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+This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements,
+metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be
+in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES.
+
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+Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for
+eBook #50495 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/50495)
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-The Project Gutenberg EBook of Bohemian Paris of Today, by 
-W. C. Morrow and Edouard Cucuel
-
-This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most
-other parts of the world 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.  If you are not located in the United States, you'll have
-to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook.
-
-
-
-Title: Bohemian Paris of Today
-       Second Edition
-
-Author: W. C. Morrow
-        Edouard Cucuel
-
-Illustrator: Edouard Cucuel
-
-Release Date: November 19, 2015 [EBook #50495]
-
-Language: English
-
-Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
-
-*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BOHEMIAN PARIS OF TODAY ***
-
-
-
-
-Produced by David Widger from page images generously
-provided by the Internet Archive
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-BOHEMIAN PARIS OF TO-DAY
-
-By W. C. Morrow
-
-From Notes By Edouard Cucuel
-
-Illustrated By Edouard Cucuel
-
-Second Edition
-
-Philadelphia & London J. B. Lippincott Company 1900
-
-[Illustration: 0001]
-
-[Illustration: 0008]
-
-[Illustration: 0009]
-
-
-
-
-INTRODUCTION
-
-
-THIS volume is written to show the life of the students in the Paris of
-to-day. It has an additional interest in opening to inspection certain
-phases of Bohemian life in Paris that are shared both by the students
-and the public, but that are generally unfamiliar to visitors to that
-wonderful city, and even to a very large part of the city's population
-itself. It depicts the under-side of such life as the students
-find,--the loose, unconventional life of the humbler strugglers in
-literature and art, with no attempt to spare its salient features, its
-poverty and picturesqueness, and its lack of adherence to generally
-accepted standards of morals and conduct.
-
-As is told in the article describing that incomparably brilliant
-spectacle, the ball of the Four Arts, extreme care is taken to exclude
-the public and admit only artists and students, all of whom must be
-properly accredited and fully identified. It is well understood that
-such a spectacle would not be suitable for any but artists and students.
-It is given solely for their benefit, and with the high aim, fully
-justified by the experience of the masters who direct the students,
-that the event, with its marvellous brilliancy, its splendid artistic
-effects, and its freedom and abandon, has a stimulating and broadening
-effect of the greatest value to art. The artists and students see in
-these annual spectacles only grace, beauty, and majesty; their training
-in the studios, where they learn to regard models merely as tools of
-their craft, fits them, and them alone, for the wholesome enjoyment of
-the great ball.
-
-It is a student that presents the insight which this volume gives into
-the life of the students and other Bohemians of Paris. It is set forth
-with the frankness of a student. Coming from such a source, and having
-such treatment, it will have a special charm and value for the wise.
-
-The students are the pets of Paris. They lend to the city a
-picturesqueness that no other city enjoys. So long as they avoid riots
-aimed at a government that may now and then offend their sense of
-right, their ways of living, their escapades, their noisy and joyous
-manifestations of healthy young animal life, are good-naturedly
-overlooked. Underneath such a life there lies, concealed from casual
-view, another life that they lead,--one of hard work, of hope, of
-aspiration, and often of pinching poverty and cruel self-denial. The
-stress upon them, of many kinds, is great. The utter absence of an
-effort to reorganize their lives upon conventional lines is from a
-philosophical belief that if they fail to pass unscathed through it all,
-they lack the fine, strong metal from which worthy artists are made.
-
-The stranger in Paris will here find opened to him places in which he
-may study for himself the Bohemian life of the city in all its careless
-disregard of conventions. The cafés, cabarets, and dance-halls herein
-described and illustrated have a charm that wholesome, well-balanced
-minds will enjoy. The drawings for the illustrations were all made
-from the actual scenes that they depict; they partake of the engaging
-frankness of the text and of its purpose to show Bohemian life in the
-Paris of to-day without any effort at concealment.
-
-W. C. M.
-
-
-
-
-BOHEMIAN PARIS
-
-
-
-
-OUR STUDIO
-
-WE were in wonderful Paris at last--Bishop and I--after a memorable
-passage full of interest from New York to Havre. Years of hard work were
-ahead of us, for Bishop would be an artist and I a sculptor.
-
-[Illustration: 8023]
-
-For two weeks we had been lodging temporarily in the top of a
-comfortable little hotel, called the Grand something (most of the
-Parisian hotels are Grand), the window of which commanded a superb view
-of the great city, the vaudeville playhouse of the world.
-
-_Pour la première fois_ the dazzle and glitter had burst upon us,
-confusing first, but now assuming form and coherence. If we and
-incomprehensible at could have had each a dozen eyes instead of two, or
-less greed to see and more patience to learn!
-
-Day by day we had put off the inevitable evil of finding a studio.
-Every night found us in the cheapest seats of some theatre, and often we
-lolled on the terraces of the Café de la Paix, watching the pretty girls
-as they passed, their silken skirts saucily pulled up, revealing dainty
-laces and ankles. From the slippery floor of the Louvre galleries we had
-studied the masterpieces of David, Rubens, Rembrandt, and the rest; had
-visited the Panthéon, the Musée Cluny; had climbed the Eiffel Tower,
-and traversed the Bois de Boulogne and the Champs-Elysées. Then came the
-search for a studio and the settling to work. It would be famous to have
-a little home of our very own, where we could have little dinners of our
-very own cooking!
-
-It is with a shudder that I recall those eleven days of ceaseless
-studio-hunting. We dragged ourselves through miles of Quartier Latin
-streets, and up hundreds of flights of polished waxed stairs, behind
-puffing concierges in carpet slippers, the puffing changing to
-grumbling, as, dissatisfied, the concierges followed us down the stairs.
-The Quartier abounds with placards reading, "_Atelier d'Artiste à
-Louer!_" The rentals ranged from two hundred to two thousand francs
-a year, and the sizes from cigar-boxes to barns. But there was always
-something lacking. On the eleventh day we found a suitable place on the
-sixth (top) floor of a quaint old house in a passage off the _Rue St.-
-André-des-Arts_. There were overhead and side lights, and from the
-window a noble view of Paris over the house-tops.
-
-[Illustration: 0023]
-
-A room of fair size joined the studio, and from its vine-laced window we
-could look into the houses across the court, and down to the bottom of
-the court as well. The studio walls were delightfully dirty and low in
-tone, and were covered with sketches and cartoons in oil and charcoal.
-The price was eight hundred francs a year, and from the concierge's
-eloquent catalogue of its charms it seemed a great bargain. The walls
-settled our fate,--we took the studio.
-
-It was one thing to agree on the price and another to settle the
-details. Our French was ailing, and the concierge's French
-was--concierges' French. Bishop found that his pet theory that French
-should be spoken with the hands, head, and shoulders carried weak spots
-which a concierge could discover; and then, being somewhat mercurial, he
-began floundering in a mixture of French and English words and French
-and American gestures, ending in despair with the observation that the
-concierge was a d------ fool. At the end of an hour we had learned that
-we must sign an iron-bound, government-stamped contract, agreeing to
-occupy the studio for not less than one year, to give six months' notice
-of our leaving, and to pay three months' rental in advance, besides the
-taxes for one year on all the doors and windows, and ten francs or more
-to the concierge. This was all finally settled.
-
-As there was no running water in the rooms (such a luxury being unknown
-here), we had to supply our needs from a clumsy old iron pump in the
-court, and employ six flights of stairs in the process.
-
-Then the studio had to be furnished, and there came endless battles
-with the furniture dealers in the neighborhood, who kept their stock
-replenished from the goods of bankrupt artists and suspended ménages.
-
-[Illustration: 0025]
-
-These _marchands de meubles_ are a wily race, but Bishop pursued a plan
-in dealing with them that worked admirably. He would enter a shop and
-price an article that we wanted, and then throw up his hands in horror
-and leave the place as though it were haunted with a plague. The dealer
-would always come tumbling after him and offer him the article for a
-half or a third of the former price. In this way Bishop bought chairs,
-tables, a large easel, beds, a studio stove, book-shelves, linen,
-drapings, water pitchers and buckets, dishes, cooking utensils, and
-many other things, the cost of the whole being less than one hundred and
-fifty francs,--and thus we were established. The studio became quite a
-snug and hospitable retreat, in spite of the alarming arrangement that
-Bishop adopted, "to help the composition of the room." His favorite
-cast, the Unknown Woman, occupied the place of honor over his couch,
-where he could see it the first thing in the morning, when the dawn,
-stealing through the skylight, brought out those strange and subtle
-features which he swore inspired him from day to day. My room was filled
-with brilliant posters by Chéret and Mucha and Steinlen,--they were too
-bold and showy for the low tone of Bishop's studio. It all made a pretty
-picture,--the dizzy posters, the solemn trunks, the books, the bed with
-its gaudy print coverings, and the little crooked-pane window hung
-with bright green vines that ran thither from a box in the window of
-an adjoining apartment. And it was all completed by the bright faces
-of three pretty seamstresses, who sat sewing every day at their window
-across the passage.
-
-Under our housekeeping agreement Bishop was made cook, and I chambermaid
-and water-carrier. It was Bishop's duty to obey the alarm clock at six
-every morning and light the fire, while I went down for water at the
-pump, and for milk at the stand beside the court entrance, where fat
-Madame Gioté sold _café-au-lait_ and _lait froid ou chaud_, from a
-_sou_'s worth up. Then, after breakfast, I did the chamber work while
-Bishop washed the dishes. Bishop could make for breakfast the most
-delicious coffee and flapjacks and omelette in the whole of Paris. By
-eight o'clock all was in order; Bishop was smoking his pipe and singing
-"Down on the Farm" while working on his life study, and I was off to my
-modelling in clay.
-
-Bishop soon had the hearts of all the shop-keepers in the neighborhood.
-The baker's dimple-cheeked daughter never worried if the scales hung a
-little in his favor, at the boucherie he was served with the choicest
-cuts of meat, and the fried-potato women called him "_mon fils_"
-and fried a fresh lot of potatoes for him. Even Madame Tonneau, the
-_marchande de tabac_, saw that he had the freshest packages in the shop.
-Often, when I was returning home at night, I encountered him making
-cheerily for the studio, bearing bread by the yard, his pockets bulging
-with other material for dinner. Ah, he was a wonderful cook, and we had
-marvellous appetites! So famous did he soon become that the models (the
-lady ones, of course) were eager to dine _avec nous_; and when they did
-they helped to set the table, they sewed buttons on our clothes, and
-they made themselves agreeable and perfectly at home with that charming
-grace which is so peculiarly French. Ah, those were jolly times!
-
-The court, or, more properly, _le passage_, on which our window looked
-was a narrow little thoroughfare leading from the Rue St.-André-des-Arts
-to the Boulevard St.-Germain. It bore little traffic, but was a busy
-way withal. It had iron-workers' shops, where hot iron was beaten
-into artistic lamps, grills, and bed-frames; a tinsmith's shop; a
-blanchisserie, where our shirts were made white and smooth by the pretty
-blanchisseuses singing all day over their work; a wine-cellar, whose
-barrels were eternally blocking one end of the passage; an embossed
-picture-card factory, where twoscore women, with little hammers and
-steel dies, beat pictures into cards; a furniture shop, where everything
-old and artistic was sold, the Hôtel du Passage, and a bookbinder's
-shop.
-
-Each of the eight buildings facing the passage was ruled by a formidable
-concierge, who had her dark little living apartments near the entrances.
-These are the despots of the court, and their function is to make life
-miserable for their lodgers. When they are not doing that they are
-eternally scrubbing and polishing. They are all married. M. Mayé, _le
-mari de notre concierge_, is a tailor. He sits at the window and mends
-and sews all day long, or acts as concierge when his wife is away. The
-husband of the concierge next door is a sergeant de ville at night, but
-in the early mornings as, in a soiled blouse, he empties ash-cans, he
-looks very unlike the personage dressed at night in a neat blue
-uniform and wearing a short sword Another concierge's husband _fait des
-courses_--runs errands--for sufficient pay.
-
-[Illustration: 9030]
-
-Should you fail to clean your boots on the mat, and thus soil the glossy
-stairs, have a care!--a concierge's tongue has inherited the warlike
-characteristics of the Caesars. Rugs and carpets must not be shaken out
-of the windows after nine o'clock. Ashes and other refuse must be thrown
-into the big bin of the house not later than seven. Sharp at eleven in
-the evening the lights are extinguished and the doors locked for the
-night; and then all revelry must immediately cease. Should you arrive
-_en retard_,--that is, after eleven,--you must ring the bell violently
-until the despot, generally after listening for an hour to the bell,
-unlocks the catch from her couch. Then when you close the door and pass
-her lodge you must call out your name. If you are out often or till very
-late, be prepared for a lecture on the crime of breaking the rest of
-hard-working concierges. After the day's work the concierges draw their
-chairs out into the court and gossip about their tenants. The nearer the
-roof the lodger the less the respect he commands. Would he not live on a
-lower floor if he were able? And then, the top floor gives small tips!
-
-It is noticeable that the entresol and premiers étages are clean and
-highly polished, and that the cleanliness and polish diminish steadily
-toward the top, where they almost disappear. Ah, _les concierges!_ But
-what would Paris be without them?
-
-Directly beneath us an elderly couple have apartments. Every morning at
-five the old gentleman starts French oaths rattling through the court by
-beating his rugs out of his window. At six he rouses the ire of a widow
-below him by watering his plants and incidentally drenching her bird-
-cages. Not long ago she rose in violent rebellion, and he hurled a
-flower pot at her protruding head. It smashed on her window-sill; she
-screamed "Murder!" and the whole court was in an uproar. The concierges
-and the old gentleman's pacific wife finally restored order--till the
-next morning.
-
-Next, to my room are an elderly lady and her sweet, sad-faced daughter.
-They are very quiet and dignified, and rarely fraternize with their
-neighbors. It is their vine that creeps over to my window, and it is
-carefully tended by the daughter. And all the doves and sparrows of the
-court come regularly to eat out of her hand, and a lively chatter they
-have over it. The ladies are the widow and daughter of a once prosperous
-stock-broker on the Bourse, whom an unlucky turn of the wheel drove to
-poverty and suicide.
-
-The three seamstresses over the way are the sunshine of the court. They
-are not so busy sewing and singing but that they find time to send arch
-glances toward our window, and their blushes and smiles when Bishop
-sends them sketches of them that he has made from memory are more than
-remunerative.
-
-A young Scotch student from Glasgow, named Cameron, has a studio
-adjoining ours. He is a fine, jovial fellow, and we usually assist him
-to dispose of his excellent brew of tea at five o'clock. Every Thursday
-evening there was given a musical chez lui, in which Bishop and I
-assisted with mandolin and guitar, while Cameron played the flute.
-For these occasions Cameron donned his breeks and kilt, and danced the
-sword-dance round two table-knives crossed. The American songs strike
-him as being strange and incomprehensible. He cannot understand the
-negro dialect, and wonders if America is filled with negroes and cotton
-plantations; but he is always delighted with Bishop's "Down on the
-Farm."
-
-[Illustration: 0033]
-
-Life begins at five o'clock in our court. The old gentleman beats his
-rugs, the milk-bottles rattle, the bread-carts rumble, Madame Gioté
-opens her milkstand, and the concierges drag the ash-cans out into the
-court, where a drove of rag-pickers fall upon them. These gleaners are
-a queer lot. Individuals and families pursue the quest, each with a
-distinct purpose. One will seek nothing but bones, glass, and crockery;
-another sifts the ashes for coal; another takes only paper and rags;
-another old shoes and hats; and so on, from can to can, none interfering
-with any of the others. The dogs are the first at the bins. They are
-regularly organized in working squads, travelling in fours and fives.
-They are quite adept at digging through the refuse for food, and they
-rarely quarrel; and they never leave one bin for another until they have
-searched it thoroughly.
-
-The swish of water and a coarse brush broom announces the big, strong
-woman who sweeps the gutters of the Rue St.-André-des-Arts. With broad
-sweeps of the broom she spreads the water over half the street and back
-into the gutter, making the worn yellow stones shine. She is coarsely
-clad and wears black sabots; and God knows how she can swear when the
-gleaners scatter the refuse into the gutter!
-
-The long wail of the fish-and-mussel woman, "_J'ai des beaux maquereaux,
-des moules, poissons à frire, à frire!_" as she pushes her cart, means
-seven o'clock.
-
-The day now really begins. Water-pails are clanging and sabots are
-clicking on the stones. The wine people set up a rumble by cleaning
-their casks with chains and water. The anvils of the iron-workers are
-ringing, and there comes the tink-tink-tink of the little hammers in
-the embossed-picture factory. The lumbering garbage-cart arrives to bear
-away the ash-bins, the lead-horse shaking his head to ring the bell on
-his neck in announcement of the approach. Street-venders and hawkers of
-various comestibles, each with his or her quaint musical cry, come in
-numbers. "_J'ai des beaux choux-fleurs! O, comme ils sont beaux!_" The
-fruit- and potato-women come after, and then the chair-menders. These
-market-women are early risers. They are at the great Halles Centrales
-at four o'clock to bargain for their wares; and besides good lungs
-they have a marvellous shrewdness, born of long dealings with French
-housewives.
-
-Always near eight may be heard, "_Du mouron pour les petits oiseaux!_"
-and all the birds in the court, familiar with the cry, pipe up for their
-chickweed. "_Voilà le bon fromage à la crème pour trois sous!_" cries
-a keen-faced little woman, her three-wheeled cart loaded with cream
-cheeses; and she gives a soup-plate full of them, with cream poured
-generously over, and as she pockets the money says, "_Voilà! ce que
-c'est bon avec des confitures!_" Cream cheeses and prayer! On Sunday
-mornings during the spring and summer the goat's-milk vender, blowing
-a reed-pipe, invades the passage with his living milk-cans,--a flock of
-eight hairy goats that know the route as well as he, and they are always
-willing to be milked when a customer offers a bowl. The tripe-man with
-his wares and bell is the last of the food-sellers of the day. The
-window-glass repairer, "_Vitrier!_" passes at nine, and then the
-beggars and strolling musicians and singers put in an appearance. In
-the afternoon the old-clo' man comes hobbling under his load of cast-off
-clothes, crying, "_Marchand d'habits!_" of which you can catch only
-"'_Chand d'habits!_" and the barrel-buyer, "Marchand de tonneaux!" The
-most musical of them all is the porcelain-mender, who cries, "_Voici le
-raccommodeur de porcelaines, faïence, cristal, poseur de robinets!_" and
-then plays a fragment of a hunting-song.
-
-[Illustration: 0037]
-
-The beggars and musicians also have regular routes and fixed hours. Cold
-and stormy days are welcomed by them, for then pity lends activity to-
-sous. A piratical old beggar has his stand near the entrance to the
-court, where he kneels on the stones, his faithful mongrel dog beside
-him. He occasionally poses for the artists when times are dull, but he
-prefers begging,--it is easier and more remunerative. Three times a week
-we are treated to some really good singing by a blind old man, evidently
-an artist in his day. When the familiar sound of his guitar is heard
-all noises in the passage cease, and all windows are opened to hear.
-He sings arias from the operas. His little old wife gathers up the sous
-that ring on the flags. Sometimes a strolling troupe of two actors and
-three musicians makes its appearance, and invariably plays to a full
-house. There are droves of sham singers who do not sing at all, but
-give mournful howls and tell their woes to deaf windows. One of them, a
-tattered woman with two babies, refused to pose for Bishop, although he
-offered her five francs for the afternoon.
-
-Her babies never grow older or bigger as the years pass.
-
-We all know when anybody in the passage is going to take a bath. There
-are no bath-tubs in these old houses, but that difficulty is surmounted
-by a bathing establishment on the Boulevard St.-Michel. It sends around
-a cart bearing a tank of hot water and a zinc tub. The man who pulls the
-cart carries the tub to the room, and fills it by carrying up the water
-in buckets. Then he remains below until the bath is finished, to regain
-his tub and collect a franc.
-
-Since we have been here the court entrance has been once draped in
-mourning. At the head of the casket of old Madame Courtoise, who lived
-across the way, stood a stately crucifix, and candles burned, and there
-were mourners and yellow bead wreaths. A quiet sadness sat upon the
-court, and the people spoke in whispers only.
-
-And there have been two weddings,--one at the blanchisserie, where the
-master's daughter was married to a young mechanic from the iron shop.
-There were glorious times at the laundry that night, for the whole court
-was present. It was four in the morning when the party broke up, and
-then our shirts were two days late.
-
-Thus ran the first months of the four years of our student life in
-Paris; in its domestic aspects it was typical of all that followed. We
-soon became members of the American Art Association, and gradually made
-friends in charming French homes. Then there was the strange Bohemian
-life lying outside as well as within the students' pale, and into
-the spirit of it all we found our way. It is to the Bohemian, not
-the social, life of Paris that these papers are devoted--a life
-both picturesque and pathetic, filled with the oddest contrasts and
-incongruities, with much suffering but more content, and spectacular
-and fascinating in all its phases. No one can have seen and known
-Paris without a study of this its living, struggling artistic side,
-so strange, so remote from the commonplace world surging and roaring
-unheeded about it.
-
-On New Year's Day we had an overwhelming number of callers. First came
-the concierge, who cleaned our door-knob and wished us a prosperous and
-bonne année. She got ten francs,--we did not know what was coming. The
-chic little blanchisseuse called next with our linen. That meant two
-francs. Then came in succession two telegraph boys, the facteur, or
-postman, who presented us with a cheap calendar, and another postman,
-who delivers only second-class mail. They got a franc each. Then the
-_marchand de charbon_'s boy called with a clean face and received fifty
-centimes, and everybody else with whom we had had dealings; and our
-offerings had a steadily diminishing value.
-
-We could well bear all this, however, in view of the great day, but a
-week old, when we had celebrated Christmas. Bishop prepared a dinner
-fit for a king, giving the greater part of his time for a week to
-preparations for the great event. Besides a great many French dishes, we
-had turkey and goose, cooked for us at the rôtisserie near by, and soup,
-oysters, American pastries, and a big, blazing plum-pudding. We and our
-guests (there were eight in all) donned full dress for the occasion,
-and a bonne, hired for the evening, brought on the surprises one after
-another. But why should not it have been a glorious evening high up
-among the chimney-pots of old Paris? for did we not drink to the loved
-ones in a distant land, and were not our guests the prettiest among the
-pretty toilers of our court?
-
-[Illustration: 0042]
-
-
-
-
-THE ÉCOLE DES BEAUX-ARTS
-
-
-IT is about the fifteenth of October, after the long summer vacation,
-that the doors of the great École des Beaux-Arts are thrown open.
-
-[Illustration: 0043]
-
-The first week, called "_la semaine des nouveaux_," is devoted to the
-initiation and hazing of the new students, who come mostly from foreign
-countries and the French provinces. These festivities can never be
-forgotten--by the _nouveaux_.
-
-[Illustration: 0044]
-
-Bishop had condescendingly decided to become _un élève de Gérôme_--with
-some misgivings, for Bishop had developed ideas of a large and free
-American art, while Gérôme was hard and academic. One day he gathered
-up some of his best drawings and studies (which he regarded as
-masterpieces) and, climbing to the impériale of a Clichy 'bus, rode
-over to Montmartre, where Gérôme had his private studio. He was politely
-ushered in by a manservant, and conducted to the door of the master's
-studio through a hall and gallery filled with wonderful marble groups.
-Gérôme himself opened the door, and Bishop found himself in the great
-man's workshop. For a moment Bishop stood dazed in the middle of the
-splendid room, with its great sculptures and paintings, some still
-unfinished, and a famous collection of barbaric arms and costumes. A
-beautiful model was posing upon a rug. But most impressive of all was
-the white-haired master, regarding him with a thoughtful and searching,
-but kindly, glance. Bishop presently found a tongue with which to
-stammer out his mission,--he would be a pupil of the great Gérôme.
-
-The old man smiled, and, bidding his model retire, inspected carefully
-the array of drawings that Bishop spread at his feet,--Gérôme must
-have evidence of some ability for the magic of his brain and touch to
-develop.
-
-"_Sont pas mal, mon ami_," he said, after he had studied all the
-drawings; "_non, pas mal_." Bishop's heart bounded,--his work was not
-bad! "_Vous êtes Américain?_" continued the master. "_C'est un pays que
-j'aimerais bien visiter si le temps ne me manquait pas_."
-
-Thus he chatted on, putting Bishop more and more at his ease. He talked
-of America and the promising future that she has for art; then he went
-into his little office, and, asking Bishop's name, filled out the blank
-that made him a happy pupil of Gérôme. He handed it to Bishop with this
-parting-advice, spoken with great earnestness:
-
-"_Il faut travailler, mon ami--travailler! Pour arriver, travailler
-toujours, sérieusement, bien entendu!_"
-
-Bishop was so proud and happy that he ran all the way up the six flights
-of stairs to our floor, burst into the studio, and executed a war-dance
-that would have shamed an Apache, stepping into his paint-box and nearly
-destroying his sacred Unknown. That night we had a glorious supper, with
-des escargots to start with.
-
-Early on the fifteenth of October, with his head erect and hope filling
-his soul, Bishop started for the Beaux-Arts, which was in the Rue
-Bonaparte, quite near. That night he returned wise and saddened.
-
-He had bought a new easel and two rush-bottomed tabourets, which every
-new student must provide, and, loaded with these, he made for the Ecole.
-Gathered at the big gates was a great crowd of models of all sorts, men,
-women, and children, fat, lean, and of all possible sizes. In the court-
-yard, behind the gates, was a mob of long-haired students, who had a
-year or more ago passed the initiatory ordeal and become ancients. Their
-business now was to yell chaff at the arriving nouveaux. The concierge
-conducted Bishop up-stairs to the Administration, where he joined a
-long line of other nouveaux waiting for the opening of the office at ten
-o'clock.
-
-Then he produced his papers and was enrolled as a student of the Ecole.
-
-It is only in this government school of the four arts that the typical
-Bohemian students of Paris may be found, including the genuine type
-of French student, with his long hair, his whiskers, his Latin Quarter
-"plug" hat, his cape, blouse, wide corduroy trousers, sash, expansive
-necktie, and immense cane. The Ecole preserves this type more
-effectually than the other schools, such as Julian's and Colarossi's,
-where most of the students are foreigners in conventional dress.
-
-Among the others who entered Gérôme's atelier at the same time that
-Bishop did was a Turk named Haidor (fresh from the Ottoman capital), a
-Hungarian, a Siamese, an American from the plains of Nebraska, and five
-Frenchmen from the provinces.
-
-They all tried to speak French and be agreeable as they entered the
-atelier together. At the door stood a gardien, whose principal business
-is to mark absentees and suppress riots. Then they passed to the gentle
-mercies of the reception committee and the _massier_ within.
-
-The _massier_ is a student who manages the studio, models, and _masse_
-money. This one, a large fellow with golden whiskers (size and strength
-are valuable elements of the massier's efficiency), demanded twenty-five
-francs from each of the new-comers,--this being the _masse_ money, to
-pay for fixtures, turpentine, soap, and clean towels, _et pour payer
-à boire_. The Turk refused to pay, protesting that he had but thirty
-francs to last him the month; but menacing stools and sticks opened
-his purse; his punishment was to come later. After the money had
-been collected from all the nouveaux the entire atelier of over sixty
-students, dressed in working blouses and old coats, formed in line, and
-with deafening shouts of "_A boire! à boire!_" placed the _nouveaux_
-in front to carry the class banner, and thus marched out into the _Rue
-Bonaparte_ to the _Café des Deux Magots_, singing songs fit only for
-the studio. Their singing, shouting, and ridiculous capers drew a great
-crowd. At the café they created consternation with their shouting
-and howling until the arrival of great bowls of "_grog Américain_,"
-cigarettes, and _gâteaux_. Rousing cheers were given to a marriage-party
-across the Place St.-Germain. The Turk was forced to do a Turkish dance
-on a table and sing Turkish songs, and to submit to merciless ridicule.
-The timid little Siamese also had to do a turn, as did Bishop and
-W------, the American from Nebraska, who had been a cowboy at home.
-After yelling themselves hoarse and nearly wrecking the café, the
-students marched back in a disorderly mob to the Ecole. Then the real
-trouble began.
-
-The gardien having conveniently disappeared, the students closed
-and barricaded the door. "_A poil! à poil!_" they yelled, dancing
-frantically about the frightened nouveaux; "_à poil les sales nouveaux!
-à poil!_" They seized the Turk and stripped him, despite his desperate
-resistance; then they tied his hands behind him and with paint and
-brushes decorated his body in the most fantastic designs that they could
-conceive. His oaths were frightful. He cursed them in the name of Allah,
-and swore to have the blood of all Frenchmen for desecrating the sacred
-person of a Moslem. He called them dogs of infidels and Christians. But
-all this was in Turkish, and the students enjoyed it immensely. "_En
-broche!_" they yelled, after they had made him a spectacle with the
-brushes; "_en broche! Il faut le mettre en broche!_" This was quickly
-done. They forced the Turk to his haunches, bound his wrists in front of
-his upraised knees, thrust a long pole between his elbows and knees,
-and thus bore him round the atelier at the head of a singing procession.
-Four times they went round; then they placed the helpless M. Haidor on
-the model-stand for future reference. The bad French that the victim
-occasionally mixed with his tirade indicated the fearful damnation that
-he was doubtless dealing out in Turkish.
-
-A circle was then formed about him, and a solemn silence fell upon the
-crowd. A Frenchman named Joncierge, head of the reception committee,
-stepped forth, and in slow and impressive speech announced that it was
-one of the requirements of the Atelier Gérôme to brand all nouveaux over
-the heart with the name of the atelier, and that the branding of the
-Turk would now proceed. Upon hearing this, M. Haidor emitted a fearful
-howl. But he was turned to face the red-hot studio stove and watch
-the branding-iron slowly redden in the coals. During this interval the
-students sang the national song, and followed it with a funeral march.
-Behind the Turk's back a second poker was being painted to resemble a
-red-hot one.
-
-The hot poker was taken from the fire, and its usefulness tested by
-burning a string with it. Haidor grew deathly pale. An intense silence
-sat upon the atelier as the iron was brought near the helpless young
-man. In a moment, with wonderful cleverness, the painted poker was
-substituted for the hot one and placed quickly against his breast. When
-the cold iron touched him he roared like a maddened bull, and rolled
-quivering and moaning upon the floor. The students were frantic with
-delight.
-
-It was some time before Haidor could realize that he was not burned to
-a crisp. He was then taken across the atelier and hoisted to a narrow
-shelf fifteen feet from the floor, where he was left to compose himself
-and enjoy the tortures of the other nouveaux. He dared not move,
-however, lest he fall; and because he refused to take anything in good-
-nature, but glared hatred and vengeance down at them, they pelted him at
-intervals with water-soaked sponges.
-
-The Hungarian and one of the French nouveaux were next seized and
-stripped. Then they were ordered to fight a duel, in this fashion: they
-were made to mount two stools about four feet apart. The Hungarian was
-handed a long paint-brush dripping with Prussian blue, and the Frenchman
-a similar brush soaked with crimson lake. Then the battle began. Each
-hesitated to splash the other at first, but as they warmed to their work
-under the shouting of the committee they went in with a will. When the
-Frenchman had received a broad splash on the mouth in return for a chest
-decoration of his adversary, his blood rose, and then the serious work
-began.
-
-[Illustration: 0051]
-
-Both quickly lost their temper. When they were unwillingly made to
-desist the product of their labors was startling, though not beautiful.
-Then they were rubbed down vigorously with turpentine and soiled towels,
-and were given a franc each for a bath, because they had behaved so
-handsomely.
-
-Bishop came next. He had made up his mind to stand the initiation
-philosophically, whatever it might be, but when he was ordered to strip
-he became apprehensive and then angry. Nothing so delights the students
-as for a _nouveau_ to lose his temper. Bishop squared off to face the
-whole atelier, and looked ugly. The students silently deployed on three
-sides, and with a yell rushed in, but not before three of them had gone
-down under his fists did they pin him to the floor and strip him. While
-Bishop was thus being prepared, the Nebraskan was being dealt with. He
-had the wisdom not to lose his temper, and that made his resistance
-all the more formidable. Laughing all the time, he nevertheless dodged,
-tripped, wrestled, threw stools, and did so many other astonishing and
-baffling things that the students, though able to have conquered him
-in the end, were glad to make terms with him. In this arrangement he
-compelled them to include Bishop. As a result, those two mounted the
-model throne naked, and sang together and danced a jig, all so cleverly
-that the Frenchmen were frantic with delight, and welcomed them as _des
-bons amis_. The amazing readiness and capability of the American fist
-bring endless delight and perennial surprise to the French.
-
-[Illustration: 0053]
-
-The rest of the nouveaux were variously treated. Some, after being
-stripped, were grotesquely decorated with designs and pictures not
-suitable for general inspection. Others were made to sing, to recite, or
-to act scenes from familiar plays, or, in default of that, to improvise
-scenes, some of which were exceedingly funny. Others, attached to a rope
-depending from the ceiling, were swung at a perilous rate across the
-atelier, dodging easels in their flight.
-
-At half-past twelve the sport was over. The barricade was removed,
-the Turk's clothes hidden, the Turk left howling on his shelf, and the
-atelier abandoned. The next morning there was trouble. The director was
-furious, and threatened to close the atelier for a month, because the
-Turk had not been discovered until five o'clock, when his hoarse howls
-attracted the attention of the gardien of the fires. His trousers and
-one shoe could not be found. It was three months before Haidor appeared
-at the atelier again, and then everything had been forgotten.
-
-Bishop was made miserable during the ensuing week. He would find himself
-roasting over paper fires kindled under his stool. Paint was smeared
-upon his easel to stain his hands. His painting was altered and entirely
-re-designed in his absence. Strong-smelling cheeses were placed in the
-lining of his "plug" hat. His stool-legs were so loosened that when
-he sat down he struck the floor with a crash. His painting-blouse was
-richly decorated inside and out with shocking coats of arms that would
-not wash out. One day he discovered that he had been painting for a
-whole hour with currant jelly from a tube that he thought contained
-laque.
-
-Then, being a _nouveau_, he could never get a good position in which to
-draw from the model. Every Monday morning a new model is posed for the
-week, and the students select places according to the length of time
-they have been attending. The nouveaux have to take what is left. And
-they must be servants to the ancients,--run out for tobacco, get soap
-and clean towels, clean paint-brushes, and keep the studio in order.
-With the sculptors and architects it is worse. The sculptors must sweep
-the dirty, clay-grimed floor regularly, fetch clean water, mix the clay
-and keep it fresh and moist, and on Saturdays, when the week's work is
-finished, must break up the forty or more clay figures, and restore
-them to clay for next week's operations. The architects must build heavy
-wooden frames, mount the projects and drawings, and cart them about
-Paris to the different exhibition rooms.
-
-At the end of a year the _nouveau_ drops his hated title and becomes a
-proud ancient, to bully to his heart's content, as those before him.
-
-Mondays and Wednesdays are criticism days, for then M. Gérôme comes down
-and goes over the work of his pupils. He is very early and punctual,
-never arriving later than half-past eight, usually before half the
-students are awake. The moment he enters all noises cease, and all seem
-desperately hard at work, although a moment before the place may have
-been in an uproar. Gérôme plumps down upon the man nearest to him, and
-then visits each of his _élèves_, storming and scolding mercilessly
-when his pupils have failed to follow his instructions. As soon as a
-student's criticism is finished he rises and follows the master to hear
-the other criticisms, so that toward the close the procession is large.
-
-[Illustration: 0057]
-
-Bishop's first criticism took him all aback. "_Comment!_" gasped the
-master, gazing at the canvas in horror. "_Qu'est-ce que vous avez
-fait?_" he sternly demanded, glaring at the luckless student, who, in
-order to cultivate a striking individuality, was painting the model in
-broad, thick dashes of color. Gérôme glanced at Bishop's palette, and
-saw a complete absence of black upon it. "_Comment, vous n'avez pas de
-noir?_" he roared. "_C'est très important, la partie matérielle! Vous
-ne m'écoutez pas, mon ami,---je parle dans le désert! Vous n'avez pas
-d'aspect général, mon ami,_" and much more, while Bishop sat cold to the
-marrow. The students, crowded about, enjoyed his discomfiture immensely,
-and, behind Gérôme's back, laughed in their sleeves and made faces at
-Bishop. But many others suffered, and Bishop had his inning with them.
-
-All during Gérôme's tour of inspection the model must maintain his pose,
-however difficult and exhausting. Often he is kept on a fearful strain
-for two hours. After the criticism the boys show Gérôme sketches and
-studies that they have made outside the Ecole, and it is in discussing
-them that his geniality and kindliness appear. Gérôme imperiously
-demands two things,--that his pupils, before starting to paint, lay on a
-red or yellow tone, and that they keep their brushes scrupulously clean.
-Woe to him who disobeys!
-
-After he leaves with a cheery "_Bon jour, messieurs!_" pandemonium
-breaks loose, if the day be Saturday. Easels, stools, and studies are
-mowed down as by a whirlwind, yells shake the building, the model is
-released, a tattoo is beaten on the sheet-iron stove-guard, everything
-else capable of making a noise is brought into service, and either the
-model is made to do the _danse du ventre_ or a _nouveau_ is hazed.
-
-The models--what stories are there! Every Monday morning from ten to
-twenty present themselves, male and female, for inspection in _puris
-naturalibus_ before the critical gaze of the students of the different
-ateliers. One after another they mount the throne and assume such
-academic poses of their own choosing as they imagine will display their
-points to the best advantage. The students then vote upon them, for and
-against, by raising the hand. The massier, standing beside the model,
-announces the result, and, if the vote is favorable, enrols the model
-for a certain week to come.
-
-There is intense rivalry among the models. Strange to say, most of the
-male models in the schools of Paris are from Italy, the southern part
-especially. As a rule, they have very good figures. They begin posing
-at the age of five or six, and follow the business until old age retires
-them. Crowds of them are at the gates of the Beaux-Arts early on Monday
-mornings. In the voting, a child may be preferred to his seniors, and
-yet the rate of payment is the same,--thirty francs a week.
-
-[Illustration: 0061]
-
-Many of the older models are quite proud of their profession, spending
-idle hours in studying the attitudes of figures in great paintings and
-in sculptures in the Louvre or the Luxembourg, and adopting these poses
-when exhibiting themselves to artists; but the trick is worthless.
-
-Few of the women models remain long in the profession. Posing is hard
-and fatiguing work, and the students are merciless in their criticisms
-of any defects of figure that the models may have,--the French are born
-critics. During the many years that I have studied and worked in Paris
-I have seen scores of models begin their profession with a serious
-determination to make it their life-work.
-
-[Illustration: 9062]
-
-They would appear regularly at the different ateliers for about two
-years, and would be gratified to observe endless reproductions of their
-graces in the prize rows on the studio walls. Then their appearance
-would be less and less regular, and they would finally disappear
-altogether--whither? Some become contented companions of students
-and artists, but the cafés along the _Boul' Mich'_, the cabarets of
-Montmartre, and the dance-halls of the Moulin Rouge and the Bal Bullier
-have their own story to tell. Some are happily married; for instance,
-one, noted for her beauty of face and figure, is the wife of a New York
-millionaire. But she was clever as well as beautiful, and few models
-are that. Most of them are ordinaire, living the easy life of Bohemian
-Paris, and having little knowledge of _le monde propre._ But, oh, how
-they all love dress! and therein lies most of the story. When Marcelle
-or Hélène appears, all of a sudden, radiant in silks and creamy lace
-petticoats, and sweeps proudly into the crowded studios, flushed and
-happy, and hears the dear compliments that the students heap upon her,
-we know that thirty francs a week could not have changed the gray grub
-into a gorgeous butterfly.
-
-"_C'est mon amant qui m'a fait cadeau,_" Marcelle will explain, deeming
-some explanation necessary. There is none to dispute you, Marcelle. This
-vast whirlpool has seized many another like you, and will seize many
-another more. And to poor Marcelle it seems so small a price to pay to
-become one of the grand ladies of Paris, with their dazzling jewels and
-rich clothes!
-
-An odd whim may overtake one here and there. One young demoiselle,
-beautiful as a girl and successful as a model a year ago, may now be
-seen nightly at the _Cabaret du Soleil d'Or_, frowsy and languishing, in
-keeping with the spirit of her confrères there, singing her famous
-"_Le Petit Caporal_" to thunderous applause, and happy with the love,
-squalor, dirt, and hunger that she finds with the luckless poet whose
-fortunes she shares. It was not a matter of clothes with her.
-
-It is a short and easy step from the studio to the _café_. At the studio
-it is all little money, hard posing, dulness, and poor clothes; at
-the _cafés_ are the brilliant lights, showy clothes, tinkling money,
-clinking glasses, popping corks, unrestrained abandon, and midnight
-suppers. And the studios and the _cafés_ are but adjoining apartments,
-one may say, in the great house of Bohemia. The studio is the
-introduction to the _café_; the _café_ is the burst of sunshine after
-the dreariness of the studio; and Marcelle determines that for once she
-will bask in the warmth and glow.... Ah, what a jolly night it was, and
-a louis d'or in her purse besides! Marcelle's face was pretty--and new.
-She is late at the studio next morning, and is sleepy and cross. The
-students grumble. The room is stifling, and its gray walls seem ready to
-crush her. It is so tiresome, so stupid--and only thirty francs a week!
-Bah!... Marcelle appears no more.
-
-All the great painters have their exclusive model or models, paying them
-a permanent salary. These favored ones move in a special circle, into
-which the ordinaire may not enter, unless she becomes the favorite of
-some grand homme. They are never seen at the academies, and rarely or
-never pose in the schools, unless it was there they began their career.
-
-Perhaps the most famous of the models of Paris was Sarah Brown, whose
-wild and exciting life has been the talk of the world. Her beautiful
-figure and glorious golden hair opened to her the whole field of
-modeldom. Offers for her services as model were more numerous than she
-could accept, and the prices that she received were very high. She
-was the mistress of one great painter after another, and she lived and
-reigned like a queen. Impulsive, headstrong, passionate, she would do
-the most reckless things. She would desert an artist in the middle of
-his masterpiece and come down to the studio to pose for the students
-at thirty francs a week. Gorgeously apparelled, she would glide into a
-studio, overturn all the easels that she could reach, and then shriek
-with laughter over the havoc and consternation that she had created. The
-students would greet her with shouts and form a circle about her, while
-she would banteringly call them her friends. Then she would jump upon
-the throne, dispossess the model there, and give a dance or make a
-speech, knocking off every hat that her parasol could reach. But no one
-could resist Sarah.
-
-She came up to the _Atelier Gérôme_ one morning and demanded une semaine
-de femme. The _massier_ booked her for the following week. She arrived
-promptly on time and was posed. Wednesday a whim seized her to wear her
-plumed hat and silk stockings. "_C'est beaucoup plus chic_," she naively
-explained. When Gérôme entered the studio and saw her posing thus she
-smiled saucily at him, but he turned in a rage and left the studio
-without a word. Thursday she tired of the pose and took one to please
-herself, donning a skirt. Of course protests were useless, so the
-students had to recommence their work. The remainder of the week she sat
-upon the throne in full costume, refusing to pose. She amused herself
-with smoking cigarettes and keeping the _nouveaux_ running errands for
-her.
-
-It was she who was the cause of the students' riot in 1893,--a riot that
-came near ending in a revolution. It was all because she appeared at le
-Bal des Quat'z' Arts in a costume altogether too simple and natural
-to suit the prefect of police, who punished her. She was always at
-the Salon on receiving-day, and shocked the occupants of the liveried
-carriages on the Champs-Elysées with her dancing. In fact, she was
-always at the head of everything extraordinary and sensational among the
-Bohemians of Paris. But she aged rapidly under her wild life. Her figure
-lost its grace, her lovers deserted her, and after her dethronement
-as Queen of Bohemia, broken-hearted and poor, she put an end to her
-wretched life,--and Paris laughed.
-
-The breaking in of a new girl model is a joy that the students never
-permit themselves to miss. Among the many demoiselles who come every
-Monday morning are usually one or two that are new. The new one
-is accompanied by two or more of her girl friends, who give her
-encouragement at the terrible moment when she disrobes. As there are no
-dressing-rooms, there can be no privacy. The students gather about and
-watch the proceedings with great interest, and make whatever remarks
-their deviltry can suggest. This is the supreme test; all the efforts
-of the attendant girls are required to hold the new one to her purpose.
-When finally, after an inconceivable struggle with her shame, the girl
-plunges ahead in reckless haste to finish the job, the students applaud
-her roundly.
-
-[Illustration: 0067]
-
-But more torture awaits her. Frightened, trembling, blushing furiously,
-she ascends the throne, and innocently assumes the most awkward and
-ridiculous poses, forgetting in that terrible moment the poses that she
-had learned so well under the tutelage of her friends. It is then that
-the fiendishness of the students rises to its greatest height. Dazed and
-numb, she hardly comprehends the ordeal through which she is now put.
-The students have adopted a grave and serious bearing, and solemnly ask
-her to assume the most outlandish and ungraceful poses. Then come long
-and mock-earnest arguments about her figure, these arguments having been
-carefully learned and rehearsed beforehand. One claims that her waist is
-too long and her legs too heavy; another hotly takes the opposite view.
-Then they put her through the most absurd evolutions to prove their
-points. At last she is made to don her hat and stockings; and the
-students form a ring about her and dance and shout until she is ready to
-faint.
-
-Of course the studio has a ringleader in all this deviltry,--all studios
-have. Joncierge is head of all the mischief in our atelier. There is
-no end to his ingenuity in devising new means of torture and fun. His
-personations are marvellous. When he imitates Bernhardt, Réjane, or
-Calvé, no work can be done in the studio. Gérôme himself is one of his
-favorite victims. But Joncierge cannot remain long in one school; the
-authorities pass him on as soon as they find that he is really hindering
-the work of the students. One day, at Julian's, he took the class
-skeleton, and with a cord let the rattling, quivering thing down into
-the Rue du Dragon, and frightened the passers out of their wits. As his
-father is chef d'orchestre at the Grand Opéra, Joncierge junior learns
-all the operas and convulses us with imitations of the singers.
-
-[Illustration: 9070]
-
-Another character in the studio is le jeune Siffert, only twenty-three,
-and one of the cleverest of the coming French painters. Recently he
-nearly won the Prix de Rome. His specialty is the imitation of the cries
-of domestic fowls and animals, and of street venders. Gérôme calls him
-"mon fils," and constantly implores him to be serious. I don't see why.
-
-Then there is Fiola, a young giant from Brittany, with a wonderful
-facility at drawing. He will suddenly break into a roar, and for an hour
-sing one verse of a Brittany chant, driving the other students mad.
-
-Fournier is a little curly-headed fellow from the south, near Valence,
-and wears corduroy trousers tucked into top-boots. His greatest delight
-is in plaguing the nouveaux. His favorite joke, if the day is dark, is
-to send a nouveau to the different ateliers of the Ecole in search of
-"le grand réflecteur." The nouveau, thinking that it is a device for
-increasing the light, starts out bravely, and presently returns with a
-large, heavy box, which, upon its being opened, is found to be filled
-with bricks. Then Fournier is happy.
-
-Taton is the butt of the atelier. He is an ingénu, and falls into any
-trap set for him. Whenever anything is missing, all pounce upon Taton,
-and he is very unhappy.
-
-Haidor, the Turk, suspicious and sullen, also is a butt. Caricatures of
-him abundantly adorn the walls, together with the Turkish crescent, and
-Turkish ladies executing the _danse du ventre_.
-
-Caricatures of all kinds cover the walls of the atelier, and some are
-magnificent, being spared the vandalism that spares nothing else. One,
-especially good, represents Kenyon Cox, who studied here.
-
-W------, the student from Nebraska, created a sensation by appearing one
-day in the full regalia of a cowboy, including two immense revolvers,
-a knife, and a lariat depending from his belt. With the lariat he
-astonished and dismayed the dodging Frenchmen by lassoing them at will,
-though they exercised their greatest running and dodging agility to
-escape. They wanted to know if all Americans went about thus heeled in
-America.
-
-There is something uncanny about the little Siamese. He is exceedingly
-quiet and works unceasingly. One day, when the common spirit of mischief
-was unusually strong among the boys, the bolder ones began to hint at
-fun in the direction of the Siamese. He quietly shifted a pair of brass
-knuckles from some pocket to a more convenient one, and although it was
-done so unostentatiously, the act was observed. He was not disturbed,
-and has been left strictly alone ever since.
-
-One day the Italian students took the whole atelier down to a little
-restaurant on the Quai des Grands-Augustins and cooked them an excellent
-Italian dinner, with Chianti to wash it down. Two Italian street-singers
-furnished the music, and Mademoiselle la Modèle danced as only a model
-can.
-
-[Illustration: 0072]
-
-
-
-
-TAKING PICTURES TO THE SALON
-
-
-EVER since New Year's, when Bishop began his great composition for the
-Salon, our life at the studio had been sadly disarranged; for Bishop had
-so completely buried himself in his work that I was compelled to combine
-the functions of cook with those of chambermaid.
-
-[Illustration: 9073]
-
-This double work, with increasing pressure from my modelling, required
-longer hours at night and shorter hours in the morning. But I was
-satisfied, for this was to be Bishop's masterpiece, and I knew from the
-marvellous labor and spirit that he put into the work that something
-good would result.
-
-The name of his great effort was "The Suicide." It was like him to
-choose so grisly a subject, for he had a lawless nature and rebelled
-against the commonplace. Ghastly subjects had always fascinated him.
-From the very beginning of our domestic partnership he had shown a taste
-for grim and forbidding things. Often, upon returning home, I had
-found him making sketches of armless beggars, twisted cripples, and
-hunchbacks, and, worse than all, disease-marked vagabonds. A skull-faced
-mortal in the last stages of consumption was a joy to him. It was
-useless for me to protest that he was failing to find the best in him
-by developing his unwholesome tastes. "Wait," he would answer patiently;
-"the thing that has suffering and character, that is out of the
-ordinary, it is the thing that will strike and live."
-
-The suicide was a young woman gowned in black; she was poised in the act
-of plunging into the Seine; a babe was tightly clutched to her breast;
-and behind the unspeakable anguish in her eyes was a hungry hope, a
-veiled assurance of the peace to come. It fascinated and haunted me
-beyond all expression. It was infinitely sad, tragic, and terrible, for
-it reached with a sure touch to the very lowest depth of human agony.
-The scene was the dead of night, and only the dark towers of Notre-Dame
-broke the even blackness of the sky, save for a faint glow that touched
-the lower stretches from the distant lamps of the city. In the darkness
-only the face of the suicide was illuminated, and that but dimly, though
-sufficiently to disclose the wonderfully complex emotions that crowded
-upon her soul. This illumination came from three ghastly green lights
-on the water below. The whole tone of the picture was a black, sombre
-green.
-
-That was all after the painting had been finished. The making of it is
-a story by itself. From the first week in January to the first week in
-March the studio was a junk-shop of the most uncanny sort. In order to
-pose his model in the act of plunging into the river, Bishop had rigged
-up a tackle, which, depending from the ceiling, caught the model at the
-waist, after the manner of a fire-escape belt, and thus half suspended
-her. He secured his green tone and night effect by covering nearly all
-the skylight and the window with green tissue-paper, besides covering
-the floor and walls with green rugs and draperies.
-
-The model behaved very well in her unusual pose, but the babe--that was
-the rub. The model did not happen to possess one, and Bishop had not yet
-learned the difficulties attending the procuring and posing of infants.
-In the first place, he found scores of babes, but not a mother, however
-poor, willing to permit her babe to be used as a model, and a model for
-so gruesome a situation. But after he had almost begun to despair, and
-had well advanced with his woman model, an Italian woman came one day
-and informed him that she could get an infant from a friend of her
-sister's, if he would pay her one franc a day for the use of it. Bishop
-eagerly made the bargain. Then a new series of troubles began.
-
-The babe objected most emphatically to the arrangement. It refused to
-nestle in the arms of a strange woman about to plunge into eternity, and
-the strange woman had no knack at all in soothing the infant's outraged
-feelings. Besides, the model was unable to meet the youngster's frequent
-demands for what it was accustomed to have, and the mother, who was
-engaged elsewhere, had to be drummed up at exasperatingly frequent
-intervals. All this told upon both Bishop and Francinette, the model,
-and they took turns in swearing at the unruly brat, Bishop in English
-and Francinette in French. Neither knew how to swear in Italian, or
-things might have been different. I happened in upon these scenes once
-in a while, and my enjoyment so exasperated Bishop that he threw paint-
-tubes, bottles, and everything else at me that he could reach, and once
-or twice locked me out of the studio, compelling me to kick my shins in
-the cold street for hours at a time. On such occasions I would stand in
-the court looking up at our window, expecting momentarily that the babe
-would come flying down from that direction.
-
-When Bishop was not sketching and painting he was working up his
-inspiration; and that was worst of all. His great effort was to get
-himself into a suicidal mood. He would sit for hours on the floor, his
-face between his knees, imagining all sorts of wrongs and slights that
-the heartless world had put upon him. His husband had beaten him and
-gone off with another woman; he had tried with all his woman-heart to
-bear the cross; hunger came to pinch and torture him; he sought work,
-failed to find it; sought charity, failed to find that; his babe
-clutched at his empty breasts and cried piteously for food; his heart
-broken, all hope gone, even God forgetting him, he thought of the dark,
-silent river, the great cold river, that has brought everlasting peace
-to countless thousands of suffering young mothers like him; he went to
-the river; he looked back upon the faint glow of the city's lights in
-the distance; he cast his glance up to the grim towers of Notre-Dame,
-standing cold and pitiless against the blacker sky; he looked down upon
-the black Seine, the great writhing python, so willing to swallow him
-up; he clutched his babe to his breast, gasped a prayer....
-
-At other times he would haunt the Morgue and study the faces of those
-who had died by felo-de-se; he would visit the hospitals and study the
-dying; he would watch the actions and read the disordered thoughts of
-lunatics; he would steal along the banks; of the river on dark nights
-and study the silent mystery and tragedy of it, and the lights that gave
-shape to its terrors. In the end I grew afraid of him.
-
-But all things have an end. Bishop's great work was finished in the
-first days of March. Slowly, but surely, his native exuberance of
-spirits returned. He would eat and sleep like a rational being. His eyes
-lost their haunted look, and his cheeks filled out and again took on
-their healthy hue. And then he invited his friends and some critics to
-inspect his composition, and gave a great supper in celebration of the
-completion of his task. Very generous praise was given him. Among the
-critics and masters came Gérôme and Laurens at his earnest supplication,
-and it was good to see their delight and surprise, and to note that
-they had no fault to find,--was not the picture finished, and would
-not criticism from them at this juncture have hurt the boy without
-accomplishing any good? Well, the painting secured honorable mention in
-the exhibition, and five years later the French government completed
-the artist's happiness by buying one of his pictures for the Luxembourg
-Gallery.
-
-But about the picture: the canvas was eight by ten feet, and a frame
-had to be procured for it. Now, frames are expensive, and Bishop had
-impoverished himself for material and model hire. So he employed a
-carpenter in the court to make a frame of thick pine boards, which we
-painted a deep black, with a gold cornice. The whole cost was twenty-
-five francs.
-
-Next day we hired a good-sized _voiture-à-bras_ at eight sous an hour,
-and proceeded to get the tableau down to the court. It was a devilish
-job, for the ceilings were low and the stairs narrow and crooked. The
-old gentleman below us was nearly decapitated by poking his head out of
-his door at an inopportune moment, and the lady below him almost wiped
-the still wet babe from the canvas with her gown as she tried to squeeze
-past. The entire court turned out to wish Bishop good success.
-
-The last day on which pictures are admitted to the Salon, there to await
-the merciless decision of the judges, is a memorable one. In sumptuous
-studios, in wretched garrets; amid affluence, amid scenes of squalor and
-hunger, artists of all kinds and degrees have been squeezing thousands
-of tubes and daubing thousands of canvases in preparation for the
-great day. From every corner of Paris, from every quarter of France
-and Europe, the canvases come pouring into the Salon. Every conceivable
-idea, fad, and folly is represented in the collection, and most of them
-are poor; but in each and every one a fond hope centres, an ambition is
-staked.
-
-Strange as it may seem, most of these pictures are worked upon until the
-very last day; indeed, many of them are snatched unfinished from their
-easels, to receive the finishing touches in the dust and confusion and
-deafening noise of the great hall where they are all dumped like so much
-merchandise. We saw one artist who, not having finished his picture,
-was putting on the final touches as it was borne ahead of him along the
-street on the back of a commissionnaire.
-
-[Illustration: 0079]
-
-And all this accounts for the endless smearing everywhere noticeable,
-and for the frantic endeavors of the artists to repair the damage at the
-last moment.
-
-One great obstacle to poor artists is the rigid rule requiring that all
-tableaux shall be framed. These frames are costly. As a result, some
-artists paint pictures of the same size year after year, so that the
-same frame may be used for all, and others resort to such makeshifts
-as Bishop was compelled to employ. But these makeshifts must be
-artistically done, or the canvases are ignored by the judges. These
-efforts give rise to many startling effects.
-
-It was not very long, after an easy pull over the Boulevard St.-Germain,
-before we crossed the Seine at the Pont de la Concorde, traversed the
-Place de la Concorde, and turned into the Champs-Elysées, where, not far
-away, loomed the Palais des Beaux-Arts, in which the Salon is annually
-held in March. The Avenue des Champs-Elysées, crowded as it usually is
-in the afternoons, was now jammed with cabs, omnibuses, hand-carts, and
-all sorts of moving vans, mingling with the fashionable carriages on
-their way to the Bois. The proletarian vehicles contained art,--art
-by the ton. The upper decks of the omnibuses were crowded with artists
-carrying their pictures because they could not afford more than the
-three-sous fare. And such an assortment of artists!
-
-There were some in affluent circumstances, who rolled along voluptuously
-in cabs on an expenditure of thirty-five francs, holding their precious
-tableaux and luxuriantly smoking cigarettes.
-
-[Illustration: 0081]
-
-The commissionnaires had a great day of it. They are the ones usually
-seen asleep on the street corners, where, when awake, they varnish boots
-or bear loads by means of a contrivance on their backs. On this day
-every one of them in Paris was loaded down with pictures.
-
-Many were the hard-up students, like Bishop, tugging hand-carts, or
-pairing to carry by hand pictures too large to be borne by a single
-person. And great fun they got out of it all.
-
-Opposite the Palais de Glace was a perfect sea of vehicles, artists,
-porters, and policemen, all inextricably tangled up, all shouting or
-groaning, and wet pictures suffering. One artist nearly had a fit when
-he saw a full moon wiped off his beautiful landscape, and he would have
-killed the guilty porter had not the students interfered. Portraits
-of handsome ladies with smudged noses and smeared eyes were common.
-Expensive gold frames lost large sections of their corners. But still
-they were pouring in.
-
-With infinite patience and skill Bishop gradually worked his _voiture-à-
-bras_ through the maze, and soon his masterpiece was in the crushing
-mass at the wide entrance to the Salon. There it was seized and rushed
-along, and Bishop received in return a slip of paper bearing a number.
-
-While within the building we reconnoitred. Amid the confusion of
-howling inspectors, straining porters bearing heavy pictures, carpenters
-erecting partitions, and a dust-laden atmosphere, numerous artists were
-working with furious haste upon their unfinished productions. Some were
-perched upon ladders, others squatted upon the floor, and one had his
-model posing nude to the waist; she was indifferent to the attention
-that she received. Thoughtful mistresses stood affectionately beside
-their artist amants, furnishing them with delicate edibles and lighting
-cigarettes for them.
-
-Some of the pictures were so large that they were brought in rolled
-up. One artist had made himself into a carpenter to mount his mammoth
-picture. Frightful and impossible paintings were numerous, but the
-painter of each expected a _première médaille d'honneur_.
-
-It was nearing six o'clock, the closing hour. Chic demoiselle artistes
-came dashing up in cabs, bringing with them, to insure safe delivery,
-their everlasting still-life subjects.
-
-Shortly before six the work in the building was suspended by a commotion
-outside. It was a contingent of students from the Beaux-Arts marching up
-the Champs-Elysées, yelling and dancing like maniacs and shaking their
-heavy sticks, the irresistible Sarah Brown leading as drum-maior. She
-was gorgeously arrayed in the most costly silks and laces, and looked
-a dashing Amazon. Then, as always, she was perfectly happy with her
-beloved _étudiants_, who worshipped her as a goddess. She halted them in
-front of the building, where they formed a circle round her, and there,
-as director of ceremonies, she required them to sing chansons, dance,
-make comic speeches, and "blaguer" the arriving artists.
-
-The last van was unloaded; the great doors closed with a bang, and the
-stirring day was ended. All the students, even the porters, then joined
-hands and went singing, howling, and skipping down the Champs-Elysées,
-and wishing one another success at the coming exhibition. At the Place
-de la Concorde we met a wild-eyed artist running frantically toward the
-Salon with his belated picture. The howls of encouragement that greeted
-him lent swifter wings to his legs.
-
-The pictures finally installed, a jury composed of France's greatest
-masters pass upon them. The endless procession of paintings is passed
-before them; the raising of their hands means approval, silence means
-condemnation; and upon those simple acts depends the happiness or
-despair of thousands. But depression does not long persist, and the
-judgment is generally accepted in the end as just and valuable. For the
-students, in great part, flock to the country on sketching tours, for
-which arrangements had been already made; and there the most deeply
-depressed spirits must revive and the habit of work and hope come into
-play. Year after year the same artists strive for recognition at the
-Salon; and finally, when they fail at that, they reflect that there is
-a great world outside of the Salon, where conscientious effort is
-acceptable. And, after all, a medal at the Salon is not the only reward
-that life has to offer.
-
-And then, it is not always good for a student to be successful from the
-start. Just as his social environment in Paris tries his strength and
-determines the presence or absence of qualities that are as useful to
-a successful career as special artistic qualifications, so the trial by
-fire in the Salon exhibitions hardens and toughens him for the serious
-work of his life ahead. Too early success has ruined more artists than
-it has helped. It is interesting also to observe that, as a rule, the
-students who eventually secure the highest places in art are those whose
-difficulties have been greatest. The lad with the pluck to live on a
-crust in a garret, and work and study under conditions of poverty and
-self-denial that would break any but the stoutest heart, is the one
-from whom to expect renown in the years to come. Ah, old Paris is the
-harshest but wisest of mothers!
-
-"_H! ah! vive les Quat'z' Arts! Au Molin Rouge--en route!_" the lamplit
-streets of Paris as cab after cab and bus after 'bus went thundering
-across town toward Montmartre, heavily freighted with brilliantly
-costumed revellers of les Quat'z' Arts. Parisians ran from their dinner-
-tables to the windows and balconies, blasé boulevardiers paused in their
-evening stroll or looked up from their papers at the _café_-tables,
-waiters and swearing cabbies and yelling newsboys stopped in the midst
-of their various duties, and all knowingly shook their heads, "_Ah, ce
-sont les Quat'z' Arts!_"?
-
-For to-night was the great annual ball of the artists, when all artistic
-Paris crawls from its mysterious depths to revel in a splendid carnival
-possible only to the arts. Every spring, after the pictures have been
-sent to the Salon, and before the students have scattered for the summer
-vacation, the artists of Paris and the members of all the ateliers of
-the four arts--painting, sculpture, architecture, and engraving--combine
-their forces in producing a spectacle of regal splendor, seen nowhere
-else in the world; and long are the weeks and hard the work and vast the
-ingenuity devoted to preparations,--the designing of costumes and the
-building of gorgeous floats.
-
-During the last three weeks the _élèves_ of the _Atelier Gérôme_
-abandoned their studies, forgot all about the concours and the Prix de
-Rome, and devoted all their energies to the construction of a colossal
-figure of Gérôme's great war goddess, "Bel-lona." It was a huge task,
-but the students worked it out with a will. Yards of sackcloth, rags,
-old coats, paint rags, besides pine timbers, broken easels and stools,
-endless wire and rope, went into the making of the goddess's frame, and
-this was covered with plaster of Paris dexterously moulded into shape.
-Then it was properly tinted and painted and mounted on a chariot of
-gold. A Grecian frieze of galloping horses, mounted, the clever work of
-Siffert, was emblazoned on the sides of the chariot. And what a wreck
-the atelier was after all was finished! _Sacré nom d'un chien!_ How the
-gardiens must have sworn when cleaning-day came round!
-
-The ateliers in the Ecole are all rivals, and each had been secretly
-preparing its coup with which to capture the grand prix at the bal.
-
-The great day came at last. The students of our atelier were perfectly
-satisfied with their handiwork, and the massier made all happy by
-ordering a retreat to the Café des Deux Magots, where success to the
-goddess was drunk in steaming "grog Américain." Then Bellona began her
-perilous journey across Paris to Montmartre and the Moulin Rouge.
-
-[Illustration: 0087]
-
-This was not an easy task, as she was fifteen feet high; signs and lamp-
-posts suffered, and sleepy cab-horses danced as their terrified gaze
-beheld the giant goddess with her uplifted sword. Crowds watched the
-progress of Bellona on the Avenue de l'Opéra, drawn by half a hundred
-students yelling the national hymn. The pull up the steep slope of
-Montmartre was heavy, but in less than two hours from the start at the
-Ecole the goddess was safely housed in the depths of the Moulin Rouge,
-there to await her triumphs of the night.
-
-Bishop, besides doing his share in the preparation of the figure, had
-the equally serious task of devising a costume for his own use at
-the ball. It was not until the very last day that he made his final
-decision,--to go as a Roman orator. Our supply of linen was meagre, but
-our only two clean bed-sheets and a few towels were sufficient, and two
-kind American ladies who were studying music and who lived near the old
-church of St. Sulpice did the fitting of a toga. The soles of a pair
-of slippers from which Bishop cut the tops served as sandals, and
-some studio properties in the way of Oriental bracelets completed his
-costume. I was transformed into an Apache Indian by a generous rubbing
-into my skin of burnt sienna and cadmium, which I was weeks in getting
-rid of; a blanket and some chicken-feathers finished my array. Our
-friend Cameron, next door, went in his Scotch kilts. After supper we
-entered the Boul' Mich' and proceeded to the Café de la Source, where
-the students of the _Atelier Gérôme_ were to rendezvous.
-
-[Illustration: 0090]
-
-The Boul' was a spectacle that night. Time had rolled back the curtain
-of centuries; ancient cemeteries had yielded up their dead; and living
-ghosts of the ages packed all the gay _café_s. History from the time of
-Adam had sent forth its traditions, and Eves rubbed elbows with ballet-
-girls. There was never a jollier night in the history of the Quartier
-Latin.
-
-We found the Café de la Source already crowded by the Gérôme contingent
-and their models and mistresses, all en costume and bubbling with
-merriment and mischief. It was ten o'clock before all the students had
-arrived. Then we formed in procession, and yelled and danced past all
-the _café_s on the Boul' Mich' to the Luxembourg Palace and the Théâtre
-de l'Odéon, to take the 'buses of the Montmartre line. These we quickly
-seized and overloaded in violation of the law, and then, dashing down
-the quiet streets of the Rive Gauche, headed for Montmartre, making a
-noise to rouse the dead. As we neared the Place Blanche we found the
-little streets merging from different quarters crowded with people in
-costume, some walking and others crowding almost innumerable vehicles,
-and the balconies and portes-cochères packed with spectators. The Place
-Blanche fronts the Moulin Rouge, and it was crowded and brilliantly
-lighted. The façade of the Moulin Rouge was a blaze of electric lights
-and colored lanterns, and the revolving wings of the mill flamed across
-the sky. It was a perfect night. The stars shone, the air was warm and
-pleasant, and the trees were tipped with the glistening clean foliage
-of early spring. The bright _café_s fronting the Place were crowded
-with gay revellers. The poets of Bohemia were there, and gayly attired
-cocottes assisted them in their fun at the _café_ tables, extending
-far out into the boulevard under the trees. At one corner was Gérôme's
-private studio, high up in the top of the house, and standing on the
-balcony was Gérôme himself, enjoying the brilliant scene below.
-
-As the Bal des Quat'z' Arts is not open to the public, and as none
-but accredited members of the four arts are admitted, the greatest
-precautions are taken to prevent the intrusion of outsiders; and
-wonderful is the ingenuity exercised to outwit the authorities. Inside
-the vestibule of the Moulin was erected a tribune (a long bar), behind
-which sat the massiers of the different studios of Paris, all in
-striking costumes. It was their task not only to identify the holders of
-tickets, but also to pass on the suitability of the costumes of such
-as were otherwise eligible to admittance. The costumes must all have
-conspicuous merit and be thoroughly artistic. Nothing black, no dominos,
-none in civilian dress, may pass. Many and loud were the protestations
-that rang through the vestibule as one after another was turned back and
-firmly conducted to the door.
-
-Once past the implacable tribunes, we entered a dazzling fairy-land, a
-dream of rich color and reckless abandon. From gorgeous kings and queens
-to wild savages, all were there; courtiers in silk, naked gladiators,
-nymphs with paint for clothing,--all were there; and the air was heavy
-with the perfume of roses. Shouts, laughter, the silvery clinking of
-glasses, a whirling mass of life and color, a bewildering kaleidoscope,
-a maze of tangled visions in the soft yellow haze that filled the vast
-hall. There was no thought of the hardness and sordidness of life, no
-dream of the morrow. It was a wonderful witchery that sat upon every
-soul there.
-
-This splendid picture was framed by a wall of lodges, each sumptuously
-decorated and hung with banners, tableaux, and greens, each representing
-a particular atelier and adorned in harmony with the dominant ideals
-of their masters. The lodge of the _Atelier Gérôme_ was arranged to
-represent a Grecian temple; all the decorations and accessories were
-pure Grecian, cleverly imitated by the master's devoted pupils. That of
-the Atelier Cormon repre sented a huge caravan of the prehistoric
-big- muscled men that appeal so strongly to Cormon; large skeletons of
-extinct animals, giant ferns, skins, and stone implements were scattered
-about, while the students of Cormon's atelier, almost naked, with bushy
-hair and clothed in skins, completed the picture. And so it was with all
-the lodges, each typifying a special subject, and carrying it out with
-perfect fidelity to the minutest detail.
-
-The event of the evening was the grand cortège; this, scheduled for one
-o'clock, was awaited with eager expectancy, for with it would come the
-test of supremacy,--the awarding of the prize for the best. For this was
-the great art centre of the world, and this night was the one in which
-its rivalries would strain the farthest reach of skill.
-
-Meanwhile, the great hall swarmed with life and blazed with color and
-echoed with the din of merry voices. Friends recognized one another with
-great difficulty. And there was Gérôme himself at last, gaudily gowned
-in the rich green costume of a Chinese mandarin, his white moustache
-dyed black, and his white locks hidden beneath a black skull-cap topped
-with a bobbing appendage. And there also was Jean Paul Laurens, in the
-costume of a Norman, the younger Laurens as Charlemagne. Léandre, the
-caricaturist, was irresistible as a caricature of Queen Victoria. Puech,
-the sculptor, made a graceful courtier of the Marie Antoinette régime.
-Willett was a Roman emperor. Will Dodge was loaded with the crown,
-silks, and jewels of a Byzantine emperor.
-
-Louis Loeb was a desperate Tartar bandit. Castaigne made a hit as an
-Italian jurist. Steinlen, Grasset, Forain, Rodin,--in fact, nearly all
-the renowned painters, sculptors, and illustrators of Paris were there;
-and besides them were the countless students and models.
-
-[Illustration: 0094]
-
-"La cavalcade! le grand cortège!" rose the cry above the crashing of the
-band and the noise of the revellers; and then all the dancing stopped.
-Emerging from the gardens through the open glass door, bringing with it
-a pleasant blast of the cool night air, was the vanguard of the great
-procession. The orchestra struck up the "Victor's March," and a great
-cry of welcome rang out.
-
-First came a band of yelling Indians dancing in, waving their spears and
-tomahawks, and so cleaving a way for the parade. A great roar filled
-the glass-domed hall when the first float appeared. It was daring and
-unique, but a masterpiece. Borne upon the shoulders of Indians, who were
-naked but for skins about their loins, their bodies stained a dark brown
-and striped with paint, was a gorgeous bed of fresh flowers and trailing
-vines; and reclining in this bed were four of the models of Paris, lying
-on their backs, head to head, their legs upraised to support a circular
-tablet of gold.
-
-[Illustration: 0095]
-
-Upon this, high in air, proud and superb, was the great Susanne in all
-her peerless beauty of face and form,--simply that and nothing more. A
-sparkling crown of jewels glowed in her reddish golden hair; a flashing
-girdle of electric lights encircled her slender waist, bringing out the
-marvellous whiteness of her skin, and with delicate shadows and tones
-modelling the superb contour of her figure. She looked a goddess--and
-knew it. The crowd upon whom she looked down stood for a while spell-
-bound, and then, with a waving of arms and flags, came a great shout,
-"Susanne! Susanne! la belle Susanne!" Susanne only smiled. Was she not
-the queen of the models of Paris?
-
-Then came Bellona! Gérôme, when he conceived and executed the idea
-embodied in this wonderful figure, concentrated his efforts to produce a
-most terrifying, fear-inspiring image typifying the horrors of war. The
-straining goddess, poised upon her toes to her full height, her face
-uplifted, her head thrust forward, with staring eyes and screaming
-mouth, her short two-edged sword in position for a sweeping blow,
-her glittering round shield and her coat of mail, a huge angry python
-darting its tongue and raising its green length from the folds of her
-drapery,--all this terrible figure, reproduced with marvellous fidelity
-and magnified tenfold, overwhelmed the thousands upon whom it
-glowered. Surrounding the golden chariot was a guard of Roman and Greek
-gladiators, emperors, warriors, and statesmen. From the staring eyes of
-Bellona flashed green fire, whose uncanny shafts pierced the yellow haze
-of the ball-room. Under a storm of cheers Bellona went on her way past
-the tribune of the judges.
-
-[Illustration: 0097]
-
-Following Bellona came a beautiful reproduction of Gérôme's classical
-"Tanagra," which adorns the sculpture gallery of the Luxembourg. The
-figure was charmingly personated by Marcelle, a lithe, slim, graceful
-model of immature years, who was a rage in the studios. Gérôme himself
-applauded the grace of her pose as she swept past his point of vantage
-in the gallery.
