Paris and the Parisians in 1835 Volume II Part 19

[1] Vent-hole.

LETTER LXV.

Boulevard des Italiens.--Tortoni's.--Thunder-storm.--Church of the Madeleine.--Mrs. Butler's "Journal."

All the world has been complaining of the tremendous heat of the weather here. The thermometer stands at.... I forget what, for the scale is not my scale; but I know that the sun has been shining without mercy during the last week, and that all the world declare that they are baked. Of all the cities of the earth to be baked in, surely Paris is the best. I have been reading that beautiful story of George Sand's about nothing at all, called "Lavinia," and chose for my study the deepest shade of the Tuileries Garden. If we could but have sat there all day, we should have felt no inconvenience from the sun, but, on the contrary, only have watched him from hour to hour caressing the flowers, and trying in vain to find entrance for one of his beams into the delightful covert we had chosen: but there were people to be seen, and engagements to be kept; and so here we are at home again, looking forward to a large party for the evening!

The Boulevard as we came along was prettier than ever;--stands of delicious flowers tempting one at every step--a rose, and a bud, and two bits of mignonette, and a sprig of myrtle, for five sous; but all arranged so elegantly, that the little bouquet was worth a dozen tied up less tastefully. I never saw so many sitters in a morning; the people seemed as if they were reposing from necessity--as if they sat because they could walk no farther. As we pa.s.sed Tortoni's, we were amused by a group, consisting of a very pretty woman and a very pretty man, who were seated on two chairs close together, and flirting apparently very much to their own satisfaction; while the third figure in the group, a little Savoyard, who had probably begun by asking charity, seemed spell-bound, with his eyes fixed on the elegant pair as if studying a scene for the _gaie science_, of which, as he carried a mandoline, I presume he was a disciple. We were equally entertained by the pertinacious staring of the little minstrel, and the utter indifference to it manifested by the objects of his admiration.

A few steps farther, our eyes were again arrested by an exquisite, who had taken off his hat, and was deliberately combing his coal-black curls as he walked. In a brother beau, I doubt not he would have condemned such a degree of _laisser-aller_; but in himself, it only served to relever the beauty of his forehead and the general grace of his movements. I was glad that no fountain or limpid lake opened beneath his feet,--the fate of Narcissus would have been inevitable.

Last night we had intended to make a farewell visit to the Feydeau,--Feydeau no longer, however,--to the Opera Comique, I should say. But fortunately we had not secured a box, and therefore enjoyed the privilege of changing our minds,--a privilege ever dear, but in such weather as this inestimable. Instead of going to the theatre, we remained at home till it began to grow dark and cool--cooler at least by some degrees, but still most heavily sultry. We then sallied forth to eat ices at Tortoni's. All Paris seemed to be a.s.sembled upon the Boulevard to breathe: it was like a very crowded night at Vauxhall, and hundreds of chairs seemed to have sprung up from the ground to meet the exigences of the moment, for double rows of sitters occupied each side of the pavement.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Drawn & Etched by A. Hervieu.

BOULEVARD DES ITALIENS.

London. Published by Richard Bentley. 1835.]

Frenchwomen are so very lovely in their evening walking-dress, that I would rather see them thus than when full-dressed at parties. A drawing-room full of elegantly-dressed women, all looking prepared for a bal pare, is no unusual sight for English eyes; but truth obliges me to confess that it would be in vain at any imaginable evening promenade in London to look for such a spectacle as the Italian Boulevard showed us last night. It is the strangest thing in the world that it should be so--for it is certain that neither the bonnets, nor the pretty faces they shelter, are in any way inferior in England to any that can be seen elsewhere; but Frenchwomen have more the habit and the _knack_ of looking elegantly-dressed without being full-dressed. It is impossible to enter into detail in order to explain this--nothing less skilful than a milliner could do this; and I think that even the most skilful of the profession would not find it easy: I can only state the fact, that the general effect of an evening promenade in Paris is more elegant than it is in London.

