FRENCH ALMANACKS FOR 1858. THE actual amount of incidents upon which our versatile and witty neighbours have had to comment this year has been very small indeed. The Peregrinations of the Emperor Napoleon III., the Visit to Osborne, the Military Displays at Châlons, the kingly and imperial greetings in Central Europe, come not within the province of the French Almanacks, which are, more than ever, restricted to harmless badinage. The presence of an American spirit-rapper, a Mr. Hume, has been a godsend in this respect, and many are the good things told at his expense. A new medium has, however, it is added, arrived to take the shine out of Mr. Hume. This is no less a personage than the celebrated Bilboquet, who has just returned from the United States, after serving two years as merman to the renowned Barnum. The non-arrival of the expected comet has also been a fertile theme for playful satire. There is, however, no ill wind that does not blow somebody good, and thus a proprietor of vineyards, who has not seen any wine these ten years, now passes his time in contemplating barrels full to the brim! He has been christened the Narcissus of the vineyard. Peace Societies, and Societies for the Protection of Animals, are laughed at in Paris as well as in London. A member of the former was, we are told, sent on a mission to convert crocodiles, and these scaly incorruptibles exhibited their true nature by devouring the advocate of peace. A member of the second confraternity visited Paris with a view to putting an end to the disgraceful traffic in maybugs. He made a splendid discourse to those who dealt in coleopterous insects upon the cruelty of their conduct. They consented to forego business upon the receipt of an indemnification. A subscription was in consequence opened in Paris by the Society, in order to pay this indemnity. A celebrated vocal artist, who has now been fifty years in retirement, gave a concert in the cause; this concert comprised a Proverb, enacted by the select of the Théâtre Saint-Marcel, a recital of Théramène (a fertile subject for satire, the poem being particularly recommended to mothers of fractious children, in order to lull them to sleep); and a fable by Viennet, entitled "The Philanthropist and the Maybug. Unfortunately the member of the Society for the Protection of Animals was, after all his successes, most ungratefully devoured on his way back by the maybugs of the Pas-de-Calais. The Clarence hat has, it appears, been worn out, and succeeded by the old Gibus, once again revived. Societies have been constituted for the revival also of wooden shoes, and the manufacture of sweetmeats from American nuts; but neither have met with brilliant success. The use of horseflesh as an aliment progresses but slowly. A certain professor has, however, it is reported, turned off his cook for persevering in bringing up legs of mutton. A trial excited a prodigious sensation, being for a crime almost unknown in Francecriminal conversation. It is well known how common such a dereliction to good manners is in England, in Italy, in Spain, in Germany, and even in Turkey. Luckily it is extremely rare-almost unknown-in France! The introduction of bridges for foot-passengers across the streets is attributed to a Madame Mitoufflet, who was one day splashed with VOL. XLII. 2 N mud on attempting to cross the Boulevard. Madame Mitoufflet immediately placed herself at the head of an insurrection of women against macadamisation, that being the accepted mode of proceeding in case of a grievance in Paris, and it must be acknowledged that it is a more lively and picturesque mode of proceeding than a letter to the Times. The municipal council, blockaded by the rebels in the Hôtel de Ville, was reduced to capitulation, and to consent to the erection of "passerelles," as they are called. A statue in honour of Madame Mitoufflet was inaugurated the same day that the first passerelle was raised, at the entrance of the Boulevard Montmartre. English civil engineers, we are also told, have arrived in Paris to study the art of raising passerelles, with a view to their introduction into this country. The Academy of Moral Sciences has also proposed, as subject for annual competition, an essay on their influence upon manners. A much-to-be regretted rupture has taken place between the president of the Society opposed to the celebration of the New-Year and his friend Cabassol, who perseveres in keeping up the system of New-Year's gifts. The Society, however, gains in strength; the great financier Gobsek has added his name to the list of members, and Lord Brougham has sent in his adhesion from Cannes. Sealed bonbons, en papillote, have been revived; a young and fantastic poet has been engaged by the firm Bossier, as writer of devices, at 6000 fr. a year. At a dinner given in one of the most fashionable hotels of the Chaussée d'Antin, one of the guests sang couplets at the dessert, and the innovation was received with marked success. The progress of pisciculture has introduced a new science-Piscithérapie, or the treatment of fish disease. A class has been formed to learn the new science at the Institute. A man of letters, who recently made an excursion to California, was surprised at meeting an old friend and quondam man of letters, accoutred as a wild Indian, and wearing rings in his nose. He recognised the savage whilst inquiring his way, and after exchanging mutual embraces they related their adventures. The one had become a commissioner to a dealer in champagne, the other had become the chief of an Indian tribe, after being their prisoner. The bagman's name was Gandissart, the Indian called himself Chin-ka-khi-ga-non, or "Rain that Marches." The Moving Rain-cloud