Part 8

The internal transportation of France, where the lines of the rivers are not followed, is carried on, almost exclusively, in enormous carts, drawn by six and even eight heavy horses, harnessed in a line. The burthen is often as large as a load of hay, not quite so high, perhaps, but generally longer, care being had to preserve the balance in such a manner as to leave no great weight on the shaft-horse. These teams are managed with great dexterity, and I have often stopped and witnessed, with admiration, the entrance of one of them into a yard, as it passed from a crowded street probably not more than thirty feet wide. But the evolutions of the _diligence_, guided as it chiefly is by the whip, and moving on a trot, are really nice affairs. I came from _La Grange_, some time since, in one, and I thought that we should dash every thing to pieces in the streets, and yet nothing was injured. At the close of the journey, our team of five horses, two on the pole and three on the lead, wheeled, without breaking its trot, into a street that was barely wide enough to receive the huge vehicle, and this too without human direction, the driver being much too drunk to be of any service. These _diligences_ are uncouth objects to the eye; but, for the inside passengers, they are much more comfortable, so far as my experience extends, than either the American stage, or the English coach.

The necessity of passing the _barrière_ two or three times a day, has also made me acquainted with the great amount of drunkenness that prevails in Paris. Wine can be had _outside_ of the walls, for about half the price which is paid for it within the town, as it escapes the _ortroi_, or city duty. The people resort to these places for indulgence, and there is quite as much low blackguardism and guzzling here, as is to be met with in any seaport I know.

Provisions of all sorts, too, are cheaper without the gates, for the same reason; and the lower classes resort to them to celebrate their weddings, and on other eating and drinking occasions. “_Ici on fait festins et noces_,”[9] is a common sign, no barrier being without more or less of these houses. The _guinguettes_ are low gardens, answering to the English tea-gardens of the humblest class, with a difference in the drinkables and other fare. The base of Montmartre is crowded with them.

Footnote 9:

Weddings and merry-makings are kept here.

One sometimes meets with an unpleasant adventure among these exhilirated gentry; for, though, I think, a low Frenchman is usually better natured when a little _grisé_ than when perfectly sober, this is not always the case. Quite lately I had an affair that might have terminated seriously, but for our good luck. It is usual to have two sets of reins to the _cabriolets_, the horses being very spirited, and the danger from accidents in streets so narrow and crowded, being great. I had dined in town, and was coming out about nine o’clock. The horse was walking up the ascent to the _barrière de Clichy_, when I observed, by the shadow cast from a bright moon, that there was a man seated on the _cabriolet_, behind. Charles was driving, and I ordered him to tell the man to get off. Finding words of no effect, Charles gave him a slight tap with his whip. The fellow instantly sprang forward, seized the horse by the reins, and attempted to drag him to one side of the road. Failing in this, he fled up the street. Charles now called out that he had cut the reins. I seized the other pair and brought the horse up, and, as soon as he was under command, we pursued our assailant at a gallop. He was soon out of breath, and we captured him. As I felt very indignant at the supposed outrage, which might have cost, not us only, but others, their lives, I gave him in charge to two _gensd’armes_ at the gate, with my address, promising to call at the police office in the morning.

Accordingly, next day I presented myself, and was surprised to find that the man had been liberated. I had discovered, in the interval, that the leather had _broken_, and had not been _cut_, which materially altered the _animus_ of the offence, and I had come with an intention to ask for the release of the culprit, believing it merely a sally of temper, which a night’s imprisonment sufficiently punished; but, the man being _charged_ with cutting the rein, I thought the magistrate had greatly forgotten himself, in discharging him before I appeared. Indeed I made no scruple in telling him so. We had some warm words, and parted. I make no doubt I was mistaken for an Englishman, and that the old national antipathy was at work against me.

