CHAPTER XIII.

March 15.
I RECEIVED a card of invitation to attend mass at the chapel of the Tuileries this morning. The Court being in mourning for the late King of Bavaria, those favored with invitations were required to appear in demi-deuil . The rain-storm that set in at an early hour and grew fiercer towards eleven o’clock, proved no obstacle to an attendance, for a chance to see the Emperor and Empress at their devotions was not to be lost. The chapel was crowded to its utmost capacity. An under- chamberlain secured me a good position on one ; side, almost facing the Imperial party. A few gentlemen followed rigidly the instructions as to dress, whilst some wore white vests, cravats and gloves. The majority of the ladies were attired in black ,• others in gray and mauve silks and ermine wrappings — a feeble mark of respect I I thought to a dead King — yet, of what value is outward appearance, if, from the souls of that assemblage, there went up a prayer that the deceased may have passed to the “Courts of the better Land exchanging the worldly diadem for the immortal crown. The doors were thrown open to admit officers of the Imperial household and ladies of the Court ; and immediately afterwards a voice heralding the approach of the Emperor banished all
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thought of him whose sceptre had fallen by the hand of death. There was a general stir and uprising; a sway- ing to and fro of figures, and a bowing of heads as His Majesty entered, attended by the Empress and the Prince Imperial. They advanced quickly towards the balus- trade that encloses the space before the altar, and, cross- ing themselves, passed into the enclosure to occupy the State chairs. The organ, for a time, pealed forth in swelling sound, and then the service of the church began amid profound silence. The Empress was clad in black silk and velvet, with bonnet to correspond. She wore a look of deep solicitude, — as did the Emperor — and often turned her gaze upon the Prince, of whose relig- ious training she has recently become the guiding star. The solos of the mass-service were sweet and soft, and rendered with peculiar pathos, by an exquisite female voice, to the accompaniment of the harp. The discourse of the Archbishop was particularly interesting in the allusions made to the Prince Imperial’s first communion in May, and to the pious, gentle influence of the Empress. Seeing her engaged in prayer, I recognized only the mother — that simple, sacred name, compared with which the proud title of Empress sinks into insignificance — and ceased to associate her with the paraphernalia of Court, bestowing a thought rather on her many noble virtues and charities. May she be rewarded by a happy reign, and the fruition of all her hopes in the child of her devoted love ! At the close of the service, and after the exit of their Majesties, I loitered a few moments to obtain a cursory view of the chapel, in which were
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a few Doric columns, a simple altar with lighted candles, and several paintings: The Assumption , The dead Christ , and The descent from the Cross.
March 16. — To-day is the anniversary of the Prince Imperial’s birth, and Paris wears a holiday aspect, especially noticeable among the little folks. The schools are closed out of respect to the day, and on the Champs Elysees are many happy, bright faces, perchance the index of the kindly wish that the young Prince’s career may redound to the honor and wisdom of his august parents, and that he may be guided aright all through “ the inarch and battle of life ! ” * * * *
.This evening at a charming dinner-party chez Madame
H I was escorted to the table by a veteran cavalier,
Mr. Monbeltct, a member of the Corps Legislatif, and an intimate friend of Hortense, the daughter of Josephine. Both witty and gay, he had not the appearance of one that had lived three score years and ten, and quaffed the sparkling wine with an ode to beauty that would have done justice to famous Tom Moore. Long may he live, and through all the bright years that shall come may kind friends continue to add sweetening drops to his cup of pleasure ! A soiree dansantc, with light and jovial mirth, followed closely on the dainty comfits of the dinner.
March 19. — The picture of an Italian Peasant in the private gallery of a French Baroness enters into the closely packed bundle of pleasant remembrances of
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yesterday ; — the canvas, in rich and warm coloring, the reflex of a beautiful, sunny land — the flesh-tints wonder- fully true to nature, — the sparkle of the eyes, deeply grand, - the brightness of the variegated costume, and the trellis- work, with its clustering grapes of topaz hue — a most tempting delusion. Oh ! Italy, glorious in sculp- ture and song, and all that is classic and beautiful, thy peasants do also add a charm, if all are like the one we speak of! To-day is Mi-Careme, and the frantic excite- ment that prevailed this morning, on the Boulevard des Italiens, beggars description. Men and women made themselves hideous with masks that represented all sorts of animals from the squirrel up to the elephant. Even little children of five and six years were falsified to add to the grotesque spectacle. Passing through the erdwd in a carriage, and hearing the clatter and screams, I thought how terrible such a people would prove in a mob or insurrection, and looked very gratefully on several gendarmes who asserted, in positive language, that no more orange-skins should be leveled at our vehicle, or at the one that followed us. A little farther on, a rash fellow finding our carriage blocked up by the gathering masses, thrust his head right into the window, and such a face as his was might have startled the most courageous ; but such antics must be tolerated as a Car- nival license.
