OUR PARIS CORRESPONDENT. MY DEAR C, How this weather makes us poor citizens of the capital long for green woods and murmuring streams! What luxury could surpass a gentle waft of forest or mountain air, under the broiling, scorching, parching-up sun, without a drop of rain to cool the melting asphalt of our streets and boulevards? Before Saint Médard's day, we hoped in him: the prospect of his forty days' continual rain made us breathe in anticipation; but, the unfeeling saint did not deign us a cloud; on the contrary, he sent us beam after beam, until one might have thought one's-self in the torrid zone. The processions of "Our Ladies" in the country multiply; for although they say that the crops promise an abundant harvest, yet want of rain is becoming alarming according to the peasantry; but then that part of humanity lives in perpetual alarm in spite of their faith in their Madonnas. One holy Lady in a village, the other day, made the sceptical laugh; for when she was carried from the church the weather looked threatening, as if rain was coming; but before she was brought back, not a cloud was to be seen. No doubt the case was the same as when the relics of St. Geneviève were a century or two ago carried about Paris, desolated by a very wet summer. An old chronicler relates that when the holy bones left the church, in great pomp, the sun shone brilliantly; half-an-hour after, the rain recommenced with increased violence, so that when the shrine re-entered the church, priests and people were dripping wet. "Oh !" said a sceptical canon, 66 the blessed saint is mistaken: she thinks that we ask for rain." Talking of processions, the Fête Dieu was celebrated the other day in Paris, with something of former pomp. In the provinces this Roman-catholic fête is celebrated in the streets by processions and altars of flowers; but in Paris all religious ceremonies must be performed inside the churches, or within the railing of the churchyards; so that if you happen to live in the vicinity of a church, it is, or was the other Sunday, impossible to go out or return home in a carriage, the concourse of people being so great, that the police were obliged to forbid all vehicles. Many people complained in the newspapers at this interruption of street traffic; as I never saw these complaints before, I infer that this is a new privilege accorded to, or taken by the priests. But the pith of the thing is that, as there were races that day, and "that things may be arranged with Heaven," some of the parishes that contain people who love religious processions, and races well, their "curé" changed the hour to enable them to attend both Sunday diversions, and to see the "Earl's" triumph-a triumph that was not hailed with enthusiasm by us, it being very galling to see an English horse carry off as The the Emperor's prize, a silver cup worth four thousand pounds-a horse, too, that no one had heard of. The English hurrahs, however, quite made up for the want of French ones. owner of the "Earl," the Marquis of Hastings, was sent for by their Majesties, who congratulated him very graciously. They say that his lordship gained seven millions of francs in that race. Of course our Paris papers embraced that opportunity to enlarge on English eccentricity. Thus, according to them, Lord Stamford's father left him an immense fortune, on condition that he spent ten thousand pounds every year in the purchase of silver plate; so, after having doubled and trebled his services until he was at a loss to know what to buy (poor man!), he had a silver banister made for his staircase, and then, at his wits' end the year after, he applied to the court of justice for a modification of his father's will, and for twenty thousand pounds was allowed to spend his money as he liked. Eccentricity for eccentricity: At a fete given the other day by a lady near Amiens, to celebrate the opening of a private chapel in her chateau, one hundred and forty guests sat down to table, and, amongst other dishes served, was a duck-pie, containing twenty ducks, and brought to table by four servants! Another French eccentricity not less strange is the case of a gentleman in Paris, who, at the end of the season, gave a fete to the ladies of his acquaintanceladies of the real world (vrai monde), not to international ladies, as a witty journalist calls the ladies of the demi-monde-no, to real duchesses, marchionesses, and countesses; and he received them, he himself wearing lady's apparel, a pink satin dress, trimmed with matchless lace in profusion, and a white veil concealing his moustache. Since the races, the exhibition of paintings has been the chief attraction in Paris this month, and now both these amusements are ended. As for the theatres, the heat has rendered them unbearable, many, indeed, being closed. The Chatelet, they say, intends to represent " Mazeppa" as you have that piece in London-a great "hit" they say here. I suppose he will wait until the dog-days are over. At the exhibition of paintings, two other pictures have been signalized by connoisseurs, "Penelope" and "Phryne," by Marchal, two admirable portraits-one of the refined, delicate, virtuous woman, very lovely; the other a queen of the demi-monde, with red hair, and half naked, trying on her jewels. But if one may judge of what one sees of the ladies in high life here, more of them resemble Phryne than Penelope. Apropos