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Paris As It Was and As It Is

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




War itself assumed a new face. Every thing relating to it became
extraordinary: the number of the combatants, the manner of recruiting
the armies, and the means of providing supplies for them; the
manufacture of powder, cannon, and muskets; the ardour, impetuosity,
and forced marches of the troops; their extortions, their successes,
and their reverses; the choice of the generals, and the superior
talents of some of them, together with the springs, by which these
enormous bodies of armed men were moved and directed, were equally
new and astonishing.

History tells us that in poor countries, where nothing inflames
cupidity and ambition, the love alone of the public good causes
changes to be tried in the government; and that those changes derange
not the ordinary course of society; whereas, among rich nations,
corrupted by luxury, revolutions are always effected through secret
motives of jealousy and interest; because there are great places to
be usurped, and great fortunes to be invaded. In France, the
revolution covered the country with ruins, tears, and blood, because
means were not to be found to moderate in the people that
_revolutionary spirit_ which parches, in the bud, the promised fruits
of liberty, when its violence is not repressed.

Few persons were capable of keeping pace with the rapid progress of
the revolution. Those who remained behind were considered as guilty
of desertion. The authors of the first constitution were accused of
being _royalists_; the old partisans of republicanism were punished
as _moderates_; the land-owners, as _aristocrates_; the monied men,
as _corrupters_; the bankers and financiers, as _blood-suckers_; the
shop-keepers, as _promoters of famine_; and the newsmongers, as
_alarmists_. The factious themselves, in short, were alternately
proscribed, as soon as they ceased to belong to the ruling faction.

In this state of things, society became a prey to the most baneful
passions. Mistrust entered every heart; friendship had no attraction;
relationship, no tie; and men's minds, hardened by the habit of
misfortune, or overwhelmed by fear, no longer opened to pity.

Terror compressed every imagination; and the revolutionary
government, exercising it to its fullest extent, struck off a
prodigious number of heads, filled the prisons with victims, and
continued to corrupt the morals of the nation by staining it with
crimes.

But all things have an end. The tyrants fell; the dungeons were
thrown open; numberless victims emerged from them; and France seemed
to recover new life; but still bewildered by the _revolutionary
spirit_, wasted by the concealed poison of anarchy, exhausted by her
innumerable sacrifices, and almost paralyzed by her own convulsions,
she made but impotent efforts for the enjoyment of liberty and
justice. Taxes became more burdensome; commerce was annihilated;
industry, without aliment; paper-money, without value; and specie,
without circulation. However, while the French nation was degraded at
home by this series of evils, it was respected abroad through the
rare merit of some of its generals, the splendour of its victories,
and the bravery of its soldiers.

During these transactions, there was formed in the public mind that
moral resistance which destroys not governments by violence, but
undermines them. The intestine commotions were increasing; the
conquests of the French were invaded; their enemies were already on
their frontiers; and the division which had broken out between the
Directory and the Legislative Body, again threatened France with a
total dissolution, when a man of extraordinary character and talents
had the boldness to seize the reins of authority, and stop the
further progress of the revolution.[1] Taking at the full the tide
which leads on to fortune, he at once changed the face of affairs,
not only within the limits of the Republic, but throughout Europe.
Yet, after all their triumphs, the French have the mortification to
have failed in gaining that for which they first took up arms, and
for which they have maintained so long and so obstinate a struggle.

When a strong mound has been broken down, the waters whose amassed
volume it opposed, rush forward, and, in their impetuous course,
spread afar terror and devastation. On visiting the scene where this
has occurred, we naturally cast our eyes in every direction, to
discover the mischief which they have occasioned by their irruption;
so, then, on reaching the grand theatre of the French revolution, did
I look about for the traces of the havock it had left behind; but,
like a river which had regained its level, and flowed again in its
natural bed, this political torrent had subsided, and its ravages
were repaired in a manner the most surprising.

However, at the particular request of an estimable friend, I have
endeavoured to draw the contrast which, in 1789-90 and 1801-2, Paris
presented to the eye of an impartial observer. In this arduous
attempt I have not the vanity to flatter myself that I have been
successful, though I have not hesitated to lay under contribution
every authority likely to promote my object. The state of the French
capital, before the revolution, I have delineated from the notes I
had myself collected on the spot, and for which purpose I was, at
that time, under the necessity of consulting almost as many books as
Don Quixote read on knight-errantry; but the authors from whom I have
chiefly borrowed, are St. FOIX, MERCIER, DULAURE, PUJOULX, and BIOT.

