At the corner of the Rue de Grammont, separated from the Cafe Anglais by the Theatrical Bureau, or "Office de Theatre," which supplies tickets for every playhouse in Paris, is the Librairie Nouvelle, where, exhibited for sale, may be seen all the latest novels in vogue and most of the standard works which, in spite of, or perhaps in consequence of, their ancient fame, still find readers. Books are published at much lower prices in Paris than in London. Lending libraries are now quite out of date in the French capital, and persons really interested in a new work do not get it to read at so much a volume or a subscription of so much a year, but buy it once and for all. Forty or fifty years ago the circulating library system had been pushed further in Paris than any point it has yet reached in London. Novels by popular authors were issued in six or eight volumes with from eighty to one hundred words in each page; a sore temptation to the Belgian pirates, who, in the days before International Copyright Conventions, vexed the soul of every French author by reproducing his works at so low a price that he had no more chance of selling his editions in Belgium than has an English author of to-day of vending his in the United States. Instead, however, of being separated from France as America is from England by thousands of miles of sea, Belgium was conterminous with the country it loved to despoil. It was impossible to prevent the fraudulent imitations of Belgium entering France; and to put an end at once to Belgian piracy and to the absurd circulating library system, a spirited and intelligent Paris publisher, Charpentier by name, introduced the novel at three and a half francs--a price which, as originally fixed, or at a reduction of half a franc, is still maintained. Copyright affairs between France and Belgium are now regulated under the clauses of the same International Convention which binds all other countries, with the exception of Russia and Holland on one side of the Atlantic, and the United States of America on the other.

[Ill.u.s.tration: MARIVAUX.

(_From the Bust by Mlle. Dubois-Davesne in the Comedie Francaise._)]

To offer new books for sale in London at the strangely high prices fixed for the benefit of the circulating libraries would be out of the question; but at the Librairie Nouvelle all the latest works produced in Paris may be seen, partially read, and finally, if such be the desire of the reader, purchased. Many a Parisian, however, or visitor to Paris, whether from love of literature or merely to pa.s.s the time, strolls into the Librairie Nouvelle and looks through book after book without buying a single volume. Some day such an inst.i.tution as this will possibly exist in London; not, however, until the prices of our new books are considerably lowered. But although the frequenters of the Librairie Nouvelle are not called upon, or even expected, to make purchases, only a small fraction of them leave the establishment without doing so; and it is as astonishing as it is interesting to see with what rapidity copies of a new novel of genuine popularity will sometimes go off.

No trade has made such progress in France since the Great Revolution as that of bookselling. This result is due alike to the increase in the number of readers through cheap, gratuitous, and obligatory education, and to the liberty of the Press enjoyed by the French, with some interruptions (as under the First Empire and a few years of the Restoration), for an entire century. "How I should like to have Voltaire, Rousseau, and Diderot writing for me in one of my garrets,"

a French bookseller is represented as saying in Mercier's "Tableau de Paris," published only a few years before the Revolution. "I would feed them well, but, by Heaven, I would make them work! Why is one of them too rich, and the others too independent to write at so much per sheet?"

It is noticeable that not one of these three authors whose works sold so largely was able to publish in France everything he wrote. Even the volume in which the above story is told was published in London.

Many of Voltaire's works were brought out in London or Amsterdam.

More than one of Rousseau's books were prohibited in France; and the publication of the "Encyclopedie," to which Voltaire, Rousseau, and Diderot all contributed, was not only prohibited, but cast materially into the Bastille, where the volumes were found on the destruction of the building; which gave the despotic, but in regard to literature, liberal-minded Catherine II. an opportunity of offering to continue the publication of the work in Russia.

[Ill.u.s.tration: PARIS IN THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY.]

Until the time of the Revolution nearly the whole of the book trade was in the hands of hawkers. "The business of these people," says a writer of the 18th century, "is to be the itinerant beasts of burden of literature, as the booksellers are its caterpillars. Illiterate, and hardly able to read, the hawkers may be said to deal in a ware as perfectly foreign to them as the business of mixing up colours would be to the blind. They only know the price of each book they offer for sale. They are haunted everywhere by police-runners, and such is their apprehension of falling under the censure of the despotic magistrate, and, altogether, their ignorance, that some sell even prayer-books under the cloak with as much care and circ.u.mspection as if it were an immoral or political pamphlet. These poor harmless hawkers, who give circulation to the clandestine works of the writers of every denomination without being able to read a single line; who, though far from suspecting it, are the a.s.serters of public freedom, and with no other view than to procure to themselves a scanty subsistence--these are the first to feel the resentment of the offended great. It would be, perhaps, if not dangerous, at least impolitic, to attack the author himself; but a hawker sent to the Bastille or fastened in the public market by an iron _carcanet_ is a matter of too little importance to be noticed by the public."

