The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, June 14, 1896, Page 18

18 THE SAN FRANCISCO CALL, SUNDAY, JUNE 14, 1896. THREE SAN FRANCISCO GIRLS SEVEN DAYS THE JOYS AND WEARINESS OF A SHOPPING TOUR OF THE There were three of us rash enough to | undertake it. To see Paris for the finti time in seven days. Mrs. Whitehat | offered herself as chaperon. She had ‘ every quality necessary to that difficult | and superfluous functionary. She 1s tall ‘ and very fair. She wears upon her shoul- ders a fetching green velvet cape and the | dignity of twenty-five summers. Miss Grey is a tailor-made little person with a demure countenance and a smile | worth almost as much as her letter of | credit. I recommended myself chiefly to the | others because I speak a not too impos- | sible French. I once offered timid sug- | sestions that there might be disadvantages | in attempting to crowd every possible ex- | perience into seven days. | “A week of Paris in the month of May,” said Mrs. Whitehat, with that manner of finishing an argument contained in a posi- | tive assertion, *'is worth six weeks in the | month of October.” Mrs. Whitehat's experience has been bounded hitherto by Castle Crags on the north and Monterey on the south. “We have so many interests,” I still dared to sugge ‘I want to see the salons and some of the studios, ana you do mnot speak French; how do you think you will manage?”’ “Each one of us,” said Mrs. Whitehat, “will be independent; we will each see | what interests us most—besides, English | takes one everywhere.” ‘ “I wan’t to see the Louvre,” murmured | Miss Grey, “and Napoleon’s tomb and the | churches. | “I want to see the Louvre, too,” added | Whitebat, *‘and the Bon Marche.” he temptation was too great for us; we | were all swayed in the same direction. I ‘ had the pictures most at heart. Miss | Grey advanced the improvement of her | mind for which purpose she had been sent | abroad, and Mrs. Whitehat declared with engaging frankness that she knew exactly | what summer gowns and bonnets would be | most becoming to her. The question of money threw a slight | shade over the general enthusiasm. Miss Grey had alittle, I had lessand | Whitehat had least of all. We, there- | fore, made a solemn compact to spend not | more than double the amount we decided | we could each afford, and we retired to | pack our one trunk and three handbags. We left Victoria at 10 1n the morning,via | Newhaven-and Dieppe. On the steamer we could still think, eat and dream in English, although the Tamise was manned entirely by French | sailors. It was very cold, and the ship | rolled violenily, so that now we saw a | great expanse of heaving light blue water, now only the luminous sky with windy, | drifting clouds. Periodically all the old | ladies were spilled out of their chairs or deluged in sudden showers of spray. We | all fixed our agonized eyes on the dis- | tant horizon when a deckhand hurried by with a little brown basin. | Mrs. Whitehat went through a panto- mime of shivering which finally induced an intelligent deckhand to ‘bring us more | rugs. . “You see how easy it is to get along in English,” she remarked, as he wound a rope around the back of her chair to keep it steady. “Madame is quite right,’” said the deck- | hand. “We all speak the English, some bad, some worse.”’ There was a more violent roll than usual and the busy deckhand was forced | to leave us. We attempted to havea lunch in the subterranean dining-room; we ordered | cold chicken, one portion for 2 shillings, | and a cup of coffee, with bread and tallow, | costing 2 shillings more. The chicken | consisted of one pale gray leg and a wish- | bone. The couatenances around us were | all of the same color as the chickengleg and everybody appeared to be attempting to swallow their own wishbones. We did not enjoy this meal. The approach of Dieppe seemed almost a whirlpool of breakers and foam and we all occupied | ourselves with thoughts of home and | heaven and wished we were either in one | place or the other; the intermediate stages seemed fraught with too much dangerand | discomfort. Once in the train with the chalk-marks on our leather-bags carefully conspicu- ous—on our sleeves and skirts princi- pally—our . spirits rose wonderfully. We were interested in the cold, exposed little | town, the clusters of houses on the hills crowded together as if for warmth, the