Part 3 - Boulevard Saint - Michel (1)3/23/2026 Edouard explains perfectly well the geography of the Boulevard Saint Michel and it’s quite a stretch that I walked with some enthusiasm but I have to say that enthusiasm diminished as I continued my walk up and down the famous, ‘Boul-Mich.’ Time, it seems, has robbed it of its former character and many of the venues I went to visit no longer exist. More of that later.
This part is devoted solely to my visit to the site of the famous Bal Bullier ballroom which was created by Francois Bullier in the mid-nineteenth century. It was a popular venue for dancing and drinking. The regular entrance fee was two francs on a Thursday night but as you will read on Saturday night it was only one franc. It should also be noted that Jane Avril graced the Bal Bullier with her presence at the height of her own fame when she would attend and dance there on a Thursday night. This website is obviously devoted to her and so it would be remiss of me not to mention our Lady Jane should the opportunity arise. So, let’s get back to Edouard and Bishop and allow Edouard to regale us with their experience of the Bal Bullier. "Of course the proper name for the great thoroughfare of the Quartier Latin is the Boulevard Saint-Michel, but the boulevardiers call it the Boul' Mich', because it is easier to say." "The Boul' Mich' is the student's highway to relaxation. Mention of it at once recalls whirling visions of brilliant cafés, with their clattering of saucers and glasses, the shouting of their white-aproned garçons, their hordes of gay and wicked damsels dressed in the costliest and most fashionable gowns, and a multitude of riotous students howling class songs and dancing and parading to the different cafés as only students can. This is the head-quarters of the Bohemians of real Bohemia, whose poets haunt the dim and quaint cabarets and read their compositions to admiring friends; of flower-girls who offer you un petit bouquet, seulement dix centimes, and pin it into your button-hole before you can refuse; of Turks in picturesque native costume selling sweetmeats; of the cane man loaded down with immense sticks; of the stems a yard long; of beggars, gutter-snipes, hot-chestnut venders, ped-lers, singers, actors, students, and all manner of queer characters." "The life of the Boul' Mich' begins at the Panthéon, where repose the remains of France's great men, and ends at the Seine, where the gray Gothic towers and the gargoyles of Notre-Dame look down disdainfully upon the giddy traffic below. The eastern side of the Boul' is lined with cafés, cabarets, and brasseries including the sound of the wickedest café in Paris, the Café d'Harcourt." "It was often our wont on Saturday evenings to saunter along the Boul', and sometimes to visit the cafés. To Bishop particularly it was always a revelation and a delight, and he was forever studying and sketching the types that he found there. He was intimately acquainted in all the cafés along the line," "The Boul' Mich' is at its glory on Saturday nights, for the students have done their week's work, and the morrow is Sunday. Nearly everybody goes to the Bal Bullier. This is separated from the crowded Boul' Mich' by several squares of respectable dwelling-houses and shops, and a dearth of cafés prevails thereabout. At the upper end of the Luxembourg is a long stone wall brilliantly bedecked with lamps set in clusters,—the same wall against which Maréchal Ney was shot (a striking monument across the way recalls the incident). At one end of this yellow wall is an arched entrée, resplendent with the glow of many rows of electric lights and lamps, which reveal the coloured bas-reliefs of dancing students and grisettes that adorn the portal. Nearby stands a row of voitures, and others are continually dashing up and depositing Latin-Quarter swells with hair parted behind and combed forward toward the ears, and dazzling visions of the demi-monde in lace, silks, and gauze. And there is a constantly arriving stream of students and gaudily dressed women on foot. Big gardes municipaux stand at the door like stone images as the crowd surges past." "To-night is one-franc night. An accommodating lady at the box-office hands us each a broad card, and another, au vestiaire, takes our coats and hats and charges us fifty centimes for the honour. Descending the broad flight of softly carpeted red stairs, a brilliant, tumultuous, roaring vision bursts upon us, for it is between the dances, and the visitors are laughing and talking and drinking. The ball-room opens into a generous garden filled with trees and shrubbery ingeniously devised to assure many a secluded nook, and steaming garçons are flying hither and thither serving foaming bocks and coloured syrups to nymphs in bicycle bloomers, longhaired students under tam o'shanters, and the swells peculiar to le Quartier Latin." "The musicians were now playing a schottische, but large circles would be formed here and there in the hall, where clever exhibitions of fancy dancing would be given by students and by fashionably gowned damsels with a penchant for displaying their lingerie and hosiery. The front of the band-stand was the favourite place for this. Here four dashing young women were raising a whirlwind of lingerie and slippers, while the crowd applauded and tossed