at this period of the war the restaurants of paris—and no other city is so famous for its restaurants—were not appreciably curtailed in their food supplies. they still served the well-seasoned, dainty dishes of the french chefs, though their clientèle was considerably smaller in numbers.
you could still get a delicious cut off the joint at boeuf à la mode near the palais royal; or you could have a choice of many luscious dishes at voison's well-known dining place. if you preferred french society, you could still go to larue's aristocratic restaurant, opposite the madeleine, patronized by the society of paris. prunier's oyster house was apparently as busy as it had been in the piping times of peace and tourists; and the most deliciously cooked fish in europe—according to my taste—was still being served at marguery's under the title of sole à la marguery.
the less pretentious eating places of the modest diner, such as duval's dining-rooms or the bouillon boulant, served good meals at reasonable prices. these latter are akin to the child's restaurants in america. but already the food question was beginning to cause some anxiety throughout the world, because of the lessened production and increased consumption due to the millions of men taken from productive occupations who had to be kept fit as fighters.
for this reason i decided one day to see how cheaply i could obtain a satisfying meal during wartime in paris. the diner de paris advertised exceptionally cheap meals, and they seemed to be well patronized, so i entered one of these eating places. the large dining-room was filled to overflowing with a well-dressed throng, no doubt mostly clerks from the adjoining business blocks. here i partook of a tastily cooked meal of soup, roast pork and potatoes, apple pie, and a bottle of milk, all for the munificent sum of twenty-six cents, plus the regulation tip of two cents, most certainly a reasonable price for a good meal in the principal city of a country with the invader on its soil. unfortunately since that time the food situation in all the countries at war has become much more complicated.
the hotels of the first class still kept open doors, and a few of them seemed to have an air of prosperity, but these were very few. many of them who, in the season, considered it "infra-dig" to have more than a small card in the hotel columns of the daily papers, which card never hinted at their prices, had descended to the habit of advertising "special rates during the war." but others still preferred their small, select clientèle—and a deficit—to accepting prosperity obtained by any such plebeian method.
one point noticeable was the fact that unless the traveler carried them himself he saw no gold louis or half-louis, so much in evidence in times of peace. i had brought with me some english gold, but once it disappeared from my hand it never returned. a journalist friend of mine told me he was collecting the equivalent of one hundred dollars in gold to keep for an emergency, and was delighted when i gave him a few sovereigns in exchange for french money. the gold was being gathered in by the government, and today in france only paper money is used in exchange. all the smaller cities issue paper currency in denominations as low as one-quarter franc, or five cents.
among my letters was one of introduction to the director of a large hospital in the rue de la chaise. this hospital was supported by funds collected by la presse, a daily journal of montreal, and so it was partial to any canadian visitors, though it received as patients only french officers and soldiers. the institution was doing much good work, all of which was done by paris medical men, dr. faure, a well-known surgeon, performing most of the operations. my reception was cordial, and i became a regular visitor to its operating theater during my stay in the city.
on one of my early visits i was watching dr. faure remove some dead bone from an old wound of the leg, when a tall, distinguished lady entered. she had donned a sterilized gown over her street dress, and was apparently a visitor like myself. noting that dr. faure's english and my french were both a trifle labored, she, during my visits, acted as interpreter for us, her english having the soft intonation of the educated britisher. she informed me that she was neither doctor nor nurse, but was simply learning something of nursing in order that she could be of service to her country in its need, though she had a little son and daughter of her own to care for. that was the extent of my knowledge of her, though i saw that she was treated with more than ordinary consideration by surgeons, and nurses, one of the younger surgeons, by the way, being a stepson of the idolized joffre.
the last day i visited the hospital she was not there, and as i was leaving paris the following day i left my card for her with one of the sisters, with a word of thanks scribbled upon it for her kindness to a stranger. that afternoon i went to cook's to get my railway tickets, and as i came out of the door this lady stepped from an automobile to enter cook's. recognizing me, she told me that she had been at the hospital after i had left, and had been given my card. she was leaving the following day for switzerland for a two weeks' rest; and hoped that when i returned to paris i would call and meet her husband.
"i should be delighted, madam, but i fear i do not know your name."