The very method employed to prevent the spread of ideas amongst the French people helped to overthrow the despotism by which it had been devised. This is well shown by Arthur Young, writing about the same time as the author whose account of the persecution in France of literature in all its forms has just been quoted. Such ignorance in Young's time was imposed on the French nation by a tyrannical censorship that, for aught the country knew to the contrary, their representatives were in the Bastille; and the mob was accustomed to pillage, burn, and destroy from sheer want of knowledge. Even in the large provincial towns Young could not see a newspaper. At the cafes there was nothing to read but the _Gazette de France_, a sheet in which the professed "news" was so dished up that "no man of common-sense" would attempt to digest it. The consequence was that the frequenters of cafes and restaurants could be heard gravely discussing news a fortnight old.

On the first floor of the house of which the ground-floor is occupied by the Librairie Nouvelle, we find the Club of the Two Worlds, or "Cercle des Deux Mondes," established in an abode which was occupied for some time by the Jockey Club, until this latter, after deserting the mansion built by the Farmer-General de Lange on the Boulevard Montmartre, continued its western progress, to reach ultimately the domicile it at present inhabits on the Boulevard des Capucines.

At the corner of the Rue de Choiseul is the well-known establishment of Potel and Chabot, who keep what, in London--for want of a better name, and probably in virtue of some tradition on the subject--is called an "Italian warehouse." This firm, however, does not confine itself to the lighter description of comestibles and dainties. In these it deals largely enough; and among the tempting delicacies offered to the pa.s.ser-by are early vegetables, fruit, olives, ham, sausages of rare manufacture, and game pies. But besides selling stray articles to the chance epicure, the house of Potel and Chabot undertakes the supply of dinners on a very large scale, and employs a number of chefs, sous-chefs, scullions, roasters, pastry-cooks, and other functionaries of the kitchen. It was the firm of Potel and Chabot which, in July, 1888, supplied in the Champ de Mars the banquet offered to 10,000 mayors from all parts of France, furnishing it hot, so that many of the guests declared they had never before been anywhere so well served. The dinner was simple, but it is said to have been excellent. The ten thousand guests had one gla.s.s and two plates apiece; 500 waiters flitted about with the wines and the dishes.

The end of the Boulevard des Italiens is marked by a circular pavilion, which has lost something of its original shape through the repairs necessitated by the ravages of time; though it still bears a number of sculptural ornaments which are much admired, including certain masks, reputed to be masterpieces. It is called the Pavilion of Hanover, and is so named from having been erected and adorned by the architect Cheveautel for the Duc de Richelieu at the end of the garden attached to his mansion, after the campaign of Hanover, in 1757, which he terminated by securing the capitulation of Closterseven. Under the Directory and the Consulate, in the first years of the Empire, the Pavilion of Hanover and a portion of the grounds belonging formerly to the Duc de Richelieu were the scene of public a.s.semblies, b.a.l.l.s, and concerts; and it was here that Tortoni established his famous ice-shop and cafe in partnership with another Italian, named Velloni. The latter is now forgotten; but Tortoni, who continued the business on his own account, is, in the world of cafes, an historical figure.

Let us not hurry past the former Hotel Choiseul, where, during the Reign of Terror, Pace, Minister of War, resided; where, under the Directory, the staff of the Army of Paris was established; and where Murat afterwards lived in the capacity of Governor. When the Restoration came to pa.s.s it was turned into the headquarters of the National Guard.

