Do you know "The Pope's Money?" It is a suitable
piece for diverting the thoughts from the horrors of civil war. A year
ago the Pope was supported by French bayonets, but his light coinage
would not pass in Paris. Now Papal zouaves are killing the citizens of
Paris, and we take light silver and lighter paper. The piece is flimsy
enough. It is not its political significance that makes it diverting,
but the _double-entendre_ therein. One must laugh a little, you
understand. Men are dying out yonder, we might as well laugh a little
here. Low whispers in the _baignoires_, munching of sugared violets in
the stage boxes--everything's for the best. Mademoiselle Nenuphar (named
so by antithesis) is said to have the most beautiful eyes in the world.
I will wager that that handsome man behind her has already compared them
to mitraille shot, seeing the ravages they commit. It would be
impossible to be more complimentary,--more witty and to the point. Ah!
look you, those who are fighting at this moment, who to-day by their
cannon and chassepots are exposing Paris to a terrible revenge, guilty
as these men are, I hold them higher than those who roar with laughter
when the whole city is in despair, who have not even the modesty to hide
their joys from our distresses, and who amuse themselves openly with
shameless women, while mothers are weeping for their children!

On the boulevards it is worse still; there, vice exhibits itself and
triumphs. Is it then true what a young fellow, a poor student and bitter
philosopher, said to me just now: "When all Paris is destroyed, when its
houses, its palaces, and its monuments thrown down and crushed, strew
its accursed soil and form but one vast ruin beneath the sky, then, from
out of this shapeless mass will rise as from a huge sepulchre, the
phantom of a woman, a skeleton dressed in a brilliant dress, with
shoulders bared, and a toquet on its head; and this phantom, running
from ruin to ruin, turning its head every now and then to see if some
libertine is following her through the waste--this phantom is the
leprous soul of Paris!"

When midnight approaches, the _cafes_ are shut. The delegates of the
Central Committee at the ex-prefecture have the habit of sending patrols
of National Guards to hasten and overlook the closing of all public
places. But this precaution, like so many others, is useless. There are
secret doors which escape the closest investigations. When the shutters
are put up,