Footnotes [1] The "lettre de faire part" is an intimation of a birth, marriage, or death sent to the friends, and even mere acquaintances, of a family.—Editor. [2] The lithographers were almost the first in France to form a co-operative society, but not in the sense of the Rochdale pioneers, which dates from about the same period. The Lacrampe Association was for supplying lithographic work. It began in the Passage du Caire with ten members, and in a short time numbered two hundred workmen.—Editor. [3] Guillaume LethiÈre, whose real name was Guillon, was a native of Guadeloupe. He fought and seriously wounded several officers because the latter had objected to "a mere dauber wearing moustaches." He was obliged to leave Paris, but, thanks to the protection of Lucien Bonaparte, was appointed Director of the French AcadÉmie at Rome.—Editor. [4] This reluctance to handle coppers proved a sore grief to his more economical and less fastidious brother Paul, who watched like a guardian angel over his junior, whom he worshipped. It is on record that he only said a harsh word to him once in his life, namely, when they wanted to make him, Paul, a member of the AcadÉmie FranÇaise. "C'est bien assez d'un immortel dans la famille," he replied to those who counselled him to stand. Then, turning to his brother, "Je ne comprends pas pourquoi tu t'es fourrÉ dans cette galÈre, si elle est assez grande pour moi, tu dois y Être joliment À l'Étroit." It is difficult to imagine a greater instance of brotherly pride and admiration, because Paul de Musset was by no means a nonentity, only from a very early age he had always merged his individuality in that of Alfred. To some one who once remarked upon this in my hearing, he answered, "Que voulez-vous? c'est comme cela: Alfred a eu toujours la moitiÉ du lit, seulement la moitiÉ Était toujours prise du milieu." [5] The name of the military prison which was originally built on the site of the former CollÉge Montaigu, where the scholars were almost exclusively fed on haricot beans. Throughout its removals the prison preserved its nickname.—Editor. [6] There were two Tivoli gardens, both in the same neighbourhood, the site of the present Quartier de l'Europe. The author is alluding to the second, so often mentioned in the novels of Paul de Kock.—Editor. [7] The latter plea was, in fact, advanced by Pillet's counsel in the first instance, on Roqueplan's advice, and perhaps influenced the court; for though it gave a verdict for the plaintiff, it was only for seven francs (the price of the stall), and costs. The verdict was based upon the "consideration" that the defendant had not carried out altogether the promise set forth on the programme. [8] Alexandre Dumas had a marvellously small foot.—Editor. [9] Literally, a basket with holes in it; figuratively, the term applied to irreclaimable spendthrifts.—Editor. [10] The word "shrew" is the nearest equivalent.—Editor. [11] Jules-Henri de Saint-Georges, one of the most fertile librettists of the time, the principal collaborateur of Scribe, and best known in England as the author of the book of Balfe's "Bohemian Girl."—Editor. [12] The ÉlysÉe-Bourbon, which was the official residence of Louis-NapolÉon during his presidency of the second republic, was almost untenanted during the reign of Louis-Philippe.

The HÔtel Pontalba was partly built on the site of the former mansion of M. de Morfontaine, a staunch royalist, who, curiously enough, had married the daughter of Le Peletier de Saint-Fargeau, the member of the Convention who had voted the death of Louis XVI., and who himself fell by the hand of an assassin. Mdlle. le Peletier Saint-Fargeau was called "La Fille de la Nation."—Editor. [13] One of the great wits of the Revolution.—Editor. [14] M. EugÈne Pelletan, the father of M. Camille Pelletan, the editor of La Justice, and first lieutenant to M. Clemenceau, having severely criticized some passages in M. Blanc's "Histoire de la RÉvolution," relating to Marie-Antoinette, the author quoted a passage of Madame Campan's "MÉmoires" in support of his writings. The critic refused to admit the conclusiveness of the proof, whereupon M. Blanc appealed to the SociÉtÉ des Gens de Lettres, which, on the summing up of M. Taxile Delord, gave a verdict in his favour. M. Pelletan declined to submit to the verdict, as he had refused to admit the jurisdiction, of the tribunal. M. Blanc, who had at first scouted all idea of a duel, considered himself obliged to resort to this means of obtaining satisfaction, seeing that M. Pelletan stoutly maintained his opinion. A meeting had been arranged when the Revolution of '48 broke out. The opponents having both gone to the HÔtel-de-Ville, met by accident at the entrance, and fell into one another's arms. "Thank Heaven!" exclaimed Thiers, when he heard of it. "If Pelletan had killed Blanc, I should have been the smallest man in France."

