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PARIS AT NIGHT. 
 
 SKETCHES AND MYSTERIES 
 
 OP 
 
 PARIS HIGH LIFE AND DEMI-MONDE. 
 
 JS'OCTURNAL AMUSEMENTS 
 
 HOW TO KNOW THEM! 
 
 HOW TO ENJOY THEM!! 
 
 HOW TO APPRECIATE THEM!!/ 
 
 "^ PUBLISHED BY THE 
 
 BOSTON AND PARIS PUBLISHING COMPANY. 
 Boston Address, P. O. Box 3197. 
 
 Foi? Sale by all NeA\7's Dealers. 
 
 French and English Rights Reserved. 
 
 Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1875, by Stuart & McLellan, 
 in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D. C. 
 
 Copies sent by Mail on receipt of Price— 50 cents. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 " Homo homini lupus." Man is' a wolf to his fellow 
 man." But the lambs that become the easiest prey to 
 wolves in sheep-clothing, are those simple-hearted, over- 
 generous foreigners, who come to Paris, — the City of 
 Pleasure, their golden dollars ringing in their too-open 
 pockets, and, as Americans say, " up to every game." 
 They have to pay dearly in general for their " games " — 
 very often far dearer than they would do could they help 
 themselves. To them we address ourselves. We would 
 be their friend, their adviser, and their guide. We would 
 tell them enjoy yourselves by all means, study the morals 
 of the gay inhabitants of this gay city, visit the palaces 
 of amusement as well as the low haunts ; it is the duty 
 of the student of moral philosophy to see the front and 
 reverse of the medal. Yes, amuse yourself as much as 
 you like, but try and keep your money in your pockets, 
 follow our counsels, and your property and health will 
 be comparatively safe. " Fore-warned is fore-armed." 
 
WHAT THERE IS TO BE SEEN IN PARIS. 
 
 Description of the new Boulevards of Paris, created by Na- 
 poleon 3d— describing the Grand Cafe, Grand Hotel, New 
 Opera House, Masked Balls, Theatres, etc Page 5 
 
 The principal places of interest in and around Paris, and the 
 proper course to be pursued in finding them... Page 143 
 
 How to get around Paris and Environs in Cabs. Govern- 
 ment regulations and Tariff of Prices Page 149 
 
 How to ride from one part of Paris to another in two differ- 
 - ent Omnibuses by payment of one fare Page 111 
 
 Graphic description of the Jardin Mabille, Closerie des 
 Lilas, or Students Ball, Chateau Rouge, Musard Open Air 
 Concerts, (the most fashionable in Paris,) Salle Valentino, 
 (rival of the Jardin Mabille) Page 58 
 
 Wholesome advice to persons visiting the gay Capital for 
 the first time Pao-e 49 
 
 Names of the Best and Medium Class Restaurants. Bill of 
 
 fare and prices of meals Pao-e 101 
 
 Names, Location and prices of the best Hotels and Ameri- 
 can Boarding Houses Page 101 
 
 Nooks and Corners of Paris Life— Curious Statistics. 106 
 
 Armee du Crime or Criminal Calendar Page 113 
 
 Le Demi-Monde Page 24 
 
 The Social Evil Page 49 
 
 Omnibus Directory Page 146 
 
 Cab Tariff Page 149 
 
 Walery .«,„ Page 121 
 
 Paris out of Town Page 122 
 
 Paris at Table Page 126 
 
 Paris Asleep Page 132 
 
 Twenty-four HOURS IN London Page 137 
 
THE BOULEVARDS. 
 
 Every great capital has, and has had a centre — 
 a heart, the focus of life, of character, and move- 
 ment. In Rome, the Forum with its Gaulic mem- 
 ories ; in London, Regent Street ; in N"ew York, 
 Broadway ; and in Paris — modern Paris — the Bou- 
 levards. Other points have been more central, 
 and m.ore fashionable in the Paris of the past, for 
 the Boulevards Literiors were once Exteriors, and 
 their history and chronology is known. But the 
 Palais Royal, the Place Royale, the Louvre, and 
 other centres of attraction have been eclipsed by 
 these Boulevards, which represent the type, the 
 essence of Paris life in all its originality and piq- 
 uanc3\ Before passing to description, one word 
 upon these great arteries of Paris life. 
 
 Formed in the seventeenth century, they were 
 at first the bulwarks or ramparts of the Paris of 
 that day, when nightingales frequented the bos- 
 quets replaced by the present Boulevards Plauss- 
 mann and Malesherbes, and lovers rambled through 
 flowery fields about the Chaussee d'Antin. Many 
 interesting historical associations are connected 
 with them — ^thus : Mongolfier, the inventor of bal- 
 loons, lived in the Boulevard St. Denis; the assassin, 
 Fieschi, pointed his infernal machine against Louis- 
 Philippe (July, 1835) from a house pulled down, 
 and now occupied by No. 50, Boulevard du Tem- 
 ple, and the noted beauty, E"inon de L'Enclos, 
 lived on the same Boulevard, No. 23. Upon the 
 
G THE BOULEVARDS. 
 
 Boulevard Poissoniere, in 1676, lived the celebra- 
 ted composer Boildieu ; while the well-known 
 Boulevard des Italiens, the zenith of Paris anima- 
 tion in 1815, was called Boulevard de Gand, and 
 was inhabited by the o^reat comedian Regnard, 
 the rival of Moliere. 
 
 What a transformation in the present age : the 
 shop windows w^ith the blaze of Potisi, the wealth 
 of the Indies, and the rarest combinations of mod- 
 ern ingenuity and industry, — a Crystal Palace con- 
 verted into a city, with avenues of light and passa- 
 ges of pleasure. All this must be seen to be un- 
 derstood, or rather felt, for en derniere aiiahjse, the 
 general impression of the far-famed JBoulevards is 
 much more a powerful appeal to the senses, the 
 passions, and perhaps the aesthetic, than to the 
 thought or reason more clearly typified in our 
 more sober cities, the markets and marts of this 
 age of progress. 
 
 A heterogeneous crowd, which the delights of 
 the French Capital have attracted from all parts 
 of the world, gaze with rapture upon the scene of 
 wonders. The dazzling display of diamonds and 
 other costly jewels exhibited in the windows, which 
 are illuminated with gas, by means of reflectors, 
 shedding a soft, clear light, and at the same time 
 showing off these treasures to the best advantage. 
 These windows are, in most cases, re-arranged ex- 
 pressly with a view to evening effect. Nowhere 
 can be seen such an attractive display of tiaras of 
 diamonds and precious stones, ranging in price 
 from five to two hundred thousand francs. Watch- 
 es of every variety and style, and every description 
 of articles usually found at such establishments, 
 glitter in the soft and mellow light. Perfumery 
 shops, also arranged with the most consummate 
 skill, impregnating the air with delicious perfume, 
 thereby add to the fairy-like impressions of the 
 scene. 
 
THE BOULEVARDS. 7 
 
 Clothing establishments, marbles and pictures, 
 bronzes, fruit and pastry shops, in fact everything 
 can here be found in the greatest profusion. Every 
 variety of form and device is resorted to in arrang- 
 ing the gaslights, so as to produce the greatest ef- 
 fect. The names of many of the principal cafes 
 and restaurants are emblazoned over the doors in 
 letters formed of gas, the effect of which is extreme- 
 ly beautiful, while at the same time the cost must 
 be enormous ; but the shopkeepers seem to pay no 
 regard to this item of expenditure in their endeav- 
 ors to make the most brilliant displays. This ex- 
 hibition continues until about midnight. 
 
 RUE ROYAL. 
 
 Let us now make the tour of the most attractive 
 Boulevards, starting from the scene of exciting 
 events during the war, several attempts were made 
 by the Communists to destroy the elegant buildings, 
 by throwing bottles filled with petroleum into the 
 windows, and setting it on fire ; but they only par- 
 tially succeeded, as, being constructed mostly of 
 wood and iron, and thoroughly fire proof, the con- 
 tents of the rooms only were destroyed In hun- 
 dreds of other parts of the city which were fired 
 by them they were in most cases no more success- 
 ful. We pass the Church of the Madeleine — which 
 is in some respects, perhaps, unrivalled among 
 modern buildings. This edifice, intended by the 
 Great E'apoleon to be a temple of glory, is a Greek 
 nave restored — especially in its exterior, situated 
 on the site of anolder Madeleine, date of Charles 
 VIII., 1492— was founded 1763, and only finished 
 1843. Leaving this church, we pass in a direct 
 line through the following Boulevards : — Boulevard 
 de la Madeleine, Boulevard des Capucines, Boule- 
 vard des Italiens, Boulevard Montmartre, Boule- 
 vard Poissonniere, Boulevard Bonne Nouvelle, 
 Boulevard St. Denis, Boulevard St. Martin. 
 
8 THE BOULEVARDS. 
 
 The first point of unusual attraction is the 
 Grand Cafe upon the Boulevard des Capucines, 
 corner of Rue Scribe, the largest and most magni- 
 ficent cafe in Paris, and probably in the world. 
 The general effect from the opposite side is reall;]| 
 enchanting ; the rooms being one blaze of light. 
 The gaslights are in globes of ground glass, and 
 arrano^ed in clusters of about a dozen each. It is 
 said that two thousand persons congregate here 
 nightly to avail themselves of the opportunities for 
 perusing the leading journals — ail of which are to 
 be found in the Paris Grand Cafe — which, in 
 fact, may very properly be called a night ex- 
 change. 
 
 Its mere decoration and its furniture, plate and 
 linen, have cost the trifling sum of 700,000 francs 
 (£28,000). Forty-five gar9ons, six butlers, and 
 three dames de comjotoir attend to the behests of its 
 customers. The chief peculiarity of this cafe is 
 the exquisite painting of the ceiling, executed by 
 artists of no less merit than MM. Boulanger, De- 
 launay, and Emile Levy. A group of bacchantes 
 and fauns on the ceiling of a drawing-room, which 
 measures thirteen metres in circumference, is a 
 work of artistic merit, which might be envied by 
 an art collector. The ceilings of the smaller recep- 
 tion rooms have been painted by Emile Levy. 
 The allegorical figures of Commerce, Science, 
 Arts, and Industry are admirably designed. 
 
 The rooms upon the lower floor, of which there 
 are several, and very spacious, are devoted to bil- 
 liards, dining and coffee rooms; while those 
 above are fitted into magnificent saloons for the 
 purpose of giving dinner parties and balls upon a 
 grand scale. The building has a circular front, 
 and is a grand and imposing-looking edifice. Up- 
 on the sidewalks in front of the cafe, which are 
 about thirty feet wide, and covered with asphal- 
 tum like the streets, are arranged small tables and 
 
THE BOULEVARDS. 9 
 
 neat fancy chairs constructed of iron. These are 
 mostly occupied upon pleasant evenings by per- 
 sons of both sexes, regaling themselves with ices, 
 &c. The efiect of this large crowd, both within 
 and without, the great profusion of gaslights — the 
 numbers of which seem doubled in theiramense 
 mirrors upon the walls — combine to produce a 
 scene of unusual brilliancy. 
 
 It would be needless to say that everything in 
 this grand establishment is of the first class, both 
 in quality and price. "We pass on to the next 
 corner ot the Rue Scribe, and behold the famous 
 Grand Hotel — containing some eight hundred 
 rooms — with, of course, the most modern conveni- 
 ences of the da}^ This building has its front up- 
 on the Boulevard des Capucines, extending to the 
 next square, called the Place de I'Opera. Here is 
 the 
 
 NEW GRAND OPERA HOUSE, 
 
 The largest and most magnificent opera-house in 
 the world. This gorgeous temple of the Muses 
 has just been completed. Algerian onyx, Russian 
 malachite, Italian marble, gilding, painting, sculpt- 
 ure has been lavished on this great monument, 
 which has cost twenty-five million francs, or a 
 million pounds sterling, covering a space of eleven 
 thousand square metres, and holding two thousand 
 one hundred and ninety-four persons. The sculpt- 
 ure and painting alone are estimated to cost from 
 one million to one million two hundred thousand 
 francs. All branches of Physics are here repre- 
 sented : Light, Optics, Electricity, and Acoustics 
 play their dififerent parts. There is an organ 
 formed of eighteen registers, distributed over two 
 key boards, and a complete foot board. It is 
 worked by four pedals, vibrating the air contained 
 in 1,032 pipes, some of them fifteen feet in height. 
 An electric light is thrown upon the magnificent 
 
10 THE BOULEVARDS. 
 
 stage by means of a Bunsen battery of 360 ele- 
 ments. The system of telegraphing around the 
 building is very complete. Making use of the earth 
 as a return current, one of the poles of each bat- 
 tery being in communication with the iron of 
 the building, an 
 
 ELECTRIC LAMP 
 
 Is placed on one of the wooden galleries which 
 run along the higher regions of the scenery above 
 the stage. It is from this artificial sky that a new 
 Phoebus darts upon the nymphs of the ballet the 
 rays of his electric sun. It is from here decom- 
 posing the light by means of the vapor of water 
 he throw^s upon the stage a veritable rainbow, as 
 in " Moses," again it is that he causes the light 
 from the painted windows to fall upon the flags of 
 the church, where Margaret is in the clutches of 
 remorse. The Electric apparatus is sometimes 
 placed on a level with the stage, when it is sought 
 to produce certain special effects, such as that of 
 the fountain of wine in Gounod's opera. The 
 lime-light is also used to produce certain brilliant 
 effects in the new opera. 
 
 As we continue along the Boulevard des Ital- 
 iens, our attention is attracted by the popular res- 
 taurant called the Maison Doree, celebrated for its 
 fine cuisine, and where the fancy of both sexes 
 resort for supper after the theatres are over. This 
 is one of the few houses that are allowed to remain 
 open all night. We then pass in close proximity 
 the Cafe des Italiens, Cafe de Bade, Tortoni, An- 
 glais, Riche — all of which are brilliantly illumi- 
 nated, and renowned as places where the demi- 
 monde most do congregate. We are still upon the 
 left-hand side of the Boulevard, as we have been 
 since leaving the Madeleine. We now enter the 
 Boulevard Montmartre, and pass the Cafes Mazar- 
 in, Cercle, and, near by, the Cafe Garen, which 
 
THE BOULEVARDS. 11 
 
 forms one corner of the celebrated Passage Jouff- 
 roj, the favorite resort of fast women. 
 
 PASSAGES OR ARCADES 
 
 Are quite an institution in the French capital, 
 nearly every variety of goods can be found, and 
 shopping can be done in these in wet as well as in 
 dry weather. 
 
 One peculiar feature of these arcades is that 
 each and all of them have invariably among their 
 inhabitants a shoe-black, a pastry-cook, a tobacco- 
 nist, and a restaurateur. The establishment of the 
 latter might well afford the subject of a series of 
 studies. Each passage having its own particular 
 habitues , the dinners supplied at the restaurants of 
 that arcade are suited to their special taste. Thus, 
 the Passage Yero-Dodat does not feed in the same 
 style as the passage des Panoramas and the res- 
 taurateur of the Passage de I'Opera will present 
 you with a menu which would be looked on with 
 supreme contempt by the usual customers of the 
 
 PASSAGE JOUFFROY. 
 
 This much, however, we can assert, that at each 
 and every one of these eating-houses nothing is 
 wasted; — nothing is thrown away. Many of the 
 most delicate dishes are concocted with things 
 which we would reject as garbage. The soups es- 
 pecially, of which there are as many varieties as 
 there are departments in France, are compounded 
 of materials which we would never dream of util- 
 izing, yet the result is delicious. Indeed, there is 
 no part of an animal — horse, cat, goat, sparrow, or 
 frog — out of which one of the third-class restaura- 
 teurs of Paris will not serve you a savory dish, as- 
 suring you, of course, that your horse-steak is the 
 best cut of the filet de bceuf, that pussy is a hare, 
 that goat is lamb, and the sparrow a lark. 
 
12 THE BOULEVARDS. 
 
 About 80,000 of tlie inhabitants of tbis gay cap- 
 ital rise in the morning without knowing where 
 or bow they are to get a dinner. These poor 
 wretches, who for the greater part have no reguhir 
 employment, manage to dress decently neverthe- 
 less, to keep up appearances, and between six and 
 seven o'clock you will find them seated at some of 
 the cheaper restaurants enjoying the delicacies of 
 a twenty-five sous dinner. 
 
 "Walking along these passages we could not help 
 pitying the poor tradesmen who are doomed to in- 
 habit these galleries, to which neither air nor sun 
 can penetrate. For the last two years these glazed 
 passages have been multiplied in every part of 
 Paris, yet they are extremely unwholesome for their 
 inhabitants. Medical reports prove that the fami- 
 lies who reside in them become sooner or later 
 scrofulous or consumptive, and that infants born 
 and reared in them are sickly and rickety. It is 
 all very well for the stranger to visit these splendid 
 arcades in the afternoon, or in the evening when 
 brilliantly illuminated by floods of gas-light, re- 
 flecting the glittering contents of the shop-win- 
 dows; but avoid scrupulously entering these ar- 
 cades between seven and eight o'clock in the 
 morning, when the shop-boys are dusting the doors 
 and window fronts ; when the stone or marble 
 pavement is being cleaned ; when the inhabitants 
 are doing their best to get a little air into their 
 paltry lodgings, which, viewed from outside, im- 
 press one with the idea of real magnificence; and 
 then look at the women who the previous evening 
 appeared to you behind their counters fresh and 
 smiling. ISTow their complexions are yellow, their 
 eyes haggard, all bearing the unmistakable mark 
 of persons who breathe the mephitic atmosphere 
 of an enclosed arcade. 
 
 Before going further up the Boulevards, let us 
 cross and enter the 
 
THE BOULEVARDS. 13 
 
 PASSAGE DES PANORAMAS, 
 
 Which is directly opposite that of Jouffroy. In 
 it is the Gallery Montmartre, where at No. 27, 
 may be found the dancing saloon of Markowski. 
 Further mention of this professor upon another 
 page. We continue our course as before up the 
 Boulevards Montmartre, Poissonniere, Bonne- 
 J^ouvelle, St. Denis, and St. Martin; which are all 
 in a direct line with each other. At the ternjinus 
 of the latter we pass the Place du Chateau d'Eau, 
 and, turning to the right, enter the Boulevards des 
 Filles du Calvaire and Beaumarchais. We arrive 
 at the Place de la Bastille, and behold a fine monu- 
 ment called the Column of July, erected on the site 
 of the old prison of the Bastille, in memory of 
 those who sacrificed their lives in the cause of lib- 
 erty, during the three days of the revolution which, 
 in 1830, placed Louis-Philippe upon the throne. 
 
 There are several lines of magnificent Boulevards 
 throughout Paris, but the above are the most im- 
 portant, as being ihe principal thoroughfares, as 
 well as containing many of the chief points of at- 
 traction in the metropolis. 
 
 Let us retrace our steps by the same route which 
 we have just traversed, as far as the Boulevard St. 
 Denis ; out of which, upon the left, we turn down 
 the Boulevard de Sebastopol, until we reach the 
 celebrated Rue de Rivoli, which we enter upon the 
 right hand. This is one of the finest streets in 
 Paris, containing the Palace and Gardens of the 
 Tuileries, Hotel du Louvre, &c. It is most brilliant- 
 ly illuminated at night by thousands of gaslights 
 along its entire length, which is about two miles, 
 and, as it is very wide and straight, the efiect is 
 exceedingly fine. 
 
 It is also a great thoroughfare, as upon one side 
 are many splendid shops, arranged under a system 
 of stone arcades, each of which contains a lighted 
 globe, while the light upon the other side is placed 
 
14 THE BOULEVARDS. 
 
 immediately opposite. Let us now procure at the 
 Hotel du Louvre an open carriage with a dashing 
 pair of bays, and continue up the Eae de Rivoli 
 and the Place de la Concorde, entering the Champs- 
 Elysees, where we find a-n abundance of equipages 
 — many of which are the finest in the world. Driv- 
 ing up this elegant and fashionable Avenue, lined 
 upon both sides with shady trees, we pass the 
 Triumphal Arch, and enter the Avenue de I'lm- 
 peratrice, which is about a mile in length and three 
 hundred feet in breadth, and find ourselves ap- 
 proaching the celebrated 
 
 BOIS DE BOULOGNE. 
 
 After reaching the gate of the Porte Dauphine, 
 we continue along the road directly opposite this 
 Avenue, a short distance upon the left brings us to 
 the new lakes and cascade, which have been ar- 
 ranged with all the taste of nature and art com- 
 bined. Thousands of equipages, each bearing its 
 living freight of the monde, as well as the demi- 
 monde^ drive around the lake, while, on its silvery 
 surface, glide gondola-shaped boats, festooned with 
 gaily painted Chinese lanterns, also marine veloci- 
 jDedes, at the prow of which are hung colored lamps. 
 A more fairy-like scene on a warm summer's night 
 can hardly be imagined; and thoroughly to enjoy 
 it we recommend our readers to ferry across to the 
 central island, where — besides gay company — they 
 will be entertained at an admirable restaurant. 
 Here the best of ices, Bavaroises, &c., can be had 
 but at an exorbitant price. 
 
 When tired of this you can reenter your car- 
 riage which has awaited you on the drive, and, on 
 your way back to town, stop for a few moments 
 opposite the Arc de Triomphe, to gaze upon one 
 of the most brilliant panoramas to be seen in any 
 capital of the world — the 
 
THE BOULEVARDS. 15 
 
 CHAMPS ELYSEES 
 
 !N"ow bright witli the light of a thousand gas jets, 
 not only blazing in a double line along the broad 
 Avenue, but radiant amongst the trees of the va- 
 rious cafis cliayitants^ which at this hour, are crowd- 
 ed by gaily-attired visitors. From the Obelisk of 
 Luxor to the Arc de Triomphe the usual summer 
 pleasures are continued from seven o'clock until 
 midnight, the greater part of the pleasures of Paris 
 being concentrated along this brilliant avenue. The 
 warm and lovely weather draws out enormous 
 crowds, and, as soon as the great majority can es- 
 cape from business cares, they hurry away to en- 
 joy the fresh air of the Tuileries Gardens, or the 
 open-air concerts of the Champs Elysees — and at 
 no time do open air dinners have a greater charm 
 than during the first warm evenings of summer, 
 and the crowds that pour in upon Ledoyan, care 
 little for menus or sauces, so long as they have the 
 blue sky above their heads, the sounds of distant 
 music in their ears, and the warm air of evening 
 at their repasts. Before this " re-awakening of 
 nature," as they used to say in the time of Queen 
 Hortense, every one feels an invincible need of 
 "•far niente^' and an irresistible desire to promenade 
 in the open air. The inevitable consequence is 
 a vast crowd in the Elysian Fields and a dense 
 throng upon both sides of the Boulevards. The 
 great bronze fountains that stand in the centre 
 of the Place de la Concorde, have huge round 
 basins fifty feet in diameter, above which rise oth- 
 ers of lesser size. Tritons and water-nymphs about 
 the lower basins hold dolphins, which spout streams 
 of water into the upper ones, and at the base sit 
 large granite figures, which the Parisians say do 
 well to sit down, for if they stood up they would 
 soon be fatigued by their own weight. This ele- 
 gant square is illuminated by twelve magnificent 
 bronze lampadaries— the light of which, falling on 
 
16 THE BOULEVARDS. 
 
 the elegant splashing fountains, seems to convert 
 each jet into a shower of pearls, and thus produces 
 a magic scene of beauty, which being thrown into 
 relief by the grand old trees of the Tuileries Gar- 
 dens, is certainly one of unrivalled magnificence. 
 
17 
 
 BALS MASQU:6S. 
 
 Strangers flatter themselves that they have ac- 
 quired a thorough knowledge of Paris when they 
 have spent a fortnight doing the Louvre, the Tuii- 
 eries, the Invalides, Napoleon's Stables, the Sainte 
 Chapelle, the Bois de Boulogne, and the Boule- 
 vards. They believe they are perfectly acquainted 
 with Parisian life when they liave smoked a dozen 
 cigars in a cafe, when they have dined at a restur- 
 ant, gambled at a club,, danced at Mabille, con- 
 versed with their next neighbor in a railway car- 
 riage, bargained at a shop, or lounged along the 
 trottoirs. We maintain, that of all cities in Enrope, 
 Paris is the most difficult to know aii bout du dokjt, 
 and that of all people on the globe Parisians are 
 the most Sphinx-like. 
 
 Paris possesses the marvellous privilege of being 
 ever new, ever different, ever presenting fresh ma- 
 terial for study and investigation ; never the same, 
 and never monotonous. The Parisian of the Bou-^ 
 levard des Italiens bears no more affinity to the 
 denizen of the Quartier Latin than the Frencliman 
 of Tours does to the citizen of Marseilles. Paris 
 is a kaleidoscope, presenting the strangest contra- 
 dictions — the most startling incongruities, changing 
 at the corner of every street, at the turn of every 
 avenue, nay, at the entrance of every honse, and 
 therefore altbrding an inexhaustible mine of curious 
 and useful subjects of observation. It may be pain- 
 ful to see the wounds of society laid bare, yet if we 
 
18 BALS MASQUES. 
 
 wisli to derive correct information, to devise a 
 remedy or effect a cure, the operation must be 
 borne To trace the origin of a pestilence we de- 
 scend into the very sewers of a city, and if we 
 would discover the cause of the turpitude which 
 affects the moral atmosphere around us, we must 
 look far beneath the mere surface of town life. 
 The fastidious habits of polished society generally 
 incline us to reject, as unworthy our notice, what- 
 ever relates to the dark and dismal elements of 
 "low life." A true philanthropist will, however, 
 prefer reality to fiction — the faithful picture to the 
 fancy sketch. The Spartiates, when they wished to 
 inculcate sobriety on their sons, did not hesitate to 
 exhibit before them the revolting spectacle of de- 
 bauchery in one of its most hideous forms. Inspired 
 with the same object, we now wish the reader to 
 accompany us to a bal masque^ such as are given at 
 the Opera in Paris. 
 
 The clock of the Opera has struck three. The 
 ball has reached the culminating point of excite- 
 ment. We enter. It is difficult to picture a scene 
 more curious and more startling than this vast am- 
 phitheatre presents, with its thousands of maskers 
 arrayed in their sprightly fantastic dresses. Pre- 
 dominant among the medley are the traditional 
 Titis, the polichinelles, harlequins, and debardeurs. 
 The frightful velocity with which these votaries of 
 Terpischore whirl themslves through the mazes 
 of the waltz, polka, mazurka, &c., is bewildering to 
 the eye, and some time must elapse before the vis- 
 itor is able to distinguish the idiosyncracy of each 
 group. The mighty Strauss raises his magic wand, 
 and the quadrille of the ''Belle Helene" strikes up 
 immediately, followed by the maddening strains of 
 the grand galop, when literally the powerful or- 
 chestra is drowned by the shouts, the wild cheers, 
 the fantastic yells of the whirling masses. A more 
 noisy, tumultuous rabble, cannot be imagined. 
 
BALS MASQUES. 19 
 
 Vainly do tlie Gardes-de- Paris attempt to control 
 the mad delirium of this dancing, jolting, screech- 
 ing, squeaking mob. 
 
 If, by one of those incantation scenes one reads 
 of in fiction, one could evoke a stately Marquise 
 of the Court of the Grand Monarque, and place 
 her in the midst of this infernal tohu — bohu, her 
 amazement would not be slio-ht at beholdins: the 
 costumes of her times — her hoops, the brocades, 
 and the coiffures adopted by the cooks, washer- 
 women, lorettes, calicots, and gandiiis of the day; 
 costumes not purchased, and on the hiring of which 
 a year's savings has probably been recklessly lav- 
 ished. Fast men, low prostitutes, young servant 
 girls, grisettes and cocottes, alone amalgamate at 
 these diabolical orgies, which, on Shrove Tuesday, 
 not only take place at the Opera, but at no less 
 than one thousand two hundred places of public 
 entertainment in Paris! From these hells the mas- 
 kers emerge on the dawn of A.sh Wednesday, 
 with their costumes in tatters, their eyes sunk, 
 their lips swollen, and uttering the vilest impreca- 
 tions on all that is sacred ; cursing father, wife, or 
 mother, and shouting with tipsy intonations, the 
 signifilcant inquiry of the gamins in " La Famille 
 Benoit(m," " Et ta Soeur." 
 
 And now does the reader wish to know where 
 these men and women of all nations, of all ranks, 
 of all classes resort to when they quit these scenes 
 of dissipation and licentiousness ? Winding along 
 the street, or rather, along the gutter, singing, 
 liowling, grimacing, and swearing at the few pas- 
 sers-by who may be going to their early day's work, 
 they enter the cabinets pariiculiers of the innumer- 
 able restaurants and cafes of Paris, where they 
 finally drown in- champagne the last gleam of in- 
 tellect which may yet remain to them. The sun of 
 Ash Wednesday breaks upon a sad spectacle. The 
 last man of the day awakens to find himself over- 
 
20 BALS MASQUES. 
 
 whelmed by writs and assignations. The poor 
 seamstress, whom the glitter of the ball attracted 
 from her home, has not a loaf of bread on her 
 dresser, nor a sou in her drawer ; and in the man- 
 sarde, hard by, is a group of starving little ones, 
 vainly cryiiig, with pinching hunger, after their 
 mother, who, probably, has been taken up for dis- 
 orderly conduct, and is, with hundreds of others, 
 awaiting, in the police lock-up, her turn to be sum- 
 moned before the commisscdre de police! 
 
 I once knew a boy of eighteen, as handsome and 
 gifted a young fellow as one would wish to meet, — 
 open-hearted and intelligent. He was the eldest 
 son of an EngUsh peer, and had been sent to Paris 
 to study French. He heard of the Bals de I'Opera 
 described in glowing colors, and vainly endeav- 
 oured to obtain his tutor's permission to attend one, 
 A napoleon given to a servant enabled him to es- 
 cape from the house; to hire a costume was easy 
 work, and was quickly done. Within an hour of 
 his flight he was whirling in the maze of the 
 " Valse du Diable," A well-known creature had 
 seized upon him and made him an easy prey. 
 Under her able tutelage, he was soon initiated into 
 the hideous mysteries of depravity, such as even 
 novel reading had failed to reveal to him. 
 
 Missed by his tutor, notice was given to the po- 
 lice, and instant search was made for him. The 
 wretched victim was discovered at five in the morn- 
 ing, lying helpless and alone on the floor of a gild- 
 ed and mirrored cabinet jMriiculier, SiUiidst fragments 
 of torn lace, crushed bouquets, velvet masks, and 
 broken bottles. They had made th^ most of their 
 time, his companions. During this night of brutal 
 sport and low debauchery, he had signed promis- 
 sory notes, and parted with his watch, chain, rings, 
 and studs. The course he entered on that fatal 
 night, he, alas, continued, and he is now a hopeless 
 idiot, travelling under the charge of keepers, vain- 
 
BALS MASQUES. 21 
 
 ly seeking amidst the varied scenes of nature that 
 peace of mind which has, apparently, fled for ever 
 from his grasp. 
 
 The snow of a few winters only has fallen on 
 the grave of the young seamstress, whose tragic 
 fate would long since have been forgotten but for 
 the poet Emile Descharaps, who wrote on her 
 touching story those charming lines, entitled 
 " Morte pour les Amuser.'' She had the fatal gift 
 of beauty. One bright morning as she passed 
 along the quays to her daily work, she was re- 
 marked by two young noblemen returning home, 
 their pockets full of gold, after a night of dissipa- 
 tion and gambling. Again and again they crossed 
 her path at the same hour. She believed herself 
 beloved. The gold, her smiles purchased, would 
 bring comfort and ease to the miserable garret 
 where dwelt her blind old father, an old soldier of 
 the First Empire. 
 
