"In order to make the Hostel as serviceable as possible to all, a fee of one dollar a year is set as membership. This entitles a girl to the use of the library, to take advantage of the French conversations held and to attend all the weekly entertainments. There is no limitation put on creed, excepting that the girls who live in the home are expected to attend Sunday afternoon services held here and prayer-meeting once a week. They pass their evenings as they think best – studying, reading, listening to lectures, and enjoying splendid concerts given in our home by well-known artists."
When this explanation was ended, I was shown through the home. The first room entered was the dining-hall. The room was filled with many small tables covered with snow-white linen and dainty china. A girl could not have wished for more in her own home. Across the hall was a small room with a comfortable lounge, called the rest-room, where girls can retire to rest after meal hours, or when they come home from their day's study. But the real rest-room is the library, furnished with plenty of lounges and large easy-chairs. The bookcases contain more than five hundred English and foreign books. Some of these were bought with money raised by private entertainments. But the greater number were given through donation parties by friends invited to come and spend the evening in the Students' Hostel, some form of entertainment being prepared for them. The price of admission was a book they had read and were willing to donate to the library. The Secretary explained: "The first time we ventured on one of these donation parties we questioned the results, but our friends are so generous in supplying us with books that hardly a winter goes by without our having one of these with results that have far exceeded our expectations.
"Several nights in the week there are lectures given by well-known writers and scientists; some of these are only free to the boarders of the Hostel; to others, friends are invited. Weekly concerts are given. The programs are made up by professionals and students of the Hostel who are studying music. One evening a week and Thursday afternoon are set aside for receptions, when the Secretary and the students receive their friends.
"The second floor is given over to bedrooms. It would be difficult to find more attractive bedrooms in any American College. The rooms are large and well lighted, decorated with artistic wall paper and curtains to match. One part of the room is filled with a couch, used as a place of rest by day and a bed at night. The rest of the furnishings of the rooms include student's table, a lamp and several comfortable chairs. The remainder of the furnishing is done by the students themselves. Many of the walls are hung with gay posters, banners, and photographs of friends. Most of the girls have only one room, though a few who are studying music find the sitting-room necessary. Before leaving Miss Richards, I inquired who were the women who had done most to make this delightful home possible. She answered that would be hard to say, as there have been many, and some do not care to have their work known. It was only after I pressed the question a second time that she answered, "Well, I suppose Miss Hoff is the American girls' best friend in Paris. Helen Gould (I do not know her married name) has always given our home warm support, and last year when she traveled in Italy she established a Students' Hostel in Rome. But one thing I wish you would tell our girls at home. That this is a hotel and not a charitable organization, and a woman who stops here need not feel she is sacrificing her spirit of self-reliance and independence. All we try to offer is a comfortable home at prices within the reach of most American girls who come over to study in Paris. We make an effort to do two other things; to try to give the right protection so necessary to girls who live in the French capital alone, and comradeship we all need when living in a foreign land. Five dollars a week is what a girl must count on to live here.
"Besides home and board, we have French classes for our girls conducted by able instructors for a small tuition; these teachers give private lessons, and when it is desired to coach girls for their examinations in the Sorbonne.
"The students of music are not neglected. Certain hours of the day are set aside for practicing. We have weekly concerts at home and make an effort to get reduced rates for our girls when any of the great halls offer concerts that are worth while.
"Yes, we are trying to do much for our girls who come here to study painting. Many of them wish to live in the Latin Quarter and they find it really impossible to obtain the comforts that they are used to at home. Here they can enjoy the art student's life and have protection. Many discover that they are not ready to enter the Ecole des Beaux Arts; as for the large studios, they do not always offer enough individual attention for the student. For these we have a large, well-built studio of our own, where classes are conducted by some of the best masters of Paris."
Before leaving the Hostel I was invited into a garden gay with roses and carnations and the merry voices of happy girls. They were gathered in little groups, drinking tea, chatting French, and discussing the work they had accomplished that day. A pretty American girl approached me, saying, "Will you have tea, bread and butter?" In a few minutes she brought me tea on a pretty Chinese tray.
We laughed and chatted in turn, telling of our work and aspirations. As we sat in the beautiful twilight of that summer day we never dreamed that Paris would be threatened in a few weeks and the Students' Hostel, so dear to American artists and students, would become deserted.
PARIS, PAST AND PRESENT
I hate to think of Paris in a sombre tone, for Paris likes to be gay at all times. It is the natural tempo of the city, for whatever may be the follies of this Parisian capital, she is always beautiful, lively and gay. Her large, wide boulevards are now deserted, except for an occasional regiment of French and English troops that hurry along, or now and then an auto-car speeding up the boulevard carrying some high officials on an important mission.
Most of the fine shops in the Avenue de L'Opera and the Rue de La Paix are closed and heavily shuttered while their handsome stock of pearls and other jewels, fine dresses and furs, are hidden in vaults and put away in packing trunks. Even at noontime, when the streets are usually thronged with the working-girls hurrying to their luncheon or out for a half an hour's exercise, the streets are deserted except for the appearance of some tired-looking shopgirl trying to earn a few cents in spite of present conditions. The beautiful hotels, always crowded this time of the year, are empty except for a few Americans who are lingering, waiting for a boat to take them home. The large cafés on the boulevard are all closed. It is only the small tea-rooms and bars that dare hope for any business.
The smart people who live out near the Bois have heard too much about German Zeppelins to venture out on a beautiful day, and forbid their nurses taking the children into the park. It is only the poorer people in the Latin Quarter who insist in taking their children in the beautiful gardens of the Luxembourg for an airing. As night falls, the people gather in crowds to watch the skies. They have let their imaginations dwell so long on Zeppelins and bombs that many imagine they see these awful implements of war when they are watching harmless stars.
At the other end of the city, they gather round the Eiffel Tower, which now bears the highest artillery in the world. Here are placed immense machine guns. Up at Montmartre, the people gather in little circles to read the letters they have received from their soldier boys and to discuss the possibility of Paris being captured. They have forgotten all about their once lively dance-halls and cabarets. There are but few artists left in this quarter now, for they have either gone home or to the front, while the women and children amuse themselves reading the last extra or listening to an organ-grinder giving them many patriotic airs for a few sous.
How lonely and sad these vacant streets and boulevards look, contrasted with their appearance on the 15th of July, which is France's national holiday. Then there was dancing on nearly every street corner, made livelier by the throwing of confetti, careless laughter and much kissing. The Queen of Beauty ruled then, while now havoc and the cruelties of war are in supremacy. Except for a few soldiers and officers moving up and down in the Bois, that splendid park is quite deserted. The famous cafés, such as Madrid and Armoneville, have closed their doors. It is hard to imagine that these restaurants were visited by no less than five thousand people during an afternoon of the races. Less than two months ago, the great markets of Paris were crowded with country people hurrying in with their carts, horses