people in the streets, the men with hard, red, weather - beaten faces; the women scarcely less tanned and mark2d under their tight white Norman caps. We| caaght picturesque glimpses of narrow streets, with tall, crooked houses and little windows under enormous gables, like little eyes under heavy lids. And the signs on all the honses were industriously spelled out and. their meanings guessed at by my ambitious com- ‘panions, who were sure that by this means they were ac- complishing one ob- ject of the trip. “You could getquite an ides of a langnage in a week,”. said Miss VerdantinaGrey. “I've learnt two things al- ready. Carbon et Boys means wood and coal. { must remember that.” Fortunately we bad a compartment to our- selves, so we could hang out of the win- dows and admire the thatched cottages and the little shining streams and the froit trees in blossom. Mrs. ‘Whitehat insisted that the air was lighter and the country gayer, the trees slimmer and finer than any she had ever seen. Everyvillage we approached was the occasion for more ex- clamations and sage comments on agricul- ture ana the effect of historv and civiliza- tion on the peasant mind, Miss Grey peo- M BON MARCHE pled the entire country with all the histori- cal personages she had culled from Dumae, Stanley Weyman and other historians. At Rouen there was a stop of five minutes. “Isn’t there a cathedral—" began Miss Grey. ‘Coffee and little cakes at Rouen,”” interrupted Mrs. Whitehat. “A friend of mine told me. Come on, giris!” So we,scalded our throats with steaming coffee, and returned in triumph with a paper full of little soft cakes that dripped cream and jelly and sugar from under our unsuspicious fingers. It was after 7 when we arrived in Paris, at the Gare St. Lazare. | tion of the New | companions and re- | garded the gentleman with severity. “I suppose he wants | to know the way, but what a strange man- ner of asking!” said Mrs. Whitehat. “Ta ta,” said the strange gentleman, waving his hand. “Ta ta, petites An- glaises, with the hats of straw!” Mrs. Whitehat re- tired precipitately be- ‘We passed successfuily through the hands v::sed z‘: S‘l‘:e h:’g of the inspectors of the luggage, the porters | I.ri;ad 45 'EXDlflill A did not exact more than double the usual | po. 1 oot amiable fee, and it was a delicious moment when | we found ourselves atlast drivingin a little close plack box of a carriage, behind a de- crepit horse, on our way to the pension near the Arch of Triumph, where we had engaged rooms. In the morning we held a consultation. Where should we go? What should we | do first? The window was open and the cool air sparkled between the tall light houses. Boys with carts ran down the streets cry- ing strange words in high voices. An old woman who sold vegetables had a keen- } 1ng call like a banshee’s wail. Mrs. Whitehat was in her most cheerful mood. She wore her fresh stiff shirt waist and correct tie, her white sailor, her black skirt and tan gloves and shoes with an sir that would bave distinguished a cos- tume from Worth, and the face under her thin veil was as fresh as gayety, good health and good spirits could make it. “We'll be systematic,” said Mrs. White- hat, ‘‘so as not to lose time; we can work 1n the morning or play in the afternoon. I think we had better go direct to a dress- maker—"’ “To the “'the first morning in Paris “Yes,” said Mrs. Whitehat, soberly, “so as to get that over; then we’ll know what we want, how long it will {ake to have our things made; we could go to the Bon Marche on our way back, perhaps, shop a little bit and perhaps take in a sight or two before luncheon.” This breathless programme was finally decided upon, not without some argument. The address of the dressmaker carried us to the left bank of the Seine, through por- tions of the Latin Quarter. All the chest- nuts were in bloomin the Champs Elysees, the booths under the trees were gay with children’s toys and color. Little boys with bare knees and little girls with very short frocks disported themselves with their nurses or their mammas in the sun- flecked shudow. “This is the Place dela Concorde,’” re- marked the driver amiably as we crossed the mighty square. “Goodness,” said Mrs. Whatehat, “‘isn’t it stunning! What are the buildings, I wonder, and the pyramid and all th, statues about. By the way, girls, you ge! little tickets when you stop at the Bon Marche and all you do is to leave your little number and then you don’t have to pay till you receive the goods.” “We must buy a Baedeker,” said little Miss Grey regretfully, “I don’t know a thing about anything; I know somebody did something or other in the Place de la Concorde!” “Do you suppose a dressmaker could make me four gowns in one week?’ con- tinued Mrs. Whitehat, thoughtfully, ‘‘this is Saturday morning. I wonder if they dressmaker!” 