Part 2
"The second floor is given over to bedrooms. It would be difficult to find more attractive bedrooms in any American College. The rooms are large and well lighted, decorated with artistic wall paper and curtains to match. One part of the room is filled with a couch, used as a place of rest by day and a bed at night. The rest of the furnishings of the rooms include student's table, a lamp and several comfortable chairs. The remainder of the furnishing is done by the students themselves. Many of the walls are hung with gay posters, banners, and photographs of friends. Most of the girls have only one room, though a few who are studying music find the sitting-room necessary. Before leaving Miss Richards, I inquired who were the women who had done most to make this delightful home possible. She answered that would be hard to say, as there have been many, and some do not care to have their work known. It was only after I pressed the question a second time that she answered, "Well, I suppose Miss Hoff is the American girls' best friend in Paris. Helen Gould (I do not know her married name) has always given our home warm support, and last year when she traveled in Italy she established a Students' Hostel in Rome. But one thing I wish you would tell our girls at home. That this is a hotel and not a charitable organization, and a woman who stops here need not feel she is sacrificing her spirit of self-reliance and independence. All we try to offer is a comfortable home at prices within the reach of most American girls who come over to study in Paris. We make an effort to do two other things; to try to give the right protection so necessary to girls who live in the French capital alone, and comradeship we all need when living in a foreign land. Five dollars a week is what a girl must count on to live here.
"Besides home and board, we have French classes for our girls conducted by able instructors for a small tuition; these teachers give private lessons, and when it is desired to coach girls for their examinations in the Sorbonne.
"The students of music are not neglected. Certain hours of the day are set aside for practicing. We have weekly concerts at home and make an effort to get reduced rates for our girls when any of the great halls offer concerts that are worth while.
"Yes, we are trying to do much for our girls who come here to study painting. Many of them wish to live in the Latin Quarter and they find it really impossible to obtain the comforts that they are used to at home. Here they can enjoy the art student's life and have protection. Many discover that they are not ready to enter the Ecole des Beaux Arts; as for the large studios, they do not always offer enough individual attention for the student. For these we have a large, well-built studio of our own, where classes are conducted by some of the best masters of Paris."
Before leaving the Hostel I was invited into a garden gay with roses and carnations and the merry voices of happy girls. They were gathered in little groups, drinking tea, chatting French, and discussing the work they had accomplished that day. A pretty American girl approached me, saying, "Will you have tea, bread and butter?" In a few minutes she brought me tea on a pretty Chinese tray.
We laughed and chatted in turn, telling of our work and aspirations. As we sat in the beautiful twilight of that summer day we never dreamed that Paris would be threatened in a few weeks and the Students' Hostel, so dear to American artists and students, would become deserted.
PARIS, PAST AND PRESENT
I hate to think of Paris in a sombre tone, for Paris likes to be gay at all times. It is the natural tempo of the city, for whatever may be the follies of this Parisian capital, she is always beautiful, lively and gay. Her large, wide boulevards are now deserted, except for an occasional regiment of French and English troops that hurry along, or now and then an auto-car speeding up the boulevard carrying some high officials on an important mission.
Most of the fine shops in the Avenue de L'Opera and the Rue de La Paix are closed and heavily shuttered while their handsome stock of pearls and other jewels, fine dresses and furs, are hidden in vaults and put away in packing trunks. Even at noontime, when the streets are usually thronged with the working-girls hurrying to their luncheon or out for a half an hour's exercise, the streets are deserted except for the appearance of some tired-looking shopgirl trying to earn a few cents in spite of present conditions. The beautiful hotels, always crowded this time of the year, are empty except for a few Americans who are lingering, waiting for a boat to take them home. The large cafés on the boulevard are all closed. It is only the small tea-rooms and bars that dare hope for any business.
The smart people who live out near the Bois have heard too much about German Zeppelins to venture out on a beautiful day, and forbid their nurses taking the children into the park. It is only the poorer people in the Latin Quarter who insist in taking their children in the beautiful gardens of the Luxembourg for an airing. As night falls, the people gather in crowds to watch the skies. They have let their imaginations dwell so long on Zeppelins and bombs that many imagine they see these awful implements of war when they are watching harmless stars.
At the other end of the city, they gather round the Eiffel Tower, which now bears the highest artillery in the world. Here are placed immense machine guns. Up at Montmartre, the people gather in little circles to read the letters they have received from their soldier boys and to discuss the possibility of Paris being captured. They have forgotten all about their once lively dance-halls and cabarets. There are but few artists left in this quarter now, for they have either gone home or to the front, while the women and children amuse themselves reading the last extra or listening to an organ-grinder giving them many patriotic airs for a few sous.