My invariable aim has been to relate, _sine ira nec studio_, such
facts and circumstances as have come to my knowledge, and to render
to every one that justice which I should claim for myself. After a
revolution which has trenched on so many opposite interests, the
reader cannot be surprised, if information, derived from such a
variety of sources, should sometimes seem to bear the character of
party-spirit. Should this appear _on the face of the record_, I can
only say that I have avoided entering into politics, in order that no
bias of that sort might lead me to discolour or distort the truths I
have had occasion to state; and I have totally rejected those
communications which, from their tone of bitterness, personality, and
virulence, might be incompatible with the general tenour of an
impartial production.

Till the joint approbation of some competent judges, who visited the
French capital after having perused, in manuscript, several of these
letters, had stamped on them a comparative degree of value, no one
could think more lightly of them than the author. Urged repeatedly to
produce them to the public, I have yielded with reluctance, and in
the fullest confidence that, notwithstanding the recent change of
circumstances, a liberal construction will be put on my sentiments
and motives. I have taken care that my account of the national
establishments in France should be perfectly correct; and, in fact, I
have been favoured with the principal information it contains by
their respective directors. In regard to the other topics on which I
have touched, I have not failed to consult the best authorities, even
in matters, which, however trifling in themselves, acquire a relative
importance, from being illustrative of some of the many-coloured
effects of a revolution, which has humbled the pride of many,
deranged the calculations of all, disappointed the hopes of not a
few, and deceived those even by whom it had been engendered and
conducted.

Yet, whatever pains I have taken to be strictly impartial, it cannot
be denied that, in publishing a work of this description at a time
when the self-love of most men is mortified, and their resentment
awakened, I run no small risk of displeasing all parties, because I
attach myself to none, but find them all more or less deserving of
censure. Without descending either to flattery or calumny, I speak
both well and ill of the French, because I copy nature, and neither
draw an imaginary portrait, nor write a systematic narrative. If I
have occasionally given vent to my indignation in glancing at the
excesses of the revolution, I have not withheld my tribute of
applause from those institutions, which, being calculated to benefit
mankind by the gratuitous diffusion of knowledge, would reflect
honour on any nation. In other respects, I have not been unmindful of
that excellent precept of TACITUS, in which he observes that "The
principal duty of the historian is to rescue from oblivion virtuous
actions, and to make bad men dread infamy and posterity for what they
have said and done."[2]

In stating facts, it is frequently necessary to support them by a
relation of particular circumstances, which may corroborate them in
an unquestionable manner. Feeling this truth, I have some times
introduced myself on my canvass, merely to shew that I am not an
ideal traveller. I mean one of those pleasant fellows who travel post
in their elbow-chair, sail round the world on a map suspended to one
side of their room, cross the seas with a pocket-compass lying on
their table, experience a shipwreck by their fireside, make their
escape when it scorches their shins, and land on a desert island in
their _robe de chambre_ and slippers.

I have, therefore, here and there mentioned names, time, and place,
to prove that, _bonâ fide_, I went to Paris immediately after the
ratification of the preliminary treaty. To banish uniformity in my
description of that metropolis, I have, as much as possible, varied
my subjects. Fashions, sciences, absurdities, anecdotes, education,
fêtes, useful arts, places of amusement, music, learned and
scientific institutions, inventions, public buildings, industry,
agriculture, &c. &c. &c. being all jumbled together in my brain, I
have thence drawn them, like tickets from a lottery; and it will not,
I trust, be deemed presumptuous in me to indulge a hope that, in
proportion to the blanks, there will be found no inadequate number of
prizes.

I have pointed out the immense advantages which France is likely to
derive from her Schools for Public Services, and other establishments
of striking utility, such as the _Dépôt de la Guerre_ and the _Dépôt
de la Marine_, in order that the British government may be prompted
to form institutions, which, if not exactly similar, may at least
answer the same purpose. Instead of copying the French in objects of
fickleness and frivolity, why not borrow from them what is really
deserving of imitation?

