The Donaldsonville chief. [volume] (Donaldsonville, La.) 1871-current, 1878-05-18
Our Letter from Europe.
Broadbriu in Paris.

Broadbrim in Paris.
Seventeen and sixpence you owe
for hextra luggage" said the porter
of the Golden Cross Hotel, as he de-
posted my trunk from his head be-
side the baggage car of the train on
which was about to start for Paris;
"thats wat they charges you and they
won't take no less; four dollars and
a half! u +" You don't mean it,n said I,
almost white with rage. "That's wot
they axes" he quietly replied; /" we
knows hits a himposition, but they've
got us on the lip and we kant 'clp
Yourselves, You know" I paid the
bill because, as my friend sagely re-
marked, there was no help for hit,
and got in just as the train was start
ing. The run down to Folkston was
made in couple of hours, passing
| Chiselhurst on the way, where the
ex- Empress Eugeuia and ber son re-
side, and also where repose the ashes
of the late unfortunate Emperor of
France. A dirty little steamer, with
meagre accommodations for about
thirty or forty, was the. floating prison
of over three hundred miserable tour
lists whose tickets were labeled first
class, but it struck me as being a first
class swindle. The deck was piled
with baggage, and every nook, where
you could store a passenger, was Or
namented with blue nosed tourist
who shiyered and shook in the chill
sea air from which there was no
shelter and no escape, and who un-
doubtedly wished himself in Jericho,
before ever he had been fool enough
to leave his own comfortable home to
wander in foreign parts. Boulogne-
sur-Mer was reached after two un-
comfortable hours and at once you
realize that you are in a foreign land.
Everything is different from what
you have been used to; the people
are different, the houses are different,
pOnderous carts driven by women roll
along the streets, and lubberly look
ing craft, first cousins to Noah's Ark,
lie alongside the wharf, OF are an
chored in the stream. Here you see
woman in her lowest and most miser-,
able estate; as far as the labor of
poverty can make her, she is coarse,
hard featured and hard handed. The
distinctive lines between her and the
man seem to be completely blotted
out; she labors beside him on the
highway aud in the field, and too Of
ten sinks into state of abiect misery
aud slavery for him beside which the
condition of the Russian serf was
paradise.
Paris was reached just at night and
such Babel of confusion eau be
found nowhere else on the earth.
Turks, Dutchmen, Irishmen, English
men and Yankees seemed each de-
sirous of bowling the other down, all
wanting their baggage at the same
time and all unable to get it. Oceas-
sionally an Italian or Spaniard
would chip in, aud the general result
bore a close resemblance to the
mosaic account of the original confu-
sion of tongues. At last each man
and woman got his or her own, and
departed though not in peace, while
|, having secured at least a shelter for
the night, wandered out down the
Rue de la Paix to the Place VeDdome,
along the Rue Rivoli to the glittering
wonders of the Palais Royal which
recall the dreams of the Arabian
Knights and the golden caverns of
Alladin. No wonder the Frenchman
clings to Paris. and even when ex-
lied in a foreign land still looks to
her as the Moslem looks to the tomb
of the Prophet, or the Christian to
the sepulchTe of Christ. There is but
one Paris-monuments of greatness
and glory works of dazzling beauty
and art have survived the horrors of
the revolution, the iron heel of the
invader, the torch of the petroleuse,
and the savage barbarity of the Com
mune. The blackened walls and DESC
late windows of her proudest palace
are still standing menace of that
terrible power which has inscribed on
her triumpllal arches and her gates;
Liberte, EgaEit6, Fraternit6. The
marks of race and grade seem here
unaltered and unalterable, the blouse
of the 0uerier is the same in cut aid
color as those which, less than hum
dred years ago, covered the backs of
the red battalions who shouted Pour
la Patrie over the ruins of the Bastille.
Go where you viii, the glories of the
dead Empire overtop and dwarf the
living realizations of the struggling
infant Republic, whose life even now
may possibly be numbered by days
or hours. Whatever you see or hear
is kingly and royal. The palaces, the
squares, the parks, the fountains, the
wonderous works of art, even the
policemen in the streets wear their
gew-gaw orders; porters and hack
men bear about them the ensigns of
their trade. There is no degradation
or humiliation about this; for the
workman is as proud of his blue
blouse as the Due of the cross of
Saint Louis, or the soldier of the Le-