Glances at French Life under the Second Empire, Part I [pp. 177-180]

1GLANCES AT FRENCH LIFE UN_DER THE SECOND.EV PIRE.
GLANCES AT FRENCH LIFE
UNDER THE SECOND EM PIRE.*
NOTHING more delights me than the
study of that noble animal, the " swell"
-I mean a real swell, calm, cool, and confi dent, Pooled to the top of his bent, and ap parently above all concern in mere mundane
transactions. Such a man is now here. He
is a Russian, and, with permission, we will
call him Count Teufelskine. In dress he is
sublime; art is considered in that toilet, the
harmony of color respected, the chiaro-scuro
evident in well-selected contrast. In manners
he is dignified-nay, perhaps apathetic; noth ing disturbs the placid serenity of that calm
exterior. If the sky were to fall he would
not even be astonished, and would probably
order one of his people to catch those larks
which the proverb tells us would then be
within our reach-that is, if he wanted larks.
He drives a "droschki," and, in a word, when
I say that he is the exaggeration of a well known "Child" long a denizen of Pall Mall,
many London readers will see my Russian
with their mind's eyes. One day lately our
friend breakfasted chez Bignon. When the
bill came he read, "Two peaches, fifteen
francs." He paid. "Peaches scarce, I pre sume?" was his sole remark. "No, sir," re plied the waiter, "but Teufelskines are."
Wandering about Paris, as is my custom
always of a morning, noon, and night-to say
nothing of the traditional " afternoon "-I
have been met lately with strange signs and
symbols, which, regard being had to the early
stage of the winter, have vastly perplexed me.
Turning up the Rue des Ombres, for instance,
on Saturday, I found myself face to face with
a whole shop-front full of black, blue, pink,
red, and white, masks-masks, you understand, such as Lucrezia Borgia wears when
she sings "Corn' bello" over the sleeping
Mario-Gennaro. Turning the next corner,
into the Rue des Bonnes Femmes, a whole
army of female disguises met my astonished
view, from the early period of Boadiceawho, if I remember rightly, wore but a light
and easy costume when she was bleeding
under those Roman rods-down to the more
full-dressed epoch of the debardeur and the
postillon de Longjumeau. I hurried on, and
found myself in a graver neighborhood.
Black masks and dominoes prevailed, and I
felt that I was back in the days of the Bravo
of Venice (apud Cooper), the Council of Ten,
"the hated despotism of a republic," et tout
ea. Truth to tell, these emblems of past
pains and future pleasures came on me like
% series of thunder-claps. "Awaking with a
start," and turning to a neighboring wall, I
read in letters so big that those who run,
even if they ran as swift as a Deerfoot, could
read, that Saturday was the first bal masqni
-the first revel of the coming Carnival. Another Carnival and another Lent! Why, it
seems but yesterday that another "young
* "Court and Social Life in France under Napoleon III. By the late Felix M. Whitehurst." London. Tinsley Brothers. 1873.
fellow" and myself returned, beneath the hazy
dawn of an indifferent spring morning, from
the last orgy of the Carnival of 1864, and re tired to vex ourselves with the sackcloth and
ashes of another Lent. Well, "the Saturnian
dominion is returned" once more. Shall I
lecture you on the rise, fall, decease, and
resurrection of carnivals, contrasting them
with the phases of social change as illustrated
by great popular movements? I think I had
better content myself with saying that in
Paris a bal masqui is dearly loved, and that
the day is marked with "white chalk" in the
calendar of many an elderly Parisian who
should know better. The scene is, without
doubt, striking. As you turn from the Boule vard by the Caf6 Rich, you are at once seized
by two men with swords and cocked hats,
and told to go somewhere else. We will sup pose, just for an illustration, that the young
and beautiful C de B, or M. de St.
Z,come purposely from Pesth, is on your
arm, and that you are at once swept away by
a tide of revelry, which washes you finally
high and dry on the stage of the Grand Opera.
Much humanity in a disguise that, after all,
is becoming, at least nine times out of ten,
congregated in a brilliantly-lighted theatre,
and careering about to the harmonious sounds
of Herr Strauss's band, must be a spectacle.
You gaze round in silent astonishment; then
you begin to find that you have dreamed that
dream before; a quarter of an hour later that
you know it by heart; then weariness sets in
-that terrible scourge of a civilization which
has been everywhere, and seen and done
every thing-and you are quite relieved when
your companion thinks that "she could take
something." Then you retire; true, you lose
the cream of the amusement-that early hour
when the floodgates of revelry are opened in
the Rue Lepelletier, and masqueraders stream
down the Boulevards in all their eccentricities of costume, bearing away in their headlong course the early-rising respectability of
Paris. That is a sight, and you lose it; yet
you have inaugurated your Carnival, and may
perhaps screw your courage up to the point
and see the final and outrageous delights at a
later season; in December it is cold on the
Boulevards at five A. M.
An amusing story is told of how Bouff6
obtained the extraordinary favor of having
his benefit at the Grand Opera, by which he
cleared some seven hundred pounds. When
he was in London in 1847 he was engaged one
night to play the two characters of the
Gamin de Paris and _ fichel Perri —a boy
and an old man. His "get-up" in both was
the talk of London. He had just finished
the first piece, and retired to dress for the
old man, when a knock came at his dressingroom door. "Come in," said Bouff6, not
too civilly, fearing that he should be disturbed; and enter Count D'Orsay and a
friend. "'Mon cPer," said the count-perhaps some readers may remember that "'Mon
cher," and the tone in which it was spoken"here is a French gentleman who sees you
for the first time and wishes to compliment
you." The unknown complimented Bouff6,
and said that, if not intruding, he should be
very much pleased to see the toilet which
transformed youth to old age. In a quarter
of an hour Bouff6 turned to his visitors per fectly changed. The actor then hurried off,
and, as he went down-stairs, D'Orsay whis pered, "My friend is Prince Louis Napoleon."
"What! the prisoner of Ham?" "Yes!"
When Bouff6 was arranging his benefit he
thought of this, and wrote to the emperor,
reminding him that Prince Napoleon had once
come to his theatre in London, and that he
hoped the Emperor Napoleon would now per mit him the use of one of his theatres in
Paris. The letter was sent to the proper au thorities next day, indorsed in the imperial
hand, "Pour M. Bnuff6. OUi, oui, oui!" So
the benefit took place at the Grand Opera,
with the practical result stated.
There is a story now going about Paris
which I believe to be true, but I will not
mention the name of the thrifty diplomatist.
It is the imperial custom to send occasionally
to members of the corps diplomatique the
key of the imperial box at the Grand Opera.
This is usually done soon after the arrival of
a new minister. There is an embassy here
in which great changes have recently taken
place, and an interim ambassador reigns.
Last week he received the key. Perhaps he
looked at the bill, and did not like the per formance; perhaps his wife was ill; perhaps
he was engaged-at any rate, he did not go;
but being, like the late Mrs. Gilpin, "of a
frugal mind," he liked nothing to be wasted,
so he sent his servants! Imagine the aston ishment when the house turned its glasses to
see who was coming into the box! Report
says that, however much the recipients may
have been delighted at the unwonted "sen sation" they were the innocent means of
creating, the donors were not pleased; and it
is believed that next time the minister goes
to the opera he will have to pay.
Last night "they danced" at the Palais
Royal. For the first time since the death of
Prince J6rome those salons, famous from the
days of the regency-salons in which the regent and his lovers used to cook partridges
and mull champagne- salons in which the
last, perhaps I may say the good, Duke of
Orleans, in contradistinction to his ancestors, used to give great entertainments-were
opened to the select world of Paris by Prince
Napoleon. It is a splendid mansion. The
staircase, with its wilderness of plants, was
a sight to behold. One lingered under the
shade of those palms and fancied one's self
in the far-off East, actually getting warm,
when M. Chevalier was registering many degrees below zero. The rooms are -as, in
truth, in all palaces-small but numerous; I
think there are twenty-four drawing-rooms in
the "apartment;" all were splendidly lighted with chandeliers. Flowers blossomed, for
that select society, as I am sure they could
only have done on such a night by imperial
permission. Music echoed through the halls.
Dazzling- toilets met the eye at every turn.
Elderly diplomatists, curled as to their wigs
with an almost unnatural crispness, flirted
after their old-world fashion with ladies who
might have almost remembered the regency
of which I have spoken. Then came a clus
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