grand monde means the great world;and," I added, "the world is a planet of no unusual magnitude, inhabitedby bipeds whose entire existence is passed in attempting to getsomething for nothing."
The chasseur of the Hotel des Michetons bowed, doubtfully.
"You request me," I continued, "not to forget you when I go away. Whyshould I not forget you? Are you historical, are you antique, are yourococo, are you a Rosacrucian?"
The chasseur, amiably perplexed, twirled his gold-banded cap between hisfingers.
"Have you," I asked, "ever done one solitary thing for me besidestouching your expensive cap?"
The chasseur touched his cap, smiled, and hopefully held out his largeempty hand.
"Go to the devil," I said gently; "it is not for what you have done butfor what you have not done that I give you this silver piece," and Ipaid the tribute which I despised myself for paying. Still, his gaysmile and prompt salute are certainly worth something to see, but whattheir precise value may be you can only determine when, on returning toNew York, you hear a gripman curse a woman for crossing the sacredtracks of the Metropolitan Street Railroad Company. So, with my daughterDulcima and my daughter Alida, and with a wagon-load of baggage, I leftthe gorgeously gilded Hotel des Michetons--for these three reasons:
Number one: it was full of Americans.
Number two: that entire section of Paris resembled a slice of theWaldorf-Astoria.
Number three: I wanted to be rid of the New York _Herald_. Surelysomewhere in Paris there existed French newspapers, French people, andFrench speech. I meant to discover them or write and complain to the_Outlook_.
The new hotel I had selected was called the Hotel de l'Univers. I hadnoticed it while wandering out of the Luxembourg Gardens. It appeared tobe a well situated, modest, clean hotel, and not only thoroughlyrespectable--which the great gilded Hotel des Michetons was not--butalso typically and thoroughly French. So I took an apartment on thefirst floor and laid my plans to dine out every evening with mydaughters.
They were naturally not favourably impressed with the Hotel del'Univers, but I insisted on trying it for a week, desiring that mydaughters should have at least a brief experience in a typical Frenchhotel.
On the third day of our stay my daughters asked me why the guests at theHotel de l'Univers all appeared to be afflicted in one way or another. Imyself had noticed that many of the guests wore court-plaster on handsand faces, and some even had their hands bandaged in slings.
I thought, too, that the passers-by in the street eyed the modest hotelwith an interest somewhat out of proportion to its importance. But I setthat down to French alertness and inbred curiosity, and dismissed thesubject from my mind. The hotel was pretty clean and highlyrespectable. Titled names were not wanting among the guests, and theperfect courtesy of the proprietor, his servants, and of the guests wasmost refreshing after the carelessness and bad manners of the crowds atthe Hotel des Michetons.
"Can it be possible?" said Alida, as we three strolled out of our hotelinto the Boulevard St. Michel.
"What?" I asked.
"That we are in the Latin Quarter? Why this boulevard is beautiful, andI had always pictured the Latin Quarter as very dreadful."
"It's the inhabitants that are dreadful," said I with a shudder as ablack-eyed young girl, in passing, gave me an amused and exceedinglysaucy smile.
The "Quarter!" It is beautiful--one of the most beautiful portions ofParis. The Luxembourg Gardens are the centre and heart of the LatinQuarter--these ancient gardens, with their groves of swaying chestnutsall in bloom, quaint weather-beaten statues in a grim semicircle lookingout over the flowering almonds on the terrace to the great blue basin ofthe fountain where toy yachts battle with waves almost an inch high.
Here the big drab-colored pigeons strut and coo in the sunshine, herethe carp splash in the mossy fountain of Marie de Medici, here come thenursemaids with their squalling charges, to sit on the marble benchesand coquette with the red-trousered soldiers, who are the proper andnatural prey of all nursemaids in all climes.
"What is that banging and squeaking?" asked Alida, as we entered thefoliage of the southern terrace. "Not Punch and Judy--oh, I haven't seenPunch since I was centuries younger! Do let us go, papa!"
Around the painted puppet box children sat, open-mouthed. Back of themcrowded parents and nurses and pretty girls and gay young officers,while, from the pulpit, Punch held forth amid screams of infantiledelight, or banged his friends with his stick in the same old fashionthat delighted us all--centuries since.
