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Show jj ) I I Love continues to be one of the Latin Quarter's favorite diversions both outdoors and in By Conrad Hardy (A young American artist recently returned re-turned from Pans) T HAD been amply prepared by my many friends who had preceded me to the Latin Quarter in Hie years gone by for some degree of disillusion. The Quaiter, they told me, must have changed. The old cabbies would begone. Wine would be more expensive. The war surely would have altered conditions for the worse. But I was not to be thwarted. To Paris, magic city, to the Quarter, I would go to see for myself if the legendary leg-endary charm of "Little Billee" and Rudolph Ru-dolph of "La Boheme" etill prevailed. I went and was charmed and convinced. con-vinced. The Quarter, with its street cafes, its grisettes, its inhabitants in picturesque costumes parading the boulevards, boule-vards, always will be the same. It always al-ways will be the place to lead the casual and carefree life, the place to forget America and to leave its rush and bustle far behind. Dusk was settling over Paris as our train drew into the Gare du Nord. In my nervous anticipation it seemed to me that the squeaky train would never come to a halt. How, I anxiously mused, could my companions in our second-class compartment be so composed? The fat Frenchman dozed, a smoldering smolder-ing pipe hanging from his thick lips. The one other occupant, a calm, florid Englishman, turned the pages of "Punch" for the twenty-fifth tune with a bored air of tolerance for jokes that by constant con-stant rereading had grown dull- Indeed, In-deed, his manner was that of obvious impatience im-patience to get to his hotel, his whisky-and-soda and to bed. We jolted, the wheels squeaked and the train came to a halting stop at last in the murky, light-punctured Gare du Nord. I clutched my bag and fairly leaped over the fat legs of my French friend as he glowered sleepily and muttered mut-tered something unintelligible about "Americains." Rushing through the crowd, I finally located my friend Rotes, the poet, who had come to Paris some months before. What a spectacle he was! A flaming red beard completely covered cov-ered his heavy jaw and an even more blatant red muffler wound itself in some mysterious fashion round his neck and shoulders. A wide-brimmed black hat Ipercnea irseii raK- ishly on his head, I with strands of fiery red hair escap- J ing at odd angles I ""pv from under the ' J V band. J V "Paris at last!" f he shouted as he Jvl1 amazed me by f" throwing his arm H around my neck. (I I had known him back Ji in the States as the ' most retired of re- V tiring poetic lilies.) "Let's go !" he shout- , 1 ed as we pushed our way through the throng to the Metro station. "We have I arranged a party in honor of your coming." This, indeed, is the life, thought I. After a short ride in the Metro, which is in no way like our crowded subways in the States it crawls leisurely leisure-ly along and one may hold a conversation without the slightest effort or raia i n g o n e ' 8 voice to shout we emerged in the heart of the Latin Quarter at Montpar-nasse. M rr An American Artist's Experiences With Life and 0$mW j Love in the Famous Capital of Bohemia, JrWr I Illustrated With His Own Unique I ! m . . - I gazed around me enthralled The wide boulevards with the first buds of spring on the long rows of trees which evenly line the curb on either side, the cool caressing ca-ressing night air, the gayly lighted cafes, the frolickingerowds 1 around the tables these dispelled my a last doubt about any change in the Latin B Quarter. True, Mm it was my first OS visit, but I had LW heard and read mm of its magic for H many years and my wildest dreams were realized. At my little 1 hotel in the P Grand Chaumiere the patron beamed and bowed me to my room, which he informed "M'sieu" would cost all of a hundred and fifty francs per month. At tho then current rate of exchange, ex-change, the enormous sum of fifteen dollars! My initiation into the joyous, gay life of Paris began with a dinner and continued till early morning. morn-ing. It was Mardi Gras night and even the Quarter Quar-ter outdid itself. Paris, the world's coquette, co-quette, was bubbling over with joyous abandon. The streets were thronged with gay parties. A thick carpet ol soft confetti was underfoot. r,;ui.. ie yi j awl i ' ! ti Seen on the "Bou S t. Mich" out p , with joyous lJVT" 1( abandon. The