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Paris As It Was and As It Is

F >> Francis W. Blagdon >> Paris As It Was and As It Is




About half past two o'clock the party broke up, and I returned home,
sincerely regretting the change in the mode of life of the Parisians.

Before the revolution, the fashionable hour of dinner in Paris was
three o'clock, or at latest four: public places then began early; the
curtain at the grand French opera drew up at a quarter past five. At
the present day, the workman dines at two; the tradesman, at three;
the clerk in a public office, at four; the rich upstart, the
money-broker, the stock-jobber, the contractor, at five; the banker,
the legislator, the counsellor of state, at six; and the ministers,
in general, at seven, nay not unfrequently at eight.

Formerly, when the performance at the opera, and the other principal
theatres, was ended at nine o'clock, or a quarter past, people of
fashion supped at ten or half after; and a man who went much into
public, and kept good company, might retire peaceably to rest by
midnight. In three-fourths of the houses in Paris, there is now no
such meal as supper, except on the occasion of a ball, when it is
generally a mere scramble. This, I presume, is one reason why
substantial breakfasts are so much in fashion.

"_Déjeûners froids et chauds_," is an inscription which now generally
figures on the exterior of a Parisian coffeehouse, beside that of
"_Thé à l'Anglaise, Café à la crême, Limonade, &c_." Solids are here
the taste of the times. Two ladies, who very gallantly invited
themselves to breakfast at my apartments the other morning, were
ready to turn the house out of the window, when they found that I
presented to them nothing more than tea, coffee, and chocolate. I was
instantly obliged to provide cold fowl, ham, oysters, white wine, &c.
I marvel not at the strength and vigour of these French belles. In
appetite, they would cope with an English ploughman, who had just
turned up an acre of wholesome land on an empty stomach.

Now, though a _thé_ may be considered as a substitute for a supper,
it cannot, in point of agreeableness, be compared to a _petit
souper_. If a man must sup, and I am no advocate for regular suppers,
these were the suppers to my fancy. A select number of persons, well
assorted, assembled at ten o'clock, after the opera was concluded,
and spent a couple of hours in a rational manner. Sometimes a _petit
souper_ consisted of a simple _tête-à-tête_, sometimes of a _partie
quarrée_, or the number was varied at pleasure. But still, in a
_petit souper_, not only much gaiety commonly prevailed, but also a
certain _épanchement de coeur_, which animated the conversation to
such a degree as to render a party of this description the _acme_ of
social intercourse, "the feast of reason and the flow of soul."

Under the old _régime_, not a man was there in office, from the
_ministre d'état_ to the _commis_, who did not think of making
himself amends for the fatigues of the morning by a _petit souper_:
these _petits soupers_, however, were, in latter times, carried to an
excessive pitch of luxurious extravagance. But for refinements
attempted in luxury, though, I confess, of a somewhat dissolute
nature, our countryman eclipsed all the French _bons vivans_ in
originality of conception.

Being in possession of an ample fortune, and willing to enjoy it
according to his fancy, he purchased in Paris a magnificent house,
but constructed on a small scale, where every thing that the most
refined luxury could suggest was assembled. The following is the
account given by one of his friends, who had been an eye-witness to
his manner of living.

"Mr. B---- had made it a rule to gratify his five senses to the
highest degree of enjoyment of which they were susceptible. An
exquisite table, perfumed apartments, the charms of music and
painting; in a word, every thing most enchanting that nature,
assisted by art, could produce, successively flattered his sight, his
taste, his smell, his hearing, and his feeling.

"In a superb saloon, whither he conducted me," says this gentleman,
"were six young beauties, dressed in an extraordinary manner, whose
persons, at first sight, did not appear unknown to me: it struck me
that I had seen their faces more than once, and I was accordingly
going to address them, when Mr. B----, smiling at my mistake,
explained to me the cause of it." "I have, in my amours," said he, "a
particular fancy. The choicest beauty of Circassia would have ho
merit in my eyes, did she not resemble the portrait of some woman,
celebrated in past ages: and while lovers set great value on a
miniature which faithfully exhibits the features of their mistress, I
esteem mine only in proportion to their resemblance to ancient
portraits.

