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Paris As It Was and As It Is

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VINS.

fr. s.
Clarette 6 0
Vin de Bourgogne 1 15
Vin de Chablis 2 0
Vin de Beaune 2 5
Vin de Mulsaux 3 0
Vin de Montrachet 3 10
Vin de Pomard 3 10
Vin de Volnay 3 10
Vin de Nuits 3 10
Vin de Grave 5 0
Vin de Soterne 5 0
Vin de Champagne mousseux 5 0
Vin de champagne, mousseux 4 0
Tisane de Champagne 3 10
Vin de Rosé 5 0
Vin de Silery rouge 6 0
Vin de Silery blanc 6 0
Vin de Pierri 5 0
Vin d'Aï 5 0
Vin de Porto 6 0
Latour 6 0
Vin de Côte-Rôtie 5 0


Vin du Clos Vougeot de 88 7 4
Clos St. Georges 6 0
Vin de Pomarel 6 0
Vin du Rhin 8 0
Vin de Chambertin 5 0
Vin de l'Hermitage rouge 5 0
Vin de l'Hermitage blanc 6 0
Vin delà Romanée 5 0
Ronflante Conti 8 0
Vin de Richebourg 5 0
Chevalier montrachet 6 0
Vin de Vône 5 0
Vîn de Bordeaux de Ségur 5 0
Vin de Bordeaux Lafite 5 0
Vin de Saint Emilion 5 0
Bierre forte ou porter 2 0
Bierre 0 10


VINS DE LIQUEURS.

fr. s.
Vin de Chereste, demi-bouteille 4 0
Vin de Malvoisie, _idem_ 4 0
Madère sec _id._ 4 0
Malaga 3 0
Alicante _id._ 3 0
Muscat 3 0
Le petit verre 0 10
Vermouth
Chipre
Calabre
Paille
Palme
Constance
Tokai
Le petit verre 1 0

LIQUEURS.

Anisette d'Hollande 0 15
Anisette de Bordeaux 0 12
Eau-de-vie d'Andaye 0 10
Fleur d'Orange 0 10
Cuirasseau 0 10
Rhum 0 10
Kirschewaser 0 10
Eau Cordiale de Coradon 0 15
Liqueurs des Isles 0 15
Marasquin 0 15
Eau-de-vie de Dantzick 0 15
Eau-de-vie de Coignac 0 8
Casé, la tasse 12s. la demie 0 8
Glace 0 15

One advantage, well deserving of notice, of this bill of fare with
the price annexed to each article, is, that, when you have made up
your mind as to what you wish to have for dinner, you have it in your
power, before you give the order, to ascertain the expense. But,
though you see the price of each dish, you see not the dish itself;
and when it comes on the table, you may, perhaps, be astonished to
find that a pompous, big-sounding name sometimes produces only a
scrap of scarcely three mouthfuls. It is the mountain in labour
delivered of a mouse.

However, if you are not a man of extraordinary appetite, you may, for
the sum of nine or ten francs, appease your hunger, drink your bottle
of Champagne or Burgundy, and, besides, assist digestion by a dish of
coffee and a glass of liqueur. Should you like to partake of two
different sorts of wine, you may order them, and drink at pleasure of
both; if you do not reduce the contents below the moiety, you pay
only for the half bottle. A necessary piece of advice to you as a
stranger, is, that, while you are dispatching your first dish, you
should take care to order your second, and so on in progression to
the end of the chapter: otherwise, for want of this precaution, when
the company is very numerous, you may, probably, have to wait some
little time between the acts, before you are served.

This is no trifling consideration, if you purpose, after dinner, to
visit one of the principal theatres: for, if a new or favourite piece
be announced, the house is full, long before the raising of the
curtain; and you not only find no room at the theatre to which you
first repair; but, in all probability, this disappointment will
follow you to every other for that evening.

