Paris as it is, being a general survey of the place itself, its
attractions, its demerits, the inhabitants, their manners to
strangers, towards each other, their customs, and occupations.
[Illustration: Church of the Madeleine.
Published by F. Sinnett, 15, Grande rue Verte.]
I know no better means of obtaining a first general view of Paris and
its inmates, than by taking a walk upon the Boulevards, I therefore will
invite the reader to imagine himself promenading with me, we will begin
at the Madeleine, and occupy a short time in surveying that noble and
majestic building; it greatly reminds me of the Temple of Theseus, at
Athens; it is perhaps one of the most perfect monuments, as regards its
exterior, in Europe, the statues and sculpture are fine as to their
general effect, but the lofty handsome pillars lose much of their beauty
from the joins of the stones being too conspicuous, and having become
black, the fine broad mass is cut up, and gives one an idea of so many
cheeses placed one upon another, or rather they resemble the joints of a
caterpillar: the interior is certainly most gorgeous, and at first
strikes the beholder as a most splendid display of rich magnificence;
but a moment's reflection, and instantly he feels how inconsistent is
all that gilded mass and profusion of ornament with the beautiful and
chaste simplicity of the exterior. I never can conceive that all that
glitter of gold is in good keeping with the calm repose and dignity
which ought to reign throughout a church. The Madeleine was begun in the
reign of Louis the Fifteenth, and was intended for different purposes as
it slowly progressed through the different reigns which have since
occurred. Louis Philippe at length decided upon completing it with the
energy that had ever before been wanting. Several public monuments had
been suffered to remain dormant during the two preceding reigns, or
their operations were carried on with so sparing a hand, that whilst a
few workmen were employed at one end of a building, weeds and moss began
to grow on the other. This pigmy style of proceeding was well-satirised
during the reign of Charles X in one of the papers, which announced in
large letters, "the workmen at the Madeleine have been doubled! where
there was one, there are now two!" But soon after the present King came
to the throne, capital was found, and the industrious employed. Thus
much for this splendid work of art; let us turn round and look about
us: Ah! see, there are the works of nature, how gay and cheerful those
flowers appear so tastefully arranged in Madame Adde's shop, whilst she
herself looks as fresh and healthy as her plants which are blooming
around her; yet with that robust and country air she is a Parisian, but,
as she justly remarked to me, she was always brought up to work hard,
and as her labours have been well rewarded, health and content have
followed. She and her flowers have already been noticed in Mrs. Gore's
Season in Paris, who used to pay her frequent visits, for who indeed
would go anywhere else who had once dealt with her, for what more can
one desire than civility, good nature, reasonable charges, and a
constant variety of the choicest articles; I therefore can
conscientiously recommend all my readers who come to Paris, and are
amateurs of Flora, to call now and then on Madame Adde, No. 6, _Place
de la Madeleine_.
Now having contemplated the beauties of art and of nature, let us
observe some animated specimens of her works: what a moving mass is
before us, 'tis a merry scene, the laughing children running after, and
dodging each other, rolling on the ground with the plenitude of their
mirth, the neat looking _bonnes_ (nursery maids) still smiling while
they chide, the jovial coachmen wrestling on their stands and playing
like boys together, but all in good humour, and content seems to sit on
every brow, and even the aged as they meet, greet each other with a
smile. How infectious is cheerfulness, when I have the blue devils I
always go and take a walk on the _Boulevards_; and what makes these
people so happy? is the natural question; because they are content with
a little, and pleased with a trifle; then they are a trifling people is
the reply. What boots it I would ask? happiness is all that we desire,
and I persist that those are the best philosophers who can obtain
happiness with the least means. But how the green trees, the white stone
houses, the gay looking shops, the broad road with the equipages rolling
along all contribute to heighten the animation of the scene. We are now
at the _Rue de la Paix_; it is certainly a noble street, and we will
turn down it to look at the statue of Napoleon on the column in the
_Place Vendôme_; the pillar, which was cast from the cannon taken from
the enemies of France, is decidedly a work of extraordinary merit and
beauty, and requires a good deal of study to appreciate the exquisite
workmanship displayed in its execution. But if it were not for the
reminiscences associated with the character of Napoleon, who could ever
admire his statue on the top of the column, in a costume so contrary to
all that is graceful and dignified; a little cocked hat with its horrid
stiff angles, a great coat with another angle sticking out, the _tout
ensemble_ presenting a deformity rather than an ornament: however there
he stands on the pinnacle of what he and men in general would call the
monument of his glory, a memento of blood, of tears of widows and
orphans. Could the names of those ruined and heart broken beings be
inscribed upon it, whose misery was wrought by his triumphs, it would
indeed tell a tale of woe. The _Place Vendôme_, in which the column
stands, has a very noble appearance, being a fine specimen of the style
of building of Louis the Fourteenth, in whose reign it was erected; and
he too fed his ambition with wholesale flow of blood, and with treasure
wreaked from the hard earned labour of his subjects, and the abridgments
of their comforts, but both were ultimately destined to chew the bitter
cud of mortification, and however bright the sun by which they rose to
imaginary glory, they were doomed to set in a starless night. But let us
turn from these lugubrious images of war, and regain the _Boulevards_
and enjoy the pleasure of beholding a peaceful people. Do not let us
fail to observe that beautiful mansion at the corner of the _rue
Lafitte_; it is called the _Cité Italienne_, and can only be compared to
a palace, the richness of the carve-work surpassing any thing of the
description throughout the whole capital; although it has recently
become so much the mode to adorn their houses with sculpture, yet none
have arrived at the same degree of perfection displayed in the _Maison
d'or_: carved out on the solid stone is a boar hunt, which is really
executed with considerable talent; to give an accurate description of
all its beauties would much exceed the space I could afford it in
justice to other objects; it is very extensive, and is I believe three
houses united in one. I have understood that the sum total expended upon
it was 1,600,000 _francs_, or 64,000_l._ But that my readers may form
some idea of the interior, I recommend them to enter the _Ancien Café
Hardy_, which is established as a _Restaurant_ within this beautiful
building, and however interested my countrymen may feel in all that is
intellectual, yet at the same time they possess that much of the