 She was, at their orgies, the Queen of xTight. 
 It was a new excitement for her lovers to watch 
 her child-like countenance flushed with the fumes 
 of rich wine she had never before tasted. Her 
 dishevelled hair, as it lay in golden masses on the 
 violet of their satin sofas, was a new eftect ; and 
 for these licentious men it was glorious sport to 
 hear issue from the lips of this unfortunate creat- 
 ure language as vile as their own, but of which 
 she hardly understood the import. Two or three 
 months elapsed, and they were tired of the poor 
 girl. She must be got rid of. One of them knew 
 of a capital receipt. Mix in her glass of Sauterne 
 equal portions of kirsch and rum. It had made 
 the brain of many a duchess whirl. Give her this, 
 and let us take her to the bed de Vopira. Musard's 
 rapturous orchestra will do the rest. An hour 
 and the experiment succeeded. She w^as in the 
 hands of three sergents-de-ville, kicking, screaming, 
 yeUing, to the shouts of laughter of her betrayers, 
 
22 BALS MASQUES. 
 
 who, to see the end, followed the cab, wherein lay 
 their miserable victim, to the next station-house. 
 The intense cold of a winter's night struck on her, 
 and suddenly brought back her senses. She recog- 
 nized her position ; saw before her the police-court, 
 the interrogation of a magistrate. She grew pale, 
 and trembled at the disclosures she would have to 
 make, and at the perspective of her being hence- 
 forth registered on the police books. On the way 
 to the conimissaire de police the cab passed before 
 her father's lodging. She begged for leave to go 
 up to her room for an instant to change her Pom- 
 padour disguise for garments more suitable to her 
 appearing before the Bar — granted. Two sergenis 
 followed her to the fourth etagCj and waited outside. 
 She sprang to the window. " My father, brave 
 old soldier, who, though blind, has taken care of 
 me from the day of my birth; no," she exclaimed, 
 *' never shall he know my shame." And as a 
 party of gay revellers trooped from the bal de l' op- 
 era that morning, the Fierrots, the Don Juans, tho 
 marquises, the j^oissardes had to step aside in the 
 presence of the corpse of the Pompadour, lying 
 crushed and dead on the pavement of the street. 
 £Jlle ciait morte pour les amuser! 
 
 It is somewhat startling to turn over the pages 
 of the account-book in which the expenses of each 
 ball given at the Opera are registered. The aver- 
 age sum spent by the managers amounts to £5,600 
 an evening. ITo fewer than 780 individuals are 
 employed. In one night, 1,850 wax-lights are 
 consumed, besides 210 lamps and 5,600 gaslights. 
 The attendance usually consists of 5,000 individ- 
 uals, of whom 2,600 are men ; 8,200 francs are 
 spent every ball night on the purchase of masks ; 
 3,500 francs on hiring costumes; 24,000 francs on 
 satin shoes; 3,600 francs on coiffeurs ; 10,000 francs 
 on gloves; 6,000 francs on fans, &g. The police 
 reports prove that 500 private carriages and 8,400 
 
BALS MASQUES. 23 
 
 cabs deposit maskers at the entrance door of the 
 Opera. The contractors for the refreshments take 
 18,750 francs per night, &c. 
 
 The staff of police constantly on duty in the 
 streets of Paris during the Carnival, the large num- 
 ber of punishable offences committed within or 
 close to the precincts of the Opera, the scenes of 
 reeling intoxication which occur on every night, 
 furnish ample proof of the demoralizing effect of 
 these annual festivals. Thousands of both sexes 
 date their physical as well as moral ruin from one 
 of these Bacchanalian orgies, which deaden every 
 delicate feeling and implant licentiousness, intem- 
 perance, and dissipation of every kind. 
 
 Most of the Carnavaliseurs are compelled on Ash 
 Wednesday to liquidate the debts incurred on 
 Mardi Gras, and it is a known fact that the police, 
 the burial companies, the doctors, have never so 
 much to do as during the Carnival. The amount 
 of rings, brooches, watches, earrings, studs, brace- 
 lets, and false hair lost on these nights of junketing, 
 debauchery, and brutality, at the different casinos, 
 restaurants, and cafes, amount to more than 4,000 
 francs. These, if picked up by honest persons, are 
 taken to the Bureau des Objets Trouves where they 
 may be claimed by their respective owners. But 
 how much is lost on one of these days of voluptu 
 ous festivities that can never be restored — health, 
 probity, virtue, honesty — these are objeis j)erdus 
 which have never been registered on the books of 
 the Bureau des Objeis Trouves. 
 
LE DEMI-MOI:TDE. 
 
 The icliosyncraoy of the world, of which Alex- 
 ander Damasj^?5 maybe said to be the Christopher 
 Columbus has totally changed since the days when 
 Paul de Kock was its historiographer. The griseUe, 
 whose type he so admirably depicted, has disap- 
 peared. She was modest, fresh, and spirituelU', she 
 well knew that many a millionaire could have paid 
 her kisses in diamonds, but she loved her penniless 
 student, made his mansarde ring with her merry 
 lauo-h, sewed the missino^ buttons on his shirts, and 
 saved the money he would otherwise have spent in 
 gambling. For all this she expected him to take 
 her on Sundays, or of an evening, to the hot Willis, 
 or the Chaumitre. In spite of temptation her love 
 was his; and his comrades obtained naught from 
 her but a piquant repartee or a saucy laugh. 
 
 In Henri Margers' '' Yie de Boheme," an inimit- 
 able sketch of artist life, will also be found the 
 grisefie, of the epoch — the faithful, poetic Mimi — 
 wliose most brilliant toilette was a freshly-ironed 
 muslin ; gay and joyous when a picture was sold, 
 which had brought gold into the studio, and cheer- 
 ful still when its light-hearted tenants had found 
 content, and their hungry stomachs satisfied by the 
 crust of an evening's supper. In the Quartier 
 Latin a few of this type may yet be found ; but they 
 are rare. The increasing luxury of the times intro- 
 duced another and far less attractive class, w^hich 
 assumed the title of lorette, from the fact of their 
 
LE DEMI-MOXDE. 25 
 
 leader having selected the Quartier Breda as their 
 place of abode— of which IlTotre Dame de Lorette 
 is the parochial church. This change may be at- 
 tributed to the influence of speculation on society. 
 "Wealth suddenly acquired induces vice. The man 
 who had won a million by a speculation during the 
 revolution of 1848, must have his mistress attired 
 in silk, and enveloped in splendid cashmeres. A 
 class of women sprang up whose bold and flaunting 
 type was reproduced on the stage in the "Filles 
 de Marbre." 
 
 Bicke was one of the appellations bestowed on 
 them, to which their present title of cocotte has 
 succeeded. Alexander Dumas jils first poetized this 
 class of prostitutes in his "Dame aux Camelias;" 
 since which inimitable piece dramatic authors have 
 made their favorite subject for the stage, and there- 
 by realizing immense fortunes, inasmuch as they 
 thus pander to the taste of the day. Victorien 
 Sardou, in his " Famille Benoiton," continued the 
 line Alexander Dumas jils inaugurated, and by his 
 satire of the extravagant and tasteless costumes of 
 the heroines of his pieces, attracted women belong- 
 ing to the upper ten thousand of Paris society, who 
 not only applauded his picture of life, which nata- 
 rallj^ excited their jealousy and curiosity, but in 
 their own dress imitated these queens of prostitu- 
 tion. 
 
 In former days, women of rank gave the tone and 
 dictated fashion to society. Within the past ten 
 years their role has changed, and stepping down 
 from their high estate, they copy the dress, imitate 
 the manners, and vie in the reckless extravagance 
 of their rivals of the demi-monde; gradually, but 
 surely plunging deep in debt. Their husbands' 
 money cannot last; they sink to a position perhaps 
 socially, but not morally, superior to the cocottes of 
 the Quartier Breda. Sketched to the following 
 illustration is this feature of Parisian society, drawn 
 
26 LE DEMI-MONDE. 
 
 by the able pen of Ivan de Wcstjne, who thus re- 
 lates the following story of a young married woman 
 launched on the shallow seas of fashionable life 
 in Paris :— 
 
 Her husband is liberal ; his income is four thous- 
 and a year, and he allows her six hundred pin- 
 money. The tremendous expense of the toilettes 
 worn in society excites her ambition ; her ju2:)e 
 trains must be as long; her point (VAlencon tunics 
 exquisite; her diamond aigrettes of as pure water 
 as are those of her friends. At the end of the first 
 season she is in debt ; but she frankly confesses 
 her difficulty, and her husband pays. They go to 
 Trouville. Three toilettes a day are then indispen- 
 sable. She must dress as well as the Marquise de 
 
 , or the Countess C , or she will no 
 
 longer briller. By Kew Year's Day, the young wife 
 finds she has a second time outspent her allowance; 
 but again the husband pays. In a few months the 
 scene is reenacted; but this time it is serious. lie 
 signs a check, but in a decided manner tells her 
 that this state of things must come to an end. Pie 
 has three times paid exorbitant bills; he will not do 
 so again; and now commences the drama. 
 
 The w^orld and its inexorable exigences claim 
 her for its own. Madame must appear everywhere 
 and in every salon^ if not outshine, at least equal in 
 splendour and variety the toilets of her rivals. 
 She is admired, but as yet she is honest. The fatal 
 ]^ew Year returns ; bills pour in ; she knows not 
 where to turn for help ; her creditors claim their 
 money, and for the first time in her young life she 
 is addressed in a tone of insolence. At this crisis 
 a visitor is announced. It proves to be a certain 
 marquise, a woman of authentic rank — a beauty of 
 some twenty seasons back — to be met with in the 
 most exclusive salons — whose true name ought to 
 be Proxinete. She is perhaps fifty, admirably pre- 
 served, excessively agreeable, and acquainted to 
 
LE DEMI-MOXDE. 27 
 
 a franc with tlie fortune of every man in Paris — as 
 well as of the exact amount every young woman of 
 the world owes her dressmaker. Her husband is 
 -sick and tired of society; she goes out alone. You 
 meet her at official dinners and at jpetits soupers, and 
 her name constantly appears as patroness of charity 
 balls. At the doors of fashionable chapels, she 
 may often be seen in sumptuous apparel, in spite 
 of her narrow income, acting as queiease. ISrote 
 that the precise amount dropped by good souls into 
 her crimson velvet bag can never be tested. Suffice 
 it that she sends in next morning her collection to 
 31. le Cure. Her rank is undoubted ; but then she 
 is poor, and is it not fair that she should share with 
 other poor the result of her devotion ? 
 
 The Proxinete has timed her visit well. She is 
 in tears ; her young friend, herself in difficulty, all 
 the more ready to sympathize. " What can I do 
 for you?" "Much," replies the wily Marquise; 
 " my husband's promotion depends on a good word 
 from M , the banker. I cannot go alone to in- 
 tercede with M. le Ministre. A word from you will 
 suffice. Pray accompany me. What harm can it 
 do 3^ou ? " 
 
 The young woman is amiable, and glad to es- 
 cape for an hour from her own cares, assents. The 
 thoughts of her debts now keep her awake at 
 night. She reflects. She has repeated her visit, 
 
 and found M so kind; he has even talked 
 
 to her about money, and how gladly he would lend 
 a mere trifle — a couple of thousand — to the flrst 
 who asked him. Two thousand pounds! It would 
 more than clear her debts ; and then she would 
 persuade her husband to take her to the country, 
 and never again run up a bill. Two thousand 
 pounds to be had for asking ! 
 
 But morning comes, and the young wife hesi- 
 tates and shrinks. An impatient creditor — sent 
 probably by the Marquise — is announced. He 
 
28 LE DEMI-MONDE. 
 
 threatens to send the bill to her husband. This 
 decides her. She dresses — she makes herself 
 beautifuL As she crosses her dining-room, she 
 swallows a glass of liqueur ; with a swimming head 
 she quits her hotel and jumps into a cab. Arrived 
 at M And where now are her vis- 
 ions of retiring to the country. M insists 
 
 on meeting her in the world, and therefore she 
 must dress with more splendour than before. 
 Seamstresses are no longer her only creditors ; the 
 Marquise is insatiable • her ladies' maid, now her 
 confidente^ is rapacious. She must pay w^ithout hes- 
 itation ; she must lie without scruple. The two 
 thousand vanishes. Her life is a torture. She re- 
 solves to put an end to it, and persuades her hus- 
 band to take her to the country. 
 
 But a week has not elapsed ere the village post- 
 office is deluged by letters for Madame, poste res- 
 tante. Each letter contains an imperative command 
 from M , the banker. He insists on her re- 
 turn; he requires her presence. His wretched 
 victim invents a history about a sick friend, or a 
 country aunt suddenly arrived in Paris, and she 
 starts. The hated banker awaits her at the first 
 station. He can no longer permit the presence of 
 her husband, and insists on his absence. It be- 
 comes her task to induce him to shoot in Algeria, 
 or fish in Norway. The young wife, alone writh- 
 ing under the yoke she has voluntarily assumed, 
 meets a younger and more attractive admirer— but 
 he is poor. The menage counted three — husband, 
 wife, and paying lover; to these is now added the 
 paid admirer. 
 
 Meanwhile, debts accumulate with frightful ra- 
 pidity. She finds another banker; then a third. 
 The number of her male visitors increases, and in 
 exact proportion diminishes that of her female 
 friends. Her story is now a secret only to her 
 husband. Certain salons are closed to her. At 
 
LE DEMI-MONDE. 29 
 
 last the fatal hour arrives, and her husband's eyes 
 are opened. 
 
 But there exists another and more criminal 
 phase of social life. The results of these unconju- 
 gal unions mast be done away with. Delpeche 
 and her three associates of Mantauban have repre- 
 sentatives in Paris, who, for a hundred guineas, 
 will blot out as manj^ existences as may prove in- 
 convenient mementos of the past. 
 
 Carious details are given of the man milliner, 
 whose tea parties to ambassadresses and duchesses 
 have already been spoken of. One anecdote of 
 that gentleman is worth giving. A duchess, whose 
 cards were out for a ball, went to him and im- 
 plored him to invent a perfectly new costume for 
 her. He consented; and stipulated, moreover, 
 that the "creation" (the term is correct) should 
 be supplied gratis on the receipt of an invitation 
 for his wife. That personage appeared at the 
 Duchess' ball, and, it is said, was dressed in better 
 taste than her husband's customers. As specimens 
 of his bills, two are given; the sum total of one is 
 £12,520. This has been settled; and, oh ! mirabile 
 cUctu, by the lady's husband. Another of £26,000, 
 to be paid by an admirer is yet due. This sketch, 
 loathsome though it be, is not exaggerated. It is 
 a photograph of Paris life, in the saloyis of the 
 great world, amongst the results of this state of 
 society, in the " upper ten thousand," — suicides 
 and imprisonments may be quoted. 
 
 It is but a few weeks since all Paris rang with 
 the story of an officer, quartered in the Imperial 
 barracks, who in presence of his mistress, the Mar- 
 quise de F , put an end to his life. To gratify 
 
 her taste for diamonds and laces this wretched 
 man had taken money committed to his charge for 
 regimental purposes. The Marquise had given 
 her word that she merely accepted the money as a 
 loan, and would repay him on such a day and at 
 
1 
 
 30 LE DEMI-MONDE. 
 
 sucli an hour. On a Sunday, tlie guilty couple 
 met at the Church of St. Sulpice ; there she quiet- 
 ly informed her lover that her banker had refused 
 to advance her the borrowed mone}^ Her lover 
 induced her to accompany him to his barrack 
 room. Here, after an hour, it is supposed, of ten- 
 der interview, the man ruined in honor, and bank- 
 rupt in fortune, blew out his brains. 
 
 But a fortnight elapsed, when this tragedy was 
 succeeded by another scandal. Two ladies of 
 highl}^ respectable position, received in the great 
 world, and of considerable personal attractions, 
 were detected in the act of stealing a piece of val- 
 uable lace in a shop, and were fully committed for 
 trial, and are now awaiting their sentence. But 
 enough of the grafid-monde, to which we have mere- 
 ly alluded, to convey a correct idea of the immense 
 influence which the demi-monde has of late acquired 
 in this capital. 
 
 The demi-monde consist, as I have before stated, 
 of cocoites. Their protectors, in Paris slang, are 
 called cocodes. These are usually y?^.§ de famille ; 
 young aristocrats with well-filled purses, empty 
 brains, and egregious vanit3^ Among them are 
 Kussian princes, English dukes, and American 
 millionaires, who have come to Paris to see life, 
 spend money, and ruin themselves in the shortest 
 possible time. The cocotte is an animal ever ready 
 for a new victim ; sacrificing everything and every 
 body in her lust for gold; her thirst is intolerable. 
 To quench it, Chateau-Lafitte, champagne, and 
 cognac, do not sufiice ; absinthe alone keeps up 
 the nervous excitement her life necessitates. 
 
 On becoming a member of the demi-monde^ she 
 drops her family name and is christened anew. 
 Thus we have now flourishing in Paris the golden 
 haired Cora Pearl, the dark-eyed Fleur-de-Kob- 
 lesse, the graceful and witty Blimche d'Antigny, 
 and scores of Mesdemoiselles Georgette, Rosalind, 
 
LE demi-mo:tde. 31 
 
 &c., whose true names are utterly sunk in their 
 newly-acquired patronymic. ^o\v if cocoite has 
 plaj^ed her cards well, she has secured a wealthy 
 banker, of a certain ao;e, as a lover en titre, on whom 
 she mercilessly sepeculates for the benefit of her 
 younger and more agreeable adorer. She may be 
 seen every afternoon during the winter, between 
 three and four, comfortably ensconced in her 
 brougham, of which the chocolate satin lining ad- 
 mirably becomes her complexion, which thanks to 
 unlimited poudre de riz and/a?Y^ a la Ninon de V Eii- 
 cloSy is of a rose and white which defies nature it- 
 self to rival. In summer the cocotte requires air, 
 and, moreover, her trailing silks, her jjoint d' Alen- 
 qon, her plumed hat, her coral mounted parasol, 
 must be seen to be enjoyed ; she therefore, with 
 her sister dames da lac^ reclines in a basket car- 
 riage, drawn by thoroughbred ponies, and driven 
 by a tiny postilion, whose velvet jacket fits as per- 
 fectly as his mistress' faultless satin boot. 
 
 Slowlj^ she drives round the mimic lake, and per- 
 haps in passing a group of young exquisites you 
 may hear a few words exchanged — " a ce soif^ — 
 from behind the moustache a la capoul of some 
 boobj^-faced idiot, who believes the entree to her 
 boudoirs a privilege bestowed, as an involuntary 
 homage to his own superlative merits, instead of 
 its being a tribute to his reputation for being easily 
 befooled out of his hereditary entail. 
 
 Her apartment furnished by the upholsterer who 
 decorated the sumptuous hotel of her antique but 
 wealthy lover, is tapisse with black satin embossed 
 by tufts of colored silks. Rose silk curtains, veiled 
 with white lace, cast a delicate light on her com- 
 plexion; whilst her draperies are thrown out in 
 strong relief by the sable hue she has selected for 
 her furniture. Her dinner parties are composed 
 of the elite of the male world. An immense sheet 
 of plate glass separates her dining room from the 
 
32 LE DEMI-MONDE. 
 
 first salon; thus the two apartments appear to 
 form one vast salle^ illuminated by the soft light of 
 eighteen or twenty rose-shaded lamps, for, needless 
 to remark, a cocotte of the class of wdiich I am now 
 writing, would never permit a jet of gas to strike a 
 harsh glare on her ^vhitened shoulders or peach- 
 hke cheek. Cocotte gives two, if not three, balls 
 during the season ; announcing her intention so to 
 do in the Figaro and sometimes in the Gaulois. 
 To these she invites her sister dames du lac, who 
 will arrive escorted by their respective trains of ti- 
 tled adorers, literary admirers, and real lovers. 
 
 At these balls you must not expect, if you are 
 sufficiently rich to have secured the good graces 
 of one of the envites, to see the cancan. A certain 
 decorum will surprise the uninitiated ; the list of 
 dances will comprise the cotillon, redowa, mazur- 
 ka, and lancers, which will be executed without 
 the gymnastic eccentricities which I shall attempt 
 to describe in their appropriate place. The sup- 
 per, usually served at two, and which lasts until 
 six or seven, is of the most sumptuous description. 
 Perdreaiix truffes, cailles au gratin, boudins a la Rich- 
 elieu, sole aiix crevettes, are the least of the delicacies 
 which cover the flower decorated table ; while 
 champagne, Moet, Cliquot, Bouzy rouge, Chateau 
 Laffitte, Pomard, &c., flow in sparkling, foaming 
 torrents, from silver-capped bottles, into gilt and 
 richly colored glasses, quaffed while one of the 
 guests sings some favorite song, in the refrain of 
 which, the voices of all the gay and jovial com- 
 pany join, with an en train peculiar to orgies such 
 as these. 
 
 But it is seven in the morning; the sun streams 
 in on withered flowers, smashed glass, broken fans, 
 torn lace, and faded rouge encircling sunken eyes. 
 The fast company, after a final toast to their host- 
 ess, disperse to meet the following day at the race- 
 course of Longchamps, or in the evening at a first 
 
LE DEMI-MONDE. 33 
 
 representation of Sardou's or Alexander Dumas' 
 last piece, where, in a baignoire, at the Palais-Royal, 
 the Yarietes, the Lyriqiie, or at the Italiens and the 
 Grand-Opera, Cocotte, behind the discreetly shad- 
 ing curtain of her loge, endures the company of her 
 venerable protector, and in his temporary absence, 
 welcomes the circle of her younger and more fav- 
 ored admirers. The Theatre Fran9ais, the Odeon, 
 the Opera-Comique, the Chatelet, the Gaite, the 
 Porte-St.-Martin, and the Ambigu, are only consid- 
 ered chic, on nights of first representations. 
 
 And now, reader, it may interest you to know 
 the exact cost of one of these iirst-class cocottes. 
 Twelve thousand a year reads a startling figure, 
 until you reflect that the least expensive dress of 
 Mile. Cora Pearl costs twenty guineas, her mante- 
 lets of jmntde Venice two hundred pounds, that her 
 robe de ehamhre is trimmed with three hundred and 
 fifty guinea 'point d'Alengon, her cambric sheets 
 with Valenciennes, each pair of which cost from 
 eighty to one hundred pounds, her laundress' bill 
 annually amounting to four hundred pounds, her 
 boot-maker's to three hundred, to which add as 
 much for bonnets, ten francs a day for perfumery, 
 to say nothing of the expenses often horses in her 
 stables, and seven or eight carriages in her coach 
 houses. 
 
 You will understand that twelve thousand 
 pounds is the smallest sum she can get through 
 during her winter and spring in Paris, and her 
 summer and autumn at Baden, Hombourg, or 
 Monaco. In this expenditure we do not include 
 her diamonds, the value of which amounts to 
 twenty thousand guineas. Du resie, in January, 
 1869, an ex-Queen sold a celebrated diamond neck- 
 lace of historic interest, and known amongst the 
 crown jewels as the neck-lace of the cross, (because 
 the central ornament was a fragment of the true 
 cross,) to a queen of the Paris demi-monde for twenty- 
 
84 ^ LE DEMI-MONDE. 
 
 four thousand pounds ; and it is equally a patent 
 fact that Cora Pearl's stables contain from ten to 
 fifteen of the most splendid thoroughbreds in this 
 capital. They are groomed and attended by Eng- 
 lish servants, whose wages would be considered as 
 wealth to many a gallant officer or literar yman. 
 
 It is noteworthy to remark that a certain spirit 
 of providence and thrift in the manner of expendi- 
 ture has crept into the upper circles of the cocotte. 
 
 Madame le C , a well-known biche, acquired 
 
 a fortune of eight millions of francs, and is now se- 
 riously contemplating matrimony. A celebrated 
 English cocotte who started in life as the favorite of 
 a skittle court in one of the back slums of Liver- 
 pool, has laid by a sum which she placed in the 
 English funds, and which brings her in a yearly in- 
 come of two thousand pounds per annum, which to 
 judge of her continued popularity, is rapidly in- 
 creasing. A great majority, however, of these co- 
 cottes become victims to their life of constant excite- 
 ment, and die of consumption, as did, in 1847, the 
 celebrated Marie Duplessis, immortalized by Alex- 
 ander Dumas, in "La Dame aux Camellias," and 
 in Verdi's exquisite opera " La Traviata," a gratu- 
 itous performance of the celebrated fifth act of 
 which was affi)rded to the Parisiennes, in the Bois 
 de Boulogne, by one of the prima donnas of the 
 demi monde. 
 
 Nini, or " Bee de Lievre," as her second nick- 
 name stood, was one of the most noted among 
 these luxurious women of gay life, who roll around 
 the allies of the Bois de Boulogne in equipages of 
 amazing splendour, and toilettes of extravagant 
 cost, the contributions of their various fashionable 
 lovers. These '' Ladies of the Lake " outdo the 
 proudest families in France in their ostentatious 
 exhibition of silks, jewels, and all that wealth can 
 furnish ; they set the fashions, they occupy the front 
 places at fetes and races, and the " golden youth " 
 
LE DEMI-MONDE. 35 
 
 of Paris pistol or stab one another to death for 
 their smiles, in what are called " meetings of hon- 
 or," by the same irony which styles these flaunt- 
 ing women " Ladies of the half world." 
 
 Mademoiselle Nini was a conspicuous member 
 of this Parisian sisterhood; with robes more expen- 
 sive, carriages more showy, footmen and outriders 
 bigger and brighter, and jewels more astounding 
 than most of the others who air their successes at 
 the Bois. We are told, in tones of mingled admi- 
 ration and envy, that she had never less than a 
 dozen thoroughbreds in the stables of her hotel — 
 and thoroughbreds alone mean francs by the ten 
 thousand, with "lovers " manj^ rich, plentiful, and 
 generous. Mademoiselle Nini, therefore, virtue 
 and all C02:nate matters beino- left out of tlie calcu- 
 lation, was m the opinion of fashionable Paris, 
 much to be envied. Death was the impressario 
 that engaged Mile, ^ini, otherwise "Bee de Lie- 
 vre," to play the last scene of " La Traviata " in 
 public. You can buy and sell most things in Paris 
 for money, — including honour, patriotism, youth, 
 beauty, and good name ; but life is sold at no fancy 
 bazaar, either here or there. It is the Divine gift 
 to waste or use, and Mile, Nini had wasted hers. 
 She fell ill, and her physician, with many compli- 
 ments and apologies, intimated that she was going 
 to die of decline. " Die of decline!" with a dozen 
 th(;rougbreds in her stable, and as many less noble 
 animals of the biped king fighting for the proud 
 privilege of paying her bills. Mile. Mni could not 
 believe it; at two and twenty, with such a past and 
 present as her's — the future was at the moment im- 
 possible! Positively she could not die ; she declined 
 to entertain the idea. Besides, to be an invalid, 
 was to acknowledge her occupation gone — to for- 
 feit her thoroughbreds, her jewels, and her hotel; 
 and this were death indeed. So making the hectic 
 flush serve for rouge, and muffling her death cough 
 
36 I^E DEMI-MONDE. 
 
 in Silsicemoiichoir, she drove out daily to " the Lake/' 
 and held her court there among the other Queens 
 of Misrule. 
 
 Some of the men who had bought the right to 
 make her die this daily death — in order not to die — 
 called to drive out in the Bois with her. She got 
 as far as the Porte Mailot ; — a Traviata without 
 the singing; a Traviata in unconscious dramatic 
 earnestness ; a Traviata on the point of having done 
 for ever with " broad ways" and "narrow wa3^s^' 
 alike. At the gate she muffled the death cough 
 too closely, and the vessels of the lungs suddenly 
 ruptured ; the blood burst over her lips — poor little 
 *'Bec de Lievre !" — and she fainted. They turned 
 the "splendid steppers" together home to die; 
 but Paris had the claim ; and, it may be added, the 
 need, for the complete spectacle. Her blood bubbled 
 through the lace fringe and over her splendid rai- 
 ment ! A last cough choked her, and they drove 
 home a dead woman through the frightened ranks 
 of the " Ladies of the Lake," and lifted from the 
 barouche a ghastly stained corpse. Perhaps the 
 comment of the Parisian critic may now appear 
 more natural : — " Cette agonie en plein air manquait 
 de gaiti " — " This death struggle in the open road 
 was not very amusing." No ! and the heaven that 
 governs life and death, that deals with men and 
 nations according to their deeds, did not decree 
 that awful agony in order to amuse Paris. Gilded 
 vice and jewelled wantonness have the stage on most 
 days; but that "one representation only" Death 
 " commanded !" It summoned forth " La Traviata," 
 that Parisiennes might see her as she actually does 
 die, without music or gaslights, and the gandins 
 and the cocottes have one good chance of bethinking 
 themselves that, in a deeper sense than the merely 
 physical one, " The end of these things is death !" 
 
 The second class of cocottes is far more numer- 
 ous than the chosen few who have obtained the 
 
LE DEMI-MONDE. 37 
 
 pre-eminence which a casket of diamonds, and a 
 box at the theatre confers upon those who have 
 reached this dizzy height. Their name is legion. 
 They may be met on the Boulevards from nine in 
 the evening till twelve at night. Their deep sunken 
 eyes are encircled by dark lines which tell the life 
 of alternate hunger and feasting which they lead. 
 Tlieir cheeks are evidently pale beneath the roage 
 and pouche a la marechale, with which they are so 
 artistically painted. Their dress is more showy 
 than that of their more wealthy sisters, although 
 some amongst them have adopted black as their 
 peculiar color, in which case they have not been 
 inaptly named sangsue^ that is leeches. Crevetie 
 is the special designation of those who sport the 
 newly-invented short costume, first discovered by 
 an Ambassadress, whilst balayeuses is the 2^<-'^iroinniic 
 given by the people to the cocotte whose trailing 
 skrits sweep the bitumen of the Boulevards. 
 
 They are one and all blondes, but of various 
 shades of that now fashionable tint. Thus we have 
 Uonde fulvide, decidedly carroty; flavesient, straw 
 color, or slightly sulphureous ; fulvastre, or lion's 
 mane; rubide, mahogany-brown, often painted by 
 Raphael; and Maryland, a term applying not only 
 to the tint of the hair, which is that of dried tobac- 
 co, but likewise to the manner of its dressing, 
 which, when perfect, must be rough and dishevelled, 
 in fact resembling the dried and cut tobacco. The 
 brilliant complexion, which, at night, rivals the 
 most exquisite peach, is produced by jpoudre a la 
 mar echale, with which the face, neck, shoulders, and 
 arms are carefully dusted. Fa7xi a la Ninon de V 
 Enclos is then laid on the cheek, the eyebrows are 
 drawn by the finest camel's hair brush dipped in a 
 solution of sepia, whilst the nostrils and lips are 
 touched by carmine, amalgamated with j)ommade 
 a la concombre. 
 
 The preparation of the nails is a slow process. 
 
88 LE DEMI-MONDE. 
 
 To accomplish it a set of ivory instruments is re- 
 quired. A white powder is brushed on, after which 
 carmine is carefully rubbed in with an ivory pol- 
 isher. This process properly performed gives the 
 nails the roseate tint and poUsh observable inside 
 the shell of a cameo. The weight of the chignon, 
 plaits, and curls now worn is on an average two 
 pounds and a quarter, or one kilo. 
 
 This immense quantity of hair will foreement go 
 out of fashion inasmuch as that of European wom- 
 en is bought up. The peasants of France and 
 Germany have shaved to supply the market. The 
 convents have sold the produce of their nuns' 
 heads, and the gutters are even now being searched 
 every morning for the hair which is combed away 
 during the ordinary process of a woman's toilet 
 There remain but the city sewers. Cocoites, and 
 grandes dames must fain be satisfied with that with 
 which nature has supplied them. 
 
 Having initiated the reader into some of the 
 processes by which he will be entrapped into the 
 conviction that a discharged washerwoman's ap 
 prentice, or a milliner's girl, is an angel endowed 
 with every mental and bodil}^ perfection, we will 
 suppose cocodes, for such is the appellation he 
 earns the moment he constitutes himself the pro- 
 tector of one of these beauties of the night, to be 
 a recently arrived stranger, with a well-filled purse, 
 and intent on a lark. He sips his coffee at one of 
 the tables outside the Cafe de la Paix. A fair one 
 passes by, and, he has caught a glance which he 
 rightly interprets into — "Follow me." He pays 
 his score, and presently joins her of the melting 
 glance and ruby lips. 
 
 If cocodes belongs to the crime de la creyne, he 
 will by no means entertain his biche in a public 
 salle; he will secure a cabinet pariiculier or private 
 room, of which several are attached to all first 
 class establishments. The furniture of those sane- 
 
LE DEMI-MONDE. S9 
 
 turns is not extensive — crimson velvet sofas, a 
 couple of arm-chairs of luxurious dimensions, and 
 a table, usually constitute the upholstery work 
 therein contained. 
 
 A slang known in thedemi-monde as Javanese was 
 
 first introduced by an actress, Madame Oc : 
 
 Adolph Adam composed for her the words and 
 music of a song, in which a conversation in this 
 argot (slang) is held between a cocotte and the mas- 
 ter of a restaurant. But were we to attempt to ini- 
 tiate the reader into the ordinary language used 
 by Ifesdames les cocottes, this chapter would extend 
 to the length of a volume. One or two examples 
 will suffice. To express the idea that one of the 
 sisterhood is admired, the locution, borrowed from 
 the language of the Bourse, is : such a one fait 
 j)rim.e. To ask their cocodes to pay the next term, 
 the phrase is : Ma liquidation Jia mois sera loiirde. 
 
