Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1911-12-03

on his feet he walked down to Tortonis
The quiet gentleman was still there read
ing. Waiter, the ConStitutionnelt'
Monsieur. it is in hands" And Choc-
quart, planting his fun height before the
reader. Numbered: All. then, Monsieur.
must ] give you another lesson
''Dandies'' in yellow gloves stared the
passing ladies out of countenance from
chairs which thoughtful Tortoni placed
on the Sidewalk. Such was the ri lin
of the cafe terrace" under the awning.
still the feature Of boulevard life 10 ay
| have still the last card of the ices
of the day''-of the last day when I r
toni's closed in l%e:. AureIien Scholl.
Henri Fouquier, Catulle Mendes and a
few others. ! remember sat on II ter
race. looking as if the universe wer.
crImbng. The proprietor gave them the
last four little tables remaining from the
empire: and those faithful clients. with
tears running down their cheeks, carried
them on their shoulders i'm a solemn pro-
cession to the corner of the Chausfe
d'Antin. where they took cabs.
In the last days of the Maison Doree
finally killed by the neglect Of the
1coD eXposition's whoop- hurrah crowds
Aureien Scholl wrote it's famous almost
lyrical prose panegyric, beginning: lie
Verdier, Yields blamelessly. He defend
ed butter against margarine fresh green
peas against the canned" With three
hero-worshping Americans Edward
Tuck and the late Lamar Middleton were
OF the party-Scholl made last tour r
the rooms.
I'm this corner sat Nestor RoouepIan
who was director of the Paris Opera.
and invented the word 'parisine tho
subtle poison which, when tasted forces
the man to return to Paris till he dies
Here is the room where the Prince of
Wales lunched with Gambetta.
Here was the first silver grill in all
the world. invented by Dumas at mo-
ment when he had quarreled with the
Cafe De Paris. The chimney has been
bricked up.
The boulevard is dead. Long live the
boulevard, At ) pm. il still gives it's
grand matinee, all gratis It's 1000
shops scintillate with electricity, and the
splendid poem Of the show-wndow sings
its strophes of color The vast crowd
plays the chorus OF the antique tragedy;
it laughs. loves, weeps. smiles pursues,
tempts. and dreams. moving. You still
cannot stroll a block without meeting a
friend or an enemy, type whose face
makes you laugh or think, hungry man
seeking penny, or millionaire seeking
oblivion. Here you sec the comedy of
clothes. AS many passers-by, as many
get-ups. As many hats ties, coats as
with electric lights and overflow their
hordes on the sidewalk terraces" Many
have music. Advertising signs and
theatrical columns throw floods of red
and blue light. White arc lamps spit and
dazzle Noise effulgence, excitement,
gypsy orchestraS'
Vive the boulevard
But it is not the same one.
Or have we changed: Recently we went
for dinner To the one pure, ancient land
mark still remaining. The Cafe Anglais.
exactly opposite the Cafe Richie, has
yielded nothing. In its effaced. discreet
white-and gold halls sat the diners at a
dozen tables The cuisine was like a
dream of Natcl. | noticed that we
whispered We squirrned. We were con-
scious and uneasy. Every one was whs-
pering squirning, conscious, aud yes
bored.
We had nothing to say. We had los.
the habit. We missed the noisy gypsy
orchestra to hide our nakedness.
vive the boulevard-the new one!
STERLING IIEIIIG