It remains for me to observe, by way of stimulating the ambition of
British genius, that, in France, the arts and sciences are now making
a rapid and simultaneous progress; first, because the revolution has
made them popular in that country; and, secondly, because they are
daily connected by new ties, which, in a great measure, render them
inseparable. Facts are there recurred to, less with a view to draw
from them immediate applications than to develop the truths resulting
from them. The first step is from these facts to their most simple
consequences, which are little more than bare assertions. From these
the _savans_ proceed to others more minute, till, at length, by
imperceptible degrees, they arrive at the most abstracted
generalities. With them, method is an induction incessantly verified
by experiment. Whence, it gives to human intelligence, not wings
which lead it astray, but reins which guide it. United by this common
philosophy, the sciences and arts in France advance together; and the
progress made by one of them serves to promote that of the rest.
There, the men who profess them, considering that their knowledge
belongs not to themselves alone, not to their country only, but to
all mankind, are continually striving to increase the mass of public
knowledge. This they regard as a real duty, which they are proud to
discharge; thus treading in the steps of the most memorable men of
past ages.

Then, while the more unlearned and unskilled among us are emulating
the patriotic enthusiasm of the French in volunteering, as they did,
to resist invasion, let our men of science and genius exert
themselves not to be surpassed by the industrious _savans_ and
artists of that nation; but let them act on the principle inculcated
by the following sublime idea of our illustrious countryman, the
founder of modern philosophy. "It may not be amiss," says BACON, "to
point out three different kinds, and, as it were, degrees of
ambition. The first, that of those who desire to enhance, in their
own country, the power they arrogate to themselves: this kind of
ambition is both vulgar and degenerate. The second, that of those who
endeavour to extend the power and domination of their country, over
the whole of the human race: in this kind there is certainly a
greater dignity, though; at the same time, no less a share of
cupidity. But should any one strive to restore and extend the power
and domination of mankind over the universality of things,
unquestionably such an ambition, (if it can be so denominated) would
be more reasonable and dignified than the others. Now, the empire of
man, over things, has its foundation exclusively in the arts and
sciences; for it is only by an obedience to her laws, that Nature can
be commanded."[3]

LONDON, June 10, 1803.

[Footnote 1: Of two things, we are left to believe one. BONAPARTE
either was or was not invited to put himself at the head of the
government of France. It is not probable that the Directory should
send for him from Egypt, in order to say to him: "we are fools and
drivelers, unfit to conduct the affairs of the nation; so turn us out
of office, and seat yourself in our place." Nevertheless, they might
have hoped to preserve their tottering authority through his support.
Be this as it may, there it something so singular in the good fortune
which has attended BONAPARTE from the period of his quitting
Alexandria, that, were it not known for truth, it might well be taken
for fiction. Sailing from the road of Aboukir on the 24th of August,
1799, he eludes the vigilance of the English cruisers, and lands at
Frejus in France on the 14th of October following, the forty-seventh
day after his departure from Egypt. On his arrival in Paris, so far
from giving an account of his conduct to the Directory, he turns his
back on them; accepts the proposition made to him, from another
quarter, to effect a change in the government; on the 9th of
November, carries it into execution; and, profiting by the _popularis
aura_, fixes himself at the head of the State, at the same time
kicking down the ladder by which he climbed to power. To achieve all
this with such promptitude and energy, most assuredly required a mind
of no common texture; nor can any one deny that ambition would have
done but little towards its accomplishment, had it not been seconded
by extraordinary firmness.]

[Footnote 2: _"Præcipuum munus annalium reor, ne virtutes sileantur,
utque praxis dictis factisque ex posteritate et infamiâ metus sit."_]

[Footnote 3: "_Præterca non abs refuerit, tria hominum ambitionis
genera et quasi gradus distinguere. Primum eorum qui propriam
potentiam in patria sua amplificare cupiunt; quod genus vulgare est
et degener. Secundum eorum, qui patriæ potentiam et imperium inter
humanum genus amplificare nituntur; illud plus certe habet
dignitatis, cupiditatis haud minus. Quod si quis humani generis
ipsius potentiam et imperium in rerum univertitatem instaurare et
amplificare conetur ea procul dubio ambitio (si modo ita cocanda sit)
reliquls et sanior est et augustior. Hominis autem imperium in res,
in solis artibus et scientiis ponitur: naturæ enim non imperatur,
nisi parendo_." Nov. org. scientiarum. Aphor. CXXIX. (Vol. VIII. page
72, new edition of BACON'S works. London, printed 1803.)]



