_Paris and the Parisians in 1835. By Frances Trollope, Author of
"Domestic Manners of the Americans," "The Refugee in America," &c. New
York: Published by Harper and Brothers._
We have no patience with that atra-bilious set of hyper-patriots, who
find fault with Mrs. Trollope's book of _flumflummery_ about the good
people of the Union. We can neither tolerate nor comprehend them. The
work appeared to us (we speak in all candor, and in sober earnest) an
unusually well-written performance, in which, upon a basis of
downright and positive truth, was erected, after the fashion of a
porcelain pagoda, a very brilliant, although a very brittle fabric of
mingled banter, philosophy, and spleen. Her mere political {394}
opinions are, we suppose, of very little consequence to any person
other than Mrs. Trollope; and being especially sure that they are of
no consequence to ourselves we shall have nothing farther to do with
them. We do not hesitate to say, however, that she ridiculed our
innumerable moral, physical, and social absurdities with equal
impartiality, true humor and discrimination, and that the old joke
about her _Domestic Manners of the Americans_ being nothing more than
the _Manners of the American Domestics_, is like most other very good
jokes, excessively untrue.
That our national soreness of feeling prevented us, in the case of her
work on America, from appreciating the real merits of the book, will
be rendered evident by the high praise we find no difficulty in
bestowing upon her _Paris and the Parisians_--a production, in
whatever light we regard it, precisely similar to the one with which
we were so irreparably offended. It has every characteristic of the
_Domestic Manners of the Americans_--from the spirit of which work, if
it differs at all, the difference lies in the inferior quantity of the
fine wit she has thought proper to throw away upon our Parisian
friends.
The volume now issued by the Harpers, is a large octavo of 410 pages,
and is embellished with eleven most admirable copperplate engravings,
exclusive of the frontispiece. These designs are drawn by A. Hervieu,
and engraved by S. H. Gimber. We will give a brief account of them
all, as the most effectual method of imparting to our readers (those
who have not seen the work and for whom this notice is especially
intended) a just conception of the work itself.
Plate 1 is the "_Louvre_." A picture gallery is seen crowded with a
motley assemblage of all classes, in every description of French
costume. The occasion is an exhibition of living artists, as the world
chooses to call the exhibition of their works. Poussin, (consequently)
Raphael, Titian, Correggio and Rubens, are hidden beneath the efforts
of more modern pencils. In the habiliments of the company who lounge
through the gallery, the result of newly acquired rights is
ludicrously visible. One of the most remarkable of these, says our
authoress, is the privilege enjoyed by the rabble of presenting
themselves dirty instead of clean before the eyes of the magnates.
Accordingly, the plate shows, among a variety of pretty _toques_,
_cauchoises_, _chaussures_, and other more imperial equipments, a
sprinkling of round-eared caps, awkward _casquettes_, filthy
_blouses_, and dingy and ragged jackets.
Plate 2 is "_Morning at the Tuileries_." It represents that portion of
the garden of "trim alleys" which lies in front of the group of Petus
and Aria. In the distance are seen various figures. In the foreground
we descry three singular-looking personages, who may be best described
in the words of Mrs. Trollope herself.
It was the hour when all the newspapers are in the greatest
requisition; and we had the satisfaction of watching the studies of
three individuals, each of whom might have sat as a model for an
artist who wished to give an idea of their several peculiarities. We
saw, in short, beyond the possibility of doubt, a royalist, a
doctrinaire, and a republican, during the half hour we remained there,
all soothing their feelings by indulging in two sous' worth of
politics, each in his own line.
A stiff but gentlemanlike old man first came, and having taken a
journal from the little octagon stand--which journal we felt quite
sure, was either 'La France' or 'La Quotidienne'--he established
himself at no great distance from us. Why it was that we all felt so
certain of his being a legitimatist I can hardly tell you, but not one
of the party had the least doubt about it. There was a quiet,
half-proud, half-melancholy air of keeping himself apart; an
aristocratical cast of features; a pale, care-worn complexion; and a
style of dress which no vulgar man ever wore, but which no rich one
would be likely to wear to-day. This is all I can record of him: but
there was something pervading his whole person too essentially loyal
to be misunderstood, yet too delicate in its tone to be coarsely
painted. Such as it was, however, we felt it quite enough to make the
matter sure; and if I could find out that old gentleman to be either
doctrinaire or republican, I never would look on a human countenance
again, in order to discover what was passing within.
