HE Paris season this year, de

cumstances, has been brilliant, and has even prolonged itself beyond the customary limits. Strolling in the delightful Bois de Boulogne, and resting for a few minutes in the Avenue de l'Impératrice on a fine afternoon, you are astonished at the broad, incessant roll of splendid equipages, which at once give you a vivid idea of the wealth and fashion congregated at Paris. Never since France was France has Paris rejoiced in so much material grandeur. The presence of many strangers of immense wealth, who delight in magnificent expense has added to the indigenous prosperity. Paris is now entitled, and not without justice, New Paris. The extensions of the city beyond the barriers, the new bridges arched over the Seine, the new boulevards that have been thrown out, the fair avenues in the Champs d'Elysées, the woods beyond the Arc de la Triomphe, the magnificent additions to the Louvre, the splendid edifices that are arising upon scenes of demolition, present scenes as striking as those fabled to be wrought by the hand of an enchanter. The enchanter in this case is the Emperor, the wealthiest, the most powerful, the most sagacious of European sovereigns, and, to state his advantages in a way most appreciable to many minds, the master of some thirteen hundred thousand a year pocket money and about fifteen palaces. This era of splendid building has been forebodingly likened to the days of Louis XIV., but with this important difference, that the object is not the selfish vanity of a Versailles but great public objects which may be said to yield at once a remunerative return. The French Cæsar, happier than the Latin Cæsar, has not waited till his death to present the people with arbours and gardens and palaces of delight. He well-nigh accomplished the Augustan boast of converting a city of brick into a city of marble. The

flush of prosperity has pervaded all Paris alike, from the palace of the Tuileries to the atelier of the ouvrier. Amid all the imperial influence is supreme. The Emperor is the State. The Emperor is public opinion. The Emperor is, or makes the season. Nobody even wishes to argue with the master of three hundred legions.

The first impression that strikes the visitor, not altogether agreeably, is the extreme expensiveness of Paris. The desire of the Parisians to make money runs a risk of defeating itself. In some quarters there has been a disposition to abridge the season. Families of great note in the country think they have gone through the Paris season if they come up in the middle of January and leave about Easter. If they linger five or six weeks later, till Ascension Day, it is a great point. It requires some economy in the country to make up for the inevitable extravagance of the capital. Officers in the French army feel this keenly. To be on duty at Paris implies, indeed, the minimum of work and the maximum of play. But the expenses are far beyond even the extra pay: those who have for years been sighing in garrison towns for the dear delights of Paris find that they require a profusion of napoleons; and married officers have frequently to dissipate their hard-earned savings. Against this are to be set extremely wealthy people who, by a series of brilliant entertainments, are keeping up the season till an advanced point this year. The Emperor will not leave Paris till the 1st or 2nd of June, and it will at least last as long as that. When the hot weather decidedly sets in the Parisian exodus commences. Many of the lions and lionesses will be in time for the best part of the London season. Paris activity will not be sensibly diminished. When the Parisians come over to London the London tourists will be beginning to pour into Paris.

Access to the Tuileries is much easier than to Buckingham Palace. About four thousand persons attend the State balls. Tickets to these are easily procurable, and in a great variety of ways. The invitations extend quite to the middle class, and even to many persons who, to speak plainly, would be thought vulgar rather than otherwise. Things are, of course, different in the case of the Empress's private balls, where the invitations are personal, and extend to a limited number. We have, of course, all heard of the fancy ball in which the costume of the Countess Castiglione made so great a sensation. Many of the old Legitimist families, who are loyal to the Count de Chambord, titular Henry V., have steadily held aloof from imperial festivities. They associate among themselves in their ancient palaces in the Faubourg St. Germain. Still, as the hopelessness of opposition to the present régime grows more and more apparent, these families become less indisposed to assume their proper place in Parisian society. Men who in the rapid business evolutions of late years have acquired sudden and great fortunes especially attach themselves to the present dynasty and court to acquire a position which they might not otherwise attain. The Americans form an important item in the upper, or rather the moneyed classes: the war has not prevented their travelling in great numbers and with great profusion of expense. Emperor roams very freely about Paris, apparently without the slightest sense of insecurity.

