],
whereas the Frenchmen pack themselves tightly but frugally into the
second-class and the third-class compartments.
Before I went to France I knew Saint Denis was the patron saint
of the French; but I did not know why until I heard the legend
connected with his death. When the executioner on the hill at
Montmartre cut off his head the good saint picked it up and strolled
across the fields with it tucked under his arm--so runs the tale.
His head, in that shape, was no longer of any particular value
to him, but your true Parisian is of a saving disposition. And
so the Paris population have worshiped Saint Denis ever since.
Both as a saint and as a citizen he filled the bill. He would not
throw anything away, whether he needed it or not.
Paris--not the Paris of the art lover, nor the Paris of the lover
of history, nor yet again the Paris of the worth-while Parisians
--but the Paris which the casual male visitor samples, is the most
overrated thing on earth, I reckon--except alligator-pear salad
--and the most costly. Its system of conduct is predicated, based,
organized and manipulated on the principle that a foreigner with
plenty of money and no soul will be along pretty soon. Hence by
day and by night the deadfall is rigged and the trap is set and
baited--baited with a spurious gayety and an imitation joyousness;
but the joyousness is as thin as one coat of sizing, and the brass
shines through the plating; and behind the painted, parted lips of
laughter the sharp teeth of greed show in a glittering double row.
Pages:
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207