 In Javanese, then biche, if she be at Bonnefoy's, 
 will have ordered cailles au gratin to be washed 
 down by the Graii Larose, for which that house is 
 celebrated. If at the Cafe Riche, soul aux crevettes, 
 boudi^i a la Hichelieu, or cotelettes a la sauce^ for which 
 that restaurant has alone the receipt. It is neither 
 sauce Robert nor sauce a la Bechamel, nor sauce sal- 
 mis, it is simply sauce du Cafe Riche, worthy of 
 the gods, although it is greatly to be questioned if 
 the Chef of Mount Parnassus ever hit upon so de- 
 licious a compound wherewith to feast his Olympi- 
 an masters. The bouzy rouge at the Cafe Riche is 
 worthy of the sauce. At Bignon's, in the matter 
 of wine, biche cannot be wrong. The Chateau 
 Lafitte, the Branne Mouton, are wonderful; there 
 is a Saint Peray, a Chateau Margaux, a Saint 
 Emilion, and a Romanee, such as are rarely to be 
 met with in any cellars, to say nothing of the Po- 
 mards, the Champagnes, &c. Bignon has never 
 less than eight thousand pounds worth of wine in his 
 cellars. The Maison Doree is evidently most expen- 
 
40 LE DEMI-MONDE. 
 
 sive, but we venture to assert the house where the 
 supper will be the most perfect and the champagne 
 the best in Europe. The Brothers Yerdier have 
 the speciality of Yeuve Cliquot^ so difficult to obtain 
 genuine in Paris. The most undeniable Bouilled 
 Baisse in Paris is to be found at the Maison Doree. 
 If Cocodes desire Chablis, he must drive as far as 
 the Arc de Triomphe^ where at the Restaurant 
 Mongrol, kept by M. Orry, he will find a Chablis 
 that he will with difficulty equal in any cellar in 
 Europe. 
 
 Supper over, and, we will suppose, washed down 
 by copious libations of some of the delicious vin- 
 tages above cited, biche will suddenly remark the 
 mantel-piece adorned by a variety of ornaments, 
 mere glittering nothings, classed by the trade as 
 articles de Paris, which serve no purpose of life, 
 but that of emptying fools' purses. Amongst this 
 variety, there is most probably a fan. " My little 
 love," sighs out Cocotte, "Heloise has one exactly 
 similar, Cora also, I alone have not," &c. Remark, 
 the special moment selected for this appeal, is pre- 
 cisely that when no man could refuse a petition 
 proffered by cherry lips and melting glances ; he 
 protests that it will be a pleasure to ofi:*er any little 
 souvenir of the delicious hour he has passed in her 
 society; which pleasure he is unpleasantly remind- 
 ed of, when an hour later his account is handed to 
 him. Supper for two, sixty francs ; fan, forty 
 francs. Biche will not carry off her fan that day ; 
 she will call for it another time. Accordingly on 
 the morrow, she returns, and claims from the wait- 
 er tvyenty-five francs of the forty her cocodes of the 
 previous day had paid for the souvenir of the delicious 
 hour, ^c. 
 
 Before the week has elasped hiche will re-appear 
 at the same cafe, escorted by another protector, 
 perhaps the eldest son of a British peer, a Russian 
 Prince, or an elderly French financier. She will 
 
LE DEMI-MONDE. 41 
 
 try the fan trick again ; she may fail and some- 
 times does, for after all there are degrees of green- 
 ness, and men are to be found who are not to be 
 altogether entrapped. In the latter case, as she and 
 her Amphitryon quit the restaurant, its master will 
 slip into her hand a bon for a single dinner gratis, 
 which she will avail herself of on a night when her 
 locks a la Mar i/land have failed to catch a gudgeon, 
 Cocodes, indeed, may think himself fortunate if the 
 fan be the only article added to his bill. JBiche has 
 perhaps been driving about Paris all day, and when 
 she passed the Cafe de la Paix, left her cab at the 
 corner of Rue Scribe; in this case she will have 
 ordered the gargon in Javanais to pay for it. I^ow, 
 as cocodes flatters himself that he understands 
 French, great will be his disappointment to hear 
 biche o^iveher orders in a Ian2:aa2:e of which he can- 
 not comprehend one syllable. If you enquire 
 the origin of this new variety of slang, we can 
 give but one reply. The eternal desire of empty- 
 headed fools to have a lauHi between themselves 
 at the uninitiated, and the advantage to them of 
 conversing to each other without being understood, 
 Biche' s orders have been promptly executed, the 
 cab has been paid, perhaps six hours at three francs 
 an hour, this will be the first item in the addition. 
 The following is a correct copy of an addition, of 
 which the original was presented to the Amphitryon 
 of a celebrated syren of the Boulevard. 
 
 Trois henres de voiture, (cab 3 hours) ... 9 francs. 
 
 Deux paires de gants (two prs. gloves). . 10 — 
 
 fiventail (fan) 35 — 
 
 Casse line glace (breaking mirror) 3 — 
 
 Boite de cigarettes (box cigarettes) 2 — 
 
 Poudre a la Marechale 5 — 
 
 Total 64 francs. 
 
 Let US suppose this modest little bill paid, and 
 eleven o'clock struck. 'Tis the hour for Mabille, 
 the Casino, the Valentino, the Closerie de Lilas. In 
 
42 LE D SMI-MONDE. 
 
 another chapter, the reader will find under the 
 head of each of the names of these celehrated 
 places of entertainment, their separate idiosyn- 
 cracies. Our present ohject is to accompany Cocodes 
 and Biche, in order to put our readers up to some 
 of the dodges by which the genus cocotte, consider- 
 ably lighten the purses of their -v^erdant protectors. 
 A cab is called for — ''A Mabille" is the order 
 given. 
 
 A more beautiful drive cannot be imagined than 
 that which our friends will take, supposing they 
 have patronized the cafes we have alluded to along 
 the Boulevards, brilliant with the light streaming 
 from the many club-rooms (cercles), cafes and shops 
 which line those spacious thorougfares, to the left, 
 by the stately Rue Royale, across the magnificent 
 Place de la Concorde, past the bronze fountains, 
 whose splashing waters silvered by the sheen of 
 moonbeams, appear to shower pearls on the clear 
 air of summer night, past the white marble horses 
 of Marly, along the chesnut-bordered Champs- 
 Elysees, at that hour instinct with life and gay with 
 the sound of music and dancing, issuing from the 
 cafes chantants, and on to the gaily-illumined portal 
 of the world-renowned Mabille. 
 
 It is a fete night ; Cocodes pays five francs for 
 his own ticket, and two for that of his companion. 
 IsTear the entrance, stands arrayed in a faultless 
 costume, an Isabella — not the Isabella of the Jock- 
 ey Club, nor yet Mile, la Ferine, but one of their 
 numerous representatives. " Buy a boquet for 
 Madame" is immediately addressed to Cocodes. 
 Obedient to a glance from the sepia-tinted eye- 
 lashes, he pays ten francs for a mass of white lilacs, 
 or perhaps roses. Fair one hardly deigns to utter 
 a merci for what she considers her due, drops the 
 arm of her escort, and telling him he must not 
 compromise her there, desires him to take two or 
 three turns of the ball-room, and she will rejoin 
 
LE DEMI-MONDE. 43 
 
 him soon. Biclie watches till he is out of sight, 
 quickly returns to the bouquefiere, and, giving back 
 the recently-acquired bouquet, receives from her 
 one half the sum her adorer five minutes before 
 had paid for it ; thus acquiring five frances in as 
 many minutes. 
 
 It was the boast of a well-known daiiseuse of 
 Mabille that in one evening she had the same bou- 
 puet purchased for her eighteen times — which she 
 consequeutly resold as often — to say notliing of 
 having had the same orange bought for her twen- 
 ty-three times, and by her as often resold, and 
 eleven times the same fan. Cocodes, meanwhile, 
 wanders amidst the crowd, and presentlj^ attrac- 
 ted by the fiery glance of two syrens enjoying ices, 
 he approaches, and, entering into conversation, ac- 
 cepts a proffered seat; his jeux cle mots are evi- 
 dently appreciated, and judging by the approba- 
 tory glances of his new acquaintances, he discovers 
 that he is a wit of the first class. One of his com- 
 panions rises and joins a group of revellers ; he is 
 alone with her friend, but intimates to her that 
 their acquaintance cannot go further. She pres- 
 ently follows the example of her companion, rises, 
 and beckoning to the garcon, points out Cocodes. 
 He has the pleasure of paying the fifteen francs 
 Mesdemoiselles Juliette and Georgiette have con- 
 sommi. 
 
 The next morning Cocodes awakes to find him- 
 self in a luxurious chamber, half bed-room, half 
 salon; for, needless to inform the reader, Biche 
 had returned in time to induce him to accom2:>any 
 her to her entresol in the Quartier Breda. The 
 sound of voices, as it were disputing in the ante- 
 room, breaks on his ear. Biche vv^as sleeping. A 
 maid entered on tiptoe, and gently arousing her 
 mistress, whispered, " It's the concierge asking for 
 the rent, madame." " Send him away," he hears 
 her mutter. "Madame, he has come, so often, he 
 
44 LE DEMI-MONDE. 
 
 won't go : he says that he will sell your furniture 
 and turn you into the street. He is insolent, Mad- 
 ame.'' The fair one looks dreadfully distressed, 
 and speaks below her breath, although not suffi- 
 ciently distinct to be heard by her lover. " Heav- 
 ens 1 what am I to do;" she exclaims. The lover, 
 touched by so much delicacy, starts up, seizes his 
 porte-monnaie, inquires the amount due, and most 
 cheerfully pays away several hundred francs. He 
 is green, and has not asked to see the receipt. If 
 he"^ had done so, he would have perceived that it 
 was old and antedated. The same document had 
 served to entrap several of his predecessors, and 
 would probably entrap many more. We will take 
 the case of a young fellow, tired with a hard day 
 of sight-seeing, who enters a fashionable cafe, and 
 perceiving the salon of the rez-de-chausst crowded, 
 asks for a private room, wherein he flatters him- 
 self he will enjoy a cooler atmosphere, and a more 
 tranquil entourage, than amidst the clatter of plates 
 and the din of voices in the general salon. The 
 waiters, with the most obsequious politeness, 
 show him a cabinet particulier. He calls for the 
 carte, and having ordered a dozen huitres cVOstende, 
 a salmis de perdreaiix trusts and a bottle of chablis, 
 he throws himself on the tempting chaise tongue 
 and is about to enter the land of dreams, when the 
 door suddenl}^ opens, and the most beautiful of vis- 
 ions effectually arouses him. 
 
 The rosiest and freshest of sylphs appears with- 
 in the half-closed door, and with the most bewitch- 
 ing grace, her petticoat of striped satin so gathered 
 in her well-gloved hand as to display a perfectly 
 shaped leg, encased in the finest of silk stockings, 
 and an ancle in the neatest of satin boots, she begs 
 the stranger's pardon. *' She had mistaken the 
 door" (not in the least, the gargon in her pay had 
 given her the number) ; " she had intended to 
 join a party of friends, mille pardons.^' By the 
 
LE DEMI-MONDE, 45 
 
 time these phrases are uttered, the stranger who 
 has started from his recumbent position, bethinks 
 himself of his lonely fate, envies the friends, and, 
 encouraged by a melting glance, involuntarily of- 
 fers a chair, and .... orders supper for two. 
 An acquaintance of mine made happy under these 
 circumstances, by the white shoulders and cherry 
 lips of an unexpected visitor, flattered himself that, 
 having paid an exhorbitant addition, he had done 
 with his inamorata, but found himself wonderfully 
 mistaken. Supper over, he naturally must escort 
 her to her home. (A perfumed boudoir, all pink 
 satin and white lace, velvet pile carpets, and gilt 
 furniture, is inviting at two o'clock on a chilly 
 morning.\ 
 
 My friend, who was a banker, accustomed to 
 early hours, awoke betimes, and great was his as- 
 tonishment to find himself alone. Springing from 
 the luxurious duvets beneath which he had slept 
 heavily, he stretched out his hand for his watch. 
 It was gone. Startled, he felt beneath his pillow 
 for his portemonnaie, which had contained eighty 
 pounds, but in vain ; his signet ring was likewise 
 absent, without leave. He called, he shouted, con- 
 vinced that he was merely the dupe of a practical 
 joke, and that presently a merry laugh would echo 
 to his voice ; but silence was the only reply, and 
 at last the unwelcome truth flashed upon him that 
 he was the victim of a practical thief — not flatter- 
 ing to his vanity, but nevertheless true. That 
 afternoon he met a friend, to whom he confided 
 
 his adventure, M. le Comte de C , an old hab- 
 
 itue of the Boulevards. He listened, and then 
 quietly asked him for the name by which his syren 
 had called herself, the cafe at which she had burst 
 in upon his solitary supper, and the address of her 
 apartment. Having noted these details in his dia- 
 ry, he said, " Meet me to-morrow evening at Tor- 
 toni's." My friend was punctual. To his sur- 
 
46 LE DEMI-MONDE. 
 
 prise, M. le Comte handed him his portemonnaie, 
 containing the exact sum he had lost, his watch, 
 ring, &c., and then related how he had been ena- 
 bled to recover the stolen goods. 
 
 M. le Comte had gone to the cafe indicated by 
 his friend ; there discovered the syren of the previ- 
 ous evening. An adept in the facile art of making 
 her acquaintance, he invited her to supper; after 
 which, he anon followed her to her apartment. 
 Once esconced in the lace-curtained alcove, which 
 twenty-four hours before had seduced his predeces- 
 sor by its Sybarite luxury, M. le Comte feigned 
 deep sleep. Hours passed, during which he felt 
 concious that his companion was awake. At dawn 
 of day he heard her strike a light. Softly she crept 
 out of bed, and cautiously passed the light before 
 
 his eyes. But le Comte de M was on his 
 
 guard ; he noted she moved gently across the vel- 
 vet-piled carpet towards the fireplace. He saw her 
 stoop. She turned, rose, and again examined him 
 attentively, once more testing his sleep by so plac- 
 ing her taper that its light suddenly fell on his face. 
 
 Prepared for all eventualities, le Comte de M 
 
 appeared to sleep still more heavily. Evidently 
 satisfied, she grasped his watch, ring, and purse, 
 which he had j)urposely placed on a small table 
 near the bed. He watched her carry them to the 
 fireplace, kneel down, and appeared occupied in 
 concealing his property; but where or how, he 
 could not then make out. This act accomplished 
 to her evident satisfaction, she disappeared through 
 the half-opened door. He allowed two hours to 
 elapse ere he moved. Eight struck by the clock of 
 a neighboring church. It was but natural he 
 should rise and dress; having satisfied himself that 
 the apartment was perfectly vacant, le Comte de 
 
 M commenced an investigation of the fireplace, 
 
 and with the astute intelligence of a Frenchman, 
 presently detected a brick, which though carefully 
 
LE DEMI-MONDE. 47 
 
 replaced, was movable; beneatli it laj Ms own 
 jewels, watch, and rings, those bearing the initials 
 of his friend, together with several watches and 
 other valuables. 
 
 From the same authority, allow me, reader, to 
 initiate you into another dodge, by which you may 
 be entrapped : — 
 
 Mr. — — , on a fine morning of last summer, 
 happened to be strolling through the Tuileries. 
 Attracted by the exquisite beauty of a child, whose 
 saddened expression inspired sympathy, he pur- 
 chased an orange, and oiFered it to the little girl. The 
 child at once accepted the fruit, and said, '' Mam- 
 ma will thank you," pointing to a woman of singular 
 loveliness seated on an opposite bench. My friend, 
 considerably taken aback, at this sudden introduc- 
 tion, approached the Jady with some trepidation, 
 and pleaded an excuse for the liberty he had taken. 
 A conversation had ensued, to put a stop to which 
 the lady rose and quitted the Tuileries. The next 
 morning, following the inevitable law of attractions, 
 
 Mr. found himself at the same spot, at the 
 
 same hour, as on the previous day. The lovely child 
 and the melancholy beauty were there. Needless to 
 pursue in all its details the acquaintance which en- 
 sued; it naturally led to several meetings. The salon 
 of the Grand Hotel was one day the place of rendez- 
 vous. Much to his amazement, Mr. B found 
 
 his lovely friend bathed in tears. Anxious enquir- 
 ies failed at first to elict the cause of so much dis- 
 tress. 
 
 Mr. B , however, insisting, at length drew 
 
 forth from his fair one, the confession that her hus- 
 band had been arrested for debt, that consequently 
 starvation stared her in the face. " Oh, it's not for 
 myself I care, but my adored child;" sobs choked 
 her utterance, while she sank fainting on a neigh- 
 boring sofa in an attitude the grace of which added 
 not a little to the impression already produced on 
 
48 LE DEMI-MONBE. 
 
 the mind of my friend. " But for how much ; if 
 you love me tell m.e the sum." "l!To, no, 'tis too 
 much, 'tis too much !" the lady hysterically sobbed 
 faintly. " But how much ? I must know 1" ''Three 
 thousand francs," she faintly whispered. To draw 
 out his check book and sign a bill for the amount 
 was the work of a minute, although he feared it 
 was too late. She was fainting, more probably dy- 
 ing. The cheque, however, must have been en- 
 dowed with qualities which the medical faculty 
 would gladly be put an couraut of, for, oh, mirabile 
 dictu I the lady suddenly revived, sat up, arranged 
 her dishevelled locks, started to her feet, and, 
 
 making a low courtesy to Mr. B , glided from 
 
 his apartment, never to re-appear. 
 
THE SOCIAL EVIL. 
 
 Punch's advice to persons about to many is 
 don't! a bad advice to my idea, and which our hu- 
 mouristical satirist ought to have applied to vice 
 and dissipation. To any of my readers a la recher- 
 che d'une bonne fortune, that is, those who are out 
 for a lark, and anxious to fathom the mysteries 
 of this vast city, I say don't ! 
 
 Still, if my reader be determined to yield to hia 
 morbid curiosity, I then give him this advice. 
 Avoid the cocottes, the lorettes, and all those suspic- 
 ious, though well-dressed females, who, from nine 
 to one o'clock in the morning, promenade upon 
 the Boulevards, the Passages Jouffroy, the Opera, 
 or the Panoramas, 
 
 Prostitution is openly recognized in this coun- 
 try by Government, which justlj^ considers it as 
 inevitable in great cities, as are sewers. It is looked 
 upon as an unavoidable attendant upon civilized, 
 and, especially, closely packed population. It is, 
 and always will be, like those congenital maladies 
 against which experiments and systems of medi- 
 cine have contended in vain. This explains why 
 the French authorities havino: once admitted that 
 it cannot be eradicated, merelj- strive to limit its 
 ravages as regards the health of the people. This 
 they accomplish by having in every town a certain 
 number of tolerated houses. They are well-built 
 hotels, properly managed and ventilated, and gen- 
 erally situated on the exterior Boulevards. The 
 
50 TEE SOCIAL EVIL. 
 
 shutters, nevertheless, are always closed (as their 
 proprietors are not allowed to show any indication, 
 of their profession), and over the front door is a 
 huge gilt cypher, three or four times larger than 
 the numbers which distinguish respectable houses. 
 
 The diiFerent names given by the people to tol- 
 erated houses are those of bordels, boxons lupanars. 
 The number of girls attached to them, most of 
 whom were formerly milliners, dressmakers, and 
 servants out of work, has decreased from 1,976 in 
 1857 to 1,306 in 1867. 
 
 The head clerk of the Bureau des Moeurs at the 
 Prefecture de Police estimates the number of clan- 
 destine prostitutes in Paris at thirty thousand ! 
 Keader, bear this in mind, thirty thousand women 
 of the worst sort surround you in this metropolis, 
 who successfully defy all the arts of the police to 
 subject them to registration and official control. 
 
 At the Prefecture de Police there exists an of- 
 fice designated le Bureau des 3foeurs. This depart- 
 ment has sole charge of this class. When enter- 
 ing on the vocation they have chosen, or when 
 detected in executing it clandestinely, they are 
 compelled, after a rigid examination into their 
 former life, origin, and condition, to sign a sort 
 of contract, involving submission to a code of 
 rules prescribed for their guidance ; thus they are 
 compelled to place themselves entirely under the 
 supervision and control of the police. 
 
 The name, age, residence, and other particulars 
 of each of these volunteers of vice are registered. 
 Their movements are consequently known. To 
 be inscribed in this mysterious register — entitled 
 *' Police Register of les femmes publiqites," — is by no 
 means easy. Once inscribed, no repentance how- 
 ever siucere, or change of life however radical, can 
 obtain for the Jille \\^ erasure of her name from 
 this code of intamy. Marriage is not accepted as 
 a plea ; and death itself, though urged by surviving 
 
THE SOCIAL EVIL. 51 
 
 relatives, will not prove an argument for the in- 
 fringing of the law upon this point, which is per- 
 emptory and irrevocable. 
 
 An aspirant for inscription is ushered into the 
 presence of a kind and benevolent old man, the 
 Chef de Bureau des Mceurs, who, in a paternal 
 tone, inquires into the motives which induced her 
 to make the application. In eight cases out of 
 ten, dislike of work, craving for adulation, and 
 gluttony, are the reasons assigned, and in but 
 two out of ten, misery and impending starvation. 
 The petitioners for cartes are not only questioned 
 in their antecedents, but hkewise as to their actual 
 circumstances. The moral consequences of the 
 step they are about to take are hiid before them ; 
 the humiliations, insults, and utter infamy to 
 which they will be exposed are detailed, and a last 
 appeal to their usually blunted feelings made be- 
 fore the fatal carte is delivered. Strange instances 
 of natural inborn depravity are daily brought to 
 light. One which occurred a few weeks since is 
 w^orth relating : — 
 
 Struck by the great beauty and self-possessed 
 manner of a young girl, whose complexion of daz- 
 zling brilliance betokened a constitution of iron, 
 the worthy registrar took even greater pains than 
 usual in his endeavours to turn her from the path 
 she wished to enter. He pointed out the disgrace 
 she was preparing for her own later days, and, 
 with the most paternal kindness, urged her, if her 
 education did not admit of any other occupation, 
 to take a situation as a domestic servant. The 
 girl drew herself up to her full height, her eyes 
 Hashed, and, in a tone of the greatest indignation, 
 she exclaimed, " A servant, I ! it's not I would eat 
 of that bread !" 
 
 Ignorance is the prevailing characteristic of 
 this class, not only in Paris, but all over the 
 world. To demonstrate how little education has 
 
52 THE SOCIAL EVIL. 
 
 spread amongst them, the following table will 
 initiate the reader into the number who signed the 
 register well and those who signed it badly; also 
 of those who were unable to sign it at all. Out of 
 4,470 girls born and brought up in Paris — 
 
 Those who could not sign 2,332 
 
 Those who signed badly 1,780 
 
 Those who signed well HO 
 
 Those who possessed no means of proving who 
 
 they were ' iM8 
 
 Total 4,470 
 
 As far as religion goes, these females are usually 
 dependent on the knowledge of the most simple 
 articles of belief. Sometime they are fanatical, 
 and almost always superstitious; which accounts 
 for these women invariably calling in a priest when 
 dying, and receiving, with the utmost confidence, 
 satisfaction, and delight, the rites of the Church. 
 Most of these unfortunate creatures, especially 
 those who inhabit houses frequented by soldiers, 
 have a habit, like privates and sailors, of tattooing 
 themselves on the chest and arms, and even on 
 the legs. Some of these women examined by doc- 
 tors in the hospitals have been seen with as many 
 as thirty portraits of diiferent lovers imprinted on 
 various parts of their body. Strange to record, 
 these figures and inscriptions are rarely, if ever, 
 immodest or indecent. They lead a lazy and in- 
 dolent life, distinguished by lassitude and inert- 
 ness. They are perpetually the prey of an inevi- 
 table craving after those excitements which may 
 tend to recruit their nerves, shattered by the ex- 
 cesses of the preceding night. 
 
 The enlightened and benevolent Parent-Du- 
 chatelet, who took such an interest in this unfortu- 
 nate class, stated that the majorit}' of prostitutes 
 enjoy, curious to say, better health than other 
 women, and that when they succumb, it is not to 
 their calling, nor to venereal disease, but in due 
 time to those maladies which we are all subject to. 
 
THE SOCIAL EVIL. 53 
 
 Sad as the truth may appear, it is a fact that the 
 inhabitants of brothels are, most of them, recruited 
 from amongst the honest, healthiest, and most vig- 
 orous of the female population. As I stated be- 
 fore, they lead an idle life, pass much of their 
 time in the open air, are generally well clothed 
 and well fed, and thus proceed on their career 
 with a capacity of withstanding the attacks of dis- 
 ease, and bearing its results, which the over-worked 
 and ill-fed but honest workwoman cannot com- 
 mand. Duchatelet, the best authority which can 
 be quoted on this sad subject, thus sums up the re- 
 sults of his inquiry concerning the average health 
 of Parisian prostitutes : — 
 
 In spite of the many excesses they indulge in, 
 and of the many causes of disease to which they 
 are liable, their health resists attacks far more 
 surely than does that of women who have children, 
 and who are employed in household service. If 
 attacked by any of the maladies to which the hu- 
 m.an frame is liable they do not appear to suffer 
 more than others. In short, they have iron bodies 
 capable of bearing excesses which would rapidly 
 ruin other females. 
 
 Most become what they were, previous to enter- 
 ing upon their career of vice and dissipation, viz. 
 milliners, servants, seamstresses, washerwomen, 
 street sellers of fruit and vegetables, or oysters. 
 Yery few manage to put by a sum sufficient to as- 
 sure them an independence. Some marry, some 
 live with men, as though they were authorized to 
 do so by M. le Maire. Sad to say, a great number 
 of these outcasts turn into nurses or ladies' maids. 
 They are thus entrusted by mothers with the care 
 of children, and become the attendants and often, 
 perhaps, the confidants of pure young girls just 
 blooming into womanhood, whose moral delicacy 
 they must naturally blunt, and whose ears they 
 cannot but pollute. 
 
54 THE SOCIAL EVIL. 
 
 It is seldom that women who have enlisted in 
 brothels are met on Boulevards or along the streets. 
 Their names as well as the house they live in are 
 transmitted from one friend to another. Gargons 
 de cafi willingly also give information on this sub- 
 ject ; of course these will expect a jwurboire of three 
 or four francs for introducing you into the vicious 
 abodes of this metropolis. 
 
 They seldom rise before ten in the morning ; 
 then take a bath and attend to the other hygienic 
 regulations of the police. At about eleven o'clock 
 they assemble together to have a dejeuner a la four- 
 chette, and then they spend the afternoon in pre- 
 paring their evening toilets, in chatting and smok- 
 ing cigarettes ; some play on the piano ; each es- 
 tablishment possesses one of these instruments. 
 Whenever they venture out they are invariably ac- 
 companied by one of the superintendents of the 
 brothel. They have a copious dinner at half-past 
 -^YQ^ after which they prepare to receive their nu- 
 merous clients. They are much given to perfum- 
 ery, eau de cologne, and other scents ; are fond 
 of painting their faces and lips, and blackening 
 their eyebrows by means of a burnt lucifer match; 
 they call this maqidllage. Most of these girls pass 
 under false names. The following are some of the 
 most popular ones adopted by them : Rousselette, 
 Boulotte, La Courtelle, La Picarde, La Blonde, 
 Belle Cuisse, Belle Jambe Brunette, Mignarde, &c. 
 
 All of these women have lovers of their own, 
 generally selected from the law and medical stu- 
 dents, clerks, or tradesmen ; owing to the intellec- 
 tual superiority of these men over the working 
 classes, they become violently attached to them. 
 The rank and title of dame de maison, that is to say, 
 the keeper of a house of ill fame, is the highest 
 pinnacle of a prostitute's career — the culminating 
 point of her ambition. This, however, is consid- 
 ered a sinecure, which can only be obtained by fe- 
 
THE SOCIAL EVIL. 55 
 
 males who were formerly kept by men of property, 
 and who, havmg accumulated a certain capital, 
 thus establish themselves in the hope of obtaining 
 thereby a livelihood for their declining years. 
 
 There can be but little doubt that many parents 
 countenance their daughters in entering on a life 
 of prostitution, and in many instances almost com- 
 pel them to do so. Of 5,183 women lately regis- 
 tered in Paris, we have — 
 
 164 cases of two sisters ; 
 4 cases of three sisters ; 
 3 cases of four sisters. 
 
 Besides, there were sixteen cases of a mother and 
 daughter, four of an aunt and niece, and twenty- 
 two of first cousins. 
 
 Debauchery recruits its victims in all classes of 
 society. Of this many examples might be given ; 
 two, recorded on the books of police, will suffice : — 
 
 Rosalie J — , educated by religious parents in ex- 
 amples of honor and piety, was at seventeen the 
 loveliest girl that ever painter drew or poet sung; 
 remarkable as was her style of beauty, her friends 
 watched her increasing loveliness without anxiety 
 as to her future, well knowing that the independ- 
 ent position of her parents would secure for her an 
 honorable marriage. Near her father's house, sit- 
 uated in one of the suburbs of Paris, there lived 
 an elderly lady, whom Rosalie was allowed to visit, 
 and who, with the stealthy cunning of a tigress, 
 used every art to render her house attractive to the 
 innocent child. She plied her with sweetmeats 
 and rare fruit, tempted her by novels, and inflamed 
 her imagination by descriptions of a future life of 
 luxury, ease, and enjoyments, of which Rosalie in 
 her simple home had never dreanied. 
 
 As soon as the old eniremetteuse, for such was her 
 true name (of which, it is needless to remark, Ros- 
 alie's parents were utterly ignorant) considered her 
 prey ready for her grasp, she drove her to a sumpt- 
 
66 THE SOCIAL EVIL. 
 
 nous mansion in the Chaussee-d'Antin, wliere the 
 aged Comte de C— — - paid- fifteen hundred francs 
 to the Megera for his first interview, of which the 
 latter handed fifty to his victim. The unfortunate 
 girl, during the ensuing four months, graduated in 
 every stage of debauchery, passing from the arms 
 of one libertine to those of another, and gaining 
 above eight hundred pounds for her keeper, who 
 gave her ten pounds pocket-money a day, and nat- 
 urally paid the expenses of the Chaussee-d'Antin 
 establishment. But seed once sown in the living 
 soul never wholly dies. In the midst of this career 
 of vice, the memory of her parents flashed- on the 
 wretched girl, and with their memory came re- 
 m.orse and bitter anguish of soul. After a sleep- 
 less night, haunted by recollections of her father's 
 love and of her mother's watchful care, she flung 
 aside the rose satin curtains of her gilded alcove 
 and, starting from her couch, seated herself in an 
 arm chair, and quietly loading a pistol which she 
 had purchased on the preceding day, blew out her 
 brains. 
 
 The second illustration is scarcely less dramatic : 
 Two young men, whose mutual acquaintance 
 was recent, returning about eight in the morning 
 from a masked ball at the Opera, were awaiting at 
 a restaurant the breakfast they had ordered. " My 
 good fellow," said the elder of the two, " a tete-a-tete 
 between men is a bore ; I vote for two young com- 
 panions of the fair sex to help us to drink our 
 champagne." "- Faugh ! a couple of cocoties ! I am 
 tired of them." " Ao?i pas I I mean the fresh little 
 work-girls, modest and well brought up, who, at this 
 instant, are quietly at their work." '' What ! do you 
 know of any such ?" " IsTot in the least, but I 
 know where to find them, so order covers for two 
 more, and sleep on that sofa, so as to be fresh for 
 our new conquests." The young speaker took up 
 his hat, called a cab, and drove to a house, where. 
 
THE SOCIAL EVIL. 57 
 
 indolently reclining on a sofa lay a vulgar, over- 
 dressed woman, whose fat fingers bedizened with 
 rings, and cheeks bedaubed with rouge, at once be- 
 trayed her profession. She listened to the prof- 
 fered request with a hideous grin, rang a bell, and 
 delivered a whispered message to a servant, who 
 presently returned accompanied by two young 
 girls. Their dress, though perfectly simple, be- 
 tokened a certain degree of luxury in their entour- 
 age. The eldest was about twenty and the young- 
 est sixteen. They w^ere the daughters of parents 
 in an independent position, but who, anticipating 
 the possibility of a reverse of fortune, wished each 
 of their children to learn a trade. ''You will ac- 
 company Monsieur," said the woman, in a voice 
 of thunder, " here are two napoleons, but if either 
 of you make a row, as you did last time, you will 
 see what I shall do.'' The party drove off. Ar- 
 rived at the restaurant, the young libertine, fol- 
 lowed by the young girls, opened the door of the 
 cabinet pariicuUer with a " Hip, hip, hurrah ! worthy 
 of any lungs ; which cry was answered by a vocifer- 
 ation of rage, shame and despair. The young blaze 
 was in the presence of his two sisters ! 
 
