diff --git "a/data/test/30981.txt" "b/data/test/30981.txt" --- "a/data/test/30981.txt" +++ "b/data/test/30981.txt" @@ -1,2971 +1,2971 @@ - - - - -Produced by Rene Anderson Benitz, Suzanne Shell and the -Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - - - - - - - - - -[Illustration: THE REAL LATIN QUARTER Book Cover] - - - TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE: Variations in hyphenation, capitalization, and - spelling have been retained as in the original. Minor printer errors - have been amended without note. Obvious typos have been amended and - are listed at the end of the text. Some illustrations have been - relocated for better flow. Brief descriptions of illustrations - without captions have been added in parentheses where appropriate. - - -[Illustration: THE REAL LATIN QUARTER] - -[Illustration: IN THE GARDENS OF THE LUXEMBOURG - -_WATER COLOR DRAWING BY_ -F. HOPKINSON SMITH -PARIS, 1901] - - - - -THE REAL -LATIN QUARTER - -By F. BERKELEY SMITH - -[Illustration: (portrait of woman)] - -WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY THE AUTHOR -INTRODUCTION AND FRONTISPIECE BY -F. HOPKINSON SMITH - - -FUNK & WAGNALLS COMPANY -NEW YORK . NINETEEN HUNDRED AND ONE - - - - -Copyright, 1901 -by -Funk & Wagnalls Company - -Registered -at -Stationers' Hall -London, England - -Printed in the -United States of America - -Published in -November, 1901 - - - - -[Illustration: (teapot with cup)] - -CONTENTS - - Page -Introduction 7 - -Chapter - - I. In the Rue Vaugirard 11 - - II. The Boulevard St. Michel 29 - - III. The "Bal Bullier" 52 - - IV. Bal des Quat'z' Arts 70 - - V. "A Dejeuner at Lavenue's" 93 - - VI. "At Marcel Legay's" 113 - - VII. "Pochard" 129 - -VIII. The Luxembourg Gardens 151 - - IX. "The Ragged Edge of the Quarter" 173 - - X. Exiled 194 - -[Illustration: (wine bottles with glass)] - - - - -INTRODUCTION - - -"Cocher, drive to the rue Falguiere"--this in my best restaurant French. - -The man with the varnished hat shrugged his shoulders, and raised his -eyebrows in doubt. He evidently had never heard of the rue Falguiere. -"Yes, rue Falguiere, the old rue des Fourneaux," I continued. - -Cabby's face broke out into a smile. "Ah, oui, oui, le Quartier Latin." - -And it was at the end of this crooked street, through a lane that led -into a half court flanked by a row of studio buildings, and up one pair -of dingy waxed steps, that I found a door bearing the name of the author -of the following pages--his visiting card impaled on a tack. He was in -his shirt-sleeves--the thermometer stood at 90 deg. outside--working at his -desk, surrounded by half-finished sketches and manuscript. - -The man himself I had met before--I had known him for years, in -fact--but the surroundings were new to me. So too were his methods of -work. - -Nowadays when a man would write of the Siege of Peking or the relief of -some South African town with the unpronounceable name, his habit is to -rent a room on an up-town avenue, move in an inkstand and pad, and a -collection of illustrated papers and encyclopedias. This writer on the -rue Falguiere chose a different plan. He would come back year after -year, and study his subject and compile his impressions of the Quarter -in the very atmosphere of the place itself; within a stone's throw of -the Luxembourg Gardens and the Pantheon; near the cafes and the Bullier; -next door, if you please, to the public laundry where his washerwoman -pays a few sous for the privilege of pounding his clothes into holes. - -It all seemed very real to me, as I sat beside him and watched him at -work. The method delighted me. I have similar ideas myself about the -value of his kind of study in out-door sketching, compared with the -labored work of the studio, and I have most positive opinions regarding -the quality which comes of it. - -If then the pages which here follow have in them any of the true -inwardness of the life they are meant to portray, it is due, I feel -sure, as much to the attitude of the author toward his subject, as much -to his ability to seize, retain, and express these instantaneous -impressions, these flash pictures caught on the spot, as to any other -merit which they may possess. - -Nothing can be made really _real_ without it. - - F. HOPKINSON SMITH. - -Paris, August, 1901. - - - - -[Illustration: (city rooftop scene)] - -CHAPTER I - -IN THE RUE VAUGIRARD - - -Like a dry brook, its cobblestone bed zigzagging past quaint shops and -cafes, the rue Vaugirard finds its way through the heart of the Latin -Quarter. - -It is only one in a score of other busy little streets that intersect -the Quartier Latin; but as I live on the rue Vaugirard, or rather just -beside it, up an alley and in the corner of a picturesque old courtyard -leading to the "Lavoir Gabriel," a somewhat angelic name for a huge, -barn-like structure reeking in suds and steam, and noisy with gossiping -washerwomen who pay a few sous a day there for the privilege of doing -their washing--and as my studio windows (the big one with the north -light, and the other one a narrow slit reaching from the floor to the -high ceiling for the taking in of the big canvases one sees at the -Salon--which are never sold) overlook both alley and court, I can see -the life and bustle below. - -[Illustration: LAVOIR GABRIEL] - -This is not the Paris of Boulevards, ablaze with light and thronged with -travelers of the world, nor of big hotels and chic restaurants without -prices on the menus. In the latter the maitre d'hotel makes a mental -inventory of you when you arrive; and before you have reached your -coffee and cigar, or before madame has buttoned her gloves, this -well-shaved, dignified personage has passed sentence on you, and you pay -according to whatever he thinks you cannot afford. I knew a fellow once -who ordered a peach in winter at one of these smart taverns, and was -obliged to wire home for money the next day. - -In the Quartier Latin the price is always such an important factor that -it is marked plainly, and often the garcon will remind you of the cost -of the dish you select in case you have not read aright, for in this -true Bohemia one's daily fortune is the one necessity so often lacking -that any error in regard to its expenditure is a serious matter. - -In one of the well-known restaurants--here celebrated as a rendezvous -for artists--a waiter, as he took a certain millionaire's order for -asparagus, said: "Does monsieur know that asparagus costs five francs?" - -At all times of the day and most of the night the rue Vaugirard is busy. -During the morning, push-carts loaded with red gooseberries, green peas, -fresh sardines, and mackerel, their sides shining like silver, line the -curb in front of the small shops. Diminutive donkeys, harnessed to -picturesque two-wheeled carts piled high with vegetables, twitch their -long ears and doze in the shady corners of the street. The gutters, -flushed with clear water, flash in the sunlight. Baskets full of red -roses and white carnations, at a few sous the armful, brighten the cool -shade of the alleys leading to courtyards of wild gardens, many of which -are filled with odd collections of sculpture discarded from the -ateliers. - -[Illustration: (donkey cart in front of market)] - -Old women in linen caps and girls in felt slippers and leather-covered -sabots, market baskets on arm, gossip in groups or hurry along the -narrow sidewalk, stopping at the butcher's or the baker's to buy the -dejeuner. Should you breakfast in your studio and do your own -marketing, you will meet with enough politeness in the buying of a pate, -an artichoke, and a bottle of vin ordinaire, to supply a court welcoming -a distinguished guest. - -Politeness is second nature to the Parisian--it is the key to one's -daily life here, the oil that makes this finesse of civilization run -smoothly. - -"Bonjour, madame!" says the well-to-do proprietor of the tobacco-shop -and cafe to an old woman buying a sou's worth of snuff. - -"Bonjour, monsieur," replies the woman with a nod. - -"Merci, madame," continues the fat patron as he drops the sou into his -till. - -"Merci, monsieur--merci!" and she secretes the package in her netted -reticule, and hobbles out into the sunny street, while the patron -attends to the wants of three draymen who have clambered down from their -heavy carts for a friendly chat and a little vermouth. A polished zinc -bar runs the length of the low-ceilinged room; a narrow, winding -stairway in one corner leads to the living apartments above. Behind the -bar shine three well-polished square mirrors, and ranged in front of -these, each in its zinc rack, are the favorite beverages of the -Quarter--anisette, absinthe, menthe, grenadine--each in zinc-stoppered -bottles, like the ones in the barber-shops. - -At the end of the little bar a cocher is having his morning tipple, the -black brim of his yellow glazed hat resting on his coarse red ears. He -is in his shirt-sleeves; coat slung over his shoulder, and whip in hand, -he is on the way to get his horse and voiture for the day. To be even a -cocher in Paris is considered a profession. If he dines at six-thirty -and you hail him to take you as he rattles past, he will make his brief -apologies to you without slackening his pace, and go on to his plat du -jour and bottle of wine at his favorite rendezvous, dedicated to "The -Faithful Cocher." An hour later he emerges, well fed, revives his -knee-sprung horse, lights a fresh cigarette, cracks his whip like a -package of torpedoes, and goes clattering off in search of a customer. - -[Illustration: (rooftop)] - -The shops along the rue Vaugirard are marvels of neatness. The -butcher-shop, with its red front, is iron-barred like the lion's cage in -the circus. Inside the cage are some choice specimens of filets, rounds -of beef, death-masks of departed calves, cutlets, and chops in paper -pantalettes. On each article is placed a brass sign with the current -price thereon. - -In Paris nothing is wasted. A placard outside the butcher's announces an -"Occasion" consisting of a mule and a donkey, both of guaranteed -"premiere qualite." And the butcher! A thick-set, powerfully built -fellow, with blue-black hair, curly like a bull's and shining in pomade, -with fierce mustache of the same dye, waxed to two formidable points -like skewers. Dangling over his white apron, and suspended by a heavy -chain about his waist, he carries the long steel spike which sharpens -his knives. All this paraphernalia gives him a very fierce appearance, -like the executioner in the play; but you will find him a mild, kindly -man after all, who takes his absinthe slowly, with a fund of good humor -after his day's work, and his family to Vincennes on Sundays. - -The windows, too, of these little shops are studies in decoration. If it -happens to be a problem in eggs, cheese, butter, and milk, all these are -arranged artistically with fresh grape-leaves between the white rows of -milk bottles and under the cheese; often the leaves form a nest for the -white eggs (the fresh ones)--the hard-boiled ones are dyed a bright -crimson. There are china hearts, too, filled with "Double Cream," and -cream in little brown pots; Roquefort cheese and Camembert, Isijny, and -Pont Leveque, and chopped spinach. - -[Illustration: (overloaded cart of baskets)] - -Delicatessen shops display galantines of chicken, the windows banked -with shining cans of sardines and herrings from Dieppe; liver pates and -creations in jelly; tiny sausages of doubtful stuffing, and occasional -yellow ones like the odd fire-cracker of the pack. - -[Illustration: (women at news stand)] - -Grocery shops, their interiors resembling the toy ones of our childhood, -are brightened with cones of snowy sugar in blue paper jackets. The -wooden drawers filled with spices. Here, too, one can get an excellent -light wine for eight sous the bottle. - -As the day begins, the early morning cries drift up from the street. At -six the fishwomen with their push-carts go their rounds, each singing -the beauties of her wares. "Voila les beaux maquereaux!" chants the -sturdy vendor, her sabots clacking over the cobbles as she pushes the -cart or stops and weighs a few sous' worth of fish to a passing -purchaser. - -The goat-boy, piping his oboe-like air, passes, the goats scrambling -ahead alert to steal a carrot or a bite of cabbage from the nearest -cart. And when these have passed, the little orgue de Barbarie plays its -repertoire of quadrilles and waltzes under your window. It is a very -sweet-toned organ, this little orgue de Barbarie, with a plaintive, -apologetic tone, and a flute obbligato that would do credit to many a -small orchestra. I know this small organ well--an old friend on dreary -mornings, putting the laziest riser in a good humor for the day. The -tunes are never changed, but they are all inoffensive and many of them -pretty, and to the shrunken old man who grinds them out daily they are -no doubt by this time all alike. - -[Illustration: (cat on counter)] - -It is growing late and time for one's coffee. The little tobacco-shop -and cafe around the corner I find an excellent place for cafe au lait. -The coffee is delicious and made when one chooses to arrive, not stewed -like soup, iridescent in color, and bitter with chicory, as one finds it -in many of the small French hotels. Two crescents, flaky and hot from -the bakery next door, and three generous pats of unsalted butter, -complete this morning repast, and all for the modest sum of twelve sous, -with three sous to the garcon who serves you, with which he is well -pleased. - -I have forgotten a companionable cat who each morning takes her seat on -the long leather settee beside me and shares my crescents. The cats are -considered important members of nearly every family in the Quarter. Big -yellow and gray Angoras, small, alert tortoise-shell ones, tiger-like -and of plainer breed and more intelligence, bask in the doorways or -sleep on the marble-topped tables of the cafes. - -[Illustration: (woman carrying shopping box)] - -"Qu'est-ce que tu veux, ma pauvre Mimi?" condoles Celeste, as she -approaches the family feline. - -"Mimi" stretches her full length, extending and retracting her claws, -rolls on her back, turns her big yellow eyes to Celeste and mews. The -next moment she is picked up and carried back into the house like a -stray child. - -At noon the streets seem deserted, except for the sound of occasional -laughter and the rattle of dishes coming from the smaller restaurants as -one passes. At this hour these places are full of workmen in white and -blue blouses, and young girls from the neighboring factories. They are -all laughing and talking together. A big fellow in a blue gingham blouse -attempts to kiss the little milliner opposite him at table; she evades -him, and, screaming with laughter, picks up her skirts and darts out -of the restaurant and down the street, the big fellow close on her -dainty heels. A second later he has overtaken her, and picking her up -bodily in his strong arms carries her back to her seat, where he places -her in her chair, the little milliner by this time quite out of breath -with laughter and quite happy. This little episode affords plenty of -amusement to the rest of the crowd; they wildly applaud the good-humored -captor, who orders another litre of red wine for those present, and -every one is merry. - -[Illustration: (city house)] - -The Parisian takes his hour for dejeuner, no matter what awaits him. It -is the hour when lovers meet, too. Edmond, working in the atelier for -the reproduction of Louis XVI furniture, meets Louise coming from her -work on babies' caps in the rue des Saints-Peres at precisely twelve-ten -on the corner of the rue Vaugirard and the Boulevard Montparnasse. -Louise comes without her hat, her hair in an adorable coiffure, as -neatly arranged as a Geisha's, her skirt held tightly to her hips, -disclosing her small feet in low slippers. There is a golden rule, I -believe, in the French catechism which says: "It is better, child, that -thy hair be neatly dressed than that thou shouldst have a whole frock." -And so Louise is content. The two breakfast on a ragout and a bottle of -wine while they talk of going on Sunday to St. Cloud for the day--and so -they must be economical this week. Yes, they will surely go to St. Cloud -and spend all day in the woods. It is the second Sunday in the month, -and the fountains will be playing. They will take their dejeuner with -them. Louise will, of course, see to this, and Edmond will bring -cigarettes enough for two, and the wine. Then, when the stars are out, -they will take one of the "bateaux mouches" back to Paris. - -Dear Paris--the Paris of youth, of love, and of romance! - - * * * * * - -The pulse of the Quarter begins really to beat at 6 P.M. At this hour -the streets are alive with throngs of workmen--after their day's work, -seeking their favorite cafes to enjoy their aperitifs with their -comrades--and women hurrying back from their work, many to their homes -and children, buying the dinner en route. - -Henriette, who sews all day at one of the fashionable dressmakers' in -the rue de la Paix, trips along over the Pont Neuf to her small room in -the Quarter to put on her best dress and white kid slippers, for it is -Bullier night and she is going to the ball with two friends of her -cousin. - -In the twilight, and from my studio window the swallows, like black -cinders against the yellow sky, dart and swoop above the forest of -chimney-pots and tiled and gabled roofs. - -It is the hour to dine, and with this thought uppermost in every one's -mind studio doors are slammed and night-keys tucked in pockets. And arm -in arm the poet and the artist swing along to that evening Mecca of good -Bohemians--the Boulevard St. Michel. - -[Illustration: (basket of flowers)] - - - - -CHAPTER II - -THE BOULEVARD ST. MICHEL - - -From the Place St. Michel, this ever gay and crowded boulevard ascends a -long incline, up which the tired horses tug at the traces of the -fiacres, and the big double-decked steam trams crawl, until they reach -the Luxembourg Gardens,--and so on a level road as far as the Place de -l'Observatoire. Within this length lies the life of the "Boul' Miche." - -Nearly every highway has its popular side, and on the "Boul' Miche" it -is the left one, coming up from the Seine. Here are the cafes, and from -5 P.M. until long past midnight, the life of the Quartier pours by -them--students, soldiers, families, poets, artists, sculptors, wives, -and sweethearts; bicycle girls, the modern grisette, the shop girl, and -the model; fakirs, beggars, and vagrants. Yet the word vagrant is a -misnomer in this city, where economy has reached a finesse that is -marvelous. That fellow, in filth and rags, shuffling along, his eyes -scrutinizing, like a hungry rat, every nook and corner under the cafe -tables on the terrace, carries a stick spiked with a pin. The next -instant, he has raked the butt of your discarded cigarette from beneath -your feet with the dexterity of a croupier. The butt he adds to the -collection in his filthy pocket, and shuffles on to the next cafe. It -will go so far at least toward paying for his absinthe. He is hungry, -but it is the absinthe for which he is working. He is a "marchand de -megots"; it is his profession. - -[Illustration: TERRACE TAVERNE DU PANTHEON] - -One finds every type of restaurant, tavern, and cafe along the "Boul' -Miche." There are small restaurants whose plat du jour might be traced -to some faithful steed finding a final oblivion in a brown sauce and -onions--an important item in a course dinner, to be had with wine -included for one franc fifty. There are brasseries too, gloomy by day -and brilliant by night (dispensing good Munich beer in two shades, and -German and French food), whose rich interiors in carved black oak, -imitation gobelin, and stained glass are never half illumined until the -lights are lit. - -[Illustration: A "TYPE"] - -All day, when the sun blazes, and the awnings are down, sheltering those -chatting on the terrace, the interiors of these brasseries appear dark -and cavernous. - -The clientele is somber too, and in keeping with the place; silent -poets, long haired, pale, and always writing; serious-minded lawyers, -lunching alone, and fat merchants who eat and drink methodically. - -Then there are bizarre cafes, like the d'Harcourt, crowded at night with -noisy women tawdry in ostrich plumes, cheap feather boas, and much -rouge. The d'Harcourt at midnight is ablaze with light, but the crowd is -common and you move on up the boulevard under the trees, past the shops -full of Quartier fashions--velvet coats, with standing collars buttoning -close under the chin; flamboyant black silk scarfs tied in a huge bow; -queer broad-brimmed, black hats without which no "types" wardrobe is -complete. - -On the corner facing the square, and opposite the Luxembourg gate, is -the Taverne du Pantheon. This is the most brilliant cafe and restaurant -of the Quarter, forming a V with its long terrace, at the corner of the -boulevard and the rue Soufflot, at the head of which towers the superb -dome of the Pantheon. - -[Illustration: (view of Pantheon from Luxembourg gate)] - -It is 6 P.M. and the terrace, four rows deep with little round tables, -is rapidly filling. The white-aproned garcons are hurrying about or -squeezing past your table, as they take the various orders. - -"Un demi! un!" shouts the garcon. - -"Deux pernod nature, deux!" cries another, and presently the "Omnibus" -in his black apron hurries to your table, holding between his knuckles, -by their necks, half a dozen bottles of different aperitifs, for it is -he who fills your glass. - -[Illustration: ALONG THE "BOUL' MICHE"] - -It is the custom to do most of one's correspondence in these cafes. The -garcon brings you a portfolio containing note-paper, a bottle of violet -ink, an impossible pen that spatters, and a sheet of pink blotting-paper -that does not absorb. With these and your aperitif, the place is yours -as long as you choose to remain. No one will ask you to "move on" or pay -the slightest attention to you. - -Should you happen to be a cannibal chief from the South Seas, and dine -in a green silk high hat and a necklace of your latest captive's teeth, -you would occasion a passing glance perhaps, but you would not be a -sensation. - -[Illustration: (hotel sign)] - -Celeste would say to Henriette: - -"Regarde ca, Henriette! est-il drole, ce sauvage?" - -And Henriette would reply quite assuringly: - -"Eh bien quoi! c'est pas si extraordinaire, il est peut-etre de -Madagascar; il y en a beaucoup a Paris maintenant." - -There is no phase of character, or eccentricity of dress, that Paris has -not seen. - -Nor will your waiter polish off the marble top of your table, with the -hope that your ordinary sensibility will suggest another drink. It would -be beneath his professional dignity as a good garcon de cafe. The two -sous you have given him as a pourboire, he is well satisfied with, and -expresses his contentment in a "merci, monsieur, merci," the final -syllable ending in a little hiss, prolonged in proportion to his -satisfaction. After this just formality, you will find him ready to see -the point of a joke or discuss the current topics of the day. He is -intelligent, independent, very polite, but never servile. - -[Illustration: (woman walking near fountain)] - -It is difficult now to find a vacant chair on the long terrace. A group -of students are having a "Pernod," after a long day's work at the -atelier. They finish their absinthe and then, arm in arm, start off to -Madame Poivret's for dinner. It is cheap there; besides, the little -"boite," with its dingy room and sawdust floor, is a favorite haunt of -theirs, and the good old lady, with her credit slate, a friendly refuge -in time of need. - -At your left sits a girl in bicycle bloomers, yellow-tanned shoes, and -short black socks pulled up snug to her sunburned calves. She has just -ridden in from the Bois de Boulogne, and has scorched half the way back -to meet her "officier" in pale blue. The two are deep in conversation. -Farther on are four older men, accompanied by a pale, sweet-faced woman -of thirty, her blue-black hair brought in a bandeau over her dainty -ears. She is the model of the gray-haired man on the left, a man of -perhaps fifty, with kindly intelligent eyes and strong, nervous, -expressive hands--hands that know how to model a colossal Greek -war-horse, plunging in battle, or create a nymph scarcely a foot high -out of a lump of clay, so charmingly that the French Government has not -only bought the nymph, but given him a little red ribbon for his pains. - -[Illustration: (omnibus)] - -He is telling the others of a spot he knows in Normandy, where one can -paint--full of quaint farm-houses, with thatched roofs; picturesque -roadsides, rich in foliage; bright waving fields, and cool green -woods, and purling streams; quaint gardens, choked with lavender and -roses and hollyhocks--and all this fair land running to the white sand -of the beach, with the blue sea beyond. He will write to old Pere -Jaqueline that they are all coming--it is just the place in which to -pose a model "en plein air,"--and Suzanne, his model, being a Normande -herself, grows enthusiastic at the thought of going down again to the -sea. Long before she became a Parisienne, and when her beautiful hair -was a tangled shock of curls, she used to go out in the big boats, -with the fisherwomen--barefooted, brown, and happy. She tells them of -those good days, and then they all go into the Taverne to dine, filled -with the idea of the new trip, and dreaming of dinners under the -trees, of "Tripes a la mode de Caen," Normandy cider, and a lot of new -sketches besides. - -[Illustration: (shop front)] - -Already the tables within are well filled. The long room, with its newer -annex, is as brilliant as a jewel box--the walls rich in tiled panels -suggesting the life of the Quarter, the woodwork in gold and light oak, -the big panels of the rich gold ceiling exquisitely painted. - -At one of the tables two very chic young women are dining with a young -Frenchman, his hair and dress in close imitation of the Duc d'Orleans. -These poses in dress are not uncommon. - -A strikingly pretty woman, in a scarlet-spangled gown as red as her -lips, is dining with a well-built, soldierly-looking man in black; they -sit side by side as is the custom here. - -The woman reminds one of a red lizard--a salamander--her "svelte" body -seemingly boneless in its gown of clinging scales. Her hair is -purple-black and freshly onduled; her skin as white as ivory. She has -the habit of throwing back her small, well-posed head, while under their -delicately penciled lids her gray eyes take in the room at a glance. - -She is not of the Quarter, but the Taverne du Pantheon is a refuge for -her at times, when she grows tired of Paillard's and Maxim's and her -quarreling retinue. - -"Let them howl on the other bank of the Seine," says this empress of -the half-world to herself, "I dine with Raoul where I please." - -And now one glittering, red arm with its small, heavily-jeweled hand -glides toward Raoul's open cigarette case, and in withdrawing a -cigarette she presses for a moment his big, strong hand as he holds near -her polished nails the flaming match. - -[Illustration: ALONG THE SEINE] - -Her companion watches her as she smokes and talks--now and then he leans -closer to her, squaring his broad shoulders and bending lower his -strong, determined face, as he listens to her,--half-amused, replying to -her questions leisurely, in short, crisp sentences. Suddenly she stamps -one little foot savagely under the table, and, clenching her jeweled -hands, breathes heavily. She is trembling with rage; the man at her side -hunches his great shoulders, flicks the ashes from his cigarette, looks -at her keenly for a moment, and then smiles. In a moment she is herself -again, almost penitent; this little savage, half Roumanian, half -Russian, has never known what it was to be ruled! She has seen men grow -white when she has stamped her little foot, but this big Raoul, whom she -loves--who once held a garrison with a handful of men--he does not -tremble! she loves him for his devil-me-care indifference--and he enjoys -her temper. - -But the salamander remembers there are some whom she dominated, until -they groveled like slaves at her feet; even the great Russian nobleman -turned pale when she dictated to him archly and with the voice of an -angel the price of his freedom. - -"Poor fool! he shot himself the next day," mused the salamander. - -Yes, and even the adamant old banker in Paris, crabbed, stern, -unrelenting to his debtors--shivered in his boots and ended in signing -away half his fortune to her, and moved his family into a permanent -chateau in the country, where he keeps himself busy with his shooting -and his books. - - * * * * * - -As it grows late, the taverne becomes more and more animated. - -Every one is talking and having a good time. The room is bewildering in -gay color, the hum of conversation is everywhere, and as there is a -corresponding row of tables across the low, narrow room, friendly -greetings and often conversations are kept up from one side to the -other. The dinner, as it progresses, assumes the air of a big family -party of good bohemians. The French do not bring their misery with them -to the table. To dine is to enjoy oneself to the utmost; in fact the -French people cover their disappointment, sadness, annoyances, great or -petty troubles, under a masque of "blague," and have such an innate -dislike of sympathy or ridicule that they avoid it by turning -everything into "blague." - -This veneer is misleading, for at heart the French are sad. Not to speak -of their inmost feelings does not, on the other hand, prevent them at -times from being most confidential. Often, the merest exchange of -courtesies between those sharing the same compartment in a train, or a -seat on a "bus," seems to be a sufficient introduction for your neighbor -to tell you where he comes from, where he is going, whether he is -married or single, whom his daughter married, and what regiment his son -is in. These little confidences often end in his offering you half his -bottle of wine and extending to you his cigarettes. - -[Illustration: LES BEAUX MAQUEREAUX] - -If you have finished dinner, you go out on the terrace for your coffee. -The fakirs are passing up and down in front, selling their wares--little -rabbits, wonderfully lifelike, that can jump along your table and sit on -their hind legs, and wag their ears; toy snakes; small leaden pigs for -good luck; and novelties of every description. Here one sees women with -baskets of ecrivisse boiled scarlet; an acrobat tumbles on the -pavement, and two men and a girl, as a marine, a soldier, and a -vivandiere, in silvered faces and suits, pose in melodramatic attitudes. -The vivandiere is rescued alternately from a speedy death by the marine -and the soldier. - -Presently a little old woman approaches, shriveled and smiling, in her -faded furbelows now in rags. She sings in a piping voice and executes -between the verses a tottering pas seul, her eyes ever smiling, as if -she still saw over the glare of the footlights, in the haze beyond, the -vast audience of by-gone days; smiling as if she still heard the big -orchestra and saw the leader with his vibrant baton, watching her every -movement. She is over seventy now, and was once a premier danseuse at -the opera. - -But you have not seen all of the Taverne du Pantheon yet. There is an -"American Bar" downstairs; at least, so the sign reads at the top of a -narrow stairway leading to a small, tavern-like room, with a sawdust -floor, heavy deal tables, and wooden stools. In front of the bar are -high stools that one climbs up on and has a lukewarm whisky soda, next -to Yvonne and Marcelle, who are both singing the latest catch of the day -at the top of their lungs, until they are howled at to keep still or are -lifted bodily off their high stools by the big fellow in the "type" hat, -who has just come in. - -[Illustration: MOTHER AND DAUGHTER] - -Before a long table at one end of the room is the crowd of American -students singing in a chorus. The table is full now, for many have come -from dinners at other cafes to join them. At one end, and acting as -interlocutor for this impromptu minstrel show, presides one of the -best fellows in the world. He rises solemnly, his genial round face -wreathed in a subtle smile, and announces that he will sing, by earnest -request, that popular ballad, "'Twas Summer and the Little Birds were -Singing in the Trees." - -There are some especially fine "barber chords" in this popular ditty, -and the words are so touching that it is repeated over and over again. -Then it is sung softly like the farmhand quartettes do in the rural -melodrama outside the old homestead in harvest time. Oh! I tell you it's -a truly rural octette. Listen to that exhibition bass voice of Jimmy -Sands and that wandering tenor of Tommy Whiteing, and as the last chord -dies away (over the fields presumably) a shout goes up: - -"How's that?" - -"Out of sight," comes the general verdict from the crowd, and bang go a -dozen beer glasses in unison on the heavy table. - -"Oh, que c'est beau!" cries Mimi, leading the successful chorus in a new -vocal number with Edmond's walking-stick; but this time it is a French -song and the whole room is singing it, including our old friend, -Monsieur Frank, the barkeeper, who is mixing one of his famous -concoctions which are never twice quite alike, but are better than if -they were. - -The harmonic beauties of "'Twas Summer and the Little Birds were Singing -in the Trees" are still inexhausted, but it sadly needs a piano -accompaniment--with this it would be perfect; and so the whole crowd, -including Yvonne, and Celeste, and Marcelle, and the two Frenchmen, and -the girl in the bicycle clothes, start for Jack Thompson's studio in the -rue des Fourneaux, where there is a piano that, even if the candles in -the little Louis XVI brackets do burn low and spill down the keys, and -the punch rusts the strings, it will still retain that beautiful, rich -tone that every French upright, at seven francs a month, possesses. - - - - -[Illustration: (Bullier)] - -CHAPTER III - -THE "BAL BULLIER" - - -There are all types of "bals" in Paris. Over in Montmartre, on the Place -Blanche, is the well-known "Moulin Rouge," a place suggestive, to those -who have never seen it, of the quintessence of Parisian devil-me-care -gaiety. You expect it to be like those clever pen-and-ink drawings of -Grevin's, of the old Jardin Mabille in its palmiest days, brilliant with -lights and beautiful women extravagantly gowned and bejeweled. You -expect to see Frenchmen, too, in pot-hats, crowding in a circle about -Fifine, who is dancing some mad can-can, half hidden in a swirl of point -lace, her small, polished boots alternately poised above her dainty -head. And when she has finished, you expect her to be carried off to -supper at the Maison Doree by the big, fierce-looking Russian who has -been watching her, and whose victoria, with its spanking team--black and -glossy as satin--champing their silver bits outside, awaiting her -pleasure. - -But in all these anticipations you will be disappointed, for the famous -Jardin Mabille is no more, and the ground where it once stood in the -Champs Elysees is now built up with private residences. Fifine is gone, -too--years ago--and most of the old gentlemen in pot-hats who used to -watch her are buried or about to be. Few Frenchmen ever go to the -"Moulin Rouge," but every American does on his first night in Paris, and -emerges with enough cab fare to return him to his hotel, where he -arrives with the positive conviction that the red mill, with its slowly -revolving sails, lurid in crimson lights, was constructed especially for -him. He remembers, too, his first impressions of Paris that very morning -as his train rolled into the Gare St. Lazare. His aunt could wait until -to-morrow to see the tomb of Napoleon, but he would see the "Moulin -Rouge" first, and to be in ample time ordered dinner early in his -expensive, morgue-like hotel. - -I remember once, a few hours after my arrival in Paris, walking up the -long hill to the Place Blanche at 2 P.M., under a blazing July sun, to -see if they did not give a matinee at the "Moulin Rouge." The place was -closed, it is needless to say, and the policeman I found pacing his beat -outside, when I asked him what day they gave a matinee, put his thumbs -in his sword belt, looked at me quizzically for a moment, and then -roared. The "Moulin Rouge" is in full blast every night; in the day-time -it is being aired. - -Farther up in Montmartre, up a steep, cobbly hill, past quaint little -shops and cafes, the hill becoming so steep that your cab horse -finally refuses to climb further, and you get out and walk up to the -"Moulin de la Galette." You find it a far different type of ball from -the "Moulin Rouge," for it is not made for the stranger, and its -clientele is composed of the rougher element of that quarter. - -[Illustration: (street scene)] - -A few years ago the "Galette" was not the safest of places for a -stranger to go to alone. Since then, however, this ancient granary and -mill, that has served as a ball-room for so many years, has undergone a -radical change in management; but it is still a cliquey place, full of a -lot of habitues who regard a stranger as an intruder. Should you by -accident step on Marcelle's dress or jostle her villainous-looking -escort, you will be apt to get into a row, beginning with a mode of -attack you are possibly ignorant of, for these "maquereaux" fight with -their feet, having developed this "manly art" of self-defense to a point -of dexterity more to be evaded than admired. And while Marcelle's -escort, with a swinging kick, smashes your nose with his heel, his pals -will take the opportunity to kick you in the back. - -So, if you go to the "Galette," go with a Parisian or some of the -students of the Quarter; but if you must go alone--keep your eyes on the -band. It is a good band, too, and its chef d'orchestre, besides being a -clever musical director, is a popular composer as well. - -Go out from the ball-room into the tiny garden and up the ladder-like -stairs to the rock above, crowned with the old windmill, and look over -the iron railing. Far below you, swimming in a faint mist under the -summer stars, all Paris lies glittering at your feet. - - * * * * * - -You will find the "Bal Bullier" of the Latin Quarter far different from -the "bals" of Montmartre. It forms, with its "grand fete" on Thursday -nights, a sort of social event of the week in this Quarter of Bohemians, -just as the Friday afternoon promenade does in the Luxembourg garden. - -If you dine at the Taverne du Pantheon on a Thursday night you will find -that the taverne is half deserted by 10 o'clock, and that every one is -leaving and walking up the "Boul' Miche" toward the "Bullier." Follow -them, and as you reach the place l'Observatoire, and turn a sharp corner -to the left, you will see the facade of this famous ball, illumined by a -sizzling blue electric light over the entrance. - -The facade, with its colored bas-reliefs of students and grisettes, -reminds one of the proscenium of a toy theater. Back of this shallow -wall bristle the tops of the trees in the garden adjoining the big -ball-room, both of which are below the level of the street and are -reached by a broad wooden stairway. - -The "Bal Bullier" was founded in 1847; previous to this there existed -the "Closerie des Lilas" on the Boulevard Montparnasse. You pass along -with the line of waiting poets and artists, buy a green ticket for two -francs at the little cubby-hole of a box-office, are divested of your -stick by one of half a dozen white-capped matrons at the vestiaire, hand -your ticket to an elderly gentleman in a silk hat and funereal clothes, -at the top of the stairway sentineled by a guard of two soldiers, and -the next instant you see the ball in full swing below you. - -[Illustration: (portrait of man)] - -There is nothing disappointing about the "Bal Bullier." It is all you -expected it to be, and more, too. Below you is a veritable whirlpool of -girls and students--a vast sea of heads, and a dazzling display of -colors and lights and animation. Little shrieks and screams fill your -ears, as the orchestra crashes into the last page of a galop, quickening -the pace until Yvonne's little feet slip and her cheeks glow, and her -eyes grow bright, and half her pretty golden hair gets smashed over her -impudent little nose. Then the galop is brought up with a quick finish. - -"Bis! Bis! Bis! Encore!" comes from every quarter of the big room, and -the conductor, with his traditional good-nature, begins again. He knows -it is wiser to humor them, and off they go again, still faster, until -all are out of breath and rush into the garden for a breath of cool air -and a "citron glace." - -And what a pretty garden it is!