_pension de famille_ presided over by a young French widow whose
personal beauty and grace of manner are more than marked. Reference is
made to Madame Veuve Léon Glatz, who is assisted in her duties by her
sister. Both of them speak English with a pretty and piquant accent. The
Glatz _pension_ is in rue de Clichy, five minutes distant from St.
Lazare Station and Park Monceau; ten minutes from la Madelaine and the
Opera. It was built in 1885 and is sanitarily correct; supplied with
pure spring water from the new water works of Paris. There is a really
grand _salon_ in which _musicales_ are given weekly. In the rear of this
is a large and handsome garden, neatly kept--a very pretty lounging
place on summer evenings. There are baths in the house, the bedrooms are
nicely furnished, the service is good, and last, and by no means least
worthy of note is the table, which is liberally supplied; the best as to
quality. But Madame Glatz at present has only room for thirty guests and
her house is in such demand that you must engage rooms months, or at
least weeks, in advance. Terms, 8 to 14 francs per day, which is the
full charge; no extras, except, possibly, for lights. This is a favorite
place with Americans of refinement: others are not admitted to Madame
Glatz’s charming family circle. Address, 45 rue de Clichy.
THE POWERS PENSION--One of the most desirable _pensions_ in Paris,
especially desirable for Americans, is kept not by a “charming
Frenchwoman,” nor by a “hearty” Britisher, but by a couple of
cultivated, good Americans, well-known in New York--Mr. and Mrs. J. G.
Powers, Jr. The house is in a high and delightful location, in the
American quarter, 69 Avenue d’Antin, near the Champs Élysées. Mrs.
Powers claims that it is “the most elegant and comfortable _pension_ in
Europe,” and I, who have had some experience in hotels and _pensions_ of
the first rank, do not contradict the statement. I am not given to using
the adjective “elegant” too freely, but elegant and tasteful are words
that come to mind without summoning, in speaking of the Powers
_pension_. The _salon_ is a beautiful apartment; yes, uncommonly
beautiful. It is on Monday evenings more particularly that this _salon_
looks its best, when the receptions, with music, are held. The Powers
_pension_ is a select family home in the strictest sense of the term,
and the rates for board are quite reasonable: pleasant rooms and three
meals from ten francs per day. A lift was put in last autumn. Make a
note of the address--69 Avenue d’Antin.
In the hotels mentioned the reader has a very wide latitude of choice
and he may be guided by the facts and the figures set forth, so far as
they go. As a last word I will add that if the reader “puts up” at the
Hotel Chatham, Hotel Binda, or the Anglo-Français, or the _pensions_ of
Mr. and Mrs. Powers, Madame Veuve Glatz, or Mrs. Van Pelt, he will
surely have no occasion to regret his choice of quarters.
[Illustration]
THE RESTAURANTS OF PARIS.
BY THEODORE CHILD.
In order to anticipate criticism, and to avoid disappointment, it may be
well to state at once that the art of cookery is in a terrible state of
decadence in Paris. The men of the present generation do not seem to
have the sentiment of the table; they know neither its varied resources
nor its infinite refinements; their palates are dull, and they are
content to eat rather than to dine. This decadence may be remarked both
in private and in public establishments. The _gourmet_ nowadays is a
rarity, and a man of thirty years of age who knows how to order a dinner
is a still greater rarity. One might discover many causes of this
decline of a delicate art. The conditions of contemporary life, the
hurry and unrest of modern Paris, doubtless do not conduce to the
appreciation of fine cooking; but the chief cause of the decline of
cookery in restaurants is the development of club life. The men of
fashion, leisure, or wealth, who formerly would have lived at the
restaurants, now dine at their clubs between two _séances_ at the
baccarat table, and the restaurants have thus lost that nucleus of
regular and fastidious customers which, by its readiness to criticise
and appreciate, obliged and encouraged the _chef_ to keep up the
traditions of the dainty palates of the past. At present the great
restaurants of Paris depend for support as much on foreigners and on
provincial people as on resident Parisians. The criticism of their
cookery is less constant and less rigorous; the bills of fare are less
varied than they were of old; the _amour propre_ of the cooks is less;
in a word, cookery has become nowadays more an industry than an art.
Even in the most famous Parisian restaurants the visitor must not expect
too much in the way either of viands or of wines.