M. Blanc's allusion to other "preux chevaliers" aimed particularly at M. Cousin, who, having become a minister against his will, resumed with a sigh of relief his studies under the Second Empire. He was especially fond of the seventeenth century, and all at once he, who had scarcely ever noticed a pretty woman, became violently smitten with the Duchesse de Longueville, who had been in her grave for nearly two centuries. He positively invested her with every perfection, moral and mental; unfortunately, he could not invest her with a shapely bust, the evidence being too overwhelmingly against her having been adorned that way. One day some one showed him a portrait of the sister of the "grand CondÉ," in which she was amply provided with the charms the absence of which M. Cousin regretted. He wrote a special chapter on the subject, and was well-nigh challenging all his contradictors.—Editor. [15] The great fencing-master, whom Dumas immortalized in his "MaÎtre d'Armes."—Editor. [16] The English nobleman must have been Lord Malmesbury, who alludes to her as follows: "This was a most remarkable woman, and may be said by her conduct at Munich to have set fire to the magazine of revolution, which was ready to burst forth all over Europe, and which made the year 1848 memorable. I made her acquaintance by accident, as I was going up to London from Heron Court, in the railway. The Consul at Southampton asked me to take charge of a Spanish lady who had been recommended to his care, and who had just landed. I consented to do this, and was introduced by him to a remarkably handsome person, who was in deep mourning, and who appeared to be in great distress. As we were alone in the carriage, she, of her own accord, informed me, in bad English, that she was the widow of Don Diego Leon, who had lately been shot by the Carlists after he was taken prisoner, and that she was going to London to sell some Spanish property that she possessed, and give lessons in singing, as she was very poor. On arriving in London she took some lodgings, and came to my house to a little concert which I gave, and sang some Spanish ballads. Her accent was foreign, and she had all the appearance of being what she pretended to be. She sold different things, such as veils, etc., to the party present, and received a good deal of patronage. Eventually she took an engagement for the ballet at the Opera House, but her dancing was very inferior. At last she was recognized as an impostor, her real name being Mrs. James, and Irish by extraction, and had married an officer in India. Her engagement at the OpÉra was cancelled, she left the country, and retired to Munich. She was a very violent woman, and actually struck one of the Bavarian generals as he was reviewing the troops. The king became perfectly infatuated with her beauty and cleverness, and gave her large sums of money, with a title, which she afterwards bore when she returned to England." ("Memoirs of an Ex-minister," by the Earl of Malmesbury.)

Lord Malmesbury is wrong in nearly every particular which he has got from hearsay. Lola MontÈs did not retire to Munich after her engagement at the Opera House had been cancelled, but to Brussels, and from there to Warsaw. Nor did she play the all-important part in the Bavarian riots or revolution he ascribes to her. The author of these notes has most of the particulars of Lola MontÈs' career previous to her appearance in Munich from her own lips, and, as he has already said, she was not in the least reticent about her scheming, especially when her scheming had failed. For the story of the events at Munich, I gather inferentially from his notes that he is indebted to Karl von Abel, King Ludwig's ultramontane minister, who came afterwards to Paris, and who, if I mistake not, was the father or the uncle of Herr von Abel, the Berlin correspondent of the Times, some fourteen or fifteen years ago.—Editor. [17] Lola MontÈs was perfectly correct. It was Frederick IV. of Denmark, only the woman was not an adventuress like herself, but the Countess Reventlow, whom he had abducted.—Editor. [18] "Companions in Walhalla."—Editor. [19] The following is virtually a summary of an article by Count G. de Contades, in a French bibliographical periodical, Le Livre (Dec. 10, 1885), and shows how near Alexandre Dumas was to the truth. I have given it at great length. My excuse for so doing is the extraordinary popularity of Dumas' play with all classes of playgoers. As a consequence, there is not a single modern play, with the exception of those of Shakespeare, the genesis of which has been so much commented upon. It is no exaggeration to say that most educated playgoers, not to mention professional students of the drama, have at some time or other expressed a wish to know something more of the real Marguerite Gautier's parentage and antecedents than is shown by Dumas, either in his play or in his novel, or than what they could gather from the partly apocryphal details given by her contemporaries. Dumas himself, in his preface to the play, says that she was a farm servant. He probably knew no more than that, nor did Alphonsine Plessis herself. In after-years, the eminent dramatist had neither the time nor the inclination to search musty parish registers; Count de Contades has done so for him. Here are the results, as briefly as possible, of his researches. Alphonsine Plessis' paternal grandmother, "moitiÉ mendiante et moitiÉ prostituÉe," inhabited, a little less than a century ago, the small parish of LongÉ-sur-Maire, which has since become simply LongÉ in the canton of Briouze, arrondissement of Argentan (about thirty miles from AlenÇon). She had been nicknamed "La GuÉnuchetonne," a rustic version of the archaic French word guÉnippe (slattern). Louis Descours, a kind of country clod who had entered the priesthood without the least vocation, and just because his people wished him to do so, becomes enamoured of "La GuÉnuchetonne," and early in January, 1790, the curÉ Philippe christens a male child, which is registered as Marin Plessis, mother Louis-RenÉe Plessis, father unknown. That the father was known well enough is proved by the Christian name bestowed upon the babe, Marin, which was that of Louis Descours' father. This gallant adventure of the country priest was an open secret for miles around.