"Conformably to this idea," continued Mr. B----, "I have caused the
intendant of my pleasures to travel all over Europe, with select
portraits, or engravings, copied from the originals. He has succeeded
in his researches, as you see, since you have conceived that you
recognized these ladies on whom you have never before set your eyes;
but whose likenesses you may, undoubtedly, have met with. Their dress
must have contributed to your mistake: they all wear the attire of
the personage they represent; for I wish their whole person to be
picturesque. By these means, I have travelled back several centuries,
and am in possession of beauties whom time had placed at a great
distance."

"Supper was served up. Mr. B---- seated himself between Mary, queen
of Scots, and Anne Bullein. I placed myself opposite to him,"
concludes the gentleman, "having beside me Ninon de l'Enclos, and
Gabrielle d'Estrées. We also had the company of the fair Rosamond and
Nell Gwynn; but at the head of the table was a vacant elbow-chair,
surmounted by a canopy, and destined for Cleopatra, who was coming
from Egypt, and of whose arrival Mr. B---- was in hourly
expectation."



LETTER XXI.

_Paris, November 21, 1801._

Often as we have heard of the extraordinary number of places of
public entertainment in Paris, few, if any, persons in England have
an idea of its being so considerable as it is, even at the present
moment. But, in 1799, at the very time when we were told over and
over again in Parliament, that France was unable to raise the
necessary supplies for carrying on the war, and would, as a matter of
course, be compelled not only to relinquish her further projects of
aggrandisement, but to return to her ancient territorial limits; at
that critical period, there existed in Paris, and its environs, no
less than seventy

PUBLIC PLACES OF VARIOUS DESCRIPTIONS.

Under the old _régime_, nothing like this number was ever known. Such
an almost incredible variety of amusements is really a phenomenon, in
the midst of a war, unexampled in its consumption of blood and
treasure, It proves that, whatever may have been the public distress,
there was at least a great _show_ of private opulence. Indeed I have
been informed that, at the period alluded to, a spirit of
indifference, prodigality, and dissipation, seemed to pervade every
class of society. Whether placed at the bottom or the top of
Fortune's wheel, a thirst of gain and want of economy were alike
conspicuous among all ranks of people. Those who strained every nerve
to obtain riches, squandered them with equal profusion.

No human beings on earth can be more fond of diversion than the
Parisians. Like the Romans of old, they are content if they have but
_panem et circenses_, which a Frenchman would render by _spectacles
et de quoi manger_. However divided its inhabitants may be on
political subjects, on the score of amusement at least the Republic
is one and indivisible. In times of the greatest scarcity, many a
person went dinnerless to the theatre, eating whatever scrap he could
procure, and consoling himself by the idea of being amused for the
evening, and at the same time saving at home the expense of fire and
candle.

The following list of public places, which I have transcribed for
your satisfaction, was communicated to me by a person of veracity;
and, as far as it goes, its correctness has been confirmed by my own
observation. Although it falls short of the number existing here two
years ago, it will enable you to judge of the ardour still prevalent
among the Parisians, for "running at the ring of pleasure." Few of
these places are shut up, except for the winter; and new ones succeed
almost daily to those which are finally closed. However, for the sake
of perspicuity, I shall annex the letter S to such as are intended
chiefly for summer amusement.

1. _Théâtre des Arts, Rue de la Loi_.

