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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Real Latin Quarter, by F. Berkeley Smith
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Real Latin Quarter
+
+Author: F. Berkeley Smith
+
+Illustrator: F. Berkeley Smith
+             F. Hopkinson Smith
+
+Release Date: January 20, 2010 [EBook #30981]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE REAL LATIN QUARTER ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by René Anderson Benitz, Suzanne Shell and the
+Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://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 Déjeuner 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 Falguière"--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 Falguière.
+"Yes, rue Falguière, 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° 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 Falguière 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 Panthéon; near the cafés 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
+cafés, 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 ménus. In the latter the maître d'hôtel 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 garçon 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
+déjeuner. Should you breakfast in your studio and do your own
+marketing, you will meet with enough politeness in the buying of a paté,
+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 café 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
+"première qualité." 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 Levéque, 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 patés 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. "Voilà 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 café around the corner I find an excellent place for café 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 garçon 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 cafés.
+
+[Illustration: (woman carrying shopping box)]
+
+"Qu'est-ce que tu veux, ma pauvre Mimi?" condoles Céleste, 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 Céleste 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 déjeuner, 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-Pères 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 ragoût 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 déjeuner 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 cafés to enjoy their apéritifs 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 cafés, 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 café
+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 café. 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
+mégots"; it is his profession.
+
+[Illustration: TERRACE TAVERNE DU PANTHÉON]
+
+One finds every type of restaurant, tavern, and café 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 clientèle 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 cafés, 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 Panthéon. This is the most brilliant café 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 Panthéon.
+
+[Illustration: (view of Panthéon from Luxembourg gate)]
+
+It is 6 P.M. and the terrace, four rows deep with little round tables,
+is rapidly filling. The white-aproned garçons are hurrying about or
+squeezing past your table, as they take the various orders.
+
+"Un demi! un!" shouts the garçon.
+
+"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 apéritifs, 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 cafés. The
+garçon 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 apéritif, 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)]
+
+Céleste would say to Henriette:
+
+"Regarde ça, Henriette! est-il drôle, ce sauvage?"
+
+And Henriette would reply quite assuringly:
+
+"Eh bien quoi! c'est pas si extraordinaire, il est peut-être de
+Madagascar; il y en a beaucoup à 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 garçon de café. 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
+"boîte," 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 Père
+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 à 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 onduléd; 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 Panthéon 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 écrivisse boiled scarlet; an acrobat tumbles on the
+pavement, and two men and a girl, as a marine, a soldier, and a
+vivandière, in silvered faces and suits, pose in melodramatic attitudes.
+The vivandière 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 Panthéon 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 cafés 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 Céleste, 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 Dorée 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 Elysées 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 matinée 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 matinée, 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 cafés, 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
+clientèle 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 habitués 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 fête" 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 Panthéon 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 façade of this famous ball, illumined by a
+sizzling blue electric light over the entrance.
+
+The façade, 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 glacé."
+
+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 Céleste 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 Français" 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 Café 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 café 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 Prés, 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: ÉCOLE DES BEAUX ARTS]
+
+With these and the police and the Garde Républicaine 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 Panthéon
+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 écrivisse. 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 cortéges, 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 fête
+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 scène 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 cortéges. 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 cortége 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 Café des deux Magots, followed by a
+crowd of people, who, when it reached the café, 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 cafés near the Odéon, 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 Odéon is reached. Here the odd
+procession disbands; some go to their favorite cafés 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 café
+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 déjeuner
+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 "Voilà, 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 DÉJEUNER]
+
+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 Odéon, 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 Café 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 garçon, 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 garçon" 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 DÉJEUNER AT LAVENUE'S"
+
+
+If you should chance to breakfast at "Lavenue's," or, as it is called,
+the "Hôtel 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
+clientèle.
+
+[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 garçon" 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 Falguière--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 café, 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. Pères, 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 célèbres? C'est toujours comme ça, 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 garçon; 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 façade 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 cafés, 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 cafés, and just
+opposite the "Bal Bullier," on the Place de l'Observatoire. The terrace
+is crowded with its habitués, 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 café, 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 café and restaurant de la Rotonde, a very
+well-built looking place, with its rounding façade 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 Père 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
+Père Valois--all the morning you will see these little "femmes de
+ménage" 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 Père Valois.
+
+[Illustration: VOILÀ LA BELLE ROSE, MADAME!]
+
+There is no gossip within the quarter that your "femme de ménage" 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 ménage of
+Monsieur Valentin, got it from Céleste Dauphine yesterday in the café 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 Panthéon, with the fellow whose studio is opposite yours.
+
+[Illustration: A BUSY MORNING]
+
+Alice Lemaître, however, was a far different type of femme de ménage
+than any of the gossiping daughters of old Père 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 ménage 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 ménage, 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 ça."
+
+
+
+
+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 pièce de résistance--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 République
+Française--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 habitués 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 café 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 portières 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 confrères
+in the anteroom.
+
+Such "poet-singers" as Paul Delmet and Dominique Bonnaud have made the
+"Grillon" a success; and others like Numa Blés, 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 cafés 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 café 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
+là-bas--and monsieur was well amused while in that beautiful
+country?" "ah!--tiens! c'est gentil ça!" 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 blasé 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 café 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 siècle! 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, Thérèse, 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 Voilà! our déjeuner in Paris and our
+dinner where we will."
+
+Thérèse 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 Thérèse 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 Panthéon 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 café--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 cafés,
+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 cafés. 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 café 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 cafés, 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 ouvrières 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 Céleste 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 couturière 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 garçon 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 'boîte,' 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 cafés, 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 déjeuner, 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: FRÉMIET]
+
+"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'étais toujours, toujours
+triste là! 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 séance.
+
+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 métier!
+
+
+
+
+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 cafés.
+
+The girl in the blue tailor-made dress, with the little dog, who you
+remember dined the night before at the Panthéon, 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 bête,
+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 musée 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 passé 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 "Théâtre 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 République
+Française.
+
+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
+fiancée--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
+habitués 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 boîte 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 fêtes are far different from the great fête 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 à 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 garçon, "smoke up! and ask the ladies what they'll
+have"--all of which was unintelligible to the two little Parisiennes and
+the garçon, but quite clear in meaning to all three.
+
+"Dis donc, garçon!" interrupted the taller of the two girls, "un café
+glacé 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! ça 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 garçons," 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 café, 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 café 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 cafés 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
+déjeuner--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 cafés 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 MUSÉE CLUNY]
+
+Pochard has seen it; so has the little old woman who once danced at the
+opera; so have old Bibi La Purée, and Alphonse, the gray-haired garçon,
+and Mère Gaillard, the flower-woman. They have seen the gay boulevards
+and the cafés 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 garçon"--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 abbé 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 abbé 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 abbé. "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 Père Valois know of my approaching
+departure, and say cheering things to me as I pass the concierge's
+window.
+
+Père 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 Père 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 Père 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 Père 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 ménage, 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 Père 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 couturière.
+
+"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: déjeûner amended to déjeuner.
+  Page 25: Saints-Péres amended to Saints-Pères.
+  Page 36: apératif amended to apéritif.
+  Page 37: boite amended to boîte.
+  Page 51 & 63: Celeste amended to Céleste.
+  Page 52: gayety amended to gaiety.
+  Page 57: a a amended to a.
+  Page 60: glaçé amended to glacé.
+  Page 64: Quatz amended to Quat'z'.
+  Page 67: Près amended to Prés.
+  Page 78: sufficently amended to sufficiently.
+  Page 161: Artz amended to Arts.
+  Page 196: MUSEE amended to MUSÉE.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's The Real Latin Quarter, by F. Berkeley Smith
+
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+      The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Real Latin Quarter, by F. Berkeley Smith.
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+<pre>
+
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Real Latin Quarter, by F. Berkeley Smith
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Real Latin Quarter
+
+Author: F. Berkeley Smith
+
+Illustrator: F. Berkeley Smith
+             F. Hopkinson Smith
+
+Release Date: January 20, 2010 [EBook #30981]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE REAL LATIN QUARTER ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by René Anderson Benitz, Suzanne Shell and the
+Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+
+<div>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+<img src="images/image001.jpg" width="362" height="450" alt="THE REAL LATIN QUARTER Book Cover" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<br /><br /><br />
+<div class="tranotes"><p><span class="smcap">Transcriber&rsquo;s Note</span>: 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
+underlined in the text: original text appears in a
+mouse hoverbox over each amended typo, like <span
+title=" thsi " class="hoverbox">this</span>. Some
+illustrations have been relocated for better flow,
+causing some page numbers to be removed. Other
+missing page numbers are due to blank pages being
+removed.</p>
+</div>
+<br /><br /><br />
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+<img src="images/image002.jpg" width="283" height="450" alt="THE REAL LATIN QUARTER" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<br />
+<hr class="dshd" />
+<br />
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 660px;">
+<img src="images/image003.jpg" width="660" height="398" alt="" title="" />
+<span class="caption">IN THE GARDENS OF THE LUXEMBOURG<br />
+<span class="smfont"><i>WATER COLOR DRAWING BY</i></span><br />
+F. HOPKINSON SMITH<br />
+<span class="smfont">PARIS, 1901</span></span>
+</div>
+
+<br /><br />
+<hr class="dshd" />
+<br /><br />
+
+<h1 class="wdltrs serfont">THE REAL<br />
+LATIN QUARTER<br /></h1>
+<br />
+<h3 class="wdltrs">By F. BERKELEY SMITH</h3>
+<br />
+<div class="figcenter">
+<img src="images/image004.jpg" width="140" height="200" alt="(portrait of woman)" title="" />
+</div>
+<br />
+
+<div class="center">
+<div class="smfont wdltrs">WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY THE AUTHOR<br />
+INTRODUCTION AND FRONTISPIECE BY<br />
+<table class="img" summary="name">
+  <tr>
+    <td align="left"><img src="images/image007.jpg" width="30" height="22" alt="" title="" /></td>
+    <td>&nbsp;&nbsp;F. HOPKINSON SMITH&nbsp;&nbsp;</td>
+    <td align="right"><img src="images/image007.jpg" width="30" height="22" alt="" title="" /></td>
+  </tr>
+</table>
+</div>
+<br />
+FUNK &amp; WAGNALLS COMPANY
+<br />
+<span class="smfont">NEW YORK <span class="lgfont">&middot;</span> NINETEEN HUNDRED AND ONE</span>
+</div>
+
+<br /><br />
+<hr class="dshd" />
+<br /><br />
+
+<p class="right smfont">Copyright, 1901<br />
+by<br />
+Funk &amp; Wagnalls<br />
+Company<br />
+<br />
+Registered<br />
+at<br />
+Stationers&rsquo;<br />
+Hall<br />
+London, England<br />
+<br />
+Printed in the<br />
+United States of America<br />
+<br />
+Published in<br />
+November, 1901<br />
+</p>
+
+<hr class="dshd" />
+
+<div class="figright" style="width: 200px;">
+<img src="images/image005.jpg" width="200" height="165" alt="(teapot with cup)" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class="center clearrt">
+<table class="toc" border="0" cellpadding="2" width="65%" cellspacing="0" summary="CONTENTS">
+  <tr><th align="center" colspan="3" class="toctitle" >CONTENTS</th></tr>
+  <tr><td>&nbsp;</td>
+      <td>&nbsp;</td>
+      <td align="right" class="smfont">Page&nbsp;&nbsp;</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr><td align="left" colspan="2">&nbsp;&nbsp;<a name="INTRO" id="INTRO" href="#Page_7">Introduction</a></td>
+      <td align="right">7&nbsp;&nbsp;</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr><td align="right" class="smfont">Chapter</td>
+      <td>&nbsp;</td>
+      <td>&nbsp;</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr><td align="right"><a href="#Page_11">I.</a></td>
+      <td align="left"><a name="TOC1" id="TOC1" href="#Page_11">In the Rue Vaugirard</a></td>
+      <td align="right">11&nbsp;&nbsp;</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr><td align="right"><a href="#Page_29">II.</a></td>
+      <td align="left"><a name="TOC2" id="TOC2" href="#Page_29">The Boulevard St. Michel</a></td>
+      <td align="right">29&nbsp;&nbsp;</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr><td align="right"><a href="#Page_52">III.</a></td>
+      <td align="left"><a name="TOC3" id="TOC3" href="#Page_52">The &ldquo;Bal Bullier&rdquo;</a></td>
+      <td align="right">52&nbsp;&nbsp;</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr><td align="right"><a href="#Page_70">IV.</a></td>
+      <td align="left"><a name="TOC4" id="TOC4" href="#Page_70">Bal des Quat&rsquo;z&rsquo; Arts</a></td>
+      <td align="right">70&nbsp;&nbsp;</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr><td align="right"><a href="#Page_93">V.</a></td>
+      <td align="left"><a name="TOC5" id="TOC5" href="#Page_93">&ldquo;A D&eacute;jeuner at Lavenue&rsquo;s&rdquo;</a></td>
+      <td align="right">93&nbsp;&nbsp;</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr><td align="right"><a href="#Page_113">VI.</a></td>
+      <td align="left"><a name="TOC6" id="TOC6" href="#Page_113">&ldquo;At Marcel Legay&rsquo;s&rdquo;</a></td>
+      <td align="right">113&nbsp;&nbsp;</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr><td align="right"><a href="#Page_129">VII.</a></td>
+      <td align="left"><a name="TOC7" id="TOC7" href="#Page_129">&ldquo;Pochard&rdquo;</a></td>
+      <td align="right">129&nbsp;&nbsp;</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr><td align="right"><a href="#Page_151">VIII.</a></td>
+      <td align="left"><a name="TOC8" id="TOC8" href="#Page_151">The Luxembourg Gardens</a></td>
+      <td align="right">151&nbsp;&nbsp;</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr><td align="right"><a href="#Page_173">IX.</a></td>
+      <td align="left"><a name="TOC9" id="TOC9" href="#Page_173">&ldquo;The Ragged Edge of the Quarter&rdquo;</a></td>
+      <td align="right">173&nbsp;&nbsp;</td>
+  </tr>
+  <tr><td align="right"><a href="#Page_194">X.</a></td>
+      <td align="left"><a name="TOC10" id="TOC10" href="#Page_194">Exiled</a></td>
+      <td align="right">194&nbsp;&nbsp;</td>
+  </tr>
+</table>
+</div>
+
+<div class="figleft" style="width: 600px;">
+<img src="images/image006.jpg" width="600" height="351" alt="(wine bottles with glass)" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<hr class="dshd" />
+
+<p class="clearlft"><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">- 7 -</a></span></p>
+<br />
+<h2><a name="INTRODUCTION" id="INTRODUCTION" href="#INTRO">
+<span title=" Return to CONTENTS. " class="hoverlink">INTRODUCTION</span></a></h2>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+<img src="images/image007.jpg" width="30" height="22" alt="" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Cocher, drive to the rue Falgui&egrave;re&rdquo;&mdash;this
+in my best restaurant French.</p>
+
+<p>The man with the varnished hat shrugged
+his shoulders, and raised his eyebrows in
+doubt. He evidently had never heard of
+the rue Falgui&egrave;re. &ldquo;Yes, rue Falgui&egrave;re,
+the old rue des Fourneaux,&rdquo; I continued.</p>
+
+<p>Cabby&rsquo;s face broke out into a smile. &ldquo;Ah,
+oui, oui, le Quartier Latin.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>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&mdash;his visiting
+card impaled on a tack. He was in his shirt-sleeves&mdash;the
+thermometer stood at 90&deg; outside&mdash;working
+at his desk, surrounded by
+half-finished sketches and manuscript.</p>
+
+<p>The man himself I had met before&mdash;I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">- 8 -</a></span>
+had known him for years, in fact&mdash;but the
+surroundings were new to me. So too were
+his methods of work.</p>
+
+<p>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
+Falgui&egrave;re 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&rsquo;s throw of the
+Luxembourg Gardens and the Panth&eacute;on;
+near the caf&eacute;s 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.</p>
+
+<p>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<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">- 9 -</a></span>
+positive opinions regarding the quality
+which comes of it.</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>Nothing can be made really <i>real</i> without
+it.</p>
+
+<p>
+<span class="smcap rightfloat">F. Hopkinson Smith.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</span><br />
+<span class="smfont">&nbsp;&nbsp;Paris, August, 1901.</span><br /></p>
+
+<br /><br /><br /><br />
+
+<!--[blank page]<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">- 10 -</a></span></p>-->
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">- 11 -</a></span></p>
+<br />
+
+<div>
+<img class="figleft" src="images/image008a.jpg" width="620" height="300" alt="(city rooftop scene)" title="" />
+<img class="figleft" src="images/image008b.jpg" width="294" height="212" alt="" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<h2 class="chptrimg"><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I" href="#TOC1">
+<span title=" Return to CONTENTS. " class="hoverlink">CHAPTER I</span></a></h2>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+<img src="images/image007.jpg" width="30" height="22" alt="" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<h3 class="chptrimg">IN THE RUE VAUGIRARD</h3>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+<img src="images/image007.jpg" width="30" height="22" alt="" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<p>Like a dry brook,
+its cobblestone bed zigzagging past quaint
+shops and caf&eacute;s, the rue Vaugirard finds its
+way through the heart of the Latin Quarter.</p>
+
+<p>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 &ldquo;Lavoir Gabriel,&rdquo; 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&mdash;and as my studio windows<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">- 12 -</a></span>
+(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&mdash;which
+are never sold) overlook both alley
+and court, I can see the life and bustle below.</p>
+
+<div class="figright" style="width: 278px;">
+<img src="images/image009.jpg" width="278" height="375" alt="" title="" />
+<span class="caption">LAVOIR GABRIEL<br /><br /></span>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="nowrap">This is not the Paris</span> of Boulevards,
+ablaze with light and thronged with travelers
+of the world, nor of big hotels and chic
+restaurants without prices on the m&eacute;nus.