sensual, as to have a very strong predilection for a good dinner, of the
quality of which few are better judges; but with them it is not only as
regards the excellence of the viands, but also they have their peculiar
tastes as to how and where it is served; knowing so well their ideas in
this respect, I can recommend them with confidence to _Messieurs Verdier
and Dauzier_, convinced that all their different fancies will be
gratified. If they wish to be exclusive, to enjoy their meal tête-a-tête
with their friend, they will find an elegant little apartment suited to
their wishes; if they be three or four or more persons, they will still
find they can be accommodated in such a manner that they may always
imagine themselves at home; in fact there are about twenty apartments of
different sizes, which are decorated in the most handsome style, yet all
varying with regard to the pattern of the furniture, and all uniting an
appearance of comfort and elegance, the sofa, chairs, and curtains of
each little cabinet being of the richest silk, and the other decorations
are consistently luxurious. The view from the windows presents all that
can be imagined that is amusing and animating, overlooking the most
agreeable part of the _Boulevards_, being that which is designated the
_Boulevard Italien_, and is the most fashionable resort in Paris. By the
aid of a _calorifère_, the whole establishment is heated to an
agreeable degree of warmth, but for those who like to see a cheering
blaze there are chimneys which afford them the means of having that
indulgence. If they prefer dining in the public saloon, for the sake of
seeing the variety of visiters by which it is frequented, they will find
a most splendid apartment brilliantly fitted up, being entirely of white
and gold, where every thing that is useful will be found, but always so
arranged as to be rendered ornamental; in the elegant chandeliers by
which the apartment is adorned, oil on a purified principle is burned;
no attention in short has been omitted which could tend towards
rendering the establishment an attraction for the English. I happened to
be there when an apartment was arranged for a wedding party, and nothing
could exceed the taste and elegance with which the table was disposed,
presenting a perfect picture, where splendour and luxury abounded, but
yet where a certain degree of consistency was preserved. With regard to
the superior quality of the different delicacies which are provided, and
the culinary talent displayed in their preparation, even Vatel himself
might be more than satisfied. I have visited all the most celebrated
_Restaurants_ in Paris, and should certainly say, that for the good
quality of the articles of the table, for the comfortable arrangements
of the apartments, and attentive civility of the attendants, there is
not any that can surpass the _Café Hardy_, although many there are which
are infinitely more expensive. Continuing our walk upon the
_Boulevards_, it is worthy of remark how richly some of the new houses
in and about the _Rue Richelieu_ are sculptured, so as to present the
appearance of a succession of palaces, we next arrive at the _Boulevard
Montmartre_, where the influx of people is the greatest: we pass by the
_Passage des Panoramas_ but do not enter it just now, although it
contains some of the handsomest shops in Paris, but it is too crowded,
we prefer keeping our course on the _Boulevards_ where we can look about
us at our ease and contemplate the physiognomies of the varied groups
before us; let us halt a while at the Theatre _des Variétés_ and remark
with what eagerness numbers stop to scan the programme of the
entertainments for the evening, amongst them are all ages, all classes,
the common soldier, porter, and servant girl, all possessing a high idea
of their judgment in theatrical affairs; passing on a little further the
Theatre _du Gymnase_ arrests the observer's notice, where _Bouffé_ has
so long displayed his comic powers, which certainly in my recollection
have never been surpassed, and I doubt if they ever have been equalled;
there is ever a chasteness in his acting, from which he never departs,
and keeps the audience in a roar of laughter without ever having
recourse to grimace or buffoonery.
The stupendous _Porte_ (gate) _St Denis_ next strikes the eye, and has a
most imposing effect; it was built by Louis XIV in commemoration of his
victories, as I have before stated; the _bas-reliefs_ with which it is
adorned represent pyramids, and colossal allegorical figures of Holland
and the Rhine, the capture of Maestricht, the passage of the Rhine at
Tolhuys, which with two lions are its most conspicuous ornaments. Whilst
the mind is still occupied in reflecting upon this noble monument,
another awakens attention at a short distance from the last; it is the
_Porte St-Martin_, _Boulevard St-Martin_, which has been represented as
a copy of that of St-Severus at Rome; it owes its erection to the same
founder and was raised for the same purpose, that of publishing to
posterity the fame of his victories; he is allegorically represented as
Hercules defeating the Germans, the taking of Limburg, Besançon, etc. I
shall not attempt to enter into a minute detail of these objects, it
would only tire me to do so, and perhaps fatigue my reader still more; I
shall therefore content myself by stating that, taken as a whole, it has
an extremely fine effect. A few paces farther is the Theatre of the
_Porte St-Martin_, which was never a fashionable resort, but has often
produced me much entertainment, particularly when the celebrated
Mademoiselle George afforded it the benefits of her talents; proceeding
a few hundred yards distance, the Theatre of the _Ambigu-Comique_
presents itself as worthy of remark; although of a minor rank, I
remember being much amused at the long trains of persons waiting,
according to the custom in France, at the doors of this Theatre for
admission when a popular piece was played, called Nostradamus; as two
persons can only pay at once no more are suffered to enter at a time;
hence they form in pairs behind each other until they extend sometimes,
the length of a furlong; they remain very quiet occasionally for hours,
the first comers standing close to the doors, and as others arrive they
regularly take their station behind the last persons of the _queue_, as
it is styled. I remember an Englishman coming up when the tail had
attained rather an inconvenient length, and he did not relish placing
himself at the end of it, and endeavoured to slip into one of the joints
as it was much nearer the door; but a _gendarme_, perceiving his drift,
very unceremoniously marched him to the end of the queue, as precedence
is allotted to persons in proportion as they arrive earlier or later and
the most perfect order is by that means preserved; how much better is
such an arrangement than that which prevails in England at the entering
of the theatres, where physical strength alone gives priority, and the
bigger the brute the sooner he enters, whilst screams and murmurs attest
the treading upon toes, squeezing of ribs, etc.
The fountain of _St-Martin_ in front of the _Ambigu-Comique_ is one of
the most beautiful objects in Paris; a handsome font rises in the middle
from which the water falls in sheets of silvery profusion, whilst
around, lions disgorge liquid streams which all unite in the _grand
basin_; this sight is most beautiful to behold by the light of the moon.