1 I interrupted, | observe the Sabbath in France as strictly as we do.” manner that she did not understand French, and the gen- | tleman had remained, | walking around her in |a circlee. We stood | transfixed till he had Lailed an omnibus, | walked up the steep steps backward, and kissing his hand at every step disappeared | finally among the less | eccentric passengers. | The second attempt | at a dressmaker we made in a street open- ing from the Bon Marche. “Yes,” said the lit- tle concierge, appear- ing from her hole in the wall, “up five 1fiights of stairs, the bell in the left—Mme. Rival!” A tall, thin Frencb- | woman stopped to | listen and mounted abead of us. On the second floor she hasti- ly put a key in the ‘dc-or, threw it open and waved us in. There was a little silver sign upon the i York Herald or a directory. | turned in five minutes I discovered Mrs. Whitehat standing at | the corner holding Miss Grey by the hand, while a gentleman | once more to the street. A white glare of sunlight, with little with a pointed beard, a square silk hat with a straight brim, | pools of shadow under the awnings. It was very nearly 1 | a large necktie and not irreproachable linen, under a long frock o’clock, we discqverea. a_nd we were too late for the midday | coat, stood at a small distance and alternately raised his hat and meal at the pension. This would uecessitate a small extrava- kissed his hand to our chaperon. I placed myself before my | gance in the way of refreshment. A blue-coated policeman di- When I re- | the fifth floor. “There are little jealousies, you know, mesdames,” she re- | appearance of the bride and had understood enough to feel | dealings with her a complete secret from the dressmaker on that as yet we had not accomplished much. We held a consultation in the street, and it was finally de- | X | cided that Mrs. Whitehat and Miss Grey were to remain seated | marked. “I am quite free from such feelings. Hope madame on a bench under a_tree, while I attempted to find a Paris edi- | upstairs will give you every satisfaction.” After we had completed the arrangements with Mme. ival, who had her establishment on the fifth, we descended “We must buy a Baedecker.” Mlle. Fleury stood aside, however, for us to pass with a ges- ture of such engaging hospitality that, we all meekly al- lowed ourselves to be conveyed into a little reception-room guilt- less of any signs of her trade, except some antique colored | peared to determine that we had eaten a great number of plates of ladies in dinner gowns and large opera capes. “It is undoubtedly the street gowns that my ladies desire— have they already bought the goods? My prices are so rea- sonable my iadies will desire very many; they will be all that for the afternoon. rected us to a Duval. It was very warm aud the direction was a | little obscure; we walked up and down a number of small streets and finally in- quired desperately of a little boy. ‘“The Duval?’’ he asked, “bput itist” We were standing before the door. Mrs. Whitehat re- garded me with some scorn. “If I could read French it seems to me I could dis- cover that,”” she re- marked. * Besides, we have walked ten miles; we'll never have any etrength | leit for shopping.” | “When will we go | and see Napoleon’s tomb?’ asked Miss Grey with a plaintive look as we entered the restaurant. A girl in a fresh white cap immgdi- ately led us to a table, gave us a yel- low card—a menu— and a glass of water. We ordered a num- ber of things for which 1t wastoo late, | and finaily left the choice to the wait- | Tess. ‘Have confidence in me,” she said pleasantly. ** What interest could I have in cheating you? There is the list; you | can follow all Ibring | you.” The lunch was hot and well and promptly served and we commented there | door which informed us that she was Mlle. Fleury, and that she | peacefully on our labors of the morning and on the prospects could supply us with robes and confections. “The Bon Marcie,” said Mrs. Whitehat, “But this is not the woman we want,”” said Miss Grey; | a mushroom poised on her fork, “just till we have bought the “this is not the fifth floor!