-
-[Illustration: 0099]
-
-Behind Tanagra came W------, also of the Atelier Gérôme, dressed as an
-Apache warrior and mounted on a bucking broncho. He was an American,
-from Nebraska, where he was a cowboy before he became famous as a
-sculptor. He received a rousing welcome from his fellow-artists.
-
-The Atelier Cormon came next,--a magnificent lot of brawny fellows
-clothed in skins, and bearing an immense litter made of tree branches
-bound with thongs and weighted down with strong naked women and children
-of a prehistoric age. It was a reproduction of Cormon's masterpiece in
-the Luxembourg Gallery, and was one of the most impressive compositions
-in the whole parade.
-
-Then came the works of the many other studios, all strong and
-effective, but none so fine as the three first. The Atelier Pascal, of
-architecture, made a sensation by appearing as Egyptian mummies, each
-mummy dragging an Egyptian coffin covered with ancient inscriptions and
-characters and containing a Parisian model, all too alive and sensuous
-to personate the ancient dead. Another atelier strove hard for the prize
-with eggs of heroic size, from which as many girls, as chicks, were
-breaking their way to freedom.
-
-After the grand cortège had paraded the hall several times it disbanded,
-and the ball proceeded with renewed enthusiasm.
-
-The tribune, wherein the wise judges sat, was a large and artistic
-affair, built up before the gallery of the orchestra and flanked by
-broad steps leading to its summit. It was topped with the imperial
-escutcheon of Rome--battle-axes bound in fagots--and bore the legend,
-"_Mort aux Tyrants_," in bold letters. Beneath was a row of ghastly,
-bloody severed heads,--those of dead tyrants.
-
-The variety and originality of the costumes were bewildering. One
-Frenchman went as a tombstone, his back, representing a headstone,
-containing a suitable inscription and bearing wreaths of immortelles
-and colored beads. Another, from the Atelier Bon-nat, went simply as a
-stink, nothing more, nothing less, but it was potent. He had saturated
-his skin with the juice of onions and garlic, and there was never any
-mistaking his proximity. Many were the gay Bacchantes wearing merely a
-bunch of grapes in their hair and a grape-leaf.
-
-At intervals during the evening the crowd would suddenly gather and form
-a large circle, many deep, some climbing upon the backs of others the
-better to see, those in front squatting or lying upon the floor to
-accommodate the mass behind them. The formation of these circles was the
-signal for the _danse du ventre_.*
-
-
-* The danse du ventre (literally, belly-dance) is of Turkish origin,
-and was introduced to Paris by Turkish women from Egypt. Afterward these
-women exhibited it in the Midway Plaisance of the Columbian Exposition,
-Chicago, and then at the California Midwinter Exposition, San Francisco.
-As danced by Turkish women it consists of astonishing control and
-movements of the abdominal and chest muscles (hence its other name,
-muscle-dance), varied with more or less graceful steps and gyrations,
-with adjuncts, such as castanets, scarfs, etc., and the seemingly
-perilous use of swords. Such clothing is worn as least obscures the play
-of the muscles. It is danced to a particular Turkish air, monotonously
-repeated by an orchestra of male Turkish musicians, with Turkish
-instruments, and the dance is done solus. A dance closely analogous
-to it, though of a wholly independent origin, is the hula-hula of the
-Hawaiian women; but the hula-hula lacks the grace, dash, and abandon of
-the Turkish dance. The danse du ventre, as danced by French and American
-women who have "picked it up," is very different from that of the
-Turkish women--different both in form and meaning. Whatever of
-suggestiveness it may be supposed to carry is, in the adaptation,
-grossly exaggerated, and whatever of grace and special muscular skill,
-evidently acquired by Turkish women only from long and thorough drill,
-is eliminated. W. C. M.
-
-
-[Illustration: 0103]
-
-The name of some favorite model would be yelled, and the orchestra would
-strike up the familiar Oriental strain. And there was always a model to
-respond. Then the regular dancing would be resumed until another circle
-was formed and another favorite goddess of the four arts would be called
-out.
-
-It was three o'clock when supper was announced by the appearance of two
-hundred white-aproned waiters carrying scores of tables, chairs, and
-hampers of plate and glassware. The guests fell to with a will and
-assisted in spreading and setting the tables; almost in a moment the
-vast hall was a field of snow pricked out with the brilliant costumes of
-the revellers. Then came a frightful din of pounding on the tables for
-the supper. Again marched in the two hundred waiters, loaded with cases
-of champagne, plates of creamy soup, roasts, salads, cheeses, creams,
-cakes, ices,--a feast of Bacchus, indeed. The banquet was enjoyed with
-Bohemian abandon.
-
-The twelve wise judges of the Tribune now gravely announced their award
-of prizes, and each announcement was received with ringing applause.
-The _Atelier Gérôme_ received first prize,--fifty bottles of champagne,
-which were immediately taken possession of. The other ateliers received
-smaller prizes, as their merits deserved, and all were satisfied and
-happy. The banquet was resumed.
-
-Now here was Susanne, not content with her triumph of the early evening,
-springing upon one of the central tables, sending the crockery and
-glassware crashing to the floor with her dainty foot, and serenely
-surveying the crowd as it greeted her tumultuously, and, seizing a
-bottle of champagne, sending its foaming contents over as wide a circle
-of revellers as her strength could reach, laughing in pure glee over her
-feat, and then bathing her own white body with the contents of another
-bottle that she poured over herself. A superb Bacchante she made! A
-general salute of popping corks and clinking glasses greeted her, and
-she acknowledged the compliment with the danse du ventre. Susanne was
-so sure of the adoration and affection of the ateliers! Her dance was
-a challenge to every other model in the chamber. One after another, and
-often several at a time, they mounted the tables, spurned the crockery
-to the floor, and gave the danse du ventre. The Moulin was indeed a wild
-scene of joyous abandonment, and from an artistic point of view grand,
-a luminous point in the history of modern times. Here were the life,
-the color, the grace of the living picture, with a noble background
-of surrounding temples, altars, statues,--a wonderful spectacle, that
-artists can understand and appreciate.
-
-[Illustration: 0103
-
-The feast wore merrily through the small hours until the cold blue dawn
-began to pale the lights in the ceiling. Strangely beautiful was this
-color effect, as the blue stole downward through the thick yellow
-glamour of the hall, quickening the merry-makers with a new and uncanny
-light, putting them out of place, and warning them thence. But still the
-ball went rolling on.
-
-Though the floor was slippery with wine and dangerous from broken glass,
-dancing and the cutting of capers proceeded without abatement. The
-favorite danse du ventre and songs and speeches filled the night to
-the end of the ball, and then the big orchestra, with a great flourish,
-played the "Victor's March." This was the signal for the final
-procession. The vast concourse of students and artists poured forth into
-the cool, sweet morning air, and the bal was at an end.
-
-Paris was asleep, that early April morning, save for the street-sweepers
-and the milkmaids and the concierges. But the Place Blanche was very
-much awake. The morning air was new wine in stale veins, and it banished
-fatigue.
-
-"_En cavalcade! en cavalcade!_" was the cry; and in cavalcade it was.
-A great procession of all the costumers was formed, to march ensemble
-across Paris to the Quartier Latin. Even the proud Bellona was dragged
-along in the rear, towering as high as the lower wings of the now
-motionless red windmill. She seemed to partake in the revelry, for she
-swayed and staggered in an alarming fashion as she plunged recklessly
-down the steeps of Montmartre.
-
-[Illustration: 0107]
-
-The deserted Rue Blanche re-echoed the wild yells and songs of the
-revellers and the rattling of the string of cabs in the rear. The rows
-of heaped ash-cans that lined the way were overturned one after another,
-and the oaths and threatening brooms of the outraged concierges went for
-nothing. Even the poor diligent rag- and bone-pickers were not spared;
-their filled sacks, carrying the result of their whole night's hunt,
-were taken from them and emptied. A string of carts heavily laden with
-stone was captured near the Rue Lafayette, the drivers deposed, and the
-big horses sent plunging through Paris, driven by Roman charioteers, and
-making more noise than a company of artillery.
-
-When the Place de l'Opéra was reached a thousand revellers swarmed up
-the broad stairs of the Grand Opéra like colored ants, climbed upon the
-lamp-posts and candelabra, and clustered all over the groups of statuary
-adorning the magnificent façade. The band took up a position in the
-centre and played furiously, while the artists danced ring-around-a-
-rosy, to the amazement of the drowsy residents of the neighborhood.
-
-The cavalcade then re-formed and marched down the Avenue de l'Opéra
-toward the Louvre, where it encountered a large squad of street-sweepers
-washing the avenue. In an instant the squad had been routed, and the
-revellers, taking the hose and brooms, fell to and cleaned an entire
-block, making it shine as it had never shone before.
-
-Cabs were captured, the drivers decorated with Roman helmets and swords,
-and dances executed on the tops of the vehicles. One character, with
-enormous india-rubber shoes, took delight in permitting cabs to run over
-his feet, while he emitted howls of agony that turned the hair of the
-drivers white.
-
-[Illustration: 9110]
-
-As the immense cavalcade filed through the narrow arches of the Louvre
-court-yard it looked like a mediaeval army returning to its citadel
-after a victorious campaign; the hundreds of battle-flags, spears, and
-battle-axes were given a fine setting by the noble architecture of
-the Pavillon de Rohan. Within the court of the Louvre was drawn up a
-regiment of the Garde Municipale, going through the morning drill; and
-they looked quite formidable with their evolutions and bayonet charges.
-But when the mob of Greek and Roman warriors flung themselves bodily
-upon the ranks of the guard, ousted the officers, and assumed command,
-there was consternation.
-
-[Illustration: 0111]
-
-All the rigid military dignity of the scene disappeared, and the drill
-was turned into such a farce as the old Louvre had never seen before.
-The officers, furious at first, could not resist the spirit of pure fun
-that filled the mob, and took their revenge by kissing the models
-and making them dance. The girls had already done their share of the
-conquering by pinning flowers to military coats and coyly putting pretty
-lips where they were in danger. Even the tall electric-light masts in
-the court were scaled by adventurous students, who attached brilliant
-flags, banners, and crests to the mast-heads far above the crowd.
-
-To the unspeakable relief of the officers, the march was then resumed.
-The Pont du Carrousel was the next object of assault; here was performed
-the solemn ceremony of the annual sacrifice of the Quat'z' Arts to the
-river Seine. The mighty Bellona was the sacrifice. She was trundled
-to the centre of the bridge and drawn close to the parapet, while the
-disciples of the four arts gathered about with uncovered heads. The
-first bright flashes of the morning sun, sweeping over the towers of
-Notre-Dame, tipped Bellona's upraised sword with flame. The band played
-a funeral march. Prayers were said, and the national hymn was sung; then
-Bellona was sent tottering and crashing over the parapet, and with a
-mighty plunge she sank beneath the waters of the Seine. A vast shout
-rang through the crisp morning air. Far below, poor Bellona rose in
-stately despair, and then slowly sank forever.
-
-The parade formed again and proceeded to the Beaux-Arts, the last
-point of attack. Up the narrow Rue Bonaparte went singing the tired
-procession; the gates of the Ecole opened to admit it, cabs and all,
-and the doors were shut again. Then in the historic court-yard of the
-government school, surrounded by remnants of the beautiful architecture
-of once stately chateaux and palaces, and encircled by graceful
-Corinthian columns, the students gave a repetition of the grand ball
-at the Moulin Rouge. A strange and incongruous sight it was in the
-brilliant sunshine, and the neighboring windows and balconies were
-packed with onlookers. But by halfpast seven every trace of the Bal des
-Quat'z' Arts had disappeared,--the great procession had melted away to
-the haunts of Bohemia.
-
-[Illustration: 5114]
-
-
-
-
-BOULEVARD SAINT-MICHEL
-
-
-[Illustration: 0115]
-
-
-OF course the proper name for the great thoroughfare of the Quartier
-Latin is the Boulevard Saint-Michel, but the boulevardiers call it the
-Boul' Mich', just as the students call the Quatre Arts the Quat'z' Arts,
-because it is easier to say.
-
-The Boul' Mich' is the student's highway to relaxation. Mention of it
-at once recalls whirling visions of brilliant _café_s, with their
-clattering of saucers and glasses, the shouting of their white-aproned
-garçons, their hordes of gay and wicked damsels dressed in the costliest
-and most fashionable gowns, and a multitude of riotous students howling
-class songs and dancing and parading to the different _café_s as
-only students can. This is the head-quarters of the Bohemians of real
-Bohemia, whose poets haunt the dim and quaint cabarets and read their
-compositions to admiring friends; of flower-girls who offer you un petit
-bouquet, seulement dix centimes, and pin it into your button-hole
-before you can refuse; of Turks in picturesque native costume selling
-sweetmeats; of the cane man loaded down with immense sticks; of the
-stems a yard long; of beggars, gutter-snipes, hot-chestnut venders, ped-
-lers, singers, actors, students, and all manner of queer characters.
-
-[Illustration: 9116]
-
-The life of the Boul' Mich' begins at the Panthéon, where repose the
-remains of France's great men, and ends at the Seine, where the gray
-Gothic towers and the gargoyles of Notre-Dame look down disdainfully
-upon the giddy traffic below. The eastern side of the Boul' is lined
-with _café_s, cabarets, and brasseries.
-
-This is historic ground, for where now is the old Hôtel Cluny are still
-to be seen the ruins of Roman baths, and not a great distance hence are
-the partly uncovered ruins of a Roman arena, with its tiers of stone
-seats and its dens. The tomb of Cardinal Richelieu is in the beautiful
-old chapel of the Sorbonne, within sound of the wickedest _café_ in
-Paris, the Café d'Harcourt.
-
-[Illustration: 0117]
-
-In the immediate vicinity are to be found the quaint jumbled buildings
-of old Paris, but they are fast disappearing. And the Quartier abounds
-in the world's greatest schools and colleges of the arts and sciences.
-
-It was often our wont on Saturday evenings to saunter along the Boul',
-and sometimes to visit the _café_s. To Bishop particularly it was always
-a revelation and a delight, and he was forever studying and sketching
-the types that he found there. He was intimately acquainted in all the
-_café_s along the line, and with the mysterious rendezvous in the dark
-and narrow side streets.
-
-American beverages are to be had at many of the _café_s on the Boul',--a
-recent and very successful experiment. The idea has captured the fancy
-of the Parisians, so that "_Bars Américains_," which furnish cocktails
-and sours, are numerous in the _café_s. Imagine a Parisian serenely
-sucking a manhattan through a straw, and standing up at that!
-
-The Boul' Mich' is at its glory on Saturday nights, for the students
-have done their week's work, and the morrow is Sunday. Nearly everybody
-goes to the Bal Bullier. This is separated from the crowded Boul' Mich'
-by several squares of respectable dwelling-houses and shops, and
-a dearth of _café_s prevails thereabout. At the upper end of the
-Luxembourg is a long stone wall brilliantly bedecked with lamps set in
-clusters,--the same wall against which Maréchal Ney was shot (a striking
-monument across the way recalls the incident). At one end of this yellow
-wall is an arched entrée, resplendent with the glow of many rows of
-electric lights and lamps, which reveal the colored bas-reliefs of
-dancing students and gri-settes that adorn the portal. Near by stands
-a row of voitures, and others are continually dashing up and depositing
-Latin-Quarter swells with hair parted behind and combed forward toward
-the ears, and dazzling visions of the demi-monde in lace, silks, and
-gauze. And there is a constantly arriving stream of students and gaudily
-dressed women on foot. Big gardes municipaux stand at the door like
-stone images as the crowd surges past.
-
-[Illustration: 0121]
-
-To-night is one-franc night. An accommodating lady at the box-office
-hands us each a broad card, and another, au vestiaire, takes our coats
-and hats and charges us fifty centimes for the honor. Descending the
-broad flight of softly carpeted red stairs, a brilliant, tumultuous,
-roaring vision bursts upon us, for it is between the dances, and the
-visitors are laughing and talking and drinking. The ball-room opens into
-a generous garden filled with trees and shrubbery ingeniously devised to
-assure many a secluded nook, and steaming garçons are flying hither and
-thither serving foaming bocks and colored syrups to nymphs in bicycle
-bloomers, longhaired students under tam o'shanters, and the swells
-peculiar to le Quartier Latin.
-
-"_Ah! Monsieur Beeshop, comment vas tu?_"
-
-"_Tiens! le voilà, Beeshop!_"
-
-"_Ah, mon ange!_" and other affectionate greetings made Bishop start
-guiltily, and then he discovered Hélène and Marcelle, two saucy little
-models who had posed at the École. There also was Fannie, formerly
-(before she drifted to the _café_s) our blanchisseuse, leaning heavily
-upon the arm of son amant, who, a butcher-boy during the day, was now
-arrayed in a cutaway coat and other things to match, including a red
-cravat that Fannie herself had tied; but he wore no cuffs. Many
-other acquaintances presented themselves to Bishop, somewhat to his
-embarrassment. One, quite a swell member of the demi-monde, for a
-moment deserted her infatuated companion, a gigantic Martinique negro,
-gorgeously apparelled, and ran up to tease Bishop to paint her portrait
-à l'oil, and also to engage him for la prochaine valse.
-
-[Illustration: 0123]
-
-The musicians were now playing a schottische, but large circles would
-be formed here and there in the hall, where clever exhibitions of fancy
-dancing would be given by students and by fashionably gowned damsels
-with a penchant for displaying their lingerie and hosiery. The front of
-the band-stand was the favorite place for this. Here four dashing young
-women were raising a whirlwind of lingerie and slippers, while the crowd
-applauded and tossed sous at their feet.
-
-Next to us stood a fat, cheery-faced little man, bearing the
-unmistakable stamp of an American tourist. His hands were in his
-pockets, his silk hat was tipped back, and his beaming red face
-and bulging eyes showed the intensity of his enjoyment. Without the
-slightest warning the slippered foot of one of these dancers found his
-shining tile and sent it bounding across the floor. For a moment the
-American was dazed by the suddenness and unearthly neatness of the
-feat; then he emitted a whoop of wonder and admiration, and in English
-exclaimed,--"You gol-darned bunch of French skirts--say, you're all
-right, you are, Marie! Bet you can't do it again!"
-
-He confided to Bishop that his name was Pugson and that he was from
-Cincinnati.
-
-"Why," he exclaimed, joyously, "Paris is the top of the earth!
-You artists are an enviable lot, living over here all the time and
-painting-- Gad! look at her!" and he was pushing his way through the
-crowd to get a better view of an uncommonly startling dancer, who was at
-the moment an indeterminate fluffy bunch of skirts, linen, and hosiery.
-Ah, what tales he will tell of Paris when he returns to Cincinnati, and
-how he will be accused of exaggerating!
-
-The four girls forming the centre of attraction were now doing all
-manner of astonishing things possible only to Parisian feminine anatomy.
-In another circle near by was Johnson, the American architect, stirring
-enthusiastic applause as he hopped about, Indian fashion, with a little
-brunette whose face was hidden in the shadow of her immense hat, her
-hair en bandeau, à la de Mérode. Could this really be the quiet Johnson
-of the Ecole, who but a week ago had been showing his mother and
-charming sister over Paris? And there, too, was his close friend,
-Walden, of Michigan, leading a heavy blonde to the dance! There were
-others whom we knew. The little Siamese was flirting desperately with a
-vision in white standing near his friend, a Japanese, who, in turn, was
-listening to the cooing of a clinging bloomer girl. Even Haidor, the
-Turk, was there, but he was alone in the gallery. Many sober fellows
-whom I had met at the studio were there, but they were sober now only in
-the sense that they were not drunk. And there were law students, too, in
-velveteen caps and jackets, and students in the sciences, and students
-in music, and négligé poets, littérateurs, and artists, and every model
-and cocotte who could furnish her back sufficiently well to pass the
-censorship of the severe critic at the door. If she be attractively
-dressed, she may enter free; if not, she may not enter at all.
-
-[Illustration: 0125]
-
-The gayety increased as the hours lengthened; the dancing was livelier,
-the shouting was more vociferous, skirts swirled more freely, and thin
-glasses fell crashing to the floor.
-
-It was pleasanter out in the cool garden, for it was dreadfully hard
-to keep from dancing inside. The soft gleam of the colored lamps and
-lanterns was soothing, and the music was softened down to an echo. The
-broken rays of the lanterns embedded in the foliage laid bright patterns
-on the showy silks of the women, and the garçons made no noise as they
-flitted swiftly through the mazes of shrubbery.
-
-At one end of the garden, surrounded by an hilarious group, were four
-wooden rocking-horses worked on springs. 'Astride of two of these were
-an army officer and his companion, a bloomer girl, who persistently
-twisted her ankles round her horse's head. The two others were ridden
-by a poet and a jauntily attired gri-sette. The four were as gleeful as
-children.
-
-[Illustration: 9128]
-
-A flash-light photographer did a driving trade at a franc a flash,
-and there were a shooting-gallery, a fortune-teller, sou-in-the-slot
-machines, and wooden figures of negroes with pads on their other ends,
-by punching which we might see how hard we could hit.
-
-We are back in the ball-room again,--it is hard to keep out. The gayety
-is at its height, the Bal Bullier is in full swing. The tables are piled
-high with saucers, and the garçons are bringing more. The room is warm
-and suffocating, the dancing and flirting faster than ever. Now and then
-a line is formed to "crack the whip," and woe betide anything that comes
-in its way!
-
-[Illustration: 0131]
-
-Our genial, generous new friend from Cincinnati was living the most
-glorious hour of his life. He had not been satisfied until he found and
-captured the saucy little wretch who had sent his hat spinning across
-the room; so now she was anchored to him, and he was giving exhibitions
-of American grace and agility that would have amazed his friends at
-home. For obviously he was a person of consequence there. When he saw
-us his face beamed with triumph, and he proudly introduced us to
-his mignonette-scented conquest, Mad-dem-mo-zel Madeleine (which he
-pronounced Madelyne), "the queen of the Latin Quarter. But blamed if I
-can talk the blooming lingo!" he exclaimed, ruefully. "You translate for
-me, won't you?" he appealed to Bishop, and Bishop complied. In paying
-compliments thus transmitted to Madeleine he displayed an adeptness
-that likely would have astounded his good spouse, who at that moment was
-slumbering in a respectable part of Paris.
-
-But the big black Martinique negroes,--they haunted and dominated
-everything, and the demimonde fell down and worshipped them. They
-are students of law and medicine, and are sent hither from the French
-colonies by the government, or come on their private means.
-
-[Illustration: 0132]
-
-They are all heavy swells, as only negroes can be; their well-fitted
-clothes are of the finest and most showy material; they wear shining
-silk hats, white waistcoats, white "spats," patent leathers, and very
-light kid gloves, not to mention a load of massive jewelry. The girls
-flutter about them in bevies, like doves to be fed.
-
-At exactly a quarter-past midnight the band played the last piece, the
-lights began to go out, and the Bal Bullier was closed.
-
-Out into the boulevard surged the heated crowd, shouting, singing, and
-cutting capers as they headed for the Boul' Mich', there to continue the
-revelries of which the Bal Bullier was only the beginning. "A la Taverne
-du Panthéon!" "Au Café Lorrain!" "Au Café d'Harcourt!" were the cries
-that range through the streets, mingled with the singing of half a
-thousand people.
-
-[Illustration: 0133]
-
-In this mob we again encountered our American acquaintance with his
-prize, and as he was bent on seeing all that he could of Paris, he
-begged us to see him through, explaining that money was no object with
-him, though delicately adding that our friends must make so many calls
-upon our hospitality as to prove a burden at times. He had only two days
-more in Paris, and the hours were precious, and "we will do things up in
-style," he declared buoyantly. He did.
-
-Bishop's arm was securely held by a little lassie all in soft creamy
-silks. She spoke Engleesh, and demurely asked Bishop if "we will go to
-ze _café_ ensemble, n'est-ce-pas?" and Bishop had not the heart to eject
-her from the party. And so five of us went skipping along with the rest,
-Mr. Pugson swearing by all the gods that Paris was the top of the earth!
-
-When we reached the lower end of the Jardin du Luxembourg, at the old
-Palais, the bright glow of the _café_s, with their warm stained windows
-and lighthearted throngs, stretched away before us. Ah, le Boul' Mich'
-never sleeps! There are still the laughing grisettes, the singing and
-dancing students, the kiosks all aglow; the marchand de marrons is
-roasting his chestnuts over a charcoal brazier, sending out a savory
-aroma; the swarthy Turk is offering his wares with a princely grace;
-the flower-girls flit about with freshly cut carnations, violets, and
-Maréchal Niel roses,--"This joli bouquet for your sweetheart," they
-plead so plaintively; the pipe man plies his trade; the cane man mobs
-us, and the sellers of the last editions of the papers cry their wares.
-
-[Illustration: 9134]
-
-An old pedler works in and out among the _café_ tables with a little
-basket of olives, deux pour un sou. The crawfish seller, with his little
-red écrevisses neatly arranged on a platter; Italian boys in white
-blouses bearing baskets filled with plaster casts of works of the old
-masters gewgaw pedlers,--they are still all busily at work, each adding
-his mite to the din.
-
-The _café_s are packed, both inside and out, but the favorite seats are
-those on the sidewalk under the awnings.
-
-[Illustration: 0135]
-
-We halted at the Café d'Harcourt. Here the crowd was thickest, the
-sidewalk a solid mass of humanity; and the noise and the waiters as they
-yelled their orders, they were there. And des femmes--how many! The Café
-d'Harcourt is the head-quarters of these wonderful creations of clothes,
-paint, wicked eyes, and graceful carriage. We worked our way into the
-interior. Here the crowd was almost as dense as without, but a chance
-offered us a vacant table; no sooner had we captured it than we were
-compelled to retreat, because of a battle that two excited demoiselles
-were having at an adjoining table. In another part of the room there was
-singing of "Les sergents sont des brave gens," and in the middle of the
-floor a petite cocotte, her hat rakishly pulled down over her eyes, was
-doing a dance very gracefully, her white legs gleaming above the
-short socks that she wore, and a shockingly high kick punctuating the
-performance at intervals.
-
-[Illustration: 0137]
-
-At other tables were seated students with their friends and mistresses,
-playing dominoes or recounting their petites histoires. One table drew
-much attention by reason of a contest in drinking between two seasoned
-habitués, one a Martinique negro and the other a delicate blond poet.
-The negro won, but that was only because his purse was the longer.
-
-Every consommation is served with a saucer, upon which is marked the
-price of the drink, and the score is thus footed à la fin de ces joies.
-There are some heavy accounts to be settled with the garçons.
-
-"_Ah! voilà Beeshop!" "Tiens! mon vieux!" "Comment vas-tu?_" clamored
-a half-dozen of Bishop's feminine acquaintances, as they surrounded our
-table, overwhelming us with their conflicting perfumes.
-
-[Illustration: 0139]
-
-These denizens of the Boul' have an easy way of making acquaintances,
-but they are so bright and mischievous withal that no offence can be
-taken; and they may have a stack of saucers to be paid for. Among the
-many _café_ frequenters of this class fully half know a few words
-of English, Italian, German, and even Russian, and are so quick of
-perception that they can identify a foreigner at a glance. Consequently
-our table was instantly a target, principally on account of Mr. Pugson,
-whose nationality emanated from his every pore.
-
-[Illustration: 0141]
-
-"Ah, milord, how do you do? I spik Engleesh a few. Es eet not verra
-a beautiful night?" is what he got. "You are si charmant, monsieur!"
-protested another, stroking Bishop's Valasquez beard; and then, archly
-and coaxingly, "_Qu'est-ce que vous m'offrez, monsieur? Payez-moi un
-bock?_ Yes?" Mr. Pugson made the garçons start. He ordered "everything
-and the best in the house" (in English); but it was the lordliness of
-his manner that told, as he leaned back in his chair and smoked his
-Londrès and eyed Madeleine with intense satisfaction. In the eyes of
-the beholders that action gave him the unmistakable stamp of an American
-millionaire. "Tell you, boys," he puffed, "I'm not going to forget Paree
-in a hurry." And Mademoiselle Madeleine, how she revelled! Mr. Pugson
-bought her everything that the venders had to sell, besides, for
-himself, a wretched plaster cast of a dancing-girl that he declared was
-"dead swell."
-
-"I'll take it home and startle the natives," he added; but he didn't,
-as we shall see later. Then he bought three big canes as souvenirs for
-friends, besides a bicycle lamp, a mammoth pipe, and other things. A
-hungry-looking sketch artist who presented himself was engaged on the
-spot to execute Mr. Pugson's portrait, which he made so flattering as to
-receive five francs instead of one, his price.
-
-At a neighboring table occupied by a group of students was Bi-Bi-dans-
-la-Purée, one of the most famous characters of the Quartier and
-Montmartre. With hilarious laughter the students were having fun with
-Bi-Bi by pouring the contents of their soup-plates and drinking-glasses
-down his back and upon his sparsely covered head; but what made them
-laugh more was Bi-Bi's wonderful skill in pulling grotesque faces. In
-that line he was an artist. His cavernous eyes and large, loose mouth
-did marvellous things, from the ridiculous to the terrible; and he could
-literally laugh from ear to ear. Poor Bi-Bi-dans-la-Purée!
-
-[Illustration: 0143]
-
-He had been a constant companion of the great Verlaine, but was that no
-more, since Verlaine had died and left him utterly alone. You may see
-him any day wandering aimlessly about the Quartier, wholly oblivious to
-the world about him, and dreaming doubtless of the great dead poet of
-the slums, who had loved him.
-
-Here comes old Madame Carrot, a weazened little hunchback, anywhere
-between sixty and a hundred years of age. She is nearly blind, and her
-tattered clothes hang in strips from her wreck of a form. A few thin
-strands of gray hair are all that cover her head.
-
-"_Bon soir, Mère Carrot! ma petite mignonne, viens donc qu'on
-t'embrasse! Où sont tes ailes?_" and other mocking jests greet her as
-she creeps among the tables. But Mère Carrot scorns to beg: she would
-earn her money. Look! With a shadowy remnant of grace she picks up the
-hem of her ragged skirt, and with a heart-breaking smile that discloses
-her toothless gums, she skips about in a dance that sends her audience
-into shrieks of laughter, and no end of sous are flung at her feet. She
-will sing, too, and caricature herself, and make pitiful attempts at
-high kicking and anything else that she is called upon to do for the
-sous that the students throw so recklessly. There are those who say that
-she is rich.
-
-In the rear end of the _café_ the demoiselle who had anchored herself
-to the Martinique negro at the Bal Bullier was on a table kicking the
-negro's hat, which he held at arm's length while he stood on a chair.
-"_Plus haut! plus haut encore!_" she cried; but each time, as he kept
-raising it, she tipped it with her dainty slipper; and then, with a
-magnificent bound, she dislodged with her toe one of the chandelier
-globes, which went crashing with a great noise to the floor; and then
-she plunged down and sought refuge in her adorer's arms.
-
-The night's excitement has reached its height now. There is a dizzy
-whirl of skirts, feathers, "plug" hats, and silken stockings; and there
-is dancing on the tables, with a smashing of glass, while lumps of sugar
-soaked in cognac are thrown about. A single-file march round the room is
-started, each dragging a chair and all singing, "_Oh, la pauvre fille,
-elle est malade!_" Mr. Pugson, tightly clutching his canes and his
-Dancing-Girl, joins the procession, his shiny hat reposing on the pretty
-head of Mademoiselle Madeleine. But his heart almost breaks with regret
-because he cannot speak French.
-
-I began to remonstrate with Bishop for his own unseemly levity, but the
-gloved hand of Mademoiselle Madeleine was laid on my lips, and her own
-red lips protested, "_Taisez-vous donc! c'est absolument inexcusable de
-nous faire des sermons en ce moment! En avant!_" And we went.
-
-It was two o'clock, and the _café_s were closing, under the municipal
-regulation to do so at that hour, and the Boul' was swarming with
-revellers turned out of doors.
-
-At the corner of the Rue Racine stands a small boulangerie, where some
-of the revellers were beating on the iron shutters and crying, "_Voilà
-du bon fromage au lait!_" impatient at the tardiness of the fat baker
-in opening his shop; for the odor of hot rolls and croissants came up
-through the iron gratings of the kitchen, and the big cans of fresh milk
-at the door gave further comforting assurances.
-
-Lumbering slowly down the Boul' were ponderous carts piled high with
-vegetables, on their way to the great markets of Paris, the Halles
-Centrales. The drivers, half asleep on the top, were greeted with
-demands for transportation, and a lively bidding for passengers arose
-among them. They charged five sous a head, or as much more as they could
-get, and soon the carts were carrying as many passengers as could find a
-safe perch on the heaped vegetables.
-
-"_Aux Halles! aux Halles! nous allons aux Halles! Oh, la, la, comme
-ils sont bons, les choux et les potirons!_" were the cries as the carts
-lumbered on toward the markets.
-
-Mr. Pugson had positively refused to accept our resignation, and stoutly
-reminded us of our promise to see him through. So our party arranged
-with a masculine woman in a man's coat on payment of a franc a head, and
-we clambered upon her neatly piled load of carrots. Mr. Pugson, becoming
-impatient at the slow progress of the big Normandy horses, began to pelt
-them with carrots. The market-woman protested vigorously at this waste
-of her property, and told Mr. Pugson that she would charge him two sous
-apiece for each subsequent carrot. He seized upon the bargain with true
-American readiness, and then flung carrots to his heart's content, the
-driver meanwhile keeping count in a loud and menacing voice. It was a
-new source of fun for the irrepressible and endlessly jovial American.
-
-Along the now quiet boulevard the carts trundled in a string. All at
-once there burst from them all an eruption of song and laughter, which
-brought out numerous gendarmes from the shadows. But when they saw the
-crowd they said nothing but "_Les étudiants_," and retreated to the
-shadows.
-
-As we were crossing the Pont-au-Change, opposite the Place du Châtelet,
-with its graceful column touched by the shimmering lights of the Seine,
-and dominated by the towers of Notre-Dame, Mr. Pugson, in trying to hurl
-two carrots at once, incautiously released his hold upon the Dancing-
-Girl, which incontinently rolled off the vegetables and was shattered
-into a thousand fragments on the pavement of the bridge--along with Mr.
-Pugson's heart. After a moment of silent misery he started to throw the
-whole load of carrots into the river, but he quickly regained command
-of himself. For the first time, however, his wonderful spirits were
-dampened, and he was as moody and cross as a child, refusing to be
-comforted even by Madeleine's cooing voice.
-
-The number of carts that we now encountered converging from many
-quarters warned us that we were very near the markets. Then rose the
-subdued noise that night-workers make. There seemed to be no end of the
-laden carts. The great Halles then came into view, with their cold glare
-of electric lights, and thousands of people moving about with baskets
-upon their backs, unloading the vegetable carts and piling the
-contents along the streets. The thoroughfares were literally walled and
-fortressed with carrots, cabbages, pumpkins, and the like, piled in neat
-rows as high as our heads for square after square. Is it possible for
-Paris to consume all of this in a day?
-
-Every few yards were fat women seated before steaming cans of hot potage
-and _café_ noir, with rows of generous white bowls, which they would
-fill for a sou.
-
-Not alone were the market workers here, for it seemed as though the
-Boul' Mich' had merely taken an adjournment after the law had closed its
-portals and turned it out of doors. The workers were silent and busy,
-but largely interspersed among them were the demi-mondaines and the
-singing and dancing students of the Quartier, all as full of life and
-deviltry as ever. It was with these tireless revellers that the soup-
-and coffee-women did their most thriving business, for fun brings a good
-appetite, and the soup and coffee were good; but better still was
-this unconventional, lawless, defiant way of taking them. Mr. Pugson's
-spirits regained their vivacity under the spell, and he was so
-enthusiastic that he wanted to buy out one of the pleasant-faced fat
-women; we had to drag him bodily away to avert the catastrophe.
-
-In the side streets leading away from the markets are _café_s and
-restaurants almost without number, and they are open toute la nuit, to
-accommodate the market people, having a special permit to do so; but
-as they are open to all, the revellers from all parts of Paris assemble
-there after they have been turned out of the boulevard _café_s at two
-o'clock. It is not an uncommon thing early of a Sunday morning to see
-crowds of merry-makers from a bal masqué finishing the night here, all
-in costume, dancing and playing ring-around-a-rosy among the stacks of
-vegetables and the unheeding market people. Indeed, it is quite a common
-thing to end one's night's frivolity at the Halles and their _café_s,
-and take the first 'buses home in the early morning.
-
-The contingent from the Boul' Mich', after assisting the market people
-to unload, and indulging in all sorts of pranks, invaded the élite
-_café_s, among them the _Café Barrette, Au Veau Qui Tête, Au Chien Qui
-Fume, and Le Caveau du Cercle._
-
-[Illustration: 0149]
-
-At this last-named place, singing and recitations with music were in
-order, a small platform at one end of the room being reserved for
-the piano and the performers. Part of the audience were in masquerade
-costume, having come from a ball at Montmartre, and they lustily joined
-the choruses. Prices are gilt-edged here,--a franc a drink, and not less
-than ten sous to the garçon.
-
-The contrast between the fluffy and silk-gowned demi-mondaines and
-the dirty, roughly clad market people was very striking at the Café
-Barrette. There the women sit in graceful poses, or saunter about and
-give evidence of their style, silk gowns, India laces, and handsome
-furs, greeting each new-comer with pleas for a sandwich or a bock; they
-are always hungry and thirsty, but they get a commission on all sales
-that they promote. A small string orchestra gave lively music, and took
-up collections between performances. The array of gilt-framed mirrors
-heightened the brilliancy of the place, already sufficiently aglow with
-many electric lights. The Café Barrette is the last stand of the gaudy
-women of the boulevards. With the first gray gleam of dawn they pass
-with the night to which they belong.
-
-It was with sincere feeling that Mr. Pugson bade us good-by at five
-o'clock that morning as he jumped into a cab to join his good spouse at
-the Hôtel Continental; but he bore triumphantly with him some sketches
-of the showy women at the Café Barrette, which Bishop had made.
-
-As for Madeleine, so tremendously liberal had she found Mr. Pugson that
-her protestations of affection for him were voluble and earnest. She
-pressed her card upon him and made him swear that he would find her
-again. After we had bidden her good-night, Mr. Pugson drew the card
-from his pocket, and thoughtfully remarked, as he tore it to pieces,--"I
-don't think it is prudent to carry such things in your pocket."
-
-[0152]
-
-
-
-
-BOHEMIAN CAFÉS
-
-
-[Illustration: 0153]
-
-
-VERY often, instead of having dinner at the studio, we saunter over
-to the Maison Dar-blay, passing the wall of the dismal Cimetière du
-Montparnasse on the way. The Maison Darblay is in the little Rue de
-la Gaieté, which, though only a block in length, is undoubtedly the
-liveliest thoroughfare in the Quartier. That is because it serves as a
-funnel between the Avenue du Maine and five streets that converge into
-it at the upper end. Particularly in the early evening the little street
-is crowded with people returning from their work. All sorts of boutiques
-are packed into this minute thoroughfare,---jewelry-shops, pork-shops,
-kitchens (where they cook what you bring while you wait on the
-sidewalk), theatres, _cafés chantants_, fried-potato stalls, snail
-merchants, moving vegetable- and fruit-markets, and everything else.
-
-In the middle of the block, on the western side, between a millinery-
-shop and a butcher-shop, stands the Maison Darblay, famous for its beans
-and its patrons. A modest white front, curtained windows, and a row of
-milk-cans give little hint of the charms of the interior. Upon entering
-we encounter the vast M. Darblay seated behind a tiny counter, upon
-which are heaped a pile of freshly ironed napkins, parcels of chocolate,
-a big dish of apple-sauce, rows of bottles containing bitters that work
-miracles with ailing appetites, and the tip-box. Reflecting M. Darblay's
-beamy back and the clock on the opposite wall (which is always fifteen
-minutes fast) hangs a long mirror resplendent in heavy gilt frame; it
-is the pride of the establishment, and affords comfort to the actresses
-when they adjust their hats and veils upon leaving.
-
-[Illustration: 9154]
-
-M. Darblay is manager of the establishment, and when it is reflected
-that he weighs two hundred and sixty pounds, it may be imagined what
-accurate adjustments he has to make in fitting himself behind the small
-counter. When a boarder finishes his meal he goes to M. Darblay and
-tells him what he has had, including napkin and bread, and M. Darblay
-scores it all down on a slate with chalk and foots it up. After the bill
-is paid, the tip-box is supposed by a current fiction to receive two
-sous for Marie and Augustine, the buxom Breton maidens who serve the
-tables; but so rarely does the fiction materialize that, when the rattle
-of coins is heard in the box, the boarders all look up wonderingly to
-see the possible millionaire that has appeared among them, and Marie and
-Augustine shout at the top of their voices, "Merci bien, monsieur!"
-
-[Illustration: 8155]
-
-At the opposite end of the room, in full view, is the cuisine, with its
-big range and ruddy fires. Here Madame Darblay reigns queen, her genial,
-motherly red face and bright eyes beaming a welcome to all. She is from
-Lausanne, on Lake Geneva, Switzerland, and the independent blood of
-her race rarely fails its offices when M. Darblay incautiously seeks
-to interfere with her duties and prerogatives, for he retreats under
-an appalling volley of French from his otherwise genial spouse; on such
-occasions he seeks his own corner as rapidly as he can manage his bulk
-to that purpose. She is a famous cook. The memory of her poulets rôtis
-and juicy gigots will last forever. But greatest of all are her haricots
-blancs, cooked au beurre; it is at the shrine of her beans that her
-devoted followers worship.
-
-And her wonderful wisdom! She knows intuitively if you are out of sorts
-or have an uncertain appetite, and without a hint she will prepare a
-delicacy that no epicure could resist. She knows every little whim and
-peculiarity of her boarders, and caters to them accordingly. The steaks
-and chops are bought at the shop next door just when they are ordered,
-and are always fresh.
-
-There are eight marble-top tables lining the two walls, and each table
-is held sacred to its proper occupants, and likewise are the numbered
-hooks and napkins. An invasion of these preserves is a breech of
-etiquette intolerable in Bohemia.
-
-Even the white cat is an essential part of the establishment, for it
-purringly welcomes the patrons and chases out stray dogs.
-
-Situated as it is, in a group of three theatres and several _café_s
-chantants, it is the rendezvous of the actors and actresses of the
-neighborhood. They hold the three tables but one from the kitchen, on
-one side, and they are a jolly crowd, the actresses particularly.
-
-[Illustration: 0157]
-
-They are a part of the Quartier and echo its spirit. Although full of
-mischief and fun, the actresses would never be suspected of singing
-the naughty songs that so delight the gallery gods and so often wring
-a murmur of protest from the pit. There are ten who dine here, but from
-their incessant chatter and laughter you would think them twenty. On
-Friday evenings, when the songs and plays are changed, they rehearse
-their pieces at dinner.
-
-[Illustration: 0159]
-
-Bishop is openly fond of Mademoiselle Brunerye, a sparkling little
-brunette singer, who scolds him tragically for drawing horrible
-caricatures of her when he sits before the footlights to hear her sing.
-But it is always she that begins the trouble at the theatre. If Bishop
-is there, she is sure to see him and to interpolate something in her
-song about "_mon amant Américain_," and sing it pointedly at him, to the
-amusement of the audience and his great discomfiture; and so he retorts
-with the caricatures.
-
-Upon entering the restaurant the actresses remove their hats and wraps
-and make themselves perfectly at home. They are the life of Darblay's;
-we couldn't possibly spare them.
-
-One of the actors is a great swell,--M. Fontaine, leading man at the
-Théâtre du Montparnasse, opposite.
-
-[Illustration: 9160]
-
-His salary is a hundred francs a week; this makes the smaller actors
-look up to him, and enables him to wear a very long coat, besides
-gloves, patent-leather shoes, and a shiny top-hat. He occupies the place
-of honor, and Marie smiles when she serves him, and gives him a good
-measure of wine. He rewards this attention by depositing two sous in the
-tip-box every Friday night. Then there are M. Marius, M. Zecca, and
-M. Dufauj who make people scream with laughter at the Gaieté, and M.
-Coppée, the heavy villain of the terrible eyes in "Les Deux Gosses," and
-Mademoiselle Walzy, whose dark eyes sparkle mischief as she peeps
-over her glass, and Mademoiselle Minion, who kicks shockingly high
-to accentuate her songs, and eight other actresses just as saucy and
-pretty.
-
-The students of the Quartier practically take charge of the theatres
-on Saturday nights, and as they are very free with their expressions of
-approval or disapproval, the faces of the stage-people wear an anxious
-look at the restaurant on that evening. The students will throw the
-whole theatre into an uproar with hisses that drive an actor off the
-stage, or applause, recalls, and the throwing of two-sous bouquets and
-kisses to an actress who has made a hit.
-
-Promptly at six-forty-five every night the venerable M. Corneau enters
-Darblay's, bringing a copy of _Le Journal_. He is extremely methodical,
-so that any interruption of his established routine upsets him badly.
-One evening he found a stranger in his seat, occupying the identical
-chair that had been sacred to his use every evening for six years.
-M. Corneau was so astonished that he hung his hat on the wrong hook,
-stepped on the cat's tail, sulked in a corner, and refused to eat until
-his seat had been vacated, and then he looked as though he wished it
-could be fumigated. He has a very simple meal. One evening he invited
-me--a rare distinction--to his room, which was in the top floor of one
-of those quaint old buildings in the Rue du Moulin de Beurre. It could
-then be seen what a devoted scientist and student he was. His room
-was packed with books, chemicals, mineral specimens, and scientific
-instruments. He was very genial, and brewed excellent tea over an
-alcohol-stove of his own manufacture. Twenty years ago he was a
-professor at the Ecole des Mines, where he had served many years; but
-he had now grown too old for that, and was living his quiet, studious,
-laborious life on a meagre pension.
-
-At one table sit a sculptor, an artist, and a blind musician and his
-wife. The sculptor is slender, delicate, and nervous, and is continually
-rolling and smoking cigarettes. His blond hair falls in ringlets over
-his collar, and he looks more the poet than the sculptor, for he is
-dreamy and distrait, and seems to be looking within himself rather than
-upon the world about him. Augustine serves him with an absinthe Pernod
-au sucre, which he slowly sips while he smokes several cigarettes before
-he is ready for his dinner.
-
-[Illustration: 0162]
-
-The artist is his opposite,--a big, bluff, hearty fellow, loud of voice
-and full of life. And he is successful, for he has received a medal and
-several honorable mentions at the Salon des Champs-Élysées, and has a
-fine twilight effect in the Luxembourg Gallery. After dinner he and M.
-Darblay play piquet for the coffee, and M. Darblay is generally loser.
-
-[Illustration: 0163]
-
-The blind musician is a kindly old man with a benevolent face and a
-jovial spirit. He is the head professor of music at the Institution des
-Aveugles, on the Boulevard des Invalides. His wife is very attentive to
-him, taking his hat and cane, tucking his napkin under his chin, placing
-the dishes where he knows how to find them, and reading the papers to
-him. He knows where everybody sits, and he addresses each by name, and
-passes many brisk sallies about the room.
-
-One poet is vivacious, not at all like the dreamy species to which he
-belongs. True, he wears long hair and a Quartier Latin "plug," but his
-eyes are not vague, and he is immensely fond of Madame Darblay's beans,
-of which he has been known to stow away five platefuls at a meal. Often
-he brings in a copy of _Gil Bias_, containing a poem by himself in the
-middle of the page and with illustrations by Steinlen.
-
-A strange, solitary figure used to sit in one corner, speaking to no
-one, and never ordering more than a bowl of chocolate and two sous of
-bread. It was known merely that he was an Hungarian and an artist, and
-from his patched and frayed clothes and meagre fare it was surmised that
-he was poor. But he had a wonderful face. Want was plainly stamped upon
-it, but behind it shone a determination and a hope that nothing could
-repress. There was not a soul among the boarders but that would have
-been glad to assist in easing whatever burden sat upon him, and no doubt
-it was his suspicion of that fact and his dread of its manifestation
-that made him hold absolutely aloof. Madame Darblay once or twice made
-efforts to get nearer to him, but he gently and firmly repulsed her.
-He was a pitiable figure, but his pride was invincible, and with eyes
-looking straight forward, he held up his head and walked like a king. He
-came and went as a shadow.
-
-None knew where he had a room. There were many stories and conjectures
-about him, but he wrapped his mantle of mystery and solitude about
-him and was wholly inaccessible. It was clear to see that he lived in
-another world,--a world of hopes, filled with bright images of peace and
-renown. After a time his seat became vacant, and I shall presently tell
-how it happened.
-
-These will suffice as types of the Maison Darblay, though I might
-mention old M. Decamp, eighty-four years of age, and as hearty and
-jovial a man as one would care to see. In his younger days he had been
-an actor, having had a fame during the Empire of Napoléon III. And there
-were a professor of languages, who gave lessons at fifteen sous an hour,
-a journalist of the _Figaro_, and two pretty milliner girls from the
-shop next door.
-
-The great event at the Maison Darblay came not long ago, when M.
-Darblay's two charming daughters had a double wedding, each with
-a comfortable dot, for M. Darblay had grown quite rich out of his
-restaurant, owning several new houses. The girls were married
-twice,--once at the Mairie on the Rue Gassendi, and again at the Eglise
-St. Pierre, on the Avenue du Maine. Then came the great wedding-dinner
-at the Maison Darblay, to which all the boarders were invited. The
-tables were all connected, so as to make two long rows. The bridal-party
-were seated at the end next the kitchen, and the front door was locked
-to exclude strangers. M. Darblay was elegant in a new dress suit and
-white shirt, but his tailor, in trying to give him a trim figure, made
-the situation embarrassing, as M. Darblay's girth steadily increased
-during the progress of the banquet. He made a very fine speech, which
-was uproariously cheered.
-
-[Illustration: 9166]
-
-Madame Darblay was remarkably handsome in a red satin gown, and bore so
-distinguished an air, and looked so transformed from her usual kitchen
-appearance, that we could only marvel and admire. Then came the kissing
-of the brides, a duty that was performed most heartily. Madame Darblay
-was very happy and proud, and her dinner was a triumph to have lived
-for.
-
-Bishop sat opposite the wicked Mademoiselle Brunerye, and he and she
-made violent love, and behaved with conspicuous lack of dignity. M.
-Fontaine, the great, had one of the chic milliners for partner. Old M.
-Decamp told some racy stories of the old régime. When the coffee and
-liqueurs came on, the big artist brought out a guitar and the poet
-a mandolin, and we had music. Then the poet read a poem that he had
-written for the occasion. The actresses sang their sprightliest songs.
-Mademoiselle Brunerye sang "_Ça fait toujours plaisir_" to Bishop. M.
-Fontaine gave in a dramatic manner a scene from "_Les Deux Gosses_," the
-heavy villain assisting, the cook's aprons and towels serving to
-make the costumes. Bishop sang "Down on the Farm." In short, it was a
-splendid evening in Bohemia, of a kind that Bohemians enjoy and know how
-to make the most of.
-
-[Illustration: 0167]
-
-There was one silent guest, the strange young Hungarian artist. He ate
-with a ravenous appetite, openly and unashamed. After he had had his
-fill (and Madame Darblay saw to it that he found his plate always
-replenished), he smiled occasionally at the bright sallies of the other
-guests, but for the most part he sat constrained, and would speak only
-when addressed,--he protested that his French was too imperfect. It
-was so evident that he wished to escape notice entirely that no serious
-effort was made to draw him out.
-
-That was a hard winter. A few weeks after the wedding the Hungarian's
-visits to the Maison Dar-blay suddenly ceased. The haunted look had been
-deepening in his eyes, his gaunt cheeks had grown thinner, and he looked
-like a hunted man. After his disappearance the gendarmes came to the
-restaurant to make inquiries about him. Bishop and I were present. They
-wanted to know if the young man had any friends there. We told them that
-we would be his friends.
-
-"Then you will take charge of his body?" they asked.
-
-We followed them to the Rue Perceval, where they turned us over to the
-concierge of an old building. She was very glad we had come, as the lad
-seemed not to have had a friend in the world. She led us up to the sixth
-floor, and then pointed to a ladder leading up to the roof. We ascended
-it, and found a box built on the roof. It gave a splendid view of Paris.
-The door of the box was closed. We opened it, and the young artist lay
-before us dead. There were two articles of furniture in the room. One
-was the bare mattress on the floor, upon which he lay, and the other was
-an old dresser, from which some of the drawers were missing. The young
-man lay drawn up, fully dressed, his coat-collar turned up about his
-ears. Thus he had fallen asleep, and thus hunger and cold had slain
-him as he slept. There was one thing else in the room, all besides,
-including the stove and the bed-covering, having gone for the purchase
-of painting material. It was an unfinished oil-painting of the
-Crucifixion. Had he lived to finish it, I am sure it would have made him
-famous, if for nothing else than the wonderful expression of agony in
-the Saviour's face, an agony infinitely worse than the physical pain of
-the crucifixion could have produced.
-
-There was still one thing more,--a white rat that was, hunting
-industriously for food, nibbling desiccated cheese-rinds that it found
-on the shelves against the wall. It had been the artist's one friend and
-companion in life.
-
-And all that, too, is a part of life in Bohemian Paris.
-
-On the Rue Marie, not far from the Gare Montparnasse, is the "Club," a
-small and artistically dirty wine-shop and restaurant, patronized by
-a select crowd of musketeers of the brush. The warm, dark tones of the
-anciently papered walls are hidden beneath a cloud of oil sketches,
-charcoal drawings, and caricatures of everything and everybody that the
-fancies of the Bohemians could devise. Madame Annaie is mistress of the
-establishment, and her cook, M. Annaie, wears his cap rakishly on one
-side, and attends to his business; and he makes very good potages and
-rôtis, considering the small prices that are charged. Yet even the
-prices, though the main attraction, are paid with difficulty by a
-majority of the habitués, who sometimes fall months in arrears. Madame
-Annaie keeps a big book of accounts.
-
-Of the members of the club, four are Americans, two Spaniards, one an
-Italian, one a Welshman, one a Pole, one a Turk, one a Swiss, and the
-rest French,--just fifteen in all, and all sculptors and painters except
-one of the Americans, who is correspondent of a New York paper. At
-seven o'clock every evening the roll is called by the Pole, who acts as
-president, secretary, and treasurer of the club. A fine of two sous is
-imposed for every absence; this goes to the "smoker" fund. Joanskouie,
-the multiple officer, has not many burdensome duties, but even these few
-are a severe tax upon his highly nervous temperament. Besides collecting
-the fines he must gather up also the dues, which are a franc a month.
-All the members are black-listed, including the president himself, and
-the names of the delinquents are posted on the wall.
-
-The marble-top tables are black with pencil sketches done at the expense
-of Giles, the Welshman, who is the butt of the club. He is a very tall
-and amazingly lean Welshman, with a bewhiskered face, a hooked nose,
-and a frightful accent when he speaks either English or French. He is an
-animal sculptor, but leaves his art carefully alone. He is very clever
-at drawing horses, dogs, and funny cows all over the walls; but he is
-so droll and stupid, so incredibly stupid, that "Giles" is the byword of
-the club. Every month he receives a remittance of two hundred and fifty
-francs, and immediately starts out to get the full worth of it in the
-kinds of enjoyment that he finds on the Boul' Mich', where regularly
-once a month he is a great favorite with the feminine habitués of the
-_café_s. When his funds run low, he lies perdu till mid-day; then
-he appears at Madame Annaie's, heavy-eyed and stupid, staying until
-midnight. Sometimes he varies this routine by visiting his friends at
-their studios, where he is made to pose in ridiculous attitudes.
-
-The "smoker" is held on the last Saturday night of each month, and all
-the members are present. Long clay pipes are provided, and a big bowl
-of steaming punch, highly seasoned, comes from Madame Annaie's kitchen.
-Mutually laudatory speeches and toasts, playing musical instruments,
-and singing songs are in order. The Spaniard, with castanets, skilfully
-executes the fandango on a table. Bishop does the danse du ventre.
-Joncierge gives marvellous imitations of Sarah Bernhardt and other
-celebrities, including Giles, whose drawl and stupidity he makes
-irresistibly funny. Nor do Gérôme, Bouguereau, and Benjamin Constant
-escape his mimicry. Haidor, the Turk, drawls a Turkish song all out of
-tune, and is rapturously encored. The Swiss and the Italian render a
-terrific duo from "Aida," and the Spaniards sing the "Bullfighters'
-Song" superbly. Sketches are dashed off continually. They are so clever
-that it is a pity Madame Annaie has to wipe them from the tables.
-
-On Thanksgiving-day the Americans gave the club a Thanksgiving dinner.
-It was a great mystery and novelty to the other members, but they
-enjoyed it hugely. The turkeys were found without much trouble, but the
-whole city had to be searched for cranberries. At last they were found
-in a small grocery-shop in the American quarter, on the Avenue Wagram.
-Bishop superintended the cooking, M. Annaie serving as first assistant.
-How M. Annaie stared when he beheld the queer American mixtures that
-Bishop was concocting! "Mon Dieu! Not sugar with meat!" he cried,
-aghast, seeing Bishop serve the turkey with cranberry sauce. A dozen
-delicious pumpkin-pies that formed part of the menu staggered the old
-cook. The Italian cooked a pot of macaroni with mushroom sauce, and it
-was superb.
-
-"The Hole in the Wall" eminently deserves its name. It is on the
-Boulevard du Montparnasse, within two blocks of the Bal Bullier. A small
-iron sign projecting over the door depicts two students looking down
-at the passers-by over bowls of coffee, rolls also being shown. It was
-painted by an Austrian student in payment of a month's board.
-
-The Hole is a tiny place, just sufficiently large for its two tables and
-eight stools, fat Madame Morel, the proprietress, and a miniature zinc
-bar filled with absinthe and cognac bottles and drinking glasses.
-
-The ceiling is so low that you must bend should you be very tall, for
-overhead is the sleeping-room of Madame Morel and her niece; it is
-reached by a small spiral stair.
-
-[Illustration: 0173]
-
-A narrow slit in the floor against the wall, where the napkin-box hangs,
-leads down to the dark little kitchen. It is a tight squeeze for
-Madame Morel to serve her customers, but she has infinite patience and
-geniality, and discharges her numerous duties and bears her hardships
-with unfailing good-nature. It is no easy task to cook a halfdozen
-orders at once, wait on the tables, run out to the butcher-shop for a
-chop or a steak, and take in the cash. But she does all this, and much
-more, having no assistant. The old concierge next door, Madame Mariolde,
-runs in to help her occasionally, when she can spare a moment from her
-own multifarious duties. Madame Morel's toil-worn hands are not bien
-propre, but she has a kind heart. For seven years she has lived in this
-little Hole, and during that time has never been farther away than to
-the grocery-shop on the opposite corner.
-
-Her niece leaves at seven o'clock in the morning to sew all day on the
-other side of town, returning at eight at night, tired and listless,
-but always with a half-sad smile. So we see little of her. Many nights
-I have seen her come in drenched and cold, her faded straw hat limp and
-askew, and her dark hair clinging to her wet face. For she has walked
-in the rain all the way from the Avenue de l'Opéra, unable to afford
-omnibus fare. She usually earns from two to two and half francs a day,
-sewing twelve hours.
-
-The most interesting of the frequenters of the Hole is a Slav from
-Trieste, on the Adriatic. He is a genius in his way, and full of energy
-and business sense. His vocation is that of a "lightning-sketch artist,"
-performing at the theatres. He has travelled all over America and
-Europe, and is thoroughly hardened to the ways of the world. Whenever
-he runs out of money he goes up to the Rue de la Gaieté and gives
-exhibitions for a week or two at one of the theatres there, receiving
-from fifty to sixty francs a week. The students all go to see him, and
-make such a noise and throw so many bouquets (which he returns for
-the next night) that the theatrical managers, thinking he is a great
-drawing-card, generally raise his salary as an inducement to make him
-prolong his stay when he threatens to leave.
-
-But he is too thoroughly a Bohemian to remain long in a place. Last week
-he suddenly was taken with a desire to visit Vienna. Soon after he had
-gone four pretty Parisiennes called and wanted to know what had become
-of their amant.
-
-D------, another of the habitués of the Hole, is a German musical
-student. Strangers would likely think him mentally deranged, so odd is
-his conduct.
-
-[Illustration: 8175]
-
-He has two other peculiarities,--extreme sensitiveness and indefatigable
-industry. He brings his shabby violin-case every evening, takes out
-his violin after dinner, and at once becomes wholly absorbed in his
-practice. If he would play something more sprightly and pleasing
-the other habitués of the Hole would not object; but he insists on
-practising the dreariest, heaviest, and most wearing exercises, the most
-difficult études, and the finest compositions of the masters. All this
-is more than the others can bear with patience always; so they wound
-his sensibilities by throwing bread and napkin-rings at him. I hen he
-retires to the kitchen, where, sitting on the cooler end of the range,
-he practises diligently under Madame Morel's benevolent protection. This
-is all because he has never found a concierge willing to permit him to
-study in his room, so tireless is his industry. If I do not mistake,
-this strange young man will be heard from some day.
-
-Then there is W------, a student in sculpture, with exceptionally fine
-talent. He had been an American cowboy, and no trooper could swear more
-eloquently. He has been making headway, for the Salon has given him
-honorable mention for a strong bronze group of fighting tigers. His
-social specialty is poker-playing, and he has brought the entire Hole
-under the spell of that magic game.
-
-Herr Prell, from Munich, takes delight in torturing the other habitués
-with accounts of dissections, as he is a medical student at the Académie
-de Médecine. The Swede, who drinks fourteen absinthes a day, throws
-stools at Herr Prell, and tries in other ways to make him fight; but
-Herr Prell only laughs, and gives another turn of the dissection-screw.
-
-The glee club is one of the features of the Hole. It sings every night,
-but its supreme effort comes when one of the patrons of the Hole departs
-for home. On such occasions the departing comrade has to stand the
-dinner for all, after which, with its speeches and toasts, he is
-escorted to the railway station with great éclat, and given a hearty
-farewell, the glee club singing the parting song at the station. Bishop
-is leading tenor of the glee club.
-
-
-
-
-LE CABARET DU SOLEIL D'OR
-
-
-IT is only the name of the Cabaret of the Golden Sun that suggests
-the glorious luminary of day. And yet it is really brilliant in its own
-queer way, though that brilliancy shines when all else in Paris is dark
-and dead,--at night, and in the latest hours of the night at that.
-
-[Illustration: 8177]
-
-My acquaintance with the Golden Sun began one foggy night in a cold
-November, under the guidance of Bishop.
-
-Lured by the fascinations of nocturnal life in the Quartier Latin, and
-by its opportunities for the study of life in its strangest phases,
-Bishop had become an habitual nighthawk, leaving the studio nearly every
-evening about ten o'clock, after he had read a few hours from treasured
-books gleaned from the stalls along the river, to prowl about with a
-sketchbook, in quest of queer characters and queer places, where strange
-lives were lived in the dark half of the day. His knowledge of obscure
-retreats and their peculiar habitués seemed unlimited. And what an
-infinite study they offer! The tourist, "doing" Bohemian Paris as he
-would the famous art galleries, or Notre-Dame, or the Madeleine, or
-the _café_s on the boulevards, may, under the guidance of a wise and
-discerning student, visit one after another of these out-of-the-way
-resorts where the endless tragedy of human life is working out its
-mysteries; he may see that one place is dirtier or noisier than another,
-that the men and women are better dressed and livelier here than there,
-that the crowd is bigger, or the lights brighter; but he cannot see,
-except in their meaningless outer aspects, those subtle differences
-which constitute the heart of the matter. In distance it is not far from
-the Moulin Rouge to the Cabaret du Soleil d'Or, but in descending from
-the dazzling brilliancy and frothy abandon of the Red Mill to the smoke
-and grime of the Golden Sun, we drop from the summit of the Tour Eiffel
-to the rat-holes under the bridges of the Seine; and yet it is in such
-as the Cabaret of the Golden Sun that the true student finds the deeper,
-the more lastingly charming, the strangely saddening spell that lends to
-the wonderful Quartier Latin its distinctive character and everlasting
-fascination.
-
-Though Bishop spoke to me very little of his midnight adventures, I
-being very busy with my own work, I began to have grave apprehensions
-on the score of his tastes in that direction; for during the afternoons
-ridiculous-looking, long-haired, but gentlemannered persons in shabby
-attire, well-seasoned with the aroma of absinthe and cigarettes, would
-favor our studio with a call, undoubtedly at Bishop's invitation. They
-brought with them black portfolios or rolls of paper tied with black
-string, containing verses,--their masterpieces, which were to startle
-Paris, or new songs, which, God favoring, were to be sung at La Scala or
-the Ambassadeurs, and thus bring them immortal fame and put abundant fat
-upon their lean ribs! Ah, the deathless hope that makes hunger a welcome
-companion here!
-
-Bishop would cleverly entertain these aspiring geniuses with shop talk
-concerning literature and music, and he had a charming way of dwelling
-upon the finish and subtlety of their work and comparing it with that
-of the masters. It usually ended with their posing for him in different
-attitudes of his suggesting. Why waste money on professional models? As
-Bishop's acquaintances became more numerous among this class, we finally
-set aside Tuesday afternoons for their reception. Then they would come
-in generous numbers and enjoy themselves unreservedly with our cognac
-and biscuits. But ah, the rare pleasures of those afternoons,--as much
-for the good it did us to see their thin blood warmed with brandy and
-food as for their delightful entertainment of us and one another.
-
-The studio was warm and cheerful on the night when Bishop invited me
-to accompany him out. I had been at work, and presently, when I had
-finished, I flung myself on the divan for a rest and a smoke, and then
-became aware of Bishop's presence. He was comfortably ensconced in the
-steamer-chair, propped up with pillows.
-
-"Aren't you going out to-night?" I inquired.
-
-"Why, yes. Let's see the time. A little after eleven. That's good. You
-are finished, aren't you? Now, if you want a little recreation and wish
-to see one of the queerest places in Paris, come with me."
-
-I looked out the window. A cold, dreary night it was. The chimney-pots
-were dimmed by the thick mist, and the street lamps shone murkily far
-below. It was a saddening, soaking, dripping night, still, melancholy,
-and depressing,--the kind of night that lends a strange zest to in-door
-enjoyment, as though it were a duty to keep the mist and the dreariness
-out of the house and the heart.
-
-But the studio had worn me out, and I was eager to escape from its
-pleasant coziness. And this was a Saturday night, which means something,
-even in Paris. To-morrow there would be rest. So I cheerfully assented.
-
-We donned our heaviest top-coats and mufflers, crammed the stove full of
-coal, and then sallied out into the dripping fog.
-
-Oh, but it was cold and dismal in the streets! The mist was no longer
-the obscuring, suggestive, mysterious factor that it had been when seen
-from the window, but was now a tangible and formidable thing, with a
-manifest purpose. It struck through our wraps as though they had been
-cheesecloth. It had swept the streets clear, for not a soul was to be
-seen except a couple of sergents de ville, all hooded in capes, and
-a cab that came rattling through the murk with horses a-steam.
-Occasionally a flux of warm light from some _café_ would melt a tunnel
-through the monotonous opaque haze, but the empty chairs and tables upon
-the sidewalks facing the _café_s offered no invitation.
-
-[Illustration: 0181]
-
-In front of one of these _café_s, in a sheltered corner made by a glass
-screen, sat a solitary young woman, dressed stylishly in black, the
-light catching one of her dainty slippers perched coquettishly upon a
-foot-rest. A large black hat, tilted wickedly down over her face, cast
-her eyes in deep shadow and lent her that air of alluring mystery which
-the women of her class know so well how to cultivate. Her neck and chin
-were buried deep in the collar of her sealskin cape. A gleam of limp
-white gauze at her throat lent a pleasing relief to the monotone of
-her attire. Upon the table in front of her stood an empty glass and two
-saucers. As we passed she peered at us from beneath her big hat, and
-smiled coquettishly, revealing glistening white teeth. The atmosphere
-of loneliness and desolation that encompassed her gave a singularly
-pathetic character to her vigil. Thus she sat, a picture for an artist,
-a text for a moralist, pretty, dainty, abandoned. It happened not to be
-her fortune that her loneliness should be relieved by us.... But other
-men might be coming afterwards.... All this at a glance through the cold
-November fog.
-
-As we proceeded up the Boul' Mich' the _café_s grew more numerous and
-passers-by more frequent, but all these were silent and in a hurry,
-prodded on by the nipping cold fangs of the night. Among the tables
-outside the _Café d'Harcourt_ crouched and prowled an old man, bundled
-in ill-fitting rags, searching for remnants of cigars and cigarettes
-on the sanded sidewalk. From his glittering eyes, full of suspicion, he
-turned an angry glance upon us as we paused a moment to observe him, and
-growled,--"_Allons, tu n' peux donc pas laisser un pauv' malheureux?_"
-
-Bishop tossed him a sou, which he greedily snatched without a word of
-thanks.
-
-[Illustration: 8183]
-
-At the corner, under the gas-lamps, stood shivering newspaper venders
-trying to sell their few remaining copies of la dernière édition de la
-presse. Buyers were scarce.
-
-We had now reached the Place St.-Michel and the left bank of the river.
-We turned to the right, following the river wall toward Notre-Dame,
-whose towers were not discernible through the fog.
-
-Here there was an unbounded wilderness of desolation and solitude. The
-black Seine flowed silently past dark masses that were resolved into big
-canal-boats, with their sickly green lights reflected in the writhing
-ink of the river. Notre-Dame now pushed its massive bulk through the
-fog, but its towers were lost in the sky. Near by a few dim lights shone
-forth through the slatted windows of the Morgue. But its lights never go
-out. And how significantly close to the river it stands! Peering under
-the arches of the bridges, we found some of the social dregs that sleep
-there with the rats. It was not difficult to imagine the pretty girl in
-black whom we had passed coming at last through dissipation and wrinkles
-and broken health to take refuge with the rats under the bridges, and
-it is a short step thence to the black waters of the river; and that the
-scheme of the tragedy might be perfect in all its parts, adjustments,
-and relations, behold the Morgue so near, with its lights that never go
-out, and boatmen so skilled in dragging the river! And the old man who
-was gathering the refuse and waste of smokers, it was not impossible
-that he should find himself taking this route when his joints had grown
-stiffer, though it would more likely end under the bridges.
-
-The streets are very narrow and crooked around Notre-Dame, and their
-emanations are as various as the capacity of the human nose for evil
-odors. The lamps, stuck into the walls of the houses, only make the
-terrors of such a night more formidable; for while one may feel a
-certain security in absolute darkness, the shadows to which the lamps
-lend life have a baffling elusiveness and weirdness, and a habit of
-movement that makes one instinctively dodge. But that is all the trick
-of the wind. However that may be, it is wonderful how much more vividly
-one remembers on such a night the stories of the murders, suicides, and
-other crimes that lend a particular grewsomeness to the vicinity of the
-Morgue and Notre-Dame.
-
-We again turned to the right, into a narrow, dirty street,--the Rue du
-Haut-Pavé,--whose windings brought us into a similar street,--the Rue
-Galande. Bishop halted in front of a low arched door-way, which blazed
-sombrely in its coat of blood-red paint. A twisted gas-lamp, demoralized
-and askew, depended overhead, and upon the glass enclosing it was
-painted, with artistic flourishes,--"Au Soleil d'Or."
-
-This was the cabaret of the Golden Sun,--all unconscious of the mockery
-of its name, another of those whimsical disjointings in which the
-shadowy side of Paris is so prolific. From the interior of the luminary
-came faintly the notes of a song, with piano accompaniment.
-
-The archway opened into a small court paved with ill-fitted flint
-blocks. At the farther end of it another gas-lamp flickered at the head
-of a flight of stairs leading underground. As we approached the steps a
-woman sprang from the shadow, and with a cry, half of fear and half of
-anger, fled to the street. At that moment memories of the cosiness
-of our studio became doubly enticing,--one cannot always approach
-unfamiliar underground Paris with perfect courage. But Bishop's coolness
-was reassuring. He had already descended the steps, and there was
-nothing left for me but to follow.
-
-At the foot of the stairs were half-glass doors curtained with cheap red
-cloth. A warm, thick, suffocating gust of air, heavy with the fumes of
-beer, wine, and tobacco, assailed our cold faces as we pushed open the
-doors and entered the room.
-
-For a moment it was difficult to see clearly, so dense was the smoke.
-It was packed against the ceiling like a bank of fog, diminishing in
-density downward, and shot through with long banner-like streamers of
-smoke freshly emitted.
-
-The human atmosphere of the place could not be caught at once. A
-stranger would not have known for the moment whether he was with thieves
-or artists. But very soon its distinctive spirit made its presence and
-character manifest. The room--which was not a large one--was well filled
-with an assortment of those queer and interesting people some of whom
-Bishop had entertained at the studio, only here their characteristics
-were more pronounced, for they were in their natural element, depressed
-and hampered by no constraints except of their own devising. A great
-many were women, although it could be seen at a glance that they were
-not of the nymphs who flitted among the glittering _café_s, gowned in
-delicate laces and sheeny sculptured silks, the essence of mignonette
-pervading their environment. No; these were different.
-
-[Illustration:0187]
-
-Here one finds, not the student life of Paris, but its most
-unconventional Bohemian life. Here, in this underground rendezvous, a
-dirty old hole about twenty feet below the street level, gather nightly
-the happy-go-lucky poets, musicians, and singers for whom the great
-busy world has no use, and who, in their unrelaxing poverty, live in
-the tobacco clouds of their own construction, caring nothing for social
-canons, obeyers of the civil law because of their scorn of meanness,
-injustice, and crime, suffering unceasingly for the poorest comforts of
-life, ambitious without energy, hopeful without effort, cheerful under
-the direst pressure of need, kindly, simple, proud, and pitiful.
-
-All were seated at little round tables, as are the habitués of the
-_café_s, and their attention was directed upon a slim young fellow with
-curling yellow hair and a faint moustache, who was singing, leaning
-meanwhile upon a piano that stood on a low platform in one corner of
-the room. Their attention was respectful, delicate, sympathetic, and, as
-might be supposed, brought out the best in the lad. It was evident that
-he had not long been a member of the sacred circle. His voice was a
-smooth, velvety tenor, and under proper instruction might have been
-useful to its possessor as a means of earning a livelihood. But it was
-clear that he had already fallen under the spell of the associations to
-which accident or his inclination had brought him; and this meant that
-henceforth he would live in this strange no-world of dreams, hopes,
-sufferings, and idleness, and that likely he would in time come to
-gather cigar-stumps on the sanded pavement of the Café d'Harcourt, and
-after that sleep with the rats under the bridges of the Seine. At this
-moment, however, he lived in the clouds; he breathed and glowed with
-the spirit of shiftless, proud, starving Bohemianism as it is lived in
-Paris, benignantly disdainful of the great moiling, money-grubbing world
-that roared around him, and perhaps already the adoration of some girl
-of poetic or artistic tastes and aspirations, who was serving him as
-only the Church gives a woman the right.