We next enter the _Boulevard du Temple_, where there is such a number of
theatres and coffee-houses all joining each other, that there is really
some difficulty of ascertaining which is the one or the other. The
Theatre _de la Gaieté_, the resort principally of the middle or lower
classes, is one of the most conspicuous, as also the _Cirque Olympique_,
or Franconi's Theatre, where the performances resemble those at
Astley's. There is always an immense crowd on these _Boulevards_ amusing
themselves around a number of shows; or playing or looking at various
games which are constantly going forward, singers, musicians, conjurors,
merry andrews, fortune tellers, orators, dancers, tumblers, etc., are
all exerting their powers, to gain a little coin from the easily pleased
multitude; these _boulevards_ have in fact the appearance of a perpetual
_fête_ or fair, but the curious ideas that appear to me to have entered
the heads of these people in the nature of their performances, are such
as I should imagine none would ever have thought of but the French; nor
any lower orders but of that nation could have been found to appreciate
such singular exhibitions. One of this description particularly excited
my notice; a man came up with another man in his arms and popped him
down just as if he was a block; he had no sooner deposited his burden
than he began a long harangue upon the talents of the individual whom he
had just deposited before us, in acting a machine or automaton, he then
to prove his assertion gave him a knock on the back of the head, when it
fell forward just as if it had belonged to a figure made with joints; he
then gave it a chuck of the chin so violent that it sent the head back
so as to lean on the coat collar; at last he put it in its proper
position, he then operated upon the arms and legs of the image actor in
the same manner, and so perfectly lifeless did he appear, that many new
comers who had not heard the introductory speech of the showman,
absolutely thought that it was on inanimate figure made to imitate a man
that was before them, as the orator always designated his piece of still
life his _mécanique_, which means _machine_; in order to afford every
one the benefit of a close examination, he lifted up his automaton, then
flumped him directly opposite and close to the persons who formed part
of the circle and whom he judged were most likely to throw a sou,
bidding us observe that even the eye never winked and that there was not
the slightest breathing perceptible, and in justice I must say I never
saw an actor better play his part, for watch him as closely as you would
there never was the least symptom of life visible. I had often before
seen images made to imitate men, but never had till then seen a man
imitate an image: a few paces farther was a man acting a variety of
parts with extraordinary humour, an old nurse out of place, then a young
lover entreating his mistress to have pity on him, next a man in a
violent passion, presently, an epicure eating _bonbons_ on the verge of
the grave; the inexhaustible force of lungs, the incessant supply of
words and ideas that many of them appeared to possess, to me was quite a
matter of wonderment. At a short distance is a fort with cannon, whilst
persons take a cross-bow and shoot at it; if they can hit one of the
guns it naturally goes off; for the privilege of having a shot, a sou is
paid if he do not hit the cannon, but if he succeed in so doing, he
receives a sou; the reader may suppose that a miss takes place at the
rate of about seven times to a hit; and after several young countrymen
had been trying in vain, and had lost a good many pence, they began to
grumble and declare that it was next to impossible to hit the cannon
more than once in a hundred times, upon which the proprietor himself
took the cross-bow and at the same distance as the others stood, hit the
cannon five times running with the most perfect apparent ease, which
certainly silenced the grumblers, but convinced them of their own
awkwardness. My attention was next attracted by a pretty little building
surrounded by moss and trees, at the top of a large glass globe which
contained water with several gold and silver fish swimming in it, while
some canary birds, who were sometimes perching on the house, the moss,
or the trees, ever and anon flew to the bottom of the globe and were
seen fluttering about amongst the fish, then ascend to their little
building without having wetted a feather; the effect is very pretty and
the deception is pleasing, inasmuch as the birds require no torturing
tuition to perform their little parts; the secret consists in one globe
being placed in another considerably larger, the outer being filled with
water in which are the fish, whilst the inner wherein the birds are seen
is dry and empty. A fortress where canary birds are again the performers
is a sight which is extremely curious, as a proof of what these little
creatures are capable of executing under the management of a master,
where I fear gentleness has not only been exercised; a number of little
cannon are placed to which the birds apply a substance at the end of a
little stick which causes them to go off, when some fall and pretend to
die and the victors advance with their muskets, and strutting about give
you to understand that the fort is taken and that they are conquerors.
To recapitulate all the curious manoeuvres which are constantly going
forward on the _Boulevards_ would swell a volume, we will therefore pass
on to the more retired parts, where the fine vistas of high trees have
been spared the havoc of the Three Days; these once extended throughout
the whole course of the _Boulevards_, but so many trees were cut down to
form barricades, that those beautiful arches formed by rows of lofty
elms, which were merely trained on the inner side, the outer being
suffered to grow in the wild luxuriance of nature, are only now to be
met with "few and far between." Near the spot where formerly stood the
much dreaded Bastille, now rises to the view the column erected to
commemorate the Revolution of 1830; inclining to the right, the
_Boulevards_ then lead to the Seine. In many parts of these delightful
promenades, double rows of chairs are placed, and persons of the highest
respectability come from different quarters and sit for hours in them,
amused with observing the happy moving scene around them; the seats on
the _Boulevard Italien_ are often occupied by persons of fashion, who
arrive in their equipages, then take chairs for an hour or two, whilst
their carriages wait for them; the charge for each chair is one sou,
but every one takes two, one for the purpose of resting the feet, and
generally takes ices which are served from Tortoni's, long celebrated
for the supply of that cooling refreshment. It is by night that the
_Boulevards_ are seen to the greatest advantage, the innumerable lights
blazing from the different theatres, the lamps placed before the
coffee-houses, the brilliant shops, the trees, the equipages, the sound
of music and singing, the houses, which resemble palaces, the gilded
cafés all united has the air of a fairy scene to any one brought
suddenly upon them.
Some of the handsomest shops and coffee-houses are to be found on the
_Boulevards_, and dwellings where many of the most respectable persons
reside. There is always an humble traffic going on from an immense
number of stalls, in which various commodities are sold, and although
the assortment consists of a hundred different descriptions of articles,
yet all are at one price, consisting of everything that can well be
imagined, from a comb to a pair of bellows, the vender singing out the
price with stentorian lungs, perhaps twenty-five sous, more or less, and
as there is a great deal of opposition with these itinerant merchants,
they often try who can cry out the loudest, and succeed in raising a
terrific din, which amuses the mob, who consider that all is life and
spirit as long as there is noise and fun going forward; these
_Boulevards_, therefore, are just such as suit the Parisian lower
classes. Those on the south side of the Seine are an exact contrast,
most of them being so deserted, that in viewing the long lines of tall
arched elms, with scarcely an individual moving beneath them, one could
imagine that they were a hundred miles from any capital; but there is
something pleasing in retiring to these lone green shades, when fatigued
with the bustle and rattling noises of the city. The only individuals
usually to be met with in these quiet _Boulevards_ are now and then a
nursery-maid with a child, an old lady of the gone-by school, and her
female servant of the same era, who jog on at a slow and solemn pace as
they moan over the good old times that are passed, and sympathise in
expressions of horror at the vices of the present day; a tall thin
battered looking beau, whose youth was passed in the last century, meets
the antiquated pair, mutual salutations take place, the gentleman doffs
his hat, and with a graceful sort of turn and wave of the hand, at the
same time bows his body full half way to the ground, which, although
rather stiffened with age, still retains a shadow of the elegance of
former times. Madame makes a very pretty reverence, somewhat
ceremonious, according to the flippant ideas of the present day,
entreats Monsieur would put on his hat, would be in despair if he should
catch cold; he obeys, is enchanted to see her look so well, but
desolated to hear she has a little cold, and after expressing the most
fervent hopes for her getting better, he takes his leave, having too
good a notion of propriety to join the lady in her walk lest a _liaison_
between them might be suspected. How different this worn-out remnant of
the days of Louis the Sixteenth from _la jeune France_ of the present
day, when the usual greeting between the young men would be a nod of the
head, "_Bon jour, ca va bien?_" adieu, and away, which is tantamount to
"How do, quite well, good bye," and off; with a lady the abruptness
would be a little softened, but any politeness that gives much trouble
is quite at a discount with such young men of the present day in France.
A solitary workman, a sentinel, and an old soldier, if near the Hospital
of the Invalids, are probably the only persons you will usually meet on
the southern _Boulevards_, except now and then I have seen a ladies'
boarding-school thread its course beneath the thick foliage, whose
mistress perchance selects a retired spot for giving her pupils a little
air and exercise, removed from the gaze of the city throng.