of ladies, the Monde pour rire, which sadly ridicules the poor Theodorus, relates that a traveller, praising once the liberty of women before this Emperor, was assured by him that there was nothing so prejudicial to an empire. "You see (the barbarian is supposed to say) in what prosperity my empire is, and that only because good morals reign everywhere; for every woman that is only suspected" (remark, only suspected!) "is immediately impaled. And do you know how many have been impaled during my reign? Only two, and their culpability was very doubtful: but I had them impaled for example-sake." Goodness gracious! if our Emperor were as severe ! His Holiness the Pope is only half-satisfied with the promotion of Abbé Gérin to the bishopric of Agen, and raises all kinds of difficulties before giving his sanction-maybe because Abbé Gérin was "vicaire général" at Grenoble during the miracle de la Salette, and did not believe in the miracle, and said so. The Bishop of Algiers has been obliged to give in to the Governor Mac Mahon, and the Arab children are to be sent home after the famine is over. Monsieur Haussmann has had part of Rue de la Paix pulled down, that his new operahouse may be better seen. We little expected to see that part of Paris in demolition-one of the handsomest streets in our capital, and where the price of ground and property must be immense. They want to raise the Prefecture of the Seine to the dignity of a State ministry, so that the Corps Législatif may have the right to discuss Monsieur Haussmann's administration. It has, however, been decided that it will remain a simple prefecture. and gave his opinion in writing, that the sooner the king was finished with the better. As Monsieur Haussmann's father was at that momen with the army, he was obliged to communicate with the poor king's judges by writing, and it seems that this writing has been found, much to the annoyance of our prefêt, who although he cannot deny his father's writing, yet pretends that the wish to see the king finished with immediately, has been added: his protestations have not, however, been accepted. The court is now enjoying the country air at Fontainebleau, quite "en famille," there being no visitors or fêtes, except now and then a dinner to the public men there. Her Majesty Eugénie is often seen driving herself in a carriage and pair in the forest, and very often dinner is spread out for the imperial family under the majestic oaks of Apremont, one of the loveliest sites in the forest. The Empress is very fond of these pic-nics, and loves to ramble about, far from the din of the world, amongst those old children of the forest, that have had many a monarch under their shady branches, though it is only of late years that every part of it has been accessible to man; and now even, to see all its beauties, one must be a good pedestrian, and scramble up the heights and penetrate the thickets where horse or carriage cannot pass. The little Prince continues his studies, and his professor goes twice a week to him from Paris : he is up at five in the morning, and begins his lessons at six, under the direction of his tutor. The Emperor is very much afraid that his little Monsieur Rochefort, an editor of the Figaro, "Lolo," as he calls his son, should be overpublishes a novel newspaper, in the form of a worked; but the Empress is very firm, as is the small book. He alone writes in it, and sells it young gentleman's governor General Froissart, very dear (fourpence), but as it is in a spirit of and work he must. After his lessons he plays opposition to Government, the success is im- with his cousins, the Duke of Albe's children, mense. In one number he asks why everyone whom the Empress brings up since the death speaks of the Queen Hortense? Why all kinds of their mother, her only sister; and they have of homage is rendered to her, and that one never famous boating parties on the pieces of water hears of the Emperor's father-that the name near the palace. The Prince is a charming little of King Louis is scarcely ever pronounced-fellow everyone who approaches him says so. that the air the Queen is said to have com- His professor scolded him the other day posed is now the national air of France, when for inattention; SO the next day, not the King Louis also composed airs; why not knowing how to show his repentance, he have chosen one of his? as, after all, the Em- gathered a white rose from a bush, peror has inherited the throne of France be- the special property of the Empress, and which cause he is King Louis' son, and not because he no one is allowed to touch, not even to water it. is the son of his mother. Whether it was for "It is for my professor, mamma," said the this or not is unknown; but the sale of the child, when her Majesty expostulated, “and he Sauterne is prohibited in the streets, and notice will be so pleased to have a flower from that the effect of prohibition. Instead of selling bush, when I tell him that it is yours, and twenty thousand numbers, as before, ninety no one allowed to touch it." Was that not thousand were not sufficient to answer the de- graceful of the sweet little fellow? The mands of the public, who were delighted to have Emperor comes to Paris every Wednesday to forbidden fruit offered to their appetite; and, preside at his Privy Council; he enters the first not content with this, the editor was requested