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AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS
AN ENGLISHMAN
IN PARIS
NOTES AND RECOLLECTIONS)
7-^(3 VOLUMES IN ONE
NEW YORK
HOVENDON COMPANY
17 AND 19 WAVERLEY place
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
' PAGE
The Quartier-Latin in the late thirties— The difference between then and now — A caii-
cature on the walls of Paris — I am anxious to be introduced to the quarter whence
it emanated — I am taken to "La Childebert," and make the acquaintance of the
original of the caricature— The story oi Bouginier and his nose — Dantan as a cari-
caturist— He abandons that branch of art after he has made Madame MaUbran
burst into tears at the sight of her statuette — How Kouginier came to be immortal-
ized on the fagade of the Passage du Caire— One of the first co-operative societies
in France— An artists' hive— The origin of " La Childebert "—Its tenants in my
time— The proprietress— Madame Chanfort, the providence of poor painters— Her
portraits soUl after her death— High jinks at " La Childebert "—The Childebert-
lans and their peacefully inclined neighbours— Gratuitous baths and compulsory
douches at " La Childebert "—The proprietress is called upon to repair the roof—
The Childebertians bivouac on the Place St. Germain-des-Pres— They surt a
*' Society for the Conversion of the Mahometans"— The public subscribe liberally
— What becomes of the subscriptions ?— My visits to " La Childebert" breed a
taste for the other amusements of the Quartier-Latin— Bobino and its entertain-
ments—The audience — The manager— His stereotyped speech— The reply in
chorus — Woe to the bourgeois-intruder — Stove-pipe hats a rarity in the Quartier-
Latin — The dress of the collegians — Their mode of living — Suppers when money
was flush, roils and milk when it was not — A fortune-teller in the Rue de Tournon
— Her prediction as to the future of Josephine de Beauharnais — The allowance to
students in those days— The Odeon deserted— Students' habits— The Chaumifere
— Rural excursions — Pfere Bonvin's S
CHAPTER II.
My introduction to the celebrities of the day— The Cafe de Paris— The old Prince
Demidoff— The old man's mania— His sons— The furniture and attendance at the
Cafe de Paris— Its high prices— A mot of Alfred de Musset— The cuisine— A re-
buke of the proprietor to Balzac — A version by one of his predecessors of the cause
of Vatal's suicide— Some of the habitues — Their intercourse with the attendants—
Their courteous behaviour towards one another — Le veau a la casserole — What
Altred de Musset, Balzac, and Alexandre Dumas thought of it — A silhouette of
Alfred de Musset — His brother Paul on his election as a member of the Academie
— A silhouette of Balzac, between sunset and sunrise — A curious action against the
publishers of an almanack — A^ull-length portrait_of Balzac — His pecuniary em-
barrassments— His visions of wealth and speciilations — His constant neglect of
his duties as a National Guard — His troubles in consequence thereof— L'Hotel
des Haricots — Some of his fellow-prisoners — Adam, the composer of " Le Postilion
de Lonjumeau "—Eugene Sue ; his portrait— His dandyism — The origin of the
Paris Jockey Club — Eu^^ne Sue'becomes a member — ^The success of *' Les Mys-
t^res de Pans " — The origin of" Le Juif-Errant" — Sue makes himself obiectionable
to the members of the Jockey Club — His name struck off the list — His decline and
disappearance . . . ^ >
VI CONTENTS,
CHAPTER III.
PAGE
Alexandre Dumas pfere — Why he made himself particularly agreeable to Englishmen
— His way of silencing people — The pursuit he loved best next to literature — He
has the privilege of going down to the kitchens of the Cafe de Paris — No one ques- '
tions his literary genius, some question his cuhnary capacities — Dr. Veron and his
cordon-bleu — Dr. Veron's reasons for dining out instead of at home— Dr. Veron's
friend, the philanthropist, who does not go to the theatre because he objects to
be hurried with his emotions — Dr. Veron, instigated by his cook, accuses Dumas
of having collaborateurs in preparing his dishes as he was known to have coHabo-
rateurs in his literary work— Dumas' wrath — He invites us to a dinner which shall
be wholly cooke 1 liy him in the presence of a delegate to be chosen by the guests
— The lot falls upon me — Dr. Veron and Sophie make the amende honorable — A
dinnerparty at Veron's — A curious lawsuit in connection with Weber's "' !■ rey-
schutz" — Nestor Roqueplan, who became the successor of the defendant in the
case, suggests a way out of it — Leon Pillet virtually adopts it and wins the day
— A similar plan adopted years before by a fireman on duty at the opera, on
being tried by court-martial for having fallen asleep during the perfoniiance of
*' Guido et Genevra " — Firemen not bad judges of plays and operas — They were
often consulted both by Meyerbeer and Dumas — Duiuas at work — How he idled
his time away — Dumas causes the traffic receipts of the Chemin de Fer de TOuest
to swell during his three years' residence at Saint-Germain — M. de Montalivet
advises I^ouis-Philippe to invite Dumas to Versailles, to see what his presence will
do for the royal city — Louis-Philippe does not act upon the advice — The relations
between Dumas and the d'Orleans family — After the Revolution of '48, Dumas
becomes a candidate for parliament — ^The story of his canvass and his address to
the electors at Joigny — Dumas' utter indifference to monej' matters — He casts his
burdens upon others — Dumas and his creditors — Writs and distiaii.ts — How they
are dealt with — Dumas' indiscriminate generosity — .-\ dozen houses full of new
furniture in half as many years — Dumas' frugality at table — Literary remuneration
— Dumas and his son—" Leave me a hundred francs " 4.^
CHAPTER IV.
Dr. Louis Veron— The real man as distinguished from that of his own "Memoirs" —
He takes the management of the Paris Opera— How it was governed before his
advent— Meyerbeer's " Robert le Diable " underlined— ^l&y^xh^^x and his doubts
upon the merits of his work — Meyerbeer's generosity — Meyerbeer and the beg-
gars of the Rue Le Peletier— Dr. 'Veron, the inventor of the modern newspaper
puff— Some specimens of advertisements in their infancy— Dr. V'^ron takes a leaf
from the book of Molifere— Dr. Veron's love of money— His superstition.s— His ob-
jections to travelling in railways— He quotes the (^ueen of England as an example—
When Queen Victoria ovc-rcoines her objection, Veron holds out—" Queen Victoria
has got a successor : the Veron dynasty begins and ends with me "—Thirteen at
table— I make the acquaintance of Taglioni— The woman and the ballerian— Her
adventure at P. rih— An improvised performance of "Nathalie, la Latiere Suisse"
-—Another adventure in Russia— A modem Claude Du-Val— My last meeting
with Taglioni— A dinner-party at De Morny's— A comedy scene between husband
and wife— Flotow, the composer of " Martha "—His family — His father's objection
to the composer's profession— The latter's interview with M. de Saint Georges,
the author of the libretto of Balfe's '• Bohemian Girl"— M. de Saint-Georges pre-
vails upon the father to let his son study in Paris for five years and to provide for
him during that tmie— The supplies are stopped on the last day of the fifth year
— Flotow, at the advice of M, de Saint-Georges, stays on and lives by giving piano-
lessons— His earthly possessions at his first success— •' Rob Roy" at the Hotel
Castellane— Lord Granville's opinion of the music- The Hotel Castellane and some
Paris salons during Louis-Philippe's reign— The Princesse de Lieven's, M.
Thiers', etc.— What Madame de Girardin's was like— Victor Hugo's — Perpetual
adoration : very artistic, hut nothing to eat or to-drink— The salon of the ambassa-
dor of the Two Sicilies —Lord and Lady Granville at the English Embassy— The
salon of Count Apponyi — A story connected with it — Furniture and entertainments
— Cakes, ices, and tea ; no champagne as during the Second Empire— The Hotel
CONTENTS, Vll
PACK
Castellane and its amateur theatricals - Rival companies — No under-studies —
Lord Brougham at the Hotel Castellane— His bad French and his would-be Don
Juanism — A French rendering of Shakespeare's " There is but one step between
the sublime and the ridiculous," as applied to Lord Brougham — He nearly accepts
a part in a farce where his bad French is likely to produce a comic effect — His
successor as a murderer of the language — M. de Saint-Georges— Like Moliere,
he reads his plays to his housekeeper— When the latter is not satisfied, the dinner
is spoilt, however great the success of the play in public estimation — Great men
and their housekeepers— Turner, Jean Jacques Rousseau, Eugene Delacroix . 60
CHAPTER V.
The Boulevards in the forties— The Chinese Baths — A favorite tobacconist of Alfred
de Musset — The price of cigars — The diligence still the usual mode of travelling —
Provincials in Paris — Parhamentary see-saw between M. Thiers and M. Guizot —
Amenities of editors — An advocate of universal suffrage — Distribution of gratu-
itous sausages to the working man on the king's birthday — The rendezvous of
actors in search of an engagement — Frederick Lemaitre on the eve of appearing in
a new part — The Legitimists begin to leave their seclusion and to mingle with the
bourgeoisie — Alexandre Dumas and Scribe — The latter's fertility as a playwright
— The National Guards go shooting, in uniform and in companies, on the Plaine
Saint-Denis — Vidocq's private inquiry office in the Rue Vivienne — No river-side
resorts — The plaster elephant on the Place de la Bastille — The sentimental romances
of Loisa Puget— The songs of the working classes — Cheap bread and wine — How
they enjoy themselves on Sundays and holidays — Theophile Gautier's pony-car-
riage— The hatred of the bourgeoisie — Nestor Roqueplan's expression of it — Ga-
varni's — M. Thiers' sister keeps a restaurant at the corner of the Rue Drouot —
When he is in power, the members of the Opposition go and dine there, and publish
facetious accounts of the entertainment — All appearances to the contrary, people
like Guizot better than Thiers — But few entries for the race for wealth in those
days — The Rothschilds still live in the Rue Lafitte — Favorite lounges — The Boule-
vards, the Rue Le Pelletier, and the Passage de I'Opera — The Opera — The Rue
Le Pelletier and its attractions — The Restaurant of Paolo Broggi — the Estaminet
du Divan — Literary waiters and Boniface — Major P'raser — Ihe mystery surround-
ing his origin — Another mysterious personage — The Passage dcl'Opera is invaded
by the stockjobbers, and loses its prestige as a promenade — Bernard Latte's, the
publisher of Donizetti's operas, becomes deserted — Tortoni's — Louis-Blanc — His
scruples as an editor — A few words about duelling — Two tragic meetings — Lola
Months — Her adventurous career — A celebrated trial — My first meeting with Gus-
tave Flaubert, the author of" Madame Bovary " and '" Salambo" — Emile de Gi-
rardin — His opinion of duelling — My decision with regard to it— The original of
"La Dame aux Camdlias " — Her parentage — Alexandre Dumas gives the
diagnosis of her character in connection with his son's play — L'Hommeau Camelia
— M. Lautour-Mezerai, the inventor of children's periodical literature in France —
Auguste Lireux — He takes the management of the Odeon — Balzac again — His
schemes, his greed — Lireux more fortunate with other author s=Anglophobia on
the French stage — Gallophobia on the English stage
CHAPTER VI.
Rachel and some of her fellow-actors— Rachel's true character— Her greediness and
spitefulness — Her vanity and her wit— Her powers of fascination — The cost of be-
ing fascinated by her—Her manner of levying toll — Some of. her victims. Comte
Duchatel and Dr. Veroh — The storyof her guitar— A little transactioiT between her
and M. Fould — Her. supposed charity and generosity— Teh tickets for a charity
concert— How she made them into twenty— How she could have made them into a
hundred— Baron Taylor puzzled— Her manner of giving presents — Beauvallet's
precaution with regard to one of her gifts — Alexandre Dumas the younger, wiser,
or perhaps not so wise in his generation — Rachel as a racohteuse — 'I'he story of her
dibut at the Gymnase— What Rachel would have been as an actor instead of an
viii CONTENTS,
PAGE
actress— Her comic genius— Rachel's mother— What became of Rachel's money-
Mama F^lix as a pawnbroker — Rachel's trinkets— Two curious bracelets— Her first
appearance before Nicholas I.— A dramatic recital in the open air— Rachel's opin-
ion of the handsomest man in Europe— Rachel and Samson— Her obligations to
him— How she repays them — How she goes to Berryer to be coached in ihe fable
of "The Two Pigeons" — An anecdote of Berryer — Rachel's fear of a "warm
reception" on the first night of " Adrienne Lecouvreur" — How she averts the
danger — Samson as a man and as an actor — Pettticoat-revolts at the Cumedie-
Fran^aise — Samson and Regnier as buffers— Their different ways of pouring oil
upon the troubled waters — Mdile. Sylvanie Plessy — A parallel between her and
Sarah Bernhardt— Samson and Regnier's pride in their profession — The different
character of that pride — "Apollo with a bad tailor, and who dresses without a look-
ing-glass " — Samson gives a lesson in declamation to a procureur-imperial — The
secret.of Regnier's greatness as an actor -A lesson at the Conservatoire— Regnier
on " make-up " — Regnier's opinion of genius on the stage — A mot of Augustine
Brohan— Giovanni, the wigmaker of the Comedie Frangaise- His pride in his pro-
fession—M. Ancessy, the musical director, and his three wigs , . . . n8
CHAPTER VII.
Two composers, Auber and Felicien David — Auber, the legend of his youthful appear-
ance— How it arose— His daily rides, his love of women's society — His mot on
Mozart's " Don Juan "—The only drawback to Auber's enjoyment of women's
society — His reluctance to take his hat off— How he managed to keep it on most
of the time — His opinion upon Meyerbeer's and Halevy's genius — His opinion
upon Gerard de Nerval, who hanged himself with his hat on — His love of solitude
— His fondness of Paris — His grievance against his mother for not having given
him birth there — He refuses to leave Paris at the commencement of the siege — His
small appetite — He proposes to write a new opera when the Prussians are gone —
Auber suffers no privations, but has difficulty in finding fodder for his horse — The
Parisians claim it for food — Another legend about Aul^er's independence of sleep —
How and where he generally slept — Why Auber snored in Veron's company, and
why he did not in that of other people — His capacity for work — Auber a brilliant
talker — Auber's gratitude to the artists who interpreted his work, but different
from Meyerbeer's— The reason why, according to Auber — Jealousy or humility —
Auber and the younger Coquelin — "The verdict on all things in this world may
be summed up in the one phrase, ' It's an injustice ' " — Felicien David — The man
— The beginnings of his career — His terrible poverty— He joins the Saint-Simoni-
enf, and goes with some of them to the East — Their reception at Constantinople —
M. Scribe and the libretto of " L'Africaine" — David in Egypt at the court of Me-
hemet-Ali — David's description of him — Mehemet's way of testing the educational
progress of his sons — Woe to the fat kine — Mehemet-AU suggests a new mode of
teaching music to the inmates of the harem — Felicien David's further wanderings
in Egypt — Their effect upon his musical genius — His return to France — He tells
the story of the first performance of " Le Desert " — An ambulant box-office— His
success— Fame, but no money — He sells the score of " Le Desert" — He loses his
savings — " La Perle du Bresir'and the Coup-d'Etat — "No luck" — Napoleon
IIL remains his debtor for eleven j'ears — A mot of Auber, and one of Alexandre
Dumas pire — The story of '"Aida" — Why Felicien David did not compose the
music— The real author of the libretto .......
CHAPTER VIII.
Three painters, and a school for pifferari— Gabriel Decamps, Eugene Delacroix, and
Horace Vernet— The prices of pictures in the forties — Delacroix' find no purchasers
at all — Decamps' drawings fetch a thousand francs each — Decamps not a happy
man— The cause of his unhappiness — The man and the painter — He finds no pleas-
ure in being popular — Eugene Delacroix — His contempt for the bourgeoisie — A
Earallel between Delacroix and Shakespeare — Was Delacroix tall or short?— His
>ve of flowers— His delicate health— His personal appearance— His indifference to
CONTENTS. IX
PAGK
the love-passion — George Sand and Delacroix — A miscarried love-scene — Dela-
croix' housekeeper, Jenny Leguillou — Delacroix does not want to pose as a model
for one of George Sand's heroes — Delacroix as a writer— His approval of Carlyle's
dictum, " Show me how a man sings," etc.— His humour tempered by his rever-
ence— His failure as a caricaturist — His practical jokes on would-be art-critics —
Delacroix at home — His dress while at work — ^^Horace Vernet's, Paul Delaroche's,
Ingres' — Early at work— He does not waste time over lunch— How he spent his
evenings — His dislike of being reproduced in marble or on canvas after his death —
Horace Vernet — The contrast between the two men and the two artists — Vernet's
appearance — His own account of how he became a painter — Moral and mental re-
semblance to Alexandre Dumas pere — His political opinions — Vernet and Nicho-
las I. — A bold answer — His opinion on the mental state of the Romanoffs— The
comic side of Vernet's character— He thinks himself a Vauban — His interviews
with M. Thiers — His admiration for everything military — His worship of Alfred
de Vigny — His ineffectual attempts to paint a scene in connection wiHTthe storm-
ing oT Constantine — Laurent-Jan proposes to write an e^ic on it — He gives a sy-
nopsis of the cantos — Laurent-Jan lives " on the fat of the land " for six months — ^A
son of Napoleon's companion in exile, General Bertrand — The chaplain of " la
Belle-Poule'"— The first French priest who wore the English dress — Horace Vernet
and the veterans of'lagrande armee" — His studio during their occupancy of it
as models— His budget— His hatred of pifferari— A professor— The Quartier-Latin
revisited ........... 150
CHAPTER IX.
Louis-Philippe and his family — An unpubHshed theatrical skit on his mania for shaking
hands with every one — His art of governing, according to the same skit — Louis-
Philippe not the ardent admirer of the bourgeoisie he professed to be — The Fau-
bourg Saint-Germain deserts the Tuilerics — The English in too great a majority —
Lord 's opinion of the dinners at the Tuilerics— The attitude of the bour-
geoisie towards Louis-Philippe, according to the King himself — Louis-Philippe's
wit — His final words on the death of Talleyrand — His love of money — He could be
generous at times— A story of the Palais-Royal — Louis-Philippe and the Marseil-
laise— Two curious stories connected with the Marseillaise— Who was the composer
of it? — Louis-Philippe's opinion of the throne, the crown, and the sceptre of
France as additions to one's comfort — His children, and especially his sons, take
things more easily — Even the P>onaparti>ts admired some of the latter — A mot of
an Imperialist — How the boys were brought up — Their nocturnal rambles later on
— The King himself does not seem to mind those escapades, but is frightened at
M. Guizot hearing of them — Louis-Philippe did not understand Guizot— The recol-
lection of his former misery frequently haunts the King — He worries Queen Victoria
with his fear of becoming poor — Louis-Philippe an excellent husband and father —
He wants to write the libretto of an opera on an English subject — HisreHgion — The
court receptions ridiculous — Even the proletariat sneer at them — The entree of the
Duchesse d'Orleans into Paris — ^The scene in the Tuileries gardens — A mot of
Princesse Clementine on her father's too paternal solicitude — A practical joke of
the Prince de Joinville — His caricatures and drawings — The children inherited
their talent for .drawing and modelUng from theu- mother — The Due de Nemours
as a miniature and water-colour painter — Suspected of being a Legitimist — All
Louis-Philippe's children great patrons of art— How the bourgeoisie looked upon
their intercourse with artists — The Due de Nemours' marvellous memory — ^The
studio of Eugene Lami — His neighbours, Paul Delaroche andHonorede Balzac —
The Due de Nemours' bravery called in question — The Due d'Aumale's exploits
in Algeria considered mere skirmishes — A curious story of spiritism — The Due
d'Aumale a greater favourite with the world than any of the other sons of Louis-
Philippe — His wit — The Due d'Orleans also a great favourite — His visits to De-
camps' studio — An indifferent classical scholar — A curious kind of blackmail — His
indifference to rnoney — ^There is no money in a Republic— His death — A witty
reply to the Legitimists ......... 169
CONTENTS,
CHAPTER X.
PAGE
The Revolution of '48 — ^The beginning of it — ^The National Guards in all their glory —
The Cafe Gregoire on the Place du Caire — The price of a good breakfast in '48 —
The palmy days of the Cuisine Bourgeoise — The excitement on the Boulevards on
Sunday, February 20th, '48 — The theatres — A ball at Poirson's, the erstwhile
director of the Gymnase — A lull in the storm — ^I'uesday, February 22nd — Another
visit to the Cafe Gregoire — On my way thither — The Comedie-Fran^aise closes its
doors — What it means according to my old tutor — We are waited upon by a ser-
geant and corporal — We are no longer "messieurs," but "citoyens" — An eye to
the main chance — The patriots do a bit of business in tricolor cockades — The com-
pany marches away — Casualties — " Le patriotisme" means the difference between
the louis d'or and the ecu of three francs — The company bivouacs on the Boulevard
Saint- Martin — A tyrant's victim "■ malfri lui'''' — Wednesday, February 23rd —
The Cafe Gregoire once more — The National Guards en niglige — A novel mode
of settling accounts — The National Guards fortify the inner man — A bivouac on
the Boulevard du Temple — A camp scene from an opera — I leave — My compan-
ion's account — The National Guards protect the regulars— The author of these
notes goes to the theatre — The Gymnase and the Varietes on the eve of the Revo-
lution— BoufFe and Dejazet — Thursday, February 24th, '48 — The Boulevards at
9.30 a.m. — No milk — The Revolutionaries do without it — The Place du Carrousel —
The sovereign people fire from the roofs gn the troops — The troops do not dislodge
them — The King reviews the troops — The apparent inactivity of Louis-Philippe's
sons — A theory about the difference in bloodshed — One of the three ugliest men in
France comes to see the King — Seditious cries — The King abdicates — Chaos—
The sacking of the Tuileries — ^Receptions and feastmg in the Galerie de Diane —
" Du cafe pour nous, des cigarettes pour les dames " — The dresses of the
princesses — The bourgeois feast the gamins who guard the barricades — 1 he Re-
public proclaimed — The riff-raff insist upon illuminations — An actor promoted to
the Governorship of the Hotel de Ville — Some members of the "provisional
Government " at work — M^ry on Lamariine — Why the latter proclaimed the Re-
public ........... 190
CHAPTER XI.
The Second Republic — Lamartine's reason for proclaiming it — Suspects Louis-Napo-
leon of similar motives for wishing to overthrow it — lells him to go back to Eng-
land— De Persigny's account of I.ou s-Napoleon's landing in France after Febru-
ary 24th, '48 — Providential interference on behalf of Loui.s-Napoleon — Justification
of Louis-Napoleon's belief in his " star '" — My first meeting with him — The origin of
a celebrated nickname — Badinguet a creation of Gavarni — Louis-Napoleon and his
surroundings at the Hotel du Rhin — His appearance and dress — Lord Normanby's
opinion of his appearance — Louis=Napoleon's French — A mot of Bismarck — Cavaig-
nac, Thiers, and Victor Hugo's wronc; estimate of his character-^Cavaignac and
his brother Godefroi — The difference between Thiers and General Cavaignac — An
elector's mot — Some of the candidates for the presidency of the Second Republic —
Electioneering expenses— Impecuniosity of Louis-Napoleon — A story in connection
>yith it— The woman with the wooden legs — The salons during the Second Repub-
lic— The theatres and their skits on the situation — " La Propriete c'est le Vol " —
France governed by the National — A curious list of ministers and officials of the
Second Republic — Armand Marrast — His plans for reviving business — His recep-
tions at the Palai.s- Bourbon as President of the Chamber of Deputies — Some of the
guests — The Corps Diplomatique — The new 3eputies, their wives and daughters . 21 x
CHAPTER XII.
Guizot, Lamarrine, and Beranger— Public opinion at sea with regard to the real Gui-
zot — People fail to see the real man behind the politician — CJuizot regrets this false
conception-;-" I have not the courage to be unpopular" — A tilt at Thiers— My first
meeting with him — A picture and the story connected with it — M. Guizot "at
[CONTENTS? xi
PAGE
home**— His apartment-— The Company— -M, Guizot on "the Spanish marriages"
— His indictment against Lord Palmerston — An incident in connection with Napo-
leon's tomb at the InvaHdes — Nicolas I. and Napoleon — My subsequent intimacy
with M. Guizot— (juizot as a father — His correspondence with his.daughters — A
story of Henry Miirger and Marguerite Thuillier — M. Guizot makes up his mind
not to live in Paris any longer — M. Guizot on "natural scenery" — Never saw the
sea until he was over fifty — Why M. Guizot did not like the country ; why M.
Thiers did not like it — Thiers the only man at whom Guizot tilted — M. Guizot died
poor — M. de Lamartine's poverty did not inspire the same respect — Lamartine's
mnpecuniosity — My only visit to Lamartine's house — Du Jellaby dore — With a dif-
ference— All the stories and anecdotes about M. de Lamartine relate to his improvi-
dence and impccuniosity — Ten times worse in that respect than Balzac — M.
Guizot's literary productions and M. de Lamartine's — The national subscription
raised for the latter — How he anticipates some of the money — Beranger — My first
acquaintance with him — B^ranger's verdict on the Second Republic — Beranger's
constant flittings — Dislikes popularity — The true story of Beranger and Mdlle.
Judith Frfere .......... 227
CHAPTER XIII.
Some men of the Empire — Fialin de Persigny — ^The public prosecutor's opinion of him
expressed at the trial for high treason m 1836— Superior in many respects to Louis-
Napoleon — The revival of the Empire his only and constant dream — In order to
realize it, he appeals first to Jerome, ex-King of Westphalia — De Persigny's esti-
mate of him — Jerome's greed and Louis-Napoleon's generosity — De Persigny's fi-
nancial embarrassments — His charity — What the Empire really meant to him — De
Persigny virtually the moving spirit in the Coup d'Etat — Louis-Napoleon might
have been satisfied with the presidency of therepublic for life — Persigny seeks for
aid in England — Palrnerston's share in the Coup d'Etat — The submarine cable —
Preparations for the Coup d'Etat — A warning of it sent to England — Count Walew-
ski issues invitations for a dinner party on the 2nd of December — Opinion in Lon-
don that Louis-Napoleon will get the worst in the struggle with the Chamber — The
last funds from London — General de Saint- Amaud and Baron Lacrosse — The
Elys^e-Bourbon on the evening of the ist of December — I pass the Elys^e at mid-
night— Nothing unusual — London on the 2nd of December — The dinner at Count
Walewski's put off at the last moment — Illuminations at the French Embassy a
few hours later — Palmerston at the Embassy — Some traits of De Persigny's char-
acter— His personal affection for Louis -Napoleon — Madame de Persigny — Her
parsimony — Her cooking of the household accounts — Chevct and Madame de
Persigny — What the Empire might have been with a Von Moltke by the side of the
Emperor instead of Vaillant, Niel, and Leboeuf— Colonel (afterwards General)
FJeury the only modest man among the Emperor's entourage — De Persigny's pre-
tensions as a Heaven-born statesman — Mgr. de Merode — De Morny — His first
meeting with his half-brother — De Morny as a grand seigneur — The origin of the
Mexican campaign — Walewski — His fads — Rouher — My first sight of him in the
Quartier-Latln — ^I'he Emperor's opinion of him at the beginning of his career —
Rouher in his native home, Auvergne — His marriage — Madame Rouher — His
father-in-law .......... 237
CHAPTER XIV.
Society during the Second Empire— The Court at Compi^gne — The English element
— ^I'heir opinion of Louis-Napoleon — The difference between the court of Louis-
Philippe and that of Napoleon III.— The luggage of M. Villemain— The hunts in
Louis-Philippe's time — Louis-Napoleon's advent — Would have made a better
poet than an Emperor — Looks for a La Vallifere or Montespan, and finds Mdlle.
Eugenie de Montijo — The latter determined not to be a La '(^allifere or even a
Pompadour — Has her great destiny foretold in her youth — Makes up her mind
that it shall be realized by a right-handed and not a left-h.anded marriage — Queen
Victoria stands her sponsor among the sovereigns of Europe — Mdlle. de Montijo's
xii CONTENTS.
PAGE
mother— The Comtesse de Montijo and Hal^vy's " Madame Cardinal "—The first
invitations to Compifegne — Mdlle. de Montijo' s backers for the Imperial stakes —
No other entries — Louis-Napoleon utters the word "marriage" — What led up to
it — The Emperor officially announces his betrothal— The effect it produced — The
Faubourg St. -Germain — Dupin the elder gives his views — The engaged couple
feel very uncomfortable — Negotiations to organize the Empress's fiuure household
— Rebuffs — Louis Napoleon's retorts— Mdlle. de Moniijo's attempt at wit and
sprightliness — Her iron will — Her beauty — Her marriage — She takes Marie-An-
toinette for her model — She fondly imagines that she was born to rule — She pre-
sumes to teach Princess Clotilde the etiquette of courts — The story of two defec-
tives—The hunts at Compi^gne — Some of the mise en scene and dramatis per-
sofice — The shooting-parties — Mrs. Grundy not banished, but specially invited
and drugged — The programme of the gatherings — Compi^gne in the season — A
story of an Englishman accommodated for the night in one of the Imperial lug-
gage-vans .......... 262
CHAPTER XV.
Society during the Empire— The series of guests at Compifegne — The amusements —
The absence of musical taste in the Bonapartes — The programme on the first, sec-
ond, third, and fourth days — An anecdote of Lafontaine, the actor — Theatrical
performances and balls — I'he expenses of the same — The theatre at Compiegne —
The guests, male and female — " Neck or nothing" for the latter, uniform for the
former — The rest have to take " back seats " — The selection of guests among the
notabiUties of Compiegne — A mayor's troubles— The Empress's and the Emperor's
conflicting opinions with regard to female charms — Bassano in "hot water"—
Tactics of the demi-mondaines — Improvement from the heraldic point of view in
the Empress's entourage — The cocodettes — Their dress — Worth — When every pre-
text for a change of toilette is exhausted, the court ladies turn themselves into
ballerinas — " Le Diable i Quatre " at Compiegne — The ladies appear at the ball
afterwards in their gauze skirts — The Emperor's dictum with regard to ballet-
dancers and men's infatuation for them — The Emperor did not like stupid women
— The Emperor's " eye " for a handsome woman — The Empress does not admire
the instinct — William I. of Prussia acts as comforter — The hunt— Actors,
"supers," and spectators— "La Comtesse d'Escarbagnas"— The Imperial pro-
cession— ^The Empress's and Emperor's unpunctuality — Louis-Napoleon not a
" well-dressed man "—The Empress wished to get back before dark— The reason
of this wish— Though unpunctual, punctual on hunt days— The police measures
at those gatherings — M. Hyrvoix and M. Boitelle— The Empress did not like the
truth, the Emperor did— Her anxiety to go to St. Lazare .... 276
CHAPTER XVI.
The story of a celebrated sculptor and his model— David d'Angers at the funeral of
Cortot, the sculptor— How I became acquainted with him— The sculptor leaves the
funeral procession to speak to a woman— He tells me the story— David d'Angers*
sympathy with Greece in her struggle for independence— When Botzaris falls at
Missolonghi, he makes up his mind to carve his monument — Wishes to do some-
thing original— He finds his idea in the cemetery of P^re-la-Chaise- In search of
a model— Comes unexpectedly upon her in the Rue du Montpamasse. while in
company of Victor Hugo— The model and her mother— The bronze Christ on the
studio wall— David gives it to his model— The latter dismissed— A plot against
the sculptor's life- His model saves him— He tries to find her and fails— Only
meets with her when walking behind the hearse of Cortot— She appears utterly
destitute— Loses sight of her again— Meets her on the outer boulevards with a
nondescript of the worst character— He endeavours to rescue her, but fails— Canler,
of the Paris police, reveals the tactics pursued with regard to "unfortunates"—
David's exile and death— The Botzaris Monument is brought back to Paris to be
restored— The model at the door of the exhibition— Her death . . .293
CONTENTS. xiii
CHAPTER XVII.
P\GE
Queen Victoria In Paris — ^The beginning of the era of middle-class excursions— Eng-
lish visitors before that — The British tourist of 1855 — The real revenge of Waterloo
— The Englishman's French and the Frenchman's English — The opening of the
Exhibition — The lord mayor and aldermen in Paris — 1 he King of Portugal — All
these considered so much "small fry" — Napoleon III. goes to Boulogne to wel-
come the Queen — The royal yacht is delayed — The French hotel proprietor the
greatest artist in fleecing — The Italian, the Swiss, the German, mere bunglers in
comparison — Napoleon III. before the arrival of the Queen — Pondering the past
— Arrival of the Queen — The Queen lands, followed by Pnnce Albert and the
royal children — The Emperor rides by the side of her carriage — Comments of the
population— An old salt on the situation — An old soldier's retort — Ihe general
feeling — Arrival in Paris — The Parisians' reception of the Queen — A description
of the route — ^The apartments of the Queen at St. Cloud — How the Queen spent
Sunday — Visits the art section of the Exhibition on Monday — Ingres and Horace
Vernet presented to her — Frenchmen's ignorance of English art in those days —
English and French art critics — The Queen takes a carriage drive through Paris
—Not a single cry of "Vive I'Angleterre ! " a great many of " Vive la Reine " —
England making a cats-paw of France— Reception at the Ely s^e- Bourbon — " Les
Demoiselles de Saint-Cyr " at St. Cloud— Alexandre Dumas would have liked to
see the Queen— Visit to Versailles— State performances at the Opera— Ball at the
Hotel de Ville — ^The Queen's dancing— Canrobert on "the Queen's dancing and
her soldiers' fighting"— Another visit to the Exhibition— B^ranger misses seeing
the Queen — "I am not going to .<;ee the Queen, but the woman " — A review in
the Champs-de-Mars — A visit to Napoleon's tomb — Jerome's absence on the plea
of illness — Marshal Vaillant's reply to the Emperor when the latter invites him to
take Jerome's place— His comments on the receptions given by the Emperor to
foreign sovereigns — Fetes at Versailles — Homeward ..... 305
CHAPTER XVIII.
Marshal Vaillant — ^The beginning of our acquaintance — His stories of the swash-
bucklers of the First Empire, and the beaux of the Restauration — Rabelaisian, but
clever— Marshal Vaillant neither a swashbuckler nor a beau ; hated both — Never
cherished the slightest illusions about the efficiency of the French army — Acknowl-
edged himself unable to effect the desired and necessary reforms — To do that, a
minister of war must become a fixture — Why he stayed— <;areful of the public
moneys, and of the Emperor's also— Napoleon III.'s lavishness— An instance of it
— Vaillant never dazzled by the grandeur of court entertainments — Not dazzled
by anything— His hatred of wind-bags— Prince de Canino— Matutinal inter-
views— Prince de Canino sends his seconds — Vaillant declines the meeting, and
gives his reason — Vaillant abrupt at the best of times — A freezing reception — ^A
comic interview — Attempts to shirk military duty — Tricks — Mistakes — A story in
point— More Tricks — Sham ailments : how the marshal dealt with them — When
the marshal was not in an amiable mood— Another interview — Vaillant's tactics —
"D d annoying to be wrong" — The marshal fond of science — A very interest-
ing scientific phenomenon himself — Science under the later Bourbons — Suspicion
of the soldiers of the Empire — The priesthood and the police — ^The most godless
republic preferable to a continuance of their regime — Tlie marshal's dog, Brusca —
Her dislike to civilians — Brusca's chastity — Vaillant's objection to insufficiently
prepaid letters— His habit of missing the train, notwithstanding his precautions —
His objection to fuss and public honours ...... 2iZ
CHAPTER XIX.
The Franco-German War — Friday, July 15, 1870, 6 p. m. — My friends "confident of
France being able to chastise the insolence of the King of Prussia " — I do not share
their confidence ; but do not expect a crushing defeat — Napoleon III.'s presence
XIV CONTENTS.
PAGE
aggravated the disasters ; his absence would not have averted them — He himself
had no illusions about the efficiency of the army, did not suspect the rottenness of
it — His previous endeavors at reorganization — The real drift of his proposed in-
quiries—His plan meant also compulsory service for every one— Why the legisla-
ture opposed it — ^The makeshift proposed by it — Napoleon weary, body and soul —
His physical condition — A great consultation and the upshot of it — Dr. Ricord and
what he told me — I am determined to see and hear, though not to speak — I sally
forth — The streets on the evening of Friday, the 15th of July — The illuminations-
Patriotism or Chauvinism — The announcement of a bookseller — What Moltke
thought of it — The opinion of a dramatist on the war — The people ; no horse-play —
No work done on Saturday and Sunday — Cabmen — "A man does not pay for his
own funeral, monsieur" — The northern station on Sunday — The departing Ger-
mans— The Emperor's particular instructions with regard to them — Alfred de Mus-
sel's-" Rhin Allemand" — Prevost-Paradol and the news of his suicide— The prob-
able cause of it— A chat with a superior officer— The Emperor's Sunday receptions
at the Tuileries — Promotions in the army, upon what basis— Good and bad officers
— ^The officers" mess does not exist— Another general officer gives his opinion —
Marshal Niel and Leboeuf— The plan of campaign suddenly altered — The reason —
The Emperor leaves St. Cloud— His confidence shaken before then— Some tele-
grams fiom the commanders of divisions — Thiers is appealed to, to stem the tide
of retrenchment; afterwards to take the portfolio of war — The Emperor's opinion
persistenriy disregarded at the Tuileries— Trochu— The dancing colonels at the
Tuileries ........... 332
CHAPTER XX.
The war — Reaction before the Emperor's ueparture — The moral effects of the publica-
tion of the draft treaty — " Bismarck has done the Emperor " — The Parisians did
not like the Empress — The latfer"always anxions to assinme the regency — A retro-
spect— Crimean war — The Empress and Queen Victoria — Solferino— The regency
of '65 — Bismarck's milliner>- bills — Lord Lj^ons — Bismarck and the Due de Gramont
— I^rd Lyons does not foresee war — The republicans and the war — The Empress
— ^Two ministerial councils and their consequences — Mr. Prescott-Hewett sent for
— Joseph Ferrari, the Italian philosopher — The Empress — The ferment in Paris —
" Too much prologue to ' The Taming of the German Shrew ' " — The first engage-
ment—The " Marseillaise "—An infant performer— The "Marseillaise" at the
Com^die-Fran^aise — The " Marseillai.se" by command of the Emperor — A patri-
otic ballet — The courtesy of the French at Fontenoy — The Cafe de la Paix — Gen-
eral Beaufort d'Hautpoul and Moltke — Newspaper correspondents — Edmund
About tells a story about one of his colleagues — News supplied by the Govern-
ment— What it amounted to — The information it gave to the enemy — Bazaine,
"the glorious" one — Palik-^o — The fall of the Empire does not date from Sedan,
but from Woerth and Speicheren — Those who dealt it the heaviest blow — The Era-
pres.s, the Empress, and no one but the Empress ..... 348
CHAPTER XXI.
The 4th of September— A comic, not a tragic revolution— A burlesque Harold and a
burlesque Boadicea— The news of Sedan only known publicly on the 3rd of Sep-
tember—Grief and consternation, but no rage— The latter feeling imported by the
bands of Delescluze, Blanqui, and Felix Pyat— Blanqui, Pyat, & Co. versus Favre,
Gambetta, & Co. — The former want their share of the spoil, and only get it some
years afterwards— Ramail goes to the Palais-Bourbon— His report— Paris spends
the night outdoors— Thiers a second-rate Talleyrand— His journey to the differ-
ent courts of Europe — His interview with Lord Granville — The 4th of September —
The Imperial eagles disappear — The joyousness of the crowd — The Place de la
Concorde-^The gardens of the Tuileries — The crowds in the Ruede Rivoli scarcely
pay attention to the Tuileries— The soldiers fraternizing with the people, and pro-
claiming the republic from the barracks' windows — A serious procession — Sam-
pierro Gavini gives his opinion — The ''heroic struggles " of an ICmpress, snd the
crownless coronation of " le Roi Petaud "—Ramail at the Tuileries— How M. Sar-w
dou saved the palace from being burned and sacked — The republic proclaimed —
Illuminations as after a victory ........ 365
CONTENTS. XV
CHAPTER XXII.
PAGE
The siege— The Parisians convinced that the Germans will not invest Paris— Paris be-
comes a vast drill-ground, nevertheless— The Parisians leave off singing, but listen
to itinerant performers, though the latter no longer sing the '" Marseillaise "—The
theatres closed— The Comedie-hrangaise and the Opera— Influx ol the Gardes
Mobiles— 'I'he Parisian no longer chaffs the provincial, but does the honours of the
city to him — The stolid, gaunt Breton and the astute and cynical Norm;ind — The
gardensof the Tuileries an artillery park— 'Jhe mitrailleuse still commands confi-
dence—'Ihe papers try to be comic— Food may fail, drink will not— My visit to the
wine depot at llercy- An official's information— Cattle in the public squares and
on the outer f5oulevards— Fear with regard to them— Every man carries a rifle —
The woods in the suburbs are set on fire— 'J'he statue of Sirasburg on the Place de
la Concorde— M. Prudhomme to his sons— The men who do not spout— T he French
shopkeeper and bourgeois— A stor^' of his greed— He reveals the whereabouts
of the cable laid on the bed of the Seme— Obscure heroes— Would-be Ravaillacs
and Balthazar Gerards— Inventors of schemes for the instant annihilation of all the
Germans— A musical mitrailleuse— An exhibition and lecture at the Alcazar— The
last train— Trains converted into dwellings for the suburban poor— Interior of a
railway station— The spy mania— Where the Parisians ought to have looked for
spies— I am arrested as a spy— A chat with the officer in charge— A terrible-looking
J^ni^« • • • .'"—-: r- 373
CHAPTER XXIII.
r .
The siege — The food-supply of Paris — Sow and what the Parisians eat and drink —
Bread, meat, and wme — Alcoholism — The waste among the London poor — The
French take a lesson from the alien — The Irish at La Villette — A whisper of the
horses being doomed — M. Gagne — The various attempts to introduce horseflesh —
The journals deliver their opinions — The supply of horseflesh as it stood in '70 —
The Academie des Sciences— Gelatine — Kitchen gardens on the balcony — M.
Lockroy's experiment — M. Pierre Joigneux and the Englishman— If cabbages,
why not mushrooms ? — There is still a kitchen garden left — Cream cheese from the
moon, to be fetched by Gambetta— His departure in a balloon — Nadar and Napo-
leon III.— Carrier-pigeons— An aerial telegraph— Offers to cross the Prussian lines
— The theatres — A performance at the Cirque National — " Le Rois'amuse," at the
Theatre de Montmartre— A dejeuner at Du rand's— Weber and Beethoven— Long
winter nights without fuel or gas — The price of provisions — The Parisian's good-
humour— His wit— The greed of the shopkeeper— Culinary literature— More's
"Utopia"— An ex-lieutenant of the Foreign Legion— He gives us a breakfast-
He delivers a lecture on food— Joseph, his servant — Milk — The slender resources
of the poor— I interview an employ^ of the State Pawnshop — Statistics— Hidden
provisions — Bread — Prices of provisions — New Year's Day, and New Year's din-
ners— The bombardment — No more bread — The end of the siege . . . 387
CHAPTER XXIV.
Some men of the Commune— Cluseret— His opinion of Rossel— His opinion of Bergeret
—What Cluseret was fighting for— Thiers and Abraham Lincoln— Raoul Rigault
on horseback — Theophlle Terre- Ferre and Gil-P^r^s, the actor— The comic men of
the Commune— Gambon — Jourde, one of the most vahiable of the lot — His finan-
cial abilities— His endeavours to save — Jourde at Godillot's— Colonel Maxime Lis-
bonne — The l-Miror's recollections of him — General Dombrowski and General la
Cecilia — A soiree at the Tuileries — A gala-performance at the Opera Comique —
The death knell of the Commune ..,..., 417
AN ENGLISHAUN IN PARIS,
CHAPTER I.
Long before Baron Haussmann began his architectural
transformation, many parts of Paris had undergone changes,
perceptible only to those who had been brought up among
the inhabitants, though distinct from them in nationality,
education, habits, and tastes. Paris became to a certain
extent, and not altogether voluntarily, cosmopolitan before the
palatial mansions, the broad avenues, the handsome public
squares which subsequently excited the admiration of the
civilized world had been dreamt of, and while its outer aspect
was as yet scarcely modified. This was mainly due to the
establishment of railways, which caused in the end large in-
fluxes of foreigners and provincials, who, as it were, drove the
real Parisian from his haunts. Those visitors rarely penetrated
in large numbers to the very heart of the Quartier-Latin. When
they crossed the bridges that span the Seine, it was to see the
Sorbonne, the Pantheon, the Observatory, the Odeon, and the
Luxembourg ; they rarely stayed after nightfall. The Prado,
the Theatre Bobino, the students' taverns, escaped their observa-
tion when there was really something to see ; and now, when
the Closerie des Lilas has become the Bal Bullier, when the
small theatre has been demolished, and when the taverns are in
no way distinguished from other Parisian taverns — when, in
short, commonplace pervades the whole — people flock thither
very often. But during the whole of the forties, and even later,
the7m-'e gauche, with its Quartier-Latin and adjacent Faubourg
St. Germain were almost entirely sacred from the desecrating
stare of the deliberate sight-seer ; and, consequently, the former
especially, preserved its individuality, not only materially, but
mentally and morally — immorally would perhaps have been
the word that would have risen to the lips of the observer who
lacked the time and inclination to study the life led there
deeper than it appeared merely on the surface. For though
6 AN- ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
there was a good deal of roystering and practical joking, and
short-lasted liaison, there was little of deliberate vice, of
strategic libertinism — if I may be allowed to coin the expression.
True, every Jack had his Jill, but, as a rule, it was Jill who had
set the ball rolling.
The Quartier-Latin not only sheltered sucking lawyers and
doctors, budding professors and savants and litterateurs, but
artists whose names have since then become world-renowned.
It was with some of these that T was most thrown in contact
in that quarter, partly from inclination, because from my
earliest youth I have been fonder of pictures than of books,
partly because at that time I had already seen so many authors
of fame, most of whom were the intimate acquaintances of a
connection of mine, that I cared little to seek the society of
those who had not arrived at that stage. I was very young,
and, though not devoid of faith in possibilities, too mentally
indolent when judgment in that respect involved the sitting
down to manuscripts. It was so much easier and charming to
be able to discover a budding genius by a mere glance at a
good sketch, even when the latter was drawn in charcoal on a
not particularly clean " whitewashed " wall.
I was scarcely more than a stripling when one morning such
a sketch appeared on the walls of Paris, and considerably
mystified, while it at the same time amused, the inhabitants of
the capital. It was not the work of what we in England would
call a " seascape and mackerel artist," for no such individual
stood by to ask toll of the admirers ; it was not an advertise-
ment, for in those days that mode of mural publicity was scarcely
born, let alone in its infancy, in Paris. What, then, was this
colossal, monumental nose, the like of which I have only seen
on the faces of four human beings, one of whom was Hyacinth,
the famous -actor of the Palais- Royal, the other three being M.
d'Argout, the Governor of the Bank of France; M. de Jussieu,
the Director of the Jardin des Plantes ; and Lasailly, Balzac's
secretary ? What was this colossal nose, with a ridiculously
small head and body attached to it ? The nasal organ was cer-
tainly phenomenal, even allowing for the permissible exagger-
ation of the caricaturist, but it could surely not be the only
title of its owner to this sudden leap into fame .-* Was it a per-
forming nose, or one endowed with extraordinary powers of
smell ? I puzzled over the question for several days, until one
morning I happened to run against my old tutor, looking at the
picture and laughing till the tears ran down his wrinkled cheeks.
It was a positive pleasure to see him. " C'est bien lui, c'est
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. . 7
bien lui," he exclaimed ; " c'est absolument son portrait crache ! "
" Do you know the original ? " I asked. " Mais, sans doute,
je le connais, c'est un ami de mon fils ; du reste, toutl le monde
connait Bouginier." " But I do not know him," I protested,
feeling very much ashamed of my ignorance. " Ah, you ! that's
quite a different thing ; you do not live in the Quartier-Latin,
but everybody there knows him." From that moment 1 knew
no rest until I had made the acquaintance of Bouginier, which
was not very difficult ; and through him I became a frequent
visitor to " La Childebert," which deserves a detailed descrip-
tion, because, though it was a familiar haunt to many Parisians
of my time with a taste for Bohemian society, I doubt whether
many Englishmen, save (the late) Mr. Blanchard Jerrold and
one of the Mayhews, ever set foot there, and even they could
not have seen it in its prime.
But before I deal with " La Childebert," I must say a few
words about Bouginier, who, contrary to my expectations, owed
his fame solely to \i\s> proboscis. He utterly disappeared from
the artistic horizon in a few years, but his features still live in
the memory of those who knew him through a statuette in ferra
cotta modelled by Dantan the younger. During the reign of
Louis-Philippe, Dantan took to that branch of art as a relaxa-
tion from his more serious work ; he finally abandoned it after
he had made Madame Malibran burst into tears, instead of mak-
ing her laugh, as,he intended, at her own caricature. Those curi-
ous in suchmattersmay seeBouginier's presentment in a medal-
lion on the frontispiece of the Passage du Caire, amidst the Egyp-
tian divinities and sphinxes. As a matter of course, the spec-
tator asks himself why this modern countenance should find
itself in such incongruous company, and he comes almost nat-
urally to the conclusion that Bouginier was the owner, or per-
haps the architect, of this arcade, almost exclusively tenanted
— until very recently — by lithographers, printers, etc. The con-
clusion, however, would be an erroneous one. Bouginier, as
far as is known, never had any property in Paris or elsewhere ;
least of all was he vain enough to perpetuate his own features
in that manner, even if he had had an opportunity, but he had
not ; seeing that he was not an architect, but simply a painter,
of no great talents certainly, but, withal, modest and sensible,
and as such opposed to, or at any rate not sharing, the crazes
of mediaevalism, romanticism, and other /^wj- in which the young
painters of that day indulged, and which they thought fit to
emphasize in public and among one another by eccentricities
of costume and language, supposed to be in harmony with the
8 • AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
periods they had adapted for illustration. This absence of en-
thusiasm one way or the other aroused the ire of his fellow-
lodgers at the " Childebert," and one of them, whose pencil
was more deft at that kind of work than those of the others,
executed their vengeance, and drew Bouginier's picture on the
" fag end *' of a dead wall in the vicinity of the Church of St.
Germain-des-Pres. The success was instantaneous and posi-
tively overwhelming, though truth compels one to state that this
was the only flash of genius that illumined that young fellow's
career. His name was Fourreau, and one looks in vain for his
name in the biographical dictionaries or encyclopedias of artists.
Fate has even been more cruel to him than to his model.
For the moment, however, the success, as I have already
said, was overwhelming. In less than a fortnight there was
not a single wall in Paris and its outskirts without a Bouginier
on its surface. Though Paris was considerably less in area
than it is now, it wanted a Herculean effort to accomplish this.
No man, had he been endowed with as many arms as Briareus,
would have sufificed for it. Nor would it have done to trust to
more or less skilful copyists — they might have failed to catch
the likeness, which was really an admirable one ; so the follow-
ing device was hit upon. Fourreau himself cut a number of
stencil plates in brown paper, and, provided with them, an
army of Childebertians started every night in various direc-
tions, Fourreau and a few undoubtedly clever youths heading
the detachments, and filling in the blanks by hand.
Meanwhile summer had come, and with it the longing among
the young Tintos to breathe the purer air of the country, to
sniff the salt breezes of the ocean. As a matter of course,
they were not all ready to start at the same time, but being
determined to follow the same route, to assemble at a common
goal, the contingent that was to leave a fortnight later than the
first arranged to join the others wherever they might be.
" But how ? " was the question of those who were left behind.
" Very simply indeed," was the answer ; " we'll go by the
Barriere dTtalie. You'll have but to look at the walls along
the road, and you'll find your waybill."
So said, so done. A fortnight after, the second division
left head-quarters and made straight for the Barriere d'ltalie.
But when outside the gates they stood undecided. For one
moment only. The next they caught sight of a magnificent
Bouginier on a wall next to the excise office — of a Bouginier
whose outstretched index pointed to the Fontainebleau road.
After that, all went well. As far as Marseilles their Bouginier
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 9
no more failed them than the clouds of smoke and fire failed
the Israelites in the wilderness. At the seaport town they lost
the track for a little while, rather through their want of faith
in the ingenuity of their predecessors than through the latter's
lack of such ingenuity. They had the Mediterranean in front
of them, and even if they found a Bouginier depicted some-
where on the shore, his outstretched index could only point to
the restless waves ; he could do nothing more definite. Con-
siderably depressed, they were going down the Cannebiere,
when they caught sight of the features of their guiding star on
a panel between the windows of a shipping office. His out-
stretched index did not point this time ; it was placed over a
word, and that word spdt " Malta." They took ship as quickly
as possible for the ancient habitation of the Knights-Templar.
On the walls of the Customs in the island was Bouginier, with a
scroll issuing from his nostrils, on which was inscribed the word
" Alexandria." A similar indication met their gaze at the
Pyramids, and at last the second contingent managed to come
up with the first amidst the ruins of Thebes at the very mo-
ment when the word " Suez " was being traced as issuing from
Bouginier's mouth.
Among the company was a young fellow of the name of
Berthier, who became subsequently an architect of some note.
The Passage du Caire, as I have already observed, was in those
days the head-quarters of the lithographic-printing business in
general, but there was one branch which flourished more than
the rest, namely, that of lettres dcfairc part* menus of restau-
rants and visiting-cards. The two first-named documents were,
in common with most printed matter intended for circulation,
subject to a stamp duty, but in the early days of the Second
Empire Louis-Napoleon had it taken off. To mark their sense
of the benefit conferred, the lithographic firmsf determines to
have the arcade, which stood in sad need of repair, restored,
and Berthier was selected for the task. The passage wr.o
originally built to commemorate Bonaparte's victories in Egypt,
and when Berthier received the commission, he could think cf
no more fitting facade than the reproduction of a house a!;
Karnac. He fondly remembered his youthful excursion to the
land of Pharaohs, and at the same time the image of Bouginier
* The " lettre de f aire part" is an intimation of a birth, [marriage, or death sent to the
friends, and even mere acquaintances, of a family. — Editor.
t The lithographers were almost the first in France to form a co-operative society, but not
in the sense of the Rochdale pioneers, which da^s from about the same period. The La-
crampe Association was for supplying lithograpnrc work. It began in the Passage du Caire
with ten members, and in a short time numbered two hundred workmen. — Ediior.
lo AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
uprose before him. That is why the presentment of the latter
may be seen up to this day on the frieze of a building in the
frowsiest part of Paris.
If I have dwelt somewhat longer on Bouginier than the im-
portance of the subject warranted, it was mainly to convey an
idea of the spirit of mischief, of the love of practical joking,
that animated most of the inmates of " La Childebert." As a
rule their devilries were innocent enough. The pictorial per-
secution of Bouginier is about the gravest thing that could be
laid to their charge, and the victim, like the sensible fellow he
was, rather enjoyed it than otherwise. Woe, however, to the
starched bourgeois who had been decoyed into their lair, or
even to the remonstrating comrade with a serious turn of mind,
who wished to pursue his studies in peace ! His life was made
a burden to him, for the very building lent itself to all sorts of
nocturnal surprises and of guerilla sorties. Elsewhere, when a
man's door was shut, he might reasonably count upon a certain
amount of privacy ; the utmost his neighbors could do was to
make a noise overhead or by his side. At the " Childebert "
such privacy was out of the question. There was not a door
that held on its hinges, not a window that could be opened or
shut at will, not a ceiling that did not threaten constantly to
crush you beneath its weight, not a floor that was not in dan-
ger of giving way beneath you and landing you in the room
below, not a staircase that did not shake under your very steps,
however light they might be ; in short, the place was a wonder-
ful illustration of " how the rotten may hold together," even
if it be not gently handled.
The origin of the structure, as it stood then, was wrapt in
mystery. It was five or six stories high, and must have at-
tained that altitude before the first Revolution, because the
owner, a Madame Legendre, who bought it for assignats
amounting in real value to about one pound sterling, when
the clergy's property was sold by the nation, was known never
to have spent a penny upon it either at the time of the pur-
chase or subsequently, until she was forced by a tenant more
ingenious or more desperate than the rest. That it could not
have been part of the abbey and adjacent monastery built by
Childebert I., \/ho was buried there in 558, was very certain.
It is equally improbable that the Cardinal dc Bissy, who opened
a street upon the site of the erstwhile abbey in the year of
Louis XIV.'g death, would have erected so high a pile for the
mere accommodation of the pensioners of the former monastery,"
at a time when high piles were the exception. Besides, the
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 1 1
Nos. I and 3, known to have been occupied by those pen-
sioners, all of whose rooms communicated with one another,
were not more than two stories high. In short, the original
intention of the builder of the house No. 9, yclept " La Childe-
bert," has never been explained. The only tenant in the Rue
Childebert who might have thrown a light on the subject had
died before the caravansary attained its fame. He was more
than a hundred years old, and had married five times. His
fifth wife was only eighteen when she became Madame Chanfort,
and survived him for many, many years. She was a very
worthy soul, a downright providence to the generally impecuni-
ous painters, whom she used to feed at prices which even
then were ridiculously low. Three eggs, albeit fried in grease
instead of butter, for the sum of three-halfpence, and a dinner,
including wine, for sixpence, could not have left much profit ;
but Madame Chanfort always declared that she had enough
to live upon, and that she supplied the art-students with food
at cost price because she would not be without their company.
At her death, in '57, two years before the '' Childebert " and
the street of the same name disappeared, there was a sale of
her chattels, and over a hundred portraits and sketches of her,
" in her habit as she lived," came under the hammer. To
show that the various occupants of " La Childebert " could
do more than make a noise and play practical jokes, I may
state that not a single one of these productions fetched less
than fifty francs — mere crayon studies ; while there were sev-
eral that sold for two hundred and three hundred francs, and
two studies in oil brought respectively eight hundred francs
and twelve hundred francs. Nearly every one of the young
men who had signed these portraits had made a name for
himself. The latter two were signed respectively Paul Dela-
roche and Tony Johannot.
Nevertheless, to those whose love of peace and quietude
was stronger than their artistic instincts and watchful admira-
tion of budding genius, the neighborhood of " La Childebert "
was a sore and grievous trial. At times the street itself, not a
very long or wide one, was like Pandemonium let loose ; it
was when there was an " At Home " at " La Childebert," and
such functions were frequent, especially at the beginning of
the months. These gatherings, as a rule, partook of the nat-
ure of fancy dress conversazio7ies ; for dancing, owing to the
shakiness of the building, had become out of the question,
even with such dare-devils as the tenants. What the latter
prided themselves upon most was their strict adherence to
12 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
the local color of the periods they preferred to resuscitate.
Unfortunately for the tranquillity of the neighborhood, they
pretended to carry out this revival in its smallest details, not
only in their artistic productions, but in their daily lives.
The actor who blacked himself all over to play Othello was as
nothing to them in his attempted realism, because we may
suppose that he got rid of his paint before returning to the
everyday world. Not so the inmates of " La Childebert."
They were minstrels, or corsairs, or proud and valiant knights
from the moment they got up till the moment they went to
bed, and many of them even scorned to stretch their weary
limbs on so effeminate a contrivance as a modern mattress,
but endeavored to keep up the illusion by lying on a rush-
bestrewn floor.
I am not sufficiently learned to trace these various and suc-
ceeding disguises to their literary and theatrical causes, for it
was generally a new book or a new play that set the ball roll-
ing in a certain direction ; nor can I vouch for the chronologi-
cal accuracy and completeness of my record in that respect,
but I remember some phases of that ever-shifting masquerade.
When I was a very little boy, I was struck more than once
with the sight of young men parading the streets in doublets,
trunk hose, their flowing locks adorned with velvet caps and
birds' wings, their loins girded with short swords. And yet it
was not carnival time. No one seemed to take particular no-
tice of them ; the Parisians by that time had probably got used
to their vagaries. Those competent in such matters have since
told me that the '' get-up " was inspired by " La Gaule Poeti-
que " of M. de Marchangy, the novels of M. d'Arlincourt, and
the kindred stilted literature that characterized the beginning
of the Restoration. Both these gentlemen, from their very
hatred of the Greeks and Romans of the first Empire, created
heroes of fiction still more ridiculous than the latter, just as
Metternich, through his weariness of the word "fraternity,"
said that if he had a brother he would call him " cousin." A
few years later, the first translation of Byron's works produced
its effect ; and then came Defauconpret, with his very credita-
ble French versions of Walter Scott. The influence of Paul
Delaroche and his co-champions of the cause of romanticism,
the revolution of July, the dramas of Alexandre Dumas and
Victor Hugo, all added their quota to the prevailing confusion
in the matter of style and period, and early in the forties there
were at the " Childebert " several camps, fraternizing in every-
thing save in their dress and speech, which were the visible
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
13
and audible manifestation of their individual predilection for
certain periods of history. For instance, it was no uncommon
thing to hear the son of a concierge, whose real or fancied
vocation had made him embrace the artistic profession, swear
by " the faith of his ancestors," while the impoverished scion
of a noble house replied by calling him " a bloated reminis-
cence of a feudal and superstitious age."
At the conversaztofies which I mentioned just now, the guests
of the inmates of " La Childebert," not only managed to out-
Herod Herod in diction and attire, but to heighten illusion
still further, adopted as far as possible the mode of convey-
ance supposed to have been employed by their prototypes.
The classicists, and those still addicted to the illustration of
Greek and Roman mythology, though nominally in the mino-
rity at the " Childebert " itself, were, as a rule, most success-
ful in those attempts. The ass that had borne Silenus, the
steeds that had drawn the chariot of the triumphant Roman
warrior, the she-goat that was supposed to have suckled Ju-
piter, were as familiar to the inhabitants of the Rue Childebert
as the cats and mongrels of their own households. The ob-
structions caused by the former no longer aroused their ire ;
but when, one evening, Romulus and Remus made their ap-
pearance, accompanied by the legendary she-wolf, they went
mad with terror. The panic was at its height when, with an
utter disregard of mythological tradition, Hercules walked up
the street, leading the Nemaean lion. Then the aid of the
police was invoked ; but neither the police nor the national
guards, who came after them, dared to tackle the animals,
though they might have done so safely, because the supposed
wolf was a great dane, and the lion a mastiff, but so marvel-
lously padded and painted as to deceive any but the most
practised eye. The culprits, however, did not reveal the secret
until they were at the commissary of police's office, enjoying the
magnificent treat of setting the whole of the neighborhood in
an uproar on their journey thither, and of frightening that offi-
cial on their arrival.
In fact, long before I knew them, the inmates of the " Childe-
bert " had become a positive scourge to the neighborhood,
while the structure itself threatened ruin to everything around
it. Madame Legendre absolutely refused to do any repairs.
She did not deny that she had bought the place cheap, but she
pointed out at the same time that the rents she charged were
more than modest, and that eight times out of ten she did not
get them. In the beginning of her ownership she had em-
14 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
ployed a male concierge, to prevent, as it were, the wholesale
flitting which was sure to follow a more strenuous application
for arrears upon which she ventured now and then in those
days. That was towards the end of the Empire, when the
disciples of David had been reduced to a minority in the place
by those of Lethiere, who sounded the first note of revolt
against the unconditional classicism of the illustrious member
of the convention. If all the disciples of the Creole painter had
not his genius, most of them had his courage and readiness to
draw th-e sword on the smallest provocation,* and the various
Cerberi employed by Madame Legendre to enforce her claims
had to fly one after another. The rumor of the danger of the
situation had spread, and at last Madame Legendre could find
no man to fill it, except on monetary conditions with which she
would not — perhaps could not — comply. From that day forth
she employed a woman, who was safe, because she had been
told to let "lawless impecuniosity " take its course, and it was
recorded that pecuniarily the proprietress was the better off
for this change of tactics.
I am willing to repeat that record, which, if true, did credit
to the head of the landlady and the hearts of her tenants, but
am compelled to supplement it by a different version. When
I saw the " Childebert" in '37 or '38, no man in his senses
would have paid rent for any one room in it on the two top
stories ; he might as well have lived in the streets. It was an
absolute case of the bottomless sedan chair in which two of his
fellow-porters put Pat ; " but for the honor of the thing, he
might have walked." Consequently the tenants there were
rarely harassed for their rent ; if they paid it at all, it was so
much unexpected gain. It happened, however, that now and
then by mistake a youngster was put there who had scruples
about discharging his liabilities in that respect ; and one of
these was Emile Lapierre, who subsequently became a land-
scape-painter of note. One night, after he had taken up his
quarters there, \\\i floodgates of heaven opened over Paris.
Lapierre woke up amidst a dekige. I need not say that there
were no bells at the " Childebert ;" nevertheless there was no
fear of dying unattended, provided one could shout, for there
was always a party turning night into day, or hailing the smil-
ing morn before turning in. Lapierre's shouts found a ready
echo ; and in a few moments the old concierge was on the spot.
* Guillaume Lethiere, whose real name was Guillon, was a native of Guadeloupe.
He fought and seriously wounded several officers because the latter had objected to " a mere
dauber wearing moustaches." He was obliged to leave Paris, but, thanks to the protection
of Lucien Bonaparte, was appointed Director of the French Academic at Rome.— Editor.
JjV englishman in PARIS. 15
" Go and fetch a boat — go and fetch a boat ! " yelled
Lapierre. " I am drowning ! " yelled Lapierfe.
" There are none in the quarter," replied the old woman
innocently, thinking he was in earnest,
" Then go and fetch Madame Legendre, to show her the
pond she is letting me instead of the room for which I pay
her."
" Madame would not come, not even for you, monsieur, who
are the only one punctual with your rent ; besides, if she did
come, she would have no repairs done."
" Oh, she'll have no repairs done ! We'll soon find out. I
think I'll make her," screamed Lapierre ; and he kept his
word.
It was the only instance of Madame Legendre having had
to capitulate, and I have alluded to it before r it remains for
me to tell how it was done.
Lapierre, contrary to the precept, allowed the sun to go
down upon his wrath, in the hope perhaps of inducing Madamo
Legendre to change her oft-announced decision of doing no
repairs ; but he rose betimes next morning, and when there
was no sign of workmen, he proceeded to carry out his plan.
The floors of the " Childebert " were made of brick, and he
simply removed three or four squares from his, after which ho
went downstairs and recruited half a dozen water-carriers, and
bade them empty their full pails into the opening he had made.
I shall probably have some remarks to make elsewhere about
the water-supply of Paris ; at present it is sufficient to say that
in those days there was not a single house in the capital which
was not dependent upon those Auvergnats who carried the
commodity round in barrels on carts drawn by hand or horse.
These gentlemen, though astonished at the strange task re-
quired of them, consented. In less than ten minutes there
was a string of water-carts stationed in the Rue Childebert,
and in a few minutes more the lower stories were simply
flooded. Aimd Millet, the sculptor, whose room was situated
immediately beneath that.gf Lapierre, was the first victim. It
was he who gave the alarm, but, as. a matter of course, in the
twinkling of an eye there were one or two heads at every
window, and though very early, there was a stampede of very
primitively clad models (?) into the street, shouting and yelling
out at the top of their voices. Outside no one seemed to
know exactly what had occurred ; the prevailing impression
was that the place was on fire. Then Madame Legendre was
sent for in hot haste. By that time the truth had become
1 6 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
known in the house. The alarm had subsided, but not the
noise. When the report of Madame Legendre's coming got
wind, a deputation went to the entrance of the street to wel-
come her. It was provided with all sorts of instruments
except musical ones, and the old dame was conducted in state
to Millet^s room. The cause of the mischief was soon as-
certained, for the water-carriers were still at work. The police
had refused to interfere ; in reality, they would not have been
sorry to see the building come down wdth a crash, for it was
as great a source of annoyance to them as to the peaceful
burghers they were supposed to protect. A move was made
to the room above, where Lapierre — without a stitch of clothing
— stood directing the operations.
" What are you doing. Monsieur Lapierre ? " screeched
Madame Legendre.
" I am taking a bath, madame ; it is very warm. You gave
me one against my will the night before last ; and lest I should
be accused of selfishness, I am letting my neighbors partake
of vhc pleasure."
That is how Madame Legendre was compelled to repair the
roof of " La Childebert."
Such wac the company amidst which I was introduced by
the son of my old tutor. Many years have passed since then,
during which I have been thrown into the society of the great
and powerful ones of this world, rather through the force of
circumstcnces than owing to my own merits, but I have looked
*n vain for the honest friendships, the disinterested actions,
the genuine enthusiasm for their art, underlying their devilry,
of which these young men were capable. The bourgeois vices,
in the guise of civic and domestic virtues, entered the souls
of Frenchmen early in the reign of Louis-Philippe, and have
been gnawing since, with ever-increasing force, like a cancer,
at everything that was noble and worthy of admiration in a
nation. But those vices never found their way to the hearts
of the inmates of " La Childebert" while they were there, and
rarely in after-life. Many attained world-wide reputations ; few
gathered riches, even when they were as frugal as the best
among them — Eugene Delacroix.
To have known these young men was absolutely a liberal
education. To the Podsnap and Philistine of no matter what
nationality, it seems a sad thing to have no thought for to-
morrow. And these youngsters had not even a thought for
the day. Their thoughts were for the future, when the world
mayhap would ring with their names ; but their physical or
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 1 7
mental hearing never strained for the ring of money. They
were improvident creatures, to be sure ; but how much more
lovable than the young painters of the present period, whose
ideal* is a big balance at their bankers ; who would rather have
their names inscribed on the registers of the public debt than
in the golden book of art ; whose dreamt-of Eden is a bijou
villa in the Pare Monceaux or in the Avenue Villiers ; whose
providence is the richard, the parvenu, the wealthy upstart,
whose features they perpetuate, regardless of the perpetuation
of their own budding fame.
When I began to jot down these notes, I made up my mind
to eschew comparisons and moralizing ; I find I have uncon-
sciously done both, but will endeavor not to offend again.
Still, I cannot help observing how the mere " moneyed nobody "
rushes nowadays to the eminent painter to have his lineaments
reproduced, when a guinea photograph would serve his purpose
just as well for " family use ; " for I take it that no one, besides
his relations and friends, cares or will care to gaze upon his feat-
ures. And yet our annual picture exhibitions are crowded with
the portraits of these nonentities. They advertise themselves
through the painters that transfer them to canvas, and the
latter are content to pocket heavy fees, like the advertising
agents they are. I am certain that neither Holbein, Rubens,
Van Dyck, Hals, nor Rembrandt would have lent themselves
to such transactions. When they, or a Reynolds, a Lawrence,
a Gainsborough, conferred the honor of their brush upon some
one, it was because he or she was already distinguished from
his or her fellow-creatures by beauty, social position, talents,
genius, or birth ; not because he or she wanted to be, or in
default of such distinction, wanted to attract the public notice
at all costs. That, I fancy, was the way in which painters of
other days looked upon the thing. I know it was the way in
which the young fellows at the " Childebert " did ; and woe to
their comrade who ventured to apply in art the principle of
international maritime law, that " le pavilion couvre la march-
andise" (the flag covers the cargo). He was scouted and
jeered at, and, moreover, rarely allowed to reap the pecuniary
benefit of his artistic abasement. Hence the " patron for a por-
trait" seldom found his way to " La Childebert." When he did,
the whole of the place conspired to make his life and that of
his would-be proteg'e a misery.
To enumerate all the devices resorted to to make the sittings
abortive, to " distort the features that had donned the bland
smile of placid contentment " with the paralyzing fear of some
2
iS A!^ ENGLISHMAN/ IN PARIS.
impending catastrophe, would be impossible ; the mention of a
few must suffice. That most frequently employed, and com-
paratively easy of execution, was the setting alight of damp
straw ; the dense smoke penetrated every nook and cranny of
the crazy building, and the sitter, mad with fright, rushed
away. The chances were a hundred to one against his ever
returning. Another was the intrusion of a male model offer-
ing his services as a Saint-Jerome, or a female one offering hers
as Godiva ; for, curious to relate, the devotion of the wife of
Leofric of Murcia was a favorite subject with the Childeber-
tians. As a matter of course, the applicants were in the cos-
tume, or rather lack of costume, appropriate to the character.
The strait-laced bourgeois or bourgeoise was shocked, and
did not repeat the visit. The cry that there was a mad dog in
the house was a common one on those occasions ; and at last
the would-be portrait-painters had to give in, and a big pla-
card appeared on the frontispiece : '' Le commerce des portraits
a ete cede aux directeur et membres de I'Ecole des Beaux- Arts."
The most curious thing in connection with the " Childebert "
was that, though the place was inexpressibly ill kept, it escaped
the most terrible visitations of the cholera. I prefer not to
enter into details of the absolute disregard of all sanitary con-
ditions, but in warm weather the building became positively
uninhabitable. Long before the unsavory spectacle of " learned
fleas " became a feature of the suburban fairs, Emile Signol,
who is best known as a painter of religious subjects, had
trained a company of performers of a different kind of
nocturnal pests. He averred in his opening lecture that their
ingenuity was too great to remain unknown, and cited anec-
dotes fully proving his words. Certain is it that they were
the only enemies before which the combined forces of the
Childebertians proved powerless. But even under such trying
circumstances the latter never lost their buoyant spirits, and
their retreats e?i masse were effected in a manner the reports
of which set the whole of Paris in a roar. One Sunday morn-
ing, the faithful worshippers, going to matins at the Church of
St. Germain-des-Pres, found the square occupied by a troop of
Bedouins, wrapt in their burnouses, and sleeping the sleep of
the just. Some had squatted in corners, calmly smoking their
chibouks. This was in the days of the Algerian campaign,
and the rumor spread like wildfire that a party of Arab pris-
oners of war were bivouacked round the church, where a spe-
cial service would be given in the afternoon as the first step to
their conversion to Christianity. It being Sunday, the whole
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 19
of Paris rushed to the spot. The Bedouins had, however, dis-
appeared, but a collection was made in their behalf by several
demure-looking young men. The Parisians gave Uberally.
That night, and two or three nights after, the nocturnal pests'
occupation was gone, for the " Childebert " was lighted agior-
?io from basement to roof, and the Childebertians held high
festival. The inhabitants of the streets adjacent to the Rue
Childebert spent as many sleepless nights, though their houses
were perfectly wholesome and clean.
I had the honor to be a frequent guest at those gatherings,
but I feel that a detailed description of them is beyond my
powers. I have already said that the craziness of the structure
would have rendered extremely dangerous any combined dis-
play of choregraphic art, as practised by the Childebertians
and their friends, male and female, at the neighboring Grande-
Chaumiere ; it did, however, not prevent a lady or gentleman
of the company from performing a pas seul now and then.
This, it must be remembered, was the pre-Rigolbochian period,
before Chicard with his chahut had been ousted from his ex-
alted position by the more elegant and graceful evolutions of
the originator of the modern cancan, the famous Brididi ; when
the Faubourg du Temple, the Bal du Grand Saint-Martin, and
" the descent of the Courtille " were patronized by the Paris
jeimesse dorke^ and in their halcyon days, when the habitues of
the establishment of Le Pere Lahire considered it their greatest
glory to imitate as closely as possible the bacchanalian gyrations
of the choregraphic autocrat on the other side of the Seine.
No mere description could do justice to these gyrations ; only
a draughtsman of the highest skill could convey an adequate
idea of them. But, as a rule, the soirees at the " Childebert "
were not conspicuous for such displays ; their programme was
a more ambitious one from an intellectual point of view, albeit
that the programme was rarely, if ever, carried out. This
failure of the prearranged proceedings, mainly arose from the
disinclination or inability of the fairer portion of the company to
play the passive part of listeners and spectators during the re-
cital of an unpublished poem of perhaps a thousand lines or
so, though the reciter was no less a personage than the author.
In vain did the less frivolous and male part of the audience
claim " silence for the minstrel ; " the interrupters could con-
ceive no minstrel without a guitar or some kindred instrument,
least of all a minstrel who merely spoke his words, and the
feast of reason and flow of soul came generally to an abrupt
end by the rising of a damsel more outspoken still than her
20 AA^ ENGLISHMAN IX PARIS. .
companions, who proposed an adjournment to one of the ad-
jacent taverns, or to the not far distant " Grande-Chaumiere,"
" si on continue k nous assommer avec des vers." The threat
invariably produced its effect. The " minstrel " was politely
requested to " shut up," and Beranger, Desaugiers, or even M.
Scribe, took the place of the Victor Hugo in embryo until the
small hours of the morning ; the departure of the guests being
witnessed by the night-capped inhabitants of the Rue Childe-
bert from their windows, amidst the comforting reflections that
for another three weeks or so there would be peace in the fes-
tive halls of that " accursed building."
My frequent visits to " La Childebert" had developed a taste
for the Bohemian attractions of the Quartier-Latin. I was not
twenty, and though I caught frequent glimpses at home of
some of the eminent men with whom a few years later I lived
on terms of friendship, I could not aspire to their society then.
It is doubtful whether I would have done so if I could. I pre-
ferred the Theatre Bobino to the Opera and the Comddie-Fran-
9aise; the Grande-Chaumiere — or the Chaumiere, as it was
simply called — to the most brilliantly lighted and decorated
ball-room ; a stroll with a couple of young students in the gar-
dens of the Luxembourg to a carriage-drive in the Bois de
Boulogne ; a dinner for three francs at Magny's, in the Rue
Contrescarpe-Dauphine, or even one for twenty-two sous at
Viot's or Blery's, to the most sumptuous repast at the Cafe Riche
or the Cafe de Paris. I preferred the buttered rolls and the
bowl of milk at the Boulangerie Cretaine, in the Rue Dauphine,
to the best suppers at the Cafe Anglais, whither I had been
taken once or twice during the Carnival — in short, I was very
young and very foolish ; since then I have often wished that,
at the risk of remaining very foolish for evermore, I could
have prolonged my youth for another score of years.
For once in a way I have no need to be ashamed of my want
of memory. I could not give an account of a single piece I
saw during those two or three years at Bobino, but I am cer-
tain that not one of the companions of my youth could. It is
not because the lapse of time has dimmed the recollection of
the plots, but because there were no plots, or at any rate none
that we could understand, and I doubt very much whether the
actors and actresses were more enlightened in that respect than
the audience. The pieces were vaudevilles, most of them, and
it was sufficient for us to join in the choruses of the songs, with
which they were plentifully interlarded. As for the dialogue,
it might have been sparkling with wit and epigram ; it was
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. ±t
nearly always drowned by interpolations from one side of the
house or the other. When the tumult became too great, the
curtain was simply lowered, to be almost immediately raised,
" discovering " the manager — in his dressing-gown. He seemed
prouder of that piece of attire than the more modern one would
be of the most faultless evening dress. He never appealed to
us by invoking the laws of politeness ; he never threatened to
have the house cleared. He simply pointed out to us that the
police would inevitably close the place at the request of the
inhabitants of the Rue de Madame if the noise rose above a
certain pitch, and disturbed their peaceful evening hours, spent
in the bosom of their families ; which remark was always fol-
lowed by the audience intoning as one man Gretry's " Ou peut-
on etre mieux qu'au sein de sa famille? " the orchestra — such
an orchestra ! — playing the accompaniment, and the manager
himself beating time. Then he went on. " Yes, messieurs et
mesdames, we are here en famille also, as much en famille as
at the Grande-Chaumiere ; and has not M. Lahire obtained
from the Government the permission de faire sa police tout
seul ! After all, he is providing exercise for your muscles ; I
am providing food for your brain."