2. _------- Français, Rue de la Loi._

3. _------- Feydeau, Rue Feydeau._

4. _------- Louvois, Rue de Louvois._

5. _------- Favart,_ now _Opéra Buffa._

6. _------- de la Porte St. Martin._

7. _------- de la Société Olympique_ (late _Opéra Buffa.)_

8. _------- du Vaudeville, Rue de Chartres._

9. _------- Montansier, Palais du Tribunat._

10. _------- de l'Ambigu Comique, Boulevard du Temple._

11. _------- de la Gaiété, Boulevard du Temple._

12. _------- des Jeunes Artistes, Boulevard St. Martin._

13. _------- des Jeunes Elèves, Rue de Thionville._

14. _------- des Délassemens Comiques, Boulevard du Temple._

15. _------- sans Prétension, Boulevard du Temple._

16. _------- du Marais, Rue Culture Ste. Catherine._

17. _------- de la Cité, vis-à-vis le Palais de Justice._

18. _------- des Victoires, Rue du Bacq._

19. _------- de Molière, Rue St. Martin._

20. _------- de l'Estrapade._

21. _------- de Mareux, Rue St. Antoine._

22. _------- des Aveugles, Rue St. Denis._

23. _------- de la Rue St. Jean de Beauvais._

24. _Bal masqué de l'Opéra, Rue de la Loi._

25. _---------- de l'Opéra Buffa, Rue de la Victoire._

26. _Bal du Sallon des Étrangers, Rue Grange Batelière._

27. _--- de l'Hôtel de Salm, Rue de Lille, Faubourg St. Germain._

28. _--- de la Rue Michaudière._

29. _Soirées amusantes de l'Hôtel Longueville, Place du Carrousel._

30. _Veillées de la Cité, vis-à-vis le Palais de Justice._

31. _Phantasmagorie de Robertson, Cour des Capucines._

32. _Concert de Feydeau._

33. _Ranelagh au bois de Boulogne._

34. _Tivoli, Rue de Clichy_, S.

35. _Frascati, Rue de la Loi_, S.

36. _Idalie_, S.

37. _Hameau de Chantilly, aux Champs Élysées._

38. _Paphos, Boulevard du Temple._

39. _Vauxhall d'hiver._

40. _-------- d'été_, S.

41. _-------- à Mousseaux_, S.

42. _-------- à St. Cloud_, S.

43. _-------- au Petit Trianon_, S.

44. _Jardin de l'hôtel Biron, Rue de Varenne_, S.

45. _------ Thélusson, Chaussée d'Antin_, S.

40. _------ Marboeuf, Grille de Chaillot_, S.

47. _------ de l'hôtel d'Orsay_, S.

48. _Fêtes champêtres de Bagatelle_, S.

49. _La Muette, à l'entrée du Bois de Boulogne_, S.

50. _Colisée, au Parc des Sablons_, S.

51. _Amphithéâtre d'équitation de Franconi, aux Capucines._

52. _Panorama, même lieu._

53. _Exhibition de Curtius, Boulevard du Temple._

54. _Expériences Physiques, au Palais du Tribunat._

55. _La Chaumière, aux Nouveaux Boulevards._

56. _Cabinet de démonstration de Physiologie et de Pathologie, au
Palais du Tribunat, No. 38, au premier._

Although, previously to the revolution, the taste for dramatic
amusements had imperceptibly spread, Paris could then boast of no
more than three principal theatres, exclusively of _l'Opéra Buffa_
introduced in 1788. These were _l'Opéra les Français_, and _les
Italiens_, which, with six inferior ones, called _petits spectacles_,
brought the whole of the theatres to ten in number. The subaltern
houses were incessantly checked in their career by the privileges
granted to the _Comédie Française_, which company alone enjoyed the
right to play first-rate productions: it also possessed that of
censorship, and sometimes exercised it in the most despotic manner.
Authors, ever in dispute with the comedians, who dictated the law to
them, solicited, but in vain, the opening of a second French theatre.
The revolution took place, and the unlimited number of theatres was
presently decreed. A great many new ones were opened; but the
attraction of novelty dispersing the amateurs, the number of
spectators did not always equal the expectation of the managers; and
the profits, divided among so many competitors, ceased to be
sufficiently productive for the support of every establishment of
this description. The consequence was, that several of them were soon
reduced to a state of bankruptcy.

Three theatres of the first and second rank have been destroyed by
fire within these two years, yet upwards of twenty are at present
open, almost every night, exclusively of several associations of
self-denominated _artistes-amateurs._

Amidst this false glare of dramatic wealth, theatres of the first
rank have imperceptibly declined, and at last fallen. It comes not
within my province or intention to seek the causes of this in the
defects of their management; but the fact is notorious. The _Théâtres
Favart_ and _Feydeau_, at each of which French comic operas were
chiefly represented, have at length been obliged to unite the
strength of their talents, and the disgrace which they have
experienced, has not affected any of those inferior playhouses where
subaltern performers establish their success on an assemblage of
scenes more coarse, and language more unpolished.

At the present moment, the government appear to have taken this
decline of the principal theatres into serious consideration. It is,
I understand, alike to be apprehended, that they may concern
themselves too little or too much in their welfare. Hitherto the
persons charged with the difficult task of upholding the falling
theatres of the first rank, have had the good sense to confine their
measures to conciliation; but, of late, it has been rumoured that the
stage is to be subjected to its former restrictions. The benefit
resulting to the art itself and to the public, from a rivalship of
theatres, is once more called in question: and some people even go so
far as to assert that, with the exception of a few abuses, the
direction of the _Gentils-hommes de la chambre_ was extremely good:
thence it should seem that the only difficulty is to find these lords
of the bed-chamber, if there be any still in being, in order to
restore to them their dramatic sceptre.[1]