I was a good deal surprised at the termination of this, my first essay in French criminal justice. So many eulogiums have been passed on the police, that I was not prepared to find this indifference to an offence like that of wantonly cutting the reins of a spirited cabriolet horse, in the streets of Paris; for such was the charge on which the man stood committed. I mentioned the affair to a friend, and he said that the police was good only for political offences, and that the government rather leaned to the side of the rabble, in order to find support with them, in the event of any serious movement. This, you will remember, was the opinion of a Frenchman, and not mine; for I only relate the facts (one conjecture excepted,) and to do justice to all parties, it is proper to add that my friend is warmly opposed to the present _régime_.

I have uniformly found the _gensd’armes_ civil, and even obliging; and I have seen them show great forbearance on various occasions. As to the marvellous stories we have heard of the police of Paris, I suspect they have been gotten up for effect, such things being constantly practised here. One needs be behind the curtain, in a great many things, to get a just idea of the true state of the world. A laughable instance has just occurred, within my knowledge, of a story that has been got up for effect. The town was quite horrified, lately, with an account, in the journals, of a careless nurse permitting a child to fall into the _fossé_ of the great bears, in the _jardins des plantes_, and of the bears eating up the dear little thing, to the smallest fragment, before succour could be obtained. Happening to be at the garden soon after, in the company of one connected with the establishment, I inquired into the circumstances, and was told that the nurses were very careless with the children, and that the story was published in order that the bears _should not eat up any child hereafter_, rather than because they ha_d eaten up_ a child _heretofore_.

LETTER VII. TO MRS. POMEROY, COOPERSTOWN.

I have said very little, in my previous letters, on the subject of our personal intercourse with the society of Paris. It is not always easy for one to be particular in these matters, and maintain the reserve that is due to others. Violating the confidence he may have received through his hospitality, is but an indifferent return from the guest to the host. Still there are men, if I may so express it, so public in their very essence, certainly in their lives, that propriety is less concerned with a repetition of their sentiments, and with delineations of their characters, than in ordinary cases; for the practice of the world has put them so much on their guard against the representations of travellers, that there is more danger of rendering a false account, by becoming their dupes, than of betraying them in their unguarded moments. I have scarcely ever been admitted to the presence of a real notoriety, that I did not find the man, or woman—sex making little difference—an actor; and this, too, much beyond the every day and perhaps justifiable little practices of conventional life. Inherent simplicity of character, is one of the rarest, as, tempered by the tone imparted by refinement, it is the loveliest of all our traits, though it is quite common to meet with those who affect it, with an address that is very apt to deceive the ordinary, and most especially the flattered, observer.

Opportunity, rather than talents, is the great requisite for circulating gossip; a very moderate degree of ability, sufficing for the observation which shall render private anecdotes, more especially when they relate to persons of celebrity, of interest to the general reader. But there is another objection to being merely the medium of information of this low quality, that I should think would have great influence with every one who has the common self-respect of a gentleman. _There is a tacit admission of inferiority_ in the occupation, that ought to prove too humiliating to a man accustomed to those associations, which imply equality. It is permitted to touch upon the habits and appearance of a truly great man; but to dwell upon the peculiarities of a duke, merely because he is a duke, is as much as to say he is your superior; a concession I do not feel disposed to make in favour of any _mere duke_ in Christendom.

I shall not, however, be wholly silent on the general impressions left by the little I have seen of the society of Paris; and, occasionally, when it is characteristic, an anecdote may be introduced, for such things sometimes give distinctness, as well as piquancy, to a description.