Finally it was put up for sale, when, after the a.s.sa.s.sination of the Duc of Berri on the steps of the Opera House in the Rue Richelieu, it was determined to pull down the lyric temple and erect another on the site occupied by the Hotel Choiseul. We shall see in the proper place that the demolition of the Opera House of the Rue Richelieu was due to the representations of the Archbishop of Paris, who refused to allow the last sacrament to be administered to the dying prince unless he received a promise that the profane building, in which so holy an act had to be performed, should immediately afterwards be destroyed. The Hotel Choiseul was bought by the City of Paris, and close to what remained of the ancient mansion rose the new Opera House, opening on to the Rue Le Pelletier, where, between the years 1821 and 1823, so many great works were brought out, including Rossini's _Guillaume Tell_, Auber's _Masaniello_, as it is called in England, Donizetti's _Favorite_, Verdi's _Vepres Siciliennes_, and Meyerbeer's _Robert le Diable_, _Prophete_, and _Africaine_. On the night of Tuesday, October 20, 1873, the eve of the hundredth representation of Ambroise Thomas' _Hamlet_, flames burst out in the wardrobe, and the next day the Opera House was a heap of ruins.

It is a curious fact, not hitherto noticed, that the destruction by fire of the Opera House in the Rue Le Pelletier took place precisely two hundred years after the production of Lulli's earliest opera, the first lyrical piece ever performed in Paris under the royal patent which authorised the establishment of a regular opera house. Lulli has been represented, in a famous picture, receiving his "privilege" from the hands of Louis XIV. as a reward and encouragement for services rendered.

It can scarcely be said, however, that Lulli, though he established opera in Paris, was the first to introduce it. Cardinal Mazarin brought Italian opera to Paris in 1645, when Lulli was but a child; and the French opera named _Akebar, Roi de Mogol_, written and composed by the Abbe Mailly, was represented the year afterwards in the episcopal palace of Carpentras under the direction of Cardinal Bichi. A public performance, moreover, was given of _Pomone_, words by Perrin, music by Cambert, in 1671; but though _Pomone_ was the first French opera offered in Paris to a general audience, Lulli's _Cadmee_ was the first of that long series of lyrical productions given at the State Opera House which extended, with but two short breaks, from 1673 to 1873.

The new Opera House, which was to replace the one burnt down in 1873, had already, on a scale of unprecedented magnificence, been designed, constructed, and all but finished under Napoleon III. But 1873, scarcely more than two years after the disasters of the siege and Commune, was not the time at which to complete and inaugurate a sumptuous Opera House; and it was not until 1875 that the famous edifice, which may challenge comparison with any other of the kind in Europe, threw its doors open to the public.

Another celebrated building in this neighbourhood, at the corner of the Rue Taitbout, is the former Hotel de Brancas, built by the architect Belanger, a devoted friend of the famous Sophie Arnould, to whom he was faithfully attached until her death. His endeavours to obtain for her, in default of a pension that was never paid, a portion of the large sum due to her from the directors of the Theatre Francais show him to have been a man of energy as well as heart. It was in the character of architect that Belanger first became acquainted with the brilliant and witty actress; and when he made her an offer of marriage, which she did not accept, she at once observed that no one was better fitted than an architect to build up her damaged reputation. From the family of Brancas the mansion erected by Belanger pa.s.sed to the wife of General Rapp, then to the Marchioness of Hertford, to her son Lord Seymour, and to Sir Richard Wallace. Under Napoleon III. magnificent entertainments were given there by the late Khalil Pasha. On the ground-floor of the edifice appeared and disappeared the Cafe de Paris, celebrated in the reign of Louis Philippe, and for some years afterwards, as the rendez-vous of celebrities in literature, art, and the world of fashion. It was in time to be followed by other excellent restaurants, now vanished, but not forgotten.

The last house on the Boulevard des Italiens, at the corner of the Rue de la Chaussee d'Antin, occupies the site of the old Military School, founded, for 200 officers' sons, under the name of Depot des Gardes Francais; where for twenty years of his life Rossini lived on the first floor, and whence he moved to the villa at Pa.s.sy offered to him by the City of Paris. It was in this retreat that he ended his days.

[Ill.u.s.tration: RUE DE LA CHAUSSeE D'ANTIN.]