+In the latter the ma&icirc;tre d&rsquo;h&ocirc;tel 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<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">- 13 -</a></span>
+a peach in winter at one of these
+smart taverns, and was obliged to wire
+home for money the next day.</p>
+
+<p>In the Quartier Latin the price is always
+such an important factor that it is marked
+plainly, and often the gar&ccedil;on will remind
+you of the cost of the dish you select in
+case you have not read aright, for in this
+true Bohemia one&rsquo;s daily fortune is the one
+necessity so often lacking that any error
+in regard to its expenditure is a serious
+matter.</p>
+
+<p>In one of the well-known restaurants&mdash;here
+celebrated as a rendezvous for artists&mdash;a
+waiter, as he took a certain millionaire&rsquo;s
+order for asparagus, said: &ldquo;Does monsieur
+know that asparagus costs five francs?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>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<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">- 14 -</a></span>
+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.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+<img src="images/image010.jpg" width="450" height="383" alt="(donkey cart in front of market)" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<p>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&rsquo;s or the baker&rsquo;s to buy the d&eacute;jeuner.
+Should you breakfast in your studio and do<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">- 15 -</a></span>
+your own marketing, you will meet with
+enough politeness in the buying of a pat&eacute;,
+an artichoke, and a bottle of vin ordinaire,
+to supply a court welcoming a distinguished
+guest.</p>
+
+<p>Politeness is second nature to the Parisian&mdash;it
+is the key to one&rsquo;s daily life here,
+the oil that makes this finesse of civilization
+run smoothly.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Bonjour, madame!&rdquo; says the well-to-do
+proprietor of the tobacco-shop and caf&eacute; to
+an old woman buying a sou&rsquo;s worth of snuff.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Bonjour, monsieur,&rdquo; replies the woman
+with a nod.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Merci, madame,&rdquo; continues the fat patron
+as he drops the sou into his till.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Merci, monsieur&mdash;merci!&rdquo; 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<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">- 16 -</a></span>
+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&mdash;anisette, absinthe, menthe,
+grenadine&mdash;each in zinc-stoppered bottles,
+like the ones in the barber-shops.</p>
+
+<p>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 &ldquo;The Faithful Cocher.&rdquo; 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.</p>
+
+<div class="figleft">
+<img src="images/image011.jpg" width="343" height="450" alt="(rooftop)" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<!--[image 11]<p class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">- 17 -</a></p>-->
+
+<p><span class="nowrap">The shops along the</span> rue Vaugirard are<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">- 18 -</a></span>
+marvels of neatness. The butcher-shop,
+with its red front, is iron-barred like the
+lion&rsquo;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.</p>
+
+<p>In Paris nothing is wasted. A placard
+outside the butcher&rsquo;s announces an &ldquo;Occasion&rdquo;
+consisting of a mule and a donkey,
+both of guaranteed &ldquo;premi&egrave;re
+qualit&eacute;.&rdquo; And the butcher! A thick-set,
+powerfully built fellow, with blue-black
+hair, curly like a bull&rsquo;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<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">- 19 -</a></span>
+his day&rsquo;s work, and his family to Vincennes
+on Sundays.</p>
+
+<p>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)&mdash;the hard-boiled ones are
+dyed a bright crimson. There are china
+hearts, too, filled with &ldquo;Double Cream,&rdquo;
+and cream in little brown pots; Roquefort
+cheese and Camembert, Isijny, and Pont
+Lev&eacute;que, and chopped spinach.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+<img src="images/image012.jpg" width="478" height="450" alt="(overloaded cart of baskets)" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<p>Delicatessen shops display galantines of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">- 20 -</a></span>
+chicken, the windows banked with shining
+cans of sardines and herrings from Dieppe;
+liver pat&eacute;s and creations in jelly; tiny sausages
+of doubtful stuffing, and occasional
+yellow ones like the odd fire-cracker of the
+pack.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+<img src="images/image013.jpg" width="500" height="450" alt="(women at news stand)" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<p>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<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">- 21 -</a></span>
+filled with spices.  Here, too, one can get
+an excellent light wine for eight sous the
+bottle.</p>
+
+<p>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. &ldquo;Voil&agrave; les beaux maquereaux!&rdquo;
+chants the sturdy vendor, her sabots clacking
+over the cobbles as she pushes the cart
+or stops and weighs a few sous&rsquo; worth of
+fish to a passing purchaser.</p>
+
+<p>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&mdash;an old friend on dreary mornings,
+putting the laziest riser in a good humor
+for the day. The tunes are never changed,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">- 22 -</a></span>
+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.</p>
+
+<div class="figright">
+<img src="images/image014.jpg" width="246" height="325" alt="(cat on counter)" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="nowrap">It is growing late</span> and time for one&rsquo;s
+coffee. The little tobacco-shop and caf&eacute;
+around the corner I find an excellent place
+for caf&eacute; 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 gar&ccedil;on who serves you, with
+which he is well pleased.</p>
+
+<p>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<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">- 23 -</a></span>
+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 caf&eacute;s.</p>
+
+<div class="figleft">
+<img src="images/image015.jpg" width="239" height="450" alt="(woman carrying shopping box)" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="nowrap">&ldquo;Qu&rsquo;est-ce que tu</span> veux, ma pauvre
+Mimi?&rdquo; condoles C&eacute;leste, as she approaches
+the family feline.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Mimi&rdquo; stretches her full length, extending
+and retracting her claws, rolls on her
+back, turns her big yellow eyes to C&eacute;leste
+and mews. The next moment she is picked
+up and carried back into the house like a
+stray child.</p>
+
+<p>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,
+<!--[image 15]<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">- 24 -</a></span>-->
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">- 25 -</a></span>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.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+<img src="images/image016.jpg" width="546" height="460" alt="(city house)" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<p>The Parisian takes his hour for <span
+title=" d&eacute;je&ucirc;ner " class="hoverbox">d&eacute;jeuner</span>,
+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&rsquo; caps in the rue des
+<span title=" Saints-P&eacute;res " class="hoverbox">Saints-P&egrave;res</span> 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&rsquo;s,
+her skirt held tightly to her hips, disclosing
+her small feet in low slippers. There is a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">- 26 -</a></span>
+golden rule, I believe, in the French catechism
+which says: &ldquo;It is better, child, that
+thy hair be neatly dressed than that thou
+shouldst have a whole frock.&rdquo; And so
+Louise is content. The two breakfast on
+a rago&ucirc;t and a bottle of wine while they
+talk of going on Sunday to St. Cloud for
+the day&mdash;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 d&eacute;jeuner with them. Louise will, of
+course, see to this, and Edmond will bring
+cigarettes enough for two, and the wine.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">- 27 -</a></span>
+Then, when the stars are out, they will
+take one of the &ldquo;bateaux mouches&rdquo; back
+to Paris.</p>
+
+<p>Dear Paris&mdash;the Paris of youth, of love,
+and of romance!</p>
+
+<hr class="hr33" />
+
+<p>The pulse of the Quarter begins really to
+beat at 6 <span class="smfont">P.M.</span> At this hour the streets
+are alive with throngs of workmen&mdash;after
+their day&rsquo;s work, seeking their favorite
+caf&eacute;s to enjoy their ap&eacute;ritifs with their
+comrades&mdash;and women hurrying back from
+their work, many to their homes and children,
+buying the dinner en route.</p>
+
+<p>Henriette, who sews all day at one of the
+fashionable dressmakers&rsquo; 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.</p>
+
+<p>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.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">- 28 -</a></span></p>
+
+<p>It is the hour to dine, and with this
+thought uppermost in every one&rsquo;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&mdash;the
+Boulevard St. Michel.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+<img src="images/image017.jpg" width="350" height="242" alt="(basket of flowers)" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<br /><br /><br /><br />
+<p class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">- 29 -</a></p>
+<br />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II" href="#TOC2">
+<span title=" Return to CONTENTS. " class="hoverlink">CHAPTER II</span></a></h2>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+<img src="images/image007.jpg" width="30" height="22" alt="" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<h3>THE BOULEVARD ST. MICHEL</h3>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+<img src="images/image007.jpg" width="30" height="22" alt="" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div>
+<img class="figleft" src="images/image018a.jpg" width="140" height="144" alt="F" title="" />
+<img class="figleft" src="images/image018b.jpg" width="50" height="105" alt="" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<p class="dropcap"><span class="frstltr">F</span>ROM 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,&mdash;and
+so on a level road as far as the
+Place de l&rsquo;Observatoire. Within this
+length lies the life of the &ldquo;Boul&rsquo;
+Miche.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Nearly every highway has its popular
+side, and on the &ldquo;Boul&rsquo; Miche&rdquo; it is the
+left one, coming up from the Seine. Here
+are the caf&eacute;s, and from 5 <span class="smfont">P.M.</span> until long
+past midnight, the life of the Quartier pours<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">- 30 -</a></span>
+by them&mdash;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 caf&eacute; 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<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">- 31 -</a></span>
+croupier. The butt he adds to the collection
+in his filthy pocket, and shuffles on to
+the next caf&eacute;. 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 &ldquo;marchand de
+m&eacute;gots&rdquo;; it is his profession.</p>
+
+<table class="img" border="0" cellpadding="10" summary="caption">
+  <tr>
+    <td class="caption">TERRACE<br />TAVERNE<br />DU<br />PANTH&Eacute;ON</td>
+    <td align="right"><img src="images/image019.jpg" width="438" height="450" alt="" title="" /></td>
+  </tr>
+</table>
+
+<p>One finds every type of restaurant, tavern,
+and caf&eacute; along the &ldquo;Boul&rsquo; Miche.&rdquo; 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&mdash;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.</p>
+
+<div class="figleft" style="width: 271px;">
+<img src="images/image020.jpg" width="271" height="450" alt="" title="" />
+<span class="caption">A &ldquo;TYPE&rdquo;<br /><br />
+</span>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="nowrap">All day, when the</span> sun blazes, and the
+awnings are down, sheltering those chatting
+on the terrace, the interiors of these
+brasseries appear dark and cavernous.</p>
+
+<!--[image 20]<p class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">- 32 -</a></p>-->
+
+<p>The client&egrave;le is somber too, and in keeping<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">- 33 -</a></span>
+with the place; silent poets, long haired,
+pale, and always writing; serious-minded
+lawyers, lunching alone, and fat merchants
+who eat and drink methodically.</p>
+
+<p>Then there are bizarre caf&eacute;s, like the
+d&rsquo;Harcourt, crowded at night with noisy
+women tawdry in ostrich plumes, cheap
+feather boas, and much rouge. The d&rsquo;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&mdash;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
+&ldquo;types&rdquo; wardrobe is complete.</p>
+
+<p>On the corner facing the square, and opposite
+the Luxembourg gate, is the Taverne
+du Panth&eacute;on. This is the most brilliant
+caf&eacute; 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 Panth&eacute;on.</p>
+
+<!--[image 21]<p class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">- 34 -</a></p>-->
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+<img src="images/image021.jpg" width="620" height="467" alt="(view of Panth&eacute;on from Luxembourg gate)" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<p>It is 6 <span class="smfont">P.M.</span> and the terrace, four rows
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">- 35 -</a></span>
+deep with little round tables, is rapidly filling.