 These stories may read like fiction, but Canler, chef 
 de surete of the secret police^ was a witness to them. 
 
 In concluding this chapter, one cannot help dwell- 
 ing on the fact, viz., that the sanitary regulations for 
 Paris and all French cities, as regards prostitutes, 
 are beneficial in the highest degree to the commu- 
 nity at large ; and it would be well for the health of 
 sailors and soldiers if similar regulations were put 
 in force in England, where the army and, more es- 
 pecially, the navy are decimated by the fatal ravages 
 of disease. The English Government is so well 
 aware of this, that, at its own request, a report is now 
 being drawn up by a celebrated Paris doctor, to 
 initiate England and America in the organization 
 adopted in this country as regards the Social Evil. 
 
PUBLIC GAEDEKS AND BALLS. 
 
 THE JARDIN MABILLE. 
 
 Our readers have, doubtless, all heard of this 
 place. Through a lofty archway (our title-page 
 being a perfect representation, as it was from a 
 sketch taken by our artist on the spot,) literally 
 blazing with light, you pass, amidst a double row 
 of spectators, who have crowded there to see ces 
 dames, SiS they SLYYiye, en grande toilette. On ordinary 
 nights the admission fee is three francs, but on 
 Wednesdays and Saturdays, Mabille indulges in 
 Grandes Fetes de Nuit, and then the price is five 
 francs for gentlemen — ladies, two francs. On these 
 occasions, Mabille is truly beautiful. Passing the 
 inner gate, you enter what seems an interminable 
 alley, which, lighted with the most artistically- 
 decorated lamps, and encircled overhead with 
 wreaths of flame, reaches before you as far as the 
 gaze can penetrate. Of course this is due to the 
 scenic painters' skill, the alley being in reality 
 quite short. Half-way down it you come to an 
 opening, and here the glories of the place burst 
 upon your enchanted gaze. Fairy-like is scarcely 
 a term to apply to the gorgeous scene ; the sward 
 teems with gay flowers, many-coloured and beauti- 
 ful ; amid the artificials are the real, so that you 
 enjoy the sight and the perfumes. Then there are 
 fountains, where the waters fall and splash amid 
 light and flowers, so disposed as to render the as- 
 pect all the more beautiful and attractive. There 
 
PUBLIC GARDENS AND BALLS. 69 
 
 are grottoes, caves, and cascades, deep and dark 
 nooks amid the foliage, and in the centre a circle 
 dazzling and gorgeous, in which there is a Chinese 
 pagoda for the musicians, who, above the crowds, 
 play the waltzes, the polkas, and, most attractive, 
 the quadrilles, the dancing of which is the feature 
 of this place. Around the stand for the orchestra 
 is the dancing-circle, and around this a promenade 
 for those who do not partake in the saltatory. 
 Those who have but a faint idea of the cancan 
 would scarcely believe to what lengths this gentle 
 pastime is carried here. But let us attempt some 
 description of it. The leader of the orchestra 
 hangs out the sign " Quadrille ^'^ and at once the 
 pronienaders become excited. There are a number 
 of Terpsichorean celebrities here, and of course 
 the male and female parties seek the best partners. 
 This detail once settled, they take their places and 
 the music commences. As the leader waves his 
 baton and the preliminary notes of the orchestra are 
 heard, the fair danseuse very delicately proceeds to 
 draw her garters tighter. The display of limb 
 which takes place thus in nowise abashes the maid 
 or causes the blood to mantle her cheeks. Eh bien, 
 oui! But the time for action has come; she is 
 to hcdccncer and croisser. With an artistic wave she 
 throws her clothes somewhat higher than her head 
 and dashes forward. There is more abandon than 
 grace in the movement, but the freedom of the 
 thing is unbounded. As the quadrille progresses, 
 the dancer becomes more and more excited and the 
 more unmindful of preconceived ideas concern- 
 ing the mode of wearing female apparel. She 
 manages to get rid of the voluminous skirts by 
 throwing them over her shoulders, and her limbs, 
 thus disenthralled, make the most of the unusual 
 freedom ; she kicks the men's hats oiF, stands on 
 one leg, then seizes one foot, thrusts it far above 
 her head, and becomes a whirligig for the nonce, 
 
60 PUBLIC GARDENS AND BALLS, 
 
 turning round and round on the other pedal ex- 
 tremity. As the cavalier seid moment approaches, 
 the interest of the spectators increases ; they close 
 around the apparently insane dancers and cheer 
 them. The woman's turn arrives, and she makes 
 the most of it. Divesting herself of all encum- 
 brances by rolling up her skirts and holding them 
 under her arm, she dashes forward and executes 
 some strange antics, and finally throws herself 
 headlong at her partner, who receives the precious 
 burden with significant gestures and smirks. The 
 spectators have become excited ; they applaud and 
 compliment the heroine of the moment. One 
 must not imagine that only women dance in the 
 extravagant manner we have mentioned; men rush 
 about, and whirl and jump in the most insane man- 
 ner. Yet, in spite of the folly of all this, people 
 are less shocked at it than you might suppose. The 
 place is so beautiful, the music so ravishing, and 
 the crowds behave so well and are so quiet, that, 
 save the first blush at the display made by the dan- 
 senses, one feels no annoyance. We notice that 
 American and English ladies go there "just once " 
 to see you know, and that, however much they 
 may be shocked at the dancing, the place itself, 
 with its crowds of gay, elegantly- dressed people, 
 seems to prove very attractive. At least, we come 
 to this conclusion, from the fact that visits to 
 Mabille are often repeated, new-comers being escor- 
 ted there by those who have been "just once " and 
 who go again doubtless, to keep the uninitiated in 
 countenance. Among the habituis of Mabille may 
 be seen numbers of the leading men of Paris, 
 authors, artists, noblemen, and even grave states- 
 men and diplomatists. 
 
 TURLURETTE. 
 Our readers will not spend half-an-hour at the 
 Mabille before their curiosity will be excited by a 
 
PUBLIC GARDENS AND BALLS, 61 
 
 young blonde, invariably dressed in a costume of 
 either cherry or blue colored silk or satin, of 
 which the skirt is sometimes veiled by a tunic of 
 black lace— her hair arranged with braids in the 
 most tasteful manner, and withal a most bewitching 
 little creature. At theatres, she may be seen in a 
 stage box ; at the cirque, in a seat near the orches- 
 tra; at Mabille, or the Valentino, she dances la 
 Grande Daehesse Quadrille with a grace that would 
 make even Clodoche turn pale with jealous rage. 
 She patronizes Helder's, where, of an evening, siie 
 quaffs champagne from gold-rimmed glasses, and 
 picks to pieces a crevasse bordelaise with delicious 
 desinvolture. At the race-course, her well-appointed 
 Victoria is sure to take up the most conspicuous 
 position. Wherever she appears, her elegant and 
 eccentric toilet, her fascinating glance, her chic 
 attracts attention, whilst her quasi-ubiquity inspires 
 curiosity. 
 
 The sobriquet of this little witch is Turlurette. 
 She is but twenty-two ; her eyes, which are blue, 
 are large and very expressive; her mouth is smalt 
 and well-formed; her teeth a row of pearls ; her 
 hair, blonde and undyed; her face round, and her 
 expression bewitching. Her real name is Her- 
 mance Donze. Three years ago she came to Paris 
 from her native town of Belfort, in Alsace, and 
 was engaged as cashier, or dam,e de comptoir at a 
 restaurant kept by a relative. One fine morning 
 the fair Hermance was absent without leave — she 
 had taken the express for the realm of Cythere. 
 Six weeks clasped, at the expiration of which time 
 tlie ungrateful Lovelace restored her to her 
 freinds ; thence commenced the series of ''•cascades^'' 
 {vide " Grande Duchesse ") which have conferred 
 upon her the celebrity she at present enjoys. 
 
 There was weeping and wailing among the demi- 
 monde, some months back, as a rumour of Tur- 
 lurette having consented to accompany a Brazilian 
 
62 PUBLIC GARDENS AND BALLS. 
 
 diamond-merchant to South America. Dresses of 
 fabulous splendour were ordered by this Croesus of 
 the South ; hats, bonnets, soaps, fard a la M'non, 
 poudre a la Marechale, perfume a la Persienne, &c., 
 in a profusion that astonished even the greatest 
 vendor in Paris, when at the last hour, as the car- 
 riage waited to convey her to the train, Turlurette 
 changed her mind, and the Brazilian had fain to 
 start without his companion. 
 
 Tears shed at her supposed departure have crys- 
 talized into rivieres of diamonds, while millionaires 
 have succeeded each other by the score as worship- 
 pers of the rose-clad syren. Her shrine is well worth 
 a visit. Imagine a spacious apartment, furnished 
 with draperies of sea-green velvet, fringed with 
 gold, car]3eted with magnificent tajns d' Aiibusson, 
 embroidered so cunningly in birds and flowers 
 that the visitor, as he treads on this wonderful 
 tapestry, fears to crush a living bird or destroy a 
 fragrant blossom. In niches, statues of Parian 
 marble adorn the apartment, and paintings, fresh 
 from the ateliers of the best modern artists, are 
 placed in panels of sculptured boiserie. 
 
 THE CLOSERIE DES LILAS, 
 
 OK 
 
 JARDIN BULLIER. 
 
 The terrestrial paradise of the students, is known 
 to the habitues as the Bullier or Prado, according 
 to the season of the year. It is called Bullier 
 (which is the name of the late proprietor) in sum- 
 mer, and in winter the Prado. The ball-room is 
 the most celebrated in the city, and is perhaps one 
 of its greatest curiosities. It is here that the pe- 
 culiar dance called the cancan is performed in all 
 its extravagance and wildness. The establishment 
 is situated to the left of the Boulevard St. Michel, 
 and just beyond the Garden of the Luxembourg. 
 
PUBLIC GARDENS AND BALLS. 63 
 
 The gaily-painted facade of the building is illu- 
 minated in gorgeous style, and an immense crowd 
 of Us misirahles gather in front to admire the toi- 
 lets of the gay women as they enter, and feast 
 their ears upon the strains of lively music which 
 stream through the doors. Poor creatures ! In 
 all their poverty and wretchedness, their hearts are 
 doubtless filled with envious lons^ino-s at the siiJ^ht 
 of the gay and laughing women who flutter in and 
 out like bright-colored butterflies. Little do they 
 dream that beneath all the splendid exterior which 
 dazzles their eyes there lies far more misery than 
 beneath their own rags and poverty. 
 
 Entrance to the saloon is gained by a descent of 
 a flight of steps some ten or fifteen feet in depth, 
 conducting to a large and brilliantly illuminated 
 ball-room, half subterranean, and capable of con- 
 taining several thousand people. The saloon is 
 entirely roofed over in winter, but during the sum- 
 mer one-half is left uncovered, forming quite a 
 handsome little garden, ornamented with foun- 
 tains, statues, and charming little alcoves, where 
 the enamoured swain may enjoy some degree of 
 seclusion with his fair partner. 
 
 Terrific yells from the men — French yells, which 
 are not like any other yells, and what is more, 
 students' yells, which are not like any other 
 French yells — ming'e with the screams of the 
 women, and rise musically up to the gay and lively 
 accompanient of the clinking of glasses and the 
 shuffling of feet. It is here, in the midst of this 
 storm of revelry and excitement, that the French 
 student may be seen in all his glory ; here he lays 
 aside all restraint, and gives his whole soul up to 
 enjoyment. It is here, too, that tbe women, shar- 
 ing by force of association the utter abandon of the 
 students, lay aside all the magnificent and stately 
 airs, which they wear elsewhere, and throw them- 
 selves wildly into the vortex of dissipation. 
 
64 PUBLIC GARDENS AND BALLS. 
 
 As a general thing, the women who frequent 
 this are women of the quarter—their name is legi- 
 on — -and who, by constant association with the stu- 
 dents, have acquired a character almost identical 
 with their own. There are, however, many of the 
 ^' upper ten " of the demi-monde who are frequent 
 visitors to the student's paradise ; and the same 
 exquisite cocotte, who steps to-night in stately dig- 
 nity and queenly robes, may be seen to-morrow at 
 Bullier in her short skirt, flinging her heels wildly 
 into the air, and taking excruciating postures, wor- 
 thy of the finest contortionist in the Cirque de 
 Champs-Elysees The peculiar Parisian dance, bap- 
 tized by the name of ccmcan, is perhaps the most 
 exciting of all such species of amusement, both for 
 the spectator and the dancer. It has but little reg- 
 ularity about it, and, to the spectator who sees it 
 for the first time, it has apparently none. It has, 
 however, its small amount of system, but the prin- 
 cipal merit of the dancer is within two given 
 points — the beginning and the end of a strain — to 
 commit as many extravagances as possible, and to 
 tlirow his body into as many unnatural bizarres po- 
 sitions as possible for the structure of the human 
 frame to admit of. A very fine accomplishment, 
 for instance, is to be able to throw a back somer- 
 sault in the face of your fair partner, while she 
 elevates her leg in the air until the tip of her toes 
 and the crown of her head are upon the same hor- 
 izontal line. It is not at all inartistic to be able to 
 double yourself up into a knot, and roll upon the 
 floor, while the beauteous daughters of Terpsichore 
 dance around in a circle, after the manner of the 
 savages in the Sandwich Islands. It is a good 
 thing, also, to be able to agitate your legs, arms, 
 and head with such rapidity as to present the ap- 
 pearance of a misty shadow. This accomplish- 
 ment, however, I am told is but rarely met with. 
 In short; the more horrible or impossible the po- 
 
PUBLIC GARDENS AND BALLS. 65 
 
 sition the more artistic the dancer. The province 
 of the fair sex lies principally in the legs, although 
 a few unnatural and comic contortions of the body 
 are considered no mean addition to the talent for 
 '^elevation." The fair one who lifts her legs the 
 highest, and with the greatest rapidity and fre- 
 quency, is considered the most artistic, and a fa- 
 vorite and charming amusement of the heau sexe is 
 to send some open-mouthed greenhorn's hat flying 
 with the tips of her toes. 
 
 To sum up, the student's ball is undoubtedly the 
 greatest curiosity in the Quartier Latin, if not in 
 all Paris. It was created by the students, and has 
 always been sustained by them. The effect of the 
 peculiar character of students is here more plainly 
 visible than anywhere else. The utter abandon of 
 their natures, and their entire disregard of all con- 
 ventionalities have here their fall sway. The ter- 
 rible influence which licentiousness and too much 
 freedom of thought have produced upon the un- 
 happy female portion of the quarter is here present- 
 ed to view in its most glaring colors. 
 
 WAUXHALL. 
 
 Open on Sundays, Mondaj^s, Wednesdays, and 
 Fridays. This ball is frequented by the young in- 
 habitants of the Chateau d'Eau Quartier. Pilo- 
 do, the leader of the orchestra, is a master of his 
 art ; it has been said of him that, with his bow, he 
 would make an elephant dance in time. Men of 
 fashion are seldom met with in this salle^ which is 
 extensively patronized by the calicots of the adjoin- 
 ing magasins. Rue de la Douane is out of the way 
 for the gandins of the Boulevards, or for the mas- 
 ters of the stately mansions of the Champs-Elysees 
 who consequently frequent the other gardens, such 
 as Mabille, &c. 
 
QQ PUBLIC aARDENS AND BALLS. 
 
 LA REINE BLANCHE. 
 
 Open Sunday, Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. 
 Entrance, one franc Sundays, and half a franc on 
 other nights. This is essentially the workman's 
 ball. The situation is lugubrious, as this much- 
 frequented place of amusement is close to the 
 Montmartre Cemetery. The blondes, brunes, and 
 red-haired belles who congregate here do not dance 
 with the less spirit because of'' God's acre," where 
 lie heaped the countless dead, being within a few 
 yards of their flying feet. It must be acknowl- 
 edged that at no public ball in Paris are there 
 prettier or fresher young girls to be seen than at 
 the Reine Blanche. Why the name of that saint- 
 like Queen, who scarcely approved of her son St. 
 Louis embracing his own wife, should be invoked 
 as an segis, beneath whose protection the Manon 
 Lescauts of the nineteenth century dance the can- 
 can and perform still stranger feats, is not for the 
 writer to say. So it is, Vogue la Galere ! 
 
 BAL CONSTANT, or THE MILLE COLONNES. 
 
 Open Sunday, Monday, and Wednesday. Sit- 
 uated in the noisy Rue de la Gaite. Beware of 
 passing along the said street on a Sunday, or on a 
 w^orkman's holiday Monday ; so many are the tav- 
 erns and gidngettes it contains, that on, these fete 
 days you will therein meet more drunken men 
 than in any other quarter of the city. Les Mille 
 Colonnes was founded by M. M. Constant, and may 
 be considered as the Mabille of the Quartier Mont- 
 parnasse. Its visitors can sup there every evening 
 of the week, and dance there three evenings out 
 of the seven. Admission on each night, except 
 Wednesday, is one half franc ; on that night the 
 price is raised to one franc. The society which 
 makes the Mille Colonnes its place of amusement, 
 
PUBLIC GARDENS AND BALLS. 67 
 
 is of a mixed character. Young girls may be seen 
 there with their parents, young women with their 
 lovers, and fancy men in search of a mistress. The 
 more sedate portion of the company sit around 
 small tables, and partake of coffee, beer, or lemon- 
 ade. This feature of the Mille Colonnes gives 
 that ball a character peculiar to itself, and is well 
 worth studying. 
 
 THE BAL DOURLANS, 
 
 Avenue Wagram, near the Barriere de I'Etoile, is 
 specially patronized by the ladies' maids, cooks, 
 and valets, belonging to the English and Parisian 
 aristocratic families, which inhabit that quarter of 
 Paris, of which the Arc de Triomphe is the centre, 
 whence radiate the ma2:nificent avenues desio:ned 
 by the First Emperor, and carried into execution 
 by his nephew Kapoleon III. Within its brilliant 
 enceinte^ the stranger will be surprised to hear half 
 a dozen European languages spoken in their na- 
 tive purity, and less of French than of German 
 and English. This ball is, however, likewise attend- 
 ed by more respectable specimens of the Parisian 
 working chisses than are to be met with at any to 
 which the attention of the reader has been called. 
 A young artisan or mechanic will gladly take 
 his bride there, on the Monday after her wedding — 
 for which event Saturday is the people's day — and 
 daughters of small tradesmen may be seen there, 
 accompanied by their parents. The arrangements 
 as to the bosquets, as well as to the refreshments 
 to be obtained on payment, are the same as exist 
 at the Bal Constant or Milie Colonnes of the line 
 de la Gaite. It has been remarked that the Bal 
 Dourlans occupies the same position in the quar- 
 tier of the Arc de I'Etoile as does the Bal Const- 
 ant in the Rue de la Gaite. 
 
68 PUBLIC GARDENS AND BALLS. 
 
 THE ELYSJi^E MONTMARTRE, 
 
 Boulevard Rochechouart, frequented by the riff-rafi 
 of the literary or artistic world, idle shop-boys, 
 gamins, and old libertines in search of young mis- 
 tresses. 
 
 THE CHATEAU ROUGE, 
 
 Chaussee Clignancourt. A certain historic inter- 
 est is attached to the site of this once popular place 
 of amusement, inasmuch as it was the scene of the 
 loves of the fair and fascinating Gabrielle d'Estrees 
 and her gay and gallant lover Henry IV. Twenty- 
 five 3^ears ago this ball was the rage. It went out 
 of fashion, and was almost forgotten, but having 
 been redecorated and renovated, its brilliant por- 
 tal once more attracts a crowd within its precincts. 
 In 1865 a novel idea occurred to its director. He 
 initiated prizes for the best dancing. Watches 
 were to be danced for by its male frequenters, and 
 dresses by its fair patronesses. The experiment, 
 however, proved a failure. The competition en- 
 gendered hatred, anger, jealousy, and. every other 
 evil passion ; quarrels ensued, blows were dealt, 
 scrgentS'de-ville interfered, and Monsieur le directeur 
 was compelled to relinquish his scheme. 
 
 BAL DE LA BOULE NOIRE. 
 
 By a happy combination of restaurant and salle 
 de danse, the Boule Noire is the rendezvous of the 
 Quartier Breda, not only on account of its spa- 
 cious ball-room, but also because of the excellence 
 of its cuisine and the merit of its cellars. Sundays, 
 Mondays, and Thursdays are ball nights; but on 
 every night of the week its salons particuliers and 
 general dining-rooms are crowded by parties intent 
 on a good supper. 
 
PUBLIC GARDENS AND BALLS. 69 
 
 BAL DU VIEUX CHfiXE. 
 
 The Bal du Vieux Cheiie, Rue MouiFetard, dif- 
 fers as essentially in character and style from the 
 Bal Mabille as do the patrician mansions of the 
 Champs-Elysecs from the crowded and unsightly 
 tenements of that chiffonnicr quarter. The city 
 ragmen have held their revels for the last thirty 
 years, with undeviating punctuality on the same 
 nights, in the same spot, and with the same ad- 
 juncts, as on the first evening, when it occurred to 
 the fraternity to organize a ball-room for their own 
 special entertainment. The said ball-room is neith- 
 er spacious nor clean. It is simply the back par- 
 lor of a wine shop. The atmosphere, redolent 
 with unutterable odors, is chiefly composed of the 
 smoke of the vilest tobacco. The orchestra is 
 neither led by Strauss nor Waldtenffel ; and yet the 
 company dance, and, moreover, dance in good 
 time, and appear thoroughly to enjoy themselves. 
 Victor Hao:o in his characters of Gavrache and 
 Claque Sous, with their Eponines and Fantines, 
 has endeavored to cast a halo of romance over 
 the young street Arabs, who may be seen whirling- 
 round the narrow space kept clear for dancing ; 
 but in sober earnest, there is small foundation for 
 the poetic element in the wretched voyoiis and voy- 
 outes, who, rapidly graduating in vice, will sooner 
 or later turn into jail birds, and be lodged at the 
 expense of the State in the Prisons of St, Lazare, 
 or transported gratis to the hulks at Cayenne. 
 
 For the student of human nature in all its phas- 
 es, the ragmen's balls present a curious, although 
 repulsive, photograph of the habits and customs 
 of the dregs of Paris life. While inhaling its pes- 
 tiferous atmosphere, the looker-on, remembering 
 the old nursery rhyme, involuntarily exclaims : — 
 
 Heigh ho ! the beggars have come to town ; 
 Some in rags, 
 Some in tags, 
 Some in velvet gowns. 
 
70 PUBLIC GARDENS AND BALLS. 
 
 To enter into special notices of each of the pub- 
 lic ball-rooms of this capital would be simply mo- 
 notonous. Having given the reader some hints as 
 to the idiosyncracies of the most characteristic of 
 these places of entertainment, a list of those at 
 present open to the public will suffice to put him 
 au courant of the various amusements in which he 
 can indulge during his visit to Paris at Night. 
 Their name is legion, but of those most frequented 
 the following are the principal : — 
 
 Elysee des Arts Boulevard Bourdon. 
 
 Bal du Commerce Belleville. 
 
 Le Chalet Batignolles. 
 
 Breton Boulevard de I'Hopital. 
 
 Bal du Commerce a la Viilette. 
 
 Cafe Fuerret Belleville. 
 
 Pare Saint Fargeoux Belleville. 
 
 Folies Robert Belleville. 
 
 Fossy Belleville . 
 
 Bal des Delices Montmartre, 
 
 Le Salon de Mars Crenelle. 
 
 Debray Montmartre. 
 
 Jardin de Paris Montrouge. 
 
 Le Pre aux Clercs Rue du Bac. 
 
 Tivoli d'Hiver Rue de Crenelle St. Honor^. 
 
 Favier Belleville. 
 
 Dumont a la Chapelle. 
 
 Bald'Orient — 
 
 Tivoli Montmartre. 
 
 Bal des Chiens, Les Barreaux Verts, Bal de TArdoise, 
 Bal des Elephants, &c. 
 
 COMMENTARY. 
 
 Reader, has it never occurred to you during the 
 season of the " Mabille" and " Closerie des Lilas" 
 that at the hour of midnight — when the balls are 
 over and the violins are replaced in their boxes, 
 having concluded their labors for the night — that 
 such is not the case with the danseiise, who has been 
 the attraction of the hour, — not even with those 
 who have been the most loudly applauded? Has 
 it never occurred to you after leaving the "Ma- 
 bille" to stroll at random upon the Boulevard — 
 
PUBLIC GARDENS AND BALLS. 71 
 
 lost in reveiy — while the dark shades of night are 
 gradually giving way to the light of morning ! A 
 drunkard, who has resolved the problem of mak- 
 ing the Leaning Tower of Pisa walk, traces the 
 zigzag course of the lightning in the clouds. The 
 vagabond who slept a la belle etoile, perceiving in 
 his sleep the vigilant eye of a sergent-de-ville, pur- 
 sues his march like the Wandering Jew, and hides 
 his thin profile in the shade of the neighboring 
 street. l5"ext the chiffonnier passes, flashing upon 
 the silence the ironic rays of his lantern. This in- 
 different philosopher is the grave digger, who is 
 charged to bury the turmoil and glitter of the day. 
 At this hour, when everything around you as- 
 sumes a strange and suspicious physiognomy, the 
 figure of a woman brushes past the trees upon the 
 Boulevard. It is a long and rustling silk dress 
 which sweeps the dust. It is the light creaking of 
 a new boot upon the walk ; the sharp click of her 
 parasol upon the pavement. An atmosphere of 
 perfume precedes, envelopes, and follows this in- 
 distinct form. This woman who at intervals hur- 
 ries or slackens her steps, has perhaps neither 
 breakfasted nor dined, but she has been over- 
 whelmed with plaudits at the " Mabille'' for a step 
 of boldness and efirontery, sufi3.cient to overthrow 
 the statue of Modesty. Passing the glittering 
 windows of a restaurant a la mode she casts a hungrj^ 
 glance upon the sparkling glass, through which 
 her ear (rendered doubly acute from hunger) hears 
 the harmonious rattle of the dishes of a feast, 
 where the good fortune which had deserted her has 
 been bestowed upon some of her more fortunate 
 rivals. Like Titus, she has lost her day. Her 
 skilful admixture of white, carmine, and bistre has 
 failed to aid her in entrapping either ignorant 
 youth, or vicious old age. She must, then, oh ter- 
 ror ! quiet with her vulgar eloquence the old 
 shrew, whom she is powerless to pay. This arti- 
 
72 PUBLIC BALLS AND CONCERTS. 
 
 sanem seductions hesitates and trembles before the 
 most difficult—the most terrible of all. 
 
 These stars of the public balls, who sleep not, 
 and drag upon the pavement of the streets, like 
 feeble raj's, silk gauze and lace, are spectacles in- 
 voluntarily sad ; gay toilettes are oftentimes with- 
 out domicile, and always objects of commisera- 
 tion. 
 
 PUBLIC BALLS AND CONCERTS. 
 
 THE CASINO. 
 
 (rue cadet.) 
 
 IS'ext to the Bal Mabille, the Casino, situated in 
 the Rue Cadet, is the most fashionable place of 
 nocturnal winter dissipation of this gay city. To 
 omit a visit there would be a capital error for those 
 who wish to realize the most characteristic scenes 
 of life in Paris by Night. The Casino is used for 
 concerts and balls, being fitted up with a double 
 gallery on the ground, as well as on the first fioor. 
 In the former the men smoke, whilst the latter, 
 which is divided into boxes, is much frequented by 
 those among the fair portion of the company whose 
 charms scarcely bear the full glare of gaslights, or 
 whose toilettes cannot rival in freshness those of 
 their more favored sisters ; these are chiefiy ser- 
 vant-girls out of place, work-girls seeking employ- 
 ment, or discharged sub-mistresses of boarding- 
 schools, who crowd the centre of the hall. 
 
 On ball-nights, that is on Sundaj^s, Mondays, 
 Wednesdays, and Fridays, the hall is thronged by 
 the second class of cocoiies, who, having ""fait'^ the 
 
PUBLIC BALLS AND CONCERTS. 73 
 
 Boulevards, and failed to secure a dinner, have 
 come to tlie Casino in the hopes of capturing a 
 green British, American, or Russian subject, who 
 will give them a supper. 
 
 On concert-nights, that is, on Tuesdays, Thurs- 
 days, and Saturdays, the haute bicherie crowd the 
 promenade hall, behind the orchestra, where, to in- 
 vite thern to conquest, are hung several portraits — 
 amongst others, that of Boulanger, said to have a 
 crowned head in the list of her lovers; of Rachel, 
 for whose favors princes fought, and to secure 
 whose artistic services the greatest of modern trag- 
 edians composed dramas; of Fanny Elsler, the 
 queen of terpsichorists, the beloved of an emperor; 
 and, strangely jumbled with these, the pictures of 
 the most distinguished women of the present cen- 
 tury, whose shades, if permitted to perambulate 
 this nether world, would scarcely feel gratified at 
 being exhibited to such company as assemble in 
 the Casino. 
 
 Madame Campan, for instance, directress of the 
 Imperial School established by the first Emperor, 
 for the daughters of his military officers; the aris- 
 tocratic Recamier, whose stern virtue resisted the 
 solicitations of a Cha^teaubriaod ; Madame de Stael, 
 of whose political essays even the first ]N"apoleon 
 stood in awe ; the agreeable and learned Duchess 
 of Abrantes, &c. Sluch scandalized must these 
 stately dames be at the scenes enacted beneath 
 their portraits. 
 
 On concert-nights, the music, directed by Arban, 
 is admirable, but the eocottes, and not its charms, 
 are the magnets which attract within the precincts 
 of the Casino, the men about town who are out on 
 a lark. The pro???<?no?r, adorned by the above-men- 
 tioned portraits, is on these nights the market-place 
 where the members of la haute bicherie are bought 
 and sold, as freely as are the gazelle-e3''ed young 
 girls of Georgia and Circassia on the slave-mar- 
 
74 PUBLIC BALLS AND CONCERTS. 
 
 kets of Cairo or Constantinople, with this differ- 
 ence, however ; the slave-girl of the East is the in- 
 voluntary victim of a successful razzia, and loathes 
 her fate, whilst the painted and perfumed hiche of 
 the Paris troitoir^ is the willing vendor of her own 
 person. 
 
 In the winter of 186™, a youth, emancipated for 
 a hrief season from the surveillance of tutors and 
 guardians, and launched on the shoals and quick- 
 sands of Paris life for the purpose of acquiring the 
 French language and other polite accomplish- 
 ments, was enrolled amongst the frequenters of the 
 Casino. The boy had been educated at home, 
 under the eye of a well-meaning but injudicious 
 mother, and consequently was, as may be suppos- 
 ed, in utter ignorance of the world and its ways. 
 
 On the first evening, he was introduced to a 
 young danseitse who told him she was a Russian, 
 and that her name was Machinka Kowkowsky 
 (she stood inscribed on the police books as Jeanne 
 Legros, of Alsace); to her soh^qitei, ^^Jille deVair," 
 she made no allusion. She was bashful, and had a 
 pretty trick of blushing and trembling. Young 
 Lord V straightway fell in love with this charm- 
 ing young person, and a few days later confided to 
 a wide-awake friend, who knew Paris aux bouts de 
 ses doights, that she loved him for his own sake, 
 adducing in proof of this statement how it had 
 come to pass, that she had proved the purity of her 
 flame, by refusing all other partners, and keeping 
 through several successive evenings to him alone. 
 "A very she-devil," impolitely remarked the 
 friend. ^^ An angel, only ^^ou dont know her," re- 
 plied Lord Y- and so disinterested she even re- 
 fuses a banquet." '^ To rob you on a more exten- 
 sive scale," retorted his incredulous auditor. On 
 the very evening that this conversation took place, 
 
 Lord V poured out the tale of his love in the 
 
 willing ear of the ingenuous Machinka, who 
 
PUBLIC BALLS AND CONCERTS. 75 
 
 blushed and trembled, and, after mucli hesitation, 
 
 gave Lord Y leave to call on her next day. 
 