We were fortunate enough to secure the places of a large party that were leaving a window in the upper room at Tortoni's as we entered it: and here again is a scene as totally un-English as that of a restaurant in the Palais Royal. Both the rooms above, as well as those below, were quite full of gay company, each party sitting round their own little marble table, with the large _carafe_ of ice--for so it may well be called, for it only melts as you want it--the very sight of which, even if you venture not to drain a draught from the slowly yielding ma.s.s, creates a feeling of delicious coldness. Then the incessant entrees of party-coloured pyramids, with their accompaniment of gaufres,--the brilliant light within, the humming crowd without,--the refreshing coolness of the delicate regale, and the light gaiety which all the world seem to share at this pleasant hour of perfect idleness,--all are incontestably French, and, more incontestably still, not English.

While we were still at our window, amused by all within and all without, we were started by some sharp flashes of lightning which began to break through a heavy cloud of most portentous blackness that I had been for some time admiring, as forming a beautiful contrast to the blaze of light on the Boulevard. No rain was as yet falling, and I proposed to my party a walk towards the Madeleine, which I thought would give us some fine effects of light and darkness on such a night as this. The proposal was eagerly accepted, and we wandered on till we left the crowd and the gas behind us. We walked to the end of the Rue Royale, and then turned round slowly and gradually to approach the church. The effect was infinitely finer than anything I had antic.i.p.ated: the moon was only a few days past the full; and even when hid behind the heavy clouds that were gathering together as it seemed from all parts of the sky, gave light enough for us dimly, yet distinctly, to discern the vast and beautiful proportions of the magnificent portico. It looked like the pale spectre of a Grecian temple. With one accord we all paused at the point where it was most perfectly and most beautifully visible; and I a.s.sure you, that with the heavy ominous ma.s.s of black clouds above and behind it--with the faint light of the "inconstant moon," now for a moment brightly visible, and now wholly hid behind a driving cloud, reflected from its columns, it was the most beautiful object of art that I ever looked at.

It was some time before we could resolve to leave it, quite sure as we were that it never could be our chance to behold it in such perfection again; and while we stayed, the storm advanced rapidly towards us, adding the distant rumbling of its angry voice to enhance the effect of the spectacle. Yet still we lingered; and were rewarded for our courage by seeing the whole of the vast edifice burst upon our sight in such a blaze of sudden brightness, that when it pa.s.sed away, I thought for an instant that I was struck blind. Another flash followed--another and another. The spectacle was glorious; but the danger of being drenched to the skin became every moment more imminent, and we hastily retreated to the Boulevard. As we emerged from the gloom of the Madeleine Boulevard to the glaring gas-light from the cafes which illuminated the Italian, it seemed as if we had got into another atmosphere and another world. No rain had as yet fallen; and the crowd, thicker than ever, were still sitting and lounging about, apparently unconscious of the watery danger which threatened them. So great is the force of example, that, before we got to the end of the promenade, we seemed unconscious of it too, for we turned with the rest. But we were soon punished for our folly: the dark canopy burst asunder, and let down upon us as pelting a shower as ever drove feathers and flowers, and ribbons and gauze, to every point of the compa.s.s in search of shelter.

I have sometimes wondered at the short s.p.a.ce of time it required to clear a crowded theatre of its guests; but the vanishing of the crowd from the Boulevard was more rapid still. What became of them all, Heaven knows; but they seemed to melt and dissolve away as the rain fell upon them. We took shelter in the Pa.s.sage de l'Opera; and after a few minutes the rain ceased, and we got safely home.

In the course of our excursion we encountered an English friend, who returned home with us; and though it was eleven o'clock, he looked neither shocked nor surprised when I ordered tea, but even consented to stay and partake of it with us. Our tea-table gossip was concerning a book that all the world--all the English world at least--had been long eagerly looking for, and which we had received two days before.