+The white-aproned gar&ccedil;ons are hurrying
+about or squeezing past your table, as
+they take the various orders.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Un demi! un!&rdquo; shouts the gar&ccedil;on.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Deux pernod nature, deux!&rdquo; cries another,
+and presently the &ldquo;Omnibus&rdquo; in his
+black apron hurries to your table, holding
+between his knuckles, by their necks, half a
+dozen bottles of different ap&eacute;ritifs, for it is
+he who fills your glass.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 507px;">
+<img src="images/image022.jpg" width="507" height="450" alt="" title="" />
+<span class="caption">ALONG THE &ldquo;BOUL&rsquo; MICHE&rdquo;</span>
+</div>
+
+<p>It is the custom to do most of one&rsquo;s correspondence
+in these caf&eacute;s. The gar&ccedil;on 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<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">- 36 -</a></span>
+<span title=" ap&eacute;ratif " class="hoverbox">ap&eacute;ritif</span>,
+the place is yours as long as you
+choose to remain. No one will ask you to
+&ldquo;move on&rdquo; or pay the slightest attention
+to you.</p>
+
+<p>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&rsquo;s teeth, you would occasion a passing
+glance perhaps, but you would not be a
+sensation.</p>
+
+<div class="figright">
+<img src="images/image023.jpg" width="188" height="350" alt="(hotel sign)" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="nowrap">C&eacute;leste would say</span> to Henriette:</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Regarde &ccedil;a, Henriette! est-il dr&ocirc;le, ce
+sauvage?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>And Henriette would reply quite assuringly:</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Eh bien quoi! c&rsquo;est pas si extraordinaire,
+il est peut-&ecirc;tre de Madagascar; il y
+en a beaucoup &agrave; Paris maintenant.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>There is no phase of character, or eccentricity
+of dress, that Paris has not seen.</p>
+
+<p>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 gar&ccedil;on de caf&eacute;. The two
+sous you have given him as a pourboire, he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">- 37 -</a></span>
+is well satisfied with, and expresses his contentment
+in a &ldquo;merci, monsieur, merci,&rdquo;
+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.</p>
+
+<div class="figleft">
+<img src="images/image024.jpg" width="400" height="361" alt="(woman walking near fountain)" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="nowrap">It is difficult now</span> to find a vacant chair on the long
+terrace. A group of students are having a
+&ldquo;Pernod,&rdquo; after a long day&rsquo;s work at
+the atelier. They finish their absinthe and then, arm
+in arm, start off to Madame Poivret&rsquo;s for dinner.
+It is cheap there; besides, the little &ldquo;<span
+title=" boite " class="hoverbox">bo&icirc;te</span>,&rdquo;
+with its dingy<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">- 38 -</a></span>
+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.</p>
+
+<p>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 &ldquo;officier&rdquo; 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<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">- 39 -</a></span>
+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&mdash;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.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+<img src="images/image025.jpg" width="515" height="450" alt="(omnibus)" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<p>He is telling the others of a spot he knows
+in Normandy, where one can paint&mdash;full of
+quaint farm-houses, with thatched roofs;
+picturesque roadsides, rich in foliage; bright
+waving fields, and cool green woods, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">- 40 -</a></span>
+purling streams; quaint gardens, choked
+with lavender and roses and hollyhocks&mdash;and
+all this fair land running to the white
+sand of the beach, with the blue sea beyond.
+He will write to old P&egrave;re Jaqueline that
+they are all coming&mdash;it is just the place in
+which to pose a model &ldquo;en plein air,&rdquo;&mdash;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&mdash;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 &ldquo;Tripes &agrave; la mode de Caen,&rdquo;
+Normandy cider, and a lot of new sketches
+besides.</p>
+
+<div class="figleft">
+<img src="images/image026.jpg" width="350" height="450" alt="(shop front)" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="nowrap">Already the tables</span> within are well filled.
+The long room, with its newer annex, is as
+brilliant as a jewel box&mdash;the walls rich in
+tiled panels suggesting the life of the Quarter,
+the woodwork in gold and light oak,
+<!--[image 26]<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">- 41 -</a></span>-->
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">- 42 -</a></span>the
+big panels of the rich gold ceiling exquisitely
+painted.</p>
+
+<p>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&rsquo;Orleans. These poses in
+dress are not uncommon.</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>The woman reminds one of a red lizard&mdash;a
+salamander&mdash;her &ldquo;svelte&rdquo; body seemingly
+boneless in its gown of clinging scales.
+Her hair is purple-black and freshly ondul&eacute;d;
+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.</p>
+
+<p>She is not of the Quarter, but the Taverne
+du Panth&eacute;on is a refuge for her at
+times, when she grows tired of Paillard&rsquo;s
+and Maxim&rsquo;s and her quarreling retinue.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Let them howl on the other bank of the
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">- 43 -</a></span>
+Seine,&rdquo; says this empress of the half-world
+to herself, &ldquo;I dine with Raoul where I
+please.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>And now one glittering, red arm with its
+small, heavily-jeweled hand glides toward
+Raoul&rsquo;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.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 590px;">
+<img src="images/image027.jpg" width="590" height="450" alt="" title="" />
+<span class="caption">ALONG THE SEINE</span>
+</div>
+
+<p>Her companion watches her as she
+smokes and talks&mdash;now and then he leans
+closer to her, squaring his broad shoulders
+and bending lower his strong, determined
+face, as he listens to her,&mdash;half-amused,
+replying to her questions leisurely, in short,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">- 44 -</a></span>
+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&mdash;who once held a garrison
+with a handful of men&mdash;he does not tremble!
+she loves him for his devil-me-care
+indifference&mdash;and he enjoys her temper.</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Poor fool! he shot himself the next
+day,&rdquo; mused the salamander.</p>
+
+<p>Yes, and even the adamant old banker in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">- 45 -</a></span>
+Paris, crabbed, stern, unrelenting to his
+debtors&mdash;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.</p>
+
+<hr class="hr33" />
+
+<p>As it grows late, the taverne becomes
+more and more animated.</p>
+
+<p>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 &ldquo;blague,&rdquo; and have
+such an innate dislike of sympathy or ridicule<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">- 46 -</a></span>
+that they avoid it by turning everything
+into &ldquo;blague.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>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 &ldquo;bus,&rdquo; 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.</p>
+
+<div>
+<img class="figright" style="margin-bottom: -1em;" src="images/image028a.jpg" width="184" height="180" alt="" title="" />
+<img class="figright" style="margin-top: 1em;" src="images/image028b.jpg" width="306" height="259" alt="" title="" />
+<p class="figright" style="margin-right: 4em; padding-left: 3em; margin-bottom: .5em;"><span class="caption">LES BEAUX MAQUEREAUX</span></p>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="nowrap">If you have</span> finished dinner, you go out on
+the terrace for your coffee. The fakirs are
+passing up and down in front, selling their
+wares&mdash;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 &eacute;crivisse<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">- 47 -</a></span>
+boiled scarlet; an acrobat tumbles on the
+pavement, and two men and a girl, as a
+marine, a soldier, and a vivandi&egrave;re, in silvered
+faces and suits, pose in melodramatic
+attitudes.  The vivandi&egrave;re is rescued alternately
+from a speedy death by the marine
+and the soldier.</p>
+
+<p>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,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">- 48 -</a></span>
+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.</p>
+
+<p>But you have not seen all of the Taverne
+du Panth&eacute;on yet. There is an &ldquo;American
+Bar&rdquo; 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
+&ldquo;type&rdquo; hat, who has just come in.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 620px;">
+<img src="images/image029.jpg" width="620" height="393" alt="" title="" />
+<span class="caption">MOTHER AND DAUGHTER</span>
+</div>
+
+<p>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 caf&eacute;s to
+join them. At one end, and acting as interlocutor
+for this impromptu minstrel show,
+<!--[image 29]<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">- 49 -</a></span>-->
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">- 50 -</a></span>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, &ldquo;&rsquo;Twas Summer and the
+Little Birds were Singing in the Trees.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>There are some especially fine &ldquo;barber
+chords&rdquo; 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&rsquo;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:</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;How&rsquo;s that?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Out of sight,&rdquo; comes the general verdict
+from the crowd, and bang go a dozen beer
+glasses in unison on the heavy table.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, que c&rsquo;est beau!&rdquo; cries Mimi, leading
+the successful chorus in a new vocal
+number with Edmond&rsquo;s walking-stick; but
+this time it is a French song and the whole<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">- 51 -</a></span>
+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.</p>
+
+<p>The harmonic beauties of &ldquo;&rsquo;Twas Summer
+and the Little Birds were Singing in
+the Trees&rdquo; are still inexhausted, but it
+sadly needs a piano accompaniment&mdash;with
+this it would be perfect; and so the whole
+crowd, including Yvonne, and <span title=" Celeste " class="hoverbox">C&eacute;leste</span>,
+and Marcelle, and the two Frenchmen, and the
+girl in the bicycle clothes, start for Jack
+Thompson&rsquo;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.</p>
+
+<br /><br /><br /><br />
+<p class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">- 52 -</a></p>
+<br />
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+<img src="images/image030.jpg" width="600" height="436" alt="(Bullier)" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III" href="#TOC3">
+<span title=" Return to CONTENTS. " class="hoverlink">CHAPTER III</span></a></h2>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+<img src="images/image007.jpg" width="30" height="22" alt="" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<h3>THE &ldquo;BAL BULLIER&rdquo;</h3>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+<img src="images/image007.jpg" width="30" height="22" alt="" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<p>There are all types of &ldquo;bals&rdquo; in Paris.
+Over in Montmartre, on the Place Blanche,
+is the well-known &ldquo;Moulin Rouge,&rdquo; a place
+suggestive, to those who have never seen it,
+of the quintessence of Parisian devil-me-care
+<span title=" gayety " class="hoverbox">gaiety</span>.
+You expect it to be like those
+clever pen-and-ink drawings of Grevin&rsquo;s, of
+the old Jardin Mabille in its palmiest days,
+brilliant with lights and beautiful women
+extravagantly gowned and bejeweled. You<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">- 53 -</a></span>
+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 Dor&eacute;e by the big, fierce-looking
+Russian who has been watching her,
+and whose victoria, with its spanking team&mdash;black
+and glossy as satin&mdash;champing
+their silver bits outside, awaiting her
+pleasure.</p>
+
+<p>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 Elys&eacute;es is now
+built up with private residences.  Fifine is
+gone, too&mdash;years ago&mdash;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 &ldquo;Moulin Rouge,&rdquo; 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<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">- 54 -</a></span>
+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 &ldquo;Moulin Rouge&rdquo; first, and to be in
+ample time ordered dinner early in his
+expensive, morgue-like hotel.</p>
+
+<p>I remember once, a few hours after my
+arrival in Paris, walking up the long hill to
+the Place Blanche at 2 <span class="smfont">P.M.</span>, under a blazing
+July sun, to see if they did not give a
+matin&eacute;e at the &ldquo;Moulin Rouge.&rdquo; 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
+matin&eacute;e, put his thumbs in his sword belt,
+looked at me quizzically for a moment,
+and then roared. The &ldquo;Moulin Rouge&rdquo; is
+in full blast every night; in the day-time it
+is being aired.</p>
+
+<p>Farther up in Montmartre, up a steep,
+cobbly hill, past quaint little shops and
+caf&eacute;s, the hill becoming so steep that your
+<!--[image 31]<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">- 55 -</a></span>-->
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">- 56 -</a></span>cab
+horse finally refuses to climb further,
+and you get out and walk up to the
+&ldquo;Moulin de la Galette.&rdquo; You find it a far
+different type of ball from the &ldquo;Moulin
+Rouge,&rdquo; for it is not made for the stranger,
+and its client&egrave;le is composed of the rougher
+element of that quarter.</p>
+
+<div class="figright">
+<img src="images/image031.jpg" width="312" height="450" alt="(street scene)" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="nowrap">A few years ago</span> the &ldquo;Galette&rdquo; 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 habitu&eacute;s
+who regard a stranger as an intruder.
