A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P R S T U V W X Z

Paris As It Was and As It Is

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




It is then only that the Institutor gives lessons of analysis. But,
how brilliant are they! You think yourself transported into a class
of logic. The deaf and dumb man has ceased to be so. A contest begins
between him and his master. All the spectators are astonished; every
one wishes to retain what is written on both sides. It is a lesson
given to all present.

Every one is invited to interrogate the deaf and dumb man, and he
answers to any person whatsoever, with a pen or pencil in his hand,
and in the same manner puts a question. He is asked, "What is Time?"
--"Time," says the dumb pupil, "is a portion of duration, the nature
of which is to be successive, to have commenced, and consequently to
have passed, and to be no more; to be present, and to be so through
necessity. Time," adds he, "is the fleeting or the future." As if in
the eyes of the dumb there was nothing real in Time but the future.
--"What is eternity?" says another to him--"It is a day without
yesterday, or to-morrow," replies the pupil.--"What is a sense?"--"It
is a vehicle for ideas."--"What is duration?"--"It is a line which
has no end, or a circle."--"What is happiness?"--"It is a pleasure
which never ceases."--"What is God?"--"The author of nature, the sun
of eternity."--"What is friendship?"--"The affection of the mind."
--"What is gratitude?"--"The memory of the heart."

There are a thousand answers of this description, daily collected at
the lessons of the deaf and dumb by those who attend them, and which
attest the superiority of this kind of instruction over the common
methods. Thus, this institution is not only, in regard to beneficence
and humanity, deserving of the admiration of men of feeling, it
merits also the observation of men of superior understanding and true
philosophers, on account of the ingenious process employed here to
supply the place of the sense of seeing by that of hearing, and
speech by gesture and writing.

I must not conceal from my countrymen, above all, that the
Institutor, in his public lessons, formally declares, that it is by
giving to the French language the simple form of ours, and
accommodating to it our syntax, he has been chiefly successful in
making the deaf and dumb understand that of their own country. I must
also add, that it is no more than a justice due to the Institutor to
say that, in the midst of the concourse of auditors, who press round
him, and who offer him the homage due to his genius and philanthropy,
he shews for all the English an honourable preference, acknowledging
to them, publicly, that this attention is a debt which he discharges
in return for the asylum that we granted to the unfortunate persons
of his profession, who, emigrating from their native land, came among
us to seek consolation, and found another home.

Should ever this feeble sketch of so interesting an institution reach
SICARD, that religious philosopher, who belongs as much to every
country in the world as to France, the land which gave him birth, he
will find in it nothing more than the expression of the gratitude of
one Englishman; but he may promise himself that as soon as the
definitive treaty of peace shall have reopened a free intercourse
between the two nations, the sentiments contained in it will be
adopted by all the English who shall witness the extraordinary
success of his profoundly-meditated labours. They will all hasten to
pay their tribute of admiration to a man, whose most gratifying
reward consists in the benefits which he has had the happiness to
confer on that part of his fellow-creatures from whom Nature has
withheld her usual indulgence.



LETTER XXXIX.

_Paris, December 25, 1801._

Much has been said of the general tone of immorality now prevailing
in this capital, and so much, that it becomes necessary to look
beyond the surface, and examine whether morals be really more corrupt
here at the present day than before the revolution. To investigate
the subject through all its various branches and ramifications, would
lead me far beyond the limits of a letter. I shall therefore, as a
criterion, take a comparative view of the increase or decrease of the
different classes of women, who, either publicly or privately,
deviate from the paths of virtue. If we begin with the lowest rank,
and ascend, step by step, to the highest, we first meet with those
unfortunate creatures, known in France by the general designation of

PUBLIC WOMEN.

Their number in Paris, twelve years ago, was estimated at thirty
thousand; and if this should appear comparatively small, it must be
considered how many amorous connexions here occupy the attention of
thousands of men, and consequently tend to diminish the number of
_public_ women.

The question is not to ascertain whether it be necessary, for the
tranquillity of private families, that there should be public women.
Who can fairly estimate the extent of the mischief which they
produce, or of that which they obviate? Who can accurately determine
the best means for bringing the good to overbalance the evil? But,
supposing the necessity of the measure, would it not be proper to
prevent, as much as possible, that complete mixture by which virtuous
females are often confounded with impures?

