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are thorough in their business, whatever it is, and do it well. Paris has shown what a wonderful creature a woman may become, when her nonsense is converted into sense, her aspirations into worldly wisdom. An American or an English woman can hardly believe the point of perfection a whole city of women may reach in the arts of this world. It is well known that the Grisettes are shrewd, cool, worldly to the extreme; yet they are the most agreeable creatures in the world; and their sisters of the higher classes are like them, only softened and tempered by the downy beds of prosperity upon which they lie.

It is hardly necessary to assert that the Parisian woman is not the model woman -what God intended her to be; but whatever she is, she is equal, if not superior, to the man. Upon him, the lord of creation, him of the upper class, tobacco, coffee, wine, and high-spiced pleasures have done their work, and he is pale, slight, weak, idle. The men of the lower classes, the "ouvriers," are short, but stout and active; from them is made up the army of France, which has no equal for swiftness, audacity, and endurance. Below these come the population of crime (60,000 strong), whose hand is against every man, and every man's hand against them. The "gamin" of Paris, the boy, who knows neither father, mother, home, nor God, is a breed; most keen, most cunning, most enduring, most audacious. They grow into thieves and desperadoes, and ply their trades in the slums of the city and under the nose of royalty.

I

Thirty thousand chiffonniers, who pick their living out of the garbage of the streets, exist in Paris. But we have no figures to express the rich of the city. Do they number as many? doubt it. Still, the Bourse is an institution. In a great Hall surrounded with Corinthian columns of white marble, between the hours of 12 and 3 every day (Sunday excepted, I believe), gathers a crowd of men. Among them are the haut noblesse and the German Jew. They buy and they sell stocks with a

noise and fury that is deafening. The mania for getting rich, and swiftly, pervades all classes; and here all classes come to gamble and speculate, and here millions are lost and won daily. It is easy enough to see how those who know what the Emperor is going to say, may buy or sell safely. Here the Mornys* and the "Brethren of the Elysée" are understood to have amassed their ample millions, which enabled them to rival the revels of Sardanapalus, and to die much eulogized.

The old nobility has gone down be fore the " new men " of the new Empire. Some of them yet exist, but they are powerless, and it is believed they grow weaker daily, in both intellect and money. The future of France will hardly find her great men among them.

The art of living has been a profound study in Paris for a century, and is more perfected than elsewhere; that is, here every thing is utilized, and nothing is wasted. Only the very rich live in a whole house; living in suites of rooms, upon one floor of a house, is universal. On the best floor are the salons and fine apartments for the rich; on the next floor, those for the well-todo; above, for the artisans, and higher up for the poor.

Eating has become a fine art. Restaurants of every grade abound, and more people eat at them than in any other city of the world. Home-life is not so fascinating in Paris as in America; and the café supplies warmth, light, entertainment, and gossip. It is not so dull as home, and dulness the Parisian hates. Within a short time singingcafés have sprung into life, and at them a new charm is furnished free. Here Therèse became known, and won fame and money. She had talent, she had voice, she had wants, and she had audacity. She soon found that the impure paid better than the pure, that vile images were more seductive than noble thoughts, and she threw around these all the witchery of eye, tone, and gesture of which she was mistress.

* Died worth forty millions!

Whether she sang in the café or the open street, she was thronged with delighted men. Before long she was sought by the highest ladies of Paris, eager to learn from her the arts which brought men to her feet. They learned to sing her songs, and it is quite true that Therèse has sung in the first salons of Paris, and in the presence of royalty itself. She has retired full of praise and money, with a supreme contempt for an elegant society which she believes baser than herself.

Food is all-important. The Halles Centrales stand upon the once buryingground of the Church of the Innocents. This is the great central market, and here are sold, yearly, 110,000 beeves; 46,000 cows; 169,000 veals; 840,000 sheep; and some 36,000,000 pounds of dressed meat.* 240,000,000 eggs are consumed yearly in Paris, 28,000,000 pounds of butter, and 292,500,000 pounds of meat. And yet the consumption of meat here is found to be twenty per cent, less than in London. Wine flows into the city at the rate of 70,000,000 gallons† a-year; and as the water supply is poor, it is freely drunk. I have said that nothing is allowed to be wasted. Coffee-grounds are sold and resold; "Arlequins" sell every kind of broken meat and refuse food; the butter-tasters spit out the butter from their mouths on to straw laid on the floor to catch it; this straw is put into boiling water, the butter is skimmed off, and is sold to confectioners. The confectionery of the city is famous and most delicious!

