Paris as It Was and as It Is Part 75

Since the revolution, their price is nearly doubled, and is extremely high in the most fashionable parts of the town, such as the _Chaussee d'Antin_, the _Rue de la Loi_, the _Rue de la Concorde_, &c. For strangers that know not in Paris any friend who will take the trouble to seek for them suitable apartments, the only way to procure good accommodation is to alight at a ready-furnished hotel, and there hire rooms by the day till they can look about them, and please themselves.

For my own part, I prefer the quiet of a private lodging to the bustle of a public hotel, and, as I have before mentioned, my constant resource, on such occasions, has been the _Pet.i.tes Affiches_. If you go to the office where this Daily Advertiser is published, and inspect the file, it is ten to one that you immediately find apartments to your wishes.

A single man may now be comfortably lodged here, in a private house with a _porte-cochere_, at from 5 to 8 louis per month; and a small family may be well accommodated, in that respect, at from 12 to 16 louis. A larger party, requiring more room, may obtain excellent apartments at from 20 louis a month upwards, according to the situation, the conveniences, the taste and condition of the furniture, and other contingencies. To prevent subsequent misunderstanding, I would always recommend a written agreement.

The English have hitherto paid dearer than other foreigners for whatever they want in Paris, because they generally trust to their servants, and think it beneath them to look into those matters connected with their own comfort. But the _Milords Anglais_ are now entirely eclipsed by the Russian Counts, who give two louis where the English offer one. A person's expenses here, as every where else, materially depend on good management, without which a thoughtless man squanders twice as much as a more considerate one; and while the former obtains no more than the common comforts of life, the latter enjoys all its indulgences.

With respect to the gratifications of the table, I have little to add to what I have already said on that subject, in speaking of the _restaurateurs_. If you choose to become a boarder, you may subscribe at the _Hotel du Cirque_, _Rue de la Loi_, and sit down every day in good company for about seven louis a month; and there are very respectable private houses, where you may, when once introduced, dine very well for five livres a time; but, at all these places, you are sure to meet either English or Americans; and the consequence is, that you are eternally speaking your mother-tongue, which is a material objection with those who are anxious to improve themselves in the French language. For a man who brings his family to Paris, and resides in private apartments, it might, perhaps, be more advisable to hire a cook, and live _a l'Anglaise_ or _a la Francaise_, according to his fancy.

No conveniences have been so much improved in Paris, since the revolution, as

JOB AND HACKNEY CARRIAGES.

Formerly, the _remises_ or job-carriages were far inferior to those in use at the present day; and the old _fiacres_ or hackney-coaches were infamous. The carriages themselves were filthy; the horses, wretched; and the coachmen, in tatters, had more the look of beggars than that of drivers.

Now, not only good hackney-coaches, but chariots and cabriolets likewise, figure here on the stands; and many of them have an appearance so creditable that they might even be taken for private French equipages. The regular stipulated fare of all these vehicles is at present 30 _sous_ a _course_, and the same for every hour after the first, which is fixed at 40 _sous_.[1] In 1789, it used to be no more than 24. For the 30 _sous_, you may drive from one extremity of Paris to the other, provided you do not stop by the way; for every voluntary stoppage is reckoned a _course_. However, if you have far to go, it is better to agree to pay 40 _sous_ per hour, and then you meet with no contradiction. From midnight to six o'clock in the morning, the fare is double.

The present expense of a job-carriage, with a good pair of horses, (including the coachman, who is always paid by the jobman) varies from 22 to 24 louis a month, according to the price of forage. If you use your own carriage, the hire of horses and coachman will cost you from 12 to 15 louis, which, in 1789, was the price of a job-carriage, all expenses included.

Under the old _regime_, there were no stands of cabriolets.[2] These carriages are very convenient to persons pressed for time; but it must be confessed that they are no small annoyance to pedestrians. Of this Lewis XV was so convinced, that he declared if he were Minister of the Police, he would suffer no cabriolets in Paris. He thought this prohibition beneath his own greatness. To obviate, in some measure, the danger arising both from the want of foot-pavement, and from the inconsiderate rapidity with which these carriages are not unfrequently driven, it is now a law that the neck of every horse in a cabriolet must be provided with bells, and the carriage with two lamps, lighted after dark; yet, in spite of these precautions, and the severity which the police exercises against those who transgress the decree, serious accidents sometimes happen.

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

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

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

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

VALETS-DE-PLACE.

