come to abide in the next studio or in the vacant suite? Any day may bring within the borders a victim to be sacrificed to one's art, or a friend to be grappled to one's soul.
The gathering of the inhabitants is ruled by seeming chance. Women drift hither through lack of strong ties to hold them back. Others come to whom this is but a halting place in a road to a chosen goal. A whim, a momentary wish, an old ambition revived, guide many feet to Bohemia.
This is hence a peculiar race, bound together, not by ties of birth and family, only by community of interest, of hope, of suffering. As in the world of mediæval story here are neither old people nor young children, only the vigorous, ready for battle.
Yet bits of everyday life float into Bohemia. Children come to play in the Square. Humble lovers stroll past, arm in arm, and little girls with braided hair walk through to school. Frail old ladies
