Pittsburg dispatch. [volume] (Pittsburg [Pa.]) 1880-1923, 1889-04-21
lcoRREspoNDENcE OF THE p1spArcH.l

Paris are not very remarkable for keeping
themselves clean. 1 Judge of them from
their resources for bathing. In this great
house there is but one bathroom on each
floor. 1t is spacious apartment, furnished
with every requisite, and in room along
side is the special service of the floor. am
assured by smart little French maid that
it is quite unusual to supply bath in the
room of guest.
Ny excellent room, furnished in far better
style than the usual hotel room in America,
with handsomely carved chamber set OF
mahogany, heavy silk curtains, pictures,
candelabra, and fine bronze clock, costs
me francs day. Service is 1 franc extra.
My service consists of the little maid and a
simpering man. The maid does all the
work. The man appears to overlook things,
and is sitting in his little Office most of the
time reading paper. He is great smiler.
Every time 1 pass his door he gazes out and
contributes most encouraging smile. do
not care for this man, because know he
gets all the "tips," and the neat little maid
does the work. 1 handed her an extra franc
to-day. As passed the door of the
"Service" ten minutes later the man cast
the brightest smile upon me that he mad yet
accorded. I knew that he had that franc
IN HIS INSIDE POCKET.
The people employed about the hotel all
speak good enough English. The man in
the "ascenceur'' rather disconnected me on
my first trip upstairs, when timidly ven
tured to say:
"Le troisieme, sill vous plait."
''Third floor? Yes sir" he replied in the
most American style of English. Then he
looked at me and smiled.
"You are an American" said.
"I am New Yorker. I ran the elevator
at the Windsor for four years"
''The call boys are French, but everyone
of them speaks English perfectly. They
are in uniform-blue. with red caps, bound
round with gold braid. One of them who
had been fetching things to my room for me
was remarkably bright and fine looking
boy of about IA. asked him some ques-
tions about himself, among them what his
name was.
"Pierre Michelet," he answered, "and
my mother is on this floor in the service
room."
"Do you mean to tell me that the little
maid with the blonde hair who fixes this
room is your mother?"
"Oui, monsieur. She is my mother, Rose
Michelet."
BERNHARDT AND HADING.
I was having my roll and coffee at table
in front of the Cafe de le Paix at IL O'Clock
yesterday morning and enjoying the splen-
did concourse of equipages and the gorgeous
panorama of promenaders that streamed in
rivers of color along the Rue de la Paix
and the Avenue de POpera. In half hour
1 saw a hundred people whose faces are
familiar on Broadway.
One incident was decidedly entertaining
to me. Two landaus, one going up the
avenue, the other going down, passed each
other directly in front Of where sat. 1 i'm
recognized the occupants of each
carriage. One was most remarkable figure
of woman, with sleepy eyes, yellow hair,
and her mouth drawn down shapely at the
corners. She held lilac colored parasol
over her head, and she seemed dreaming of
something miles away. But when her car
riage passed the other one that I mentioned
her sleepy eyes gave one, quick, sidelong
CLEAN and rested on the woman sitting
there. This woman was the handsomer Of
the two, and younger. Her face was as
white as a white rose, her hair dark red,
her eyes inexpressibly fine and dark. She
was attired divinely. As she was whirled
by she swept her long lashes downward with
an air of proud disdain at the yellow-haired
woman who was passing. had to smile at
this encounter of famous woman, for could
we'll imagine what was going on in the
minds of each.
One was Sara Bernhardt and the other
beautiful Jane Hading.
THE BoIs DE BoULoGNE.
Everyone drives out through the Champs
Elysee and into the Bois de Boulogne each
afternoon Just as they drive out Fifth ave-
lue and into the park at home. But the
approach to the park here is the finest part
If the drive. The broad, hard road skirted
by trees, with the walks on each side and
he houses beyond, is perhaps as splendid a
as can be found in the world. |
)ne is struck at once BY the immense variety |
If people and vehicles that follow one |
mother out of the city on these bright after |
ICONS.
The display is far more cosmopolitan than |
Inything we see in New York, and do not |
hink the quality of it compares with what |
We can see on any April day in New York. |
Most of the carriages are hired, and are |
yery dilapidated. The drivers, in red |
faded coats and high hats, made
# black or white patent leather that looks |
ike painted tin, never hold themselves |
veil, and the spruce and elegant character
site of an Am erican or English pageant of |
his sort is no oticeably absent. But the i'm
nense crowd, and the general picturesque
less of it all, forms a picture that is con-
inually abso rbing and exhilirating.
IN THE cATAcoMBs.
You are obliged to get card of admis-
ion to the catacombs of Paris, and when |
Tou arrive at the entrance you will find |
probably 100 people waiting to be shown |
through this wierd underground CITY of the |
lead. ALI Americans 90 through the
and the other morning when I
umped out of my facre in the queer little
inclosure at the head of the
teps saw typical matinee audience wait
ng to be shown the bones of 1 cannot say
low many million French people.
We bought candles of the old women who
lawked them about the yard and then
tarted down in single file through the iron
oor leading into a wall, like the door to a
omb. The staircase was spriral one, and
grew tired after the first few moments of
ounting the steps. The air grew percepti-
'ly colder as we. descended, and peculiarly
Incanny and frightful. It seemed like go
ng down into the sea. The moisture dripped
nto my face from the ceiling after time.
presume we walked in line for
uliy two miles through tortuous pas
ages, scarcely wide enough to pass per-
on in, with piles of bones reaching above
ur heads and crowned with grinning
kulls. The ground, and the ceilings, were
f the consistency OF damp chalk. My feet
rev wet as walked, and the moist air was
ainful to my lungs. A bell was tolling
lost dismally somewhere in the dreadful
lace. A group of French students up