Like every thing else here, the wages of these job-servants are augmented. Formerly, their salary was 30 or 40 _sous_ a day: they now ask 4 francs; but, if you purpose to spend a few weeks here, will be glad to serve you for 3. Some are very intelligent; others, very stupid. Most of them are spies of the police; but, as an Englishman in Paris has nothing to conceal, of what consequence is it whether his steps are watched by his own _valet-de-place_ or any other _mouchard_? It is usual for them to lay under contribution all the tradesmen you employ; and thus the traiteur, the jobman, &c.

contribute to augment their profits. However, if they pilfer you a little themselves, they take care that you are not subjected to too much imposition from others.--To proceed to a few

GENERAL OBSERVATIONS.

In visiting the French capital, many Englishmen are led into an error. They imagine that a few letters of recommendation will be the means of procuring them admission into other houses besides those of the persons to whom these letters are addressed. But, on their arrival in Paris, they will find themselves mistaken. The houses of the _great_ are difficult of access, and those of the secondary cla.s.s scarcely open with more ease than they did before the revolution. If proper attention be paid to all the letters which a stranger brings, he may be satisfied; though the persons to whom he is recommended, seldom think of taking him to the residence of any of their friends.

Therefore, an English traveller, who wishes to mix much in French society, should provide himself with as many letters of recommendation as he can possibly obtain; unless, indeed, he has a celebrated name, which, in all countries, is the best introduction; for curiosity prompts the higher cla.s.ses to see and examine the man who bears it. The doors of every house will be open to him, when they are shut against other strangers, and he may soon establish an intimacy in the first circles. To those who possess not that advantage, a Frenchman may be induced to offer a dinner, or two, perhaps, and return them a few formal visits. He will profess more than he performs. In a word, he will be polite, but not familiar and friendly.

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

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

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

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

In their first essay of foreign travel, our British youths generally carry with them too ample a share of national prepossession and presumption. Accustomed at home to bear down all before them by the weight of their purse, they are too apt to imagine that, by means of a plentiful provision of gold, they may lord it over the continent, from Naples to Petersburg; and that a profuse expenditure of money supersedes the necessity of a compliance with established forms and regulations. Instead of making their applications and inquiries in a proper manner, so as to claim due attention, they more frequently demand as a right what they should rather receive as a favour.

Finding themselves disappointed in their vain conclusions, their temper is soured; and, being too proud to retract their error, or even observe a prudent silence, they deal out their impertinence and abuse in proportion to the number of guineas which they may be able to squander. Of course, they cannot but view the peculiar habits and customs of all foreign nations with a jaundiced eye, never reflecting that in most countries are to be found, either in a moral or a physical sense, advantages and disadvantages in which others are deficient. _Le_ POUR _et le_ CONTRE, as a well-known traveller observes, _se trouvent en chaque nation_. The grand desideratum is to acquire by travel a knowledge of this POUR _et/i> CONTRE, which, by emanc.i.p.ating us from our prejudices, teaches us mutual toleration --for, of every species of tyranny, that which is exercised on things indifferent in themselves, is the most intolerable. Hence it is less difficult to deprive a nation of its laws than to change its habits.

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

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

LETTER Lx.x.xVII

_Paris, March 31, 1802._

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

DIVORCE.

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

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

Formerly, if a Frenchman kept a watchful eye on his wife, he was reckoned jealous, and was blamed. If he adopted a contrary conduct, and she was faithless, he was ridiculed. Not unfrequently, a young miss, emerged from the cloisters of a convent, where she had, perhaps, been sequestered, in order that her bloom might not eclipse the declining charms of her mother, and who appeared timid, bashful, and diffident, was no sooner married to a man in a certain rank in life, than she shone as a meteor of extravagance and dissipation.

Such a wife thought of nothing but the gratification of her own desires; because she considered it as a matter of course that all the cares of the family ought to devolve by right on the husband.

Provided she could procure the means of satisfying her taste for dress, and of making a figure in the _beau monde_, no other concerns ever disturbed her imagination. If, at first, she had sufficient resolution to resist the contagion of example, and not take a male friend to her bosom, by way of lightening the weight of her connubial chains, she seldom failed, in the end, to follow the fashion of the day, and frequent the gaming-table, where her virtue was sacrificed to discharge her debts of honour.

But what have these _would-be_ republicans to allege as an excuse in their favour? They have no convents to initiate young girls in the arts of dissimulation; no debauched court to contaminate, by its example, the wavering principles of the weak part of the s.e.x, or sap the more determined ones of those whose mind is of a firmer texture; nor have they any friendly, sympathizing confessors to draw a spunge, as it were, over the trespa.s.ses hid in a snug corner of their heart.

No: every one is left to settle his own account with heaven. Yet the libertinism which at present reigns in Paris is sufficient to make a deep impression on persons the least given to reflection.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Among the Romans," continues he, "the first who availed himself of this privilege was Spurius Corbilius, because his wife was steril.

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

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

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

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

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

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