"comtesse (countess) de sonlac," she replied.
all the french women were doing their bit. a very clever, cultured woman-journalist whom i met at the home of a high canadian official in paris was leaving in a few days to take a position as cook on an ambulance train in the north of france!
at night the streets of paris were well lit up, even more brightly than those of london, though a little later, after the germans had made a couple of zeppelin raids, the lighting was dimmed. when a raid was expected the police warned the people by the blowing of sirens, and the hurrying about of motor cars under police direction tooting foghorns. the warnings were given when word had been received that zeppelins had been seen going toward paris; and on receiving these warnings the street lights were extinguished, and all other lights that could be seen, including the headlights of motor cars, had to be switched off.
the opera was closed, but most of the theaters were in full swing, for it had been found that the people must have some recreation, and the order issued at the beginning of the war closing all places of amusement had been rescinded. the far-famed and somewhat notorious moulin rouge music hall, well known to all visitors to paris, had been burned a short time before, and had but recently reopened its doors at the folies dramatique in the place république. wandering one evening along the boulevards i came to it, and entered. a very ordinary vaudeville was in progress, equaling neither in quality nor in gayety the performances at the original red mill in montmartre. here and there throughout the evening skits in english were put on, in compliment to their british allies; just as french playlets are common today in the london theaters—a social touch to the entente cordiale.
about ten-thirty i tired of the rather tawdry performance, and made my exit to find the streets in pitch black darkness, only broken here and there by the small side-lights of a flitting automobile or a dim light far back in a boulevard café. a gendarme, with whom i accidentally collided as i strolled slowly along the street, told me that a warning had been sent out that the zeppelins were coming. rain was pattering on the pavement which glistened as the automobiles hurried by, and occasionally searchlights swept overhead, flashing from l'étoile. the people were good naturedly jostling their way along, and as someone near me struck a match to help him grope his way, a giggle was heard and a bright-eyed french girl pulled herself back from the escort who had just kissed her. they apparently were not worrying about the zeppelins that were coming, and so far as i could see neither was anyone else. as the people collided in the dark, jokes and friendly banter were bandied to and fro. someone on the opposite side of the boulevard knocked something down which hit the pavement with a crash, and a gay voice cried:
"c'est un obus! les bodies, les boches!" (it's a shell! the boches, the boches!) and a roar of laughter greeted the remark.
all took the expected raid as a joke; and yet a few nights before the zeppelins had reached paris and had done some damage to property and life by dropping what the parisians gaily call "a few visiting cards." but this attack reached only the outskirts of the city, though the inhabitants had no way of knowing that such would be the case.
the following day i had dinner with some friends who live on the champs elysées, and the hostess was envying one of her maids who had had "the good fortune" to be spending the previous night with her family on the outskirts of the city, and had seen the zeppelins!
in the more than two years since that time, i have been in london during a number of air raids, some by zeppelins and others by aeroplanes. the last was on july 7, 1917, on which occasion twenty-two planes sailed over london, dropping bombs and doing considerable damage in broad daylight. the people of london accepted these raids as spectacles too precious to miss. i was writing a letter in the overseas officers' club in pall mall at the moment when i received my first intimation that anything out of the ordinary was happening. this intimation came to me by my noticing that everyone in the club, men and women alike, was rushing into the streets to see the german planes overhead, surrounded by the bursting shells of our anti-aircraft guns. only in the immediate neighborhood of the exploding bombs was anything but curiosity shown by the populace. the spots where the bombs struck attracted the curious during the rest of the daylight hours.
all of which goes to show that human nature is much the same the world over—except in germany, where by some kind of perverted reasoning the people seem to imagine that these child-mutilating, women-killing raids cause widespread terror amongst the english and french people. the real result is disgust for such barbarous methods, hatred against the huns who employ them, and a more firm determination on the part of the allies to continue the war until the german perpetrators of these atrocities, realizing the enormity of their offenses against the laws of civilization and real culture, decide to honor their treaties, abide by the laws of nations, and keep faith with the other people of the world.
on sunday morning i visited napoleon's old church, the madeleine, noting as i walked along the streets that any business houses with german names had an extra allowance of french and allied flags across their fronts. these air raids made them nervous! the madeleine was jammed to the doors, many of those present being, like myself, strangers in the city. the service was an elaborate high mass, and i found it high in more ways than one, for four collections were taken up: the first for the seats; the second for the clergy; the third for les blessés—the wounded; and the fourth for the soldiers. i could not help but think that they should have taken up a fifth from the soldiers, the clergy, and the wounded, for the rest of us, for when i got outside i possessed only my gloves and a sense of duty well done!
that afternoon i visited the bois de boulogne. thousands were there. it might easily have been a sunday during any of the previous forty years of peace. on superficial inspection one could not see any sign of the injury done to the trees due to many of them being cut down at the beginning of the war in preparation for the defense of paris. the tea houses of the bois were doing their usual business, and it was just as difficult as at other times to find a table.
two of the famous sights of paris to which the tourist always goes are napoleon's tomb in the invalides, and notre dame. at the former in ordinary times one will always find a crowd of sightseers of various nationalities, admiring the beauty of the immense porphyry sarcophagus and its surroundings; dreaming of napoleon's days of greatness as a youthful general in italy, or as dictator of the whole of europe except britain; or giving a pitying thought to his last days at st. helena. today, as i strolled in, few were there, and they were mostly the veterans who live in the invalides, and i have no doubt their thoughts consisted of hopes that another would arise with the military genius of napoleon to drive the invader from the soil of france, and to once more dictate terms from berlin.
