The New Orleans crescent. [volume] (New Orleans, La.) 1866-1869, 1868-01-24
IrrrER FsoM PARIS.

picture of Paris in its festival glory; his paate
il covered with all the gsyest and brightest coiors
He strnlls forth in the early. mQrninr-.sfh,A 70
porous wolio, inc great world sleeps; the equip-
ages which roll along the boulevards at q later
hour, are nowhere to be seen. Cartmen with
shaggy coats and wooden shoes, meet his eye on
all sides. Rag pickers, in rags themselves, and
looking weary of the load of life made 30 by
want and spnering), stare blankly at him, while
they hook up scrap of paper here and q rag
there, giving place as they move along to multi
tude Of faces even more fearful than their own.
These last are the embodiment Of all evil. Sin
governs their Utmost thought; and hunger aud
wretchedness have so long gnawed at every vital.
physical and moral, as to leave no trace whereby
one might believe those eyes ever knew the ten
deTness of O tear, or those lips the joy Of
smile. They issue from holes where
God alone knows what they endure; and to
those holes they return, almost with the dawn.
These are the faces one sees In revolution,
and it is the great, the prosperous, who never
leave their downy .couches until noon. who mar
vel at the sight of faces never seen by them ex.
cept in those intervals Of horror and bloodshed
But to our painter. He stands, with brush in hand
searching in vain for true colors upon his gaudiy
loaded palate. Why he mutters, surely this
is dream, horrible dream. l came down to
paint the brightest gayest most beautiful spot on
the globe, and what do see, Can ind those
No. And those deformed limbs, limping on be-
fore me, whose very rags, scarcely covering them,
seem 10 curse all surrounding life-shall fnd
TIER colors in these Jumps Of yellow and red, and
purple and goldV All no, painter. Go back to
your attic you have made q sad error. There
are two cities N this one. Either replace your yell
low, and crimson, and purple, and gold, by all the
shades Of misery, want and despair, or else wait
until noon for the gay sights Of pleasure, luxury
and extravaganza. Leave your palate as Il Is, for
see, while You are gazing, these squalid shapes
disappear, and soon you shall be daZzled by
shop windows tempting all ages, all tastes;
carriages shall roll before you-one with some
delicate, painted creature, all covered In swans
down; another with equity old gentleman, look
log the picture of self satisfaction, who has per-
haps never thought there was a ragged, hungry
fellowcreature shouted at 70 give way to his
prancing steeds. Another shall 20 elashing by
loaded with toys, which have cost many hundred
francs, and which tomorrow shall have shared
the fate of all toys. Then come the Christmes
boutiques, lining the boulevards on either side
See the children with their little red noses peep
ing forth from the wrappers; they are shouting
in ecstacy while their little hands clutch tightly
some coveted and secured toy. Everybody is in
holiday. Even the Italian musician, with bis
SLOUGH hat and bis closely fitting stockings, stops
his harp performance for a while, to look at and
admire, if he cannot buy, what he would most
like TO have. These scenes, painter, need all your
most vivid colors The horrible nightmare Of the
dawn has shrunk back, as if your eyes had been
q, py,l
seductive Paris-ss the world (which is flowing
ever into it) knows it, presents itself.
While Rossni fingers on the Threshold OF his
grave. every body is rushing to the Grand Opera
TO hear " Guilaume Tell" We mentioned in our
last the mastery execution OF this great work.
but reiterated praise would not be extravagant
We have rarely, if ever, heard such execution Of
an overture. The tones OF the opening solo of the
sioloncello are perhaps forced, bat we note this
only because the spirit scars high in its require
manta "a n
Is strange truth IN the love OF art, and makes
one feel often "a if judgment were severe beyond
reason. As to the chOruses, they are finely sung.
Mile Battu, with her polished style aud stately
manner, fills well the unimpassioned role Of
Ndtiilde; while Fayre, although descending to
the register Of base clGntdilte, which detracts
certainly from his fine voice, is the ideal OF
GuiRdlfnae Tel. In his fine phrase Of
"Quel fardesu que 10 Vie"
Pour nous plus de pstrie.n
He makes every heart which has bled for its
country bleed anew, and in his short recit, when
his son rusbes back into his arms from the target
spot he stands, noble and touching impersona.
ton of q brave spirit and q tender father. His
eyes ore closed; he dares not look, he dares not
hear; he is enduring all the torture a brave, deli
cate nature can endure. His voice has died into
wall, and we hear him say
''Je me Wis plus je me soutsns psine;'
Est ce bien tot, hls
II is no longer singer filling bis part we see
and hear, il is the pstriot-the father.
They are giving al the Gymnaise very attrsc.
tive comedy, which is well deserving of its suc.
cess. Miss Suzanne, the heroine, hiss been edn.
Gated IN New York, and returns to her fathers
home-the home Of an artist n P8ris-bewiIder-
ing her tflends and family by her thoroughly inde
pendent views on all subjects. Everything pass
ing through the filter of her mind is at once pur
fed, and all those who come within the light OF
her candid heart feel the influence of virtue
wherein there dwells no prudery, and goodness
which fears no evil, because it is sure OF its own
strength. One of the most beautiful scenes mag
Unable passes between this young girl and female
friend, and might be called dialogue between
france and America. The one sees no evil: she
looks everything straight into the face, goes
down into her deep, warm heart, needing its
pulses. Her friend covers her sentiments with
charming coquetry she has been taught that to
affect ignorance upon such subjects as gay lade,
In France are supposed to ignore is no duplicitY;
hence the candor OF Miss Suzanne shocks her be.
yOnd endurance. They undertake to analyze or
dissect difficult position in which the heroine is
thrown the one llfts up her light, gay heart and
We find il lowering Ike q careless butterfly from
one sentiment to another. She is convinced that
her first duty Is to protect herself from evil aud IL
she is 10 pluck rose from the highway Of life
she at least will mistrust its thorns and will never
be disarmed OF that matter-of fact prudepee
which weighs heavily in the scale OF French edu.
cation whereas the other pl1nges into the depths
OF every ieelng, fesriessly. She accepts her path
as Il presents itself. and, wslking with bare feet
over its thorns, finds a consolation in pain
and wellspring Of contentment feeding her
spirit in all its trisls, unknown to those less
blessed. The opera balls are in their fullest sea.
son. But Paris is ike every other place, aud
there is class of young men who effect wretch.
edness because there js nothing new under the
sun for them. They drag at their sentences IS
If half asleep; they fud nothing to entice hun
ger. no place Of amusement which could lift up
their heavy spirits, and so they lounge about
the picture OF eDnui, boring everybody exceed.
lngly. Three OF them met on the bouevards
the other day A. said to b.. lido you 20 to the
ball at the opera tonightr' Mon cher" re.
Piled B., yswning, 81 have long since been sur
feited with these balls. I would not 90 for the
world" 'Nor ,""nor I" simultaneously rejoined
the other two. "There is forever the same scene
OF black coats and white crsvsts, the same in.
tigues, the sane suppers. the same heavy drag.
ging night" and 80 the three parted. At one a.
was at the bali in ell his glory. when, 10 he
stnmbles upon b. and G.. ''Ah ali - cried
An, chow is this ?" "Well, you see,u said B., ~
have sister whose husband has never been will.
ing to escort her, and with her | have come"
Il too, said C., shave an uncle from the country
TO whom 1 am showing the sights Of Parish
~ aaid A. buTefinO into haarsv Iau,h