the second decade of the nineteenth century, but, though by his Bohemian
days the Church of Notre Dame de Lorette had been built, omnibuses had
been instituted, and railway stations were about to break out on the
face of Paris, his picture would have remained substantially true of
Paris during the whole of Louis Philippe's reign. There was a certain
amount of change during the time: the Palais Royal declined in
popularity, ceasing to be "a scene of extravagance, dissipation, and
debauchery not to be equalled in the world," as Coghlan's "Guide to
Paris" put it; a few old houses were pulled down here and there, and the
desert patches on the outskirts began to be filled by a straggling
population, but, in general, Louis Philippe's Paris can be considered as
a stable whole. Most visitors to Paris do not, of course, realize the
boundaries of the large circle which now forms the city, for they enjoy
themselves at the centre, though they may, perhaps, remember how far
from the terminus a train passes the fortifications. In Louis Philippe's
day the outer line of boulevards, on which stood the fortifications and
_barrières_, was that second ring of to-day which even visitors reach at
times; a _barrière_ existed at the Arc de Triomphe, at the Place
Pigalle, where the amusements of Montmartre only just begin, at the
cemeteries of Père Lachaise and Montparnasse. The actual diameter of the
city was then about three miles, but for all practical purposes it was
little more than two, for the outskirts were still occupied by large
market-gardens, plots of land acquired for future use by speculators,
with here and there some mushroom rows of houses, half finished and
nearly empty, the work of a bankrupt who had too far anticipated the
coming boom, farmyards, chicken-runs, cow-stalls, grass, odd weeds, and
all the disfigurements of a landscape over which the impending march of
a city has thrown a blight. Only on the northern heights were there
still windmills and vineyards. These outskirts had only a scanty
population, for there were no thousands of workpeople to spread over the
heights of Belleville or Ménilmontant, or southwards over Montrouge, so
that it was easy for a starveling company of Bohemians, headed by the
Desbrosses and Murger, to find shelter in an old farm by the Barrière
d'Enfer--now the busy Place Denfert-Rochereau--or for Balzac's Colonel
Chabert to live in a tumble-down cottage well inside the boundaries. The
fact was, as the dramatist Victorien Sardou has said in a passage of
reminiscence,[35] that under Louis Philippe one-third of the total
surface of Paris was not built on. There were gardens everywhere, except
in the very centre of the city, and on the left bank, especially,
houses were only dotted in the midst of orchards, kitchen-gardens,
farmyards, and parks. It was this fact that made Paris, however quick
the flame that burnt at her heart, in most respects a provincial city.
Only in such a city could Bohemia perfectly have realized itself; an
industrial metropolis would have swallowed it or brushed it
contemptuously aside.
Paris, then, compared with herself of to-day, would have been almost
unrecognizable. There was no sign of the rich and luxurious quarter
which has grown up round the Champs Elysées, with its magnificent hotels
and fine mansions. The Champs Elysées were used during the daytime for
riding or driving, but there was hardly a house to be seen except two or
three wretched _cafés_. After sunset it was madness to go past the
_rond-point_, for beyond was the home of thieves and cut-throats, the
Bois de Boulogne, needless to say, being in a much more wild state than
to-day. The Parc Monceau was practically in the country, and even the
Quartier du Roule, by the top of the Boulevard Malesherbes, was all
market-gardens when Rosa Bonheur lived there as a child. As for the
Batignolles, that Kensington of modern Paris, its repute was as
unsavoury as that of the London fields now respectably covered by Sloane
Square and Sloane Street. The quarter chosen by wealth, as opposed to
blue blood, which lived in dreary _hôtels_ surrounded by high walls in
the Faubourg Saint-Germain, lay in the neighbourhood of the present
Saint-Lazare terminus. The favourite street was the Rue de la Pépinière,
continued by the Rue Saint-Lazare. Only a small part of the Rue de la
Pépinière is now left, most of it being called the Rue La Boëtie, but it
retains its old name between the Boulevard Malesherbes and the Rue
Saint-Lazare. Another fashionable street was the Rue de Provence, which
runs parallel to the south of the Rue Saint-Lazare. In the former was
the famous house inhabited successively by seven of Balzac's
courtesans,[36] in the latter the charming house of Baron Nucingen.
