Centre Democrat. [volume] (Bellefonte, Pa.) 1848-1989, 1879-12-04

See that dark couple wheeling past
rapidly, behind massive brown mare
whose eye-blinkers bear the badge of
the Imperial crown, still to be seen,
surmounting an n, on many of the
palaces and great buildings of the
State. Inside on the dark green cloth
cushions is Prince Napoleon, great
mass of man, whose tatness seems to
have been absorbed, leaving the jaun-
dice-colored cuticle hanging in loose
wrinkles. The sight of him makes
your heart throb in spite of yourself.
He is the living image of the great
uncle, the hero in whose honor the
superb arch crowns the summit of the
Champs Elysees, whose ashes lie at the
Invalides, on the borders of the Seine.
in the midst of the people he so loved.
One cannot choose but wonder what
is to be the ultimate destiny of this
one, and whether the Imperial purple
will ever swath this lean and slippered
Pantaloon. Fortunately or unfortu-
nately for him, as you choose to look
at it, in the intellectual or the moral
sense, he is in the hands of mistress
whose towering ambition will brook
no rival for him for the throne, not
even his own son. This lady, still
handsome in spite of her forty years,
strong-minded, marvelously V well in
formed, is, rs | have told you, Chi
cagoan, married to Frenchman. |
believe the Princess Clotilde does not
hesitate to say that it is her husbands
relations with Madame de Canisy
which have brought about the es-
arrangement between Napoleon and
herself Clotilde lives almost the life
of the cloister in an old castle in IA.
voy, an appanage of the kingly crown
of Italy. Thither, once a year, goes
Plon Plon to visit her. Their rela-
tions are sort of friendly truce.
They have two boys, and one or both
may yet be Emperor Of the French.
This being the case, it behoovcs
them as parents to have no disgracetul
rupture, and each lets the other lead
the life he thinks best Clotilde is 80
devout Catholic she is almost a canon
lied Saint already, aud Plon Plou-
well, Darois d h0nn0tr, he is not bit
like that, not he. The road TO Mad
anne De Canisy was, a all the world
is aware, past Cora Pearl, Anna Dcs-
lions, Blanch D'Autiguy, La Graude
Gaga, and st. Antony alone knows
who else besides. In DE Cainsy he has
found his master mind, and the whole
cocotterie PdrisieHns, to whom he is
still an envied object, for he is vet i'm
mensely rich, are powerless to make
his allegiance falter.
We are opposite the Vaudeville
now, the home of Sardou's genius, as
the Gymnase is that of Dumas. Look
at this little person coming ou. of the
stage door. Did you ever see an ugly
woman who was prettier than n pretty
one Don't know what | mean
All, then you never saw Maggie Mitch
ell with her scrawny arm before her
red eyes, her tangled hair looking a.
if the bats had slept there, bewailiDg
i'm a tear-choked voice that Landry
will not love her because she is "the
ugly Fanchon." Then you never saw
Geline Chaumont in the monologue
which is now turning the heads of the
town, and called lie Petit Abbe, where,
for an hour, without the assistance of
a living soul, she enchains the atten-
ton of three thousand euraptured
spectators nightly. What n golden
voice! The diction of Sarah Bern
hardt, the diabierie of Lotta These
-mincing airs, eyes raised prudishly to
heaven, risky words underlined with
but quiver of the mobile mouth, del
icacy, distinction, the bearing of an
aristocrat, CLOSING over the instincts
of Gayroche-that is the plain-fea-
tured Celine Chaumont, to whom the
Rilded vice of Paris writes proposals
which she answers with an eye.wink,
and the French equivalent of "Do YOU
see anything greenY" In the sense of
homage paid to prettiness. there is not
"A pretty woman in Paris 50 pretty as
the ugly Chaumont.
If we walk these boulevards but
long enough we shall see them all
Grevy, Gambetta, Marshal McMahon
the Orleans Princes, Alexander Du-
mas, the whole kit and tollic Of vary
ing prominence in every line, who air
their success or failure once at least in
the twenty-four hours on the asphalte.
There is Madame Thiers, accompanied
by her inseparable sister, Mademois-
selle Dosne. Madame has been to
England, the land of the exile, all
summer long, and has brought back
a mass of papers which are to set the
seal on Theirs greatness. Yonder is
Croizette, the Due d. Aumale's big
shapeless lump Of sweetness, her lovely
mouth pressed up in happy smile, as
she leads her pretty boy, in whose