VARIA.
Many of my readers who can recall the great “Times” trial will remember
the names of Pigott, and Tynan (the famous No. 1, who it was said gave
the signal for the murder of Lord F. Cavendish). It was a curious
coincidence that both these men were living at one time in my Parish of
Christ Church, Kingstown. I often made purchases at the little bookshop
kept by Tynan, and sometimes spoke with him. During my stay in Paris I
had a visit from the famous le Carron, who for a long time was a member
of the Clan-na-Gael in New York, and informed the Home Government of
their proceedings. He told me that he was formerly a choir boy in the
Embassy Church, and he related to me some of his thrilling adventures. He
died of consumption soon after his visit to Paris.
[Illustration: THE ELYSÉE, FROM THE FAUBOURG ST. HONORÉ.]
Some of the yearly customs on fête days in Paris are peculiar, and those
occurring in the winter season are less familiar than others—to English
visitors. New Year’s Day, the “Jour de l’an,” is kept as a National
Holiday, and presents of flowers and “objets d’art” are sent amongst
friends. Christmas Day is not kept with the like solemnity and joyousness
as with us—though becoming more a fête than it formerly was. Upon New
Year’s Day beggars are allowed in the streets, and it is often a ghastly
spectacle to see the poor creatures in all conditions of deformity
asking alms. A good deal is distributed amongst them, as the French are
very charitable to the Poor. At this season “booths” are allowed on the
Boulevards, when all sorts of toys, etc., are exposed for sale, some of
them mechanical and very ingenious. They are supposed for the most part
to have been made in the homes of the poor.
Shrove Tuesday (Mardi-gras) and Mid-Lent (Mi-carême) are also general
holidays. On the former there is a procession of fat cattle, and a
throwing of confetti in the main streets and Boulevards, where vehicular
traffic is suspended. I have seen the Grand Boulevards literally
six inches deep in confetti on a fine day. Mi-carême is marked by a
procession of the washerwomen, and in many particulars resembles our Lord
Mayor’s Show on November 9th, only it is more fantastic. The Grand Car
on these occasions is reserved for the Queen of the Laundries, who has
been solemnly chosen for her beauty. She rides triumphant, surrounded by
her “Court”—sometimes rather scantily dressed for the cold weather, and
stops at the Elysée, where she generally receives a present of a bracelet
at the hands of the President of the Republic. These functions are well
worth seeing—once.
The National Fête, to celebrate the declaration of the Republic, being
in warmer weather (July), is usually more of a festival in the open-air,
and is kept up late and early. Many families leave Paris for the country
before it comes off. It is emphatically the people’s fête, and one
feature of it is that dancing is allowed in the streets. Bandstands are
erected, usually opposite a restaurant, and in the evenings people gather
in large numbers. Inmates of flats near these bandstands suffer much (I
write from experience), for being the hot weather windows must be open,
and the noise is deafening.
“All Souls’” and “All Saints’” Days are religiously kept by most
Parisians, and thousands go to the cemeteries to place flowers on the
graves of their relations. It is a very interesting sight, and visitors
to Paris should not omit on these days to go to Père-la-Chaise, Passy,
Bolougne-sur-Seine, or one of the other cemeteries.
The French pay great respect to the dead. No funeral cortège is allowed
to trot in Paris whatever the distance to the cemetery, and most men
raise their hats and women cross themselves as the body passes in the
streets. Soldiers and officials always salute.
Burials are a monopoly in Paris. The Pompes funèbres is a great company,
who have decorations arranged and always ready for every church in
Paris, and everyone is buried by them, and in the “class” they choose
to pay for. There are seven or eight “classes,” and it is so arranged
that the rich pay for the poor. A first-class funeral is very rare, as
it costs a very large sum. Officials attend the poor man’s funeral—only
less gorgeously dressed—equally with the rich, and all things are done
decently and in order. As a sign of the times, not long before I left
Paris, I was called upon to take a funeral of an American at St. Germain,
some miles outside the fortifications. The family and friends went down
by train, and I went with the body, but in a motor-fourgon (hearse). When
we left the gates of the city we travelled very rapidly.