The next who approached us we were equally sure was a republican: but
here the discovery did little honor to our discernment; for these
gentry choose to leave no doubt upon the subject of their _clique_,
but contrive that every article contributing to the appearance of the
outward man shall become a symbol and a sign, a token and a stigma of
the madness that possesses them. He too held a paper in his hand, and
without venturing to approach too nearly to so alarming a personage,
we scrupled not to assure each other, that the journal he was so
assiduously perusing was 'Le Réformateur.'
Just as we had decided what manner of man it was who was stalking so
majestically past us, a comfortable looking citizen approached in the
uniform of the National Guard, who sat himself down to his daily
allowance of politics with the air of a person expecting to be well
pleased with what he finds, but, nevertheless, too well contented with
himself and all things about him to care overmuch about it. Every line
of this man's jocund face, every curve of his portly figure, spoke
contentment and well being. He was probably one of that very new race
in France, a tradesman making a rapid fortune. Was it possible to
doubt that the paper in his hand was 'Le Journal des Debats?' Was it
possible to believe that this man was other than a prosperous
doctrinaire?
Plate 3 is "_Pro patria_"--and represents two uniformed soldiers in a
guard-room of the National Guard.
Plate 4 is entitled "'_Ce soir, à la Porte St. Martin_'--'_J'y
serâi_,'" and is full of humor. Two conspirator-like republicans stand
in the gardens of the Luxembourg, with short staffs, conical hats,
dark bushy eyebrows, fierce mustaches, and countenances full of fate.
The hand of the one is clasped in the hand of the other with a
vice-like impressiveness and energy, while the taller, looking
furtively around him, lays his hand upon the shoulder of his
associate, and is whispering some most momentous intelligence in his
ear. This plate is explained thus in the words of Mrs. T.
It seems, that ever since the trials began, the chief duty of the
gendarmes (I beg pardon, I should say of La Garde de Paris) has been
to prevent any assembling together of the people in knots for
conversation and gossippings in the courts and gardens of the
Luxembourg. No sooner are two or three persons observed standing
together, than a policeman approaches, and with a tone of command
pronounces "Circulez Messieurs!--circulez s'il vous plaît." The reason
for this precaution is, that nightly at the Porte St. Martin a few
score of _jeunes gens_ assemble to make a very idle and unmeaning
noise, the echo of which regularly runs from street to street, till
the reiterated report amounts to the announcement of an _émeute_. We
are all now so used to these harmless little _émeutes_ at the Porte
St. Martin, that we mind them no more than General Lobau himself:
nevertheless it is deemed proper, trumpery {395} as the cause may be,
to prevent any thing like a gathering together of the mob in the
vicinity of the Luxembourg, lest the same hundred-tongued lady, who
constantly magnifies the hootings of a few idle mechanics into an
_émeute_, should spread a report throughout France that the Luxembourg
was beseiged by the people. The noise which had disturbed us was
occasioned by the gathering together of about a dozen persons; but a
policeman was in the midst of the group, and we heard rumors of an
_arrestation_. In less than five minutes, however, every thing was
quiet again: but we marked two figures so picturesque in their
republicanism, that we resumed our seats while a sketch was made from
them, and amused ourselves the while in fancying what the ominous
words could be that were so cautiously exchanged between them. M. de
L---- said there could be no doubt they ran thus:
'Ce soir à la Porte St. Martin!'
_Answer_--'J'y serai!'
Plate 5 is the "_Tuileries Gardens on Sunday_," in which the prominent
and characteristic group is a "_chère maman_" in half toilet, and
seated beneath a tree reading, or attempting to read, while her
children, attended by their _bonne_, are frolicking about her knees.
Plate 6 is "_Porte St. Martin_," and commemorative of one of the
thousand and one little _émeutes_ which have now become too much a
matter of course at Paris to excite very serious attention, and which
are frequently (so we are assured by Mrs. Trollope) quieted by no more
effective artillery than that of a slight shower of rain. The
prominent figures in the plate, are two gentlemen of the National
Guard, who are vehemently struggling to secure a desperate and
mustached republican, equipped _cap à pie_ à la Robespierre, and whose
countenance is indicative of deadly resolve, while a little urchin in
a striped jacket, not having before his eyes the horrors of an
_arrestation_, and being probably body squire to the republican,
shoulders manfully a banner somewhat larger than himself, and,
standing upon tiptoe, amuses himself with bellowing _Vive la
République!_
Plate 7 is a "_Soiree_," in which the peculiarities of Parisian
sociability are humorously sketched. All the countenances are
especially French. The prominent group is that of two little
awkward-looking specimens of imperial noblesse who are making love
upon a _chaise-longue_. The opinions of Mrs. Trollope are quite
orthodox in the matter of hereditary grace. Some of her good things
upon this topic we must be allowed to quote, for the sake of their
point, without being responsible for their philosophy.
