“And did he?”
“Course he did; and I’m now one of the reg’lar perfession. I aint to be hinterfered with; leastways, without I’m donkey enough to go on the cross and be took up. That’s the ticket,” he exclaimed triumphantly, pulling out a bronze badge, “I’m number thirty-five, I am.”
“And can you perform anywhere?”
“No; the police picked out thirteen good places—‘pitches,’ we calls ’em—where we can play. Ther’s the list—thirteen on ’em all of a row—beginning on the Boulevards at the Place de la Colonne de Juilliet, and ending in the Champs Elysées.” He unfolded a neatly written document that plainly defined the limits of Paris within which he, in common with his co-professors, was allowed to display his abilities.
With a small gratuity for the new light thrown upon the subject of street performances, I parted from my enterprising countryman, wishing him every success.
I have sometimes wondered whether—considering that we have all sorts of licensed people about us; people who are licensed to cram us upon steam-boats; to crowd us into omnibuses; to jolt us in ramshackle cabs; to supply us with bad brandy and other adulterated drinks; licentiates for practising physic; licentiates for carrying parcels; licentiates for taking money at their own doors for the diversions of singing and dancing; licentiates for killing game with gunpowder, which other people have been licensed to make—whether, I say, it would not be wise to license in England out-of-door as well as in-door amusements.
CHAPTER XXVI.
père panpan.
“Monsieur Panpan lives in the Place Valois,” said my friend, newly arrived from London on a visit to Paris, “and as I am under a promise to his brother Victor to deliver a message on his behalf, I must keep my word even if I go alone, and execute my mission in pantomime. Will you be my interpreter?”
The Place Valois is a dreamy little square formed by tall houses: graced by an elegant fountain in its centre; guarded by a red-legged sentinel; and is chiefly remarkable in Parisian annals as the scene of the assassination of the Duc de Berri. There is a quiet, melancholy air about the place which accords well with its