Kitabı oku: «The Camp Fire Girls in Glorious France», sayfa 6
CHAPTER XI
A Day in Paris
A few days later the Camp Fire girls and their chaperons motored from Versailles into Paris for the day.
The little town of Versailles, once famous as the abode of royalty, is only a short distance from the French capital and easily reached by street car or automobile.
As Mrs. Burton, Miss Patricia and the entire group of girls started off together, they composed a somewhat formidable party. Their plan was to spend a few hours together and later to separate to fulfill a number of different engagements.
There was a particular reason for today’s excursion, which took place upon a Saturday forever to be remembered. The Supreme Council of the Peace Conference was to have its first meeting.
Although the Conference was not to assemble until afternoon, by twelve o’clock the Camp Fire party found the streets crowded with sight-seers, soldiers and civilians, men and women of many nations.
Foreigners who had been living in Paris during the four years of the war, with Germany sometimes knocking almost at her gates, had found a new characteristic in the Latin city. The Paris of the first few days of the great war, with her sudden burst of passion and unrestraint, had altered to a soberer Paris. Calm under attack, even under apparent defeat, she had given the world an extraordinary example of courage and steadfastness.
As Paris had borne her discomfiture, so she bore her present triumph.
Today the girls were surprised to find how little excitement there seemed to be in spite of the number of people to be seen.
The Allied representatives, who formed the Supreme Council of the Peace Conference, were to have a warm and hospitable welcome from the citizens of Paris. But there was no evidence of the spontaneous joy and enthusiasm which had greeted President and Mrs. Wilson several weeks before upon their first arrival in the city.
After an early luncheon the Camp Fire party went directly to a house near the Quai d’Orsay where Senator Duval had secured them seats upon a little balcony overlooking the bridge and the long windows of the “Salle de la Paix,” in the French Foreign Office, where the formal opening of the Conference would take place.
From their places on the veranda they could look down upon the spectators swarming back and forth, but restrained by the double line of French gendarmes who were to keep the streets clear for the approach of the delegates.
The winter afternoon was unexpectedly brilliant with a clear blue sky and bright sunshine. Far up and down the River Seine were the series of beautiful bridges which connect the two sides of the City of Paris. Little boats were riding peacefully at anchor near the quais. Glancing upward one beheld the skyline of the golden and white city. As many of the houses and public buildings of Paris are built either of white stone or yellow cement, Paris often appears white and gold in the sunlight.
“Do you think we will be able to recognize the delegations as they drive toward the Foreign Office?” Peggy Webster inquired a little breathlessly. In spite of her ordinary self control she had lost her usual color and was pale with emotion.
Betraying a good deal of only partially suppressed excitement herself, Mrs. Burton smiled and nodded in response.
“I think you and Bettina and I shall at least recognize President Wilson. Aunt Patricia is such a partisan of the French, she is probably more interested to discover Clemenceau, France’s remarkable old Premier, who is known as ‘The Tiger.’ But look!”
It was now quarter of three o’clock.
At this moment a carriage was seen to drive up before the steps of the Foreign Office. The troops began blowing a fanfare of trumpets. The carriage stopped and several small men in black frock coats got out. These were the Japanese delegates to the Conference. They were followed by the Siamese and then the East Indians in their picturesque turbans.
Suddenly one appreciated the Allies in the great European war had not been merely the four nations which had borne the brunt of the fighting. They represented eighteen nations from every quarter of the globe; for the first time in the world’s history they were to meet this afternoon in the interest of a world peace.
Later other delegates continued to arrive, the Camp Fire girls leaning perilously over their balcony to watch them, Miss Patricia and Mrs. Burton crowding close behind.
All at once a different emotion swept over the crowd in the street.
Bettina Graham turned to clutch Mrs. Burton by the arm.
“President Wilson!”
There was no need for her explanation. At this instant the American girls were convinced that the fanfare of trumpets was expressing a more ardent welcome. Everywhere faces had brightened, women were seen holding up their babies in their arms. The people in the streets and from the windows of the houses nearby, were making more of a demonstration.
Through the clear air, loud shouts were resounding, “Vive le Wilson! Vive le Wilson!”
