CHAPTER VII.

Paris, November 30.
A RETURN to Paris, amidst all her brilliant attrac- tions, confirms my opinion that very just is her claim to the traditionary title of Queen-city of the world. It was my good fortune to arrive just in time to do honor to our President’s Thanksgiving Proclama- tion in a dinner-party composed of American friends. Others of our resident colony did not fail to observe the day— judging from numerous cards of invitation for dinners and small parties, — and if it was not permitted them to meet in consecrated places, to “ Praise Him from whom all blessings flow,” they could, at least, evince their gratitude in home-festivities. Among our friends were Mr. Valentine, who had come all the way from London to lend his genial presence, and Mrs. Gregory, of New York, and family, whose agreeable society we must soon lose, as they contemplate a trip to Italy. Many seem inclined to that poetic land, whilst others cannot give up the cheerful, dashing life of Paris. To- day’s multitudinous show on the Champs Elysees and the Boulevards, was one of the finest panoramas con- ceivable. The first query that arose in the mind was u Where do all the people come from ?” Like a swarm
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of wind-beaten insects that sometimes suddenly fills the air, so they crowded upon our vision, and frequent came the cries, “ more room — save me from being trampled upon !” How varied must be the purpose, promise and sentiment of so mighty a crowd, representing as it does all the civilized nations of the globe ! The French ele- ment it is plain to see extracts the most enjoyment out of life, accepting the situation of peu d? argent, ou beau- coup d* argent with equal grace ; and it is only heavy sorrows and afflictions that can turn them from their philosophic course. In their outward appearance w read nothing of troubled life ; yet there must be some weary souls whose woe is locked up in secret chambers. Behold in that throng the proud statesman, who wears on his breast the emblem of the order of the “Legion of Honor.” He has perhaps this day been engaged in laborious debate, arguing with his compeers, even to the wielding of the fire-brand of anger, but nevertheless, there lingers not a trace of it on his features. He is out of the Cham- ber, and whatever passion may be lurking in his breast, he obeys the characteristic impulse of concealing it from his fellow man. And female character is no less emu- lous of this policy, the most unhappy of them wearing the society look of contentment. Wc rather like this cheerful mien, whether worn by the brainless dandy, or the distinguished man of letters ; by the flaunting Camille, or the Sister of Charity; by the flippant adven- turer or the gallant soldier; by the tottering old man, or the youthful student. How truly wonderful to find this in a nervous, restless people whose every fibre is
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like an electric wire, and whose every vein runs with the blood of animated passion ! However this counter- feit life is not barren of good results. It wields a good and kindly influence, removing much of the rough coat- ing that forms on the face of society. It is that which brings about the marvellous agreeability of manner which meets us in the shop, in the church, in the salon, at the table, at the ball, and everywhere. Whatever may be the errors and immoralities of the people, this trait of character is certainly very pleasing.
Place Vendome ! how charming, with its fine houses, and popular hotels, of the Corinthian style, encircling the magnificent column of Napoleon ! The bronze bas- reliefs of the shaft rise in a spiral coil to the summit, where stands the figure of the great General. The de- signs of the bas-reliefs are not only interesting, as illus- trating the memorable achievements of the French army against the Prussians and Austrians in 1805, but from the fact of their being cast out of the 12,000 pieces of cannon captured in the campaign. Around the base of the monument is an iron railing, which never lacks annual offerings of immortelles at the hands of the French people. To the faded wreaths of former years are added fresh garlands, and the effect produced is that of a flowery chain.
December 2. — My love of the drama is showing itself now and then ; and were it not for the miserable ventila- tion of the theatres, here, the enjoyment would be far greater. Robinson Crusoe is being performed to ere .vded L*
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audiences at the Opera Comique, situated in Place des Italiens. Some of the sweetest love-melodies run through the play, and the singers are so engaging that even those uninitiated in the sentimental passion must catch an inspiration and a thrill. Robinson Crusoe when cast upon the dreary island — with the sweet memory of an absent lady-love in his heart — explains to Friday, his new-found savage friend and servant, what love is. The mere description of the passion wakes up to new life the untutored savage, who shows, by the fire in his eye, the novel joy that needs only an image of worship. Soon a fair and beautiful creature arrives on the island in search of her lost Crusoe, accompanied by a waiting- maid, who has brought her lover along. They are at once siezed by the savages, who struck with the charms of la belle, separate her from her attendants, proposing to make her their queen or bride, and then to immolate her at a fire-altar. She is led forth to the stake, and commences to chant her death-song, when Friday sud- denly appears on the hill-side. One single glance at her beauty has sufficed to make him feel the full power of love, and he loses not a moment in endeavoring to rescue her. Concealed behind some brush-wood, he fires several shots among the blood-thirsty red men, who ? panic-stricken, take to flight ; and thus the fair prize is rescued by one of their own race. Friday bears off the fainting girl to Crusoe’s tent, and ministers to her wants, watching her as she sleeps, until the return of his master. All this time love is taking deeper root in his heart, and when the curtains of the rude shelter are pulled aside
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and Crusoe’s form appears, there are no bounds to his ecstatic bliss as he leads his master to the couch.
