The Sunny Side of Diplomatic Life, 1875-1912 Part 31

Twenty-five thousand francs! He would not or could not pay. The authorities put all his worldly goods, which they valued at twenty thousand francs, up at auction, and went, on the day of the sale, belted with their official scarfes and armed with pretentions, and commenced the farce of the auction. An old kitchen table was the first thing to be sold. Two francs were offered. "Going, going, go--!" when a voice struck in, "_Twenty-five thousand francs._" This sudden turn nonplussed the authorities. The auction was called off and came to an untimely end because no one knew exactly what to do.

_May, 1900._

Dear ----,--The opening of the Exposition was a grand affair. I never saw so many people under one roof as there were yesterday at the Salle des Fetes. The order in the streets was something wonderful. The police managed the enormous crowd as if it had been composed of so many tin soldiers.

The ladies of the Diplomatic Corps and the wives of the foreign commissioners sat with Madame Loubet in a tribune, on very hard benches. The President stood on a raised platform overlooking the mult.i.tude, surrounded by his Ministers, his official suite, and the Amba.s.sadors and Foreign Ministers in full uniform. It was a most brilliant sight.

M. Loubet made his speech in as loud a voice as he could command, but I doubt if it was very audible. Several orchestras played before and after the speeches.

Since then I have been many times to the Exposition, and the only fault I can find with it so far is that it is too enormous; but I admire the cleverness of the architects, who have brought Paris into the middle of it and made it a part of it. Both sides of the Seine are utilized in the most practical manner.

Every country has its own superb building in the rue des Nations.

Frederick is the _commisaire_ from Denmark. The Danish Pavilion is the first to be finished and is called a success. We baptized it with great _eclat_. There were speeches and champagne, and the Dane-brog was hoisted amid hurrahs of our compatriots.

The _tapis roulant_ (moving sidewalk) is a very good scheme, as it takes you to every point. As yet people are a little shy about it and will stand and stare a long time before venturing to put their feet on it.

The _fetes_ at this time of the Exposition are overpowering. All the Ministers are outdoing themselves. They think nothing of inviting five hundred people to dinner and serving twenty courses. I sat next to M.

L'Epine, _prefet de police_, and a more restless companion I never had, although when quietly seated in his place he is a most charming one. We had not been five minutes at the table before several telegrams were brought to him. A riot in Montmartre, a fire in the rue St. Honore, or a duel at the ile de Puteaux, and he was up and down, telephoning and telegraphing, until finally before the end of the dinner he disappeared entirely. There were two concerts in different _salons_ during the evening, one vocal and the other orchestral, each guest choosing that which he liked best.

I go every day to the Exposition. There is always something new and interesting. Yesterday it was a lunch with Prince Carl and Princess Ingeborg (our Crown Prince's daughter, who married her handsome cousin of Sweden) at a restaurant called _Restaurant bleu_, under the shadow of the Eiffel Tower. The Prince wished to make the acquaintance of Mr.

Eiffel, and the Swedish Minister, who was present, secured the distinguished architect's company.

He went with us to the very top of his modern tower of Babel, even to his own particular den, which is the highest point, where he alone has the right to go. The sensation of being up in the clouds is not pleasant, and as you change from one elevator to the other and cast your eyes down the giddy s.p.a.ce you tremble. The view of Paris spread out under you is stupendous, but I would not go up there again for worlds.

The princely pair dined with us the same evening _en toilette de ville_, and we went to the rue de Paris to see Sadi-Jako. The j.a.panese Minister, who sat in the box next to us, introduced her when she came in during the _entr'actes_ to pay her respects to him. She is very small, and has the high, shrill voice which the j.a.panese women cultivate. She is the first woman who has ever acted in a j.a.panese theater. Otherwise the acting has always been done by men. Sadi's husband performs also, and in a dreadfully realistic manner. He stabbed himself with a sword, and with such vigor that real blood, so It looked, ran down in bucketfuls over the stage, and he groaned and writhed in his death-throes.

Paris would not be Paris if it did not keep us on the _qui-vive_.

Every kind of celebrity from everywhere is duly lionized. Paris, never Republican at heart, still loves royalty in any shape, and at the merest specimen of it the Parisians are down on their knees.

We have had the heavy-eyed Krueger straight from the Transvaal. Paris made a great fuss over him, but he took his lionization very calmly.

At the Opera people cheered and waved their handkerchiefs. He came forward to the edge of the _ioge_, bowed stiffly, and looked intensely bored. The _protocole_ furnishes the same program for each lion. A dinner at the Elysees, a promenade, a gala opera, _et voila_.

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 Elysees 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 amus.e.m.e.nts than driving about the streets from morning to night. The Elysees must have a hundred carriages in use for them. Last evening there was a gala performance at the Grand Opera for the _blase_ 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'Americaine_. 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 a.s.sa.s.sination 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 Generals, _la femme Voilee_, the disappearance of Esterhazy (stamped as a first-cla.s.s 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.

Bjornstjerne Bjornson, 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 n.o.blest 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 Bjornson opened his arms. Dreyfus fell weeping into them and sobbed, "_Merci! Merci! Vous avez cru en moi_"--Bjornson 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.

[Ill.u.s.tration: BJoRNSON From a photograph taken in 1901.]

Bjornson gave a tea-party at his daughter's house in Pa.s.sy, 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 Bjornson good-by, he stooped down and kissed me on my forehead before the roomful of people. Imagine my embarra.s.sment at this unexpected and gratuitous token of friendship, but, the kisser being Bjornson, 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 _fete_ in the Elysees 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 ma.s.s 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 j.a.panese theater where Sadi-Jako and her troupe played their _repertoire_. In the center was a Grecian temple, before which a ballet of pretty girls danced on the gra.s.s 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 a.s.sert 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 _fete_ 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 b.u.t.tonhole. 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.