THE STUDENTS OF PARIS.
Paris Students--Their Character--In the Middle Ages--At the
Revolution--Under the Directory--In 1814--In 1819--Lallemand--In the
Revolution of 1830.
If art and fashion, industry and commerce, are chiefly represented
on the right bank of the Seine, science and the schools have their
headquarters on the left. The "Latin country" or "pays Latin" occupies
a considerable portion of the territory known as the Rive Gauche, and
gives to it a distinctive character. Latin, since the Revolution, has
been no more the language of instruction in France that it is now in
other countries, though in Hungary and Austrian Poland it was the
language of the law-courts even until the revolutionary year of 1848.
The students of Paris have so interesting a history that the task of
writing it in voluminous fashion was undertaken long ago by a very
able writer, Antonio Watripon, whom death unfortunately prevented from
completing his "Histoire politiques des Écoles et des Étudiants."
Already in the reign of Charlemagne schools existed and learning
flourished in the capital. At the commencement of the twelfth century
Abailard grouped around him a large number of pupils; and not long
after his time Paris students had so multiplied that in some quarters
they outnumbered the townspeople, and lodging was scarcely procurable.
The schools were thrown open to the whole world, and foreigners coming
to Paris to study were granted the same privileges as native scholars.
The Duke Leopold of Austria received his education there, and Charles
of Luxemburg, King of Bohemia, and afterwards Emperor of Germany, took
the Paris school, in which he had studied, as model for the one he
afterwards founded at Prague. Before very long the students of Paris,
spoilt by the special privileges which they enjoyed, gave rein to every
whim and fancy which occurred to them. In the thirteenth century they
nicknamed the townspeople, whom they despised for their ignorance,
"cornificiens"; and the latter, jealous of the advantages conferred
on the students, took their revenge by calling them "Abraham's oxen,"
and even "Balaam's asses." A writer of this period gives the students
in general a most profligate character. Their reading was a farce.
"They preferred to contemplate the beauties of young ladies rather than
those of Cicero." On the other hand the Abbé Leboeuf cites a letter
in which, as a body, they are spoken of with the highest esteem. The
truth, doubtless, is that then, as now, some students were serious,
and others abandoned to idleness and folly. As early as the thirteenth
century student-riots became so frequent in Paris that, the church in
this matter supporting the State, all scholars were forbidden to carry
arms under pain of excommunication. During the Carnival of 1229 a band
of students, after having eaten and drunk at a tavern in the suburb of
Saint-Marcel, then outside the walls, provoked a quarrel at the moment
of paying, and beat the tavern-keeper and his wife. The neighbours put
the aggressors to flight. Next day the students returned in great force,
broke into the house, smashed up the furniture, set the wine running,
and wounded several persons. The Provost of Paris hastened to the scene
with his archers, and meeting a group of peaceable students who were
innocent of the affair, swooped down upon them. Two were killed. The
masters demanded reparation, but to no purpose. Then the schools were
suspended, and Paris was deserted both by professors and students,
who went to Rheims, Toulouse, Montpelier, already celebrated for its
faculty of medicine, Orleans, and other towns, where the foundations of
other universities were laid. The Paris University remained closed for
two years. After the reopening of the schools new subjects of quarrel
between the students and the townspeople, and between the students and
the authorities, constantly arose. The right of fishing in one of the
arms of the Seine was claimed by the students, or at least exercised by
them until fines were imposed, which in most cases had to be recovered
by legal process. The foreign students, moreover, who from the earliest
times until now have always been admitted to the Paris schools on the
most favourable terms, had disputes of their own; seldom with the other
members of the university, but very often with the citizens and the
officials.
As we leave the Middle Ages we find that the Paris students, whilst
losing a good deal of their original character, preserve all their
turbulence and want of discipline. At the fair of Saint-Germains in
1609 they abandoned themselves to all kinds of debauchery, and fought
in companies with pages, lackeys, and soldiers of the guard. One lackey
cut off a student's ears and put them in his pocket; after which the
students pounced upon every footman or groom they came across, killing
some and wounding others. The students of Louis XIII.'s reign are
described as "more debauched than ever"; carrying arms, pillaging,
killing, making love, and in order to support their excesses, robbing
their relatives or even their professors.
[Illustration: CAMILLE DESMOULINS.]
It was doubtless the schools, however, which chiefly contributed to
make Paris the powerful and active agent of civilisation which that
capital so early became. They formed a theatre of discussion for a vast
laboratory of ideas. Many a student was beheaded, hanged, or burned
in a wooden cage on accusations of heresy; for liberty of conscience,
that is to say. "We should greatly deceive ourselves," says Antonio
Watripon, "if we judged the students of other days by their external
aspect--drunken challengers, beaters of tavern-keepers, brawlers in the
Pré aux Clercs, ravishers of tradesmen's wives. It is always the same
picture on the surface; but underneath there is something which is not
at first perceived, and which is marching ever forward--thought! A poor
student is persecuted by the parliament. The rector is called to the bar
and commanded to imprison the suspected heretic, who, however, has the
good fortune to find refuge in Saintonge. Soon the whole world will know
that his name is Calvin. The Protestant books are burnt and the printers
cast into the dungeons of the bishopric. These persecutions serve only
to swell the ranks of the reformers."