The market-women-dames de la Halle -are a rich, robust, and powerful class. They are proud of themselves and of their business, which they attend to thoroughly and indefatigably. They love to appear at coronations and christenings of great families, wearing their bravery and jewels, to present congratulations and to be complimented. They have been powerful instigators and promoters of rebellions, and even emperors do not care to trifle with them.

Paris Guide, 1867.

↑ 68,200,000 gallons.

VOL. II-2

Another of the arts of living-dress is thoroughly exploited in Paris. It is, must be borne in mind, that no creature of God's creating, except man, is born naked, and continues so. The energies of man, therefore, are taxed (now to the utmost) to provide food and clothes. The supreme desire of man is for food, of woman for clothes. She may endure the deprivation of food, but without clothes she dies. The clothes one absolutely needs are such as will protect one from the inclemency of the weather; what one wants, pen cannot tell.

The wardrobe of Fayaway consisted of one garment of cotton cloth, tied about the waist with a cord braided of soft grass. The wardrobe of the Prin cess Mconsists of 119 dresses of silk, each of 119 pieces, and trimmed with 1,900 yards of trimmings; 164 morning-gowns of various materials, adorned with one million of buttons; 61 walking-dresses and cloaks, ornamented with one ton of bugles; 51 shawls of various sizes and colors; 152 petticoats, in variety; 275 other undergarments; 365 pairs of stockings; 156 pairs of gloves of every known color; 49 pairs of boots and shoes; 71 sashes and belts; 64 brooches, in variety; 72 pairs of earrings, in variety; 31 fans; 24 parasols; 1 umbrella, &c., &c. Such, in brief, is the wardrobe now of a firstclass Parisian lady.

How does she get these things? Ah, that is a question; for she makes none of them herself. Twenty kinds of sewing-machines each do the work of fifty sewers; these are at work night and day. Beside them, 150,000 men and women at least are at work in Paris making clothes to cover the nakedness of the race; and over $90,000,000* worth are produced here annually. Not only are there new clothes made to this extent, but three firms in Paris sell annually, of "old clothes," over $3,000,000 worth. This is vast-it is fabulousit is almost incredible; but it is true.

There is a mystery about this subject

455,000,600 francs. Galignani, 1867.

It

that man's mind cannot fathom. may be suggested by the question, What is fashion? We look upon you (ladies), and exclaim, "What loveliness! what exquisite combination of rosebuds and tulle! what taste! what art!" Alas! man is but a simple creature. He longs to possess the lovely wearer of so much loveliness, and to call her his. He does not know what part Madame Roget and Cora Pearl have played in this little drama. No one knows just how much Madame Roget and Cora Pearl have to do in creating the fashions which dominate soul and sense in all quarters of the civilized world.

"What is fashion?" is a mysterious question. By some sort of fraternity, the great makers of silks and ribbons and plushes and organdies do coöperate with the great milliners and modistes of the Palais Royal, and so discover what they will have the fashion to be, months before the problem is resolved in the general female mind. Three things are necessary for the great manufacturers, and for the artists of the Palais Royal: one, to invent a fashion; another, to persuade or force the women of the world to follow it; and the third, to change it often. All this means business; and fashion means business in Paris, and it means nothing else. It is thoroughly systematized, it is powerful, and it has its finger in the pocket of every woman of the civilized world. A little story will illustrate this: In the days of Louis Philippe, a most earnest and gifted preacher appeared in Paris. He waked people from their worldliness, and inspired a sense of duty; but, more than that, he became the fashion; so that women of the first rank hung upon his words and tried to follow his teachings. They took the jewels from their hands and laid them at his feet; they dressed simply and plainly, and poured the money into his treasury, or devoted it to works of charity; they wished to be humane, and they ceased to be vain and barbaric. Mark the sequel! The traders, and jewel-makers, and fashion-makers took an alarm; they appeared before the Minister of

State, and told him "the thing must be stopped! This preacher must be silenced, or the people would suffer for food, and would rise in mutiny-for it was by these gods of fashion the city prospered." It was stopped; the eloquent preacher was permitted to leave the city; the ladies of Paris soon forgot him and his teachings; the traders and jewel-makers and modistes breathed freely; Paris was saved! and all went on in the old way.