Marin Plessis grew into a handsome fellow, and when about twenty took to travelling in the adjacent provinces of lower and upper Normandy with a pack of small wares. Handsome and amiable besides, he was a welcome guest everywhere, and soon became a great favourite with the female part of the Normandy peasantry. For a little while he flitted from one rustic beauty to another, until he was fairly caught by one more handsome than the rest, Marie Deshayes. She was not, perhaps, immaculately virtuous, but, apart from her extraordinary personal attractions, she was something more than an ordinary peasant girl.

Some sixty years before Marin Plessis' union with Marie Deshayes, there lived in the neighbourhood of Evreux a spinster lady of good descent, though not very well provided with worldly goods. She was comely and sweet-tempered enough, but then, as now, comeliness and a sweet temper do not count for much in the French matrimonial market, and least of all in the provincial one. Owing to the modesty of her marriage portion, she had no suitors for her hand, and, being of an exceedingly amorous disposition, she bestowed her affection where she could, "without regret, and without false shame," as the old French chronicler has it.

The annals of the village—for, curiously enough, these annals do exist, though only in manuscripts—are commendably reticent about the exact number and names of her lovers. It would seem that the author, a contemporary of Mdlle. Anne du Mesnil d'Argentelles and the great-grandfather of the present possessor of the notes, a gentleman near Bernay, was divided between the wish of not being too hard upon his neighbour, who was, after all, a gentle-woman, and the desire to leave a record of a peculiar phase of the country manners of those days to posterity. Be this as it may, Mdlle. d'Argentelles' swains, previous to the very last one, have been doomed to anonymous obscurity. But with the advent of Étienne Deshayes, the annalist becomes less reticent, he is considered worthy of being mentioned in full, perhaps as a reward for having finally "made an honest woman" of his inamorata. For that is the final upshot of the love-story between him and Mdlle. d'Argentelles, which, in its earlier stages, bears a certain resemblance to that between Jean-Jacques Rousseau and Madame de Warens, with this difference—that the Normand Jean-Jacques is considerably older than his mistress.