sous at their feet." "Next to us stood a fat, cheery-faced little man, bearing the unmistakable stamp of an American tourist. His hands were in his pockets, his silk hat was tipped back, and his beaming red face and bulging eyes showed the intensity of his enjoyment. Without the slightest warning the slippered foot of one of these dancers found his shining tile and sent it bounding across the floor. For a moment the American was dazed by the suddenness and unearthly neatness of the feat; then he emitted a whoop of wonder and admiration, and in English exclaimed,—"You god-darned bunch of French skirts—say, you're all right, you are, Marie! Bet you can't do it again!" "He confided to Bishop that his name was Pugson and that he was from Cincinnati." "Why," he exclaimed, joyously, "Paris is the top of the earth! You artists are an enviable lot, living over here all the time and painting— Gad! look at her!" and he was pushing his way through the crowd to get a better view of an uncommonly startling dancer, who was at the moment an indeterminate fluffy bunch of skirts, linen, and hosiery. Ah, what tales he will tell of Paris when he returns to Cincinnati, and how he will be accused of exaggerating!" "The four girls forming the centre of attraction were now doing all manner of astonishing things possible only to Parisian feminine anatomy. In another circle nearby was Johnson, the American architect, stirring enthusiastic applause as he hopped about, Indian fashion, with a little brunette whose face was hidden in the shadow of her immense hat, her hair en bandeau, à la de Mérode. Could this really be the quiet Johnson of the Ecole, who but a week ago had been showing his mother and charming sister over Paris? And there, too, was his close friend, Walden, of Michigan, leading a heavy blonde to the dance! There were others whom we knew. The little Siamese was flirting desperately with a vision in white standing near his friend, a Japanese, who, in turn, was listening to the cooing of a clinging bloomer girl. Many sober fellows whom I had met at the studio were there, but they were sober now only in the sense that they were not drunk. And there were law students, too, in velveteen caps and jackets, and students in the sciences, and students in music, and négligé poets, littérateurs, and artists, and every model and cocotte who could furnish her back sufficiently well to pass the censorship of the severe critic at the door. If she be attractively dressed, she may enter free; if not, she may not enter at all." "The gayety increased as the hours lengthened; the dancing was livelier, the shouting was more vociferous, skirts swirled more freely, and thin glasses fell crashing to the floor. It was pleasanter out in the cool garden, for it was dreadfully hard to keep from dancing inside. The soft gleam of the coloured lamps and lanterns was soothing, and the music was softened down to an echo. The broken rays of the lanterns embedded in the foliage laid bright patterns on the showy silks of the women, and the garçons made no noise as they flitted swiftly through the mazes of shrubbery." "At one end of the garden, surrounded by an hilarious group, were four wooden rocking-horses worked on springs. 'Astride of two of these were an army officer and his companion, a bloomer girl, who persistently twisted her ankles round her horse's head. The two others were ridden by a poet and a jauntily attired grisette. The four were as gleeful as children." "A flash-light photographer did a driving trade at a franc a flash, and there were a shooting-gallery, a fortune-teller, sou-in-the-slot machines, and wooden figures with pads on their other ends, by punching which we might see how hard we could hit." "We are back in the ball-room again,—it is hard to keep out. The gayety is at its height, the Bal Bullier is in full swing. The tables are piled high with saucers, and the garçons are bringing more. The room is warm and suffocating, the dancing and flirting faster than ever. Now and then a line is formed to "crack the whip," and woe betide anything that comes in its way!" "Our genial, generous new friend from Cincinnati was living the most glorious hour of his life. He had not been satisfied until he found and captured the saucy little wretch who had sent his hat spinning across the room; so now she was anchored to him, and he was giving exhibitions of American grace and agility that would have amazed his friends at home. For obviously he was a person of consequence there. When he saw us his face beamed with triumph, and he proudly introduced us to his mignonette-scented conquest, Mad-dem-mo-zel Madeleine (which he pronounced Madelyne), "the queen of the Latin Quarter. But blamed if I can talk the blooming lingo!" he exclaimed, ruefully. "You translate for me, won't you?" he appealed to Bishop, and Bishop complied. In paying compliments thus transmitted to Madeleine he displayed an adeptness that likely would have astounded his good spouse, who at that moment was slumbering in a respectable part of Paris." "At exactly a quarter-past midnight the band played the last piece, the lights began to go out, and the Bal Bullier was closed." Sadly, the Bal Bullier closed its doors for the final time in 1940. On its site was built the Jean Sarrailh University Sports Centre of the CROUS of Paris. The