carriage where there is room, in a train that to reprint the two numbers that had caused the stops at every station, and is frequently not Government's veto, so that several thousand of recognized by his fellow-travellers until he them were sold, which the editor would never mounts into the Court carriage that is waiting have thought of reprinting. One would think for him at the station. that experience would teach the public censors. Monsieur Haussmann is very much displeased with several journalists, who affirm that his father signed the death warrant of Louis XVI, : In the political world there is much talk of Monsieur Emile Ollivier having refused the Emperor, who had sent for him and offered him a Ministry. Generally speaking this on dit is not believed, knowing, as the public do, that M. Ollivier would never refuse a Ministry. They say it is a manoeuvre of his partisans to bring his candidature on the tapis again. The Company for the Canal de Suez are authorized to issue shares with prizes, as in a lottery, if that interests you; for my part I do not care a fig about it. I prefer the anecdote taken from the Count of Vaublanc's Memoirs, says some newspaper here, on the Prince de Ligne and Marie Antoinette: The Prince was at Fontainebleau one day, and his good humour on entering the Queen's reception-room attracted Her Majesty. "You seem delighted, Prince," said Marie Antoinette; "may one inquire the reason?" "Oh, your Majesty, I am very sure you will join in my merriment when I tell you. I have just met, setting out for Paris, in the palace-yard, a large van, drawn by four horses, with two postilions, an outrider, and four of your Majesty's guard; and I read on the van Privy purse of the Queen."" "Well?" said the Queen, very much perplexed. "Well, your Majesty, at cards last night, honoured me by telling me that you had only six sous in your privy purse. Is it to draw six sous to Paris that so many horses and people are required?" "Que voulez-vous," replied Marie Antoinette, laughing heartily; "this has been the rule ever since Marie Lesczinska, and you know what tempests the least reduction excites here." Monsieur Louis Veuillot is indignant to think that the Parisians, who wish to be married at church, imagine that they can buy for two francs a ticket of confession. That the church consents to be deceived, he acknowledges, but it must be done in a jesuitical way: "Il faut lui donner avec les quarante sous l'equivalent d'une parole d'honneur" (You must give with the two francs the equivalent of your word of honour). The confessor signs a ticket, in which he declares to have heard monsieur or mademoiselle. No one can admit, he says, that God's ministers commit daily a fraud: no, they are only very complaisant with their occasional penitents. They chat with them, thus hear them before signing the ticket. It appears that we really are to have a tunnel from Calais to Dover-that the engineers are seriously studying the practicability of such a scheme, for the purpose of making a railroad across the Straits of Dover; so no more seasickness when one visits London. What a blessing! But then, if the waters found a crevice when a train was half-way over! O dear, dear! No: after all, the water under one is preferable to the water over one. It is true that a Monsieur Labordette has invented an instrument (the "Speculum laryngier")-with a fine Latin name, too-that will bring to life the most surely-drowned person! It has given breath to a man who had been five hours in the water. However, I do not care about trying it, in spite of the author's faith in its power, and the numerous miracles it has wrought. M. Baroche, our Minister of State for Justice, has just returned a report to the Emperor of the state of crime in France. It seems it is rather on the increase; but that, after all, women are better than men. There are 48,000 morewomen in France than men ; and yet, out of 4,551 criminals, only 698 are females. This was in 1866. Honour to women! We are delighted with the reception the Londoners are giving to our pet Mlle. Nilsson, our lovely Ophelia.-And now au revoir. S. A. LEAVES FOR THE LITTLE ONES. THE BEAUTY OF OBEDIENCE. FROM THE GERMAN. CHAP. I. In a noble old German castle, long ago, there dwelt a venerable priest and three orphan children. Both the Baron, who had been master of the castle, and his wife were dead, having left their children to the care of the priest, who was called Father Martin. The eldest of these children was Oliver, the young baron; the next was Mabilia, the sister; and youngest and dearest to him of all was Aloys. One day, as the sun shone brightly on the far-spreading lawns which ran in among the woods, Father Martin came forth for his usual walk. He was met, before he had gone far, by his favourite doe, a gentle creature, which long ago he had saved from the hunters, and had since caressed and fed till it came at his call. She came towards him now but slowly, and he soon perceived that her side was wounded; an arrow was sticking in the wound, and Father Martin knew at once one of the gaily painted arrows with which Aloys had gone out to shoot. In his present mood, this sight gave him pain deeper than that of pity for his favourite. It seemed to him as if Aloys had become recklessas if, even should this be no wanton act, it betokened to him the pain which the boy's thoughtlessness, without ill