In certain things, again, it must be remembered that the Parisian market
is inferior to the markets of almost any town in England. The English
visitor generally speaks disparagingly of the French oyster, for
instance, doubtless because he is not accustomed to its flavor, and yet
I know many connoisseurs who have travelled and dined in many lands who
maintain that of all oysters the green Marennes (_Marennes vertes_) are
the most delicate and delicious. The lovers of comparisons will ask what
equivalents the French have for real turtle-soup, ox-tail, mulligatawny,
and pea-soup with a sprinkling of dried mint and sippets. Is it their
_bisque_ or _purée_ of crayfish, their _consommé de volaille_, their
_Saint Germain_, or green pea-soup, their _Parmentier_, or thick
potato-soup? But the traveller does not go to Paris to eat the food of
his native land, but rather to enjoy the particular food of the country.
Therefore, he must not expect to get fine salmon, or cod-fish, or
turbot, or even mackerel in Paris. The city is too far away from the sea
to have good salt-water fish. Salmon in Paris is dry and of poor flavor;
fresh cod-fish is rarely seen, and the habits of the restaurants render
it impossible to eat such salmon and turbot as there is in favorable
conditions. In a London restaurant a whole salmon or a whole turbot is
served hot like the joints; in a Paris restaurant, if you order boiled
salmon or turbot, the cook cuts a slice off a parboiled fish, puts the
slice in the pot, and boils it up for you. The result is unsatisfactory.
As a rule, I should say, in a Parisian restaurant eat your salmon and
your turbot cold, and prefer to both a red mullet (_rouget_), a sole, a
trout, or some fresh-water fish. A carefully prepared _matelotte
d’anguilles_, which is not precisely the same as stewed eels, and
_friture de Seine_, which need not be compared to whitebait, are both
dishes not unworthy of the attention of the epicure.
The French are poor roasters; the roast beef and roast mutton in their
restaurants cannot for a moment be compared with the joints at Simpson’s
or Blanchard’s in London. Pies and puddings also are unknown to the
French, with the exception of _pâtés de foie gras_ and game pies. The
French, again, eat their game very fresh and less cooked than the
English. Generally, I think that the raw material of the Parisian
restaurant cuisine is inferior to that of English restaurants; on the
other hand, with the limitations referred to above, particularly as
regards roasting, the preparation of the dishes is superior, and in the
first-class restaurants unique. In the preparation and variety of
vegetables the French lead the world; in the fabrication of sauces they
are unsurpassed; in the serving and arrangement of a dinner they leave
little to be desired.
But where can one go to dine in Paris? Which restaurants are the best,
and what are the prices, and what is one to order? The subject is
delicate and even dangerous, for although the critic has the right to
declare a book or picture bad, pernicious, or abominable, and to
pronounce its author to be unworthy of public attention, he dare not be
so outspoken about the wretchedest restaurant-keeper who is licensed to
poison his customers. I cannot tell you that such and such a restaurant
in the Palais Royal is not to be frequented, or that such and such a
gilded palace on the boulevard is an expensive delusion. I may, however,
assure you that as prices run in Paris, it is impossible for a
restaurateur to serve you with a healthy and honest plate of meat for
less than one and a half francs, and you may therefore conclude that the
restaurateurs who, for a fixed price, varying from one and a quarter to
three francs, offer you a complete dinner of five courses--soup, fish,
meat, two desserts, and half a bottle of wine--are probably in league
with the honorable apothecaries, whose aid their customers must often
need.
To the traveller I say avoid _prix fixe_ dinners altogether, or, if you
will satisfy your curiosity, go to the Dîner Européen at the corner of
rue Lepelletier and the boulevard (price five francs), or to the table
d’hôte dinners of those vast caravansaries, the Hôtel du Louvre, the
Grand Hôtel, or the Hôtel Continental, where you dine for six, seven, or
eight francs, and see specimens of men, women and children of all the
countries of the world, and a profusion of linen, of silver plate, and
luxurious surroundings which, for a time, will perhaps distract your
attention from the insipidness of the roasts and the cheapness of the
sauces.
The Bouillon Duval is an establishment which generally attracts the
attention of the traveller. In every quarter of Paris you see one or two
sober and respectable-looking façades painted dark red and lettered
simply, “Établissement Duval.” The Duval restaurants are wonderfully
organized, exceedingly cheap, and all the food sold in them is good and
genuine; these establishments now serve an average of three million
meals a year. The visitor may often find it convenient in his wanderings
about Paris to lunch in one of these Duval restaurants, if he is out of
the way of any other well-known restaurant. In all of them he will find
the food of the same quality, and the prices the same. As he enters, the
doorkeeper will hand him a bulletin, on which all that he eats and
drinks will be checked off, and which bulletin, when duly paid and
stamped, will serve him as a passport when he leaves the establishment.
