DOI Heft:
Nr. 115 (October 1902)
DOI Artikel:Holland, Clive: Student life in the Quartier Latin, Paris
DOI Seite / Zitierlink: https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.19877#0049
Student Life in Paris
heavy in the air—pungent
caporal, cut coarse as hay.
And so the evening passes
—the first evening of the
nouveau in Paris.
Next morning the spar-
rows twittering wake him,
and he gets up. The man
who occupies the studio
above him is already astir.
He has to put the finish-
ing touches to his Salon
picture, and try and rush
through another in time
for the Academy across
the Channel.
After breakfast, which
the nouveau manages to get
by making a concoction
yclept coffee on his stove,
"a sculptor's workshop1' from a photograph by clive Holland with which he washes down
some bread—excellent
Parisian bread—and butter,
but he as yet does not know that had he smiled which the concierge has obligingly taken for him,
she would have sat down at his table, chatted in Johnson turns up to discuss the question of what
elementary Americanised English and fluent school he (the nouveau) shall " enter."
French, for she knew he was a nouveau, and she Ultimately Colarossi's, in the Rue de la Grande
was a model with a day off. Chaumiere, is decided upon. It is quite handy,
True to his word, Johnson turns up at the studio and, moreover, several of Johnson's chums are
about a quarter past six. He has a friend with
him—a tall American who is painting Impres-
sionist pictures with a good deal of red and blue
about the ladies' hair. He shakes, and forth-
with sizing up the nouveau with unerring judgment,
and liking the estimate he forms, chums up.
Johnson makes a few suggestions whilst reclining
on the bed, which he declares is better than his
own, for which he gave more money, and then all
three go out and away down the Rue Vaugirard,
and along the Boulevard Montparnasse, to a little
restaurant for dinner.
There are quite a handful of students there, and
few other customers, for Madame here is as popular
with etudiants as she of the cremerie. The talk
was mostly of art, the schools, the studios, the
models, and the latest gossip of the Quarter. One
student from the Ecole de Medecine enlivens the
proceedings by details of recent autopsies and
operations of the most ghastly character. Some of
his stories have a grim humour of their own which
makes them acceptable to an unsqueamish
audience. Paul, the garcon, brings the sulphurous
chips which a paternal Government miscalls "Italian models" from a photograph
matches, and soon the smoke from caporal hangs by clive Holland
37
heavy in the air—pungent
caporal, cut coarse as hay.
And so the evening passes
—the first evening of the
nouveau in Paris.
Next morning the spar-
rows twittering wake him,
and he gets up. The man
who occupies the studio
above him is already astir.
He has to put the finish-
ing touches to his Salon
picture, and try and rush
through another in time
for the Academy across
the Channel.
After breakfast, which
the nouveau manages to get
by making a concoction
yclept coffee on his stove,
"a sculptor's workshop1' from a photograph by clive Holland with which he washes down
some bread—excellent
Parisian bread—and butter,
but he as yet does not know that had he smiled which the concierge has obligingly taken for him,
she would have sat down at his table, chatted in Johnson turns up to discuss the question of what
elementary Americanised English and fluent school he (the nouveau) shall " enter."
French, for she knew he was a nouveau, and she Ultimately Colarossi's, in the Rue de la Grande
was a model with a day off. Chaumiere, is decided upon. It is quite handy,
True to his word, Johnson turns up at the studio and, moreover, several of Johnson's chums are
about a quarter past six. He has a friend with
him—a tall American who is painting Impres-
sionist pictures with a good deal of red and blue
about the ladies' hair. He shakes, and forth-
with sizing up the nouveau with unerring judgment,
and liking the estimate he forms, chums up.
Johnson makes a few suggestions whilst reclining
on the bed, which he declares is better than his
own, for which he gave more money, and then all
three go out and away down the Rue Vaugirard,
and along the Boulevard Montparnasse, to a little
restaurant for dinner.
There are quite a handful of students there, and
few other customers, for Madame here is as popular
with etudiants as she of the cremerie. The talk
was mostly of art, the schools, the studios, the
models, and the latest gossip of the Quarter. One
student from the Ecole de Medecine enlivens the
proceedings by details of recent autopsies and
operations of the most ghastly character. Some of
his stories have a grim humour of their own which
makes them acceptable to an unsqueamish
audience. Paul, the garcon, brings the sulphurous
chips which a paternal Government miscalls "Italian models" from a photograph
matches, and soon the smoke from caporal hangs by clive Holland
37