During our first winter in Paris, our circle, never very large, was principally confined to foreign families, intermingled with a few French; but since our return to town, from St. Ouen, we have seen more of the people of the country. I should greatly mislead you, however, were I to leave the impression that our currency in the French capital has been at all general, for it certainly has not. Neither my health, leisure, fortune, nor opportunities, have permitted this. I believe few, perhaps no Americans, have very general access to the best society of any large European town; at all events, I have met with no one who, I have had any reason to think was much better off than myself in this respect; and, I repeat, my own familiarity with the circles of the capital, is nothing to boast of. It is in Paris, as it is every where else, as respects those who are easy of access. In all large towns there is to be found a troublesome and pushing set, who, requiring notoriety, obtrude themselves on strangers, sometimes with sounding names, and always with offensive pretensions of some sort or other; but the truly respectable and estimable class, in every country, except in cases that cannot properly be included in the rule, are to be sought. Now, one must feel that he has peculiar claims, or be better furnished with letters than happened to be my case, to get a ready admission into this set, or, having obtained it, to feel that his position enabled him to maintain the intercourse, with the ease and freedom that could alone render it agreeable. To be shown about as a lion, when circumstances offer the means; to be stuck up at a dinner table, as a piece of luxury, like strawberries in February, or peaches in April, can hardly be called association: the terms being much on a par with that which forms the _liaison_, between him who gives the entertainment, and the hired plate with which his table is garnished. With this explanation, then, you are welcome to an outline of the little I know on the subject.

One of the errors respecting the French, which has been imported into America, through England, is the impression that they are not hospitable. Since my residence here, I have often been at a loss to imagine how such a notion could have arisen, for I am acquainted with no town, in which it has struck me there is more true hospitality, than in Paris. Not only are dinners, balls, and all the minor entertainments frequent, but there is scarcely a man, or a woman, of any note in society, who does not cause his or her doors to be opened, once a fortnight at least, and, in half the cases, once a week. At these _soirées_ invitations are sometimes given, it is true, but then they are general, and for the whole season; and it is not unusual, even, to consider them free to all who are on visiting terms with the family. The utmost simplicity and good taste prevail at these places, the refreshments being light and appropriate, and the forms exacting no more than what belongs to good breeding. You will, at once, conceive the great advantages that a stranger possesses in having access to such social resources. One, with a tolerable visiting list, may choose his circle for any particular evening, and, if by chance, the company should not happen to be to his mind, he has still before him the alternative of several other houses, which are certain to be open. It is not easy to say what can be more truly hospitable than this.

The _petits soupers_, once so celebrated, are entirely superseded by the new distribution of time, which is probably the most rational that can be devised for a town life. The dinner is at six, an hour that is too early to interfere with the engagements of the evening, it being usually over at eight, and too late to render food again necessary that night; an arrangement that greatly facilitates the evening intercourse, releasing it at once from all trouble and parade.

It has often been said, in favour of French society, that once within the doors of a _salon_ all are equal. This is not literally so, it being impossible that such a state of things can exist; nor is it desirable that it should; since it is confounding all sentiment and feeling, overlooking the claims of age, services, merit of every sort, and setting at naught the whole construction of society. It is not absolutely true, that even rank is entirely forgotten in French society, though I think it sufficiently so to prevent any deference to it from being offensive. The social pretensions of a French peer are exceedingly well regulated, nor do I remember to have seen an instance in which a very young man has been particularly noticed on account of his having claims of this sort. Distinguished men are so very numerous in Paris, that they excite no great feeling, and the even course of society is little disturbed on their account.

Although all within the doors of a French _salon_ are not perfectly equal, none are made unpleasantly to feel the indifference. I dare say there are circles in Paris, in which the mere possession of money may be a source of evident distinction, but it must be in a very inferior set. The French, while they are singularly alive to the advantages of money, and extremely liable to yield to its influence in all important matters, rarely permit any manifestations of its power to escape them in their ordinary intercourse. As a people, they appear to me to be ready to yield every thing to money, but its external homage. On these points, they are the very converse of the Americans, who are hard to be bought, while they consider money the very base of all distinction. The origin of these peculiarities may be found in the respective conditions of the two countries.