How lonely and sad these vacant streets and boulevards look, contrasted with their appearance on the 15th of July, which is France's national holiday. Then there was dancing on nearly every street corner, made livelier by the throwing of confetti, careless laughter and much kissing. The Queen of Beauty ruled then, while now havoc and the cruelties of war are in supremacy. Except for a few soldiers and officers moving up and down in the Bois, that splendid park is quite deserted. The famous cafés, such as Madrid and Armoneville, have closed their doors. It is hard to imagine that these restaurants were visited by no less than five thousand people during an afternoon of the races. Less than two months ago, the great markets of Paris were crowded with country people hurrying in with their carts, horses and mules. In a short time they had distributed their splendid supply of meats, vegetables, fruits, flowers and small merchandise without and within. By seven o'clock the place was crowded with women of all social classes and wealth. Now the great crowds have dwindled, for the markets only display the barest necessities and the women only come and buy as they actually need them.
It is said that thousands of women have been thrown out of employment, for more than sixty per cent. of the women in Paris were working women. No sooner had war been declared than most of the small shops closed their doors and this threw hundreds of women out of work. A few of the leading dressmaking establishments carried their main business over to London, but they could not give employment to all their people. A few of the large stores kept open for a while, but soon their men were called to the front and so their business did not pay. I wonder what has become of the great numbers of designers and artists who were dependent on foreign purchase for their livelihood? Occasionally a pale, haggard girl passes by, as though she was seeking employment in a designer's studio or in an artist's atelier. But business is at a standstill and there is only employment for a very few out of many.
The flower markets which always made Paris so attractive have vanished, even the famous flower market in front of the Madeleine. It is only an occasional old woman who has the courage to try to earn a few pennies by selling roses or lilies of the valley.
The streets lack all energy, even in the afternoon, when there is so much energy in Paris. The women have neither the courage nor the money to start off on any shopping trips. The French women now appear in simple attire and are limiting their shopping to the few things they need. Many have been deprived of their large incomes, are managing to do their own housework and are looking after their children, while those who can still afford things are busy working for the Red Cross, visiting the hospitals and _craches_.
Even more deserted is the Latin Quarter with the Sorbonne called the Medicine and at the Ecole des Beaux Arts. Usually at this time of the year they are busy with their annual house-cleaning preparatory to receiving the many students that come from America, England, Poland, Russia and Germany. Their doors are closed so tightly this year they certainly will not be opened. The gaiety of the Latin Quarter is now a thing of the past. A few soldiers sipping their coffee out of doors is a commonplace picture for the gay-hearted artists that once promenaded the street with their pretty models and coquettes. There is now no dancing nor merry-making up at Montmartre, the real artists' quarter. The streets are now so deserted they are excellent dens for thieves and robbers, for gone are even the venders with their push-carts who made a noise as they hawked their wares. Even the museums and picture galleries are closed, and the only public buildings left open are those being used for military purposes. The few women and children seen on the street look frightened and worried. Any jar or noise seems to promise danger.
Sunday is like any other day, except that crowds of people hurry to the Madeleine or Notre Dame to beg for peace or for war to be over. All the stalls on the Seine are closed and the strand is vacant except for the soldiers that patrol up and down. All the cab-drivers left in Paris are either old men or women who find it hard to earn a few francs a day.
The country looks almost as deserted. Many a beautiful farm has gone to waste because there is no one to look after the harvest. Still, the women and children are doing their level best working on the farms and doing all they can to save their vegetables and grain.
Many of the vineyards have been trampled on by regiments of soldiers and most of the lovely champagne country is ruined. The hardest blow of all was the news that the famous cathedral at Rheims had been destroyed and all the famous buildings had either been laid in ruins or seriously damaged. The cathedral is supposed to have the finest rose window left in France and it was considered the finest piece of Gothic architecture. It was in this cathedral that Charles the Tenth was crowned and that the lovely Maid of Orleans saw the coronation of Charles VII which marked the fulfillment of her vision. The beautiful Church of Saint Jacques has commemorated her life in beautiful stained glass windows, while the museum, rich in treasures that memorialize her life, has also been destroyed. It is not therefore to be wondered at that the poor French people who love their country so well are brokenhearted as they look out on the approaching night, wondering what will happen next.