purpose, might soon cost him. He stroked the wounded doe, and led her home to the castle, that her wound might be cured, and then at the summons of the vesperbell he went into the chapel. Scarcely in time for the beginning of the ser vice, Mabilia entered with her train of maidens; and the fatherly eye which rested upon her found no solace in her stately step, her consciousness of the gay robes in which she had arrayed herself, nor the wandering looks with which she glanced around her. Neither did he find solace when Oliver entered, disturbing the service after it had begun, by his loud steps and jingling spurs, as, followed by some of his fellow-hunters, he took his place. Vanity in the damsel, and arrogance in the youth, troubled the heart of him who was then reciting Psalms and Prayers that spoke of lowliness and comfort. His eye sought in vain for Aloys; commonly he waited in the chapel before the service began, that he might attend upon Father Martin in preparing for it; but this day he had not done so, and the Father feared that his youngest charge was absent. With a sad heart he left the chapel. If Father Martin had seen Aloys at that moment, a softer feeling would have arisen within him. When the boy left his chamber at noon, he hurried out upon the open lawn, and there eagerly tried his new and gaily coloured arrows, unconscious of the hurt that he did to the favourite doe as she passed near him. It was not till he heard the vesper-bell that he left his sport and hastened to the castle. There, on arriving, he heard of the hurt which he had done, and with but one moment of spare time in which to caress the wounded creature, not one in which to ask pardon of his guardian, he entered the chapel, and with a humbled and sorrowful heart took his place near the doorway, where he was least in sight. Tears were stealing down his cheeks as he went in; for if this chance mischief had awakened in the priest foreboding fears of his pupil's future course, so in that pupil it had awakened remorse for every act of neglect or disobedience yet done by him towards the Father. Pricked by the consciousness of his faults, he bore his part in the service far otherwise than his brother and sister sadly and humbly, and when the worshippers left the chapel, Aloys remained there alone. The twilight was coming on, and the tomb on which lay the image of his father and mother, stretched in repose, with their hands joined in prayer, was seen solemnly in that dim light. He went near to it, knelt down, and joined his own hands in prayer. There rose from his heart a vow, a renewal of his baptismal vow, against the world's beguiling temptations, against his self-will and his heedlessness; and the vow was followed by a lowly, a penitent, and an earnest prayer. That evening Aloys mounted the winding stairs to the priest's room with a slower step than that with which he hurried down them in the noonday. He knocked softly at his door, and, being admitted, he asked pardon for all the vexations he had caused him, and told his sorrow for the hurt which he had done to the doe. The wound of the father's heart was quickly healed by this confession and entreaty; and when Aloys asked humbly whether he might fulfil his accustomed duty, and bring shrubs to adorn the chapel on the morrow's Christmas day, he tenderly granted the permission, and bestowed his nightly blessing. The Christmas dawn appeared, and Aloys started from his slumbers, performed his early devotions, and hastened into the open air. Near the castle gate he found Oliver, making preparations for the chase. "Whither so early?" he cried out, as Aloys greeted him. "To the hill where Mabilia is." "Still with the maidens, Aloys? It is time that you should follow me to the chase." "And I will follow you. But first I have to bring shrubs and flowers to the chapel." "A noble employment for one who boasts of being a brave knight's son, and talks of warlike deeds!" said Oliver, scornfully. "I am a brave knight's son, and I hope to be a brave knight myself," answered Aloys, with the colour rising rapidly to his cheeks; but first I must attend on Father Martin. You will not set forth to the chase till the matin service is ended." Oliver blew some notes upon his horn, whilst Aloys, passing through the gates, mounted the hill, where he joined Mabilia and her maidens. Suddenly a sight from afar fixed all the damsels' attention. A splendid train of riders, knights and ladies, was seen winding up the side of an opposite hill. "Who may these be?" she exclaimed, eagerly: and before the many voices of her maidens had agreed in any settled opinion, the matin-bell called them to the service. It at once aroused Aloys from his gaze of curiosity. "I was too late yesterday evening," he said, to prepare the chapel for Father Martin. I must not be too late again." And he hastened down the hill. 66 Once he looked back, and called "Mabilia!" She stood motionless where he had left her, watching that gay procession; it had not reached the spot on which she stood, when Aloys, turning away, went into the chapel, adorned it with the fresh green boughs, and prepared for the coming of the priest. Sadly he came, for of his three children the youngest alone was there; Mabilia did not return, and, in defiance of his request, Oliver had just before set forth to the chase without waiting for the matin service. On Aloys alone, of the