A tall man, holding a top hat in his hand, and with his hair almost white, smiled and bowed. A moment later he also disappeared up the steps of the French Foreign Office.
Ten minutes after, at exactly three o’clock in the afternoon, the French President Poincaré made his appearance.
When he entered the Foreign Office the outside doors were closed.
Almost immediately the crowds in the streets began to disperse.
The French President was to make an address of welcome to the visiting delegates. It might be hours before the famous guests to the French capital would again reappear in the streets.
“Do you think we had best wait here sometime longer until the way is clear, Aunt Patricia?” Mrs. Burton inquired. ”All of us have a number of important matters to attend to before we return to Versailles, but I am always afraid of crowds!”
“Then you should never have set foot in Paris today. I told you that you were not strong enough,” Miss Patricia returned unsympathetically. “So far as I am concerned I am obliged to be off at once. Sally, I believe you wish to come with me. Bettina, you and Alice Ashton and Vera are to go with Marguerite Arnot to meet several of her friends. I believe, Peggy, that you and Mary Gilchrist are to remain with Yvonne and have tea with some acquaintances of hers. Polly, as usual you have an appointment alone. Remember you are to be responsible for three of the girls and I will meet the others. We are all to be at home for dinner in Versailles this evening at seven o’clock.”
As if she were a Major-General, having issued her command Miss Patricia, followed by Sally Ashton, departed.
A few moments later the others went down into the street together, but separated beyond the bridge. Mrs. Burton, Yvonne, Peggy and Mary drove away in one direction, while the other girls, climbing into an ancient horse cab, moved off toward one of the poorer neighborhoods of the city.
Half an hour they drove through the narrow, winding streets of the Latin quarter, the three American girls fascinated by the unique scenes, which were a matter of course to Marguerite Arnot, who had spent years of her life in this vicinity.
Along the route were numerous small art shops filled with posters, some of them continuing to represent war and others the approach of peace. The posters were painted in bold, crude colors, or else in pastels. The figures were sometimes bizarre and sometimes beautiful, but always they were unusual, since the French artist has an unusual gift for poster work.
At one of the small art shops, Bettina insisted that they dismount for a few moments. She had spied a poster in the window which she wished to purchase for Mrs. Burton. Oddly the figure of the woman, although symbolizing France, was not unlike Mrs. Burton. The drawing represented a woman dark and slender, with a small head and heavy black hair, with delicate and large, expressive eyes. In the drawing the woman had gathered into her arms the children of France. Above the woman and children, seated at a small table, were a group of men who were supposed to be writing the terms of a new world peace. The idea of the poster undoubtedly was that no matter what the peace terms might be, France would continue to protect her children. It was entitled “Glorious France.”
Beyond this art shop, a few blocks further on, Marguerite Arnot ordered the cab to stop before a house where lived the friends to whom she was to introduce the three American girls.
Bettina stopped to pay the cabman, who was the typical French cab driver in a tall battered silk hat, the girl drivers having nearly all disappeared soon after the signing of the armistice.
The other girls went on and stood at the door talking to the concierge.
Instead of joining them at once, Bettina stood hesitating at the edge of the sidewalk. Never before had she beheld such a street, or such a house as they were about to enter! The street was narrow and dark, the house had a grey, poverty stricken look and was curiously forbidding. There were no people near save a few old women talking together.
Then Bettina secretly reproached herself for her own absurdity and false attitude.
Marguerite Arnot had explained that the old house where she had once lived and where her friends were still living, was in one of the humblest quarters in Paris. The girls were able to support themselves only in the poorest fashion by being apprenticed to French dressmakers.
Bettina Graham really had no sense of superiority because of her wealth and social position. Never for a moment did she forget that her own father had been an extremely poor boy who against every family disadvantage had worked his way to a distinguished position.
When she did finally reach the other girls, who were still talking to the concierge, she had still to fight an uncomfortable impression. Undoubtedly the concierge was a strange and unpleasant looking old woman. She was tall, with a dark, thin face, heavy eyebrows which were turning gray like her hair, and eyes with a peculiar searching expression.
Apparently she was pleased to see Marguerite Arnot again, as Marguerite had lived in her house until Miss Patricia Lord had insisted that she come to live with her at Versailles.