HOW WOULD YOU LIKE TO BE A REFUGEE?
How would you like to be a refugee for four weeks, fleeing from the horrors and hardships of war? How would you like to be cut off all this time by mail and cable from relatives and friends? How would you like to be many thousand miles from home, with little money and no credit, trying to meet your obligations and at the same time sharing the little you have with those less fortunate than you are?
This is a brief summary of my experience won from the war. The situation looked so hopeless because the war came like a thunderbolt out of a clear sky. I was at Bad Kissingen in Southern Bavaria when the news came that Austria was threatening Servia with war. Though some of the alarmists were confident that this meant the beginning of a world war, the German papers assured the nations that everything was being done to confine the war to Austria and Servia. Even the Austrian Emperor had said that his country had started the war and it was up to him to work out his own salvation.
I was therefore more surprised when the word came on Saturday that Russia had mobilized for the purpose of crossing the German frontier. This mere threat seemed to paralyze most of the Americans who were busy taking their cures in this Bavarian resort, for until then they had only heard war spoken of at far range. Many of them went mornings and afternoons to the Kurgarten and tried to drown their sorrows in the beautiful strains of the Viennese orchestra, which they listened to in a listless way. The thought uppermost in their minds was how would we get out if Russia really declared war on Germany?
The most panicky and energetic got busy and left, but most of the Americans tried to pull themselves together and to wait for further developments. Our unsteady nerves and heavy hearts were reassured by the articles in all the German dailies saying that they were doing their level best to stay out of the fight and to keep the war confined to Austria and Servia. The foreign diplomats, even of England, gave the same reassuring reports. This promise of good faith and friendship was given out on Saturday, so on Sunday when word came that Russia had been mobilizing for three days to cross the German frontier, it came as a shock. But Germany still tried to ward it off by granting Russia twelve hours to give some sort of explanation for this work. This Russia did by sending some of her forces across the German frontier.
By noon on Sunday our sanitarium was in a pandemonium of excitement, as it became known that many German officers were being recalled and were busy packing their trunks to catch the first afternoon train back to the Prussian capital.
I tore down-stairs two steps at a time. In the hallway I met a German countess weeping in real sorrow while her grandmother was trying to console her. When I inquired the reason for all this grief the grandmother said that her grandsons were officers and had been called to their different regiments.
In the dining-room that noon there were one hundred and seventy-five worried men and women of many different nationalities. They were plotting and planning how they could escape the war, or at least get to their homes. The Germans had soon decided to leave without any delay for Berlin, Frankfurt, Munich and other German cities so they could tell each other goodbye before the men started for war.
The Russian merchants and bankers were alarmed and they started for St. Petersburg and Moscow to escape being made prisoners in Germany. There were two Persian princes who hurried to the minister of war and obtained permission to take out their auto-car and started for Lucerne that very afternoon. Many Americans who had auto-cars with them made the same move trying to get to Berlin, The Hague or London, but most of these were shot at before they had gone very far. The two Persian princes barely escaped being shot as Turkish spies.
In less than two hours only thirty-five guests were left in the sanitarium; most of these were Americans and Russians who were wondering if they had not made a mistake by staying. They were comforted when they heard the next day that most of the people who had left had not gotten very far.
The thought that we were living in a military country on the eve of one of the world's greatest wars was just a little nerve-racking. That afternoon we took a carriage drive through the woods to one of the neighboring towns. It was a beautiful summer's day, and it was hard to think that a terrible war was about to break over this placid scene. The picture was made more attractive by the many peasants out for their usual Sunday holiday in their large farm wagons. These carts were crowded with German families of the usual size, children, parents and grandparents. Though they did not look jovial, the expression of their countenances never indicated that they realized that a great war was pending.
It was after five when my mother and I returned to the sanitarium that afternoon. I had been resting less than a half-hour in the large hall when a head-waiter came and threw an extra bulletin in my lap, which read that Germany had mobilized and declared war.
The men seated near me turned pale; they were too stunned to make any comment on the situation. I waited until I had calmed myself and then I bounded up to my room. My mother was resting at the time, and by the way I tore into the room she must have thought a tiger was about to break loose from the zoo.
"It's all up! It's all up!" I cried, as I sounded a bell for a porter to come and help me pack my book-trunk. I cleared the bureau drawers and the tables and he commenced to pack with as much enthusiasm as though we were going off to join a regiment. Then I proceeded to take the dresses out of the wardrobe and began to pile everything high on the beds.
