« EelmineJätka »
e quelle Pan
tulny zirgus used to amuse myself by following them from the their characters in picturesque language. As I Boulevard du Pont aux Choux to the Boulevard listened, I could make their lives mine, I felt their Beaumarchais. The good folk would begin by rags on my back, I walked with their gaping shoes talking about the play; then from one thing to on my feet; their cravings, their needs, had all another they would come to their own affairs, and passed into my soul, or my soul had passed into the mother would walk on and on, heedless of the theirs. It was the dream of a waking man. I complaints or question of the little one that waxed hot with them over the foreman's tyranny, dragged at her hand, while she and her husband or the bad customers that made them call again reckoned up the wages to be paid on the morrow, and again for payment. and spent the money in a score of different ways. Then came domestic details, lamentations over Obviously, for this passionate collector of the excessive dearness of potatoes, or the length of sensations, the charm of the street resided in the winter and the high price of block fuel, to- none of the superficial things which attract owing to the baker, ending in an acrimonious dis- the ordinary observer. For him the most pute, in the course of which such couples reveal brilliant pageant, passing in the sunshine
this time drawn by“Omar” Fitzgerald in in the Song which the Man called out beforehand one of his letters to Mrs. Kemble: (as they do Hymns at Church), and of which I en
close you the poor little Copy. “Le Bon Pasteur, Now once more for French Songs. When I s'il vous plait”—I suppose the Circumstances: the was in Paris in 1830, just before that Revolution, I “beau temps,” the pleasant Boulevards, the then so stopped one Evening on the Boulevards by the amiable People, all contributed to the effect this Madeleine to listen to a Man who was singing to Song had upon me; anyhow, it has constantly rehis Barrel-organ. Several passing “Blouses” had visited my memory, for these forty-three years; and stopped also; not only to listen, but to join in the I was thinking, the other day, touched memore than Songs, having bought little “Libretti” of the any of Béranger's most beautiful Things. This, words from the Musician. I bought one too, for, however, may be only one of “Old Fitz's” CrotchI suppose, the smallest French Coin; and assisted ets, as Tennyson and others would call them.
There is a testimony to the fascination of their close representation of types which street life! For more than forty years the the illustrator too often puts before us as mark it has once casually left endures upon wearers of costumes which he has studied the imagination of a sensitive man, and all for their picturesque effect rather than because that man was sympathetic to every- for their truth as social documents. We day human things.
exclaim over the charm of a humble FrenchIn the sketch-books which have sug- man's blouse, we talk about the “note of gested these remarks I find something of color” that it introduces into the panorama the same sympathy. The chief merit of of daily existence. But the interesting Mr. Wright's little drawings is, to my mind, thing about that blue blouse, or about the