+Should you by accident step on Marcelle&rsquo;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 &ldquo;maquereaux&rdquo; fight
+with their feet, having developed this &ldquo;manly
+art&rdquo; of self-defense to a point of dexterity
+more to be evaded than admired. And while
+Marcelle&rsquo;s escort, with a swinging kick,
+smashes your nose with his heel, his pals will
+take the opportunity to kick you in the back.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">- 57 -</a></span></p>
+
+<p>So, if you go to the &ldquo;Galette,&rdquo; go with
+<span title=" a a " class="hoverbox">a</span>
+Parisian or some of the students of the
+Quarter; but if you must go alone&mdash;keep
+your eyes on the band. It is a good band,
+too, and its chef d&rsquo;orchestre, besides being
+a clever musical director, is a popular composer
+as well.</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<hr class="hr33" />
+
+<p>You will find the &ldquo;Bal Bullier&rdquo; of the
+Latin Quarter far different from the &ldquo;bals&rdquo;
+of Montmartre. It forms, with its &ldquo;grand
+f&ecirc;te&rdquo; 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.</p>
+
+<p>If you dine at the Taverne du Panth&eacute;on
+on a Thursday night you will find that the
+taverne is half deserted by 10 o&rsquo;clock, and
+that every one is leaving and walking up<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">- 58 -</a></span>
+the &ldquo;Boul&rsquo; Miche&rdquo; toward the &ldquo;Bullier.&rdquo;
+Follow them, and as you reach the place
+l&rsquo;Observatoire, and turn a sharp corner to
+the left, you will see the fa&ccedil;ade of this
+famous ball, illumined by a sizzling blue
+electric light over the entrance.</p>
+
+<p>The fa&ccedil;ade, 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.</p>
+
+<p>The &ldquo;Bal Bullier&rdquo; was founded in 1847;
+previous to this there existed the &ldquo;Closerie
+des Lilas&rdquo; 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.</p>
+<!--[image 32]<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">- 59 -</a></span>-->
+
+<div class="figleft">
+<img src="images/image032.jpg" width="292" height="450" alt="(portrait of man)" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">- 60 -</a></span>
+<span class="nowrap">There is nothing</span> disappointing about the
+&ldquo;Bal Bullier.&rdquo; It is all you expected it to
+be, and more, too. Below you is a veritable
+whirlpool of girls and students&mdash;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&rsquo;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.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Bis! Bis! Bis! Encore!&rdquo; 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 &ldquo;citron <span title=" gla&ccedil;&eacute; "
+class="hoverbox">glac&eacute;</span>.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>And what a pretty garden it is!&mdash;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,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">- 61 -</a></span>
+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.</p>
+
+<div class="figright">
+<img src="images/image033.jpg" width="156" height="225" alt="(portrait of woman)" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="nowrap">But the orchestra</span> has given its signal&mdash;a
+short bugle call announcing a quadrille;
+and those in the garden are running down
+into the ball-room to hunt up their partners.</p>
+
+<p>The &ldquo;Bullier&rdquo; 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.</p>
+
+<p>The leader, too, is interesting&mdash;tall and
+gaunt, with wild, deep-sunken eyes resembling
+those of an old eagle. Now and then
+<!--[image 34]<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">- 62 -</a></span>-->
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">- 63 -</a></span>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&mdash;piccolos
+and clarinets, cymbals, bass viols,
+and violins&mdash;all in one mad race to the end,
+but so well trained that not a note is lost in
+the scramble&mdash;and they finish under the
+wire to a man, amid cheers from Mimi and
+<span title=" Celeste " class="hoverbox">C&eacute;leste</span>
+and &ldquo;encores&rdquo; and &ldquo;bis&rsquo;s&rdquo; from
+every one else who has breath enough left
+to shout with.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 336px;">
+<img src="images/image034.jpg" width="336" height="450" alt="" title="" />
+<span class="caption">A TYPE OF THE QUARTER<br />
+By Helleu.&mdash;Estampe Moderne</span>
+</div>
+
+<p>Often after an annual dinner of one of the
+ateliers, the entire body of students will
+march into the &ldquo;Bullier,&rdquo; 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.</p>
+
+<p>But in June, 1893, a serious demonstration
+by the students occurred, for these students<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">- 64 -</a></span>
+can fight as well as dance. Senator
+Beranger, having read one morning in the
+&ldquo;Courrier Fran&ccedil;ais&rdquo; an account of the
+revelry and nudity of several of the best-known
+models of the Quarter at the &ldquo;<span title=" Quatz " class="hoverbox">Quat&rsquo;z&rsquo;</span>
+Arts&rdquo; 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&rsquo;clock at night
+the crowd was held in control.</p>
+
+<div class="figright">
+<img src="images/image035.jpg" width="277" height="450" alt="(portrait of woman)" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="nowrap">It was a warm June</span> 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 Caf&eacute;
+d&rsquo;Harcourt, opposite the Sorbonne; things
+<!--[image 35]<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">- 65 -</a></span>-->
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">- 66 -</a></span>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 caf&eacute; 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.</p>
+
+<p>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: &ldquo;Conspuez Dupuy,&rdquo; 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.</p>
+
+<p>The Government, fearing further trouble
+and wishing to avoid any disturbance on<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">- 67 -</a></span>
+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 <span class="smfont">P.M.</span> the next
+day the Quartier Latin was in a state of
+siege&mdash;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 <span title=" Pr&egrave;s " class="hoverbox">Pr&eacute;s</span>,
+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&mdash;and then the troops came, and the
+affair took a different turn. In three days
+thirty thousand troops were in Paris&mdash;principally
+cavalry, many of the regiments
+coming from as far away as the center of
+France.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 620px;">
+<img src="images/image036.jpg" width="620" height="396" alt="" title="" />
+<span class="caption">&Eacute;COLE DES BEAUX ARTS</span>
+</div>
+
+<p>With these and the police and the Garde
+R&eacute;publicaine against them, the students
+<!--[image 36]<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">- 68 -</a></span>-->
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">- 69 -</a></span>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&mdash;in and out and dodging
+around corners&mdash;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.</p>
+
+<p>But the &ldquo;Bullier&rdquo; 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 Panth&eacute;on
+for supper.</p>
+
+<p>If you walk down with the rest, you will
+pass dozens of jolly groups singing and
+romping and dancing along down the
+&ldquo;Boul&rsquo; Miche&rdquo; to the taverne, for a bock
+and some &eacute;crivisse. With youth, good humor,
+and a &ldquo;louis,&rdquo; all the world seems gay!</p>
+
+<br /><br /><br /><br />
+<p class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">- 70 -</a></p>
+<br />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV" href="#TOC4">
+<span title=" Return to CONTENTS. " class="hoverlink">CHAPTER IV</span></a></h2>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+<img src="images/image007.jpg" width="30" height="22" alt="" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<h3>BAL DES QUAT&rsquo;Z&rsquo; ARTS</h3>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+<img src="images/image007.jpg" width="30" height="22" alt="" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<p>Of all the balls in Paris, the annual &ldquo;Bal
+des Quat&rsquo;z&rsquo; Arts&rdquo; 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 cort&eacute;ges,
+and in the artistic effect and historical correctness
+of the costumes.</p>
+
+<p>The first &ldquo;Quat&rsquo;z&rsquo; Arts&rdquo; ball was given
+in 1892. It was a primitive affair, compared
+with the later ones, but it was a success,
+and immediately the &ldquo;Quat&rsquo;z&rsquo; Arts&rdquo; 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<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">- 71 -</a></span>
+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
+&ldquo;Quat&rsquo;z&rsquo; Arts&rdquo; 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.</p>
+
+<div>
+<img class="figright" src="images/image037a.jpg" width="313" height="180" alt="(coiffeur sign)" title="" />
+<img class="figright" src="images/image037b.jpg" width="258" height="140" alt="" title="" />
+<img class="figright" src="images/image037c.jpg" width="166" height="80" alt="" title="" />
+<img class="figright" src="images/image037d.jpg" width="63" height="39" alt="" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="nowrap">It is, of</span> 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 &ldquo;Quat&rsquo;z&rsquo; Arts,&rdquo;
+and even after one&rsquo;s ticket is assured, you
+may fail to pass the jury.</p>
+
+<p>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<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">- 72 -</a></span>
+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.</p>
+
+<div class="figleft" style="width: 263px; margin-top: 1em;"><!--Firefox pad-->
+<img src="images/image038.jpg" width="263" height="350" alt="(photograph of woman)" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="nowrap">As the ball continues</span> until daylight, it
+resembles a bacchanalian f&ecirc;te 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 sc&egrave;ne 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<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">- 73 -</a></span>
+one&rsquo;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.</p>
+
+<p>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&mdash;and all for the love of it!&mdash;for
+the great &ldquo;Quat&rsquo;z&rsquo; Arts&rdquo; 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 &rsquo;99. As this is a special and private
+notice to the atelier, its contents may be
+interesting:</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot">
+<p class="right" style="margin-right: 2em;">
+<span class="smcap">Bal des Quat&rsquo;z&rsquo; Arts</span>,&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br />
+Moulin Rouge, 21 April, 1899.
+</p>
+
+<p>Doors open at 10 <span class="smfont">P.M.</span> and closed at midnight.</p>
+
+<p>The card of admission is absolutely personal,
+to be taken by the committee before
+the opening of the ball.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+<img src="images/image039.jpg" width="600" height="300" alt="(admission card)" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<!--[image 39]<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">- 74 -</a></span>-->
+
+<p>The committee will be masked, and comrades
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">- 75 -</a></span>
+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.</p>
+
+<p>Costumes are absolutely necessary. The
+soldier&mdash;the dress suit, black or in color&mdash;the
+monk&mdash;the blouse&mdash;the domino&mdash;kitchen
+boy&mdash;loafer&mdash;bicyclist, and other nauseous
+types, are absolutely prohibited.</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>A great &ldquo;feed&rdquo; will take place in the
+grand hall; the buffet will serve as usual
+individual suppers and baskets for two
+persons.</p>
+
+<p>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&mdash;always
+insufficient.</p>
+
+<p>Prizes (champagne) will be distributed to
+the ateliers who may distinguish themselves
+by the artistic merit and beauty of
+their female display.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+<img src="images/image040.jpg" width="307" height="450" alt="(photograph of woman)" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<!--[image 40]<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">- 76 -</a></span>-->
+
+<p>All the women who compete for these
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">- 77 -</a></span>
+prizes will be assembled on the grand staircase
+before the orchestra. The nude, as
+always, is <span class="smfont">PROHIBITED</span>!?!</p>
+
+<p>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&mdash;any great worthless capacity in
+this line will do, as they always play the
+same tune, &ldquo;Les Pompiers!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p class="right" style="margin-right: 2em;">
+<span class="smcap">The Committee</span>&mdash;1899.
+</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>For days before the &ldquo;Quat&rsquo;z&rsquo; Arts&rdquo; 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
+cort&eacute;ges. One of these, in Bouguereau&rsquo;s
+atelier, depicted their master caricatured
+as a cupid.</p>
+
+<p>The boys once constructed an elephant
+with oriental trappings&mdash;an elephant that
+could wag his ears and lift his trunk and
+snort&mdash;and after the two fellows who
+formed respectfully the front and hind legs<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">- 78 -</a></span>
+of this knowing beast had practised
+<span title=" sufficently " class="hoverbox">sufficiently</span> to proceed with him safely,
+at the head of a cort&eacute;ge of slave
+girls, nautch dancers, and manacled
+captives, the big beast created a success in
+the procession at the
+&ldquo;Quat&rsquo;z&rsquo; Arts&rdquo; ball.</p>
+
+<div class="figleft">
+<img src="images/image041.jpg" width="220" height="300" alt="(portrait of man)" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="nowrap">After the ball, in</span> 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&rsquo;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.</p>
+
+<p>At last the two, who had sweltered in
+its dusty frame that eventful night of the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">- 79 -</a></span>
+&ldquo;Quat&rsquo;z&rsquo; Arts,&rdquo; hit upon an idea. They
+marched it one day up the Boulevard St.
+Germain to the Caf&eacute; des deux Magots, followed
+by a crowd of people, who, when it
+reached the caf&eacute;, assembled around it,
+every one asking what it was for&mdash;or rather
+what it was?&mdash;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&mdash;a circus or the rest
+of the parade to come along&mdash;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.</p>
+
+<p>The caf&eacute;s near the Od&eacute;on, just before
+the beginning of the ball, are filled with
+students in costume; gladiators hobnob at
+the tables with savages in scanty attire&mdash;Roman<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">- 80 -</a></span>
+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.</p>
+
+<p>Tickets are not transferable, and should
+one present himself at the entrance of the
+ball with another fellow&rsquo;s ticket, he would
+run small chance of entering.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;What atelier?&rdquo; commands the jury
+&ldquo;Cormon.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>The student answers, while the jury
+glance at his makeup.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;To the left!&rdquo; cries the jury, and you
+pass in to the ball.</p>
+
+<p>But if you are unknown they will say
+simply, &ldquo;Connais-pas! To the right!&rdquo;
+and you pass down a long covered alley&mdash;confident,
+if you are a &ldquo;nouveau,&rdquo; that it
+leads into the ball-room&mdash;until you suddenly
+find yourself in the street, where
+your ticket is torn up and all hope of entering
+is gone.</p>
+
+<p>It is hopeless to attempt to describe the
+hours until morning of this annual artistic
+orgy. As the morning light comes in through<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">- 81 -</a></span>
+the windows, it is strange to see the effect
+of diffused daylight, electricity, and gas&mdash;the
+bluish light of early morning reflected on
+the flesh tones&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;a thing of grace and beauty&mdash;fired
+with the intensity of the innate nature
+of this beautifully modeled daughter of
+Bohemia.</p>
+
+<p>As the dance ends, there is a cry of delight
+from the great circle of barbarians.
+&ldquo;Long live the Quat&rsquo;z&rsquo; Arts!&rdquo; they cry,
+amid cheers for the dancer.</p>
+
+<p>The ball closes about seven in the morning,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">- 82 -</a></span>
+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 &ldquo;Moulin
+Rouge,&rdquo; 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.</p>
+
+<p>Finally the great open court of the
+Louvre is reached&mdash;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 Od&eacute;on is reached. Here the odd procession
+disbands; some go to their favorite
+caf&eacute;s where the festivities are continued&mdash;some
+to sleep in their costumes or what
+remains of them, wherever fortune lands
+them&mdash;others to studios, where the gaiety
+is often kept up for days.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">- 83 -</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Ah! but life is not all &ldquo;couleur de rose&rdquo; in
+this true Bohemia.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;One day,&rdquo; says little Marguerite (she
+who lives in the rue Monge), &ldquo;one eats and
+the next day one doesn&rsquo;t. It is always like
+that, is it not, monsieur?&mdash;and it costs so
+much to live, and so you see, monsieur, life
+is always a fight.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>And Marguerite&rsquo;s brown eyes swim a
+little and her pretty mouth closes firmly.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;But where is Paul?&rdquo; I ask.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I do not know, monsieur,&rdquo; she replies
+quietly; &ldquo;I have not seen him in ten days&mdash;the
+atelier is closed&mdash;I have been there
+every day, expecting to find him&mdash;he left
+no word with his concierge. I have been
+to his caf&eacute; too, but no one has seen him&mdash;you
+see, monsieur, Paul does not love me!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>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 d&eacute;jeuner
+together, and, as I passed, he stopped at
+the door with her, kissed her on both
+cheeks, and left her; but before they had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">- 84 -</a></span>
+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.</p>
+
+<div class="figleft" style="width: 335px;">
+<img src="images/image042.jpg" width="335" height="450" alt="" title="" />
+<span class="caption">A MORNING&rsquo;S WORK</span>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="nowrap">It is ideal, this</span> 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<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">- 85 -</a></span>
+of good and bad luck&mdash;who has encouraged
+him in his work, nursed him when ill, and
+made a thousand golden hours in this poet&rsquo;s
+or painter&rsquo;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&rsquo;s,
+and old Jacquemart, the very soul of good
+fellowship, who would set them roaring
+with his inimitable humor.</p>
+
+<p>What good dinners they were!&mdash;and how
+long they sat over their coffee and cigarettes
+under the trees in front of this little
+restaurant&mdash;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,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">- 86 -</a></span>
+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 &ldquo;Voil&agrave;, mes enfants!&rdquo;
+and a cheery word for all these good boys
+and girls, whom she regarded quite as her
+own children.</p>
+
+<p>It seemed to them then that there would
+never be anything else but dinners at
+Madame Giraud&rsquo;s for as many years as
+they pleased, for no one ever thought of
+living out one&rsquo;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&rsquo;s pictures, and have a
+vegetable garden of their own&mdash;and a cow&mdash;and
+some children! But they <span class="smfont">DID</span>!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">- 87 -</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 620px;">
+<img src="images/image043.jpg" width="620" height="448" alt="" title="" />
+<span class="caption">A STUDIO D&Eacute;JEUNER</span>
+</div>
+
+<p>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&mdash;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<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">- 88 -</a></span>
+waxed stairs, and slip past the different
+ateliers for fear of waking those painters
+who might be asleep&mdash;a thought that never
+occurred to them until broad daylight, and
+the door had been opened, after hours of
+pandemonium and music and noise!</p>
+
+<p>In a little hotel near the Od&eacute;on, there
+lived a family of just such bohemians&mdash;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&mdash;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.</p>
+
+<p>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 &ldquo;Boul&rsquo; Miche,&rdquo;
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">- 89 -</a></span>
+and forget their past misery, in feasting, to
+their hearts&rsquo; 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&mdash;their
+eyes beaming with that exquisite
+sense of feeling suddenly rich, that those
+who live for art&rsquo;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&mdash;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&mdash;then
+they would scratch away&mdash;and have another
+auction!</p>
+
+<div class="figleft" style="width: 293px;">
+<img src="images/image044.jpg" width="293" height="450" alt="" title="" />
+<span class="caption">DAYLIGHT</span>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="nowrap">Unlike another</span> 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
+<!--[image 44]<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">- 90 -</a></span>-->
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">- 91 -</a></span>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
+&ldquo;petit bleu&rdquo; to Marcelle; and the two
+would meet at the Caf&eacute; Cluny, and dine at
+La Perruse on filet de sole au vin blanc,
+and a bottle of Haut Barsac&mdash;the bottle all
+cobwebs and cradled in its basket&mdash;the
+gar&ccedil;on, as he poured its golden contents,
+holding his breath meanwhile lest he disturb
+its long slumber.</p>
+
+<p>There are wines that stir the soul, and
+this was one of them&mdash;clear as a topaz and
+warming as the noonday sun&mdash;the same
+warmth that had given it birth on its hillside
+in Bordeaux, as far back as &rsquo;82. It
+warmed the heart of Marcelle, too, and
+made her cheeks glow and her eyes sparkle&mdash;and
+added a rosier color to her lips.