Whatever pleasing impressions these shady retreats may have made upon
the mind, on re-entering Paris they are soon dissipated; if by the
public streets, the variety of noises which assail the ear, and the
confusion of so many people bustling along upon a little bit of pavement
not two feet wide, gives you plenty of occupation both to make your way,
and get out of the way; when, compelled to give place to some lady, you
descend from the narrow flags into the road, and whilst you are
manoeuvring to escape a cart you see coming towards you, "_Gare_" is
bawled out with stunning roar; you look round and find the pole of a
coach within an inch of your shoulder, you scramble out of the way as
fast as you can through mud and puddle, and are glad to clap your back
against a house to make room for some lumbering vehicle, where the naves
of the wheels stick out with menacing effect, happy to congratulate
yourself that there is just room enough for it to pass without jamming
you quite flat, and that you are quit of the danger at the expense of
being smeared with a little mud from the wheel; this is the case in many
of the streets in that part of Paris called the _Cité_, and others which
cross from the _Rue Saint-Denis_ to the _Rue Saint-Martin_ and _du
Temple_ etc. Happily for my readers, it is not very probable that many
of them will ever be called into those neighbourhoods, or if they be, it
will probably be in a carriage, when they will not stand near the same
chance of being crushed to death; but as I explore all parts and am
thereby the better enabled to give a faithful picture of Paris, I
consider it incumbent on me to inform my country people that there are
such streets that they may better know how to enjoy Paris by keeping out
of the way of them. To see Paris to the best advantage it is requisite
to get up early, that is about three o'clock in the morning in the
months of June or July, before any one is stirring; this indeed is
pretty much the case with all cities, but particularly the French
capital, because the streets being very narrow and crowded, you have not
room to look up and look about. Paris in the old quarters at that hour,
or in a bright moonlight when all are at rest, has the effect of a city
composed of chateaux or castles joined together, the height of the
houses, the great heavy _porte cochères_, the castellated style of the
attic windows and often projecting turrets, with the profusion of iron
work, combine in giving a degree of gloom that appears to tell a tale of
olden time, and many of the houses date as far back as Charles the
Fifth, Sixth, and Seventh, which is coeval with our Henry the Fourth,
Fifth, and Sixth. There is one house of which the ancient staircase
still remaining is as old as the year 1220; it is situated in the _Rue
du Four_, near the _Rue de la Harpe_, and called the _Maison Blanche_,
having been inhabited by the mother of _Saint-Louis_, but there is no
doubt that the only part now standing that could have been built at that
period is the staircase; in the same neighbourhood are many objects that
would interest the antiquary, to which I shall hereafter allude. Paris
is encircled by a double row of _Boulevards_, the north inner circle is
that which is the most frequented; the outer circle runs all along the
walls which encompass Paris, where the barriers are situated, of which
there are fifty-six, all rather handsome buildings than otherwise, and
no two of them quite alike. Many of the streets as you approach the
farthest _Boulevards_ of Paris have a very dull appearance, consisting
in many instances of high walls and habitations separated from each
other, with market gardens behind, but which cannot be seen from the
street as they are all enclosed, and grass growing here and there in
patches give them more the appearance of roads which have been
abandoned than of inhabited streets. Some of the modern parts of Paris
are extremely handsome and indeed all which has been built within the
last five-and-twenty years. The _Chaussée-d'Antin_ is the favourite
quarter; there the streets are of a fair width and are well paved, and
some very recently built are really beautiful, especially one just
finished called the _Rue Tronchet_, just behind the _Madeleine_. The
quarter round the _Place Vendôme_ is certainly one of the finest in
Paris, and most decidedly the dearest. I know persons who pay fourteen
thousand francs a year for unfurnished lodgings in the _Place Vendôme_,
that is 600_l._ a year; a whole house in a fashionable quarter of London
may be had for the same money; indeed on the _Boulevards_, in some of
the _Passages_ and the most fashionable streets in Paris, shops let for
more money than in any part of London; there is an instance of a single
shop letting for 600_l._ per annum, and not one of particularly
extensive dimensions, but situated on the _Boulevard Montmartre_, which
is perhaps the best position in Paris. One of the greatest attractions
is the _Passages_, something in the style of the Burlington Arcade but
mostly superior; of these there are from twenty to thirty, so that in
wet weather you may walk a considerable distance under cover.
The _Palais-Royal_, the favourite resort of foreigners and provincials,
also affords that convenience. Although Paris on the whole is not so
regularly built as London, yet there is a sombre grandeur about it which
has a fine effect, owing in some degree to the large lofty houses of
which it is composed; the straightness, width, and neatness of the
streets of London form its beauty, but it is astonishing how foreigners
when they first behold it, are struck with the small size of the houses.
I remember entering London with an Italian gentleman who had ever before
been accustomed to the large massive palaces of Genoa, Florence, etc.,
and the first remark he made upon our grand metropolis was that it
looked like a city of baby houses; another feature in our dwellings does
not please the foreign eye, and that is the dingy colour of our bricks,
which certainly has not so light an appearance as stone, of which the
houses on the Continent are generally built. The irremediable defect in
Paris is certainly the narrowness of the streets, although every
opportunity is turned to advantage by the government when houses are
taken down to compel the proprietors to rebuild them in such a manner as
to afford a yard more width to the public, whilst those streets that are
at present constructing are on a magnificent plan. The great beauty of
Paris consists in its public monuments, which certainly are not only
very numerous, but some upon the grandest scale, independent of those
which are generally conspicuous in a city; the Barriers and Fountains
form a considerable feature in Paris amongst its ornaments.
The Parisians generally are a remarkably persevering and industrious
people, amongst the trading classes, particularly the women, who often
take as ostensible a part in business as their husbands; except that it
is an establishment upon a very large scale, the wife is usually the
cashier, and you will find her as stationary at the counter almost as
the counter itself. The idea that exists in England with respect to
married women in France is quite erroneous, for more domestic and stay
at home is impossible to be, that is amongst the middle classes; the
same remark applies to the lower orders. As to the higher classes they
never can be cited as forming a characteristic in any country; receiving
a highly finished education, they are all brought to the same degree of
polish, and the primitive features are entirely effaced. Good nature is
a very conspicuous trait in the French character, and that is
continually displayed towards any foreigner; ask your way in the street
in a polite manner, and generally the persons become interested in your
finding the place you want, and if they do not know themselves, they
will go into a shop and enquire for you, and not feel easy until they
have ascertained it for you, but it depends much upon the manner in
which you address them. A Doctor Smith related to me a circumstance
which proves how different is the effect of a courteous and an
uncourteous mode of speaking to a Frenchman; the Doctor had with him a
friend who was a regular John Bull, and they wishing to know their way
to some place, the latter stepped up to a butcher who was standing at
his door and asked him in a very rough manner, and received an evasive
reply; the Doctor then put the same question to the man but in a more
polite form, the butcher replied, "If you will wait a minute, Sir, I
will put on my coat and show you the way," which he did in the most good
humoured manner, but remarked to the Doctor that every one in France
liked to be treated as a fellow man, and not to be spoken to as if they
were brutes. Thus it appears that even butchers in France expect to be
treated with some degree of politeness.