Not only do the artistes of the Palais Royal create fashions, but they do another and a greater thing: they compel -yes, compel-every woman in the Christian world, from the missionary under the walls of Jerusalem to the trader's wife of California-all, of every language and race, to adopt these fashions, and to shape and reshape her garments according to the whims of somebody in Paris whom, individually, no one knows or cares for. A woman who cannot follow the fashion feels herself disgraced; and a woman who will not do it is contemned by most of her sisters. This is a thing which a man can hardly compass, and quite fails to understand. Thousands of women know this tyranny of fashion perfectly, but feel powerless to resist it. They detest the large hoops (once in use), they loathe the wearing of a dead woman's hair, they are sick of trailing their skirts in the mud, and yet they do these things; they do whatever "fashion"—that hidden god-tells them to do.

Now, woman is a part of the machinery which is used in Paris in this business with telling effect. There is a class of women there known as "dames du lac." They are, in fact, courtesans of the most elegant and expensive description. They spend much money; they drive in the most striking of equipages, and display themselves every sunny afternoon on the borders of the lake in the Bois de Boulogne-hence their name. Now the purpose of these women is to excite a sensation, to attract the gaze of the world, to fascinate men, and especially men with long purses. Their most convenient weapon is DRESS. They

display themselves before the world in the most lovely, the most gorgeous, the most strange, or the most extravagant of dresses. To them flock the "gentlemen" of Paris, glad to see, to know, to talk, to flirt before the civilized world. Around them gather the "ladies" of Paris, princesses, duchesses, marquisses, and empresses, to see what the latest fashion is, to know how a lady is to array herself; only anxious to equal she cannot rival—these free "dames du lac." Such is the latest phase of Christian civilization in Paris!

The name of Cora Pearl is well known. She is an English girl, who has beaten the French on their own ground. Her wit, her beauty, her audacity, her vice, have surpassed theirs, and to-day she rivals the Empress herself in the gaze of the crowd. She it was who invented the fashion of wearing red hair; she dyed that of her poodle red, that it might be in harmony with her own. The brunettes of Paris hate none so much as her. They long to thrust a knife under the fifth rib-but murder is not permitted.

I have said that fashion means business-that it is thoroughly systematized -that it is a mystery-and that it has its finger in the purse of every woman in the land. Can any one doubt? Can any fail to see that, by means of it, Paris draws a tribute of $90,000,000 from the universal world? Can any one question that, if Paris could to-day be engulfed five thousand fathoms deep, the soul of every woman would be freed from a terrible tyrant? Does she desire to be freed? Let her answer for herself.

There is one religion in Paris, and it is called Roman Catholic. It is a curious fact that in this city, where the Calvinists once almost drove out the Catholics, there exist to-day but two Calvinistic houses of worship. There is one religion, but, according to Guizot, there is not a faith-or almost none. Faith in the unseen, faith in virtue, faith in an after-life of which this is the mere beginning, is rare, if it is to be found at all in the Church. This religion, through two thousand years, has be

