Farther up in Montmartre, up a steep, cobbly hill, past quaint little shops and cafés, the hill becoming so steep that your
cab horse finally refuses to climb further, and you get out and walk up to the “Moulin de la Galette.” You find it a far different type of ball from the “Moulin Rouge,” for it is not made for the stranger, and its clientèle is composed of the rougher element of that quarter.
A few years ago the “Galette” was not the safest of places for a stranger to go to alone. Since then, however, this ancient granary and mill, that has served as a ball-room for so many years, has undergone a radical change in management; but it is still a cliquey place, full of a lot of habitués who regard a stranger as an intruder. Should you by accident step on Marcelle’s dress or jostle her villainous-looking escort, you will be apt to get into a row, beginning with a mode of attack you are possibly ignorant of, for these “maquereaux” fight with their feet, having developed this “manly art” of self-defense to a point of dexterity more to be evaded than admired. And while Marcelle’s escort, with a swinging kick, smashes your nose with his heel, his pals will take the opportunity to kick you in the back.
So, if you go to the “Galette,” go with a Parisian or some of the students of the Quarter; but if you must go alone—keep your eyes on the band. It is a good band, too, and its chef d’orchestre, besides being a clever musical director, is a popular composer as well.
Go out from the ball-room into the tiny garden and up the ladder-like stairs to the rock above, crowned with the old windmill, and look over the iron railing. Far below you, swimming in a faint mist under the summer stars, all Paris lies glittering at your feet.
You will find the “Bal Bullier” of the Latin Quarter far different from the “bals” of Montmartre. It forms, with its “grand fête” on Thursday nights, a sort of social event of the week in this Quarter of Bohemians, just as the Friday afternoon promenade does in the Luxembourg garden.
If you dine at the Taverne du Panthéon on a Thursday night you will find that the taverne is half deserted by 10 o’clock, and that every one is leaving and walking up the “Boul’ Miche” toward the “Bullier.” Follow them, and as you reach the place l’Observatoire, and turn a sharp corner to the left, you will see the façade of this famous ball, illumined by a sizzling blue electric light over the entrance.
The façade, with its colored bas-reliefs of students and grisettes, reminds one of the proscenium of a toy theater. Back of this shallow wall bristle the tops of the trees in the garden adjoining the big ball-room, both of which are below the level of the street and are reached by a broad wooden stairway.