ON THE BOULEVARDS.
(From Our Own Correspondent—du Perron de Tortoni.)
Lundi.—Woke up dreading the newspapers as though they were all printing Premiers-Paris by Saint Genest. Called Johnne to tell me what party I belong to now. Find I’m Left Centre. Tant mieux: ga vous dispense de penser a la politique. Ah, si on pouvait se dispenser d’en entendre parler ! And after Pasdeloup yesterday with ma tante du Perigord ! Pasdeloup and the Chamber to begin at the same time—it’s a Pelion of pain on an Ossa of ennui.
Breakfasted at the Helder, where I met Pitanchard, who is reduced to taking an interest in the Academical Elections. Why, the other Elections were better. En fait de candidate: Three no
bodies, or the third part of a mediocre man of dead letters. Plus ga change, plus c’est la memo chose: re-pouah !
Turned into the Chausee d’Antin: thought the Cercle Artistique de la Seine would choke off Pitanciiaiu). Ah, bien, pas du tout. Pit an c hako dragged the Academy after him into the Winter Salon,
and franchement, if Acadimie means nudity in Art-slang, the Winter Salon doesn’t require any more Academy at present. It really is d un dishabille—je ne vous dis que ca ! I was really sorry for a jeune mees before Ff.yen-Perrin, She looked as if she had been dressed by the Belle Jardiniere of her native fogs, but what a delicious profile, and what Hush of horror when she came face to face with those wicked Baignenses !—a fine morceau, mafoi—carna
tions like golden peaches. What a divine disgust when she fronted the Peclieuses de Cancale! who are cousins-german of Leopold Roberts’ Italian peeheuses. And Gervex’s bath-scene, and The Blondine of Ballavoinf. ! C en itait trap. She would not stop to look at Detaille’s Barracks and Vollon’h magnificent Paris under Snow, but fled down-stairs as though—as though a Frenchman were after her. And I went and startled ces bons parents by dining en famille; and dreamt of la famille all night. Ilyades moments ou on consentirait a etre Anglais. A propos of English and Art,
iEstheticism hasn’t much chance here, as the worship of the Lily is confined to the Monarchists. The Lily and the Bee! Both out of luck in France just now.
Alas, poor Gr£vy ! How pleasant it must be for the master of a household to be ruled by his butler! Gambetta is L Homme Nicessaire—the man for the time ; but for what time ? Paul Bert,
Rampant Vivisectionist and Ferocious Freethinker—whose idea of liberty of thought is to compel everyone to think as he does—is a difficulty. At the Bert idea Boulevardiers haussent les epaules. Demissions ooming in fast.
Mercredi.—A melancholy day, though entirely devoted to Lecocq. Managed to console myself towards the hour of Madeira, after trying to look at Belot’s Fleur de Crime, by reflecting that if they are buying the book by thousands, there is still a future for the Opira-bouffe in Paris. Ceci console de cela.
Jeudi.—Finished Fleur de Crime before I went out. What a poor attempt at combining Zola, Arthur Arnouid, and the Vie Parisienne ! Ah, give me La Soiree Parisienne at the Variet§s, with Miss JEnea, Dupuis, Lassouche, and — surtout — toujour s Theo. That’s true Parisian: an ex-Prefect, qui s imancipe, a
Bretonne beginning her career as an amuseuse. Theo’s a divinity —I mean I take a loge to see Tm :o, and that’s the sort of Theologe-ian I am.
Vcndrcdi at the Vaudeville. Sardou’s Odette. Muoh better have let it remain an Owe’d Debt. One person, at all events, thinks
very highly of it, and that is M. Sardou.
A French Theatrical Agent asked me, “Has Sardou’s piece any chance in London ? ”
To which I at once replied, that it would be “ a Has-Sardous piece to try.” Ahem ! Good-bye !
Discovered at Last l—Exact Position of the Centre of Gravity.
—The Office of “ The Quarterly.