™ materials necessary for our dresses, and then we will go and see the sights.” | dishes at the The waitress now appeared with the little yellow slip on which she had mad® any number of marks—marks which ap- price of one franc. “But madame does not think I could put down the wrong marks,” said the waitress in accents of thedeepest re- proach, and she launched into a repetition’ of the dishes, the | We dismissed the carriage at No. 85, the | address of the sole dregsmaker we knew | in varis. On every side of us ran little | streets, the apartment houses formed a long front lined with windeows and the | signs were various. | ‘We asked the forbidding dark person who filied tbe doorway at the side of the small court if she could assist us to find Mme. Latour-Renard. “Ah, yes,” she replied, “everything is reany. They attend you.” I translated these remarks to my friends; they did not seem particularly pertinent. | il i// i The door was opened immediately at | / the tinkle of the bell and a very young | | girl in & white dress, with very short | - tignt gloves, appeared upon the thresh- | old. | “Is Mme. Latour-Renard in?” I de-| manded. e S e Tp ta,” said the strange gentleman, “ta ta, petites Anglaises, with the hats of straw.” “ : is within” sai : wuf‘::t{,”n'i;,,',’;‘,,‘,:."‘.‘.g:‘_' i!!‘-’:fi :g:‘fi"&; is ;avishing. Anuy here are the newest, but the very newest PouskiIgh Mo Mg e guoh= “gll::xw‘l:‘in;;::lc :n—t a book, a tape measure and il, tour-Re -d-Moulinet, b8 a pencil, pro- Mine Sewous Sohas L athy ae tabo vided us each with a book of colored plates and stood rega;dmg was to be bereafter known, now put in an | s : appearance. | us like an amiable vulture. “‘Ah, ves, it was true; she was about fo | “She might make us some things,” said Mrs. Whitehat at be married; she was desolated utterly; last, in a hushed tone. *I—I think we might let her make but she would return from her trip of wed- | One dress for each of us—and the woman upstairs could make ding and be quite ready to work the dresses the rest. It might be really an advantage to divide the work. of my ladies in a week.” | Her skirt hangs awfully well!"” Mrs. Whitehat had grown pale at the Mile. Fleury exhorted us as we were leaving to keep our AFTER A DAY OF SHOPPING. NN MW PRI bread, the butter, the napkins, we had consumed, before which we fled, consid erably poorer if but littie wiser, G To the Bon Marche we now directed our weary footsteps. *I shall ask for an English clerk,” said Mrs. Whitehat with decision, ‘‘and perhaps Miss Grey can get one with me That will leave you free.” A crowd of carriages filled the streets around the Bon Marche; two steady streams of people poured in and out of the great entrance. On the street were tables full of cheap materials, of laces and ribbons, which were being clawed and pulled at by anxious females astonishing disregard for with their preservation, We joined ONE RESULT OF THE TRIP TO PARIS. the throng and were -soon Wwithin that remarkable monument of industry, the Bon Marche. Not only within it, but perspiring in the effort to purchase a Io‘v items which we could have secured without difficulty in half an hour in San rancisco. We walked miles in a | futile . search for the silk covnter; over hills of stockings and shoes and parasols and lace and brass jars and books and bed linen; up and down the mountainous stairs ornamented with Iimp gowns or dummies and silk petticoats of all degrees of seductiveness; jostling everybody and being jostled, clutching at aclerk or standing in a line in a vain en- deavor to call some one’s attention. At last, after an endless time, giving up in despair with half the articles not bought and those which have been secured in passing not at all conducive to peace of mind or purse. Mrs. Whitehat, however, and Miss Grey stood awaiting me at our trysting-place, one on either side of a tall English clerk. things! He says”—pointing to the clerk— “we will simply have to go downstairs to the delivery department now and claim our goods. You see, we've given an ad- have our things sent to the dressmaker’s. They must go to-night.” The English clerk bowed himself away, but Mrs. Whitehat recalled him with a lovely smile. “Don’t