What a. sweet surprise to Crusoe ; but his happiness soon meets with a check when the poor savage insists that the idol is his ! An unhappy scene ensues in the contest for the prize. Alas ! how fatal is the love of two men for one woman ! In such cases how shall the difficulty be settled? When women become objects of contention, would it not be wise to make them nuns, or send them from this lower world to join the angels ? — and as for the men we would suggest a grated cell, and a monk’s habit. Friday suffered on, fighting Crusoe’s argument with this logic. “ I have been your faithful friend through every danger that has threatened your life on the island, and have not forgotten your promise to share with me all things in life.” He wanted his adopted master to hold to the contract in the case of the lovely woman, and was deaf to every explanation of the sanctity of an engagement of marriage ; nor could he be made to appreciate the purity and justness of the tic that binds two loving hearts in one. How was a provi- sion to be made, and where would the quarrel end ? At this juncture the coquettish little waiting-maid, who had just escaped from her rude captors appears, and Friday learns as if by magic, that it is as easy a thing to love the second time as the first. His savage rage melts away before the comforting glance of an eye that says, “ let my mistress alone, and I will befriend you,” and the work of atonement goes bravely on until the rustic swain — who has just been released from “durance vile”
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— comes suddenly upon the scene, and enters his claim for the maid, as Crusoe had done for the mistress. Lastly, through difficulties and sorrows, Friday having been taught a lesson of life, and two of love, discovers that there is something sad in both. An escape of Crusoe and the party is shortly effected by the arrival, of a friendly ship, and the savage band falls an easy prey to the vengeance of the white man. Friday ^accompanies Crusoe, and we do not doubt that he will try to love a third time. May success attend him ! This was a story of mat de coeur, but we do not always have to go to the stage to see it played. Many spirits pay with bitter sighs and tears, for the fleeting pleasures of love mis- directed and unrequited, — “ trees of hope, with lifeless stems ! ”
The interior of this building is elliptical, with three tiers of boxes, and seats for fifteen hundred persons. It possesses the advantage of being fire-proof. The deco- rations are chiefly in white and gilt — preferable to the heavy and sombre styles of some of the theatres. * *
Several days since Commodore and Mrs. Stevens en- tertained us very handsomely at dinner. The Commo- dore, although far advanced in years, is the personifica- tion of vivacity and gallantry, and Mrs. S. has genial and engaging manners. General and Mrs. McClellan were present.
December 5. — To-day our hearts are linked in sympa- thy with one of our esteemed countrymen, who mourns the death of his only child. Mrs. Eustis died yesterday
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at Cannes, bidding farewell to life with a calm and beautiful resignation ; her hold on earth being riven amid that sublime faith to which her fleeting breath gave utterance — “ Thy will be done ! ” To the friends who are left these words must seem the harbinger of that peaceful slumber over which angels keep vigils, and of the spirit’s welcome to eternal joys. Ere the chaplet is woven to deck the pale brow, memory leads us back to trace her gentle life. A few years since a happy bride, and the idol of a fond parent’s heart, she left her home to seek another across the Atlantic surge; and here, in sunny France, with love and hope, and friends and blessings, she has sung the songs of gladness. Tiny hands and brows of beauty have nestled on her bosom — these little children having yet to learn and understand the fearful mystery of death. And thus has the lesson of fleeting life again been read to us! The sun may glow in splendor, and the air be filled with tropic warmth ; the flowers may bloom, and happiness be shed around ; but all this beauteous landscape must fade upon the vision, and pass away forever before that brighter “ greenwood of the soul ! ”
December 10. — The last few days have embraced a variety of occupation, amusement and instruction, — drives through the most ancient parts of the city and the environs, — visits to the bazaars, those pet places of Americans, — a peep into some of the cafe*, whither the Parisians flock in search of the indispensable demi-tasse and petit verre ? — the Bourse, with its frantic stock-bro-
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kers, and bustling merchants, — the Italian Opera, with the bewitching Patti, — the corn market, and the one which supplies our daily food. The market in Paris is a sight that ought not to be overlooked by an American lady ; and she would do well to take the place of her cuisiniere for a day, to see the brisk trade going on in fish, vegetables, flowers and fruits.
