CHAPTER VII
HOW AN AMERICAN ENJOYS LIFE FOR EIGHT MINUTES AT A TIME
They were all waiting for us--there at the corner, where the Avenue del'Opera hooks on to the string of boulevards. They have been waitingfor years without starving to death, so it is possible that once in awhile some misguided American really employs one of them. They callthemselves guides, but they are tramps--shabby genteel tramps, oiledand cheaply perfumed, full of shamefaced gayety, speaking wretchedEnglish. They come out of doorways at you, and in grovelling whispersbeg of you to come with them and see all the wickedness of Paris. Theyattempt insulting familiarities, such as taking you by the arm orcrowding close alongside and keeping up with you while they continuetheir blandishing arguments. Mr. Peasley expressed our violentemotions when he said: "When I'm tackled by one of those fellows I gethopping mad, because I know then that I must look easy."
We did not need any guide because we were looking for a cafe, andwithout any particular effort on our part we found more than onethousand. On a crisp evening in February, with snow lying in theneglected corners, we should have hunted for a grate fire; but no, wewere in Paris and we wanted to sit in front of a cafe. For a week Mr.Peasley had been saying, "Wait until we get to Paris and then we willgo and sit in front of a cafe."
We saw many natives, all bundled up, sitting in the open street andslowly freezing to death, and so we joined one of the frigid littleclusters and found some nice iron chairs waiting for us. It was a mostheroic performance, but we took our coffee in the open air. A trueParisian can sit under a striped awning for hours at a time withnothing to entertain him except a few cigarettes, made of autumnleaves, and a large goblet filled with sweetened water. The newlyarrived American wants to be truly Parisian, so he plants himself at asmall table and settles back for an evening of calm enjoyment. In fiveminutes he has made a careful study of all the people at theneighbouring tables, he has watched the passing crowds until he isdizzy, and he is beginning to squirm and hanker for real excitement.He wants something to happen. It occurs to him that he is wastingtime. He wonders if there isn't something doing a block or two to theeast. So he moves on. By nine o'clock we had become sated with thecafe life of Paris and were scouting for a music hall.
When we were shown to our seats in the temple of art we found ourselvesnear three Americans, two sedate old men and a motherish woman in whomgoodness and piety were plainly advertised. They were the kind ofpeople who would not go to an entertainment in the church parlours athome unless assured by the pastor that the performance would be properin all details. Here in Paris they sat in the front row of a musichall frequented by the gay characters of the boulevard and watched apantomime which was calculated to peel the frescoes off the wall. Theywere not greatly amazed or shocked, but simply regarded the proceedingswith sober interest. They were doing their plain duty as sight-seers.
Whenever I am in Paris I go to a show-shop in the evening and sitenthralled, listening to the musical singsong dialogue, of which Icomprehended not one word. The pantomime gives an occasionalflash-light on the story of the play and guess-work does the rest.
After making the rounds of the theatres, it is pleasant relaxation towatch the outdoor shows. I remember a travelling amusement enterprisethat passed our hotel in the early morning of a fete day.
A big, square-shouldered fellow, with an overcoat almost concealing hissuit of tights, was pulling a hand-cart containing a roll of carpet,some coils of rope, two chairs, several dumbells, and those wornblue-painted odds and ends that seem to litter the "show business"wherever it is encountered.
A smaller man, who did not wear tights, but whose attire, by its fadedjauntiness, suggested his connection with the profession, walked behindthe cart and pushed, although it seemed at times that he leaned morethan he pushed.
Last of all came a stocky and erect young fellow, with a muscular framedignifying an over-worn suit of clothes. He carried a valise and onedid not need to see it open to know that it contained the powder,grease-paint, comb and brush, pocket mirror and bar of soap thataccompany the entertainer on his travels and abide with him so long ashope remains.
Later in the day the aggregation was seen again, and this time at itsbest.
A crowd had formed a fringe around an open space in one of theboulevard "places" and was watching a performance. The big man who hadpulled the cart seemed to be the workhorse of the company.
His smaller companion, who had held to the cart, was now transformedinto a clown, with baggy costume and painted face.
With much grunting and some grinding of the teeth the big man lifteddumb-bells into the air and held them there. His face was moist withperspiration and around the belt line of his tights there were dampspots.
When he had shown his prowess with dead weights he gathered up thestocky man, who was also in tights, and held him at arm's length abovehis head while his broad abdomen heaved like bellows.
The crowd was moved to applause, whereupon the clown, taking quickadvantage of the demonstration, began passing the hat. The clown'sduties were very simple. He made confidential remarks to thespectators, evoked some laughter by his comments on the various feats,and watched his opportunity to reach for the coppers. The big manworked incessantly, but the clown seemed to be the more popular withthe lounging sight-seers. He had taken the safe attitude of a critic,and he must have known the secrets of business welfare. He allowed hisassociates to do the heavy work while he kept cool and gathered in themoney.
One evening while passing a row of canvas booths on one of the openplay-grounds we saw a young man with his hat off and his hair roughedup, taking deliberate aim with a rifle at a very small target twentyfeet distant. The target was placed above a miniature prison about twofeet high. Extending from the prison gate was a broad platform, onwhich was erected a guillotine perhaps eighteen inches high.
Evidently there was some hidden connection between the small target andthe puny prison. The young Frenchman seemed unable to hit the target.First the bullet would strike just below and then just above or off atone side. He became discouraged once and started away, but this wastoo much like surrender, so he came back, paid for three more shots andvowed that he would not give up until he had succeeded.
On the second shot there was a sudden buzzing, and then the striking ofa bell, which announced that he had hit the target. The prison doorsflew open and out came three figures abreast, moving with slow andjerky deliberation.
The Frenchman who had invoked the spectacle dropped the gun and shoutedwith joy. At last he was to see it!
The three figures continued to move with mechanical gait toward theguillotine, and it could be seen that the bareheaded doll in the middlehad its hands tied behind it and that the printed lines of the faceexpressed mournful resignation. The two other men were fiercelybearded and appeared to be cruel and determined.
As they came to the guillotine the figure in the middle toppled forwardwithout bending a joint and lay with its head in the groove of theblock. This was time to turn away, sick at heart; but the Frenchman,who had spent as much as a franc to see this show, giggled with elation.
One of the bearded manikins raised his arm as if it were the handle ofa pump. The tin blade fell, and the head, which was as large as ahickory nut, rolled into the basket.
Liberty, equality and fraternity! The reign of terror--three shots forten centimes.