The

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friend of mine tells me that he generally reckons upon meeting him twice a day. He was driving in his calêche with a servant behind him a few days ago-this was down that faded Bond Street of Paris the Rue St. Honoré-and only a solitary workman recognized him. When in state with his guards, in returning through a great crowd from a review of his Turcos and Spahis in the Bois de Boulogne, the cries of 'Vive l'Empereur!' struck me as being both languid and infrequent. It is in the Champs d'Elysées and

the Bois de Boulogne that he is most frequently to be met. In the latter he will frequently descend from his carriage, and, leaning on the arm of a friend-he is generally accompanied with one-will take a walk in the Bois. The Empress also frequently drives this way, attended only by a few outriders. This absence of state contrasts amusingly with the military pomp with which the Prince Imperial is surrounded. Whenever he moves about, accompanied by his tutor, he is attended by an imperial 'guard. This probably helps to impress the dynastic idea upon the minds of the Parisians. The other night I was at the Théâtre Français, and was sitting opposite the imperial box, in which were the Emperor and the Empress, attended by some members of their suite. The play was the Louis XI.' of Casimir Delavigne. M. Alexandre Dumas, in some dramatic criticism that has just appeared, has spoken of this writer's merits in rather an invidious spirit. It is, perhaps, rather a departure from the strict classicality of the Théâtre Français to perform his productions, but their admission sufficiently proves his title to rank as a dramatic classic. The character of Louis XI. is familiar to English readers through the

Quentin Durward' of Sir Walter Scott, and is perhaps not without some shadowy resemblance to that of the present Emperor. The Emperor paid the performers the compliment of listening attentively, but by an occasionally distrait manner and passing his hand over his forehead he exhibited all the signs of well-bred fatigue. He wore his usual grave, inscrutable face, and that easy, self-possessed manner which has always distinguished him, more especially of recent years. In the entr'acte he made abundant use of his lorgnette in surveying different parts of the house. The Emperor conversed very slightly with those in attendance, but the Empress did so freely, and appeared to derive great enjoyment.

Paris is certainly the dramatic capital of Europe. The dramatic gains of Paris are equal to the

literary gains of London. The theatres are nearly equal in number to the churches, and the churches strive to achieve a popularity by becoming theatrical. Thus Madlle. Sax is publicly advertised to sing at the Church of St. Roch, which has gained a distinctive name for its music. One day in May there was some very fine music there on an occasion when Dr. Manning was advertised to preach. There were solos by amateurs, the parts being sustained by some American ladies and their brother. Dr. Manning's sermon lasted upwards of an hour, and was marked by much eloquence and remarkable purity of intonation. He wished to raise funds for the purpose of promoting the spiritual interests of the French in London, and calculated their numbers at thirty thousand.

He

stated that he had just arrived from Rome, and brought from the Holy Father his benediction on the undertaking. Italian peculiarities of manner and gesture indicated Dr. Manning's prolonged residence in Italy; he is a man eminently calculated to win others to his own path of perversion. Since he went over to Rome there has been no chance of the republication of those sermons which are justly favourites in Anglican theology; and as he is said to be buying up the copies, those that remain are considered prizes by the book-collectors. It is not without deep regret that those who know him contrast the Manning of to-day with the Manning of the Oxford movement. Throughout the month of May the religious services at the Madeleine have excited great attention. Every evening at eight o'clock there have been service and sermons, the sermons being characterized by some of the best eloquence of the Roman Catholic pulpit. The vespers and benedictions on Whit-Sunday afternoon especially attracted crowds. Let us, however, return to the broader and more legitimate music-world. We hear of Madlle. Sax in a party given by Count Walewsky, with a concert afterwards. She sang in the duet 'Sicilienne' in the Vêpres,' being accompanied in her performance by

VOL IV.-NO. I.

