In an era when the Romanian interwar press was at its peak—dominated by large, solemn, and often pompous publications—Tudor Arghezi chose to go against the current. On February 2, 1928, in the courtyard of his house on Mărțișor Street, the poet printed the first issue of “Bilete de papagal” (“Parrot Tickets”) — a tiny four-page newspaper, with an unusual format of 32 x 12 cm, which quickly became a curiosity of Bucharest’s literary world.

The birth of an unusual newspaper

Printed in the small press he had installed in his own yard, the paper was conceived as an ironic reply to the heavy and pretentious press of the time. 

Arghezi himself wrote in his first editorial that he wanted to bring to life a newspaper “so small that nothing like it had ever appeared before, not even among ants.” The sheet, which he described as “a cigarette paper,” was a manifestation of his playful and polemical spirit.

In his characteristic tone of humor and self-irony, Arghezi added:

“Having no big newspaper in which to write important foolishness, the editor of this cigarette-sized leaflet brings to light something less than a rag, limiting himself to publishing smiling fragments. His ideal was to create, in the universe of printed paper, an equivalent of the flea in the world of flesh and blood. A nervous flea, endowed with the remarkable temperament of an inspector-general...”

Thus, “Bilete de papagal” was born as a typographic, literary, and social experiment. Its small dimensions were not a sign of modesty but rather a subtle act of rebellion against journalistic conventions. The newspaper, “as small as a flea,” assumed the role of an ironic observer of interwar Bucharest life — a daily pamphlet meant to provoke both smiles and reflection.

A name inspired by the world of organ grinders

The title “Bilete de papagal” (“Parrot Tickets”) was not chosen at random. During the interwar period, Bucharest’s streets were full of organ grinders who entertained passers-by by offering small fortune-telling notes drawn by a trained parrot perched on their shoulder. Arghezi borrowed this popular image and turned it into a literary symbol: the reader, like a passer-by, would “draw” his own ticket — a short text, a joke, a pamphlet, or a poem — meant to brighten his day and stir his thoughts.

In the newspaper’s pages, Coco the parrot, Arghezi’s ironic alter ego, became a recurring character. Coco’s voice was biting and humorous, mocking the habits, hypocrisies, and absurdities of Romanian society. Arghezi wrote with playful wit:

“Perhaps some expert reader will kindly deliver us from ignorance by telling us, humble disciples of the organ grinder that we are, the exact age of these jumping instruments.”

Through this clever game of masks, the poet combined the bohemian charm of old Bucharest with the sharp intelligence of the pamphleteer. Each issue of his newspaper became a small daily spectacle of critical spirit and irony.

The first issues and the elite collaborators

The first two issues of the newspaper were written entirely by Tudor Arghezi, who personally handled everything — from editing and printing to distribution. 

From the third issue onward, however, the publication began to attract prestigious collaborators such as George Topîrceanu, Otilia Cazimir, Urmuz, and Felix Aderca. Their participation brought diversity and solidified the reputation of “Bilete de papagal.”

Arghezi’s declared purpose was to encourage young writers, whether established or aspiring, to express their emotions and ideas freely. In one 1928 issue, he wrote:

“Anyone can write, provided that, with strict sincerity, they define their share of emotion in the total emotiveness of humankind.”

This open-mindedness, rare in an era dominated by elitist magazines, turned “Bilete de papagal” into a nursery of literary talent. Many future great Romanian authors published their first works here, including Eugen Jebeleanu, Geo Bogza, Eugen Ionescu, Cella Delavrancea, Mihai Beniuc, Maria Banuș, and Emil Botta.

For many of them, Arghezi was not just an editor or mentor but also a model of artistic independence — a man who proved that true literature could fit within the pages of a pocket-sized leaflet.

Humor as daily medicine against sadness

The style of the publication was unique — a blend of pamphlet, humor, poetry, and moral reflection. Arghezi did not attack with aggression but with wit. He believed that smiling could educate and that laughter was a form of moral healing. In the first issue, he stated his philosophy clearly:

“A smile a day is not to be despised. And two lei a day for a smile is a record in cheapness and a good medicine. Never has man been sicker than when he began to take himself seriously and tragically.”

Thus, “Bilete de papagal” became more than a humor magazine — it was a manifesto for everyday optimism. In a society marked by political instability, moral fatigue, and intellectual pretension, Arghezi offered a small but potent dose of lucidity.

Every morning, readers received a “ticket” — a witty thought, a poetic image, a playful jab — that lightened their day. The pamphlets, poems, and clever epigrams became a form of cultural resistance against the excessive gravity of the times.

Success and the four publication series

Despite its tiny size, the “flea newspaper” achieved remarkable success. “Bilete de papagal” quickly became both a literary and social phenomenon, admired by writers and beloved by readers.

Over time, the publication went through four distinct series, each corresponding to a different period in Arghezi’s life:

1.     First series (February 2, 1928 – August 9, 1929): 460 daily issues that established the newspaper’s reputation and defined its style.

2.     Second series (June 15 – October 5, 1930): a brief continuation with a slightly more serious tone, yet preserving its playful satire.

3.     Third series (June 1937 – February 1938): 33 issues published in a politically tense atmosphere, as censorship and authoritarianism began to rise.

4.     Fourth series (December 16, 1944 – February 15, 1945): 48 issues printed after World War II, marking Arghezi’s comeback in a world struggling to redefine itself.

Throughout all these stages, the publication maintained its concise format, sharp language, and refined humor. Even when read on the go — in trams, cafés, or at street corners — “Bilete de papagal” offered readers a daily dose of intelligence and irony.

Arghezi and the philosophy of the “flea”

Behind the miniature dimensions of the paper lay a deep philosophy. Arghezi understood that intelligence does not need space — only intensity. The small format was a metaphor for the agile, quick, and biting mind of the satirist.

His pamphlets were not mere jokes — they were precise social commentaries, targeting hypocrisy, corruption, and intellectual vanity. Without naming names, Arghezi exposed through irony the politician eager for flattery, the pompous critic, the pretentious poet, and the self-satisfied philistine.

In doing so, “Bilete de papagal” became a vivid portrait of interwar Bucharest society — a world caught between modernity and provincialism, between bohemian charm and moral confusion.

The legacy of a tiny masterpiece

Though physically “as small as a flea,” the impact of “Bilete de papagal” was enormous. It proved that a newspaper does not have to be large to be influential. It was a school of brevity, wit, and free thought.

Through this daring project, Tudor Arghezi reinvented Romanian journalism, transforming the pamphlet into an art form. His publication became a space of intellectual freedom — a place where young writers could make their debut and readers could learn to laugh at themselves and at the world.

In an age when seriousness had become almost a disease, Arghezi offered Romanians the cure of humor.

“Bilete de papagal” remains, to this day, a lesson in the courage to be different — in the power of the short, well-aimed word, and in the kind of irony that heals rather than wounds.

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