Every Englishman knows the clamour and smell and garish shops of the Rue
Saint-Lazare to-day, and the Rue de Provence is just a plain _bourgeois_
thoroughfare of shops, _cafés_, flats, and a post-office.
The fashionable boulevards have already appeared in a previous chapter,
but a word must be said of the difference between the then and now of
that brilliant corner of Paris which most Europeans and Americans see
once before they die. To-day, without a doubt, the Boulevard des
Capucines, which stretches from the Madeleine to the Opéra, has the most
distinguished and luxurious appearance. The Boulevard des Italiens
beyond the Opéra is dowdier and more workaday. In the days of Bohemia
the Boulevard des Capucines had no social existence. It had as yet not
been levelled with the Rue Basse du Rempart, which, some fifteen feet
below it, followed the course of the ancient moat; it was flanked by
plots of land on which new houses were being erected, and its only
traffic was the omnibus which jogged between the Madeleine and the
Bastille. The present Opera-house and Place de l'Opéra were not
existent, for the Opéra stood just off the Boulevard des Italiens,
beyond Tortoni's, while the Rue de la Paix came quietly into the
boulevard at a sharp angle, instead of arriving in that busy open space,
with Cook's office as its centre, over which traffic plies in all
directions with bewildering activity. The Avenue de l'Opéra, also, was
not known to Bohemia. At that day a pedestrian who wished to go direct
from the top of the Rue de la Paix to the Louvre had to thread a maze of
narrow streets--an example of which remains in the Rue des Petits
Champs--which became meaner and more sinister as he neared the Louvre.
The Louvre quarter, so close to brilliance and luxury, was a squalid
plague-spot, that has since been thoroughly cleansed. The brotherhood of
the Impasse du Doyenné, I suspect, were careful to have a companion when
they ascended the Rue Froidmanteau or the Rue Traversière after dark. If
one crosses the Avenue de l'Opéra between the entrance of the Rue de
l'Echelle on one side and the Rue Molière on the other, one will have
exactly traversed the site of the infamous Rue de Langlade where in
"Splendeurs et Misères des Courtisanes" Vautrin found Esther la
Torpille on the verge of death, _à propos_ of which Balzac has a lurid
passage on the thick shadows, the flickering lights, the phantom forms,
and disquieting sounds which characterized at nightfall this _lacis de
petites rues_.
[Illustration: The Rue St. Denis]
On the north-east and the east of the Louvre lay the most unregenerate
portion of Paris, a district as tortuous, narrow, and unhealthy as in
the Middle Ages, yet the centre of Parisian commerce. Even to-day the
visitor may wonder that such a district can exist in a capital city,
when he ventures into the Rue Quincampoix, the Rue des Francs Bourgeois,
and the other alleys which cut them at right angles. But at least this
quarter has been cleared by the thorough reorganization of the Halles
and by the construction of some large arteries, the Boulevard de
Sébastopol, the Rue Rambuteau, the Rue Etienne Marcel, and the Rue de
Turbigo. It is sufficient to glance at a map of Louis Philippe's Paris,
such as Dulaure's, to see what a maze it was then. Save for the two
narrow thoroughfares, the Rue Saint-Martin and the Rue Saint-Denis,
going from north to south, it had hardly a single continuous street. A
stroll in the region of the old church of Saint-Merri will show many of
these streets in their original dimensions; there is the Rue des
Lombards, for instance, where Balzac's Matifat presided over the
wholesale drug market, and the Rue Aubry le Boucher, formerly the Rue
des Cinq Diamants, where in the virtuous Anselme Popinot's shop the
first measures were taken for the reconstruction of César Birotteau's
shattered fortunes. The darkness and insalubrity of this quarter are
specially commented on at the beginning of Balzac's "Une Double
Famille," where he says that a pedestrian coming from the Marais quarter
to the quays near the Hôtel de Ville by the Rue de l'Homme Armé and
other streets--practically the route of the present Rue des Archives
down to the Place Lobau--would think he was walking in underground
cellars. This unsavoury network in the day of Bohemia continued right on
to the quays, which have now been cleared by the construction of the
Théâtre and Place du Châtelet, the Théâtre Sarah Bernhardt, the Place de
l'Hôtel de Ville, and the Place Lobau with its barracks. But in Louis
Philippe's reign the Rue de la Vieille Lanterne, where poor Gérard de
Nerval was found hanged, occupied the site of the stage of the Théâtre
Sarah Bernhardt, and instead of the Place Lobau the Rue de la Tixanderie
and the Rue du Tourniquet-Saint-Jean forked at the back of the Hôtel de
Ville. The house described in "Une Double Famille" stood in the Rue du
Tourniquet-Saint-Jean, which was only five feet wide at its broadest and
only cleaned when flooded by a shower. The inhabitants lit their lamps
at five in June and never put them out in winter.