 Forty eight hours elapsed. His friend was smok- 
 ing a chibouque in his sanctum, overlooking the 
 
 line de Rivoli, when Lord Y ■ unceremoniously 
 
 entered. He spoke as follows : '' My dear fellow, 
 lend me two thousand francs at once; I will pay 
 you back next week, when my allowance is due. 
 That poor little Machinka is on the point of being 
 turned into the street. Her rent is due, and she 
 has not a single farthing." The friend w^as heart- 
 less enough to refuse the loan ; the boy's tailor, 
 however, who had a more elastic conscience, at 
 once handed him a bundle of crisp notes with in- 
 terest at only 20 per cent. — " but you'll say nothing 
 
 about this, my Lord." And oiF drove Lord Y 
 
 to the Rue Breda, where dwelt his timid dove. 
 Dashing up the richly carpeted stairs, he paused at 
 the door of her apartment, and rang gently, lest he 
 should startle her whom he had left, but a brief hour, 
 bathed in tears and trembling violently, fearing, 
 she said, " that a horrid sergent-de-ville would come 
 and carry her away, or perchance the Prefect him- 
 self, to some prison, where she would never see 
 him again." The door was opened by the femme- 
 de-ehamhre. " CielT' she thought that little ring 
 could be but one of the fouryiisseurs. Peals of 
 lauo^hter irom an inner room struck on Lord 
 
 Y 's ear, but no suspicion entered his innocent 
 
 mind. Believing himself the only male biped priv- 
 ileged to cross the threshold, he advanced and 
 quietly opened the door of her boudoir. The boy 
 started and turned pale. On a sofa of turquoise 
 blue velvet was streched the herculean form of an 
 American whose attention to Machinka had ex- 
 cited his jealousy on a previous occasion; whilst 
 on a pile of embroidered cushions, in the most 
 graceful of attitudes, his arm around her waist, her 
 head resting on his shoulder, sat, or rather lay, her 
 back to the door, the fair Machinka. 
 
76 PUBLIC BALLS AND COXCEETS. 
 
 [N'ot having heard his step, her merry tale was 
 interrupted. " Oh ! if you did but know ! how I 
 feared you would arrive before my little Anglais 
 would go ; I had to cry very much, and relate to 
 him a long story about rent and sergeiits-de-ville. 
 He promised to come back this evening with a 
 handful of gold. Paavre petit beta il est si mignon I " 
 Youthful reader, take warning. 
 
 SALLE VALENTINO. 
 
 (rue ST. HONOKE.) 
 
 This is especially a winter ball and concert 
 room, open every evening, upon the same princi- 
 ple as the Casino, balls and concerts being given 
 upon alternate nights. The ball room, a magnifi- 
 cent one, is divided into two spacious apartments, 
 each measuring a hundred feet in length, separa- 
 ted by columns of Moorish architecture painted 
 with gay colors, which are reflected in the immense 
 mirrors which adorn the walls. It is the great re- 
 sort of fast men and cocottes, who, however, dance 
 the cancan with even more entrain than does the 
 haute bicherie which congregates at Mabille. The 
 orchestra is admirable, and on concert nights the 
 Salle Valentino is attended by a very respectable 
 audience. Besides music and dancing, this place 
 offers many other attractions to the lounger in Par- 
 is. Such, for instance, as a billiard table, a shoot- 
 ing gallery, &c. When full the Salle Valentino is 
 certainly one of the most brilliant and animated 
 of all the Paris ball rooms, and here may be seen 
 the best specimens of the licentious dancing of 
 this metropolis. No stranger who visits the capi- 
 tal in winter should omit a visit to the Valentino. 
 Admission, two francs. 
 
DAlNTCma SCHOOLS. 
 
 A QUARTER of a century lias elapsed since Cella- 
 rius transported the Polka from Lithuania, and ac- 
 climatized that Polish dance in the salons of Paris. 
 Thrones have tottered and fallen, a dynasty has 
 passed into exile, since the clinking of the spurs of 
 gold and the clanking of feet encased in Polish 
 boots insured its success in this capital. Cellarius, 
 like Lord Byron, awoke one morning and found 
 himself famous. He was the hero of a success 
 which has not proved ephemeral, for he and his 
 polka maintain their supremacy. His salles de 
 clause in the Rue Yivienne are always crowded, and 
 Cellarius is still the first master of the art invent- 
 ed by Terpsichore. 
 
 In the morning, his classes are attended by young 
 ladies of rank and high position, in the evening by 
 young men of fashion, desirous of acquiring a 
 graceful manner of dancing, or perhaps only to 
 learn the last-invented figure of the cotillon, or a 
 new step in the mazurka. For the first hour they 
 practise alone. At eleven, a flying squadron of 
 coryphees, fresh from the Grand Opera, arrives to 
 assist them in their studies. These impromptu 
 visitors perfect their aristocratic partners in the 
 art of dancino;. Cellarius had the honor of re- 
 ceiving the following letter from the immortal po- 
 et Lamartine, of which he has had the kindness to 
 favor the writer with a copy : — 
 
78 DANCING SCHOOLS. 
 
 J'ai ete Men sensible a Tenvoi que vous 
 avez charge M. Lureau de me remettre. II y a 
 une parente entre tons les arts, siirtout quand ils 
 s'elevent par I'idee aux sentiments da beau leur 
 type commun. La danse est la poesie des mouve- 
 ments et la melodie du corps. Chez les anciens 
 elle etait un hymne en action, et a ce titre on I'in- 
 troduisit jusque dans le culte. On ne lui laisse au- 
 jourd'hui que le theatre et le salon, et vos savantes 
 et gracieuses etudes la rendent plus digne d'y fig- 
 urer. Je n'en juge que sur votre nom et sur vos 
 ceuvres, mais vos vrais juges sont la jeunesse et la 
 beaute, pour qui votre nom est celui du plaisir 
 meme. 
 
 E-ecevez, Monsieur, Tassurance de ma 
 
 consideration la plus distinguee, 
 
 lamarthste. 
 
 All great men have rivals. ISTapoleon had his 
 Wellington, Cellarius his Markowski, with a dif- 
 ference, however. Markowsky has not beaten his 
 enemy off the field, and Cellarius remains master 
 of the situation. Cellarius discovered the polka, 
 Markowski invented the friska. These great mas- 
 ters of the Terpsichorean art divided the legs of 
 the dancing world into rival camps, as did the fac- 
 tion of the classiques and rommitiques of the literary 
 world of Paris. Cellarius holds his evening class- 
 es and his fortnightly hot d'artistes, admittance 
 20fr., at his house 40, Rue Yivienne, whilst Mark- 
 owsky gives his entertainments un peu jpartout. 
 His title deeds are his diploma as pupil of the 
 Conservatoire and first dancer at the Grand Opera. 
 The Revolution of 1848 compelled him to accept 
 an offer from Mabille; he was subsequently ap- 
 pointed director of the Park at Enghein, where he 
 gave a fete still remembered in the annals of that 
 delicious summer retreat. He announced a panto- 
 mime from " Robert le Diable." Precisely at 
 
DANCIXG SCHOOLS. 79 
 
 midnight a thousand varied colors flashed on the 
 silvery waters of the lake, produced by Bengal 
 fires lighted amidst the woods that fringe its 
 shores. In one of the scenes was a young girl 
 pursued by goblins. A monk who flies to her res- 
 cue is seized by the demons and thrown into the 
 lake. Horrified at his fate, several spectators 
 plunged into the water, and swam out to where he 
 yet floated, and had the satisfaction of bringing 
 safe to shore a figure of cork and straw, amidst 
 the derisive shouts of their more reflectino: breth- 
 ren. The crowd was so dense newspaper report- 
 ers perched in the trees as the only spot where 
 they could write notes of the brilliant scene. Fif- 
 teen hundred pounds sterling were taken at the 
 entrance doors. Mathilde was one of the first 
 who danced the friska with a grace and agilitj^ 
 which attracted crowds on the nights when it was 
 known she would perform. She obtained an en- 
 gagement at the Palais Royal, where she and 
 Alida danced the friska together. This was the 
 apotheosis of her fame. Mathilde is now enrolled 
 amongst the dames du lac, and every afternoon dur- 
 ing the season she may be seen in one of Binder's 
 Jmit ressorts, lined with chocolate satin, and drawn 
 by a splendid pair of bay steppers. 
 
 The balls at Bougival, frequented by artists who 
 spend the summer in that picturesque village, for 
 the double purpose of bathing in the Seine and 
 sketching the adjacent scenerj^, are the most char- 
 acteristic of artists' life which take place in the 
 environs of the capitaL The feminine frequenters 
 of the Bougival bals de nuit are the actresses most 
 in repute at the theatres of Paris, as well as those 
 members of the haute bicherie who have not emi- 
 grated to Homburg or Baden for the season. 
 
PUBLIC COI^CEETS. 
 
 The most expensive noise is music, wrote the 
 prince of feuilletomsteSj Theeophile Gaiitier, and 
 certainly when a person pays twenty-five francs for 
 a fauteuil d' orchestre at the Grand Opera, for the 
 sole purpose of listening to the silvery cadences 
 of Christine Mlsson, he will be inclined to agree 
 with that most agreeable writer. Good music can, 
 however, be had in Paris at as moderate an outlay 
 as in the capitals of Germany, although the French, 
 as a people, are not so dilettante as their neighbors 
 on the other side of the Rhine, and will not listen 
 to a complicated sonato of Beethoven, or to a mag- 
 nificent creation of Iladyn for consecutive hours, 
 as will the phlegmatic German. Music, to please 
 a French audience, must, like their champagne, be 
 light and sparkling. Thence the tremendous suc- 
 cess of Oftenbach's operas, which amuse and en- 
 liven, but neither elevate the mind nor purify the 
 imagination. 
 
 In 1828, Cherubin Habeneck founded the So- 
 ciete des Concerts. Government subscribed eighty 
 pounds a year and authorized the society to hold 
 its meetings in the Salle du Conservatoire. The 
 first concert was given on the 9th of March, 1828, 
 Habeneck himself leading the orchestra. The pro- 
 gramme included the finest compositions of Beeth- 
 oven. Thus with splendid success were inaugura- 
 ted the 
 
PUBLIC CONCERTS. 81 
 
 CONCERTS DU CONSERVATOIRE, 
 
 Perhaps the finest in Europe, as well as the most 
 difficult of access. To secure a subscription for 
 the season, application must be made to the com- 
 mittee before the 20th of October. These con- 
 certs — of which there are seven — are given on al- 
 ternate Sundays during the first three months of 
 the year. The possession of a box is so highly 
 prized by mnsical amateurs, that in several instan- 
 ces they have become hereditary in families. 
 Seats in the balcon and in the front boxes are nine 
 francs each, stalls and lower boxes six francs per 
 seat. Admittance to the 2^<^i'>^Quet can be had for 
 three francs, and to the higher boxes for two 
 francs. This year an extra series of concerts was 
 given, to which admittance was more easily se- 
 cured, than to the annual season concerts. The 
 prices for seats were, however, the same as above 
 mentioned. The veteran Auber, author of so 
 many beautiful operas, of which "Le premier jour 
 de bonheur" is the last, presides at these musical 
 festivals, to be present at which princes cringe 
 and duchesses intrigue. One day a friend of the 
 writer stopped him in the street : " Congratulate 
 me," he exclaimed. Why ! had he been sent for 
 to form a new ministry, or had he inherited a for- 
 tune ? ISTo, but he had been admitted during the 
 last Concert du Conservatoire to the umbrella de- 
 posit, from which locality, if he had not been able 
 to see the performers, he had at least heard every 
 note of the music ! 
 
 CONCERT DES CHAMPS-ELYSfiES, 
 
 Formerly Concert Musard. This delightful place 
 of rendezvous is on the left side of the Avenue, be- 
 yond the Palais d'Industrie and close to the cele- 
 brated restaurant Moulin Eouge, one of the most 
 recherche of the many fashionable establishments, 
 
82 PUBLIC CONCERTS. 
 
 where first-rate dinners are served in a style only 
 equalled at the Maison Doree or the Cafe An- 
 glais. Whilst lounging on one of the open terra- 
 ces, the visitor can enjoy the delightful strains of 
 Besselievre's unrivalled band, which performs the 
 most exquisite operas and waltzes, every evening, 
 from eight until eleven. This is the only open 
 air concert patronized by ladies of fashion, inas- 
 much as it is the only one from which the demi- 
 monde is rigorously excluded. 
 
 For one franc, a stranger will not only hear the 
 best orchestral music, but likewise have the oppor- 
 tunity of judging for himself of the upper ten 
 thousand of Paris society. Ambassadresses, duch- 
 esses, wives of ministers, together with all the no- 
 tabilities of the great world, may be seen enjoying 
 the cool air of a summer's night, grouped in par- 
 ties or promenading around the central walk. 
 The orchestra occupies a raised platform surround- 
 ed by pillars which support a dome-shaped roof. 
 This central building is gracefully festooned by 
 chains of light proceeding from countless pearly 
 globes of ground glass. Several rows of the paint- 
 ed iron chairs, so familiar to the Parisians, sur- 
 round this musical temple. Beyond this circular 
 space are the brilliantly lighted gardens, which, 
 seen in the contrasted light of soft moonbeams and 
 of glowing jets of gas, present a most enchanting 
 aspect. M. Cressonois, late band-master to the 
 regiment of Guides, leads the orchestra. 
 
 From the concerts, above described, to the Cafe 
 Chantants the transition is sudden. At the for- 
 mer, the great world, musical amateurs, and the 
 respectable middle classes congregate ; at the Cafe 
 Chantants no female member of any of the three 
 classes mentioned above, would willingly be recog- 
 nized. 
 
 English and Americans who visit Paris commit 
 a fatal error when they allow a morbid feeling of 
 
CAFE CHANTANTS. 83 
 
 curiosity to overcome their better judgment, and 
 allow their wives and daughters to visit either a 
 public ball or a Cafe Chantant. They will never 
 meet a French lady of rank and respectable posi- 
 tion in society at these places. The appearance of 
 our young and carefully trained country-women, 
 therefore, subjects them to comments, which it 
 would be absurd for their companions to resent, 
 inasmuch as the said localities are intended for the 
 entertainment of a class of women our wives and 
 sisters would shrink from min2:lin2: with in their 
 native land ; why, therefore, should they do so in a 
 foreign capital ? 
 
 CAFE CHAKTAJl^TS. 
 
 THE ALCAZAR. 
 
 There are two Alcazars. In winter that popular 
 concert room is to be found 10 Rue de Faubours: 
 Poissoniere, whereas m summer its open-air con- 
 certs are givisn in the brilliantly illuminated Cafe 
 Chantant of the Champs-Elysees, easily recogniza- 
 ble in consequence of the gas-formed letters sus- 
 pended over its portal, which is itself a perfect 
 constellation of variegated lamps. The winter 
 salle in every respect resembles a theatre, being 
 arranged with boxes in tiers, possessing a spacious 
 stage adapted to scenic performances, and also to 
 the accommodation of a large and efficient orches- 
 tra. In the central hall are tables and seats, for 
 those who, while they enjoy the music, are expected 
 to consomme — that is to imbibe as much beer or 
 other drinks, and smoke as many Medianitos or 
 Londres, charged at as high a price as will recom- 
 pense the proprietor for the expense of the enter- 
 tainment, the entrance being free. 
 
 The Alcazar owes its immense popularity to 
 Theresa (Yalladou), not inaptly christened Patti de 
 
84 CAFE CHANTANTS. 
 
 la chop. A few years ago this celebrated song- 
 stress startled the blase, Parisian by a style of per- 
 formance till then unknown, and which created a 
 perfect furoi^e. As long as her popularity lasted, 
 Theresa eclisped Mesdames Carvalho, Marie Cabel, 
 and even the inimitable diva herself, by the im- 
 mense audiences slie nightly drew from the Grand 
 Opera, and from the Italiens, to the Alcazar. 
 
 The success of this Parisian lionne was caused, 
 as much by the coarse gestures, the sensual leers, 
 the voluptuous attitudes which accompanied her 
 performance of " La Femme a Barbe," or " Rien 
 n'est sacre pour un Sapeur," as the powerful voice, 
 which emanated from her magnificent chest. In 
 November, 1866, Theresa signed her engagement 
 to sing at the Alcazar for the ensuing three years, 
 at the rate of £ 12. (300 fr.) per night; thus her 
 annual income, derived from this source alone, 
 amounted to £ 3,390. 
 
 l!^aturally all true interpreters of art felt this 
 succes de scandale a bitter insult to them. However 
 lovers of classical music might rail, and moralists 
 preach, Theresa's success, especially during the 
 Universal Exhibition, was unparalleled, and in 
 spite of her detractors she continued to enrapture 
 the gaiidins of the male portion of the visitors to 
 Paris during that crowded season. Houyot and 
 Yillebichot composed songs expressly for her. A 
 celebrated Ambassadress summoned Theresa to 
 her private saloUj in order that she might acquire 
 her peculiar tone. Majesty itself, it was whispered, 
 attended a party given by an official, to witness 
 and listen to her performances 
 
 Her reputation spread over France. The prov- 
 inces claimed her, and for one week she consented 
 to visit Marseilles. A carriage and four awaited 
 the popular songstress at the railway terminus, an 
 elegant suite of apartments was placed at her dis- 
 posal, and £ 100 a night secured to her during the 
 
CAFE CHANTANTS. 85 
 
 seven nights on which she deigned to enchant the 
 Marseillais by her performance. But Theresa was 
 mortal. The terrible exertion her peculiar style 
 of singing required, impaired her voice, and ex- 
 hausted even her powers of vocalization. Theresa 
 was ordered by physicians to Heors where the 
 mildness of the climate effectually restored her to 
 health. Her place was tilled by Susanne Lagier, 
 whose style is in imitation of that of Theresa. She 
 lacks, however, the chic canaille which so pre- 
 eminently distinguished her predecessor. 
 
 During the summer season the Alcazar is trans- 
 ferred to the verdant groves of the Champs-Elysees. 
 From eight to twelve, the visitor is admitted gratis, 
 but with the tacit understanding that he will con- 
 somme, failing which, a white-aproned gargon will 
 remind him of the duty he is expected to perform. 
 A glass of beer cannot be had for less than a frauc, 
 and on Sundays or fete nights the price for the 
 slightest refreshment is raised in proportion to the 
 splendor of the entertainment. 
 
 ELDORADO. 
 
 '^0. 4, Boulevard de Strasbourg, established on 
 the same principle as the Alcazar, with galleries, 
 orchestra, and stage; also large refreshment saloon. 
 Entrance free ; therefore the visitor is expected to 
 consomme. Operettes in one act are often per- 
 
 formed on its mimic stage. 
 
 THE CAF:6 morel AND THE CAFJ^ DES 
 AMBASSADEURS 
 
 Are situated in the Champs-Elysees, surrounded by 
 elegant gardens, which at night are brilliantly illu- 
 rainated'and fitted up with small tables, at which 
 the visitor is expected to consommei in return for 
 
86 CAFE CHANTANTS. 
 
 the musical performances, which, as at the Alcazar 
 and Eldorado, are gratis. The performers are seated 
 on a raised dais, over which draperies, tastefully 
 decorated with flowers, are suspended to protect 
 them from the inclemency of the weather. The 
 singing at these Cafes Chan tan ts is usually very 
 good. They are well worth a visit, inasmuch as 
 this phase of Pasisian out-door life is singular and 
 characteristic of the capital. Cocottes, cocodes, and 
 strangers visiting Paris, are the chief elements 
 composing the audience. 
 
 BA-TA-CLAN, 
 
 Boulevard du Prince Eugene. The Alcazar is 
 Moorish, Ba-ta-Clan is Chinese. The exterior of 
 the building is carved, painted, and gilded, after 
 the manner in which the inhabitants of the Celes- 
 tial Empire decorate their pagodas. A Chinese 
 giant, Chang by name, was the attraction during 
 one season. Cigars are smoked, and refreshments 
 consomme as at all Cafes Chantants. The musical 
 performance, although not remarkable in quality, 
 evidently satisfies its numerous frequenters. 
 
 caf:6 beuglant, 
 
 Rue Contrescarpe Dauphine. Irreverently so 
 named by the students of the Quartier Latin, in the 
 vicinity of which it is situated. The company, as 
 usual, is composed of a tenor, a barytone, a contral- 
 to, comic singers, &c. ' The reperioire consists of 
 the popular songs of the season, but the audience, 
 chiefly composed of the laughter-loving students of 
 the Ecole de Medecine, constantly interpose, and 
 join in the chorusses, and otherwise interrupt the 
 order of the proceedings. The visitor, who wishes 
 to form an idea of student's life in Paris, will do 
 
THEATRES. 87 
 
 well to spend an evening at the Cafe Concert of 
 the Contrescarpe Dauphine, or at that of the — 
 
 CONCERT G:6ANT, 
 
 Boulevard du Temple, where smoking, drinking, 
 and singing are carried on simultaneously, to the 
 extreme delight of a somewhat promiscuous audi- 
 ence. 
 
 Having, as in the chapter on Public Balls, given 
 details of the different classes of public concerts of 
 Paris, the subjoined list will suffice to inform the 
 reader of the other localities where this species of 
 evening amusement is offered to the public : — 
 
 Casino de Paris 12, Rue de Lyon. 
 
 Cafe Fraumont Rue des Trois Couronnes. 
 
 Cafe Richefeu Boulevard Monceau. 
 
 Elysee Menilmontant . . . Belleville. 
 Cafe Concert des families . 64, Faubourg St. Martin. 
 &c. &c. &c. 
 
 THEATRES. 
 
 TH:eATRE ITALIEN. 
 (place ventadouk), 
 
 Of which la Patti was formerly the reigning divin- 
 ity. So great was her influence on the public, that, 
 on nights when she sung, stalls and seats in the first 
 tier of boxes, for which the regular prices are 
 eighteen francs per seat, ran up to twenty-five 
 francs, and even at this price they were difficult to 
 be had. 
 
 The American star, Miss Harris, made her ap- 
 
88 THEATRES. 
 
 pearance during tlie seasons of 1867-68, succeeded 
 by Minnie Hauck in 1869, (a pupil of Strakosch, 
 la Patti's brother-in-law), sent across tlie Atlantic 
 to charm the hlasG Parisian, whilst the Hungarian 
 Irma de Murska occasionally fascinated and startled 
 the audience by her niarvellous iit^ as well as by 
 her delicious eccentricities. Nicolini's splendid 
 tenor voice, graceful acting, and singular good 
 looks, made him the favorite of the public for many 
 seasons. 
 
 The repertoire includes all the greatest produc- 
 tions of Verdi, Donizetti, Bellini, and the more re- 
 cent compositions of Flotow, '^ Don Pasquale," " II 
 Crispino e il Comare," *^ Lucia di Lammermoor," 
 " Linda di Chamounix" '^La Traviata,'^ *' La Son- 
 nambula," "II Barbiere di Siviglia," are the operas 
 in which la Patti was most often to be heard ; while 
 Krauss prefers such tragic scenes as are delineated 
 in '-Lucrezia Borgia," " Sem.iramide," &c.. Ross- 
 ini's posthumous work, the " Messe Solennelle," 
 (on which occasion Alboni consented to re-appear 
 in public), was splendidly reproduced after the 
 death of the illustrious maestro, by the whole com- 
 pany on ten nights during 1869. Saturday is al- 
 ways the most crowded evening at the Italiens. 
 
 The interior of the theatre contains four tiers of 
 boxes; the balconies and orchestra are divided 
 into ranges of stalls, each forming an armchair. 
 The ceiling, painted by Ferri, represents a valari- 
 um, through which blue sky appears. In the en- 
 trance is a fine statue of Gretry by Houdon. The 
 theatre accommodates thirteen hundred persons, 
 and receives an annual subvention of £3,000 from 
 Governm.ent. 
 
 The regular performances take place Tuesdays, 
 Thursdays, and Saturdays, There are, however, 
 occasional extra nights on Sundays and Mondays. 
 The season, which commences October 1st, usually 
 closes April 30th. 
 
THEATRES. 89 
 
 OPl&RA COMIQUE 
 (boulevard des it aliens.) 
 
 The repertoire of this elegant theatre includes the 
 light and sparkling compositions of Herold, Adam, 
 Gretry, Boieldieu, and last, but not least, of the 
 octigenarian Auber. This stjde of music being 
 peculiarly adapted to the taste of the Parisians, the 
 salle of the Opera Comique is always crowded to 
 excess The most favorite operas are Auber's 
 ^' Muette di Portici," '' le Domino Il^oir," " le Pre- 
 mier Jour de Bonheur," '' les Diamants de la Cou- 
 ronne;" Harold's " Zampa," his •' Pre-aux-Clercs;" 
 Victor Masse's '^ Galatea" and '' La Fiancee duDia- 
 ble ;" Ambroise Thomas' " le Carnaval de Venise," 
 and such minor operettas as " le Chalet," by Adam, 
 and " la Dame Blanche," by Boieldieu, The di- 
 rector, spares neither pains nor gold in his efforts 
 to secure tlie services of admirable artists. Capoul, 
 formerly the Apollo of the troup and the admired 
 of the ladies, was a prize worth the high price he 
 set on his charming voice — as well as on his per- 
 sonal attractions. Mme. Cabel, who made her 
 debut in Auber's '^ Manon Lescaut," was as popu- 
 lar among the male portion of the audience as Ca- 
 poul amongst their fair companions. 
 
 The house accommodates eighteen hundred 
 spectators. To every second box is attached a 
 small salon ; a bell from each enables the company 
 to call for ices and refreshments without leaving 
 the box. The decorations are in white and gold. 
 On the ceiling are medallion portraits of Boieldieu, 
 Gretry, &c., "their busts likewise adorn the^ spa- 
 cious foi/er of Corinthian architecture, furnished 
 with divans, which is on the first floor, behind the 
 boxes. Government subscribes £10,000 annually 
 towards the expenses of this theatre. In the cel- 
 lars is a ventilating apparatus for a supply of fresh 
 air, cooled by means' of ice; the vitiated atmos- 
 phere finding egress through the ceiling. 
 
90 THEATRES. 
 
 LES BOUFFES PARISIENS. 
 (passage choiseul). 
 A brilliant iDcarnation of Cafe-Concerts and of 
 music essentially Parisian, of which Offenbach's 
 operettas raaj be said to be the true expression. 
 The Bouffes is the Palais-Royal Theatre in music. 
 Inaugurated in 1855 by "La Kuit blanche," " Les 
 Deux Aveugles," and "Arlequin Barbier/' by 
 Offenbach, in one of the Cafe-Concerts of the 
 Champs-Ely sees, the Bouffes became so popular 
 that the Theatre Comte, Passage Choiseul, was re- 
 gilt, redecorated and generally embellished for its 
 future domicile. On this mimic stage have suc- 
 cessively been produced Offenbach's "Reve d'une 
 iTuit d'Ete," his " Tepito, Postilion en rage," 
 ^'Trombal Kazar," "Horrible Festin," " Ciratte 
 metamorphosee en Femme, " and, in 1860, his 
 " Orphee and Enfers," which had a run of 227 consec- 
 utive nights, producing a net profit during the first 
 season of 62,603 fr. In this Buffo Opera the cele- 
 brated Cora Pearl made her first and last appear- 
 ance on the stage as Venus; she was, however, 
 hissed off the boards. Leoce, Mesdames Jan tin, 
 Marechal, Tostee, Cico were amongst the favorites 
 of the troupe, which is celebrated for the beauty 
 and amiable qualities of its fair members, as well 
 as for the broad humor and admirable comic acting 
 of its male artists. The ripertoire of the Bouffes is 
 by no means confined to Offenbach's pieces, the 
 works of no less than fifty-nine authors having 
 been represented on the stage of this coquet little 
 theatre since it was first started in 1855, and 
 amongst the composers whose operas appeared at 
 the Bouffes are Adolphe Adam ; " L'lmpressario," 
 by Mozart, first performed in 1788, in presence of 
 the Emperor Joseph II., at Schoenbrunn ; the 
 " Orgue de Barbaric," by the great violinist, 
 Alary, &c. The Bouffes-Parisiens accommodates 
 1,200 persons. 
 
THEATRES. 91 
 
 COMEDIE FRANQAISE. 
 
 The most important theatre in Paris. Here 
 may be seen, represented by the first actors in the 
 world, the classic productions of Racine, Corneille, 
 and the inimitable Aloliere, as well as the choicest 
 specimens of modern French dramas. The most 
 gifted actresses and actors maintain the reputation 
 of this ancient theatre — Bressant, Leroux, Got, 
 Coquelin, Regnier, Lafontaine, Madeleine, Augus- 
 tine, Brahan, Mme. Arnold Flessy, &c. 
 
 A magnificent statue of Voltaire, due to the chis- 
 el of Houdon, fianked by two others of Tragedy 
 and Comedy, occupy the centre of the vestibule, 
 the ceiling of which rests on a double row of Doric 
 columns. Busts of distinguished dramatists deco- 
 rate the fo)/er, among which is one of the great tra- 
 gedienne Mile. Mars; the portrait of her successor, 
 the immortal Rachel, painted by Gerome, is hung 
 in this apartment. 
 
 The performances at this theatre, which is the 
 standard for the wdiole of France, used to be lim- 
 ited to the highest style of tragedy and regular 
 comedy. This rule has, however, been relaxed by 
 the admission of the productions of the illustrious 
 Victor Hugo, the prolific Dumas, the gifted Georg- 
 es 8and &c., which, with all their merits, do not, 
 however, attain the elevation of style deemed a 
 necessary attribute of the highest order of France. 
 
 OD^ON. 
 
 A second Theatre Frangais, as instructive to the 
 serious student of French literature as the preced- 
 ing, and quite as interesting to the mere passer-by, 
 who simply seeks the amusement of the hour. On 
 first representations, the Odeon is usually thronged 
 by students from the adjoining Quartier Latin, who, 
 if the new piece contains the slightest political al- 
 lusion, make a frightful noise, and usually seize 
 
^2 , THEATRES. 
 
 the opportunity of getting up n row. In 1787 the 
 " Mariiige de Figaro " was lirst acted on this 
 stage. Among the authors whose works have been 
 represented at the Odeon are Casimir Delavigne, 
 ;fimile Augier, Balzac, Georges Sand, and Victor 
 Hugo. " La Marquise de Villemer Fran9ois le 
 Champi," from the pen of that charming writer, 
 Georges Sand ; " La Conspiration d'Amboise," by 
 the late L. Bouilher, have been among its latest 
 pieces. Seats for 1,700 persons. 
 
 YAUDEYILLE. 
 
 At the corner of the Boulevard des Capucines 
 and the Rue de la Chaussee-d' Antin. By a sin- 
 gular coincidence, this theatre and the style of 
 pieces which its name specially designates sprang 
 into existence at the time of the French Republic, 
 and may be said to have embodied in its peculiar 
 type the new ideas which at that period first spread 
 over Europe.' During the last fifteen years the 
 works of Alexander Dumas ^^5, Theodore Barrere, 
 Octave Feuillet, Georges Sand, Mario Uchard, 
 and Victorian Sardou have successively appeared 
 on its stage. The repertoire during the years 1867- 
 68-69 has inchided " Memoires du Diable," "Fil- 
 les de Marbre," " Familie Benoiton, " &c. M. 
 Harmant's troupe includes the gifted and ever 
 fascinating Mme. Doche; Miles. Lively, Berton, 
 and Hebert; MM. Delannoy, Lacressoniere, &c. 
 The new house accommodates 1,300 persons. 
 
 LE GYMNASE. 
 
 Built in 1820 on the Boulevard Bonne-^N'ouvelle. 
 Scribe, the king of vaudevillists, acquired his first 
 celebrity as a writer on the boards of the Gymnase, 
 which theatre owes its immense popularity mainly 
 to the productions of his inexhaustible talent. 
 
THEATRES. 93 
 
 Scribe wrote several of his best pieces specially for 
 the Gymnase. The Vaudeville and the Gymnase 
 may be said to divide with the Theatre-Fran gais 
 the honor of reproducing the finest works of mod- 
 ern French comedy, but it must be admitted that 
 of this privilege the two lesser theatres have the 
 lion's share. M. Prudhomme srave the Gvmnase 
 the sobriquet of bonbonnurc. The fair celebrated 
 Blanche Pierson, with Miles. Samary and Georgi- 
 na, Mmes. Pamelli and Massin, the inimitable R^i- 
 oul, with Pradeau, Lesteur, Lafont, and other of the 
 popular chanson defortwiio, form part of its compa- 
 ny. " Seraphine," by Sardou, was the success of 
 1869. The Gymnase accommodates 1,200 persons. 
 
 LA PORTE-ST-MARTIN. 
 
 One of the best theatres in the capital, always 
 crowded to excess. The mise-en-scene is magnifi- 
 cent, the company invariably consists of the best 
 dramatic actors in the capital, and the ballet is ad- 
 mirable. Fairy pieces, such as ^' La Biche au 
 Bois" and "Pied de Mouton," are got up at this 
 theatre on a scale of splendor unrivalled in any cap- 
 ital of Europe. This Theatre was burned during 
 the Commune, but has been rebuilt since, and it 
 now accommodates 1,800 persons. 
 
 THEATRE DE LA RENAISSANCE. 
 
 This Theatre is situated on the Boulevard a few 
 doors from the Theatre de la Porte St. Martin. It 
 is a very handsome structure erected since the 
 Commune, consequently is the newest theatre in 
 Paris, and is devoted to Comedy. 
 
 LE PALAIS-ROYAL. 
 
