one of the two millions of human beings in Paris is as important in the eye of the Creator as Louis Napoleon. We are also interested in them, and in the life they lead there. It is certain that life is as difficult there as anywhere, notwithstanding so many Americans who go there believe it the most delightful city of the world, and that life there is easy, gay, and fascinating. Paris is not all Champs Elysées and Rue de Rivoli, It has been said there is no starvation, while there is,-a vast population of 260,000 belonging to the pauper class. Another indication of the widespread poverty and of the hard struggle for existence prevailing in Paris, is seen in the Mont de Piété. This is a great governmental pawnbroker's shop, with various branches, and is thoroughly systematized. It guards the poor against the extortion of free pawnbroking. Through fifteen years, 1,313,000 articles were pawned annually, and the average of the loans was but 17 francs 40 centimes -some three dollars and a half. This may help to dispel the illusion that the people of Paris are gay and lighthearted. My own experience (brief though it was) led me to the belief that no people lived so closely, so carefully, or were in such grim earnest to get a subsistence; and that nowhere are the large mass so entirely hopeless as to bettering their condition-except it be through revolution and convulsion. The system holds them in hopeless poverty or mediocrity; and the system cannot be changed except by revolution. About one half of the whole people at Paris-say one million-are classed as workmen; of these, in the business of I discover another fact-new to me, and it may be to you-that 87 out of the 100 of them can read and write.* It is not the want of what we call education, then, that Paris suffers from. While among the figures, it may be well to say here, that for the last sixteen years Paris has exported annually some 160,000,000 francs, or $32,000,000, of manufactured articles.t I have asked you to note that life is thoroughly systematized in Paris, under a paternal despotism of which Louis Napoleon is the father; and also that, notwithstanding this, nearly the whole population, while it never starves, lives as close to starvation as possible. You may wish a fact or two to sustain this assertion. The budget of Paris-receipts and expenditures about the same for the year 1867 is officially stated at 241,653,613 francs, or about $48,330,000. Nearly the whole of this is raised from the people of Paris. Every egg is taxed, every dog is taxed, water is taxed, burials are taxed, wood is taxed, hay is taxed, night-soil is taxed-every thing is taxed. It must be, for the police and National Guard require yearly the pretty little sum of 15,329,000 francs, and public works (what is called "beautifying Paris ") 23,681,000 more. The people, the workmen, and those who amuse, get most of this from the strangers, and the government gets it from the workmen. Its system of taxation is thorough, and there is no escape. Is Paris an earthly paradise for woman? Rich women and strange women may find it so; but the great mass of women there are intensely industrious, and are poor. The Parisians have discovered the art of utilizing their women. They have converted them from lovely and loving companions for man, serene partner of his joys and his sorrows, doubler of his prosperities, sharer of his misfortunes-from careless, inconsequent, unproductive creatures, into the shrewdest, toughest, hardest, homeliest, and most productive of the race. It is * Galignani for 1867. + Ibid. doubted whether ten handsome women can be found in Paris to save it. They produce vastly, every thing but chil dren. "Love"-so-called-is in the market, and in the Latin quarter, as well as in others, whole populations of women, called Grisettes, are up for hire as temporary companions of students. These are not to be described as harlots. While the engagement lasts they are true to their part of the bargain; they keep the rooms, they cook the food, they wash and mend and make; and when Sunday comes, in their neat dresses they go out upon cheap and pleasant excursions, or they enjoy a cheap theatre in the evening, and are not abandoned women, in our sense of the term. This life is their business, and there is no shame and no condemnation among them. There is much less apparent vice in Paris than in any great city, and the "social evil" does not stalk the streets as in London and New York. All is here systematized also. Every house of prostitution is known and registered; its inmates are all registered; and they are subjected to monthly examinations, to secure them and the people against disease. Some 50,000 malheureuses* are so registered, and there are 25,000 to 30,000 besides these who are not registered. They are not allowed to dress conspicuously, or to walk in the best streets soliciting custom. All is done decently and in order. Marriage is becoming more and more difficult, and non-marriage more and more easy. Young American women, of the nouveau riche, are taken to the Paris market, because there marquises and barons abound; these want money, the others want titles. Among the upper classes, too, so much rank strikes hands with so much rank or so much money; but all is a matter of business, settled upon business principles, before the final consummation. In such a condition of things we should not look for much domestic bliss, nor much domestic jealousy: we do not-they do not exist. *Paris Guide, 1867, p. 1883. We come now to a rather startling assertion. It is, that in the modern civilizations of Paris, and other great cities, the strongest instinct of woman's nature, maternity, is nearly extinct. Materialism has taken its place. Women marry for money, not for love; they yield their virtue to the charms of money, not to the blandishments of passion. They are not sensual. A few facts may help to sustain these assertions. The legitimate births to a marriage in the Department of the Seine (Paris),, in 1854, were but 2.51; while in the rural populations they were 3.25. It appears that in 1800 the births in all France were 3.33; in 1855 they had declined to 2.50 per cent. Among the shopkeepers, the common reply is, "We cannot afford to have children;" and they do not have them. Among the upper classes they do not wish to have them, and they do not have them. Among the poorer classes there is, as there is everywhere, much heedlessness. But here steps in an agency which enables these poorer women to keep at work. There are eighteen crèches, or public nurseries, which receive some 2,500 babies yearly, whose mothers, thus relieved of their care, are enabled to keep at work. We come now to another fact. About five thousand * children are annually abandoned to the foundling hospital. This has in its charge, mostly in the country, 23,228 abandoned children, who know neither father nor mother, and whose mothers never see or know their offspring. The women of Paris do not love children, do not want them, and do not have them. The maternal instinct is suppressed, or it is sacrificed to the insatiable necessities of life, or to the exorbitant claims of pleasure. Is this, indeed, progress? Is it civilization? The women of Paris are not beauti ful, nor are they loving; but they are most capable, most dexterous, most fascinating. What they lack in beauty, they make up in skill, in tact, in subtle flattery, in neatness, and in sense. They * In 1864, 4,489. 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. แ 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. 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? I 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 before 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 Princess 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 cooperate 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 |