A witch of a woman, or a true representative of one of the Furies, assailed our coachman ostensibly because the carriage had blocked the way for a moment, but we fancied that it was in revenge for our bonne’s not having patronized her stall. There was something about her akin to the angry and vindictive spirit of the fishwomen who marched to Versailles after Marie Antoinette. Amidst the brandishing of arms, clenching of fists, and the thunders of a voice that might have intimidated Caesar or Alexander, we shrunk away, hoping never to look upon her like again. I found that in my alarm I had unconsciously crushed some delicate sprays of white lilac that lay on my lap. How truly tender and peace- ful a contrast they offered to that harsh and unfeminine ebullition of passion! Women and flowers poetically affiliate, but the connection for the moment was rudely sundered by that one creature of our sex.
December 12. — A lovely Sabbath favored an attend- ance on church service at the Hotel des Invalides. The building is in every respect worthy of its grealrpurpose, — the maintenance of the decrepid and aged soldiers at the nation’s expense. There they are provided with all
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the comforts of a home. The service, held in the an- cient Church of St. Louis, is rendered the more impres- sive by the presence of gray-haired veterans, whose age and battle-wounds have taken away much of the joy of living. Many a tottering form nearly ready to leave this earthly scene for a heavenly tabernacle, is here re- freshed by the influences of religion ; and what would this world be without its precious aid? — a dark and dreary waste, — a desert without a spring! Added to the Mass is the music of the military band, the selec- tions of which are frequently from choice operas. The heart-stirring tones of the Miserere , in Trovatore y floated through the arched nave, — a melody which loses none of its power by being divested of scenic accompaniment. Would it not be better for our clergy to sanction the introduction into churches of harmonies that sweep the innermost chords of the heart? On hearing the Mise- rere it did not follow that we should call up the tower- scene and the sorrow of love there set forth, for it came to us to-day more like a dirge in the associations of the church that had suffered by a mandate of war and by fire, — more like a requiem to the few reposing within the walls, and to the thousands whose memories are identified with the faded and tattered banners. Upon the arches supported by Corinthian pillars are inscribed the names of deceased Governors of the hotel who died holding office. The pulpit, of white marble, is the only object particularly attractive. A visit to the refectories and kitchens was permitted, notwithstanding it was the Sabbath. The dining-rooms, of which there are four,
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one hundred and fifty feet in length, contain thirty tables each ; the officers occupying one, the sub-officers and pri- vates the remaining three. The frescoed walls represent towns conquered by Louis XIV ; but their merit seems indifferent. Outside in the quadrangle formed by the hotel are arcades, whose paintings afford an interesting view of French history from its earliest period. Begin- ning at Clovis and Charlemagne, we made the acquaint- ance of other monarchs, and some of those fierce queens who loved rapine and crime so well, that they were blindly forgetful of good names and the opinion that future generations might form of them. In this ad- vanced age of civilization we could but frown upon the figures so unfeminine and cruel ! As yet, the paintings have not been brought up to the First Empire, or to the reign of the present Emperor. Unfortunate it is that the artist’s pencil has not portrayed the character of Eugenie, that it might be contrasted with that of some of her infamous predecessors. L T pon our homeward walk wc saw the imperial carriage with the fair burden just named.