JL I Jr""f I streets were 1 J , T5 f M ii r thronged with i f J jT f I j j y parties. A f ll I thick carpet of r eL- L I soft confetti Seen on lf i CL If was underfoot. M f ,1 j jm turned crowds marched amid I 1 M aes 'n ne caIe9i sing- ' ' ing, dancing with heads thrown V i 1 irfSB. back nnd joy fairly ooz-y ooz-y . L JgaMpH ing from everj lffifl3Bg3C if Around a little table 8mP! in the wall of the Boule- j g mik. ered for my first meal ' ml m ln Pflr's-Re3' tne Poe tumed crowds marched amid the tables in the cafes, singing, sing-ing, dancing with heads thrown back and joy fairly ooz- ing from every aban- doned reveler. if Around a little table rM in a cafe tucked away J in the wall of the Boule-vard Boule-vard Raspail, we gathered gath-ered for my first meal in Paris. Rotes, the poet; Ashkirth, the writer of V I Boulevard V Odyssies; Hin- ner, the psy- A curious little wall flower at one of the balls for which the Quarter is noted f Cafes thrive on every hand, and all unhaunted by worries over the Volstead act or dread of the !:cen nosed pro-J pro-J hibition agents ill chologist and ' j Mm explorer of IBM the unconscious tffd ni'nd; Marie, a fa mm host of others wfSM whom I never Wf saw again or L 'f at least do not ri nii mber ever meeting after that night. For i V in the Quarter L the necessity j W. of formal ac-B ac-B W quaintance i s m dispensed with; m l n t r o ductions m are as unneces-B unneces-B sary as charac-W charac-W ter. The mo- ment one ar- I rives one is in f the "gang." Time joyously joyous-ly gamboled on. The little gar-con gar-con brought us i n n u m e rable tall bottles of Bordeaux blanc, and we were all a carefree, hnppy, singing fraternity. And so the night went. Careening through the narrow, crooked streets, we found ourselves at last on Montmartre, under the long moon-cast shadows of Sacre Coeur, in front of an arched dooiway over which in yellow lights blazoned the word. DAL TA BAR IX h'XTREFJ! Shining eyes gazed out from the lighted side the feeling came upon me I shull never forget this place! What a tragedy it would have b'een, had I never come to Paris' Throngs of figures in gay costumes danced round the floor, streamers hung thick from tho lights and ceiling, confetti con-fetti floated languidly in tho air like November's first diffident snow storm. Grerk gods danced closely with airy butterflies. Devils, Pierrots, cavemen, what not, swirled madly around the dance floor. Models, red-lipped coquettes co-quettes from the Quarter, sedate ladies with their escorts from the hotels, taking the usual fling which all feel entitled to in Paris. Tired, bedraggled waiters rushing to all corners with heavily-laden heavily-laden trays of bottles in all, a spectacle specta-cle of gayety and abandon never to be forgotten. We joined the dancing revelers, and I can recall nothing else with any degree of coherence until, with the 6un slowly rising, dispelling the mist over the city, we turned wearily but happily toward the left bank of the Quarter. But again, the Latin Quarter has its more casual aspects. One may break-fnst break-fnst late in front of a cafe, lounging over one's coffee, reading the English papers, and awaiting one is always the delightful surprise of a bill which never goes above five francs. And for me, I confess, this was a joy, for my funds were decidedly limited, and many times when all seemed lost, with no relief in sight bohold, a check for a drawing or a story would turn up from America and life would take on a rosier hue even for Paris. But why worry about money when in the Latin Quarter? Nobody does. Something Some-thing always turns up. When I did not have any, some one else had, and so on. And, then, money is unnecessary in many ways. One may sit in a cafe in the Quarter, at least for an entire afternoon without ordering, and suffer not the slightest embarrassment. The students have their "poules," as they arc called "lady friends" or "companions," if you will, who invariably have some ready cash and are always al-ways ready to help "men American" over the rough times. After a day at work in the studios or ateliers, we would throng out to the cafes for a "bock" or saunter in the lazy afternoon after-noon sunshine along the quays by the rivor, pausing paus-ing over the book stall.,, leaning on the parapet to watch jfn t h o fishermen Mam and the innumcr- -A 1 able little river V boats that glide I' . up and down the Q M Seine, ducking mH their smoke Jf J stacks