+It made her talk&mdash;clearly and frankly,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">- 92 -</a></span>
+with a full and a happy heart, so that she
+confessed her love for this &ldquo;bon gar&ccedil;on&rdquo;
+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&mdash;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.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+<img src="images/image045.jpg" width="350" height="270" alt="(pair of high heeled shoes)" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<br /><br /><br /><br />
+<p class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">- 93 -</a></p>
+<br />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V" href="#TOC5">
+<span title=" Return to CONTENTS. " class="hoverlink">CHAPTER V</span></a></h2>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+<img src="images/image007.jpg" width="30" height="22" alt="" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<h3>&ldquo;A D&Eacute;JEUNER AT LAVENUE&rsquo;S&rdquo;</h3>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+<img src="images/image007.jpg" width="30" height="22" alt="" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<p>If you should chance to breakfast at
+&ldquo;Lavenue&rsquo;s,&rdquo; or, as it is called, the &ldquo;H&ocirc;tel
+de France et Bretagne,&rdquo; 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 client&egrave;le.</p>
+
+<div class="figright" style="width: 333px;">
+<img src="images/image046.jpg" width="333" height="450" alt="" title="" />
+<span class="caption">MADEMOISELLE FANNY AND HER STAFF</span>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="nowrap">As you enter the</span> 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 &ldquo;bon gar&ccedil;on&rdquo; struggle
+up the ladder of fame&mdash;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&mdash;and Colin,
+the painter&mdash;and the late Falgui&egrave;re&mdash;and
+<!--[image 46]<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">- 94 -</a></span>-->
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">- 95 -</a></span>Jean
+Paul Laurens and Bonnat, and dozens
+of others equally celebrated&mdash;and with
+our own men, like Whistler and Sargent
+and Harrison, and St. Gaudens and Macmonnies.</p>
+
+<p>These three plain little rooms are totally
+different from the &ldquo;other side,&rdquo; as it is
+called, of the Maison Lavenue. Here one
+finds quite a gorgeous caf&eacute;, with a pretty
+garden in the rear, and another room&mdash;opening
+into the garden&mdash;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 &ldquo;cheap
+side&rdquo; among the crowd who come here
+daily is evident.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 360px;">
+<img src="images/image047.jpg" width="360" height="450" alt="" title="" />
+<span class="caption">RODIN</span>
+</div>
+
+<p>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
+<!--[image 47]<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">- 96 -</a></span>-->
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">- 97 -</a></span>Lavenue&rsquo;s
+that makes one always wish to return.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+<img src="images/image048.jpg" width="550" height="450" alt="(group of men dining)" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<p>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&mdash;and
+all talking and laughing over a
+good dinner with champagne, and many
+toasts to the young couple&mdash;and to mama
+and papa, and little Josephine&mdash;with ices,
+and fruit, and coffee, and liqueur to follow.</p>
+
+<p>All these you will see at Lavenue&rsquo;s on
+the &ldquo;cheap side&rdquo;&mdash;and the beautiful model,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">- 98 -</a></span>
+too, who poses for Courbel, who is breakfasting
+with one of the jeunesse of Paris.
+The waiters after 2 <span class="smfont">P.M.</span> dine in the front
+room with the rest, and jump up now and
+then to wait on madame and monsieur.</p>
+
+<p>It is a very democratic little place, this
+popular side of the house of M. Lavenue,
+founded in 1854.</p>
+
+<p>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&mdash;&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;For two reasons, monsieur,&rdquo; he explained
+to me excitedly; &ldquo;a little girl on
+the floor below me played a polka&mdash;the
+same polka half the day&mdash;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. P&egrave;res, 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,
+<!--[image 49]<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">- 99 -</a></span>-->
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">- 100 -</a></span>monsieur,
+and you will hear a symphony!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 311px;">
+<img src="images/image049.jpg" width="311" height="450" alt="" title="" />
+<span class="caption">&ldquo;LA FILLE DE LA BLANCHISSEUSE&rdquo;<br />
+By Bellanger.&mdash;Estampe Moderne</span>
+</div>
+
+<p>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&mdash;&ldquo;in fact it is always so, is it
+not, with les hommes c&eacute;l&egrave;bres? C&rsquo;est toujours
+comme &ccedil;a, monsieur, toujours!&rdquo; 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&mdash;her face wreathed
+in smiles. &ldquo;Ah! he is a bon gar&ccedil;on; 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&rdquo;; and madame will not only tell you
+his entire history, but about his work&mdash;the
+beauty of his wife and how &ldquo;aimables&rdquo; his
+children are. Mademoiselle Fanny knows
+them all.</p>
+
+<p>But the men who come here to lunch are
+not idlers; they come in, many of them,
+fresh from a hard morning&rsquo;s work in the
+studio. The tall sculptor opposite you has<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">- 101 -</a></span>
+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
+fa&ccedil;ade of an American building. The
+&ldquo;giantess&rdquo; in the flesh is lunching with
+him&mdash;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&mdash;of art and literature&mdash;of
+the theater and its playwrights&mdash;plunging
+now and then into medicine and
+law and poetry&mdash;all these things she has
+picked up in the studios, in the caf&eacute;s, in the
+course of her Bohemian life. This &ldquo;vernis,&rdquo;
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">- 102 -</a></span>
+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.</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<div class="figright" style="width: 317px;">
+<img src="images/image050.jpg" width="317" height="400" alt="" title="" />
+<span class="caption">A TRUE TYPE</span>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="nowrap">The painter breakfasting</span> 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
+<!--[image 50]<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">- 103 -</a></span>-->
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">- 104 -</a></span>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 &ldquo;it&rsquo;s
+grand.&rdquo; But the painter does not care,
+for he has locked up his studio, and taken
+his twenty thousand francs and the model&mdash;who
+came at two&mdash;with him to Trouville.</p>
+
+<p>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 caf&eacute;s, and just opposite the &ldquo;Bal Bullier,&rdquo;
+on the Place de l&rsquo;Observatoire. The
+terrace is crowded with its habitu&eacute;s, for it
+is out of the way of the stream of people
+along the &ldquo;Boul&rsquo; Miche.&rdquo; The terrace is<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">- 105 -</a></span>
+quite dark, its only light coming from the
+caf&eacute;, 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 caf&eacute; and restaurant
+de la Rotonde, a very well-built
+looking place, with its rounding fa&ccedil;ade on
+the corner.</p>
+
+<div class="figleft">
+<img src="images/image051.jpg" width="316" height="400" alt="(studio)" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="nowrap">At the entrance of</span> 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&mdash;old swords, plaster casts, sketches
+and discarded furniture&mdash;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,
+<!--[image 52]<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">- 106 -</a></span>-->
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">- 107 -</a></span>in
+one of a row of boxes, with the number
+of your atelier marked thereon.</p>
+
+<p>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 P&egrave;re 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 P&egrave;re Valois&mdash;all the
+morning you will see these little &ldquo;femmes
+de m&eacute;nage&rdquo; 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 P&egrave;re Valois.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 620px;">
+<img src="images/image052.jpg" width="620" height="362" alt="" title="" />
+<span class="caption">VOIL&Agrave; LA BELLE ROSE, MADAME!</span>
+</div>
+
+<p>There is no gossip within the quarter
+that your &ldquo;femme de m&eacute;nage&rdquo; does not
+know, and over your morning coffee, which
+she brings you, she will regale you with the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">- 108 -</a></span>
+latest news about most of your best friends,
+including your favorite model, and madame
+from whom you buy your wine, always concluding
+with: &ldquo;That is what I heard, monsieur,&mdash;I
+think it is quite true, because the
+little Marie, who is the femme de m&eacute;nage
+of Monsieur Valentin, got it from C&eacute;leste
+Dauphine yesterday in the caf&eacute; in the rue
+du Cherche Midi.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>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 &ldquo;Bal Bullier,&rdquo;
+or dining at the Panth&eacute;on, with the fellow
+whose studio is opposite yours.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 620px;">
+<img src="images/image053.jpg" width="620" height="419" alt="" title="" />
+<span class="caption">A BUSY MORNING</span>
+</div>
+
+<p>Alice Lema&icirc;tre, however, was a far different
+type of femme de m&eacute;nage than any of
+the gossiping daughters of old P&egrave;re 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
+<!--[image 53]<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">- 109 -</a></span>-->
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">- 110 -</a></span>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&mdash;and there was
+much of this&mdash;until Alice went out into the
+world again. She next found employment
+at a baker&rsquo;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
+m&eacute;nage 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
+<!--[image 54]<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">- 111 -</a></span>-->
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">- 112 -</a></span>very
+grateful and brave little Brittany girl
+had ever known before.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+<img src="images/image054.jpg" width="620" height="426" alt="(brocanteur shop front)" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You see, monsieur, one must do one&rsquo;s
+best whatever one undertakes,&rdquo; said Alice
+to me; &ldquo;I have tried every profession, and
+now I am a good femme de m&eacute;nage, and I
+am &lsquo;bien contente.&rsquo; No,&rdquo; she continued,
+&ldquo;I shall never marry, for one&rsquo;s independence
+is worth more than anything else. When
+one marries,&rdquo; she said earnestly, her little
+brow in a frown, &ldquo;one&rsquo;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&mdash;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&mdash;a pretty brunette, with a charming
+figure; but you see, monsieur, in Paris it is
+always that way. C&rsquo;est toujours comme &ccedil;a.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<br /><br /><br /><br />
+<p class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">- 113 -</a></p>
+<br />
+
+<div class="figleft" style="width: 213px;">
+<img src="images/image055.jpg" width="213" height="350" alt="J" title="" />
+</div>
+<br />
+<h2 class="chptrimg"><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI" href="#TOC6">
+<span title=" Return to CONTENTS. " class="hoverlink">CHAPTER VI</span></a></h2>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+<img src="images/image007.jpg" width="30" height="22" alt="" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<h3 class="chptrimg">&ldquo;AT MARCEL
+LEGAY&rsquo;S&rdquo;</h3>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+<img src="images/image007.jpg" width="30" height="22" alt="" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<p class="dropcap"><span class="frstltr">J</span>UST off the Boulevard
+St. Michel
+and up the narrow
+little rue
+Cujas, you will
+see at night the
+name &ldquo;Marcel
+Legay&rdquo; illumined
+in tiny gas-jets.