The speech was a stereotyped one — we all knew it by heart ;
it invariably produced its effect in keeping us comparatively
quiet for the rest of the evening, unless a bourgeois happened
to come in. Then the uproar became uncontrollable ; no man-
agerial speech could quell it until the intruder had left the
theatre.
By a bourgeois was meant a man who wore broad-cloth and
a top hat, but especially the latter. In fact that head-gear was
rarely seen within the inner precincts of the Quartier-Latin, even
during the daytime, except on the head of a professor, or on
Thursdays when the collegians — the term " lyceen " was not
invented — were taken for their weekly outing. The semi-
military dress of the present time had not been thought of
then. The collegian wore a top hat, like our Eton boys, a
white necktie, a kind of black quaker coat with a stand-up
collar, a very dark blue waistcoat and trousers, low shoes, and
blue woollen stockings. In the summer, some of them, espe-
cially those of the College Rollin, had a waistcoat and trousers
of a lighter texture, and drab instead of blue. They were
virtually prisoners within the walls of the college all the week,
for in their Thursday promenades they were little more than
prisoners taking exercise under the supervision of their jailers.
They were allowed to leave on alternate Sundays, provided
1 2 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PA RIS.
they had parents, relations, or friends in Paris, who could come
themselves or send their servants to fetch them in the morning
and take them back at night. The rule applied to all, whether
they were nine or double that number of years ; it prevails even
now. I only set foot in a French college of those days twice
to see a young friend of mine, and I thanked my stars that
four or five years of that existence had been spared to me.
The food and the table appointments, the bedrooms — they
were more like cells with their barred windows — would have
been declined by the meanest English servant, certainly by
the meanest French one. I have never met with a Frenchman
who looks back with fond remembrance on his school-days.
The evening was generally wound up with a supper at
Dagneaux's, Pinson's, or at the rotisseuse — that is, if the evening
happened to fall within the first ten days of the month ; after-
wards the entertainment nearly always consisted of a meat-
pie, bought at one of the charcutiers', and washed down with
the bottles of wine purchased at the Hotel de I'Empereur
Joseph II., at the south-eastern angle of the Rue de Tournon,
where it stands still. The legend ran that the brother of
Marie Antoinette had stayed there while on a visit to Paris ;
but it is scarcely likely that he would have done so while his
sister was within a step of the throne of France ; nevertheless
the Count von Falkenstein — which was the name he adopted
when travelling incognito — was somewhat of a philosopher.
Did not he once pay a visit to Jean-Jacques Rousseau without
having apprised him of his call t Jean-Jacques was copying
music as the door opened to let in the visitor, and felt
flattered enough, we may be sure ; not so Buffon, whom Joseph
surprised under similar circumstances, and who could never
forgive himself for having been caught in his dressing-gown —
he who never sat down to work except in lace ruffles and frill.
If I have been unwittingly betrayed into a semi-historical
disquisition, it is because almost every step in that quarter
gave rise to one, even amongst those light-hearted companions
of mine, to the great astonishment of the fairer portion of the
company. They only took an interest in the biography of one
of the inhabitants of the street, whether past or present, and
that was in the biography of Mdlle. Lenormand, a well-known
fortune-teller, who lived at No. 5. They had heard that the
old woman, who had been the mistress of Hebert, of " Pere
Duchesne " fame, had, during the First Revolution predicted
to Josephine de Beauharnais that she should be empress, as
some gypsy at Grenada predicted a similar elevation to Eugenie
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 23
de Montijo many years afterwards. Mdlle. Lenormand had
been imprisoned after Hebert's death, but the moment Napo-
leon became first consul she was liberated, and frequently sent
for to the Luxembourg, which is but a stone's throw from the
Rue de Tournon. As a matter of course her fame spread, and
she made a great deal of money during the first empire.
Ignorant as they were of history, the sprightly grisettes of our
days had heard of that ; their great ambition was to get the
five francs that would open the door of Mdlle. Lenormand's to
them. Mdlle. Lenormand died about the year '43. Jules
Janin, who lived in the same street, in the house formerly
inhabited by Theroigne de Mericourt, went to the fortune-
teller's funeral. The five francs so often claimed by the etu-
diante^ so rarely forthcoming from the pockets of her admirer,
was an important sum in those days among the youth of the
Quartier-Latin. There were few whose allowance exceeded
two hundred francs per month. A great many had to do with
less. Those w^ho were in receipt of five hundred francs —
perhaps not two score among the whole number — were scarcely
considered as belonging to the fraternity. They were called
" ultra-pontins," to distinguish them from those who from one
year's end to another never crossed the river, except perhaps
to go to one of the theatres, because there was not much to be
seen at the Odeon during the thirties. With Harel's migration
to the Porte St. Martin, the glory of the second Theatre-Frangais
had departed, and it was not until '41 that Lireux managed to
revive some of its ancient fame. By that time I had ceased to
go to the Quartier-Latin, but Lireux was a familiar figure at
the Cafe Riche and at the divan of the Rue Le Pelletier ; he
dined now and then at the Cafe de Paris. So we made it a
point to attend every one of his first nights, notwithstanding
the warnings in verse and in prose of every wit of Paris, Theo-
phile Gautier included, who had written : —
" On a fait la dessus mille plaisanteries,
Je le sais ; il poussait de I'herbe aux galeries ;
Trente-six varietes de champignons malsains
Dans les loges tigraient la mousse des coussins."
It was impossible to say anything very spiteful of a theatre
which had remained almost empty during a gratuitous per-
formance on the king's birthday ; consequently while I fre-
quented the Quartier-Latin the students gave it a wide berth.
When they were not disporting themselves at Bobino, they
were at the Chaumiere, and not in the evening only. Notwith-
standing the enthusiastic and glowing descriptions of it that
24 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
have appeared in later days, the place was simple enough.
There was a primitive shooting-gallery, a skittle-alley, and so
forth, and it was open all day. The students, after having
attended the lectures and taken a stroll in the gardens of the
Luxembourg, repaired to the Chaumiere, where, in fine weather,
they were sure to find their " lady loves " sitting at work
demurely under the trees. The refreshments were cheap, and
one spent one's time until the dinner hour, chatting, singing,
or strolling about. The students were very clannish, and
invariably remained in their own sets at the Chaumiere. There
were tables exclusively occupied by Bourguignons, Angevins,
etc. In fact, life was altogether much simpler and more indi-
vidual than it became later on.
One of our great treats was an excursion to the establish-
ment of Le Pere Bonvin, where the student of to-day would
not condescend to sit down, albeit that the food he gets in more
showy places is not half as good and three times as dear. Le
Pere Bonvin was popularly supposed to be in the country,
though it was not more than a mile from the Barriere Mont-
parnasse. The " country " was represented by one or two
large but straggling plots of erstwhile grazing-land, but at that
time dotted with chalk-pits, tumble-down wooden shanties,
etc. Such trees as the tract of " country " could boast were
on the demesne of Pere Bonvin, but they evidently felt out of
their element, and looked the reverse of flourishing. The
house of Pere Bonvin was scarcely distinguished in color and
rickettiness from the neighboring constructions, but it was
built of stone, and had two stories. The fare was homely and
genuine, the latter quality being no small recommendation in
an establishment where the prolific "bunny" was the usual
plat de resistance. For sophistication, where the rabbit was
concerned, was part of the suburban traiteur's creed from time
immemorial, and the fact of the former's head being visible in
the dish was no guarantee as to that and the body by its side
having formed one whole in the flesh. The ubiquitous collector
of rags and bottles and rabbits' skins was always anxiously
inquiring for their heads also, and the natural conclusion was
that, thanks to the latter, stewed grimalkin passed muster as
gibelotte. At Pere Bonvin's no such suspicion could be enter-
tained for one moment ; the visitor was admitted to inspect
his dinner while alive. Pere Bonvin was essentially an honest
man, and a character in his way. During the daytime he
exercised the functions of garde-champetre ; at night he became
the restaurateur.
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 25
In those days both his sons, Frangois and Leon, were still
at home, but the former had apparently already made up his
mind not to follow in his sire's footsteps. He was a composi-
tor by trade, but the walls of the various rooms showed plainly
enough that he did not aim at the fame of an Aldine or an
Elzevir, but at that of a Jan Steen or a Gerard Dow. He has
fully maintained the promise given then. His pictures rank
high in the modern French school ; there are few of his con-
temporaries who have so thoroughly caught the spirit of the
Dutch masters. Leon was a mere lad, but a good many among
the habitues of Pere Bonvin predicted a more glorious career
for him than for his brother. The word " heaven -born musician "
has been often misapplied ; in Leon's instance it was fully jus-
tified. The predictions, however, were not realized. Whether
from lack of confidence in his own powers, or deterred by the
never-ceasing remonstrances of his father, Leon, unlike Fran-
cois, did not strike out for himself, but continued to assist in
the business, only turning to his harmonium in his spare time,
or towards the end of the evening, when all distinction between
guests and hosts ceased to exist, and the whole made a very
happy family. He married early. I lost sight of him
altogether, until about '64 I heard of his tragic end. He had
committed suicide.
CHAPTER 11.
If these notes are ever published, the reader will gather from
the foregoing that, unlike many Englishmen brought up in Paris,
I was allowed from a very early age to mix with all sorts and
conditions of men. As I intend to say as little as possible
about myself, there is no necessity to reveal the reason of this
early emancipation from all restraint, which resulted in my be-
ing on familiar terms with a great many celebrities before I had
reached my twenty-first year. I had no claim on their good-
will beyond my admiration of their talents and the fact of be-
ing decently connected. The constant companion of my youth
was hand and glove with some of the highest in the land, and,
if the truth must be told, w4th a good many of the lowest ; but
the man who was seated at the table of Lord Palmerston at the
Cafe de Paris at 8 p. m., could afford de s' encanailler at 2 a. m.
next morning without jeopardizing his social Status.
The Cafe de Paris in those days was probably not only the
best restaurant in Paris, but the best in Europe. Compared to
26 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
the " Freres Provengaux " Vefour and Very, the Cafe de Paris
was young; it was only opened on July 15, 1822, in the vast
suite of apartments at the corner of the Rue Taitbout and Boule-
vard des Italiens, formerly occupied by Prince Demidoff, whose
grandson was a prominent figure in the society of the Second
Empire, and whom I knew personally. The grandfather died
before I was born, or, at any rate, when I was very young ; but
his descendant often told me about him and his two sons, Paul
and Anatole, both of whom, in addition to his vast wealth, in-
herited a good many of his eccentricities. The old man, like
many Russian grand seigneurs, was never so happy as when
he could turn his back upon his own country. He inhabited
Paris and Florence in turns. In the latter place he kept in his
pay a company of French actors, who were lodged in a mag-
nificent mansion near to his own, and who enacted comedies,
vaudevilles, and comic operas. The London playgoer may re-
member a piece in which the celebrated Ravel made a great
sensation ; it was entitled " Les Folies Dramatiques," and was
founded upon the mania of the old man. For he was old before
his time and racked with gout, scarcely able to set his feet to
the ground. He had to be wheeled in a chair to his entertain-
ments and theatre, and often fell into a dead faint in the mid-
dle of the performance or during the dinner. " It made no
difference to his guests," said his grandson ; " they wheeled
him out as they had wheeled him in, and the play or repast
went on as if nothing had happened." In fact, it would seem
that the prince would have been very angry if they had acted
otherwise, for his motto was that, next to enjoying himself,
there was nothing so comfortable as to see others do so. Faith-
ful to this principle, he always kept some one near, whose mis-
sion it was to enjoy himself at his expense. He was under no
obligation whatsoever, except to give an account of his amuse-
ments, most frequently in the dead of the night, when he got
home, because the old prince suffered from insomnia ; he would
have given the whole of his vast possessions for six hours' un-
broken slumber.
I have an idea that the three generations of these Demidoffs
were as mad as March hares, though I am bound to say, at the
same time, that the form this madness took hurt no one. Per-
sonally, I only knew Prince Anatole, the second son of the old
man, and Paul, the latter's nephew. Paul's father, of the same
name, died almost immediately after his son's birth. He had
a mania for travelling, and rarely stayed in the same spot for
forty-eight hours. He was always accompanied by a numer-
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 27
ous suite and preceded by a couple of couriers, who, nine
times out of ten, had orders to engage every room in the hotel
for him. Being very rich and as lavish as he was wealthy,
few hotel proprietors scrupled to turn out the whole of their
guests at his steward's bidding and at a moment's notice. Of
course, people refused to put up with such cavalier treatment ;
but as remonstrance was of no avail, they often brought actions
for damages, which they invariably gained, and were promptly
settled by Boniface, who merely added them to Prince Paul's
bill. The most comical part of the business, however, was
that the prince as often as not changed his mind on arriving
at the hotel, and without as much as alighting, continued his
journey. The bill was never disputed. Another of his manias
was that his wife should wash her hands each time she touched
a metal object. For a while Princess Demidoff humored her
husband, but she found this so terribly irksome that she at last
decided to wear gloves, and continued to do so long after her
widowhood.
It must be obvious to the reader that this digression has
little or no raison d^etre, even in notes that do not profess to
tell a succinct story ; but my purpose was to a certain extent to
vindicate the character of one of the most charming women of
her time, who had the misfortune to marry what was undoubt-
edly the most eccentric member of the family. I am referring
to Princess Anatole Demidoff nee Bonaparte, the daughter of
Jerome, and the sister of Plon-Plon.
To return to the Cafe de Paris and its habitues. First of all,
the place itself was unlike any other restaurant of that day,
even unlike its neighbor and rival, the Cafe Hardi, at the cor-
ner of the Rue Laffitte, on the site of the present Maison d'Or.
There was no undue display of white and gold; and "the
epicure was not constantly reminded that, when in the act of
eating, he was not much superior to the rest of humanity," as
Lord Palmerston put it when commenting upon the welcome
absence of mirrors. The rooms might have been transformed
at a moment's notice into private apartments for a very fastid-
ious, refined family ; for, in addition to the tasteful and costly
furniture, it was the only establishment of its kind in Paris that
was carpeted throughout, instead of having merely sanded or
even polished floors, as was the case even in some of the best
Paris restaurants as late as five and six years ago (I mean
in the severities) — Bignon, the Cafe Foy, and the Lion
d'Or, in the Rue du Helder, excepted. The attendance was in
every respect in thorough keeping with the grand air of the
28 AJV ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
place, and, albeit that neither of the three or four succeeding
proprietors made a fortune, or anything approaching it, was
never relaxed.
On looking over these notes, I am afraid that the last paragraph
will be intelligible only to a small section of my readers, con-
sequently I venture to explain. Improved communication has
brought to Paris during the third quarter of the century a great
many Englishmen who, not being very familiar either with P>ench
or with French customs in their better aspect, have come to look
upon the stir and bustle of the ordinary Paris restaurant, upon
the somewhat free-and-easy behavior of the w^aiters, upon their
eccentricities of diction, upon their often successful attempts
at " swelling " the total of the dinner-bill as so much matter of
course. The abbreviated nomenclature the waiter employs in
recapitulating the bill of fare to the patron is regarded by him
as merely a skilful handling of the tongue by the native ; the
chances are ten to one in favor of the patron trying to imitate
the same in his orders to the attendant, and deriving a certain
pride from being successful. The stir and bustle is attributed
to the more lively temperament of our neighbors, the free-and-
easy behavior as a wish on the waiter's part to smooth the
linguistically thorny path of the benighted foreigner, the at-
tempt to multiply items as an irrepressible manifestation of
French greed."
Wherever these things occur, nowadays, the patron may be
certain that he is " in the wrong shop ; " but in the days of
which I treat, the wrong shop was legion, especially as far as
the foreigner was concerned ; the Cafe de Paris and the Cafe
Hardi were the notable exceptions. Truly, as Alfred de Mus-
set said of the former, " You could not open its door for less
than fifteen francs ; " in other words, the prices charged were
very high ; but they were the same for the representatives of
the nations that conquered as for those who were vanquished
at Waterloo. It would be more correct to say that the personnel
of the Cafe, from the proprietor and manager downward, were
utterly oblivious of such distinctions of nationality. Every
one who honored the establishment was considered iDy them a
grand seigneur, for whom nothing could be too good. I re-
member one day in '45 or '46 — for M. Martin Guepet was at the
head of affairs then — Balzac announcing the advent of a Rus-
sian friend, and asking Guepet to put his best foot forward.
" Assuredly, monsieur, we will do so," was the* answer, " be-
cause it is simply what we are in the habit of doing every day."
The retort was sharp, but absolutely justified by facts. One
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 29
was never told at the Cafe de Paris that this or that dish
" could not be recommended," that " the fish could not be
guaranteed." When the quality of the latter was doubtful, it
did not make its appearance on the bill of fare. A propos of
fish, there was a story current in the Cafe de Paris which may
or may not have been the invention of one of the many clever
literary men who foregathered there. It was to the effect that
one of Guepet's predecessors — Angilbert the younger, I be-
lieve— had cast a doubt upon the historical accuracy of the
facts connected with the tragic death of Vatel, the renowned
chef of the Prince de Conde. According to Angilbert, Vatel
did not throw himself upon his sword because the fish for Louis
XIV.'s dinner had not arrived, but because it had arrived, had
been cooked, and was found " not to be so fresh as it might
be." The ehmination of those dishes would have disturbed
the whole of the economy of the ^nemi^ and rather than suffer
such disgrace Vatel made an end of himself. " For you see,
monsieur," Angilbert is supposed to have said, " one can very
well arrange a perfect dinner without fish, as long as one
knows beforehand ; but one cannot modify a service that has
been thought out with it, when it fails at a moment's notice. As
every one of my chefs is a treasure, who would not scruple to
imitate the sacrifice of his famous prototype ; and as I do not
wish to expose him to such a heroic, but inconvenient death,
we take the certain for the uncertain, consequently doubtful
fish means no fish.
Truth or fiction, the story accurately conveys the pride of
the proprietors in the unsullied gastronoinic traditions of the
establishment, and there is no doubt that they were ably
seconded in that respect by every one around them, even to
the clientele itself. Not a single one of the latter would have
called the waiters by their names, nor would these have
ventured to rehearse the names of the dishes in a kind of
slang or mutilated ' French, which is becoming more frequent
day by day, and which is at best but fit as a means of com-
munication between waiters and scullions. Least of all, would
they have numbered the clients, as is done at present. A
gentleman sitting at table No. 5 was -'the gentleman at table
No. 5," not merely " number five." There was little need for
the bellowing and shouting from one end of the room to the
other, because the head waiter himself had an eye everywhere.
The word " addition," which people think it good taste in the
seventies and eighties to employ when asking for their bills,
was never heard. People did not profess to know the nature
30 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
of the arithmetical operation by which the total of theii
liabilities was arrived at ; they left that to the cashier and the
rest of the underlings.
No coal or gas was used in the Cafe de Paris : lamps and
wood fires upstairs ; charcoal, and only that of a peculiar kind,
in the kitchens, which might have been a hundred miles dis-
tant, for all we know, for neither the rattling of dishes nor the
smell of preparation betrayed their vicinity. A charming, sub-
dued hum of voices attested the presence of two or three
score of human beings attending to the inner man ; the idiotic
giggle, the affected little shrieks of the shop-girl or housemaid
promoted to be the companion of the quasi-man of the world
was never heard there. The cabinet par tic ulier was not made
a feature of the Cafe de Paris, artd suppers were out of the
question. Now and then the frank laughter of the younger
members of a family party, and that was all. As a rule, how-
ever, there were few strangers at the Cafe de Paris, or what
are called chance customers, as distinct from periodical ones.
But there were half a score of tables absolutely sacred from
the invasion of no matter whom, such as those of the Marquis
du Hallays, Lord Seymour, the Marquis de St. Cricq, M.
Romieu, Prince Rostopchine, Prince Soltikoff, Dr. Veron, etc.,
etc. Lord Palmerston, when in Paris, scarcely ever dined any-
where else than at the Cafe de Paris — of course I mean when
dining at a public establishment.
Almost every evening there was an interchange of dishes or
of wines between those tables ; for instance. Dr. Veron, of
whom I will have a good deal to say in these notes, and who
was very fond of Musigny vintage, rarely missed offering some
to the Marquis du Hallays, who, in his turn, sent him of the
finest dishes from his table. For all these men not only pro-
fessed to eat well, but never to suffer from indigestion. Their,
gastronomy was really an art, but an art aided by science which
was applied to the simplest dish. One of these was veau a la
casserole, which figured at least three times a week on the bill
of fare, and the like of which I have never tasted elsewhere.
Its recuperative qualities were vouched for by such men as
Alfred de Musset, Balzac, and Alexandre Dumas. The former
partook of it whenever it was on the bill ; the others often
came, after a spell of hard work, to recruit their mental and
bodily strength with it, and maintained that nothing set them
up so effectually.
These three men were particularly interesting to me, and
their names will frequently recur in these notes. I was very
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 3 1
young, and, though perhaps not so enthusiastic about literature
as I was about painting and sculpture, it would indeed have
been surprising if I had remained indifferent to the fascination
experienced by almost every one in their society : for let me
state at once that the great poet, the great playwright, and the
great novelist were even something more than men of genius ;
they were men of the world, and gentlemen who thought it
worth their while to be agreeable companions. Unlike Victor
Hugo, Lamartine, Chateaubriand, and Eugene Sue, all of
whom I knew about the same time, they did not deem it
necessary to stand mentally aloof from ordinary mortals.
Alfred de Musset and Alexandre Dumas were both very hand-
some, but each in a different way. With his tall, slim figure,
auburn wavy hair and beard, blue eyes, and finely-shaped mouth
and nose, De Musset gave one the impression of a dandy
cavalry officer in mufti, rather than a poet : the " Miss Byron "
which Preault the sculptor applied to him was, perhaps, not
altogether undeserved, if judged intellectually and physically
at first sight. There was a feminine grace about all his move-
ments. The " Confessions d'un Enfant du Siecle," his play,
" Frederic and Bernerette," were apt to stir the heart of women
rather than that of men ; but was it not perhaps because the
majority of the strong sex cannot be stirred except with a pole ?
And the poet who was so sensitive to anything rough as to
leave invariably the coppers given to him in exchange, was
unlikely to take voluntarily to such an unwieldy and clumsy
instrument to produce his effects.*
Throughout these notes, I intend to abstain carefully from
literary judgments. I am not competent to enter into them ;
but, if I were, I should still be reluctant to do so in the case of
Alfred de Musset, who, to my knowledge, never questioned the
talent of any one. De Musset improved upon better acquaint-
ance. He was apt to strike one at first as distant and super-
cilious. He was neither the one nor the other, simply very
reserved, and at the best of times very sad, not to say melan-
choly. It was not affectation, as has been said so often ; it was
* This reluctance to handle coppers proved a sore grief to his more economical and less
fastidious brother Paul, who watched like a guardian angel over his junior, whom he wor-
shipped. It is on record that he only said a harsh word to him once in his life, namely,
when they wanted to make him, Paul, a member of the Acad^mie Frangaise. " C'est bien
assez d'un immortel dans la famille," he replied to those who counselled him to stand.
Then, turning to his brother, " Je ne comprends pas pourquoi tu t'es fourre dans cette
galore, si elle est assez grande pour moi, tu dois y etre joliment k Petroit." It is difficult to
imagine a greater instance of brotherly pride and admiration, because Paul de Musset was
by no means a nonentity, only from a very early age he had always merged his individuality
In that of Alfred. To some one who once remarked upon this in my hearing, he answered,
" Que voulez-vous ? c'est commecela: Alfred a eu toujours la moiti6 du lit, seulementla
moiti^ ^tait toujours prise du milieu."
32 AA^ EN-GLISHMAN I.V PARIS.
his nature. The charge of superciliousness arose from his
distressing short-sightedness, which compelled him to stare very
hard at people without the least intention of being offensive.
I have said that Balzac often came, after a spell of hard
work, to recruit his forces with the veau a la casserole of the
Cafe de Paris ; I should have added that this was generally in
the autumn and winter, for, at the end of the spring and dur-
ing the summer, the dinner hour, seven, found Balzac still a
prisoner at home. Few of his acquaintances and friends ever
caught sight of him, they were often in total ignorance of his
whereabouts, and such news as reached them generally came
through Joseph Mery,the poet and novelist, the only one who
came across him during those periods of eclipse. Mery was an
inveterate gambler, and spent night after night at the card-
table. He rarely left it before daybreak. His way lay past
the Cafe de Paris, and for four consecutive mornings he had
met Balzac strolling leisurely up and down, dressed in a panta-
Ion a pieds (trousers not terminating below the ankle, but with
feet in them like stockings), and frock coat with velvet facings.
The second morning, Mery felt surprised at the coincidence ;
the third, he was puzzled ; the fourth, he could hold out no longer,
and asked Balzac the reason of these nocturnal perambulations
round about the same spot. Balzac put his hand in his pocket
and produced an almanack, showing that the sun did not rise
before 3.40. " I am being tracked by the officers of the
Tribunal de Commerce, and obliged to hide myself during the
day ; but at this hour I am free, and can take a walk, for as
long as the sun is not up they cannot arrest me."
I remember having read that Ouvrard, the great army con-
tractor, had done the same for many years ; nevertheless, he
was arrested one day, — the authorities proved that the alman-
ack was wrong, that the sun rose ten minutes earlier than was
stated therein. He brought an action against the compiler and
publishers. They had to pay him damages.
Though literary remuneration was not in those days what it
became later on, it was sufficiently large to make it difficult to
explain the chronic impecuniosity of Balzac, though not that of
Dumas. They were not gamblers, and had not the terrible fits
of idleness or drinking which left De Musset stranded every
now and again. Lamartine suffered from the same complaint,
I mean impecuniosity. There is proof of Balzac's industry and
frugality in two extracts from his letters to his mother, dated
Angouleme, July, 1832, when he himself was thirty-two years
old, and had already written half a dozen masterpieces. " Sev-
AN ENGLISFTMAN IN PARIS. 33
eral bills are due, and, if I cannot find the money for them, I
will have them protested and let the law take its course. It
will give me breathing time, and I can settle costs and all after-
wards."
Meanwhile he works eight hours a day at " Louis Lambert,"
one of the best things among his numberless best things. His
mother sends him a hundred francs, and, perhaps with the same
pen with which he wrote those two marvellous chapters that
stand out like a couple of priceless rubies from among the mass
of other jewels, he thanks her and accounts for them. " For
the copying of the maps, 20 frs. ; for my passport, 10 frs. I owed
15 frs. for discount on one of my bills, and 15 frs. on my fare.
15 frs. for flowers as a birthday present. Lost at cards, 10 frs.
Postage and servant's tips, 15 frs. Total, 100 frs."
But these ten francs have not been lost at one fell swoop ;
they represent his bad luck at the gaining table during the whole
month of his stay at Angouleme, at the house of his friend and
sister's schoolfellow, Madame Zulma Carraud, — hence, some-
thing like seven sous (3^^.) per day ; for which extravagance
he makes up, on his return to Paris, by plunging into work
harder than ever. He goes to roost at 7 p. m., " like the fowls ; "
and he is called at i a. m., when he writes until 8 a. m. He
takes another hour and a half of sleep, and, after partaking of
a light meal, " gets into his collar " until four in the afternoon.
After that, he receives a few friends, takes a bath, or goes out,
and immediately he has swallowed his dinner he '* turns in,"
as stated above. " I shall be compelled to lead this nigger's
life for a few months without stopping, in order not to be
swamped by those terrible bills that are due."
These extracts are not personal recollections. I have inserted
them to make good my statement that Balzac was neither a
gambler, a drunkard, nor an idler.
" How does he spend his money ? " I asked Mery, when he
had told us of his fourth meeting with Balzac on that very morn-
ing.
" In sops to his imagination, in balloons to the land of
dreams, which balloons he constructs with his hard-won earn-
ings and inflates with the essence of his visions, but which
nevertheless will not rise three feet from the earth," he an-
swered. Then he went on explaining : " Balzac is firmly con-
vinced that every one of his characters has had, or has still,
its counterpart in real life, notably the characters that have
risen from humble beginnings to great wealth ; and he thinks
that, having worked out the secret of their success on paper,
3
34 ^^ ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
he can put it in practice. He embarks on the most harum*
scarum speculations without the slightest practical knowl-
edge ; as, for instance, when he drew the plans for his country-
house at the Jardies (Ville d'Avray), and insisted upon the
builder carrying them out in every respect while he was away.
When the place was finished there was not a single staircase.
Of course, they had to put them outside, and he maintained
that it was part of his original plan ; but he had never given a
thought to the means of ascent. But here is Monsieur Louis
Lurine. If you would like an idea of Balzac's impracticability,
let him tell you what occurred between Balzac and Kugelmann
a few months ago."
Kugelmann was at that time publishing a very beautifully
illustrated work, entitled, " Les Rues de Paris," which Louis
Lurine was editing. We were standing outside the Cafe Riche,
and I knew Lurine by sight. Mery introduced me to him.
After a few preliminary remarks, Lurine told us the following
story. Of course, many years have elapsed since, but I think
I can trust to my memory in this instance.
" I had suggested," said Lurine, "that Balzac should do the
Rue de Richelieu, and we sent for him. I did not want more
than half a sheet, so imagine my surprise when Balzac named
his conditions, viz., five thousand francs, something over six
hundred francs a page of about six hundred words. Kugel-
mann began to yell, I simply smiled ; seeing which, Balzac said,
as soberly as possible, ' You'll admit that, in order to depict a
landscape faithfully, one should study its every detail. Well,
how would you have me describe the Rue de Richelieu, convey
an idea of its commercial aspect, unless I visit, one after the
other, the various establishments it contains ? Suppose I begin
by the Boulevard des Italiens : I'd be bound to take my de-
jeuner at the Cafe Cardinal, I would have to buy a couple of
scores at Brandus', a gun at the gunsmith's next door, a breast-
pin at the next shop. Could I do less than order a coat at the
tailor's, a pair of boots at the bootmaker's ? "
" I cut him short. ' Don't go any further,' I said, ' or else
we'll have you in at " Compagnie des Indes," and, as both lace
and Indian shawls have gone up in price, we'll be bankrupt
before we know where we are.'
"Consequently," concluded l/urine, "the thing fell through,
and we gave the commission to Guenot-Lacointe, who has done
the thing very well and has written twice the pages Balzac was
asked for, without buying as much as a pair of gloves."
When Balzac was not being harassed by the officials of the
AM ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 35
Tribunal de Commerce, he had to dodge the authorities of the
National Guards, who generally had a warrant against him for
neglect of duty. Unlike his great contemporary Dumas, Bal-
zac had an invincible repugnance to play the amateur warrior
— a repugnance, by-the-by, to which we owe one of the most
masterly portraits in his wonderful gallery, that of the self-
satisfied, bumptious, detestable bourgeois, who struts about in
his uniform; I am alluding to Crevel of "La Cousine Bette."
But civic discipline could take no cognizance of the novelist's
likes and dislikes, and, after repeated " notices " and " warn-
ings," left at his registered domicile, his incarceration was
generally decided upon. As a rule, this happened about half
a dozen times in a twelvemonth.
The next thing was to catch the refractory national guard,
which was not easy, seeing that, in order to avoid an enforced
sojourn at the Hotel des Haricots, ^ Balzac not only disap-
peared from his usual haunts, but left his regular domicile, and
took an apartment elsewhere under an assumed name. On
one occasion, at a small lodging which he had taken near his
publisher, Hippoiyte Souverain, under the name of Madame
Dupont, Leon Gozlan, having found him out, sent him a letter
addressed to " Madame Dupont, 7iee Balzac."
The sergeant-major of Balzac's company had undoubtedly a
grudge against him. He happened to be a perfumer, and ever
since the publication and success of " Cesar Birotteau " the
Paris perfumers bore Balzac no good will. That particular one
had sworn by all his essences and bottles that he would lay
hands on the recalcitrant private of his company in the streets,
for only under such conditions could he arrest him. To watch
at Balzac's ordinary domicile was of no use, and, when he had
discovered his temporary residence, he had to lure him out of
it, because the other was on his guard.
One morning, while the novelist was hard at work, his old
housekeeper, whom he always took with him, came to tell him
that there was a large van downstairs with a case addressed to
him. " How did they find me out here } " exclaimed Balzac,
and despatched the dame to gather further particulars. In a
few moments she returned. The case contained an Etruscan
vase sent from Italy, but, seeing that it had been knocking
about for the last three days in every quarter of Paris in the
carman's efforts to find out the consignee, the former was anx-
* The name of the military prison which was originally built on the site of the former
College Montaigu, where the scholars were almost exclusively fed on haricot beaus.
Throughout its removals the prison preserved its nickname. — Editor,
36 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
ious that M. Balzac should verify the intact condition of the
package before it was unloaded. Balzac fell straight into the
trap. Giving himself no time even to exchange his dressing-
gown, or rather his monk's frock he was in the habit of wear-
ing, for a coat, or his slippers for a pair of boots, he rushed
downstairs, watching with a benign smile the carrier handling
most delicately the treasure that had come to him.
" Caught at last," said a stentorian voice behind him, and
dispelling the dream as its owner laid his hand on the novelist's
shoulder, while a gigantic companion planted himself in front
of the street door and cut off all retreat that way.
" With a refinement of cruelty, which in the eyes of posterity
will considerably diminish the glory of his victory " — I am
quoting Balzac's own words as he related the scene to us at
the Hotel des Haricots — the sergeant-major perfumer would
not allow his prisoner to change his clothes, and while the van
with the precious Etruscan vase disappeared in the distance,
Balzac was hustled into a cab to spend a week in durance vile,
where on that occasion he had the company of Adolphe Adam,
the composer of " Le Postilion de Lonjumeau."
However, " les jours de fete etaient passes," and had been
for the last five years, ever since the Hotel des Haricots
had been transferred from the town mansion of the De Bazan
courts in the Rue des Fosses-Saint-Germain to its then locale
near the Orleans railway station. There were no more banquets
in the refectory as there had been of yore. Each prisoner had
his meals in his cell. Joseph Mery, Nestor Roqueplan, and I
were admitted as the clock struck two, and had to leave ex-
actly an hour afterwards. It was during this visit that Balzac
enacted the scene for us which I have endeavored to describe
above, and reminded Mery of the last dinner he had given to
Dumas, Jules Sandeau, and several others in the former prison,
which dinner cost five hundred francs. Eugene Sue, who was
as unwilling as Balzac to perform his civic duties, had had
three of his own servants to wait upon him there, and some of
his plate and silver brought to his cell.
Seeing that the name of the celebrated author of "Les
Mystferes de Paris " has presented itself in the course of these
notes, I may just as well have done with him, for he forms part
oi the least agreeable of my recollections. He was also an
habitue of the Cafe de Paris. A great deal has been written
about him ; what has never been sufiiciently insisted upon was
the inveterate snobbishness of the man. When I first knew him,
about '42 — '43, he was already in the zenith of his glory, but
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 37
1 had often heard others mention his name before then, and
never very favorably. His dandyism was offensive, mainly
because it did not sit naturally upon him. It did not spring
from an innate refinement, but from a love of show, although
his father, who had been known to some of the son's familiars,
was a worthy man, a doctor, and, it appears, a very good
doctor, but somewhat brusque, like our own Abernethy ; still
much more of a gentleman at heart than the son. He did not
like Eugene's extravagance, and when the latter, about '24,
launched out into a cabriolet, he shipped him off on one of the
king's vessels, as a surgeon ; to which fact French literature
owed the first novels of the future author of " Les Mysteres de
Paris " and " Le Juif-Errant."
But the father was gathered to his fathers, and Eugene, who
had never taken kindly to a seafaring life, returned to Paris,
to spend his inheritance and to resume his old habits, which
made one of his acquaintances say that " le pbre and le fils had
both entered upon a better life." It appears that, though
somewhat of a poseur from the very beginning, he was witty
and amusing, and readily found a<:cess to the circle that fre-
quented the gardens of the Tivoli and the Cafe de Paris.*
They, in their turn, made him a member of the Jockey Club
when it was founded, which kindness they unanimously re-
gretted, as will be seen directly.
The Tivoli gardens, though utterly forgotten at present, was
in reality the birthplace of the French Jockey Club. About the
year 1833 a man named Bryon, one of whose descendants keeps,
at the hour I write, a large livery stable near the Grand Caf^,
opened a pigeon-shooting gallery in the Tivoli ; the pigeons,
from what I have heard, mainly consisting of quails, larks, and
other birds. The pigeons shot at were wooden ones, poised up
high in the air, but motionless, as we still see them at the
suburban fairs around Paris. Seven years before, Bryon had
started a " society of amateurs of races," to whom, for a certain
consideration, he let a movable stand at private meetings,
for there were no others until the Society for the Encourage-
ment of breeding French Horses started operations in 1834.
But the deliberations at first took place at Bryon's place in the
Tivoli gardens, and continued there until, one day, Bryon
asked the fourteen or fifteen members why they should not
have a locale of their own ; the result was that they took
* There were two Tivoli gardens, both in the same neighborhood, the site of the present
Quartierde 1' Europe. The author is alluding to the second, so often mentioned in the
novels of Paul de Kock. — Editor.
3S AJV ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
modest quarters in the Rue du Helder, or rather amalgamated
with a small club located there under the name of Le Bouge
(The Den) ; for Lord Seymour, the Duke de Nemours, Prince
Demidoff, and the rest were sufficiently clear-sighted to per-
ceive that a Jockey Club governed on the English principle
was entirely out of the question. That was the origin of the
French Jockey Club, which, after various migrations, is, at the
time of writing, magnificently housed in one of the palatial
mansions of the Rue Scribe. As a matter of course, some of the
fashionable habitues of the Cafe de Paris, though not knowing
a fetlock from a pastern, were but too pleased to join an in-
stitution which, with the mania for everything English in full
swing, then conferred as it were upon its members a kind of
patent of " good form," and, above all, of exclusiveness, for
which some, even amidst the flesh-pots of the celebrated
restaurant, longed. Because, it must be remembered, though
the majority of the company at the Cafe de Paris were very
well from the point of view of birth and social position, there
was no possibility of excluding those who could lay no claim
to such distinctions, provided they had the money to pay their
reckoning, and most of them had more than enough for that.
It appears that Eugene Sue was not so objectionable as he
became afterwards, when the wonderful success of his
" Mysteres de Paris " and the " Juif- Errant " had turned his
head ; he was made an original member of the club. Election
on the nomination by three sponsors was not necessary then.
That article was not inserted in the rules until two years after
the foundation of the Paris Jockey Club.
Of the success attending Sue's two best-known works, I can
speak from personal experience ; for I was old enough to be
impressed by it, and foolish enough to rank him, on account
of it, with Balzac and Dumas, perhaps a little higher than
the former. After the lapse of many years, I can only
console myself for my infatuation with the thought that
thousands, of far greater intellectual attainments than mine,
were in the same boat, for it must not be supposed that the
fnroi-e created by " Les Mysteres de Paris " was confined to
one class, and that class the worst educated one. While it
appeared in serial form in the Debats^ one had to bespeak the
paper several hours beforehand, because, unless one subscribed
to it, it was impossible to get it from the news-vendors. As
for the reading-rooms where it was supposed to be kept, the
proprietors frankly laughed in your face if you happened to
ask for it, after you had paid your two sous admission.
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 39
" Monsieur is joking. We have got five copies, and we let
them out at ten sous each for half an hou-- .- that's the time it
takes to read M. Sue's story. We have one copy here, and if
monsieur likes to take his turn he may do so, though he will
probably have to wait for three or four hou^s."
At last the guileless demoiselle behind ihe counter found
even a more effective way of fleecing her clients. The cabinets
de lecture altered their fees, and the t\yo sous, which until then
had conferred the right of staying as long as one liked, were
transformed into the price of admission for one hour. Each
reader received a ticket on entering, stating the time, and the
shrewd caissiere made the round every ten minutes. I may
say without exaggeration that the days on which the instal-
ment of fiction was " crowded out," there was a general air of
listlessness about Paris. And, after the first few weeks, this
happened frequently ; for by that time the Bertins had be-
come quite as clever as their formidable rival, the proprietor
and editor of the Constitutionnel^ the famous Dr. Veron, whom
I have already mentioned, but of whom I shall have occasion
to speak again and again, for he was one of the most notable
characters in the Paris of my early manhood. But to return
for a moment to " Les Mysteres de Paris " and its author.
The serial, then, was frequently interrupted for one or two
days, without notice, however, to the readers ; and on its re-
sumption there was a nice little paragraph to reassure the
" grandes dames de par le monde," as well as their maids,
with regard to the health of M. Sue, who was supposed to have
been too ill to work. The public took all this au grand sir ieux.
They either chose to forget, or were ignorant of the fact, that
a novel of that kind, especially in the early days of serial
feuilleton, was not delivered to the editor bit by bit. Sue,
great man as he was,* would not have dared to inaugurate the
system only adopted somewhat later by Alexandre Dumas the
Elder, namely, that of writing " from hand to mouth." These
paragraphs served a dual purpose — they whetted the lady and
other readers' interest in the author, and informed the indiffer-
ent ones how great that interest was. For these paragraphs
were, or professed to be, — I really believe they were, — the
courteous replies to hundreds of kind inquiries which the
author " could not acknowledge separately for lack of time."
But this was not all. There was really a good excuse for
Eugene Sue " se prenant au sdrieux," seeing that some of the
most eminent magistrates looked upon him in that light and
opened a correspondence with him, submitting their ideas
40 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
about reforming such criminals as " le maitre d'e'cole," and
praising Prince Rodolph, or rather Eugene Sue under that
name, for ''his laudable efforts in the cause of humanity."
In reality, Sue was in the position of Moliere's " bourgeois
gentilhomme " who spoke prose without being aware of it ;
for there was not the smallest evidence, from his former work,
that he intended to inaugurate any crusade, either socialistic
or philanthropic, when he began his " Mysteres de Paris.'
He simply wanted to write a stirring novel. But, unlike M.
Jourdaih, he did not plead ignorance of his own good motives
when congratulated upon them. On the contrary, he gravely
and officially replied in the Dtbats without winking. Some of
the papers, not to be outdone, gravely recounted how whole
families had been converted from their evil ways by the perusal
of the novel ; how others, after supper, had dropped on their
knees to pray for their author ; how one working man had ex-
claimed, "You may say what you like, it would be a good thing
if Providence sent many men like M. Sue in this world to take
up the cudgels of the honest and struggling artisan." There-
upon Beranger, who did not like to be forgotten in this chorus
of praise, paid a ceremonious visit to Sue, and between the
two they assumed the protectorship of the horny-handed son
of toil.
It must not be supposed that I am joking or exagger-
ating, and that the engoiiinent was confined to the lower
classes, and to provincial and metropolitan faddists.
Such men as M. de Lourdoueix, the editor of the Gazette de
France^ fell into the trap. I have pointed out elsewhere that
the republicans and socialists of those days were not necessarily
godless folk, and M. de Lourdoueix fitly concluded that a
socialistic writer like Sue might become a powerful weapon in
his hands against the Jesuits. So he went to the novelist, and
gave him a commission to that effect. The latter accepted,
and conceived the plot of "The Wandering Jew." When it
was sketched out, he communicated it to the editor ; but
whether that gentleman had reconsidered the matter in the
interval, or whether he felt frightened at the horribly tragic
conception with scarcely any relief, he refused the novel,
unless it was modified to a great extent and its blood-curdling
episodes softened. The author, taking himself an serieux this
time as a religious reformer, declined to alter a line. Dr.
Veron got wind of the affair, bought the novel as it stood, and,
by dint of a system of puffing and advertising which would
even make a modern American stare, obtained a success with
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 41
it in the Constitutionnel which equalled if it did not surpass
that of the Debats with the " Mysteres."
" It is very amusing indeed," said George Sand one night,
" but there are too many animals. I hope we shall soon get
out of this menagerie." Nevertheless, she frankly admitted
that she would not like to miss an instalment for ever so
much.
Meanwhile Sue posed and posed, not as a writer — for, like
Horace Walpole, he was almost ashamed of the title — but as
" a man of the world " who knew nothing about literature, but
whose wish to benefit humanity had been greater than his
reluctance to enter the lists with such men as Balzac and
Dumas. After his dinner at the Cafe de Paris, he would
gravely stand on the steps smoking his cigar and listen to the
conversation with an air of superiority without attempting to
take part in it. His mind was supposed to be far away, devising
schemes for the social and moral improvement of his fellow-
creatures. These philanthropic musings did not prevent him
from paying a great deal of attention — too much perhaps — to
his personal appearance, for even in those days of beaux,
bucks, and dandies, of Counts d'Orsay and others, men could
not help thinking Eugene Sue overdressed. He rarely ap-
peared without spurs to his boots, and he would no more have
done without a new pair of white kid gloves every evening than
without his dinner. Other men, like Nestor de Roqueplan,
Alfred de Musset, Major Fraser, all of whose names will fre-
quently recur in these notes, did not mind having their gloves
cleaned, though the process was not so perfect as it is now ;
Eugene Sue averred that the smell of cleaned gloves made him
ill. Alfred de Musset, who could be very impertinent when
he liked, but who was withal a very good fellow, said one day :
" Mais enfin, mon ami, ga ne sent pas pire que les bouges que
vous nous depeignez. N'y seriez vous jamais alle ? "
In short, several years before the period of which I now treat,
Eugene Sue had begun to be looked upon coldly at the Jockey
Club on account of the " airs he gave himself ; " and three
years before the startling success of his work, he had altogether
ceased to go there, though he was still a member, and remained
so nominally until '47, when his name was removed from the
list in accordance with Rule 5. Owing to momentary
pecuniary embarrassments, he had failed to pay his subscrip-
tion. It may safely be asserted that this was merely a pretext
to get rid of him, because such stringent measures are rarely
resorted to at any decent club, whether in London or Paris,
42 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
and least of all at the Jockey Clubs there. The fact was, tha'
the members did not care for a fellow-member whose taste
differed so materially from their own, whose daily avocations
and pursuits had nothing in common with theirs ; for though
Eugene Sue as early as 1835 ^^<^ possessed a race-horse, named
Mameluke, which managed to come in a capital last at Maison-
sur-Seine (afterwards Maisons-Lafitte) ; though he had ridden
his haque every day in the Bois, and driven his cabriolet every
afternoon in the Champs-Elysees, the merest observer could
easily perceive that all this was done for mere show, to use the
French expression, " pose." As one of the members observed,
" M. Sue est toujours trop habille, trop carosse, et surtout trop
^peronne."
M. Sue was all that, and though the Jockey Club at that
time was by no means the unobtrusive body of men it is to-day,
its excesses and eccentricities were rarely indulged in public,
except perhaps in carnival time. A. M. de Chateauvillard
might take it into his head to play a game of billiards on horse-
back, or M. de Machado might live surrounded by a couple of
hundred parrots if he liked ; none of these fancies attracted the
public's notice : M. Sue, by his very profession, attracted too
much of it, and brought a great deal of it into the club itself ;
hence, when he raised a violent protest against his expulsion
and endeavored to neutralize it by sending in his resignation,
the committee maintained its original decision. A few years
after this, Eugene Sue disappeared from the Paris horizon.
CHAPTER III.
Among my most pleasant recollections of those days are
those of Alexandre Dumas. To quote his own words, " when-
ever he m.et an Englishman he considered it his particular duty
to make himself agreeable to him, as part of the debt he owed
to Shakespeare and Walter Scott." I doubt whether Dumas
ever made himself deliberately disagreeable to any one ; even
when provoked, he managed to disarm his adversary with an
epigram, rather than wound him. One evening, a professor at
one of the provincial universities had been dining at the Cafe
de Paris, as the guest of Roger de Beauvoir. He had a
magnificent cameo breast-pin. It elicited the admiration of
every one, and notably that of Dumas. He said at once that
it was a portrait of Julius Caesar.
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 43
" Are you an archaeologist ? " asked the professor.
" I," replied Dumas, " I am absolutely nothing."
" Still," insisted the visitor, " you perceived at once that it
was a portrait of Julius Caesar."
" That is not very wonderful. Caesar is essentially a Rorn.an
type ; and, beside, I know Caesar as well as most people, and
perhaps better."
To tell a professor of history — especially a provincial one — ■
that one knows Caesar as well as most people and perhaps
better, is naturally to provoke the question, " In what capaci-
ty.? " As a matter of course the question followed immedi-
ately.
" In the capacity of Caesar's historian," said Dumas, im-
perturbably.
We were getting interested, because we foresaw that the
professor would, in a few minutes, get the worst of it. Dumas'
eyes were twinkling with mischief.
" You have v/ritten a history of Caesar ? " asked the learned
man.
" Yes ; why not ? "
"Well, you won't mind my being frank with you : it is
because it has never been mentioned in the world of savants."
" The world of savants never mentions me."
"Still, a history of Caesar ought to make somewhat of a
sensation."
" Mine has not made any. People read it, and that was
all. It is the books which it is impossible to read that make a
sensation: they are like the dinners one cannot digest; the
dinners one digests are not as much as thought of next
morning." That was Dumas' way of putting a would-be
impertinent opponent hors de combat, and his repartees were
frequently drawn from the pursuit he loved as well, if not
better than literature, namely, cooking. It may sound exag-
gerated, but I verily believe that Dumas took a greater pride
in concocting a stew than in constructing a novel or a play.
Very often, in the middle of the dinner, he would put down
his knife and fork. " Ca, c'est rudement bon : il faut que je
m'en procure la recette." And Guepet was sent for to au-
thorize Dumas to descend to the lower regions and have a
Consultation with his chefs. He was the only one of the
habitues who had ever been in the kitchens of the Caf^ de
Paris. As a rule these excursions were followed by an
invitation to dme at Dumas' two or three days hence, when
the knowledge freshly acquired would be put into practice.
44 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
There were few of us who questioned Dumas' literary
genius ; there were many who suspected his cuHnary abilitieSj
and notably among them, Dr. Veron. The germs of this un-
belief had been sown in the doctor's mind by his own cordon-
bleu, Sophie. The erstwhile director of the opera lived, at that
time, in a beautiful apartment on the first floor of a nice house
in the Rue Taitbout, at the corner of which the Cafe de Paris
was situated. Sophie had virtually a sinecure of it, because,
with the exception of a dinner-party now and then, her master,
who was a bachelor, took his dinners at the restaurant. And
with regard to the dejeuner, there was not much chance of her
displaying her talents, because the man, who was reputed to
be a very Apicius, was frugality itself. His reasons for
dining out instead of at home were perfectly logical, though
they sounded paradoxical. One day, when I was remarking
upon the seemingly strange habit of dining out, when he was
paying " a perfect treasure " at home, he gave me these reasons.
" My dear friend, depend upon it that it is man's stomach
which found the aphorism, ' Qui va piano va sano, qui va
sano va lontano.^ In your own home the soup is on the table
at a certain hour, the roast is taken off the jack, the dessert is
spread out on the sideboard. Your servants, in order to
get more time over their meals, hurry you up ; they do not
serve you, they gorge you. At the restaurant, on the contrary,
they are never in a hurry, they let you wait. And, besides, I
always tell the waiters not to mind me ; that I like being kept
a long while — that is one of the reasons why I come here.
" Another thing, at the restaurant the door is opened at
every moment and something happens. A friend, a chum, or
a mere acquaintance comes in ; one chats and laughs : all this
aids digestion. A man ought not to be like a boa-constrictor,
he ought not to make digestion a business apart. He ought
to dine and to digest at the same time, and nothing aids this
dual function like good conversation. Perhaps the servant of
Madame de Maintenon, when the latter was still Madame
Scarron, was a greater philosopher than we suspect when he
whispered to his mistress, ' Madame, the roast has run short ;
give them 'another story.'
" I knew a philanthropist," wound up Dr. Veron, ''who ob-
jected as much to be hurried over his emotions as I object to
be hurried over my meals. For that reason he never went to
the theatre. When he wanted an emotional fillip, he wandered
about the streets until he met some poor wretch evidently hun-
gry and out of elbows, He took him to the nearest wine-shop,
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 45
gave him something to eat and to drink, sat himself opposite
to his guest, and told him to recount his misfortunes. ' But
take your time over it. I am not in a hurry,' he recommended.
The poor outcast began his tale ; my friend listened attentively
until he was thoroughly moved. If the man's story was very
sad, he gave him a franc or two ; if it was positively heart-
rending and made him cry, he gave him a five-franc piece;
after which, he came to see me, saying, ' I have thoroughly en-
joyed myself, and made the intervals between each sensational
episode last as long as I liked, and, what is more, it has just
cost me seven francs, the price of a stall at the theatre.' "
To return to Dr. Veron's scepticism with regard to Dumas'
culinary accomplishments, and how he was converted. Dumas,
it appears, had got the recipe for stewing carp from a German
lady, and, being at that moment on very friendly terms with
Dr. Veron, which was not always the case, had invited him
and several others to come and taste the results of his experi-
ments. The dish was simply splendid, and for days and days
Veron, who was really a frugal eater, could talk of nothing else
to his cook.
" Where did you taste it ? " said Sophie, getting somewhat
jealous of this praise of others ; " at the Cafe de Paris ? "
" No, at Monsieur Dumas'," was the answer.
"Well, then, I'll go to Monsieur Dumas' cook, and get the
recipe."
" That's of no use," objected her master. " Monsieur Dumas
prepared the dish himself."
" Well, then, I'll go to Monsieur Dumas himself and ask
him to give me the recipe."
Sophie was as good as her word, and walked herself off to
the Chaussee d'Antin. The great novelist felt flattered, and
gave her every possible information, but somehow the dish was
not like that her master had so much enjoyed at his friend's.
Then Sophie grew morose, and began to throw out hints about
the great man's borrowing other people's feathers in his culi-
nary pursuits, just as he did in his literary ones. For Sophie
was not altogether illiterate, and the papers at that time were
frequently charging Dumas with keeping his collaborateurs too
much in the background and himself too much in front. Du-
mas had never much difficulty in meeting such accusations, but
Sophie had unconsciously hit upon the tactics of the clever
solicitor who recommended the barrister to abuse the plaintiff,
the defendant's case being bad, and she put it into practice.
" C'est avec sa carpe comme avec ses romans, les autres les
46 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
font et il y met son nom," she said one day. " Je I'ai bien vu,
c'est un grand diable de vaniteux."
Now, there was no doubt about it, to those who did not
know him very well, Dumas was " un grand diable de vani-
teux , ' and the worthy doctor sat pondering his cook's remarks
until he himself felt inclined to think that Dumas had a clever
chef in the background, upon whose victories he plumed him-
self. Meanwhile Dumas had been out of town for more than
a month, but a day or so after his return he made his appear-
ance at the Cafe de Paris, and, as a matter of course, inquired
after the result of Sophie's efforts. The doctor was reticent
at first, not caring to acknowledge Sophie's failure. He had,
however, made the matter public, alleging, at the same time,
Sophie's suspicions as to Dumas' hidden collaborateur, and
one of the company was ill-advised enough to let the cat out
of the bag. During the many years of my acquaintance with
Dumas, I have never seen him in such a rage as then. But he
toned down in a very few minutes. " II n'y a qu'une reponse
k une accusation pareille," he said in a grandiloquent tone,
which, however, had the most comical effect, seeing how tri-
fling the matter was in reality — " il n'y a qu'une reponse ; vous
viendrez diner avec moi demain, vous choisirez un delegue qui
viendra a partir de trois heures me voir preparer mon diner."
I was the youngest, the choice fell upon me. That is how my
lifelong friendship with Dumas began. At three o'clock next
day I was at the Chausses d'Antin, and was taken by the
servant into the kitchen, where the great novelist stood sur-
rounded by his utensils, some of silver, and all of them glisten-
ing like silver. With the exception of a soupe aux choux, at
which, by his own confession, he had been at work since the
morning, all the ingredients for the dinner were in their natural
state — of course, washed and peeled, but nothing more. He
was assisted by his own cook and a kitchen-maid, but he him-
self, with his sleeves rolled up to the elbows, a large apron
round his waist, and bare chest, conducted the operations. I
do not think I have ever seen anything more entertaining,
though in the course of these notes I shall have to mention
frequent vagaries on the part of great men. I came to the
conclusion that when writers insisted upon the culinary chal-
lenges of Careme Duglere and Casimir they were not indulging
in mere metaphor.
At half-past six the guests began to arrive ; at a quarter to
seven Dumas retired to his dressing-room ; at seven punctually
the servant announced that "monsieur etait servi." The din-
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 47
ner consisted of the aforenamed soupe aux choux, the carp that
had led to the invitation, a ragout de mouton a la Hongroise,
roti de faisans, and a salade Japonaise. The sweets and ices
had been sent by the patissier. I never dined like that before
or after, not even a week later, when Dr. Veron and Sophie
made the amende hotiorable in the Rue Taitbout.
I have spent many delightful evenings with all these men ;
I do not remember having spent a more delightful one than on
the latter occasion. Every one was in the best of humors ;
the dinner was very fine, albeit that, course for course, it did
not come up to Dumas' ; and, moreover, during the week that
had elapsed between the two entertainments, one of Dr. Veron's
successors at the opera, Leon Pillet, had been served with the
most ludicrous citation that was ever entered on the rolls of
any tribunal. For nearly nineteen years before that period
there had been several attempts to mount Weber's " Frei-
schiltz," all of which had come to nought. There had been
an adaptation by Castil-Blaze, under the title of " Robin des
Bois," and several others ; but until '41, Weber's work, even
in a mutilated state, was not known to the French opera-goer.
At that time, however, M. Emilien Paccini made a very good
translation ; Hector Berlioz was commissioned to write the
recitatives, for it must be remembered that Weber's opera con-
tains dialogue, and that dialogue is not admissible in grand
opera. Berlioz acquitted himself with a taste and reverence
for the composer's original scheme that did great credit to
both ; he sought his themes in Weber's work itself, notably in
the " Invitation a la Valse : " but notwithstanding all this, the
" Freischiitz " was miserably amputated in the performance,
lest it should ''play " longer than midnight, though a ballet
was added rather than deprive the public of its so-called due.
Neither Paccini nor Berlioz had set foot in the opera-house
since their objections to such a course had been overruled,
and they made it known to the world at large that no blame
attached to them ; nevertheless, this quasi " Freischiitz " met
with a certain amount of success. M. Pillet was rubbing his
hands with glee at his own cleverness, until a Nemesis came
in the shape of a visitor from the fatherland, who took the
conceit out of the director with one fell blow, and, what was
worse still, with a perfectly legal one.
The visitor was no less a personage than Count Tyszkiewicz,
one of the best musical critics of the time and the editor of the
foremost musical publication in the world, namely. Die Musik-
alische Zeitung, of Leipzig. The count, having been attracted
48 AiSf ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
by the announcement of the opera on the bills, was naturally
anxious to hear how French artists would acquit themselves of
a work particularly German, and, having secured a stall, antici-
pated an enjoyable evening. But alack and alas ! in a very
little while his indignation at the liberties taken with the text
and the score by the singers, musicians, and conductor got the
upper hand, and he rushed off to the commissary of police on
duty at the theatre to claim the execution of Weber's opera in
its integrity, as promised on the bills, or the . restitution of his
money. Failing to get satisfaction either way, he required the
commissary to draw up a verbatim report of his objections and
his claim, determined to bring an action. Next morning, he
sent a lithographed account of the transaction to all the papers,
requesting its insertion, with which request not a single one
complied. Finding himself baffled at every turn, he engaged
lawyer and counsel and began proceedings.
It was at that stage of the affair that the dinner at Dr. Ve-
ron's took place. As a matter of course, the coming lawsuit
gave rise to a great deal of chaff on the part of the guests, al-
though the victim of this badinage and defendant in the suit
was not there. It was his successor who took up the cudgels
and predicted the plaintiff's discomfiture. " The counsel,"
said Roqueplan, " ought to be instructed to invite the president
and assessors to come and hear the work before they deliver
judgment : if they like it personally, they will not decide
against Fillet ; if they don't, they'll fall asleep and be ashamed
to own it afterwards. But should they give a verdict for the
plaintiff. Fillet ought to appeal on a question of incompetence ;
a person with the name of Tyszkiewicz has no right to plead in
the interest of harmony." *
Among such a company as that gathered round Dr. Veron's
table, a single sentence frequently led to a host of recollection.
Scarcely had Roqueplan's suggestion to invite the president
and assessors of the court to the performance of the " Frei-
schiitz" been broached than our host chimed in : "I can tell
you a story where the expedient you recommend was really re-
sorted to, though it did not emanate from half as clever a man
as you, Roqueplan. In fact, it was only a pompier that hit
upon it to get out of a terrible scrape. He was going to be
brought before a court-martial for neglect of duty. It happened
* The latter plea was, in fact, advanced by Fillet's counsel in the first instance, on Roque-
plan's advice, and perhaps influenced the court ; for though it gave a verdict for the plaintiff,
It was only for sevett francs (the price of the stall), and costs. The verdict was based upon
the " consideration '' that the defendant had not carried out altogether the promise set forth
on the programme.
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 49
under the management of my immediate successor, Duponchel,
at the fourth or fifth performance of Halevy's * Guido et Gene-
vra.' Some of the scenery caught fire, and, but for Duponchel's
presence of mind, there would have been a panic and a horrible
catastrophe. Nevertheless, the cause of the accident had to
be ascertained, and it was found that the brigadier fireman
posted at the spot where the mischief began had been asleep.
He frankly admitted his fault, at the same time pleading ex-
tenuating circumstances. ' What do you mean ? ' asked the
captain, charged with the report. ' Such a thing has never
happened to me before, mon capitaine, but it is impossible for
any one to keep his eyes open during that act. You need not
take my word, but perhaps you will try the effect yourself.'
The captain did try ; the captain sat for two or three minutes
after the rise of the curtain, then he was seen to leave his place
hurriedly. The brigadier and his men were severely repri-
manded, but they were not tried. Out of respect for Halevy
the matter was kept a secret.
" I may add," said our host, " that the pompier is by no
means a bad judge of things theatrical, seeing that he is rarely
away from the stage for more than three or four nights at a
time. I remember perfectly well that, during the rehearsals of
* Robert le Diable,' Meyerbeer often had a chat with them.
Curiously enough he now and then made little alterations after
these conversations. I am not insinuating that the great com-
poser acted upon their suggestions, but I should not at all
wonder if he had done so."
Alexandre Dumas, in whose honor, it will be remembered,
the dinner was given, had an excellent memory, and some
years afterwards profited by the experiment. I tell the story
as it was given to us subsequently by his son. Only a few
friends and Alexandre the younger were present at the first of
the final rehearsals of " The Three Musketeers," at the Ambigu
Comique. They were not dress rehearsals proper, because
there were no costumes, and the scenery merely consisted of a
cloth and some wings. Behind one of the latter they had no-
ticed, during the first six tableaux, the shining helmet of a fire-
man who was listening very attentively. The author had no-
ticed him too. About the middle of the seventh tableaux the
helmet suddenly vanished, and the father remarked upon it to
his son. When the act was finished, Dumas went in search of
the pompier, who did not know him. " What made you go
away ? " he asked him. " Because it did not amuse me half as
much as the others," was the answer. " That was enough for
4
50 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
my father," said the younger Dumas. "There and then he
went to Beraud's room, took off his coat, waistcoat, and braces,
unfastened the collar of his shirt — it was the only way he could
work — and he sent for the prompt copy of the seventh tableau,
which he tore up and flung into the fire, to the consternation
of Beraud. ' What are you doing ? ' he exclaimed. ' You see
what I am doing ; I am destroying the seventh tableau. It
does not amuse the pompier. I know what it wants.' And
an hour and a half later, at the termination of the rehearsal,
the actors were given a fresh seventh tableau to study."
I have come back by a roundabout way to the author of
" Monte-Christo," because, tout chemin avec moi mene a
Dumas ; 1 repeat, he constitutes one of the happiest of my
recollections. After the lapse of many years, I wiUingly admit-
that I would have cheerfully foregone the acquaintance of all
the other celebrities, perhaps David d' Angers excepted, for
that of Dumas pere.
After the lapse of many years, the elder Dumas still rep-
resents to me all the good qualities of the French nation and
few of their bad ones. It was absolutely impossible to be dull
in his society, but it must not be thought that these contagious
animal spirits only showed themselves periodically or when in
company. It was what the French have so aptly termed " la
joie de vivre," albeit that they rarely associate the phrase with
any one not in the spring of life. With Dumas it was chronic
until a very few months before his death. I remember calling
upon him shortly after the dinner of which I spoke just now.
He had taken up his quarters at Saint-Germain, and come to
Paris only for a few days. " Is monsieur at home ? " I said to
the servant.
" He is in his study, monsieur," was the answer. " Monsieur
can go in."
At that moment I heard a loud burst of laughter from the
inner apartment, so I said, " I would sooner wait until mon-
sieur's visitors are gone."
" Monsieur has no visitors ; he is working," remarked the
servant with a smile. " Monsieur Dumas often laughs like
this at his work."
It was true enough, the novelist was alone or rather in com-
pany with one of his characters, at whose sallies he was simply
roaring.
Work, in fact, was a pleasure to him, like everything else he
undertook. One day he had been out shooting, between
Villers-Cotterets and Compiegne, since six in the morning, and
A.V ENGLISHMAN IN PA RIS. ■ 5 1
had killed twenty-nine birds. " I am going to make up the
score and a half, and then I'll have a sleep, for I feel tired,"
he said. When he had killed his thirtieth partridge he slowly
walked back to the farm, where his son and friends found him
about four hours later, toasting himself before the are, his feet
on the andirons, and twirling his thumbs.
" What are you sitting there for like that } " asked his son.
" Can't you see } I am resting."
" Did you get your sleep ? "
" No, I didn't ; it's impossible to sleep here. There is an
infernal noise ; what with the sheep, the cows, the pigs, and
the rest, there is no chance of getting a wink."
" So you have been sitting here for the last four hours, twirl-
ing your thumbs ? "
" No, I have been writing a piece in one act." The piece in
question was " Romulus," which he gave to Regnier to have
it read at the Comedie-Frangaise, under a pseudonym, and as
the work of a young unknown author. It was accepted with-
out a dissentient vote.
It is a well-known fact, vouched for by the accounts of the
Compagnie du Chemin de Fer de I'Ouest, that during the
three years Dumas lived at Saint-Germain, the receipts in-
creased by twenty thousand francs per annum. Of course, it
has been objected that railways being then in their infancy the
increment would have been just the same without Dumas' pre-
sence in the royal residence, but, curiously enough, from the
day he left, the passenger traffic fell to its previous state.
Dumas had simply galvanized the sleepy old town into life, he
had bought the theatre where the artists of the Comedie-
Fran^aise, previous to supping with him, came to play " Made-
moiselle de Belle-Isle " or the " Demoiselles de Saint-Cyr," for
the benefit of the poor. On such occasions, there was not a
room to be had at the hotels. After supper, there were twice
a week fireworks on the Terrace, which could be seen from
Paris and from Versailles, to the great astonishment of Louis-
Philippe, who really attributed the change to the beneficence
of his reign, although he failed to account for the continued
dulness of the latter royal borough, where he himself resided,
and whose picture-galleries he had restored and thrown open
to the public, besides having the great fountains to play every
first Sunday of the month.
One day the king sent for M. de Montalivet, and told him
that, though gratffied at the revived prosperity of Saint-Ger-
main, he would like to see a little more gayety at Versailles.
52 AA^ ENGLISH MA N IN PA RIS.
" You really mean it, sire ! " asked the minister.
" Not only do I mean it, but I confess to you that it would
give me ^^reat pleasure."
" Well, sire, Alexandre Dumas has lately been sentenced to
a fortnight's imprisonment for neglecting his duty in the
National Guards : make an order for him to spend that fort-
night in Versailles, and I guarantee your Majesty that Versailles
will be. lively enough."
Louis-Philippe did not act upon the suggestion. The only
member of the d'Orleans' family who was truly sympathetic to
Dumas was the king's eldest son, whose untimely death shortly
afterwards affected the great novelist very much, albeit that he
frankly acknowledged to regretting the man and not the future
ruler; for while loudly professing his republican creed, he
never pretended to overlook his indebtedness to Louis-Philippe,
when Due d'Orleans, for having befriended him ; nay, I am
inclined to think that Dumas' gratitude was far greater than
the case warranted. When, in 1847, ^^ fancy took him to go
into parliament, he naturally turned to the borough he had
benefited so much by his stay there — Saint-Germain, and Saint-
Germain denied him. They thought him too immoral. Dumas
waitedpatiently for another opportunity, which did not come
until the following year, when Louis-Philippe had abdicated.
Addressing a meeting of electors at Joigny, he was challenged
by a M. de Bonneliere to reconcile his title of republican with his
title of Marquis de la Pailleterie, and the fact of his having been a
secretary to the Due d'Orleans, although he had never occupied
so important a position in the Due d'Orleans' household. His
reply was simply scathing, and I give it in full as the papers of
the day reproduced it. " No doubt," he said, in an off-hand,
bantering way, " I was formerly called the Marquis de la
Pailleterie, which was my father's name, and of which I was
very proud, being unable then to claim a glorious one of my
own make. But at present, when I am somebody, I call my-
self Alexandre Dumas and nothing more ; and everybody
knows me, you among the rest — you, you absolute nobody,
who have merely come to be able to boast to-morrow, after
insulting me to-night, that you have known the great Dumas.
If such was your ambition, you might have satisfied it without
failing in the common courtesies of a gentleman,"
When the applause which the reply provoked had subsided,
Dumas went on : " There is also no doubt about my having
been a secretary to the Due d'Orleans, and that I have re-
ceived all kinds of favors from his family. If you, citizen,
AjV englishman in PARIS. 53
are ignorant of the meaning of the term, * the memory of the
heart,' allow me at least to proclaim here in my loudest voice,
that I am not, and that I entertain towards this royal family all
the devotion an honorable man can feel.''
It is, however, not my intention to sketch Alexandre Dumas
as a politician, for which career I considered him singularly
unfit ; but the speech from which I extracted the foregoing
contains a few lines which, more than thirty-five years after
they were spoken, cannot fail to strike the reader with his mar-
vellous foresight. " Geographically," he said, commenting
upon the political state of Europe, " Prussia has the form of a
serpent, and, like it, she seems to be asleep, and to gather her
strength in order to swallow everything around her — Denmark,
Holland, Belgium, and, when she shall have swallowed all that,
you will find that Austria will be swallowed in its turn, and per-
haps, alas, France also."
The last words, as may be imagined, provoked a storm of
hisses ; nevertheless, he kept his audience spellbound until mid-
night.
A parliamentary candidate, however eloquent, who flings his
constituents into the river when they happen to annoy him,
must have been a novelty even in those days, and that is what
Dumas did to two brawlers after said meeting, just to show
them that his " aristocratic grip " was worth their " plebeian
one."
A few years later, at a dinner at Dumas', in the Rue d' Am-
sterdam, I met a Monsieur du Chaffault who had been an eye-
witness of this, as well as of other scenes during that memo-
rable day. Until the morning of that day, M. du Chaffault had
never set eyes on the great novelist ; in the evening, he was
his friend for life. It only proves once more the irresistible
fascination Dumast exercised over every one with whom he
came in contact, because the beginning of that friendship cost
M. du Chaffault six hundred francs, the expenses of that part
of the electoral campaign. The story, as told by M. du
Chaffault the following afternoon in the Cafe Riche to Dr.
Veron, myself, and Joseph Mery, is too good to be missed. I
give it as near as I can remember.
" I was about twenty-four then, with nothing particular to
do, and a moderate private income. They were painting and
whitewashing my place, a few miles away from Sens, and
I had taken up my quarters in the principal hotel in the
town. The first elections under the second republic were being
held. There was a good deal of excitement everywhere, and I
54 ^^y ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
liked it, though not taking the slightest interest in politics.
This was in May, 1848 ; and about six, one morning while I
was still in bed, the door of my room was suddenly opened
without knocking, and what seemed to me a big black monster
stood before me. There was a pistol lying by the side of me,
and I was reaching towards it, when he spoke. ' Don't alarm
yourself,' he said ; ' I am Alexandre Dumas. They told me
you were a good fellow, and I have come to ask you a service.'
" Iliad never seen Dumas in the flesh, only a portrait of
him, but I recognized him immediately. ' You have often
afforded me a great deal of amusement, but I confess you
frightened me,' I said. ' What, in Heaven's name, do you
want at this unholy hour ? '
" * I have slept here,' was the answer. ' I landed here at
midnight, and am starting for Joigny by-and-by, to attend a
political meeting. I am putting up as a member for your de-
partment.'
" I jumped out of bed at once, Dumas handed me my
trousers, and, when I got as far as my boots, he says, ' Oh,
while I think of it, I have come to ask you for a pair of boots ;
in stepping into the carriage, one of mine has come to utter
grief, and there is no shop open."
" As you may see for yourselves, I am by no means a giant,
and Dumas is one. I pointed this out to him, but he did not
even answer me. He had caught sight of three or four pairs
of boots under the dressing-table, and, in the twinkling of an
eye, chose the best pair and pulled them on, leaving me his
old ones, absolutely worn out, but which I have preserved in
my library at home. I always show them to my visitors as the
thousand and first volume of Alexandre Dumas.*
" By the time he got the boots on we were friends, as if we had
known one another for years ; as for Dumas, he was ' theeing '
and ' thouing ' me as if we had been at school together.
" ' You are going to Joigny ? ' I said ; * I know a good many
people there.'
" ' All the better, for I am going to take you along with me.'
"Having to go no further than Joigny, and being taken
thither in the conveyance of my newly-made friend, I did not
think it necessary to provide myself with an extra supply of
funds, the more that I had between five and six hundred francs
in my pocket. In a short time we were on our road, and the
first stage of three hours seemed to me as many minutes.
Whenever we passed a country seat, out came a lot of anecdotes
♦Alexandre Dumas had a marvellously small foot. — Editor.
A A' ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. . 55
and legends connected with its owners, interlarded with quaint
fancies, and epigrams. At that first change of horses, Dumas'
secretary paid. At the second, Villevailles, Dumas says,
^ Have you got twenty francs change ? ' Without a moment's
hesitation, I took out my purse, paid the money, and put
down in my pocket-book, ' Alexandre Dumas, twenty francs.'
I might have saved myself the trouble, as I found out in a
very short time, for the moment he got out at Joigny, he rushed
off in a hurry without troubling about anything. The postilion
turned to me for his money, and I paid, and put down once
more, ' Alexandre Dumas, thirty francs.'
" The first meeting was fixed for four, at the theatre. They
applied to me for the hire of the building, for the gas. I went
on paying, but I no longer put down the items, saying to my-
self, ' When my six hundred francs are gone, my little excur-
sion will be at an end, and I'll go back to Sens.' The little
excursion did not extend to more than one day, seeing that I
had to settle the dinner bill at the Due de Bourgogne, Dumas
having invited every one he met on his way. I am only sorry
for one thing, that I did not have ten thousand francs in my
pocket that morning in order to prolong my excursion for a
week or so. But next morning my purse was empty, and ' our
defeat was certain.' I had already identified myself with
Dumas' aspirations, so I returned to Sens by myself but over-
joyed at having seen and spoken to this man of genius, who
is richer than all the millionaires in the world put together,
seeing that he never troubles himself about paying, and has
therefore no need to worry about money. Three months
afterwards, the printer at Joigny drew upon me for a hundred
francs for electioneering bills, which, of course, I could not
have ordered, but which draft I settled as joyfully as I had
settled the rest. I have preserved the draft with the boots ;
they are mementoes of my first two days' friendship with my
dear friend."
At the first blush, all this sounds very much as if we were
dealing with a mere Harold Skimpole, but no man was more
unlike Dickens' creation than Alexandre Dumas. M. du
Chaff ault described him rightly when he said that he did not
worry about money, not even his own. " My biographer,"
Dumas often said, " will not fail to point out that I was ' a
panier perce',' * neglecting, as a matter of course, to mention
that, as a rule, it was not I who made the holes."
* Literally, a basket with holes in it ; figuratively, the term applied to irreclaimable
spendthrifts.— Editor.
56 . AM ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS,
The biographers have not been quite so unjust as that.
Unfortunately, few of them knew Dumas intimately, and they
were so intent upon sketching the playwright and the novelist
that they neglected the man. They could have had the stories
of Alexandre Dumas' improvidence with regard to himself and
his generosity to others for the asking from his familiars. On
the other hand, the latter have only told these stories in a frag-
mentary way ; a complete collection of them would be impos-
sible, for no one, not even Dumas himself, knew half the
people whom he befriended. In that very apartment of the
Rue d'Amsterdam which I mentioned just now, the board was
free to any and every one who chose to come in. Not once,
but a score of times have I heard Dumas ask, after this or that
man had left the table, *' Who is he .'* what's his name ? "
Whosoever came with, or at the tail, not of a friend, but of a
simple acquaintance, especially if the acquaintance happened
to wear skirts, was immediately invited to breakfast or dinner
as the case might be. Count de Cherville once told me that
Dumas, having taken a house at Varenne-Saint-Hilaire, his
second month's bill for meat alone amounted to eleven hun-
dred francs. Let it be remembered that his household con-
sisted of himself, two secretaries, and three servants, and that
money went a great deal further than it does at present, espe-
cially in provincial France, in some parts of which living is still
very cheap. In consequence of one of those financial crises,
which were absolutely periodical with Alexandre Dumas, M.
de Cherville had prevailed upon him to leave Paris for a
while, and to take up his quarters with him. All went com-
paratively well as long as he was M. de Cherville's guest ; but,
having taken a liking to the neighborhood, he rented a house of
his own, and furnished it from garret to cellar in the most ex-
pensive way, as if he were going to spend the remainder of his
life in it. Exclusive of the furniture, he spent between fifteen
thousand and eighteen thousand francs on hangings, painting,
and repairs. The parasites and harpies which M. de Cher-
ville had kept at bay came down upon him hke a swarm of
locusts. " And how long, think you, did Dumas stay in his
new domicile t Three months, not a day more nor less. As
a matter of course, the furniture did not fetch a quarter of its
cost ; the repairs, the decorating, etc., were so much sheer
waste ; for the incoming tenant refused to refund a cent for it,
and Dumas, having made up his mind to go to Italy, would
not wait for a more liberal or conscientious one, lest he should
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 57
have the rent of the empty house on his shoulders also.
Luckily, I took care that he should pocket the proceeds of the
sale of the furniture."
This last sentence wants explaining. As a rule, when a man
sells his sticks, he pockets the money. But the instance just
mentioned was the only one in which Dumas had the disposal
of his household goods. The presiding divinity invariably
carried them away with her when she had to make room for a
successor, and these successions generally occurred once, some-
times twice, a year. " La reihe est morte, vive la reine." The
new sovereign, for the first few days of her reign, had to be con-
tent with bare walls and very few material comforts ; then the
nest was upholstered afresh, and " il n'y avait rien de change
en la demeure, sauf le nom de la maitresse,"
Consequently, though for forty years Alexandre Dumas could
not have earned less than eight thousand pounds per annum ,
though he neither smoked, drank, nor gambled ; though in
spite of his mania for cooking, he himself was the most frugal
eater — the beef from the soup of the previous day, grilled, was
his favorite dish, — it rained writs and summonses around him,
while he himself was frequently without a penny.
M. du Chaffault one day told me of a scene a propos of this
which is worth reproducing. He was chatting to Dumas in his
study, when a visitor was shown in. He turned out to be an
Italian man of letters and refugee, on the verge of starvation.
M, du Chaffault could not well make out what was said, be-
cause they were talking Italian, but all at once Dumas got up
and took from the wall behind him a magnificent pistol, one of
a pair. The visitor walked off with it, to M. du Chaff ault's
surprise. When he was gone, Dumas turned to his friend and
explained : " He was utterly penniless, and so am I ; so I gave
him the pistol."