--full of beautiful trees and dotted with -round iron tables, and laid out in white gravel walks, the garden -sloping gently back to a fountain, and a grotto and an artificial -cascade all in one, with a figure of Venus in the center, over which the -water splashes and trickles. There is a green lattice proscenium, too, -surrounding the fountain, illuminated with colored lights and outlined -in tiny flames of gas, and grotto-like alcoves circling the garden, each -with a table and room for two. The ball-room from the garden presents a -brilliant contrast, as one looks down upon it from under the trees. - -[Illustration: (portrait of woman)] - -But the orchestra has given its signal--a short bugle call announcing a -quadrille; and those in the garden are running down into the ball-room -to hunt up their partners. - -The "Bullier" orchestra will interest you; they play with a snap and -fire and a tempo that is irresistible. They have played together so long -that they have become known as the best of all the bal orchestras. - -The leader, too, is interesting--tall and gaunt, with wild, deep-sunken -eyes resembling those of an old eagle. Now and then he turns his head -slowly as he leads, and rests these keen, penetrating orbs on the sea of -dancers below him. Then, with baton raised above his head, he brings his -orchestra into the wild finale of the quadrille--piccolos and clarinets, -cymbals, bass viols, and violins--all in one mad race to the end, but so -well trained that not a note is lost in the scramble--and they finish -under the wire to a man, amid cheers from Mimi and Celeste and "encores" -and "bis's" from every one else who has breath enough left to shout -with. - -[Illustration: A TYPE OF THE QUARTER -By Helleu.--Estampe Moderne] - -Often after an annual dinner of one of the ateliers, the entire body of -students will march into the "Bullier," three hundred strong, and take a -good-natured possession of the place. There have been some serious -demonstrations in the Quarter by the students, who can form a small army -when combined. But as a rule you will find them a good-natured lot of -fellows, who are out for all the humor and fun they can create at the -least expense. - -But in June, 1893, a serious demonstration by the students occurred, for -these students can fight as well as dance. Senator Beranger, having -read one morning in the "Courrier Francais" an account of the revelry -and nudity of several of the best-known models of the Quarter at the -"Quat'z' Arts" ball, brought a charge against the organizers of the -ball, and several of the models, whose beauty unadorned had made them -conspicuous on this most festive occasion. At the ensuing trial, several -celebrated beauties and idols of the Latin Quarter were convicted and -sentenced to a short term of imprisonment, and fined a hundred francs -each. These sentences were, however, remitted, but the majority of the -students would not have it thus, and wanted further satisfaction. A mass -meeting was held by them in the Place de la Sorbonne. The police were in -force there to stop any disturbance, and up to 10 o'clock at night the -crowd was held in control. - -[Illustration: (portrait of woman)] - -It was a warm June night, and every student in the Quarter was keyed to -a high state of excitement. Finally a great crowd of students formed in -front of the Cafe d'Harcourt, opposite the Sorbonne; things were at -fever heat; the police became rough; and in the row that ensued, -somebody hurled one of the heavy stone match-safes from a cafe table at -one of the policemen, who in his excitement picked it up and hurled it -back into the crowd. It struck and injured fatally an innocent outsider, -who was taken to the Charity Hospital, in the rue Jacob, and died there. - -On the following Monday another mass meeting of students was held in the -Place de la Sorbonne, who, after the meeting, formed in a body and -marched to the Chamber of Deputies, crying: "Conspuez Dupuy," who was -then president of the Chamber. A number of deputies came out on the -portico and the terrace, and smilingly reviewed the demonstration, while -the students hurled their anathemas at them, the leaders and men in the -front rank of this howling mob trying to climb over the high railing in -front of the terrace, and shouting that the police were responsible for -the death of one of their comrades. - -The Government, fearing further trouble and wishing to avoid any -disturbance on the day of the funeral of the victim of the riot in the -Place Sorbonne, deceived the public as to the hour when it would occur. -This exasperated the students so that they began one of those -demonstrations for which Paris is famous. By 3 P.M. the next day the -Quartier Latin was in a state of siege--these poets and painters and -sculptors and musicians tore up the rue Jacob and constructed barricades -near the hospital where their comrade had died. They tore up the rue -Bonaparte, too, at the Place St. Germain des Pres, and built barricades, -composed of overturned omnibuses and tramcars and newspaper booths. They -smashed windows and everything else in sight, to get even with the -Government and the smiling deputies and the murderous police--and then -the troops came, and the affair took a different turn. In three days -thirty thousand troops were in Paris--principally cavalry, many of the -regiments coming from as far away as the center of France. - -[Illustration: ECOLE DES BEAUX ARTS] - -With these and the police and the Garde Republicaine against them, the -students melted away like a handful of snow in the sun; but the -demonstrations continued spasmodically for two or three days longer, and -the little crooked streets, like the rue du Four, were kept clear by the -cavalry trotting abreast--in and out and dodging around corners--their -black horse-tail plumes waving and helmets shining. It is sufficient to -say that the vast army of artists and poets were routed to a man and -driven back into the more peaceful atmosphere of their studios. - -But the "Bullier" is closing and the crowd is pouring out into the cool -air. I catch a glimpse of Yvonne with six students all in one fiacre, -but Yvonne has been given the most comfortable place. They have put her -in the hood, and the next instant they are rattling away to the Pantheon -for supper. - -If you walk down with the rest, you will pass dozens of jolly groups -singing and romping and dancing along down the "Boul' Miche" to the -taverne, for a bock and some ecrivisse. With youth, good humor, and a -"louis," all the world seems gay! - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -BAL DES QUAT'Z' ARTS - - -Of all the balls in Paris, the annual "Bal des Quat'z' Arts" stands -unique. This costume ball is given every year, in the spring, by the -students of the different ateliers, each atelier vying with the others -in creation of the various floats and corteges, and in the artistic -effect and historical correctness of the costumes. - -The first "Quat'z' Arts" ball was given in 1892. It was a primitive -affair, compared with the later ones, but it was a success, and -immediately the "Quat'z' Arts" Ball was put into the hands of clever -organizers, and became a studied event in all its artistic sense. Months -are spent in the creation of spectacles and in the costuming of students -and models. Prizes are given for the most successful organizations, and -a jury composed of painters and sculptors passes upon your costume as -you enter the ball, and if you do not come up to their artistic -standard you are unceremoniously turned away. Students who have been -successful in getting into the "Quat'z' Arts" for years often fail to -pass into this bewildering display of beauty and brains, owing to their -costume not possessing enough artistic originality or merit to pass the -jury. - -[Illustration: (coiffeur sign)] - -It is, of course, a difficult matter for one who is not an enrolled -member of one of the great ateliers of painting, architecture, or -sculpture to get into the "Quat'z' Arts," and even after one's ticket is -assured, you may fail to pass the jury. - -Imagine this ball, with its procession of moving tableaux. A huge float -comes along, depicting the stone age and the primitive man, every detail -carefully studied from the museums. Another represents the last day of -Babylon. One sees a nude captive, her golden hair and white flesh in -contrast with the black velvet litter on which she is bound, being -carried by a dozen stalwart blackamoors, followed by camels bearing nude -slaves and the spoils of a captured city. - -[Illustration: (photograph of woman)] - -As the ball continues until daylight, it resembles a bacchanalian fete -in the days of the Romans. But all through it, one is impressed by its -artistic completeness, its studied splendor, and permissible license, so -long as a costume (or the lack of it) produces an artistic result. One -sees the mise en scene of a barbaric court produced by the architects of -an atelier, all the various details constructed from carefully studied -sketches, with maybe a triumphal throne of some barbaric king, with his -slaves, the whole costumed and done in a studied magnificence that -takes one's breath away. Again an atelier of painters may reproduce the -frieze of the Parthenon in color; another a float or a decoration, -suggesting the works of their master. - -The room becomes a thing of splendor, for it is as gorgeous a spectacle -as the cleverest of the painters, sculptors, and architects can make it, -and is the result of careful study--and all for the love of it!--for the -great "Quat'z' Arts" ball is an event looked forward to for months. -Special instructions are issued to the different ateliers while the ball -is in preparation, and the following one is a translation in part from -the notice issued before the great ball of '99. As this is a special and -private notice to the atelier, its contents may be interesting: - - - BAL DES QUAT'Z' ARTS, - Moulin Rouge, 21 April, 1899. - - Doors open at 10 P.M. and closed at midnight. - - The card of admission is absolutely personal, to be taken by the - committee before the opening of the ball. - - [Illustration: (admission card)] - - The committee will be masked, and comrades without their personal - card will be refused at the door. The cards must carry the name and - quality of the artist, and bear the stamp of his atelier. - - Costumes are absolutely necessary. The soldier--the dress suit, - black or in color--the monk--the blouse--the domino--kitchen - boy--loafer--bicyclist, and other nauseous types, are absolutely - prohibited. - - Should the weather be bad, comrades are asked to wait in their - carriages, as the committee in control cannot, under any pretext, - neglect guarding the artistic effect of the ball during any - confusion that might ensue. - - A great "feed" will take place in the grand hall; the buffet will - serve as usual individual suppers and baskets for two persons. - - The committee wish especially to bring the attention of their - comrades to the question of women, whose cards of admission - must be delivered as soon as possible, so as to enlarge their - attendance--always insufficient. - - Prizes (champagne) will be distributed to the ateliers who may - distinguish themselves by the artistic merit and beauty of their - female display. - - [Illustration: (photograph of woman)] - - All the women who compete for these prizes will be assembled on - the grand staircase before the orchestra. The nude, as always, is - PROHIBITED!?! - - The question of music at the head of the procession is of the - greatest importance, and those comrades who are musical will please - give their names to the delegates of the ateliers. Your good-will - in this line is asked for--any great worthless capacity in this - line will do, as they always play the same tune, "Les Pompiers!" - - THE COMMITTEE--1899. - - -For days before the "Quat'z' Arts" ball, all is excitement among the -students, who do as little work as possible and rest themselves for the -great event. The favorite wit of the different ateliers is given the -task of painting the banner of the atelier, which is carried at the head -of the several corteges. One of these, in Bouguereau's atelier, depicted -their master caricatured as a cupid. - -The boys once constructed an elephant with oriental trappings--an -elephant that could wag his ears and lift his trunk and snort--and after -the two fellows who formed respectfully the front and hind legs of this -knowing beast had practised sufficiently to proceed with him safely, at -the head of a cortege of slave girls, nautch dancers, and manacled -captives, the big beast created a success in the procession at the -"Quat'z' Arts" ball. - -[Illustration: (portrait of man)] - -After the ball, in the gray morning light, they marched it back to the -atelier, where it remained for some weeks, finally becoming such a -nuisance, kicking around the atelier and getting in everybody's way, -that the boys agreed to give it to the first junk-man that came around. -But as no junk-man came, and as no one could be found to care for its -now sadly battered hulk, its good riddance became a problem. What to do -with the elephant! that was the question. - -At last the two, who had sweltered in its dusty frame that eventful -night of the "Quat'z' Arts," hit upon an idea. They marched it one day -up the Boulevard St. Germain to the Cafe des deux Magots, followed by a -crowd of people, who, when it reached the cafe, assembled around it, -every one asking what it was for--or rather what it was?--for the beast -had by now lost much of the resemblance of its former self. When half -the street became blocked with the crowd, the two wise gentlemen crawled -out of its fore and aft, and quickly mingled, unnoticed, with the -bystanders. Then they disappeared in the crowd, leaving the elephant -standing in the middle of the street. Those who had been expecting -something to happen--a circus or the rest of the parade to come -along--stood around for a while, and then the police, realizing that -they had an elephant on their hands, carted the thing away, swearing -meanwhile at the atelier and every one connected with it. - -The cafes near the Odeon, just before the beginning of the ball, are -filled with students in costume; gladiators hobnob at the tables with -savages in scanty attire--Roman soldiers and students, in the garb of -the ancients, strut about or chat in groups, while the uninvited -grisettes and models, who have not received invitations from the -committee, implore them for tickets. - -Tickets are not transferable, and should one present himself at the -entrance of the ball with another fellow's ticket, he would run small -chance of entering. - -"What atelier?" commands the jury "Cormon." - -The student answers, while the jury glance at his makeup. - -"To the left!" cries the jury, and you pass in to the ball. - -But if you are unknown they will say simply, "Connais-pas! To the -right!" and you pass down a long covered alley--confident, if you are a -"nouveau," that it leads into the ball-room--until you suddenly find -yourself in the street, where your ticket is torn up and all hope of -entering is gone. - -It is hopeless to attempt to describe the hours until morning of this -annual artistic orgy. As the morning light comes in through the -windows, it is strange to see the effect of diffused daylight, -electricity, and gas--the bluish light of early morning reflected on the -flesh tones--upon nearly three thousand girls and students in costumes -one might expect to see in a bacchanalian feast, just before the fall of -Rome. Now they form a huge circle, the front row sitting on the floor, -the second row squatting, the third seated in chairs, the fourth -standing, so that all can see the dancing that begins in the morning -hours--the wild impromptu dancing of the moment. A famous beauty, her -black hair bound in a golden fillet with a circle wrought in silver and -studded with Oriental turquoises clasping her superb torso, throws her -sandals to the crowd and begins an Oriental dance--a thing of grace and -beauty--fired with the intensity of the innate nature of this -beautifully modeled daughter of Bohemia. - -As the dance ends, there is a cry of delight from the great circle of -barbarians. "Long live the Quat'z' Arts!" they cry, amid cheers for the -dancer. - -The ball closes about seven in the morning, when the long procession -forms to return to the Latin Quarter, some marching, other students and -girls in cabs and on top of them, many of the girls riding the horses. -Down they come from the "Moulin Rouge," shouting, singing, and yelling. -Heads are thrust out of windows, and a volley of badinage passes between -the fantastic procession and those who have heard them coming. - -Finally the great open court of the Louvre is reached--here a halt is -made and a general romp occurs. A girl and a type climb one of the -tall lamp-posts and prepare to do a mid-air balancing act, when -rescued by the others. At last, at the end of all this horse-play, the -march is resumed over the Pont du Carrousel and so on, cheered now by -those going to work, until the Odeon is reached. Here the odd -procession disbands; some go to their favorite cafes where the -festivities are continued--some to sleep in their costumes or what -remains of them, wherever fortune lands them--others to studios, where -the gaiety is often kept up for days. - -Ah! but life is not all "couleur de rose" in this true Bohemia. - -"One day," says little Marguerite (she who lives in the rue Monge), "one -eats and the next day one doesn't. It is always like that, is it not, -monsieur?--and it costs so much to live, and so you see, monsieur, life -is always a fight." - -And Marguerite's brown eyes swim a little and her pretty mouth closes -firmly. - -"But where is Paul?" I ask. - -"I do not know, monsieur," she replies quietly; "I have not seen him in -ten days--the atelier is closed--I have been there every day, expecting -to find him--he left no word with his concierge. I have been to his cafe -too, but no one has seen him--you see, monsieur, Paul does not love me!" - -I recall an incident that I chanced to see in passing the little shop -where Marguerite works, that only confirms the truth of her realization. -Paul had taken Marguerite back to the little shop, after their dejeuner -together, and, as I passed, he stopped at the door with her, kissed her -on both cheeks, and left her; but before they had gone a dozen paces, -they ran back to embrace again. This occurred four times, until Paul and -Marguerite finally parted. And, as he watched her little heels disappear -up the wooden stairs to her work-room above, Paul blew a kiss to the -pretty milliner at the window next door, and, taking a long whiff of his -cigarette, sauntered off in the direction of his atelier whistling. - -[Illustration: A MORNING'S WORK] - -It is ideal, this student life with its student loves of four years, but -is it right to many an honest little comrade, who seldom knows an hour -when she is away from her ami? who has suffered and starved and slaved -with him through years of days of good and bad luck--who has encouraged -him in his work, nursed him when ill, and made a thousand golden hours -in this poet's or painter's life so completely happy, that he looks back -on them in later life as never-to-be-forgotten? He remembers the good -dinners at the little restaurant near his studio, where they dined among -the old crowd. There were Lavaud the sculptor and Francine, with the -figure of a goddess; Moreau, who played the cello at the opera; little -Louise Dumont, who posed at Julian's, and old Jacquemart, the very soul -of good fellowship, who would set them roaring with his inimitable -humor. - -What good dinners they were!--and how long they sat over their coffee -and cigarettes under the trees in front of this little restaurant--often -ten and twelve at a time, until more tables had to be pushed together -for others of their good friends, who in passing would be hailed to join -them. And how Marguerite used to sing all through dinner and how they -would all sing, until it grew so late and so dark that they had to puff -their cigarettes aglow over their plates, and yell to Madame Giraud for -a light! And how the old lady would bustle out with the little oil lamp, -placing it in the center of the long table amid the forest of vin -ordinaires, with a "Voila, mes enfants!" and a cheery word for all these -good boys and girls, whom she regarded quite as her own children. - -It seemed to them then that there would never be anything else but -dinners at Madame Giraud's for as many years as they pleased, for no one -ever thought of living out one's days, except in this good Bohemia of -Paris. They could not imagine that old Jacquemart would ever die, or -that La Belle Louise would grow old, and go back to Marseilles, to live -with her dried-up old aunt, who sold garlic and bad cheese in a little -box of a shop, up a crooked street! Or that Francine would marry Martin, -the painter, and that the two would bury themselves in an adorable -little spot in Brittany, where they now live in a thatched farm-house, -full of Martin's pictures, and have a vegetable garden of their own--and -a cow--and some children! But they DID! - -[Illustration: A STUDIO DEJEUNER] - -And those memorable dinners in the old studio back of the Gare -Montparnasse! when paints and easels were pushed aside, and the table -spread, and the piano rolled up beside it. There was the buying of the -chicken, and the salad that Francine would smother in a dressing into -which she would put a dozen different things--herbs and spices and tiny -white onions! And what a jolly crowd came to these impromptu feasts! How -much noise they used to make! How they danced and sang until the gray -morning light would creep in through the big skylight, when all these -good bohemians would tiptoe down the waxed stairs, and slip past the -different ateliers for fear of waking those painters who might be -asleep--a thought that never occurred to them until broad daylight, and -the door had been opened, after hours of pandemonium and music and -noise! - -In a little hotel near the Odeon, there lived a family of just such -bohemians--six struggling poets, each with an imagination and a love of -good wine and good dinners and good times that left them continually in -a state of bankruptcy! As they really never had any money--none that -ever lasted for more than two days and two nights at the utmost, their -good landlord seldom saw a sou in return for his hospitable roof, which -had sheltered these six great minds who wrote of the moon, and of fate, -and fortune, and love. - -For days they would dream and starve and write. Then followed an auction -sale of the total collection of verses, hawked about anywhere and -everywhere among the editeurs, like a crop of patiently grown fruit. -Having sold it, literally by the yard, they would all saunter up the -"Boul' Miche," and forget their past misery, in feasting, to their -hearts' content, on the good things of life. On days like these, you -would see them passing, their black-brimmed hats adjusted jauntily over -their poetic locks--their eyes beaming with that exquisite sense of -feeling suddenly rich, that those who live for art's sake know! The -keenest of pleasures lie in sudden contrasts, and to these six poetic, -impractical Bohemians, thus suddenly raised from the slough of despond -to a state where they no longer trod with mortals--their cup of -happiness was full and spilling over. They must not only have a good -time, but so must every one around them. With their great riches, they -would make the world gay as long as it lasted, for when it was over they -knew how sad life would be. For a while--then they would scratch -away--and have another auction! - -[Illustration: DAYLIGHT] - -Unlike another good fellow, a painter whom I once knew, who periodically -found himself without a sou, and who would take himself, in despair, to -his lodgings, make his will, leaving most of his immortal works to his -English aunt, go to bed, and calmly await death! In a fortunate space of -time his friends, who had been hunting for him all over the Quarter, -would find him at last and rescue him from his chosen tomb; or his good -aunt, fearing he was ill, would send a draft! Then life would, to this -impractical philosopher, again become worth living. He would dispatch a -"petit bleu" to Marcelle; and the two would meet at the Cafe Cluny, and -dine at La Perruse on filet de sole au vin blanc, and a bottle of Haut -Barsac--the bottle all cobwebs and cradled in its basket--the garcon, as -he poured its golden contents, holding his breath meanwhile lest he -disturb its long slumber. - -There are wines that stir the soul, and this was one of them--clear as a -topaz and warming as the noonday sun--the same warmth that had given it -birth on its hillside in Bordeaux, as far back as '82. It warmed the -heart of Marcelle, too, and made her cheeks glow and her eyes -sparkle--and added a rosier color to her lips. It made her talk--clearly -and frankly, with a full and a happy heart, so that she confessed her -love for this "bon garcon" of a painter, and her supreme admiration for -his work and the financial success he had made with his art. All of -which this genial son of Bohemia drank in with a feeling of pride, and -he would swell out his chest and curl the ends of his long mustache -upwards, and sigh like a man burdened with money, and secure in his -ability and success, and with a peaceful outlook into the future--and -the fact that Marcelle loved him of all men! They would linger long over -their coffee and cigarettes, and then the two would stroll out under the -stars and along the quai, and watch the little Seine boats crossing and -recrossing, like fireflies, and the lights along the Pont Neuf reflected -deep down like parti-colored ribbons in the black water. - -[Illustration: (pair of high heeled shoes)] - - - - -CHAPTER V - -"A DEJEUNER AT LAVENUE'S" - - -If you should chance to breakfast at "Lavenue's," or, as it is called, -the "Hotel de France et Bretagne," for years famous as a rendezvous of -men celebrated in art and letters, you will be impressed first with the -simplicity of the three little rooms forming the popular side of this -restaurant, and secondly with the distinguished appearance of its -clientele. - -[Illustration: MADEMOISELLE FANNY AND HER STAFF] - -As you enter the front room, you pass good Mademoiselle Fanny at the -desk, a cheery, white-capped, genial old lady, who has sat behind that -desk for forty years, and has seen many a "bon garcon" struggle up the -ladder of fame--from the days when he was a student at the Beaux-Arts, -until his name became known the world over. It has long been a -favorite restaurant with men like Rodin, the sculptor--and Colin, the -painter--and the late Falguiere--and Jean Paul Laurens and Bonnat, -and dozens of others equally celebrated--and with our own men, like -Whistler and Sargent and Harrison, and St. Gaudens and Macmonnies. - -These three plain little rooms are totally different from the "other -side," as it is called, of the Maison Lavenue. Here one finds quite a -gorgeous cafe, with a pretty garden in the rear, and another -room--opening into the garden--done in delicate green lattice and -mirrors. This side is far more expensive to dine in than the side with -the three plain little rooms, and the gentlemen with little red -ribbons in their buttonholes; but as the same good cook dispenses from -the single big kitchen, which serves for the dear and the cheap side -the same good things to eat at just half the price, the reason for the -popularity of the "cheap side" among the crowd who come here daily is -evident. - -[Illustration: RODIN] - -It is a quiet, restful place, this Maison Lavenue, and the best place I -know in which to dine or breakfast from day to day. There is an air of -intime and cosiness about Lavenue's that makes one always wish to -return. - -[Illustration: (group of men dining)] - -You will see a family of rich bourgeois enter, just in from the country, -for the Montparnasse station is opposite. The fat, sunburned mama, and -the equally rotund and genial farmer-papa, and the pretty daughter, and -the newly married son and his demure wife, and the two younger -children--and all talking and laughing over a good dinner with -champagne, and many toasts to the young couple--and to mama and papa, -and little Josephine--with ices, and fruit, and coffee, and liqueur to -follow. - -All these you will see at Lavenue's on the "cheap side"--and the -beautiful model, too, who poses for Courbel, who is breakfasting with -one of the jeunesse of Paris. The waiters after 2 P.M. dine in the front -room with the rest, and jump up now and then to wait on madame and -monsieur. - -It is a very democratic little place, this popular side of the house of -M. Lavenue, founded in 1854. - -And there is a jolly old painter who dines there, who is also an -excellent musician, with an ear for rhythm so sensitive that he could -never go to sleep unless the clock in his studio ticked in regular time, -and at last was obliged to give up his favorite atelier, with its -picturesque garden---- - -"For two reasons, monsieur," he explained to me excitedly; "a little -girl on the floor below me played a polka--the same polka half the -day--always forgetting to put in the top note; and the fellow over me -whistled it the rest of the day and put in the top note false; and so I -moved to the rue St. Peres, where one only hears, within the cool -court-yard, the distant hum of the busy city. The roar of Paris, so full -of chords and melody! Listen to it sometimes, monsieur, and you will -hear a symphony!" - -[Illustration: "LA FILLE DE LA BLANCHISSEUSE" -By Bellanger.