The women are still more tenacious in that respect than the men; they
consider, even down to a housemaid, that their sex demands a certain
tone of deference, however humble their position, and if a nobleman did
not touch his hat to them when they open or shut the door for them, with
the usual salutation of good day or good morning, they would pronounce
his manners brutal, and say, that although he was a man of title he was
not a gentleman; hence the very unceremonious manner that an Englishman
has of addressing servants, whether male or female, has kept them very
much out of favour with that class of the French community. A scullion,
or what may be termed a girl of all work, that has not met with that
degree of respect from some of our countrymen to which she considered
herself entitled, will remark, that the English may be very rich, but
they certainly are not enlightened as we are, with a little drawing up
of the head, implying their consciousness of superiority over us
semi-barbarians; your charwoman, your washerwoman's drudge, fishwoman,
or girl that cries turf about the streets, are all Madame and
Mademoiselle when they speak of each other, and with them there is no
such word as woman; if a female, she must be a lady, even if her
occupation be to pick up rags in the street. The French women certainly
excel in the art of dress and everything which appertains to the
decoration of the person, but the devotion which exists amongst them to
that passion tends greatly towards frivolising the mind; hence I find
their inferiority, generally speaking, to English women; in the latter
you will often meet, even amongst the middle classes, with a girl who
has received a good education; forming her pleasures from pursuits which
are purely intellectual, she will not only find enjoyment in that light
reading merely calculated to amuse, or that kind of music which consists
of pretty quadrilles, a few trifling songs, and two or three lessons
adapted for the display of execution, or that style of poetry and of
painting which is something of the same nature, just fit to please the
fancy without touching the heart; no, you will find that she enters into
the very soul of those mental recreations, nor does that interfere with
her domestic virtues; she is equally capable of performing every social
duty, but she devotes not so considerable a portion of her time and
thoughts to dress, nor is she so totally absorbed in the anticipation
and retrospection of balls and soirées, to the exclusion of every other
feeling, as long as the season for parties continues, which is but too
much the case with females in Paris, except with those whose business or
occupations prevent them from participating otherwise than very
sparingly in the gaieties of that description; but the class I allude
to in France, is that which consists of persons of independent fortune,
who have never been connected with anything in the shape of trade or
even professions, except army or navy, yet whose property is too small
to estimate them as belonging to the higher classes, whilst they would
consider themselves as degraded by an association with even the richer
tradespeople, generally coming under the denomination of middle classes.
This grade, immediately below the highest classes and above the middle,
is very numerous in Paris, their incomes varying from four hundred to a
thousand a-year; with the females in this class there is an exact
resemblance to those of the class above, only the sphere is more
confined; their education finished, they retain but little of what they
have learned, except dancing, singing, and music, because they are
calculated for display, and tell in society; drawing is laid aside, even
after much proficiency had been acquired, reading confined to the
reviews of the popular works of the day, the inexhaustible subjects of
conversation are the toilet, which is pre-eminent, balls, soirées, and
public places; if literature be introduced, you will find their
knowledge of it sufficient to escape the charge of ignorance,
particularly in history, as great pains are now taken with their
education, and which certainly is of the best description, whilst there
is a grace and sweetness of manner which is highly captivating; yet when
you become well acquainted with these ladies, whose surface was
enchanting, you find at last a want of soul. As a proof how seldom I
have found French females express any delight in beholding all the
phenomena of an extensive and beautiful country, and if the mind be dead
to that charm, how must it be lost to the enjoyments of descriptive
poetry and painting, as if the reality afford not pleasure how little
can be derived from the representation; I have found in France many
exceptions to this rule, women, in fact, whose society afforded a highly
intellectual treat. But they are rare, and when one speaks of a people
generally, the mass must be stated and not the exceptions. In England,
even amongst the classes of the highest fashion, many women are to be
met with, who, notwithstanding that they are whirled about in London for
months together to parties every night, sometimes to three or four in an
evening, to hear and say the nothings that pass current in assemblages
of that description, both deteriorating to health and mind, yet on
returning to their seats in the country, whilst the husband is following
the sports of the field, the females will have recourse to intellectual
occupations, and cultivate those seeds of knowledge which had been
instilled into their minds during their early youth, thus conferring
upon them those companionable powers, which are the great charm of life;
the rural scenes around them call their pencils into practice, whilst
the true spirit of poetry constantly appears to their feelings in the
forms of those beauties of nature which in fact are its life and soul.
Embosomed in the calm retirement found in such retreats, the various
objects in view engender the love of reading; hence the Englishwoman
recruits her mental powers after the frivolizing effects of a season in
town. The Frenchwoman goes into the country for the purpose of enjoying
the fresh air, she reads a little to kill time, and occupies much of it
with her embroidery and other fancy works, and after a short period
passed amongst the vine-clad hills, sighs once more to return to her
dear Paris, complains of ennui, wonders what the fashions will be at the
next Longchamp, and whether they will be such as become her or not, but
feeling herself bound to wear whatever may be pronounced the modes, and
trusts to her taste to arrange it in such a manner as to set her off to
the best advantage.
My countrywomen are not so much slaves to fashion and do not care to put
on every thing that comes out, if they think it does not suit them, but
it must be admitted that they have not the same taste as the French in
regard to costume; it is a quality that is peculiar to them, and
acknowledged by all the civilised world; in England, Russia, even
Greece, ladies of the high ton must send to Paris for their hats and
bonnets, and have them from Madame de Barennes, in the _Place Vendôme_,
which is not merely an idea, but a fact that they really are replete
with that exquisite taste for which they are so justly famed; even the
manner in which her lofty and noble saloons are arranged display an
elegance of conception, there is a chasteness which pervades the whole,
the furniture as Well as the decorations of the room are either of
white or ebony and gold, preserving that degree of keeping which is
inseparable from a truly classical taste.
I must confess that the most refined, the most charming and fascinating
women that I ever met with, were some English and Irish ladies who had
been some years in France, still retaining all those intellectual
qualities which are the brightest gems of the British female character,
united with that quiet grace which has so much of dignity and ease, and
that pleasing affability appearing but as nature in a truly elegant
Frenchwoman; at the same time I think my fair countrywomen are also much
improved when they have acquired the same degree of taste in the
arrangement of their costume for which the Parisian females have so well
merited a reputation. Of course in this comparison I am speaking of the
most well-bred females of both countries. Although I do not find the
French ladies possessing those high intellectual qualities, which are in
a great degree engendered and fostered by certain habits and early
associations, I do not conceive that the germs of talent are in the
least deficient, but on the contrary, we find them excelling in
literature and the arts, in ingenuity, and where exertion is required in
trying circumstances, that they are capable of heroism, but there is a
natural life and vivacity in the French character that inclines not to
study, nor strict application, unless the position in life renders it
necessary. The English very frequently are by nature disposed to
reflection and even like often to be alone, consequently are
undoubtedly a more thinking nation, although not so brilliant, but
experience has proved that patient and undeviating perseverance,
ultimately, outsteps the more showy and sparkling quality of genius. For
the sympathies of the heart I have found the French females most keenly
alive, no mothers can be more devotedly attached to their children than
they are, and it is repaid to them with interest by their offspring, as
a devotional affection towards parents is carried to an extreme; in some
instances I should say to a fault, as a daughter in general looks up
entirely to them, in regard to the man that they may choose with whom
she is to pass the rest of her life, without presuming that she ought to
make a selection for herself, considering that her marriage is the
affair of her parents, and that she has but to obey their wishes in
that, as well as in all other cases; hence it is rarely found that a
French young lady has aught of romance in her composition, but is on the
contrary the mild, docile, obedient, and affectionate pupil, and often
imitator of her mother. The English young lady is a little more
rebellious; possessing a more independent spirit, she very soon takes
the liberty of thinking for herself, particularly on that subject; and
could she totally have her will would act for herself also. Families are
much more united in France than in England, and agree together in a most
astonishing manner; thus when a daughter marries, instead of quitting
her home, the husband arranges his affairs so as to go and live with her
parents, and in many cases several families live together and form one
little community, which spares the pain of separation of parent and
child. The numerous offspring of the celebrated Marquis de Lafayette was
a remarkable instance of how whole families can live and agree under the
same roof; at his seat called La Grange, his married children and their
children and grandchildren were all residing together, whilst he, like
one of the ancient patriarchs, was the revered head of his people. I
know a case at Boulogne, where in one house there are living together,
two great grandfathers, one grandfather and grandmother, two fathers and
two mothers and their four children, and what renders it more curious is
that they are half English and half French, but all connected by their
sons and daughters intermarrying; but strange to say that the English
could not agree to live together in that manner, and it is a most
extraordinary circumstance much remarked by the French, that wherever
the English are settled in any town in France, they always contrive to
quarrel with each other, and find employment for the French lawyers; at
Boulogne they have at least twice as much practice for the English as
for the natives.