endeavoured to persuade his friend to turn savage; the latter, however, resisted the temptation of having his nostrils pierced, and returned to the capital. It was from him that has arisen the prejudice now generally current, that all savages trace their origin from the Rue SaintDenis. Witness an absurd story of the mission of Miss Ophelia Macsupp to civilise Eastern pashas in respect to their harems, and who, after untold exertions, found that she had been wasting her energies and her eloquence upon one Oscar Coquenard, formerly a sub in the Zouaves, and now a bearded Turk and a luxurious Mohammedan in respect to Miss Macsupp's reforming labours. Such, indeed, is the origin of no small number of beys and pashas in modern times, if it is not the same with respect to wild Indians. The latter have, however, nothing to envy, so long as they have Mormon states in juxtaposition to them. Regattas have been transferred from the Thames to the Seine at Asnières. The consequence has been, as might have been anticipated, "triumph of the Parisian canotiers over the canotiers of the universe, and of a thousand other places !" M. Joseph Prudhomme has, we are told, willed all his worldly goods to Henri Monnier. M. Cadet Rousselle has commenced the publication of his Memoirs. The first volume contains his childhood, his first loves, and his metamorphosis into a sturgeon. The Parisians, it appears, continue to imagine that it is sufficient to rise early in the morning in order to imbibe pure milk, and that it is only after eight o'clock that water is added. "Let us," says a contributor to the Almanacks, "leave them so innocent an illusion, which, after all, we could no more deprive them of than we could a host of others which constitute their joy and happiness. The Parisians are, of all people, those who yield themselves up most readily to illusions. For thirty years they have fancied that they found amusement in tragedies, and the prejudice is even yet current. In the present day the Parisians imagine that they adore painting and music; let us also leave them that illusion." These, it might be added, are not all their illusions; for that the Parisian is at the tip-top of all things and everything, moral or intellectual, civil or military, in the universe, and as they themselves say, "in a thousand other places," is a fact admitted, without the smallest possible opening for scepticism, by every Parisian, male or female, child, youth, adult, or senile. The rest of the world (Parisian civility forbids the expression of the fact, but it is everywhere tacitly admitted) are outer barbarians. Even were this doubted, the literature of the Almanacks, which are the embodiment of the social and habitual feelings of the people, would show it in a hundred ways. A notice of the Manchester Exhibition, amusing enough in every point of view, will also serve to attest what we have just said: THE MANCHESTER EXHIBITION. It must be acknowledged that the English have strange ideas. First strange notion. To gather together in one place all the pictures that Old England possesses. Second strange notion. To place this exhibition at Manchester. If the first of these ideas had struck a Frenchman, it can be most assuredly affirmed that he would not have had the second. No one would have dared to suggest the founding such an exhibition at SaintEtienne, or any other manufacturing city. The French would have said to themselves: "The natural place for such an exhibition is Paris; it is at Paris that it must be, and nowhere else." The English did not even think of London.. They were told to go to Manchester to see pictures, and they went. Only try to persuade a Frenchman that pictures can be seen anywhere else than at Paris! Nevertheless, after having maturely reflected upon the matter, I think that of the two strange ideas which I have first spoken of, one might fairly be struck out. An exhibition of all the pictures in England being admitted, it can be conceived that this exhibition should be at Manchester and nowhere else. Manchester had the idea. Manchester carried it into execution. We consider ourselves to be an essentially artistic people, almost as much so as the Italians, and a thousand times more so than the English. Yet it never came into the head of the manufacturers of Saint-Quentin, of Mulhausen, or any other great industrial centre, to organise an exhibition of paintings. Even let us suppose them capable of such a fancy. Where will you find a proprietor of pictures willing to lend such for an exhibition at Saint-Quentin, at Mulhausen, or at Rive de Gier? Not one amateur would consent to part with a single canvas. Whether he is in the right or the wrong I do not stop to inquire; that which is certain is that he would keep his pictures at home, and he would show the door, with greater or less politeness, to the commissioners who might come to ask him, in the name of the founders of the exhibition. In England, on the contrary, everybody has lent himself with the greatest delight to the fancy of Manchester. It is known that England is one of the richest countries in Europe in galleries of valuable paintings; all these galleries took to the railway and went by themselves to the Crystal Palace, where places were prepared for them. Not a lord, or a baronet, or an esquire, who did not make it an act of pleasure to contribute to the adornment of the Manchester Exhibition. Never was such a collection of chefs d'œuvre seen. What extraordinary things there were in that exhibition! First extraordinary thing.-The idea of an exhibition of paintings originating in the head of the city of Manchester. Second extraordinary thing.