[Illustration: Rue de la Tixeranderie]
Another typical specimen of the Paris I am describing is to be seen in
that curious confluence of three narrow streets, the Rues de la Lune,
Beauregard, and de Cléry, just off the Boulevard Bonne Nouvelle. The Rue
de la Lune is dominated by the forbidding portals of a gloomy church,
and its cobble-stones are quite deserted even when the activity of the
neighbouring boulevard is at its height. No flight of imagination is
needed to realize its appropriateness as the scene of that tragic close
to "Illusions Perdues," where in a garret Lucien writes drinking songs
over the corpse of his wretched Coralie to pay the expenses of her
burial. This street and the two others, which meet at an extraordinarily
acute angled building, diverge into the squalor of the Rue Montorgueil.
It is easier to see the conditions in which _la vie de Bohème_ was
passed in such spots as these than in the regions towards Montmartre.
The Rue de la Tour d'Auvergne still exists, but to search there for the
garret of Murger and Champfleury is disappointing. One ascends the
cheerful Rue des Martyrs from Notre Dame de Lorette, with its prospect
of the Sacré Cœur standing out against the open heavens, and on
turning along the Rue de la Tour d'Auvergne one is confronted by a
respectable, clean, sleepy street that might grace any neat provincial
town in France. All suggestion of Bohemianism is remarkably absent, even
on the top floors. In Murger's day this quarter was far less civilized,
as may be seen from a water-colour sketch by Victor Hugo which hangs
in the Carnavalet Museum. This represents the view southwards from the
Rue de la Tour d'Auvergne--a wild foreground of uncultivated land with
sombre trees and dilapidated fences, and in the distance all Paris
spread out in panorama.
[Illustration: Rue Pirouette]
The left bank has changed no less than the right. The luxurious quarter
of the Faubourg Saint-Germain has spread immeasurably, and even where
old streets remain, as many do in the Quartier Latin, their houses have
been rebuilt. Many a Bohemian could probably have told a parallel to
Champfleury's touching story of how, long after his mistress had left
him, he witnessed by chance the demolition of an old wall of a house in
the quarter, and there on the topmost story was laid bare the room, with
its very wallpaper unchanged, where they spent so many happy months of
youth and love. In particular, this part of Paris was cleared and aired
by the construction of those two very important thoroughfares, the
Boulevard Saint-Germain, which broke through a host of little streets,
including the rampageous Rue Childebert, and the Boulevard Saint-Michel,
which replaced and widened the straggling old Rue de la Harpe. Before
these were made, the Quartier Latin had not a single main street, though
it was not quite so uncivilized as the Halles quarter, nor so large.
