The Complete Writings, vol 2 | Page 8

dwells so much on eating, or lets his heroes pull at the
pewter mugs so often. Perhaps one might find a better lunch in Paris,
but he surely couldn't find this one.

PARIS IN MAY--FRENCH GIRLS--THE EMPEROR AT
LONGCHAMPS
It was the first of May when we came up from Italy. The spring grew
on us as we advanced north; vegetation seemed further along than it
was south of the Alps. Paris was bathed in sunshine, wrapped in
delicious weather, adorned with all the delicate colors of blushing
spring. Now the horse-chestnuts are all in bloom) and so is the
hawthorn; and in parks and gardens there are rows and alleys of trees,
with blossoms of pink and of white; patches of flowers set in the light
green grass; solid masses of gorgeous color, which fill all the air with
perfume; fountains that dance in the sunlight as if just released from
prison; and everywhere the soft suffusion of May. Young maidens who
make their first communion go into the churches in processions of
hundreds, all in white, from the flowing veil to the satin slipper; and I
see them everywhere for a week after the ceremony, in their robes of
innocence, often with bouquets of flowers, and attended by their friends;
all concerned making it a joyful holiday, as it ought to be. I hear, of
course, with what false ideas of life these girls are educated; how they
are watched before marriage; how the marriage is only one of
arrangement, and what liberty they eagerly seek afterwards. I met a

charming Paris lady last winter in Italy, recently married, who said she
had never been in the Louvre in her life; never had seen any of the
magnificent pictures or world-famous statuary there, because girls were
not allowed to go there, lest they should see something that they ought
not to see. I suppose they look with wonder at the young American
girls who march up to anything that ever was created, with undismayed
front.
Another Frenchwoman, a lady of talent and the best breeding, recently
said to a friend, in entire unconsciousness that she was saying anything
remarkable, that, when she was seventeen, her great desire was to
marry one of her uncles (a thing not very unusual with the papal
dispensation), in order to keep all the money in the family! That was
the ambition of a girl of seventeen.
I like, on these sunny days, to look into the Luxembourg Garden:
nowhere else is the eye more delighted with life and color. In the
afternoon, especially, it is a baby-show worth going far to see. The
avenues are full of children, whose animated play, light laughter, and
happy chatter, and pretty, picturesque dress, make a sort of fairy grove
of the garden; and all the nurses of that quarter bring their charges there,
and sit in the shade, sewing, gossiping, and comparing the merits of the
little dears. One baby differs from another in glory, I suppose; but I
think on such days that they are all lovely, taken in the mass, and all in
sweet harmony with the delicious atmosphere, the tender green, and the
other flowers of spring. A baby can't do better than to spend its spring
days in the Luxembourg Garden.
There are several ways of seeing Paris besides roaming up and down
before the blazing shop-windows, and lounging by daylight or gaslight
along the crowded and gay boulevards; and one of the best is to go to
the Bois de Boulogne on a fete-day, or when the races are in progress.
This famous wood is very disappointing at first to one who has seen the
English parks, or who remembers the noble trees and glades and
avenues of that at Munich. To be sure, there is a lovely little lake and a
pretty artificial cascade, and the roads and walks are good; but the trees
are all saplings, and nearly all the "wood" is a thicket of small stuff.
Yet there is green grass that one can roll on, and there is a grove of
small pines that one can sit under. It is a pleasant place to drive toward
evening; but its great attraction is the crowd there. All the principal

avenues are lined with chairs, and there people sit to watch the streams
of carriages.
I went out to the Bois the other day, when there were races going on;
not that I went to the races, for I know nothing about them, per se, and
care less. All running races are pretty much alike. You see a lean horse,
neck and tail, flash by you, with a jockey in colors on his back; and that
is the whole of it. Unless you have some money on it, in