Algy. “ They want £6000 for the Lease, Maria. It runs for Eightynine years.”
Maria. “ On, don’t buy it, Algy. Only Eighty-nine years ! Fancy dear Baby being turned out of ms House at NINETY-ONE, and possibly INFIRM INTO THE BARGAIN ! ”
THEORETIKOS.
BY OSCURO WILDEGOOSE.
(Put into plain English for the benefit of Philislia.) This mighty Empire seems in a bad way !
Of all that may a languorous bard delight Our little Island is deserted, quite.
What now is left Me, but the moon to bay ?
Loll on the hills, and cry, “ Oh, lackaday! ” ?
Who prates of Progress ? Oh, come out of it, My most superior Soul! Thou art not fit For virile conflict or for manly play,
The Forum’s toil, the labours of the Mart.
Nasty rude people rage with impudent cries Against the worship of dead centuries.
It mars my calm ! In dreams of moony Art And maudlin Cultchaw I will stand apart, Since Providence proceeds not as L please !
A Hint for the Not-At-Home-OfRce.
If the Seldom-at-Home Secretary would spare Mr. Howard Vincent for a few months’ residence in America, ho might spend his time more profitably than he has lately done, by learning his business. The capture of Welles, the man who tried to “ blackmail ’’ Jay Gould, is a case in point. By clearing every letter-box in a certain district, putting on two hundred Detectives, one at each box, and arresting the first person who posted a letter to Jay Gould, they caught their Welles. In England, we should have left Welles alone.
“ Keep it Dark,” or Othello on the recent Post Office Diamond Robbery.—“ Put out the light and then”—and then they went off “bag and baggage.”
Plenty [of Diamond Merchants round and about that quarter, so it was very natural that the first question asked by an intelligent Detective should be, “Where
was Moses when the light went out f ”
Dr. McEvillyt, the able successor of Archbishop McIIale, exercises a strong personal influence on his clergy, who, as loyal to the Crown as true to their country, must not be described as McEvilly-disposed persons.
(From Our Own Correspondent—du Perron de Tortoni.)
Lundi.—Woke up dreading the newspapers as though they were all printing Premiers-Paris by Saint Genest. Called Johnne to tell me what party I belong to now. Find I’m Left Centre. Tant mieux: ga vous dispense de penser a la politique. Ah, si on pouvait se dispenser d’en entendre parler ! And after Pasdeloup yesterday with ma tante du Perigord ! Pasdeloup and the Chamber to begin at the same time—it’s a Pelion of pain on an Ossa of ennui.
Breakfasted at the Helder, where I met Pitanchard, who is reduced to taking an interest in the Academical Elections. Why, the other Elections were better. En fait de candidate: Three no
bodies, or the third part of a mediocre man of dead letters. Plus ga change, plus c’est la memo chose: re-pouah !
Turned into the Chausee d’Antin: thought the Cercle Artistique de la Seine would choke off Pitanciiaiu). Ah, bien, pas du tout. Pit an c hako dragged the Academy after him into the Winter Salon,
and franchement, if Acadimie means nudity in Art-slang, the Winter Salon doesn’t require any more Academy at present. It really is d un dishabille—je ne vous dis que ca ! I was really sorry for a jeune mees before Ff.yen-Perrin, She looked as if she had been dressed by the Belle Jardiniere of her native fogs, but what a delicious profile, and what Hush of horror when she came face to face with those wicked Baignenses !—a fine morceau, mafoi—carna
tions like golden peaches. What a divine disgust when she fronted the Peclieuses de Cancale! who are cousins-german of Leopold Roberts’ Italian peeheuses. And Gervex’s bath-scene, and The Blondine of Ballavoinf. ! C en itait trap. She would not stop to look at Detaille’s Barracks and Vollon’h magnificent Paris under Snow, but fled down-stairs as though—as though a Frenchman were after her. And I went and startled ces bons parents by dining en famille; and dreamt of la famille all night. Ilyades moments ou on consentirait a etre Anglais. A propos of English and Art,
iEstheticism hasn’t much chance here, as the worship of the Lily is confined to the Monarchists. The Lily and the Bee! Both out of luck in France just now.
