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Paris As It Was and As It Is

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




Before the revolution, "_gare! gare!_" was the only warning given
here to foot-passengers. The master, in his cabriolet, first drove
over a person, the servant behind then bawled out "_gare!_" and the
maimed pedestrian was left to get up again as he was able. Such
brutal negligence now meets with due chastisement.

At a trial which took place here the other day in a court of justice,
the driver of a cabriolet was condemned to three months imprisonment
in a house of correction, and to pay a fine of 100 francs for maiming
a carter. The horse had no bells, as prescribed by law; and the owner
of the cabriolet was, besides, condemned, in conjunction with the
driver, to pay an indemnification of 3000 francs to the wounded
carter, as being civilly responsible for the conduct of his servant.

Notwithstanding the danger of walking in the streets of Paris, such
French women as are accustomed to go on foot, traverse the most
frequented thoroughfares in the dirtiest weather, at the same time
displaying, to the astonished sight of bespattered foreigners, a
well-turned leg, a graceful step, and spotless stockings.

If you arrive in Paris without a servant, or (what amounts almost to
the same thing) should you bring with you a man ignorant of the
French language, you may be instantly accommodated with one or
several domestics, under the name of

VALETS-DE-PLACE.

Like every thing else here, the wages of these job-servants are
augmented. Formerly, their salary was 30 or 40 _sous_ a day: they now
ask 4 francs; but, if you purpose to spend a few weeks here, will be
glad to serve you for 3. Some are very intelligent; others, very
stupid. Most of them are spies of the police; but, as an Englishman
in Paris has nothing to conceal, of what consequence is it whether
his steps are watched by his own _valet-de-place_ or any other
_mouchard_? It is usual for them to lay under contribution all the
tradesmen you employ; and thus the traiteur, the jobman, &c.
contribute to augment their profits. However, if they pilfer you a
little themselves, they take care that you are not subjected to too
much imposition from others.--To proceed to a few

GENERAL OBSERVATIONS.

In visiting the French capital, many Englishmen are led into an
error. They imagine that a few letters of recommendation will be the
means of procuring them admission into other houses besides those of
the persons to whom these letters are addressed. But, on their
arrival in Paris, they will find themselves mistaken. The houses of
the _great_ are difficult of access, and those of the secondary class
scarcely open with more ease than they did before the revolution. If
proper attention be paid to all the letters which a stranger brings,
he may be satisfied; though the persons to whom he is recommended,
seldom think of taking him to the residence of any of their friends.
Therefore, an English traveller, who wishes to mix much in French
society, should provide himself with as many letters of
recommendation as he can possibly obtain; unless, indeed, he has a
celebrated name, which, in all countries, is the best introduction;
for curiosity prompts the higher classes to see and examine the man
who bears it. The doors of every house will be open to him, when they
are shut against other strangers, and he may soon establish an
intimacy in the first circles. To those who possess not that
advantage, a Frenchman may be induced to offer a dinner, or two,
perhaps, and return them a few formal visits. He will profess more
than he performs. In a word, he will be polite, but not familiar and
friendly.

An Englishman, thus circumstanced, finding that he gains no ground,
and is treated with a sort of ceremony, will probably seek other
company, dine at the _restaurateurs'_, frequent the _spectacles_, and
visit the impures: for such was the life our countrymen, in general,
led in Paris before the revolution. Public amusements may, perhaps,
make him amends for the want of private society. As, from their
astonishing number, they may be varied without end, he may contrive
to pass away his evenings. His mornings will, at first, be employed,
no doubt, in visiting public curiosities; but, after he has
repeatedly surveyed these scenes of attraction, he will fail in what
ought to be the grand object of foreign travel, and return home
without having acquired a competent knowledge of the manners of the
country. He ought therefore to husband proper French acquaintances,
and keep up a constant intercourse with them, or he will run a risk
of finding himself insulated. Should indisposition confine him to the
house for a few days, every one to whom he has been recommended, will
suppose him gone, he will no longer be thought of; _ennui_ will take
possession of him, and, cursing France, he will wish himself safely
landed on the shore of Old England.