The Chaussee d'Antin, formerly a high road leading from the boulevards into the open country, is full of interesting a.s.sociations. In the Chaussee d'Antin, or close to that thoroughfare in its present form, stood the celebrated Temple of Terpsich.o.r.e built for Madeleine Guimard, the dancer; which so excited the jealousy of Sophie Arnould, the vocalist, that she insisted on having a mansion of equal magnificence side by side with that of her operatic friend and rival. Madeleine Guimard, according to one of her biographers, excited as much admiration and scattered as many fortunes as any woman that ever appeared on the stage. She was, nevertheless, ugly, thin, of sallow complexion, and marked with the small-pox. She is said to have preserved, in a marvellous manner, her youth and a certain indescribable charm which const.i.tuted her chief attractions. She possessed, moreover, such a perfect acquaintance with all the mysteries of the toilet that by the arts of dress and adornment alone she could still make herself look young when age had crept upon her. Queen Marie Antoinette would often consult her about matters of dress, and especially the arrangement of her hair; and once when, for her rebellious att.i.tude at the theatre, she had, in accordance with the strange customs of the times, been ordered to prison, she is reported to have said to her maid: "Never mind, I have sent a letter to the queen telling her that I have discovered a new way of doing the hair. We shall be out before the evening." But to return to the Temple of Terpsich.o.r.e, which, built in the finest architectural style, and magnificently furnished, was decorated internally by Fragonard, one of the most famous painters of that day.

In his wall-pictures he never failed to introduce the face and figure of the light-footed divinity of the place: until at last he became enamoured of his model, and, presuming on one occasion to show signs of jealousy, was promptly discharged, to be replaced by the most unsuitable artist that can be conceived--by David, the painter of heroic figures, of Republican subjects, and of Napoleon in all his glory. The celebrated painter of the Consulate and the Empire was, in Madeleine Guimard's time, a very young man--a mere student, in fact. But he was a stern Republican, and when the luxurious but sympathetic dancer saw that the work of decorating her voluptuous palace did not accord with his lofty aspirations, she gave him the sum he was to have received for covering her walls with fantastic designs, in order that he might continue his studies in the style which best suited him.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Mont Valerien and the Arc de Triomphe.--Church of St.

Augustine.

VIEW FROM THE ROOF OF THE OPERA HOUSE.]

The house built by Sophie Arnould next door to Madeleine Guimard's Temple of Terpsich.o.r.e bore no distinctive name. But it was of the same size as the "Temple," and on the portico, which was supported by two Doric columns, could be seen the figure of Euterpe with the features of Sophie Arnould. The first floor contained the reception rooms, with s.p.a.cious ante-chambers for the servants. On the second floor were the bedrooms of the children, who, at a later period, were acknowledged by their father, Count Brancas de Lauragais, and bore his name. In the National Library of Paris several drawings and plates are exhibited of the different portions of Sophie Arnould's house; and the representation of the facade bears this inscription:--"Facade of a projected house for Mlle. Arnould in the Chaussee d'Antin. To be constructed side by side with that of Mlle. Guimard, and of the same dimensions.--Belanger."

[Ill.u.s.tration: MLLE. CLAIRON.]

So much care did the amorous architect of the new house bestow on his work, and so agreeable did he make himself to the lady for whom it was being built, that he was asked to share it with the owner; and there was at one time a serious prospect of Sophie Arnould becoming Mme. Belanger.

To serve some purpose of her own she spread the report that she was married to the architect, who showed himself quite disposed to give reality to the fiction. He was a merry man, and pleased Sophie as much by his ready wit as by his agreeable manners. After a time she got tired of him, and having formed an attachment for the actor Florence, wrote Belanger a letter of dismissal, at the same time addressing to Florence an avowal of her love. Belanger, however, found an opportunity of changing the envelopes, so that Florence the actor received the letter intended for Belanger the architect. The next time Florence saw Sophie he was naturally somewhat cold in his demeanour towards her, and this coldness was naturally resented by Sophie, who had written to him with much warmth. Belanger triumphed, and his triumph was of long duration; Sophie, indeed, remained attached to him throughout her life. Of all her former friends the only ones who showed genuine solicitude for her in her latter days of poverty and sickness were Belanger and Lauragais.

Many years afterwards, in the gloomiest and most sanguinary days of the Revolution, when Belanger was poor and Sophie Arnould still poorer, the architect begged the actress and singer to accept, as from an old friend, a piece of two louis which he at the same time forwarded to her. Sophie replied that she did not desire his money, but that she was deeply obliged to him for such thoughtfulness, and in memory thereof would wear the gold piece next her heart. When she was on her death-bed, the famous architect, himself without means, wrote to the Minister of Fine Arts a letter in which he reminded him that a considerable sum of money was due to Mlle. Arnould from the Opera; of which, now that she was in the greatest distress, it was impossible for her to obtain payment, even to the extent of a few louis. "This unhappy woman," he continued, "of whom Gluck said, 'Without the charm of the accent and declamation of Mlle. Arnould my _Iphigenia_ would never have been accepted in France,' finds herself without even the means of prolonging her life."