+This is a cabaret of chansonniers known as
+&ldquo;Le Grillon,&rdquo; where a dozen celebrated
+singing satirists entertain an appreciative
+audience in the stuffy little hall serving as
+an auditorium. Here, nightly, as the pi&egrave;ce
+de r&eacute;sistance&mdash;and late on the programme
+(there is no printed one)&mdash;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.</p>
+<!--[image 56]<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">- 114 -</a></span>-->
+
+<div class="figright" style="width: 299px;">
+<img src="images/image056.jpg" width="299" height="450" alt="" title="" />
+<span class="caption">MARCEL LEGAY</span>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">- 115 -</a></span>
+<span class="nowrap">From these cabarets</span> 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&mdash;from the soldier
+to the good President of the R&eacute;publique
+Fran&ccedil;aise&mdash;is spared. The eccentricity of
+each celebrity is caught by them, and used
+in song or recitation.</p>
+
+<p>Besides these personal caricatures, the
+latest political questions of the day&mdash;religion
+and the haut monde&mdash;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,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">- 116 -</a></span>
+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.</p>
+
+<p>It is not to be wondered at that &ldquo;The
+Grillon&rdquo; of Marcel Legay&rsquo;s is a popular
+haunt of the habitu&eacute;s of the Quarter, who
+crowd the dingy little room nightly. You
+enter the &ldquo;Grillon&rdquo; 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&mdash;since
+there is no stage&mdash;and through this
+anteroom both audience and singers pass
+into the little hall. There is the informality
+of one of our own &ldquo;smokers&rdquo; about the
+whole affair.</p>
+
+<p>Furthermore, no women sing in &ldquo;Le Grillon&rdquo;&mdash;a
+cabaret in this respect is different
+from a caf&eacute; 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<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">- 117 -</a></span>
+stage paraphernalia of the cabaret,
+and the admission is generally a franc and
+a half, which includes your drink.</p>
+
+<p>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&mdash;but you should hear his
+songs!&mdash;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 porti&egrave;res
+to bow his thanks.</p>
+
+<div class="figright" style="width: 343px;">
+<img src="images/image057.jpg" width="343" height="450" alt="" title="" />
+<span class="caption">A POET-SINGER</span>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="nowrap">A broad-shouldered,</span> 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
+<!--[image 57]<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">- 118 -</a></span>-->
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">- 119 -</a></span>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 &ldquo;Le Grillon,&rdquo; and it never
+fails to bring one.</p>
+
+<p>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&mdash;gives
+an extra polish to his eyeglasses&mdash;beams
+with an irresistibly funny expression upon
+his audience&mdash;coughs&mdash;whistles&mdash;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.</p>
+
+<p>But the man inside these voluminous
+clothes is even still more eccentric. Short,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">- 120 -</a></span>
+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&mdash;indeed, so striking
+is this resemblance that the good bard
+is often caricatured with a halo surrounding
+this medieval fringe.</p>
+
+<p>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 &ldquo;Le matador avec
+les pieds du vent&rdquo;; another crowd is yelling
+for &ldquo;La Goularde.&rdquo; Marcel Legay
+smiles at them all through his eyeglasses,
+then roars at them to keep quiet&mdash;and
+finally the clamor in the room gradually
+subsides&mdash;here and there a word&mdash;a giggle&mdash;and
+finally silence.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Now, my children, I will sing to you the
+story of Clarette,&rdquo; says the bard; &ldquo;it is a
+very sad histoire. I have read it,&rdquo; and he
+smiles and cocks one eye.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">- 121 -</a></span>
+His baritone voice still possesses considerable
+fire, and in his heroic songs he
+is dramatic. In &ldquo;The Miller who grinds
+for Love,&rdquo; 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 confr&egrave;res in the anteroom.</p>
+
+<p>Such &ldquo;poet-singers&rdquo; as Paul Delmet and
+Dominique Bonnaud have made the &ldquo;Grillon&rdquo;
+a success; and others like Numa Bl&eacute;s,
+Gabriel Montoya, D&rsquo;Herval, Fargy, Tourtal,
+and Edmond Teulet&mdash;all of them well-known
+over in Montmartre, where they are
+welcomed with the same popularity that
+they meet with at &ldquo;Le Grillon.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>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<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">- 122 -</a></span>
+of the cleverest, half a loaf is too often
+better than no bread.</p>
+
+<p>You will find often in these cabarets and
+in the caf&eacute;s 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
+caf&eacute; 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.</p>
+
+<div class="figleft" style="width: 294px;">
+<img src="images/image058.jpg" width="294" height="450" alt="" title="" />
+<span class="caption">THE SATIRIST</span>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="nowrap">&ldquo;Ah!&rdquo; he replies, &ldquo;it is</span> a long story,
+monsieur.&rdquo; So long and so much of it that
+he can not remember it all! Perhaps it was
+the woman with the velvety black eyes&mdash;tall
+and straight&mdash;the best dancer in all
+Paris. Yes, he remembers some of it&mdash;long,
+miserable years&mdash;years of struggles
+<!--[image 58]<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">- 123 -</a></span>-->
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">- 124 -</a></span>and
+jealousy, and finally lies and fights and
+drunkenness; after it was all over, he was
+too gray and old and tired to care!</p>
+
+<p>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 &ldquo;la grande
+vie!&rdquo; To the man, every serious effort he
+is obliged to make trends toward one idea&mdash;that
+of the bon vivant&mdash;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&rsquo;s gaiety interrupted
+is regarded as a calamity, and &ldquo;tout le
+monde&rdquo; will sympathize with you. To
+live a day without the pleasures of life in
+proportion to one&rsquo;s purse is considered a
+day lost.</p>
+
+<p>If you speak of anything that has pleased
+you one will, with a gay rising inflection of
+the voice and a smile, say: &ldquo;Ah! c&rsquo;est gai
+l&agrave;-bas&mdash;and monsieur was well amused while
+in that beautiful country?&rdquo; &ldquo;ah!&mdash;tiens!
+c&rsquo;est gentil &ccedil;a!&rdquo; they will exclaim, as you<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">- 125 -</a></span>
+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!</p>
+
+<p>The Parisian goes into the latest sport
+because it affords him a new sensation.
+Being blas&eacute; of all else in life, he plunges
+into automobiling, buys a white and red
+racer&mdash;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 caf&eacute; 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<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">- 126 -</a></span>
+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&mdash;a snort, a cloud of blue gas, and they
+are gone!</p>
+
+<p>There are other enthusiasts&mdash;those who
+go up in balloons!</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Ah, you should go ballooning!&rdquo; one
+cries enthusiastically, &ldquo;to be &lsquo;en ballon&rsquo;&mdash;so
+poetic&mdash;so fin de si&egrave;cle! It is a fantaisie
+charmante!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>In a balloon one forgets the world&mdash;one
+is no longer a part of it&mdash;no longer mortal.
+What romance there is in going up above
+everything with the woman one loves&mdash;comrades
+in danger&mdash;the ropes&mdash;the wicker
+cage&mdash;the ceiling of stars above one and
+Paris below no bigger than a gridiron!
+Paris! lost for the time from one&rsquo;s memory.
+How chic to shoot straight up among the
+drifting clouds and forget the sordid little
+world, even the memory of one&rsquo;s intrigues!</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Enfin seuls,&rdquo; 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<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">- 127 -</a></span>
+same traveling cup; she, with the black hair
+and white skin, and gowned &ldquo;en ballon&rdquo; 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.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Courage, my child,&rdquo; he says; &ldquo;see, we
+have gone a great distance; to-morrow
+before sundown we shall descend in Belgium.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Horrible!&rdquo; cries the Countess; &ldquo;I do
+not like those Belgians.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Ah! but you shall see, Th&eacute;r&egrave;se, 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 &lsquo;pratique.&rsquo; We shall succeed!
+Then Voil&agrave;! our d&eacute;jeuner in Paris and our
+dinner where we will.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">- 128 -</a></span>
+Th&eacute;r&egrave;se taps her polished nails against
+the edge of the wicker cage and hums a
+little chansonette.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Je t&rsquo;aime&rdquo;&mdash;she murmurs.</p>
+
+<hr class="hr33" />
+
+<p>I did not see this myself, and I do not
+know the fair Th&eacute;r&egrave;se 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 Panth&eacute;on the other night. His
+only regret seemed to be that he, too, could
+not have a dirigible balloon and a countess&mdash;on
+ten francs a week!</p>
+
+<br /><br /><br /><br />
+<p class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">- 129 -</a></p>
+<br />
+<div class="figcenter">
+<img src="images/image059.jpg" width="600" height="301" alt="(woman)" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII" href="#TOC7">
+<span title=" Return to CONTENTS. " class="hoverlink">CHAPTER VII</span></a></h2>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+<img src="images/image007.jpg" width="30" height="22" alt="" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<h3>&ldquo;POCHARD&rdquo;</h3>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+<img src="images/image007.jpg" width="30" height="22" alt="" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<p>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 caf&eacute;&mdash;gaunt,
+wild-eyed, haggard, and filthy&mdash;singing
+in boisterous tones or reciting to
+you with tense voices a jumble of meaningless
+thoughts.</p>
+
+<p>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.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">- 130 -</a></span>
+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
+&ldquo;Boul&rsquo; Miche,&rdquo; past the caf&eacute;s, 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.</p>
+
+<div class="figleft">
+<img src="images/image060.jpg" width="379" height="450" alt="(portrait of woman)" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="nowrap">You will see sometimes</span> a man and a
+woman&mdash;a teamster out of work or with
+his wages for the day, and with him a
+creature&mdash;a blear-eyed, slatternly looking
+woman, in a filthy calico gown. The man
+clutches her arm, as they sing and stagger
+up past the caf&eacute;s. 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&mdash;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
+<!--[image 60]<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">- 131 -</a></span>-->
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">- 132 -</a></span>her.
+She was regarded
+as a bonne camarade in
+those days among the
+students&mdash;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.</p>
+
+<div class="figleft">
+<img src="images/image061.jpg" width="243" height="300" alt="(portrait of woman)" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="nowrap">Near the rue Monge</span> there is a small caf&eacute;
+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.</p>
+
+<p>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<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">- 133 -</a></span>
+and the faint smell of burning brush. The
+world was hurrying by&mdash;in twos and threes&mdash;hurrying
+to warm caf&eacute;s, to friends, to
+lovers. The breeze at twilight set the dry
+leaves shivering. The sky was turquoise.
+The yellow glow from the shop windows&mdash;the
+blue-white sparkle of electricity like
+pendant diamonds&mdash;made the Quarter seem
+fuller of life than ever. These fall days
+make the little ouvri&egrave;res trip along from
+their work with rosy cheeks, and put happiness
+and ambition into one&rsquo;s very soul.</p>
+
+<div class="figright" style="width: 281px;">
+<img src="images/image062.jpg" width="281" height="350" alt="" title="" />
+<span class="caption">A GROUP OF NEW STUDIOS</span>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="nowrap">Soon the winter</span> will come, with all the
+boys back from their country haunts, and
+C&eacute;leste and Mimi from Ostende. How gay
+it will be&mdash;this Quartier Latin then! How gay
+it always is in winter&mdash;and then the rainy season.
+Ah! but one can not have everything. Thus it
+was that Lachaume and I
+<!--[image 63]<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">- 134 -</a></span>-->
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">- 135 -</a></span>sat
+talking, when suddenly a spectre passed&mdash;a
+spectre of a man, his face silent, white,
+and pinched&mdash;drawn like a mummy&rsquo;s.</p>
+
+<div class="figleft" style="width: 263px;">
+<img src="images/image063.jpg" width="263" height="400" alt="" title="" />
+<span class="caption">A SCULPTOR&rsquo;S MODEL</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="nowrap">He stopped and</span> supported his shrunken
+frame wearily on his crutches, and leaned
+against a neighboring wall. He made no
+sound&mdash;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.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;A beggar,&rdquo; I said to Lachaume; &ldquo;poor
+devil!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Ah! old Pochard&mdash;yes, poor devil, and
+once one of the handsomest men in Paris.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;What wrecked him?&rdquo; I asked.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;What I&rsquo;m drinking now, mon ami.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Absinthe?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes&mdash;absinthe! He looks older than I
+do, does he not?&rdquo; continued Lachaume,
+lighting a fresh cigarette, &ldquo;and yet I&rsquo;m
+twenty years his senior. You see, I sip
+mine&mdash;he drank his by the goblet,&rdquo;
+and my friend leaned forward and poured
+the contents of the carafe in a tiny trickling<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">- 136 -</a></span>
+stream over the sugar
+lying in its perforated
+spoon.</p>
+
+<div class="figright" style="width: 322px;">
+<img src="images/image064.jpg" width="322" height="350" alt="" title="" />
+<span class="caption">BOY MODEL</span>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="nowrap">&ldquo;Ah! those were</span> great days when Pochard
+was the life of the Bullier,&rdquo; he went on;
+&ldquo;I remember the night he won ten thousand
+francs from the Russian. It
+didn&rsquo;t last long; Camille Leroux had her
+share of it&mdash;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&mdash;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
+couturi&egrave;re in the rue de Rennes, whom the
+old fellow fell in love with, nursed him. He
+<!--[image 65]<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">- 137 -</a></span>-->
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">- 138 -</a></span>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!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<div class="figleft" style="width: 301px;">
+<img src="images/image065.jpg" width="301" height="450" alt="" title="" />
+<span class="caption">BOUGUEREAU AT WORK</span>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="nowrap">&ldquo;After the old man&rsquo;s</span> death,&rdquo; my friend
+continued, &ldquo;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,&rdquo; said Lachaume,
+&ldquo;and look into the back kitchen.
+Is he not standing there by the door&mdash;they
+are handing him a small bundle?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said I, &ldquo;something wrapped in
+newspaper.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Do you know what is in it?&mdash;the carcass
+of the chicken you have just finished, and
+which the gar&ccedil;on carried away. Pochard
+<!--[image 66]<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">- 139 -</a></span>-->
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">- 140 -</a></span>saw
+you eating it half an hour ago as he
+passed. It was for that he was waiting.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;To eat?&rdquo; I asked.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;No, to sell,&rdquo; Lachaume replied, &ldquo;together
+with the other bones he is able to collect&mdash;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 &lsquo;bo&icirc;te,&rsquo; they will pour him out his
+green treasure of absinthe. Then Pochard
+will forget the day&mdash;perhaps he will dream
+of the Austrian Baron&mdash;and try and forget
+Camille Leroux. Poor devil!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 620px;">
+<img src="images/image066.jpg" width="620" height="398" alt="" title="" />
+<span class="caption">GEROME</span>
+</div>
+
+<p>Marguerite Girardet, the model, also told
+me between poses in the studio the other
+day of just such a &ldquo;pauvre homme&rdquo; she
+once knew. &ldquo;When he was young,&rdquo; she
+said, &ldquo;he won a second prize at the Conservatoire,
+and afterward played first violin
+at the Comique. Now he plays in front of
+the caf&eacute;s, like the rest, and sometimes
+poses for the head of an old man!</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 620px;">
+<img src="images/image067.jpg" width="620" height="410" alt="" title="" />
+<span class="caption">A. MICHELENA</span>
+</div>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Many grow old so young,&rdquo; she continued;
+&ldquo;I knew a little model once with
+<!--[image 67]<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">- 141 -</a></span>-->
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">- 142 -</a></span>a
+beautiful figure, absolutely comme un
+bijou&mdash;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 &lsquo;svelte&rsquo;
+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&mdash;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 d&eacute;jeuner, and
+then back to pose again.</p>
+
+<div class="figright" style="width: 450px;">
+<img src="images/image068.jpg" width="450" height="320" alt="" title="" />
+<span class="caption">A SCULPTOR&rsquo;S STUDIO</span>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="nowrap">&ldquo;In the summer,&rdquo;</span> she went on, &ldquo;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&rsquo;art. You should come
+in and see us some time; it is quite near<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">- 143 -</a></span>
+where you painted last summer. Ah yes,&rdquo;
+she exclaimed, as she drew her pink toes
+under her, &ldquo;I love the country! Last year
+I posed nearly two months for Monsieur
+Z., the painter&mdash;en plein air; my skin was
+not as white as it is now, I can tell you&mdash;I
+was absolutely like an Indian!</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 620px;">
+<img src="images/image069.jpg" width="620" height="400" alt="" title="" />
+<span class="caption">FR&Eacute;MIET</span>
+</div>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Once&rdquo;&mdash;and Marguerite smiled at the
+memory of it&mdash;&ldquo;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&mdash;I was always cold&mdash;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 &lsquo;Sir,&rsquo; and lived with
+<!--[image 69]<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">- 144 -</a></span>-->
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">- 145 -</a></span>his
+family in a big stone house with a garden.
+We had tea and cakes at five in the
+studio&mdash;always tea, tea, tea!&mdash;I can tell
+you I used to long for a good bottle of
+Madame Giraud&rsquo;s vin ordinaire, and a
+poulet. So I left and came back to Paris.
