New Britain herald., 1930-06-30
'O.O.McInfyre

Paris, June 3o.-Paris awakens in me, for a few weeks only, a spon- | taneous gaiety + am rarely able to experience elsewhere. The minute I l step from the Gaer St. Lazarre into | it's incoherent activity I am seized
 with an urge to go skipping down the main plaisance balancing feather on my nose, shouting oo-la- | las.
 The glittering bistros the honkins taxis. the marble topped terrasse
 sbles dotted with blue seltzer bot ties. the mirrored shops, the belled
 work horses, the chirping chatter and the volatile shrugging have the same intoxicauion of native heady
 wines. Yet in little while I want to get away-as weary of Paris as child of a new toy.
 I have never arrived without feel | ing I could spend eternity here and have never left without hoping l | will never see 1t again. A tickle jade as tickle as the most heartleis nymph du pave who losses a sly smile over her shoulder along the
 boulevard But such good company! A hotel porter took our baggage and we decided to walk-the sun
 shining as only it shines in Paris. 1t
 was noon time and the iron shutters
 were being lowered for the two hour sesta. Paris was a confusing vhirl
 of midinettes, bewhiskered bicycl-
 ists, yipping dogs, perfume and laughter-always laughtsr!
 Many have told me the charm of
 Paris to them was its ''tireless tran quilIity" No matter what happens, | they argue, Paris is always the same.
 Yet to me Paris has all the quick
 changing qualities f theioetainetao-, changing qualities of the chameleon.
 + one is sad, Paris weeps and if one
 is gay Paris will effervesce.
 But the emotional side of France
 is as light as fluff and is worn on | the sleeve. At heart it is the most unsentmental and commercially
 minded of nations. It is the great protean actor-the volatile poseur. | It dresses Paris, it's show windo y,
 and waits in the wings to steal a | bow"
 The complexities Of the French
 people infuse them with interest. | Out of the welter of 1900 years of
 fighting they have emerged a pow der puff-as airy as thistle down.
 Save for the Napoleonic marauding, | France has never been aggressive.
 Its back has ever been to the wall the international Pagliacci laughing
 with a breaking heart.
 Except for a summer Of house. | keeping in Paris I have always been | domiciled here at the Ritz but this time we are lodged in the Hotel l Prince de Galles-the Prince of
 Wales-on Avenue Georges Cinq.
 It is a few steps from the Champs | Elysees and in the lacy arabesques | of the Ftoile and the breeding Arc | de Triomphe. One walks through a
 lane Of frock coated myrmhons to
 register and near the cashiers | cache was the most comfortable
 looking deep cushioned divan I ever | saw. Perhaps for swooning pur- ! poses after receiving ones bill I am especially intrigued by 8 | push button plaque at the bedside. | On 1t are pleached drawings of a
 waiter carrying goblet Of wine. q | chic maid with a duster, a uniform
 cd courier and a stripe vested valet holding out a pair of shoes. The
 buttons are bright green, red, yellow
 and pink. And they are more vhoop- dee-dee. I buzzed each in succession
 and at proper intervals and always
 got courier. l am the sort who
 has gone practically the best part
 of my life without a courier, too.
 But l expect to get the hang Of the gadgets if It takes up the great
 CT part of my brief stay. My opti-
 mism is inspired by the fact that two
 years ago I got telephone number
 the first try. It is still being talked
 about in the French provinces.