Charlemagne, though himself a great admirer of the sex, was of that
opinion. He had, in vain, endeavoured to banish entirely from Paris
women of this description; by ordering that they should be condemned
to be publicly whipped, and that those who harboured them, should
carry them on their shoulders to the place where the sentence was put
in execution. But it was not a little singular that, while the
emperor was bent on reforming the morals of the frail fair, his two
daughters, the princesses Gifla and Rotrude, were indulging in all
the vicious foibles of their nature.

Charlemagne, who then resided in the _Palais des Thermes_, situated
in the _Rue de la Harpe_, happened to rise one winter's morning much
earlier than usual. After walking for some time about his room, he
went to a window which looked into a little court belonging to the
palace. How great was his astonishment, when, by the twilight, he
perceived his second daughter, Rotrude, with Eginhard, his prime
minister, on her back, whom she was carrying through the deep snow
which had fallen in the night in order that the foot-steps of a man
might not be traced.

When Lewis the _débonnaire_, his successor, ascended the throne, he
undertook to reform these two princesses, whose father's fondness had
prevented him from suffering them to marry. The new king began by
putting to death two noblemen who passed for their lovers, thinking
that this example would intimidate, and that they would find no more:
but it appears that he was mistaken, for they were never at a loss.
Nor is this to be wondered at, as these princesses to a taste for
literature joined a very lively imagination, and were extremely
affable, generous, and beneficent; on which account, says Father
Daniel, they died universally regretted.

Experience having soon proved that public women are a necessary evil
in great cities, it was resolved to tolerate them. They therefore
began to form a separate body, became subject to taxes, and had their
statutes and judges. They were called _femmes amoureuses_, _filles
folles de leur corps_, and, on St. Magdalen's day, they were
accustomed to form annually a solemn procession. Particular streets
were assigned to them for their abode; and a house in each street,
for their commerce.

A penitentiary asylum, called _les Filles Dieu_, was founded at Paris
in 1226, and continued for some years open for the reception of
_female sinners who had gone astray, and were reduced to beggary_. In
the time of St. Lewis, their number amounted to two hundred; but
becoming rich, they became dissolute, and in 1483, they were
succeeded by the reformed nuns of Fontevrault.

When I was here in the year 1784, a great concourse of people daily
visited this convent in order to view the body of an ancient virgin
and martyr, said to be that of St. Victoria, which, having been
lately dug up near Rome, had just been sent to these nuns by the
Pope. This relic being exposed for some time to the veneration and
curiosity of the Parisian public, the devout wondered to see the fair
saint with a complexion quite fresh and rosy, after having been dead
for several centuries, and, in their opinion, this was a miracle
which incontestably proved her sanctity. The incredulous, who did not
see things in the same light, thought that the face was artificial,
and that it presented one of those holy frauds which have so
frequently furnished weapons to impiety. But they were partly
mistaken: the nuns had thought proper to cover the face of the saint
with a mask, and to clothe her from head to foot, in order to skreen
from the eyes of the public the hideous spectacle of a skeleton.

In 1420, Lewis VIII, with a view of distinguishing impures from
modest women, forbade the former to wear golden girdles, then in
fashion. This prohibition was vain, and the virtuous part of the sex
consoled themselves by the testimony of their conscience, whence the
old proverb: "_Bonne rénommée vaut mieux que ceinture dorée_."

Another establishment, first called _Les Filles pénitentes ou
repenties_, and afterwards _Filles de St. Magloire_, was instituted
in 1497 by a Cordelier, and had the same destination. He preached
against libertinism, and with such success, that two hundred
dissolute women were converted by his fervent eloquence. The friar
admitted them into his congregation, which was sanctioned by the
Pope. Its statutes, which were drawn up by the Bishop of Paris, are
not a little curious. Among other things, it was established, that
"none should be received but women who had led a dissolute life, and
that, in order to ascertain the fact, they should be examined by
matrons, who should swear on the Holy Evangelists to make a faithful
report."

There can be no doubt that women were well taken care of in this
house, since it was supposed that virtue even might assume the mask
of vice to obtain admission. The fact is singular. "To prevent girls
from prostituting themselves in order to be received, those who shall
have been once examined and refused, shall be excluded for ever.

