The morning call. [volume] (San Francisco [Calif.]) 1878-1895, 1894-10-14
Paris at Daybreak.

You cannot say that you have seen the streets
of Paris until you have walked them at sun
rise; every one has seen them at night but he
must watch them change from night to day be-
fore be can claim to have seen them at their
best. walked under the arches of the Rue de
Riyoli one morning when it was so dark that
they looked like the cIoisters OF some great
monastery, and IL was impossible TO believe
that the empty length OF the Rue CamDon had
but an hour before been blocked by The blazing
front of the Olympia, and before that with rows
of carriages in front of the two Coiumbns.
There were few belated cabs hugging the
sidewalk, with their drivers asleep on the
boxes and a couple of gendarmes slouching
together across the Place de Ia CoucOrde made
the only sound OF life in the whole city, The
Seine lay as motlonleSs as water in a bathtub,
and the towers OF Notre Dame rising out of
the mist at one end. and The round bulk OF
the Ir0caderO bounding lt ar the other, seemed
TO limit the river 10 what one could see of Its
silent surface from The bridge OF the Deputies.
The Eiffel Tower, the great skeleton of the de-
parted exposition, disappeared and reformed
itself again as drifting clouds OF mist Swept
through It and cut its great ugly length into
fragm nts hung in midalr. As The light grew
in strength the facades OF the Government
buildings grew In outline. as though one were
focusing them through an, opera-glass and the
pillars of the Madeleine took form and sub
stance; then the whole great square showed
itself. empty and deserted. The darkness had
hidden nothing more terrible than the clean
asphalt and the motionless statues OF the cities
of France
A solitary fiacre passed me slowly with no
one on the box. but with the coachman sitting
back IN his cab. He was returning TO the
sta bles, evidently, and had on his way given "a
seat 10 a girl from the street, whom he was
now entertaining with genial courtesy. He
had Que leg thrown over the other, and one arm
passed back along tie top OF the seat. and with
the other he waved To the great buildings as
they sprang up into life as the day grew. The
girl beside him was smiling at his pieasantries,
while the rising sun showed how tired and pale
she was, and Knocked at the paint around her
sleepy eyes. The horse stumbled at every
sixth step, and then woke again. while The
whip rocked and rolled Enthusiastically III its
socket like drunken man. From up the
avenue of the Champs Elysees came the first OF
the heavy market wagons, with the driver asleep
on the bench, and his lantern burning duly in
the early light Back OF him lay the deserted
stretch OF the avenue strange and unfamiliar
in It's emptiness. save for the great arch that
rose against the dawn, and seemed, from its
elevation on the very top OF the horizon, to
serve as a gateway into the skies beyond. The
air in the Champs Elysees was heavy with a
perfume of flowers aud of green planjS and
the leaves dripped damp and cool with the
dew. Hundreds of birds sang aud ciatted as
though they knew the solitude was theirs but
for ouly one mole brief hour. and that then
they must give way 10 the httie children, ana,
| later, TO crowds OF idle lnsn and women. It
| seemed Impossible that but few hours before
| Ducltrc had filled these silent cool woods
| with her volce-Duclerc. with her shoul-
| der-straps slipping 10 her elbows aud
| the coored lights of the serpentine dance. Tie
| long, gaudy Autographs on tie biilb0ards and
the arches OF coloredelampS STOOD out of the 81
lence and fresh beauty of the hour like the
relics of some feast which should have been
cleared away before the dawn, and the theaters
themselves looked like temples TO a heather
Idol in some primeval wood. And as l passed
out from under the cool trees to the silent ave-
nues l felt as though / had caught Paris nap-
plug. and when she was of her guaro. and
good and fresh and SWEEP, ana had discovered
a hidden trait In her manY-sided character, u
moment of which she would be ashamed an
hour Or two later, as cynicS are ashamed of
their secret acts of chariIy.-"The Streets of
Paris,' by Richard Harding Davis, in Harper's