In America, fortunes are easily and rapidly acquired; pressure reduces few to want; he who serves is, if any thing, more in demand than he who is to be served; and the want of temptation produces exemption from the liability to corruption. Men will, and do, daily, _corrupt themselves_, in the rapacious pursuit of gain, but comparatively few are in the market, to be bought and sold by others. Notwithstanding this, money being every man’s goal, there is a secret, profound, and general deference for it; while money will do less, than in almost any other country in Christendom. Here, few young men look forward to gaining distinction by making money; they search for it, as a means; whereas, with us, it is the end. We have little need of arms in America, and the profession is in less request than that of law or merchandize. Of the arts and letters, the country possesses none, or next to none; and there is no true sympathy with either. The only career that is felt, as likely to lead, and which can lead, to distinction independently of money, is that of politics, and, as a whole, this is so much occupied by sheer adventurers, with little or no pretension to the name of statesmen, that it is scarcely reputable to belong to it. Although money has no influence in politics, or as little as well may be, even the successful politician is but a secondary man, in ordinary society, in comparison with the _milionaire_. Now, all this is very much reversed in Paris. Money does much, while it seems to do but little. The writer of a successful comedy would be a much more important personage, in the _côteries_ of Paris, than M. Rothschild; and the inventor of a new bonnet would enjoy much more _éclat_ than the inventor of a clever speculation. I question if there be a community on earth, in which gambling risks in the funds, for instance, are more general than in this, and yet the subject appears to be entirely lost sight of out of the _Bourse_.

The little social notoriety that is attached to military distinction, here, has greatly surprised me. It really seems as if France has had so much military renown, as to be satiated with it. One is elbowed constantly by generals, who have gained this or that victory, and yet no one seems to care anything about them. I do not mean that the nation is indifferent to military glory, but society appears to care little or nothing about it. I have seen a good deal of fuss made with the writer of a few clever verses, but I have never seen any made with a hero. Perhaps it was because the verses were new, and the victories old.

The perfect good taste and indifference which the French manifest concerning the private affairs, and concerning the mode of living, of one who is admitted to the _salons_, has justly extorted admiration, even from the English, the people of all others who most submit to a contrary feeling. A hackney coach is not always admitted into a court-yard, but both men and women make their visits in them, without any apparent hesitation. No one seems ashamed of confessing poverty. I do not say that women of quality often use _fiacres_ to make their visits, but men do, and I have seen women in them, openly, whom I have met in some of the best houses in Paris. It is better to go in a private carriage, or in a _remise_, if one can, but few hesitate, when their means are limited, about using the former. In order to appreciate this self-denial, or simplicity, or good sense, it is necessary to remember that a Paris _fiacre_ is not to be confounded with any other vehicle on earth. I witnessed, a short time since, a ludicrous instance of the different degrees of feeling that exist on this point, among different people. A—— and myself went to the house of an English woman, of our acquaintance, who is not very choice in her French. A Mrs. ——, the wife of a colonel in the English army, sat next A——, as a French lady begged that her carriage might be ordered. Our hostess told her servant to order the _fiacre_ of Madame ——. Now, Madame —— kept her chariot, to my certain knowledge, but she disregarded the mistake. A—— soon after desired that our carriage might come next. The good woman of the house, who loved to be busy, again called for the _fiacre_ of Madame ——. I saw the foot of A—— in motion, but catching my eye, she smiled, and the thing passed off. The _voiture de Madame_ ——, or our own carriage, was announced, just as Mrs. —— was trying to make a servant understand she wished for hers.—“_Le fiacre de Madame_ ——,” again put in the bustling hostess. This was too much for a colonel’s lady, and, with a very pretty air of distress, she took care to explain in a way that all might hear her, that it was a _remise_.

I dare say, vulgar prejudices influence vulgar minds, here, as elsewhere, and yet I must say, that I never knew any one hesitate about giving an address, on account of the humility of the lodgings. It is to be presumed that the manner in which families that are historical, and of long-established rank, were broken down by the revolution, has had an influence in effecting this healthful state of feeling.