Doubtless, the liberty introduced by the revolution has been, in many
respects, abused, and in too many, perhaps, relative to places of
public amusement. But must it, on that account, be entirely lost to
the stage, and falling into a contrary excess, must recourse be had
to arbitrary measures, which might also be abused by those to whose
execution they were intrusted? The unlimited number of theatres may
be a proper subject for the interference of the government: but as to
the liberty of the theatres, included in the number that may be fixed
on to represent pieces of every description, such only excepted as
may be hurtful to morals, seems to be a salutary and incontestable
principle. This it is that, by disengaging the French comic opera
from the narrow sphere to which it was confined, has, in a great
measure, effected a musical revolution, at which all persons of taste
must rejoice, by introducing on that stage the harmonic riches of

Italy. This too it is that has produced, on theatres of the second
and third rank, pieces which are neither deficient in regularity,
connexion, representation, nor decoration. The effect of such a
principle was long wanted here before the revolution, when the
independent spirit of dramatic authors was fettered by the
procrastinations of a set of privileged comedians, who discouraged
them by ungracious refusals, or disgusted them by unjust preferences.
Hence, the old adage in France that, when an author had composed a
good piece, he had performed but half his task; this was true, as the
more difficult half, namely, the getting it read and represented,
still remained to be accomplished.

As for the multiplicity of playhouses, it certainly belongs to the
government to limit their number, not by privileges which might be
granted through favour, or obtained, perhaps, for money. The taste of
the public for theatrical diversions being known, the population
should first be considered, as it is that which furnishes both money
and spectators. It would be easy to ascertain the proportion between
the population of the capital and the number of theatres which it
ought to comprise. Public places should be free as to the species of
amusement, but limited in their number, so as not to exceed the
proportion which the population can bear. The houses would then be
constantly well attended, and the proprietors, actors, authors, and
all those concerned in their success, secure against the consequences
of failure, and the true interest of the art be likewise promoted. In
a word, neither absolute independence, nor exclusive privilege should
prevail; but a middle course be adopted, in order to fix the fate of
those great scenic establishments, which, by forming so essential a
part of public diversion, have a proportionate influence on the
morals of the nation.

I have been led, by degrees, into these observations, not only from a
review of the decline of some of the principal playhouses here, but
also from a conviction that their general principle is applicable to
every other capital in Europe. What, for example, can be more absurd
than, in the dog-days, when room and air are particularly requisite,
that the lovers of dramatic amusement in the British metropolis are
to be crammed into a little theatre in the Haymarket, and stewed year
after year, as in a sweating-room at a bagnio, because half a century
ago an exclusive privilege was inconsiderately granted?

The playhouses here, in general, have been well attended this winter,
particularly the principal ones; but, in Paris, every rank has not
exactly its theatre as at a ball. From the _spectacles_ on the
_Boulevards_ to those of the first and second rank, there is a
mixture of company. Formerly, the lower classes confined themselves
solely to the former; at present, they visit the latter. An increase
of wages has enabled the workman to gratify his inclination for the
indulgence of a species of luxury; and, by a sort of instinct, he now
and then takes a peep at those scenes of which he before entertained,
from hearsay, but an imperfect idea.

If you wish to see a new or favourite piece, you must not neglect to
secure a seat in proper time; for, on such occasions, the house is
full long before the rising of the curtain. As to taking places in
the manner we do in England, there is no such arrangement to be made,
except, indeed, you choose to take a whole box, which is expensive.
In that case you pay for it at the time you engage it, and it is kept
locked the whole evening, or till you and your party, make your
appearance.[2]

At all the _spectacles_ in Paris, you are literally kept on the
outside of the house till you have received a ticket, in exchange for
your money, through an aperture in the exterior wall. Within a few
paces of the door of the principal theatres are two receiver's
offices, which are no sooner open, than candidates for admission
begin to form long ranks, extending from the portico into the very
street, and advance to them two abreast in regular succession. A
steady sentinel, posted at the aperture, repeats your wishes to the
receiver, and in a mild, conciliating manner, facilitates their
accomplishment. Other sentinels are stationed for the preservation of
order, under the immediate eye of the officer, who sees that every
one takes his turn to obtain tickets: however, it is not uncommon,
for forestallers to procure a certain number of them, especially at
the representation of a new or favourite piece, and offer them
privately at a usurious price which many persons are glad to pay
rather than fall into the rear of the ranks.