site itself was not easy to locate but fortunately for me the statue opposite the Bal Bullier still stands to this day and it proved useful in locating the exact position of the Bal Bullier. I gained some satisfaction that the statue which would have been seen by Edouard, Bishop and indeed, Jane Avril was now being seen and inspected by me. I was also able to enjoy the nearby Jardin du Luxembourg and walk through the beautiful gardens on what was a bright, warm and sunny afternoon. Life it seems has its compensations. So, Edouard and Bishop leave the Bal Bullier and continue back down the Boulevard Saint - Michel which is where we will pick up with them the next time. All text taken from, Bohemian Paris of Today (Chapter 4 - Boulevard Saint-Michel) by Cucuel and Morrow and Illustrated by Edouard Cucuel - 1899. All photos - Craig R. Whitfield (2026)
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Part 2 - École des Beaux-Arts3/22/2026 "It is about the fifteenth of October, after the long summer vacation, that the doors of the great École des Beaux-Arts are thrown open."
"The first week, called "la semaine des nouveaux," is devoted to the initiation and hazing of the new students, who come mostly from foreign countries and the French provinces. These festivities can never be forgotten—by the nouveaux." - La semaine des nouveaux – newbies week. These initiation festivities varied but they certainly left a mark on the new students at the École as one example below testifies. Another example mentioned in the book is, 'the paint brush duel' as illustrated by Edouard in Picture 3 above. "Early on the fifteenth of October, with his head erect and hope filling his soul, Bishop started for the Beaux-Arts, which was in the Rue Bonaparte, quite near to where both he and Edouard lived." The École des Beaux-Arts was in close proximity to where both Edouard and Bishop lived. In fact, it was 800 metres and an 11 minute walk for me to make the same journey that they would have made. "The gates of the École des Beaux-Arts aren’t that different to those today and are guarded by two prominent busts as they were back in 1898. The bust to the left as pictured above is Pierre Paul Puget (16th October 1620 or 31st October 1622 to 2nd December 1694) and was a French Baroque painter, sculptor, architect and engineer. The bust to the right as pictured above is Nicolas Poussin (?? June 1594 – 19th November 1665) and was a leading painter of the classical French Baroque style. Until the 20th century he remained a major inspiration for such classically-oriented artists as Jaques-Louis-David, Jean-Auguste-Dominique Ingres and Paul Cezanne." Bishop was a student of the artist Gérôme a successful academic artist and one of Emperor Napoleon's favoured painters, he taught at the École des Beaux-Arts for over forty years "It is only in this government school of the four arts that the typical Bohemian students of Paris may be found, including the genuine type of French student, with his long hair, his whiskers, his Latin Quarter "plug" hat, his cape, blouse, wide corduroy trousers, sash, expansive necktie, and immense cane. The Ecole preserves this type more effectually than the other schools." "After the money had been collected from all the nouveaux the entire atelier of over sixty students, dressed in working blouses and old coats, formed in line, and with deafening shouts of "A boire! à boire!" placed the nouveaux in front to carry the class banner, and thus marched out into the Rue Bonaparte to the Café des Deux Magots, singing songs fit only for the studio. Their singing, shouting, and ridiculous capers drew a great crowd. At the café they created consternation with their shouting and howling until the arrival of great bowls of "grog Américain," cigarettes, and gâteaux. Rousing cheers were given to a marriage-party across the Place St.-Germain. After yelling themselves hoarse and nearly wrecking the café, the students marched back in a disorderly mob to the Ecole." - A boire – to drink! Then the real trouble began. "The guardian having conveniently disappeared, the students closed and barricaded the door. "A poil! à poil!" they yelled, dancing frantically about the frightened nouveaux; "à poil les sales nouveaux! à poil!" They seized a student and stripped him, despite his desperate resistance; then they tied his hands behind him and with paint and brushes decorated his body in the most fantastic designs that they could conceive. His oaths were frightful. He cursed them and swore to have the blood of all Frenchmen. He called them all types of names and the students enjoyed it immensely. "En broche!" they yelled, after they had made him a spectacle with the brushes; "en broche! Il faut le mettre en broche!" This was quickly done. They forced the student to his haunches, bound his wrists in front of his upraised knees, thrust a long pole between his elbows and knees, and thus bore him round the atelier at the head of a singing procession. Four times they went round; then they placed the helpless student on the model-stand for future reference. The bad French that the victim occasionally mixed with his tirade indicated the fearful damnation that he was doubtless dealing out in his own language." - A poil les sales nouveaux ! – get naked, you dirty newbies! - En broche Il faut le mettre