December 14. — A visit by special permit to the Palais Royal, the residence of Prince Napoleon and the Prin- cess Clotilde, afforded us great pleasure. Several days previously I had made the circuit of the arcades of the building, under which arc some of the most dazzling shops in Paris, the prices here being much more reason- able than on the Boulevards. This is one of the gayest places in the city, the crowd rarely ever diminishing
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until a late hour of the night, so much is there to attract, — the glittering treasure of diamonds, gold and precious stones, and, near by, the faithful imitation of the real article, — rthe restaurant windows, with fruits of mammoth growth, and flowers artistically arranged, — the tempting game at Chevets, and last, but not least, the rectangular garden, seven hundred feet long, with its lime-trees, bronze and marble statues, central foun- tain, and the noted little cannon fired by the meridian sun ! How charming a scene this garden must present on a summer’s day with its crowd of idlers, and its band of music ! We might even now wish for a change of season. Some of the associations of the palace, — the most exciting in history — mark the turbulent period of the Fronde and the first revolution ; and recall its occu- pants, Cardinal Richelieu — the founder, — Louis XIII ; Anne of Austria, regent for Louis XIV ; the Duke of Orleans and Prince Lucian Bonaparte. The late Prince Jerome Bonaparte resided there prior to Prince Napo- leon, and to him has been attributed much of its present magnificence. The only rooms not visited by us were the private apartments of the Princess Clotildc, which our attendant said he would have exhibited, had she taken her usual morning promenade. However, a door was thrown open leading to that reserved portion of the palace, where we espied several lacqueys in knee-breeches and gold lace, pacing to and fro as if on sentinel duty. A magnificent stairway of marble amply rewarded us for the brief glimpse granted. The lower landing, from which branched off two noble flights of stairs, was filled
M
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with rare exotics, their lively tints setting off to great advantage the snow-white marble. The salon aux armes, so-called from the armor hanging on the walls, contains marble busts of Napoleon and Hortense; a superb dinner-service of Sevres china ; a chess-board of solid gold with chessmen carved most ingeniously out of the same rich metal, and many curious antique articles under glass. The salle-a-manger is ornamented with numerous busts of the family on handsome marble pedestals. On the upper landing of a massive staircase were several ungainly antique figures, bearing a strong resemblance to Egyptian idols, but having no fancy for the unattract- ive, we did not inquire into their meaning. The galerie dies grands hommes abounds in busts of celebrated writers, among which is that of the great Eacine. A ponderous crystal chandelier heightens the beauty of the salon, and under this brilliant reflector are two models in wood, the first, a Grecian temple, and the other, Prince Napoleon’s yacht, said to be the fac-simile of the one now lying at some neighboring port. A compliment is paid to the French favorite Rachel in a piece of stat- uary, representing Tragedy. The salon de Colonnes has life-sized portraits of the Emperor and Empress, Victor Emmanuel and his Queen, and busts of Victor Emmanuel and his sonUmbert; whilst the marble mantel-piece richly gilded, holds the single bust of Napoleon III. Passing through a corridor, we observed a painting rep- resenting Marat in his bath, just after he had received his death-wound at the hand of Charlotte Corday. Next en suite were salons fitted up in the Pompeian
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style, — a gallery chiefly devoted to Italian paintings, — a library with Gobelin tapestries on walls and ceiling, treating of mythology ; and a room of much smaller dimensions called the library of Napoleon I, containing some very ancient books — his property. The marble busts arranged around the sides of the salon were taken at different periods of his life — 1780, the scholar at Brienne — 1797, the Revolutionary attire — 1801, Gen- eral — 1806, the Emperor, crowned with laurel — 1812, prisoner at St. Helena. The last, showing the great man fallen, awakened a sad, salutary thought. We live to pursue the allurements offered by fame — we clothe ourselves with glittering robes, and feel the pulse of the mighty world throb to our deeds, nay at the very men- tion of our names. Suddenly the diadem falls, and the temple that once enshrined so fondly, holds no longer a niche for us. Then comes a little isolated spot — like unto Napoleon’s rocky isle — distant enough from vain ambition, pomp and glory, to turn the heart to more solid joys ; to fortify it with the strength of wisdom until the coming of that angel whose icy wing shall spread over all of earth ! A painting of Napoleon in his coronation robes, and a cast of his face taken after death, completed the interest of the room ; and we came next to the beautiful statue of Meditation, and some rare gems of painting by Eugene de la Croix — thence to the Throne-room beautiful in frescoed pictures, and with its fine statue of Napoleon I. It was there that Louis Phillipe received all the deputations of France in 1830. Adjoining is the ball-room decorated with
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the usual stately appurtenances — a salon lined with Gobelin tapestries, and lastly the salon des bijoux with many articles of vertu, among which is the magnificent colossal vase bearing the following inscription — donrie par Fi'ederick Guillaume IV d Prince Napoleon , d Berlin .