--Estampe Moderne] - -And Mademoiselle Fanny will tell you of the famous men she has known for -years, and how she has found the most celebrated of them simple in their -tastes, and free from ostentation--"in fact it is always so, is it not, -with les hommes celebres? C'est toujours comme ca, monsieur, toujours!" -and mentions one who has grown gray in the service of art and can count -his decorations from half a dozen governments. Madame will wax -enthusiastic--her face wreathed in smiles. "Ah! he is a bon garcon; he -always eats with the rest, for three or four francs, never more! He is -so amiable, and, you know, he is very celebrated and very rich"; and -madame will not only tell you his entire history, but about his -work--the beauty of his wife and how "aimables" his children are. -Mademoiselle Fanny knows them all. - -But the men who come here to lunch are not idlers; they come in, many of -them, fresh from a hard morning's work in the studio. The tall sculptor -opposite you has been at work, since his morning coffee, on a group for -the government; another, bare-armed and in his flannel shirt, has been -building up masses of clay, punching and modeling, and scraping away, -all the morning, until he produces, in the rough, the body of a -giantess, a huge caryatide that is destined, for the rest of her -existence, to hold upon her broad shoulders part of the facade of an -American building. The "giantess" in the flesh is lunching with him--a -Juno-like woman of perhaps twenty-five, with a superb head well poised, -her figure firm and erect. You will find her exceedingly interesting, -quiet, and refined, and with a knowledge of things in general that will -surprise you, until you discover she has, in her life as a model, been -thrown daily in conversation with men of genius, and has acquired a -smattering of the knowledge of many things--of art and literature--of -the theater and its playwrights--plunging now and then into medicine and -law and poetry--all these things she has picked up in the studios, in -the cafes, in the course of her Bohemian life. This "vernis," as the -French call it, one finds constantly among the women here, for their -days are passed among men of intelligence and ability, whose lives and -energy are surrounded and encouraged by an atmosphere of art. - -In an hour, the sculptor and his Juno-like model will stroll back to the -studio, where work will be resumed as long as the light lasts. - -[Illustration: A TRUE TYPE] - -The painter breakfasting at the next table is hard at work on a -decorative panel for a ceiling. It is already laid out and squared up, -from careful pencil drawings. Two young architects are working for him, -laying out the architectural balustrade, through which one, a month -later, looks up at the allegorical figures painted against the dome of -the blue heavens, as a background. And so the painter swallows his eggs, -mayonnaise, and demi of beer, at a gulp, for he has a model coming at -two, and he must finish this ceiling on time, and ship it, by a fast -liner, to a millionaire, who has built a vault-like structure on the -Hudson, with iron dogs on the lawn. Here this beautiful panel will be -unrolled and installed in the dome of the hard-wood billiard-room, where -its rich, mellow scheme of color will count as naught; and the cupids -and the flesh-tones of the chic little model, who came at two, will -appear jaundiced; and Aunt Maria and Uncle John, and the twins from -Ithaca, will come in after the family Sunday dinner of roast beef and -potatoes and rice pudding and ice-water, and look up into the dome and -agree "it's grand." But the painter does not care, for he has locked up -his studio, and taken his twenty thousand francs and the model--who came -at two--with him to Trouville. - -At night you will find a typical crowd of Bohemians at the Closerie des -Lilas, where they sit under a little clump of trees on the sloping dirt -terrace in front. Here you will see the true type of the Quarter. It is -the farthest up the Boulevard St. Michel of any of the cafes, and just -opposite the "Bal Bullier," on the Place de l'Observatoire. The terrace -is crowded with its habitues, for it is out of the way of the stream of -people along the "Boul' Miche." The terrace is quite dark, its only -light coming from the cafe, back of a green hedge, and it is cool there, -too, in summer, with the fresh night air coming from the Luxembourg -Gardens. Below it is the cafe and restaurant de la Rotonde, a very -well-built looking place, with its rounding facade on the corner. - -[Illustration: (studio)] - -At the entrance of every studio court and apartment, there lives the -concierge in a box of a room generally, containing a huge feather-bed -and furnished with a variety of things left by departing tenants to this -faithful guardian of the gate. Many of these small rooms resemble the -den of an antiquary with their odds and ends from the studios--old -swords, plaster casts, sketches and discarded furniture--until the place -is quite full. Yet it is kept neat and clean by madame, who sews all day -and talks to her cat and to every one who passes into the court-yard. -Here your letters are kept, too, in one of a row of boxes, with the -number of your atelier marked thereon. - -At night, after ten, your concierge opens the heavy iron gate of your -court by pulling a cord within reach of the family bed. He or she is -waked up at intervals through the night to let into and out of a court -full of studios those to whom the night is ever young. Or perhaps your -concierge will be like old Pere Valois, who has three pretty daughters -who do the housework of the studios, as well as assist in the -guardianship of the gate. They are very busy, these three daughters of -Pere Valois--all the morning you will see these little "femmes de -menage" as busy as bees; the artists and poets must be waked up, and -beds made and studios cleaned. There are many that are never cleaned at -all, but then there are many, too, who are not so fortunate as to be -taken care of by the three daughters of Pere Valois. - -[Illustration: VOILA LA BELLE ROSE, MADAME!] - -There is no gossip within the quarter that your "femme de menage" does -not know, and over your morning coffee, which she brings you, she will -regale you with the latest news about most of your best friends, -including your favorite model, and madame from whom you buy your wine, -always concluding with: "That is what I heard, monsieur,--I think it is -quite true, because the little Marie, who is the femme de menage of -Monsieur Valentin, got it from Celeste Dauphine yesterday in the cafe in -the rue du Cherche Midi." - -In the morning, this demure maid-of-all-work will be in her calico dress -with her sleeves rolled up over her strong white arms, but in the -evening you may see her in a chic little dress, at the "Bal Bullier," or -dining at the Pantheon, with the fellow whose studio is opposite yours. - -[Illustration: A BUSY MORNING] - -Alice Lemaitre, however, was a far different type of femme de menage -than any of the gossiping daughters of old Pere Valois, and her lot was -harder, for one night she left her home in one of the provincial towns, -when barely sixteen, and found herself in Paris with three francs to her -name and not a friend in this big pleasure-loving city to turn to. After -many days of privation, she became bonne to a woman known as Yvette de -Marcie, a lady with a bad temper and many jewels, to whom little Alice, -with her rosy cheeks and bright eyes and willing disposition to work in -order to live, became a person upon whom this fashionable virago of a -demi-mondaine vented the worst that was in her--and there was much of -this--until Alice went out into the world again. She next found -employment at a baker's, where she was obliged to get up at four in the -morning, winter and summer, and deliver the long loaves of bread at the -different houses; but the work was too hard and she left. The baker paid -her a trifle a week for her labor, while the attractive Yvette de Marcie -turned her into the street without her wages. It was while delivering -bread one morning to an atelier in the rue des Dames, that she chanced -to meet a young painter who was looking for a good femme de menage to -relieve his artistic mind from the worries of housekeeping. Little Alice -fairly cried when the good painter told her she might come at twenty -francs a month, which was more money than this very grateful and brave -little Brittany girl had ever known before. - -[Illustration: (brocanteur shop front)] - -"You see, monsieur, one must do one's best whatever one undertakes," -said Alice to me; "I have tried every profession, and now I am a good -femme de menage, and I am 'bien contente.' No," she continued, "I shall -never marry, for one's independence is worth more than anything else. -When one marries," she said earnestly, her little brow in a frown, -"one's life is lost; I am young and strong, and I have courage, and so I -can work hard. One should be content when one is not cold and hungry, -and I have been many times that, monsieur. Once I worked in a fabrique, -where, all day, we painted the combs of china roosters a bright red for -bon-bon boxes--hundreds and hundreds of them until I used to see them in -my dreams; but the fabrique failed, for the patron ran away with the -wife of a Russian. He was a very stupid man to have done that, monsieur, -for he had a very nice wife of his own--a pretty brunette, with a -charming figure; but you see, monsieur, in Paris it is always that way. -C'est toujours comme ca." - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -"AT MARCEL LEGAY'S" - - -Just off the Boulevard St. Michel and up the narrow little rue Cujas, -you will see at night the name "Marcel Legay" illumined in tiny -gas-jets. This is a cabaret of chansonniers known as "Le Grillon," where -a dozen celebrated singing satirists entertain an appreciative audience -in the stuffy little hall serving as an auditorium. Here, nightly, as -the piece de resistance--and late on the programme (there is no printed -one)--you will hear the Bard of Montmartre, Marcel Legay, raconteur, -poet, musician, and singer; the author of many of the most popular songs -of Montmartre, and a veteran singer in the cabarets. - -[Illustration: MARCEL LEGAY] - -From these cabarets of the student quarters come many of the cleverest -and most beautiful songs. Here men sing their own creations, and they -have absolute license to sing or say what they please; there is no -mincing of words, and many times these rare bohemians do not take the -trouble to hide their clever songs and satires under a double entente. -No celebrated man or woman, known in art or letters, or connected with -the Government--from the soldier to the good President of the Republique -Francaise--is spared. The eccentricity of each celebrity is caught by -them, and used in song or recitation. - -Besides these personal caricatures, the latest political questions of -the day--religion and the haut monde--come in for a large share of -good-natured satire. To be cleverly caricatured is an honor, and should -evince no ill-feeling, especially from these clever singing comedians, -who are the best of fellows at heart; whose songs are clever but never -vulgar; who sing because they love to sing; and whose versatility -enables them to create the broadest of satires, and, again, a little -song with words so pure, so human, and so pathetic, that the applause -that follows from the silent room of listeners comes spontaneously from -the heart. - -It is not to be wondered at that "The Grillon" of Marcel Legay's is a -popular haunt of the habitues of the Quarter, who crowd the dingy little -room nightly. You enter the "Grillon" by way of the bar, and at the -further end of the bar-room is a small anteroom, its walls hung in -clever posters and original drawings. This anteroom serves as a sort of -green-room for the singers and their friends; here they chat at the -little tables between their songs--since there is no stage--and through -this anteroom both audience and singers pass into the little hall. There -is the informality of one of our own "smokers" about the whole affair. - -Furthermore, no women sing in "Le Grillon"--a cabaret in this respect is -different from a cafe concert, which resembles very much our smaller -variety shows. A small upright piano, and in front of it a low platform, -scarcely its length, complete the necessary stage paraphernalia of the -cabaret, and the admission is generally a franc and a half, which -includes your drink. - -In the anteroom, four of the singers are smoking and chatting at the -little tables. One of them is a tall, serious-looking fellow, in a black -frock coat. He peers out through his black-rimmed eyeglasses with the -solemnity of an owl--but you should hear his songs!--they treat of the -lighter side of life, I assure you. Another singer has just finished his -turn, and comes out of the smoky hall, wiping the perspiration from his -short, fat neck. The audience is still applauding his last song, and he -rushes back through the faded green velvet portieres to bow his thanks. - -[Illustration: A POET-SINGER] - -A broad-shouldered, jolly-looking fellow, in white duck trousers, is -talking earnestly with the owl-like looking bard in eyeglasses. Suddenly -his turn is called, and you follow him in, where, as soon as he is seen, -he is welcomed by cheers from the students and girls, and an elaborate -fanfare of chords on the piano. When this popular poet-singer has -finished, there follows a round of applause and a pounding of canes, -and then the ruddy-faced, gray-haired manager starts a three-times-three -handclapping in unison to a pounding of chords on the piano. This is the -proper ending to every demand for an encore in "Le Grillon," and it -never fails to bring one. - -It is nearly eleven when the curtain parts and Marcel Legay rushes -hurriedly up the aisle and greets the audience, slamming his straw hat -upon the lid of the piano. He passes his hand over his bald pate--gives -an extra polish to his eyeglasses--beams with an irresistibly funny -expression upon his audience--coughs--whistles--passes a few remarks, -and then, adjusting his glasses on his stubby red nose, looks -serio-comically over his roll of music. He is dressed in a long, black -frock-coat reaching nearly to his heels. This coat, with its velvet -collar, discloses a frilled white shirt and a white flowing bow scarf; -these, with a pair of black-and-white check trousers, complete this -every-day attire. - -But the man inside these voluminous clothes is even still more -eccentric. Short, indefinitely past fifty years of age, with a round -face and merry eyes, and a bald head whose lower portion is framed -in a fringe of long hair, reminding one of the coiffure of some -pre-Raphaelite saint--indeed, so striking is this resemblance that the -good bard is often caricatured with a halo surrounding this medieval -fringe. - -In the meantime, while this famous singer is selecting a song, he is -overwhelmed with demands for his most popular ones. A dozen students and -girls at one end of the little hall, now swimming in a haze of pipe and -cigarette smoke, are hammering with sticks and parasols for "Le matador -avec les pieds du vent"; another crowd is yelling for "La Goularde." -Marcel Legay smiles at them all through his eyeglasses, then roars at -them to keep quiet--and finally the clamor in the room gradually -subsides--here and there a word--a giggle--and finally silence. - -"Now, my children, I will sing to you the story of Clarette," says the -bard; "it is a very sad histoire. I have read it," and he smiles and -cocks one eye. - -His baritone voice still possesses considerable fire, and in his heroic -songs he is dramatic. In "The Miller who grinds for Love," the feeling -and intensity and dramatic quality he puts into its rendition are -stirring. As he finishes his last encore, amidst a round of applause, he -grasps his hat from the piano, jams it over his bald pate with its -celestial fringe, and rushes for the door. Here he stops, and, turning -for a second, cheers back at the crowd, waving the straw hat above his -head. The next moment he is having a cooling drink among his confreres -in the anteroom. - -Such "poet-singers" as Paul Delmet and Dominique Bonnaud have made the -"Grillon" a success; and others like Numa Bles, Gabriel Montoya, -D'Herval, Fargy, Tourtal, and Edmond Teulet--all of them well-known over -in Montmartre, where they are welcomed with the same popularity that -they meet with at "Le Grillon." - -Genius, alas, is but poorly paid in this Bohemia! There are so many who -can draw, so many who can sing, so many poets and writers and sculptors. -To many of the cleverest, half a loaf is too often better than no -bread. - -You will find often in these cabarets and in the cafes and along the -boulevard, a man who, for a few sous, will render a portrait or a -caricature on the spot. You learn that this journeyman artist once was a -well-known painter of the Quarter, who had drawn for years in the -academies. The man at present is a wreck, as he sits in a cafe with -portfolio on his knees, his black slouch hat drawn over his scraggly -gray hair. But his hand, thin and drawn from too much stimulant and too -little food, has lost none of its knowledge of form and line; the sketch -is strong, true, and with a chic about it and a simplicity of expression -that delight you. You ask why he has not done better. - -[Illustration: THE SATIRIST] - -"Ah!" he replies, "it is a long story, monsieur." So long and so much of -it that he can not remember it all! Perhaps it was the woman with the -velvety black eyes--tall and straight--the best dancer in all Paris. -Yes, he remembers some of it--long, miserable years--years of struggles -and jealousy, and finally lies and fights and drunkenness; after it was -all over, he was too gray and old and tired to care! - -One sees many such derelicts in Paris among these people who have worn -themselves out with amusement, for here the world lives for pleasure, -for "la grande vie!" To the man, every serious effort he is obliged to -make trends toward one idea--that of the bon vivant--to gain success and -fame, but to gain it with the idea of how much personal daily pleasure -it will bring him. Ennui is a word one hears constantly; if it rains -toute le monde est triste. To have one's gaiety interrupted is regarded -as a calamity, and "tout le monde" will sympathize with you. To live a -day without the pleasures of life in proportion to one's purse is -considered a day lost. - -If you speak of anything that has pleased you one will, with a gay -rising inflection of the voice and a smile, say: "Ah! c'est gai -la-bas--and monsieur was well amused while in that beautiful -country?" "ah!--tiens! c'est gentil ca!" they will exclaim, as you -enthusiastically continue to explain. They never dull your enthusiasm -by short phlegmatic or pessimistic replies. And when you are sad -they will condone so genuinely with you that you forget your -disappointments in the charming pleasantry of their sympathy. But all -this continual race for pleasure is destined in the course of time to -end in ennui! - -The Parisian goes into the latest sport because it affords him a -new sensation. Being blase of all else in life, he plunges into -automobiling, buys a white and red racer--a ponderous flying juggernaut -that growls and snorts and smells of the lower regions whenever it -stands still, trembling in its anger and impatience to be off, while its -owner, with some automobiling Marie, sits chatting on the cafe terrace -over a cooling drink. The two are covered with dust and very thirsty; -Marie wears a long dust-colored ulster, and he a wind-proof coat and -high boots. Meanwhile, the locomotive-like affair at the curbstone is -working itself into a boiling rage, until finally the brave chauffeur -and his chic companion prepare to depart. Marie adjusts her white lace -veil, with its goggles, and the chauffeur puts on his own mask as he -climbs in; a roar--a snort, a cloud of blue gas, and they are gone! - -There are other enthusiasts--those who go up in balloons! - -"Ah, you should go ballooning!" one cries enthusiastically, "to be 'en -ballon'--so poetic--so fin de siecle! It is a fantaisie charmante!" - -In a balloon one forgets the world--one is no longer a part of it--no -longer mortal. What romance there is in going up above everything with -the woman one loves--comrades in danger--the ropes--the wicker cage--the -ceiling of stars above one and Paris below no bigger than a gridiron! -Paris! lost for the time from one's memory. How chic to shoot straight -up among the drifting clouds and forget the sordid little world, even -the memory of one's intrigues! - -"Enfin seuls," they say to each other, as the big Frenchman and the chic -Parisienne countess peer down over the edge of the basket, sipping a -little chartreuse from the same traveling cup; she, with the black hair -and white skin, and gowned "en ballon" in a costume by Paillard; he in -his peajacket buttoned close under his heavy beard. They seem to brush -through and against the clouds! A gentle breath from heaven makes the -basket decline a little and the ropes creak against the hardwood clinch -blocks. It grows colder, and he wraps her closer in his own coat. - -"Courage, my child," he says; "see, we have gone a great distance; -to-morrow before sundown we shall descend in Belgium." - -"Horrible!" cries the Countess; "I do not like those Belgians." - -"Ah! but you shall see, Therese, one shall go where one pleases soon; we -are patient, we aeronauts; we shall bring credit to La Belle France; we -have courage and perseverance; we shall give many dinners and weep over -the failures of our brave comrades, to make the dirigible balloon -'pratique.' We shall succeed! Then Voila! our dejeuner in Paris and our -dinner where we will." - -Therese taps her polished nails against the edge of the wicker cage and -hums a little chansonette. - -"Je t'aime"--she murmurs. - - * * * * * - -I did not see this myself, and I do not know the fair Therese or the -gentleman who buttons his coat under his whiskers; but you should have -heard one of these ballooning enthusiasts tell it to me in the Taverne -du Pantheon the other night. His only regret seemed to be that he, too, -could not have a dirigible balloon and a countess--on ten francs a -week! - - - - -[Illustration: (woman)] - -CHAPTER VII - -"POCHARD" - - -Drunkards are not frequent sights in the Quarter; and yet when these -people do get drunk, they become as irresponsible as maniacs. Excitable -to a degree even when sober, these most wretched among the poor when -drunk often appear in front of a cafe--gaunt, wild-eyed, haggard, and -filthy--singing in boisterous tones or reciting to you with tense voices -a jumble of meaningless thoughts. - -The man with the matted hair, and toes out of his boots, will fold his -arms melodramatically, and regard you for some moments as you sit in -front of him on the terrace. Then he will vent upon you a torrent -of abuse, ending in some jumble of socialistic ideas of his own -concoction. When he has finished, he will fold his arms again and move -on to the next table. He is crazy with absinthe, and no one pays any -attention to him. On he strides up the "Boul' Miche," past the cafes, -continuing his ravings. As long as he is moderately peaceful and -confines his wandering brain to gesticulations and speech, he is let -alone by the police. - -[Illustration: (portrait of woman)] - -You will see sometimes a man and a woman--a teamster out of work or with -his wages for the day, and with him a creature--a blear-eyed, slatternly -looking woman, in a filthy calico gown. The man clutches her arm, as -they sing and stagger up past the cafes. The woman holds in her -claw-like hand a half-empty bottle of cheap red wine. Now and then they -stop and share it; the man staggers on; the woman leers and dances and -sings; a crowd forms about them. Some years ago this poor girl sat on -Friday afternoons in the Luxembourg Gardens--her white parasol on her -knees, her dainty, white kid-slippered feet resting on the little stool -which the old lady, who rents the chairs, used to bring her. She was -regarded as a bonne camarade in those days among the students--one of -the idols of the Quarter! But she became impossible, and then an -outcast! That women should become outcasts through the hopelessness of -their position or the breaking down of their brains can be understood, -but that men of ability should sink into the dregs and stay there seems -incredible. But it is often so. - -[Illustration: (portrait of woman)] - -Near the rue Monge there is a small cafe and restaurant, a place -celebrated for its onion soup and its chicken. From the tables outside, -one can see into the small kitchen, with its polished copper sauce-pans -hanging about the grill. - -Lachaume, the painter, and I were chatting at one of its little tables, -he over an absinthe and I over a coffee and cognac. I had dined early -this fresh October evening, enjoying to the full the bracing coolness of -the air, pungent with the odor of dry leaves and the faint smell of -burning brush. The world was hurrying by--in twos and threes--hurrying -to warm cafes, to friends, to lovers. The breeze at twilight set the dry -leaves shivering. The sky was turquoise. The yellow glow from the -shop windows--the blue-white sparkle of electricity like pendant -diamonds--made the Quarter seem fuller of life than ever. These fall -days make the little ouvrieres trip along from their work with rosy -cheeks, and put happiness and ambition into one's very soul. - -[Illustration: A GROUP OF NEW STUDIOS] - -Soon the winter will come, with all the boys back from their country -haunts, and Celeste and Mimi from Ostende. How gay it will be--this -Quartier Latin then! How gay it always is in winter--and then the rainy -season. Ah! but one can not have everything. Thus it was that Lachaume -and I sat talking, when suddenly a spectre passed--a spectre of a man, -his face silent, white, and pinched--drawn like a mummy's. - -[Illustration: A SCULPTOR'S MODEL] - -He stopped and supported his shrunken frame wearily on his crutches, and -leaned against a neighboring wall. He made no sound--simply gazed -vacantly, with the timidity of some animal, at the door of the small -kitchen aglow with the light from the grill. He made no effort to -approach the door; only leaned against the gray wall and peered at it -patiently. - -"A beggar," I said to Lachaume; "poor devil!" - -"Ah! old Pochard--yes, poor devil, and once one of the handsomest men in -Paris." - -"What wrecked him?" I asked. - -"What I'm drinking now, mon ami." - -"Absinthe?" - -"Yes--absinthe! He looks older than I do, does he not?" continued -Lachaume, lighting a fresh cigarette, "and yet I'm twenty years his -senior. You see, I sip mine--he drank his by the goblet," and my friend -leaned forward and poured the contents of the carafe in a tiny -trickling stream over the sugar lying in its perforated spoon. - -[Illustration: BOY MODEL] - -"Ah! those were great days when Pochard was the life of the Bullier," he -went on; "I remember the night he won ten thousand francs from the -Russian. It didn't last long; Camille Leroux had her share of -it--nothing ever lasted long with Camille. He was once courrier to an -Austrian Baron, I remember. The old fellow used to frequent the Quarter -in summer, years ago--it was his hobby. Pochard was a great favorite in -those days, and the Baron liked to go about in the Quarter with him, and -of course Pochard was in his glory. He would persuade the old nobleman -to prolong his vacation here. Once the Baron stayed through the winter -and fell ill, and a little couturiere in the rue de Rennes, whom the old -fellow fell in love with, nursed him. He died the summer following, at -Vienna, and left her quite a little property near Amiens. He was a good -old Baron, a charitable old fellow among the needy, and a good bohemian -besides; and he did much for Pochard, but he could not keep him sober!" - -[Illustration: BOUGUEREAU AT WORK] - -"After the old man's death," my friend continued, "Pochard drifted from -bad to worse, and finally out of the Quarter, somewhere into misery on -the other side of the Seine. No one heard of him for a few years, until -he was again recognized as being the same Pochard returned again to the -Quarter. He was hobbling about on crutches just as you see him there. -And now, do you know what he does? Get up from where you are sitting," -said Lachaume, "and look into the back kitchen. Is he not standing there -by the door--they are handing him a small bundle?" - -"Yes," said I, "something wrapped in newspaper." - -"Do you know what is in it?--the carcass of the chicken you have just -finished, and which the garcon carried away. Pochard saw you eating it -half an hour ago as he passed. It was for that he was waiting." - -"To eat?" I asked. - -"No, to sell," Lachaume replied, "together with the other bones he is -able to collect--for soup in some poorest resort down by the river, -where the boatmen and the gamins go. The few sous he gets will buy -Pochard a big glass, a lump of sugar, and a spoon; into the goblet, in -some equally dirty 'boite,' they will pour him out his green treasure of -absinthe. Then Pochard will forget the day--perhaps he will dream of the -Austrian Baron--and try and forget Camille Leroux. Poor devil!" - -[Illustration: GEROME] - -Marguerite Girardet, the model, also told me between poses in the studio -the other day of just such a "pauvre homme" she once knew. "When he was -young," she said, "he won a second prize at the Conservatoire, and -afterward played first violin at the Comique. Now he plays in front of -the cafes, like the rest, and sometimes poses for the head of an old -man! - -[Illustration: A. MICHELENA] - -"Many grow old so young," she continued; "I knew a little model once -with a beautiful figure, absolutely comme un bijou--pretty, too, and -had she been a sensible girl, as I often told her, she could still have -earned her ten francs a day posing; but she wanted to dine all the time -with this and that one, and pose too, and in three months all her fine -'svelte' lines that made her a valuable model among the sculptors were -gone. You see, I have posed all my life in the studios, and I am over -thirty now, and you know I work hard, but I have kept my fine -lines--because I go to bed early and eat and drink little. Then I have -much to do at home; my husband and I for years have had a comfortable -home; we take a great deal of pride in it, and it keeps me very busy to -keep everything in order, for I pose very early some mornings and then -go back and get dejeuner, and then back to pose again. - -[Illustration: A SCULPTOR'S STUDIO] - -"In the summer," she went on, "we take a little place outside of Paris -for a month, down the Seine, where my husband brings his work with him; -he is a repairer of fans and objets d'art. You should come in and see us -some time; it is quite near where you painted last summer. Ah yes," she -exclaimed, as she drew her pink toes under her, "I love the country! -Last year I posed nearly two months for Monsieur Z., the painter--en -plein air; my skin was not as white as it is now, I can tell you--I was -absolutely like an Indian! - -[Illustration: FREMIET] - -"Once"--and Marguerite smiled at the memory of it--"I went to England to -pose for a painter well known there. It was an important tableau, and I -stayed there six months. It was a horrible place to me--I was always -cold--the fog was so thick one could hardly see in winter mornings going -to the studio. Besides, I could get nothing good to eat! He was a -celebrated painter, a 'Sir,' and lived with his family in a big stone -house with a garden. We had tea and cakes at five in the studio--always -tea, tea, tea!--I can tell you I used to long for a good bottle of -Madame Giraud's vin ordinaire, and a poulet. So I left and came back to -Paris. Ah! quelle place! that Angleterre! J'etais toujours, toujours -triste la! In Paris I make a good living; ten francs a day--that's not -bad, is it? and my time is taken often a year ahead. I like to pose for -the painters--the studios are cleaner than those of the sculptor's. Some -of the sculptors' studios are so dirty--clay and dust over everything! -Did you see Fabien's studio the other day when I posed for him? You -thought it dirty? Tiens!--you should have seen it last year when he was -working on the big group for the Exposition! It is clean now compared -with what it was. You see, I go to my work in the plainest of clothes--a -cheap print dress and everything of the simplest I can make, for in half -an hour, left in those studios, they would be fit only for the -blanchisseuse--the wax and dust are in and over everything! There is -no time to change when one has not the time to go home at mid-day." - -[Illustration: JEAN PAUL LAURENS] - -And so I learned much of the good sense and many of the economies in the -life of this most celebrated model. You can see her superb figure -wrought in marble and bronze by some of the most famous of modern French -sculptors all over Paris. - -There is another type of model you will see, too--one who rang my bell -one sunny morning in response to a note written by my good friend, the -sculptor, for whom this little Parisienne posed. - -She came without her hat--this "vrai type"--about seventeen years of -age--with exquisite features, her blue eyes shining under a wealth of -delicate blonde hair arranged in the prettiest of fashions--a little -white bow tied jauntily at her throat, and her exquisitely delicate, -strong young figure clothed in a simple black dress. She had about her -such a frank, childlike air! Yes, she posed for so and so, and so and -so, but not many; she liked it better than being in a shop; and it -was far more independent, for one could go about and see one's -friends--and there were many of her girl friends living on the same -street where this chic demoiselle lived. - -At noon my drawing was finished. As she sat buttoning her boots, she -looked up at me innocently, slipped her five francs for the morning's -work in her reticule, and said: - -"I live with mama, and mama never gives me any money to spend on myself. -This is Sunday and a holiday, so I shall go with Henriette and her -brother to Vincennes. It is delicious there under the trees." - -[Illustration: OLD MAN MODEL] - -It would have been quite impossible for me to have gone with them--I was -not even invited; but this very serious and good little Parisienne, who -posed for the figure with quite the same unconsciousness as she would -have handed you your change over the counter of some stuffy little shop, -went to Vincennes with Henriette and her brother, where they had a -beautiful day--scrambling up the paths and listening to the band--all at -the enormous expense of the artist; and this was how this good little -Parisienne managed to save five francs in a single day! - -There are old-men models who knock at your studio too, and who are -celebrated for their tangled gray locks, which they immediately -uncover as you open your door. These unkempt-looking Father Times and -Methuselahs prowl about the staircases of the different ateliers daily. -So do little children--mostly Italians and all filthily dirty; swarthy, -black-eyed, gypsy-looking girls and boys of from twelve to fifteen years -of age, and Italian mothers holding small children--itinerant madonnas. -These are the poorer class of models--the riff-raff of the Quarter--who -get anywhere from a few sous to a few francs for a seance. - -And there are four-footed models, too, for I know a kindly old horse who -has served in many a studio and who has carried a score of the famous -generals of the world and Jeanne d'Arcs to battle--in many a modern -public square. - -Chacun son metier! - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - -THE LUXEMBOURG GARDENS - - -In this busy Quarter, where so many people are confined throughout the -day in work-shops and studios, a breathing-space becomes a necessity. The -gardens of the Luxembourg, brilliant in flowers and laid out in the -Renaissance, with shady groves and long avenues of chestnut-trees -stretching up to the Place de l'Observatoire, afford the great -breathing-ground for the Latin Quarter. - -If one had but an hour to spend in the Quartier Latin, one could not -find a more interesting and representative sight of student life than -between the hours of four and five on Friday afternoon, when the -military band plays in the Luxembourg Gardens. This is the afternoon -when Bohemia is on parade. Then every one flocks here to see one's -friends--and a sort of weekly reception for the Quarter is held. The -walks about the band-stand are thronged with students and girls, -and hundreds of chairs are filled with an audience of the older -people--shopkeepers and their families, old women in white lace caps, -and gray-haired old men, many in straight-brimmed high hats of a mode of -twenty years past. Here they sit and listen to the music under the cool -shadow of the trees, whose rich foliage forms an arbor overhead--a roof -of green leaves, through which the sunbeams stream and in which the fat, -gray pigeons find a paradise. - -[Illustration: THE CHILDREN'S SHOP--LUXEMBOURG GARDENS] - -There is a booth near-by where waffles, cooked on a small oven in the -rear, are sold. In front are a dozen or more tables for ices and -drinkables. Every table and chair is taken within hearing distance of -the band. When these musicians of the army of France arrive, marching in -twos from their barracks to the stand, it is always the signal for that -genuine enthusiasm among the waiting crowd which one sees between the -French and their soldiers. - -If you chance to sit among the groups at the little tables, and watch -the passing throng in front of you, you will see some queer "types," -many of them seldom en evidence except on these Friday afternoons in the -Luxembourg. Buried, no doubt, in some garret hermitage or studio, they -emerge thus weekly to greet silently the passing world. - -A tall poet stalks slowly by, reading intently, as he walks, a well-worn -volume of verses--his faded straw hat shading the tip of his long nose. -Following him, a boy of twenty, delicately featured, with that purity of -expression one sees in the faces of the good--the result of a life, -perhaps, given to his ideal in art. He wears his hair long and curling -over his ears, with a long stray wisp over one eye, the whole cropped -evenly at the back as it reaches his black velvet collar. He wears, too, -a dove-gray vest of fine corduroy, buttoned behind like those of the -clergy, and a velvet tam-o'-shanter-like cap, and carries between his -teeth a small pipe with a long goose-quill stem. You can readily see -that to this young man with high ideals there is only one corner of the -world worth living in, and that lies between the Place de l'Observatoire -and the Seine. - -Three students pass, in wide broadcloth trousers, gathered in tight at -the ankles, and wearing wide-brimmed black hats. Hanging on the arm of -one of the trio is a short snub-nosed girl, whose Cleo-Merodic hair, -flattened in a bandeau over her ears, not only completely conceals them, -but all the rest of her face, except her two merry black eyes and her -saucy and neatly rouged lips. She is in black bicycle bloomers and a -white, short duck jacket--a straw hat with a wide blue ribbon band, and -a fluffy piece of white tulle tied at the side of her neck. - -The throng moves slowly by you. It is impossible, in such a close -crowd, to be in a hurry; besides, one never is here. - -Near-by sit two old ladies, evidently concierges from some atelier -court. One holds the printed program of the music, cut carefully from -her weekly newspaper; it is cheaper than buying one for two sous, and -these old concierges are economical. - -In this Friday gathering you will recognize dozens of faces which you -have seen at the "Bal Bullier" and the cafes. - -The girl in the blue tailor-made dress, with the little dog, who you -remember dined the night before at the Pantheon, is walking now arm in -arm with a tall man in black, a mourning band about his hat. The girl is -dressed in black, too--a mark of respect to her ami by her side. The -dog, who is so small that he slides along the walk every time his chain -is pulled, is now tucked under her arm. - -One of the tables near the waffle stand is taken by a group of six -students and four girls. All of them have arrived at the table in the -last fifteen minutes--some alone, some in twos. The girl in the scarlet -gown and white kid slippers, who came with the queer-looking "type" -with the pointed beard, is Yvonne Gallois--a bonne camarade. She keeps -the rest in the best of spirits, for she is witty, this Yvonne, and a -great favorite with the crowd she is with. She is pretty, too, and has a -whole-souled good-humor about her that makes her ever welcome. The -fellow she came with is Delmet the architect--a great wag--lazy, but -full of fun--and genius. - -The little girl sitting opposite Yvonne is Claire Dumont. She is -explaining a very sad "histoire" to the "type" next to her, intense in -the recital of her woes. Her alert, nervous little face is a study; when -words and expression fail, she shrugs her delicate shoulders, accenting -every sentence with her hands, until it seems as if her small, nervous -frame could express no more--and all about her little dog "Loisette!" - -[Illustration: AT THE HEAD OF THE LUXEMBOURG GARDENS] - -"Yes, the villain of a concierge at Edmond's studio swore at him twice, -and Sunday, when Edmond and I were breakfasting late, the old beast saw -'Loisette' on the stairs and threw water over her; she is a sale bete, -that grosse femme! She shall see what it will cost her, the old miser; -and you know I have always been most amiable with her. She is jealous -of me--that is it--oh! I am certain of it. Because I am young and -happy. Jealous of me! that's funny, is it not? The old pig! Poor -'Loisette'--she shivered all night with fright and from being wet. -Edmond and I are going to find another place. Yes, she shall see what it -will be there without us--with no one to depend upon for her snuff and -her wine. If she were concierge at Edmond's old atelier she would be -treated like that horrid old Madame Fouquet." - -The boys in the atelier over her window hated this old Madame Fouquet, I -remember. She was always prying about and complaining, so they fished up -her pet gold-fish out of the aquarium on her window-sill, and fried them -on the atelier stove, and put them back in the window on a little plate -all garnished with carrots. She swore vengeance and called in the -police, but to no avail. One day they fished up the parrot in its cage, -and the green bird that screamed and squawked