come thoroughly systematized into a Church. This Church is a perfect machine, which is indeed a power in the State, but is controlled and managed by the State. This perfect machine is in the hands of able men, and is an integral part of the social life of the city. The worship at Notre-Dame is a superb spectacle; the dresses are rich, the lights fine, the music delightful, the audiences well-behaved. Here, too, is applied that wonderful system and thoroughness which marks every thing in Paris. A high-mass costs from 50 to 300 francs; a grand marriage, with carpets, chairs, choir, &c., costs some 300 francs; and blessed candles for the poor to burn before the shrine of "Our Lady" can be had for a few sous. Death, too, pays. The business of burying is in the hands of the great company (Pompes Funèbres) chartered by the State, who furnish funerals at prices ranging from 19 francs to 7,184 francs-of which the Church has its share. We must not forget, however, that in the bosom of this wonderful Church lives and acts a body of women who save it from perdition-the Sisters of Charity. Some of them are old, many young, but all devoted. They spend their lives in relieving distress and allaying suffering. They do this not for money, but for the love of God and man. In the Church, too, are to-day, as there always have been, honest, sincere, devoted men, who work at the problem of human life, and labor to raise the souls of men from the temporal to the spiritual. Just now the most conspicuous of these are Father Felix and Father Hyacinth. The first is a Jesuit, and a most finished and cultivated preacher; but he fails to impress one with the earnestness and intensity of feeling which inspires Father Hyacinth. This last always attracts crowds, and they are not only women. Grave men, ministers, artists, writers, hang upon his fiery words in rapt attention. The Church is crowded hours before he speaks; carriages stop the way. It is a new, a startling, a novel sensation-this man preaching, as though he believed it, the gospel of the

poor and the suffering the gospel spoken by Jesus of Nazareth two thousand years ago on the banks of the Sea of Galilee.

What is the result? It were impossible to tell. The brilliant correspondent of the Evangelist confesses herself perplexed. She sees the crowd, she knows they are impressed, moved, electrified; but they turn away talking as they would after hearing an opera or seeing a performer. They have had a sensation-they go away. She says: "Never has preaching in the Church been more followed. Never was there more talent put into requisition to satisfy this mercurial population, mad for excitement of every kind-whether in the church or the theatre; yet never, perhaps, was there more of demoralization in society, or even vice, more unblushingly displayed in the amusements and literature of the people." What, then, has religion come to be, and where is the home of faith?

Sunday is in no sense a holy day. The Church discourages business labors, and most of the public works are suspended; but private enterprises go forward, and for a part of the day labors go on, and the small shops are kept open. The people throng the museums and gardens; the shows of the Champs Elysées are vivacious, and the theatres are in full blast. Sunday is the holiday of the people.

Education is not universal, but in the higher walks it is not surpassed. The "Polytechnique," the "School of Mines," the "School of Natural History," the "Academy of Fine Arts," the "Conservatoire," the "Sorbonne," and the "School of Medicine," attract thousands of scholars from all parts of the world. There are also some five hundred schools for elementary instruction, where some seventy-two thousand children are taught at the expense of the State.* These schools are under the charge of the "Brothers of the Christian Faith," the counterpart of the "Sisters of Charity." The education here is

* Annual cost, £120,000 ($600,000).

most practical and valuable, being such only as will fit the children for the work they have to do in life; for it is not understood there that every child will probably be a senator, or an emperor, as here. The mind of France concentrates in Paris, and the mind of Paris concentrates in the Institute. This comprises: 1. The Académie Française, founded since 1635, of forty members. 2. The Académie des Inscriptions et Belleslettres (1663), of fifty members. 3. The Académie des Sciences (1666), of seventyfive members. .4. The Académie des Beaux Arts (1648-71), of fifty members. 5. The Académie des Sciences Morales et Politiques, of forty-six members. Those who have the honor of being elected to these posts have received the stamp of excellence, and are recognized masters. Even in the whirl and vanity and excitement of Parisian life, it is anxiously asked, "When is there to be a sitting of the Academy? when a reception?" and tickets are eagerly sought for.

In the various branches of science the French are unsurpassed. In the fine arts, especially in painting, they are today unrivalled. In literature there is certainly vast activity, and in the year 1860 nearly twelve thousand literary works were published, besides numerous periodicals. The press would be the most brilliant and varied in Europe, but it is muzzled. In the department of fiction, there is more brilliancy, variety, and intensity, and more vice, than in any literature of Europe; and it is a significant fact that the tendency in all directions is to tickle a satiated appetite and to excite a prurient imagination. Works are published and read unblushingly in Paris, which would not bear the light in America; and they prove most profitable.

In the departments of literature, science, and art, men not only reap honors, but they gather wealth, more than elsewhere. But they work; they spare no pains; they are thorough. Here is now to be found the true nobility of France, small in numbers, great in intellect. But this nobility, we may well believe, is nigh hopeless. It looks,

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