+Ah! quelle place! that Angleterre! J&rsquo;&eacute;tais
+toujours, toujours triste l&agrave;! In Paris I
+make a good living; ten francs a day&mdash;that&rsquo;s
+not bad, is it? and my time is taken
+often a year ahead. I like to pose for the
+painters&mdash;the studios are cleaner than those
+of the sculptor&rsquo;s. Some of the sculptors&rsquo;
+studios are so dirty&mdash;clay and dust over
+everything! Did you see Fabien&rsquo;s studio
+the other day when I posed for him? You
+thought it dirty? Tiens!&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;the
+wax and dust are in and over everything!
+<!--[image 70]<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">- 146 -</a></span>-->
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">- 147 -</a></span>There
+is no time to change when
+one has not the time to go home at mid-day.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 620px;">
+<img src="images/image070.jpg" width="620" height="400" alt="" title="" />
+<span class="caption">JEAN PAUL LAURENS</span>
+</div>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>There is another type of model you will
+see, too&mdash;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.</p>
+
+<p>She came without her hat&mdash;this &ldquo;vrai
+type&rdquo;&mdash;about seventeen years of age&mdash;with
+exquisite features, her blue eyes shining
+under a wealth of delicate blonde
+hair arranged in the prettiest of fashions&mdash;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
+<!--[image 71]<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">- 148 -</a></span>-->
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">- 149 -</a></span>and
+see one&rsquo;s friends&mdash;and there were many
+of her girl friends living on the same street
+where this chic demoiselle lived.</p>
+
+<p>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&rsquo;s work in her reticule, and said:</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;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.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<div class="figright" style="width: 283px;">
+<img src="images/image071.jpg" width="283" height="375" alt="" title="" />
+<span class="caption">OLD MAN MODEL</span>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="nowrap">It would have been</span> quite impossible for
+me to have gone with them&mdash;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&mdash;scrambling
+up the paths and listening to the band&mdash;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!</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">- 150 -</a></span>
+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&mdash;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&mdash;itinerant madonnas. These are
+the poorer class of models&mdash;the riff-raff of
+the Quarter&mdash;who get anywhere from a few
+sous to a few francs for a s&eacute;ance.</p>
+
+<p>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&rsquo;Arcs to battle&mdash;in many
+a modern public square.</p>
+
+<p>Chacun son m&eacute;tier!</p>
+
+<br /><br /><br /><br />
+<p class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">- 151 -</a></p>
+<br />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII" href="#TOC8">
+<span title=" Return to CONTENTS. " class="hoverlink">CHAPTER VIII</span></a></h2>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+<img src="images/image007.jpg" width="30" height="22" alt="" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<h3>THE LUXEMBOURG GARDENS</h3>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+<img src="images/image007.jpg" width="30" height="22" alt="" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<div class="figleft" style="width: 190px;">
+<img src="images/image072.jpg" width="190" height="300" alt="I" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<p class="dropcap"><span class="frstltr">I</span>N 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&rsquo;Observatoire, afford the great breathing-ground
+for the Latin Quarter.</p>
+
+<p>If one had but an hour to spend in the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">- 152 -</a></span>
+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&rsquo;s friends&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;a roof of green
+leaves, through which the sunbeams stream
+and in which the fat, gray pigeons find a
+paradise.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 620px;">
+<img src="images/image073.jpg" width="620" height="392" alt="" title="" />
+<span class="caption">THE CHILDREN&rsquo;S SHOP&mdash;LUXEMBOURG GARDENS</span>
+</div>
+
+<p>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
+<!--[image 73]<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">- 153 -</a></span>-->
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">- 154 -</a></span>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.</p>
+
+<p>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 &ldquo;types,&rdquo; 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.</p>
+
+<p>A tall poet stalks slowly by, reading intently,
+as he walks, a well-worn volume of
+verses&mdash;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&mdash;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<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">- 155 -</a></span>
+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&rsquo;-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&rsquo;Observatoire
+and the Seine.</p>
+
+<p>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&mdash;a straw hat
+with a wide blue ribbon band, and a fluffy
+piece of white tulle tied at the side of her
+neck.</p>
+
+<p>The throng moves slowly by you. It is<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">- 156 -</a></span>
+impossible, in such a close crowd, to be in
+a hurry; besides, one never is here.</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>In this Friday gathering you will recognize
+dozens of faces which you have seen at
+the &ldquo;Bal Bullier&rdquo; and the caf&eacute;s.</p>
+
+<p>The girl in the blue tailor-made dress,
+with the little dog, who you remember dined
+the night before at the Panth&eacute;on, 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&mdash;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.</p>
+
+<p>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&mdash;some alone, some
+in twos. The girl in the scarlet gown and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">- 157 -</a></span>
+white kid slippers, who came with the queer-looking
+&ldquo;type&rdquo; with the pointed beard, is
+Yvonne Gallois&mdash;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&mdash;a great wag&mdash;lazy, but full
+of fun&mdash;and genius.</p>
+
+<p>The little girl sitting opposite Yvonne is
+Claire Dumont. She is explaining a very
+sad &ldquo;histoire&rdquo; to the &ldquo;type&rdquo; 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&mdash;and all about her little dog
+&ldquo;Loisette!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 603px;">
+<img src="images/image074.jpg" width="603" height="450" alt="" title="" />
+<span class="caption">AT THE HEAD OF THE LUXEMBOURG GARDENS</span>
+</div>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, the villain of a concierge at Edmond&rsquo;s
+studio swore at him twice, and
+Sunday, when Edmond and I were breakfasting
+late, the old beast saw &lsquo;Loisette&rsquo;
+<!--[image 74]<p class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">- 158 -</a></p>-->
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">- 159 -</a></span>on
+the stairs and threw water over her;
+she is a sale b&ecirc;te, 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&mdash;that
+is it&mdash;oh! I am certain of it. Because
+I am young and happy. Jealous of me!
+that&rsquo;s funny, is it not? The old pig! Poor
+&lsquo;Loisette&rsquo;&mdash;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&mdash;with
+no one to depend upon for her snuff and her
+wine. If she were concierge at Edmond&rsquo;s
+old atelier she would be treated like that
+horrid old Madame Fouquet.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>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<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">- 160 -</a></span>
+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&mdash;a thing this garrulous
+bird would never have thought of
+doing had he had any say in the matter.</p>
+
+<p>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&mdash;while
+the gang of Indians in the windows
+above yelled themselves hoarse.</p>
+
+<p>It was just such a crowd as this that initiated
+a &ldquo;nouveau&rdquo; 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<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">- 161 -</a></span>
+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 <span title=" Artz " class="hoverbox">Arts</span>,
+where he was subsequently found by the
+police, who carted him off in a cab.</p>
+
+<div class="figleft" style="width: 273px;">
+<img src="images/image075.jpg" width="273" height="425" alt="" title="" />
+<span class="caption">THE FONTAINE DE MEDICIS</span>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="nowrap">But you must see</span> 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 mus&eacute;e 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 &ldquo;Fontaine de
+Medicis&rdquo; at the end of a long, rectangular
+basin of water&mdash;dark as some pool in a forest
+brook, the green vines trailing about its
+sides, shaded by the rich foliage of the trees
+overhead.</p>
+
+<p>On the other side of the Luxembourg
+you will find a garden of roses, with a
+<!--[image 75]<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">- 162 -</a></span>-->
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">- 163 -</a></span>rich
+bronze group of Greek runners in the
+center, and near it, back of the long marble
+balustrade, a croquet ground&mdash;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 pass&eacute; sport.</p>
+
+<p>This is another way of spending an afternoon
+at the sole cost of one&rsquo;s leisure. It
+takes but little to amuse these people!</p>
+
+<p>Often at the Punch and Judy show near-by,
+you will see two old gentlemen,&mdash;who
+may have watched this same Punch and
+Judy show when they were youngsters,&mdash;and
+who have been sitting for half an hour,
+waiting for the curtain of the miniature
+theater to rise. It is popular&mdash;this small
+&ldquo;Th&eacute;&acirc;tre Guignol,&rdquo; 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&mdash;the old harpist,
+and the good wife of the showman who
+knows every child in the neighborhood, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">- 164 -</a></span>
+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.</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>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 &ldquo;piou-piou&rdquo;
+not far away, which is a very belittling word
+for the red-trousered infantryman of the
+R&eacute;publique Fran&ccedil;aise.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">- 165 -</a></span>
+Surrounding the Palais du Luxembourg,
+these &ldquo;piou-pious,&rdquo; 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 &ldquo;piou-piou&rdquo;!</p>
+
+<p>Farther down the gravel-walk strolls a
+young Frenchman and his fianc&eacute;e&mdash;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!</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 620px;">
+<img src="images/image076.jpg" width="620" height="395" alt="" title="" />
+<span class="caption">THE PALACE OF THE LUXEMBOURG</span>
+</div>
+
+<p>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
+<!--[image 76]<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">- 166 -</a></span>-->
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">- 167 -</a></span>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&mdash;the hour
+when Paris wakes.</p>
+
+<p>In the smaller restaurants of the Quarter
+one often sees some strange contrasts
+among these true bohemians, for the Latin
+Quarter draws its habitu&eacute;s from every part
+of the globe. They are not all French&mdash;these
+happy-go-lucky fellows, who live for
+the day and let the morrow slide. You will
+see many Japanese&mdash;some of them painters&mdash;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&mdash;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.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">- 168 -</a></span>
+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
+bo&icirc;te 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&rsquo;s porch.</p>
+
+<p>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<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">- 169 -</a></span>
+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.</p>
+
+<div class="figleft" style="width: 314px;">
+<img src="images/image077.jpg" width="314" height="450" alt="" title="" />
+<span class="caption">WHAT IS GOING ON AT THE THEATERS</span>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="nowrap">This later feast</span> 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&rsquo;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. &ldquo;It is so thoroughly bohemian!&rdquo;
+they exclaim.</p>
+
+<p>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&mdash;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
+<!--[image 77]<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">- 170 -</a></span>-->
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">- 171 -</a></span>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.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Florence!&rdquo; exclaims one of the strangers
+in a whisper, &ldquo;do look at that queer
+little &lsquo;type&rsquo; at the long table&mdash;the tall girl
+in black actually kissed him!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;You don&rsquo;t mean it!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, I do&mdash;just now. Why, my dear, I
+saw it plainly!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>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 &ldquo;type&rdquo; for a Parisienne age&mdash;thirty
+days or less.</p>
+
+<p>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<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">- 172 -</a></span>
+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.</p>
+
+<br /><br /><br /><br />
+<p class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">- 173 -</a></p>
+<br />
+<div>
+<img class="figleft" src="images/image078a.jpg" width="252" height="270" alt="T" title="" />
+<img class="figleft" src="images/image078b.jpg" width="196" height="129" alt="" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<br /><br /><br />
+<h2 class="chptrimg"><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX" href="#TOC9">
+<span title=" Return to CONTENTS. " class="hoverlink">CHAPTER IX</span></a></h2>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+<img src="images/image007.jpg" width="30" height="22" alt="" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<h3 class="chptrimg">&ldquo;THE RAGGED EDGE<br />
+OF THE<br />
+QUARTER&rdquo;</h3>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+<img src="images/image007.jpg" width="30" height="22" alt="" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<p class="dropcap"><span class="frstltr">T</span>HERE 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.</p>
+
+<p>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<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">- 174 -</a></span>
+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.</p>
+
+<p>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!</p>
+
+<p>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&mdash;fortune-telling,
+horse-trading vagabonds,
+whose living-vans at certain times of the
+year form part of the smaller fairs within
+the Quarter.</p>
+
+<div class="figleft">
+<img src="images/image079.jpg" width="278" height="450" alt="(factory chimneys along empty street)" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">- 175 -</a></span>
+<span class="nowrap">And very small</span> 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&rsquo;s rifle nearly
+rests upon the painted lady with the sheet-iron
+breastbone, centered by a pinhead of
+a bull&rsquo;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&mdash;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.</p>
+
+<p>These little Quarter f&ecirc;tes are far different
+from the great f&ecirc;te 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
+<!--[image 79]<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">- 176 -</a></span>-->
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">- 177 -</a></span>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.</p>
+
+<p>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 &ldquo;supe&rdquo; in a
+spectacular and melodramatic pantomime,
+entitled &ldquo;Afrique &agrave; Paris.&rdquo; We were invited
+by the sole proprietor and manager of
+the show&mdash;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!</p>
+
+<p>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<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">- 178 -</a></span>
+trousers and a flannel shirt wrapped in a
+newspaper, we presented ourselves at the
+appointed hour, at the edge of the hostile
+country.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+<img src="images/image080.jpg" width="473" height="450" alt="(street scene)" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<p>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 &ldquo;greasers&rdquo;
+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<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">- 179 -</a></span>
+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.</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>During this forepart, and after some
+clever high trapeze work, the sensation
+of the evening was announced&mdash;a Signore,
+with an unpronounceable name, would train
+a den of ten forest-bred lions!</p>
+
+<p>When the orchestra had finished playing
+&ldquo;The Awakening of the Lion,&rdquo; 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,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">- 180 -</a></span>
+and descends in scale to a hoarse roar that
+seems to penetrate one&rsquo;s whole nervous
+system.</p>
+
+<p>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&rsquo;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&rsquo;s head was
+but half a foot now from the lion&rsquo;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<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">- 181 -</a></span>
+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.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;An ugly lot,&rdquo; I said, turning to our friend
+the manager, who had taken his seat beside
+me.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; he mused, peering at the stage
+with his keen gray eyes; &ldquo;green stock, but
+a swell act, eh? Wait for the grand finale.
+I&rsquo;ve got a girl here who comes on and does
+art poses among the lions; she&rsquo;s a dream&mdash;French,
+too!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Ain&rsquo;t she a peach?&rdquo; said the manager,
+enthusiastically.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said I, &ldquo;she is. Has she been in
+the cages long?&rdquo; I asked.</p>
+
+<!--[image 81]<p class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">- 182 -</a></p>-->
+
+<div class="figright">
+<img src="images/image081.jpg" width="358" height="450" alt="(portrait of woman)" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">- 183 -</a></span>
+<span class="nowrap">&ldquo;No, she never</span> worked with the cats before,&rdquo;
+he said; &ldquo;she&rsquo;s new to the show
+business; she said her folks live in Nantes.
+She worked here in a chocolate factory
+until she saw my &lsquo;ad&rsquo; last week and joined
+my show. We gave her a rehearsal Monday
+and we put her on the bill next night.