continually met a speedy -and painless death and went off to the taxidermist. Then the cage was -lowered in its place with the door left ajar, and the old woman felt -sure that her pet had escaped and would some day find his way back to -her--a thing this garrulous bird would never have thought of doing had -he had any say in the matter. - -So the old lady left the door of the cage open for days in the event of -his return, and strange to tell, one morning Madame Fouquet got up to -quarrel with her next-door neighbor, and, to her amazement, there was -her green pet on his perch in his cage. She called to him, but he did -not answer; he simply stood on his wired legs and fixed his glassy eyes -on her, and said not a word--while the gang of Indians in the windows -above yelled themselves hoarse. - -It was just such a crowd as this that initiated a "nouveau" once in one -of the ateliers. They stripped the new-comer, and, as is often the -custom on similar festive occasions, painted him all over with -sketches, done in the powdered water-colors that come in glass jars. -They are cheap and cover a lot of surface, so that the gentleman in -question looked like a human picture-gallery. After the ceremony, he was -put in a hamper and deposited, in the morning, in the middle of the Pont -des Arts, where he was subsequently found by the police, who carted him -off in a cab. - -[Illustration: THE FONTAINE DE MEDICIS] - -But you must see more of this vast garden of the Luxembourg to -appreciate truly its beauty and its charm. Filled with beautiful -sculpture in bronze and marble, with its musee of famous modern pictures -bought by the Government, with flower-beds brilliant in geraniums and -fragrant in roses, with the big basin spouting a jet of water in its -center, where the children sail their boats, and with that superb -"Fontaine de Medicis" at the end of a long, rectangular basin of -water--dark as some pool in a forest brook, the green vines trailing -about its sides, shaded by the rich foliage of the trees overhead. - -On the other side of the Luxembourg you will find a garden of roses, -with a rich bronze group of Greek runners in the center, and near it, -back of the long marble balustrade, a croquet ground--a favorite spot -for several veteran enthusiasts who play here regularly, surrounded for -hours by an interested crowd who applaud and cheer the participants in -this passe sport. - -This is another way of spending an afternoon at the sole cost of one's -leisure. It takes but little to amuse these people! - -Often at the Punch and Judy show near-by, you will see two old -gentlemen,--who may have watched this same Punch and Judy show when they -were youngsters,--and who have been sitting for half an hour, waiting -for the curtain of the miniature theater to rise. It is popular--this -small "Theatre Guignol," and the benches in front are filled with the -children of rich and poor, who scream with delight and kick their -little, fat bare legs at the first shrill squeak of Mr. Punch. The three -who compose the staff of this tiny attraction have been long in its -service--the old harpist, and the good wife of the showman who knows -every child in the neighborhood, and her husband who is Mr. Punch, the -hangman, and the gendarme, and half a dozen other equally historical -personages. A thin, sad-looking man, this husband, gray-haired, with a -careworn look in his deep-sunken eyes, who works harder hourly, daily, -yearly, to amuse the heart of a child than almost any one I know. - -The little box of a theater is stifling hot in summer, and yet he must -laugh and scream and sing within it, while his good wife collects the -sous, talking all the while to this and to that child whom she has known -since its babyhood; chatting with the nurses decked out in their -gay-colored, Alsatian bows, the ribbons reaching nearly to the ground. - -A French nurse is a gorgeous spectacle of neatness and cleanliness, and -many of the younger ones, fresh from country homes in Normandy and -Brittany, with their rosy cheeks, are pictures of health. Wherever you -see a nurse, you will see a "piou-piou" not far away, which is a very -belittling word for the red-trousered infantryman of the Republique -Francaise. - -Surrounding the Palais du Luxembourg, these "piou-pious," less fortunate -for the hour, stand guard in the small striped sentry-boxes, musket at -side, or pace stolidly up and down the flagged walk. Marie, at the -moment, is no doubt with the children of the rich Count, in a shady spot -near the music. How cruel is the fate of many a gallant "piou-piou"! - -Farther down the gravel-walk strolls a young Frenchman and his -fiancee--the mother of his betrothed inevitably at her side! It is under -this system of rigid chaperonage that the young girl of France is given -in marriage. It is not to be wondered at that many of them marry to be -free, and that many of the happier marriages have begun with an -elopement! - -[Illustration: THE PALACE OF THE LUXEMBOURG] - -The music is over, and the band is filing out, followed by the crowd. A -few linger about the walks around the band-stand to chat. The old lady -who rents the chairs is stacking them up about the tree-trunks, and long -shadows across the walks tell of the approaching twilight. Overhead, -among the leaves, the pigeons coo. For a few moments the sun bathes -the great garden in a pinkish glow, then drops slowly, a blood-red disk, -behind the trees. The air grows chilly; it is again the hour to -dine--the hour when Paris wakes. - -In the smaller restaurants of the Quarter one often sees some strange -contrasts among these true bohemians, for the Latin Quarter draws its -habitues from every part of the globe. They are not all French--these -happy-go-lucky fellows, who live for the day and let the morrow slide. -You will see many Japanese--some of them painters--many of them taking -courses in political economy, or in law; many of them titled men of high -rank in their own country, studying in the schools, and learning, too, -with that thoroughness and rapidity which are ever characteristic of -their race. You will find, too, Brazilians; gentlemen from Haiti of -darker hue; Russians, Poles, and Spaniards--men and women from every -clime and every station in life. They adapt themselves to the Quarter -and become a part of this big family of Bohemia easily and naturally. - -In this daily atmosphere only the girl-student from our own shores seems -out of place. She will hunt for some small restaurant, sacred in its -exclusiveness and known only to a dozen bon camarades of the Quarter. -Perhaps this girl-student, it may be, from the West and her cousin from -the East will discover some such cosy little boite on their way back -from their atelier. To two other equally adventurous female minds they -will impart this newest find; after that you will see the four dining -there nightly together, as safe, I assure you, within these walls of -Bohemia as they would be at home rocking on their Aunt Mary's porch. - -There is, of course, considerable awkwardness between these bon -camarades, to whom the place really belongs, and these very innocent -new-comers, who seek a table by themselves in a corner under the few -trees in front of the small restaurant. And yet every one is exceedingly -polite to them. Madame the patronne hustles about to see that the dinner -is warm and nicely served; and Henriette, who is waiting on them, none -the less attentive, although she is late for her own dinner, which she -will sit down to presently with madame the patronne, the good cook, and -the other girls who serve the small tables. - -[Illustration: WHAT IS GOING ON AT THE THEATERS] - -This later feast will be augmented perhaps by half the good boys and -girls who have been dining at the long table. Perhaps they will all come -in and help shell the peas for to-morrow's dinner. And yet this is a -public place, where the painters come, and where one pays only for what -one orders. It is all very interesting to the four American girls, who -are dining at the small table. "It is so thoroughly bohemian!" they -exclaim. - -But what must Mimi think of these silent and exclusive strangers, and -what, too, must the tall girl in the bicycle bloomers think, and the -little girl who has been ill and who at the moment is dining with -Renould, the artist, and whom every one--even to the cook, is so glad to -welcome back after her long illness? There is an unsurmountable barrier -between the Americans at the little table in the corner and that jolly -crowd of good and kindly people at the long one, for Mimi and Henriette -and the little girl who has been so ill, and the French painters and -sculptors with them, cannot understand either the language of these -strangers or their views of life. - -"Florence!" exclaims one of the strangers in a whisper, "do look at that -queer little 'type' at the long table--the tall girl in black actually -kissed him!" - -"You don't mean it!" - -"Yes, I do--just now. Why, my dear, I saw it plainly!" - -Poor culprits! There is no law against kissing in the open air in Paris, -and besides, the tall girl in black has known the little "type" for a -Parisienne age--thirty days or less. - -The four innocents, who have coughed through their soup and whispered -through the rest of the dinner, have now finished and are leaving, but -if those at the long table notice their departure, they do not show it. -In the Quarter it is considered the height of rudeness to stare. You -will find these Suzannes and Marcelles exceedingly well-bred in the -little refinements of life, and you will note a certain innate dignity -and kindliness in their bearing toward others, which often makes one -wish to uncover his head in their presence. - - - - -CHAPTER IX - -"THE RAGGED EDGE OF THE QUARTER" - - -There are many streets of the Quarter as quiet as those of a country -village. Some of them, like the rue Vaugirard, lead out past gloomy -slaughter-houses and stables, through desolate sections of vacant -lots, littered with the ruins of factory and foundry whose tall, -smoke-begrimed chimneys in the dark stand like giant sentries, as if -pointing a warning finger to the approaching pedestrian, for these -ragged edges of the Quarter often afford at night a lurking-ground for -footpads. - -In just such desolation there lived a dozen students, in a small nest of -studios that I need not say were rented to them at a price within their -ever-scanty means. It was marveled at among the boys in the Quarter that -any of these exiles lived to see the light of another day, after -wandering back at all hours of the night to their stronghold. - -Possibly their sole possessions consisted of the clothes they had on, a -few bad pictures, and their several immortal geniuses. That the -gentlemen with the sand-bags knew of this I am convinced, for the -students were never molested. Verily, Providence lends a strong and -ready arm to the drunken man and the fool! - -The farther out one goes on the rue Vaugirard, the more desolate -and forbidding becomes this long highway, until it terminates at -the fortifications, near which is a huge, open field, kept clear -of such permanent buildings as might shelter an enemy in time of -war. Scattered over this space are the hovels of squatters and -gipsies--fortune-telling, horse-trading vagabonds, whose living-vans -at certain times of the year form part of the smaller fairs within -the Quarter. - -[Illustration: (factory chimneys along empty street)] - -And very small and unattractive little fairs they are, consisting of -half a dozen or more wagons, serving as a yearly abode for these -shiftless people; illumined at night by the glare of smoking oil -torches. There is, moreover, a dingy tent with a half-drawn red curtain -that hides the fortune-telling beauty; and a traveling shooting-gallery, -so short that the muzzle of one's rifle nearly rests upon the painted -lady with the sheet-iron breastbone, centered by a pinhead of a -bull's-eye which never rings. There is often a small carousel, too, -which is not only patronized by the children, but often by a crowd of -students--boys and girls, who literally turn the merry-go-round into a -circus, and who for the time are cheered to feats of bareback riding by -the enthusiastic bystanders. - -These little Quarter fetes are far different from the great fete de -Neuilly across the Seine, which begins at the Porte Maillot, and -continues in a long, glittering avenue of side-shows, with mammoth -carousels, bizarre in looking-glass panels and golden figures. Within -the circle of all this throne-like gorgeousness, a horse-power organ -shakes the very ground with its clarion blasts, while pink and white -wooden pigs, their tails tied up in bows of colored ribbons, heave and -swoop round and round, their backs loaded with screaming girls and -shouting men. - -It was near this very same Port Maillot, in a colossal theater, built -originally for the representation of one of the Kiralfy ballets, that a -fellow student and myself went over from the Quarter one night to "supe" -in a spectacular and melodramatic pantomime, entitled "Afrique a Paris." -We were invited by the sole proprietor and manager of the show--an -old circus-man, and one of the shrewdest, most companionable, and -intelligent of men, who had traveled the world over. He spoke no -language but his own unadulterated American. This, with his dominant -personality, served him wherever fortune carried him! - -So, accepting his invitation to play alternately the dying soldier and -the pursuing cannibal under the scorching rays of a tropical limelight, -and with an old pair of trousers and a flannel shirt wrapped in a -newspaper, we presented ourselves at the appointed hour, at the edge of -the hostile country. - -[Illustration: (street scene)] - -Here we found ourselves surrounded by a horde of savages who needed no -greasepaint to stain their ebony bodies, and many of whose grinning -countenances I had often recognized along our own Tenderloin. Besides, -there were cowboys and "greasers" and diving elks, and a company of -French Zouaves; the latter, in fact, seemed to be the only thing foreign -about the show. Our friend, the manager, informed us that he had thrown -the entire spectacle together in about ten days, and that he had -gathered with ease, in two, a hundred of those dusky warriors, who had -left their coat-room and barber-shop jobs in New York to find themselves -stranded in Paris. - -He was a hustler, this circus-man, and preceding the spectacle of the -African war, he had entertained the audience with a short variety-show, -to brace the spectacle. He insisted on bringing us around in front and -giving us a box, so we could see for ourselves how good it really was. - -During this forepart, and after some clever high trapeze work, -the sensation of the evening was announced--a Signore, with an -unpronounceable name, would train a den of ten forest-bred lions! - -When the orchestra had finished playing "The Awakening of the Lion," the -curtain rose, disclosing the nerveless Signore in purple tights and -high-topped boots. A long, portable cage had been put together on the -stage during the intermission, and within it the ten pacing beasts. -There is something terrifying about the roar of a lion as it begins with -its high-keyed moan, and descends in scale to a hoarse roar that seems -to penetrate one's whole nervous system. - -But the Signore did not seem to mind it; he placed one foot on the sill -of the safety-door, tucked his short riding-whip under his arm, pulled -the latch with one hand, forced one knee in the slightly opened door, -and sprang into the cage. Click! went the iron door as it found its -lock. Bang! went the Signore's revolver, as he drove the snarling, -roaring lot into the corner of the cage. The smoke from his revolver -drifted out through the bars; the house was silent. The trainer walked -slowly up to the fiercest lion, who reared against the bars as he -approached him, striking at the trainer with his heavy paws, while the -others slunk into the opposite corner. The man's head was but half a -foot now from the lion's; he menaced the beast with the little -riding-whip; he almost, but did not quite strike him on the tip of his -black nose that worked convulsively in rage. Then the lion dropped -awkwardly, with a short growl, to his forelegs, and slunk, with the -rest, into the corner. The Signore turned and bowed. It was the little -riding-whip they feared, for they had never gauged its sting. Not the -heavy iron bar within reach of his hand, whose force they knew. The vast -audience breathed easier. - -"An ugly lot," I said, turning to our friend the manager, who had taken -his seat beside me. - -"Yes," he mused, peering at the stage with his keen gray eyes; "green -stock, but a swell act, eh? Wait for the grand finale. I've got a -girl here who comes on and does art poses among the lions; she's a -dream--French, too!" - -A girl of perhaps twenty, enveloped in a bath gown, now appeared at the -wings. The next instant the huge theater became dark, and she stood in -full fleshings, in the center of the cage, brilliant in the rays of a -powerful limelight, while the lions circled about her at the command of -the trainer. - -"Ain't she a peach?" said the manager, enthusiastically. - -"Yes," said I, "she is. Has she been in the cages long?" I asked. - -[Illustration: (portrait of woman)] - -"No, she never worked with the cats before," he said; "she's new to the -show business; she said her folks live in Nantes. She worked here in a -chocolate factory until she saw my 'ad' last week and joined my show. We -gave her a rehearsal Monday and we put her on the bill next night. She's -a good looker with plenty of grit, and is a winner with the bunch in -front." - -"How did you get her to take the job?" I said. - -"Well," he replied, "she balked at the act at first, but I showed her -two violet notes from a couple of swell fairies who wanted the job, and -after that she signed for six weeks." - -"Who wrote the notes?" I said, queryingly. - -"I wrote 'em!" he exclaimed dryly, and he bit the corner of his stubby -mustache and smiled. "This is the last act in the olio, so you will have -to excuse me. So long!" and he disappeared in the gloom. - - * * * * * - -There are streets and boulevards in the Quarter, sections of which are -alive with the passing throng and the traffic of carts and omnibuses. -Then one will come to a long stretch of massive buildings, public -institutions, silent as convents--their interminable walls flanking -garden or court. - -The Boulevard St. Germain is just such a highway until it crosses the -Boulevard St. Michel--the liveliest roadway of the Quarter. Then it -seems to become suddenly inoculated with its bustle and life, and from -there on is crowded with bourgeoise and animated with the commerce of -market and shop. - -An Englishman once was so fired with a desire to see the gay life of the -Latin Quarter that he rented a suite of rooms on this same Boulevard St. -Germain at about the middle of this long, quiet stretch. Here he stayed -a fortnight, expecting daily to see from his "chambers" the gaiety of a -Bohemia of which he had so often heard. At the end of his disappointing -sojourn, he returned to London, firmly convinced that the gay life of -the Latin Quarter was a myth. It was to him. - -[Illustration: (crowded street market)] - -But the man from Denver, the "Steel King," and the two thinner -gentlemen with the louis-lined waistcoats who accompanied him and whom -Fortune had awakened in the far West one morning and had led them to -"The Great Red Star copper mine"--a find which had ever since been a -source of endless amusement to them--discovered the Quarter before they -had been in Paris a day, and found it, too, "the best ever," as they -expressed it. - -They did not remain long in Paris, this rare crowd of seasoned genials, -for it was their first trip abroad and they had to see Switzerland and -Vienna, and the Rhine; but while they stayed they had a good time Every -Minute. - -The man from Denver and the Steel King sat at one of the small tables, -leaning over the railing at the "Bal Bullier," gazing at the sea of -dancers. - -"Billy," said the man from Denver to the Steel King, "if they had this -in Chicago they'd tear out the posts inside of fifteen minutes"--he -wiped the perspiration from his broad forehead and pushed his -twenty-dollar Panama on the back of his head. - -"Ain't it a sight!" he mused, clinching the butt of his perfecto between -his teeth. "Say!--say! it beats all I ever see," and he chuckled to -himself, his round, genial face, with its double chin, wreathed in -smiles. - -"Say, George!" he called to one of the 'copper twins,' "did you get on -to that little one in black that just went by--well! well!! well!!! In a -minute!!" - -Already the pile of saucers on their table reached a foot high--a record -of refreshments for every Yvonne and Marcelle that had stopped in -passing. Two girls approach. - -"Certainly, sit right down," cried the Steel King. "Here, Jack,"--this -to the aged garcon, "smoke up! and ask the ladies what they'll -have"--all of which was unintelligible to the two little Parisiennes and -the garcon, but quite clear in meaning to all three. - -"Dis donc, garcon!" interrupted the taller of the two girls, "un cafe -glace pour moi." - -"Et moi," answered her companion gayly, "Je prends une limonade!" - -"Here! Hold on!" thundered good-humoredly the man from Denver; "git 'em -a good drink. Rye, garsong! yes, that's it--whiskey--I see you're on, -and two. Deux!" he explains, holding up two fat fingers, "all straight, -friend--two whiskeys with seltzer on the side--see? Now go roll your -hoop and git back with 'em." - -"Oh, non, monsieur!" cried the two Parisiennes in one breath; "whiskey! -jamais! ca pique et c'est trop fort." - -At this juncture the flower woman arrived with a basketful of red roses. - -"Voulez-vous des fleurs, messieurs et mesdames?" she asked politely. - -"Certainly," cried the Steel King; "here, Maud and Mamie, take the lot," -and he handed the two girls the entire contents of the basket. The -taller buried her face for a moment in the red Jaqueminots and drank in -their fragrance. When she looked up, two big tears trickled down to the -corners of her pretty mouth. In a moment more she was smiling! The -smaller girl gave a little cry of delight and shook her roses above her -head as three other girls passed. Ten minutes later the two possessed -but a single rose apiece--they had generously given all the rest away. - -[Illustration: (portrait of woman)] - -The "copper twins" had been oblivious of all this. They had been hanging -over the low balustrade, engaged in a heart-to-heart talk with two -pretty Quartier brunettes. It seemed to be really a case of love at -first sight, carried on somewhat under difficulties, for the "copper -twins" could not speak a word of French, and the English of the two chic -brunettes was limited to "Oh, yes!" "Vary well!" "Good morning," "Good -evening," and "I love you." The four held hands over the low railing, -until the "copper twins" fairly steamed in talk; warmed by the sun of -gaiety and wet by several rounds of Highland dew, they grew sad and -earnest, and got up and stepped all over the Steel King and the man from -Denver, and the two Parisiennes' daintily slippered feet, in squeezing -out past the group of round tables back of the balustrade, and down on -to the polished floor--where they are speedily lost to view in the maze -of dancers, gliding into the whirl with the two brunettes. When the -waltz is over they stroll out with them into the garden, and order wine, -and talk of changing their steamer date. - -The good American, with his spotless collar and his well-cut clothes, -with his frankness and whole-souled generosity, is a study to the modern -grisette. He seems strangely attractive to her, in contrast with a -certain type of Frenchman, that is selfish, unfaithful, and mean--that -jealousy makes uncompanionable and sometimes cruel. She will tell you -that these pale, black-eyed, and black-bearded boulevardiers are all -alike--lazy and selfish; so unlike many of the sterling, good fellows of -the Quarter--Frenchmen of a different stamp, and there are many of -these--rare, good Bohemians, with hearts and natures as big as all -out-doors--"bons garcons," which is only another way of saying -"gentlemen." - -As you tramp along back to your quarters some rainy night you find many -of the streets leading from the boulevards silent and badly lighted, -except for some flickering lantern on the corner of a long block which -sends the shadows scurrying across your path. You pass a student perhaps -and a girl, hurrying home--a fiacre for a short distance is a luxury in -the Quarter. Now you hear the click-clock of an approaching cab, the -cocher half asleep on his box. The hood of the fiacre is up, sheltering -the two inside from the rain. As the voiture rumbles by near a -street-light, you catch a glimpse of a pink silk petticoat within and a -pair of dainty, white kid shoes--and the glint of an officer's sword. - -Farther on, you pass a silent gendarme muffled in his night cloak; a few -doors farther on in a small cafe, a bourgeois couple, who have arrived -on a late train no doubt to spend a month with relatives in Paris, are -having a warming tipple before proceeding farther in the drizzling rain. -They have, of course, invited the cocher to drink with them. They have -brought all their pets and nearly all their household goods--two dogs, -three bird-cages, their tiny occupants protected from the damp air by -several folds of newspaper; a cat in a stout paper box with air holes, -and two trunks, well tied with rope. - -[Illustration: (street market)] - -"Ah, yes, it has been a long journey!" sighs the wife. Her husband -corroborates her, as they explain to the patronne of the cafe and to the -cocher that they left their village at midday. Anything over two hours -on the chemin-de-fer is considered a journey by these good French -people! - -As you continue on to your studio, you catch a glimpse of the lights of -the Boulevard Montparnasse. Next a cab with a green light rattles by; -then a ponderous two-wheeled cart lumbers along, piled high with red -carrots as neatly arranged as cigars in a box--the driver asleep on his -seat near his swinging lantern--and the big Normandy horses taking the -way. It is late, for these carts are on their route to the early morning -market--one of the great Halles. The tired waiters are putting up the -shutters of the smaller cafes and stacking up the chairs. Now a cock -crows lustily in some neighboring yard; the majority at least of the -Latin Quarter has turned in for the night. A moment later you reach your -gate, feel instinctively for your matches. In the darkness of the court -a friendly cat rubs her head contentedly against your leg. It is the -yellow one that sleeps in the furniture factory, and you pick her up and -carry her to your studio, where, a moment later, she is crunching -gratefully the remnant of the beau maquereau left from your -dejeuner--for charity begins at home. - - - - -CHAPTER X - -EXILED - - -Scores of men, celebrated in art and in literature, have, for a longer -or shorter period of their lives, been bohemians of the Latin Quarter. -And yet these years spent in cafes and in studios have not turned them -out into the world a devil-me-care lot of dreamers. They have all -marched and sung along the "Boul' Miche"; danced at the "Bullier"; -starved, struggled, and lived in the romance of its life. It has all -been a part of their education, and a very important part too, in the -development of their several geniuses, a development which in later life -has placed them at the head of their professions. These years of -camaraderie--of a life free from all conventionalities, in daily touch -with everything about them, and untrammeled by public censure or the -petty views of prudish or narrow minds, have left them free to cut a -straight swath merrily toward the goal of their ideals, surrounded all -the while by an atmosphere of art and good-fellowship that permeates the -very air they breathe. - -If a man can work at all, he can work here, for between the -working-hours he finds a life so charming, that once having lived -it he returns to it again and again, as to an old love. - -How many are the romances of this student Quarter! How many hearts have -been broken or made glad! How many brave spirits have suffered and -worked on and suffered again, and at last won fame! How many have -failed! We who come with a fresh eye know nothing of all that has passed -within these quaint streets--only those who have lived in and through it -know its full story. - -[Illustration: THE MUSEE CLUNY] - -Pochard has seen it; so has the little old woman who once danced at the -opera; so have old Bibi La Puree, and Alphonse, the gray-haired garcon, -and Mere Gaillard, the flower-woman. They have seen the gay boulevards -and the cafes and generations of grisettes, from the true grisette of -years gone by, in her dainty white cap and simple dress turned low at -the throat, to the tailor-made grisette of to-day. - -Yet the eyes of the little old woman still dance; they have not grown -tired of this ever-changing kaleidoscope of human nature, this paradise -of the free, where many would rather struggle on half starved than live -a life of luxury elsewhere. - -And the students are equally quixotic. I knew one once who lived in an -air-castle of his own building--a tall, serious fellow, a sculptor, who -always went tramping about in a robe resembling a monk's cowl, with his -bare feet incased in coarse sandals; only his art redeemed these -eccentricities, for he produced in steel and ivory the most exquisite -statuettes. One at the Salon was the sensation of the day--a knight in -full armor, scarcely half a foot in height, holding in his arms a nymph -in flesh-tinted ivory, whose gentle face, upturned, gazed sweetly into -the stern features behind the uplifted vizor; and all so exquisitely -carved, so alive, so human, that one could almost feel the tender heart -of this fair lady beating against the cold steel breastplate. - -Another "bon garcon"--a painter whose enthusiasm for his art knew no -bounds--craved to produce a masterpiece. This dreamer could be seen -daily ferreting around the Quarter for a studio always bigger than the -one he had. At last he found one that exactly fitted the requirements of -his vivid imagination--a studio with a ceiling thirty feet high, with -windows like the scenic ones next to the stage entrances of the -theaters. Here at last he could give full play to his brush--no subject -seemed too big for him to tackle; he would move in a canvas as big as a -back flat to a third act, and commence on a "Fall of Babylon" or a -"Carnage of Rome" with a nerve that was sublime! The choking dust of the -arena--the insatiable fury of the tigers--the cowering of hundreds of -unfortunate captives--and the cruel multitude above, seated in the vast -circle of the hippodrome--all these did not daunt his zeal. - -Once he persuaded a venerable old abbe to pose for his portrait. The -old gentleman came patiently to his studio and posed for ten days, at -the end of which time the abbe gazed at the result and said things which -I dare not repeat--for our enthusiast had so far only painted his -clothes; the face was still in its primary drawing. - -"The face I shall do in time," the enthusiast assured the reverend man -excitedly; "it is the effect of the rich color of your robe I wished to -get. And may I ask your holiness to be patient a day longer while I put -in your boots?" - -"No, sir!" thundered the irate abbe. "Does monsieur think I am not a -very busy man?" - -Then softening a little, he said, with a smile: - -"I won't come any more, my friend. I'll send my boots around to-morrow -by my boy." - -But the longest red-letter day has its ending, and time and tide beckon -one with the brutality of an impatient jailer. - -On my studio table is a well-stuffed envelope containing the documents -relative to my impending exile--a stamped card of my identification, -bearing the number of my cell, a plan of the slave-ship, and six red -tags for my baggage. - -The three pretty daughters of old Pere Valois know of my approaching -departure, and say cheering things to me as I pass the concierge's -window. - -Pere Valois stands at the gate and stops me with: "Is it true, monsieur, -you are going Saturday?" - -"Yes," I answer; "unfortunately, it is quite true." - -The old man sighs and replies: "I once had to leave Paris myself"; -looking at me as if he were speaking to an old resident. "My regiment -was ordered to the colonies. It was hard, monsieur, but I did my duty." - -The morning of my sailing has arrived. The patron of the tobacco-shop, -and madame his good wife, and the wine merchant, and the baker along the -little street with its cobblestone-bed, have all wished me "bon voyage," -accompanied with many handshakings. It is getting late and Pere Valois -has gone to hunt for a cab--a "galerie," as it is called, with a place -for trunks on top. Twenty minutes go by, but no "galerie" is in sight. -The three daughters of Pere Valois run in different directions to find -one, while I throw the remaining odds and ends in the studio into my -valise. At last there is a sound of grating wheels below on the gravel -court. The "galerie" has arrived--with the smallest of the three -daughters inside, all out of breath from her run and terribly excited. -There are the trunks and the valises and the bicycle in its crate to get -down. Two soldiers, who have been calling on two of the daughters, come -up to the studio and kindly offer their assistance. There is no time to -lose, and in single file the procession starts down the atelier stairs, -headed by Pere Valois, who has just returned from his fruitless search -considerably winded, and the three girls, the two red-trousered soldiers -and myself tugging away at the rest of the baggage. - -It is not often one departs with the assistance of three pretty femmes -de menage, a jolly old concierge, and a portion of the army of the -French Republic. With many suggestions from my good friends and an -assuring wave of the hand from the aged cocher, my luggage is roped and -chained to the top of the rickety, little old cab, which sways and -squeaks with the sudden weight, while the poor, small horse, upon whom -has been devolved the task of making the 11.35 train, Gare St. Lazare, -changes his position wearily from one leg to the other. He is evidently -thinking out the distance, and has decided upon his gait. - -"Bon voyage!" cry the three girls and Pere Valois and the two soldiers, -as the last trunk is chained on. - -The dingy vehicle groans its way slowly out of the court. Just as it -reaches the last gate it stops. - -"What's the matter?" I ask, poking my head out of the window. - -"Monsieur," says the aged cocher, "it is an impossibility! I regret very -much to say that your bicycle will not pass through the gate." - -A dozen heads in the windows above offer suggestions. I climb out and -take a look; there are at least four inches to spare on either side in -passing through the iron posts. - -"Ah!" cries my cocher enthusiastically, "monsieur is right, happily for -us!" - -He cracks his whip, the little horse gathers itself together--a moment -of careful driving and we are through and into the street and rumbling -away, amid cheers from the windows above. As I glance over my traps, I -see a small bunch of roses tucked in the corner of my roll of rugs with -an engraved card attached. "From Mademoiselle Ernestine Valois," it -reads, and on the other side is written, in a small, fine hand, "Bon -voyage." - -I look back to bow my acknowledgment, but it is too late; we have turned -the corner and the rue Vaugirard is but a memory! - - * * * * * - -But why go on telling you of what the little shops contain--how narrow -and picturesque are the small streets--how gay the boulevards--what they -do at the "Bullier"--or where they dine? It is Love that moves Paris--it -is the motive power of this big, beautiful, polished city--the love of -adventure, the love of intrigue, the love of being a bohemian if you -will--but it is Love all the same! - -"I work for love," hums the little couturiere. - -"I work for love," cries the miller of Marcel Legay. - -"I live for love," sings the poet. - -"For the love of art I am a painter," sighs Edmond, in his atelier--"and -for her!" - -"For the love of it I mold and model and create," chants the -sculptor--"and for her!" - -It is the Woman who dominates Paris--"Les petites femmes!" who have -inspired its art through the skill of these artisans. - -"Monsieur! monsieur! Please buy this fisherman doll!" cries a poor old -woman outside of your train compartment, as you are leaving Havre for -Paris. - -"Monsieur!" screams a girl, running near the open window with a little -fishergirl doll uplifted. - -"What, you don't want it? You have bought one? Ah! I see," cries the -pretty vendor; "but it is a boy doll--he will be sad if he goes to -Paris without a companion!" - -Take all the little fishergirls away from Paris--from the Quartier -Latin--and you would find chaos and a morgue! - -L'amour! that is it--L'amour!--L'amour!