Southwards by the gardens of the Luxembourg it soon became comparatively
_bourgeois_ and spacious with pleasant houses and gardens, built
originally for rich nobles and prelates, but relinquished at the
dictation of fashion to prosperous tradespeople and officials like the
Phellions and Thuilliers of Balzac's "Les Petits Bourgeois." Searches
for vestiges of Bohemia in general on either side of the Boulevard
Saint-Germain are fruitful enough; many an _hôtel garni_ recalls that in
which Lucien first hid his diminished head, or the early home of Arsène
Houssaye, when Nini Yeux Noirs was his divinity and revolution his
creed. Specific quests, however, are apt to be disappointing. The Rue
des Quatre Vents, the headquarters of d'Arthez' _cénacle_, in Balzac's
time "one of the most horrible streets in Paris," remains blamelessly
near Saint-Sulpice as dull and decent as the Rue de la Tour d'Auvergne;
and the Rue Vaugirard, where the second _cénacle_, headed by Pétrus
Borel, held its frantic orgies round the punch-bowl and where Murger
wrote his "Scènes de la Vie de Bohème," is devoid of any spark of
romance. On the other hand, a visit to the delightful Cour de Rohan,
just off the Boulevard Saint-Germain, will land you _en pleine Bohème_,
as will certain streets leading up towards the Church of Saint-Etienne
du Mont, or the narrow passages by the Church of Saint-Séverin. It is
just too late to see another unmistakable relic of Balzac's Paris, for
the Maison Vauquer of "Père Goriot" has just been pulled down. Yet to
make a pilgrimage to its site gives a very good impression of the
gloominess which Bohemian high spirits had usually to combat. The
Maison Vauquer stood near the junction of the Rue des Postes and the Rue
Neuve Sainte-Geneviève, now the Rue Lhomond, and the Rue Tournefort,
south of the Panthéon. I have walked down the Rue Lhomond at three on a
sunny autumn afternoon, yet I met no soul in this dingy street, which
seemed to catch not a ray of the sun's illumination. It is crossed by
two sinister little lanes, the Rue Amyot, at the corner of which
Cérizet, in "Les Petits Bourgeois," carried on the business of a small
usurer in a loathsome, grimy house, and the Rue du Pot de Fer, before
coming to which one passes a high, dark barrack, heavy iron bars
shielding its dirty lower windows, the "Institution Lhomond pour
l'éducation des jeunes filles"--poor _jeunes filles_! When the Rue
Tournefort meets the Rue Lhomond there is a very steep descent,
accurately described by Balzac, into the Rue de l'Arbalète. Almost any
of the mournful dwellings with weedy gardens on this slope might have
been the hideous _pension_ where Goriot died, while at the corner of the
Rue de l'Arbalète there is a veritable dungeon, only two tiny windows in
cracked frames piercing its high, blank wall. If you proceed into the
narrow Rue Mouffetard, one long, smelly vegetable market, you will then
realize the general state of all but the best of Louis Philippe's Paris.
It was part of the old world, unconscious of its impending reformation
in the light of the new ideals of comfort and sanitation which were to
become the accented notes of modernity. It was a provincial city of
small compass with no industrial suburbs, no railways--let alone trams
or river steamboats--and a population of considerably less than a
million concentrated for the most part in its overcrowded quarters by
the river banks, where the excitement of its spiritual life made up for
the deficiencies of its material well-being. There were few public
buildings of recent construction; the Louvre was still disfigured by the
_débris_ of the Place du Carrousel; the Hôtel de Ville, Notre Dame, and
the Palais de Justice were hemmed in by crabbed streets and thickly
clustering old houses. Private gardens were many, but public squares
were few. Except for the boulevards the streets had medieval paving with
central gutters, from which all and sundry were liberally splashed, so
that for well-dressed persons to venture in them on foot was an
impossibility. An American writing in 1835 says of them: "They are paved
with cubical stones of eight or ten inches, convex on the upper surface
like the shell of a terrapin; few have room for side-walks, and where
not bounded by stores they are as dark as they were under King Pepin.