"Besides, the candidates shall be obliged to swear, under penalty of
their eternal damnation, in presence of their confessor and six nuns,
that they did not prostitute themselves with a view of entering into
this congregation; and in order that women of bad character may not
wait too long before they become converted, in the hope that the door
will always be open to them, none will be received above the age of
thirty."

This community, for some years, continued tolerably numerous; but its
destination had been changed long before the suppression of convents,
which took place in the early part of the revolution. All the places
of public prostitution in Paris, after having been tolerated upwards
of four hundred years, were abolished by a decree of the States
General, held at Orleans in 1560. The number of women of the town,
however, was far from being diminished, though their profession was
no longer considered as a trade; and as they were prohibited from
being any where, that is, in any fixed place, they were compelled to
spread themselves every where.

At the present day, the number of these women in Paris is computed at
twenty-five thousand: they are taken up as formerly, in order to be
sent into infirmaries, whence they, generally, come out only to
return to their former habits. Twelve years ago, those apprehended
underwent a public examination once a month, and were commonly
sentenced to a confinement, more or less long, according to the
pleasure of the minister of the police. The examination of them
became a matter of amusement for persons of not over-delicate
feelings. The hardened females, neither respecting the judge not the
audience, impudently repeated the language and gestures of their
traffic. The judge added a fortnight's imprisonment for every insult,
and the most abandoned were confined only a few months longer in the
_Salpétrière_.

Endeavours have since been made to improve the internal regulation of
this and similar houses of correction; but, as far as my information
goes, with little success. For want of separating, from the beginning
of their confinement, the most debauched from those whom a moment of
distress or error has thrown into these scenes of depravity, the
contamination of bad example rapidly spreads, and those who enter
dissolute, frequently come out thievish; while all timidity is
banished from the mind of the more diffident. Besides, it is not
always the most culpable who fall into the hands of the police, the
more cunning and experienced, by contriving to come to terms with its
agents, employed on these errands, generally escape; and thus the
object in view is entirely defeated.

On their arrival at the _Salpétrière_, the healthy are separated from
the diseased; and the latter are sent to _Bicêtre_, where they either
find a cure or death. Your imagination will supply the finishing
strokes of this frightful picture.--These unfortunate victims of
indigence or of the seduction of man, are deserving of compassion.
With all their vices, they have, after all, one less than many of
their sex who pride themselves on chastity, without really possessing
it; that is, hypocrisy. As they shew themselves to be what they
really are, they cannot make the secret mischief which a detected
prude not unfrequently occasions under the deceitful mask of modesty.
Degraded in their own eyes, and being no longer able to reign through
the graces of virtue, they fall into the opposite extreme, and
display all the audaciousness of vice.

The next class we come to is that which was almost honoured by the
Greeks, and tolerated by the Romans, under the denomination of

COURTESANS.

By courtesans, I mean those ladies who, decked out in all the luxury
of dress, if not covered with diamonds, put up their favours to the
highest bidder, without having either more beauty or accomplishments,
perhaps, than the distressed female who sells hers at the lowest
price. But caprice, good fortune, intrigue, or artifice, sometimes
occasions an enormous distance between women who have the same views.

If the ancients made great sacrifices for the Phrynes, the Laïses, or
the Aspasias of the day, among the moderns, no nation has, in that
respect, surpassed the French. Every one has heard of the luxurious
extravagance of Mademoiselle Deschamps, the cushion of whose
_chaise-percée_, was trimmed with point-lace of very considerable
value, and the harness of whose carriage was studded with paste, in
imitation of diamonds. This woman, however, lived to repent of her
folly; and if she did not literally die in a poorhouse, she at least
ended her days in wretchedness.

Before the revolution, of all the gay ladies in Paris, Madame
Grandval displayed the greatest luxury in her equipage; and
Mademoiselle D'Hervieux, in her house. I knew them both. The former I
have seen at Longchamp, as well as at the annual review of the king's
household troops, in a splendid coach, as fine as that of any Lord
Mayor, drawn by a set of eight English grays, which cost a hundred
and twenty guineas a horse. She sat, like a queen, adorned with a
profusion of jewels; and facing her was a _dame de compagnie_,
representing a lady of the bedchamber. Behind the carriage, stood no
less than three tall footmen, besides a chasseur, in the style of
that of the Duke of Gloucester, in rich liveries, with swords, canes,
and bags.