The next moment Bettina was the last of the small procession of four girls to mount the tenement stairs.
The stairs were dark and windowless, but Marguerite Arnot led the way without faltering. Finally she knocked at a door on the third floor.
The next instant the door being opened, the Camp Fire girls and Marguerite entered a large, bare room. Inside the room, and evidently expecting their arrival, were six young French girls, most of them younger than the American girls.
They were all dressed in black so that the effect upon first meeting them was depressing. But Marguerite had previously explained that the girls had been made orphans by the war.
They were living together in a single apartment in order to make a home for themselves with the least possible expense.
Two of them were sisters, the others were not relatives, but acquaintances and friends whom a common need had brought together.
Only a few months before, Marguerite Arnot had first made their acquaintance. At the time she had occupied a small room alone just across the hall and, as she was both ill and lonely, the entire number of girls had been wonderfully kind to her. It was therefore natural that Marguerite should at once think of these girls as forming the nucleus for one of the first Camp Fire units in Paris.
The room had evidently been hastily gotten ready for the visitors. Nearly all the shabby furniture, except a few chairs, had been pushed back into dark corners.
At once the American girls felt the room to be bitterly cold, colder than the outside as it had no sunshine. The French girls were evidently accustomed to the temperature. Never at any time are the houses of the French, even the wealthy homes, warm enough for American ideas, and during the war fuel in France had become an impossible luxury for the poor.
Marguerite Arnot immediately appreciated the situation. At present the open fireplace was filled only with odd pieces of old paper and cardboard.
Soon after she held a little whispered conversation with one of the youngest of the girls.
A moment after the girl disappeared to return a little later with a tiny bundle of sticks and a small pan of hot coals which she had secured from the concierge.
Therefore, it was actually Marguerite Arnot, who, kneeling down before the tiny grate, lighted the first Camp Fire among the French girls in Paris.
Having studied French all her life, gaining her first lessons from a French governess in her childhood, Bettina Graham spoke French fluently. Alice Ashton’s French had been largely acquired at school, nevertheless she had learned a fair amount of ordinary conversation after the last year’s residence in France.
With Vera Lagerloff the effort to talk freely in a foreign tongue would always remain difficult. But then she was not given to talking in her own tongue to the same extent as the other Camp Fire girls, always preferring to listen if it were possible.
Today she decided that her position as a silent onlooker might prove especially interesting.
Discovering that there were an insufficient number of chairs for them all to be seated, Bettina had introduced the subject of the Camp Fire by explaining their custom of seating themselves in a circle or semicircle upon Camp Fire cushions. Naturally, as they had no cushions at present, the floor would serve.
Bettina then lighted the three candles she had brought with her for the purpose explaining their meaning, Work, Health and Love. She also recited in French the Camp Fire desire.
It was Vera Lagerloff’s opinion that Bettina Graham possessed a greater gift at all times for explaining the purposes and ideals of the American Camp Fire organization than any one she had ever heard, except their own Camp Fire guardian.
This afternoon she appeared particularly interesting and enthusiastic.
In talking before a number of persons Bettina had an odd fashion of forgetting the shyness which so often overwhelmed her in meeting strangers.
How often Bettina and Vera, so different in temperament, in tastes and opportunities in life, in the last few years of membership in the same Camp Fire group, confided their secret ambitions to each other.
Vera was at present recalling Bettina’s confidence as she watched her explaining the American Camp Fire mission before the group of young French girls.
Disliking society Bettina had insisted that she never wished to marry or at any time to lead a society life. Instead she meant to find some cause which would be of especial importance to women, devoting her time and energy to it.
Why should this not be Bettina Graham’s future? It was the life of a few exceptional women, and Bettina might be one of them. The fact that she was his daughter and not his son need not prevent Bettina from inheriting her father’s gifts.
Vera was interested to observe the impression that Bettina was at this time making upon her small audience.
The French girls were unusual types in Vera’s knowledge. They must have ranged from about twelve to sixteen or seventeen years of age. But their faces were older than American girls of the same age. Their figures also looked more mature in their plain well fitted black dresses. Then, in spite of their poverty, they had the unmistakable French air and a style which was peculiarly their own.