Our English friend had made it his travelling-companion, and having just completed the perusal of it, could talk of nothing else. This book was Mrs. Butler's "Journal." Happily for the tranquillity of our tea-table, we were all perfectly well agreed in opinion respecting it: for, by his account, parties for and against it have been running very strong amongst you. I confess I heard this with astonishment; for it appears to me that all that can be said against the book lies so completely on the surface, that it must be equally visible to all the world, and that n.o.body can fail to perceive it. But these obvious defects once acknowledged--and they must be acknowledged by all, I should have thought that there was no possibility left for much difference of opinion,--I should have thought the genius of its author would then have carried all before it, leaving no one sufficiently cold-blooded and reasonable to remember that it contained any faults at all.

It is certainly possible that my familiarity with the scenes she describes may give her spirited sketches a charm and a value in my eyes that they may not have for those who know not their truth. But this is not all their merit: the glow of feeling, the warm eloquence, the poetic fervour with which she describes all that is beautiful, and gives praise to all that is good, must make its way to every heart, and inspire every imagination with power to appreciate the graphic skill of her descriptions even though they may have no power to judge of their accuracy.

I have been one among those who have deeply regretted the loss, the bankruptcy, which the stage has sustained in the tragic branch of its business by the secession of this lady: but her book, in my opinion, demonstrates such extraordinary powers of writing, that I am willing to flatter myself that we shall have gained eventually rather than lost by her having forsaken a profession too fatiguing, too exhausting to the spirits, and necessarily occupying too much time, to have permitted her doing what now we may fairly hope she will do,--namely, devote herself to literature. There are some pa.s.sages of her hastily-written, and too hastily-published journal, which evidently indicate that her mind was at work upon composition. She appears to judge herself and her own efforts so severely, that, when speaking of the scenes of an unpublished tragedy, she says "they are not bad,"--which is, I think, the phrase she uses: I feel quite persuaded that they are admirable. Then again she says, "Began writing a novel...." I would that she would finish it too!--and as I hold it to be impossible that such a mind as hers can remain inactive, I comfort myself with the belief that we shall soon again receive some token of her English recollections handed to us across the Atlantic. That her next production will be less _faulty_ than her last, none can doubt, because the blemishes are exactly of a nature to be found in the journal of a heedless young traveller, who having caught, in pa.s.sing, a mult.i.tude of unseemly phrases, puts them forth in jest, unmindful--much too unmindful certainly--of the risk she ran that they might be fixed upon her as her own genuine individual style of expression. But we have only to read those pa.s.sages where she certainly is not jesting--where poetry, feeling, goodness, and piety glow in every line--to know what her language is _when she is in earnest_. On these occasions her power of expression is worthy of the thoughts of which it is the vehicle,--and I can give it no higher praise.

LETTER LXVI.

A pleasant Party.--Discussion between an Englishman and a Frenchman.--National Peculiarities.

I told you yesterday that, notwithstanding the tremendous heat of the weather, we were going to a large party in the evening. We courageously kept the engagement; though, I a.s.sure you, I did it in trembling. But, to our equal surprise and satisfaction, the rooms of Mrs. M---- proved to be deliciously cool and agreeable. Her receiving-apartment consists of three rooms. The first was surrounded and decorated in all possible ways with a profusion of the most beautiful flowers, intermixed with so many large gla.s.s vases for gold fish, that I am sure the air was much cooled by evaporation from the water they contained. This room was lighted wholly by a large lamp suspended from the ceiling, which was enclosed in a sort of gauze globe, just sufficiently thick to prevent any painful glare of light, but not enough so to injure the beautiful effect always produced by the illumination of flowers. The large croisees were thrown open, with very slight muslin curtains over them; and the whole effect of the room--its cool atmosphere, its delicious fragrance, and its subdued light--was so enchanting, that it was not without difficulty we pa.s.sed on to pay our compliments to Mrs. M----, who was in a larger but much less fascinating apartment.

There were many French persons present, but the majority of the company was English. Having looked about us a little, we retreated to the fishes and the myrtles; and as there was a very handsome man singing buffa songs in one of the other rooms, with a score of very handsome women looking at and listening to him, the mult.i.tude a.s.sembled there; and we had the extreme felicity of finding fresh air and a sofa _a notre disposition_, with the additional satisfaction of accepting or refusing ices every time the trays paraded before us. You will believe that we were not long left without companions, in a position so every way desirable: and in truth we soon had about us a select committee of superlatively agreeable people; and there we sat till considerably past midnight, with a degree of enjoyment which rarely belongs to hours devoted to a very large party in very hot weather.