Nevertheless, ten or fifteen minutes are sufficient for the most
dainty or troublesome dish to undergo its final preparation, and in
that time you will have it smoking on the table. Those which admit of
being completely prepared beforehand, are in a constant state of
readiness, and require only to be set over the fire to be warmed.
Each cook has a distinct branch to attend to in the kitchen, and the
call of a particular waiter to answer, as each waiter has a distinct
number of tables, and the orders of particular guests to obey in the
dining-rooms. In spite of the confused noise arising from the gabble
of so many tongues, there being probably eighty or a hundred persons
calling for different articles, many of whom are hasty and impatient,
such is the habitual good order observed, that seldom does any
mistake occur; the louder the vociferations of the hungry guests, the
greater the diligence of the alert waiters. Should any article, when
served, happen not to suit your taste, it is taken back and changed
without the slightest murmur.

The difference between the establishments of the fashionable
_restaurateurs_ before the revolution, and those in vogue at the
present day, is, that their profession presenting many candidates for
public favour, they are under the continual necessity of employing
every resource of art to attract customers, and secure a continuance
of them. The commodiousness and elegance of their rooms, the
savouriness of their cooking, the quality of their wines, the
promptitude of their attendants, all are minutely criticized; and, if
they study their own interest, they must neglect nothing to flatter
the eyes and palate. In fact, how do they know that some of their
epicurean guests may not have been of their own fraternity, and once
figured in a great French family as _chef de cuisine_?

Of course, with all this increase of luxury, you must expect an
increase of expense: but if you do not now dine here at so reasonable
a rate as formerly, at least you are sumptuously served for your
money. If you wish to dine frugally, there are numbers of
_restaurateurs_, where you may be decently served with _potage_,
_bouilli_, an _entrée_, an _entremet_, bread and desert, for the
moderate sum of from twenty-six to thirty _sous_. The addresses of
these cheap eating-houses, if they are not put into your hand in the
street, will present themselves to your eye, at the corner of almost
every wall in Paris. Indeed, all things considered, I am of opinion
that the difference in the expense of a dinner at a _restaurateur's_
at present, and what it was ten or eleven years ago, is not more than
in the due proportion of the increased price of provisions,
house-rent, and taxes.

The difference the most worthy of remark in these rendezvous of good
cheer, unquestionably consists in the company who frequent them. In
former times, the dining-rooms of the fashionable _restaurateurs_
were chiefly resorted to by young men of good character and
connexions, just entering into life, superannuated officers and
batchelors in easy circumstances, foreigners on their travels, &c. At
this day, these are, in a great measure, succeeded by stock-jobbers,
contractors, fortunate speculators, and professed gamblers. In
defiance of the old proverb, "_le ventre est le plus grand de tous
nos ennemis,_" guttling and guzzling is the rage of these upstarts.
It is by no means uncommon to see many of them begin their dinner by
swallowing six or seven dozen of oysters and a bottle of white wine,
by way of laying a foundation for a _potage en tortue_ and eight or
ten other rich dishes. Such are the modern parvenus, whose craving
appetites, in eating and drinking, as in every thing else, are not
easily satiated.

It would be almost superfluous to mention, that where rich rogues
abound, luxurious courtesans are at no great distance, were it not
for the sake of remarking that the former often regale the latter at
the _restaurateurs_, especially at those houses which afford the
convenience of snug, little rooms, called _cabinets particuliers_.
Here, two persons, who have any secret affairs to settle, enjoy all
possible privacy; for even the waiter never has the imprudence to
enter without being called. In these asylums, Love arranges under his
laws many individuals not suspected of sacrificing at the shrine of
that wonder-working deity. Prudes, whose virtue is the universal
boast, and whose austerity drives thousands of beaux to despair,
sometimes make themselves amends for the reserve which they are
obliged to affect in public, by indulging in a private _tête-à-tête_
in these mysterious recesses. In them too, young lovers frequently
interchange the first declarations of eternal affection; to them many
a husband owes the happiness of paternity; and without them the gay
wife might, perhaps, be at a loss to deceive her jealous Argus, and
find an opportunity of lending an attentive ear to the rapturous
addresses of her aspiring gallant.