If this is the case with an Englishman who brings letters to Paris,
what must be the situation of one who visits this capital entirely
unprovided in that respect? The banker on whom he has a letter of
credit, may invite him to a dinner, at which are assembled twenty
persons, to all of whom he is a perfect stranger. Without friends,
without acquaintances, he will find himself like a man dropped from
the clouds, amidst six or seven hundred thousand persons, driving or
walking about in pursuit of their affairs or pleasures. For want of a
proper clue to direct him, he is continually in danger of falling
into the most detestable company; and the temptations to pleasure are
so numerous and so inviting in this gay city, that it requires more
fortitude than falls to the lot of many to resist them. Consequently,
an untravelled foreigner cannot be too much on his guard in Paris;
for it will require every exertion of his prudence and discrimination
to avoid being duped and cheated. Above all, he should shun those
insinuating and subtle characters who, dexterous in administering
that delicious essence which mixes so sweetly with the blood, are
ever ready to shew him the curiosities, and introduce him into
coteries, which they will represent as respectable, and in which the
mistress of the house and her daughters will, probably, conspire to
lighten his pocket, and afterwards laugh at his credulity.

As to the reception which the English are likely to meet with here
after the ratification of the definitive treaty, (if I may be
permitted to judge from personal experience and observation) I think
it will, in a great measure, depend on themselves. Therefore, should
any of our countrymen complain of being treated here with less
attention now than before the revolution, it will, on candid
investigation, prove to be their own fault. The essential difference
will be found to consist in the respect paid to the man, not, as
formerly, in proportion to his money, but to his social worth. The
French seem now to make a distinction between individuals only, not
between nations. Whence it results that, _cæteris paribus_, the
foreigner who possesses most the talent of making himself agreeable
in society, will here be the most welcome. Not but, in general, they
will shew greater indulgence to an Englishman, and be inclined to
overlook in him that which they would consider as highly unpardonable
in a stranger of any other country.

On such occasions, their most usual exclamation is "_Les Anglais sont
des gens bien extraordinaires! Ma foi! ils sont inconcevables!_" And,
indeed, many Englishmen appear to glory in justifying the idea, and
_astonishing the natives_ by the eccentricity of their behaviour. But
these _originals_ should recollect that what may be tolerated in a
man of superior talent, is ridiculous, if not contemptible, in one
undistinguished by such a pretension; and that, by thus _posting_
their absurdities to the eyes of a foreign nation, they leave behind
them an impression which operates as a real injury in regard to their
more rational countrymen. Another circumstance deserves no less
animadversion.

In their first essay of foreign travel, our British youths generally
carry with them too ample a share of national prepossession and
presumption. Accustomed at home to bear down all before them by the
weight of their purse, they are too apt to imagine that, by means of
a plentiful provision of gold, they may lord it over the continent,
from Naples to Petersburg; and that a profuse expenditure of money
supersedes the necessity of a compliance with established forms and
regulations. Instead of making their applications and inquiries in a
proper manner, so as to claim due attention, they more frequently
demand as a right what they should rather receive as a favour.
Finding themselves disappointed in their vain conclusions, their
temper is soured; and, being too proud to retract their error, or
even observe a prudent silence, they deal out their impertinence and
abuse in proportion to the number of guineas which they may be able
to squander. Of course, they cannot but view the peculiar habits and
customs of all foreign nations with a jaundiced eye, never reflecting
that in most countries are to be found, either in a moral or a
physical sense, advantages and disadvantages in which others are
deficient. _Le_ POUR _et le_ CONTRE, as a well-known traveller
observes, _se trouvent en chaque nation_. The grand desideratum is to
acquire by travel a knowledge of this POUR _et/i> CONTRE, which, by
emancipating us from our prejudices, teaches us mutual toleration
--for, of every species of tyranny, that which is exercised on things
indifferent in themselves, is the most intolerable. Hence it is less
difficult to deprive a nation of its laws than to change its habits.

[Footnote 1: When assignats were in circulation, a single _course en
fiacre_ sometimes cost 600 livres, which was at the rate of 10 livres
per minute. But this will not appear extraordinary, when it is known
that the depreciation of that paper-currency was such that, at one
time, 18,000 livres in assignats could be procured for a single
_louis d'or_.]

[Footnote 2: A cabriolet is a kind of one-horse chaise, with a
standing head, and inclosed in front by a wooden flap, in lieu of one
of leather. Behind, there is a place for a footman.]