-
-There was time to look about while he was singing, though that was
-difficult, so strange and pathetic a picture he made. The walls of the
-room were dirty and bare, though relieved at rare intervals by sketches
-and signs. The light came from three gas-burners, and was reflected by a
-long mirror at one end of the room.
-
-No attention had been paid to our entrance, except by the garçon, a
-heavy-set, bull-necked fellow, who, with a sign, bade us make no noise.
-
-When the song had finished the audience broke into uproarious applause,
-shouting, "_Bravo, mon vieux!" "Bien fait, Marquis!_" and the clapping
-of hands and beating of glasses on the marble-topped tables and pounding
-of canes on the floor made a mighty din. The young singer, his cheeks
-glowing and his eyes blazing, modestly rolled up his music and sought
-his seat.
-
-We were now piloted to seats by the garçon, who, when we had settled
-ourselves, demanded to know what we would drink. "_Deux bocks!_" he
-yelled across the room. "_Deux bocks!_" came echoing back from the
-counter, where a fat woman presided--knitting.
-
-Several long-haired littérateurs--friends of Bishop's--came up and
-saluted him and shook his hand, all with a certain elegance and dignity.
-He, in turn, introduced me, and the conversation at once turned to art,
-music, and poetry. Whatever the sensational news of the day, whatever
-the crisis in the cabinet, whatever anything might have been that was
-stirring the people in the great outside commonplace world, these men
-and women gave it no heed whatever. What was the gross, hard, eager
-world to them? Did not the glories of the Golden Sun lend sufficient
-warmth to their hearts, and were not their vague aspirations and idle
-hopes ample stimulants to their minds and spirits? They quickly found a
-responsive mood in us, and this so delighted them that they ordered the
-drinks.
-
-The presiding genius at the piano was a whitehaired, spiritual-looking
-man, whose snowy locks gave the only indication of his age; for his face
-was filled with the eternal youthfulness of a careless and contented
-heart. His slender, delicate fingers told of his temperament, his thin
-cheeks of his poverty, and his splendid dreamy eyes of the separate life
-that he lived.
-
-Standing on the platform beside him was a man of a very different type.
-It was' the pianist's function to be merely a musician; but the other
-man--the musical director--was one from whom judgment, decision, and
-authority were required. Therefore he was large, powerful, and big-
-stomached, and had a pumpkin head, and fat, baggy eyes that shone
-through narrow slits. He now stepped forward and rang a little bell,
-upon which all talking was instantly hushed.
-
-"_Mesdames et messieurs_," he said, in a large, capable voice, "_J'ai
-l'honneur de vous annoncer que Madame Louise Leroux, nous lira ses
-dernières oeuvres--une faveur que nous apprécierons tous_."
-
-[Illustration: 8192]
-
-A young woman--about twenty-three, I should judge--arose from one of
-the tables where she had been sitting talking with an insipid-looking
-gentleman adorned with a blond moustache and vacant, staring-eyes; he
-wore a heavy coat trimmed with astrachan collar and cuffs, which, being
-open at the throat, revealed the absence of a shirt from his body. A
-Latin Quarter top-hat was pushed back on his head, and his long, greasy
-hair hung down over his collar. Madame Leroux smiled affectionately at
-him as she daintily flicked the ashes from her cigarette and laid it
-upon the table, and moistened her thin red lips with a yellow liqueur
-from her glass. He responded with a condescending jerk of his head, and,
-diving into one of the inner pockets of his coat, brought forth a roll
-of paper, which she took. A great clapping of hands and loud cries
-of her name greeted her as she stepped upon the platform, but it was
-clearly to be seen from her indifferent air that she had been long
-accustomed to this attention.
-
-The big musical director again rang his bell.
-
-"_Il était une Fois,_" she said, simply. The pianist fingered the keys
-softly, and she began to recite.
-
-[Illustration: 0193]
-
-The room was as still as a chapel. Every one listened in profound
-absorption; even the stolid bull-necked waiter leaned against the wall,
-his gaze fastened upon her with respectful interest. She spoke slowly,
-in a low, sweet tone, the soft accompaniment of the piano following the
-rhythm of her voice with wonderful effectiveness. She seemed to forget
-her surroundings,--the hot, close room, crowded with shabby, eccentric
-geniuses who lived from hand to mouth, the poverty that evidently was
-her lot,--even her lover, who sat watching her with a cold, critical,
-half-disdainful air, making notes upon a slip of paper, now nodding
-his head approvingly, now frowning, when pleased or displeased with her
-performance. She was a rare picture as she thus stood and recited, a
-charming swing to her trim figure, half reclining upon the piano, her
-black hair falling loosely and caressing her forehead and casting her
-dark eyes in deeper shadow, and all her soul going forth in the low,
-soft, subdued passion of her verses. She reminded one greatly of
-Bernhardt, and might have been as great.
-
-During her whole rendering of this beautiful and pathetic tale of "other
-times" she scarcely moved, save for some slight gesture that suggested
-worlds. How well the lines suited her own history and condition only
-she could have told. Who was she? What had she been? Surely this strange
-woman, hardly more than a mere girl, capable of such feelings and of
-rendering them with so subtle force and beauty, had lived another life,-
--no one knew, no one cared.
-
-Loud shouts of admiration and long applause rang through the room as
-she slowly and with infinite tenderness uttered the last line with
-bowed head and a choking voice. She stood for a moment while the room
-thundered, and then the noise seemed to recall her, to drag her back
-from some haunting memory to the squalor of her present condition, and
-then her eyes eagerly sought the gentleman of the fur-collared coat. It
-was an anxious glance that she cast upon him. He carelessly nodded once
-or twice, and she instantly became transfigured. The melancholy of her
-eyes and the wretched dejection of her pose disappeared, and her sad
-face lit up with a beaming, happy smile. She was starting to return to
-him, all the woman in her awaking to affection and a yearning for
-the refuge of his love, when the vociferous cries of the crowd for
-an encore, and the waving of her lover's hand as a signal for her to
-comply, sent her back on guard to the piano again. Her smile was very
-sweet and her voice full of trippling melody when she now recited a gay
-little ballad,--also her own composition,--"_Amours Joyeux_,"--in so
-entirely different a spirit that it was almost impossible to believe her
-the same mortal. Every fibre of her being participated in the rollicking
-abandon of the piece, and her eyes were flooded with the mellow radiance
-of supreme love satisfied and victorious.
-
-Upon regaining her seat she was immediately surrounded by a praise-
-giving crowd, who shook hands with her and heartily congratulated her;
-but it was clear that she could think only of him of the fur collar,
-and that no word of praise or blame would weigh with her the smallest
-fraction of a feather's weight unless this one man uttered it. She
-disengaged her hand from her crowding admirers and deftly donned her
-little white Alpine hat, all the while looking into the face of the one
-man who could break her heart or send her to heaven. He sat looking at
-his boot, indifferent, bored. Presently he looked up into her anxious
-eyes, gazed at her a moment, and then leaned forward and spoke a word.
-It sent her to heaven. Her face all aglow and her eyes shining with
-happiness, she called the garçon, paid for the four saucers upon the
-table, and left the room upon the arm of her lover.
-
-"How she does adore that dog!" exclaimed my friend the musician.
-
-"What does he do?" I asked.
-
-"Do?" he echoed. "Nothing. It is she who does all. Without her he would
-starve. He is a writer of some ability, but too much of a socialist to
-work seriously. In her eyes he is the greatest writer in the world. She
-would sacrifice everything to please him. Without him her life would
-fall into a complete blank, and her recklessness would quickly send her
-into the lowermost ranks. When a woman like that loves, she loves--ah,
-_les femmes sont difficiles à comprendre!_" My friend sighed, burying
-his moustaches in a foaming bock.
-
-Individual definition grew clearer as I became more and more accustomed
-to the place and its habitués. It seemed that nearly all of them were
-absinthe-drinkers, and that they drank a great deal,--all they could
-get, I was made to understand. They care little about their dress and
-the other accessories of their personal appearance, though here and
-there they exhibit the oddest finery, into whose possession they fall
-by means which casual investigation could not discover, and which is
-singularly out of harmony with the other articles of their attire and
-with the environment which they choose. As a rule, the men wear their
-hair very long and in heavy, shaggy masses over their ears and faces.
-They continually roll and smoke cigarettes, though there are many pipes,
-and big ones at that. But though they constitute a strange crowd, there
-is about them a distinct air of refinement, a certain dignity and pride
-that never fail, and withal a gentleness that renders any approach
-to ruffianism impossible. The women take a little more pride in
-their appearance than the men. Even in their carelessness and seeming
-indifference there abides with nearly all of them the power to lend
-themselves some single touch of grace that is wonderfully redeeming, and
-that is infinitely finer and more elusive than the showy daintiness of
-the women of the _café_s.
-
-As a rule, these Bohemians all sleep during the day, as that is the best
-way to keep warm; at night they can find warmth in the cabarets. In the
-afternoon they may write a few lines, which they sell in some way for a
-pittance, wherewithal to buy them a meal and a night's vigil in one of
-these resorts. This is the life of lower Bohemia plain and simple,--not
-the life of the students, but of the misfit geniuses who drift, who have
-neither place nor part in the world, who live from hand to mouth, and
-who shudder when the Morgue is mentioned,--and it is so near, and its
-lights never go out! They are merely protestants against the formalism
-of life, rebels against its necessities. They seek no following, they
-desire to exercise no influence. They lead their vacant lives without
-the slightest restraint, bear their poverty without a murmur, and go to
-their dreary end without a sigh. These are the true Bohemians of Paris.
-
-Other visitors came into the Soleil d'Or and sought seats among their
-friends at the tables, while others kept leaving, bound for other
-rendezvous, many staying just sufficiently long to hear a song or two.
-They were all of the same class, very negligently and poorly attired,
-some displaying their odd pieces of finery with an exquisite assumption
-of unconsciousness on its account, as though they were millionaires and
-cared nothing for such trivial things. And the whimsical incongruities
-of it! If one wore a shining tile he either had no shirt (or perhaps a
-very badly soiled one), or wore a frayed coat and disreputable shoes. In
-fact, no complete respectable dress made its appearance in the room
-that night, though each visitor had his distinctive specialty,--one
-a burnished top hat, another a gorgeous cravat, another a rich velvet
-jacket, and so on. But they all wore their hair as long as it would
-grow. That is the Bohemian mark.
-
-The little bell again rang, and the heavy director announced that
-"Monsieur Léon Décarmeau will sing one of his newest songs." Monsieur
-Léon Décarmeau was a lean, half-starved appearing man of about forty,
-whose eyes were sunk deep in his head, and whose sharp cheek-bones
-protruded prominently. On the bridge of his thin, angular nose set
-a pair of "pince-nez," attached by a broad black cord, which he kept
-fingering nervously as he sang. His song was entitled "Fleurs et
-Pensées," and he threw himself into it with a broad and passionate
-eagerness that heavily strained the barrier between melodrama and
-burlesque. His glance sought the ceiling in a frenzied quest of
-imaginary nymphs, his arms swayed as he tenderly caressed imaginary
-flowers of sweet love and drank in their intoxicating perfume instead
-of the hot, tobacco-rife smoke of the room. His voice was drawn out in
-tremendous sighs full of tears, and his chest heaved like a blacksmith's
-bellows. But when he had ceased he was most generously applauded and
-praised.
-
-During the intervals between the songs and recitations the room was
-noisy with laughter, talking, and the clinking of glasses. The one
-garçon was industriously serving boissons and yelling orders to the bar,
-where the fat woman sat industriously knitting, heedless, as might have
-been expected of the keeper of the Cave of Adullam, and awakening to
-activity only when the stentorian yells of the garçon's orders rose
-above the din of the establishment. Absinthe and beer formed the
-principal beverages, though, as a rule, absinthe was taken only just
-before a meal, and then it served as an appetizer,--a sharpener of
-hunger to these who had so little wherewithal to satisfy the hunger that
-unaided nature created!
-
-The mystery of the means by which these lighthearted Bohemians sustained
-their precarious existence was not revealed to me; yet here they
-sat, and laughed, and talked, and recited the poetry of their own
-manufacture, and sang their songs, and drank, and smoked their big
-pipes, and rolled cigarettes incessantly, happy enough in the hour of
-their lives, bringing hither none of the pains and pangs and numbing
-evidences of their struggles. And there was no touch of the sordid
-in the composite picture that they made, and a certain tinge of
-intellectual refinement, a certain spirituality that seemed to raise
-them infinitely above the plane of the lowly strugglers who won their
-honest bread by honest labor, shone about them as a halo.
-
-Their dark hours, no doubt, came with the daylight, and in these
-meetings at the cabaret they found an agreeable way in which to while
-away the dismal interval that burdened their lives when they were not
-asleep; for the cabaret was warm and bright, warmer and brighter than
-their own wretched little rooms au cinquième,--and coal and candles are
-expensive luxuries! Here, if their productions haply could not find a
-larger and more remunerative audience, they could at least be heard,--by
-a few, it is true, but a most appreciative few, and that is something
-of value equal to bread. And then, who could tell but what fame might
-unexpectedly crown them in the end? It has happened thus.
-
-"But why worry?" asked the musician. "'Laugh, and the world laughs with
-you. If we do not live a long life, it is at least a jolly one,' is our
-motto and certainly they gave it most faithful allegiance."
-
-I learned from Bishop that the musical director received three francs a
-night for his services. Should singers happen to be lacking, or should
-the evening be dull for other reason, he himself must sing and recite;
-for the tension of the Soleil d'Or must be kept forever taut. The old
-white-haired pianist received two francs a night, and each of these
-contributors to the gayety of the place was given a drink gratis.
-So there was at least some recompense besides the essential one of
-appreciation from the audience.
-
-Glasses clinked merrily, and poets and composers flitted about the room
-to chat with their contemporaries. A sketch artist, deftly drawing the
-portrait of a baritone's jolly little mistress, was surrounded by
-a bantering group, that passed keen, intelligent, and good-natured
-criticism on the work as it rapidly grew under his hands. The
-whitehaired pianist sat puffing at his cigarette and looking over some
-music with a rather pretty young woman who had written popular songs of
-La Villette.
-
-The opening of the doors and the straggling entrance of three men sent
-an instant hush throughout the room.
-
-"Verlaine!" whispered the musician to me.
-
-It was indeed the great poet of the slums,--the epitome and idol of
-Bohemian Paris, the famous man whose verses had rung throughout the
-length and breadth of the city, the one man who, knowing the heart and
-soul of the stragglers who found light and warmth in such places as
-the Soleil d'Or, had the brains and grace to set the strange picture
-adequately before the wondering world.
-
-The musical director, as well as a number of others in the place,
-stepped forward, and with touching deference and tenderness greeted the
-remarkable man and his two companions. It was easy to pick out Verlaine
-without relying upon the special distinction with which he was greeted.
-He had the oddest slanting eyes, a small, stubby nose, and wiry
-whiskers, and his massive forehead heavily overhung his queerly shaped
-eyes. He was all muffled up to the chin; wore a badly soiled hat and a
-shabby dark coat. Under one arm he carried a small black portfolio.
-
-[Illustration: 8202]
-
-Several of the women ran to him and kissed him on both cheeks, which
-salutations he heartily returned, with interest.
-
-One of his companions was Monsieur Bi-Bi-dans-la-Purée--so he was
-called, though seemingly he might have been in anything as well as soup.
-He was an exceedingly interesting figure. His sunken, drawn, smooth-
-shaven face gave terrible evidence of the excessive use of absinthe. A
-large hooked nose overshadowed a wide, loose mouth that hung down at the
-corners, and served to set forth in startling relief the sickly leaden
-color of his face. When he spoke, a few straggling teeth gleamed
-unpleasantly. He wore no overcoat, and his jacket hung open, disclosing
-a half-opened shirt that exposed his bare breast. His frayed trousers
-dragged the ground at his heels. But his eyes were the most terrible
-part of him; they shone with the wild, restless light of a madman,
-and their gaze was generally flitting and distrait, acknowledging no
-acquaintances. Afterwards, when Verlaine was dead, I often saw Monsieur
-Bi-Bi-dansla-Purée on the street, looking most desolate, a roll of white
-manuscript in his hand, his coat and shirt wide open, exposing his naked
-breast to the biting cold wind. He seemed to be living altogether in
-another world, and gazed about him with the same unseeing vacant stare
-that so startled me that night in the Soleil d'Or.
-
-When Verlaine and his companions were seated--by displacing the
-artist--the recitations and songs recommenced; and it was noticeable
-that they were rendered with augmented spirit, that the famous poet of
-the slums might be duly impressed with the capabilities and hospitable
-intentions of his entertainers; for now all performed for Verlaine, not
-for one another. The distinguished visitor had removed his slouch hat,
-revealing the wonderful oblong dome of his bald head, which shone like
-the Soleil d'Or; and many were the kisses reverently and affectionately
-bestowed upon that glistening eminence by the poet's numerous female
-admirers in the throng.
-
-A reckless-looking young woman, with a black hat drawn down over her
-eyes, and wearing glasses, was now reciting. Her hands were gloved in
-black, but the finger-tips were worn through,--a fact which she made all
-the more evident by a peculiar gesture of the fingers.
-
-As the small hours grew larger these gay Bohemians waxed gayer and
-livelier. Formalities were gradually abandoned, and the constraint of
-dignity and reserve slowly melted under the mellowing influences of
-the place. Ceremonious observances were dropped one by one; and whereas
-there had been the most respectful and insistent silence throughout the
-songs, now all joined heartily in the choruses, making the dim lights
-dance in the exuberance of the enjoyment. I had earnestly hoped that
-Verlaine, splendid as was his dignity, might thaw under the gathering
-warmth of the hour, but beyond listening respectfully, applauding
-moderately, and returning the greetings that were given him, he held
-aloof from the influence of the occasion, and after draining his glass
-and bidding good-night to his many friends, with his two companions he
-made off to another rendezvous.
-
-Monsieur le Directeur came over to our table and asked Bishop to favor
-the audience with a "_chanson Américaine_." This rather staggered my
-modest friend, but he finally yielded to entreaties. The director rang
-his little bell again and announced that "Monsieur Beeshup" would sing a
-song _à l'Américaine_. This was received with uproarious shouts by all,
-and several left their seats and escorted Bishop to the platform. I
-wondered what on earth he would sing. The accompanist, after a little
-coaching from Bishop, assailed the chords, and Bishop began drawling out
-his old favorite, "Down on the Farm." He did it nobly, too, giving the
-accompanist occasion for labor in finding the more difficult harmonies.
-The hearers, though they did not understand a word of the ditty, and
-therefore lost the whole of its pathos, nevertheless listened with
-curious interest and respect, though with evident veiled amusement. Many
-quick ears caught the refrain. At first there came an exceedingly soft
-chorus from the room, and it gradually rose until the whole crowd had
-thrown itself into the spirit of the melody, and swelled it to a mighty
-volume. Bishop led the singers, beating time with his right arm, his
-left thumb meanwhile hooked in the arm-hole of his waistcoat. "_Bravo!
-Bravo, Beeshup! Bis!_" they yelled, when it was finished, and then the
-room rang with a salvo of hand-clappings in unison: 1-2--3-4-5--1-2-3-
-4-5--1-2-3-4-5--1--2--3!! A great ovation greeted him as he marched with
-glowing cheeks to his seat, and those who knew him crowded round him
-for a hand-shake. The musician asked him if he would sing the song in
-private for him, that he might write down the melody, to which Bishop
-agreed, on condition that the musician pose for him. Bishop had a
-singularly sharp eye for opportunities.
-
-The sketch artist sauntered over and sat down at our table to have a
-chat with Bishop. He was a singular fellow. His manner was smoothed by a
-fine and delicate courtesy, bespeaking a careful rearing, whose effects
-his loose life and promiscuous associations could not obliterate. His
-age was about thirty-two, though he looked much older,--this being due
-in part to his hard life and in other part to the heavy whiskers that
-he wore. An absurd little round felt hat sat precariously on his riotous
-mane, and I was in constant apprehension lest it should fall off every
-time he shook his head. Over his shoulders was a blue cape covering a
-once white shirt that was devoid of a collar. His fingers were all
-black with the crayon that he had used in sketching. He said that he had
-already earned twelve sous that evening, making portraits at six sous a
-head! But there was not so much money to be made in a place like this as
-in the big _café_s,--the frequenters were too poor.
-
-[Illustration: 0206]
-
-I asked him where he had studied and learned his art, for it could be
-easily seen that he had had some training; his portraits were not half
-bad, and showed a knowledge of drawing. He thereupon told me his story.
-
-He had come to Paris thirteen years before from Nantes, Brittany, to
-study art. His father kept a small grocery and provision-shop in Nantes,
-and lived in meagre circumstances. The son having discovered what his
-father deemed a remarkable talent for drawing when a boy, the father
-sent him to Paris, with an allowance of a hundred francs a month, and he
-had to deny himself severely to furnish it. When the young man arrived
-at Paris he studied diligently at the Ecole des Beaux-Arts for a while,
-and became acquainted with many of the students and models. He soon
-found the easy life of the _café_s, with the models for companions, more
-fascinating than the dull grind of the school. It was much pleasanter to
-enjoy the gayety of the nights and sleep all day than drone and labor
-at his easel. As his small allowance did not permit of extravagance, he
-fell deeply into debt, and gave more heed to absinthe than his
-meals,--it is cheaper, more alluring, and brings an exhilaration that
-sharpens wit and equips the soul with wings.
-
-For a whole year the father was in total ignorance of his son's conduct,
-but one day a friend, who had seen the young man in Paris, laid the ugly
-story in his father's ear. This so enraged the father that he instantly
-stopped the remittances and disowned his son. All appeals for money, all
-promises to reform, were in vain, and so the young madcap was forced to
-look about for a means of subsistence. And thus it was that he drifted
-into the occupation of a sketch artist, making portraits in the _café_s
-all night and sleeping in daytime. This brought him a scant living.
-
-But there was his mistress, Marcelle, always faithful to him. She worked
-during the day at sewing, and shared her small earnings with him. All
-went fairly well during the summer, but in winter the days were short,
-Marcelle's earnings were reduced, and the weather was bitter cold.
-Still, it was not so bad as it might be, he protested; but underneath
-his easy flippancy I imagined I caught a shadow,--a flitting sense of
-the hollowness and misery and hopelessness and shame of it all. But I am
-not certain of that. He had but gone the way of many and many another,
-and others now are following in his footsteps, deluding self-denying
-parents, and setting foot in the road which, so broad and shining at the
-beginning, narrows and darkens as it leads nearer and nearer to the rat-
-holes under the bridges of the Seine, and to the grim house whose lights
-forever shine at night under the shadow of Notre-Dame.
-
-Had monsieur a cigarette to spare? Monsieur had, and monsieur thought
-that the thanks for it were out of all proportion to its value; but they
-were totally eclipsed by the praises of monsieur's wonderful generosity
-in paying for a glass of absinthe and sugar for the man who made faces
-at six sous apiece.
-
-The quiet but none the less high tension of the place, the noise of the
-singing, the rattling of glasses and saucers, the stifling foul air of
-the room, filled me with weariness and threatened me with nausea. Things
-had moved in a constant whirl all night, and now it was nearly four
-o'clock. How much longer will this last?
-
-"Till five o'clock," answered the musician; then all the lights go out,
-and the place is closed; and our friends seek their cold, cheerless
-rooms, to sleep far into the afternoon.
-
-We paid for our saucers, and after parting adieux left in company
-with the musician and the aesthetic poet. How deliciously sharp and
-refreshing was the cold, biting air as we stepped out into the night! It
-seemed as though I had been breathing molasses. The fog was thicker than
-ever, and the night was colder. The two twisted gas-lamps were no longer
-burning as we crossed the slippery stone-paved court and ascended to the
-narrow street. The musician wrapped a gray muffler about his throat and
-thrust his hands deep into his pockets. The poet had no top-coat, but he
-buttoned his thin jacket tightly about him, and shivered.
-
-"Shall we have some lait chaud and a croissant?" inquired the musician.
-
-Yes, anything hot would be good, even milk; but where could we get it?
-
-"Ah, you shall see!"
-
-We had not gone far when it gave me a start to recognize a figure that
-we had seen in the Boul' Mich' on our way to the Soleil d'Or. It was
-that of an outcast of the boulevards, now slinking through the shadows
-toward the river. We had been accosted by him in front of one of the
-brilliant _café_s, as, trembling and rubbing his hands, a picture of
-hopeless dejection and misery, and in a quavering voice he begged us to
-buy him a drink of brandy.
-
-[Illustration: 0210]
-
-It probably saved him from an attack of delirium tremens that night, but
-here he was drifting, with a singular fatality, toward the river and
-the Morgue. Now, that his day's work of begging was done, all his jackal
-watchfulness had disappeared, and an inner vision seemed to look forth
-from his bleared eyes as their gaze strained straight and dull toward
-the black river. It may have been a mere fancy, but the expression in
-his eyes reminded me strongly of similar things that I had seen on the
-slabs in the Morgue.
-
-We crossed the Rue du Haut-Pavé again to the river wall, and arrived
-at the bridge leading back of Notre-Dame and past the Morgue. On the
-farther end of the bridge, propped against the parapet, was a small
-stand, upon a corner of which a dim lamp was burning. In front were a
-number of milk-cans, and on a small counter were a row of thick white
-bowls and a basket of croissants. Inside, upon a small stove, red with
-heat, were two kettles from which issued clouds of steam bearing an odor
-of boiling milk. A stout woman, her face so well wrapped in a shawl
-that only the end of her red nose was visible, greeted us,--"_Bon jour,
-messieurs. En voulez-vous du bon lait bien chaud?_"
-
-She poured out four bowls of steaming milk, and gave us each a roll.
-For this luxury we paid three sous each; and a feast it was, for the
-shivering poet, at least, for he licked the hot bowl clean and ate the
-very crumbs of his croissant.
-
-As we were bound for widely separated quarters, our Bohemian friends
-bade us an affectionate good-night, and were soon swallowed up in the
-gloom. We turned towards home and the Boul' Mich'. All the _café_s were
-closed and dark, but the boulevard was alive with canal-boatmen, street-
-sweepers, and rumbling vegetable- and milk-carts. The streets were being
-washed clean of all evidences of the previous day's life and turmoil,
-and the great city was creeping forth from its lair to begin another.
-
-[Illustration: 5213]
-
-
-
-
-THE CAFÉ PROCOPE
-
-
-IN the short, busy little street, the Rue de l'Ancienne-Comédie, which
-runs from the Boulevard St. Germain, in a line from the Théâtre National
-de l'Odéon and connecting with the Rue Mazarin, its continuation, the
-heavy dome of the Institut looming at its end, is to be found probably
-the most famous _café_ in Paris, for in its day it has been the
-rendezvous of the most noted French littérateurs, politicians, and
-savants. What is more, the Procope was the first _café_ established in
-Paris, originating the appellation "_café_" to a place where coffee
-is served, for it was here that coffee was introduced to France as an
-after-dinner comforter.
-
-That was when the famous _café_ was in its glory. Some of the great
-celebrities who made it famous have been dead for nearly two hundred
-years, though its greatest fame came a century afterwards; and now the
-_café_, no longer glorious as it was when the old Théâtre Français stood
-opposite, reposes in a quiet street far from the noise and glitter and
-life of the boulevards, and lives on the splendid memories that crowd
-it. Other _café_s by the thousand have sprung into existence, and
-the word has spread to coffee saloons and restaurants throughout
-Christendom; and the ancient rive droite nurses the history and relics
-of the golden days of its glory, alone in a quiet street, surrounded by
-tightly shut shops, and the calm of a sleeping village.
-
-Still, it retains many of its ancient characteristics and much of the
-old-time quaintness peculiar to itself and setting it wholly apart, and
-it is yet the rendezvous of littérateurs and artists, who, if not so
-famous as the great men in whose seats they sit, play a considerable
-rôle in the life of modern Paris.
-
-The front of the _café_ is a neat little terrace off the street,
-screened by a fanciful net-work of vines and shrubbery that spring from
-green painted boxes and that conceal cosey little tables and corners
-placed behind them. Instead of the usual showy plate-windows, one still
-finds the quaint old window-panes, very small carreaux, kept highly
-polished by the tireless garçon apprentice.
-
-Tacked to the white pillars are numerous copies of _Le Procope_, a
-weekly journal published by Théo, the proprietor of the _café_. Its
-contributors are the authors, journalists, and poets who frequent
-the _café_, and it publishes a number of portraits besides, and some
-spirited drawings. It is devoted in part to the history of the _café_
-and of the celebrities who have made it famous, and publishes portraits
-of them, from Voltaire to Paul Verlaine. This same journal was published
-here over two hundred years ago, in 1689, and it was the means then by
-which the patrons of the establishment kept in closer touch with their
-contemporaries and the spirit of the time. Théo is proprietor and
-business manager, as well as editor.
-
-[Illustration: 0215]
-
-The following two poems will give an idea of the grace of the matter
-contained in Le Procope:
-
-
-À UNE ESPAGNOLE
-
-
-               Au loin, quand, l'oil rêveur et d'ennuis l'âme pleine,
-
-               Je suivrai sur les flots le vol des alcyons
-
-               Chaque soir surgira dans les derniers rayons
-
-               Le profil triste et doux d'Ida, de ma sirène.
-
-               La figure et de lys et d'iris transparente,
-
-               Ressortira plus blanche en l'ombre des cheveux
-
-               Profonds comme un mystère et troublants et mes yeux
-
-               Boiront dans l'Idéal sa caresse enivrante.
-
-
-               Et je rechercherai l'énigme du sourire
-
-                Railleur ou de pitié qui luisait dans ses yeux
-
-               En des paillettes d'or sous ses beaux cils ombreux....
-
-
-               Et je retomberai dans la tristesse... et dire
-
-               Qu'un seul mot me rendrait et la vie et l'espoir:
-
-               Belle, mon rendez-vous n'est-il point pour ce soir?
-
-                        L Birr.
-
-
-
-PETITE CHANSON DÉSOLÉE
-
-
-                   Je suis seul dans la grande ville
-
-                   Où nul n'a fêté mon retour,
-
-                   Cour vide, et cerveau qui vacille,
-
-                   Sans projet, sans but, sans amour
-
-                   Je suis seul dans la grande ville.
-
-
-                   Le dos voûté, les bras ballants,
-
-                   Je marche au hasard dans la foule
-
-                   A longs pas lourds et nonchalants,
-
-                   On me pousse, heurte, refoule,
-
-                   Le dos voûté, les bras ballants.
-
-
-               Je suis accablé de silence,
-
-               De ce silence intérieur,
-
-               Tel un brouillard subtil et dense,
-
-               Qui tombe à plis lourds sur le cour,
-
-               Je suis accablé de silence.
-
-
-               Ah! quand viendront les jours heureux,
-
-               Quand viendra la chère attendue
-
-               Qu'espère mon cour amoureux,
-
-               Qu'implore mon âme éperdue,
-
-               Ah! quand viendront les jours heureux!
-
-                        Achille Segard.
-
-Here is a particularly charming little poem, written in the musical
-French of two or three centuries ago:
-
-
-UN BAYSER
-
-
-                   Sur vostre lèvre fraîche et rose,
-
-                   Ma mye, ah! laissiez-moi poser
-
-                   Cette tant bonne et doulce chose,
-
-                   Un bayser.
-
-
-                   Telle une fleur au jour éclose,
-
-                   le vois vostre teint se roser;
-
-                   Si ie vous redonnois,--ie n'ose,
-
-                        Un bayser.
-
-
-               Laissiez-moi vous prendre, inhumaine,
-
-               A chascun iour de la sepmaine
-
-                        Un bayser.
-
-
-               Trop tôt viendront vieil aage et peine!
-
-               Lors n'aurez plus, l'eussiez-vous reine,
-
-                        Un bayser.
-
-                        Maistre Guillaume.
-
-
-The modern gas illumination of the _café_, in contrast to the fashion of
-brilliant lighting that prevails in the showy _café_s of the boulevards,
-must nevertheless be a great advance on the ancient way that it had
-of being lighted with crude oil lamps and candelabra. But the dim
-illumination is in perfect keeping with the other appointments of the
-place, which are dark, sombre, and funereal. The interior of the Procope
-is as dark as a finely colored old meerschaum pipe. The woodwork, the
-chairs, and the tables are deeply stained by time, the contrasting white
-marble tops of the tables suggesting gravestones; and with all these go
-the deeply discolored walls and the many ancient paintings,--even the
-caisse, behind which sits Madame Théo, dozing over her knitting. This
-caisse is a wonderful piece of furniture in itself, of some rich dark
-wood, beautifully carved and decorated.
-
-Madame Théo is in black, her head resting against the frame of an
-old crayon portrait of Voltaire on the wall behind her. A fat and
-comfortable black cat is asleep in the midst of rows of white saucers
-and snowy napkins. The only garçon, except the garçon apprentice, is
-sitting in a corner drowsing over an evening paper, but ever ready to
-answer the quiet calls of the customers. For in the matter of noise and
-frivolity the Café Procope is wholly unlike the boulevard _café_s. An
-atmosphere of refined and elegant suppression pervades the place; the
-roystering spirit that haunts the boulevards stops at the portals of the
-Procope. Here all is peace and tranquillity, and that is why it is the
-haunt of many earnest and aspiring poets and authors; for hither they
-may bring their portfolios in peace and security, and here they may
-work upon their manuscripts, knowing that their neighbors are similarly
-engrossed and that intrusion is not to be feared. And then, too, are
-they not sitting on the same chairs and writing at the same tables that
-have been occupied by some of the greatest men in all the brilliant
-history of France? Is not this the place in which greatness had budded
-and blossomed in the centuries gone? Are not these ancient walls the
-same that echoed the wit, badinage, and laughter of the masters? And
-there are the portraits of the great themselves, looking down benignly
-and encouragingly upon the young strugglers striving to follow in their
-footsteps, and into the ghostly mirrors, damaged by time and now sending
-back only ghosts of shadows, they look as the great had looked before
-them. It is here, therefore, that many of the modern geniuses of France
-have drawn their inspiration, shaking off the endless turmoil of the
-noisy and bustling world, living with the works and memories of the
-ancient dead, and working out their destiny under the magic spell that
-hovers about the place. It is for this reason that the habitués are
-jealous of the intrusion of the curious and worldly. In this quiet and
-secure retreat they feel no impinging of the wearing and crippling world
-that roars and surges through the busy streets and boulevards.
-
-[Illustration: 0221]
-
-M. Théo de Bellefond is the full name of the proprietor, but he is
-commonly known as M. Théo. He is a jolly little man, with an ambitious
-round stomach, a benevolent face covered with a Vandyke beard, and a
-shining bald head. A large flowing black cravat, tied into an artistic
-négligé bow, hides his shirt. M. Théo came into possession of the
-Procope in 1893, a fact duly recorded on a door panel, along with the
-names of over a score of the celebrities who have made the Procope
-their place of rest, refection, and social enjoyment. M. Procope was a
-journalist in his day, but now the ambition that moves him is to restore
-the ancient glory of the Procope; to make it again the centre of French
-brains and power in letters, art, and politics. To this end he exerts
-all his journalistic tact, a fact clearly shown by the able manner
-in which he conducts his journal, _Le Procope_. He has worked out the
-history of the _café_, and has at the ends of his fingers the life-
-stories of its famous patrons.
-
-The Café Procope was founded in 1689 by François Procope, where it now
-stands. Opposite was the Comédie Française, which also was opened
-that year. The _café_ soon became the rendezvous of all who aspired to
-greatness in art, letters, philosophy, and politics. It was here that
-Voltaire, in his eighty-second year, while attending the rehearsals of
-his play, "Irène," descended from his chaise-à-porteur at the door
-of the Café Procope, and drank the coffee which the _café_ had made
-fashionable. It was here also that he became reconciled to Piron, after
-an estrangement of more than twenty years.
-
-Ste.-Foix made trouble here one day about a cup of chocolate. A duel
-with the proprietor of the _café_ was the immediate result, and after
-it Ste.-Foix, badly wounded, exclaimed, "Nevertheless, monsieur, your
-sword-thrust does not prevent my saying that a very sickly déjeuner is
-une tasse de chocolat!"
-
-Jean-Jacques Rousseau, after the successful representation of "Le Devin
-de Village," was carried in triumph to the Procope by Condorcet, who,
-with Jean-Jacques on his shoulders, made a tour of the crowded _café_,
-yelling, "Vive la Musique Française!" Diderot was fond of sitting in a
-corner and manufacturing paradoxes and materialistic dissertations to
-provoke the lieutenant of police, who would note everything he said
-and report it to the chief of police. The lieutenant, ambitious though
-stupid, one night told his chief that Diderot had said one never saw
-souls; to which the chief returned, "M. Diderot se trompe. L'âme est un
-esprit, et M. Diderot est plein d'esprit."
-
-Danton delighted in playing chess in a quiet corner with a strong
-adversary in the person of Marat. Many other famous revolutionists
-assembled here, among them Fabre d'Eglantine, Robespierre, d'Holbach,
-Mirabeau, Camille Desmoulins. It was here that Camille Desmoulins was to
-be strangled by the reactionists in the Revolution; it was here that the
-first bonnet rouge was donned. The massacre of December, 1792, was here-
-planned, and the killing began at the very doors of the _café_. Madame
-Roland, Lucille Desmoulins, and the wife of Danton met here on the ioth
-of August, the day of the fall of the monarchy, when bells rang and
-cannon thundered. It was later that Bonaparte, then quite young and
-living in the Quai Conti, in the building which the American Art
-Association now occupies, left his hat at the Procope as security for
-payment for a drink, he having left his purse at home. In short, the old
-_café_ of the Rue des Fossés-St.-Ger-main (its old name) was famous as
-the meeting-place of celebrities. Legendre, the great geometrician,
-came hither. One remembers the verses of Masset: "Je joue aux
-dominos quelquefois chez Procope." Here Gambetta made speeches to the
-reactionist politicians and journalists. He engaged in more than one
-prise de bec with le père Coquille, friend of Veuillot. Coquille always
-made sprightly and spirited replies when Gambetta roared, thundered, and
-swore.
-
-Since then have followed days of calm. In later times Paul Verlaine was
-a frequenter of the Procope, where he would sit in his favorite place
-in the little rear salon at Voltaire's table. This little salon, in the
-rear of the _café_, is held sacred, for its chair and table are the
-ones that Voltaire used to occupy. The table is on one side of the small
-room. On the walls are many interesting sketches in oil by well-known
-French artists, and there are fine ceiling decorations; but all these
-are seen with difficulty, so dim is the light in the room. Since
-Voltaire's time this table has become an object of curiosity and
-veneration. When celebrated habitués of the _café_ died this table was
-used as an altar, upon which for a time reposed the bust of the decedent
-before crêpe-covered lanterns.
-
-During the Revolution Hébert jumped upon this table, which had been
-placed before the door of the _café_, and harangued the crowd gathered
-there, exciting them to such a pitch that they snatched the newspapers
-from the hands of the news-venders. In a moment of passionate appeal he
-brought down his heavy boot-heel upon the marble with such force as to
-split it.
-
-In the _café_ are three doors that are decorated in a very interesting
-fashion. On the panels of one, well preserved in spite of the numerous
-transformations through which the establishment has gone, M. Théo
-conceived the happy idea of inscribing in gold letters the names of the
-illustrious who have visited the _café_ since its founding. Many of the
-panels of the Avails are taken with full-length portraits by Thomas,
-representing, among others, Voltaire, Rousseau, Robespierre, Diderot,
-Danton and Marat playing chess, Mirabeau, and Gambetta. There are
-smaller sketches by Corot, d'Aubigny, Vallon, Courbet, Willette, and
-Roedel. Some of them are not fine specimens of art.
-
-M. Théo is a devoted collector of rare books and engravings. His
-library, which contains many very rare engravings of the eighteenth
-century and more than one book of priceless value, is open to his
-intimate friends only, with whom he loves to ramble through his
-treasures and find interesting data of his _café_.
-
-
-
-
-LE MOULIN DE LA GALETTE
-
-
-BISHOP had been industriously at work upon a large black-and-white
-drawing. The subject was a ball-room scene,--of evident low degree,
-judging from the abandon of the whirling figures and the queer types
-that were depicted. White lace skirts were sweeping high in air,
-revealing black-stockinged ankles and gauzy lingerie in a way unknown to
-the monde propre.
-
-[Illustration: 8228]
-
-In contrast to the grace and abandon of the female figures were the
-coarseness and clumsiness of their male partners.
-
-The work was nearly finished, but Bishop professed to be dissatisfied
-with the foreground architecture and with the drawing of a hand
-belonging to one of the male dancers. After boring me at length with a
-speech on the necessity of having a model for that hand, he sheepishly
-asked me if I would pose for the elusive member. It was then that
-curiosity prompted me to inquire where he had found the original of this
-remarkable scene.
-
-"_Mon enfant sculpteur_," he replied, with the patronizing air of a man
-of the world, "this is the Moulin de la Galette."
-
-"And where is that?" I asked.
-
-"I will show you to-morrow night, if you agree."
-
-To-morrow would be Sunday. When it had passed and the evening was come,
-and after we had enjoyed two courses of Madame Darblay's juicy gigots
-and irresistible beans, with the incomparable sauce afforded by the
-presence of the sunny actresses who were there, we walked over to the
-Boulevard St.-Jacques and waited for the Montmartre 'bus to come along.
-These small, ancient omnibuses are different from the other vehicles of
-that breed in Paris, in that instead of having a narrow curved stairway
-at the rear leading up to the impériale, there are but three or four
-iron foot-rests against the outside of the rear wall, with an iron rod
-on either side to cling to in mounting. Now, the traveller who would
-reach the impériale must be something of either an acrobat or a sailor,
-because, first, as these 'buses do not stop, a running leap has to be
-made for the ladder, and, second, because of the pitching and rolling
-of the lumbering vehicle, the catching and climbing are not easy. If you
-carry a cane or a parcel, it must be held in the teeth until the ascent
-is made, for both hands have all they can do in the ladder exercise.
-
-The gleam of the red lamp coming down the street prepared us for a test
-of our agility. As only one could mount the ladder at a time, and as I
-was the first to attack the feat, Bishop had to run behind for nearly
-a block before I could give him the right of way up the ladder. The
-conductor registered deux sur l'impériale as we swung to the top and
-took seats forward, just behind the driver. Ladies and fat gentlemen are
-rarely, or never, found riding on the impériale of the Montmartre line.
-
-We wrapped up in our big warm coats and lay back smoking three-sous
-cigars (always three-sous ones on Sunday), and as the driver cracked his
-whip and the heavy machine went rolling along, we enjoyed the wonderful
-treat of seeing gay Paris of a Sunday night from the top of an omnibus.
-There is hardly anything more delightful, particularly from the top of a
-St. Jacques-Montmartre 'bus, which generally avoids the broad, brilliant
-streets and goes rolling and swaying through the narrow, crooked streets
-of old Paris. Here there is hardly room for such a vehicle to pass, and
-one is anxious lest one's feet sweep off the gas-lamps that fly past.
-An intimate view of the domestic life of Paris presents itself likewise,
-for, being on a level with the second story windows, you have flitting
-visions of the Parisian ménage in all its freedom and variety. At this
-time of the evening the windows are wide open and the dinner-tables are
-spread near them, for a view of the street below.
-
-On, on we rumbled, through seemingly interminable miles of crooked
-streets, over the gay Boul' Mich', and the Place St.-Michel; across
-the river, which reflected the myriads of lights along its walls and
-bridges; past the Halles, the greatest marketplace in the world; past
-the grand boulevards, a confusing glitter of colors and lights; past
-the Folies-Bergère, where flaming posters announced Loie Fuller in the
-throes of a fire dance; and at last to the steep grade of Montmartre.
-Here a third horse was added to the pair, and slowly we were dragged up
-the slope.
-
-At the Boulevard Clichy we suddenly found ourselves in the midst of a
-terrific uproar; bells, steam-whistles, hand-organs, bands of music,
-drums, and calliopes made the bedlam. The streets were blocked with
-moving masses of laughing people, and the scene was gayly illuminated
-by rows of lamps overhead and on hundreds of stands, merry-go-rounds,
-theatres, circuses, museums, and all kinds of catchpenny attractions
-that lined the boulevard. For this was the Fête de Clichy. Far down the
-street, almost hidden by a curve, could be seen the illuminated arms of
-the Moulin Rouge slowly revolving through the night.
-
-Still on and up crawled the 'bus, now in the very heart of Montmartre,
-through the lively, crowded, bright streets on the great hill of Paris.
-Here are hot-chestnut venders at the corners; fried-potato women,
-serving crisp brown chips; street hawkers, with their heavy push-carts;
-song-sellers, singing the songs that they sell, to make purchasers
-familiar with the airs; flower-girls; gaudy shops; bright restaurants
-and noisy _café_s,--all constituting that distinctive quarter of Paris,
-Montmartre.
-
-At last the summit of the hill was made, and the panting horses must
-have been glad that it was all down-hill ahead. Bishop gave the signal
-to alight a block before the desired street was reached, for by the time
-we could touch the ground the 'bus had covered that distance on the
-down run. Bishop led the way up a dim little street,--the Rue Muller, I
-noticed on the wall. It was very steep, and at last ended at the bottom
-of a flight of stone steps that seemed to run into the sky. Their length
-was marked by lamps glowing one above another in long rows. It was hard
-work climbing to the top.
-
-The top at last! We seemed to be among the clouds. Far below us lay the
-great shining city, spreading away into distance; and although it was
-night, the light of a full moon and untold thousands of lamps in the
-streets and buildings below enabled us easily to pick out the great
-thoroughfares and the more familiar structures. There was the Opéra,
-there the Panthéon, there Notre-Dame, there St.-Sulpice, there the
-Invalides, and, uplifted to emulate the eminence on which we stood,
-the Tour Eiffel, its revolving searchlight at the apex shining like an
-immense meteor or comet with its misty trail stretching out over the
-city. The roar of life faintly reached our ears from the vast throbbing
-plain, where millions of human mysteries were acting out their
-tragedies. The scene was vast, wonderful, entrancing.
-
-Far above us still a maze of rafters, beams, and scaffolding fretted the
-sky,--the skeleton of that beautiful but unfinished Church of the Sacré-
-Cour, crowning the very summit of Montmartre.
-
-There seemed to be no life here, for not a soul did we meet, and not a
-light shone except that of the moon. Bishop guided me through a maze of
-steep stony passages, between the walls of dark gardens, turning now
-to the right, again to the left, through archways and courts; and I
-wondered how he could remember them all. Before I could fully comprehend
-our position we were confronted by two black, gaunt, uncanny objects
-with long outstretched arms that cut across the sky like giant skeleton
-sentinels forbidding our farther advance. But the sounds of lively music
-and the glow of rows of white-globed lamps quickly banished the illusion
-and advertised the fact that we were in a very material and sensual
-world, for they announced the Moulin de la Galette at the foot of
-the passage. The spectres against the sky were only very, very old
-windmills, relics of the time, three centuries gone, when windmills
-crowded the summit of Montmartre to catch all the winds that blew. Now
-they stand, stark, dead, silent, and decaying; their stately revolutions
-are no more; and the skeleton frames of their fans look down on a
-marvellous contrast, the intensely real life of the Galette.
-
-[Illustration: 0234]
-
-We fell in line with many others at the ticket office, and paid the
-fifty centimes admission fee (ladies twenty-five centimes). We were
-relieved of our hats and canes by a stout old woman in the vestiaire,
-who claimed two sous from each. Following the up-hill passage of the
-entrance, the walls of which are painted with flowers and garden scenes,
-we entered the great ball-room. What a brilliant scene of life and
-light!--at first a blur of sound, light, and movement, then gradually
-resolving into the simple elements composing it. The floor was covered
-with dancers, and the girls were making a generous display of graceful
-anatomy. A large band at the farther end of the room, on an inclined
-stand, was the vortex of the din. The promenade encircling the hall was
-crowded with hatless laughing girls and smooth-faced boys wearing caps
-or flat-brimmed low-crowned hats; their trousers fitted tight at the
-knees, and their heads were closely cropped. These were strolling in
-groups, or watching the dancers, or sitting at the rows of wooden tables
-drinking. All within the vast hall had gone to enjoy their Sunday night
-as much as possible. To most of the girls this was the one night in
-the week when, not tired out from the drudgery of hard work, they could
-throw aside all cares and live in the way for which their cramped and
-meagre souls yearned. This is a rendezvous for the humble workers of
-the city, where they may dress as best they can, exchange their petites
-histoires, and abandon themselves to the luxury of the dance; for they
-are mostly shop-girls, and blanchisseuses, and the like, who, when
-work fails them, have to hover about the dark streets at night, that
-prosperous-looking passers-by may be tempted by the pleading of their
-dark saucy eyes, or be lured by them to some quiet spot where their
-lovers lie in wait with a lithe and competent black slung-shot. No mercy
-for the hapless bourgeois then! For the dear Henris and Jacques and
-Louises must have their sous for the comforts of life, as well as the
-necessities, and such luxuries as tobacco and drink must be considered;
-and if the money wherewith all this may be bought is not produced by
-Marcelle or Hélène or Marie, she will get a beating for her slothfulness
-or lack of skill, and will be driven into the street with a hurting
-back to try again. And so Henri, Jacques, or Louis basks in the sun, and
-smokes cigarettes with never a care, except that of making his devoted
-little mistress perform her duties, knowing well how to retain her
-affection by selfishness and brutality.
-
-This night, however, all that was forgotten. It was the one free, happy
-night of the week, the night of abandon and the dance, of laughter,
-drinking, and jollity, for which one and all had longed for a whole
-impatient and dreary week; and Henri, Jacques, and Louis could spend on
-drinks with other of their feminine acquaintances the sous that their
-mistresses had provided. The band played lustily; the lights shone; the
-room was filled with laughter,--let the dance go on!
-
-Stationed in different parts of the room were the big soldiers of the
-Garde Municipale, in their picturesque uniform so familiar to all
-the theatre-goers of Paris. They were here to preserve order, for the
-dancers belong to an inflammable class, and a blaze may spring up at
-any moment. Equally valuable as a repressing force was a burly, thick-
-necked, powerful man who strolled hither and thither, his glance
-everywhere and always veiling a threat. He wore a large badge that
-proclaimed him the master of ceremonies. True, he was that, which was
-something, but he was a great deal more,--a most astonishingly prompt
-and capable bouncer. The male frequenters of the place were evidently
-in mortal terror of him, for his commanding size and threatening manner,
-and his superbly developed muscles, contrasted strikingly with the
-cringing manner and weak bodies of Henri and his kind; and should
-he look their way with a momentary steadiness of glance and poise of
-figure, their conversation would instantly cease, and they would slink
-away.
-
-We seated ourselves at a vacant table that commanded a sweeping view
-of the floor and the promenade. A seedy-looking garçon worked his way
-through the crowd and took our order for beer; and mean, stale beer it
-was. But we did not care for that. Bishop was all afire with enjoyment
-of the scene, for, he protested, the place was infinitely rich in types
-and character,--the identical types that the great Steinlen loves to
-draw. And here is an interesting thing: The girls all were of that chic
-and petite order so peculiar to certain classes of Parisian women, some
-hardly so high as Bishop's shoulder, which is itself not very high;
-and though they looked so small, they were fully developed young women,
-though many of them were under twenty. They wore no hats, and for the
-most part, unlike their gorgeous sisters of the boulevard _café_s, they
-were dressed plainly, wearing black or colored waists and skirts. But
-ah!--and here the unapproachable instinct-skill of the French-woman
-shows itself,--on these same waists and skirts were placed here and
-there, but always just where they ought to be, bows and ribbons; and it
-was they that worked the miracle of grace and style. And the girls had
-a certain beauty, a beauty peculiar to their class,--not exactly beauty,
-but pleasing features, healthy color, and, best of all and explaining
-all, an archness of expression, a touch of sauciness, that did for their
-faces what the bows and ribbons did for their gowns.
-
-[Illustration:0240]
-
-Near us a large door opened into the garden of the Moulin; it was filled
-with trees and benches and tables, and amidst the dark foliage glowed
-colored Chinese lanterns, which sifted a soft light upon the revellers
-assembled beneath them in the cool evening air. On one side of the
-garden stretched Paris far down and away, and on the other side blazed
-the Moulin de la Galette through the windows.
-
-A waltz was now being danced. Strange to say, it was the one dismal
-feature of the evening, and that was because the French do not know how
-to dance it, "reversing" being unknown. And there was an odd variety of
-ways in which the men held their partners and the dancers each other.
-Some grasped each other tightly about the waist with both arms, or
-similarly about the necks or shoulders, and looked straight into each
-other's face without a smile or an occasional word. It was all done in
-deadly earnest, as a serious work. It was in the quadrille that the
-fun came, when the girls varied the usual order by pointing their toes
-toward the chandeliers with a swish of white skirts that made the by-
-standers cry, "Encore, Marcelle!" The men, yearning for a share of the
-applause, cut up all sorts of antics and capers, using their arms
-and legs with incredible agility, making grotesque faces, and wearing
-hideous false noses and piratical moustaches.
-
-Securing a partner for a dance was the easiest thing possible. Any girl
-was eligible,--simply the asking, the assent, and away they went.
-
-Bishop's pencil kept moving rapidly as he caught fleeting notes of
-faces, dresses, attitudes--everything--for his unfinished piece at the
-studio. A number of promenaders, attracted by his sketching, stopped
-to watch him. That dance was now finished, and the dancers separated
-wherever they stopped, and turned away to seek their separate friends;
-there was no waste of time in escorting the girls to seats, for that
-is not fashionable at Montmartre. The girls came flocking about Bishop,
-curious over his work, and completely shut out his view. "Oh!" exclaimed
-one saucy petite blonde, "let me see my portrait! I saw you sketching me
-during the dance."
-
-"_Et moi,--moi aussi!_" cried the others, until Bishop, overwhelmed,
-surrendered his book for the inspection of bright, eager eyes.
-
-"Has not monsieur a cigarette?" archly asked a girl with a decided nez
-retroussé. "_Oui_," I answered, handing her a packet, from which with
-exquisite, unconscious daintiness she selected one. The whole bevy then
-made a similar request, and we were soon enveloped in a blue haze.
-
-"_Vous ferez mon portrait, n'est-ce-pas?_" begged a dark-eyed beauty of
-Bishop, in a smooth, pleasant voice. She had a striking appearance. A
-mass of rebellious black hair strove persistently to fall over her oval
-face, and when she would neglect to push it back her eyes, dark and
-melancholy, shone through its tangle with a singular wild lustre. Her
-skin was dark, almost swarthy, but it was touched with a fine rosy glow
-of health and youth. Her features were perfect; the nose was slightly
-romanesque, the chin firm, the lips red and sensuous. When she drew our
-attention with her request she was standing before us in a rigid, half-
-defiant, half-commanding posture; but when she quickly added, "I will
-pose for you,--see?" and sat down beside me, opposite Bishop, her
-striking native grace asserted itself, for from a statue of bronze she
-suddenly became all warmth and softness, every line in her perfect,
-lithe figure showing her eagerness, and eloquent with coaxing.
-
-It was clear that Bishop was deeply impressed by the striking picture
-that she made; it was her beautiful wild head that fascinated him most.
-
-"No, I am first," insisted a little vixen, hard-featured and determined.
-"_Jamais de la vie!" "C'est moi!_" protested others, with such fire
-that I feared there would be trouble. The turmoil had the effect of
-withdrawing Bishop's attention momentarily from the beautiful tigress
-beside me. He smiled in bewilderment. He would be happy to draw them
-all, but---- At last he pacified them by proposing to take them in
-turn, provided they would be patient and not bother him. To this they
-poutingly agreed; and Bishop, paying no more attention to the girl
-beside me, rapidly dashed off sketch after sketch of the other girls.
-Exclamations of surprise, delight, or indignation greeted each of the
-portraits as it was passed round. Bishop was seeking "character," and as
-he was to retain the portraits, he made no efforts at flattery.
-
-All this time the dark-eyed one had sat in perfect silence and stillness
-beside me, watching Bishop in wonder. She had forgotten her hair, and
-was gazing through it with more than her eyes as his pencil worked
-rapidly. I studied her as well as I could as she sat all heedless of
-my existence. Her lips slightly curved at the corners into a faint
-suggestion of a smile, but as Bishop's work kept on and the other girls
-monopolized him, the lips gradually hardened. The shadow of her chin
-fell upon her smooth throat, not darkening it too much for me to observe
-that significant movements within it indicated a struggle with her self-
-control. Bishop was now sketching a girl, the others having run off to
-dance; they would return in their order. The girl beside me said to me,
-in a low voice, without looking at me,--"_Monsieur est Anglais?_"
-
-"No," I answered.
-
-"Ah! Américain?"
-
-"Yes."
-
-"And your friend?" nodding toward Bishop. "American also."
-
-"Is he----" but she suddenly checked herself with odd abruptness, and
-then quickly asked, with a shallow pretence of eager interest, "Is
-America far from Paris?" And so she continued to quiz me rather
-vacantly concerning a great country of whose whereabouts she had not
-the slightest idea. Then she was silent, and I imagined that she was
-gathering herself for some supreme effort. Suddenly she turned her
-marvellous eyes full toward me, swept the wild hair from her face,
-looked almost fiercely at me a moment, and, rigid from head to foot,
-asked, half angrily, and then held her breath for the answer,--"Is he
-married?"
-
-The question was asked so suddenly and so strangely, and with so
-commanding a manner, that I had not a moment to consider the wisdom of
-lying.
-
-"No," I answered.
-
-She sank back into her chair with a deep breath, all softness and grace
-again, and her wild hair fell back over her face.
-
-She had lost all interest in the ball. While her companions were
-enjoying themselves in the dance, she sat motionless and silent beside
-me, watching Bishop. An uncomfortable feeling had taken possession of
-me. Presently I abruptly asked her why she did not dance.
-
-She started. "Dance?" she replied. She looked over the hall, and an
-expression of scorn and disgust came into her face. "Not with that
-espèce de voyous," she vehemently added; and then she turned to watch
-Bishop again.
-
-I now noticed for the first time that a group of the human vampires,
-standing apart at a little distance, were watching us closely and
-talking in low tones among themselves. My attention had been drawn to
-them by a defiant look that the girl had shot at them. One of them
-was particularly repulsive. He was rather larger and stronger than the
-others. His garb was that of his species,--tight trousers, a négligé
-shirt, and a rakish cap being its distinguishing articles. He stood with
-his hands in his pockets and his head thrust forward. He had the low,
-brutal face of his kind. It was now pale with rage.
-
-I asked the girl what her name was.
-
-"Hélène," she answered, simply.
-
-Her other name?
-
-Oh, just Hélène. Sometimes it was Hélène Crespin, for Crespin was her
-lover's name. All this with perfect frankness.
-
-"Where is he?" I asked.
-
-"_C'est lui avec la casquette_," she answered, indicating the brute whom
-I have just described, but I had expected that. "I hate him now!" she
-vehemently added.
-
-No, she had neither father nor mother; had no recollection of parents.
-Sometimes she worked in a printing shop in the Rue Victor Massé when
-extra hands were needed.
-
-After the girl who had been posing was dismissed another took her place;
-then another, and another, and others; and still others were waiting.
-The girl beside me had been watching these proceedings with increasing
-impatience. Some of the girls were so delighted that they threw their
-arms round Bishop's neck and kissed him. Others called him endearing
-names. At last it was evident that the dark girl could bear it no
-longer. She had been growing harder and harder, more and more restless.
-I continued to watch her narrowly,--she had forgotten my existence.
-Gradually the natural rich color in her cheeks deepened, her eyes blazed
-through the tangled hair, her lips were set. Suddenly, after a girl had
-been more demonstrative than the others, she rose and confronted Bishop.
-All this time he had not even looked at her, and that, while making me
-uneasy, had made her furious.
-
-We three were alone. True, we were observed by many, for invasions
-by foreigners were very rare at the Moulin de la Galette, and we were
-objects of interest on that account; and the sketching by Bishop had
-sent our fame throughout the hall.
-
-In a low, quiet voice the girl said to Bishop, as he looked up at her
-wonderingly,--"You promised to draw mine long ago."
-
-I had never seen my friend more embarrassed than he was at that moment.
-He stumbled over his excuses, and then asked her to pose to suit her
-fancy. He did it very gently, and the effect was magical. She sank
-into her chair and assumed the indolently graceful pose that she had
-unconsciously taken when she first seated herself. Bishop gazed at her
-in silence a long time before he began the sketch; and then he worked
-with a sure and rapid hand. After it was finished he handed it to her.
-Instantly she was transfigured. She stared at the picture in wonder
-and delight, her lips parted, her chest hardly moving from her nearly
-suppressed breathing.
-
-"Do I look like that?" she asked, suspiciously. Indeed, it was an
-exquisite little piece of work, for Bishop had idealized the girl and
-made a beautiful portrait.
-
-"Did you not see me draw it while looking at you?" he replied, somewhat
-disingenuously.
-
-"Will you give it to me?" she asked, eagerly.
-
-"Certainly."
-
-"And will you sign your name to it?"
-
-Bishop cheerfully complied. Then she took it, kissed it, and pressed it
-to her bosom; and then, leaning forward, and speaking with a richness
-and depth of voice that she had not betrayed before, and in the deepest
-earnestness, said,--"_Je vous aime!_"
-
-Bishop, staggered by this forthright declaration of affection, blushed
-violently and looked very foolish. But he rallied and assured her that
-her love was reciprocated, for who, he asked, could resist so beautiful
-a face, so warm a heart? If he had only known, if I could only have told
-him! The girl sank back in her chair with a quizzical, doubting smile
-that showed perfect white teeth and changed to bright dimples the
-suggestion of a smile that fluttered at her mouth-corners. She carefully
-folded the sketch and daintily tucked it away in her bosom.
-
-Bishop had now quitted work,--Hélène had seen to that. She had moved her
-chair close to his, and, looking him straight in the eyes, was rattling
-away in the untranslatable argot of Montmartre. It is not the argot of
-the slums, nor that of the thieves, nor that of the students, but that
-of Montmartre; and there are no ways of expressing it intelligibly in
-English. Presently she became more serious, and with all the coaxing
-and pleading of which her ardent, impetuous nature was capable, she
-begged,-- "Let me be your model. _Je suis bien faite_, and you can teach
-me to pose. You will be kind to me. I have a good figure. I will do
-everything, everything for you! I will take care of the studio. I will
-cook, I will bring you everything, everything you want. You will let
-me live with you. I will love no one else. You will never be sorry nor
-ashamed. If you will only----" That is the best translation I can give;
-it is certainly what she meant, though it indicates nothing of the
-impetuosity, the abandon, the eagerness, the warmth, the savage beauty
-that shone from her as she spoke.
-
-Bishop rose to the occasion. He sprang to his feet. "I must dance after
-that!" he exclaimed, catching her up, laughing, and dragging her upon
-the floor. He could dance superbly. A waltz was being played, and it was
-being danced in the stiff and stupid way of the people. Very soon Bishop
-and Hélène began to attract general attention, for never before had
-Montmartre seen a waltz danced like that. He reversed, and glided,
-and threw into the queen of dances all the grace and freedom that it
-demands. At first Hélène was puzzled and bewildered; but she was agile
-both of mind and body, and under Bishop's sure guidance she put them to
-excellent use. Rapidly she caught the grace and spirit of the waltz,
-and danced with a verve that she had never known before. Swiftly and
-gracefully they skimmed the length of the great hall, then back, and
-wherever they went the dancers watched them with astonishment and
-delight, and gradually abandoned their own ungraceful efforts, partly in
-shame, partly in admiration, and partly with a desire to learn how the
-miracle was done. Gradually the floor was wholly abandoned except for
-these two, and all eyes watched them. Hélène was happy and radiant
-beyond all ways of telling. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes sparkled,
-her lithe figure developed all the ease, grace, and suppleness of a cat.
-
-Some muttered expressions of contempt spoken near me caused me to listen
-without turning round. They were meant for my ears, but I gave no heed.
-I knew well enough from whom they came,--Crespin and his friends. And
-I realized that we were in for it. True, there were the big guards and
-there was the capable bouncer, and they would glance my way now and
-then, seemingly to let Crespin know that all was understood and that it
-must be hands off with him. There was no danger here, but
-afterwards--The waltz came to an end, and the two were vigorously
-applauded. This was a critical moment, but Bishop handled it adroitly.
-He conducted Hélène to a seat remote from our table, bowed low, and left
-her, and came over to me. I told him of my fears, but he laughed. He had
-got rid of Hélène with perfect address, and perhaps she was nursing an
-angry and aching heart after her glorious triumph; perhaps Bishop had
-whispered to her something of the danger and suggested that they have
-nothing more to do with each other that evening.
-
-[Illustration: 9251]
-
-Presently I saw her start and look round. Crespin was behind her, livid
-with rage. She promptly rose and followed him into the garden. Bishop
-had not seen the movement. We were near the door leading into the
-garden, and by turning a little I could see the couple outside, not
-far away. Crespin was standing with a bullying air, and was evidently
-cursing her. She had tossed back her hair and was looking him defiantly
-in the face. I saw her lips move in speech. Instantly the ruffian dealt
-her a violent blow upon the chest, and she staggered back against a
-tree, which prevented her falling.
-
-"Come, let us stop that," I said to Bishop. "Hélène's lover is beating
-her in the garden." Bishop sprang to his feet and followed me. As he
-glanced out the window at the couple, whom I pointed out, he saw Crespin
-approach the dazed girl and deal her a terrible blow in the mouth, and
-he saw the blood that followed the blow.
-
-We arrived in the garden as a crowd was gathering. Bishop pushed his way
-ahead and was about to spring upon the brute, when Hélène saw him. With
-a supreme effort she leaped forward, thrust Bishop aside with a command
-to mind his own affairs, threw herself into her lover's arms, and kissed
-him, smearing his face with her blood. He glared at us, triumphant. The
-guards arrived, and Hélène and her lover disappeared among the trees in
-the darkness.
-
-"Oh, another unfaithful cocotte!" laughed one in the crowd, explaining
-to the guards; and they returned to their drinking and dancing,
-remarking, "Beat a woman, and she will love you."
-
-They had all missed the heroism and devotion of Hélène's interference.
-It was to keep a knife out of the body of the man she loved that she
-smeared her lover's face with her blood. We saw her no more.
-
-We returned to the hall and strolled round the promenade, for we needed
-that to become calm again. And the girls mobbed Bishop, for he had
-passed out the word that he wanted a model, and that he would pay a
-franc an hour. A franc an hour! And so they mobbed him. Was not that
-more than they could hope to earn by a whole day's hard work? Yes, they
-would all pose gladly, but only in costume, bien entendu! So Bishop was
-busy taking down the names of Marcelle, Lorette, Elise, Marie, and the
-rest, with the names of the queer and unheard-of streets in which they
-lived, mostly in the quarters of Montmartre and the Batignolles.
-
-The can-can was now raging on the floor, and the tired garçons were
-dodging about with their glassladen trays. Dancing, making love,
-throwing lumps of sugar, the revellers enjoyed themselves.
-
-We left. The moon cast gaunt shadows across the streets from the old
-windmills and the trees. We struck out briskly, intending to catch the
-last St.-Jacques 'bus home, and with that purpose we threaded the
-maze of steep passages and streets on our way to the Rue Muller. Upon
-reaching the top of the hill, behind the great skeleton of the Sacred
-Heart, where all was silent and still as the grave, we suddenly
-discovered the shadowy figures of men slipping out from a dark little
-street. We knew what it meant. With a common impulse we sprang forward,
-for it was now a run for our lives. I had recognized Crespin in the
-lead. With headlong speed we dashed down the steep incline, swinging our
-canes to check an attack in the rear. We had dodged out of our proper
-way to the Rue Muller, and now it was a matter of speed, endurance, and
-luck to reach blindly some street where life and protection might be
-found.
-
-A man clutched my coat. I beat him off with my stick, but the skirt of
-my coat was hanging loose, nearly ripped off. A cord went whizzing past
-me and caught Bishop's hat, but he went sturdily on bareheaded. Stones
-flew past us, and presently one caught me a terrific, sickening blow in
-the back. I did not fall, but I staggered in my flight, for a strange
-heaviness came into my legs, and my head soon began to ache violently.
-
-Crespin was desperately active. I could hear him panting heavily as he
-gained upon us. His long shadow, cast by the moon, showed that he was
-about to spring upon Bishop. I swung my cane blindly, but with all
-my might, and it fell upon his head and laid him low; but he quickly
-scrambled to his feet again. The ruffians were now upon us,--they were
-better used to the hill than we.
-
-"Separate!" gasped Bishop. "It is our only chance." At the next corner
-we suddenly swung apart, taking opposite directions. I plunged on alone,
-glad to hear for a time that footfalls were following,--they meant that
-the pursuit had not concentrated on Bishop. But after a while I realized
-that I was no longer pursued. I stopped and listened. There was no
-sound. Weak and trembling, with an aching back and a splitting head, I
-sat down in a door-way and rested. That luxury was quickly interrupted
-by my reflecting that possibly Bishop had been overtaken; and I knew
-what that would mean. I ran back up the hill as rapidly as my weakness
-and trembling and pain permitted. At last I found myself at the corner
-where we had separated. There was no sound from any direction. I could
-only hope for the best and search and listen blindly through this puzzle
-of streets and passages.
-
-Presently I realized that I was near the fortifications of Paris,
-close to St. Ouen,--that is to say, at the other end of Paris from the
-Quartier Latin, which was eight miles away. There was nothing to do
-but walk home. It was nearly four o'clock when I arrived. And there was
-Bishop in bed, nursing a big lump on his head, made by a flying stone.
-He had reached a street where a gendarme was, and that meant safety; and
-then he had taken a cab for home, where he was looking very ridiculous
-poulticing his lump and making himself sick fretting about me.
-
-[Illustration: 5255]
-
-
-
-
-A NIGHT ON MONTMARTE
-
-
-[Illustration: 0256]
-
-
-NEAR the end of a recent December Bishop received a note signed "A.
-Herbert Thomp-kins," written at the Hôtel de l'Athénée, saying that the
-writer was in Paris for four days with his wife before proceeding to
-Vienna to join some friends. It closed by asking, "Could you call at the
-hotel this evening, say at seven?"
-
-This note created great excitement at our studio early one morning, the
-facteur having climbed six flights of stairs (it being near to New Year)
-to deliver it; for Mr. Thompkins was one of Bishop's warmest friends in
-America. His unexpected arrival in Paris at this unseasonable time of
-the year was indeed a surprise, but a most agreeable one. So Bishop
-spent the whole of the afternoon in creasing his best trousers,
-ransacking our trunks for a clean collar to wear with my blue-fronted
-shirt, polishing his top-hat, and getting his Velasquez whiskers trimmed
-and perfumed at the coiffeur's. It was not every day that friends of Mr.
-Thompkins's type made their appearance in Paris.
-
-Bishop, after hours spent in absorbing mental work, at last disclosed
-his plan to me. Of course he would not permit me to keep out of the
-party, and besides, he needed my advice.
-
-[Illustration: 0257]
-
-Here was Mr. Thompkins in Paris, and unless he were wisely guided he
-would leave without seeing the city,--except those parts and phases of
-it that tourists cannot keep from stumbling over. It would be both a
-duty and a pleasure to introduce him to certain things of which he might
-otherwise die in ignorance, to the eternal undevelopment of his soul.
-But here was the rub: Would Mr. Thompkins care to be so radically
-different here for one night--just one night--from what he was at home?
-I could not see how any harm could come to Mr. Thompkins or any one else
-with sense, nor how Bishop could possibly entertain him in anyway that
-would be disagreeable to a man of brains. But Bishop was evidently
-keeping something back. For that matter, he never did explain it, and I
-have not bothered about inferences. What Mr. Thompkins was at home I do
-not know. True, he was very much confused and embarrassed a number of
-times during the evening, but one thing I know,--he enjoyed himself
-immensely. And that makes me say that no matter what he was at home, he
-was a gentleman and philosopher while exploring an outlandish phase of
-Parisian Bohemian life that night under our guidance. He had a prim,
-precise way of talking, and was delightfully innocent and unworldly. My!
-it would have been a sin for him to miss what he saw that night. So I
-told Bishop very emphatically that no matter what Mr. Thompkins was at
-home, nobody who knew him was likely to see him in Paris at that time
-of the year, and that it was Bishop's duty as a friend to initiate
-him. Bishop was very happy over my advice; but when he insisted that we
-should take a cab for the evening's outing, I sternly reminded him of
-the bruises that our funds would receive on New Year's, and thus
-curbed his extravagance. He surrendered with a pang, for after all his
-preparation he felt like a duke, and for that night, while entertaining
-his friend, he wanted to be a duke, not a grubbing student.
-
-We met Mr. Thompkins at the hotel, and I found him a delightful man,
-with a pleasant sparkle of the eye and a certain stiffness of bearing.
-It was his intention to have us dine with him, but Bishop gently took
-him in hand, and gradually gave him to understand that on this night in
-a lifetime he was in the hands of his friends, to do as they said, and
-to ask no questions. Mr. Thompkins looked a little puzzled, a little
-apprehensive, and withal not unwilling to be sacrificed.
-
-The first thing we did was to introduce Mr. Thompkins to a quiet
-restaurant famous for its coquilles St.-Jacques; it is in the old Palais
-Royal. This is the dinner that Bishop ordered:
-
-Huîtres Portugaises.
-
-Sauterne. Médoc.
-
-Consommé.
-
-Coquilles St.-Jacques.
-
-Macaroni à la Milanaise.
-
-Filet de bouf.
-
-Pommes nouvelles sautées.
-
-Crème petit Suisse.
-
-Eclairs.
-
-Café.
-
-Mr. Thompkins's enjoyment of the meal was as generous as his praise
-of Bishop's skill in ordering it, and he declared that the wines
-particularly were a rare treat. By the time that dinner had been
-finished he was enthusiastic about Paris. He said that it was a
-wonderful city, and that he was entirely at our disposal for the night.
