. Bohemian Paris of to-day . vines andshrubbery that spring from green painted boxes andthat conceal cosey little tables and corners placedbehind them. Instead of the usual showy plate-windows, one still finds the quaint old window-panes,very small carreaux, kept highly polished by the tire-less gargon apprentice. Tacked to the white pillars are numerous copiesof Le Procope, a weekly journal published by Theo,the proprietor of the cafe. Its contributors are theauthors, journalists, and poets who frequent the cafe,and it publishes a number of portraits besides, andsome spirited drawings. It is
. Bohemian Paris of to-day . vines andshrubbery that spring from green painted boxes andthat conceal cosey little tables and corners placedbehind them. Instead of the usual showy plate-windows, one still finds the quaint old window-panes,very small carreaux, kept highly polished by the tire-less gargon apprentice. Tacked to the white pillars are numerous copiesof Le Procope, a weekly journal published by Theo,the proprietor of the cafe. Its contributors are theauthors, journalists, and poets who frequent the cafe,and it publishes a number of portraits besides, andsome spirited drawings. It is devoted in part tothe history of the cafe and of the celebrities whohave made it famous, and publishes portraits of them,from Voltaire to Paul Verlaine. This same journalwas published here over two hundred years ago, in1689, and it was the means then by which the patronsof the establishment kept in closer touch with theircontemporaries and the spirit of the time. Theo isproprietor and business manager, as well as editor. 208. lHJv CAJ-i. JKOCOPK ih<: following two poems will give an idea of thegrace of the matter contained in Le Procope : AUNE ESPAGNOLE All loin, fjuand, IVjeil rSveur et rrcnnuis Tame pleine,J<; snivrai sur les flots !e vol des alcyons(jliajuc soir sur^ira dans les derniers rayoasLc proli) Iriste cl (Joux dIda, de ma sirene. La fi[.njrc ct de lys ct diris lransj;an:nte,Ressortira plus blanche en Iombre des cheveuxl-rofonds cornnae un mystere el troublants et rnes yeuxJioiront. dans Ild^al sa caresse enivrante. Et je reehercherai Ienigme du sourire Railleur ou de pitid qui luisait dans ses yeux En des paillettes dor sous ses beaux cils ornbreux. . Et je retornberai dans la tristesse . . et direQuun seul mot me rendrait et la vie et Iespoir:Belle, mon rendez-vous nest-il jjoint pour ee soir? PETITE CHANSON DI5S0L£E Je suis seul dans la grande villeOu nul na fete mon ,Coeur vide, et cerveau qui vacille,Sans projet, sans t;ut, sans amourJe suis seul d
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1900, bookdecade1900, bookidbohemianpari, bookyear1900