In October, 1802, Sophie Arnould died, after receiving absolution from the cure of Saint-Germain-l'Auxerrois, the parish in which she was born.

Another remarkable personage who lived in, or rather close to, the Chaussee d'Antin, was that devoted lover of Mdlle. Clairon, Monsieur de S----, who succeeded in inspiring the famous actress with esteem, but not with any warmer feeling; and who, according to her belief, as well as that of several of her friends, paid her visits of complaint and menace after his death. "His humour," writes Mlle. Clairon, in her "Memoirs," "was gloomy and melancholy. 'He was too well acquainted with men,' he would say, 'not to despise and shun them.' His desire was to live only for me, and that I should live only for him. This last idea particularly displeased me. I might have been content to be restrained by a garland of flowers, but could not bear to be confined by a chain.

I saw from that moment the necessity of destroying the flattering hope which nourishes attachment and of disallowing his frequent visits. This determination, which I persisted in, caused him a serious indisposition, during which I paid him every possible attention; but my constant refusal to indulge the pa.s.sion he entertained for me made the wound still deeper."

Afterwards, when the young man had partly recovered, Mlle. Clairon, convinced that his absence from her would be to his advantage, constantly refused his letters and his visits. "Two years and a half,"

continues Mlle. Clairon, "pa.s.sed between our first acquaintance and his death. He entreated me to a.s.suage the last moments of his life by repairing to his bed-side. My engagement prevented me from complying with this request, and he expired in the presence of his domestics and an old lady whom he had alone for some time suffered."

The house in which M. de S---- died was the one previously referred to in the Chaussee d'Antin; and at eleven o'clock the same night Mlle.

Clairon, who was living far off in the Rue de Bussy, near the Rue de Seine, was startled--as were also, she declares, several friends in company with her at the time--by "the most piercing cry" she had ever heard. "Its long continuance and piteous sound," she continues, "astonished everyone. I fainted away, and was nearly a quarter of an hour insensible." Every night at the same hour Mlle. Clairon heard the same bitter wail. "All of us in the house," she writes, "my friends, my neighbours, the police even, have heard this very cry repeated under my windows at the same hour, and appearing to proceed from the air." She was recommended by an incredulous acquaintance to invoke the phantom the next time it announced its presence. She did so, when "the same cry was uttered thrice in succession, with a degree of rapidity and shrillness terrible beyond expression." Poor Mlle. Clairon was persecuted in this manner at an hour before midnight for days at a stretch; until, at length, in lieu of a piercing cry, she heard every night, and always at eleven o'clock, the explosion of a gun. Fearing there might be some design upon her life, she communicated with the Lieutenant of Police, who, accompanied by proper officers, carefully examined the house next door, but without discovering any ground for suspicion. "The following day," says Clairon, "the street was narrowly watched; the officers of police had their eyes upon every house; but, notwithstanding all their vigilance, there occurred the same discharge, at the same hour, and against the same frame of gla.s.s for three whole months, though no one could ever discover from whence it proceeded." "This fact," she adds, "is attested by all the registers of police."

One day a lady called on Mlle. Clairon and made herself known as the best friend of the late Monsieur de S----, and the only person he had suffered to be with him during the last moments of his life.

"To condemn you," she said, "would be unjust ... but his pa.s.sion for you overcame him, and your last refusal hastened his end. He counted every minute till half-past ten, when his servant positively informed him that you would not come to him. After a moment he took my hand in a paroxysm of despair which terrified me, and exclaimed, 'Cruel woman! but she shall gain nothing. I will pursue her as much after my death as I have during my life.' I endeavoured to calm him, but he was no more."

The words had a terrible effect on the unhappy Mlle. Clairon; and the cries and threats from her distressed lover gradually ceased to afflict her, and in time this excellent woman--who could scarcely be expected to love by order--became pacified.

