PARIS: QUEEN CITY OF EUROPE

Dominion, Volume 21, Issue 16, 13 October 1927, Page 12

PARIS: QUEEN CITY OF EUROPE

THE AL FRESCO LIFE OF ITS PEOPLE

SOME CURIOUS SIDELIGHTS

(By

H. Plimmer.)

I’aris, August 28.

After London—four wet weeks in London—l’aris is like a new world. Not that dear old London is dull or uninteresting, even, but it has a different angle on life, a different viewpoint, a different psychology. In London everyone seems to mind his or her own business, and does it thoroughly, whilst in I’aris everyone seems volubly interested in everyone else. I have seen a Gft. 2in. negro giant, clad in crimson and blue Zouave costume, bedecked with golden horseshoes and photos of horses, stalk through Regent Street, attracting little notice —save a casual glance accompanied by a supercilious smile, as though to say, “Poor devil, I suppose he is demented!” In Paris such a bizarre figure would attract crowds along the boulevards, and every cafe would be discussing the apparition. Only last evening in Kingsway, I saw two” very old men (one with a long shaggy beard and a bald head) singing a duet on the kerb. Oh, the pathos of it! But no one seemed to notice it, or them. The few that did only saw humour in the spectacle. A City of Cafes. I reached Paris (by way of Boulogne) on a wet evening—just seven hours after leaving the Victoria Station in London, and was at once struck with the entire dissimilarity to London. London has its flashlight sky signs, but they do not compensate for the lack of pavement glow. Paris, on the other hand, has in its principal boule vardes long avenues of. light, for almost ever}’ other building lias a cafe frontage, which looks out on the pavement in front in the form of little tables and chairs, sometimes semi-en-closed behind little box hedges, but in most cases fully exposed to the world. And these,’ facing the passersby, the Parisian, with his wife, sweetheart, or friend has a light meal of an evening, or, perhaps, merely sips bis vin blanc, or Meuse biere (beer) for an hour or so, fully entertained by the promeders, the orchestra, and the evening paper. Every cafe seems to have its clientele, and nearly everyone possesses a ‘ gascon” who will make some attempt to understand one’s awful French or good English ; but after a time one gets to know how to order vin blanc, or vin rouge, medoc, or chablis, and to say “biere” with the proper emphasis on the first two vowels.

This cafe life is very pleasant, very sociable, and by experiencing even a little of it, one is able to sense at least something of the psychology of the French. Occasionally conversation becomes argumentative, and even heated. Their eyes flash, and hands and arms mark overtime, and so violent do look and gesture become that you begin to believe that blood must flow. But these fulminations die down as quickly as thev are born, and a few minutes after ’the verbal affray the contestants may be seen pledging one another in goblets of vin blanc at 1 franc 50 centimes (Bd.) a glass. Wonderful Theatrical Scenes. The gay Parisienne is not a very conspicuous figure of the boulevards. Miss Paris knows the value of trim ankles, well-cut shoes, and an artistic makeup, but even the worst of her is never coarse or vulgar, never obtrusive, never gauche. Of course, at the Folies Bergere. Casino, or the Moulin Rouge, you may see more of mademoiselle than possibly any other part of the civilised world, but even in these instances the human figure is elevated to a thing of beauty—made part and parcel of elaborate scenes and pictures that are beautiful beyond mere words. I shall never forget two of these scenes at the Moulin Rouge. One was a flash picture of a most artistic design in lace embroidery, a cloth let down from above, and as its lower edge touched the stage nude girls slip into arches made for their reception and there stand motionless in the even p.earline light, a part of the exquisitely beautiful design. Then came “The Cathedral,” a glow of stained glass, and when the reredoslike cloth was lowered before it girls fitted the niches as so many nude madonnas. These scenes were presented one after the other with such speed that one almost becomes bewildered with the consummate artistry and original beauty of it all.

