The Pacific commercial advertiser. [volume] (Honolulu, Hawaiian Islands) 1885-1921, 1895-02-23
PARIS ~ WINTER.
Tie City of the Native and Not OF IN.
Tourist.
Especial correspondence

| PARIS, Jan %t.-T arts IS the most
cosmopolitan city Of the world-surpris-
ing assertion, but just think over it be-
fore you deny it. If you want to see the
world revolving around, you come here
If you stop to analyze its charm, it can
be summed up in the sentence-it caters
| to all human emotions. And If the SER
pent had not understood human nature
the fall Of man would never have been
accomplished Every type is exempli-
fed in its thronging pnlsing boule-
vards-e7ery type Of humanity-beg.
CARS and bankers, nabobs and ne
groes, demimondaines and diplomats,
sporting men and smiling women-ani-
mate the hlleEards- The city is
changed from the city the tourist saw in
summer from his cafe table His be-
loved table gives way during the holt
day festival, which Is from Christmas to
Twelfth night, TO the small booths filed
with cheap wares. This privilege is &C
corded each year to the small shop deal
ers by the municipal authorities They
line the boulevards for miles. Their pa
irons are legion. A dainty Partisan in
her ermine jacket stops to buy ''grace
hoop" for the small boy who holds her
hand. As she moves off to go into Co.
lumbin's for chocolate and leaves her
small son to the care Of the beribboned
capped bonnie they are superseded by
commissaire in cock hat and portfolio
chained to his vest. The woman with
him good naturally wrangles over the
choice of a toy. At last they amicably
agree. The woman dives down in the
pocket of her green skirt for the few
70 har- ~
basket, and off they trudge to make way
for the next customer.
The stationary kiosks, gayly covered
with posters, wildly portraying Lies
Disha Bellies or Aida" drawn
by Cheret in dash of yellow and
crimson, are almost forgotten. The erst-
while flower girl sits huddled inside.
She sells The Petit Journal and Ga
zette in winter. She wraps her shawl
closer around her and feeds the charcoal
box at her feet.
Some night, if trade does not improve,
she will take home to Montmartre the
box and its fiery contents, stuff the
cracks in her room-and wait. The
prospect does not make her shudder.
The women of Paris die like that for
some reason or other. That peasant
woman who stops to speak 10 her is
carrying part of a New Years dinner to
some one. 1t is very important dish
that live hare. She carries it alive TO
the very doorstep of the purchaser, and
engaged in an animated conversation
with the concierge puts knife in the
jugular vein and bleeds the little animal
drop by drop, with a monotonous move
ment of her thumb.
If one will walk as far as the Champs !
Elysees smart women may be seen driv- !
ing in easy, cushioned victorias, wrap |
ped to their lips in furs, lips that look |
as If nature had used blue pencil to |
them. There are spiders, +" broughams, |
phaetons, drags, bicycles, handcarts fill |
ed with chestnuts, or the ''f1acre" with |
its yellow body and steamed windows. !
That woman who bowls along so |
smoothly in her English mail phaeton, |
with the harness and trappery Of un-
mistakable British make, is Yvette |
Guilbert. She has the reputation Of be- |
ing the most graceful as well as the /
most shocking woman in Paris. Just !
notice before she gets out of sight. She
wears no trimming on her sleeves, no
wrap to hide her arms Those long arms
are her stock in trade On the stage she
elongates them by wearing black gloves
those wonderful arms which she has
twined around the neck Of the public.
Closely following her are two ''bicy-
clettes, as they are called. The women
of the Faubourg ST. Germain may ride
in the country, but in the city the demi-
monde have the right Of way. No one
else wants it. Notice that padded white
gloved man, with his tiny stiff mustache,
who drives on the left side to show the
world to what class of society the wom-
an on the seat belongs, even if her gown
of yellow and black and the huge bunch
of violets did not proclaim the fact.
One misses the quaint musical din of
the cafe chantants- They are all under
glass now, appropriately, too, as if
they were social hotbeds which bloom
for the summer. But the Coincide Fran
caise, the Porte ST Martin and host
Of other theaters flourish, the opera is
nightly, and the wood of Bo-
logne throngs with skaters of both sexes.
There is a crispness in the air, an added
sprightness to the city, and Paris is
once more the city of the Partisan and
not the tourist
MAUDE JAMES Chiffon.
ErNrnctt0r Tsath nv Electricity.