Recollections Of Other Days

by Edward Dusseault

The Bohemian’s Story Of “La Silhouette.”

While in London in 1862 I frequently met a Frenchman, who, although age had whitened his head, retained much of the energy of his youth, and walked with a sprightly, erect gait and as elastic a step as that of vigorous middle age. He was, by turns, a musician, a teacher of his native language, a lecturer, and a maître d’armes. With no regular business, he, nevertheless, managed to pay his way and dress well. He had been in nearly every place of note in Europe, he knew every quarter of Paris; and he delighted to talk of his rambles in the quartier Latin, and to recall many of the characters he had known and studied while strolling, as he often had, about the outskirts of the French capital. He was, in every sense, one of that class of persons, whom we now call Bohemians, with quick perceptions and a ready wit. He was a great lover of painting; and, whenever I chanced to be in the vicinity of Trafalgar Square, I had only to step into the building of the National Gallery to see my whilom acquaintance, Jean Thérezol, who was almost certain to be there gazing at the landscapes of Turner, the Rembrandts, the Rubens, and the Vandycks of the collection. He admired Turner’s landscapes. He always spoke of them with unqualified praise; and would, sometimes, good naturedly say, “Ces sacrés Anglais ont, apres tout, quelque mérite,” thus acknowledging, which a Frenchman seldom does, that there was some good out of France. We frequently met at a coffeehouse in Leicester Square, where he often amused the company, which, by the by, was composed of good listeners, in the small parlor, that we occupied and called ours, by narrating his experiences in the la métrepole du monde, as he called Paris. In less than a month after these meetings, I visited the places he had… Read More