March 20. — A mask-ball at the opera-house ! Though journalists write from morn till night, and artists dili- gently ply their work ; though voluble tongues exhaust
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their rhetoric, yet, to such a scene, neither picture nor language can render justice! They may give an ap- proximate idea, but that is all. Go you must, if a lady, with the nose bridged over with black velvet or satin, the chin peeping through frills of lace, the head covered with a hood, and with a monkish tunic extending below the knee.
The midnight clock tells that the hour is come for the gayest revelry ever witnessed. Before emerging from the boudoir , a glance into the mirror — revealing a sombre disguise and stealthy look — almost makes you hesitate to proceed further. The expression of the eyes under a mask is not unlike that of a pussy-cat, nor are your actions unlike her pranks, for pussy has often been known to run into the jam with a view to theft, and so are you going into the jam } that you may steal pleasure. The sensation is novel, and grows on one as the evening progresses. Ensconced in the private box, the question naturally conies, “ Where am I, and am I myself?” On reflection “ I don’t think I am, nor are those around me themselves but the bewilderment is so great that all things logical arc put behind, while Satan keeps in the foreground, because, on this occasion, he will not take the rear rank. Your lady companions whisper into your muffled cars, “ Oh ! did you ever see anything like these people?” " Never,” is the laconic reply; for if the mind could wander to all the quarters of the vast globe, surely it would not find their match. Behold Strauss, the mighty chief of the grand orchestral band ! In what frame of mind did he compose that maddening
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music to which thousands, like spinning-tops, whirl round and round? To the waltz, with its ever-varying airs, are suited the laisser-aller movement and capers of the dancers; and sometimes, in keeping with the Pan- demonium, the soft musical strains give way to the thunder of big drums, the clash of cymbals, and the squeak of fifes — a burst of indescribable noise that deaf- ens most mercilessly the ears, and shocks as rudely the nerves. Look at those feet in rapid motion, every mus- cle of the frame seeming to act in concert, and note, be- sides, the sauciness and mischievous humor of those faces ! Where is the artist that can catch enough of the spirit of the ever-changing countenances to enable him to make a satisfactory counterfeit? Is it not gone in the twinkling of an eye, or in less time than it took that man to turn a somersault, or that damsel to kick a hat off? Lean over the plush-covered railing of your box, and take in the thousand glittering lights; the endless variety of costume — satins and velvets spangled all over — and the antics and extravagant gestures, winked at by the gendarmes because it is a night dedicated to fun and adventure. You will discover that the demoiselles are allowed Jo appear with a small amount of dress, and that the messieurs can stand on their heads if they please, squeeze forms of embonpoint , or snatch kisses, without repairing to the foyer . An invitation urges you to leave, for awhile, the terpsichorean devotees, and promenade in the corridors. The crowd there is quite as great as on the dancing floor. Peering through that precious, de- ceptive little article, a mask, you see a friend — not in
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disguise — and you pass him by without any token of recognition, enjoying the advantage of observing his flirtations without his being aware of your presence. This friend may be an old married man, whose silvery hair does not prevent him from laughing at that coquet- tish little vixen ; and, although he cannot conscientiously approve of such roguish freedom as hers, yet it bids him think of bounding life, and shuts out old age with its concomitant aches. “ It is all in a lifetime,” says he, “and so I will go again to a bal masque” Passing along, you meet a lady friend whom you choose to rec- ognize, when a spicy little adventure may be confided to you. A Frenchman goes in raptures over a pretty little foot wearing an American boot; but the husband is hard by, and the Frenchman, who thinks it a hard thing, speeds on for fear it will be a hard matter between them. Then the restaurant offers cooling refreshment in iced beverages. You think you have seen enough of exhila- ration in the vivacious people, but, as the temptation is the sparkling widow — Cliquot — resistance is impossible. During the inspiration of the moment, from the serious chambers of your heart, there comes a feeling of pity for those reckless sprites, who— many of them, perchance, orphans — have been thrown upon the gay world of Paris, and are lost in its seductive pleasures.
