PARISIAN SIGHTS
AND
FRENCH PRINCIPLE S,
SEEN THROUGH
AM E R I CAN  SP EC TAC LE S
BY
JAMES JACKSON  JARVESO
SECOND SERIES,
NEW  YORK:
HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS,
PEARL STREET, FRANKLIN SQUARE.
1 855.




Eutelred, according to Act of Congress, in the year one thole.
sand eight hundred and fifty-five, by
HARPER & BROTHERS,
In the Clerk's Office for the Southern District of New York.




P I RE  ACE 
" Sinul et jucunda et idonea dicere vitao."
)-0 volume first, a reviewer kindly said, 5' It is not half
long enough, and we hope the author, inl due time, will
give us more of the same sort."  HIaving laid this flattering unction to my-pen, for further particulars, discrimninating critic, inquire WITHImN.  We would add, however,
~that a nuTmber of the chapters have already appeared at
vario-us intervals in HIarper's Magazine, while all were
written some years back.








PARISIAN SIGHTS
AND
IF Ri N X C R  P R I N C T P L E 
CHAPTER 1.
FRENCH ARISTOCRACY VS. AMERICAN DEMOCRACY.
ALL men are born free and equal, says the American Con.
stitution. All men are born in the bondage of sin, says highs
er and truer authority. From that bondage spring those inequalities of life, which no axiom of politics can make level,
or theory of philosophy make straight. It is useless to deny
this truth. Nature proclaims it in every form, animate and
inanimate. What contrast can be greater than between the
humble but useful carbon and the brilliant and imperishable
diamond! Yet both are of the same material. Every flower, shrub, and tree differs from its neighbor, each betraying
some peculiar excellence, or the effects of disease or decay,
the sad heritage of man's fall from freedom  and equality.
The brute kingdom alike shares man's destiny.  Some animals there are born to beauty, health, and vigor; others to
homeliness, infirmity, and suffering.  The sole equality to
man or beast is in the provision provided for entering or leaving this world, and the sole inheritage of indeprivable freedom is in the common air all breathe, and the mother earth
A2




10    PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.
on which all tread while living, and repose in when dead.'Whatever may have been the condition of our race previous
to Eve's unwise curiosity, it has since become one of kalei-!idoscopic inequality, with joy for the few and sorrow for the
many.  The last owe her boundless gratitude that she stopped half way, and did not complete her sin by eating of the
tree of life and compelling her descendants to live forever.
In leaving the boon of death to humanity, we are in duty
bound to forgive the fatal gift of knowledge. Yet, while humanity retains its corruptibility, this very inequality of natural and acquired condition constitutes the basis of progress
and happiness. We could no more endure a dead level of
comfort or pleasure than universal and equalized misery.
Without contrasts and variety, life would lose its compensations. Consolation and stimulus both spring from diversities
of fortune, and if there were no sorrow of mind, no pain of
body, we should remain unacquainted with hope, and strangers
to the gayety of health. Even heaven itself, the proffered climax of spiritual blessings, the eternal sea of joy and rest,
destined to wash out all stains of earth, comes to us as a heaven of ranks, and powers, and diversities of every grade of glory and condition. We have the throng of the redeemed-the
blood-washed and white-clad democracy of humanity, shouting hosannas at the foot of the throne, while angels and archangels, cherubim and seraphim, of every degree of power and
eloquence, form the gradation of heaven's aristocracy, uniting in one harmonious choir of praise the souls of just men
made perfect with those spirits who have had through eternity their home in Paradise. The title of the heavenly Ruler is
"Father"-his law, "love" and his regent is called "Lamb."
Contrast this with the "imperial majesty"-the bulls, ukases,
codes, bayonets, and executioners of earthly potentates, and
credit the difference to the account of that spirit to whose




PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.    11
envy and ambition even the happiness of heaven proved no
antidote.
Stop! It is of earth only that I would treat. The topic
that gave rise to the above exordium is aristocracy-American aristocracy-republicanized, democratized aristocracy. In
this land of the "people" the word aristocracy is in every
mouth, sometimes in tones of envy, rarely of hate, but always of interest. What is this subtle something, that every
one sees, yet none can define —this always sought, yet always vilified distinction -ever pursued and never grasped?
Like an ignis fatuus, it dances its mocking light over the
length and breadth of our land, oftenest seen and chased in
the morasses of ignorance and prejudice, equally admired and
abused, and not a little girt around by a superstitious dread,
as natural as that entertained for its prototype, which many
consider to be nothing less than a wandering spirit burning
blue with anguish.
A democrat is a common noun; as easily understood in its
length and breadth, depth and height, solid contents and superficial area, as any other son of a woman. He is one of the
people. He believes in himself, and rightly, as a ruler, and a
maker of rulers - as one of God's anointed. He extends his
faith to every man not a " nigger."  His freedom and equality consist in shaking up in the big sieve of politics blue spirits, white and gray. The adroit and able rise to the top and
rule; the indifferent or wealk sink to the bottom  and are
ruled. All have their turn, and democracy rejoices in healthful fruit over the length and breadth of its wide-spreading
domain. Now, as each citizen of these United States is one
of the people, and as the people rule themselves theoretically
and practically, whence are our aristocrats? If we have such
a class, they must have sprung from democrats-the decayed
fruit of a healthful stock.




12S    PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCI PR INCIPLES.
But it is no easy matter to put one's finger on an aristocrat
in this country-a —t least, such is my experience.  I have sought
diligently so to do, but the nimble flea disappears not more
rapidly than does one of this class when you think you have
him.  There is no difficulty in defining an aristocrat cast in
-the olden Grecian or Roman mould.   The lords of Athens
could never have been confounded with their white slaves.
To be a citizen of Minerva's city was to be a nobleman, an
aristocrat by birth and profession, as all men are born democrats with us.  Lycurgus divided his community into two
classes: the helots or workers, the democracy of Lacedernon;
and the citizens or fighters, to whom were reserved all honors
and emoluments. The lordly patricians of republican Rome
-farmned out tthe world for their individual profit, while the
plebeian multitude alternately fought for and were fed by
them.  There is no mistaking the class'that produced an Alcibiades, Pericles, Tarquin, Crassus, or Sylla for the common
clay of their epochs.  They stood out from the mass in as
distinct relief in power, wealth, intellect, lust, and ambition,
as did Milton's Satan from the hosts of hell.  They were aristocrats, conspicuous in talent, energy, or crime.  Men who
could sup like Lucullus, feed their lampreys on human flesh,
drink dissolved pearls, or, like Bestia, find amusement in stranglingo wives while asleep, buy an empire or slaughter their fellow-citizens by scores to make a Roman holiday, would find
small compensation for the deprivation of their privileges in
the In.w-respecting and God-fearing lives of our aristocratic
John rSmiths and Richard Does.  The ruder recreations of
their craft in -the Middle'Ages, butchering and plundering travyelers —whelln not occupied in wassail, or breaking each other's
heads —vould be too vulgar for the later Roman, accustomed
to Asiatic luxury and Sybaritic indulgence; while even he,
perhaps, would have scorned the effeminacy of the French no



PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.               1I
blesse of Louis XVT.,'who, when visiting'their country estates,
kiept the democracy up all night beating the neighboring ponds
to prevent the croalking  of frogs from disturbing their slumbers.
In using the -words democrat and aristocrat, I employ themL
rather in their social than political signification. Aristocracy,
as a form of government, is as obsolete in the United States
as is true Christianity at Rome or democracy in Russia.  Indeed, there is hope for the revival of the people's reign and
religion in. these countries, but none whatever for the hered.itary rule of the favored few in America.  Aristocracy, as a
Political system, is there more securely buried under the weight
of state constitlutions and popular intelligence, than if it had
all Eg7ypt's pyramids on its body, or the guillotine of 1793 to'6 off with its head."  If it exist at all, it is in an a jintangible,
fluctuating social shape, better defined as a sliding scale of
gentility, Awithout boundaries of caste, and only to be detected.
in the seekler's imag'ination by its greater or less distance fr'om
his, or, more commonly, her-as females oftenest sit in judgm ent on this tribunal-standard of domestic life.
Yet how often. and how strangely do we hear this muchabused word uLsed! In politics it is made a local war-cry, stimulating prejudice and ignlorance against property and refinement, creating phantoms of inequality where none exist save
those created and blessed by God himself -the successful issues of probity, intelligence, or enterprise, the very rewards
free to all who labor in earnest, and for which none other land
but this profiers a clear field.  Every party must, however,
parade its Guy Fawkes, and exercise its lungs in shouting
stratagelms and treasons.  Like gunpowder in salutes, it serves
to make a temporary noise and smoke, but the atmosphere soon
clears, and leaves the prospect as bright as ever.
In Russia and England of this century we see represented the two phases of aristocracy as modified by Christianity,




14    PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.
which have respectively descended from Rome and Athens.
Tn Russia, serfage in its lowest and most laborious forms, separated by the impassable gulfs of work and non-work, form nobility. Here the mass, under stripes and abuse, transmute the
sweat of their brows into gold, that the few may bask in the
sunshine of lordly magnificence. Born to masters, they know
no higher destiny, and repay in servility and hypocrisy the
tyranny and selfishness of their owners. It is aristocracy in
its simplest, rudest, grandest form, alternately dazzling and disgusting in its extremes, because it knows no medium.
In Great Britain it is no less a portion of the state, and incorporated with the religion of the land. England's rule is
aristocratic, but it is the best development of aristocracy of
which human nature is capable. Extremes of social position
as great as those of Russia are to be found in England, but
education and intelligence have fixed limits to power. The
same system which has developed liberty in England and given
birth to democracy in America, has produced a race of highminded, large-hearted men and statesmen, strong in integrity
and patriotism, and gifted with more than Grecian eloquence
and learning. England has given birth to aristocrats of whom
humanity has reason to be proud-aristocrats by education and
personal interest, but men from the higher motives of religion
and humanity. However much we are compelled to admire
the results of rank, wealth, refinement, and education concentrated upon a few, like the diamond polished by its own dust,
yet the system that perpetuates and makes hereditary these
distinctions is none the less to be deplored. The government
is best which, like that of the United States, or, more properly, of those states in which slavery is excluded, leaves human
enterprise untrammeled by invidious privileges and uncorrupted by inalienable luxury. All that any government can
do is to make equal laws, and thus render all men equal in




PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.             15
rights, and leave them free under those laws to attain such
public and social distinctions as nature and education qualify
them for.  This is the case in this country, and it is all its
Constitution means to assert or confirm when it says all men
are born free and equal.  Thence it follows that aristocracy
among us as a system has no more soil for growth than had
the seed sown upon the rock.  The sun of democracy withers
it in its incipient budding.
What, then, is this aristocracy, that is in every young miss's
mouth and inll most older heads? I hear of it alike in the
country and the city; at the mechanic's bench and the merchant's deskl; in the retreat of learning and the focus of fashion.  All claim it in their hearts and repudiate it with their
tongues   Each enviously attributes it to a neighbor, and
shrinks from it himself as a plague-spot; yet it is evident all
consider it, like faith in religion, the great and desired social
good, but valuable in proportion to its scarcity. WVhence this
weakness and inconsistency, for such it would at first seem?
It is as nmuch an element of our social fabric as is universal
suffrage of our political, and, chameleon-like as it may appear,
foolish as it may at times display itself, it is at the bottom a
civilizing and refining ingredient. The inconsistency of simultaneous desire and repudiation results from  a necessary
weakness of democratic character. The individual grows up
in subservience to the mass.  Its opinions and prejudices are
alternately his law and his bugbear.  He loses sight of the
important fact that, because he has yielded his political guidance to the care of the community, it does not follow that his
social independence is lost also. The political warning cry
of aristocracy rings frightfully in his ears, yet his heart
yearns after what he believes to be its flesh-pots. The American citizen is too recent a creature to be wholly freed from
the infirmities and vices of the political systems of the Old




16     PARItSIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.
YWorld from'which he sprung, yet he is rapidly casting his
slough.  This very feeling and desire in regard to aristocracy
I quote in evidence of the truth of my remark.  In one class
of society, or more properly coterie, I am told. such a person
wvho moves in another is considered aristocratic.  Elsewhere
I hear the same asserted  of my last infonrmant, and so on
through every g'radation in the social ladder.  No one points
out a class as aristocratic, it is only the individual, and. he
only is aristocratic as he differs in his style of living or personal manners from  his neighbor.  Thus aristocracy in the
United States resolves itself simply into this fact: A, as a
laborer, mechanic, merchant, or professional man, has made
more nmoney than B, and consequently spends more, lives better, receives more of' the perquisites of cash; hence, in the
standard of B's househocl, A's is aristocratic.  C has been
better educated, more well-bred, has traveled, and in other
ways more iluproved his mind and manners than D, whose
opportunities have been fewer.  C thus becomes an aristocrat to D, in the proportion of his greater refinement.  E is
more learnedc and aristocratic than F, and so on these changes
could be rung through the whole social chime.  There is
nothing' distinctive, invidious, or hereditary in this.  It is
the legitimate offspring of democracy, and, as such, should be
cherished as the true refiner of society.  Talent, wealth, and
worth, none of which can be created and kept without labor,
become thus the orders, the Stars and Garters, the Holy Fleece
and Golden Crosses of American society.  They constitute
the only true Legion of Honor, the true insignia of which are
known and worn in the hearts of the people.
The craving for this aristocracy should be cherished as a
powerful auxiliary in refining and polishing society.  Individuals should discard the false meaning attached to the word
in the United States, and if, in their heads as it really does,




PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.    17
the word aristocracy implies but a superior standard of manners, education, or position to their own, strive for it; not
with the feeling that Haman viewed Mordecai, but with the
consciousness of self-respect and desire of improvement, the
birthright of every American, which, if properly sustained,
makes him at once a fit companion for princes, and a bright
and shining example of the virtue of democratic institutions
in forming a man.  Such is the character of the only intervention in the affairs of their fellow-men worthy of the genius
of American citizens.
This definition of aristocracy will not accord with the views
of those who fancy that greatness and goodness in one generation continues greatness and goodness in the next, irrespective of individual worth or ability.  It is true that reputation, like sin, is visited upon the third and fourth generation,
while the only fame or consideration worth possessing goes
not beyond its legitimate founder. Besides, the deeds which
in the Middle Ages originated many a noble family, would in
this have consigned the doers to state penitentiaries. In but
few instances does it repay a rightly-constructed mind to root
up the genealogical tree. The Bourbons descended from butchers, and the Plantagenets have descended into butchers, honestly earning their bread in butchering brutes in lieu of winning glory by butchering men. The lordly Montmorencis had
no better origin than that of a robber chief, a French Rob Roy,
ennobled because too troublesome and powerful to be subdued;
and many of England's best estates, with their titles, are but
the plunder of religious houses by Henry VIII., or the prizes
awarded unblushing vice by the "merry monarch."  Great
deeds create great names, but great names are no warrant for
great deeds. Titled greatness begets courtly corruption, which
in the end precipitates its possessors as far below the moral
level of society as their rank was above its general grade.




l'~    PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.
The noblesse of Louis XV. are an apt illustration of this truth.
Though personally brave when impelled by vanity, and liberal
when pride was aroused, yet they were steeped to the heart's
core in profligate egotism.  Martyrs, if need be, to sustain individual crime or licentiousness, when the hour of danger to
Louis XVI. arrived, they basely fled, and left the monarch to
be slaughtered by the masses whose fury their shameless vices
had aroused.  Madame du Bari, who kntew them well, says,
the greatest lords sought with eagerness the friendship of Lebel, who ministered to the profligacy of Louis XV. They all
had a wife, sister, or daughter ambitious for the post of favorite
sultana.  Thus the destinies of Fance'were at the mercy of
a valet.  The Duke de Richelieu, in giving her advice upon
her succeeding the Pompadour, after exhibiting in himself inconceivable baseness, concluded by saying, " Take care; you
are too good, too frank.  Distrust every body; we are all here
hypocrites;" and the distrust, hypocrisy, and falsehood so cultivated by the court, has left its traces to this day deep in the
general character of the people.  " it was impossible to doubt
of my favor," continues iadame du Barri, " when I saw noble
persons present themselves to fill servile employments about
me."  Yet these noble persons were the aristocracy of France.
and Madame du Barri a young prostitute, but a few days before transported from a low haunt to the palace of Versailles.
Yet to such a depth of degradation had this court fallen, thatl
the project of her formal presentation involved nmore negotiations and intrigue than did at a later period the declaration
of war with England and the alliance with the then struggling
colonies of America.
Louis XV. sketched the likeness of his nobility with one
stroke when he remarked, " One never wounds one here when
they make a present," and La Mare'chale de Mirepoix as happily illustrated his, when she declared that i' he drew with



PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PItINCIPLES.           19
out scruple upon the public treasure of France the value of
twofold its revenue, but he would have made two parts of a
crown out of his own private purse."
The favorite literature of this'" well-beloved king" of France
was " Les Dons de Comus" and "' La Cuisiniere Bourgeoise,'
the contents of which books he knew by heart.  His chief vanity was in being considered an accomplished cook, to obtain
the reputation of which he not only discoursed learnedly upon
all topics connected with the kitchen, but undertook at times
to display the practical proficiency of his own royal hands.
lit one of his suppers, at which were present sundry " gourmets" of the first water, an omelette of his manufacture was
served.  It was frightfully burned, for, as the narrator naively remarks, kinogs in general do not make good cooks.  They
lack attention and patience.  All the guests viewed it with
consternation.  Nevertheless, Louis XV. impartially distributed a part to each, and took his own, saying, "'It is a little
burned, but still it is eatable."  This execrable omelette was
devoured and praised, for, as says one of their number, the
stomachs of courtiers are equally as devoted to their prince as
their hearts.
An amusing, if not instructive narrative might be drawn up
from the follies and vices of the aristocracy of this reign, but
one could not do this without disclosing orgies and crimes in
which appear the noblest names of France, little in accordance
with the manners and tastes of the present age.  It is better
that their mantle of infamy should be undisturbed. To raise it
in the least would be to give vent to foul odors.  Yet for those
whose secret yearnings are for aristocratic rank, and who are
believers in the different degrees of fineness of the human
porcelain, I would extract from original sketches a picture of
patrician pride and dignity that can not fail to enchant them.
The lady in question was no parvenu noble.  She was the




20    PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.
incarnation of the spirit of rank, an aristocrat to her very marrow; not an embodiment of vulgar pride or weaker vanity,
but a high-minded, lofty-hearted woman, gifted with rare wit
and intelligence, and learned in all the accomplishments of
her day. Her day was not a brief one, for she connected in
her own life the empires of Louis XIV. and Napoleon. By
both these monarchs were her hands respectfully kissed; the
former when she was but eleven years of age, and the latter
in her ninety-eighth year. The Richelieus and Talleyrands
were to her but modern upstarts. She says of the latter family, with a tincture of scorn, that they were never able to make
their proofs of nobility date back farther than 1460. The La
Fayettes, as philosophers and Republicans, met with no more
favor. She looked back upon a long line of grim, crusading
warriors, to the days of the saintly Louis, as her ancestors, intermingling with barons, marshals, embassadors, and dignitaries of Church and state, so that, through courtly favor and
well-negotiated marriages, her kin acknowledged the right of
precedence to but few in the kingdom. A firm believer in "old
families," her mind was stored with the genealogical history
of every noble house of Europe. She was a living encyclopedia of rank, a sort of Burke's Peerage in the most delightful
of editions, and a store-house of facts and anecdotes connected with the noblesse of France. The cumbersome etiquette
of Versailles was to her a faith.  She believed in high birth
and hereditary monarchy as instituted of heaven; the legitimate king was to her the Lord's anointed, and any infraction
of the ceremonies of rank were sins that required peculiar expiation. Neither her philosophy nor history always extended
back to the origin of old families. She was content that they
had been illustrious for centuries, had furnished the proofs of
nobility previous to 1399, been admitted to the honors of the
Louvre, wore the blue cord or red heel, enjoyed the right to




PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.    21
enter the carriages of the king or to follow him to the hunt.
Each individual noble was as accurately classed by her in position, honors, and. rights, the boundaries of which were as
impassable as the northern passage, as if he or she were a numismatic specimen, arranged according to date in a cabinet.
The privileges of caste were no less sacred in her eyes than
the Ten Commandments. With all this devotion to rank, the
Marquise de Crequy was no less devout in her religious creed,
in which submission to the Roman Catholic Church figured as
conspicuously as submission to her sovereign.
If any of my lady readers are disposed to play the courtly
aristocrat, the clippings which I shall take from her life will
form a better standard of what is to be expected in that character than any other biography I am acquainted with.  She
is a model in this respect. If the atmosphere of America be
blighting to this species of social fruit, her real virtues are
worthy every where of imitation and respect.  Weaknesses
she undoubtedly had, but they were the exhalations of her
aristocratic faith and education. Her very prejudices and hatreds flow so naturally and charmingly from her loyalty, and
the proud but quiet consciousness of what, in her eyes, was
the elixir of existence-a distinguished descent, that we should
consider it as sacrilegious to disturb them as to shake the faith
of a departing Christian.
The first visit she made to her grandmother is worth relating in her own words, as illustrating the style of the time.
This relative, whose names and titles we have not the patience to inflict upon our readers, even if they possessed the
patience to read them, " tait etablie sur son estrade et son
lit entre quatre colonnes dorees, sous un dais le plus riche et
le plus empanache, dont la balustrade etait fermee.  Sa cornette et sa hongreline de dentelle etaient garnies avec des
bouffettes de satin gris de perle, et du reste elle etait sous un




S22    PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPIES.
couvre-pieds d'une seule piece en point de Venise.  Je suis
persuadee clue la garniture de ses draps, valait au moins quarantes muile ecus,
"'A peine etions-nous assisses, qu'on entendit ouvrir les deux
battans de toutes les portes de l'enfilade avec un fracas inconcevable, et que nous vimes apparaitre une petite figure qu'on
apportait sur un grand fauteuil de velours vert galonn  cl'arfgent. C'etait une sorte cl'image enlunminee, grimacaute et peinturluree comrne un joujou de Nuremberg, avec la bouche en
cceur et deux petits yeux languissans.  Cette etrange figure
etait habillee d'une etofi'e d'argent brodee en chenille verte, et,
de plus, elle avait un gros bouquet de verveine a la main.  Le:fauteuil etait port6e par quatre g6ans, habilles en valets deo
piedl; et (tait environnue par cinq ou six petits pages, les plus
jolis du mnonde, et c'etait visiblement des enfans de bonne
maison, car ils avaient tons la croix de  ialte ou celle de Saint
Lazare.  Un de ces pages etait charge' d'un coussin pour
rnettre sous les pieds (toujours vert et argent); un autre pofr
tait une grosse gerbe de verveine et de rhue verte, afin de purifier l'air."  This morning caller was the Duke de Gevres.
The following description of a carriage of that epoch, presented by a lover to his mistress, will not be without interest
to those whose aristocracy consists in display.  The body of
the carriage was of deep gilt, ornamented with the most brilliant and finest arabesque paintings, in various colors.  On. the
panels were cupids forming ciphers in garlands of flowers,
by the best artists.  The glasses were protected by a fine gratinug of gilt bronze, chased in mauresque, ornamented with golden knots upon each of the intervening spaces.  The entire in.terior was lined with bags filled with herbs of the most delib
cate perfume.  The cushions were covered with pearl satin,
richly embroidered with wild flowers in their natural colors,'beautifillly entwined, and creeping upon a golden trellis, also




PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.    2:3
embroidered upon the satin.  The two seats were also stuffed
with perfumed herbs and covered with green satin, embroidered with flowers and leaves of deeper tints.  The foot-carpet was made of the feathers of rare tropical birds, sparkling
with gold and a thousand. bright colors.  This carpet alone
cost 36,000 francs.
The body of the coach was placed upon a large golden shell,
the interior of Nwhich was inlaid with mother of pearl so skillfully as to appear but one piece.  This shell was supported
by groups of charming fairies and young Tritons, cast in bronze
with wonderful spirit, and richly gilt. The wheels were:fluted
and gilt, and the spokes were of solid silver, " which,"' says
MIadame doe Crdquy, "appeared the least thing of all, in the
midst of the other mag'nificence.  The harness was loaded
with gold, and the horses shod with silver.
Unfortunately for my fair American readers, to whom  I1
would present for imitation the very pearl of aristocracy, 1,acldaime de Crdquy had a supreme contempt for all wealth or fashion that savored of commerce.  Her patent of nobility lay
wholly in the sword, and she has but little patience and les'
forgiveness for even her eminent countrymen of the "haute
noblesse" who forsook the profession of that weapon for the
learned duties of the robe.  Alas for the degeneracy of our
race! H le who slaughters and sells most pork is nigher a fortune and position than he who fights.  Wsarriors are at a discount; their occupation of fighting " on their own hook" is
gone.  Commerce has extinguished chivalry.  The successfiul merchant is honored, but knight-errantry ridiculed.  By
Mnadazme de Credquy's aristocratic code, commerce, once admitted into an olld faily, sullied forever the pure blood of nobie descent. Th.e more numerous the quarterings, the deeper
the stain upon the escutcheon.  The'"damn'd spot:' could
neither wear nor wash out.  Her indignation becomes too




24    PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.
strong for words at a proposition made by M. de Saint Simon
to take an interest in a manufactory of pottery established by
the Duke de Liancourt. In relating it to her grandson, she
simply says, " You will rightly think that I did not take the
trouble to reply to him. Figure to yourself your grandmother,
Madame de Froulay-Tesse-Beaumannoir et Lavardin, a manufacturer of pitchers, pipes, and pots for sale." It would, indeed, have been a trying name for a firm's sign or signature.
Riches, with her, were a good thing to sustain rank, but they
were very far from conferring consideration. And to her credit
be it said, though long-conferred nobility covered a multitude
of sins, yet her standard of individual character was high. Nobility of character she rightly considered should always accompany nobility of descent. Her ideas in regard to the common
topic of our age are worth recording. She writes to her grandson: "' Listen to the recital of a disaster that will make you
grow pale. The Prince de Guemenee, head of the house of
Rohan-Rohan, possessed a rent of not less than two millions.
He kept up a style proper to such a fortune, without being extravagant or possessing any ruinous tastes.  It was sometimes
said that he borrowed money on his annuities, but at court;
and in the fashionable world no one took notice of such speeches. As of a man of fashion or woman of quality, when it was
said, hle zs rich, she is poor, or they are comfortable, nothing more
was thought of it, and, provided they could appear respectably, nothing further was required. Before the Revolution of
1793 and the miseries of the emigration, just heaven and God
of St. Louis! if we had met gentlemen who were agitated
about their rents, or showed themselves occupied in matters
of money, they would have been exiled to the " Rue Basse"
or the Faubourg Poissonniere. The bankers, who lived and.
dreamed in ciphers, took care to talk no more on these matters than we.  The consideration for persons of fashion was




PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.             25
regulated after the nobility of their birth and character, for
rank, properly so called, does not always suffice.  In every
case, personal consideration was independent of wealth. I assure you that no one occupied themselves or spoke of the fortunes of others, unless it was a question of marriage. Those
who had no one to marry never listened.  The Duchess of
Grammont always said that she knew but three persons who
spoke of money-the Duke of Chartres, i. lNeckar, and 1Madame Neckar.
" It was soon whispered that the Prince of Guemenee was
ruined."'"' What is that you say?'
"'It is a complete failure-so say my advocates.'
"'What does that signify?  What is a failure?  Explain
yo'rself, you who talk with men of business, and follow the
process of suits.'
" It is a bankruptcy.'
"' Then he must have been in commerce. Only merchants
become bankrupt; and how could M. de Guemenee?'
"' They say that his intendant has fled.'
"'Very well; let him take another.  One never need want
an intendant.'
"1' It is true, but it creates great talk; the Hotel of Soubise
surrounded with a noisy crowd.'
"  It is very insolent!'
"' It is inconceivable!i S'
Such was the fashionable talk in regard to a deficit of
34,000,000 francs, borrowed chiefly from the savings of workpeople and persons of small incomes. As the creditors were
not content to remain silent, they were at first considered by
the circle of the prince as not possessing "' common sense;'
but Madame de Crequy says that when it came to be under
stood that so powerful a lord as M. de Gudmende had borrowv




C6    PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.
ed money that he could not honorably pay, as his estates were
entailed, there resulted among the " haute noblesse" a sort of
febrile oppression, intermingled with general indignation and
great bitterness.
His wife, Madame de Guemenee, was one of the last to become acquainted with his situation.  ~Vhen it finally reached
her ears, she was indignant that so much should be made
"de si petu de chose."  She went to her husband, and told him
that she had resources. " At the end of twenty-four hours,
with my diamonds, without mentioning plate, of which I have
two chambers filled, I shall find more than enough to pay your
rents, and the proof is, that they are now coming to count you
12,000,000 on account of a rag of paper that I have had but
the trouble to sign. They condemn you to reimburse your
loans in place of paying the rents, and your estates are all entailed; but they have always told me that I have more than
50,000,000 of property entirely free. Why did not you and
your men of business remember this? But do not talk about
those miserable wretches that have so annoyed you. In marrying, my fortune naturally became at your orders. You are
the eldest of the house of Rohan, my prince, and, if you were
not my husband, I would not leave you in this embarrassment.
Permit me to tell you that, in this affair, your conduct has been
inconceivably ridiculous."'
With all her partiality for the system of which she was herself so worthy a representative, Madame de Credquy testifies
that it perished by its own inherent vices. She says Bonaparte wished to call about him the high nobility, who never
would have been of any service to him. "The greater part
of the great lords had been educated without piety, and had
commenced to live too young. Incapable of exercising the
authority of rank, they were of races enervated by luxury,
weakened in intelligence, and spoiled by domination.  Why




PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.    227
did not the great nobility furnish a man to put down the Revolution?  W5hy, among the nobles that distinguished themselves for devotion and capacity, was there not found a single
great lord? 1Why was it that, among all the great lords that
figured in the Revolution, there were only to be remarked disloyalty and want of intelligence?"  The Bishop of' Autun was
her bate noir in chief.  Of him she writes, " This abominable
bishop is in my eyes a calamity for the country, an ulcer in the
heart of the Church, a shameful sore. I shall never have the
cowardice to speak to him, whatever may arrive.  I shall always blush in him for the nobility of France, and in him have
a horror of myself. I truly believe that I should prefer to
mount the scaffold than to enter his house to sit beside him."
She would have the nobility true to what she considered their
high calling; for" a prince," referring to the Duke of Orleans,
"who swims in two waters, who smiles upon the people, and.vwho seems inclined to the side of democracy, appears to me
an insupportable man."  W~ith all this devotion to her caste,
she did not hesitate to frown upon vice, even in a king, though
it must be confessed that the thermometer of her severity was
as much depressed at the mensalliance as the crime.  Her heart
was born in its right place, and it is curious to observe the occasional effect of an artificial education on her naturally correct judgment. A mistress of rank was Ci la mode, but to stoop
to a grisette was unpardonable. Madame de Pompadour could
be overlooked, but the presence of Madame du Barri at Versailles was only to be expiated by the absence of Madame de
Crequy. She was right, only her conscience did not extend
sufficiently far. She says that she ceased to go to court in 1771,
and she never saw Madame du Barri but once, at a review at
Pablons. Madame de Mirepoix-who, by-the-way, was a character that it would be injustice even to a Du Barri to compare
her to, but she was a " nmar6chale"was in the same coach, and




28     PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.
at the left of this beautiful lady.    I asked who this unknown
princess could be that treated so familiarly the widow of a
Prince of Lorraine and a Marshal of France.  The Viscount de
Laval replied, as if it were nothing,' It is Madame the Countess du-Barri,' for he had the charming delicacy and the'courtisauerze' to separate the article of the name, for a good exanmple. I pulled the check-string, arnd, without replying to the
viscount, ordered the coachman' chez-moi.'  As for " la mareehale," she cut her from that day henceforward.  Yet to those
she respected she practiced a courtesy as delicate as rare. Toward Madame Brissac, whose name wias "vdnerablement historique," she had so great consideration that she always apologized when the etiquette of rank obliged her to place herself'
above her.
The politeness of superiors was not always imitated by their
dependents.  Having occasion to engage a coachman, before
accepting the situation he inquired, "I wish to know of madame to whom madame yiel(s the way."  "To every body —i
yield to every body except in the streets and court-yards of'Versailles."  " How! does madame order her first coachman
to yield the way in the streets of Paris to presidents?"  " Certainly-without doubt."  " But madame should not yield to
bankers; and madame knows very well, if the servants of a
banker dispute the way with her coachman, he will strike
them in the face with his whip."  " Oh! the bankers should.
know the liveries, and as for the rest, Mr. Coachman, I do not
intend that, on the pavements of Paris, and for persons absolutely without consequence, my carriages should be upset and
mly horses ham-strung."  " It is true, madame has but twelve
horses; and, besides, it is my custom only to yield the way to
princes of the blood; so I shall not suit, madame?"  It would
scarcely be prudent, in the year 1852, to say that Louis Napoleon and Rothschild were " personnages absolument sans con



PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH P.RINCIPLES.:29
sequence," albeit one is only a president and the other merely a banker.
Perhaps the two extremes of aristocracy have never been
better represented than by Madame de Crequy and our Frank].in: the former the embodiment of exalted titular rank, cradled in luxury, by nature refined, spirituelle, and sincere, by
education versed in all the elegant and many of the solid accomplishments of the day; quick in repartee, keen in wit,
and with all her prejudices a sensible aristocrat: the latter
equally exalted in rank, the result of his individual merits and
the respect and confidence of his fellow-citizens; earnest, honest, and intelligent, without education except such as his own
exertions and experience had conferred upon him, despising
ceremonies, and inflexible to his creed of ulititarianismn, simple
in dress and plain in speech: this representative of the people afforded the most striking contrast to the representative,
of the aristocracy.  They met.  Their greeting must have reminded the spectators of Vulcan saluting Psyche.  Happily for
hlimself and our cause, Franklin arrived at Paris at an epoch
when the old regime, with its cumbersome apparel, was fast
l)ecoming stale and esffete. A novelty was a blessing.  Franklin was a decided novelty. Revolutionary ideas had ceased to
be such; but a plain, honest, strong-minded democrat was a
new thing under the sun of Paris.  If the Leviathan had stalked into the Champs Elys6es, it would not have created a greater sensation.  A feted lion he was instanter, and through him
and by him the prestige of rank in France received its deathwound. Franklin was the apostle of the people, without title,
without wealth, without ancestry; as mechanic, merchant, philosopher, soldier, statesman, and diplomat, equally distinguished in every sphere, the Titan of them  all.  No wonder that
Louis XV1., Marie Antoinette, and women of quality like Madame de Crequy, instinctively dreaded this man.  Etiquette




30     PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.
and policy forced the Bourbon and his queen to disguise their
sentiments, but the latter lady did not hesitate to declare hers,
although she met him but once, at a dinner, when the place
of honor, next to Franklin, was reserved for her.  She says
that she did not address him a single word, because she did not
know what to say to this " printer." He had on a brown coat,
brown vest, breeches of the same color, and a cravat striped
with red.  "That which I saw the most remarkable in him was
his mode of eating eggs. He emptied five or six into a goblet, mingling butter, salt, pepper, and mustard, and thus made
a'joli ragout Philadelphique.' It is right also to tell you that
he did not detach his food with a spoon, and that he cut with
a knife the pieces of melon he wished to eat; he also bit the
asparagus in lieu of cutting the point with his knife upon the
plate, and of eating it properly with his fork.  You perceive
it was the mode of a savage."
Such were the aristrocrat's impressions of the democrat.
Pity we have not the reverse of the picture. In lieu, however,
she gives two other anecdotes worth relating.  Miadare Neckar invited Franklin and his grandson, aged four years, to meet'Voltaire at dinner.  She besought the sage of Ferney to bestow his benediction upon the little American. Voltaire arose,
and, placing his hands upon the head of the urchin, exclaimed, in the tone of a " diable enrhume," " LIBUERT, TOLERANCE
ET PRIOBITEl!"
Among the salutations of etiquette, it was required to bow
to the throne of France in passing before it, as is done by
good Catholics of the present day before their altars.  In addition to this, however, equal reverence was demanded for
the Cadenat of the king. Franklin, seeing the Cardinal de la
Rochefoucault bow before this great gilt box, asked if it contained sacred relics.  Upon being informned that it held the
utensils of the table, he exclaimed, " Prodig'ious!" which my
readers Mrill doubtless cordially echo.




PARISJAN SJGHTS AND FREtNCH PRINCIP.LES,. 
iM'~adame de Crequy says she never had her hand upon the
knocker of her own door but once, and then she did not know
how to use it.  It was the morning after the fearful catastrophe
in the present Place de la Concorde, by Nwhich twelve hundred
lives were lost on the occasion of the fete of the marriage of
Marie Antionette.  Mlaildame de Cr'quy had remained all night
in a ditch, into which she had been precipitated by the crowd,
without injury.  She was then near seventy years of age, and
unable to get out in the dark without assistance.  She heard
the voices of the patrol, and at first thought of asking assistialnce, but was prevented by a sort of sentiment which she had
not suspected was in her.  " )1d age is sometiriles emlbarrassed without being timid, and particularly when it is overcome with a ferminine sentiment, that is, a sort of delicacy, or,
if you like it better, of natural coquetry.  It seemed to me that
to those soldiers my apparition would give impertinent ideas;
for instance, that of an old sorceress issuing from the earth. I
feared they would laugh at me when they saw my face, and it
appeared beneath me to solicit succor at the price of rnoney;
for, take away my name, titles, and fortune, and each one of
those men would save, in preference to me, any clumIIsy, gross,
but pretty-faced chambe-rmaid."  So she remained quietly
all night in that ditch amid the wounded and dead, scrambling out at daybreak, and, for the first time probably, walking
unattendled to her own hotel.
Her memloirs are a wonderful example of the saying that a
French woman never grows old, at least in mind.  Bordering
on a century, she is as witty, as fresh, and as malicious as at
twenty.  Nothing escapes her observation, and neither memory nor any of her senses appear to have lost the vigor of
youth.  Not the least interesting portion of her life is that she
spent in the prisons of Paris, where, scorning to emigrate, she
was at last sent.  She was apprehended under the charge of




a-. >  PARISIAN SIG:ITS AND FRENCH PRtINCIPLES.
distributing forged assignats.  They searched her person in
the most odious and insolent manner, and at last thrust her
into a cellar, in which there was neither seat of any kind nor
even straw.  They undertook to interrogate her, and asked if
she was 93 years old.  She was that; and believing that death
must, at all events, soon visit her in some other shape, if not
by the guillotine, she determined not to open her lips. For
once an old woman baffled the cunning and ferocity of that
dread tribunal.  Nothing could overcome her silence. They
saw it was folly to threaten death to nearly fivescore years;
and finally, after grinding their teeth and shaking their fists
at her in impotent rage, they- cursed her for a deaf old aristocrat, and left her, without food or bed, to pass the night as she
best could on the damp floor of her dismal dungeon.
On the second anniversary of -the capture of the Bastile, she
had been ordered to illuminate her hotel, but refused.  Her
aristocracy was so firm that, even in those days of terror, it
inspired respect.  Robespierre treated her with marked civility, and defended her cause against a claimant for her properly, who asserted himself to be the rightful heir.:Tfe was the
son of a mechanic in the Rue St. Denis, or wras supposed to be,
and, after pressing his suit for some years, was guillotined ar
an aristocracto
The jailer had. two young children, both of whom Nvere sick
with the small-pox.  Madame de Crequy, fearing they would
die, stole quietly into their room at night, and baptized them
into the faith of the Holy Catholic Church, administering the
rite without the consciousness even of its recipients.  MHad
she been detected, she would have been hurried promptly to
execution. She says, in leaving the prison after the fall of
Robespierre, she revealed the fact to their mother, that the
poor children might know to whom they belonged in case God
took their lives.




PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.;           3
The scenes she describes of her prison life are replete with
humor and pathos, at one time having forl her companions
Madames Roland and Josephine Beauharnais. The last of August, 1794, she was called upon to mount the fatal cart that
conveyed the prisoners to the scaffold. Being delayed by some
indispensable preparations, the driver cursed her for keeping
him waiting, in the multiplicity of his epithets calling her a
6'vieille ecalotinocrctte-astocrcche."  The delay saved her life.
The jailer carne in and explained that it was another Crequy
that was called.  Mistakes in names were not uncommon, and
seldom corrected before the tribunal.  The full complement of
heads was required, and it mattered little by what names
they were Inown.
She was soon after released, and, notwithstanding her sufferings, found herself rejuvenated twenty years, which she attributes to the severity of her abstinence, and particularly to
t'ile rigor of the cold, for no fires were allowed. Yet she adds,
for all that, it was a frightful punishment.
With a sentiment not uncommon to long captivity, she at
first regretted her prison, her companions, and the fraternity
of misfortune. Her friends were exiled, massacred, or fled.
]Her vast hotel was nmore dreary than her prison.  Besides, one
risked being slain in'94 in the heart of Paris.  The massive
gates, jailers, chains, and dogs of her prison were so many
pledges of security, which she now missed, and it was some
time before she could reconcile herself to her desolate and
cheerless grandeur.
There were many touching episodes of that prison life; others in which ludicrousness overpowered every other sentiment.
Hearts there were that went cheerfully to the scaffold rather
than avail themselves of an equivocation proffered to them by
the humanity of a Fouquier Tinville-wives, unnamed in the
fatal list, who triumphed over the resistance of jailers, andl
B2




34    PAUtlSIAN SIGH-TS AND FBtRENCH PI-I1NCIPLES.
ioyfully laid down their heads beside those of their condemned
_iusbands. There were bitter quarrels between an Abbe St.;imon and a provincial marquis, whom Madame de Cr6quy
tpostrophizes with 1r "que Dieu confonde.'" The two slept on the
~:taircase, the marquis being several steps above the abbe. "9 It'vas often in the middle of the night that their disputes were
the most violent, because the marquis would spit upon the head
of the abbe, who did not wish to permit any such liberty."
One day they passed in a small, pale woman, who bowed
as she entered, but never spoke to any one during the three
days and nights she passed in their chamber. She sat all that'time upon a straw chair, taking only a few mouthfuls of bread
and red wine, which the jailer forced the " old woman Crdquy"
t;o take to her. She kept her eyes constantly fixed upon a
box, which she had placed upon another chair before her, on
which she rested her feet. Although the prisoners were suffering greatly from cold, she incessantly fanned herself.
One morning they missed her, but the box remained. Madame Baflot inquired of the jailer if she would return. He
significantly replied by drawing his hand across his neck.
The box was opened, and in it found a bloody shirt from which
the collar had been cut, a handful of black hair, and a little
scrap of paper, on which was written," For my nzother." Nothing further was ever known of either victim.
If we are to pass judgment on a body by the general character of its members, neither society nor humanity lost much
in many of the decapitations of the aristocracy of this period.
They were unjustly condemned and barbarously executed;
consequently, their deaths have attracted to their fates a generous sympathy which the general tenor of their lives little
warranted. A few anecdotes will illustrate this.  Among the
many so admirably told in these memoirs, it is difficult to decide upon the best.




PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES          3 5
The aunt of Madame de Crequy, the Chavonine Countess
of Mauberge, who died at 101 years of age without experiencing any infirmities, called, in company with a friend, upon
MIadame du Deffand.  Courtesy prompted them to inquire of
the health of a dear friend of their hostess, then dangerously
ill, but with whom she had entertained intimate relations for
fifteen years, in accordance with the loose customs of the age.
H"ow is the dear invalid?"
"Eh! mon Dieu! I have but one lackey here at this moment; I will send one of my women to demand the news."
"5 Madame, it rains in torrents; I beg you to make use of my
coach."
" Ah! you are infinitely good, and I thank you a thousand
times," charmingly replied Madame du Defimand. "Mademoiselle," said she to her femme de chambre, " go and learn news
of our dear little invalid. Madame the countess permits you
to go in her coach on account of the rain.  I am very grateful, and much touched," continued she, " for your interest in
my favorite. He is so amiable, lively, and caressing. You
know I am indebted to Madame du Chatelet for him."  The
two callers looked in astonishment at each other at a confidence so extraordinary and uncalled for. At length the carriage returned. "Ah! how have you found him?"
"Madame, as well as could be expected."'
"Has he eaten to-day?"
"He has wished to amuse himself in biting an old shoe, but
M. Lyonnais would not permit it."
" Really," exclaimed the aunt, " a singular phantasy of an
invalid."
"But does he walk yet?" inquired Madame du Deffand.
" As for that I can not tell, because he was lying on a little
blue satin mattress; buti he knew me perfectly well, for he
wagged his tail,"




39     PADPARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.
"Monsieur the Chevalier de Pont-de-Vesle,' exclaimed both
the amazed visitors, 6" wagged his tail "
"Ah, madanzes, it is of my little dog she speaks.  I will
send to inquire immediately of the health of M. de Pont-deVesle."
The Mardehale de Noailles was an original fool, as may be
readily credited from the following examples of her mode of
showing it.  She maintained a correspondence with the HolyT
Virgin and the Patriarchs, depositing her letters in a pigeonhole at her hotel, religiously believing that the responses received were as authentic as her own letters.
She was sometimes a little shocked at the tone of familiarity which the Holy Virgin took with her, 6' Ma chbre Marechale,"
and at the third line, said she, with a scornful air, "'1It must
be allowed that the formula is a little familiar on the part of
a peasant woman of Nazareth, but one must not be too exacting with the mother of our Savior," inclining her head as
she pronounced the name of Jesus, "' and it is to be considered
that the husband of the Virgin was of the royal race of David."
She went one day to the high altar of Notre Dame to pray
that her husband the duke might receive 1, 80,000 francs of
which he was then in need, the order of the Garter, and, finally, a diploma as prince of the Holy Roman Empire, the only
honors not in the family.
She suddenly heard a juvenile voice from the altar respond,
"Madame the marcehale, you shall not have the 1,800,000
francs you ask for your husband: he has already 100,000
crowns rent, and that is enough; he is already duke and peer,
grandee of Spain, and Marshal of France; he has the collar of'
the Holy Ghost and that of the Golden Fleece: your family is
overwhelmed with the gifts of the court.  If you are not satisfied, it is because it is impossible to satisfy you. Your
husband shall not have the Garter of St. George?.




PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES..37
The lady not for a moment doubted that the voice was other
than that of the infant Jesus, who was replying for his mother.
She immediately called out, "H old your tonlgue, little fool, ana
let your mother speak."  It was a page of the queen, who, knowing her folly, had hid himself' behind the altar.
After the fall of Robespierre, the few remaining noblesse issued fiom their retreats more frivolous and selfish, if possible,
than before the storm.  Madame de la Reyniere exclaimed to
a visitor, "i How sorry I am that the Viscountess of Narbonne
was not guillotined "
"But why should you wish such a thing?"
"Ah! I demand nothing better than that you should ask
my reasons.  Firstly, I am  bo:ed to death by hearing her
spoken of."
" But, as she is about the same age as you, she perhaps has
the same cause to reproach you."
" There is something worse than that  she was guilty of an
impertinence to me in'85, at the Hotel de Soubise; I wish she
had been massacred in the prisons. You know they have
exiled the Abbe d'Albignac. I am glad of it, he was so tedious."
" How is your son?  What has become of him in all this?'' My son," replied the other, gaping,'" has his fortune apart,
and I have not heard him spoken of for a long time.  When
God did me the favor to have the misfortune to lose Monsieur de la Reyniere, they told me that my son was drowned
at Nantes, but this, unfortunately, was not true.  You know
the parents inherit from their children since the Revolution,
and as he makes a bad use of his fortune, I wish much to have
it to myself alone."
With one more characteristic trait of the times, I shall have
done. Madame de Galissoniere was the principal heiress of
Madame de Pompadour. She had for a lover a M. Dejenaive.




;.38  PtPARISIAN  SIGHTS AND FRENTCH PRINCIPLES.
Learning one day of the death of his mistress, he forced the
door of the chamber where she was laid out, and there discovered her corpse upon a table, in the frightful condition as left
by the examining physicians. He threw himself upon it, plucked out the heart, wrapped it up in his handkerchief, put it in
his pocket, and left the house like a madman.
Some time after, in relating the incident to Madame de
Coislin, "Do you know what became of it?" said he.
"' iNo; go on; you make me shudder."
" Ah! mon Dieu, yes! I threw it down in rage upon a trunk
when I entered my chamber.  I went to bed and slept to distract my mind.  The next morning I saw that the handkerchief had fallen upon the floor. I sprang from mly bed-my
(log had eaten it-I killed him with one blow of a knife, but I
could discover nothing of it-nothing at all. I then remembered that I had forgotten to feed him for several days past.
What a dramatic and romantic adventure, is it not, madame?"
The idea of the great Napoleon as a little, sniffling, angry
urchin, in these after-times of his glory, strikes one as almost
incomprehensible.  Yet Madame de Crequy gives us an anecdote characteristic both of his temper and age. A lady presented to her Madame Bonaparte, " escorted by a legion of
badly-dressed children."
" There was in this covey of Corsican birds a little boy who
wept. His eyes were very red, but he appeared to swallow his
tears. To pass the time, I benevolently asked his mother the
reason of his affliction.' Madame,' said she, in a gruff voice
and awkward pronunciation,'he is a mnonster.' In leaving the
Bishop d'Autun, he had refused to kiss the hand of my lord,
for which his mother had soundly boxed his ears as soon as
they had entered their coach."  Madame de Crequy viewed
the introduction of the Bonaparte family to her in about as
amiable and condescending a mood as would a " Fifth Avenue"




PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCHI PRINCIPLES.          39
dame an invasion of backwoods cousins front Arkansaw into
her drawing-rooms on a month's visit.
Her next interview with the " petit garqon" was when he
was master of the Tuileries.  The First Consul requested her
presence.  She was announced as the Citizen Crdquy, and at
once found herself tdte-'-tete with the conqueror of the Pyramids.
" He looked at me one or two minutes with an air of study,
which was succeeded by a false air of tenderness.  Then he
said, with an expression which I call almost filial,'I have desired to see you, madame;' but he soon retook a sufficient and
passably impertinent tone:'You are a hundred years old-'
6" Not quite, but nearly.'
"'How old are you, exactly?'
"I was tempted to laugh at such an interrogatory, and particularly in such an imperative form.' Monsieur,' I replied,
smiling as one smiles at my age, alas! and perhaps he did not
perceive that I smiled,' I can not tell my precise age. I was
born in a chateau of Maine.'
"' Where do you lodge?'
"' At the Hotel de Crequy.'
"' The devil-and in what quarter?'
"' Rue de Grenelle.'
"' You had commotion yesterday in your quarter.  Were you
afraid?'
"' I was not inquieted.'
"'No emeutes are possible under my government-no serious emeutes, but disturbances, I do not say.  A handful of
discontented persons have the air of something, but it is nothing. Is it not true?'
"' Oh, surely. Three women who cry make more noise than
three thousand. men who hold their tongues.'
"' What you say is very good-do you know what you have
said is very good?'"




40     PARISIAN SIGHTlS AND FPRENC1H PRINCIPLES.
In reply to the question, 6 Have you suffered fromn the revolutionary decrees?" she alluded to some landed property that
had been confiscated, which he accorded to her with " une
grace parfaite;" afterward observing, with a distracted air,
"' Madame, to desire to do good during a revolution is to write
upon the sand of the sea-shore; that which escapes the winds
is effaced by the waves."
"';Did you know Dubois and Cartouche?'
"I looked at him without replying, and so severely, that I
am astonished when I recall it.  He felt himself, apparently,
that it was bad taste to ask news of Cartouche of the Marquise
Dowager of Crequy; and he made me a smile, so fine, so sweet,
and so frank, that I remained totally disarmed.
"'Permit me to kiss your hand,' said he. I hastened to
draw off my glove.'Leave your glove, my good mother,'
added he, with an air of exquisite solicitude; then he applied
lhis lips strongly to the tips of my poor centennial and decrepitfingiers, which were uncovered."
With all her aristocratic pride and prejudice, she was as
powerless to resist the fascination of manner of Napoleon
when he was in the view, as were equally the hereditary
sovereigns of Europe, or his own rough, republican generals.
"Poor soldier!" exclaims she, in the fullness of her proud commiseration for his low parentage; "he knew only the illustrious names of the illustrious personages with whom I had
passed my life in this same chateau that he uses as his own;"
and farther on the following reflection involuntarily escapes
her, in mingled pathos and pride: "Alas! that to-day they
should give me this high name of Crequy, which 1 shall -bear
the last, and which they will soon write for the last time in a
dirty register, beside the names of all the world, and perhaps
on the same page with that of a Merlin or of a De Gasparin."
Madame de Crdquy died early in 1803, her exact age being




PATISIAN SI.GHTS.AN) FRENCH PRINCIPLES.    41
unknown, but supposed to be not less than one hundred years.
In the early part of her life her health was deplorable, and
she purchased at a low price, for her life, the hotel of the Maarquis de Fenquieres, which she occupied for seventy yearssomewhat maliciously boasting of her great bargain.  The's Journal des Debats" of 15th of February, 1803, says: "Her
piety edified the disciples of the Gospel; her charity nourished
the poor, and even to her last days she preserved, by a species of miracle, her brilliant imagination, depth of understanding, freshness of memory, eclat of wit, and profundity of re-:flection, that had. always lendered her the admiration an(d,
delight of distinguished men of every class and all countries."
One can not read her memoirs without crediting this eulogiunm.
She was a fine specimen of the born and trained( aristocrat,
and as such I can recommend her memoirs to my readers as the
least exceptionable and most amusing and instructive of that
class of French literature. Generally, they are either the stale
records of selfish intrigues, or the piquant narratives of individual vice and heartless crime, so intermingling truth with
falsehood that the leader often throws them aside in perplexity and disgust.  Here we have, however, daguerreotype likenesses of an aristocracy formed by an education that, while it
robed them with elegances of person, left them destitute of
the graces of the heart.  I would exhibit them  only as the;Spartans did to their youth the drunken helots, as warnings
against an insidious mental vice.  But with that aristocracy
to which I before alluded, which refines the intellect and disciplines the heart, educating in happy balance and unison the.moral and. intellectual sentiments, creating among mnen the
sole permanent distinctions of goodness and greatness, I would
that our entire democratic lump was leavened.  He who happily combined the two in one harmonious whole was W~ASHINGTON,




CHAPTER IIo
MiATRIMONY, BOWVS, ETC
THE moral welfare of society hinges so closely upon the
greater or less estimation in which marriage is held, that the
interest with which this tie is viewed can never be exclusively confined to those "'in the market."  This phrase, so suggestive of buying and selling, has acquired in fashionable life,
even with us, a positive significancy.  I refer not to Circassian beauty, sold by its weight. To appreciate my meaning
in its broad and full Christian sense, we must turn to France.
Th'ere a marriage is a literal matter of negotiation, in which
Cupid has, in general, as little to do as in the sale of a pony
or purchase of the three per cents.  Hopeless is the case of
the maiden without a " dot."  The indispensable dowry stands
in lieu of charms, education, accomplishments, character, and
even virtue itself-not but that each and all of these, when to
be had, enhance the value of the acquisition.  But the first
article of the matrimonial creed in France is, "I devoutly believe in the' dot,' as the one thing needful with a wife." If
the candidate probe farther, it is chiefly to ascertain whether
there be a scrofulous taint or hereditary insanity in the family
of the adored one. These matters satisfactorily ascertained,
the parents on either side hold a congress to arrange settlements for the young couple, provide for the exigencies of the
anticipated generation, and to see that the affairs of the purse
are made smooth and straight; a practice which, by-the-way,
if it were more often iritated here, would spare much of the




PARISIA.N SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.          43
misery arising from the thoughtless and hasty manner in which
many American marriages are made. It often happens that
the swain, beyond a family name or social position, has nothing to recommend him besides the experience of nearly threescore years, a well-preserved figure, and an empty purse.  He
has arrived at a condition in his fortune when a dowry of five
hundred thousand francs becomes a consummation devoutly to
be hoped for.  His familiar starts such a one with the sagacity
of a trained pointer. Negotiations are commenced, and the
first time that " sweet sixteen" may see her partner for life
is when he is presented as her prospective husband.  Mamma
and papa have arranged it all.  An old man, with nothing but
his bank-notes to recommend him, will sometimes buy a young
girl; but he seldom has occasion to congratulate himself on
his purchase.  I am now speaking of the general rule.  There
are exceptions, of course; and faithfuil couples, and happy domestic circles, are not rare in France.  Love, in the American
sense, is, however, a very minor consideration.
Now it would be requiring too much of human nature to
expect it to rise above its own standard of action. The corrupt tree must bring forth corrupt fruit.  So, where the principle of marriage is mainly a compound of pecuniary gain,
social distinction, or selfish desire, the active result must be
equally a compound of prodigality or meanness, pride or vanity, lust or epicurism, leavened with tyranny on one side and
deceit on the other. This applies more particularly to the upper rounds of the social ladder.  As we descend, the marriage
principle partakes more of the practical requirements of a business copartnershlip; to the benefits of which the female, if she
can not bring a cash capital, must contribute untiringg muscles
and indefatigable industry.  Not the tidy, home labor of the
American female, whose greatest penance is a wash-tub, but
a downriglht junior-partnership division of out-door work, shop



44     PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.
tending, book-keeping, and merchandise-buying, in addition to
baby-raising and housekeeping labors.  Whether from her superior energies, or the lordly laziness of her mate or not, it is
difficult to decide, but certain it is that she invariably becomes
the " man" of these "n irinaes," ancld daring must -be the Frenchman who wrould openly act within the articles of this copartnership upon his sole responsibility.
WThat unfledged traveler has ever been proof against the irresistible argumrents of these trading syrens, until his experiences in shopping have convinced himn that a hundred francs
for an article he did not want, and which was not worth as
many sous, was too dear, even with the fascinating smile and
oily " but this agrees so nicely with Monsieur's charming figure," or " fits exactly Monsieur's little hand," thrownl in.  They
have a way of slid'ing in a side compliment in a remark to
M3,adame, if she be with you, or, for want of a better bait, to
their own husbands, that is sure to tell upon a John Bull just
over, and seldom fails to be as effective on more cautious Jonathan.  What chance, then, has an Asiatic, with his Eastern
these infidel houris?




PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES              45
Now marriage in France is far from being, as with us, a
mere nod and its echo by a man and woman before a justice
of the peace, a few commonplace words,'and an engag'ement
for life concluded with less trouble than the buying of a railroad ticket; but it is a serious and expensive afiair.  First,
the bans must be duly published in the journals for several
weeks; then, on. the day appointed, the parties and a troop of
friends go before the mayor of their arrondissement, where the
knot is civilly tied; from thence to the church, where, with
K   /.
TIHE CIVIL MARRIAGE.
eligious pomp in proportion to the promised fee, the knot is
iretied, blessed, and sanctified by the priest. The kissing and
congratulations completed, the wedding party adjourn to spend
the night in dancing and festivity.
This over, the parties have entered upon a marriage that
would drive a Fourierite or a Sandite to despair.  The church




46     PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FI{ENCH PRINCIPLES.
fE ECCLESIASTICAL MARRIAGE,
having become a party to the contract, it is forever indissolu1)le. The most stringent causes have no more weight than
the lightest distastes.  Madame, your  wife, is madame, your
wife, until she is accommodating enough to take up her residence in perpetuity at Pare Ie Chaise.  Money and influence
may at times procure a separation of beds and chattels, but
nothing more. The result of so fixed a yoke would. in a more
moral country, with many couples, lead to incalculable private
unhappiness; but the French have a way of lightening domestic loads, procuring congenial sypathies, an  assuming a
philosophical blindness to each other's frailties, that goes far
to ward off connubial chafing. As I do not think the secret
would benefit my countrywomen, I shall not disclose it.
The Code Napoleon allowed considerable latitude for divaorce, but so hedged in with restrictions that it could not prometclodprcrngcneia  ypahe, n   ssmn 
0  zn                           zn~~
phiosohicl bindessto achothr'sfraltis, hatgoe fa
towr   f  onuilcaig            A      olo  hiktesce
woud  eneitmy outryomnI sal no dsclseit




PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.    47
duee evil, if' fairly applied; while, on the other hand, it did
away with many present temptations to immoral connections.
At the Restoration, the laws permitting divorce were abrogated. Repeated but vain attempts have been made since to
reintroduce them into the Code. It remains to be seen whether
the nephew, in his revival of the institutions of his uncle, will
revive these.
No institution has been more the foot-ball of French legislation, since 1791, than that of marriage. Fouche, when he
was in the department of the Nievre, instituted a fete in honor
of Nature and the Republican Hymen. Hle gathered together
four hundred youths of each sex, most of whom had never
seen each other before, upon a meadow on the banks of the
Loire. At one o'clock he appeared, costumed as the highpriest of Nature, surrounded by a cortege of sans culottes, preceded by a band of music.
" Young citizens,"?' cried he, "6 commence by choosing each
of you a wife from these modest virgins."
Immediately fifteen or twenty precipitated themselves upon
a pretty girl of Donzy, whose father was well known to be a
wealthy cabinet-maker.  On her part, she resisted stoutly,
weeping, and refusing to listen to any of her admirers, because
she loved tenderly an absent cousin.
As might be supposed, this matrimonial battle produced little satisfaction and still less harmony. The preferences of
the young men and girls did not always correspond. It soon
became a contest between natural liberty and individual
choice. The troops were obliged to interfere and separate
the disputants. They were then divided into two columns,
and paired off as chance had placed them, according to their
numbers, thus for once realizing for marriage that it was but
a lottery. The ceremony terminated with a grand supper
spread upon the "plain of equality." The husband to whom




48     PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRitCIPLES.
the pretty girl of Donzy was allotted became afterward a rich
republican general.
This gratuitous distribution of wives reminds me of an anecdote of the times illustrative of the opposite principle-of
taking away'what one hath. It might have been supposed
that a name innocently handed down from father to son would
have been left untouched by the republican shears.  But no.
After the sublime deess, Reason, usurped the place of the Holy
Virgin in the churches, it was forbidden to make use of the
word " saint,"' or to attach the aristocratic " de" to family
names. A Mr. Saint Denis was called before the section of
(+'1uillaume Tell, and interrogated firstly as to his name.
"I am called Saint." "But there are no longer any' saints."'
"' Then I am De."' "But there are no' de's.' 9 Then 1 must
call myself' Nis.' Mr. iNis, at your service, since you leave
me nothing more."'
Modesty has a widely different signification in France from
the United States. Since the putting of pantalets upon the
legs of a piano has ceased to be the apocryphal story of a cynical Johnl Bull, the modesty of American ladies stands upon
the very apex of refinement.  Even in London, I have met
one —she was from the Wvest, however, and of excellent sense
in other particulars-who talked to me some time about the
" limlbs" of a fine babe in her arms, before I discovered that it
was his fat legs she was commending.
I do not wish to be considered as depreciating American
modesty, even if mawkishly exhibited, as the excess is on the
side of virtue.  Among French women there is a plainness of
speech in all points that conveys the exact truth upon any subject without the slightest circumlocution. They assume no
disguise to their meanings.  Even when a little sentiment
would be a decided and welcome embellishment, it is ruthlessly thrust aside.  I have heard in society remarks from la



PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.'   49
dies of rank, that elsewhere would have startled me; and yet
here custom disrobes them of all impropriety. Still, I think,
for the sake of the high-toned sentiment a man of refinement
would ever cherish toward the sex that bestows upon him his
purest pleasures and associations, a little more of social poetry,
or prudery, as some would ungallantly term it, would be welcome even in France. While such liberties are taken with
the tongue, there is more outward show of modesty in the intercourse of the sexes than with us. The same ladies, whose
lips tripped not over any description or allusion, were really
shocked when I told them that at our fashionable ocean retreats it is customary for men and women promiscuously to
bathe. For a young couple to ride or walk together, unattended by a near relative, would be an unpardonable indecorum
On a rainy day a French wom- 
an of any rank hesitates not, if
necessary to save her skirts, to
expose her legs as freely as her  _
arms. It is really astonishing to
see with what grace and purity
they will carry their hose and rv
linen over the muddiest ways..
Each is of the finest character
and most elaborately finished, so that not even- a bachelor of
flinty threescore can look upon these adroit walkers with unadmiring eyes.
To return to my original topic, marriage. The following
extract from a journal, furnished me by no matter whom, will
explain admirably some of my preceding views.
"I have been married since the 20th of January, 185-, that
is to say, about fifteen days. Mon Dieu!" (French women of
every quality are given to exclamations which their more
sensitive American sisters would term " swearing," hut which,
C




50    lPARiSiAN SIGHTS AiND FRENCH-1 PRIzNCiPLE$.
after all, are as innocently intentioned as any puritanical " good
gracious!' or "bless me!") 6" what a change has so short a
time wrought in my ideas! is it I who am wrong, or is it
i-marriage?  I do not know.  Here are my impressions.  iviay
it please Heaven that I do not become deranged in recording
ihenm ulpon paper.
"'M arriage,' said my schoolmates to me,' is the realizationl
of our most poetic dreams; the tender sentiments felt at the
sight of' a young man, the inquietudes thus we experience at
the return of spring time, or the rising of the moon behind the
acacias; the necessity of weeping without a motive that so
often seizes upon us-all these emotions,' said they,' explain
themselves in marriage.  The soul divines in this word the
enigma.' So I left my boarding-school.
"I said to myself, without being quite as romantic as omy
young companions,'It is'not possible that my parents have
kept me ten years at school, that they have had me taught Italian, German, English, music, singing, design, painting, literature, and dancing, to marry a man who does not love the arts.'
" The day after leaving my school, my mother said to me,' You will marry a rich paint-merchant of -- Street.'
"[ My first question was,' Does he know music?'' I tell
you,' replied ry mother,'that he is a paint-merchant.'
" Eight days after, they led rne to the mayor's office for the
civil rite, thence to the church -for the religious ceremony. It
was the first time but one that I had seen. my husband —
" I have just been interrupted by one of his customers, who
ordered from  me fifty pounds of putty, a barrel of verdigris,
-two casks of glue, twenty poumlcs of sunlphur, and two papers
of asaf-ceidCa
"After having -'washed my hands fifty tinmes without deitroyinrg'the odors o'f the above fragrant merichandise, I retalke
nmy pen to con'tinue my married experience.




PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.    51
"'My friend,' said I to
him at the end of eight days,'will you buy me a piano?''What for?' inquired he of
me:'how much does one   
cost?'' Twelve hundred
francs.''Twelve hundred
francs!' exclaimned he, in
amazement:'I prefer with
that money to buy whale                        CM     i  - -;
oil, and wait a rise.  Be-  
sides, a muarried  woman.' 
never touches a piano.'      "             ~4 -/
"I submit.                                  ____
"Another interruption-..
my husband awakes.
"' What are you reading             MONSIEUR.
there?' he called out, with considerable anger in his tone;' do you read in the shop? There is always something to do
here-put on the labels-pack-measure-weigh.''All is
done, my friend,' I replied.' What book is that?'' The poems of Ossian, the son of Fingal.'' You know English, then?'' Yes, nmy friend.'' You know every thing, then,' and he turned
his back upon me, sneering.
"I resign nayself.
"Habitude, submission, and resignation are, I know, the
graces, the three theological virtues of marriage.  I know that
I shall perform my duties so as to please even nay husband.
"But why, I ask, do they teach young girls so many things
that later only inspire them with regret that they have learned
them? WAhy not educate them to be the wives of paint-merchants, grocers, butchers, &cc.?"
This is no romnance, but the actual experience of thousands




62     PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.
of well-educated, refined, and sentimental misses in France.
Is it strange that they should ripen into the practical, unpoetical, manoeuvring, hard-working, but pleasure-loving women
we so often find there?  Freshness of features and delicacy
of outline they certainly lose, but courtesy of speech ever
abides with them.  The domestic heart that lightens up a
honle —what becomes of it?  Home! in English a word expressive of every tender and true emotion-the concentration
of the joys of life-in French is simply " chez-moi."  Not, as
-with us, a combination of I's, forming a harmonious unity under a loved roof, each contributing to the general stock of happiness from his own overflowing affections; the family holy
of holies, sacred from  the stranger's eye, overshadowed by
cherub and seraph, from whose hearts constantly ascends the
incense of peace and love, but a spot wherein the individual' nmoi" may be located, sometimes where he sleeps, oftener
where he eats; on the boulevard, in the restaurant, sipping
black coffee and drinking clear brandy, on a sidewvalk in front
of his cafd; in short, wherever the individual Frenchman finds
it most for his individual pleasure to be. You might as well
try to locate a will-o'-the-wisp, or to keep stationary a fire-fly,
as to fix upon a Frenchman's home.  It is where-ver he shines
brightest or dazzles most. His pleasures consist in the outer
life-the external gilding; bright and beautiful without, but,
like gold-leaf, often covering what is decayed and hollow
within.  In short, " home" and " chez-moi" are the social antipodes.
I have again thrust my hand into my roll of life-experiences,
and drawn out Lisette's letter to Juana.  How I came by this,
and other equally instructive epistles, is mine and not the reader's business.  If he be a Yankee, let him fall back upon his
birthright of guessing.  Suffice it, that they not only tell the
truth in these individual instances, but echo the half-acknowl



1;'.J:t ISIAN SIGHTS AiND lFRENCHI PtRINCIPLES.:;
edged truth from  myriads similarly conditioned.  If parents
barter their daughters for a position, they need not be surprised if the connubial tree ripens rebellion and hypocrisy oni
one side, and suspicion and severity on the other.  But in
France, these fruits, so bitter and chokinlg within, are without
like the apples that grow on the borders of the sea of Sodom,
very fair to behold.
Lisette was, in the youthful days of ler n arriage, as submissive, sad, and sensitive as the paint-merchant's bride.
Time and trial, however, have made her worldly-wise and.
wondrous cunning.  I-Her husband, a wealthy bourgeois, judges
women by his own weaknesses.  It would require a strong
necessity to deprive him of any of his favorite gratifications.
His own deficiencies he seeks to counterbalance in the forced
self-denials of his wife.-a species of vicarious expiation of'
male sins comrnmon to matrimony ever since the discovery has
been made that the twain are nlot one.  Now Lisette is afraid
of her husband, and so outwits him.  Show me the woman in
whom deception is not the twin of fear.  Husbands, rake a
note of this-root it out, transplant to its place confidence; so
shall he have love and peace.
"6 DEAR JUANA, —My bear is gone; now we can amuse ourselves under a free sky.  God be praised, I am free.  To
crown my felicity, my two grenadiers of daughters have gone
back to their boarding-school this mnorning.  Do you know,
it is not always agreeable to have by one's side, every where
one goes, two great registers of birth, plainly  declaring,
Mamma should be from  thirty to thirty-five.' I tell you,'
adds some charitable soul,' that she is thirty-seven. Calculate! She was married at twenty-four.' To cut short all suchl
assassins, I have cloistered these two misses,  It is a year




5,4    PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.
"The first use I shall make of my liberty is to read the
novel which has been the rage for six months. Miy husband
has excited in me an irresistible desire to know more of it,
from saying' I forbid you to read it-it is stupid and immoral.'
At length I shall read this book. I will tell you if it is as full
of points as they say.
"N ow or never, we can go to the little theatres-another
antipathy of my bear.
"Take a box for to-morrow, I beg you. We will go together
to see the Bohemians of Paris. I have read in a newspaper
that it is full of robbers, monsters, and kidnappers, that make
their victims disappear through trap-doors. Secure, by all
means, a stage-box.
"You asked me the other day, in an excess of bad-humor,
in what I made consist earthly happiness. I understood you,
my poor Juana. Happiness often consists, not in possessing
what we have not, but in ceasing to possess what we have.
Your happiness would be, perhaps, oh misery! in becoming a
widow. I do not say that you wish the death of your husband.
That is no more your wish than mine, although our positions
are so similar. But you and I can perceive the delight of being free with the experience we have acquired. How one
could respire with a full-drawn breath in escaping from the
prisons of the conjugal yoke, to enter into the paradise of widowhood! Widow! widow! that word breathes liberty! One
then can go where they wish, see whom they wish, go out
when they wish, and return when they wish. How charming!
Is not such a condition, for a woman, the happiest of all social
positions, dear Juana?
"Patience, sweet friend; in waiting, let us take all the
pleasure we can during the absence of my husband, an excellent man at bottom, and of whom I have nothing to complain, and the sicrkness of yours, who is tiresomely long in his




PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.           5
illness.,Say to himn a thousand amiable things on  my part.
Adieu. Don't forget the novel and the box at the theatre,
"4 Ta fidlele,                     LISXETTE."
The contrast between the staid recognition of street fiiends
in America, with the succession of deep and diversified salutations which precede a conversation in the public places of
Paris, is very striking to one accustomed only to the former,
or the angular, undignified elbow-jerk, or fingerl lifted to the
hat, which pass for bows among Anglo-Saxons.  The latter
might well, in view of the ceremonious pantomime of the Parisians, come to the same conclusion as did the Chevalier Marin three centuries since, that " in France all conversation conmmenced with a ballet."  It frequently does with a hug which
would do honor to Bruin, and a succession of kisses on each
cheek that explode like warm soda-water. It is a curiosity to
an American to see two huge Frenchmen, whiskered and mustached to an extent that would set up half a dozen Hungarian
refugees in face-hair, rush like two meteors, from  opposite
sides of the street, into each other's arms, kissing each other
with the rapidity of platoon firing on a field-day. As a gallant
man, he would consider it a shameful waste of the raw material, and think gratefully of his mamma, who taught him to
reserve all such demonstrations of affection for his sisters and
sweetheart.  If he wish to obtain a correct idea of the confusion of tongues at Babel before the confusion became confounded, let him stop and hear them talk. Of what use ears
are to an excited Frenchman naturalists have yet to discover.
At the same time, we would have them extend their investigations into the flexibility of a French tongue as compared
with an English organ of speech.  It would be curious to determine the exact difference between the two.
But to return to the flexibility of the back, or, in other words,




5'.   -tPAi.Rl:SIA  S!(XT3 AD )'.IENtI PNiRPINC.PLES-.
to the little street ballets of which we just spoke.?From the
diversities of style nll salutation we can learn not a little of the
history of Parisian society.  The profound, triplicate salutaltion, so difficult withal, and yet so gracefill, which M. Jourdain
in. vain labored to attain from his 1" maitre de danse," with its
exaggeration of compliment: 3"Beautiful marquise, your be-.vitching eyes make me die of love," has passed away with
the revolution of'93.  It was well it did, for it required the
agility and muscle of a rope-dancer to preserve at once one's
politeness and equilibrium.  AWre have, however, a series of
bows in the social ladder, from that of the Marshal of France
to the gamin of the quartier St. Antoine, worthy of the study
of a connoisseur of manners.  We have caught a few as they
passed on the side-walk, and transferred them to our menagerie of Sights and Principles
Here we have the bow AUDACIOUS: this is the fate of every
lady who has the courage to walk the streets; T=  E~~lm  ~of Paris unattended by
a gentleman. Not that
J  i    she need fear open in-__  __    sult or positive rude- -~     ness; but it is the universal experience  of
womankind in Paris, whether with or without pretensions to
youth and beauty, to receive in the street equivocal compliments from the male sex.  All this may seem, and is undoubtedly, very rude; nevertheless, it is very common.  The slightest notice would draw further attentioli from these experienced rou6s, while a correct and cool deportment is always
sure to command respect and forbearance when they discover
their mistake. They view the streets of Paris as the poacher
does the seignorial shooting-grounds-as a great game range,




NATURAL-STIFF,
PROUD-SAD.
GALLANT, AND NOT UNCOMMON.               UNQUIET —MISERABLE.
-NTU           NLTINNTCOTE.
GOOD-NATURETDINS LTINC'BFNrl'VOIENT-(,OLD-UMMILTATIN 7HUMBI.




58    PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.
in which they are willing to risk being shot for the sakve of
occasionally pocketing a bird.
While upon this topic, an anecdote charmingly illustrative
and delightfully piquant occurs to me. The lady was not handsome, middle-aged, a prude, yet prompted by vanity to construe as gallantry such attentions as fell in her way. As she
enjoyed the reputation of piety, she replied to her supposed
tempters by quotations from Holy Writ, and general axioms on
the beauty of virtue and naughtiness of vice. A gentleman,
who, by the way, was half crazy, but sane enough to appreciate
her weakness, wrote to her repeatedly, desiring an interview,
as he had something of importance to communicate. Her
waggish friends suggested that it Inust be a person of rank
desperately enamored of her. She accordingly planned at
once her revenge and deliverance from his amorous persecutions. Putting on her most attractive dress, she curled her
hair anew, and laid in fresh stock of moral precepts and irresistible arguments, taking care to have her friends in ambush
to witness her triumph.
Her visitor was announced, punctual to her appointment.
He was not less than sixty, and with a wandering eye that betokened an eccentric brain. "Madame," said he, abruptly,
"1 have a declaration to make to you. I wish to inform you
of something I deem necessary for you to know. Have the
goodness not to interrupt me, Madame, because I have come
here to render you a service. I have seen, ah! le diable! the
strange figures of valetudinarians, sick people, convalescent,
and the dying at the mineral waters. How drolly they dress
when they bathe; they have the most inconceivable headdresses and outrageous robes-"  "But, sir, what interest can
I take —"  "Madame, you are continually interrupting me.
Stop —you may believe me if you will, but 1 give you my word
that I have never seen any woman so singularly, and, permit




PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.    59
me to add, so badly dressed as you are."  "Leave me, sir: you
are a fool."  " Not at all, Madame; and I have come here to
counsel you not to coifure yourself, nor dress any more after
such a horrible manner. All the expense of your toilet is
money lost."  By this time Madame was speechless with rage
and mortification.  It required considerable address on the
part of her friends to persuade the critic to leave, which he at
last did, comforting her with the parting assurance that her
figure was too gross and common to have any pretensions to
elegance.