+She&rsquo;s a good looker with plenty of grit, and
+is a winner with the bunch in front.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;How did you get her to take the job?&rdquo;
+I said.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Well,&rdquo; he replied, &ldquo;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.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Who wrote the notes?&rdquo; I said, queryingly.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I wrote &rsquo;em!&rdquo; he exclaimed dryly, and
+he bit the corner of his stubby mustache
+and smiled. &ldquo;This is the last act in the
+olio, so you will have to excuse me. So
+long!&rdquo; and he disappeared in the gloom.</p>
+
+<hr class="hr33" />
+
+<p>There are streets and boulevards in the
+Quarter, sections of which are alive with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">- 184 -</a></span>
+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&mdash;their interminable
+walls flanking garden or court.</p>
+
+<p>The Boulevard St. Germain is just such a
+highway until it crosses the Boulevard St.
+Michel&mdash;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.</p>
+
+<p>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 &ldquo;chambers&rdquo; 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.</p>
+
+<!--[image 82]<p class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">- 185 -</a></p>-->
+
+<div class="figleft">
+<img src="images/image082.jpg" width="330" height="450" alt="(crowded street market)" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="nowrap">But the man from</span> Denver, the &ldquo;Steel
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">- 186 -</a></span>
+King,&rdquo; 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 &ldquo;The Great Red Star copper mine&rdquo;&mdash;a
+find which had ever since been a source of
+endless amusement to them&mdash;discovered
+the Quarter before they had been in Paris
+a day, and found it, too, &ldquo;the best ever,&rdquo;
+as they expressed it.</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>The man from Denver and the Steel King
+sat at one of the small tables, leaning over
+the railing at the &ldquo;Bal Bullier,&rdquo; gazing at
+the sea of dancers.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Billy,&rdquo; said the man from Denver to the
+Steel King, &ldquo;if they had this in Chicago
+they&rsquo;d tear out the posts inside of fifteen
+minutes&rdquo;&mdash;he wiped the perspiration from
+his broad forehead and pushed his twenty-dollar
+Panama on the back of his head.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">- 187 -</a></span>
+&ldquo;Ain&rsquo;t it a sight!&rdquo; he mused, clinching
+the butt of his perfecto between his teeth.
+&ldquo;Say!&mdash;say! it beats all I ever see,&rdquo; and
+he chuckled to himself, his round, genial
+face, with its double chin, wreathed in
+smiles.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Say, George!&rdquo; he called to one of the
+&lsquo;copper twins,&rsquo; &ldquo;did you get on to that
+little one in black that just went by&mdash;well!
+well!! well!!! In a minute!!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Already the pile of saucers on their table
+reached a foot high&mdash;a record of refreshments
+for every Yvonne and Marcelle that
+had stopped in passing. Two girls approach.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Certainly, sit right down,&rdquo; cried the
+Steel King. &ldquo;Here, Jack,&rdquo;&mdash;this to the
+aged gar&ccedil;on, &ldquo;smoke up! and ask the ladies
+what they&rsquo;ll have&rdquo;&mdash;all of which was unintelligible
+to the two little Parisiennes and
+the gar&ccedil;on, but quite clear in meaning to
+all three.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Dis donc, gar&ccedil;on!&rdquo; interrupted the taller
+of the two girls, &ldquo;un caf&eacute; glac&eacute; pour moi.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Et moi,&rdquo; answered her companion gayly,
+&ldquo;Je prends une limonade!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">- 188 -</a></span>
+&ldquo;Here! Hold on!&rdquo; thundered good-humoredly
+the man from Denver; &ldquo;git &rsquo;em a
+good drink. Rye, garsong! yes, that&rsquo;s it&mdash;whiskey&mdash;I
+see you&rsquo;re on, and two. Deux!&rdquo;
+he explains, holding up two fat fingers, &ldquo;all
+straight, friend&mdash;two whiskeys with seltzer
+on the side&mdash;see? Now go roll your hoop
+and git back with &rsquo;em.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, non, monsieur!&rdquo; cried the two Parisiennes
+in one breath; &ldquo;whiskey! jamais!
+&ccedil;a pique et c&rsquo;est trop fort.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>At this juncture the flower woman arrived
+with a basketful of red roses.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Voulez-vous des fleurs, messieurs et
+mesdames?&rdquo; she asked politely.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Certainly,&rdquo; cried the Steel King; &ldquo;here,
+Maud and Mamie, take the lot,&rdquo; 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<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">- 189 -</a></span>
+passed. Ten minutes later the two possessed
+but a single rose apiece&mdash;they had
+generously given all the rest away.</p>
+
+<div class="figright">
+<img src="images/image083.jpg" width="174" height="225" alt="(portrait of woman)" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="nowrap">The &ldquo;copper</span> twins&rdquo; 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 &ldquo;copper twins&rdquo;
+could not speak a word of French, and
+the English of the two chic brunettes was
+limited to &ldquo;Oh, yes!&rdquo; &ldquo;Vary well!&rdquo; &ldquo;Good
+morning,&rdquo; &ldquo;Good evening,&rdquo; and &ldquo;I love
+you.&rdquo; The four held hands over the low
+railing, until the &ldquo;copper twins&rdquo; 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&rsquo;
+daintily slippered feet, in
+squeezing out past the
+group of round tables<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">- 190 -</a></span>
+back of the balustrade, and down on to the
+polished floor&mdash;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.</p>
+
+<p>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&mdash;that jealousy
+makes uncompanionable and sometimes
+cruel. She will tell you that these pale,
+black-eyed, and black-bearded boulevardiers
+are all alike&mdash;lazy and selfish; so unlike
+many of the sterling, good fellows of
+the Quarter&mdash;Frenchmen of a different
+stamp, and there are many of these&mdash;rare,
+good Bohemians, with hearts and natures
+as big as all out-doors&mdash;&ldquo;bons gar&ccedil;ons,&rdquo;
+which is only another way of saying
+&ldquo;gentlemen.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">- 191 -</a></span>
+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&mdash;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&mdash;and the glint of an
+officer&rsquo;s sword.</p>
+
+<p>Farther on, you pass a silent gendarme
+muffled in his night cloak; a few doors farther
+on in a small caf&eacute;, 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<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">- 192 -</a></span>
+pets and nearly all their household goods&mdash;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.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+<img src="images/image084.jpg" width="620" height="442" alt="(street market)" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Ah, yes, it has been a long journey!&rdquo;
+sighs the wife. Her husband corroborates
+her, as they explain to the patronne of the
+caf&eacute; 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!</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">- 193 -</a></span>
+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&mdash;the driver asleep on his
+seat near his swinging lantern&mdash;and the
+big Normandy horses taking the way. It
+is late, for these carts are on their route to
+the early morning market&mdash;one of the great
+Halles. The tired waiters are putting up
+the shutters of the smaller caf&eacute;s 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
+d&eacute;jeuner&mdash;for charity begins at home.</p>
+
+<br /><br /><br /><br />
+<p class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">- 194 -</a></p>
+<br />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X" href="#TOC10">
+<span title=" Return to CONTENTS. " class="hoverlink">CHAPTER X</span></a></h2>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+<img src="images/image007.jpg" width="30" height="22" alt="" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<h3>EXILED</h3>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+<img src="images/image007.jpg" width="30" height="22" alt="" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<p>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 caf&eacute;s 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 &ldquo;Boul&rsquo; Miche&rdquo;; danced at
+the &ldquo;Bullier&rdquo;; 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&mdash;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<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">- 195 -</a></span>
+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.</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>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&mdash;only
+those who have lived in and through
+it know its full story.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 620px;">
+<img src="images/image085.jpg" width="620" height="374" alt="THE MUS&Eacute;E CLUNY" title="" />
+<p>THE <span title=" MUSEE " class="hoverbox">MUS&Eacute;E</span> CLUNY</p>
+</div>
+
+<p>Pochard has seen it; so has the little old
+woman who once danced at the opera;
+so have old Bibi La Pur&eacute;e, and Alphonse,
+the gray-haired gar&ccedil;on, and M&egrave;re Gaillard,
+the flower-woman. They have seen the
+gay boulevards and the caf&eacute;s and generations
+<!--[image 85]<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">- 196 -</a></span>-->
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">- 197 -</a></span>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.</p>
+
+<p>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.</p>
+
+<p>And the students are equally quixotic. I
+knew one once who lived in an air-castle of
+his own building&mdash;a tall, serious fellow, a
+sculptor, who always went tramping about
+in a robe resembling a monk&rsquo;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&mdash;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<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">- 198 -</a></span>
+heart of this fair lady beating against
+the cold steel breastplate.</p>
+
+<p>Another &ldquo;bon gar&ccedil;on&rdquo;&mdash;a painter whose
+enthusiasm for his art knew no bounds&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;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 &ldquo;Fall of
+Babylon&rdquo; or a &ldquo;Carnage of Rome&rdquo; with
+a nerve that was sublime! The choking
+dust of the arena&mdash;the insatiable fury of the
+tigers&mdash;the cowering of hundreds of unfortunate
+captives&mdash;and the cruel multitude
+above, seated in the vast circle of the
+hippodrome&mdash;all these did not daunt his
+zeal.</p>
+
+<p>Once he persuaded a venerable old abb&eacute;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">- 199 -</a></span>
+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 abb&eacute;
+gazed at the result and said things which I
+dare not repeat&mdash;for our enthusiast had so
+far only painted his clothes; the face was
+still in its primary drawing.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;The face I shall do in time,&rdquo; the enthusiast
+assured the reverend man excitedly;
+&ldquo;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?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;No, sir!&rdquo; thundered the irate abb&eacute;.
+&ldquo;Does monsieur think I am not a very
+busy man?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Then softening a little, he said, with a
+smile:</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I won&rsquo;t come any more, my friend. I&rsquo;ll
+send my boots around to-morrow by my
+boy.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>But the longest red-letter day has its
+ending, and time and tide beckon one with
+the brutality of an impatient jailer.</p>
+
+<p>On my studio table is a well-stuffed envelope
+containing the documents relative to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">- 200 -</a></span>
+my impending exile&mdash;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.</p>
+
+<p>The three pretty daughters of old P&egrave;re
+Valois know of my approaching departure,
+and say cheering things to me as I pass the
+concierge&rsquo;s window.</p>
+
+<p>P&egrave;re Valois stands at the gate and stops
+me with: &ldquo;Is it true, monsieur, you are
+going Saturday?&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; I answer; &ldquo;unfortunately, it is
+quite true.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>The old man sighs and replies: &ldquo;I once
+had to leave Paris myself&rdquo;; looking at me
+as if he were speaking to an old resident.
+&ldquo;My regiment was ordered to the colonies.
+It was hard, monsieur, but I did my duty.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>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
+&ldquo;bon voyage,&rdquo; accompanied with many
+handshakings. It is getting late and P&egrave;re
+Valois has gone to hunt for a cab&mdash;a &ldquo;galerie,&rdquo;
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">- 201 -</a></span>
+as it is called, with a place for trunks
+on top. Twenty minutes go by, but no
+&ldquo;galerie&rdquo; is in sight. The three daughters
+of P&egrave;re 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 &ldquo;galerie&rdquo;
+has arrived&mdash;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 P&egrave;re 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.</p>
+
+<p>It is not often one departs with the assistance
+of three pretty femmes de m&eacute;nage,
+a jolly old concierge, and a portion of the
+army of the French Republic. With many<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">- 202 -</a></span>
+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.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Bon voyage!&rdquo; cry the three girls and
+P&egrave;re Valois and the two soldiers, as the
+last trunk is chained on.</p>
+
+<p>The dingy vehicle groans its way slowly
+out of the court. Just as it reaches the last
+gate it stops.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;What&rsquo;s the matter?&rdquo; I ask, poking my
+head out of the window.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Monsieur,&rdquo; says the aged cocher, &ldquo;it is
+an impossibility! I regret very much to
+say that your bicycle will not pass through
+the gate.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>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<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">- 203 -</a></span>
+either side in passing through the iron
+posts.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Ah!&rdquo; cries my cocher enthusiastically,
+&ldquo;monsieur is right, happily for us!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>He cracks his whip, the little horse
+gathers itself together&mdash;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. &ldquo;From Mademoiselle
+Ernestine Valois,&rdquo; it reads, and on
+the other side is written, in a small, fine
+hand, &ldquo;Bon voyage.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>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!</p>
+
+<p class="starrow">*****</p>
+
+<p>But why go on telling you of what the
+little shops contain&mdash;how narrow and picturesque
+are the small streets&mdash;how gay
+the boulevards&mdash;what they do at the &ldquo;Bullier&rdquo;&mdash;or
+where they dine? It is Love that
+moves Paris&mdash;it is the motive power of this
+big, beautiful, polished city&mdash;the love of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">- 204 -</a></span>
+adventure, the love of intrigue, the love of
+being a bohemian if you will&mdash;but it is Love
+all the same!</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I work for love,&rdquo; hums the little couturi&egrave;re.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I work for love,&rdquo; cries the miller of
+Marcel Legay.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;I live for love,&rdquo; sings the poet.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;For the love of art I am a painter,&rdquo;
+sighs Edmond, in his atelier&mdash;&ldquo;and for
+her!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;For the love of it I mold and model and
+create,&rdquo; chants the sculptor&mdash;&ldquo;and for her!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>It is the Woman who dominates Paris&mdash;&ldquo;Les
+petites femmes!&rdquo; who have inspired
+its art through the skill of these artisans.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Monsieur! monsieur! Please buy this
+fisherman doll!&rdquo; cries a poor old woman
+outside of your train compartment, as you
+are leaving Havre for Paris.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;Monsieur!&rdquo; screams a girl, running near
+the open window with a little fishergirl doll
+uplifted.</p>
+
+<p>&ldquo;What, you don&rsquo;t want it? You have
+bought one? Ah! I see,&rdquo; cries the pretty
+vendor; &ldquo;but it is a boy doll&mdash;he will be sad
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">- 205 -</a></span>
+if he goes to Paris without a companion!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p>Take all the little fishergirls away from
+Paris&mdash;from the Quartier Latin&mdash;and you
+would find chaos and a morgue!</p>
+
+<p>L&rsquo;amour! that is it&mdash;L&rsquo;amour!&mdash;L&rsquo;amour!&mdash;L&rsquo;amour!</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+<img src="images/image086.jpg" width="282" height="400" alt="(burning candle)" title="" />
+</div>
+
+</div>
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<pre>
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's The Real Latin Quarter, by F. Berkeley Smith
+
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+</pre>
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+</body>
+</html>
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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Real Latin Quarter, by F. Berkeley Smith
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Real Latin Quarter
+
+Author: F. Berkeley Smith
+
+Illustrator: F. Berkeley Smith
+             F. Hopkinson Smith
+
+Release Date: January 20, 2010 [EBook #30981]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE REAL LATIN QUARTER ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Rene Anderson Benitz, Suzanne Shell and the
+Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://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
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE REAL LATIN QUARTER ***
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