The prices at the Duvals are very low; no dish costs more than one
franc, and most of them only fifty or sixty centimes; wine costs twenty
centimes a carafon, which is equivalent to one glassful, or one franc a
bottle and upwards; coffee and cognac costs forty centimes. The Duval
restaurant may be frequented with impunity, for nothing poisonous or
deleterious is sold there; the only disadvantage is that the portions
being very small, a hungry man, in order to satisfy his appetite, will
need so many portions, that his bill will mount up to as much as if he
had lunched or dined in an establishment of superior standing and
comfort. The Bouillon Duval stands in the same relation to the regular
restaurant as the omnibus or tram-car stands to the victoria; as
somebody has said, _c’est l’omnibus du ventre_.
At length we come to the restaurants proper, the restaurants where one
dines in the true sense of the term. It is commonly believed that the
first-class restaurants in Paris are very dear. The Café Anglais, you
will be told, charges twelve francs for a beefsteak for two, and fifteen
francs for a Rouen duck. Yes, but the beefsteak in question is a
Chateaubriand, a kernel of delicate meat cut in the heart of the
_filet_,--meat that is sold at two and a half francs a pound by the
butcher--and the duck costs eight or nine francs at the poulterer’s.
Good provisions in Paris are dear, and when one considers the heavy
expenses of the first-class restaurants, one cannot complain of their
charges.
As regards perfection of cooking, the Café Anglais heads the list. Its
soups and sauces are exquisite; a sole “à l’Orly,” “Colbert,”
“normande,” “à la Join-ville,” or “au vin blanc,” may be eaten there in
perfection, and there is no restaurant in Paris where you can get a more
delicate “sauce diable” served to a grilled fowl. The two great tests of
a French kitchen are soups and sauces; if these are good, you may rest
assured that everything else will be good.
In the same category with the Café Anglais, both as regards quality of
food and price, may be placed Durand’s, opposite the Madeleine, and
Adolphe and Pellé behind the Opéra. Next come the Maison d’Or, the Café
de la Paix, Bignon, and the Café de Paris, in the Avenue de l’Opéra,
Voisin in the rue Cambon, the old Véfour in the Palais Royal, the Père
Lathuile, in the Avenue de Clichy, and Fayot, opposite the Luxembourg
Palace. At all these restaurants you can dine delicately and drink as
good wines as are still to be had in France. Voisin and Foyot,
especially, have choice Burgundies of incomparable fineness.
The third category of restaurants includes the Café Riche, which years
ago belonged to the first category; Brébant’s, now a general Bouillon,
at the corner of Boulevard Montmartre; Chevilliard, at the Rond-Point
des Champs Élysées; Laurent, and Ledoyen, in the Champs Élysées;
Champeaux, Place de la Bourse, where you dine in a perpetual winter
garden; Edouard, Place Boieldieu, opposite the Opéra Comique; Wepler,
Place Clichy; La Pérouse, on the Quai des Grands Augustins; Maire, at
the corner of the Boulevard de Strasbourg and the Boulevard St. Denis;
Marguery, next door to the Gymnase theatre; Perroncel, rue du Havre,
opposite the Gare Saint Lazare. In the Bois du Boulogne the restaurants
of Madrid, and of the Pavilion d’Armenonville are much frequented in the
summer by gay and smart people: the prices are about the same as at the
restaurants in town of the second category, that is to say, two can dine
there modestly with ordinary wine for a louis.
I presume that the traveller comes to Paris to taste Parisian cooking,
and therefore I shall not recommend him to try the pseudo-English
cuisine of Weber or Lucas in the rue Royale and Place de la Madeleine,
or the Russian restaurant in the rue Marivaux, or the Hungarian
restaurant in the rue Rougemont. There remain then to be mentioned only
a few special establishments, such as the Pied de Mouton near the
Central Market, and the famous tripe restaurant in the rue Montorgueil.