three, his eyes could rest, and he saw his youngest charge fresh in his boyish bloom, but with a meeker aspect, more subdued, more thoughtful, than he had been accustomed to see him. At the evening service, Aloys again attended without his elders. When it was ended, news was brought of Mabilia. She had met with the Duke and Duchess who ruled the country, whose gay train came sweeping up, and with them she had gone to their court, heedless of her parents' command, that till she reached her twentieth year she should not leave the castle, nor withdraw herself from the care of Father Martin. News was brought also of Oliver. He had pursued the chase till he entered on the lands of a neighbouring baron, fell into dispute with him about the deer he chased, and, after high words had passed, he retired to the castle of a neighbour at enmity with the Baron who offended him, determined from thence to avenge himself of the insult. Father Martin stood in the castle-hall and received these tidings. He stood silent, and the tears rolled down his cheeks; through those tears his eyes sought Aloys. The boy approached, and at the Father's feet he broke the arrows which he had carried forth triumphantly the day before. "See, Father," he said; "they beguiled me to leave you, to disobey you when you bade me stay. With one of them I hurt your doe. I break them here. I promise to obey you-to study when you will, and if you send me out to exercise myself in arms, send me to the Seneschal, my father's ancient squire, who will train me strictly and severely. I will not go out at my own pleasure. Father, I will obey you." Aloys kept his word. Strictly he obeyed the Father; silent and still he sat at his studies, and when he left them, he submitted himself to the severe discipline of the Seneschal, for his exercise in arms. Three weeks passed thus; Mabilia did not return, and Oliver pursued his quarrel with his neighbour. Morning and evening did Aloys attend the service of the chapel, with eyes bent meekly down, and fixed attention. One morning, when it was ended, he followed Father Martin to his chamber-followed him slowly up the winding staircase. The priest sat down before his books, but Aloys did not sit down; he stood by the window: the sun shone brightly, and the gay sights and sounds, and scents of spring were there, all but the horn of Oliver and the song of Mabilia. Father Martin looked towards his pupil. "Father," said the youth, turning towards him, "I have a prayer to make to you. Grant it." "What is it, my son?" "Trust me. week was ending, the sun had set, and the Father sat in his chamber, whilst the twilight closed around him. He raised his eyes towards the window, listened, but heard no sound. At length a low, soft sound came upon his ear, and, as it grew more distinct, he knew in it the Vesper Hymn which he had taught to Aloys, sung by his own clear voice. Whilst the old man still listened, the well-known step was on the stairs, but it approached with no bounding tread. Aloys entered, and kneeling, asked the priest's blessing, as he had asked it before he went. He knelt in silence for some moments after receiving it, and the Father knew that his journey had been unsuccessful, not only by his returning alone, but by his countenance and by his silence. The brightness seemed to have passed from his looks, and the gladness from his tone of voice. "My son, what tidings?" Father Martin asked, at length. "She will not return," he answered, with his face hid between his hands; "and Oliver-” "You have seen Oliver? you have heard from him? Rise, Aloys; sit by me, and tell me all. Remember, that Samuel hid nothing from Eli when he required him to speak. Alas! have I been such a father as Eli ?" Then the tears of Aloys fell fast, and he said, "No, you have been to us in the place of our own father, but we have been undutiful to you." "You are not undutiful, my child." "You cannot say that I have not been so; but may God help me, that I may never be disobedient to your voice again." And, as an act of obedience, Aloys rose, struggled with his grief, and began to relate all that had passed, as he was required to do. He had received a ready welcome at the Duke's court, and the time of his absence had been spent in persuasions, on the part of Mabilia, that he should stay there and be a page to the Duchess; in persuasions, on his part, that she should return and fulfil the precepts left to both of Suffer me to go to the court, to them, to remain under the direction of Father persuade Mabilia to return." Martin. When the last day of his week's absence arrived, he left her, to return according to his promise; and, returning sadly through the forest, he was startled by the sight of Oliver, who, coming hastily upon him, bade him send away the squire, his attendant, and converse with him apart. Oliver told him then that his quarrel with the baron had ended in his being outlawed by the Duke, who took part with his enemy, and that he was about to seek his fortune in foreign countries. He called on Aloys to go with him, taunted him with womanly weakness for remaining at home, reproached him for not being willing to share his dangers. Aloys answered that he obeyed their father, that he returned to Father Martin. The sad tale was finished, and Aloys found himself in his home without brother or sister. The spring of his youth seemed to have passed away. |