DOI article:
Dowie, Ménie Muriel: Wladlislaw's Advent
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.21805#0101
By Menie Muriel Dowie 97
frozen, and there is nothing left to feel. His third subject was the
frivolity of Paris, of which we knew everything by hearsay and
nothing by experience, so were able to discuss with a cc wet sheet
and a flowing sea,” so to speak„ He hated Paris, and he hated
frivolity, even as he hated French. Our conversations, I ought
to say, were carried on in German, which we spoke with almost a
common measure of inaccuracy ; and I think that he probably
knew as little of the French language as he knew of the frivolity
of Paris.
I tried to encourage him to take long walks and long tours on
tramways— it should never be forgotten that you can go all over
Paris for threepence—and when his work at the Studio was
sufficiently discouraging he would do so, sometimes Corning with
me, sometimes going alone. We explored Montmartre together,
both by day and gas light ; we fared forth to the Abattoirs, to
the Place de la Roquette, to the Boulevard Beaumarchais and the
Boulevard Port Royal, the Temple and “ les Halles.”
But Wladislaw was alone the day he set out to inspect the Bois
de Boulogne, the Parc Monceau, the Madeleine, and the grands
'Boulevards.
I remember seeing him Start. If he had been coming with me
he would have had on a tie and collar (borrowed from another
Student) and his other coat ; he would, in fact, have done his best
to look ordinary, to rob himself, in his youthful pride and ignorant
vanity, of his picturesque appearance. I am sorry to say it, since
he was an artist ; but it is true—he would.
As it was, he sallied out in the grey woollen shirt, with its
low collar, the half-buttoned waistcoat, the old, blue, sloppily-
hanging coat, with one sleeve obstinately burst at the back, and
the close astrakhan cap on one side of his smooth straight hazel
hair. When I ran across him next day in the neighbourhood of
the
frozen, and there is nothing left to feel. His third subject was the
frivolity of Paris, of which we knew everything by hearsay and
nothing by experience, so were able to discuss with a cc wet sheet
and a flowing sea,” so to speak„ He hated Paris, and he hated
frivolity, even as he hated French. Our conversations, I ought
to say, were carried on in German, which we spoke with almost a
common measure of inaccuracy ; and I think that he probably
knew as little of the French language as he knew of the frivolity
of Paris.
I tried to encourage him to take long walks and long tours on
tramways— it should never be forgotten that you can go all over
Paris for threepence—and when his work at the Studio was
sufficiently discouraging he would do so, sometimes Corning with
me, sometimes going alone. We explored Montmartre together,
both by day and gas light ; we fared forth to the Abattoirs, to
the Place de la Roquette, to the Boulevard Beaumarchais and the
Boulevard Port Royal, the Temple and “ les Halles.”
But Wladislaw was alone the day he set out to inspect the Bois
de Boulogne, the Parc Monceau, the Madeleine, and the grands
'Boulevards.
I remember seeing him Start. If he had been coming with me
he would have had on a tie and collar (borrowed from another
Student) and his other coat ; he would, in fact, have done his best
to look ordinary, to rob himself, in his youthful pride and ignorant
vanity, of his picturesque appearance. I am sorry to say it, since
he was an artist ; but it is true—he would.
As it was, he sallied out in the grey woollen shirt, with its
low collar, the half-buttoned waistcoat, the old, blue, sloppily-
hanging coat, with one sleeve obstinately burst at the back, and
the close astrakhan cap on one side of his smooth straight hazel
hair. When I ran across him next day in the neighbourhood of
the