What establishment then can be more convenient than that of a
_restaurateur_? But you would be mistaken, were you to look for
_cabinets particuliers_ at every house of this denomination, Here, at
BEAUVILLIERS', for instance, you will find no such accommodation,
though if you dislike dining in public, you may have a private room
proportioned to the number of a respectable party: or, should you be
sitting at home, and just before the hour of dinner, two or three
friends call in unexpectedly, if you wish to enjoy their company in a
quiet, sociable manner, you have only to dispatch your _valet de
place_ to BEAUVILLIERS' or to the nearest _restaurateur_ of repute
for the bill of fare, and at the same time desire him to bring
table-linen, knives, silver forks, spoons, and all other necessary
appurtenances. While he is laying the cloth, you fix on your dinner,
and, in little more than a quarter of an hour, you have one or two
elegant courses, dressed in a capital style, set out on the table. As
for wine, if you find it cheaper, you can procure that article from
some respectable wine-merchant in the neighbourhood. In order to save
trouble, many single persons, and even small families now scarcely
ever cook at home; but either dine at a _restaurateur's_, or have
their dinners constantly furnished from one of these sources of
culinary perfection.

But, while I am relating to you the advantages of these
establishments, time flies apace: 'tis six o'clock.--If you are not
disposed to drink more wine, let us have some coffee and our bill.
When you want to pay, you say: "_Garçon, la carte payante!_" The
waiter instantly flies to a person, appointed for that purpose, to
whom he dictates your reckoning. On consulting your stomach, should
you doubt what you have consumed, you have only to call in the aid of
your memory, and you will be perfectly satisfied that you have not
been charged with a single article too much or too little.

Remark that portly man, so respectful in his demeanour. It is
BEAUVILLIERS, the master of the house: this is his most busy hour,
and he will now make a tour to inquire at the different tables, if
his guests are all served according to their wishes. He will then,
like an able general, take a central station, whence he can command a
view of all his dispositions. The person, apparently next in
consequence to himself, and who seems to have his mind absorbed in
other objects, is the butler: his thoughts are, with the wine under
his care, in the cellar.

Observe the cleanly attention of the waiters, neatly habited in
close-bodied vests, with white aprons before them: watch the
quickness of their motions, and you will be convinced that no scouts
of a camp could be more _on the alert_. An establishment, so
extremely well conducted, excites admiration. Every spring of the
machine duly performs its office; and the regularity of the whole
might serve as a model for the administration of an extensive State.
Repair then, ye modern Machiavels, to N° 1243, _Rue de la Loi_; and,
while you are gratifying your palate, imbibe instruction from
BEAUVILLIERS.

END OF THE FIRST VOLUME.




* * * * *
* * * * *





PARIS

AS IT WAS AND AS IT IS;

OR

A Sketch of the French Capital,

ILLUSTRATIVE OF

THE EFFECTS OF THE REVOLUTION,

WITH RESPECT TO

SCIENCES,
LITERATURE,
ARTS,
RELIGION,
EDUCATION,
MANNERS,
AND
AMUSEMENTS;

COMPRISING ALSO

A correct Account of the most remarkable National Establishments and
Public Buildings.

In a Series of Letters,

WRITTEN BY AN ENGLISH TRAVELLER,

DURING THE YEARS 1801-2,

TO A FRIEND IN LONDON.

* * * * *

Ipsâ varietate tentamus efficere, ut alia aliis, quædem fortasse
omnibus placeant. PLIN. Epist.

* * * * *

VOL. II

LONDON



A SKETCH OF PARIS, &c. &c.


LETTER XXXVIII.

_Paris, December 23, 1801._

An establishment at once deserving of the attention of men of
feeling, particularly of those who, in cultivating literature, apply
themselves to the science of metaphysics and grammar; an
establishment extremely interesting to every one, the great
difficulties of which mankind had, repeatedly, in the course of ages,
endeavoured to encounter, and which had driven to despair all those
who had ventured to engage in the undertaking; an establishment, in a
word, which produces the happiest effects, and in a most wonderful
manner, is the

NATIONAL INSTITUTION OF THE DEAF AND DUMB.