The morning ended with a visit to the studio of Gus- tave Dore, situated in Rue Bayard, — a spot towards which my inclinations have often tended. Beautiful as are his illustrations of the Bible and the Wandering Jew, his oil paintings have far greater merit in my eyes, doubtless owing to a partiality for coloring. The famous picture, Le Tapis Vert , which represents a sprightly scene at Baden Baden, lias been recently sold for a large amount. Having seen a drawing of the same, I regretted all the more the absence of the original, which, however, was in a measure compen- sated for in his Dante and Virgil visiting Hell. The sombre, sad and indistinct features of that painting were agreeably relieved by the two prominent figures, robed in light rose and blue drapery. The Massacre of the Innocents was executed with a force true to the brutal event. A mighty genius alone could have delineated such fearful modes of slaughter, and depicted the agony of fond, bereaved parents ; but there was too much of the painful in that one scene for us not to desire relief in a kindly subject, and where could it be better found than in the spirited representation of Spanish peasantry? The artist’s taste chiefly runs on the olive tint, black hair and eyes ; and, of this style, were Two Gitanos —
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The Fortune Teller ; a scene in the suburb of Triana- Seviglia — Manca Peasants — and a Beggar Girl . What can surpass the brilliancy of color, the expression of animation or woe that speaks from the eyes — those “ windows of the soul,” into which we look to read either happiness or misery ? The very canvass seems endowed with life, at one time invoking pity, at another admiration. Several half-finished Biblical subjects were Christ leaving the Temple } and Christ Insulted . Among other pictures the most striking were Francesca da Ri- mini — Judith arriving at the Camp of Ashcar — Moses discovered on the banks of the Nile — Diana surprised by Adceon — A Nymph seeing her reflection in the Water — Red Riding Hood , with the sweetest of faces struck with terror at the approach of the wolf— and Europa carried off, who, wreathed with flowers, wears a happy look, and seems most comfortable on the side of the huge bull. With due deference to the great god Jupiter, we thought the animal too highly favored. Then came landscapes with mountain and stream, forest and dale, castle-ruins and cascade to vary the extensive grouping of figures. As we were about to depart from the studio Gustave Dore entered, and after an introduction to us, nearly lost his balance under an avalanche of compliments, — the promise of his autograph and photograph to one of the party being a little incident related afterwards with girlish blushes and excitement. And now a word of the artist, whose appearance docs not indicate the profession he follows. Very youthful and gay is he, with a face almost boyish, and bearing no imprint of the melancholy M*
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studies he has pursued. Can this be the man who has illustrated great volumes, — who has walked in thought with the deepest sorrows to make his sketches the em- bodiment of suffering? We cau only recognize in him the merry talent to picture a bright-eyed peasant, danc- ing to the music of the tambourine.
CHAPTER yin.
December 16.
'TTT’E dined at Vefour’s restaurant, Palais Royal, V V yesterday, and afterwards attended a reading by Mrs. Leigh Ward, at the Hotel de Palais Royal. How unique and artistic are the French in decorating their places of abode ! Sometimes a vestibule has all the ap- pearance of a miniature garden, with its jardinieres, its ivy-vines, pendant baskets and herbariums. Along the staircase of the hotel runs an artificial vine, and inter- spersed among the leaves are bunches of grapes made of green and purple glass globules lighted up with tiny gas jets. Like soft moon-light seem the rays that come mellowed through the stained glass. Many time? here- tofore in ascending to the various etages of a hotel, I have weariedly frowned at the numberless steps ; but so pleasing a sight as that of last evening would surely lessen, in a great degree, the tiresome ascent. The read- ing was given under the patronage of the American Minister, Gen. Dix, Sir Joseph Olliffe and others. Among the best recitations were Edgar Poe’s Raven, and Clarence’s dream in Richard III. Of the comic readings, the most amusing one was Bumble’s Courtship, by Charles Dickens, which was delivered with much
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/ spirit, eliciting prolonged applause from the audience. The entertainment was varied with songs by a little Irish singer, Rose O’Toole. At the conclusion we sauntered through the galleries of the Palais Royal where our eyes were fairly blinded with the gorgeous display of jewelry, rendered all the more dazzling by the reflected gaslight. Thence, we strolled along the Rue de Rivoli, when suddenly we confronted the entrance to the Passage Delorme with its doll-babies. It is only the visitor to Paris who can understand the importance of the poupee, or form an idea of the large amount of money spent on toys. Huge glass cases exhibit hundreds o^dolls arrayed in beautiful costumes of the latest styles ; and, at first glance, one might imagine them really endowed with life, so natural are their attitudes. Our thoughts revert at once to Tom Thumb, and the fabled Puk- JVudjies , of Hiawatha’s song, save that in the latter instance the “ little people” flourished “airy war-clubs” by the light of the early moon. The only war-cry here heard, is from the little children outside who cannot success- fully storm the citadel. First, we come upon a parlor- scene, the hostess standing in a becoming position to receive her company, and wearing a trained robe, with jewels on her fingers, buckles on her toes, and hair dressed under the elaborate manipulations of the coiffeur . Then, the guests, presenting a picture true to fashionable life — a flirtation in the corner, a partner accepted for the dance, and a couple engaged at a game of cards. Next are the mysteries of a lady’s boudoir , separated by a slight partition. The dressing-case has its poudre de
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riz, rouge and cosmetique , and the officiating doll assumes a graceful pose before the mirror with head tossed on one side as if to show what vanity the women of the 19th century have, and w’hat arts they resort to in order to beautify themselves. Then follows a fashionable promenade scene, with much of the Champs Elysees dash about it. In an open carriage is seated a doll, with foot protruding in fancy boot, and ankle saved from further freedom by the w r hite skirt and fluted ruffles ; the parasol screening a multitude of curls, and the eye- glass resting carelessly in the left hand. Close to the bewitching demoiselle is a jockey on a fast nag, and on the side walk an English fop, with gold-headed cane, and a wondrously arranged moustache. He seems to be taking a view of the fast horses, and perchance the faster people. One can almost hear him say — “ How shocking! !” Society does not lack any of its elements, for here we find even the bonne with her immaculate cap, and baby in arms. Certainly that baby’s mamma never counts the cost of its Valenciennes robes ! Should not these toy establishments be classed among the insti- tutions of Paris? Do they not in their mimic-life, illustrate the Parisian beau monde far better than any picture that could spring from pencil or brush ? Oh ! that the fascinations of doll-babydom could be seen by those little eyes so dear to me, across the sea !