-
-"I suppose, gentlemen," he suggested, "that you are going to invite me
-to the opera. Now, I have no objections to that, and I am sure I shall
-be delighted,--it is only one evening in a lifetime, perhaps. But I
-shall insist that you go as my guests."
-
-Bishop laughed merrily, and slapped his friend on the back in a way that
-I never should have employed with a man of so much dignity.
-
-"The opera, old man!" cried Bishop. "Why, you blessed idiot, you act
-like a tourist! The opera! You can go there any time. To-night we shall
-see Paris!" and he laughed again. "The opera!" he repeated. "Oh, my! You
-can fall over the opera whenever you please. This is an opportunity for
-a tour of discovery."
-
-Mr. Thompkins laughed with equal heartiness, and declared that nothing
-would delight him more than to be an explorer--for one night in a
-lifetime.
-
-"The Boul' Mich' or Montmartre?" Bishop whispered to me.
-
-"Montmartre," I replied; "Heaven, Death, Hell, and Bruant."
-
-Never had the Avenue de l'Opéra appeared so brilliant and lively as on
-that cold, crisp December night, as we strolled towards the boulevards.
-Its thousands of lights, its dashing equipages with the jingling harness
-of horses drawing handsome women and men to the Opéra, its swiftly
-moving cabs and heavy 'buses rolling over the smooth wooden pavement,
-the shouts of drivers and the cracking of whips, the throngs of gay
-people enjoying the holiday attractions, the endless rows of gaudy
-booths lining the street, the flood of light and color everywhere, the
-cuirassiers of the Garde Municipale mounted on superb horses standing
-motionless in the Place de l'Opéra, their long boots and steel
-breastplates and helmets glistening,--these all had their place,--while
-the broad stairs of the Opéra were crowded with beautifully gowned women
-and fashionable men pouring in to hear Sibyl Sanderson sing in "Samson
-and Delilah,"--all this made a wonderful picture of life and beauty, of
-color, motion, vivacity, and enjoyment. Above the entrance to the Opéra
-red marble columns reflected the yellow light of the gilded foyer and of
-the yellow blaze from the Café de la Paix across the way.
-
-We mounted a Montmartre 'bus and were pulled up the hill to the Boul'
-Clichy, the main artery of that strange Bohemian mountain with its
-eccentric, fantastic, and morbid attractions. Before us, in the Place
-Blanche, stood the great Moulin Rouge, the long skeleton arms of the
-Red Mill marked with red electric lights and slowly sweeping across the
-heavens, while fanciful figures of students and dancing girls looked out
-the windows of the mill, and a great crowd of lively, chatting, laughing
-people were pushing their way toward the entrance of this famous dance-
-hall of Paris. Mr. Thompkins, entranced before the brilliant spectacle,
-asked somewhat hesitatingly if we might enter; but Bishop, wise in the
-ways of Montmartre, replied,--"Not yet. It is only a little after nine,
-and the Moulin does not get wide awake for some hours yet. We have no
-time to waste while waiting for that. We shall first visit heaven."
-
-[Illustration: 0263]
-
-Mr. Thompkins looked surprised, but made no response. Presently we
-reached the gilded gates of Le Cabaret du Ciel. They were bathed in a
-cold blue light from above. Angels, gold-lined clouds, saints, sacred
-palms and plants, and other paraphernalia suggestive of the approach to
-St. Peter's domain, filled all the available space about the entrée. A
-bold white placard, "_Bock, i Franc_," was displayed in the midst of it
-all. Dolorous church music sounded within, and the heavens were unrolled
-as a scroll in all their tinsel splendor as we entered to the bidding of
-an angel.
-
-Flitting about the room were many more angels, all in white robes and
-with sandals on their feet, and all wearing gauzy wings swaying from
-their shoulder-blades and brass halos above their yellow wigs. These
-were the waiters, the garçons of heaven, ready to take orders for
-drinks. One of these, with the face of a heavy villain in a melodrama
-and a beard a week old, roared unmelodiously,--"The greetings of heaven
-to thee, brothers! Eternal bliss and happiness are for thee. Mayst thou
-never swerve from its golden paths! Breathe thou its sacred purity and
-renovating exaltation. Prepare to meet thy great Creator--and don't
-forget the garçon!"
-
-A very long table covered with white extended the whole length of the
-chilly room, and seated at it, drinking, were scores of candidates for
-angelship,--mortals like ourselves. Men and women were they, and though
-noisy and vivacious, they indulged in nothing like the abandon of the
-Boul' Mich' _café_s. Gilded vases and candelabra, together with foamy
-bocks, somewhat relieved the dead whiteness of the table. The ceiling
-was an impressionistic rendering of blue sky, fleecy clouds, and stars,
-and the walls were made to represent the noble enclosure and golden
-gates of paradise.
-
-[Illustration: 8264]
-
-"Brothers, your orders! Command me, thy servant!" growled a ferocious
-angel at our elbows, with his accent de la Villette, and his brass halo
-a trifle askew.
-
-Mr. Thompkins had been very quiet, for he was Wonder in the flesh, and
-perhaps there was some distress in his lace, but there was courage also.
-The suddenness of the angel's assault visibly disconcerted him,--he did
-not know what to order. Finally he decided on a verre de Chartreuse,
-green. Bishop and I ordered bocks.
-
-"Two sparkling draughts of heaven's own brew and one star-dazzler!"
-yelled our angel.
-
-"Thy will be done," came the response from a hidden bar.
-
-Obscured by great masses of clouds, through whose intervals shone golden
-stars, an organ continually rumbled sacred music, which had a depressing
-rather than a solemn effect, and even the draughts of heaven's own brew
-and the star-dazzler failed to dissipate the gloom.
-
-Suddenly, without the slightest warning, the head of St. Peter, whiskers
-and all, appeared in a hole in the sky, and presently all of him
-emerged, even to his ponderous keys clanging at his girdle. He gazed
-solemnly down upon the crowd at the tables and thoughtfully scratched
-his left wing. From behind a dark cloud he brought forth a vessel of
-white crockery (which was not a wash-bowl) containing (ostensibly) holy
-water. After several mysterious signs and passes with his bony hands he
-generously sprinkled the sinners below with a brush dipped in the water;
-and then, with a parting blessing, he slowly faded into mist.
-
-"Did you ever? Well, well, I declare!" exclaimed Mr. Thompkins,
-breathlessly.
-
-[Illustration: 0266]
-
-The royal cortège of the kingdom of heaven was now forming at one end of
-the room before a shrine, whereon an immense golden pig sat sedately on
-his haunches, looking friendly and jovial, his loose skin and fat jowls
-hanging in folds. Lighted candles sputtered about his golden sides. As
-the participants in the pageant, all attachés of the place, formed for
-the procession, each bowed reverently and crossed himself before the
-huge porker. A small man, dressed in a loose black gown and black skull-
-cap, evidently made up for Dante, whom he resembled, officiated as
-master of ceremonies. He mounted a golden pulpit, and delivered, in a
-loud, rasping voice, a tedious discourse on heaven and allied things.
-He dwelt on the attractions of heaven as a perpetual summer resort, an
-unbroken round of pleasures in variety, where sweet strains of angelic
-music (indicating the wheezy organ), together with unlimited stores of
-heaven's own sparkling fire of life, at a franc a bock, and beautiful
-goldenhaired cherubs, of la Villette's finest, lent grace and perfection
-to the scheme.
-
-[Illustration: 8268]
-
-The parade then began its tour about the room, Dante, carrying a staff
-surmounted by a golden bull, serving as drum-major. Angel musicians,
-playing upon sacred lyres and harps, followed in his wake, but the
-dolorous organ made the more noise. Behind the lyre angels came a number
-of the notables whom Dante immortalized,--at least, we judged that they
-were so intended. The angel garçons closed the cortège, their gauzy
-wings and brass halos bobbing in a stately fashion as they strode along.
-
-The angel garçons now sauntered up and gave us each a ticket admitting
-us to the angel-room and the other delights of the inner heaven.
-
-"Youarre Eengleesh?" he asked. "Yes? Ah, theece Eengleesh arre verra
-genereauz," eyeing his fifty-centime tip with a questioning shrug.
-"Can you not make me un franc? Ah, eet ees dam cold in theece laigs,"
-pointing to his calves, which were encased in diaphanous pink tights. He
-got his franc.
-
-Dante announced in his rasping voice that those mortals wishing to
-become angels should proceed up to the angel-room. All advanced and
-ascended the inclined passage-way leading into the blue. At the farther
-end of the passage sat old St. Peter, solemn and shivering, for it was
-draughty there among the clouds. He collected our tickets, gave the
-password admitting us to the inner precincts, and resented Bishop's
-attempts to pluck a feather from his wings. We entered a large room,
-all a glamour of gold and silver. The walls were studded with blazing
-nuggets, colored canvas rocks, and electric lights. We took seats on
-wooden benches fronting a cleft in the rocks, and waited.
-
-Soon the chamber in which we sat became perfectly dark, the cleft before
-us shining with a dim bluish light. The cleft then came to life with a
-bevy of female angels floating through the limited ethereal space, and
-smiling down upon us mortals. One of the lady angel's tights bagged at
-the knees, and another's wings were not on straight; but this did not
-interfere with her flight, any more than did the stationary position
-of the wings of all. But it was all very easily and gracefully done,
-swooping down, soaring, and swinging in circles like so many great
-eagles. They seemed to discover something of unusual interest in Mr.
-Thompkins, for they singled him out to throw kisses at him. This made
-him blush and fidget, but a word from Bishop reassured him,--it was only
-once in a lifetime!
-
-After these angels had gyrated for some time, the head angel of the
-angel-room requested those who desired to become angels to step forward.
-A number responded, among them some of the naughty dancing-girls of
-the Moulin Rouge. They were conducted through a concealed door, and
-presently we beheld them soaring in the empyrean just as happy and
-serene as though they were used to being angels. It was a marvel to see
-wings so frail transport with so much ease a very stout young woman from
-the audience, and their being fully clothed did not seem to make any
-difference.
-
-Mr. Thompkins had sat in a singularly contemplative mood after the
-real angels had quit torturing him, and surprised us beyond measure by
-promptly responding to a second call for those aspiring to angelhood.
-He disappeared with another batch from the Moulin Rouge, and soon
-afterwards we saw him floating like an airship. He even wore his hat.
-To his disgust and chagrin, however, one of the concert-hall angels
-persisted in flying in front of him and making violent love to him.
-This brought forth tumultuous applause and laughter, which completed
-Mr. Thompkins's misery. At this juncture the blue cleft became dark, the
-angel-room burst into light, and soon Mr. Thompkins rejoined us.
-
-As we filed out into the passage Father Time stood with long whiskers
-and scythe, greeted us with profound bows, and promised that his scythe
-would spare us for many happy years did we but drop sous into his hour-
-glass.
-
-There was no conversation among us when we emerged upon the boulevard,
-for Mr. Thompkins was in a retrospective frame of mind. Bishop embraced
-the opportunity to lead us up the Boulevard Clichy to the Place Pigalle.
-As we neared the Place we saw on the opposite side of the street two
-flickering iron lanterns that threw a ghastly green light down upon the
-barred dead-black shutters of the building, and caught the faces of the
-passers-by with sickly rays that took out all the life and transformed
-them into the semblance of corpses. Across the top of the closed black
-entrance were large white letters, reading simply: "_Cafe du Néant_"
-
-The entrance was heavily draped with black cerements, having white
-trimmings,--such as hang before the houses of the dead in Paris. Here
-patrolled a solitary croque-mort, or hired pall-bearer, his black cape
-drawn closely about him, the green light reflected by his glazed
-top- hat. A more dismal and forbidding place it would be difficult to
-imagine. Mr. Thompkins paled a little when he discovered that this was
-our destination,--this grisly caricature of eternal nothingness,--and
-hesitated at the threshold. Without a word Bishop firmly took his arm
-and entered. The lonely croque-mort drew apart the heavy curtain and
-admitted us into a black hole that proved later to be a room. The
-chamber was dimly lighted with wax tapers, and a large chandelier
-intricately devised of human skulls and arms, with funeral candles held
-in their fleshless fingers, gave its small quota of light.
-
-Large, heavy, wooden coffins, resting on biers, were ranged about
-the room in an order suggesting the recent happening of a frightful
-catastrophe. The walls were decorated with skulls and bones, skeletons
-in grotesque attitudes, battle-pictures, and guillotines in action.
-Death, carnage, assassination were the dominant note, set in black
-hangings and illuminated with mottoes on death. A half-dozen voices
-droned this in a low monotone:
-
-"Enter, mortals of this sinful world, enter into the mists and
-shadows of eternity. Select your biers, to the right, to the left;
-fit yourselves comfortably to them, and repose in the solemnity and
-tranquillity of death; and may God have mercy on your souls!"
-
-A number of persons who had preceded us had already pre-empted their
-coffins, and were sitting beside them awaiting developments and enjoying
-their consommations, using the coffins for their real purpose,--tables
-for holding drinking-glasses. Alongside the glasses were slender tapers
-by which the visitors might see one another.
-
-[Illustration: 0273]
-
-There seemed to be no mechanical imperfection in the illusion of a
-charnel-house; we imagined that even chemistry had contributed its
-resources, for there seemed distinctly to be the odor appropriate to
-such a place.
-
-We found a vacant coffin in the vault, seated ourselves at it on rush-
-bottomed stools, and awaited further developments.
-
-[Illustration: 8274]
-
-Another croque-mort--a garçon he was--came up through the gloom to take
-our orders. He was dressed completely in the professional garb of a
-hearse-follower, including claw-hammer coat, full-dress front, glazed
-tile, and oval silver badge. He droned,--"_Bon soir, Macchabées! * Buvez
-les crachats d'asthmatiques, voilà des sueurs froides d'agonisants.
-Prenez donc des certificats de décès, seulement vingt sous. C'est pas
-cher et c'est artistique!_"
-
-* This word (also Maccabe, argot Macabit) is given in Paris by sailors
-to cadavers found floating in the river.
-
-Bishop said that he would be pleased with a lowly bock. Mr. Thompkins
-chose cherries à l'eau-de-vie, and I, une menthe.
-
-"One microbe of Asiatic cholera from the last corpse, one leg of a
-lively cancer, and one sample of our consumption germ!" moaned the
-creature toward a black hole at the farther end of the room.
-
-Some women among the visitors tittered, others shuddered, and Mr.
-Thompkins broke out in a cold sweat on his brow, while a curious
-accompaniment of anger shone in his eyes. Our sleepy pallbearer soon
-loomed through the darkness with our deadly microbes, and waked the
-echoes in the hollow casket upon which he set the glasses with a thump.
-
-"Drink, Macchabées!" he wailed: "drink these noxious potions, which
-contain the vilest and deadliest poisons!"
-
-"The villain!" gasped Mr. Thompkins; "it is horrible, disgusting,
-filthy!"
-
-The tapers flickered feebly on the coffins, and the white skulls grinned
-at him mockingly from their sable background. Bishop exhausted all
-his tactics in trying to induce Mr. Thompkins to taste his bran-died
-cherries, but that gentleman positively refused,--he seemed unable to
-banish the idea that they were laden with disease germs.
-
-After we had been seated here for some time, getting no consolation
-from the utter absence of spirit and levity among the other guests, and
-enjoying only the dismay and trepidation of new and strange arrivals, a
-rather good-looking young fellow, dressed in a black clerical coat,
-came through a dark door and began to address the assembled patrons. His
-voice was smooth, his manner solemn and impressive, as he delivered a
-well-worded discourse on death. He spoke of it as the gate through
-which we must all make our exit from this world,--of the gloom, the
-loneliness, the utter sense of helplessness and desolation. As he warmed
-to his subject he enlarged upon the follies that hasten the advent of
-death, and spoke of the relentless certainty and the incredible variety
-of ways in which the reaper claims his victims. Then he passed on to the
-terrors of actual dissolution, the tortures of the body, the rending of
-the soul, the unimaginable agonies that sensibilities rendered acutely
-susceptible at this extremity are called upon to endure. It required
-good nerves to listen to that, for the man was perfect in his rôle. From
-matters of individual interest in death he passed to death in its larger
-aspects. He pointed to a large and striking battle scene, in which the
-combatants had come to hand-to-hand fighting, and were butchering one
-another in a mad lust for blood. Suddenly the picture began to glow, the
-light bringing out its ghastly details with hideous distinctness. Then
-as suddenly it faded away, and where fighting men had been there were
-skeletons writhing and struggling in a deadly embrace.
-
-A similar effect was produced with a painting giving a wonderfully
-realistic representation of an execution by the guillotine. The bleeding
-trunk of the victim lying upon the flap-board dissolved, the flesh
-slowly disappearing, leaving only the white bones. Another picture,
-representing a brilliant dance-hall filled with happy revellers, slowly
-merged into a grotesque dance of skeletons; and thus it was with the
-other pictures about the room.
-
-All this being done, the master of ceremonies, in lugubrious tones,
-invited us to enter the chambre de la mort. All the visitors rose, and,
-bearing each a taper, passed in single file into a narrow, dark passage
-faintly illuminated with sickly green lights, the young man in clerical
-garb acting as pilot. The cross effects of green and yellow lights
-on the faces of the groping procession were more startling than
-picturesque. The way was lined with bones, skulls, and fragments of
-human bodies.
-
-[Illustration: 0277]
-
-"O Macchabées, nous sommes devant la porte de la chambre de la mort!"
-wailed an unearthly voice from the farther end of the passage as we
-advanced. Then before us appeared a solitary figure standing beneath a
-green lamp. The figure was completely shrouded in black, only the eyes
-being visible, and they shone through holes in the pointed cowl. From
-the folds of the gown it brought forth a massive iron key attached to
-a chain, and, approaching a door seemingly made of iron and heavily
-studded with spikes and crossed with bars, inserted and turned the key;
-the bolts moved with a harsh, grating noise, and the door of the chamber
-of death swung slowly open.
-
-"O Macchabées, enter into eternity, whence none ever return!" cried the
-new, strange voice.
-
-The walls of the room were a dead and unrelieved black. At one side two
-tall candles were burning, but their feeble light was insufficient even
-to disclose the presence of the black walls of the chamber or indicate
-that anything but unending blackness extended heavenward. There was not
-a thing to catch and reflect a single ray of the light and thus become
-visible in the blackness.
-
-Between the two candles was an upright opening in the wall; it was of
-the shape of a coffin. We were seated upon rows of small black caskets
-resting on the floor in front of the candles. There was hardly a whisper
-among the visitors. The black-hooded figure passed silently out of view
-and vanished in the darkness.
-
-Presently a pale, greenish-white illumination began to light up the
-coffin-shaped hole in the wall, clearly marking its outline against the
-black. Within this space there stood a coffin upright, in which a pretty
-young woman, robed in a white shroud, fitted snugly. Soon it was evident
-that she was very much alive, for she smiled and looked at us saucily.
-But that was not for long. From the depths came a dismal wail:
-
-"O Macchabée, beautiful, breathing mortal, pulsating with the warmth and
-richness of life, thou art now in the grasp of death! Compose thy soul
-for the end!"
-
-Her face slowly became white and rigid; her eyes sank; her lips
-tightened across her teeth; her cheeks took on the hollowness of
-death,-- she was dead. But it did not end with that. From white the face
-slowly grew livid... then purplish black.... The eyes visibly shrank
-into their greenish-yellow sockets.... Slowly the hair fell away....
-The nose melted away into a purple putrid spot. The whole face became a
-semi- liquid mass of corruption. Presently all this had disappeared, and
-a gleaming skull shone where so recently had been the handsome face of
-a woman; naked teeth grinned inanely and savagely where rosy lips had
-so recently smiled. Even the shroud had gradually disappeared, and an
-entire skeleton stood revealed in the coffin.
-
-The wail again rang through the silent vault:
-
-"Ah, ah, Macchabée! Thou hast reached the last stage of dissolution,
-so dreadful to mortals. The work that follows death is complete. But
-despair not, for death is not the end of all. The power is given to
-those who merit it, not only to return to life, but to return in any
-form and station preferred to the old. So return if thou deservedst and
-desirest."
-
-[Illustration: 0280]
-
-With a slowness equal to that of the dissolution, the bones became
-covered with flesh and cerements, and all the ghastly steps were
-reproduced reversed. Gradually the sparkle of the eyes began to shine
-through the gloom; but when the reformation was completed, behold!
-there was no longer the handsome and smiling young woman, but the sleek,
-rotund body, ruddy cheeks, and self-conscious look of a banker. It was
-not until this touch of comedy relieved the strain that the rigidity
-with which Mr. Thompkins had sat between us began to relax, and a smile
-played over his face,--a bewildered, but none the less a pleasant,
-smile. The prosperous banker stepped forth, sleek and tangible, and
-haughtily strode away before our eyes, passing through the audience
-into the darkness. Again was the coffin-shaped hole in the wall dark and
-empty.
-
-He of the black gown and pointed hood now emerged through an invisible
-door, and asked if there was any one in the audience who desired to
-pass through the experience that they had just witnessed. This created a
-suppressed commotion; each peered into the face of his neighbor to find
-one with courage sufficient for the ordeal. Bishop suggested to Mr.
-Thompkins in a whisper that he submit himself, but that gentleman very
-peremptorily declined. Then, after a pause, Bishop stepped forth and
-announced that he was prepared to die. He was asked solemnly by the
-doleful person if he was ready to accept all the consequences of his
-decision. He replied that he was. Then he disappeared through the black
-wall, and presently appeared in the greenish-white light of the open
-coffin. There he composed himself as he imagined a corpse ought, crossed
-his hands upon his breast, suffered the white shroud to be drawn about
-him, and awaited results,--after he had made a rueful grimace that threw
-the first gleam of suppressed merriment through the oppressed audience.
-He passed through all the ghastly stages that the former occupant of the
-coffin had experienced, and returned in proper person to life and to his
-seat beside Mr. Thompkins, the audience applauding softly.
-
-A mysterious figure in black waylaid the crowd as it filed out. He held
-an inverted skull, into which we were expected to drop sous through
-the natural opening there, and it was with the feeling of relief from a
-heavy weight that we departed and turned our backs on the green lights
-at the entrance.
-
-What a wonderful contrast! Here we were in the free, wide, noisy,
-brilliant world again. Here again were the crowds, the venders, saucy
-grisettes with their bright smiles, shining teeth, and alluring glances.
-Here again were the bustling _café_s, the music, the lights, the life,
-and above all the giant arms of the Moulin Rouge sweeping the sky.
-
-"Now," quietly remarked Bishop, "having passed through death, we will
-explore hell."
-
-Mr. Thompkins seemed too weak, or unresisting, or apathetic to protest.
-His face betrayed a queer mixture of emotions, part suffering, part
-revulsion, part a sort of desperate eagerness for more.
-
-[Illustration: 0284]
-
-We passed through a large, hideous, fanged, open mouth in an enormous
-face from which shone eyes of blazing crimson. Curiously enough, it
-adjoined heaven, whose cool blue lights contrasted strikingly with
-the fierce ruddiness of hell. Red-hot bars and gratings through which
-flaming coals gleamed appeared in the walls within the red mouth. A
-placard announced that should the temperature of this inferno make one
-thirsty, innumerable bocks might be had at sixty-five centimes each. A
-little red imp guarded the throat of the monster into whose mouth we had
-walked; he was cutting extraordinary capers, and made a great show of
-stirring the fires. The red imp opened the imitation heavy metal door
-for our passage to the interior, crying,--"Ah, ah, ah! still they come!
-Oh, how they will roast!" Then he looked keenly at Mr. Thompkins. It was
-interesting to note how that gentleman was always singled out by these
-shrewd students of humanity. This particular one added with great gusto,
-as he narrowly studied Mr. Thompkins, "Hist! ye infernal whelps; stir
-well the coals and heat red the prods, for this is where we take our
-revenge on earthly saintliness!"
-
-"Enter and be damned,--the Evil One awaits you!" growled a chorus of
-rough voices as we hesitated before the scene confronting us.
-
-Near us was suspended a caldron over a fire, and hopping within it were
-half a dozen devil musis dans, male and female, playing a selection from
-"Faust" on stringed instruments, while red imps stood by, prodding with
-red-hot irons those who lagged in their performance.
-
-Crevices in the walls of this room ran with streams of molten gold and
-silver, and here and there were caverns lit up by smouldering fires from
-which thick smoke issued, and vapors emitting the odors of a volcano.
-Flames would suddenly burst from clefts in the rocks, and thunder
-rolled through the caverns. Red imps were everywhere, darting about
-noiselessly, some carrying beverages for the thirsty lost souls, others
-stirring the fires or turning somersaults. Everything was in a high
-state of motion.
-
-Numerous red tables stood against the fiery walls; at these sat the
-visitors. Mr. Thompkins seated himself at one of them. Instantly
-it became aglow with a mysterious light, which kept flaring up and
-disappearing in an erratic fashion; flames darted from the walls, fires
-crackled and roared. One of the imps came to take our order; it was
-for three coffees, black, with cognac; and this is how he shrieked the
-order:
-
-"Three seething bumpers of molten sins, with a dash of brimstone
-intensifier!" Then, when he had brought it, "This will season your
-intestines, and render them invulnerable, for a time at least, to the
-tortures of the melted iron that will be soon poured down your throats."
-The glasses glowed with a phosphorescent light. "Three francs seventy-
-five, please, not counting me. Make it four francs. Thank you well.
-Remember that though hell is hot, there are cold drinks if you want
-them."
-
-Presently Satan himself strode into the cavern, gorgeous in his imperial
-robe of red, decked with blazing jewels, and brandishing a sword from
-which fire flashed. His black moustaches were waxed into sharp points,
-and turned rakishly upward above lips upon which a sneering grin
-appeared. Thus he leered at the new arrivals in his domain. His
-appearance lent new zest to the activity of the imps and musicians, and
-all cowered under his glance. Suddenly he burst into a shrieking laugh
-that gave one a creepy feeling. It rattled through the cavern with a
-startling effect as he strode up and down. It was a triumphant, cruel,
-merciless laugh. All at once he paused in front of a demure young
-Parisienne seated at a table with her escort, and, eying her keenly,
-broke into this speech:
-
-"Ah, you! Why do you tremble? How many men have you sent hither to
-damnation with those beautiful eyes, those rosy, tempting lips? Ah, for
-all that, you have found a sufficient hell on earth. But you," he added,
-turning fiercely upon her escort, "you will have the finest, the most
-exquisite tortures that await the damned. For what? For being a fool. It
-is folly more than crime that hell punishes, for crime is a disease and
-folly a sin. You fool! For thus hanging upon the witching glance and
-oily words of a woman you have filled all hell with fuel for your
-roasting. You will suffer such tortures as only the fool invites,
-such tortures only as are adequate to punish folly. Prepare for the
-inconceivable, the unimaginable, the things that even the king of
-hell dare not mention lest the whole structure of damnation totter and
-crumble to dust."
-
-The man winced, and queer wrinkles came into the corners of his mouth.
-Then Satan happened to discover Mr. Thompkins, who shrank visibly under
-the scorching gaze. Satan made a low, mocking bow.
-
-"You do me great honor, sir," he declared, unctuously. "You may have
-been expecting to avoid me, but reflect upon what you would have missed!
-We have many notables here, and you will have charming society. They
-do not include pickpockets and thieves, nor any others of the weak,
-stunted, crippled, and halting. You will find that most of your
-companions are distinguished gentlemen of learning and ability, who,
-knowing their duty, failed to perform it. You will be in excellent
-company, sir," he concluded, with another low bow. Then, suddenly
-turning and sweeping the room with a gesture, he commanded, "To the
-hot room, all of you!" while he swung his sword, from which flashes of
-lightning trailed and thunder rumbled.
-
-We were led to the end of a passage, where a red-hot iron door barred
-further progress.
-
-"Oh, oh, within there!" roared Satan. "Open the portal of the hot
-chamber, that these fresh arrivals may be introduced to the real
-temperature of hell!"
-
-[Illustration: 0290]
-
-After numerous signals and mysterious passes the door swung open, and
-we entered. It was not so very hot after all. The chamber resembled the
-other, except that a small stage occupied one end. A large green snake
-crawled out upon this, and suddenly it was transformed into a red devil
-with exceedingly long, thin legs, encased in tights that were ripped
-in places. He gave some wonderful contortion feats. A poor little white
-Pierrot came on and assisted the red devil in black art performances. By
-this time we discovered that in spite of the halfmolten condition of
-the rock-walls, the room was disagreeably chilly. And that ended our
-experience in hell.
-
-Bishop then led us to the closed, dark front of a house in front of
-which stood a suspicious-looking man, who eyed us contemptuously. Bishop
-told him that we should like to enter. The man assented with a growl. He
-beat upon the door with a stick; a little wicket opened, and a villanous
-face peered out at us.
-
-"What do you want?" came from it in gruff tones.
-
-"To enter, of course," responded Bishop.
-
-"Are they, all right, do you think?" asked the face of the sentinel.
-
-"I think they are harmless," was the answer.
-
-Several bolts and locks grated, and the stubborn door opened.
-
-"Enter, you vile specimens of human folly!" hissed the inside guard as
-we passed within. "D------all three of you!"
-
-We had no sooner found ourselves inside than this same person, a short,
-stout man, with long hair and a powerful frame, and the face of a
-cutthroat, struck a table with the heavy stick that he carried, and
-roared to us,--"Sit down!"
-
-Mr. Thompkins involuntarily cowered, but he gathered himself up and
-went with us to seats at the nearest table. While we were doing this the
-habitués of the place greeted us with this song, sung in chorus:
-
-                   "Oh, là là! c'te gueule--
-
-                        C'te binette.
-
-                   Oh, là là, c'te gueule,
-
-                        Qu'il a."
-
-"What are they saying?" asked Mr. Thompkins; but Bishop spared him by
-explaining that it was only the latest song.
-
-[Illustration: 0294]
-
-The room had a low ceiling crossed by heavy beams. Wrought-iron gas
-lamps gave a gloomy light upon the dark, time-browned color of the
-place. The beams were loaded with dust, cobwebs, and stains, the result
-of years of smoke and accumulation. Upon the walls were dozens of
-drawings by Steinlen, illustrating the poems of low life written by the
-proprietor of the _café_; for we were in the den of the famous Aristide
-Bruant, the poet of the gutter,--Verlaine had a higher place as the poet
-of the slums. There were also drawings by Chéret, Willett, and others,
-and some clever sketches in oil; the whole effect was artistic. In one
-corner was an old fireplace, rich in carvings of grotesque heads and
-figures, grilled iron-work, and shining copper vessels. The general
-impression was of a mediaeval gun-room.
-
-Near the fireplace, upon a low platform, was a piano; grouped about it
-were four typical Bohemians of lower Bohemia; they wore loads of hair;
-their faces had a dissipated look, their fingers were heavily stained by
-cigarettes; they wore beards and négligé black cravats. These were all
-minor poets, and they took their turn in singing or reciting their own
-compositions, afterwards making a tour of the crowded tables with a tin
-cup and collecting the sous upon which they lived, and roundly cursing
-those who refused to contribute.
-
-Bishop was so delighted with the pictures on the walls that he proceeded
-to examine them, but the bully with the stick thundered,--"Sit down!"
-and shook his bludgeon menacingly. Bishop sat down.
-
-Then the brute swaggered up to us and demanded,--"What the devil do you
-want to drink, anyway? Speak up quick!" When he had brought the drinks
-he gruffly demanded, "Pay up!" Upon receiving the customary tip he
-frowned, glared at us with a threatening manner, and growled, "Humph!
-_c'est pas beaucoup!_" and swept the money into his pocket.
-
-"Goodness! this is an awful place!" exclaimed Mr. Thompkins under his
-breath. He seemed to fear being brained at any moment. Retreat had been
-rendered impossible by the locking of the door.
-
-We were prisoners at the will of our jailer, and so were all the others.
-
-The great Bruant himself sat with a party of congenial Bohemians at a
-table near the piano and fireplace; they were drinking bocks and smoking
-cigarettes and long-stemmed pipes. On the wall behind them was a rack
-holding the pipes of the habitués of the _café_, mostly broken and well
-browned. Each pipe was owned by a particular Bohemian, and each had its
-special place in the rack. The other tables held a general assortment
-of lesser Bohemians and sight-seers, all cowed and silent under the
-domination of the bawling ruffian with the stick. Whenever he smiled
-(which was rare, a perpetual frown having creased a deep furrow between
-his eyes) they smiled also, in great relief, and hung upon every word
-that his occasional lapses into an approach to good nature permitted him
-to utter.
-
-The poets and singers howled their productions in rasping voices, and
-put a strain upon the strength of the piano; and the minor Bohemians
-applauded them heartily and envied them their distinction.
-
-In the midst of this performance there came a knock upon the door.
-The bully walked up to the wicket, peered out, and admitted an elderly
-gentleman, accompanied by a lady, evidently his wife. These the habitués
-greeted with the following song:
-
-               "Tout les clients sont des cochons--
-
-                   La faridon, la faridon donne.
-
-
-               Et surtout les ceux qui s'en vont--
-
-                   La faridon, la faridon donne."
-
-The gentleman, somewhat abashed by this reception, hesitated a moment,
-then sought seats. The two had hardly seated themselves when the burly
-ruffian with the stick began to recite a villanous poem reflecting
-upon the chastity of married women, emphasizing it with atrocious side
-remarks. The gentleman sprang from his seat in a rage and advanced
-threateningly upon the brute, who stood leering at him and taking a
-firmer hold upon his stick; but the visitor's wife caught the outraged
-man by the arm and restrained him. A wordy war ensued (for the gentleman
-was a Frenchman), in which the choicest argot of Montmartre and La
-Villette was exhausted by the ruffian. He closed by shouting,--"You were
-not invited to enter here. You asked the privilege of entering; your
-wish was granted. If you don't like it here, get out!"
-
-The gentleman flung down a franc upon the table, the bolts were
-withdrawn, and he and his wife passed out while the roysterers sang,--
-
-                   Tout les clients sont des cochons," etc.,
-
-amid the laughter of the smaller Bohemians.
-
-Aristide Bruant now rose from his table and strode to the centre of the
-room. A perfect silence fell. He is rather a small man, slender, and of
-delicate build; he has a thin, sallow face, with piercing black eyes,
-prominent cheek-bones, and long raven-black hair falling over his
-shoulders from beneath a broad black slouch hat down over his eyes. His
-unbuttoned coat showed a red flannel shirt open at the throat; a broad
-sash was about his waist; his trousers were tucked into top-boots,--the
-ensemble reminding one of Buffalo Bill. He glared sullenly round upon
-the people, and then sprang lightly upon a table. From that perch
-he recited one of his poems, selected from his book of songs and
-monologues. It does not bear reproduction here. For that matter, being
-written in the argot of Montmartre, it could hardly be understood even
-by French scholars unfamiliar with Montmartre.
-
-Happily Mr. Thompkins understood not a word of it, smiling perfunctorily
-out of politeness while Bruant was uttering things that might have
-shocked the most hardened Parisians. There were several young women
-present, and while Bruant was reciting they ogled him with genuine
-adoration. The other poets hung reverently upon his every word.
-
-A mighty burst of applause greeted the finish of the recitation; but
-Bruant slouched indifferently to his seat, ignoring the ovation.
-The bully with the stick immediately stopped the noise by yelling,
-"Silence!" This he followed up with the contribution-cup for the
-benefit of the idol of Montmartre. With the cup he brought the volume
-of Bruant's poems from which he had given the recitation,--a cheaply
-printed pamphlet. No one dared refuse to buy, and no change was
-returned. Was not this the great Aristide Bruant, the immortal of
-Montmartre?
-
-[Illustration: 0300]
-
-He was followed by other poets with songs and the banging of the piano.
-We presently rose to leave, but the bully shouted,--"Sit down! How dare
-you insult the young poet who is now singing?" We submissively resumed
-our seats. After a while, in a lull, we respectfully rose again, and the
-bully, shouting, "Get out!" unbarred the door and we were free.
-
-Mr. Thompkins was more deeply puzzled than he had been before that
-night. He could not understand that such a resort, where one is bullied
-and insulted, could secure patronage.
-
-"But this is Paris, Mr. Thompkins," explained Bishop, somewhat vaguely;
-"and this particular part of Paris is Montmartre."
-
-Midnight was now close at hand, but Montmartre was in the height of
-its gayety. Students, Bohemians, and cocottes were skipping and singing
-along the boulevard,--singing the songs of Bruant. The _café_s were
-crowded, the theatres and concert halls only in the middle of their
-programmes. Cabs were dashing about, some stopping at the Moulin Rouge,
-others at the Elysée Montmartre, still others picking up fares for more
-distant attractions.
-
-Bishop halted in front of a quiet-looking house with curtained windows,
-and bluntly asked Mr. Thompkins if he would like to go to church. Mr.
-Thompkins caught his breath, and an odd, guilty look came into his face.
-But before he could make reply Bishop was leading the way within. The
-interior of the place certainly looked like a church,--it was fitted
-to have that significance. The cold, gray stone walls rose to a vaulted
-Gothic ceiling; Gothic pillars and arches and carved wood completed
-the architectural effect; statues of saints appeared in niches, some
-surmounted by halos of lighted candles; and there were banners bearing
-scriptural mottoes.
-
-[Illustration: 9303]
-
-The heavy oaken tables on the floor were provided with stiff, high-
-backed pulpit-chairs, beautiful in color and carving, and of a Gothic
-type, the whole scene suggesting a transept of Notre-Dame. Mr. Thomp-
-kins had reverently removed his hat. It was not long afterward that
-he quietly replaced it on his head. No notice was taken by us of these
-movements.
-
-At the farther end, where the church altar belonged, was indeed a
-handsomely carved altar. Above it sprang a graceful arch, bearing a
-canopy beautifully painted in blue, with yellow stars. In the centre was
-a painting of Christ upon the cross. The altar was the bar, or caisse,
-of this queer _café_, and behind it sat the proprietress, quietly
-knitting and waiting to fill orders for drinks. The walls of the _café_
-were almost entirely covered with framed drawings by Rodel; all were
-portraits of well-known Bohemians of Montmartre in characteristic
-attitudes,--the star patrons of this rendezvous. Many women figured
-among them, all Bohemian to the bone.
-
-[Illustration: 0304]
-
-This was the Café du Conservatoire, famous for its celebrities, the
-poets of Bohemian Paris, among whom Marcel Legay is eminent. It was
-evident that the habitués of the Conservatoire were of a much higher
-order than those whom we had seen elsewhere.
-
-[Illustration: 8306]
-
-They looked more prosperous, were more amiable, and acted more as other
-people.
-
-True, there was much long hair, for that is a disease hard to shake off;
-but when it did occur, it was well combed and oiled. And there were
-many flat-brimmed "plug" hats, as well as collars,--clean ones, too,
-an exceptional thing in Bohemia, laundering being expensive. But the
-poverty-haunted Bohemians in the Soleil d'Or are more picturesque. That,
-however, is in the Latin Quarter: anything exceptional may be expected
-at Montmartre.
-
-When we had finished our coffee we approached the patronne behind the
-bar, and bought billets for the Salle des Poètes at two francs each.
-This was a large room crowded with enraptured listeners to Legay, who
-was at that moment rendering his song.
-
-
-LES CLOCHES.
-
-
-               "Les cloches Catholiques,
-
-                   Du haut de leur beffroi,
-
-                   Voyaient avec effroi
-
-               La résurrection des Grandes Républiques.
-
-
-                        Les cloches rêvaient,
-
-                   En quatre-vingt onze,
-
-                   Les cloches de bronze
-
-                        Rêvaient."
-
-
-Legay had quite a distinguished appearance as he stood singing before
-the piano. He wore a generously cut frock-coat, and his waistcoat
-exposed a spacious show of white shirt-front.
-
-[Illustration: 9307]
-
-His long hair was carefully brushed back, his moustaches neatly waxed;
-altogether he was dainty and jaunty, and the ladies in the room made no
-concealment of their adoration.
-
-The accompanist was a picturesque character. He was forty-five or fifty
-years of age; he had long white hair and a drooping moustache, and his
-heavy protruding eyes were suffused with tears evoked by the pathos of
-the song. While he gazed up into the singer's face with tear-filled eyes
-he was in another life, another world, where there was nothing but
-music and poetry unalloyed to constitute his heaven. For Legay sang
-charmingly, with an art and a feeling that were never obtrusive; and
-his audience was aesthetic. When he had finished he was cheered without
-stint, and he clearly showed how much the attention pleased him.
-
-[Illustration: 8308]
-
-His song was only one of the numbers on a very interesting programme.
-This was the training school of the young poets and song-writers of
-upper Bohemia; this was where they made their début and met the test
-of that discriminating criticism which decided them to advance upon the
-world or conceal themselves for yet a while from its cruel glare; and
-were they not but repeating the ordeal of the ancient Greeks, out of
-which so many noble things passed into literature? These critics were as
-frank with their disapproval as generous with their acceptance.
-
-Among those who sang were Gustave Corbet, Marius Geffroy, Eugene
-Lemercier, Xavier Privas, Delarbre, and Henri Brallet, men as yet
-unknown, but likely to make a mark under the training, inspiration, and
-severe checks of the Café du Conservatoire. One of the goals for which
-these writers strive, and one that, if they win it, means to them
-recognition, is to have their poems published in _Gil Blas_, with
-illustrations by the peerless Steinlen, as are the works of Legay, and
-also of Bruant, le Terrible.
-
-Marcel Legay is a familiar figure on the boulevards, where his dainty
-person is often seen after nightfall, hurrying to one or another of his
-haunts, with a small roll of music under his arm, and his fluffy hair
-streaming over his shoulders. On certain nights of every week he
-sings over in the Latin Quarter, at the Cabaret des Noctambules, Rue
-Champollion, near the Chapel of the Sorbonne.
-
-The other singers that night at the Café du Conservatoire each affected
-his peculiar style of habit, gesture, and pose that he deemed most
-fetching. The entire programme was of songs: hence the name, Café du
-Conservatoire.
-
-After we had deft, Bishop bought some Brevas cigars; thus fortified, we
-headed for the Moulin Rouge.
-
-It was evident that Mr. Thompkins had reserved his enthusiasm for the
-great dance-hall of Montmartre,--Le Moulin Rouge,--with its women of the
-half world, its giddiness, its glare, its noise, its naughtiness.
-
-[Illustration: 0310]
-
-Here at last we should find all absence of restraint, posing,
-sordidness, self-consciousness, and appeals to abnormal appetites. Mr.
-Thompkins visibly brightened as we ascended the incline of the entrance
-and came within the influence of the life and abandon of the place.
-Indeed, it must have seemed like fairy-land to him. The soft glow of
-hundreds of lights fell upon the crowds in the ball-room and balconies,
-with their shifting streams of color from the moving figures of dancing
-women in showy gowns and saucy hats, and its many chatting, laughing,
-joyous groups at the tables along the passage and the balconies,
-enjoying merry little suppers and varied consommations that kept scores
-of garçons continually on the move. A placard announced American Bar;
-American and English Drinks--as bald and unashamed as that. Here on high
-stools, American free-lunch fashion, ranged along the bar, were English
-and American tourists and French dandies sipping Manhattan cocktails
-with a cherry, brandy-and-soda, Tom-and-Jerry, and the rest. Along the
-walls hung vivid paintings of some of the famous dancing-girls of the
-Moulin, their saucy faces half hidden in clouds of lacy white skirts.
-
-High up on a pretty balcony at the end of the huge ball-room were the
-musicians, enjoying their cigarettes and bocks between pieces. A small
-stage occupied the opposite end of the room, where a light vaudeville
-performance had been given; but that was all over now, and attention
-centred in the tables and the dancing.
-
-The Moulin Rouge resembles very much the Bul-lier; but at the Moulin
-the cocottes are much more dashing and gaudy than over in the Quartier,
-because the inspector at the door of the Moulin maintains a more
-exacting standard on the score of the toilettes of the women whom he
-admits free of charge. Women, women, women! There seemed no end of them;
-and each was arrayed to the full limit of her means. And there were
-French dandies in long-white melton coats that were very tight at the
-waist, and that bore large brown-velvet collars; their hair, parted
-behind, was brushed toward their ears; they strolled about the place in
-numbers, twirling their moustaches and ogling the girls. And there
-were French army officers, Martinique negroes, longhaired students and
-Montmartre poets, artists, actors, and many three-days-in-Paris English
-tourists wearing knickerbockers and golf-caps, and always smoking
-bulldog pipes. There were also two parties of American men with their
-wives and daughters, and they enjoyed the spectacle with the natural
-fulness and responsiveness of their soil. For the Moulin is really now
-but a great show place; it has been discovered by the outside world,
-and, unlike the other quaint places mentioned in this paper, has
-suffered the change that such contact inevitably imparts. It is no
-longer the queer old Moulin, genuinely, spontaneously Bohemian. But the
-stranger would hardly realize that; and so to Mr. Thompkins it seemed
-the brilliant and showy side of Bohemian Paris. By reason of its change
-in character it has less interest than the real Bohemian Paris that the
-real Bohemians know, enjoy, and jealously guard.
-
-Many light-footed young women were amusing circles of on-lookers with
-spirited dancing and reckless high-kicking; and, being adepts in their
-peculiar art, were so flashing and illusory that an attempt to analyze
-their movements brought only bewilderment. No bones seemed to hamper
-their swiftness and elasticity. The flash of a black stocking would
-instantly dissolve into a fleecy cloud of lace, and the whirling air
-was a cyclone; and there upon the floor sat the dancer in the "split,"
-looking up with a merry laugh, flushed cheeks, and sparkling eyes,
-twinkling from the shadow of a twisted toque; then over her would sweep
-a whirlwind of other dancers, and identities would become inextricably
-confused.
-
-An odd-looking man, with a sad face and marvellously long, thin legs in
-tights, did incredible things with those members; he was merely a
-long spring without bones, joints, or hinges. His cadaverous face and
-glittering black eyes, above which rose a top-hat that never moved from
-place, completed the oddity of his appearance. He is always there in the
-thickest of the dancing, and his salary is three francs a night.
-
-We suddenly discovered Mr. Thompkins in a most embarrassing situation.
-A bewitching chemical blonde of the clinging type had discovered and
-appropriated him; she melted all over him, and poured a stream of bad
-English into his ear. She was so very, very thirsty, she pleaded, and
-Monsieur was so charming, so much a gentleman,--he was beautiful, too.
-Oh, Monsieur would not be so unkind as to remove the soft, plump arm
-from round his neck,--surely it did not hurt Monsieur, for was it not
-warm and plump, and was not that a pretty dimple in the elbow, and
-another even prettier in the shoulder? If Monsieur were not so charming
-and gracious the ladies would never, never fall in love with him like
-this. And oh, Monsieur, the place was so warm, and dancing makes one so
-thirsty!
-
-Mr. Thompkins's face was a picture of shame and despair, and I have
-never seen a more comical expression than that with which he looked
-appealingly to us for help. Suppose some one in the hall should happen
-to recognize him! Of course there was only one thing to do. Mademoiselle
-Blanche's thirst was of that awful kind which only shipwrecked sailors,
-travellers lost in a desert, and _café_ dancing-girls can understand.
-And so four glasses of beer were ordered. It was beautiful to see the
-grace and celerity with which Mademoiselle Blanche disposed of hers,
-the passionate eagerness with which she pressed a long kiss upon Mr.
-Thompkins's unwilling lips, and the promptness with which she then
-picked up his glass, drained it while she looked at him mischievously
-over the rim, kissed him again, and fled.
-
-Mr. Thompkins sat speechless, his face blazing, his whole expression
-indescribably foolish. He vigorously wiped his lips with his
-handkerchief, and was not himself again for half an hour.
-
-Innumerable bright little comedies were unconsciously played in all
-parts of the room, and they were even more interesting than the antics
-of the dancers.
-
-We presently strolled into the garden of the Moulin, where a performance
-is given in the summer. There stood a great white sheet-iron elephant,
-remindful of Coney Island. In one of the legs was a small door, from
-which a winding stair led into the body of the beast. The entrance fee
-was fifty centimes, the ticket-office at the top of the stair. It was a
-small room inside the elephant, and there was a small stage in the end
-of it, upon which three young women were exercising their abdominal
-muscles in the danse du ventre. Mr. Thompkins, dismayed at this,
-would have fled had not Bishop captured him and hauled him back to
-a conspicuous seat, where the dancing-girls, quickly finding him,
-proceeded to make their work as extravagant as possible, throwing him
-wicked glances meanwhile, and manifestly enjoying his embarrassment. Of
-course the dancers came round presently for offerings of sous.
-
-We returned to the dance-hall, for it was now closing-up time, and in
-order to feel a touch of kinship with America, drank a gin fizz at the
-American bar, though it seemed to be a novelty to Mr. Thompkins.
-
-The streets were alive with the revellers who had been turned out by
-the closing of the _café_s, dancehalls, and theatres, and the cries of
-cabbies rose above the din of laughter and chatter among the crowds. But
-the night was not yet quite finished. Said Bishop,--"We shall now have
-coffee at the Red Ass."
-
-That was below the Place Pigalle, quite a walk down to the Rue de
-Maubeuge, through that suddenly quiet centre of artists' studios and
-dignified residences. At last we reached L'Âne Rouage,--the Red Ass.
-It has a small and unassuming front, except that the window-panes are
-profusely decorated with painted flowers and figures, and a red ass
-peers down over the narrow door. L'Âne Rouge has no special distinction,
-save its artistic interior and the fanciful sketches on its walls. It
-is furnished with heavy dark tables and chairs, and iron grilled into
-beautiful scrolls and chandeliers,--like the famous Chat Noir, near by.
-In fact, L'Âne Rouge resembles an old curiosity shop more than anything
-else, for it is filled with all imaginable kinds of antiques, blackened
-by age and smoke, and in perfect harmony. It, too, has its particular
-clientèle of Bohemians, who come to puff their long pipes that hang in
-racks, and recount their hopes, aspirations, achievements, and failures,
-occasionally breaking into song. For this they bring forth their
-mandolins and guitars, and sing sentimental ditties of their own
-composition. There is a charming air of chez soi at the Red Ass; a
-spirit of good-fellowship pervades it; and then, the _café_ is small,
-cosey, and comfortable, as well as artistic.
-
-[Illustration: 0318]
-
-It was in a lively commotion when we crossed the threshold, the place
-being filled with littérateurs of the quarter. A celebration was in
-progress,--one of their number had just succeeded in finding a publisher
-for two volumes of his poetry. It was a notable event, and the lucky
-Bohemian, flushed with money, had settled his debts and was now treating
-his friends. Although we were strangers to him, he cordially invited us
-to share the hospitality of the occasion, and there was great applause
-when Bishop presented him with a Brevas cigar.
-
-"_Bravo, les Anglais! Ce sont des bons types, ceux-là!_" and then they
-sang in chorus, a happy, careless, jolly crowd.
-
-There was a small, thin young sketch artist making crayon portraits of
-the successful poet and selling them to the poet's friends for fifty
-centimes apiece,--with the poet's autograph, too.
-
-In response to a call for une chanson Anglaise, Bishop sang "Down on the
-Farm" as he had never sung it before, his shining top-hat pushed back
-upon his curly hair, his jovial face beaming. At its conclusion he
-proposed a toast to the successful poet, and it was drunk standing and
-with a mighty shout.
-
-We looked in at the Cabaret des Quat'z' Arts,--a bright and showy place,
-but hardly more suggestive of student Bohemianism than the other fine
-_café_s of the boulevards.
-
-And thus ended a night on Montmartre. We left Mr. Thompkins at his
-hotel. I think he was more than satisfied, but he was too bewildered and
-tired to say much about it.
-
-Montmartre presents the extravagant side of Parisian Bohemianism. If
-there is a thing to be mocked, a convention to be outraged, an idol
-to be destroyed, Montmartre will find the way. But it has a taint of
-sordidness that the real Bohemianism of the old Latin Quarter
-lacks,--for it is not the Bohemianism of the students. And it is vulgar.
-For all that, in its rude, reckless, and brazen way it is singularly
-picturesque. It is not likely that Mr. Thompkins will say much about it
-when he goes home, but he will be able to say a great deal in a general
-way about the harm of ridiculing sacred things and turning reverence
-into a laugh.
-
-[Illustration: 0321]
-
-
-
-
-MOVING IN THE QUARTIER LATIN
-
-
-THE Quartier Latin takes on unwonted life about the fifteenth of July,
-when the artists and students change their places of abode under the
-resistless pressure of a nomadic spirit.
-
-[Illustration: 8322]
-
-Studios are generally taken for terms ranging from three months to a
-year, and the terms generally expire in July. The artists who do not
-change their residence then go into the country, and that means moving
-their effects.
-
-It is a familiar fact that artists do not generally occupy a high
-position in the financial world.
-
-Consequently they are a very practical lot, attending to their own
-domestic duties (including washing when times are hard), and doing
-their own moving when July comes; but this is not a very elaborate
-undertaking, the worse of them for that.
-
-One day in July Bishop and I sat in our window overlooking the court,
-and observed the comedy of a
-
-
-A STUDENT MOVING
-
-
-No one thinks student in the throes of moving. The old building at the
-end of our court was a favorite abiding-place for artists. Evidently, on
-this day, a young artist or art student was _en déménagement_, for his
-household goods were being dragged down the stairs and piled in the
-court preparatory to a journey in a small hand-cart standing by. He
-was cheerfully assisted by a number of his friends and his devoted
-companion, a pretty little grisette. There were eight of them in all,
-and their laughter and shouts indicated the royal fun they were having.
-
-The cart was one of those voitures à bras that are kept for hire at a
-neighboring location de voitures à bras at six sous an hour. In order to
-get locomotion out of it you have to hitch yourself in the harness that
-accompanies it, and pull the vehicle yourself; and that is no end of
-fun, because your friends are helping and singing all the way.
-
-Into this vehicle they placed a rickety old divan and a very much
-dilapidated mattress; then came half a sack of coal, a tiny, rusty,
-round studio stove with interminable yards of battered and soot-filled
-pipe, a pine table, two rush-bottomed chairs, and a big box filled with
-clattering dishes, kettles, pots, and pans. On top of this came a thick
-roll of dusty, faded, threadbare hangings and rugs, and the meagre
-wardrobes of the artist and the grisette; then a number of hat-boxes,
-after which Mademoiselle looked with great solicitude. Last of all
-came bulky portfolios filled with the artist's work, a large number of
-canvases that were mostly studies of Mademoiselle au naturel, with
-such accessories as easel, paint-boxes, and the like, and the linen and
-bedding.
-
-The fat old concierge stood grumbling near by, for the ropes were being
-tied over the load, and she was anxiously waiting for her _dernier
-adieu_, or parting tip, that it is the custom to give upon surrendering
-the key. But tips are sometimes hard to give, and Bohemian etiquette
-does not regard them with general favor. After the load had been made
-snug, the artist approached the concierge, doffed his cap, bowed low,
-and then in a most impressively ceremonious manner handed her the key,
-avowed that it broke his heart to leave her, and commended her to God.
-That was all. There seems to be a special providence attending upon
-the vocabulary of concierges in their hour of need. The shrill,
-condemnatory, interminable vocalization of this concierge's wrath
-indicated specific abilities of exceptional power.
-
-But the artist paid no attention. He hung his coat and "plug" hat on
-the inverted table-leg, got between the shafts, hitched himself in the
-harness, and sailed out of the court, his friends swarming around and
-assisting him to drag the toppling cart away. And this they did with a
-mighty will, yelling and singing with a vigor that wholly obliterated
-the concierge's noise. The little grisette closed the procession,
-bearing in one hand a lamp and in the other a fragile bust. And so the
-merry party started, possibly for the other end of Paris,--the greater
-the distance the more the fun. They all knew that when the voiture had
-been unloaded and all had fallen to and assisted the young couple in
-straightening out their new home, there would be a jolly celebration in
-the nearest _café_ at the moving artist's expense.
-
-So the start was made fairly and smoothly; but the enthusiasm of the
-crowd was so high and the little vehicle was so top-heavy, that at the
-end of the passage the comedy seemed about to merge into a tragedy. It
-was announced to all the court in the shrill voice of the concierge,
-who exultingly screamed,--"The stove has fallen out! and the coal! The
-things are falling all over the street! Oh, you villain!"
-
-To the movers themselves it was merely an incident that added to the fun
-and zest of the enterprise.
-
-[Illustration: 0326]
-
-My plans carried me to Concarneau, and Bishop's took him to Italy, where
-I would join him after a while. And a royal time we had in our several
-ways. The autumn found us fresh and eager for our studies in Paris
-again, and so we returned to hunt a studio and establish ourselves in
-new quarters. We had stored our goods with a kind American friend; and
-as we had neither the desire nor the financial ability to violate the
-traditions of the Quartier, we greatly scandalized him and his charming
-family by appearing one day with a crowd of students and a voiture à
-bras before his house and taking our effects away in the traditional
-fashion. Of course our friend would have gladly paid for the transport
-of our belongings in a more respectable fashion; but where would have
-been the fun in that? I am pleased to say that with true American
-adaptiveness he joined the singing and yelling crowd, and danced a jig
-to our playing in our new quarters after a generous brew of punch had
-done its share in the jollity of the event.
-
-[Illustration: 0328]
-
-Ah, dear old Paris! wonderful, bewildering Paris! alluring, enchanting
-Paris! Our student years are now just ended, and Paris is already so
-crowded with workers who cannot bear to leave it that we must seek
-our fortune in other and duller parts of the world. But Paris has
-ineradicably impressed itself upon us. We have lived its life; we have
-been a part of its throbbing, working, achieving individuality. What
-we take away will be of imperishable value, the salt and leaven of our
-hopes and efforts forever.
-
-
-THE END
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Bohemian Paris of Today, by 
-W. C. Morrow and Edouard Cucuel
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-
-<pre>
-
-The Project Gutenberg EBook of Bohemian Paris of Today, by 
-W. C. Morrow and Edouard Cucuel
-
-This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most
-other parts of the world 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.  If you are not located in the United States, you'll have
-to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook.
-
-
-
-Title: Bohemian Paris of Today
-       Second Edition
-
-Author: W. C. Morrow
-        Edouard Cucuel
-
-Illustrator: Edouard Cucuel
-
-Release Date: November 19, 2015 [EBook #50495]
-
-Language: English
-
-Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
-
-*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BOHEMIAN PARIS OF TODAY ***
-
-
-
-
-Produced by David Widger from page images generously
-provided by the Internet Archive
-
-
-
-
-
-
-</pre>
-
-    <div style="height: 8em;">
-      <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h1>
-      BOHEMIAN PARIS OF TO-DAY
-    </h1>
-    <h2>
-      By W. C. Morrow
-    </h2>
-    <h4>
-      From Notes By Edouard Cucuel
-    </h4>
-    <h3>
-      Illustrated By Edouard Cucuel
-    </h3>
-    <h5>
-      Second Edition
-    </h5>
-    <h4>
-      Philadelphia &amp; London J. B. Lippincott Company 1900
-    </h4>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0001" id="linkimage-0001"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
-      <img src="images/0001.jpg" alt="0001 " width="100%" /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h5>
-      <a href="images/0001.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
-    </h5>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0002" id="linkimage-0002"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
-      <img src="images/0008.jpg" alt="0008 " width="100%" /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h5>
-      <a href="images/0008.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
-    </h5>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0003" id="linkimage-0003"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
-      <img src="images/0009.jpg" alt="0009 " width="100%" /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h5>
-      <a href="images/0009.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
-    </h5>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br />
-    </p>
-
-
-<div class="mynote">
-<p>
-TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE:
-</p>
-<p>
-<i>Italics were used in this book in an inconsistent way. Sometimes words, names and  phrases in French were italicized, and sometimes not.</i>
-</p>
-</div>
-    <hr />
-    <p>
-      <br /><br />
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <b>CONTENTS</b>
-    </p>
-    <p class="toc">
-      <a href="#link2H_INTR"> INTRODUCTION </a>
-    </p>
-    <p class="toc">
-      <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> BOHEMIAN PARIS </a>
-    </p>
-    <p class="toc">
-      <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> OUR STUDIO </a>
-    </p>
-    <p class="toc">
-      <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> THE ÉCOLE DES BEAUX-ARTS </a>
-    </p>
-    <p class="toc">
-      <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> TAKING PICTURES TO THE SALON </a>
-    </p>
-    <p class="toc">
-      <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> BOULEVARD SAINT-MICHEL </a>
-    </p>
-    <p class="toc">
-      <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> BOHEMIAN CAFÉS </a>
-    </p>
-    <p class="toc">
-      <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> LE CABARET DU SOLEIL D'OR </a>
-    </p>
-    <p class="toc">
-      <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> THE CAFÉ PROCOPE </a>
-    </p>
-    <p class="toc">
-      <a href="#link2H_4_0010"> LE MOULIN DE LA GALETTE </a>
-    </p>
-    <p class="toc">
-      <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> A NIGHT ON MONTMARTE </a>
-    </p>
-    <p class="toc">
-      <a href="#link2H_4_0012"> MOVING IN THE QUARTIER LATIN </a>
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br />
-    </p>
-    <hr />
-    <p>
-      <a name="link2H_INTR" id="link2H_INTR"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div style="height: 4em;">
-      <br /><br /><br /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h2>
-      INTRODUCTION
-    </h2>
-    <p class="pfirst">
-      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HIS volume is
-      written to show the life of the students in the Paris of to-day. It has an
-      additional interest in opening to inspection certain phases of Bohemian
-      life in Paris that are shared both by the students and the public, but
-      that are generally unfamiliar to visitors to that wonderful city, and even
-      to a very large part of the city's population itself. It depicts the
-      under-side of such life as the students find,&mdash;the loose,
-      unconventional life of the humbler strugglers in literature and art, with
-      no attempt to spare its salient features, its poverty and picturesqueness,
-      and its lack of adherence to generally accepted standards of morals and
-      conduct.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      As is told in the article describing that incomparably brilliant
-      spectacle, the ball of the Four Arts, extreme care is taken to exclude the
-      public and admit only artists and students, all of whom must be properly
-      accredited and fully identified. It is well understood that such a
-      spectacle would not be suitable for any but artists and students. It is
-      given solely for their benefit, and with the high aim, fully justified by
-      the experience of the masters who direct the students, that the event,
-      with its marvellous brilliancy, its splendid artistic effects, and its
-      freedom and abandon, has a stimulating and broadening effect of the
-      greatest value to art. The artists and students see in these annual
-      spectacles only grace, beauty, and majesty; their training in the studios,
-      where they learn to regard models merely as tools of their craft, fits
-      them, and them alone, for the wholesome enjoyment of the great ball.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      It is a student that presents the insight which this volume gives into the
-      life of the students and other Bohemians of Paris. It is set forth with
-      the frankness of a student. Coming from such a source, and having such
-      treatment, it will have a special charm and value for the wise.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The students are the pets of Paris. They lend to the city a
-      picturesqueness that no other city enjoys. So long as they avoid riots
-      aimed at a government that may now and then offend their sense of right,
-      their ways of living, their escapades, their noisy and joyous
-      manifestations of healthy young animal life, are good-naturedly
-      overlooked. Underneath such a life there lies, concealed from casual view,
-      another life that they lead,&mdash;one of hard work, of hope, of
-      aspiration, and often of pinching poverty and cruel self-denial. The
-      stress upon them, of many kinds, is great. The utter absence of an effort
-      to reorganize their lives upon conventional lines is from a philosophical
-      belief that if they fail to pass unscathed through it all, they lack the
-      fine, strong metal from which worthy artists are made.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The stranger in Paris will here find opened to him places in which he may
-      study for himself the Bohemian life of the city in all its careless
-      disregard of conventions. The cafés, cabarets, and dance-halls herein
-      described and illustrated have a charm that wholesome, well-balanced minds
-      will enjoy. The drawings for the illustrations were all made from the
-      actual scenes that they depict; they partake of the engaging frankness of
-      the text and of its purpose to show Bohemian life in the Paris of to-day
-      without any effort at concealment.
-    </p>
-    <h3>
-      W. C. M.
-    </h3>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br />
-    </p>
-    <hr />
-    <p>
-      <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div style="height: 4em;">
-      <br /><br /><br /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h1>
-      BOHEMIAN PARIS
-    </h1>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br />
-    </p>
-    <hr />
-    <p>
-      <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div style="height: 4em;">
-      <br /><br /><br /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h2>
-      OUR STUDIO
-    </h2>
-    <p class="pfirst">
-      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">W</span>E were in
-      wonderful Paris at last&mdash;Bishop and I&mdash;after a memorable passage
-      full of interest from New York to Havre. Years of hard work were ahead of
-      us, for Bishop would be an artist and I a sculptor.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      For two weeks we had been lodging temporarily in the top of a comfortable
-      little hotel, called the Grand something (most of the Parisian hotels are
-      Grand), the window of which commanded a superb view of the great city, the
-      vaudeville playhouse of the world.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <i>Pour la première fois</i> the dazzle and glitter had burst upon us,
-      confusing first, but now assuming form and coherence. If we and
-      incomprehensible at could have had each a dozen eyes instead of two, or
-      less greed to see and more patience to learn!
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Day by day we had put off the inevitable evil of finding a studio. Every
-      night found us in the cheapest seats of some theatre, and often we lolled
-      on the terraces of the Café de la Paix, watching the pretty girls as they
-      passed, their silken skirts saucily pulled up, revealing dainty laces and
-      ankles. From the slippery floor of the Louvre galleries we had studied the
-      masterpieces of David, Rubens, Rembrandt, and the rest; had visited the
-      Panthéon, the Musée Cluny; had climbed the Eiffel Tower, and traversed the
-      Bois de Boulogne and the Champs-Elysées. Then came the search for a studio
-      and the settling to work. It would be famous to have a little home of our
-      very own, where we could have little dinners of our very own cooking!
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      It is with a shudder that I recall those eleven days of ceaseless
-      studio-hunting. We dragged ourselves through miles of Quartier Latin
-      streets, and up hundreds of flights of polished waxed stairs, behind
-      puffing concierges in carpet slippers, the puffing changing to grumbling,
-      as, dissatisfied, the concierges followed us down the stairs. The Quartier
-      abounds with placards reading, "<i>Atelier d'Artiste à Louer!</i>" The
-      rentals ranged from two hundred to two thousand francs a year, and the
-      sizes from cigar-boxes to barns. But there was always something lacking.
-      On the eleventh day we found a suitable place on the sixth (top) floor of
-      a quaint old house in a passage off the <i>Rue St.- André-des-Arts</i>.
-      There were overhead and side lights, and from the window a noble view of
-      Paris over the house-tops.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0005" id="linkimage-0005"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
-      <img src="images/0023.jpg" alt="0023 " width="100%" /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h5>
-      <a href="images/0023.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
-    </h5>
-    <p>
-      A room of fair size joined the studio, and from its vine-laced window we
-      could look into the houses across the court, and down to the bottom of the
-      court as well. The studio walls were delightfully dirty and low in tone,
-      and were covered with sketches and cartoons in oil and charcoal. The price
-      was eight hundred francs a year, and from the concierge's eloquent
-      catalogue of its charms it seemed a great bargain. The walls settled our
-      fate,&mdash;we took the studio.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      It was one thing to agree on the price and another to settle the details.
-      Our French was ailing, and the concierge's French was&mdash;concierges'
-      French. Bishop found that his pet theory that French should be spoken with
-      the hands, head, and shoulders carried weak spots which a concierge could
-      discover; and then, being somewhat mercurial, he began floundering in a
-      mixture of French and English words and French and American gestures,
-      ending in despair with the observation that the concierge was a d&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;
-      fool. At the end of an hour we had learned that we must sign an
-      iron-bound, government-stamped contract, agreeing to occupy the studio for
-      not less than one year, to give six months' notice of our leaving, and to
-      pay three months' rental in advance, besides the taxes for one year on all
-      the doors and windows, and ten francs or more to the concierge. This was
-      all finally settled.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      As there was no running water in the rooms (such a luxury being unknown
-      here), we had to supply our needs from a clumsy old iron pump in the
-      court, and employ six flights of stairs in the process.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Then the studio had to be furnished, and there came endless battles with
-      the furniture dealers in the neighborhood, who kept their stock
-      replenished from the goods of bankrupt artists and suspended ménages.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0006" id="linkimage-0006"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
-      <img src="images/0025.jpg" alt="0025 " width="100%" /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h5>
-      <a href="images/0025.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
-    </h5>
-    <p>
-      These <i>marchands de meubles</i> are a wily race, but Bishop pursued a
-      plan in dealing with them that worked admirably. He would enter a shop and
-      price an article that we wanted, and then throw up his hands in horror and
-      leave the place as though it were haunted with a plague. The dealer would
-      always come tumbling after him and offer him the article for a half or a
-      third of the former price. In this way Bishop bought chairs, tables, a
-      large easel, beds, a studio stove, book-shelves, linen, drapings, water
-      pitchers and buckets, dishes, cooking utensils, and many other things, the
-      cost of the whole being less than one hundred and fifty francs,&mdash;and
-      thus we were established. The studio became quite a snug and hospitable
-      retreat, in spite of the alarming arrangement that Bishop adopted, "to
-      help the composition of the room." His favorite cast, the Unknown Woman,
-      occupied the place of honor over his couch, where he could see it the
-      first thing in the morning, when the dawn, stealing through the skylight,
-      brought out those strange and subtle features which he swore inspired him
-      from day to day. My room was filled with brilliant posters by Chéret and
-      Mucha and Steinlen,&mdash;they were too bold and showy for the low tone of
-      Bishop's studio. It all made a pretty picture,&mdash;the dizzy posters,
-      the solemn trunks, the books, the bed with its gaudy print coverings, and
-      the little crooked-pane window hung with bright green vines that ran
-      thither from a box in the window of an adjoining apartment. And it was all
-      completed by the bright faces of three pretty seamstresses, who sat sewing
-      every day at their window across the passage.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Under our housekeeping agreement Bishop was made cook, and I chambermaid
-      and water-carrier. It was Bishop's duty to obey the alarm clock at six
-      every morning and light the fire, while I went down for water at the pump,
-      and for milk at the stand beside the court entrance, where fat Madame
-      Gioté sold <i>café-au-lait</i> and <i>lait froid ou chaud</i>, from a <i>sou</i>'s
-      worth up. Then, after breakfast, I did the chamber work while Bishop
-      washed the dishes. Bishop could make for breakfast the most delicious
-      coffee and flapjacks and omelette in the whole of Paris. By eight o'clock
-      all was in order; Bishop was smoking his pipe and singing "Down on the
-      Farm" while working on his life study, and I was off to my modelling in
-      clay.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Bishop soon had the hearts of all the shop-keepers in the neighborhood.
-      The baker's dimple-cheeked daughter never worried if the scales hung a
-      little in his favor, at the boucherie he was served with the choicest cuts
-      of meat, and the fried-potato women called him "<i>mon fils</i>" and fried
-      a fresh lot of potatoes for him. Even Madame Tonneau, the <i>marchande de
-      tabac</i>, saw that he had the freshest packages in the shop. Often, when
-      I was returning home at night, I encountered him making cheerily for the
-      studio, bearing bread by the yard, his pockets bulging with other material
-      for dinner. Ah, he was a wonderful cook, and we had marvellous appetites!
-      So famous did he soon become that the models (the lady ones, of course)
-      were eager to dine <i>avec nous</i>; and when they did they helped to set
-      the table, they sewed buttons on our clothes, and they made themselves
-      agreeable and perfectly at home with that charming grace which is so
-      peculiarly French. Ah, those were jolly times!
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The court, or, more properly, <i>le passage</i>, on which our window
-      looked was a narrow little thoroughfare leading from the Rue
-      St.-André-des-Arts to the Boulevard St.-Germain. It bore little traffic,
-      but was a busy way withal. It had iron-workers' shops, where hot iron was
-      beaten into artistic lamps, grills, and bed-frames; a tinsmith's shop; a
-      blanchisserie, where our shirts were made white and smooth by the pretty
-      blanchisseuses singing all day over their work; a wine-cellar, whose
-      barrels were eternally blocking one end of the passage; an embossed
-      picture-card factory, where twoscore women, with little hammers and steel
-      dies, beat pictures into cards; a furniture shop, where everything old and
-      artistic was sold, the Hôtel du Passage, and a bookbinder's shop.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Each of the eight buildings facing the passage was ruled by a formidable
-      concierge, who had her dark little living apartments near the entrances.
-      These are the despots of the court, and their function is to make life
-      miserable for their lodgers. When they are not doing that they are
-      eternally scrubbing and polishing. They are all married. M. Mayé, <i>le
-      mari de notre concierge</i>, is a tailor. He sits at the window and mends
-      and sews all day long, or acts as concierge when his wife is away. The
-      husband of the concierge next door is a sergeant de ville at night, but in
-      the early mornings as, in a soiled blouse, he empties ash-cans, he looks
-      very unlike the personage dressed at night in a neat blue uniform and
-      wearing a short sword Another concierge's husband <i>fait des courses</i>&mdash;runs
-      errands&mdash;for sufficient pay.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0007" id="linkimage-0007"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div class="figleft" style="width:20%;">
-      <img src="images/9030.jpg" alt="9030 " width="100%" /><br /><a
-      href="images/9030.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
-    </div>
-    <p>
-      Should you fail to clean your boots on the mat, and thus soil the glossy
-      stairs, have a care!&mdash;a concierge's tongue has inherited the warlike
-      characteristics of the Caesars. Rugs and carpets must not be shaken out of
-      the windows after nine o'clock. Ashes and other refuse must be thrown into
-      the big bin of the house not later than seven. Sharp at eleven in the
-      evening the lights are extinguished and the doors locked for the night;
-      and then all revelry must immediately cease. Should you arrive <i>en
-      retard</i>,&mdash;that is, after eleven,&mdash;you must ring the bell
-      violently until the despot, generally after listening for an hour to the
-      bell, unlocks the catch from her couch. Then when you close the door and
-      pass her lodge you must call out your name. If you are out often or till
-      very late, be prepared for a lecture on the crime of breaking the rest of
-      hard-working concierges. After the day's work the concierges draw their
-      chairs out into the court and gossip about their tenants. The nearer the
-      roof the lodger the less the respect he commands. Would he not live on a
-      lower floor if he were able? And then, the top floor gives small tips!