--L'amour! - -[Illustration: (burning candle)] - - - - - TRANSCRIBER'S AMENDMENTS: - - Page 25: dejeuner amended to dejeuner. - Page 25: Saints-Peres amended to Saints-Peres. - Page 36: aperatif amended to aperitif. - Page 37: boite amended to boite. - Page 51 & 63: Celeste amended to Celeste. - Page 52: gayety amended to gaiety. - Page 57: a a amended to a. - Page 60: glace amended to glace. - Page 64: Quatz amended to Quat'z'. - Page 67: Pres amended to Pres. - Page 78: sufficently amended to sufficiently. - Page 161: Artz amended to Arts. - Page 196: MUSEE amended to MUSEE. - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's The Real Latin Quarter, by F. Berkeley Smith - + + + + +Produced by Rene Anderson Benitz, Suzanne Shell and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + +[Illustration: THE REAL LATIN QUARTER Book Cover] + + + TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE: Variations in hyphenation, capitalization, and + spelling have been retained as in the original. Minor printer errors + have been amended without note. Obvious typos have been amended and + are listed at the end of the text. Some illustrations have been + relocated for better flow. Brief descriptions of illustrations + without captions have been added in parentheses where appropriate. + + +[Illustration: THE REAL LATIN QUARTER] + +[Illustration: IN THE GARDENS OF THE LUXEMBOURG + +_WATER COLOR DRAWING BY_ +F. HOPKINSON SMITH +PARIS, 1901] + + + + +THE REAL +LATIN QUARTER + +By F. BERKELEY SMITH + +[Illustration: (portrait of woman)] + +WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY THE AUTHOR +INTRODUCTION AND FRONTISPIECE BY +F. HOPKINSON SMITH + + +FUNK & WAGNALLS COMPANY +NEW YORK . NINETEEN HUNDRED AND ONE + + + + +Copyright, 1901 +by +Funk & Wagnalls Company + +Registered +at +Stationers' Hall +London, England + +Printed in the +United States of America + +Published in +November, 1901 + + + + +[Illustration: (teapot with cup)] + +CONTENTS + + Page +Introduction 7 + +Chapter + + I. In the Rue Vaugirard 11 + + II. The Boulevard St. Michel 29 + + III. The "Bal Bullier" 52 + + IV. Bal des Quat'z' Arts 70 + + V. "A Dejeuner at Lavenue's" 93 + + VI. "At Marcel Legay's" 113 + + VII. "Pochard" 129 + +VIII. The Luxembourg Gardens 151 + + IX. "The Ragged Edge of the Quarter" 173 + + X. Exiled 194 + +[Illustration: (wine bottles with glass)] + + + + +INTRODUCTION + + +"Cocher, drive to the rue Falguiere"--this in my best restaurant French. + +The man with the varnished hat shrugged his shoulders, and raised his +eyebrows in doubt. He evidently had never heard of the rue Falguiere. +"Yes, rue Falguiere, the old rue des Fourneaux," I continued. + +Cabby's face broke out into a smile. "Ah, oui, oui, le Quartier Latin." + +And it was at the end of this crooked street, through a lane that led +into a half court flanked by a row of studio buildings, and up one pair +of dingy waxed steps, that I found a door bearing the name of the author +of the following pages--his visiting card impaled on a tack. He was in +his shirt-sleeves--the thermometer stood at 90 deg. outside--working at his +desk, surrounded by half-finished sketches and manuscript. + +The man himself I had met before--I had known him for years, in +fact--but the surroundings were new to me. So too were his methods of +work. + +Nowadays when a man would write of the Siege of Peking or the relief of +some South African town with the unpronounceable name, his habit is to +rent a room on an up-town avenue, move in an inkstand and pad, and a +collection of illustrated papers and encyclopedias. This writer on the +rue Falguiere chose a different plan. He would come back year after +year, and study his subject and compile his impressions of the Quarter +in the very atmosphere of the place itself; within a stone's throw of +the Luxembourg Gardens and the Pantheon; near the cafes and the Bullier; +next door, if you please, to the public laundry where his washerwoman +pays a few sous for the privilege of pounding his clothes into holes. + +It all seemed very real to me, as I sat beside him and watched him at +work. The method delighted me. I have similar ideas myself about the +value of his kind of study in out-door sketching, compared with the +labored work of the studio, and I have most positive opinions regarding +the quality which comes of it. + +If then the pages which here follow have in them any of the true +inwardness of the life they are meant to portray, it is due, I feel +sure, as much to the attitude of the author toward his subject, as much +to his ability to seize, retain, and express these instantaneous +impressions, these flash pictures caught on the spot, as to any other +merit which they may possess. + +Nothing can be made really _real_ without it. + + F. HOPKINSON SMITH. + +Paris, August, 1901. + + + + +[Illustration: (city rooftop scene)] + +CHAPTER I + +IN THE RUE VAUGIRARD + + +Like a dry brook, its cobblestone bed zigzagging past quaint shops and +cafes, the rue Vaugirard finds its way through the heart of the Latin +Quarter. + +It is only one in a score of other busy little streets that intersect +the Quartier Latin; but as I live on the rue Vaugirard, or rather just +beside it, up an alley and in the corner of a picturesque old courtyard +leading to the "Lavoir Gabriel," a somewhat angelic name for a huge, +barn-like structure reeking in suds and steam, and noisy with gossiping +washerwomen who pay a few sous a day there for the privilege of doing +their washing--and as my studio windows (the big one with the north +light, and the other one a narrow slit reaching from the floor to the +high ceiling for the taking in of the big canvases one sees at the +Salon--which are never sold) overlook both alley and court, I can see +the life and bustle below. + +[Illustration: LAVOIR GABRIEL] + +This is not the Paris of Boulevards, ablaze with light and thronged with +travelers of the world, nor of big hotels and chic restaurants without +prices on the menus. In the latter the maitre d'hotel makes a mental +inventory of you when you arrive; and before you have reached your +coffee and cigar, or before madame has buttoned her gloves, this +well-shaved, dignified personage has passed sentence on you, and you pay +according to whatever he thinks you cannot afford. I knew a fellow once +who ordered a peach in winter at one of these smart taverns, and was +obliged to wire home for money the next day. + +In the Quartier Latin the price is always such an important factor that +it is marked plainly, and often the garcon will remind you of the cost +of the dish you select in case you have not read aright, for in this +true Bohemia one's daily fortune is the one necessity so often lacking +that any error in regard to its expenditure is a serious matter. + +In one of the well-known restaurants--here celebrated as a rendezvous +for artists--a waiter, as he took a certain millionaire's order for +asparagus, said: "Does monsieur know that asparagus costs five francs?" + +At all times of the day and most of the night the rue Vaugirard is busy. +During the morning, push-carts loaded with red gooseberries, green peas, +fresh sardines, and mackerel, their sides shining like silver, line the +curb in front of the small shops. Diminutive donkeys, harnessed to +picturesque two-wheeled carts piled high with vegetables, twitch their +long ears and doze in the shady corners of the street. The gutters, +flushed with clear water, flash in the sunlight. Baskets full of red +roses and white carnations, at a few sous the armful, brighten the cool +shade of the alleys leading to courtyards of wild gardens, many of which +are filled with odd collections of sculpture discarded from the +ateliers. + +[Illustration: (donkey cart in front of market)] + +Old women in linen caps and girls in felt slippers and leather-covered +sabots, market baskets on arm, gossip in groups or hurry along the +narrow sidewalk, stopping at the butcher's or the baker's to buy the +dejeuner. Should you breakfast in your studio and do your own +marketing, you will meet with enough politeness in the buying of a pate, +an artichoke, and a bottle of vin ordinaire, to supply a court welcoming +a distinguished guest. + +Politeness is second nature to the Parisian--it is the key to one's +daily life here, the oil that makes this finesse of civilization run +smoothly. + +"Bonjour, madame!" says the well-to-do proprietor of the tobacco-shop +and cafe to an old woman buying a sou's worth of snuff. + +"Bonjour, monsieur," replies the woman with a nod. + +"Merci, madame," continues the fat patron as he drops the sou into his +till. + +"Merci, monsieur--merci!" and she secretes the package in her netted +reticule, and hobbles out into the sunny street, while the patron +attends to the wants of three draymen who have clambered down from their +heavy carts for a friendly chat and a little vermouth. A polished zinc +bar runs the length of the low-ceilinged room; a narrow, winding +stairway in one corner leads to the living apartments above. Behind the +bar shine three well-polished square mirrors, and ranged in front of +these, each in its zinc rack, are the favorite beverages of the +Quarter--anisette, absinthe, menthe, grenadine--each in zinc-stoppered +bottles, like the ones in the barber-shops. + +At the end of the little bar a cocher is having his morning tipple, the +black brim of his yellow glazed hat resting on his coarse red ears. He +is in his shirt-sleeves; coat slung over his shoulder, and whip in hand, +he is on the way to get his horse and voiture for the day. To be even a +cocher in Paris is considered a profession. If he dines at six-thirty +and you hail him to take you as he rattles past, he will make his brief +apologies to you without slackening his pace, and go on to his plat du +jour and bottle of wine at his favorite rendezvous, dedicated to "The +Faithful Cocher." An hour later he emerges, well fed, revives his +knee-sprung horse, lights a fresh cigarette, cracks his whip like a +package of torpedoes, and goes clattering off in search of a customer. + +[Illustration: (rooftop)] + +The shops along the rue Vaugirard are marvels of neatness. The +butcher-shop, with its red front, is iron-barred like the lion's cage in +the circus. Inside the cage are some choice specimens of filets, rounds +of beef, death-masks of departed calves, cutlets, and chops in paper +pantalettes. On each article is placed a brass sign with the current +price thereon. + +In Paris nothing is wasted. A placard outside the butcher's announces an +"Occasion" consisting of a mule and a donkey, both of guaranteed +"premiere qualite." And the butcher! A thick-set, powerfully built +fellow, with blue-black hair, curly like a bull's and shining in pomade, +with fierce mustache of the same dye, waxed to two formidable points +like skewers. Dangling over his white apron, and suspended by a heavy +chain about his waist, he carries the long steel spike which sharpens +his knives. All this paraphernalia gives him a very fierce appearance, +like the executioner in the play; but you will find him a mild, kindly +man after all, who takes his absinthe slowly, with a fund of good humor +after his day's work, and his family to Vincennes on Sundays. + +The windows, too, of these little shops are studies in decoration. If it +happens to be a problem in eggs, cheese, butter, and milk, all these are +arranged artistically with fresh grape-leaves between the white rows of +milk bottles and under the cheese; often the leaves form a nest for the +white eggs (the fresh ones)--the hard-boiled ones are dyed a bright +crimson. There are china hearts, too, filled with "Double Cream," and +cream in little brown pots; Roquefort cheese and Camembert, Isijny, and +Pont Leveque, and chopped spinach. + +[Illustration: (overloaded cart of baskets)] + +Delicatessen shops display galantines of chicken, the windows banked +with shining cans of sardines and herrings from Dieppe; liver pates and +creations in jelly; tiny sausages of doubtful stuffing, and occasional +yellow ones like the odd fire-cracker of the pack. + +[Illustration: (women at news stand)] + +Grocery shops, their interiors resembling the toy ones of our childhood, +are brightened with cones of snowy sugar in blue paper jackets. The +wooden drawers filled with spices. Here, too, one can get an excellent +light wine for eight sous the bottle. + +As the day begins, the early morning cries drift up from the street. At +six the fishwomen with their push-carts go their rounds, each singing +the beauties of her wares. "Voila les beaux maquereaux!" chants the +sturdy vendor, her sabots clacking over the cobbles as she pushes the +cart or stops and weighs a few sous' worth of fish to a passing +purchaser. + +The goat-boy, piping his oboe-like air, passes, the goats scrambling +ahead alert to steal a carrot or a bite of cabbage from the nearest +cart. And when these have passed, the little orgue de Barbarie plays its +repertoire of quadrilles and waltzes under your window. It is a very +sweet-toned organ, this little orgue de Barbarie, with a plaintive, +apologetic tone, and a flute obbligato that would do credit to many a +small orchestra. I know this small organ well--an old friend on dreary +mornings, putting the laziest riser in a good humor for the day. The +tunes are never changed, but they are all inoffensive and many of them +pretty, and to the shrunken old man who grinds them out daily they are +no doubt by this time all alike. + +[Illustration: (cat on counter)] + +It is growing late and time for one's coffee. The little tobacco-shop +and cafe around the corner I find an excellent place for cafe au lait. +The coffee is delicious and made when one chooses to arrive, not stewed +like soup, iridescent in color, and bitter with chicory, as one finds it +in many of the small French hotels. Two crescents, flaky and hot from +the bakery next door, and three generous pats of unsalted butter, +complete this morning repast, and all for the modest sum of twelve sous, +with three sous to the garcon who serves you, with which he is well +pleased. + +I have forgotten a companionable cat who each morning takes her seat on +the long leather settee beside me and shares my crescents. The cats are +considered important members of nearly every family in the Quarter. Big +yellow and gray Angoras, small, alert tortoise-shell ones, tiger-like +and of plainer breed and more intelligence, bask in the doorways or +sleep on the marble-topped tables of the cafes. + +[Illustration: (woman carrying shopping box)] + +"Qu'est-ce que tu veux, ma pauvre Mimi?" condoles Celeste, as she +approaches the family feline. + +"Mimi" stretches her full length, extending and retracting her claws, +rolls on her back, turns her big yellow eyes to Celeste and mews. The +next moment she is picked up and carried back into the house like a +stray child. + +At noon the streets seem deserted, except for the sound of occasional +laughter and the rattle of dishes coming from the smaller restaurants as +one passes. At this hour these places are full of workmen in white and +blue blouses, and young girls from the neighboring factories. They are +all laughing and talking together. A big fellow in a blue gingham blouse +attempts to kiss the little milliner opposite him at table; she evades +him, and, screaming with laughter, picks up her skirts and darts out +of the restaurant and down the street, the big fellow close on her +dainty heels. A second later he has overtaken her, and picking her up +bodily in his strong arms carries her back to her seat, where he places +her in her chair, the little milliner by this time quite out of breath +with laughter and quite happy. This little episode affords plenty of +amusement to the rest of the crowd; they wildly applaud the good-humored +captor, who orders another litre of red wine for those present, and +every one is merry. + +[Illustration: (city house)] + +The Parisian takes his hour for dejeuner, no matter what awaits him. It +is the hour when lovers meet, too. Edmond, working in the atelier for +the reproduction of Louis XVI furniture, meets Louise coming from her +work on babies' caps in the rue des Saints-Peres at precisely twelve-ten +on the corner of the rue Vaugirard and the Boulevard Montparnasse. +Louise comes without her hat, her hair in an adorable coiffure, as +neatly arranged as a Geisha's, her skirt held tightly to her hips, +disclosing her small feet in low slippers. There is a golden rule, I +believe, in the French catechism which says: "It is better, child, that +thy hair be neatly dressed than that thou shouldst have a whole frock." +And so Louise is content. The two breakfast on a ragout and a bottle of +wine while they talk of going on Sunday to St. Cloud for the day--and so +they must be economical this week. Yes, they will surely go to St. Cloud +and spend all day in the woods. It is the second Sunday in the month, +and the fountains will be playing. They will take their dejeuner with +them. Louise will, of course, see to this, and Edmond will bring +cigarettes enough for two, and the wine. Then, when the stars are out, +they will take one of the "bateaux mouches" back to Paris. + +Dear Paris--the Paris of youth, of love, and of romance! + + * * * * * + +The pulse of the Quarter begins really to beat at 6 P.M. At this hour +the streets are alive with throngs of workmen--after their day's work, +seeking their favorite cafes to enjoy their aperitifs with their +comrades--and women hurrying back from their work, many to their homes +and children, buying the dinner en route. + +Henriette, who sews all day at one of the fashionable dressmakers' in +the rue de la Paix, trips along over the Pont Neuf to her small room in +the Quarter to put on her best dress and white kid slippers, for it is +Bullier night and she is going to the ball with two friends of her +cousin. + +In the twilight, and from my studio window the swallows, like black +cinders against the yellow sky, dart and swoop above the forest of +chimney-pots and tiled and gabled roofs. + +It is the hour to dine, and with this thought uppermost in every one's +mind studio doors are slammed and night-keys tucked in pockets. And arm +in arm the poet and the artist swing along to that evening Mecca of good +Bohemians--the Boulevard St. Michel. + +[Illustration: (basket of flowers)] + + + + +CHAPTER II + +THE BOULEVARD ST. MICHEL + + +From the Place St. Michel, this ever gay and crowded boulevard ascends a +long incline, up which the tired horses tug at the traces of the +fiacres, and the big double-decked steam trams crawl, until they reach +the Luxembourg Gardens,--and so on a level road as far as the Place de +l'Observatoire. Within this length lies the life of the "Boul' Miche." + +Nearly every highway has its popular side, and on the "Boul' Miche" it +is the left one, coming up from the Seine. Here are the cafes, and from +5 P.M. until long past midnight, the life of the Quartier pours by +them--students, soldiers, families, poets, artists, sculptors, wives, +and sweethearts; bicycle girls, the modern grisette, the shop girl, and +the model; fakirs, beggars, and vagrants. Yet the word vagrant is a +misnomer in this city, where economy has reached a finesse that is +marvelous. That fellow, in filth and rags, shuffling along, his eyes +scrutinizing, like a hungry rat, every nook and corner under the cafe +tables on the terrace, carries a stick spiked with a pin. The next +instant, he has raked the butt of your discarded cigarette from beneath +your feet with the dexterity of a croupier. The butt he adds to the +collection in his filthy pocket, and shuffles on to the next cafe. It +will go so far at least toward paying for his absinthe. He is hungry, +but it is the absinthe for which he is working. He is a "marchand de +megots"; it is his profession. + +[Illustration: TERRACE TAVERNE DU PANTHEON] + +One finds every type of restaurant, tavern, and cafe along the "Boul' +Miche." There are small restaurants whose plat du jour might be traced +to some faithful steed finding a final oblivion in a brown sauce and +onions--an important item in a course dinner, to be had with wine +included for one franc fifty. There are brasseries too, gloomy by day +and brilliant by night (dispensing good Munich beer in two shades, and +German and French food), whose rich interiors in carved black oak, +imitation gobelin, and stained glass are never half illumined until the +lights are lit. + +[Illustration: A "TYPE"] + +All day, when the sun blazes, and the awnings are down, sheltering those +chatting on the terrace, the interiors of these brasseries appear dark +and cavernous. + +The clientele is somber too, and in keeping with the place; silent +poets, long haired, pale, and always writing; serious-minded lawyers, +lunching alone, and fat merchants who eat and drink methodically. + +Then there are bizarre cafes, like the d'Harcourt, crowded at night with +noisy women tawdry in ostrich plumes, cheap feather boas, and much +rouge. The d'Harcourt at midnight is ablaze with light, but the crowd is +common and you move on up the boulevard under the trees, past the shops +full of Quartier fashions--velvet coats, with standing collars buttoning +close under the chin; flamboyant black silk scarfs tied in a huge bow; +queer broad-brimmed, black hats without which no "types" wardrobe is +complete. + +On the corner facing the square, and opposite the Luxembourg gate, is +the Taverne du Pantheon. This is the most brilliant cafe and restaurant +of the Quarter, forming a V with its long terrace, at the corner of the +boulevard and the rue Soufflot, at the head of which towers the superb +dome of the Pantheon. + +[Illustration: (view of Pantheon from Luxembourg gate)] + +It is 6 P.M. and the terrace, four rows deep with little round tables, +is rapidly filling. The white-aproned garcons are hurrying about or +squeezing past your table, as they take the various orders. + +"Un demi! un!" shouts the garcon. + +"Deux pernod nature, deux!" cries another, and presently the "Omnibus" +in his black apron hurries to your table, holding between his knuckles, +by their necks, half a dozen bottles of different aperitifs, for it is +he who fills your glass. + +[Illustration: ALONG THE "BOUL' MICHE"] + +It is the custom to do most of one's correspondence in these cafes. The +garcon brings you a portfolio containing note-paper, a bottle of violet +ink, an impossible pen that spatters, and a sheet of pink blotting-paper +that does not absorb. With these and your aperitif, the place is yours +as long as you choose to remain. No one will ask you to "move on" or pay +the slightest attention to you. + +Should you happen to be a cannibal chief from the South Seas, and dine +in a green silk high hat and a necklace of your latest captive's teeth, +you would occasion a passing glance perhaps, but you would not be a +sensation. + +[Illustration: (hotel sign)] + +Celeste would say to Henriette: + +"Regarde ca, Henriette! est-il drole, ce sauvage?" + +And Henriette would reply quite assuringly: + +"Eh bien quoi! c'est pas si extraordinaire, il est peut-etre de +Madagascar; il y en a beaucoup a Paris maintenant." + +There is no phase of character, or eccentricity of dress, that Paris has +not seen. + +Nor will your waiter polish off the marble top of your table, with the +hope that your ordinary sensibility will suggest another drink. It would +be beneath his professional dignity as a good garcon de cafe. The two +sous you have given him as a pourboire, he is well satisfied with, and +expresses his contentment in a "merci, monsieur, merci," the final +syllable ending in a little hiss, prolonged in proportion to his +satisfaction. After this just formality, you will find him ready to see +the point of a joke or discuss the current topics of the day. He is +intelligent, independent, very polite, but never servile. + +[Illustration: (woman walking near fountain)] + +It is difficult now to find a vacant chair on the long terrace. A group +of students are having a "Pernod," after a long day's work at the +atelier. They finish their absinthe and then, arm in arm, start off to +Madame Poivret's for dinner. It is cheap there; besides, the little +"boite," with its dingy room and sawdust floor, is a favorite haunt of +theirs, and the good old lady, with her credit slate, a friendly refuge +in time of need. + +At your left sits a girl in bicycle bloomers, yellow-tanned shoes, and +short black socks pulled up snug to her sunburned calves. She has just +ridden in from the Bois de Boulogne, and has scorched half the way back +to meet her "officier" in pale blue. The two are deep in conversation. +Farther on are four older men, accompanied by a pale, sweet-faced woman +of thirty, her blue-black hair brought in a bandeau over her dainty +ears. She is the model of the gray-haired man on the left, a man of +perhaps fifty, with kindly intelligent eyes and strong, nervous, +expressive hands--hands that know how to model a colossal Greek +war-horse, plunging in battle, or create a nymph scarcely a foot high +out of a lump of clay, so charmingly that the French Government has not +only bought the nymph, but given him a little red ribbon for his pains. + +[Illustration: (omnibus)] + +He is telling the others of a spot he knows in Normandy, where one can +paint--full of quaint farm-houses, with thatched roofs; picturesque +roadsides, rich in foliage; bright waving fields, and cool green +woods, and purling streams; quaint gardens, choked with lavender and +roses and hollyhocks--and all this fair land running to the white sand +of the beach, with the blue sea beyond. He will write to old Pere +Jaqueline that they are all coming--it is just the place in which to +pose a model "en plein air,"--and Suzanne, his model, being a Normande +herself, grows enthusiastic at the thought of going down again to the +sea. Long before she became a Parisienne, and when her beautiful hair +was a tangled shock of curls, she used to go out in the big boats, +with the fisherwomen--barefooted, brown, and happy. She tells them of +those good days, and then they all go into the Taverne to dine, filled +with the idea of the new trip, and dreaming of dinners under the +trees, of "Tripes a la mode de Caen," Normandy cider, and a lot of new +sketches besides. + +[Illustration: (shop front)] + +Already the tables within are well filled. The long room, with its newer +annex, is as brilliant as a jewel box--the walls rich in tiled panels +suggesting the life of the Quarter, the woodwork in gold and light oak, +the big panels of the rich gold ceiling exquisitely painted. + +At one of the tables two very chic young women are dining with a young +Frenchman, his hair and dress in close imitation of the Duc d'Orleans. +These poses in dress are not uncommon. + +A strikingly pretty woman, in a scarlet-spangled gown as red as her +lips, is dining with a well-built, soldierly-looking man in black; they +sit side by side as is the custom here. + +The woman reminds one of a red lizard--a salamander--her "svelte" body +seemingly boneless in its gown of clinging scales. Her hair is +purple-black and freshly onduled; her skin as white as ivory. She has +the habit of throwing back her small, well-posed head, while under their +delicately penciled lids her gray eyes take in the room at a glance. + +She is not of the Quarter, but the Taverne du Pantheon is a refuge for +her at times, when she grows tired of Paillard's and Maxim's and her +quarreling retinue. + +"Let them howl on the other bank of the Seine," says this empress of +the half-world to herself, "I dine with Raoul where I please." + +And now one glittering, red arm with its small, heavily-jeweled hand +glides toward Raoul's open cigarette case, and in withdrawing a +cigarette she presses for a moment his big, strong hand as he holds near +her polished nails the flaming match. + +[Illustration: ALONG THE SEINE] + +Her companion watches her as she smokes and talks--now and then he leans +closer to her, squaring his broad shoulders and bending lower his +strong, determined face, as he listens to her,--half-amused, replying to +her questions leisurely, in short, crisp sentences. Suddenly she stamps +one little foot savagely under the table, and, clenching her jeweled +hands, breathes heavily. She is trembling with rage; the man at her side +hunches his great shoulders, flicks the ashes from his cigarette, looks +at her keenly for a moment, and then smiles. In a moment she is herself +again, almost penitent; this little savage, half Roumanian, half +Russian, has never known what it was to be ruled! She has seen men grow +white when she has stamped her little foot, but this big Raoul, whom she +loves--who once held a garrison with a handful of men--he does not +tremble! she loves him for his devil-me-care indifference--and he enjoys +her temper. + +But the salamander remembers there are some whom she dominated, until +they groveled like slaves at her feet; even the great Russian nobleman +turned pale when she dictated to him archly and with the voice of an +angel the price of his freedom. + +"Poor fool! he shot himself the next day," mused the salamander. + +Yes, and even the adamant old banker in Paris, crabbed, stern, +unrelenting to his debtors--shivered in his boots and ended in signing +away half his fortune to her, and moved his family into a permanent +chateau in the country, where he keeps himself busy with his shooting +and his books. + + * * * * * + +As it grows late, the taverne becomes more and more animated. + +Every one is talking and having a good time. The room is bewildering in +gay color, the hum of conversation is everywhere, and as there is a +corresponding row of tables across the low, narrow room, friendly +greetings and often conversations are kept up from one side to the +other. The dinner, as it progresses, assumes the air of a big family +party of good bohemians. The French do not bring their misery with them +to the table. To dine is to enjoy oneself to the utmost; in fact the +French people cover their disappointment, sadness, annoyances, great or +petty troubles, under a masque of "blague," and have such an innate +dislike of sympathy or ridicule that they avoid it by turning +everything into "blague." + +This veneer is misleading, for at heart the French are sad. Not to speak +of their inmost feelings does not, on the other hand, prevent them at +times from being most confidential. Often, the merest exchange of +courtesies between those sharing the same compartment in a train, or a +seat on a "bus," seems to be a sufficient introduction for your neighbor +to tell you where he comes from, where he is going, whether he is +married or single, whom his daughter married, and what regiment his son +is in. These little confidences often end in his offering you half his +bottle of wine and extending to you his cigarettes. + +[Illustration: LES BEAUX MAQUEREAUX] + +If you have finished dinner, you go out on the terrace for your coffee. +The fakirs are passing up and down in front, selling their wares--little +rabbits, wonderfully lifelike, that can jump along your table and sit on +their hind legs, and wag their ears; toy snakes; small leaden pigs for +good luck; and novelties of every description. Here one sees women with +baskets of ecrivisse boiled scarlet; an acrobat tumbles on the +pavement, and two men and a girl, as a marine, a soldier, and a +vivandiere, in silvered faces and suits, pose in melodramatic attitudes. +The vivandiere is rescued alternately from a speedy death by the marine +and the soldier. + +Presently a little old woman approaches, shriveled and smiling, in her +faded furbelows now in rags. She sings in a piping voice and executes +between the verses a tottering pas seul, her eyes ever smiling, as if +she still saw over the glare of the footlights, in the haze beyond, the +vast audience of by-gone days; smiling as if she still heard the big +orchestra and saw the leader with his vibrant baton, watching her every +movement. She is over seventy now, and was once a premier danseuse at +the opera. + +But you have not seen all of the Taverne du Pantheon yet. There is an +"American Bar" downstairs; at least, so the sign reads at the top of a +narrow stairway leading to a small, tavern-like room, with a sawdust +floor, heavy deal tables, and wooden stools. In front of the bar are +high stools that one climbs up on and has a lukewarm whisky soda, next +to Yvonne and Marcelle, who are both singing the latest catch of the day +at the top of their lungs, until they are howled at to keep still or are +lifted bodily off their high stools by the big fellow in the "type" hat, +who has just come in. + +[Illustration: MOTHER AND DAUGHTER] + +Before a long table at one end of the room is the crowd of American +students singing in a chorus. The table is full now, for many have come +from dinners at other cafes to join them. At one end, and acting as +interlocutor for this impromptu minstrel show, presides one of the +best fellows in the world. He rises solemnly, his genial round face +wreathed in a subtle smile, and announces that he will sing, by earnest +request, that popular ballad, "'Twas Summer and the Little Birds were +Singing in the Trees." + +There are some especially fine "barber chords" in this popular ditty, +and the words are so touching that it is repeated over and over again. +Then it is sung softly like the farmhand quartettes do in the rural +melodrama outside the old homestead in harvest time. Oh! I tell you it's +a truly rural octette. Listen to that exhibition bass voice of Jimmy +Sands and that wandering tenor of Tommy Whiteing, and as the last chord +dies away (over the fields presumably) a shout goes up: + +"How's that?" + +"Out of sight," comes the general verdict from the crowd, and bang go a +dozen beer glasses in unison on the heavy table. + +"Oh, que c'est beau!" cries Mimi, leading the successful chorus in a new +vocal number with Edmond's walking-stick; but this time it is a French +song and the whole room is singing it, including our old friend, +Monsieur Frank, the barkeeper, who is mixing one of his famous +concoctions which are never twice quite alike, but are better than if +they were. + +The harmonic beauties of "'Twas Summer and the Little Birds were Singing +in the Trees" are still inexhausted, but it sadly needs a piano +accompaniment--with this it would be perfect; and so the whole crowd, +including Yvonne, and Celeste, and Marcelle, and the two Frenchmen, and +the girl in the bicycle clothes, start for Jack Thompson's studio in the +rue des Fourneaux, where there is a piano that, even if the candles in +the little Louis XVI brackets do burn low and spill down the keys, and +the punch rusts the strings, it will still retain that beautiful, rich +tone that every French upright, at seven francs a month, possesses. + + + + +[Illustration: (Bullier)] + +CHAPTER III + +THE "BAL BULLIER" + + +There are all types of "bals" in Paris. Over in Montmartre, on the Place +Blanche, is the well-known "Moulin Rouge," a place suggestive, to those +who have never seen it, of the quintessence of Parisian devil-me-care +gaiety. You expect it to be like those clever pen-and-ink drawings of +Grevin's, of the old Jardin Mabille in its palmiest days, brilliant with +lights and beautiful women extravagantly gowned and bejeweled. You +expect to see Frenchmen, too, in pot-hats, crowding in a circle about +Fifine, who is dancing some mad can-can, half hidden in a swirl of point +lace, her small, polished boots alternately poised above her dainty +head. And when she has finished, you expect her to be carried off to +supper at the Maison Doree by the big, fierce-looking Russian who has +been watching her, and whose victoria, with its spanking team--black and +glossy as satin--champing their silver bits outside, awaiting her +pleasure. + +But in all these anticipations you will be disappointed, for the famous +Jardin Mabille is no more, and the ground where it once stood in the +Champs Elysees is now built up with private residences. Fifine is gone, +too--years ago--and most of the old gentlemen in pot-hats who used to +watch her are buried or about to be. Few Frenchmen ever go to the +"Moulin Rouge," but every American does on his first night in Paris, and +emerges with enough cab fare to return him to his hotel, where he +arrives with the positive conviction that the red mill, with its slowly +revolving sails, lurid in crimson lights, was constructed especially for +him. He remembers, too, his first impressions of Paris that very morning +as his train rolled into the Gare St. Lazare. His aunt could wait until +to-morrow to see the tomb of Napoleon, but he would see the "Moulin +Rouge" first, and to be in ample time ordered dinner early in his +expensive, morgue-like hotel. + +I remember once, a few hours after my arrival in Paris, walking up the +long hill to the Place Blanche at 2 P.M., under a blazing July sun, to +see if they did not give a matinee at the "Moulin Rouge." The place was +closed, it is needless to say, and the policeman I found pacing his beat +outside, when I asked him what day they gave a matinee, put his thumbs +in his sword belt, looked at me quizzically for a moment, and then +roared. The "Moulin Rouge" is in full blast every night; in the day-time +it is being aired. + +Farther up in Montmartre, up a steep, cobbly hill, past quaint little +shops and cafes, the hill becoming so steep that your cab horse +finally refuses to climb further, and you get out and walk up to the +"Moulin de la Galette." You find it a far different type of ball from +the "Moulin Rouge," for it is not made for the stranger, and its +clientele is composed of the rougher element of that quarter. + +[Illustration: (street scene)] + +A few years ago the "Galette" was not the safest of places for a +stranger to go to alone. Since then, however, this ancient granary and +mill, that has served as a ball-room for so many years, has undergone a +radical change in management; but it is still a cliquey place, full of a +lot of habitues who regard a stranger as an intruder. Should you by +accident step on Marcelle's dress or jostle her villainous-looking +escort, you will be apt to get into a row, beginning with a mode of +attack you are possibly ignorant of, for these "maquereaux" fight with +their feet, having developed this "manly art" of self-defense to a point +of dexterity more to be evaded than admired. And while Marcelle's +escort, with a swinging kick, smashes your nose with his heel, his pals +will take the opportunity to kick you in the back. + +So, if you go to the "Galette," go with a Parisian or some of the +students of the Quarter; but if you must go alone--keep your eyes on the +band. It is a good band, too, and its chef d'orchestre, besides being a +clever musical director, is a popular composer as well. + +Go out from the ball-room into the tiny garden and up the ladder-like +stairs to the rock above, crowned with the old windmill, and look over +the iron railing. Far below you, swimming in a faint mist under the +summer stars, all Paris lies glittering at your feet. + + * * * * * + +You will find the "Bal Bullier" of the Latin Quarter far different from +the "bals" of Montmartre. It forms, with its "grand fete" on Thursday +nights, a sort of social event of the week in this Quarter of Bohemians, +just as the Friday afternoon promenade does in the Luxembourg garden. + +If you dine at the Taverne du Pantheon on a Thursday night you will find +that the taverne is half deserted by 10 o'clock, and that every one is +leaving and walking up the "Boul' Miche" toward the "Bullier." Follow +them, and as you reach the place l'Observatoire, and turn a sharp corner +to the left, you will see the facade of this famous ball, illumined by a +sizzling blue electric light over the entrance. + +The facade, with its colored bas-reliefs of students and grisettes, +reminds one of the proscenium of a toy theater. Back of this shallow +wall bristle the tops of the trees in the garden adjoining the big +ball-room, both of which are below the level of the street and are +reached by a broad wooden stairway. + +The "Bal Bullier" was founded in 1847; previous to this there existed +the "Closerie des Lilas" on the Boulevard Montparnasse. You pass along +with the line of waiting poets and artists, buy a green ticket for two +francs at the little cubby-hole of a box-office, are divested of your +stick by one of half a dozen white-capped matrons at the vestiaire, hand +your ticket to an elderly gentleman in a silk hat and funereal clothes, +at the top of the stairway sentineled by a guard of two soldiers, and +the next instant you see the ball in full swing below you. + +[Illustration: (portrait of man)] + +There is nothing disappointing about the "Bal Bullier." It is all you +expected it to be, and more, too. Below you is a veritable whirlpool of +girls and students--a vast sea of heads, and a dazzling display of +colors and lights and animation. Little shrieks and screams fill your +ears, as the orchestra crashes into the last page of a galop, quickening +the pace until Yvonne's little feet slip and her cheeks glow, and her +eyes grow bright, and half her pretty golden hair gets smashed over her +impudent little nose. Then the galop is brought up with a quick finish. + +"Bis! Bis! Bis! Encore!" comes from every quarter of the big room, and +the conductor, with his traditional good-nature, begins again. He knows +it is wiser to humor them, and off they go again, still faster, until +all are out of breath and rush into the garden for a breath of cool air +and a "citron glace." + +And what a pretty garden it is!