The children born of this marriage were very numerous. One of them, Louis-Deshayes, married a handsome peasant girl, Marie-Madeleine Marra, who appears to have been somewhat too intimate with a neighbouring squire, but who gave birth a few years after to a daughter, of whose paternity there could not be the smallest doubt, seeing that she grew up into a speaking likeness of her maternal grandmother, the erstwhile Mdlle. Anne du Mesnil d'Argentelles. Fate ought to have had a better lot in store for beautiful Marie Deshayes than a marriage with a poor pedlar like Marin Plessis; but the latter was very handsome, and, notwithstanding the opposition of the family, she became his wife. On the 15th of January, 1824, the child which was to be immortalized as "La Dame aux CamÉlias" saw the light, in a small village in Lower Normandy.—Editor. [20] Curiously enough, he belonged to the same department, and died almost on the very spot where Marin Plessis was born.—Editor. [21] An imitation of the line of Don Carlos in Hugo's "Hernani": "Empereur!... au refus de FrÉdÉric-le-Sage!"—Editor. [22] It shows that Lireux was not very familiar with the royal edicts affecting that order, and that Balzac himself exaggerated the social and monetary importance of its wearers. For, though Louis-Philippe at his accession suppressed the order, not less than twelve thousand new knights had been created by his two immediate predecessors. They, the recently created knights, were allowed to retain their honours and pensions; but, even before the fall of the Bourbons, the distinction had lost much of its prestige. After the Battle of Navarino, Admiral de Rigny, soliciting rewards for his officers who had distinguished themselves, tacitly ignored the order of Saint-Louis in favour of that of the Legion of Honour. The order, as founded by Louis XIV. in 1693, was only available to officers and Catholics. Several modifications were introduced afterwards in its statutes. The Order of Saint-Louis and that of "Military Merit" were the only two recognized by the Constituent Assembly of 1789; but the Convention suppressed the former, only leaving the latter.—Editor. [23] The play upon the word is scarcely translatable. "Contre-maÎtre" in the singular means foreman; as it is used here it means against the master.—Editor. [24] RÉgnier's nose was always a subject of jokes among his fellow-actors. "It is not because it is large," said Beauvallet, "but because it is his principal organ of speech."—Editor. [25] Damages claimed by one of the parties, pending the final verdict.—Editor. [26] Curiously enough, it was Émile Augier's "AventuriÈre" that caused Mdlle. Plessy's secession, just as it did thirty-five years later, in the case of Mdlle. Sarah Bernhardt.—Editor. [27] There are several English versions of the play, and I am under the impression that the late Tom Robertson was inspired by it when he adapted "Caste." I allude to that scene in the third act, where George d'Alroy returns unexpectedly and where Polly Eccles breaks the news to her sister.—Editor. [28] I have taken some pains to unearth this play. It was called "Amazampo; or, The Discovery of Quinine." The scene was laid in Peru in 1636. Amazampo, the chief of a Peruvian tribe, is in love with MaÏda, who on her part is in love with Ferdinand, the son of the viceroy. Amazampo is heart-broken, and is stricken down with fever. In his despair and partial delirium he tries to poison himself, and drinks the water of a pool in which several trunks of a tree called kina, reported poisonous, have been lying for years. He feels the effect almost immediately, but not the effect he expected. He recovers, and takes advantage of his recovered health to forget his love passion, and to be avenged upon the oppressors of his country, many of whom are dying with fever. Lima becomes a huge cemetery. Then the wife of the viceroy is stricken down. MaÏda wishes to save her, but is forestalled by Amazampo, who compels Dona Theodora to drink the liquor, and so forth. But Amazampo and MaÏda die.—Editor. [29] Alexis Azevedo, one of the best musical critics of the time, as enthusiastic in his likes as unreasoning in his dislikes. He became a fervent admirer of FÉlicien David.—Editor. [30] Written in 1882. [31] The HÔtel Bullion was formerly the town mansion of the financier of that name, and situated in the Rue CoquilliÈre.—Editor. [32] The annual salon was held in the Louvre then; in 1849 it was transferred to the Tuileries. In 1850, '51, and '52 it was removed to the galleries of the Palais-Royal; in 1853 and '54 the salon was held in the HÔtel des Menus-Plaisirs, in the Faubourg PoissonniÈre, which became afterwards the storehouse for the scenery of the Grand OpÉra. In 1855 the exhibition took place in a special annex of the Palais de l'Industrie; after that, it was lodged in the Palais itself.—Editor. [33] Alfred de Dreux was not an unknown figure in London society. He came in 1848. He was a kind of Comte d'Orsay, and painted chiefly equestrian figures. After the Coup d'État he returned to Paris, and was patronized by society, and subsequently by NapolÉon III. himself, whose portrait he painted. He was killed in a duel, the cause of which has never been revealed.