on my return i went for a moment into the louvre from which most of the art treasures, such as the venus of milo, have been removed to underground vaults, safe from bombs dropped by the destruction-loving hun. and a painting that i looked for, but did not find, was leonardo da vinci's mona lisa, the lady of the mysterious smile, the stealing of which had caused such a furore in the world of art. it had just been returned before my last visit to the louvre.
the following day i wandered across the seine and viewed again that magnificent gothic pile, the church of notre dame de paris. it happened to be a holy day and immense crowds were entering. someone said to me that the war seems to have brought back religion to the spirit of france. after all, there are few people in the world who, when beset by troubles, do not glance upward at times and utter a prayer that the supreme being will take notice of them and have pity on them. i joined those entering, and mingled with them as they made their way into the solemn interior of the great edifice. it seemed that thousands were there. those entering were directed in such a way that they passed in order before two immense lifelike paintings arranged on one side of the church, one above the other—the last supper, and the crucifixion. before these paintings myriads of candles were burning, and as the people passed each took one or two or three more candles and lit them. it was a splendid, solemn, and impressive spectacle.
to send telegrams or cables from france was a most troublesome procedure. you had to get the written consent of the military police after they had interviewed you as to your objects in sending the message, and had scrutinized the message carefully to find if, perchance, you had hidden somewhere within it information that might be of service to the enemy.
but even this was an easy matter compared with getting out of paris once you had entered. for to get out was very much more difficult than to get in. you had first to report to the police station nearest to your hotel that you were leaving the city. then you had to go to the office of the consul of the country to which you were going, explain the purpose of your change of residence, and have the consul or his representative visé your passport. then finally you had to call at the prefecture of police—akin to our central police station in a large city—and again get your papers certified. each of these moves meant considerable time lost, sometimes as much as a day, since long lines of people were at each of these places hours before they opened for business.
on my departure, during my visit to the british consulate, i had an amusing experience that is worth relating. as i turned into the court of the building in which the consulate is situated, an automobile drove up, and out stepped a stylish and pretty woman of perhaps thirty years. she followed me into the court, and after looking about her doubtfully for a minute, she turned and asked if i could direct her to the office of the british consul. i had walked there the day before to "learn the ropes," and so knew my way about. i replied that it was up a couple of flights of stairs, but as i was just going there i should be pleased to show her the way.
we went up the two flights of stairs, and reaching the waiting room found some thirty or forty people ahead of us. we took our place in the line to await our turn, which meant a delay of an hour or two. as the people waited conversation was quite free, as was also criticism of the consulate for not having more help at a time of pressure such as the present. the lady whom i had shown up was next to me in the line. she looked upon me as an american compatriot, for she was from new york, and apparently felt quite safe in carrying on a conversation with a stranger in a strange city. she mentioned that she was on her way back from spain to england.
"spain," i said in some surprise. "might i be curious enough to ask why a young woman like yourself should be traveling in spain in times like the present?"
"oh, i'm a eugenist," she replied readily, "and i have been in spain studying the effects of the war on the spanish people in relation to eugenics for a book i am preparing for publication. i am going to spend some time in london, in the british museum, looking up some data to complete my manuscript." and then quite voluntarily she went on to criticize the majority of all the cherished institutions of society, and as she became more enthusiastic her criticisms became more free, more radical, almost nihilistic. she ended in a tirade against civilization as we know it, not by any means becoming at all boisterous, but simply youthfully animated in her fault-finding with the world in general.
i could hardly believe my ears. here was a pretty american woman of thirty, highly educated, whose outlook on life was more nihilistic than that of the most extreme german socialist. but finally she capped the climax by telling me frankly that she was an anarchist; had taken part in two anarchistic plots in italy; and promised me that the next ruler who was going to pay the death penalty for his tyranny was king alfonso of spain. beginning to feel certain that she was "ragging" me, i asked her jokingly if she expected me to believe her.
"does it sound like something that a young woman would claim were it untrue?" she asked, and i was forced to admit that it did not. "i will tell you something further," she continued, "i dare not return to new york at the present time or i should be put in jail. for the last time i was there i was jailed for some of my writings. i obtained my freedom on bail of three thousand dollars, and, hearing that i was to be railroaded to prison, i jumped it."
"why do you tell a stranger like myself this story?" i asked. "how do you know that i am not going to report you to the police?"
"i know you are not going to report me to the police," she answered coolly, "because if you did i would shoot you."
"do you carry much of your artillery on your person?" i asked, laughing. and seeing that i was taking it all as a joke, she joined in the laugh.
"it's your turn, madam," said the porter to her, and she passed out of the line into the office of the consul, giving me a charming smile and curtsy as she left.
whether her story was the result of mischief, insanity, or conviction, i really have no idea; but i do know that i have in my life passed many more tedious and less interesting hours than the one i passed while awaiting my turn at the office of the british consul that day.