To the most religious of philanthropists is France indebted for this
sublime discovery, and the Abbé SICARD, a pupil of the inventor; the
Abbé de l'Epée, has carried it to such a degree of perfection, that
it scarcely appears possible to make any further progress in so
useful an undertaking. And, in fact, what can be wanting to a species
of instruction the object of which is to establish between the deaf
and dumb, and the man who hears and speaks, a communication like that
established between all men by the knowledge and practice of the same
idiom; when the deaf and dumb man, by the help of the education given
him, succeeds in decomposing into phrases the longest period; into
simple propositions, the most complex phrase; into words, each
proposition; into simple words, words the most complex: and when he
distinguishes perfectly words derived from primitives; figurative
words from proper ones; and when, after having thus decomposed the
longest discourse, he recomposes it; when, in short, the deaf and
dumb man expresses all his ideas, all his thoughts, and all his
affections; when he answers, like men the best-informed, all
questions put to him, respecting what he knows through the nature of
his intelligence, and respecting what he has learned, either from
himself or from him who has enlightened his understanding? What wish
remains to be formed, when the deaf and dumb man is enabled to learn
by himself a foreign language, when he translates it, and writes it,
as well as those of whom it is the mother-tongue?

Such is the phenomenon which the Institution of the deaf and dumb
presents to the astonishment of Europe, under the direction, or
rather under the regeneration of the successor of the celebrated Abbé
de l'Epée. His pupils realize every thing that I have just mentioned.
They write English and Italian as well as they do French. Nothing
equals the justness and precision of their definitions.

Nor let it be imagined that they resemble birds repeating the tunes
they have learned. Never have they been taught the answer to a
question. Their answers are always the effect of their good logic,
and of the ideas of objects and of qualities of beings, acquired by a
mind which the Institutor has formed from the great art of
observation.

This institution was far short of its present state of perfection at
the death of the celebrated inventor, which happened on the 23d of
December 1789. During the long career of their first father, the deaf
and dumb had been able to find means only to write, under the
dictation of signs, words whose import was scarcely known to them.
When endeavours were made to make them emerge from the confined
sphere of the first wants, not one of them knew how to express in
writing any thing but ideas of sense and wants of the first
necessity. The nature of the verb, the relations of tenses, that of
other words comprehended in the phrase, and which form the syntax of
languages, were utterly unknown to them. And, indeed, how could they
answer the most trifling question? Every thing in the construction of
a period was to them an enigma.

It was not long before the successor of the inventor discovered the
defect of this instruction, which was purely mechanical and acquired
by rote. He thought he perceived this defect in the _concrete_ verb,
in which the deaf and dumb, seeing only a single word, were unable to
distinguish two ideas which are comprehended in it, that of
affirmation and that of quality. He thought he perceived also that
defect in the expression of the qualities, always presented, in all
languages, out of the subjects, and never in the noun which they
modify; and, by the help of a process no less simple than ingenious
and profound, he has made the deaf and dumb comprehend the most
arduous difficulty, the nature of abstraction; he has initiated them
in the art of generalizing ideas by presenting to them the adjective
in the noun, as the quality is in the object, and the quality
subsisting alone and out of the object, having no support but in the
mind, for him who considers it, and but in the abstract noun for him
who reads the expression of it. He has, in like manner, separated the
verb from the quality in concrete verbs, and communicated to the deaf
and dumb the knowledge of the true verb, which he has pointed out to
them in the termination of all the French verbs, by reattaching to
the subject, by a line agreed on, its verbal quality. This line he
has translated by the verb _to be_, the only verb recognized by
philosophic grammarians.

These are the two foundations of this very extraordinary source of
instruction, and on which all the rest depend. The pronouns are
learned by nouns; the tenses of conjugation, by the three absolute
tenses of conjugation of all languages; and these, by this line, so
happily imagined, which is a sign of the present when it connects the
verbal quality and the subject, a sign of the past when it is
intersected, a sign of the future when it is only begun.