As for the house of Mademoiselle D'Hervieux, it was every thing that
oriental luxury, combined with French taste, could unite on a small
scale. Although of very low origin, and by no means gifted with a
handsome person, this lady, after having, rather late in life,
obtained an introduction on the opera-stage as a common _figurante_,
contrived to insinuate herself into the good graces of some rich
protectors. On the _Chaussée d'Antin_, they built for her this palace
in miniature, which, twelve years ago, was the object of universal
admiration, and, in fact, was visited by strangers as one of the
curiosities of Paris.

At the present day, one neither sees nor hears of such favourites of
fortune; and, for want of subjects to paint under this head, I must
proceed to those of the next rank, who are styled

KEPT WOMEN.

What distinctions, what shades, what different names to express
almost one and the same thing! From the haughty fair in a brilliant
equipage, figuring, like a favourite Sultana, with "all the pride,
pomp, and circumstance" of the toilet, down to the hunger-pinched
female, who stands shivering in the evening at the corner of a
street, what gradations in the same profession!

Before the revolution, there were reckoned in Paris eight or ten
thousand women to whom the rich nobility or financiers allowed from a
thousand pounds a year upwards to an almost incredible amount. Some
of these ladies have ruined a whole family in the short space of six
months; and, having nothing left at the year's end, were then under
the necessity of parting with their diamonds for a subsistence.
Although many of them are far inferior in opulence to the courtesans,
they are less depraved, and, consequently, superior to them in
estimation. They have a lover, who pays, and from whom they, in
general, get all they can, at the same time turning him into
ridicule, and another whom, in their turn, they pay, and for whom
they commit a thousand follies.

These women used to have no medium in their attachments; they were
either quite insensible to the soft passion, or loved almost to
distraction. On the wane, they had the rage for marrying, and many of
them found men who, preferring fortune to honour, disgraced
themselves by such alliances. Some of these ladies, if handsome, were
not unfrequently taken by a man of fortune, and kept from mere
ostentation, just as he would sport a superlatively elegant carriage,
or ride a very capital horse; others were maintained from caprice,
which, like Achilles's spear, carried with it its own antidote; and
then, of course, they passed into the hands of different keepers. It
cannot be denied, however that a few of these connexions were founded
on attachment; and when the woman, who was the object of it, was
possessed of understanding, she assumed the manners and deportment of
a wife. Indeed, now and then a keeper adopted the style of oriental
gallantry.

Beaujon, the banker of the court, who had amassed an immense fortune,
indulged himself in his old age, and, till his death, in a society
composed of pretty women, some of whom belonged to what was then
termed good families, among which he had diffused his presents. In an
elegant habitation, called _la Chartreuse_, which he erected in the
_Faubourg du Roule_, as a place of occasional retirement, was a most
curious apartment, representing a bower, in the midst of which was
placed a bedstead in imitation of a basket of flowers: four trees,
whose verdant foliage extended over part of the ceiling, which was
painted as a sky, seemed to shade this basket, and supported drapery,
suspended to their branches. This was M. Beaujon's Temple of Venus.

The late Prince of Soubise, for some years, constantly kept ten or a
dozen ladies. The only intercourse he had with them, was to breakfast
or chat with them twice or thrice a month, and latterly he maintained
several old stagers, in this manner, from motives of benevolence. At
the end of the month, all these ladies came in their carriages at a
fixed hour, in a string, as it were, one after the other. The steward
had their money ready; they afterwards, one by one, entered a very
spacious room furnished with large closets, filled with silks,
muslins, laces, ribbands, &c. The prince distributed presents to
each, according to her age and taste: thus ended a visit of mere
ceremony, interspersed with a few words of general gallantry.