With regard to the conduct of the French towards foreigners, speaking
from the long experience which I have had, I should certainly state that
it was kind and attentive when brought into contact in travelling or
from any other circumstances, provided that a person does not attempt to
support a haughty or supercilious air. I do not consider that, generally
speaking, the French are so hospitable as the English, not only as
regards foreigners but even amongst themselves; it is not so much their
habit. In many houses you may pass an hour or two of an evening, and
there will never be any question regarding refreshments; not having the
custom of taking tea of an evening, that social bond which unites the
family together at a certain hour in England not existing in France,
little domestic evening parties seldom occur. I have been to a few
amongst what I call the very quiet families of Paris, which are styled
the _demi fortunes_, and cakes, beer, wine, sugar and water, etc., were
given; in the high fashionable parties tea now is always introduced at
about twelve. To ask a friend to a family dinner is not so much the
practice in France as in England, as the custom existing in the former
of having so many dishes with such a trifle in each, the platters are
often pretty well cleared by the usual inmates of the establishment, and
they are not prepared for an additional person. With the English who are
accustomed to large joints, if two or three additional guests suddenly
enter, they are still prepared. The French have also an idea that if
they ask you to dinner that they must provide so great a variety, which
entails infinitely more trouble than the more simple and more wholesome
repast, I should say, of the English.
There is a great sympathy in France towards each other in their
respective classes; if a quarrel take place in the street between one of
the lower and one of the middle class, all that pass by of the former
description will take the part of the individual of his own level; the
same will be the case with the other classes, often without inquiring
into the merits of the case. The impulse of feeling exists to a great
degree amongst the French, which is instantly displayed if a person
falls or is taken ill in the street, and much feeling is developed if
any little accident or misfortune occurs to a poor person passing by. I
remember an instance of a woman who was trudging away with a basket of
crockery and some eggs at the top, a poor man who was carrying a load
slipped, and in his fall upset the woman and broke the greater part of
her brittle goods; in this case both being poor persons, it became a
knotty point for the French to decide; very long and very warm were the
arguments adduced on both sides by the mob which had assembled, the man
declared he was too poor to have it in his power to pay for the damage
which he had caused, that he had hurt himself very much in the fall and
found that quite misfortune enough for him. The woman cried and vowed
she could not afford to lose the value of the articles broken, and the
eggs belonged to another person who had given her the money to buy them,
and persisted that the man ought to pay for what he had broken, although
she admitted it was a very hard case for him; what was to be done? a
subscription it was decided was the only means of settling the affair,
and one person giving half a franc by way of example, engaged to be
collector, and from the different bystanders, each giving a few sous,
the sum required was soon produced, and all parties departed with the
conviction that the affair had been equitably arranged.
The French are in the habit of rising extremely early, especially the
lower classes, and even amongst the middle and higher ranks they are
rarely so late in all their operations as the English. Persons in easy
circumstances amongst the French generally take coffee, with a piece of
bread, as soon as they are up, and then breakfast _à la fourchette_
about twelve, which consists of soup, meat, vegetables, fruit, and wine;
they dine about six or seven, which is a repetition of the breakfast,
with greater variety and more abundance. Wine is drank throughout the
dinner, and never after; but light as their _vin ordinaire_ generally
is, they always dilute it with water. Immediately after dinner, coffee,
without milk or cream, is taken, and lastly a glass of liqueur; no other
repast is thought of until the following day, as they neither take tea
nor supper, in their usual family habits. But in cases of invitation it
is quite another affair, several different wines of superior quality are
handed about at dinner, with which they do not mix water, and always
Champagne of course is drank without being diluted. When they give a
_soirée_, a variety of refreshments are produced, as different
descriptions of cakes, ices, orgeat and water, punch, warm wine,
limonade, etc., according to the season of the year; and often a supper
is given on a very liberal scale. Dancing, music, singing, and cards
form the amusements of the evening; the games which are played are
generally écarté and whist.
The passion for dancing pervades all classes, and even amongst the
lowest orders they always find the means of gratifying themselves with
that pleasure, but in all their enjoyments down to the public-houses in
the worst quarters of Paris, there is a degree of decorum which
surprises an Englishman accustomed to the extreme grossness of similar
classes in our own country. Determined to see as much of life as I could
in all its stages during a carnival, accompanied by a countryman I
visited many of the lowest order of wine houses where balls were going
forward; the only payment required for entrance was the purchase of a
bottle of wine, costing six sous. We expected to see a good deal of
uproarious mirth and all kinds of pranks going forward, but were quite
astonished to find the order that prevailed; the men appeared as if they
were in such a hurry for a dance that they had not waited until they
washed their hands and faces, but had just come directly from their
work, although several of them had slipped on masquerade dresses; the
women were cleaner (I suspect they were not of the most immaculate
description), and were amusing themselves with quadrilles and waltzes
alternately. Being of course very differently attired from the rest of
the assemblage, we were very conspicuous, but they took no notice of us
whatever; if they happened to run against us whilst waltzing and
whirling about, they always said "Je vous 'mande pardon, Monsieur," and
nothing farther. We observed that the men paid for the musicians two
sous each dance and the women one, and we came away rather disappointed
at finding things so much more insipid than we expected; we visited
several houses of the same description and found the same sort of scene
going forward in them all. The working people in Paris are extremely
frugal in their mode of living; bread being full seven-eighths of their
food, what they eat with it varies according to the season; if in
summer, mostly such fruit as happens to be ripe, and perhaps once in the
day they take a bit of soft white-looking cheese with their bread. In
winter they often add instead, a little morsel of pork or bacon, but
more frequently stewed pears or roasted apples. On Sundays they always
put the _pot-au-feu_, as they call it, which means that they make soup,
or literally translated, that they put the pot on the fire. Henry IV
declared that he should not feel satisfied until he had so ameliorated
the condition of the poor, that every peasant should be able to have a
fowl in his pot every Sunday; had he not suddenly been cut off by
assassination, he might have lived to have seen his benevolent wish
accomplished. Many of the wives of the working people contrive to muster
some soup for their husbands when they get home at night, and almost all
manage to have a little wine in the course of the day. On the Sunday in
the summer time they contrive to have a degree of pleasure, and go to
one of the houses round Paris called _guinguettes_, something in the
nature of the tea-gardens about London, but in Paris and most parts of
France the husband takes his wife and even his children with him if they
are old enough; indeed, you generally see the whole train together. At
these houses they mostly take beer which is not very strong, but they
make it less so by mixing it with water, as they do almost every
beverage; sometimes they have wine, lemonade, or currant juice, which is
called _groseille_, and that from the black currant _cassis_; there they
will sit looking at the dances, in which they sometimes join, and return
home about ten o'clock. This is pretty much the routine of a _regularly
conducted_ working-man in Paris, and it must be admitted that they form
by far the greater number, particularly those who are married.
