Chapter 7 HOW AN AMERICAN ENJOYS LIFE FOR

EIGHT MINUTES AT A TIME

They were all waiting for us-there at the corner, where the Avenue de l'Opera hooks on to the string of boulevards. They have been waiting for years without starving to death, so it is possible that once in a while some misguided American really employs one of them. They call themselves guides, but they are tramps-shabby genteel tramps, oiled and cheaply perfumed, full of shamefaced gayety, speaking wretched English. They come out of doorways at you, and in grovelling whispers beg of you to come with them and see all the wickedness of Paris. They attempt insulting familiarities, such as taking you by the arm or crowding close alongside and keeping up with you while they continue their blandishing arguments. Mr. Peasley expressed our violent emotions when he said: "When I'm tackled by one of those fellows I get hopping mad, because I know then that I must look easy."

We did not need any guide because we were looking for a café, and without any particular effort on our part we found more than one thousand. On a crisp evening in February, with snow lying in the neglected corners, we should have hunted for a grate fire; but no, we were in Paris and we wanted to sit in front of a café. For a week Mr. Peasley had been saying, "Wait until we get to Paris and then we will go and sit in front of a café."

We saw many natives, all bundled up, sitting in the open street and slowly freezing to death, and so we joined one of the frigid little clusters and found some nice iron chairs waiting for us. It was a most heroic performance, but we took our coffee in the open air. A true Parisian can sit under a striped awning for hours at a time with nothing to entertain him except a few cigarettes, made of autumn leaves, and a large goblet filled with sweetened water. The newly arrived American wants to be truly Parisian, so he plants himself at a small table and settles back for an evening of calm enjoyment. In five minutes he has made a careful study of all the people at the neighbouring tables, he has watched the passing crowds until he is dizzy, and he is beginning to squirm and hanker for real excitement. He wants something to happen. It occurs to him that he is wasting time. He wonders if there isn't something doing a block or two to the east. So he moves on. By nine o'clock we had become sated with the café life of Paris and were scouting for a music hall.

When we were shown to our seats in the temple of art we found ourselves near three Americans, two sedate old men and a motherish woman in whom goodness and piety were plainly advertised. They were the kind of people who would not go to an entertainment in the church parlours at home unless assured by the pastor that the performance would be proper in all details. Here in Paris they sat in the front row of a music hall frequented by the gay characters of the boulevard and watched a pantomime which was calculated to peel the frescoes off the wall. They were not greatly amazed or shocked, but simply regarded the proceedings with 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 sit enthralled, listening to the musical singsong dialogue, of which I comprehended not one word. The pantomime gives an occasional flash-light on the story of the play and guess-work does the rest.

After making the rounds of the theatres, it is pleasant relaxation to watch the outdoor shows. I remember a travelling amusement enterprise that passed our hotel in the early morning of a fête day.

A big, square-shouldered fellow, with an overcoat almost concealing his suit of tights, was pulling a hand-cart containing a roll of carpet, some coils of rope, two chairs, several dumbells, and those worn blue-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 faded jauntiness, suggested his connection with the profession, walked behind the cart and pushed, although it seemed at times that he leaned more than he pushed.

Last of all came a stocky and erect young fellow, with a muscular frame dignifying an over-worn suit of clothes. He carried a valise and one did not need to see it open to know that it contained the powder, grease-paint, comb and brush, pocket mirror and bar of soap that accompany the entertainer on his travels and abide with him so long as hope remains.

Later in the day the aggregation was seen again, and this time at its best.

A crowd had formed a fringe around an open space in one of the boulevard "places" and was watching a performance. The big man who had pulled the cart seemed to be the workhorse of the company.

His smaller companion, who had held to the cart, was now transformed into a clown, with baggy costume and painted face.

With much grunting and some grinding of the teeth the big man lifted dumb-bells into the air and held them there. His face was moist with perspiration and around the belt line of his tights there were damp spots.

When he had shown his prowess with dead weights he gathered up the stocky man, who was also in tights, and held him at arm's length above his head while his broad abdomen heaved like bellows.

The crowd was moved to applause, whereupon the clown, taking quick advantage of the demonstration, began passing the hat. The clown's duties were very simple. He made confidential remarks to the spectators, evoked some laughter by his comments on the various feats, and watched his opportunity to reach for the coppers. The big man worked incessantly, but the clown seemed to be the more popular with the lounging sight-seers. He had taken the safe attitude of a critic, and he must have known the secrets of business welfare. He allowed his associates to do the heavy work while he kept cool and gathered in the money.

One evening while passing a row of canvas booths on one of the open play-grounds we saw a young man with his hat off and his hair roughed up, taking deliberate aim with a rifle at a very small target twenty feet distant. The target was placed above a miniature prison about two feet high. Extending from the prison gate was a broad platform, on which was erected a guillotine perhaps eighteen inches high.

Evidently there was some hidden connection between the small target and the puny prison. The young Frenchman seemed unable to hit the target. First the bullet would strike just below and then just above or off at one side. He became discouraged once and started away, but this was too much like surrender, so he came back, paid for three more shots and vowed that he would not give up until he had succeeded.

On the second shot there was a sudden buzzing, and then the striking of a bell, which announced that he had hit the target. The prison doors flew open and out came three figures abreast, moving with slow and jerky deliberation.

The Frenchman who had invoked the spectacle dropped the gun and shouted with joy. At last he was to see it!

The three figures continued to move with mechanical gait toward the guillotine, and it could be seen that the bareheaded doll in the middle had its hands tied behind it and that the printed lines of the face expressed mournful resignation. The two other men were fiercely bearded and appeared to be cruel and determined.

As they came to the guillotine the figure in the middle toppled forward without bending a joint and lay with its head in the groove of the block. 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 of a pump. The tin blade fell, and the head, which was as large as a hickory nut, rolled into the basket.

Liberty, equality and fraternity! The reign of terror-three shots for ten centimes.