 The Palais-Royal and the Bouftes-Parisiens have 
 the same character ; both are perfect bonbonniereSy 
 
94 THEATRES. 
 
 SO diminutive are their dimensions when compared 
 to the spacious Grand Opera or Chatelet, and so 
 exquisite in the tasteful elegance of their decora- 
 tions. The amount of ban-mots, puns, and jokes 
 uttered hy the laughter-loving Brasseur, Gil-Pe- 
 rez, Hjacinthe, and Lassouche, assisted by the 
 dark-eyed Celine Montalant, the siren Zulma 
 Boufiar, whose madrigals alone would suffice to 
 set a whole house in a roar of laughter — Mmes. 
 Taurelle, Alphonsine, Black, &c. — could not be 
 enumerated. " Le Piege a Femmes," " Deux Chi- 
 ens de Faience," &c., are the types of the humoris- 
 tical pieces acted on this popular stage, frequented 
 especially by the male visitors to the members of 
 the Jockey Club, &c., and the handsomest cocottes in 
 the capital. The Palais-Royal Theatre accommo- 
 dates 1,000 persons. 
 
 th]5:atre du chatelet. 
 
 The best appointed theatre in Paris. Admirably 
 directed by K Keston Roqueplan. Built in 1862, 
 with all the latest improvements in lighting and 
 ventilating, its stage is of extraordinary depth, in 
 order, to admit of military evolutions, triumphal 
 arches, processions, &c., upon a scale of extraordi- 
 nary magnificence. This theatre is undoubtedly 
 one of the most enjoyable in the capital. Battal- 
 ions of young girls, selected on account of their 
 personal attractions, manoeuvre before the public, 
 in the lightest of costumes, during the three or 
 four hours that such pieces as " Cendrillon " 
 (" Cinderella,") " Le Diable Boiteux," &c., occupy. 
 The scenery and decorations are splendid. Ray- 
 nard and Mile. Esclozas typify the broad comedy 
 and personal beauty which combine to attract the 
 public to the Chatelet. M. Roqueplan sends to 
 Vienna, Milan, and London for his danseuses; Paris 
 not supplying a sufficient number. Amongst them 
 
THEATRES. 95 
 
 are Miles. Dacket, Chiry, Antonia, Julia, Diege, &c, 
 Lesueur performs the part of '^lioi Coarte Botte," 
 and Madame Heymaii that of '' Princess Zibeline," 
 Marian being the " Snow fairy." " Pilules du 
 Diable " was here performed 3,000 times. " La 
 Poudre de Perlinpinpin," the last Success at this 
 theatre, contains three ballets, and no less than 
 eighty danseuses appear on the stage during the 
 piece entitled '^ Les Amours." The Chatelet ac- 
 commodates 3,500 persons. 
 
 GAIT6. 
 
 Built by the City of Paris in 1867, on the square 
 of the Arts et Metiers. On this stage the late cel- 
 ebrated Ada Isaacs Menken, veiled in the most 
 transparent of draperies and fastened to a wild 
 horse, acted the part of " Mazeppa " in the seventh 
 tableau of " Les Pirates de la Savanne," thereby 
 creating a tremendous applause. For the produc- 
 tion of "La Chatte Blanche" | 80,000 were ex- 
 pended on twenty-six new stage scenes, fifteen 
 hundred costumes, and the necessary expenses of 
 the grand ballets. " La Chatte Blanche " was 
 performed for the first time on August 10th, 1870. 
 This theatre accommodates 1,800 persons. The 
 latest productions have been " Orphee au Enfers," 
 and '^ La roi Carotte." 
 
 LES VARIfiT^S. 
 
 On its stage are paraded the predominant vices 
 and follies of the day. Amongst the subjects that 
 have successfully come beneath its lash have been 
 English visitors to Paris, who, to do them justice, 
 rarely lose an opportunity by their eccentric dress 
 and demeanor, of rendering themselves ridiculous; 
 calicots or shop-boys, who, w^ith the bare means of 
 existence, ape the habits and customs of wealthy. 
 
96 THEATRES. 
 
 men of fashion ; the " Kobert Maecaire " of the 
 day, &c. Mile. Schneider in " La Belle Helene," 
 and subsequently in '' La Grande Duchesse de 
 Gerolstein," attracted half of Europe within the 
 gay and brilliant precincts of the popular Yarietes. 
 In the absence of that Diesse de la JRampe, whose 
 style of acting and singing may be compared to that 
 of Theresa, of Cafe-concert celebrity, and who, like 
 her, has had the honor of forming a new school of 
 histrionic art ; such pieces as " Mam Macalou," the 
 '' Affaire de la Rue Quincampoix," are acted and 
 sung by the laughter-loving Alphousine, picked up 
 by an orange-seller in the streets, and now the 
 possessor of a charming residence at Joinville-le- 
 Pont, where she rows and fishes as successfully as 
 Suzanne Lagier and Silly, whose carriages, cache- 
 meres, and diamonds excite the envy of many a 
 grande dame and by Mesdames OUivier, Julia, H. 
 M. M. Guyon, Copp, Bloudelet, &c. The house 
 accommodates 1,240 persons. 
 
 L'AMBIGU-COMIQUE. 
 
 One of the most ancient theatres of the capital, 
 founded a century ago by Audinon, who had start- 
 ed a marionette show in 1759 at the fair of St. Ger- 
 main. He obtained a license from Sartius, lieuten- 
 ant of police, to build a theatre on the Boulevard 
 du Temple, which was burnt in 1827. The pres- 
 ent theatre, erected on its site by Littorf and Le- 
 comte, was inaugurated in 1828, in presence of the 
 Duchesse de Berri. The illustrious actors Michot, 
 Daines, Frederic Lemaitre, and Boccage; Mesdames 
 Dorval, and Melingue, have successively performed 
 on its stage. " Le Sonneur de St. Paul," '' Lazare 
 le Patriote," and " Gaspard le Pecheur" formed 
 part of its repertoire. M. Taiile, its nominal di- 
 rector, is in fact subordinate to M. Dumaine, the 
 gifted actor. Under their auspices " Eichelieu 
 
THEATRES. 97 
 
 a Fontainebleau," a drama in five acts and seven 
 tableaux, has been admirably got up. The troupe— 
 Nuluall, A. Just, Omer, Regnier, Tony Riom; 
 Mesdames Blainville, Deca- Petit, Yaroey, &c. This 
 theatre is always crowded, although it accommo- 
 dates 1,900 persons. 
 
 LES FOLIES-DRAMATIQUES. 
 
 Situated on the Boulevard St. Martin, behind 
 the Chateau d'Eau. It was here that " Robert 
 Macaire," one of the best pieces of the French re- 
 pertoire, was first performed. Frederic Lemaitre, 
 who performed the principal role, and may be said 
 to have created the immense success of that drama. 
 Popular farces and low comedies are acted on this 
 stage, the character of which is broad and risky 
 humor. The great successes at this house have 
 been "Le Petit Faust," of which the four tableaux. 
 Dr. Faust's School, the Closerie of Forget-me-not, 
 Faust and Marguerite, and Yal-Purgis Night, were 
 the chief attractions, '' L'oeil Creve" " Chilperic," 
 ^' Le Canard a trois bees," ^'La fille de Mnie. 
 Angot." The troupe is composed of the first 
 school of actors as well as actresses, selected by 
 its Director, M. Moreau Sainti, for their beauty 
 of form, as well as for their good looks. The 
 Folies-Dramatiques accommodates 1,200 persons. 
 
 LES FOLIES-MARIGNY. 
 
 This theatre is considered as the Palais Royal 
 theatre of the Champs-EIysees. Amongst the au- 
 dience are the most coquettish of the ladies' maids, 
 and most exquisite of the gentlemen's gentleman 
 belonging to the wealthy families of that aris- 
 tocratic quarter. The style of performance is far- 
 cial and coarse. The playbill is composed of such 
 quasimonologues as " Je me Marie demain," " La 
 
98 THEATRES. 
 
 Fantalsie Indienne," " La Tribu des Ongles Roses," 
 " Changement de Garnison," &c., acted by Dupha- 
 nel, Labarre, and a host of pretty women, such as 
 Mesdames Caccia, La Kochelle, Marie Jaly, Bade, 
 e tutti quanti. 
 
 In addition to these principal theatres are the 
 Theatre Dejazet, Fantaisies-Parisiennes, Theatre 
 Beaumarchais-Comique, Theatre de Ciumy, Theatre 
 de Montniartre, Menus-Plaisirs, &c. 
 
 HIPPODROME. 
 
 This magnificent structure, far surpassing in el- 
 egance any building yet erected for arenic contests, 
 since the days of Roman power, comfortably seats 
 15,000 people, and is arranged with a view to ac- 
 commodate every class. 
 
 It has two monumental fagades^ one on the ave- 
 nue Josephine, the Grand Entrance, and the other 
 on the avenue de I'Alma. There is no city in the 
 world where so much money would have been ex- 
 pended upon a temporary building, as the owners 
 of the " Hippodrome de Champs-Ely sees" have 
 spent. The present building was erected to meet 
 the demands of this summer's season, and will re- 
 main onl}^ until the stones are cut and the iron 
 cast of which the permanent edifice will be built. 
 It is a small Exposition of itself, for it contains, 
 cafes, restaurants, beer gardens, shooting galleries, 
 and all sorts of games. 
 
 Every precaution has been taken to insure safety 
 from fire, and there is not an inch of the wood, but 
 that has been covered with a thick coating of as- 
 bestos. 
 
 The ring is laid out after the manner of, and is 
 in fact a miniature copy of the famous. Long-champs 
 race course, and is over fifty feet in width. The 
 central garden was laid out by the head gardener 
 of the city of Paris, and is in keeping with the bril- 
 
THEATRES. 99 
 
 liancy of the other portions of this coh^ssal pile. 
 There are several subterranean passages opening 
 into^ different portions of the arena and garden, 
 destined to facilitate the production of horse dra- 
 nias, for the which, the old Hippodrome, destroyed 
 in 1869, was so justly celebrated. 
 
 CIRQUE DES CHAMPS-ELYSfiES. 
 This elegant marble building, occupies one of 
 the most beautiful sites of Paris, on the Champs- 
 Elysees, encircled by the finest trees and shrubber- 
 ies of the avenue. It is the largest circus buildino* 
 in the world, and by far the most gorgeous, beino- 
 built of Carrara marble, with inlaid slabs of dif- 
 ferent colored rare kinds of marble. The portico ov- 
 er the grand entrance is pronounced by competent 
 judges to rival those of many of the Palaces, and the 
 bronze group of horses over the portico is equalled 
 only by that of the Arc de triomphe du carrousel, 
 which is a copy of the famous group Napoleon 
 took from Venice, but which the allies restored to 
 her. The interior decorations almost surpass de- 
 scription, and would seem more appropriate for a 
 palace than a circus, to a people unaccustomed to 
 see elegance everywhere, such as exists in Paris. 
 The entire ceiling is composed of frescoes by 
 known French masters, each relative to some 
 branch of the profession. They are painted in the 
 Fra Angelica school, and when the light of the 
 central chandelier, which is of rock crystal, strikes 
 the glittering mass of gilding, the effect is gor- 
 geous beyond description. One of the principal 
 features to see is the stables, which were modeled 
 after those of the late Emperor, and which now 
 rank as the finest in the city since the closing of 
 the Imperial stud. Particular notice should be 
 given to the intricate designs of the braided straw 
 which line the stalls. There is also a complete 
 
100 THEATRES. 
 
 gymnasium attached. Of the performances it is use- 
 less to speak, for they are conceded by all managers 
 to be the best ; and the fact that almost all the nov- 
 elties for the rest of the world, are drawn from 
 them, is sufficient recognition of their merits. 
 
 The Cirque de Champs-Elysees, or Cirque de 
 rimperatrice, as it was called before The Repub- 
 lic instituted its numerous reforms, only remains 
 open during the summer months ; in the winter the 
 company is transferred to the 
 
 CIRQUE D'HIVER, 
 
 "Which also was subjected to a reform, at the hands 
 of men of the 4th of September, its former name 
 having been the Cirque Kapoleon. This building, 
 situated on the Boulevard des Filles du Calvaire, is 
 not as elegant as its brother circus. Both of these 
 edifices are owned by a stock company. The 
 one playing in the winter and the other in the 
 summer, in point of excellence of performance 
 there is no difference. The present director, Mr. 
 Franconi, is well known to Americans as having 
 been the first man to introduce a Hippodrome per- 
 formance in America. Many people remember 
 when scarce twenty years ago, Franconi's Hippo- 
 drome occupied the same ground where the Fifth 
 avenue hotel in !N^ew York now stands. 
 
CAFfiS AND EESTAURAKTS. 
 
 The number of cafes and restaurants in Paris is 
 legion. It would be utterly impossible to give a 
 description of even a hundredth part of them in so 
 concise a work as the one we lay before the reader, 
 therefore we have selected a certain very limited 
 number that offer especial attraction to Americans, 
 and Englishmen, either on account of the EngUsh 
 language being understood and English and Amer- 
 ican dishes and drinks being found there, or by 
 reason of the scenes that are daily enacted and that 
 offer special means of studying Paris life, morals, 
 and manners. 
 
 Cafe anglais, Boulevard des Italiens, 
 Cafe Riche, „ „ „ 
 
 JtETEKS , 1) ), ij 
 
 La Maison Dokee, „ „ „ 
 
 Hill's, Boulevard des Capucines. 
 Les Tkois Fkeres PiiOVEN^AUX, Palais-Royal. 
 Vefouk, Palais-Royal. 
 
 All first class and excellent, but expensive in comparison 
 with other restaurants. 
 
 Diner Europe en, 14, Boulevard des Italiens 
 Diner de Paris, Passage JoufFroy. First class and 
 medium price. 
 
 Bill of Fare. 
 
 Soup, Fish, Meat, Bread and Butter, Dessert and a bot- 
 tle of wine, all for 5 fr. (one dollar). 
 
102 CAFES AND KESTAUEANTS. 
 
 THE DINER EUROPEEN, 
 
 Boulevard des Italiens, 14, 
 
 Has just been transferred to these elegant rooms 
 froiD the Palais-Roya], where it has so long been the 
 favorite resort of Americans and Englishmen, who 
 desire a good breakfast and dinner at a reasonable 
 rate. The absence of an establishment of this sort 
 on the Boulevard des Italiens has been much com- 
 mented on by tourists, who, living in this part of 
 Paris, had to walk a great distance to get their 
 meals if they did not wish to pay the high prices 
 of restaurayiis d la carte. The breakfast at the Di- 
 ner Eiiropten, at 2fr. 50c. comprises a half-bottle of 
 wine, two hors-d'ceiwres, two dishes at choice, and 
 two desserts. For 5 francs you have a dinner 
 consisting of a bottle of wine, soup, two hors- 
 d^oeuvres, three dishes at choice, salad, ice-cream, 
 and two desserts. M. FRAN901S, the proprietor, is 
 very aiFable and obliging. His wines, especially 
 his Romance Conti of 1846 and his Johannisberg 
 are well known to connoisseurs. 
 
 The favorite resort of Americans to get a good 
 dinner at a moderate price is at the Palais Royal 
 at numerous Restaurants, among which are the 
 following; 
 
 Cinq Arcades, Palais-Royal, 
 La-Trappe, 
 
 MiLLE-COLONNES, " '* 
 
 Dinners, 2 fr. 75 (55 cents) ; including Soup, Fish, Meaty 
 Vegetables, Dessei^t, and half -bottle Claret wine. It is custom- 
 ary to give the waiter a small fee. 25 centimes (5 cts.) Hand 
 the waiter your money and pourboir at same time. 
 
 THE CAF£ DU S^NAT, 
 
 !No. 16, Rue de Vaugirard, a few steps from the 
 Odeon, and in the immediate neighborhood of 
 the Luxembourg, is well worth a trip from the 
 fashionable Boulevard quarter. Besides the fact 
 that the student element can be seen there in its 
 
CAFES AND RESTAURANTS. 103 
 
 purity, it offers quite a novel and extraordinary 
 attraction. You are not deafened there b}'- the 
 shouts of surly waiters howling their '' versez " and 
 "bourn" about your ears; but you are served by 
 the choice among the pretty girls that Paris can 
 boast of, dressed in those beautiful costumes that 
 you see on the staircase of Santa Maria del Monte 
 at Rome, and of those more simple, but not less 
 pleasing ones, that men admire amongst the crowd 
 that fills the Puerta del Sol at Madrid on fine sum- 
 mer evenings. There is no increase in the price 
 of drinks to be paid for ; and Mr. Lambert, the 
 proprietor, who also speaks the Malay language 
 from having lived five years in the East Indies, 
 cannot be too highly recommended for his affability 
 and obliging character. 
 
 THE AMERICAN TA7ERN, 
 17 Rue Cujas, 17, 
 
 At the corner of the Eue Victor Cousin, close to 
 the Boulevard St. Michel, is much frequented by 
 American and English students, being the most 
 central house of the Latin Quarter. Mr. Jacobs, 
 the proprietor, speaks English, and English papers 
 are kept there. The American Tavern is the only 
 establishment in the Student's Quarter where pale 
 ale, porter &c., are kept on draught. Mr. J. is also 
 well up in concocting the divers drinks that make 
 the delight of an American bar-room. Anybody re- 
 turning from a visit to the Luxembourg Gardens, 
 the Pantheon, the Bal Bullier, &c., will find this a 
 very convenient establishment for refreshments and 
 meals, as the fare is excellent and the prices ex- 
 ceedingly moderate. Mr. Jacobs' civility in giving 
 useful information to his customers cannot be 
 praised too much. 
 
104 CAFES AND RESTAURANTS. 
 
 THE CAF:e DE LA R^GENCE, 
 
 In the Rue St. Honore, near the Palais-Royal, 
 has exchanged its former modest but celebrated 
 rooms for the present elegant saloons It is here 
 the masters of the royal game of chess assemble, 
 here they pass hours and hours before the check- 
 ered board. The place is rich with souvenirs of 
 Philidor and Labourdonnaye ; here the American 
 chess-giant, Morphy, played his seven games blind- 
 folded; here he beat the victor of the London 
 Chess Tournament, the veteran Anderssen. Cel- 
 ebrities of the Parisian Chess Club, as De la 
 Riviere, Neumann, Kolisch, Czarnowski, are con- 
 tinually to be found at the Cafe de la Regence. 
 
 THE CAFJfi DU DELTA, 
 
 On the Boulevard Rochechouart is the glory of this 
 working-men's district. The oiivrier element can 
 be well studied there. Anybody visiting the estab- 
 lishment will be astonished at the sober good con- 
 duct of these rough fellows who sit there in thei\ 
 blouses sipping their gloria, and who generally han- 
 dle the queue with as much ease as and with lesf 
 noisy talk than most players at the grand Cafe oi 
 the Cafe de Suede. 
 
 THE CAF]fi DESIR:^, 
 
 In the Rue le Pelletier, near to the Boulevard, has 
 the same importance to billiard-players as the Cafe 
 de la Regence, to amateurs of chess. ITearly every 
 night some very interesting games are played 
 there. 
 
 THE QKFt PfiRE, 
 
 At the angle of the Rue du Pont-I^euf and the Rue 
 de la Monnaie, is the youthful rival of the Cafe 
 
CAFES AND EESTAURANTS. 105 
 
 Desire. Lessons in billiards are given there by ex- 
 pert professors. 
 
 THE GRAXD CAF:6 PARISIEN, 
 
 On the Boulevard du Temple, is the largest of 
 Parisian cafes. Twenty-two billiard tables are 
 kept going there by the working men who crowd 
 the place in the evening. 
 
 THE CAFE PROCOPE, 
 
 "No. 13, Rue de I'Ancienne Comedie, is the most 
 ancient cafe in Paris. During the last century it 
 was visited by many celebrated w^riters and Utera- 
 ry men ; Voltaire, Diderot, Rousseau, and Rameau 
 among them. 
 
 CAFli: DU MUSl^E DE CLUNY, 
 
 At the corner of the Boulevards St. Michel and St. 
 Germain is about the best type and at the same 
 time the most brilliant of the cafes of the students' 
 quarter. There the sons of Alma Mater assemble 
 to spend their evenings in fierce political discus- 
 sions, or at the more peaceful but far more expen- 
 sive pastime of the game of billiards. Hot-headed 
 but noble-hearted fellows these young Frenchmen, 
 who would just as eagerly take a stand, rifle in 
 hand, behind a barricade, as they now crowd 
 around the green covered tables. One has to know 
 them to appreciate them. 
 
 TO ANTIQUARIANS, 
 
 One of the most noticeable things in Paris, is the 
 vast number of quaint old books and Engravings, 
 displayed in the streets. 
 
 The walls enclosing the Seine are in many places 
 
106 NOOKS AND CORNERS OF PARIS LIFE. 
 
 lined with them. This is especially true on the 
 southern side of the river, in the Latin quarter. 
 For a distance of perhaps 3 miles, boxes and shelves 
 filled with rare and curious old books, engravings 
 etc., such as can only be seen in this particular 
 district, invite attention. Among trashy publica- 
 tions, such as ballads and romances, one often finds 
 valuable old books, which can sometimes be bought 
 fabulously cheap. Tourists wishing to go there 
 cheaply, should take omnibus H., yellow, which 
 crosses the bridge and passes directly by these re- 
 positories, en route to the Odeon Theatre. Omni- 
 bus starts from I^o. 8 Boulevard des Italiens, a 
 short distance above the Grand Hotel. 
 
 NOOKS AI^D COEKERS OF PARIS LIFE. 
 
 The outward type of this great metropolis, re- 
 veals many a fact worthy of the notice of an en- 
 lightened mind, and which in this chapter we pro- 
 pose to jot down, thereby giving a rapid resume of 
 some of the most noteworthy phases of Paris life. 
 Among these curiosities, decidedly, are the small 
 carts which, from five to six, every morning, call 
 at the back gates of the embassies, palaces, minis- 
 tries, restaurants, hotels and great houses in gen- 
 eral, to receive the remains of the dinners left, not 
 by the upper ten thousand only, but likewise by 
 their servants; and sold every morning by the 
 
NOOKS AND CORNERS OF PARIS LIFE. 107 
 
 cooks to the emissaries of a race of costermongers 
 whose stalls at the Halles (or great markets) are 
 furnished by these " baked meats/' which made 
 their first debut on the tables of those who rule oar 
 destinies. These carts are closed in, and recogniz- 
 able by a sort of chimney in the top, which admits 
 of free circulation of air. The remains are thrown 
 pellmell into these carts, and are paid for by the 
 pound. You may imagine the aspect presented 
 by this olla podrida, called " Arlequins,'' when it 
 reaches the vender's stall. The first process is 
 the triage, or sorting, — a work of no small difficul- 
 ty — when portions of lobsters a la mayonnaise be- 
 smeared with soup a la Julienne, have to be extract- 
 ed from the remains of fruit tarts, in which they 
 are imbedded. The most presentable morsels are 
 pared, cleaned, and arranged on a dish ; this pro- 
 cess, taking place in some remote corner far from 
 human ken, is naturally mysterious. Strange to 
 say, by twelve o'clock, these scraps from the plates 
 of rich men are eagerly bought up by a certain 
 class of the poor, who prefer their savoury flavor 
 to more wholesome food. Whatever cannot be 
 sufficiently pared, and arranged for human appe- 
 tite, is disposed of for the food of pet house dogs, 
 Italian grey hounds, and such like aristocratic 
 quadrupeds. The bones, however, found in these 
 deposits are laid aside, and sold to the manufactur- 
 ers of concentrated meat lozenges; and by them, 
 after having been boiled down, are got rid of to 
 the compounders of animal black, so much in de- 
 mand by house painters, &c. 
 
 But to return to the Arlequins. This trade of 
 buying up the remains of our friend's side dishes, 
 is by no means a bad one. Many of those who 
 pursue it retire, at the expiration of a few years, 
 on four or five hundred a year. Pas mat ! 
 
 To witness the scenes we have just described, 
 as well as other similar ones, no less interesting 
 and curious, the reader should resort to the 
 
108 NOOKS AND CORNERS OF PARIS LIFE. 
 
 GREAT MARKETS, 
 
 or 
 
 HALLES CENTRALES, 
 
 Between the hours of four and five m the morn- 
 ing. This splendid market-place is situated facing 
 the celebrated church of St. Eustache. The cel- 
 lars are worth seeing; thej are literally crowded 
 with fish, fowls, meat, game, cheese, butter, &c., 
 and may easily be visited, upon application at the 
 overseer's lodge. 
 
 The next branch of this trade is the bakers en 
 vieux. It is also most remunerative. To collect 
 the crusts thrown away by the college boys, or 
 dropped by these careless youngster in their play- 
 grounds, trampled on, and oftentimes bedaubed 
 with ink, but gathered by the chiffonniers during 
 the night, on the tas d' ordures of the city, has prov- 
 ed to be a lucrative occupation. The cleanest of 
 these soiled and uninviting crusts are bought by 
 second-rate bakers, who, after having had them 
 dried in an oven, sell them for the croute au yot^ 
 with which soup all familiar w^ith French cookery 
 are well acquainted. Furthermore, these choice 
 bits of old bread are cut up into the three-cornered 
 morsels which, fried in butter, adorn some of the 
 vegetable dishes we enjoy at favorite restaurants. 
 But there yet remains a mass of mud-stained, dust 
 soiled scraps, which once were bread. These, 
 worked up in a mortar and pulverized, are sold as 
 the chapelure blanche in which our cutlets are dress- 
 ed, or, to use the technical term^:)a?2ee5 ; and also 
 as the chapelure brune, which is sifted over the 
 small hams colled jambonneaux. There still, how- 
 ever, remains dust which it has been impossible to 
 workup, this is blackened in the oven, reduced to 
 an impalpable black powder, mixed with honey, to 
 which is added a few drops of peppermint, and 
 sold as an infallible cure for tooth-ache — for which 
 
NOOKS AND CORNERS OF PARIS LIFE. 109 
 
 ailment it is said to be quite as efficacious as any- 
 thing recommended by " the faculty." There is a 
 passage in Homer which has often struck our fan- 
 cy. It is that where Jupiter is represented as '^tak- 
 ing off his eyes with satiety from the horrors of the 
 hattle-Jield, and relieving himself icith a view of the Hip- 
 pomolgi," a people famous for their innocence and 
 simplicity of manners, — how many a time does one 
 not feel the inclination to draw one's mind from 
 this artijB.cial and ostentatious life. Indeed, it is 
 not surprising that Paris is so blind as to require 
 daily the enormous supply of 
 
 MANUFACTURED EYES, 
 
 which is annually disposed of. The average sale 
 in this city alone, of manufactured eyes intended 
 for the human head, amounts to four hundred per 
 week. 
 
 Paris appears to have the monopoly of this 
 strange trade — which would certainly lead one to 
 conclude that the population of that city is not 
 very clear sighted. Twelve eye-manufacturers 
 flourish within the barriers ; each of which furnish- 
 es employment to twenty workmen. English and 
 American enamellers have vainly tried to com- 
 pete with the French occulist artists. " Do you 
 see, sir," remarked one of the latter, "Englishmen 
 have not sufficient taste for this trade ; their eyes 
 are only good enough for stuffed animals." 
 
 The said occulist, who stands at the head of this 
 business, receives his customors in a magnificent 
 saloon, resplendent with gilding and mirrors. His 
 servant has but one eye, and if you would judge 
 of the effect of a false eye, the master rings the 
 bell — and tries the eye in the orbit of the wretch- 
 ed servant. The charges are forty or fifty francs 
 per eye, purchased at this well-known establish- 
 ment. For the poor, there are second-hand visual 
 organs, which have been worn by some eyeless 
 
110 NOOKS AND COKNEBS OF PARIS LIFE. 
 
 Duke or Nabob, and exchanged for a new one 
 after several months service. 
 
 Paris is truly a mighty ogre, which swallows up 
 the produce of the Empire. Paris dines at the 
 rate of | 40,000 or two millions of francs per day, 
 including for brandy and liquors 80,000 fr., or 
 $16,000, and for toothpicks 8,000 fr., or $1,300. By 
 this calculation the dinner of each inhabitant 
 would cost one franc, twenty-five centimes (twen- 
 ty-five cents). 
 
 Drunkness is by no means a French failing ; 
 still, an Englishman strolling along the Boule- 
 vards, more especially of an evening, cannot help 
 noticing the crowds that throng the cafes. Though 
 their chief object, undoubtedly, is to enjoy the 
 fresh air, to see the people pass by, to read the 
 papers, and take a cup of coffee, it cannot be de- 
 nied that an increased quantity of alcohol is absorb- 
 ed. The most dangerous practice indulged in by 
 Parisians is certainly drinking absinthe. 
 
 Every class of society, from the man of the 
 world to the artisan, from the field marshal to the 
 private, the proprietor to the clerk, all are equally 
 addicted to this green opaque liquid, the rage for 
 which is rapidly spreading all over the provinces. 
 In one commune of the Seine, composed of 9,000 
 inhabitants, 2,000 hectolitres of spirituous liquors 
 are annually comsumed, as well as 1,800 hectolitres 
 of absinthe. We refer the reader to the register of 
 Charenton, where in 1860, out of 176 persons ad- 
 mitted as lunatics, sixty had become insane from 
 drink ; and in 1861, of 174 admitted, forty- two had 
 suffered from the same cause. 
 
 From absinthe and spirits to cigars the transi- 
 tion is natural. In 1832 tobacco produced a tax 
 of 28,000,000 fr., whilst in 1862, the consumption 
 of this noxious weed brought to Government the 
 sum of 180,000,000 fr. In 1852, 200,000,000 cigars 
 were smoked in Paris, whereas, in 1867 the num- 
 
NOOKS AND CORNERS OF PARIS LIFE. Ill 
 
 ber increased to 767,625,000, and in 1874, 933,872, 
 496. In one single shop in Paris, the one under 
 the Grand Hotel, which depot also belongs to the 
 Government manufactory, 5,000 fr. worth of cigars 
 are daily sold. 
 
 THE SNUFF AND TOBACCO 
 
 Shops in Paris are granted by Government to the 
 widows of general officers, colonels or men who 
 have served their country in any of the public of- 
 fices, but whose families are in distressed circum- 
 stances. The ladies who, in the acknowledgment 
 of their husbands or fathers services, have obtained 
 a dibit de tabac, naturally do not sit behind the 
 counter, but let their shops to women accustomed 
 to the trade. These women profit enormously by 
 the speculation, more especially as they are like- 
 wise bound to sell postage stamps, which sale nat- 
 urally attracts a great number of customers. 
 
 THE OMNIBUS SYSTEM. 
 
 Another item of Paris life, jastly attracting the 
 attention of the foreigner, are the omnibuses, on 
 the organization of which this book will contain 
 every possible information. During the past year 
 93,279,721 individuals traversed Paris by means 
 of these useful vehicles, of whom 53,814,766 occu- 
 pied seats inside, while 34,464,955 preferred the 
 outside, or as it is here termed V Impiriale. 
 
 From half-past ^yq in the morning to twelve 
 o'clock at night the omnibuses circulate through 
 Paris. The Omnibus Company, one of the richest 
 and most prosperous in France, pays an annual 
 sum to Government for the monopoly of these ve- 
 hicles, which amounts to $200,000. The Paris omni- 
 buses convey about one hundred millions passen- 
 
112 NOOKS AND CORNERS OF PARIS LIFE. 
 
 gers per annum. Different offices or Bureaux are es- 
 tablished in the streets, boulevards, and squares, 
 to take up passengers and set down those who ask 
 for a correspondance^ viz. a check which is delivered 
 gratis, and enables the traveller to deviate from the 
 direct line, and continue his journey by entering 
 another omnibus. Thus for the sum of six sous, 
 you may go from one end of Paris to the other. 
 There is no cheaper method or better way to form 
 a rapid idea of the extent and beauty of Paris than 
 to go on the top of a 'bus and travel from the Arc 
 de Triomphe to the Bastille, returning by the 
 left bank of the Seine, especially of an afternoon 
 when the whole citv is swarmino; with life. 
 
 Should the excursionists renew the same drive 
 between eight and ten in the evening, when the 
 profile of Paris houses is traced by long lines of 
 light, which appear to link them together as if with 
 golden chains, he will then have acquired in a few 
 hours as correct an idea of Paris out-door life as if 
 he had spent several days in the metropolis. The 
 same promenade through the veins and arteries of 
 this huge giant, ought to be tried in the still 
 hours of the morning, amid the momentarj^ lull so 
 soon to be broken by the awakening of thousands 
 of hearts and the collision of countless interests. 
 These remarks are made for the benefit of our 
 readers, and to any strangers who may happen to 
 be coming over here, we strongly recommend the 
 following up of the plan just suggested. Had we 
 the uncontrolled chaperoning of an intelligent 
 sight-seer, we should begin with the streets and 
 thread them thoroughly, before we sought out the 
 accredited lions. We must add that besides the 
 regular Paris omnibuses there are 550 plying from 
 the capital to the suburbs, such as Yincennes, 
 Boulogne, Saint Cloud, Meaux, &c. 
 