desert us,”” she said. “Do take us to the right place, so that we do not have to fight our way through all these wild animals.” .The English clerk looked at her with something in his glance that suggested despair, frenzy aud a gleam of diabolic amusement. He then stolidly pushed his way in the required direction, turning his head now and then wearily to see if we followed. He leit us in a subterranean apartment in which a great many people were doing up hundreds of bundles and boxes. Ana we sat there while every article that had been purchased during the afternoon was sought for. The perspiration rolled from the fore- head of the fat porter in a blue coat with gold buttons, who had constituted him- self our mercury. The genius that man displayed in chasing after the various articles of wearing apparel Mrs. Whitehat triumph should have been rewarded by more than the small tip and tne radiant smile with which he was finally dis- missed. “Do you know what time it is Miss Grey in a sepulchral tone. you any idea?”’ “I think it is 1 o’clock to-morrow morn- ing,” groaned Mrs. Whitehat. “I've never felt so tired in my life! Goodness, it is nearly 7 o’clock!” We looked at each other as we climbed iuto the open car- riage, and I gave the address in a voice that was almost inaudible. Then there was total silence as we drove home, over the river that was a dazzle with the sun- set, under a sky that glowed, up the streets that were alive with gay people in carriages and on foot. “We haven’t even seen Napoleon's tomb,” said Miss Grey, as we entered the pension. The second day was Sunday; Mrs. Whitehat had discovered that the Sabbath was observed in France to some extent, at least by the shops and the dressmakers. So we heard a chant or two in the Made- | leine, and the boys singing at Ste. Eustace. Mrs. Whitehat remarked that we ought to have a Baedeker, and Miss Grey wished to know the style of architecture of every | detail of every church we visited, in which reasonable yearnings we were unable to gratify her. At Notre Dame her misery was great. “It is Gothic, isn’t it? It is Gothic, of course.”” *“My dear,” said Mrs. White- hat, “it is Gothic. Satisfy vourself. Call it anytbing you like. Why should you care whetuer it's Gothic! You’il remem- ber it just as well if it's Moorish—so long as iv's so big, and picturesque and impres- sive. 1 don’t believe in loading your mind | with a lot of useless information; you only | want it for your letters, in order to im- | press people at home. Wemust buy a | Baedeker.” At St. Sulpice the mighty organ filled the church. It wasrestful and cool under the great roof, and we forgot for one de- lightful moment in the enjoyment of the full-voiced chorus that we were secing Paris in a week. -« In the afternoon there was at least a con- cession made. We went to the Luxem- bourg gallery and walked through the rooms, only to be driven out after an hour —driven out to new extravagance, for there was nothing further possible in the way of sightseeing. We were forced to go to drive in the Bois de Boulogne. " asked ‘‘Have AN | 32 B A\ 8 “Isn’t it delicious?” said Mrs. Whitehat, | with a little gasp, “and what ravishing | dress on the little book and we want to | had secured to herself on her march of | IN PARIS HE-WORE A LARGE TIE AND TRIED TO FLIRT WITH THE ELDER CHAPERON | Ah, thatdrive! Three of usina dusty, i open carriage, behind a lame horse, whose bones rattled as he ran, with a driver who had great difficulty in remaining upright and who shouted witticisms, which we fortunately could not understand, at every | passer-by, at every brother coachman; a | driver who never saw a cart with a foot- man mounted at the back, or two charm- ingly dressed women but he encouraged his venerable horse to a furious speed and allowed him to nibble at the calves of tbe ! footman or the flounces of the enraged | charming youne women. There wasno | turning in this fatal drive—wedged in be- | tween rows of carriages we could but wait our fate in silence. A fate that was finally precipitated oy a policeman, who seized the head of Rosinante and jerked it back from its pleasing occupation with a violence which nearly killed the horsé on the spot and which called down upon us all the attention of the occupants of all the surrounding carriages and shouts of laug hter from the coachmen. Alas! My courage fails me when it comes to details of each day of our stay— between Mlle. Fleury of the second story and Mme. Rival of the fifth. In my dreams I have a nightmare that I am once more assisting Mrs. Whitehat to take back some of her | superfluous purchases to the Bon Marche. 