--full of beautiful trees and dotted with +round iron tables, and laid out in white gravel walks, the garden +sloping gently back to a fountain, and a grotto and an artificial +cascade all in one, with a figure of Venus in the center, over which the +water splashes and trickles. There is a green lattice proscenium, too, +surrounding the fountain, illuminated with colored lights and outlined +in tiny flames of gas, and grotto-like alcoves circling the garden, each +with a table and room for two. The ball-room from the garden presents a +brilliant contrast, as one looks down upon it from under the trees. + +[Illustration: (portrait of woman)] + +But the orchestra has given its signal--a short bugle call announcing a +quadrille; and those in the garden are running down into the ball-room +to hunt up their partners. + +The "Bullier" orchestra will interest you; they play with a snap and +fire and a tempo that is irresistible. They have played together so long +that they have become known as the best of all the bal orchestras. + +The leader, too, is interesting--tall and gaunt, with wild, deep-sunken +eyes resembling those of an old eagle. Now and then he turns his head +slowly as he leads, and rests these keen, penetrating orbs on the sea of +dancers below him. Then, with baton raised above his head, he brings his +orchestra into the wild finale of the quadrille--piccolos and clarinets, +cymbals, bass viols, and violins--all in one mad race to the end, but so +well trained that not a note is lost in the scramble--and they finish +under the wire to a man, amid cheers from Mimi and Celeste and "encores" +and "bis's" from every one else who has breath enough left to shout +with. + +[Illustration: A TYPE OF THE QUARTER +By Helleu.--Estampe Moderne] + +Often after an annual dinner of one of the ateliers, the entire body of +students will march into the "Bullier," three hundred strong, and take a +good-natured possession of the place. There have been some serious +demonstrations in the Quarter by the students, who can form a small army +when combined. But as a rule you will find them a good-natured lot of +fellows, who are out for all the humor and fun they can create at the +least expense. + +But in June, 1893, a serious demonstration by the students occurred, for +these students can fight as well as dance. Senator Beranger, having +read one morning in the "Courrier Francais" an account of the revelry +and nudity of several of the best-known models of the Quarter at the +"Quat'z' Arts" ball, brought a charge against the organizers of the +ball, and several of the models, whose beauty unadorned had made them +conspicuous on this most festive occasion. At the ensuing trial, several +celebrated beauties and idols of the Latin Quarter were convicted and +sentenced to a short term of imprisonment, and fined a hundred francs +each. These sentences were, however, remitted, but the majority of the +students would not have it thus, and wanted further satisfaction. A mass +meeting was held by them in the Place de la Sorbonne. The police were in +force there to stop any disturbance, and up to 10 o'clock at night the +crowd was held in control. + +[Illustration: (portrait of woman)] + +It was a warm June night, and every student in the Quarter was keyed to +a high state of excitement. Finally a great crowd of students formed in +front of the Cafe d'Harcourt, opposite the Sorbonne; things were at +fever heat; the police became rough; and in the row that ensued, +somebody hurled one of the heavy stone match-safes from a cafe table at +one of the policemen, who in his excitement picked it up and hurled it +back into the crowd. It struck and injured fatally an innocent outsider, +who was taken to the Charity Hospital, in the rue Jacob, and died there. + +On the following Monday another mass meeting of students was held in the +Place de la Sorbonne, who, after the meeting, formed in a body and +marched to the Chamber of Deputies, crying: "Conspuez Dupuy," who was +then president of the Chamber. A number of deputies came out on the +portico and the terrace, and smilingly reviewed the demonstration, while +the students hurled their anathemas at them, the leaders and men in the +front rank of this howling mob trying to climb over the high railing in +front of the terrace, and shouting that the police were responsible for +the death of one of their comrades. + +The Government, fearing further trouble and wishing to avoid any +disturbance on the day of the funeral of the victim of the riot in the +Place Sorbonne, deceived the public as to the hour when it would occur. +This exasperated the students so that they began one of those +demonstrations for which Paris is famous. By 3 P.M. the next day the +Quartier Latin was in a state of siege--these poets and painters and +sculptors and musicians tore up the rue Jacob and constructed barricades +near the hospital where their comrade had died. They tore up the rue +Bonaparte, too, at the Place St. Germain des Pres, and built barricades, +composed of overturned omnibuses and tramcars and newspaper booths. They +smashed windows and everything else in sight, to get even with the +Government and the smiling deputies and the murderous police--and then +the troops came, and the affair took a different turn. In three days +thirty thousand troops were in Paris--principally cavalry, many of the +regiments coming from as far away as the center of France. + +[Illustration: ECOLE DES BEAUX ARTS] + +With these and the police and the Garde Republicaine against them, the +students melted away like a handful of snow in the sun; but the +demonstrations continued spasmodically for two or three days longer, and +the little crooked streets, like the rue du Four, were kept clear by the +cavalry trotting abreast--in and out and dodging around corners--their +black horse-tail plumes waving and helmets shining. It is sufficient to +say that the vast army of artists and poets were routed to a man and +driven back into the more peaceful atmosphere of their studios. + +But the "Bullier" is closing and the crowd is pouring out into the cool +air. I catch a glimpse of Yvonne with six students all in one fiacre, +but Yvonne has been given the most comfortable place. They have put her +in the hood, and the next instant they are rattling away to the Pantheon +for supper. + +If you walk down with the rest, you will pass dozens of jolly groups +singing and romping and dancing along down the "Boul' Miche" to the +taverne, for a bock and some ecrivisse. With youth, good humor, and a +"louis," all the world seems gay! + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +BAL DES QUAT'Z' ARTS + + +Of all the balls in Paris, the annual "Bal des Quat'z' Arts" stands +unique. This costume ball is given every year, in the spring, by the +students of the different ateliers, each atelier vying with the others +in creation of the various floats and corteges, and in the artistic +effect and historical correctness of the costumes. + +The first "Quat'z' Arts" ball was given in 1892. It was a primitive +affair, compared with the later ones, but it was a success, and +immediately the "Quat'z' Arts" Ball was put into the hands of clever +organizers, and became a studied event in all its artistic sense. Months +are spent in the creation of spectacles and in the costuming of students +and models. Prizes are given for the most successful organizations, and +a jury composed of painters and sculptors passes upon your costume as +you enter the ball, and if you do not come up to their artistic +standard you are unceremoniously turned away. Students who have been +successful in getting into the "Quat'z' Arts" for years often fail to +pass into this bewildering display of beauty and brains, owing to their +costume not possessing enough artistic originality or merit to pass the +jury. + +[Illustration: (coiffeur sign)] + +It is, of course, a difficult matter for one who is not an enrolled +member of one of the great ateliers of painting, architecture, or +sculpture to get into the "Quat'z' Arts," and even after one's ticket is +assured, you may fail to pass the jury. + +Imagine this ball, with its procession of moving tableaux. A huge float +comes along, depicting the stone age and the primitive man, every detail +carefully studied from the museums. Another represents the last day of +Babylon. One sees a nude captive, her golden hair and white flesh in +contrast with the black velvet litter on which she is bound, being +carried by a dozen stalwart blackamoors, followed by camels bearing nude +slaves and the spoils of a captured city. + +[Illustration: (photograph of woman)] + +As the ball continues until daylight, it resembles a bacchanalian fete +in the days of the Romans. But all through it, one is impressed by its +artistic completeness, its studied splendor, and permissible license, so +long as a costume (or the lack of it) produces an artistic result. One +sees the mise en scene of a barbaric court produced by the architects of +an atelier, all the various details constructed from carefully studied +sketches, with maybe a triumphal throne of some barbaric king, with his +slaves, the whole costumed and done in a studied magnificence that +takes one's breath away. Again an atelier of painters may reproduce the +frieze of the Parthenon in color; another a float or a decoration, +suggesting the works of their master. + +The room becomes a thing of splendor, for it is as gorgeous a spectacle +as the cleverest of the painters, sculptors, and architects can make it, +and is the result of careful study--and all for the love of it!--for the +great "Quat'z' Arts" ball is an event looked forward to for months. +Special instructions are issued to the different ateliers while the ball +is in preparation, and the following one is a translation in part from +the notice issued before the great ball of '99. As this is a special and +private notice to the atelier, its contents may be interesting: + + + BAL DES QUAT'Z' ARTS, + Moulin Rouge, 21 April, 1899. + + Doors open at 10 P.M. and closed at midnight. + + The card of admission is absolutely personal, to be taken by the + committee before the opening of the ball. + + [Illustration: (admission card)] + + The committee will be masked, and comrades without their personal + card will be refused at the door. The cards must carry the name and + quality of the artist, and bear the stamp of his atelier. + + Costumes are absolutely necessary. The soldier--the dress suit, + black or in color--the monk--the blouse--the domino--kitchen + boy--loafer--bicyclist, and other nauseous types, are absolutely + prohibited. + + Should the weather be bad, comrades are asked to wait in their + carriages, as the committee in control cannot, under any pretext, + neglect guarding the artistic effect of the ball during any + confusion that might ensue. + + A great "feed" will take place in the grand hall; the buffet will + serve as usual individual suppers and baskets for two persons. + + The committee wish especially to bring the attention of their + comrades to the question of women, whose cards of admission + must be delivered as soon as possible, so as to enlarge their + attendance--always insufficient. + + Prizes (champagne) will be distributed to the ateliers who may + distinguish themselves by the artistic merit and beauty of their + female display. + + [Illustration: (photograph of woman)] + + All the women who compete for these prizes will be assembled on + the grand staircase before the orchestra. The nude, as always, is + PROHIBITED!?! + + The question of music at the head of the procession is of the + greatest importance, and those comrades who are musical will please + give their names to the delegates of the ateliers. Your good-will + in this line is asked for--any great worthless capacity in this + line will do, as they always play the same tune, "Les Pompiers!" + + THE COMMITTEE--1899. + + +For days before the "Quat'z' Arts" ball, all is excitement among the +students, who do as little work as possible and rest themselves for the +great event. The favorite wit of the different ateliers is given the +task of painting the banner of the atelier, which is carried at the head +of the several corteges. One of these, in Bouguereau's atelier, depicted +their master caricatured as a cupid. + +The boys once constructed an elephant with oriental trappings--an +elephant that could wag his ears and lift his trunk and snort--and after +the two fellows who formed respectfully the front and hind legs of this +knowing beast had practised sufficiently to proceed with him safely, at +the head of a cortege of slave girls, nautch dancers, and manacled +captives, the big beast created a success in the procession at the +"Quat'z' Arts" ball. + +[Illustration: (portrait of man)] + +After the ball, in the gray morning light, they marched it back to the +atelier, where it remained for some weeks, finally becoming such a +nuisance, kicking around the atelier and getting in everybody's way, +that the boys agreed to give it to the first junk-man that came around. +But as no junk-man came, and as no one could be found to care for its +now sadly battered hulk, its good riddance became a problem. What to do +with the elephant! that was the question. + +At last the two, who had sweltered in its dusty frame that eventful +night of the "Quat'z' Arts," hit upon an idea. They marched it one day +up the Boulevard St. Germain to the Cafe des deux Magots, followed by a +crowd of people, who, when it reached the cafe, assembled around it, +every one asking what it was for--or rather what it was?--for the beast +had by now lost much of the resemblance of its former self. When half +the street became blocked with the crowd, the two wise gentlemen crawled +out of its fore and aft, and quickly mingled, unnoticed, with the +bystanders. Then they disappeared in the crowd, leaving the elephant +standing in the middle of the street. Those who had been expecting +something to happen--a circus or the rest of the parade to come +along--stood around for a while, and then the police, realizing that +they had an elephant on their hands, carted the thing away, swearing +meanwhile at the atelier and every one connected with it. + +The cafes near the Odeon, just before the beginning of the ball, are +filled with students in costume; gladiators hobnob at the tables with +savages in scanty attire--Roman soldiers and students, in the garb of +the ancients, strut about or chat in groups, while the uninvited +grisettes and models, who have not received invitations from the +committee, implore them for tickets. + +Tickets are not transferable, and should one present himself at the +entrance of the ball with another fellow's ticket, he would run small +chance of entering. + +"What atelier?" commands the jury "Cormon." + +The student answers, while the jury glance at his makeup. + +"To the left!" cries the jury, and you pass in to the ball. + +But if you are unknown they will say simply, "Connais-pas! To the +right!" and you pass down a long covered alley--confident, if you are a +"nouveau," that it leads into the ball-room--until you suddenly find +yourself in the street, where your ticket is torn up and all hope of +entering is gone. + +It is hopeless to attempt to describe the hours until morning of this +annual artistic orgy. As the morning light comes in through the +windows, it is strange to see the effect of diffused daylight, +electricity, and gas--the bluish light of early morning reflected on the +flesh tones--upon nearly three thousand girls and students in costumes +one might expect to see in a bacchanalian feast, just before the fall of +Rome. Now they form a huge circle, the front row sitting on the floor, +the second row squatting, the third seated in chairs, the fourth +standing, so that all can see the dancing that begins in the morning +hours--the wild impromptu dancing of the moment. A famous beauty, her +black hair bound in a golden fillet with a circle wrought in silver and +studded with Oriental turquoises clasping her superb torso, throws her +sandals to the crowd and begins an Oriental dance--a thing of grace and +beauty--fired with the intensity of the innate nature of this +beautifully modeled daughter of Bohemia. + +As the dance ends, there is a cry of delight from the great circle of +barbarians. "Long live the Quat'z' Arts!" they cry, amid cheers for the +dancer. + +The ball closes about seven in the morning, when the long procession +forms to return to the Latin Quarter, some marching, other students and +girls in cabs and on top of them, many of the girls riding the horses. +Down they come from the "Moulin Rouge," shouting, singing, and yelling. +Heads are thrust out of windows, and a volley of badinage passes between +the fantastic procession and those who have heard them coming. + +Finally the great open court of the Louvre is reached--here a halt is +made and a general romp occurs. A girl and a type climb one of the +tall lamp-posts and prepare to do a mid-air balancing act, when +rescued by the others. At last, at the end of all this horse-play, the +march is resumed over the Pont du Carrousel and so on, cheered now by +those going to work, until the Odeon is reached. Here the odd +procession disbands; some go to their favorite cafes where the +festivities are continued--some to sleep in their costumes or what +remains of them, wherever fortune lands them--others to studios, where +the gaiety is often kept up for days. + +Ah! but life is not all "couleur de rose" in this true Bohemia. + +"One day," says little Marguerite (she who lives in the rue Monge), "one +eats and the next day one doesn't. It is always like that, is it not, +monsieur?--and it costs so much to live, and so you see, monsieur, life +is always a fight." + +And Marguerite's brown eyes swim a little and her pretty mouth closes +firmly. + +"But where is Paul?" I ask. + +"I do not know, monsieur," she replies quietly; "I have not seen him in +ten days--the atelier is closed--I have been there every day, expecting +to find him--he left no word with his concierge. I have been to his cafe +too, but no one has seen him--you see, monsieur, Paul does not love me!" + +I recall an incident that I chanced to see in passing the little shop +where Marguerite works, that only confirms the truth of her realization. +Paul had taken Marguerite back to the little shop, after their dejeuner +together, and, as I passed, he stopped at the door with her, kissed her +on both cheeks, and left her; but before they had gone a dozen paces, +they ran back to embrace again. This occurred four times, until Paul and +Marguerite finally parted. And, as he watched her little heels disappear +up the wooden stairs to her work-room above, Paul blew a kiss to the +pretty milliner at the window next door, and, taking a long whiff of his +cigarette, sauntered off in the direction of his atelier whistling. + +[Illustration: A MORNING'S WORK] + +It is ideal, this student life with its student loves of four years, but +is it right to many an honest little comrade, who seldom knows an hour +when she is away from her ami? who has suffered and starved and slaved +with him through years of days of good and bad luck--who has encouraged +him in his work, nursed him when ill, and made a thousand golden hours +in this poet's or painter's life so completely happy, that he looks back +on them in later life as never-to-be-forgotten? He remembers the good +dinners at the little restaurant near his studio, where they dined among +the old crowd. There were Lavaud the sculptor and Francine, with the +figure of a goddess; Moreau, who played the cello at the opera; little +Louise Dumont, who posed at Julian's, and old Jacquemart, the very soul +of good fellowship, who would set them roaring with his inimitable +humor. + +What good dinners they were!--and how long they sat over their coffee +and cigarettes under the trees in front of this little restaurant--often +ten and twelve at a time, until more tables had to be pushed together +for others of their good friends, who in passing would be hailed to join +them. And how Marguerite used to sing all through dinner and how they +would all sing, until it grew so late and so dark that they had to puff +their cigarettes aglow over their plates, and yell to Madame Giraud for +a light! And how the old lady would bustle out with the little oil lamp, +placing it in the center of the long table amid the forest of vin +ordinaires, with a "Voila, mes enfants!" and a cheery word for all these +good boys and girls, whom she regarded quite as her own children. + +It seemed to them then that there would never be anything else but +dinners at Madame Giraud's for as many years as they pleased, for no one +ever thought of living out one's days, except in this good Bohemia of +Paris. They could not imagine that old Jacquemart would ever die, or +that La Belle Louise would grow old, and go back to Marseilles, to live +with her dried-up old aunt, who sold garlic and bad cheese in a little +box of a shop, up a crooked street! Or that Francine would marry Martin, +the painter, and that the two would bury themselves in an adorable +little spot in Brittany, where they now live in a thatched farm-house, +full of Martin's pictures, and have a vegetable garden of their own--and +a cow--and some children! But they DID! + +[Illustration: A STUDIO DEJEUNER] + +And those memorable dinners in the old studio back of the Gare +Montparnasse! when paints and easels were pushed aside, and the table +spread, and the piano rolled up beside it. There was the buying of the +chicken, and the salad that Francine would smother in a dressing into +which she would put a dozen different things--herbs and spices and tiny +white onions! And what a jolly crowd came to these impromptu feasts! How +much noise they used to make! How they danced and sang until the gray +morning light would creep in through the big skylight, when all these +good bohemians would tiptoe down the waxed stairs, and slip past the +different ateliers for fear of waking those painters who might be +asleep--a thought that never occurred to them until broad daylight, and +the door had been opened, after hours of pandemonium and music and +noise! + +In a little hotel near the Odeon, there lived a family of just such +bohemians--six struggling poets, each with an imagination and a love of +good wine and good dinners and good times that left them continually in +a state of bankruptcy! As they really never had any money--none that +ever lasted for more than two days and two nights at the utmost, their +good landlord seldom saw a sou in return for his hospitable roof, which +had sheltered these six great minds who wrote of the moon, and of fate, +and fortune, and love. + +For days they would dream and starve and write. Then followed an auction +sale of the total collection of verses, hawked about anywhere and +everywhere among the editeurs, like a crop of patiently grown fruit. +Having sold it, literally by the yard, they would all saunter up the +"Boul' Miche," and forget their past misery, in feasting, to their +hearts' content, on the good things of life. On days like these, you +would see them passing, their black-brimmed hats adjusted jauntily over +their poetic locks--their eyes beaming with that exquisite sense of +feeling suddenly rich, that those who live for art's sake know! The +keenest of pleasures lie in sudden contrasts, and to these six poetic, +impractical Bohemians, thus suddenly raised from the slough of despond +to a state where they no longer trod with mortals--their cup of +happiness was full and spilling over. They must not only have a good +time, but so must every one around them. With their great riches, they +would make the world gay as long as it lasted, for when it was over they +knew how sad life would be. For a while--then they would scratch +away--and have another auction! + +[Illustration: DAYLIGHT] + +Unlike another good fellow, a painter whom I once knew, who periodically +found himself without a sou, and who would take himself, in despair, to +his lodgings, make his will, leaving most of his immortal works to his +English aunt, go to bed, and calmly await death! In a fortunate space of +time his friends, who had been hunting for him all over the Quarter, +would find him at last and rescue him from his chosen tomb; or his good +aunt, fearing he was ill, would send a draft! Then life would, to this +impractical philosopher, again become worth living. He would dispatch a +"petit bleu" to Marcelle; and the two would meet at the Cafe Cluny, and +dine at La Perruse on filet de sole au vin blanc, and a bottle of Haut +Barsac--the bottle all cobwebs and cradled in its basket--the garcon, as +he poured its golden contents, holding his breath meanwhile lest he +disturb its long slumber. + +There are wines that stir the soul, and this was one of them--clear as a +topaz and warming as the noonday sun--the same warmth that had given it +birth on its hillside in Bordeaux, as far back as '82. It warmed the +heart of Marcelle, too, and made her cheeks glow and her eyes +sparkle--and added a rosier color to her lips. It made her talk--clearly +and frankly, with a full and a happy heart, so that she confessed her +love for this "bon garcon" of a painter, and her supreme admiration for +his work and the financial success he had made with his art. All of +which this genial son of Bohemia drank in with a feeling of pride, and +he would swell out his chest and curl the ends of his long mustache +upwards, and sigh like a man burdened with money, and secure in his +ability and success, and with a peaceful outlook into the future--and +the fact that Marcelle loved him of all men! They would linger long over +their coffee and cigarettes, and then the two would stroll out under the +stars and along the quai, and watch the little Seine boats crossing and +recrossing, like fireflies, and the lights along the Pont Neuf reflected +deep down like parti-colored ribbons in the black water. + +[Illustration: (pair of high heeled shoes)] + + + + +CHAPTER V + +"A DEJEUNER AT LAVENUE'S" + + +If you should chance to breakfast at "Lavenue's," or, as it is called, +the "Hotel de France et Bretagne," for years famous as a rendezvous of +men celebrated in art and letters, you will be impressed first with the +simplicity of the three little rooms forming the popular side of this +restaurant, and secondly with the distinguished appearance of its +clientele. + +[Illustration: MADEMOISELLE FANNY AND HER STAFF] + +As you enter the front room, you pass good Mademoiselle Fanny at the +desk, a cheery, white-capped, genial old lady, who has sat behind that +desk for forty years, and has seen many a "bon garcon" struggle up the +ladder of fame--from the days when he was a student at the Beaux-Arts, +until his name became known the world over. It has long been a +favorite restaurant with men like Rodin, the sculptor--and Colin, the +painter--and the late Falguiere--and Jean Paul Laurens and Bonnat, +and dozens of others equally celebrated--and with our own men, like +Whistler and Sargent and Harrison, and St. Gaudens and Macmonnies. + +These three plain little rooms are totally different from the "other +side," as it is called, of the Maison Lavenue. Here one finds quite a +gorgeous cafe, with a pretty garden in the rear, and another +room--opening into the garden--done in delicate green lattice and +mirrors. This side is far more expensive to dine in than the side with +the three plain little rooms, and the gentlemen with little red +ribbons in their buttonholes; but as the same good cook dispenses from +the single big kitchen, which serves for the dear and the cheap side +the same good things to eat at just half the price, the reason for the +popularity of the "cheap side" among the crowd who come here daily is +evident. + +[Illustration: RODIN] + +It is a quiet, restful place, this Maison Lavenue, and the best place I +know in which to dine or breakfast from day to day. There is an air of +intime and cosiness about Lavenue's that makes one always wish to +return. + +[Illustration: (group of men dining)] + +You will see a family of rich bourgeois enter, just in from the country, +for the Montparnasse station is opposite. The fat, sunburned mama, and +the equally rotund and genial farmer-papa, and the pretty daughter, and +the newly married son and his demure wife, and the two younger +children--and all talking and laughing over a good dinner with +champagne, and many toasts to the young couple--and to mama and papa, +and little Josephine--with ices, and fruit, and coffee, and liqueur to +follow. + +All these you will see at Lavenue's on the "cheap side"--and the +beautiful model, too, who poses for Courbel, who is breakfasting with +one of the jeunesse of Paris. The waiters after 2 P.M. dine in the front +room with the rest, and jump up now and then to wait on madame and +monsieur. + +It is a very democratic little place, this popular side of the house of +M. Lavenue, founded in 1854. + +And there is a jolly old painter who dines there, who is also an +excellent musician, with an ear for rhythm so sensitive that he could +never go to sleep unless the clock in his studio ticked in regular time, +and at last was obliged to give up his favorite atelier, with its +picturesque garden---- + +"For two reasons, monsieur," he explained to me excitedly; "a little +girl on the floor below me played a polka--the same polka half the +day--always forgetting to put in the top note; and the fellow over me +whistled it the rest of the day and put in the top note false; and so I +moved to the rue St. Peres, where one only hears, within the cool +court-yard, the distant hum of the busy city. The roar of Paris, so full +of chords and melody! Listen to it sometimes, monsieur, and you will +hear a symphony!" + +[Illustration: "LA FILLE DE LA BLANCHISSEUSE" +By Bellanger.