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      It is noticeable that the entresol and premiers étages are clean and
-      highly polished, and that the cleanliness and polish diminish steadily
-      toward the top, where they almost disappear. Ah, <i>les concierges!</i>
-      But what would Paris be without them?
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Directly beneath us an elderly couple have apartments. Every morning at
-      five the old gentleman starts French oaths rattling through the court by
-      beating his rugs out of his window. At six he rouses the ire of a widow
-      below him by watering his plants and incidentally drenching her bird-
-      cages. Not long ago she rose in violent rebellion, and he hurled a flower
-      pot at her protruding head. It smashed on her window-sill; she screamed
-      "Murder!" and the whole court was in an uproar. The concierges and the old
-      gentleman's pacific wife finally restored order&mdash;till the next
-      morning.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Next, to my room are an elderly lady and her sweet, sad-faced daughter.
-      They are very quiet and dignified, and rarely fraternize with their
-      neighbors. It is their vine that creeps over to my window, and it is
-      carefully tended by the daughter. And all the doves and sparrows of the
-      court come regularly to eat out of her hand, and a lively chatter they
-      have over it. The ladies are the widow and daughter of a once prosperous
-      stock-broker on the Bourse, whom an unlucky turn of the wheel drove to
-      poverty and suicide.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The three seamstresses over the way are the sunshine of the court. They
-      are not so busy sewing and singing but that they find time to send arch
-      glances toward our window, and their blushes and smiles when Bishop sends
-      them sketches of them that he has made from memory are more than
-      remunerative.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      A young Scotch student from Glasgow, named Cameron, has a studio adjoining
-      ours. He is a fine, jovial fellow, and we usually assist him to dispose of
-      his excellent brew of tea at five o'clock. Every Thursday evening there
-      was given a musical chez lui, in which Bishop and I assisted with mandolin
-      and guitar, while Cameron played the flute. For these occasions Cameron
-      donned his breeks and kilt, and danced the sword-dance round two
-      table-knives crossed. The American songs strike him as being strange and
-      incomprehensible. He cannot understand the negro dialect, and wonders if
-      America is filled with negroes and cotton plantations; but he is always
-      delighted with Bishop's "Down on the Farm."
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0008" id="linkimage-0008"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
-      <img src="images/0033.jpg" alt="0033 " width="100%" /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h5>
-      <a href="images/0033.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
-    </h5>
-    <p>
-      Life begins at five o'clock in our court. The old gentleman beats his
-      rugs, the milk-bottles rattle, the bread-carts rumble, Madame Gioté opens
-      her milkstand, and the concierges drag the ash-cans out into the court,
-      where a drove of rag-pickers fall upon them. These gleaners are a queer
-      lot. Individuals and families pursue the quest, each with a distinct
-      purpose. One will seek nothing but bones, glass, and crockery; another
-      sifts the ashes for coal; another takes only paper and rags; another old
-      shoes and hats; and so on, from can to can, none interfering with any of
-      the others. The dogs are the first at the bins. They are regularly
-      organized in working squads, travelling in fours and fives. They are quite
-      adept at digging through the refuse for food, and they rarely quarrel; and
-      they never leave one bin for another until they have searched it
-      thoroughly.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The swish of water and a coarse brush broom announces the big, strong
-      woman who sweeps the gutters of the Rue St.-André-des-Arts. With broad
-      sweeps of the broom she spreads the water over half the street and back
-      into the gutter, making the worn yellow stones shine. She is coarsely clad
-      and wears black sabots; and God knows how she can swear when the gleaners
-      scatter the refuse into the gutter!
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The long wail of the fish-and-mussel woman, "<i>J'ai des beaux maquereaux,
-      des moules, poissons à frire, à frire!</i>" as she pushes her cart, means
-      seven o'clock.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The day now really begins. Water-pails are clanging and sabots are
-      clicking on the stones. The wine people set up a rumble by cleaning their
-      casks with chains and water. The anvils of the iron-workers are ringing,
-      and there comes the tink-tink-tink of the little hammers in the
-      embossed-picture factory. The lumbering garbage-cart arrives to bear away
-      the ash-bins, the lead-horse shaking his head to ring the bell on his neck
-      in announcement of the approach. Street-venders and hawkers of various
-      comestibles, each with his or her quaint musical cry, come in numbers. "<i>J'ai
-      des beaux choux-fleurs! O, comme ils sont beaux!</i>" The fruit- and
-      potato-women come after, and then the chair-menders. These market-women
-      are early risers. They are at the great Halles Centrales at four o'clock
-      to bargain for their wares; and besides good lungs they have a marvellous
-      shrewdness, born of long dealings with French housewives.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Always near eight may be heard, "<i>Du mouron pour les petits oiseaux!</i>"
-      and all the birds in the court, familiar with the cry, pipe up for their
-      chickweed. "<i>Voilà le bon fromage à la crème pour trois sous!</i>" cries
-      a keen-faced little woman, her three-wheeled cart loaded with cream
-      cheeses; and she gives a soup-plate full of them, with cream poured
-      generously over, and as she pockets the money says, "<i>Voilà! ce que
-      c'est bon avec des confitures!</i>" Cream cheeses and prayer! On Sunday
-      mornings during the spring and summer the goat's-milk vender, blowing a
-      reed-pipe, invades the passage with his living milk-cans,&mdash;a flock of
-      eight hairy goats that know the route as well as he, and they are always
-      willing to be milked when a customer offers a bowl. The tripe-man with his
-      wares and bell is the last of the food-sellers of the day. The
-      window-glass repairer, "<i>Vitrier!</i>" passes at nine, and then the
-      beggars and strolling musicians and singers put in an appearance. In the
-      afternoon the old-clo' man comes hobbling under his load of cast-off
-      clothes, crying, "<i>Marchand d'habits!</i>" of which you can catch only
-      "'<i>Chand d'habits!</i>" and the barrel-buyer, "Marchand de tonneaux!"
-      The most musical of them all is the porcelain-mender, who cries, "<i>Voici
-      le raccommodeur de porcelaines, faïence, cristal, poseur de robinets!</i>"
-      and then plays a fragment of a hunting-song.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0009" id="linkimage-0009"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
-      <img src="images/0037.jpg" alt="0037 " width="100%" /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h5>
-      <a href="images/0037.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
-    </h5>
-    <p>
-      The beggars and musicians also have regular routes and fixed hours. Cold
-      and stormy days are welcomed by them, for then pity lends activity to-
-      sous. A piratical old beggar has his stand near the entrance to the court,
-      where he kneels on the stones, his faithful mongrel dog beside him. He
-      occasionally poses for the artists when times are dull, but he prefers
-      begging,&mdash;it is easier and more remunerative. Three times a week we
-      are treated to some really good singing by a blind old man, evidently an
-      artist in his day. When the familiar sound of his guitar is heard all
-      noises in the passage cease, and all windows are opened to hear. He sings
-      arias from the operas. His little old wife gathers up the sous that ring
-      on the flags. Sometimes a strolling troupe of two actors and three
-      musicians makes its appearance, and invariably plays to a full house.
-      There are droves of sham singers who do not sing at all, but give mournful
-      howls and tell their woes to deaf windows. One of them, a tattered woman
-      with two babies, refused to pose for Bishop, although he offered her five
-      francs for the afternoon.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Her babies never grow older or bigger as the years pass.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      We all know when anybody in the passage is going to take a bath. There are
-      no bath-tubs in these old houses, but that difficulty is surmounted by a
-      bathing establishment on the Boulevard St.-Michel. It sends around a cart
-      bearing a tank of hot water and a zinc tub. The man who pulls the cart
-      carries the tub to the room, and fills it by carrying up the water in
-      buckets. Then he remains below until the bath is finished, to regain his
-      tub and collect a franc.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Since we have been here the court entrance has been once draped in
-      mourning. At the head of the casket of old Madame Courtoise, who lived
-      across the way, stood a stately crucifix, and candles burned, and there
-      were mourners and yellow bead wreaths. A quiet sadness sat upon the court,
-      and the people spoke in whispers only.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      And there have been two weddings,&mdash;one at the blanchisserie, where
-      the master's daughter was married to a young mechanic from the iron shop.
-      There were glorious times at the laundry that night, for the whole court
-      was present. It was four in the morning when the party broke up, and then
-      our shirts were two days late.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Thus ran the first months of the four years of our student life in Paris;
-      in its domestic aspects it was typical of all that followed. We soon
-      became members of the American Art Association, and gradually made friends
-      in charming French homes. Then there was the strange Bohemian life lying
-      outside as well as within the students' pale, and into the spirit of it
-      all we found our way. It is to the Bohemian, not the social, life of Paris
-      that these papers are devoted&mdash;a life both picturesque and pathetic,
-      filled with the oddest contrasts and incongruities, with much suffering
-      but more content, and spectacular and fascinating in all its phases. No
-      one can have seen and known Paris without a study of this its living,
-      struggling artistic side, so strange, so remote from the commonplace world
-      surging and roaring unheeded about it.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      On New Year's Day we had an overwhelming number of callers. First came the
-      concierge, who cleaned our door-knob and wished us a prosperous and bonne
-      année. She got ten francs,&mdash;we did not know what was coming. The chic
-      little blanchisseuse called next with our linen. That meant two francs.
-      Then came in succession two telegraph boys, the facteur, or postman, who
-      presented us with a cheap calendar, and another postman, who delivers only
-      second-class mail. They got a franc each. Then the <i>marchand de charbon</i>'s
-      boy called with a clean face and received fifty centimes, and everybody
-      else with whom we had had dealings; and our offerings had a steadily
-      diminishing value.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      We could well bear all this, however, in view of the great day, but a week
-      old, when we had celebrated Christmas. Bishop prepared a dinner fit for a
-      king, giving the greater part of his time for a week to preparations for
-      the great event. Besides a great many French dishes, we had turkey and
-      goose, cooked for us at the rôtisserie near by, and soup, oysters,
-      American pastries, and a big, blazing plum-pudding. We and our guests
-      (there were eight in all) donned full dress for the occasion, and a bonne,
-      hired for the evening, brought on the surprises one after another. But why
-      should not it have been a glorious evening high up among the chimney-pots
-      of old Paris? for did we not drink to the loved ones in a distant land,
-      and were not our guests the prettiest among the pretty toilers of our
-      court?
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0010" id="linkimage-0010"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
-      <img src="images/0042.jpg" alt="0042 " width="100%" /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h5>
-      <a href="images/0042.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
-    </h5>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br />
-    </p>
-    <hr />
-    <p>
-      <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div style="height: 4em;">
-      <br /><br /><br /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h2>
-      THE ÉCOLE DES BEAUX-ARTS
-    </h2>
-    <p class="pfirst">
-      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>T is about the
-      fifteenth of October, after the long summer vacation, that the doors of
-      the great École des Beaux-Arts are thrown open.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0011" id="linkimage-0011"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
-      <img src="images/0043.jpg" alt="0043 " width="100%" /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h5>
-      <a href="images/0043.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
-    </h5>
-    <p>
-      The first week, called "<i>la semaine des nouveaux</i>," is devoted to the
-      initiation and hazing of the new students, who come mostly from foreign
-      countries and the French provinces. These festivities can never be
-      forgotten&mdash;by the <i>nouveaux</i>.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0012" id="linkimage-0012"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
-      <img src="images/0044.jpg" alt="0044 " width="100%" /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h5>
-      <a href="images/0044.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
-    </h5>
-    <p>
-      Bishop had condescendingly decided to become <i>un élève de Gérôme</i>&mdash;with
-      some misgivings, for Bishop had developed ideas of a large and free
-      American art, while Gérôme was hard and academic. One day he gathered up
-      some of his best drawings and studies (which he regarded as masterpieces)
-      and, climbing to the impériale of a Clichy 'bus, rode over to Montmartre,
-      where Gérôme had his private studio. He was politely ushered in by a
-      manservant, and conducted to the door of the master's studio through a
-      hall and gallery filled with wonderful marble groups. Gérôme himself
-      opened the door, and Bishop found himself in the great man's workshop. For
-      a moment Bishop stood dazed in the middle of the splendid room, with its
-      great sculptures and paintings, some still unfinished, and a famous
-      collection of barbaric arms and costumes. A beautiful model was posing
-      upon a rug. But most impressive of all was the white-haired master,
-      regarding him with a thoughtful and searching, but kindly, glance. Bishop
-      presently found a tongue with which to stammer out his mission,&mdash;he
-      would be a pupil of the great Gérôme.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The old man smiled, and, bidding his model retire, inspected carefully the
-      array of drawings that Bishop spread at his feet,&mdash;Gérôme must have
-      evidence of some ability for the magic of his brain and touch to develop.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      "<i>Sont pas mal, mon ami</i>," he said, after he had studied all the
-      drawings; "<i>non, pas mal</i>." Bishop's heart bounded,&mdash;his work
-      was not bad! "<i>Vous êtes Américain?</i>" continued the master. "<i>C'est
-      un pays que j'aimerais bien visiter si le temps ne me manquait pas</i>."
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Thus he chatted on, putting Bishop more and more at his ease. He talked of
-      America and the promising future that she has for art; then he went into
-      his little office, and, asking Bishop's name, filled out the blank that
-      made him a happy pupil of Gérôme. He handed it to Bishop with this
-      parting-advice, spoken with great earnestness:
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      "<i>Il faut travailler, mon ami&mdash;travailler! Pour arriver, travailler
-      toujours, sérieusement, bien entendu!</i>"
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Bishop was so proud and happy that he ran all the way up the six flights
-      of stairs to our floor, burst into the studio, and executed a war-dance
-      that would have shamed an Apache, stepping into his paint-box and nearly
-      destroying his sacred Unknown. That night we had a glorious supper, with
-      des escargots to start with.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Early on the fifteenth of October, with his head erect and hope filling
-      his soul, Bishop started for the Beaux-Arts, which was in the Rue
-      Bonaparte, quite near. That night he returned wise and saddened.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      He had bought a new easel and two rush-bottomed tabourets, which every new
-      student must provide, and, loaded with these, he made for the Ecole.
-      Gathered at the big gates was a great crowd of models of all sorts, men,
-      women, and children, fat, lean, and of all possible sizes. In the court-
-      yard, behind the gates, was a mob of long-haired students, who had a year
-      or more ago passed the initiatory ordeal and become ancients. Their
-      business now was to yell chaff at the arriving nouveaux. The concierge
-      conducted Bishop up-stairs to the Administration, where he joined a long
-      line of other nouveaux waiting for the opening of the office at ten
-      o'clock.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Then he produced his papers and was enrolled as a student of the Ecole.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      It is only in this government school of the four arts that the typical
-      Bohemian students of Paris may be found, including the genuine type of
-      French student, with his long hair, his whiskers, his Latin Quarter "plug"
-      hat, his cape, blouse, wide corduroy trousers, sash, expansive necktie,
-      and immense cane. The Ecole preserves this type more effectually than the
-      other schools, such as Julian's and Colarossi's, where most of the
-      students are foreigners in conventional dress.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Among the others who entered Gérôme's atelier at the same time that Bishop
-      did was a Turk named Haidor (fresh from the Ottoman capital), a Hungarian,
-      a Siamese, an American from the plains of Nebraska, and five Frenchmen
-      from the provinces.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      They all tried to speak French and be agreeable as they entered the
-      atelier together. At the door stood a gardien, whose principal business is
-      to mark absentees and suppress riots. Then they passed to the gentle
-      mercies of the reception committee and the <i>massier</i> within.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The <i>massier</i> is a student who manages the studio, models, and <i>masse</i>
-      money. This one, a large fellow with golden whiskers (size and strength
-      are valuable elements of the massier's efficiency), demanded twenty-five
-      francs from each of the new-comers,&mdash;this being the <i>masse</i>
-      money, to pay for fixtures, turpentine, soap, and clean towels, <i>et pour
-      payer à boire</i>. The Turk refused to pay, protesting that he had but
-      thirty francs to last him the month; but menacing stools and sticks opened
-      his purse; his punishment was to come later. After the money had been
-      collected from all the nouveaux the entire atelier of over sixty students,
-      dressed in working blouses and old coats, formed in line, and with
-      deafening shouts of "<i>A boire! à boire!</i>" placed the <i>nouveaux</i>
-      in front to carry the class banner, and thus marched out into the <i>Rue
-      Bonaparte</i> to the <i>Café des Deux Magots</i>, singing songs fit only
-      for the studio. Their singing, shouting, and ridiculous capers drew a
-      great crowd. At the café they created consternation with their shouting
-      and howling until the arrival of great bowls of "<i>grog Américain</i>,"
-      cigarettes, and <i>gâteaux</i>. Rousing cheers were given to a
-      marriage-party across the Place St.-Germain. The Turk was forced to do a
-      Turkish dance on a table and sing Turkish songs, and to submit to
-      merciless ridicule. The timid little Siamese also had to do a turn, as did
-      Bishop and W&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;, the American from Nebraska, who had
-      been a cowboy at home. After yelling themselves hoarse and nearly wrecking
-      the café, the students marched back in a disorderly mob to the Ecole. Then
-      the real trouble began.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The gardien having conveniently disappeared, the students closed and
-      barricaded the door. "<i>A poil! à poil!</i>" they yelled, dancing
-      frantically about the frightened nouveaux; "<i>à poil les sales nouveaux!
-      à poil!</i>" They seized the Turk and stripped him, despite his desperate
-      resistance; then they tied his hands behind him and with paint and brushes
-      decorated his body in the most fantastic designs that they could conceive.
-      His oaths were frightful. He cursed them in the name of Allah, and swore
-      to have the blood of all Frenchmen for desecrating the sacred person of a
-      Moslem. He called them dogs of infidels and Christians. But all this was
-      in Turkish, and the students enjoyed it immensely. "<i>En broche!</i>"
-      they yelled, after they had made him a spectacle with the brushes; "<i>en
-      broche! Il faut le mettre en broche!</i>" This was quickly done. They
-      forced the Turk to his haunches, bound his wrists in front of his upraised
-      knees, thrust a long pole between his elbows and knees, and thus bore him
-      round the atelier at the head of a singing procession. Four times they
-      went round; then they placed the helpless M. Haidor on the model-stand for
-      future reference. The bad French that the victim occasionally mixed with
-      his tirade indicated the fearful damnation that he was doubtless dealing
-      out in Turkish.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      A circle was then formed about him, and a solemn silence fell upon the
-      crowd. A Frenchman named Joncierge, head of the reception committee,
-      stepped forth, and in slow and impressive speech announced that it was one
-      of the requirements of the Atelier Gérôme to brand all nouveaux over the
-      heart with the name of the atelier, and that the branding of the Turk
-      would now proceed. Upon hearing this, M. Haidor emitted a fearful howl.
-      But he was turned to face the red-hot studio stove and watch the
-      branding-iron slowly redden in the coals. During this interval the
-      students sang the national song, and followed it with a funeral march.
-      Behind the Turk's back a second poker was being painted to resemble a
-      red-hot one.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The hot poker was taken from the fire, and its usefulness tested by
-      burning a string with it. Haidor grew deathly pale. An intense silence sat
-      upon the atelier as the iron was brought near the helpless young man. In a
-      moment, with wonderful cleverness, the painted poker was substituted for
-      the hot one and placed quickly against his breast. When the cold iron
-      touched him he roared like a maddened bull, and rolled quivering and
-      moaning upon the floor. The students were frantic with delight.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      It was some time before Haidor could realize that he was not burned to a
-      crisp. He was then taken across the atelier and hoisted to a narrow shelf
-      fifteen feet from the floor, where he was left to compose himself and
-      enjoy the tortures of the other nouveaux. He dared not move, however, lest
-      he fall; and because he refused to take anything in good- nature, but
-      glared hatred and vengeance down at them, they pelted him at intervals
-      with water-soaked sponges.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The Hungarian and one of the French nouveaux were next seized and
-      stripped. Then they were ordered to fight a duel, in this fashion: they
-      were made to mount two stools about four feet apart. The Hungarian was
-      handed a long paint-brush dripping with Prussian blue, and the Frenchman a
-      similar brush soaked with crimson lake. Then the battle began. Each
-      hesitated to splash the other at first, but as they warmed to their work
-      under the shouting of the committee they went in with a will. When the
-      Frenchman had received a broad splash on the mouth in return for a chest
-      decoration of his adversary, his blood rose, and then the serious work
-      began.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0013" id="linkimage-0013"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
-      <img src="images/0051.jpg" alt="0051 " width="100%" /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h5>
-      <a href="images/0051.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
-    </h5>
-    <p>
-      Both quickly lost their temper. When they were unwillingly made to desist
-      the product of their labors was startling, though not beautiful. Then they
-      were rubbed down vigorously with turpentine and soiled towels, and were
-      given a franc each for a bath, because they had behaved so handsomely.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Bishop came next. He had made up his mind to stand the initiation
-      philosophically, whatever it might be, but when he was ordered to strip he
-      became apprehensive and then angry. Nothing so delights the students as
-      for a <i>nouveau</i> to lose his temper. Bishop squared off to face the
-      whole atelier, and looked ugly. The students silently deployed on three
-      sides, and with a yell rushed in, but not before three of them had gone
-      down under his fists did they pin him to the floor and strip him. While
-      Bishop was thus being prepared, the Nebraskan was being dealt with. He had
-      the wisdom not to lose his temper, and that made his resistance all the
-      more formidable. Laughing all the time, he nevertheless dodged, tripped,
-      wrestled, threw stools, and did so many other astonishing and baffling
-      things that the students, though able to have conquered him in the end,
-      were glad to make terms with him. In this arrangement he compelled them to
-      include Bishop. As a result, those two mounted the model throne naked, and
-      sang together and danced a jig, all so cleverly that the Frenchmen were
-      frantic with delight, and welcomed them as <i>des bons amis</i>. The
-      amazing readiness and capability of the American fist bring endless
-      delight and perennial surprise to the French.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0014" id="linkimage-0014"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
-      <img src="images/0053.jpg" alt="0053 " width="100%" /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h5>
-      <a href="images/0053.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
-    </h5>
-    <p>
-      The rest of the nouveaux were variously treated. Some, after being
-      stripped, were grotesquely decorated with designs and pictures not
-      suitable for general inspection. Others were made to sing, to recite, or
-      to act scenes from familiar plays, or, in default of that, to improvise
-      scenes, some of which were exceedingly funny. Others, attached to a rope
-      depending from the ceiling, were swung at a perilous rate across the
-      atelier, dodging easels in their flight.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      At half-past twelve the sport was over. The barricade was removed, the
-      Turk's clothes hidden, the Turk left howling on his shelf, and the atelier
-      abandoned. The next morning there was trouble. The director was furious,
-      and threatened to close the atelier for a month, because the Turk had not
-      been discovered until five o'clock, when his hoarse howls attracted the
-      attention of the gardien of the fires. His trousers and one shoe could not
-      be found. It was three months before Haidor appeared at the atelier again,
-      and then everything had been forgotten.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Bishop was made miserable during the ensuing week. He would find himself
-      roasting over paper fires kindled under his stool. Paint was smeared upon
-      his easel to stain his hands. His painting was altered and entirely
-      re-designed in his absence. Strong-smelling cheeses were placed in the
-      lining of his "plug" hat. His stool-legs were so loosened that when he sat
-      down he struck the floor with a crash. His painting-blouse was richly
-      decorated inside and out with shocking coats of arms that would not wash
-      out. One day he discovered that he had been painting for a whole hour with
-      currant jelly from a tube that he thought contained laque.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Then, being a <i>nouveau</i>, he could never get a good position in which
-      to draw from the model. Every Monday morning a new model is posed for the
-      week, and the students select places according to the length of time they
-      have been attending. The nouveaux have to take what is left. And they must
-      be servants to the ancients,&mdash;run out for tobacco, get soap and clean
-      towels, clean paint-brushes, and keep the studio in order. With the
-      sculptors and architects it is worse. The sculptors must sweep the dirty,
-      clay-grimed floor regularly, fetch clean water, mix the clay and keep it
-      fresh and moist, and on Saturdays, when the week's work is finished, must
-      break up the forty or more clay figures, and restore them to clay for next
-      week's operations. The architects must build heavy wooden frames, mount
-      the projects and drawings, and cart them about Paris to the different
-      exhibition rooms.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      At the end of a year the <i>nouveau</i> drops his hated title and becomes
-      a proud ancient, to bully to his heart's content, as those before him.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Mondays and Wednesdays are criticism days, for then M. Gérôme comes down
-      and goes over the work of his pupils. He is very early and punctual, never
-      arriving later than half-past eight, usually before half the students are
-      awake. The moment he enters all noises cease, and all seem desperately
-      hard at work, although a moment before the place may have been in an
-      uproar. Gérôme plumps down upon the man nearest to him, and then visits
-      each of his <i>élèves</i>, storming and scolding mercilessly when his
-      pupils have failed to follow his instructions. As soon as a student's
-      criticism is finished he rises and follows the master to hear the other
-      criticisms, so that toward the close the procession is large.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0015" id="linkimage-0015"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
-      <img src="images/0057.jpg" alt="0057 " width="100%" /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h5>
-      <a href="images/0057.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
-    </h5>
-    <p>
-      Bishop's first criticism took him all aback. "<i>Comment!</i>" gasped the
-      master, gazing at the canvas in horror. "<i>Qu'est-ce que vous avez fait?</i>"
-      he sternly demanded, glaring at the luckless student, who, in order to
-      cultivate a striking individuality, was painting the model in broad, thick
-      dashes of color. Gérôme glanced at Bishop's palette, and saw a complete
-      absence of black upon it. "<i>Comment, vous n'avez pas de noir?</i>" he
-      roared. "<i>C'est très important, la partie matérielle! Vous ne m'écoutez
-      pas, mon ami,&mdash;-je parle dans le désert! Vous n'avez pas d'aspect
-      général, mon ami,</i>" and much more, while Bishop sat cold to the marrow.
-      The students, crowded about, enjoyed his discomfiture immensely, and,
-      behind Gérôme's back, laughed in their sleeves and made faces at Bishop.
-      But many others suffered, and Bishop had his inning with them.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      All during Gérôme's tour of inspection the model must maintain his pose,
-      however difficult and exhausting. Often he is kept on a fearful strain for
-      two hours. After the criticism the boys show Gérôme sketches and studies
-      that they have made outside the Ecole, and it is in discussing them that
-      his geniality and kindliness appear. Gérôme imperiously demands two
-      things,&mdash;that his pupils, before starting to paint, lay on a red or
-      yellow tone, and that they keep their brushes scrupulously clean. Woe to
-      him who disobeys!
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      After he leaves with a cheery "<i>Bon jour, messieurs!</i>" pandemonium
-      breaks loose, if the day be Saturday. Easels, stools, and studies are
-      mowed down as by a whirlwind, yells shake the building, the model is
-      released, a tattoo is beaten on the sheet-iron stove-guard, everything
-      else capable of making a noise is brought into service, and either the
-      model is made to do the <i>danse du ventre</i> or a <i>nouveau</i> is
-      hazed.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The models&mdash;what stories are there! Every Monday morning from ten to
-      twenty present themselves, male and female, for inspection in <i>puris
-      naturalibus</i> before the critical gaze of the students of the different
-      ateliers. One after another they mount the throne and assume such academic
-      poses of their own choosing as they imagine will display their points to
-      the best advantage. The students then vote upon them, for and against, by
-      raising the hand. The massier, standing beside the model, announces the
-      result, and, if the vote is favorable, enrols the model for a certain week
-      to come.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      There is intense rivalry among the models. Strange to say, most of the
-      male models in the schools of Paris are from Italy, the southern part
-      especially. As a rule, they have very good figures. They begin posing at
-      the age of five or six, and follow the business until old age retires
-      them. Crowds of them are at the gates of the Beaux-Arts early on Monday
-      mornings. In the voting, a child may be preferred to his seniors, and yet
-      the rate of payment is the same,&mdash;thirty francs a week.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0016" id="linkimage-0016"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
-      <img src="images/0061.jpg" alt="0061 " width="100%" /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h5>
-      <a href="images/0061.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
-    </h5>
-    <p>
-      Many of the older models are quite proud of their profession, spending
-      idle hours in studying the attitudes of figures in great paintings and in
-      sculptures in the Louvre or the Luxembourg, and adopting these poses when
-      exhibiting themselves to artists; but the trick is worthless.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Few of the women models remain long in the profession. Posing is hard and
-      fatiguing work, and the students are merciless in their criticisms of any
-      defects of figure that the models may have,&mdash;the French are born
-      critics. During the many years that I have studied and worked in Paris I
-      have seen scores of models begin their profession with a serious
-      determination to make it their life-work.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0017" id="linkimage-0017"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div class="figleft" style="width:20%;">
-      <img src="images/9062.jpg" alt="9062 " width="100%" /><br /><a
-      href="images/9062.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
-    </div>
-    <p>
-      They would appear regularly at the different ateliers for about two years,
-      and would be gratified to observe endless reproductions of their graces in
-      the prize rows on the studio walls. Then their appearance would be less
-      and less regular, and they would finally disappear altogether&mdash;whither?
-      Some become contented companions of students and artists, but the cafés
-      along the <i>Boul' Mich'</i>, the cabarets of Montmartre, and the
-      dance-halls of the Moulin Rouge and the Bal Bullier have their own story
-      to tell. Some are happily married; for instance, one, noted for her beauty
-      of face and figure, is the wife of a New York millionaire. But she was
-      clever as well as beautiful, and few models are that. Most of them are
-      ordinaire, living the easy life of Bohemian Paris, and having little
-      knowledge of <i>le monde propre.</i> But, oh, how they all love dress! and
-      therein lies most of the story. When Marcelle or Hélène appears, all of a
-      sudden, radiant in silks and creamy lace petticoats, and sweeps proudly
-      into the crowded studios, flushed and happy, and hears the dear
-      compliments that the students heap upon her, we know that thirty francs a
-      week could not have changed the gray grub into a gorgeous butterfly.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      "<i>C'est mon amant qui m'a fait cadeau,</i>" Marcelle will explain,
-      deeming some explanation necessary. There is none to dispute you,
-      Marcelle. This vast whirlpool has seized many another like you, and will
-      seize many another more. And to poor Marcelle it seems so small a price to
-      pay to become one of the grand ladies of Paris, with their dazzling jewels
-      and rich clothes!
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      An odd whim may overtake one here and there. One young demoiselle,
-      beautiful as a girl and successful as a model a year ago, may now be seen
-      nightly at the <i>Cabaret du Soleil d'Or</i>, frowsy and languishing, in
-      keeping with the spirit of her confrères there, singing her famous "<i>Le
-      Petit Caporal</i>" to thunderous applause, and happy with the love,
-      squalor, dirt, and hunger that she finds with the luckless poet whose
-      fortunes she shares. It was not a matter of clothes with her.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      It is a short and easy step from the studio to the <i>café</i>. At the
-      studio it is all little money, hard posing, dulness, and poor clothes; at
-      the <i>cafés</i> are the brilliant lights, showy clothes, tinkling money,
-      clinking glasses, popping corks, unrestrained abandon, and midnight
-      suppers. And the studios and the <i>cafés</i> are but adjoining
-      apartments, one may say, in the great house of Bohemia. The studio is the
-      introduction to the <i>café</i>; the <i>café</i> is the burst of sunshine
-      after the dreariness of the studio; and Marcelle determines that for once
-      she will bask in the warmth and glow.... Ah, what a jolly night it was,
-      and a louis d'or in her purse besides! Marcelle's face was pretty&mdash;and
-      new. She is late at the studio next morning, and is sleepy and cross. The
-      students grumble. The room is stifling, and its gray walls seem ready to
-      crush her. It is so tiresome, so stupid&mdash;and only thirty francs a
-      week! Bah!... Marcelle appears no more.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      All the great painters have their exclusive model or models, paying them a
-      permanent salary. These favored ones move in a special circle, into which
-      the ordinaire may not enter, unless she becomes the favorite of some grand
-      homme. They are never seen at the academies, and rarely or never pose in
-      the schools, unless it was there they began their career.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Perhaps the most famous of the models of Paris was Sarah Brown, whose wild
-      and exciting life has been the talk of the world. Her beautiful figure and
-      glorious golden hair opened to her the whole field of modeldom. Offers for
-      her services as model were more numerous than she could accept, and the
-      prices that she received were very high. She was the mistress of one great
-      painter after another, and she lived and reigned like a queen. Impulsive,
-      headstrong, passionate, she would do the most reckless things. She would
-      desert an artist in the middle of his masterpiece and come down to the
-      studio to pose for the students at thirty francs a week. Gorgeously
-      apparelled, she would glide into a studio, overturn all the easels that
-      she could reach, and then shriek with laughter over the havoc and
-      consternation that she had created. The students would greet her with
-      shouts and form a circle about her, while she would banteringly call them
-      her friends. Then she would jump upon the throne, dispossess the model
-      there, and give a dance or make a speech, knocking off every hat that her
-      parasol could reach. But no one could resist Sarah.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      She came up to the <i>Atelier Gérôme</i> one morning and demanded une
-      semaine de femme. The <i>massier</i> booked her for the following week.
-      She arrived promptly on time and was posed. Wednesday a whim seized her to
-      wear her plumed hat and silk stockings. "<i>C'est beaucoup plus chic</i>,"
-      she naively explained. When Gérôme entered the studio and saw her posing
-      thus she smiled saucily at him, but he turned in a rage and left the
-      studio without a word. Thursday she tired of the pose and took one to
-      please herself, donning a skirt. Of course protests were useless, so the
-      students had to recommence their work. The remainder of the week she sat
-      upon the throne in full costume, refusing to pose. She amused herself with
-      smoking cigarettes and keeping the <i>nouveaux</i> running errands for
-      her.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      It was she who was the cause of the students' riot in 1893,&mdash;a riot
-      that came near ending in a revolution. It was all because she appeared at
-      le Bal des Quat'z' Arts in a costume altogether too simple and natural to
-      suit the prefect of police, who punished her. She was always at the Salon
-      on receiving-day, and shocked the occupants of the liveried carriages on
-      the Champs-Elysées with her dancing. In fact, she was always at the head
-      of everything extraordinary and sensational among the Bohemians of Paris.
-      But she aged rapidly under her wild life. Her figure lost its grace, her
-      lovers deserted her, and after her dethronement as Queen of Bohemia,
-      broken-hearted and poor, she put an end to her wretched life,&mdash;and
-      Paris laughed.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The breaking in of a new girl model is a joy that the students never
-      permit themselves to miss. Among the many demoiselles who come every
-      Monday morning are usually one or two that are new. The new one is
-      accompanied by two or more of her girl friends, who give her encouragement
-      at the terrible moment when she disrobes. As there are no dressing-rooms,
-      there can be no privacy. The students gather about and watch the
-      proceedings with great interest, and make whatever remarks their deviltry
-      can suggest. This is the supreme test; all the efforts of the attendant
-      girls are required to hold the new one to her purpose. When finally, after
-      an inconceivable struggle with her shame, the girl plunges ahead in
-      reckless haste to finish the job, the students applaud her roundly.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0018" id="linkimage-0018"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
-      <img src="images/0067.jpg" alt="0067 " width="100%" /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h5>
-      <a href="images/0067.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
-    </h5>
-    <p>
-      But more torture awaits her. Frightened, trembling, blushing furiously,
-      she ascends the throne, and innocently assumes the most awkward and
-      ridiculous poses, forgetting in that terrible moment the poses that she
-      had learned so well under the tutelage of her friends. It is then that the
-      fiendishness of the students rises to its greatest height. Dazed and numb,
-      she hardly comprehends the ordeal through which she is now put. The
-      students have adopted a grave and serious bearing, and solemnly ask her to
-      assume the most outlandish and ungraceful poses. Then come long and
-      mock-earnest arguments about her figure, these arguments having been
-      carefully learned and rehearsed beforehand. One claims that her waist is
-      too long and her legs too heavy; another hotly takes the opposite view.
-      Then they put her through the most absurd evolutions to prove their
-      points. At last she is made to don her hat and stockings; and the students
-      form a ring about her and dance and shout until she is ready to faint.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Of course the studio has a ringleader in all this deviltry,&mdash;all
-      studios have. Joncierge is head of all the mischief in our atelier. There
-      is no end to his ingenuity in devising new means of torture and fun. His
-      personations are marvellous. When he imitates Bernhardt, Réjane, or Calvé,
-      no work can be done in the studio. Gérôme himself is one of his favorite
-      victims. But Joncierge cannot remain long in one school; the authorities
-      pass him on as soon as they find that he is really hindering the work of
-      the students. One day, at Julian's, he took the class skeleton, and with a
-      cord let the rattling, quivering thing down into the Rue du Dragon, and
-      frightened the passers out of their wits. As his father is chef
-      d'orchestre at the Grand Opéra, Joncierge junior learns all the operas and
-      convulses us with imitations of the singers.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0019" id="linkimage-0019"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div class="figleft" style="width:20%;">
-      <img src="images/9070.jpg" alt="9070 " width="100%" /><br /><a
-      href="images/9070.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
-    </div>
-    <p>
-      Another character in the studio is le jeune Siffert, only twenty-three,
-      and one of the cleverest of the coming French painters. Recently he nearly
-      won the Prix de Rome. His specialty is the imitation of the cries of
-      domestic fowls and animals, and of street venders. Gérôme calls him "mon
-      fils," and constantly implores him to be serious. I don't see why.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Then there is Fiola, a young giant from Brittany, with a wonderful
-      facility at drawing. He will suddenly break into a roar, and for an hour
-      sing one verse of a Brittany chant, driving the other students mad.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Fournier is a little curly-headed fellow from the south, near Valence, and
-      wears corduroy trousers tucked into top-boots. His greatest delight is in
-      plaguing the nouveaux. His favorite joke, if the day is dark, is to send a
-      nouveau to the different ateliers of the Ecole in search of "le grand
-      réflecteur." The nouveau, thinking that it is a device for increasing the
-      light, starts out bravely, and presently returns with a large, heavy box,
-      which, upon its being opened, is found to be filled with bricks. Then
-      Fournier is happy.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Taton is the butt of the atelier. He is an ingénu, and falls into any trap
-      set for him. Whenever anything is missing, all pounce upon Taton, and he
-      is very unhappy.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Haidor, the Turk, suspicious and sullen, also is a butt. Caricatures of
-      him abundantly adorn the walls, together with the Turkish crescent, and
-      Turkish ladies executing the <i>danse du ventre</i>.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Caricatures of all kinds cover the walls of the atelier, and some are
-      magnificent, being spared the vandalism that spares nothing else. One,
-      especially good, represents Kenyon Cox, who studied here.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      W&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;, the student from Nebraska, created a sensation by
-      appearing one day in the full regalia of a cowboy, including two immense
-      revolvers, a knife, and a lariat depending from his belt. With the lariat
-      he astonished and dismayed the dodging Frenchmen by lassoing them at will,
-      though they exercised their greatest running and dodging agility to
-      escape. They wanted to know if all Americans went about thus heeled in
-      America.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      There is something uncanny about the little Siamese. He is exceedingly
-      quiet and works unceasingly. One day, when the common spirit of mischief
-      was unusually strong among the boys, the bolder ones began to hint at fun
-      in the direction of the Siamese. He quietly shifted a pair of brass
-      knuckles from some pocket to a more convenient one, and although it was
-      done so unostentatiously, the act was observed. He was not disturbed, and
-      has been left strictly alone ever since.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      One day the Italian students took the whole atelier down to a little
-      restaurant on the Quai des Grands-Augustins and cooked them an excellent
-      Italian dinner, with Chianti to wash it down. Two Italian street-singers
-      furnished the music, and Mademoiselle la Modèle danced as only a model
-      can.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0020" id="linkimage-0020"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
-      <img src="images/0072.jpg" alt="0072 " width="100%" /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h5>
-      <a href="images/0072.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
-    </h5>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br />
-    </p>
-    <hr />
-    <p>
-      <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div style="height: 4em;">
-      <br /><br /><br /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h2>
-      TAKING PICTURES TO THE SALON
-    </h2>
-    <p class="pfirst">
-      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">E</span>VER since New
-      Year's, when Bishop began his great composition for the Salon, our life at
-      the studio had been sadly disarranged; for Bishop had so completely buried
-      himself in his work that I was compelled to combine the functions of cook
-      with those of chambermaid.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0021" id="linkimage-0021"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div class="figleft" style="width:20%;">
-      <img src="images/9073.jpg" alt="9073 " width="100%" /><br /><a
-      href="images/9073.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
-    </div>
-    <p>
-      This double work, with increasing pressure from my modelling, required
-      longer hours at night and shorter hours in the morning. But I was
-      satisfied, for this was to be Bishop's masterpiece, and I knew from the
-      marvellous labor and spirit that he put into the work that something good
-      would result.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The name of his great effort was "The Suicide." It was like him to choose
-      so grisly a subject, for he had a lawless nature and rebelled against the
-      commonplace. Ghastly subjects had always fascinated him. From the very
-      beginning of our domestic partnership he had shown a taste for grim and
-      forbidding things. Often, upon returning home, I had found him making
-      sketches of armless beggars, twisted cripples, and hunchbacks, and, worse
-      than all, disease-marked vagabonds. A skull-faced mortal in the last
-      stages of consumption was a joy to him. It was useless for me to protest
-      that he was failing to find the best in him by developing his unwholesome
-      tastes. "Wait," he would answer patiently; "the thing that has suffering
-      and character, that is out of the ordinary, it is the thing that will
-      strike and live."
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The suicide was a young woman gowned in black; she was poised in the act
-      of plunging into the Seine; a babe was tightly clutched to her breast; and
-      behind the unspeakable anguish in her eyes was a hungry hope, a veiled
-      assurance of the peace to come. It fascinated and haunted me beyond all
-      expression. It was infinitely sad, tragic, and terrible, for it reached
-      with a sure touch to the very lowest depth of human agony. The scene was
-      the dead of night, and only the dark towers of Notre-Dame broke the even
-      blackness of the sky, save for a faint glow that touched the lower
-      stretches from the distant lamps of the city. In the darkness only the
-      face of the suicide was illuminated, and that but dimly, though
-      sufficiently to disclose the wonderfully complex emotions that crowded
-      upon her soul. This illumination came from three ghastly green lights on
-      the water below. The whole tone of the picture was a black, sombre green.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      That was all after the painting had been finished. The making of it is a
-      story by itself. From the first week in January to the first week in March
-      the studio was a junk-shop of the most uncanny sort. In order to pose his
-      model in the act of plunging into the river, Bishop had rigged up a
-      tackle, which, depending from the ceiling, caught the model at the waist,
-      after the manner of a fire-escape belt, and thus half suspended her. He
-      secured his green tone and night effect by covering nearly all the
-      skylight and the window with green tissue-paper, besides covering the
-      floor and walls with green rugs and draperies.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The model behaved very well in her unusual pose, but the babe&mdash;that
-      was the rub. The model did not happen to possess one, and Bishop had not
-      yet learned the difficulties attending the procuring and posing of
-      infants. In the first place, he found scores of babes, but not a mother,
-      however poor, willing to permit her babe to be used as a model, and a
-      model for so gruesome a situation. But after he had almost begun to
-      despair, and had well advanced with his woman model, an Italian woman came
-      one day and informed him that she could get an infant from a friend of her
-      sister's, if he would pay her one franc a day for the use of it. Bishop
-      eagerly made the bargain. Then a new series of troubles began.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The babe objected most emphatically to the arrangement. It refused to
-      nestle in the arms of a strange woman about to plunge into eternity, and
-      the strange woman had no knack at all in soothing the infant's outraged
-      feelings. Besides, the model was unable to meet the youngster's frequent
-      demands for what it was accustomed to have, and the mother, who was
-      engaged elsewhere, had to be drummed up at exasperatingly frequent
-      intervals. All this told upon both Bishop and Francinette, the model, and
-      they took turns in swearing at the unruly brat, Bishop in English and
-      Francinette in French. Neither knew how to swear in Italian, or things
-      might have been different. I happened in upon these scenes once in a
-      while, and my enjoyment so exasperated Bishop that he threw paint- tubes,
-      bottles, and everything else at me that he could reach, and once or twice
-      locked me out of the studio, compelling me to kick my shins in the cold
-      street for hours at a time. On such occasions I would stand in the court
-      looking up at our window, expecting momentarily that the babe would come
-      flying down from that direction.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      When Bishop was not sketching and painting he was working up his
-      inspiration; and that was worst of all. His great effort was to get
-      himself into a suicidal mood. He would sit for hours on the floor, his
-      face between his knees, imagining all sorts of wrongs and slights that the
-      heartless world had put upon him. His husband had beaten him and gone off
-      with another woman; he had tried with all his woman-heart to bear the
-      cross; hunger came to pinch and torture him; he sought work, failed to
-      find it; sought charity, failed to find that; his babe clutched at his
-      empty breasts and cried piteously for food; his heart broken, all hope
-      gone, even God forgetting him, he thought of the dark, silent river, the
-      great cold river, that has brought everlasting peace to countless
-      thousands of suffering young mothers like him; he went to the river; he
-      looked back upon the faint glow of the city's lights in the distance; he
-      cast his glance up to the grim towers of Notre-Dame, standing cold and
-      pitiless against the blacker sky; he looked down upon the black Seine, the
-      great writhing python, so willing to swallow him up; he clutched his babe
-      to his breast, gasped a prayer....
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      At other times he would haunt the Morgue and study the faces of those who
-      had died by felo-de-se; he would visit the hospitals and study the dying;
-      he would watch the actions and read the disordered thoughts of lunatics;
-      he would steal along the banks; of the river on dark nights and study the
-      silent mystery and tragedy of it, and the lights that gave shape to its
-      terrors. In the end I grew afraid of him.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      But all things have an end. Bishop's great work was finished in the first
-      days of March. Slowly, but surely, his native exuberance of spirits
-      returned. He would eat and sleep like a rational being. His eyes lost
-      their haunted look, and his cheeks filled out and again took on their
-      healthy hue. And then he invited his friends and some critics to inspect
-      his composition, and gave a great supper in celebration of the completion
-      of his task. Very generous praise was given him. Among the critics and
-      masters came Gérôme and Laurens at his earnest supplication, and it was
-      good to see their delight and surprise, and to note that they had no fault
-      to find,&mdash;was not the picture finished, and would not criticism from
-      them at this juncture have hurt the boy without accomplishing any good?
-      Well, the painting secured honorable mention in the exhibition, and five
-      years later the French government completed the artist's happiness by
-      buying one of his pictures for the Luxembourg Gallery.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      But about the picture: the canvas was eight by ten feet, and a frame had
-      to be procured for it. Now, frames are expensive, and Bishop had
-      impoverished himself for material and model hire. So he employed a
-      carpenter in the court to make a frame of thick pine boards, which we
-      painted a deep black, with a gold cornice. The whole cost was twenty- five
-      francs.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Next day we hired a good-sized <i>voiture-à-bras</i> at eight sous an
-      hour, and proceeded to get the tableau down to the court. It was a
-      devilish job, for the ceilings were low and the stairs narrow and crooked.
-      The old gentleman below us was nearly decapitated by poking his head out
-      of his door at an inopportune moment, and the lady below him almost wiped
-      the still wet babe from the canvas with her gown as she tried to squeeze
-      past. The entire court turned out to wish Bishop good success.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The last day on which pictures are admitted to the Salon, there to await
-      the merciless decision of the judges, is a memorable one. In sumptuous
-      studios, in wretched garrets; amid affluence, amid scenes of squalor and
-      hunger, artists of all kinds and degrees have been squeezing thousands of
-      tubes and daubing thousands of canvases in preparation for the great day.
-      From every corner of Paris, from every quarter of France and Europe, the
-      canvases come pouring into the Salon. Every conceivable idea, fad, and
-      folly is represented in the collection, and most of them are poor; but in
-      each and every one a fond hope centres, an ambition is staked.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Strange as it may seem, most of these pictures are worked upon until the
-      very last day; indeed, many of them are snatched unfinished from their
-      easels, to receive the finishing touches in the dust and confusion and
-      deafening noise of the great hall where they are all dumped like so much
-      merchandise. We saw one artist who, not having finished his picture, was
-      putting on the final touches as it was borne ahead of him along the street
-      on the back of a commissionnaire.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0022" id="linkimage-0022"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
-      <img src="images/0079.jpg" alt="0079 " width="100%" /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h5>
-      <a href="images/0079.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
-    </h5>
-    <p>
-      And all this accounts for the endless smearing everywhere noticeable, and
-      for the frantic endeavors of the artists to repair the damage at the last
-      moment.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      One great obstacle to poor artists is the rigid rule requiring that all
-      tableaux shall be framed. These frames are costly. As a result, some
-      artists paint pictures of the same size year after year, so that the same
-      frame may be used for all, and others resort to such makeshifts as Bishop
-      was compelled to employ. But these makeshifts must be artistically done,
-      or the canvases are ignored by the judges. These efforts give rise to many
-      startling effects.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      It was not very long, after an easy pull over the Boulevard St.-Germain,
-      before we crossed the Seine at the Pont de la Concorde, traversed the
-      Place de la Concorde, and turned into the Champs-Elysées, where, not far
-      away, loomed the Palais des Beaux-Arts, in which the Salon is annually
-      held in March. The Avenue des Champs-Elysées, crowded as it usually is in
-      the afternoons, was now jammed with cabs, omnibuses, hand-carts, and all
-      sorts of moving vans, mingling with the fashionable carriages on their way
-      to the Bois. The proletarian vehicles contained art,&mdash;art by the ton.
-      The upper decks of the omnibuses were crowded with artists carrying their
-      pictures because they could not afford more than the three-sous fare. And
-      such an assortment of artists!
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      There were some in affluent circumstances, who rolled along voluptuously
-      in cabs on an expenditure of thirty-five francs, holding their precious
-      tableaux and luxuriantly smoking cigarettes.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0023" id="linkimage-0023"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
-      <img src="images/0081.jpg" alt="0081 " width="100%" /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h5>
-      <a href="images/0081.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
-    </h5>
-    <p>
-      The commissionnaires had a great day of it. They are the ones usually seen
-      asleep on the street corners, where, when awake, they varnish boots or
-      bear loads by means of a contrivance on their backs. On this day every one
-      of them in Paris was loaded down with pictures.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Many were the hard-up students, like Bishop, tugging hand-carts, or
-      pairing to carry by hand pictures too large to be borne by a single
-      person. And great fun they got out of it all.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Opposite the Palais de Glace was a perfect sea of vehicles, artists,
-      porters, and policemen, all inextricably tangled up, all shouting or
-      groaning, and wet pictures suffering. One artist nearly had a fit when he
-      saw a full moon wiped off his beautiful landscape, and he would have
-      killed the guilty porter had not the students interfered. Portraits of
-      handsome ladies with smudged noses and smeared eyes were common. Expensive
-      gold frames lost large sections of their corners. But still they were
-      pouring in.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      With infinite patience and skill Bishop gradually worked his <i>voiture-à-
-      bras</i> through the maze, and soon his masterpiece was in the crushing
-      mass at the wide entrance to the Salon. There it was seized and rushed
-      along, and Bishop received in return a slip of paper bearing a number.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      While within the building we reconnoitred. Amid the confusion of howling
-      inspectors, straining porters bearing heavy pictures, carpenters erecting
-      partitions, and a dust-laden atmosphere, numerous artists were working
-      with furious haste upon their unfinished productions. Some were perched
-      upon ladders, others squatted upon the floor, and one had his model posing
-      nude to the waist; she was indifferent to the attention that she received.
-      Thoughtful mistresses stood affectionately beside their artist amants,
-      furnishing them with delicate edibles and lighting cigarettes for them.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Some of the pictures were so large that they were brought in rolled up.
-      One artist had made himself into a carpenter to mount his mammoth picture.
-      Frightful and impossible paintings were numerous, but the painter of each
-      expected a <i>première médaille d'honneur</i>.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      It was nearing six o'clock, the closing hour. Chic demoiselle artistes
-      came dashing up in cabs, bringing with them, to insure safe delivery,
-      their everlasting still-life subjects.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Shortly before six the work in the building was suspended by a commotion
-      outside. It was a contingent of students from the Beaux-Arts marching up
-      the Champs-Elysées, yelling and dancing like maniacs and shaking their
-      heavy sticks, the irresistible Sarah Brown leading as drum-maior. She was
-      gorgeously arrayed in the most costly silks and laces, and looked a
-      dashing Amazon. Then, as always, she was perfectly happy with her beloved
-      <i>étudiants</i>, who worshipped her as a goddess. She halted them in
-      front of the building, where they formed a circle round her, and there, as
-      director of ceremonies, she required them to sing chansons, dance, make
-      comic speeches, and "blaguer" the arriving artists.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The last van was unloaded; the great doors closed with a bang, and the
-      stirring day was ended. All the students, even the porters, then joined
-      hands and went singing, howling, and skipping down the Champs-Elysées, and
-      wishing one another success at the coming exhibition. At the Place de la
-      Concorde we met a wild-eyed artist running frantically toward the Salon
-      with his belated picture. The howls of encouragement that greeted him lent
-      swifter wings to his legs.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The pictures finally installed, a jury composed of France's greatest
-      masters pass upon them. The endless procession of paintings is passed
-      before them; the raising of their hands means approval, silence means
-      condemnation; and upon those simple acts depends the happiness or despair
-      of thousands. But depression does not long persist, and the judgment is
-      generally accepted in the end as just and valuable. For the students, in
-      great part, flock to the country on sketching tours, for which
-      arrangements had been already made; and there the most deeply depressed
-      spirits must revive and the habit of work and hope come into play. Year
-      after year the same artists strive for recognition at the Salon; and
-      finally, when they fail at that, they reflect that there is a great world
-      outside of the Salon, where conscientious effort is acceptable. And, after
-      all, a medal at the Salon is not the only reward that life has to offer.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      And then, it is not always good for a student to be successful from the
-      start. Just as his social environment in Paris tries his strength and
-      determines the presence or absence of qualities that are as useful to a
-      successful career as special artistic qualifications, so the trial by fire
-      in the Salon exhibitions hardens and toughens him for the serious work of
-      his life ahead. Too early success has ruined more artists than it has
-      helped. It is interesting also to observe that, as a rule, the students
-      who eventually secure the highest places in art are those whose
-      difficulties have been greatest. The lad with the pluck to live on a crust
-      in a garret, and work and study under conditions of poverty and
-      self-denial that would break any but the stoutest heart, is the one from
-      whom to expect renown in the years to come. Ah, old Paris is the harshest
-      but wisest of mothers!
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      "<i>H! ah! vive les Quat'z' Arts! Au Molin Rouge&mdash;en route!</i>" the
-      lamplit streets of Paris as cab after cab and bus after 'bus went
-      thundering across town toward Montmartre, heavily freighted with
-      brilliantly costumed revellers of les Quat'z' Arts. Parisians ran from
-      their dinner- tables to the windows and balconies, blasé boulevardiers
-      paused in their evening stroll or looked up from their papers at the <i>café</i>-tables,
-      waiters and swearing cabbies and yelling newsboys stopped in the midst of
-      their various duties, and all knowingly shook their heads, "<i>Ah, ce sont
-      les Quat'z' Arts!</i>"?
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      For to-night was the great annual ball of the artists, when all artistic
-      Paris crawls from its mysterious depths to revel in a splendid carnival
-      possible only to the arts. Every spring, after the pictures have been sent
-      to the Salon, and before the students have scattered for the summer
-      vacation, the artists of Paris and the members of all the ateliers of the
-      four arts&mdash;painting, sculpture, architecture, and engraving&mdash;combine
-      their forces in producing a spectacle of regal splendor, seen nowhere else
-      in the world; and long are the weeks and hard the work and vast the
-      ingenuity devoted to preparations,&mdash;the designing of costumes and the
-      building of gorgeous floats.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      During the last three weeks the <i>élèves</i> of the <i>Atelier Gérôme</i>
-      abandoned their studies, forgot all about the concours and the Prix de
-      Rome, and devoted all their energies to the construction of a colossal
-      figure of Gérôme's great war goddess, "Bel-lona." It was a huge task, but
-      the students worked it out with a will. Yards of sackcloth, rags, old
-      coats, paint rags, besides pine timbers, broken easels and stools, endless
-      wire and rope, went into the making of the goddess's frame, and this was
-      covered with plaster of Paris dexterously moulded into shape. Then it was
-      properly tinted and painted and mounted on a chariot of gold. A Grecian
-      frieze of galloping horses, mounted, the clever work of Siffert, was
-      emblazoned on the sides of the chariot. And what a wreck the atelier was
-      after all was finished! <i>Sacré nom d'un chien!</i> How the gardiens must
-      have sworn when cleaning-day came round!
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The ateliers in the Ecole are all rivals, and each had been secretly
-      preparing its coup with which to capture the grand prix at the bal.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The great day came at last. The students of our atelier were perfectly
-      satisfied with their handiwork, and the massier made all happy by ordering
-      a retreat to the Café des Deux Magots, where success to the goddess was
-      drunk in steaming "grog Américain." Then Bellona began her perilous
-      journey across Paris to Montmartre and the Moulin Rouge.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0024" id="linkimage-0024"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
-      <img src="images/0087.jpg" alt="0087 " width="100%" /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h5>
-      <a href="images/0087.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
-    </h5>
-    <p>
-      This was not an easy task, as she was fifteen feet high; signs and lamp-
-      posts suffered, and sleepy cab-horses danced as their terrified gaze
-      beheld the giant goddess with her uplifted sword. Crowds watched the
-      progress of Bellona on the Avenue de l'Opéra, drawn by half a hundred
-      students yelling the national hymn. The pull up the steep slope of
-      Montmartre was heavy, but in less than two hours from the start at the
-      Ecole the goddess was safely housed in the depths of the Moulin Rouge,
-      there to await her triumphs of the night.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Bishop, besides doing his share in the preparation of the figure, had the
-      equally serious task of devising a costume for his own use at the ball. It
-      was not until the very last day that he made his final decision,&mdash;to
-      go as a Roman orator. Our supply of linen was meagre, but our only two
-      clean bed-sheets and a few towels were sufficient, and two kind American
-      ladies who were studying music and who lived near the old church of St.
-      Sulpice did the fitting of a toga. The soles of a pair of slippers from
-      which Bishop cut the tops served as sandals, and some studio properties in
-      the way of Oriental bracelets completed his costume. I was transformed
-      into an Apache Indian by a generous rubbing into my skin of burnt sienna
-      and cadmium, which I was weeks in getting rid of; a blanket and some
-      chicken-feathers finished my array. Our friend Cameron, next door, went in
-      his Scotch kilts. After supper we entered the Boul' Mich' and proceeded to
-      the Café de la Source, where the students of the <i>Atelier Gérôme</i>
-      were to rendezvous.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0025" id="linkimage-0025"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
-      <img src="images/9090.jpg" alt="9090 " width="100%" /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h5>
-      <a href="images/9090.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
-    </h5>
-    <p>
-      The Boul' was a spectacle that night. Time had rolled back the curtain of
-      centuries; ancient cemeteries had yielded up their dead; and living ghosts
-      of the ages packed all the gay <i>café</i>s. History from the time of Adam
-      had sent forth its traditions, and Eves rubbed elbows with ballet- girls.
-      There was never a jollier night in the history of the Quartier Latin.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      We found the Café de la Source already crowded by the Gérôme contingent
-      and their models and mistresses, all en costume and bubbling with
-      merriment and mischief. It was ten o'clock before all the students had
-      arrived. Then we formed in procession, and yelled and danced past all the
-      <i>café</i>s on the Boul' Mich' to the Luxembourg Palace and the Théâtre
-      de l'Odéon, to take the 'buses of the Montmartre line. These we quickly
-      seized and overloaded in violation of the law, and then, dashing down the
-      quiet streets of the Rive Gauche, headed for Montmartre, making a noise to
-      rouse the dead. As we neared the Place Blanche we found the little streets
-      merging from different quarters crowded with people in costume, some
-      walking and others crowding almost innumerable vehicles, and the balconies
-      and portes-cochères packed with spectators. The Place Blanche fronts the
-      Moulin Rouge, and it was crowded and brilliantly lighted. The façade of
-      the Moulin Rouge was a blaze of electric lights and colored lanterns, and
-      the revolving wings of the mill flamed across the sky. It was a perfect
-      night. The stars shone, the air was warm and pleasant, and the trees were
-      tipped with the glistening clean foliage of early spring. The bright <i>café</i>s
-      fronting the Place were crowded with gay revellers. The poets of Bohemia
-      were there, and gayly attired cocottes assisted them in their fun at the
-      <i>café</i> tables, extending far out into the boulevard under the trees.
-      At one corner was Gérôme's private studio, high up in the top of the
-      house, and standing on the balcony was Gérôme himself, enjoying the
-      brilliant scene below.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      As the Bal des Quat'z' Arts is not open to the public, and as none but
-      accredited members of the four arts are admitted, the greatest precautions
-      are taken to prevent the intrusion of outsiders; and wonderful is the
-      ingenuity exercised to outwit the authorities. Inside the vestibule of the
-      Moulin was erected a tribune (a long bar), behind which sat the massiers
-      of the different studios of Paris, all in striking costumes. It was their
-      task not only to identify the holders of tickets, but also to pass on the
-      suitability of the costumes of such as were otherwise eligible to
-      admittance. The costumes must all have conspicuous merit and be thoroughly
-      artistic. Nothing black, no dominos, none in civilian dress, may pass.
-      Many and loud were the protestations that rang through the vestibule as
-      one after another was turned back and firmly conducted to the door.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Once past the implacable tribunes, we entered a dazzling fairy-land, a
-      dream of rich color and reckless abandon. From gorgeous kings and queens
-      to wild savages, all were there; courtiers in silk, naked gladiators,
-      nymphs with paint for clothing,&mdash;all were there; and the air was
-      heavy with the perfume of roses. Shouts, laughter, the silvery clinking of
-      glasses, a whirling mass of life and color, a bewildering kaleidoscope, a
-      maze of tangled visions in the soft yellow haze that filled the vast hall.
-      There was no thought of the hardness and sordidness of life, no dream of
-      the morrow. It was a wonderful witchery that sat upon every soul there.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      This splendid picture was framed by a wall of lodges, each sumptuously
-      decorated and hung with banners, tableaux, and greens, each representing a
-      particular atelier and adorned in harmony with the dominant ideals of
-      their masters. The lodge of the <i>Atelier Gérôme</i> was arranged to
-      represent a Grecian temple; all the decorations and accessories were pure
-      Grecian, cleverly imitated by the master's devoted pupils. That of the
-      Atelier Cormon repre sented a huge caravan of the prehistoric big- muscled
-      men that appeal so strongly to Cormon; large skeletons of extinct animals,
-      giant ferns, skins, and stone implements were scattered about, while the
-      students of Cormon's atelier, almost naked, with bushy hair and clothed in
-      skins, completed the picture. And so it was with all the lodges, each
-      typifying a special subject, and carrying it out with perfect fidelity to
-      the minutest detail.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The event of the evening was the grand cortège; this, scheduled for one
-      o'clock, was awaited with eager expectancy, for with it would come the
-      test of supremacy,&mdash;the awarding of the prize for the best. For this
-      was the great art centre of the world, and this night was the one in which
-      its rivalries would strain the farthest reach of skill.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Meanwhile, the great hall swarmed with life and blazed with color and
-      echoed with the din of merry voices. Friends recognized one another with
-      great difficulty. And there was Gérôme himself at last, gaudily gowned in
-      the rich green costume of a Chinese mandarin, his white moustache dyed
-      black, and his white locks hidden beneath a black skull-cap topped with a
-      bobbing appendage. And there also was Jean Paul Laurens, in the costume of
-      a Norman, the younger Laurens as Charlemagne. Léandre, the caricaturist,
-      was irresistible as a caricature of Queen Victoria. Puech, the sculptor,
-      made a graceful courtier of the Marie Antoinette régime. Willett was a
-      Roman emperor. Will Dodge was loaded with the crown, silks, and jewels of
-      a Byzantine emperor.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Louis Loeb was a desperate Tartar bandit. Castaigne made a hit as an
-      Italian jurist. Steinlen, Grasset, Forain, Rodin,&mdash;in fact, nearly
-      all the renowned painters, sculptors, and illustrators of Paris were
-      there; and besides them were the countless students and models.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0026" id="linkimage-0026"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
-      <img src="images/0094.jpg" alt="0094 " width="100%" /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h5>
-      <a href="images/0094.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
-    </h5>
-    <p>
-      "La cavalcade! le grand cortège!" rose the cry above the crashing of the
-      band and the noise of the revellers; and then all the dancing stopped.
-      Emerging from the gardens through the open glass door, bringing with it a
-      pleasant blast of the cool night air, was the vanguard of the great
-      procession. The orchestra struck up the "Victor's March," and a great cry
-      of welcome rang out.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      First came a band of yelling Indians dancing in, waving their spears and
-      tomahawks, and so cleaving a way for the parade. A great roar filled the
-      glass-domed hall when the first float appeared. It was daring and unique,
-      but a masterpiece. Borne upon the shoulders of Indians, who were naked but
-      for skins about their loins, their bodies stained a dark brown and striped
-      with paint, was a gorgeous bed of fresh flowers and trailing vines; and
-      reclining in this bed were four of the models of Paris, lying on their
-      backs, head to head, their legs upraised to support a circular tablet of
-      gold.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0027" id="linkimage-0027"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
-      <img src="images/0095.jpg" alt="0095 " width="100%" /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h5>
-      <a href="images/0095.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
-    </h5>
-    <p>
-      Upon this, high in air, proud and superb, was the great Susanne in all her
-      peerless beauty of face and form,&mdash;simply that and nothing more. A
-      sparkling crown of jewels glowed in her reddish golden hair; a flashing
-      girdle of electric lights encircled her slender waist, bringing out the
-      marvellous whiteness of her skin, and with delicate shadows and tones
-      modelling the superb contour of her figure. She looked a goddess&mdash;and
-      knew it. The crowd upon whom she looked down stood for a while spell-
-      bound, and then, with a waving of arms and flags, came a great shout,
-      "Susanne! Susanne! la belle Susanne!" Susanne only smiled. Was she not the
-      queen of the models of Paris?
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Then came Bellona! Gérôme, when he conceived and executed the idea
-      embodied in this wonderful figure, concentrated his efforts to produce a
-      most terrifying, fear-inspiring image typifying the horrors of war. The
-      straining goddess, poised upon her toes to her full height, her face
-      uplifted, her head thrust forward, with staring eyes and screaming mouth,
-      her short two-edged sword in position for a sweeping blow, her glittering
-      round shield and her coat of mail, a huge angry python darting its tongue
-      and raising its green length from the folds of her drapery,&mdash;all this
-      terrible figure, reproduced with marvellous fidelity and magnified
-      tenfold, overwhelmed the thousands upon whom it glowered. Surrounding the
-      golden chariot was a guard of Roman and Greek gladiators, emperors,
-      warriors, and statesmen. From the staring eyes of Bellona flashed green
-      fire, whose uncanny shafts pierced the yellow haze of the ball-room. Under
-      a storm of cheers Bellona went on her way past the tribune of the judges.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0028" id="linkimage-0028"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
-      <img src="images/0097.jpg" alt="0097 " width="100%" /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h5>
-      <a href="images/0097.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
-    </h5>
-    <p>
-      Following Bellona came a beautiful reproduction of Gérôme's classical
-      "Tanagra," which adorns the sculpture gallery of the Luxembourg. The
-      figure was charmingly personated by Marcelle, a lithe, slim, graceful
-      model of immature years, who was a rage in the studios. Gérôme himself
-      applauded the grace of her pose as she swept past his point of vantage in
-      the gallery.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0029" id="linkimage-0029"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
-      <img src="images/0099.jpg" alt="0099 " width="100%" /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h5>
-      <a href="images/0099.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
-    </h5>
-    <p>
-      Behind Tanagra came W&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;, also of the Atelier Gérôme,
-      dressed as an Apache warrior and mounted on a bucking broncho. He was an
-      American, from Nebraska, where he was a cowboy before he became famous as
-      a sculptor. He received a rousing welcome from his fellow-artists.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The Atelier Cormon came next,&mdash;a magnificent lot of brawny fellows
-      clothed in skins, and bearing an immense litter made of tree branches
-      bound with thongs and weighted down with strong naked women and children
-      of a prehistoric age. It was a reproduction of Cormon's masterpiece in the
-      Luxembourg Gallery, and was one of the most impressive compositions in the
-      whole parade.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Then came the works of the many other studios, all strong and effective,
-      but none so fine as the three first. The Atelier Pascal, of architecture,
-      made a sensation by appearing as Egyptian mummies, each mummy dragging an
-      Egyptian coffin covered with ancient inscriptions and characters and
-      containing a Parisian model, all too alive and sensuous to personate the
-      ancient dead. Another atelier strove hard for the prize with eggs of
-      heroic size, from which as many girls, as chicks, were breaking their way
-      to freedom.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      After the grand cortège had paraded the hall several times it disbanded,
-      and the ball proceeded with renewed enthusiasm.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The tribune, wherein the wise judges sat, was a large and artistic affair,
-      built up before the gallery of the orchestra and flanked by broad steps
-      leading to its summit. It was topped with the imperial escutcheon of Rome&mdash;battle-axes
-      bound in fagots&mdash;and bore the legend, "<i>Mort aux Tyrants</i>," in
-      bold letters. Beneath was a row of ghastly, bloody severed heads,&mdash;those
-      of dead tyrants.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The variety and originality of the costumes were bewildering. One
-      Frenchman went as a tombstone, his back, representing a headstone,
-      containing a suitable inscription and bearing wreaths of immortelles and
-      colored beads. Another, from the Atelier Bon-nat, went simply as a stink,
-      nothing more, nothing less, but it was potent. He had saturated his skin
-      with the juice of onions and garlic, and there was never any mistaking his
-      proximity. Many were the gay Bacchantes wearing merely a bunch of grapes
-      in their hair and a grape-leaf.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      At intervals during the evening the crowd would suddenly gather and form a
-      large circle, many deep, some climbing upon the backs of others the better
-      to see, those in front squatting or lying upon the floor to accommodate
-      the mass behind them. The formation of these circles was the signal for
-      the <i>danse du ventre</i>.*
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      * The danse du ventre (literally, belly-dance) is of Turkish origin, and
-      was introduced to Paris by Turkish women from Egypt. Afterward these women
-      exhibited it in the Midway Plaisance of the Columbian Exposition, Chicago,
-      and then at the California Midwinter Exposition, San Francisco. As danced
-      by Turkish women it consists of astonishing control and movements of the
-      abdominal and chest muscles (hence its other name, muscle-dance), varied
-      with more or less graceful steps and gyrations, with adjuncts, such as
-      castanets, scarfs, etc., and the seemingly perilous use of swords. Such
-      clothing is worn as least obscures the play of the muscles. It is danced
-      to a particular Turkish air, monotonously repeated by an orchestra of male
-      Turkish musicians, with Turkish instruments, and the dance is done solus.
-      A dance closely analogous to it, though of a wholly independent origin, is
-      the hula-hula of the Hawaiian women; but the hula-hula lacks the grace,
-      dash, and abandon of the Turkish dance. The danse du ventre, as danced by
-      French and American women who have "picked it up," is very different from
-      that of the Turkish women&mdash;different both in form and meaning.
-      Whatever of suggestiveness it may be supposed to carry is, in the
-      adaptation, grossly exaggerated, and whatever of grace and special
-      muscular skill, evidently acquired by Turkish women only from long and
-      thorough drill, is eliminated. W. C. M.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0030" id="linkimage-0030"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
-      <img src="images/0103.jpg" alt="0103 " width="100%" /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h5>
-      <a href="images/0103.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
-    </h5>
-    <p>
-      The name of some favorite model would be yelled, and the orchestra would
-      strike up the familiar Oriental strain. And there was always a model to
-      respond. Then the regular dancing would be resumed until another circle
-      was formed and another favorite goddess of the four arts would be called
-      out.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      It was three o'clock when supper was announced by the appearance of two
-      hundred white-aproned waiters carrying scores of tables, chairs, and
-      hampers of plate and glassware. The guests fell to with a will and
-      assisted in spreading and setting the tables; almost in a moment the vast
-      hall was a field of snow pricked out with the brilliant costumes of the
-      revellers. Then came a frightful din of pounding on the tables for the
-      supper. Again marched in the two hundred waiters, loaded with cases of
-      champagne, plates of creamy soup, roasts, salads, cheeses, creams, cakes,
-      ices,&mdash;a feast of Bacchus, indeed. The banquet was enjoyed with
-      Bohemian abandon.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The twelve wise judges of the Tribune now gravely announced their award of
-      prizes, and each announcement was received with ringing applause. The <i>Atelier
-      Gérôme</i> received first prize,&mdash;fifty bottles of champagne, which
-      were immediately taken possession of. The other ateliers received smaller
-      prizes, as their merits deserved, and all were satisfied and happy. The
-      banquet was resumed.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Now here was Susanne, not content with her triumph of the early evening,
-      springing upon one of the central tables, sending the crockery and
-      glassware crashing to the floor with her dainty foot, and serenely
-      surveying the crowd as it greeted her tumultuously, and, seizing a bottle
-      of champagne, sending its foaming contents over as wide a circle of
-      revellers as her strength could reach, laughing in pure glee over her
-      feat, and then bathing her own white body with the contents of another
-      bottle that she poured over herself. A superb Bacchante she made! A
-      general salute of popping corks and clinking glasses greeted her, and she
-      acknowledged the compliment with the danse du ventre. Susanne was so sure
-      of the adoration and affection of the ateliers! Her dance was a challenge
-      to every other model in the chamber. One after another, and often several
-      at a time, they mounted the tables, spurned the crockery to the floor, and
-      gave the danse du ventre. The Moulin was indeed a wild scene of joyous
-      abandonment, and from an artistic point of view grand, a luminous point in
-      the history of modern times. Here were the life, the color, the grace of
-      the living picture, with a noble background of surrounding temples,
-      altars, statues,&mdash;a wonderful spectacle, that artists can understand
-      and appreciate.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0031" id="linkimage-0031"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
-      <img src="images/0103.jpg" alt="0103 " width="100%" /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h5>
-      <a href="images/0103.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
-    </h5>
-    <p>
-      The feast wore merrily through the small hours until the cold blue dawn
-      began to pale the lights in the ceiling. Strangely beautiful was this
-      color effect, as the blue stole downward through the thick yellow glamour
-      of the hall, quickening the merry-makers with a new and uncanny light,
-      putting them out of place, and warning them thence. But still the ball
-      went rolling on.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Though the floor was slippery with wine and dangerous from broken glass,
-      dancing and the cutting of capers proceeded without abatement. The
-      favorite danse du ventre and songs and speeches filled the night to the
-      end of the ball, and then the big orchestra, with a great flourish, played
-      the "Victor's March." This was the signal for the final procession. The
-      vast concourse of students and artists poured forth into the cool, sweet
-      morning air, and the bal was at an end.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Paris was asleep, that early April morning, save for the street-sweepers
-      and the milkmaids and the concierges. But the Place Blanche was very much
-      awake. The morning air was new wine in stale veins, and it banished
-      fatigue.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      "<i>En cavalcade! en cavalcade!</i>" was the cry; and in cavalcade it was.