Some seem to be watertight."[37] They were seldom swept, never flushed,
and primitively lit. The noise, too, except on the boulevards, was
deafening and incessant. Not only did the eternal rumbling of wheels
over cobblestones and the sharp clatter of stumbling hoofs assail the
ear, but also the ringing of bells, the rattle of water-carriers'
buckets, the din of barrel-organs and itinerant singers, and all those
street cries of fish-sellers, clothes-merchants, rag and bone men,
glaziers, umbrella menders, and fruit-vendors so picturesque in isolated
survival, but so unbearable in the _ensemble_ of their heyday. It would
be a mistake, however, to imagine this Paris as sleepy, stagnant, or
unpricked by the progressive spirit; on the contrary, she was
exceedingly wide-awake. But, whereas the Englishman at once translates
his progressive idea into mechanism, the Frenchman prefers to let the
first thorough ferment take place in his mind alone, allowing it, if
need be, to inspire in him the primitive actions of attack and defence,
but leaving more complicated handiwork to a later date, when the logic
of change has been worked out, according to which he then acts
rigorously. In this light the Paris of Bohemia must be
regarded--picturesquely stagnant externally, seething inwardly--and of
this condition Bohemia was the type. Its extravagant or tattered dress,
its Rabelaisian speech and self-indulgence, the antiquated splendours of
the Impasse du Doyenné and the equally antiquated hovels and garrets of
its poverty, its disregard of public convenience and its real antagonism
to democracy, were externals voluntarily or of necessity adopted from
an earlier age; they were the old bottles which served for a moment to
hold and to flavour with a distinctive tang the new wine of the Romantic
vintage. Other vintages of equal potency have quickened men's hearts
since then, and every new age, whether its ideals be artistic or social,
will have its particular ferment that will find its appropriate vessels,
but the past can never return any more than the first delirious
headiness can be restored to an old wine that now charms with its
matured delicacy. Bohemia is a thing of the past with that irrevocable
Paris with its tortuous, noisy streets, its high gables, its wide skirts
and embroidered waistcoats, its
_Fashionables musqués, gueux à mine incongrue,_
_Grisettes au pied leste, au sourire agaçant,_
_Beaux tilburys dorés comme l'éclair passant--_
the Paris of Balzac, the Paris of Roger de Beauvoir and Alfred de
Musset, the Paris of Théophile Gautier and Gérard de Nerval, the Paris
of Rodolphe, Schaunard, and Marcel, the Paris, in fine, which was the
only home of _les vrais Bohémiens de la vraie Bohème_.
INDEX
Names of characters in fiction are printed in italics.
A
ABRANTÈS, Duchesse d', 71
Alton-Shee, _see_ Aulnis, Duc d'
Ampère, Jean-Jacques, 36, 37, 51
Amusements of _Bohème_, 176-178, 182-186, 198-200, 214, 215, 252-281
Ancelot, Madame, 71, 72, 95
Anglemont, Privat d', 224-228, 262, 278, 279, 280
Anglomania in Paris, 87, 88
Arsouille, Milord, _see_ Battut, Charles de la
_Arthez, Daniel d'_, 14, 15, 127-129, 298
Artois, Comte d', 23
Arvers, Félix, 102
Asselineau, Charles, 56, 58, 59, 61, 109
Aulnis, Duc d', 70, 78, 79, 80, 91, 275
B
BADOUILLARDS, LES, 224, 225
Bal Bullier, 279, 280
Mabille, 280
Bal Musard, 270, 276
Balzac, Honoré de, 44, 45, 67, 71, 72, 73, 78, 81, 99, 129, 164, 165,
258, 285, 286, 302
characters in the novels of, 14, 15, 16, 49, 59-61, 62, 67-69, 75, 76,
78, 80-86, 99, 102, 111-114, 127-129, 163-165, 256, 261, 262, 264, 268,
271, 274, 290, 292, 294, 295, 296, 298, 299
Banville, Théodore de, 33, 73, 104, 109, 226, 227, 233, 277
Barbara, Charles, 248-250, 265, 269
_Barbemuche, Carolus_, _see_ Barbara, Charles
Barrière d'Enfer, Bohemian colony at the, 239-243
Barrière, Théodore, 244
Bastide, Jules, 36, 37
Battut, Charles de la, 90, 91, 275, 276
Baudelaire, Charles, 13, 15, 33, 57, 61, 66, 230-233, 261
Beauvoir, Roger de, 13, 44, 73, 76, 93-97, 101, 102, 106, 168,
169, 177, 186, 187, 212, 255, 256, 259, 273, 284, 302
Belgiojoso, Prince, 71, 93, 102
Princess, 13, 71, 86
Béquet, 101, 106
Béranger, 23, 24
Berlioz, Hector, 73, 122, 269
Berry, assassination of the Duc de, 23
Bisson, the brothers, 236, 237
_Bixiou_, 82, 84-86, 99
Blanche, Doctor, 190
Bœuf Enragé, Cabaret du, 227
Bohème, La, meaning of the term, 1-12
its place and period, 12-20
rise and fall, 1830-1848, 21-34
general characteristics of, 111-129
Romanticism of, 25, 26, 29-31, 40-50, 56-64, 131-159, 200-204, 272
its place in Parisian society, 65-68, 73, 76, 77, 110
amusements of, 176-178, 182-186, 198-200, 214, 215, 252-281
drama in, 132-136, 140, 141, 175, 176, 272-274
life of, 126-251
love in, 173-176, 178-182, 213-218, 246-248
music in, 249, 250
Bohème, La, the Paris of, 282-302
smoking in, 151, 152 _See also_ Cénacle, the Second: Bohème Galante;
Buveurs d'Eau; Gautier; Murger, &c.
