Europe and elsewhere, by Mark Twain [pseud.] [with an appreciation by Brander Matthews and an introduction by Albert Bigelow Paine]

EUROPE AND ELSEWHERE
again. And yet, as I have said, one sleeps heresleeps like the dead. Once he gets his grip on his
sleep, neither hack, nor whip, nor news fiend, nor
dog, nor bell cyclone, nor all of them together, can
wrench it loose or mar its deep and tranquil continuity. Yes, there is indeed something in this air
that is death to insomnia.
The buildings of the Cercle and the Villa des
Fleurs are huge in size, and each has a theater in it,
and a great restaurant, also conveniences for gambling and general and variegated entertainment.
They stand in ornamental grounds of great extent and
beauty. The multitudes of fashionable folk sit at
refreshment tables in the open air, afternoons, and
listen to the music, and it is there that they mainly
go to break the Sabbath.
To get the privilege of entering these grounds and
buildings you buy a ticket for a few francs, which is
good for the whole season. You are then free to go
and come at all hours, attend the plays and concerts free, except on special occasions, gamble, buy
refreshments, and make yourself symmetrically
comfortable.
Nothing could be handier than those two little
theaters. The curtain doesn't rise until 8.30; then
between the acts one can idle for half an hour in
the other departments of the building, damaging his
appetite in the restaurants or his pocketbook in the
baccarat room. The singers and actors are from
Paris, and their performance is beyond praise.
I was never in a fashionable gambling hell until I
came here. I had read several millions of descriptions
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