no less a personage than the illustrious Verdi himself. Rossini also has been observed feebly walking about the streets of Paris. The Italian opera-house closed early, not having had a very prosperous season, and being marked by some conspicuous failures. Italian opera is an exotic which does not take very kindly to French soil. The Paris opera is signally inferior to that of London, that of St. Petersburg, and that of Vienna. It is probably equal to any in Italy, even that of La Scala, at Milan, for the best Italian singers expatriate themselves for their best years that they may buy or build luxurious villas for their retirement. One reason is that the French are justly proud and greatly attached to their own great opera. During the performance at the Italian, however, Adelina Patti excited an enthusiasm which was a sort of adoration. The new home of the Académie Impériale de Musique, the new grand French opera-house, is verging towards its majestic completion. The French government will not have expended less upon it than a million sterling. To the credit of the French legislature this enormous sum for mere purposes of amusement was not voted without very great hesitation. The old opera-house, it will be remembered, in the Rue de Richelieu was demolished in 1820 by the order of the government after the assassination of the Duc de Berri. Here the best French operas have been brought out, and all the grand operas have been given with scenic effects that were long quite unrivalled in Europe. The Opéra Comique is complained of, that it is becoming too good; instead of being exclusively confined to music of a light, agreeable character, there is a tendency to be scientific, which is not overpopular. The French like to be accurate and classical in the proper place, but not at the Opéra Comique. The Théâtre Lyrique, built by M. Alexandre Dumas, may be considered to have attained an established position. The opera of 'Faust,' by Jules Barbier and Michael Carré, to the music of Gounod, has had a most successful run. The part of

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Marguerite is sustained by that splendid songstress Mad. MiolanCarvalho, so favourably known at Covent Garden Theatre. I greatly regret, for my own part, that Goethe's great work should be adapted to stage purposes. The interest centres on the salvation of an immortal spirit-not a proper subject for the frivolities of the stage. A French audience, however, by no means regards this as the primary object of Faust.' It gives its main attention to the seduction, bloodshed, and gorgeous scenery. There is a very characteristic difference between English and French drama. In England a drama generally ends happily: in France it ends unhappily.

The Frenchman regards it as an essential point that the agony should be 'piled up.' He considers himself defrauded unless the stage flows with metaphorical rivers of blood. The disregard for the sanctities of human life herein typified is accompanied with full joyousness and insouciance. A very pretty song, given by'un groupe de Bourgeois,' was rapturously received by the audience as exactly suiting their tastes; indeed it was the only air encored except a solo by Mad. Miolan-Carvalho. I give the words, which contrast oddly with the rest of this terrible drama. The air is perhaps the most popular in Paris just now:

'Aux jours de dimanche et de fête
J'aime à parler guerre et combats;
Tandis que les peuples là-bas
Se cassent la tête,

Je vais m'asseoir sur les côteaux
Qui sont voisins de la rivière
Et je vais passer les bateaux
En vidant mon verre.'

Perhaps, however, these lines more accurately describe a past state of feeling than the present. It appears to me that the national character is undergoing a change. Formerly the Parisian was content to saunter away a happy life in the fresh air of the open streets; he was content with a cigar and novel or newspaper, and even eau sucrée would satisfy his modest wants; aimless pleasure was the sole idea of existence. Life could offer few things

better than a good dinner, coffee and cognac at a café, and then a merry evening at the theatre. Occasionally the Parisian was very happy to vary the monotony of his amusements by assisting' at a revolution. This is all changed now. Everywhere a feverish activity abounds. Even the omnibuses race along the streets, causing at times fatal accidents, and the voiture driver lashes his hacks with unwonted energy. Bishop Butler thought that nations might run Imad as well as individuals. The French nation has become insane, and their recognized delusion is money-mania. French enterprise is pushing itself into every region of speculation. The evil genius of gambling is abroad. In walking along the boulevards I have seen men, who once would have been serenely sipping their coffee, and watching the incidents of the moving crowd, examining the papers of their bulky pocket-books with selfsatisfaction or feverish anxiety. Schemes which are taken to London, and there fail to find substantial support, are no longer looked upon as condemned. They are submitted to Paris financiers, prepared to run great risks, and may probably be adopted.