en broche! - On a spit! He needs to be put on a spit! "A circle was then formed about him, and a solemn silence fell upon the crowd. A Frenchman named Joncierge, head of the reception committee, stepped forth, and in slow and impressive speech announced that it was one of the requirements of the Atelier Gérôme to brand all nouveaux over the heart with the name of the atelier, and that the branding of the student would now proceed. Upon hearing this, he emitted a fearful howl. But he was turned to face the red-hot studio stove and watch the branding-iron slowly redden in the coals. During this interval the students sang the national song, and followed it with a funeral march. Behind the student’s back a second poker was being painted to resemble a red-hot one." "The hot poker was taken from the fire, and its usefulness tested by burning a string with it. The student grew deathly pale. An intense silence sat upon the atelier as the iron was brought near the helpless young man. In a moment, with wonderful cleverness, the painted poker was substituted for the hot one and placed quickly against his breast. When the cold iron touched him he roared like a maddened bull, and rolled quivering and moaning upon the floor. The students were frantic with delight." "It was some time before this student could realise that he was not burned to a crisp. He was then taken across the atelier and hoisted to a narrow shelf fifteen feet from the floor, where he was left to compose himself and enjoy the tortures of the other nouveaux. He dared not move, however, lest he fall; and because he refused to take anything in good- nature, but glared hatred and vengeance down at them, they pelted him at intervals with water-soaked sponges." At the end of a year the nouveau drops his hated title and becomes a proud ancient, to bully to his heart's content, as those before him. I’m sure that was a great relief to them all. "The models—what stories there are! Every Monday morning from ten to twenty present themselves, male and female, for inspection in puris naturalibus before the critical gaze of the students of the different ateliers. One after another they mount the throne and assume such academic poses of their own choosing as they imagine will display their points to the best advantage. The students then vote upon them, for and against, by raising the hand. The massier, standing beside the model, announces the result, and, if the vote is favourable, enrols the model for a certain week to come." "There is intense rivalry among the models. Strange to say, most of the male models in the schools of Paris are from Italy, the southern part especially. As a rule, they have very good figures. They begin posing at the age of five or six, and follow the business until old age retires them. Crowds of them are at the gates of the Beaux-Arts early on Monday mornings. In the voting, a child may be preferred to his seniors, and yet the rate of payment is the same,—thirty francs a week." "Perhaps the most famous of the models of Paris was Sarah Brown, whose wild and exciting life has been the talk of the world. Her beautiful figure and glorious golden hair opened to her the whole field of modeldom. Offers for her services as model were more numerous than she could accept, and the prices that she received were very high. She was the mistress of one great painter after another, and she lived and reigned like a queen. Impulsive, headstrong, passionate, she would do the most reckless things. She would desert an artist in the middle of his masterpiece and come down to the studio to pose for the students at thirty francs a week. Gorgeously apparelled, she would glide into a studio, overturn all the easels that she could reach, and then shriek with laughter over the havoc and consternation that she had created. The students would greet her with shouts and form a circle about her, while she would banteringly call them her friends. Then she would jump upon the throne, dispossess the model there, and give a dance or make a speech, knocking off every hat that her parasol could reach. But no one could resist Sarah." Fortunately, or unfortunately, I was not subjected to any of the above antics during my visit to the École des Beaux-Arts. My visit was a much more sedate affair. That said, how joyous it must have been to have been a part of the whole initiation process even if it left one embarrassed for a time. Their journey as artists had truly begun and in spectacular fashion. So, it seems that life was never dull for both our artist friends at the École des Beaux-Arts and so we shall leave them to their fun and studies and catch up with them on the Boulevard Saint Michel where we shall join them in the cafes of their choice. All text taken from, Bohemian Paris of Today (Chapter 2 - Ecole des Beaux-Arts) by Cucuel and Morrow and Illustrated by Edouard Cucuel - 1899. All photos - Craig R. Whitfield (2026) Part 1 - Our Studio.3/21/2026 On arriving in Paris in 1898 Edouard and Bishop felt compelled to do and see all the usual sights that the city had to offer. I can certainly relate to this as the first time I arrived in Paris in 1999 I felt the same compulsion to see and do all that she had to offer. At this point in their journey they had located accommodation at a hotel but this was only a temporary arrangement.