 Many interesting particulars respecting two im- 
 portant classes of the Parisian population — the 
 
NOOKS AND CORNERS OF PARIS LIFE. 113 
 
 till eves and the police — can be given, which will be 
 of deep interest to the general reader. 
 
 THE CRIMINAL RECORD, 
 (armee du crime,) 
 
 Is divided into regular classes and ranks, beginning 
 with the '' vagabond," " tramp," whom they 
 encourage, supplying him with gratuitous board 
 and lodging at the workhouse, and ending with the 
 regular thief and burglar, who will not hesitate 
 to sacrifice human life when in quest of prey. 
 Each class of the thieving community has its 
 proper name in slang, some of the terms being 
 evidently of gipsy origin — the gipsies themselves 
 are called in French thieves' dialect, " roman- 
 ichels," which every reader of Borrow knows is 
 pure gipsy. The thieving category is headed by 
 the faiseurs, " the most numerous and dangerous 
 of all," for we are not on our guard against them, 
 and meet them everywhere and every day — in the 
 streets, at the play, at the cafe, at the fashionable 
 watering-places, everywhere in short. The faiseur 
 generally has an " office" in the commercial quarter 
 of the town ; a den invariably on the entresol, and 
 plentifully garnished with ledgers, &c. The room 
 is mostly divided into two by a grating, with caisse 
 painted on a black board in large letters. These 
 sharks are as a rule, partial to advertising for funds 
 — promising first-class investments, huge interest, 
 unexceptionable security. A certain number of gulls 
 are invariably caught, fleeced, and most of them 
 only curse their own folly in having indulged in 
 rash speculation. The faiseurs are great hands at 
 buying on credit and selling for cash; when the 
 bill they have signed falls due the collecting clerk 
 generally finds the lodging to let, and that the 
 tenant has forgotten to leave his address. These 
 fellows leave nothing untried — stock-jobbing, 
 
114 NOOKS AND CORNERS OF PARIS LIFE. 
 
 banking, trade, joint-stock companies, &c., all with 
 a deliberate intention of swindling. In one case, 
 tried not so very long ago, one of the faiseur frater- 
 nity rigged himself out in a general's uniform, and, 
 representing himself as one of the aides-de-camp 
 of the Minister of War, succeeded in making a 
 large haul. When these worthies feel it necessary 
 to resort to a little kite-flying, they manufacture 
 bills of exchange, and have them endorsed by peo- 
 ple who make a trade of it, at so much per signa- 
 ture ; the price of this accommodation varies be- 
 tween twenty centimes and ^ve francs, according 
 to the amount. This dirty business is carried on 
 publicly, and two large cafes in the wealthiest part 
 of the town are exclusively frequented by this dis- 
 reputable clientele. Their fates are different; some 
 of them ripen into millionaires, others are sent to 
 galleys, or are meditating at Cayenne over their 
 hard luck. It was estimated that in Louis Phil- 
 ippe's time these sharks annually plundered the 
 public to the extent of seventy millions of francs, 
 or three millions sterling. • 
 
 Compared with the faiseurs, the other members 
 of the criminal family are comparatively harmless ; 
 the next class in order of merit consists of 
 
 BEGGARS DRAGUERS DE LA HAUTE. 
 
 Professedly, they are beggars of the shabby genteel 
 school; they give themselves out as broken-down 
 lawyers when they solicit alms from a lawyer ; ru- 
 ined clergymen when appealing to a clergj^man, 
 and so on. They are remarkabl}^ clever with their 
 hands, and the dexterity with which the}^ will 
 walk off with a watch, a spoon, a piece of plate, 
 &c., bespeaks them artists in their way. The pick- 
 pockets are considered a long way below those in 
 England ; but shoplifting has attained the perfec- 
 tion of a science. A story is told of a professor of 
 
NOOKS AND CORNERS OF PARIS LIFE. 115 
 
 tills branch of robbery who, in the conrse of an 
 afternoon's walk, had stolen from shops in various 
 parts of the town a cigar-case, a watch-case, a cane, 
 a ring, a pocket-book, and a pair of shoes. Burg- 
 lary and murder are not extensively pursued as 
 professions, though there have been remarkable 
 instances of these Parisian banditti who make mur- 
 der the very basis of their operations. The most 
 celebrated of these was Lacenaire He used to sign 
 bills for small amounts, payable in the dingiest 
 parts of the town, and when the collecting clerk 
 presented the bill, Lacenaire used to drive a long 
 sailmaker's needle into his heart, and rifle his 
 pockets. In early life Lacenaire, who wrote a cap- 
 ital hand, earned his bread by copying MSS, One 
 day two authors left him the manuscript of a play 
 to copy, but he returned it next day, and said he 
 would not do it. The astounded author asked 
 why — was he not satisfied with the terms ? " Yes, 
 the terms are well enough, but I can't do your 
 play — c'est trop hUe^^ (it is too stupid.) 
 
 Another clever story is told of one Beaumont. 
 Attired in an immaculate black suit, with white 
 choker, portfolio, &c. — the very picture of a pro- 
 careur Impirial — he entered the guard-room at the 
 Prefecture of Police, ordered a soldier to accom- 
 pany him, opened (with a false key) the door of 
 the chief secretary's office, made the soldier stand 
 sentry and prevent his being disturbed, plundered 
 the office, left a note for the secretary expressing 
 his regret at any inconvenience he might have 
 caused, sent the soldier back to the guard-house, 
 walked off, and was never caught. 
 
 The thieves' places of amusement, the pictur- 
 esque tapis francs, the Cafe des Pieds Humides, the 
 celebrated haunt known as i\\Q Cochon fidele^hnYQ 
 all been improved away by M. Haussmann's 
 hammer, and those which remain the writer has 
 probably visited too superficially to be able to give 
 
116 NOOKS AND CORNERS OF PARIS LIFE. 
 
 a graphic account of them. One of the most re- 
 markable of these haunts is a large cafe on the 
 Boulevard Montparnasse, not far from the station 
 of the Brest Railway. Its outward appearance is 
 most respectable, and the first room as you enter 
 presents the usual features of a French cafe — quiet- 
 looking people drinking coffee or absinthe, smok- 
 ing, or playing dominoes. But cross the .room, 
 throw open the folding-doors at the back, and you 
 find yourself in a huge hall, brilliantly lighted up ; 
 sixteen billiard tables occupy the centre, and the 
 usual marble tables are ranged along the walls. 
 This place is invariably crowded by theives and 
 their mistresses, who meet there every night to di- 
 vide the day's plunder or spend it, and plan new 
 operations. But the place is luxurious; the walls 
 are adorned with frescoes and large mirrors, and 
 for elegance the whole appearance of this thieves' 
 trysting place might vie with the fashionable cafes 
 on the Boulevard des Italiens. 
 
 We cannot say even approximatively the num- 
 ber of 
 
 THE THIEF POPULATION 
 
 In Paris, butgive valuable information as to the num- 
 ber of arrests. In 1857 no less than 20,726 individu- 
 las were arrested ; the arrests amounted to 24,593 in 
 1862, to 25,516 in 1865, to 28,644 in 1866, to 31,437 
 in 1867, and to 35,571 in 1869, to 53,602 in 1874. 
 One very significant fact is that the unscrupulous 
 way in which the Paris police arrest people on in- 
 adequate grounds, a tendency which has been very 
 much on the increase of late years, may account 
 for its rapidly increasing progression. It does not 
 strike us that the increase in the number of arrests 
 is at all conclusive as to a corresponding increase 
 of crime. It is admitted that out of the 53,602 
 persons arrested in 1874 more than half were mere 
 
NOOKS AND CORNERS OF PARIS LIFE. 117 
 
 vagrants, tramps, and beggars, who, in England, 
 would have been sent to the workhouse, but would 
 never have been sent to gaol ; 14,550 were va- 
 grants, and 3,353 were beggars ; 8,698 were thieves; 
 1,212 were arrested for swindling; 604 for breach 
 of trust and embezzlement ; 532 for a variety of 
 offences against morality — i. e., rape, indecent as- 
 saults, &c., which is a very small number in such 
 a large city, and which some people are pleased to 
 call the most Immoral in the world ; 729 for escap- 
 ing from gaol, the hulks, or a fixed residence ; 18, 
 for manslaughter, and 26 for murder. The thieves 
 and malefactors who operate in Paris are a cos- 
 mopolitan band; the native element is naturally 
 enough largely represented, but there is a plenti- 
 ful admixture of foreigners — Italians, Belgians, 
 Prussians, Swiss, Americans and English. 
 
 THE POLICE OF PARIS, 
 
 As it now exists, was organized in 1854, and a great 
 increase then took place in the number oi sergents-de- 
 ville. There are three of them in each of the twenty 
 four arrondissements of Paris, or seventy two 
 brigades in all, each under the orders of an officer 
 de paiXj or divisional inspector. Every day the in- 
 spector is bound to report himself at the Prefect- 
 ure de Police, and every four hours send in a writ- 
 ten report, which mostly contains nothing but the 
 regulation formula — " Bein de nouveau'' — any mur- 
 der, robbery, fire, accident of any kind, is to be 
 immediately reported, so that nothing unusual oc- 
 curs in Paris that is not made known within an 
 hour's time at the Prefecture. The system of 
 sending reports by messengers, M. Duncamp justly 
 points out, is open to improvement — he suggests 
 telegraphic wires between the police-stations and 
 the Prefecture. Of these sergents-de-ville, who are 
 all employed in the quarter of the town they live 
 
118 NOOKS AND CORNERS OF PARIS LIFE. 
 
 in, there is a special brigade called the central brig- 
 ade, which consists of 250 men ; unlike the ordi- 
 nary sergents-de-ville, the men comprising it have no 
 number on their collar, but only the arms of the 
 city. They are very efficient, but their roughness 
 and brutality are so proverbial that the people call 
 them les cognes. It was this brigade which made 
 itself so conspicuous during the June riots by their 
 brutality towards harmless lookers on. In addi- 
 tion, there is a brigade whose sole duty consists in 
 inspecting all hotels and furnished lodgings, from 
 the splendid caravanseries in the Boulevards and 
 Eue de Kivoli, down to the dingiest dens in the 
 back slums of the Quartier St. Marceau. All ho- 
 tel and furnished-house keepers are bound to enter 
 the names of all their lodgers in a special register ; 
 and these names are daily forwarded to the Prefec- 
 ture of Police ; so that if any of our foreign visi- 
 tors are " wanted" at any time during their stay it is 
 not very difficult to find them. A curious relic of the 
 ancien regime still endures — a special list of all the per- 
 sons of note arriving in Paris is daily drawn up and 
 forwarded to the Prefect de Police. In 1867 a list was 
 drawn up of all the visitors to Paris who put up at 
 hotels and lodging-houses, specifying the national- 
 ity of each. There were 59,367 British subjects, 4 
 Cochin Chinese, 43,885 Germans, 16 South Sea 
 Islanders, 27,386 Belgians, 33 Georgians, 4,750 
 persons of rank, 50,335 landowners, 4,289 Roman 
 Catholic priests, 320 journalists, 115 postmasters, 
 222 shipowners, 501 men of letters, and 23 rabbis. 
 The total number of visitors to Paris on that occa- 
 sion was much less than is generally imagined — 
 only 582^204, of whom 200,346 were foreigners. 
 This, of course, does not include the persons who 
 put up at friend's houses, whom, of course, it has 
 not been possible to classify. In the month of 
 May last there were in Paris 12,628 hotels and 
 furnished lodgings under the surveillance of the 
 
NOOKS AND CORNERS OF PARIS LIFE. 119 
 
 police. They were tenanted by 160,370 French- 
 men and 33,127 foreigners. 
 
 M. Chabrol, the well known rag picker of 
 Paris, has recently died. His name will be remem- 
 bered in Paris, for he has two noble monuments to 
 his skill as an architect, and to his memory ; the 
 new library. Rue Richelieu, and the restored Palais 
 Royal. Sylvain Barnabe was the oldest rag picker 
 in Paris, when seventy-eight winters, bad brandy, 
 and the recent low temperature, ended his life. He 
 lived in a miserable closet, for which he paid frs. 1,60 
 a month ; his bed was a heap of rags laid steadless 
 on the floor ; he was found dead in this litter. He 
 was one of the many people to be found in great 
 cities who have insensibly glided down society. 
 The descent is easier and more unconscious than 
 may be thought, especially when a tincture of mis- 
 anthropy deadens the faller to men's opinions. 
 Again, there is at bottom of all of us a yearning 
 for our old life of barbarians, when we roamed the 
 woods with no home but a cave or a hollow tree, 
 no larder but the brook or forest. It is notorious, 
 that after any man or woman has roamed the 
 streets for three years they cannot be allured to 
 regular work again. The litter on which they 
 couch may be fitter for a beast than for a human 
 being; their meals are irregular, scanty, coarse; 
 rain and snow may chill them at every step they 
 take — no matter, the freedom, the carelessness of 
 their life, destroys the ting of all these miseries, and 
 spice existence with a flavor which no other career 
 possesses. Once upon a time, Sylvain Barnabe was 
 a fast man. His patrimony was considerable. His 
 family was good. Had some gypsy appeared in 
 one of those Toulouse ball-rooms, and, singling out 
 the most brilliant dancer of all the brilliant coup- 
 les on the floor, exclaimed, " There is a future rag 
 picker !" how the fortune teller had been hooted! 
 But Sylvain Barnabe devoured capital as well as 
 
120 NOOKS AND CORNERS OF PARIS LIFE. 
 
 revenue, and to his astonishment he found himself 
 at the end of his money. His back must be cov- 
 ered and his mouth filled. He found a clerkship 
 in an attorney's office in Tarbes an obscure garris- 
 on town. Had he not been doomed to be a rag 
 picker, he might have been happy, and prosper- 
 ous, respectable here. He was stifled by that con- 
 tracted theatre of life. Fortune was to be found 
 in Paris. To Paris he came. He clutched many 
 times at fortune ; his hand fell empty until he 
 caught a rag-picker's hook. He held it for fifty 
 years, and walked above 50,000 miles in the streets 
 "of Paris searching for rags, waste paper, bones, 
 and broken meat. 
 
WALERY. 121 
 
 WALfiRY. 
 
 Since the day tliat man's genius accomplished 
 victory over matter, and an ^' eighth wonder" was 
 given to the workl, in the shape of a discovery 
 called Daguerreotype, the names of Mopce and 
 Daguerre have descended to posterity, as the two 
 scientists who will forever more deserve and obtain 
 a wholesome share of universal gratitude for in- 
 ventive progress. 
 
 To France belongs the honor of the discovery, 
 and she has been able to maintain herself at the 
 head of that industrial art — aided perhaps some- 
 what by climatic agents, yet in the main due to the 
 perseverance, care, and skill which French artists 
 bring to the execution of their work. 
 
 From the first daguerreotype, till the period of 
 the more durable and wonderful photograph, men 
 have been busily striving for improvement, until 
 perfection itself has nearly rewarded their increas- 
 ing efforts. It is therefore with undisguised pleas- 
 ure that we proclaim to all, Mr. Walery, as the 
 hero who has now the laurels. At Paris, in 1867, 
 Walery was the first; at Vienna in 1873, Walery 
 was again rewarded with the Grand Medal, and we 
 are not the first who predict the same results for 
 Philadelphia, in 1876. 
 
 Again we mention his name, with greater in- 
 terest from the fact that he is the favorite of the 
 American Colony in Paris, this not as a mere 
 advertisement of his own, but from the amount of 
 patronage it bestows upon him. 
 
 Mr. Walery is the latest star in the brilliant 
 constellation of Photographic artists of Paris, as he 
 is the foremost of those who have made the art 
 what it now is. 
 
PAEIS OUT OF TOWN. 
 
 ON SUNDAYS AND F^TE DAYS 
 
 Paris may be considered out of town. Those only 
 who are doomed to live in crowded cities can appre- 
 ciate the delight of a few hours' run into the country. 
 The eye wearies of architectural beauties, however 
 beautiful they may be. The continual view of 
 long lines of stone and brick is fatiguing to the 
 senses, and hence on Sunday, during the Summer 
 months, Paris — the gayest town residence in 
 Europe, with all its alluring vices — is deserted for 
 the day by half its inhabitants. The handwork 
 of God, the simplicity of nature, and the pure air 
 of the country have irresistible attractions for the 
 denizens of this beautiful hell; the environs are 
 overrun by thousands. Visitors to the French cap- 
 ital are acquainted with the principal places within 
 reach — Yerseilles. Fontainbleau, St. Germain, St. 
 Cloud, Chantilly, Compiegne, Muedon, &c. It is 
 needless to refer more particularly to them, but 
 many leave Paris without having visited the charm- 
 ing spots to be found in its immediate neighbor- 
 hood or any spots to be found on any of the lines 
 of railroads. One of the most picturesque parts 
 of the country is near Bougival, although the 
 village itself has become too Anglicized. If the 
 pedestrian will mount the steep hill to the right of 
 the church, from time to time he obtains a view 
 of the entire valley of the Seine, with Bougival at 
 
PARIS OUT OF TOWN. 123 
 
 his feet and tlie heiglits of MoiitmoreDcy as aback- 
 ground. The view will amply repay the trouble of 
 the ascent. The villages of iSt. Michael, Les Gres- 
 sets, and Montbuisson are passed, and at last we 
 arrive, over hill and dale, at Louveciennes and 
 Voisins. Mounting higher the habitations become 
 less frequent, and the Seine disappears behind 
 a curtain of fine trees which border the road; 
 this is the ancient park of Boissy-d' i^uglas. The 
 liill side is covered with vines. Everywhere good 
 air, the perfume of the sweet-smelling country, 
 and silence — not silence — for who has not remarked 
 the indescribable hum of the country. 
 
 Louveciennes was the ancient domain of La 
 Dubany, the pavillion of Louveciennes was famous 
 in the last century. St. Cloud is easy of access by 
 the Verseilles railroad (rive droit,) which has a sta- 
 tion at St. Cloud, or (rive gauche) by descending 
 at Bellevue ; the Chemin de Fer Americain, or the 
 steamboats fi-om the Quai 'd Orsay. The Park of St. 
 Cloud joins the pretty village, Yille d' Avray, which 
 is situated in a picturesque valley, and whence Ver- 
 seilles may be reached on foot by a delightful walk 
 through the wood. By this railroad several interest- 
 ing spots can be \dsited, Les-Yaux-de Cernay, form- 
 erly an abbey of the twelfth century and of which 
 several imposing vestiges still exist. The Chateau of 
 Ramabouillet, celebrated for not having been lucky 
 for the Sovereigns of France. Francois L died 
 there; Henri III, driven out of Paris, sought an 
 asylum for one night; Marie-Louise and Joseph 
 Bonaparte passed there as fugitives in 1814; the 
 wife of I^apoleon I. left it for Vienna as a pris- 
 oner under an Austrian escort; Napoleon slept 
 there 29th June, 1815, before leaving for St. 
 Helena; Charles X., flying from St. Cloud, sought 
 a refuge there, and signed an abdication, which 
 however came too late. In another direction by 
 the Chemin de Ter du !N'ord, the excursionists are 
 
124 PARIS OUT OF TOWN. 
 
 conveyed to Chantilly, celebrated for its lace, the 
 manufacture of which is nearly extinct. The chat- 
 eau and enormous stables are worthy of attention. 
 The forest is one of the most beautiful in the 
 neighborhood of Paris. Not far from Chantilly is 
 the Park de Montfontaine, with its picturesque 
 lakes; Ermenonville and its island of poplars, 
 where Jean Jacques Rosseau died ; Senlis, with its 
 Roman ruins and beautiful ogivale church. The 
 neighborhood of Paris is rich in picturesque and 
 charming views, disdained too much by Parisians, 
 and totally unknown to strangers. For instance, 
 the almost island formed by the Marne from Join- 
 ville-le Pont to La Varenne-Saint-Hilaire. Scaeux, 
 which has kept but a fragment of the park of the 
 sumptuous chateau, in which the Duchess of Maine 
 held her court, but which has still delightful sur- 
 roundings. Aunay, Ch^tenay, La Yallee-aux- 
 Loups, Verrieres, and its thickets, Bievre and its 
 delightful valley, which reaches to Yerseilles ; 
 Fontenay, which has nearly sacrificed roses for 
 voilets and strawberries ; Argenteuil on the banks 
 of the Seine, and which has not forgotten Heloise; 
 Sannois and Fanconville on their picturesque hills ; 
 Nanterre, which still shows the well of Sainte 
 Genevieve, and preserves with Sureness the culti- 
 vation of rosieres, Asnieres with its Canotiers, can- 
 otieres and regattas. The two charming valleys of 
 L' Yvette and the Bievre, commencing at Palaiseau, 
 are also worthy of a visit. Palaiseau is popular 
 from having been a spot where the Fie Voleuse, in 
 complicity with a sexagenarean magistrate, sent 
 poor Ninette to the torture. The red brick house 
 at the end of the valley, is inhabited by George 
 Sand. Palaiseau, before the days of iron roads, 
 was one of the principal places for changing horses 
 between Chartres and Paris ; its enormous hotels 
 at that period were rarely empty. Between d' Or- 
 say and Chevreuse there are three villages, and 
 
PARIS OUT OF TOWN. 125 
 
 to the right and left are numerous chateaux and 
 ruins of convents. We can only assure strangers 
 that on all sides of Paris the environs are charm- 
 ing, and although, to our taste, they are on Sun- 
 days too much crowded by the Parisians, we can- 
 not be surprised that all who can do so should take 
 advantage of their only day of rest for a few hours 
 ramble in the country. Railroads and steamboats 
 have confered inestimable blessings on the denizens 
 of crowded cities, by enablins^ them at a triflino- 
 expense to visit scenes, which in years gone by, 
 were only within the reach of the man of leisure 
 and the oppulent. 
 
PARIS AT TABLE. 
 
 Paris is renowned for its cuisine, and truly there 
 are no people in the world who live so well in gen- 
 eral, and who bestow so much pains, time and 
 money for the satisfaction of their appetites as the 
 Parisians. From the Duchess whose chocolat a la 
 creme de vanille is brought into her silk-tapestried 
 boudoir of a morning, in a cup of rich Sevres por- 
 celaine, set on a silver salver, and who sips it re- 
 clining on a bed, the quilted silk cover of which is 
 trimmed with point d'Alengon, worth many thou- 
 sand of francs, to the humble and cheerful little 
 oiwriere who enters the cremerie of the Quartier du 
 Caire and asks for three sous worth of cafe au lait 
 and a petit pain ; from the noble sportsman who 
 spends a louis for his dejeuner at Bignon's to the 
 litterateur decave who creeps stealthily into the din- 
 gy traiteur-shop of a dingy street in the Quartier 
 Pigalle ; from the portly, bland, and smiling sena- 
 tor who, on leaving the august assembly of which 
 he is a member, steps in at Foyot's for a dozen of 
 Odende to be washed down by half a bottle of Sau- 
 terne (1856), to the poor clerk who takes his din- 
 ner at the restaurant a prix fixe, at the outlay of 
 ninety centimes ; from the smart commercial trav- 
 eller, or man of business who is a habitue of Duval's 
 to the ouvrier out of work, who can just afford to 
 pay five sous for an ordinaire in the mysterious re- 
 gion of little California, away down near the Bou- 
 levard Montrouge : Parisians of all classes, provid- 
 
PARIS AT TABLE. 127 
 
 ed with purses long or short, will always try to en- 
 joy the particular manner that they like most. 
 Therefore their continual anxiety for estabUsh- 
 ments boasting of specialities. We have taken it as 
 our task to guide the reader through the different 
 phases of Paris a table and have opened before his 
 gaze many a page of the sensational romance of Par- 
 is life, of the existence of which he never dreamed. 
 We are in the realms of mammon, at the corner 
 of the Boulevard des Italiens and the E,ae Lafitte, 
 the boidevardier will point out to the distinguished 
 foreigner to whom he acts as cicerone sl high, noble 
 looking house, the window ornamentations of 
 which still retain the traces of the copious gilding 
 lavished upon it some years ago, but now nearly 
 effaced by the onsets of time and tempest. It is 
 the maison Doree of world-wide fame. The splen- 
 dour of its gilding without, may have been tar- 
 nished, but enter, and the most fastidious expecta- 
 tion will be satisfied with the gorgeous, elegant, 
 and yet simple decorations displayed within. The 
 demands of the palate will be appeased quite as 
 well. But here as in all the establishments we 
 shall describe in this series, lago's admonition 
 holds good : " Put money in thy purse !" put 
 money in your purse plenty of money, any num- 
 ber of the neat little round medals bearing the 
 efiigy of E"apoleon III.; put them in your purse 
 with the avowed intention of leaving a goodly 
 number of them at the rose-wood counter behind 
 which thrones the affable damede comptoir, for with- 
 out such provision, and such intention you had 
 better stop short at the door. Bat if yon wish to 
 unveil the Eleusian mysteries of gourmandize, the 
 picture being framed with the most exquisite sur- 
 roundings, yon must enter the temple of the cordon- 
 bleu, you must ascend the carpeted staircase which 
 leads to t'le sumptuous cabinets upstairs. There 
 you will find the walls set with ebony, encrusted 
 
128 PARIS AT TABLE. 
 
 with flowers in mother-of-pearl displayed in most 
 varied and delightfully fantastic arrangement. 
 Sofas covered with rich velvets, or silk damasks, 
 court your gaze and invite your desire to recline. 
 Curtains of costly materials soften the light of the 
 day, whilst lustres sparkling with a thousand cor- 
 ruscations scatter the rays of their gas flames, when 
 night has wrapped the outer world, with Venetian 
 mirrors reflecting the brilliant scene, and adding 
 to the enchantment of the moment. The space is 
 limited ; the rooms seem made but for a cozy tite 
 a tite. Here you may satisfy your heart's longings. 
 Let us take an indiscreet peep into one of the mys- 
 terious little chambers ; the company there is com- 
 posed of two ladies and two gentlemen. The lat- 
 ter are both already of a certain age, their hair 
 and whiskers are blanching; they are of distin- 
 guished, aristocratic exterior, and the little many 
 colored ribbons in their button-holes denote them 
 as men in high position. They are smiling in ex- 
 ultant satisfaction, but it seems that the secret of 
 their importance does not allow them to go furth- 
 er. The ladies, on the contrary, are hilarious to 
 the extreme, dressed in the finest of satin and lace, 
 and glittering with their rivieres of diamonds. 
 They are both elegant, beautiful women. See them 
 in the street, and you might take them to be duch- 
 esses. But there is a certain indescribable want 
 of polish in their manners that betrays the want 
 of early good breeding, and in spite of that superfi- 
 cially attractive conversation, the man accustomed 
 to high society would take them directly for what 
 they are — namely actresses in one of the smaller 
 theatres. They have united their eflbrts in the 
 production of the m6nu and it does credit to them, 
 provided that the two gentlemen do not object to 
 the outlay of three or four of those neatly-printed 
 scraps of paper bearing the signature of Monsieur 
 Soleil. Their order runs as follows. 
 
PARIS AT TABLE. 129 
 
 Soupe Amilie a la bisque. 
 Pate de foie gras, caviar. 
 
 CI OS Vougeot. 
 Sole Normande. Pommes Chateau. 
 
 Chateau rf' Yquem. 
 
 Riz de vean Campignons. 
 Mauviettes a la jardiniere. 
 Petits pois a la Brisse. 
 
 Chateaic Lafitte. fl811). 
 Perdrix truffe Magenta. 
 
 Tokay. 
 
 Chateaubriand a la Regence. 
 Salade a la Russe. 
 
 Johannisherg . 
 Riz glace Reine Margot. Beignets d' ananas. 
 
 Lachrymae Christi (rouge). 
 
 Meringues Creme Yanille. 
 
 Cafe. 
 
 In the large salon downstairs a number of well 
 dressed gentlemen, belonging to the higher ranks 
 of society, are sitting quietly over their dinners. 
 The conversation rises not much above a whisper, 
 and the dishes though chosen after reflection, and 
 with little regard to cost, are not as varied as the 
 bill of fare we have just described. Filet chateau., 
 cotelette en papillottes, turbot aiix cdpres and other 
 meis are the most often demanded. The soup in 
 vogue is the a la Colbert. The most interesting- 
 feature is the quantity and quality of the wines con- 
 sumed, as very often the price of the latter ex- 
 ceeds that of the dishes by more than double. 
 On the line of Boulevards from the Madeleine to 
 the Rue Poissonniere, restaurants of the highest or- 
 der, are as plentiful as blackberries among the bush- 
 es in summer. The members of the sporting com- 
 munity prefer the Cafe Anglais renowned for its de- 
 licious salmon. There is especially one room in this 
 establishment that can boast of a more than Euro- 
 pean fame. What scenes, both gay and serious, 
 
130 PARIS AT TABLE. 
 
 have taken place in the " Grand 16 V^ Farewell din- 
 ners given by parting friends, congratulatory din- 
 nerslavished on celebrated authors and artists, ^e^^Y^ 
 soupers in honor of some ladies a la. mode, and even 
 solemn festivities between diplomatists united in 
 Paris, when the fate of Europe hung in the balance, 
 Among the restaurants that are privileged to keep 
 open all night, Brebant claims the lion's share of 
 fashionable and semi-fashionable customers. Men 
 of letters and journalists abound; and many a bon- 
 mot takes Yachette's salon as its birth-place, many 
 a calembour flashes from table to table. The ladies 
 present belong mostly to that fashionable, though 
 equivocal class known as the Demi-monde. Unre- 
 strained hilarity reigns there generally; the room 
 rings, sometimes, with laughter and mirth. On 
 the nights of the bals-masques at the Opera, espec- 
 ially, Brebant's salons and cabinets are crowded with 
 the elegants of the Capital, who desire to appease 
 the cravings of their appetite after having amused 
 themselves for an hour or so at the foyer in the Rue 
 le Pelletier. A gayer or livelier scene could hard- 
 ly be witnessed than the spectacle offered at the 
 staircase of this celebrated restaurant, on the 
 nights, or better to say, mornings in question. A 
 continuous stream of maskers, in the most fantas- 
 tical costumes, with a strong admixture of domi- 
 noes and habits swarm to and from the supper- 
 rooms, waiters rush about in frantic excitement, 
 and the whole is climaxed by the never ceasing 
 shouts of the cab men, as they deposit or take up 
 their fares. The renomme of the Palais-Royale be- 
 longs by right of tradition to Yefour. This 
 name is as well known on the banks of the Bos- 
 phorus as on those of the ]N"eva and the Manzana- 
 res. It is the My smm. of foreign gourmands. The 
 specialite in which Vefour has no rival in his sole 
 iiormande. An elegant assembly generally throngs 
 the salo:is at meal times, for this is one of the res- 
 
PARIS AT TABLE. 131 
 
 taurants where ladies (in the proper acceptation of 
 the term) can enter without fearing to encounter 
 doubtful members of their sex. Foyot's is the re- 
 sort of officials of the Senate and even of members 
 of that distinguished body itself. This house has 
 no external, no interior display, no gorgeous deco- 
 rations, no 7nise-en-scene. But go there about six 
 o'clock during session-time and you will find quite 
 a number of exceedingly respectable looking gen- 
 tlemen, mostly wearing red ribbons in their button 
 holes, frequenting these modest salons, an exquisite 
 cuisine amply replacing the want of ornamentation. 
 Foyot retains to this day the supremacy on the left 
 bank of the Seine, in spite of a very redoubtable 
 rival — Magny — who in the humble neighborhood 
 of the Rue Contrescarpe Dauphin, has been able 
 to gain and to keep the custom of a large number 
 of wealthy inhabitants of the Quartier St. Germain. 
 We might mention many other establishments of 
 the same order, but onr object being to simply 
 give " sketches,' not elaborate descriptions, we 
 must be content with this short stroll " Among 
 Fashionables,''^ 
 
PAEIS ASLEEP. 
 
 HUSH ! PARIS HAS GONE TO REST. 
 