Amongst the middle-classes, both husband and wife keep very steadily to
business, particularly the latter, and as they live frugally, they
generally calculate upon retiring from business in ten or twelve years,
and mostly effect their object, as they are perfectly contented when
they have amassed enough capital to produce three or four hundred a
year, which is the case with the major part of them; many are not
satisfied until four or five times that sum; but they are seldom
ambitious, nor care to get out of their class, as the persons with whom
they associate and are intimate, are mostly relations and connexions to
whom they are attached, and do not seem to fancy any pleasure in
extending their acquaintances. But before they retire from business they
have their occasional recreations; in fine weather they are very fond
of spending their Sundays in the country; in the winter they frequently
visit the theatres, but very rarely have company at home or pay visits,
except on the New Year, and in the Carnival they give one ball, and go
to several others given by their relations; this description alludes to
what may be termed the respectable class of shopkeepers. They have one
means of communication with each other, of which they avail themselves
for the advantages of business or for the purpose of recreation, if they
choose, which consists of what they term _Cercles_, much the same as we
should call clubs; they are establishments composed of perhaps 150
members, more or less, who meet in a suite of apartments fitted up for
the purpose, and certainly most elegantly, both as regards the
decoration of the rooms and the furniture they contain. A clerk is
employed, whose business it is to collect information as to the
different merchants who arrive at Paris from the various parts of France
and other countries; they find out the particular branch in which he
deals, and that member whose business it is to vend the commodity likely
to be demanded, sends him a programme of his goods and his terms. If any
one receive a commission from any country which is not in his
department, he proclaims it to the Cercle, and gives a fellow-member the
benefit of the order; thus they play into each other's hands and greatly
promote their mutual interests. Billiard-tables are fitted up for the
amusement of the members, who also occupy themselves with other games,
whilst refreshments are to be had the same as in a coffee-house. There
are many of these establishments in Paris, which afford great facilities
for the promotion of business. Although the extraordinary increase of
trade in Paris is almost incredible, yet the bankrupts are more numerous
than they were formerly; one reason is, on account of the number of
persons in each business having so much increased, and the immense
expenses which they incur in the embellishment of their shops to try and
outvie each other. A person taking a place in the Palais Royal about
three years since, first gave the occupier 40,000 francs (1,600_l._) to
quit, and then expended 110,000 francs (4,400_l._) in fitting it up as
a restaurateur's; the rent being high in proportion, the success was not
commensurate with the expenditure and the speculation failed. This is
one of the many instances which have recently occurred at Paris, causing
bankruptcy; yet some persons have laid out more than double the amount
in the decorations for restaurateurs and coffee-houses, and yet have
succeeded.
The occupations of the higher classes in Paris are much the same as they
are in other capitals; both sexes are more fond of taking baths than
they are in London, and even when they have that convenience in their
own houses, the men often prefer lounging to the most fashionable public
baths. The young sparks of fashion are very fond of sumptuous breakfasts
at the most stylish coffee-houses in Paris, and often begin by taking a
few dozen of oysters by way of giving them an appetite; beefsteaks
dressed in the English style, a few choice French dishes, two or three
sorts of wine, desert, and coffee, generally compose the repast until
the dinner hour. The time is filled up with walking, riding, driving,
practising gymnastic exercises, pistol-shooting, fencing, etc. After
dinner, which usually terminates about eight, and is in fact the same
thing as the breakfast on a more extensive scale, they proceed to the
theatres; those most in vogue with the beau monde are the Italian Opera,
the French Opera or Académie de Musique, the Comic Opera, and the
Théâtre Français. After the performances are over, they generally lounge
into some favourite coffee-house, and then close the day to recommence
another, following much the same course, with some trifling variation.
But now the favourite pursuit amongst young men of fashion, is that of
riding and every thing which is connected with horses, such as racing,
leaping, steeple chasing, and discussing their different qualities and
the various modes of breaking them in, in England and in France.
But there is no subject upon which there is so much difference of
opinion between the two nations as upon that of equestrian exercises and
the management and training of horses. Our bold fox-hunters and daring
steeple chasers, I am aware, will not for an instant imagine that there
are any riders to be found equal to Englishmen, whilst the French,
although they give us credit for doing many things better than
themselves, do not at all admire our horsemanship. They admit that our
good riders are not easily thrown, and keep their seat under many
difficult and dangerous circumstances, but they contend that the English
generally have not sufficient command over their horses in making them
obey every wish of the rider, whilst the accomplished French cavalier
will make his horse go backwards, sideways, right, or left, in a direct
line, will cause him to stop in an instant whilst at full speed, will
make him bear on his near or off leg just as he chooses, or make him
place either foot on a five franc piece, and in fact have the same
command over his horse as if it were his child. There are many
riding-masters now in Paris of superior talent, but for rendering his
pupils dauntless horsemen, capable of mounting any animal however
restive, I do not think that any can be found to surpass M. de Fitte. I
have seen him place his best pupils upon a horse, which upon signals
given, will rear upon his hind or his forelegs, changing from one to the
other with such rapidity and in such constant succession that the rider
cannot the least foresee what prank the horse is about to play, and
therefore cannot be prepared for what he has to encounter, whilst he is
seated on a saddle without stirrups or bridle, as with folded arms he
defies every manoeuvre his steed essays to throw him. The
riding-school of Mr. Fitte is at No. 113, rue Montmartre, next to the
great establishment of the Messageries royales, from whence depart the
diligences for all parts of France. He has always about forty horses of
different countries and descriptions; amongst them are some especially
trained for ladies, and such as will be found well adapted to the most
bold and the most timid rider, which he lets out at very moderate terms.