CHAPTER III.
THE BOULEVARDS AND BATHS OF PARIS.
TnH  Boulevards of Paris may be compared to the beautiful
setting of a valuable gem.  Along their circuitous course circulates the gay and brilliant life of this sparkling metropolis.
Not that these celebrated avenues are uniformly fashionable,
although uniformly broad and spacious, shaded with trees, and'bounded on either side by buildings whose architectural beauties might well excite the envy of less favored capitals. Commencing at the central point of attraction, the Madeleine, they. I
~i VA==
THE MADELEINE.
stretch away on their winding course around what constituted




PARISIAN SIGHTS AND 1;'IrENCH,-I PRINCTIPLES.    61
the city of the'" well-beloved"' Louis, at every turn baptized
anew with namres that have nLow grown classical, sweeping
over the site of the Bastile southerly, then westerly encircling
the Latin Quarter, the Luxernbourg, and the Faubourg St.
Germain, sidling by the Invalides until they are arrested by
the Seine and Champs ElysCes, which separate them from the
spot whence we started. Condensed within this circuit are
the extremes of all that makes life desirable or burdensome:
wealth that would astonish Croesus, luxury that'would have
driven Lucullus to despair, and misery sufficient to people hell
with woe. It is not of' the interior of this labyrinth of stone
and flesh that I would now write, for it would require more
works than Omar burned to record its history, but merely to
invite the reader to follow me in a hasty drive around that
portion of the Boulevards where he will find most to amuse
and bewilder. Failing as words must be to convey a daguerreotype sketch of this varied scene, I have pressed into
my service wherewithal to aid the reader's imagination and
supply my deficiency; for if there are some scenes in nature
whose beauty requires the aid of canvas to convey them to the
brain, there are others of stirring humanity so complex and
artificial as to equally baffle all verbal description.
Americans, fresh from New York, are prone to institute a
comparison, particularly in width, between Broadway and the
Boulevards. The former is certainly a very respectable avenue, fringed with many fine buildings, and as noisy, dirty, and
confused as -the most devoted Gothamite could desire.  Such
diversity in costume and show in equipage as republican sinmplicity or aristocratic taste admit, are to be seen here.  Female
beauty and vanity, and male coxcombry, have chosen it for
their favorite kingdom; rags and mendicity dog their steps
and haunt its corners. The shops are rich in display, but lacking in taste, and there is a universal hurry, roar of omnibuses,




tcw    PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES
rush of pedestrians, dust in dry weather, and mud in wet
weather, that makes the denizen of the Fifth Avenue or the
rural citizen as much rejoiced to escape from its whirl, as the
seaman of Norway from the perilous Maelstrom of his inhospitable coast. To saunter in Broadway is out of the question
A walk is but a succession of jostlings, elbow-chafings, or a
hoisting and contorting of the body, and active use of the nether
members to avoid collision, that leaves one, by the time he has
arrived at the Battery, very much under the impression that
he has been stretched upon the rack to test its excruciating
powers. A peep into a shop window is an invitation to a
pick-pocket; to cross the street requires as much skill as to
conduct " the retreat of the Ten Thousand;" and to get home
again, sound in wind and whole in purse, after having undergone the gauntlet of its innumerable perils, is as much a matter of devout thanksgiving as to escape being boiled, burned,
or drowned in a steam-boat trip up the Hudson. Broadway is
a plethora of metropolitan nuisances, and the C Xity Fathers will
find, at last, that there is but one remedy: either to double its
width, or to make a twin avenue, running parallel, and thus
divide its overloaded circulation.  Paris has effected this reform, in a much-needed quarter, at a cost of several millions
of dollars, in the elongation of the Rue de Rivoli, ruthlessly
cutting through the ldensest and most valuable property of the
city for this purpose.
The width of the Boulevards, double, and in places treble
that of Broadway, gives ample scope for the pedestrians. Besides, a Parisian crowd flows on as easily and noiselessly as
the current of a deep river, The doctrine of individual rights,
irrespective of sex, is scrupulously respected, and any physical
infringements promptly met by a courtesy that leaves behind
no more uncomfortable reminiscence than the politeness of
the unintentional aoggressor.  One can saunter on the Boule



PARIISIAN S1IlHT'S AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.    6be
yards.  They are the empire of the curious, the vain, the idler
of every fashionable class, and the E1l Dorado of shoppers.
Along its stone boundaries, ornate without, and so rich in all.
the luxuries of life within, are to be found the homes of every
taste, carnal or intellectual, and a devout Catholic might add
spiritual, if the sensual worship of the Madeleine can be classed under that head. W~ell do the Boulevards merit their fame.
Once the bulwark of Paris, they have now become its parterre
of fashion.  Along its Macadamized way, as smooth as a jointed floor, constantly watered and swept, and lined on either
side with shade-trees, roll noiselessly by thousands of gay equipages, brilliant with the wealth and beauty of the capital of
the world.  No clatter of iron-loaded trucks or unsightly piles
of merchandise jar inharmoniously upon the ear, or disfigure
its beautiful proportions. The scene is ever in keeping with
its purposes as the focus of Parisian life.  Morning and evening, regiments march by, preceded by bands from whose instruments swells a loud chorus of inspiring strains. The unrivaled airs of the Opera here greet the ear of this mingling tide
of nations. Embassadors and princes, the nobility and bankers of Europe, they to whom fortune has suddenly entered
their doors, to be as speedily thrown out of the windows, here
do congregate to exhibit their style, to outshine all competitors, and to levy the indispensable tribute of envy and eye-worship. Costume is not here confined, as in Broadway or Regent Street, to the same graceless hat and dull black cloth,
varied only in the first by the butterfly attire of the "' ladies"
of creation, and in the latter by their inextinguishable bad
taste, but comprises the flowing Arab robe, the stately Ottoman
turban, the decorations and uniforms of every order and army
in Europe, all that is strange or picturesque in provincial or
national garb, and all that is tasteful and charming in female
attire.  Here every fashion finds itself a home, intermingling




64.1    PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.
with the native grace of wild flowers and attractiveness of
cultivated plants in one bouquet of humanity-a peaceful congregation of nations for the cultivation of the lust of the eye
an.d pride of the heart.
The contrasts in the life of the Boulevards are as striking as
those of a human being.  They have their grave and gay moments, their chaste and licentious hours, their solitude and
their tumult.  At seven o'clock in the morning, all is silent.
The shops are shut, the very hackmen are dozing on their
boxes. A footstep resounds ominously on the pavement. By
eight o'clock a few carriages are in motion, porters begin to
stir, occasional workmen in blouses go merrily singing to their
toil.  At nine o'clock the sidewalks are washed and brushed,
shop-windows opened, the grisettes begin to appear, and an
occasional frock-coat, but evidently as much out of its element
as a fresh-caught flounder.  Even at ten o'clock Parisian
households are like so many oysters in their shells. At eleven, the world of business stirs; at mid-day, the Boulevards
breakfast, and the buyers begin to inspect the windows, and
tax the endurance of clerks.  From two to five the current of
life is in its apogee.  Humanity, well dressed and elaborately
adorned, is abroad to sun itself-to relieve its pent-up humors
by gazing upon the holiday expression of its neighbor man,
and to catch and reflect back the universal look of outer satisfaction. There is no despotic rule of cloth here. It is the
jubilee of fashions and the paradise of manners. All are at
their ease, and there are as many cuts to a coat and shapes to
a hat as there are fancies to their owners. Rigid toilets are
banished to the more pretending Champs Elysees.  Women,
"cornme il faut," shop, but never promenade on the Boulevards. Their finished elegance and graceful recognitions are
reserved for the more aristocratic crowd.
Later in the day., the restaurant and caf6 world are in the




PAtlSI AN S.IGHTS A IED..<  NCH)    PPRINCIPL. ES  Ge
ascendant. The diners are in rapid circulation, dividing their
attention and purses between the localities so firmly fixed in
-the gastronomic memory of every "' gourmet."  Cheap dinners
i'_!                               /   i.
are not to be had under the shadow of the "Maison Doree,"
that wilderness of gilding and bizarre finish, nor yet within
the Cafe Cardinal, of which the basement alone rents for forty




66    PARISIAN SIG(HTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPIES.
thousand francs.  ior thee -the more deramoratic shacies oft
the Palais Royal must be sought, shunning the Scylla of Very's
and the Trois Freres Provencaux, which have shipwrecked as
I,.*
-. f 
many purses as any other of their tribe in more brilliant localities. The dined now fill the chairs on the side-walks at
two sous each, in front of the Caf6 de Paris and other kindred




PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRIENCH PRINCIPLES.             67
quarters, sipping blackl coflfee and clear branldy, eatingl ices, or
drinking beer, gossiping and gazing in the intervals.  They
are soon joined by their families, women and children, as much
at home in the open air as any Englishman in his " castle."
Gas now adds its light to the brilliant scene, and reflectors
outside of the shop-windows pour their concentrated brilliancy
upon gems and jewels that rival any in store in Aladdin's
cave.  The Boulevards at night are in a blaze of light.  It is
then that they appear to the best advantage.  The world, having dined, has become good-natured. Every one is abroad for
pleasure. Opera and theatres are attracting their worshipers
in crowds.  Electrical lights lend their dubious brilliancy to
the varied spectacle, dancing upon street and wall the varied
hues of the rainbow, coloring every countenance with ghastly
blue, or shooting into the long distance a train of graduallydiminishing light, like the attenuated tail of a comet.
The "Maison du Grand
Balcon" is a fine speci-           i
men of modern Parisian 
architecture, which con mprises so great a variety 
of professions and profes-                             ino
sors under one roof. In
it are shops which leave                           n:o
nothing to be desired in             El
point of magnificenceapartments fit for a prince, 
bachelor, or grisette. ElrvAISON DU GRAND BALCON.
egance, refinement, virtue, poverty, and vice can each find a home, at its price, in one
of these habitations. Their external appearance is no criterion of what may be found within; the convenient neighborly
blindness, or indifference to individual acts, which pervades




PAItTISIAN SIGHTS AN)D FRENCH PRINCIPLES.
the French metropolis, so unlike the prying curiosity and personal interest of American and English society, leave as much
latitude of action, provided external decorum is not infringed
as the most isolated heart could desire.'~'3" -~' ~=:~~! 1.2' ~4:x'      X
g in slowly to decline.  The buildis are sti beautiful, but
d',:', II'~.... ~,i:i' -
I Ii  I',,!~,~,!'
gin slowly to decline. The buildings are still beautiful, but
r,liir     ri/;'iirl llI 




PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.    69
the foot-passengers indicate a gradual approach to the manufacturing regions of St. Antoine and the Jewish colonies of the
Temple. Here are congregated, in close proximity, the lowFj
0.
priced theatres, where, for a franc or less, the canaille indulge
their taste for spectacles, and their lungs in every variety of
noise that makes the drama hideous. They smoke, babies




70    PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.
scream, nurses jabber, nuts are cracked, fruit devoured, andi
from six o'clock until midnight, riot and happiness, under the
supervision of the gendarmes, pervade the scene. These theO,'
atres are the lyceums of the poorer classes, the schools of their
manners, the forum of their eloquence  in short, the all they
know of the world outside of their work-shops, except the elementary education of the dram-shop. Villainous corn brandy,'?'/!~':~~~~~~~~~~~i'/k~i.ii!i!.........-i,.
atr e  s    i ar  h   yeuso h   poe   lses  h  cooso hf
manners, the for~~~~~~~~      um of thireoenenshrheahy
know of te  world otsieo   hi oksos  xetteee
mentary education of the dram-shop. Villainous corn brandy,~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ill




PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.           71
and debasing theatricals, enter largely into the physical and
mental training of the lower orders.  Yet degradation among
them has not the repulsive, criminal aspect that it has among
the corresponding class of English society.  It does not extinguish self-respect.  Their vanity outlives every other sentimnent; and this, combined with their inexhaustible " bonhommie," makes them  the sensual, live-for-to-day race that we
find them.  They may be dirty, ragged, ferocious, or fanciful
in their exteriors-a race of " tigers pitted with the smallpox," or combining all the hideous ugliness of dress and person of Marat, yet over all is thrown that air of individual humor and importance that never forsakes a Parisian, and secures
for him, even in the lowest stage of existence, a medium position between the brutalized poverty of Ireland and the comfortable indigence of America.
The world of the Boulevards, which has become in this region somewhat vulgar, revives again somewhat as we approach the Column of July.  Still, it is a very different world
from that of the Boulevard de la Madeleine, although strictly
Parisian in every feature. It has lost its brilliancy, but has
acquired in its place an air of comfort and independence. It
is the Bowery versus Broadway.  Those catchalls of human
vanity, the magazine of the debris of fashion, luxury, arts, and
folly, the " brzc-c'-brac" shops, are numerous. We are in the
region of cheap rents and bargains. Fashion has not here invaded thrift and economy.  Her glitter is seen in the perspective, and her repudiated garments or prodigal spillings can be
had in this quarter for a song. A short walk and a moderate
sum will put one in possession of an apartment, regal in extent and decayed grandeur, in the very centre of the " courtend" of the Medicean queens, the Place Royal, now republicanized into the Place des Vosges.  For a neighbor he would
have the H(3tel de Carnavalet and all the charming associa



'72    PARISIAN SIGH-ITS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.
tions connected with the " esprit" and talent of Madame de
Sevigne, who here reigned sovereign of wit and refinement,
and composed those letters which have immortalized her
I ii                   __
I'jl
name.  Beyond the Seine the Boulevards maintain their
width, their trees, their stateliness, and majesty. But it is no
longer the majesty of Paris. It is the reig'n of the country:




PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.    73
quiet, shady avenues, removed from the turmoil and excitement of the city, yet keeping in view NoItre Dame, the Garden
of Plants, the Wine-narket, in which there is liquor enough
stowed to float a navy, the Quaker-like Ile Saint Louis, that
city of the sick and insane, the " SalpetriBre," that grandiloquent mass of stone and mortar, the Pantheon, and terininating at the tomb of Napoleon and the home of his veterans.
The historical associations of the Boulevards are of a recent
date and comparative insignificance. Fieschi has given an
assassin's celebrity to the house No. 50, on the Boulevard du
Temple, and in that of the Capucines we gaze with mournfull
interest upon the hotel once occupied by Madame du Barri.
It was here, while on her way to execution, that she asked the
driver of the fatal cart to pause for a moment, that she might
once more view that beautiful monument of her pride and her
shame.  While Death was counting the few remaining moments of her life, she was looking regretfully back upon the
deceptive pleasures of her sensuous career. How many there
are of her sex at the present hour who barter virtue for still
more ephemeral luxury, passing daily, in their brilliant equipages, this house, which, if they ever bestowed a thought upon
its former occupant, might become to them at once a lesson
and a warning! To complete the moral, the cart which conveyed her to the scafibld should crown its gateway, with her
last despairing cry for life, as she struggled in the executioner's hands, inscribed upon its frame.
The Boulevards are a panorama only of n-odern Paris. To
see at one glance the past with the present, we must turn to
the banks of the Seine. It is here that are most powerfully
realized the pulsations of the strong heart of this mural monster, with its condensation of life and death.  The past stares
upon us from the towers of N8tre Dame, looks up from the
D




74     PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.
dungeons of the Conciergerie, gazes askant from the bloodsoaked pavement of the Place de Greve, charitably opens the
doors of the Hotel Dieu, and, with mingled shame and pride,
displays the Louvre, Tuileries, and the Hotel de Ville. The
present rejoices in its magnificent quays, crowded on either
side with noble specimens of architecture, rich in the accumulated learning and science of ages. The abode of the saintly
Louis, now the Palace of Justice, the Holy Chapel, with its
medieval treasures and saintly relics, the venerable Institute,
and a long line of palaces, overshadow the waters of the Seine.
Here, too, are the relies of olden time-quaint old houses, whose
roofs sheltered the partisans of the Fronde.  A motley and
curious blending of what has become and is to be history
does the Seine present. It is as if Time had swept into one
heap the living and the dead. The current of the former runs
healthy and strong. Unlike the Boulevards, it is not simply a
sparkling, playful stream, on the bosom of which one can with
equal ease leisurely float or quickly glide, but a deep, dense,
full current of working life, hurrying rapidly on to its destiny.
Those who seek its quays are baited by an object. Men do
not come here to lounge, nor women for display. They avoid
it until necessity, or with them equally imperious pleasure,
draws them into its vortex. Yet in no part of Paris is the living world more full of variety and interest. The noble bridges
that at short intervals span the Seine afford from their parapets far more interesting sights than those of the Thames.
There, every thing must be seen through an atmosphere of coaldust: a muddy river and muddier bed; dingy buildings; black,
graceless steamers; a black forest of masts; huge columns of
black smoke pouring incessantly upward from  spectre-like
chimneys; black coats and black hats-every thing dark, heavy,
and gloomy. A pall seems spread over the public edifices, and
suspended in the air.  One glance shows the Thames in all its




PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.             75
unpicturesque monotony, as it has been, is, and ever will be
while London sky continues to be a solution of fog and smoke.
Not so on the Seine.  Its sun is a bright, gladdening sun.
Under its influence, its banks grow gay with life and light.. Its
prospects are ever changing and attractive. The stone embankments confine its bed to a deep, strong stream, leaving no
7 - 
VIEW FROM THE QUAY OF THE LOUVRE
margin for mud, or the ordinary nuisances of a river intersecting a city.  Where space permits, trees, grass, and flowers
flourish, contrasting sweetly with the gray stone about them.
The atmosphere is brilliantly clear. The landings are scrupulously neat. Every species of merchandise and marketing has
its distinct place.  The batteaux, miniature steamers, boats,




76     PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.
and rafts, seem all to be arranged for a picturesque effect.
There is no crowding.  Each has ample space, and the whole
form a river-scene unexcelled in its artificial accompaniments
by the hand of man elsewhere.
The Parisian loves the Seine as the Venetian loves the Adriatic and the Hollander his dikes and marshes.  The poor Lutece, which gave birth to the present city, was two thousand
years since but a miserable hamlet of fishermen. A petty
tribe of savages gained a scanty subsistence from what was
then a thick forest or treacherous morass. The aquatic taste
and origin of the founder of Paris are perpetuated in the
present arms of the city, a vessel under sail, and on the collars
of the municipal police will be found embroidered this craft
as a distinctive badge.  ~What the codfish is to Massachusetts, the Seine is to Paris-the source and emblem of its prosperity.  Its waters sustain the living and receive the despairing. Deprive Parisians of charcoal and the Seine. and suicide
would be at a loss for a weapon. It supplies Paris with drinking water-a fluid, however, not much in request, The sewers discharge their filthy currents into its stream, yet the
washerwomen hesitate not to moor their mammoth establishments in close proximity to these subterranean outlets, and
X-'i                               —,7 -'ASHING ESTABLISTHMENT.




PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.              7r
contrive to return linen of unimpeachable purity.  Some of
these floating wash-tubs are vast, airy, and constructed in very
agreeable shapes, like the mosques of the Bosphorus, or are
prettily painted, and surmounted with a drying-room, shut in
by trellis-work, after the Oriental style.:-But what strikes
-,  1'.:1 ~- SL __ --          the  stranger  with
____   greatest surprise, in:    view of the scavenn —e'~~   -' lii ilger duties  of the
Seine, is the number, beauty, and extent of the bathing-________________:houses  along  its
PARISIAN BATHING-HOUSE.        banks.  They merit
more than a passing notice.
Commencing with those of the miost humble description,
where, fox four sous, the bather has the liberty only of a plunge
BATHS FOR FOUR SOUS.
into the dubious stream, towels, drawers, and soap extra, but
rarely called for, they gradually increase in elegance and price
until they leave nothing more to be desired in this species of
luxury. Monsieur, selecting his "cabinet,'" ensconces himself




78    PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.
in the depths of the bathing-tub, not simply for a bath, but to
take his snufl; read, and doze for the hour together.  I-le makes,,..I: j i:   J
II   j: j r I:/....ly 
BATHING AT EASE.
and remakes his bath, nicely graduating the temperature to
his varying and delightful sensations.  But his happiness
would be incomplete if he could not bestow upon a neighbor,
at his option, any sudden overflowv of volubility.  Consequently, at the head of every tub there is arranged a slide in the
partition, opening into the adjoining room. By pushing this
back he is able to communicate his thoughts and exhibit his
profile to his similarly engaged neighbor. He finds even this
social arrangement frequently too restricted for his notions of
the perfect enjoyment of a bath, and has devised double-tu.bbed
cabinets, upon the principle of our double-bedded hotel rooms,
where he can have the sympathizing society of his friend.
The first bathing-house I saw on this plan was in London.
Upon expressing my surprise, the proprietor assured me that
he had so arranged them for the convenience of Frenchmen,
who preferred bathing in couples. Hlaving since seen so many
operations of the toilet and matters of private or domestic econ



tPARISIAN SIGHTS.A ND IFRENCH PRINCIPLES.    79
omy performed openly in the public places of Paris, I have
ceased to be astonished at even this predilection.  Indeed, I
have come to the conclusion that a Frenchman believes it impossible for him to appear at disadvantage under any circumstances connected with his physical self; or else the gregarious instinct, as with certain animals, is stronger within him
than what are considered by his neighbors over the Channel
among the proprieties of life.
The swirmmino-schools for both sexes are upon a scale of
i_        /  I!  / 




SO     PARISITAN SIG1HTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.
grandeur and luxury in no whit behind the baths.  The art of
living is a very comprehensive branch of Parisian knowledge.
Every sensual gratification is refined upon to its fullest extent.
Life is a struggle to extract and elaborate pleasure from every
object perceptible to the senses, so that to know how to live
lhas, in the estimation of a Parisian, attained the dignity of an
art. He is right so far as the innocent gratifications of the
varied capacities of enjoyment bestowed upon man by a beneficent Creator are concerned.  It is right that we should
study to cultivate, refine, and multiply our sources of pleasure.
It becomes criminal, however, when the physical supplants the
spiritual, and happiness is made to consist in a succession of
physical excitements or sensual extravagances, by which the
constitution is gradually undermined, the mental sensibility
blunted, and moral discrimination destroyed.  Frenchmen,
however, understand too well the physical economy to exhaust
life. They carefully conserve it, that it may be to them an unfailing source of enjoyment to the last. The great age in general attained by their aristocracy, though submerged, as it were,
in a sea of luxury, attests this fact. We would not deny them
either the existence of a higher principle in this prolonged
conservation of health than the mere training of the system
to preserve its tone and power for physical enjoyment. Still,
no one can penetrate life at Paris without a painful consciousness that its idols are those of the flesh and not of the spiritexternal gratification rather than inward peace.  The enjoyment of life is imbibed. It is strong upon the surface, but
-weaker as it penetrates the interior.  Instead of radiating from
the heart, it is received upon the skin. Antiquity has no ecstasy to bequeath to it.  Even Orientalism can borrow from its
voluptuous stores. It repudiates the barbarous vices of paganism, but revels in the softer and more seductive charms of
modern atheism, practically denying eternity, that it may wor



PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.    81
ship only time. Paris extorts from every American and Englishman the inconsistent sentiment that, while they love to
live amid its delights, yet they would regret to have their native cities resemble it.
But I am forgetting the more amusing pictures of life and
manners in these swimming-schools. The early morning hours
are occupied by those who come simply for the love of the art.
They swim, eat a modest breakfast, and depart.  Succeeding
them, toward noon, are the Sardanapaluses and the Balthazars
of the school, the gross citizens who come less to bathe than
to breakfast. The water is nearly deserted. The fumes of
punch, and coffee, and cigars fill the atmosphere. The ear is
stunned with the explosion of Champagne corks, and the cries
" Garcon, my beefsteak   QOuick with my chicken saute."
"Voil'! voil'!"  After breakfast, a lounge or siesta upon the
floor or benches.  Some go to the swimming-school as they
would to a masked ball, eccentrically clad, or rather wrapped,
as Arabs, Turks, Greeks, or Poles.
The caf6 of the swimming-school, of which the " comptoir"
is always kept by a woman-in some instances the " garqons"
are women also-is filled with an eating, drinking, and smoking nude crowd. Cold water is a famous stomachic. One
would suppose, from the specimens of the human figure here
exhibited, that these " dames" would forthwith bury themselves deep in the recesses of the remotest convent, that such
apparitions might never more greet their view.  Grog, absynth, Madeira, and cigars are called for with furious haste.
At six o'clock the lions deliver themselves into the hands
ef their hair-dressers and corn-cutters, preparatory to their
conquests upon the Boulevards and Champs Elysees, and to
dine long and sumptuously at Vefour's, the Trois Freres Provengaux, or the Maison Doree. The aquatic taste of some of
the bathers changes frequently the caf6 of the school into a resD2




PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPTLES.
taurant, and they remain
here to dine, gazing withI II ilI'~     out constraint, in  their
IN;"i~      simple costume of drawe rs, upon the  animated
cene before them.  Witco  ie
ii litS the thermometer at 900 in'coiffed  the shade, one can readily
real b conceive the charm  of
relinquishing  broadcloth
for the scanty garb of a
PREPARATION FOR CONQUEST.
Tahitian, relieving the tedium of a dinner, and stimulating the appetite by an occasional plunge into the cool river.
The women have also their baths at four sous, at which, be
it observed to their credit, on their own testimony, however,
they preserve an exterior decency not to be seen in the corresponding class of bathing-houses among the males. The female bathing-costume is much the same as that in use at Newport and Cape May. Occasionally  are  added'             i     Kii
ruffled night-caps and                             i i
coiffed hair, which are
said to have, as can
readily be  conceived,
a horrible effect.  The  i 
most coquettish embroi- 
in different colors, and   ~ " 
wear in the water their  i::/;,      i         \
bracelets and necklaces.  The advantage of
costume, as compared                 EN COSTUME




PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPI,ES.           83
with the male bathers, is
decidedly with the female,
though even among them n
it must be ungallantly confessed, that the modiste's               -     - -
art performs wonders. The
caf6 scenes of the male schools are not rivaled in the female.
Whatever  emulation exists of this
nature is confined to the heroines
of gallantry and opulent pleasure,
id who hold their bacchanal revels
apart. As I have lifted the veil
from  the male bathers, impartial
V% |  -,   justice requires at my hands the
same toward  the female.  Voici!
As on the pavement, beauty, grace,
= and harmony mingle with age, obey.__:_:sity, and ugliness-the most delicious
-   with the most grotesque and amusREADY FoR THE PLUNGE.   *.
ing image.  Forgive me, shade of
Mohammed! But'tis true, and pity —tis true.




CHAPTER IV.
SOCIETY AND SHOPPING.
So susceptible were the Athenians to the influences of material beauty, and the subtle intoxication of the senses, that it
is said their judges listened only to the pleadings of certain
orators in the dark, for fear that their judgments should be
biased by the more powerful eloquence of their extreme comeliness, made doubly effective by the winning artifices of the acconiplished speakers. This may readily be credited of the court
that turned aside justice at the artful exl ose of the charms of a
courtesan. The Greeks were indeed a race prone to the liveliest emotions. Specious eloquence easily swayed or excited
them, under the shadows of those glorious forms of architectural and statuesque beauty upon which the world, for more
than two thousand years, has placed the verdict of perfection,
while transmitting them to posterity under the honorable appellation of Grecian Art. The mantle of their sympathy with
that beauty that appeals so powerfully to the physical and intellectual, creating from each a species of worship, has fallen,
in these times, upon Frenchmen. Greece only, of the nations
of antiquity, was able to give birth to those brilliant combinations of beauty, grace, and wit, which enthralled alike the
philosophy of Socrates and the statesmanship of Pericles, and
made the wisdom and talent of that nation more submissive to
the caprices of a harlot than to the virtues of a wife. Lais
and Aspasia have left names as imperishable as the genius
of the people whose society they adorned, but whose morals




PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.    85
they corrupted.  France alone, of modern nations, has developed a kindred class of women. Ninon de i'Enclos and Marion
Delorme inherited alike the accomplishments and vices of their
Grecian sisters, and it is only in French history or the annals
of Greece that such reputations could have achieved immortality.  Their beauty would have found worshipers every
where, but their intellectual fascinations and epicurean refinements of corruption would have failed elsewhere to make them
the queens of submissive coteries of wealth, rank, and talent.
Rome, true to its solitary instinct of force, was capable of adding a Julia or Messalina to its coarse and repulsive career of
debauchery, while the merry monarch of modern England was
compelled to borrow from Paris the female name that most
graced and disgraced the orgies of his reign.  WAe would as
soon look for the tropic bird in the sea of Okotsk as for a Diana de Poitiers in the snows of Russia.  The loves of her
women are nearer allied to Roman lust than Parisian grace.
Edinburgh and Boston dispute the title of modern Athens, but
it is in literature and philosophy alone; while Paris, in every
feature that constitutes a proud, gay, intellectual, and magnificent capital, and, above all, in the skeptical, pleasure-loving,
beauty-worshiping, sensuous character of its population, can
justly assert its pre-eminence in all those qualities that have
made the metropolis of Attica celebrated through all time.
This affinity between the inhabitants of these two cities is not
a discovery of the present century; it was noticed by the
sharp-witted philosophers of the last.  But they failed to observe one feature in which the women of Paris can happily
claim a proud distinction. This they owe to the spiritualizing
doctrines of Christianity.  If their sex have illustrated the
brilliant union of mere beauty with intellect, they have also
produced characters, of equal attractions in these points, guided by the maxims of a purer morality than Greece ever knew,




86:PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.
and subjected to the severer discipline of Christian truth.
Paris can rival Athens in all that made her women the companions of her men; but the glory of Athens rose and set too
soon to allow her to receive the only doctrine which had power to purify it, and render it permanent.
Women, then, possessing education, beauty, and wit, maintain an empire in Paris unequaled elsewhere in extent and influence; but it is not a power which abides because once possessed. To maintain its conquests, unremitting care is required.
Woman reigns supreme, but her supremacy depends upon her
legitimate attractions. The beauty of a French woman is
not so strongly characteristic as that of an English woman,
German, Italian, or Spanish. It may, but rarely does, possess the delicacy of the American, although it often combines
the clear complexion, dark hair, and piercing or soft blue eyes
of the others.  It is more of a mosaic than that of other countries.  But its strength lies rather in her " esprit;" this is
never extinguished. Some women drop their beauty as they
do a garment-all at once; from being superb they become
hideous. Others lose it by degrees, and gracefully fall back
from embonpoint to their hair, from hair to teeth; these gone,
the brilliant, speaking eyes remain, conserving still all their
triumphs. As they lose their lustre, and the figure its elasticity, most women withdraw from society, as being too dilapidated to add to its attractions, or receive fiom it enjoyment.
Not so with French ladies.  They skillfully conceal the assaults of time by the arts of the toilet, and retain their power,
and, if possible, become more attractive, by their inexhaustible " esprit," into the " spirituel" depths of which they plunge
as into a fountain of youth. The respect and attention paid
to age is delightful to witness. Society is not made up merely
of thoughtless youth, whose highest aim is amusement, but
parents take the lead, and children are content to follow their




PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRIINCIPLES.            87
A CHARMER AT SIXTY.
guidance. The art of conversation, as well as that of dancing,
is cultivated, and soirees and receptions give scope to more
elevating exchange of thoughts than mere gossip or chit-chat.
It requires intellectual effort to maintain a good footing in Parisian society. One must know something, or be a lion, however small. Grace of figure and skill of legs are not the only
needful accomplishments. Society in which the souvenirs of
Mlle. de la Fayette, Madames Sevigne and Recamier are cherished, and a long list of names of either sex, illustrious in all
that makes a drawing-room brilliant and attractive, is not content with the trite and commonplace. The past must be ransacked for its stores of wit, and the future anticipated in its
progress.  Who, then, is so well fitted to shine in Parisian so



88    PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.
ciety as an experienced, intelligent woman? So long as she
can enter a drawing-room, she never grows old; her memory
becomes a treasury of anecdotes for the young, of wisdom for
adults.  Like Madame de la Crdquy, at ninety-six years of
age, she can at once retain the respectful admiration and gallantry of the Emperor Napoleon and the afsection and respect
of youth. It has been truly said that every statesman, artist,
poet-in short, every man who has not passed some years in
the intimacy of old Parisian women, has failed in his education
of the world. Sooner or later, his life will resent this wrong.
The secret of their great superiority-so says Leon Gozlan,
and I believe him-is easily explained. As they grow old,
~they preserve the delicacy of the woman, and acquire the
good sense of a man. As the wine of which Homer speaks,
they become honey by the virtue of their years. Living by
reason alone, they are dead to the passions. No one deceives
them; why should they?  There is no longer call for coquetry, or any thing to gain by flattery. The solid charms of reason and wisdom gather about them a continual harvest of respect and attention. But this could not be, had she not prepared herself to be the guide, companion, and counselor of the
young- a preparation not to be made by the weak instincts of
American mothers, which banish them  from society to the
kitchen or nursery, leaving their sons and daughters, in all
their inexperience and youthful ardor, to the unrestrained indulgence of their vanities and unfledged emotions, in the pernicious atmosphere of our juvenile ball-rooms. Let us have
innocence and beauty at our social gatherings, but let them be
chaperoned by parental care and experience.  So shall society
in America be redeemed from its frivolity to the higher purposes of intellectual entertainment, and parents and children
have less reason to complain of mutual neglect.
I am aware that there is another phase to Parisian society




PARISIAN SIG.HTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.    89
— one, if you please, of heartlessness and hypocrisy. But in
these respects, is it worse than fashionable life every where?
Parisian society is a firmament of worlds, each revolving in
its own sphere.  Pleasure and interest are the grand magnets
of attraction in all. Balzac says there are reunions, but no
society, at Paris. Perhaps he is right; but nowhere is there
more enjoyment for the stranger. Provided he is properly
presented, he can have a wide and varied circle of entrees.
Once admitted, he is always at home.  Introductions are un.0 i           i
17 -iii ~ ~ ~ ~   ~     ~     ~     ~~:ii
AT HIOME,
necessary. It is not always necessary to know the host or
hostess. One can enter or leave at his option-French leaves
have become proverbial.  They are convenient, certainly, to
both parties. In this sort of " monde"-for at Paris Madame
receives-her " world,," if her callers be fewer in number than
the satellites of Jupiter-tastes only are consulted in forming
acquaintances.  Within the walls of the salon the world assemble as friends, but part as strangers. " Egalite and fraternite" reign there in their true social sense, restrained only by
sufficient courtesy to fuse all present into one " party of pleas



t}   YPARISIAN SIG-HTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.
ure." Your arm may encircle in the waltz the fairest waist
in the room, and the tresses of the fairest hair droop languishingly on your shoulder; the tips of' those delicate fingers may
tremble within your own, but this does not authorize you to
know Madame de      - on the Boulevards, unless with her
permission.  The men of fashion fly from one salon to another
on the same night-at home with every one —dancing here,
conversing there, music at one, whist at another; but once in
the street, and their memory of all but their associates is at
once steeped in Lethe.  And this is as it should be. While
in society, each contributes his individual quota to the general
enjoyment;  while out, resuming his individual liberty and retirement. How awkwardly is this managed in the United
States, where an introduction must follow every casual encounter, and mortal offense be taken at subsequent neglects,
or forgetfulness of names which no memory of less capacity
than a Biographical Dictionary can possibly retain. With a
surplus of political freedom, there is less social liberty among
Americans than any other nation.
Paris is pre-eminently the city of shopping. An entire nation caters to the vagaries of taste of a world, and this capital
has become the grand magazine where centres every commodity luxury or necessity can devise. I can not, in conscience,
add comfort, as this essential ingredient of human happiness,
in the domestic Anglo-Saxon sense, is but imperfectly understood. It follows, then, that if shopping has attained the dignity of a passion with the fairer portion of humanity, as no
husband, I opine, will be inclined to dispute, the shop-keeper's
duties have equally bloomed into an art; a truth no wife will
gainsay whose experience has been gained in this quarter.
Napoleon reproached the English with being a nation of shopkeepers, and the eagerness of their descendants in the pursuit




PARISIAN SIGHC-TS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.    931
of the dust or dollar has passed into a proverb throughout the
world.  But with either nation it is accompanied by an energy of purpose and general integrity that raises their mercantile character far above that of France.  The love of the dollar there is quite as strong and universal, and the modes of
securing it more diversified and ruinous to the conscience than
in England or the United States.  In love, success has been,
since creation, the first article of Cupid's creed, and " all's fair
in war" is an axiom  common to every belligerent.  To best
describe the general trading character of France, I should fuse
-these two principles into one sentiment.  So universal is this
feeling of distrust and expectation of being defrauded, that it
has resulted in the establishment of " shops of confidence," as
exceptions to the universal rule. Some are all they pretend
to be, while others have adopted the title, as many hypocrites
profess religion, as so much additional capital of character.
Travelers complain of the extortions of the Bedouins of the
Desert, but they have far more reason to complain of the publicans and tradespeople of Paris, although in most instances
the fleecing is so adroitly disguised by complimentary false
words or lies of interest, that the particular operative is perceived only in the general depletion of the purse.  Parisians
themselves bewail the general corruption of their trading countrymen, and propensity to (deceive strangers, as a short-sighted
policy, by no means conducive to the true prosperity of their
city.  It is a sad truth that the standard of mercantile honor
among the class referred to is lamentably low.  In purchasing
articles with the intention of sending them to the UJnited
States, I have, with scarcely an exception, been asked by the
sellers if I did not wish a false invoice made out for the custom-house.  This sort of cheating seems to be expected as a
matter of course.
But that which foreign ladies are called upon to experience




92    PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.
is of a different character, and requires a combination of art
and talent which leaves far in the rear the " cuteness" of the
Yankee. The character of the customer is known the moment
her foot enters the shop door.  Her purse, desires, fantasies,
weaknesses, and intentions are generally read at once by the
experienced caterer to the wants and vanities of female life.
If not read, they are decoyed on until the desired knowledge
is extracted. A lady may enter, presuming she has sense,
tastes, and opinions of her own, and, ten to one, she leaves
doubly fortified in this opinion, while the flattery and deceitful eloquence of the clerk has, in reality, been her only guide
in purchasing twofold more than she originally intended.
A rich English or American woman is the most desirable
game for these Talleyrands
of the counter.  Balzac
delightfully hits off the
purse-bred  nonchalance
~~-clfaaie   ggtand  counterfeit phlegm
ti<i    of the one, and the di-.~':,,"i!  plomacy of the other, in a
~~, ii~i~      sketch which is so true to
-.:.~,, a ~~rlife that I can not better
I illustrate this species of
"li What sum dots MixThe clerk approaches her:
"Does Madame wish an
-" x  /j  ~ India or French shawl?
high price or-"
A PARIs SALESMAN.         " I will look at them."
"What sum does Madame consecrate to the purchase?"




PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENTCH PRINCIPLES.            93
"I will look at them," coldly scanning the clerk through
her glass.
"Here are our finest qualities in red, blue, and orange.
These are ten thousand francs.  Here are some at three and
five thousand."
The English woman examines them with indifference. " You
lhave others?"
" Yes, Madame; but perhaps Madame has not yet decided
to take a shawl?"
" Oh, very decided."
The clerk disappears, and quickly returns with shawls of an
inferior price. " These," says he, displaying them with great
care and solemnity, at the same time giving an almost imperceptible but significant glance at his fellow-clerks, " these have
not yet been displayed. They were brought by couriers directly from the manufacturers of Lahore."'
" Ah! I understand.  These suit me better.  What is the
price of this one in blue?"
" Seven thousand francs."
She puts it on, looks at herself in the glass, returns it, simply remarking, " I do not like it."  Half an hour passes in similar fruitless essays.
"W VVe have nothing more, Madame," says the clerk, looking
at the head of the establishment.
"Madame is difficult, as are all persons of true taste," remarks the chief, as he advances toward her with all the graces
of the shop concentrated in his manner. "I have still one
shawl which has never been shown.  No one has found it to;
their taste; it is very bizarre, and this very morning I proposed to give it to my wife.  We have had it since 1805.  It
belonged to the Empress Josephine."
"Let me see it, sir."
"Go and fetch it," orders the chief to his clerk.  "It is at
my house.."




94    PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES
"I shall be very glad to see it,9' remarks the English womnan.
"It cost sixty thousand francs in Turkey, Madame."
"Indeed!"
"It is one of the seven shawls sent by Selim, before his
catastrophe, to the Emperor Napoleon.  The Empress Josephine, a Creole, as my lady knows, and very capricious, exchanged it for one brought here by the Turkish ernbassador,
and purchased by my predecessor. I have never found a price
for it, for in France our women are not rich enough. It is not
so in England. Here it is, Madame."
The chief opens, with a little key, a square cedar box, the simple form of which makes a profouud impression upon the lady.
From this box, neatly folded up in black satin, he produces a
shawl worth about fifteen hundred francs, yellow as gold, with
black designs, of most extraordinary ugliness and oddity.
"Splendid!" exclaims the lady; "it is truly beautiful.  It
is my very ideal of a shawl."
"6 The Emperor Napoleon admired it greatly."
"It is very beautiful, fine, sweet!" exclaims the English
woman, as the chief artfully and gracefully assists her to try
it on. "Have you another?"
"I have one very fine," tranquilly replies the chief.  "It
came to me from a Russian princess, the Princess Narzikofi
who left it in payment for furnishings for her house. If Madame wishes to see it, she will find it a marvel of beauty. It
is entirely new —has not been unpacked.  There is not its
equal in Paris."
" I wish much to examine it."
It is produced with even more mystery than the other, and
the two shawls, worth three thousand francs, are sold for six
thousand. The chief quietly selects another from his stock of
old ones, to play anew the rgle of the Selim shawl in the cedar
box, and patiently awaits the next English amateur of shawls.




CHAPTER'V.
THF~ GRISETr'tES OF PARIS.
WrHo has not heard of the Parisian grisette?  Yet who can
correctly describe her?  She is as distinctive a feature of its
civilization as is slavery of our Southern States.  Without
childhood or age, whence comes she, and whither does she go?
We always see her, as the bee, busily gathering honey for her
little hive, or like the moth, scorching her wings in the flame
that is destined, before long, to consume her. Sterne would
have us believe that she is pretty, but there is a vast difference
between a beautiful woman and a pretty grisette. The former
may imitate the grisette, but the grisette can never become
the fine woman. She must live and disappear a grisette. I
do not say that she is born one, for I fancy her origin can, in
general, be traced to those state nurseries, the foundling hospitals, and her disappearance into —God knows what; but I
am fearful that the hospitals can disclose a fearful tale, and
the river record many a fatal leap. Those who survive these
dangers subside sometimes into delving matrimony, but oftener
into that class of laborious, repulsive-looking females, who eke
out a wretched existence in the highways and byways of Paris.
But it is only of the grisette proper that I would speak, without
whom the Quartier Latin, Chaumiere, and the modiste's shop
would equally be blanks, and the student's life a dull level of
dry study. My fair readers must not suppose that I am introducing to their notice an entirely unworthy class of their sex.
Far from it.  Their faults are more the result of their misfor



9(6     IPARISIAN  SIGHTS AND FRENCH  PRINCIPLES.
All
i~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~',(: i/! - i t:~
ii
~_,.:........._.
THE GR1SETTE.




PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.           97
tunes than their depravity. They are the peculiar growth of
Paris, and are no more to be blamed for their existence than
the wild flowers that bloom but to (lie in the swamp or desert.
Wiould you censure them because they have known no homes,
or have been cradled only in a hospital, to be thrust in all their
young beauty upon the world as soon as their fingers can earn
the scanty measure of wine and bread that they call food?
If, then, this be their destiny, is it surprising that the epheineral constancy of a student or clerk should be to them domestic
bliss, or the excitement of the dance and revel fill hours which
would otherwise be heavy with despair? Even in their unsanctioned ties they have often solaced many a heart and sustained many a head that have later in life won honor for themselves and credit for their nation.  Judge them, then, not too
harshly. If their faults outweigh yours, it is not so certain but
that their virtues may also. At all events, hear before you
strike.
The dress of a grisette is an indescribable mixture of careless neatness, perfectly charming in the tout ensemble, modestly displaying the advantages of a good, or skillfully concealing the defects of a bad figure. Their bonnets, when they
mount them, are coquettish morsels of pasteboard, covered
with some fanciful stuff, and jauntily fitting on the back of
their heads, leaving the sides and front exposed. Their prettiness is in their easy air of well-bred assurance and laughing
features rather than in any regular pretensions to beauty. The
privations of their eccentric existence are opposed to much
true delicacy of outline. Their male friends estimate their
virtues in the ratio of their fidelity, good figure, graceful dancing, and ability to withstand tobacco smoke.  I can not better
picture the class than by giving a few episodes of their usual
lives.
Nanette and Fidele, two belles in their way, are at a stuE




98    PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.
dents' supper. It is long and gay, The earnings and allowance of months are exhausted in as many hours. The messieurs commence with filling the chamber with smoke, in
which operation Nanette assists. Fidele proposes to relate
P.....
an adventure. Her intention is applauded, and silence succeeds the noisy chat.
"You know my two friends, Blanchette and Rougette.




PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.    99
Well, we three went to the Odeon the other night to see the
new tragedy. Rougette had just inherited from her grandmother four hundred francs, which made us all feel like so
many Rothschilds —I mean as rich. We took a pit box.
Three students were in the parterre, who took it into their
heads to invite us to supper, under the pretext that we were
alone; so, without staying out the piece, we adjourned to Viot's with our unknown cavaliers. The garqon at first insisted
that they had nothing, doubtful, I suppose, of the depth of our
purse; but Rougette, who knew his ways, took the pen and
ordered a regular marriage supper. Our self-made beaux made
a slight face at this, but could not object with decency, you
know.
" It was soon brought on-a supper good enough for a bride
from St. Germain. We then commenced to play the fastidious
ladies. Nothing was good. Hardly was one dish brought be-:fore we sent it back and ordered another.'Boy, take away
this it is intolerable. Where have you learned to make such
horrors?' Ortolans fared no better than omelets. Our unknown friends wished to eat, but we were too dainty to allow
them time for that. Briefly, we grew uproarious, and smashed a lot of the dishes.
"Our fun was now at its height. We could hear our three
gallants whispering to each other to know how they were to
pay for our follies. One had but six francs, another still less,
and the third only his watch, which he generously drew from
his pocket. Their only remedy seemed to be to leave us in
pledge. After the sample we had given of our habits, Viot
would have been glad to escape such security. In this state
of mind, they presented themselves at the bar to negotiate
some delay. What do you think they replied to them?"
"We can't say, with such treacherous guests as you to provide for."