Galante, La, 158-193, 194, 203, 205, 206, 207, 210, 216, 221
_see_ Doyenné, Impasse du
Boissard, 231
Borel, Pétrus, 15, 41, 43, 57, 58, 61, 133, 135, 136-140, 144, 149-155,
169, 177, 201, 298
Bouchardy, Joseph, 136, 140, 152, 155, 156, 218, 272
Bouffé, 101
Bouginier's nose, 223, 224
Bouilhet, Louis, 230
Boulevard des Italiens, 74, 112, 121, 288, 292, 293
"Bousingots," 55, 62, 144
Briffaut, 101, 106
Brot, Alphonse, 136, 137
Bullier, 279
Bal, 279, 280
Burnett, George, 17
Buveurs d'Eau, Société des, 212, 233-242, 266-268
Byron, Lord, influence of on Bohème, 35-37, 64, 125, 134, 151
C
CABANON, Emile, 97, 101, 102, 106
Cabaret du Bœuf Enragé, 227
Cabaret Dinochan, 261, 262
of Mère Cadet, 263
of Mère Saguet, 129, 130
Cabot, 237, 238
Cadet, Cabaret of Mère, 263
Café Anglais, 91, 96, 259, 260
Hardy, 96, 259, 260
Momus, 198, 204, 246, 248, 265-268
de l'Odéon, 261
d'Orsay, 181
de Paris, 79, 86, 87, 91, 169, 259, 260
Riche, 259, 260
Tortoni, 13, 86, 259
Camp, Maxime du, 40-42, 94, 95, 132, 134, 142, 150, 153, 154, 156, 222,
228-230, 284
Cancan, The, 80, 91, 275, 276
Carnaud, 278, 279
Carnival, 80, 89-91, 274-276
Cénacle, the first, 129-132
the second, 126-157, 158, 159, 203, 271, 272, 298
of the Rue des Quatre Vents, 127-129
Cercle des Étrangers, 269
Chahut, The, 275
Champfleury, 98, 99, 101, 102, 219, 235, 238, 243-250, 256, 262, 266-268, 272,
296, 297
Chanteraine, Salle, 221, 222
Charles X, 23, 24, 200
Chartreuse, La, _see_ Closerie des Lilas
Chassériau, 185, 193
Châteaubriand, Duc de, 37, 71
Châtillon, 169, 185, 193
Chaudesaigues, 103
Chaumière, La, 97, 177, 204, 225, 242, 277, 278
Chicard, 275, 276
Chintreuil, 237, 238, 243
Childebert, La, 222-225
Cloître Saint-Merri, insurrection of the, 27, 59, 128, 161
Clopet, Léon, 136, 137, 152
Closerie des Lilas, La, 97, 277-281
Coleridge, S. T., 10, 17, 18
_Colline_, 126, 198-218, 238, 241, 250, 263, 265-267, 281
Colon, Jenny, 174-176, 190
Cormenin, Louis de, 230
Corot, 185, 193
Courbet, 201, 250
Courtille, Descente de la, 90
Cretaine, Boulangerie, 262, 273
Cydalise, 179, 180, 193, 213, 257
D
DAGNEAUX'S Restaurant, 230, 263
Dancing, 80, 91, 155, 177, 178, 181-185, 204, 225, 270, 274-281
Delacroix, 48, 122, 169, 184
Delvau, Alfred, 159, 160, 227, 235, 238, 245, 247, 248, 261-263, 267, 268