I noticed a marked change during my life in Paris in the keeping of
Sunday. Twenty years ago many shops were open, and there was little
to distinguish it from any other day. Now most places of business are
closed. Leagues were formed some years ago, advocating one day’s rest
in seven, and quite lately (1907) a law was passed requiring that all
employés should cease work on Sunday. Those compelled to work on that day
(in restaurants, etc.) must have another day. Alas! the change is not due
to a religious but a secular movement, and is solely to oblige one day’s
rest in the seven as a holiday. As far as it goes it is a good thing
for the people, and it is pleasant to see the orderly crowds enjoying
the open air in the Bois, the Parc Monceau, and other places, while one
regrets the irreligion which is so characteristic of the nation at this
time.
The well-known Mark Twain (Mr. Clements) came to Paris to complete (so
I understood) one of his books. No one knew of his presence amongst us
for some time. When I heard of it I went to see him in his hotel in the
Rue de Rivoli to ask him to give a public reading from his works for the
benefit of the proposed Church House. He put me off in his characteristic
way. I then went to see the Marquis of Dufferin and Ava—our Ambassador at
that time—and asked him if he would give a room at the Embassy if I could
persuade Mark Twain to read. He kindly agreed, and so did Mr. Clements.
We had a splendid success, the rooms were crowded. We obtained twenty
francs a ticket, and cleared some £200. American humour is sometimes
difficult for English people to appreciate, but no one could resist Mark
Twain. I shall always feel grateful to him for his kind help on that
occasion.
Among the many artists it was our privilege to know in Paris was the
eminent sculptor, Mr. Bruce Joy. He had then a studio in the city. We
still possess a replica of his well-known bust of the late Archbishop
Benson.
Paris is a city which might well be compared to the Adulamites Cave,
where all in distress and difficulty congregate. Among the unfortunates
was the late Oscar Wilde. I had known him a little in Dublin as a
student, and had also met him at Lady Wilde’s receptions. He came to
Paris to die. When I heard of his serious illness I went down at once to
enquire, but found he had passed away. The “concierge” told me that he
had been visited by a Priest, and baptized into the Roman Church. As is
often the case, the Baptism was administered when the patient was “in
extremis,” and knew nothing about it. The Roman Church, however, claimed
to take the funeral, and I could not object.
Curious mistakes were sometimes made by the French Postal authorities,
owing to the difficulty of language. Each Easter it was my custom to
send out a card to the members of the congregation giving notice of the
services, and at the foot a suitable quotation from the Scriptures. In
1895, I sent out the card as usual, and the passage was “The Lord is
Risen.” One came back to me through the dead-letter office addressed to
“The Lord is Risen, 5 Rue d’Aguesseau.”
All sorts of ideas and rumours were circulated when the French Church was
separated from the State. One morning a French gentleman called at the
Vestry and asked me if it was true that Sir Francis Bertie, our present
Ambassador in Paris, had purchased the Madeleine Church, our own being
too small! This is somewhat parallel to the story of an Irish clergyman,
who told me that the day after the bill passed to disestablish the Church
in Ireland he heard in the early morning a scythe going in his field. A
stranger was cutting his hay. Upon enquiry, the man said: “Sure, sir, the
Church is disestablished now, and I thought I would come early for my
share!”
The French often make curious mistakes in their translations into
English, but the same may be said, and perhaps more so, with respect
to our renderings into French, e.g., A young English girl was heard to
exclaim “Je suis cheval,” desiring to say she was hoarse. And another,
who had a touch of the same complaint, “Je ne peux pas hirondèle,”
meaning she could not swallow. Upon another occasion, when called to
play in public, a girl said “Je suis sûre de casser-en-bas,” in her fear
of coming to grief. It was rather a peculiar way to express hurry, when
one said “Je suis dans une dépèche.” I suppose most have heard the story
told by Dean Pigou, of Bristol, of the lady (I believe an American) who,
desiring a cab, called out “Cochon êtes-vous fiancé.” Another story,
which was current in my time, is worth repeating. A girl who had been
but a few months in Paris learning French was taken out by her parents
to a restaurant. Looking over the menu, she was asked to translate the
sentence “Ris de Veau à la financière,” which she told her delighted
parents was “the calf laughs at the Banker’s wife.” Many of such mistakes
arise when young people are placed in French families where no English is
spoken at all, and so their errors pass uncorrected.