This state of things may be vividly seen at La Bourse. Having done justice to the splendours of Paris, I may be permitted to mention three institutions which I visited successively the other morning, and which, I think, contrast very unfavourably with our own. The first of these was the Stock Exchange. Never before had I seen so many unfavourable physiognomies! Never before had I heard from business men such a discordant Babel of sounds. Each man seemed wanting in capacity alone to run the career of a Mirès. The Stock Exchange adores Mirès. They grieved for him as if he was a martyr, and they welcomed him back as if he was a hero. His ultimate acquittal by the High Court of Appeal has lent a legal sanction to commercial profligacy. The Emperor declined the statue which the Stock Exchange offered him: the wonder is that it has not been

erected to the great Mirès. The sweets of large gains underived from honest labour possess for the mass an indescribable allurement. The rabble' of the Stock Exchange is notorious. It is hard for Englishmen to realize that in government loans the furthest rentes were fixed so low as ten francs. When the municipality introduced certain payments which told against the coulissiers, so great was the outery that they were necessarily withdrawn. Every one in Paris has the ambition to be a rentier, and to make a fortune by his rentes. I thought of another great Exchange whose reverend legend is this, 'The earth is the Lord's, and the fulness thereof, the compass of the world, and they that dwell therein.' I contrast the stable commercial enterprise of London with the fungous growth and preternatural excitement of the last ten years in France. In speaking of the Exchange, I may notice the extreme profusion of gold coin in Paris. The stream of exchange is that we take French silver, and send it to India, and they take in exchange our gold. La Bourse is a subject that strictly belongs to the season. The ladies who congregate in Paris while it lasts are not at all indisposed for active operations on the Bourse. Formerly they were admitted within the building, but now they are excluded, unless they have an express permission. They still loiter outside the railing, and beneath the shadow of the surrounding trees. It was not without relief that I quitted the Bourse, so splendid in its architectural effect, so disheartening in its moral aspects. I then walked down the Rue Colbert. I was proceeding to a very different place, the Bibliothèque Impériale. What a grateful change it was to find oneself in the Place Richelieu, beneath the shades of trees, and listening to the music of the spouting dolphins of the splendid fountain! No formalities are necessary in order to attend the reading-room, and I thought it would be as well to do a little quiet reading, as of yore in the readingroom of the British Museum. This side of the Bibliothèque has an

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English dinginess, just as the front of our own Museum has a French glitter. The reading-room itself was an extreme disappointment. Very few books are accessible to the visitor. The standard English work I asked for was unprocurable. There is no convenient system of catalogues, or rather no catalogue at all. The students were comparatively few in number, and of not very prepossessing appearance. is very rich in MSS. that would afford abundant material for historical works, and ancient ecclesiastical works; at times such men as Canon Wordsworth and Dr. Pusey may be found investigating its treasures. The library, however, is in a transition state, and scholars will be grateful for any improvements. The alternations of name through which the library has passed speaks of the changes in the State: Bibliothèque du Roi, Bibliothèque Nationale, Bibliothèque Impériale. It is a matter of regret that no good collection of English books exists in Paris. Galignani's does not rise above the level of the mere circulating library, probably for lack of encouragement; his reading-room is one of the most comfortable and complete of its kind.

From thence I went to the General Post Office in the Rue Jean-JacquesRousseau. I suppose most English travellers have been bewildered by the labyrinth of streets by which it is entangled. The place, tolerably central for business, is inconveniently distant from the English quarter. The arrangements of the Poste Restante are much more convenient than those of London, but the building is dirty and miserable indeed, when compared with St. Martin's-le-Grand. I think I must be giving expression to a tolerably unanimous sentiment when I say that the Paris Post Office is entirely unworthy of Paris.

It is all in vain to look for any news in the newspapers here, except of the scantiest description. The journals that once contained brilliant political articles, overflowing with eloquence and satire, are mute: the sterility of information is almost