" Great Heavens, you surely did not recommend him to go
and make an end of himself ! " interrupted du Chaffault.
Dumas burst out laughing. "Of course not. I merely told
him to go and sell or pawn it, and leave me the fellow one, in
case some other poor wretch should want assistance while I am
terribly hard up."
And yet, in this very Rue d' Amsterdam, whether Dumas was
terribly impecunious or not, the dejeuner, which generally
began at about half-past eleven, was rarely finished before half-
past four, because during the whole of that time fresh contin-
gents arrived to be fed, and communication was kept up be-
5^ AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
tween the apartment and the butcher for corresponding fresh
suppHes of beefsteaks and cutlets.
Is it a wonder, then, that it rained summonses, and writs,
and other law documents ? But no one took much notice of
these, not even one of the four secretaries, who was specially
appointed to look after these things. If I remember aright,
his name was Hirschler. The names of the other three sec-
retaries were Rusconi, Viellot, and Fontaine. Unfortunately,
Hirschler was as dilatory as his master, and, until the process-
server claimed a personal interview, as indifferent. These
" limbs of the law " were marvellously polite. I was present one
day at an interview between one of these and Hirschler, for
Dumas' dwelling was absolutely and literally the glass house of
the ancient philosopher — with this difference, that no one threw
any stones y>'^;;z it. There was no secret, no skeleton in the
cupboard ; the impecuniosity and the recurrent periods of plenty
were both as open as the day.
The "man of law" and Hirschler began by shaking hands,
for they were old acquaintances ; it would have been difficult
to find a process-server in Paris who was not an old acquaint-
ance of Dumas. After which the visitor informed Hirschler
that he had come to distrain.
" To distrain t I did not know we had got as far as that,"
said Hirschler. " Wait a moment. I must go and see." It
meant that Hirschler repaired to the kitchen, where stood a
large oaken sideboard, in a capacious drawer of which all the
law documents, no matter by whom received, were indiscrim-
inately thrown, to be fished out when the " mauvais quart
d'heure " came and not until then.
" You are right," said Hirschler, but not in the least worried
or excited. " I really did not know we had got as far as that.
I must ask you to wait another minute. I suppose a third or
a fourth of the total amount will do for the present .'' "
"Well, I do not know," said the process-server with most
exquisite politeness. " Try what you can do. I fancy that
with a third I may manage to stop proceedings for a while."
The third or fourth part of the debt was rarely in the house ;
messengers had to be despatched for it to Cadot, the publisher,
or to the cashier of the Monitair^ Constitutionnel, or Steele.
Meanwhile the process-server was feasted in a sumptuous way,
and when the messenger returned with the sum in question,
Hirschler and the process-server shook hands once more, with
the most cordial au revoir possible.
As a matter pf course, the same process-server reappeared
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 59
upon the scene in a few months. The comedy had often as
many as a dozen representations, so that it may safely be said
that a great number of Dumas' debts were paid six or seven
times over. Even sixpence a line of sixty letters did not suf-
fice to keep pace with such terrible improvidence, though the
remuneration was much more frequently fourpence or fivepence.
It rarely rose to sevenpence halfpenny, but in all cases a third
went to Dumas' collaborateurs, another third to his creditors,
and the rest to himself.
I have allowed my pen to run away with me. One more
story, and then I leave Alexandre Dumas for the present. It
is simply to show that he would have squandered the fortune
of all the Rothschilds combined : I repeat, not on himself ; he
would have given it away, or allowed it to be taken. He had
no notion of the value of money. About a year after I had
made his acquaintance, he was ill at Saint-Germain, and I went
to see him. His dog had bitten him severely in the right hand ;
he was in bed, and obliged to dictate. His son had just left
him, and he told me, adding, " C'est un coeur d'or, cet' Alex-
andre." Seeing that I did not ask what had elicited the praise,
he began telling me.
" This morning I received six hundred and fifty francs.
Just now Alexandre was going up to Paris, and he says, ' I'll
take fifty francs.'
" I did not pay attention, or must have misunderstood ; at
any rate I replied, ' Don't take as much as that ; leave me a
hundred francs.'
" ' What do you mean, father ? ' he asked. * I am teUing
you that I am going to take fifty francs.'
" ' I beg your pardon,' I said. ' I understood you were
going to take six hundred.' "
He would have considered it the most natural thing in the
world for his son to take six hundred and leave him fifty ; just
as he considered it the most natural thing to bare his arm and
to have a dozen leeches put on it, because his son, when a boy
of eight, having met with an accident, would not consent to
blood-letting of that kind. In vain did the father tell him that
the leeches did not hurt. " Well, put some on yourself, and
then I will." And the giant turned up his sleeves, and did as
he was told.
6o AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS,
CHAPTER IV.
Next to Dumas, the man who is uppermost in my recollec-
tions of that period is Dr. Louis Veron, the founder of the
Revue de Paris, which was the precursor of the Revue des Deux
Mondes ; Dr. Veron, under whose management the Paris
Opera rose to a degree of perfection it has never attained
since ; Dr. Veron, who, as some one said, was as much part
and parcel of the history of Paris during the first half of the
nineteenth century as was Napoleon I. of the history of France ;
Dr. Veron, than whom there has been no more original figure
in any civiUzed community before or since, with the exception,
perhaps, of Phineas Barnum, to whom, however, he was in-
finitely superior in education, tact, and manners.
Dr. V^ron has written his own '' Memoirs " in six bulky
volumes, to which he added a seventh a few years later. They
are full of interesting facts from beginning to end, especially
to those who did not know intimately the author or the times
of which he treats. Those who did are tempted to repeat the
mot of Diderot when they gave him the portrait of his father.
" This is my Sunday father ; I want my everyday father." The
painter, in fact, had represented the worthy cutler of Langres
in his best coat and wig, etc. ; not as his son had been in the
habit of seeing him. The Dr. Veron of the " Memoirs " is not
the Dr. Veron of the Cafe de Paris, nor the Dr. Veron of the
avant-schie in his own theatre, snoring a duet with Auber, and
" keeping better time than the great composer himself ; " he
is not the Dr. Veron full of fads and superstitions and uni-
formly kind, " because kindness is as a rule a capital invest-
ment ; " he is not the cheerful pessimist we knew ; he is a
grumbling optimist, as the journalists of his time have painted
him ; in short, in his book he is a quasi-philanthropic illusion ;
while in reality he was a hard-hearted, shrewd business man
who did good by stealth now and then, but never blushed to
find it fame.
The event which proved the starting-point of Dr, Veron's
celebrity was neither of his own making nor of his own seek-
ing. Though it happened when I was a mere lad, I have
heard it discussed in after-years sufficiently often and by very
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. C l
good authorities to be confident of my facts. In June 183 1, Dr.
Veron took the management of the Paris Opera, which up till
then had been governed on the style of the old regime, namely,
by three gentlemen of the king's household with a working
director under them. The royal privy purse was virtually re-
sponsible for its liabilities. Louis-Philippe shifted the burden
of that responsibility on the State, and limited its extent. The
three gentlemen of the king's household were replaced by a
royal commissioner, and the yearly subsidy fixed at ;^32,5oo :
still a pretty round sum, which has been reduced since by
;^5oo only.
At Dr. Vdron's advent, Meyerbeer's " Robert le Diable "
was, what they call in theatrical parlance, " underlined," or,
if not underlined, at least definitely accepted. Only one work
of his had at that time been heard in Paris, " II Crociato in
Egitto."
It is difficult to determine, after so many years, whether Dr.
Vdron, notwithstanding his artistic instincts, was greatly smit-
ten with the German composer's masterpiece. It has often
been argued that he was not, because he insisted upon an in-
demnity of forty thousand francs from the Government towards
the cost of its production. In the case of a man like Ve'ron,
this proves nothing at all. He may have been thoroughly con-
vinced of the merits of " Robert le Diable," and as thoroughly
confident of its success with the public, though no manager, not
even the most experienced, can be ; it would not have prevented
him from squeezing the forty thousand francs from the minis-
ter on the plea that the performance of the work was imposed
upon him by a treaty of his predecessor. To Dr. Veron's. credit
be it said that he might have saved himself the hard tussle he
had with the minister by simply applying for the money to
Meyerbeer himself, who would have given it without a moment's
hesitation, rather than see the success of " Robert le Diable "
jeopardized by inefficient mounting, although up to the last
Meyerbeer could never make up his mind whether magnificent
scenery and gorgeous dresses were an implied- compliment or
the reverse to the musical value of his compositions. A pro-
pos of this there is a very characteristic story. At one of the
final dress-rehearsals of " Robert le Diable," Meyerbeer felt
much upset At the sight of that beautiful set of the cloister
of Sainte-Rosalie, where the nuns rise from their tombs, at the
effect produced by the weird procession, Meyerbeer came up
to Vdron.
" My dear director," he said, " I perceive well enough that
C2 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
you do not depend upon the opera itself ; you are, in fact, run
ning after a spectacular success."
" Wait till the fourth act," replied Vdron, who was above all
logical.
The curtain rose upon the fourth act, and what did Meyer-
beer behold ? Instead of the vast, grandiose apartment he had
conceived for Isabella, Princess of Sicily, he found a mean,
shabby set, which \yould have been deemed scarcely good
enough for a minor theatre.
" Decidedly, my dear director," says Meyerbeer, with a bitter
twinge in his features and voice, " I perceive well enough that
you have no faith in my score ! you did not even dare go to
the expense of a new set. I would willingly have paid for it
myself."
And he would willingly have paid for it, because Meyerbeer
was not only very rich, but very generous.
" It is a very funny thing," said Lord , as he came into
the Cafe de Paris one morning, many years afterwards ; " there
are certain days in the week when the Rue Le Peletier seems
to be swarming with beggars, and, what is funnier still, they
don't take any notice of me. I pass absolutely scot-free."
"I'll bet," remarked Roger de Beauvoir, "that they are play-
ing 'Robert le Diable' or 'Les Huguenots' to-night, and I can
assure you that I have not seen the bills."
" Now that you speak of it, they are playing * Les Huguenots'
to-night," replied Lqrd ; " but what has that to do with it.?
I am not aware that the Paris beggars manifest a particular
predilection for Meyerbeer's operas, and that they are booking
their places on the days they are performed."
"It's simply this," explained De Beauvoir: "both Rossini
and Meyerbeer never fail to come of a morning to look at the
bills, and when the latter finds his name on them, he is so over-
joyed that he absolutely empties his pockets of all the cash
they contain. Notwithstanding his many years of success, he
is still afraid that the public's liking for his music is merely a
passing fancy, and as every additional performance decreases
this apprehension, he thinks he cannot be sufficiently thankful
to Providence. His gratitude shows itself in almsgiving."
I made it my business subsequently to verify what I con-
sidered De Beauvoir's fantastical statement, and I found it sub-
stantially correct.
To return to Dr. Veron, who, there is no doubt, did the best
he could for " Robert le Diable," to which and to the talent of
Taglioni he owed his fortune. At the same time, it would be
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. d^
robbing him of part of his glory did we not state that the suc-
cess of that great work might have been less signal but for
him ; both his predecessors and successors had and have still
equally good chances without having availed themselves of
them, either in the interest of lyrical art or in that of the public.
I compared Dr. Veron just now to Phineas Barnum, and the
comparison was not made at random. Dr. Veron was really
the inventor of the newspaper puff direct and indirect — of that
personal journalism which records the slightest deed or ges-
ture of the popular theatrical manager, and which at the present
day is carried to excess. And all his subordinates and co-
workers were made to share the advantages of the system, be-
cause their slightest doings also reflected glory upon him. An
artist filling at a moment's notice the part of a fellow-artist who
had become suddenly ill, a carpenter saving by his presence of
mind the situation at a critical juncture, had not only his para-
graph in next morning's papers, but a whole column, contain-
ing the salient facts of his life and career. It was the system
of Frederick the Great and of the first Napoleon, acknowledg-
ing the daring deeds of their smallest as well as of their fore-
most aids — with this difference, that the French captain found
it convenient to suppress them now and then, and that Dr.
Veron never attempted to do so. When the idea of putting
down these notes first entered my mind, I looked over some
files of newspapers of that particular period, and there was
scarcely one between 183 1 and 1835 ^^^^ ^^^ ^^^ contain a
lengthy reference to the Grand Opera and its director. I was
irresistibly reminded of the bulletins the great Napoleon dic-
tated on the battle-field. I have also seen a collection of pos-
ters relating to the same brilliant reign at the Operas. Of
course, compared to the eloquent effusions and ingenious at-
tempts of the contemporary theatrical manager to bait the pub-
lic, Veron's are mere child's play ; still we must remember that
the art of puffing was in its infancy, and, as such, some of them
are worth copying. The public was not so blase, and it swal-
lowed the bait eagerly. Here they are.
" To-morrow tenth performance of ... , which henceforth
will only be played at rare intervals.
" To-morrow twentieth performance of ... ; positively the
last before the departure of M. . .
" To-morrow seventeenth performance of ... ; reappear-
ance of Madame . . .
" To-morrow fifteenth performance of ... by all the princi-
pal artists who created the parts.
64 ^^y ENGLISIIMAX in PARIS.
" To-tiiorrow thirtieth performance of . . . The third scene
of the second act will be played as on the first night.
" To-morrow twentieth performance of ... , which can only
be played for a limited number of nights.
"To-morrow sixteenth performance of ... In the Bali-
Room Scene a new pas de Chales will be introduced.
" To-morrow thirtieth performance of . . . This successful
work must be momentarily suspended owing to previous
arrangernents."
Childish as these lines may look to the present generation,
they produced a fortune of ;^2,ooo a year to Dr. Veron in four
years, and, but for the outbreak of the cholera in '32, when
" Robert le Diable " was in the flush of its success, would
have produced another ^1,000 per annum. At that time Dr.
Veron had already been able to put aside ;^24,ooo, and he
might have easily closed his theatre during those terrible
months ; but, like Moliere, he asked himself what would be-
come of all those who were dependent upon him, and had not
put aside anything ; so he made his savings into ten parcels,
intending to hold out as many months without asking help of
any one. Five of the parcels went. At the beginning of the
sixth month the cholera abated ; by the end it had almost dis-
appeared.
Those who would infer from this that Dr. Veron was indif-
ferent to money, would make a great mistake. But he would
not allow his love of it to get the upper hand, to come between
him and his conscience, to make him commit either a dishon-
est or a foolish act. By a foolish act he meant headlong
speculation. When the shares of the Northern Railway were
allotted, Dr. Veron owned the Constitutionnel ; 150 shares
were allotted to him, which at that moment represented a clear
profit of 60,000 francs, they being 400 francs above par. Dr.
Veron made up his mind to realize there and then. But it
was already late ; the Bourse was closed, the stockbrokers had
finished business for the day. He, however, met one on the
Boulevards, who gave him a check for 55,000 francs on the
Bank of France, which could only be cashed next day. The
shares were left meanwhile in Dr. Veron's possession. Three
minutes after the bargain was concluded Dr. Veron went back
to his office. " I must have ready money for this, or decline
the transaction," he said. The stockbroker, by applying to
two of his colleagues, managed to scrape together 50,000 francs.
Dr. Veron gave him a receipt in full, returned home, singing
as he went the -French version of " A bird in the hand," etc.
^yV EXGLISHMAX iN PARIS, 65
Veron was exceedingly superstitious, and had fads. He
could never be induced to take a railway journey. It was
generally known in France at that time, in the early days of loco-
motion by steam, Queen Victoria had held a similar objection.
Veron, when twitted with his objection, invariably replied,
" I have yet to learn that the Queen of England is less en-
lightened than any of you, and she will not enter a railway
carriage." But one day the report spread that the queen had
made a journey from Windsor to London by the " iron horse,"
and then Veron was sorely pressed. He had his answer
ready. " The Queen of England has got a successor : the
Veron dynasty begins and ends with me. I must take care to
make it last as long as possible." He stuck to his text to the
end of his life.
On no consideration would Veron have sat down " thirteen
at table." Once or twice, when the guests and host made up
that number, his coachman's son was sent for, dressed, and
made presentable, and joined the party ; at others he politely
requested two or three of us to go and dine at the Cafe de
Paris, and to have the bill sent to him. We drew lots as to
who was to go.
It was through Dr. Veron that I became acquainted with
most of the operatic celebrities — Meyerbeer, Halevy, Auber,
Duprez, etc. ; for though he had abdicated his directorship
seven or eight years before we met, he was perhaps a greater
power then in the lyrical world than at the date of his reign.
It was at Dr. Veron's that I saw Mdlle. Taglioni for the first
time — off the stage. It must have been in 1844, for she had
not been in Paris since 1840, when I had seen her dance at
the Opera. I had only seen her dance once before that in '36
or '37, but I was altogether too young to judge then. I own
that in 1840 I was somewhat disappointed, and my disappoint-
ment was shared by many, because some of my friends to
whom I communicated my impressions, told me that her three
years' absence had made a vast difference in her art. In '44
it was still worse ; her performances gave rise to many a
spiteful epigram, for she herself invited comparison between
her former glory and her decline, by dancing in one of her
most successful creations, " L'Ombre." Those most leniently
disposed towards her thought what Alfred de Musset gracefully
expressed when requested to write some verses in her album.
" Si vous ne voulez plus danser,
Si vous ne faites que passer
Sur ce grand theatre si sombre,
• Ne courez pas apr^s votre ombre
Et tSchez de nous la laisser."
66 A.V ENGLISHMAiY /JV PARIS.
My disappointment with the ballerina was as nothing, how-
ever, to my disappointment with the woman. I had been able
to determine for myself before then that Marie Taglioni was
by no means a good-looking woman. But I did not expect her
to be so plain as she was. That, after all, was not her fault ;
but she might have tried to make amends for her lack of per-
sonal charms by her amiability. She rarely attempted to do
so, and never with Frenchmen. Her reception of them was
freezing to a degree, and on the occasions — few and far be-
tween— when she thawed, it was with Russians, Englishmen,
or Viennese. Any male of the Latin races she held metaphori-
cally as well as literally at arm's length. Of the gracefulness,
so apparent on the stage, even in her decline, there was not a
trace to be found in private life. One of her shoulders was
higher than the other ; she limped slightly, and moreover,
waddled like a duck. The pinched mouth was firmly set;
there was no smile on the colorless lips, and she replied to one's
remarks in monosyllables.
Truly she had suffered a cruel wrong at the hands of men —
of one man, bien entendu ; nevertheless, the wonder to most
people who knew her was not that • Comte Gilbert de Voisins
should have left her so soon after their marriage, but that he
should have married her at all. " The fact was," said some
one with whom I discussed the marriage one day, " that De
Voisins considered himself in honor bound to make that repa-
ration, but I cannot conceive what possessed him to commit
the error that made the reparation necessary." And I am
bound to say that it was not the utter lack of personal attrac-
tions that made every one, men and women alike, indifferent
to Taglioni. She was what the French call " une pimbeche." *
" Am I not a good-natured woman ? " said Mdlle. Mars one
day to Hoffmann, the blood-curdling novelist. " Mademoi-
selle, you are the most amiable creature I know between the
footlights and the cloth," he replied. No one could have paid
Taglioni even such a left-handed compliment, for, if all I heard
was true, she was not good-tempered either on or off the stage.
Dr. Veron, who was really a very loyal friend, was very reti-
cent about her character, and would never be drawn into rev-
elations. " You know the French proverb," he said once, when
I pressed him very closely. " ' On ne herite pas de ceux que
Ton tue ;' and after all, she helped me to make my fortune."
That evening I was seated next to Mdlle. Taglioni at din-
ner, and when she discovered my nationality she unbent a
* The word " shrew " is the nearest equivalent. — Editor. '
AAT ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 67
little, so that towards the dessert we were on comparatively
friendly terms. She had evidently very grateful recollections
of her engagements in London, for it was the only topic on
which I could get her to talk on that occasion. Here is a
little story I had from her own lips, and which shows the
Scotch of the early thirties in quite a new light. It may have
been known once, but has been probably forgotten by now,
except by the " oldest inhabitant " of Perth. In 1832 or 1833
— I will not vouch for the exact year, seeing that it is two
score of years since the story was told to me — the season in
London had been a fatiguing one for Taglioni. A ballet her
father had composed for her, " Nathalie, ou la Laitiere
Suisse," a very inane thing by all accounts, had met with
great success in London. The scene, however, had, as far as
I could make out, been changed from Switzerland to Scotland,
but of this I will not be certain. At the termination of her
engagement Taglioni wanted rest, and she bethought herself
to recruit in the Highlands. After travelling hither and thither
for a little while, she arrived at Perth, and as a matter of course
put down her name in the visitors' book of the hotel, then
went out to explore the sights of the town. Meanwhile the
report of her arrival had spread like wildfire, and on her re-
turn to the hotel she found awaiting her a deputation from the
principal inhabitants, with the request to honor them with a
performance. " The request was so graciously conveyed,"
said Taglioni, '' that I could not but accept, though I took
care to point out the difficulties of performing a ballet all by
myself, seeing that there was neither a corps de ballet, a
male dancer, nor any one else to support me. All these ob-
jections were overruled by their promise to provide all these
in the best way they could, and before I had time to consider
the matter fully, I was taken off in a cab to inspect the theatre,
etc. Great heavens, what a stage and scenery ! Still I had
given my promise, and, seeing their anxiety, would not go
back from it. I cannot tell where they got their personnel
from. There was a director and a stage-manager, but as he
did not understand French, and as my English at that time
was even worse than it is now, we were obliged to communi-
cate through an interpreter. His English must have been be-
wildering, to judge from the manager's blank looks when he
spoke to him, and his French was even more wonderful than
my English. He was a German waiter from the hotel.
" Nevertheless, thanks to him, I managed to convey the
main incidents of the plot of * Nathalie ' to the manager, and
68 AN ENGLISHMAN- IN PARIS.
during the first act, the most complicated one, all went well.
But at the beginning of the second everything threatened to
come to a stand-still. I must tell you that my father hit upon the
novel idea of introducing a kind of dummy, or lay figure, on
which the idiotic Nathalie lavishes all her caresses. The
young fellow, who is in love with Nathalie, contrives to take
the dummy's place ; consequently, in order to preserve some
semblance of truth, and not to make Nathalie appear more
idiotic than she is already, there ought to be a kind of likeness
between the dummy and the lover. I know not whether the
interpreter had been at fault, or whether in the hurry-scurry I
had forgotten all about the dummy, but a few minutes before
the rise of the curtain I discovered that there was no dummy.
' You must do the dummy,' I said to Pierre, my servant, ' and
I'll pretend to carry you on.' Pierre nodded a silent assent,
and immediately began to don the costume, seeing which I
had the curtain rang up, and went on to the stage. I was not
very comfortable, though, for I heard a violent altercation go-
ing on behind the scenes, the cause of which I failed to guess.
I kept dancing and dancing, getting near to the wings every
now and then, to ask whether Pierre was ready. He seemed
to me inordinately long in changing his dress, but the delay
was owing to something far more serious than his careful prep-
aration for the part. Pierre had a pair of magnificent
whiskers, and the young fellow who enacted the lover had not
a hair on his face. Pierre was ready to go on, when the man-
ager noticed the" difference. ' Stop ! ' he shouted ; ' that won't
do. You must have your whiskers taken off.' Pierre indig-
nantly refused. The manager endeavored to persuade him
to make the sacrifice, but in vain, until at last he had him held
down on a chair by two stalwart Scotchmen while the barber
did his work.
*' All this had taken time, but the public did not grow im-
patient. They would have been very difficult to please indeed
had they behaved otherwise, for I never danced to any audi-
ence as I did to them. One of the few pleasant recollections
in my life is that evening at Perth ; and, curiously enough,
Pierre, who is still with me, refers to it with great enthusiasm,
notwithstanding the cavalier treatment inflicted upon him. It
was his first and last appearance on any stage."
Here is another story Taglioni told me on a subsequent
occasion. I have often wondered since whether Macaulay
would not have been pleased with it even more than I was.
** The St. Petersburg theatrical season of '24 — '25 had been
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 69
particularly brilliant, and nowhere more so than at the Italian
Opera. I came away laden with presents, among others one
from the Czar — a magnificent necklet of very fine pearls.
When the theatre closed at Lent, I was very anxious to get
away, in spite of the inclement season, and notwithstanding
the frequent warnings that the roads were not safe. When-
ever the conversation turned on that topic, the name of Trisch-
ka was sure to crop up ; he, in fact, was the leader of a for-
midable band of highwaymen, compared with whose exploits
those of all the others seemed to sink into insignificance.
Trischka had been steward to Prince Paskiwiecz, and was
spoken of as a very intelHgent fellow. Nearly every one with
whom I came in contact had seen him while he was still at
St. Petersburg, and had a good word to say for him. His
manners were reported to be perfect ; he spoke French and
German very fairly ; and, most curious of all, he was an ex-
cellent dancer. Some went even as far as to say that if he
had adopted that profession, instead of scouring the highways,
he would have made a fortune. By all accounts he never
molested poor people, and the rich, whom he laid under con-
tribution, had never to complain of violent treatment either in
words or deed — nay, more, he never took all they possessed
from his victims ; he was content to share and share alike.
But papa n'ecoutait pas de cet' oreille la ; papa etait tres peu
partageur : and, truth to tell, I was taking away a great deal
of money from St. Petersburg — which was perhaps another
reason why papa did not see the necessity of paying tithes to
Trischka. If we had followed papa's advice, we should have
either applied to the Czar for an armed escort, or else delayed
our departure till the middle of the summer, though he failed
to see that the loss of my engagements elsewhere would have
amounted to a serious item also. But papa had got it into
his head not to part with any of the splendid presents I had
received ; they were mostly jewels, and people who do not
know papa can form no idea what they meant to him. How-
ever, as we were plainly told that Trischka conducted his op-
erations all the year round, that we were as likely to be at-
tacked by him in summer as in winter, papa reluctantly
made up his mind to go in the beginning of April. Papa
provided himself with a pair of large pistols that would not
have hurt a cat, and were the laughing-stock of all those who
accompanied us for the first dozen miles on our journey ; for
I had made many friends, and they insisted on doing this.
We had two very roomy carriages. My father, my maid, two
yo y4JV ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
German violinists, and myself were in the first ; the second
contained our luggage.
'' At the first change of horses after Pskoff, the postmaster
told us that Trischka and his band had been seen a few days
previously on the road to Dunabourg ; at the same time, he
seemed to think very lightly of the matter, and, addressing him-
self particularly to me, opined that, with a little diplomacy on
my part and a good deal of sang-froid^ I might be let off very
cheaply. All went well until the middle of next night, when all
of a sudden, in the thick of a dense forest, our road was barred
by a couple of horsemen, while a third opened the door of our
carriage. It was Trischka himself. ' Mademoiselle Taglioni ? '
he said in very good German lifting his hat. ' I am Made-
moiselle Taglioni,' I replied in French. ' I know,' he answered,
with a deeper bow than before. * I was told you were coming
this way. I am sorry, mademoiselle, that I could not come to
St. Petersburg to see you dance, but as chance has befriended
me, I hope you will do me the honor to dance before me here.'
' How can I dance here, in this road, monsieur t ' I said be-
seechingly. ' Alas, mademoiselle, I have no drawing-room to
offer you,' he replied, still as polite as ever. * Nevertheless,'
he continued, ' if you think it cannot be done, I shall be under
the painful necessity of confiscating your carriages and luggage,
and of sending you back on foot to the nearest post-town.'
' But Monsieur,' I protested, ' the road is ankle-deep in mud.'
' Truly,' he laughed, showing a beautiful set of teeth, ' but your
weight won't make any difference ; besides, I dare say you have
some rugs and cloths with you in the other carriage, and my
men will only be too pleased to spread them on the ground.'
" Seeing that all my remonstrances would be in vain, I jumped
out of the carriage. While the rugs were being laid down, my
two companions, the violinists, tuned their instruments, and
even papa was prevailed upon to come out, though he was sulky
and never spoke a word.
" I danced for about a quarter of an hour, and I honestly
believe that I never had such an appreciative audience either
before or afterwards. Then Trischka led me back to the car-
riage, and simply lifting his hat, bade me adieu. ' I keep the
rugs, mademoiselle. I will never part with them,' he said.
The last I saw of him, when our carriages were turning abend
in the road, was a truly picturesque figure on horseback, waving
his hand."
More than eight years elapsed before I met Taglioni again,
and then she looked absolutely hke an old woman, though she
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 7 1
was under fifty. It was at the Comte (afterwards Due) de
Morny's, in '52, and if I remember rightly, ahnost immediately
after his resignation as Minister of the Interior. Taglioni and
Mdlle. Rachel were the only women present. Just as we were
sitting down to dinner, Comte Gilbert de Voisins came in, and
took the next seat but one on my left which had been reserved
for him. We were on friendly, though not on very intimate
terms. He was evidently not aware of the presence of his wife,
for after a few minutes he asked his neighbor, pointing to her,
" Who is this governess-looking old maid ? " He told him.
He showed neither surprise nor emotion ; but if an artist could
have been found to sketch his face there, its perfect blank would
have been more amusing than either. He seemed, as it were,
to consult his recollections ; then he said, " Is it ? It may be,
after all ; " and went on eating his dinner. His wife acted
less diplomatically. She recognized him at once, and made a
remark to her host in a sufficiently loud voice to be overheard,
which was not in good taste, the more that De Morny, notwith-
standing his many faults, was not the man to have invited both
for the mere pleasure of playing a practical joke. In fact, I
have always credited De Morny with the good intention of
bringing about a reconciliation between the two ; but the affair
was hopeless from the very beginning, after Taglioni's exhibition
of temper. I am far from saying that Count Gilbert would
have been more tractable if it had not occurred, but his spouse
shut the door at once upon every further attempt in that di-
rection. Nevertheless, whether out of sheer devilry or from a
wish to be polite, he went up to her after dinner, accompanied
by a friend, who introduced himself as formally as if he and she
had never seen one another. It was at a moment when the
Comte de Morny was out of the room, because I feel certain
that he was already sorry then for what he had endeavored to do,
and had washed his hands of the whole affair. Taglioni made
a stately bow. " I am under the impression," she said, " that
I have had the honor of meeting you before, about the year
1832." With this she turned away. Let any playwright pro-
duce that scene in a farcical or comedy form, and I am sure
that three-fourths of his audience would scout it as too exag-
gerated, and yet every incident of it is absolutely true.
Among my most pleasant recollections of those days is that
connected with Von Flotow, the future composer of " Martha."
In appearance he was altogether unlike the traditional musician ;
he looked more like a stalwart officer of dragoons. Though of
noble origin, and with a very wealthy father, there was a tim^
72 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
when he had a hard struggle for existence. Count von Flotow,
his father, and an old officer of Blucher, was nearly as much
opposed to his son becoming a musician as Frederick the Great's.
Nevertheless, at the instance of Flotow's mother, he was sent
to Paris at the age of sixteen, and entered the Conservatoire,
then under the direction of Reicha. His term of apprenticeship
was not to extend beyond two years, '' for," said the count,
•' it does not take longer for the rawest recruit to become a
good soldier." " That will give you S fair idea," remarked Von
Flotow to me afterwards, " how much he understood about it.
He had an ill-disguised contempt for any music which did not
come up to his ideal. His ideal' was that performed by the
drum, the fife, and the bugle. And the very fact of Germany
ringing a few years later with the names of Meyerbeer and
Halevy made matters worse instead of mending them. His
feudal pride would not allow of his son's entering a profession
the foremost ranks of which were occupied by Jews. ' Music,'
he said, ' was good enough for bankers' sons and the like,' and
he considered that Weber had cast a slur upon his family by
adopting it."
The two years grudgingly allowed by Count von Flotow for
his son's musical education were interrupted by the revolution
of 1830, and the young fellow had to return home before he
was eighteen, because, in his father's opinion, "he had not
given a sign of becoming a great musician ; " in other words,
he had not written an opera or anything else which had at-
tracted public notice. However, towards the beginning of 183 1,
the count took his son to Paris once more ; " and though
Meyerbeer nor Halevy were not so famous then as they were
destined to become within the next three years, their names
were already sufficiently well known to have made an introduc-
tion valuable. It would not have been difficult to obtain such.
My father would not hear of it. * I will not have my son in-
debted for anything to a Jew,' he said ; and I am only quoting
this instance of prejudice to you because it was not an individ-
ual but a typical one among my father's social equals. The
remark about ' his son's entering a profession in which two
Jews had carried off the highest prizes' is of a much later date.
Consequently we landed in Paris, provided with letters of in-
troduction to M. de Saint-Georges."^ Clever, accomplished,
refined as was M. de Saint-Georges, he was scarcely the author-
* Jules-Henri de S?unt-Georges, one of the most fertile librettists of the time, the prin-
ciple collaborateur of Scribe, and best known in England as the author of the book of.
Balfe's " Bohemiam Girl."— Editor.
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
73
ity a father wijh serious intentions about his son's musical
career would have consulted ; he was a charming, skilful libret-
tist and dramatist, a thorough man of the world in the best sense
of the word, but absolutely incapable of judging the higher
qualities of the composer. Nevertheless, I owe him much ;
but for him I should have been dragged back to Germany there
and then ; but for him I should have been compelled to go back
to Germany five years later, or starved in the streets of Paris.
" My father's interview with M. de Saint-Georges, and my
first introduction to him," said Flotow on another occasion,
" were perhaps the most comical scenes ever enacted off the
stage. You know my old friend, and have been to his rooms,
so I need not describe him nor his surroundings to you. You
have never seen my father ; but to give you an idea of what he
was like, I may tell you that he was an enlarged edition of
myself. A bold rider, a soldier and a sportsman, fairly well
educated, but upon the whole a very rough diamond, and, I am
afraid, with a corresponding contempt for the elegant and
artistic side of Paris life. You may, therefore, picture to your-
self the difference between the two men — M. de Saint-Georges
in a beautiful silk dressing-gown and red morocco slippers,
sipping chocolate from a dainty porcelain cup ; my father, who,
contrary to German custom, had always refused to don that
comfortable garment, and who, to my knowledge, had never
in his life tasted chocolate. For the moment I thought that
everything was lost. I was mistaken.
" ' Monsieur,' said my father in French, which absolutely
creaked with the rust of age, ' I have come to ask your advice
and a favor besides. My son desires to become a musician.
Is it possible ? '
" ' There is no reason why he should not be,' replied M. de
Saint-Georges, ' provided he has a vocation.'
" ' Vocation may mean obstinacy,' remarked my father.
* But let us suppose the reverse — that obstinacy means voca-
tion ; how long would it take him to prove that he has talent ? '
" ' It is difficult to say — five years at least.'
" ' And two he has already spent at the Conservatoire will
make seven. I hope he will not be like Jacob, who, after that
period of waiting, found that they had given him the wrong
goddess ! ' growled my father, who could be grimly humorous
when he liked. ' Five years more be it, then, but not a single
day longer. If by that time he has not made his mark, I with-
draw his allowance. I thank you for your advice; and now I
, will ask a favor. Will you kindly supply my place — that is,
74 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
keep an eye upon him, and do the best you can for him ?
Remember, he is but twenty. It is hard enough that I cannot
make a soldier of him ; from what I have heard and from what
I can see, you will prevent him from becoming less than a
gentleman.'
" M. de Saint-Georges was visibly moved. ' Let me hear
what he can do,' he said, ' and then I will tell you.'
" I sat down to the piano for more than an hour.
" * I will see that your son becomes a good musician, M. le
Comte,' said M. de Saint-»Georges.
"Next morning my father went back to Germany. Nothing
would induce him to stay a single day. He said the atmos-
phere of Paris was vitiated.
" I need not tell you that M. de Saint-Georges kept his word
as far as he was able ; he kept it even more rigorously than my
father had bargained for, because when, exactly on the last
day of the stipulated five years, I received a letter demanding
my immediate return, and informing me that my father's banker
had instructions to stop all further supplies, M. de Saint-
Georges bade me stay.
" ' I promised to make a musician of you, and I have kept
my word. But between a musician and an acknowledged
musician there is a difference. I say stay ! ' he exclaimed.
" ' How am I to stay without money ? '
*' ' You'll earn some.'
" * How t '
" * By giving piano-lessons, like many a poor artist has done
before you.'
" I followed his advice, and am none the worse for the few
years of hardships. The contrast between my own poverty
and my wealthy surroundings was sufficiently curious during
that time, and never more so than on the night when my name
really became known to the general public. I am alluding to
the first performance of ' Le Due de Guise,' which, as you may
remember, was given in aid of the distressed Poles, and sung
throughout by amateurs. The receipts amounted to thirty
thousand francs, and the ladies of the chorus had something
between ten and twelve millions of francs of diamonds in their
hair and round their throats. All my earthly possessions in
money consisted of six francs thirty-five centimes."
I was not at the Theatre de la Renaissance that night, but
two or three years previously I had heard the first opera
Flotow ever wrote, at the Hotel Castellane. I never heard
" Rob Roy " since ; and, curiously enough, many years after- .
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 75
wards I inquired of Lord Granville, who sat next to me on
that evening in 1838, whether he had. He shook his head
negatively. " It is a great pity," he said, " for the music is
very beautiful." And I believe that Lord Granville is a very
good judge.
The Hotel Castellane, or " La Maison du Mouleur," as it
was called by the general public on account of the great number
of scantily attired mythological deities with which its fa9ade
was decorated, was one of the few houses where, during the
reign of Louis-Philippe, the discussion of political and dynastic
differences was absolutely left in abeyance. The scent of party
strife — I had almost said miasma — hung over all the other
salons, notably those of the Princess de Lieven, Madame
Thiers, and Madame de Girardin, and even those of Madame
Le Hon and Victor Hugo were not free from it. Men like my-
self, and especially young men, who instinctively guessed the
hollowness of all this — who, moreover, had not the genius to
become political leaders and not sufficient enthusiasm to
become followers — avoided them ; consequently their descrip-
tdon will find little or no place in these notes. The little I saw
jf Princesse de Lieven at the Tuileries and elsewhere produced
no wish to see more. Thiers was more interesting from a
social and artistic point of view, but it was only on very rare
occasions that he consented to doff his political armor, albeit
that he did not wear the latter with unchanging dignity. Ma-
dame Thiers was an uninteresting woman, and only the
" feeder " to her husband, to use a theatrical phrase. Madame
Le Hon was exceedingly beautiful, exceedingly selfish, and, if
anything, too amiable. The absence of all serious mental
qualities was cleverly disguised by the mask of a grande dame ;
but I doubt whether it was anything else but a mask. Ma-
dame Delphine de Girardin, on the other hand, was endowed
with uncommon literary, poetical, and intellectual gifts ; but I
have always considered it doubtful whether even the Nine
Muses, rolled into one, would be bearable for any length of
time. As for Victor Hugo, no man not blessed with an ex-
traordinary bump of veneration would have gone more than
once to his soirees. The permanent entertainment there con-
sisted of a modern version of the "perpetual adoration," and
of nothing else, because, to judge by my few experiences, his
guests were never offered anything to eat or to drink. As a
set-off, the furniture and appointments of his apartments were
more artistic than those of most of his contemporaries ; but
Becky Sharp has left it on record that " mouton aux navets,"
76 ) AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
dished up in priceless china and crested silver, is after all but
" mouton aux navets," and at Hugo's even that homely fare
was wanting.
Among the few really good salons were those of the ambas-
sadors of the Two Sicilies, of England, and of Austria. The
former two were in the Faubourg Saint-Honore, the latter in
the Faubourg Saint-Germain. The soirees of the Due de
Serra-Cabriola were very animated ; there was a great deal of
dancing. I cannot say the same of those of Lord and Lady
Granville, albeit that both the host and hostess did the honors
with charming and truly patrician grace and hospitality. But
the English guests would not throw off their habitual reserve,
and the French in the end imitated the manner of the latter, in
deference, probably, to Lord and Lady Granville, who were not
at all pleased at this sincerest form of French flattery of their
countrymen.
There was no such restraint at Count Apponyi's, in the
Faubourg Saint-Germain, the only house where the old French
noblesse mustered in force. The latter virtually felt themselves
on their own ground, for the host was known to have not muct"
sympathy with parvenus, even titled ones, though the titlfeo
had been gained on the battle-field. Had he not during the
preceding reign ruthlessly stripped Soult and Marmont, and
half a dozen other dukes of the first empire, by giving instruc-
tions to his servants to announce them by their family names t
Consequently, flirtation a la Marivaux, courtly galanterie a la
Louis XV., sprightly and witty conversation, " minueting " a
la Watteau, was the order of the day as well as of the night
there, for the dejeuner dansant was a frequent feature of the
entertainment. No one was afraid of being mistaken for a
financier anobli ; the only one admitted on a footing of intimacy
bore the simple name of Hope.
Nevertheless, it must not be thought that the entertainments,
even at the three embassies, partook of anything like the splen-
dor so noticeable during the second empire. The refreshments
elsewhere partook of a simple character ; ices and cake, and
lukewarm but by no means strong tea, formed the staple of
them. Of course there were exceptions, such as, for instance,
at the above-named houses, and at Mrs. Tudor's, Mrs. Locke's,
and at Countess Lamoyloff's ; but the era of flowing rivers of
champagne, snacks that were like banquets, and banquets that
were not unlike orgies, had not as yet dawned. And, worse
than all, in a great many salons the era of mahogany and
Utrecht velvet was in full swing, while the era of white-and-gold
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
77
walls, which were frequently neither white nor gold, was
dying a very lingering death. The Hotel Castellane was a
welcome exception to this, and politics were rigorously tabooed,
the reading of long-winded poems was interdicted. Politicians
were simply reminded that the adjacent Elysee-Bourbon, or
even the Hotel Pontalba, might still contain sufficiently lively
ghosts to discuss such all-important matters with them;*
poets who fancied they had something to say worth hearing,
were invited to have it said for them from behind the footlights
by rival companies of amateurs, each of which in many re-
spects need not have feared comparison with the professional
one of the Comedie-Fran^^aise. Amateur theatricals were,
therefore, the principal feature of the entertainments at the
Hotel Castellane ; but there were " off nights " to the full as
brilliant as the others. There was neither acting nor dancing
on such occasions, the latter amusement being rarely indulged
in, except at the grand balls which often followed one another
in rapid succession.
I have said rival companies, but only the two permanent
ones came under that denomination ; the others were what we
should term *' scratch companies," got together for one or two
performances of a special work, generally a musical one, as in
the case of Flotow's " Rob Roy " and "Alice." They vied in
talent with the regular troupes presided over respectively by
Madame Sophie Gay,, the mother of Madame Emile de Girar-
din, and the Duchesse d' Abrantes. Each confined itself to the
interpretation of the works of its manageress, who on such even-
ings did the honors, or of those whom the manageress favored
with her protection. The heavens might fall rather than that
an actor or actress of Madame Gay's company should act with
Madame d' Abrantes, and vice versa. Seeing that neither man-
ageress had introduced the system of " under-studies," disap-
pointments were frequent, for unless a member of the Comedie-
Fran9aise could be found to take up the part at a moment's
notice, the performance had necessarily to be postponed, the
amateurs refusing to act with any but the best. Such preten-
sions may at the first blush seem exaggerated ; they were justi-
fied in this instance, the amateurs being acknowledged to be
the equals of the professionals by every unbiassed critic. In
* The Elys^e-Bourbon, which was the official residence of Louis-Napoleon dunng his
presidency of the second republic, was almost untenanted during the reigu of Louis-Philippe.
The Hotel Pontalba was partly built oh the site of the former mansion of M. de Morfon-
taine, a staunch royalist, who, curiously enough, had married the daughter of Le Peletier de
Saint- Fargeau. the member of the Convention who had voted the death of Louis XV L, and
who himself fell by the hand of an assassin. Mdlle. le Peletier Saint-Fargeau was called
" La Fille de la Nation." — Editor.
78 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
fact, several ladies among the amateurs " took eventually to
the stage," notably Mdlles. Davenay and Mademoiselle de
Lagrange. The latter became a very bright star in the oper-
atic firmament, though she was hidden to the musical world at
large by her permanent stay in Russia. St. Petersburg has
ever been a formidable competitor of Paris for securing the
best histrionic and lyrical talent. Madame Arnould-Plessy,
Bressant, Dupuis, and later on M. Worms, deserted their native
scenes for the more remunerative, though perhaps really less
artistic, triumphs of the theatre Saint-Michel ; and when they
returned, the delicate bloom that had made their art so delight-
ful was virtually gone. " C'etait de I'art Frangais a la sauce
Tartare," said some one who was no mean judge.
The Comte Jules de Castellane, though fully equal, and in
many respects superior, in birth to those who professed to
sneer at the younger branch of the Bourbons, declined to be
guided by these opponents of the new dynasty in their social
crusade against the adherents to the latter ; consequently the
company was perhaps not always so select as it might have
been, and many amusing incidents and piqiiantes adventures
were the result. He put a stop to these, however, when he
discovered that his hospitality was being abused, and that in-
vitations given to strangers, at the request of some of his
familiars, had been paid for in kind, if not in coin.
As a rule, though, the company was far less addicted to
scandal-mongering and causing scandal than similarly com-
posed " sets " during the subsequent reign. They were not
averse to playing practical jokes, especially upon those who
made themselves somewhat too conspicuous by their eccen-
tricities. Lord Brougham, who was an assiduous guest at
the Hotel Castellane during his frequent visits to Paris, was
often selected as their victim. He, as it were, provoked the
tricks played upon him by his would-be Don-Juanesque be-
havior, and by the many opportunities he lost of holding his
tongue — in French. He absolutely murdered the language of
Moliere. His worthy successor in that respect was Lady Nor-
manby, who, as some one said, " Not only murdered the
tongue, but tortured it besides." The latter, however, never
lost her dignity amidst the most mirth-compelling blunders on
her part, while the Englishstatesman was often very near enact-
ing the buffoon, and was once almost induced to accept a role
in a vaudeville, in which his execrable French would no doubt
have been highly diverting to the audience, but would scarcely
have been in keeping with the position he occupied on the
AI\t ENGLISHMAN IN PARI^. 79
Other side of the Channel. " Quant a Lord Brougham," said
a very witty Frenchman, quoting Shakespeare in French," il n'y
a pour lui qu'un pas entre le sublime et le ridicule. C'est le
pas de Calais, et il le traverse trop souvent."
In 1842, when the Comte Jules de Castellane married Mdlle.
de Villontroys, whose mother had married General Rappand
been divorced from him, a certain change came over the spirit
of the house ; the entertainments were as brilliant as ever, but
the two rival manageresses had to abdicate their sway, and the
social status of the guests was subjected to a severer test.
The new dispensation did not ostracize the purely artistic
element, but, as the comtesse tersely put it, " dorenavant, je ne
recevrai que ceux qui ont de Tart 6u des armoiries." She
strictly kept her word, even during the first years of the Second
Empire, when pedigrees were a ticklish thing to inquire
into.
I have unwdttingly drifted away from M. de Saint-
Georges, who, to say the least, was a curious figure in
artistic and literary Paris during the reigns of Louis-Philippe
and his successor. He was quite as fertile as Scribe, and
many of his plots are as ingeniously conceived and worked out
as the latter's, but he suffered both in reputation and purse
from the restless activity and pushing character of the libret-
tist of " Robert le Diable." Like those of Rivarol,* M. Saint-
Georges' claims to be of noble descent were somewhat con-
tested, albeit that, unlike the eighteenth-century pamphleteer,
he never obtruded -them ; but there could be no doubt about
his being a gentlem.an. He was utterly different in every
respect from his rival. Scribe was not only eaten up with
vanity, but grasping to a degree ; he had dramatic instinct,
but not the least vestige of literary refinement. M. de Saint-
Georges, on the contrary, was exceedingly modest, very indif-
ferent to money matters, charitable and obliging in a quiet
way, and though perhaps not inferior in stage-craft, very ele-
gant in his diction. When he liked, he could write verses and
dialogue which often reminded one of Moliere. It was not the
only trait he had in common with the great playwright. Mo-
liere is said to have consulted his housekeeper, Laforet, with
regard to his productions ; M. de Saint-Georges was known to
do the same — with this difference, however, that he did not
always attend to Marguerite's suggestions, in which case
Marguerite grew wroth, especially if the piece turned out to
be a success, in spite of her predictions of failure. On such
* One of the great wits of|the Revolution " — Editor.
8o AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
occasions the popular approval scarcely compensated M. de
Saint-Georges for his discomforts at home ; for though Mar-
guerite was an admirable manager at all times — when she
liked, though there was no bachelor more carefully looked after
than the author of " La Fille du Regiment," he had now and
then to bear the brunt of Marguerite's temper when the pub-
lic's verdict did not agree with hers.
If under such circumstances M. de Saint-Georges ventured
to give a dinner, the viands were sure to be cold, the Bordeaux
iced, and the Champagne lukewarm. M. de Saint-Georges,
who, notwithstanding his courtly manners, was candor itself,
never failed to state the reasons of his discomfiture as a host
to his guests. "Que voulez vous, mes amis, la piece n'a pas
plu a Marguerite et le diner s'en ressent. Si je lui faisais une
observation, elle me repondrait comme elle m'a repondu deja
maintes fois. Le diner e'tait mauvais, vous dites .? C'est pos-
sible, il etait assez bien pour ceux qui ont eu le bon gout
d'applaudir votre piece hier-au-soir." Because Mdlle. Mar-
guerite had a seat in the upper boxes reserved for her at all
the first representations of her master's pieces. She did not
always avail herself of the privilege at the Opera, but she never
missed a first night at the Opera-Comique. I have quoted
textually the words of M. de Saint-Georges on the morrow of the
fremiere of " Giselle," a ballet in two acts, written in collabo-
ration with Theophile Gautier. " * Giselle ' had been a great
success ; Marguerite had predicted a failure ; hence we had a
remarkably bad dinner."
I had had many opportunities of seeing Marguerite, and
often wondered at the secret of the tyranny she exercised.
She was not handsome — scarcely comely ; she was not even
as smart in her appearance as dozens of servants I have seen,
and her mental attainments, as far as I could judge, were not
above those of her own class. One can understand a Turner,
a Jean Jacques Rousseau, submitting to the influence of such
a low-born companion, because, after all, they, though men of
genius, sprang from the people, and may have felt awkward,
ill at ease, in the society of well-bred men and women, espe-
cially of women. Beranger sometimes gave me that idea.
But, as I have already said, no one could mistake M. de Saint-
Georges for anything but a well-bred man. Notwithstanding
his little affectations, his inordinate love of scents, his some-
what effeminate surroundings, good breeding was patent at
every sentence, at every movement. He was not a genius,
certainly not, but the above remarks hold good of a man who
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS, S t
was a genius, and who sprang, moreover, from the higher
bourgeoisie of the eighteenth century — I am alluding to Eugene
Delacroix.
CHAPTER V.
Even in those days " the Boulevards " meant to most of us
nothing more than the space between the present opera and
the Rue Drouot. But the Credit Lyonnais and other palatial
buildings which have been erected since were not as much as
dreamt of ; if I remember rightly, the site of that bank was
occupied by two or three " Chinese Baths." I suppose the
process of steaming and cleansing the human body was some-
thing analogous to that practised in our Turkish baths, but I
am unable to say from experience, having never been inside,
and, curious to relate, most of my familiars were in a similar
state of ignorance. We rarely crossed to that side of the
boulevard except to go and dine at the Cafe Anglais. At the
corner of the Rue Lalitte, opposite the Maison d'Or, was our
favorite tobacconist's, and the cigars we used to get there were
vastly superior to those we get at present in Paris at five times
the cost. The assistant who served us was a splendid creat-
ure. Alfred de Musset became so enamored of her that at
one time his familiars apprehended an " imprudence on his
part." Of course, they were afraid he would marry her.
In those days most of our journeys in the interior of France
had still to be made by the mails of Lafitte-Caillard, and the
people these conveyances brought up from the provinces were
almost as great objects of curiosity to us as we must have been
to them. It was the third lustre of Louis-Philippe's reign.
" God," according to the coinage, "protected France," and
when the Almighty seemed somewhat tired of the task Thiers
and Guizot alternately stepped in to do the safeguarding.
Parliament resounded with the eloquence of orators who are
almost forgotten by now, except by students of history : M. de
Genoude was clamoring for universal suffrage ; M. de Cor-
menin, under the noni de plimie of "Timon," was the fashion-
able pamphleteer ; the papers indulged in vituperation against
one another, compared to which the amenities of the rival
Eatanswill editors were compliments. Grocers and drapers
objected to the participation of M. de Lamartine in the affairs
of State. The Figaro of those days went by the title of Cor-
saire-Satan^ and, though extensively read, had the greatest
6
• ^2 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
difficulty in making both ends meet. In order to improve the
lot of the working man, there was a gratuitous distribution of
sausages once a year on the king's fete-day. The ordinary
rendezvous of provincial and metropolitan actors out of an
engagement was not at the Cafe de Suedev on the Boulevard
Montmartre, but under the trees at the Palais-Royal. Frede-
rick Lemaitre went to confession and to mass every time he
" created " a new role. The Legitimists consented to leave
their aristocratic seclusion, and to breathe the same air with
the bourgeoisie and proletarians of the Boulevard du Crime, to
see him play. The Government altered the title of Sue and
Goubeaux's drama " Les Pontons Anglais " into " Les Pon-
tons," short, and made the authors change the scene from
England to Spain. Alexandre Dumas chaffed Scribe, and
flung his money right and left ; while the other saved it, bought
country estates, and produced as many as twenty plays a year
(eight more than he had contracted for). The National Guards
went in uniform and in companies to shoot hares and rabbits
on the Plaine Saint-Denis, and swaggered about on the Boule-
vards, ogling the women. Vidocq kept a private inquiry in
the Passage Vivienne, and made more money by blackmailing
or catching unfaithful husbands than by catching thieves.
Bougival, Asnieres and Joinville-le-Pont had not become
riparian resorts. The plaster elephant on the Place de la Bas-
tille was crumbling to pieces. The sentimental romances of
Madame Loisa Puget proved the delight of every bourgeoise
family, while the chorus to every popular song was " Larifla,
larifla, fla, fla, fla."
Best of all, from the working man's point of view, was the
low price of bread and wine ; the latter could be had at four
sous the litre in the wine-shops. He, the working man, still
made excursions with his wife and children to the Artesian
well at Crenelle ; and if stranded perchance in the Champs-
Elysees, stood lost in admiration at the tiny carriage with
ponies to match, driven by Theophile Gautier, who had left
off wearing the crimson waistcoats wherewith in former days
he hoped to annoy the bourgeois, though he ceased not to rail
at him by word of mouth and with his pen. He was not
singular in that respect. Among his set, the hatred of the
bourgeois was ingrained; it found constant vent in small
things. Nestor Roqueplan wore jackboots at home instead of
slippers, because the latter chaussure -was preferred by the
shopkeeper. Gavarni published the most biting pictorial satires
against him. Here is one. A dissii^ated-looking loafer is
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. ^'^
leaning against a lamp-post, contemptuously staring at the
spruce, trim bourgeois out for his Sunday walk with his wife.
The loafer is smoking a short clay pipe, and some of the fumes
of the tobacco come between the wind and the bourgeois' re-
spectability. " Voyou ! " says the latter contemptuously.
" Voyou tant que vous voulez, pas epicier," is the answer.
In those days, when M. Thiers happened to be in power,
many members of the Opposition and their journalistic cham-
pions made it a point of organizing little gatherings to the
tabie-d'hote kept by Mdlle. Thiers, the sister of the Prime
Minister of France. Her establishment was at the entrance of
the present Rue Drouot, and a sign-board informed the passer-
by to that effect. There was invariably an account of these
Httle gatherings in next day's papers — of course, with com-
ments. Thiers was known to be the most wretched shot that
ever worried a gamekeeper, and yet he was very fond of
blazing away. "We asked Mdlle. Thiers," wrote the com-
mentators, "whether those delicious pheasants she gave us
were of her illustrious brother's bagging. The lady shook her
head. * Non, monsieur ; le President du Conseil n'a pas
I'honneur de fournir mon etablissement ; a quoi bon, je peux
les acheter k meilleur marche que lui et au meme endroit. S'il
m'en envoyait, il me ferait payer un benefice, parcequ'il ne fait
jamais rien pour rien. C'est un peu le defaut de notre famille.' "
I have got a notion that, mercurial as was M. Thiers up to the
last hour of his life, and even more so at that period, and
sedate as was M. Guizot, the French liked the latter better than
the former.
M. Guizot had said, " Enrichissez-vous," and was known to
be poor; M. Thiers had scoffed at the advice, and was known
to be hoarding while compelling his sister to earn her own
living. It must be remembered that at the time the gangrene
of greed had not entered the souls of all classes of Frenchmen
so deeply as it has now, that the race for wealth had as yet
comparatively few votaries, and that not every stockjobber and
speculator aspired to emulate the vast financial transactions of
the Rothschilds. The latter lived, in those days, in the Rue
Lafitte, where they had three separate mansions, all of which
since then have been thrown into one, and are at present ex-
clusively devoted to business purposes. The Rue Lafitte
was, however, a comparatively quiet street. The favorite
lounges, in addition to the strip of Boulevards I have already
mentioned, were the Rue Le Peletier and the galleries of the
Passage de I'Opera. Both owed the preference over the other
84 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
thoroughfares to the immediate vicinity of the Opera, which
had its frontage in the last-named street, but was by no means
striking or monumental. Its architect, Debret, had to run the
gauntlet of every kind of satire for many a year after its erec-
tion; the bitterest and most scathing of all was that, perhaps,
of a journalist, who wrote one day that, a provincial having
asked him the way to the grand opera, he had been obliged to
answer, " Turn down the street, and it is the first large gateway
on your right."
But if the building itself was unimposing, the company
gathered around its entrance consisted generally of half a
dozen men whose names were then already household words
in the musical world — Auber, Halevy, Rossini and Meyerbeer,
St. Georges, Adam. Now and then, though rarely together,
all of these names will frequently reappear in these notes.
The chief attractions, though, of the Rue Le Peletier were the
famous Italian restaurant of Paolo Broggi, patronized by a
great many singers, the favorite haunt of Mario, in the be-
ginning of his career, and I'Estaminet du Divan, which from
being a very simple cafe indeed, developed into a kind of
politico-literary club under the auspices of a number of budding
men of letters, journalists, and the like, whose modest purses
were not equal to the charges of the Cafe Riche and Tortoni,
and who had gradually driven all more prosaic customers away.
I believe I was one of the few habitues who had no literary as-
pirations, who did not cast longing .looks to the inner portals
of the offices of the National^ the bigwigs of which — Armand
Marrast, Baron Domes, Gerard de Nerval, and others — some-
times made their appearance there, though their restaurant in
ordinary was the Cafe Hardi. The Estaminet du Divan,
however, pretended to a much more literary atmosphere than
the magnificent establishment on the boulevard itself. It is a
positive fact that the waiters in the former would ask, in the
most respectful way imaginable, " Does monsieur want Sue's or
Dumas' feuilleton with his cafe .'' " Not once but a dozen
times I have heard the proprietor draw attention to a remark-
able article. Major Fraser, though he never dined there, spent
an hour or two daily in the Estaminet du Divan to read the
papers. He was a great favorite with every one, though none
of us knew anything about his antecedents. In spite of his
English name, he was decidedly not English, though he spoke
the language. He was one of the best-dressed men of the
period, and by a well-dressed man I do not mean one like
Sue. He generally wore a tight-fitting, short-skirted blue
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. S5
frock-coat, gray trousers, of a shape which since then we have
defined as "pegtops," but the fashion of which was borrowed
from the Cossacks. They are still worn by some French
officers in cavalry regiments, notably crack cavalry regiments.
Major Eraser might have fitly borrowed Piron's epitaph for
himself : " Je ne suis rien, pas meme Academicien." He was
a bachelor. He never alluded to his parentage. He lived by
himself, in an entresol at the corner of the Rue Lafitte and the
Boulevard des Italiens. He was always flush of money, though
the sources of his income were a mystery to every one. He
certainly did not live by gambling, as has been suggested since ;
for those who knew him best did not remember having seen
him touch a card.
I have always had an idea, though I can give no reason for
it, that Major Fraser was the illegitimate son of some exalted
personage, and that the solution of the mystery surrounding
him might be found in the records of the scandals and intrigues
at the courts of Charles IV. and Ferdinand VII. of Spain. The
foreign " soldiers of fortune" who rose to high posts, though
not to the highest like Richards and O'Reilly, were not all of
Irish origin. But the man himself was so pleasant in his in-
tercourse, so uniformly gentle and ready to oblige, that no one
cared to lift a veil which he was so evidently anxious not to
have disturbed. I only remember his getting out of temper
once, namely, when Leon Gozlan, in a comedy of his, intro-
duced a major who had three crosses. The first had been
given to him because he had not one, the second because he
had already one, and the third because all good things' consist
of three. Then Major Fraser sent his seconds to the play-
wright ; the former effected a reconciliation, the more that
Gozlan pledged his word that an allusion to the major was
farthest from his thoughts. It afterwards leaked out that our
irrepressible Alexandre Dumas had been the involuntary cause
of all the mischief. One day, while he was talking to Gozlan,
one of his secretaries came in and told him that a particular
bugbear of his, and a great nonentity to boot, had got the Cross
of the Legion of Honor.
" Grand Dieu," exclaimed Gozlan, " pourquoi lui a-t-on
donnd cette croix ? "
" Vous ne savez pas ? " said Alexandre, looking very wise,
as if he had some important state-secret to reveal.
" Assurement, je ne le sais pas," quoth Gozlan, " ni vous
non plus."
" Ah, par exemple, moi, je le sais."
S6 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
" H6 bien, dites alors."
"Onluiadonn^la croix parceque il n'en avait pas."
It was the most childish of all tricks, but Gozlan laughed
at it, and, when he wrote his piece, remembered it. He am-
plified the very small joke, and, on the first night of his play,
the house went into convulsions over it.
Major Eraser's kindness and gentleness extended to all men —
except to professional politicians, and those, from the highest
to the lowest, he detested and despised. He rarely spoke on
the subject of politics, but when he did every one sat listening
with the raptest attention ; for he was a perfect mine of facts,
which he marshalled with consummate ability in order to show
that government by party was of all idiotic institutions the most
idiotic. But his knowledge of political history was as nothing
to his familiarity with the social institutions of every civilized
country and of every period. Curiously enough, the whole of
his library in his own apartment did not exceed two or three
scores of volumes. His memory was something prodigious,
and even men like Dumas and Balzac confessed themselves his
inferiors in that respect. The mere mention of the most trifling
subject sufficed to set it in motion and Usteners were treated
to a " magazine article worth fifty centimes la ligne au moins,"
as Dumas put it. But the major could never be induced to
write one. Strange to say, he often used to hint that his was
no mere book-knowledge. " Of course, it is perfectly ridicu-
lous," he remarked with a strange smile, " but every now and
again I feel as if all this did not come to me through reading,
but from personal experience. At times I become almost con-
vinced that T lived with Nero, that I knew Dante personally,
and so forth.'
When Major Fraser died, not a single letter was found in his
apartment giving a clue to his antecedents. Merely a file of
receipts, and a scrap of paper attached to one — the receipt of
the funeral company for his grave, and expenses of his burial.
The memorandum gave instructions to advertise his demise for
a week in the journal des Debdts^ the money for which would be
found in the drawer of his dressing-table. His clothes and
furniture were to be sold, and the proceeds to be given to the
Paris poor. ** I do not charge any one with this particular
duty," the document went on ; "I have so many friends, every
one of whom will be ready to carry out my last wishes."
Another " mystery," though far less interesting than Major
Fraser, was the Persian gentleman whom one met everywhere,
at the Opera, at the Bois de Boulogne, at the concerts of the
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 87
Conservatoire, etc. Though invariably polite and smiling, he
never spoke to any one. For ten years, the occupant of the
stall next to his at the Opera had never heard him utter a syl-
lable. He always wore a long white silk petticoat, a splendidly
embroidered coat over that, and a conical Astrakan cap. He
was always alone ; and though every one knew where he lived,
in the Passage de I'Opera, no one had ever set foot in his apart-
ment. As a matter of course, all sorts of legends were current
about him. According to some, he had occupied a high posi-
tion in his own country, from which he had voluntarily exiled
himself, owing to his detestation of Eastern habits ; according
to others, he was simply a dealer in Indian shawls, who had
made a fortune. A third group, the spiteful ones, maintained
that he sold dates and pastilles, and that the reason why he
did not speak was because he was dumb, though not deaf. He
died during the Second Empire, very much respected in the
neighborhood, for he had been very charitable.
Towards the middle of the forties the Passage de I'Opera
began to lose some of its prestige as a lounge. The outside
stockjobbers, whom the police had driven from the Boulevards
and the steps of Tortoni, migrated thither, and the galleries
that had resounded with the sweet warblings — in a very low
key — of the clients of Bernard Latte, the publisher of Doni-
zetti's operas, were made hideous and unbearable with the
jostling and bellowing of the money-spinners. Bernard Latte
himself was at last compelled to migrate.
In the house the ground-floor of w^hich was occupied by
Tortoni, and which was far different in aspect from what it is
now, lived Louis Blanc. Toward nine in the morning he came
down for his cup of cafe au lait. It was the first cup of coffee
of the day served in the establishment. I was never on terms
of intimacy with Blanc, and least of all then, for I shared with
Major Eraser a dislike to politic-mongers, and, rightly or
wrongly, I have always considered the author of " L'Histoire
de Dix Ans " as such. Though Louis Blanc was three or four
and thirty then, he looked like a boy of seventeen — a fact not
altogether owing to his diminutive stature, though he was one
of the smallest men, if not the smallest man, I ever saw. Of
course I mean a man not absolutely a dwarf. I have been
assured, however, that he was a giant compared to Don Mar-
tinoz Garay, Duke of Altamira and Marquis of Astorga, a
Spanish statesman, who died about the early part of the
twenties. These notes do not extend beyond the fall of the
Commune, and it was only after that event that I met M. Blanc
88 AAT ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
once or twice in his old haunts. Hence my few recollections
of him had better be jotted down here. They are not impor-
tant. The man, though but sixty, and apparently not in bad
health, looked desillusionne. They were, no doubt, the most
trying years to the Third Republic, but M. Blanc must have
perceived well enough that, granting all the existing difficulties,
the men at the head of affairs were not the Republicans of his
dreams; He had, moreover, suffered severe losses ; all his
important documents, such as the correspondence between him
and George Sand and Louis-Napoleon, while the latter was at
Ham, and other equally valuable matter, had been destroyed
at the fire of the Northern Goods Station at La Villette, a fire
kindled by the Communists. He was dressed almost in the
fashion of the forties, a wide-skirted, long, brown frock-coat, a
shirt innocent of starch, and a broad-brimmed hat. A few
years later, he founded a paper, L^ Honwie- Libre., the offices of
which were in the Rue Grange-Bateliere. The concern was
financed by a Polish gentleman. Blanc gave his readers to
understand that he would speak out plainly about persons and
things, whether past or present; that he would advance nothing
except on documentary proofs ; but that, whether he did or not,
he would not be badgered into giving or accepting challenges
in defence of his writings. " I am, first of all, too old," he
said ; " but if I were young again, I should not repeat my folly
of '47, when I wanted to fight with Eugene Pelletan on account
of a woman whose virtue, provided she had any, could make
no difference to either of us. It does not matter to me that
we were not the only preux chevaliers of that period, ready to
do battle for or against the charms of a woman whose remains
had crumbled to dust by then."*
M. Blanc's boast that he would advance nothing except on
proof positive was not an idle one, as his contributors found
out to their cost. Every afternoon, at three, he arrived at the
office to read the paper in proof from the first line to the last.
* M. Eugene Pelletan, the father of M. Camille Pelletan, the editor of La Justice,
and first lieutenant to M. Clemenceau, having severely criticised some passages in M.
Blanc's " Histoire de la Revolution," relating to Marie-Antoinette, the autiior quoted a
passage of Madame Campau's " Memoires " in support of his writings. The critic refused
to admit the conclusiveness of the proof , whereupon M. Blanc appealed to the Societe des
Gens de Lettres, which, on the summing up of M. Taxile Delord, gave a verdict in his
favor. M. Pelletan declined to submit to the verdict, as he had refused to admit the juris-
diction, of the tribunal. M. Blanc, who had at first scouted all idea of a duel, considered
himself obliged to resort to this means of obtaining satisfaction, seeing that M. Pelletan
stoutly maintained his opinion. A meeting had been arranged when the Revolution of '48
broke out. The opponents liaving both gone to the Hotel-de-Ville, met by accident at the
entrance, and fell into one another's arms. "Thank Heaven ! " exclaimed Thiers, when he
heard of it. " If Pelletan had killed Blanc, I should have been the smallest man in France."
M. Blanc's allusioiv to other " preux chevaliers " aimed particularly at M. Cousin, who,
having become a minister against his will, resumed with a sigh of relief his studies under the
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 89
Not the slightest inaccuracy was allowed to pass. Kind as he
was, his reporters' lives became a burden. One of the latter
told me a story which, though it illustrates the ridiculousness of
M. Blanc's scruples when carried too far, is none the less
valuable. A dog had been run over on the Boulevards, and
the reporter, with a hankering after the realistic method, had
endeavored to reproduce onomatopoeically the sounds uttered
by the animal in pain.
"Are you quite sure, monsieur, about your sounds.-"' asked
Blanc.
" Of course, I am as sure as a non-scientific man can be,"
was the answer.
" Then strike them out ; one ought to be scientifically sure.
By-the-by, I see you have made use of the word * howl ' {hurler).
Unless I am mistaken, a dog when in pain yelps {glapit).
Please alter it."
On another occasion, on going through the advertisements,
he found a new one relating to a cough mixture, setting forth
its virtues in the most glowing terms. Immediately the adver-
tisement canvasser was sent for, M. Blanc having refused to
farm out that department to an agency, as is frequently done
in Paris, in order to retain the absolute control over it.
. " Monsieur, I see that you have a new advertisement, and it
seems to me a profitable one ; still, before inserting it, I should
like to be certain that the medicine does all it professes to do.
Can you personally vouch for its efficiency."
" Mon Dieu, monsieur, I believe it does all it professes to
do, but you can scarcely expect me to run the risk of bronchitis
in order to test it upon myself ! "
" Heaven forbid that I should be so exacting and indifferent
to other people's health, but until you can bring me some one
who has been cured, we will not insert it."
Let me come back for a moment to that sentence of Louis
Blanc, about the practice of duelling, in connection with one
of the most tragic affairs of that kind within my recollection.
I am alluding to the Dujarrier-Beauvallon duel. I have been
in the habit for years, whenever an important meeting took
place in France, to read every shade of English opinion on the
Second Empire. He was especially fond of the seventeenth centun', and all at once he,
who had scarcely ever noticed a pretty woman, became violently smitten with the Duchesse
de Longueville, who had been in her grave for nearly two centuries. He positively invested
her with every perfection, moral and mental ; unfortunately, he could not invest her with a
shapely bust, the evidence being too overwhelmingly against her having been adorned tliat
way. One day some one showed him a portrait of the sister of the " grand Cond^," in which
she was amply provided with the charms the absence of which M. Cousin regretted. He
wrote a special chapter on the subject, and was well-nigh challenging all his contradictors. —
Editor.
90
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
subject; and while recognizing the elevated sentiments of the
writers, I have no hesitation in saying that not a single one
knew what he was writing about. They could not grasp the
fact that for a man of social standing to refuse a challenge or
to refrain from sending one, save under very exceptional cir-
cumstances, was tantamount to courting social death. They
knew not that every door would henceforth be closed against
him ; that his wife's best friends would cease to call upon her,
by direction of their husbands ; that his children at school
would be shunned by their comrades ; that no young man of
equal position to his, were he ever so much in love with his
daughter, would ask her to become his wife, that no parents
would allow their daughters to marry his son. That is what
backing out of a duel meant years ago ; that is what it still
means to-day — of course, I repeat, with certain classes. Is it
surprising, then, that with such a prospect facing him, a man
should risk death rather than become a pariah .? Would the
English leader-writer, if he be a man of worth, like to enter
his club-room without a hand held out to welcome him from
those with whom he was but a few weeks ago on the most
friendly footing,* without a voice to give him the time of day .-*
I think not ; and that is what would happen if he were a
Frenchman who neglected to ask satisfaction for even an im-
aginary insult.
I knew M. Dujarrier, the general manager of La Presse, and
feel convinced that he was not a bit more quarrelsome or eager
" to go out " than Louis Blanc. It is, moreover, certain that
he felt his inferiority, both as a swordsman and as a marksman,
to such a practised shot and fencer as M. de Beauvallon ; and
well he might, seeing that subsequent evidence proved that he,
Dujarrier, had never handled either weapon. Yet he not only
strenuously opposed all attempts on the part of his friends to
effect a reconciliation, but would not afford a hint to his adver-
sary of his want of skill, lest the latter should make him a pres-
ent of his lite. The present would not have been worth ac-
cepting. It would have been a Nessus-shirt, and caused the
moral death of the recipient. Consequently, Dujarrier liter-
ally went like a lamb to the slaughter rather than be branded
as a coward, and he made no secret of his contemplated sacri-
fice. " I have no alternative but to fight," he said, two days
before the meeting, to Alexandre Dumas, who taxed all his
own ingenuity, and that of his son, to prevent, at any rate, a
fatal issue. The only way to effect this, according to the very
logical reasoning of the two Dumases, was to induce Dujarrier,
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 9 1
who, as the offended party, had the choice of weapons, to
choose the sword. They counted upon the generosity of Beau-
vallon, who, as a gentleman, on discovering his adversary's
utter lack of skill, would disarm, or inflict a slight wound on
him. Unfortunately, young Dumas, with the best intentions,
unburthened himself to that effect among those most interested
in the affair, namely, the staffs of La Fresse and Le Globe.
These two journals were literally at daggers drawn, and some
writers connected with the latter went hinting, if not saying
openly, that Dujarrier was already showing the white feather.
Whether Dujarrier heard of the comments in that shape, or
whether he instinctively guessed what they would be, has
never been clearly made out, but it is certain that from that
moment he insisted upon the use of pistols. " I do not intend
my adversary to show me the slightest favor, either by disarm-"
ing me or by wounding me in the arm or leg. I mean to have
a serious encounter," he said. Young Dumas, frightened per-
haps at his want of reticence in the matter, begged his father
to go and see Grisier, * and claim his intervention. Alexandre
Dumas, than whom no stauncher friend ever existed, who
would have willingly risked his own life to, save that of Dujar-
rier, had to decline the mission suggested by his son. " I
cannot do it," he said ; " the first and foremost thing is to
safeguard Dujarrier's reputation, which is the more precious
because it is his first duel."
" His first duel," — here is the keynote to the whole of the
proceedings as far as Dujarrier and his personal friends are
concerned. Had Dujarrier been in the position of the editor
of his paper, Emile de Girardin, — had he been out before and
killed or severely wounded his man, as the latter killed Armand
Carrel nine years before, — he might have openly announced
his determination " never to go out again " under no matter
what provocation. Unfortunately, Dujarrier was not in that
position ; in fact, it is no exaggeration to say that Dujarrier
paid the penalty of M. de Girardin's decision. A great deal
of mawkish sentiment has been Vv^asted upon the tragic fate of
Armand Carrel ; in reality, he had what he deserved, albeit
that no one more than M. de Girardin himself regretted his
untimely end. Most writers will tell one that Carrel fell a
victim to his political opinions ; nothing is farther from the
truth. Armand Carrel fell a victim to a " question of shop "
of which he allowed himself, though perhaps not deliberately,
* The great fencing-master, whom Dumas immortalized in his " Maitre d'Armes **—
Editor.
92
AA^ ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
to become the champion. After many attempts, more or less
successful, in the way of popular journalism, M. de Girardin,
in 1836, started La Fresse^ a serious journal of the same size
as the then existing ones, but at half the subscription of the
latter, all of which absolutely banded at once against him.
Armand Carrel, who was a soldier, and a valiant soldier, a
writer of talent and a gentleman to boot, ought to have stood
aloof from that kind of polemics. Emile de Girardin was not
the likely man to submit to open or implied insult. His best,
albeit his least-known, book, " Emile," which is as it were an
autobiography, had given the measure of his thoughts on the
subject of duelling. " Emile " goes into society as a soldier
would go into an enemy's country. Not that he is by nature
cruel or blood-thirsty, but he knows that, to hold his own, he
must be always ready, not only for defence, but for attack.
" The secret one is bound to preserve with regard to the
preparations for a meeting, and those preparations themselves
are simply horrible. The care, the precautions to be taken,
the secret which is not to leak out, all these are very like the
preparations for a crime," he says. " Nevertheless," he goes
on, " the horror of all this disappears, when the man, impelled
by hatred or resentment, is thirsting for revenge ; but when
the heart is absolutely without gall, and when the imagination
is still subject to all the softer emotions, then, in order not to
recoil with fear at the ever horrible idea of a duel, a man must
be imbued with all the force of a prejudice which resists the
very laws that condemn it."
It was under the latter circumstances that M. de Girardin
confronted his adversary. The two men had probably never
exchanged a word with one another, they felt no personal ani-
mosity ; nay, more, the duel v/as not an inevitable one ; and
yet it cost one man his life, and burdened the other with life-
long regrets.
Had the issue been different. La Presse would probably have
disappeared, and all recrimination ceased. As it was, unable
to goad M. de Girardin into a reversal of his decision " never
to go out again," and that in spite of nine years of direct insult
from a so-called political party, of every kind of quasi-legal
vexation, M. de Beauvallon constituted himself a second Armand
Carrel, selecting Dujarrier as his victim, the chief not being
available. But here all resemblance to Armand Carrel ceased,
and the law itself was anxious to mark the difference. In the
one case it had been set at naught by two men of undoubted
courage and undoubted honor, meeting upon equal terms ; in
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 93
the other, it was proved that, not content with Dujarrier's well-
known inferiority, De Beauvallon's pistols had been tried
before the encounter. The court could take no cognizance of
this, but it marked its disapproval by sentencing Beauvallon
to eight years', and one of his seconds, M. d'Ecquevilley, to
ten years' imprisonment for perjury. Both had declared on
oath that the pistols had not been tried. The Dujarrier duel
caused a deep and painful sensation. I have dwelt upon it at
greater length than was absolutely necessary, because it inspired
me with a resolution from which I have never departed since.
I was twenty-seven at the time, and, owing to circumstances
which I need not relate here, foresaw that the greater part of
my life wquld be spent in France. I am neither more cour-
ageous nor more cowardly than most persons, but I objected
to be shot down like a mad dog on the most futile pretext
because some one happened to have a grudge against me. To
have declined " to go out " on the score of my nationality would
not have met the case in the conditions in which I was living,
so from that moment I became an assiduous client at Gosset's
shooting-gallery, and took fencing lessons of Grisier. I do not
know that I became very formidable with either weapon, only
sufficiently skilled not to be altogether defenceless. I took
care at the same time to let it go forth that a duel to me not
only meant one or both parties so severely wounded as not to be
able to continue the struggle, but the resumption of the com-
bat, when he or they had recovered, until one was killed, Of
course, it implied that I would only go out for a sufficiently
weighty reason, but that, if compelled to do so for a trifling one,
I would still adhere to my original resolution. Only once, more
than twelve years afterwards, I had a quarrel fastened upon
me, arising out of the excitement consequent upon the attempt
of Orsini. I was the offended party, and, as such, could dic-
tate the conditions of the meeting. I declined to modify in
the least the rules I had laid down for my own guidance, and
stated as much to those who were to act for me — General Fleury
and Alexandre Dumas. My adversary's friends refused to
accept the terms. I was never molested afterwards, though an
Englishman had not always a pleasant life of it, even under
the Second Empire.