Such was the style in which many women were kept by men of fortune
under the old _régime_. At the present day, if we except twenty or
thirty perhaps, it would be no easy matter to discover any women
supported in a style of elegance in Paris, and the lot of these seems
scarcely secured but from month to month. The reason of this mystery
is, that the modern Croesuses having mostly acquired their riches in
a clandestine manner, they take every possible precaution to prevent
the reports in circulation concerning their ill-gotten pelf from
being confirmed by a display of luxury in their _chères amies_. On
this account, many a matrimonial connexion, I am told, is formed
between them and women of equivocal character, on the principle, that
a man is better able to check the extravagant excesses of his wife
than those of his mistress.

We now arrive at that class of females who move in a sphere of life
the best calculated for making conquests. I mean

OPERA-DANCERS.

When a spectator, whose eyes are fascinated by the illusion of scenic
decorations, contemplates those beauties whose voluptuous postures,
under the form of Calypso, Eucharis, Delphis, &c. awaken desire in
the mind of youth, and even of persons of maturer years, he forgets
that the divinities before him are women, who not unfrequently lavish
their favours on the common herd of mortals. His imagination lends to
them a thousand secret charms which they possess not; and he cannot
be persuaded that they are not tremblingly alive to a passion which
they express with so much apparent feeling. It is in their arms only
that he discovers his error. To arrive at this point, many an
Englishman has sacrificed thousands of pounds; while his faithless
fair has been indulging in all the wantonness of her disposition,
perhaps, with some obscure Frenchman among the long train of her
humble admirers. Hence the significant appellation of _Milord
Pot-au-feu_, given to one who supports a woman whose favours
another enjoys _gratis_.

Such an opera-dancer used formerly to exhibit herself in a blaze of
jewels in the lobby, and according to the style in which she figured,
did she obtain respect from her companions. The interval between them
was proportioned to the degree of opulence which the one enjoyed over
the other, so that the richer scarcely appeared to belong to the same
profession as the poorer. To the former, every shopkeeper became a
candidate for custom; presents were heaped on presents, and gold was
showered on her in such a manner that she might, for the time, almost
have fancied herself a second Danaë.

In the midst of this good fortune, perhaps, an obscure rival suddenly
started into fashion. She then was eclipsed by her whom, a few days
before, she disdained. Instead of a succession of visiters, her house
was deserted; and, at the expiration of the year, the proud fair,
awakened from her golden dream by the clamours of her importunate
creditors, found herself without one friend to rescue her valuables
from their rapacious gripe.

No wonder, then, that this order of things, (excepting the reverse by
which it was sometimes followed) was very agreeable to the great
majority of these capering beauties, and, doubtless, they wished its
duration. For, among the reports of the _secret_ police, maintained
by Lewis XVI, in 1792, it appears by a letter addressed to M. de
Caylus, and found among the King's papers in the palace of the
_Tuileries_, that most of the female opera-dancers were staunch
_aristocrates_; but that democracy triumphed among the women who sang
at that theatre. This little anecdote shews how far curiosity was
then stretched to ascertain what is called public opinion; and I have
no doubt that the result confirmed the correctness of the statement.

The opera-stage was certainly never so rich as it now is in
first-rate female dancers, yet the frail part of these beauties were
never so deficient, perhaps, in wealthy admirers. Proceeding to the
next order of meretricious fair, we meet with that numerous one
denominated

GRISETTES.

This is the name applied to those young girls who, being obliged to
subsist by their labour, chiefly fill the shops of milliners,
mantua-makers, and sellers of ready-made linen, &c.

The rank which ought to be assigned to them, I think, is between
opera-dancers and demireps. You may smile at the distinction; but, as
Mr. Tickle justly observes, in the Spectator, we should vary our
appellations of these fair criminals, according to circumstances.
"Those who offend only against themselves," says he, "and are not a
scandal to society; but, out of deference to the sober part of the
world, have so much good left in them as to be ashamed, must not be
comprehended in the common word due to the worst of women. Regard is
to be had to their situation when they fell, to the uneasy perplexity
in which they lived under senseless and severe parents, to the
importunity of poverty, to the violence of a passion in its beginning
well-grounded, to all the alleviations which make unhappy women
resign the characteristic of their sex, modesty. To do otherwise than
thus," adds he, "would be to act like a pedantic Stoic, who thinks
all crimes alike, and not as an impartial spectator, who views them
with all the circumstances that diminish or enhance the guilt."

Copyright (c) 2007. famouswriterz.com. All rights reserved.