The first building on the Boulevard des Capucines at the opposite corner of the Chaussee d'Antin is the Vaudeville Theatre, built to replace the old playhouse on the Place de la Bourse, and opened to the public on the 1st of October, 1867. Anciently this theatre seemed to be placed beneath the auspices of Colle des Augiers and Scribe, whose names mark different phases of the Vaudeville style, once exclusively cultivated by this theatre. Of later years, however, especially since the production of the younger Dumas' _Dame aux Camelias_, some forty years ago, it has often thrown gaiety on one side for the pathetic and dramatic. The Vaudeville, like all the Paris theatres, has frequently changed its habitation, though it has always retained its original name. Founded in 1792, when the Revolution was approaching the Terrorist period, at a building in the Rue de Chartres, between the Place du Carrousel and the Palais Royal (since pulled down), the Vaudeville was, after a life of half a century, driven from its first abode by the usual fire. In 1838, the year of the conflagration, it sought a temporary refuge on the Boulevard Bonne-Nouvelle, to move in 1840 to the Place de la Bourse, where it took possession of the house previously occupied by the Opera Comique. Here, where it remained from 1840 to 1867, it changed its style, and instead of comedies and comediettas interspersed with songs, produced with immense success a series of dramas of the most moving kind, such as the already named _Dame aux Camelias_, Octave Feuillet's _Dalila_ and _Roman d'un jeune Homme pauvre_, Barriere's _Filles de Marbre_, Sardou's _Nos Intimes_ and _Maison neuve_. It is not indeed at the Theatre Francais, but at the Vaudeville and the Gymnase, that in modern times the masterpieces of French dramatic literature have been produced. The first representation of _La Dame aux Camelias_ forms a turning point in the history of the Vaudeville Theatre. The play--which was soon to become celebrated throughout France, and in its operatic form, set to music by Verdi, throughout Europe--was not produced without serious objections on the part of the censorship; and it was only through the intercession of the Duke de Morny, Napoleon III.'s unacknowledged brother and chief adviser, that permission to represent the piece was obtained. When the performance at last took place, the success of the drama, owing a good deal to the pathetic acting of Mme. Doche in the part of the heroine, was marvellous; and it was made the occasion of innumerable articles in all the French journals at this period, not only on the play and on the novel from the same pen whence the play was derived, but on the unhappy young woman whose life and death the author had more or less faithfully depicted in the leading character. To show that light-minded Frenchmen were not alone capable of being moved by the tragic end of the fascinating Marie Duplessis, it may be mentioned that our own Charles d.i.c.kens was as much touched by it as the numerous French writers, who, more or less perfectly, have put their feelings on the subject into literary form. "Not many days after I left," writes Mr. Forster, in his "Life of d.i.c.kens," under date of 1847, "all Paris was crowding to the sale of a lady of the _demi-monde_, Marie Duplessis, who had led the most brilliant and abandoned of lives, and left behind her the most exquisite furniture and the most voluptuous and sumptuous _bijouterie_.

d.i.c.kens wished at one time to have pointed the moral of this life and death, of which there was great talk in Paris while we were together.

The disease of satiety, which, only less often than hunger, pa.s.ses for a broken heart, had killed her. 'What do you want?' asked the most famous of the Paris physicians, at a loss for her exact complaint. At last she answered, 'To see my mother.' She was sent for, and there came a simple Breton peasant woman, clad in the quaint garb of her province, who prayed by her bed until she died."

The _Dame aux Camelias_ called into existence a whole series of pieces, produced either at the Vaudeville or at the Gymnase, in which the true character of women in certain difficult positions was treated controversially, with examples in support of arguments; and at this moment the last kind of play one would expect to see at the Vaudeville is precisely that to which the theatre owes its name. The situation of this theatre in the most fashionable, most frequented part of the boulevard renders it, apart from its own special attractions, the favourite resort of foreigners living at the excellent hotels in this neighbourhood. The house, with its 1,300 seats, is only of moderate size, but it is much more commodious than the old theatre of the Place de la Bourse.

The theatres of Paris, generally, are, indeed, far less commodious than those of London. The Parisians will go anywhere and submit to any discomfort in order to see good acting and a good play. In England we are much more particular; and the narrow ill-ventilated theatres of Paris would certainly be objected to by English audiences. The Paris theatres, however, are steadily improving, as one by one they get burnt down; and the new ones springing from the ashes of the old are often attractive without and convenient within. In the ancient days before the Great Revolution, the Parisians were as pa.s.sionately fond of the theatre as they are now, but their playhouses, according to the author of "Le nouveau Paris," were abominable.