-      A great procession of all the costumers was formed, to march ensemble
-      across Paris to the Quartier Latin. Even the proud Bellona was dragged
-      along in the rear, towering as high as the lower wings of the now
-      motionless red windmill. She seemed to partake in the revelry, for she
-      swayed and staggered in an alarming fashion as she plunged recklessly down
-      the steeps of Montmartre.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0032" id="linkimage-0032"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
-      <img src="images/0107.jpg" alt="0107 " width="100%" /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h5>
-      <a href="images/0107.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
-    </h5>
-    <p>
-      The deserted Rue Blanche re-echoed the wild yells and songs of the
-      revellers and the rattling of the string of cabs in the rear. The rows of
-      heaped ash-cans that lined the way were overturned one after another, and
-      the oaths and threatening brooms of the outraged concierges went for
-      nothing. Even the poor diligent rag- and bone-pickers were not spared;
-      their filled sacks, carrying the result of their whole night's hunt, were
-      taken from them and emptied. A string of carts heavily laden with stone
-      was captured near the Rue Lafayette, the drivers deposed, and the big
-      horses sent plunging through Paris, driven by Roman charioteers, and
-      making more noise than a company of artillery.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      When the Place de l'Opéra was reached a thousand revellers swarmed up the
-      broad stairs of the Grand Opéra like colored ants, climbed upon the
-      lamp-posts and candelabra, and clustered all over the groups of statuary
-      adorning the magnificent façade. The band took up a position in the centre
-      and played furiously, while the artists danced ring-around-a- rosy, to the
-      amazement of the drowsy residents of the neighborhood.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The cavalcade then re-formed and marched down the Avenue de l'Opéra toward
-      the Louvre, where it encountered a large squad of street-sweepers washing
-      the avenue. In an instant the squad had been routed, and the revellers,
-      taking the hose and brooms, fell to and cleaned an entire block, making it
-      shine as it had never shone before.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Cabs were captured, the drivers decorated with Roman helmets and swords,
-      and dances executed on the tops of the vehicles. One character, with
-      enormous india-rubber shoes, took delight in permitting cabs to run over
-      his feet, while he emitted howls of agony that turned the hair of the
-      drivers white.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0033" id="linkimage-0033"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div class="figleft" style="width:20%;">
-      <img src="images/9110.jpg" alt="9110 " width="100%" /><br /><a
-      href="images/9110.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
-    </div>
-    <p>
-      As the immense cavalcade filed through the narrow arches of the Louvre
-      court-yard it looked like a mediaeval army returning to its citadel after
-      a victorious campaign; the hundreds of battle-flags, spears, and
-      battle-axes were given a fine setting by the noble architecture of the
-      Pavillon de Rohan. Within the court of the Louvre was drawn up a regiment
-      of the Garde Municipale, going through the morning drill; and they looked
-      quite formidable with their evolutions and bayonet charges. But when the
-      mob of Greek and Roman warriors flung themselves bodily upon the ranks of
-      the guard, ousted the officers, and assumed command, there was
-      consternation.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0034" id="linkimage-0034"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
-      <img src="images/0111.jpg" alt="0111 " width="100%" /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h5>
-      <a href="images/0111.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
-    </h5>
-    <p>
-      All the rigid military dignity of the scene disappeared, and the drill was
-      turned into such a farce as the old Louvre had never seen before. The
-      officers, furious at first, could not resist the spirit of pure fun that
-      filled the mob, and took their revenge by kissing the models and making
-      them dance. The girls had already done their share of the conquering by
-      pinning flowers to military coats and coyly putting pretty lips where they
-      were in danger. Even the tall electric-light masts in the court were
-      scaled by adventurous students, who attached brilliant flags, banners, and
-      crests to the mast-heads far above the crowd.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      To the unspeakable relief of the officers, the march was then resumed. The
-      Pont du Carrousel was the next object of assault; here was performed the
-      solemn ceremony of the annual sacrifice of the Quat'z' Arts to the river
-      Seine. The mighty Bellona was the sacrifice. She was trundled to the
-      centre of the bridge and drawn close to the parapet, while the disciples
-      of the four arts gathered about with uncovered heads. The first bright
-      flashes of the morning sun, sweeping over the towers of Notre-Dame, tipped
-      Bellona's upraised sword with flame. The band played a funeral march.
-      Prayers were said, and the national hymn was sung; then Bellona was sent
-      tottering and crashing over the parapet, and with a mighty plunge she sank
-      beneath the waters of the Seine. A vast shout rang through the crisp
-      morning air. Far below, poor Bellona rose in stately despair, and then
-      slowly sank forever.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The parade formed again and proceeded to the Beaux-Arts, the last point of
-      attack. Up the narrow Rue Bonaparte went singing the tired procession; the
-      gates of the Ecole opened to admit it, cabs and all, and the doors were
-      shut again. Then in the historic court-yard of the government school,
-      surrounded by remnants of the beautiful architecture of once stately
-      chateaux and palaces, and encircled by graceful Corinthian columns, the
-      students gave a repetition of the grand ball at the Moulin Rouge. A
-      strange and incongruous sight it was in the brilliant sunshine, and the
-      neighboring windows and balconies were packed with onlookers. But by
-      halfpast seven every trace of the Bal des Quat'z' Arts had disappeared,&mdash;the
-      great procession had melted away to the haunts of Bohemia.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0035" id="linkimage-0035"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div class="fig" style="width:20%;">
-      <img src="images/5114.jpg" alt="5114 " width="100%" /><br /><a
-      href="images/5114.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
-    </div>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br />
-    </p>
-    <hr />
-    <p>
-      <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div style="height: 4em;">
-      <br /><br /><br /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h2>
-      BOULEVARD SAINT-MICHEL
-    </h2>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0036" id="linkimage-0036"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
-      <img src="images/0115.jpg" alt="0115 " width="100%" /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h5>
-      <a href="images/0115.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
-    </h5>
-    <p class="pfirst">
-      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">O</span>F course the
-      proper name for the great thoroughfare of the Quartier Latin is the
-      Boulevard Saint-Michel, but the boulevardiers call it the Boul' Mich',
-      just as the students call the Quatre Arts the Quat'z' Arts, because it is
-      easier to say.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The Boul' Mich' is the student's highway to relaxation. Mention of it at
-      once recalls whirling visions of brilliant <i>café</i>s, with their
-      clattering of saucers and glasses, the shouting of their white-aproned
-      garçons, their hordes of gay and wicked damsels dressed in the costliest
-      and most fashionable gowns, and a multitude of riotous students howling
-      class songs and dancing and parading to the different <i>café</i>s as only
-      students can. This is the head-quarters of the Bohemians of real Bohemia,
-      whose poets haunt the dim and quaint cabarets and read their compositions
-      to admiring friends; of flower-girls who offer you un petit bouquet,
-      seulement dix centimes, and pin it into your button-hole before you can
-      refuse; of Turks in picturesque native costume selling sweetmeats; of the
-      cane man loaded down with immense sticks; of the stems a yard long; of
-      beggars, gutter-snipes, hot-chestnut venders, ped- lers, singers, actors,
-      students, and all manner of queer characters.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0037" id="linkimage-0037"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div class="figleft" style="width:20%;">
-      <img src="images/9116.jpg" alt="9116 " width="100%" /><br /><a
-      href="images/9116.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
-    </div>
-    <p>
-      The life of the Boul' Mich' begins at the Panthéon, where repose the
-      remains of France's great men, and ends at the Seine, where the gray
-      Gothic towers and the gargoyles of Notre-Dame look down disdainfully upon
-      the giddy traffic below. The eastern side of the Boul' is lined with <i>café</i>s,
-      cabarets, and brasseries.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      This is historic ground, for where now is the old Hôtel Cluny are still to
-      be seen the ruins of Roman baths, and not a great distance hence are the
-      partly uncovered ruins of a Roman arena, with its tiers of stone seats and
-      its dens. The tomb of Cardinal Richelieu is in the beautiful old chapel of
-      the Sorbonne, within sound of the wickedest <i>café</i> in Paris, the Café
-      d'Harcourt.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0038" id="linkimage-0038"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
-      <img src="images/0117.jpg" alt="0117 " width="100%" /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h5>
-      <a href="images/0117.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
-    </h5>
-    <p>
-      In the immediate vicinity are to be found the quaint jumbled buildings of
-      old Paris, but they are fast disappearing. And the Quartier abounds in the
-      world's greatest schools and colleges of the arts and sciences.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      It was often our wont on Saturday evenings to saunter along the Boul', and
-      sometimes to visit the <i>café</i>s. To Bishop particularly it was always
-      a revelation and a delight, and he was forever studying and sketching the
-      types that he found there. He was intimately acquainted in all the <i>café</i>s
-      along the line, and with the mysterious rendezvous in the dark and narrow
-      side streets.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      American beverages are to be had at many of the <i>café</i>s on the Boul',&mdash;a
-      recent and very successful experiment. The idea has captured the fancy of
-      the Parisians, so that "<i>Bars Américains</i>," which furnish cocktails
-      and sours, are numerous in the <i>café</i>s. Imagine a Parisian serenely
-      sucking a manhattan through a straw, and standing up at that!
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The Boul' Mich' is at its glory on Saturday nights, for the students have
-      done their week's work, and the morrow is Sunday. Nearly everybody goes to
-      the Bal Bullier. This is separated from the crowded Boul' Mich' by several
-      squares of respectable dwelling-houses and shops, and a dearth of <i>café</i>s
-      prevails thereabout. At the upper end of the Luxembourg is a long stone
-      wall brilliantly bedecked with lamps set in clusters,&mdash;the same wall
-      against which Maréchal Ney was shot (a striking monument across the way
-      recalls the incident). At one end of this yellow wall is an arched entrée,
-      resplendent with the glow of many rows of electric lights and lamps, which
-      reveal the colored bas-reliefs of dancing students and gri-settes that
-      adorn the portal. Near by stands a row of voitures, and others are
-      continually dashing up and depositing Latin-Quarter swells with hair
-      parted behind and combed forward toward the ears, and dazzling visions of
-      the demi-monde in lace, silks, and gauze. And there is a constantly
-      arriving stream of students and gaudily dressed women on foot. Big gardes
-      municipaux stand at the door like stone images as the crowd surges past.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0039" id="linkimage-0039"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
-      <img src="images/0121.jpg" alt="0121 " width="100%" /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h5>
-      <a href="images/0121.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
-    </h5>
-    <p>
-      To-night is one-franc night. An accommodating lady at the box-office hands
-      us each a broad card, and another, au vestiaire, takes our coats and hats
-      and charges us fifty centimes for the honor. Descending the broad flight
-      of softly carpeted red stairs, a brilliant, tumultuous, roaring vision
-      bursts upon us, for it is between the dances, and the visitors are
-      laughing and talking and drinking. The ball-room opens into a generous
-      garden filled with trees and shrubbery ingeniously devised to assure many
-      a secluded nook, and steaming garçons are flying hither and thither
-      serving foaming bocks and colored syrups to nymphs in bicycle bloomers,
-      longhaired students under tam o'shanters, and the swells peculiar to le
-      Quartier Latin.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      "<i>Ah! Monsieur Beeshop, comment vas tu?</i>"
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      "<i>Tiens! le voilà, Beeshop!</i>"
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      "<i>Ah, mon ange!</i>" and other affectionate greetings made Bishop start
-      guiltily, and then he discovered Hélène and Marcelle, two saucy little
-      models who had posed at the École. There also was Fannie, formerly (before
-      she drifted to the <i>café</i>s) our blanchisseuse, leaning heavily upon
-      the arm of son amant, who, a butcher-boy during the day, was now arrayed
-      in a cutaway coat and other things to match, including a red cravat that
-      Fannie herself had tied; but he wore no cuffs. Many other acquaintances
-      presented themselves to Bishop, somewhat to his embarrassment. One, quite
-      a swell member of the demi-monde, for a moment deserted her infatuated
-      companion, a gigantic Martinique negro, gorgeously apparelled, and ran up
-      to tease Bishop to paint her portrait à l'oil, and also to engage him for
-      la prochaine valse.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0040" id="linkimage-0040"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
-      <img src="images/0123.jpg" alt="0123 " width="100%" /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h5>
-      <a href="images/0123.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
-    </h5>
-    <p>
-      The musicians were now playing a schottische, but large circles would be
-      formed here and there in the hall, where clever exhibitions of fancy
-      dancing would be given by students and by fashionably gowned damsels with
-      a penchant for displaying their lingerie and hosiery. The front of the
-      band-stand was the favorite place for this. Here four dashing young women
-      were raising a whirlwind of lingerie and slippers, while the crowd
-      applauded and tossed sous at their feet.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Next to us stood a fat, cheery-faced little man, bearing the unmistakable
-      stamp of an American tourist. His hands were in his pockets, his silk hat
-      was tipped back, and his beaming red face and bulging eyes showed the
-      intensity of his enjoyment. Without the slightest warning the slippered
-      foot of one of these dancers found his shining tile and sent it bounding
-      across the floor. For a moment the American was dazed by the suddenness
-      and unearthly neatness of the feat; then he emitted a whoop of wonder and
-      admiration, and in English exclaimed,&mdash;"You gol-darned bunch of
-      French skirts&mdash;say, you're all right, you are, Marie! Bet you can't
-      do it again!"
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      He confided to Bishop that his name was Pugson and that he was from
-      Cincinnati.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      "Why," he exclaimed, joyously, "Paris is the top of the earth! You artists
-      are an enviable lot, living over here all the time and painting&mdash;
-      Gad! look at her!" and he was pushing his way through the crowd to get a
-      better view of an uncommonly startling dancer, who was at the moment an
-      indeterminate fluffy bunch of skirts, linen, and hosiery. Ah, what tales
-      he will tell of Paris when he returns to Cincinnati, and how he will be
-      accused of exaggerating!
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The four girls forming the centre of attraction were now doing all manner
-      of astonishing things possible only to Parisian feminine anatomy. In
-      another circle near by was Johnson, the American architect, stirring
-      enthusiastic applause as he hopped about, Indian fashion, with a little
-      brunette whose face was hidden in the shadow of her immense hat, her hair
-      en bandeau, à la de Mérode. Could this really be the quiet Johnson of the
-      Ecole, who but a week ago had been showing his mother and charming sister
-      over Paris? And there, too, was his close friend, Walden, of Michigan,
-      leading a heavy blonde to the dance! There were others whom we knew. The
-      little Siamese was flirting desperately with a vision in white standing
-      near his friend, a Japanese, who, in turn, was listening to the cooing of
-      a clinging bloomer girl. Even Haidor, the Turk, was there, but he was
-      alone in the gallery. Many sober fellows whom I had met at the studio were
-      there, but they were sober now only in the sense that they were not drunk.
-      And there were law students, too, in velveteen caps and jackets, and
-      students in the sciences, and students in music, and négligé poets,
-      littérateurs, and artists, and every model and cocotte who could furnish
-      her back sufficiently well to pass the censorship of the severe critic at
-      the door. If she be attractively dressed, she may enter free; if not, she
-      may not enter at all.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0041" id="linkimage-0041"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
-      <img src="images/0125.jpg" alt="0125 " width="100%" /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h5>
-      <a href="images/0125.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
-    </h5>
-    <p>
-      The gayety increased as the hours lengthened; the dancing was livelier,
-      the shouting was more vociferous, skirts swirled more freely, and thin
-      glasses fell crashing to the floor.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      It was pleasanter out in the cool garden, for it was dreadfully hard to
-      keep from dancing inside. The soft gleam of the colored lamps and lanterns
-      was soothing, and the music was softened down to an echo. The broken rays
-      of the lanterns embedded in the foliage laid bright patterns on the showy
-      silks of the women, and the garçons made no noise as they flitted swiftly
-      through the mazes of shrubbery.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      At one end of the garden, surrounded by an hilarious group, were four
-      wooden rocking-horses worked on springs. 'Astride of two of these were an
-      army officer and his companion, a bloomer girl, who persistently twisted
-      her ankles round her horse's head. The two others were ridden by a poet
-      and a jauntily attired gri-sette. The four were as gleeful as children.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0042" id="linkimage-0042"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div class="figleft" style="width:20%;">
-      <img src="images/9128.jpg" alt="9128 " width="100%" /><br /><a
-      href="images/9128.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
-    </div>
-    <p>
-      A flash-light photographer did a driving trade at a franc a flash, and
-      there were a shooting-gallery, a fortune-teller, sou-in-the-slot machines,
-      and wooden figures of negroes with pads on their other ends, by punching
-      which we might see how hard we could hit.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      We are back in the ball-room again,&mdash;it is hard to keep out. The
-      gayety is at its height, the Bal Bullier is in full swing. The tables are
-      piled high with saucers, and the garçons are bringing more. The room is
-      warm and suffocating, the dancing and flirting faster than ever. Now and
-      then a line is formed to "crack the whip," and woe betide anything that
-      comes in its way!
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Our genial, generous new friend from Cincinnati was living the most
-      glorious hour of his life. He had not been satisfied until he found and
-      captured the saucy little wretch who had sent his hat spinning across the
-      room; so now she was anchored to him, and he was giving exhibitions of
-      American grace and agility that would have amazed his friends at home. For
-      obviously he was a person of consequence there. When he saw us his face
-      beamed with triumph, and he proudly introduced us to his
-      mignonette-scented conquest, Mad-dem-mo-zel Madeleine (which he pronounced
-      Madelyne), "the queen of the Latin Quarter. But blamed if I can talk the
-      blooming lingo!" he exclaimed, ruefully. "You translate for me, won't
-      you?" he appealed to Bishop, and Bishop complied. In paying compliments
-      thus transmitted to Madeleine he displayed an adeptness that likely would
-      have astounded his good spouse, who at that moment was slumbering in a
-      respectable part of Paris.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      But the big black Martinique negroes,&mdash;they haunted and dominated
-      everything, and the demimonde fell down and worshipped them. They are
-      students of law and medicine, and are sent hither from the French colonies
-      by the government, or come on their private means.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0044" id="linkimage-0044"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
-      <img src="images/0132.jpg" alt="0132 " width="100%" /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h5>
-      <a href="images/0132.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
-    </h5>
-    <p>
-      They are all heavy swells, as only negroes can be; their well-fitted
-      clothes are of the finest and most showy material; they wear shining silk
-      hats, white waistcoats, white "spats," patent leathers, and very light kid
-      gloves, not to mention a load of massive jewelry. The girls flutter about
-      them in bevies, like doves to be fed.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      At exactly a quarter-past midnight the band played the last piece, the
-      lights began to go out, and the Bal Bullier was closed.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Out into the boulevard surged the heated crowd, shouting, singing, and
-      cutting capers as they headed for the Boul' Mich', there to continue the
-      revelries of which the Bal Bullier was only the beginning. "A la Taverne
-      du Panthéon!" "Au Café Lorrain!" "Au Café d'Harcourt!" were the cries that
-      range through the streets, mingled with the singing of half a thousand
-      people.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0045" id="linkimage-0045"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
-      <img src="images/0133.jpg" alt="0133 " width="100%" /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h5>
-      <a href="images/0133.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
-    </h5>
-    <p>
-      In this mob we again encountered our American acquaintance with his prize,
-      and as he was bent on seeing all that he could of Paris, he begged us to
-      see him through, explaining that money was no object with him, though
-      delicately adding that our friends must make so many calls upon our
-      hospitality as to prove a burden at times. He had only two days more in
-      Paris, and the hours were precious, and "we will do things up in style,"
-      he declared buoyantly. He did.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Bishop's arm was securely held by a little lassie all in soft creamy
-      silks. She spoke Engleesh, and demurely asked Bishop if "we will go to ze
-      <i>café</i> ensemble, n'est-ce-pas?" and Bishop had not the heart to eject
-      her from the party. And so five of us went skipping along with the rest,
-      Mr. Pugson swearing by all the gods that Paris was the top of the earth!
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      When we reached the lower end of the Jardin du Luxembourg, at the old
-      Palais, the bright glow of the <i>café</i>s, with their warm stained
-      windows and lighthearted throngs, stretched away before us. Ah, le Boul'
-      Mich' never sleeps! There are still the laughing grisettes, the singing
-      and dancing students, the kiosks all aglow; the marchand de marrons is
-      roasting his chestnuts over a charcoal brazier, sending out a savory
-      aroma; the swarthy Turk is offering his wares with a princely grace; the
-      flower-girls flit about with freshly cut carnations, violets, and Maréchal
-      Niel roses,&mdash;"This joli bouquet for your sweetheart," they plead so
-      plaintively; the pipe man plies his trade; the cane man mobs us, and the
-      sellers of the last editions of the papers cry their wares.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0046" id="linkimage-0046"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div class="figleft" style="width:20%;">
-      <img src="images/9134.jpg" alt="9134 " width="100%" /><br /><a
-      href="images/9134.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
-    </div>
-    <p>
-      An old pedler works in and out among the <i>café</i> tables with a little
-      basket of olives, deux pour un sou. The crawfish seller, with his little
-      red écrevisses neatly arranged on a platter; Italian boys in white blouses
-      bearing baskets filled with plaster casts of works of the old masters
-      gewgaw pedlers,&mdash;they are still all busily at work, each adding his
-      mite to the din.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The <i>café</i>s are packed, both inside and out, but the favorite seats
-      are those on the sidewalk under the awnings.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0047" id="linkimage-0047"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
-      <img src="images/0135.jpg" alt="0135 " width="100%" /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h5>
-      <a href="images/0135.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
-    </h5>
-    <p>
-      We halted at the Café d'Harcourt. Here the crowd was thickest, the
-      sidewalk a solid mass of humanity; and the noise and the waiters as they
-      yelled their orders, they were there. And des femmes&mdash;how many! The
-      Café d'Harcourt is the head-quarters of these wonderful creations of
-      clothes, paint, wicked eyes, and graceful carriage. We worked our way into
-      the interior. Here the crowd was almost as dense as without, but a chance
-      offered us a vacant table; no sooner had we captured it than we were
-      compelled to retreat, because of a battle that two excited demoiselles
-      were having at an adjoining table. In another part of the room there was
-      singing of "Les sergents sont des brave gens," and in the middle of the
-      floor a petite cocotte, her hat rakishly pulled down over her eyes, was
-      doing a dance very gracefully, her white legs gleaming above the short
-      socks that she wore, and a shockingly high kick punctuating the
-      performance at intervals.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0048" id="linkimage-0048"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
-      <img src="images/0137.jpg" alt="0137 " width="100%" /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h5>
-      <a href="images/0137.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
-    </h5>
-    <p>
-      At other tables were seated students with their friends and mistresses,
-      playing dominoes or recounting their petites histoires. One table drew
-      much attention by reason of a contest in drinking between two seasoned
-      habitués, one a Martinique negro and the other a delicate blond poet. The
-      negro won, but that was only because his purse was the longer.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Every consommation is served with a saucer, upon which is marked the price
-      of the drink, and the score is thus footed à la fin de ces joies. There
-      are some heavy accounts to be settled with the garçons.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      "<i>Ah! voilà Beeshop!" "Tiens! mon vieux!" "Comment vas-tu?</i>" clamored
-      a half-dozen of Bishop's feminine acquaintances, as they surrounded our
-      table, overwhelming us with their conflicting perfumes.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0049" id="linkimage-0049"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
-      <img src="images/0139.jpg" alt="0139 " width="100%" /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h5>
-      <a href="images/0139.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
-    </h5>
-    <p>
-      These denizens of the Boul' have an easy way of making acquaintances, but
-      they are so bright and mischievous withal that no offence can be taken;
-      and they may have a stack of saucers to be paid for. Among the many <i>café</i>
-      frequenters of this class fully half know a few words of English, Italian,
-      German, and even Russian, and are so quick of perception that they can
-      identify a foreigner at a glance. Consequently our table was instantly a
-      target, principally on account of Mr. Pugson, whose nationality emanated
-      from his every pore.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0050" id="linkimage-0050"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
-      <img src="images/0141.jpg" alt="0141 " width="100%" /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h5>
-      <a href="images/0141.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
-    </h5>
-    <p>
-      "Ah, milord, how do you do? I spik Engleesh a few. Es eet not verra a
-      beautiful night?" is what he got. "You are si charmant, monsieur!"
-      protested another, stroking Bishop's Valasquez beard; and then, archly and
-      coaxingly, "<i>Qu'est-ce que vous m'offrez, monsieur? Payez-moi un bock?</i>
-      Yes?" Mr. Pugson made the garçons start. He ordered "everything and the
-      best in the house" (in English); but it was the lordliness of his manner
-      that told, as he leaned back in his chair and smoked his Londrès and eyed
-      Madeleine with intense satisfaction. In the eyes of the beholders that
-      action gave him the unmistakable stamp of an American millionaire. "Tell
-      you, boys," he puffed, "I'm not going to forget Paree in a hurry." And
-      Mademoiselle Madeleine, how she revelled! Mr. Pugson bought her everything
-      that the venders had to sell, besides, for himself, a wretched plaster
-      cast of a dancing-girl that he declared was "dead swell."
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      "I'll take it home and startle the natives," he added; but he didn't, as
-      we shall see later. Then he bought three big canes as souvenirs for
-      friends, besides a bicycle lamp, a mammoth pipe, and other things. A
-      hungry-looking sketch artist who presented himself was engaged on the spot
-      to execute Mr. Pugson's portrait, which he made so flattering as to
-      receive five francs instead of one, his price.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      At a neighboring table occupied by a group of students was Bi-Bi-dans-
-      la-Purée, one of the most famous characters of the Quartier and
-      Montmartre. With hilarious laughter the students were having fun with
-      Bi-Bi by pouring the contents of their soup-plates and drinking-glasses
-      down his back and upon his sparsely covered head; but what made them laugh
-      more was Bi-Bi's wonderful skill in pulling grotesque faces. In that line
-      he was an artist. His cavernous eyes and large, loose mouth did marvellous
-      things, from the ridiculous to the terrible; and he could literally laugh
-      from ear to ear. Poor Bi-Bi-dans-la-Purée!
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0051" id="linkimage-0051"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
-      <img src="images/0143.jpg" alt="0143 " width="100%" /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h5>
-      <a href="images/0143.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
-    </h5>
-    <p>
-      He had been a constant companion of the great Verlaine, but was that no
-      more, since Verlaine had died and left him utterly alone. You may see him
-      any day wandering aimlessly about the Quartier, wholly oblivious to the
-      world about him, and dreaming doubtless of the great dead poet of the
-      slums, who had loved him.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Here comes old Madame Carrot, a weazened little hunchback, anywhere
-      between sixty and a hundred years of age. She is nearly blind, and her
-      tattered clothes hang in strips from her wreck of a form. A few thin
-      strands of gray hair are all that cover her head.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      "<i>Bon soir, Mère Carrot! ma petite mignonne, viens donc qu'on
-      t'embrasse! Où sont tes ailes?</i>" and other mocking jests greet her as
-      she creeps among the tables. But Mère Carrot scorns to beg: she would earn
-      her money. Look! With a shadowy remnant of grace she picks up the hem of
-      her ragged skirt, and with a heart-breaking smile that discloses her
-      toothless gums, she skips about in a dance that sends her audience into
-      shrieks of laughter, and no end of sous are flung at her feet. She will
-      sing, too, and caricature herself, and make pitiful attempts at high
-      kicking and anything else that she is called upon to do for the sous that
-      the students throw so recklessly. There are those who say that she is
-      rich.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      In the rear end of the <i>café</i> the demoiselle who had anchored herself
-      to the Martinique negro at the Bal Bullier was on a table kicking the
-      negro's hat, which he held at arm's length while he stood on a chair. "<i>Plus
-      haut! plus haut encore!</i>" she cried; but each time, as he kept raising
-      it, she tipped it with her dainty slipper; and then, with a magnificent
-      bound, she dislodged with her toe one of the chandelier globes, which went
-      crashing with a great noise to the floor; and then she plunged down and
-      sought refuge in her adorer's arms.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The night's excitement has reached its height now. There is a dizzy whirl
-      of skirts, feathers, "plug" hats, and silken stockings; and there is
-      dancing on the tables, with a smashing of glass, while lumps of sugar
-      soaked in cognac are thrown about. A single-file march round the room is
-      started, each dragging a chair and all singing, "<i>Oh, la pauvre fille,
-      elle est malade!</i>" Mr. Pugson, tightly clutching his canes and his
-      Dancing-Girl, joins the procession, his shiny hat reposing on the pretty
-      head of Mademoiselle Madeleine. But his heart almost breaks with regret
-      because he cannot speak French.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      I began to remonstrate with Bishop for his own unseemly levity, but the
-      gloved hand of Mademoiselle Madeleine was laid on my lips, and her own red
-      lips protested, "<i>Taisez-vous donc! c'est absolument inexcusable de nous
-      faire des sermons en ce moment! En avant!</i>" And we went.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      It was two o'clock, and the <i>café</i>s were closing, under the municipal
-      regulation to do so at that hour, and the Boul' was swarming with
-      revellers turned out of doors.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      At the corner of the Rue Racine stands a small boulangerie, where some of
-      the revellers were beating on the iron shutters and crying, "<i>Voilà du
-      bon fromage au lait!</i>" impatient at the tardiness of the fat baker in
-      opening his shop; for the odor of hot rolls and croissants came up through
-      the iron gratings of the kitchen, and the big cans of fresh milk at the
-      door gave further comforting assurances.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Lumbering slowly down the Boul' were ponderous carts piled high with
-      vegetables, on their way to the great markets of Paris, the Halles
-      Centrales. The drivers, half asleep on the top, were greeted with demands
-      for transportation, and a lively bidding for passengers arose among them.
-      They charged five sous a head, or as much more as they could get, and soon
-      the carts were carrying as many passengers as could find a safe perch on
-      the heaped vegetables.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      "<i>Aux Halles! aux Halles! nous allons aux Halles! Oh, la, la, comme ils
-      sont bons, les choux et les potirons!</i>" were the cries as the carts
-      lumbered on toward the markets.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Mr. Pugson had positively refused to accept our resignation, and stoutly
-      reminded us of our promise to see him through. So our party arranged with
-      a masculine woman in a man's coat on payment of a franc a head, and we
-      clambered upon her neatly piled load of carrots. Mr. Pugson, becoming
-      impatient at the slow progress of the big Normandy horses, began to pelt
-      them with carrots. The market-woman protested vigorously at this waste of
-      her property, and told Mr. Pugson that she would charge him two sous
-      apiece for each subsequent carrot. He seized upon the bargain with true
-      American readiness, and then flung carrots to his heart's content, the
-      driver meanwhile keeping count in a loud and menacing voice. It was a new
-      source of fun for the irrepressible and endlessly jovial American.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Along the now quiet boulevard the carts trundled in a string. All at once
-      there burst from them all an eruption of song and laughter, which brought
-      out numerous gendarmes from the shadows. But when they saw the crowd they
-      said nothing but "<i>Les étudiants</i>," and retreated to the shadows.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      As we were crossing the Pont-au-Change, opposite the Place du Châtelet,
-      with its graceful column touched by the shimmering lights of the Seine,
-      and dominated by the towers of Notre-Dame, Mr. Pugson, in trying to hurl
-      two carrots at once, incautiously released his hold upon the Dancing-
-      Girl, which incontinently rolled off the vegetables and was shattered into
-      a thousand fragments on the pavement of the bridge&mdash;along with Mr.
-      Pugson's heart. After a moment of silent misery he started to throw the
-      whole load of carrots into the river, but he quickly regained command of
-      himself. For the first time, however, his wonderful spirits were dampened,
-      and he was as moody and cross as a child, refusing to be comforted even by
-      Madeleine's cooing voice.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The number of carts that we now encountered converging from many quarters
-      warned us that we were very near the markets. Then rose the subdued noise
-      that night-workers make. There seemed to be no end of the laden carts. The
-      great Halles then came into view, with their cold glare of electric
-      lights, and thousands of people moving about with baskets upon their
-      backs, unloading the vegetable carts and piling the contents along the
-      streets. The thoroughfares were literally walled and fortressed with
-      carrots, cabbages, pumpkins, and the like, piled in neat rows as high as
-      our heads for square after square. Is it possible for Paris to consume all
-      of this in a day?
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Every few yards were fat women seated before steaming cans of hot potage
-      and <i>café</i> noir, with rows of generous white bowls, which they would
-      fill for a sou.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Not alone were the market workers here, for it seemed as though the Boul'
-      Mich' had merely taken an adjournment after the law had closed its portals
-      and turned it out of doors. The workers were silent and busy, but largely
-      interspersed among them were the demi-mondaines and the singing and
-      dancing students of the Quartier, all as full of life and deviltry as
-      ever. It was with these tireless revellers that the soup- and coffee-women
-      did their most thriving business, for fun brings a good appetite, and the
-      soup and coffee were good; but better still was this unconventional,
-      lawless, defiant way of taking them. Mr. Pugson's spirits regained their
-      vivacity under the spell, and he was so enthusiastic that he wanted to buy
-      out one of the pleasant-faced fat women; we had to drag him bodily away to
-      avert the catastrophe.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      In the side streets leading away from the markets are <i>café</i>s and
-      restaurants almost without number, and they are open toute la nuit, to
-      accommodate the market people, having a special permit to do so; but as
-      they are open to all, the revellers from all parts of Paris assemble there
-      after they have been turned out of the boulevard <i>café</i>s at two
-      o'clock. It is not an uncommon thing early of a Sunday morning to see
-      crowds of merry-makers from a bal masqué finishing the night here, all in
-      costume, dancing and playing ring-around-a-rosy among the stacks of
-      vegetables and the unheeding market people. Indeed, it is quite a common
-      thing to end one's night's frivolity at the Halles and their <i>café</i>s,
-      and take the first 'buses home in the early morning.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The contingent from the Boul' Mich', after assisting the market people to
-      unload, and indulging in all sorts of pranks, invaded the élite <i>café</i>s,
-      among them the <i>Café Barrette, Au Veau Qui Tête, Au Chien Qui Fume, and
-      Le Caveau du Cercle.</i>
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0052" id="linkimage-0052"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
-      <img src="images/0149.jpg" alt="0149 " width="100%" /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h5>
-      <a href="images/0149.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
-    </h5>
-    <p>
-      At this last-named place, singing and recitations with music were in
-      order, a small platform at one end of the room being reserved for the
-      piano and the performers. Part of the audience were in masquerade costume,
-      having come from a ball at Montmartre, and they lustily joined the
-      choruses. Prices are gilt-edged here,&mdash;a franc a drink, and not less
-      than ten sous to the garçon.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The contrast between the fluffy and silk-gowned demi-mondaines and the
-      dirty, roughly clad market people was very striking at the Café Barrette.
-      There the women sit in graceful poses, or saunter about and give evidence
-      of their style, silk gowns, India laces, and handsome furs, greeting each
-      new-comer with pleas for a sandwich or a bock; they are always hungry and
-      thirsty, but they get a commission on all sales that they promote. A small
-      string orchestra gave lively music, and took up collections between
-      performances. The array of gilt-framed mirrors heightened the brilliancy
-      of the place, already sufficiently aglow with many electric lights. The
-      Café Barrette is the last stand of the gaudy women of the boulevards. With
-      the first gray gleam of dawn they pass with the night to which they
-      belong.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      It was with sincere feeling that Mr. Pugson bade us good-by at five
-      o'clock that morning as he jumped into a cab to join his good spouse at
-      the Hôtel Continental; but he bore triumphantly with him some sketches of
-      the showy women at the Café Barrette, which Bishop had made.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      As for Madeleine, so tremendously liberal had she found Mr. Pugson that
-      her protestations of affection for him were voluble and earnest. She
-      pressed her card upon him and made him swear that he would find her again.
-      After we had bidden her good-night, Mr. Pugson drew the card from his
-      pocket, and thoughtfully remarked, as he tore it to pieces,&mdash;"I don't
-      think it is prudent to carry such things in your pocket."
-    </p>
-    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
-      <img src="images/0152.jpg" alt="0152 " width="100%" /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h5>
-      <a href="images/0152.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
-    </h5>
-    <div style="height: 4em;">
-      <br /><br /><br /><br />
-    </div>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br />
-    </p>
-    <hr />
-    <p>
-      <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <h2>
-      BOHEMIAN CAFÉS
-    </h2>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0053" id="linkimage-0053"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
-      <img src="images/0153.jpg" alt="0153 " width="100%" /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h5>
-      <a href="images/0153.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
-    </h5>
-    <p class="pfirst">
-      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">V</span>ERY often, instead
-      of having dinner at the studio, we saunter over to the Maison Dar-blay,
-      passing the wall of the dismal Cimetière du Montparnasse on the way. The
-      Maison Darblay is in the little Rue de la Gaieté, which, though only a
-      block in length, is undoubtedly the liveliest thoroughfare in the
-      Quartier. That is because it serves as a funnel between the Avenue du
-      Maine and five streets that converge into it at the upper end.
-      Particularly in the early evening the little street is crowded with people
-      returning from their work. All sorts of boutiques are packed into this
-      minute thoroughfare,&mdash;-jewelry-shops, pork-shops, kitchens (where
-      they cook what you bring while you wait on the sidewalk), theatres, <i>cafés
-      chantants</i>, fried-potato stalls, snail merchants, moving vegetable- and
-      fruit-markets, and everything else.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      In the middle of the block, on the western side, between a millinery- shop
-      and a butcher-shop, stands the Maison Darblay, famous for its beans and
-      its patrons. A modest white front, curtained windows, and a row of
-      milk-cans give little hint of the charms of the interior. Upon entering we
-      encounter the vast M. Darblay seated behind a tiny counter, upon which are
-      heaped a pile of freshly ironed napkins, parcels of chocolate, a big dish
-      of apple-sauce, rows of bottles containing bitters that work miracles with
-      ailing appetites, and the tip-box. Reflecting M. Darblay's beamy back and
-      the clock on the opposite wall (which is always fifteen minutes fast)
-      hangs a long mirror resplendent in heavy gilt frame; it is the pride of
-      the establishment, and affords comfort to the actresses when they adjust
-      their hats and veils upon leaving.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0054" id="linkimage-0054"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div class="figleft" style="width:20%;">
-      <img src="images/9154.jpg" alt="9154 " width="100%" /><br /><a
-      href="images/9154.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
-    </div>
-    <p>
-      M. Darblay is manager of the establishment, and when it is reflected that
-      he weighs two hundred and sixty pounds, it may be imagined what accurate
-      adjustments he has to make in fitting himself behind the small counter.
-      When a boarder finishes his meal he goes to M. Darblay and tells him what
-      he has had, including napkin and bread, and M. Darblay scores it all down
-      on a slate with chalk and foots it up. After the bill is paid, the tip-box
-      is supposed by a current fiction to receive two sous for Marie and
-      Augustine, the buxom Breton maidens who serve the tables; but so rarely
-      does the fiction materialize that, when the rattle of coins is heard in
-      the box, the boarders all look up wonderingly to see the possible
-      millionaire that has appeared among them, and Marie and Augustine shout at
-      the top of their voices, "Merci bien, monsieur!"
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0055" id="linkimage-0055"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div class="figright" style="width:20%;">
-      <img src="images/8155.jpg" alt="8155 " width="100%" /><br /><a
-      href="images/8155.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
-    </div>
-    <p>
-      At the opposite end of the room, in full view, is the cuisine, with its
-      big range and ruddy fires. Here Madame Darblay reigns queen, her genial,
-      motherly red face and bright eyes beaming a welcome to all. She is from
-      Lausanne, on Lake Geneva, Switzerland, and the independent blood of her
-      race rarely fails its offices when M. Darblay incautiously seeks to
-      interfere with her duties and prerogatives, for he retreats under an
-      appalling volley of French from his otherwise genial spouse; on such
-      occasions he seeks his own corner as rapidly as he can manage his bulk to
-      that purpose. She is a famous cook. The memory of her poulets rôtis and
-      juicy gigots will last forever. But greatest of all are her haricots
-      blancs, cooked au beurre; it is at the shrine of her beans that her
-      devoted followers worship.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      And her wonderful wisdom! She knows intuitively if you are out of sorts or
-      have an uncertain appetite, and without a hint she will prepare a delicacy
-      that no epicure could resist. She knows every little whim and peculiarity
-      of her boarders, and caters to them accordingly. The steaks and chops are
-      bought at the shop next door just when they are ordered, and are always
-      fresh.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      There are eight marble-top tables lining the two walls, and each table is
-      held sacred to its proper occupants, and likewise are the numbered hooks
-      and napkins. An invasion of these preserves is a breech of etiquette
-      intolerable in Bohemia.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Even the white cat is an essential part of the establishment, for it
-      purringly welcomes the patrons and chases out stray dogs.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Situated as it is, in a group of three theatres and several <i>café</i>s
-      chantants, it is the rendezvous of the actors and actresses of the
-      neighborhood. They hold the three tables but one from the kitchen, on one
-      side, and they are a jolly crowd, the actresses particularly.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0056" id="linkimage-0056"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
-      <img src="images/0157.jpg" alt="0157 " width="100%" /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h5>
-      <a href="images/0157.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
-    </h5>
-    <p>
-      They are a part of the Quartier and echo its spirit. Although full of
-      mischief and fun, the actresses would never be suspected of singing the
-      naughty songs that so delight the gallery gods and so often wring a murmur
-      of protest from the pit. There are ten who dine here, but from their
-      incessant chatter and laughter you would think them twenty. On Friday
-      evenings, when the songs and plays are changed, they rehearse their pieces
-      at dinner.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0057" id="linkimage-0057"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
-      <img src="images/0159.jpg" alt="0159 " width="100%" /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h5>
-      <a href="images/0159.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
-    </h5>
-    <p>
-      Bishop is openly fond of Mademoiselle Brunerye, a sparkling little
-      brunette singer, who scolds him tragically for drawing horrible
-      caricatures of her when he sits before the footlights to hear her sing.
-      But it is always she that begins the trouble at the theatre. If Bishop is
-      there, she is sure to see him and to interpolate something in her song
-      about "<i>mon amant Américain</i>," and sing it pointedly at him, to the
-      amusement of the audience and his great discomfiture; and so he retorts
-      with the caricatures.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Upon entering the restaurant the actresses remove their hats and wraps and
-      make themselves perfectly at home. They are the life of Darblay's; we
-      couldn't possibly spare them.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      One of the actors is a great swell,&mdash;M. Fontaine, leading man at the
-      Théâtre du Montparnasse, opposite.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0058" id="linkimage-0058"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div class="figleft" style="width:20%;">
-      <img src="images/9160.jpg" alt="9160 " width="100%" /><br /><a
-      href="images/9160.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
-    </div>
-    <p>
-      His salary is a hundred francs a week; this makes the smaller actors look
-      up to him, and enables him to wear a very long coat, besides gloves,
-      patent-leather shoes, and a shiny top-hat. He occupies the place of honor,
-      and Marie smiles when she serves him, and gives him a good measure of
-      wine. He rewards this attention by depositing two sous in the tip-box
-      every Friday night. Then there are M. Marius, M. Zecca, and M. Dufauj who
-      make people scream with laughter at the Gaieté, and M. Coppée, the heavy
-      villain of the terrible eyes in "Les Deux Gosses," and Mademoiselle Walzy,
-      whose dark eyes sparkle mischief as she peeps over her glass, and
-      Mademoiselle Minion, who kicks shockingly high to accentuate her songs,
-      and eight other actresses just as saucy and pretty.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The students of the Quartier practically take charge of the theatres on
-      Saturday nights, and as they are very free with their expressions of
-      approval or disapproval, the faces of the stage-people wear an anxious
-      look at the restaurant on that evening. The students will throw the whole
-      theatre into an uproar with hisses that drive an actor off the stage, or
-      applause, recalls, and the throwing of two-sous bouquets and kisses to an
-      actress who has made a hit.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Promptly at six-forty-five every night the venerable M. Corneau enters
-      Darblay's, bringing a copy of <i>Le Journal</i>. He is extremely
-      methodical, so that any interruption of his established routine upsets him
-      badly. One evening he found a stranger in his seat, occupying the
-      identical chair that had been sacred to his use every evening for six
-      years. M. Corneau was so astonished that he hung his hat on the wrong
-      hook, stepped on the cat's tail, sulked in a corner, and refused to eat
-      until his seat had been vacated, and then he looked as though he wished it
-      could be fumigated. He has a very simple meal. One evening he invited me&mdash;a
-      rare distinction&mdash;to his room, which was in the top floor of one of
-      those quaint old buildings in the Rue du Moulin de Beurre. It could then
-      be seen what a devoted scientist and student he was. His room was packed
-      with books, chemicals, mineral specimens, and scientific instruments. He
-      was very genial, and brewed excellent tea over an alcohol-stove of his own
-      manufacture. Twenty years ago he was a professor at the Ecole des Mines,
-      where he had served many years; but he had now grown too old for that, and
-      was living his quiet, studious, laborious life on a meagre pension.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      At one table sit a sculptor, an artist, and a blind musician and his wife.
-      The sculptor is slender, delicate, and nervous, and is continually rolling
-      and smoking cigarettes. His blond hair falls in ringlets over his collar,
-      and he looks more the poet than the sculptor, for he is dreamy and
-      distrait, and seems to be looking within himself rather than upon the
-      world about him. Augustine serves him with an absinthe Pernod au sucre,
-      which he slowly sips while he smokes several cigarettes before he is ready
-      for his dinner.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0059" id="linkimage-0059"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
-      <img src="images/0162.jpg" alt="0162 " width="100%" /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h5>
-      <a href="images/0162.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
-    </h5>
-    <p>
-      The artist is his opposite,&mdash;a big, bluff, hearty fellow, loud of
-      voice and full of life. And he is successful, for he has received a medal
-      and several honorable mentions at the Salon des Champs-Élysées, and has a
-      fine twilight effect in the Luxembourg Gallery. After dinner he and M.
-      Darblay play piquet for the coffee, and M. Darblay is generally loser.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0060" id="linkimage-0060"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
-      <img src="images/0163.jpg" alt="0163 " width="100%" /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h5>
-      <a href="images/0163.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
-    </h5>
-    <p>
-      The blind musician is a kindly old man with a benevolent face and a jovial
-      spirit. He is the head professor of music at the Institution des Aveugles,
-      on the Boulevard des Invalides. His wife is very attentive to him, taking
-      his hat and cane, tucking his napkin under his chin, placing the dishes
-      where he knows how to find them, and reading the papers to him. He knows
-      where everybody sits, and he addresses each by name, and passes many brisk
-      sallies about the room.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      One poet is vivacious, not at all like the dreamy species to which he
-      belongs. True, he wears long hair and a Quartier Latin "plug," but his
-      eyes are not vague, and he is immensely fond of Madame Darblay's beans, of
-      which he has been known to stow away five platefuls at a meal. Often he
-      brings in a copy of <i>Gil Bias</i>, containing a poem by himself in the
-      middle of the page and with illustrations by Steinlen.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      A strange, solitary figure used to sit in one corner, speaking to no one,
-      and never ordering more than a bowl of chocolate and two sous of bread. It
-      was known merely that he was an Hungarian and an artist, and from his
-      patched and frayed clothes and meagre fare it was surmised that he was
-      poor. But he had a wonderful face. Want was plainly stamped upon it, but
-      behind it shone a determination and a hope that nothing could repress.
-      There was not a soul among the boarders but that would have been glad to
-      assist in easing whatever burden sat upon him, and no doubt it was his
-      suspicion of that fact and his dread of its manifestation that made him
-      hold absolutely aloof. Madame Darblay once or twice made efforts to get
-      nearer to him, but he gently and firmly repulsed her. He was a pitiable
-      figure, but his pride was invincible, and with eyes looking straight
-      forward, he held up his head and walked like a king. He came and went as a
-      shadow.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      None knew where he had a room. There were many stories and conjectures
-      about him, but he wrapped his mantle of mystery and solitude about him and
-      was wholly inaccessible. It was clear to see that he lived in another
-      world,&mdash;a world of hopes, filled with bright images of peace and
-      renown. After a time his seat became vacant, and I shall presently tell
-      how it happened.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      These will suffice as types of the Maison Darblay, though I might mention
-      old M. Decamp, eighty-four years of age, and as hearty and jovial a man as
-      one would care to see. In his younger days he had been an actor, having
-      had a fame during the Empire of Napoléon III. And there were a professor
-      of languages, who gave lessons at fifteen sous an hour, a journalist of
-      the <i>Figaro</i>, and two pretty milliner girls from the shop next door.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The great event at the Maison Darblay came not long ago, when M. Darblay's
-      two charming daughters had a double wedding, each with a comfortable dot,
-      for M. Darblay had grown quite rich out of his restaurant, owning several
-      new houses. The girls were married twice,&mdash;once at the Mairie on the
-      Rue Gassendi, and again at the Eglise St. Pierre, on the Avenue du Maine.
-      Then came the great wedding-dinner at the Maison Darblay, to which all the
-      boarders were invited. The tables were all connected, so as to make two
-      long rows. The bridal-party were seated at the end next the kitchen, and
-      the front door was locked to exclude strangers. M. Darblay was elegant in
-      a new dress suit and white shirt, but his tailor, in trying to give him a
-      trim figure, made the situation embarrassing, as M. Darblay's girth
-      steadily increased during the progress of the banquet. He made a very fine
-      speech, which was uproariously cheered.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0061" id="linkimage-0061"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div class="figleft" style="width:20%;">
-      <img src="images/9166.jpg" alt="9166 " width="100%" /><br /><a
-      href="images/9166.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
-    </div>
-    <p>
-      Madame Darblay was remarkably handsome in a red satin gown, and bore so
-      distinguished an air, and looked so transformed from her usual kitchen
-      appearance, that we could only marvel and admire. Then came the kissing of
-      the brides, a duty that was performed most heartily. Madame Darblay was
-      very happy and proud, and her dinner was a triumph to have lived for.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Bishop sat opposite the wicked Mademoiselle Brunerye, and he and she made
-      violent love, and behaved with conspicuous lack of dignity. M. Fontaine,
-      the great, had one of the chic milliners for partner. Old M. Decamp told
-      some racy stories of the old régime. When the coffee and liqueurs came on,
-      the big artist brought out a guitar and the poet a mandolin, and we had
-      music. Then the poet read a poem that he had written for the occasion. The
-      actresses sang their sprightliest songs. Mademoiselle Brunerye sang "<i>Ça
-      fait toujours plaisir</i>" to Bishop. M. Fontaine gave in a dramatic
-      manner a scene from "<i>Les Deux Gosses</i>," the heavy villain assisting,
-      the cook's aprons and towels serving to make the costumes. Bishop sang
-      "Down on the Farm." In short, it was a splendid evening in Bohemia, of a
-      kind that Bohemians enjoy and know how to make the most of.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0062" id="linkimage-0062"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
-      <img src="images/0167.jpg" alt="0167 " width="100%" /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h5>
-      <a href="images/0167.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
-    </h5>
-    <p>
-      There was one silent guest, the strange young Hungarian artist. He ate
-      with a ravenous appetite, openly and unashamed. After he had had his fill
-      (and Madame Darblay saw to it that he found his plate always replenished),
-      he smiled occasionally at the bright sallies of the other guests, but for
-      the most part he sat constrained, and would speak only when addressed,&mdash;he
-      protested that his French was too imperfect. It was so evident that he
-      wished to escape notice entirely that no serious effort was made to draw
-      him out.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      That was a hard winter. A few weeks after the wedding the Hungarian's
-      visits to the Maison Dar-blay suddenly ceased. The haunted look had been
-      deepening in his eyes, his gaunt cheeks had grown thinner, and he looked
-      like a hunted man. After his disappearance the gendarmes came to the
-      restaurant to make inquiries about him. Bishop and I were present. They
-      wanted to know if the young man had any friends there. We told them that
-      we would be his friends.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      "Then you will take charge of his body?" they asked.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      We followed them to the Rue Perceval, where they turned us over to the
-      concierge of an old building. She was very glad we had come, as the lad
-      seemed not to have had a friend in the world. She led us up to the sixth
-      floor, and then pointed to a ladder leading up to the roof. We ascended
-      it, and found a box built on the roof. It gave a splendid view of Paris.
-      The door of the box was closed. We opened it, and the young artist lay
-      before us dead. There were two articles of furniture in the room. One was
-      the bare mattress on the floor, upon which he lay, and the other was an
-      old dresser, from which some of the drawers were missing. The young man
-      lay drawn up, fully dressed, his coat-collar turned up about his ears.
-      Thus he had fallen asleep, and thus hunger and cold had slain him as he
-      slept. There was one thing else in the room, all besides, including the
-      stove and the bed-covering, having gone for the purchase of painting
-      material. It was an unfinished oil-painting of the Crucifixion. Had he
-      lived to finish it, I am sure it would have made him famous, if for
-      nothing else than the wonderful expression of agony in the Saviour's face,
-      an agony infinitely worse than the physical pain of the crucifixion could
-      have produced.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      There was still one thing more,&mdash;a white rat that was, hunting
-      industriously for food, nibbling desiccated cheese-rinds that it found on
-      the shelves against the wall. It had been the artist's one friend and
-      companion in life.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      And all that, too, is a part of life in Bohemian Paris.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      On the Rue Marie, not far from the Gare Montparnasse, is the "Club," a
-      small and artistically dirty wine-shop and restaurant, patronized by a
-      select crowd of musketeers of the brush. The warm, dark tones of the
-      anciently papered walls are hidden beneath a cloud of oil sketches,
-      charcoal drawings, and caricatures of everything and everybody that the
-      fancies of the Bohemians could devise. Madame Annaie is mistress of the
-      establishment, and her cook, M. Annaie, wears his cap rakishly on one
-      side, and attends to his business; and he makes very good potages and
-      rôtis, considering the small prices that are charged. Yet even the prices,
-      though the main attraction, are paid with difficulty by a majority of the
-      habitués, who sometimes fall months in arrears. Madame Annaie keeps a big
-      book of accounts.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Of the members of the club, four are Americans, two Spaniards, one an
-      Italian, one a Welshman, one a Pole, one a Turk, one a Swiss, and the rest
-      French,&mdash;just fifteen in all, and all sculptors and painters except
-      one of the Americans, who is correspondent of a New York paper. At seven
-      o'clock every evening the roll is called by the Pole, who acts as
-      president, secretary, and treasurer of the club. A fine of two sous is
-      imposed for every absence; this goes to the "smoker" fund. Joanskouie, the
-      multiple officer, has not many burdensome duties, but even these few are a
-      severe tax upon his highly nervous temperament. Besides collecting the
-      fines he must gather up also the dues, which are a franc a month. All the
-      members are black-listed, including the president himself, and the names
-      of the delinquents are posted on the wall.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The marble-top tables are black with pencil sketches done at the expense
-      of Giles, the Welshman, who is the butt of the club. He is a very tall and
-      amazingly lean Welshman, with a bewhiskered face, a hooked nose, and a
-      frightful accent when he speaks either English or French. He is an animal
-      sculptor, but leaves his art carefully alone. He is very clever at drawing
-      horses, dogs, and funny cows all over the walls; but he is so droll and
-      stupid, so incredibly stupid, that "Giles" is the byword of the club.
-      Every month he receives a remittance of two hundred and fifty francs, and
-      immediately starts out to get the full worth of it in the kinds of
-      enjoyment that he finds on the Boul' Mich', where regularly once a month
-      he is a great favorite with the feminine habitués of the <i>café</i>s.
-      When his funds run low, he lies perdu till mid-day; then he appears at
-      Madame Annaie's, heavy-eyed and stupid, staying until midnight. Sometimes
-      he varies this routine by visiting his friends at their studios, where he
-      is made to pose in ridiculous attitudes.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The "smoker" is held on the last Saturday night of each month, and all the
-      members are present. Long clay pipes are provided, and a big bowl of
-      steaming punch, highly seasoned, comes from Madame Annaie's kitchen.
-      Mutually laudatory speeches and toasts, playing musical instruments, and
-      singing songs are in order. The Spaniard, with castanets, skilfully
-      executes the fandango on a table. Bishop does the danse du ventre.
-      Joncierge gives marvellous imitations of Sarah Bernhardt and other
-      celebrities, including Giles, whose drawl and stupidity he makes
-      irresistibly funny. Nor do Gérôme, Bouguereau, and Benjamin Constant
-      escape his mimicry. Haidor, the Turk, drawls a Turkish song all out of
-      tune, and is rapturously encored. The Swiss and the Italian render a
-      terrific duo from "Aida," and the Spaniards sing the "Bullfighters' Song"
-      superbly. Sketches are dashed off continually. They are so clever that it
-      is a pity Madame Annaie has to wipe them from the tables.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      On Thanksgiving-day the Americans gave the club a Thanksgiving dinner. It
-      was a great mystery and novelty to the other members, but they enjoyed it
-      hugely. The turkeys were found without much trouble, but the whole city
-      had to be searched for cranberries. At last they were found in a small
-      grocery-shop in the American quarter, on the Avenue Wagram. Bishop
-      superintended the cooking, M. Annaie serving as first assistant. How M.
-      Annaie stared when he beheld the queer American mixtures that Bishop was
-      concocting! "Mon Dieu! Not sugar with meat!" he cried, aghast, seeing
-      Bishop serve the turkey with cranberry sauce. A dozen delicious
-      pumpkin-pies that formed part of the menu staggered the old cook. The
-      Italian cooked a pot of macaroni with mushroom sauce, and it was superb.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      "The Hole in the Wall" eminently deserves its name. It is on the Boulevard
-      du Montparnasse, within two blocks of the Bal Bullier. A small iron sign
-      projecting over the door depicts two students looking down at the
-      passers-by over bowls of coffee, rolls also being shown. It was painted by
-      an Austrian student in payment of a month's board.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The Hole is a tiny place, just sufficiently large for its two tables and
-      eight stools, fat Madame Morel, the proprietress, and a miniature zinc bar
-      filled with absinthe and cognac bottles and drinking glasses.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The ceiling is so low that you must bend should you be very tall, for
-      overhead is the sleeping-room of Madame Morel and her niece; it is reached
-      by a small spiral stair.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0063" id="linkimage-0063"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
-      <img src="images/0173.jpg" alt="0173 " width="100%" /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h5>
-      <a href="images/0173.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
-    </h5>
-    <p>
-      A narrow slit in the floor against the wall, where the napkin-box hangs,
-      leads down to the dark little kitchen. It is a tight squeeze for Madame
-      Morel to serve her customers, but she has infinite patience and geniality,
-      and discharges her numerous duties and bears her hardships with unfailing
-      good-nature. It is no easy task to cook a halfdozen orders at once, wait
-      on the tables, run out to the butcher-shop for a chop or a steak, and take
-      in the cash. But she does all this, and much more, having no assistant.
-      The old concierge next door, Madame Mariolde, runs in to help her
-      occasionally, when she can spare a moment from her own multifarious
-      duties. Madame Morel's toil-worn hands are not bien propre, but she has a
-      kind heart. For seven years she has lived in this little Hole, and during
-      that time has never been farther away than to the grocery-shop on the
-      opposite corner.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Her niece leaves at seven o'clock in the morning to sew all day on the
-      other side of town, returning at eight at night, tired and listless, but
-      always with a half-sad smile. So we see little of her. Many nights I have
-      seen her come in drenched and cold, her faded straw hat limp and askew,
-      and her dark hair clinging to her wet face. For she has walked in the rain
-      all the way from the Avenue de l'Opéra, unable to afford omnibus fare. She
-      usually earns from two to two and half francs a day, sewing twelve hours.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The most interesting of the frequenters of the Hole is a Slav from
-      Trieste, on the Adriatic. He is a genius in his way, and full of energy
-      and business sense. His vocation is that of a "lightning-sketch artist,"
-      performing at the theatres. He has travelled all over America and Europe,
-      and is thoroughly hardened to the ways of the world. Whenever he runs out
-      of money he goes up to the Rue de la Gaieté and gives exhibitions for a
-      week or two at one of the theatres there, receiving from fifty to sixty
-      francs a week. The students all go to see him, and make such a noise and
-      throw so many bouquets (which he returns for the next night) that the
-      theatrical managers, thinking he is a great drawing-card, generally raise
-      his salary as an inducement to make him prolong his stay when he threatens
-      to leave.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      But he is too thoroughly a Bohemian to remain long in a place. Last week
-      he suddenly was taken with a desire to visit Vienna. Soon after he had
-      gone four pretty Parisiennes called and wanted to know what had become of
-      their amant.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      D&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;, another of the habitués of the Hole, is a German
-      musical student. Strangers would likely think him mentally deranged, so
-      odd is his conduct.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0064" id="linkimage-0064"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div class="figright" style="width:20%;">
-      <img src="images/8175.jpg" alt="8175 " width="100%" /><br /><a
-      href="images/8175.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
-    </div>
-    <p>
-      He has two other peculiarities,&mdash;extreme sensitiveness and
-      indefatigable industry. He brings his shabby violin-case every evening,
-      takes out his violin after dinner, and at once becomes wholly absorbed in
-      his practice. If he would play something more sprightly and pleasing the
-      other habitués of the Hole would not object; but he insists on practising
-      the dreariest, heaviest, and most wearing exercises, the most difficult
-      études, and the finest compositions of the masters. All this is more than
-      the others can bear with patience always; so they wound his sensibilities
-      by throwing bread and napkin-rings at him. I hen he retires to the
-      kitchen, where, sitting on the cooler end of the range, he practises
-      diligently under Madame Morel's benevolent protection. This is all because
-      he has never found a concierge willing to permit him to study in his room,
-      so tireless is his industry. If I do not mistake, this strange young man
-      will be heard from some day.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Then there is W&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;, a student in sculpture, with
-      exceptionally fine talent. He had been an American cowboy, and no trooper
-      could swear more eloquently. He has been making headway, for the Salon has
-      given him honorable mention for a strong bronze group of fighting tigers.
-      His social specialty is poker-playing, and he has brought the entire Hole
-      under the spell of that magic game.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Herr Prell, from Munich, takes delight in torturing the other habitués
-      with accounts of dissections, as he is a medical student at the Académie
-      de Médecine. The Swede, who drinks fourteen absinthes a day, throws stools
-      at Herr Prell, and tries in other ways to make him fight; but Herr Prell
-      only laughs, and gives another turn of the dissection-screw.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The glee club is one of the features of the Hole. It sings every night,
-      but its supreme effort comes when one of the patrons of the Hole departs
-      for home. On such occasions the departing comrade has to stand the dinner
-      for all, after which, with its speeches and toasts, he is escorted to the
-      railway station with great éclat, and given a hearty farewell, the glee
-      club singing the parting song at the station. Bishop is leading tenor of
-      the glee club.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br />
-    </p>
-    <hr />
-    <p>
-      <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div style="height: 4em;">
-      <br /><br /><br /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h2>
-      LE CABARET DU SOLEIL D'OR
-    </h2>
-    <p class="pfirst">
-      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>T is only the name
-      of the Cabaret of the Golden Sun that suggests the glorious luminary of
-      day. And yet it is really brilliant in its own queer way, though that
-      brilliancy shines when all else in Paris is dark and dead,&mdash;at night,
-      and in the latest hours of the night at that.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0065" id="linkimage-0065"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div class="figright" style="width:20%;">
-      <img src="images/8177.jpg" alt="8177 " width="100%" /><br /><a
-      href="images/8177.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
-    </div>
-    <p>
-      My acquaintance with the Golden Sun began one foggy night in a cold
-      November, under the guidance of Bishop.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Lured by the fascinations of nocturnal life in the Quartier Latin, and by
-      its opportunities for the study of life in its strangest phases, Bishop
-      had become an habitual nighthawk, leaving the studio nearly every evening
-      about ten o'clock, after he had read a few hours from treasured books
-      gleaned from the stalls along the river, to prowl about with a sketchbook,
-      in quest of queer characters and queer places, where strange lives were
-      lived in the dark half of the day. His knowledge of obscure retreats and
-      their peculiar habitués seemed unlimited. And what an infinite study they
-      offer! The tourist, "doing" Bohemian Paris as he would the famous art
-      galleries, or Notre-Dame, or the Madeleine, or the <i>café</i>s on the
-      boulevards, may, under the guidance of a wise and discerning student,
-      visit one after another of these out-of-the-way resorts where the endless
-      tragedy of human life is working out its mysteries; he may see that one
-      place is dirtier or noisier than another, that the men and women are
-      better dressed and livelier here than there, that the crowd is bigger, or
-      the lights brighter; but he cannot see, except in their meaningless outer
-      aspects, those subtle differences which constitute the heart of the
-      matter. In distance it is not far from the Moulin Rouge to the Cabaret du
-      Soleil d'Or, but in descending from the dazzling brilliancy and frothy
-      abandon of the Red Mill to the smoke and grime of the Golden Sun, we drop
-      from the summit of the Tour Eiffel to the rat-holes under the bridges of
-      the Seine; and yet it is in such as the Cabaret of the Golden Sun that the
-      true student finds the deeper, the more lastingly charming, the strangely
-      saddening spell that lends to the wonderful Quartier Latin its distinctive
-      character and everlasting fascination.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Though Bishop spoke to me very little of his midnight adventures, I being
-      very busy with my own work, I began to have grave apprehensions on the
-      score of his tastes in that direction; for during the afternoons
-      ridiculous-looking, long-haired, but gentlemannered persons in shabby
-      attire, well-seasoned with the aroma of absinthe and cigarettes, would
-      favor our studio with a call, undoubtedly at Bishop's invitation. They
-      brought with them black portfolios or rolls of paper tied with black
-      string, containing verses,&mdash;their masterpieces, which were to startle
-      Paris, or new songs, which, God favoring, were to be sung at La Scala or
-      the Ambassadeurs, and thus bring them immortal fame and put abundant fat
-      upon their lean ribs! Ah, the deathless hope that makes hunger a welcome
-      companion here!
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Bishop would cleverly entertain these aspiring geniuses with shop talk
-      concerning literature and music, and he had a charming way of dwelling
-      upon the finish and subtlety of their work and comparing it with that of
-      the masters. It usually ended with their posing for him in different
-      attitudes of his suggesting. Why waste money on professional models? As
-      Bishop's acquaintances became more numerous among this class, we finally
-      set aside Tuesday afternoons for their reception. Then they would come in
-      generous numbers and enjoy themselves unreservedly with our cognac and
-      biscuits. But ah, the rare pleasures of those afternoons,&mdash;as much
-      for the good it did us to see their thin blood warmed with brandy and food
-      as for their delightful entertainment of us and one another.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The studio was warm and cheerful on the night when Bishop invited me to
-      accompany him out. I had been at work, and presently, when I had finished,
-      I flung myself on the divan for a rest and a smoke, and then became aware
-      of Bishop's presence. He was comfortably ensconced in the steamer-chair,
-      propped up with pillows.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      "Aren't you going out to-night?" I inquired.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      "Why, yes. Let's see the time. A little after eleven. That's good. You are
-      finished, aren't you? Now, if you want a little recreation and wish to see
-      one of the queerest places in Paris, come with me."
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      I looked out the window. A cold, dreary night it was. The chimney-pots
-      were dimmed by the thick mist, and the street lamps shone murkily far
-      below. It was a saddening, soaking, dripping night, still, melancholy, and
-      depressing,&mdash;the kind of night that lends a strange zest to in-door
-      enjoyment, as though it were a duty to keep the mist and the dreariness
-      out of the house and the heart.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      But the studio had worn me out, and I was eager to escape from its
-      pleasant coziness. And this was a Saturday night, which means something,
-      even in Paris. To-morrow there would be rest. So I cheerfully assented.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      We donned our heaviest top-coats and mufflers, crammed the stove full of
-      coal, and then sallied out into the dripping fog.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Oh, but it was cold and dismal in the streets! The mist was no longer the
-      obscuring, suggestive, mysterious factor that it had been when seen from
-      the window, but was now a tangible and formidable thing, with a manifest
-      purpose. It struck through our wraps as though they had been cheesecloth.
-      It had swept the streets clear, for not a soul was to be seen except a
-      couple of sergents de ville, all hooded in capes, and a cab that came
-      rattling through the murk with horses a-steam. Occasionally a flux of warm
-      light from some <i>café</i> would melt a tunnel through the monotonous
-      opaque haze, but the empty chairs and tables upon the sidewalks facing the
-      <i>café</i>s offered no invitation.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0066" id="linkimage-0066"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
-      <img src="images/0181.jpg" alt="0181 " width="100%" /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h5>
-      <a href="images/0181.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
-    </h5>
-    <p>
-      In front of one of these <i>café</i>s, in a sheltered corner made by a
-      glass screen, sat a solitary young woman, dressed stylishly in black, the
-      light catching one of her dainty slippers perched coquettishly upon a
-      foot-rest. A large black hat, tilted wickedly down over her face, cast her
-      eyes in deep shadow and lent her that air of alluring mystery which the
-      women of her class know so well how to cultivate. Her neck and chin were
-      buried deep in the collar of her sealskin cape. A gleam of limp white
-      gauze at her throat lent a pleasing relief to the monotone of her attire.
-      Upon the table in front of her stood an empty glass and two saucers. As we
-      passed she peered at us from beneath her big hat, and smiled coquettishly,
-      revealing glistening white teeth. The atmosphere of loneliness and
-      desolation that encompassed her gave a singularly pathetic character to
-      her vigil. Thus she sat, a picture for an artist, a text for a moralist,
-      pretty, dainty, abandoned. It happened not to be her fortune that her
-      loneliness should be relieved by us.... But other men might be coming
-      afterwards.... All this at a glance through the cold November fog.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      As we proceeded up the Boul' Mich' the <i>café</i>s grew more numerous and
-      passers-by more frequent, but all these were silent and in a hurry,
-      prodded on by the nipping cold fangs of the night. Among the tables
-      outside the <i>Café d'Harcourt</i> crouched and prowled an old man,
-      bundled in ill-fitting rags, searching for remnants of cigars and
-      cigarettes on the sanded sidewalk. From his glittering eyes, full of
-      suspicion, he turned an angry glance upon us as we paused a moment to
-      observe him, and growled,&mdash;"<i>Allons, tu n' peux donc pas laisser un
-      pauv' malheureux?</i>"
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Bishop tossed him a sou, which he greedily snatched without a word of
-      thanks.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0067" id="linkimage-0067"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div class="figright" style="width:20%;">
-      <img src="images/8183.jpg" alt="8183 " width="100%" /><br /><a
-      href="images/8183.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
-    </div>
-    <p>
-      At the corner, under the gas-lamps, stood shivering newspaper venders
-      trying to sell their few remaining copies of la dernière édition de la
-      presse. Buyers were scarce.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      We had now reached the Place St.-Michel and the left bank of the river. We
-      turned to the right, following the river wall toward Notre-Dame, whose
-      towers were not discernible through the fog.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Here there was an unbounded wilderness of desolation and solitude. The
-      black Seine flowed silently past dark masses that were resolved into big
-      canal-boats, with their sickly green lights reflected in the writhing ink
-      of the river. Notre-Dame now pushed its massive bulk through the fog, but
-      its towers were lost in the sky. Near by a few dim lights shone forth
-      through the slatted windows of the Morgue. But its lights never go out.
-      And how significantly close to the river it stands! Peering under the
-      arches of the bridges, we found some of the social dregs that sleep there
-      with the rats. It was not difficult to imagine the pretty girl in black
-      whom we had passed coming at last through dissipation and wrinkles and
-      broken health to take refuge with the rats under the bridges, and it is a
-      short step thence to the black waters of the river; and that the scheme of
-      the tragedy might be perfect in all its parts, adjustments, and relations,
-      behold the Morgue so near, with its lights that never go out, and boatmen
-      so skilled in dragging the river! And the old man who was gathering the
-      refuse and waste of smokers, it was not impossible that he should find
-      himself taking this route when his joints had grown stiffer, though it
-      would more likely end under the bridges.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The streets are very narrow and crooked around Notre-Dame, and their
-      emanations are as various as the capacity of the human nose for evil
-      odors. The lamps, stuck into the walls of the houses, only make the
-      terrors of such a night more formidable; for while one may feel a certain
-      security in absolute darkness, the shadows to which the lamps lend life
-      have a baffling elusiveness and weirdness, and a habit of movement that
-      makes one instinctively dodge. But that is all the trick of the wind.
-      However that may be, it is wonderful how much more vividly one remembers
-      on such a night the stories of the murders, suicides, and other crimes
-      that lend a particular grewsomeness to the vicinity of the Morgue and
-      Notre-Dame.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      We again turned to the right, into a narrow, dirty street,&mdash;the Rue
-      du Haut-Pavé,&mdash;whose windings brought us into a similar street,&mdash;the
-      Rue Galande. Bishop halted in front of a low arched door-way, which blazed
-      sombrely in its coat of blood-red paint. A twisted gas-lamp, demoralized
-      and askew, depended overhead, and upon the glass enclosing it was painted,
-      with artistic flourishes,&mdash;"Au Soleil d'Or."
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      This was the cabaret of the Golden Sun,&mdash;all unconscious of the
-      mockery of its name, another of those whimsical disjointings in which the
-      shadowy side of Paris is so prolific. From the interior of the luminary
-      came faintly the notes of a song, with piano accompaniment.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The archway opened into a small court paved with ill-fitted flint blocks.