The hours advancing towards day-break, we returned to the box. Our escorts having left us for a moment, it was a French liberty for a handsome young fellow in the adjoining loge to address us in these words : “ Honi »o it qui mal y pensc ; ” besides to guess at our national- s
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ity, which we would n’t avow on such an occasion. We coolly endeavored to pass off for English; but the Frenchman was not to be thus deceived, and continued to compliment America ; whereupon, seeing there was no escape, we quietly acknowledged our allegiance to the stars and stripes, trusting its folds would shield us abroad as safely as at; Thome. A few more glances were bestowed on the plunging costumed masses, and the time came to bid. farewell to the exciting scene; to leave the tempest-noises and the frantic concourse for the fresh, pure atmosphere of the quiet outside world. Paris, at that hour, had hushed its mighty throb, and was locked in slumber.
March 22. — Tired nature refused the attractions at the Hotel de Ville last evening, and this day of “ holy rest ” has come soothingly amidst the worldly altars at which we have been lately kneeling. Church service was attended at 11 A. m. ; and some simplified Biblical readings entertained the juveniles in the afternoon. Sweet little Bessie Scholey, an interested listener of sev- eral months ago, is greatly missed ; yet, Master Clifford Clarke — always bright and handsome in his Scotch plaid — takes up the broken link.
March 24. — Prussia came forward last night to obey the roll-call of pleasure, Mr. and Madame L enter-
taining a brilliant company at their apartments, on the Champs Elysees. The hostess, a divinity, shone bril- liantly in her gilded saloons ; and all around her was a
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golden harvest of beauty and fame, with ladies in spark- ling jewels, and gentlemen in blazing orders. What shall be said of the extravagance in dress — that enticing passion to which all who breathe the air of Paris seem to fall a prey ? A handsome form was clasped by a golden girdle — a serpent-coil — inlaid with various tinted enamels, rubies, sapphires and diamonds ; a snow- white throat was encircled by a necklace of solitaire dia- monds, each stone set in black enamel, star-shaped ; lux- uriant golden tresses were adorned by a crown whose amethysts and emeralds formed delicate flowers and leaves, — and, although not worn by a royal brow, yet it was fitting for the most fair. After all, balls and par- ties are but repetitions of splendid show, pretty women, gay courtiers, rich banquets, brilliant lights, music, and fragrant flowers.
March 26. — A sprinkling of snow startles the com- munity, — only a few farewell flakes falling from the hoary crown of Winter, about to be supplanted by the rose-wreath of Spring! Chez nous , preparations are making for a fancy masquerade, despite the assertion that a private mask ball, out of Italy, must ever prove a fiasco. Friends assist in weaving garlands to make the salons a fairy bower ; and, added to the floral deco- rations, are numerous flags, among which is a French and a Persian one, contributed by General Dix. To- morrow, then, masks may puzzle ; lovers of gaiety may sport in fancy-dress embellishment, and intrigue, harm- lessly, under private protection.
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March 29. — Like the short-lived perfume of exotics an enchanting scene has passed away, but its picturesque details are still floating through our minds. Let us review characters as they shine under a magic light. At first, costumes arc hidden by provoking dominoes, and faces by various colored masks; but, in some instances, the charm of incog, falls before keen and steady scrutiny. A major-domo , stationed in the vestibule, appointed to receive cards of invitation, makes a bow of obeisance to Charles IX, as his Royal Highness is about to enter. At the threshold, the King is greeted by a Swiss Peasant who gives up a rose-bud, on demand, saying “ I surrender it to your Majesty, for a peasant dares not disobey a king.” A Shepherdess, with a lamb in her arms, is teased by being asked what she carries that dog for. As an American, she repudiates the French custom, and says spitefully, “ Go into the coun- try, where you will probably learn to discriminate animals.” Mr. Z — , who personates Mephistopheles, is startled, on looking into a mirror, to find that he is as ugly as the d — 1. A recognition of Miss Pepper is told by a loud sneeze in her dignified presence. The Coun- tess C — breaks not less than a dozen hearts, and mends only the one belonging to the Vicomte L — . Mr.
