(_Library of Entertaining Knowledge, Part 18._)
We have little inclination to quote more than a few passages from the
General View of Paris in this Number; the topographical portion of
which, (as far as a four months residence there will serve our
judgment) is eminently characteristic.
_Ancient City._
The Archbishop of Narbonne, writing in the reign of Francis I., (about
1520,) calls Paris even then a world rather than a city[3]; yet at
that period its population was probably not much more than the fifth
part of what it now is; nor did the quantity of ground it covered bear
even the same proportion to the immense space over which it has now
extended. But in both convenience and elegance, Paris has made still
more extraordinary advances since the time of Francis than even in
population and extent. It was then, compared to what it now is, but a
gloomy and incommodious fortress, without even the security which
encompassing fortifications might be supposed to yield. Lighted only
by candles placed here and there by the inhabitants themselves in
their windows, it was so infested by thieves and assassins that hardly
any person ventured out after dark, and the approach of night was the
source of constant terror even to those who remained in their houses.
The streets thus imperfectly lighted, were worse paved; and most of
them were as dirty and narrow as those still to be seen in the more
ancient part of the city. The supply of water was so inadequate that
the severest miseries were sometimes suffered from the absolute want
of that necessary of life, and the greatest inconveniences at all
times from its scarcity. Finally, the public edifices were without
splendour, and even the best of the private houses unprovided with
many of what are now accounted the most indispensable accommodations.
Instead of all this, we behold Paris now one of the very central seats
of civilization; and although still deficient in many of the
accommodations which supply to the necessities of the many instead of
the luxuries of the few, in possession of the greater portion of the
most important provisions which ingenuity has found out, whether for
the comfort or the embellishment of existence. What a contrast between
the French capital of 1831, and that Lutetia of the ancient Parisii,
which Caesar found nearly nineteen hundred years ago occupying the
little island, around which has since extended itself so wide a circle
of wealth, industry, intelligence, and the works which these create!
[3] Felibien, Histoire de Paris, tome i.
_Bridges._
Paris, stands, like London, on both banks of a river, and is thus cut
into two great divisions, one to the north, and the other to the
south, of the water. The Seine, however, is not nearly so broad as the
Thames; and the northern and southern halves of Paris are not,
therefore, by any means so much separated from each other, either
locally, politically, or socially, as are the corresponding portions
of the English metropolis. They form, in all respects one city.
The Seine flows in a direction nearly opposite to that of the Thames,
namely, from south-east to north-west. It preserves almost a perfectly
straight course in passing through Paris, except that it bends
considerably to the south immediately before leaving the town. The
river, as it flows through the heart of the city, is interrupted by
three small islands lying in succession, the two most westerly of
which, the Ile de la Cité (otherwise called the Ile du Palais) and the
Ile St. Louis, or de Notre Dame, are covered with streets and houses.
The third, called the Ile Louvier, is used only as a depôt for
fire-wood. The parts of the town on the opposite sides of the river
are connected with each other, and with these islands, by nineteen
bridges, thirteen of which are constructed of stone, and two of stone
and iron: of the others two are chain-bridges, one is built of wood,
and two of wood and iron. Several of these structures, especially the
Pont des Arts, the Pont Louis XVI., and the Pont de Jena, or de
l'Ecole Militaire, all of which are to the west of the Ile du Palais,
are distinguished by their majesty or elegance, and add much beauty
and picturesque effect to the vista of the river. Excepting at one
place where the two branches enclosing the Ile du Palais unite,
immediately to the west of that island, the breadth of the Seine at
Paris is no where greater than about 550 English feet, and at some
points it is not more than half that distance from the one bank to
the other. The bridges, therefore, by which the Seine is traversed,
are not to be compared in point of magnitude with those of the Thames
at London. Even the Pont Neuf, which connects the Ile du Palais with
both the northern and the southern divisions of the city, and
comprehends in fact two bridges, with an intermediate street, is
shorter taken altogether, than Waterloo bridge by more than 200 feet;
and the Pont Louis XVI., which next to the Pont Neuf is the longest of
the Parisian stone bridges, measures only about 485 feet between the
abutments, while Westminster Bridge measures 1223, and Waterloo Bridge
1242 feet. It is in the _number_ of its bridges alone, therefore, that
the Seine is superior to the Thames.
