The Express.
London, England, 1851-12-29 00:00:00

MON AN OCCASIONAL

/NT)ENT.

PARIS. Dec. 26.
A stranger visiting Paris just at this moment
would doubtless observe nothing to suggest to him a
" state of siege." He could write home with a good
conscience that " all is tranquil." Indeed, it might
occur to him that tranquillity had been substituted
for trade; and having heard, from his youth up, that
Paris was the gayest metropolis of Europe, ho would
certainly wonder why everybody looked so sober and
stupid. Still, despite the stagnation of business and
a certain indefinable melancholy pervading society
like an atmosphere, he would find so much to
admire in the material splendour about him, that,
on the whole, he would be favourably impressed.
But how, on the strength of such a state of things,
writers who are thoroughly acquainted with Paris,
and who were here before the late coup trNat, can de-
liberately say that everything is not only tranquil
but satisfactory, and that the tyrannical movement of
Louis Napoleon has wrought no so unfavourable a
change here, is a mystery. Yet such things are said
every day, and figure in the columns of English and
other newspapers with all the assurance of truth itself.
Because the streets aro not blue with municipal
guards; because lancers are not seen flying through
the streets at every moment like demons; and because,
moreover, a cocked horse-pistol is not pointed at one's
head at every corner, these profound and brilliant
writers infer that Paris is as free from
military oversight as London. But what mat-
ters it whether the soldiers are in their barracks,
or on the Boulevards, so that they are here? If the
people are satisfied (as well as " terrified "), and if the
" prise "is assured, why not raise the state of siege ;
why not free the press ; why not dismiss the spies ;
why not liberate the republicans ; why not restore
the right of speech ; and, above all, why do not the
Parisians, who are always so fond of show, favour
their " chef " with something like a demonstration ?
"No change in Paris!" Why the Paris of to-day is
as different from the Paris of November as Louis
Napoleon from his uncle. How could it be other-
wise, when the streets have just been reddened with
blood, and hundreds, if not thousands, of the best
men of Paris are pining in dungeons? Are the people
here such brutes, that these things do not affect them ?
Poor rich old Billecoq (whose fine warehouse was
so battered by artillery on the 4th instant) writes to
the journals to-day, that as for him, ho takes no in-
terest, and never did take any interest, in anything
but—shawls! Billecoq, I am afraid, is a type of the
bourgeoisie. They are as ready to shout for Louis
Napoleon as they were for Louis-Philippe, and as
they would be for Louis Blanc, if he would only pro-
mise them Louis d'Or.
It is they who cry peace when there is no peace ;
and it is they who furnish so many " correspondents"
with their false and absurd ideas of the state of
France. It is on their perfidy and fear that Louis
Napoleon calculated, not without reason, for sup-
porting him, if his first blow should be successful,
in carrying out the principles of the coup trefut.
But despite the apparent success of the coup, France
is still in a state of paralysis. Nobody knows which
way to turn. The ship of state is becalmed, and
from what quarter to expect the wind no one can
surmise. There is no confidence, no safety, no hope,
no anything bat fear.
After all, there has been no revolution, but only
an involution, by which everybody and everything
have become more or less involved. The waters
have been stirred, but there is no healing in them.
The people have been caught in a ballot-box, and are
as restless as a net of eels. What the cunning sports-
man will do with his prey, whether, in fact, he is not
as restless' as the most slippery creature in his toils, is
at this moment a question of tho intensest curiosity.
We must all be prepared, however, for the moat
startling developments. All the trade in luxuries,
which is usually so brisk at this season, is to-day at
a dead stand. The long rows of carriages which-one
lused to see in front of the fashionable shops arc miss-
, ing. The Palais National looks like a fragment of
Pompeii. Stalls are imnrovised as usual on both
I sides of the Boulevards and the principal streets ; but
Ithe show is " stale, flat, and (above all) unprofitable."
1 This is a great affliction to the young folks, and they
I cannot be consoled even with bon-bons. Christmas
• has without rejoicing. It is said that a few
marrene:limen illuminated their houses in honour of
the President; but, with this exception, and a little

extra gas at some of the theatres, all was darkoesi
and gloom.
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