B — h — who cannot hide his Saxon court-dress — will be brought to trial for following on the tiny footsteps of little Red Riding Hood. His marital relations do not give him this right, and therefore he shall be condemned to wolfish fangs, after one more glance into her bright, bright eyes. Mrs. D — of the Derby Races, has been
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assailed, and makes a fast trot — brandishing her riding whip — after the audacious creature that pinched her through her scarlet jacket. La FiUe du Regiment regales a thirsty Fenian from the canteen at her side. He is a militant about to join his regiment, and thinks that one drop received at her hands is worth the full measure of the famous Heidelberg Tun. A Fisherman draws his nets, and is intent on catching something that will stand by him through sunshine and storm ; but the pretty little gold fish he thinks he has caught, gets frightened and glides away, saying “Not this time, my laddie , I’ll come again!” Cupid, the archest aud prettiest god ever seen, with blue and silver wings, pierces away at a hundred hearts. For all the wounds he makes, and will not heal, he should be .placarded. — “ Thy pleasure my sorrow has proven ; then fly, love, away ! Oh ! fly away, love ! ” Raphael will leave in memory a green spot , so fast in color, that its emerald loveliness need never be retouched by a magic brush, for youth, grace, and talent arc always charming. Bright Cuba is under a snow-storm of powder, that refuses to be blown away to reveal her raven tresses. How we long to see the roses of her cheeks glow the warmer in contrast with the white mockery above, but her tiny mask still denies us that boon, leaving unconfined only a little mouth to warble five or six languages ! Wrapped in her cerulean drapery, she bids defiance to 12 o’clock — the hour for unmasking — and continues to coquette awhile longer. Here is a gay French Baron, a s the Queen of Hearts. If he desires to tread on hearts, and hold them captive, s*
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he will surely accomplish it by his diminutive feet, which are the wonder of Paris. Let all guessing now cease. A moment since it was “ Know thyself,” but now comes the command “ Be thou known.” Lo ! here wanders an Indian Princess, possessed of a mixed beauty, America’s choicest charms breaking through an abori- ginal imitation. How perfect the dress, to which are clinging innumerable crimson and gold-flecked feathers that lie as close, as those that nature provides for the warmth of the forest-bird ! Luxuriant black hair sweeps around her form, contrasting its ebon hue with her red- tinted skin. Near by is a handsome Baron, clad in a velvet court-dress, and resplendent with costly diamonds. Among the flowers decking the saloons, and vieing with the tulips and camclias of France, is one gathered from a far off American State, the “ Rose of Nevada.” Her robe is of white satin with silver garniture, and wreathed over with pink roses, out of which peers the motto, “ IS Amour et Fidclite .” The honor of one State is thus charmingly upheld; and another fair lady undertakes the glory of the whole Western Continent. So bewi tell- ingly does she combine all the attractions, that she is banded around with a circlet of admirers ; and, whilst challenging the homage of tout le mondc on this side of the water, she still preserves her devotion to her native country. The dress is of red, white, and blue satin, embroidered in maps illustrating the geography of America, whilst some symbols point to the wealth of certain portions of the country, suggestive of gold-mines ; and a rare diamond vein is struck, sparkling in cottier
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form. From “ the enchanted, golden, Gipsey-land, the Valley of Bohemia,” come two wanderers ; and Italy does not pretend to count her peasants. More than one Troubadour is singing to those olive-tinted daughters of Venice, and the Cantadinas of Florence, to the neglect of Spanish dames and damsels, who flirt most charm- ingly behind their fans, and look love most rapturously from dark-fringed eyes. A Magicienne with beauty in her glance, and magic in her voice, leads away captive Fra Diavolo, and robs him of his heart. Suddenly he loses his love of plunder, and does not grasp at the golden serpent lurking in her tresses, or practise sleight of hand on the other costly ornaments. The shot that brings him low is not from mountain-ambush, but from bright eyes ; and on the flowery stairway at the feet of the beautiful slayer, he dies. Would that the wound might be healed, life renewed, and hopes accomplished ! Royalty waves its sceptres, and displays its crowns among Flower-girls and Shepherdesses. Kings Henry I — II — III seem to be reigning at the same time with Louis XIII — XIV and XV, — Napoleon III having no show at all. Saint Denis must have some vacant tombs on this occasion; but, in the resurrected sovereigns we see no sign of Death’s withering stroke, nor do their voices echo aught that is mournful of the past. The Seasons assert an influence lovely to behold. Spring and Summer trail their vines and flowers among the dancing feet, making the floor a tinted one with all the colors of precious stones — amethyst, sapphire and topaz, ruby, emerald and pearl. Autumn drops traces of the