LETTER LXXXVII

_Paris, March 31, 1802._

If I mistake not, I have answered most of the questions contained in
your letters; I shall now reply to you on the subject of

DIVORCE.

The number of divorced women to be met with here, especially among
the more affluent classes, exceeds any moderate calculation. Nothing
can more clearly manifest the necessity of erecting some dike against
the torrent of immorality, which has almost inundated this capital,
and threatens to spread over all the departments.

Before the revolution, the indissolubility of marriage in France was
supposed to promote adultery in a very great degree: the vow was
broken because the knot could not be untied. At present, divorces are
so easily obtained, that a man or woman, tired of each other, have
only to plead _incompatibility of temper_, in order to slip their
necks out of the matrimonial noose. In short, some persons here
change their wedded partner with as much unconcern as they do their
linen. Thus, the two extremes touch each other; and either of them
has proved equally pernicious to morals.

Formerly, if a Frenchman kept a watchful eye on his wife, he was
reckoned jealous, and was blamed. If he adopted a contrary conduct,
and she was faithless, he was ridiculed. Not unfrequently, a young
miss, emerged from the cloisters of a convent, where she had,
perhaps, been sequestered, in order that her bloom might not eclipse
the declining charms of her mother, and who appeared timid, bashful,
and diffident, was no sooner married to a man in a certain rank in
life, than she shone as a meteor of extravagance and dissipation.
Such a wife thought of nothing but the gratification of her own
desires; because she considered it as a matter of course that all the
cares of the family ought to devolve by right on the husband.
Provided she could procure the means of satisfying her taste for
dress, and of making a figure in the _beau monde_, no other concerns
ever disturbed her imagination. If, at first, she had sufficient
resolution to resist the contagion of example, and not take a male
friend to her bosom, by way of lightening the weight of her connubial
chains, she seldom failed, in the end, to follow the fashion of the
day, and frequent the gaming-table, where her virtue was sacrificed
to discharge her debts of honour.

But what have these _would-be_ republicans to allege as an excuse in
their favour? They have no convents to initiate young girls in the
arts of dissimulation; no debauched court to contaminate, by its
example, the wavering principles of the weak part of the sex, or sap
the more determined ones of those whose mind is of a firmer texture;
nor have they any friendly, sympathizing confessors to draw a spunge,
as it were, over the trespasses hid in a snug corner of their heart.
No: every one is left to settle his own account with heaven. Yet the
libertinism which at present reigns in Paris is sufficient to make a
deep impression on persons the least given to reflection.

_Il matrimonio_, says the Italian proverb, _è un paradiso o un
inferno_. In fact, nothing can be compared to the happiness of a
married couple, united by sympathy. To them, marriage is really a
terrestrial paradise. But what more horrid than the reverse, that is,
two beings cursing the fatal hour which brought them together in
wedlock? It is a very hell on earth; for surely no punishment can
exceed that of being condemned to pass our days with the object of
our detestation.

If the indissolubility of marriage in France was formerly productive
of such bad consequences; now that the nuptial knot can be loosened
with so much facility, there can no longer exist the same plea for
adultery. Is then this accumulation of vice less the effect of the
institution of divorce in itself, than that of the undigested law by
which it was first introduced?

The law of divorce was, I find, projected in 1790, under the auspices
of the last Duke of Orleans, who, utterly regardless of the welfare
of the State, wished to revolutionize every thing, solely with a view
to his own individual interest. His object was to get rid of his
wife, who was a woman of strict virtue. This law was decreed on the
20th of September 1792, without any discussion whatever. On the 8th
of Nivôse and 4th of Floréal, year II, (29th of December 1794 and
24th of April 1795) the Convention decreed additional laws, all
tending to favour the impetuosity of the passions. Thus the door was
opened still wider to licentiousness and debauchery. By these laws,
an absence of six months is sufficient for procuring a divorce, and,
after the observance of certain forms, either of the parties may
contract a fresh marriage.

It is not difficult to conceive how many hot-headed, profligate,
unprincipled persons, of both sexes, have availed themselves of such
laws to gratify their unruly passions, their resentment, their
avarice, or their ambition. Oaths, persons, or property, are, in
these cases, little respected. If a libertine finds that he cannot
possess the object of his desires on any other terms, like Sir John
Brute, in the play, he marries her, in order to go to bed to her, and
in a few days sues for a divorce. I have been shewn here a Lothario
of this description, who, in the course of a short space of time had
been married to no less than six different women.