In connection with Dujarrier's duel, I may say a few words
here of that quasi-wonderful woman, Lola Montes. I say
" quasi," because really there was nothing wonderful about
her, except perhaps her beauty and her consummate impu-
dence. She had not a scrap of talent of any kind ; education
94 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
she had none, for, whether she spoke in English, French, or
Spanish, grammatical errors abounded, and her expressions
were always those of a pretentious housemaid, unless they were
those of an excited fishwife. She told me that she had been
at a boarding school in Bath, and that she was a native of
Limerick, but that when quite a child she was taken to Seville
by her parents. Her father, according to her account, was a
Spaniard, her mother a Creole. " But I scandalized every one
at school, and would not learn." I could quite believe that ;
what I could not believe was that a girl of her quick powers —
for she undoubtedly possessed those — could have spent, how-
ever short a time in the society of decent girls of her own age,
let alone of presumedly refined school-mistresses, without
having acquired some elementary notions of manner and
address. Her gait and carriage were those of a duchess, for
she was naturally graceful, but the moment she opened her
lips the illusion vanished — at least to me ; for I am bound to
admit that men of far higher intellectual attainments than
mine, and familiar with very good society, raved and kept
raving about her, though all those defects could not have failed
to strike them as they had struck me. I take it that it must
have been her beauty, for, though not devoid of wit, her wit
was that of the pot-house, which would not have been tolerated
in the smoking-room of a club in the small hours.
When Dujarrier was carried home dying to the Rue Lafitte,
a woman flung herself on the body and covered his face with
kisses. The woman was Lola Montes. In his will he left her
eighteen shares in the Palais-Royal Theatre, amounting in
value to about 20,000 francs. She insisted afterwards in ap-
pearing as a witness at the trial at Rouen, although her evi-
dence threw not the slightest light upon the matter. She
wanted to create a sensation ; and she accomplished her aim.
I was there, and though the court was crowded with men
occupying the foremost ranks in literature, art, and Paris
society, no one attracted the attention she did. Even the sober
president and assessors sat staring at her open-mouthed when
she took her stand behind the little rail which does duty for a
witness-box in France. She was dressed in mourning — not
the deepest, but soft masses of silk and lace — and when she
lifted her veil and took off her glove to take the prescribed
oath, a murmur of admiration ran through the court. That is
why she had undertaken the journey to Rouen, and verily she
had her reward.
It was on that occasion that I became acquainted, though
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 95
quite by accident, with the young man who, ten or eleven
years later, was to leap into fame all of a sudden with one
novel. I have already said that the court was very crowded,
and next to me was standing a tall, strapping fellow, some-
what younger than myself, whom, at the first glance, one would
have taken to be an English country gentleman or well-to-do
farmer's son. Such mistakes are easily made in Normandy.
When Lola Montes came forward to give her evidence, some
one on the other side of him remarked that she looked like the
heroine of a novel.
" Yes," he replied ; " but the heroines of the real novels en-
acted in everyday life do not always look like that."
Then he turned to me, having seen me speak to several
people from Paris and in company of Alexandre Dumas and
Berryer, whom everybody knew. He asked me some partic-
ulars about Lola Montes, which I gave him. I found him
exceedingly well-informed. We chatted for a while. When
he left he handed me his card, and hoped that we should see
one another again. The card bore the simple superscription
of " Gustave Flaubert." I was told during the evening that
he was the son of a local physician of note. Twelve years
later the whole of France rang with his name. He had writ-
ten " Madame Bovary," and laid the foundation of what sub-
sequently became the ultra-realistic school of French fiction.
To return for a moment to Lola Montes. The trial was
really the starting-point for her notoriety, for, in spite of her
beauty, she had been at one time reduced to sing in the streets
in Brussels. That was after she had fled from Calcutta,
whither her first husband, a captain or lieutenant James, in
the service of the East India Company, had taken her. She
landed at Southampton, and, during her journey to London,
managed to ingratiate herself with an English nobleman, by
pretending that she was the wife of a Spanish soldier who had
been shot by the Carlists. She told me all this herself, be-
cause she was not in the least reticent about her scheming,
especially after her scheming had failed. She would, however,
not divulge the name of her travelling companion, who tried
to befriend her by introducing her to some of his acquaint-
ances, with the view of obtaining singing lessons for her.
" But I did not make my expenses, because you English are
so very moral and my patron was suspected of not giving him-
self all that trouble for nothing. Besides, they managed to
ferret out that I was not the widow of a Spanish officer, but
the wife of an English one ; and then, as you may imagine, it
96 AN- Englishman in paris.
was all up. I got, however, an engagement at the Opera
House in the ballet, but not for long; of course, I could not
dance much, but I could dance as well as half your wooden
ugly women that were there. But they told tales about me,
and the manager dismissed me.*
She fostered no illusions with regard to her choregraphic
talents; in fact she fostered no illusions about anything, and
her candor was the best trait in her character. She had failed
as a dancer in Warsaw, whither she had gone from London,
by way of Brussels. In the Belgian capital, according to her
own story, she had been obliged to sing in the streets to keep
from starvation. I asked her why she had not come from Lon-
don to Paris, "where, for a woman of her attractions, and not
hampered by many scruples," as I pointed out to her, " there
were many more resources than elsewhere." The answer was
so characteristic of the daring adventuress, who notwithstand-
ing her impecuniosity, flew at the highest game to be had, that
I transcribe it in full. I am often reluctant to trust to my
memory : in this instance I may ; I remember every word of
it. This almost illiterate schemer, who probably had not the
remotest notion of geography, of history, had pretty well " the
* The English nobleman must [have been Lord Malmesbury, who alludes to her as fol-
lows: " This was a most remarkable woman, and may be said by her conduct at Munich
to have set fire to the magazine of revolution, which was ready to burst forth all over
Europe, and which made the year 1848 memorable. I made her acquaintance by accident, as
I was going up to London from Heron Court, in the railway. The Consul at Southampton
asked me to take charge of a Spanish lady who had been recommended to his care, and
who had just landed. I consented to do this, and was introduced by him to a remarkably
handsome person, who was in deep mourning, and who appeared to be in great distress.
As we were alone in the carriage, she, of her own accord, informed me, in bad English,
that she was the widow of Don Diego Leon, who had lately been shot by the Carlists after
he was taken prisoner, and that she was going to London to seli some Spanish property that
she possessed, and give lessons in singing, as she was very poor. On arriving in London
she took some lodgings, and came to my house to a little concert which I gave, and sang
some Spanish ballads. Her accent was foreign, and she had all the appearance of being
what she pretended to be. She sold different things, such as veils, etc., to the party present,
and received a good deal of patronage. Eventually she took an engagement for the ballet
at the Opera House, but her dancing was very inferior. At last she was reco.gnized as an
impostor, her real name being Mrs. James, and Irish by extraction, and had married an
officer in India. Her engagement at the Opera was cancelled, she left the country,
and retired to Munich. She was a very violent woman, and actually struck one of the
Bavarian generals as he was reviewing the troops. The king became perfectly infatuated
with her beauty and cleverness, and gave her large sums of money, wilh a title, which she
afterwards bore when she returned to England." (" Memoirs of an Ex-Minister," by the
Earl of Malmesbury.)
Lord Malmesbury is wrong in nearly every particular which he has got from hearsay.
Lola Months did not retire to Munich after her engagement at the Opera House had been
cancelled, but to Brussels, and from there to Warsaw. Nor did she play the all-important part
in the Bavarian riots or revolution he ascribes to her. The author of these notes has most
of the particulars of Lola Months' career previous to her appearance in Munich from her
own Hps, and, as he has already said, she was not in the least reticent about her scheming,
especially when her scheming had failed. For the story of the events at Munich, I gather
inferentially from-his notes that he is indebted to Karl von Abel, King Ludwig's ultramon-
tane minister, who came afterwards to Paris, and who, if I mistake not, was the .father or
the uncle of Herr von Abel, the Berlin correspondent of the Times, some fourteen or fifteen
years ago. — Editor.
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 97
Almanach de Gotha " by heart, and seemed to guess instinct-
ively at things which said Almanach carefully abstained from
mentioning, namely, the good understanding or the reverse
between the married royal couples of Europe, etc.
" Why did not I come to Paris ! " she replied. " What was
the good of coming to Paris where there was a king, bourgeois
to his finger-nails, tight-fisted besides, and notoriously the
most moral and best father all the world over ; with princes
who were nearly as much married as their dad, and with those
who were single far away ? W^hat was the good of coming to
a town where you could not bear the title of ' la maitresse du
prince ' without the risk of being taken to the frontier between
two gendarmes, where you could not have squeezed a thou-
sand louis out of any of the royal sons for the life of you "i
What was the good of trying to get a count, where the wife of
a grocer or a shoemaker might have objected to your presence
at a ball, on the ground of your being an immoral person ?
No, I really meant to make my way to the Hague. I had
heard that William II. whacked his wife like any drunken
laborer, so that his sons had to interfere every now and then.
I had heard this in Calcutta, and from folk who were likely to
know. But as I thought that I might have the succession of
the whacks, as well as of the lord, I wanted to try my chance at
Brussels first ; besides, I hadn't much money."
" But King Leopold is married, and lives very happily with
his wife," I interrupted.
" Of course he does — they all do," was the answer ; " mais
9a n'empeche pas les sentiments, does it ? I am very ignorant,
and haven't a bit of memory, but I once heard a story about a
Danish or Swedish king — I do not know the difference — who
married an adventuress like myself, though the queen and the
mother of his heir was alive. He committed bigamy, but kings
and queens may do things we mayn't. One day, he and his
lawful wife were at one of their country seats, and, leaning out
of the window, when a carriage passed with a good-looking
woman in it, ' Who is this lady ? ' asked the queen. ' That's
my wife,' replied the king. ' Your wife ! what am I, then ? '
said the queen. ' You ? well, you are my queen.*"*
" Never mind, whatever my intentions on Leopold's money
or affections may have been, they came to nothing ; for before
I could get as much as a peep at him, my money had all been
* Lola Montfes was perfectly correct. Tt was Frederick IV. of Denmark, only the woman
was not an adventuress like herself, but the Countess Reventlow, whom he had abducted.—
Editor.
98 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS,
spent, and I was obliged to part with my clothes first, and then
to sing in the streets to get food. I was taken from Brussels
to Warsaw by a man whom I believe to be a German. He
spoke many languages, but he was not very well off himself.
However, he was very kind, and, when we got to Warsaw,
managed to get me an engagement at the Opera. After two
or three days, the director told me that I couldn't dance a bit.
I stared him full in the face, and asked him whether he thought
that, if I could dance, I would have come to such a hole as
this theatre. Thereupon he laughed, and said I was a clever
girl for all that, and that he would keep me on for ornament.
I didn't give him the chance for long. I left after about two
months, with a Polish gentleman, who brought me to Paris.
The moment I get a nice round lump sum of money, I am going
to carry out my original plan ; that is, trying to hook a prince.
I am sick of being told that I can't dance. They told me so in
London, they told me in Warsaw, they told me at the Porte
Saint-Martin where they hissed me. I don't think the men, if
left to themselves, would hiss me ; their wives and their daugh-
ters put them up to it : a woman like myself spoils their trade
of honest women. I am only waiting my chance here ; for
though you are all very nice and generous and all that kind of
thing, it is not what I want."
Shortly after this conversation, the death of Dujarrier and
his legacy to her gave her the chance she had been looking for.
She left for London, I heard, with an Englishman ; but I never
saw him, so I cannot say for certain. But, it appears, she did
not stay long, because, a little while after, several Parisians,
on their return from Germany, reported that they had met her
at Wiesbaden, at Homburg, and elsewhere, punting in a small
way, not settling down anywhere, and almost deliberately avoid-
ing both Frenchmen and Englishmen. The rumor went that
her husband was on her track, and that her anxiety to avoid
him had caused her to leave London hurriedly. In spite of
her checkered career, in spite of the shortcomings at Brussels,
Lola Montes was by no means anxious for the " sweet yoke of
domesticity." In another six months, her name was almost
forgotten by dll of us, except by Alexandre Dumas, who now
and then alluded to her. Though far from superstitious,
Dumas, who had been as much smitten with her as most of
her admirers, avowed that he was glad she had disappeared.
" She has * the evil eye,' " he said ; " and sure to bring bad
luck to any one who closely links his destiny with hers, for
however short a time. You see what has occurred to Dujarrier.
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. - 99
If ever she is heard of again, it will be in connection with
some terrible calamity that has befallen a lover of hers.''
We all laughed at him, except Dr. Veron, who could have given
odds to Solomon Eagle himself at prophesying. Fortunately
he was generally afraid to open his lips, for he was thoroughly
sincere in his belief that he could prevent the event by not
predicting it — at any rate aloud. For once in a way, how-
ever, Alexandre Dumas proved correct. When we did hear
again of Lola Mpntes, it was in connection with the dis-
turbances that had broken out at Munich, and the abdication
of her royal lover, Louis L of Bavaria, in favor of his eldest
son, Maximilian.
The substance of the following notes relating to said disturb-
ances was communicated to me by a political personage who
played a not inconsiderable part in the events themselves. As
a rule it is not very safe to take interested evidence of that
kind, "but in this instance," as my informant put it, "there
was really no political reputation to preserve, as far as he was
concerned." Lola Montes had simply tried to overthrow him
as Madame Dubarry overthrew the Due de Choiseul, because
he would not become her creature , and she had kept on re-
peating the tactics with every succeeding ministry, even that
of her own making. But it should be remembered that revolu-
tion was in the air in the '48, and that if Lola Montes had been
the most retiring of favorites, or Louis I. the most moral of
kings, the uprising would have happened just the same, though
the upshot might have been different with regard to Louis him-
self.
Here is a portrait of him, which, in my literary ignorance,
I think sufficiently interesting to reproduce.
" Louis was a chip of the old Wittelsbach block ; that is, a
Lovelace, with a touch of the minnesinger about him. Age had
not damped his ardor ; for, though he was sixty-one when
Lola Montes took up her quarters at Munich, any and every
' beauty ' that came to him was sure of an enthusiastic welcome.
And Heaven alone knows how many had come to him during
his reign ; they seemed really directed to him from every quarter
of the globe. The new arrival had her portrait painted almost
immediately; it was added to the collection for which a special
gallery had been set apart, and whither Louis went to meditate
by himself at least once a day. He averred that he went thither
for poetic inspiration, for he took himself au serieux as a poet,
and, above all, as a classical poet, modelling his verse upon
those of ancient times. He had published a volume of poems,
I oo AN ENGLISHMAN IN PA RIS.
entitled ' Walhalla's Genossen ; ' * but his principal study of
antiquity was mainly confined to the rites connected with the
worship of Venus. He was very good-natured and pleasant in
his dealings with every one ; he had not an ounce of gall in
the whole of his body. He was, moreover, very religious in
his own way, and consequently the tool of the Jesuits, who
really governed the kingdom, but who endeavored to make his
own life sweet and pleasant to him. They liked him to take
part in the religious processions,as any burgher of devout tenden-
cies might, but being aware of his tendency to be attracted by
the first pretty face he caught sight of, they took care to rele-
gate all the handsome maidens and matrons to the first and
second floors. In that way Louis's eyes were always lifted
heavenwards, and religious appearances were preserved.
" Under such conditions, it was not difficult for a woman of
Lola Montes' attractions and daring to gain her ends. She was
not altogether without means when she came to Munich, though
the sum in her possession was far from a hundred thousand
francs, as she afterwards alleged it was. At any rate, she was
not the penniless adventuress she had formerly been, and when,
in her beautiful dresses, she applied to the director of the Hof-
Theatre for an engagement, the latter was fairly dazzled, and
granted her request without a murmur. She did, however, not
want to dance, and, before her first appearance, she managed
to set tongues wagging about her beauty, and, as a matter of
course, the rumors reached the king's ears. I am afraid I
shall have to prefer a grave charge, but I am not doing so with-
out foundation. It is almost certain by now that the Jesuits,
seeing in her a tool for the further subjugation of the super-
annuated royal troubadour, countenanced, if they did not as-
sist her in her schemes ; they, the Jesuits, did many things of
which a Catholic, like myself, however firm in his allegiance to
Rome, could not but disapprove. At any rate, three or four
days after the king's first meeting with her, Lola Montes was
presented at court, and introduced to the royal family and corps
diplomatique by the sovereign himself, as ' his best friend.'
Events proceeded apace. In August, '47, the king granted her
patents of * special naturalization,' created her Baroness von
Rosenthal, and, almost immediately afterwards. Countess von
Landsfeld. She received an annuity of twenty thousand florins,
and had a magnificent mansion built for her. At the instance
of the king, the queen was compelled to confer the order of St.
Th6rbse upon her. I, and many others, had strenuously op-
* " Companions in Walhalla." — Editor.
A i\r ENGLISHMAJSt IN PARIS. 1 6 1
posed all this, though not unaware that, up till then, the Jesuits
were on her side, rather than on ours. We paid the penalty of
our opposition with our dismissal from office, and then Lola
Months confronted the Jesuits by herself. She was absolutely
mad to invade Wurtemberg, not for any political reason ; she
could no more have accounted for any such tlian the merest
hind, but simply because, a few months before her appearance
at Munich, she had been, in her opinion, slighted by the old
king. The fact was, old William, sincerely attached to Amalia
Stubenrauch, the actress, had not fallen a victim to Lola Montes'
charms, and had taken little or no notice of her. The contem-
plated invasion of Wurtemberg was an act of private revenge.
But mad as she was, there was some one more mad still — King
Louis L of Bavaria.
" The most ill-advised thing she did, perhaps, was to change
her supporters. Like the ignorant, overbearing woman she
was, she would not consent to share her power over the king
with the Jesuits ; she tried to form an opposition against them
among the students at the University, and she succeeded to a
certain extent. These adherents constituted the nucleus of a
corps which soon became known under the title of ' AUemanen.'
But the more noble-minded and patriotic youths at the Munich
University virtually ostracized the latter, and several minor
disturbances had already broken out in consequence of this,
when, in the beginning of February, '48, a more than usually
serious manifestation against ' Lola's creatures,' as they were
called, took place. The woman did not lack pluck, and she
insisted upon defying the rioters by herself. But they proved
too much for her ; and, after all, she was a woman. She
endeavored to escape from their violence, but every house was
shut against her ,' the Swiss on guard at the Austrian Embassy
refused her shelter. A most painful scene happened ; the king
himself, the moment the news reached him, rushed to her
rescue, and, having elbowed his way through the threatening,
yelling crowd, offered her his arm, and conducted her to the
church of the Theatines, hard by. As a matter of course,
several officers had joined him, and all might have been well,
if she had taken the lesson to heart. But her violent, dom-
ineering, vindictive temper got the better of her. No sooner
did she find herself in comparative safety, than emboldened
by the presence of the officers, she snatched a pistol from one
of them, and, armed with it, leapt out of the building, confront-
ing the crowd, and threatening to fire. Heaven alone knows
what would have been the result of this mad act, but for the
16^ Ai^t ENGLISHMAN IN PAklS.
timely arrival of a squadron of cuirassiers, who covered het
retreat.
" The excitement might have died out in a week or a fort-
night, though the year '48 was scarcely a propitious one for a
display of such quasi-feudal defiance, if she had merely been
content to forego the revenge for the insults she herself had
provoked ; but on the loth of February she prevailed upon the
king to issue a decree, closing the University for a twelvemonth.
The smouldering fire of resentment against her constant inter-
ference in the affairs of the country blazed forth once more, and
this time with greater violence than ever. The working men,
nay, the commercial middle classes, hitherto indifferent to the
king's vagaries, which, after all, brought grist to their mill,
espoused the students' cause. Barricades were erected ; the
cry was not ' Long live the Constitution,' or ' Long live the
Republic,' but 'Down with the concubine.' It was impossible
to mistake the drift of that insurrection, but, in order to
leave no doubt about it in the sovereign's mind, a deputation of
the municipal council and one of the Upper House waited
upon Louis, and insisted upon the dismissal of Lola Montes,
who, in less than an hour, left Munich, escorted by a troop of
gendarmes, who, however, had all their work to do to prevent
her from being torn to pieces by the mob. Her departure was
the signal for the pillaging of her mansion, at which the king
looked on — as he thought — incognito. It is difficult to deter-
mine what prompted him to commit so rash an act. Was it a
feeling of relief at having got rid of her — for there was a good
deal of cynicism about that semi-philosophical, semi-mystical
troubadour — or a desire to chew the cud of his vanished hap-
piness ? Whatever may have been the reason, he paid dearly
for it, for some one smashed a looking-glass over his head,
and he was carried back to the palace, unconscious, and bleed-
ing profusely. It was never ascertained who inflicted the
wounds, though there is no doubt that the assailant knew his
victim. Meanwhile Lola Montes had succeeded in slipping
away from her escort, and three hours later she re-entered
Munich disguised, and endeavored to make her way to the
palace. But the latter was carefully guarded, and for the next
month all her attempts in that direction proved fruitless, though,
audacious as she was, she did not dare stop for a single night
in the capital itself. Besides, I do not believe that a single
inhabitant would have given her shelter. Unlike a good many
royal favorites of the past, she had no personal adherents, no
faithful servants who would have stood by her through thick
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 103
and thin, because she never treated any one kindly in the days
of her prosperity : she could only bribe ; she was incapable of
inspiring disinterested affection among those who were insen-
sible to the spell of her marvellous beauty."
So far the narrative of my informant. The rest is pretty
well known by everybody. A few years later, she committed
bigamy with another English officer, named Heald, who was
drowned at Lisbon about the same time that her real husband
died. Alexandre Dumas was right — she brought ill-luck to
those who attached themselves to her for any length of time,
whether in the guise of lovers or husbands.
These notes about Lola Montes remind me of another woman
whom public opinion would place in the same category, though
she vastly differed in character. I am alluding to Alphonsine
Plessis, better known to the world at large as " La Dame aux
Camelias." I frequently met her in the society of some of my
friends between '43 and '47, the year of her death. Her
name was as I have written it, and not Marie or Marguerite
Duplessis, as has been written since.
The world at large, and especially the English, have always
made very serious mistakes, both with regard to the heroine
of the younger Dumas' novel and play, and the author himself.
They have taxed him with having chosen an unworthy subject
and, by idealizing it, taught a lesson of vice instead of virtue ;
they have taken it for granted that Alphonsine Plessis was no
better than her kind. She was much better than that, though
probably not sufficiently good to take a housemaid's place and
be obedient to her pastors and masters, to slave from morn till
night for a mere pittance, in addition to her virtue, which was
ultimately to prove its own reward — the latter to consist of a
home of her own, with a lot of squalling brats about her, where
she would have had to slave as she had slaved before, without
the monthly pittances hitherto doled out to her. She was not
sufficiently good to see her marvellously beautiful face, her
matchless graceful figure set off by a cambric cap and a calico
gown, instead of having the first enhanced by the gleam of
priceless jewels in her hair and the second wrapped in soft laces
and velvets and satins ; but, for all that, she was not the com-
mon courtesan the goody-goody people have thought fit to pro-
claim her — the common courtesan, who, according to these
goody-goody people, would have descended to her grave for-
gotten, but for the misplaced enthusiasm of a poetical young
man, who was himself corrupted by the atmosphere in which
he was born and lived afterwards,
I04
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
The sober fact is that Dumas ^f/r did not idealize anything
at all, and, least of all, Alphonsine Plessis' character. Though
very young at the time of her death, he was then already much
more of a philosopher than a poet. He had not seen half as
much of Alphonsine Duplessis during her life as is commonly
supposed, and the first idea of the novel was probably suggested
to him, not by his acquaintance with her, but by the sensation her
death caused among the Paris public, the female part of which
— almost without distinction — went to look at her apartment,
to appraise her jewels and dresses, etc. "They would prob-
ably like to have had them on the same terms," said a terrible
cynic. The remark must have struck young Dumas, in whose
hearing it was said, or who, at any rate, had it reported to him ;
for if we carefully look at ^// his earlier plays, we find the spirit
of that remark largely pervading them.
Alphonsine Plessis had probably learned even less in her
girlhood than Lola Montes, but she had a natural tact, and an
instinctive refinement which no education could have enhanced.
She never made grammatical mistakes, no coarse expression
ever passed her lips. Lola Montes could not make friends ;
Alphonsine Plessis could not make enemies. She never be-
came riotous like the other, not even boisterous ; for amidst
the most animated scenes she was haunted by the sure knowl-
edge that she would die young, and life, but for that knowledge,
would have been very sweet to her. Amidst these scenes, she
would often sit and chat to me : she liked me, because I never
paid her many compliments, although I was but six years older
than the most courted woman of her time. The story of her
being provided for by a foreign nobleman because she was so
like his deceased daughter, was not a piece of fiction on Dumas'
part; it was a positive fact. Alphonsine Plessis, after this
provision was made for her, might have led the most retired
existence ; she might, like so many demi-mondaines have done
since, bought herself a country-house, re-entered "the paths of
respectability," have had a pew in the parish church, been in
constant cornmunication with the vicar, prolonged her life by
several years, and died in the odor of sanctity : but, notwith-
standing her desperate desire to live, her very nature revolted
at such self-exile. When Alexandre Dumas read the " Dame
aux Camdlias " to his father, the latter wept like a baby, but
his tears did not drown the critical faculty. " At the beginning
of the third act," he said afterwards, " I was wondering how
Alexandre would get his Marguerite back to town without
lowering her in the estimation of the spectator. Because, if
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 10$
such a woman as he depicted was to remain true to nature — to
her nature — and consequently able to stand the test of psy-
chological analysis, she could not have borne more than two
or three months of such retirement. This does not mean that
she would have severed her connection with Armand Duval,
but he would have become ' un plat dans le menu ' after a little
while, nothing more. The way Alexandre got out of the diffi-
culty proves that he is my son every inch of him, and that, at
the very outset of his career, he is a better dramatist than I am
ever likely to be. But depend upon it, that if, in real life and
with such a woman, le pere Duval had not interfered, la belle
Marguerite would have taken the * key of the street ' on some
pretext — and that, notwithstanding the sale of her carriages,
the pledging of her diamonds and her furs — in order not to
worry the man she loved, for the time being, with money mat-
ters. Honestly speaking, it wanted my son's cleverness to
make a piece out of Alphonsine Plessis' life. True, he was
fortunate in that she died, which left him free to ascribe that
death to any cause but the right one, namely, consumption. I
know that he made use of it, but he took care to show the
malady aggravated by Armand Duval's desertion of her, and
this is the only liberty he took with the pyschological, conse-
quently scientific and logical, development of the play. People
have compared his Marguerite Gautier to Manon Lescaut, to
Marion Delorme, and so forth : it just shows what they know
about it. They might just as well compare Thiers to Crom-
well. Manon Lescaut, Marion Delorme, Cromwell, knew what
they wanted : Marguerite Gautier and Thiers do not ; both are
always in search of Vinconnu^ the one in experimental politics,
the other in experimental love-making. Still, my son has been
true to Nature ; but he has taken an episode showing her at
her best. He was not bound to let the public know that the
frequent recurrence of these love episodes, but always with a
different partner, constitutes a disease which is as well known
to specialists as the disease of drunkenness, and for which it
is impossible to find a cure. Messalina, Catherine II., and
thousands of women have suffered from it. When they happen
to be born in such exalted stations as these two, they buy men ;
when they happen to be born in a lowly station and are attrac-
tive, they sell themselves ; when they are ugly and repulsive
they sink to the lowest depths of degradation, or end in the
padded cells of a mad-house, where no man dares come near
them. Nine times out of ten the malady is hereditary, and I
am certain that if we could trace the genealogy of Alphonsine
io6 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
Plessis, we should find the taint either on the father's side or
on the mother's, probably on the former's, but more probably
still on both." *
* The following is virtually a summary of an article by Count G. de Contades, in a French
bibliographical periodical, Le Livre (Dec. lo, 1885), and shows how near Alexandre Dumas
was to the truth. I have given it at great length. My excuse for so doing is the extraordi-
nary popularity of Dumas' play with all classes of playgoers. As a consequence, there is
not a single modem play, with the exception of those of Shakespeare, the genesis of which
has been so.much commented upon. It is no exaggeration to say that most educated play-
goers, not to mention professional students of the drama, have at some time or other ex-
pressed a wish to know something more of the real Marguerite Gautier's parentage and ante-
cedents than is shown by Dumas, either in his play or in his novel, or than what they could
gather from the partly apocryphal details given by her contemporaries. Dumas himself, in
his preface to the play, says that she was a farm servant. He probably knew no more than
that, nor did Alphonsine Plessis herself. In after-years, the eminent dramatist had neither
the time nor the inclination to search musty parish registers ; Count de Contades has done
50 for him. Here are the results, as briefly as possible, of his researches. Alphonsine
Plessis' paternal grandmother, " moitie mendiante et moiti^ prostituee," inhabited, a little
less than a century ago, the small parish of Long^-sur-Maire, which has since become simply
Long6 in the canton of Briouze, arrondissement of Argentan (about thirty miles from Alen-
5on). She had been nicknamed " LaGu^nuchetonne," a rustic version of the archaic French
word guhnippe (slattern). Louis Descours, a kind of country clod who had entered tlie priest-
hood without the least vocation, and just because his people wished him to do so, becomes
enamoured of " La Gu^nuchetonne,'' and early in January, 1790, the curd Philippe christens
a male child, which is registered as Marin Plessis, mother Louis-Renee Plessis, father un-
known. That the father was known well enough is proved by the Christian name bestowed
upon the babe, Marin, which was that of Louis Descours' father. This gallant adventure
of the country priest was an open secret for miles around.
Marin Plessis grew into a handsome fellow, and when about twenty took to travelling in
the adjacent provinces of lower and upper Normandy with a pack of smailwares. Hand-
some and amiable besides, he was a welcome guest everywhere, and soon became a great
favorite with the female part of the Normandy peasantry. For a little while he flitted from
one rustic beauty to another, until he was fairly caught by one more handsome than the rest,
Marie Deshayes. She was not, perhaps, immaculately virtuous, but, apart from her extra-
ordinary personal attractions, she was something more than an ordinary peasant girl.
Some sixty years before Marin Plessis' union with Marie Deshayes, there lived in the
neighborhood of Evreux a spinster lady of good descent, though not very well provided
with worldly goods. She was comely and sweet-tempered enough, but then, as now, come-
liness and a sweet temper do not count for much in the French matrimonial market, and
least of all in the provincial one. Owing to the modesty of her marriage portion, she had no
suitors for her hand, and, being of an exceedingly amorous disposition, she bestowed her
affection where she could, " without regret, and without false shame," as the old French
chronicler has it.
The annals of the village— for, curiously enough, these annals do exist, though only in
manuscripts — are commendably reticent about the exact number and names of her lovers.
It would seem that the author, a contemporary of Mddle. Anne du Mesnil d'Argentelles
and the great-grandfather of the present possessor of the notes, a gentleman near Beruay,
was divided between the wish of not being too hard [upon his neighbor, who was, after all,
a gentlewoman, and the desire to leave a record of a peculiar phase of the country manners
of those days to posterity. ■ Be this as it may, Mddle. d'Argentelles' swains, previous to the
very last one, have been doomed to anonymous obscurity. But with the advent of Etienne
Deshayes, the annalist becomes less reticent, he is considered worthy of being mentioned in
full, perhaps as a reward for having finally " made an honest woman " of his inamorata. For
that is the final upshot of the love-story between him and Mdlle. d'Argentelles, which, in its
earlier stages, bears a certain resemblance to that between Jean- Jacques Rousseau and
Madame de Warens, with this difference — that the Normand Jean- Jacques is considerably
older than his mistress.
The children bom of this marriage were very numerous. One of them, Louis-Deshayes,
Burried a handsome peasant girl, Marie-Madeleine Marra, who appears to have been some-
what too intimate with a neighboring squire, but who gave birth a few years Eifter to a
daughter, of whose paternity there could not be the smallest doubt, seeing that she grew up
into a speaking likene-ss of her maternal grandmother, the erstwhile Mdlle. Anne du Mesnil
d'Argentelles. Fate ought to have had a better lot in store for beautiful Marie Deshayes
than a marriage with a poor pedlar like Marin Plessis ; but the latter was very handsome,
and, notwithstanding the opposition of the family, she became his wife. On theisthof
January, 1824, the child which was to be immortalized as " La Dame au:c Camillas saw
the U|;ht, in a small village in Lower Normandy. — Editor.
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 107
There were few of us who, during Alphonsine Plessis' life-
time, were so interested in her as to have gone to the length
of such a psychological analysis of her pedigree. Nevertheless,
most men were agreed that she was no ordinary girl. Her
candor about her early want of education increased the
interest. " Twenty or twenty-five years ago," said Dr. Veron,
one day, after Alphonsine Plessis had left the dinner-table,
*' a woman of her refinement would not have been phenomenal
in her position, because at that period the grisette, promoted
to the rank of femme entretenue, had not made her appear-
ance. The expression ' femme entretenue ' was not even
known. Men chose their companions, outside marriage, from
a different class ; they were generally women of education
and often of good family who had made a faux pas, and, as
such, forfeited the society and countenance of their equals who'
had not stumbled in that way, at any rate not in the sight of
the world. I confess, Alphonsine Plessis interests me very
much. She is, first of all, the best-dressed woman in Paris ;
secondly, she neither flaunts nor hides her vices ; thirdly, she
is not always talking or hinting about money ; in short, she is
a wonderful courtesan."
The result of all this admiration was very favorable to
Alexandre Dumas Jils when he brought out his book about
eighteen months after her death. It was in every one's hands,
and the press kept whetting the curiosity of those who had
not read it as yet with personal anecdotes about the heroine.
In addition to this, the title was a very taking one, and, more-
over, absolutely new ; for, though it was obvious enough from
Alphonsine Plessis' habit of wearing white camellias the
greater part of the year, no one had ever thought of applying
it to her while she was alive ; hence, the credit of its invention
belongs decidedly to Dumasyf/j-.
I may return to the subject of "La Dame aux Camelias " in
connection with the play ; meanwhile, I will say a few words of
the only man among our set who objected to the title, " because
it injures my own," as he put it ; namely, M. Lautour-Mezerai,
who had been surnamed " L'Homme au Camelia ; " in the
singular, from his habit of never appearing in public without
that flower in his buttonhole. And be it remembered that in
those days, the flower was much more rare than it is at pres-
ent, and consequently very expensive. The plagiarist, if there
was one, must have been Alphonsine Plessis, for Dr. Veron,
who was one of his oldest friends, did not remember having
even se^n him minus the camellia, and their friendship date4
Io8 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
from the year 1831. It is computed that during the nineteen
years Mezerai was in Paris, previous to his departure for the
South of France and afterwards for Algeria, in both of which
provinces he fulfilled the functions of prefect, he must have
spent no less than fifty thousand francs on his favorite floral
ornament, for he frequently changed it twice a day, and its
price, especially in the thirties and earlier part of the forties,
was not less than five francs. It is, therefore, not surprising
that he resented the usurpation of his title. M. Lautour-
Mezerai was one of the most elegant men I knew. He not
only belonged to a very good provincial stock, but his family
on both sides counted some eminent names in literature.* He
was a most charming companion, exceedingly generous ; but
he would not have parted with the flower in his buttonhole
for any consideration, not even to oblige his greatest friend,
male or female. It was more than an ornament to him, he
looked upon it as a talisman. He always occupied the same
place at the Opera, in the balcony, or what we call the "dress-
circle," and many a covetous glance from the brightest eyes
was cast at the dazzling, white camellia, standing out in bold
relief against the dark blue coat, but neither glances nor direct
requests had any effect upon him. He became absolutely
savage in his refusal when too hardly pressed, because, by his
own admission, he was superstitious enough to believe that, if
he went home without it, something terrible would happen to
him during the night.
M. Lautour-Mezerai was, however, something more than a
mere man of fashion. To him belongs the credit of having
founded — at any rate in France — the children's periodical.
For the comparatively small subscription of six francs per an-
num, thousands of little ones received every month a number
of the Journal des En/ants, stitched in blue paper, and with
their own name on the wrapper. It flattered their pride to be
treated like their elders by having their literature despatched
to them in that way, and there is no doubt that this ingenious
device contributed, to a certain extent, to the primary and enor-
mous success of the undertaking. But M. Lautour-Mezerai
was too refined a litterateur to depend upon such a mere trick,
and a look at even the earlier numbers of W\^ Journal des En-
fants, would prove conclusively that, in the way of amusing
children while instructing them a little, nothing better has been
done since, whether in France, England, or Germany. The
* Curiously enough, he belonged to the same department, and died almost on the Iveiy
spot where Marin Plessis was bom. — Editor.
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 109
editor and manager succeeded in grouping around him such
men as Paul Lacroix {le bibliophile Jacob) and Charles Nodier,
both of whom have never been surpassed in making history
attractive to young minds. Emile Souvestre, Le'on Gozlan,
Eugene Sue, and even Alexandre Dumas told them the most
wonderful stories. The men who positively kept the adult
population of France spell-bound by their stirring romances
seemed to take a delight in competing with women like Vir-
ginie Ancelot, the Duchesse d'Abrantes, and others on the lat-
ter's ground. As a consequence, it became the fashion to
present the young ones on New Year's Day with a receipt for
a twelvemonth's subscription, made out in their names, instead
of the everlasting bag of sweets. At one time the circulation
of Le /otirnal des EnfantsvidiS computed at 60,000, and M. Lau-
tour-Mezerai was said to make 100,000 francs per annum out
of it.
In a former note, I incidentally mentioned Auguste Lireux.
He is scarcely remembered by the present generation of French-
men ; I doubt whether there are a hundred students of French
literature in England who know his name, let alone his writ-
ings ; yet he is worthy of being remembered by both. He had
— what a great many French writers of talent, far greater than
his own, essentially lack — humor. True, the latter was not
subtle ; but it was rarely, if ever, coarse. The nearest approach
to him among the journalists of the present day is M. Fran-
cisque Sarcey ; but the eminent dramatic critic has had a bet-
ter education. Nevertheless, if Lireux had finished as he be-
gan, he would not be so entirely forgotten. Unfortunately for
his fame, if not for his material welfare, he took it into his
head to become a millionaire, and he almost succeeded ; at
any rate, he died very well off, in a beautiful villa at Bougival.
I remember meeting with Lireux almost immediately after
he landed in Paris, at the end of '40 or the beginning of '41.
He came, I believe, from Rouen ; though, but for his accent,
he might have come from Marseilles. Tall, well-built, with
brown hair and beard and ruddy complexion, a pair of bright
eyes behind a pair of golden spectacles, very badly dressed,
though his clothes were almost new, very loud and very restless,
his broad-brimmed hat cocked on one side, he gave one the im-
pression of what in Paris we used to call a " departemental
oracle." He was that to a certain extent, still he was not
really pompous, and the feeling of discomfort one experienced
at first soon wore off. He was not altogether unknown among
the better class of journalists in the capital, for it appears that
no AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
he frequently contributed to the Paris papers from the provinces.
He had a fair knowledge of the French drama theoretically,
for he had never written a piece, and openly stated his inten-
tion never to do so. But in virtue of his dramatic criticisms
in several periodicals — which, in spite of the difference in
education between the two men, read uncommonly like the
articles of M. Sarcey in the Temps — and his unwavering faith
in his lucky star, he considered himself destined not only to
lift the Odeon from the slough in which it had sunk, but to
make it a formidable rival to the house in the Rue de Richelieu.
He had no ambition beyond that. The Odeon was really at
its lowest depth. Harel had enjoyed a subsidy of 130,000
francs, M. d'Epagny eleven years later had to content himself
with less than half, and yet the authorities were fully cognizant
of the necessity of a second Theatre-Fran^ais. Whether from
incapacity or ill-luck, M. d'Epagny did not succeed in bringing
back the public to the old house. The direction was offered
then to M. Hippolyte Lucas, the dramatic critic of Le Steele,
and one of the best English scholars I have ever met with
among the French, and, on his declining the responsibility,
given to Lireux, who for the sake of making a point, exclaimed,
" Directeur ! . . . au refus d'Hippolyte Lucas!"*
It was a piece of bad taste on Lireux's part, because M.
Lucas was his superior in every respect, though he would prob-
ably have failed where the other succeeded — at least for a
while. Save for this mania of saying smart things in and out
of season, Lireux was really a good-natured fellow, and we
were all glad that he had realized his ambition. The venture
looked promising enough at the start. He got an excellent
company together, comprising Bocage, Monrose, Gil-Peres,
Maubant, Mdlles. Georges and Araldi, Madame Dorval, etc. ;
and if, like young Bonaparte's troops, they were badly paid and
wanted for everything, they worked with a will, because, like
Bonaparte, Lireux inspired them with confidence. He, on the
other hand, knew their value, and on no pretext would allow
them to be ousted from the positions they had honorably won
by their talents and hard work. Presumptuous mediocrity,
backed either by influence or intrigue, found him a stern ad-
versary ; the intriguer got his answer in such a way as to pre-
vent him from returning to the charge. One day an actor of
reputed incapacity, Machanette, claimed the title-role in
Moliere's " Misanthrope."
* An imitation of the line of Don Carlos in Hugo's " Hemani ; " " Empereur ! . . . au
refus de Fr^d^ric-le-Sage ! " — Editor.
AN- ENGLISHMAN- iN PARIS. 1 1 1
" You have no one else to play Alceste," he said.
" Yes, I have. I have got one of the checktakers," replied
Lireux.
Auguste Lireux was one of those managers the race of
which began with Harel at the Porte Saint-Martin and Dr.
Veron at the Opera. Duponchel, at the latter house, Mon-
tigny at the Gymnase, Buloz and Arsene Houssaye at the
Comedie-Frangaise, endeavored as far as possible to follow
their traditions of liberality towards the public and their
artists, and encouragement given to untried dramatists. It
was not Lireux's fault that he did not succeed for any length
of time. Of course, there is a ridiculous side to everything.
During the terrible cholera-visitation of 1832, Harel published
a kind of statistics, showing that not a single one of the spec-
tators had been attacked by the plague ; but all this cannot
blind us to the support given to the struggling playwright,
Dumas, in the early part of his career. During the winter of
1841-42, which was a severe one, Lireux sent foot-warmers to
the rare audience that patronized him on a bitterly cold night,
" when tragedy still further chills the house ; " the little bit of
charlatanism cannot disturb the fact of his having given one
of the foremost dramatists of the day, a chance with " La
Cigue." I am alluding to the first piece of Emile Augier.
This kind of thing tells with a general public, more so still
with a public composed of generous-minded, albeit somewhat
riotous youths like those of the Quartier-Latin in the early
forties. Gradually the latter found their way to the Odeon,
" sinon pour voir la piece, alors pour entendre Lireux, qui est
toujours amusant ; " which, in plain language, meant that come
what may they would endeavor to provoke Lireux into giving
them a speech.
Flattering as was this resolve on their part to Lireux's
eloquence, the means they employed to encompass their end
would have made the existence of an ordinary manager a
burden to him. But Lireux was not an ordinary manager ; he
possessed " the gift of the gab " to a marvellous degree : con-
sequently he made it known that he would be happy at any
time to address MM. les etudiants without putting them to
the expense of apples and eggs on the evening of performance,
and voice-lozenges the next day, if they, MM. les etudiants,
would in return respect his furniture and the dresses of his
actors. The arrangement worked exceedingly well, and for
four years the management and the student part of the audi-
ence lived in the most perfect harmony.
1 1 J AjV englishman in PARIS.
Lireux did more than that, he forestalled their possible ob-
jections to a doubtful episode in a play. I remember the first
night of " Jeanne de Naples." The piece had dragged fear-
fully. Lireux had made three different speeches during the
evening, but he foresaw a riot at the end of the piece which
no eloquence on his part would be able to quell. It appears
— for we only found this out the next day — that the con-
demned woman, previous to being led to execution, had to
deliver a monologue of at least a hundred and fifty or two
hundred lines. The unhappy queen had scarcely begun, when
a herculean soldier rushed on the stage, took her into his arms
and carried her off by main force, notwithstanding her strug-
gles. It was a truly sensational ending, and the curtain fell
amidst deafening applause. It redeemed the piece !
Next day Lireux made his appearance at Tortoni's in the
afternoon, and, as matter of course, the production of the pre-
vious evening was discussed.
" I cannot understand," said Roger de Beauvoir, " uow a
man with such evident knowledge of stagecraft as the author
displayed in that de'noument, could have perpetrated bach an
enormity as the whole of the previous acts."
Lireux was fairly convulsed with laughter. " Do yoxi really
think that was his own invention ? " he asked.
" Of course I do," was the reply.
" Well, it is not. His denoument was a speech which would
have taken about twenty minutes, at the end of which the
queen is tamely led off between the soldiers. I know what
would have been the result : the students would have simply
torn up the benches and Heaven knows what else. You know
that if the gas is left burning, if only a moment, after twelve,
there is an extra charge irrespective of the quantity consumed.
I looked at my watch when she began to speak her lines. It
was exactly thirteen minutes to twelve ; she might have man-
aged to get to the end by twelve, but it was doubtful. What
was not doubtful was the row that would have ensued, and
the time it would have taken me to cope with it. My mind
was made up there and then. I selected the biggest of the
supers, told him to go and fetch her, and you know the rest."
There were few theatrical managers in those days who
escaped the vigilance of Balzac. Among the many schemes he
was forever hatching for benefiting mankind and making his
own fortune, there was one which cannot be more fitly
described than- in the American term of " making a corner ; "
only that particular " corner" was to be one in plays.
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 1 13
About two years before the advent of Lireux, and when the
house at Ville d'Avray, of which I have spoken elsewhere, was
completed, a party of Hterary men received an invitation to
spend the Sunday there. It was not an ordinary invitation, but
a kind of circular-letter, the postscriptum to which contained the
following words. " M. de Balzac will make an important com-
munication." Leon Gozlan, Jules Sandeau, Louis Desnoyers,
Henri Monnier, and those familiar with Balzac's schemes,
knew pretty well what to expect; and when Lassailly, one
of the four men whose nose vied with the legendary one of Bou-
ginier, confirmed their apprehensions that it was a question of
making their fortunes, they resigned themselves to their fate.
Jules Sandeau, who was gentleness itself, merely observed
with a sigh that it was the fifteenth time Balzac had proposed
to make him a millionaire ; Henri Monnier offered to sell his
share of the prospective profits for 7 francs 50 centimes; Leon
Gozlan suggested that their host might have discovered a
diamond-mine, whereupon Balzac, who had just entered the
room, declared that a diamond- mine was nothing to it. He
was simply going to monopolize the whole of the Paris theatres.
He exposed the plan in a magnificent speech of two hours'
duration, and would have continued for two hours more had
not one of the guests reminded him that it was time for dinner.
" Dinner," exclaimed Balzac ; " why, I never thought of it."
Luckily there was a restaurant near, and the future mil-
lionaires and their would-be benefactor were enabled to sit
down to " a banquet quite in keeping, not only with the
magnificent prospects just disclosed to them, but with the
splendor actually surrounding them," as Mery expressed it.
For it should be added that the sumptuous dwelling which
was to be was at that moment absolutely bare of furniture, save
a few deal chairs and tables. The garden was a wilderness, in-
tersected by devious paths, sloping so suddenly as to make it
impossible to keep one's balance without the aid of an
Alpenstock or the large stones imbedded in the soil, but only
temporarily, by the considerate owner. One day, Dutacq, the
publisher, having missed his footing, rolled as far as the wall
inclosing the domain, without his friends being able to stop
him.
The garden, like everything else connected with the schemes
of Balzac, was eventually to become a gold-mine. Part of it
was to be built upon, and converted into a dairy ; another part
was to be devoted to the culture of the pine-apple and the
Malaga grape, all of which would yield an income of 30,000
8
1 14 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
francs annually " at least" — to borrow Balzac's own words.
The apartments had been furnished in the same grandiose
way — theoretically. The walls were, as I have already re-
marked, absolutely bare, but on their plaster, scarcely dry,
were magnificent inscriptions of what was to be. They were
mapped out regardless of expense. On that facing the north
there was a splendid piece of thirteenth-century Flemish tapes-
try— in writing, of course — flanked by two equally priceless
pictures by Raphael and Titian. Facing these, one by Rem-
brandt, and, underneath, a couch, a couple of arm-chairs, and
six ordinary ones, Louis XV. , and upholstered in Aubusson
tapestry — subjects, Lafontaine's Fables. Opposite again, a
monumental mantelpiece in malachite (a present of Czar Nich-
olas, who had expressed his admiration of Balzac's novels), with
bronzes and clock by De Gouttieres. The place on the ceiling
was marked for a chandelier of Venetian glass, and in the
dining-room a square was drawn on the carpetless floor for
the capacious sideboard, whereon would be displayed " the
magnificent family plate."
Pending the arrival of the furniture, the building of the
dairy, hot-houses, and vineries, the guests had to sit on hard
wooden chairs, to eat a vile dinner, supplemented, however, by
an excellent dessert. Balzac was very fond of fruit, and es-
pecially of pears, of which he always ate an enormous quantity.
The wine was, as a rule, very inferior, but on that particular
occasion Balzac's guests discovered that their host's imagina-
tion could even play him more cruel tricks in the selection of his
vintages than is played him in his pursuit of financial schemes
and the furnishing of his house.
When the fruit was placed upon the table, Balzac assumed
a most solemn air. " Gentlemen," he said, " I am going to
give you some Chateau-Lafitte, such as you have never tasted
— such as it has been given to few mortals to taste. I wish
you to sip it carefully — I might almost say reverently, because
the opportunity may not repeat itself in our lives."
Wherewith the guests' glasses were filled ; all of them made
horrible faces, for it was abominable stuff, but one more out-
spoken than the rest gave his opinion there and then —
" This may be ' Chateau de la Rue Lafitte,' but it is enough
to give one the colic."
Any one else but Balzac would have been horribly discon-
certed ; he, on the contrary, did not budge. " Yes," he said
proudly, " you are right in one respect ; this ambrosial nectar
comes in a straight line from the Rue Lafitte, for it is Baron
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 1 1 5
James de Rothschild who made me a present of two barrels,
for which I am profoundly grateful. Drmk, gentlemen, drink,
and be thankful also."
Those who would consider this a piece of clever acting on
Balzac's part, would be greatly mistaken. His imagination at
times affected his palate as well as his other organs, and at that
moment he was under the distinct impression that he was offer-
ing his guests one of the rarest vintages on record.
I have endeavored hitherto to digress as little as possible
in my recollections, though their very nature made it difficult.
In this instance, digression was absolutely necessary to convey
an idea of the shock which would naturally result from the con-
tact of two such brains as those of Balzac and Lireux ; for it
was not long after the young manager's advent to the Od^on
that Balzac found his way to his sanctum. The play he offered
him was " Les Ressources de Quinola." Strange as it may
seem to us, even as late as '42, Balzac's name as a novelist did
not rank first in the list with the general public, still it is very
doubtful whether any young manager would have refused a
stage play by him ; consequently, Lireux accepted " Les Res-
sources de Quinola" almost without fear. It is not to the pur-
pose to say that it was a bad play, and that he ought to have
known better ; it has been amply proved by now that the most
experienced manager is not infallible ; but it is a moot point
whether the greatest masterpiece would have succeeded with
the tactics adopted by Balzac to insure its success. The fol-
lowing may appear like a scene from a farcical comedy; I can
vouch for the truth of every word of it, because I had it from
the lips of Lireux himself, who, after all, was the heaviest
sufferer by Balzac's incurable greed, or, to put it as leniently
as one can, by his constant chase after a capital stroke of bus-
iness. His resolve to pack the house on the first night was not
due to a desire to secure a favorable reception from a friendly
audience, but to the determination to secure " a lump sum,'
let come what might. In Balzac are found the two contradic-
tory traits of the money-grubber and the spendthrift.
The scene alluded to just now, took place when the rehear-
sals were far advanced ; the author and the manager were dis-
cussing the invitations to be sent out, etc. All at once Balzac
declared that he would have none but Knights of the Order of
Saint-Louis in the pit. "I am agreeable," replied Lireux;
" provided you ferret them out." *
* It shows that Lireux was not very familiar with the royal edicts affecting that order,
and that Balzac himself exaggerated the social and monetary importance of its wearers.
1 1 6 AA^ ENGLISH MA N IN PA RIS.
" I'll see to that," said Balzac. " Pray go on. What is the
next part of the house ? "
" Orchestra stalls."
" Nothing but peers of France there."
" But the orchestra stalls will not hold them all, Monsieur
de Balzac."
"Those who cannot find room in the house will have to
stand in the lobbies," said Balzac, imperturbably.
" Stage boxes ? " continued Lireux.
" They will be reserved for the Court."
" Stage boxes on the first tier ? "
" For the ambassadors and plenipotentiaries."
" The open boxes on the ground floor .? "
" For the wives and families of the ambassadors."
" Upper circle .'' " enumerated Lireux, not a muscle of his face
moving.
" For the deputies and grand officers of State."
" Third circle t " enumerated Lireux.
" The heads of the great banking and financial establish-
ments."
" The galleries and amphitheatre .'* "
" A carefully selected, but varied, bourgeoisie," wound up
Balzac.
Lireux, who was a capital mimic, re-enacted the scene for us
four and twenty hours after it had been enacted in his own
room, and while he was still under the impression that it was
merely a huge joke on Balzac's part. He soon discovered,
however, that the latter was terribly in earnest, when, a few
days later, Balzac claimed the whole of the seats for the first
three nights, on the penalty of withdrawing his piece there and
then. Lireux foolishly submitted, the box ofiice was closed ;
every one applying for tickets was referred to Balzac himself,
or, rather, to the shady individual who had egged him on to
this speculation. The latter, at the first application, had run
up the prices ; the public felt disgusted, and, when the curtain
rose upon *' Les Ressources de Quinola," the house was almost
empty. Thereupon a batch of nondescripts was sent into the
For, though Louis-Philippe at his accession suppressed the order, not less than twelve
thousand new knights had been created by his two immediate predecessors. They, the re-
cently created knights, were allowed to retain their honors and pensions ; but, even before
the fall of the Bourbons, the distinction had lost much of its prestige. After the Battle of
Navarino, Admiral de Rigny, soliciting rewards for his officers who had distinguished them-
selves, tacitly ignored the order of Saint-Louis in favor of that of the Legion of Honor.
The order, as founded by Louis XIV. in 169^, was only available to officers and Catholics.
Several modifications "were introduced afterwards in its statutes. The Order of Saint-Louis
and that of " Military Merit " were the only two recognized by the Constituent Assembly of
1789; but the Convention suppressed the former, only leaving the latter. — Editor.
A A' ENGLISHMA N IN PA RIS. \ 1 7
streets to dispose of the tickets at any price ; the bait was in-
dignantly rejected, and the curtain fell amidst violent hisses.
I repeat, a masterpiece would have failed under such circum-
stances ; but the short run of the revival, almost a quarter of
a century later at the Vaudeville, proved that the piece was not
even an ordinary money-drawing one. It only kept the bills
for about nine or ten days.
Lireux was more fortunate with several other pieces, notably
with that of Leon Gozlan, known to students of the French
drama as " La Main Droite et la Main Gauche," but which
originally bore the title of " II etait une Fois un Roi et une
Reine." There could be no doubt about its tendency in its
original form ; it was nothing less than an indictment for big-
amy both against Queen Victoria and her Consort ; and the
authorities had to insist not only upon the change of title and
the names of the dra^natis personcB^ but upon the action being
shifted from London to Stockholm. The author and manager
had to comply ; but the public, who had got wind of the affair,
crowded the house every night in order to read between the
lines.
One of my great sources of amusement for many years has
been the perusal of political after-dinner speeches, and poli-
tical leaders in the English papers, especially when the speak-
ers and writers have endeavored to lay stress upon the cordial
relations between the French and the English, upon the
friendly feelings guiding their actions on both sides. I am
putting together these notes nearly fourteen years after the
conclusion of the Franco-German War, nearly three quarters
of a century after Waterloo. There is not a single Frenchman,
however Chauvinistic, who ever thinks, let alone talks, of
avenging Napoleon's defeat by Wellington ; while, on the other
hand, there is not a single Frenchman, however unpatriotic,
who does not dream now and then of wiping out the humilia-
tion suffered at Sedan. Well, in spite of the almost entire
oblivion of the one disaster, and the poignant recollection of
the other, the French of to-day hate th€ English more than the
Germans ; or — let me put it more correctly — they hate the
Germans, they despise us. Nothing that we can do will ever
remove this dislike of us.
It has been thus as long as I can remember ; no royal visits,
no exchange of so-called international courtesies will alter the
feeling. It is ready to burst forth, the smallest provocation or
fancied one will set it ablaze. During the forties there were
a good many real or imaginary provocations on the part of
1 1 8 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
England, and, as a consequence, the hostile feeling against hei
broke forth where it is almost always sure to break forth first
in France — on the stage and in song. After " La Main Droite
et la Main Gauche," came Halevy's opera of " Charles VI."
It is but fair to say that the Government did all it could to
stem the tide, but, notwithstanding its positive orders to modify
the chorus of the famous war-song in the first act, the song
was henceforth regarded as a patriotic hymn. Nor did the
visit of the Queen to Louis-Philippe at Eu, in 1843, effect much
improvement in this state of things ; and, as a matter of course,
we on the English side of the Channel retaliated the skits, etc.,
though I do not think we took them au grand serieux. When,
in January, '44, I went to London for a few days, I found the
Christmas pantomime of " King Pippin" in full swing at Drury
Lane. I well remember a scene of it, laid in the shop of a
dealer in plaster figures. Two of these represented respec-
tively the King of France and the Queen of Great Britain and
Ireland. At a given moment, the two statues became animated,
drew close to one another, and exchanged the most profuse
salutations. But meanwhile, at the back of the stage, the
Gallic cock and the British lion (or leopard) assumed a threaten-
ing attitude, and at each mark of aifection between the two
royal personages, shook their heads violently and seemed to
want desperately to come to close quarters. The audience ap-
plauded vociferously, and it was very evident to me that neither
in Paris nor in London the two nations shared the entente cor-
diale of their rulers.
CHAPTER VI.
There were few authors of my time who came in contact with
Rachel without writing about her ; there were absolutely none
who have represented her in her true character. Either her
genius blinded them to her faults, or else they were content
to perpetuate the popular belief in her amiability, good-nature,
generosity, etc. The fact is, that Rachel off the stage was
made of very ordinary clay. She had few of the good qualities
of her race, and a good many of the bad ones ; she was greedy
to a degree, and could be very spiteful. All these drawbacks,
in the eyes of most of her biographers, were redeemed by her
marvellous tragic abilities on the stage, by a wonderful " gift
of the gab," by a "happy-go-lucky," "hail-fellow, well-met,"
manner off the stage to those whom she liked to propitiate.
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS 119
Nevertheless, there were times when she had not a single
friend at the Comedie-FranQaise, and though her champions at-
tributed this hostility to jealousy of her great gift, a moment's
consideration would show us that such a feeling could scarcely
have influenced the men who to a great extent shared her his-
trionic triumphs, viz., Beauvallet, Regnier, Provost, Samson,
and least of all the latter. Still, all these would have willingly
kept her out of the Comedie Fran9aise after she had left it in
a huff. She was difficult to get on with ; her modesty, assumed
in everyday life, was a sham, for woe to the host who, de-
ceived by it, did not at once make her the queen of the enter-
tainment ! And, in reality, nothing in her warranted such a
temporary elevation. She was witty in her way and after her
kind — that is, she had the quick-wittedness of the French
woman who is not an absolute fool, and who has for many
years rubbed elbows with everything distinguished in art and
literature. Notwithstanding this intimacy, I am doubtful
whether she had ever read, let alone appreciated, any of the
masterpieces by the writers of her own days that did not di-
rectly bear upon her profession. I exclude fiction — I mean
narrative fiction, and especially that of a sensational kind, of
which she was probably as fond as the meanest concierge and
most romantic milliner-girl.
Nevertheless, provided one did not attempt to analyze it, the
power of fascinating the coldest interlocutor was there. To
their honor be it said, her contemporaries, especially the men,
rarely made such an attempt at analysis. They applauded all
she said (off and on the stage), they tolerated all she did, al-
beit that they paid the cost of many of her so-called " amiable
tricks, " which were mainly so many instances of greed and
nothing else. One evening she was dining at Comte Duchatel's,
the minister of Louis-Philippe. The table was positively laden
with flowers, but Rachel did not care much about them ; what
she wanted was the splendid silver centre-piece. But she was
too clever to unmask her batteries at once, so she began by ad-
miring the contents, then at last she came to the principal point.
The host was either in one of his generous or foolish moods
and made her a present of it there and then. Rachel knew,
though, that even with a grand seigneur like Comte Duchatel,
there are "les lendemains de I'enthousiasme," especially when
he is a married man, whose wife does not willingly submit to
have her home stripped of its art-treasures. The tragedienne
came in a hackney cab ; the comte offered to send her back in
his carriage. She struck the iron while it was hot. "Yes,
120 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS,
that will do admirably; there will be no fear of my being
robbed of your present, which I had better take with me. "
"Perfectly, mademoiselle," replied the comte ; "but you will
send me back my carriage, won't you ? "
Dr. Veron was despoiled with even less ceremony. Having
taken a fancy to some silver saucers or cups in which the pro-
prietor of the Coiistitutiomiel offered ices to his visitors, she
began by pocketing one, and never rested until she had the
whole of the set. In short, everything was fish to her net.
She made her friends give her bibelots and knick-knacks of no
particular value, to which she attached some particular legend
— absolute inventions for the greatest part — in order to sell
them for a thousand times their original cost. One day she
noticed a guitar at the studio of one of her familiars. " Give
me that guitar ; people will think it is the one with which I
earned my living on the Place Royale and on the Place de la
Bastille. " And as such it was sold by her to M. Achille Fould
for a thousand louis. The great financier nearly fell into a fit
when the truth was told to him at Rachel's death ; he, in his
turn, having wanted to " do a bit of business." In this in-
stance no Christian suffered, because buyer and vendor be-
longed to the same race. Of course the panegyrists of Rachel,
when the story came to their ears, maintained that the thousand
louis were employed for some charitable purpose, without, how-
ever, revealing the particular quarter whither they went ; but
those who judged Rachel dispassionately could not even aver
that her charity began at home, because, though she never
ceased complaining of her brother's and her sisters' extrav-
agance, both brother and sisters could have told very curious
-tales about the difficulty of making her loosen her purse-strings
for even the smallest sums. As for Rachel's doing good by
stealth and blushing to find it fame, it was all so much fudge.
Contrary to the majority of her fellow-professionals, in the
past as well as the present, she even grudged her services for
a concert or a performance in aid of a deserving object,
although she was not above swelling her own hoard by such
entertainments.
The following instance, for the absolute truth of which I
can vouch, is a proof of what I say. One day the celebrated
Baron Taylor, who had been the director of the Comedie-
Frangaise, came to solicit her aid for a charity concert ; I am
not certain of the object, but believe it was in aid of the
Christians in Persia or China. The tickets were to be a
hundred francs each. Sontag, Alboni, Rosine Stoltz, Mario,
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 1 2 1
Lablache, Vieuxtemps, and I do not know how many more
celebrated artists had promised their services.
It was in 1850 when M. Arsene Houssaye was her director,
and I am particular about giving the year, because Rachel
refused on the pretext that her director would never give her
leave to appear on any other stage. Now, it so happened that
no woman ever had a more devoted friend and chivalrous
champion than Rachel had in Arsene Houssaye. His friend-
ship for her was simply idolatry, and I verily believe that if
she had asked him to stand on his head to please her, he
would have done so, at the risk of making himself supremely
ridiculous — he who feared ridicule above everything, who was
one of the most sensible men of his time, who was and is the
incarnation of good-nature, to whom no one in distress or
difficulties ever appealed in vain.
Baron Taylor argued all this, but Rachel remained inflexible.
" I am very sorry," he said at last, rising to go, " because I am
positive that your name on the bill would have made a dif-
ference of several thousand francs in the receipts."
" Oh, if you only want my name," was the answer, " you
may have it ; you can make an apology at the eleventh hour
for my absence on the score of sudden indisposition — the
public at charity concerts are used to that sort of thing ; besides
you will have so many celebrities that I will make very little
difference. By-the-by " — as he was at the door — " I think my
name is worth tenor twenty tickets." Taylor knew Rachel
too well to be in the least surprised at the demand, and left
ten tickets on the mantelpiece.
That same afternoon he met Count Walewski, and as a
matter of course asked him to take some tickets.
" Very sorry, cher baron, but I have got ten already. You
see, poor Rachel did not know very well how to get rid of the
two hundred you burdened her with as a lady patroness ; so
she wanted me to have twenty, but I settled the matter with
ten. As it is, it cost me a thousand francs."
Taylor did not say another word — he probably could not ;
he was struck dumb with astonishment at the quickness with
which Rachel had converted the tickets into money. But
what puzzled him still more was the fact of her having dffered
Walewski double the quantity of tickets he had given her.
Where had she got the others from .? He was coming to the
conclusion that she had offered twenty in order to place ten,
when he ran against Comte Le Hon, the husband of the
celebrated Mdlle. Musselmans, the erstwhile Belgian ambas-
12 2 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARTS.
sador to the court of Louis-Philippe, who averred frankly that
he was the father of a family, though he had no children of his
own.
Taylor thought he would try another chance, and was met
with the reply, "Cher baron, I am very sorry, but I have just
taken five tickets from Mdlle. Rachel. It appears that she is
a lady patroness, and that they burdened her with two hundred ;
fortunately, she told me, people were exceedingly anxious to
get them, and these were the last five."
" Then she had two hundred tickets after all," said Baron
Taylor to himself, making up his mind to find out who had
been before him with Rachel. But no one had been before
him. The five tickets sold to Comte Le Hon were five of the
ten she had sold to Comte Walewski. When the latter had
paid her, she made him give her five tickets for herself and
family, or rather for her four sisters and herself. Of Comte
Le Hon she only took toll of one, which, wonderful to relate,
she did not sell. That was Rachel's way of bestirring herself
in the cause of charity.
" Look at the presents she made to every one," say the
panegyrists. They forget to mention that an hour afterwards
she regretted her generosity, and from that moment she never
left off scheming how to get the thing back. Every one knew
this. Beauvallet, to whom she gave a magnificent sword one
day, instead of thanking her, said, " I'll have a chain put to it,
mademoiselle, so as to fasten it to the wall of my dressing-
room. In that way I shall be sure that it will not disappear
during my absence." Alexandre Dumas the younger, to whom
she made a present of a ring, bowed low and placed it back on
her finger at once. " Allow me to present it to you in my turn,
mademoiselle, so as to prevent you asking for it." She did
not say nay, but carried the matter with one of her fascinating
smiles. " It is most natural to take back what one has given,
because what one has given was dear to us," she replied.
Between '46 and '53 I saw a great deal of Rachel, generally
in the green-room of the Comedie-Frangaise, which was by no
means the comfortable or beautiful apartment people imagine,
albeit that even in those days the Comedie had a collection of
interesting pictures, busts, and statues worthy of being housed
in a small museum. The chief ornament of the room was a
large glass between the two windows, but if the apartment had
been as bare as a barn, the conversation of Rachel would have
been sufficient to make one forget all about its want of decor-
ation J for, with the exception of the elder Dumas, I have
AM ENGLISHMAN- IN PARIS. 1 23
never met any one, either man or woman, who exercised the
personal charm she did. I have been told since that Bismarck
has the same gift. I was never sufficiently intimate with the
great statesman to be able to judge, having only met him three
or four times, and under conditions that did not admit of fairly
testing his powers in that respect, but I have an idea that the
charm of both lay in their utter indifference to the effect pro-
duced, or else in their absolute confidence of the result of their
simplicity of diction. Rachel's art of telling a story, if art it
was, reminded one of that of the chroniclers of the Niebelungen ;
for notwithstanding her familiarity with Racine and Corneille,
her vocabulary was exceedingly limited, and her syntax, if not
her grammar, off the stage, not always free from reproach.
I do not pretend, after the lapse of so many years, to give
these stories in her own language, or all of them ; there are
few, however, worth the telling, apart from the fascination with
which she invested them.
One evening she said to me, " Do you know Poirson t "
I had known Poirson when he was director of the Gymnase.
He afterwards always invited me to his soirees, one of which,
curiously enough, was given on the Sunday before the Revolu-
tion of '48. So I said, " Yes, I know Poirson."
" Has he ever told you why he did not re-engage me 1 "
" Never."
" I'll tell you. People said it was because I did not succeed
in * La Vendeenne ' of Paul Duport ; but that was not the
cause. It was something much more ridiculous ; and now that
I come to think of it, I am not sure that I ought to tell you,
for you are an Englishman, and you will be shocked."
I was not shocked, I was simply convulsed with laughter,
for Rachel, not content with telling the story, got up, and,
gradually drawing to the middle of the room, enacted it. It
was one of those ludicrous incidents that happen sometimes on
the stage which no amount of foresight on the part of the most
skilful and conscientious manager or actor can prevent, but
which almost invariably ruins the greatest masterpiece. There
were about eight or nine actors and actresses in the room —
Regnier, Samson, Beauvallet, etc. It was probably the most
critical audience in Europe, but every one shook, and Mdlle.
Anais Aubert went into a dead faint. Regnier often averred
that if Rachel had been a man, she would have been the
greatest comic actor that ever lived ; and it is not generally
known that she once played Dorine in " Tartuffe," and set the
whole of the house into a perfect roar ; but on that evening I
124 A^ ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
became convinced that Rachel, in addition to her tragic gifts,
was the spirit of Aristophanesque comedy personified. I am
afraid, however, that I cannot tell the story, or even hint at
it, beyond mentioning that Poirson is reported to have said
that Rachel did not want a stage-manager, but a nurse to take
care of her. The criticism was a cruel one, though justified
by appearances. It was Mama Felix, and not her daughter,
who was to blame. The child — she was scarcely more than
that — had hurt herself severely, and instead of keeping her at
home, she sent her to the theatre, " poulticed all over," as
Rachel expressed it afterwards.
Mama Felix was the only one who was a match for her
famous daughter in money matters. What the latter did with
the enormous sums of money she earned has always been a
mystery. As I have already said, they were not spent in
charity. Nowadays, whatever other theatres may do, the
Comedie-Fran^aise dresses its pensionnaires as well as its
societaires from head to foot ; it pays the bootmaker's as well
as the wigmaker's bill, and the laundress's also. Speaking of
the beginning of her career, which coincided with the end of
Rachel's, Madeleine Brohan, whose language was often more
forcible than elegant, remarked, " Dans ma jeunesse, on nous
mettait toutes nues sur la scene ; nous etions assez jolies pour
cela." But Rachel's costumes varied so little throughout her
career as to have required but a small outlay on her part. Nor
could her ordinary dresses and furniture, which I happened to
see in April, 1858, when they were sold by public auction at her
apartments in the Place Royale, have made a considerable
inroad on her earnings. The furniture was commonplace tq^a
degree ; such pictures and knick-knacks as were of value had
been given to her, or acquired in the manner I have already
described ; the laces and trinkets were, undoubtedly, not pur-
chased with her own money. It is said that her brother Ra-
phael was. a spendthrift. He may have been, but he did not
spend his celebrated sister's money; of that I feel certain.
Then what became of it ? I am inclined to think that Mdlle.
Rachel dabbled considerably in stocks, and that, notwithstand-
ing her shrewdness and sources of information, she was the
victim of people cleverer than she was. At any rate, one
thing is certain — she was nearly always hard up ; and, after
having exhausted the good-will of all her male acquaintances
and friends, compelled to appeal to her mother, who had made
a considerable hoard for her other four sisters, and perhaps
also for her scapegrace son ; for, curiously enough, with Mama
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 125
Felix every one of her children was a goddess or god, except
the goddess. This want of appreciation on the mother's part
reminds me of a story told to me by Meisonnier. His grand-
daughter, on her fifteenth or sixteenth birthday, had a very
nice fan given to her. The sticks were exquisitely carved in
ivory, and must have cost a pretty tidy sum, but the fan itself,
of black gauze, was absolutely plain. The donor probably
intended the grandfather's art to enhance the value of the
present, and the latter was about to do so, when the young
lady stopped him with the cry, " Voilk qu'il va me gater mon
eventail avec ses mannequins ! " The irony of non-apprecia-
tion by one's nearest and dearest could no further go.
Mama Felix, then, was very close-fisted, and would never
lend her daughter any money, except on very good security,
namely, on her jewels. In addition to this, she made her sign
an undertaking that if not redeemed at a certain date they
would be forfeited ; and forfeited they were, if the loan and
interest were not forthcoming at the stipulated time, notwith-
standing the ravings of Rachel. This would probably account
for the comparatively small quantity of valuable jewellery
found after her death.
Some of the ornaments I have seen her wear had an artistic
value utterly apart from their cost, others were so common-
place and such evident imitations as to have been declined by
the merest grisette. One day I noticed round her wrist a
peculiar bracelet. It was composed of a great number of
rings, some almost priceless, others less valuable but still very
artistic, others again possessing no value whatsoever, either
artistically or otherwise. I asked her to take it off, and found
it to be very heavy, so heavy that I remarked upon it. " Yes,"
she replied, " I cannot wear two of the same weight, so I am
obliged to wear the other in my pocket." And out came the
second, composed of nearly double the number of rings of the
first. I was wondering where all' those rings came from, but I
refrained from asking questions. I was enabled to form my
own conclusions a little while afterwards, in the following way.
While we were still admiring the bracelet, Rachel took from
her finger a plain gold hoop, in the centre of which was an
imperial eagle of the same metal. " This was given to me by
Prince Louis Napoleon," she said, " on the occasion of my
last journey to London. He told me that it was a souvenir
from his mother, and that he would not have parted with it to
any one else but me."
I cannot remember the exact date of this conversation, but
126 AN ENGL TSHMAN IN PARIS,
it must have been shortly after the Revolution, when the
future emperor had just landed in France. About three or
four weeks afterwards we were talking to Augustine Brohan,
who had just returned from London, where she had fulfilled
an engagement of one or two months. Rachel was not there
that night, but some one asked her if she had seen Prince
Louis in London. " Yes," she replied ; " he was going away,
and he gave me a present before he went." Thereupon she
took from her finger a ring exactly like that of Rachel's. " He
told me it was a souvenir from his mother, and that he would
not have parted with it to any one but me."
We looked at one another and smiled. The prince had
evidently a jeweller who manufactured "souvenirs from his
mother " by the dozen, and which he, the prince, distributed
at that time, " in remembrance of certain happy hours." The
multiplicity of the rings on Rachel's wrist was no longer a
puzzle to me. I was thinking of the story in the " Arabian
Nights," where the lady with the ninety-eight rings bewitches
the Sultans Shariar and Shahzenan, in spite of the jealousy
and watchfulness of the monster to whom she belongs, and so
makes the hundred complete.
Among the many stories Rachel told me there is one not
generally known — that of her first appearance before Nicholas
I. Though she was very enthusiastically received in London,
and though she always spoke gratefully of the many acts of
kindness shown her there, I am inclined to think that she felt
hurt at the want of cordiality on the part of the English
aristocracy when they invited her to recite at their entertain-
ments. This may be a mere surmise of mine ; I have no better
grounds for it than an expression of hers one day when we
were discussing London society. " Oui, les Anglais, ils sont
tres aimables, mais ilsparaissent avoir peur des artistes, comme
des betes sauvages, car ils vous parquent comme elles au
Jardin des Plantes." I found out afterwards that it was a kind
of grudge she bore the English for having invariably improvised
a platform or enclosure by means of silken ropes. Certain is
it that, beyond a few casual remarks at long intervals upon
London, she seemed reluctant to discuss the subject with me.
Not so with regard to Potsdam after her return whence in
August, '51. In the beginning of July of that year she told
me that she had a special engagement to appear before the
court on the 13th of that month. I did not see her until a
few weeks after -she came back, and then she gave me a full
account of the affair. I repeat, after the lapse of so many
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 127
years, I cannot reproduce her own words, and I could not, even
half an hour after her narrative, have reproduced the manner
of her telling it ; but I can vouch for the correctness of the
facts.
" About six o'clock, Raphael [her brother], who was to give
me my cues, and I arrived at Potsdam, where we were met by-
Schneider, who had made the engagement with me. You
know, perhaps, that Schneider had been an actor himself, that
afterwards he had been promoted to the directorship of the
Royal Opera House, and that now he is the private reader to
the king, with the title of privy or aulic councillor.
" Schneider is a very nice man, and I have never heard a
German speak our language so perfectly. Perhaps it was as
well, because I dread to contemplate what would have been
the effect upon my nerves and ears of lamentations in Teu-
tonized French."
" Why lamentations ? " I asked.
" Ah, nous voilk ! " she replied. . " You remember I was in
mourning. The moment I stepped out of the carriage, he ex-
claimed, ' But you are all in black, mademoiselle.' ' Of course
I am,' I said, * seeing that I am in mourning.' ' Great Heaven !
what am I to do ? Black is not admitted at court on such
occasions.' I believe it was the birthday of the Czarina, but
of course I was not bound to know that.
" There was no time to return to Berlin, and least of all to
get a dress from there, so Raphael and he put their heads to-
gether ; the result of which conference was my being bundled
rather than handed into a carriage, which drove off at full speed
to the Chateau de Glinicke. I could scarcely catch a glimpse
of the country around Potsdam, which seemed to me very
lovely.
" When we got to Glinicke, which belongs to Prince Charles,
I was handed over to some of the ladies-in-waiting of the prin-
cess. Handed over is the only word, because I felt more like
a prisoner than anything else, and they tried to make * little
Rachel ' presentable according to their lights. One of them,
after eyeing me critically, suggested my wearing a dress of hers.
In length it would have done very well, only I happen to be
one of the lean kind, and she decidedly was . not, so that idea
had to be abandoned. They may be very worthy women, these
German ladies, but their inventiveness with regard to dress is
absolutely nil. When the idea suggested by the first lady
turned out to be impracticable,, they were a bout de ressources.
You may gather from this, mon ami, that the beginning and
T28 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
the end of their strategic de la toilette are not far apart. There
was one thing that consoled me for this sudden exhaustion of
their limited ingenuity. Between the half-dozen — for they were
half a dozen — they could not find a single word when the first
and only device proved impossible of realization. Had there
been the same number of French women assembled, it would
have been a kind of little madhouse ; in this instance there was
a deep silence for at least ten minutes, eventually broken by
the knocking at the door of one of the maids, with Herr Schnei-
der's compliments, and wishing to know what had been decided
upon. The doleful answer brought him to the room, and what
six women could not accomplish, he, like the true artist, accom-
plished at once. ' Get Mdlle. Rachel a black lace mantilla,
put a rose in her hair, and give her a pair of white gloves.' In
less than ten minutes I was ready, and in another ten, Raphael,
Schneider, and I embarked on a pretty little steam-yacht lying
ready at the end of the magnificent garden for ' I'lle des Paons'
(Pfauen-Insul, Peacock Island), where we landed exactly at
eight. But my troubles and surprises were not at an end. I
made sure that there would be at least a tent, an awning, or a
platform for me to stand under or upon. Ah, oui ! not the
smallest sign of either. ' Voila votre estrade,' said Schneider,
pointing to a small lawn, separated from the rest of the gardens
by a gravelled walk three or four feet wide. I declined at once
to act under such conditions, and insisted upon being taken
back immediately to the station, and from thence to Berlin.