"Such a handsome officer," said Alida under her breath.
The officer in question, a dragoon, was looking at Dulcima in thatslightly mischievous yet well-bred manner peculiar to European officers.
Dulcima did not appear to observe him.
"Why--why, that is Monsieur de Barsac, who came over on our ship!" saidAlida, plucking me by the sleeve. "Don't you remember how nice he waswhen we were so--so sea--miserable? You really ought to bow to him,papa. If you don't, I will."
I looked at the dragoon and caught his eye--such a bright, intelligent,mischievous eye!--and I could not avoid bowing.
Up he came, sword clanking, white-gloved hand glued to the polishedvisor of his crimson cap, and--the girls were delighted.
Now what do you suppose that Frenchman did? He gave up his entire day toshowing us the beauties of the Rive Gauche.
Under his generous guidance my daughters saw what few tourists seeintelligently--the New Sorbonne, with its magnificent mural decorationsby Puvis de Chavannes; we saw the great white-domed Observatory, piledup in the sky like an Eastern temple, and the beautiful old palace ofthe Luxembourg. Also, we beheld the Republican Guards, _a cheval_,marching out of their barracks on the Rue de Tournon; and a splendidglittering company of cavalry they were, with their silver helmets,orange-red facings, white gauntlets, and high, polished boots--thepicked men of all the French forces, as far as physique is concerned.
In the late afternoon haze the dome of the Pantheon, towering over theLatin Quarter, turned to purest cobalt in the sky. Under its majesticshadow the Boulevard St. Michel ran all green and gold with gas-jetsalready lighted in lamps and restaurants and the scores of students'cafes which line the main artery of the "Quartier Latin."
"I wish," said Alida, "that it were perfectly proper for us to walkalong those terraces."
Captain de Barsac appeared extremely doubtful, but entirely at ourdisposal.
"You know what our students are, monsieur," he said, twisting his shortblond moustache; "however--if monsieur wishes----?"
So, with my daughters in the centre, and Captain de Barsac and myselfthrown out in strong flanking parties, we began our march.
The famous cafes of the Latin Quarter were all ablaze with electricityand gas and colored incandescent globes. On the terraces hundreds oftables and chairs stood, occupied by students in every imaginablecivilian costume, although the straight-brimmed stovepipe and the_beret_ appeared to be the favorite headgear. At least a third of thethrong was made up of military students from the Polytechnic, fromFontainebleau, and from Saint-Cyr. Set in the crowded terraces likebunches of blossoms were chattering groups of girls--bright-eyed,vivacious, beribboned and befrilled young persons, sipping thepetit-verre or Amer-Picon, gossiping, babbling, laughing like daintyexotic birds. To and fro sped the bald-headed, white-aproned waiters,balancing trays full of glasses brimming with red and blue and amberliquids.
Here was the Cafe d'Harcourt, all a-glitter, with music playingsomewhere inside--the favorite resort of the medical students from theSorbonne, according to Captain de Barsac. Here was the Cafe de laSource, with its cascade of falling water and its miniature mill-wheelturning under a crimson glow of light; here was the famous CafeVachette, celebra
ted as the centre of all Latin Quarter mischief; and,opposite to it, blazed the lights of the "CAFE DES BLEAUS," so calledbecause haunted almost exclusively by artillery officers from the greatschool of Fontainebleau.
Up the boulevard and down the boulevard moved the big double-deckedtram-cars, horns sounding incessantly; cabs dashed up to the cafes,deposited their loads of students or pretty women, then darted awaytoward the river, their lamps shining like stars.
It was truly a fairy scene, with the electric lights playing on thefoliage of the trees, turning the warm tender green of the chestnutleaves to a wonderful pale bluish tint, and etching the pavementsunderfoot with exquisite Chinese shadows.
"It is a shame that this lovely scene should not be entirelyrespectable," said Alida, resentfully.
"Vice," murmured de Barsac to me, "could not exist unless it were madeattractive."
As far as the surface of the life before us was concerned, there wasnothing visible to shock anybody; and, under escort, there is no earthlyreason why decent women of any age should not enjoy the spectacle of the"BOUL' MICH." on a night in springtime.
