Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1890-06-21

fund. huge entertainment in which
HSM the stars Of all the principal theaters
1W have taken part. This society is
scarcely known outside of France, but il is
the largest and richest of the kind in the
world. With such prop at his back. the man
Of letters is almost as safely provided against
the proverbisl rainy day the economical
bourgeois, who puts his small savings in the 8
per cents.
But what a practical world il is getting, What
is to become of that picturesque figure, the
Bohemian? He must shortly disappear from
of the face Of the earth. The Society Of Men
of Letters is doing its best toward that end,
for it steps in and does for its proteges the only
thing that they could not do for themselves
take little thought tor the morrow. 1t was often
not difficult for the writer to earn by his pen
enough to have kept him in comfort; but he
was weak in finance and Of comfort he got very
little for his money.
But We are fast changing all that "The man
OF letters eats. said Alphonse karr many years
ago. Nowadays he dimes and often exceedingly
we'll He is getting to be quite of the opinion
of Descartes. noble friend, finding that sage
one day seated before . luxurious repast, re-
marked: well, Descartes. for a PHILOSOPHER
you seem about to dine very well" Said Des-
cartes: My lord, do you think good things
were only made for fools?' Time was when,
the poor scrlVenerS 1unuS Delng low, ne was
content to take cheap meal in a cheap restau-
rant, consoling himself with the thought that
he was getting local color for his next story.
Then there were haunts sacred to the frater-
nifty, where the absence OF luxury was COM
pensated for by the absence of profane out
siders and where he could exchange flashes of
wit with his brethren over bottle of wine and
asavory stew or an omelet. Today the regen-
crate creature goes to the Maison Doree.
There are even to be found i'll these latter days
writers who do not disdain to own q banking
account
MILLIONS IN ITS GOLFERS.
The society which has done and is doing so
much for the craft was founded forty years ago
by Baron Taylor, rich philanthropist, and,
SO much has it been appreciated, that it counts
today among its members almost every French
man who lives by his pen. The society has
millions in its Golfers. the annual subscrip-
ton Is but twelve francs Every year the gov
eminent allows the secretary to issue two mil
lion tickets at one franc each for a great lot
terry. and from time to time balls and enter
tainments swell the revenues of the society,
What does it do with this money? 1t comes to
the aid of any member who may be
In temporary distress, and this without
letting its left hand know what its
right hand is doing; besides which it
grants pensions of from 500 to 1900 francs,
members commencing to enjoy the smaller
sum after twenty-five years of membership.
These, however, are not the only inducements
to men of letters to join the ranks. Perhaps
the most interesting features of the society's
work Is that 1t syndlcates to newspapers and
magazines the writings of any members and
charges a merely nominal fee for so doing. 1t
also keeps staff of clerks purpose to look
after their interests by bouncing upon the
slightest literary piracy of their work and
forcing the offender to make payment for it,
which he generally does rather than go to law
with an association known to be in a flourish
ing financial condition.
AUTHORS OF YoRE.
It is curious to speculate whether some of
the old Partisan Bohemians would have i'm.
bibed a little of the spirit of this practical age
If they had lived in the latter end of this nine
teenth century instead OF the early part of it.
Would the elder Dumas, who had made about
ESv,OOO by his pen, have died thousands in debt?
Or would Henri Murger, the author Of the
Vie de Bohemo," have been better fnancier?
i am inclined to think that a young bouleyar-
der of today, who had borrowed hundred
francs and received with il a present of game
pie, would not reward the maid servant, who
carried the savory dish downstairs to the cat,
so munfcentiy as did Alexander Dumas when
he handed the girl the lump sum that his friend
had just lent him. And 1t strikes me that the
Murger Of 1890 would manage to dine few
days more in every month than did the Murger
OF 1880. Poor Henris monthly budget was a
curious one; three days of enjoyment at the
rate of 200 francs a day; twenty-seven DAYS of
hard work and short commons at the rate of
four francs day. Such fnsncier was he
that when the month happened to have thirty
one days he had 10 borrow few francs frAm
friend to meet the difficulty.
FULL LARDERs.
1t is pleasant to think that this generation is
not likely to see a Cbatterton wrapping his
grief about him and hiding his misery in a self
sought grave nor pathetic figure like that of
Gerard de Norval, the French Chatterton,
hanging IN a sordid tavern with few sous in
nIaN l.
fraternity OF letters is empty nowadays il is
more likely to mean want of thought than want
OF money. There u no pathos. but true
lovlahty about an episode of today as told me
oy one oil the actors IN it. A fourishing young
journalist found on rising one morning not
long ago that his appetite was more than
match FOR the contents Of his larder SO he sent
across the way to young artist friend invit-
ing MN TO breakfast, but suggesting the ad-
Instability OF his bringing whatever rations he
might happen to have handy. The description
OF the merry breakfast that those two enioyed
sounded like passage out of the old Bohemian
ballad with the sad note left out The Societe
des Gems de Letters Is doing its best to prevent
that note from being heard again
LONDON SOCIETY OF TODAY.
Now that the London season is once more in
full swing one cannot help remarking how
little pleasure most of the habitues of society
appear to get out Of the luxurious modern life.
to judge by their faces. With the spread of
CpLllOEh anu III the W0rlQ mas come a
curious affectation Of sadness. There is less
and less real sadness, but more and more of the
spurious article. Society loves sad plays and
books. sad songs, loves to talk of its pleasures
o. weary round of gayety, &c. That world of
lSSO, what a sunny, warm, hght-hearted world
II was Romanticism was in its infancy and
young and old STEPPED themselves in the spirit
OF ehiyalry that breathed from such works as
hugos Hermann" Alexandra Dumas '.Trois
Mousquetaires and numbers of kindred
books. The youth of Paris walked home
along the boulevards at midnight after the
opera, gsily humming the sweet, fresh dainty
melodies Of LA Dame Blanche" lie Chalet"
lie Prex aux Clercs." Life was all golden and
rosy, and If the purse was something light why
the heart was light too, and in those DAYS no
queruous, plaintive query Is life worth living?"
was echoed from pampered youth to world
weary veterans all along the ranks of society
What joyous DAYS the poor student of the Latin
quarter managed to spend with his grisette who
wanted no costly diamonds to brighten her.
but merrily piled her needle and brought grist
TO the mill. From castle to cot the note that
went up was gay one. The world went very
well with them.
THE LovE-sIcx GIRL
Now we revel in the morbid self-dissection
OF Aloye-sick girl The realist is abroad in
the earth. He writes books full OF the sad
sickening details Of life as he sees it. We sit
and sniver at the woes and walls of Fedora
and watch the piled-up agony of La Tosca"
Dur writer's have almost tha