—Editor. [34] Laurent-Jan was a witty, though incorrigibly idle journalist. He is entirely forgotten now save by such men as MM. ArsÈne Houssaye and Roger de Beauvoir, who were his contemporaries. He was the author of a clever parody on Kotzebue's "Menschenhasz und Reue," known on the English stage as "The Stranger."—Editor. [35] When there was no public occasion, his political antagonists or merely practical jokers who knew of his dislike invented one, like Edouard d'Ourliac, a well-known journalist and the author of several novels, who, whenever he had nothing better to do, recruited a band of street arabs to go and sing the Marseillaise under the king's windows. They kept on singing until Louis-Philippe, in sheer self-defence, was obliged to come out and join in the song.—Editor. [36] In France it is the Patron Saint's day, not the birthday, that is kept. [37] I have inserted them here in order not to fall into repetitions on the same subject.—Editor. [38] Louis-FranÇois Dubois, the author of several heroic poems, "AnkarstrÖm," "GeneviÈve et Siegfried," etc., which are utterly forgotten. His main title to the recollection of posterity consists in his having saved, during the Revolution, a great many literary works of value, which he returned to the State afterwards.—Editor. [39] It reminds one of the answer of the younger Dumas to a gentleman whose wife had been notorious for her conjugal faithlessness, and whose sons were all weaklings. "Ah, Monsieur Dumas, c'est un fils comme vous qu'il me fallait," he exclaimed. "Mon cher monsieur," came the reply, "quand on veut avoir un fils comme moi, il faut le faire soi-mÊme."—Editor. [40] She had unconsciously borrowed the words from the Duchesse de Coislin, who, under similar circumstances a few years before, said to Madame de Chateaubriand, "Cela sent la parvenue; nous autres, femmes de la cour, nous n'avions que deux chemises; on les renouvelait quand elles Étaient usÉes; nous Étions vÊtues de robes de soie et nous n'avions pas l'air de grisettes comme ces demoiselles de maintenant."—Editor. [41] The mother of Prince Ferdinand of Saxe-Coburg, the present ruler of Bulgaria. She was a particular favourite of Queen Victoria, and Louis-Philippe himself not only considered her the cleverest of his three daughters, but the most likely successor to his sister Adelaide, as his private adviser. That the estimate of her abilities was by no means exaggerated, subsequent events have proved. The last time I saw the princess was at the garden party at Sheen-House, on the occasion of the silver wedding of the Count and Countess de Paris. I did not remember her for the moment, for a score of years had made a difference. I asked an Austrian attachÉ who she was. The answer came pat, "Alexander III.'s nightmare, Francis-Joseph's bogy, and Bismarck's sleeping draught; one of the three clever women in Europe; Bulgaria's mother."—Editor. [42] There was a similar divergence of dynastic opinion during the Second Empire between the sovereign and those placed very near him on the throne. When Alphonse Daudet came to Paris to make a name in literature, the Duc de Morny offered him a position as secretary. "Before I accept it, monsieur le duc, I had better tell you that I am a Legitimist," replied the future novelist. "Don't let that trouble you," laughed De Morny; "so am I to a certain extent, and the Empress is even more of a Legitimist than I am."—Editor. [43] In order to understand this dread on Montauban's part, the English reader should be told that the term pÉkin is the contemptuous nickname for the civilian, with the French soldier.—Editor. [44] The author, as will be seen directly, saw nothing of that massacre, though he must have passed within a few hundred yards of the spot immediately before it began. It would have been the same if he had; he could not have explained the cause, seeing that the most painstaking historians who have consulted the most trustworthy eye-witnesses have failed to do so. It will always remain a mystery whence the first shot came, whether from the military who were drawn up across the Boulevard des Capucines, on the spot where now stands the Grand CafÉ, or from the crowd that wanted to pass, in order to proceed to Odilon-Barrot's to serenade him, because, notwithstanding the opposition of the king, he was to be included in the new ministry, which MolÉ had been instructed to form. It may safely be said, however, that, but for that shot and the slaughter consequent upon it, the revolution might have been averted then—after all, perhaps, only temporarily.—Editor. [45] The author is slightly mistaken. The two ugliest men in France in the nineteenth century were Andrieux, who wrote "Les Étourdis," and LittrÉ; but Cremieux ran them very hard.—Editor. [46] So called after a large ornamental fountain; the same, I believe, which subsequently was transferred to what is now called the Place de la RÉpublique, and which finally found its way to the Avenue Daumesnil, where it stands at present.—Editor. [47] In the documents relating to the affair at Strasburg, there is the report to Louis-Philippe by an officer in the 46th regiment of the line, named PleignÉ, in which the latter, borrowing the process of Balzac as applied to the French of the Baron de Nucingen, credits Louis-NapolÉon with the following phrase: "Fous Êtes tecorÉ de Chuillet; fous tefez Être un prafe, che vous tÉcore."