An innocent woman, married or unmarried, ought not to detect anythingunpleasant in the St. Michel district; but, alas! what is known as"Smart Society" is so preternaturally wise in these piping times o'wisdom, that the child is not only truly the father of the man, but alsohis instructor and interpreter--to that same man's astonishment andhorror. It may always have been so--even before the days when ourtheatres were first licensed to instruct our children in object lessonsof the seven deadly sins--but I cannot recollect the time when, as ayoungster, I was tolerantly familiar with the scenes now nightly offeredto our children through the courtesy of our New York theatre managers.
Slowly we turned to retrace our steps, strolling up the boulevardthrough the fragrant May evening, until we came to the gilded railingwhich encircles the Luxembourg Gardens from the School of Mines to thePalais-du-Senat.
Here Captain De Barsac took leave of us with all the delightful andengaging courtesy of a well-bred Frenchman; and he seemed to be gratefulfor the privilege of showing us about over a district as tiresomelyfamiliar to him as his own barracks.
I could do no less than ask him to call on us, though his devotion toDulcima both on shipboard and here made me a trifle wary.
"We are stopping," said I, "at the Hotel de l'Univers----"
He started and gazed at me so earnestly that I asked him why he did so.
"The--the Hotel de l'Univers?" he repeated, looking from me to Dulcimaand from Dulcima to Alida.
"Is it not respectable?" I demanded, somewhat alarmed.
"--But--but perfectly, monsieur. It is, of course, the very best hotelof _that_ kind----"
"_What_ kind?" I asked.
"Why--for the purpose. Ah, monsieur, I had no idea that you came toParis for _that_. I am so sorry, so deeply grieved to hear it. But ofcourse all will be well----"
He stopped and gazed earnestly at Dulcima.
"It is not--not _you_, mademoiselle, is it?"
My children and I stared at each other in consternation.
"What in heaven's name is the matter with that hotel?" I asked.
Captain de Barsac looked startled.
"Is there anything wrong with the guests there?" asked Dulcima, faintly.
"No--oh, no--only, of course, they are all under treatment----"
"Under treatment!" I cried nervously. "For what!!!"
"Is it possible," muttered the captain, "that you went to that hotel notknowing? Did you not notice anything peculiar about the guests there?"
"They all seem to wear court-plaster or carry their arms in slings,"faltered Dulcima.
"And they come from all over the world--Russia, Belgium, Spain,"murmured Alida nervously. "What do they want?"
"Thank heaven!" cried De Barsac, radiantly; "then you are not there forthe treatment!"
"Treatment for what?" I groaned.
"Hydrophobia!"
I wound my arms around my shrinking children.
"It is the hotel where all the best people go who come to Paris forPasteur's treatment," he said, trying to look grave; but Dulcima threwback her pretty head and burst into an uncontrollable gale of laughter;and there we stood on the sidewalk, laughing and laughing while passingstudents grinned in sympathy and a cloaked policeman on the cornersmiled discreetly and rubbed his chin.
That evening, after my progeny were safely asleep, casting a furtiveglance around me I slunk off to my old cafe--the Cafe Jaune. I hadn'tbeen there in over twenty years; I passed among crowded tables, skulkedthrough the entrance, and slid into my old corner as though I had nevermissed an evening there.
They brought me a Bock. As I lifted the icy glass to my lips, over thefoam I beheld Williams, smiling.
"Eh bien, mon vieux?" he said, pleasantly.
"By gad, Williams, this seems natural--especially with you sittingnext."
"It sure does," he said.
I pointed toward a leather settee. "Archie used to sit over there withhis best girl. Do you remember? And that was Dillon's seat--and Smithyand Palmyre--Oh, Lord!--And Seabury always had that other corner."... Ipaused, lost in happy reminiscences. "What has become of Jack Seabury?"I inquired.
"The usual."
"Married?"
"Oh, very much."
"Where does he live."
"In Philadelphia."
I mused for a while.
"So he's married, too," I said, thoughtfully. "Well--it's a funny life,isn't it, Williams."
"I've never seen a funnier. Seabury's marriage was funny too--I mean hiscourtship."
I looked up at Williams, suspiciously.
"Is this one of your professional literary stories?"
"It's a true one. What's the harm in my enveloping it in a professionalglamour?"
"None," I said, resignedly; "go ahead."
"All right, mon vieux."
The Adventures of a Modest Man Page 10