"Have you gone crazy?" my mother said, only to get the determined answer, "No, but we are off tomorrow," as I continued to add more clothes to the great pile. I proceeded to explain that I had engaged a Swiss man to take us across the frontier and then we would decide whether to go to Holland, Belgium or England.
While talking and working, I failed to notice that one of the nurses had been in the room giving my mother some medicine and had overheard the conversation. I was also unaware of the fact that she had gone down-stairs and told the head-doctor that I was informing the patients that Germany had declared war. He sent up one of his assistants, who said that I was creating a panic in his sanitarium. His remarks in German, translated into English, were somewhat like the following:
"You are an egoist to create all this excitement; don't you know that the maids are out in the hall crying?"
I answered that I was sorry if any of the women had been made hysterical by the news but I was in no way responsible for the war.
I soon saw that it was as difficult to combat the egotistical in peace as in war, so I decided to sit steady and await an opportunity. The next morning I went down at six-thirty to see what the fifty thousand guests were doing and how they took the situation. The place about the music-stand was packed with Germans and German-Americans who were listening to such strains as "Der Wacht am Rhein," "Deutchland über Alles," intermingled with our own "Star Spangled Banner." The only comment made on these strains were the cries of "Hoch! Hoch!" from time to time. At the other end of the grounds was another mob of men and women reading the extra bulletin that a Russian regiment had crossed the frontier and Germany had declared war. The men had a worried look and the women were pale and anxious, but all showed magnificent control. There were no cries heard of "Down with Russia!" or "Down with France!" Many of these Germans were still filled with hope that Sir Edward Grey would bring these foreign powers to a satisfactory understanding.
It was not until Tuesday that the first men enlisted and martial law was proclaimed. A large part of the promenade was roped off and guarded by petty officers. Nobody crossed this plot of ground under penalty of being shot.
The proclaiming of martial law was a new experience for me, so I stood behind the ropes for hours at a time, seeing the young men come to the front, take the oath and enlist. The first regiments were only boys, still unmarried, living in romance rather than actuality. But I soon decided that it was not as hard for them to bid their sweethearts goodbye as it was a little later for fathers to bid their wives and several clinging children farewell. A week later it was even harder to see the old men, many of whom had served in the war of '70 and '71, gladly come forth again to join the rank and file. More than twenty-five thousand men enlisted in a week. They ranged from nineteen to forty-five and came from all conditions of life; the richest and the poorest alike were eager to go and fight and if necessary to die for their country. They were impatient to change their civilian uniform for the earth-color uniforms. It was pathetic to see some of them hand over their old suits to their wives, for I wondered if they would ever use them again. But they seemed hopeful as they moved on, singing their favorite military strains. Each regiment had its favorite song; with one it was "Der Wacht am Rhein," with another "Deutchland über Alles."
This continued for a week, until twenty-five thousand men had been called out from Bad Kissingen and surrounding country. Most of these were farmers who had to drop their work before the harvesting of their grain. This work was turned over to women and children, while young boy scouts came and volunteered to work on the farms. The men were called into the different regiments mornings, noons and afternoons, until I wondered if it would ever stop. They marched off only to form new regiments. As I climbed the hill one day a middle-aged, kindly woman said to me in a choked voice, "I am giving everything I have in this world to this war, my husband and five sons. Four of them are to fight against France and two against Russia." She controlled her grief as she spoke, but it was not hard to see that her heart was broken. Many of the men working in our place were called out without getting a chance to tell wives or mothers goodbye, while one man confessed modestly that he was to be the father of a first child in less than two months. In a week's time the male population was so depleted that it was hard to find a man walking in town or out in the fields. The few young men left were so ashamed they had not been taken that they hastened to explain that they belonged to the Landsturm and that they would be called out during the next two weeks. That most of them went willingly is shown by the fact that in a week's time Germany had over a million in arms. When a young man was refused by one ministry of war he applied to another and did not give up until he had been refused five or six times. Even the tear-stained faces of mothers and sweethearts did not influence these young men from rallying around their flag. These German women were perfect Spartans and were glad when they had four or five sons to give to their country. They are trying to do their best to fill the gaps made by husbands and sons in homes, in the fields and in the shops, taking their positions in stores, in banks and on street cars.
In a few days these peaceful Bavarian people settled down to their daily routine. They were not surprised when France as well as Russia declared war on them, for it was what they naturally expected. But the news that England also had declared war came as a terrible shock. This news fanned the fire into a terrible flame and goaded the Germans on to a point where they felt they must lose all or win all.