Poor Schneider was simply in despair. In vain did he point
out that to any one else the total absence of scenery and ad-
juncts might prove a drawback, but that to me it would only
be an additional advantage, as it would bring into greater re-
lief my own talent ; I would not be persuaded. Finding that
it was fruitless to play upon my vanity as an artist, he appealed
to me as a femme du monde. ' The very absence of all prepa-
rations,' he said, ' proves that their majesties have not engaged
Mdlle. Rachel of the Comedie-Fran9aise to give a recitation,
but invited Mdlle. Rachel Felix to one of their soirees. That
Mdlle. Rachel Felix should be kind enough, after having par-
taken of a cup of tea, to recite something, would only be
another proof of her well-known readiness to oblige ; ' and so
forth. Let me tell you, mon cher, that I have rarely met with
a cleverer diplomatist, and Heaven knows I have seen a lot
who imagined themselves clever. They could not hold a can-
dle to this erstwhile actor ; nevertheless I remained as firm as
a rock, though I was sincerely distressed on Schneider's ac-
count."
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 1 29
" What made you give in at last ? " I inquired. " Was it
the idea of losing the magnificent fee ? "
" For once you are mistaken," she laughed, " though Schnei-
der himself brought that argument to bear as a big piece of
artillery. ' Remember this, mademoiselle,' he said, when he
could think of nothing else ; ' remember this — that this soiree
may be the means of putting three hundred thousand or four
hundred thousand francs into your pocket. You yourself told
me just now on board the yacht that you were very anxious for
an engagement at St. Petersburg. I need scarcely tell you
that, if you refuse to appear before their majesties to-night, I
shall be compelled to state the reason, and Russia will be for-
ever closed to you. Apart from pecuniary considerations, it
will be said by your enemies — and your ver}'- eminence in your
profession causes you to have many — that you failed to please
the Empress. After all, the fact that all the ordinary surround-
ings of the actress have been neglected proves that you are not
looked upon as an actress by them, but as une femme du
monde.' "
" That persuaded you ! " I remarked.
" Not at all"
" Then it was the money."
" Of course you will think so, even if I swore the contrary a
hundred times over ; but if you were to guess from now till to-
morrow, you would never hit upon the real reason that made
me stay."
" Well, then, I had better not try, and you had better tell
me at once."
" Strange as it may seem to you, it was neither the gratifica-
tion of being treated en femme du monde nor the money that
made me stay ; it was the desire to see what I had been told
was the handsomest man in Europe. I did see him, and for
once in a way rumor had not exaggerated the reality. I had
scarcely given my final consent to Schneider, when the yacht
carrying the imperial and royal families came alongside the
island, and the illustrious passengers landed, amidst an ava-
lanche of flowers thrown from the other vessels. Schneider
presented me to the King, who was also good-looking, and the
latter presented me to the Czar.
" Immediately afterwards the recital began. At the risk of
taxing your credulity still further, I may tell you that I, Rachel,
who never knew what ' stage-fright ' meant, felt nervous. That
man to me looked like a very god. Fortunately for my repu-
tation, the shadows of night were gathering fast ; in another
9
130 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
twenty minutes it would be quite dark, and I felt almost re-
joiced that my audience could scarcely distinguish my features.
On the other hand, Raphael, who only knew the part of Hip-
polyte by heart, and who was obliged to read the others, de-
clared that he could not see a line, and candles had to be
brought in. It was a glorious evening, but there was a breeze
nevertheless, and as fast as the candles were lighted, they were
extinguished by the wind. To put ordinary lamps on the lawn
at our feet was not to be thought of for a moment ; luckily one
of the functionaries remembered that there were some candel-
abra with globes inside, and by means of these a kind of ' float '
was improvised. Still the scene was a curious one. Raphael
close to me on the edge of the lawn, with one of these candle-
abra in his left hand. Behind, to the left and right of us, a
serried crowd of generals, court dignitaries in magnificent uni-
forms. In front, and separated by the whole width of a gravel
walk, the whole group of sovereigns and their relations, and
behind them the walls of the mansion, against which the tea-
table had been set, and around which stood the ladies-in-wait-
ing of the Queen of Prussia and the Empress qf Russia. A
deep silence around, only broken by the soft soughing of the
wind in the trees and the splashing of a couple of fountains
near, playing a dirge-like accompaniment to Raphael's and my
voice.
**The recital lasted for nearly an hour ; if I had Uked I
could have kept them there the whole night, for never in my
career have I had such an attentive, such a religiously atten-
tive, audience. The King was the first to notice my fatigue, and
he gave the signal for my leaving off by coming up and thank-
ing me for my efforts. The Emperor followed his example, and
stood chatting to me for a long while. In a few minutes I was
the centre of a circle which I am not likely to forget as long
as I live. Then came the question how Raphael and I were
to get back to Berlin. The last train was gone. But Schnei-
der simply suggested a special, and a mounted messenger was
despatched then and there to order it. After everything had
been arranged for my comfortable return, the sovereigns de-
parted as they had come, only this time the yacht, as well as
the others on the lake, were splendidly illuminated. This was
my first appearance before Nicholas I."
There was no man to whom Rachel owed more than to
Samson, or even as much ; but for him, and in spite of her
incontestable genius, the Comedie-Frangaise might have re-
mained closed to her for many years, if not forever. Frederick
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 131
Lemaitre and Marie Dorval were undoubtedly, in their own
way, as great as she, yet the blue ribbon of their profession
never fell to their lot. And yet, when she had reached the
topmost rung of the ladder of fame, Rachel was very often not
only ungrateful to him, but her ingratitude showed itself in
mean, spiteful tricks. When Legouve's " Adrienne Lecou-
vreur " was being cast, Samson, who had forgiven Rachel over
and over again, was on such cool terms with her that the au-
thors feared he would not accept the part of the Prince de
Bouillon. Nevertheless, Samson, than whom there was not a
more honorable and conscientious man on or off the stage,
accepted ; he would not let his resentment interfere with what
he considered his duty to the institution of which he was so
eminent a member. This alone ought to have been sufficient
to heal the breach between the tutor and the pupil ; any woman
with the least spark of generosity, in the position of Rachel
towards Samson, would have taken the first step towards a rec-
onciliation. Rachel, as will be seen directly, was perfectly
conscious of what she ought to do under the circumstances ;
she was too great an actress not to have studied the finer feel-
ings of the human heart, and yet she did not do it. On the
contrary, she aggravated matters. Every one knows the fable
of " The Two Pigeons" which Adrienne recites at the soiree of
the Princesse de Bouillon. Now, it so happened that the great
barrister and orator, Berryer was considered a most charming
reciter of that kind of verse. Berryer, a most simple-minded
man, took special delight in sharing the most innocent games
of young children. He was especially fond of the game of
" forfeits ; " and so great was his fame as a diseur, that the
penalty generally imposed upon him was the reciting of a fable.
But great diseur as he was, he himself acknowledged that
Samson could have given him a lesson.
At every new part she undertook, Rachel was in the habit
of consulting with her former tutor ; this time she went to
consult Berryer instead, and, what was worse, took pains that
every one should hear of it. " Then my heart smote me," she
said afterwards, when by one of those irresistible tricks of hers
she had obtained her tutor's pardon once more. It was as de-
liberate a falsehood as she ever uttered in her life, which in
Rachel's case means a good deal. The fact was, the affair, as
I have already said, had been bruited about, mainly by herself
at first ; the public showed a disposition to take Samson's
part, and she felt afraid of a " warm reception " on the first
night.
132 AA' ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
Under these circumstances she had recourse to one of hei
wiles, which, for being theatrical, was not less effective. At
the first rehearsal, when Adrienne has to turn to Michonnet,
saying, " This is my true friend, to whom I owe everything,"
she turned, not to Regnier, who played Michonnet, and to
whom the words are addressed, but to Samson, at the same
time holding out her hand to him. • Samson, who, notwith-
standing all their disagreements, felt very proud of his great
pupil, who was, moreover, of a very affectionate disposition,
notwithstanding his habitual reserve, fell into the trap. He
took her proffered hand ; then she flung herself into his arms,
and the estrangement was at an end, for the time being. Ra-
chel took great care to make the reconciliation as public as
possible.
I was never very intimate with Samson, but the little I knew
of him I liked. I repeat, he was essentially an honorable and
honest man, and very tolerant with regard to the foibles of the
fair sex. There was need for such tolerance in those days.
Augustine Brohan, Sylvanie Plessy, Rachel, and half a dozen
other women, all very talented, but all very wayward, made
Buloz' life (he was the director of the Comedie-Fran^aise, as
well as the editor of the Revue des Deux Mondes) a burden to
him. He who could, and often did, dictate his will to men
who already then were famous throughout Europe, frequently
found himself powerless against women, who, however celebra-
ted, were, with the exception of Rachel, nothing in comparison
with the former. He was, it is true, overbearing to a degree,
and disagreeable besides, but his temper proved of no avail
with them ; it only made matters worse. " Apres tout," he
said one day to Madame Allan, who was the most amenable of
all, "je suis le maitre ici." " Ca se pent, monsieur," was the
answer, " mais nous sommes les contre-maitres." *
In nearly all such trouble Regnier and Samson had to act as
buffers between the two contending parties ; but, as Augustine
Brohan explained once, the two were utterly different in their
mode of casting oil upon the troubled waters. " Regnier,"
she said, " c'est le bon Dieu des Chretiens, qui se fait trbs
souvent mener par le nez par des mots. Du reste son nez s'y
prete.t Samson c'est le Dieu juste, mais vengeur des Juifs,
qui veut bien pardonner, mais seulement apr^s soumission
* The play upon the word is scarcely translatable. " Contre-maitre " in the singular
means foreman ; as it is used here it means against the master. — Editor.
t R^gnier's nose was always a subject of jokes among his fellow-actors. " It is not be-
cause it is large," said Beauvallet, " but because it is his principal organ of speech."-
Editor.
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PAklS. 133
Complete et entiere. Samson ne vous promet pas le ciel, il
vous offre des compensations solides ici bas."
It would be difficult to paint the contrast between two char-
acters in fewer words. In 1845, when Mdlle. Sylvanie Ples-
sy seceded from the Comedie-Frangaise, Regnier wrote a kind
epistle, recommending her to come and explain matters either
personally or by letter. " Let your letter be kind and affec-
tionate, and be sure that things will right themselves better
than you expect."
Samson also wrote, but simply to say that if she did not
come back at once all the terrors of the law would be invoked
against her. Which was done. The Comedie-Frangaise
instituted proceedings, claiming two hundred thousand francs'
damages, and twenty thousand francs " a titre de provision."*
The court cast MdHe. Plessy in six thousand francs provision,
deferring judgment on the principal claim. Two years later
Mdlle. Plessy returned and re-entered the fold. Thanks to
Samson, she did not pay a single farthing of damages, and the
Comedie bore the costs of the whole of the lawsuit.f
Both Samson and Regnier were very proud of their profes-
sion, but their pride showed itself in different ways. Regnier
would have willingly made every one an actor — that is, a good
actor ; he was always teaching a great many amateurs, stag-
ing and superintending their performances. Samson, on the
other hand, had no sympathy whatsoever with that kind of
thing, and could rarely be induced to give it aid, but he was
very anxious that every public speaker should study elocution.
" Eloquence and elocution are two different things," he said ;
" and the eloquent man who does not study elocution, is like
an Apollo with a bad tailor, and who dresses without a
looking-glass. I go further still, and say that every one ought
to learn how to speak, not necessarily with the view of amusing
his friends and acquaintances, but with the view of not annoy-
ing them. I am a busy man, but should be glad to devote
three hours a week to teach the rising generation, and espe-
cially the humbler ones, how to speak."
In connection with that wish of Samson, that every man
whose duties compelled him, or who voluntarily undertook to
speak in public, should be a trained elocutionist, I remember
a curious story of which I was made the recipient quite by
accident. It was in the year '60, one morning in the summer,
* Damages claimed by one of the parties, pending the final verdict.— Editor.
t Curiously enough, it was Emile Augier's " Aventuriere " that caused Mdlle. iPlessy's
secession, just as it did thirty-five years later, in the case of Mdlle. Sarah Bernhardt— Editor.
154 ^^ ENGLISHMAN IN PAktS,
that I happened to meet Samson in the Rue Vivienne. We
exchanged a few words, shook hands, and each went his own
way. In the afternoon I was sitting at Tortoni's, when a gen-
tleman of about thirty-live came up to me. " Monsieur," he
said, " will you allow me to ask you a question ,'' " " Certain-
ly, monsieur, if it be one I can answer," I replied. " I be-
lieve," he said, " that I saw you in the Rue Vivienne this
morning talking to some one whose name 1 do not know, but
to whom I am under great obligations. I was in a great
hurry and in a cab, and before I could stop the cabman both
of you had disappeared. Will you mind telling me his name ? "
" I recollect being in the Rue Vivienne and meeting with M.
Samson of the Comedie-Frangaise," I answered. " I thought
so," remarked my interlocutor. " Allow me to thank you,
monsieur." With this he lifted his hat and went out.
The incident had slipped my memory altogether, when I
was reminded of it by Samson himself, about three weeks
afterwards, in the green-room of the Comedie-Fran^aise. I had
been there but a few moments when he came in. " You are
the man who betrayed me," he said with a chuckle. " I have
been cudgelling my brain for the last three weeks as to who it
could have been, for I spoke to no less than half a dozen
friends and acquaintances in the Rue Vivienne on the morn-
ing I met you, and they all wear imperials and moustaches.
A nice thing you have done for me ; you have burdened me
with a grateful friend for the rest of my life ! "
And then he told me the story, how two years before he had
been at Granville during the end of the summer ; how he had
strolled into the Palais de Justice and heard the procureur-
imperial make a speech for the prosecution, the delivery of
which would have disgraced his most backward pupil at the
Conservatoire. " I was very angry with the fellow, and felt
inclined to write him a letter, telling him that there was no
need to torture the innocent audience, as well as the prisoner
in the dock. I should have signed it. I do not know why I
did not, but judge of my surprise when, the same evening at
dinner, I found myself seated opposite him. I must have
scowled at him, and he repaid scowl for scowl. It appears
that he was living at the hotel temporarily, while his wife and
child were away. I need not tell you the high opinion our
judges have of themselves, and I dare say he thought it the
height of impertinence that I, a simple mortal, should stare at
him. I soon- came to the conclusion, however, that if I wanted
to spare my fellow-creatures such an infliction as I had endured
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 135
that day, I ought not to arouse the man's anger. So I looked
more mild, then entered into conversation with him. You
should have seen his face when I began to criticise his tone and
gestures. But he evidently felt that 1 was somewhat of an
authority on the subject, and at last I took him out on the beach
and gave him a lesson in delivering a speech, and left him there
without revealing my name. Next morning I went away, and
never set eyes on him again until three weeks ago, when he left
his card, asking for an interview. He is a very intelligent man,
and has profited by the first lesson. During the three days he
remained in Paris I gave him three more. He says that if
ever I get into a scrape, he'll do better than defend me — pros-
ecute me, and I'm sure to get off."
I have never seen Samson give a lesson at the Conservatoire,
but I was present at several of Regnier's, thanks to Auber,
whom I knew very well, and who was the director, and to
Regnier himself, who did not mind a stranger being present,
provided he felt certain that the stranger was not a scoffer. I
believe that Samson would have objected without reference to
the stranger's disposition ; at any rate, Auber hinted as much,
so I did not prefer my request in a direct form.
I doubt, moreover, whether a lesson of Samson to his pupils
would have been as interesting to the outsider as one of
Regnier's. Of all the gifts that go to the making of a great
actor, Regnier had naturally only two — taste and intelligence ;
the others were replaced by what, for want of a better term,
one might call the tricks of the actor ; their acquisition de-
manded constant study. For instance, Regnier's appearance
off the stage was absolutely insignificant; his voice was natu-
rally husky and indistinct, and, moreover, what the French call
nasillarde, that is, produced through the nose. His features
were far from mobile ; the eyes were not without expression,
but these never twinkled with merriment nor shone with
passion. Consequently the smallest as well as largest effect
necessary to the interpretation of a character had to be thought
out carefully beforehand, and then to be tried over and over
again materially. Each of his inflections had to be timed to a
second ; but when all this was accomplished, the picture pre-
sented by him was so perfect as to deceive the most experienced
critic, let alone an audience, however intelligent. In fact, but
for his own frank admission of all this, his contemporaries and
posterity would have been never the wiser, for, to their honor
be it said, his fellow-actors were so interested in watching him
" manipulate himself," as they termed it, as to never breathe a
136 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
word of it to the outside world. They all acknowledged that
they had learned something from him during rehearsal. For
instance, in one of his best-known characters, that of the old
servant in Madame de Girardin's " La joie fait peur," * there
is a scene which as played by Regnier and Delaunay, looked
to the spectator absolutely spontaneous. The smallest detail
had been minutely regulated. It is where the old retainer,
while dusting the room, is talking to himself about his young
master, Lieutenant Adrien Desaubiers, who is reported dead.
" I can see him now," says Noel, who cannot resign himself
to the idea ; " I can see him now, as he used to come in from
his long walks, tired, starving, and shouting before he was
fairly into the house. ' Here I am, my good Noel ; I am
dying with hunger. Quick ! an omelette.' " At that moment
the young lieutenant enters the room, and having heard Noel's
last sentence, repeats it word for word.
Short as was the sentence, it had been arranged that Delau-
nay should virtually cut it into four parts.
At the words, "// is /," Regnier shivered from head to foot;
at ''''Here I am^ my good Noel^^^ he lifted his eyes heavenwards,
to make sure that the voice did not come from there, and that
he was not laboring under a kind of hallucination ; at the
words, " / avi dymg with hunger,''^ he came to the conclusion
that it was a real human voice after all ; and at the final,
" Quick / an omeietie,^^ he turned round quickly, and fell like a
log into the young fellow's arms.
I repeat, the whole of the scene had been timed to the
fraction of a second ; nevertheless, on the first night, Regnier,
nervous as all great actors are on such occasions, forgot all
about his own arrangements, and, at the first sound of Delau-
nay's voice, was so overcome with emotion that he literally
tumbled against the latter, who of course was not prepared to
bear him up, and had all his work to do to keep himself from
falling also. Meanwhile Regnier lay stretched at full length
on the stage, and the house broke into tumultuous applause.
" That was magnificent," said Delaunay after the perform-
ance. " Suppose we repeat the thing to-morrow ? "
But Regnier would not hear of it ; he stuck to his original
conception in four tempi. He preferred trusting to his art
rather than to the frank promptings of nature.
That is why a lesson of Regnier to his pupils was so inter-
* There are several English versions of the play, and I am under the impression that the
late Tom Robertson was inspired by it when he adapted " Caste." I allude to that scene
in the third act, where George d'Alroy returns unexpectedly, and where Polly Ecdes breaks
the news to her sister. — Editor.
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PA RIS. 1 3 7
esting to the outsider. The latter was, as it were, initiated
into all the resources the great actor has at his command
wherewith to produce his illusion upon the public. Among
Regnier's pupils those were his favorites who never allowed
themselves to be carried away by their feelings, and who
trusted to these resources as indicated to them by their tutor.
He was to a certain extent doubtful of the others. " Feelings
vary ; effects intelligently conceived, studied, and carried out
ought never to vary," he said. Consequently it became one
of his theories that those most plentifully endowed with
natural gifts were not likely to become more perfect than those
who had been treated niggardly in that respect, provided the
vocation and the perseverance were there. The reverse of
Samson, who was proudest of Rachel, Regnier was never half
as proud of M. Coquelin as of others who had given him far
more trouble. Augustine Brohan explained the feeling in her
own inimitable way. " Regnier est comme le grand seigneur
qui s'enamourache d'une paysanne a qui il faut tout enseigner ;
si moi j'etais homme, j'aimerais mieux une demoiselle de bonne
famille, qui n'aurait pas besoin de tant d'enseignement."
Mdlle. Brohan exaggerated a little bit. Regnier's pupils
were not peasant children, to whom he had to teach every-
thing ; a great many, like Coquelin, required very little teach-
ing, and all the others had the receptive qualities which make
teaching a pleasure. The latter, boys and girls, had to a
certain extent become like Regnier himself, " bundles of
tricks," and, what is perhaps not so surprising to students of
psychology and physiology, their features had contracted a
certain likeness to his. At the first blush one might have
mistaken them for his children. And they might have been,
for the patience he had with them. It was rarely exhausted,
but he now and then seemed to be waiting for a new supply.
At such times there was a frantic clutch at the shock, grey-
haired head, or else a violent blowing of the perky nose in a
large crimson checkered handkerchief, its owner standing all
the while on one leg ; the attitude was irresistibly comic, but the
pupils were used to it, and not a muscle of their faces moved.
Those who imagine that Regnier's courses were merely so
many lessons of elocution and gesticulation would be altogether
mistaken. Regnier, unlike many of his great fellow-actors of
that period, had received a good education ; he had been
articled to an architect, he had even dabbled in painting, and
there were few historical personages into whose characters he
had not a thorough insight. He was a fair authority upon
138 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
costume and manners of the Middle Ages, and his acquaint-
ance with Roman and Greek antiquities would have done
credit to many a professor. He was called " le comedien
savant " and " le savant comedien." As such, whenever a
pupil failed to grasp the social or political importance of one
of the dramatis personce of Racine's or Corneille's play, there
was sure to be a disquisition, telling the youngster all about
him, but in a way such as to secure the attention of the
listener — a way that might have aroused the envy of a univer-
sity lecturer. The dry bones of history were clothed by a
man with an eye for the picturesque.
" Who do you think Augustus was ? " he said one day when
I was present to the pupil, who was declaiming some lines of
" Cinna." " Do you think he was the concierge or le commis-
sionnaire du coin } " And forthwith there was a sketch of
Augustus. Absolutely quivering with life, he led his listener
through the streets of Rome, entered the palace with him, and
once there, became Augustus himself. After such a scene he
would frequently descend the few steps of the platform and
drop into his arm-chair, exhausted.
Every now and then, in connection with some character of
Moliere or Regnard, there would be an anecdote of the great
interpreter of the character, but an anecdote enacted, after
which the eyes woul/d fill with tears, and the ample checkered
handkerchief come into requisition once more.
Regnier was a great favorite with most of his fellow-
actors and the employes of the Comedie-Fran^aise, but he was
positively worshipped by Giovanni, the wigmaker of the es-
tablishment. They were in frequent consultation even in the
green-room, the privilege of admission to which had been
granted to the Italian Figaro. The consultations became most
frequent when one of the members undertook a part new to
him. It was often related of Balzac that he firmly believed in
the existence of the characters his brain had created. The
same might be said of Regnier with regard to the characters
created by the great playwrights of his own time and those of
the past. Of course, I am not speaking of those who had an
historical foundation. But Alceste, Harpagon, Georges Dan-
din, Sganarelle, and Scapin were as real to him as Orestes
and Oedipus, as Augustus and Mohammed. He would give
not only their biographies, but describe their appearance, their
manners, their gait, and even their complexion. The first time
I heard him do so, I made sure that he was trying to mystify
Giovanni ; but Rachel, who was present, soon undeceived me,
A A' ENGLISHMAN IN PA RIS. 139
And the Italian would sit listening reverently, then start up
and exclaim, " Ze sais ce qu'il vous f aut, Monsu R^gnier, ze
vais faire oune parruque a etonner Moliere lui-meme." And
he kept his word, because he considered that the wig con-
tributed as much to, or detracted from, the success of an actor
as his diction, and more than his clothes. When Delaunay
became a societaire, his first part was that of the lover in
M. Viennet's "Migraine." "Voila Monsu Delaunay, oune
veritable parruque di societaire. Zouez a present, vous etes
sour de votre affaire."
One day Beauvallet found him standing before the window
of Brandus, the music-publisher in the Rue de Richelieu. He
was contemplating the portrait of Rossini, and he looked sad.
" What are you standing there for, Giovanni t " asked Beau-
vallet.
"Ah, Monsu Bouvallet, I am looking at the portrait of
Maestro Giovanni Rossini, and when I think that his name is
Giovanni like mine, when I see that abominable wig which
looks like a grass plot after a month of drought, I feel
ashamed and sad. But I will go and see him, and make him
a wig for love or money that will take twenty years off his age."
He went, but Rossini would not hear of it, or rather Madame
Rossini put a spoke in his wheel. Giovanni never men-
tioned his name again. It was Ligier who brought Giovanni
to Paris, and for a quarter of a century he worked unre-
mittingly for the glory of the Comedie-Fran^aise, and when
one of the great critics happened to speak favorably of
the " make-up " of an actor, as Paul de St. Victor did when
Regnier " created Noel," Giovanni used to leave his card at
his house. It was Giovanni who made the wigs for M. An-
cessy, the musical director at the Odeon, who, under the man-
agement of M. Edouard Thierry, occupied the same position
at the Com6die-Fran9aise. M. Ancessy was not only a good
chef d'orchestre, but a composer of talent ; but he had one
great weakness — he was as bald as a billiard-ball and wished
to pass for an Absalom. Giovanni helped him to carry out the
deception by making three artistic wigs. The first was of very
short hair, and was worn from the ist to the loth of the month ;
from the nth to the 20th M. Ancessy donned one with hair
that was so visibly growing as to cover his ears. From the
20th to the last day of the month his locks were positively
flowing, and he never failed to say on that last evening in the
hearing of everyone, " What a terrible nuisance my hair is to
ijie ! I must have it cut to-morrow."
MO AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS,
CHAPTER VII.
I KNEW Auber from the year '42 or '43 until the day of his
death. He and I were in Paris during the siege and the Com-
mune ; we saw one another frequently, and I am positive that the
terrible misfortunes of his country shortened his life by at least
ten years. For though at the beginning of the campaign he was
close upon ninety, he scarcely looked a twelvemonth older than
when I first knew him, nearly three decades before ; that is, a
very healthy and active old man, but still an old man. So
much nonsense has been written about his perpetual youth,
that it is well to correct the error. But the ordinary French
public, and many journalists besides, could not understand an
octogenarian being on horseback almost every day of his life,
any more than they understood later on M. de Lesseps
doing the same. They did not and do not know M. Mackenzie-
Grieves, and half a dozen English residents in Paris of a sim-
ilar age, who scarcely ever miss their daily ride. If they had
known them, they might perhaps have been less loud in their
admiration of the fact.
What added, probably, to Auber's reputation of possessing
the secret of perpetual youth was his great fondness for women's
society, his very handsome appearance, though he was small
comparatively, and his faultless way of dressing. He was
most charming with the fairer sex, and many of the female
pupils of the Conservatoire positively doted on him. Though
polite to a degree with men — and I doubt whether Auber
could have been other than polite with no matter whom
— his smiles, I mean his benevolent ones, for he could smile
very sceptically, were exclusively reserved for women. When
he heard Mozart's " Don Juan " for the first time, he said,
" This is the music of a lover of twenty, and if a man be not
an imbecile, he may always have in a little corner of his heart
the sentiment or fancy that he is only twenty."
There was but one drawback to Auber's enjoyment of the
society of women — he was obliged to take off his hat in their
presence, and he hated being without that article of dress.
He might have worn a skull-cap at home, though there was no
iiecessity for it, as far as his hair was concerned, for up to the
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 141
last he was far from bald ; but he wanted his hat. He com-
posed with his hat on, he had his meals with his hat on, and
though he would have frequently preferred to take his seat in
the stalls or balcony of a theatre, he invariably had a box, and
generally one on the stage, in order to keep his hat on. He
would often stand for hours on the balcony of his house in the
Rue Saint-Georges with his hat on. " I never feel as much at
home anywhere, not even in my own apartment, as in the
synagogue," he said one day. He frequently went there for
no earthly reason than because he could sit among a lot of
people with his hat on. In fact, those frequent visits, coupled
with his dislike to be bareheaded, made people wonder now
and then whether Auber was a Jew. The supposition always
made Auber smile. '' That would have meant the genius of a
Meyerbeer, a Mendelsohn, or a Halevy," he said. " No, I have
been lucky enough in my life, but such good fortune as that
never fell to my lot." For there was no man so willing — nay,
anxious — to acknowledge the merit of others as Auber. But
Auber was not a Jew, and his mania for keeping on his hat
had nothing to do with his religion. It was simply a mania,
and nothing more. When, in January, '55, Gerard de Nerval
was found suspended from a lamp-post in the Ruede la Vieille-
Lanterne, he had his hat on his head ; his friends, and even
the police, pretended to argue from this that he had not com-
mitted suicide, but had been murdered. " A man who is going
to hang himself does not keep his hat on," they said. " Pour-
quoi pas, mon Dieu ? " asked Auber, simply. " If I were going
to kill myself, I should certainly keep my hat on." In short,
it was the only thing about Auber which could not be explained.
Auber was exceedingly fond of society, and yet he was fond
of solitude also. Many a time his friends reported that, return-
ing home late from a party, they found Auber standing opposite
his house in the Rue Saint-Georges, with apparently no other
object than to contemplate it from below. After his return
to Paris from London, whither he had been sent by his father,
in order to become conversant with English business habits, he
never left the capital again, though at the end of his life he
regretted not having been to Italy. It was because Rossini,
who was one of his idols, had said "that a musician should
loiter away some of his time under that sky." But almost
immediately he comforted himself with the thought that Paris,
after all, was the only city worth living in. " I was very fond
of my mother, but I have one grievance against her memory.
What did she want to go to Caen for just at the moment when
142 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
I was about to be born ? But for that I should have been a
real Parisian." I do not think it made much difference, for I
never knew such an inveterate Parisian as Auber. When the
investment of Paris had become an absolute certainty, some of
his friends pressed him to leave ; he would not hear of it.
They predicted discomfort, famine, and what not. " The latter
contingency will not affect me much, seeing that I eat but once
a day, and very little then. As for the sound of the firing
disturbing me, I do not think it will. It has often been said
that the first part of my overture to ' Fra Diavolo ' was inspired
by the retreating tramp of a regiment; there may be some
truth in it. If it be vouchsafed to me to hear the retreating
tramp of the Germans, I will write an overture and an opera,
which will be something different, I promise you."
I do not suppose that, personally, Auber suffered any priva-
tions during the siege. A man in his position, who required
but one meal a day, and that a very light one, was sure to find
it somewhere ; but he had great trouble to find sufficient fodder
for his old faithful hack, that had carried him for years, and
when, after several months of scheming and contriving to that
effect, he was forced to give it up as food for others, his cup
of bitterness was full. " lis m'ont pris mon vieux cheval pour
le manger," he repeated, when I saw him after the event ;
" je I'avais depuis vingt ans." It was really a great blow to
him.
There is another legend about Auber which is not founded
upon facts, namely, that he was pretty well independent of
sleep. It was perfectly true that he went to bed very late and
rose very early, but most people have overlooked the fact that
during the evening he had had a comfortable doze, of at least
an hour and a half or two hours, at the theatre. He rarely
missed a performance at the Opera or Opera-Comique, except
when his own work was performed. And during that time he
slumbered peacefully, "en homme du monde," said Nestor
Roqueplan, " without snoring."
" I never knew what it meant to snore," said Auber, apolo-
getically, " until I took to sleeping in Veron's box ; and as it is,
I do not snore now except under provocation. But there would
be no possibility of sleeping by the side of Veron without
snoring. You have to drown his, or else it would awaken
you."
Auber was a brilliant talker, but he scarcely ever liked to
exert himself except on the subject of music. It was all in i\\\
to him, and the amount of work he did must have been some-
AN ENGLJSHMa N- TN PARIS, 1 43
thing tremendous. There are few students of the history of
operatic music, no matter how excellent their memories, who
could give the complete list of Auber's works by heart. We
tried it once in 1850, when that list was much shorter than it
is now ; there was not a single one who gave it correctly. The
only one who came within a measurable distance was Roger,
the tenor.
In spite of his world-wide reputation, even at that time,
Auber was as modest about his work as Meyerbeer, but he had
more confidence in himself than the latter. Auber was by no
means ungrateful to the artists who contributed to his success ;
" but I don't ' coddle ' them, and put them in cotton-wool, like
Meyerbeer," he said. " It is perfectly logical that he should
do so. The Nourrits, the Levasseurs, the Viardot-Garcias, and
the Rogers, are not picked up at street-corners ; but bring me
the first urchin you meet, who has a decent voice, and a fair
amount of intelligence, and in six months he'll sing the most
difficult part I ever wrote, with the exception of that of Masa-
niello. My operas are a kind of warming-pan for great singers.
There is something in being a good warming-pan."
At the first blush, this sounds something like jealousy in the
guise of humility, but I am certain that there was no jealousy
in Auber's character. Few men have been so uniformly
successful, but he also had his early struggles, " when perhaps
I did better work than I have done since." The last sentence
was invariably trolled out when a pupil of the Conservatoire
complained to him of having been unjustly dealt with. I
remember Coquelin the younger competing for the " prize of
Comedy " in '65 or '66. He did not get it, and when we came
out of Auber's box at the Conservatoire, the young fellow came
up to him with tears in his eyes. I fancy they were tears of
anger rather than of sorrow.
"Ah, Monsieur Auber," he exclaimed, " that's an injustice."
" Perhaps so, my dear lad," replied Auber ; " but remember
that the verdict on all things in this world may be summed up
in the words you have just uttered, ' It's an injustice.' Let me
give you a bit of advice. If you mean to become a good
Figaro, you must be the first to laugh at an injustice instead of
weeping over it." Wherewith he turned his back upon the
now celebrated comedian. In the course of these notes I shall
have occasion to speak of Auber again.
Auber need not have generalized to young Coquelin ; he
might have cited one instance of injustice in his own profession,
to which, fortunately, there was no parallel for at least thirty
144 ^^^ ENGLISHMAN IN PARI^,
years. In the forties the critics refused to recognize the
genius of Felicien David, just as they had refused to recognize
the genius of Hector Berlioz. In the seventies they were
morally guilty of the death of Georges Bizet, the composer of
" Carmen."
I knew little or nothing of Hector Berlioz, but I frequently
met Felicien David at Auber's. It was a pity to behold the
man even after his success — a success which, however, did not
put money in his purse. His moral sufferings, his material
privations, had left their traces but too plainly on the face as well
as on the mind. David had positively starved in order to buy
the few books and the paper necessary to his studies, and yet
he had the courage to say. " If I had to begin over again, I
would do the same." The respectability that drives a gig
when incarnated in parents who refuse to believe in the power
of soaring of their offspring because they, the parents, cannot
see the wings, has assuredly much to answer for. Flotow's
father stops the supplies after seven years, because his son has
not come up to time like a race-horse. Berlioz's father does not
give him so long a shrift ; he allows him three months to con-
quer fame. Felicien David had no father to help or to thwart
him in his ambition. He was an orphan at the age of five, and
left to the care of a sister, who was too poor to help him ; but
he had an uncle who was well-to-do, and who allowed him the
magnificent sum of fifty francs per month — for a whole quarter
— and then withdrew it, notwithstanding the assurance of
Cherubini that the young fellow had the making of a great com-
poser in him. And the worst is that these young fellows suffer
in silence, while there are hundreds of benevolent rich men
who would willingly open their purses to them. When they do
reveal their distressed condition, it is generally to some one as
poor as themselves. These rich men buy the autographs of the
deceased genius for small or large sums which would have pro-
vided the struggling ones with comforts for days and days.
I have before me such a letter which I bought for ten francs.
I would willingly have given ten times the amount not to have
bought it. It is written to a friend of his youth. " As for
money," it says, " seeing that I am bound to speak of it, things
are going from bad to worse. And it is very certain that in a
little while I shall have to give it up altogether. I have been
ill for three weeks with pains in the back, and fever and ague
everywhere. I dare say that my illness was brought on by my
worries, and by the bad food of the Paris restaurants, also by
the constant dampness. Why am I not a little better off ? i
AJV ENGLISBMAM W PARIS. 145
fancy that the slight comforts an artist may reasonably expect
would do me a great deal of good. I am not speaking of the
body, though it is a part of ourselves which considerably affects
our intellect, but my imagination would be the better for it, for
how can my brain, constantly occupied as it is with the worry
of material wants, act unhampered? Really, I do not hesitate
to say that poverty and privation kill the imagination."
They did not kill the imagination in David's case, but they
undermined his constitution. It was at that period that he
fell in with the Saint-Simoniens, to the high priest of which,
M. Enfantin, who eventually became the chairman of the Paris,
Lyons, and Mediterranean Railway Company, he took me many
years later. After their dispersion, the group to which he be-
longed went to the East, and it is to this apparently fortuitous
circumstance that the world owes not only " Le Desert," " La
Perle du Bresil," and " L'Eden," but probably also Meyerbeer's
" Africaine." Meyerbeer virtually acknowledged that but for
David's scores, so replete with the poetry of the Orient, he
would have never thought of such a subject for one of his
operas. M. Scribe, on the other hand, always maintained
that the idea emanated from him, and that it dated from 1847,
when the composer was given the choice between " La Prophete"
and " L' Africaine," and chose the former. One might almost
paraphrase the accusation of the wolf against the lamb in La
Fontaine's fable. " M. Scribe, if you did not owe your idea
to Felicien David, you owed it to Montigny, the director of the
Gymnase, who in the thirties produced a play with a curious
name and a more curious plot, at the Ambigu-Comique." * One
thing is certain, thet '' L' Africaine" was discarded, if ever it was
offered, and would never have been thought of again but for
Meyerbeer's intense and frankly acknowledged admiration of
FeUcien David's genius.
To return for a moment to Felicien David, whose melancholy
vanished as if by magic when he related his wanderings in the
East. I do not mean the poetical side of them, which inspired
him with his great compositions, but the ludicrous one. I do
* I have taken some pains to unearth this play. It was called " Amazampo ; or, The Dis-
covery of Quinine." The scene was laid in Peru in 1636. Amazampo, the chief of a Peru-
vian tribe, is in love with Maida, who on her part is in love with Ferdinand, the son of the
viceroy. Amazampo is heart-broken, and is stricken down with fever. In his despair and
partial delirium he tries to poison himself, and drinks the water of a pool in which several
trunks of a tree called ki7ia, reported poisonous, have been lying for years. He feels the
effect almost immediately, but not the effect he expected. He recovers, and takes advantage
of his recovered health to forget his love passion, and to be avenged upon the oppressors of
his country, many of whom are dying with fever. Lima becomes a huge cemetery. Then
the wife of the viceroy is stricken down. Maida wishes to- save her, but is forestalled by
Amazampo, who compels Dona Theodora to drink the liquor, and so forth. But Ania»>
ampo and Maida die, — Editor.
10
146 ^^V ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS,
not remember the dress of the Saint-Simoniens, I was too young
at the time to have noticed it, but am told it consisted of a
blue tunic and trousers to match, a scarlet jersey, which but-
toned at the back, and could not be undone except with the aid
of some one else. It was meant to symbolize mutual depen-
dence upon one another. " As far as Marseilles everything
went comparatively well," said David; "we lived by giving
concerts, and though the receipts were by no means magnifi-
cent, they kept the wolf from the door. Our troubles began at
Constantinople. Whether they did not like our music, or our-
selves, or our dresses, I have never been able to make out, but
we were soon denounced to the authorities, and marched off to
prison, though our incarceration did not last more than a couple
of hours, thanks to our ambassador, Admiral Roussin. Our
liberation, however, was conditional ; we had to leave at once.
We made our way to Smyrna, where my music seemed to meet
with a little more favor. I performed every night, but in the
open air, and some one took the hat r^und, just as if we had
been a company of ambulant musicians to the manner born.
We were, however, not altogether unhappy, for we had enough
to eat and to drink, which with me, at any rate, was a para-
mount consideration. Up till then sufficient food had not been
a daily item in my programme of life. My companions, never-
theless, became restless ; they said they had not come to eat
and drink and play music, but to convert the most benighted
part of Europe to their doctrines ; so we moved to Jaffa and
Jerusalem, then to Alexandria, and finally to Cairo. By the
time we got there, only three of us were left ; the rest had gone
homeward. Koenig-Bey had just at that moment undertaken
the tuition of Mehemet-Ali's children — there were between
sixty and seventy at that time ; it was he who presented me to
their father, with a view of my becoming the professor of music
to the inmates of the harem. ' It is of no use to try to get you
the appointment of professor of music to the young princes,
because Mehemet, though intelligent enough, would certainly
not hear of it. He would not think it necessary that a man-
child should devote himself to so effeminate an accomplish-
ment. I am translating his own thoughts on the subject, not
mine. When I tell you that my monthly report about their
intellectual progress is invariably waved off with the words,
" Tell me how much they have gained or lost in weight," you
will understand that I am not speaking at random. The vice-
roy thinks that hard study should produce a corresponding
decrease in weight, which is not always the case, for those more
AN ENGUSJJMAN IN PARIS. 147
or less inclined to obesity make flesh in virtue of their sitting
too much. Consequently the fat kine have a very bad time of
it, and among the latter is one of the most intelligent boys,
Mohammed-Said/ "
" Those who would infer from this," said David one day,
referring to the same subject, " that Mehemet-Ali was lacking
in intelligence, would commit a grave error. I am convinced,
from the little I saw of him, that he was a man of very great
natural parts. His features, though not absolutely handsome,
were very striking and expressive. He was over sixty then, but
looked as if he could bear any amount of fatigue. His con-
stitution must originally have been an iron one. Instead of
the Oriental repose which I expected, there was a kind of
semi-European, serrii-military stiffness about him, which, how-
ever, soon wore oif in conversation. I say advisedly conversa-
tion, albeit that he did not understand a word of French, which
was the only language I spoke, and that I could not catch a
word of his. But in spite of Koenig-Bey's acting the interpre-
ter, it was a conversation between us both. He seemed to
catch the meaning of my words the moment they left my lips,
and every now and then smiled at my remarks. He as it were
read the thoughts that provoked them, and I do not wonder at
his having been amused, for I myself was never so amused in
my life. Perhaps you will be, when I tell you that I was not
to see the ladies I had to teach ; my instruction was to be given
to the eunuchs, who, in their turn, had to transmit them to the
viceroy's wives and daughters. Of course, I tried to point out
the impossibility of such a system, but Mehemet-Ali shook his
head with a knowing smile. That was the only way he would
have his womenkind initiated into the beauties of Mozart and
Mendelssohn. I need not tell you that the arrangement came
to nought."
Nearly all these conversations which I have noted down
here, without much attempt at transition, took place at different
times. One day, when he was relating some experiences of
his wanderings through the less busy haunts of Egypt, I hap-
pened to say, " After all, Monsieur David, they did you good ;
they inspired you with the themes of your most beautiful
works."
It was a very bitter smile that played on his lips, but only
for a moment ; the next his face resumed its usual melancholy
expression. " Yes, they did me good. Do you know what
occurred on the eve of the first performance of ' Le Desert,' on
the morrow of which I may say without undue pride that I
1 48 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PA RIS.
found myself famous ? Well, I will tell you. But for Azevedo,
I should have gone supperless that night.* I met him on the
Boulevards, and I almost forced him to take some tickets, for
I was hungry and desperate. I had been running about that
morning to dispose of some tickets for love or money, for what
I feared most was an empty house. I had sold half a dozen,
perhaps, but no one had paid me. Azevedo said, ' Yes, send
me some this afternoon.' ' I can give them to you now,' I re-
pHed, ' for I carry my box office upon me.' Then he under-
stood, and gave me the money. May God bless him for it,
forever and ever !
" Now would you like to hear what happened after the perform-
ance?" he continued. "The place was full and the applause
tremendous. Next morning the papers were full of my name ;
I was, according to most of them, ' a revelation in music' But
for all that I was living in an attic on a fifth floor, and had not
sufficient money to pay my orchestra, let alone to arrange for
another concert. As for the score of ' Le Desert,' it went the
round of every publisher but one, and was declined by all these.
At last the firm of Escudier offered me twelve hundred francs
for it, which of course, I was glad to take. They behaved
handsomely after all, because they arranged for a series of
performances of it, which I was to direct at a fee of a thou-
sand francs per performance. Those good Saint-Simoniens,
the Pereiras, Enfantin, Michel Chevalier, had not lifted a finger
to help me in my need ; nevertheless I was not going to con-
demn good principles on account of the men who represented
them not very worthily. Do you know what was the result of
this determination not to be unjust if others were ? I embarked
my little savings in a concern presided over by one of them.
I lost every penny of it ; since then I have never been able to
save a penny."
Felicien David was right — he never made money; first of
all, " because," as Auber said, " he was too great an artist to be
popular ; " secondly, because the era of cantatas and oratorios
had not set in in France ; thirdly, because he composed very
slowly; and fourthly, "because he had no luck." The per-
formances of his principal theatrical work were interrupted by
the Coup-d' Etat. I am alluding to " La Perle du Bresil," which,
though represented at the Opera-Comique in 1850, only ran for
a few nights there, divergencies of opinion having arisen between
the composer and M. Emile Perrin, who was afterwards director
* Alexis Azevedo, one of the best musical critics of the time, as enthusiastic in his likes as
unreasoning in his dislikes. He became a fervent admirer of Felicien David.— Editor.
A^r ENGLISHMAN' IN PARIS. 149
of the Grand Opera, and finally of the Comedie-Fran^aise.
When it was revived, on November 22, 185 1, the great event
which was to transform the second republic into the second
empire was looming on the horizon. In 1862, Napoleon III.
made Felicien David an officer of the Legion d'Honneur ; Louis
Philippe had bestowed the knighthood upon him in '46 or'47,
after a performance of his " Christophe Colomb " at the Tuil-
eries. When Auber was told of the honor conferred, he said,
" Napoleon is worse than the fish with the ring of Polycrates ;
it did not take him eleven years to bring it back." Alexandre
Dumas opined that " it was a pearl hid in a dunghill for a
decade or more." When, towards the end of the Empire, a
street near the projected opera building was named after Auber,
and when he could see his bust on the facade of the building,
the scaffolding of which had been removed, Auber remarked
that the Emperor had been good enough to give him credit.
" Now we are quits," he added, " for ^e was David's debtor for
eleven years. At any rate, I'll do my best to square the account,
so you need not order any hatbands until '79." When '79
came, he had been in his tomb for nearly eight years.
I wrote just now that Felicien David composed very slowly.
But for this defect, if it was one, Verdi would have never put
his name to the score of " Aida." The musical encyclopedias
will tell you that Signor Ghislanzoni is the author of the libretto,
and that the khedive applied to Signor Verdi for an opera on
an Egyptian subject. The first part of that statement is utterly
untrue, the other part is but partially true. Signor Ghislanzoni
is at best but the adapter in verse and translator of the libretto.
The original in prose is by M. Camille du Locle, founded on
the scenario supplied by Mariette-Bey, whom Ismail-Pasha had
given carte blanche with regard to the music and words. Mari-
ette-Bey intended from the very first to apply to a French play-
wright, when one night, being belated at Memphis in the Sera-
peum, and unable to return on foot, he all at once remembered
an old Egyptian legend. Next day he committed the scenario
of it to paper, showed it to the khedive, and ten copies of it
were printed in Alexandria. One of these was sent to M. du
Locle, who developed the whole in prose.
M. du Locle had also been authorized to find a French com-
poser, but it is very certain that Mariette-Bey had in his mind's
eye the composer of " Le Desert," though he may not have
expressly said so. At any rate, M. du Locle applied to David,
who refused, although the " retaining fee " was fifty thousand
francs. It was because he could not comply with the first and
150 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PAR J S.
foremost condition, to have the score ready in six months at
the latest. Then Wagner was thought of. It is most probable
that he would have refused. To Mariette-Bey belongs the
credit furthermore of having entirely stage-managed the
opera.
Thus Felicien David who had revealed " the East in music "
to the Europeans, no more reaped the fruits of his originality
than Decamps, who had revealed it in painting. Was not
Auber right when he said to young Coquelin that the verdict
on all things in this world might be summed up in the one
phrase, " It's an injustice " ?
CHAPTER VIII.
A FEW weeks ago,* when rummaging among old papers,
documents, memoranda, etc., I came upon some stray leaves
of a catalogue of a picture sale at the Hotel Bullion t in 1845.
I had marked the prices realized by a score or so of paintings
signed by men who, though living at that time, were already
more or less famous, and many of whom have since then
acquired a world-wide reputation. There was only one excep-
tion to this — that of Herrera the elder, who had been dead
nearly two centuries, and whose name was, and is still, a house-
hold word among connoisseurs by reason of his having been
the master of Velasquez. The handiwork of the irascible old
man was knocked down for three francs seventy-five centimes,
though no question was raised as to the genuineness of it in
my hearing. It was a saint — the catalogue said no more, — and
I have been in vain trying to recollect why I did not buy it.
There must have been some cogent reason for my not having
done so, for " the frame was no doubt worth double the money,"
to use an auctioneer's phrase. Was it suspicion, or what ?
At any rate, two years later, I heard that it had been sold to
an American for fourteen thousand francs, though, after all,
that was no guarantee of its value.
In those days it was certainly better to be a live artist than
a dead one, for, a little further on among these pages, I came
upon a marginal note of the prices fetched by three works of
Meissonier, " Le Corps de Garde," " Une partie de piquet,"
and " Un jeune homme regardant des dessins," all of which
* Written in 1882.
t The Hotel Bullion was formally the town mansion of the financier of that name, aiid
rituated in the Rue Coquilliire- — Editor.
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 1 5 1
had been in the salon of that year,* and each of which fetched
3000 francs. I should not like to say what their purchasing
price would be to-day, allowing for the difference in the value
of money. Further on still there is a note of a picture by Al-
fred de Dreux, which realized a similar amount. Allowing for
that same difference in the value of money, that work would
probably not find a buyer now among real connoisseurs at 200
francs.t At the same time, the original sketch of David's
" Serment du Jeu de Paume " did not find a purchaser at 2500
francs, the reserve price. A landscape by Jules Andre, a far
greater artist than Alfred de Dreux, went for 300 francs, and
Baron's " Oies du Frere Philippe " only realized 200 francs
more. There was not a single "bid" for Eugene Delacroix'
" Marc-Aurele," and when he did sell a picture it was for 500
or 600 francs; nowadays it would fetch 100,000 francs. On
the other hand, the drawings of Decamps' admirable " Histoire
de Samson" realized 1000 francs each.
Yet Gabriel Decamps was a far unhappier man than Eugene
Delacroix. The pictures rejected by the public became the
" apples " of Delacroix' eyes with which .he would not part,
subsequently, at any price, as in the case of his " Marino
Faliero." Decamps, one day, while he lived in the Faubourg
Saint-Denis, deliberately destroyed one hundred and forty draw-
ings, the like of which were eagerly bought up for a thousand
francs apiece, though at present they would be worth four times
that amount. Delacroix was content with his God-given
genius ; " he saw everything he had made, and behold it was
very good." Decamps fumed and fretted at the supposed sys-
tematic neglect of the Government, which did not give him a
commission. " You paint with a big brush, but you are not a
great painter," said Sir Joshua to a would-be Michael-Angelo.
To Gabriel Decamps the idea of being allowed or invited by
the State to cover a number of yards of canvas or wall or ceil-
ing, was so attractive that he positively lost his sleep and his
appetite over it. It was, perhaps, the only bitter drop in his
otherwise tolerably full cup of happiness, but that one drop
* The annual salon was held in the Louvre then ; in 1849 it was transferred to the Tuile-
ries. In 1850, '51 and '52 it was removed to the galleries of the Palais-Royal ; in 1853 and
'54 the salon was held in the Hotel des Menus-Plaisirs, in the Faubourg Poissonni^re,
which became afterwards the storehouse for the scenery of the Grand Opera. In 1855 the
exhibition took place in a special annex of the Palcds de I'Industrie ; after that, it was lodged
in the Palais itself. — Editor.
t Alfred de Dreux vi-as not an unknown figure in London society. He came in 1848. He
was a kind of Comte d'Orsay, and painted chiefly equestrian figures. After the Coup d'Etat
he returned to Paris, and was patronized by society, and subsequently by Napoleon III.
himself, whose portrait he painted. He was killed in a duel, the cause of which has never
been revealed. — Editor.
152 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
very frequently embittered the whole. He had many good
traits in his character, though he was not uniformly good-tem-
pered. There was an absolute indifference as to the monetary
results of his calling, and an inherent generosity to those who
" had fallen by the way." But he was something of a bear
and a recluse, not because he disliked society, but because he
deliberately suppressed his sociable qualities, lest he should
arouse the suspicion of making them the stepping-stone to his
ambition. No man ever misread the lesson, " Do well and fear
not," so utterly as did Decamps. He was never tired of well-
doing ; and he was never tired of speculating what the world
would think of it. There is not a single picture from his
brush that does not contain an original thought ; he founded
an absolutely new school — no small thing to do. The world
at large acknowledged as much, and yet he would not enjoy
the fruits of that recognition, because it lacked the " official
stamp." When Decamps consented to forget his real or fan-
cied grievances he became a capital companion, provided one
had a taste for bitter and scathing satire, I fancy Jonathan
Swift must have been something like Gabriel Decamps in his
daily intercourse with his familiars. But he rarely said an ill-
natured thing of his fellow-artists. His strictures were reserved
for the political men of his time, and of the preceding reign.
The Bourbons he despised from the bottom of his heart, and
during the Restoration his contempt found vent in caricatures,
which,, at the moment, must have seared like a red-hot iron.
He had kept a good many of these ephemeral productions, and,
I am bound to say, they struck one afterwards as unnecessarily
severe. " If they " (meaning the Bourbons) " had continued
to reign in France," he said one day, " I would have applied
for letters of naturalization to the Sultan."
Decamps was killed, like Gericault, by a fall off his horse,
but long before that he had ceased to work. " I cannot add
much to my reputation, and do not care to add to my store,"
he said. In 1855, the world positively rang with his name,
but I doubt whether this universal admiration gave him much
satisfaction. He exhibited more than fifty works at the Ex-
position Universelle of that year, a good many of which had
been rejected by the "hanging committees " of previous
salons. True to his system, he rarely, perhaps never directly,
called the past judgment in question, but he lived and died a
dissatisfied man. Unlike MirabeaUj who had not the courage
to be unpopular, Decamps derived ho gratification from popu-
larity.
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 153
I knew Eugene Delacroix better than any of the others in
the marvellous constellation of painters of that period, and
our friendship lasted till the day of his death, in December,
1863. I was also on very good terms with Horace Vernet ;
but though the latter was perhaps a more lively companion,
the stronger attraction was towards the former. I was one of
the few friends whom he tolerated whilst at work. Our friend-
ship lasted for nearly a quarter of a century, and during that
time there was never a single unpleasantness between us,
though I am bound to admit that Delacroix' temper was very
uncertain. Among all those men who had a profound, inerad-
icable contempt for the bourgeois, I have only known one who
despised him even to a greater extent than he ; it was Gustave
Flaubert. Though Delacroix' manners were perfect, he could
scarcely be polite to the middle classes. With the exception
of Dante and Shakespeare, Delacroix was probably the great-
est poet that ever lived ; a greater poet undoubtedly than Vic-
tor Hugo, in that he was absolutely indifferent to the material
results of his genius. If Shakespeare and the author of the
" Inferno " had painted, they would have painted like Dela-
croix ; his " Sardanapale " is the Byronic poem, condensed
and transferred to canvas.
Long as I knew Delacroix, I had never been able to make
out whether he was tall or short, and most of his friends and
acquaintances were equally puzzled. As we stood around his
coffin many were surprised at its length. His was decidedly a
curious face, at times stony in its immobility, at others quiver-
ing from the tip of chin to the juncture of the eyebrows, and
with a peculiar movement of the nostrils that was almost pen-
dulum-like in its regularity. It gave one the impression of
their being assailed by some unpleasant smell, and, one da}-,
when Delacroix was in a light mood, I remarked upon it.
"You are perfectly right," he replied; "I always fancy there
is corruption in the air, but it is not necessarily of a material
kind."
Be this as it may, he liked to surround himself with flowers,
and his studio was often like a hot-house, apart from the floral
decorations. The temperature was invariably very high, and
even then he would shiver now arid again. I have always had
an idea that Delacroix had Indian blood in his veins, which
idea was justified to a certain extent by his appearance, albeit
that there was no tradition to that effect in hisfamily. But ic
was neither the black hair, the olive skin, nor the peculiar
formation of the features whicJi forced that conclusion upon
154
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
me ; it was the character of Delacroix, which for years and
years I endeavored to read thoroughly, without succeeding to
any appreciable degree. There was one trait that stood out so
distinctly that the merest child might have perceived it — his
honesty ; but the rest was apparently a mass of contradiction.
It is difficult to imagine a poet, and especially a painter-poet,
without an absorbing passion for some woman — not necessarily
for the same woman ; to my knowledge Delacroix had no such
passion, for one can scarcely admit that Jenny Leguillou, his
housekeeper, could have inspired such a feeling. True, when
I first knew Delacroix he was over forty, but those who had
known him at twenty and twenty-five never hinted at any
romantic attachment or even at a sober, homely affection.
And assuredly a man of forty is not invulnerable in that re-
spect. And yet, the woman who positively bewitched, one
after another, so many of Delacroix' eminent contemporaries,
Jules Sandeau, Alfred de Musset, Michel de Bourges, Chopin,
Pierre Leroux, Cabet, Lammenais, etc., had no power over
him.
Paul de Musset, perhaps as a kind of revenge for the wrongs
suffered by his brother, once gave an amusing description of
the miscarried attempt of George Sand " to net " Eugene
Delacroix.
It would appear that the painter had shown signs of yield-
ing to the charms which few men were able to withstand, or,
at any rate, that George Sand fancied she could detect such
signs. Whether it was from a wish on George Sand's part to
precipitate matters or to nip the thing in the bud, it would be
difficult to determine, but it is certain that she pursued her
usual tactics — that is, she endeavored to provoke an admission
of her admirer's feeling. Though I subsequently ascertained
that Paul de Musset's story was substantially true, I am not
altogether prepared, knowing his animosity against her, to
accept his hinted theory of the lady's desire " de brusquer les
fian9ailles."
One morning, then, while Delacroix was at work, George
Sand entered his studio. She looked out of spirits, and al-
most immediately stated the purpose of her visit.
" My poor Eugene ! " she began ; "I am afraid I have got
sad news for you."
'' Oh, indeed," said Delacroix, without interrupting his work,
and just giving her one of his cordial smiles in guise of wel-
come.
" Yes, my dear friend, I have carefully consulted my own
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 155
heart, and the upshot is, I am grieved to tell you, that I feel I
cannot and could never love you."
Delacroix kept on painting. " Is that a fact 1 " he said.
" Yes, and I ask you once more to pardon me, and to give
me credit for my candor — my poor Delacroix."
Delacroix did not budge from his easel.
" You are angry with me, are you not ? You will never
forgive me ? "
"Certainly I will. Only I want you to keep quiet for ten
minutes ; I have got a bit of sky there which has caused me a
good deal of trouble, it is just coming right. Go and sit down
or else take a little walk, and come back in ten minutes."
Of course, George Sand did not return; and equally, of
course, did not tell the story to any one, but somehow it
leaked out. Perhaps Jenny Leguillou had overheard the scene
— she was quite capable of listening behind a screen or door —
and reported it. Delacroix himself, when "chaffed " about it,
never denied it. There was no need for him to do so, because
theoretically it redounded to the lady's honor ; had she not
rejected his advances ?
I have noted it here to prove that the poetry of Delacroix
n'allait pas se faufiler dans les jupons, because, though we
would not take it for granted that where George Sand failed
others would have succeeded, it is nevertheless an authenti-
cated fact that only one other man among the many on whom
she tried her wiles remained proof against them. That man
was Prosper Merimee, the author of " Colomba " and " Car-
men," the friend of Panizzi. " Quand je fais un roman, je
choisis mon sujet ; je ne veux pas que Ton me decoupe pour
en faire un. Madame Sand ne met pas ses amants dans son
coeur, elle les mets dans ses livres ; et elle le fait si diablement
vite qu'on n'a pas le temps de la devancer." Merimee was
right, each of George Sand's earlier books had been written
with the heart's blood of one of the victims of her insatiable
passions — for I should not like to prostitute the word " love "
to her liaisons ; and I am glad to think that Eugene Delacroix
was spared that ordeal. It would have killed him ; and the
painter of " Sardanapale " was more precious to his own art
than to hers, which, with all due deference to eminent critics,
left an unpleasant sensation to those who were fortunate
enough to be free from incipient hysteria.
A liaison with George Sand would have killed Eugene De-
lacroix, I am perfectly certain ; for he would have staked gold,
she would have only played with counters. It would have
156 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS,
been the vitiated atmosphere in which the candle of his life
and of his genius — which were one, in this instance — would
have been extinguished.
As it was, that candle burned very low at times, because,
during the years I knew Delacroix, he had nearly always one
foot in the grave ; the healthy breezes of art's unpolluted air
made the candle burn brightly now and again ; hence the
difference in quality, as striking, of some of his pictures.
Perhaps on account of his delicate health, Delacroix was
not very fond of society, in which, however, he was ever wel-
come, and particularly fitted to shine, though he rarely at-
tempted to do so. I have said that Dante and Shakespeare,
if they had painted, would have painted as Delacroix did ; I
am almost tempted to add that if Delacroix' vocation had im-
pelled him that way, he would have sung as they sang — of
course, I do not mean that he would have soared as high, but
his name would have lived in literature as it does in painting,
though perhaps not with so brilliant a halo around it. For,
unlike many great painters of his time, Delacroix was essenti-
ally lettre. One has but to read some of his critical essays in
the Revue des Deux Mo?ides of that period, to be convinced
of that at once. Theophile Gautier said, one evening, that it
was " the style of a poet in a hurry." The sentences give one
the impression of newly-minted gold coins. Nearly every one
contains a thought, which, if reduced to small change, would
still make an admirable paragraph. He gives to his readers
what he expects from his authors — a sensation, a shock in
two or three lines. The sentences are modelled upon his
favorite prose author, who, curious to relate, was none other
than Napoleon I. I often tried to interest him in English
literature. Unfortunately, he knew no English to speak of,
and was obliged to have recourse to translations. Walter
Scott he thought long-winded, and, after a few attempts at
Shakespeare in French, he gave it up. " Ca ne pent pas etre
cela," he said. But he had several French versions of " Gul-
liver's Travels," all of which he read in turn. One day, I
quoted to him a sentence from Carlyle's " Lectures on He-
roes : " " Show me how a man sings, and I will tell you how
he will fight." " C'est cela," he said ; " if Shakespeare had
been a general, he would have won his battles like Napoleon
by thunder claps " (par des coups de foudre).
Delacroix had what a great many Frenchmen lack — a keen
sense of humor, but it was considerably tempered by what,
for the want of a better term, I may call the bump of rever-
■AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 157
ence. He could not be humorous at the expense of those he
admired or respected, consequently his attempts at caricature
at the early period of his career in Le Nain Jatine were a fail-
ure ; because Delacroix' admiration and respect were not nec-
essarily reserved for those with whom he agreed in art or poli-
tics, but for every one who attempted something great or use-
ful, though he failed. The man who, at the age of sixty,
would enthusiastically dilate upon his meeting forty years be-
fore with Gros, whose hat he had knocked off by accident, was
not the likely one to hold up to ridicule the celebrity of the
hour or day without malice prepense. And this malice
prepense never uprose within him, except in the presence of
some bumptious, ignorant nobody. Then it positively boiled
over, and he did not mind what trick he played his interlocu-
tor. The latter might be a wealthy would-be patron, an influ-
ential Government official, or a well-known picture-dealer; it
was all the same to Delacroix, who had an utter contempt for
patronage, nepotism, and money. It was as good as a clever
scene in a comedy to see him rise and draw himself up to his
full height, in order to impress his victim with a sense of the
importance of what he was going to say. To get an idea of
him under such circumstances, one must go and see his por-
trait in the Louvre, painted by himself, with the semi-supercili-
ous, semi-benevolent smile playing upon the parted lips, and
showing the magnificent regular set of teeth, of which he was
very proud, beneath the black bushy moustache, which reminds
one curiously of that of Rembrandt. Of course, the victim was
mesmerized, and stood listening with all attention, promising
himself to remember every word of the spoken essay on art,
with the view of reproducing it as his own at the first favorable
opportunity. And he generally did, to his own discomfiture
and the amusement of his hearers, who, if they happened to
know Delacroix, which was the case frequently, invariably de-
tected the source of the speaker's information. 1 once heard
a spoken essay on Holbein reproduced in that way, which
would have simply made the fortune of any comic writer. The
human parrot had not even been parrot-like, for he had mud-
dled the whole in transmission. I took some pains to repro-
duce his exact words, and I never saw Delacroix laugh as when
I repeated it to him. For, as a rule, and even when he was
mystifying- tha,t kind of numskull in the presence of half a
dozen well-informed friends, Delacroix remained perfectly seri-
ous, though the others had to bite their lips lest they should
explode. In fact, it would have been difficult at any time to
158 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
guess or discover, beneath the well-bred man of the world, with
his charming, courtly, though somewhat distant manner, the
painter, who gave us " La Barque de Dante," and " Les Mas-
sacres de Scio ; " still, Delacroix was that man of the world,
exceedingly careful of his appearance, particular to a degree
about his nails, which he wore very long, dressed to perfection,
and, in spite of the episode with" George Sand recorded above,
most ingratiating with women.
Different altogether was he in his studio. Though he was
" at home " from three till five, to visitors of both sexes, it was
distinctly understood that he would not interrupt his work for
them, or play the host as the popular painter of to-day is sup-
posed to do. The atelier, encumbered with bric-a-brac and
sumptuous hangings and afternoon tea, had not been invented :
if the host wore a velvet coat, a Byronic collar, and gorgeous
papooshes, it was because he liked these things himself, not
because he intended to impress his visitors. As a rule, the
host, though in his youth perhaps he had been fond of ex-
travagant costumes, did not like them : Horace Vernet often
worked in his shirt-sleeves, Paul Delaroche nearly always wore
a blouse, and Ingres, until he became " a society man," which
was very late in life, donned a dressing-gown. Delacroix was,
if anything, more slovenly than the rest when at work. An
old jacket buttoned up to the chin, a large muffler round his
neck, a cloth cap pulled over his ears, and a pair of thick felt
slippers made up his usual garb. For he was nearly always
shivering with cold, and had an affection of the throat, besides,
which compelled him to be careful. " But for my wrapping
up, I should have been dead at thirty," he said.
Nevertheless, at the stroke of eight, winter and summer, he
was in his studio, which he did not leave until dark, during
six months of the year, and a little before, during the other
six. Contrary to the French habit, he never took luncheon,
and generally dined at home a little after six — the fatigue of
dining out being too much for him.
I may safely say that I was one of Delacroix' friends, with
whom he talked without restraint. I often went to him of an
evening when the weather prevented his going abroad, which,
in his state of health, was very often. He always chafed at
such confinement ; for though not fond of society in a general
way, he liked coming to the Boulevards, aftey his work was
over, and mixing with his familiars. Delacroix smoked, but,
unlike many, addicted to tobacco, could not sit idle. His
hands, as well as his brain, wanted to be busy ; consequently,
AN ENGLliiHMAN IN PA RJS. 1 5 9
when imprisoned by rain or snow, he sat sketching figures or
groups, talking all the while. By then his name had become
familiar to every art student throughout the world, and he often
received flattering letters from distant parts. One evening,
shortly after the death of David d'Angers, to an episode in
whose life I have devoted a considerable space in these notes,
Delacroix received an American newspaper, the title of which
I have forgotten, but which contained an exceedingly able
article on the great sculptor, as an artist, and as a man. It
wound up with the question, "And what kind of monument
will be raised to him by the man who virtually shortened his
life by sending him into exile, because David remained true to
the republican principles which Napoleon only shammed — or,
if not shammed, deliberately trod underfoot to ascend a tyrant's
throne ? "
I translated the whole of the article, and, when I came to
the last lines, Delacroix shook his head sadly. " You remem-
ber," he said, "the answer of our friend Dumas, when they
asked him for a subscription towards a monument to a man
whom every one had reviled in the beginning of his career.
* They had better be content with the stones they threw at
him during his existence. No monument they can raise will
be so eloquent of their imbecility and his genius.' I may take
it," he went on, "that such a question will be raised one day
after my death, perhaps many years after I am gone. If you
are alive you will, by my will, raise your voice against the
project. I have painted my own portrait ; while I am here, I
will take care that it be not reproduced ; I will forbid them to
do so after I am at rest. There shall not be a bust on my
tomb."
About a fortnight before his death he made a will to that
effect, and up to the present hour (1883) its injunctions have
been respected. Delacroix lies in a somewhat solitary spot in
Pere-Lachaise. Neither emblem, bust, nor statue adorns his
tomb, which was executed according to his own instructions.
" They libelled me so much during my life," he said one day,
" that I do not want them to libel me after my death, on canvas
or in marble. They flattered me so much afterwards, that I
know their flattery to be fulsome, and, if anything, I am more
afraid of it than of their libels."
It would be difficult to find a greater contrast than there
existed between Eugene Delacroix, both as a man and an artist,
and Horace Vernet. The one loved his art with the passionate
devotion of an intensely poetical lover for his wayward mis-
l6o AN ENGLlSHx^iAN IN PARIS.
tress, whom to cease wooing for a moment might mean an
irreparable breach, or, at least, a long estrangement ; the other
loved his with the calm affection of the cherished husband for
the faithful wife w4io had blessed him with a numerous off-
spring, whom he had known from his very infancy, a marriage
with whom had been decided upon when he was a mere lad,
whom, he might even neglect for a little while without the bond
being in any way relaxed. According to their respective cer-
tificates of birth, Vernet was the senior by ten years of Dela-
croix. When I first knew them, about 1840, Vernet looked
ten years younger than Delacroix. If they had chosen to dis-
guise themselves as musketeers of the Louis XIII. period,
Vernet would have reminded one of both Aramis and D'Arta-
gnan ; Delacroix, of Athos.
Montaigne spoke Latin before he could speak French;
Vernet drew men and horses before he had mastered either
French or Latin. His playthings were stumpy, worn-out
brushes, discarded palettes, and sticks of charcoal ; his alpha-
bet, the pictures of the Louvre, where his father occupied a
set of apartments, and where he was born, a month before the
outbreak of the first Revolution. He once said to me, " Je
suis peintre comme il y a des hommes qui sont rois — parceque
ils ne peuvent pas etre autre chose. II fallait un homme de
genie pour sortir d'un pareil bourbier et malheureusement je
n'ai que du talent." By the " bourbier " he meant his great-
grandfather, his two grandfathers, and his father, all of whom
were painters and draughtsmen.
Posterity will probably decide whether Horace Vernet was
a genius or merely a painter of great talent, but it will scarcely
convey an approximate idea of the charm of the man himself.
There was only one other of his contemporaries who exercised
the same spell on his companions — Alexandre Dumas pere.
Though Vernet was a comparative dwarf by the side of Dumas,
the men had the same qualities, physical, moral, and mental.
Neither of them knew what bodily fatigue meant ; both could
work for fourteen or fifteen hours a day for a fortnight or a
month ; both would often have " a long bout of idleness," as
they called it, which, to others not endowed with their strength
and mental activity, would have meant hard labor. Both were
fond of earning money, fonder still of spending it ; both created
almost without an effort. Dumas roared with laughter while
writing ; Vernet sang at the top of his voice w^hile painting, or
bandied jokes with his visitors, who might come and go as
they liked at all hours. Dumas, especially in the earlier days
A A' ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. j6i
of his career, had to read a great deal before he could catch
the local color of his novels and plays — he himself has told
us that he was altogether ignorant of the history of France.
But when he had finished reading up the period in question,
he wrote as if he had been born in it. Vernet was a walking
cyclopaedia on military costume ; he knew, perhaps, not much
more than that, but that he knew thoroughly, and never had
to think twice about the uniforms of his models, and, as he
himself said, " I never studied the thing, nor did I learn how to
paint or to draw. According to many people, I do not know
how to paint or to draw now : it may be so ; at any rate I have
the comfort of having wasted nobody's time in trying to learn."
Like Dumas, he was very proud of his calling and of the name
he had made for himself in it, which he would not have changed
for the title of emperor — least of all for that of king ; for, like his
great contemporary, he was a republican at heart. It did not
diminish either his or Dumas' admiration for Napoleon I. " I
can understand an absolute monarchy, nay, a downright auto-
cracy, and I can understand a republic," said Vernet, " but I
fail to understand the use of a constitutional king, just because
it implies and entails the principle of succession by inheritance.
An autocracy means one ruler over so many millions of sub-
jects ; a constitutional monarchy means between five and six
hundred direct rulers, so many millions of indirect ones, and
one subject who is called king. Who would leave his child
the inheritance of such slavery ? A la bonne heure, give me a
republic such as we understand it in France, all rulers, all
natural-born kings, gods in mortals' disguise who dance to the
piping of the devil. There have been two such since I was
born ; there may be another half-dozen like these within the
next two centuries, because, before you can have an ideal re-
public, you must have ideal republicans, and Nature cannot
afford to fritter away her most precious gifts on a lot of down-
at-heels lawyers and hobnail-booted scum. She condescends
now and then to make an ideal tyrant — she will never make
a nation of ideal republicans. You may just as well ask her
to make a nation of Raffaelles or Michael Angelos, or Shake-
speareSjOr Moli^res."
Both men, in spite of their republican opinions, were person-
ally attached to some members of the Orleans family ; both
had an almost invincible objection to the Bourbons. Vernet
had less occasion to be outspoken in his dislike than Dumas,
but he refused to receive the Due de Berri when the latter
offered to come and see the battle-pieces Vernet was painting
u
1 62 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
for the then Duke of Orleans (Louis-Philippe). Vernet had
stipulated that his paintings should illustrate exclusively the
campaigns of the First Republic and the Empire, though sub-
sequently he depicted some episodes of the Algerian wars, in
which the son of the king had distinguished himself. " Tri-
color cockades or no pictures," he remarked, and Louis-Phi-
lippe good-humoredly acquiesced. Though courteous to a de-
gree, he never minced matters to either king or beggar. While
in Russia Nicholas took a great fancy to him. It appears that
the painter, who must have looked even smaller by the side of
the Czar than he did by that of Dumas, had accompanied the
former, if not on a perilous, at least on a very uncomfortable
journey in the middle of the winter. He and the Emperor
were the only two men who had borne the hardships and priva-
tions without grumbling, nay, with Mark Tapleyean cheerful-
ness. That kind of fortitude was at all times a passport to
Nicholas' heart, doubly so in this instance, by reason of Vernet's
by no means robust appearance. From that moment Nicholas
became very attached to, and would often send for, him. They
would often converse on subjects even more serious, and, one
day, after the partition of Poland, Nicholas proposed that
Vernet should paint a picture on the subject.
*' I am afraid I cannot do it, sire," was the answer. " I
have never painted a Christen the cross." ^
" The moment I had said it," continued Vernet, when he
told me the story, which is scarcely known, " I thought my
last hour had struck. I am positively certain that a Russian
would have paid these words with his life, or at least with life-
long exile to Siberia. I shall never forget the ^k he gave
me; there was a murderous gleam in the eyesY*but it was.,
over in an instant. Nevertheless, I feel convinced that
Nicholas was mad, and, what is more, I feel equally convinced
that there is incipient madness throughout the whole of the
Romanoff family. I saw a good many of its members during
my stay in Russia. They all did and said things which would
have landed ordinary men and women in a lunatic asylum.
At the same time there was an unmistakable touch of genius
about some of them. I often endeavored to discuss the mat-
ter with the resident foreign physicians, but, as you may
imagine, they were very reticent. But mark my words, one
day there will be a terrible flare-up. Of course, the foreigner,
who sees the superstitious reverence, the slavish respect with
which they are surrounded, scarcely wonders that these men
and women should, in the end, consider themselves above, and
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. i (i^i
irresponsible to, the millions of grovelling mortals whom they
rule ; in spite of all this, the question can only be one of time,
and when the Russian Empire falls, the cataclysm will be un-
like any other that has preceded it."
There was a comic side to Horace Vernet's character. By
dint of painting battle-pieces he had come to consider himself
an authority on strategy and tactics, and his criticisms on M.
Thiers' system of fortifications used to set us roaring. I am
under the impression — though I will not strictly vouch for it —
that at the recommendation of one or two of the inveterate
jokers of our set, Laurent-Jan* and Mery, he had a couple of
interviews with M. Thiers, but we never ascertained the result
of them. It is almost certain that the minister of Louis-
Philippe, who at one period of his life considered himself a
Napoleon and a Vauban rolled into one, did not entertain
Vernet's suggestions with the degree of enthusiasm to which
he thought them entitled ; at any rate, from that time, the men-
tion of M. Thiers' name generally provoked a contemptuous
shrug of the shoulders on Vernet's part. " C'est tout a fait
comme Napoleon et Jomini, mon cher Vernet," said Laurent-
Jan ; " mais, apres tout, qu'est que cela vous fait ? La pos-
terity jugera entre vous deux, elle saura bien debrouiller la
part que vous avez contribuee a ces travaux immortels."
Much as Horace Vernet admired his great contemporaries
in art and literature, his greatest worship was reserved for
Alfred de Vigny, the soldier-poet, though the latter was by no
means a sympathetic companion. Next to his society, which
was rarely to be had, he preferred that of Arthur Bertrand,
the son of-^^ooleon's companion in exile. Arthur Bertrand
.4iad;an'^ftMWrother, Napoleon Bertrand, who, at the storming
- of CfTnstantine, put on a new pair of white kid gloves, brought
from Paris for the purpose. Horace Vernet made at least
fifty sketches of that particular incident, but he never painted
the picture. " I could not do it justice," he said, when re-
monstrated with for his procrastination. "I should fail to
realize the grandeur of the thing." Thereupon Laurent-Jan,
who had no bump of reverence, proposed a poem, in so many
cantos, to be illustrated by Vernet. I give the plan as de-
veloped by the would-be author.
I. The kid in its ancestral home among the mountains. A
* Laurent- Jan was a witty, though incorrigibly idle journalist. He is entirely forgotten
now save by such men as MM. Ars^ne Houssaye and Roger de Beauvoir, who were his
contemporaries. He was the author of a clever parody on Kotzebue's " Menschenhass und
Reue," known on the English stage as " The Stranger." — Editor.
1 64 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
mysterious voice from heaven tells it that its skin will be re-
quired for a pair of gloves. The kid objects, and inquires
why the skin of some other kid will not do as well. The
voice reveals the glorious purpose of the gloves. The kid
consents, and at the same moment a hunter appears in sight.
The kid, instead of taking to its heels, assumes a favorable
position to be shot. It makes a dying speech.
2. A glove-shop on the Boulevard. Enter Napoleon Ber-
trand, asking for a pair of gloves. The girl tells him that she
has only one pair left, and communicates the legend connected
with it. The price is twenty francs. Napoleon Bertrand
demurs at it, and tells her, in his turn, what the gloves are
wanted for. The girl refuses to take the money, and her em-
ployer, overhearing the conversation, dismisses her there and
then. He keeps the wages due to her as the price of the
gloves. Napoleon Bertrand puts the latter in his pocket,
offers the girl his arm, and invites her to breakfast in a cabi?iet
partiailier, "en tout bien, en tout' honneur." To prove his
perfectly honorable intentions, he tells her the story of Jeanne
d'Arc. The girl's imagination is fired by the recital, and after
luncheon she goes in search of a book on the subject. An
unscrupulous, dishonest second-hand bookseller palms off an
edition of Voltaire's " La Pucelle." The girl writes to Napo-
leon Bertrand to tell him that he has made a fool of her, that
Jeanne d'Arc was no better than she should be, and that she
is going to join the harem of the Bey of Constantine.