--Estampe Moderne] + +And Mademoiselle Fanny will tell you of the famous men she has known for +years, and how she has found the most celebrated of them simple in their +tastes, and free from ostentation--"in fact it is always so, is it not, +with les hommes celebres? C'est toujours comme ca, monsieur, toujours!" +and mentions one who has grown gray in the service of art and can count +his decorations from half a dozen governments. Madame will wax +enthusiastic--her face wreathed in smiles. "Ah! he is a bon garcon; he +always eats with the rest, for three or four francs, never more! He is +so amiable, and, you know, he is very celebrated and very rich"; and +madame will not only tell you his entire history, but about his +work--the beauty of his wife and how "aimables" his children are. +Mademoiselle Fanny knows them all. + +But the men who come here to lunch are not idlers; they come in, many of +them, fresh from a hard morning's work in the studio. The tall sculptor +opposite you has been at work, since his morning coffee, on a group for +the government; another, bare-armed and in his flannel shirt, has been +building up masses of clay, punching and modeling, and scraping away, +all the morning, until he produces, in the rough, the body of a +giantess, a huge caryatide that is destined, for the rest of her +existence, to hold upon her broad shoulders part of the facade of an +American building. The "giantess" in the flesh is lunching with him--a +Juno-like woman of perhaps twenty-five, with a superb head well poised, +her figure firm and erect. You will find her exceedingly interesting, +quiet, and refined, and with a knowledge of things in general that will +surprise you, until you discover she has, in her life as a model, been +thrown daily in conversation with men of genius, and has acquired a +smattering of the knowledge of many things--of art and literature--of +the theater and its playwrights--plunging now and then into medicine and +law and poetry--all these things she has picked up in the studios, in +the cafes, in the course of her Bohemian life. This "vernis," as the +French call it, one finds constantly among the women here, for their +days are passed among men of intelligence and ability, whose lives and +energy are surrounded and encouraged by an atmosphere of art. + +In an hour, the sculptor and his Juno-like model will stroll back to the +studio, where work will be resumed as long as the light lasts. + +[Illustration: A TRUE TYPE] + +The painter breakfasting at the next table is hard at work on a +decorative panel for a ceiling. It is already laid out and squared up, +from careful pencil drawings. Two young architects are working for him, +laying out the architectural balustrade, through which one, a month +later, looks up at the allegorical figures painted against the dome of +the blue heavens, as a background. And so the painter swallows his eggs, +mayonnaise, and demi of beer, at a gulp, for he has a model coming at +two, and he must finish this ceiling on time, and ship it, by a fast +liner, to a millionaire, who has built a vault-like structure on the +Hudson, with iron dogs on the lawn. Here this beautiful panel will be +unrolled and installed in the dome of the hard-wood billiard-room, where +its rich, mellow scheme of color will count as naught; and the cupids +and the flesh-tones of the chic little model, who came at two, will +appear jaundiced; and Aunt Maria and Uncle John, and the twins from +Ithaca, will come in after the family Sunday dinner of roast beef and +potatoes and rice pudding and ice-water, and look up into the dome and +agree "it's grand." But the painter does not care, for he has locked up +his studio, and taken his twenty thousand francs and the model--who came +at two--with him to Trouville. + +At night you will find a typical crowd of Bohemians at the Closerie des +Lilas, where they sit under a little clump of trees on the sloping dirt +terrace in front. Here you will see the true type of the Quarter. It is +the farthest up the Boulevard St. Michel of any of the cafes, and just +opposite the "Bal Bullier," on the Place de l'Observatoire. The terrace +is crowded with its habitues, for it is out of the way of the stream of +people along the "Boul' Miche." The terrace is quite dark, its only +light coming from the cafe, back of a green hedge, and it is cool there, +too, in summer, with the fresh night air coming from the Luxembourg +Gardens. Below it is the cafe and restaurant de la Rotonde, a very +well-built looking place, with its rounding facade on the corner. + +[Illustration: (studio)] + +At the entrance of every studio court and apartment, there lives the +concierge in a box of a room generally, containing a huge feather-bed +and furnished with a variety of things left by departing tenants to this +faithful guardian of the gate. Many of these small rooms resemble the +den of an antiquary with their odds and ends from the studios--old +swords, plaster casts, sketches and discarded furniture--until the place +is quite full. Yet it is kept neat and clean by madame, who sews all day +and talks to her cat and to every one who passes into the court-yard. +Here your letters are kept, too, in one of a row of boxes, with the +number of your atelier marked thereon. + +At night, after ten, your concierge opens the heavy iron gate of your +court by pulling a cord within reach of the family bed. He or she is +waked up at intervals through the night to let into and out of a court +full of studios those to whom the night is ever young. Or perhaps your +concierge will be like old Pere Valois, who has three pretty daughters +who do the housework of the studios, as well as assist in the +guardianship of the gate. They are very busy, these three daughters of +Pere Valois--all the morning you will see these little "femmes de +menage" as busy as bees; the artists and poets must be waked up, and +beds made and studios cleaned. There are many that are never cleaned at +all, but then there are many, too, who are not so fortunate as to be +taken care of by the three daughters of Pere Valois. + +[Illustration: VOILA LA BELLE ROSE, MADAME!] + +There is no gossip within the quarter that your "femme de menage" does +not know, and over your morning coffee, which she brings you, she will +regale you with the latest news about most of your best friends, +including your favorite model, and madame from whom you buy your wine, +always concluding with: "That is what I heard, monsieur,--I think it is +quite true, because the little Marie, who is the femme de menage of +Monsieur Valentin, got it from Celeste Dauphine yesterday in the cafe in +the rue du Cherche Midi." + +In the morning, this demure maid-of-all-work will be in her calico dress +with her sleeves rolled up over her strong white arms, but in the +evening you may see her in a chic little dress, at the "Bal Bullier," or +dining at the Pantheon, with the fellow whose studio is opposite yours. + +[Illustration: A BUSY MORNING] + +Alice Lemaitre, however, was a far different type of femme de menage +than any of the gossiping daughters of old Pere Valois, and her lot was +harder, for one night she left her home in one of the provincial towns, +when barely sixteen, and found herself in Paris with three francs to her +name and not a friend in this big pleasure-loving city to turn to. After +many days of privation, she became bonne to a woman known as Yvette de +Marcie, a lady with a bad temper and many jewels, to whom little Alice, +with her rosy cheeks and bright eyes and willing disposition to work in +order to live, became a person upon whom this fashionable virago of a +demi-mondaine vented the worst that was in her--and there was much of +this--until Alice went out into the world again. She next found +employment at a baker's, where she was obliged to get up at four in the +morning, winter and summer, and deliver the long loaves of bread at the +different houses; but the work was too hard and she left. The baker paid +her a trifle a week for her labor, while the attractive Yvette de Marcie +turned her into the street without her wages. It was while delivering +bread one morning to an atelier in the rue des Dames, that she chanced +to meet a young painter who was looking for a good femme de menage to +relieve his artistic mind from the worries of housekeeping. Little Alice +fairly cried when the good painter told her she might come at twenty +francs a month, which was more money than this very grateful and brave +little Brittany girl had ever known before. + +[Illustration: (brocanteur shop front)] + +"You see, monsieur, one must do one's best whatever one undertakes," +said Alice to me; "I have tried every profession, and now I am a good +femme de menage, and I am 'bien contente.' No," she continued, "I shall +never marry, for one's independence is worth more than anything else. +When one marries," she said earnestly, her little brow in a frown, +"one's life is lost; I am young and strong, and I have courage, and so I +can work hard. One should be content when one is not cold and hungry, +and I have been many times that, monsieur. Once I worked in a fabrique, +where, all day, we painted the combs of china roosters a bright red for +bon-bon boxes--hundreds and hundreds of them until I used to see them in +my dreams; but the fabrique failed, for the patron ran away with the +wife of a Russian. He was a very stupid man to have done that, monsieur, +for he had a very nice wife of his own--a pretty brunette, with a +charming figure; but you see, monsieur, in Paris it is always that way. +C'est toujours comme ca." + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +"AT MARCEL LEGAY'S" + + +Just off the Boulevard St. Michel and up the narrow little rue Cujas, +you will see at night the name "Marcel Legay" illumined in tiny +gas-jets. This is a cabaret of chansonniers known as "Le Grillon," where +a dozen celebrated singing satirists entertain an appreciative audience +in the stuffy little hall serving as an auditorium. Here, nightly, as +the piece de resistance--and late on the programme (there is no printed +one)--you will hear the Bard of Montmartre, Marcel Legay, raconteur, +poet, musician, and singer; the author of many of the most popular songs +of Montmartre, and a veteran singer in the cabarets. + +[Illustration: MARCEL LEGAY] + +From these cabarets of the student quarters come many of the cleverest +and most beautiful songs. Here men sing their own creations, and they +have absolute license to sing or say what they please; there is no +mincing of words, and many times these rare bohemians do not take the +trouble to hide their clever songs and satires under a double entente. +No celebrated man or woman, known in art or letters, or connected with +the Government--from the soldier to the good President of the Republique +Francaise--is spared. The eccentricity of each celebrity is caught by +them, and used in song or recitation. + +Besides these personal caricatures, the latest political questions of +the day--religion and the haut monde--come in for a large share of +good-natured satire. To be cleverly caricatured is an honor, and should +evince no ill-feeling, especially from these clever singing comedians, +who are the best of fellows at heart; whose songs are clever but never +vulgar; who sing because they love to sing; and whose versatility +enables them to create the broadest of satires, and, again, a little +song with words so pure, so human, and so pathetic, that the applause +that follows from the silent room of listeners comes spontaneously from +the heart. + +It is not to be wondered at that "The Grillon" of Marcel Legay's is a +popular haunt of the habitues of the Quarter, who crowd the dingy little +room nightly. You enter the "Grillon" by way of the bar, and at the +further end of the bar-room is a small anteroom, its walls hung in +clever posters and original drawings. This anteroom serves as a sort of +green-room for the singers and their friends; here they chat at the +little tables between their songs--since there is no stage--and through +this anteroom both audience and singers pass into the little hall. There +is the informality of one of our own "smokers" about the whole affair. + +Furthermore, no women sing in "Le Grillon"--a cabaret in this respect is +different from a cafe concert, which resembles very much our smaller +variety shows. A small upright piano, and in front of it a low platform, +scarcely its length, complete the necessary stage paraphernalia of the +cabaret, and the admission is generally a franc and a half, which +includes your drink. + +In the anteroom, four of the singers are smoking and chatting at the +little tables. One of them is a tall, serious-looking fellow, in a black +frock coat. He peers out through his black-rimmed eyeglasses with the +solemnity of an owl--but you should hear his songs!--they treat of the +lighter side of life, I assure you. Another singer has just finished his +turn, and comes out of the smoky hall, wiping the perspiration from his +short, fat neck. The audience is still applauding his last song, and he +rushes back through the faded green velvet portieres to bow his thanks. + +[Illustration: A POET-SINGER] + +A broad-shouldered, jolly-looking fellow, in white duck trousers, is +talking earnestly with the owl-like looking bard in eyeglasses. Suddenly +his turn is called, and you follow him in, where, as soon as he is seen, +he is welcomed by cheers from the students and girls, and an elaborate +fanfare of chords on the piano. When this popular poet-singer has +finished, there follows a round of applause and a pounding of canes, +and then the ruddy-faced, gray-haired manager starts a three-times-three +handclapping in unison to a pounding of chords on the piano. This is the +proper ending to every demand for an encore in "Le Grillon," and it +never fails to bring one. + +It is nearly eleven when the curtain parts and Marcel Legay rushes +hurriedly up the aisle and greets the audience, slamming his straw hat +upon the lid of the piano. He passes his hand over his bald pate--gives +an extra polish to his eyeglasses--beams with an irresistibly funny +expression upon his audience--coughs--whistles--passes a few remarks, +and then, adjusting his glasses on his stubby red nose, looks +serio-comically over his roll of music. He is dressed in a long, black +frock-coat reaching nearly to his heels. This coat, with its velvet +collar, discloses a frilled white shirt and a white flowing bow scarf; +these, with a pair of black-and-white check trousers, complete this +every-day attire. + +But the man inside these voluminous clothes is even still more +eccentric. Short, indefinitely past fifty years of age, with a round +face and merry eyes, and a bald head whose lower portion is framed +in a fringe of long hair, reminding one of the coiffure of some +pre-Raphaelite saint--indeed, so striking is this resemblance that the +good bard is often caricatured with a halo surrounding this medieval +fringe. + +In the meantime, while this famous singer is selecting a song, he is +overwhelmed with demands for his most popular ones. A dozen students and +girls at one end of the little hall, now swimming in a haze of pipe and +cigarette smoke, are hammering with sticks and parasols for "Le matador +avec les pieds du vent"; another crowd is yelling for "La Goularde." +Marcel Legay smiles at them all through his eyeglasses, then roars at +them to keep quiet--and finally the clamor in the room gradually +subsides--here and there a word--a giggle--and finally silence. + +"Now, my children, I will sing to you the story of Clarette," says the +bard; "it is a very sad histoire. I have read it," and he smiles and +cocks one eye. + +His baritone voice still possesses considerable fire, and in his heroic +songs he is dramatic. In "The Miller who grinds for Love," the feeling +and intensity and dramatic quality he puts into its rendition are +stirring. As he finishes his last encore, amidst a round of applause, he +grasps his hat from the piano, jams it over his bald pate with its +celestial fringe, and rushes for the door. Here he stops, and, turning +for a second, cheers back at the crowd, waving the straw hat above his +head. The next moment he is having a cooling drink among his confreres +in the anteroom. + +Such "poet-singers" as Paul Delmet and Dominique Bonnaud have made the +"Grillon" a success; and others like Numa Bles, Gabriel Montoya, +D'Herval, Fargy, Tourtal, and Edmond Teulet--all of them well-known over +in Montmartre, where they are welcomed with the same popularity that +they meet with at "Le Grillon." + +Genius, alas, is but poorly paid in this Bohemia! There are so many who +can draw, so many who can sing, so many poets and writers and sculptors. +To many of the cleverest, half a loaf is too often better than no +bread. + +You will find often in these cabarets and in the cafes and along the +boulevard, a man who, for a few sous, will render a portrait or a +caricature on the spot. You learn that this journeyman artist once was a +well-known painter of the Quarter, who had drawn for years in the +academies. The man at present is a wreck, as he sits in a cafe with +portfolio on his knees, his black slouch hat drawn over his scraggly +gray hair. But his hand, thin and drawn from too much stimulant and too +little food, has lost none of its knowledge of form and line; the sketch +is strong, true, and with a chic about it and a simplicity of expression +that delight you. You ask why he has not done better. + +[Illustration: THE SATIRIST] + +"Ah!" he replies, "it is a long story, monsieur." So long and so much of +it that he can not remember it all! Perhaps it was the woman with the +velvety black eyes--tall and straight--the best dancer in all Paris. +Yes, he remembers some of it--long, miserable years--years of struggles +and jealousy, and finally lies and fights and drunkenness; after it was +all over, he was too gray and old and tired to care! + +One sees many such derelicts in Paris among these people who have worn +themselves out with amusement, for here the world lives for pleasure, +for "la grande vie!" To the man, every serious effort he is obliged to +make trends toward one idea--that of the bon vivant--to gain success and +fame, but to gain it with the idea of how much personal daily pleasure +it will bring him. Ennui is a word one hears constantly; if it rains +toute le monde est triste. To have one's gaiety interrupted is regarded +as a calamity, and "tout le monde" will sympathize with you. To live a +day without the pleasures of life in proportion to one's purse is +considered a day lost. + +If you speak of anything that has pleased you one will, with a gay +rising inflection of the voice and a smile, say: "Ah! c'est gai +la-bas--and monsieur was well amused while in that beautiful +country?" "ah!--tiens! c'est gentil ca!" they will exclaim, as you +enthusiastically continue to explain. They never dull your enthusiasm +by short phlegmatic or pessimistic replies. And when you are sad +they will condone so genuinely with you that you forget your +disappointments in the charming pleasantry of their sympathy. But all +this continual race for pleasure is destined in the course of time to +end in ennui! + +The Parisian goes into the latest sport because it affords him a +new sensation. Being blase of all else in life, he plunges into +automobiling, buys a white and red racer--a ponderous flying juggernaut +that growls and snorts and smells of the lower regions whenever it +stands still, trembling in its anger and impatience to be off, while its +owner, with some automobiling Marie, sits chatting on the cafe terrace +over a cooling drink. The two are covered with dust and very thirsty; +Marie wears a long dust-colored ulster, and he a wind-proof coat and +high boots. Meanwhile, the locomotive-like affair at the curbstone is +working itself into a boiling rage, until finally the brave chauffeur +and his chic companion prepare to depart. Marie adjusts her white lace +veil, with its goggles, and the chauffeur puts on his own mask as he +climbs in; a roar--a snort, a cloud of blue gas, and they are gone! + +There are other enthusiasts--those who go up in balloons! + +"Ah, you should go ballooning!" one cries enthusiastically, "to be 'en +ballon'--so poetic--so fin de siecle! It is a fantaisie charmante!" + +In a balloon one forgets the world--one is no longer a part of it--no +longer mortal. What romance there is in going up above everything with +the woman one loves--comrades in danger--the ropes--the wicker cage--the +ceiling of stars above one and Paris below no bigger than a gridiron! +Paris! lost for the time from one's memory. How chic to shoot straight +up among the drifting clouds and forget the sordid little world, even +the memory of one's intrigues! + +"Enfin seuls," they say to each other, as the big Frenchman and the chic +Parisienne countess peer down over the edge of the basket, sipping a +little chartreuse from the same traveling cup; she, with the black hair +and white skin, and gowned "en ballon" in a costume by Paillard; he in +his peajacket buttoned close under his heavy beard. They seem to brush +through and against the clouds! A gentle breath from heaven makes the +basket decline a little and the ropes creak against the hardwood clinch +blocks. It grows colder, and he wraps her closer in his own coat. + +"Courage, my child," he says; "see, we have gone a great distance; +to-morrow before sundown we shall descend in Belgium." + +"Horrible!" cries the Countess; "I do not like those Belgians." + +"Ah! but you shall see, Therese, one shall go where one pleases soon; we +are patient, we aeronauts; we shall bring credit to La Belle France; we +have courage and perseverance; we shall give many dinners and weep over +the failures of our brave comrades, to make the dirigible balloon +'pratique.' We shall succeed! Then Voila! our dejeuner in Paris and our +dinner where we will." + +Therese taps her polished nails against the edge of the wicker cage and +hums a little chansonette. + +"Je t'aime"--she murmurs. + + * * * * * + +I did not see this myself, and I do not know the fair Therese or the +gentleman who buttons his coat under his whiskers; but you should have +heard one of these ballooning enthusiasts tell it to me in the Taverne +du Pantheon the other night. His only regret seemed to be that he, too, +could not have a dirigible balloon and a countess--on ten francs a +week! + + + + +[Illustration: (woman)] + +CHAPTER VII + +"POCHARD" + + +Drunkards are not frequent sights in the Quarter; and yet when these +people do get drunk, they become as irresponsible as maniacs. Excitable +to a degree even when sober, these most wretched among the poor when +drunk often appear in front of a cafe--gaunt, wild-eyed, haggard, and +filthy--singing in boisterous tones or reciting to you with tense voices +a jumble of meaningless thoughts. + +The man with the matted hair, and toes out of his boots, will fold his +arms melodramatically, and regard you for some moments as you sit in +front of him on the terrace. Then he will vent upon you a torrent +of abuse, ending in some jumble of socialistic ideas of his own +concoction. When he has finished, he will fold his arms again and move +on to the next table. He is crazy with absinthe, and no one pays any +attention to him. On he strides up the "Boul' Miche," past the cafes, +continuing his ravings. As long as he is moderately peaceful and +confines his wandering brain to gesticulations and speech, he is let +alone by the police. + +[Illustration: (portrait of woman)] + +You will see sometimes a man and a woman--a teamster out of work or with +his wages for the day, and with him a creature--a blear-eyed, slatternly +looking woman, in a filthy calico gown. The man clutches her arm, as +they sing and stagger up past the cafes. The woman holds in her +claw-like hand a half-empty bottle of cheap red wine. Now and then they +stop and share it; the man staggers on; the woman leers and dances and +sings; a crowd forms about them. Some years ago this poor girl sat on +Friday afternoons in the Luxembourg Gardens--her white parasol on her +knees, her dainty, white kid-slippered feet resting on the little stool +which the old lady, who rents the chairs, used to bring her. She was +regarded as a bonne camarade in those days among the students--one of +the idols of the Quarter! But she became impossible, and then an +outcast! That women should become outcasts through the hopelessness of +their position or the breaking down of their brains can be understood, +but that men of ability should sink into the dregs and stay there seems +incredible. But it is often so. + +[Illustration: (portrait of woman)] + +Near the rue Monge there is a small cafe and restaurant, a place +celebrated for its onion soup and its chicken. From the tables outside, +one can see into the small kitchen, with its polished copper sauce-pans +hanging about the grill. + +Lachaume, the painter, and I were chatting at one of its little tables, +he over an absinthe and I over a coffee and cognac. I had dined early +this fresh October evening, enjoying to the full the bracing coolness of +the air, pungent with the odor of dry leaves and the faint smell of +burning brush. The world was hurrying by--in twos and threes--hurrying +to warm cafes, to friends, to lovers. The breeze at twilight set the dry +leaves shivering. The sky was turquoise. The yellow glow from the +shop windows--the blue-white sparkle of electricity like pendant +diamonds--made the Quarter seem fuller of life than ever. These fall +days make the little ouvrieres trip along from their work with rosy +cheeks, and put happiness and ambition into one's very soul. + +[Illustration: A GROUP OF NEW STUDIOS] + +Soon the winter will come, with all the boys back from their country +haunts, and Celeste and Mimi from Ostende. How gay it will be--this +Quartier Latin then! How gay it always is in winter--and then the rainy +season. Ah! but one can not have everything. Thus it was that Lachaume +and I sat talking, when suddenly a spectre passed--a spectre of a man, +his face silent, white, and pinched--drawn like a mummy's. + +[Illustration: A SCULPTOR'S MODEL] + +He stopped and supported his shrunken frame wearily on his crutches, and +leaned against a neighboring wall. He made no sound--simply gazed +vacantly, with the timidity of some animal, at the door of the small +kitchen aglow with the light from the grill. He made no effort to +approach the door; only leaned against the gray wall and peered at it +patiently. + +"A beggar," I said to Lachaume; "poor devil!" + +"Ah! old Pochard--yes, poor devil, and once one of the handsomest men in +Paris." + +"What wrecked him?" I asked. + +"What I'm drinking now, mon ami." + +"Absinthe?" + +"Yes--absinthe! He looks older than I do, does he not?" continued +Lachaume, lighting a fresh cigarette, "and yet I'm twenty years his +senior. You see, I sip mine--he drank his by the goblet," and my friend +leaned forward and poured the contents of the carafe in a tiny +trickling stream over the sugar lying in its perforated spoon. + +[Illustration: BOY MODEL] + +"Ah! those were great days when Pochard was the life of the Bullier," he +went on; "I remember the night he won ten thousand francs from the +Russian. It didn't last long; Camille Leroux had her share of +it--nothing ever lasted long with Camille. He was once courrier to an +Austrian Baron, I remember. The old fellow used to frequent the Quarter +in summer, years ago--it was his hobby. Pochard was a great favorite in +those days, and the Baron liked to go about in the Quarter with him, and +of course Pochard was in his glory. He would persuade the old nobleman +to prolong his vacation here. Once the Baron stayed through the winter +and fell ill, and a little couturiere in the rue de Rennes, whom the old +fellow fell in love with, nursed him. He died the summer following, at +Vienna, and left her quite a little property near Amiens. He was a good +old Baron, a charitable old fellow among the needy, and a good bohemian +besides; and he did much for Pochard, but he could not keep him sober!" + +[Illustration: BOUGUEREAU AT WORK] + +"After the old man's death," my friend continued, "Pochard drifted from +bad to worse, and finally out of the Quarter, somewhere into misery on +the other side of the Seine. No one heard of him for a few years, until +he was again recognized as being the same Pochard returned again to the +Quarter. He was hobbling about on crutches just as you see him there. +And now, do you know what he does? Get up from where you are sitting," +said Lachaume, "and look into the back kitchen. Is he not standing there +by the door--they are handing him a small bundle?" + +"Yes," said I, "something wrapped in newspaper." + +"Do you know what is in it?--the carcass of the chicken you have just +finished, and which the garcon carried away. Pochard saw you eating it +half an hour ago as he passed. It was for that he was waiting." + +"To eat?" I asked. + +"No, to sell," Lachaume replied, "together with the other bones he is +able to collect--for soup in some poorest resort down by the river, +where the boatmen and the gamins go. The few sous he gets will buy +Pochard a big glass, a lump of sugar, and a spoon; into the goblet, in +some equally dirty 'boite,' they will pour him out his green treasure of +absinthe. Then Pochard will forget the day--perhaps he will dream of the +Austrian Baron--and try and forget Camille Leroux. Poor devil!" + +[Illustration: GEROME] + +Marguerite Girardet, the model, also told me between poses in the studio +the other day of just such a "pauvre homme" she once knew. "When he was +young," she said, "he won a second prize at the Conservatoire, and +afterward played first violin at the Comique. Now he plays in front of +the cafes, like the rest, and sometimes poses for the head of an old +man! + +[Illustration: A. MICHELENA] + +"Many grow old so young," she continued; "I knew a little model once +with a beautiful figure, absolutely comme un bijou--pretty, too, and +had she been a sensible girl, as I often told her, she could still have +earned her ten francs a day posing; but she wanted to dine all the time +with this and that one, and pose too, and in three months all her fine +'svelte' lines that made her a valuable model among the sculptors were +gone. You see, I have posed all my life in the studios, and I am over +thirty now, and you know I work hard, but I have kept my fine +lines--because I go to bed early and eat and drink little. Then I have +much to do at home; my husband and I for years have had a comfortable +home; we take a great deal of pride in it, and it keeps me very busy to +keep everything in order, for I pose very early some mornings and then +go back and get dejeuner, and then back to pose again. + +[Illustration: A SCULPTOR'S STUDIO] + +"In the summer," she went on, "we take a little place outside of Paris +for a month, down the Seine, where my husband brings his work with him; +he is a repairer of fans and objets d'art. You should come in and see us +some time; it is quite near where you painted last summer. Ah yes," she +exclaimed, as she drew her pink toes under her, "I love the country! +Last year I posed nearly two months for Monsieur Z., the painter--en +plein air; my skin was not as white as it is now, I can tell you--I was +absolutely like an Indian! + +[Illustration: FREMIET] + +"Once"--and Marguerite smiled at the memory of it--"I went to England to +pose for a painter well known there. It was an important tableau, and I +stayed there six months. It was a horrible place to me--I was always +cold--the fog was so thick one could hardly see in winter mornings going +to the studio. Besides, I could get nothing good to eat! He was a +celebrated painter, a 'Sir,' and lived with his family in a big stone +house with a garden. We had tea and cakes at five in the studio--always +tea, tea, tea!--I can tell you I used to long for a good bottle of +Madame Giraud's vin ordinaire, and a poulet. So I left and came back to +Paris. Ah! quelle place! that Angleterre! J'etais toujours, toujours +triste la! In Paris I make a good living; ten francs a day--that's not +bad, is it? and my time is taken often a year ahead. I like to pose for +the painters--the studios are cleaner than those of the sculptor's. Some +of the sculptors' studios are so dirty--clay and dust over everything! +Did you see Fabien's studio the other day when I posed for him? You +thought it dirty? Tiens!--you should have seen it last year when he was +working on the big group for the Exposition! It is clean now compared +with what it was. You see, I go to my work in the plainest of clothes--a +cheap print dress and everything of the simplest I can make, for in half +an hour, left in those studios, they would be fit only for the +blanchisseuse--the wax and dust are in and over everything! There is +no time to change when one has not the time to go home at mid-day." + +[Illustration: JEAN PAUL LAURENS] + +And so I learned much of the good sense and many of the economies in the +life of this most celebrated model. You can see her superb figure +wrought in marble and bronze by some of the most famous of modern French +sculptors all over Paris. + +There is another type of model you will see, too--one who rang my bell +one sunny morning in response to a note written by my good friend, the +sculptor, for whom this little Parisienne posed. + +She came without her hat--this "vrai type"--about seventeen years of +age--with exquisite features, her blue eyes shining under a wealth of +delicate blonde hair arranged in the prettiest of fashions--a little +white bow tied jauntily at her throat, and her exquisitely delicate, +strong young figure clothed in a simple black dress. She had about her +such a frank, childlike air! Yes, she posed for so and so, and so and +so, but not many; she liked it better than being in a shop; and it +was far more independent, for one could go about and see one's +friends--and there were many of her girl friends living on the same +street where this chic demoiselle lived. + +At noon my drawing was finished. As she sat buttoning her boots, she +looked up at me innocently, slipped her five francs for the morning's +work in her reticule, and said: + +"I live with mama, and mama never gives me any money to spend on myself. +This is Sunday and a holiday, so I shall go with Henriette and her +brother to Vincennes. It is delicious there under the trees." + +[Illustration: OLD MAN MODEL] + +It would have been quite impossible for me to have gone with them--I was +not even invited; but this very serious and good little Parisienne, who +posed for the figure with quite the same unconsciousness as she would +have handed you your change over the counter of some stuffy little shop, +went to Vincennes with Henriette and her brother, where they had a +beautiful day--scrambling up the paths and listening to the band--all at +the enormous expense of the artist; and this was how this good little +Parisienne managed to save five francs in a single day! + +There are old-men models who knock at your studio too, and who are +celebrated for their tangled gray locks, which they immediately +uncover as you open your door. These unkempt-looking Father Times and +Methuselahs prowl about the staircases of the different ateliers daily. +So do little children--mostly Italians and all filthily dirty; swarthy, +black-eyed, gypsy-looking girls and boys of from twelve to fifteen years +of age, and Italian mothers holding small children--itinerant madonnas. +These are the poorer class of models--the riff-raff of the Quarter--who +get anywhere from a few sous to a few francs for a seance. + +And there are four-footed models, too, for I know a kindly old horse who +has served in many a studio and who has carried a score of the famous +generals of the world and Jeanne d'Arcs to battle--in many a modern +public square. + +Chacun son metier! + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +THE LUXEMBOURG GARDENS + + +In this busy Quarter, where so many people are confined throughout the +day in work-shops and studios, a breathing-space becomes a necessity. The +gardens of the Luxembourg, brilliant in flowers and laid out in the +Renaissance, with shady groves and long avenues of chestnut-trees +stretching up to the Place de l'Observatoire, afford the great +breathing-ground for the Latin Quarter. + +If one had but an hour to spend in the Quartier Latin, one could not +find a more interesting and representative sight of student life than +between the hours of four and five on Friday afternoon, when the +military band plays in the Luxembourg Gardens. This is the afternoon +when Bohemia is on parade. Then every one flocks here to see one's +friends--and a sort of weekly reception for the Quarter is held. The +walks about the band-stand are thronged with students and girls, +and hundreds of chairs are filled with an audience of the older +people--shopkeepers and their families, old women in white lace caps, +and gray-haired old men, many in straight-brimmed high hats of a mode of +twenty years past. Here they sit and listen to the music under the cool +shadow of the trees, whose rich foliage forms an arbor overhead--a roof +of green leaves, through which the sunbeams stream and in which the fat, +gray pigeons find a paradise. + +[Illustration: THE CHILDREN'S SHOP--LUXEMBOURG GARDENS] + +There is a booth near-by where waffles, cooked on a small oven in the +rear, are sold. In front are a dozen or more tables for ices and +drinkables. Every table and chair is taken within hearing distance of +the band. When these musicians of the army of France arrive, marching in +twos from their barracks to the stand, it is always the signal for that +genuine enthusiasm among the waiting crowd which one sees between the +French and their soldiers. + +If you chance to sit among the groups at the little tables, and watch +the passing throng in front of you, you will see some queer "types," +many of them seldom en evidence except on these Friday afternoons in the +Luxembourg. Buried, no doubt, in some garret hermitage or studio, they +emerge thus weekly to greet silently the passing world. + +A tall poet stalks slowly by, reading intently, as he walks, a well-worn +volume of verses--his faded straw hat shading the tip of his long nose. +Following him, a boy of twenty, delicately featured, with that purity of +expression one sees in the faces of the good--the result of a life, +perhaps, given to his ideal in art. He wears his hair long and curling +over his ears, with a long stray wisp over one eye, the whole cropped +evenly at the back as it reaches his black velvet collar. He wears, too, +a dove-gray vest of fine corduroy, buttoned behind like those of the +clergy, and a velvet tam-o'-shanter-like cap, and carries between his +teeth a small pipe with a long goose-quill stem. You can readily see +that to this young man with high ideals there is only one corner of the +world worth living in, and that lies between the Place de l'Observatoire +and the Seine. + +Three students pass, in wide broadcloth trousers, gathered in tight at +the ankles, and wearing wide-brimmed black hats. Hanging on the arm of +one of the trio is a short snub-nosed girl, whose Cleo-Merodic hair, +flattened in a bandeau over her ears, not only completely conceals them, +but all the rest of her face, except her two merry black eyes and her +saucy and neatly rouged lips. She is in black bicycle bloomers and a +white, short duck jacket--a straw hat with a wide blue ribbon band, and +a fluffy piece of white tulle tied at the side of her neck. + +The throng moves slowly by you. It is impossible, in such a close +crowd, to be in a hurry; besides, one never is here. + +Near-by sit two old ladies, evidently concierges from some atelier +court. One holds the printed program of the music, cut carefully from +her weekly newspaper; it is cheaper than buying one for two sous, and +these old concierges are economical. + +In this Friday gathering you will recognize dozens of faces which you +have seen at the "Bal Bullier" and the cafes. + +The girl in the blue tailor-made dress, with the little dog, who you +remember dined the night before at the Pantheon, is walking now arm in +arm with a tall man in black, a mourning band about his hat. The girl is +dressed in black, too--a mark of respect to her ami by her side. The +dog, who is so small that he slides along the walk every time his chain +is pulled, is now tucked under her arm. + +One of the tables near the waffle stand is taken by a group of six +students and four girls. All of them have arrived at the table in the +last fifteen minutes--some alone, some in twos. The girl in the scarlet +gown and white kid slippers, who came with the queer-looking "type" +with the pointed beard, is Yvonne Gallois--a bonne camarade. She keeps +the rest in the best of spirits, for she is witty, this Yvonne, and a +great favorite with the crowd she is with. She is pretty, too, and has a +whole-souled good-humor about her that makes her ever welcome. The +fellow she came with is Delmet the architect--a great wag--lazy, but +full of fun--and genius. + +The little girl sitting opposite Yvonne is Claire Dumont. She is +explaining a very sad "histoire" to the "type" next to her, intense in +the recital of her woes. Her alert, nervous little face is a study; when +words and expression fail, she shrugs her delicate shoulders, accenting +every sentence with her hands, until it seems as if her small, nervous +frame could express no more--and all about her little dog "Loisette!" + +[Illustration: AT THE HEAD OF THE LUXEMBOURG GARDENS] + +"Yes, the villain of a concierge at Edmond's studio swore at him twice, +and Sunday, when Edmond and I were breakfasting late, the old beast saw +'Loisette' on the stairs and threw water over her; she is a sale bete, +that grosse femme! She shall see what it will cost her, the old miser; +and you know I have always been most amiable with her. She is jealous +of me--that is it--oh! I am certain of it. Because I am young and +happy. Jealous of me! that's funny, is it not? The old pig! Poor +'Loisette'--she shivered all night with fright and from being wet. +Edmond and I are going to find another place. Yes, she shall see what it +will be there without us--with no one to depend upon for her snuff and +her wine. If she were concierge at Edmond's old atelier she would be +treated like that horrid old Madame Fouquet." + +The boys in the atelier over her window hated this old Madame Fouquet, I +remember. She was always prying about and complaining, so they fished up +her pet gold-fish out of the aquarium on her window-sill, and fried them +on the atelier stove, and put them back in the window on a little plate +all garnished with carrots. She swore vengeance and called in the +police, but to no avail. One day they fished up the parrot in its cage, +and the green bird that screamed and squawked continually met a speedy +and painless death and went off to the taxidermist. Then the cage was +lowered