as they CUf dart under the river bridges tho low harrging arches of which -zja were built years ago, long before be-fore the advent of A t eteam. m m I S Like most of the rest of the world th MM Mm Latin Quarter has its flappers M ft ST K late war, tin- fame of the Latin Qual ylV JyLM. ter spread from division to division wit f w Jiirmi l'ie sPCCl f lightning and receivw V Y)l fclSL added glamour from the pages of "H 1 Vl Vie Parisionne," which somehow fonru f ixnv """t their way into the company billets. PariX, f ,vas the Mecci doughboy frow V" majors, general on down to the lowesl manner of means shock the carefree Frenchman. But, like all good times, one watches reluctantly the end draw near. My return re-turn to the States became imminent Sadly I parked my belongings, roll, d up table in one of the popular sidewalk cafes Ann what a joy to wander in the Luxembourg Gardens toward evening, in the fading twibght, watching the hundreds of children at play, nurses flirting with students who pretend to sketch on the benches, and tho Punch and Judy shows which have survived every upheaval of progress and eti 11 prove vastly amusing to both grown-ups and children alike. Dinner in one of tho innumerable cheap cafes on the "Bou' Mich" or "Rive Gauche," where the food is always good, and joy of joys, always cheap. And, after sundown, a stroll through the dark streets of the Quarter, alive with lovers who halt to kiss innumerable times, for such things do not by any my sketches, and bade goodby to the genial patron and his rotund, smiling concierge. con-cierge. After a farewell party which had a sad air of melancholy gayness aboui it, I took the early boat-train boat-train while Paris still slumbered and basked for many weeks thereafter in joyous memories of those happy student days in the Quarter. In fact, as I sit at my drawing T hoard with the phone ringing at If my side to tell me that my drawings draw-ings must be finished fin-ished i n t wo hours or not at La 11 , my thoughts still go back longingly to those gay times. It's a hard life ! It is so with all Americans who have had the good fortune to visit the famous section of Paris and participate in the manifold good times offered by the little "republic." Perhaps no corner of the globe is so well known by oft repeated tales, often grossly exaggerated, ex-aggerated, as the Latin Quarter. New "i'ork strives hard to emulate it with its Greenwich Village, the home of the bobbed-haired woman and tho longhaired long-haired man, but as well try to imitate a Rembrandt or a Rubens. The very idea of trying to duplicate the Latin Quarter Quar-ter in a prohibition land would bring teais of laughter to the eyes and cries-for cries-for "Encore Bordeaux !" from the throats of a myriad of Parisians. When the American army populated a large section of France during the late war, the fame of the Latin Qual ter spread from division to division wit the speed of lightning and receive! added glamour from the pages of "fl Vie Parisionne," which somehow fond their way into the companv billets. Pan .as the Mcec; of .- ry doughboy fron majors, general on dov. n to the '.owed buck private, and men whose previoUl idea of a big time had been a visit m the Gopher Prairie moving picture era porium on a Saturday night felt thai they must see Paris. And they did must of them and once in Paris, thtj too were drawn as filings to a magnet ti ' the inimitable Quarter. Thero is more truth than rhythm. fl-the fl-the song "How Are You Going to KeeB-; Them Down on the Farm After Th?y'vi; Si n Paree?" The American army ren turned to its cities md farms and thl . Quarter has been pre.--agented fron one end of America I" the uthcr, witl the result that thousand- of touristi have flocked abroad since the war to set for themselves. It is no uneonuml I., sight to see a trio of Am ncans with del H termination to "do the town" written all ; over their countenances sauntering alonj I the "Bou' Mich," on the qui lve for what ( ' ever may turn up. And something usuij ly does. Tii.' Quarter is replete with BIB prises and its carefree inhabitants ar i-a ever ready to extend a sincere welcom H to their American friends whom the; I learned to know so well during tho war I "So this is Paris" has come to be tS bromide of bromides, but there is Lj wealth of meaning in tho.-,e four wort and you can almost hear ecry A met L, can who sees the Quarter for the firs 3; time murmuring them to himself in a incredulous manner. |