And what did we talk about?--I think it would be easier to enumerate the subjects we did not touch upon than those we did. Everybody seemed to think that it would be too fatiguing to run any theme far; and so, rather in the style of idle, pampered lap-dogs, than of spirited pointers and setters, we amused ourselves by skittishly pursuing whatever was started, just as it pleased us, and then turned round and reposed till something else darted into view. The whole circle, consisting of seven persons, were English with the exception of one; and that one was--he must excuse me, for I will not name him--that one was a most exceedingly clever and superlatively agreeable young Frenchman.

As we had snarled and snapped a little here and there in some of our gambols after the various objects which had pa.s.sed before us, this young man suggested the possibility of his being _de trop_ in the coterie. "Are you not genes," said he, "by my being here to listen to all that you and yours may be disposed to say of us and ours?... Shall I have the amiability to depart?"

A general and decided negative was put upon this proposition; but one of the party moved an amendment. "Let us," said he, "agree to say everything respecting France and the French with as much unreserve as if you were on the top of Notre Dame; and do you, who have been for three months in England, treat us exactly in the same manner; and see what we shall make of each other. We are all much too languid to suffer our patriotism to mount up to 'spirit-boil,' and so there is no danger whatever that we should quarrel."

"I would accept the partie instantly," said the Frenchman, "were it not so unequal. But six to one! ... is not this too hard?"

"No! ... not the least in the world, if we take it in the quizzing vein," replied the other; "for it is well known that a Frenchman can out-quiz six Englishmen at any time."

"Eh bien!" ... said the complaisant Parisian with a sigh, "I will do my best. Begin, ladies, if you please."

"No! no! no!" exclaimed several female voices in a breath; "we will have nothing to do with it; fight it out between yourselves: we will be the judges, and award the honours of the field to him who hits the hardest."

"This is worse and worse," cried our laughing enemy: "if this be the arrangement of the combat, the judgment, a coup sur, will be given against me. How can you expect such blind confidence from me?"

We protested against this attack upon our justice, promised to be as impartial as Jove, and desired the champions to enter the lists.

"So then," said the Englishman, "I am to enact the part of St. George ... and G.o.d defend the right!"

"And I, that of St. Denis," replied the Frenchman, his right hand upon his breast and his left gracefully sawing the air. "Mon bras ... non ...

'Ma _langue_ a ma patrie, Mon coeur a mon amie, Mourir gaiement pour la gloire et l'amour, C'est la devise d'un vaillant troubadour.'

Allons!... Now tell me, St. George, what say you in defence of the English mode of suffering ladies--the ladies of Britain--the most lovely ladies in the world, n'est-ce pas?--to rise from table, and leave the room, and the gentlemen--alone--with downcast eyes and timid step--without a single preux chevalier to offer them his protection or to bear them company on their melancholy way--banished, turned out--exiled from the banquet-board!--I protest to you that I have suffered martyrdom when this has happened, and I, for my sins, been present to witness it. Croyez-moi, I would have joyfully submitted to make my exit a quatre pattes, so I might but have followed them. Ah!

you know not what it is for a Frenchman to remain still, when forced to behold such a spectacle as this!... Alas! I felt as if I had disgraced myself for life; but I was more than spell-bound--I was promise-bound; the friend who accompanied me to the party where I witnessed this horror had previously told me what I should have to endure--I did endure it--but I have not yet forgiven myself for partic.i.p.ating in so outrageous a barbarism."

"The gentlemen only remain to drink the fair ladies' health," said our St. George very coolly; "and I doubt not all ladies would tell you, did they speak sincerely, that they were heartily glad to get rid of you for half an hour or so. You have no idea, my good fellow, what an agreeable interlude this makes for them: they drink coffee, sprinkle their fans with esprit de rose, refresh their wit, repair their smiles, and are ready to set off again upon a fresh campaign, certain of fresh conquests. But what can St. Denis say in defence of a Frenchman who makes love to three women at once--as I positively declare I saw you do last night at the Opera?"