"For two weeks we had been lodging temporarily in the top of a comfortable little hotel, called the Grand something (most of the Parisian hotels are Grand), the window of which commanded a superb view of the great city, the vaudeville playhouse of the world." "Day by day we had put off the inevitable evil of finding a studio. Every night found us in the cheapest seats of some theatre, and often we lolled on the terraces of the Café de la Paix, watching the pretty girls as they passed, their silken skirts saucily pulled up, revealing dainty laces and ankles. From the slippery floor of the Louvre galleries we had studied the masterpieces of David, Rubens, Rembrandt, and the rest; had visited the Panthéon, the Musée Cluny; had climbed the Eiffel Tower, and traversed the Bois de Boulogne and the Champs-Elysées. Then came the search for a studio and the settling to work. It would be famous to have a little home of our very own, where we could have little dinners of our very own cooking!" So, after the sightseeing came the unenviable task of finding a suitable place to live. A lot had to be considered, obviously a suitable location that was in close proximity to the Ecole des Beaux-Arts (more later) the art college of their choice, a studio that provided good light that would benefit both artists with their work and quite obviously a place at the right price. "It is with a shudder that I recall those eleven days of ceaseless studio-hunting. We dragged ourselves through miles of Quartier Latin streets, and up hundreds of flights of polished waxed stairs, behind puffing concierges in carpet slippers, the puffing changing to grumbling, as, dissatisfied, the concierges followed us down the stairs. The Quartier abounds with placards reading, "Atelier d'Artiste à Louer!" The rentals ranged from two hundred to two thousand francs a year, and the sizes from cigar-boxes to barns. But there was always something lacking. On the eleventh day we found a suitable place on the sixth (top) floor of a quaint old house in a passage off the Rue St.-André-des-Arts. There were overhead and side lights, and from the window a noble view of Paris over the house-tops." As can be seen from the above photos I had no problem locating the Rue St.-André-des-Arts and also located the, 'passage' of the Rue St.-André-des-Arts to which Edouard referred to. In fact, if you compare photos 4 and 6 above you can see the similarities between the two albeit separated by 128 years. Sadly, because no specific address is referred to in the book I couldn't locate the quaint old house but I did feel very sure that I was very close to it as I explored the area. This also provided me a great sense of their location in relation to the Ecole des Beaux-Arts on Rue Bonaparte and the nearby Les Deux Magots but more of that later. "A room of fair size joined the studio, and from its vine-laced window we could look into the houses across the court, and down to the bottom of the court as well. The studio walls were delightfully dirty and low in tone, and were covered with sketches and cartoons in oil and charcoal. The price was eight hundred francs a year, and from the concierge's eloquent catalogue of its charms it seemed a great bargain. The walls settled our fate,—we took the studio." So, the boys had moved into their new home and with Bishop installed as the cook and Edouard committed to keeping the place clean such was the division of labour between them both they went about their daily lives and observed the happenings around them. "The court, or, more properly, le passage, on which our window looked was a narrow little thoroughfare leading from the Rue St.-André-des-Arts to the Boulevard St.-Germain. It bore little traffic, but was a busy way withal. It had iron-workers' shops, where hot iron was beaten into artistic lamps, grills, and bed-frames; a tinsmith's shop; a blanchisserie, where our shirts were made white and smooth by the pretty blanchisseuses singing all day over their work; a wine-cellar, whose barrels were eternally blocking one end of the passage; an embossed picture-card factory, where twoscore women, with little hammers and steel dies, beat pictures into cards; a furniture shop, where everything old and artistic was sold, the Hôtel du Passage, and a bookbinder's shop." "Life begins at five o'clock in our court. The old gentleman beats his rugs, the milk-bottles rattle, the bread-carts rumble, Madame Gioté opens her milkstand, and the concierges drag the ash-cans out into the court, where a drove of rag-pickers fall upon them. These gleaners are a queer lot. Individuals and families pursue the quest, each with a distinct purpose. One will seek nothing but