"Divorce," says a judicious French writer, "is a separation, the
necessity for which ought to be supported by unquestionable proofs;
otherwise, it is nothing more than a legitimate scandal."

The French often wish to assimilate themselves to the Romans, and the
Roman laws sanctioned divorce. Let us then examine how far the
comparison can, in this respect, be supported.

"Among the Romans," continues he, "the first who availed himself of
this privilege was Spurius Corbilius, because his wife was steril.
The second divorce was that of C. Sulpicius, because his wife had
gone abroad with her hair uncovered, and without a veil over her
head. Q. Anstitius divorced on account of having seen his wife speak
to a person of her own sex, who was reckoned loose in her conduct;
and Sempronius, because his had been to see the public entertainments
without having informed him. These different divorces took place
about a hundred years after the foundation of Rome. The Romans, after
that, were upwards of five hundred years without affording an
instance of any divorce. They then were moral and virtuous. But, at
length, luxury, that scourge of societies, corrupted their hearts;
and divorces became so frequent, that many women reckoned their age
by the number of their husbands." To this he might have added, that
several Roman ladies of rank were so lost to all sense of shame, that
they publicly entered their names among the licensed prostitutes.

"Marriage," concludes he, "presently became nothing more than an
object of commerce and speculation; and divorce, a tacit permission
for libertinism. Can divorce among the French, be considered
otherwise, when we reflect that this institution, which seemed likely
to draw closer the conjugal tie, by restoring it to its state of
natural liberty, is, through the abuse made of it, now only a mean of
shameful traffic, in which the more cunning of the two ruins the
ether, in short, a mound the less against the irruptions of
immorality?"

So much for the opinion of a French writer of estimation on the
effect of these laws: let us at present endeavour to illustrate it by
some examples.

A young lady, seduced by a married man, found herself pregnant. She
was of a respectable family: he was rich, and felt the consequences
of this event. What was to be done? He goes to one of his friends,
whom he knew not to be overburdened with delicacy, and proposes to
him to marry this young person, in consideration of a certain sum of
money. The friend consents, and the only question is to settle the
conditions. They bargain for some time: at last they agree for 10,000
francs (_circa_ £410 sterling). The marriage is concluded, the lady
is brought to bed, the child dies, and the gentleman sues for a
divorce. All this was accomplished in six months. As such
opportunities are by no means scarce, he may, in the course of the
year, probably, meet with another of the same nature: thus the office
of bridegroom is converted into a lucrative situation. The following
is another instance of this melancholy truth, but of a different
description.

A man about thirty-two years of age, well-made, and of a very
agreeable countenance, had been married three months to a young woman
of uncommon beauty. He was loved, nay almost adored by her. Every one
might have concluded that they were the happiest couple in Paris;
and, in fact, no cloud had hitherto overshadowed the serenity of
their union. One day when the young bride was at table with her
husband, indulging herself in expressing the happiness which she
enjoyed, a tipstaff entered, and delivered to her a paper. She read
it. What should it be but a subpoena for a divorce? At first she took
the thing for a pleasantry: but the husband soon convinced her that
nothing was more serious. He assured her that this step would make
her fortune, and his own too, if she would consent to the arrangement
which he had to propose to her. "You know," said he, "the rich and
ugly Madame C----: she has 30,000 francs a year (circa £1250
sterling); she will secure to me the half of her property, provided I
will marry her. I offer you a third, if, after having willingly
consented to our divorce, you will permit me to see you as my female
friend." Such a proposal shocked her at the moment; but a week's
reflection effected a change in her sentiments; and the business was
completed. _O tempora! O mores!_

But though many married individuals still continue to break their
chains, it appears that divorces are gradually decreasing in number;
and should the government succeed in introducing into the law on this
subject the necessary modifications, of course they will become far
less frequent.

Every legislature must be aware to what a degree plays are capable of
influencing the opinions of a nation, and what a powerful spring they
are for moving the affections. Why then are not theatrical
representations here so regulated, that the stage may conduce to the
amelioration of morals? Instead of this, in most French comedies, the
husband is generally made the butt of ridicule, and the whole plot
often lies in his being outwitted by some conceited spark. Marriage,
in short, is incessantly railed at in such a lively, satirical manner
as to delight nine-tenths of the audience.

