[Sidenote: THE MINISTER OF POLICE]
The following morning my landlord informed me I must at once wait upon
the Minister of Police, present my passport and have it ratified.
He added that otherwise he might be called to account, as police
emissaries called frequently and unexpectedly at every hotel to
ascertain the names of the residents.
Accordingly I engaged a very good chariot at six guineas a week for my
stay in Paris, and after paying my respect to our Minister, Mr. Jackson
(the British Embassy is lodged in the Faubourg S. Germain), I hastened
to the office of the notorious Fouché,[1] the Minister of Police, on
the Quai Voltaire, opposite the Louvre, where I was admitted into an
ante-chamber, crowded with ninety persons; their number I knew because
on entering I received a billet marked 91 from a soldier. I had to wait
two hours and a half for my audience.
During this long period I was able to make the following observations.
I was never more surprised than at the want of courtesy shown to
females in a country which has always boasted more of its gallantry
than its virtue. Several well-dressed ladies received their billets
long after mine, but when I offered them the precedence, the brute who
attends the entrance pushed them back with disgusting insolence and
violence. I remarked that I cheerfully resigned my right to the ladies;
he replied with a savage sneer, “If you don’t choose to take your turn,
pass to the bottom.” In this ante-chamber stood a motley group whose
countenances evidently bespoke the sentiments of their hearts. The
returned emigrants might easily be distinguished, supple and servile,
and never suffering the lowest commissary of police, who wore a little
gold or silver tinsel about his coat, to pass without offering him a
profound reverence. And they were right, for the ancient aristocracy
were lofty and self-conceited, but affable and courteous withal.
The modern aristocracy of France, that is those men who have been
transplanted from the dunghill to the exercise of public functions,
are, in general, brutal in their manners to inferiors, cringing to
their superiors and insolent to unofficial persons, they also show
strong traits of a ferocity of character.
An unanswerable proof of this degeneracy may be found in the degraded
condition of the fair sex, who are no longer treated with that decorous
respect which heretofore characterised the French people. This is a
nation of soldiers, not cavaliers--not a solitary blade would leap
out of its scabbard to resent an insult to the finest woman in the
Republic. The sword here is now used, not for the defence of the
feeble, but as an instrument to acquire wealth and power.
The Republican soldier is fully as brave as was the soldier of the
Royal army, but he is destitute of the honour and urbanity which
distinguished the latter.
An army of soldiers, organised for conquest, propelled by avarice, and
inured to victory, resemble more the hordes of an Attila or Ghengiz
Khan, than the forces of a polished Empire. The Republican troops
are now masters of the State, their defeats obliterated, and their
victories confirmed by triumphing over the liberties of their fellow
citizens.
The other personages who composed this assembly were waggoners,
farmers, tradesmen, persons about to depart for the colonies, ladies,
and common women. An army subaltern officer came in while we were
waiting; without taking a billet he entered the bureau, every person
hastily making way for him. I inquired of the doorkeeper the reason of
his admittance before his turn, and he replied that no officer of the
army was ever kept waiting.
[Sidenote: THE MINISTER OF POLICE]
We were drawn up in the ante-chamber in two opposite lines, like files
of soldiers. A sentinel patrolled backwards and forwards with a drawn
bayonet in his hand and maintained discipline. If any one happened to
advance a little too forward, he or she received a far from gentle tap
from the bayonet to compel them to keep their position.
When at length I was admitted into the bureau I was informed that in
consequence of a recent regulation the business of examining passports
and giving certificates was transferred to the office of the Prefect,
on the Quai du Louvre, the other side of the river.
In the office of the Prefect I experienced no delay. The passport I had
received from the Calais Municipality was taken from me and I received
another in exchange. On its top was a figure of the Republic, garbed
as Minerva, her right hand supported by the fasces and a hatchet. In
her left she holds a spear, at her feet a game-cock, standing on one
leg, denotes vigilance. On either side are the laughable words in this
country: “Egalité, Liberté, Fraternité,” and below as follows, which I
insert by way of contrast to passports of former times: