Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1904-10-08
I was giving 10000 francs a month to

Melane-'
There are first prizes of Rome who are
cab drivers and laureates of the conserva-
toire who are opera supers There are uni
versity men. one-time professors, who sell
socks and Shoestrings on the street. There
are fakirs of children toys who nave WITT
ten books, and guide-interpreters who were
once owners of race horses. But chlSny
the great army of the broken down inns
occupation in the advertising business.
Never in Paris was street advertising -
intense and rampant as at the present noul
/ do not speak of artistic posters, Which
grow more and more striking in color ana
line being designed by artists OF merit, nor
of electric-light night-advert1sing, Wnlcn
threatens to turn the boulevard into a
color nightmare. The Partisan Street-ad-
vertiser is strong in another direcuon-;n
human advertisement. of which the sand
witch man is the lowest example.
The Paris sandwich man is the perfec-
type of the broken-down Frenchman still
enraptured with Paris, lacking almost
everything, yet in a way possessing almost
everything because the spectacle of Paris
life suffices him-still dazzled. sstlil hyp-
Noticed.
I ventured to ask one such about his past
he had consented to be photographed.
A Long Tumble.
yes, monsieur" he said, "once I had
my good times, my period of work and
reward was a high-school Qycee) pro-
fessor in a large provincial city, profess
sor of philosophy. I have need of phi
losophy now to carry the twenty-five
pounds of sandwich boards which bear
on my shoulders from am. to pm.
Sure, l dreamed OF coming TO Paris IN
those days-but not in my present posi-
ton
'.How much do you make"
"Just enough to live-45 cents per day.
We are divided into two categor1es, those
who walk, following route mapped out
in advance, and those who stand still IN
a fixed place, as 1 do. Those who walk
get so cents per day
you prefer not top
Some of my philosophy must have re-
NAMED with me-" was his half melan-
choly, half-laughing reply. Il accept 10
cents less per day for the privilege OF
am happy enough, allez; eat, sleep and
amuse myself with the spectacleS of life
the beautiful life of Paris"
Are there many like you?" I asked
him.
Look. Do you see that rooster coming
up the avenue?"
The rooster was stuffed one-the
Gaulish cock, always favorite French
embIem-with it's feet clamped to the top
of a straw hat worn by a slight, young
ish man of very intelligent and pleasing
face. He was dressed In white flannel.
On each leg was printed in big letters
"The Celtic" On his back was printed
the same name Of new bitters. He came
up and spoke to the sandwich profess
sor of philosophy, and he turned out to
be a professional player in bad
A Vendor of Socks.
That same afternoon I photographed
one-time bona fide university professor
who now earns Ms living by advertising
and selling SAMPLES of cheap brand of
socks. "a
Seven cents, seven cents, the socks, the
socks. one sample pair for each at seven
cents No need 70 wear Russian socks!
French socks at the seyen cents! The people
slow dignity the name and address of the
firm. III fE
Il was a professor of rhetoric" he ad-
mitted. when tpla him that the sand
witch professor had pointed him out to
me. bah, life passes; it is all kind of
dream" was his explanation. The great
thing is to free oneself from material
cares and ambitions ,oi.l spinoza ground
u4s calling out of the advertised arti-
Gle on the street is a Paris novelty of the
past few years; and it is threatening to
assume alarming proportions. In the
called .aboyeurs," or "barkers" and natu-
rally lin Paris) there is a king of the
aboyeurs"-just as there is king of
the street fakirs," king of the cigar
stump collectors" and a. dozen rival
s'kings of the beggars."
The liking of the aboyeurs" is sight to
see, when he is in full gala costume He
has rich bass voice, very deep and very
loud and very grave. He dresses in the old
French deer hunting costume, booted and
spurred-an aristocratic apparition on the
boulevard. He has a white mustache and
an aristocratic old face AS he walks
gravely you might imagine a country gen.
tleman of the old school-but what is he
doing in that dress on the boulevard?
Every one glances at him. Then he lifts
his voice:
"The Perfume Of the Incas! Discreet,