December 20. — Who has ever fully described the joy felt by persons in a foreign laud on the receipt of home- letters? Tidings from loved ones must not fail us —
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days are counted — steamers watched for ; and the sight of one little envelope affords more real happiness, than all other pleasure-giving things in the world. Even newspapers seem like familiar words. A visit to some of the reading-rooms thrown open to the public, con- vinces one that new interests, occupations and amuse- ments cannot alienate the heart from its native land, or render it indifferent to current events — for fealty spring- ing from will and pleasure needs no protective armor against the most seductive fascinations.
Our political troubles furnish the most important news that reaches us through the sub-marine telegraph. Can praises ever decline, or gratitude slumber, as we ponder over the wonderful invention that unites the old world with the new? Only one thought connected with the electrical link strikes us sadly — tidings of death or other misfortunes. ’* * * * * *
This date must ever bring to me a sorrowful associa- tion. Denied the usual offering of flowers at the grave of a cherished little sister, I can only give my tenderest thoughts to the gentle spirit above, praying that it may teach me heavenly faith, — that sweet solace which far excels earth’s greatest joys. In view of a Christmas fete to be given by my little niece, who bears dear Alice’s name, I have commenced to dress a mammoth tree. How much we love this season! Both old and young rejoice at its coming ! How hopefully the love of that child was told when she begged her physician to make her well for Christmas day. Pleading thus to be spared to prepare gifts for others, she was taken by Him of
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whom it is written — “ Suffer little children ; to come unto me, and forbid them not, for of such is the kingdom of heaven.”
December 25. — The last few days 've have passed under the shadow of a tree that has grown in marvelous beauty from hour to hour. Paris is indeed the only place where one can get up perfect arbrea de Noel , there being no end of pretty things made expressly for their adornment. Our labor ended, every bough bent grace- fully under the weight of glittering stars, tiny lanterns, miniature flags of every nation, flowers, wax fruits, fly- ing angels, birds of gayest plumage, and toys, which for number and beauty could not have been surpassed. Around the base of the tree was grouped the doll’s household furniture, complete from attic to cellar, many articles of which were gifts from kind friends. At the moment of dismantling, the question naturally arose, “ What will become of all these trinkets?” but the des- tructive propensities of little children will soon solve that problem. The salons were decked for the fete , and appeared like floral bowers with evergreens, flowers and holly ; the only serious emblem being a large cross of white camelias, typical of the rite of baptism. General, Mrs. Dix and I stood sponsors for the youngest member of the house, who received the sprinkling and the holy sign on a high key and with big tears ; but our mortifi- cation at the uproarious conduct soon died away when we were assured that it augured well, long life, etc. Rev. O. W. Lamson, of the American Episcopal Church,
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conducted th,e ceremony. It was said that Christmas-eve in Paris had pever brought together so brilliant an array of American juveniles, many States of our country being represented. A very enjoyable sight were those wee faces lit up with q flight at the revelations of the tree; little feet tripping merrily along, eluding the vigilance of mamma and nurse; cheeks the color of rouge, and eyes as bright as diamonds. It was only when several branches caught lire and the candles were nearly out, that the min- iature world sought a new diversion in Guignol , more commonly called Punch and Judy. This is nothing more than a theatrical representation — comedy on a very small scale — the dialogues being conducted in a squeaking voice by a man under a tiny stage, whilst the most bizarre and comical little figures bob up and down, and strut about, as if they were really things of life, en- dowed with brains and the power of speech. Actions are suited to words in au extraordinary manner, whilst the dancing and fighting are so spirited and droll as to excite screams of merriment from even the most digni- fied spectator. We do not wonder at the clapping of little hands, or the joyous laugh of those who witness these comic scenes.