—Editor. [48] The four knights of a Carlovingian legend, who were mounted on one horse named Bayard.—Editor. [49] During the sacking of the Tuileries, the mob ruthlessly destroyed the busts and pictures of every living son of Louis-Philippe, with the exception of those of the Prince de Joinville.—Editor. [50] The remark was not original. The Marquise d'EspremÉnil said it of herself when she saw her son join the Revolution of '89.—Editor. [51] The peripatetic vendors of songs, dressed as nobles, who up till '60 were frequently singing their compositions in the street.—Editor. [52] FrÉdÉric Xavier de MÉrode was the descendant of an ancient Flemish family, and became an influential member of the Prelatura. He took an active share in the organization of the Papal troops which fought at Mentana. There is a romantic but absolutely true story connected with his military career. He was from his very youth intended for the priesthood, but one day, when he was but nineteen, he had a quarrel with a fellow-student, who gave him a box on the ears. M. de MÉrode was too conscientious a Catholic to fight a duel, and still his pride forbade him to remain under the imputation of being a coward. So he enlisted first in a Belgian, subsequently in a foreign regiment, and proved his courage. He was very hot-tempered, and had frequent disagreements with Generals LamoriciÈre and De Guyon, and even with Pius IX. himself, who, on the occasion of the promulgation of the decree of infallibility, positively forbade him to enter the Vatican again. But he soon afterwards made his peace with the Pontiff. His worst enemies—and he had many—never questioned his sincerity and loyalty.—Editor. [53] If Comte Walewski ruled NapolÉon III., the second Comtesse Walewska, who was an Italian by birth and very handsome, absolutely ruled her husband. The first Comtesse Walewska was Lord Sandwich's daughter.—Editor. [54] It is equally curious to note, perhaps, that M. GrÉvy, who occupied the presidential chair of the Third Republic for a longer period than his two predecessors, was in many respects like Louis-Philippe, notably in his love of money.—Editor. [55] Before that it bore the name of the Rue des Trois-Hautbois, and in the heyday of the Second Empire it was changed into the Rue EugÈne-Rouher. But at the fall of Sedan the indignation against the Emperor's powerful minister was so great that his carriages had to be removed from Riom lest they should be burned by the mob, and the street resumed its old appellation. In November, 1887, three years after Rouher's death, I happened to be at Clermont-Ferrand waiting for General Boulanger to go to Paris. I went over to Riom and had a look at the house. It was occupied by a carpenter or joiner, to whose father it had been sold years previously by the express wish of one of EugÈne Rouher's daughters. I got into conversation with an intelligent inhabitant of the town, who told me that on the 4th of September, 1870, the feeling against Rouher was much stronger than against Louis-NapolÉon himself, yet that feeling was an implied compliment to Rouher. "He was the cleverer of the two," the people shouted; "he ought not to have allowed the Emperor to engage in this war. He could have prevented it with one word." Nevertheless, in a little while it abated, and Rouher was elected a member of the National Assembly.—Editor. [56] De Morny's prophecy turned out correct. M. EugÈne Rouher died a poor man. There is a comic story connected with this poverty. At the beginning of the Republic, and during the presidency of Thiers, Rouher's house was constantly watched by detectives. The weather was abominably bad; it rained constantly. Madame Rouher sent them some cotton umbrellas, excusing herself for not sending silk ones, because she could not afford it.—Editor. [57] The diminutive of "cave" (cellar). Really a gathering of poets and songwriters, which reached its highest reputation in Paris during the early part of the present century. The Saturday nights at the Savage Club are perhaps the nearest approach to it in London.—Editor. [58] The term for the French bench, consisting of judges; the parquet, i. e. those to whom the public prosecution is confided, are called "la magistrature debout." As a rule, the latter have a great deal more talent than the former. "What are you going to do with your son?" asked a gentleman of his friend. "I am going to make a magistrate of him—'debout,' if he is strong enough to keep on his legs; 'assis,' if he be not."—Editor. [59] The author alludes to the Madame Cardinal of Ludovic HalÉvy, who sequestrates her daughter because the baron, her would-be protector, is hanging back with the settlements.—Editor. [60] Dupin's feet were enormous, and, furthermore, invariably shod in thick, hobnailed bluchers. He himself was always jestingly alluding to them; and one day, on the occasion of a funeral of a friend, which he could not possibly attend, he suggested sending his boots instead. "People send their empty conveyance: I'll send mine," he said.—Editor. [61] MÉrimÉe, the author of "Carmen," who knew something of Spanish women, and of the female members of the Montijo family in particular, said that God had given them the choice between love and wit, and that they had chosen the former.—Editor. [62] The lampion was the three-cornered hat, cocked on all sides alike in the shape of a spout, and stiffened with wire.