The reputation of the Paris schools spread far and wide, and their
civilising influence created institutions of learning in foreign lands.
From the ranks of the Paris students in the seventeenth and eighteenth
centuries stepped forth artists and writers who have remained the glory
of France.
A great number of students were initiated into freemasonry and the other
secret fraternities which preceded the Revolution. They saluted the era
of political emancipation with enthusiasm. The first actor in the great
drama, Camille Desmoulins, had sat on the benches of the École de Droit.
Most of the orators or politicians of the great Assemblies were old
students. In 1789 the students of law and medicine in the departments
fraternised with those of Paris, so as to march hand-in-hand in the
exploration of liberty and truth. Many scholars hastened to the menaced
frontiers. On the 9th Thermidor a medical student named Soubervielle
rallied around him the patriots of the schools, a large number of whom
prepared, in insurrection, to fly to the assistance of those sacred
principles which threatened to perish with the last of the Montaguards.
[Illustration: THE POLYTECHNIC SCHOOL.]
Under the Directory the generous impulses of a section of the studious
youth were lost in the orgies of libertinism. The Imperial despotism
weighed upon the students as upon the rest of the citizens. Nevertheless
the Republican sentiment was by no means extinguished within them,
nor did it fail to find expression amid those events which were the
development of the vast revolutionary tradition.
The defence of Paris against the foreign invasion, in 1814, offered
the students of the various schools, with those of the Polytechnic as
leaders, an opportunity of proving their patriotism. In presence of the
peril into which the insatiable ambition of Napoleon had thrown the
nation, the Polytechnic students, with those of law and medicine, made
up twelve batteries of artillery for the National Guard. The pupils of
the veterinary school of Alfort particularly distinguished themselves by
their splendid defence of Charenton. These, however, were but isolated
examples. "History," writes Louis Blanc, "which soars high above the
lies of party, will tell us that in 1814 Paris did not care to protect
itself; that the National Guard, with the exception of a few true men,
failed to do their duty; that the townspeople, with the exception of a
small number of valorous students and of devoted citizens, fled before
the invasion." In 1815 the students, called anew to the defence of the
capital, were reconstituted into companies of artillery, and served
beneath the walls of Paris.
At political junctures the students of Paris have seldom failed to
assert themselves. The opposition of the younger generation to the
Restoration had its origin in the Polytechnic School, which in 1816
refused to conform to certain religious observances. Fifteen pupils were
expelled on the 12th of April, and next day the school was dissolved by
the king.
In 1819, when the cry of "Liberty" was resounding through more than one
European country, the Paris schools responded to the agitation. The
lectures delivered by Nicholas Bavoux, professor of criminal law, caused
between the Liberal students and certain Royalist auditors discussions
which, but for the intervention of the dean and of armed force, would
have degenerated into sanguinary conflicts. Bavoux's professorship
was suspended and the school of law closed. Prosecuted in a criminal
court, Bavoux was acquitted by the jury and found himself the hero of
the hour. At Grenoble, on 8th May, 1820, the law students profited by
the arrival of the Duke of Angoulême to make a public manifestation,
in which they endeavoured to drown the cry of "Vive le roi!" with that
of "Vive la charte!" Every day large groups of students stationed
themselves outside the Palais-Bourbon to cheer the deputies of the
Opposition, defenders of electoral liberty. Driven back from the Quai
d'Orsay by the gendarmerie, they reassembled on the Place Louis XV.,
still shouting for the charter. Again forcibly displaced, they repaired
in a mass to the Faubourg Saint-Antoine, where they fraternised with the
working men. Thirty-five were arrested. On Saturday, the third of June,
new gatherings took place at the approaches to the Chamber in which the
deputies sat. A descent was made upon them by the police. The students,
who wore as their sign of recognition a white cravat as well as a buckle
in front of their hats, rescued those of their friends who were taken
prisoners. On the Place du Carrousel they snatched from the hands of
the body-guards by whom he had been seized one of their comrades named
Lallemand. This young man, a law student of three-and-twenty, was at the
selfsame instant struck by a bullet and killed. The death of Lallemand
fanned the flame of rebellion. His corpse was transported to the Church
of Bonne-Nouvelle, guarded by the scholars themselves. Next day it was
borne to Père-Lachaise by the two schools of medicine and law. Within
the cemetery accents of vengeance and of liberty could be heard. The
friends of the victim determined to raise a monument to his honour, and
the subscription-lists which for this purpose were instantly opened
by the schools, not only of Paris but of the provinces, showed that
enough money could have been procured to erect to Lallemand a statue
nearly as big as the Colossus of Rhodes. These incidents produced a
burning discussion in the Chamber, where the schools found at least
one eloquent champion in the person of M. Demarcay. "These youths," he
said, "who, by their studies, their occupations, their emulation, would
seem to belong to a ripe age of life, fill our schools and surrender
themselves to the ardour of work and science. They have fire, you say,
in their nature; they love liberty: and at what age would you wish men
to love liberty and defend it with courage? Is it not the same fire
and courage which you demand when you summon such youths to defend the
country? Cease, then, to impute to them those disorders of which they
have been the victim." Foy and Benjamin Constant spoke in the same
strain. But the Commission of Public Instruction passed a measure which
excluded from the schools thirteen students of law and medicine; and
one of these, Robert Lailavoix, suffered an imprisonment of two months.