3. Napoleon Bertrand stricken with remorse before Constan-
tine. Orders given for the assault. Napoleon Bertrand looks
for his gloves, and finds that they are too small. He can just
get them on, but cannot grasp the handle of the sword. His
servant announces a mysterious stranger, a veiled female
stranger. She is admitted ; she has made her escape from
the harem ; a mysterious voice from heaven — the same that
spoke to the kid — having warned her the night before that the
gloves would be too small, and that she was to let a piece in.
Reconciliation. Tableau. The bugles are sounding " boot and
saddle." Storming of Constantine.
I have reproduced the words of Laurent-Jan ; I will not at-
tempt to reproduce his manner, which was simply inimitable.
Horace Vernet and Arthur Bertrand shook with laughter, and
the latter offered Laurent-Jan to keep him for a twelvemonth
if he would write the poem. Jan consented, and lived upon
the fat of the. land during that time, but the poem never saw
the light.
AI\r ENGLISHMAN- IN PARIS. t6^
Arthur Bertrand was one of the most jovial fellows of his
time. He, Eugene Sue, and Latour-Mezeria were the best
customers of the florist on the Boulevards. It was he who ac-
companied the Prince de Joinville to St. Helena to bring back
the remains of Napoleon. After their return, a new figure
joined our set now and then. It was the Abbe Coquereau,
the chaplain of " La Belle-Poule." The Abbe Coquereau was
the first French Catholic priest who discarded the gown and
the shovel hat, and adopted that of the English clergy. He
was a charming man, and by no means straight-laced, but he
drew the line at accompanying Arthur in his nightly perambu-
lations. One evening he, Arthur Bertrand, and Alexandre
Dumas were strolling along the Boulevards when the latter
tried to make the abbe enter the Varietes. The abbe held
firm, or rather took to his heels.
In those days there were still a great many veterans of the
grande armee about, and a great deal of Horace Vernet's
money went in entertaining them at the various cafes and
restaurants — especially when he was preparing sketches for a
new picture. The ordinary model, clever and eminently use-
ful as he was at that period, was willingly discarded for the
old and bronzed warrior of the Empire, some of whom were
even then returning from Africa. " They may just as well
earn the money I pay the others," he said ; consequently it
was not an unusual thing to see a general, a couple of colonels,
half a dozen captains, and as many sergeants and privates, all
of whom had served under Napoleon, in Vernet's studio at the
same time. Of course the officers were only too pleased to
give their services gratuitously, but Vernet had a curious way
of making up his daily budget. Twenty models at four francs
— for models earned no more then — eighty francs. Fifteen of
them refuse their pay. The eighty francs to be divided be-
tween five. And the five veterans enjoyed a magnificent in-
come for weeks and weeks at a time.
Truth compels me to state, however, that during those weeks
" the careful mother could not have taken her daughter " to
Vernet's studio. A couple of live horses, not unfrequently
three, an equal number of stuffed ones, camp kettles, broken
limbers, pieces of artillery, an overturned ammunition wagon,
a collection of uniforms, that would have made the fortune
of a costumier, scattered all over the place ; drums,
swords, guns and saddles : and, amidst this confusion, a score
of veterans, some of whom had been comrades-in-arms and
who seemed oblivious, for the time being, of their hard-earned
l66 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARt^.
promotion in the company of those who had been less lucky
than they, every man smoking his hardest and telling his best
garrison story : all these made up a scene worthy of Vernet
himself, but somewhat appalling to the civilian who happened
to come upon it unawares.
Vernet was never happier than when at work under such
circumstances. Perched on a movable scaffolding or on a
high ladder, he reminded one much more of an acrobat than
of a painter. Like Dumas, he could work amidst a very Babel
of conversation, but the sound of music, however good, dis-
turbed him. In those days, itinerant Italian musicians and
pifferari, who have disappeared from the streets of Paris
altogether since the decree of expulsion of '8i, were numer-
ous, and grew more numerous year by year. I, for one, feel
sorry for their disappearance, for I remember having spent
half a dozen most delightful evenings listening to them.
The thing happened in this way. Though my regular visits
to the Quartier-Latin had ceased long ago, I returned now and
then to my old haunts during the years '63 and '64, in com-
pany of a young Englishman who was finishing his medical
studies in Paris, who had taken up his quarters on the left
bank of the Seine, and who has since become a physician
in very good practice in the French capital. He had been
specially recommended to me, and I was not too old to enjoy
an evening once a week or a fortnight among my juniors. At
a cafe, which has been demolished since to make room for a
much more gorgeous establishment at the corners of the
Boulevards Saint-Michel and Saint-Germain, we used to notice
an elderly gentleman, scrupulously neat and exquisitely clean,
though his clothes were very threadbare. He always sat at
the same table to the right of the counter. His cup of coffee
was eked out by frequent supplements of water, and mean-
while he was always busy copying music — at least, so it seemed
to us at first. We soon came to a different conclusion, though,
because every now and then he would put down his pen, lean
back against the cushioned seat, look up at the ceiling and
smile to himself — such a sweet smile ; the smile of a poet or
an artist, seeking inspiration from the spirits supposed to be
hovering now and then about such.
That man was no copyist, but an obscure, unappreciated
genius perhaps, biding his chance, hoping against hope, mean-
while living a life of jealously concealed dreams and hardship.
For he looked sad enough at the best of times, with a kind of
settled melancholy which apparently only one thing could dis
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 167
pel — the advent of a couple or trio of pifferari. Then his face
would light up all of a sudden, he would gently push his music
away, speak to them in Italian, .asking them to play certain
pieces, beating time with an air of contentment which was
absolutely touching to behold. On the other hand, the young
pifferari appeared to treat him with greater deference than
they did the other customers ; the little girl who accompanied
them was particularly eager for his approval.
In a little while we became very friendly with the old gentle-
man, and, one evening, he said, " If you will be here next
Wednesday, the pifferari will give us something new."
On the evening in question he looked quite smart ; he had
evidently " fait des frais de toilette," as our neighbors have it ;
he wore a different coat, and his big white neckcloth was some-
what more starched than usual. He seemed quite excited.
The pifferari, on the other hand, seemed anxious and subdued.
The cafe was very full, for all the habitues liked the old gentle-
man, and had made it a point of responding to his quasi-invita-
tion. They were well rewarded, for I have rarely heard
sweeter music. It was unlike anything we were accustomed
to hear from such musicians ; there was an old-world sound
about it that went straight to the heart, and when we looked
at the old gentleman amidst the genuine applause 'after the
termination of the first piece, there were two big tears coursing
down his wrinkled cheeks.
The pifferari came again and again, and though they never
appealed to him directly, we instinctively guessed that there
existed some connection between them. All our efforts to get
at the truth of the matter were, however, in vain, for the old
gentleman was very reticent.
Meanwhile my young friend had passed his examinations, and
shifted his quarters to my side of the river. He did not
abandon the Quartier-Latin altogether, but my inquiries
about the old musician met with no satisfactory response.
He had disappeared. Nearly two years went by, when, one after-
noon, he called. " Come with me," he said ; " I am going to
show you a curious nook of Paris which you do not know, and
take you to an old acquaintance whom you will be pleased to
see again."
The " curious nook" of Paris still exists to a certain extent,
only the pifferari have disappeared from it. It is situated
behind the Pantheon, and is more original than its London
counterpart — Saffron Hill. It is like a corner of old Rome,
Florence, or Naples, without the glorious Italian sun shining
1 68 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
above it to lend picturesqueness to the rags and tatters of its
population ; swarthy desperadoes with golden rings in their
ears and on their grimy fingers, their greasy, soft felt hats
cocked jauntily on their heads, or drawn over the flashing
dark eyes, before which their womankind cower and shake ;
old men who but for the stubble on their chins would look
like ancient cameos ; girls with shapely limbs and hand-
some faces ; middle-aged women who remind one of the
witches in Macbeth ; w^omen younger still, who have neither
shape nor make ; urchins and little lassies who remind one of
the pictures of Murillo : in short, a population of wood-carvers
and modellers, vendors of plaster casts, artist-models, sugar-
bakers and mosaic-workers, living in the streets the greater
part of the day, retiring to their wretched attics at night, sober
and peaceful generally, but desperate and unmanageable when
in their cups.
The cab stopped before a six-storied house which had seen
better days, in a dark, narrow street, into which the light of
day scarcely penetrated. The moment we alighted we heard a
charivari of string instruments and voices, and as we ascended
the steep, slimy, rickety staircase the sound grew more distinct.
When we reached the topmost landing, my friend knocked at
one of the three or four doors, and, without waiting for an
answer, we entered. It was a scantily furnished room with a
bare brick floor, an old bedstead in one corner, a few rush-
bottomed chairs, and a deal table ; but everything was scru-
pulously clean. Behind the table, a cotton nightcap on his
head, his tall thin frame wrapt in an old overcoat, stood our
old friend, the composer ; in front, half a dozen urchins, in
costumes vaguely resembling those of the Calabrian peasantry,
grimy like coalheavers, their black hair standing on end with
attention, were rehearsing a new piece of music. Then I under-
stood it all. He was the professor of pifferari, an artist for all
that, an unappreciated genius, perhaps, who, rather than not be
heard at all, introduced a composition of his own into their
hackneyed programme, and tasted the sweets of popularity,
without the accompanying rewards which, nowadays, popularity
invariably brings. This one had known Paisiello and Rossini,
had been in the thick of the excitement on the first night of
the " Barbiere," and had dreamt of similar triumphs. Perhaps
his genius was as much entitled to them as that of the others,
but he had loved not wisely, but .too well, and when he awoke
from the love-dream, he was too ruined in body and mind to
be able to work for the realization of the artistic one, He
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 169
would accept no aid. Three years later, we carried him to his
grave. A simple stone marks the place in the cemetery of
Montparnasse.
CHAPTER IX.
As will appear by-and-by, I was an eye-witness of a good
many incidents of the Revolution of '48, and a great many
more have been related to me by friends, whose veracity was
and still is beyond suspicion. Neither they nor I have ever
been able to establish a sufficiently valid political cause for
that upheaval. Perhaps it was because we were free from the
prejudices engendered by what, for want of a better term, I must
call " dynastic sentiment." We were not blind to the faults of
Louis- Philippe, but we refused to look at them through the spec-
tacles supplied in turns by the Legitimists, the Imperialists,
and Republicans. How far these spectacles were calculated
to improve people's vision, the following specimen will show.
I have lying before me a few sheets of quarto paper, sewn
together in a primitive way. It is a manuscript skit, in the
form of a theatrical duologue, professing to deal with the king's
well-known habit of shaking hands with every one with whom
he came in contact. The dramatis personce are King Fip I.,
Roi des Epiciers-read, King of the Philistines or Shopkeepers,
and his son and heir. Grand Poulot (Big Spooney). The
monarch is giving the heir-apparent a lesson in the art of
governing. " Do not be misled," he says, " by a parcel of
theorists, who will tell you that the citizen-monarchy is based
upon the sovereign will of the people, or upon the strict ob-
servance of the Charter ; this is merely so much drivel from
the political Rights or Lefts. In reality, it does not signify a
jot whether France be free at home and feared and respected
abroad, whether the throne be hedged round with republican
institutions or supported by an hereditary peerage, whether the
language of her statesmen be weighty and the deeds of her
soldiers heroic. The* citizen-monarchy and the art of govern-
ing consist of but one thing — the capacity of the principal
ruler for shaking hands with any and every ragamuffin and
out-of-elbows brute he meets." Thereupon King Fip shows
his son how to shake hands in every conceivable position — on
foot, on horseback, at a gallop, at a trot, leaning out of a
carriage, and so forth. Grand Poulot is not only eager to
1 7 o AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
learn, but ambitious to improve upon his sire's method. " Hoa^
would it do, dad," he asks, " if, in addition to shaking hands
with them, one inquired after their health, in the second person
singular — ' Comment vas tu, mon vieux cochon ? ' or, better
still, * Comment vas tu, mon vieux citoyen ? ' " " It would do
admirably," says papa ; " but it does not matter whether you
say cochon or citoyen, the terms are synonymous."
I am inclined to think that beneath this rather clever banter
there was a certain measure of truth. Louis-Philippe was by
no means the ardent admirer of the bourgeoisie he professed
to be. He did not foster any illusions with regard to their
intellectual worth, and in his inmost heart he resented their
so-called admiration of him, which he knew to be would-be
patronage under another name. They had formed a hedge
round him which prevented any attempt on his part at con-
ciliating his own caste, the old noblesse. It is doubtful whether
he would have been successful, especially in the earlier years
of his reign ; but their ostracism of him and his family rankled
in his mind, and found vent now and again in an epigram that
stung the author as much as the party against which it was
directed. " There is more difficulty in getting people to my
court entertainments from across the Seine than from across
the Channel," he said.
The fact is, that the whole of the Faubourg St. Germain was
conspicuous by its absence from the Tuileries in those days,
and that the English were in rather too great a majority.
They were not always a distinguished company. I was little
more than a lad at this time, but I remember Lord 's in-
variable answer when his friends asked him what the dinner
had been like, and whether he had enjoyed himself : " The
dinner was like that at a good table-d'hote, and I enjoyed my-
self as I would enjoy myself at a good hotel in Switzerland or
at Wiesbaden, where the proprietor knew me personally, and
had given orders to the head waiter to look after my comforts.
But," he added, " it is, after all, more pleasant dining there,
when the English are present. At any rate, there is no want
of respect. When the French sit round the table, it is not
like a king dining with his subjects, but like half a hundred
kings dining with one subject." Allowing for a certain amount
of exaggeration, there was a good deal of truth in the remarks,
as I found out afterwards. " The bourgeoisie in their attitude
towards me," said Louis-Philippe, one day, to the English
nobleman I have just quoted, " are always reminding me of
Adalb^ron of Rheims with Hugues Capet : ' Qui t'as fait roi?'
c
AN ENGL ISHMAN IN PARIS. 1 7 1
asked the bishop. ' Qui t'as fait due ? ' retorted the king.
I have made them dukes to a greater extent, though, than they
have made me king."
For Louis-Philippe was a witty king — wittier, perhaps, than
any that had sat on the throne of France since Henri IV.
Some of his mots have become historical, and even his most
persistent detractors have been unable to convict him of pla-
giarism with regard to them. What he specially excelled in
was the " mot de la fin " anglice — the clenching of an argu-
ment, such as, for instance, his final remark on the death of
Talleyrand. He had paid him a visit the day before. When
the news of the prince's death was brought to him, he said,
" Are you sure he is dead t "
" Very sure, sire," was the answer. " Why, did not your
majesty himself notice yesterday that he was dying ? "
" I did, but there is no judging from appearances with Tal-
leyrand, and I have been asking myself for the last four and
twenty hours what interest he could possibly have in departing
at this particular moment."
To those who knew Louis-Philippe personally, it was very
patent that he disliked those who had been instrumental in
setting him on the throne, and who, under the cloak of " liberty,
fraternity, and equality," were seeking their own interest only,
namely, the bourgeoisie. He knew their quasi-good will to
him to be so much sheer hypocrisy, and perhaps he and they
were too much alike in some respects, in their love of money
for the sake of hoarding it. It was, perhaps, the only serious
failing that could be laid to the charge of the family, because
none of its members, with the exception of the Due d'Orleans,
were entirely free from it. It must not be inferred, though,
that Louis-Philippe kept his purse closed to really deserving
cases of distress. Far from it. I have the following story
from my old tutor, to whom I am, moreover, indebted for a
great many notes, dealing with events of which I could not
possibly have had any knowledge but for him.
In 1829 the greater part of the Galerie d'Orleans in the
Palais-Royal was completed. The unsightly wooden booths
had been taken down, and the timber must have been
decidedly worth a small fortune. Several contractors made
very handsome offers for it, but Louis-Philippe (then
Due d'Orleans) refused to sell it. It was to be distributed
among the poor of the neighborhood for fuel for the ensuing
winter, which threatened to be a severe one. One day, when
th^ duke was inspecting the works in company of his steward,
172 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PA RIS.
an individual, who was standing a couple of yards away, began
to shout at the top of his voice, " Vive Louis-Philippe ! "
" Go and see what the fellow wants, for assuredly he wants
something," said the duke, who was a Voltairean in his way,
and had interpreted the man's enthusiasm aright. Papa Sour-
nois was one of those nondescripts for whom even now there
appear to be more resources in the French capital than else-
where. At the period in question he mainly got his living by
selling contre-marques (checks) at the doors of the theatre.
He had heard of the duke's intention with regard to the wood,
hence his enthusiastic cry of " Vive Louis-Philippe ! " A cart-
load of wood was sent to his place ; papa Sournois converted
it into money, and got drunk with the proceeds for a fortnight.
When the steward, horribly scandalized, told the duke of the
results of his benevolence, the latter merely laughed, and sent
for the wife, who made her appearance accompanied by a
young brood of five. The duke gave her a five-franc piece,
and told her to apply to the concierge of the Palais-Royal for
a similar sum every day during the winter months. Of course,
five francs a day was not as much as a drop of water out of
the sea when we consider Louis-Philippe's stupendous income,
and yet, when the Tuileries were sacked in 1848, documents
upon documents were found, compiled with the sole view of
saving a few francs per diem out of the young princes' "keep.'"
" I am so sick of the word * fraternity,' " said Prince Metter-
nich, after his return from France, " that, if I had a brother, I
should call him cousin." Though it was to the strains of the
Marseillaise that Louis-Philippe had been conducted to the
H6tel-de-Ville on the day when Lafayette pointed to him as
" the best of all republics," a time came when Louis-Philippe
got utterly sick of the Marseillaise.
But what was he to do, seeing that his attempt at introduc-
ing a new national hymn had utterly failed ? The mob refused
to sing " La Parisienne," composed by Casimir de la Vigne,
after Alexandre Dumas had refused to write a national hymn ;
and they, moreover, insisted on the king joining in the chorus
of the old hymn, as he had hitherto done on all public occa-
sions.* They had grumblingly resigned themselves to his
beating time no longer, but any further refusal of his co-
* When there was no public occasion, his political antagonists or merely practical jokers
who knew of his dislike invented one, like Edouard d'Ourliac, a well-known journalist and
the author of several novels, who, whenever he had nothing better to do, recruited a band of
street-arabs to go and sing the Marseillaise under the king's windows. They kept on sing-
ing until Louis- Philippe, in sheer self-defence, was obliged to come out and join in the song
—Editor.
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 1 73
operation might have been resented in a less peaceful fashion.
On the other hand, there was the bourgeoisie who were of
opinion that, now that the monarchy had entered upon a more
conservative period, the intoning of the hymn, at any rate on
the sovereign's part, was out of place, and savored too much
of a republican manifestation. " It was Guizot who told him
so," said Lord , who had been' standing on the balcony of
the Tuileries on the occasion of the king's " saint's day," * and
had heard the minister make the remark.
" And what did the king reply ? " was the question.
" Do not worry yourself, monsieur le ministre ; I am only
moving my lips ; 1 have ceased to pronounce the words for
many a day."
These were the expedients to which Louis-Philippe was
reduced before he had been on the throne half a dozen years.
" I am like the fool between two stools," observed the king,
in English, afterwards, when speaking to Lord , " only I
happen to be between the comfortably stuffed easy-chair of the
bourgeois drawing-room and the piece of furniture seated on
which Louis XIV. is said to have received the Dutch ambas-
sadors."
While speaking of the Marseillaise, here are two stories in
connection with it which are not known to the general reader.
The first was told to me by the old tutor already mentioned ;
the second aroused a great deal of literary curiosity in the year
i860, and bears the stamp of truth on the face of it. It was,
however, never fully investigated, or, at any rate, the results of
the investigation were never published.f
" We were all more or less aware," said my informant, " that
Rouget de I'lsle was not the author of the whole of the words
of the Marseillaise. But none of us in Lyons, where I was
born, knew who had written the last strophe, commonly called
the * strophe of the children,' and I doubt whether they were any
wiser in Paris. Some of my fellow-students — for I was nearly
eighteen at that time — ^^credited Andre Chenier with the author-
ship of the last strophe, others ascribed it to Louis-Fran9ois
Dubois, the poet.! All this was, however, so much guess-
work, when, one day during the Reign of Terror, the report
spread that a ci-devant priest, or rather a priest who had
* In France it is the Patron Saint's day, not the birthday, that is kept.
t I have inserted them here in order not to fall into repetitions on the same subject. —
Editor.
% Louis-Frangois Dubois, the author of several heroic poems, "Ankarstrbm," " Genevieve
et Siegfried," etc., which are utterly forgotten. His main title to the recollection of poster-
ity consists in his having saved, during the Revolution, a great many literary works of value
which he returned to the State afterwards. — Editor.
174 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
refused to take the oath to the Republic, had been caught sol-
emnizing a religious marriage, and that he was to be brought
before the Revolutionary Tribunal that same afternoon.
Though you may not think so, merely going by what you have
read, the appearance of a priest before the Tribunal always
aroused more than common interest, nor have you any idea
what more than common interest meant in those days. A
priest to the Revolutionaries and to the Terrorists, they might
hector and bully as they liked, was not an ordinary being.
They looked upon him either as something better than a man
or worse than a devil. They had thrown the religious compass
they had brought from home with them overboard, and they
had not the philosophical one to take its place. You may
work out the thing for yourself ; at any rate, the place was
crammed to suffocation when we arrived at the Hotel de Ville.
It was a large room, at the upper end of which stood an oblong
table, covered with a black cloth. Seated around it were seven
self-constituted judges. Besides their tricolor scarfs and
their waists, they wore, suspended by a ribbon from their necks,
a small silver axe.
" As a rule there was very little speechifying. * La mort sans
phrase,' which had become the fashion since Louis XVL's ex-
ecution, was strictly adhered to. Half a dozen prisoners were
brought in and taken away without arousing the slightest ex-
citement, either in the way of commiseration or hatred. After
having listened, the judges either extended their hands on the
table or put them to their foreheads. The first movement
meant acquittal and liberation, the second death ; not always
by the guillotine though, for the instrument was not perfect as
yet, and did not work sufBciently quickly to please them. All
at once the priest was brought in, and a dead silence prevailed.
He was not a very old man, though his hair was snow-white.
" * Who art thou ? ' asked the president.
" The prisoner drew himself up to his full height. * I am
the Abbe Pessoneaux, a former tutor at the college at Vienne,
and the author of the last strophe of the Marseillaise,' he said
quietly.
" I cannot convey to you the impression produced by those
simple words. The silence became positively oppressive ; you
could hear the people breathe. The president did not say an-
other word ; the priest's reply had apparently stunned him
also : he merely turned round to his fellow-judges. Soldiers and
jailers stood as if turned into stone ; every eye was directed
towards the table, watching for the movement of the judges'
AN ENGLISHMAN- IN PARIS. ty^
hands. Slowly and deliberately they stretched them forth, and
then a deafening cheer rang through the room. The Abbe
Pessoneaux owed his life to his strophe, for, though his story
was not questioned then, it was proved true in every particular.
On their way to Paris to be present at the taking of the Tuil-
eries on the loth of August, the Marseillais had stopped at
Vienne to celebrate the P'ete of the Federation. On the eve
of their arrival the Abbe Pessoneaux had composed the strophe,
and but for his seizure the authorship would have always re-
mained a matter of conjecture, for Rouget de I'Isle would have
never had the honesty to acknowledge it."
My tutor was right, and I owe him this tardy apology ; it
appears that, after all, Rouget de I'Isle had not the honesty to
acknowledge openly his indebtedness to those who made his
name immortal, and that his share in the Marseillaise amounts
to the first six strophes. He did not write a single note of the
music. The latter was composed by Alexandre Boucher, the
celebrated violinist, in 1790, in the drawing-room of Madame
de Mortaigne, at the request of a colonel whom the musician
had never met before, whom he never saw again. The soldier
was starting next morning with his regiment for Marseilles, and
pressed Boucher to write him a march there and then. Rouget
de ITsle, an officer of engineers, having been imprisoned in
1 79 1, for having refused to take a second oath to the Consti-
tution, heard the march from his cell, and, at the instance of
his jailer, adapted the words of a patriotic hymn he was then
writing to it.
One may fancy the surprise of Alexandre Boucher, when he
heard it sung everywhere and recognized it as his own compo-
sition, though it had been somewhat altered to suit the words.
But the pith of the story is to come. I give it in the very words
of Boucher himself, as he told it to a Paris journalist whom I
knew well.
" A good many years afterwards, I was seated next to Rouget
de ITsle at a dinner-party in Paris. We had never met before,
and, as you may easily imagine, I was rather interested in the
gentleman, whom, with many others at the same board, I com-
plimented on his production ; only I confined myself to com-
plimenting him on Yvispoem.
" * You don't say a word about the music,' he replied ; * and
yet, being a celebrated musician, that ought to interest you.
Do not you like it ? '
" ' Very much indeed,' I said, in a somewhat significant
tone.
176 AM EMgLI^HMAN W PARi^,
" ' Well, let me be frank with you. The music is not mine.
It was that of a march which came, Heaven knows whence,
and which they kept on playing at Marseilles during the Ter-
ror, when I was a prisoner at the fortress of St. Jean. I made
a few alterations necessitated by the words, and there it is.'
" Thereupon, to his great surprise, I hummed the march
as I had originally written it.
" * Wonderful ! ' he exclaimed ; ' how did you come by it ? '
he asked.
" When I told him, he threw himself round my neck. But
the next moment he said —
" ' I am very sorry, my dear Boucher, but I am afraid that
you will be despoiled forever, do what you will ; for your
music and my words go so well together, that they seem to
have sprung simultaneously from the same brain, and the
world, even if I proclaimed my indebtedness to you, would
never believe it.'
" * Keep the loan,' I said, moved, in spite of myself, by his
candor. ' Without your genius, my march would be forgotten
by now. You have given it a patent of nobility. It is yours
forever.' "
I return to Louis-Philippe, who, at the time of my tutor's
story, and for some years afterwards, I only knew from the
reports that were brought home to us. Of course, I saw him
several times at a distance, at reviews and on popular holidays,
and I was surprised that a king of whom every one spoke so
well in private, who seemed to have so much cause for joy
and happiness in his own family, should look so careworn and
depressed in public. For, young as I was, I did not fail to see
that beneath the calm and smiling exterior, there was a great
deal of hidden grief. But I was too young to understand the
deep irony of his reply to one of my relatives, a few months
before his accession to the throne : " The crown of France
is too cold in winter, too warm in summer ; the sceptre is too
blunt as a weapon of defence or attack, it is too short as a stick
to lean upon : a good felt hat and a strong umbrella are at all
times more useful." Above all, I was too young to understand
the temper of the French where their rulers were concerned,
and though, at the time of my writing these notes, I have lived
for fifty years amongst them, I doubt whether I could give a
succinct psychological account of their mental attitude towards
their succeeding regimes, except by borrowing the words of
one of their cleverest countrywomen, Madame Emile de
Girardin : " When Marshal Soult is in the Opposition, he is
AN- ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 177
acknowledged to have won the battle of Toulouse ; when he
belongs to the Government, he is accused of having lost it."
Since then the Americans have coined a word for that state of
mind — " cussedness."
Louis- Philippe's children, and especially his sons, some of
whom I knew personally before I had my first invitation to
the Tuileries, seemed to take matters more cheerfully. Save
the partisans of the elder branch, no one had a word to say
against them. On the contrary, even the Bonapartists ad-
mired their manly and straightforward bearing. I remember
being at Tortoni's one afternoon when the Due d'Orleans and
his brother, the Due de Nemours, rode by. Two of my neigh-
bors, unmistakable Imperialists, and old soldiers by their looks,
stared very hard at them ; then one said , " Si le petit au lieu
de filer le parfait amour partout, avait mis tous ses ceufs dans
le meme panier, il aurait eu des grands comme cela et nous ne
serious pas dans I'impasse ou nous sommes."
" Mon cher," replied the other, " des grands comme cela ne
se font qu'a loisir, pas entre deux campagnes." *
The admiration of these two veterans was perfectly justified :
they were very handsome young men, the sons of Louis-Phi-
lippe, and notably the two elder ones, though the Due d'Orleans
was somewhat more delicate-looking than his brother, De
Nemours. The boys had all been brought up very sensibly,
perhaps somewhat too strict for their position. They all went
to a public school, to the College Henri IV., and 1 remember
well, about the year ^2>^, when I had occasion of a morning to
cross the Pont-Neuf, where there were still stalls and all sorts
of booths, seeing the blue-and-yellow carriage with the royal
livery. It contained the Dues d'Aumale and de Montpensier,
who had not finished their studies at that time.
But though strictly brought up, they were by no means milk-
sops, and what, for want of a better term, I may call " mother's
babies : " quite the reverse. It was never known how they
managed it, but at night, when they were supposed to be at
home, if not in bed, they were to be met with at all kinds of
public places, notably at the smaller theatres, such as the
Vaudeville, the Varietes, and the Palais-Royal, one of which,
at any rate, was a goodly distance from the Tuileries. It was
always understood that the king knew nothing about these
* It reminds one of the answer of the younger Dumas to a gentleman whose wife had been
notorious for her conjugal faithlessness, and whose sons were all weaklings. "Ah, Mon-
sieur Dumas, c'est un fils comme vous qu'il me fallait," he exclaimed. " Mon cher mon-
sieur," came the reply, " quand on veut avoir un fils comme moi, 11 faut le faire soi-meme,"
— EmroR.
\2
1 yS AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
little escapades, but I am inclined to doubt this : I fancy he
connived at them ; because, when Lord told him casually-
one day that he had met his sons the night before, Louis-
Philippe seemed not in the least surprised, he only anxiously
asked, " Where ? "
" At the Cafe de Paris, your majesty."
The king seemed relieved. " That's all right," he said,
laughing. " As long as they do not go into places where they
are likely to meet with Guizot, I don't mind ; for if he saw
them out in the evening, it might cost me my throne. Guizot
is so terribly respectable. I am afraid there is a mistake either
about his nationality or about his respectability , they are badly
matched."
The fact is, that though Louise-Philippe admired and re-
spected Guizot, he failed to understand him. To the most re-
spectable of modern kings — not even Charles I. and William
III. excepted — if by respectability we mean an unblemished
private life — Guizot's respectability was an enigma. The man
who, in spite of his advice to others, " Enrichissez vous, en-
richissez vous," was as poor at the end of his ministerial career
as at the beginning, must have necessarily been a puzzle to a
sovereign who, with a civil list of ^750,000, was haunted by the
fear of poverty, and haunted to such a degree as to harass his
friends and counsellors with his apprehensions. " My dear
minister," he said one day to Guizot, after he had recited a long
list of his domestic charges — " My dear minister, I am telling you
that my children will be wanting for bread." The recollection of
his former misery uprose too frequently before him like a hor-
rible night-mare, and made him the first bourgeois instead of
the first gentilhomme of the kingdom, as his predecessors had
been. When a tradesman drops a shilling and does not stoop
to pick it up, his neglect becomes almost culpable improvi-
dence ; when a prince drops a sovereign and looks for it, the
deed maybe justly qualified as mean. The leitmotiv of Louis-
Philippe's conversation, witty and charming as it was, partook
of the avaricious spirit of a Thomas Guy and a John Overs
rather than of that of the great adventurer John Law. The
chinking of the money-bags is audible through both, but in the
one case the orchestration is strident, disagreeable, depress-
ing; in the other, it is generous, overflowing with noble im-
pulses, and cheering. I recollect that during my stay at Tre-
port and Eu, in 1843, when Queen Victoria paid her visit to
Louis-Philippe, the following story was told to me. Lord
— — and I were quartered in a little hostelry on the Place du
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 179
Chteau. One morning Lord came home laughing till he
could laugh no longer. "What do you think the king has
done now ? " he asked. I professed my inability to guess.
*' About an hour ago, he and Queen Victoria were walking in
the garden, when, with true French politeness, he offered her
a peach. The queen seemed rather embarrassed how to skin
it, when Louis-Philippe took a large clasp-knife from his pocket.
' When a man has been a poor devil like myself, obliged to
live upon forty sous a day, he always carries a knife. I might
have dispensed with it for the last few years ; still, I do not
wish to lose the habit — one does not know what may happen,'
he said. Of course, the tears stood in the queen's eyes. He
really ought to know better than to obtrude his money worries
upon every one."
I must confess that I was not as much surprised as my
interlocutor, who, however, had known Louis-Philippe much
longer than I. Not his worst enemies could have accused
the son of Philippe Egalite of being a coward : the bulletins of
Valmy, Jemmappes, and Neerwinden would have proved the
contrary. But the contempt of physical danger on the battle-
field does not necessarily constitute heroism in the most
elevated sense of the term, although the world in general
frequently accepts it as such. A man can die but once, and the
semi-positivism, semi-Voltaireanism of Louis-Philippe had un-
doubtedly steeled him against the fear of death. His religion,
throughout life, was not even skin-deep ; and when he accepted
the last rites of the Church on his death-bed, he only did so in
deference to his wife. *' Ma femme, es-tu contente de moi ? '*
were his words the moment the priests were gone.
Nevertheless, he was too good a husband to grieve his wife,
who was deeply religious, by any needless display of unbelief.
He always endeavored, as far as possible, to find an excuse for
staying away from church. He, as well as the female members
of his family, were very fond of music ; and Adam, the com-
poser, was frequently invited to come and play for them in the
private apartments. In fact, after his abdication, he seriously
intended to write, in conjunction with Scribe, the libretto of an
opera on an English historical subject, the music of which
should be composed by Halevy. The composer of " La
Juive " and the author of " Les Huguenots " came over once to
consult with the king, whose death, a few months later, put
an end to the scheme.
On the occasion of Adam's visits the princesses worked
at their embroidery, while the king often stood by the side of
l8o AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
the performer. Just about that period the chamber organ was
introduced, and, on the recommendation of Adam, one was
ordered for the Tuileries. The first time Louis-PhiUppe heard
it played he was delighted : " This will be a distinct gain to
our rural congregations," he said. " There must be a great
many people who, like myself, stay away from church on
account of their objection to that horrible instrument, the serpent.
Is it not so, my wife ? "
The ideal purpose of life, if ever he possessed it, had been
crushed out of him — first, by his governess, Madame de Gen-
lis ; secondly, by the dire poverty he suffered during his exile ;
and, notwithstanding all that has been said to the contrary,
France wanted at that moment an ideal ruler, not the rational
father of a large family who looked upon his monarchy as a
suitable means of providing for them. He was an usurper with-
out the daring, the grandeur, the lawlessness of the usurper.
The lesson of Napoleon I.'s method had been thrown away
upon him, as the lesson of Napoleon III.'s has been thrown
away upon his grandson. When I said France, I made a mis-
take,— I should have said Paris ; for since 1789 there was no
longer a King of France, there was only a King of Paris. Such
a thing as a Manchester movement, as a Manchester school of
politics, would have been and is still an impossibility in France.
And, unfortunately, Paris, which had applauded the glorious
mise-en-schie of the First Empire, which had even looked on
approvingly at some of the pomp and state of Louis XVIII.
and Charles X., jeered at Louis-Philippe and his court with its
ridiculous gatherings of tailors, drapers, and bootmakers, " ces
gardes nationaux d'un pays ou il n'y a plus rien de national a.
garder," and their pretentious spouses " qui," according to the
Duchesse de la Tremoille, " ont plus de chemises que nos
aieules avaientdes robes." Z*^ She and the Princesse Bagration
were the only female representatives of the Faubourg St. Ger-
main who attended these gatherings ; for the Countess Le Hon,
of whom I may have occasion to speak again, and who was the
only other woman at these receptions that could lay claim to
any distinction, was by no means an aristocrat. And be it
remembered that in those days ridicule had still the power to
kill.
Nor was the weapon wielded exclusively by the aristocracy ;
* She had unconsciously borrowed the words from the Duchesse de CoisUn, who, under
similar circumstances a few years before, said to Madame de Chateaubriand, " Cela sent la
parvenue ; nous autres, femmes de la cour, nous n'avions que deux chemises ; on les renou-
velait quand elles ^taient us^es ; nous ^tions vetues de robes de soie et nous n'avions pas
I'air de grisettes comme ces deraoiselles de maintenant." — Editor,
AN ENGLISHMAN- IN Paris. iSi
the lower classes could be just as satirical against the new court
element. I was in the Tuileries gardens on the first Sunday in
June, r837, when the Duchesse d'Orleans made her entree into
Paris. The weather was magnificent, and the set scene — as
distinguished from some of the properties, to use a theatrical
expression — in keeping with the weather. The crowd itself was
a pleasure to look at, as it stood in serried masses behind the
National Guards and the regular infantry lining the route of
the procession from the Arc de Triomphe to the entrance of the
Chateau. All at once an outrider passes, covered with dust,
and the crowd presses forward to get a better view. A woman
of the people, in her nice white cap, comes into somewhat vio-
lent contact with an elegantly dressed elderly lady accompanied
by her daughter. The woman, instead of apologizing, says
aloud that she wishes to see the princess : " You will have the
opportunity of seeing her at court, mesdames," she adds. The
elegant lady vouchsafes no reply, but turns to her daughter :
" The good woman," says the latter, shrugging her shoulders,
" is evidently not aware that she has got a much greater chance
of going to that court than we have. She has only got to marry
some grocer or other tradesman, and she will be considered a
grande dame at once." Then the procession passes — first the
National Guards on horseback, then the king and M. de Mon-
talivet, followed by Princesse Helene, with her young husband
riding by the side of the carriage. So far so good : the first
three or four carriages were more or less handsome, but Heaven
save us from the rest, as well as from their occupants ! They
positively looked like some of those wardrobe-dealers so admi-
rably described by Balzac.
When all is over, the woman of the people turns to the
elegant lady : " I ask your pardon, madame ; it was really not
worth while hurting you. If these are grandes dmnes^ I prefer
ks petites whom I see in my neighborhood, the Rue Notre-
Dame de Lorette. Comme elles etaient attifees ! " — Anglice,
" What a lot of frumps they looked ! "
In fact, Louis-Philippe and his queen sinned most grievously
by overlooking the craving of the Parisians for pomp and dis-
play. No one was better aware of this than his children,
notably the Due d'Orleans, Princess Clementine,"* and the
Due de Nemours. They called him familiarly " le pbre."
* The mother of Prince Ferdinand of Saxe-Coburg, the present ruler of Bulgaria. She
was a particular favorite of Queen Victoria, and Louis- Philippe himself not only considered
her the cleverest of his three daughters, but the most likely successor to his sister Adelaide,
as his private adviser. That the estimate of her abilities was by no means exaggerated, sub-
sequent events have proved. The last time I saw the princess was at the garden party at
i82 AJV ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
" II est trop pbre," said the princess in private; " il fait con-
currence au Pere Eternel." She was a very clever girl — per-
haps a great deal cleverer than any of her brothers, the Solon
of the family, the Due de Nemours, included — but very fond
of mischief and practical joking. She found her match, though,
in her brother, the Prince de Joinville, the son of Louis-
Philippe of whom France heard most and saw least, for he
was a sailor. One day, his sister asked him to bring her a
complete dress of a Red-Skin chieftain's wife. His absence
was shorter than usual, and, a few days before his return, he
told her in a letter that he had the costume she wanted.
" Here, Clementine, this is for you," he said, at his arrival,
putting a string of glass beads on the table.
"Very pretty," said Clementine, "but you promised me a
complete dress."
" This is the complete dress. I never saw them wear any
other."
I did not see the Prince de Joinville very often, perhaps two
or three times in all; once on the occasion of his marriage
with Princess Frangoise de Bourbon, the daughter of Dom
Pedro I. of Brazil, and sister of the present emperor, when the
prince brought his young bride to Paris. He was a clever
draughtsman and capital caricaturist ; but if the first of these
talents proved an unfailing source of delight to his parents, the
second frequently inspired them with terror, especially his
father, who never knew which of his ministers might become
the next butt for his third son's pencil. I have seen innumer-
able sketches, ostensibly done to delight his young wife and
brothers, which, had they been published, would have been
much more telling against his father's pictorial satirists than
anything they produced against the sovereign. For in those
days, whatever wisdom or caution they may have learnt after-
wards, the sons of Louis-Philippe were by no means disposed
to sit down tamely under the insults levelled at the head of
their house. In fact, nearly the whole of Louis-Philippe's
children had graphic talents of no mean order. The trait came
to them from their mother, who was a very successful pupil of
Angelica Kauffman. Princesse Marie, who died so young,
executed a statue of Jeanne d'Arc, which was considered by
competent judges, not at all likely to be influenced by the fact
Sheen-House, on the occasion of the silver wedding of the Count and Countess de Paris.
I did not remember her for the moment, for a score of years had made a difference. I asked
an Austnan attache^ who she was. The answer came pat, "Alexander III.'s nightmare,
Francis- Joseph's bog, and Bismarck's sleeping draught ; one of the three clever womeu in
F.urope; Bulgaria's mother." — Editor.
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS, 183
of the artist's birth, a very creditable piece of work indeed. I
never saw it, so I cannot say, but I have seen some miniatures
by the Due de Nemours, which might fairly rank with per-
formances by the best masters of that art, short of genius.
It is a curious, but nevertheless admitted fact that the world
has never done justice to the second son of Louis-Philippe.
He was not half as great a favorite with the Parisians as his
elder brother, although, in virtue of his remarkable likeness to
Henri IV., whom the Parisians still worship, — probably because
he is dead, — he ought to have commanded their sympathies.
This lukewarmness towards the Due de Nemours has generally
been ascribed by the partisans of the Orleanist dynasty to his
somewhat reticent disposition, which by many people was mis-
taken for hauteur. I rather fancy it was because he was sus-
pected of being his father's adviser, and, what was worse, his
father's adviser in a reactionary sense. He was accused of
being an anti-parliamentarian, and he never took the trouble
to refute the charge, probably because he was too honest to
tell a lie.* I met the Due de Nemours for the first time in the
studio of a painter, Eugene Lami, just as I met his elder
brother in that of Decamps. In fact, all these young princes
were sincere admirers and patrons of art, and, if they had had
their will, the soirees at the Tuileries would have been graced
by the presence of artists more frequently than they were ;
but, preposterous and scarcely credible as it may seem, the
bourgeoisie looked upon this familiar intercourse of the king's
sons with artists, literary men, and the like, as so much con-
descension, if not worse, of which they, the bourgeoisie, would
not be guilty if they could help it. It behooves me, however, to
be careful in this instance, for the English aristocracy at home
was not much more liberal in those days.
The first thing that struck one in the Due de Nemours was
the vast extent of his general information and the marvellous
power of memory. Eugene Lami had just returned from
London, and, in the exercise of his profession, had come in
contact with some members of the oldest families. The mere
mention of the name sufficed as the introduction to the general
and anecdotal history of such a family, and I doubt whether
the best official at Herald's College could have dissected a
* There was a similar divergence of dynastic opinion during the Second Empire between
the sovereign and those placed very near him on the throne. When Alphonse Daudet came
to Paris to make a name in literature, the Due de Morny offered him a position as secretary.
" Before I accept it, monsieur le due, I had better tell you that I am a Legitimist," replied
the future novelist. " Don't let that trouble you," laughed De Morny ; " so am I to a cer-
tain extent, and the Empress is even more of a Legitimist than I am."— Editor,
1 84 ^^ ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
pedigree as did the Due de Nemours. Eugene Lami was at
that time engaged upon designing some new uniforms for the
army, many of which disappeared only after the war of 1870.
He lived in the Rue des Marais, the greater part of which was
subsequently demolished to make room for the Boulevard de
Magenta, and in the same house with two men whose names
have become immortal, Honore de Balzac and Paul Delaroche.
I have already spoken of both, but I did not mention the inci-
dent that led to the painter's acquaintance with the novelist,
an incident so utterly fanciful that the boldest farce-writer
would think twice before utilizing it in a play. It was told to
me by Lami himself. One morning, as he and Paul Delaroche
were working, there was a knock at the door, and a stout indi-
vidual, dressed in a kind of monastic garb, appeared on the
threshold. Delaroche remembered that he had met him on the
staircase, but neither knew who he was, albeit that Balzac's
fame was not altogether unknown to them. " Gentlemen,"
said the visitor, "I am Honore Balzac, a neighbor and a
confrere to boot. My chattels are about to be seized, and I
would ask you to save a remnant of my library." ^
Of course, the request was granted. The books were stowed
away behind the pictures ; and, after that, Balzac often dropped
in to have a chat with them, but neither Delaroche nor Lami,
the latter least of all, ever conceived a sincere liking for the
great novelist. Their characters were altogether dissimilar. I
have seen a good many men whose names have become house-
hold words among the refined, the educated, and the art-loving
all the world over ; I have seen them at the commencement,
in the middle, and at the zenith of their career; I have seen
none more indifferent to the material benefits of their art than
Eugene Lami and Paul Delaroche, not even Eugene Delacroix
and Decamps. Balzac was the very reverse. To make a for-
tune was the sole ambition of his life.
To return for a moment to Louis-Philippe's sons. I have
said that the Due de Nemours was essentially the grand sei-
gneur of the family ; truth compels me to add, however, that
there was a certain want of pliability about him which his social
inferiors could not have relished. It' was Henri IV. minus the
bonhomie, also perhaps minus that indiscriminate galanterie
which endeared Ravaillac's victim to all classes, even when he
was no longer young. In the days of which I am treating just
now, the Due de Nemours was very young. As for his cour-
age, it was simply above suspicion ; albeit that it was called in
c^uestion after the revolution of '48 ^ to his father's intense sor-
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 185
row. No after-dinner encomium was ever as absolutely true
as that of Sir Robert Peel on the sons and daughters of the
last King of France, when he described them as respectfully
brave and chaste. Nevertheless, had the Due de Nemours and
his brothers been a thousand times as brave as they were, party
spirit, than which there is nothing more contemptible in France,
would have found the opportunity of denying that bravery.
If these notes are ever published. Englishmen will smile at
what I am about to write now, unless their disgust takes an-
other form of expression. The exploits of the Due d'Aumale
in Algeria are quoted by independent military authorities as
so many separate deeds of signal heroism. They belong to
history, and not a single historian has endeavored to impair
their value. Will it be believed that the Opposition journals
of those days spoke of them with ill-disguised contempt as
mere skirmishes with a lot of semi-savages .? And, during the
Second Republic, many of these papers returned to the charge
because the Due d'Aumale, being the constitutionally-minded
son of a constitutionally-minded king, resigned the command
of his army instead of bringing it to France to coerce a nation
into retaining a ruler whom, ostensibly at least, she had volun-
tarily accepted, and whom, therefore, she was as free to reject.
In connection with these Algerian campaigns of the Due
d'Aumale, I had a story told me by his brother, De Montpensier,
which becomes particularly interesting nowadays, when spiritu-
alism or spiritism is so much discussed. He had it from two
unimpeachable sources, namely, from his brother D'Aumale and
from General Cousin-Montauban, afterwards Comte de Palikao,
the same who was so terribly afraid, after the expedition in China,
that the emperor would create him Comte de Pekin, and who
sent an aide-de-camp in advance to beg the sovereign not to do
so.*
It was to General Montauban that Abd-el-Kader surrendered
after the battles of Isly and Djemma-Gazhouat. It was in the
latter engagement that a Captain de Gereauxfell, and when the
news of his death reached his family they seemed almost pre-
pared for it. It transpired that, on the very day of the engage-
ment, and at the very hour in which Captain de G^reaux was
struck down, his sister, a young and handsome but very im-
pressionable girl, started all of a sudden from her chair, exclaim-
ing that she had seen her brother, surrounded by Arabs, who
* In order to understand this dread on Montauban's part, the English reader should be
told that the term p^kin is the contemptuous nickname for the civilian, with the French
soldier. — Editor.
l86 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
were felling him to the ground. Then she dropped to the floof
in a dead swoon.
A few years elapsed, when General Montauban, who had
become the military governor of the province of Oran, received
a letter from the De Gereaux family,* requesting him to make
some further inquiries respecting the particulars of the captain's
death. The letter was written at the urgent prayer of Mdlle.
de Gereaux, who had never ceased to think and speak of her
brother, and who, on one occasion, a month or so before the
despatch of the petition, had risen again from her chair, though in
a more composed manner than before, insisting that she had once
more seen her brother. This time he was dressed in the na-
tive garb, he seemed very poor, and w^as delving the soil. These
visions recurred at frequent intervals, to the intense distress of
the family, who could not but ascribe them to the overstrung
imagination of Mdlle. de Gereaux. A little while after, she
maintained having seen her brother in a white robe and turban,
and intoning hymns that sounded to her like Arabic. She
implored her parents to institute inquiries, and General Mon-
tauban was communicated with to that effect. He did all he
could ; the country was at peace, and, after a few months, tid-
ings came that there was a Frenchman held prisoner in one of
the villages on the Morocco frontier, who for the last two or
three years had entirely lost his reason, but that, previous to
that calamity, he had been converted to Islamism. His mental
derangement being altogether harmless, he was an attendant
at the Mosque. As a matter of course, the information had
been greatly embellished in having passed through so many
channels, nor was it of so definite a character as I have noted
it down, but that was the gist of it.
Meanwhile, Montauban had been transferred to another
command, and for a twelvemonth after his successor's arrival
the inquiry was allowed to fall in abeyance. When it was finally
resumed, the French prisoner had died, but, from a document
written in his native language found upon him and brought to
Oran, there remained little doubt that he was Captain de
Gereaux.
To return for a moment to the Due d'Aumale, who, curiously
enough, exercised a greater influence on the outside world in
general than any of his other brethren — an influence due prob-
ably to his enormous wealth rather than to his personal quali-
ties, though the latter may, to some people, have seemed re-
markable. I -met him but seldom during his father's lifetime.
He was the beau-ideal of the preux chevalier, according to thQ
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 187
French notion of the modern Bayard — that is, handsome, brave
to a fault, irresistibly fascinating with women, good-natured in
his way, and, above all, very witty. It was he who, after the
confiscation of the D'Orleans' property by Napoleon III., re-
plied to the French Ambassador at Turin, who inquired after
his health, " I am all right ; health is one of the things that can-
not be confiscated." Nevertheless, upon closer acquaintance,
I failed to see the justifying cause for the preference mani-
fested by public opinion, and, upon more minute inquiry I found
that a great many people shared my views. I am at this mo-
ment convinced that, but for his having been the heir of that
ill-fated Prince de Conde, and consequently the real defender
in the various suits resulting from the assassination of that prince
by Madame de Feucheres, he would have been in no way dis-
tinguished socially from the rest of the D'Orleans.
The popularity of his eldest brother, the Due d'Orleans, was,
on the contrary, due directly to the man himself. As far as
one can judge of him, he was the reverse of Charles II., in
that he never said a wise thing and never did a foolish one.
He was probably not half so clever as his father, nor, brave as
he may have been, would he have ever made so dashing a '
soldier as his brother D'Aumale, or so rollicking a sailor as his
brother De Joinville. He did not pretend to the wisdom of
his brother De Nemours, nor to the mystic tendencies of his
youngest sister, nor to the sprightly wit of Princesse Clemen-
tine, and yet withal he understood the French nation better
than any of them. Even his prenuptial escapades, secrets to
no one, were those of the grand seigneur, though by no means
affichees ; they endeared him to the majority of the people.
" Chacun colon-ise a sa fa^on," was the lenient verdict on his
admiration for Jenny Colon, at a moment when colonization in
Algeria was the topic of the day. On the whole he liked artists
better, perhaps, than art itself, yet it did not prevent him from
buying masterpieces as far as his means would allow him.
Though still young, in the latter end of the thirties, I was
already a frequent visitor to the studios of the great French
painters, and it was in that of Decamps that I became alive
to his character for the first time. I was talking to the great
painter when the duke came in. We had met before, and
shook hands, as he had been taught to do by his father when
he met with an Englishman. But I could not make out why
he was carrying a pair of trousers over his arm. After we had
been chatting for about ten minutes, I wondering all the while
Avhat he was going to do with the nether garment, he caught
1 88 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARTS.
one of my side glances, and burst out laughing. " I forgot,"
he said, " here, Decamps, here are your breeches." Then he
turned to me to explain. " I always bring them up with me
when I come in the morning. The concierge is very old, and
it saves her trudging up four flights of stairs." The fact was,
that the concierge, before she knew who he was, had once
asked him to take up the painter's clothes and boots. From
that day forth he never failed to ask for them when passing
her lodge.
I can but repeat, the Due d'Orleans was one of the most
charming men I have known. I always couple him in my mind
with Benjamin Disraeli, and Alexandre Dumas the elder. I
knew the English statesman almost as well during part of my
life as the French novelist. Though intellectually wide apart
from them, the duke had one, if not two traits in common with
both ; his utter contempt for money affairs and the personal
charm he wielded. I doubt whether this personal charm in the
other two men was due to their intellectual attainments ; with
the Due d'Orleans it was certainly not the case. He rarely, if
ever, said anything worth remembering; in fact, he frankly
acknowledged his very modest scholarship, and his inability
either to remember the epigrams of others or to condense his
thoughts into one of his own. " I should not like to admit as
much to my father, who, it appears, is a very fine Greek and
Latin scholar," he said — "that is, if I am to believe my
brothers, De Nemours and D'Aumale, who ought to know ;
for, notwithstanding the prizes they took at college, I believe
they are very clever. Ah, you may well look surprised at my
saying, * notwithstanding the prizes they took,' because I took
ever so many, although, for the life of me, I could not construe
a Greek sentence, and scarcely a Latin one. I have paid very
handsomely, however, for my ignorance." And then he told
us an amusing story of his having had to invent a secretary-
ship to the duchess for an old schoolfellow. " You see, he
came upon me unawares with a slip of paper I had written him
while at college, asking him to explain to me a Greek passage.
There was no denying it, I had signed it. What is worse still,
he is supposed to translate and to reply to the duchess's Ger-
man correspondence, and, when I gave him the appointment,
he did not know a single word of Schiller's language, so I had
to pay a German tutor and him too."
I have said that the Due d'Orleans was absolutely indifferent
with regard to money, but he would not be fleeced with impu-
nity. What he disliked more than anything else, was the
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 189
greed of the shop-keeping bourgeois. One day, while travel-
ling in Lorraine, he stopped at the posting-house to have his
breakfast, consisting of a couple of eggs, a few slices of bread
and butter, and a cup of coffee. Just before proceeding on his
journey, his valet came to tell him that mine host wanted to
charge him two hundred francs for the repast. The duke
merely sent for the mayor, handed him a thousand-franc note,
gave him the particulars of his bill of fare, told him to pay the
landlord according to the tariff, and to distribute the remainder
of the money among the poor. It is more than probable that
mine host was among the first, in '48, to hail the republic :
princes and kings, according to him, were made to be fleeced ;
if they objected, what was the good of having a monarchy ?
The popular idol in France must distribute largesse, and
distribute it individually, or be profitable in some other way.
Greed, personal interest, underlies most of the political strife
in France. During one of the riots, so common in the reign
of Louis-Philippe, Mimi-Lepreuil, a well-known clever pick-
pocket, was shouting with all his might, "Vive Louis-Philippe !
a bas la RepubUque ! " As a rule, gentlemen of his profession
are found on the plebeian side, and one of the superintendents
of police on duty, who had closely watched him, inquired into
the reason of his apostasy. " I am sick of your Republicans,"
was the answer. "I come here morning after morning" — it
happened on the Place de la Bourse, — " and dip my hands
into a score of pockets without finding a red cent. During the
Revolution of July, at the funeral of General Lamarque, I did
not make my expenses. Give me a royal procession to make
money." These were his politics.
It would be difficult to say what the Due d'Orleans would
have done, had he lived to ascend the throne. One thing is
certain, however, that, on the day of his death, genuine tears
stood in the eyes of all classes, except the Legitimists. As I
have already said, they ascribed the fatal accident to God's
vengeance for the usurpation of his father. " If this be the
case," said an irreverent but witty journalist, " it argues but
very little providence on the part oi your Providence, for now
He will have to keep the peace between the Due de Berri, the
Due de Reichstadt and the Due d'Orleang,"
190 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS,
CHAPTER X.
I WAS returning home earlier than usual on Saturday night,
the 19th of February, '48, when, at the corner of the Rue
Lafitte, I happened to run against a young Englishman who
had been established for some years in Paris as the represen-
tative of his father, a wealthy cotton-spinner in the north.
We had frequently met before, and a cordial feeling had sprung
up between us, based at first — I am bound to say — on our com-
mon contempt for the vanity of the French.
" Come and breakfast with me to-morrow morning," he said ;
" I fancy you will enjoy yourself. We will breakfast in my
quarter, and you will see the National Guards in all their glory.
They will muster very strong to-morrow, if it be fine."
" But why to-morrow ? " I replied. " I was under the im-
pression that the idea of the Reformist banquet in the Champs-
Elysees had been abandoned, so there will be no occasion for
them to parade "i Besides, that would be on Tuesday only."
" It has been abandoned, but if you think that it will prevent
them from turning out, you are very much mistaken ; at any
rate, come and listen to the preliminaries."
I promised him to come, but I had not the slightest idea
that I was going to witness a kind of mild prologue to a revo-
lution.
Next morning turned out very fine — balmy spring weather —
and as I sauntered along the Boulevards Montmartre and
Poissoniere to the place of appointment the streets were
already crowded with people in their Sunday clothes. The
place where I was to meet my English friend was situated in
the midst of a busy quarter, scarcely anything but warehouses
where they sold laces, and flowers, and silks, something like
the neighborhood at the back of Cheapside. The wealthy
tradesmen of those days did not live in the outskirts of Paris,
as they did later on,; and when my friend and I reached the
principal cafe and restaurant on the Place du Caire — I think
it was called the Cafe Gregoire — there was scarcely a table
vacant. The habitues were, almost to a man. National Guards,
prosperous business men, considerably more anxious, as I
found out in a short time, to play a political part than to main-
tain public tranquillity. If 1 remember rightly, one of them, a
chemist and druggist, who was pointed out to me then, became
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARlS. i^t
a deputy after the fall of the Second Empire ; and I may notice
en passant that this same spot was the political hot-house
which produced, afterwards, Monsieur Tirard, who started life
as a small manufacturer of imitation jewelry, and who rose to
be Minister of Finances under the Third Republic.
The breakfast was simply excellent, the wine genuine
throughout, the coffee and cognac all that could be wished ;
and, when I asked my friend to let me look at the bill, out of
simple curiosity, or, rather, for the sake of comparing prices
with those of the Cafes de Paris and Riche, I found that he
had spent something less than eleven francs. At the Cafe
Riche it would have been twenty-five francs, and, at the present
time, one would be charged double that sum. These were the
palmy days of the Cuisine Francaise, or, to call it by another
name, the Cuisine Bourgeoise, for which, a few years later, a
stranger in Paris would have almost sought in vain. Luckily,
however, for my enjoyment, and digestive organs, I was no
stranger to Paris and to the French ; if I had been, both the
former would have been spoilt, the excitement of those around
me being such as to lead the alien to believe that there would
be an instantaneous departure for the Tuileries, and a revival
of the bloody scenes of the first revolution. It has been my
lot, in after-years, to hear a great deal of political drivel in
French and English, but it was sound philosophy compared to
what I heard that morning. I have spoken before of the
Hotel des Haricots, where men like Hugo, Balzac, Beranger,
and Alfred de Musset chose to be imprisoned rather than
perform their duties as National Guards. After that, I could
fully appreciate their reluctance to be confounded with such a
set of pompous windbags.
It came to nothing that day, but I had become interested,
and made an appointment with my friend for the Tuesday,
unless something should happen in the interval. Still, I did
not think that the monarchy of July was doomed, though, on
returning to the Boulevards, I could not help noticing that
the excitement had considerably increased during the time I
had been at breakfast. By twelve o'clock that night I was
convinced that I had been mistaken, and that the dynasty of
the D'Orleans had not a week to live. All the theatres were
still open, but I had an invitation to a ball, given by Poirson,
the then late director of the Gymnase Theatre, at his house in
the Faubourg Poissonniere. " Nous ne danserons plus jamais
sous Louis-Philippe ! " was the general cry, which did not pre-
vent the guests from thoroughly enjoying themselves.
192 AjV englishman in PARI3.
Next morning, Monday, there seemed to be a lull in the
storm, but on the Tuesday the signs of the coming hurricane
were plainly visible on the horizon. The Ministry of Marine
was guarded by a company of linesmen. I had some business
in the Rue de Rivoli, which at that time ended almost abruptly
at the Louvre ; and, on my way to the Cafe Gregoire, I met
patrol upon patrol of National Guards beating the " assembly."
I had occasion to pass before the Comedie-Fran9aise. The
ominous black-lettered slip of yellow paper, with the word
Relache, was pasted across the evening's bill. That was
enough for me. I remembered the words of my old tutor :
"When the Comedie-Francaise shuts its doors in perilous
times, it is like the battening down of the hatches in dirty
weather. There is mischief brewing." When I got to the
Place du Caire, I was virtually in the thick of it. With the
exception of my friend and I, there was not a man in mufti.
Even the proprietor had donned his uniform. Our fillet of beef
was brought to us by a corporal, and our coffee poured out by
a sergeant. Whether these warrior-waiters meant to strike one
blow for freedom and to leave the place to take care of itself,
we were unable to make out ; but their patrons were no longer
"messieurs," but had already become " citoyens." I was
tempted to say, in the words of Dupin — the one who was Pres-
ident of the Chamber on the day of the Coup d'Etat, and who
was Louis-Philippe's personal friend, " Soyons citoyens, mais
restons messieurs," but I thought it better not. My friend had
given up all idea of attending to business. "It will not be of the
least use," he said. "If I had ribbons to sell instead of cottons,
I might make a lot of money, though ; for I am open to wager
that some of our patriotic neighbors, while they are going to
bell the cat outside, have given orders to their workpeople to
manufacture tricolor cockades and rosettes with the magic
R. F. (Republique Fran^aise) in the centre."
" You do not mean that they would think of such a thing at
such a critical moment, even if the republic were a greater
probability than it appears to be ? " I remonstrated.
" I do mean to say so," he replied, beckoning at the same
time to a sleek, corpulent lieutenant, standing a few paces
away. " Can you do with a nice lot of narrow silk ribbon ? "
he asked, as the individual walked up to our table.
" What color ? " inquired the lieutenant.
My friend gave me a significant look, and named all the
hues of the rainbow except white, red, and blue.
** Won't do," said the lieutenant, shaking his head. " If
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. I93
it had been red, white, and blue I would have bought as much
as you like, because I am manufacturing rosettes for the good
cause." After this he walked away.
On the Thursday afternoon the Boulevards and principal
thoroughfares swarmed with peripatetic vendors of the republi-
can insignia, and some of my friends expressed their surprise
as to where they had come from in so short a time. Seeing
that they were Frenchmen, I held my tongue, even when one
professed to explain, " They have come from England ; they
are always speculating upon our misfortunes, though they do
it cleverly enough. They got scent of what was coming, and
sent them over as quickly as they could. Truly they are a
great nation — of shopkeepers ! " I was reminded of Beran-
ger's scapegrace, when he was accused of being drunk.
*' Qu'est que cela me fait, a moi ?
Que Ton m'appelle ivrogne ?"
he sings.
As the afternoon wore on, the excitement increased ; the
news from the Boulevards became alarming, and at about
three o'clock the company marched away. As a matter of
course we followed, and equally, as a matter of course, did
not leave them until 2.30 next morning. Casualties to report.
A large scratch in one of the drummer's cheeks, made by an
oyster-shell, flung at the company as it turned round the
corner of the. Rue de Clery. No battles, no skirmishes, a
great deal of fraternizing with " le peuple souverain," whom,
in their own employ, the well-to-do tradesmen would have
ordered about like so many mangy curs.
From that day forth I have never dipped into any history of
modern France, professing to deal with the political causes
and effects of the various upheavals during the nineteenth
century in France. They may be worth reading ; I do not
say that they are not. I have preferred to look at the men
who instigated those disorders, and have come to the conclu-
sion that, had each of them been born with five or ten thousand
a year, their names would have been absolutely wanting in
connection with them. This does not mean that the disorders
would not have taken place, but they would have always been
led by men in want of five or ten thousand a year. On the
other hand, if the D'Orleans family had been less wealthy
than they are there would have been no firmly settled third
republic ; if Louis-Napoleon had been less poor, there would,
in all probability, have been no Second Empire j if the latter
13
194 ^^ ENGLISHMA N IN PA RIS.
had lasted another year, we should have found Gambetta among
the ministers of Napoleon III., just like Emile Ollivier, of the
"light heart." " Les convictions politiques en France sont
basees sur le fait que le louis d'or vaut sept fois plus que I'ecu
de trois francs." This is the dictum of a man who never
wished to be anything, who steadfastly refused all offers to
enter the arena of public life.
My friend and I had been baulked of the drama we expected
— for we frankly confessed to one another that the utter anni-
hilation of that company of National Guards would have left
us perfectly unmoved, — and got instead a kind of first act of
a military spectacular play, such as we were in the habit of
seeing at Franconi's. The civic warriors were ostensibly
bivouacking on the Boulevard St. Martin ; they stacked their
muskets and fraternized with the crowd ; it would not have
surprised us in the least to see a troupe of ballet dancers
advance into our midst and give us the entertainment de
rigueur — the intermede. It was the only thing wanting to
complete the picture, from which even the low comedy incident
was not wanting. An old woebegone creature, evidently the
worse for liquor, had fallen down while a patrol of regulars
was passing. He was not a bit hurt ; but there and then the
rabble proposed to carry him to the Hotel de Ville, and to
give him an apotheosis as a martyr to the cause. They had
already fetched a stretcher, and were, notwithstanding his
violent struggles, hoisting him on it, when prevented by the
captain of the National Guards.
Still, we returned next day to the Cafe Gregoire. In the
middle of the place there lay an old man — that one, stark
dead, who had been fired upon without rhyme or reason by a
picket of the National Guards. It was only about eleven
o'clock, and those valiant defenders of public order were still
resting from their fatigue — at any rate, there were few of them
about. There was a discussion going on whether they should
go out or not — a discussion confined to the captain, two lieu-
tenants, and as many sub-lieutenants. They appeared not to
have the least idea of the necessity to refer for orders to the
colonel or the headquarters of the regiment or the legion, as
it was called. They meant to settle the matter among them-
selves. The great argument in favor of calling out the men
was that one of them, while standing at his window that very
morning, was fired at by a passing ragamuffin, who, instead of
hitting him, shattered his window-panes.
"Well," said one of the lieutenants, who had been opposed
AN- ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 195
to the calling out of the men, " then we are quits after all ; for
look at the old fellow lying out there."
"No, we are not," retorts the captain ; "for he was shot by
a mistake, so he doesn't count."
" L'esprit ne perd jamais ses droits en France ; " so, in
another moment or two, the bugle sounded lustily throughout
the quarter. We followed the buglers for a little while, it be-
ing still too early for our breakfast, and consequently enjoyed
the felicity of seeing a good many of the warriors " in their
habit as they lived " indoors — namely, in dressing-gown and
slippers and smoking-caps. For most of them opened their
windows on the first, second, and third floors, to inquire
whether the call was urgent. The buglers entered into expla-
nations. No, the call was not urgent, but the captain had de-
cided on a military promenade, just to reassure the neighbor-
hood, and to stimulate the martial spirit of the lagging mem-
bers of the company. The explanation invariably provoked
the same answer, and in a voice not that of the citizen- warrior ;
" Que le capitaine attende jusqu'apres le dejeuner."
Davoust has said that the first condition of the fitness of an
army is its commissariat. In that respect every one of these
National Guards was fit to be a Davoust, for their fortifying of
the inner man was not accomplished until close upon two
o'clock. By that time they marched out, saluted by the cries
of " Vive la Reforme ! " of all the ragtag and bobtail from the
Faubourgs du Temple and St. Antoine, who had invaded the
principal thoroughfares. The " Marseillaise," the " Chant des
Girondins," " La Republique nous appelle " resounded through
the air ; and I was wondering whether they were packing their
trunks at the Tuileries, also what these National Guards had
come out for. They only seemed to impede the efiicient pa-
trolling of the streets by the regulars, and, instead of dispersing
the rabble, they attracted them. They were evidently under
the impression that they made a very goodly show, and at every
word of command I expected to see the captain burst asunder.
When we got to the Boulevard St. Martin, the latter was told
that the sixth legion was stationed on the Boulevard du Tem-
ple. A move was made in that direction.
- Now " Richard is himself again ; " he is among the crowd
he likes best — the crowd of the Boulevard du Crime, with its
theatres, large and small, its raree and puppet shows, it^ open-
air entertainments, its cafes and mountebanks ; and, what is
more, he is there in his uniform, distinguished from the rest,
and consequently the cynosure of all the little actresses and
196 AjV englishman in PARIS.
•pretty Jigurantes who have just left the rehearsal — for by this
time it is after three — and who are but too willing to be enter-
tained. Appointments are made to dine or to sup together,
without the slightest reference as to what may happen in the
interval. All at once there is an outcry and a rush towards the
Porte Saint-Martin ; our warriors are obliged to leave their in-
amoratas, and when they come to look for their muskets, which
they have placed in a corner for convenience' sake, they find
that a good many have disappeared. The customers belonging
to the sovereign people have slunk off with them. Neverthe-
less they join the ranks, for the bugle has sounded. At the
corner of the Faubourg Saint-Martin, whence the noise pro-
ceeded, they are met by three or four score of the sovereign
people, ragged, unkempt, who are pushing in front 6i them two
of the students of the Ecole Polytechnique. The two young
fellov^s are very pale, and can scarcely speak. Still they man-
age to explain that the Municipal Guard at. the Saint-Martin
barracks have fired upon the people : then they go their way.
Whither ? Heaven only knows. But our captain, in the most
stentorian of voices, gives the word of command, " To the right,
wheel ! " and we are striding up the faubourg, which is abso-
lutely deserted as far as the Rue des Marais. A collision seems
pretty inevitable now, the more that the Municipal Guards are
already taking aim, when all at once our captain and one of
the lieutenants rush forward, and fling themselves into the
arms of the officers of the Municipal Guards. Tableau ; and
I am baulked once more of a good fight. I leave my friend to
see the rest of this ridiculous comedy, and take my departure
there and then.
The following is my companion's account of what happened
after I left. I am as certain that every word of it is true as if
I had been there myself, though it seems almost incredible
that French officers, whose worst enemies have never accused
them of being deficient in courage, should have acted so in-
considerately.
"The officers of the National Guards appear to have as-
sumed at once the office of protectors of the regulars against
the violence of the crowd. Why the regulars should have sub-
mitted to this, seeing that they were far better armed than
their would-be guardians, I am unable to say. Be this as it
may, the regulars consented, the flag floating above the prin-
cipal door of the barracks was taken down, and I really be-
lieve that the Municipal Guards stacked their arms and
virtually handed them over to the others. But I will not vouch
AN ENGLISHMAN JN PARIS. J97
for it. At any rate, a few hours afterwards, while the com-
pany had gone to dinner, the barracks were assailed, the
men and officers knocked down by the people, and the build-
ing set on fire. When the fifth legion returned about eleven
o'clock to the Faubourg Saint-Martin, the flames were leaping
up to the sky, so they turned their heels contentedly in the
direction of the Boulevard du Temple, where they bivouacked
between the Theatre de la Gaite and the Ambigu-Comique,
while those who had made appointments with the little ac-
tresses went round by the stage-doors to keep them. That, as
far as I could judge, was the part of the fifth legion in the
day's proceedings. I left them in all their glory, thinking
themselves, no doubt, very fine fellows.
" On the Thursday morning " — my companion told me all
this on Saturday evening, the 26th of February — " I was up
betimes, simply because the drumming and bugling prevented
my sleeping. At eight, the Cafe Gregoire was already very
full, the heroes of the previous night had returned to perform
their ablutions, and also, I suppose, to reassure their anxious
spouses ; but they had no longer that conquering air I noticed
when I left them the night before. Whether they had come to
the conclusion that both in love and war they had reaped but
barren victories, I cannot say, but their republican ardor, it
seemed to me, had considerably cooled down. I am con-
vinced that, notwithstanding the events of Wednesday night
in the Faubourg Saint-Martin, they were under the impression
that neither the people nor the military would resort to
further extremities. I cannot help thinking that, after I left,
not a single man could have remained at his post, because not
one amongst them seemed to have an idea of the horrible
slaughter on the Boulevard des Capucines.^ They were not
left very long in ignorance of the real state of affairs, and then
they saw at once that they had roused a spectre they would be
unable to lay. From that moment, it is my opinion, they would
have willingly drawn back, but it was too late. While they
were still debating, an individual rushed in, telling them that
* The author, as will be seen directly, saw nothing of that massacre, though he must have
passed within a few liundred yards of the spot immediately before it began. It would have
been the same if he had ; he could not have explained the cause, seeing that the most pains-
taking historians who have consulted the most trustworthy eye-witnesses have failed to do
so. It will always remain a mystery whence the first shot came, whether from the military
who were drawn up across the Boulevard des Capucines, on the spot where now stands the
Grand Caf^, or from the crowd that wanted to pass, in order to proceed to Odillon-Barrot's
to serenade him, because, notwithstanding the opposition of the king, he was to be included
in the new ministry, which Mol^ had been instructed to form. It may safely be said, how-
ever, that, but for that shot and the slaughter consequent upon it, the revolution might have
been averted then — ^after all, perhaps, only temporarily. — Editor.
198 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
one or two regiments, commanded by a general (who turned
out to be General Bedeau), had drawn up in front of the bar-
ricade which had been thrown up during the night in the
Boulevard Bonne-Nouvelle, and was being defended by a de-
tachment of the fifth legion. They all ran out, and I ran with
them. When we got to the boulevard, matters had already
been arranged, and they were just in time to join the escort
General Bedeau had accepted, after having consented not to
execute the orders with which he had been entrusted. By that
time I began to perceive which way the wind was blowing :
the canaille had unceremoniously linked their arms in those of
the National Guards, and insisted, courteously but firmly, on
carrying their firearms. When we got to the Rue Montmartre,
they took the horses out of the gun-carriages, and the soldiers
looked tamely on, notwithstanding the commands of their offi-
cers. When the latter endeavored to enforce their orders by
hitting them with the flat of their swords, they simply left the
ranks and joined the rabble. I had had enough of it and
made my way home by the back streets. I had had enough
of it, and kept indoors until this afternoon."
Thus far my informant. As for myself, I saw little on the
Wednesday night of what was going on. It was my own fault :
I was too optimistic. I had scarcely gone a few steps, after
my dinner, when, just in front of the Gymnase, they began
shouting, " La Patrie^ yournal dii soir ; achetez La Patrie.
Voyez le nouveau ministere de Monsieur Mole'." I remember
giving the fellow half a franc, at which he grumbled, though it
was three times the ordinary price. On opening the paper, I
rashly concluded from what I read that the revolution was
virtually at an end, and I was the more confirmed in my
opinion by the almost instantaneous lighting up of the Boule-
vards. It was like a fairy scene : people were illuminating — a
little bit too soon, as it turned out. Being tired of wandering,
and feeling no inclination for bed, I turned into the Gymnase.
There were Bressant and Rose Cheri and Arnal ; I would
surely be able to spend a few pleasant hours. But alack and
alas ! the house presented a very doleful appearance — dead-
heads, to a man ; and very few of these, people who, if they
could not fiddle themselves, like Nero while Rome was burning,
would go to hear fiddling under no matter what circumstances,
provided they were not asked to pay. I did not stay long, but
when I came out into the streets the noise was too deafening
for me. The " Marseillaise " has always had a particularly
jarring effect upon my nerves. There are days when I could
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 199
be cruel enough to prefer " the yells of those ferocious sol-
diers, as they murder in cold blood the sons and the companions"
of one section of defenceless patriots, to the stirring strains of the
other section as they figuratively rush to the rescue ; and on
that particular evening I felt in that mood. So, when I got to
the Boulevard Montmartre, I turned into the Theatre des Va-
rietes. I remember the programme up to this day. They were
playing "Le Suisse de Marly," "Le Marquis de Lauzun,"
" Les Extremes se touchent," and " Les Vieux Pe'ches." I had
seen the second and the last piece at least a dozen times, but
I was always ready to see them again for the sake of Virginie
Dejazet in the one, of Bouffe in the other. The lessee at that
time was an Englishman. Bouffe and I had always kept up
our friendship ; so I made up my mind to go and have a chat
with him, hoping that Dejazet, whose conversation affected one
like a bottle of champagne, would join us. The house, like
the Gymnase, was almost empty, but I made my way behind
the scenes, and in about half an hour forgot all about the events
outside. Bouffe was telling me anecdotes about his London
performances, and Dejazet was imitating the French of some of
the bigwigs of King Leopold's court ; so the time passed
pleasantly enough. At the end of the performance we pro-
posed taking supper, and turned down the Rue Montmartre.
It was late when I returned home, consequently I saw nothing
of the slaughter on the Boulevard des Capucines.
Though I had gone to bed late, I was up betimes on the
Thursday morning. A glance at the Boulevards, as I turned
the corner of my street about half-past nine, convinced me
that the illuminations of the previous night had been premature,
and that before the day was out there would be an end of the
monarchy of July. A slight mist was still hanging over the
city as I strolled in the direction of the Madeleine, and the
weather was damp and raw, but in about half an hour the sun
broke through. A shot was heard now and then, but I myself
saw no collision then between the troops and the people. On
the contrary, it looked to me as if the former would have been
glad to be left alone. As I had been obliged to leave home
without my usual cup of tea for want of milk — the servant had
told me there was none^-I went back a little way to Tortoni's
where I was greeted with the same answer. I could have tea
or coffee or chocolate made with water, but milk there was
none on that side of Paris, and, unless things took a turn, there
would be no butter. The sovereign people had thrown up
barricades during the night round all the northern and north-
200 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
western issues, and would not let the milk-carts pass. They,
no doubt had some more potent fiuids to fall back upon, for a
good many, even at that early hour, were by no means steady
in their gait. The Boulevards were swarming with them.
Since then, I have seen these sovereign people getting the
upper hand twice, viz., on the 4th of September, '70, and on the
i8th of March, '71. I have seen them during the seige of
Paris, and, I have no hesitation in saying that, for cold-blooded,
apish, monkeyish, tigerish cruelty, there is nothing on the face
of God's earth to match them, and that no concessions wrung
from society on their behalf will ever make them anything else
but the fiends in human shape they are.
After my fruitless attempt to get my accustomed breakfast,
I resumed my perambulations, this time taking the Rue
Vivienne as far as the Palais-Royal. It must have been be-
tween half-past ten and eleven when I reached the Place du
Carrousel, which, at a rough guess, was occupied by about
five thousand regular infantry and horse and National
Guards. The Place du Carrousel was not then, what it be-
came later on, a large open space. Part of it was encumbered
with narrow streets of very tall houses, and from their windows
and roofs the sovereign people — according to an officer who
had been on duty from early morn — had been amusing them-
selves by firing on the troops, — not in downright volleys, but
with isolated shots, picking out a man here and there. " But," I
remonstrated, " half a dozen pompiers and a score of linesmen
could dislodge them in less than ten minutes, instead of return-
ing their shots one by one." " So they could," was the reply,
" but orders came from the Chateau not to do so, and here we
are. Besides," added my informant, " I doubt very much, if
I gave my men the word of command to storm the place,
whether they would do so ; they are thoroughly demoralized.