Any person must feel gratified at being present when he gives his
evening lessons to his pupils, as amongst other exercises he practises
them in what is called the _jeu de bague_, which consists of rings
loosely suspended from a post, whilst the rider carries a lance, and in
passing by at full gallop endeavours to run it through the ring, which
is about two inches in diameter, and is hung in such a manner that it
yields to the lance and remains upon it whilst the rider, without
stopping, proceeds at full speed and takes off the next. Two persons are
generally exercised together at this game, and he who takes off the most
rings wins. It is a useful practice now adopted in almost all the
riding-schools in Paris, as it teaches the pupil to forget his seat,
giving him another object to occupy his mind, till at last the young
pupil feels as easy upon a horse at full gallop as seated in his chair,
his whole attention being directed towards taking off more rings with
his lance than his competitor. Mr. Fitte during the lesson also himself
displays what can be done with different horses, in giving them that
sort of motion which he thinks proper, which is principally produced by
operating upon the animal with the muscles of the calves of the legs, of
which the French avail themselves much more in the management of a horse
than the English.
It appears quite a new era in the annals of horsemanship that an
approved English riding-master should come over to France to place
himself for two years under a French riding-master, yet such I know to
be the case. Mr. F.W., the person to whom I allude, had long been
accustomed to mount horses of all descriptions, with the full confidence
of always being able to keep his seat; but when at Paris he met with a
master who could not only defy any horse to throw him, but under all
circumstances could always preserve a graceful position, even while
baffling every attempt of a horse to floor him. In order to try the
capabilities of Mr. W., the French master placed him on all kinds of
horses, and amongst the rest those which had been taught all sorts of
tricks to fling their riders, but W. resisted all their attempts, but it
was by keeping his seat in his own way, which he knew had an awkward
air, when compared to the graceful mien the Frenchman preserved
throughout the same evolutions.
Another art he strove also to acquire from his master, that of
dominating the most vicious horse to a degree that shall render it so
docile that any moderate horseman may mount it in safety. This was
effected by the French riding-master (with whom W. placed himself),
under the most extraordinary circumstances; a horse was offered him of
extreme beauty, but so totally unmanageable that it had been given up by
three rough riders of regiments in England, and was almost considered as
worthless, as no one could be found to ride it; the Frenchman undertook
in one year so to tame its restive spirit as to render it a valuable
horse for any rider. The owner quitted France, but agreed to return in a
twelvemonth, when they were to divide the amount of what the horse might
sell for; but it so happened that the owner did not return for eighteen
months, and when the twelvemonth had expired the riding-master
considered the horse his own and sold it to Franconi for 20,000 francs
(800_l._), having so completely taught the horse to obey its master, as
to make it dance to music, to bear upon which leg he chose to dictate,
and in fact to do more than I shall venture to state, as were I to give
an accurate description it must appear an exaggeration, having met with
several Englishmen who with myself have declared they never could have
believed, had they not had ocular demonstration, that a horse could have
been taught to do that which the animal in question has nightly
exhibited at Franconi's. When the owner did return, he claimed the half
of the value the horse had fetched, but the riding-master pleaded that
the contract was annulled by his not making his claim at the time agreed
upon between them; the other persisting in his demand, the affair was
referred to a Court of Justice, and decided in favour of the
riding-master, and it is said that Franconi has since refused 40,000
francs for the horse.
There is one peculiarity in the English style of riding which is
remarked all over the Continent, and that is, the rising in the saddle,
or what is termed, adopting one's own motion, instead of that of the
horse, which is certainly much rougher and not so agreeable, and for my
own part I have found it a great relief when upon a long journey; of
course it is never adopted by our cavalry, and the French contend that
to sit as close as possible, partaking of the motion of the horse, as
soon as the rider is accustomed to it he will travel farther, and with
less fatigue than by what is termed the English method. M. de Fitte
however thinks differently from his countrymen in that respect. It is
also considered that in both our riding and driving we rein in our
horses far too much, the consequence being that the animal, accustomed
to be held up by the rider or driver, depends upon it, as what is called
his fifth leg, and if there be any negligence in thus sustaining him, he
immediately trips and often comes to the ground; whereas the horse who
is habituated to a looser rein goes more boldly, depending on the powers
nature has given him, and carries his head lower, and of course sees his
ground better, avoiding that which might occasion a false step; and
certainly the horses in France very seldom fall, except in frost or
snow, when strange to say the French have never had the wit to have them
rough-shod.
Notwithstanding all that is said upon the subject I have found the
advantage of keeping a tighter rein upon my horse than they are in the
habit of practising in Turkey, as although in a journey which I had of
seven hundred miles on horseback in that country they found great fault
with my riding, yet I kept my seat, and my horse upon his legs, without
once coming to the ground, when the Tatar, the Surdjee, and my
travelling companion were alternately prostrated from the falling of
their horses, which I attribute to their not being able to check them in
time when they tripped, to prevent their totally sprawling; it is true
that some parts of the road could only be compared to a street having
been unpaved and all the stones left loose upon the ground over which we
had to ride, consequently I took the greatest care, never for an instant
neglecting any precaution to keep my hack from stumbling. But where a
horse is liable to come upon his knees, certainly the system of rising
in the saddle is most unsafe, and I never met with any one who could
better teach his pupils to sit close and firm even with the roughest
trot than M. de Fitte, who, not content with precept, himself furnishes
the example. Amongst his pupils, are many of the fair sex as the French
ladies are now beginning to imitate the gentlemen in their passion for
equestrian exercises, and frequently in the Champs-Élysées and Bois de
Boulogne display the progress they have made in the art.
Although their pursuits are not so numerous nor so various as those of
the men, yet their opportunities of killing time are greater; as
shopping alone employs often some hours of the day, the importance
attached to a bonnet, a cap, a turban and above all to a dress, causes
many and long dissertations. Exhibitions and morning concerts frequently
occupy also much of the ladies' leisure, a little walking in the
Tuileries gardens at a certain hour and in a certain part whilst their
carriage waits for them, an airing in it, or a turn on horseback, fill
up the rest of the day, and after dinner, if not at the theatre, they
either receive or pay visits, as it is the fashion to do so of an
evening in Paris.
I must not quit this sketch of the Parisians and their occupations
without giving my readers some idea of what is called _La Jeune France_,
which consists of a number of young men, who wear comical shaped hats,
their hair very long hanging below their ears, and let the greater part
of their beards grow; they also have their throats bare and their shirt
collars turned down; they have rather a wild look, and their political
theories are somewhat wilder than their looks; they are republican in
principle, and in manner, adopting a sort of rough abrupt style, as far
from courteous as can well be imagined. They amount to perhaps a few
thousands in Paris, comprising a number of the students in law and
medicine, many of the painters, musical professors, and at least half
the literary characters in Paris; some of them are either the editors
their subs or the communicators to two-thirds of the newspapers at
Paris. I must do them the justice to say that I believe they mean well,
and that they are actuated by pure principles of patriotism, full of
candour and of courage, but mistaken in their views, led away by false
notions imbibed from an enthusiastic admiration of the deeds of heroes,
recorded in the histories of Rome and Greece, until they imagine that
they are bound in modern days to re-enact the glorious examples of their
progenitors in their self devotion for their country; hence the
wonderful resistance that they made in 1832, which although in a bad
cause, proved their contempt for life, and how ready they were to risk
it in what they falsely thought their country's cause.
But as they get older and reflect more, they become more temperate in
their mode of reasoning, at present, and indeed for some time past, they
have been more calm and one hears less of them.