A SKETCH OF PARIS, &c. &c.

LETTER I.

_Calais, October 16, 1801._

MY DEAR FRIEND,

Had you not made it a particular request that I would give you the
earliest account of my debarkation in France, I should, probably, not
have been tempted to write to you till I reached Paris. I well know
the great stress which you lay on first impressions; but what little
I have now to communicate will poorly gratify your expectation.

From the date of this letter, you will perceive that, since we parted
yesterday, I have not been dilatory in my motions. No sooner had a
messenger from the Alien-Office brought me the promised passport, or
rather his Majesty's licence, permitting me to embark for France,
than I proceeded on my journey.

In nine hours I reached Dover, and, being authorized by a proper
introduction, immediately applied to Mr. Mantell, the agent for
prisoners of war, cartels, &c. for a passage across the water. An
English flag of truce was then in the harbour, waiting only for
government dispatches; and I found that, if I could get my baggage
visited in time, I might avail myself of the opportunity of crossing
the sea in this vessel. On having recourse to the collector of the
customs, I succeeded in my wish: the dispatches arriving shortly
after, mid my baggage being already shipped, I stepped off the quay
into the Nancy, on board of which I was the only passenger. A
propitious breeze sprang up at the moment, and, in less than three
hours, wafted me to Calais pier.

By the person who carried the dispatches to Citizen Mengaud, the
commissary for this department (_Pas de Calais_), I sent a card with
my name and rank, requesting permission to land and deliver to him a
letter from M. Otto. This step was indispensable: the vessel which
brought me was, I find, the first British flag of truce that has been
suffered to enter the harbour, with the exception of the Prince of
Wales packet, now waiting here for the return of a king's messenger
from Paris; and her captain even has not yet been permitted to go on
shore. It therefore appears that I shall be the first Englishman, not
in an official character, who has set foot on French ground since the
ratification of the preliminary treaty.

The pier was presently crowded with people gazing at our vessel, as
if she presented a spectacle perfectly novel: but, except the
tri-coloured cockade in the hats of the military, I could not observe
the smallest difference in their general appearance. Instead of crops
and round wigs, which I expected to see in universal vogue, here were
full as many powdered heads and long queues as before the revolution.
Frenchmen, in general, will, I am persuaded, ever be Frenchmen in
their dress, which, in my opinion, can never be _revolutionized_,
either by precept or example. The _citoyens_, as far as I am yet able
to judge, most certainly have not fattened by warfare more than JOHN
BULL: their visages are as sallow and as thin as formerly, though
their persons are not quite so meagre as they are pourtrayed by
Hogarth.

The prospect of peace, however, seemed to have produced an
exhilarating effect on all ranks; satisfaction appeared on every
countenance. According to custom, a host of inkeepers' domestics
boarded the vessel, each vaunting the superiority of his master's
accommodations. My old landlord Ducrocq presenting himself to
congratulate me on my arrival, soon freed me from their
importunities, and I, of course, decided in favour of the _Lion
d'Argent_.

Part of the _Boulogne_ flotilla was lying in the harbour.
Independently of the decks of the gunboats being full of soldiers,
with very few sailors intermixed, playing at different games of
chance, not a plank, not a log, or piece of timber, was there on the
quay but was also covered with similar parties. This then accounts
for that rage for gambling, which has carried to such desperate
lengths those among them whom the fate of war has lodged in our
prisons.

My attention was soon diverted from this scene, by a polite answer
from the commissary, inviting me to his house. I instantly
disembarked to wait on him; my letter containing nothing more than an
introduction, accompanied by a request that I might be furnished with
a passport to enable me to proceed to Paris without delay, Citizen
Mengaud dispatched a proper person to attend me to the town-hall,
where the passports are made out, and signed by the mayor; though
they are not delivered till they have also received the commissary's
signature. However, to lose no time, while one of the clerks was
drawing my picture, or, in other words, taking down a minute
description of my person, I sent my keys to the custom-house, in
order that my baggage might be examined.