-      At the farther end of it another gas-lamp flickered at the head of a
-      flight of stairs leading underground. As we approached the steps a woman
-      sprang from the shadow, and with a cry, half of fear and half of anger,
-      fled to the street. At that moment memories of the cosiness of our studio
-      became doubly enticing,&mdash;one cannot always approach unfamiliar
-      underground Paris with perfect courage. But Bishop's coolness was
-      reassuring. He had already descended the steps, and there was nothing left
-      for me but to follow.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      At the foot of the stairs were half-glass doors curtained with cheap red
-      cloth. A warm, thick, suffocating gust of air, heavy with the fumes of
-      beer, wine, and tobacco, assailed our cold faces as we pushed open the
-      doors and entered the room.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      For a moment it was difficult to see clearly, so dense was the smoke. It
-      was packed against the ceiling like a bank of fog, diminishing in density
-      downward, and shot through with long banner-like streamers of smoke
-      freshly emitted.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The human atmosphere of the place could not be caught at once. A stranger
-      would not have known for the moment whether he was with thieves or
-      artists. But very soon its distinctive spirit made its presence and
-      character manifest. The room&mdash;which was not a large one&mdash;was
-      well filled with an assortment of those queer and interesting people some
-      of whom Bishop had entertained at the studio, only here their
-      characteristics were more pronounced, for they were in their natural
-      element, depressed and hampered by no constraints except of their own
-      devising. A great many were women, although it could be seen at a glance
-      that they were not of the nymphs who flitted among the glittering <i>café</i>s,
-      gowned in delicate laces and sheeny sculptured silks, the essence of
-      mignonette pervading their environment. No; these were different.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0068" id="linkimage-0068"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
-      <img src="images/0187.jpg" alt="0187 " width="100%" /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h5>
-      <a href="images/0187.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
-    </h5>
-    <p>
-      Here one finds, not the student life of Paris, but its most unconventional
-      Bohemian life. Here, in this underground rendezvous, a dirty old hole
-      about twenty feet below the street level, gather nightly the
-      happy-go-lucky poets, musicians, and singers for whom the great busy world
-      has no use, and who, in their unrelaxing poverty, live in the tobacco
-      clouds of their own construction, caring nothing for social canons,
-      obeyers of the civil law because of their scorn of meanness, injustice,
-      and crime, suffering unceasingly for the poorest comforts of life,
-      ambitious without energy, hopeful without effort, cheerful under the
-      direst pressure of need, kindly, simple, proud, and pitiful.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      All were seated at little round tables, as are the habitués of the <i>café</i>s,
-      and their attention was directed upon a slim young fellow with curling
-      yellow hair and a faint moustache, who was singing, leaning meanwhile upon
-      a piano that stood on a low platform in one corner of the room. Their
-      attention was respectful, delicate, sympathetic, and, as might be
-      supposed, brought out the best in the lad. It was evident that he had not
-      long been a member of the sacred circle. His voice was a smooth, velvety
-      tenor, and under proper instruction might have been useful to its
-      possessor as a means of earning a livelihood. But it was clear that he had
-      already fallen under the spell of the associations to which accident or
-      his inclination had brought him; and this meant that henceforth he would
-      live in this strange no-world of dreams, hopes, sufferings, and idleness,
-      and that likely he would in time come to gather cigar-stumps on the sanded
-      pavement of the Café d'Harcourt, and after that sleep with the rats under
-      the bridges of the Seine. At this moment, however, he lived in the clouds;
-      he breathed and glowed with the spirit of shiftless, proud, starving
-      Bohemianism as it is lived in Paris, benignantly disdainful of the great
-      moiling, money-grubbing world that roared around him, and perhaps already
-      the adoration of some girl of poetic or artistic tastes and aspirations,
-      who was serving him as only the Church gives a woman the right.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      There was time to look about while he was singing, though that was
-      difficult, so strange and pathetic a picture he made. The walls of the
-      room were dirty and bare, though relieved at rare intervals by sketches
-      and signs. The light came from three gas-burners, and was reflected by a
-      long mirror at one end of the room.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      No attention had been paid to our entrance, except by the garçon, a
-      heavy-set, bull-necked fellow, who, with a sign, bade us make no noise.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      When the song had finished the audience broke into uproarious applause,
-      shouting, "<i>Bravo, mon vieux!" "Bien fait, Marquis!</i>" and the
-      clapping of hands and beating of glasses on the marble-topped tables and
-      pounding of canes on the floor made a mighty din. The young singer, his
-      cheeks glowing and his eyes blazing, modestly rolled up his music and
-      sought his seat.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      We were now piloted to seats by the garçon, who, when we had settled
-      ourselves, demanded to know what we would drink. "<i>Deux bocks!</i>" he
-      yelled across the room. "<i>Deux bocks!</i>" came echoing back from the
-      counter, where a fat woman presided&mdash;knitting.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Several long-haired littérateurs&mdash;friends of Bishop's&mdash;came up
-      and saluted him and shook his hand, all with a certain elegance and
-      dignity. He, in turn, introduced me, and the conversation at once turned
-      to art, music, and poetry. Whatever the sensational news of the day,
-      whatever the crisis in the cabinet, whatever anything might have been that
-      was stirring the people in the great outside commonplace world, these men
-      and women gave it no heed whatever. What was the gross, hard, eager world
-      to them? Did not the glories of the Golden Sun lend sufficient warmth to
-      their hearts, and were not their vague aspirations and idle hopes ample
-      stimulants to their minds and spirits? They quickly found a responsive
-      mood in us, and this so delighted them that they ordered the drinks.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The presiding genius at the piano was a whitehaired, spiritual-looking
-      man, whose snowy locks gave the only indication of his age; for his face
-      was filled with the eternal youthfulness of a careless and contented
-      heart. His slender, delicate fingers told of his temperament, his thin
-      cheeks of his poverty, and his splendid dreamy eyes of the separate life
-      that he lived.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Standing on the platform beside him was a man of a very different type. It
-      was' the pianist's function to be merely a musician; but the other man&mdash;the
-      musical director&mdash;was one from whom judgment, decision, and authority
-      were required. Therefore he was large, powerful, and big- stomached, and
-      had a pumpkin head, and fat, baggy eyes that shone through narrow slits.
-      He now stepped forward and rang a little bell, upon which all talking was
-      instantly hushed.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      "<i>Mesdames et messieurs</i>," he said, in a large, capable voice, "<i>J'ai
-      l'honneur de vous annoncer que Madame Louise Leroux, nous lira ses
-      dernières oeuvres&mdash;une faveur que nous apprécierons tous</i>."
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0069" id="linkimage-0069"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div class="figright" style="width:20%;">
-      <img src="images/9192.jpg" alt="9192 " width="100%" /><br /><a
-      href="images/9192.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
-    </div>
-    <p>
-      A young woman&mdash;about twenty-three, I should judge&mdash;arose from
-      one of the tables where she had been sitting talking with an
-      insipid-looking gentleman adorned with a blond moustache and vacant,
-      staring-eyes; he wore a heavy coat trimmed with astrachan collar and
-      cuffs, which, being open at the throat, revealed the absence of a shirt
-      from his body. A Latin Quarter top-hat was pushed back on his head, and
-      his long, greasy hair hung down over his collar. Madame Leroux smiled
-      affectionately at him as she daintily flicked the ashes from her cigarette
-      and laid it upon the table, and moistened her thin red lips with a yellow
-      liqueur from her glass. He responded with a condescending jerk of his
-      head, and, diving into one of the inner pockets of his coat, brought forth
-      a roll of paper, which she took. A great clapping of hands and loud cries
-      of her name greeted her as she stepped upon the platform, but it was
-      clearly to be seen from her indifferent air that she had been long
-      accustomed to this attention.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The big musical director again rang his bell.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      "<i>Il était une Fois,</i>" she said, simply. The pianist fingered the
-      keys softly, and she began to recite.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0070" id="linkimage-0070"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
-      <img src="images/8193.jpg" alt="8193 " width="100%" /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h5>
-      <a href="images/8193.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
-    </h5>
-    <p>
-      The room was as still as a chapel. Every one listened in profound
-      absorption; even the stolid bull-necked waiter leaned against the wall,
-      his gaze fastened upon her with respectful interest. She spoke slowly, in
-      a low, sweet tone, the soft accompaniment of the piano following the
-      rhythm of her voice with wonderful effectiveness. She seemed to forget her
-      surroundings,&mdash;the hot, close room, crowded with shabby, eccentric
-      geniuses who lived from hand to mouth, the poverty that evidently was her
-      lot,&mdash;even her lover, who sat watching her with a cold, critical,
-      half-disdainful air, making notes upon a slip of paper, now nodding his
-      head approvingly, now frowning, when pleased or displeased with her
-      performance. She was a rare picture as she thus stood and recited, a
-      charming swing to her trim figure, half reclining upon the piano, her
-      black hair falling loosely and caressing her forehead and casting her dark
-      eyes in deeper shadow, and all her soul going forth in the low, soft,
-      subdued passion of her verses. She reminded one greatly of Bernhardt, and
-      might have been as great.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      During her whole rendering of this beautiful and pathetic tale of "other
-      times" she scarcely moved, save for some slight gesture that suggested
-      worlds. How well the lines suited her own history and condition only she
-      could have told. Who was she? What had she been? Surely this strange
-      woman, hardly more than a mere girl, capable of such feelings and of
-      rendering them with so subtle force and beauty, had lived another life,-
-      -no one knew, no one cared.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Loud shouts of admiration and long applause rang through the room as she
-      slowly and with infinite tenderness uttered the last line with bowed head
-      and a choking voice. She stood for a moment while the room thundered, and
-      then the noise seemed to recall her, to drag her back from some haunting
-      memory to the squalor of her present condition, and then her eyes eagerly
-      sought the gentleman of the fur-collared coat. It was an anxious glance
-      that she cast upon him. He carelessly nodded once or twice, and she
-      instantly became transfigured. The melancholy of her eyes and the wretched
-      dejection of her pose disappeared, and her sad face lit up with a beaming,
-      happy smile. She was starting to return to him, all the woman in her
-      awaking to affection and a yearning for the refuge of his love, when the
-      vociferous cries of the crowd for an encore, and the waving of her lover's
-      hand as a signal for her to comply, sent her back on guard to the piano
-      again. Her smile was very sweet and her voice full of trippling melody
-      when she now recited a gay little ballad,&mdash;also her own composition,&mdash;"<i>Amours
-      Joyeux</i>,"&mdash;in so entirely different a spirit that it was almost
-      impossible to believe her the same mortal. Every fibre of her being
-      participated in the rollicking abandon of the piece, and her eyes were
-      flooded with the mellow radiance of supreme love satisfied and victorious.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Upon regaining her seat she was immediately surrounded by a praise- giving
-      crowd, who shook hands with her and heartily congratulated her; but it was
-      clear that she could think only of him of the fur collar, and that no word
-      of praise or blame would weigh with her the smallest fraction of a
-      feather's weight unless this one man uttered it. She disengaged her hand
-      from her crowding admirers and deftly donned her little white Alpine hat,
-      all the while looking into the face of the one man who could break her
-      heart or send her to heaven. He sat looking at his boot, indifferent,
-      bored. Presently he looked up into her anxious eyes, gazed at her a
-      moment, and then leaned forward and spoke a word. It sent her to heaven.
-      Her face all aglow and her eyes shining with happiness, she called the
-      garçon, paid for the four saucers upon the table, and left the room upon
-      the arm of her lover.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      "How she does adore that dog!" exclaimed my friend the musician.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      "What does he do?" I asked.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      "Do?" he echoed. "Nothing. It is she who does all. Without her he would
-      starve. He is a writer of some ability, but too much of a socialist to
-      work seriously. In her eyes he is the greatest writer in the world. She
-      would sacrifice everything to please him. Without him her life would fall
-      into a complete blank, and her recklessness would quickly send her into
-      the lowermost ranks. When a woman like that loves, she loves&mdash;ah, <i>les
-      femmes sont difficiles à comprendre!</i>" My friend sighed, burying his
-      moustaches in a foaming bock.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Individual definition grew clearer as I became more and more accustomed to
-      the place and its habitués. It seemed that nearly all of them were
-      absinthe-drinkers, and that they drank a great deal,&mdash;all they could
-      get, I was made to understand. They care little about their dress and the
-      other accessories of their personal appearance, though here and there they
-      exhibit the oddest finery, into whose possession they fall by means which
-      casual investigation could not discover, and which is singularly out of
-      harmony with the other articles of their attire and with the environment
-      which they choose. As a rule, the men wear their hair very long and in
-      heavy, shaggy masses over their ears and faces. They continually roll and
-      smoke cigarettes, though there are many pipes, and big ones at that. But
-      though they constitute a strange crowd, there is about them a distinct air
-      of refinement, a certain dignity and pride that never fail, and withal a
-      gentleness that renders any approach to ruffianism impossible. The women
-      take a little more pride in their appearance than the men. Even in their
-      carelessness and seeming indifference there abides with nearly all of them
-      the power to lend themselves some single touch of grace that is
-      wonderfully redeeming, and that is infinitely finer and more elusive than
-      the showy daintiness of the women of the <i>café</i>s.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      As a rule, these Bohemians all sleep during the day, as that is the best
-      way to keep warm; at night they can find warmth in the cabarets. In the
-      afternoon they may write a few lines, which they sell in some way for a
-      pittance, wherewithal to buy them a meal and a night's vigil in one of
-      these resorts. This is the life of lower Bohemia plain and simple,&mdash;not
-      the life of the students, but of the misfit geniuses who drift, who have
-      neither place nor part in the world, who live from hand to mouth, and who
-      shudder when the Morgue is mentioned,&mdash;and it is so near, and its
-      lights never go out! They are merely protestants against the formalism of
-      life, rebels against its necessities. They seek no following, they desire
-      to exercise no influence. They lead their vacant lives without the
-      slightest restraint, bear their poverty without a murmur, and go to their
-      dreary end without a sigh. These are the true Bohemians of Paris.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Other visitors came into the Soleil d'Or and sought seats among their
-      friends at the tables, while others kept leaving, bound for other
-      rendezvous, many staying just sufficiently long to hear a song or two.
-      They were all of the same class, very negligently and poorly attired, some
-      displaying their odd pieces of finery with an exquisite assumption of
-      unconsciousness on its account, as though they were millionaires and cared
-      nothing for such trivial things. And the whimsical incongruities of it! If
-      one wore a shining tile he either had no shirt (or perhaps a very badly
-      soiled one), or wore a frayed coat and disreputable shoes. In fact, no
-      complete respectable dress made its appearance in the room that night,
-      though each visitor had his distinctive specialty,&mdash;one a burnished
-      top hat, another a gorgeous cravat, another a rich velvet jacket, and so
-      on. But they all wore their hair as long as it would grow. That is the
-      Bohemian mark.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The little bell again rang, and the heavy director announced that
-      "Monsieur Léon Décarmeau will sing one of his newest songs." Monsieur Léon
-      Décarmeau was a lean, half-starved appearing man of about forty, whose
-      eyes were sunk deep in his head, and whose sharp cheek-bones protruded
-      prominently. On the bridge of his thin, angular nose set a pair of
-      "pince-nez," attached by a broad black cord, which he kept fingering
-      nervously as he sang. His song was entitled "Fleurs et Pensées," and he
-      threw himself into it with a broad and passionate eagerness that heavily
-      strained the barrier between melodrama and burlesque. His glance sought
-      the ceiling in a frenzied quest of imaginary nymphs, his arms swayed as he
-      tenderly caressed imaginary flowers of sweet love and drank in their
-      intoxicating perfume instead of the hot, tobacco-rife smoke of the room.
-      His voice was drawn out in tremendous sighs full of tears, and his chest
-      heaved like a blacksmith's bellows. But when he had ceased he was most
-      generously applauded and praised.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      During the intervals between the songs and recitations the room was noisy
-      with laughter, talking, and the clinking of glasses. The one garçon was
-      industriously serving boissons and yelling orders to the bar, where the
-      fat woman sat industriously knitting, heedless, as might have been
-      expected of the keeper of the Cave of Adullam, and awakening to activity
-      only when the stentorian yells of the garçon's orders rose above the din
-      of the establishment. Absinthe and beer formed the principal beverages,
-      though, as a rule, absinthe was taken only just before a meal, and then it
-      served as an appetizer,&mdash;a sharpener of hunger to these who had so
-      little wherewithal to satisfy the hunger that unaided nature created!
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The mystery of the means by which these lighthearted Bohemians sustained
-      their precarious existence was not revealed to me; yet here they sat, and
-      laughed, and talked, and recited the poetry of their own manufacture, and
-      sang their songs, and drank, and smoked their big pipes, and rolled
-      cigarettes incessantly, happy enough in the hour of their lives, bringing
-      hither none of the pains and pangs and numbing evidences of their
-      struggles. And there was no touch of the sordid in the composite picture
-      that they made, and a certain tinge of intellectual refinement, a certain
-      spirituality that seemed to raise them infinitely above the plane of the
-      lowly strugglers who won their honest bread by honest labor, shone about
-      them as a halo.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Their dark hours, no doubt, came with the daylight, and in these meetings
-      at the cabaret they found an agreeable way in which to while away the
-      dismal interval that burdened their lives when they were not asleep; for
-      the cabaret was warm and bright, warmer and brighter than their own
-      wretched little rooms au cinquième,&mdash;and coal and candles are
-      expensive luxuries! Here, if their productions haply could not find a
-      larger and more remunerative audience, they could at least be heard,&mdash;by
-      a few, it is true, but a most appreciative few, and that is something of
-      value equal to bread. And then, who could tell but what fame might
-      unexpectedly crown them in the end? It has happened thus.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      "But why worry?" asked the musician. "'Laugh, and the world laughs with
-      you. If we do not live a long life, it is at least a jolly one,' is our
-      motto and certainly they gave it most faithful allegiance."
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      I learned from Bishop that the musical director received three francs a
-      night for his services. Should singers happen to be lacking, or should the
-      evening be dull for other reason, he himself must sing and recite; for the
-      tension of the Soleil d'Or must be kept forever taut. The old white-haired
-      pianist received two francs a night, and each of these contributors to the
-      gayety of the place was given a drink gratis. So there was at least some
-      recompense besides the essential one of appreciation from the audience.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Glasses clinked merrily, and poets and composers flitted about the room to
-      chat with their contemporaries. A sketch artist, deftly drawing the
-      portrait of a baritone's jolly little mistress, was surrounded by a
-      bantering group, that passed keen, intelligent, and good-natured criticism
-      on the work as it rapidly grew under his hands. The whitehaired pianist
-      sat puffing at his cigarette and looking over some music with a rather
-      pretty young woman who had written popular songs of La Villette.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The opening of the doors and the straggling entrance of three men sent an
-      instant hush throughout the room.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      "Verlaine!" whispered the musician to me.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      It was indeed the great poet of the slums,&mdash;the epitome and idol of
-      Bohemian Paris, the famous man whose verses had rung throughout the length
-      and breadth of the city, the one man who, knowing the heart and soul of
-      the stragglers who found light and warmth in such places as the Soleil
-      d'Or, had the brains and grace to set the strange picture adequately
-      before the wondering world.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The musical director, as well as a number of others in the place, stepped
-      forward, and with touching deference and tenderness greeted the remarkable
-      man and his two companions. It was easy to pick out Verlaine without
-      relying upon the special distinction with which he was greeted. He had the
-      oddest slanting eyes, a small, stubby nose, and wiry whiskers, and his
-      massive forehead heavily overhung his queerly shaped eyes. He was all
-      muffled up to the chin; wore a badly soiled hat and a shabby dark coat.
-      Under one arm he carried a small black portfolio.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0071" id="linkimage-0071"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div class="figright" style="width:20%;">
-      <img src="images/9202.jpg" alt="9202 " width="100%" /><br /><a
-      href="images/9202.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
-    </div>
-    <p>
-      Several of the women ran to him and kissed him on both cheeks, which
-      salutations he heartily returned, with interest.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      One of his companions was Monsieur Bi-Bi-dans-la-Purée&mdash;so he was
-      called, though seemingly he might have been in anything as well as soup.
-      He was an exceedingly interesting figure. His sunken, drawn, smooth-
-      shaven face gave terrible evidence of the excessive use of absinthe. A
-      large hooked nose overshadowed a wide, loose mouth that hung down at the
-      corners, and served to set forth in startling relief the sickly leaden
-      color of his face. When he spoke, a few straggling teeth gleamed
-      unpleasantly. He wore no overcoat, and his jacket hung open, disclosing a
-      half-opened shirt that exposed his bare breast. His frayed trousers
-      dragged the ground at his heels. But his eyes were the most terrible part
-      of him; they shone with the wild, restless light of a madman, and their
-      gaze was generally flitting and distrait, acknowledging no acquaintances.
-      Afterwards, when Verlaine was dead, I often saw Monsieur
-      Bi-Bi-dansla-Purée on the street, looking most desolate, a roll of white
-      manuscript in his hand, his coat and shirt wide open, exposing his naked
-      breast to the biting cold wind. He seemed to be living altogether in
-      another world, and gazed about him with the same unseeing vacant stare
-      that so startled me that night in the Soleil d'Or.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      When Verlaine and his companions were seated&mdash;by displacing the
-      artist&mdash;the recitations and songs recommenced; and it was noticeable
-      that they were rendered with augmented spirit, that the famous poet of the
-      slums might be duly impressed with the capabilities and hospitable
-      intentions of his entertainers; for now all performed for Verlaine, not
-      for one another. The distinguished visitor had removed his slouch hat,
-      revealing the wonderful oblong dome of his bald head, which shone like the
-      Soleil d'Or; and many were the kisses reverently and affectionately
-      bestowed upon that glistening eminence by the poet's numerous female
-      admirers in the throng.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      A reckless-looking young woman, with a black hat drawn down over her eyes,
-      and wearing glasses, was now reciting. Her hands were gloved in black, but
-      the finger-tips were worn through,&mdash;a fact which she made all the
-      more evident by a peculiar gesture of the fingers.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      As the small hours grew larger these gay Bohemians waxed gayer and
-      livelier. Formalities were gradually abandoned, and the constraint of
-      dignity and reserve slowly melted under the mellowing influences of the
-      place. Ceremonious observances were dropped one by one; and whereas there
-      had been the most respectful and insistent silence throughout the songs,
-      now all joined heartily in the choruses, making the dim lights dance in
-      the exuberance of the enjoyment. I had earnestly hoped that Verlaine,
-      splendid as was his dignity, might thaw under the gathering warmth of the
-      hour, but beyond listening respectfully, applauding moderately, and
-      returning the greetings that were given him, he held aloof from the
-      influence of the occasion, and after draining his glass and bidding
-      good-night to his many friends, with his two companions he made off to
-      another rendezvous.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Monsieur le Directeur came over to our table and asked Bishop to favor the
-      audience with a "<i>chanson Américaine</i>." This rather staggered my
-      modest friend, but he finally yielded to entreaties. The director rang his
-      little bell again and announced that "Monsieur Beeshup" would sing a song
-      <i>à l'Américaine</i>. This was received with uproarious shouts by all,
-      and several left their seats and escorted Bishop to the platform. I
-      wondered what on earth he would sing. The accompanist, after a little
-      coaching from Bishop, assailed the chords, and Bishop began drawling out
-      his old favorite, "Down on the Farm." He did it nobly, too, giving the
-      accompanist occasion for labor in finding the more difficult harmonies.
-      The hearers, though they did not understand a word of the ditty, and
-      therefore lost the whole of its pathos, nevertheless listened with curious
-      interest and respect, though with evident veiled amusement. Many quick
-      ears caught the refrain. At first there came an exceedingly soft chorus
-      from the room, and it gradually rose until the whole crowd had thrown
-      itself into the spirit of the melody, and swelled it to a mighty volume.
-      Bishop led the singers, beating time with his right arm, his left thumb
-      meanwhile hooked in the arm-hole of his waistcoat. "<i>Bravo! Bravo,
-      Beeshup! Bis!</i>" they yelled, when it was finished, and then the room
-      rang with a salvo of hand-clappings in unison: 1-2&mdash;3-4-5&mdash;1-2-3-
-      4-5&mdash;1-2-3-4-5&mdash;1&mdash;2&mdash;3!! A great ovation greeted him
-      as he marched with glowing cheeks to his seat, and those who knew him
-      crowded round him for a hand-shake. The musician asked him if he would
-      sing the song in private for him, that he might write down the melody, to
-      which Bishop agreed, on condition that the musician pose for him. Bishop
-      had a singularly sharp eye for opportunities.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The sketch artist sauntered over and sat down at our table to have a chat
-      with Bishop. He was a singular fellow. His manner was smoothed by a fine
-      and delicate courtesy, bespeaking a careful rearing, whose effects his
-      loose life and promiscuous associations could not obliterate. His age was
-      about thirty-two, though he looked much older,&mdash;this being due in
-      part to his hard life and in other part to the heavy whiskers that he
-      wore. An absurd little round felt hat sat precariously on his riotous
-      mane, and I was in constant apprehension lest it should fall off every
-      time he shook his head. Over his shoulders was a blue cape covering a once
-      white shirt that was devoid of a collar. His fingers were all black with
-      the crayon that he had used in sketching. He said that he had already
-      earned twelve sous that evening, making portraits at six sous a head! But
-      there was not so much money to be made in a place like this as in the big
-      <i>café</i>s,&mdash;the frequenters were too poor.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0072" id="linkimage-0072"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
-      <img src="images/0206.jpg" alt="0206 " width="100%" /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h5>
-      <a href="images/0206.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
-    </h5>
-    <p>
-      I asked him where he had studied and learned his art, for it could be
-      easily seen that he had had some training; his portraits were not half
-      bad, and showed a knowledge of drawing. He thereupon told me his story.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      He had come to Paris thirteen years before from Nantes, Brittany, to study
-      art. His father kept a small grocery and provision-shop in Nantes, and
-      lived in meagre circumstances. The son having discovered what his father
-      deemed a remarkable talent for drawing when a boy, the father sent him to
-      Paris, with an allowance of a hundred francs a month, and he had to deny
-      himself severely to furnish it. When the young man arrived at Paris he
-      studied diligently at the Ecole des Beaux-Arts for a while, and became
-      acquainted with many of the students and models. He soon found the easy
-      life of the <i>café</i>s, with the models for companions, more fascinating
-      than the dull grind of the school. It was much pleasanter to enjoy the
-      gayety of the nights and sleep all day than drone and labor at his easel.
-      As his small allowance did not permit of extravagance, he fell deeply into
-      debt, and gave more heed to absinthe than his meals,&mdash;it is cheaper,
-      more alluring, and brings an exhilaration that sharpens wit and equips the
-      soul with wings.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      For a whole year the father was in total ignorance of his son's conduct,
-      but one day a friend, who had seen the young man in Paris, laid the ugly
-      story in his father's ear. This so enraged the father that he instantly
-      stopped the remittances and disowned his son. All appeals for money, all
-      promises to reform, were in vain, and so the young madcap was forced to
-      look about for a means of subsistence. And thus it was that he drifted
-      into the occupation of a sketch artist, making portraits in the <i>café</i>s
-      all night and sleeping in daytime. This brought him a scant living.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      But there was his mistress, Marcelle, always faithful to him. She worked
-      during the day at sewing, and shared her small earnings with him. All went
-      fairly well during the summer, but in winter the days were short,
-      Marcelle's earnings were reduced, and the weather was bitter cold. Still,
-      it was not so bad as it might be, he protested; but underneath his easy
-      flippancy I imagined I caught a shadow,&mdash;a flitting sense of the
-      hollowness and misery and hopelessness and shame of it all. But I am not
-      certain of that. He had but gone the way of many and many another, and
-      others now are following in his footsteps, deluding self-denying parents,
-      and setting foot in the road which, so broad and shining at the beginning,
-      narrows and darkens as it leads nearer and nearer to the rat- holes under
-      the bridges of the Seine, and to the grim house whose lights forever shine
-      at night under the shadow of Notre-Dame.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Had monsieur a cigarette to spare? Monsieur had, and monsieur thought that
-      the thanks for it were out of all proportion to its value; but they were
-      totally eclipsed by the praises of monsieur's wonderful generosity in
-      paying for a glass of absinthe and sugar for the man who made faces at six
-      sous apiece.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The quiet but none the less high tension of the place, the noise of the
-      singing, the rattling of glasses and saucers, the stifling foul air of the
-      room, filled me with weariness and threatened me with nausea. Things had
-      moved in a constant whirl all night, and now it was nearly four o'clock.
-      How much longer will this last?
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      "Till five o'clock," answered the musician; then all the lights go out,
-      and the place is closed; and our friends seek their cold, cheerless rooms,
-      to sleep far into the afternoon.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      We paid for our saucers, and after parting adieux left in company with the
-      musician and the aesthetic poet. How deliciously sharp and refreshing was
-      the cold, biting air as we stepped out into the night! It seemed as though
-      I had been breathing molasses. The fog was thicker than ever, and the
-      night was colder. The two twisted gas-lamps were no longer burning as we
-      crossed the slippery stone-paved court and ascended to the narrow street.
-      The musician wrapped a gray muffler about his throat and thrust his hands
-      deep into his pockets. The poet had no top-coat, but he buttoned his thin
-      jacket tightly about him, and shivered.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      "Shall we have some lait chaud and a croissant?" inquired the musician.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Yes, anything hot would be good, even milk; but where could we get it?
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      "Ah, you shall see!"
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      We had not gone far when it gave me a start to recognize a figure that we
-      had seen in the Boul' Mich' on our way to the Soleil d'Or. It was that of
-      an outcast of the boulevards, now slinking through the shadows toward the
-      river. We had been accosted by him in front of one of the brilliant <i>café</i>s,
-      as, trembling and rubbing his hands, a picture of hopeless dejection and
-      misery, and in a quavering voice he begged us to buy him a drink of
-      brandy.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0073" id="linkimage-0073"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
-      <img src="images/0210.jpg" alt="0210 " width="100%" /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h5>
-      <a href="images/0210.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
-    </h5>
-    <p>
-      It probably saved him from an attack of delirium tremens that night, but
-      here he was drifting, with a singular fatality, toward the river and the
-      Morgue. Now, that his day's work of begging was done, all his jackal
-      watchfulness had disappeared, and an inner vision seemed to look forth
-      from his bleared eyes as their gaze strained straight and dull toward the
-      black river. It may have been a mere fancy, but the expression in his eyes
-      reminded me strongly of similar things that I had seen on the slabs in the
-      Morgue.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      We crossed the Rue du Haut-Pavé again to the river wall, and arrived at
-      the bridge leading back of Notre-Dame and past the Morgue. On the farther
-      end of the bridge, propped against the parapet, was a small stand, upon a
-      corner of which a dim lamp was burning. In front were a number of
-      milk-cans, and on a small counter were a row of thick white bowls and a
-      basket of croissants. Inside, upon a small stove, red with heat, were two
-      kettles from which issued clouds of steam bearing an odor of boiling milk.
-      A stout woman, her face so well wrapped in a shawl that only the end of
-      her red nose was visible, greeted us,&mdash;"<i>Bon jour, messieurs. En
-      voulez-vous du bon lait bien chaud?</i>"
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      She poured out four bowls of steaming milk, and gave us each a roll. For
-      this luxury we paid three sous each; and a feast it was, for the shivering
-      poet, at least, for he licked the hot bowl clean and ate the very crumbs
-      of his croissant.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      As we were bound for widely separated quarters, our Bohemian friends bade
-      us an affectionate good-night, and were soon swallowed up in the gloom. We
-      turned towards home and the Boul' Mich'. All the <i>café</i>s were closed
-      and dark, but the boulevard was alive with canal-boatmen, street-
-      sweepers, and rumbling vegetable- and milk-carts. The streets were being
-      washed clean of all evidences of the previous day's life and turmoil, and
-      the great city was creeping forth from its lair to begin another.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0074" id="linkimage-0074"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div class="fig" style="width:20%;">
-      <img src="images/5212.jpg" alt="5212 " width="100%" /><br /><a
-      href="images/5212.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
-    </div>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br />
-    </p>
-    <hr />
-    <p>
-      <a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div style="height: 4em;">
-      <br /><br /><br /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h2>
-      THE CAFÉ PROCOPE
-    </h2>
-    <p class="pfirst">
-      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>N the short, busy
-      little street, the Rue de l'Ancienne-Comédie, which runs from the
-      Boulevard St. Germain, in a line from the Théâtre National de l'Odéon and
-      connecting with the Rue Mazarin, its continuation, the heavy dome of the
-      Institut looming at its end, is to be found probably the most famous <i>café</i>
-      in Paris, for in its day it has been the rendezvous of the most noted
-      French littérateurs, politicians, and savants. What is more, the Procope
-      was the first <i>café</i> established in Paris, originating the
-      appellation "<i>café</i>" to a place where coffee is served, for it was
-      here that coffee was introduced to France as an after-dinner comforter.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      That was when the famous <i>café</i> was in its glory. Some of the great
-      celebrities who made it famous have been dead for nearly two hundred
-      years, though its greatest fame came a century afterwards; and now the <i>café</i>,
-      no longer glorious as it was when the old Théâtre Français stood opposite,
-      reposes in a quiet street far from the noise and glitter and life of the
-      boulevards, and lives on the splendid memories that crowd it. Other <i>café</i>s
-      by the thousand have sprung into existence, and the word has spread to
-      coffee saloons and restaurants throughout Christendom; and the ancient
-      rive droite nurses the history and relics of the golden days of its glory,
-      alone in a quiet street, surrounded by tightly shut shops, and the calm of
-      a sleeping village.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Still, it retains many of its ancient characteristics and much of the
-      old-time quaintness peculiar to itself and setting it wholly apart, and it
-      is yet the rendezvous of littérateurs and artists, who, if not so famous
-      as the great men in whose seats they sit, play a considerable rôle in the
-      life of modern Paris.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The front of the <i>café</i> is a neat little terrace off the street,
-      screened by a fanciful net-work of vines and shrubbery that spring from
-      green painted boxes and that conceal cosey little tables and corners
-      placed behind them. Instead of the usual showy plate-windows, one still
-      finds the quaint old window-panes, very small carreaux, kept highly
-      polished by the tireless garçon apprentice.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Tacked to the white pillars are numerous copies of <i>Le Procope</i>, a
-      weekly journal published by Théo, the proprietor of the <i>café</i>. Its
-      contributors are the authors, journalists, and poets who frequent the <i>café</i>,
-      and it publishes a number of portraits besides, and some spirited
-      drawings. It is devoted in part to the history of the <i>café</i> and of
-      the celebrities who have made it famous, and publishes portraits of them,
-      from Voltaire to Paul Verlaine. This same journal was published here over
-      two hundred years ago, in 1689, and it was the means then by which the
-      patrons of the establishment kept in closer touch with their
-      contemporaries and the spirit of the time. Théo is proprietor and business
-      manager, as well as editor.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0075" id="linkimage-0075"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
-      <img src="images/0215.jpg" alt="0215 " width="100%" /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h5>
-      <a href="images/0215.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
-    </h5>
-    <p>
-      The following two poems will give an idea of the grace of the matter
-      contained in Le Procope:
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      À UNE ESPAGNOLE
-    </p>
-    <p class="indent15">
-      Au loin, quand, l'oil rêveur et d'ennuis l'âme pleine,
-    </p>
-    <p class="indent15">
-      Je suivrai sur les flots le vol des alcyons
-    </p>
-    <p class="indent15">
-      Chaque soir surgira dans les derniers rayons
-    </p>
-    <p class="indent15">
-      Le profil triste et doux d'Ida, de ma sirène.
-    </p>
-    <p class="indent15">
-      La figure et de lys et d'iris transparente,
-    </p>
-    <p class="indent15">
-      Ressortira plus blanche en l'ombre des cheveux
-    </p>
-    <p class="indent15">
-      Profonds comme un mystère et troublants et mes yeux
-    </p>
-    <p class="indent15">
-      Boiront dans l'Idéal sa caresse enivrante.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br />
-    </p>
-    <p class="indent15">
-      Et je rechercherai l'énigme du sourire
-    </p>
-    <p class="indent15">
-      Railleur ou de pitié qui luisait dans ses yeux
-    </p>
-    <p class="indent15">
-      En des paillettes d'or sous ses beaux cils ombreux....
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br />
-    </p>
-    <p class="indent15">
-      Et je retomberai dans la tristesse... et dire
-    </p>
-    <p class="indent15">
-      Qu'un seul mot me rendrait et la vie et l'espoir:
-    </p>
-    <p class="indent15">
-      Belle, mon rendez-vous n'est-il point pour ce soir?
-    </p>
-    <p class="indent30">
-      L Birr.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br />
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      PETITE CHANSON DÉSOLÉE
-    </p>
-    <p class="indent20">
-      Je suis seul dans la grande ville
-    </p>
-    <p class="indent20">
-      Où nul n'a fêté mon retour,
-    </p>
-    <p class="indent20">
-      Cour vide, et cerveau qui vacille,
-    </p>
-    <p class="indent20">
-      Sans projet, sans but, sans amour
-    </p>
-    <p class="indent20">
-      Je suis seul dans la grande ville.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br />
-    </p>
-    <p class="indent20">
-      Le dos voûté, les bras ballants,
-    </p>
-    <p class="indent20">
-      Je marche au hasard dans la foule
-    </p>
-    <p class="indent20">
-      A longs pas lourds et nonchalants,
-    </p>
-    <p class="indent20">
-      On me pousse, heurte, refoule,
-    </p>
-    <p class="indent20">
-      Le dos voûté, les bras ballants.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br />
-    </p>
-    <p class="indent15">
-      Je suis accablé de silence,
-    </p>
-    <p class="indent15">
-      De ce silence intérieur,
-    </p>
-    <p class="indent15">
-      Tel un brouillard subtil et dense,
-    </p>
-    <p class="indent15">
-      Qui tombe à plis lourds sur le cour,
-    </p>
-    <p class="indent15">
-      Je suis accablé de silence.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br />
-    </p>
-    <p class="indent15">
-      Ah! quand viendront les jours heureux,
-    </p>
-    <p class="indent15">
-      Quand viendra la chère attendue
-    </p>
-    <p class="indent15">
-      Qu'espère mon cour amoureux,
-    </p>
-    <p class="indent15">
-      Qu'implore mon âme éperdue,
-    </p>
-    <p class="indent15">
-      Ah! quand viendront les jours heureux!
-    </p>
-    <p class="indent30">
-      Achille Segard.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br />
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Here is a particularly charming little poem, written in the musical French
-      of two or three centuries ago:
-    </p>
-    <h3>
-      UN BAYSER
-    </h3>
-    <p class="indent20">
-      Sur vostre lèvre fraîche et rose,
-    </p>
-    <p class="indent20">
-      Ma mye, ah! laissiez-moi poser
-    </p>
-    <p class="indent20">
-      Cette tant bonne et doulce chose,
-    </p>
-    <p class="indent20">
-      Un bayser.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br />
-    </p>
-    <p class="indent20">
-      Telle une fleur au jour éclose,
-    </p>
-    <p class="indent20">
-      le vois vostre teint se roser;
-    </p>
-    <p class="indent20">
-      Si ie vous redonnois,&mdash;ie n'ose,
-    </p>
-    <p class="indent30">
-      Un bayser.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br />
-    </p>
-    <p class="indent15">
-      Laissiez-moi vous prendre, inhumaine,
-    </p>
-    <p class="indent15">
-      A chascun iour de la sepmaine
-    </p>
-    <p class="indent30">
-      Un bayser.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br />
-    </p>
-    <p class="indent15">
-      Trop tôt viendront vieil aage et peine!
-    </p>
-    <p class="indent15">
-      Lors n'aurez plus, l'eussiez-vous reine,
-    </p>
-    <p class="indent30">
-      Un bayser.
-    </p>
-    <p class="indent30">
-      Maistre Guillaume.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br />
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The modern gas illumination of the <i>café</i>, in contrast to the fashion
-      of brilliant lighting that prevails in the showy <i>café</i>s of the
-      boulevards, must nevertheless be a great advance on the ancient way that
-      it had of being lighted with crude oil lamps and candelabra. But the dim
-      illumination is in perfect keeping with the other appointments of the
-      place, which are dark, sombre, and funereal. The interior of the Procope
-      is as dark as a finely colored old meerschaum pipe. The woodwork, the
-      chairs, and the tables are deeply stained by time, the contrasting white
-      marble tops of the tables suggesting gravestones; and with all these go
-      the deeply discolored walls and the many ancient paintings,&mdash;even the
-      caisse, behind which sits Madame Théo, dozing over her knitting. This
-      caisse is a wonderful piece of furniture in itself, of some rich dark
-      wood, beautifully carved and decorated.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Madame Théo is in black, her head resting against the frame of an old
-      crayon portrait of Voltaire on the wall behind her. A fat and comfortable
-      black cat is asleep in the midst of rows of white saucers and snowy
-      napkins. The only garçon, except the garçon apprentice, is sitting in a
-      corner drowsing over an evening paper, but ever ready to answer the quiet
-      calls of the customers. For in the matter of noise and frivolity the Café
-      Procope is wholly unlike the boulevard <i>café</i>s. An atmosphere of
-      refined and elegant suppression pervades the place; the roystering spirit
-      that haunts the boulevards stops at the portals of the Procope. Here all
-      is peace and tranquillity, and that is why it is the haunt of many earnest
-      and aspiring poets and authors; for hither they may bring their portfolios
-      in peace and security, and here they may work upon their manuscripts,
-      knowing that their neighbors are similarly engrossed and that intrusion is
-      not to be feared. And then, too, are they not sitting on the same chairs
-      and writing at the same tables that have been occupied by some of the
-      greatest men in all the brilliant history of France? Is not this the place
-      in which greatness had budded and blossomed in the centuries gone? Are not
-      these ancient walls the same that echoed the wit, badinage, and laughter
-      of the masters? And there are the portraits of the great themselves,
-      looking down benignly and encouragingly upon the young strugglers striving
-      to follow in their footsteps, and into the ghostly mirrors, damaged by
-      time and now sending back only ghosts of shadows, they look as the great
-      had looked before them. It is here, therefore, that many of the modern
-      geniuses of France have drawn their inspiration, shaking off the endless
-      turmoil of the noisy and bustling world, living with the works and
-      memories of the ancient dead, and working out their destiny under the
-      magic spell that hovers about the place. It is for this reason that the
-      habitués are jealous of the intrusion of the curious and worldly. In this
-      quiet and secure retreat they feel no impinging of the wearing and
-      crippling world that roars and surges through the busy streets and
-      boulevards.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0076" id="linkimage-0076"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
-      <img src="images/0221.jpg" alt="0221 " width="100%" /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h5>
-      <a href="images/0221.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
-    </h5>
-    <p>
-      M. Théo de Bellefond is the full name of the proprietor, but he is
-      commonly known as M. Théo. He is a jolly little man, with an ambitious
-      round stomach, a benevolent face covered with a Vandyke beard, and a
-      shining bald head. A large flowing black cravat, tied into an artistic
-      négligé bow, hides his shirt. M. Théo came into possession of the Procope
-      in 1893, a fact duly recorded on a door panel, along with the names of
-      over a score of the celebrities who have made the Procope their place of
-      rest, refection, and social enjoyment. M. Procope was a journalist in his
-      day, but now the ambition that moves him is to restore the ancient glory
-      of the Procope; to make it again the centre of French brains and power in
-      letters, art, and politics. To this end he exerts all his journalistic
-      tact, a fact clearly shown by the able manner in which he conducts his
-      journal, <i>Le Procope</i>. He has worked out the history of the <i>café</i>,
-      and has at the ends of his fingers the life- stories of its famous
-      patrons.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The Café Procope was founded in 1689 by François Procope, where it now
-      stands. Opposite was the Comédie Française, which also was opened that
-      year. The <i>café</i> soon became the rendezvous of all who aspired to
-      greatness in art, letters, philosophy, and politics. It was here that
-      Voltaire, in his eighty-second year, while attending the rehearsals of his
-      play, "Irène," descended from his chaise-à-porteur at the door of the Café
-      Procope, and drank the coffee which the <i>café</i> had made fashionable.
-      It was here also that he became reconciled to Piron, after an estrangement
-      of more than twenty years.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Ste.-Foix made trouble here one day about a cup of chocolate. A duel with
-      the proprietor of the <i>café</i> was the immediate result, and after it
-      Ste.-Foix, badly wounded, exclaimed, "Nevertheless, monsieur, your
-      sword-thrust does not prevent my saying that a very sickly déjeuner is une
-      tasse de chocolat!"
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Jean-Jacques Rousseau, after the successful representation of "Le Devin de
-      Village," was carried in triumph to the Procope by Condorcet, who, with
-      Jean-Jacques on his shoulders, made a tour of the crowded <i>café</i>,
-      yelling, "Vive la Musique Française!" Diderot was fond of sitting in a
-      corner and manufacturing paradoxes and materialistic dissertations to
-      provoke the lieutenant of police, who would note everything he said and
-      report it to the chief of police. The lieutenant, ambitious though stupid,
-      one night told his chief that Diderot had said one never saw souls; to
-      which the chief returned, "M. Diderot se trompe. L'âme est un esprit, et
-      M. Diderot est plein d'esprit."
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Danton delighted in playing chess in a quiet corner with a strong
-      adversary in the person of Marat. Many other famous revolutionists
-      assembled here, among them Fabre d'Eglantine, Robespierre, d'Holbach,
-      Mirabeau, Camille Desmoulins. It was here that Camille Desmoulins was to
-      be strangled by the reactionists in the Revolution; it was here that the
-      first bonnet rouge was donned. The massacre of December, 1792, was here-
-      planned, and the killing began at the very doors of the <i>café</i>.
-      Madame Roland, Lucille Desmoulins, and the wife of Danton met here on the
-      ioth of August, the day of the fall of the monarchy, when bells rang and
-      cannon thundered. It was later that Bonaparte, then quite young and living
-      in the Quai Conti, in the building which the American Art Association now
-      occupies, left his hat at the Procope as security for payment for a drink,
-      he having left his purse at home. In short, the old <i>café</i> of the Rue
-      des Fossés-St.-Ger-main (its old name) was famous as the meeting-place of
-      celebrities. Legendre, the great geometrician, came hither. One remembers
-      the verses of Masset: "Je joue aux dominos quelquefois chez Procope." Here
-      Gambetta made speeches to the reactionist politicians and journalists. He
-      engaged in more than one prise de bec with le père Coquille, friend of
-      Veuillot. Coquille always made sprightly and spirited replies when
-      Gambetta roared, thundered, and swore.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Since then have followed days of calm. In later times Paul Verlaine was a
-      frequenter of the Procope, where he would sit in his favorite place in the
-      little rear salon at Voltaire's table. This little salon, in the rear of
-      the <i>café</i>, is held sacred, for its chair and table are the ones that
-      Voltaire used to occupy. The table is on one side of the small room. On
-      the walls are many interesting sketches in oil by well-known French
-      artists, and there are fine ceiling decorations; but all these are seen
-      with difficulty, so dim is the light in the room. Since Voltaire's time
-      this table has become an object of curiosity and veneration. When
-      celebrated habitués of the <i>café</i> died this table was used as an
-      altar, upon which for a time reposed the bust of the decedent before
-      crêpe-covered lanterns.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      During the Revolution Hébert jumped upon this table, which had been placed
-      before the door of the <i>café</i>, and harangued the crowd gathered
-      there, exciting them to such a pitch that they snatched the newspapers
-      from the hands of the news-venders. In a moment of passionate appeal he
-      brought down his heavy boot-heel upon the marble with such force as to
-      split it.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      In the <i>café</i> are three doors that are decorated in a very
-      interesting fashion. On the panels of one, well preserved in spite of the
-      numerous transformations through which the establishment has gone, M. Théo
-      conceived the happy idea of inscribing in gold letters the names of the
-      illustrious who have visited the <i>café</i> since its founding. Many of
-      the panels of the Avails are taken with full-length portraits by Thomas,
-      representing, among others, Voltaire, Rousseau, Robespierre, Diderot,
-      Danton and Marat playing chess, Mirabeau, and Gambetta. There are smaller
-      sketches by Corot, d'Aubigny, Vallon, Courbet, Willette, and Roedel. Some
-      of them are not fine specimens of art.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      M. Théo is a devoted collector of rare books and engravings. His library,
-      which contains many very rare engravings of the eighteenth century and
-      more than one book of priceless value, is open to his intimate friends
-      only, with whom he loves to ramble through his treasures and find
-      interesting data of his <i>café</i>.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br />
-    </p>
-    <hr />
-    <p>
-      <a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div style="height: 4em;">
-      <br /><br /><br /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h2>
-      LE MOULIN DE LA GALETTE
-    </h2>
-    <p class="pfirst">
-      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">B</span>ISHOP had been
-      industriously at work upon a large black-and-white drawing. The subject
-      was a ball-room scene,&mdash;of evident low degree, judging from the
-      abandon of the whirling figures and the queer types that were depicted.
-      White lace skirts were sweeping high in air, revealing black-stockinged
-      ankles and gauzy lingerie in a way unknown to the monde propre.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0077" id="linkimage-0077"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div class="figright" style="width:20%;">
-      <img src="images/8228.jpg" alt="8228 " width="100%" /><br /><a
-      href="images/8228.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
-    </div>
-    <p>
-      In contrast to the grace and abandon of the female figures were the
-      coarseness and clumsiness of their male partners.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The work was nearly finished, but Bishop professed to be dissatisfied with
-      the foreground architecture and with the drawing of a hand belonging to
-      one of the male dancers. After boring me at length with a speech on the
-      necessity of having a model for that hand, he sheepishly asked me if I
-      would pose for the elusive member. It was then that curiosity prompted me
-      to inquire where he had found the original of this remarkable scene.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      "<i>Mon enfant sculpteur</i>," he replied, with the patronizing air of a
-      man of the world, "this is the Moulin de la Galette."
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      "And where is that?" I asked.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      "I will show you to-morrow night, if you agree."
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      To-morrow would be Sunday. When it had passed and the evening was come,
-      and after we had enjoyed two courses of Madame Darblay's juicy gigots and
-      irresistible beans, with the incomparable sauce afforded by the presence
-      of the sunny actresses who were there, we walked over to the Boulevard
-      St.-Jacques and waited for the Montmartre 'bus to come along. These small,
-      ancient omnibuses are different from the other vehicles of that breed in
-      Paris, in that instead of having a narrow curved stairway at the rear
-      leading up to the impériale, there are but three or four iron foot-rests
-      against the outside of the rear wall, with an iron rod on either side to
-      cling to in mounting. Now, the traveller who would reach the impériale
-      must be something of either an acrobat or a sailor, because, first, as
-      these 'buses do not stop, a running leap has to be made for the ladder,
-      and, second, because of the pitching and rolling of the lumbering vehicle,
-      the catching and climbing are not easy. If you carry a cane or a parcel,
-      it must be held in the teeth until the ascent is made, for both hands have
-      all they can do in the ladder exercise.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The gleam of the red lamp coming down the street prepared us for a test of
-      our agility. As only one could mount the ladder at a time, and as I was
-      the first to attack the feat, Bishop had to run behind for nearly a block
-      before I could give him the right of way up the ladder. The conductor
-      registered deux sur l'impériale as we swung to the top and took seats
-      forward, just behind the driver. Ladies and fat gentlemen are rarely, or
-      never, found riding on the impériale of the Montmartre line.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      We wrapped up in our big warm coats and lay back smoking three-sous cigars
-      (always three-sous ones on Sunday), and as the driver cracked his whip and
-      the heavy machine went rolling along, we enjoyed the wonderful treat of
-      seeing gay Paris of a Sunday night from the top of an omnibus. There is
-      hardly anything more delightful, particularly from the top of a St.
-      Jacques-Montmartre 'bus, which generally avoids the broad, brilliant
-      streets and goes rolling and swaying through the narrow, crooked streets
-      of old Paris. Here there is hardly room for such a vehicle to pass, and
-      one is anxious lest one's feet sweep off the gas-lamps that fly past. An
-      intimate view of the domestic life of Paris presents itself likewise, for,
-      being on a level with the second story windows, you have flitting visions
-      of the Parisian ménage in all its freedom and variety. At this time of the
-      evening the windows are wide open and the dinner-tables are spread near
-      them, for a view of the street below.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      On, on we rumbled, through seemingly interminable miles of crooked
-      streets, over the gay Boul' Mich', and the Place St.-Michel; across the
-      river, which reflected the myriads of lights along its walls and bridges;
-      past the Halles, the greatest marketplace in the world; past the grand
-      boulevards, a confusing glitter of colors and lights; past the
-      Folies-Bergère, where flaming posters announced Loie Fuller in the throes
-      of a fire dance; and at last to the steep grade of Montmartre. Here a
-      third horse was added to the pair, and slowly we were dragged up the
-      slope.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      At the Boulevard Clichy we suddenly found ourselves in the midst of a
-      terrific uproar; bells, steam-whistles, hand-organs, bands of music,
-      drums, and calliopes made the bedlam. The streets were blocked with moving
-      masses of laughing people, and the scene was gayly illuminated by rows of
-      lamps overhead and on hundreds of stands, merry-go-rounds, theatres,
-      circuses, museums, and all kinds of catchpenny attractions that lined the
-      boulevard. For this was the Fête de Clichy. Far down the street, almost
-      hidden by a curve, could be seen the illuminated arms of the Moulin Rouge
-      slowly revolving through the night.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Still on and up crawled the 'bus, now in the very heart of Montmartre,
-      through the lively, crowded, bright streets on the great hill of Paris.
-      Here are hot-chestnut venders at the corners; fried-potato women, serving
-      crisp brown chips; street hawkers, with their heavy push-carts;
-      song-sellers, singing the songs that they sell, to make purchasers
-      familiar with the airs; flower-girls; gaudy shops; bright restaurants and
-      noisy <i>café</i>s,&mdash;all constituting that distinctive quarter of
-      Paris, Montmartre.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      At last the summit of the hill was made, and the panting horses must have
-      been glad that it was all down-hill ahead. Bishop gave the signal to
-      alight a block before the desired street was reached, for by the time we
-      could touch the ground the 'bus had covered that distance on the down run.
-      Bishop led the way up a dim little street,&mdash;the Rue Muller, I noticed
-      on the wall. It was very steep, and at last ended at the bottom of a
-      flight of stone steps that seemed to run into the sky. Their length was
-      marked by lamps glowing one above another in long rows. It was hard work
-      climbing to the top.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The top at last! We seemed to be among the clouds. Far below us lay the
-      great shining city, spreading away into distance; and although it was
-      night, the light of a full moon and untold thousands of lamps in the
-      streets and buildings below enabled us easily to pick out the great
-      thoroughfares and the more familiar structures. There was the Opéra, there
-      the Panthéon, there Notre-Dame, there St.-Sulpice, there the Invalides,
-      and, uplifted to emulate the eminence on which we stood, the Tour Eiffel,
-      its revolving searchlight at the apex shining like an immense meteor or
-      comet with its misty trail stretching out over the city. The roar of life
-      faintly reached our ears from the vast throbbing plain, where millions of
-      human mysteries were acting out their tragedies. The scene was vast,
-      wonderful, entrancing.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Far above us still a maze of rafters, beams, and scaffolding fretted the
-      sky,&mdash;the skeleton of that beautiful but unfinished Church of the
-      Sacré- Cour, crowning the very summit of Montmartre.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      There seemed to be no life here, for not a soul did we meet, and not a
-      light shone except that of the moon. Bishop guided me through a maze of
-      steep stony passages, between the walls of dark gardens, turning now to
-      the right, again to the left, through archways and courts; and I wondered
-      how he could remember them all. Before I could fully comprehend our
-      position we were confronted by two black, gaunt, uncanny objects with long
-      outstretched arms that cut across the sky like giant skeleton sentinels
-      forbidding our farther advance. But the sounds of lively music and the
-      glow of rows of white-globed lamps quickly banished the illusion and
-      advertised the fact that we were in a very material and sensual world, for
-      they announced the Moulin de la Galette at the foot of the passage. The
-      spectres against the sky were only very, very old windmills, relics of the
-      time, three centuries gone, when windmills crowded the summit of
-      Montmartre to catch all the winds that blew. Now they stand, stark, dead,
-      silent, and decaying; their stately revolutions are no more; and the
-      skeleton frames of their fans look down on a marvellous contrast, the
-      intensely real life of the Galette.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0078" id="linkimage-0078"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
-      <img src="images/0234.jpg" alt="0234 " width="100%" /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h5>
-      <a href="images/0234.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
-    </h5>
-    <p>
-      We fell in line with many others at the ticket office, and paid the fifty
-      centimes admission fee (ladies twenty-five centimes). We were relieved of
-      our hats and canes by a stout old woman in the vestiaire, who claimed two
-      sous from each. Following the up-hill passage of the entrance, the walls
-      of which are painted with flowers and garden scenes, we entered the great
-      ball-room. What a brilliant scene of life and light!&mdash;at first a blur
-      of sound, light, and movement, then gradually resolving into the simple
-      elements composing it. The floor was covered with dancers, and the girls
-      were making a generous display of graceful anatomy. A large band at the
-      farther end of the room, on an inclined stand, was the vortex of the din.
-      The promenade encircling the hall was crowded with hatless laughing girls
-      and smooth-faced boys wearing caps or flat-brimmed low-crowned hats; their
-      trousers fitted tight at the knees, and their heads were closely cropped.
-      These were strolling in groups, or watching the dancers, or sitting at the
-      rows of wooden tables drinking. All within the vast hall had gone to enjoy
-      their Sunday night as much as possible. To most of the girls this was the
-      one night in the week when, not tired out from the drudgery of hard work,
-      they could throw aside all cares and live in the way for which their
-      cramped and meagre souls yearned. This is a rendezvous for the humble
-      workers of the city, where they may dress as best they can, exchange their
-      petites histoires, and abandon themselves to the luxury of the dance; for
-      they are mostly shop-girls, and blanchisseuses, and the like, who, when
-      work fails them, have to hover about the dark streets at night, that
-      prosperous-looking passers-by may be tempted by the pleading of their dark
-      saucy eyes, or be lured by them to some quiet spot where their lovers lie
-      in wait with a lithe and competent black slung-shot. No mercy for the
-      hapless bourgeois then! For the dear Henris and Jacques and Louises must
-      have their sous for the comforts of life, as well as the necessities, and
-      such luxuries as tobacco and drink must be considered; and if the money
-      wherewith all this may be bought is not produced by Marcelle or Hélène or
-      Marie, she will get a beating for her slothfulness or lack of skill, and
-      will be driven into the street with a hurting back to try again. And so
-      Henri, Jacques, or Louis basks in the sun, and smokes cigarettes with
-      never a care, except that of making his devoted little mistress perform
-      her duties, knowing well how to retain her affection by selfishness and
-      brutality.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      This night, however, all that was forgotten. It was the one free, happy
-      night of the week, the night of abandon and the dance, of laughter,
-      drinking, and jollity, for which one and all had longed for a whole
-      impatient and dreary week; and Henri, Jacques, and Louis could spend on
-      drinks with other of their feminine acquaintances the sous that their
-      mistresses had provided. The band played lustily; the lights shone; the
-      room was filled with laughter,&mdash;let the dance go on!
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Stationed in different parts of the room were the big soldiers of the
-      Garde Municipale, in their picturesque uniform so familiar to all the
-      theatre-goers of Paris. They were here to preserve order, for the dancers
-      belong to an inflammable class, and a blaze may spring up at any moment.
-      Equally valuable as a repressing force was a burly, thick- necked,
-      powerful man who strolled hither and thither, his glance everywhere and
-      always veiling a threat. He wore a large badge that proclaimed him the
-      master of ceremonies. True, he was that, which was something, but he was a
-      great deal more,&mdash;a most astonishingly prompt and capable bouncer.
-      The male frequenters of the place were evidently in mortal terror of him,
-      for his commanding size and threatening manner, and his superbly developed
-      muscles, contrasted strikingly with the cringing manner and weak bodies of
-      Henri and his kind; and should he look their way with a momentary
-      steadiness of glance and poise of figure, their conversation would
-      instantly cease, and they would slink away.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      We seated ourselves at a vacant table that commanded a sweeping view of
-      the floor and the promenade. A seedy-looking garçon worked his way through
-      the crowd and took our order for beer; and mean, stale beer it was. But we
-      did not care for that. Bishop was all afire with enjoyment of the scene,
-      for, he protested, the place was infinitely rich in types and character,&mdash;the
-      identical types that the great Steinlen loves to draw. And here is an
-      interesting thing: The girls all were of that chic and petite order so
-      peculiar to certain classes of Parisian women, some hardly so high as
-      Bishop's shoulder, which is itself not very high; and though they looked
-      so small, they were fully developed young women, though many of them were
-      under twenty. They wore no hats, and for the most part, unlike their
-      gorgeous sisters of the boulevard <i>café</i>s, they were dressed plainly,
-      wearing black or colored waists and skirts. But ah!&mdash;and here the
-      unapproachable instinct-skill of the French-woman shows itself,&mdash;on
-      these same waists and skirts were placed here and there, but always just
-      where they ought to be, bows and ribbons; and it was they that worked the
-      miracle of grace and style. And the girls had a certain beauty, a beauty
-      peculiar to their class,&mdash;not exactly beauty, but pleasing features,
-      healthy color, and, best of all and explaining all, an archness of
-      expression, a touch of sauciness, that did for their faces what the bows
-      and ribbons did for their gowns.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0079" id="linkimage-0079"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
-      alt="240 " width="100%" /><br />
-    </div>
-    <p>
-      Near us a large door opened into the garden of the Moulin; it was filled
-      with trees and benches and tables, and amidst the dark foliage glowed
-      colored Chinese lanterns, which sifted a soft light upon the revellers
-      assembled beneath them in the cool evening air. On one side of the garden
-      stretched Paris far down and away, and on the other side blazed the Moulin
-      de la Galette through the windows.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      A waltz was now being danced. Strange to say, it was the one dismal
-      feature of the evening, and that was because the French do not know how to
-      dance it, "reversing" being unknown. And there was an odd variety of ways
-      in which the men held their partners and the dancers each other. Some
-      grasped each other tightly about the waist with both arms, or similarly
-      about the necks or shoulders, and looked straight into each other's face
-      without a smile or an occasional word. It was all done in deadly earnest,
-      as a serious work. It was in the quadrille that the fun came, when the
-      girls varied the usual order by pointing their toes toward the chandeliers
-      with a swish of white skirts that made the by- standers cry, "Encore,
-      Marcelle!" The men, yearning for a share of the applause, cut up all sorts
-      of antics and capers, using their arms and legs with incredible agility,
-      making grotesque faces, and wearing hideous false noses and piratical
-      moustaches.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Securing a partner for a dance was the easiest thing possible. Any girl
-      was eligible,&mdash;simply the asking, the assent, and away they went.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Bishop's pencil kept moving rapidly as he caught fleeting notes of faces,
-      dresses, attitudes&mdash;everything&mdash;for his unfinished piece at the
-      studio. A number of promenaders, attracted by his sketching, stopped to
-      watch him. That dance was now finished, and the dancers separated wherever
-      they stopped, and turned away to seek their separate friends; there was no
-      waste of time in escorting the girls to seats, for that is not fashionable
-      at Montmartre. The girls came flocking about Bishop, curious over his
-      work, and completely shut out his view. "Oh!" exclaimed one saucy petite
-      blonde, "let me see my portrait! I saw you sketching me during the dance."
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      "<i>Et moi,&mdash;moi aussi!</i>" cried the others, until Bishop,
-      overwhelmed, surrendered his book for the inspection of bright, eager
-      eyes.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      "Has not monsieur a cigarette?" archly asked a girl with a decided nez
-      retroussé. "<i>Oui</i>," I answered, handing her a packet, from which with
-      exquisite, unconscious daintiness she selected one. The whole bevy then
-      made a similar request, and we were soon enveloped in a blue haze.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      "<i>Vous ferez mon portrait, n'est-ce-pas?</i>" begged a dark-eyed beauty
-      of Bishop, in a smooth, pleasant voice. She had a striking appearance. A
-      mass of rebellious black hair strove persistently to fall over her oval
-      face, and when she would neglect to push it back her eyes, dark and
-      melancholy, shone through its tangle with a singular wild lustre. Her skin
-      was dark, almost swarthy, but it was touched with a fine rosy glow of
-      health and youth. Her features were perfect; the nose was slightly
-      romanesque, the chin firm, the lips red and sensuous. When she drew our
-      attention with her request she was standing before us in a rigid, half-
-      defiant, half-commanding posture; but when she quickly added, "I will pose
-      for you,&mdash;see?" and sat down beside me, opposite Bishop, her striking
-      native grace asserted itself, for from a statue of bronze she suddenly
-      became all warmth and softness, every line in her perfect, lithe figure
-      showing her eagerness, and eloquent with coaxing.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      It was clear that Bishop was deeply impressed by the striking picture that
-      she made; it was her beautiful wild head that fascinated him most.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      "No, I am first," insisted a little vixen, hard-featured and determined. "<i>Jamais
-      de la vie!" "C'est moi!</i>" protested others, with such fire that I
-      feared there would be trouble. The turmoil had the effect of withdrawing
-      Bishop's attention momentarily from the beautiful tigress beside me. He
-      smiled in bewilderment. He would be happy to draw them all, but&mdash;&mdash;
-      At last he pacified them by proposing to take them in turn, provided they
-      would be patient and not bother him. To this they poutingly agreed; and
-      Bishop, paying no more attention to the girl beside me, rapidly dashed off
-      sketch after sketch of the other girls. Exclamations of surprise, delight,
-      or indignation greeted each of the portraits as it was passed round.
-      Bishop was seeking "character," and as he was to retain the portraits, he
-      made no efforts at flattery.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      All this time the dark-eyed one had sat in perfect silence and stillness
-      beside me, watching Bishop in wonder. She had forgotten her hair, and was
-      gazing through it with more than her eyes as his pencil worked rapidly. I
-      studied her as well as I could as she sat all heedless of my existence.
-      Her lips slightly curved at the corners into a faint suggestion of a
-      smile, but as Bishop's work kept on and the other girls monopolized him,
-      the lips gradually hardened. The shadow of her chin fell upon her smooth
-      throat, not darkening it too much for me to observe that significant
-      movements within it indicated a struggle with her self- control. Bishop
-      was now sketching a girl, the others having run off to dance; they would
-      return in their order. The girl beside me said to me, in a low voice,
-      without looking at me,&mdash;"<i>Monsieur est Anglais?</i>"
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      "No," I answered.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      "Ah! Américain?"
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      "Yes."
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      "And your friend?" nodding toward Bishop. "American also."
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      "Is he&mdash;&mdash;" but she suddenly checked herself with odd
-      abruptness, and then quickly asked, with a shallow pretence of eager
-      interest, "Is America far from Paris?" And so she continued to quiz me
-      rather vacantly concerning a great country of whose whereabouts she had
-      not the slightest idea. Then she was silent, and I imagined that she was
-      gathering herself for some supreme effort. Suddenly she turned her
-      marvellous eyes full toward me, swept the wild hair from her face, looked
-      almost fiercely at me a moment, and, rigid from head to foot, asked, half
-      angrily, and then held her breath for the answer,&mdash;"Is he married?"
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The question was asked so suddenly and so strangely, and with so
-      commanding a manner, that I had not a moment to consider the wisdom of
-      lying.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      "No," I answered.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      She sank back into her chair with a deep breath, all softness and grace
-      again, and her wild hair fell back over her face.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      She had lost all interest in the ball. While her companions were enjoying
-      themselves in the dance, she sat motionless and silent beside me, watching
-      Bishop. An uncomfortable feeling had taken possession of me. Presently I
-      abruptly asked her why she did not dance.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      She started. "Dance?" she replied. She looked over the hall, and an
-      expression of scorn and disgust came into her face. "Not with that espèce
-      de voyous," she vehemently added; and then she turned to watch Bishop
-      again.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      I now noticed for the first time that a group of the human vampires,
-      standing apart at a little distance, were watching us closely and talking
-      in low tones among themselves. My attention had been drawn to them by a
-      defiant look that the girl had shot at them. One of them was particularly
-      repulsive. He was rather larger and stronger than the others. His garb was
-      that of his species,&mdash;tight trousers, a négligé shirt, and a rakish
-      cap being its distinguishing articles. He stood with his hands in his
-      pockets and his head thrust forward. He had the low, brutal face of his
-      kind. It was now pale with rage.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      I asked the girl what her name was.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      "Hélène," she answered, simply.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Her other name?
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Oh, just Hélène. Sometimes it was Hélène Crespin, for Crespin was her
-      lover's name. All this with perfect frankness.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      "Where is he?" I asked.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      "<i>C'est lui avec la casquette</i>," she answered, indicating the brute
-      whom I have just described, but I had expected that. "I hate him now!" she
-      vehemently added.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      No, she had neither father nor mother; had no recollection of parents.
-      Sometimes she worked in a printing shop in the Rue Victor Massé when extra
-      hands were needed.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      After the girl who had been posing was dismissed another took her place;
-      then another, and another, and others; and still others were waiting. The
-      girl beside me had been watching these proceedings with increasing
-      impatience. Some of the girls were so delighted that they threw their arms
-      round Bishop's neck and kissed him. Others called him endearing names. At
-      last it was evident that the dark girl could bear it no longer. She had
-      been growing harder and harder, more and more restless. I continued to
-      watch her narrowly,&mdash;she had forgotten my existence. Gradually the
-      natural rich color in her cheeks deepened, her eyes blazed through the
-      tangled hair, her lips were set. Suddenly, after a girl had been more
-      demonstrative than the others, she rose and confronted Bishop. All this
-      time he had not even looked at her, and that, while making me uneasy, had
-      made her furious.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      We three were alone. True, we were observed by many, for invasions by
-      foreigners were very rare at the Moulin de la Galette, and we were objects
-      of interest on that account; and the sketching by Bishop had sent our fame
-      throughout the hall.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      In a low, quiet voice the girl said to Bishop, as he looked up at her
-      wonderingly,&mdash;"You promised to draw mine long ago."
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      I had never seen my friend more embarrassed than he was at that moment. He
-      stumbled over his excuses, and then asked her to pose to suit her fancy.
-      He did it very gently, and the effect was magical. She sank into her chair
-      and assumed the indolently graceful pose that she had unconsciously taken
-      when she first seated herself. Bishop gazed at her in silence a long time
-      before he began the sketch; and then he worked with a sure and rapid hand.
-      After it was finished he handed it to her. Instantly she was transfigured.
-      She stared at the picture in wonder and delight, her lips parted, her
-      chest hardly moving from her nearly suppressed breathing.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      "Do I look like that?" she asked, suspiciously. Indeed, it was an
-      exquisite little piece of work, for Bishop had idealized the girl and made
-      a beautiful portrait.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      "Did you not see me draw it while looking at you?" he replied, somewhat
-      disingenuously.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      "Will you give it to me?" she asked, eagerly.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      "Certainly."
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      "And will you sign your name to it?"
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Bishop cheerfully complied. Then she took it, kissed it, and pressed it to
-      her bosom; and then, leaning forward, and speaking with a richness and
-      depth of voice that she had not betrayed before, and in the deepest
-      earnestness, said,&mdash;"<i>Je vous aime!</i>"
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Bishop, staggered by this forthright declaration of affection, blushed
-      violently and looked very foolish. But he rallied and assured her that her
-      love was reciprocated, for who, he asked, could resist so beautiful a
-      face, so warm a heart? If he had only known, if I could only have told
-      him! The girl sank back in her chair with a quizzical, doubting smile that
-      showed perfect white teeth and changed to bright dimples the suggestion of
-      a smile that fluttered at her mouth-corners. She carefully folded the
-      sketch and daintily tucked it away in her bosom.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Bishop had now quitted work,&mdash;Hélène had seen to that. She had moved
-      her chair close to his, and, looking him straight in the eyes, was
-      rattling away in the untranslatable argot of Montmartre. It is not the
-      argot of the slums, nor that of the thieves, nor that of the students, but
-      that of Montmartre; and there are no ways of expressing it intelligibly in
-      English. Presently she became more serious, and with all the coaxing and
-      pleading of which her ardent, impetuous nature was capable, she begged,&mdash;
-      "Let me be your model. <i>Je suis bien faite</i>, and you can teach me to
-      pose. You will be kind to me. I have a good figure. I will do everything,
-      everything for you! I will take care of the studio. I will cook, I will
-      bring you everything, everything you want. You will let me live with you.
-      I will love no one else. You will never be sorry nor ashamed. If you will
-      only&mdash;&mdash;" That is the best translation I can give; it is
-      certainly what she meant, though it indicates nothing of the impetuosity,
-      the abandon, the eagerness, the warmth, the savage beauty that shone from
-      her as she spoke.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Bishop rose to the occasion. He sprang to his feet. "I must dance after
-      that!" he exclaimed, catching her up, laughing, and dragging her upon the
-      floor. He could dance superbly. A waltz was being played, and it was being
-      danced in the stiff and stupid way of the people. Very soon Bishop and
-      Hélène began to attract general attention, for never before had Montmartre
-      seen a waltz danced like that. He reversed, and glided, and threw into the
-      queen of dances all the grace and freedom that it demands. At first Hélène
-      was puzzled and bewildered; but she was agile both of mind and body, and
-      under Bishop's sure guidance she put them to excellent use. Rapidly she
-      caught the grace and spirit of the waltz, and danced with a verve that she
-      had never known before. Swiftly and gracefully they skimmed the length of
-      the great hall, then back, and wherever they went the dancers watched them
-      with astonishment and delight, and gradually abandoned their own
-      ungraceful efforts, partly in shame, partly in admiration, and partly with
-      a desire to learn how the miracle was done. Gradually the floor was wholly
-      abandoned except for these two, and all eyes watched them. Hélène was
-      happy and radiant beyond all ways of telling. Her cheeks were flushed, her
-      eyes sparkled, her lithe figure developed all the ease, grace, and
-      suppleness of a cat.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Some muttered expressions of contempt spoken near me caused me to listen
-      without turning round. They were meant for my ears, but I gave no heed. I
-      knew well enough from whom they came,&mdash;Crespin and his friends. And I
-      realized that we were in for it. True, there were the big guards and there
-      was the capable bouncer, and they would glance my way now and then,
-      seemingly to let Crespin know that all was understood and that it must be
-      hands off with him. There was no danger here, but afterwards&mdash;The
-      waltz came to an end, and the two were vigorously applauded. This was a
-      critical moment, but Bishop handled it adroitly. He conducted Hélène to a
-      seat remote from our table, bowed low, and left her, and came over to me.
