In visiting Paris it certainly was my intention to describe in print
what I saw and heard there; and to do this as faithfully as possible,
I proposed to continue my old habit of noting in my journal all
things, great and small, in which I took an interest. But the task
frightens me. I have been here but a few days, and I already find
myself preaching and prosing at much greater length than I approve: I
already feel that I am involved in such a mizmaze of interesting
subjects, that to give anything like an orderly and well-arranged
digest of them, would beguile me into attempting a work greatly
beyond my power to execute.
The very most I can hope to do will be but to "skim lightly over the
surface of things;" and in addressing myself to you, I shall feel less
as if I were about to be guilty of the presumption of writing "a work
on France," than if I threw my notes into a less familiar form. I will
then discourse to you, as well as I may, of such things as leave the
deepest impression among the thousand sights and sounds in the midst
of which I am now placed. Should it be our will hereafter that these
letters pass from your hands into those of the public, I trust that
nobody will be so unmerciful as to expect that they shall make them
acquainted with everything past, present, and to come, "respecting the
destinies of this remarkable country."
It must indeed be a bold pen that attempts to write of "Young France,"
as it is at present the fashion to call it, with anything like a
reasonable degree of order and precision, while still surrounded by
all the startling novelties she has to show. To reason of what she has
done, what she is doing, and--more difficult still--of what she is
about to do, would require a steadier head than most persons can
command, while yet turning and twisting in all directions to see what
this Young France looks like.
In truth, I am disposed to believe that whatever I write about it
will be much in the style of the old conundrum--
"I saw a comet rain down hail
I saw a cloud" &c.
And here you will remember, that though the things seen are stated in
the most simple and veracious manner, much of the meaning is occult,
depending altogether upon the stopping or pointing of the narrative.
This stopping or pointing I must leave to you, or any other readers I
may happen to have, and confine myself to the plain statement of "I
saw;" for though it is sufficiently easy to see and to hear, I feel
extremely doubtful if I shall always be able to understand.
It is just seven years and seven months since I last visited the
capital of the "Great Nation." The interval is a long one, as a
portion of human life; but how short does it appear when the events
that it has brought forth are contemplated! I left the white banner of
France floating gaily over her palaces, and I find it torn down and
trampled in the dust. The renowned lilies, for so many ages the symbol
of chivalric bravery, are everywhere erased; and it should seem that
the once proud shield of St. Louis is soiled, broken, and reversed for
ever.
But all this was old. France is grown young again; and I am assured
that, according to the present condition of human judgment, everything
is exactly as it should be. Knighthood, glory, shields, banners,
faith, loyalty, and the like, are gone out of fashion; and they say it
is only necessary to look about me a little, to perceive how
remarkably well the present race of Frenchmen can do without them;--an
occupation, it is added, which I shall find much more profitable and
amusing than lamenting over the mouldering records of their ancient
greatness.
The good sense of this remonstrance is so evident, that I am
determined henceforth to profit by it; remembering, moreover, that, as
an Englishwoman, I have certainly no particular call to mourn over the
fading honours of my country's rival. So in future I shall turn my
eyes as much as I can from the tri-coloured flag--(those three stripes
are terribly false heraldry)--and only think of amusing myself; a
business never performed anywhere with so much ease as at Paris.
Since I last saw it, I have journeyed half round the globe; but
nothing I have met in all my wanderings has sufficed to damp the
pleasure with which I enter again this gay, bright, noisy, restless
city,--this city of the living, as beyond all others it may be justly
called.
And where, in truth, can anything be found that shall make its air of
ceaseless jubilee seem tame?--or its thousand depôts of all that is
prettiest in art, lose by comparison with any other pretty things in
the wide world? Where do all the externals of happiness meet the eye
so readily?--or where can the heavy spirit so easily be roused to seek
and find enjoyment? Cold, worn-out, and dead indeed must the heart be
that does not awaken to some throb of pleasure when Paris, after long
absence, comes again in sight! For though a throne has been
overturned, the Tuileries still remain;--though the main stock of a
right royal tree has been torn up, and a scion sprung from one of the
roots, that had run, wildly enough, to a distance, has been barricaded
in, and watered, and nurtured, and fostered into power and strength of
growth to supply its place, the Boulevards, with their matchless
aspect of eternal holiday, are still the same. No commotion, however
violent, has yet been able to cause this light but precious essence of
Parisian attractiveness to evaporate; and while the very foundations
of society have been shaken round them, the old elms go on, throwing
their flickering shadows upon a crowd that--allowing for some vagaries
of the milliner and tailor--might be taken for the very same, and no
other, which has gladdened the eye and enlivened the imagination since
first their green boughs beckoned all that was fairest and gayest in
Paris to meet together beneath them.
Whilst this is the case, and while sundry other enchantments that may
be named in their turn continue to proclaim that Paris is Paris
still, it would be silly quarrelling with something better than
bread-and-butter, did we spend the time of our abode here in dreaming
of what has been, instead of opening our eyes and endeavouring to be
as much awake as possible to look upon all that is.
Farewell!