OUR PARIS LETTER.

Observer, Volume 7, Issue 345, 18 July 1885, Page 10

OUR PARIS LETTER.

Paris, May 30. Oh for the time described by de Musset in. his 'Night of May,' Richard offered his kingdom for a horse, and Good Queen Bess all her possessions for a few months longer to live. Ladies would now give a good deal of their pin money for some fine weather, so as to make sure to run no risk with, a new dress. The lilacs are weighted down wj.th rain, drop torrents on the failure of Spring. Salons are changed into libraiies, or public news-rooms, so heavily are they freighted with books and journals to kill time and make dull care begone. Paris seems to have become a combination of the capital of Siberia and of Tonkin during the rainy season of six months ; yet aeronauts who go up in balloons, every Sunday at least, report the sky to be all serene — the upper regions warm and invigorating. Why then not return to the regime of captive balloons, where chairs could be placed in the car whiletaking our air bath ? An excursion in the ' air plains ' would certainly be as good as one in the city sewers. We have nothing but cold, and showers that seem never to end ; streets covered with gutter, despite the patriotic assiduity of an army of scavengers pledged to make the city beautiful for ever. The Faculty have recommended, we know, mud baths for certain infirmities, but to have to take them when not in need of such is too bad. Although May be the month of flowers,, yet the ancients never suspected it. It was considered by the Romans a fatal month in which to marry. But they only applied the " Don't " to that social institution during these thirty-one days. The leafy month of June was their ideal epoch for matrimony. In Russia, a country now very much filling the public eye, a proverb still exists in full vigour, to the effect that those who marry in the month of May will not be merry, but will quarrel all their lives. Restaurants in the suburbs are in mourning ; citizens prefer sitting round a family fire, and curtains drawn to patronizing suburban alfresco seductions, cooled with Lapland zephyrs, and filled with souvenirs of Noah's great calamity. Yet we have want of an outing ; we feel a longing desire to share inirthe awakening of nature and its attractive far nienfe. In the Champs Elysees, the Bel Besjpiro of the Capital, Lo Doyen and Les Ambassadeurs, that usually serve dinners in the open air, at this epoch of the year, now have to do so under cover, in greenhouses, as i£ their clients were exotics, or denizens of the Municipal Conservatories of La Muette. Fontainbleu calls us like a siren to its forest ; Marly coaxes, to its gondolas, or funicular railway, and St. Germain implores us to stroll along its terrace, and view below the most beautiful panorama of the .world. But the charmer's piper will not be listened to. As soon count upon Bismarck recognising the Duke of Brunswick, the Sultan to relinquish piano playing, or Mr Gladstone ' smashing ' a Mahdi. Philosophers observe, laughter is the characteristic of man. Travellers assert, the Chinese surpass the outer barbarians in this respect ; with John Chinaman it is a necessity for him to laugh — even at making peace with the French. We have very little occasion for hilarity ; society is not gay, nor is it as sad as a follower of Heraclitus. It is a fact that the merriest gatherings this year, so far, have been ambassadorial dinner parties. Outsiders concluded the diplomatic world was being overworked to save nations not only from little, but big wars. Wit alone rales at such banquets. It is usual when an ambassador gives a dinner, to so arrange as to pay a compliment to each confrere, by having one of his nations' most typical dishes served up. Dancing matinees, following the fashion at Nice, are now given at Paris. The Marquise de Trevise has inaugurated the innovation here. Dancing is kept up till dinner hour. At these gatherings there is perfect freedom of choice in matter of dress ; such as a black j silk with an ecru scarf embroiderd with gold,: a mauve toilette looks pretty, and so did grey, embroiderd with gold and ornamented with e'flantine roses ; the hat, a black rembrandt. The Princess Dolforoucki, morganatic widow of the late Czar, is acquiring a notoriety ; she is certain to have the celebrities of the day, in literature and art, at her table. The guests, however, complain that 4sb ill is wanting at these reunions ; that it is rather a kind of solemn, academic congress, than a flow of soul. Then the etiquette is awful* Louis XIV. had nothing more severe in his august days. The hostess herself is waited upon at table by special valets, who only occupy themselves with her ; she occupies an elevated seat, a kind of Juno attitude, suggesting more the roie of a presldente than that of a fellow convivial. This hrows a cold shade over the entertainment. People go once to see the sight, but generally happen to be ill when a second invitation is. addressed to them. Yet the Princess is very amiable, does her best to make her friends at home, and manages to have a kind word for each. In time she might make her most luxurious mansion a veritable international mansion. As like all Russian ladies on travel, she has a diplomatic mission. The Czar left, her untold wealth, and she knew how to prepare for the rainy day, by investing her picklings in the English funds. Her sons are fine,, manly boys ; although not far in their teens,, they promise to be giants.