"I shall say nothing of the nastiness," he writes, "that distinguishes these places of general resort, because I would not wish to injure the property of the comedians; nor shall I inveigh against the insolence of the box-keepers, and other servants of our theatres, as it would give to the world a bad opinion of the proprietors themselves, to whom some censorious readers might apply the proverb, 'Like master like man,'

and think it a truism. I intend to confine myself to those points that more materially concern the spectator when he has once got in and has the good fortune to procure a clean seat. First let us survey the pit.

Here everybody stands. You will imagine that its inhabitants are the formidable umpires of taste and dramatic productions; this may or may not be, just as it suits the caprices of the police, or the Lords of the Bedchamber, who, from making the master's bed, have raised themselves by degrees to judge of things which they hardly understand. Hence an actress is palmed upon the public. Whether she is good or bad is not the question, but whether she has had the good fortune to please one or the whole of those gentlemen; and everyone knows what price she has paid for her admission. Not a play is represented here without a guard of thirty men with a few rounds each to quiet the spectators. This internal guard keeps the frequenters of the pit in a kind of pa.s.sive condition; and whether you are tired, crowded, or bruised, beware of giving any sign of uneasiness or discontent. Yet the unfortunate public pays to take, not what they desire, but what is given them. Surrounded with armed men, they must neither laugh too loud at a comedy nor express their feelings at a tragedy in too pointed a manner. Hence the pit, except in some fits of a transient excitement, is mournfully dull. If you venture to give any sign of your existence, you are collared by one of the guards and carried _pro forma_ before a Commissionaire. I say for form sake, because everyone in the play-house is really under martial law; the civil magistrate is only there to hear and approve the sentence pa.s.sed upon the culprit by the officer of the guard; who upon the report, seldom exact, but often groundless, of the soldier, orders the accused party to prison; and the Commissionaire, without inquiring into the merit of the charge, or so much as daring to hint at the least objection, signs the _mittimus_."

[Ill.u.s.tration: Entrance to Rue du Quatre-Septembre.--Avenue de l'Opera.--Entrance to Rue de la Paix.

VIEW FROM THE BALCONY OF THE OPERA.]

The Boulevard des Capucines seems on both sides entirely new; its houses are white, bright, and in perfect condition. If the crowd one sees on the Boulevard Montmartre is a Parisian crowd, that which animates the Boulevard des Capucines is a cosmopolitan one. It touches what in the artistic, if not in the general, sense must be looked upon as the heart of Paris--the New Opera, that is to say, standing in the centre of the place which bears its name and the streets called after those operatic celebrities, Scribe, Auber, Halevy, and Meyerbeer; one librettist and three composers.

The Place de l'Opera is, indeed, the heart of Paris, communicating by great arteries with all the most important organs of Parisian life.

The magnificent Avenue of the Opera leads straight to the Louvre; in another direction the Rue du Quatre-Septembre goes to the Place de la Bourse. Look along the Rue de la Paix; at the end you will see La Place Vendome, with its column in memory of the Grand Army standing out in its dark bronze against the fresh green of the Tuileries Gardens. Here all that is most Parisian in Paris may be seen: the finest shops, the most brilliant equipages, with all the glitter of fashionable life.

The expensive jeweller and the exorbitant milliner here have their establishments side by side with hotels, restaurants, cafes, and clubs.

[Ill.u.s.tration: AVENUE DE L'OPeRA.]

The Opera in France had much to go through before it attained its present artistic development, or, as regards the French form of grand opera, found its present capacious and splendid home. It is the proud boast of Frenchmen that Le Nouvel Opera--as the existing Grand Opera in Paris has been called for the last sixteen years, and as it will probably be called for a long while to come--covers thirteen times as much ground as the Royal Opera House of Berlin. It is, indeed, superior by its commodiousness as well as its magnificence to every other opera house in Europe; though what above all distinguishes it is its admirable site, and the wide open s.p.a.ce in which it stands. In many capitals the theatres, even the finest, are only portions of a street. At Moscow, it is true, the Great Theatre stands by itself in a vast square--a square which, compared with the Place de l'Opera, is a desert s.p.a.ce.