On our way hither I had the greatest difficulty in keeping them
together. Without a roll-call I could not exactly tell you how
many are missing, but as we came along I noticed several fall-
ing out and going into the wine-shops with the rabble. They
did not come back again. I had to shut my eyes to it. If I had
attempted to prevent it, there would have been a more horrible
slaughter than there was last night on the Boulevards, and,
what is worse, the men who remained staunch would have
been in a minority, and not able to stand their ground. The
mob have got hold of the muskets of the National Guards. I
dare say, as you came along, you noticed on many doors,
written up in chalk, ' Arms given up,' and on some the words
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PA RIS. 2 o i
* with pleasure ' added to the statement." It was perfectly
true ; I had noticed it.
I was still talking to the captain when the drums began to
beat and the buglers sounded the salute. At the same moment
I saw the king, in the uniform of a general of the National
Guards, cross the courtyard on horseback. I noticed a great
many ladies at the ground-floor windows of the palace, but
could not distinguish their faces, I was told afterwards that
they were the queen and the princesses, endeavoring to en-
courage the septuagenarian monarch. Louis-Philippe was
seventy-five then.
I have often heard and seen it stated by historians of the
revolution of '48, that the Duke d'Aumale and the Prince de
Joinville, had they been in Paris, would have saved their
father's crown. This is an assumption which it is difficult to
disprove, seeing how popular these young princes were then.
But if the assumption is meant to convey that the mob at the
sight of these brave young fellows would have laid down their
arms without fighting, I can unhesitatingly contradict it. What
the. National Guard might have done it is impossible to say.
The regulars, no doubt, would have followed the princes
into battle, as they would have followed their brother, De
Nemours, notwithstanding the latter's unpopularity. There
would have been a great deal of bloodshed, but the last word
would have remained with the Government. Louis-Philippe's
greatest title to glory is that of having prevented such blood-
shed. But to show how little such abnegation of self is under-
stood by even the most educated Frenchmen, I must relate a
story which was told to me many years afterwards by a French
officer who, at that time, had just returned from the Pontifical
States, where he had helped to defeat the small army of Gari-
baldi. He was describing the battle-field of Mentana to
Napoleon IIL, and mentioned a prisoner he had made who
turned out to be an old acquaintance from the Boulevards.
" He was furious against Garibaldi, sire," said the officer,
*' because the latter had placed him in the necessity, as it were,
of firing upon his own countrymen in a strange land. Said the
prisoner, ' I am not an emigre ; I would not have gone to
Coblenz ; I am a Frenchman from the crown of my head
to the sole of my foot. If it came to fighting my countrymen
in the streets of Paris, that would be a different thing. I
should not have the slightest scruple of firing upon the Im-
perial Guards or upon the rabble, as the case might be, for
that would be civil war.' That's what he said, sire."
202 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
Napoleon nodded his head, and with his wonderful, sphinx-
like smile, replied, " Your prisoner was right ; it makes all the
difference." The Orleans princes, save perhaps one, never
knew these distinctions ; if they had known them, the Comte
de Paris might be King of France to-day.
To return for a moment to Louis-Philippe as I saw him at
the last moments of his reign. He felt evidently disappointed
at the lukewarm reception he received, for though there was a
faint cry among the regulars of " Vive le Roi I " it was immedi-
ately drowned by the stentorian one of the rabble of " Vive la
Reforme ! " in which a good many of the National Guards
joined. He was evidently in a hurry to get back to the Tuil-
eries, and, when he disappeared in the doorway, I had looked
upon him for the last time in my life. An hour and a half later,
he had left Paris forever.
Personally I saw nothing of the flight of the king, nor of the
inside of the Tuileries, until the royal family were gone. The
story of that flight was told to me several years later by the
Due de Montpensier. What is worse, in those days it never
entered my mind that a time would come when I should" feel
desirous of committing my reminiscences to paper, conse-
quently I kept no count of the hours that went by, and cannot,
therefore, give the exact sequence of events. I do not know
how long I stood among the soldiers and the crowd, scarcely
divided from one another even by an imaginary line. It was
not a pleasant crowd, though to my great surprise there were
a great many more decently dressed persons in it than I could
have expected, so I stayed on. About half an hour after
the king re-entered the Tuileries, I noticed two gentlemen
elbow their way through the serried masses. I had no difficulty
in recognizing the one in civilian's clothes. Though he was
by no means so famous as he became afterwards, there was
hardly a Parisian who would not have recognized him on the
spot. His portrait had been drawn over and over again, at
least as many times as that of the king, and it is a positive
fact that nurses frightened their babies with it. He was the
ugliest man of the century. It was M. Adolphe Cremieux.*
His companion was in uniform. I learnt afterwards that it was
General Gourgaud, but I did not know him then except by
name, and in connection with his polemics with the Duke of
* The author is slightly mistaken. The two ugliest men in France in the nineteenth cen-
tury were Andrieux, who wrote " Les Etourdis,'' and Littr^ ; but Cremieux ran them very
hard.— Editor.
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 203
Wellington, in which the latter, did not altogether behave with
the generosity one expects from an English gentleman towards
a fallen foe. As they passed, the old soldier must have been
recognized, because not one, but at least a hundred cries
resounded, " Vive la grande armee : Vive I'Empereur ! " In
after years I thought that these cries sounded almost prophetic,
though I am pretty sure that those who uttered them had
not the slightest hope of, and perhaps not even a desire for, a
Napoleonic restoration, at any rate, not the majority. There
is one thing, however, which could not have failed to strike
the impartial observer during the next twenty years. I have
seen a good many riots, small and large, during the second
Republic and the Second Empire. " Seditious cries," as a
matter of course, were freely shouted. I have never heard a
single one of " Vivent les D'Orleans ! " or "Vivent les Bour-
bons ! " I have already spoken more than once about the
powerful influence of the Napoleonic legend in those days ; I
shall have occasion to refer to it again and again when speak-
ing about the nephew of the first Napoleon.
Cremieux and Gourgaud could not have been inside the
Tuileries more than a quarter of an hour when they rushed out
again. They evidently made a communication to the troops,
because I beheld the latter waving their arms, but, of course,
I did not catch a word of what they said ; I was too far away.
It was, I learnt afterwards, the announcement of the advent
of a new ministry, and the appointment of a new commander
of the National Guards. When I saw hats and caps flung into -
the air, and heard the people shouting, I made certain that the
revolution was at an end. I was mistaken. It was not
Cremieux's communication at all that had provoked the en-
thusiasm ; it was a second communication, made by some one
from the doorway of the Tuileries immediately after the emi-
nent barrister had disappeared among the crowd, to the effect
that the king had abdicated in favor of the Comte de Paris,
with the Duchesse d'Orleans as regent. Between the first and
second announcements there could not have elapsed more than
five or six minutes, ten at the utmost, because, before I had
time to recover from my surprise, I saw Cremieux and Gour-
gaud battle through the tightly wedged masses once more, and
re-enter the Tuileries to verify the news. I am writing this
note especially by the light of subsequent information, for, I
repeat, it was impossible to understand events succinctly by
the quickly succeeding effects they produced at the time.
Another ten minutes elapsed — ten minutes which I shall never
204 ^^^' ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
forget, because every one of the thousands present on the
Place du Carrousel was m momentary danger of having the
life "crushed out of him. It was no one's fault ; there was, if I
recollect rightly, but one narrow issue on the river-side, and
there was a dense seething mass standing on the banks, not-
withstanding the danger of that position, for the insurgents
were firing freely and recklessly across the stream. Egress on
the opposite side of the Place du Carrousel, that of the Place
du Palais-Royal, had become absolutely impossible, for at that
moment a fierce battle was raging there between the people
and the National Guards for the possession of the military post
of the Chateau d'Eau ;* and those of the non-combatants who
did not think it necessary to pay for the fall or the mair^^nance
of the monarchy of July with life or limb, tried to get out of
the bullets' reach. There was but one way of doing so, by a
stampede in a southerly direction ; the Rue de Rivoli, at any
rate that part which existed, was entirely blocked to the west,
the congeries of-streets that have been pulled down since to
make room for its prolongation to the east were bristling with
barricades: hence the terrible, suft'ocating crush, in which
several persons lost their lives. The most curious incident
connected with these awful ten minutes was that of a woman
and her baby. When Cremieux issued for the second time
from the Tuileries, it was to confirm the news of the king's
abdication. Almost immediately afterwards, the masses on the
quay were making for the Place de la Concorde and the Palais-
Bourbon, whither, it was rumored, the Duchesse d'Orleans
and her two sons were going ; and gradually the wedged-in
mass on the Place du Carrousel found breathing space. Then
the woman was seen to fall down like a ninepin that has been
toppled over ; she was dead, but her baby, which she had held
above the crowd, and which they had, as it were, to wrench
from her grasp, was alive and well.
I stood for a little while longer on the Place du Carrousel,
trying to make up my mind whether to proceed to the Place
de la Concorde or to the Place de I'Hotel de Ville. I knew
that the newly elected powers, whosoever they might be, would
make their appearance at the latter spot, but how long it would
be before they came, I had not the least idea. I was de-
termined, however, to see at any rate one act of the drama or
the farce ; for even then there was no knowing in what guise
* So called after a large ornamental fountain ; the same, I believe, which subsequently
was transferred to what is now called the Place de la Republique, and which finally found
Us way to the Avenue Daumesnil, where it stands at present. — Editor.
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 205
events would present themselves. I could hear the reports of
firearms on both sides of me, though why there should be
firing when the king had thrown up the sponge, I could not
make out for the life of me. I did not know France so well
then as I know her now. I did not know then that there is no
man or, for that matter, no woman on the civilized earth so
heedlessly and obdurately bloodthirsty when he or she works
himself into a fury as the professedly debonnaire Parisian pro-
letarian. Nevertheless, I decided to go to the Hotel de Ville,
and had carefully worked my way as far as the site of the pres-
ent Place du Chatelet, when I was compelled to retrace my
steps. The elite of the Paris scum was going to dictate its
will to the new Government ; it was marching to the Chamber
of Deputies with banners flying. One of the latter was a red-
and-white striped flannel petticoat, fastened to a tremendously
long pole. I had no choice, and if at that moment my friends
had seen me they might have easily imagined that I had be-
come one of the leaders of the revolutionary mob. We took
by the Quai de la Megisserie, and just before the Pont des
Arts there was a momentary halt. The vanguard, which I was
apparently leading, had decided to turn to the right ; in other
words, to visit the abode of the hated tyrant. Had I belonged
to the main division, I should have witnessed a really more
important scene, from the historical point of view ; as it was, I
witnessed —
The Sacking of the Tuileries.
The idea that " there is a divinity that hedgeth round a
king " seemed, I admit, preposterous enough at that moment ;
but I could not help being struck with its partial truth on seeing
the rabble invade the palace. When I say the rabble, I mean
the rabble, though there were a great many persons whom it
would be an insult to class as such, and who from sheer
curiosity, or because they could not help themselves, had gone
in with them. The doors proved too narrow, and those who
could not enter by that way entered by the windows. The
whole contingent of the riff-raff, male and female, weltering,
in the adjacent streets — and such streets ! — was there. Well,
for. the first ten minutes they stood positively motionless, not
daring to touch anything. It was not the fear of being
caught pilfering and punished summarily that prevented them.
The minority which might have protested was so utterly in-
significant in numbers, as to make action on their part im-
possible. No, it was neither fear nor shame that stayed the
2o6 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
rabble's hands ; it was a sentiment for which I can find no
name. It was the consciousness that these objects had
belonged to a king, to a royal family, which made them gaze
upon them in a kind of superstitious wonder. It did not
last long. We were on the ground floor, which mainly
consisted of the private apartments of the household of
Louis-Philippe. We were wandering, or rather squeezing,
through the study and bedroom of the king himself, through
the sitting-rooms of the princes and princesses. I do not
think that a single thing was taken from there at that particular
time. But as if the atmosphere their rulers had breathed but
so very recently became too oppressive, the crowd swayed
towards the vestibule, and ascended the grand staircase. Then
the spell was broken. The second batch that entered through
the windows, when we had made room for them, were ap-
parently not affected by wonder and respect, for, half an hour
later, when I came down again, every cupboard, every ward-
robe, had been forced, though it is but fair to say that very
little seems to have been taken ; the contents, books, clothing,
linen, etc., were scattered on the floors ; but the cellars, con-
taining over four thousand bottles of wine, were positively
empty. Two hours later, however, the clothing, especially
that of the princesses, had totally disappeared. It had dis-
appeared on the backs' of the inmates of St. Lazare, the doors
of which had been thrown open, and who had rushed to the
Tuileries to deck themselves with these fine feathers which, in
this instance, did not make fine birds. I saw some of them
that same evening on the Boulevards, and a more heart-rend-
ing spectacle I have rarely beheld.
The three hours I spent at the Tuileries were so crowded
with events as to make a succinct account of them altogether
impossible. I can only give fragments, because, though at
first the wearers of broadcloth were not molested, this tolerance
did not last long on the part of the new possessors of the
Tuileries ; and consequently the former gradually dropped off,
and those of them who remained had to be very circumspect,
and, above all, not to linger long in the same spot. This grow-
ing hostility might have been nipped in the bud by our follow-
ing the example of the National Guards, and taking off our
coats and fraternizing with the rabble ; but I frankly confess
that I had neither the courage nor the stomach to do so. I
have read descriptions of mutinous sailors stowing in casks of
rum and gorging themselves with victuals ; revolting as such
scenes must be to those who take no active part in them, I
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
207
doubt whether they could be as revolting as the one I witnessed
in the Galerie de Diane.
The Galerie de Diane was one of the large reception-rooms
on the first floor, but it generally served as the dining and break-
fast room of the royal family. The table had been laid for
about three dozen persons, because, as a rule, Louis-Philippe
invited the principal members of his military and civil house-
holds to take their repasts with him. The breakfast had been
interrupted, and not been cleared away. When I entered the
apartment some sixty or seventy ruffians of both sexes were
seated at the board, while a score or so were engaged in wait-
ing upon them. They were endeavoring to accomplish what
the Highest Authority has declared impossible of accomplish-
ment, namely, the making of silken purses out of sows' ears.
They were " putting on " what they considered " company
manners," and, under any other circumstances but these, the
attempt would have proved irresistibly comic to the educated
spectator ; as it was, it brought tears to one's eyes. I have
already hinted elsewhere that the cuisine at the Tuileries dur-
ing Louis-Philippe's reign was . execrable, though the wine was
generally good. Bad as was the fare on that abandoned break-
fast-table, it must, nevertheless, have been superior to that
usually partaken of by the convives who had taken the place
of the fugitive king and princes. They, the convives, however,
did not think so ; they criticised the food, and ordered the im-
provised attendants " to give them something different ; " then
they turned to their female companions, filling their glasses
and paying them compliments. But for the fact of another
batch eagerly claiming their turn, the repast would have been
indefinitely prolonged ; as it was, the provisions in the palace
were running short, and the deficiency had to be made up by
supplies from outside. The inner man being refreshed, the
ladies were invited to take a stroll through the apartments,
pending the serving of the cafe and liqueurs. The preparation
of the mocha was somewhat difficult, seeing the utensils neces-
sary for the supply of so large a company were probably not
at hand, and the ingredients themselves in the store-rooms of
the palace. Nothing daunted, one of the self-invited guests
rose and said, in a loud voice, " Permettez moi d'offrir le cafe
k la compagnie," which offer was received with tumultuous ap-
plause. Suiting the action to the word, he pulled out a small
canvas bag, and took from it two five-franc pieces. " Qu'on
aille chercher du cafe et du meilleur," he said to one of the
guests who had stepped forward to execute his orders, for they
2o8 AjV englishman in PARIS.
sounded almost like it ; and I was wondering why those pro-
fessed champions of equality did not tell him to fetch the coffee
himself. Then he added, " Et pendant que tu y es, citoyen,
apportedes cigarres pour nous et des cigarettes pour les dames."
The " citoyen " was already starting on his errand, when the
other *' citoyen " called him back. " Ecoute," he said; "tu
n'acheteras rien a moins d'y etre force. Je crois que tu n'auras
qu'k demander a la premiere epicerie venue ce qu'il te faut, et
ainsi au premier bureau de tabac. lis ont si peur, ces sales
bourgeois qu'ils n'oseront pas te refuser. En tout cas prends
un fusil ; on ne salt pas ce qui peut arriver ; mais ne t'en sers
pas qu'en cas de necessite : " — which meant plainly enough,
" If they refuse to give you the coffee and the tobacco, shoot
them down."
Of course, I am unable to say how these two commodities
were eventually procured ; but I have every reason to believe
that this messenger had only " to ask and have," without as
much as showing his musket. There is no greater cur at trou-
blous times than the Paris shopkeeper. The merest urchin will
terrify him. Even on the previous day I had seen bands of
gamins who had constituted themselves the guardians of the
barricades — and there was one in nearly every street — levy toll
without the slightest resistance, when a few well-administered
cuffs would have sent them flying, so I have not the slightest
doubt that our friend had all the credit of his generosity with-
out disbursing a penny — unless his delegate fleeced him also,
on the theory that a man who could " fork out " ten francs at
a moment's notice was nothing more or less than a bourgeois.
However, when I returned after about forty minutes' absence,
it was very evident that both the coffee and the tobacco had
arrived, because the Galerie de Diane, large as it was, was full
of smoke, and three saucepans, filled with water, were standing
on the fire, while two or three smaller ones were arranged on
the almost priceless marble mantelpiece. Another batch of
ravenous republicans had taken their seats at the board, their
predecessors whiling the time away in sweet converse with the
"ladies." Some of the latter were more usefully engaged;
they were rifling the cabinets of the most rare and valuable
Sevres, and arranging the cups, saucers, platters on their tops
to be ready for the beverage that was being brewed. I was
wondering how they had got at these art-treasures, having no-
ticed an hour before that their receptacles were locked and the
keys taken away. The doors had simply been battered in with
the hammer of the great clock of the Tuileries.
A N ENGLISH MA N IiV PA AVS. 2 09
It was of apiece with the wanton destruction I had witnessed
elsewhere, during my absence from the Galerie de Diane. Be-
fore I returned thither, I had seen the portrait of General
Bugeaud in the Salle des Marechaux, literally stabbed with
bayonets ; the throne treated to a similar fate, and carried off
to the Place de la Bastille to be burned publicly ; the papers
of the royal family mercilessly flung to the winds ; the dresses
of the princesses torn to ribbons or else put on the backs of
the vilest of the vile.
There was only one comic incident to relieve the horror of
the whole. In one of the private apartments the rabble had
come upon an aged parrot screeching at the top of its voice,
" A bas Guizot ! " The bird became a hero there and then,
and was absolutely crammed with sweets and sugar. That
one comic note was not enough to dispel my disgust, and after
the scene in the Galerie de Diane which I have just described,
I made my way into the street.
I had scarcely proceeded a few steps, when I heard the not
very startling news that the republic had been formally pro-
claimed in the Chamber by M. de Lamartine, who had after-
wards repaired to the Hotel de Ville. At the same time, peo-
ple were shouting that the king had died suddenly. I endeav-
ored to get as far, but, though the distance was certainly not
more than half a mile, it took me more than an hour. At every
few yards my progress was interrupted by barricades, the self-
elected custodians of which were particularly anxious to show
their authority to a man like myself, dressed in a coat. At
last I managed to get to the corner of the Rues des Lombards
and Saint-Martin, and just in time to enjoy a sight than which
I have witnessed nothing more comic during the succeeding
popular uprisings in subsequent years. I was just crossing,
when a procession hove in sight, composed mainly of ragged
urchins, dishevelled women, and riff-raff of both sexes. In
their midst was an individual on horseback, dressed in the
uniform of a general of the First Republic, whom they were
cheering loudly. The stationary crowd made way for them,
and mingled with the escort. The moment I had thrown in
my lot with the latter, retreat was no longer possible, and in a
very short time I found myself in the courtyard of the Hotel
de Ville, and, in another minute or so, in the principal gallery
on the first floor, where, it appears, some members of the Pro-
visional Government were already at work. I had not the re-
motest notion who they were, nor did I care to inquire, having
merely come to look on. The work of the members of the Pro-
210 AN ENGLISHMA N IN PA RIS.
visional Government seemed mainly to consist in consuming
enormous quantities of charcuterie and washing them down with
copious libations of cheap wine. The place was positively reek-
ing with the smell of both, not to mention the fumes of tobacco.
Every one was smoking his hardest. The entrance of the in-
dividual in uniform caused somewhat of a sensation ; a member
— whom I had never seen before and whom I have never be-
held since — stepped forward to ask his business. The new-
comer did not appear to know himself ; at any rate, he stam-
mered and stuttered, but his escort left him no time to betray
his confusion more plainly. " C'est le citoyen gouverneur de
r Hotel de Ville," they shouted as with one voice ; and there
and then the new governor was installed, though I am perfectly
sure that not a soul of all those present knew as much as his
name.
Subsequent inquiries elicited the fact that the man was a
fourth or fifth-rate singer, named Chateaurenaud, and engaged
at the Opera National (formerly the Cirque Olympique) on the
Boulevard du Temple. On that day they were having a dress
rehearsal of a new piece in which Chateaurenaud was playing
a military part. He had just donned his costume when, hear-
ing a noise on the Boulevards, he put his head out of the
window. The mob caught sight of him. " A general, a
general ! " cried several urchins ; and in less time than it takes
to tell, the theatre was invaded, and notwithstanding his
struggles, Chateaurenaud was carried off, placed on horseback,
and conducted to the Hotel de Ville, where, for the next fort-
night, he throned as governor. For, curious to relate, M. de
Lamartine ratified his appointment (?) on the morning of the
25th of February. Chateaurenaud became an official of the
secret police during the Second Empire. I often saw him on
horseback in the Bois de Boulogne, when the Emperor drove
in that direction.
I did not stay long in the Hotel de Ville, but made my way
back to the Boulevards as best I could ; for by that time dark-
ness had set in, and the mob was shouting for illuminations,
and obstructing the thoroughfares everywhere. Every now
and then one came upon a body which had been lying there
since the morning, but they took no notice of it. Their prin-
cipal concern seemed the suitable acknowledgment of the
advent ot the Second Republic by the bourgeoisie by means
of colored devices, or, in default of such, by colored lamps
or even candles. Woe to the houses, the inhabitants of which
remained deaf to their summons to that effect. In a very few
AJSr ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. i 1 1
minutes every window was smashed to atoms, until at last a
timid hand was seen to arrange a few bottles with candles
stuck into them on the sill, and light them. Then they
departed, to impose their will elsewhere.
That night after dinner, the first person of my acquaintance I
met was Mery. He had been in the Chamber of Deputies from
the very beginning of the proceedings ; it was he who solemnly
assured me that the first cry of " Vive la Republique ! " had
been uttered by M. de Lamartine. I was surprised at this,
because I had been told that early in the morning the poet had
paid a visit to the Duchess d'Orleans to assure her of his
devotion to her cause. " That may be so," said Mery, to
whom I repeated what I had heard ; " but you must remember
that Lamartine is always hard up, and closely pursued by
duns. A revolution with the prospect of becoming president
of the republic was the only means of staving off his creditors.
He clutched at it as a last resource."
Alexandre Dumas was there also, but I have an idea that
he would have willingly passed the sponge over that incident
of his life, for I never could get him to talk frankly on the
subject. Tl^is does not mean that he would have recanted his
republican principles, but that he was ashamed at having lent
his countenance to such a republic as that. I fancy there
were a great many like him.
CHAPTER XI.
I KNEW Louis-Napoleon, if not intimately, at least very well,
for nearly a quarter of a century, and I felt myself as little com-
petent to give an opinion on him on the last as on the first
day of our acquaintance. I feel almost certain of one thing
though ; that, if he had had very ample means of his own, the
Second Empire would have never been. Since its fall I have
heard and read a great deal about Louis-Napoleon's unfaltering
belief in his star ; I fancy it would have shone less brightly to
him but for the dark, impenetrable sky of impecuniosity in which
it was set. Mery said that Lamartine proclaimed the Second
Republic as a means of staving off his creditors ; and the ac-
cusation was justified by Lamartine's own words in the Assem-
blee Nationale itself on the nth of September, 1848: " Je
declare hautement que le 24 Fevrier a midi, je ne pensais pas
a la Republique." To use a popular locution, the author of
2 1 2 ^.V ENGLISHMAN IN PA RIS.
" L'Histoire des Girondins " suspected, perhaps, that Louis-
Napoleon might take a leaf from his, the author's, book ; for
the needy man, though perhaps not a better psychologist than
most men, has a very comprehensive key to the motives of a
great number of his fellow-creatures, especially if they be French-
men and professional politicians. I am speaking by the light
of many years' observation. Furthermore, the pecuniary em-
barrassments of Louis-Napoleon were no secret to any one.
" I have established a republic for money's sake," Lamartine
said to himself ; " some one will endeavor to overthrow it for
money's sake." I am aware that this is not a very elevated
standard whereby to judge political events ; but I do not pro-
fess to be an historian — mine is only the little huckster shop
of history.
It is more than probable that this was the reason why Lamar-
tine told Louis-Napoleon to go back to England, in their inter-
view— a secret one — on the 2d of March, 1848.
It was M. de Persigny who told me this many years after-
wards. "The Prince could afford to humor De Lamartine in
that way," he added, " for if ever a man was justified in believ-
ing in his star it was he. I'll tell you a story which is scarcely
known to half a dozen men, including the Emperor and myself ;
I am not aware of its having been told by any biographer. The
moment we ascertained the truth of the news that reached us
from Paris, we made for the coast, and, on Saturday morning,
we crossed in the mail-packet. It w^as very rough, and we had
a good shaking, so that when we got to Boulogne we were ab-
solutely 'done up.' But we heard that a train was to start for
Paris, and, as a matter of course, the Prince would not lose a
minute. We had to walk to Neufchatel, about three miles dis-
tant, because there was something the matter with the rails, I
do not know what. We flung ourselves into the first compart-
ment, which already contained two travellers. Almost immedi-
ately we had got under weigh, one of these, who had looked
very struck when he entered, addressed the Prince by name.
He turned out to be Monsieur Biesta, who had paid a visit to
Napoleon during his imprisonment at Ham, and who immedi-
ately recognized him. Monsieur Biesta had just left the Due
de Nemours. I do not know whether he was at that time a
Republican, a Monarchist, or an Imperialist, but he was a man
of honor, and it was thanks to him that the son of Louis-Phi-
lippe made his escape. The other one was the Marquis d'Arra-
gon, who died about a twelvemonth afterwards. All went well
until we got to Amiens, where we had to wait a very long while,
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. :2i3
the train which was to have taken us on to Paris having just left.
For once in a way the Prince got impatient. He who on the
eve of the Coup d'Etat remained, at any rate outwardly, per-
fectly stolid, was fuming and fretting at the delay. One would
have thought that the whole of Paris was waiting at the North-
ern station to receive him with open arms, and to proclaim
him Emperor there and then. But impatient or not, we had to
wait, and, what was worse or better, the train that finally took
us came to a dead stop at Persan, where the news reached us
that the rails had been broken up by the insurgents at Pontoise,
that a frightful accident had happened in consequence to the
train we had missed by a few minutes at Amiens, in which at
least thirty lives were lost, besides a great number of wounded.
But for the merest chance we should have been among the pas-
sengers. Was I right in saying that the Prince was justified
in believing in his star ? "
I did not meet with Louis-Napoleon until he was a candidate
for the presidency of the Second Republic, and while he
was staying at the Hotel du Rhin in the Place Vendome. Of
course, I had heard a great deal about him, but my informants,
to a man, were English. While the latter were almost unani-
mous in predicting Louis-Napoleon's eventual advent to the
throne, the French, though in no way denying the influence of
the Napoleonic legend, were apt to shrug their shoulders more
or less contemptuously at the pretensions of Hortense's son ;
for few ever designated him by any other name, until later on,
when the nickname of " Badinguet " began to be on every one's
lips. Consequently, I was anxious to catch a glimpse of him ;
but before noting the impressions produced by that first meet-
ing, I will devote a few lines to the origin of that celebrated
sobriquet.
Personally, I never heard it in connection with Louis-Na-
poleon until his betrothal to Mdlle. Eugenie de Montijo became
common " talk ; " but I had heard and seen it in print a good
many years before, and even as late as '48. There was, how-
ever, not the slightest attempt at that time to couple it with
the person of the future Emperor. Three solutions have made
the round of the papers at various times : (i) that it was the
name of the stonemason or bricklayer who lent Louis-Napo-
leon his clothes to facilitate his escape from Ham in June,
1845 5 (2) that it was the name of the soldier who was wound-
ed by the Prince on the 5th of August, 1840, at Boulogne,
when the latter fired on Captain Col-Puygellier ; (3) that about
the latter end of the forties a pipe-manufacturer introduced a
i> 1 4 ^ A" ENGLISHMAN IN PA RIS.
pipe, the head of which resembled that of Louis-Napoleon, and
that the pipemaker's name was Badinguet.
The latter solution may be dismissed at once as utterly with-
out foundation. With regard to that having reference to the
stonemason, no stonemason lent Louis-Napoleon his clothes.
The disguise was provided by Dr. Conneau from a source
which has never been revealed. There was, moreover, no
stonemason of the name of Badinguet at Ham, and, when Louis-
Napoleon crossed the drawbridge of the castle, his face par-
tially hidden by a board he was carrying on his shoulder, a
workman, who mistook him for one of his mates, exclaimed,
" Hullo, there goes Bertoux." Bertoux, not Badinguet.
The name of the soldier wounded by Louis-Napoleon was
Geoffroy ; he was a grenadier, decorated on the battle-field ;
and shortly after Napoleon's accession to the throne, he granted
him a pension. There can be no possible mistake about the
narne, seeing that it was attested at the trial subsequent to the
fiasco before the Court of Peers.
The real fact is this : Gavarni, like Balzac, invented many
names, suggested in many instances by those of their friends
and acquaintances, or sometimes merely altered from those
they had seen on sign-boards. The great caricaturist had a
friend in the Departement des Landes named Badingo ; about
'38 he began his sketches of students and their companions
(" Etudiants et Etudiantes"), and in one of them a medical
student shows his lady-love an articulated skeleton.
" Look at this," says the former ; " this is Eugenie, the former
sweetheart of Badinguet — that tall, fair girl who was so fond
of meringues. He has had her mounted for thirty-six francs.^'
The connection is very obvious ; it only wanted one single
wag to remember the sT^it when Napoleon became engaged to
Eugenie de Montijo. He set the ball rolling, and the rest
followed as a matter of course.
At the same time, Gavarni had not been half as original as
he imagined, in the invention of the name. Badinguet was a
character in a one-act farce entitled " Le Mobilier de Rosine,"
played for the first time in 1828, at the Theatre Montansier ;
and there is a piece of an earlier date even, in which Grassot
played a character by the name of Badinguet. In 1848, there
was a kind of Jules Vernesque piece at the Porte Saint-Martin,
in which Badinguet, a Parisian shopkeeper, starts with his wife
Euphemie for some distant island.
To return to Louis-Napoleon at the Hotel du Rhin, and my
first glimpse of him. I must own that 1 was disappointed with
A.V ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 2 1 5
it. Though I had not the slightest ground for expecting to
see a fine man, I did not expect to see so utterly an insignificant
one, and badly dressed in the bargain. On the evening in
question, he wore a brown coat of a peculiar color, a green
plush waistcoat, and a pair of yellowish trousers, the like of
which I have never seen on the legs of any one off the stage.
And yet Lord Normanby, and a good many more who have
said that he looked every inch a king, were not altogether wrong.
There was a certain gracefulness about him which owed ab-
solutely nothing either to his tailor, his barber, or his bootmaker.
" The gracefulness of awkwardness" sounds remarkably like an
Irish bull, yet I can find no other term to describe his gait and
carriage. Louis-Napoleon's legs seemed to have been an after-
thought of his Creator — they were too short for his body, and
his head appeared constantly bent down, to supervise their mo-
tion ; consequently, their owner was always at a disadvantage
when compelled to make use of them. But when standing still,
or on horseback, there was an indescribable something about
the man which at once commanded attention. I am not over-
looking the fact that, on the occasion of our first meeting, my
curiosity had been aroused ; but I doubt whether any one, en-
dowed with the smallest power of observation, though utterly
ignorant with regard to his previous history, and equally scep-
tical with regard to his future destiny, could have been in his
company for any length of time without being struck with his
appearance.
When I entered the apartment on the evening in question,
Louis-Napoleon was leaning in his favorite attitude against the
mantelpiece, smoking the scarcely ever absent cigarette, and
pulling at the heavy brown mustache, the ends of which in
those days were not waxed into points as they were later on.
There was not the remotest likeness to any portrait of the Bona-
parte family I had ever seen. He wore his thin, lank hair much
longer than he did afterwards. The most startling features
were decidedly the aquiline nose and the eyes ; the latter of a
grayish-blue, were comparatively small and somewhat almond-
shaped, but, except at rare intervals, there was an impenetrable
look, which made it exceedingly difficult, if not impossible, to
read their owner's thoughts by them. If they were " the win-
dows of his soul," their blinds were constantly down. The " I am
pleased to see you, sir," with which he welcomed me, holding
out his hand at the same time, was the English of an educated
German who had taken great pains to get the right accent and
pronunciation, without, however, completely succeeding ; and
2 1 6 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
when I heard him speak French, I detected at once his constant
struggle with the same difficulties. The struggle lasted till the
very end of his life, though, by dint of speaking very slowly,
he overcame them to a marvellous extent. But the moment
he became in any way excited, the/'s and /'s and the/'s were
always trying to oust the 7/s and d's and the /^'s from their
newly-acquired positions, and oftien gained a momentary vic-
tory. There is an amusing story to that effect, in connection
with Napoleon's first interview with Bismarck. I will not vouch
for its truth, but, on the face of it, it sounds blunt enough to
be genuine. The Emperor was complimenting the German
statesman on his French.
" M. de Bismarck, I have never heard a German speak
French as you do," said Napoleon.
" Will you allow me to return the compliment, sire 1 "
" Certainly."
" I have never heard a Frenchman speak French as you
do." =*
When Prince Louis-Napoleon held out his hand and I looked
into his face, I felt almost tempted to put him down as an
opium-eater. Ten minutes afterwards, I felt convinced that
to use a metaphor, he himself was the drug, and that every
one with whom he came in contact was bound to yield to its
influence. When I came away that evening, I could have
given Cavaignac, Thiers, Lamartine, Hugo, and the rest, who
wanted to make a cat's-paw of him, a timely warning, if they
would have condescended to listen to, and profit by it, which I
am certain they would not have done. Strange as it may seem,
every one of these men, and, with the exception of one, all un-
doubtedly clever, thought Louis Napoleon either an imbecile
or a secret drunkard. And, what is more, they endeavored to
propagate their opinion throughout the length and breadth, not
only of France, but of Europe.
As usual, the one who was really the greatest nonentity among
the latter was most lavish in his contempt. I am alluding to
General Cavaignac. The nobodies who have governed or
misgoverned France since the fall of Sedan were, from an in-
tellectual point of view, eagles compared to that surly and
bumptuous drill-sergeant, who had nothing, absolutely nothing,
to recommend him for the elevated position he coveted. He
* In the documents relating to the affair at Strasburg, there is the report to Louis-
Philippe by an officer in the 46th regiment of the line, named Pleign^, in which the latter,
borrowing the process of Balzac as applied to the French of the Baron de Nucingen, credits
Louis-Napoleon with the following phrase : " Fous Hes ticori de Chuillet ; fous te/ez Hre
UM^a/ef chf vous i^core."— Editor.
AN- ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS,
2iy
was the least among all those brilliant African soldiers whose
names and prowess were on every one's lips ; he had really
been made a hero of, at so much per line, by the staff of the
National^ where his brother Godefroy wielded unlimited power.
He was all buckram ; and, in the very heart of Paris, and in
the midst of that republic whose fiercest watchword, whose loud-
est cry, was " equality," he treated partisans and opponents alike,
as he would have treated a batch of refractory Arabs in a distant
province of that newly-conquered African soil. He disliked
every one who did not wear a uniform, and assumed a critical
attitude towards every one who did. His republicanism was
probably as sincere as that of Thiers — it meant " La Republique
c'est moi: " with this difference, that Thiers was amiable,
witty, and charming, though treacherous, and that Cavaignac
was the very reverse. His honesty was beyond suspicion ;
that is, he felt convinced that he was the only possible saviour
of France : but it was impaired by his equally sincere convic-
tion that bribery and coercion — of cajoling he would have none
— were admissible, nay, incumbent to attain that end. " Thiers,
c'est la republique en ecureuil, Cavaignac c'est la republique
en ours mal leche," said a witty journalist. He and Louis-
Napoleon were virtually the two men who were contending for
the presidential chair, and the chances of Cavaignac may be
judged by the conclusion of the verbal report of one of Lamo-
ricibre's emissaries, who canvassed one of the departments.
" ' The thing might be feasible,' said an elector, * if your
general's name was Genevieve de Brabant, or that of one of
the four sons of Aymon."* But his name is simply Cavaignac
— Cavaignac, and that's all. I prefer Napoleon ; at any rate,
there is a ring about that name.' And 1 am afraid that eleven-
twelfths of the electors are of the same opinion."
As for Ledru Rollin, Raspail, Changarnier, and even La-
martine and the Prince de Joinville, some of whom were candi-
dates against their will, they were out of the running from the
very start, though, curiously enough, the son of the monarch
whom the republic had driven from the throne obtained more
votes than the man who had proclaimed that republic. These
votes were altogether discarded as unconstitutional, though
one really fails to see why one member of a preceding dynasty
should have been held to be more eligible than another. Be
this as it may,*the votes polled by the sailor prince amounted
to over twenty-three thousand, showing that he enjoyed a cer-
* The four knights of 'a Carlovingian legend, who were mounted on one horse named
Bayard.— Editor.
2 1 8 JA^ ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS,
tain measure of popularity. It is doubtful whether the Due
d'Aumale or the Due de Nemours would have obtained a fifth
of that number. As I have already said, the latter was dis-
liked by his father's opponents for his suspeeted Legitimist ten-
deneies, and taeitly blamed by some of the partisans of the
Orleanist regime for his laek of resistance on the 2 4th of Febru-
ary ; the former's submission " to the will of the nation," as em-
bodied in a manifesto "to the inhabitants of Algeria," provoked
no enthusiasm either among friends or foes.* Perhaps public
rumor was not altogether wrong, when it averred that the
D'Orleans were too tight-fisted to spend their money in elec-
tioneering literature. • The expense involved in that item was a
terrible obstacle to Louis-Napoleon and his few faithful hench-
men ; for, though the Napoleonic idea was pervading all classes
of society, there was, correctly speaking, no Bonapartist party
to shape it for the practical purposes of the moment. The
Napoleonic idea was a fond remembrance of France's glorious
past, rather than a hope of its renewal in the future. Even
the greatest number of the most ardent worshippers of that
marvellous soldier of fortune, doubted whether his nephew was
sufficiently popular to obtain an appreciable following, and
those who did not doubt were mostly poor. While Dufaure
and Lamoriciere were scattering money broadcast, and using
pressure of the most arbitrary kind, in order to insure Cavai-
gnac's success, Louis-Napoleon and his knot of partisans were
absolutely reduced to their own personal resources. Miss
Howard — afterwards Comtesse de Beauregard — and Princesse
Mathilde had given all they could ; a small loan was obtained
from M. Fould ; and some comparatively scanty supplies had
been forthcoming from England — it was said at the time, with
how much truth I know not, that Lords Palmerston and
Malmesbury had contributed : but the exchequer was virtually
empty. A stray remittance of a few thousand francs, from an
altogether unexpected quarter, and most frequently from an
anonymous sender, arrived now and then ; but it was what the
Germans call " a drop of water in a very hot frying-pan ; " it
barely sufficed to stop a hole. Money was imperatively wanted
for the printing of millions upon millions of handbills,
thousands and thousands of posters, and their distribution ; for
the expenses of canvassers, electioneering agents, and so forth.
The money went to the latter, the rest was obtained on credit.
* During the sacking of the Tuileries, the mob ruthlessly destroyed the busts and pictures
of every living son of Louis-Philippe, with the exception of those of the Prince de Joiuville.
— Editor.
AlSr ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 2 19
Prince Louis, confident of success, emptied his pockets of the
last five-franc pieces ; when he had no more, he promised to
pay. He was as badly off as his famous uncle before the turn
of fortune came.
In connection with this dire impecuniosity, I remember a
story for the truth of which I can vouch as if I had had it from
Louis-Napoleon's own lips. In front of Siraudin's confec-
tioner's shop at the angle of the Boulevard des Capucines and
the Rue de la Paix, there sits an old woman with two wooden
legs. About '48, when she was very pretty and dressed with
a certain coquettishness, she was already there, though sitting
a little higher up, in front of the wall of the Ministry of Foreign
Affairs, which has since made room for the handsome establish-
ment of Giroux. Behind her, on the wall, were suspended for
sale some cheap and not very artistically executed reproduc-
tions of Fragonard, " Le Coucher de la Marie'e," etc., all of
which would fetch high prices now ; also songs, the tunes of
which she played with great taste on her violin. It was re-
ported that she had been killed during the attack on the minis-
try, but to people's great surprise she reappeared a few days
afterwards. Prince Louis, who was staying in the Place Ven-
dome, then used to take a short cut by the Rue Neuve des
Capucines to the Boulevards, and it seems that he never
passed her without giving her something. In a few weeks she
came to look upon his contributions as a certain part of her
income. She knew who he was, and, curiously enough, seemed
to be aware not only of his political preoccupations, but of his
pecuniary embarrassments. I am unable to say whether she
was in sympathy with the former, but she was evidently con-
cerned about the latter ; for, one evening, after thanking Louis-
Napoleon, she added, *' Monseigneur, je voudrais vous dire un
mot."
" Parlez, madame."
" On me dit que vous etes fort gene dans ce moment. J'ai
trois billets de mille francs chez moi, qui ne font rien. Voulez-
vous me permettre de vous les offrir; vous me les rendrez
quand vous serez empereur."
Prince Louis did not accept them, but he never forgot a
kindness, and when he did become Emperor, he offered her a
small annuity. The answer was characteristic of her indepen-
dence. " Dites a I'empereur qu'il est bien bon de se rappeler
de moi, mais je ne puis pas accepter son offre. S'il avait
accepte mon argent, je ne dis pas, maintenant, non." And
while I am writing these notes, she still sits in her usual place,
2 2 o A A' £A'GL ISHMA N IN PA RIS.
though I have heard it said more than once that she is the
owner of one or two houses in the Avenue de I'Opera, and
that she gave a considerable marriage portion to her daughter,
who has remained ignorant of the sources of her mother's in-
come, who was educated in the country, and has never been to
Paris. One of the conditions of her marriage was that she
should emigrate to Australia. For the latter part of the story,
I will, however, not vouch.
During the months of October and November, '48, I saw
Prince Louis at least a dozen times, though only once away
from his own apartments. There was really " nowhere to go,"
for most of the salons had closed their doors, and those which
remained open were invaded by political partisans of all shades>
Conversation, except on one topic, there was little or none.
Social entertainments were scarcely to be thought of after the
bloody disorders in June : Paris trade suffered in consequence,
and the whole of the shop-keeping element, which virtually
constituted the greater part of the Garde Nationale, regretted
the fall of the Orleans dynasty to which it had so materially
contributed. After these disorders in June, the troops bivou-
acked for a whole month on the Boulevards : on the Boulevard
du Temple with its seven theatres ; on the Boulevard Poisson-
niere, almost in front of the Gymnase ; on the Boulevard Mont-
martre, in front of the Varietes ; on the Place de la Bourse, in
front of the Vaudeville. The new masters did not care to be
held up to ridicule ; they insinuated, rather than asserted, that
the insults levelled from the stage had contributed to the in-
surrection ; and, seeing that the bourgeoisie, very contrite al-
ready, did not care to hear " the praise of the saviours of the
country " by command, they deserted the play-houses and kept
their money in their pockets. The Constituent Assembly was
compelled to grant the managers an indemnity ; but, as it could
not keep the soldiers there forever, and as it cared still less to
vote funds to its enemies while its supporters were clamoring
for every cent of it, the strict supervision gradually relaxed.
The first to take advantage of this altered state of things was
Clairville, with his " La Propriete c'est le Vol " (November
28, '48), a skit on the celebrated phrase of Proudhon. It is
very doubtful whether the latter had uttered it in the sense
with which the playwright invested it ; but fear is proverbially
illogical, and every one in Paris ran to see the piece, trusting
probably that it might produce a salutary effect on those who
intended to take the philosopher's axiom literally,
" La Propriety c'est le Vol " was described on the bills as
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 221
" a socialistic extravaganza in three acts and seven tableaux."
The scene of the first tableau represents the garden of Eden.
The Serpent, who is the Evil Spirit, declares war at once upon
Adam, who embodies the principle of Property. The Serpent
was a deliberate caricature of Proudhon with his large spec-
tacles.
In the subsequent tableaux, Adam, by a kind of metempsy-
chosis, had been changed into Bonichon, an owner of house
property in the Paris of the nineteenth century. The Serpent,
though still wearing his spectacles, had been equally trans-
formed into a modern opponent of all property. We are in
February, '48. Bonichon and some of his fellow-bourgeois are
feasting in honor of the proposed measures of reform, when
they are scared out of their wits by the appearance of the Ser-
pent, who informs them that the Republic has sidled up to Re-
form, managed to hide itself beneath its cloak, and been pro-
claimed. The next scene brings us to the year 1852 (four years
in advance of the period), when the right of every one to live
by the toil of his hands has become law. Bonichon is being
harassed and persecuted by a crowd of handicraftsmen and
others, who insist on working for him whether he likes it or
not. The glazier smashes his windows, in order to compel him
to have new panes put in. The paperhanger tears the paper
off his walls on the same principle. The hackney coachman
flings Bonichon into his cab, takes him for a four hours' drive,
and charges accordingly. A dentist imitates the tactics of
Peter the Great with his courtiers, forces him into a chair and
operates upon his grinders, though, unlike Peter, he claims the
full fee. A dozen or so of modistes and dressmakers invade
his apartments with double the number of gowns for Madame
Eve Bonichon, who, the reverse of her husband, does not object
to his violent appeal for her custom. Perhaps Madame Octave,
a charming woman who played the part, did well to submit,
because during the first tableau, the audience, though by no
means squeamish, had come to the conclusion that Madame
Eve would be all the better for a little more clothing.
And so the piece goes on. The first performance took place
twelve days before the presidential election, when Cavaignac
was still at the head of affairs. Notwithstanding his energetic
suppression of the disorders in June, every one, with the ex-
ception of the journalistic swashbucklers of Z<? iVh!//^?/?^/, hoped
to get rid of him ; and a song aimed at him cruelly dissected
his^utter insignificance from a mental, moral, and political point
222 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PA RIS.
of view. When Louis-Napoleon gained the day, the song was
changed for a more kindly one.
It is no exaggeration to say that during those days France
was absolutely governed by the National. I made a list, by
no means complete, at the time, of the various appointments
and high places that had fallen to the members of the staff
and those connected with it financially and otherwise. I have
kept it, and transcribe it here with scarcely any comment.
Armand Marrast, the editor, became a member of the Pro-
visional Government, Mayor of Paris, and subsequently Presi-
dent of the National Assembly.
Marrast (No. 2) became Procure ur-Gen^ral at Pau.
Marrast (No. 3), who had been a captain of light horse during
the reign of Louis-Philippe, was given a colonelcy unattached.
Marrast (No. 4) became Vice-principal of the Lyc^e Cor-
neille.
Bastide, one of the staff, became Minister for Foreign Affairs.
Vaulabelle, one of the staff, became Minister of Public
Education.
Goudchaux, the banker of the National., became Minister
of Finances.
Recurt, the chief -physician to the staff, became Minister of
the Interior and subsequently Minister of Public Works (Pres-
ident of the Board of Works).
Trelat, another physician, became Minister of Public
Works.
Marie, the solicitor to the Natio7ial^ became a member of
the Provisional Government, a member of the Executive
Committee, and subsequently Minister of Justice.
Genin, one of the staff, became chief of the literary depart-
ment at the Ministry of Pubhc Education.
Charras, one of the staff, became Under-Secretary of State,
at the Ministry for War.
Degouve-Denuncques, one of the staff, became Prefect of
the Department of the Somme.
Buchez, third physician and an occasional contributor, be-
came Deputy Mayor of Paris and subsequently President of
the Assembly up to the 15th of May (when he had to make
room for M. Armand Marrast himself). As will be seen,
within a month of the republicans' advent to power, M. Buchez
had been raised to one of the highest functions in the State,
though absolutely devoid of any political or parliamentary
talent, as was shown later on by his " Histoire Parlementaire de
la Revolution Frant^aise," an utterly commonplace production.
A A^ ENGLISHMA N IN PA RIS. 2^3
Dussart, one of the staff, became Prefect of the Seine-
Inferieure. ^
Adam, one of the staff, became Chief Secretary of the
Prefecture of the Seine.
Sain de Bois-le Comte, one of the staff, became minister
plenipotentiary at Turin.
Felicien Mallefille, one of the staff, became minister pleni-
potentiary at Lisbon.
Anselme Petetin, one of the staff, became minister pleni-
potentiary at Hanover.
Auguste Petetin (his brother), one of the staff, became Pre-
fect of the Department of the Cote-d'Or.
Frederic Lacroix, one of the staff, became chief secretary
for civil affairs in Algeria.
Hetzel, one of the staff, became chief secretary to the
Minister for Foreign Affairs.
Rousset, one of the staff, became Prefect of the Department
of the Loire.
Duclerc, shorthand reporter, became for a little while Min-
ister of Finances.
Pagnerre, publisher of the National, and bookseller, became
a mayor, a member of the Provisional Government, a member
of the Executive Committee, and finally Director of the Comp-
toir d'Escompte.
Achille Gregoire, the printer of the National, became Pre-
fect of the Department of the Upper-Saone.
Clement Thomas, called the Constable of the National, be-
came the Commander-in-chief of the National Guard of the
Seine.
There are a few more, friends and allies, such as Lalanne,
who M^as made director of the national workshops ; Levrault,
who was sent to Naples as minister plenipotentiary ; Carette,
who became Civil-Chief at Constantine ; Carteron, who was
appointed keeper of the national archives, etc.
As a matter of course, all these adventurers had revolving
around them a number of satellites, as eager as the former to
reap the fruits of the situation. Most of them, like the cat of
Heine's epigram, had to devour their steak raw ; they did not
know how to cook it. Ministers, prefects, and high dignitaries
of State as they were, they felt awkward in the society of
those to whom no illusion was possible with regard to their
origin and that of their political fortunes.
They haunted, therefore, by preference, the less well fre-
quented restaurants and cafes, the wings of the minor theatres,
224 ^ ^ ENGLISH Ma N IN PA RIS.
on the pretext that they were the elect of the people, and that
the people were » their fittest companions. Their erstwhile
leader and chief scorned to stoop to such tricks. He was an
educated man, with a thick veneer of the gentleman about
him, which, however, did not prevent him from being one of
the two most arrant snobs I have met anywhere. 1 advisedly
say anywhere, for France herself does not produce that objec-
tionable genus to any appreciable extent. You may find a
good many cads, you will find comparatively few snobs. Com-
pared to Armand Marrast, Eugene Sue was nowhere as a snob.
He was a thickset man with a rubicund face, with a mass of
gray woolly hair and a kind of stubbly, small moustache. His
manners were supposed to be modelled on those of the nobles
of the old regime ; said manners mainly consisting of swagger-
ing impudence to those whom he considered his equals, and
freezing insolence to those he deemed his inferiors. The
latter, I need not say, were by far the most numerous. He
who bellowed most loudly that birth should carry no privilege,
never forgot to remind his hearers, by deeds, if not by words,
that he was of noble descent. " Si sa famille etait nobie, sa
mere s'est surement endormie dans I'antichambre un jour qu'un
valet-de-chambre entreprenant etait trop pres," said the Mar-
quis d'Arragon one evening.* He felt greatly flattered at the
caricaturists of the day representing him in the court dress of
Louis XVI. 's reign, though to most people he looked like a
" marquis de quatre sous."t
He professed to be very fond of antique furniture and deco-
rations, and this fondness was the main cause of his ousting
his former subaltern, Buchez, from the presidential chair of
the Assembly, for, shortly before the revolution of '48, the
official residence of that functionary had been put in thorough
repair, its magnificent furniture had been restored, etc.
The depression of business inspired M. Armand Marrast
with the happy thought of giving some entertainments in the
hope of reviving it. During the Third Republic, though I had
ceased to live in France permanently, I have seen a good many
motley gatherings at the Elys^e-Bourbon, and at the H6tel-de-
Ville, especially in M. Grevy's time, though Mac-Mahon's
presidency offered some diverting specimens also ; but I
have never seen anything like the social functions at the
Palais-Bourbon during the months of September, October,
* The remark was not original. The Marquise d'Esprem^nil Isaid it of lierself when slie
saw her son join the Revolution of '89. — Editor.
t The peripatetic vendors of songs, dressed as nobles, who up till '60 were frequently
singing their compositions in the street.— Editor.
A AT ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 225
and November, 1848. They were absolutely the festive
scenes of Paul de Kock on a large scale, amidst Louis XIV.
and Louis XV. furniture, instead of the bourgeois mahogany,
and with an exquisitely artistic background, instead of the
commonplace paper-hangings of the lower middle-class dwell-
ings. The corps diplomatique was virtually on the horns of a
dilemma. After the February revolution, the shock of which was
felt throughout the whole of Europe, and caused most of the sov-
ereigns to shake on their thrones, it had stood by M. de Lamar-
tine, and even by his successor at the French Foreign Office, M.
Bastide, if not with enthusiasm, at least with a kind of com-
placency. The republic proclaimed by the former, might,
after all, contain elements of vitality. The terrible disorders
in June tended to shake this reluctant confidence ; still, there
was but little change in the ambassador's outward attitude,
until it became too evident that, unless a strong dictator should
intervene, mob rule was dangerously nigh. Then the corps
diplomatique began to hold aloof. Of course there were
exceptions, such as, for instance, Mr. Richard Rush, the
minister of the United States, who had been the first to con-
gratulate the Provisional Government, and the various rep-
resentives of the South-American republics ; but even the
latter could scarcely refrain from expressing their astonishment
at the strange company in which they found themselves. The
women were perhaps the most remarkable, as women generally
are when out of their element. The greater part had probably
never been in a drawing-room before, and, notwithstanding M.
Taine's subsequently expressed dictum about the facility with
which a Parisian grisette, shopwoman, or lady's-maid may be
transformed at a few moments into a semblance of a grattde
dame, these very petites bourgeoises and their demoiselles
made a very indifferent show. Perhaps the grisette, shop-
woman, or lady's-maid would have acquitted herself better.
Her natural taste, sharpened by constant contact with her social
superiors, might have made up for the slender resources of
her wardrobe ; and, as the French say, " one forgives much
in the way of solecism to the prettily dressed woman." As it
was, the female section of M. Marrast's guests could advance
no valid plea for mercy on that score. The daughters looked
limp with their choregraphic exertions ; the emblem of inno-
cence, " la sainte mousseline," as Ambroise Thomas called it
afterwards, hung in vague, undefined folds on angular figures,
perhaps because the starch necessary to it had been appropriated
by the matrons. The latter were rigid to a degree, and looked
^5
226 AN- ENGLISHMAN JN PARIS.
daggers at their spouses and their friends at the slightest
attempt to stir them to animation. " Fais done danser ma
vieille," was the consecrated formula with which a not very eager
cavalier was dragged to the seat where said " vieille" was
reposing in all the majesty of her unaccustomed finery, consider-
ably impaired in the wearer's transit on foot from her domicile
at Montrouge of Menilmontant to the banks of the Seine ;
for the weather that year was almost tropical, even in the
autumn, and consequently the cab had been dispensed with.
It would appear, from a remark I overheard, that Jehu, in the
way of business, preferred as fares the partisans of and ad-
herents to the fallen regimes even of the latest one. Said a
portly dame to her neighbor, alluding to the cabman, " II a
absolument refuse de nous prendre. II a dit qu'il etait dans
I'opposition, et qu'il ne voulait pas trahir ses principes a moins
de dix francs. Dix francs, ma chere, nous aurions pu souper
chez nous, et sans compter les frais de toilette et de blanchis-
sage. Quant a I'honneur d'etre ici, 9a ne compte pas pour
grand'chose, vu que tout le quartier y est ; nous demeurons k
Batignolles, et il a fallu descendre en ville ce matin pour avoir
une paire de gants blancs. Chez nous, partout la meme re-
ponse : ' Des gants blancs, madame, nous n'en avons plus.
Presque toutes les dames du quartier vont au Palais-Bourton
ce soir, et depuis hier il nous reste que des petites pointures
(sizes), des sept et des sept et demies.' "
As for the " elu du peuple souverain," when he had failed to
draw his " vieille" into the mazy dance, and been snubbed for
his pains in the bargain, he returned to his fellow-deputies,
many of whom might be easily recognized by the golden-
fringed tricolor rosette in their buttonholes, though some had
merely kept it in their pockets. The " elu du peuple" did not
dance himself. Perhaps the most curious group was that of
the young attaches and clerks of the Foreign Office who had
come to enjoy themselves, who, even at that time, were nearly
all of good birth, and who, to use a colloquial expression,
looked not unlike brass knockers on a pigsty. This was the
society Louis-Napoleon was to sweep away with the aid of
men, some of whom I have endeavored to sketch in subsequent
notes. I would fain say a few words of a " shipwrecked one,"
of the preceding dynasty, whose acquaintance I did not make
until thti vessel he had steered so long had foundered, and
of the self-constituted pilot of the interim regime. I am allud-
ing to MM. Guizot and de Lamartine.
AJN- IlNGLISHMAN IN PARIS,
227
CHAPTER XII.
That sentence of Louis-Philippe to Lord , quoted else-
where : " Guizot is so terribly respectable ; I am afraid there
is a mistake either about his nationality or his respectability,
for they are badly matched," reflected the opinion of the ma-
jority of Frenchmen with regard to the eminent statesman.
The historian who was supposed to know Cromwell and Wash-
ington as well as if he had lived with them, was credited at last
with being a stern rigid Puritan in private life like the first,
impatient of contradiction like the second, — in short, a kind of
walking copy-book moral, who never unbent, whose slightest
actions were intended by him to convey a lesson to the rest of
mankind. Unable to devote much time to her during the week,
Guizot was in the habit of taking his mother for a stroll in the
Park of St. Cloud on Sundays. The French, v/ho are never
tired of shouting, " Oh, ma mere ! oh, ma mere ! " resented
such small attentions on the part of the son, because, they
maintained, they were meant as exhibitions. Even such a
philosopher as Ernest Renan failed to see that there were two
dissimilar men in Guizot, the Guizot of public life and the
Guizot of home life ; that, behind the imperious, haughty, bat-
tlesome orator of the chamber, with his almost marble mask,
there was a tender and loving heart, capable of the most deep-
seated devotion ; that the cares of State once thrown off, the
supercilious stare melted like ice beneath the sun of spring
into a prepossessing smile, captivating every one with whom
he came in contact.
Guizot regretted this erroneous conception the world had
formed of his character. " But what can I do ? " he asked.
" In reality, I haven't the courage to be unpopular any more
than other people ; but neither have I the courage to prance
about in my own drawing-room as if I were on wires " — this
was a slight slap at M. Thiers, — " nor can I write on subjects
with which I have no sympathy " — that was a second, — " and
I should cut but a sorry figure on horseback " — that was a
third ; — " consequently people who, I am sure, wish me well,
but who will not come and see me at home, hold me up as a
misanthrope, while I know that I am nothing of the kind."
With this he took from his table an article by M. Renan on
2 2S AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
the first volume of his " Memoires," an article couched in the
most flattering terms, but giving the most conventional portrait
of the author himself. " Why doesn't he come and see me ?
He would soon find that I am not the solitary, tragic, buckram
figure that has already become legendary, and which, like most
legendary figures, is absolutely false."
-This conversation — or rather monologue, for I was careful
not to interrupt him — took place in the early part of the Second
Empire, in the house in the Rue de la Ville-Leveque he oc-
cupied for five and twenty years, and until i860. The Coup
d'Etat had irretrievably shattered Guizot's political career. It
had destroyed whatever hopes may have remained after the
flight of Louis-Philippe. Consequently Guizot's proper place
is among the men of that reign ; the reason why I insert him
here is because my acquaintance with him only began after his
disappearance from public life.
It occurred in this way. One evening, after dinner at M.
de Morny's we were talking about pictures, and especially
about those of the Spanish school, when our host turned to me.
" Have you ever seen ' the Virgin' belonging to M. Guizot ? "
he asked. I told him I had not. " Then go and see it," he said.
" It is one of the finest specimens of its kind I ever saw, I
might say the finest." Next day I asked permission of M.
Guizot to come and see it, and, almost by return of post, I re-
ceived an invitation for the following Thursday night to one
of his " at homes."
Until then I had never met M. Guizot, except at one of his
ministerial soirees under the preceding dynasty. The apart-
ment offered nothing very striking : the furniture was of the
ordinary kind to be found in almost every bourgeois drawing-
room, with this difference — that it was considerably shabbier ;
for Guizot was poor all his life. The man who had said to the
nation, " Enrichissez vous, enrichissez vous," had never acted
upon the advice himself. I know for a fact that, while he was
in power, he was asked to appoint to the post of receiver-gen-
eral of the Gironde one of the richest financiers in France,
who had expressed the intention to share the magnificent bene-
fits of the appointment with him. M. Guizot simply and
steadfastly refused to do anything of the kind.
On the evening in question, a lamp with a reflector was
placed in front of the picture I had come to see, probably in
my honor. M. de Morny had not exaggerated the beauty of
it, but it bore no signature, and M. Guizot himself had no idea
with regard to the painter. *' There is a curious story con-
AN- ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 229
hected with it," he said, " but I cannot tell it you now ; come
and see me one morning and I will. As an Englishman it will
interest you ; especially if you will take the trouble to read
between the lines. I will tell you a few more, perhaps, but the
one connected with the picture is ' la bonne bouche.' "
The company at M. Guizot's, on that and other occasions,
mainly consisted of those who had been vanquished in the
recent struggle with Louis-Napoleon, or thought they had been ;
for a great many were mere word- spinners, who had been quite
as vehement in their denunciations of the man they were now
surrounding when he was in power, as they were in their
diatribes against the man who, after all, saved France for
eighteen years from anarchy, and did not indulge more freely
in nepotism, peculation, and kindred amenities than those who
came after him. But, at the outset of these notes, I took the
resolution to eschew poHtics, and I will endeavor to keep it as
far as possible.
As a matter of course, I soon availed myself of M. Guizot's
permission to call upon him in the morning, and it was then
that he told me the following story connected with the picture.
"After the Spanish marriages. Queen Isabella wished to
convey to me a signal mark of her gratitude — for what, Heaven
alone knows, because it is the only political transaction I would
willingly efface from my career. So she conferred upon me
the dukedom of San Antonio, and sent me the patent with a
most affectionate letter. Honestly speaking, I was more than
upset by this proof of royal kindness, seeing that I had not
the least wish to accept the title. I felt equally reluctant to
offend her by declining the high distinction offered, I felt sure,
from a most generous feeling. I went to see the king, and
explained my awkward position, adding that the name of Guizot
was all-sufficient for me. * You are right,' said the king.
' Leave the matter to me ; I'll arrange it.' And he did, much
to the disgust of M. de Salvandy, who had received a title at
the same time, but who could not accept his while the Prime
Minister declined.
" Then she sent me this picture. Some witty journalist said
at the time, that it was symbolical of her own married state ;
for let me tell you that the unfitness of Don Francis d'Assis
was * le secret de poHchinelle,' however much your countrymen
may have insisted that it only leaked out after the union. Per-
sonally I was entirely opposed to it, and, in fact, it was not a
ministerial question at all, but one of court intrigue. Lord
Palmerston chose to make it the former, and he, and your
230 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARI6\
countrymen through him, are not only morally but virtually re-
sponsible for the subsequent errors of Isabella. Do you know
what his ultimatum was when the marriage had been con-
tracted, when there was no possibiUty of going back ? You
do not. Well, then, I will tell you. ' If Isabella has not a
child within a twelvemonth, then there will be war between
England and France.' I leave you to ponder the consequences
for yourself, though I assure you that I washed my hands of
the affair from that moment. But the French as well as the
English would never believe me, and history will record that
' the austere M. Guizot,' for that is what they choose to call me,
* lent his aid to proceedings which would make the most
debased pander blush with shame.'
"It is not the only time that my intentions have been pur-
posely misconceived and misconstrued ; nay, I have been
taxed with things of which I was as innocent as a child. In
1846, almost at the same period that the Spanish imbroglio
took place, Count de Montalembert got up in the Upper House
one day a,nd declared it a disgrace that France should have
begged the tomb of Napoleon I. from Russia. Now, the fact
was that France had not begged anything at all. The prin-
cipal part of the monument at the Invalides is the sarcophagus.
The architect Visconti was anxious that it should consist of
red porphyry; M. Duchatel and myself were of the same
opinion. Unfortunately, we had not the remotest notion where
such red porphyry was to be found. The Egyptian quarries,
whence the Romans took it, were exhausted. Inquiries were
made in the Vosges, in the Pyrenees, but without result, and
we were going to abandon the porphyry, when news arrived at
the Ministry of the Interior that the kind of stone we wanted
existed in Russia.
*' Just then my colleague, M. de Salvandy, was sending M.
Leouzon le Due to the north on a special mission, and I in-
structed him to go as far as St. Petersburg and consult Count de
Rayneval, our ambassador,as to the best means of getting the
porphyry. A few months later, M. le Due sent me specimens
of a stone from a quarry on the banks of the Onega Lake,
which, if not absolutely porphyry, was the nearest to it to be
had. M. Visconti having approved of it, I forwarded further
instructions for the quantity required, and so forth.
'* The quarry, it appears, belonged to the Crown, and had
never been worked, could not be worked, without due permis-
sion and the payment of a certain tax. After a great many
formalities, mainly raised by speculators who had got wind of the
AAT ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 23 1
affair, and had bribed various officials to oppose, or, at any
rate, intercept the petition sent by M. le Due for the necessary
authorization. Prince Wolkensky, the Minister of State, ac-
quainted the Czar himself with the affair, and Nicholas, without
a moment's hesitation, granted the request, remitting the tax
which M. le Due had estimated at about six thousand francs.
This took place at a cabinet council, and, unfortunately forme,
the Czar thought fit to make a little speech. * What a strange
destiny ! ' he said, rising from his seat and assuming a solemn
tone—' what a strange destiny this man's ' — alluding to Napo-
leon— ' even in death ! It is we who struck him the first fatal
blow, by the burning of our holy and venerable capital, and it
is from us that France asks his tomb. Let the French envoy
have everything he requires, and, above all, let no tax be
taken.'
" That was enough ; the German and French papers got hold
of the last words with the rest ; they confounded the tax with
the cost of working, which amounted to more than two hun-
dred thousand francs ; and up to this day, notwithstanding the
explanations I and my colleagues offered in reply to the inter-
pellation of M. de Montalembert, the story remains that
Russia made France a present of the tomb of Napoleon."
From that day forth I often called upon M. Guizot, espe-
cially in the daytime, when 1 knew that he had finished work-
ing ; for when he found that his political career was irrevoc-
ably at an end, he turned very cheerfully — I might say gladly —
to his original avocation, literature. Without the slightest
fatigue, without the slightest worry, he produced a volume of
philosophical essays or history every year ; and if, unlike
Alexandre Dumas, he did not roar with laughter while compos-
ing, he was often heard to hum a tune. " En effet," said one
of his daughters, the Countess Henriette de Witt (both his
daughters bore the same name and titles when married), " no-
tre pere ne chante presque jamais qu'en travaillant." This
did not mean that work, and work only, had the effect of put-
ting M. Guizot in good humor. He was, according to the
same authority, uniformly sweet-tempered at home, whether
sitting in his arm-chair, surrounded by his family, or gently
strolling up and down his library. " C'est la politique qui le
rendait mechant," said Madame de Witt, " heureusement il la
laissait a la porte. Et tr^s souvent il I'oubliait de parti-pris au
miUeu du conseil et alors il nous ecrivait des lettres, mais des
lettres, comme on n'en ecrit plus. En voila deux qu'il m'a
^crites lorsque j'etais tr^s jeune fille," Whereupon she;
232 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
showed me what were really two charming gossiping little es-
says on the art of punctuation. It appears that the little lady
was either very indifferent to, or ignorant of, the art ; and the
father wrote, " My dear Henriette : I am afraid I shall still
have to take you to task with regard to your punctuation :
there is little or none of it in your letters. All punctuation,
commas or other signs, mark a period of repose for the mind —
a stage, more or less long — an idea which is done with or mo-
mentarily suspended, and which is being divided by such a
sign from the next. You suppress those periods, those inter-
vals ; you write as the stream flows, as the arrow flies. That
will not do at all, because the ideas one expresses, the things
of which we speak, are not all intimately connected with one
another like drops of water."
The second letter showed that Mdlle. Guizot must have
taken her revenge, either very cleverly, or that she was past all
redemption in the matter of punctuation ; and as the latter
theory is scarcely admissible, knowing what we do of her after-
life, we must admit the former. The letter ran as follows : —
" My dear Henriette ;
" I dare say you will find me very provoking, but let me beg
of you not to fling so many commas at my head. You are
absolutely pelting me with them, as the Romans pelted that
poor Tarpeia with their bucklers."
It reminds one of Marguerite Thuillier, who " created Mimi "
in Miirger and Barriere's " Vie de Boheme," when Miirger fell
in love with her. " I can't do with him," she said to his
collaborateur, who pleaded for him, — " I can't do with him ;
he is too badly dressed, he looks like a scarecrow." Barriere
advised his friend to go to a good tailor and have himself
rigged out in the latest fashion. The advice was acted upon ;
Barriere waited anxiously for the effect of the transformation
upon the lady's heart. A fortnight elapsed, and poor Miirger
was snubbed as usual. Barriere interceded once more. " I
can do less with him than before," was the answer ; " he is
too well dressed, he looks like a tailor's dummy."
To return to M. Guizot, whom, in the course of the whole
of our acquaintance, I have only seen once "put out." It was
when the fiat went forth that his house was to come down to
make room for the new Boulevard Malesherbes. The authorities
had been as considerate as possible ; they had made no at-
^ tempt to treat the eminent historian as a simple owner of
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 233
house-property fighting to get the utmost value ; they offered
him three hundred thousand francs, and M. Guizot himself
acknowledged that the sum was a handsome one. " But I
have got thirty thousand volumes to remove, besides my notes
and manuscripts," he wailed. Then his good temper got the
better of him, and he had a "sly dig," at his former adversary,
Adolphe Thiers. " Serves me right for having so many books ;
happy the historian who prefers to trust to his imagination."
M. Guizot made up his mind to have his library removed to
Val-Richer, and never to live in Paris again ; but his children
and friends prevailed upon him not to forsake society altogether,
and to take a modest apartment near his old domicile, in the
Faubourg St. Honore, opposite the English embassy, which,
however, in those days had not the monumental aspect it has
at present.
" It is doubtful," said M. Guizot afterwards to me, " whether
the idea of living in the country would have ever entered my
mind ten or fifteen years ago. At that time, I would not have
gone a couple of miles to see the most magnificent bit of nat-
ural scenery : I should have gone a thousand to see a man of
talent."
And in fact, up till 1830, when he was nearly forty-four, he
had never seen the sea, " And if it had not been for an elec-
toral journey to Normandy, I might not have seen it then." I
pointed out to him that M. Thiers had never had a country
house ; that he did not seem to care for nature, for birds, or
for flowers.
" Ah, that's different," he smiled. " I did not care much
about the country, because I had never seen any of it. Thiers
does not like it, because the birds, the flowers, the trees, live
and grow without his interference, and he does not care that
anything on earth should happen without his having a hand in it."
Thiers was the only man at whom M. Guizot tilted in that
way. Though brought up in strict Protestant, one might almost
say Calvinistic principles, he was an ardent admirer of Roman
Catholicism, which he called " the most admirable school of
respect in the world." No man had suffered more from the
excesses of the first Revolution, seeing that his father perished
on the scaffold, yet I should not like to say that he was not
somewhat of a republican at heart, but not of a republic '* which
begins with Plato, and necessarily ends with a gendarme."
"The Republic of '48," he used to say, " it had not even a Monk,
let alone a Washington or a Cromwell ; and Louis-Napoleon
had to help himself to the throne. And depend upon it, if
234 ^^ ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
there had been a Cromwell, he would have crushed it as the
English one crushed the monarchy. As for Washington, he
would not have meddled with it at all."
" Yes," he said on another occasion, " I am proud of one
thing — of the authorship of the law on elementary education ;
but, proud as I am of it, if I could have foreseen the uses to
which it has been put, to which it is likely to be put when I am
gone, I would have sooner have seen half of the nation unable
to distinguish an ' A from a bull's foot,' as your countrymen
say."
With Guizot died almost the last French statesman, " who
not only thought that he had the privilege to be poor, but who
carried the privilege too far ; " as some one remarked when he
heard the news of his demise. Towards the latter years of his
life, he occupied a modest apartment, on the fourth floor, in
the Rue Billaut (now the Rue Washington). Well might M.
de Falloux exclaim, as he toiled up that staircase, '' My respect
for him increases with every step I take."
Since M. de Falloux uttered these words, and very long be-
fore, I have only known one French statesman whose staircase
and whose poverty might perhaps inspire the same reflections
and elicit similar praise. I am alluding to M. Rouher.
M. de Lamartine's poverty did not breed the same respect.
There was no dignity about it. It was the poverty of Oliver
Goldsmith sending to Dr. Johnson and feasting with the guinea
the latter had forwarded by the messenger pending his own
arrival. Mery had summed up the situation with regard to
Lamartine's difficulties on the evening of the 24th of February,
'48, and there is no reason to suspect that his statement had
been exaggerated. The dynasty of the younger branch of the
Bourbons had been overthrown because Lamartine saw no other
means of liquidating the 350,000 francs he still owed for his
princely journey to the East. I had been to Lamartine's house
once before that revolution, and, though his wife was an Eng-
lishwoman, I felt no inclination to return thither. The house-
hold gave me the impression of " Du Jellaby dore." The sight
of it would have furnished Dickens with as good a picture as
the one he sketched. The principal personage, however, was
not quite so disinterested as the future mother-in-law of Prince
Turveydrop. Of course, at that time, there was no question of
a republic, but the politics advocated and discussed during the
lunch were too superfine for humble mortals like myself, who
instinctively felt that —
** Quel(jues billets de njille francs feraient bien mieux I'affajre "
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 235
of the host. And the instinct was not a deceptive one. Four
months after February, 1848, M. de Lamartine had virtually
ceased to exist, as far as French politics were concerned.
From that time until the day of his death, the world only heard
of him in connection with a new book or new poem, the avowed
purpose of which was, not to make the world better or wiser,
but to raise money. He kept singing like the benighted mu-
sician on the Russian steppes keeps playing his instrument, to
keep away the wolves.
I knew not one but a dozen men, all of whom visited M. de
Lamartine. I have never been able to get a single story or
anecdote about him, not bearing upon the money question.
He is ten times worse in that respect than Balzac, with this
additional point in the latter's favor — that he never whines to
the outside world about his impecuniosity. M. Guizot pro-
duces a volume every twelvemonth, and asks nothing of any
one ; he leaves the advertising of it to his publisher : M. de
Lamartine spends enormous sums in publicity, and subsidizes,
besides, a crowd of journalists, who devour his creditors' sub-
stance while he keeps repeating to them that his books do not
sell. " If, henceforth, I were to offer pearls dissolved in the
cup of Cleopatra, people would use the decoction to wash their
horses' feet." And, all the while, people bought his works,
though no one cared to read the later ones. The golden lyre
of yore was worse than dumb ; it emitted false and weak sounds,
the strings had become relaxed, the golden tongue alone
remained.
When a national subscription is raised to pay his debts, the
committee are so afraid of his wasting the money that they
decide to have the proceeds deposited at the Comptoir d'Es-
compte, and that de Lamartine shall not be able to draw a
farthing untill all his affairs are settled. One morning he
deputes a friend to ask for forty thousand francs, in order to
pay some bills that are due. They refuse to advance the
money. De Lamartine invites them to his own house, but they
stand firm at first. Gradually they give way. " How much do
you really want ? " is the question asked at last. " Fifty thou-
sand francs," is the answer ; " but I fancy I shall be able to
manage with thirty thousand francs."
" If we gave you fifty thousand francs," says M. Emile
Pereire, " would you give us some breathing-time t "
" Yes."
And Lamartine pockets the fifty thousand francs, thanks tg
his eloquence.
236 ^^ ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
A better man, though not so great a poet, was B^ranger,
whom I knew for many years, though my intimacy with him
did not commence until a few months after the February rev-
olution, when I met him coming out of the Palais-Bourbon.
" I shall feel obliged," he said, " if you will see me home, for
I am not at all well ; these violent scenes are not at all to my
taste." Then, with a very wistful smile, he went on : "I have
been accused of having held ' the plank across the brook over
which Louis-Philippe went to the Tuileries.' I wish I could
be the bridge across the channel on which he would return
now. Certainly I would have liked a republic, but not such a
one as we are having in there," pointing to the home of the
Constituent Assembly. A short while after, Beranger tendered
his resignation as deputy.
He lived at Passy then, in the Rue Basse ; the number, if I
mistake not, was twenty-three. He had lived in the same
quarter fifteen years before, for I used to see him take his
walks when I was a lad, but it was difficult for Beranger to
live in the same spot for any length of time. He was, first of
all, of a very nomadic disposition : secondly, his quondam
friends would leave him no peace. There was a constant in-
road of shady individuals who, on the pretext that he was
the people's poet," drained his purse and his cellar. Previous
to his return to Passy, he had been boarding with a respect-
able widow in the neighborhood of Vincennes. He had
adopted the name of Bonnin, and his landlady took him to be
a modest, retired tradesman, living upon a small annuity.
When his birthday came round, she and her daughters found
out that they had entertained an angel unawares, for carriage
after carriage drove up, and in a few hours the small dwelling
was filled with magnificent flowers, the visitors meanwhile sur-
rounding Beranger, and offering him their congratulations. As
a matter of course, the rumor spread, and Be'ranger fled to Passy,
where he invited Mdlle. Judith Frere to join him once more.
The retreat had been discovered, and he resigned himself to
be badgered more than ^ usual for the sake of the neighbor-
hood— the Bois de Boulogne was hard by ; but the municipal
council of Passy, in consideration of the honor conferred
upon the arrondissement and B^ranger's charity, took it into
their heads to pass a resolution offering Beranger the most
conspicuous place in the cemetery for a tomb. The poet fled
once more, this time to the Quartier-Latin ; but the students
insisting on pointing him out to their female companions, who,
in their enthusiasm, made it a point of embracing him on every
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 237
possible occasions, especially in the " Closerie des Lilas" — for
to the end Beranger remained fond of the society of young
folk, — Beranger was compelled to flit once more. After a
short stay in the Rue Vendome, in the neighborhood of the
Temple, he came to the Quartier-Beaujon, where I visited him.