100    PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.
"I will tell you.  Rougette, before entering the cabinet,
had paid all in advance.  Imagine, then, their surprise at the
answer of Viot,' Sirs, it is paid.' Our three unknown friends
looked at us as three dogs regard three bishops, with a piteous
stupefaction that was perfectly delightful.  Feigning not to
notice it, we left the restaurant and ordered a carriage.'My
dear Marquise,' said Rougette to me,'we must conduct these
gentlemen home.''Willingly, my dear Countess,' I replied.
They declined, but we were inexorable. They refused to give
their address, but we knew that they lived in the street of the'cat that fishes.' Escorting them to their lodgings, we wished
them good-night, firmly believing that they were intrigued by
women of fashion."
Thus, for the pleasure of mystifying three green students,
Rougette threw away in one night a sum sufficient to have
supported her for six months.
A few days after, Rougette, deserted by a wealthy lover, reduced to despair, and weak from long fasting, threw herself
from the Pont Noeufinto the river.  She was hauled out by the
heels by some boatmen, her only exclamation being, as she
came to, that they had scraped her face against the edge of
their boat. Another of her class looked curiously on from the
quay, audibly moralizing after this fashion: "And there are
some women foolish enough to drown themselves for a man!
Pshaw! a man-a thing so rare!"
Rougette was restored only to consciousness of her utter
destitution and misery. She was ill besides. One of her supper companions by chance learned of her distress, and, with
his last five francs, supplied her with a good dinner, which she
needed more than medicine.  He was not alone in his charity, as I will relate.
Meeting one of his companions, they strolled into the shop
of a barber, who, besides his legitimate business, advanced




PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.    101
money on articles pawned, chiefly by the necessities of students and grisettes.  Armand, who had been the first to succor Rougette, had dropped in to pledge his cloak to pay for his
own dinner.  His friend, hearing of the condition of Rougette,
audibly vented his indignation against her heartless companions, with whom she had so lately sung and danced, for thus
inhumanly deserting her. The barber, who had been attentively listening, here broke in:  " Not so fast, my friend. Step
here. You are too severe.  I know Mademoiselle Nanette to
be a most excellent person."  " Yes," replied the censor,
"' when it is a matter of drinking and smoking."  "Possibly,"
replied the barber; "I do not deny it: young persons must
laugh, sing, and smoke, but, for all that, they may have a heart
too. Do you see this dress?" said hle, holding up a threadworn, rusty black silk robe.  They knew it at once to be Nanette's. " Yes, this is her only robe, and she has borrowed of
me four francs on it, that she may succor Rougette.  I have
had it often.  It is dear at that price, but Nanette never fails
to redeem it."
Armand's friend felt conscience-smitten. To make amends,
he redeemed the robe, and took it under his arm, and proposed that they should call upon Nanette.  We shall find her
in, doubtless, for this is her only dress, the sole relic of a
better position, when her wardrobe was as extensive as her
credit.
They arrived at her house and inquired for her.  "Mademoiselle," replied the porter, "has gone to mass."  "To
church!" exclaimed Armand: " it is impossible. Let us enter; we are old friends."  " I assure you it is true," replied
the porter; " she has been gone these three quarters of an
hour.  She goes every mnorning to the church of St. Sulpice
for her devotions, Loolk  there she is returning.  You can
see for yourselves."




102   PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.
True enough, there was Nanette returning from the church.
Armand hurried to her, impatient to penetrate the mysteries
of her toilet. She had on for a robe a petticoat of dark blue
calico, half hidden under a window-curtain of green serge,
disposed as a shawl; her head was prettily hid in her white
bonnet, and her little feet covered with buskins.  She had
arranged her curtain with so much art that it seemed like
an old shawl with the fringe hidden, and, even in this
guise, she proved conclusively that a pretty woman is always
pretty.
Alternating thus between the extremes of poverty and revelry, devotional without acquiring true wisdom, charitable in
their destitution, and reckless in their prosperity; attachable
but fickle, susceptible of the best sentiments of the heart, yet
priding themselves on their levity, these creatures, like summer
swallows, skim  along the surface of humanity, occasionally
tasting its joys, more frequently its miseries, but to terminate
their checkered existence in a garret, with a pot of flowers on
one side, a crucifix on the other, and straw beneath them, correct emblems of their inconsistent lives. Do they ever reflect,
or is there a demon attached to them that hurries them  on
from one folly to another? Would the working girls of America, delivered up to their own guidance, without counsel, support, or a home to shelter them, be superior to their sisters of
Paris?  Would they be their equals in industry, neatness,
charity, and cheerfulness? We hope and believe so, without
their habitual lightness and prodigality, which savors more of
nautical than feminine tastes. I wish I could add that the illness of Rougette had brought her reformation.  But with
convalescence beauty came back, and also the baron. Her
resources were, for the moment, independent of the needle,
and the next I heard of Nanette and Rougette was that they




PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.    103
were seen, choking with laughter, over a supper fit for a prince,
in a private cabinet at the Maison Doree.
xET E'.
NANETTE




CHAPTER VI.
THE PRISONS AND PRISONERS OF PARIS.
No one fails to visit the palaces of France. The pyramids
of Egypt are not more identified with the history of the world
than are the Louvre, Versailles, Tuileries, Fontainebleau, and
St. Cloud.  Each has played an important part in the annals
of this empire, and they now imbody its long series of triumphs of art and civilization.
To comprehend its history, it is necessary to explore its palaces.  The associations of long and troublesome centuries
cluster densely about them. To enter their halls is to lose
sight of the present in the resurrection of the past.  It is like
retracing the track of time step by step; recalling generation
after generation of kings, courtiers, and subjects, until we see
once more the legions of Gaul forcing the imperial sway upon
the gifted but apostate Julian.
But were we, as is usual, to confine our researches only to
the palaces, we should obtain but an imperfect view of the
glory and shame of France.  To complete the picture, it is
requisite to visit its prisons. They have played an equally interesting role in its annals; and rich as the palaces undoubtedly are in all that makes history attractive and instructive,
the prisons are no less rife in warnings and example.  Indeed,
they are inseparably connected; for, as times were, no palace
could exist without its prison, and there have been but few
of the builders of the former that have not, at some interval or
other of their career, tasted themselves of the bitterness of the




PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.    105
chains and confinement they prepared for others. Louis XVI.,
as if imbued with the presentiment that he one day would become the most wretched of prisoners, was the first monarch
who deigned seriously to interest himself in the improvement
of the prisons. At that time Paris alone contained thirty-two
prisons of state.  Its historians have represented it as being
a nest of jails-a truth unfortunately but too evident, arising
from the despotic nature of its feudal institutions, with their
numerous civil and religious communities, each possessing distinct jurisdictions, and rights of high and low justice, with edifices destined to receive into their gloomy cells alike the innocent and guilty, so that aristocratic interest or priestly intolerance justified their captivity.
The excesses of the Revolution of 1789 have well-nigh obliterated the remembrance of its benefits.  Humanity, however, is indebted to it for many reforms and concessions to
natural right and justice.  The right to labor was formerly a
manorial right, granted by the king to those who purchased it,
A decree of 1791, for the first time since France was a kingdom, restored to Frenchmen the privileges of the primeval
curse, and they now all possess the general right to wring the
sweat from their brows, though each species of labor is still
girt about with a network of restrictions.
I know not how others may feel, but as for myself, in visiting the nucleus of a nation's civilization, I am not content with
noting only its external glitter. Palaces, parks, galleries, and
all the outer show of luxury and refinement, form a pleasing
exhibition, but, if the view extend no farther, a delusive picture of the actual condition of the people.  We study history
to ascertain the true progress of man, and our hopes of the future are modified by the lessons of the past. It is not enough
that we see history only in the garb of rank, or splendor of its
palaces.  We must equally seek it under the humble raiment
E 9




106    PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRIENCH PRINCIPLES.
of the laborer in his hut or home, and in the prisons, which,
from  being mere citadels of private revenge, have at last become places of detention of criminals of every rank.
The prisons of Paris are now reduced to eight, under humane and enlightened supervision.  These, with the military
jails, are the sole survivors of the numerous array of prisons
that were at once the disgrace of Paris and the scourge of humanity.  To walk its streets with history in hand is to stumble momentarily over rings of iron, chains, instruments of torture, and tumulary stones, the cruel debris of cells and prisons.
All who ruled-whether kings, lords, bishops, provosts, or corporations; even the holy church, bishops and monks —all who
in any way had, by fraud, violence, or even talent, raised themselves above the low standard of humanity, built dungeons,
and stored them with instruments of torture, ostensibly to repress crime, but in reality to conserve power or inflict revenge.
The predecessor of the present chateau of the Louvre was
a political dungeon. Its tower was called by Louis XI. "Le
plus beau fleuron de la couronne de France;" Le Cloitre N8tre
Dame of the Church of Saint Germain l'Auxerrois has succeeded to the prisons of the " Bishop" and" Officialite'." The Place
du Cha:telet echoed often to the groans and complaints of the
prisoners of the provosts of Paris and of the merchants; while
there is scarcely a religious edifice raised upon the ruins of a
monastery that has not its foundations in an ecclesiastical dungeon.  Saint Martin des Champs was a prison; the Sainte
Chapelle a prison-Sainte Genevieve a prison-Saint Germain
des PrOs a prison-Saint Benoit a prison-The Temple a prison-Saint Gervais a prison-Saint Mery a prison; indeed,
wander where you will in old Paris, and your footsteps are
upon the remains of civil or religious tyranny, the catacombs
of sectarian or political hate, but now exhibiting only temples




PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.   107
of the Prince of Peace. The prison has disappeared - the
churchl remains. H.umanity has made such an advance that
we can now scarcely credit the fact that, in the fourteenth century, every convent and monastery had a subterranean stone
cell, ironically called " vade in pace," into which the victim was
let down, never to reappear alive. Sometimes they were iammediately starved to death, but generally they were supplied
with coarse food by means of a basket and rope. An abbe of
Tulle was accustomed to mutilate his prisoners. He cut off
the left hand of a man who had appealed to the Parliament
against him for having cut off his right hand. Such was the
justice and humanity of the Church of that age.
Vincennes, from a palace, was converted by Louis XI. into a
prison of state, and has continued ever since to retain its mongrel character of fortress and dungeon. It is the legitimate
successor of the Bastile, and far more formidable as a means
of offense to the citizens of Paris than ever was that fortification, yet, under the superior moral power of modern civilization, reduced to an innocent depot of munitions of war. In its
" donjon" Charles IX. expired in torments of conscience far
more terrible than those of the rack. Gladly would he have
exchanged his downy bed for the hole in the stone wall, in the
" Salle de la Question," with the' heavy iron chains that confined the limbs of the prisoner while he was subjected to the
agonies of the " Question," could he by so doing have expiated
by sufferings of body the sins of his soul. But no: the night
of St. Barthelemi was vividly before him. IIe wept, he shrieked, he tore himself, he groaned and sweated in his agony, but
no relief came. He knelt humbly at the feet of the queenmother, the partner and stimulator of his crimes. He asked
pardon of the King of Navarre, and with clasped hands exclaimed, " Oh, my nurse! my nurse! how much blood! how
many murders! Ah! I have followed bad counsel. 0 my




108    PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.
God, pardon me-forgive-grant me mercy, if it please Thee!
Oh, nurse, help-draw me from  this.  I do riot know where
I am, I am so agitated, so confused: what wvill become of all
this?  W~hat shall I do?  I am  lost-I know  it well.  Oh,
nurse, nurse, I strangle-I strangle!"  It was the blood of
Coligny and forty thousand of his murdered subjects that suffocated him.
His ancestor, Louis XI., the friend of the bourgeoisie, but the
tyrant of the nobles, took a peculiar pleasure in torturing his
victims of rank.  He shut them  up in iron cages, and came
LOUIS XI. VISITING HIS PRISONERS AT VINCENNES,
often to interrogate, accuse, or insult them. B1ut, with all his
ingenuity of cruelty, he never arrived at that refinement of inhumanity which, in the eighteenth century, doomed the prishuazrtnityu whkich, ine the eight~eenth century, dioomed thle pris



PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.    109
oner of state, who had become dangerous by his courage, patience, or resignation, to the treatment of a maniac.  Such
were conducted to the hospitals, thrown into close cells, clad
in strait-jackets, or the " camisole de force," bled, and subjected to the regimen of the insane, until their minds were extinguished in raging despair or pitiful imbecility.
The chapel windows of Vincennes contain a full-length portrait of Diana of Poitiers, the beautiful mistress of Henry II.,
painted by his order, entirely naked, amid a crowd of celestial
beings. The royal ciphers are interlaced with her silver crescent.  It is called a good likeness, and is readily known by
the blue ribbons with which her hair is bound.
Sainte Pelagie still exists as a prison, the most ancient of
Paris, and, singularly enough, retains upon its front the same
appellation by which it was formerly known as an asylum for
pious women-the spouses of Christ. It was here that Madame Roland expiated her vain theories of political liberty, that
led both herself and Marie Antoinette to the scaffold. Here
Madame du Barri shriekingly resisted her executioners, having incessantly besought Heaven, during her imprisonment of
two months, to prolong a life still covetous of the pleasures of
the world. Within its walls the Empress Josephine received
her first lesson in the vicissitudes of fortune, sustained by the
prediction that promised her a throne, consoling her companions in misfortune with the same grace that won for her in
power the homage of all hearts. Later it became a prison for
debtors.  An American of the name of Swan has attached a
souvenir to its dreary wall worthy of perpetual remembrance.
He was a colonel in the Revolutionary army, the friend and
compatriot of Washington, and had served with La Fayette in
our war of Independence. Frequently did the latter bow his
white hairs beneath the wicket of the jail as he passed through
to visit his old brother in arms.  But it. was in vain that he or




110    PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES...... j
111{,!.....
_______i~~~~~ I  i 
MADAMIE DU BARRI LED TO EXECUTION.
rich friends sought to prevail upon him to escape from this retreat.  He had had a long lawsuit with a Frenchman, and,
having lost his cause, preferred to give his body as a hostage
to paying a sum which he believed not to be justly due. He
was arrested, and remained twenty years in confinement, lodging in a little cell, modestly furnished, upon the second floor.
was rreted andremine twety  ear in cnfneent ldg
hif n     ltte  el, moeslyfunihe, po   te  ecndflor




PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.    111
lie was a fine-looking old gentleman, said to resemble in his
countenance Benjamin Franklin.  The prisoners treated him
with great respect, yielding him as much space as possible for
air and exercise, clearing a path for him, and even putting
aside their little furnaces, upon which they cooked their meals,
at his approach, for fear that the smell of charcoal should be
unpleasant to him.
He had won their love by his considerate and uniform benevolence. Not a day passed without some kind act on his
part, often mysterious and unknown in its source to the recipient.  Frequently a poor debtor knocked at his door for bread,
and, in addition, obtained his liberty.  Colonel Swan had
COLONEL SWAN AT THE SAINTE PELAGIE.




112   PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.
means, but he applied them to the release of others and not
of himself. Once a fellow-prisoner, the father of a numerous
family, imprisoned for a debt of a few hundred francs, applied
to be received into his service at six francs a month. Colonel
Swan had lost his servant, and inquired into the history of the
new candidate. Upon learning it, he replied, "I consent;"
and, opening his trunk, counted out a pile of crowns, saying,
"Here are your wages for five years in advance; should your
work prevent you from coming to see me, you can send your
wife."  Such deeds were often renewed.
One creditor only retained the venerable captive, hoping
each year to see his resolution give way, and each year calling upon him with a proposal for an accommodation. The
director of the prison, the friends of Colonel Swan, even the
jailers, urged him to accept the proposed terms, and be restored to his country and family. Politely saluting his creditor, he would turn toward the jailer, and simply say, " My
friend, return me to my chamber." Toward the end of the
year 1829, his physician had obtained for him the privilege of
a daily promenade in one of the galleries of the prison, where
he could breathe a purer atmosphere than that to which he
had long been subjected. At first he was grateful for the favor, but soon said to the doctor, " The inspiriting air of liberty
will kill my body, so long accustomed to the heavy atmosphere of the prison."
The revolution of July, 1830, threw open his prison doors
in the very last hour of his twentieth year of captivity. After
the triumph of the people, he desired to embrace once more
his old friend La Fayette. He had that satisfaction, upon the
steps of the Hotel de Ville. The next morning he was dead.
Clichy has succeeded Sainte Pelagie as a debtors' prison.
To the rich debtor it has but few terrors, though the law ot
Franrce places his personal freedom at the disposition of his




PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.   113
creditors. Some may, like Colonel Swan, refuse to pay from
principle, others from whim or obstinacy. Of the latter was
a noble Persian, Nadir Mirza Shah. Rich, young, and dissi_ _ _ _:__
pated he plunged into every species of folly, and finally flogged his coachman, who summoned him before the civil tribunal, which sentenced him to three months' imprisonment and
damages. Refusing to pay, he was confined in the debtors'




114   PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.
jail, where he passed some time carousing with his friends
and voluntary companions in captivity, and surrounding himnself with Oriental luxury. Mattresses served for tables and
divans; they sat i) la Turque, ate with their fingers, and, forgetting the Koran, drank wine like Christians. Nadir Mirza
Shah was as intractable in requiring of his companions the
rigid observance of Persian etiquette as he was in refusing to
pay the damages due the unlucky coachman, who, in his eyes,
was simply a dog of an infidel.
Clichy possesses a rich fund of individual eccentricities and
curious anecdotes, such as only Parisian life can develop. In
1838, a tailor of the Rue de Helder caused the Count de
B., a noble Dalmatian, to be confined for a debt of six
thousand francs. I-e remained five years in prison, passing
the entire time in his chamber. Not once did he descend into
the garden, nor did he ever walk in the corridors. Whenever
spoken to, he replied with great courtesy, but he never entered
the cells of his companions, or invited them to visit him.
During the five years of his imprisonment he was not once
seen to open a book, to read a newspaper, or to do any work
whatever. He passed entire days standing before his window, in full dress, with his coat buttoned to his throat. His
linen had given out, but his boots were scrupulously polished
each morning by a fellow-prisoner. He never bathed, but
his handsome black beard was always carefully combed and
perfumed as if he was going to a ball. Two letters only
reached him, and two visitors only called during these five
years.
The first time, about two years after his incarceration, his
creditor appeared at the wicket, and the following conversation ensued:
" Monsieur Count, you have done me the honor to send for
me; what can I do for you?"




PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.   115
"Sir, I have exhausted my personal resources; a gentleman
like myself can not live on the prison allowance of sixteen sous
per day. Since you believe me good for six thousand francs,
I will pay you a greater sum when I have sold my estates in
Dalmatia."
" That appears just, Monsieur Count: how much do you desire?"
" I wish fifty francs a month."
" You shall have them. I am too happy to be useful to you.
Is that all you desire?"
" Absolutely all; and I am very grateful to you."
" Do not speak of that, I beg of you; I am your servant, my
dear Monsieur Count."
During three years the fifty francs a month were regularly
supplied by the tailor.
In 1843 the tailor reappeared, followed by two porters carrying a heavy trunk.
"Monsieur Count," said he, " I have received the letter with
which you honored me, and I accept your propositions.  I
place you at liberty, and I have brought you effects suitable to
your rank. You will find, also, a watch, chain, pins, rings, eyeglass-every thing of the best description. Here is a purse of
five hundred fiancs in gold for the fifteen days that you desire
to pass in Paris for relaxation. These five hundred francs are
for your petty expenses, for I have taken the liberty to pay in
advance for an apartment and domestic at your orders in the
Hotel des Princes. My notary is coming, and we will arrange
the security for all my advances, now amounting to eighteen
thousand francs, to which it will be necessary to add three
thousand francs that I shall give my clerk, who, at the expiration of the fortnight, will post to Dalmatia with you, paying
your joint expenses, and bringing me back my money."
The contract was duly signed, and the release given. The




116    PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.
Count faithfully amused himself during his carnival of fifteen
days, according to his stipulation.  On the sixteenth he left
with the clerk, who never had made a more agreeable journey;
but on his return he was obliged to announce to the munificent tailor that, owing to previous incumbrances on the estates
of the Count, it was extremely doubtful whether he would ever
receive a hundred crowns for his twenty-one thousand francs.
Imprisonment for debt, like most cruel remedies for social
misfortunes, seldom attains the desired end.  An honest man
will pay if he can; a dishonest one can evade justice even
within prison walls; and for the unfortunate it becomes a
double evil.  It was powerless to open Colonel Swan's purse,
because its strings were tied by principle. It was equally futile in contact with the obstinacy of Nadir Mirza Shah, who
preferred his prejudices to his freedom, and chose rather to
carouse in the cell of a jail than to wound his pride by paying
a fine which would have transferred his festivity to a palace.
The tailor shut up the count in close confinement for five years
for six thousand francs, and at the end of the time was swindled by him out of twenty-one thousand.  These cases are
characteristic of a large class. But the pains and penalties of
incarceration fall heaviest on the poor debtors, whom misfortune has pursued with a heavy hand until they are left powerless for exertion in the grasp of avarice, or withered in heart
and mind by the exactions of inflexible severity.  The race of
Shylocks will never expire except with the razing of dungeons
for debtors.  The thoroughly vicious are seldom caught.  To
the unfortunate it becomes a living tomb. Respectability is
blighted, enterprise chained, the mind paralyzed, and the poor
debtor is reduced to a chrysalis state.  He is fortunate if his
better qualities and intelligence are not extinguished in the
heavy atmosphere of his cell, or transformed into mischievous
tendencies or reckless desires, while his destitute family are




PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.    117
left a prey to vice or want.  Clichy, from  its first days, has
been stained with the blood of suicides, and haunted with the
ravings of maniacs. One poor workman, who had seen sold
for a debt of three hundred francs his humble furniture, and
even the clothes of himself and his wife and infants, was here
confined, after being divested of every thing but his naked
arms wherewith he could gain a subsistence for his family.
By what process these were to supply them with food, and to
pay his debt when confined between the stone walls of a cell,
none but a bowelless creditor could conceive. Despair overcame his reason.  He was found the next morning covered
with gore, and the name of his creditor traced with a bloody
hand on the walls of his cell.
Confinement for debt is bad enough of itself, but in France
it is aggravated by unnecessary restrictions and a penurious
aliment.  The law allows eighteen cents a day for the debtor's
subsistence, or thirty francs a month, which he is obliged to
divide daily as follows:
Cetrts.
Hire  of furniture.5...........................  5
The right to warm his feet at a common fire..........     1
Barber.......................1...... 
Washing.......................................... 2
Light............................................  I
Food............................................. 8
Such are the resources of the poor debtors.  What proportion of these can be withdrawn for families it would puzzle
the wants of even a Liliputian to decide.  The number annually confined in Clichy is 580 to 600, of whom about one fourth
are single persons, and over two thirds have children.;Wives
are separated from husbands by being confined in a separate
building.  They are allowed no intercourse, except in a common parlor, in the presence of a guardian.




118    PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.
Another anomalous feature of this system  is, that the director of the prison becomes pecuniarily responsible in case of
the escape of one of his prisoners.  This is rarely attempted,
as the chances of final escape are very limited in a city like
Paris.  Mr. G., one of the directors, said to the Prefect of the
Police, who had reminded him of his pecuniary responsibility,
" I am able to respond for a few thousand francs, and I should
satisfy the obligation if the debt was small; but if, notwithstanding my vigilance, a debtor of a hundred thousand francs
should escape, I should open immediately the gates to all others.  It is as well to be responsible for several millions as for
a hundred thousand francs, if one can no more pay the lesser
sum than the greater."
It is a significant fact in the annals of imprisonment for debt
in the Department of the Seine, that of 2566 debtors discharged
during six years, 307 only owe their enlargement to the payment of their debts.
The souvenirs of the prisons of Paris include the history of
France.  It were well if, with the disappearance of the walls
of La Force, all its deplorable associations could have been as
readily erased. Not one stone of the Bastile has been left
upon another. A column of liberty announces the site of that
fortress of tyranny; yet no existing prison of stone and mortar,
with its iron gates and gloomy cells, in all their dreadful reality, stands half so conspicuous to the eye as that which is palpable to the imagination. It will exist as the emblem of tyranny through all ages, and yet its history is not worse than
that of numerous others.  Indeed, democracy owes it some
gratitude ac the instrulment by which aristocracy, in accomplishing its selfish designs, often avenged upon kindred blood
the wrongs of the people.
The dungeons of the Abbaye were the handicraft of monks.
The architect, Gomrnard, in 1635, completed the abbey, but re



PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.    119
fused to build the prison. He carried his opposition so far as
to prevent any laborers from  engaging in. the work.  "My
brothers," cried the superior, " it is necessary to finish what
the obstinacy of the architect refuses to achieve. Let us put
our own hands to the work, build the jail, and complete our
sacred edifice." The brothers obeyed.
-:i
THE MONKS BUILDING THE ABBAYE PRISON.
In those days every spiritual and temporal power had the
privilege of placing in the pillory those declared culpable by
its special laws. There was not a corporation but had its dis



120    PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.
tinct code, judges, executioners, racks, and prisons.  The old
historian, Sauval, has left a list of twenty-four distinct jurisdictions which possessed the right to condemn men to the gallows, and the city of Paris to-day divided into numerous municipal divisions, had then for the limits of its subdivisions as
many gibbets.  The discipline of the Holy Catholic Church of
that century required a dungeon, or a " vade in pace," no less
than its faith the emblem of the cross. If they ever abused
their power by the persecution of the innocent, fearfully (lid
they expiate their want of charity in the slaughter of their
brethren on this very spot, on the 2d of September, 1792.
Externally and internally, it is the most gloomy of all the prisons of Paris.  It contains several subterranean dungeons, the
same, perhaps, on which the old monks worked.
It was here that Mademoiselle de Sombreuil won from the
murderers of September the life of her father, at the price of
drinking a glass of warm blood fresh from their still writhing
victims.
The most touching souvenir of this prison is that of the venerable Cazotte, who was also saved by his daughter under circumnstances more grateful to humanity on either side. The
evening before, she had obtained leave to remain with him,
and had, by her beauty and eloquence, interested several of
his guards in his fate.  Condemned, at the expiration of thirty
hours of unremitting slaughter, he stepped forth to meet his
fate. As he appeared in the midst of his assassins, his daughter, pale and disheveled, threw her arms about him, exclaiming, " You shall not reach my father except through my heart!"
A cry of pardon was heard, and repeated by a hundred voices.
The murderers allowed her to lead away her father, and then
coolly turned to recommence their work of slaughter upon less
fortunate prisoners.
A little later, Cazotte, separated from his daughter, became




PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.    121'   I  i
MADEMOISELLE DE SOMBREUIL SAVING HER FATHER.
the victim of the Revolution, whose excesses he had so faithfiully predicted.  The sketch by La Harpe of the dinner-scene,
in which his prophecy is made to appear, is one of the most
remarkable and graphic scenes in French literature.
"It seems to me but yesterday,' says La Harpe, " and, notwithstanding, it was the commencement of 1'788.  We were
at dinner at one of our fellow-members of the Academy, a
great lord and wit.  The company was numerous, and of every
class —courtiers, lawyers, men of letters, academicians, &c.
The fare was rich, according to custom. At the dessert, the
Py




122   PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.
wines of Malvoisie and Constance added to the gayety of the
company that sort of freedom in which one does not always
guard a perfectly correct tone, for it was then allowable to do or
say any thing that would call forth a laugh. Chamfort had read
to us his impious and libertine tales, and the grand ladies had
listened without even having recourse to a fan. Then there
arose a deluge of pleasantries and jokes upon religion: one
cited a tirade of the Pucelle; another recalled the philosophic
verses of Diderot. The conversation became more serious.
They spoke with admiration of the revolution which Voltaire
had made, and all agreed that it was his first title to glory.' He has given a book to his century which is read as well in
the ante-chamber as the salon.' One of the company related
to us, choking with laughter, that his barber had said to him,
as he was powdering him,'Do you see, sir, although I am
but a miserable hair-dresser, I have no more religion than any
one else?' They all concluded that the Revolution would not
be slow to perfect its work; that it was absolutely necessary
that superstition and fanaticism should yield to philosophy,
and that all they had to do was to calculate the epoch when
they would see the reign of reason.
" One only of the company had not taken part in the levity of
the conversation, and had even let drop quietly some pleasantries upon our fine enthusiasm. It was Cazotte, an amiable and
original man, but, unhappily, infatuated with reveries of the
future. He took up the conversation in a serious tone.'Messieurs,' said he,'be content; you will all see this grand and
sublime revolution that you desire so mutch! You know that I am
somewhat of a prophet: I repeat it to you, you will all see it!'
"Here the company shouted; they joked Cazotte; they
teased him; they forced him to foretell of each what he knew
in this coming revolution. Condorcet was the first that provoked him; he received this mortal answer:




PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.    123
"'Ah! we will see,' said Condorcet, with his saturnine,
mocking air;' a philosopher is not sorry to encounter a prophet.'' You, Monsieur de Condorcet,' replied Cazotte,'you will
expire extended upon the pavement of a cell; you will die by
poison which you will have taken to cheat the executionerthe poison which the happinzess of that time will force you always to carry about you."'
They were somewhat astonished at this species of pleasantry, spoken in so serious a tone, but soon began to reassure
themselves, knowing that the good man Cazotte was subject
to dreams.  This time it was Chamfort that returned to the
charge with a laugh of sarcasm.  He received an answer in
his turn.
"You, Monsieur Chamfort, you will cut your veins with
twenty-two strokes of the razor, and, notwithstanding, you will
not die until some months after."
Then it was the turn of ~icq d'Azir, M. de Nicolai, De Bailly, De Malesherbes, De Roucher, all of whom were present.
Each who touched Cazotte received a shock in return, and
each shock was a thunder-stroke that killed him. The word
scaffold was the perpetual refrain.
" Oh! it's a wager," cried they on all sides; " he has sworn
to exterminate us all."  " No, it is not I that have sworn it."
"But shall we then be subjected by the Turks or Tartars?"
" Not at all; I have already told you. You will then be governed by the only philosophy, by the only reason."
The turn of La Harpe arrived, although he had purposely
kept himself somewhat apart.
"Plenty of miracles," said he, at length, " and you put nothing down to me."  "You will see there" (replied Cazotte to
him) " a miracle not the least extraordinary: you will then
become a Christian."
At this word Christian, in such an assembly of scoffers,, one




124   PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.
can imagine the exclamations of laughter, mockery, and derision.
" Ah!" replied Chamfort, "I am reassured: if we are not
to perish until La HIarpe becomes a Christian, we shall be imn-mortal."
Then came the turn of the ladies. The Duchess of Grammont took up the conversation.
"As for that," said she, "we are very happy, we women, to
pass for nothing in the revolutions. When I say nothing, it is
not that we do not mix a little in them; but it is understood
that they do not take notice of us and our sex." " Your sex,
Maadame" (it was Cazotte who spoke)," will be no defense this
time. It will be in vain that you do not mingle in them; you
will be treated as men, without any distinction whatever."
One can readily conceive the finale of this dialogue. Here
it became more and more dramatic and terrible. Cazotte arrived by steps to cause greater ladies than duchesses to feel
that they would go to the scaffold-princesses of the blood,
and even more exalted rank than the princesses themselves.
This passed being a play. All pleasantry ceased.
" You will see"-another essay of irony by the Duchess of
Grannmont-" that he will not leave me even a confessor."
" No, Madame, you will not have one-neither you nor any
person. The last victim who, by an act of grace, will have
one, will be-"
He stopped a moment.   Indeed! who then is the happy
mortal that will enjoy this prerogative?" Cazotte slowly replied, " It is the last that will remain to him, and this person
will be the.Kinzg of France."
The master of the house arose brusquely, and every one
with him, but not before Cazotte had predicted his own death
by the executioner.
What a subject for a painter! The assemblage of these




PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.   12.5
master-wits of France at the festive board, unconsciously scoffing at the fate then ripe to swallow them in its inexorable
jaws; a modern Belshazzar-feast, mocking at the Daniel that
foretold the coming tempest, and awakening only from their
dream of philosophy andt reign of reason to find themselves in
prison or on a scaffold. The prophecy was true. La Harpe
has, in his narrative, given it strength and eflect; but, as he
justly remarks, their several destinies were more marvelous
than the prophecy   La Harpe became a Christian, and survived the Reign of Terror and the Dynasty of Reason.
Of all the prisons of Paris, the Conciergeric is the most interesting, from its antiquity, associations, and mixed style of
architecture, uniting, as it were, the horrors of the dungeons of
the Middle Ages with the more humane system of confinement
of the present century.  It exhibits in its mongrel outline
the progressive ameliorations of humanity toward criminals
and offenders, forming, as it were, a connecting link between
feudal barbarity and modern civilization.  As -an historical
monument, it is unsurpassed in interest by any other of this
capital. Situated in the heart of old Paris, upon the Ile de la
Cite, separated from the Seine by the Quai de l'Horologe, it is
one of a cluster of edifices pregnant with souvenirs of sufficient importance in the annals of France for each to supply a
volume. These buildings are the " Sainte Chapelle," the Prefecture de Police, and the Palais de Justice, formerly the residence of the French monarchs.  The Conciergerie, which derives its name from  concie~rge, or keeper, was anciently the
prison of the palace. It is now used chiefly as a place of
detention for persons during their trial.  The recent alterations have greatly diminished the gloomy and forbidding effect of its exterior, but sufficient of its old character remains
to perpetuate the associations connected with its former uses,
and to preserve for it its interest as a relic of feudalism. The




126    PARISIAN SIGHITS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.
names of the two turrets flanking the gateway, Tour de Cesar
and Tour Boubec, smack of antiquity.  Compared with Caesar,
however, its age is quite juvenile, being under nine hundred
years.  At the east corner there is a tall square tower, containing a remarkable clock, the first seen in Paris, the movements of which were made in 1370 by Henry de Vie, a German.  It has been recently restored, and is one of the most
curious bijoux of sculpture which have been bequeathed to us
by the revival of the arts.
In this same tower hung the bell, known as the " tocsin du
Palais," which repeated the signal for the massacre of St. Barthelemi, given from the church of St. Germain l'Auxerrois.
The low grated gateway through which passed those condemned to die upon the Place de Greve still exists.  The
Bridge of Sighs has not been witness to more anguish of mind
and physical torture than this same ominous dungeon door.
The aspect of this portion of this ancient prison-its dark corridors, with their low, ponderous vaulted roofs, and arched
staircases —is peculiarly sinister, suggesting the mysterious
horrors of a political inquisition, unexcelled in this respect by
the entrances to the subterranean dungeons of the Doges of
Venice.
The people of Paris, through all time, will bear the reproach
of the massacres of September, 1792, the horrors of which are
indelibly affixed to this jail. But impartial justice will recall
the fact that, five centuries previous, a Duke of Burgundy perpetrated within its walls a still more fearful slaughter of his
unarmed and unresisting countrymen, destroying by smoke and
fire those that he could not reach by the sword.
There is a retributive justice to be traced in the history of
every institution resulting from the inhumanity of man to his
fellow-man that carries with it a warning as legible as the'"Mene, MiZenc, Tekel, Upitarsin" on the palace walls of Babylon.




PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.    127
-31~~~~~~~~~, 1
THE CONCIERG(ERIE.
The Conciergerie was for centuries the stronghold and prison
of feudalism, and the repository of its criminal justice.  It was




128   PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.
stored with its diabolical inventions to rack human nerves and
to excruciate human flesh, agonizing the body so that the soul
should disown truth, or that shrinking humanity should be
forced to confess crimes which otherwise would have slumbered unrevealed until the day when all secrets will be disclosed. It faithfully served its aristocratic builders; but when
Louis XI., and, later, the Cardinal Richelieu, succeeded in
erecting a kingdom of France upon the ruins of feudal power,
the Conciergerie received into its cells its late lords, and
avenged in their fall the blood that they had so often spilled.
A description of the various instruments of torture which
were employed even as late as the latter part of the reign of
Louis XVI., scarcely sixty years since, by the judiciary of
France, would now be received with incredulity. Yet this species of human butchery is so recent, and was so long sanctioned by the highest civil and religious authorities, that one may
readily be pardoned for a shudder at its recollection, not without a fear that human nature might, in one of its avenging paroxysms, recall so terrible an auxiliary of hate.
By a singular freak of time, the oldest legible entry in the
archives of the Conciergerie is that of the incarceration of the
regicide Ravaillac, dated 16th May, 1610. His sentence, pronounced by Parliament on the 27th of May, was as follows:
"' To be conducted to the Place de Greve, and there, upon a
scaffold, to have his breasts, arms, thighs, and calves of his legs
lacerated with red-hot pincers, his right hand, which had held
the knife with which he committed the said' parricide,' to be
burned off in a fire of sulphur, and into all his wounds to be
thrown melted lead, boiling oil, burning pitch, and wax and
sulphur mingled. This done, his body to be drawn and dismembered by four horses, and afterward consumed by fire, and
his ashes thrown to the winds."  Such were the tender mercies of the Parliament of France in 1610, repeated with aggra



PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.    129
vated horrors, more than a century later, upon Damiens by the
Bourbon "Bien Aime." It is necessary to recall to mind the judicial barbarities perpetrated in the name of justice in this
country, that we may rightly appreciate the services rendered
humanity in their abolition by the philosophy that gave birth
to the Revolution; in this instance the more conspicuous,
when we reflect that reli-gion had long lent to them additional terror by its perverted sanction.  The iron collar of Ravaillac, and the tower of Damiens, at present the warming-room
of the prison, still serve to transmit to posterity the double
recollection of their crimes and the appalling tortures to which
they were subjected previous to their final execution. Their
diabolical ingenuity has failed to stay a single attempt on " sacred majesty," as almost every ruler of France has since repeatedly borne witness; so that now the inheritors of the
" divine right" content themselves by simply bestowing upon
their assassins the sudden death which is the just penalty of
their crime.
The Conciergerie has repeatedly borne witness to the lofty
resolution and unshaken firmness of woman-the result, it
must in sorrow be confessed, as often of hardened guilt as of
conscious innocence. It is strangle that virtue and vice, in the
extremity of death, should so nearly resemble each other. I
am tempted to give a few examples, leaving to the reader his
own inferences upon the strange problem of human nature.
In 1617, Eleonore Galigai, the wily and ambitious confidante
of Marie de Medicis, fell a victim to stronger arts than her
own. Corruption, treachery, prostitution of honors, treasure,
and employments, were all practices too common with the accusing courtiers and great lords for them to venture to condemn her upon such grounds. Not.one was to be found to
cast the first stone of a just condemnation. The Parliament
acecused her of Judaism and sorcery. In the chamber of torF2




130    PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.
ture they asked her if she were really possessed. She replied
that she had never been possessed except with the desire to
do good.  She was then asked if she had sorcery in her eyes.
The only sorcery," said she, laughing, " that I am guilty of,
is the sorcery of wit and intelligence."
Certain books having been found at her hotel, they questioned her in regard to their character. " They serve to teach
mze that I know nothing."  Next they sought to discover by
what sacrilegious means she had acquired her influence over
the queen.  She replied that she had " subdued a weak soul
by the strength of her own."l
EXECUTION OF ELEONORE OAGT IGrT.




PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.    131
Such replies being little edifying to her successors in intrigue and chicanery, they destroyed the tongue they could not
subdue by giving her head to the axe.
In the latter part of the seventeenth century, political hate,
or private interest and revenge, had taken the more subtle and
less conspicuous shape of impoisonment. The crime was aristocratic, and so were its victims. The person who affriighted
Paris with the first pinch of the "poudre de succession" was a
lady and a "Marquise."  In 1680, the common talk of Paris
and Versailles was of poisons and their effects.  Deaths were
frequent and. mysterious, the causes so subtile as to elude detection. It was finally discovered that the vender of the poison
was a woman known by the name of La Voisine.  She had
succeeded to the fatal secrets of the laboratory of Madame de
Brinvilliers, the "Marquise," who four years before, after being subjected to torture, had expiated her crimes on the scaffold. It was now the turn of La Voisine. Unlike the Marquise, who was beautiful, spirituelle, and accomplished, she
was gross, ugly, and brutal.  The Marquise feared the torture,
and confessed all, and perhaps more crimes than she had conmmitted. La Voisine, on the contrary, scoffed at the instrumnents of torture, and mocked alike the judges and executioners. She seemed exalted above fear or suffering by the very
enthusiasm of wickedness.  No martyr to religion ever showed more firmness and indifference to all that is most appalling to human nerves. She even accused herself of impossible
crimes in the excitement of her depraved pride, glorifying herself by the intensity of her abominable passions. She joked
with the lieutenant of police; she laughed at her keepers;
she drank with the soldiers that watched her; she spat in
contempt upon the engines of torment; she parodied modesty
by an indecent arrangement of her dress; she sang, for fear
that they would pity her; she insulted the tribunal when inh




J3.i    PARISIAN SIGHTS AND PFtENCH PRINCIPLES.
terrogated; she blasphemed if they spoke of God; she cursed
when she feared that she should faint under the torture; she
did all that it was possible for human depravity to do, exhausting in its folly and crime the very dregs of sin.
When the officers entered the chamber of torture of the
Conciergerie to read her sentence, she bowed herself as indecently as possible, almost touching the earth, and coolly said,
" Gentlemen, I salute you," and then proceeded to interrupt
the recital with songs, blasphemies, and insults.
" You are condemned," said the president, " for impieties,
poisonings, artifices, misdeeds, thefts, and complots against the
lives of persons, for sacrilege, and other crimes without number, such as homicide in fact and intention, as culpable of
diabolical practices and. treason —to make honorable amends
at the door of Notre Dame —"
" A wonder!" cried La Voisine; "we shall see the devil in
the holy water —"
"' And to be conducted to the Place de Greve to be burned,
and your ashes thrown to the wind."
" Which will waft them to hell, I hope," exclaimed the incorrigible woman.
" You are also condemned to submit to renewed torture, to
extract from you the name of accomplices not yet given."
" You have only to choose them among your great lords and
noble ladies. H-Iave they not prevented me by their folly from
continuing my own profession of an accoucheur? They commenced by asking of me secrets of' the future, and I have
drawn their cards, and given them the most brilliant horoscopes; they then demanded of me'fioles de jeunesse,' and I
have sold them pure water under the guise of water of youth.
They have asked of me some grains of that powder of succession which succeeded so well with Madame de Brinvilliers,
and I have given them my strongest poisons. You now know,1ll ruv accomplices."




PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.   133' And, finally," continued the judge, " you are condemned
to submit to the torture extraordinary."
" I shall answer the best I can, Io6nsieur Judge. Bind me
with my hands behind my back; lash my legs with cords; lay
me down upon the wooden horse" (an instrument of torture);
" torture me at your leisure: I will continue to laugh, to blaspheme, to sing, regretting all the while that you do not put a
little wine in your water."  (The species of torture was to
cause the prisoner to swallow several quarts of water by
means of a little stream  trickling slowly into the mouth.)'Go on! courage! Judge and executioner, I am ready."'First pot of water for the torture ordinary," said the judge,
making a sign to the executioner.
" To your health!" replied La Voisine.
The " question" was begun by two large pints of cold water
turned, drop by drop, into the mouth of the criminal. W~hen
the jug was emptied, they turned three spokes of the wooden
horse, elongating the limbs until the tendons were ready to
snap.
" You are right, my friends: one should grow at all ages.
I1 always grumbled at being too small. I wish to be as large
as my sister Brinvilliers."
"Second pot of the ordinary," ordered the judge.
" May God render it back to you," exclaimed the poisoner.
They emptied the second jug. The horse was stretched
anew. The bones of the old woman cracked and snapped
under the torture. Seven jugs of water were successively
emptied down her throat, drop by drop-one continuous strangulation-a hundred deaths condensed into a few hours.
Upon the advice of the physician, La Voisine was resuscitated.
They placed her upon a mattress near the fire. If the gradual
insensibility of the criminal had been protracted torture, the
slow revival was a greater agony.




134    PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.
Returned to her cell at midnight, La Voisine sought daily to
pass her time in riotous indulgences.  She had swallowed
fourteen pints of water; she demanded to drink fourteen bottles of wine.
It is to Madame de Sevigne that we are indebted for a narrative of her last moments. True to her fanaticism of wickedness, she feasted with her guards, sang drinking songs, and,
mangled as she was in every limb, spared not herself from the
most scandalous excesses of debauchery.  It was in vain that
they attempted to recall her to serious thoughts, and recommended that she should chant an Ave or a Salve; she chanted
both in derision, and then slept.  Neither force nor torture
could wring from her the required confession; even when
chained to the fatal pile, she swore constantly, and contrived
five or six times to throw off from her the burning straw with
which she was enveloped, but at last the fire prevailed; she
was lost to sight, and her cinders borne aloft by the eddying
current of air, where Madame de Sevigne, with a levity that
does no credit to her heart, says they still are.
The life of Cartouche, the grand robber pcr excellence, suggests many a striking parallel with that of' the " Grand Monarch."  It would be a curious and instructive history, if my
space permitted, to show the congeniality of principles and actions between Louis XIV. and the most dexterous and munificent of bandits. Versailles lodged the one, and the Conciergerie the other. Which was the greater criminal, when weighed in the balance of the King of kings, it is not for a fellowsinner to decide. Each admirably acted his part in the estimation of the world. The evil done by the one perished with
him; the vanity, lust, pride, and bigotry of the other still
weighs upon the energies and industry of France.  The king
died peacefully in his bed, in the comfortable belief of passing
from his temporal kingdom to a brighter inheritance above;




PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.   135
the robber perished on the wheel, amid the jeers of the populace and the curiosity of fine ladies. It is devoutly to be
hoped that the breed of each is extinguished.
To visit the Conciergerie, and not recall the image  of the
most illustrious and innocent sufferer of all that have hallowIi''!  ~l   ~?  I  _.  L
(
MARIE ANTOINETTE BORNE TO EXECIUTION'-' —~.. —-"- ~ -__'. it, ~,!',......
1V[ARIE ATIE T T   lO.N~T 1,F ETO




136    PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.
ed its walls by examples of piety and resignation, would be to
refuse a tribute to those sentiments which most dignify human nature, and reconcile us to its mingled weakness and
grandeur.  The dungeon of Marie Antoinette is now an expiatory chapel, with nothing to recall its original condition except the souvenirs connected with the sufferings by which she
so dearly expiated the frivolities and thoughtlessness of her
early career.  To add the bitterness of contrast, and the contact of vice with virtue, to her end, she was dragged to the
scaffold in an open cart, in company with a prostitute guilty
of having cried in a cabaret " Vive lact rcine!"  The poor girl,
still capable in her abasement of appreciating the intended insult to the Queen of France, knelt at her feet, and humbly said
to her, as they drove to their joint death, " Madame, Madame,
forgive me for dying with your majesty."
I believe there is but one species of natural or artificial violence to which mankind do not, in time, become, if not reconciled, at least reckless or indifferent. Famine, pestilence, war,
and civil calamities in time cease to afiiright or warn. luman nature, with its versatility of powers for good or evil,
soon reconciles itself, under one aspect or the other, to any inevitable condition, however terrible its first appearance. The
exception is the earthquake. The first shock is the least fearful; every succeeding one increases trepidation, and destroys
self-possession.  The prisoners of the Conciergerie were almost daily decimated by the guillotine during the Reign of
Terror, yet their daily amutsement was to play at charades
and the-guillotine.  Both sexes and all ranks assembled in
one of the halls.  They formed a revolutionary tribunal,
choosing accusers and judges, and parodying the gestures and
voice of Fouquier Tinville and his coadjutors.  Defenders
were named; the accused were taken at hazard. The sentence of death followed close on the heels of the accusation.




PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.   137
They simulated the toilet of the condemned, preparing the
neck for the knife by feigning to cut the hair and collar. The
sentenced were attached to a chair reversed, to represent the
guillotine. The knife was of wood, and, as it fell, the individual, male or female, thus sporting with their approaching
fate, tumbled down as if actually struck by the iron blade.
Often, while engaged in this play, they were interrupted by
the terrible voice of the public crier calling over the " names
of the brigands who to-day have gained the lottery of the
holy guillotine."
Imperfect as are these souvenirs of this celebrated jail, I
should be doing injustice to the most interesting of all were
I to omit the last night of the Girondists, that antique festivity, the greatest triumph of philosophy ever witnessed by
palace or prison walls. Those fierce, theoretical deputies, who
had so recently sent to the scaffold the King and Queen of
France, were now on their way thither.  Christianity teaches
men to live in peaceful humility, and to die with hopeful resignation. The last hour of a true b~eliever is calmly joyous.
Here was an opportunity for infidelity to assert its superiority
in death, as it had claimed for itself the greatest good in life.
Let us be just to even these deluded men. They had played
a terrible role in the history of their country, and they resigned themselves to die with the same intrepidity with which
they had staked their existence upon the success of their policy. They made it a death fete, each smiling as he awaited
the dread message, and devoting his latest moments to those
displays of intellectual rivalry which had so long united them
in life. Mainvielle, Ducos, Gensonnd, and Boyer Fonfrede
abandoned themselves to gayety, wit, and revelry, repeating
their own verses with friendly rivalry, stimulating their companions to every species of infidel folly. Viger sang amorous
songs; Duprat related a tale; Gensonne repeated the Mar



138   PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.
/!i,
seillaise  while Vergniaud alternately electrified them with
his eloquence, or discoursed philosophically of their past history and the unknown future upon which they were about to




PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRIENCH PRINCIPLES.    139
enter. The discussion on poetry, literature, and general topics was animated and brilliant; on God, religion, the immortality of the soul, grave, eloquent, calm, and poetic. The
walls of their prison echoed to a late hour in the morning to
their patriotic cries, and were witness to their paternal embraces.  The corpse of Valaze, the only one who, by a voluntary death, eluded the scaffbld, remained in the cell with
them.
The whole scene was certainly the greatest, wildest, and
most dramatic ever born of courage and reason, yet throughout their enthusiasms there appears a chill of uncertainty and
an intellectual coldness that appalls the conscience.  We feel
that, for the Girondists, it was a consistent sacrifice to their
theories and lives; but for a Christian and patriot, a sad and
unedifying spectacle.  While history can not refuse her tribute of admiration to high qualities, even when misdirected,
she is equally bound to record the errors and repeat the
warnings to be derived from those who claim for themselves
a space in her pages. The lives of the G(irondists, as well as
their deaths, were a confused drama of lofty aspirations, generous sentiments, and noble sacrifices, mingled with error,
passion, and folly. Their character possesses all the cold brilliancy of fireworks, which excite our admiration to be chilled
with disappointment at their speedy eclipse. Their deathscene was emphatically a spectacle. It possessed neither the
simple grandeur of the death of Socrates, nor the calm and
trustful spirit that characterized the dying moments of Washington; the one yielding up his spirit as a heathen philosopher, the other dying as a Christian statesman.




CHAPTER VII.
EMPLOYMENTS OF THE POOR-WHAT THEY EAT-WHAT THEY
WEAR-HOW THEY AMUSE THEMSELVES.
THE French government aims to produce upon the stranger
thle same effect from the tout ensemble of Paris, as does the
belle of the Champs Elysees by the perfection of her toilet
upon the idlers of all nations who frequent that fashionable
promenade.  Both are got up with a nice regard for admiration. Both are equally successful in their effort. We admire
the lady as one does a coquettishly arranged bouquet, too content with its general beauty to think of criticising its details.
So with the public edifices and grounds; we pay them at once
and involuntarily the homage of our admiration, receiving at
each glance the intuitive satisfaction that arises from the presence of the beautiful, whether made by man or born of God.
I am not sure that an invidious comparison does not force itself at once upon Americans at the too perceptible contrast between the noble avenues, spacious palaces, beautiful places,
and tasteful gardens; in short, between the treasures of their
rich and venerable, and the meagreness of our juvenile and
practical civilization. The advantages in respect to architecture, the ornamental arts, and even the scale and elegance of
the more humble requirements of the necessities of the age, in
the shape of bridges, rail-road stations,'and public edifices generally, are greatly on their side. If the comparison stopped
here, we should be filled with envy.  With too many it does
not go farther, and they dishonor their native land by condemning in her the want of a taste for the mere lust of the eye,




PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.    141
which, if unduly cultivated, would go far to develop with us
those social contrasts which here mark the extremes of society.
One instance will suffice to illustrate the ruling passion of
the various governments of France.  The most conspicuous,
but by no means the most costly of -the embellishments of Paris,
is the Arch of Triumph at the Barrier de l'Etoile. A nobler
-Ia   ~       -       _        _                 v
ARCH OF TRIUMPH.
and more commanding monument at the entrance of a capital
no other city can boast. From its elevated position, it towers
far above all that portion of Paris, conspicuous to a great distance in the country, like a colossal gateway to a city of giants.
It is simply an architectural ornament, useful only as affording




142    PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPIES.
from its top the best coup d'ceil of Paris.  The glory of exhibiting this arch has cost Frenchmen two millions of dollars additional taxes. Even they, while boasting its possession, consider it an apt illustration of their proverbial expression in regard to prodigality, "to throw money out of the windows."
Were American citizens called to decide between the appropriation of two millions of dollars to a similar construction or
for purposes of education, the schools would get it. Not so in
France. The gold goes for ornament, the copper for instruction.  This one fact explains in a great measure the wide distinction of ruling principles between the two nations.  We
have less elegance, but more comfort. Our wealth is diffused
and society equalized. Democracy, like water, constantly seeks
a level, and with us, imperfect as it is, it is still the most comfortable assurance for future progress in all that makes humanity at large wise and happy that the world has yet seen.
France, on the contrary, fluctuating between the extremes
of aristocratic conservatism  and democratic destructiveness,
though slowly winning her way toward the goal of human
rights, still exhibits contrasts in the social scale which painfully mark the poverty and ignorance of her masses.  I have
elsewhere shown that out of the million souls that people Paris,
eight hundred thousand are in a state of either uncertainty as
to their future or absolute want. No civilization which produces such results can be rightly based. The citizens of the
United States may well spare France the pride of her monuments, if their cost is the indigence of her people.
The better to picture the straits for subsistence to which the
luxurious civilization of European aristocracy compels the
masses, I shall draw again upon the streets for specimens of
the HONEST modes of livelihood of this capital.  Without a
glance at both sides of the social panorama, the American is
very indifferently qualified to judge of the comparative merits




PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.    143
of the institutions of his own and other countries.  The least
a traveler can do for his native land is to gather for it, be it
in ever so humble a measure, the wisdom, whether of example or warning, of those he visits.  By thus doing, his expatriation may not be without benefit to his fellow-citizens.  If in
this series of sketches of foreign life I succeed in amusing, I
shall be gratified; but if, as is my higher aimn, I am able to
convey a correct moral, my satisfaction will be more complete.
It is with the female sex that the comparison of occupations
affbrds the greatest variety of strange examples to American
eyes.  Accustomed as we are to invest woman with the- associations of a "' home," it is with repugnance at first that we
see her so isolated from her natural protector, leading a life
equally as distinct and independent in the strife of existence
as his.'Marriage has not the same heart-interpretation as
with us. It is a union of interests, seldom  of affections.  A
business arrangement for mutual convenience, leaving to the
man the same latitude of bachelor instincts as before, and bestowing upon the woman a liberty to be purchased in no other
way. But the aspect of feminine isolation from domestic relations is most strongly marked in the extensive class of shopgirls and all those compelled to gain a precarious subsistence
by their individual exertions. They live alone, or in couples,
allured by every species of' dissipation of this sensuous city,
and without other restraint or surveillance than their own dubious standard of propriety or morals.  Their religious education, when they have any, is confined to the pageantry of
Catholic worship. While the daughters of the rich are brought
up in an almost conventual seclusion, scrupulously guarded
both from the seductions and contact of the world, these girls,
unsheltered by family roofs, are exposed at a tender age to all
its trying experiences. Left thus dependent upon their exertions and prudence, they early acquire a fund of worldly knowl



144    PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.
edge, which soon resolves itself into a code of manners for their
guidance, and gives them that singularly self-possessed and
independent air, which with us is the exclusive heritage of our
male youth. The American female relies upon the rougher
sex in all matters that bring her into immediate contact with
the grosser and practical elements of society. The French
woman, on the contrary, acts for herself as freely as would a
man under similar circumstances. Hence, in one country, woman preserves the retiring, timid delicacy most attractive in her
character; in the other, she assumes an independence of action that renders her at once a self-relying, shrewd being, as
capable of living a " bachelor" life as man himself. The one
calls forth our respectful tenderness from her graceful dependence. Her innocence is her security.  The other demands our respect as an equal in worldly knowledge and capacity of action. She challenges our gallantry for the same
reason that she fails to win our attention. On all points she
is armed against the one, and in every respect is independent
of the other. Her policy is in the finesse of the head. The
strength of the other lies in the sincerity of her heart. Whether
the acquired independence of the one is a fair equivalent for
the winning dependence of the other, each individual will
judge according to his taste.
In this relation, however, I can not pass over a significant
fact in the results of the French system of female education.
If the exposed lives of the poorer class of girls lead them almost inevitably into vice, or forming temporary connections in
lieu of the more permanent ties of marriage, the tendency of
the unnatural seclusion practiced in some of the higher seminaries of learning is even worse. From being never trusted,
the girls become adroit hypocrites, and, as with Eve, the apple
of knowledge, though tabooed, is covertly plucked. A celebrated institution near Paris, in the charge of government,




PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.    14,5
where five hundred daughters, sisters, and nieces of the rnernbers of the LcgionL of Honor receive a highly-finished education, under rules of almost military severity, furnishes a large
proportion of the fair and frail sirens of the (Quartier Breda.
UTndoubtedly the difficulty of negotiating marriages without'i
I I Il
YOUTH.
ttt~:cS' ~".....,.....'~..
~01JT~,~~~~~ii~




146    PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.
the indispensable dowry or " dot" is an active promoter of illicit connections between beauty and wealth. Faulty and inexorable social laws are equally as accountable for this state
of morals as individual frailty.
It is from this class that we can select the most striking vicissitudes of female career. In their youth, redolent with loveliness, buried as it were in the wealth laid at their feet, the
mistresses of many hearts and purses, living in apartments
more luxuriously furnished than those of any palace, daily exhibiting their envied charms in sumptuous equipages in the
Bois de Boulogne, and nightly outshining aristocratic beauty
at the Opera, they purchase their short-lived sensuous career
at the expense of an age
of regretful misery and
repulsive employments.
Look on this picture
and then on that. Lovers and loveliness have
fled.  The triumphs of
vanity are now succeeded by the retributions of
want and age.  Folly;,!,kj~][? and extravagance have'l   proved  but indifferent
foster-parents for infirmW: il,,,j                ity and loss of beauty.
The harvest of sin is bet'lt' ait!,\' ing reaped on her with-;?I2K]''                       \,, ered, charmless frame.
Can you  recognize in....l,~   ~       this sad ruin the joyous
being whose life but a
AGI~E  ~few  years before was




PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.    147
one holiday? Perhaps she was an actress, and you yourself
covered her with flowers and bravos.  Her garments are now
the mockery of former elegance, even as she is the phantom
of previous loveliness. She takes your cloak, and offers you a
programme or cricket as you enter your "loge," for she has
become a simple "ouvreuse," or door-keeper to the boxes at
the theatres and opera-houses, but too grateful to receive a
few sous where once she threw away gold. In Paris there are
four hundred and sixty-seven " ouvreuses," who depend for
their subsistence upon the voluntary contributions of the public. Some favored few are said to gain 2000 fiancs a year,
while others are reduced to as many hundreds. They have
the privilege of dying in a hospital, and being buried in the,  _,   __!_' ___    _._ _
_ THE'it,,,T.
TLIO  GR0SE'TT'.




148    PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.
common " fosse" or pit.  The situation of the " ouvreuse," although it requires the possessor to be up until after midnight,
is one of the easiest, or, as Americans would say, one of the
most genteel resorts for feminine decay and poverty.
Many of the occupations which females fill are such as can
have their origin only in the fertile soil of a rank, aristocratic
civilization. They are of every shade of integrity and crime,
refinement and grossness, from that of the honest and virtuous
grisette, who laboriously plies her needle in her cosy garret
room, to the political spy, fashionable pimp, or haggish corrupter of virginity in the pay of hoary debauchism, both ex7           w
x /
THE TEMPTERS AND THE TEMPTED.




;   II;  I FK                                          4//p  /4, IA"P'  /g'I.V.,[lNWAtI',
Pip~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~l~
THE DOG-SHEARER.:L~~~iiF~ ~ ~,1.l [;!:aci~  iii',,1'.'~ "l~MP~N  ]i     i'''
PEDDLER AT LARE.
r-! ~',,, ] 
-~~ ~  ~ 4.-I''                                                  y..... rr-~'2-t Ii~ ~.,,
j;i "     TEG...GTHEER              T — -T                         jI)ItR
THE GARDAGE.HATHEHER                         THE  HAT-SELLER.
TH ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~~~~EDE   n GAIAGEGATII~R




150   PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.
hibiting in their physiognomies the traces of every vice that
degrades human nature. They include alike the bewitching
glove-mender of Sterne, the more stately elegance of the
" dames du comptoir," and the wretched vender of old hats,
or peddler of all wares, and agent for every necessity which
pride, poverty, or shame seek to hide from daylight. Even
here we have not sounded the depths of the more laborious
and disgusting of the female out-door employments. At all
seasons, the shearer of dogs and cats, and the gatherer of garbage, whose sweetest bouquet is a reeking pile of street filth,
are to be seen pursuing their calling. They are worthy of
all commendation for their determination to earn their daily
bread rather by the sweat of their brows than the charity of
the public or the chances of crime.
The female copyists at the Louvre are a numerous class,
with a decidedly artistic air in the negligence of their toilets.
They find time both to fulfill their orders, and have an eye to
spare to the public, particularly to their male brethren. When
they are employed upon ordered copies, they work with assiduity; when not, they more agreeably divide their time between
complaisant beaux and the arts. As for the rest, they have
for their home, during most of the week, the comfortable galleries of the finest museum in Europe; inhabiting a palace by
day, and sleeping in a garret at night. The patronage of the
government is sometimes ludicrously applied toward the fine
arts. An applicant for a post in the bureau of the telegraph
received an order to execute a bust in marble-not an impossibility, if he allowed himself the same latitude of execution
which a certain Minister of the Interior is said to have advised
to the widow of an employe, powerfully recommended to his
favorable consideration. He gave her an order for a copy of
the mammoth painting of Jesus at the house of Martha and
Mary, by Paul Veronese.




PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLIES.   151
"But, Monsieur the Minister, I do not know how to paint; I
never touched a brush in my life."
"Never mind: take the copy.  You can have it done by
another, and arrange to receive the pay." The obliging counsel was not lost.
I have given but a few out of the extraordinary employments of the female sex at Paris-enough, however, to show
that there is a wide difference between the relative positions
of the poorer classes in France and the United States. I
should be doing injustice to the most formidable type of all
were I to omit the renowned " Iames des Halles," a class of
women not only numerous,
and in many instances wealthy, but of sufficient political importance to cause their
good will to be courted by
Louis  Napoleon, by f6tes,
balls, and courteous speeches, which they return  by
hands bouquets of well-nigh
sufficient volume as to en- 1".
tirely eclipse him.  These
ladies possess a vocabulary
of their own, the most comTheir profession, as one may
DAME DES MALLES.
readily conceive, is not always of the sweetest nature; but why they, of all the laboring
sisterhood, should be so particularly ambitious of distinguish



152    PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.
ing themselves by the use of an " argot" terrible to uninitiated
ears, it is not so easy to conceive. The highest exertion of
their intellectual faculties is to coin new expressions for their
slang war-whoop. Yet even on this ground they are sometimes defeated by a battery of epithets more stunning than
their own.  The last case was as follows: A Polytechnic
student, seeing a formidable-looking specimen of this genus
barricaded by monsters of lobsters and huge piles of fish, laid
a wager with his companion that he would " dismount" her
(so the term goes) with her own weapons. "Done," said his
friend, as he placed himself safely behind an avalanche of
vegetables to see the fun.
"How do you sell this carp, mother?"
"That carp? That is worth one hundred sous if it is worth
one franc, my blackguard! But, as you are a pretty boy, you
shall take it for four francs and a half. Eh! it is given away
at that; but one has a weakness for youth."
"I will give you only thirty sous, and you shall cook it for
me."
" Stop! don't bother me! You want to buy a broth under
market price. Let me look a bit at the little fellow! Three
bantam chickens and he, by my faith, would go well before a
coach."
The fish-woman, like a locomotive, had now started, at one
jump, at a prodigious rate, and one might as well have attempted to stop with a straw the one as the other. The
reader will not, I am sure, exact of me a repetition of her tirade. The vocabulary of oaths and blackguardism was never
nigher being entirely exhausted.  Want of breath at last
brought her to a half-halt, when her boyish opponent, putting himself into a tragic attitude, broke in with,
"Will you hold your tongue, frightful hydrocyanure of potash! execrable chlorozoic acid! hideous logarithmic progres



PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.    153
sion, indissoluble hygrometre of Saussure, detestable square
of the hypotheneuse, abominable parallelopiped!" and on
rushed the student of the Polytechnic School, sure of never
being repulsed on this ground, through the entire chemical,
algebraic, and geometrical nomenclature, setting at defiance all
scientific arrangement in his zeal to overwhelm his foe. At
first the fire flashed from her eyes as her excited imagination
conceived every abominable reproach to be conveyed in the
meaning of the incomprehensible words that, for the first time,
saluted her ear. As he proceeded, she became stupefied, and,
as an expiring effort of despair, shouted out to know from what
infernal regions he had stolen such a diabolical array of abuse.
The young man paused for a moment, and recommenced with
the classification of plants and the cragged terms of geology.
"For the sake of the Holy Virgin, stop; I give in.  You are
no white-nose, my little fellow! Take the carp and welcome," said the dame, in the excess of her admiration at an
exhibition of lingual power that left hers far in the shade.
In the United States we have a monotonous display of
broadcloth and silks, with no distinguishing features by which
one class of citizens can be discriminated from the other. The
individual alone may be remarked by his taste, but his species
can not be detected by his dress. Not so in Paris. Every occupation has its fashion, its cut, its air, as distinct and discernible as the uniforms of the army. Each is so fitted to its costume that it would be at home in no other. The washerwoman can never be mistaken for the cook, nor the nurse for
the grisette. The bourgeois remains the bourgeois; the footman never burlesques the general of division; the workman
no more thinks of leaving his blouse than the oyster his shell;
in fact, each individual of this city is as readily classified by
his costume as any animal by its skin and shape. Their indoor localities are also as distinct as those of the brute varieG 2




154    PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.
ties of the animal kingdom. All cleave to their particular
quarters with the adhesiveness of a special instinct. Like
strong and separate currents, their outer edges only mingle,
filling the thoroughfares with a picturesque crowd, on which
one is never tired of gazing.
The difference between the two nations is equally as perceptible in the tariff of prices.  We generalize; they particularize.  We name a round sum, which covers all charges;
their first charge is but a foundation for an infinitesimal dose
of others. In New York, call a carriage, and the driver takes
you and your baggage to a given point for a round sum. In
Paris, attempt the same, and the result will be as follows:
Your baggage is to be brought down; that calls for a porter
and one payment. You have called a coach, and, as you are
stepping in, a " commissionaire" takes hold of the door, and,
with cap in hand, asks you to remember him: his service
has been to shut it; payment No. 2. You stop; another commissionaire opens the door; payment No. 3. You pay the
driver his legal fare-payment No. 4 —and think you are
through.  But do not take such consolation to your purse.
Monsieur has forgotten the " pour boire," politely remarks
Jehu, and you derive from him the gratifying information that
custom allows him to demand the wherewithal to buy a dram,
and this makes payment No. 5, for the simple operation of
getting into a hackney-coach. This principle extends through
every branch of pecuniary intercourse, and, after all, is a wise
one, for, by this rule, we pay only for services rendered and
dinners eaten.
With the term "Paris fashions" we associate only ideas of
periodical importations of novelties of refinement and elegance
in dress and style of living. But this view is as imperfect as
that of judging of the actual condition of France only by its
parks and palaces. The female sex, as it appears to me, take




PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.    155
the first choice of employments, leaving to men such only as
they do not find to their interest or taste.  The life-slketches
already given show that these are sufficiently bizarre to excite our surprise, though not always our envy. There are certain provinces that appear to be neutral ground, such as those
of street-minstrels, chiffonniers, peddlers, newspaper-venders,
and " merchants" of crimes, as the ill-omened cryers of the
prolific catalogue of tragic events are technically called. These
birds of evil announce, with startling intonations, their list of
assassinations, poisonings, suicides, and capital executions, extracted from the judicial journals, for sale at the fixed price of
a sou each.  Those who have a keen taste for the horrible
can gratify it at a cheap rate by the inspection of the " merchant" and his stock in trade.  Like the vulture, he appears
to grow foul from the garbage that supplies his -food., —-AE~~RCHANT, 1OF CIE,i/,,i
MERCHANTr OF CRIMES,                   DATE-SELLER.




156    PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.
The " date-merchant" must necessarily be a man, as no female
could furnish the requisite amount
of beard to counterfeit satisfactorily the Turk.  This disguise is
assumed to prove the Oriental origin of his fruit, and to strike the
imagination of his juvenile patNo one will dispute the inclination of the female sex to carry
their heads high, but we doubt
/  whether one has ever been found
to compete with the basket-merX chant in his extraordinary headdress, moving as easily and gracefully through the streets withthis
Babel of straw  and wicker-work.m ] on his head as if it were simply
the latest style of coiffure. Of
course, he can only put out with
his pyramidical bazar on a still
day, as a head wind, or any wind
at all, would speedily bare his
head, and send his baskets flying
in all directions, a joyous fete for
avaricious urchins, but ruinous to
BASKET-SELLER.     him.
The merchant of" death to the rats" belongs to an expiring
race.  Long have the cats looked with envy upon his spoils,
hung upon a pole, with which he walks the streets, typical of
his profession. But they who have longest known his meagre
countenance will soon know him no longer.  Whether any of




PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.    157
the "dinners for seventy-five centimes" restaurants will raise
their bill of fare on account of his exit remains to be seen. A
company has been formed, with a capital of three hundred
thousand francs, for the extirpation of all the rats of Paris.
If a cordon of cats is to be established around the city to keep
out the country rats, hare will become a rare dish in more than
one cheap restaurant.
AD
i f                                                   q
DEATHI TO RATS.               THE TOMB OF SECRETS.
The last masculine occupation that I shall cite is one which
no female ever aspired to, from the consciousness that it exacts, perhaps, the only accomplishment that she despairs of
attaining.  Its motto is "the Tomb of Secrets," and its chiefest attribute, silence. The professor must be more dumb than
Memnon, but with an ear as keen and comprehensive as that
of I)ionysius. He is a depositary of secrets of the heart and




158    PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.
hopes of the purse, a framer of petitions, the agent of intrigues
-in fact, a confessor-general to the unlettered multitude, reducing into a transmissible shape the desires of the unfortunate Monsieur or Madame to whom the mysteries of writing
remain a hieroglyphical puzzle. Their numbers are sufficiently indicative of the ignorance of the inhabitants at large.
Yet it often happens that the silence of his mummified existence is uninterrupted for hours. Then, perhaps, his skill is
taxed by a tricky cookl, who, perplexed by the unreconcilable
balances of her receipts and disbursements, seeks an accomplice to reduce her accounts to the required condition to pass
examination.  To live, it is necessary to be silent, yet a blush
will sometimes steal over his withered cheek as he obediently
enters in the account the bread bought by the cook at one sou,
charged to Madame, the mistress, at two sous, and thus, by a
discreet use of the rule of multiplication, finally obtains the
coveted balance.
The American laborer, who consumes in one day more meat
than the family of a French " ouvrier" in a week, would famish upon their bill of fare. The necessity which begets many
of their employments pays, also, but poor wages.  Yet what
would be considered in the United States as a tribute fit only
for the swill-tub, would, by skill and economy, be ma(le to fuirnish a welcome meal. The dietetic misery of the former
country would prove the savory competency of the latter. But,
whatever may be the composition of their frugal repasts, they
are eaten with a zest and good-humor that are not always
guests at more sumptuous repasts.  The American laborer eats
the same quality of meat and bread as his employer. Either
of these, to the French workman, would be equivalent to a
flte., His bread is coarser, meat inferior, and throughout his
whole diet there is the same difference in quality as in his
clothes. Many of the necessaries of his American brother he




PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.    159
only knows by seeing them in shop windows. W~e are also
able to rear Louvres and Versailles; to build cathedrals and
erect triumphal gateways; but, in our present stage of civilization, they would take the chicken out of every workman's
pot, and drive his children from the common schools to the
fields and factories.
The science of living well at a cheap rate is not understood
in the United States. General necessity has not as yet begotten that special knowledge. In Paris, thirteen sous will provide a tolerable dinner of a dish of soup, loaf of bread, and a
plate of meat and vegetables " mlele'." This species of healthy
and economical alimentation is the heritage of a large class
of workmen, and even of impoverished students and artists,
who seek these cheap restaurants under the convenient cloud
of the incognito. There are other resorts where they can eat
at the rate of fifteen sous by the first hour, eight sous by the
second, and so on, the chief diet being roast veal, as good a
name as any other, provided the alimentary faith is unshaken.
We even find dinners at four sous, composed of four courses,
as follows:
Vegetable soup............................ 1 sou.
Bread...................................  "
Montagnards (great red beans)...............   1 "
Coffee with sugar...................... 1 "
or four sous per head. It is needless to observe that to swallow the " coffee" (which in Paris costs forty cents a pound) requires even more faith than the roast veal or a Romish miracle.  Not a few sewing-girls, or domestics out of place, dine
daily on a sou's worth of bread. The table-service of the dinners at four sous is very simple. The table is an enormous
block of wood, the surface of which is dug out into the form
of bowls and plates. To each hole are attached, with iron
chains, knives, forks, and spoons of the same metal. A buck



160    PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.
et of water dashed over the whole serves to " lay the table" for
the diners next in course.
The examples already given are sufficient to illustrate the
modes of livelihood and the quality of the diet of this class of'
the population. To finish the sketch, it is necessary to show
how they armuse and whence they clothe themselves.  Education and religion would, with us, be the primary objects of'
inquiry, but here they are lost sight of in the furor of amusement.  Their colleges and churches are the low theatres that
line the Boulevard du Temple, aptly designated as the Boulevard of Crimes, from the characteristics of the plays here performed.  These are applauded by their mongrel audiences, a
large proportion of which are children, nurses, and even infants, in proportion as they are filled with the horrible, supernatural, obscene, vulgar, and blasphemous.  Murders, fights,
licentiousness, assassinations, double-entendre, and the coarsest
jokes, are their stock- in trade. The most sacred subjects, even
death, and the tenants of the grave, and spirits of heaven and
hell, are ridiculously parodied. Their very exaggeration of
what is false or low in human nature makes them  indeed
amusing, but no one can witness their performances, interrupted as they are by the stunning shouts of the enthusiastic
spectators, without being convinced that they are powerful
auxiliaries to infidelity and crime.  Their influences are debasing, promotive of skepticism, and particularly destructive
to the quiet virtues of domestic life. WVhen the public, as has
happened within three years, crowd its area to see its youngest
and handsomest actress appear as Eve on the stage, entirely
naked, with the exception of a scanty piece of flesh-colored
silk tightly drawn over the loins, we may safely conclude that
the habitue's of the " Boulevard des Crimes" are not over-nice
in their moral standard for the drama.  Adultery is the staple
joke, and a deceived husband a legitimate butt.  Even at




PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.   161
the Grand Opera, female nudity commands a high premium,
and at all, modesty or veneration would be considered as the
affectations of prudery.
If the theatre may be considered as their church, the " estaminets," or cafds, where smoking is allowed, and the dramshops, may as appropriately be classed as their common
schools. The pleasures of the French are not of a fireside
character: publicity gives them their chiefest zest. Consequently, the time which rightfully belongs to the family is devoted to the " estaminet."  True, the bachelor lives or the: \
ESTAMINET.
forbidding homes of the lower orders would seem to open to
them no other resource, and at them they can enjoy the fire and
lights, which are often beyond their means under their own
roofs. I do not, however, inquire into the causes, but speak
only of the effects of existing customs. Evenings thus spent
amid the fumes of the vilest of tobacco, and the excitement of




162    PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.
equally bad liquors, make fit disciples for the barricades, but
poor citizens of a republic.
The market of the Temple, or, as it is more commonly called,
that of old linen, is one of the most extraordinary sights of
Paris.  It is a huge wooden bazar, open on all sides, divided
into four grand and innumerable little avenues, and cut up into
Hill!I'~~~~~~~i; llhit  iii  IllDIIiii  ~   ~   _______ J______




PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.    163
1888 miniature shops, rented by the city at thirty-three sous
each weekly, producing an annual income of about $32,000.
There are four quarters, known respectively as the "Carre (lu
Palais Royal," a sort of parody on the true Palais Royal, comprising the silk, lace, and glove merchants, and the venders
of every species of foppery required to make up the secondrate lion, or copy of a fine lady. Here, too, are the traps or
baiting-places of sellers of bric-a-brac, who waylay their prey
in the vestibules, and thence conduct them to their rich wares
close by, buried in the most frightful of houses.  Among them
we find furniture of buhl, porcelain of Sevres and Japan, a
world of curiosities, and an. untold wealth of' satins, and the
richest of merchandise, sold cheaper, because stored cheaper,
than in the luxurious shops of the Rue Vivienne and Rue de
la Paix. The stupefied customer, who sought a cheap bagatelle, finds himself confronted in these obscure retreats by artistic caprices to be had for no less than 10,000 francs each.
The second quarter, the Pavilion of Flora. a little less aristocratic than the preceding, comprises the more useful household objects, of a cheap and dubious character.
In the third, " le Pou Volant" (the reader will pardon me
the translation), rags, old iron, and indescribable wares predominate.  The fourth, and most hazardous, is " the Black
Forest," a medley of every cheap abomination, new and second-hand.
This bazar has its peculiar slang: and types of inhabitants.
The little shops are called "ayons."  Hugo naively remarks,
why not " hazllon2s.'" The curious observer can penetrate the
first two quarters without other inconvenience than repeated
but courteous applications for his custom. But it requires
considerable courage and self-possession to penetrate the mysteries of the " Pou Volant" and the "Foret Noire."  Harpies,
scarcely recognizable as of the female sex, beset his progress,




164    PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.
f'-~-~-~-~-~ i~-~-~-~-~~l_ __,  ___
THE PAVILION OF FLORAi.
seize him by the arms or garments, and menace in their rivalry literally to divide him into halves. These runners are
termed, in the argot idiom, " rleuses."  Escaping them, he is
assailed by a flanking fire of direct apostrophes, half in argot,
from their employers.  "My amiable sir, buy something-buy
-you must buy.  What does Monsieur want? a carpet-a
coat to go to a ball-a cloak, first quality-a'niolle,' good
quality-a decrochez-moi.a, for Madame, your wife-patent




PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.    165
LA FORET NOIRE.
boots-art umbrellara'peltse,' all the'frusques' of St. Jolhn,
at your choice."
Should the adventurer continue on his way without replying to the temptations of these commercial syrens, a torrent of
mingled abuse and irony is discharged upon him.  "Ah! indeed! how much he buys! Very well-one must excuse him.
What did he come here for, this picayune fellow?  I say,
Monsieur, let us, at the least, mend the elbows of your coat.
He1 carries his body well, to be sures  Ohe! pane!  Let the




166    PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.
gentleman pass. I-le is an embassador on his way to the court
of Persia. HIei!"
Just beyond this bazar rises the "'Rotonde du Temple,"
which is to its neighbor what the common graves at Pere la
Chaise are to the rest of the cemetery. It is the receptacle of
all the debris of human attire, too mean to find shelf-room
even in the market of "' old linen."  One sees a pandemoni_fY,4,.
Mil
ROTONDEO 19U TEAtPLE




PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.    167
um of rags, tattered garments, rent boots, old hats, and every
object upon which the heart of a scavenger Jew dotes. Costumes which have survived the saturnalia of many a carnival,
and uniforms discharged by the order of the day or the death
of their proprietors, dating from the empire down, theatrical
wardrobes too venerable for active service, and fashions which
have long since been driven from human backs, are here mingled in one picturesque equality of poverty. Even out of such
a collection Parisian taste contrives to make a not unpleasing
effect. As with Parisian pauperism, it has a cleaner and more
cheerful look than English indigence and old clothes.
The Rotonde is circular, with a cloister of forty-four arcades in the exterior.  A damp and dark court occupies the
interior. It is a species of low rival to the bazar, and linited in its circumference; but it is computed to lodge more than
a thousand inhabitants. They drink and dine at the neighboring wine-shops and cafes, known as the Elephant, Two Lions,
and kindred names. At these, brandy is eight sous the bottle, a ragouit three sous, and a cup of coffee one cent. There
are resorts still cheaper and lower, such as the " Field of the
Wolf," frequented by the most brutal of the denizens of this
quarter, who in their orgies not unfrequently mingle blood
with the blue fluid that they swallow for wine. The greater
part of these dram-shops add to their debasing occupation that
of usury. But, as we have now arrived at that point where
the line which marks the boundary between legitimate industry and crime becomes indistinct, I stop.




