Mazarine in Paris. The students there, were
a gay and noisy set, as formidable in numbers
as in practical wit, and somewhat obnoxious
to the neighbourhood. Fancy, for instance, a
troop of them issuing from their studio, at a
moment of rest, forming in a line across the
street, and levying black mail from the
bystanders and passengers, for the benefit of an
organ, or hurdy-gurdy grinder. Yet so
jestingly and pleasantly was the money
extracted from the Parisian Cockneys, that none
but the most crusty could growl; although
they ran risk of being pelted with jokes and
with mud. These artists with blouses, when
they did growl, were as formidable then as
those of the Faubourg St. Antoine are now.
But, on other occasions they might be seen
enjoying leisure, at other hours, in a quieter
or more peaceful way— some, cleaning their
brushes in their hands; others, indulging in
penny loaves and apples, whilst a group might
perchance be gathered round one or two of
their number, who indulged in the practice of
that amazing dance which prevails at La
Chaumière, without the disadvantage of the
policeman or gay municipal guard.

The atelier, to which allusion is made, was
of old held in the basement of the Institut—
a place not so prosy, it may be seen, as it is
generally supposed to be. Although dull letters
flourished on the first floor, gay fine arts were
active in the basement; it must be admitted,
however, that doubtless the members of the
Institute would have got on better without
the artist students. But having, in a fit of
generosity, permitted their lower premises to
be put to their particular use, it was too late
to retract; and the noisy peculiarities of the
boy-painters, or Rapins, were fully developed.

When of old, Guillon, Lethière, and other
followers of the David school, occupied the same
place, they plied the brush in silent activity—
and their canvases made as little noise after
they were produced, as during production.
Their staid diligence was not largely
rewarded either by Fortune or Fame. Those
halcyon days, however, were past, when
a hundred and fifty students congregated
daily to indulge in noise and mirth. For, if
they gave way to such vagaries as have been
described, in the public street, it is but just to
admit that in-doors such things would betimes
happen as might startle spectators.

The entrance to the atelier was at a postern
in the Rue Mazarine— a hole, in a dark ugly
wall. The Institute resembles, in this, the
Bibliothéque of Mazarine; which is very fine
inside, but very ugly outside. The space within,
is divided into two vast rooms, in each of which
a model sat. The floors, swept but once a-week,
were full of holes, from which bold broods of
rats emerged, betimes, to feed and to play. The
walls were wainscotted, and had once been
grey; but the scrapings of dirty palettes had
altered their primitive tint; which, dulled
with age, and overgrown with excrescences,
had acquired a mouldy look of age. Not,
indeed, that it was lawful that the students
should scrape their palettes, and dash the
proceeds on the walls; for that was a desecration
punishable by fine; but, as fines were
hard to levy, they were seldom imposed.

The walls on every side were hung with
canvases in various stages of composition,—
or decomposition, so old and rusty did some
of them appear. Canvas, paper, kit-cat
frames, broken stools, and crooked easels,
lay about in great confusion. Cobwebs lined
the corners; a stove, whose long black chimneys
wandered about the room, as if loth to
leave it, communicated a smoky, not ungenial
warmth.

In a large frame, that hung on one of the
walls, were the portraits of all the celebrities
of the atelier— heads only— peering out in
grotesque confusion. The deadliest enemies
were there depicted side by side,— the stalwart
bully beside the meek fag,— the weak
beside the strong,— the clever beside the
feeble,— all admirable likenesses. That canvas
may yet become well-known in future art
history.

The roll-call, early on Monday morning,
assigned to each the place that he might take.
Then, the living model had to be placed; and
many were the jokes levelled at the
unfortunate individual, as he strove to obey the
varied injunctions of the students. He was
ordered to place his head— first, on this side;
then on that; then his body had to be arranged;
his legs and arms to be turned and bent, until
at last the position desired was fixed. Poor
models; what a hard life they lead for ten
sous an hour! They sit four hours to the
students; and thus their pay nearly reaches
an English pound per week.

The model being placed, the draughtsmen
took their seats on low stools; which thus
enabled their brother-painters to stand or sit,
and to look over them, just as in battle the
front rank kneels, to let the rear rank fire. The
work would then go on; some drawing, others
painting: whilst, in the back-ground, the less
advanced might be seen painfully endeavouring
to copy the Discobolus, or Fighting
Gladiator. One might almost fancy them a quiet
set, then; the silence being occasionally
broken by a stanza from a song, morsels
of a " complainte," or a partial chorus. To
the poor and struggling artist, indeed, the
atelier was a godsend: affording warmth and
shelter for at least six hours of the day, the
teaching of a first-rate master, and the advantages
of living models, for the small sum of
twenty-three francs a-month: of which eighteen
were for the teaching, and five for the " masse,"
as it was called,— a fund from which to replace
broken stools and easels, and to pay the
models. The master, indeed, came but thrice
a-week; but that sufficed, so well did he
exercise command, so anxiously was he obeyed.
When, with thin and sinewy form, and sharp
and piercing eye, he entered, all would be
hushed, and you might hear a pin fall. He