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forest’s rich glow, in gold and crimson leaves ; and Win- ter scatters hoar-frost and snow-flakes. Day and Night contest for the highest rank — the sun, moon and stars disregarding the law and order of the planetary system, in the shorter orbits described in the giddy waltz. Tur- key sends beauties of the harem ; — Greece, a slave, whose chains are loosened, yet with charms to enchain a bevy of admirers. Arabia keeps a tantalising secret. Who is the veiled personage? Her piercing black eyes make us wish the more to solve the mystery. Folly, in orange and blue satin, shakes her bells in gleesome humor; and the Princess Scheherazade, gorgeously oriental, is wrapped in golden glory, her locks floating in masses to her feet. An arch and coquettish mouth whispers Bo- Peep, and two lovely eyes flash around the corner. See a gallant knight, in armor clad, has tracked her lurking- place, and pursues the hide-and-seek game with as much earnestness as he would go forth to show his prowess on the battle-field. Before the evening’s close he will learn the meaning of the little song, “ Beware ! she ’s fooling thee.” A saucy maid-servant knocks the powder from many a court-wig with her dusting brush, and the cry is for a gendcmne, to place the presumptious domestique under arrest. At the throwing off of her simple dis- guise, accusers turn suitors, for a more lovely Polish damsel never graced a French salon . The Count de Montebello could find no terrestrial costume suited to his tall and manly figure, and so he dived under the water to learn what an Alligator could do on shore. Glittering in scales that rattle, his presence is made
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known wherever he goes, and every one exclaims, — “ What a head ! ” About the caudle extremity cautious steps are taken by little feet in spangled slippers, and carefully guarded are queenly trains all bordered in er- mine. Monsieur Morlot, as Petit Crcve Anglais , seems to have caught the reflection of a gold and silver mine, and his peaked shirt-collar looks as dangerous as do some of the ferocious mustachios with their wiry ends. Vicomte de F Angle, the hero of L'Etoile die Novel , brings up recollections of its sweet music. We are not shocked at the many saucy things whispered here and there, which every one, married and single, accepts, be- cause for the evening the cry is La Liberie, and we are in France.
March 31. — We took advantage of this day, so bright in sunshine, by first driving to the Champ de Mars, where the Exposition building, a few months since, loomed up in all its grandeur; and continuing our route, passed one of the grandest viaducts of Paris. How im- posing, with its numerous arches, handsome balustrade, elegant lamp-posts, and extensive sweep, besides the animation above and below, in pedestrians, carriages and rail-cars! Not far distant are the fortifications, bristling now only with blades of grass. Tradition says that Louis Philippe, in disguise, made his escape from this section of the city. We soon came to the Park d’ Auteui), in which spot nature has left her best and proudest touches — beautiful wood scenery and green bowers; light land- scapes, with streamlets, wild flowers, velvety moss and
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ferns. The Bois de Boulogne, contiguous to this park, brings out bolder beauties, the offspring of art. Its broad avenues and promenades invite “ Fashion’s glit- tering train,” but d’Auteuil affords quiet sylvan shades for the meditative mind. Soon after entering the Bois we stopped at the Croix Catelan, a relic of the fourteenth century. It is a monument partly demolished, and marks the spot where a “ Troubadour of the Court of Beatrix de Savoy” was murdered by Phillipe le Bel’s military guard, who had been deputized to conduct him in safety to the King. The treasure he bore as a present to the Sovereign, and on account of which he lost his life, proved to be nothing more than a few bottles of p&'fume. We visited the Vacherie, at Pre Catelan, and saw some splendid cows. Many persons resort to this place to indulge in a glass of fresh milk or cream. It is brought to an humble little cottage, whose furniture consists of a few plain tables, presided over by a neat waitress, and whose only ornament is the Madeira vine that trails up and along the windows, relieving the glaring effect of calico print. The honest face of an old white tabby was there to-day, and she purred again and again at my side, looking as if she had not forgotten the days of her kittenhood, when it was her privilege to lap the sweet milk.
April 3. — As we ended March with a series of noc- turnal pleasures, so do we begin this month. A soiree musicale came off at Madame T — s, Avenue de la Grande Armee. The performance of the artists and amateurs
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was a perfect success, as was the supper in the artistic grouping of fruits and bon-bons, miniature bouquets and tiny baskets of strawberries. Then followed a soiree dansahte, with great eclat, at Mrs. McC — *s ; a cotillon at Mrs. D — ’s, towards the morning hours ; and a dinner at the Hotel Westminster, by Mr. G — , of Cincinnati. We left a delightful matinee at 4 p. M., to accompany friends to the Bois, choosing the quiet routes at first, and only turning into the spacious avenue overlooking the lake to get a view of the Emperor and Empress, who had alighted from their carriage to indulge in a promen- ade. All eyes were directed towards them, the Empress acknowledging by sweet smiles, and an occasional incli- nation of the head, the many evidences of admiration bestowed, whilst her Imperial spouse wore an air of quiet indifference.
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