I have heard that it requires three generations to make a gentleman.
Those created by Napoleon have not yet fairly reached a second; and
with all respect for talent, industry, and valor, be it spoken, the
necessity of the slow process very frequently forces itself upon one's
conviction at Paris.
It is probable that the great refinement of the post-imperial
aristocracy of France may be one reason why the deficiences of those
now often found mixed up with them is so remarkable. It would be
difficult to imagine a contrast in manner more striking than that of a
lady who would be a fair specimen of the old Bourbon _noblesse_, and a
bouncing _marechale_ of imperial creation. It seems as if every
particle of the whole material of which each is formed, gave evidence
of the different birth of the spirit that dwells within. The sound of
the voice is a contrast; the glance of the eye is a contrast; the step
is a contrast. Were every feature of a _dame de l'Empire_ and a _femme
noble_ formed precisely in the same mould, I am quite sure that the
two would look no more alike than Queen Constance and Nell Gwyn.
Nor is there at all less difference in the two races of gentlemen. I
speak not of the men of science or of art; their rank is of another
kind: but there are still left here and there specimens of decorated
greatness, which look as if they must have been dragged out of the
guard-room by main force; huge mustached militaries, who look, at
every slight rebuff, as if they were ready to exclaim, 'Sacré nom de
D----! Je suis un héros, moi! vive l'Empereur!'
And again. My parvenue duchess _is_ very remarkable indeed. She steps
out like a corporal carrying a message. Her voice is the first, the
last, and almost the only thing heard in the salon that she honors
with her presence--except it chance indeed, that she lower her tone
occasionally to favor with a whisper some gallant _décoré_ military,
scientific, or artistic, of the same standing as herself; and,
moreover, she promenades her eyes over the company as if she had a
right to bring them all to roll-call.
Notwithstanding all this, the lady is certainly a person of talent;
and had she happily remained in the station in which both herself and
her husband were born, she might not, perhaps, have thought it
necessary to speak quite so loud, and her _bons mots_ would have
produced infinitely greater effect. But she is so thoroughly out of
place in the grade to which she has been unkindly elevated, that it
seems as if Napoleon had decided on her fate in a humor as spiteful as
that of Monsieur Jourdain, when he said--'Your daughter shall be a
Marchioness in spite of all the world; and if you provoke me I'll make
her a Duchess.'
Plate 8 is "_Le roi citoyen_." He is represented as a well-looking,
portly, middle-aged man, of somewhat dignified appearance. His dress
differs from that of any common citizen only by a small tri-colored
cockade in the hat, and he walks quite at his leisure with one hand
clenching a rough-looking stick, and the other thrust in his
breeches-pocket. A republican, habited in full Robespierrian costume,
is advancing towards him with a very deliberate air, and eyeing him
nonchalantly through a _lorgnon_.
Plate 9 is entitled "_Prêtres de la Jeune France_." The flowing curls,
the simple round hat, the pantaloons, &c. give them the appearance of
a race of men as unlike as possible to their stiff and primitive
predecessors. They look flourishing, and well pleased with themselves
and the world about them: but little of mortification or abstinence
can be traced on their countenances; and if they do fast for some
portion of every week, they may certainly say with Father Philip, that
'what they take prospers with them marvellously.'
Plate 10 is the "_Boulevard des Italiens_," with a view of
_Tortoni's_. The main group is "a very pretty woman and a very pretty
man," who are seated on two chairs close together and flirting much to
their own satisfaction, as well as to the utter amazement and
admiration of a young urchin of a Savoyard, or professor of the _gaie
science_, who, forgetting the use of his mandoline, gazes with open
mouth and eyes at the enamored pair. To the right is seen an exquisite
of the first water promenading with an air of ineffable grace, and
deliberately occupied in combing his luxuriant tresses.
Plate 11 is called "_V'la les restes de notre revolution de Juillet!_"
and like all the other engravings in the volume is admirable in its
design, and especially in its expression. In the back ground are seen
the monuments erected at the _Marché des Innocens_ over some
revolutionary heroes, who fell here and were buried near the {396}
fountain, on the 29th July 1830. A mechanic leans against a rail and
is haranguing with great energy a young girl and a little boy, who
listen to him with profound attention. His theme is evidently the
treatment of the prisoners at the Luxembourg. We cannot too highly
praise the exquisite piquancy of the whole of these designs.
In conclusion, we recommend _Paris and the Parisians_ to all lovers of
fine writing, and vivacious humor. It is impossible not to be highly
amused with the book--and there is by no means any necessity for
giving a second thought to the _political_ philosophies of Madame
Trollope.