_The Boulevards._
The most remarkable feature in the general appearance of Paris, is the
inner inclosure formed by the celebrated road called the _Boulevards._
On the north side of the river, the Boulevards follow a line nearly
midway, on an average, between the river and the wall. The space which
they comprehend, therefore, is but a small portion of that included
within the outer boundary of the city. The length of this part of the
road is about 5,200 English yards, or somewhat under three miles. That
on the south side of the river is of far greater extent, approaching,
as it does, throughout its whole sweep, very much closer to the wall,
and in some parts entirely coinciding with it. It measures about
16,000 yards, or above nine miles in length. Each of these lines,
although in reality forming an uninterrupted road from its
commencement to its termination, is divided into a succession of
parts, each having its particular name. The northern Boulevards are
twelve in number, the southern seven. We have nothing in England like
the Parisian Boulevards. They may be generally described as a road or
street, of great breadth, along each side of which are planted double
rows of elms. But these shady avenues do not present merely a picture
of rural beauty. Rising as they do in the heart of a great city, they
partake also of its artificial elegance and splendour, and are
associated with all the luxuries of architectural decoration.
Considered merely as a range of streets, the Boulevards are hardly
rivalled by any other part of Paris. Those to the north of the river
are lined on both sides throughout their whole extent, by buildings
more uniformly handsome than are those of almost any other street in
the city, and by many which may be even described as magnificent. Some
of these are private residences; others are shops, cafés, public
hotels, and theatres. The crowds by whom so many parts of these
Boulevards are frequented chiefly give to the scene its singular
liveliness and brilliancy. The southern Boulevards, though equally
beautiful, are far from being so much the habitual resort of the
citizens; but the walks on this very account, have a charm for some
moods of mind which the others want. Another road, planted in a
similar manner, has more recently been carried round the outside of
the present walls of the city. It is distinguished from the inner
Boulevards by the name of the _Boulevards Extérieurs._
_Streets._
To a person accustomed to the appearance of the streets of London, or
indeed of any other English town, those of the interior of Paris will
present considerable novelty of aspect. The extreme narrowness, in the
first place, of those in the more ancient parts of the city, and the
great height of the houses, with their windows in many cases fortified
by bars of iron, would alone give them an air of gloom and precaution,
almost sufficient to impress the Englishman who walks through them
with the feeling that he has been transported, not only into another
country, but into another age. Even where these indications of the
more ancient evils of Paris are not visible, the general aspect of the
town shows that it has not grown with the growth of a free people,
amongst whom the inequalities of rank have been softened down by
respect to the comforts of all classes. Under the ancient régime,
which was in full activity half a century ago, there were only two
classes in Paris, the _noblesse_, and the _bourgeoisie_; and the
latter, being driven into the gutters by the carriage-wheels of their
arrogant masters, went by the general name of the _canaille._ Few of
the streets even now have any side pavement for foot passengers--that
invaluable accommodation which gives such perfect security to the
pedestrian even in our most crowded and tumultuous thoroughfare. The
causeway itself, on which walkers and drivers are thus mingled
together in confusion, is often most uneven and rugged. The stones of
which it is formed, about ten inches square, present each a convex
surface, usually wet and slippery, so that under the most favourable
circumstances, walking in the streets of Paris is anything but an
agreeable exercise. Still farther to abridge the level space, the
street is made to incline from both sides towards the centre, in order
to form there a sort of ditch, in which flows a black and fetid
stream. From the want of a proper system of drains, this receptacle of
filth is generally sufficiently replenished even in the driest
weather, to keep the whole street wet and dirty. Carriages, having
usually one wheel in the midst of the kennel, dash about the offensive
puddle in all directions. But the principle of a clear middle way,
such as our English streets possess, is neglected in all the
arrangements connected with those of Paris. Even the lights, instead
of being fixed on posts, as ours are, at the sides, are suspended in
the middle on ropes swung across, and having their opposite ends
fastened to the walls of the houses. It was these ropes which the mob,
in the Revolution of 1789, were wont to make use of as halters for
their victims; whence their famous cry of _á la lanterne_, as they
dragged them along to execution.
The aspect of Paris by night, except in a few of the principal streets
where gas has been very partially introduced, is singularly gloomy.
The darkness is occasionally relieved by the brilliancy of a café; but
in the more quiet parts of the town, particularly in the fashionable
quarter of the Faubourg St. Germain, it is almost impossible for the
pedestrian to direct his steps aright. It is quite evident that the
arrangements of this capital have not been made for a walking people.
This evil, however, is fast disappearing. Numerous _passages_ have
been constructed, within the last ten years, which are paved with flat
stones, and brilliantly lighted; and the active and pleasure-seeking
population of Paris crowd to these attractive and convenient places,
to the Boulevards, or to the Palais-Royal, and leave the narrow and
dirty streets principally to the few who keep their own carriages, or
to the many who hire public conveyances. These are of various kinds;
and such was the growing importance of the middle classes, that
_fiacres_ (so called after the sign of St Fiacre, at the house where
they were first established) were in use a century and a half ago.
The remainder of the Part is occupied with a sketch of the Revolution
of 1789.
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