bones, glass, and crockery; another sifts the ashes for coal; another takes only paper and rags; another old shoes and hats; and so on, from can to can, none interfering with any of the others. The dogs are the first at the bins. They are regularly organized in working squads, travelling in fours and fives. They are quite adept at digging through the refuse for food, and they rarely quarrel; and they never leave one bin for another until they have searched it thoroughly." "The swish of water and a course brush broom announces the big, strong woman who sweeps the gutters of the Rue St. Andre des Arts. With broad sweeps of the broom she spreads the water over half the street and back into the gutter, making the worn yellow stones shine. She is coarsely clad and wears black sabots; and God knows how she can swear when the gleaners scatter the refuse into the gutter!" So, we leave the boys to settle into their new home and become familiar with their new surroundings and we will catch up with them again at the Ecole des Beaux-Arts. All text taken from, Bohemian Paris of Today (Chapter 1 - Our Studio) by Cucuel and Morrow and Illustrated by Edouard Cucuel - 1899. All photos - Craig R. Whitfield (2026) Bohemian Paris of Today!3/17/2026 On Friday 9th March 2026 I flew to Paris to commence my, 'Bohemian Paris of Today Tour 2026.'
Some years ago I came across the book titled, 'Bohemian Paris of Today.' It was written and illustrated by the American artist Edouard Cucuel and published in 1899. (see above) The book chronicled the student days of Edouard Cucuel and his friend, 'Bishop' -a nickname - his real name was Guy Orlando Rose which is such a cool name for an artist in my opinion. They spent their student days in Paris in 1898. The actual book pictured (see above) actually belonged to the Cucuel family and was presented to Mrs K. E. Cucuel by Emile Cucuel who is believed to be the artist's father. It now belongs to me after I acquired it some years ago. I feel fortunate and honoured to be the custodian of the book. My trip aimed to capture something of the spirit of that time by visiting the places they lived, studied and the cafes and cabarets they and their friends visited. Oh, and did they get up to some stuff! To be fair, they were young and full of an adventurous spirit. All the venues had been researched and their addresses confirmed. In the following posts I want to share something of that trip and compare the Paris of 1898 that Edouard and 'Bishop' experienced to that of my own experience in 2026 and then conclude with how the trip made me feel. So, come with me to Paris over the coming weeks and let's see where it takes us. Craig Jane Avril and Me.1/2/2026  I wouldn't say i'm a supporter of Artificial Intelligence when it comes to being used as a creative tool in the field of art. That said, as an admirer of Jane Avril it was always my wish to have met her. Obviously, that is never going to happen... but a man can dream.
The image above has been created using A.I. It will be my only creative effort as I appreciate it took no genius on my part to create it. I am also very aware of the potential saturation of pictures that could be made available online if this particular trend continued. That said, I am pleased with the result. This is as good as it will ever get for me. The old world meets the new with Jane in all her 1890s finery and myself in my 2020s casual. I hope those that see it here appreciate the reason behind its creation. Moulin Rouge 20152/25/2024  In September 2015 my friend Tom and I visited The Moulin Rouge courtesy of the VIP tickets that Tom (as a surprise) had booked and thus secured for the both of us.
To be fair, It was the only way that he or any one for that matter would have got me to walk through the doors of such a revered place. I, at this point had not wanted to betray my romantic ideal of the 1890s and so had always steadfastly refused to enter the place. Unless Toulouse-Lautrec was at his table sketching or Jane Avril dancing with her usual free spirit...well, I wanted nothing to do with the modern incarnation... thank you very much! I wrote up the whole of that particular trip and my thoughts on The Moulin Rouge visit in my blog entry for September 2015. Feel free to visit and read of my own and Tom's adventure. Anyway, and to the point, as a memory and to commemorate that trip and my first entry into The Moulin Rouge Tom purchased the above painting for me in the Place du Tertre in Montmartre. I still possess the painting and it serves as a wonderful reminder of that trip and my fated entry into The Moulin Rouge. Cheers Tom. So, here it is - Jane Avril - The Life of a Moulin Rouge Dancer.