CHAPTER VIII.
THE PAST AND PRESENT OF THE STREETS OF PARIS.
CHANGE, more than growth, is the prominent trait of European cities. It is true that some increase with a speed that
leaves but little advantage on the side of American progress,
yet, in general, that which chiefly distinguishes them from our
towns is the substitution of the new forms of civilization for
the old, or, as we of the nineteenth century are vain enough
to term it, improvement.  Old buildings are razed, to be succeeded by modern palaces, and old habits perish with theni.
iNot only the aspect, but the entire life of streets, is metamorphosed. Customs that had their origin in the inconvenience
and semi-barbarism of the Middle Ages, cease as they come in
contact with the generation that builds rail-roads and talks by
the telegraph. We demand elegance as well as utility. No
city has more to boast of in this respect, since the dawn of the
present century, than Paris. It is rapidly realizing its proud
claim of being the capital of the world.  Soon the few lingering remains of the domestic life and manners of the subjects
of Charles IX., and the times when Catholic and Protestant
met only to revile and strike, will have disappeared under the
reforming trowel of ripening civilization. House and hotel,
the plebeian homes of the slayers and the slain of St. Barthdlemi, as well as the courtly residences of the noblest of its
butchers and their victims, are being leveled to the ground,
not one by one, but by whole streets and squares, that their
descendants may breathe freer air, and sleep in more spacious




PARISIAN' SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.    169
chambers.  Yet, with a taste that contrasts strangely, though
happily, with the fanaticism that slew Jean Guigon while at
work upon the Louvre, every relic of his chisel is now preserved and restored with sacred care, as the just tribute to a
genius which another age may equal, but not excel.  HIe who
would see old Paris must needs haste, otherwise the garments of the new will have soon shut it wholly out from sight.
It well repays the trouble of the traveler, whose relish of modern ease has not extinguished within him the desire to contrast his luxury with the luxury of his ancestors —by way of
Adam-to penetrate into the narrow, crooked streets, so crooked that, like some sticks, it seems impossible for them to lie
still, that now contain what remains of old Paris.  Quaint old
human rookeries look tottling down upon him.  Turrets and
towers gray with the
dust and taste of an-...-.__.. =_..
tiquity; fanciful carv —:"!j
ings of saintly subjects, proving the orthodoxy of their build-'    _
ers; houses that lean
forward and leanbackward, that lean upon -
their neighbors and 
their neighbors lean 
upon them, so irregu- 
lar, so projecting, now
this way and now that
OLD PARIS.
way, story overlapping story, gable ends next to more sightly fironts, that he will
come to the conclusion that they were built long before the
invention of the rule and plumb-line, or that the only rule observed was that of contrariwise. They  are now  uniforr




170    PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.
enough in their exhibition of poverty.  Its rags and squalor
are confined to their intricate recesses.  What is seen indicates thrift and industry, and many ways of livelihood not yet
domesticated in more fortunate America.  The hotels and
buildings of greatest pretensions have been converted into
-nmanufactories and "magasins."  They are now the abodes of
vast stores of costly merchandise, like the butterfly in its
chrysalis state, with which Paris caters to the taste and vanity
of the entire world.
Such is the aspect of old Paris. The change may be better
appreciated by a glance at the corner of the Rue de la Paix. in
new Paris, the Paris of the nineteenth century, as contrasted
3' ~_.. ~  wvith the Paris of the
i     -",i{fM:  r   -~'K:-  sixteenth.  The corridors or covered passages
/~~i~'l:     "     which distinguish this
Rll_ I' "Is'  As' u fstyle of modern architecture  are worthy of
th   o  i being adopted in all climates, for they afford to
in  the pedestrian an equal
lnucll-ne pe protection against rain,
sun, and snow, and are
lowesPARtS         suffirciently lofty to allow beneath two stories, the rcz-de-cliaussee and the entresol,
the one convenient for shops and the other for small families.
Could both sides of Broadway be rebuilt after this plan, throwing the present sidewalks into the street, it would furnish the
much-needed room for carriages, and only abstract from  the
lowest story of the buildings sufficient space for the accommodation of foot-passengers.  New York would then present not
only the finest, but most comfortable street in the world. Nor
is there any other way by which she can secure equal room




PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES            171
at less expense. Paris, in another feature, affords an example
of judicious use of back lots, by the erection of " passages" or
arcades, which run from street to street through the centre of
blocks, paved with marble, and protected by glass roofs from
the extremes of temperature and bad weather. In them,
shopping is done under cover. The most fashionable, such as
the Passages Choiseul, Panoramas, and Jouffroy, embrace in
their supplies every want to which human flesh is heir. One
living in their vicinity finds them decidedly convenient, and is
able to despise an umbrella, and snap his fingers in the face
of Jehu. They afford also very lively promenades, especially
when brilliantly lighted up of an evening.  The Passage Delorme, near which I lived, not three hundred feet in length,
contained a cafd, restaurant, optician, book-store, reading-room,
hair-dresser, boot-maker, every shop and every variety connected with male and female toilets, a fruit-market, cigars, curiosity-shop, a boot-black, and even " a cabinet d'aisance,"
kept, as all are, by a woman.  In short, I can not name what
it did not contain that a person of moderate wants might desire. The Choiseul and the galleries of the Palais Royal embrace theatres in their attractions. Their convenience, and
economy of ground otherwise difficult to dispose of, are worthy
of imitation, as a payzng speculation elsewhere.
The garden of the Palais Royal possesses a curious attraction, which never fails to draw a crowd at meridian of a
bright day.  It consists of a little swivel, so connected with a
sun-dial that, when the sun has attained its full elevation, the
rays are concentrated upon the touch-hole, and explode the
charge, announcing that twelve o'clock has arrived.  It serves
for a regulator to the numerous watch-making establishments
in the vicinity.
The variety of out-door female employments, particularly
their nature, and the unintelligible cries attached to some, are




172    PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.
a never-failing source of surprise and amusement to a citizen
of a land where all women are " ladies," and all their occupations confined to the house. I would particularly call the attention of female reformers, desirous of enlarging their sphere
of action, to a few random specimens taken from the streets
of Paris. They will perceive that mankind are not so selfish
in Europe as to monopolize all the more active pursuits of life,
as they would fain have us believe is the case in America.
First, we have that indispensable being, the cook. Pastry
and bread are unknown arts
to her science. The fabrication of them is not her province, but to buy them, as well
as the material of those de/ I~  /    licious entremets, in which
she  shows  her  intimate
knowledge of stomachic entertainment, is her diurnal
duty.  It affords her the
double pleasure of coquetting with your purse and her
lovers. The preparations for
one  of these  gastronomic
campaigns is to her a matter of no  small moment.
_However lacking she may
have been in her particular
kingdom in that desirable
quality reckoned next to godTHE COOK.          liness, her advent in the
street is signalized by an attention to her toilet, crowned by
the indispensable white cap, that renders her quite as conspicuous to others as to herself.  She is endowed with a sort




PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.   173
of medium figure and style to those of the two extremes of
"bonnes," or servants of all work, alternately the drudges or
confidantes of their mistresses, as humor prompts or necessity requires.  The first
of these work harder and
fare worse than  Southern
slaves. There is no labor,
however servile or rude, that
they are not called upon to,
do, besides  an  indefinite./
amount of lying for the ben- ii   L >
efit of their employers. One     -.         
far uglier than the opposite
figure, who had charge of
the coarse work of an apartA BONNE" OF ALL WORK.
ment I hired, interested me
much from her invariable good-humor, under labors various
and hard enough to have aroused rebellion in a mule. At
my request, she gave me an account of her daily duties,
which, as they are but the common lot of a very large class
of "help" in sunny France, may prove not without a moral
to maid and mistress here.  "Well, Louise, you keep me
waiting a long while after ringing the bell."  "Yes, Monsieur, I ask pardon; but I am called upon here in the house,
and in the shop, all at once. I run as fast as I can, but I
can't quite manage it," she replied, laughing.  "You have to
work hard, Louise, yet you are always singing and happy."
"Yes, Monsieur, I was born to work.  Some persons, you
know, must work all the time, and I am one. I rise at daylight, and do all the out-door work; then I wait on Mademoiselle-sometimes she is very cross, and makes me go up and
down stairs very often (three long flights); then, you know, I




174    PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.
must be in here early, to sweep and put things to rights. Before I am through here, Madame at the shop cails me, and I
must leave and go over there (about three hundred feet off);
when I get there, perhaps she only wanted to scold a bit, or to
pick up her handkerchief. Then, you know, I must come back,
and that makes six flights of stairs-that takes up some time.
I get through with your rooms by eleven o'clock; then I have
two other sets of apartments to take care of. It would not be
so bad if it were not for the stairs. I quite forgot, before conming in here I have the breakfast to buy and make for Monsieur and Madame at the shop.  W~ould you believe it, the
kitchen is above the shop, a bit of a place no bigger than a
cart, and I must buy all my water and wood, and carry it up
there myself. There is no drain; and every time I have occasion to empty any water-and when I cook vegetables they
make me wash them several times-I must carry all the slops
below, and empty them into the gutter.  That makes my back
ache worst of all. ~Well, I am no sooner through with the
rooms than I have to go out again and buy the dinner, and
cookI that. Madame is particular, and will have every dish
she fancies. After dinner, I go errands or work in the shop.
I am at it all the time. By eleven at night they let me go to
bed, that is up five flights, if they can't find any thing more for
me to do." " But don't you have any time to yourself?"." No,
Monsieur, not a minute.  Sometimes I want to sew a little at
night, but I am so tired that the moment I take my needle I
fall asleep."  "So you must hire some one to make all your
clothes?" "Yes; I have no time for that."  "What do they
pay you?"  " About seventeen cents a day; and if I break a
cup or tumbler, or injure any thing, they deduct it from my
wages.  Sometimes the shop-boy breaks an article, and Madame makes me pay for it, because she says it was my business
to see it was not broken. I broke a glass in here the other




PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.   175
day, and went and bought another, for fear Madame H11
would find it out and scold me badly. Perhaps you did not
know it?"  "No, Louise; but you need not do so here, for I
see you are very careful.  Here, take this money; I will pay
for it."  "Indeed, Monsieur, you are altogether too good; it
was my fault."
On another occasion, I asked her if she knew any one to
whom  some cast-off clothing would be useful.  "Oh yes,
Monsieur.  If Monsieur will permit it, I should so like to have
them  for my boy."  " What! are you married, Louise?"
"Mon Dieu! no," she replied, "no one would marry me; I
am too ugly." I ascertained it was for the son of a former
mistress, with whom  she had lived many years, but who at
last became too poor to retain even her, and she had ever
since, out of her own meagre earnings, from gratitude for their
past kindness, been assisting them. A more contented, laborious, and even happy creature I never saw. Full of the usual
faults of French domestics, but with a heart that qualified her
for a saint, she was at once the Achates and Griselda of
servants.  These traits are not rare in this humble class of
women.
The fashionable " bonne" is a different being, faithfill enough
to her mistress when
her own interests or
vanity are not in conflict.  She is the butterfly domestic, but her
position is no sinecure, FT- 
though her wages and
fare are better than her --                  / i
more lowly prototype.'  _                              -
French  families  are   _      -  =.
averse to receiving any        A FASHIONABLE "BONNE."




176    PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.
servants who have lived with foreigners, on the ground of their
being spoiled by too much indulgence. With them, in general,
they are either allowed a certain sum to find their own wine
and food, or are confined to a cheaper diet than that of their employers. These are small matters to mention, but they have
an important bearing upon the condition of a numerous class
of our fellow-beings.  French domestics are born, bred, live,
and die such-hopeless and unambitious of a change, unless
an opportunity to marry offers, which is, in general, but exchanging one servitude for another. Their existence depending so entirely upon their capacities in this line, they are compelled to educate themselves as a race of servants.
Hard as may appear the lot of female domestic servitude,
there are rounds in the social ladder
still more lowly and severe. The
fish-women, as may be seen, are no'////  Ibeauties, nor their occupation one of
much refinement.  Their slang and
patois are most amusing, but too vulgar for repetition, as any one can test
by hailing one of these " dames de la
~ -;. l   "i / 1 z alle," who are but too prone to give.... u-~;~;~:- verbal vent to their inward corruption.  Woe to the refined ears that
irritate their wrath. Billingsgate is
FISH-WOMIN.      sunshine in comparison to the hurricane of words that pours from their throats.  To escape their
notice, one must pass through their quarters very rapidly and
abstracted.  Even then, random sounds of not the most complimentary nature will greet his ears, unless stopped by the
silver tribute in exchange for their scaly wares.
The flower-girls are more amiable specimens of this gender, though not all so jolie as my friend present,  Age and




PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.    177
FLOWER-GIRL.                   CAKE-WO MAN.
ugliness make a singular choice of livelihoods, echoing their
monotonous and inconsistent cry with cracked and shrill voices
along the streets, " Here is pleasure, ladies, here;" in this instance, the " pleasure" being in their baskets, and not in their
faces. Their stock in trade is a kind of cake, made simply of
sugar and flour, lighter and thinner than vanity itself. I despair of exhausting the variety of female street illustrations,
and therefore content myself with picturing a few only, leaving imagination to supply the blanks. To
perfect the descriptions, it would be necessary to give the sounds that announce
their various wares and occupations. But
words that few Frenchmen even can comprehend are not always to be understood
by a stranger, especially when their discordant notes make deafness appear a
blessing.  Coleridge once asked a Lon-.
don Jew why he cried " Old clo" contin- t:
ually instead of" old clothes?"  "If you 1  
had cried it as long as I have," he replied, "you would not ask why."  The    OLD CLOTHES-MAN.
H 2




178    PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.
same cause, I presume, operates to produce the contractions
and horrible sounds of Paris.  Our old rag-woman, though no
beauty, is a person of
consequence and respectability compared
with the last profes-:  -  sion in the social chain,
g ~~~~ g  W       that of the " chiffonjji\              i~      ~~i ~nier," whose occupation  is to glean the
garbage of the streets.
Yet even from  such
RAG-WOMAN.
a beginning  fortunes
sometimes arise. I hired for the winter a fine apartment of a
" chiffonnier," who had become a merchant of meubles, with an
annual income of $8000, and was the owner of a fine countryseat. The "coco"-man, with his liquorice-water drink, in a
sort of pagoda-shaped tin vessel, still cries, "Cool drink!"
under a blazing sun, bidding
defiance to innovation and more
HII   I OO-A.llAiUDS
THE "COCO"-MAN.            LA RAVAUDEUSE.




PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.    179
noxious fluids.  But the tide of improvement, with the increasing love of" eau de vies," will, before long, sweep him off
from the public stage. The " ravaudeuse," or mender, is fast
disappearing, but, as a type of useful industry, is worthy of
being perpetuated among the records of past life.
Such are some of the figures of the gratuitous drama of
Parisian life.  There are others no less ridiculous and infiniteBOX-SELLERS.
ly more demoralizing (if this term can be applied with propriety to any honest mode of livelihood), which I can not omit
without doing injustice to a very conspicuous source of amusement to all classes. I refer to the public balls, commencing
with those in which figure the wash-women and the fish-women, with their gallants. These are periodical, generally about
"mi-careme," or half way through Lent, when Parisian nature can stand the penance of fast and forbearance from the
dance no longer, and the Church is compelled to shut its eyes
at the last and most riotous of the masked balls, and indulge
their more humble professors in one night's trip on the light
fantastic toe.  The figures here are somewhat original, remarkable rather for weight and emphasis than grace. But to
see dancing in all the luxuriance of unrestrained French an



1.80    PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRtENCH PRINCIPLES.
imation, one must, if in winter, stroll into the Valentino or
Salle Paganini, or during the summer into the Bal Mobile,
Ranalegh, in the Chateau des Fleurs.  In all of these places
the dancing is graceful and decorous while the sergent de viyle
looks in, but when his back is turned, or his eyes have assumed a. convenient abstraction, fast and furious grows the
dance, till, in. the excitement and activity of the cancan, it
FISl-WOMAN'S BALL.             CANCAN LEGER.
would seem as if human muscles, or, at all events, garments,
must give way.  In the extravagances of the Polynesian
dances I thought I had beheld the climax of license in this
art, but it was reserved for the beautiful and tastefully-attired mademoiselle of this capital to convince me that I was
mistaken. Imagination can not conceive any thing more grotesque than some of its figures.  They require, too, an amount
of activity little short of the miraculous to attain the full spirit
of the dance. In their excitement, the dancers literally strive
to jump out of their skins. They make more contortions than
an impaled worm, and wind up with a twirl-about that would
do credit to the whirling dervishes. The orthodox license of
the polka hug is somewhat exceeded, and the embrace of the
waltz would astonish the warmest advocates of that dance.




PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.    181
CANCAN FLEURI.                 LE TOURNIQUET.
Were it not that at this juncture the police awake to their duties, it would speedily degenerate into a vulgar and disgusting
display.
The word Republic sounds so gratefully to American ears,
that we are apt, in the first glow of our enthusiasm, to mistake
the name for the reality, and give France credit for a democratic spirit that she does not possess. She would, indeed, be
a glorious ally to the cause of democracy, and well might we
be proud of her conversion, if it had the merit of sincerity.
The only democracy she has thus far known is anarchy, from
the evils of which she finds her sole remedy in despotism.
This is not surprising when we examine her social frame. It
is essentially aristocratic throughout. Great triumphs have
indeed been won in the cause of civil rights, and feudal servitude perished in 1789; but the habits of centuries have become the social constitution of the people, and can not be exchanged for more healthful institutions at a mere declaration
of political rights, or baptizing anew the government. No attempt has yet been made to train or educate the nation into
republicanism. Their aristocratic framework of society, the
legitimate offspring of their long ages of feudalism and monarchy, is still the moving principle of the nation. In the
United States, democracy has fused its followers into one collective mass —the people. This is the only caste, the sole




182    PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.
privileged body we possess. Individuals differ in fortune and
position, but they are all compelled to float on the wide, equalizing ocean of democracy, now rising and now disappearing
in the waves, as their own merits determine.  Our institutions
are democratic to the back-bone. Let him who doubts this
attempt to ape the aristocrat. He would meet with the same
respect as did the jaclkdaw  in the peacock's plumes.  In
France, society is one of wide distinctions, none the less hereditary by the abortive abolition of titles, or life interest only
in patents of nobility. Social tastes are
perpetuated from father to son.  The            m
rule in France is the exception in the
United States, and the exception in the
United States is the rule in France. In
the former, the servant breeds the servant, the mechanic raises the mechanic,
the son of the tradesman stands behind
his father's counter, and blood clings to
race like original sin.  In the latter, the
laborer of one generation is the leader
of the upper ten thousand in the next.
The sailor is the father of the merchant,   A JUVENILE PORTER.
the mechanic of the statesman, and the farmer of the clergyman. Their children snuff the clod again, and the wheel of
society, revolving quickly, regularly, and surely, gives all alike
a chance at the top.  This is our natural condition, our domestic constitution; and he who has faith in the legitimate
ascendency of virtue and talent, and their inherent right to
rule, should cherish it as the sacred pledge of the ultimate
success of the human race in the career of self-government.
In France, eternal distinctions classify the human species.
Every caste has its uniform, and each canll be as accurately
classed by its covering and color as any cockle by the syster




PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.    183
of Linna-uns.  There is no mistaking the son of your porter for
the heir of your friend the banker.  The workmen of France
A YOUNG PEER.           THE "RED." THE "BLOUSE.f"
have immortalized the blouse, and the sympathizing Red
equally disdains the niceties of apparel or cleanliness of person.  Every school and trade has its uniform  or peculiarities of costume. The grand social aim would seem to be to
classify society and isolate its professions, instead of blending
them, by uniformity of dress and absence of artificial distinctions, into one national brotherhood.  In France, professions, trades, and the various occupations of life are severally
consolidated or protected by civic privileges, monopolies, or
other legal distinctions, which perpetuate a spirit of class, and
render it difficult for one to pass into the boundaries of another. But it is not my design in this place to particularize
more than the fact of the existence of these social distinctions.




CHAPTER IX.
SKETCHES ABOVE GROUND AND BELOW GROUND.
WHo fails to notice in the streets of Paris those long, lugubrious processions of ark-like coaches, blacker within and without than ravens, drawn by heavy black horses, with coal-black
harness and plumes, and guided by drivers in the same sombre livery, the tout ensemble affording the greatest conceivable
contrast to the brilliant equipages so rapidly circulating about
them? As they trail through the streets with slow and solemn
pace, they appear to be so many clumsily-carved masses of
jet, overspread with palls, and animated with just sufficient
life to grope their way blindly back to the dark! mine whence
they issued. In their presence the sunlight seems to scowl
and shine askant. The gay crowd look at them as birds of
evil omen, but respectfully make, as they pass, the only bows
that do not call for a return. Yet at all hours they are to be
seen, sometimes singly, standing like solitary crows in a cornfield before the entrance of some poverty-marked habitation;
at others, in long and pompous files, stretching from before a
church-door, draperied with the costly tokens of death, far down
the neighboring street. In the first instance, a poor man has
died, and the undertaker, for a few francs only, undertakes to
give only a few francs' worth of conventional respect to the
mortal remains he unceremoniously hurries to its cheap grave.
Not so in the second instance. A rich man may not have died,
but the deceased has left enough to pay for the pompous funeral, which law and custom force the family to accept from




PARISIAN SIG;I-ITS AND FRENCH PItINCIPLES.    185
the sole company that has the monopoly of interment for the
city of Paris. It is rightly called the service-general of the
"'Pompes Feltnsbres."  It pays largely for its privilege, and enjoys in return the right to make dying a very expensive affair
in Paris.  The corpse belongs, not to friends, but to this conmpaly, until the worms claim their prerogative.  With us, a funeral is a simple, inexpensive affair, left, as all other individual matters very properly are, to the dictates of the judgment
or affection of those who are most interested.
Not so here.  A funeral, like every other ceremony, domestic or public, in France, must be converted into a spectacle. A
dismal spectacle they make of it.  Their black is an intensified black, and their cross and skull bones of the most appalling patterns and colors. All that can make a funeral chilling
and hollow is liberally provided. If to the present mercenary
tokens of grief they would add the Polynesian custom of paid
wailing and forced rivulets of tears, the spectacle would be
more perfect of its kind.
I may be considered as too severe on the system of funerals,
but I have before me an official tariff of charges which shall
be my evidence. Although nearly as large as one page of a
penny newspaper, it embraces only the items for the third
class of interments, that most commonly in vogue.  In all,
there are seven classes, the last and most expensive of which
requires an outlay of not less than ten thousand francs for the
journey from the church to the cemetery.
This tariff is in the shape of a printed bill, with the price
affixed to each article or person required, with blank spaces
for the sums total.
The department of religious ceremonies is divided into
thirty-one distinct charges, embracing a total of two hundred
and eighty-one francs for the Church. The first item is the
"Droit curial," six francs; the presence of the cure costs twelve




186    PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.
francs; vicars, three francs, and priests, two francs and a quarter each; the " serpents," clerks, chanters, and red-capped boys
are cheaper.  Then come all the minor employ6s of the
Church-beadles, Suisses, carriers of the cross, &c.: these receive a franc and a half each.  A deacon and sub-deacon,
twelve francs; a grand mass is cheap at three francs, but the
extras swell it to a sum total in which the original charge is
quite lost; a gift to the altar, twelve francs; two priests to go
with the corpse to the cemetery, sixteen francs; candles,
ninety-six francs; ornaments, censers, etc., at the altar and
steps, including carpets and cross, holy water and candlesticks,
forty-two francs; tolling the bells, five francs.  This is for an
ordinary funeral. It will be seen that the Church thrives, and
drives a good bargain with the dead.
Next we come to the lion's share, or the company's.  This
complete amounts to one thousand two hundred and thirty-four
francs, divided as follows: Expenses to the dead-house, one
hundred and fifteen francs; to the Church, seven hundred and
fifteen; for the cortege, four hundred and four.  Some of the
items of these charges sound singularly enough in a bill.  For
instance, the black cloth over the entrance to the house pays
ten sous the yard; thirty mourning-chairs pay each one franc
and a half'; a black foot-carpet, ten sous the yard; eight
men in mourning, eight francs each; twelve torches, three
francs each.  The hearse, with the mourning for the horses,
fringed with silver, plumes, etc., is charged at one hundred
and twenty francs, and each black coach fifteen francs.
There are twenty-nine distinct charges at the dead-house,
of from one franc to fifty, embracing candles, sepulchral lamps,
and antique drapery, curtains, fringes, stand for the holy water, a portable altar, a cricket to kneel upon in velvet embroidered with silver, and a variety of other articles difficult to
translate into Protestant English. Among the Church and




PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.    187
cortege charges are trophies of standards, candelabras, four allegorical statues representing Religion and the theological Virtues-these cost two hundred francs; cockades, grand liveries,
a war-horse, equerries for war-horse, dress for domestics, a
pair of weeping women in fine linen, ditto in fine crape, ditto in
common, escutcheons and ciphers in velvet and silver, crowns
and bouquets of orange-flowers, cloth for the poor, and a long
list of other articles to swell the expense and pageantry.
These last, however, are supplementary, and at the option of
the family.
It is cheaper to live than to die in Paris; for, however dear
may be the living to their friends, the dead are sure to be
dearer, for a short period, at all events. For a stranger in a
furnished apartment, the affair is still worse.  The landlord
claims the right to refurnish and refit the chamber at the expense of the deceased.  In an instance that came tomy lknowledge of an American gentleman who died, leaving two young
daughters, as it were, unprotected, the landlord brought in an
exorbitant bill for new furniture, paper, and paint, and seized
the corpse for payment as it was leaving the house for the cemetery. It is well, therefore, in a lease, to have the expense of
dying agreed upon; though, if it were not for the natural
sentiment of respect to the dead, it would be a just retribution
to leave in the hands of such a harpy a security which would
not improve in keeping.
Paris above ground is an ever-changing panorama, which
any one can view by paying for it; sometimes the coin is
simply money, or, cheaper and better yet, a little enterprise or
exercise; but too often it is a sight draught upon either health
or morals. It is my endeavor to show it as it is, neither better nor worse, that those who visit it may go forewarned,
while those who see it only through my telescope shall have
cause to praise the clearness of its glasses. Few, however,




188    PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.
think of glancing at subterranean Paris-that mighty labyrinth
of streets beneath ground, seen but rarely by human eyes, but
without which Paris above ground would be an unhabitable
morass or a generator of pestilence.  There is nothing here
for show, but all for use. Built to endure for ages, and to subserve the necessities of millions of human beings, performing
in the material economy of social life functions as important
and as indispensable as the veins and arteries in physical life,
they are worthy of a glance, at all events, that we may learn
the labor and expense involved in lighting, watering, and
cleaning a modleii_ ca.Gii..     These indispensable offices are
/rj~Al _ii__ ND  B OiU
ABOVE AND BELOW GROUND,




PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.   189
all moving quietly on in their prescribed paths, unseen and
almost unknown by the millions of noisy feet above them.
Yet, should any derangement ensue, the health and comfort
of the city is at once in jeopardy. Were the Tuileries consumed by fire, and the Arch of Triumph ingulfed in an earthquake, the Parisians would simply have two fine monuments
the less. But were the drains, water, and gas of Paris to be
suddenly arrested, the city would become uninhabitable, and
the ancient marshes of Lutece would regain their lost empire.
It was not, however, until the commencement of the last century that a regular system of drainage was established. Jean
Beausire was the architect first charged with these useful
works.  The system has been continually improved upon, until it has rendered Paris the cleanest and best-lighted capital
in the world, To free the Seine, within the city limits, from
the rivers of filth that are being continually discharged into
its stream, it is proposed to construct on each bank two mammoth drains, which shall receive the contents of all the minor
ones, and, running parallel with the river, discharge their contents into it below the city. This
would involve a prodigious outlay, but would contribute greatly to the comfort of the numer-         i 
ous bathing and washing establishments, and possibly might
induce some Parisians to try the
virtues of river water occasionally as a beverage. 
Among the good things of Paris, there is none which appeals
more kindly to the stranger than 
the regularity and dispatch of
the postal arrangements. Sure,         HE POSTSAN.




190   PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.
ly no one will grudge the trifling gift at New Year expected
by the postman, who so faithfully and promptly has delivered
your letters the past twelve months, seeking you out perhaps
in the remotest quarter of the city. He is a man of uniform,
and tinged with a slight air of importance; always on the
move, and always with a smile to spare if he be able to respond to your eager expectations.
Another convenience, and an ornamental one, recently
adopted, are the pretty cast-iron boxes, in the shape of colsg, aye she;,   7
LETTER-BOX,




PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.    191
umns, placed about the city to receive the contributions for
the general post-office. Their contents are emptied several
times a day by the postal agents.  But where the French postoffice is unequaled, perhaps, by any other, is in the elegance
and convenience of its ambulatory arrangements. The moving post-office is an elegant car attached to the express trains,
in which the postal service goes on as quietly and as uninterruptedly, while traveling at the rate of forty miles an hour, as
if stationary in the Rue Jean Jacques Rousseau.  The mails
are made up, letters received, weighed, stamped, and dispatched en route. The two following cuts best illustrate this admirable economy of time and distance.
___K                I  II: I all II    I  3;e  i                _I
POST-CAR.
The beautiful and the disgusting, the natural and the exaggerated, the true and the false, the useful and the showy, are
so intermingled in Paris, that it often takes but a step to precipitate one from  one extreme to the other.  Yet it is this
mixture, in which every art or passion finds an appropriate
place, that gives this capital its unrivaled attractions. Every
taste can be gratified, and every humor amused. Lessons




19x    PARISiAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.
I~~~~~~~~~~~I    i
ii
INTERIOR OF POST-CAR.
of wisdom or texts for many a useful discourse are developed
in rapid succession. Neither to a reflective or thoughtless
mind need there be any approach to ennui. The very stones
and shop windows protest against it, while in the varying
multitude there is a novelty for every minute. The art is to
catch and apply the wit or moral as it floats rapidly past.  To
classify or arrange would be an impossible task, or, if possible,
it would make the picture as rigid and uninviting as one of
Cimabue's Holy Families. Better by far catch the manners as
they rise, for one day's experience is no sure guide for its successor. If I glance hastily from one topic to another, blame
not me, reader mine, but the variety that knows no end in the
streets of Paris.  I long ago thought I had exhausted the humorous fancies of the retail wine-dealers in their shops, from
broad silver counters, to be measured by the square metre, with
walls presenting an unbroken line of mirrors, and ceilings
sumptuous in gold and fresco, down to the meanest of the red



PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.    193
republican dramn-shops, whose customers find a tonic in dirt
and tobacco-smoke; but one morning I stumbled upon one,
the walls of which were lined with rows of various sized
kegs and casks, the heads of each of which were lookingglasses.  By this fancy the customer was sure to see in advance the image of himself in the cask which perchance was
destined to ingulf him, soul and body. One of the strolling
theatres of the lowest character, on a fete Sunday at St. Cloud,
had for a sign large pictures on canvas, representing the Descent from the Cross and the Raising of Christ.  What rendered this the more extraordinary was the fact that, in general, their external attractions are very fair representations of
the species of exhibition to be witnessed within.
Humbug has a veritable organization at Paris, with its directors, agents, tariff of prices, and machinery complete to elevate or depress an artist, author, or actor, as may be agreed
upon with the parties interested. It even pervades the shops,
the patronage of many of which is controlled by a species of
advertising claquery, exceedingly diverting to, the initiated, but
expensive to the over-credulous. It is somewhat annoying,
too, after having been plunged into ecstascies by the perusal
of some much-talked-of and greatly-lauded literary work,
christened with some famous name, to have a less verdant
friend tell you that the only acquaintance the author in question has with it is the title-page and perhaps the preface, for
affixing his name to which he pockets the price named in the
contract as the equivalent of his reputation in the sale. But
the greatest imposition upon the good-nature of the public, and
upon their ears also, arises from the organized bands of claqueurs which invade every place of amusement, and levy formidable contributions upon directors, actors, and authors alike.
After one has been led by the contagious force of example
to join in a round of uproarious applause, with which eome PfI




194    PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.
vorite actor or piquant speech has been greeted, and, perhaps,
been simple enough to add a bouquet to the pile cast at the
feet of a pretty actress, whose emotions of gratitude, too powerful for speech, can only be expressed by a well-studied pantomime, it is as kill",t~\'     i\),'By'       ing to sentiment as
EmI-Sea lo;;;tE frost is to flowers
iiii   to hear a cynical
Frenchman by your
/   >K  8side, with a latent
4/ j,  smile at your verds" "ea /"' t L                      ancy discernible on.
his otherwise polite
features, coolly reI   mark,   That cost
to.C~~'H sjeth  sagKad  udene bt   for an explanation.
should the inforimation convey no compliment to his ownd
institutions. In the
fist place, he tells
NA Ayou never to take a
seat in the centre of the parquette,just under the chandelier.
You wonder at this, as it is really the best place in the house
to see the stage and audience, but, after the explanation, you
avoid it as you would one of the plagues of Egypt.  It is the
locality of the "claqueurs."  Remark that group himmediately
under the chandelier, some fifty persons: they are called "Les




PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.    195.:LES CLAQUSURS,
clievaliers d lustre." See how periodically they applaudhow well they are drilled; a hundred hands clapping in perfect unison.  They are like soldiers, and have their corporals
and captains, whose motions they follow with all the regularity that a flock of geese follows its leader.  There stands the
"chef," the Napoleon of claqueurs. He has his receptions, his
court, and is a sort of Fate to the corps dramatique, who must
fee him well if they would not be forgotten in the distribution
of applause and "encores."  As it is reasonable to suppose,
when a French audience has a mercenary band to execute




196    PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.
gratis for them all the clapping, stamping, and shouting, they
do not trouble themselves much with such fatiguing ceremonies.  If they are so far carried out of their dignified contempt
for the claqueurs as to join in applause, it must be by something decidedly good in their estimation.
By this system of claquery-for such I call it, for want of a
better word —almost every piece, however indifferent, is sure
to have a career of fifteen or twenty representations.  The
chief marshals his forces to " chaltffer"-warm up-the actors
and the public. The degree of warmth he applies depends,
of course, upon the price he receives. As the purse descends
on one side of the scale, the applause rises in another. Bouquets, jewelry, and involuntary ecstasies, judiciously brought
in from stage-boxes, are supplementary; but there are few, if
any, actors or actresses independent of this species of claptrap. The newspaper critics are as little to be depended upon
for truth as the stunning homage of the claqueurs. I have not
been able to learn where and how this system originated. At
present it is in full force, and the only hope of its extinction is
in its increasing abuse. The
C" chwf de claque" realizes not
only power, but a tolerable fortune, in a few years from this
black-mail. He not only guarantees the success or damning of a piece-for which also
he has his instruments-but
he contracts with  directors
for the night's receipts, paying perhaps fifteen hundred
francs, and  receiving  two
thousand, if he be successful
-A B. -          in his manmuvres. Decided



PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.   197
ly, one should either know much or know nothing to enjoy
any thing at Paris. A half-way initiation, alternating between faith and skepticism, is of all moods the most miserable.
The doors of the theatres are beset by another species of
agents, scarcely less annoying in their degree. If you arrive a
little late, you are assailed by venders of billets at less than
the regular rates. They arrest your progress at each step, and
THE DOOR OF THE THEATRE.
with an eloquence and impudence that would do credit to a
New York hackman, endeavor to force their tickets into your
hands. Should you leave the house before the entertainment
hands. Should you leave the house before the entertainment




198    PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRtICIPLES.
is over, your path is even more perilous.  "Will AMonsieur sell
his check?" is shouted, in every key, by a dirty gang, from
whose clutches one gladly escapes by throwing at them the
object of their pursuit.  If, however, he be more tenacious, he
can realize a trifling portion of the original price of his billet
-a practice quite common with Frenchmen who do not stay
out the afterpieces.
The pursuit of knowledge under difficulties is a trite adage;
but few take notice of the difficulties attending some kinds
of pleasure.  I never realized this more forcibly than the other evening at the Th6eatre Frangaise, on one of Rachel's nights.
Ascending the staircase, I noticed a crowd of ladies and gentlemen, attracted by some maneeuvre which greatly interested
them.  Joining the group, I became an equally interested
spectator at once. Before them was a lady, ricl-ly dressed, of
the circumference, moderately speaking, of a wine-pipe-in
short, square, huge, fleshy, and clumsy; a figure much as
would appear two of Rubens's Flemish divinities if run into
one body.  There was a step of about six inches' elevation for
her to surmount to enter her box. This she was utterly unable to do, unassisted.  The door was little less than a pattern.
However, she had come to see Rachel, and was not disposed
to give it up.  The gentleman attending her, not particularly
slight himself, backed into the box, and took hold of each of
her hands. A stout female servant placed herself on all-fours
underneath the most accessible part of the stout dame, and
gradually lifted her, by rising on her hands and feet, as a sort
of lever, as the gentleman pulled.  For a little while it was
uncertain whether the lady would succeed in passing through
the door, or fall back and exterminate the panting servant beneath her; but her flesh being pliant, and the woman strong,
with a final pull and bout all together, she at last passed in.
A more ridiculous sight no comedy could have afforded; yet




PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.    199
French politeness was proof against a change of countenance
during the operation beyond a slight expression of amazement at the novelty of the hoisting arrangement.  An English
crowd would have laughed and cheered.
With all the rage for amusements that pervades the French
metropolis, the theatrical enterprise is a very uncertain one.
Without the aid of government, the large theatres and operas
could not subsist on their present scale of magnificence. Few
of the minor ones pay.  Th.e most successful is the Funambules, which owes its popularity to the prince of low fun,
Pierrot, who is to France what Pulcinello is to Italy.  The
Vaudeville, which cost 3,467,000 francs, was sold in 1832 for
1,100,000 francs; yet its gains the past winter from one play,
La Dame des Camelias, alone were 100,000 francs.
]M. Barthlblemy, a young man of science and fortune, has constructed, at his own expense, an immense theatre on an altogether new model. Ilis object is to moralize the masses by
combining instruction with amusement, particularly in bringing upon the stage historical pieces. As yet his success is uncertain, as the hall has been used only for concerts. It holds
about thirty-five hundred persons, and is a vast semi-elliptic
of a cupola, with three rows of boxes, and galleries of a novel
and daring architecture. It is so constructed for music that
smaller orchestras and less powerful singers produce better
effects than those of other theatres, the sounds not being lost
in the hot air above, as elsewhere. The orchestra is placed
above the stage, so that the attention of the public is not distracted from the stage by the movements of the musicians and
their huge instruments.  There are no foot-lights, but the hall
is brilliantly illuminated by an ingenious light made to imitate
the rays of the sun, and so suspended that it does not inconvenience the eyes of the spectators.  The aim of MI. Barthelemy in reforming the stage, both in a moral and architectural




200    PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.'\
r- 4i
N         EVi THEATRZE._
view, deserves the conu-tenanece of the government.  Better
still were they to close to the public their schoo! of depravation of  manners, and petrifying of the kindly sympathies of
the heart.  The daily exhibition at the Morgue of the naked
ID
corpses of the criminal dead, or victims of despair, attracts a
constantly changing crowd  of young and old of both sexes, who,
with cold curiosity, examine the lifeless bodies, exciting in each
other laughter by e mulous jokes, and even obscene remarks.
Perbaps a mother, with grief too deep for utterance. recog



PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.   201
nizes on the cold marble the graceful form of a daughter, who,
with a smile of temporary farewell on her lips, left her but a
few hours before. A mortal accident has overtaken her, and
she now lies there dead, and stripped to the very verge of indecency.  The spectators acknowledge no relationship with
either the mourned or the mourner.  " Ah! how unfortunate
so handsome a girl should drown herself!" exclaims one.
" What a beautiful carcass she makes!" says another, still more
rudely. The children press between the adults to see the
sight, listen to the comments of their elders, and then retire,
having taken their first lesson in the school of inhumanity.
Unfortunately, human nature is more susceptible to evil
than to good impressions, otherwise the pernicious influences
of the Morgue might be more than counteracted by the daily
exhibition of a charity whose zeal and purity admit of no
earthly alloy. None can question the claim of the Sisters of
Charity to these qualities, when it is remembered that theirs
alone, of all the institutions of the Catholic Church, went
through the Revolution of 1789, not only unmolested, but sustained and respected. In every age since their institution, and
among all nations that they have visited, they have proved
themselves angels of mercy. They have nursed the sick, comforted the afflicted, dispensed to the needy of every rank or nation, not only the gifts of charity, but performed by the bedside
of loathsome pestilence or repulsive poverty those last offices
from which relationship fled appalled, and which none but
woman, who borrows her inspiration from those of her sex
who were last at the cross and first at the grave can perform.
As they were generations since, so are they now, the same devoted soldiers of humanity, whether amid Canadian snows
or tropical heats; constant at the bedside of disease and
death, carrying help and hope across the threshold of poverty, comforting and taming maniac violence or criminal de12




202     PARISIAN  SIGHTS AND FRENCH  PRINCIPLES.
v,!....    -      i...
of. Charity. Inidl  acl.   a  sl
ji!  ]i',
ists, enemies and friends of Rome, have each, in turn, acknowledged their services to humanity, as they, in turn, have been
ministered to by thenmf.  Their rule is that of universal brothi~~~~~~i              \~~~~~~~~~j'
Mv:lj~% l
U 
IN, -~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~!:   i 
/ jlsii                                      ii IIII~~~~~~~:ily!110
OKI~~8
ministered to by them-. TJlheir rule is that of universal broth



PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.   203
erhood, their sacrifice the entire renunciation of the world, and
their faith is that active charity which is the bond of peace
and good-will among men.  True it is that among Protestants
there are many sisters whose charity and faith equal theirs, and
whose good works, done in secret, are not known from the
right hand to the left. Theirs is the unorganized charity of the
heart-the spontaneous offering of individual piety. But while
distinctions and organizations exist among mankind, the humble garb of the Sisters of Charity, as they pass silently and
quietly through the streets of Paris on their errands of mercy,
will serve to remind both the Protestant and Catholic that the
religion that visits and comforts the widow and fatherless still
exists in the world. It would be well for their souls were
they to go and do likewise.
Let not Protestants suppose that the old, disappointed, or afflicted-those only to whom the world ofebrs but little-are to
be found in their ranks. On the contrary, the young, comely,
and accomplished have their representatives.  Theirs is not
either an oath of seclusion or of perpetuity.  On the contrary,
they see daily the outer world in all its brightness and attractions. They mingle in its throngs, and they pass from their
plain cells or the bedsides of squalor and disease to the homes
of affluence.  The contrast between a life of worldly enjoyment and self-renunciation is constantly before them. Moreover, they are free at any time to leave the sisterhood and join
again the circles they have forsaken. Under these circumstances, can there exist a doubt of their sincerity and purity?
Parisian levity, which spares nothing else, sacred or profane,
spares them. They never have to blush at false charges and
insinuated scandal. The Popes have endeavored to introduce
them into Italy, there being no counterpart among the Italian
orders to theirs.  As yet, Italian women have failed to imitate
their purity and devotion.  A few French sisters have been




204    PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.
induced to establish themselves at N'aples, where their good
works are no less acknowledged and appreciated than at Paris.
I shall never forget the impression made upon me in conversing with a still young and fair sister in the sacristy of the
chapel to the Hospital of the Insane at Avignon. She had
taken us there to show us a wonderful object of art, in the
form of a dead Christ upon the cross, cut out of a single piece
of ivory, exhibiting on one side of the face an expression of
agony, and on the other calm resignation. She spoke of her
own situation with an accent of sorrowful satisfaction-sorrow
that there was so much wretchedness, and satisfaction that
she could labor for its consolation.  She was free to go back
to her friends, yet she preferred to live there, as she had already for thirteen years, performing the most menial offices
for the insane. "The work is hard and constant," said she,
" because there are but few of us to perform it for more than
one hundred patients, yet we shall continue to do it while we
live." As we dropped some pieces of money into the cup
placed to receive them, she quietly remarked, " You know this
is not for us, but for the poor insane whom we nurse; it all
goes to them." There was an air of calm piety and unobtrusive meekness, combined with grace and-intelligence, about
her, that made me feel that such a nurse at a sick bedside
would prove at once a physician for the body and a missionary to the soul. In requesting a glass of water, her hospitality insisted upon our making use of the communion wine,
apologizing for its not being of better quality. I took leave
of her with increased respect for the order to which she belonged, and regret that the Church of Rome was not as purely
represented in all its institutions and ministers; not without,
I may as well confess it, a twinge of compunction at the unfruitfulness of my own life in good works and self-renunciation as compared with hers.




PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.   205
To write of the condition of a people, and omit to give their
numbers, wealth, poverty, and the. figures that show plainer
than the most lively description their virtues and their vices,
would be like painting a landscape without a ground-work,
or trying to set up a human figure without the frame-work of
bones. America has had the equivocal compliment to lend
her name in Europe to more than one species of dissipation
or crime, indicating thus the source from which it has been
borrowed. Any species of robbery requiring peculiar finesse
is called " un vol a l'Americaine;" and there is a gambling
game-shades of our Pilgrim fathers, close your ears!-known
in Europe simply as "Boston."  It is to be devoutly hoped
that no such accomplishment derived its origin from that city
of " steady habits."
The most quiet and          i''
unsuspicious of rob"
beries is that per-                                 I
formed by means of
false hands, the operation of which the          I
adjoining cut shows      _        -
better than can be
described in words.
The English  have
the reputation of being the most adroit       b 
in this species of..
theft, for the exer- 
cise of which omnibuses afford a very     
convenient field.
The refuse population of Paris, either          PICPOCKET




M06    PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.
too poor to be reputed honest, or too criminal to have any pretensions to such a reputation, is estimated by M. Fre'gier at
63,000; but it is unnecessary to suppose that all these are
actively engaged in evil doing.  The average number of the
imprisoned for all causes in France at one time is about 50,000,
and during the year, 200,000. The expense of their detention
is 20,000,000 francs, a legal tax which crime levies annually
upon society, independent of the indirect contributions, in the
shape of thefts and robberies, the amount of'which there is no
means of estimating. Great as this may be, it falls far short
of the contributions exacted by mendicity and poverty.  The
French are not, as the Italians, a race of beggars.  With the
latter it is a profession, but with the former simply a necessity.
There is too much fiery self-respect and genuine politeness in
Gallic nature to produce a race of mendicants. Besides, the
government discountenances it by severe measures so effectTHE POLICE AND MENDICANTS,
ually that a stranger who glances superficially at Paris may
doubt, as did Sir Francis Head, if there are any wretchedly poor.
They are effectually concealed in stone mansions and narrow
streets, the external appearance of which, however much it may




PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.   2G7
contrast with the brilliant Boulevards, but indifferently gauges
the depths of misery within them.  Besides, the mendicity,
which is able occasionally, in despite of the police, to show its
head in some of its Protean shapes, is of that reckless, swindling character, which either amuses by its cunning or chills by
its impudence. In 1656, so great was this evil, that it was
forbidden, under the penalty of a heavy fine, to give to beggars in the street under any pretext whatsoever, or to receive
them into lodging-houses. The official number of " mendiiants" in France is 4,000,000, or one in nine of the entire population. As many more are supposed to require more or less
assistance from charity each year. If the destitution of France
among its poorer classes assumes a magnitude that to the citizens of the United States would seem of gigantic proportions,
public and private charity swells in a corresponding ratio.
There is nothing in which France appears to better advantage
than the scale on which she organizes her benevolence. It
bespeaks a sensitiveness to the sufferings of humanity which
does her high honor, and shows that in the Christian rule of
good works she has made rapid progress, whatever she may
lack in sound faith. The gifts and legacies to the hospitals
and benevolent institutions from 1800 to 1846 have amounted
to upward of 122,000,000 francs, increasing largely in the later
years. This is exclusive of other charities, which are estimated at as much more, making a total of 45,000,000 of dollars. The official budget of charity for 1844 appropriates
25,000,000 of dollars for this object; but this includes the regular revenues of the hospitals, which amount to nearly two
thirds of that sum. The property belonging to the 1388 hospitals of France is valued at 100,000,000 of dollars, producing
a net income of about 2,500,000 dollars, and the number of
sick received annually not far from 500,000. The inhabitants
of the large towns absorb nearly all the revenues of the hos



208    PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.
pitals, the thirty millions of the peasantry being left almost
destitute. The hospitals in the cities are so liberally provided
for that it has been seriously questioned whether they did not
augment public distress by diminishing private responsibility.
M. Moreau Christophe, after stating the enormous amount
which it annually costs to support beggary, makes the very
significant inquiry whether a less sum, wisely expended, would
not suffice to extinguish it entirely.
These expenditures, heavy as they are and must be, when
we are informed that, in 1836, of the deaths in Paris, more than
two fifths took place in the hospitals, give but a faint idea of
the extent of the benevolence of the French nation. There
are in Paris alone more than one hundred and eighty private
charitable societies and institutions.  But, in spite of all this
array of charity, there is a fearful amount of suffering and destitution in Paris. The public statistics show that the number
who die annually from sheer starvation is by no means too inconsiderable to be overlooked in the bills of mortality.
While speaking of the charitable institutions of France, we
must not omit to mention one, the utility of which is more than
questionable, although there can be no doubt as to the benevolent motives in which it had its origin. We refer to the
Foundling Hospital. Any parent to whom the birth of a child
is a shame, or its maintenance an inconvenience, has but to repair to the gate of the hospital, deposit the infant in a " tour,"
or box turning upon a pivot, ring a bell which summons a
porter, and the care for the life of the young being, which nature has so strictly devolved upon those who gave it birth, is
at once and forever thrown upon strangers.  The strongest argument urged in favor of this institution is, that the lives of
many children are preserved who would otherwise have been
murdered before or directly after birth. But when we take
into account the fearful mortality of the infants thus given into




PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.    209
the charge of hired nurses, there is good reason to apprehend
that the institution occasions a greater loss of life than it saves.
I have not at hand the hospital statistics of the last few years;
but, according to those of the latest year within our present
reach, out of 28,942 births, 4792 were abandoned by their
parents and sent to the hospital. Any institution which enables and induces the parents of one sixth of the children born
in the capital of a Christian country, with perfect impunity and
without fear of detection, to abandon their offspring almost immediately after birth, must be productive of far more evil than
it prevents.  The great law of nature, that the mother shall
have charge of her infant, can not thus be set aside with impunity; nor, I apprehend, is the facility with which infants
may thus be disposed of without a very important bearing upon
the vast proportion which the illegitimate births in Paris bear
to the legitimate.  In the same year of which we have spoken
above, one third of the births were of the former character.




CHAPTER X.
THE GENERATIONS OF FASHION.
IF there be one earthly object more deserving of pity than
another, what do you think it is, curious reader?  As a Yankee, with all your inherited cuteness, you will never guess.
I leave that to a Frenchman; and, not to keep you longer in
suspense-the worst possible policy for an author-I will tell
you.  It is an "old faslionz."  How many delicately-chiseled
noses are turned up at that irrevocable sentence of condemnation, while disgust at the sight, and amazement at the audacity of the shop-keeper, play about the lines of the fairest
mouths as their lovely possessors turn their backs peremptorily upon an article which but a month before was the coveted object of all eyes-" a perfect beauty"-" a sweet love"with an exclamatory " Pooh! it is old-fashioned."  To use an
expressive, though vulgar phrase, that is a " clincher."  The
fate of an old pot is not more hopeless.  IWthen once that
Mede and Persian fiat has gone forth from feminine lips, every body is at liberty to give it another crack. A shop-keeper
might as profitably employ his time in searching for the philosopher's stone, as his eloquence in endeavoring to sell any
thing once put under the ban of fashion.  The interdict of
beauty is upon it. Accursed of good taste has it become, and
excommunicated fromr the depths of every well-filled purse.
No matter how becoming it has been considered a few short
weeks before, whatever may be its intrinsic merits of elegance,
art, or costliness; however much human brains and hands




PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.    211
have labored to make it a combination of utility and beauty,
it is now a sunken, degraded thing, despised of women and
scorned of men, barely tolerated by the necessities of poverty,
or reduced to seek a home in the haunts of vice.
This caprice, which looks only to change for its aliment, is
as old as human invention.  I make no doubt that Eve never
wore twice the same pattern of fig-leaves, while Adam searched diligently the forests through to diversify the colors of his
vegetable breeches. The Polynesian turns to nature for his
book of fashions, and seeks to rival the hues of the bird of
Paradise in the ample folds of his brilliant-colored " tappas."
Every savage finds his greatest wants in the bright gewgaws
of civilization. If there be a nation on earth that clings to its
old clothes and furniture because they are good and useful;
that deprecates change as innovation upon good habits and
cutstoms; that does not dive into the bowels of the earth, fishl
the seas, and penetrate the heavens, racking nature to find
material wherewith to distort and crucify nature in form,
stiUf and pattern, out of sheer disgust of' the old and capricious love for the new, I have yet to discover it.
A passion so universal must be productive of more good
than evil, or else it would die of neglect.  At first glance,
nothing appears more unreasonable, and more destructive of
excellence, than this devotion to variety.  The " love" of one
season is the " fright" of the next.  No sooner have we reconciled our eyes and shoulders to one fit, and begun to think
it tolerable, than we abandon it for some fresh abomination
of the tailor or modiste, and recommence our penance of newforimed inexpressibles and new-cut whalebone. Every change
of coat or boot is another martyrdom. The rack has indeed
left the halls of justice, but it has taken up its residence on
the counters of St. Crispin and kindred saints. Human flesh
has become a mere machine-a sort of clay model-for the




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214    PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.
masters and mistresses of the shears and needles to fit their
garments upon.  Bone and muscle are secondary in their system; the primary object is to display their " fashions," which,
as they are mainly, of late, of the grotesque order, we may
class, according to the views of Ruskin's architecture, rather
as the labor of little minds than the repose of great.
So in other things.  We no sooner combine utility and
beauty, forming an article which is truly excellent in itself,
-than we abandon it, and content ourselves with some crude
novelty, to be discarded, in its turn, as soon as it has advanced
through its several degrees of fashion to any thing like comfortable excellence.. An individual who ventures to like what
suits him well, in opposition to the novel and fashionable, becomes a pariah at once.  He is abandoned of society-lucky
if known as nothing worse than an " odd, old-fashioned fellow," and of no more account in creation than a dead leaf. In
usual they are doomed to equal consideration with an old hat,
substituting a stale joke for the decided kick, either of which
is an effectual barrier to the firmament of fashion.
If this love of variety had no other recommendation than to
prevent repletion in the purses of the rich, it would still be a
social blessing. It feeds, clothes, and houses half the world.
It feels the way to artistic perfection, opens the doors to ingenuity, favors invention, and prevents mental stagnatioln.
Costly and annoying to the individual it may be, but to the
nation it is beneficial. The very whims of' beauty are so
much bounty to industry and art.  Mere dandyism is the rust
of civilization. Like corroded steel, it shows the most where
the polish is most brilliant.
Paris is the central star of fashion. Whatever is seen elsewhere is a ray from her light, diminishing in lustre as it recedes from that city.  The French, under Napoleon, by force
of arms sought to win a universal empire. Failing in this,




PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.    215
they have since employed the more subtle weapons of taste
and fashion to attain the same end.  Their conquests extend
with a rapidity that far surpasses the warlike exploits of the
" Grand Empereur."  There is not a race on the globe that
does not seem destined to lose its national costumes and habits before the invincible power of French fashions. They
have penetrated the huts of the South Sea savages. They
march with the rapidity of commerce along the steppes of
Central Asia, and have climbed the Chinese wall. The turban of the descendants of the Prophet rolls in the dust before
the hat of the infidel. This infiltration of Parisian fashions
is seen every where; sometimes with an elegance that rivals
Paris itself, but more often with an awkward imitation destructive of every grace of the original.  It threatens to subjugate every European costume, however venerable from antiquity or picturesclue in effect. The traveler must hasten if
he would see what remains of the beautiful or odd in the
dresses of the Italian, the national costumes of the Swiss, the
furred robes of the Pole, and the medley medieval civilization
of the Asiatic and European tribes that now are ruled by the
Autocrat of all the Russias.  The conquests of the modistes
are wider than those of the marshals.
A French army of " artistes" have insinuated themselves,
as worms into old books and furniture, into every cranny of
past civilization.  They are rapidly undermining every habit,
both of the body and for the body, of the past.  At present
the adulterine mixture is becoming to neither condition; but
before the army of French cooks, dancing-masters, tailors,
modistes, coiffeurs, valets, femmes-de-chambre, and mechanics of knick-knackery, every other knick-knackery and fashion, not absolutely Parisian in its origin and education, is
rapidly giving way.  ~Whether this is an incipient stage of
the Millennium or not, when mankind are to be all brethren,




216    PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.
alike in speech, habits, and rule, remains to be seen. This
much we know, that French millinery is the dominant power
of civilization. England's Queen and Russia's Czar alike acknowledge its supremacy. Parisian fashion, which, like others, once had a local character of its own, has now become a
cosmopolite, making itself equally at home in Timbuctoo as in
the Champs Elysees.
Whether the world will gain in picturesque effect by the
obliteration of national costumes may well be doubted; but
whether French taste has not a wide gulf yet to pass before
it can make any thing graceful and comfortable of the stovepipe hat, dismal colors, and swaddling clothes to which it
dooms its male devotees, is no matter of doubt at all. It is in
the infancy of its empire, and has yet much to learn before
mankind will acknowledge its sway an easy one. The most
that can now be said in its favor is that, in its restlessness, it
mnay by chance hit upon some combination which shall reconcile comfort and beauty. But we very much fear, if it succeeded in this, that it would not allow it to live a month.
One secret of: Parisian success in the empire of fashion is
this. In the past it cunningly borrowed of all nations every
peculiarity that could be turned to account in its own rage for
novelty. The Romans admitted the deities of conquered nations into their mythology without scrutiny. Their great scheme
of government comprehended every worship, provided it was
not purer than their own. Parisians borrowed every hue and
cut from rival costumes, and transformed them to their own
tastes and purposes. Receiving every thing in the beginning,
they have ended by giving every thing; and the whole world
now looks to Paris as the arbitress of fashion, as the Jew does
to Jerusalem, and the Romanist to Rome, for the seat of their
religions.
With all this, however, the French once had fashions pe



PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.    217
culiarly their own. Indeed, their empire is of very recent
date, and it is well worth our trouble to go back a little, and
see by what strange metamorphoses French taste has assumed its present shape. To do this, I shall be compelled to
illustrate freely, for two reasons. I detest the technicalities
of dress, and if I employed the terms in description, I could
neither understand the costumes myself or make them. intelligible to my readers;
therefore I shall adopt
the better method of                 m  I
letting them  see for 
themselves.
After gunpowder
had put an end to.x
metallic  armor, the
French nobles, by the
usual force of contradiction, ran into the     / 
opposite extreme, and
from ironby the pound"
on their necks, began
to wear costly lace
and ribbons by the       /         g
yard.  This in time
subsided into the most
elegrant of court-dresses, though too ciferlem-             /.'. -.
inate in its charac-               "
ter for any but aristocratic idlers.  Such                /
was the costume of
the perfumed gallants
who crowded the an-             COURT DRFSs, 1775.




218   PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.
te-chambers of Pompadour and Du Barri. Intrigue was the
business of their lives; they looked, acted, studied, and, above
all, dressed with the paramount view of captivating the fairer
sex. Dressing, therefore, was a laborious and protracted operation, which demanded all the powers of the mind. It was
well if the gallant who commenced it as soon as he rose from
his couch at noon, finished his labor of love by three o'clock.
The hands, withdrawn from the night-gloves, must be soaked
for a long time in lotions and washes, to remove any discoloration or roughness; the cheeks were to be tinted with carminatives to give a bloom to the complexion, pallid from last
night's debauch; every envious pimple must be hidden by a
patch; the clothes must be perfumed, the linen powdered to
overcome the smell of soap. The proper tying of the cravat
was the great labor of the day; this performed, the wig and
hat properly adjusted, the most captivating attitudes and
graces carefully studied before the mirror, and the French noble of a few years before the Revolution was prepared for the
conquests of the day. But, before this elaborate costume was
finally swept away by the Revolution, there was a brief episode of simplicity. Franklin made his appearance at court in
a suit of sober brown. All heads were turned. Lace, and
embroidery, and powdered curls were discarded. Straight
brown coats and straight cut hair became the mode of the
moment.
The habit succeeding this was based upon the old English
frock-coat, with its ample and awkward folds, which, by some
unaccountable freak, became all at once the rage at Paris.
The Duke de Lauroquais used to say that the English frockcoat gave a mortal wound to the costume of the French noblesse, which speedily degenerated, with its brocade and gay
colors, into a disguise for the Carnival or a dress for a masquerade ball; while the new costume, which was half adopted




PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.   219,
we present above.
Black, which heretofore had been the obscure color confined




220   PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.
to lawyers, authors, and all those who then formed the connecting link between the vulgar and the fashionable world, now
suddenly took a start, and became the " ne plus ultra" of gentility. The pre-eminence then attained by it for gentlemen
has been retained to this day, while colors are banished to the
street or masquerades. At this time, too, that abomination of
abominations -for the covering of the head, known as the
modern hat, began to assume its present hideous shape,
for which the transformer deserves the pains of decapitation.
Expensive lace became the passion of the dandies, who
piqued themselves upon having a different variety for each
season.
It was the fashion, also, for gentlemen to wear much costly
jewelry, as another mode of distinguishing themselves from
the plebeian crowd. In 1780 was introduced the singularity
of wearing two watches at once,'burdened with immense
chains. This was also adopted by the ladies. The custom
now appears ridiculous, but, in reality, it is no more so than
the present one of loading a vest with a huge bundle of nondescript jewelry-coral and bone arms, legs, and death's-heads
-under the name of charms. The Marshal'Richelieu was
one of the first to carry two watches. One day a caller, by
some mischance, threw them both on the floor. He began to
overwhelm the Marshal with excuses. "ML ake yourself easy,"
replied the veteran of politeness,' I never saw them go so
well together before."
The ladies, not to be outdone in extravagance by their lords,
turned their attentton to their hair, and invented the strangest
coiffures. The Roman ladies, in their rage for red perukes,
frequently sacrificed their own raven locks altogether, and
accumulated several hundred of different shades in a short
time. The passion of the French was for white. A caricature of 1778 gives an idea of the height to which they car



PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.    221
t ied their new fashion, which, after?~ X: ii  all, was not much above the truth..  he chronicles of the  day are.  fiBg illed with scandalous stories of the
relations between the grand dames
and the artists thus admitted to the
i; i'-'~' solitude and privacy of their bedchambers. The art of the
i? coiffeurs became a great
ion.  A work on the subject was published at eight
dollars the volume. aThe pro____ith ___ ~ ~    ~       " aerich and distinguished.  The
a/ccou  o   tetseths             ftelhandsome Leo/o class-        asfnigs"etmcard, nwho was
-- 9~.,._ —__   the coiffeur of
-  the queen, MaCARICATURE, 1778.             a Antoinette,
succeeded in using upward of fourteen yards of gauze upon
a single head, which acquired for him a European renown.
The turbans and bonnets of this epoch were equally extravagant. The coiffures of the ladies became so high that the
face seemed to be in the middle of their bodies; and the director of the Opera was compelled to make a rule that- no lady
with a head-dress above a certain height should be admitted
into the amphitheatre, because the spectators were unable, on
account of them, to see the stage. If the ladies are induced
to class them as "frights," let them consider that, in their day,




222    PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.,,.~::',~
HEAD-DRESS, 1785.
they were considered equally as becoming as the present
styles.
It was in vain that the caricaturists leveled their weapons
at these towering head-dresses. "Top-knots" would not " come
down." They waxed higher and higher, threatening to rival
the tower of Babel, until the Queen was attacked by a violent
illness, which occasioned the loss of the flaxen locks that had




PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.   223
A.
called forth the genius of the coiffeurs. At once down went
the towering piles, like castles in the clouds. Every lady at
court appeared with a flat head. The next great change in
ladies' gear was wrought by a philosopher and poet. St.
Pierre put forth his Paul et Virginle, and all Paris went mad
for simplicity and nature. I-e attired his heroine in simple
white muslin, with a hat of plain straw. The volatile Paris



224    PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.
I'VO'cnnes were captivated. Silks and satins, powder and pomaturn, vanished as if by magic, and, from queen to waiting-maid,
nobody appeared except in white muslins and straw hats.
Geography was ransacked to find names for these remarkable superstructures for the head. Thus there were bonnets a
la Turke, Ci l'Autriche, and, even as early as 1785, America
was honored in having one style, called ( la Philadelphie;
finally, the wits, or the geographical knowledge of the milli



PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.   225
ners being exhausted, they christened
their latest inven-                   >_
tion, in despair, the
"anonymous  bonnet."
Paris, in the year
1851, no sooner set 
eyes on the wouldbe American fashion
of Bloomerismn, with
its short skirts and,.>
trowsered legs, than    
it completely extin-'~  I" "?"')/
guished it by one
erful ridicule. Yet,
as long ago as 1772,
it had  adopted  a                                 \
mode, compounded                     \'"
from the Polonaise,               BONNET, 1786.
equally as open to
objection, so far as scantiness of petticoats was concerned, with
the addition of heels several inches in height, and walkingsticks which might easily be mistaken for boarding-pikes.
The extravagance and luxury of the fashionables of both
sexes immediately preceding the Revolution, which was destined to ingulf them and their fortunes, were such as almost
to palliate the excesses of the people who had so long and patiently borne with the heartlessness and vices of the aristocracy. There was a rivalry among the great lords and bankers
as to who should ruin themselves soonest for the favorite actresses of the day. Then courtesans rode in their carriages
K 2




226   PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.
J~.(
IT    N
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BONNET, 17 6.
made with panels of porcelain, silver spokes, drawn by six
horses, and attended by mounted servants in livery. Even
royalty was scandalized and outdone by the magnificence of
their equipages, hotels, and houses of pleasure. The nobles,
as if with a presentiment of their coming fate, hastened to




PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.   2927
~- ii;i''v' z-'
THE FASHIONS, 1787,'b8.
pour into the laps of their mistresses their entire fortunes,
seeking to drown in refined debauchery the thunlder of the
storm that already began to roll over their heads.
Among the follies which the fashions of this date presented
was the confusion which arose between male and female attire. Men borrowed the laces, ruffles, belts, jewelry, and fine



PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.
ry of the women. They, in revenge, took the coats, vests,
open shirts, cravats, powdered queues, canes, and even cloth
frock-coats of the men. The fashion of the male for one
month was frequently adopted for the mode of the female for
the next. Sexual proprieties in dress were utterly confounded,
and this medley of apparel extended in some degree to habits
and pursuits. The ladies seized upon the studies and occupations of men. Many of their conquests they have retained to
this day, as any one conversant with Paris can perceive.
In the midst of this extravagance came the Revolution.
The etiquette and magnificence of the old society disappeared
in the vortex of the social whirlpool. Diamonds and lace,
flowers and plumes, embroidered coats and satin robes, all the
luxurious and costly creations of past fashion, sunk more rapidly than they arose. Fortunes were annihilated in a day.
Royalty even put on plebeian shoes, mounted the coarse cap
of the worker, and shouted the hollow cry of" 5Egalite!" Universal brotherhood was on the lips of men, and universal hate
in their hearts. Religion and decency fled in aifright. It
was the advent of sans-culottism. For a while, coarseness and
vulgarity, under the garbs of equality and fraternity, reigned
triumphant. For a time they took the form of Anglo-mania.
This was before the advent of the "classical" era. The clubbists carried enormous cudgels, wore thick shoes and coarse
coats, and in all ways endeavored to transform themselves
into blackguards, with the most complete success. The stones
of the Bastile were made up into patriotic breast-pins for the
bosoms of beauty. Copper buckles replaced the gold and silver of former years. Wealth and fashion, once so inordinately
displayed, were now the sure tokens of destruction. Safety
was only in abject humility and conspicuous poverty. But
French nature, though it could endure the tyranny of political
Jacobinism, was restless under the extinction of fashion and




PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.   229
obliteration of clean breeches. It soon rebelled; discarding all.
past inventions, it struck out new and tenfold more ridiculous
costumes than before. The fashion-plates of that time reveal
this rebellion against sans-culottismn in a thousand comical
ways. A view of the rendezvous of the fashionable world,
the garden of the famous " Palais Royal," as it existed in 1792,
would better illustrate the " cut" of the day than pages of description. The different political parties displayed their mutual hatred, not so much in words, which they dared not utter,
as in the silent but mocking eloquence of dress. The popular
tri-colors and cut and unpowdered hair remained, however, in
the ascendency. But neither the horrors of the scaffold nor
the brutalities of Jacobinism could long suppress the pretensions of the young elegants to dress as they pleased. Indeed,
it became a species of heroism, by extravagant finery and outrageous taste, joined to a mincing, effeminate voice, to throw
contempt upon the coarseness of their political opponents.
The "jeunesse doree" of this period were clerks, young lawyers, and others of equally humble origin, who, having aided
in destroying the old aristocracy, now sought to excel them in
vice and folly.
Each succeeding year gave origin to fashions, if possible,
more absurd than the preceding. The moral chaos that prevailed in France affected all material things. Dress was not
only more or less typical of politics, but illustrative of the
classical theories of the times. The military scholar of the
school of Mars, in 1793, wore a mongrel uniform, invented by
the painter David, and intended to be partly Roman, partly
Grecian, but which any old legendary or phalanx veteran of'
Caesar or Alexander would have indignantly rejected as wholly French.
Upon the overthrow of Robespierre, fashion took for a time
a strange turn. A year before, men went in red night-caps,




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232    PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.
and magistrates wore wooden shoes.  Now the citizens emulated the times of the Regency in the extravagance, if not in
the elegance of their costumes. The most popular entertainments were the bals a victime.  To be admitted to these, one
must have lost a relative by the guillotine. The dancers wore
crape about the arm, and gayly danced in honor of the deceased.  It became the fashion to show the profoundest abhorrence of the Reign of Terror.  Instead of Robespierre's
talpedurs, " head-crackers," young muscadines, or dandies, in
swallow-tailed coats, with their hair plaited at the temples
and flowing behind in military fashion, made it a duty to knock
down any shag-coated Jacobin they chanced to encounter.
The ladies, too, expressed their horror of the bloody time in a
fashion of their own. The Jacobins had made a virtue of destroying life; the production of life must be the grand virtue
under the new state of things. Hence, in 1794, it was noticed
that every fashionable citoyenne was either really or apparently far advanced in maternity.
The "iferveilleuse" of the same year, by the capacity of her
bonnet and the slimness of her skirts, will recall a fashion
which undoubtedly some of my readers thought " extremely
elegant" in its day, but which would now be likely to consign
its wearer to a mad hospital.
The male specimen of this species was scarcely less remarkable in his choice of attire; while the "Agioteor"-a political bully, a blackguard, on a par, in principles and practice,
with some of his kindred who disgrace our republic-wore a
costume which, like the stripes of a hyena, distinguished him
at once from the more respectable citizen.
The attempt, under the auspices of David, to revive the
classical toga, and to model the fashions for the ladies after
the costumes of Aspasia and Agrippina, met with but transient
success, owing to the severity of the climate, which was par



THE "MERVEILLEUSE,'" 1793,,M~ERVEILLEUX,"~ 1793.'"




234    PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.
ticularly  unfavorable
to bare throats and
legs, and transparent
muslin. Besides, none
but those whom  na-:,h  ~   ture had plenteously
clothed with charms
could with complacency thus dispense with
dress.  Coughs, rheumatisms, and ridicule
soon extinguished all
classical ardor among
these few, tho' numbers of the fashionable,women of the period
were willing to sacri=:/,' F /-  filee both modesty and
to carry back the civ-'/~.~   ~/z~'~ -:~   Shing.   hile the fash-e
ion lasted, its want of
liadaptation to the cli"a L'AGOTEOR," 1795.     mate gave rise to some
ludicrous scenes.  Thus, at the famous "Feast of Pikes,"
whe all Paris was gahered in the open air, a sudden sil was worm
of rain came down.  The thin  muslins with whichle the females had attired themselves, "like the women of the free




PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.    235'.,, _. - ='.
CLASSICAL COSTUIME 1796.
people of antiquity," were soaked through in a moment, and
clung closely around their wearers, so that, as the dry chronicler remarks, "the shape was clearly discernible."  "Titus"
and " Alcibiades would have been more than human to have
refrained from laughing at the spectacle piesented by the bedraggled "' Clorinda" and "Aspasia."  The coup de grace was
given to the classical fashion by the appearance of a favorite
actress in the character of a Chinese girl.  Her costume
would hardly have been recognized in Pekin; but, such as it
ii                  ~i~~~~~




236    PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPIES.
was, it struck the fancy of the town; and, the Parisiennes
loaded themselves with frills and ruffs, fancying that they
were habited ca la Clanozse.
The classical party were divided into IRomans and Athenians, whose simplicity of attire gave rise to another sect in
the world of fashion called "f'icroyables."  They protested
against the invasion of antiquity by an opposite extreme in
dress; so that, what between superfluity of coat collar, cravat, and hat, it was difficult to see that they had any head
at all.
At this epoch, the confusion, or, more properly speaking,
medley of fashions-in which every extreme and incongruity
was represented-was at its height.  Each taste and political
sentiment wantoned in its own masquerade. The liberty of
dressing as one pleased for once reigned triumphant. The
Jacobins reveled in dirt and dishabille; the classical scholars
in nude simplicity; the fops in perukes, powdered heads,
three-cornered hats, and hair cut ct la Titus; the ladies as simple country girls, with bonnets a' la butterfly; robes a la Cybele; chemises a la Carthaginoise; in short, a la any thing
their caprices or ingenuity could devise. Each one strove
after originality; and a more extraordinary crowd than that
of the streets and salons of Paris under the Consulate the
world will never again see. It was fashion run crazy.  The
world of " ton" were more like the inmates of a madhouse
than the rulers of society. M'adame Tallien-the beauty of the
day-wore transparent costumes, in imitation of the Olympian
gods. Her stockings were flesh-colored, and divided at the
toes, on which she carried rings and jewels. Her friend Josephine-afterward Empress-was her rival in fashion. Feminine whims did not stop even at this degree of immodesty,
but went to such lengths as I shall not undertake to describe.
Suffice it to say that dresses "a la satvage" became in




PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.   237
uI
"INCROYABLE," 1796.
vogue, while the pictures and ornaments openly displayed
would have scandalized even the Roman world, and been
thought not quite "the thing" in Sodom
I shall run hastily over the intervening space between then>




238    PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES,
era and our own, depending mainly upon illustrations to show
by what changes of cut and gradations in taste our present
costumes have been formed, and how Paris —having for a
while rioted in every species of extravagance that a depraved
and licentious taste could conceive-has at last quietly and indisputably assumed the supreme rank
in the world of fashion.  From being
the butt of mankind for her grossness
of garments, she has become the arbiter of civilization as to what it shall, 
wear and how it shall live. Not a rival disputes her sway
As the Revolution receded, so'
luxury augmented.  At the commencement of the present century
dress had simplified wonderfully, 
and the worst features of previous "
absurdities had disappeared, al-   i,             l'
though it would not be quite safe
for man or woman to walk the,:
streets in our day in the attire of
that. The grand passion, after the
Egyptian expedition, was for India
shawls, pearls, diamonds, and lace
of the highest price.    X
Men rivaled women in
their desires for these                            j
luxuries.  The debts
of Josephine for her:
toilet, in a short time
amounted to one mill-    -
ion two hundred thou- 
sand francs. She had           PROMENADE COSTUME, 1801.




PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINC IPIES.   239
ordered thirty-eight new bonnets in one month; the feathers
alone cost eighteen hundred francs.  With such an example,
the court followed so rapidly in the path of extravagance, that
even Napoleon was scandalized, although he had said to his
wife, " Josephine, I wish that you shall astonish by the beauty
and richness of your dress,"
following up the precept
with action one day, when
she was not clad with suflicient elegance to  satisfy    
hiln, by throwing the con- 
tents of his ink-stand upon
her costly robe.  Josephine
owned one hundred and fifty Cashmere shawls of re-                         I
markable beauty and great
price. She offered Madame                     i
Murat fourteen  thousand
francs for one that pleased'i  
her.''  lI i i:!
Judging from  the past,                ~      i
nothing admits of greater
variety of form  than the
modern bonnet, while its                             i  
rival  the male hat-is re-....
stricted to the slightest pos-           /i
sible variation of its pipe  i
slihape.  Now, the fashion-'
able ladies wear their bon- bo
nets merely suspended from   i
the back of their heads, like.
the outer leaf of an opening                     -..
rose-bud.  Then —in 1801.ONNET, 1801.




240    PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.
-they overhung the forehead, much after the manner of a
candle-extinguisher.
In 1812, the modern hat had assumed the general shape
which it has, unfortunately, ever since
maintained, and with.
which it seems likely
to make the tour of
the globe. The ladies, ~j/have at times made
various assaults upon
it, and even attempted to take possession
of it themselves- a
conquest which, luckily for the influence
of their charms, they
never wholly accomplished.  He would
be  a benefactor to
the human race who
A-11  could invent a suitable covering for the
i   head  which  should
utterly annihilate the
/i/imlllill~llljl%~   L~-~-~   present source of discomfort and ugliness
which surmounts the
_   front of him made in
the image of God.....__ —-_ —___ =      In 1828, the leg-ofmutton sleeve, which
CRAVAT "A ORE[LLE5 DE IIFVRE, 1812,    descended in its full




PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRIN4CIPLES.    241
amplitude to the present generation, was in                    i
full vogue; also, the'~low necks and backs,
which have ever retained their popularlty, by a strange sort of,
anomaly, asfull dress;
while short petticoats 
which are so con- 
venient-have been    if
lengthened into unti-' /
dy skirts that save the
street- cleaners  half
their tiouble.
I have brought t
gether, in one tableau,
the four most remark-??
able types of dress  
/]/   ~   ~     a,that have swayed the
fashionable world for
the past century. Thj
striking changes depicted therein are indicative of what we
may look for in the future.  With soplastic'
a many-colored mate- 
rial as dress, there can
be no limits to the va-        Mo-oF-MToTN 5LEUV, IaD.
rieties of costume.
L




CHAPTER XI.
A PEEP INTO A MONSTER NURSERY-, WITH A GLIMPSE AT THE
NURSES.
I HAVE elsewhere spoken somewhat of the "principles" of
the hospital for foundlings in Paris, which is a type of the
numerous establishments of the same character to be seen
throughout Roman Catholic Europe; but as yet I have not
crossed their thresholds, to give my readers a " sight" within.
To Protestant eyes they form so extraordinary a spectacle that
it is worth our while to take a peep, if but to see how so monstrols a nursery is managed by its good parent, the state. Be
not startled, nervous celibate; the whinings and cries from
five thousand baby lungs shall not reach your ears, nor the
" sights" of the necessities of half a myriad of " disgusting
young ones" salute your eyes. Each one of the " precious little souls" shall be as clean and quiet as if slumbering sweetly
in the arms of a doting nlamma, so that your bachelor sensibilities need fear no sudden shock; and if.you have any idea of
matrimony still lingering about your-I will not say impenetrable heart, but susceptible head-do not be discouraged by
the appearance of so many cradles, for under no circumstances
need you provide for an " expected" family on so extensive a
scale.  Besides, matrimony had no more to do with the creation of most of these creatures than with the apples in your
orchard.  All that they can ever know about their previous
origin is much of the same character as Topsey's knowledge




PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.   243
of her infantile career.  They never had any father or mother-" they growed"-a term about as explicit as the MJIosaic
account of the creation of the firmament. - Poor things!
clothed alike, fed alike, nursed. alike, taught alike, and spanked
alike, they look more like the result of some mysterious invention, by which population, by scores, is turned out of a
newly-patented machine, not yet fully perfected, for the benefit of the government, whose wants of human material could
not brook the slow, natural mode of manufacture of immortal
souls, and therefore offered a reward for the discovery of some
more wholesale process.
At all events, the babies, without regard to any deficiency
in their ancestral trees, are all gathered together here, as will
be seen by looking into one of their sleeping apartments, where
the results of the philanthropic care of the state, in acknowledging all bastards as its own, is palpably manifest. This
national charity commenced in 1552, and has had its arms full,
in increasing ratio, ever since. Indeed, the relation between
parent and child, among a not over-scrupulous class of our
brethren and sisters by Adam, as well as any faith in the oldfangled doctrine of matrimony, seems to be quite exploded.
They beget, and, like some birds that we read of, drop their
young, to take their chance, into the nearest nest, at the same
time dropping all farther thought in the matter, until another
accident induces a repetition of their infantile contribution to
the state crib. This, to be sure, is better than strangling the
unfortunates, though a goodly proportion soon after become
strangled by the joint operation of the natural feebleness of
an anonymous existence, and the hard rearing of mercenary
nurses, to whom they are presented in the country, as a species of scape-goats for the sins of their foster-families in particular, and society in general. Those who escape this more
fortunate fate are, sooner or later, choked by the miseries of