Among the guests of the evening were Colonel and Mrs. Hoffman, of the Legation; Mrs. General Derby, and her beautiful daughter Daisy, whose bloom excels the pink blush of the flower ; Mrs. Blake, of New York; Mrs. C. H. McCormick, the dearest prize of all her husband’s “reapings;” Mrs. Mechlin; Mrs. Fellows, ol New York; Mrs. Costin, an intelligent widow, beaming
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with the lustre of her sigrud-ligkts ; Mrs. Francis, of New York; Mrs. Judge Field, of California; and the Princess Savalan Kahn, whose Armenian beauty might have been the theme of the evening, had not all praise been pledged to the children. *
A tempting invitation was sounded in my ears to attend the midnight Mass at the Madelaine, where voices in song and prayer were heralding in this blessed morn. How beautiful the thought to forget night and its shad- ows, and to be lighted to some hallowed altar in the remembrance of that one bright star of Bethlehem, which told the Savior’s birth.
Everything tended to make our fete happy with a single exception — the sudden death of an invited guest, Mr. Buffum. A note of acceptance, evidently fresh from his hand, was followed a few hours later by the intelligence of his demise. These tidings brought sadly to mind the Brussels trip, his last earthly journey. Who of our party thought then of the prophetic words, 16 Behold, I come quickly ! ” Surely the day and the hour were not foreshadowed.
***** Added to a wealth of flowers to-day are some exotics from Nice. They wear a peerless beauty, and make me long to see that spot, so lovely in its end- less spring. The Emperor and Empress are out for a promenade, and in so unostentatious a way as to elude the popular favor usually extended to them. Their Majesties do not often lend their presence to publio promenades, but this happy anniversary must have prompted the inclination.
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December 26. — Last evening the Boulevard des Itali- ens drew together crowds of promenaders, eagerly gazing into the boutiques or booths arranged along the side- walk. The government permits the poor to sell their wares on the principal thoroughfares during the holiday season ; and their simple little shede, neatly painted, afford a marked contrast with the magnificent shops and stores that confront them. For the first time we saw the beautiful Avenue des Champs Elysees almost de- serted in favor of the boulevards. The leaden clouds overhead had shifted, and the cessation of the obstinate showers of the past few days — so discouraging to the poor venders — gave a sort of rainbow promise, that cul- minated in the appearance of moon and stars. All the world was out to say, “Hail, happy season, and may we live to see many!” Who will not add, “Give me Paris in sunshine, and save me from storms ?”
The stores enticingly displayed articles of the richest description, the confectionery establishments bearing off the palm in novelties emblematical of the season. Some miniature Russian sleighs made of steel were filled with candies and fruits ; and windmills for the same purpose admirably represented that conspicuous feature of Hol- land. At Siraudin’s, on Rue de la Paix, at least an hour could have been pleasantly spent in inspecting the windows, which abounded in tasteful cadeaux awaiting purchasers. The boxes of sugar-plums seemed too beau- tiful to be despoiled, or even handled, in their lilac and rose satin garniture, embroidered in flowers ; as also the gilded basket*, entwined with green garlands and purple
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velvet grapes. The temptation did not consist alone in the large platcd-glass windows, as there was beauty among flowers and gas-light within. Behind the count- ers were several very pretty French girls tree bicn coif- fees, and fashionably dressed, who handled twenty-franc pieces with all the dexterity of a Wall-street banker. One possessed such attractions as to electrify a man out- side, who exclaimed to the lady on his arm — certainly not a jealous wife or sweetheart — “ Rcgardez cctte demoi- selle -, — sa beaute est ravissante , — Je ne pent pas la quitter , — Oh! qu’etle est belle!” That individual had evidently reached his seventh heaven of delight on a ground-floor, and so did not ask for wings to soar higher.
