Paris War Days | Page 8

of the American Church of the Holy Trinity, in
the Avenue de l'Alma, has offered that building as temporary sleeping
quarters for Americans who are unable to obtain shelter elsewhere, and
is arranging to hold some trained nurses at the disposal of the feeble
and sick.
War is a wonderful leveler, but there could hardly be a greater piece of
irony perpetrated by Fate than compelling well-to-do Americans, who
have no share in the quarrel on hand, to sleep in a church in France like
destitutes before any of the French themselves are called upon to
undergo such an experience.
[Illustration: Photo. H.C. Ellis Paris. Sewing-girls at work in the
American Episcopal Church, making garments for the American
Ambulance Hospital.]
At the Chamber of Deputies I witnessed a historic scene never to be
forgotten. Some of the deputies were reservists and had come in their
uniforms, but the rules prevented them from taking their seats in
military attire. In the Diplomatic Tribune sat Sir Francis Bertie, the
British Ambassador, side by side with M. Alexander Iswolsky, the
Russian Ambassador. The Chamber filled in complete silence. The
whole House, from royalists to socialists, listened, standing, to a
glowing tribute by M. Paul Deschanel, president of the Chamber, to M.
Jaurès, over whose coffin, he said, the whole of France was united.
"There are no more adversaries," exclaimed M. Deschanel, with a voice
trembling with emotion, "there are only Frenchmen." The whole house
as one man raised a resounding shout of "Vive la France!"
When M. Deschanel concluded, there was a pause during the absence

of M. Viviani. The Premier entered, pale but confident, amid a
hurricane of cheers and read amid a silence broken only by frenzied
shouts of "Vive la France!" a speech detailing the whole course of the
diplomatic negotiations, in which he placed upon Germany crushing
responsibility for the catastrophe which has overtaken Europe.
The Chamber, before rising, adopted unanimously without discussion a
whole series of bills making provision for national defense and the
maintenance of order in France.
M. Viviani's speech was interrupted by terrific cheering when he
referred to the attitude adopted by the British and Belgian governments.
All rose to face the diplomatic tribune, cheering again and again.
M. Viviani's last phrase, "We are without reproach. We shall be
without fear," swept the whole Chamber off its feet.
The vast hemicycle was a compact mass of cheering deputies, all
waving aloft in their hands papers and handkerchiefs. From the tribunes
of the public gallery shout after shout went up. At the foot of the
presidential platform the gray-haired usher, with his 1870 war medals
on his breasts, was seated, overcome with emotion, the tears coursing
down his cheeks.
Paris is back in the days of the curfew, and at eight o'clock, by order of
the Military Governor of Paris, it is "lights out" on the boulevards, all
the cafés close their doors, the underground railway ceases running,
and policemen and sentinels challenge any one going home late, lest he
should be a German spy. Paris is no longer "la ville lumière"-- it is a
sad and gloomy city, where men and women go about with solemn,
anxious faces, and every conversation seems to begin and end with the
dreadful word "War!"
There is no more rioting in the streets. The bands of young blackguards
who went about pillaging the shops of inoffensive citizens have been
cleared from the streets, and demonstrations of every kind are strictly
forbidden. So far is this carried that a cab was stopped at the Madeleine,
and a policeman ordered the cab driver to take the little French flag out

of the horse's collar.
In the evening the city is wrapped in a silence which makes it difficult
to realize that one is in the capital of a great commercial center. The
smallest of provincial villages would seem lively compared with the
boulevards last night. But for large numbers of policemen and
occasional military patrols, the streets were practically deserted.
There is, however, nothing for the police to do, for the sternly worded
announcement that disturbers of the peace would be court-martialed
had the instant effect of putting a stop to any noisy demonstrations, let
alone any attempts at pillage. Policemen can be seen sitting about on
doorsteps or leaning against trees.
Parisians are already going through a small revival of what they did
during the siege of 1871. They are lining up at regular hours outside
provision shops and waiting their turn to be served. Many large
groceries are open only from nine to eleven in the morning and from
three to five in the afternoon, not because there is any scarcity of food,
but on account of lack of assistants, all their young men being at the
front or on their