This custom was also introduced on our stage under the reign of
Charles II; and, not many years ago, it was, I am told, as usual to
play _The London Cuckolds_ on Lord Mayor's day, as it is now to give
a representation of _George Barnwell_ during the Easter holidays.
Yet, what is this practice of exhibiting a cuckold in a ridiculous
point of view, but an apology for adultery, as if it was intended to
teach women that their charms are not formed for the possession of
one man only? Alas! it is but too true that some of the French belles
need no encouragement to infidelity: too soon all scruple is stifled
in their bosom; and then, they not only set modesty, but decency too
at defiance. _Ce n'est que le premier pas qui coute_; or, as the same
idea is more fully expressed by our great moral poet:

"Vice is a monster of so frightful mien,
As, to be hated, needs but to be seen;
Yet, seen too oft, familiar with her face,
We first endure, then pity, then embrace."

However, in both the instances which I have adduced, the fault was
entirely on the side of the men; and, in general, I believe this will
prove to be the case. Recrimination, indeed, is loudly urged by our
sex in Paris; they blame the women, with a view of extenuating their
own irregularities, which scarcely know any limits.

On a question of a divorce-bill brought on, not long since, in the
House of Commons, you may recollect that a member was laughed at, for
asserting that if men expected women to reform, they ought to begin
by reforming themselves. For my part, I conceive the idea to be
perfectly just. Infidelity on the woman's side is, unquestionably,
more hurtful to society than a failure of the same sort on the man's;
yet, is it reasonable to suppose women to be so exempt from human
frailty, as to preserve their chastity inviolate, when men set them
so bad an example?



LETTER LXXXVIII.

_Paris, April 3, 1802_.

Circumstances have at length occurred to recall me to England, and as
this will, probably, be the last letter that you will receive from me
before I have the pleasure of taking you by the hand, I shall devote
it to miscellaneous subjects, and, without studying any particular
arrangement, speak of them at random, just as they chance to present
themselves.

A fellow-creature, whose care-worn countenance and emaciated body
claimed a mite from any one who had a mite to bestow, had taken his
stand at the gate-way just now as I entered. The recollection of his
tale of woe being uppermost in my mind, I begin with

MENDICANTS.

In spite of the calamities which all great political convulsions
never fail to engender, the streets of Paris present not at this day
that vast crowd of beggars, covered with rags and vermin, by which
they were formerly infested. This is to be attributed to the partial
adoption of measures for employing the poor; and, doubtless, when
receptacles come to be established here, according to the salutary
plans introduced into Bavaria by Count Rumford, mendicity will be
gradually annihilated.

But, if beggars have decreased in Paris, this is not the case with

PAWNBROKERS.

They seem to have multiplied in proportion to the increase of the
number of opportunities afforded for gambling in the lottery, that
is, in the ratio of 21 to 2.[1]

Formerly, in addition to the public establishment called the _Mont de
Piété_, commissioners were appointed, in different parts of the town,
to take in pledges, and make advances on them previously to their
being lodged in that grand repository. There, money was lent on them
at an interest of 10 per cent; and if the article pledged was not
redeemed by a certain time, it was sold by public auction, and, the
principal and interest being deducted, the surplus was paid to the
holder of the duplicate. Thus the iniquitous projects of usury were
defeated; and the rich, as well as the poor, went to borrow at the
_Mont de Piété_. To obtain a sum for the discharge of a debt of
honour, a dutchess here deposited her diamond ear-rings; while a
washerwoman slipped off her petticoat, and pawned it to satisfy the
cravings of hunger.

At the present moment, the _Mont de Piété_ still exists; but,
doubtless, on a different plan; for Paris abounds with _Maisons de
prêt_. On the eve of particular days in each month when the
shopkeepers' promissory notes become due, they here pledge articles
in order to procure the means of making good their payments. But the
crowd of borrowers is the greatest on the days immediately preceding
those on which the Paris lottery is drawn; the hucksters,
marketwomen, porters, retailers of fruit, and unfortunate females,
then deposit their wearing apparel at these dens of rapacity, that
they may acquire a share of a ticket, the price of which is fixed so
low as to be within the purchase of the poorest classes.

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