"You mistook the matter altogether, mon cher; I did not make love--I only offered adoration: we are bound to adore the whole s.e.x, and all the pet.i.ts soins offered in public are but the ceremonies of this our national worship.... We never make love in public, my dear friend--_ce n'est pas dans nos moeurs_. But will you explain to me un peu, why Englishmen indulge themselves in the very extraordinary habit of taking their wives to market with that vilaine corde au cou that it is so dreadful to mention, and there sell them for the mesquine somme de trois francs?... Ah! be very sure that were there a single Frenchman present at your terrible Smithfield when this happened, he would buy them all up, and give them their liberty at once."

The St. George laughed--but then replied very gravely, that the custom was a very useful one, as it enabled an Englishman to get rid of a wife as soon as he found that she was not worth keeping. "But will you tell me," he continued, "how it is that you can be so inhuman as to take your innocent young daughters and sisters, and dispose of them as if they were Virginian slaves born on your estates, to the best bidder, without asking the charming little creatures themselves one single word concerning their sentiments on the subject?"

"We are too careful of our young daughters and sisters," replied the champion of France, "not to provide them with a suitable alliance and a proper protector before they shall have run the risk of making a less prudent selection for themselves: but, what can put it into the heads of English parents to send out whole ship-loads of young English demoiselles--si belles qu'elles sont!--to the other side of the earth, in order to provide them with husbands?"

Our knight paused for a moment before he answered, and I believe we all shook for him; but at length he replied very sententiously--

"When nations spread their conquests to _the other side of the earth_, and send forth their generals and their judges to take and to hold possession for them, it is fitting that their distant honours should be shared by their fair countrywomen. But will you explain to me why it is that the venerable grandmothers of France think it necessary to figure in a contre-danse--nay, even in a waltz, as long as they think that they have strength left to prevent their falling on their noses?"

"'Vive la bagatelle!' is the first lesson we learn in our nurses'

arms--and Heaven forbid we should any of us live long enough to forget it!" answered the Frenchman. "But if the question be not too indiscreet, will you tell me, most glorious St. George, in what school of philosophy it was that Englishmen learned to seek satisfaction for their wounded honour in the receipt of a sum of money from the lovers of their wives?"

"Most puissant St. Denis," replied the knight of England, "I strongly recommend you not to touch upon any theme connected with the marriage state as it exists in England; because I opine that it would take you a longer time to comprehend it than you may have leisure to give. It will not take you so long perhaps to inform me how it happens that so gay a people as the French, whose first lesson, as you say, is 'Vive la bagatelle!' should make so frequent a practice as they do of inviting either a friend or a mistress to enjoy a tete-a-tete over a pan of charcoal, with doors, windows, and vent-holes of all kinds carefully sealed, to prevent the least possible chance that either should survive?"

"It has arisen," replied the Frenchman, "from our great intimacy with England--where the month of November is pa.s.sed by one half of the population in hanging themselves, and by the other half in cutting them down. The charcoal system has been an attempt to improve upon your insular mode of proceeding; and I believe it is, on the whole, considered preferable. But may I ask you in what reign the law was pa.s.sed which permits every Englishman to beat his wife with a stick as large as his thumb; and also whether the law has made any provision for the case of a man's having the gout in that member to such a degree as to swell it to twice its ordinary size?"

"It has been decided by a jury of physicians," said our able advocate, "that in all such cases of gout, the decrease of strength is in exact proportion to the increase of size in the pattern thumb, and therefore no especial law has pa.s.sed our senate concerning its possible variation. As to the law itself, there is not a woman in England who will not tell you that it is as laudable as it is venerable."

"The women of England must be angels!" cried the champion of France, suddenly starting from his chair and clasping his hands together with energy,--"angels! and nothing else, or" (looking round him) "they could never smile as you do now, while tyranny so terrible was discussed before them!"