Continuing about the theatres, I was overpowered by a performance of Wagner’s “Valkyries” at the Grand Opera. Such brass, unvarying in its double forte mood, I have never heard. It raged tumultuous for three hours, and I, with many others, were thankful when the curtain finally fell, after a fire scene that was not very impressive nor even artistic. At the Comique I heard a fair performance of Cliarpentiere’s “Lduise.” The lady in the case was tall and nassing fair, and the little tenor, in order to match her stature, was wearing “lifts” inside his boots, with two-inch heels, and his walk was stilted to a comic decree, Still, he sang well, so T forgave him his lack of inches. The best performances were those given bv the artists playing father and mother of Louise. Charpen-

Paris, August 28.

tier’s music is beautiful (and it was played by a superb orchestra), but the theme of the opera is trivial and unarresting. At the Theatre Mogodor I saw “Rose Marie,” but it was only a mediocre performance. The Tipping Evil. The. theatre system in Paris is open to criticism. The ticket agent is a factor—but the enterprising can do without him. The prices of admission are nearly half what they are in London, which is good, but as you progress you find that tipping is imperative. To the cloak-room lady you give one or two francs, and the girl who shows you to your seat expects—nay, demands—a tip, and at least one franc per person, and argues with embarrassing loudness, if. it is withheld. People are allowed to stand behind the circle, and when the house is full,- there are spring seats attached to the end seats in each row, which can be let down, so that each aisle is completely filled. I wonder what Mr Creke would sav to such an idea in Wellington! . . . At all the vaudeville or ltgher playhouses, smoking is permissable, but the Parisienne does not indulge in the weed to the extent of her sister in London. Knqlish women and girls are the heaviest smokers in the world. _An American told me that, and after viewing the scene at half a hundred theatres, I am inclined to believe it. My authority also stated that the habit was becoming de rigeur among women in the best society in America.

The Greatness and Loneliness of Paris.

Paris is wonderfully laid out. Hausstnan redesigned it for Napoleon, and his genius was rewarded by one of the great boulevards being named after him. Probably no other city in the world has such a vista of dignified beauty as that looking from the Louvre,', through the Tuilerie Gardens to the ■ Arc de Triomphe (where burns perpetually a light over the. body of the Unknown Soldier. The great arch is the crowning feature of the lively Champs Elvsee, and must be passed bv all visitors to Malmaison, Versailles, and the ever verdant Bois de Bologne. .One could go on indefinitely gloating ♦ over the dories of the Pantheon, Des Invalides, Notre Dame, the Madeleine, the commanding Church de _ Sacre Boeur, not to mention the pictorial treasures of the Louvre, common to the travelled. These great places must be seen to be appreciated. They are an integral part of the greatness and loveliness of I’aris. Cheap—and Dear—Living. Living in the French metropolis is as dear or as cheap as one cares to make it. You can live in one of the great hotels on the Rue de Rivoli or the Champs Elvsee for £l2 a week, or in a room (with hot and cold running water and all attendance) for 4s. or ss. a night; meals one takes anywhere as one feels, here, there, or,anywhere, for a few francs. Wine is cheap—good vins ordinaire 3.50 fr. (7d.) per pint bottle; decent champagne, 10 to 20 francs. Taxi fares are ridiculously cheap. With my wife I drove to the Moulin Rouge from the Petit Champs (over a mile), the fare being 7d., not each, but for both of us. The taxidriver always gets a tip—-1 fr. or 50 centimes, just as you feel disposed. If you do not tip voluntarily, he will ask you for it point blank—it seems to be his right, based on custom and the cheapness of the fare. Petrol is cheap in England—ls. 2|d. per gallon for the best—but equally good petrol is obtainable in France for 10d. per gallon. The taxi-drivers of Paris are not allowed to use the electric klaxon horn. They all have the old bulb horns, and as there is no speed limit and little control, the pace is lively, and the row from the horns interminable and all-dominating.