All the conjugations are reduced to a single one, as are all the
verbs. The adverbs considered as adjectives, when they express the
manner, and as substitutes for a preposition and its government, when
they express time or place, &c. The preposition represented as a mean
of transmitting the influence of the word which precedes it to that
which follows it; the articles serving, as in the English language,
to determine the extent of a common noun. Such is a summary of the
grammatical system of the Institutor of the deaf and dumb.

It is the metaphysical part, above all, which, in this institution,
is carried to such a degree of simplicity and clearness, that it is
within reach of understandings the most limited. And, indeed, one
ought not to be astonished at the rapid progress of the deaf and dumb
in the art of expressing their ideas and of communicating in writing
with every speaker, as persons absent communicate with each other by
similar means. In the space of eighteen months, a pupil begins to
give an account in writing of the actions of which he is rendered a
witness, and, in the space of five years, his education is complete.

The objects in which the deaf and dumb are instructed, are Grammar,
the notions of Metaphysics and Logic, which the former renders
necessary, Religion, the Use of the Globes, Geography, Arithmetic,
general notions of History, ancient and modern, of Natural History,
of Arts and Trades, &c.

These unfortunates, restored by communication to society, from which
Nature seemed to have intended to exclude them, are usefully
employed. One of their principal occupations is a knowledge of a
mechanical art. Masters in the most ordinary arts are established in
the house of the deaf and dumb, and every one there finds employment
in the art which best suits his inclination, his strength, and his
natural disposition. In this school, which is established at the
extremity of the _Faubourg St. Jacques_, is a printing-office, where
some are employed as compositors; others, as pressmen. In a
preparatory drawing-school they are taught the rudiments of painting,
engraving, and Mosaic, for the last of which there are two workshops.
There is also a person to teach engraving on fine grained stones, as
well as a joiner, a tailor, and a shoemaker. The garden, which is
large, is cultivated by the deaf and dumb. Almost every thing that is
used by them is made by themselves. They make their own bedsteads,
chairs, tables, benches, and clothes. The deaf and dumb females too
make their shirts, and the rest of their linen.

Thus their time is so taken up that, with the exception of three
hours devoted to moral instruction, all the rest is employed in
manual labour.

Such is this establishment, where the heart is agreeably affected at
the admirable spectacle which presents at once every thing that does
the most honour to human intelligence, in the efforts which it has
been necessary to make in order to overcome the obstacles opposed to
its development by the privation of the sense the most useful, and
that of the faculty the most essential to the communication of men
with one another, and the sight of the physical power employed in
seeking, in arts and trades, resources which render men independent.

But to what degree are these unfortunates deaf, and why are they
dumb?

It is well known that they are dumb because they are deaf, and they
are more or less deaf, when they are so only by accident, in
proportion as the auditory nerve is more or less braced, or more or
less relaxed. In various experiments made on sound, some have heard
sharp sounds, and not grave ones; others, on the contrary, have heard
grave sounds, and not sharp ones.

All would learn, were it deemed expedient to teach them, the
mechanism of speech. But, besides that the sounds which they would
utter, would never be heard by themselves, and they would never be
conscious of having uttered them, those, sounds would be to those who
might listen to them infinitely disagreeable. Never could they be of
use, to them in conversing with us, and they would serve only to
counteract their instruction.

Woe be to the deaf and dumb whom it should be proposed to instruct by
teaching them to speak! How, in fact, can, the development of the
understanding be assisted by teaching them a mechanism which has no
object or destination, when the thought already formed in the mind,
by the help of signs which fix the ideas, restores not the mechanism
of speech?

Of this the Institutor has been fully sensible, and, although in his
public lessons, he explains all the efforts of the vocal instrument
or organ of the voice, and proves that he could, as well as any other
man, teach the deaf and dumb to make use of it, all his labour is
confined to exercising the instrument of thought, persuaded that
every thing will be obtained, when the deaf and dumb shall have
learned to arrange their ideas, and to think.

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