Among the remarkable men who lived and died in Paris during my
chaplaincy was Mr. H. A. M. Butler-Johnstone. He had been for sixteen
years Member of Parliament for Canterbury, and as a youth was at Eton,
at the same time as His Majesty King Edward. He was closely identified
with the young Turkey party in Paris. He was on his way to the Post
Office in October, 1902, when he died suddenly in the street near the
Place Vendome. He was staying with his wife at the Hotel Continental,
but there being no funds, his funeral was undertaken by the British
Charitable Fund. I conducted his funeral, which was attended by quite a
number of the Turkish Colony in Paris. It was said that his financial
ruin was caused by his having lent £200,000 to the Turkish Government in
1877 to resist the encroachments of Russia. To raise this sum he sold his
pictures to the National Gallery, as well as his estates in England. It
was said that he gave great offence to the late Marquis of Salisbury by
the attitude he took up on the Russo-Turkish War.
In January, 1907, there was a remarkable gathering of eighty-six Prelates
of the Roman Church in Paris to discuss the attitude of the Church
towards the recently passed “Law of Separation.” What seemed the more
remarkable was that the gathering was held at the Château de la Muette
Passy, the residence of the Count and Countess de Francqueville, and that
the Countess presided at the lunch, she being a member of the Anglican
Communion. The Countess, as is well known, is the daughter of the Earl of
Selbourne, and niece of the late Bishop of Southwell.
[Illustration: PLACE DE LA CONCORDE.]
[Illustration: THE HISTORIC FOUNTAIN, PLACE DE LA CONCORDE.]
The concierge or hall porter occupies a responsible position in the
Paris house. A common answer to the question “Is life worth living?”
is—it depends upon the concierge. There is no doubt that a disagreeable
concierge can make things very uncomfortable, and it is necessary when
taking an “appartement” to gain his goodwill by a good tip. Otherwise
letters which are delivered at the lodge may not be brought up as soon as
they should be, and other little annoyances will frequently occur. It is
customary to give 50 to 100 francs to the concierge on New Year’s day,
according to the rent paid, to secure civility and good service through
the year. The concierge is the servant of the proprietor and not of the
tenant. Every quarter the rent is paid to the concierge, and must be paid
in cash. The cheque system as we have it in England is but little used in
France.
When I handed a cheque for my first quarter’s rent to the concierge he
looked at it, and said “What is this?” I was compelled to go down to the
Bank and get the money for him!
In taking an appartement (or flat) in Paris, the greatest care is
necessary. The “etat de lieu” or state of the flat must be taken both by
the architect of the landlord and your own. A document is drawn up, and
signed by both parties. Unless this is done all sorts of charges may be
made when the tenant leaves the flat, as, e.g., for every nail in the
walls or floors, every scratch on the paint, etc. I bought my experience
rather expensively in one of the flats I occupied.
Owing, it is said, to the lack of population, the law as to nationality
presses hard upon some foreigners in France. The law at present is that
“all children of parents born in France are French,” and male children
thus born are liable for military service. I knew several young men who
were thoroughly English, and who had always kept up their connection
with England and the English Colony in France, who, nevertheless, owing
to the fact that their parents were born in the country, were accounted
French, and had to go through their military service, and were liable
to be called up in time of war. It has naturally followed that when an
interesting event is expected in a British family, and where it can be
managed, a temporary change to the English climate has become desirable.
But this law presses very hardly upon the poor.
I am often asked as to whether it is more expensive to live in Paris than
in London. My experience is that London is the dearer city. In Paris
almost everyone lives in a flat, where it is not necessary to keep so
many servants as a house requires. Wages are about the same; but servants
in France are much more economical than in England. Food is dearer as
it is mostly taxed—the exception being fruit and vegetables, which come
into Paris free of duty. Wine of home culture is now exempt. Coal is
very expensive, being generally over £2 a ton; but then less is used,
as the houses in the best parts of the city are generally warmed. There
is, however, no income tax in France, and the municipal taxes are much
less—about one-half what they are in London. But the days when people
would go to Paris to largely economise are past; both capitals are
expensive for the upper and middle classes.
The carte telegram or “Petit bleu” is an advantage in Paris which one
misses much in London. This is a system by which a letter written on a
special form, which can be sealed and posted in a special box, with a
threepenny stamp, will be delivered in the city, by means of pneumatic
tubes, within an hour. It is a great convenience, and largely used by
Parisians.
The post offices, however, often afford a trying experience. The
officials seem in no hurry to attend to the customers, and there is no
appeal. They do not seem to consider themselves the servants of the
public in any way, and so the public suffer. The “Bureaux de Post”
are frequently badly ventilated, so that a long delay is not always
agreeable.