Evening star., 1897-04-03

tiles of dress and
cleanliness. 1t was
Henri Pile of whom
1t was said: "If his
hands are dirty it is because he Is always
rubbing his face with them" Such neg
ligence was his specially
Although the personal untidiness of Henry
Pile is matter of hot dispute at the
present oment, the truest analysis is
likely to be ss follows: Henry Pile began
life poor, plain-featured,' ungainly, unprac-
ticed in lies elegances and-untidy This
original defect he first accented, then ex-
aggerated. Why? Some have 1t that be-
meath all the exterior of Bohemian care
lessness he concealed the heart of a busi-
ness man who saw in the exploitation of
Dis native uncouthness a powerful adver-
asement. This reputation did. indeed, as
sist him. in a way. People remarked him
at the Salon of the Champs Elysees. His
hairy face. ravaged and weazened; his soft
felt hat; his eternal summer overcoat-
which never left him-hanging limp and
frayed; his ragged beard; his shoe-string
necktle shifted out of place to show his
stained shirt front. his phenomenal prince
Albert frock coat. longer than his unpre-
cedented lightweight overcoat; his Snow
boots" !. e., "arctics' worn in summer as
In Writer: his too short pants; his unclassi-
naoie high hat and his encroaching pulse
warmers which at one time must have
been bright scarlet, made him a figure not
to pass without remark. When he walked
ne slouched, and he seemed ever to be look
ing deways
Talent to Arrive.
And so when people after taking In this
rude ensemble noted with surprise the bit
of ribbon at his buttonhole-the tiny red
bow of the Legion OF Honor-how could
they do otherwise than sagely nod their
heads and say, "All the same It takes
more talent to arrive" rigged out like that
than II he were able to dress well as we
do! The day that Henri Pile first over
heard such words must have been one of
great contentment for him. At last! He
mad succeeded at last In letting in the pub
lie! He was a sacre Bohemian a fanciful
parsonage. an irregular, spendthrift and
a cafe pillar, he, the conscientious and in
dustrious worker. economical and saving!
Others OF a more friendly judgment have
1t that he keenly felt the disadvantages un-
der which he labored naturally; and, de-
spalring to overcome them in his early
days, they say that he took refuge for his
PRIDE and sensitiveness in that exaggera-
ticn of his Ills which came to be the habit
OF his life. In either case this man was
an original his titles to originality be-
ing clearly fourfold. His negligen. gettrp
ND wealthy man. The airs and accen,
Of peasant which he always kept con-
cealed cautious and sarcastic mind,
alert advised, boulevard Partisan.
Underneath his outward Indifference
there lay an excellent heart. And-what
most of all accents his originality in the
Montmartre Bohemia where he lived-he
had not only talent, but was an untiring
worker!
MOntmartre Bohemia.
All. that Montmartre Bohemia. Its rep-
utaticn for folly cost Henry Pile dear in
some ways, If 1t assisted him in Others.
fs ba
Pile" on the walls Of the new Hotel de
Vile nor the Partisan mayors Offices Yet
one could scarcely have found a talent
more fitted for such municipal decoration
Every one IS saying that this artist, who
chose voluntarily the middle ages for his
theme, would rave been exactly the one
to evoke the good old times of the proud
dtys history. They are perceiving the
error row. only to regret it; but it is too
late. The municipal councillors never took
Montmartre seriously because Montmartre
was gay. Commissions did not come to
those young artists; they came down the
hill to the commissions. AS time wore on
this one and that cut loose from the Bo-
hemian life, forgot his folly and set up a
painting shop respectfully In a chic man
ner; Henry Pile stayed on, both faithful
to the Quarter and the cafes. In the new
life Of the "tavernes arustiques.' so called
which now flood Montmartre to profit on
the reputation of the Chat Noir (now de-
funcD he was the only real Bohemian Of
the lot. Yet he was no Bohemian at all.
Exactly!
In the good old days"-toward 1ss9-ao-
a milky way-or beery way-of talent
threw it's light across the city from the
Latin Quarter-W hich the geniuses were
leaving to the students-to Montmartre, the
Southern Latin Quarters northern antipo-
Ges-where they were settling. There was
Jules Jouy, now in an institution for the
insane. the author of The Moving Stove''
Mac Nab, carried off by the consumption
nf a nd ho
born" Charles Cross, the exquisite poet of
THE Santal Box" and The Herring Sour
but why these names? The list is long
But the story is short.
The Chat Noir.
Fifteen years ago, on the Boulevard
Rochechouard, there was a small shop with
windows where tie shutters were closed
in the morning, but which Redeemed and
famed at night. Old lanterns were hung
from the smoky beams, here and there were
old fashioned plaster casts, great nails
desk there was blonde girl such as Ru-
bens painted, surrounded by a brood of
black cats. poor poet, who is now dead.
thrummed feverishly on the piano. Near
him a bard stood upright and declaimed.
and the long-haired, whiskered spectators
applauded, howled, made the utmost noise
and piled up the little saucers which mark
ed the beers they were to pay for when
they left off drinking. The master of the
place was full of Joy. He was a painter
who had failed, pretender to Bohemian
ism who gave himself the manners of the
middle ages, and flung out speeches whose
wit excused their insolence. He professed
to conquer Paris Tin the name of art. In
old age-very likee our Henri Pile
This was Rodolph Sails. the founder,
owner and explofter OF the Chat Noir for
fifteen years, who sold out the shop when
1t had run its time
His extraordinary fancies drew artists
around him and a circle of geniuses was
formed. 1t was a part Of their Bohemian
ism not to mix with the infamous middle
class raspect liability of the .'bouraeois So