-That everybody should accept the idea, and lend all the pictures that it may want to the town of Manchester. Third extraordinary thing. That people should go to see the exhibition. How many persons would you find in France who would put themselves out of the way to go and see an exhibition of old paintings at Mulhausen? Who would pay a franc for admission ? Not a thousand; not five hundred; two or three hundred, perhaps, at the most. The English flocked to Manchester from all parts of the United Kingdom, some came from foggy Scotland, others from green Erin, or from joyous England, (!) from Lancashire, from Yorkshire, from Chestershire, &c. &c. Upwards of ten thousand season tickets at two guineas (fifty francs) were actually taken before the opening of the Crystal Palace. Who would give fifty francs in France in order to enjoy the privilege of perpetual admission to an exhibition of paintings? The Parisians have not given up the idea of their pet city becoming a seaport. On the contrary, we are told that it is assuming daily a more and more maritime aspect; so much so, that Madame Chaumontel insisted the other day upon her husband allowing her to take salt-water baths in the Seine.* Railway companies have sent out societies of journalists to discover Switzerland and the Mediterranean. Those who were despatched to Marseilles have been so delighted with the place that they have refused to return to Paris. The Parisians do not appear to have so much to complain of as Londoners. The letters of oppressed Patres familiarum, unprotected females, and abused simplicity, rarely find their way into their journals. The following may be said to resume the history of the wants of the Parisians, and, their life being theatrical, their complaints have also mostly a histrionic bearing: There is a being who is always imperiously asking for New-Year's gifts, without ever obtaining them, and that is the public. The public asks this year, upon the occasion of entering into a new era: First, that the theatres shall not present them with too many of those pieces which are designated as Revues, in which a number of persons are made to appear and disappear like dissolving views, and in which myriads of couplets are sung to airs of exceeding novelty, as the "Bossus," "Tout le long de la rivière,” or "Quand on va boire à l'Ecu.” * Reports have also been current of a shoal of sardines having been seen at the Pont-Neuf; but it is not generally credited. Any more than the rumour that a herring with two heads was fished at St. Cloud. It also insists That the double basses should sink to the level of the stage, and not intercept the view of the figurantes' limbs. That the person who has to deliver the tickets for readmission should not wet his thumb. That the women who let out stools should not upset ten or fifteen people in carrying out their vocation. That the stalls should be so arranged as not to give rise to elbow and shoulder duels with one's neighbour. That the distributors of the Entr'acte, Argus, and Caricature should be a little less zealous, and not force you, in order to obtain entrance to a theatre, to jump over their journals, as the performers at a circus do over lines of ribbons. That the actresses should not look so much at the side scenes. That great comedians should not remain as débutants till the age of seventy, in order to entitle them to have their names printed on the bills in capitals. That the ingénues shall not have passed their apprenticeship in the cabinets of the Maison d'Or. The public also require— That a little less chocolate cream should be met with on the asphalte of the Boulevards in time of rain. That cabs should be sometimes found in the streets when they are really wanted. That houseless dogs should not be heard barking in the streets all night long. That the neighbours' cats should not be the orpheonists of the gutter at the same epoch of supposed tranquillity. That the little rest that succeeds to these combined symphonies should not be interrupted in the morning by the horns of the "marchands de fontaines." That restaurateurs should no longer make habitual mistakes in their addition -to their own advantage. That champagne should not cost twelve francs a bottle. That there should be lights under the tunnels on railroads. That hairdressers should not insist against your will in inundating your head with Athenian water, or other liquid cosmetics. That there should still be a few restaurateurs who can boast of a roastingjack. That the "portiers" of houses should be a little more civil. That all houses should not be infested with pianos. That rents should not be so extravagantly high. And lastly, and not least, that the prices of the necessities of life should bear some little or distant relation to the wages or receipts of the public. Crinoline comes in for its share of ridicule. A boat is represented capsizing in a squall, and all sail having to be taken suddenly in, a forced collapse takes place in a lady's lower garment. The ladies on their side 'may comfort themselves that mad dogs cannot get near them, and that they are thus, by their crinolines, placed out of danger of hydrophobiaan important consideration with a Parisian. "Les jupons Malakoff, facilitant aux dames la promenade par eau de Paris a Saint-Cloud," presents the same thing under another aspect. Among the curiosities of modern Paris, the stranger is particularly recommended a descent and morning walk in the sewers; a little rest on the Pont Royal, to listen to the blind player on the clarionet; to visit at midday the cell at the Préfecture where the dogs suspected of madness are confined; in the afternoon, a walk on the new Boulevard de Sébastopol, keeping, if possible, out of the way of falling materials; and a call in at |