Alas, poor Gr£vy ! How pleasant it must be for the master of a household to be ruled by his butler! Gambetta is L Homme Nicessaire—the man for the time ; but for what time ? Paul Bert,
Rampant Vivisectionist and Ferocious Freethinker—whose idea of liberty of thought is to compel everyone to think as he does—is a difficulty. At the Bert idea Boulevardiers haussent les epaules. Demissions ooming in fast.
Mercredi.—A melancholy day, though entirely devoted to Lecocq. Managed to console myself towards the hour of Madeira, after trying to look at Belot’s Fleur de Crime, by reflecting that if they are buying the book by thousands, there is still a future for the Opira-bouffe in Paris. Ceci console de cela.
Jeudi.—Finished Fleur de Crime before I went out. What a poor attempt at combining Zola, Arthur Arnouid, and the Vie Parisienne ! Ah, give me La Soiree Parisienne at the Variet§s, with Miss JEnea, Dupuis, Lassouche, and — surtout — toujour s Theo. That’s true Parisian: an ex-Prefect, qui s imancipe, a
Bretonne beginning her career as an amuseuse. Theo’s a divinity —I mean I take a loge to see Tm :o, and that’s the sort of Theologe-ian I am.
Vcndrcdi at the Vaudeville. Sardou’s Odette. Muoh better have let it remain an Owe’d Debt. One person, at all events, thinks
very highly of it, and that is M. Sardou.
A French Theatrical Agent asked me, “Has Sardou’s piece any chance in London ? ”
To which I at once replied, that it would be “ a Has-Sardous piece to try.” Ahem ! Good-bye !
Discovered at Last l—Exact Position of the Centre of Gravity.
—The Office of “ The Quarterly.
LOOKING TO THE FUTURE.
Algy. “ They want £6000 for the Lease, Maria. It runs for Eightynine years.”
Maria. “ On, don’t buy it, Algy. Only Eighty-nine years ! Fancy dear Baby being turned out of ms House at NINETY-ONE, and possibly INFIRM INTO THE BARGAIN ! ”
THEORETIKOS.
BY OSCURO WILDEGOOSE.
(Put into plain English for the benefit of Philislia.) This mighty Empire seems in a bad way !
Of all that may a languorous bard delight Our little Island is deserted, quite.
What now is left Me, but the moon to bay ?
Loll on the hills, and cry, “ Oh, lackaday! ” ?
Who prates of Progress ? Oh, come out of it, My most superior Soul! Thou art not fit For virile conflict or for manly play,
The Forum’s toil, the labours of the Mart.
Nasty rude people rage with impudent cries Against the worship of dead centuries.
It mars my calm ! In dreams of moony Art And maudlin Cultchaw I will stand apart, Since Providence proceeds not as L please !
A Hint for the Not-At-Home-OfRce.
If the Seldom-at-Home Secretary would spare Mr. Howard Vincent for a few months’ residence in America, ho might spend his time more profitably than he has lately done, by learning his business. The capture of Welles, the man who tried to “ blackmail ’’ Jay Gould, is a case in point. By clearing every letter-box in a certain district, putting on two hundred Detectives, one at each box, and arresting the first person who posted a letter to Jay Gould, they caught their Welles. In England, we should have left Welles alone.
“ Keep it Dark,” or Othello on the recent Post Office Diamond Robbery.—“ Put out the light and then”—and then they went off “bag and baggage.”
Plenty [of Diamond Merchants round and about that quarter, so it was very natural that the first question asked by an intelligent Detective should be, “Where
was Moses when the light went out f ”
Dr. McEvillyt, the able successor of Archbishop McIIale, exercises a strong personal influence on his clergy, who, as loyal to the Crown as true to their country, must not be described as McEvilly-disposed persons.