A VISIT TO PARIS

Hokitika Guardian, 14 November 1925, Page 4

A VISIT TO PARIS

WHY IS IT NAUGHTY?

SOME IMPRESSIONS OF ANDREW SOUTAR. ART—AND THE BOULEVARDS. I would that the French had longer memories • they arc very unkind to us English in these days. The franc has fallen to a hundred and three to the English pound, hut they simply "'ll not give us a sporting chance to take advantage of it. If you imagine that vonr single “Bradbury’’ or hishei is going to represent four pounds in Paris, change your mind about going there for a holiday, and look up a train to Scotland. They may skin you up there, hut they don’t rub salt in the wound: the Scot isn’t waste!m even in prejudices.

Paris has become inexplicably at logout during the hist 12 months ("ben I last paid her a visit), and she lias less to be arrogant about than any capital I kouw—and 1 know it good ntitnv.

Years ago, when we were in the Hush of early manhood, we used to speak of Paris as the cetnre of gaiety, where one was expected to be as naughty as one secretly wished one could be without incurring the displeasure of the narrow minds. VISITORS’ DEMANDS.

Well, Paris is just as loose in her morals as ever she was, but she is the faded courtesan—dissatisfied with herself and impatient of others. She tells von now, that her sins of the past and of to-dn.v should not he laid at her door; they are the outcome of demands by the English and the Americans she, in her poverty, must meet that demand.

She will tell you that her soul is i

art. and that her bawdy houses “places of entertainment lor the rich visitors,” are as distasteful to her as red flannel would he to her Habys other Y voues. The franc may have fallen to a low level, hut you will meet many plump-fitted Frenchmen on the boulevards; perhaps they keep their tongue in their cheek. Paris has become indescribably old and jaded during the last two years. She is avaricious and not a little

cunning. She resents aspersions ot her moral character, hut she remindone of that old orange woman wilt kept it fruit harrow on the sands, lot remember her? Two bathers had los 1 their clothing, and. as they meed pasl |,er she spread her lingers over he: eyes. -‘How do you sell your oranges.-’’ one asked in feeble subterfuge. “Tw< a penny, ye immoral beasts,” sail

she, and was prepared to trade. IiOUI.KVARDK GHOUI.-S

The boulevardes are still haunted by those lascivious ghouls who undertake to show you the interesting sight you woudu’t care to talk about when you returned home; the guides attached to the hotel still give you that knowing look and offer to show yon all

there is to he seen; they still tal their commissions I rout the sunlit keepers of Lite white slave ileus, l> . these places are kept only I the visitors!

Art! Music! We used to go to Pari in order to visit the It olios Ret'gcre o the Casino do Paris, or the Palace Wt- used to say: "Only the Krone know how to entertain, how to deliu the line between true Art (nudity) an obscenity. During the last twelv months something must have happen eil to Paris—or to me. I went to sloe] jo oi\‘ -eat at one o! those theatre.--bored to tear- hv the parading u ivumeo clail in tig leaves amt tli inanities of the comedians who use to pose as leaders in 11 it* art, ot pantc mine, London would have hisse them oil' the stage. THE VOICE.

Hut one night (let me he fair iiiedeni I’a i is) I drifted into a ibeal to be bored by a revue. I ilidn pun-base a programme; I didn't stm the placards. I fell into a i-muforiali sleep about half-way through and w awakened by a singer- a woman. II voice was ilelii iuusly modulated'; s bad none of the pyrotechnics ol t operatic star. She sang hall a iIo/j songs that were as simple and hell ill fill as those flowers that grow hv t river's frim. I torgave I’arts all t insincerity ol her attitude towards u I nodded to the sentiment til t American neighbour who whispero “Say, buy. T wsh my mother eon have sung to me like that." <lh was exactly how sin- made me le'-l.) Her voice was like the lazy hum a summer’s afternoon; her "act” w as clean and sweet as a mountain ri Illiquid Meier was a (lower girl in t streets not so very long ago, she so violets, she sang a song about viole throwing hunches to the audience. F me she redeemed Paris as my Parish friends said she would. And site is daughter of old Spain ! English producers have nothing

leant from Paris where garishness and a pandering to the lowest instinct.mark their “art” as in the past. Ti: be daring is not: to "lx- artistic, and tc protest that they do hut supply the demand of the foreigner is an insult In the visitor and a confession of weakness oil their own part.