Please do enjoy the film. The following is Marie's own comments and useful Chapter breakdown to her film. Jane Avril – The life of a Moulin Rouge Dancer is an artistic documentary where I tell all the facts I have discovered about French dancer Jane Avril’s life in detail. Starting from her birth in 1868 to her death in 1943. I reference all the historical facts and plausible stories I had found up until 2022. I often present information in front of places linked to the presented period in Jane’s life. The documentary was made while on a residency at Cité Internationale des Arts. It was shot in Paris and in Jouy-en-Josas, France. The documentary is part of the larger body of work about my relationship to French dance performer Jane Avril (1868-1943), who was a model and friend of artist Toulouse-Lautrec. I’ve felt connected to her personality and artistic expression ever since the very first time I saw images and photos of her in 2004. CHAPTER BREAKDOWN
My sources for making Jane Avril – The life of a Moulin Rouge dancer are: population censuses, the archive of Performing Arts – Bibliothèque Nationale de France, the archive of Museé Montmarte, a biography on Jane Avril from 1952, and my translation of Jane Avril’s memoirs from 1933, as well as biographies on Toulouse-Lautrec and the catalogue from the Courtauld Gallery’s exhibition Toulouse-Lautrec and Jane Avril – Beyond The Moulin Rouge. Welcome Back!2/13/2024 It's been a while since I last made any posts on my blog or indeed made updates to this site. That said, we GO AGAIN!
Quite a lot of new information has become available with respect to Jane Avril and over the coming weeks I will be making changes and adding updates to reflect all the new information that has come to light. Quite a lot of the new research has been undertaken by my friend Maria who has made a film about Jane Avril called - Jane Avril - The Life of a Moulin Rouge Dancer which is available on YouTube but I will add the film or failing that the link to ensure you all have the opportunity to watch it. I think you will all appreciate the effort and travel that Maria has put into the making of her film. I know I have. It was a labour of love. It's research that I certainly wasn't able to undertake but what it does do is fill in the gaps and corrects assumptions that most people had. We are now able to use the real names of those involved as Avril's biographer Jose Shercliff used false names to protect those possibly still alive at the time of its release in 1953. So, onwards we go and as ever please feel free to post a comment via the contact page when you visit. Craig One of the many characteristics that drew me to Jane Avril was her ability to deal with the verbal, mental and physical abuses that her mother subjected her to over the many years of her youth.
Despite the on-going abuse Jane never permitted her mother to have the satisfaction of seeing her "break." She was tough, no doubt, and it's fair to say that the abuse left her with physical and mental scars which she carried all her life. According to her biographer - "One physical symptom of her nervous complaint remained, and, indeed, never left her. It was a curious and fascinating twitch of the nostrils that made her wrinkle her fine little nose like a rabbit. If anything it added later to her quaint charm." Jane Avril should serve as an inspiration to those who have walked her path as a victim of abuse in that she refused to play the role of the victim and indeed went on to have a glorious career as a dancer who carried the crown of Queen of the Moulin Rouge and Montmartre for some time. Again, according to her biographer - "Her mother would visit her wrath upon Jane with increasing violence. Beaten, thumped, shaken, whipped with a vicious leather thong until she was all but unconscious, Jane, night after night, went through nightmare scenes of desperate horror. How she preserved her sanity is a miracle, and the self control that kept her from screaming out loud, the pride that made her silent about her sufferings, were amazing qualities for a child of her age." Here Jane Avril recalls in later life her own memories of what she suffered at the hands of her mother. "I was to proud to cry, but anyway, my mother threatened me with such terrible vengeance if ever I breathed a word to anyone, that that alone froze me into silence. Ah, the nights I spent with my body black and blue and aching from her thrashings! But she was clever, as clever as she was evil, for she took care never to mark my face. As the blows rained on me I used to whisper deep down inside myself "Oh, stop...stop...stop..." But no one ever heard my plea." Jane's ordeal didn't end there, Jane's mother sent her out onto the street to earn money in the manner in which her mother was accustomed. Jane who was only 15 years of age refused and when on one occasion she came home empty handed her mother full of rage and fury thrashed Jane to within an inch of her life and, flinging her unconscious and bleeding on to the floor. A few nights after this incident Jane fled from home and never returned. Nor did she ever hear from her mother again. To live through this and achieve all she did makes me admire this lady all the more. Happy Birthday - Jane Avril6/9/2021 A very happy 153rd Birthday to the undisputed Queen of the Moulin Rouge... Jane Avril.
All your admirers are thinking about you today! x Craig 
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