in its place with the door left ajar, and the old woman felt +sure that her pet had escaped and would some day find his way back to +her--a thing this garrulous bird would never have thought of doing had +he had any say in the matter. + +So the old lady left the door of the cage open for days in the event of +his return, and strange to tell, one morning Madame Fouquet got up to +quarrel with her next-door neighbor, and, to her amazement, there was +her green pet on his perch in his cage. She called to him, but he did +not answer; he simply stood on his wired legs and fixed his glassy eyes +on her, and said not a word--while the gang of Indians in the windows +above yelled themselves hoarse. + +It was just such a crowd as this that initiated a "nouveau" once in one +of the ateliers. They stripped the new-comer, and, as is often the +custom on similar festive occasions, painted him all over with +sketches, done in the powdered water-colors that come in glass jars. +They are cheap and cover a lot of surface, so that the gentleman in +question looked like a human picture-gallery. After the ceremony, he was +put in a hamper and deposited, in the morning, in the middle of the Pont +des Arts, where he was subsequently found by the police, who carted him +off in a cab. + +[Illustration: THE FONTAINE DE MEDICIS] + +But you must see more of this vast garden of the Luxembourg to +appreciate truly its beauty and its charm. Filled with beautiful +sculpture in bronze and marble, with its musee of famous modern pictures +bought by the Government, with flower-beds brilliant in geraniums and +fragrant in roses, with the big basin spouting a jet of water in its +center, where the children sail their boats, and with that superb +"Fontaine de Medicis" at the end of a long, rectangular basin of +water--dark as some pool in a forest brook, the green vines trailing +about its sides, shaded by the rich foliage of the trees overhead. + +On the other side of the Luxembourg you will find a garden of roses, +with a rich bronze group of Greek runners in the center, and near it, +back of the long marble balustrade, a croquet ground--a favorite spot +for several veteran enthusiasts who play here regularly, surrounded for +hours by an interested crowd who applaud and cheer the participants in +this passe sport. + +This is another way of spending an afternoon at the sole cost of one's +leisure. It takes but little to amuse these people! + +Often at the Punch and Judy show near-by, you will see two old +gentlemen,--who may have watched this same Punch and Judy show when they +were youngsters,--and who have been sitting for half an hour, waiting +for the curtain of the miniature theater to rise. It is popular--this +small "Theatre Guignol," and the benches in front are filled with the +children of rich and poor, who scream with delight and kick their +little, fat bare legs at the first shrill squeak of Mr. Punch. The three +who compose the staff of this tiny attraction have been long in its +service--the old harpist, and the good wife of the showman who knows +every child in the neighborhood, and her husband who is Mr. Punch, the +hangman, and the gendarme, and half a dozen other equally historical +personages. A thin, sad-looking man, this husband, gray-haired, with a +careworn look in his deep-sunken eyes, who works harder hourly, daily, +yearly, to amuse the heart of a child than almost any one I know. + +The little box of a theater is stifling hot in summer, and yet he must +laugh and scream and sing within it, while his good wife collects the +sous, talking all the while to this and to that child whom she has known +since its babyhood; chatting with the nurses decked out in their +gay-colored, Alsatian bows, the ribbons reaching nearly to the ground. + +A French nurse is a gorgeous spectacle of neatness and cleanliness, and +many of the younger ones, fresh from country homes in Normandy and +Brittany, with their rosy cheeks, are pictures of health. Wherever you +see a nurse, you will see a "piou-piou" not far away, which is a very +belittling word for the red-trousered infantryman of the Republique +Francaise. + +Surrounding the Palais du Luxembourg, these "piou-pious," less fortunate +for the hour, stand guard in the small striped sentry-boxes, musket at +side, or pace stolidly up and down the flagged walk. Marie, at the +moment, is no doubt with the children of the rich Count, in a shady spot +near the music. How cruel is the fate of many a gallant "piou-piou"! + +Farther down the gravel-walk strolls a young Frenchman and his +fiancee--the mother of his betrothed inevitably at her side! It is under +this system of rigid chaperonage that the young girl of France is given +in marriage. It is not to be wondered at that many of them marry to be +free, and that many of the happier marriages have begun with an +elopement! + +[Illustration: THE PALACE OF THE LUXEMBOURG] + +The music is over, and the band is filing out, followed by the crowd. A +few linger about the walks around the band-stand to chat. The old lady +who rents the chairs is stacking them up about the tree-trunks, and long +shadows across the walks tell of the approaching twilight. Overhead, +among the leaves, the pigeons coo. For a few moments the sun bathes +the great garden in a pinkish glow, then drops slowly, a blood-red disk, +behind the trees. The air grows chilly; it is again the hour to +dine--the hour when Paris wakes. + +In the smaller restaurants of the Quarter one often sees some strange +contrasts among these true bohemians, for the Latin Quarter draws its +habitues from every part of the globe. They are not all French--these +happy-go-lucky fellows, who live for the day and let the morrow slide. +You will see many Japanese--some of them painters--many of them taking +courses in political economy, or in law; many of them titled men of high +rank in their own country, studying in the schools, and learning, too, +with that thoroughness and rapidity which are ever characteristic of +their race. You will find, too, Brazilians; gentlemen from Haiti of +darker hue; Russians, Poles, and Spaniards--men and women from every +clime and every station in life. They adapt themselves to the Quarter +and become a part of this big family of Bohemia easily and naturally. + +In this daily atmosphere only the girl-student from our own shores seems +out of place. She will hunt for some small restaurant, sacred in its +exclusiveness and known only to a dozen bon camarades of the Quarter. +Perhaps this girl-student, it may be, from the West and her cousin from +the East will discover some such cosy little boite on their way back +from their atelier. To two other equally adventurous female minds they +will impart this newest find; after that you will see the four dining +there nightly together, as safe, I assure you, within these walls of +Bohemia as they would be at home rocking on their Aunt Mary's porch. + +There is, of course, considerable awkwardness between these bon +camarades, to whom the place really belongs, and these very innocent +new-comers, who seek a table by themselves in a corner under the few +trees in front of the small restaurant. And yet every one is exceedingly +polite to them. Madame the patronne hustles about to see that the dinner +is warm and nicely served; and Henriette, who is waiting on them, none +the less attentive, although she is late for her own dinner, which she +will sit down to presently with madame the patronne, the good cook, and +the other girls who serve the small tables. + +[Illustration: WHAT IS GOING ON AT THE THEATERS] + +This later feast will be augmented perhaps by half the good boys and +girls who have been dining at the long table. Perhaps they will all come +in and help shell the peas for to-morrow's dinner. And yet this is a +public place, where the painters come, and where one pays only for what +one orders. It is all very interesting to the four American girls, who +are dining at the small table. "It is so thoroughly bohemian!" they +exclaim. + +But what must Mimi think of these silent and exclusive strangers, and +what, too, must the tall girl in the bicycle bloomers think, and the +little girl who has been ill and who at the moment is dining with +Renould, the artist, and whom every one--even to the cook, is so glad to +welcome back after her long illness? There is an unsurmountable barrier +between the Americans at the little table in the corner and that jolly +crowd of good and kindly people at the long one, for Mimi and Henriette +and the little girl who has been so ill, and the French painters and +sculptors with them, cannot understand either the language of these +strangers or their views of life. + +"Florence!" exclaims one of the strangers in a whisper, "do look at that +queer little 'type' at the long table--the tall girl in black actually +kissed him!" + +"You don't mean it!" + +"Yes, I do--just now. Why, my dear, I saw it plainly!" + +Poor culprits! There is no law against kissing in the open air in Paris, +and besides, the tall girl in black has known the little "type" for a +Parisienne age--thirty days or less. + +The four innocents, who have coughed through their soup and whispered +through the rest of the dinner, have now finished and are leaving, but +if those at the long table notice their departure, they do not show it. +In the Quarter it is considered the height of rudeness to stare. You +will find these Suzannes and Marcelles exceedingly well-bred in the +little refinements of life, and you will note a certain innate dignity +and kindliness in their bearing toward others, which often makes one +wish to uncover his head in their presence. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +"THE RAGGED EDGE OF THE QUARTER" + + +There are many streets of the Quarter as quiet as those of a country +village. Some of them, like the rue Vaugirard, lead out past gloomy +slaughter-houses and stables, through desolate sections of vacant +lots, littered with the ruins of factory and foundry whose tall, +smoke-begrimed chimneys in the dark stand like giant sentries, as if +pointing a warning finger to the approaching pedestrian, for these +ragged edges of the Quarter often afford at night a lurking-ground for +footpads. + +In just such desolation there lived a dozen students, in a small nest of +studios that I need not say were rented to them at a price within their +ever-scanty means. It was marveled at among the boys in the Quarter that +any of these exiles lived to see the light of another day, after +wandering back at all hours of the night to their stronghold. + +Possibly their sole possessions consisted of the clothes they had on, a +few bad pictures, and their several immortal geniuses. That the +gentlemen with the sand-bags knew of this I am convinced, for the +students were never molested. Verily, Providence lends a strong and +ready arm to the drunken man and the fool! + +The farther out one goes on the rue Vaugirard, the more desolate +and forbidding becomes this long highway, until it terminates at +the fortifications, near which is a huge, open field, kept clear +of such permanent buildings as might shelter an enemy in time of +war. Scattered over this space are the hovels of squatters and +gipsies--fortune-telling, horse-trading vagabonds, whose living-vans +at certain times of the year form part of the smaller fairs within +the Quarter. + +[Illustration: (factory chimneys along empty street)] + +And very small and unattractive little fairs they are, consisting of +half a dozen or more wagons, serving as a yearly abode for these +shiftless people; illumined at night by the glare of smoking oil +torches. There is, moreover, a dingy tent with a half-drawn red curtain +that hides the fortune-telling beauty; and a traveling shooting-gallery, +so short that the muzzle of one's rifle nearly rests upon the painted +lady with the sheet-iron breastbone, centered by a pinhead of a +bull's-eye which never rings. There is often a small carousel, too, +which is not only patronized by the children, but often by a crowd of +students--boys and girls, who literally turn the merry-go-round into a +circus, and who for the time are cheered to feats of bareback riding by +the enthusiastic bystanders. + +These little Quarter fetes are far different from the great fete de +Neuilly across the Seine, which begins at the Porte Maillot, and +continues in a long, glittering avenue of side-shows, with mammoth +carousels, bizarre in looking-glass panels and golden figures. Within +the circle of all this throne-like gorgeousness, a horse-power organ +shakes the very ground with its clarion blasts, while pink and white +wooden pigs, their tails tied up in bows of colored ribbons, heave and +swoop round and round, their backs loaded with screaming girls and +shouting men. + +It was near this very same Port Maillot, in a colossal theater, built +originally for the representation of one of the Kiralfy ballets, that a +fellow student and myself went over from the Quarter one night to "supe" +in a spectacular and melodramatic pantomime, entitled "Afrique a Paris." +We were invited by the sole proprietor and manager of the show--an +old circus-man, and one of the shrewdest, most companionable, and +intelligent of men, who had traveled the world over. He spoke no +language but his own unadulterated American. This, with his dominant +personality, served him wherever fortune carried him! + +So, accepting his invitation to play alternately the dying soldier and +the pursuing cannibal under the scorching rays of a tropical limelight, +and with an old pair of trousers and a flannel shirt wrapped in a +newspaper, we presented ourselves at the appointed hour, at the edge of +the hostile country. + +[Illustration: (street scene)] + +Here we found ourselves surrounded by a horde of savages who needed no +greasepaint to stain their ebony bodies, and many of whose grinning +countenances I had often recognized along our own Tenderloin. Besides, +there were cowboys and "greasers" and diving elks, and a company of +French Zouaves; the latter, in fact, seemed to be the only thing foreign +about the show. Our friend, the manager, informed us that he had thrown +the entire spectacle together in about ten days, and that he had +gathered with ease, in two, a hundred of those dusky warriors, who had +left their coat-room and barber-shop jobs in New York to find themselves +stranded in Paris. + +He was a hustler, this circus-man, and preceding the spectacle of the +African war, he had entertained the audience with a short variety-show, +to brace the spectacle. He insisted on bringing us around in front and +giving us a box, so we could see for ourselves how good it really was. + +During this forepart, and after some clever high trapeze work, +the sensation of the evening was announced--a Signore, with an +unpronounceable name, would train a den of ten forest-bred lions! + +When the orchestra had finished playing "The Awakening of the Lion," the +curtain rose, disclosing the nerveless Signore in purple tights and +high-topped boots. A long, portable cage had been put together on the +stage during the intermission, and within it the ten pacing beasts. +There is something terrifying about the roar of a lion as it begins with +its high-keyed moan, and descends in scale to a hoarse roar that seems +to penetrate one's whole nervous system. + +But the Signore did not seem to mind it; he placed one foot on the sill +of the safety-door, tucked his short riding-whip under his arm, pulled +the latch with one hand, forced one knee in the slightly opened door, +and sprang into the cage. Click! went the iron door as it found its +lock. Bang! went the Signore's revolver, as he drove the snarling, +roaring lot into the corner of the cage. The smoke from his revolver +drifted out through the bars; the house was silent. The trainer walked +slowly up to the fiercest lion, who reared against the bars as he +approached him, striking at the trainer with his heavy paws, while the +others slunk into the opposite corner. The man's head was but half a +foot now from the lion's; he menaced the beast with the little +riding-whip; he almost, but did not quite strike him on the tip of his +black nose that worked convulsively in rage. Then the lion dropped +awkwardly, with a short growl, to his forelegs, and slunk, with the +rest, into the corner. The Signore turned and bowed. It was the little +riding-whip they feared, for they had never gauged its sting. Not the +heavy iron bar within reach of his hand, whose force they knew. The vast +audience breathed easier. + +"An ugly lot," I said, turning to our friend the manager, who had taken +his seat beside me. + +"Yes," he mused, peering at the stage with his keen gray eyes; "green +stock, but a swell act, eh? Wait for the grand finale. I've got a +girl here who comes on and does art poses among the lions; she's a +dream--French, too!" + +A girl of perhaps twenty, enveloped in a bath gown, now appeared at the +wings. The next instant the huge theater became dark, and she stood in +full fleshings, in the center of the cage, brilliant in the rays of a +powerful limelight, while the lions circled about her at the command of +the trainer. + +"Ain't she a peach?" said the manager, enthusiastically. + +"Yes," said I, "she is. Has she been in the cages long?" I asked. + +[Illustration: (portrait of woman)] + +"No, she never worked with the cats before," he said; "she's new to the +show business; she said her folks live in Nantes. She worked here in a +chocolate factory until she saw my 'ad' last week and joined my show. We +gave her a rehearsal Monday and we put her on the bill next night. She's +a good looker with plenty of grit, and is a winner with the bunch in +front." + +"How did you get her to take the job?" I said. + +"Well," he replied, "she balked at the act at first, but I showed her +two violet notes from a couple of swell fairies who wanted the job, and +after that she signed for six weeks." + +"Who wrote the notes?" I said, queryingly. + +"I wrote 'em!" he exclaimed dryly, and he bit the corner of his stubby +mustache and smiled. "This is the last act in the olio, so you will have +to excuse me. So long!" and he disappeared in the gloom. + + * * * * * + +There are streets and boulevards in the Quarter, sections of which are +alive with the passing throng and the traffic of carts and omnibuses. +Then one will come to a long stretch of massive buildings, public +institutions, silent as convents--their interminable walls flanking +garden or court. + +The Boulevard St. Germain is just such a highway until it crosses the +Boulevard St. Michel--the liveliest roadway of the Quarter. Then it +seems to become suddenly inoculated with its bustle and life, and from +there on is crowded with bourgeoise and animated with the commerce of +market and shop. + +An Englishman once was so fired with a desire to see the gay life of the +Latin Quarter that he rented a suite of rooms on this same Boulevard St. +Germain at about the middle of this long, quiet stretch. Here he stayed +a fortnight, expecting daily to see from his "chambers" the gaiety of a +Bohemia of which he had so often heard. At the end of his disappointing +sojourn, he returned to London, firmly convinced that the gay life of +the Latin Quarter was a myth. It was to him. + +[Illustration: (crowded street market)] + +But the man from Denver, the "Steel King," and the two thinner +gentlemen with the louis-lined waistcoats who accompanied him and whom +Fortune had awakened in the far West one morning and had led them to +"The Great Red Star copper mine"--a find which had ever since been a +source of endless amusement to them--discovered the Quarter before they +had been in Paris a day, and found it, too, "the best ever," as they +expressed it. + +They did not remain long in Paris, this rare crowd of seasoned genials, +for it was their first trip abroad and they had to see Switzerland and +Vienna, and the Rhine; but while they stayed they had a good time Every +Minute. + +The man from Denver and the Steel King sat at one of the small tables, +leaning over the railing at the "Bal Bullier," gazing at the sea of +dancers. + +"Billy," said the man from Denver to the Steel King, "if they had this +in Chicago they'd tear out the posts inside of fifteen minutes"--he +wiped the perspiration from his broad forehead and pushed his +twenty-dollar Panama on the back of his head. + +"Ain't it a sight!" he mused, clinching the butt of his perfecto between +his teeth. "Say!--say! it beats all I ever see," and he chuckled to +himself, his round, genial face, with its double chin, wreathed in +smiles. + +"Say, George!" he called to one of the 'copper twins,' "did you get on +to that little one in black that just went by--well! well!! well!!! In a +minute!!" + +Already the pile of saucers on their table reached a foot high--a record +of refreshments for every Yvonne and Marcelle that had stopped in +passing. Two girls approach. + +"Certainly, sit right down," cried the Steel King. "Here, Jack,"--this +to the aged garcon, "smoke up! and ask the ladies what they'll +have"--all of which was unintelligible to the two little Parisiennes and +the garcon, but quite clear in meaning to all three. + +"Dis donc, garcon!" interrupted the taller of the two girls, "un cafe +glace pour moi." + +"Et moi," answered her companion gayly, "Je prends une limonade!" + +"Here! Hold on!" thundered good-humoredly the man from Denver; "git 'em +a good drink. Rye, garsong! yes, that's it--whiskey--I see you're on, +and two. Deux!" he explains, holding up two fat fingers, "all straight, +friend--two whiskeys with seltzer on the side--see? Now go roll your +hoop and git back with 'em." + +"Oh, non, monsieur!" cried the two Parisiennes in one breath; "whiskey! +jamais! ca pique et c'est trop fort." + +At this juncture the flower woman arrived with a basketful of red roses. + +"Voulez-vous des fleurs, messieurs et mesdames?" she asked politely. + +"Certainly," cried the Steel King; "here, Maud and Mamie, take the lot," +and he handed the two girls the entire contents of the basket. The +taller buried her face for a moment in the red Jaqueminots and drank in +their fragrance. When she looked up, two big tears trickled down to the +corners of her pretty mouth. In a moment more she was smiling! The +smaller girl gave a little cry of delight and shook her roses above her +head as three other girls passed. Ten minutes later the two possessed +but a single rose apiece--they had generously given all the rest away. + +[Illustration: (portrait of woman)] + +The "copper twins" had been oblivious of all this. They had been hanging +over the low balustrade, engaged in a heart-to-heart talk with two +pretty Quartier brunettes. It seemed to be really a case of love at +first sight, carried on somewhat under difficulties, for the "copper +twins" could not speak a word of French, and the English of the two chic +brunettes was limited to "Oh, yes!" "Vary well!" "Good morning," "Good +evening," and "I love you." The four held hands over the low railing, +until the "copper twins" fairly steamed in talk; warmed by the sun of +gaiety and wet by several rounds of Highland dew, they grew sad and +earnest, and got up and stepped all over the Steel King and the man from +Denver, and the two Parisiennes' daintily slippered feet, in squeezing +out past the group of round tables back of the balustrade, and down on +to the polished floor--where they are speedily lost to view in the maze +of dancers, gliding into the whirl with the two brunettes. When the +waltz is over they stroll out with them into the garden, and order wine, +and talk of changing their steamer date. + +The good American, with his spotless collar and his well-cut clothes, +with his frankness and whole-souled generosity, is a study to the modern +grisette. He seems strangely attractive to her, in contrast with a +certain type of Frenchman, that is selfish, unfaithful, and mean--that +jealousy makes uncompanionable and sometimes cruel. She will tell you +that these pale, black-eyed, and black-bearded boulevardiers are all +alike--lazy and selfish; so unlike many of the sterling, good fellows of +the Quarter--Frenchmen of a different stamp, and there are many of +these--rare, good Bohemians, with hearts and natures as big as all +out-doors--"bons garcons," which is only another way of saying +"gentlemen." + +As you tramp along back to your quarters some rainy night you find many +of the streets leading from the boulevards silent and badly lighted, +except for some flickering lantern on the corner of a long block which +sends the shadows scurrying across your path. You pass a student perhaps +and a girl, hurrying home--a fiacre for a short distance is a luxury in +the Quarter. Now you hear the click-clock of an approaching cab, the +cocher half asleep on his box. The hood of the fiacre is up, sheltering +the two inside from the rain. As the voiture rumbles by near a +street-light, you catch a glimpse of a pink silk petticoat within and a +pair of dainty, white kid shoes--and the glint of an officer's sword. + +Farther on, you pass a silent gendarme muffled in his night cloak; a few +doors farther on in a small cafe, a bourgeois couple, who have arrived +on a late train no doubt to spend a month with relatives in Paris, are +having a warming tipple before proceeding farther in the drizzling rain. +They have, of course, invited the cocher to drink with them. They have +brought all their pets and nearly all their household goods--two dogs, +three bird-cages, their tiny occupants protected from the damp air by +several folds of newspaper; a cat in a stout paper box with air holes, +and two trunks, well tied with rope. + +[Illustration: (street market)] + +"Ah, yes, it has been a long journey!" sighs the wife. Her husband +corroborates her, as they explain to the patronne of the cafe and to the +cocher that they left their village at midday. Anything over two hours +on the chemin-de-fer is considered a journey by these good French +people! + +As you continue on to your studio, you catch a glimpse of the lights of +the Boulevard Montparnasse. Next a cab with a green light rattles by; +then a ponderous two-wheeled cart lumbers along, piled high with red +carrots as neatly arranged as cigars in a box--the driver asleep on his +seat near his swinging lantern--and the big Normandy horses taking the +way. It is late, for these carts are on their route to the early morning +market--one of the great Halles. The tired waiters are putting up the +shutters of the smaller cafes and stacking up the chairs. Now a cock +crows lustily in some neighboring yard; the majority at least of the +Latin Quarter has turned in for the night. A moment later you reach your +gate, feel instinctively for your matches. In the darkness of the court +a friendly cat rubs her head contentedly against your leg. It is the +yellow one that sleeps in the furniture factory, and you pick her up and +carry her to your studio, where, a moment later, she is crunching +gratefully the remnant of the beau maquereau left from your +dejeuner--for charity begins at home. + + + + +CHAPTER X + +EXILED + + +Scores of men, celebrated in art and in literature, have, for a longer +or shorter period of their lives, been bohemians of the Latin Quarter. +And yet these years spent in cafes and in studios have not turned them +out into the world a devil-me-care lot of dreamers. They have all +marched and sung along the "Boul' Miche"; danced at the "Bullier"; +starved, struggled, and lived in the romance of its life. It has all +been a part of their education, and a very important part too, in the +development of their several geniuses, a development which in later life +has placed them at the head of their professions. These years of +camaraderie--of a life free from all conventionalities, in daily touch +with everything about them, and untrammeled by public censure or the +petty views of prudish or narrow minds, have left them free to cut a +straight swath merrily toward the goal of their ideals, surrounded all +the while by an atmosphere of art and good-fellowship that permeates the +very air they breathe. + +If a man can work at all, he can work here, for between the +working-hours he finds a life so charming, that once having lived +it he returns to it again and again, as to an old love. + +How many are the romances of this student Quarter! How many hearts have +been broken or made glad! How many brave spirits have suffered and +worked on and suffered again, and at last won fame! How many have +failed! We who come with a fresh eye know nothing of all that has passed +within these quaint streets--only those who have lived in and through it +know its full story. + +[Illustration: THE MUSEE CLUNY] + +Pochard has seen it; so has the little old woman who once danced at the +opera; so have old Bibi La Puree, and Alphonse, the gray-haired garcon, +and Mere Gaillard, the flower-woman. They have seen the gay boulevards +and the cafes and generations of grisettes, from the true grisette of +years gone by, in her dainty white cap and simple dress turned low at +the throat, to the tailor-made grisette of to-day. + +Yet the eyes of the little old woman still dance; they have not grown +tired of this ever-changing kaleidoscope of human nature, this paradise +of the free, where many would rather struggle on half starved than live +a life of luxury elsewhere. + +And the students are equally quixotic. I knew one once who lived in an +air-castle of his own building--a tall, serious fellow, a sculptor, who +always went tramping about in a robe resembling a monk's cowl, with his +bare feet incased in coarse sandals; only his art redeemed these +eccentricities, for he produced in steel and ivory the most exquisite +statuettes. One at the Salon was the sensation of the day--a knight in +full armor, scarcely half a foot in height, holding in his arms a nymph +in flesh-tinted ivory, whose gentle face, upturned, gazed sweetly into +the stern features behind the uplifted vizor; and all so exquisitely +carved, so alive, so human, that one could almost feel the tender heart +of this fair lady beating against the cold steel breastplate. + +Another "bon garcon"--a painter whose enthusiasm for his art knew no +bounds--craved to produce a masterpiece. This dreamer could be seen +daily ferreting around the Quarter for a studio always bigger than the +one he had. At last he found one that exactly fitted the requirements of +his vivid imagination--a studio with a ceiling thirty feet high, with +windows like the scenic ones next to the stage entrances of the +theaters. Here at last he could give full play to his brush--no subject +seemed too big for him to tackle; he would move in a canvas as big as a +back flat to a third act, and commence on a "Fall of Babylon" or a +"Carnage of Rome" with a nerve that was sublime! The choking dust of the +arena--the insatiable fury of the tigers--the cowering of hundreds of +unfortunate captives--and the cruel multitude above, seated in the vast +circle of the hippodrome--all these did not daunt his zeal. + +Once he persuaded a venerable old abbe to pose for his portrait. The +old gentleman came patiently to his studio and posed for ten days, at +the end of which time the abbe gazed at the result and said things which +I dare not repeat--for our enthusiast had so far only painted his +clothes; the face was still in its primary drawing. + +"The face I shall do in time," the enthusiast assured the reverend man +excitedly; "it is the effect of the rich color of your robe I wished to +get. And may I ask your holiness to be patient a day longer while I put +in your boots?" + +"No, sir!" thundered the irate abbe. "Does monsieur think I am not a +very busy man?" + +Then softening a little, he said, with a smile: + +"I won't come any more, my friend. I'll send my boots around to-morrow +by my boy." + +But the longest red-letter day has its ending, and time and tide beckon +one with the brutality of an impatient jailer. + +On my studio table is a well-stuffed envelope containing the documents +relative to my impending exile--a stamped card of my identification, +bearing the number of my cell, a plan of the slave-ship, and six red +tags for my baggage. + +The three pretty daughters of old Pere Valois know of my approaching +departure, and say cheering things to me as I pass the concierge's +window. + +Pere Valois stands at the gate and stops me with: "Is it true, monsieur, +you are going Saturday?" + +"Yes," I answer; "unfortunately, it is quite true." + +The old man sighs and replies: "I once had to leave Paris myself"; +looking at me as if he were speaking to an old resident. "My regiment +was ordered to the colonies. It was hard, monsieur, but I did my duty." + +The morning of my sailing has arrived. The patron of the tobacco-shop, +and madame his good wife, and the wine merchant, and the baker along the +little street with its cobblestone-bed, have all wished me "bon voyage," +accompanied with many handshakings. It is getting late and Pere Valois +has gone to hunt for a cab--a "galerie," as it is called, with a place +for trunks on top. Twenty minutes go by, but no "galerie" is in sight. +The three daughters of Pere Valois run in different directions to find +one, while I throw the remaining odds and ends in the studio into my +valise. At last there is a sound of grating wheels below on the gravel +court. The "galerie" has arrived--with the smallest of the three +daughters inside, all out of breath from her run and terribly excited. +There are the trunks and the valises and the bicycle in its crate to get +down. Two soldiers, who have been calling on two of the daughters, come +up to the studio and kindly offer their assistance. There is no time to +lose, and in single file the procession starts down the atelier stairs, +headed by Pere Valois, who has just returned from his fruitless search +considerably winded, and the three girls, the two red-trousered soldiers +and myself tugging away at the rest of the baggage. + +It is not often one departs with the assistance of three pretty femmes +de menage, a jolly old concierge, and a portion of the army of the +French Republic. With many suggestions from my good friends and an +assuring wave of the hand from the aged cocher, my luggage is roped and +chained to the top of the rickety, little old cab, which sways and +squeaks with the sudden weight, while the poor, small horse, upon whom +has been devolved the task of making the 11.35 train, Gare St. Lazare, +changes his position wearily from one leg to the other. He is evidently +thinking out the distance, and has decided upon his gait. + +"Bon voyage!" cry the three girls and Pere Valois and the two soldiers, +as the last trunk is chained on. + +The dingy vehicle groans its way slowly out of the court. Just as it +reaches the last gate it stops. + +"What's the matter?" I ask, poking my head out of the window. + +"Monsieur," says the aged cocher, "it is an impossibility! I regret very +much to say that your bicycle will not pass through the gate." + +A dozen heads in the windows above offer suggestions. I climb out and +take a look; there are at least four inches to spare on either side in +passing through the iron posts. + +"Ah!" cries my cocher enthusiastically, "monsieur is right, happily for +us!" + +He cracks his whip, the little horse gathers itself together--a moment +of careful driving and we are through and into the street and rumbling +away, amid cheers from the windows above. As I glance over my traps, I +see a small bunch of roses tucked in the corner of my roll of rugs with +an engraved card attached. "From Mademoiselle Ernestine Valois," it +reads, and on the other side is written, in a small, fine hand, "Bon +voyage." + +I look back to bow my acknowledgment, but it is too late; we have turned +the corner and the rue Vaugirard is but a memory! + + * * * * * + +But why go on telling you of what the little shops contain--how narrow +and picturesque are the small streets--how gay the boulevards--what they +do at the "Bullier"--or where they dine? It is Love that moves Paris--it +is the motive power of this big, beautiful, polished city--the love of +adventure, the love of intrigue, the love of being a bohemian if you +will--but it is Love all the same! + +"I work for love," hums the little couturiere. + +"I work for love," cries the miller of Marcel Legay. + +"I live for love," sings the poet. + +"For the love of art I am a painter," sighs Edmond, in his atelier--"and +for her!" + +"For the love of it I mold and model and create," chants the +sculptor--"and for her!" + +It is the Woman who dominates Paris--"Les petites femmes!" who have +inspired its art through the skill of these artisans. + +"Monsieur! monsieur! Please buy this fisherman doll!" cries a poor old +woman outside of your train compartment, as you are leaving Havre for +Paris. + +"Monsieur!" screams a girl, running near the open window with a little +fishergirl doll uplifted. + +"What, you don't want it? You have bought one? Ah! I see," cries the +pretty vendor; "but it is a boy doll--he will be sad if he goes to +Paris without a companion!" + +Take all the little fishergirls away from Paris--from the Quartier +Latin--and you would find chaos and a morgue! + +L'amour! that is it--L'amour!--L'amour!--L'amour! + +[Illustration: (burning candle)] + + + + + TRANSCRIBER'S AMENDMENTS: + + Page 25: dejeuner amended to dejeuner. + Page 25: Saints-Peres amended to Saints-Peres. + Page 36: aperatif amended to aperitif. + Page 37: boite amended to boite. + Page 51 & 63: Celeste amended to Celeste. + Page 52: gayety amended to gaiety. + Page 57: a a amended to a. + Page 60: glace amended to glace. + Page 64: Quatz amended to Quat'z'. + Page 67: Pres amended to Pres. + Page 78: sufficently amended to sufficiently. + Page 161: Artz amended to Arts. + Page 196: MUSEE amended to MUSEE. + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Real Latin Quarter, by F. Berkeley Smith + *** \ No newline at end of file