—Editor. [63] "Wearing the king's button" is a very old French sporting term, signifying permission to wear the dress or the buttons or both, similar to those of the monarch when following the hounds.—Editor. [64] Known on the English stage as the "Queen's Shilling," by Mr. Godfrey.—Editor. [65] The Sainte-EugÉnie, according to the Church Calendar. In France, it is not the birthday, but the day of the patron-saint whose name one bears, which is celebrated.—Editor. [66] "D'Hozier," the French "Burke," so named after its founder, Pierre D'Hozier, the creator of the science of French genealogy.—Editor. [67] Anne, Louise, BÉnÉdicte de Bourbon, Princesse de CondÉ, who married the Duc du Maine, the illegitimate son of Louis XIV. and Madame de Montespan. She disliked her husband, whom she considered socially beneath her, and who was very ugly besides. The lines quoted above are probably not hers, but Malezieu's, "her poet in ordinary," who also organized her amateur theatricals.—Editor. [68] Idiomatically, "the bores, the spoil-sports, or wet-blankets."—Editor. [69] A character of one of MoliÈre's plays, who lends her name to the play itself, and who, with her provincial clique, apes the manners of the court. [70] Mesdames Du Barry and Pompadour. [71] "Équipage" is the right word. Applied to any but military or hunting uses, it is out of place, though frequently thus used.—Editor. [72] My translation by no means renders the vulgarity of the sentence. The French have three words to express their contempt for a speaker's opinion, se moquer, se ficher, and se ... I omit the latter, but even the second is rarely used in decent society.—Editor. [73] It is a mistake. Not to mention Camille Desmoulins, who, when asked his age by his judge, replied, "The age of another sans-culotte, Jesus." Esquiros frequently spoke of "that good patriot, Christ;" Lammenais began the draft of his constitution with "In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, and by the will of the French people."—Editor. [74] Of course, David meant the spot where the remains had been interred at first.—Editor. [75] In 1782, when Heurtier, the architect, submitted his plan of the building which was intended for the Italian singing-actors, the latter offered a determined opposition to the idea of the theatre facing the Boulevards, lest they should be confounded with the small theatres on the Boulevard du Temple and in the direction of the present Boulevard des Filles-du-Calvaire. This extraordinary vanity was lampooned on all sides, and especially in a quatrain, which I forbear to quote even in French.—Editor. [76] Alexandre Dumas referred to a story in connection with the Comte de Saint-Simon and Madame de StaËl which is not very generally known. One day the head of the new sect went to see the authoress of "Corinne." "Madame," he said, "vous Êtes la femme la plus remarquable en France; moi, je suis l'homme le plus remarquable. Si nous nous arrangions À vivre quelques mois ensemble, nous aurions peut-Être l'enfant le plus remarquable sur la terre." Madame de StaËl politely declined the honour. As for the epithet of "l'ignorant" which Dumas was fond of applying to himself, it arose from the fact of Dumas, the celebrated professor of chemistry, being spoken of as "Dumas le savant." "Done," laughed the novelist, "je suis Dumas l'ignorant."—Editor. [77] Joseph Ferrari was an Italian by birth, but spent a great part of his time in France. He is best known by his "Philosophes SalariÉs," and died in Rome, 1876.—Editor. [78] I believe there exists an English version of the play, entitled "A Son of the Soil." I am not certain of the title.—Editor. [79] It was, in fact, an English officer who shouted, "Messieurs des gardes franÇaises, tirez;" to which the French replied, "Messieurs, nous ne tirons jamais les premiers; tirez vous mÊmes." But it was not politeness that dictated the reply; it was the expression of the acknowledged and constantly inculcated doctrine that all infantry troops which fired the first were indubitably beaten. We find the doctrine clearly stated in the infantry instructions of 1672, and subsequently in the following order of Louis XIV. to his troops: "The soldier shall be taught not to fire the first, and to stand the fire of the enemy, seeing that an enemy who has fired is assuredly beaten when his adversary has his powder left." At the battle of Dettingen, consequently, two years before Fontenoy, the theory had been carried beyond the absurd by expressly forbidding the Gardes to fire, though they were raked down by the enemy's bullets. Maurice de Saxe makes it a point to praise the wisdom of a colonel who, in order to prevent his troops from firing, constantly made them shoulder their muskets.—Editor. [80] "The receiver of the goods stolen from monarchies."—Editor. [81] In olden times, every community, corporation, and guild in France elected annually a king;—even the mendicants, whose ruler took the title of King PÉtaud, from the Latin peto, I ask. The latter's court, as a matter of course, was a perfect bear-garden, in which every one did as he liked, in which every one was as much sovereign as the titular one. The expression, "the Court of King PÉtaud," became a synonym for everything that was disorderly, ridiculous, and disgusting.