-      I told him of my fears, but he laughed. He had got rid of Hélène with
-      perfect address, and perhaps she was nursing an angry and aching heart
-      after her glorious triumph; perhaps Bishop had whispered to her something
-      of the danger and suggested that they have nothing more to do with each
-      other that evening.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0080" id="linkimage-0080"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div class="figleft" style="width:20%;">
-      <img src="images/9251.jpg" alt="9251 " width="100%" /><br /><a
-      href="images/9251.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
-    </div>
-    <p>
-      Presently I saw her start and look round. Crespin was behind her, livid
-      with rage. She promptly rose and followed him into the garden. Bishop had
-      not seen the movement. We were near the door leading into the garden, and
-      by turning a little I could see the couple outside, not far away. Crespin
-      was standing with a bullying air, and was evidently cursing her. She had
-      tossed back her hair and was looking him defiantly in the face. I saw her
-      lips move in speech. Instantly the ruffian dealt her a violent blow upon
-      the chest, and she staggered back against a tree, which prevented her
-      falling.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      "Come, let us stop that," I said to Bishop. "Hélène's lover is beating her
-      in the garden." Bishop sprang to his feet and followed me. As he glanced
-      out the window at the couple, whom I pointed out, he saw Crespin approach
-      the dazed girl and deal her a terrible blow in the mouth, and he saw the
-      blood that followed the blow.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      We arrived in the garden as a crowd was gathering. Bishop pushed his way
-      ahead and was about to spring upon the brute, when Hélène saw him. With a
-      supreme effort she leaped forward, thrust Bishop aside with a command to
-      mind his own affairs, threw herself into her lover's arms, and kissed him,
-      smearing his face with her blood. He glared at us, triumphant. The guards
-      arrived, and Hélène and her lover disappeared among the trees in the
-      darkness.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      "Oh, another unfaithful cocotte!" laughed one in the crowd, explaining to
-      the guards; and they returned to their drinking and dancing, remarking,
-      "Beat a woman, and she will love you."
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      They had all missed the heroism and devotion of Hélène's interference. It
-      was to keep a knife out of the body of the man she loved that she smeared
-      her lover's face with her blood. We saw her no more.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      We returned to the hall and strolled round the promenade, for we needed
-      that to become calm again. And the girls mobbed Bishop, for he had passed
-      out the word that he wanted a model, and that he would pay a franc an
-      hour. A franc an hour! And so they mobbed him. Was not that more than they
-      could hope to earn by a whole day's hard work? Yes, they would all pose
-      gladly, but only in costume, bien entendu! So Bishop was busy taking down
-      the names of Marcelle, Lorette, Elise, Marie, and the rest, with the names
-      of the queer and unheard-of streets in which they lived, mostly in the
-      quarters of Montmartre and the Batignolles.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The can-can was now raging on the floor, and the tired garçons were
-      dodging about with their glassladen trays. Dancing, making love, throwing
-      lumps of sugar, the revellers enjoyed themselves.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      We left. The moon cast gaunt shadows across the streets from the old
-      windmills and the trees. We struck out briskly, intending to catch the
-      last St.-Jacques 'bus home, and with that purpose we threaded the maze of
-      steep passages and streets on our way to the Rue Muller. Upon reaching the
-      top of the hill, behind the great skeleton of the Sacred Heart, where all
-      was silent and still as the grave, we suddenly discovered the shadowy
-      figures of men slipping out from a dark little street. We knew what it
-      meant. With a common impulse we sprang forward, for it was now a run for
-      our lives. I had recognized Crespin in the lead. With headlong speed we
-      dashed down the steep incline, swinging our canes to check an attack in
-      the rear. We had dodged out of our proper way to the Rue Muller, and now
-      it was a matter of speed, endurance, and luck to reach blindly some street
-      where life and protection might be found.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      A man clutched my coat. I beat him off with my stick, but the skirt of my
-      coat was hanging loose, nearly ripped off. A cord went whizzing past me
-      and caught Bishop's hat, but he went sturdily on bareheaded. Stones flew
-      past us, and presently one caught me a terrific, sickening blow in the
-      back. I did not fall, but I staggered in my flight, for a strange
-      heaviness came into my legs, and my head soon began to ache violently.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Crespin was desperately active. I could hear him panting heavily as he
-      gained upon us. His long shadow, cast by the moon, showed that he was
-      about to spring upon Bishop. I swung my cane blindly, but with all my
-      might, and it fell upon his head and laid him low; but he quickly
-      scrambled to his feet again. The ruffians were now upon us,&mdash;they
-      were better used to the hill than we.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      "Separate!" gasped Bishop. "It is our only chance." At the next corner we
-      suddenly swung apart, taking opposite directions. I plunged on alone, glad
-      to hear for a time that footfalls were following,&mdash;they meant that
-      the pursuit had not concentrated on Bishop. But after a while I realized
-      that I was no longer pursued. I stopped and listened. There was no sound.
-      Weak and trembling, with an aching back and a splitting head, I sat down
-      in a door-way and rested. That luxury was quickly interrupted by my
-      reflecting that possibly Bishop had been overtaken; and I knew what that
-      would mean. I ran back up the hill as rapidly as my weakness and trembling
-      and pain permitted. At last I found myself at the corner where we had
-      separated. There was no sound from any direction. I could only hope for
-      the best and search and listen blindly through this puzzle of streets and
-      passages.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Presently I realized that I was near the fortifications of Paris, close to
-      St. Ouen,&mdash;that is to say, at the other end of Paris from the
-      Quartier Latin, which was eight miles away. There was nothing to do but
-      walk home. It was nearly four o'clock when I arrived. And there was Bishop
-      in bed, nursing a big lump on his head, made by a flying stone. He had
-      reached a street where a gendarme was, and that meant safety; and then he
-      had taken a cab for home, where he was looking very ridiculous poulticing
-      his lump and making himself sick fretting about me.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0081" id="linkimage-0081"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div class="fig" style="width:20%;">
-      <img src="images/5255.jpg" alt="5255 " width="100%" /><br /><a
-      href="images/5255.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
-    </div>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br />
-    </p>
-    <hr />
-    <p>
-      <a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div style="height: 4em;">
-      <br /><br /><br /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h2>
-      A NIGHT ON MONTMARTE
-    </h2>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0082" id="linkimage-0082"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
-      <img src="images/0256.jpg" alt="0256 " width="100%" /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h5>
-      <a href="images/0256.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
-    </h5>
-    <p class="pfirst">
-      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">N</span>EAR the end of a
-      recent December Bishop received a note signed "A. Herbert Thomp-kins,"
-      written at the Hôtel de l'Athénée, saying that the writer was in Paris for
-      four days with his wife before proceeding to Vienna to join some friends.
-      It closed by asking, "Could you call at the hotel this evening, say at
-      seven?"
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      This note created great excitement at our studio early one morning, the
-      facteur having climbed six flights of stairs (it being near to New Year)
-      to deliver it; for Mr. Thompkins was one of Bishop's warmest friends in
-      America. His unexpected arrival in Paris at this unseasonable time of the
-      year was indeed a surprise, but a most agreeable one. So Bishop spent the
-      whole of the afternoon in creasing his best trousers, ransacking our
-      trunks for a clean collar to wear with my blue-fronted shirt, polishing
-      his top-hat, and getting his Velasquez whiskers trimmed and perfumed at
-      the coiffeur's. It was not every day that friends of Mr. Thompkins's type
-      made their appearance in Paris.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Bishop, after hours spent in absorbing mental work, at last disclosed his
-      plan to me. Of course he would not permit me to keep out of the party, and
-      besides, he needed my advice.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0083" id="linkimage-0083"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
-      <img src="images/0257.jpg" alt="0257 " width="100%" /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h5>
-      <a href="images/0257.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
-    </h5>
-    <p>
-      Here was Mr. Thompkins in Paris, and unless he were wisely guided he would
-      leave without seeing the city,&mdash;except those parts and phases of it
-      that tourists cannot keep from stumbling over. It would be both a duty and
-      a pleasure to introduce him to certain things of which he might otherwise
-      die in ignorance, to the eternal undevelopment of his soul. But here was
-      the rub: Would Mr. Thompkins care to be so radically different here for
-      one night&mdash;just one night&mdash;from what he was at home? I could not
-      see how any harm could come to Mr. Thompkins or any one else with sense,
-      nor how Bishop could possibly entertain him in anyway that would be
-      disagreeable to a man of brains. But Bishop was evidently keeping
-      something back. For that matter, he never did explain it, and I have not
-      bothered about inferences. What Mr. Thompkins was at home I do not know.
-      True, he was very much confused and embarrassed a number of times during
-      the evening, but one thing I know,&mdash;he enjoyed himself immensely. And
-      that makes me say that no matter what he was at home, he was a gentleman
-      and philosopher while exploring an outlandish phase of Parisian Bohemian
-      life that night under our guidance. He had a prim, precise way of talking,
-      and was delightfully innocent and unworldly. My! it would have been a sin
-      for him to miss what he saw that night. So I told Bishop very emphatically
-      that no matter what Mr. Thompkins was at home, nobody who knew him was
-      likely to see him in Paris at that time of the year, and that it was
-      Bishop's duty as a friend to initiate him. Bishop was very happy over my
-      advice; but when he insisted that we should take a cab for the evening's
-      outing, I sternly reminded him of the bruises that our funds would receive
-      on New Year's, and thus curbed his extravagance. He surrendered with a
-      pang, for after all his preparation he felt like a duke, and for that
-      night, while entertaining his friend, he wanted to be a duke, not a
-      grubbing student.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      We met Mr. Thompkins at the hotel, and I found him a delightful man, with
-      a pleasant sparkle of the eye and a certain stiffness of bearing. It was
-      his intention to have us dine with him, but Bishop gently took him in
-      hand, and gradually gave him to understand that on this night in a
-      lifetime he was in the hands of his friends, to do as they said, and to
-      ask no questions. Mr. Thompkins looked a little puzzled, a little
-      apprehensive, and withal not unwilling to be sacrificed.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The first thing we did was to introduce Mr. Thompkins to a quiet
-      restaurant famous for its coquilles St.-Jacques; it is in the old Palais
-      Royal. This is the dinner that Bishop ordered:
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Huîtres Portugaises.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Sauterne. Médoc.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Consommé.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Coquilles St.-Jacques.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Macaroni à la Milanaise.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Filet de bouf.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Pommes nouvelles sautées.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Crème petit Suisse.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Eclairs.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Café.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Mr. Thompkins's enjoyment of the meal was as generous as his praise of
-      Bishop's skill in ordering it, and he declared that the wines particularly
-      were a rare treat. By the time that dinner had been finished he was
-      enthusiastic about Paris. He said that it was a wonderful city, and that
-      he was entirely at our disposal for the night.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      "I suppose, gentlemen," he suggested, "that you are going to invite me to
-      the opera. Now, I have no objections to that, and I am sure I shall be
-      delighted,&mdash;it is only one evening in a lifetime, perhaps. But I
-      shall insist that you go as my guests."
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Bishop laughed merrily, and slapped his friend on the back in a way that I
-      never should have employed with a man of so much dignity.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      "The opera, old man!" cried Bishop. "Why, you blessed idiot, you act like
-      a tourist! The opera! You can go there any time. To-night we shall see
-      Paris!" and he laughed again. "The opera!" he repeated. "Oh, my! You can
-      fall over the opera whenever you please. This is an opportunity for a tour
-      of discovery."
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Mr. Thompkins laughed with equal heartiness, and declared that nothing
-      would delight him more than to be an explorer&mdash;for one night in a
-      lifetime.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      "The Boul' Mich' or Montmartre?" Bishop whispered to me.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      "Montmartre," I replied; "Heaven, Death, Hell, and Bruant."
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Never had the Avenue de l'Opéra appeared so brilliant and lively as on
-      that cold, crisp December night, as we strolled towards the boulevards.
-      Its thousands of lights, its dashing equipages with the jingling harness
-      of horses drawing handsome women and men to the Opéra, its swiftly moving
-      cabs and heavy 'buses rolling over the smooth wooden pavement, the shouts
-      of drivers and the cracking of whips, the throngs of gay people enjoying
-      the holiday attractions, the endless rows of gaudy booths lining the
-      street, the flood of light and color everywhere, the cuirassiers of the
-      Garde Municipale mounted on superb horses standing motionless in the Place
-      de l'Opéra, their long boots and steel breastplates and helmets
-      glistening,&mdash;these all had their place,&mdash;while the broad stairs
-      of the Opéra were crowded with beautifully gowned women and fashionable
-      men pouring in to hear Sibyl Sanderson sing in "Samson and Delilah,"&mdash;all
-      this made a wonderful picture of life and beauty, of color, motion,
-      vivacity, and enjoyment. Above the entrance to the Opéra red marble
-      columns reflected the yellow light of the gilded foyer and of the yellow
-      blaze from the Café de la Paix across the way.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      We mounted a Montmartre 'bus and were pulled up the hill to the Boul'
-      Clichy, the main artery of that strange Bohemian mountain with its
-      eccentric, fantastic, and morbid attractions. Before us, in the Place
-      Blanche, stood the great Moulin Rouge, the long skeleton arms of the Red
-      Mill marked with red electric lights and slowly sweeping across the
-      heavens, while fanciful figures of students and dancing girls looked out
-      the windows of the mill, and a great crowd of lively, chatting, laughing
-      people were pushing their way toward the entrance of this famous dance-
-      hall of Paris. Mr. Thompkins, entranced before the brilliant spectacle,
-      asked somewhat hesitatingly if we might enter; but Bishop, wise in the
-      ways of Montmartre, replied,&mdash;"Not yet. It is only a little after
-      nine, and the Moulin does not get wide awake for some hours yet. We have
-      no time to waste while waiting for that. We shall first visit heaven."
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0084" id="linkimage-0084"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
-      <img src="images/0263.jpg" alt="0263 " width="100%" /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h5>
-      <a href="images/0263.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
-    </h5>
-    <p>
-      Mr. Thompkins looked surprised, but made no response. Presently we reached
-      the gilded gates of Le Cabaret du Ciel. They were bathed in a cold blue
-      light from above. Angels, gold-lined clouds, saints, sacred palms and
-      plants, and other paraphernalia suggestive of the approach to St. Peter's
-      domain, filled all the available space about the entrée. A bold white
-      placard, "<i>Bock, i Franc</i>," was displayed in the midst of it all.
-      Dolorous church music sounded within, and the heavens were unrolled as a
-      scroll in all their tinsel splendor as we entered to the bidding of an
-      angel.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Flitting about the room were many more angels, all in white robes and with
-      sandals on their feet, and all wearing gauzy wings swaying from their
-      shoulder-blades and brass halos above their yellow wigs. These were the
-      waiters, the garçons of heaven, ready to take orders for drinks. One of
-      these, with the face of a heavy villain in a melodrama and a beard a week
-      old, roared unmelodiously,&mdash;"The greetings of heaven to thee,
-      brothers! Eternal bliss and happiness are for thee. Mayst thou never
-      swerve from its golden paths! Breathe thou its sacred purity and
-      renovating exaltation. Prepare to meet thy great Creator&mdash;and don't
-      forget the garçon!"
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      A very long table covered with white extended the whole length of the
-      chilly room, and seated at it, drinking, were scores of candidates for
-      angelship,&mdash;mortals like ourselves. Men and women were they, and
-      though noisy and vivacious, they indulged in nothing like the abandon of
-      the Boul' Mich' <i>café</i>s. Gilded vases and candelabra, together with
-      foamy bocks, somewhat relieved the dead whiteness of the table. The
-      ceiling was an impressionistic rendering of blue sky, fleecy clouds, and
-      stars, and the walls were made to represent the noble enclosure and golden
-      gates of paradise.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0085" id="linkimage-0085"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div class="figright" style="width:20%;">
-      <img src="images/8264.jpg" alt="8264 " width="100%" /><br /><a
-      href="images/8264.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
-    </div>
-    <p>
-      "Brothers, your orders! Command me, thy servant!" growled a ferocious
-      angel at our elbows, with his accent de la Villette, and his brass halo a
-      trifle askew.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Mr. Thompkins had been very quiet, for he was Wonder in the flesh, and
-      perhaps there was some distress in his lace, but there was courage also.
-      The suddenness of the angel's assault visibly disconcerted him,&mdash;he
-      did not know what to order. Finally he decided on a verre de Chartreuse,
-      green. Bishop and I ordered bocks.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      "Two sparkling draughts of heaven's own brew and one star-dazzler!" yelled
-      our angel.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      "Thy will be done," came the response from a hidden bar.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Obscured by great masses of clouds, through whose intervals shone golden
-      stars, an organ continually rumbled sacred music, which had a depressing
-      rather than a solemn effect, and even the draughts of heaven's own brew
-      and the star-dazzler failed to dissipate the gloom.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Suddenly, without the slightest warning, the head of St. Peter, whiskers
-      and all, appeared in a hole in the sky, and presently all of him emerged,
-      even to his ponderous keys clanging at his girdle. He gazed solemnly down
-      upon the crowd at the tables and thoughtfully scratched his left wing.
-      From behind a dark cloud he brought forth a vessel of white crockery
-      (which was not a wash-bowl) containing (ostensibly) holy water. After
-      several mysterious signs and passes with his bony hands he generously
-      sprinkled the sinners below with a brush dipped in the water; and then,
-      with a parting blessing, he slowly faded into mist.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      "Did you ever? Well, well, I declare!" exclaimed Mr. Thompkins,
-      breathlessly.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0086" id="linkimage-0086"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
-      <img src="images/0266.jpg" alt="0266 " width="100%" /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h5>
-      <a href="images/0266.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
-    </h5>
-    <p>
-      The royal cortège of the kingdom of heaven was now forming at one end of
-      the room before a shrine, whereon an immense golden pig sat sedately on
-      his haunches, looking friendly and jovial, his loose skin and fat jowls
-      hanging in folds. Lighted candles sputtered about his golden sides. As the
-      participants in the pageant, all attachés of the place, formed for the
-      procession, each bowed reverently and crossed himself before the huge
-      porker. A small man, dressed in a loose black gown and black skull- cap,
-      evidently made up for Dante, whom he resembled, officiated as master of
-      ceremonies. He mounted a golden pulpit, and delivered, in a loud, rasping
-      voice, a tedious discourse on heaven and allied things. He dwelt on the
-      attractions of heaven as a perpetual summer resort, an unbroken round of
-      pleasures in variety, where sweet strains of angelic music (indicating the
-      wheezy organ), together with unlimited stores of heaven's own sparkling
-      fire of life, at a franc a bock, and beautiful goldenhaired cherubs, of la
-      Villette's finest, lent grace and perfection to the scheme.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0087" id="linkimage-0087"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div class="figright" style="width:20%;">
-      <img src="images/8268.jpg" alt="8268 " width="100%" /><br /><a
-      href="images/8268.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
-    </div>
-    <p>
-      The parade then began its tour about the room, Dante, carrying a staff
-      surmounted by a golden bull, serving as drum-major. Angel musicians,
-      playing upon sacred lyres and harps, followed in his wake, but the
-      dolorous organ made the more noise. Behind the lyre angels came a number
-      of the notables whom Dante immortalized,&mdash;at least, we judged that
-      they were so intended. The angel garçons closed the cortège, their gauzy
-      wings and brass halos bobbing in a stately fashion as they strode along.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The angel garçons now sauntered up and gave us each a ticket admitting us
-      to the angel-room and the other delights of the inner heaven.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      "Youarre Eengleesh?" he asked. "Yes? Ah, theece Eengleesh arre verra
-      genereauz," eyeing his fifty-centime tip with a questioning shrug. "Can
-      you not make me un franc? Ah, eet ees dam cold in theece laigs," pointing
-      to his calves, which were encased in diaphanous pink tights. He got his
-      franc.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Dante announced in his rasping voice that those mortals wishing to become
-      angels should proceed up to the angel-room. All advanced and ascended the
-      inclined passage-way leading into the blue. At the farther end of the
-      passage sat old St. Peter, solemn and shivering, for it was draughty there
-      among the clouds. He collected our tickets, gave the password admitting us
-      to the inner precincts, and resented Bishop's attempts to pluck a feather
-      from his wings. We entered a large room, all a glamour of gold and silver.
-      The walls were studded with blazing nuggets, colored canvas rocks, and
-      electric lights. We took seats on wooden benches fronting a cleft in the
-      rocks, and waited.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Soon the chamber in which we sat became perfectly dark, the cleft before
-      us shining with a dim bluish light. The cleft then came to life with a
-      bevy of female angels floating through the limited ethereal space, and
-      smiling down upon us mortals. One of the lady angel's tights bagged at the
-      knees, and another's wings were not on straight; but this did not
-      interfere with her flight, any more than did the stationary position of
-      the wings of all. But it was all very easily and gracefully done, swooping
-      down, soaring, and swinging in circles like so many great eagles. They
-      seemed to discover something of unusual interest in Mr. Thompkins, for
-      they singled him out to throw kisses at him. This made him blush and
-      fidget, but a word from Bishop reassured him,&mdash;it was only once in a
-      lifetime!
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      After these angels had gyrated for some time, the head angel of the
-      angel-room requested those who desired to become angels to step forward. A
-      number responded, among them some of the naughty dancing-girls of the
-      Moulin Rouge. They were conducted through a concealed door, and presently
-      we beheld them soaring in the empyrean just as happy and serene as though
-      they were used to being angels. It was a marvel to see wings so frail
-      transport with so much ease a very stout young woman from the audience,
-      and their being fully clothed did not seem to make any difference.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Mr. Thompkins had sat in a singularly contemplative mood after the real
-      angels had quit torturing him, and surprised us beyond measure by promptly
-      responding to a second call for those aspiring to angelhood. He
-      disappeared with another batch from the Moulin Rouge, and soon afterwards
-      we saw him floating like an airship. He even wore his hat. To his disgust
-      and chagrin, however, one of the concert-hall angels persisted in flying
-      in front of him and making violent love to him. This brought forth
-      tumultuous applause and laughter, which completed Mr. Thompkins's misery.
-      At this juncture the blue cleft became dark, the angel-room burst into
-      light, and soon Mr. Thompkins rejoined us.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      As we filed out into the passage Father Time stood with long whiskers and
-      scythe, greeted us with profound bows, and promised that his scythe would
-      spare us for many happy years did we but drop sous into his hour- glass.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      There was no conversation among us when we emerged upon the boulevard, for
-      Mr. Thompkins was in a retrospective frame of mind. Bishop embraced the
-      opportunity to lead us up the Boulevard Clichy to the Place Pigalle. As we
-      neared the Place we saw on the opposite side of the street two flickering
-      iron lanterns that threw a ghastly green light down upon the barred
-      dead-black shutters of the building, and caught the faces of the
-      passers-by with sickly rays that took out all the life and transformed
-      them into the semblance of corpses. Across the top of the closed black
-      entrance were large white letters, reading simply: "<i>Cafe du Néant</i>"
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The entrance was heavily draped with black cerements, having white
-      trimmings,&mdash;such as hang before the houses of the dead in Paris. Here
-      patrolled a solitary croque-mort, or hired pall-bearer, his black cape
-      drawn closely about him, the green light reflected by his glazed top- hat.
-      A more dismal and forbidding place it would be difficult to imagine. Mr.
-      Thompkins paled a little when he discovered that this was our destination,&mdash;this
-      grisly caricature of eternal nothingness,&mdash;and hesitated at the
-      threshold. Without a word Bishop firmly took his arm and entered. The
-      lonely croque-mort drew apart the heavy curtain and admitted us into a
-      black hole that proved later to be a room. The chamber was dimly lighted
-      with wax tapers, and a large chandelier intricately devised of human
-      skulls and arms, with funeral candles held in their fleshless fingers,
-      gave its small quota of light.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Large, heavy, wooden coffins, resting on biers, were ranged about the room
-      in an order suggesting the recent happening of a frightful catastrophe.
-      The walls were decorated with skulls and bones, skeletons in grotesque
-      attitudes, battle-pictures, and guillotines in action. Death, carnage,
-      assassination were the dominant note, set in black hangings and
-      illuminated with mottoes on death. A half-dozen voices droned this in a
-      low monotone:
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      "Enter, mortals of this sinful world, enter into the mists and shadows of
-      eternity. Select your biers, to the right, to the left; fit yourselves
-      comfortably to them, and repose in the solemnity and tranquillity of
-      death; and may God have mercy on your souls!"
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      A number of persons who had preceded us had already pre-empted their
-      coffins, and were sitting beside them awaiting developments and enjoying
-      their consommations, using the coffins for their real purpose,&mdash;tables
-      for holding drinking-glasses. Alongside the glasses were slender tapers by
-      which the visitors might see one another.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0088" id="linkimage-0088"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
-      <img src="images/0273.jpg" alt="0273 " width="100%" /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h5>
-      <a href="images/0273.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
-    </h5>
-    <p>
-      There seemed to be no mechanical imperfection in the illusion of a
-      charnel-house; we imagined that even chemistry had contributed its
-      resources, for there seemed distinctly to be the odor appropriate to such
-      a place.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      We found a vacant coffin in the vault, seated ourselves at it on rush-
-      bottomed stools, and awaited further developments.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0089" id="linkimage-0089"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div class="figright" style="width:20%;">
-      <img src="images/8274.jpg" alt="8274 " width="100%" /><br /><a
-      href="images/8274.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
-    </div>
-    <p>
-      Another croque-mort&mdash;a garçon he was&mdash;came up through the gloom
-      to take our orders. He was dressed completely in the professional garb of
-      a hearse-follower, including claw-hammer coat, full-dress front, glazed
-      tile, and oval silver badge. He droned,&mdash;"<i>Bon soir, Macchabées! *
-      Buvez les crachats d'asthmatiques, voilà des sueurs froides d'agonisants.
-      Prenez donc des certificats de décès, seulement vingt sous. C'est pas cher
-      et c'est artistique!</i>"
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      * This word (also Maccabe, argot Macabit) is given in Paris by sailors to
-      cadavers found floating in the river.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Bishop said that he would be pleased with a lowly bock. Mr. Thompkins
-      chose cherries à l'eau-de-vie, and I, une menthe.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      "One microbe of Asiatic cholera from the last corpse, one leg of a lively
-      cancer, and one sample of our consumption germ!" moaned the creature
-      toward a black hole at the farther end of the room.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Some women among the visitors tittered, others shuddered, and Mr.
-      Thompkins broke out in a cold sweat on his brow, while a curious
-      accompaniment of anger shone in his eyes. Our sleepy pallbearer soon
-      loomed through the darkness with our deadly microbes, and waked the echoes
-      in the hollow casket upon which he set the glasses with a thump.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      "Drink, Macchabées!" he wailed: "drink these noxious potions, which
-      contain the vilest and deadliest poisons!"
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      "The villain!" gasped Mr. Thompkins; "it is horrible, disgusting, filthy!"
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The tapers flickered feebly on the coffins, and the white skulls grinned
-      at him mockingly from their sable background. Bishop exhausted all his
-      tactics in trying to induce Mr. Thompkins to taste his bran-died cherries,
-      but that gentleman positively refused,&mdash;he seemed unable to banish
-      the idea that they were laden with disease germs.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      After we had been seated here for some time, getting no consolation from
-      the utter absence of spirit and levity among the other guests, and
-      enjoying only the dismay and trepidation of new and strange arrivals, a
-      rather good-looking young fellow, dressed in a black clerical coat, came
-      through a dark door and began to address the assembled patrons. His voice
-      was smooth, his manner solemn and impressive, as he delivered a
-      well-worded discourse on death. He spoke of it as the gate through which
-      we must all make our exit from this world,&mdash;of the gloom, the
-      loneliness, the utter sense of helplessness and desolation. As he warmed
-      to his subject he enlarged upon the follies that hasten the advent of
-      death, and spoke of the relentless certainty and the incredible variety of
-      ways in which the reaper claims his victims. Then he passed on to the
-      terrors of actual dissolution, the tortures of the body, the rending of
-      the soul, the unimaginable agonies that sensibilities rendered acutely
-      susceptible at this extremity are called upon to endure. It required good
-      nerves to listen to that, for the man was perfect in his rôle. From
-      matters of individual interest in death he passed to death in its larger
-      aspects. He pointed to a large and striking battle scene, in which the
-      combatants had come to hand-to-hand fighting, and were butchering one
-      another in a mad lust for blood. Suddenly the picture began to glow, the
-      light bringing out its ghastly details with hideous distinctness. Then as
-      suddenly it faded away, and where fighting men had been there were
-      skeletons writhing and struggling in a deadly embrace.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      A similar effect was produced with a painting giving a wonderfully
-      realistic representation of an execution by the guillotine. The bleeding
-      trunk of the victim lying upon the flap-board dissolved, the flesh slowly
-      disappearing, leaving only the white bones. Another picture, representing
-      a brilliant dance-hall filled with happy revellers, slowly merged into a
-      grotesque dance of skeletons; and thus it was with the other pictures
-      about the room.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      All this being done, the master of ceremonies, in lugubrious tones,
-      invited us to enter the chambre de la mort. All the visitors rose, and,
-      bearing each a taper, passed in single file into a narrow, dark passage
-      faintly illuminated with sickly green lights, the young man in clerical
-      garb acting as pilot. The cross effects of green and yellow lights on the
-      faces of the groping procession were more startling than picturesque. The
-      way was lined with bones, skulls, and fragments of human bodies.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0090" id="linkimage-0090"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
-      <img src="images/0277.jpg" alt="0277 " width="100%" /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h5>
-      <a href="images/0277.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
-    </h5>
-    <p>
-      "O Macchabées, nous sommes devant la porte de la chambre de la mort!"
-      wailed an unearthly voice from the farther end of the passage as we
-      advanced. Then before us appeared a solitary figure standing beneath a
-      green lamp. The figure was completely shrouded in black, only the eyes
-      being visible, and they shone through holes in the pointed cowl. From the
-      folds of the gown it brought forth a massive iron key attached to a chain,
-      and, approaching a door seemingly made of iron and heavily studded with
-      spikes and crossed with bars, inserted and turned the key; the bolts moved
-      with a harsh, grating noise, and the door of the chamber of death swung
-      slowly open.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      "O Macchabées, enter into eternity, whence none ever return!" cried the
-      new, strange voice.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The walls of the room were a dead and unrelieved black. At one side two
-      tall candles were burning, but their feeble light was insufficient even to
-      disclose the presence of the black walls of the chamber or indicate that
-      anything but unending blackness extended heavenward. There was not a thing
-      to catch and reflect a single ray of the light and thus become visible in
-      the blackness.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Between the two candles was an upright opening in the wall; it was of the
-      shape of a coffin. We were seated upon rows of small black caskets resting
-      on the floor in front of the candles. There was hardly a whisper among the
-      visitors. The black-hooded figure passed silently out of view and vanished
-      in the darkness.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Presently a pale, greenish-white illumination began to light up the
-      coffin-shaped hole in the wall, clearly marking its outline against the
-      black. Within this space there stood a coffin upright, in which a pretty
-      young woman, robed in a white shroud, fitted snugly. Soon it was evident
-      that she was very much alive, for she smiled and looked at us saucily. But
-      that was not for long. From the depths came a dismal wail:
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      "O Macchabée, beautiful, breathing mortal, pulsating with the warmth and
-      richness of life, thou art now in the grasp of death! Compose thy soul for
-      the end!"
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Her face slowly became white and rigid; her eyes sank; her lips tightened
-      across her teeth; her cheeks took on the hollowness of death,&mdash; she
-      was dead. But it did not end with that. From white the face slowly grew
-      livid... then purplish black.... The eyes visibly shrank into their
-      greenish-yellow sockets.... Slowly the hair fell away.... The nose melted
-      away into a purple putrid spot. The whole face became a semi- liquid mass
-      of corruption. Presently all this had disappeared, and a gleaming skull
-      shone where so recently had been the handsome face of a woman; naked teeth
-      grinned inanely and savagely where rosy lips had so recently smiled. Even
-      the shroud had gradually disappeared, and an entire skeleton stood
-      revealed in the coffin.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The wail again rang through the silent vault:
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      "Ah, ah, Macchabée! Thou hast reached the last stage of dissolution, so
-      dreadful to mortals. The work that follows death is complete. But despair
-      not, for death is not the end of all. The power is given to those who
-      merit it, not only to return to life, but to return in any form and
-      station preferred to the old. So return if thou deservedst and desirest."
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0091" id="linkimage-0091"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
-      <img src="images/0280.jpg" alt="0280 " width="100%" /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h5>
-      <a href="images/0280.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
-    </h5>
-    <p>
-      With a slowness equal to that of the dissolution, the bones became covered
-      with flesh and cerements, and all the ghastly steps were reproduced
-      reversed. Gradually the sparkle of the eyes began to shine through the
-      gloom; but when the reformation was completed, behold! there was no longer
-      the handsome and smiling young woman, but the sleek, rotund body, ruddy
-      cheeks, and self-conscious look of a banker. It was not until this touch
-      of comedy relieved the strain that the rigidity with which Mr. Thompkins
-      had sat between us began to relax, and a smile played over his face,&mdash;a
-      bewildered, but none the less a pleasant, smile. The prosperous banker
-      stepped forth, sleek and tangible, and haughtily strode away before our
-      eyes, passing through the audience into the darkness. Again was the
-      coffin-shaped hole in the wall dark and empty.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      He of the black gown and pointed hood now emerged through an invisible
-      door, and asked if there was any one in the audience who desired to pass
-      through the experience that they had just witnessed. This created a
-      suppressed commotion; each peered into the face of his neighbor to find
-      one with courage sufficient for the ordeal. Bishop suggested to Mr.
-      Thompkins in a whisper that he submit himself, but that gentleman very
-      peremptorily declined. Then, after a pause, Bishop stepped forth and
-      announced that he was prepared to die. He was asked solemnly by the
-      doleful person if he was ready to accept all the consequences of his
-      decision. He replied that he was. Then he disappeared through the black
-      wall, and presently appeared in the greenish-white light of the open
-      coffin. There he composed himself as he imagined a corpse ought, crossed
-      his hands upon his breast, suffered the white shroud to be drawn about
-      him, and awaited results,&mdash;after he had made a rueful grimace that
-      threw the first gleam of suppressed merriment through the oppressed
-      audience. He passed through all the ghastly stages that the former
-      occupant of the coffin had experienced, and returned in proper person to
-      life and to his seat beside Mr. Thompkins, the audience applauding softly.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      A mysterious figure in black waylaid the crowd as it filed out. He held an
-      inverted skull, into which we were expected to drop sous through the
-      natural opening there, and it was with the feeling of relief from a heavy
-      weight that we departed and turned our backs on the green lights at the
-      entrance.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      What a wonderful contrast! Here we were in the free, wide, noisy,
-      brilliant world again. Here again were the crowds, the venders, saucy
-      grisettes with their bright smiles, shining teeth, and alluring glances.
-      Here again were the bustling <i>café</i>s, the music, the lights, the
-      life, and above all the giant arms of the Moulin Rouge sweeping the sky.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      "Now," quietly remarked Bishop, "having passed through death, we will
-      explore hell."
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Mr. Thompkins seemed too weak, or unresisting, or apathetic to protest.
-      His face betrayed a queer mixture of emotions, part suffering, part
-      revulsion, part a sort of desperate eagerness for more.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0092" id="linkimage-0092"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
-      <img src="images/0284.jpg" alt="0284 " width="100%" /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h5>
-      <a href="images/0284.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
-    </h5>
-    <p>
-      We passed through a large, hideous, fanged, open mouth in an enormous face
-      from which shone eyes of blazing crimson. Curiously enough, it adjoined
-      heaven, whose cool blue lights contrasted strikingly with the fierce
-      ruddiness of hell. Red-hot bars and gratings through which flaming coals
-      gleamed appeared in the walls within the red mouth. A placard announced
-      that should the temperature of this inferno make one thirsty, innumerable
-      bocks might be had at sixty-five centimes each. A little red imp guarded
-      the throat of the monster into whose mouth we had walked; he was cutting
-      extraordinary capers, and made a great show of stirring the fires. The red
-      imp opened the imitation heavy metal door for our passage to the interior,
-      crying,&mdash;"Ah, ah, ah! still they come! Oh, how they will roast!" Then
-      he looked keenly at Mr. Thompkins. It was interesting to note how that
-      gentleman was always singled out by these shrewd students of humanity.
-      This particular one added with great gusto, as he narrowly studied Mr.
-      Thompkins, "Hist! ye infernal whelps; stir well the coals and heat red the
-      prods, for this is where we take our revenge on earthly saintliness!"
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      "Enter and be damned,&mdash;the Evil One awaits you!" growled a chorus of
-      rough voices as we hesitated before the scene confronting us.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Near us was suspended a caldron over a fire, and hopping within it were
-      half a dozen devil musis dans, male and female, playing a selection from
-      "Faust" on stringed instruments, while red imps stood by, prodding with
-      red-hot irons those who lagged in their performance.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Crevices in the walls of this room ran with streams of molten gold and
-      silver, and here and there were caverns lit up by smouldering fires from
-      which thick smoke issued, and vapors emitting the odors of a volcano.
-      Flames would suddenly burst from clefts in the rocks, and thunder rolled
-      through the caverns. Red imps were everywhere, darting about noiselessly,
-      some carrying beverages for the thirsty lost souls, others stirring the
-      fires or turning somersaults. Everything was in a high state of motion.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Numerous red tables stood against the fiery walls; at these sat the
-      visitors. Mr. Thompkins seated himself at one of them. Instantly it became
-      aglow with a mysterious light, which kept flaring up and disappearing in
-      an erratic fashion; flames darted from the walls, fires crackled and
-      roared. One of the imps came to take our order; it was for three coffees,
-      black, with cognac; and this is how he shrieked the order:
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      "Three seething bumpers of molten sins, with a dash of brimstone
-      intensifier!" Then, when he had brought it, "This will season your
-      intestines, and render them invulnerable, for a time at least, to the
-      tortures of the melted iron that will be soon poured down your throats."
-      The glasses glowed with a phosphorescent light. "Three francs seventy-
-      five, please, not counting me. Make it four francs. Thank you well.
-      Remember that though hell is hot, there are cold drinks if you want them."
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Presently Satan himself strode into the cavern, gorgeous in his imperial
-      robe of red, decked with blazing jewels, and brandishing a sword from
-      which fire flashed. His black moustaches were waxed into sharp points, and
-      turned rakishly upward above lips upon which a sneering grin appeared.
-      Thus he leered at the new arrivals in his domain. His appearance lent new
-      zest to the activity of the imps and musicians, and all cowered under his
-      glance. Suddenly he burst into a shrieking laugh that gave one a creepy
-      feeling. It rattled through the cavern with a startling effect as he
-      strode up and down. It was a triumphant, cruel, merciless laugh. All at
-      once he paused in front of a demure young Parisienne seated at a table
-      with her escort, and, eying her keenly, broke into this speech:
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      "Ah, you! Why do you tremble? How many men have you sent hither to
-      damnation with those beautiful eyes, those rosy, tempting lips? Ah, for
-      all that, you have found a sufficient hell on earth. But you," he added,
-      turning fiercely upon her escort, "you will have the finest, the most
-      exquisite tortures that await the damned. For what? For being a fool. It
-      is folly more than crime that hell punishes, for crime is a disease and
-      folly a sin. You fool! For thus hanging upon the witching glance and oily
-      words of a woman you have filled all hell with fuel for your roasting. You
-      will suffer such tortures as only the fool invites, such tortures only as
-      are adequate to punish folly. Prepare for the inconceivable, the
-      unimaginable, the things that even the king of hell dare not mention lest
-      the whole structure of damnation totter and crumble to dust."
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The man winced, and queer wrinkles came into the corners of his mouth.
-      Then Satan happened to discover Mr. Thompkins, who shrank visibly under
-      the scorching gaze. Satan made a low, mocking bow.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      "You do me great honor, sir," he declared, unctuously. "You may have been
-      expecting to avoid me, but reflect upon what you would have missed! We
-      have many notables here, and you will have charming society. They do not
-      include pickpockets and thieves, nor any others of the weak, stunted,
-      crippled, and halting. You will find that most of your companions are
-      distinguished gentlemen of learning and ability, who, knowing their duty,
-      failed to perform it. You will be in excellent company, sir," he
-      concluded, with another low bow. Then, suddenly turning and sweeping the
-      room with a gesture, he commanded, "To the hot room, all of you!" while he
-      swung his sword, from which flashes of lightning trailed and thunder
-      rumbled.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      We were led to the end of a passage, where a red-hot iron door barred
-      further progress.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      "Oh, oh, within there!" roared Satan. "Open the portal of the hot chamber,
-      that these fresh arrivals may be introduced to the real temperature of
-      hell!"
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0093" id="linkimage-0093"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
-      <img src="images/0290.jpg" alt="0290 " width="100%" /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h5>
-      <a href="images/0290.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
-    </h5>
-    <p>
-      After numerous signals and mysterious passes the door swung open, and we
-      entered. It was not so very hot after all. The chamber resembled the
-      other, except that a small stage occupied one end. A large green snake
-      crawled out upon this, and suddenly it was transformed into a red devil
-      with exceedingly long, thin legs, encased in tights that were ripped in
-      places. He gave some wonderful contortion feats. A poor little white
-      Pierrot came on and assisted the red devil in black art performances. By
-      this time we discovered that in spite of the halfmolten condition of the
-      rock-walls, the room was disagreeably chilly. And that ended our
-      experience in hell.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Bishop then led us to the closed, dark front of a house in front of which
-      stood a suspicious-looking man, who eyed us contemptuously. Bishop told
-      him that we should like to enter. The man assented with a growl. He beat
-      upon the door with a stick; a little wicket opened, and a villanous face
-      peered out at us.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      "What do you want?" came from it in gruff tones.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      "To enter, of course," responded Bishop.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      "Are they, all right, do you think?" asked the face of the sentinel.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      "I think they are harmless," was the answer.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Several bolts and locks grated, and the stubborn door opened.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      "Enter, you vile specimens of human folly!" hissed the inside guard as we
-      passed within. "D&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;all three of you!"
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      We had no sooner found ourselves inside than this same person, a short,
-      stout man, with long hair and a powerful frame, and the face of a
-      cutthroat, struck a table with the heavy stick that he carried, and roared
-      to us,&mdash;"Sit down!"
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Mr. Thompkins involuntarily cowered, but he gathered himself up and went
-      with us to seats at the nearest table. While we were doing this the
-      habitués of the place greeted us with this song, sung in chorus:
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br />
-    </p>
-    <p class="indent20">
-      "Oh, là là! c'te gueule&mdash;
-    </p>
-    <p class="indent30">
-      C'te binette.
-    </p>
-    <p class="indent20">
-      Oh, là là, c'te gueule,
-    </p>
-    <p class="indent30">
-      Qu'il a."
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br />
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      "What are they saying?" asked Mr. Thompkins; but Bishop spared him by
-      explaining that it was only the latest song.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0094" id="linkimage-0094"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
-      <img src="images/0294.jpg" alt="0294 " width="100%" /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h5>
-      <a href="images/0294.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
-    </h5>
-    <p>
-      The room had a low ceiling crossed by heavy beams. Wrought-iron gas lamps
-      gave a gloomy light upon the dark, time-browned color of the place. The
-      beams were loaded with dust, cobwebs, and stains, the result of years of
-      smoke and accumulation. Upon the walls were dozens of drawings by
-      Steinlen, illustrating the poems of low life written by the proprietor of
-      the <i>café</i>; for we were in the den of the famous Aristide Bruant, the
-      poet of the gutter,&mdash;Verlaine had a higher place as the poet of the
-      slums. There were also drawings by Chéret, Willett, and others, and some
-      clever sketches in oil; the whole effect was artistic. In one corner was
-      an old fireplace, rich in carvings of grotesque heads and figures, grilled
-      iron-work, and shining copper vessels. The general impression was of a
-      mediaeval gun-room.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Near the fireplace, upon a low platform, was a piano; grouped about it
-      were four typical Bohemians of lower Bohemia; they wore loads of hair;
-      their faces had a dissipated look, their fingers were heavily stained by
-      cigarettes; they wore beards and négligé black cravats. These were all
-      minor poets, and they took their turn in singing or reciting their own
-      compositions, afterwards making a tour of the crowded tables with a tin
-      cup and collecting the sous upon which they lived, and roundly cursing
-      those who refused to contribute.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Bishop was so delighted with the pictures on the walls that he proceeded
-      to examine them, but the bully with the stick thundered,&mdash;"Sit down!"
-      and shook his bludgeon menacingly. Bishop sat down.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Then the brute swaggered up to us and demanded,&mdash;"What the devil do
-      you want to drink, anyway? Speak up quick!" When he had brought the drinks
-      he gruffly demanded, "Pay up!" Upon receiving the customary tip he
-      frowned, glared at us with a threatening manner, and growled, "Humph! <i>c'est
-      pas beaucoup!</i>" and swept the money into his pocket.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      "Goodness! this is an awful place!" exclaimed Mr. Thompkins under his
-      breath. He seemed to fear being brained at any moment. Retreat had been
-      rendered impossible by the locking of the door.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      We were prisoners at the will of our jailer, and so were all the others.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The great Bruant himself sat with a party of congenial Bohemians at a
-      table near the piano and fireplace; they were drinking bocks and smoking
-      cigarettes and long-stemmed pipes. On the wall behind them was a rack
-      holding the pipes of the habitués of the <i>café</i>, mostly broken and
-      well browned. Each pipe was owned by a particular Bohemian, and each had
-      its special place in the rack. The other tables held a general assortment
-      of lesser Bohemians and sight-seers, all cowed and silent under the
-      domination of the bawling ruffian with the stick. Whenever he smiled
-      (which was rare, a perpetual frown having creased a deep furrow between
-      his eyes) they smiled also, in great relief, and hung upon every word that
-      his occasional lapses into an approach to good nature permitted him to
-      utter.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The poets and singers howled their productions in rasping voices, and put
-      a strain upon the strength of the piano; and the minor Bohemians applauded
-      them heartily and envied them their distinction.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      In the midst of this performance there came a knock upon the door. The
-      bully walked up to the wicket, peered out, and admitted an elderly
-      gentleman, accompanied by a lady, evidently his wife. These the habitués
-      greeted with the following song:
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br />
-    </p>
-    <p class="indent15">
-      "Tout les clients sont des cochons&mdash;
-    </p>
-    <p class="indent20">
-      La faridon, la faridon donne.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br />
-    </p>
-    <p class="indent15">
-      Et surtout les ceux qui s'en vont&mdash;
-    </p>
-    <p class="indent20">
-      La faridon, la faridon donne."
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br />
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The gentleman, somewhat abashed by this reception, hesitated a moment,
-      then sought seats. The two had hardly seated themselves when the burly
-      ruffian with the stick began to recite a villanous poem reflecting upon
-      the chastity of married women, emphasizing it with atrocious side remarks.
-      The gentleman sprang from his seat in a rage and advanced threateningly
-      upon the brute, who stood leering at him and taking a firmer hold upon his
-      stick; but the visitor's wife caught the outraged man by the arm and
-      restrained him. A wordy war ensued (for the gentleman was a Frenchman), in
-      which the choicest argot of Montmartre and La Villette was exhausted by
-      the ruffian. He closed by shouting,&mdash;"You were not invited to enter
-      here. You asked the privilege of entering; your wish was granted. If you
-      don't like it here, get out!"
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The gentleman flung down a franc upon the table, the bolts were withdrawn,
-      and he and his wife passed out while the roysterers sang,&mdash;
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br />
-    </p>
-    <p class="indent20">
-      Tout les clients sont des cochons," etc.,
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br />
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      amid the laughter of the smaller Bohemians.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Aristide Bruant now rose from his table and strode to the centre of the
-      room. A perfect silence fell. He is rather a small man, slender, and of
-      delicate build; he has a thin, sallow face, with piercing black eyes,
-      prominent cheek-bones, and long raven-black hair falling over his
-      shoulders from beneath a broad black slouch hat down over his eyes. His
-      unbuttoned coat showed a red flannel shirt open at the throat; a broad
-      sash was about his waist; his trousers were tucked into top-boots,&mdash;the
-      ensemble reminding one of Buffalo Bill. He glared sullenly round upon the
-      people, and then sprang lightly upon a table. From that perch he recited
-      one of his poems, selected from his book of songs and monologues. It does
-      not bear reproduction here. For that matter, being written in the argot of
-      Montmartre, it could hardly be understood even by French scholars
-      unfamiliar with Montmartre.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Happily Mr. Thompkins understood not a word of it, smiling perfunctorily
-      out of politeness while Bruant was uttering things that might have shocked
-      the most hardened Parisians. There were several young women present, and
-      while Bruant was reciting they ogled him with genuine adoration. The other
-      poets hung reverently upon his every word.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      A mighty burst of applause greeted the finish of the recitation; but
-      Bruant slouched indifferently to his seat, ignoring the ovation. The bully
-      with the stick immediately stopped the noise by yelling, "Silence!" This
-      he followed up with the contribution-cup for the benefit of the idol of
-      Montmartre. With the cup he brought the volume of Bruant's poems from
-      which he had given the recitation,&mdash;a cheaply printed pamphlet. No
-      one dared refuse to buy, and no change was returned. Was not this the
-      great Aristide Bruant, the immortal of Montmartre?
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0095" id="linkimage-0095"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
-      <img src="images/0300.jpg" alt="0300 " width="100%" /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h5>
-      <a href="images/0300.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
-    </h5>
-    <p>
-      He was followed by other poets with songs and the banging of the piano. We
-      presently rose to leave, but the bully shouted,&mdash;"Sit down! How dare
-      you insult the young poet who is now singing?" We submissively resumed our
-      seats. After a while, in a lull, we respectfully rose again, and the
-      bully, shouting, "Get out!" unbarred the door and we were free.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Mr. Thompkins was more deeply puzzled than he had been before that night.
-      He could not understand that such a resort, where one is bullied and
-      insulted, could secure patronage.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      "But this is Paris, Mr. Thompkins," explained Bishop, somewhat vaguely;
-      "and this particular part of Paris is Montmartre."
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Midnight was now close at hand, but Montmartre was in the height of its
-      gayety. Students, Bohemians, and cocottes were skipping and singing along
-      the boulevard,&mdash;singing the songs of Bruant. The <i>café</i>s were
-      crowded, the theatres and concert halls only in the middle of their
-      programmes. Cabs were dashing about, some stopping at the Moulin Rouge,
-      others at the Elysée Montmartre, still others picking up fares for more
-      distant attractions.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Bishop halted in front of a quiet-looking house with curtained windows,
-      and bluntly asked Mr. Thompkins if he would like to go to church. Mr.
-      Thompkins caught his breath, and an odd, guilty look came into his face.
-      But before he could make reply Bishop was leading the way within. The
-      interior of the place certainly looked like a church,&mdash;it was fitted
-      to have that significance. The cold, gray stone walls rose to a vaulted
-      Gothic ceiling; Gothic pillars and arches and carved wood completed the
-      architectural effect; statues of saints appeared in niches, some
-      surmounted by halos of lighted candles; and there were banners bearing
-      scriptural mottoes.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0096" id="linkimage-0096"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div class="figleft" style="width:20%;">
-      <img src="images/9303.jpg" alt="9303 " width="100%" /><br /><a
-      href="images/9303.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
-    </div>
-    <p>
-      The heavy oaken tables on the floor were provided with stiff, high- backed
-      pulpit-chairs, beautiful in color and carving, and of a Gothic type, the
-      whole scene suggesting a transept of Notre-Dame. Mr. Thomp- kins had
-      reverently removed his hat. It was not long afterward that he quietly
-      replaced it on his head. No notice was taken by us of these movements.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      At the farther end, where the church altar belonged, was indeed a
-      handsomely carved altar. Above it sprang a graceful arch, bearing a canopy
-      beautifully painted in blue, with yellow stars. In the centre was a
-      painting of Christ upon the cross. The altar was the bar, or caisse, of
-      this queer <i>café</i>, and behind it sat the proprietress, quietly
-      knitting and waiting to fill orders for drinks. The walls of the <i>café</i>
-      were almost entirely covered with framed drawings by Rodel; all were
-      portraits of well-known Bohemians of Montmartre in characteristic
-      attitudes,&mdash;the star patrons of this rendezvous. Many women figured
-      among them, all Bohemian to the bone.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0097" id="linkimage-0097"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
-      <img src="images/0304.jpg" alt="0304 " width="100%" /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h5>
-      <a href="images/0304.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
-    </h5>
-    <p>
-      This was the Café du Conservatoire, famous for its celebrities, the poets
-      of Bohemian Paris, among whom Marcel Legay is eminent. It was evident that
-      the habitués of the Conservatoire were of a much higher order than those
-      whom we had seen elsewhere.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0098" id="linkimage-0098"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div class="figright" style="width:20%;">
-      <img src="images/8306.jpg" alt="8306 " width="100%" /><br /><a
-      href="images/8306.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
-    </div>
-    <p>
-      They looked more prosperous, were more amiable, and acted more as other
-      people.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      True, there was much long hair, for that is a disease hard to shake off;
-      but when it did occur, it was well combed and oiled. And there were many
-      flat-brimmed "plug" hats, as well as collars,&mdash;clean ones, too, an
-      exceptional thing in Bohemia, laundering being expensive. But the
-      poverty-haunted Bohemians in the Soleil d'Or are more picturesque. That,
-      however, is in the Latin Quarter: anything exceptional may be expected at
-      Montmartre.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      When we had finished our coffee we approached the patronne behind the bar,
-      and bought billets for the Salle des Poètes at two francs each. This was a
-      large room crowded with enraptured listeners to Legay, who was at that
-      moment rendering his song.
-    </p>
-    <h3>
-      LES CLOCHES.
-    </h3>
-    <p class="indent15">
-      "Les cloches Catholiques,
-    </p>
-    <p class="indent20">
-      Du haut de leur beffroi,
-    </p>
-    <p class="indent20">
-      Voyaient avec effroi
-    </p>
-    <p class="indent15">
-      La résurrection des Grandes Républiques.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br />
-    </p>
-    <p class="indent30">
-      Les cloches rêvaient,
-    </p>
-    <p class="indent20">
-      En quatre-vingt onze,
-    </p>
-    <p class="indent20">
-      Les cloches de bronze
-    </p>
-    <p class="indent30">
-      Rêvaient."
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br />
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Legay had quite a distinguished appearance as he stood singing before the
-      piano. He wore a generously cut frock-coat, and his waistcoat exposed a
-      spacious show of white shirt-front.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0099" id="linkimage-0099"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div class="figleft" style="width:20%;">
-      <img src="images/9307.jpg" alt="9307 " width="100%" /><br /><a
-      href="images/9307.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
-    </div>
-    <p>
-      His long hair was carefully brushed back, his moustaches neatly waxed;
-      altogether he was dainty and jaunty, and the ladies in the room made no
-      concealment of their adoration.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The accompanist was a picturesque character. He was forty-five or fifty
-      years of age; he had long white hair and a drooping moustache, and his
-      heavy protruding eyes were suffused with tears evoked by the pathos of the
-      song. While he gazed up into the singer's face with tear-filled eyes he
-      was in another life, another world, where there was nothing but music and
-      poetry unalloyed to constitute his heaven. For Legay sang charmingly, with
-      an art and a feeling that were never obtrusive; and his audience was
-      aesthetic. When he had finished he was cheered without stint, and he
-      clearly showed how much the attention pleased him.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0100" id="linkimage-0100"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div class="figright" style="width:20%;">
-      <img src="images/8308.jpg" alt="8308 " width="100%" /><br /><a
-      href="images/8308.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
-    </div>
-    <p>
-      His song was only one of the numbers on a very interesting programme. This
-      was the training school of the young poets and song-writers of upper
-      Bohemia; this was where they made their début and met the test of that
-      discriminating criticism which decided them to advance upon the world or
-      conceal themselves for yet a while from its cruel glare; and were they not
-      but repeating the ordeal of the ancient Greeks, out of which so many noble
-      things passed into literature? These critics were as frank with their
-      disapproval as generous with their acceptance.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Among those who sang were Gustave Corbet, Marius Geffroy, Eugene
-      Lemercier, Xavier Privas, Delarbre, and Henri Brallet, men as yet unknown,
-      but likely to make a mark under the training, inspiration, and severe
-      checks of the Café du Conservatoire. One of the goals for which these
-      writers strive, and one that, if they win it, means to them recognition,
-      is to have their poems published in <i>Gil Blas</i>, with illustrations by
-      the peerless Steinlen, as are the works of Legay, and also of Bruant, le
-      Terrible.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Marcel Legay is a familiar figure on the boulevards, where his dainty
-      person is often seen after nightfall, hurrying to one or another of his
-      haunts, with a small roll of music under his arm, and his fluffy hair
-      streaming over his shoulders. On certain nights of every week he sings
-      over in the Latin Quarter, at the Cabaret des Noctambules, Rue
-      Champollion, near the Chapel of the Sorbonne.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The other singers that night at the Café du Conservatoire each affected
-      his peculiar style of habit, gesture, and pose that he deemed most
-      fetching. The entire programme was of songs: hence the name, Café du
-      Conservatoire.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      After we had deft, Bishop bought some Brevas cigars; thus fortified, we
-      headed for the Moulin Rouge.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      It was evident that Mr. Thompkins had reserved his enthusiasm for the
-      great dance-hall of Montmartre,&mdash;Le Moulin Rouge,&mdash;with its
-      women of the half world, its giddiness, its glare, its noise, its
-      naughtiness.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0101" id="linkimage-0101"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
-      <img src="images/0310.jpg" alt="0310 " width="100%" /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h5>
-      <a href="images/0310.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
-    </h5>
-    <p>
-      Here at last we should find all absence of restraint, posing, sordidness,
-      self-consciousness, and appeals to abnormal appetites. Mr. Thompkins
-      visibly brightened as we ascended the incline of the entrance and came
-      within the influence of the life and abandon of the place. Indeed, it must
-      have seemed like fairy-land to him. The soft glow of hundreds of lights
-      fell upon the crowds in the ball-room and balconies, with their shifting
-      streams of color from the moving figures of dancing women in showy gowns
-      and saucy hats, and its many chatting, laughing, joyous groups at the
-      tables along the passage and the balconies, enjoying merry little suppers
-      and varied consommations that kept scores of garçons continually on the
-      move. A placard announced American Bar; American and English Drinks&mdash;as
-      bald and unashamed as that. Here on high stools, American free-lunch
-      fashion, ranged along the bar, were English and American tourists and
-      French dandies sipping Manhattan cocktails with a cherry, brandy-and-soda,
-      Tom-and-Jerry, and the rest. Along the walls hung vivid paintings of some
-      of the famous dancing-girls of the Moulin, their saucy faces half hidden
-      in clouds of lacy white skirts.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      High up on a pretty balcony at the end of the huge ball-room were the
-      musicians, enjoying their cigarettes and bocks between pieces. A small
-      stage occupied the opposite end of the room, where a light vaudeville
-      performance had been given; but that was all over now, and attention
-      centred in the tables and the dancing.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The Moulin Rouge resembles very much the Bul-lier; but at the Moulin the
-      cocottes are much more dashing and gaudy than over in the Quartier,
-      because the inspector at the door of the Moulin maintains a more exacting
-      standard on the score of the toilettes of the women whom he admits free of
-      charge. Women, women, women! There seemed no end of them; and each was
-      arrayed to the full limit of her means. And there were French dandies in
-      long-white melton coats that were very tight at the waist, and that bore
-      large brown-velvet collars; their hair, parted behind, was brushed toward
-      their ears; they strolled about the place in numbers, twirling their
-      moustaches and ogling the girls. And there were French army officers,
-      Martinique negroes, longhaired students and Montmartre poets, artists,
-      actors, and many three-days-in-Paris English tourists wearing
-      knickerbockers and golf-caps, and always smoking bulldog pipes. There were
-      also two parties of American men with their wives and daughters, and they
-      enjoyed the spectacle with the natural fulness and responsiveness of their
-      soil. For the Moulin is really now but a great show place; it has been
-      discovered by the outside world, and, unlike the other quaint places
-      mentioned in this paper, has suffered the change that such contact
-      inevitably imparts. It is no longer the queer old Moulin, genuinely,
-      spontaneously Bohemian. But the stranger would hardly realize that; and so
-      to Mr. Thompkins it seemed the brilliant and showy side of Bohemian Paris.
-      By reason of its change in character it has less interest than the real
-      Bohemian Paris that the real Bohemians know, enjoy, and jealously guard.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Many light-footed young women were amusing circles of on-lookers with
-      spirited dancing and reckless high-kicking; and, being adepts in their
-      peculiar art, were so flashing and illusory that an attempt to analyze
-      their movements brought only bewilderment. No bones seemed to hamper their
-      swiftness and elasticity. The flash of a black stocking would instantly
-      dissolve into a fleecy cloud of lace, and the whirling air was a cyclone;
-      and there upon the floor sat the dancer in the "split," looking up with a
-      merry laugh, flushed cheeks, and sparkling eyes, twinkling from the shadow
-      of a twisted toque; then over her would sweep a whirlwind of other
-      dancers, and identities would become inextricably confused.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      An odd-looking man, with a sad face and marvellously long, thin legs in
-      tights, did incredible things with those members; he was merely a long
-      spring without bones, joints, or hinges. His cadaverous face and
-      glittering black eyes, above which rose a top-hat that never moved from
-      place, completed the oddity of his appearance. He is always there in the
-      thickest of the dancing, and his salary is three francs a night.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      We suddenly discovered Mr. Thompkins in a most embarrassing situation. A
-      bewitching chemical blonde of the clinging type had discovered and
-      appropriated him; she melted all over him, and poured a stream of bad
-      English into his ear. She was so very, very thirsty, she pleaded, and
-      Monsieur was so charming, so much a gentleman,&mdash;he was beautiful,
-      too. Oh, Monsieur would not be so unkind as to remove the soft, plump arm
-      from round his neck,&mdash;surely it did not hurt Monsieur, for was it not
-      warm and plump, and was not that a pretty dimple in the elbow, and another
-      even prettier in the shoulder? If Monsieur were not so charming and
-      gracious the ladies would never, never fall in love with him like this.
-      And oh, Monsieur, the place was so warm, and dancing makes one so thirsty!
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Mr. Thompkins's face was a picture of shame and despair, and I have never
-      seen a more comical expression than that with which he looked appealingly
-      to us for help. Suppose some one in the hall should happen to recognize
-      him! Of course there was only one thing to do. Mademoiselle Blanche's
-      thirst was of that awful kind which only shipwrecked sailors, travellers
-      lost in a desert, and <i>café</i> dancing-girls can understand. And so
-      four glasses of beer were ordered. It was beautiful to see the grace and
-      celerity with which Mademoiselle Blanche disposed of hers, the passionate
-      eagerness with which she pressed a long kiss upon Mr. Thompkins's
-      unwilling lips, and the promptness with which she then picked up his
-      glass, drained it while she looked at him mischievously over the rim,
-      kissed him again, and fled.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Mr. Thompkins sat speechless, his face blazing, his whole expression
-      indescribably foolish. He vigorously wiped his lips with his handkerchief,
-      and was not himself again for half an hour.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Innumerable bright little comedies were unconsciously played in all parts
-      of the room, and they were even more interesting than the antics of the
-      dancers.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      We presently strolled into the garden of the Moulin, where a performance
-      is given in the summer. There stood a great white sheet-iron elephant,
-      remindful of Coney Island. In one of the legs was a small door, from which
-      a winding stair led into the body of the beast. The entrance fee was fifty
-      centimes, the ticket-office at the top of the stair. It was a small room
-      inside the elephant, and there was a small stage in the end of it, upon
-      which three young women were exercising their abdominal muscles in the
-      danse du ventre. Mr. Thompkins, dismayed at this, would have fled had not
-      Bishop captured him and hauled him back to a conspicuous seat, where the
-      dancing-girls, quickly finding him, proceeded to make their work as
-      extravagant as possible, throwing him wicked glances meanwhile, and
-      manifestly enjoying his embarrassment. Of course the dancers came round
-      presently for offerings of sous.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      We returned to the dance-hall, for it was now closing-up time, and in
-      order to feel a touch of kinship with America, drank a gin fizz at the
-      American bar, though it seemed to be a novelty to Mr. Thompkins.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The streets were alive with the revellers who had been turned out by the
-      closing of the <i>café</i>s, dancehalls, and theatres, and the cries of
-      cabbies rose above the din of laughter and chatter among the crowds. But
-      the night was not yet quite finished. Said Bishop,&mdash;"We shall now
-      have coffee at the Red Ass."
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      That was below the Place Pigalle, quite a walk down to the Rue de
-      Maubeuge, through that suddenly quiet centre of artists' studios and
-      dignified residences. At last we reached L'Âne Rouage,&mdash;the Red Ass.
-      It has a small and unassuming front, except that the window-panes are
-      profusely decorated with painted flowers and figures, and a red ass peers
-      down over the narrow door. L'Âne Rouge has no special distinction, save
-      its artistic interior and the fanciful sketches on its walls. It is
-      furnished with heavy dark tables and chairs, and iron grilled into
-      beautiful scrolls and chandeliers,&mdash;like the famous Chat Noir, near
-      by. In fact, L'Âne Rouge resembles an old curiosity shop more than
-      anything else, for it is filled with all imaginable kinds of antiques,
-      blackened by age and smoke, and in perfect harmony. It, too, has its
-      particular clientèle of Bohemians, who come to puff their long pipes that
-      hang in racks, and recount their hopes, aspirations, achievements, and
-      failures, occasionally breaking into song. For this they bring forth their
-      mandolins and guitars, and sing sentimental ditties of their own
-      composition. There is a charming air of chez soi at the Red Ass; a spirit
-      of good-fellowship pervades it; and then, the <i>café</i> is small, cosey,
-      and comfortable, as well as artistic.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0102" id="linkimage-0102"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
-      <img src="images/0318.jpg" alt="0318 " width="100%" /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h5>
-      <a href="images/0318.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
-    </h5>
-    <p>
-      It was in a lively commotion when we crossed the threshold, the place
-      being filled with littérateurs of the quarter. A celebration was in
-      progress,&mdash;one of their number had just succeeded in finding a
-      publisher for two volumes of his poetry. It was a notable event, and the
-      lucky Bohemian, flushed with money, had settled his debts and was now
-      treating his friends. Although we were strangers to him, he cordially
-      invited us to share the hospitality of the occasion, and there was great
-      applause when Bishop presented him with a Brevas cigar.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      "<i>Bravo, les Anglais! Ce sont des bons types, ceux-là!</i>" and then
-      they sang in chorus, a happy, careless, jolly crowd.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      There was a small, thin young sketch artist making crayon portraits of the
-      successful poet and selling them to the poet's friends for fifty centimes
-      apiece,&mdash;with the poet's autograph, too.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      In response to a call for une chanson Anglaise, Bishop sang "Down on the
-      Farm" as he had never sung it before, his shining top-hat pushed back upon
-      his curly hair, his jovial face beaming. At its conclusion he proposed a
-      toast to the successful poet, and it was drunk standing and with a mighty
-      shout.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      We looked in at the Cabaret des Quat'z' Arts,&mdash;a bright and showy
-      place, but hardly more suggestive of student Bohemianism than the other
-      fine <i>café</i>s of the boulevards.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      And thus ended a night on Montmartre. We left Mr. Thompkins at his hotel.
-      I think he was more than satisfied, but he was too bewildered and tired to
-      say much about it.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Montmartre presents the extravagant side of Parisian Bohemianism. If there
-      is a thing to be mocked, a convention to be outraged, an idol to be
-      destroyed, Montmartre will find the way. But it has a taint of sordidness
-      that the real Bohemianism of the old Latin Quarter lacks,&mdash;for it is
-      not the Bohemianism of the students. And it is vulgar. For all that, in
-      its rude, reckless, and brazen way it is singularly picturesque. It is not
-      likely that Mr. Thompkins will say much about it when he goes home, but he
-      will be able to say a great deal in a general way about the harm of
-      ridiculing sacred things and turning reverence into a laugh.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0103" id="linkimage-0103"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
-      <img src="images/0321.jpg" alt="0321 " width="100%" /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h5>
-      <a href="images/0321.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
-    </h5>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br />
-    </p>
-    <hr />
-    <p>
-      <a name="link2H_4_0012" id="link2H_4_0012"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div style="height: 4em;">
-      <br /><br /><br /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h2>
-      MOVING IN THE QUARTIER LATIN
-    </h2>
-    <p class="pfirst">
-      <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>HE Quartier Latin
-      takes on unwonted life about the fifteenth of July, when the artists and
-      students change their places of abode under the resistless pressure of a
-      nomadic spirit.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0104" id="linkimage-0104"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div class="figright" style="width:20%;">
-      <img src="images/8322.jpg" alt="8322 " width="100%" /><br /><a
-      href="images/8322.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
-    </div>
-    <p>
-      Studios are generally taken for terms ranging from three months to a year,
-      and the terms generally expire in July. The artists who do not change
-      their residence then go into the country, and that means moving their
-      effects.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      It is a familiar fact that artists do not generally occupy a high position
-      in the financial world.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Consequently they are a very practical lot, attending to their own
-      domestic duties (including washing when times are hard), and doing their
-      own moving when July comes; but this is not a very elaborate undertaking,
-      the worse of them for that.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      One day in July Bishop and I sat in our window overlooking the court, and
-      observed the comedy of a
-    </p>
-    <h3>
-      A STUDENT MOVING
-    </h3>
-    <p>
-      No one thinks student in the throes of moving. The old building at the end
-      of our court was a favorite abiding-place for artists. Evidently, on this
-      day, a young artist or art student was <i>en déménagement</i>, for his
-      household goods were being dragged down the stairs and piled in the court
-      preparatory to a journey in a small hand-cart standing by. He was
-      cheerfully assisted by a number of his friends and his devoted companion,
-      a pretty little grisette. There were eight of them in all, and their
-      laughter and shouts indicated the royal fun they were having.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The cart was one of those voitures à bras that are kept for hire at a
-      neighboring location de voitures à bras at six sous an hour. In order to
-      get locomotion out of it you have to hitch yourself in the harness that
-      accompanies it, and pull the vehicle yourself; and that is no end of fun,
-      because your friends are helping and singing all the way.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      Into this vehicle they placed a rickety old divan and a very much
-      dilapidated mattress; then came half a sack of coal, a tiny, rusty, round
-      studio stove with interminable yards of battered and soot-filled pipe, a
-      pine table, two rush-bottomed chairs, and a big box filled with clattering
-      dishes, kettles, pots, and pans. On top of this came a thick roll of
-      dusty, faded, threadbare hangings and rugs, and the meagre wardrobes of
-      the artist and the grisette; then a number of hat-boxes, after which
-      Mademoiselle looked with great solicitude. Last of all came bulky
-      portfolios filled with the artist's work, a large number of canvases that
-      were mostly studies of Mademoiselle au naturel, with such accessories as
-      easel, paint-boxes, and the like, and the linen and bedding.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      The fat old concierge stood grumbling near by, for the ropes were being
-      tied over the load, and she was anxiously waiting for her <i>dernier adieu</i>,
-      or parting tip, that it is the custom to give upon surrendering the key.
-      But tips are sometimes hard to give, and Bohemian etiquette does not
-      regard them with general favor. After the load had been made snug, the
-      artist approached the concierge, doffed his cap, bowed low, and then in a
-      most impressively ceremonious manner handed her the key, avowed that it
-      broke his heart to leave her, and commended her to God. That was all.
-      There seems to be a special providence attending upon the vocabulary of
-      concierges in their hour of need. The shrill, condemnatory, interminable
-      vocalization of this concierge's wrath indicated specific abilities of
-      exceptional power.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      But the artist paid no attention. He hung his coat and "plug" hat on the
-      inverted table-leg, got between the shafts, hitched himself in the
-      harness, and sailed out of the court, his friends swarming around and
-      assisting him to drag the toppling cart away. And this they did with a
-      mighty will, yelling and singing with a vigor that wholly obliterated the
-      concierge's noise. The little grisette closed the procession, bearing in
-      one hand a lamp and in the other a fragile bust. And so the merry party
-      started, possibly for the other end of Paris,&mdash;the greater the
-      distance the more the fun. They all knew that when the voiture had been
-      unloaded and all had fallen to and assisted the young couple in
-      straightening out their new home, there would be a jolly celebration in
-      the nearest <i>café</i> at the moving artist's expense.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      So the start was made fairly and smoothly; but the enthusiasm of the crowd
-      was so high and the little vehicle was so top-heavy, that at the end of
-      the passage the comedy seemed about to merge into a tragedy. It was
-      announced to all the court in the shrill voice of the concierge, who
-      exultingly screamed,&mdash;"The stove has fallen out! and the coal! The
-      things are falling all over the street! Oh, you villain!"
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      To the movers themselves it was merely an incident that added to the fun
-      and zest of the enterprise.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0105" id="linkimage-0105"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
-      <img src="images/0326.jpg" alt="0326 " width="100%" /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h5>
-      <a href="images/0326.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
-    </h5>
-    <p>
-      My plans carried me to Concarneau, and Bishop's took him to Italy, where I
-      would join him after a while. And a royal time we had in our several ways.
-      The autumn found us fresh and eager for our studies in Paris again, and so
-      we returned to hunt a studio and establish ourselves in new quarters. We
-      had stored our goods with a kind American friend; and as we had neither
-      the desire nor the financial ability to violate the traditions of the
-      Quartier, we greatly scandalized him and his charming family by appearing
-      one day with a crowd of students and a voiture à bras before his house and
-      taking our effects away in the traditional fashion. Of course our friend
-      would have gladly paid for the transport of our belongings in a more
-      respectable fashion; but where would have been the fun in that? I am
-      pleased to say that with true American adaptiveness he joined the singing
-      and yelling crowd, and danced a jig to our playing in our new quarters
-      after a generous brew of punch had done its share in the jollity of the
-      event.
-    </p>
-    <p>
-      <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0106" id="linkimage-0106"> </a>
-    </p>
-    <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
-      <img src="images/0328.jpg" alt="0328 " width="100%" /><br />
-    </div>
-    <h5>
-      <a href="images/0328.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
-    </h5>
-    <p>
-      Ah, dear old Paris! wonderful, bewildering Paris! alluring, enchanting
-      Paris! Our student years are now just ended, and Paris is already so
-      crowded with workers who cannot bear to leave it that we must seek our
-      fortune in other and duller parts of the world. But Paris has ineradicably
-      impressed itself upon us. We have lived its life; we have been a part of
-      its throbbing, working, achieving individuality. What we take away will be
-      of imperishable value, the salt and leaven of our hopes and efforts
-      forever.
-    </p>
-    <h3>
-      THE END
-    </h3>
-    <div style="height: 6em;">
-      <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />
-    </div>
-
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-<pre>
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-End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Bohemian Paris of Today, by 
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