The method I always take to avoid this unpleasant necessity, I will
recommend to you as a very simple one, which may, perhaps, prevent
you from many a theatrical disappointment. Having previously informed
myself what _spectacle_ is best worth seeing, while I am at dinner I
send my _valet de place_, or if I cannot conveniently spare him, I
desire him to dispatch a _commissionnaire_ for the number of tickets
wanted, so that when I arrive at the theatre, I have only to walk in,
and place myself to the best advantage.

It is very wisely imagined not to establish the receiver's offices in
the inside of the house, as in our theatres. By this plan, however
great may be the crowd, the entrance is always unobstructed, and
those violent struggles and pressures, which among us have cost the
lives of many, are effectually prevented. You will observe that no
half-price is taken at any theatre in Paris; but in different parts
of the house, there are offices, called _bureaux de supplément_,
where, if you want to pass from one part of it to another, you
exchange your counter-mark on paying the difference.

Nothing can be better regulated than the present police, both
interior and exterior, of the theatres in Paris. The eye is not
shocked, as was formerly the case, by the presence of black-whiskered
grenadiers, occupying different parts of the house, and, by the
inflexible sternness of their countenance, awing the spectators into
a suppression of their feelings. No fusileer, with a fixed bayonet
and piece loaded with ball, now dictates to the auditors of the pit
that such a seat must hold so many persons, though several among them
might, probably, be as broad-bottomed as Dutchmen. If you find
yourself incommoded by heat or pressure, you are at liberty to
declare it without fear of giving offence. The criticism of a man of
taste is no longer silenced by the arbitrary control of a military
despot, who, for an exclamation or gesture, not exactly coinciding
with his own prepossessions, pointed him out to his myrmidons, and
transferred him at once to prison. You may now laugh with Molèire, or
weep with Racine, without having your mirth or sensibility thus
unseasonably checked in its expansion.

The existence of this despotism has been denied; but facts are
stubborn things, and I will relate to you an instance in which I saw
it most wantonly exercised. Some years ago I was present at the
_Théâtre Français_, when, in one of Corneille's pieces, Mademoiselle
Raucourt, the tragic actress, was particularly negligent in the
delivery of a passage, which, to do justice to the author, required
the nicest discrimination. An amateur in the _parterre_ reproved her,
in a very gentle manner, for a wrong emphasis. Being at this time a
favourite of the queen, she was, it seems, superior to admonition,
and persisted in her misplaced shrieks, till it became evident that
she set the audience at defiance: other persons then joined the
former in expressing their disapprobation. Instantly the _major_
singled out the leading critic: two grenadiers forced their way to
the place where he was seated, and conveyed him to prison for having
had the audacity to reprove an actress in favour at court. From such
improper exercise of authority, the following verse had become a
proverb:

_"II est bien des sifflets, mais nous avons la garde."_

Many there are, I know, who approved of this manner of bridling the
fickle Parisians, on the ground that they were so used to the curb
that they could no longer dispense with it. A guard on the outside of
a theatre is unquestionably necessary, and proper for the
preservation of order; but that the public should not be at liberty
to approve or condemn such a passage, or such an actor, is at once to
stifle the expression of that general opinion which alone can produce
good performers. The interior police of the theatre being at present
almost entirely in the hands of the public themselves, it is, on that
account, more justly observed and duly respected.

Considering the natural impetuosity of their character, one is
surprised at the patient tranquillity with which the French range
themselves in their places. Seldom do they interrupt the performance
by loud conversation, but exchange their thoughts in a whisper. When
one sees them applaud with rapture a tender scene, which breathes
sentiments of humanity or compassion, speaks home to every feeling
heart, and inspires the most agreeable sensations, one is tempted to
question whether the Parisians of the present day belong to the
identical race that could, at one time, display the ferocity of
tigers, and, at another, the tameness of lambs, while their nearest
relations and best friends were daily bleeding on the scaffold?

By the existing regulations, many of which are worthy of being
adopted in London, no theatre can be opened in Paris without the
permission of the police, who depute proper persons to ascertain that
the house is solidly built, the passages and outlets unincumbered and
commodious, and that it is provided with reservoirs of water, and an
adequate number of fire-engines.

Every public place that may be open, is to be shut up immediately,
if, for one single day, the proprietors neglect to keep the
reservoirs full of water, the engines in proper order, and the
firemen ready.

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