Part 9 (1/2)
Another delegate with no affectation was Mr. Barnes, a restful, thoughtful soul. He brought Mrs. Barnes in one afternoon, a charming, quiet lady. They should be painted together as an ideal English couple.
Another good Englishman, Lord Derby, our Amba.s.sador, sat to me. Some day will be known all the good he has done in France. Loved by all, this joyous, bluff, big-hearted Englishman has done great things in keeping friends.h.i.+p and goodwill between the two nations through many anxious moments. One felt better after being at the Emba.s.sy and hearing his great laugh. He was not a bit like a ”frock”; whether he loved them or not, I don't know. He was far too clever to let me know, but he was too kind-hearted to hurt anybody or anything, and he certainly loved the fighting man--French, English or American.
Mr. Hughes made a big mark at the Conference. He was as deaf as a (p. 110) post, but he had a cutting wit. Many are the good stories told about him, but they are not mine. Clemenceau and he used to have great jokes. Often I have seen them rocking with laughter together, Clemenceau's grey-gloved hands on Hughes' shoulders, leaning over him and shouting into his enormous deaf cars. He came to sit one day with _The Times_. He said: ”Good morning.” I asked him to sit in a chair.
He sat, read _The Times_ for about an hour and a half, murmured something that I did not catch, got up and left. The next day he rang up and asked if I wished for another sitting. I said: ”No, sir,” so that was my only personal meeting with Hughes; but I gather he was extremely cute and cunning, which is quite possible from the general make-up of his head.
That warrior, General Carton de Wiart, V.C., came to sit: a man who loved war. What a happy nature! He told me he never suffered any pain from all his wounds except once--mental pain--when he temporarily lost the sight of his other eye, and he thought he might be blind for life.
A joyous man, so quiet, so calm, so utterly unaffected. What a lesson to the ”frocks”!
Another man of great personal charm was Paul Hymans, of Belgium. He was greatly liked and respected by the British delegates.
[Ill.u.s.tration: XLVIII. _A Polish Messenger._]
CHAPTER XV (p. 111)
PARIS DURING THE PEACE CONFERENCE
Shortly after I arrived in Paris I found one could get ”Luxury Tax Tickets.” I had never heard of a Luxury Tax up North, but it was in force in Paris right enough. So I went to H.Q. Central Area, and inside the door whom should I meet but my one-time ”Colonel” of G.H.Q.
”h.e.l.lo!” said he. ”What are you doing in Paris?” ”Painting the Peace Conference, sir,” said I. ”Well, what do you want here?” he asked.
”I've come for some Luxury Tax Tickets, sir.” ”To what are you attached now?” he asked. ”C.P.G.H.Q., sir,” said I. ”Well,” he said, ”if you are attached to G.H.Q. you must go there and get your Luxury Tax Tickets. You can't get them here.” ”Right, sir,” said I. ”Will you please sign an order for me to proceed to G.H.Q. to obtain Luxury Tax Tickets and return? and I will start right away, sir.” ”Well,” he said, ”perhaps, after all, I will allow you to have some here, as you are working in Paris.” ”Thank you very much indeed, sir,” said I, clicking my heels and saluting. But it was no good, we never could become friends, as I said before.
One afternoon in the hall at the ”Astoria” I saw a strange man--a paintable person--and I asked the Security Officers to get him to sit to me. He was a Polish messenger. He came along the next morning, sat down and smoked his silver pipe. I said: ”Can you understand any (p. 112) English?” ”Yes,” said he, in a strong Irish accent, ”I can a bit.”
”But,” I said, ”you talk it very well. Have you lived in Ireland?”
”No,” said he, ”but I went to the States for about six months some fifteen years or more back, and that's where I picked up the wee bit I have.” I began to think he must be de Valera or some other hero in disguise. Perhaps he was.
Field-Marshal Sir Henry Wilson asked me to dine at the ”Majestic” one night. In the afternoon I got a telephone message that the place for the dinner had been changed from the ”Majestic” to the Emba.s.sy. When I reached there I was received by Sir Henry (Lord and Lady Derby were also present). He apologised to me for the room being a little cold.
At dinner, which was perfect, he found fault and apologised for the food, for the wine, for the waiting--nothing was right. It was great fun. He kept it up all the evening. When saying good-bye to Their Excellencies, he said: ”I can't tell you how sorry I am about everything being so bad to-night, but I'll ask you out to a restaurant another night and give you some decent food and drink.”
About this time I painted Lord Riddell, who, with George Mair and others, was looking after the interests of the Press. Meetings were held twice a day and news was doled out by Riddell, such news as the P.M. saw fit that the Press should know. Great was the trouble when George Adam would suddenly burst into print with some news that had not been received through this particular official channel. Adam, having worked in Paris for years, knew endless channels for news that the others had no knowledge of.
Riddell was a great chap, full of energy, full of an immense burning (p. 113) desire for knowledge on every subject, too, in the world. One always found him asking questions, often about things that one would think it was impossible he should take any interest in. He must have a tremendous amount of knowledge stored up in that fine brain of his, for he never forgets, not even little things. He was most kind to us all and was hospitality itself. He personally was a very simple feeder, and he never drank any wine or spirits, but nothing was too good for those he entertained. A lovable man, well worthy of all the honours he has received. He had a great support in his secretary, Mrs.
Read, a charming, gracious lady, who probably worked harder during those days than anyone else, except, perhaps, Sir Maurice Hankey.
[Ill.u.s.tration: XLIX. _Lord Riddell._]
One night I dined at ”Ciro's” with George Adam and some others. I was late when I came in. Before we went into the dining-room, Adam told me to take notice of an English lady who was sitting a couple of tables away from ours. This I did, and I remembered having seen her constantly at the ”Berkeley Hotel,” London, years before. She was most peculiarly dressed in some sort of stuff that looked like curtains, tall and slim, with a refined, good-looking face, but a somewhat strange look in her eyes. She was with two men. Presently a lady joined the group from another table. Dancing began, and she left with one of the men, danced and came back again. I could not remember her name, so I asked Philippe, who told me she was an English d.u.c.h.ess, but he could not remember what she d.u.c.h.ed over.
After dinner we went out and sat and watched the dancing and I forgot all about her. About eleven o'clock, during a lull between dances, she appeared before me. The moment she appeared two large waiters seized (p. 114) her by the back of the neck and ran her up the dance-hall and threw her out. A strange sight, surely! An English ”d.u.c.h.ess” being thrown out of a dance-hall in Paris.
Having been given a most excellent dinner by Adam, my feelings were roused at this peculiar treatment of the English aristocracy, so I went over to Philippe and asked him what he meant by this disgraceful behaviour to an English lady. He replied: ”The men she was with left an hour ago.” ”But,” said I, ”I never saw her behave badly. Why didn't you ask her to leave?” ”I did,” said he, ”but she just patted me on the back, and said, 'Don't let that worry you, old chap.'” Still, my feelings--thanks still to the dinner--were roused, so I went out into the hall to try and find her, as I had noticed she was wearing about twenty thousand pounds' worth of pearls round her neck. Not that I meant to take these, but I hated the thought of someone else doing so, and I wished to see her safely home, but she had gone--vanished! The only thing I learnt was that she was staying at the ”Ritz.” But when I inquired there they informed me that they were housing no English d.u.c.h.ess.
A few days later I was pa.s.sing the ”Hotel Chatham” and I saw her coming towards me, very well dressed, in white furs this time and the large globes of pearls still round her neck. She walked straight up to me: ”I want you to do something for me,” she said. I don't remember what I replied, but she said: ”Don't be frightened--it's not immoral.