There are several restaurants in Paris which make a specialty of
Bouillabaisse; but I do not recommend that dish in Paris, for the simple
reason that it is not the real article. In the Parisian Bouillabaisse
several of the fish elements are wanting because they cannot bear
transportation from the seaside. The traveller _gourmet_ will prefer to
wait until chance leads him to Marseilles, where the reigning chief of
the great dynasty of Roubion will serve him this savoury dish on a
balcony overlooking the blue Mediterranean. The café concerts in the
Champs Élysées are also much frequented by open air diners in the
summer. The spectacle is curious and amusing, but the _gourmet_ will
flee the promiscuity and bustle of their dear and mediocre cuisine.
To give precise details as to price is difficult. One may say generally
that at the Café Anglais two persons can dine delicately and well
without stint as to good wines or choice of dishes, for about two louis
(forty francs). On the other hand, the single man who is prepared to
spend not less than seven francs on his dinner may enter boldly any
restaurant in Paris, from the Café Anglais downward, and dine for that
sum on soup, one dish, cheese, and half a bottle of wine. For ten or
twelve francs one may dine simply but abundantly almost anywhere, except
at the very tip-top houses, such as the Café Anglais, Durand’s, and
Adolphe and Pellé’s. By way of practical hints I will subjoin a few
observations.
Beware of _hors d’œuvres_ and baskets of fruit, for their influence
on the total of your bill is alarming. If you are alone, resolutely
refuse radishes and butter, or rather leave them untouched on the table
before you; if you have invited a friend to dinner, offer him _hors
d’œuvres_ and hope that he will refuse; if you are with a lady, both
_hors d’œuvres_ and the basket of fruit are obligatory. Eve offered
fruit to Adam; the least we sons of Adam can do is to return the
politeness.
The real _gourmet_ eats by candle-light, because, as Nestor Roqueplan
said, “rein n’est laid comme une sauce vue au soleil.”
When you enter a restaurant refuse as a rule the place that is offered
you. Choose your own table, and if it is breakfast-time secure a view
through the window and a view of the whole restaurant, and if possible
let the light strike on the table from your left hand.
Preserve your freedom of will, but do not try to impose it. You are the
master, it is true, and yet to a certain extent you must obey. Consult,
therefore, with the _maître d’hôtel_, consider what he recommends, and
accept it if it be to your taste, for in the good restaurants there is
no question of passing off stale food. The _maître d’hôtel_ is flattered
when you ask his advice, and it is his business to be acquainted with
the special and daily resources of the larder. At places like the Café
Anglais the written _menu_ mentions only a few very ordinary dishes, and
you will inspire respect by not asking for the _carte_. At Bignon’s do
not trouble yourself about the _carte_; ask advice of the portly Louis,
and do not disdain his counsel. In cookery as in love much confidence is
necessary.
Always ask for the wine list, _la carte des vins_, even if you end by
selecting _vin ordinaire_. The richest people in the land drink _vin
ordinaire_ with their dinner, and dilute it with simple water. The
traveller, therefore, need not fear to do likewise even in the most
gorgeous restaurants. Champagne is not much drunk by French _gourmets_,
and such champagnes as the Paris restaurants keep is sweeter than our
people generally like. To the connoisseur in champagne I would say, “Do
not drink champagne in France, for the best _crûs_ are to be found in
England and Russia.” If you desire fine red or white wines you will find
the nomenclature and the prices on the list; choose your Beaune, Pomard,
Volnay, Nuits, or Moulin à Vent, your Tavel, Tonnerre, or Chambertin
according to your taste and purse; consult confidentially with the
butler, and mind that you always address him as _sommelier_, and not
_garçon_. The _sommelier_ is inferior to the _garçon_ in the hierarchy
of table service, as you will see from his more humble and respectful
demeanor.
Ask for _l’addition_, and not either _la carte_ or _la note_, which
savours of provincialism. Verify your change rapidly, and see that no
pieces lurk on the plate beneath the bill. Be liberal towards the
waiter, for it is the _pourboire_ that secures you a smile when you
arrive and a smile when you leave, a helping hand when you are
struggling into your overcoat, obliging and ready service, and the
appearance, nay, even the reality of friendship. In the three categories
of restaurants mentioned above do not give the waiter less than fifty
centimes, however modest your bill, and the more delicate and
satisfactory your dinner, the more liberal let your _pourboire_ be,
ranging from one franc up to five, calculated generally at the rate of
five per cent. on the total of your bill.
[Illustration]
THE ANGLO-AMERICAN BANKING CO.
When Americans have the facilities to execute a good idea they always
possess the energy and the boldness to execute it in a fitting way. Thus
instead of going into small quarters in an out of the way location, the
Anglo-American Banking Company of Paris selected a large and imposing
building, fronting on two broad streets. Then with a liberal outlay of
money they proceeded to fit up the different floors in luxurious style.