But with their thin, sharply pointed faces, sallow complexions and dark hair, in Vera Lagerloff’s opinion, they were not a pretty collection of girls. The exceptions were Marguerite Arnot and a girl who seemed to feel an extraordinary attachment for her.
Since their entrance into the room, except for the few moments when she had disappeared in answer to a request from Marguerite and had returned with the material for the fire, she had not left Marguerite’s side.
At present she sat clutching the older girl’s skirt as if she never wished her to escape.
To the group of American girls with whom she was at present making her home, Marguerite Arnot represented both a novelty and an enigma. They knew little of her history, as she showed no desire to talk of herself, save the few facts Miss Patricia had seen fit to tell Mrs. Burton, with the idea that she repeat them.
Marguerite and Miss Patricia Lord had met originally in a dressmaking establishment in Paris. At that time Miss Patricia was having the costume made which she had worn at her dinner party and which had been such a revelation to her family. Marguerite, when about to try on Miss Patricia’s dress, became unexpectedly ill and fainted during the process; otherwise Miss Patricia might never have taken the slightest notice of her. She took Marguerite to her home and there, finding that she lived alone and had no one to care for her, the eccentric but kindly spinster assumed the responsibility. Later, Marguerite had been invited to Versailles as a working member of Miss Lord’s present household.
There was no question of the French girl’s refinement, or of the undoubted talent she possessed. But of her character, the hopes, ambitions and ideas which compose a human personality, the Camp Fire girls understood but little.
She had explained that her mother had been an artist and her father a lawyer in a smaller city not far from Paris. Her father died when she was only a tiny girl, leaving his family penniless, and her mother had attempted to make their living with her art.
But either artists were too numerous in Paris, or else her mother had possessed insufficient ability, for after a year or more of hopeless struggle, she had devoted her attention to dressmaking.
In this she had been successful; for nearly as long as Marguerite Arnot could remember, she had been able to assist her mother with her work, sitting by her side as a tiny girl she had pulled out bastings and hemmed simple seams. In spite of their poverty she and her mother had been happy together.
Then the war had come and they had been among its many unheeded victims. With almost no work, with the added strain and sorrow, Madame Arnot’s health had given way, so that in the second year of the war Marguerite had been left to struggle on alone.
What she had suffered through loneliness and poverty in these last two years, probably she did not like to discuss.
There were traces of struggle in the face which Vera Lagerloff was now studying, as she beheld it upturned toward Bettina, listening intently to Bettina’s speech.
Marguerite’s face was a pure oval, her eyes large and gray with heavily fringed dark lashes and her complexion so colorless at present that her lips seemed unusually red in comparison. The expression of her mouth was a little sad, although she seemed at the moment wholly absorbed either by Bettina Graham’s words or by her manner.
The younger girl, beside Marguerite, was thin and dark with brilliant black eyes set in a sharp almost too clever little face.
When she occasionally glanced toward Bettina, her manner was more resentful than admiring.
Yet when Bettina had finished speaking, it was Julie who asked the first question.
“Then if we start a Camp Fire group of our own, you will invite us to your house at Versailles where Marguerite Arnot is living?” she demanded so unexpectedly that Bettina, a little amused and a little surprised, could only reply:
“Why of course, I should be glad for you to come in any case, and I intended to ask Miss Lord or our Camp Fire guardian to invite you. But you must only organize a Camp Fire if the ideas which I have explained so inadequately in any way interest you.”
Bettina then turned to the older girls in the room. Nevertheless she had realized that Julie Dupont, in spite of her youth, was an undoubted force among them. Even as she had talked she had been able to observe the young girl’s sharp and not altogether pleasing personality.
The next moment Bettina added:
“I wonder if all of you can come out to our house at Versailles next Saturday afternoon, a week from today? I know you are only free on Saturday. Our Camp Fire guardian, Mrs. Burton, wishes very much to know you and will write you a more formal invitation. Miss Arnot, will you please persuade your friends to come.”
Fortunately the other girls required no urging, but if influence had been necessary, it was Julie Dupont, who was seldom without the resources to accomplish her own purpose.