244    PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.
actual life, to which their introduction is about as good a preparation as a hot bath for a plunge into a March tide.
The poor infant, after being taken in at the hospital, either
as picked up abandoned ill the street, or more humanely pass":~~ — I                 ed through the re-........ -.    ~ —s -volving box, called
the "tour," which
is so conveniently
contrived " to receive and no questions asked," is as
nurses} werel +   tlheartily welcomed
d   to c  o  ittle h  and cared for as
through te onrcan in reason bae
i'',  expected by women doomed by their
K         / i~~~i        faith never to awa/it~$               /,               ken within them-'-I        %    ~selves the mater/  nal instinct. With
what mingled feelings of compassion
/I''i[Yand  dread  they
~~~~~~ ~must each day approach that cradle
which never re-'-......  "...ceives  its  babycharge but once!
THE' TOUR."
It always reminds
me of those nondescript monsters with which our faithful
nurses were wont to tingle our juvenile ears with horror,
and to cause our little hearts to beat too quickly for sleep
through the long, long, first hours of night, at the climax,




PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.   245
"how they swallowed children at one mouthful."  Then, too,
there is in human nature an instinctive dislike to hear other
people's children cry-our own never do-and we have no
patience with the little wretches, that should be strangled if
"they won't stop their noise."  I doubt if old-maid nature is
much more charitable than old-bachelor nature in this respect.
Added to this is the natural horror and vexation that fills the
heart upon receiving hourly evidence that parents will deny
their own offspring, and thus abuse the charity of the merciful.
Perhaps, too, there is some little curiosity to see what the
next turn of the " tour" will turn out. WI ill the lottery that
never gives a blank yield a prize?  We all like "sweetlydressed children," " clean as a new rose," and all that sort of
thing, provided they chirrup and look happy, as if they knew
their mammas, papas, and all their fiiends individually at six
weeks old. The veriest old curmudgeon is flattered by such
a recognition, and smiles because he can't help it. What,
then, must be the excitement among the poor nuns when
such a babe turns up, with a whole wardrobe of fine linen,
and some jewel by which it shall at some future time be
identified! What curiosity to know whose it can be, with
clothes upon its delicate limbs fine enough for the first-born
of a duchess, and perhaps a mysterious note, saying that the
infant is not a mere waif upon the shores of charity, but
simply a loan of flesh and blood, to be called for in due time,
with the accumulated interest of proper care and education!
Will the poor sisters love this one more than the next, a snubnosed, squalling, red-skinned twelve-pounder, scantily covered
with a dirty rag, and showing animal fierceness and strong
opposition in its first hours? I wot not. These sentiments
are the secrets of individual hearts.  Sufficient for us to know
that all are received with equal tenderness, numbered, and,
when put out to nurse, ticketed by a collar upon the neck, or




246    PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.
with rings in the ears sealed by the administration of the hospital. Wherever the child goes, it is stamped as illegitimate
and the property of the hospital. This is not the most promising introduction to the world, though the necessity of some
distinguishing token is obvious.
By a singular contradiction in French law, after providing
every facility for the abandonment of these infants, it punishes
those who are guilty of this crime by imprisonment. Even
fifteen years at hard labor has been the sentence in one case,
while in another but three months' confinement, showing evidently that the French judges are puzzled to reconcile the
temptation of the law on the one hand with its severity on
the other.
There have been established recently in France asylums for
children, somewhat upon the plan of our infant schools. Their
object is in some degree primary instruction, but chiefly to
afford suitable care, during the day, to the young children of
poor parents, compelled to leave their homes for their daily
subsistence. The government allows them annually three
hundred thousand francs from the public budget of instruction.
Private benevolence supplies the remainder. Their tendency
is to prevent the causes which, among the destitute, lead to
the abandonment of their infants, by providing them with a
home during those hours when their parents are compelled to
desert them. The parents are required to send them with
clean face and hands, unbroken garments, and their food for
the day.  Upon arrival, an inspection takes place, to see
whether these conditions have been fullfilled.  They are
taught music and other lessons suitable to their years, but no
exercise is allowed to continue over ten minutes, for fear of
fatigue.  Religious education is attended to, and in no case is
corporal punishment allowed. For the sleepy a bed is provided. There are about thirty of these asylums in Paris, re



:l:f:!i:i i tlt~~:I:: II
lb                                            I i
jy1
i         iill llAI I~~
I   I I;    Ii      /'lji
THE CRPALE-ROOMI




248    PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.
ceiving annually nearly ten thousand infants, from the ages of
two to seven years.
The " creches rnodldes," or public cribs of Paris, bid fair to do
much to counteract the evil tendencies of the foundling hospitals. The home of every child should be the family; but
as many families are incapable of providing a home, and more,
from vice, furnish only a school of evil, it is well for society
that it should provide an asylum for one and the means of
escape for the other; consequently, for the children of households like those of the destitute and vicious of Paris, these
model nurseries are a special providence. The mother pays
two cents a day for the use of a cradle, and engages either to
nurse her child herself or provide its food.  The children have
every facility allotted them for their amusement and instruction, so far as their tender years admit. They can be deposited as early as half past five o'clock in the morning, and remain until eight o'clock in the evening.  The cradles are all
uniform  in make, clean, and even tasteful in their arrangements. ]Each day a physician calls to assure himself of the
health of these diurnal orphans, and to see that all proper sanitary regulations are enforced.  Sisters of charity have general charge of the establishments; under the care of the lady
managers of the infant asylums.  Mothers applying for admittance for their babes must justify their poverty or necessity
for going out to daily labor.
It requires a certain education of nurses, independent of all
parental or benevolent volition, to endure with complacency
the noise of the children of an ordinary family let loose for
fun and frolic. What, then, must be the juvenile uproar in one
of these establishments, where each infant is encouraged to use
its French tongue, with any accompaniment of toy or instrument it may chance to possess, at its own discretion! However, it is a children's paradise, and they are right to use their




jl''                        lln-XV i tT RTT'
II I II VI Li'JI
1111~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~4-11104;771774




250    PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.
tiny lungs in joyous uproar. Just look in upon the play-hall,
and see if these sprouts of poverty have not cause to be envied by the twigs of many rich households! They are as
merry as larks, and as happy as innocence and kind care can
make them.
The suckling department is quieter, for the infants in general sleep the day through. If they awake, a faint cry announces some simple want, which provided for, they go off to
sleep again. I dare not say so much for the next room, which
contains those who have attained the mature age of between
twelve and twenty-four months, and are supposed to require
something more substantial in the way of diet than maternal
milk. The beds are models of grace and neatness in their
way; they are intended for the " naps" which that condition
of infancy requires, occupying, to the comfort of their nurses,
some hours of the day. When not thus peacefully employed,
they are engaged in feasting, and the clatter of metallic spoons
upon the firm wood of their table announces either that
their sufficiency is satisfied, or, like little Oliver, they wish for
"more."  Of course, their standard of' education is not as yet
very elevated, being limited to some simple devotions and attempts at vocal harmony or uniformity of noise, by way of diversifying the medley of sounds.
Paris possesses twenty-four of these philanthropic mangers,
the utility of which, when rightly conducted, for the classes for
which they are intended, can not be exaggerated.  They cost
nearly eighty-five thousand francs per annum, of which the
poor parents contribute some nineteen thousand.
Connected in some degree with the institutions we have
mentioned is the class of nurses, of which the Parisian type is
remarkable for its jocund proportions and coarse features.
They are required to possess certificates from the mayors of
their respective villages that they are married women of good




l /                                                                     4iili? i  ~ l
i h II i   q wiir!
~Ij 1:jljj/jjiii   l1 i iii~iiiHHElATIG-ROM,.                                                                   B
<ii  ~i'KFi                                                                                                       B i  i
i/jijj//i/iiii~ ~~~~~~~~~~~ii! ii     I                                         I ii!i~ ii
Ilil  I i  ~?' i!!i~i  I!I  I1               I  Ii
iT
ii l li,1,,,,,,    I     i   t 
iI //  ii~ ~~~~TH EAING-ROM.




252    PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.
report. In general, they are too ready to neglect their own
ofispring for the sake of the pittance to be gained as a private
or public nurse.  By a policy at first sight not very promising,
they seek engagements in their worst apparel, believing that
the parents whose necessities require their services will not
allow them long to suckle their infants in their own ragged
and filthy clothes.  This speculation  of poverty generally
turns to their advantage, and they are enabled to return *their country homes reclad at the expense of their employc
to await the birth of a new infant, which shall give th,
Ir,!l! 111  p,,i,
HI — 5-~~  ___               _  I_ _ ~
ip
K l'i /7:                                          1




PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.   253
again the coveted opportunity of going to Paris on a similar
adventure.
There are regular offices for nurses, where they remain
waiting engagements. Fifty or more, with their babies, while
seeking employment, are shut up in small, dirty chambers,
where neither light nor air is abundant. Their food, too, during this probation, owing to their parsimony, is of the meanest description, consisting of soups at two sous the porringer, wine at three sous the bottle, with other aliment at similar prices. A more vulgar and mercenary race of females
than that to which, by the false customs of French parents,
their infants are intrusted during the most susceptible period
of their lives, it would be difficult for the world elsewhere to
produce, excepting, perhaps, the female managers of these bureaus, who, perhaps, have secured their positions and clientage
from being formerly of the shrewdest and most mercenary of
the race themselves. It requires the eloquence of a new Jean
Jacques Rousseau to re-awaken Parisian mothers once more to
the duty and pleasure of fulfilling the natural laws of maternity, and preserving their offspring from the tender mercies of
these harpics.




CHAPTER XII.
THE WIDOWS OF THE DEVIL.
(Partly from the French of Eugene Guinot.)
A DROLL title, without doubt, but none the less true, gentle
reader mine, as you will soon perceive. I do not mean either
those widows who, before they were such, affect to thinlk all
husbands devils, and after they become so, seek to persuade
the world, by the depth of their mourning and the eloquence
of epitaphs, that their departed lords were saints, when indeed,
if the truth were known, they were simply martyrs; but I do
mean another class of women common every where, and playing the very deuce with sons and husbands out of pure taste
for deviltry.  Who, then, can be so correctly called " widows
of the devil" as those who, bestowing themselves upon no flesh
and blood husbands, early join themselves in wedlock to a
master that allows them a few days' revelry at the expense of
never-ending sorrow? If their mischief were confined to their
own reckless selves, we might remonstrate, pity, and weep;
but as it extends through all circles, one resource to arrest its
progress is to daguerreotype a few of its phases, not'only as a
warning to the " widows" themselves to beware in the outset
how they give ear to the proposals of the Evil One, but to any
son of woman how he gives ear to them.
As Paris is the city in which their brief triumph is the most
complete, and their fall, owing to its graduated scale of morals,
the slowest and least hopeless, I select it as the scene of my
pictures; for what is true in that paradise of fools becomes
doubly true elsewhere.




PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.    255
In seeing pass before you those beautiful butterflies-those
seductive females who attach themselves to society only by its
lien of flowers-at once lovely and frail, do you not ever ask
yourself whither go they, and what will one day become of
them? Leaving to others domestic felicity and regular habits, quiet virtues and hidden vices, they sport upon the wings
of chance without check, without regard to appearance, showing with equal frankness all that they have of good and all that
they do of evil. Their sole mission is joy for the moment;
not that inward joy that springs from a good conscience, but
that sensuous happiness which forgets all deeper and truer
emotion in finding its caprices met, and its physical frivolities
and grosser passions gratified.
If there be any happiness whose essence is solely of earth,
it is theirs.  Any element of a purer and more spiritual nature would be as unwelcome to them as a skeleton at a feast.
To feel, and not to think, is their creed; the body, and not the
spirit, is their principle.  While they remain young and full
of health, their life flows on easily and gladsome.  They find
time only to float on the breath of a fantasy or the sea of
pleasure, whose soft murmurs at once invite and caress them.
The thought of a to-morrow never crosses the path of to-day.
Each hour gives birth to new schemes of pleasure-new sacrifices of their future for the joy of the present. The exhausted
hero of one love disappears but to'be replaced by the fuller
purse or more comely person of another.  Thus they pass on,
faithless to others, faithless to their own souls, deriding, in
their dream of youth, all that is serious and good, and faithful
only to their fickle loves, their transient pleasures, their debasing luxuries, their empty worldliness, and all the vanities
which fill and rule the head and heart of a female devotee of
amusement.
Solomon admits that there is a time to dance; but one should




256   PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.
not dance unless one knows when and how to stop. On some
fine day, youth begins to fade. A gray hair, a wrinkle, or a
twinge, not of conscience, but of body, announce its coming
adieu. Like the worm-hole in the ripe fruit, they tell of hidden decay with exaggerated meaning. Hardly, however, is
the discovery made, before all the graces and comeliness on
which pleasure reposed find their premature draught on decay
and decrepitude promptly honored. Then, when youth and
beauty have passed away, when the transitory loves and their
golden showers have likewise disappeared, what becomes of
those females who live but to please or be pleased through the
medium of the senses, and who, in living thus, expend both
their revenues and capital?
Let two retired gentlemen of the world, of a certain age,
say from fifty to sixty years, who are seated in the Tuileries
garden, explain to us the enigma. They have been conversing over the events of their youth, and naturally have fallen
into a philosophical mood; for there were many circumstances
in the lives of both, though in a different way, which led them
to be serious.
"W3.hat becomes of them," asked the elder, but best preserved of the two —" of those queens dethroned by time, and
where can I find them? Tell me, for you should know."
"I know nothing about it," replied his companion, with a
somewhat testy tone, as if the question brought back some
memories which he would feign have drowned in Lethe. "I
know absolutely nothing about it, my dear Eugene; why do
you ask such a question?"
Both remained silent for a few minutes, when the younger
again spoke.
"Forgive me, Eugene, I spoke too hastily. I will do penance by recounting a history which will answer your question
perfectly, though the follies of one's youth-I should say




PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.   257
more honestly the vices-are not the most agreeable reminiscences for one's age.
"You have always been, as I see you now, a grave, quiet
man, and a stranger to those passions which beget folly and
regret. I, on the contrary, have had a youth full of activity
and adventure. Soon after quitting college, my uncle died,
leaving me rich enough to follow my own tastes. I bade
adieu to the country, and came to Paris, where I found Robert, my old classmate of Saint Barbe. There was that likeness between us that made our friendship solid and sure, and
yet sufficient difference of wit and character to keep it ever
fresh and pleasant. We were both free, full of health, well
formed, well educated as the world goes, and with plenty of
the sinews of pleasure in the shape of current coin. WAhat
was there, then, to prevent our success in the field of fashion
of Paris?
"Absolutely nothing but our own modesty, and that soon
vanished. Our debuts were signalized by numerous successes,
for youth, fortune, beauty, leisure, and the inclination to taste
the forbidden fruit, command nowhere a higher premium than
at Paris.' Nothing resisted us —at all events, long. It is true that we
attacked only those citadels that armed themselves but to provoke assault. In the career of agreeable and easy adventures,
Robert, I must confess, excelled me greatly. I soon learned to
consider him my master. HIe was a veritable hero of pleasure; irresistible in attack, superb in triumph. He was known
every where under the soubriquet of' The Devil,' on account
of his prowess. The polite and frivolous world in which we
lived called him' Robert le Diable,' and it was not without
an emotion of joy that he one day found that Scribe and
gMeyerbeer had made him the hero of their celebrated opera
of that name. WVe ran on thus for twenty years, thoughtlessly




258   PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.
and wicked, as you may believe, and might have done no better to this day, had not Providence interposed sundry infirmities, the distaste of satiety, or incapacity, to restore us to our
sober senses. One or all combined helped to mend our morals. Robert owned, at sixty leagues from Paris, the estate of
Margillac, a beautiful spot, with delightful gardens, a fine
park, and picturesque environs. It was there that we both
retired to recruit our exhausted energies, and gracefully terminate our career. We had good books, good wines, and laughable souvenirs; for, although our strength had waned, our
tastes remained pretty much as when we first commenced' life.' How many pleasant hours we passed in resuscitating
the Past! Robert had one fixed idea. He constantly figured
to himself that all the women he once had loved raised to him
a perpetual altar in their hearts. It was under the impulse
of this flattering belief that he made his will last winter,
when attacked with an illness that finally closed his eyes.'My dear Oscar,' said he to me,' I make you my executor. I
leave you the estate of Margillac; the rest of my property goes
to my nephews, except the sum of one hundred thousand
francs, which I charge you with distributing among my " widows."' He thus called the frail partners of his tender passions, so that, as you perceive, they were doubly the widows
of the devil.
"'Among those unfortunate women who contributed so
much to my career of folly,' he went on to say,'there are ten
that I wish particularly remembered. Here are their names
written in this album: Athenais, Colombe, Antonia, Susanne,
Flora, Olympe, Armide, Arthemise, and Rosalba.  You have
known them all, and you will find at the end of their names
all the details which my memory can at present gather. I
wish to leave to each of these females a memorial of my
friendship, and to recompense them, for the last time, for the




PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.   259
love they have had for me, and the souvenirs which they have
preserved of me. To each of them I formerly gave my portrait: the legacy is to be distributed among those who have
preserved this image, and call show it to you. If any are
dead, or if some have forgotten me or lost my portrait, then
their portion is to revert to the others. Such is, my dear Oscar, the business that devolves upon you. I am sure you will
fulfill it conscientiously; but, as I do not wish to abuse your
zeal and devotion, I require only three months of researches;
after that the money is to revert to my heirs.'
" Two days after giving me these instructions, Robert died.
Faithful to the promise I made him, and furnished with the
one hundred thousand francs, I came to Paris to seek the legatees. For three weeks I have sought every where, without
finding a trace of one of those females. Judge, then, how
apropos, and yet how annoying, was your question. It is
twenty years since I put foot in Paris, and I find myself in an
unknown land. I lose myself daily, and, to tell the truth, I do
not know to whom to address myself to learn where I can find
a single one of those women that poor Robert flattered himself still remember him."
At this moment, M. Oscar Pale'mon having finished speaking, a withered, wrinkled, and black hand extended itself toward him. It was the ragged and hag-like letter of chairs,
who came to demand the two sous her due.
"Will you have some change, my dear Palemon?" said Eugene Benoit.
"Monsieur Palemon," repeated the old crone; "that is a
name I have heard before."
" No doubt, good woman," with a disdainful smile, replied
the testamentary executor of Robert.
" Eh! eh!" continued the old woman," he would not have
had cause to blush before you, my fine sir. He was a some



260   PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.
body in his time, and he must have been something more than
a dandy who was flattered with the particular acquaintance
of Rosalba Delorme."
"What! can you be she?  Then I have found one!" exclaimed Monsieur Palemon. " You, then, are Rosalba Delorrne, that pretty little blonde?"
" Yes, sir, I was a blonde, unfortunately; for the blondes
last a less time than the brunettes. If I had been a brunette, I
should have lasted three or four years longer, and not have been
reduced as you see me. I am now seeking my fortune where
I have lost my beauty. I had decided to economize against
old age, and there was a kinsman who had promised to make
me rich on his return from St. Petersburg, where he had gone
to receive a legacy; but, when he returned, it was no longer
so: I was faded, although but twenty-nine. The brunettes
hold good to thirty and upward. Ah! why was not I born a
brunette!" The old woman would have gone on intermninably in regretting her beauty and not her follies, had not Palemon interrupted her.
"' So you recall my name, and I remember you as well as
if I had seen you only yesterday. We were not much acquainted either. It was more through one of my friends, who
knew you well, and whom you can not have forgotten-Robert, called the Devil."
" Robert the Devil-that is a play."
" Yes, but it was also a handsome young man who adored
you, and you no less him."
"It is quite possible. I have a confused idea; but there
were so many, that, to remember them all, one must have the
memory of an angel."
" Robert gave you his portrait."
"Ah! I have had so many portraits; but now there is not
one left. When one finds herself in distress, as you can con



PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.   261
ceive, they go very quickly to the pawnbroker's.  Mine went,
with my jewels and dresses, one after another. But you
make me talk, and during this time there goes off a gentleman
who has not paid me for his chair."
She hobbled in pursuit of the delinquent, while M. Pal'mon got up, exclaiming,
"Let us go; the commencement of my researches is not
very auspicious. Look! already one name erased from my list,
and ten thousand francs to divide among the other legatees
of Robert."
An hour after this rencounter, M. Palemon, on going home,
found a letter which contained the following invitation:
" Madame the Baroness of Firbach requests M. Oscar Palemon to do her the honor to visit her on the evening of the 30th
of April."
"Who is this baroness? Where did she know me? On
what account am I invited? Why is it that she sends me an
invitation only this morning for this evening?  Generally they
are sent several days in advance. A baroness should know
the usages of society better. But never mind; I have come
to Paris to fulfill a duty, and perhaps at the baroness's I shall
meet some elegant of my date who can put me upon the track
of those I seek."
M.Palemon, at nine o'clock, complied with the invitation.
The house looked mean; the staircase was badly lighted; the
apartment, although large, was smoky and in disorder. The
furniture dated from the Empire; the curtains were spoiled,
and the gilding had lost its brilliancy. In an antechamber, a
servant in blue livery, stained with oil, opened the door of the
saloon, and announced, in a cracked voice, M. Palemon.
Four groups were seated around four gambling-tables. A
lady of not less than middle age, tall, and with an imposing
air, approached M. Palemon, and thanked him for having ac



262   PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.
cepted her invitation. She then took him by the arm, conducted him to a recess near a window, made him take a seat,
and said to him, with the kindest manner imaginable,
" I receive only gentlemen of fashion and pretty women. I
thought that my saloon would be agreeable to you, if, as I suppose, you have preserved your old tastes and habits."
"How is this, Madame?" replied Pal6mon, astonished; " have
I, then, had the honor formerly of your acquaintance?"
" Certainly; and I am charmed to find your name upon the
list of the new arrivals at Paris."
" Indeed! I did not know that such a list was published."
" They do not publish it; I obtained it privately."
" And you, then, had the goodness to recollect me?"
" Yes, surely. You have one of those names that one does
not soon forget, and which necessarily strike one, when again
heard."
"Very flattering this, Madame the Baroness," replied M.
Pale'mon, who thought himself obliged to rise and salute her
for this compliment; "but," added he, " I ought to confess that
my memory is less happy, and I am the more confused as well
as surprised, for, without speaking of the graces of your person, you have also one of those names which command the
memory."
" It is, perhaps, because I have not always borne this name,"
said the baroness, laughing. " Do you not remember Olympe
Dujardin?"
"Ah!" exclaimed M. Paldmon, "a lucky day! Your name
is written upon my tablets, Madame, and you are one of the
persons that I desire the most to see in visiting Paris. I am
enchanted to find you in a brilliant and aristocratic position.
A marriage, without doubt? You well merit that! But how
is it that I did not recognize you at once? You are not changed
in the least-"




PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.   263
"You find, then-" replied the baroness, affectedly; "yes,
they do say I am still passable. It is not every woman that
can say that at my age. Hold! you remember the little Antonia, who had formerly some reputation in the world, and
who knew so well how to ruin the English?"
"Antonia! why she is on my list."
"There she is; that enormous lady in a blue hat, seated
near the chimney. Now she is called Madame Outremer.
The young person at her side is her niece. I will present
you."
Madame Outremer gave M. Palemon a warm reception. "I
love my old friends," said she; " my niece does also. She is
pretty, and well brought up, and delights in the society of mature men. We are delighted to receive you."
M. Palemon led the conversation toward Robert. At first
neither the baroness nor Madame Outremer recollected him;
but, by force of associations, the memory of the two ladies
gradually awakened. Neither, however, had preserved the
precious portrait.
Just then the door of the saloon was opened. An agent of
the police, followed by his guards, entered, and placed sentinels so as to prevent the escape of any one. The cards were
seized in the name of the law, and each of the players were
obliged to give their names to await a civil process. This
scene did not pass without lively expostulations. The baroness
was furious.
"I know from whom has come this blow," said she to M.
Palemon, who was thunderstruck at the denouement: "I
have been denounced by a woman who was my rival formerly, and is now my enemy, and who has come to live in
this house, to be the better able to spy me. They have rightly
told me that she was in the pay of the police, and I was weak
not to believe them. Oh! I will unmask her now, and all the




264   PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.
world shall know that Arthemise Muller is a spy-a vile informer."
" Arthemise Muller! Still another one of those that I seek,"
said M1. Palernon.
The proces-verbal being finished, the guests of the baroness
lhad permission to retire, with the prospect of appearing as
witnesses in a trial before the police court.
Moved by a scene which had finished a day so full of meetings, M. Palemon went home with a headache. To distract
his mind, he sent to a library for a new novel.
It was a dirty octavo, which had been thumbed by thousands of fingers; one of those books that the women of the
world, delicate and distinguished, admit to their firesides after they have passed through the garret, antechamber, porter's
lodge, barracks, and divers other localities equally unfashionable; for, at Paris, no one buys books-they hire them. All
classes of society are inscribed upon the registers of circulating
libraries. The same volume goes from the grisette to the
countess, from the valet to the dandy, and so on. M. Palemon opened the book and commenced reading, but the first
pages were so stupid that they set him to gaping. HIe was
about to close the volume, when, by chance, he saw his own
name heading a chapter thus: "Where the reader will make
acquaintance with a new personage, M. Oscar Palemon."
Was it by chance that the author had used these two names?
Let us see. Not at all; it is a true portrait. The Palemon of
the romance is one who led a rakish life at Paris twenty years
since, and, that there should be no doubt as to his identity, the
author has complacently described his figure, habits, and character, and has placed him in an historical intrigue, of which
the mysterious details have not yet been noised abroad. Who,
then, could be the romancer who knew M. Palemon so well,
and his most private adventures? The author was a woman,
anal her name was M-ad'amse Bougial!,




PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.   265
M. Palemon consulted his excellent memory, but it was in
vain that he ran over every name of his past or present acquaintance.  He could find no clew in his own reminiscences.
"It is necessary that I trace this mystery out," said he to
himself, " and perhaps to make a complaint to the procureur
of the Emperor, for it can not be permitted surely to print,
without permission, the life of an honest man, and to make him
the hero of a romance."
Saying this, M. Palomon grasped his hat, threw on his cloak,
called a coach, and drove in great haste to the publisher of the
novel, who gave him, wvithout hesitation, the address of the author.
A quarter of an hour after, he was mounting the narrow and
dirty staircase which led to the sixth story of a house in the
Faubourg St. Denis. He rang three times, and waited some
ten minutes before the door of the apartment was opened.
Hie then found himself in the presence of a woman of fifty
years of age, fat and short, of a smoky tint, enveloped in an old
merino dressing-gown, and her disordered hair crowned with
a turban of red-checked silk, somewhat after the fashion of
an African washerwoman.
"Madame Bougival, if you please 7"
"At your service, sir."
There was no mistaking the womam  of letters.  Her right
hand, which held the door half closed, was deeply marked
with ink, while to answer her visitor she had been obliged to
take a pen from her mouth, which she placed behind her ear.
" Enter, sir," said Madame Bougival, "and excuse me if I
make you wait; but I have just commenced a sentence, and
I wish to finish it before I lose the idea.  Not that way, sir;
that's the kitchen: this door, I beg of you; enter my study."
This study served at the same time for a saloon, diningroom, and bed-chamber. The bed was half hid behind a torn
M




266    PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.
curtain. The principal article of furniture was an immense
table, covered with all sorts of articles pell-mell,' such as
books, paper, corsets, ink-stand, a bottle of wine, a comb,
glasses, pens, petticoats, plates, and a chaos of manuscript and
notes.
" I beg you to be seated, sir," said the woman of letters, at
the same moment giving the example by plunging herself into
a vast arm-chair before her desk.
M. Palemon desired nothing better than to gain a little
time, but the three chairs which constituted the stock of sitting-furniture were already occupied; the first by a cat, the
second by the fragments of a salad, and the third by a pair of
stockings and a hair-brush.
Madame Bougival observed his embarrassment, and said to
the cat, " Get down, Silvio; make room for the gentleman."
Silvio rose slowly up, lazily stretched herself, and then
jumped from the chair on to the table, walked and purred a
while amid the general chaos, and finally made a bed of her
mistress's corsets..
" Now that you are seated, sir," continued the blue-stocking, "will you inform me what has procured me the honor of
this interview?"
6" Madame, i am here on account of a romance."
"' lonsieur is a publisher?"
"No, Madame."
"An editor, perhaps?"
N" No more. This is the fact: I have read your romance."
"Which?'"
"That which is called' Nights and Festivities.'"
"It is one of my best."
"' In this romance there is a character —"
"There are thirty-two, sir, and all well drawn, as I dare to
say. The characters are a little spread out, and the events in




PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.   267
the lives of each given with particular detail —all true, sir, too.
Some of the catastrophes would make you shed every tear in
your body, if you have two ounces of sensibility.".
"Yes, yes. I render homage to the merits of your work;
but the character of whom I wish particularly to speak to you
is called Oscar Palemon."
"Ah! what a laughable chap-droll as Punch-an amiable
vagabond. Do you use this, sir?" added the lady, pushing toward her visitor a large snuff-box of black horn, from which
she had just taken a copious pinch of tobacco.
" Willingly, Madame, I thank you. But let us return, if you
please, to this Oscar Palemon."
"The character strikes you-is it not so? There is great
truth in it. I drew it after nature. That man lived, and I
knew him."
" I believe it. lHe still lives."
" Do you know him?"
"Very well indeed-it is myself."
"Indeed! Is that true? Are you the little Oscar? Minerva! it can't be. ~What a pity! WVhat a scamp-is this Time, to
so derange us! But, on loolking more closely, I recognize
something of you; and in me do you see nothing familiar?
When I knew you they called me Athenais Babichard."
"What! Athenais, the queen of our balls and of our suppers, the never-tiring, graceful dancer, the joyous carouser,
who could swallow so lightly three bottles of Champagne at a
sitting?"
" She is before your eyes. But those festive nights are passed. Now I have adopted temperance and incognito. I am
Madame Bougival, a writer of romances, of manners, and of
books of education for young children."
M. Pal6mon did not again allude to the suppers. Athenais
Babichard a woman of letters! It was indeed droll, but not




268    PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.
altogether new. /~We have had several of the same species
before.
"But," objected 3iI. Palemon, " since you have deigned to
preserve for me a place in your memoir, you have still more
reason to preserve the memory of Robert and his likeness."
" Robert," replied the literary female; " where do you find
*this Robert?"
Here, as every where else, the souvenir was effaced, and the
portrait lost.
A few days after, M. Palemon had another rencounter. He
went to the theatre. In retiring, he talked with the woman
who waited upon the boxes and gave him his coat. What
was his surprise when he recognized in this poor decrepit being an actress once celebrated for her beauty and her wit!
It was Susannah, the old actress of the Varie'tes-Susannah,
who had always worn such rich dresses, and who excelled in
comedy-Susannah, the idol of the side scenes and the passion of the orchestra. No other actress had contributed more
than she to the fortune of the theatre. Her salary had been
a thousand crowns, which she did not receive, but, on the contrary, she willingly paid for the privilege to show herself upon
the stage. Each month her fines for non-attendance were not
less than five or six hundred francs, which those who had
caused her to miss the rehearsal or play gladly paid. But
Susannah faded, and she passed from among the actresses to
the figurantes, and finally was but too happy to be allowed to
remain about the theatre in the humble situation in which
Palemon had found her.
Susannah neither remembered Robert nor his portrait. The
memory of Arthemise Muller, the police spy, was equally frail.
Thus six names were successively erased from his list.
It occurred to M. Palemon that the most beautiful, most opulent, and most loved of the widows of Robert was Mademoi



PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES    269
selle Colombe, who, in her days of splendor, lived in a magnificent apartment in the Rue de Provence. He hastened
there and inquired,
"Have you here a young person called Mademoiselle Colombe?  When I say young, I mean-no, it was twenty-five
years since.  I forget: excuse me. She occupied the entresol. "
"In the entresol," replied the porter, " we have M..Roland,
the oldest lodger in the house. He has lived there *for twenty years."
" Perhaps this gentleman can give me some information."
M. Palemon hurried up the staircase, knocked, and found M.
Roland at home.  When he had explained the object of his
visit, he replied,
"' Ah! sir, you recall a very agreeable souvenir. Yes, truly,
I replaced in this apartment a very amiable person, who spoke
often of her.  She had become poor-that is to say, her revenues had fallen off and she was obliged to sell her furniture
and give up this apartment. She resigned herself to her losses
-with so much grace that I was touched. I went to see her
several times in her new lodgings-quite humble, I can assure
you —in the Rue Montmartre; but it is many years since I
have seen her. You say that she is to receive a legacy. I
heartily hope you will find her, as she must be greatly in need."
M. Palemon took the number of her lodgings from M. Roland, and hastened to the Rue Montmartre.  There he found,
not the woman he sought, but a reminiscence of her in the
memory of the venerable porter.
"She was a good girl, sir; always laughing, although it
was not always that she had cause; liberal in her gifts,
though her purse was often empty. She stopped here just
five years; then she left because the proprietor seized her
furniture for the six months' rent due him."




270    PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.
With some farther instructions, M. Palemon pursued his
search.  He traced her to a wretched habitation in one of the
vilest parts of the city, where she had remained three years.
Thence his clew led him to a filthy garret in a still worse
house, near to the corn-market.  At the end of a foul and obscure entry there was a dilapidated door, to be seen only by
the light of heaven through a hole in the roof. Upon this
door was written,
"6 Madame Pigoche, magician."
M. Palenmon knocked.  The door, half closed, opened to the
slight force he used, and he found himself in the presence of
an old crone, buried, rather than clothed, in the fragments of
theatrical garments, to which age had lent an overpowering
odor.
Never had the art of Mademoiselle Lenormand been exercised in a lodging so miserable and by so ragged a sorceress.
"Does Monsieur wish that I shall tell his fortune?" asked
the old woman, with a grave air.
"No, Madame, I. have not come to consult your cards."
W" What, then, do you wish?"
"It is in regard to a Mademoiselle Colombe whom I am
very desirous to find."
" Colombe!" exclaimed the sybil, with emotion; "you ask
for poor Colombe?"
" Yes, Madame; does she not lodge here?"
"She sleeps in the cemetery, sir."
"Dead?"
"A long time ago.  She died here, on this spot where you
are;  It astonishes you, does it not, that a woman, after having been so brilliant, so rich, so petted, should end her days in
such a hole? Yes, it is your thought; I see it in your eyes.
You can hide nothing from me. I read the past as well as the
future. You knew Colombe when she was young and beau



PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.   271
tiful.  She then inhabited an apartment furnished like the
palace of a queen. She owned diamonds, horses, and carriages.  She threw away money by handfuls.  You knew all
that, and you can not understand how she could come here to
die. It is, nevertheless, the history of more than one. And
I, also, such as you now see me, I have lived in the same way;
I have been as young, pretty, rich, and brilliant as Colombe."
" You are her sister, perhaps?"
"No, sir, I was only her friend —her best friend. Ah!"
she said, drawing a deep sigh, more in regret at the pleasures
passed than in penitence, "how many follies have we enjoyed
together! It was the good time then.  ~(We were but twenty
years old, as says the song. But, unfortunately, this could not
last always.  Troubles came, and then age; every thing
changes with us poor women, who live only on what Nature
has lent us. The commencement is always sweet, but the end
bitter. At first, lovers follow us; later, they wait for us; and.
then we must go and seek them.  Such was the history of this
poor Colombe. When she was wholly abandoned, and misery overwhelmed her, she became crazed, and put an end to
herself."
" A suicide!" cried M. Palemon, struck with horror.
" Yes, sir, with four sous' worth of charcoal-her last four
sous, three of which she borrowed of me, without telling me
what she wished to do-the poor creature! It was necessary
to break down the door in the presence of a police agent.
They found her there stiff-dead.  I can still see her.  In order to burn the charcoal, she made use of this furnace, which
I have preserved, and upon which I make my coffee every
morning in memory of her."
"Poor Colombe! No one, then, took pity upon thy distress?"
"And. whom would you have succor her? Her old lovers,




272    PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.
perhaps?  Indeed!   Men, you see, are all-but you are one,
and I stop.  Men, while they are in love, are stupid dwarfs,
who have nothing in them; geese, that one can pluck at will.
But when the fit is passed, they are callous, with hearts like
stone. They forget all that has been done for them, and leave
us to die of hunger without bestowing upon us the charity of
a sous.  Colombe more than once spoke to her old friends
who swam  in opulence.  All refused the smallest pittance.
I was so poor myself that I could not aid her."
"And her sister, that I saw  so beautiful and triumphant,
what has become of her?"
"Flora?  Do not speak of her; she has been still more miserable.  Trhen tihme stole her charms, she took up trading in
articles of toilette.  Her business was with women of fashion,
who, like ourselves, had led a life of gallantry, but, unlike ourselves, had possessed hypocrisy enough to preserve their reputation.  The male wo-rld does not bid them  adieu because
they are rich, and thus they contrive to divride their hours between intrigues, lace, finery, ard all else that goes to repair
the ravages of time on flesh. But this business is not all
profit or pleasure.  Such patrons give more promises than
money.  Victimized by numerous failures, Flora, to save herself, was tempted to dishonesty.  A Cashmere shawl had
been intrusted to her for sale.  She sold it, and kept the
money. The police condemned her to six years' imprisonment.  After this his there was no Maoe business for her.  On
leaving prison, Flora, witiihout resources, lost, faded, fell lower
than ever. She lived a vagabond life, and finished by associating with a criminal by profession.  CaughtL in robbery, she
was again brought before the court, and condemned to seven
years' hard labor, and to be exposed on a scaffold.  Yes, I have
seen nay unhappy friend tied to a gallows-she whom I have
so often seen so brilliant in her carriage and her box at the




PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.   273
Opera, attended by those fine gentlemen who to-day are peers
of France. Heaven had pity on her at the end of a year, and
sent her a disease which soon took her off."
" All this is very sad," said M. Palemon, who had many reasons for feeling melancholy as he recalled his career and those
of these unhappy girls. "But you, Madame, who were the
friend of these sisters, what is your name?"
"Now, as you read upon my door, I am called Madame
Pigoche, the name of the only man that I ever loved. Formerly I was called Rosine de Lelicour; that was more poetical -"
" Rosine Lelicour! You are on my list," said M. Palemon,
opening his pocket-book.
" It is possible," tranquilly replied the sybil.
" Do you remember me?'9
"4No, sir, I do not; but that is no offense. You have not
recognized me; and if I am changed, on your side you have
not, I judge, tche pretension to be the same as you were in
your spring-time."'
"It does not concern me, but a friend called Robert."
"I do not remember that name either, which is not astonishing, so many names have passed through my head. Ah
me! Yes, and so many bank-notes have passed through my
hands, and now not one remains, alas!  If one could keep
what they gained, Colombe and Flora would have lived, and
we should have been fine ladies to-day, as we were all three
great sinners in our youth. If you knew us, you will recollect,
perhaps, that we were always together, and they called us the
three graces. You see, now, what is left."
"There is something which can aid you to recall Robert."
"What is it? Tell me, if you please."
" His portrait, which he gave you."'He gave me, then, his portrait, the poor, dear man? Very
M 2




274   PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.
well; I have not kept it, nor any thing else. All went, in
turn, to the pawnbroker's.  Now I have no faces, except
those upon my cards, which gain for me something in my decay. Come, sir, give me something, and we will know your
fortune. We have talked enough about the past; let us talk
some of the future."
"No, Madame, no; you have told me all I wished to know;
but it is just that I should pay you the same as if you had told
my fate."
M. Palemon drew. from his purse a gold coin, which he put
into the hand of the sybil. It was a long while since she had.
seen so much, and her face glistened with joy as she made
her acknowledgments.
"This proof shall be the last," said Ml. Palemon, as he left
the fortune-teller. " There still remains one widow, but it is
uselss to seek her."
The three months had expired. He had done all possible
to fulfill the wishes of Robert. His conscience would now
permit him to return to Margillac, and restore to the nephew
of his friend the hundred thousand francs which had failed to
reach their first destination.
While he was preparing to depart, a neighbor of Margillac
wrote to him to request that he would take charge, on his return, of a roll, of papers which would be given to him by M.
Rondin, living at the Batignolles. M. Pale'mon took an omnibus and found the house.
" Monsieur is out," said the servant, "but you can speak to
Madame."
M. Pal6mon caused himself to be announced, and entered
the saloon, where he found the wife of M. Rondin and her
daughter, a charming girl of sixteen. The old bachelor made
his most graceful bow; then, approaching Madame Rondin, he
uttered a cry of surprise and emotion.




PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.   275
"What is the matter, sir?" asked the lady, astonished at
the effect she produced.
"Nothing, Madame, nothing. I will explain; but it would
be better that we were alone," said he, glancing at the young
lady.
" Leave us, Caroline," said Madame Rondin.
When Caroline had left, she said, " Now, sir, explain; what
is the cause of your emotion?"
"What have you there upon your breast?"
"This medallion?"'Yes, that portrait, which is that of my friend Robert, is
it not-Jules Edward Florestan Robert, called the Devil?"
It was, indeed, the portrait so long sought. M. Palemon
had before him the tenth of the names upon his tablet.
Madame Rondin told him how, after numerous adventures,
she had made an honorable end by marrying M. RLondin.
" My husband knows nothing of my former life, and I count
upon your discretion," said she, as she finished her tale.
An hour after this scene, M. Palemon dined with Mr., Mrs.,
and Miss Rondin.
"This is an old friend of my brother's," said the wife, "and
Caroline is a witness of the emotion with which he recalled
the likeness of my poor Charles, who died so young."
"You have plenty of others,'" said the good M. Ronudin,
laughing. " My wife has a mania for portraits. She possesses
three uncles, four brothers, and five cousins in bracelets,
brooches, and upon snuff-boxes."
M. Palemon could not listen to this conversation. He was
looking attentively at the face of the young girl opposite him.
Caroline was both modest and pretty. She had just left school,
and had been well taught. After dinner, she played and sang
with good taste. Her voice was sweet and strong. The old
bachelor was in ecstasies, and, when he bade adieu to the fam



276   PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.
ily at eleven o'clock that evening, he promised to call again
the next day.
Notwithstanding the impression upon his heart, he was not
prevented from making sundry philosophical reflections upon
the discovery of that day.
" Behold, then," said he, " what has become of the widows
of the Devil! I have found one, by chance, who has reformed and married. The others are chair-letters, door-openers at
theatres, spies, fortune-tellers, gamblers or worse, writers of
infamous literature, or they have plunged into crime, and died
in prison or byb s.ui-iJ'..  _iL-'d for how much of this are we
men responsible? Without the temptation of our money, might
not all have lived and died honest women? I see it all: they
are our toys, then our victims; then we despise, and seekothers. The same routine of wickedness, to pile up remorse
and infirmities for our latter days. I will paint my experience; perhaps it may warn one of either sex in season.
"Is it not strange," added he, " that of all these women, the
only one who preserved the souvenirs and the portraits of her
admirers is precisely she who has redeemed herself in the
esteem of the world, and now occupies an honorable position,
with the title of wife and mother?"
M. Palemon then thought of Caroline. The next day he
returned to the Batignolles.  He visited there daily, and
thought no more of quitting Paris. He had explained to Madame Rondin the legacy of Robert. " These one hundred thousand francs are yours by right," said he.
"Yes; but how can I take them? By what title can I accept them? What motive can I give to my husband?"
"There is a way to arrange all," replied Oscar Palemon.
"Give me the hand of your charming daughter. I will marry
her without a dowry, and bestow upon her the money of Robert by marriage contract."




PARISIAN SIGHTS AND FRENCH PRINCIPLES.   277
Madame Rondin could refuse nothing to MI. Palemon. A1i.
Rondin never denied any favor to his wife. Besides, the
hundred thousand francs were not without some weight in recommending M. Palemon for a son-in-law.
The young girl was sacrificed. Her sixteen summers were
united by law to the sixty winters of M. Palemon. The result, doubtless, was neither worse nor better than other marriages of the same sort.
THE END.