Desbrosses, the brothers, 237-241, 243, 290
Dinochan, Cabaret, 261, 262
Dondey, Théopile, _see_ O'Neddy, Philothée
Doré, Gustave, 192
Dorval, Marie, 13, 273
Doyenné, Impasse du, Bohemian brotherhood in, 158-193, 203, 206,
210, 213, 214,
229, 257, 276, 301
Priory of, 166
Rue du, 164, 165, 168
Doze, Mademoiselle, 106
Drama in Bohème, 140, 141, 175, 176, 221, 222, 272-274; _and see_ "Hernani"
Dress of the Romantic period, 92, 96, 131, 139, 141, 145, 151, 239, 234-259
Dumas, Alexandre, 13, 55, 76, 155, 184, 190, 198, 226
Duponchel, 97
Duras, Duchesse de, 71
Dyer, George, 17
E
"ÉCOLE de bon sens," 201, 203
F
FAUBOURG Saint-Germain, 69, 70, 297
Fauchéry, 245, 246, 262, 277
Flaubert, Gustave, 33, 201, 228-230
Flicoteaux's Restaurant, 264, 265
Fontenay-aux-Roses, 200, 216
Frascati, 269
Fraser, Major, 91, 92
G
GAMBLING, _see_ Paris
Gautier, Théophile, 13, 15, 16, 20, 33, 44, 45, 50, 55, 56, 76, 110,
122, 126, 129, 132-157, 160, 162, 164-173, 177-180, 183-189,
193, 194, 201, 207, 212, 218, 253, 269, 272, 282, 287-289, 302
Gavarni, 13, 169, 256, 259
Gay, Delphine, 72, 73, 93
Sophie, 72, 73
Gigoux, Jean, 61
Gilbert, 53
Girardin, Delphine de, _see_ Gay, Delphine
Emile de, 30, 103
Goncourt, the brothers de, 201
Graziano's Restaurant, 136, 147, 148
Grisettes, 216-218, 250, 258-259, 274, 277-280
Guichardet, 262, 263
Guigard, Joannis, 267
Guilbert, 237
Guizot, 200
H
HABENECK, 269
Hardy, Café, 95, 259, 260
Haricots, Hôtel des, 279
Heine, Heinrich, 275
"Hernani," performance of in 1830, 25, 26, 28, 132-136, 201, 221, 255, 272
Hill's Tavern, 261
Houssaye, Arsène, 76, 116, 158, 160-163, 168-175, 177-189, 194,
207, 244, 256, 261, 269, 272, 298
Hugo, Madame, 72
Victor, 13, 25, 28, 31, 32, 45-48, 55, 62, 72, 73, 122, 129-132,
144, 201, 285, 297
worshipped in Bohème, 25, 45-48, 52, 122, 132-136, 148,
152, 153, 156, 158,
184, 201, 244
I
IMPASSE du Doyenné, _see_ Doyenné
J
JANIN, Jules, 189, 196, 203, 273
"Jeune-France" section of Romanticists, the, 45, 57, 58, 61, 94, 95, 139, 142, 150-153
Johnson, Samuel, 10
Jonson, Ben, 10
Jouy, de, 236
K
KARR, Alphonse, 238, 280
Kock, Paul de, 285, 287
L
LAFAYETTE, 24
Lamartine, 52, 53, 55, 73
Lamb, Charles, 11, 17, 173, 174
Lassailly, 44
Lautour-Mézéray, 103
Leconte de l'Isle, 233
Legendre, Madame, 222, 223
Leleux, Adolphe, 184