"Oui, je sors de chez vous fort mal ÉdifiÉe;
Dans toutes mes leÇons j'y suis contrariÉe;
On n'y respecte rien, chacun y parle haut,
Et c'est tout justement la cour du roi PÉtaud."

(MoliÈre, "Tartuffe," Act i. Sc. 1.)—Editor. [82] The first from "Les Mousquetaires de la Reine;" the second from "Charles VI."—Editor. [83] Goethe, in his journey through France, noticed that the peasants who drove his carriage invariably refused to eat the soldiers' bread, which he found to his taste.—Editor. [84] "Mettre du beurre dans ses Épinards," means, figuratively, to increase one's comforts.—Editor. [85] The proverb is, "Ventre affamÉ n'a pas d'oreilles."—Editor. [86] The Arab kuskus generally consists of a piece of mutton baked in a paste with the vegetables of the season, flavoured with herbs; and the addition of half a dozen hard-boiled eggs. The whole of the flesh is boned.—Editor. [87] Five hundred French grammes make seventeen ounces English, and a fraction.—Editor. [88] A similar measure had been decided upon in 1814, under analogous circumstances, but the maximum was twenty francs instead of fifty francs.—Editor. [89] A curious feature in connection with the pledging of tools and implements may be recorded here. At the termination of the siege, a committee in London transmitted 20,000 francs (£800) for the express purpose of redeeming these. The Paris committee entrusted with the task, while grateful for the solicitude shown, rightly considered that it would not go very far, considering that, at the time, the Mont-de-PiÉtÉ held a total of 1,708,549 articles, representing loans to the amount of 37,502,743 francs. The authorities took particular pains to publish the receipt of the 20,000 francs, and the purposes thereof. Within a given time, they returned 6,430 francs to the committee. Only 2,383 tools (or sets of tools) had been redeemed, representing a lent value of 13,570 francs. [90] Here are the two English readings, as far as I am able to give them:—

"WINE AT EIGHTEEN SOUS THE LITRE
AND UPWARDS.
Roast Beef.
Ragout of Mutton."

"WINE AT EIGHTEEN SOUS THE LITRE
AND WATER ATOP.
Old Crock's Flesh.
Rat Tasting of Mutton."—Editor. [91] The word "Godillot" has passed into the French language, and, at present, means the soldier's shoes.—Editor. [92] During my stay in Paris, 1881-86, as the correspondent of a London evening paper, I had occasion to see a great deal of M. Maxime Lisbonne, who is a prominent figure at nearly every social function, such as premiÈres, the unveiling of monuments, the opening of public buildings, etc. The reason of this prominence has never been very clear to me, unless it be on the assumption that the Paris journalists, even the foremost of whom he treats on the footing of equality, consider him "good copy." Only as late as a few years ago, he made a considerable sensation in the Paris press by appearing at one of M. Carnot's receptions in evening dress, redolent of benzine, "because the dress had been lying perdu for so many years." It was he who started the famous "taverne du bagne," on the Boulevard Rochechouart, to which "all Paris" flocked. Previous to this, he had been the lessee of the Bouffes du Nord, at which theatre he brought out Louise Michel's "Nadine." Though by no means an educated man, he can, on occasions, behave himself very well, and truth compels me to state that he is very good-natured and obliging. One day, on the occasion of an important murder trial, I failed to see Commandant Lunel at the Palais de Justice, and was turning away disconsolately, when, at a sign from M. Lisbonne, the sergeant of the Gardes de Paris, who had refused to admit me on the presentation of my card, relented. That same afternoon, at the mere expression of his wish, the manager of the Jardin de Paris, which had just been opened, presented me with a season ticket, or, to speak correctly, placed my name on the permanent free list. In short, I could mention a score of instances of a similar nature; all tending to show that M. Maxime Lisbonne's "participation in the events of the Commune" has had the effect of investing him with a kind of social halo.—Editor.