Chapter XIV
That Gay Paresis
As you walk along the Rue de la Paix [Footnote: The X being one
of the few silent things in France.] and pay and pay, and keep on
paying, your eye is constantly engaged by two inscriptions that
occur and recur with the utmost frequency. One of these appears
in nearly every shopwindow and over nearly every shopdoor. It
says:
English Spoken Here.
This, I may tell you, is one of the few absolutely truthful and
dependable statements encountered by the tourist in the French
capital. Invariably English is spoken here. It is spoken here
during all the hours of the day and until far Into the dusk of the
evening; spoken loudly, clearly, distinctly, hopefully, hopelessly,
stridently, hoarsely, despondently, despairingly and finally
profanely by Americans who are trying to make somebody round the
place understand what they are driving at.
The other inscription is carved, painted or printed on all public
buildings, on most monuments, and on many private establishments
as well. It is the motto of the French Republic, reading as follows:
Liberality! Economy! Frugality!
[Footnote: Free translation.]
The first word of this - the Liberality part - is applicable to the
foreigner and is aimed directly at him as a prayer, an injunction
and a command; while the rest of it - the Economy and the Frugality
- is competently attended to by the Parisians themselves. The
foreigner has only to be sufficiently liberal and he is assured
of a flattering reception wheresoever his straying footsteps may
carry him, whether in Paris or in the provinces; but wheresoever
those feet of his do carry him he will find a people distinguished
by a frugality and inspired by an economy of the frugalest and
most economical character conceivable. In the streets of the
metropolis he is expected, when going anywhere, to hail the
fast-flitting taxicab [Footnote: Stops on signal only - and sometimes
not then.], though the residents patronize the public bus. Indeed,
the distinction is made clear to his understanding from the moment
he passes the first outlying fortress at the national frontier
[Footnote: Flag station.] - since, for the looks of things if for
no better reason, he must travel first-class on the de-luxe trains
[Footnote: Diner taken off when you are about half through eating.],
whereas the Frenchmen pack themselves tightly but frugally into the
second-class and the third-class compartments.
Before I went to France I knew Saint Denis was the patron saint
of the French; but I did not know why until I heard the legend
connected with his death. When the executioner on the hill at
Montmartre cut off his head the good saint picked it up and strolled
across the fields with it tucked under his arm - so runs the tale.
His head, in that shape, was no longer of any particular value
to him, but your true Parisian is of a saving disposition. And
so the Paris population have worshiped Saint Denis ever since.
Both as a saint and as a citizen he filled the bill. He would not
throw anything away, whether he needed it or not.
Paris - not the Paris of the art lover, nor the Paris of the lover
of history, nor yet again the Paris of the worth-while Parisians
- but the Paris which the casual male visitor samples, is the most
overrated thing on earth, I reckon - except alligator-pear salad
- and the most costly. Its system of conduct is predicated, based,
organized and manipulated on the principle that a foreigner with
plenty of money and no soul will be along pretty soon. Hence by
day and by night the deadfall is rigged and the trap is set and
baited - baited with a spurious gayety and an imitation joyousness;
but the joyousness is as thin as one coat of sizing, and the brass
shines through the plating; and behind the painted, parted lips of
laughter the sharp teeth of greed show in a glittering double row.
Yet gallus Mr. Fly, from the U.S.A., walks debonairly in, and out
comes Monsieur Spider, ably seconded by Madame Spiderette; and
between them they despoil him with the utmost dispatch. When he
is not being mulcted for large sums he is being nicked for small
ones. It is tip, brother, tip, and keep right on tipping.
I heard a story of an American who spent a month in Paris, taking
in the sights and being taken in by them, and another month motoring
through the country. At length he reached the port whence he was
to sail for home. He went aboard the steamer and saw to it that
his belongings were properly stored; and in the privacy of his
stateroom he sat down to take an inventory of his letter of credit,
now reduced to a wan and wasted specter of its once plethoric self.
In the midst of casting-up he heard the signal for departure; and
so he went topside of the ship and, stationing himself on the
promenade deck alongside the gang-plank, he raised his voice and
addressed the assembled multitude on the pier substantially as
follows:
"If" - these were his words - "if there is a single, solitary
individual in this fair land who has not touched me for something
of value - if there be in all France a man, woman or child who has
not been tipped by me - let him, her or it speak now or forever
after hold their peace; because, know ye all men by these presents,
I am about to go away from here and if I stay in my right mind I'm
not coming back!"
And several persons were badly hurt in the crush; but they were
believed afterward to have been repeaters.
