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DECEMBER

Volume 99

CONTENTS

1919

No. 2

The articles and pictures are copyrighted and must not be reprinted without special permission

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The Future of the Hapsburg Dominions. Herbert Adams Gibbons

Investment and Banking.

John K. Barnes Advertising pages 38-42

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Vol. 99

DECEMBER, 1919

No. 2

O

The Peace Christmas

By HELEN DAVENPORT

N earth peace, good will toward men!" For five years the motto of Christmas had seemed a mockery to us. Our city was the goal of the German armies. They reached it sometimes with their air-planes, and before the end of the war they reached it with their cannon. Scarcely fifty miles away from us, within hearing distance when the bombardment was violent, fathers and sons, brothers and sweethearts, were fighting through the weary years in constant danger of death. Each Christmas brought more vacant places to mourn. Of course we celebrated Christmas all through the war. There was little heart in it for grown-ups; but we had the children to think of. The war could not be allowed to rob them of childhood's Christmas memories.

In 1918 we were looking forward to a Christmas that would be Christmas. All around us the Christmas spirit was accumulating. The war was over; we had won. Ever since armistice night we had been saying to ourselves, "And now for Christmas!" We might have to wait for a revival of the second part of the Christ child's message, but at least the first part was once more a reality.

Three days before Christmas I sent a telegram. I took my brother's enigmatic military address and put two words in front of it, "commanding officer." I begged the gentleman to have a heart, and to send me my brother for

Christmas day. I told him that I had not seen my family for five years, that four little children born abroad wanted their uncle, and that we would welcome the C. O., too, if Christmas in Paris tempted him. tempted him. On the morning of December 24 my brother appeared, and before lunch many others I had invited "to stay over Christmas" turned up or telephoned that they would be with us. I had to plan hastily how the studios in the rue Campagne-Première could be turned into dormitories for a colonel of infantry, a major of the general staff, captains of aviators and engineers and the Spa armistice commission, lieutenants and sergeants and privates of all branches. Last year few of the invitations to men in the field were accepted. This year all came, some all the way from the Rhine. Bless my soul! we'd tuck them in somewhere. On Christmas eve we were going to have open house for the A. E. F., welfare workers, peace delegates, and specialists, and fellow-craftsmen of our own.

As each house guest arrived, I gave him a job. His "But can't I do anything to help?" was scarcely finished before he was commissioned to find blankets, army-cots, candles, nuts, fruits, bonbons, drinks, or sandwiches. "Just that one thing. I rely on you for that," I would say. None failed me, and the evening came with everything arranged as if by magic. I have never found it hard to entertain, and the more the merrier; but when you have American men to deal with, it is the easiest thing

Copyright, 1919, by THE CENTURY Co. All rights reserved.

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in the world to have a party in Paris or anywhere else.

Of course I went shopping myself. My husband and I would not miss that day-before-Christmas last-minute rush for anything. And even if I risk seeming to talk against the sane and humane "shop-early-for-Christmas "propaganda, I am going to say that the fun and joy of Christmas shopping is doing it on the twenty-fourth. Avoid the crowds? don't want to! I want to get right in the middle of them. I want to shove my way up to counters. I want to buy

things that catch my eye and that I never thought of buying and would n't buy on any day in the year but December twenty-fourth. I want to spend more money than I can afford. I want to experience that panicky feeling that I really have n't enough things, and to worry over whether my purchases can be divided fairly among my quartet. I want to go home after dark, reveling in theflare of lamps lighting up mistletoe, holly wreaths, and Christmas-trees on hawkers' carts, stopping here and there to buy another pound of candy or a box of dates or a foolish bauble for the tree. I want to shove bundle after bundle into the arms of my protesting husband and remind him that Christmas comes but once a year until he becomes profane. And, once home, on what other winter evening would you find pleasure in dumping the whole lot on your bed, adding the jumble of toys and books already purchased or sent by friends, and, all other thoughts banished, calmly making the children's piles despite aching back and legs, impatient husband, cross servants, and a dozen dinnerguests waiting in the drawing-room?

Paris is the ideal city for afternoonbefore-Christmas shopping. Much of the Christmas trading is on the streets, and it gets dark early enough to enjoy the effect of the lights for a couple of hours before you have to go home. You have crowds to your heart's con

And Paris is the departmentstore city par excellence. Scrooge would not have needed a ghost in Paris. If you have no Christmas spirit, go to the Bazar de la rue de Rennes, the Bon Marché, the Trois-Quartiers, the Printemps, the Galeries Lafayette, Dufayel,

the Louvre, the Belle Jardinière, and the Bazar de l'Hôtel de Ville. Do not miss any of these, specially the first and the last. At the Bazar de la rue de Rennes the Christmas toys are on counters according to price. At the Hôtel de Ville you do not have to wait for a saleswoman at the outside rayons. You hold up the article you want and catch the cashier's eye. He pokes out to you a box on the end of a pole, such as they used to use in churches before we became honest enough to be trusted with a plate. You put your money in. If there is change, he thrusts it back immediately.

.

On the grands boulevards and in our own Montparnasse quarter, the Christmas crowds were like those of the happy days before we entered into the valley of the shadow. As we did our rounds, falling back into peace habits and the old frame of mind, I realized how hollow was our celebration of the war Christmases, how we pretended and made the effort for our children's sakes. The nightmare was finished. Really, I suppose, we had less money than ever to spend, and everything was dear; but everybody was buying in a lavish way that was natural after the repression of years. Bargaining, a practice in street buying before the war, would have been bad taste. We paid cheerfully what was asked.

I was hurrying home along the rue de Rennes with one of my soldier guests. My husband and my brother had left us on the boulevards to get ham and tongue at Appenrodt's and peanuts and sweet potatoes at Hédiard's. A vender accosted the American uniform with a grin, holding an armful of mimosa blossoms.

"Fresh, from Nice this morning, mon capitaine. Only fifty, francs for all this."

"Come, Keith," I cried, "she wants to rob you!"

The woman understood the intent, if not the words. Barring our way, she reached over to her cart and added another bunch, observing;

"It's Christmas, and I give our allies good measure."

Keith took it all, saying:

"Don't stop me; I have n't spent any

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