THE FLOODS IN PARIS

New Zealand Tablet, 14 April 1910, Page 570

THE FLOODS IN PARIS

SUCCORING THE AFFLICTED To the American readers who have followed the accounts of the recent floods in and about Paris, it may be said that, for once, the newspapers have exaggerated nothing (writes a Paris correspondent of America). The flood, the like of which had not been witnessed for 300 years, reached its maximum on January 28, a dismal and dreary day, when a leaden sky and downpours of rain added to the general gloom. Never since the tragic days of the siege and the Commune, in 1870-71, the ‘ city of light,’ as lovers of Paris call it, passed through so severe an ordeal Almost from the first the trains, telephones, and telegraphs ceased to work, electric light failed in many quarters, and the capital of France found itself in an incredibly short space of time cut off from the provinces. Then, as the Seine rose higher and higher, flooding streets, avenues, public and private buildings, all intercourse between the opposite banks of the river became almost impossible; on one particular day only two bridges were available, and the,access to these became every hour more difficult. It was curious to mark the varying moods of the people during a period of acute tension. At first, the light-hearted Parisians were amused rather than alarmed at the unusual aspect of the river. The quays wore thronged with’ men, women, and children of all ranks of society, who spent hours watching with an interest, unmingled so far with fear, the rush of yellow water. Even at night, when the theatres closed, women of the world, closely muffled in furs, drove in their motor cars to one or other of the bridges to watch the Seine under its new aspect. Then, by degrees, when, one after another, the streets and squares filled with water, when in the low-lying suburbs of Grenede and Javel people had to fly for their lives, when in the wealthy quarters old-fashioned hotels that had been threatened by fire and revolution, but never by water, were slowly taken possession of by the stealthy, creeping flood, then curiosity changed into terror. It became evident, even to the most careless and optimistic Parisians, that the flood was assuming the proportion of a national catastrophe, and that _ an appalling misfortune had fallen upon thousands of families. The papers have enlarged upon the aspects of Paris during the remarkable week; they described how the avenues that extend on the banks of the Seine seemed to form a part of the river, how boats moved to and fro in the streets and carried provisions to the imprisoned inhabitants; but more striking and impressive than the outward features of the calamity was the outburst of charity and devotion that it called forth. As usual in similar cases,

_ J lie Church was Active in Relieving Distress ' ' The Archbishop was indefatigable in. his visits to +b« stricken suburbs; his kindness of.manner and the substanThe Si' brought with him, will long be remembered 3 he district of Grenelle was one of those, that suffered most severely. Mgr. Amette came there on -January 29 at an early hour and visited the different houses where the refugees, chiefly workmen and their families, had been housed. One rough man, after watching the prelate’s gentle and attentive manner as he inquired into the different cases, turned to his comrades. ‘ Where ’he ex claimed, ‘are our deputies? There is no fear that they will come to see us now that we are in trouble, as you do 7 Monsieur l Archeveque, he added, taking off his cap Then this worthy citizen whose opinion of his po?it" cai chiefs was evidently not . a flattering one, launched into a loud denunciation of their selfishness and indifference, couched in language more forcible than polite. The association known as La Cioix Rouge, which is both wealthy and efficient did wonders. Soup kitchens provided food for the refugees and in the suburb of Grenelle alone 2000 people were” fed daily by the white robed ‘ iufirmieres,’ with the red cross badge, many of whom bear the greatest names in France W 1^^ I +l 1 glVen +i° the refugees were plentiful and excellent, and the gentle, cordial, encouraging words that accompanied the service added flavor to the gift. Close by one of these kitchens is a large room, used in ordinary times as a Patronage.’ Here a lady, Mile, de R., whose life is devoted to charity receives on Sundays and Thursdays young girls and children, on whom she exercises an extraordinarily happy influence. Last week the ‘ Patronage ’ became a refuge for the homeless inhabitants of the submerged suburb; mattresses were laid on the ground, and to whole families was extended a primitive, but warmly cordial, welcome. .. Most of the sufferers came from Javel, a suburb adjoining Grenelle, that lies close ,to the Seine and is inhabited chiefly by rag-pickers— chiffon niers— whose miserable homes were among the first to be invaded by the river 1 hey flocked to the ‘Patronage’. in groups, wet, draggled, downcast, toddling children clinging to their mothers’ skirts, men carrying bundles containing the poor possessions saved from the wreckage. It was an Intensely Pathetic Sight, The silent suffering of these men, suddenly sent adrift chilled ones heart; the natural, buoyancy of the Parisian was quenched for the time being, no words either of complaint or explanation passed their lips, and at first they seemed hardly aware of the tender sympathy of their hos-" tesses. On the following day the ice was broken, and the dial influences that surrounded them brought out the better feelings of the outcasts. ‘ I shall never allow' anything to be said against clericals again,’ said one, ‘ and shall become one myself.’ Although no words of religion were unduly pressed upon them, the atmosphere of the place, the holy pictures and statues that lined the walls told their own tale, and when evening came one of the gentlewomen who assisted Mile, de R. in her hospitable duties proposed to say an Our Father and Hail Mary aloud. A willing assent was given, and all present joined in the prayer! JN ext day, their kind hostess proposed to distribute medals blessed by the Pope to all who desired them. Every rough grimy hand was stretched out eagerly. ‘I, too, should like to have a medal for my little girl,’ said the policeman, who kept guard at the door of the ‘ Patronage.’ During the two worst days of the flood— 28th and 29th—when the rain fell in torrents and the water came nearer to the ‘Patronage,’ the time hung heavy on the hands of the refugees. Their kind hostess provided for their amusement. Cards and dominoes were given to the men, games to the children, and to the women needlework that kept them occupied. Occasionally Mile, de R. related to them some anecdote, trait of history, or reminiscence of travel ; they sat round her on the floor, chairs being scarce, and these rough men, rag-pickers or coal-heavers, and women scarcely less uncivilised hung on her every word. With a quickness of perception that is their birth-right, they grasped the drift of all she said, they understood, with curious rapidity, the point of each story, and their questions, answers, or observations proved once more that the 1 ansian workman has a natural" facility for entering into subjects far removed from the sphere in which he moves. Sceptical and careless as they seem, they have a child-like simplicity that is often pathetic. One of the refugees, although lame and old, insisted on going back to visit his submerged home as soon as the flood seemed to decrease me object of his journey, neither an easy nor a safe one was ,to find out whether his pet canary was alive. In the hurry of his departure he hung up the cage as high as possible, and had the delight of finding his pet alive. Others touched us by their courtesy towards the women and children, to whom they willingly gave the best places others again brought Mile, de R. loaves of bread. ‘Will you give these, they said, ‘to those who are worse off than we f™- 4 n old woman, bringing a well-worn cloak, said: it has been of use to me, but now I want it to bo of use to others.’ And she left it in Mile, do R.’s hands