We visited a museum of wax-figures, at the entrance of which was stationed a sentinel of ponderous appear- ance, and in complete armor and helmet. The sight of this formidable figure so frightened a little child about to enter the door, that its parents were compelled to lead it away in order to quiet its nerves. After we had made the tour of the windings, and had seen below stairs, the dread impression felt by us was quite in sympathy with that of the terror-stricken child. First to greet the eye, was the lovely figure of a martyred virgin, which seemed to have a strange fascination for all around; — a form stamped with beauty’s lines and curves ; a tiny foot and dimpled hand; — no model was ever more per- fect,— -a sweet, infantile face with closed eyes, whose long black lashes threw a soft shadow on the waxen cheek ; the hair disheveled lying on the bosom, and the red gash of the murderer’s knife across the delicate white
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throat. It really seemed as if some human being lay there, wearing a smile in death. Next came grouped figures, Samson overcome in his strength by the beauty of Delilah , and Don Quixote mounted on horseback. If knights can thus be made so handsome, then we care not for the genuine ! The head of John the Baptist with its severed vessels and muscles was horrible to contem- plate. A landscape view very near by proved an ac- ceptable diversion, viz : a sheet of water — formed with glass — reflecting on its surface waving grasses and lilies ; and the back-ground thickly shaded with palm leaves, revealing what may have been a Hindoo slave, — some- thing ugly and hideous enough to be of the Devil’s making. A beautiful female form lying in a hammock, suspended over the stream, possessed so much natural loveliness as to disdain all other drapery save her en- shrouding hair. The figure was enviously fair, com- pared with the one stamped with ebon blackness. A military scene next claimed our attention, — Frederick the Great surprising a soldier who — prompted by devo- tion to his absent wife — was writing a letter, in viola- tion of the order to extinguish all lights. The loving words the soldier had written in those lone, still mo- ments by the light of a flickering candle became the preface to his death warrant. “Add but one line to what you have written, — that by to-morrow’s noon you die ! ” was the withering sentence that fell from the lips of the stem Frederick. Their countenances were stamped with the emotions they felt. In that of the doomed man we read consternation and despair, and in Freder-
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ick’s — just here the title of “ Great ” must be dropped, — a look of implacable anger. In close proximity was a similar scene bearing upon a disregard of military orders, yet showing the clemency of Napoleon. A sentinel under fatigue has fallen asleep, forgetful of his trust. The General assumes the duty of the post, and when the soldier awakens, he hands his sword in silent reproof. In passing very near a figure seated on a bench, — a man ordinarily dressed, with old felt hat, and eye-glass in hand, — I was heard to exclaim “ Pardon Monsieur,” perfectly unconscious of my mistake until startled by bursts of laughter behind me. However I made no excuses for being so completely deceived, as sharper eyes than mine had been cheated by that same figure. A pair of winding stairs led down to a cellar dimly lighted and very lonely, where an old man closely followed the party, eager to describe the horrors of the Spanish In- quisition. He was mumbling out a petition for money; and several francs served to dispel the gloom from his face, which was quite in keeping with the surroundings of the place. A large grated cell contained twelve or fourteen figures, and in the distance, before a red-hot furnace, several men stood heating irons for the torture. The principal victim in the foreground was chained down, with arms pinioned back, and jaws thrust open, whilst a man poured water down his throat from flagons kept constantly replenished. A priest stood by as if to extort confession. The torture of slow drowning was visible in the bloated, distended stomach, the staring eye-balls, and the agonized countenance. We passed N*
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from the sickening sight ; and the guide — whose under- ground life was to be pitied— conducted us into a narrow passage-way that disclosed “ dead men’s bones.” We were in the Catacombs, — but not the famous ones of Paris which cover miles— and saw numerous skulls and skeletons, grim and shadowy reminders of what we shall one day become. An additional fee admitted us to the Floating Head, a wonderful sight which we had wit- nessed before in New York. A mirror is said to accom- plish the wonderful delusion. We talk to a pale, sad face, which seems to be set on a table, and to have lost connection with its mortal frame, the head moving wearily about as if on a pivot. Apparently the body is missing. A gentleman attending this performance, once mischievously asked if a glass of good old rye would not do much towards alleviating the sufferings of decapita- tion, whereupon the head betrayed itself by a broad grin and laughter. Emerging from the museum, and out again among a more jovial population than the ivax- people , we refreshed ourselves at Peters’ in the Passage des Princes, that celebrated Anglo-Franco-American establishment, furnishing every style of cookery. The turtle soup, choice edibles and wine were capital, but the oysters had a decidedly coppery taste, which was very objectionable to us Americans, who are accustomed to such fine ones at home. If our bivalves could be introduced here, both England and France would be put to shame. At a short distance from us sat one of our handsome country-women, who was not too discreet to decline the offer of a demi-douzaine in these words:
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“Take away those small, shriveled oysters, — their acrid flavor would not sweeten this night's ‘dreams !'” And the fair lady wisely chose truffles aux champignons with a glass of sparkling moselle.
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