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Monday, March 24, 2014

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LA BOEMIA DI PARIGI

Speranza



I.es cloches revaient,

En quatre-vingt onze,

I.es cloches de bronze

Revaient."

 

Legay had quite a distinguished appearance as he

stood singing before the piano. He wore a gener-

ously cut frock-coat,

and his waistcoat ex-

posed a spacious show

of white shirt-front.

His long hair was care-

fully brushed back, his

moustaches neatly

waxed ; altogether he

was dainty and jaunty,

and the ladies in the

room made no conceal-

ment 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

 

 

 

A NIGHT ON MONTMARTRE

 

tear-filled eyes he was in another life, another world,

where there was nothing but music and poetry un-

alloyed 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.

 

His song was only one of the numbers on a very

interesting programme. This

was the training scr

young poets and sc

of upper Bohemia ;

where they made tl

and met the test of

that discriminating

criticism which de-

cided them to ad-

vance upon the

world or conceal

themselves for yet

a while from its

cruel glare ; and

were they not but

repeating the or-

deal 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,

 

 

 

BOHEMIAN PARIS

 

V Anus Geffrey, Eugene Lemercier, Xavier Privas,

l\],uhix\ anil Henri Brallet, men as yet unknown,

1 ..i likely to make a mark under the training, inspi-

vAiuMi* and severe checks of the Cafe du Conserva-

^»iv One of the goals for which these writers strive,

N v\y| one that, if they win it, means to them recog-

tutum* is to have their poems published in Gil Bias,

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 boule-

vards, 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

Huffy 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 Cafe du Con-

servatoire each affected his peculiar style of habit,

gesture, and pose that he deemed most fetching.

The entire programme was of songs : hence the

name, Cafe du Conservatoire.

 

After we had left, 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 Mont-

 

martre, — Le Moulin Rouge, — with its women of the

 

half world, its giddiness, its glare, its noise, its

 

naughtiness. Here at last we should find all ab-

 

30a

 

 

 

A NIGHT ON MONTMARTRE

 

sence of restraint, posing, sordidness, self-conscious-

ness, 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 chat-

ting, laughing, joyous groups at the tables along the

passage and the balconies, enjoying merry little sup-

pers and varied consommations that kept scores of

gar^ons continually on the move. A placard an-

nounced

 

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

 

 

 

BOHEMIAN PARIS

 

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 I 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, long-

haired students and Montmartre poets, artists, act-

ors, 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 dis-

covered 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, spon-

taneously Bohemian. Hut the stranger would hardly

 

realize that; and so to Mr. Thompkins it seemed the

 

306

 

 

 

A NIGHT ON MONTMARTRE

 

brilliant and showy side of Bohemian Paris. By rea-

son 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 reck-

less high-kicking ; and, being adepts in their pecu-

liar art, were so flashing and illusory that an attempt

to analyze their movements brought only bewilder-

ment 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/ 1 looking up with a

merry laugh, flushed cheeks, and sparkling eyes,

twinkling from the shadow of a t\yisted 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 marvel-

lously 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 chemi-

cal blonde of the clinging type had discovered and

 

appropriated him ; she melted all over him, and

 

307

 

 

 

BOHEMIAN PARIS

 

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 shoul-

der ? If Monsieur were not so charming and gra-

cious 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 ex-

pression 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 cafe dancing-girls can

understand. And so four glasses of beer were or-

dered. 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,

anil 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. Thorn pkins 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 uncon-

sciously 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 die sum-

mer. 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 cen-

times, 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, throw-

ing 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 kin-

ship 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 cafes, clance-

halls, and theatres, and the cries of caLctes rose

above the din of laughter and chatter amon^ the

crowds. Bat the night was not yet quite tai^hevL

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 sud-

denly quiet centre of artists' studios and dignified

residences. At last we reached L'Ane Rouge, — the

Red Ass. It has a small and unassuming front, ex-

cept that the window-panes are profusely decorated

with painted flowers and figures, and a red ass peers

down over the narrow door. L'Ane 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'Ane Rouge resembles

an old curiosity shop more than anything else, for it

is filled with all imaginable kinds of antiques, black-

ened by ige and smoke, and in perfect harmony.

It, too, has its particular clientele 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 conqiosition.

There is a charming air of chez soi at the Red Ass ;

a spirit of good-fellowship pervades it ; and then, the

cafe is small, cosey, and comfortable, as well as

artistic.

 

 

It was in a lively commotion when we crossed the

threshold, the place being filled with litterateurs of

the quarter. A celebration was in progress, — one

of their number had just succeeded in finding a pub-

lisher for two volumes of his poetry. It was a nota-

ble 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 oc-

casion, and there was great applause when Bishop

presented him with a Brevas cigar.

 

" Bravo, les Anglais ! Ce sont des bons types,

ceux-lA !*' 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 QuatY Arts, —

a bright and showy place, but hardly more suggestive

of student Bohemianism than the other fine cafes of

the boulevards.

 

And thus ended a night on Montmartre.

 

We left

Mr. Thompkins at his hotel. 1 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.

 

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 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. No one thinks

' 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

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 demenagement, 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 com-

panion, 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 a bras that are

kept for hire at a neighboring location de voitures a

bras at six sous an hour. In order to get locomo-

tion out of it you have to hitch yourself in the har-

ness that accompanies it, and pull the vehicle your-

self; 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 num-

ber of canvases that were mostly studies of Mademoiselle an 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 gen-

eral 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 provi-

dence attending upon the vocabulary of concierges

in their hour of need. The shrill, condemnatory, in-

terminable vocalization of this concierge's wrath indi-

cated 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 pro-

cession, bearing in one hand a lamp and in the other

a fragile bust. And so the merry party started, pos-

sibly for the other end of Paris, — the greater the dis-

tance 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 cafe 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, —

 

41 The stove has fallen out ! and the coal ! The

things are falling all over the street ! Oh, you vil-

lain r

 

To the movers themselves it was merely an inci-

dent that added to the fun and zest of the enterprise.

 

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 quar-

ters. We had stored our goods with a kind Ameri-

can friend ; and as we had neither the desire nor the

financial ability to violate the traditions of the Quar-

tier, we greatly scandalized him and his charming

family by appearing one day with a crowd of students

and a voiture a 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 gen-

erous brew of punch had done its share in the jollity

of the event.

 

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 individu-

ality. What we take away will be of imperishable

value, the salt and leaven of our hopes and efforts

forever.

              
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