The indignation thus excited amongst the scholars of Paris found an
echo in the provinces. Not long afterwards some six hundred students
were secretly formed into a military corps styled the Free Company of
the Schools. For two months they were instructed in the use of arms.
The students, however, were Republican, whilst their leaders were
Bonapartist; and the latter, seized at the last moment with a fit of
discretion, refused to act. Otherwise the fiery youths who looked to
them for guidance, and who had numerous sympathisers in the military,
would have carried out their programme to the letter.
The first anniversary of the death of Lallemand reunited the Paris
students into an enthusiastic federation. The funeral service having
been forbidden, they affected to fix their rendezvous at the Buttes
Chaumont; where at the price of their blood they had defended the
capital against invasion seven years before. Forming themselves
into a long file, they silently descended towards the cemetery of
Père-Lachaise. They found the gates shut. Then a remarkable scene
occurred. A certain student, acting as orator, was hoisted by his
comrades on to one of the highest walls in the cemetery, and spoke from
this elevation as from an improvised tribunal. He invoked the shade of
Lallemand, and called upon him to witness both the odious persecution
which pursued his memory and the solemn oath which everyone took, in
presence of his tomb, to avenge him or die as he had died. An electric
thrill ran through the crowd; all fell on their knees in the dusty road,
and bent their heads while the orator, turning towards the cemetery,
bade Lallemand a last adieu. The column returned to Paris and defiled,
bareheaded, along the Rue des Petits-Carreaux, past the house of
Lallemand. The victim's father appeared at one of the windows, with his
hand pressed to his heart, to show how deeply he was affected by this
public protestation.
Constantly engaged in political agitation, the students of Paris bore
a formidable part in the Revolution of 1830. On the 26th of July the
famous Ordonnances were issued. The same day secret meetings were held
by the students, at which they resolved to take up arms. In the evening,
at the Chaumière ball, the quadrilles were stopped in virtue of the
new decrees. A thrill of indignation ran through the assembly. The
orchestra played the Marseillaise, and all present sang it in chorus.
Hands were grasped, and vows uttered to conquer or die for liberty. The
day afterwards intrepid students denounced the ordonnances in the public
streets and called the citizens to arms. The pupils of the Polytechnic
School passed the night in improvising implements of war, and with
Vanneau, a bold spirit, at their head, scaled the walls and hurried to
the barricades, where the students of the capital were mingled with the
people. Already several had fallen dead. One student of medicine, named
Papu, seeing his column, composed of youths and working men, disperse
before a murderous musketry fire, sprang forward and cried--"I will show
you how to die!" He was almost shattered to pieces, though he managed
before expiring to gasp an exhortation to his comrades to continue the
struggle. Rennes, his native town, honoured him with a monument. At
the attack on the Hôtel de Ville another medical student, Labarbe, had
both his legs broken, dying two days afterwards from the effects of the
amputation, which he had undergone with a pipe in his mouth. Many a deed
of heroism was done at this juncture by the Paris students, fighting
like the populace for a Republic, which they did not obtain, and for
which a disappointing compromise was furnished in the person of Louis
Philippe.
The political history, however, of the Paris students is too formidable
to trace in anything like detail. In modern times these once ardent
youths have shown themselves comparatively indifferent to politics, and
have sought diversion from their studies rather in the cigar than in the
sword or musket.
The Paris student's general history, like that of everyone and
everything French, consists largely of anecdotes. One of the best
is a legend of a medical student who was not accustomed to pay his
landlady. Tired at length of waiting for her money, she paid him a
visit at his rooms. The student, forewarned, received her with perfect
self-composure. "Sir," she exclaimed without circumlocution, as she
crossed his threshold, "pay me or go." "I prefer to go," was the reply.
"Very well then; go at once." "Precisely, madame; and I shall go all
the faster if you will consent to assist me." Thereupon he went to his
chest of drawers, and from the top drawer took out a large skeleton.
"Would you," he said, "be kind enough to place this at the bottom of
my portmanteau?" "What is it?" cried the lady, retreating a few paces.
"What is it? Why, it is my first landlady. She had the indiscretion to
demand three quarters' rent which I owed her, and then--mind you don't
break it. It is No. 1 in my collection." "Sir!" exclaimed the lady,
turning pale. The student, without replying, opened another drawer, and
extracted a second skeleton. "This," he said quietly, "is my landlady
of the Rue de l'École-de-Médecine, a most admirable woman, who, in like
manner, had applied to me for two quarters' rent. Place it carefully
on the other--it is No. 2. This," continued the student, "is No. 3, an
excellent woman, whom I had ceased to pay. Let us now pass on to No. 4."
The landlady fled, and her tenant was never thenceforth inconvenienced
with applications for rent.
[Illustration: NOTRE DAME, FROM THE PONT SAINT-LOUIS.]