 The mighty city sleeps after the turmoil and ex- 
 citement of the day. Men whose brains have 
 been hard at work during long hours, plotting and 
 planning their different moves in the great game 
 of life, have now laid their heads upon their pil- 
 lows to sleep. Perhaps to dream! Yes, to dream 
 quite as much may be as the little fleuriste who has 
 been making artificial roses and daises from six in 
 the morning till midnight. Poor little thing ! car- 
 olling over her toil, she passed the weary hours 
 till her ej^elids drooped, and now her pretty head 
 is lying like a rose-bud among the leaves with 
 which her work-table is strewn. Without, the sky 
 is overcast, a biting north wind blow^. We are in 
 the month of December. The Place de la Con- 
 corde, lies in its stillness with the Obelisk of Lux- 
 or standing up in all its loneliness in the centre of 
 stony allegories intended to represent the princi- 
 pal cities of sunny Prance. Its weird hieroglyph- 
 ics are but half visible to view by the yellow 
 light of the lamps around. The Place Yendome 
 looks brilliant with the lights of the Pue Castig- 
 lione as background ; it always looks brilliant at 
 night as if to make up, for its sad aspect by day. 
 The long chains of gas-lights in the Pue de Pivoli 
 is throwing a cold glare upon the drearily uniform 
 white arcades, showing us the forms of hasty or 
 
PARIS ASLEEP. 133 
 
 furtive pedestrians who are in the act of going 
 home. The sentinels at the Louvre gates are shel- 
 tering themselves from the cliill night breeze in 
 their sentry-boxes; the sergeants-de-vUle are pacing 
 up and down in a state of half drowsy contempla- 
 tiveness. A figure passes ; you can hardly dis- 
 cern to which sex it belono;s, it carries a laro:e 
 basket on its back, a little lantern held a few inches 
 from the ground, throws its flickering light on the 
 road. It is the Chiffonier plying his crook, and 
 seeking from the midst of the heterogenuous heaps 
 in the gutters whatever may yet be useful to some 
 portion of humanity. He is wonderful in his im- 
 perturbable calmness when following his pursuit. 
 j^o disturbance, no accident can withdraw his gaze 
 from the tumuli that he considers his own special 
 property. He does not ask for treasures — a brok- 
 en bottle, a bone, a uail, prove very acceptable — 
 bits of paper, and smashed crockery are not de- 
 spised but rags and pieces of coal are the tit-bits 
 picked up by the aid of the hook that he handles 
 with wonderful agility, and throws pell-mell into 
 the hospitable basket, where they await being as- 
 sorted on arrival at some hovel in the Qaartier 
 Mouffetard or Picpas. 
 
 Two o'clock has struck at St. Germain I'Auxer- 
 rois. We wend our way toward the Boulevard 
 Montmartre, that no longer presents the lively and 
 brilliant aspect of a few hours ago. The Cafes are 
 closed, and only a few favoured restaurants receive 
 customers in their salons and cabinets up stairs. 
 Some gaily dressed women ascend Brebaut's stair- 
 case, who, having spent their own fortunes, are 
 now making way with those of other people. 
 Sounds of boisterous hilarity are proceeding from 
 the open window of one of these half cozy, half 
 voluptuous rooms; the breeze carries the echoes 
 of the mirth and laughter of the blazi company ' 
 above to the ears of three or four men who crouch 
 
134 PAEIS ASLEEP. 
 
 on tlie benches below, shivering with cold. These 
 are the true types of the miserables. Probably 
 they have not dined the day before, perhaps not 
 even breakfasted, and now they are staring with 
 eyes rendered ghastly by hunger, at the windows 
 of the brilliantly illuminated saloons, where they 
 know men squander gold whilst they are starving 
 for the want of a few coppers. One of them es- 
 pecially, paler, thinner, more haggard, and evi- 
 dently weaker than the rest, in a thin grey blouse, 
 has dropped asleep on the Boulevard bench. Two 
 Sergenis-de- Ville are passing their rounds, and with 
 a rough "Ou ne dort pas k la belle etoile," the 
 sleeper is awakened. He has no right to sleep in 
 the street. Two men descend just then from the 
 supper rooms. They have partaken a copious 
 meal, where champagne flowed freely. They are 
 in good humor, and generously disposed ; they 
 interfere for the poor devil whom the policemen 
 are about to lock up as a vagabond. They give 
 him a handful of small coin and send him away. 
 He cannot even stammer a word of thanks, but he 
 weeps tears of gratitude. His benefactors look 
 smilingly after him, and one of them says to the 
 other, "I had kept it to buy gloves for Sinette." 
 She'll have to go without them now, " tant pis pour 
 elle" replies the other in a languid, sleepy drawl, 
 and they jump into a cab and drive off. Perhaps 
 do they think that money thrown away ! At that 
 moment the rustling of a silk dt*ess is heard as it 
 sweeps along the pavement, the click of high me- 
 talic heels resounds upon the asphalt, and one of 
 the belated habituees of the Casino walks up, drag- 
 ging her embroidered skirts through the dirt and 
 mud. It is Mnette, she gives a hasty glance at 
 the windows above her, but her eyes not meeting 
 the figure of an acquaintance, she waits a few sec- 
 • onds, and then turns up the Eue du Faubourg 
 Montmartre. Poor girl, she will have to go with- 
 
PARIS ASLEEP. 135 
 
 out new gloves to keep that vagabond from starv- 
 ing. Poor girl ! It is now four o'clock. A feeble 
 ray of daylight pierces painfully through the dark 
 threatning clouds that are gradually being border- 
 ed with lighter tints. Descending the Rue Yivi- 
 vienne, we meet a number of men and women 
 standing in line on the sidewalk. The men wear 
 blouses and glazed caps with brass numbers. The 
 women's attire is of the rudest simplicity, a hand- 
 kerchief, generally serving as head-gear. All have 
 wooden shoes on their feet, and brooms in their 
 hands. They belong to the army of sweepers 
 whose task it is to perform the toilette of the lono- 
 line of streets before daylight, so that Paris may 
 look bright and clean with the rising sun. The ma- 
 jority among them are Germans, mostly Hessians, 
 but Alsace sends also a goodly contingent. They 
 are just passing the inspection of the superintend- 
 ant of their section. He calls the name of each, 
 who directly walks towards the part of the street as- 
 signed to him and begins his labor. A few minutes 
 afterward the work of clearing the streets is be- 
 gun throughout the vast city, and even in the 
 midst of winter, when the Parisian awakes, the 
 trottoirs will be clean and roads passable for ladies. 
 It is near live o'clock. At the Halles Centralks, 
 the busy movement has commenced ; the carts of 
 the market gardeners throng the adjoining streets; 
 their merchandise is piled on the foot walks and in 
 the road ways. Little flickering oil lamps throw a 
 feeble light on the heaps of cabbages, cauliflowers, 
 etc., destined to assist in feeding the Ogre Paris 
 during the ensuing day. In the pavilion on the 
 side of the Church St. Eustache, the butchers are 
 up and doing. All around the crowded mart the 
 wine and liquor shops are carrying on a thriving 
 trade, and even one or two semi-fashionable restau- 
 rants flaunt their lights in the immediate vicinity 
 of stern humble life. The last feature of " Paris 
 
136 PARIS ASLEEP. 
 
 that never sleeps" are a few fashionably dressed 
 men and women who are picking their way 
 through the accumulation of vegetables, on their 
 road to take a supper at one of the last named 
 establishments. 
 
TWENTY FOUR HOURS IN LONDON. 
 
 Twenty-four hours, can be pleasantly occupied 
 in seeing some of the principal sights of London, 
 althougli, if the time can be spared, one or even two 
 weeks could be devoted to this object. 
 
 The City of London reaches from Temple 
 Bar to a short distance beyond Cornhill. The 
 Lord Mayor's pageant celebrating the election, 
 takes place on the 9th November proceeding from 
 Guildhall, to Westminister, and returning to the 
 Mansion llouse. It has been much changed of late 
 years, and now proceeds along the Thames Em- 
 bankment to avoid interference with the traffic of 
 the streets. All the cabinet ministers and judges 
 take part in a grand banquet which celebrates the 
 election in the evening. The cost of this enter- 
 tainment, together with the state the Lord Mayor 
 Jias to maintain, amount to £ 8,000, the amount 
 allowed for his yearly expenses. A special body 
 of police and of military are under civic jurisdic- 
 tion. 
 
 THE TOWER OF LONDON 
 
 Is situated on the north bank of the Thames, about 
 half a mile below London Bridge. It is approached, 
 in a nearly straight line, by Eastcheap and Great 
 Tower Street, and by Lower Thames Street, the 
 latter running alongside the river, and passing be- 
 neath the roadway of London Bridge, communica- 
 tion being effected by a flight of stone steps. Om- 
 nibuses from Charing Cross and the West end ap- 
 
138 TWENTY-FOUR HOURS IN LONDON. 
 
 proacli it iu Fen church Street or King William 
 Street, City. It is but a short distance from the 
 Queen's Hotel, Cork Street, Bond Street. The 
 railway from Charing Cross Station can be taken 
 to London Bridge, or from the Cannon Street Sta- 
 tion, which is about a mile from the Tower. The 
 jewel office, in which the crowns and other regalia 
 used at coronations are kept is in the ancient iTor- 
 man chapel in the White Tower, the prisons of Sir 
 Walter Raleigh and other historical personages, the 
 spot on which Lady Jane Grey and others were 
 beheaded, &c., fee Is. 
 
 THAMES TUNNEL. 
 The Thames Tunnel has been lately brought into 
 more active use than formerly by the East London 
 Railway Company, never having been extensively 
 used as a mere foot passage under the river. It was 
 commenced by Brunei in 1825, and after the water 
 had broken in on various occasions it Avas opened 
 in 1843. The cost was £ 468,000. It consisted of 
 two archways, the roof being fifteen feet below 
 the bottom of the river. It may be reached by 
 steamboats from London Bridge at frequent inter- 
 vals ; there is a pier called the Thames Tunnel 
 Pier. 
 
 WESTMINISTER ABBEY. 
 Services on Sundays at 10 a. m. and 3 P. M.; on 
 the week days at 7.45 and 10 a. m. and 3 P. M. 
 Full chanting. Sermons on Sundays. Cab fare 
 from the Queen's Hotel, Cork Street, Bond Street, 
 Is. Omnibuses may be taken in Regent Street 
 for Westminister; or an agreeable walk maybe 
 had by descending St. James' Street, and entering 
 St. James's Park bj" the Palace, and then crossing it, 
 going to the left of the piece of ornamental water. 
 
 SOUTH KENSINGTON MUSEUM 
 
 Of pictures, objects of art and vertii, science, util- 
 ity, &c., &c. Open free on Mondays, Tuesdays, 
 
TWENTY-FOUR HOURS IN LONDON. 139 
 
 and Saturdays, from 10 a.m. to 10 p.m. Open on 
 Wednesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays from 10 a.m. 
 to 4, 5, or 6 P.M., according to the time of year, on 
 payment of 6d. The refreshment rooms are ex- 
 cellent, particularly recommended for those who 
 like a hot, nice chop or steak. It is cooked in the 
 room on a large gridiron. The Museum is within a 
 few minutes' walk of the South Kensington Sta- 
 tion of the Undergound, or. Metropolitan Railway. 
 Omnibuses can also be taken to it from Piccadilly. 
 It is near to the district of Brompton. It is not far 
 from the Queen's Hotel, Cork Street, Bond Street. 
 JUDGE AND JURY, 
 
 This caricature of an English Law Court, is not 
 what it was when old chief Baron Mcholson occu- 
 pied the seat of Justice ; but the cases brought be- 
 fore the Court have usually less breadth in their de- 
 tails. It is to be found in Leicester Square, near 
 to the Alhambra. Open every evening. 
 
 BRITISH MUSEUM. 
 
 Short distance from Oxford Circus towards the 
 City. Walk to Hart Street, then turn to the left, 
 and you will come upon the Museum. This con- 
 tains the largest collection of curiosities, books, 
 and works of art in the world, — casts of the most 
 celebrated statues, treasures of the ancient world, 
 sculptures, marbles, bronzes, vases, mouldings, 
 models, mummy-cases, stuffed animals of all va- 
 rieties and dimensions, &c. The library contains 
 800,000 volumes. Here may also be seen, among 
 quaint old deeds, of historic interest, a fac-simile 
 of Magna-Charta, as signed by King John and the 
 barons. The great reading-room of the Museum, 
 with access to every book published in the United 
 Kingdom, and a choice collection of foreign works 
 as well, is free to any one who applies to the 
 chief librarian, endorsing his request with the 
 recommendation of two householders. This read- 
 
140 TWENTY-FOUR HOURS IN LONDON. 
 
 ing-room is a huge circular building, lighted from 
 above, and surrounded by shelves, containing 
 works of reference in all the chief European lan- 
 guages. The readers are further supplied with 
 comfortable chairs, on castors ; desks, with ar- 
 rangements to support their books; pens, ink, and 
 blotting-paper. The British Museum also contains 
 the celebrated Nineveh marbles, the Elgin mar- 
 bles, the Harleian MSS., the Cottonian Library, a 
 splendid collection of prints, and an unrivalled cab- 
 inet of coins. The Museum is free to the public 
 on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, from 10 to 
 4 or 6 o'clock, according to the season ; and at 
 Christmas, Easter, or Whitsuntide it is open all 
 the week. 
 
 ZOOLOGICAL GARDENS, REGENT'S PARK. 
 
 Well stocked with various species of animals. 
 Admission Is., except on Mondays, when it is 6d. 
 Situated at the northern end of Regent's Park, and 
 within short distance of the Queen's Hotel, Cork 
 Street, Bond Street. The park can be entered 
 from the upper end of Portland Place, being a con- 
 tinuation of the upper end of Regent Street, and a 
 pleasant walk, through a shady avenue, about a 
 mile in length which conducts to the gardens. 
 
 DOCKS. 
 
 The docks of London — Situated down the river, 
 below the Tower of London, and about four miles 
 from Charing Cross. The first is St Katharine's 
 Dock, covering an area of 24 acres, with warehouses 
 containing 130,000 tons of goods, mostly the pro- 
 duce of America and the Mediterranean. The 
 entrance to this dock is nearly opposite the Mint. 
 By walking eastward along the quay you come to 
 the London Docks which contain 90 acres, also con- 
 taining the celebrated depots of wines and tobacco. 
 Seventy-five thousand pipes of wine and spirits 
 and thirty thousand hogsheads of tobacco can 
 
TWENTY FOUR HOURS IN LONDON. 141 
 
 be easily stored away in these cellars. A visiting 
 order can be obtained by sending a civil note and 
 a card to the Dock Secretary, Kew Bank Build- 
 ings, London Docks, E.G. ; a tasting-order can be 
 procured from some wine-dealer in the City. The 
 Queen's Tobacco-pipe can be inspected : it is a large 
 kiln, where immense quantities of damaged tobac- 
 co are burned, as not worth pajnng duty upon. A 
 mile further down the river is the Eastern Dock, in 
 which one vault alone covers nine acres. The 
 Commercial Docks are on other side of the Thames 
 opposite Limehouse : these cover 75 acres, of 
 which nearly 65 are water. The Victoria Docks 
 are 200 acres in extent; and still further are the 
 East India and West India Docks with about 300 
 acres, at the extreme east of London, upon what is 
 called the Isle of Dogs. 
 
 THE MINT. 
 
 Is situated on Little Tower Hill, near the Tow- 
 er of London. Hours from 10 to 4. 
 
 THE MONEY. 
 
 The Various coins, and their value in American 
 currency are as follows : — ■ 
 
 The Sovereign is the standard gold coin, value 20 
 shillings or one pound sterling — £ 1, Os. Od. British 
 currency, or | 4.84 in American money (gold). 
 
 The Gninea is 21 shillings, or about equivalent 
 to our % 5 gold piece. 
 
 The Half- Sovereign is the next smallest gold coin, 
 and represents 10 shillings silver, or a half pound, 
 equivalent in American money to f 2.42 gold. 
 
 The Half-Orown is 2 shillings and sixpence ster- 
 ling. 
 
 The Shilling is about the value of our 25 cents, 
 or quarter dollar. 
 
 Sixp)ence. Half the above. 
 
 Fourpeyice. When worn smooth the fourpenny 
 
142 TWENTY-FOUR HOUKS IN LONDON. 
 
 piece can be distinguished from the threepenny- 
 piece by having a milled edge. 
 
 One Penny ^ or two cents. 
 
 Halfpenny. Half of the above. 
 
 Bank of England l!Totes are issued in denomina- 
 tions of £ 5, £ 10, £ 20, £ 50, £ 100, £ 500, £ 1,000. 
 There may be some of a higher denomination, but 
 none in our possession at the present vv^riting. 
 When changing notes, or using them in purchase, 
 if over £ 5, store keepers oftentimes require them 
 to be endorsed, or the name and address written 
 on the back by the party tendering the note. This 
 is a guard against stolen or lost notes. 
 
PLACES OF INTEREST 
 
 IN 
 
 PARIS and the ENYIRONS. 
 
 Louvre (The museum and Galleries). — Opposite the Hotel 
 du Louvre (Rue de Rivoli) open every day from 10 a.m. to 
 4 p. m. 
 
 Luxembourg, Palace of. — Across the Seine, near the 
 Odeon. The Gallery of Paintings open free every day ex- 
 cept Monday, from 10 a. m. to 4 p. m. 
 
 B"otre-Dame, Cathedral of.— To visit the Sacristy and 
 Towers, fee, 50 c. High Mass every Sunday at 10 a. m. 
 
 Sainte-Chapelle, La. — Palais de Justice. By ticket from 
 M. le Ministre des Beaux- Arts. 
 
 Pantheon, The. — Rue Soufflot. Across the river in Latin 
 quarter. Admission free. Artists have begun to work up- 
 on this edifice the scheme is to make its interior, the most 
 splendid memorial in Paris of the painting and sculpture 
 of 1870. To view the Vaults and Dome, a small fee is ex- 
 pected. 
 
 Pere-Lachaise, Cemetery of. — Boulevard de Fontarabie. 
 Omnibus from the Madeleine, with a correspondence tick- 
 et for Charonne. 
 
 Prison de la Conciergerie.— Palais de Justice, Apply 
 by letter for ticket. 
 
 Hotel des Invalides. — Near the Place de la Concorde. 
 Daily from 11 a.m. to half-past 3 p.m. Small fee. 
 
 Pontainebleau. — Palace shewn daily, without tickets, 
 from 10 a.m. to 4 p.m. About two hours by rail from the 
 Lj^ons Railway depot, boulevard Mazas. 
 
 Greek Church, The (Russian).— Rue de la Croix, near the 
 Park Monceaux. Omnibus from the Madeleine. Open to 
 the public on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Sundays. Ser- 
 vices at U a.m. 
 
 Jardin d'Acclimatation. —On the right of the principal 
 entrance to the Bois de Boulogne, avenue de ITmperatrice. 
 Open daily. Admission 1 fr. 
 
144 PLACES OF INTEREST. 
 
 Saint-Cloud (Ruins of the Palace). — By rail, from the 
 Western Railway depot (trains every hour, at 30 minutes 
 past the hour), rue Saint- Lazare. By steamboat, from the 
 pont Royal, behind the Palace of the Tuileries, or Horse 
 Railway, from Place de la Concorde. 
 Saint-Denis, Cathedral of. — About five miles from Par- 
 is. Fee to the guide. By rail from the Northern Rail- 
 way depot ; trains every hour. 
 Saint-Germain-en-Laye (Palace, Church and Terrace) — 
 One hour by rail from the Western Station, rue Saint-Laz- 
 a]-e ; trains every hour. Musee Gallo-Romain open from 
 11 a.m. to 5 p. m. 
 Sevres (Porcelain Manuftictory). — Park of Saint-Cloud. 
 Show-rooms open free on Thursday only ; on other days 
 and to view the workshops , by ticket from M. le Direc- 
 
 . teur. By rail or steamboat (see Saint-Cloud), or by omni- 
 bus from the Palais-Royal. 
 Hotel des Monnaies (The Mint). — The Museum open 
 free on Tuesdays and Fridays from 12 a.m. to 3 p. m. To 
 visit the work-shops, apply by letter for tickets to M. le 
 President de la Commission des Monnaies. 
 
 Palais de I'Industrie, Champs-Elysees.— Exhibition of Al- 
 gerian and Colonial produce, from 12 to 5. Entrance by 
 the gate 13. 
 
 Observatory, The.— Near the Luxembourg. By ticket 
 h'om M. le Directeur de I'Observatoire. 
 
 Catacombs, The. — Principal entrance, barriere d'Enfer. 
 Ticket must be applied for. Visible two or three times a 
 year only. 
 
 Compiegne. — Palace shown daily, without ticket, from 10 
 a.m . to 4 p.m. About two hours by rail from the North- 
 ern Railway station, place Roubaix. 
 
 Conservatoire des Arts et Metiers. — Museum of ancient 
 and modern machinery. Models of Naval architecture 
 &c., well worth a visit. Rue Saint-Martin, 292. Open free 
 on Thursdays and Sundays, from 10 to 4. Other days, ad- 
 mission 1 fr. 
 
 Enghein-les-Bains. — M i n e r a 1 Bathing Establishment. 
 From Northern Railway, place Roubaix ; trains every hour, 
 at 55 min. past the hour. 
 
 Expiatory Chapel (Chapelle Expiatoire). — Rue de 1' Ar- 
 cade. Fee. Mass at 9 a.m. every day. 
 
 Thermos, Place of the, and Hotel Cluny across the 
 Seine, a perfect labarynth of curiosities, the collection of 
 hundreds of years. fMuseum of Antiquities). — Open daily, 
 Mondays excepted, from 11 to 4 p.m. By p^sport or tick- 
 et from M. le Directeur du Musee des Thermes. 
 
 Tomb of Napoleon, Hotel des Invalids. — Entrance place 
 Vauban. Fee. Open on Monday and Thursday until 3 
 p.m. 
 
 Versailles (Palace, Gardens. The Trianons, Swiss Village, 
 etc.). — By rail from the Western Railway depot, rue Saint- 
 
PLACES OF INTEREST. 145 
 
 Lazare, or Montparnasse ; tramway from ruins of the Pal- 
 ais du Louvre. The water works are the most extensive 
 in the world, during the empire, exhibitions were given up- 
 on the visits of royalty, and are now continued upon great 
 occasions ; cost of each one of these exhibitions exceeding 
 $20,000. The collections of paintings in the Palace is ex- 
 ceedingly fine. The Grand Trianon, open Sunday, Tues- 
 day and Thursday, from 12 to 4. 
 
 Vincennes (Fort, Dungeon, etc.). — Visible on Saturdays by 
 ticket from Me le Commandant de I'Artillerie, 1st arron- 
 dissement, Vincennes. 
 
 Morgue. — Open every day. At the back of Notre-Dame. 
 
 For full particulars, see Harper's Handbook for Europe 
 AND THE East, by W. Pembroke Fetridge. The only Com- 
 plete Guide published in English. Revised every year and 
 for sale in the book stores. 
 
 THE HOTEL DE VILLE 
 
 (court house.) 
 
 Was such a monument to the Artists of 1830, and is to be 
 restored so faithfully, that it will, despite La Commune's 
 torch, continue to exhibit and commemorate their skill. 
 
 MUSEUMS. 
 
 Museum of the Louvre. — Open every day except Monday. 
 
 Museum, of the Luxembourg.— Every day except Sun- 
 days and Mondays. 
 
 Museum of the Jardin des Plantes. — Every day except 
 Sundays and Mondays. 
 
 Artillery Museujn. — Open from 12 until 4 at the Invalides. 
 
 Museum of Cluny. — Open on Sundays and week days, 
 except Mondays. 
 
 Museum of Musical Instruments at the Conserva- 
 tory of Music. — Open from 12 to 2 on Thursdays. 
 
 Monetary Museum.— Open on Thursdays and Fridays 
 with a permit. 
 
OMIsriBUS DIEECTOEY. 
 
 Offices are established in the different streets, and Boule- 
 vards, to take up passengers and set down those who ask the 
 conductor for a correspondence, viz. a check which is deliv- 
 ered gratis, and enables the traveller to deviate from the 
 direct line and continue his journey by entering another Om- 
 nibus. Thus you may go from one end of Paris to the other 
 for thirty centimes (six cents) inside. No person is allowed 
 to enter an omnibus unless there is a vacant seat. This rule 
 is imperative, and is never deviated from. 
 
 JARDIN MABILLE... From Rue du Louvre— Omni- 
 bus O. yellow ; through Rue 
 de Rivoli, Place de la Con- 
 corde, and Avenue d e s 
 Champs Elysee to Avenue 
 Montaigne. 
 
 JARDIN DE L'ETOILE Same line to Triumphal Arch, 
 
 which is near the Avenue 
 Wagram. 
 
 CLOSERIE DES LILAS, OR 
 
 JARDIN BULLIER From Rue Royale— Omnibus 
 
 R. green, corresponding, at 
 the Place du Chatelet, with 
 Omnibus A. G, dark brown, 
 passing the Luxembourg 
 Gardens upon Boulevard St. 
 Michel. 
 
 B AL CONSTANT Same line ; corresponding at 
 
 same place with Omnibus O, 
 green, passing the Gardens 
 which are upon Boulevard 
 Montparnasse. 
 
 CHATEAU ROUGE From Rue Royale— Omnibus 
 
 R, green, corresponding at 
 Place du Chatelet with om- 
 nibus J. yellow, to Boulevard 
 Rocheehouart, walking a 
 short distance up the Chaus- 
 see Clignancourt. 
 
OMNIBUS DIRECTORY. 147 
 
 REINE BLANCHE From Grand Hotel— Omnibus 
 
 E, yellow, corresponding at 
 Boulevard des Italiens with 
 omnibus H, yellow, Avhich 
 passes the Gardens. 
 
 ELYS^E MENILMON- 
 
 TANT Same line; corresponding at 
 
 Boulevard des Filles du Cal- 
 vaire omnibus O, green. 
 
 SALLE DE L'ELYS^E 
 
 DES ARTS Same line ; direct to Bastille, 
 
 going a few steps down the 
 Boulevard Bourdon. 
 
 ALCAZAR Same line — to Rue du Fau- 
 bourg Poissonniere. 
 
 ELDORADO Same line — until arriving at 
 
 Boulevard de Strasbourg. 
 
 PAVILION DE L'HORLOGE, 
 CAFE DES AMBASSA- 
 DEURS, ALCAZAR D'ETE, 
 
 MUSARD CONCERTS From Rue du Louvre— Omni- 
 bus C. yellow; through Rue 
 de Rivoli and Place de la 
 Concorde to Champs-Elysees 
 
 CASINO DE PARIS From Grand Hotel— Omnibus 
 
 E, yellow to Place de la 
 Bastille, or direct from the 
 Louvre by omnibus S. yel- 
 low, which passes the Con- 
 cert-Rooms. 
 
 GRAND CONCERT PARIS- 
 JEN From Grand Hotel — Omnibus 
 
 E. yellow, to Rue de Fau- 
 bourg St. Denis. 
 
 CONCERT DE LA GAITE..From Rue Royale— Omnibus 
 
 R, green, corresponding at 
 Place du Chatelet with line 
 J. yellow. 
 
 CONCERT DU XIXeme Sl:fi- 
 CLE ..... From the Grand Hotel— Omni- 
 bus C. yellow, until arriv- 
 ing at the Place du Chateau 
 d'Eau, from which runs the 
 Rue du Chateau d'Eau. 
 
 GRAND CASINO DU TEM- 
 PLE Same line to Rue du Faubourg 
 
 du Temple, which runs from 
 the Place du Chateau d'Eau. 
 
 CONCERT MONCEY . . Same line, corresponding at 
 
 No 8, Boulevard des Italiens, 
 omnibus H, yellow, which 
 passes the Concert. 
 
148 OMNIBUS DIRECTORY. 
 
 CONCERT DE L'EUROPE. Same line to Boulevard de 
 
 Batignolles. 
 
 CONCERT DE CALLIOPE From Grand Hotel— Omnibus 
 
 E, yellow, corresponding at 
 Boulev^ard du Temple omni- 
 bus N. green, which passes 
 the Concert-Rooms. 
 
 FUNAMBULES . . . Same line to Boulevard de 
 
 Strasbourg. 
 
 THiJATRE DU GYMNASE From Grand Hotel— Omnibus 
 
 E, yellow; it passes the 
 Theatre, 
 
 DU CHATELET AND 
 THl^ATRE LYRIQUE . From Rue Royalc— Omnibus, 
 
 R, green; it passes the 
 Theatre. 
 
 THJ&ATRE DE LA PORT 
 ST. MARTIN, AND THE- 
 ATRE DE L'AMBIGU 
 
 COMIQUE . . . From Grand Hotel— Omnibus, 
 
 E, yellow. 
 
 THEATRE DES FOLIES 
 DRAMATIQUES . , Same line to Rue de Bondy, 
 
 passing the Theatre. 
 
 TH:&ATRE DES VARI^T^S Same line also passes this 
 
 Theatre. 
 
 TH:&ATRE DE LA GAITl: Same line to the Boulevard 
 
 Sebastopol. 
 
 LE THEATRE DES MENUS- 
 PLAISIRS . . . Same line to Boulevard de 
 
 Strasbourg. 
 
 TH:fiATRE DAJAZET, AND 
 THEATRE BEAUMAR- 
 CHAIS .... Same line, passing both houses. 
 
 MH^ATRE DE L'ODl^ON From No. 8, Boulevard des 
 
 Italiens — Omnibus H, yel- 
 low, direct to Odeon. 
 
 CIRQUE DE CHAMPS 
 ELYSEE .... Same line as the Jardin Ma- 
 
 bille. 
 
 HIPPODROME , . . From Grand Hotel— Omnibus 
 
 AB, green. 
 
 CIRQUE D'HIVER . . From Grand Hotel— Omnibus, 
 
 E, yellow, passing the Cir- 
 que. 
 
PAEIS CAB TARIFF. 
 
 TWO OR FOUR PERSONS— INTERIOR OF PARIS 
 
 From 6 a.m. until 12.30 at night: — 
 
 For a coui'se (from one point of the city, inside the fortifica- 
 tions to anotlier without stopping) 1 50 
 
 For an hour 2 00 
 
 From 12,30 at night tmtil 6 in the morning: — 
 
 For a course 2 25 
 
 For an hour 2 50 
 
 For every quarter of an hour, after the first hour, as per tariif. 
 
 TIME. 
 
 hours, minutes. 
 
 1 — 15 
 1 — 30 
 
 1 — 45 
 
 2 — 00 
 
 2 PERSONS. 
 
 francs, centimes. 
 
 2 — 50 
 3-00 
 
 3 — 50 
 4-00 
 
 4 PERSONS. 
 
 francs, centimes. 
 
 2 — 80 
 
 3 — 25 
 
 3 — 90 
 
 4 — 50 
 
 OUTSIDE OF PARIS. 
 
 Cab taken inside of Paris for Bois de Boulogne, &c., 2 fr. 
 50 per hour, or course ; if left outside the fortifications, 1 fr. 
 extra, as indemnity. 
 
 Cab taken outside of Paris to come into the city, per hour, 
 2 francs. 
 
 BAGGAGE. 
 
 One article, 25 c. ; two articles, 50 c. ; three articles and 
 more, 75 c. 
 
150 PARIS CAB TARIFF. 
 
 Driver is obliged to load and unload trunks and packages 
 from the sidewalk. 
 
 Articles which can be taken in the cab not considered as 
 
 baggage. 
 
 IMPORTANT NOTICE. 
 
 When taken by the hour, the driver must be told so be- 
 forehand, otherwise he can demand the price "of a course" 
 for each stoppage. 
 
 In taking a cab in the street, or upon a stand, demand of 
 driver his number (numero), which he is obliged to deliver, 
 and which is essential in case of overcharge, &c. The cus- 
 tomary fee to the driver is 25 c. This is an old established 
 custom throughout the continent, if not paid, with the fare^ 
 driver will ask for pour boir Monsieur, which means fee. He 
 will be satisfied with 25 centimes (5 cents) but will willingly 
 take more. The same custom applies to hotel and restaurant 
 waiters (Gardens) and in fact to all employes. Always 
 have small change, as they generally make it a point not to 
 have any. 
 
 Note — 5 francs to the dollar, 5 centimes, or one sous, is 
 one cent. 
 
 FINIS. 
 
M 
 
 m 
 
 
 . J. 
 
 Xs constantly receiving from raru 
 
 tl)e lated ^arisiatx BtiuuBteauS; 
 
 Uich as fine Artificial Mowers, Va- 
 rures for ^alls and Parties. c^lso, 
 Perfumeries and S/jell {Jomhs of every 
 description. Specialty for ^ridal i 
 Veils, Wreatljs and prides' ^air 
 pressing. 
 
 , MANUFACTURER OF 
 
 : QlIAllIf ili IMl ws 
 
 FOR LADIES AND GENTS. 
 
 ^ HAiE luessed m the latest style. 
 
 ' No. 267 "Washington St. !OoS"toa3.- 
 
 '^ New Number 435. 
 
 1488S ^ 
 


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