1 see again my two depressed companions on a divan in the sitting-room, the pretty freshness quite vanished from the shirt- waists and faces—too tired to remove their hats, counting up how much they will have to economize to make up the defi- ciency in their letters of credit. Ah! | These letters of credit; they were entirely to blame. Iseem tobe going again through the salon of the Champ de Mars—for we had to do that—and down to Versailles—sa- cred duty—following a guide breathlessly through the vast deserted palaces, free of all the glories of France—and with an at- mosphere in the great balls which sug- gests that the heroes have not been suc- cessfully embalmed in the wainscoting or | under our feet. 1 see again our chaste apartments on the last morning of our stay; twenty-seven boxes and papers under the beds out of the | way, but others filling the passage, over which the boots and the eager chamber- maids tumble as they obsequiously offer us every attention. I see Mrs. Whitehat sitting on the bed | with a pale face and her watch in her hand. “In half an hour, girls,”” she says, in i solemn, deep tones, “we must leave for the train—we must leave. Here are our trunks ready to be strapped, and our dresses have not come.”’ I seem to see the final advent of Mlle. Fleury and Mme. Rival, with their attendant maidens, all in one carriage, chatting in the most friendly manner, and only giving each other furtive lightning glances at the mo- | ment when we come to pay the bills. Who bad made more out of the legitimate | prey—the unsuspecting Americans? The dresses are crushed in with breaking | hearts, the trunks are closed over them, | the porters toss them up and down with a | hideous disregard of their contents—con- | tents that have cost us too much to be mentioned without emotions. The next morning in London Miss Grey called upon Mrs. Whitehat. She was just about to leave for church. She was ar« rayed like ‘‘the lilies of the field.” 1 She surveyed us with great deliberation, | “I believe,” she remarked, ‘‘that the | trip to Paris was worth while! We will not be able to impress people with what we have seen; but our clothes are im- vressive—and as for the sights—we can buy a Baedeker!"" “But we can’t see Napoleon's tomb!"” said Miss Grey. And the next day we had the pleasura of paying extra postage on twenty-seven advertisements from dressmakers and milliners which had been dutifully re- addressed to us froru the pension. Vax Dyck Brows. | a stay divided OxE MEAL A Day.—I have stuck to the one meal a day, and I mean to continue it, It suits me better than anything I have yet tried. Indeed, I could not think of going back to the old way of living. This one-meal-a-day system appears to me to be both reasonable and rational, and, | moreover, it gives one such a sense of vower. and independence, which is very fascinating. I am feeling stronger and more cheerful than I have done for some time, and my tongue appears to be clear- ing, although I bave not yet had the pleasure of seeing it quite bright and red, quotes the June number of Natural Food from a private letter. Iam walking fifteen miles a day with- out fatigue and sleep like a top. The natives are perfectly astounded at the one- meal-a-acay plan, which I adhere to. It ! seems utterly impossible to make any im- pression on the deeply rooted customs of the country, and they can. not understand how I can rise at 7 and walk ten miles of hilly coun- try withouta morsel of food before 12 noon. Their plan is: Cup of tea and chunk of cake at 7, breakfast at 8:30, lunch at 11, dinner at 1, tea at 5:30, and un- limited beer in the evening. I will give you my diet for two or three separatedays. I donot think the quantitiesare sufficient, but for the reasons previously stat- ed 1 cannot take more without discomfort. January 7--8ix ounces of fried plaice, eight ounces of stewed rai- sins, two bananas, two oranges. January 13—Tin of herrings, four ounces of stewed sultanas, two ounces of stewed rai- sins, four ounces of stewed plums, four oranges, half pound of baked apples. I don't take meat aboveonce a weeknow, and I begin to relish the fish much better.