The site, on the corner of Chaussée d’Antin and Rue Meyerbeer, half a
block from the Grand Opéera, a step from the Grand Hotel, and near some
of the leading boulevards, is at once choice, central and accessible.
The ground floor of the building, where money is exchanged and where
letters of credit are cashed, is roomy and has a solid and business-like
appearance, while the upper floors are furnished with an eye to
convenience, comfort and beauty. It is here, on this second floor, where
there are tastefully furnished rooms for ladies, where desks are at hand
for clients to conduct their correspondence, and where the leading
American, English and French papers are kept on file in charge of a
prompt-serving and careful attendant.
The bank is now established on a firm basis; it has the confidence of
the French people, and it promises to become an “institution” in Paris.
It is convenient to keep a small account at the bank, drawing checks
against it in making purchases in Paris. But the house can be used for
any and every legitimate banking purpose, and Americans find it very
useful as a place where their letters may be addressed, where their
letters of credit are cashed and where they may meet friends. It has
some of the features of a club, and although only established a few
years is now quite a popular rendezvous for Americans. The
Anglo-American bank itself issues letters of credit payable all over the
world.
The officers of the American Banking Company are S. J. Gorman, of New
York, president; J. L. Carr, vice-president; J. H. Hobson, of New York,
general manager; Edmond Huerstel, secretary. Cable address, Anabaco,
Paris.
AU BON MARCHÉ.
Everybody has heard of, and all who have been to Paris have visited Au
Bon Marché, world-renowned of dry goods establishments. This great
emporium was practically founded by Jacques-Aristide Boucicaut, who,
beginning life in a small way in the dry goods business, became partner,
and finally sole owner of the Bon Marché. Once above the rank of
ordinary employee, he undertook to improve the moral and material
condition of his fellow workmen. He inaugurated free classes in the arts
and sciences, language, music, etc., and established a provident fund
for long service in the establishment, supplied his employees with free
medical attendance, and in many other forms, in addition to large
outside charities and good works, evidenced more than enough of the
spirit to entitle him to the appellation of philanthropist. At his death
in 1877, the annual returns from his business exceeded sixteen millions
of dollars. After his death his good works were continued by his widow,
who, with an enormous fortune at her command, dispensed it in extended
and elaborate charities, establishing the system of sharing of profits
among her employees, creating a retiring pension fund, erecting and
maintaining hospitals, and at her death disposing of millions of francs
to churches, colleges, and other public institutions.
Mme. Boucicaut died ten years after her husband, but the Bon Marché
still continues under the original plan and system of its founder. There
are three thousand six hundred employees, and all the unmarried
employees of the establishment board on the premises. For the proper
conduct of such a business the system of course must be perfect, near as
may be. Rules and regulations are set forth and strictly adhered to. It
is expressly provided that the food shall be wholesome and abundant. A
doctor is attached to the establishment who may be consulted by the
employees free of charge. Any employee called for military service can,
at its expiration, resume his situation. No fines are inflicted under
any circumstances.
The Bon Marché forwards to any part of the globe all goods bought at the
establishment, and to nearly all the countries of Europe, including
Great Britain, it will forward free of charge for carriage any purchase
to the amount of twenty-five francs (five dollars). A pretty souvenir
volume is issued by the Bon Marché. It contains a useful indicator map
of Paris, and a deal of interesting information about the great
metropolis. It may be obtained free upon application by postal card.
Address simply, Au Bon Marché, Paris.
[Illustration]
[Illustration: THE DE SOTO.] SAVANNAH, GEORGIA.
The city of Savannah, with its balmy air, its far famed Bonaventure
Cemetery, its pretty parks, broad streets and many natural attractions
(acknowledged to be one of the most attractive Southern cities), was
long avoided by many pleasure tourists, because it had no hotel worthy
of a city claiming fifty thousand inhabitants and doing a business of
over one hundred and thirty millions of dollars annually.
Savannah is the greatest cotton port in the world--New Orleans excepted.
Savannah has deep water and good docks. Sometimes as many as thirty
English ships are in this port at the same time. They take cotton direct
to foreign ports. Savannah is easily approached from North and South:
presently it is to have communication with the west--direct from Kansas
City. When these and other contemplated improvements are made, Savannah
expects to experience an era of great prosperity. It is predicted that
the city will double its population in the next ten years.