By what conveyance I was to proceed to Paris was the next point to be
settled; and this has brought me to the _Lion d'Argent_.

Among other vehicles, Ducrocq has, in his _remise_, an
apparently-good _cabriolet de voyage_, belonging to one of his Paris
correspondents; but, on account of the wretched state of the roads,
he begs me to allow him time to send for his coachmaker, to examine
it scrupulously, that I may not be detained by the way, from any
accident happening to the carriage.

I was just on the point of concluding my letter, when a French naval
officer, who was on the pier when I landed, introduced himself to me,
to know whether I would do him the favour to accommodate him with a
place in the cabriolet under examination. I liked my new friend's
appearance and manner too well not to accede to his proposal.

The carriage is reported to be in good condition. I shall therefore
send my servant on before as a courier, instead of taking him with me
as an inside passenger. As we shall travel night and day, and the
post-horses will be in readiness at every stage, we may, I am told,
expect to reach Paris in about forty-two hours. Adieu; my next will
be from the _great_ city.



LETTER II.

_Paris, October 19, 1801._

Here I am safe arrived; that is, without any broken bones; though my
arms, knees, and head are finely pummelled by the jolting of the
carriage. Well might Ducrocq say that the roads were bad! In several
places, they are not passable without danger--Indeed, the government
is so fully aware of this, that an inspector has been dispatched to
direct immediate repairs to be made against the arrival of the
English ambassador; and, in some _communes_, the people are at work
by torch-light. With this exception, my journey was exceedingly
pleasant. At ten o'clock the first night, we reached _Montreuil_,
where we supped; the next day we breakfasted at _Abbeville_, dined at
_Amiens_, and supped that evening at _Clermont_.

The road between _Calais_ and _Paris_ is too well known to interest
by description. Most of the abbeys and monasteries, which present
themselves to the eye of the traveller, have either been converted
into hospitals or manufactories. Few there are, I believe, who will
deny that this change is for the better. A receptacle for the relief
of suffering indigence conveys a consolatory idea to the mind of the
friend of human nature; while the lover of industry cannot but
approve of an establishment which, while it enriches a State, affords
employ to the needy and diligent. This, unquestionably, is no bad
appropriation of these buildings, which, when inhabited by monks,
were, for the most part, no more than an asylum of sloth, hypocrisy,
pride, and ignorance.

The weather was fine, which contributed not a little to display the
country to greater advantage; but the improvements recently made in
agriculture are too striking to escape the notice of the most
inattentive observer. The open plains and rising grounds of
_ci-devant Picardy_ which, from ten to fifteen years ago, I have
frequently seen, in this season, mostly lying fallow, and presenting
the aspect of one wide, neglected waste, are now all well cultivated,
and chiefly laid down in corn; and the corn, in general, seems to
have been sown with more than common attention.

My fellow-traveller, who was a _lieutenant de vaisseau_, belonging to
_Latouche Tréville's_ flotilla, proved a very agreeable companion,
and extremely well-informed. This officer positively denied the
circumstance of any of their gun-boats being moored with chains
during our last attack. While he did ample justice to the bravery of
our people, he censured the manner in which it had been exerted. The
divisions of boats arriving separately, he said, could not afford to
each other necessary support, and were thus exposed to certain
discomfiture. I made the best defence I possibly could; but truth
bears down all before it.

The loss on the side of the French, my fellow-traveller declared, was
no more than seven men killed and forty-five wounded. Such of the
latter as were in a condition to undergo the fatigue of the ceremony,
were carried in triumphal procession through the streets of
_Boulogne_, where, after being harangued by the mayor, they were
rewarded with civic crowns from the hands of their fair
fellow-citizens.

Early the second morning after our departure from _Calais_, we
reached the town of _St. Denis_, which, at one time since the
revolution, changed its name for that of _Françiade_. I never pass
through this place without calling to mind the persecution which poor
Abélard suffered from Adam, the abbot, for having dared to say, that
the body of _St. Denis_, first bishop of Paris, in 240, which had
been preserved in this abbey among the relics, was not that of the
areopagite, who died in 95. The ridiculous stories, imposed on the
credulity of the zealous catholics, respecting this wonderful saint,
have been exhibited in their proper light by Voltaire, as you may see
by consulting the _Questions sur l'Encyclopédie_, at the article
_Denis_.

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