There have been so many tales with regard to Beranger's
companion, Mdlle. Judith Frere, and all equally erroneous, that
I am glad to be able to rectify them. Mdlle. Frere was by no
means the kind of upper servant she was generally supposed
to be. A glance at her face and a few moments spent in her
company could not fail to convince any one that she was of
good birth. She had befriended Beranger when he was very
young, they had parted for some time, and they ended their
days together, for the poet only survived his friend three months.
Beranger was a model of honesty and disinterestedness.
Ambition he had little or none ; he was somewhat fond of
teasing children, not because he had no affection for them, but
because he loved them too much. His portrait by Ary Scheffer
is the most striking likeness I have ever seen ; but a better
one still, perhaps, is by an artist who had probably never set
eyes on him. I am alluding to Hablot Browne, who uncon
sciously reproduced him to the life in the picture of Tom Pinch.
As a companion, Be'ranger was charming to a degree. I have
never heard him say a bitter word. The day I saw him home,
I happened to say to him, " You ought to be pleased, Victor
Hugo is in the same regiment with you." " Yes," he answered
" he is in the band." He would never accept a pension from
Louis-Napoleon, but he had no bitterness against him.
Lamartine was very bitter, and yet consented to the Emperor's
heading of the subscription-list in his behalf. That alone
would show the difference between the two men.
L
CHAPTER XIII.
" A MAN endowed with a strong will and energy, active and
intelligent to a degree, w^ith the faculty of turning up at every
spot where his presence was necessary either to revive the
lagging plot or to gain fresh adherents ; a man better ac-
quainted than all the rest with the secret springs upon which
the conspiracy hung."
This description of M. de Persigny is borrowed from the
indictment at the trial for hi^h treason in 1836. Every partig-
238 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
tilar of it is correct, yet it is a very one-sided diagnosis of the
character of Napoleon's staunchest henchman. If I had had
to paint him morally and mentally in one line, I should, with-
out intending to be irreverent, have called him the John the
Baptist of the revived Napoleonic legend. There could be no
doubt about his energy, his activity, and his intelligence ; in
respect of the former two he was absolutely superior to Louis-
Napoleon, but they, the activity and energy and intelligence,
would only respond to the bidding of one voice, that of the
first Napoleon from the grave, which, he felt sure, had ap-
pointed him the chief instrument for the restoration of the
Empire. It was the dream that haunted his sleep, that pur-
sued him when awake. Let it not be thought, though, that
Louis-Napoleon appeared to him as the one selected by Prov-
. idence to realize that dream. Loyal and faithful as he was to
him from the day they met until his (Persigny's) death, he
would have been equally loyal and faithful, though perhaps not
so deeply attached, to Jerome, the ex-King of Westphalia, to
whom he appealed first. But the youngest of the great
Napoleon's brothers did not relish adventures, and he turned
a deaf ear to Persigny's proposals, as he did later on to those
of M. Thiers, who wished him to become a candidate for the
presidency of the Second Republic.
I was talking one day on the subject of the latter's refusal
to De Persigny, several years after the advent of the Empire,
and commending Jerome for his abnegation of self and his
fealty to his nephew. There was a sneer on Persigny's face
such as I had never seen there before ; for though he was by
no means good-tempered, and frequently very violent, he
generally left the members of the Imperial family alone. He
noticed my surprise, and explained at once. " It is very
evident that you do not know Jerome, nor did I until a few
years ago. There is not a single one of the great Napoleon's
brothers who really had his glory at heart ; it meant money and
position to them, that is all. Do you know why Jerome did
not fall in with my views and those of M. Thiers ? Well, I
will tell you. He was afraid that his nephew Louis and the
rest of the family would be a burden on him ; he preferred that
others should take the chestnuts out of the fire and that he
should have the eating of them. That is what his self-abnega-
tion meant, nothing more."
I am afraid that De Persigny was not altogether wrong in
his estimate of the ex-King of Westphalia. He was insatiable
^in his Remands for money to his nephew, In fact, with the
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS, 539
exception of Princesse Mathilde, the whole of the Emperor's
family was a thorn in his side.
The Emperor himself was absolutely incapable of refusing a
service. I have the following story on very good authority.
De Persigny, who was as lavish as his Imperial master, was
rarely ever out of difficulties, and in such emergencies naturally
appealed to the latter. He had wasted on, or sunk enormous
sums in, his country estate of Chamarande, where he enter-
tained with boundless hospitality. As a matter of course, he
was always being pursued by his creditors. One early morn
— Persigny always went betimes when he wanted money — he
made his appearance in the Emperor's private room, looking
sad and dejected. Napoleon refrained for a while from ques-
tioning him as to the cause of his low spirits, but finally
ventured to say that he looked ill.
" Ah, sire," was the answer, " I am simply bent down with
sorrow. This Chamarande, which I have created out of
nothing as it were " — it had cost nearly two millions of francs
— " is ruining me. I shall be forced to give it up."
De Persigny felt sure that he would be told there and then
not to worry himself ; but the Emperor was in a jocular mood,
and took delight in prolonging his anxiety. " Believe me, my
dear due," said Napoleon with an assumed air of indifference,
" it is the best thing you can do. Get rid of Chamarande ' it
is too great a burden, and you'll breathe more freely when it's
gone."
De Persigny turned as white as a ghost ; whereupon Napo-
leon, who was soft-hearted to a degree, took a bundle of notes
from his drawer and handed them to him. De Persigny went
away beaming.
It must not be inferred from this that De Persigny was
grasping like Prince Jerome and others, who constantly drained
Napoleon's purse. De Persigny's charity was proverbial, but
he gave blindly, and as a consequence, was frequently imposed
upon. When young he had joined the Saint-Simoniens ; his
great aim was to make everybody happy. To him the resto-
ration of the Empire meant not only the revival of Napoleon's
glory, but the era of universal happiness, of universal material
prosperity. As a rule, he was thoroughly unpractical ; the
whole of his life's work may be summed up in one line — he
conceived and organized the Coup d'Etat. As such he was
virtually the founder of the Second Empire. In that task
practice went hand in hand with theory ; when the task was
accomplished, his inspiration was utterly at fault.
^46 AJ\r kl^GUsHMAN /AT PARIS.
Historians have been generally content to attribute the
principal role in the Coup d'Etat, next to that of Louis-Napo-
leon, to M. de Morny. Of course, I am speaking of those who
conceived it, not of those who executed it. The parts of
Generals Magnan and De Saint- Arnaud, of Colonel de
Beville and M. de Maupas, scarcely admit of discussion.
But the fact is that De Morny did comparatively nothing
as far as the conception was concerned. The prime mover
was undoubtedly De Persigny, and it is a very moot ques-
tion whether, but for him, it would have been conceived at
all. I know I am treading on dangerous ground, but
I have very good authority for the whole of the following
notes relating to it. In De Persigny's mind the whole of the
scheme was worked out prior to Louis-Napoleon's election to
the presidency, though of course the success of it depended on
that election. He did not want a republic, even with Louis-
Napoleon as a president for life ; he wanted an empire. I
should not like to affirm that Prince Louis would not have
been content with such a position ; it was Persigny who put
down his foot exclaiming, " Aut Ccesar aut nullus / " That
the sentence fell upon willing ears, there is equally no doubt,
and when the Prince-President had his foot upon the first rung
of the ladder, he would probably have rushed, or endeavored
to rush to the top at once, regardless of the risk involved in
this perilous ascent, for there would have been no one, absolutely
no one, to steady the ladder at the bottom. De Persigny held
him back while he busied himself in finding not only the per-
sonnel that was to hold the ladder, but the troops that would
prevent the crowd from interfering with the ladder-holders. It
was he who was the first to broach the recall of De Saint- Arnaud
from Africa ; it was he who drew attention to M. de Maupas,
then little more than an obscure prefect ; it was he who was
wise enough to see that " the ladder-holders " would have to
be sought for in England, and not in France. " The English,"
he said to Napoleon, " owe you a good turn for the harm they
have done to your uncle. They are sufficiently generous or
sufficiently sensible to do that good turn, if it is in their interest
to do so ; look for your support among the English."
I fancy it was Lord Palmerston's dislike of Louis- Philippe
on account of " the Spanish marriages," rather than a senti-
ment of generosity towards Louis-Napoleon, that made him
espouse his cause, but I feel certain that he did espouse it.
I have good' ground for saying that his interviews with Comte
Walewski were much more frequent than his ministerial col-
AjV kNCUSHMAN hV PAkiS. ±4i
leagues suspected, or the relations between England and
France, however friendly they may have been, warranted.
But everything was not ready. Palmerston and Walewski on
the English side of the Channel, Louis-Napoleon and De Per-
signy on the French side, were waiting for something. What
was it ? Nothing more nor less than the laying of the subma-
rine cable between Dover and Calais, the concession for which
was given on the 8th of January, 185 1, and on which occasion
the last words to Mr. Walker Breit were to hurry it on as much
as possible, " seeing that it is of the utmost importance for the
French Government to be in direct and rapid communication
with the Cabinet of St. fames. ^^ The Cabinet meant Lord Pal-
merston. Nevertheless, it is not until ten months later that
the cable is laid, and from that moment events march apace.
Let us glance at them for a moment. Telegraphic communi-
cation between Dover and Calais is established on the 13th
of November. On the 15th, General Saint- Arnaud gives or-
ders that the decree of 1849, conferring on the president of the
National Assembly the right of summoning and disposing of
the military forces which had hitherto been hung up in every
barracks throughout the land, shall be taken down. On the
i6th, Changarnier, Leflo, and Baze, with many others, decide
that a bill shall be introduced immediately, conferring once
more that right on the president of the Assembly. The op-
ponents of the Prince-President are already rubbing their hands
with glee at the thought of their success, for it means that
Prince Louis and his adherents will be in their power, and in
their power means removal to Vincennes or elsewhere, as
prisoners of State. On the i8th, the bill is thrown out by a
majority of 108, and the Assembly is virtually powerless hence-
forth against any and every attack from the military. It was
on that very evening that the date of the Coup d'Etat was
fixed for the 2d of l5ecember, notwithstanding the hesitation
and wavering of Louis-Napoleon. On the 26th a young at-
tache is despatched from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs to the
French Embassy in London, instead of the ordinary cabinet
(or queen's) messenger, which proves that the despatches are
more important than usual. They contain letters from the
Prince-President himself to Comte Walewski, the contents of
which are probably known to the Marquis de Turgot, but
which are despatched in that way, instead of being sent di-
rectly from the Elysee by a trustworthy person because the
presidential residence is watched day and night by the " coun-
ter-police " of the Assembly. The reason why the Marquis
16
24i ^i^V ENGLlSHMAiV IN PAKJS.
de Turgot selects a young aristocrat is because he feels certain
that he cannot be tampered with. On the 29th of November
a connection of mine receives a letter from a friend in Lon-
don, who is supposed to be behind the scenes, but who this
time is utterly in the dark. It is to the following effect :
" There is something in the wind, but I know not what. Both
yesterday morning (27th) and to-day Walewski has been
closeted for more than two hours each time with Palmerston.
There is to be a grand dinner at Walewski's on the second of
next month, to which I received an invitation. Can you tell
me what mischief is brewing ? "
The recipient of the letter was neither better nor worse in-
formed than the rest of us, and in spite of all the asbartions to
the contrary which have been made since, no one foresaw the
crisis in the shape it came upon us. On the contrary, the
general opinion was that in the end Louis-Napoleon would get
the worse, in spite of the magic influence of his name with the
army. It was expected that if the troops were called upon to
act against the National Assembly, they would refuse and turn
against their leaders. I am by no means certain that the
Prince-President did not entertain a similar opinion up to the
last moment, for I have it on excellent authority that as late as
the 26th of November he endeavored to postpone the aifair
for a month. It was then that De Persigny showed his teeth,
and insisted upon the night of the ist or 2d of December as
the latest. The interview was a very stormy one. On that
very morning De Persigny had received a letter from London,
not addressed to his residence. It contained a draft for
;^2,ooo, but with the intimation that these would be the last
funds forthcoming. He showed the Prince-President the let-
ter, and Napoleon gave in there and then. The letters spoken
of just now were despatched on the same day. It was with
that money that the Coup d'Etatwas made, and all the stories
about a million and a half of francs being handed respectively
to De Morny, De Maupas, Saint- Arnaud, and the rest are so
much invention.
Up to six o'clock in the afternoon of the ist of December,
General de Saint- Arnaud was virtually undecided, not with regard
to the necessity of the Coup d'Etat, but with regard to the
opportuneness of it within the next twelve hours. I have the
following story from the lips of Baron Lacrosse, who was one
of the actors in it. On the eve of the Coup d'Etat he was
Minister of Public Works, and as such was present at the
sitting of the Assembly on the ist of December. A member
AN ENGLISHMAN- IN PARIS. 243
ascended the tribune to interpellate the Minister for War, and,
the latter being absent, the question was deferred until next
day. That same evening, ist of December, there was an
official dinner at M. Daviel's the Minister of Justice, and at
the termination of the sitting, M. Lacrosse called in his
carriage at the Ministry for War to take his colleague. " You
may make up your mind for a warm half-hour to-morrow," he
said with a smile, as he entered General Saint- Arnaud's room.
"Why?" asked the general. "You are going to be inter-
pellated." " I expected as much, and was just considering
my answer. I am glad you warned me in time. I think I know
what to say now."
I do not believe that Baron Lacrosse had the faintest inkling
of the real drift of the remark, nor have I ever asked him
directly whether he had. As far as I could gather afterwards
from one or two people who were there, the Elysee presented no
unusual feature that night. The reception was well attended,
as the ordinary receptions on Mondays generally were, for the
times had gone by when the courtyard was a howling wilderness
dotted with two, or perhaps three, hackney cabs. It would
appear that a great many well-known men and a corresponding
number of pretty women moved as usual through the salons,
only one of which was shut up, that at the very end of the
suite, and which did duty as a council-chamber, and contained
the portrait of the young Emperor of Austria, Francis-Joseph.
But this was scarcely noticed, nor did the early withdrawal of
the Prince- President provoke any comment, for it happened
pretty often. Very certain is it that at twelve o'clock that
night the Elysee was wrapt in darkness, for I happened to pass
there at that hour. Standing at the door, or rather inside
it was the captain of the guard, smoking a cigar. I believe it
was Captain Desondes of the " Guides," but I will not be sure
for I was not near enough to distinguish plainly. The
Faubourg St. Honore was pretty well deserted save for a few
individuals prowling about ; they were probably detectives in
the pay of the Prince-President's adversaries.
Let me return for a moment to London, and give an account
of what happened there on the 2d of December, as supplied by
the writer of the above-mentioned letter, in an epistle which
reached Paris only on the 7th.
It appears that on the day of the Coup d'Etat London woke
up amidst a dense fog. Virtually the news of what had
happened in Paris early that morning did not spread until
between two and three o'clock. Our informant had been in-
4 44 ^^' ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
vited to a dinner-party at the French Embassy that night, and
though in no way actively connected with politics, he was
asking himself whether he should go or stay away, when, at
five o'clock, he received a note from the Embassy, saying that
the dinner would not take place. The fact was that at the
eleventh hour the whole of the corps diplomatique had sent
excuses. Our friend went to his club, had his dinner, and
spent part of the evening there. At about eleven a crony of
his came in, and seeing him seated in the smoking-room,
exclaimed, " Why, I thought you were going to Walewski's
dinner and reception." " So 1 was," remarked our friend,
" but it was countermanded at five." " Countermanded t
Why, I passed the Embassy just nov/, and it was blazing with
light. Come and look."
They took a cab, and sure enough the building was positively
illuminated. Our friend went in, and the salons were crammed
to suffocation. Lord Palmerston was talking animatedly to
Count Walewski ; the whole corps diplomatique accredited to
the court of St. James was there. The fact was that about
nine or half-past the mostfavorable news from Paris had reached
London. The report soon spread that Lord Palmerston had
officially adhered to the Coup d'Etat, and that he had tele-
graphed in that sense to the various English embassies abroad
without even consulting his fellow-ministers.
I believe our friend was correctly informed, for it is well
known that Palmerston did not resign, but was virtually
dismissed from office. He never went to Windsor to give up
the seals ; Lord John Russell had to do it for him. Persigny,
therefore, considered that he had fallen in the cause of Louis-
Napoleon, and as such he became little short of an idol. The
Prince-President himself was not far from sharing in that wor-
ship. Not once, but a hundred times, his familiars have heard
him say, " Avec Palmerston on pent faire des grandes choses."
Nevertheless, Palmerston appealed more to De Persigny's
imagination than to Louis-Napoleon's. After all, he w^as per-
haps much more of a Richelieu than a constitutional country
has a right to be nowadays, and that was what Persigny admired
above all things. His long stay in England had by no means
removed his inherent dislike to parliamentary government, and,
rightly or wrongly, he credited Palmerston with a similar
sentiment.
De Persigny was amiable and obliging enough, provided one
knew how to nianage him, and with those whom he liked, but
exceedingly thin-skinned and often violent with those whom he
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 245
disliked. He was, moreover, very jealous with regard to Louis-
Napoleon's affection for him. I doubt whether he really minded
the influence wielded by the Empress, De Morny, and Walewski
over the Emperor, but he grudged them their place in the
Emperor's heart. This was essentially the case with regard to
the former. He would have been glad to see his old friend
and his Imperial master contract a loveless marriage with some
insignificant German or Russian princess, who would have
borne her husband few or many children, in order to secure
the safety of the dynasty, but the passion that prompted the
union with Eugenie de Montijo he considered virtually as an
injury to himself. I give his opinion on that subject in English,
because, though expressed in French, it had certainly been
inspired by his sojourn in England. " When love invades a
man's heart, there is scarcely any room left for friendship.
You cannot drive love for a woman and friendship for a man in
double harness, you are obliged to drive them tandem ; and what
is worse in a case like that of the Emperor, friendship becomes
the leader and love the wheeler. Of course, to the outsider,
friendship has the place of honor ; in reality, love, the wheeler,
is in closest contact with the driver and the vehicle, and can,
moreover, have a sly kick at friendship, the leader. Person-
ally, I am an exception — I may say a phenomenal exception —
because my affection for the Emperor is as strong as my love
for my wife."
Those who knew both the Emperor and Madame de Per-
signy might have fitly argued that this equal division of affec-
tion was a virtual injustice to the sovereign, who was decidedly
more amiable than the spouse. The former rarely did a spite-
ful thing from personal motives of revenge ; I only know of
two. He never invited Lady Jersey to the Tuileries during
the Empire, because she had shown her dislike of him when
he was in London ; he exiled David d' Angers because the
sculptor had refused to finish the monument of Queen Hor-
tense after the Coup d'Etat. David d' Angers was one of the
noblest creatures that ever lived, and I mean to speak of him
at greater length. On the other hand, Madame de Persigny
made her husband's life, notwithstanding his love for her, a
burden by her whimsical disposition, her vindictive tempera-
ment, and her cheeseparing in everything except her own
lavish expenditure on dress. She was what the French call
" une femme qui fait des scbnes ; " she almost prided herself
upon being superior in birth to her husband, though in that
respect there was really not a pin to choose between her
2 46 AN- ENGLISHMA N IN PA RIS.
grandfather, Michel Ney, the stableboy, who had risen to be
a duke of the First Empire, and her husband, the sergeant-
quartermaster Fialin, who became Due de Persigny under the
Second. She was always advocating retrenchment in the
household. *' True," said Persigny, '' she cuts down her
dresses too, but the more she cuts, the more they cost." For
in his angry moments he would now and then tell a story
against his wife. « Here is one. Persigny, as I have already
said, was hospitable to a fault, but he had always to do battle
when projecting a grand entertainment. " There was so much
trouble with the servants, and as for the chef, his extravagance
knew no bounds." So said madame; and sick at last of
always hearing the same complaints, he decided to let Chevet
provide. All went well at first, because he himself went to
the Palais-Royal to give his orders, merely stating the number
of guests, and leaving the rest to the famous caterers, than
whom there are no more obliging or conscientious purveyors
anywhere. After a little while he began to leave the arrange-
ments to madame ; she herself sent out the invitations, so
there could be no mistake with regard to the number. He
soon perceived, however, that the dinners, if not inferior in
quality to the former ones, were decidedly inferior in quantity.
At last, one evening, when there were twenty-six people round
the board, there was not enough for twenty, and next day De
Persigny took the road to the Palais-Royal once more to lodge
his complaint personally. " Comment, monsieur le comte,"
was the reply of one of the principals, " vous dites qu'il y avait
vingt-six convives et qu'il n'y avait pas de quoi nourrir vingt ;
je vous crois parfaitement ; voila la commande de madame la
comtesse, copiee dans notre registre : ' Diner chez M. de Per-
signy pour seize personnes.' "
Madame had simply pocketed, or intended to pocket, fifteen
hundred francs — for Chevet rarely charged less than a hundred
and fifty francs per head, wines included — and had endeavored
to make the food for sixteen do for twenty-six. Of course
there was a scene. Madame promised amendment, and the
husband was only too willing to believe. The amendment
was worse than the original offence, for one night the whole
of the supper-table, set out k la Frangaise, /. e. with everything
on it, gave way, because, her own dining-table having proved
too small, she had declined Chevet's offer of providing one at
a cost of seven or eight francs, and sent for a jobbing carpenter
to put together some boards and trestles at the cost of two
francs. Chevet managed to provide another banquet within
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 247
three quarters of an hour, which, with the one that had been
spoiled, was put in the bill. Within a comparatively short
time of her husband's death, early in the seventies, Madame
de Persigny contracted a second marriage, in direct opposition
to the will of her family.
Most of the men in the immediate entourage of the Emperor
were intoxicated with their sudden leap into power, but of
course the intoxication manifested itself in different ways. A
good many considered themselves the composers of the Na-
poleonic Opera — for it was really such in the way it held the
stage of France for eighteen years, the usual tragic finale not
even being wanting. With the exception of De Persigny, they
were in reality but the orchestral performers, and he, to give
him his utmost due, was only the orchestrator of the score and
part author of the libretto. The original themes had been
composed by the exile of St. Helena, and were so powerfully
attractive to, and so constantly haunting, the ears of the ma-
jority of Frenchmen as to have required no outward aid to
remembrance for thirty-five years, though I do not forget
either Thiers' works, Victor Hugo's poetry, Louis-Philippe's
generous transfer of the great captain's remains to France, nor
Louis-Napoleon's own attempts at Strasburg and Boulogne, all
of which contributed to that effect. Nevertheless, all the
artisans of the Coup d'Etat considered themselves nearly as
great geniuses as the intellectual and military giant who con-
ceived and executed the 19th Brumaire, and pretended to im-
pose their policy upon Europe by imposing their will upon the
Emperor, though not one could hold a candle to him in state-
craft. Napoleon with a Moltke by his side would have been a
match for Bismarck, and the left bank of the Rhine might
have been French ; Alsace-Lorraine would certainly not have
been German. It is not my purpose, however, to enter upon
politics. I repeat, De Persigny, De Morny, and to a certain
extent Walewski, endeavored to exalt themselves into political
Napoleons at all times and seasons ; De Saint- Arnaud felt con-
vinced that the strategical mantle of the great warrior had
fallen upon him ; De Maupas fancied himself another Fouche.
The only one who was really free from pretensions of either
kind was Colonel (afterwards General) Fleury. He was the
only modest man among the lot.
The greatest offender in that way was, no doubt, De Persi-
gny. During his journey to Rome in 1866 he did not hesitate
to tender his political advice to such past masters in diplomacy
as Pius IX. and Cardinal Antonelli. Both pretended to profit
248 A AT ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
by the lesson, but Mgr. de Merode,* who was not quite so
patient, had many an animated discussion with him, in which
De Persigny frequently got the worst. One evening the latter
thought fit to twit him with his pugnaciousness. " I suppose,
monsignor," he said, "it's the ancient leaven of the trooper
getting the upper hand now and then." " True," replied the
prelate ; " I was a captain in the foreign legion, and fought in
Africa, where I got my cross of the Legion of Honor. But
you, monsieur le due, I fancy I have heard that you were more
or less of a sergeant-quartermaster in a cavalry regiment."
Mgr. de Merode could have done De Persigny no greater
injury than to remind him of his humble origin. He always
winced under such allusions ; his constant preoccupation was
to make people forget it, and he often exposed himself to ridi-
cule in the attempt. He knew nothing about art, and yet he
would speak about it, not as if he had studied the subject, but
as if he had been brought up in a refined society, where the
atmosphere had been impregnated with it. As a matter of
course, he became an easy victim to the picture-dealers and
bric-a-brac merchants. I remember his silver being taken to
the mint during the Siege. He had paid an enormous price
for it on the dealer's representation that it was antique : " C'est
du Louis XV. tout pur." " Tellement pur que c'est du Vic-
toria," said a connoisseur ; and he was not mistaken, for it had
been manufactured by a firm of London silversmiths. But it
was a compliment for all that to the Queen.
With all his faults, De Persigny was at heart a better man
than De Morny, who affected to look down upon him. True,
the latter had none of his glaring defects, neither had he any
of his sterling virtues. One evening, in January, 1849, when
the Prince-President had been less than a month at the Elysee,
a closed carriage drove into the courtyard and stopped before
the flight of steps leading to the hall, which, like the rest of the
building, was already wrapt in semi-darkness. A gentleman
alighted who was evidently expected, for the officer on duty
* Fr^ddric Xavier de Merode was the descendant of an ancient Flemish family, and be-
came an influential member of the Prelatura, He took an active share in the organization
of the Papal troofjs which fought at Mentana. There is a romantic but absolutely true stor\'
connected with his military career. He was from his very youth intended for the priest-
hood, but one day, when he was but nineteen, he had a quarrel with a fellow-student, who
gave him a box on the ears. M. de Merode was too conscientious a Catholic to fight a duel,
and still his pride forbade him to remain under the imputation of being a coward. So he
enlisted first in a Belgian, subsequently in a foreign regiment, and proved his courage. He
was very hot-tempered, and had frequent disagreements with Generals Lamoriciere and De
Guyon, and even with Pius IX. himself, who, on the occasion of the promulgation of the
decree of infallibility, positively forbade him to enter the Vatican again. But he soon after-
wards made his peace with the Pontiff. His worst enemies— and he had many— never ques-
tioned his sincerity and loyalty. — Editor.
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 249
conducted him almost without a word to the private apartments
of the President, where the latter was walking up and down,
the usual cigarette between his lips, evidently greatly preoccu-
pied and visibly impatient. The door had scarcely opened
when the prince's face, generally so difficult to read, lighted up
as if by magic. Before the officer had time to announce the
visitor, the prince stepped forward, held out his hand, and with
the other clasped the new-comer to his breast. The officer
knew the visitor. It was the Comte Auguste de Morny. As
a matter of course he retired, and saw and heard no more. I
had the above account from his own lips, and he felt certain
that this was the first time the brothers had ever met.
The Comte de Morny was close upon forty then, and for at
least half of that time had been emancipated from all restraint ;
he was a well-known figure in the society of Louis-Philippe's
reign ; he had been a deputy for one ^of the constituencies in
Auvergne ; at the period of his first meeting with Louis-Napo-
leon he was at the head of an important industrial establish-
ment down that way, and one fain asks one's self why he had
waited until then to shake his brother's hand. The answer is
not difficult. There is an oft repeated story about De Morny
having been at the Opera-Comique during the evening of the
ist of December, 185 1. Rumors of the Coup d'Etat were rife,
and a lady said, " II parait qu'on va donner un fameux coup
de balai. De quel cote serez vous, M. de Morny ? " " Soyez
sure, madame, que je serai du cote du manche." Morny al-
ways averred that he had said nothing of the kind. " They
invented it afterwards, perhaps because they credited me with
the instinctive faculty of being on the winning side, the side of
the handle, in any and every emergency."
I think one may safely accept that version, and that is why
he refrained from claiming his brother's friendship and acquain-
tance until he felt almost certain that the latter was fingering
the handle of the broom that was to make a clean sweep of
the Second Republic. It is difficult to determine how much or
how little he contributed to the success of that sweep, but I
have an idea that it was very little. One thing is very certain,
for I have it on very good — I may say, the best — authority. He
did not contribute any money to the undertaking ; he endeav-
ored to raise funds from others, but he himself did not loosen
his purse-strings ; when, curiously enough, he was the only one
among the immediate entourage of Louis-Napoleon whose purse-
strings were worth loosening.
Allowing for the difference of sex, better breeding and better
250 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
education, De Morny often reminded one of Rachel. Thej
possessed the same powers of fascination, and were, I am afraid,
equally selfish at heart. To read the biographies of both — I
do not mean those that pretend to be historical — one would
think that there had never been a grande dame on the stage of
the Comedie-Fran9aise before Rachel or contemporary with
her, though Augustine Brohan wfts decidedly more grande dame
than Rachel in every respect. It is the same with regard to
De Morny. To the chroniqueur during the Second Empire he
was the only grand seigneur — the rest were only seigneurs ; but
I am inclined to think that the chroniqueur of those days had
seen very few real grand seigneurs. To use a popular locution,
" they did not go thirteen to the dozen " at the court of Napo-
leon III. ; and among the people with whom De Morny came
habitually in contact, in the course of his financial and in-
dustrial schemes, a grand seigneur was even a greater rarity
than at the Tuileries. If a kind of quiet impertinence to some
of one's fellow-creatures, and a tacitly expressed contempt for
nearly the whole of the rest, constitute the grand seigneur, then
certainly De Morny could have claimed the title. I have else-
where noted the meeting of Taglioni with her husband at De
Morny's dinner-party. If it had been arranged by the host
with the view of affecting a reconciliation between the couple,
then nothing could have been more praiseworthy ; but I am
not at all sure of it. If it were not, then it became an unpar-
donable joke at the woman's expense, and in the worst taste ;
but the chroniqueur of those days would have applauded it all
the same.
Here are two stories which, at different times, were told by
De Morny's familiars and sycophants in order to stamp him
the grand seigneur. Late in the fifties he was an assiduous
frequenter of the salons of a banker, whose sisters-in-law hap-
pened to be very handsome. One evening, while talking to
one of them, they came to ask him to take a hand at lansque-
net. He had evidently no intention of leaving the society of
the lady for that of the gaming-table, and said so. Of course,
his host was in the wrong in pressing the thing, nevertheless
one has yet to learn that "two wrongs make one right."
" What will you play ? " they asked, when they had as good
as badgered him away from his companion.
" The simple rouge and the noir. That's the quickest."
" How much for ? "
" Ten thousand francs."
The stake seemed somewhat high, and no one cared to take
k
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 2 5 1
it up. But the host himself felt bound to set the example,
and the sum was made up. De Morny lost, and was about to
rise from the table, when they said —
" Have your revenge."
" Very well ; ten thousand on the black."
He lost again. Most grand seigneurs would have got up
without saying anything. Twenty thousand francs was, after
all, not an important sum to him, and I feel, moreover, certain
that it was not the loss of the money that vexed him. But he
felt bound to emphasize his indifference.
" There, that will do. I trust I shall be left in peace now."
My informant considered this exceedingly talon rouge; I did
not.
A story of a similar kind, when he was a simple deputy. A
bigwig, with an inordinate ambition to become a minister, in-
vited him to dinner. He had been told that his host was in
the habit of drinking a rare Bordeaux which was only offered
to one or two guests, quietly pointed out by the former to the
servant. At the question of the latter whether he (M. de
Morny) would take Brane-Mouton or Ermitage, he pointed to
the famous bottle that had been hidden away. The servant,
as badly trained as the master, looked embarrassed, but at last
filled De Morny's glass with the precious nectar. De Morny
simply poured it into a tumbler and diluted it with water.
Ridiculous as it may seem, De Morny often spoke and acted
as if he had royal blood in his veins, and in that respect
scarcely considered himself inferior to Colonna Walewski, of
whose origin there could be no doubt. A glance at the man's
face was sufficient. Both frequently spoke and acted as if
Louis-Napoleon occupied the Imperial throne by their good
will, and that, therefore, he was, in a measure, bound to dance
to their fiddling. Outwardly these two were fast friends, up
to a certain period ; I fancy that their common hatred of De
Persigny was the strongest link of that bond. In reality they
were as jealous of one another and of their influence over the
Emperor as they were of De Persigny and his. The latter,
who was well aware of all this, frankly averred that he pre-
ferred Walewski's undisguised and outspoken hostility to De
Morny's very questionable cordiality. " The one would take
my head like Judith took Holofernes', the other would shave it
like Delilah shaved Samson's, provided I trusted myself to
either, which I am not likely to do."
It was De Persigny who told me the substance of the fol-
lowing story, and I believe every word of it, because, first, I
252 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
never caught De Persigny telling a deliberate falsehood ;
secondly, because I heard it confirmed many years afterwards
in substance by two persons who were more or less directly
concerned in it.
In the latter end of 1863 one of the sons of Baron James de
Rothschild died ; I believe it was the youngest of the four, but
I am not certain. The old baron, who was generosity itself
when it came to endowing charitable institutions, was abso-
lutely opposed to any waste of money. Amidst the terrible
grief at his loss, he was still the careful administrator, and sent
to M. Emile Perrin, the then director of the Grand Opera, and
subsequently the director of the Comedie-Fran9aise, asking
him to dispose of his box on the grand tier, under the express
condition that it should revert to him after a twelvemonth. It
was the very thing M. Perrin was not empowered to do.
Though nominally the director, he was virtually the manager
under Comte Bacciochi, the superintendent of the Imperial
theatres ; that is, the theatres which received a subsidy from
the Emperor's civil list. The subscriber who wished to relin-
quish his box or seat, for however short a time — of course
without continuing to pay for it — forfeited all subsequent claim
to it. In this instance, though, apart from the position of
Baron James, the cause which prompted the application war-
ranted an exception being made ; still M. Perrin did not wish
to act upon his own responsibility, and referred the matter to
Comte Bacciochi, telling him at the same time that Comte
Walewski would be glad to take the box during the interim.
The latter had but recently resigned the Ministry of State by
reason of an unexpected difficulty in the " Roman Question ; "*
the ministerial box went, as a matter of course, with the ap-
pointment, and Comte Walewski regretted the loss of the
former, which was one of the best in the house, more than the
loss of the latter, and had asked his protege — M. Perrin owed
his position at the Opera to him — to get him as good a one as
soon as possible.
It so happened that Comte Bacciochi had a grudge against
Walewski for having questioned certain of his prerogatives
connected with the superintendence of the Opera. The mo-
ment he heard of Walewski's wish, he replied, " M. de Morny
applied to me several months since for a better box, and I see
no reason why Comte Walewski should have it over his head."
* If Comte Walewski ruled Napoleon III., the second Comtesse-Walewska, who was an
Italian by birth and' very handsome, absolutely ruled her husband. The first Comtesse
Walewska was Lord Sandwich's daughter. — Editor.
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 253
Vindictive like a Corsican, he laid the matter directly before
the Emperor, and furthermore did his best to exasperate the
two postulants against one another. De Morny had the box ;
Bacciochi had, however, succeeded so well that the two men
were for a considerable time not on speaking terms.
Meanwhile the Mexican question had assumed a very serious
aspect. In spite of his undoubted interest in the Jecker
scheme, or probably because it had yielded all it was likely to
yield, De Morny had of late been on the side of Walewski,
who strongly counselled the withdrawal of the French troops.
But the moment the incident of the opera-box cropped up,
there was a change of front on his part. He became an ar-
dent partisan for continuing the campaign, systematically
siding against Walewski in everything, and tacitly avoiding
any attempt of the latter to draw him into conversation.
Walewski felt hurt, and gave up the attempt in despair. A
little before this, Don Gutierrez de Estada had landed in
Europe with a deputation of notable Mexicans to offer the
crown to Maximilian. The latter made his acceptance condi-
tional on the despatch of twenty thousand French troops
and the promise of a grant of three hundred millions of
francs.
In a council held at the Tuileries these conditions were un-
hesitatingly declined. " That was, if I am not mistaken, on a
Saturday," said De Persigny ; "and it was taken for granted
that everything was settled. On Monday morning the council
was hurriedly summoned to the Tuileries, and having to come
from a good distance, Walewski arrived when it had been
sitting for more than an hour. What had happened mean-
while ? Simply this. Don Gutierrez had been informed of the
decision of the Emperor's advisers, and Maximilian had been
communicated with by telegraph to the same effect. On the
Sunday morning the Archduke telegraphed to the Mexican
envoy that unless his conditions were subscribed to in toto he
should decline the honor. Don Gutierrez, determined not to
return without a king, rushed there and then to De Morny's
and offered him the crown. The latter immediately accepted,
in the event of Maximilian persisting in his refusal. The
Emperor was simply frantic with rage, but nothing would move
De Morny. The only one who really had any influence over
him was * the other prince of the blood,' meaning Walewski,
for, according to him, the real and legitimate Bonapartes
counted for nothing. Walewski was telegraphed for as I told
you, early in the morning. When he came he found the coun-
254 -4^' ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
cil engaged in discussing the means of raising a loan. The
Empress begged him to dissuade De Morny from his purpose,
telUng him all I have told you. Walewski refused to be first
to speak to De Morny. I think that both Walewski and De
Morny have heaped injury and insult upon me more than upon
any man ; I would have obeyed the Empress for the Emperor's
sake, but * the two princes of the blood ' only consulted their
own dignity. I need not tell you what effect the elevation of
De Morny to the throne of Mexico would have produced in
Europe, let alone in France. Rather than risk such a thing,
the money was found ; Bazaine was sent, and that poor fellow,
Maximilian, went to his death, because M. Bacciochi had sown
dissension between the brother and the cousin of the Emperor
about an opera-box. Such is history, my friend."
I repeat, De Persigny was a better man at heart than De
Morny, or perhaps than Walewski, though the latter had only
fads, and never stooped to the questionable practices of his
fellow '' prince of the blood " in the race for wealth. The
erstwhile sergeant-quartermaster refrained from doing so out
of sheer contempt for money-hunters, and from an inborn feel-
ing of honesty. The son of Napoleon I., though illegitimate,
felt what was due to the author of his being, and absolutely
refused to be mixed up with any commercial transactions. He
was never quietly insolent to any one, like the natural son of
Hortense ; he rarely said either a foolish or a wise thing, but
frequently did ill-considered ones, as, for instance, when he
wrote a play. "What induced you to do this, monsieur le
comte 1 " said Thiers, on the first night. " It is so difficult to
write a play in five acts, and it is so easy not to write a play in
five acts." Among his fads was the objection to ladies in the
stalls of a theatre. In i86i he issued an order forbidding
their admission to that part of the house, and could only be
persuaded with difficulty, and at the eleventh hour, to rescind
it. In many respects he was like Philip II. of Spain ; he
worried about trifles. One day he prevailed upon M. de
Boitelle, the prefect of police, a thoroughly sensible man, to
put a stop to the flying of kites, because their tails might get
entangled in the telegraph wires, and cause damage to the
latter. I happened to meet him on the Boulevards on the very
day the edict was promulgated. He felt evidently very proud
of the conception, and asked me what I thought of it. I told
him the story of " the cow on the rails," according to Steplien-
son. Napoleon, when he heard of Walewski 's reform, sent for
Boitelle. " Here is an * order in council ' I want you to
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 255
publish," he said, as seriously as possible. It was to the effect
" that all birds found perching on the wires would be fined, and,
in default of payment, imprisoned." Curiously enough, though
a man of parts, and naturally intelligent, satire of that kind
was lost upon him, for not very long after he prevailed upon
M. de Boitelle to revive an obsolete order with regard to the
length of the hackney-drivers' whips and the cracking thereof.
It was M. Carlier, the predecessor of M. de Maupas, who had
originally attempted a similar thing. He was rewarded with a
pictorial skit representing him on the point of drowning, while
cabby was trying to save him by holding out his whip, which
proved too short for the purpose.
Walewski had none of the vivacity of most of the Bonapartes.
I knew him a good many years before and after the establish-
ment of the Second Empire, and have rarely seen him out of
temper. I fancy he must have made an admirable ambas-
sador with a good chief at his back ; he, himself, I think, had
little spirit of initiative, though, like a good many of us, he
was fully convinced of the contrary. He was, to use the cor-
rect word, frequently dull ; nevertheless, it was currently as-
serted and believed that he was the only man Rachel ever sin-
cerely cared for. " Je comprends cela," said George Sand
one day, when the matter was discussed in her presence ;
" son commerce doit lui reposer I'esprit."
It is worthy of remark that during the reign which succeeded
that of Louis-Philippe, the man who wielded the greatest
power next to the Emperor was, in almost every respect but
one, the mental and moral counterpart of " the citizen king."
I am alluding to M. Eugene Rouher, sometimes called the
vice-emperor."^ I knew Eugene Rouher some years before he
was thought of as a deputy, let alone as a minister — when, in
fact, he was terminating his law courses in the Quartier-
Latin ; but not even the most inveterate Pumblechook would
have dared to advance afterwards that he perceived the germs
of his future eminence in him then. He was a good-looking
young fellow, in no way distinguished from the rest. He was a
not unworthy ornament of " La Chaumiere," and did probably
as much or as little poring over books as his companions.
Still, there could be no doubt as to his natural intelligence,
but the dunces in my immediate circle were very few.
He was not very well off ; but, as I have said elsewhere,
* It is equally curious to note, perhaps, that M. Gr^vy, who occupied the presidential
chair of the Third Republic for a longer period than his two predecessors, was in naany re-
spects like Louis-Philippe, notably in his love of money. — Editor.
256 Alsf ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
the Croesuses were also rare. At any rate, Eugene Rouhei
had entirely passed out of my recollection, and when, eleven
or twelve years later, I saw his name in the list of Odilon
Barrot's administration as Minister of Justice, I had not
the remotest idea that it was Eugene Rouher of my Quar-
tier-Latin days. I am certain that a great many of our
former acquaintances were equally ignorant, because, though I
met several of them from time to time on the " fashionable side "
of the Seine, I do not remember a single one having drawn
my attention to him. It was only at one of the presidential
receptions at the Elysee, in 1850, that I became aware of the
fact. He came up to me and held out his hand. '' II me
semble, monsieur, que nous nous sommes deja recontres au
Quartier-Latin," he said. Even then I was in the dark with
regard to the position he was fast assuming ; but the Prince-
President himself enlightened me to a great extent in the
course of the evening. " It appears that you and Rouher
are old acquaintances," he said in English ; and on my nod-
ding in the affirmative, he added, " If you were a Frenchman,
and inclined to go in for politics, or even an Enghshman in
need of patronage or influence, I would advise you to stick to
him, for he is a very remarkable man, and I fancy we shall
hear a good deal of him within the next few years." I may,
therefore, say without exaggeration that I was one of the first
who had a trustworthy tip with regard to a comparatively
" dark political horse," and from a tipster in whom by that
time I was inclined to believe.
Though I was neither "a Frenchman inclined to go in for
politics," nor " even an Englishman in need of patronage or
influence," my curiosity had been aroused ; for, I repeat, at
the time of our first acquaintance I had considered Eugene
Rouher a fairly intelligent young fellow ; but his intelligence
had not struck me as likely to make a mark, at any rate so
soon, seeing that he was considerably below forty when I met
him at the Elysee. It is idle to assert, as the republicans have
done since, that he gained his position by abandoning the po-
litical professions to which he owed his start in public life.
Among the nine hundred deputies of the Second Republic,
there were at least a hundred intelligent so-called republicans
ready and willing to do the same with the prospect of a far
less signal reward than fell eventually to Rouher's lot.
My curiosity was doomed to remain unsatisfied until two or
three yearslater, when Rouher had already become a fixture
in the political organization of the Empire. It was De Morny
AN ENGLISHMAN J,V PARIS. 257
himself who gave me the particulars of Rouher's beginnings,
and I have no reason to suppose that he painted them and the
man in deliberately glowing colors, albeit that in one impor-
tant crisis they acted in concert. Clermont-Ferrand w^as only
about twelve miles from Riom, Rouher's native town. I have
already remarked that De Morny, at the time he met with his
brother for the first time, was at the head of an important in-
dustrial establishment. It was at the former place ; De Morny
therefore, was in a position to know.
Eugene Rouher, it appears, like a good many men who have
risen to political eminence, belonged to what, for want of a
better term, I may call the rural bourgeoisie — that is, the frugal,
thrifty, hard-headed, small landowner, tilling his own land,
honest in the main, ever on the alert to increase his own prop-
erty by a timely bargain, with an intense love of the soil, with
a kind of semi-Voltairean contempt for the clergy, an ingrained
respect largely admixed with fear for "the man of the law," to
which profession he often brings up his son in order to have
what he likes most — litigation — for nothing. Rouher's grand-
father was a man of that stamp ; he made an attorney of his
son, and the latter established himself in the Rue Desaix, in a
small, one-storied, uninviting-looking tenement, where, in the
year 18 14, Eugene Rouher was born.* Rouher's father was
not very prosperous, yet he managed to send both his sons to
Paris to study law. The elder son, much older than the future
minister, had succeeded in getting a very good practice at the
Riom bar, but he died a short time before Eugene returned
from Paris, leaving a widow and a son, who, of course, was too
young to take his father's place. The young barrister, there-
fore, stepped into a capital ready-made practice, and being ex-
ceedingly amiable, bright, hard-working, and essentially honest,
soon made a host of friends.
" I have frequently f(3und myself opposed to Rouher," said
De Morny ; " but his unswerving loyalty to the Empire and
* Before that it bore the name of the Rue des Trois-Hautbois, and in the heyday of the
Second Empire it was changed into the Rue Eugene-Rouher. But at the fall of Sedan the
indignation against the Emperor's powerful minister was so great that his carriages had to be
removed from Riom lest they should be burned by the mob, and the street resumed its old
appellation. In November, 1887, three years after Rouher's death, I happened to be at
Clermont-Ferrand, waiting for General Boulanger to go to Paris. I went over to Riom and
had a look, at the house. It was occupied by a carpenter or joiner, to whose father it had
been sold years previously by the express wish of one of Eugene Rouher's daughters. I got
into conversation with an intelligent inhabitant of the town, who told me that on the 4th of
September, 1870, the feeling against Rouher was much stronger than against Louis-Napoleon
himself, yet that feeling was an implied compliment to Rouher. " He was the cleverer of
the two," the people snouted; "he ought not to have allowed the Emperor to engage in
this war. He could have prevented it with one word." Nevertheless, in a little while it
abated, and Rouher was elected a member of the National Assembly. — Editor,
17
258 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
the Emperor is beyond question. I should not wonder but
what he died poor.*
" As you know, Eugene Rouher was really very handsome.
Mdlle. Conchon — that is Madame Rouher's maiden name —
thought him the handsomest man in the world. True, her
world did not extend beyond a few miles from Clermont-
Ferrand ; but I fancy she might have gone further and fared
worse. You know old Conchon, and the pride he takes in his
son-in-law. Well, he would not hear of the marriage at first.
Conchon was a character in those days. Though he had but
a poor practice at the Clermont bar, he was clever ; and if he
had gone to Paris as a journalist, instead of vegetating down
there, I am sure he would have made his way. He was very
fond of his classics — of Horace and Tibullus above all — and
turned out some pretty Anacreontic verses for the local
* caveau ; ' for Clermont, like every other provincial centre,
prided itself on its ' caveau.'t
" A time came, however, when Conchon's fortunes took a
turn for the better. You can form no idea of the political
ignorance that prevailed in the provinces even as late as the
reign of Louis-Philippe. Any measure advocated or promul-
gated by the Government was sure to be received with sus-
picion by the populations as affecting their liberties, and, what
was of still greater consequence to them, their property. The
First Republic had given them licence to despoil others ; any
subsequent measures of the monarchs was looked upon by
them as an attempt at reprisal. In 1842 a general census was
ordered. You may remember the hostility it provoked in Paris ;
it was nothing to its effect in the agricultural and wine-grow-
ing centres. The Republican wire-pullers spread the report
that the census meant nothing but the thin end of the wedge
of a bill for the duties upon wine to be paid by the grower.
There was a terrible row in Clermont-'Ferrand and the neigh-
borhood ; the ' Marseillaise ' had to make way for the stiil
more revolutionary ' Ca-ira.' Conchon was maire of Clermont-
Ferrand, and he who was as innocent of all this as a new-born
babe, had his house burned over his head. The Government
* De Moray's prophecy turaed out correct. M. Eugene Rouher died a poor man. There
is a comic story connected with this poverty. At the beginning of the Republic, and during
the presidency of Thiers, Rouher's house was constantly watched by detectives. The
weather was abominably bad; it rained constantly. Madame Rouher sent them some cot-
ton umbrellas, excusing herself for not sending silk ones, because she could not afford it. —
Editor.
t The diminutive of " cave " (cellar). Really a gathering of poets and song-writers,
which reached its highest reputation in Paris during the early part of the present century.
The Saturday nights at the Savage Club are perliaps the nearest approach to it in London.
—Editor.
1
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
259
argued that if the mob had burned the maire's dwelling in pre-
ference to that of the prefect, it was because the former was a
more influential personage than the latter ; for there could be
no other reason for their giving him the ' Legion of Honor,'
and appointing him to a puisne judgeship on the bench of
Riom, seeing that he neither made an heroic defence of his
property, nor endeavored to carry out the provisions of the
census bill by armed force. In fact, the latter step would
have been an impossibility on Conchon's part. You and I
know w^ell enough how difficult it is to make Frenchmen hold
their tongues by means of troops ; to endeavor to make
them speak — in distinction to yelling — by similar means is
altogether out of the question. You cannot take every head
of the family, even in a comparatively small town like Cler-
mont-Ferrand, and put him between two gendarmes to make
him tell you his name, his age, and those of his family. I
fancy, moreover, that Conchon was not at Clermont at all when
the mob made a bonfire of his dwelling ; it was on a Sunday,
and he had probably gone into the country. At any rate, as I
told you, they gave him the cross and a judgeship. It never
rains but it pours. Contrary to the ordinary principles of
French mobs of hating a man in proportion to his standing
well with the Government, they started a subscription to in-
demnify Conchon for the loss of his house, which subscription
amounted to a hundred thousand francs.
" Conchon had become a somebody, and refused to give his
daughter to a mere provincial barrister now that he belonged
to ' la magistrature assise.' * The young people were, however,
very fond of one another, and had their way. They were a
very handsome couple, and became the life and soul of the best
society of Clermont-Ferrand, which, exclusive as it was, ad-
mitted the widow of the elder brother. The younger Madame
Rouher was by no means as sprightly or as clever as she has
become since. She was somewhat of a spoilt child, but her
husband was a very brilliant talker indeed, though, unlike many
brilliant talkers, there was not an ounce of spite in his clever-
est remarks. The electors might have done worse than send
him to Paris the first time he invited their suffrages in'46, under
the auspices of Guizot. Nevertheless, he was beaten by a
goodly majority, and he had to wait until after the revolution
* The term for the French bench, consisting of judges; X\iQ parquet, t. e. those to whom
the public prosecution is confided, are called "la magistrature debout." As a rule, the
latter have a great deal more talent than the former. ^' What are you going to do with
your son ? " asked a gentleman of his friend. " I am going to make a magistrate of him—
* debout,' if he is strong enough to keep oa his legs ; * assis,* if he be not." — Editor.
2 6o A AT ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS,
of February, when he was returned on the Republican list."
So far De Morny. Consulting my personal recollections of
Eugene Rouher, whom I still see now and then, I find nothing
but good to say of him. I am not prepared to judge him as a
politician, that kind of judgment being utterly at variance with
the spirit of these notes, but I know of no French statesman
whose memory will be entitled to greater respect than Rouher's,
with the exception, perhaps, of Guizot's. Both men committed
grave faults, but no feeling of self-interest actuated them. The
world is apt to blame great ministers for clinging to power after
they have apparently given the greatest measure of their genius.
They do not blame Harvey and Jenner for having continued
to study and to practice after they had satisfactorily demon-
strated, the one the theory of the circulation of the blood, the
other the possibility of inoculation against small-pox ; they do
not blame Milton for having continued to write after he had
given " Paradise Lost," Rubens for having continued to paint
after he had given " The Descent from the Cross," Michael-
Angelo for not having abandoned the sculptor's chisel after he
had finished the frescoes of the Sistine Chapel. The bold
stroke of policy that made England a principal shareholder in
the Suez Canal, the Menai Bridge, the building of the Great
Western Railway, were achievements of great men who had
apparently given all there was in them to give ; why should
Rouher have retired when he was barely fifty, and not have
endeavored to retrieve the mistake he evidently made when he
allowed Bismarck to humiliate Austria at Sadowa, and to lay
the foundations of a unified Germany .'* Richelieu made mis-
takes also, but he retrieved them before his death.
Be this as it may, Rouher was both in public and private
life an essentially honorable and honest man — as honest as
Louis-Philippe in many respects, far more honest in others,
and absolutely free from the everlasting preoccupation about
money which marred that monarch's character. He was as dis-
interested as Guizot, and would have scorned the tergiversations
and hypocrisy of Theirs. He never betrayed his master's
cause ; he never consciously sacrificed his country to his pride.
The only blame that can be laid to his charge is that he allowed
his better sense to be overruled by a woman ; but that woman
was the wife of his sovereign.
He was, above all, a staunch friend to those who had known
him in his early days. " There will be no Auvergnats left in
Clermont-Ferrand ^and Riom if this goes on," said a witty
journalist, seeing Rouher constantly surrounded by the natives
AN- ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
261
of that particular province, to the exclusion of every one else.
" We'll send an equal quantity of Parisians to Auvergne ; it will
do them good, and teach them to work," replied Rouher, when
he heard the remark. " And in another generation or two
Paris will see what it has never seen before, namely, frugal
Parisians doing a day's labor for a day's wage, for we'll have
their offspring back by then." For Rouher could be very
witty when he liked, and never feared to hit out straight. He
was a delightful talker, and next to Alexandre Dumas, the
best raconteur I have ever met. It was because he had a
marvellous memory and a distinct talent for mimicry. Owing
to this latter gift, he was unlike any other parliamentary orator
I have ever heard. He would sit perfectly still under the most
terrible onslaught of his opponents, whoever they were. No
sign of impatience or weariness, not an attempt to take a note;
his eyes remained steadily fixed on his interlocutor, his arms
folded across his chest. Then he would rise slowly from his
seat and walk to the tribune, when there was one, take up
the argument of his adversary, not only word for word, but
with the latter's intonation and gestures, almost with the latter's
voice — which used to drive Thiers wild — and answer it point by
point.
He used to call that "fair debating ; " in reality, it was the
masterly trick of a great actor, who mercilessly wielded his
power of ridicule ; but we must remember that he had originally
been a lawyer, and that the scent of the French law-courts
hung over him to the very end. " I am not always convinced
of the honesty of my cause, but I hold a brief for the Govern-
ment, and I feel convinced that it would not be honest to let
the other party get the victory," he said.
He was, and remained, very simple in his habits. He would
not have minded entertaining his familiars every night of the
week, but he did not care for the grand receptions he was com-
pelled to give. He was very fond of the game of piquet. His
father-in-law, who had been promoted to a judgeship in one of
the Paris courts, had been a foeman worthy of his steel ; " but
I am afraid," laughed Rouher, " that his exaggerated admira-
tion for me affects his play."
Rouher was right ; M. Conchon was inordinately proud of
his son-in-law. He lived, as it were, in the Minister of State's
reflected glory. His great delight was to go shopping, in order
to have the satisfaction of saying to the tradesmen, " You'll
have this sent to my son-in-law, M. Rouher." The stir and
bustle of the Paris streets confused him to the last, but he did
^62 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
not mind it, seeing that it afforded him an opportunity of in-
quiring his way. " I want to get back to the Ministry of State
— to my son-in-law, M. Rouher." It was not snobbishness ;
it was sheer unadulterated admiration of the man to w^hom he
had somewhat reluctantly given his daughter.
CHAPTER XIV.
I WAS a frequent visitor to Compiegne throughout the Second
Empire. I doubt whether, besides Lord H and myself,
there was a single English guest there who went for the mere
pleasure of going. Lords Palmerston, Cowley, and Clarendon,
and a good many others whom I could name, had either politi-
cal or private ends to serve. They all looked upon Napoleon
III. as an adventurer, but an adventurer whom they might use
for their own purpose. I am afraid that the same charge
might be preferred against persons in even a more exalted
station. Prince Albert averred that Napoleon III. had sold
his soul to the devil ; Lord Cowley, on being asked by a lady
whether the Emperor talked much, replied, " No, but he always
lies." Another diplomatist opined " that Napoleon lied so well,
that one could not even believe the contrary of what he said."
Enough. I went to the Compiegne of Napoleon III., just
as I had gone to the Compiegne of the latter years of Louis-
Philippe — simply to enjoy myself; with this difference, how-
ever— that I enjoyed myself much better at the former than at
the latter. Louis-Philippe's hospitality was very genuine,
homely, and unpretending, but it lacked excitement — especially
for a young man of my age. The entertainments were more
in harmony with the tastes of the Guizots, Cousins, and Ville-
mains, who went down en redingote, and took little else ;
especially the eminent professor and minister of public edu-
cation, whose luggage consisted of a brown paper parcel,
containing a razor, a clean collar, and the cordon of the
Legion of Honor. There were some excellent hunts, organ-
ized by the Grand Veneur, the Comte de Girardin, and the
Chief Ranger, the Baron de Larminat ; but the evenings,
notwithstanding the new theatre built by Louis-Philippe, were
frightfully dull, and barely compensated for by the reviews at
the camp of Compiegne, to which the king conducted his
queen and the princesses in a tapissiere and four, he himself
driving, the Due and Duchesse de Montpensier occupying the
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 263
box seat, the rest of the family ensconced in the carriage, " ab-
solument en bons bourgeois." With the advent of Louis-Napo-
leon, even before he assumed the imperial purple, a spirit of
change came over the place. Hortense's second son would
probably have made a better poet than an emperor. His whole
life has been a miscarried poem, miscarried by the inexorable
demands of European politics. He dreamt of being L'Em-
pereur-Soliel, as Louis XIV. had been Le Roi-Soleil. Visions
of a nineteenth-century La Valliere or Montespan, hanging
fondly on his arm, and dispelling the harassing cares of State
by sweet smiles while treading the cool umbrageous glades of
the magnificent park, haunted his brain. He would have gone
as far as Louis le Bien-Aime, and built another nest for an-
other Pompadour. He did not mean to make a Maintenon
out of a Veuve Scarron, and, least of all, an empress out of a
Mademoiselle Eugenie de Montijo. Mdlle. de Montijo, on the
other hand, was determined not to be a Mdme. de Maintenon,
let alone a La Valliere or a Pompadour. At any rate, so she
said, and the man most interested in putting her assertion to
the test was too infatuated to do so. *' Quand on ne s'attend
k rien, la moindre des choses surprend." The proverb holds
good, more especially where a woman's resistance is concerned.
Mdlle. de Montijo was a Spaniard, or at least half a one, and
that half contained as much superstition as would have fitted
out a score of her countrywomen of unmixed blood. One day
in Granada, while she was sitting at her window, a gypsy, whose
hand " she had crossed with silver," is said to have foretold
her that she should be queen. The young girl probably at-
tached but little importance to the words at that time ; " but,"
said my informant, " from the moment Louis-Napoleon breathed
the first protestations of love to her, the prophecy recurred to
her in all its vividness, and she made up her mind that the
right hand and not the left of Louis-Napoleon should set the
seal upon its fulfilment." My informant was an Englishman,
very highly placed, and distinctly au courant of the private
history of the Marquise de Montijo y Teba, as well as that of
her mother. Without the least fear of being contradicted, I
may say that the subsequent visit of Queen Victoria and Prince
Albert was due to his direct influence. I will not go as far as
to assert that Louis-Napoleon's participation in the Crimean
war could not have been had at that moment at any other price,
or that England could not have dispensed with that co-opera-
tion, but he, my informant, considered then that the alliance
would be more closely cemented by that visit. Nor am I called
264 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
upon to anticipate the final verdict of the social historian with
regard to " that act of courtesy" on the part of the Queen of
England, not the least justified boast of whose reign it is that
she purified the morals of her court by her own example. Still,
one may safely assume, in this instance, that the virtue of Mdlle.
de Montijo would have been proof against the " blandishments
of the future Emperor," even if she had not had the advice and
countenance of her mother, whose Scotch blood would not
have stood trifling with her daughter's affections and reputa-
tion. But to make the fortress of that heart doubly impregna-
ble, the Comtesse de Montijo scarcely ever left her second
daughter's side. It was a great sacrifice on her part, because
Mdlle. Eugenie de Montijo was not her favorite child ; that posi-
tion was occupied by her elder, the Duchesse d'Albe. " Mais,
on est mere, ou on ne Test pas ? " says Madame Cardinal*
Mdlle. de Montijo, then, became the guiding spirit of the
fetes at the Elysee. She and her mother had travelled a great
deal, so had Louis-Napoleon ; the latter not enough, apparently,
to have learnt the wisdom of the French proverb, " Gare a la
femme dont le berceau a ete une malle, et le pensionnat une
table d'hote."
I have spoken elsewhere of the Coup d'Etat and of the com-
pany at the Elysee immediately previous to it and afterwards ;
early in 1852 —
" The little done did vanish to the mind,
Which forward saw how much remained to do."
The Prince-President undertook a journey to the southern
parts of France, which he was pleased to call " an interrogation
to the country." It was that to a certain extent, only the
country had been crammed with one reply to it, " Vive I'Em-
pereur." Calmly reviewing things from a distance of a quarter
of a century, it was the best reply the nation could have made.
" Society has been too long like a pyramid turned upside down.
I replaced it on its base," said Louis-Napoleon, on the 29th
of March, 1852, when he opened the first session of the Cham-
bers, and inaugurated the new constitution which was his own
work. " He is right," remarked one of his female critics, " and
now we are going to dance on the top of it. A quand les in-
vitations ? "
The invitations were issued almost immediately after the
journey just mentioned, and before the plebiscite had given the
Prince-President the Imperial crown. One of the first was for
* The author alludes to the Madame Cardinal of Ludovic Hal^vy, who sequestrates her
daughter because the baro% her would-be protector, is hanging back with the settlements.-^
Editor.
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 2^5
a series of fetes at Compiegne. The chateau was got ready in
hot haste ; but, of course, the " hunts" were not half so splen-
did as they became afterwards.
The most observed of all the guests was Mdlle. de Montijo,
accompanied by her mother, but no one suspected for a single
moment that the handsome Spanish girl who was galloping by
Louis-Napoleon's side would be in a few months Empress of the
French. Only a few knowing ones offered to back her for the
Imperial Stakes at any odds ; I took them, and, of course, lost
heavily. This is not a figure of speech, but a literal fact,
There were, however, no quotations "for a place," backers
and bookers alike being agreed that she would be first or no-
where in the race.
How it would have fared with the favorite had there been
any other entries, it would be difficult to say, but there were
none; the various European sovereigns declined the honor
of an alliance with the house of Bonaparte, so Mdlle. Eugenie
de Montijo simply walked over the course. One evening, the
rumor spread that Louis-Napoleon had uttered the magic
word " marriage," in consequence of a violent fit of coughing
which had choked the word " mistress " down his throat. Not
to mince matters, the affair happened in this way, and I speak
on excellent authority. The day before, there had been a hunt,
and between the return from the forest and the dinner-hour,
Napoleon had presented himself unannounced in Mdlle. de
Montijo's apartment. Neither I nor the others who were at
the chateau at the time could satisfactorily account for the
prologue to this visit, but that there was such a prologue, and
that it was conceived and enacted by at least two out of the
three actors in the best spirit of the "comedie d'intrigue," so
dear to the heart of Scribe, admits of no doubt ; because,
though the first dinner-bell had already rung, Mdlle. de Montijo
was still in her riding-habit, consequently on the alert. Nay,
even her dainty hunting-crop was within her reach, as the in-
truder found to his cost ; and reports were rife to the effect
that, if the one had failed, the mother, who was in the next
room, would have come to the rescue of her injured daughter.
The Comtesse de Montijo was spared this act of heroism ;
Lucrece herself sufficed for the task of defending her own
honor : nevertheless, the mother's part was not at an end, even
when the decisive word had been pronounced. According to
her daughter, she objected to the union, from a sincere regard
for her would-be son-in-law, from an all-absorbing love for her
own darling. The social gulf between the two was too wide
266 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
ever to be bridged, etc. " And though it will break my heart
to have to obey her, I have no alternative," added Mdlle. de
Montijo, if not in these selfsame words, at least in words to
that effect. " There remains but one hope. Write to her."
And Louis-Napoleon did-write. The letter had been religi-
ously preserved by the Montijo family. In less than three
months afterwards France was officially or semi-officially ap-
prised of the Emperor's intended union ; but of course the
news had spread long before then, and a very varied effect it
produced. Candidly speaking, it satisfied no one, and every
one delivered judgment in two separate, if not different, capaci-
ties— as private citizens and as patriotic Frenchmen. The
lower classes, containing the ultra- democratic element, would
have perhaps applauded the bold departure from the old tra-
ditions that had hitherto presided at sovereign unions, if the
bride had been French, instead of being a foreigner. They
were sensible enough not to expect their new Emperor to
choose from the bourgeoisie ; but, in spite of their prejudices
against the old noblesse, they would, in default of a princess
of royal blood, have liked to see one of that noblesse's daugh-
ters share the Imperial throne. They were not deceived by
Napoleon's specious argument that France had better assume
openly the position of a parvenu rather than make the new
principle of the unrestricted suffrage of a great nation pass for
an old one by trying to introduce herself at any cost into a
family of kings.
The bourgeoisie itself was more disgusted still. Incredible
as it may seem, they did resent Napoleon's slight of their
daughters. " A ddfaut d'une princesse de sang royal, une de
nos fiUes eut fait aussi bien qu'une etrangere, dont le grand
pbre, apres tout, etait negociant comme nous. Le premier
empire a ete fait avec le sang de gar^ons d'ecurie, de tonnel-
liers ; le second empire aurait pu prendre un peu de ce sang
sans se mesallier." The bourgeois Voltairien was more biting
in his sarcasm. In his speech to the grand officers of State
and corporations. Napoleon had alluded to Empress Josephine :
" France has not forgotten that for the last seventy years for-
eign princesses have only ascended the steps of the throne to
see their race scattered and proscribed, either by war or revolu-
tion. One woman alone appears to have brought the people
better luck, and to have left a more lasting impression on their
memory, and that woman, the modest and kindly wife of Gen-
eral Bonaparte, was not descended from royal blood." Then,
speaking of the empress that was to be, he concluded, " A
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 267
good and pious Catholic, she will, like myself, offer up the same
prayers for the welfare and happiness of France ; I cherish
the firm hope that, gracious and kind as she is, she will, while
occupying a similar position, revive once more the virtues of
Josephine." All of which references to the undoubtedly skit-
tish widow of General de Beauharnais made the satirically
inclined bourgeois, who knew the chronique scandaleuse of
the Directoire quite as well as Louis-Napoleon, sneer. Said
one, " It is a strange present to put into a girl's trousseau, the
virtues of Josephine ; the Nessus-shirt given to Hercules was
nothing to it."
The Faubourg St. Germain made common cause for once
with the Orleanists' salons, which were avenging the confisca-
tion of the princes' property ; and both, if less brutal than the
speaker just quoted, were not less cruel. The daughter had
to bear the brunt of the mother's reputation. Public securities
went down two francs at the announcement of the marriage.
There was but one man who stood steadfast by the Emperor
and his bride, Dupin the elder ; but his ironical defence of the
choice was nearly as bad as his opposition to it could have
been. " People care very little as to what I say and think,
and perhaps they are right," he remarked ; " but still, the Em-
peror acts more sensibly by marrying the woman he likes than
by eating humble-pie and bargaining for some strait-laced,
stuck-up German princess, with feet as large as mine. At any
rate, when he kisses his wife, it will be because he feels in-
clined, and not because he feels compelled." ^
Nevertheless, amidst all this flouting and jeering, the Em-
peror and his future consort felt very uncomfortable, but they
showed a brave front. He inferred, rather than said to one
and all who advanced objections, that his love for Mdlle. de
Montijo was not the sole motive for his contemplated union.
He wished to induce them into the belief that political motives
were not foreign to it — that he was, as it were, flinging the
gauntlet to monarchical Europe, which, not content with refus-
ing him a wife, was determined to throw a spoke in his matri-
monial wheel.
Unfortunately, he and his bride felt that they could not alto-
gether dispense with the pomp and circumstance of courts.
Like his uncle. Napoleon IH. was exceedingly fond of grand
ceremonial display, and he set his heart upon his Empress
* Dupin's feet were enormous, and, furthermore, invariably shod in thick, hobnailed
bluchers. He himself was always jestingly alluding to them ; and one day, on the occasion
of a funeral of a friend, which he could not possibly attend, he suggested sending his boots
instead. " People send their empty conveyance : Til send mine," he said,— Editor.
268 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
having a brilliant escort of fair and illustrious women on the
day of her nuptials. To seek for such an escort among the
grandes dames of the old noblesse would, he knew, be so
much waste of time ; but he was justified in the hope that the
descendants of those who owed some of their titles and most
of their fortunes to his uncle would prove more amenable. In
this he was mistaken : both the Duchesse de Vicence and the
Duchesse des Lesparres, besides several others to whom the
highest positions in the Empress's household were offered, de-
clined the honor. The Due de Bassano did worse. Much as
the De Caulaincourts and the De Lesparres owed to the son
of the Corsican lawyer, the Marets owed him infinitely more.
Yet their descendant, but a few days before the marriage, went
about repeating everywhere that he absolutely objected to see
his wife figure in the suite of the daughter of the Comtesse de
Montijo, " who " (the daughter) " was a little too much of a
posthumous child." He not only relented with regard to the
duchesse at the eleventh hour, but accepted the ofiice of Grand
Chambellan, which office he filled to the end of his life.
In fact, honors and titles went absolutely a-begging in those
days. Let me not be misunderstood. There were plenty of
men and women ready to accept both, and to deck out their
besmirched, though very authentic, scutcheons with them ; but
of these the Empress, at any rate, would have none. She
would have willingly thrown overboard the whole of her family
with its doubtful antecedents, which naturally identified it with
that brilliant and cosmopolitan society, " dans laquelle en fait
d'hommes, il n'y a que des declasses, et en fait de femmes que
des trop-bien classics." The Bonapartes themselves had, after
all, a by no means cleaner bill of health, but, as usual, the
woman was made the scapegoat ; for though a good many men
of ancient lineage, such as Prince Charles de Beauveau, the
Due de Crillon, the Due de Beauveau-Craon, the Due de
Montmorency, the Marquis de Larochejaquelein, the Marquis
de Gallifet, the Due de Mouchy, etc., rallied to the new regime,
most of them refused at first to bring their wives and daughters
to the Tuileries, albeit that they went themselves. When a man
neglects to introduce his womenkind to the mistress of the
house at which he visits, one generally knows the opinion he
and the world entertain — rightly or wrongly — of the status of
the lady ; and the rule is supposed to hold good everywhere
throughout civilized society. Yet the Emperor tolerated this.
Knowing what I do of Napoleon's private character I am
inclined to think that, but for dynastic and political reasons, he
AJV ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 269
would hjtve willingly dispensed with {he rigidly virtuous woman
at the Tuileries, then and afterwards. But at that moment he
was perforce obliged to make advances to her, and the rebuffs
received in consequence were taken with a sang-froid which
made those who administered them wince more than once.
At each renewed refusal he was ready with an epigram :
" Encore une dame qui n'est pas assez sur de son passe pour
braver I'opinion publique ; " " Celle-la, c'est la femme de
Cesar, hors de tout soup9on, comme il y a des criminels qui
sont hors la loi ; " " Madame de ; il n'y a pas de faux pas
dans sa vie, il n'y a qu'un faux papa, le pere de ses enfants/'
For Louis-Napoleon could be exceedingly witty when he
liked, and his wit lost nothing by the manner in which he
delivered his witticisms. Not a muscle of his face moved — he
merely bHnked his eyes.
" Si on avait voulu me donner une princesse allemande," he
said to his most intimate friends, " Je I'aurais epousee ; si je ne
I'avais pas autant aimee que j'aime Mademoiselle de Montijo,
j'aurais au moins ^te plus sur de sa betise ; avec une
Espagnole on n'est jamais sur."
Whether he meant the remark for his future consort or not,
I am unable to say, but Mademoiselle de Montijo was not
witty. There was a kittenish attempt at wit now and then, as
when she said, " Ici, il n'y a que moi de legitimiste : " but
intellectually she was in no way distinguished from the majority
of her countrywomen.* On the other hand, she had an iron
will, and was very handsome. A woman's beauty is rarely
capable of being analyzed ; he who undertakes such a task is
surely doomed to the disappointment of the boy who cut the
drum to find out where the noise came from.
I cannot say wherein Mdlle. de Montijo's beauty lay, but she
was beautiful indeed.
Her iron will ably seconded the Emperor's attempts at
gaining aristocratic recruits round his standard, and when the
Due de Guiche joined their ranks — the Due de Guiche whom
the Duchesse d'Angouleme had left close upon forty thousand
pounds a year — Mdlle. de Montijo might well be elated with
her success. Still, at the celebration of her nuptials, the
gathering was not le dessus du panier. The old noblesse had
the right to stay away : they had not the right to do what they
did. I am perfectly certain of my facts, else I should not have
committed them to paper.
* M^rim^e, the author of " Carmen," who knew something of Spanish women, and of the
female members of the Montijo family in particular, said that God had given them the choice
between love and wit, and tliat they had cnosen the former. — Editor.
270 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
As usual, on the day of the ceremony, portraits of ^ the new
Empress and her biography were hawked about. There was
nothing offensive in either, because the risk of printing any-
thing objectionable would have been too great. In reality,
the account of her life was rather too laudatory. But there
was one picture, better executed than the rest, which bore the
words, " The portrait and the virtues of the Empress ; the whole
for two sous ; " and that was decidedly the work of the
Legitimists and Orleanists combined. I have ample proof of
what I say. I heard afterwards that the lithograph had been
executed in England,
For several months after the marriage nothing was spoken or
thought of at the Tuileries but rules of precedence, court dresses,
the revival of certain ceremonies, functions and entertainments
that used to be the fashion under the ancient regime. The
Empress was especially anxious to model her surroundings,
her code of life, upon those of Marie- Antoinette, — " mon type,"
as she familiarly called the daughter of Marie-Therese. If, in
fact, after a little while, some one had been ill-advised enough
to tell her that she had not been born in the Imperial purple,
she would have scarcely believed it. When a daughter of the
House of Savoy had the misfortune to marry Napoleon's
cousin, the Empress thought fit to give the young princess
some hints as to her toilette and sundry other things. " You
appear to forget, madame," was the answer, " that I was born
at a court." Empress Eugenie was furious, and never for-
gave Princess Clotilde. Her anger reminds me of that of a
French detective who, having been charged with a very impor-
tant case, took up his quarters with a colleague in one of the
best Paris hotels, exclusively frequented by foreigners of dis-
tinction. He assumed the role of a retired ambassador, his
comrade enacted the part of his valet, and both enacted them
to perfection. For a fortnight or more they did not make a
single mistake in their parts. The ambassador was kind but
distant to his servant, the latter never omitted to address
him as " Your Excellency." When their mission was at an end,
they returned to their ordinary duties ; but the " ambassador "
had become so identified with his part that, on his colleague
addressing him in the usual way, he turned round indignantly,
and exclaimed. " You seem to forget yourself. What do you
mean by such familiarity ? "
Of all the entertainments of the ancien regime lending them-
selves to sumptuary and scenic display, " la chasse " was un-
doubtedly the one most likely to appeal to the Imperial couple.
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 2 7 1
Louis-Napoleon had, at any rate, the good sense not to attempt
to rival Le Roi-Soleil in spectacular ballet, or to revive the
Eglinton tournament on the Place du Carrousel. But —
" II ne fallait au fier Romain
Que des spectacles et du pain ;
Mais aux Francais, plus que Romain,
Le spectacle suffit sans pain.' '
No one was better aware of this tendency of the Parisian to
be dazzled by court pageants than the new Emperor, but he
was also aware that, except at the risk of making himself and
his new court ridiculous, some sort of raison d'etre would have
to be found for such open-air displays in the capital ; pending
the invention of a plausible pretext, " les grandes chasses " at
Compiegne were decided upon. They were to be different
from what they had been on the occasion referred to above :
special costumes were to be worn, splendid horses purchased ;
the most experienced kennel and huntsmen, imbued with all
the grand traditions of " la Venerie," recruited from the for-
mer establishments of the Condes and Rohans ; — in short, such
eclat was to be given to them as to make them not only the
talk of the whole of France, but of Europe besides. The ex-
periment was worth trying. Compiegne was less than a hun-
dred miles from Paris ; thousands would flock, not only from
the neighboring towns, but from the capital also, and the glow-
ing accounts they would be sure to bring back would produce
their effect. There would be, moreover, less risk of incurring
the remarks of an irreverent Paris mob, a mob which instiiict-
ively finds out the ridiculous side of every ceremonial instituted
by the court, except those calculated to gratify its love of mili-
tary pomp and splendor. As yet, it was too early to belie the
words, " L'empire, c'est la paix ; " we had not got beyond the
" tame eagle " period, albeit that those behind the scenes,
among others a near connection of mine, who was more than
half a Frenchman himself, predicted that the predatory instincts
would soon reveal themselves, against the Russian bear prob-
ably, and in conjunction with the British lion, — if not in con-
junction with the latter, perhaps against him.
At any rate, les grandes chasses et fetes de Compiegne
formed the first item of that programme of " La France qui
s'amuse," — a programme and play which, for nearly eighteen
years, drew from all parts of the civilized world would-be critics
and spectators, few of whom perceived that the theatre was un-
dermined, the piece running to a fatal denoument, and the bill it-
self tlie most fraudulent concoction that had ever issued from
5 7 2 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS,
the sanctum of a bogus impressario. But had not Lamartine,
only a few years previously, suggested, as it were, the tendency
of the piece, when, in the Chamber of Deputies, he said,
'' Messieurs, j'ai I'honneur et le regret de vous avertir que la
France s'ennuie " ? Louis-Napoleon was determined that no
such reproach should be made during his reign. He probably
did not mean his fireworks to end in the conflagration of
Bazeilles, and to read the criticism on his own drama at Wil-
helmshohe, but he should have held a tighter hand over his
stage-managers. Some of these were now getting their reward
for having contributed to the efficient representation of the
prologue, which one might entitle " the Coup d'Etat." Gen-
eral Magnan was appointed grand veneur— let us say, master
of the buclchounds — with a stipend of a hundred thousand
francs ; Comte Edgar Ney, his chief coadjutor, with forty thou-
sand francs. History sees the last of the latter gentleman on a
cold, dull, drizzly September morning, of the year 1870. He
is seated in an open char-a-bancs, by the side of some Prus-
sian officers, and the vehicle, in the rear of that of his imperial
master, is on its way to the Belgian frontier, en route for Cas-
sel. He is pointing to some artillery which, notwithstanding
its French model, is being driven by German gunners. " A qui
ces canons-Ik.^ " " lis ne sont pas des notres, monsieur," is
the courteous and guarded reply. Verily, his father's exit,
after all is said and done, was a more dignified one. Michel
Ney, at any rate, fell pierced by bullets ; the pity was that
th^ were not the enemy's. In addition to the grand veneur,
and premier veneur, there were three lieutenants de venerie, a
capitaine des chasses a tir, — whom we will call a sublimated
head-gamekeeper ; — and all these dignitaries had other emolu-
ments and charges besides, because Louis-Napoleon, to his
credit be it said, never forgot a friend.
The whole of the " working personnel " was, as I have already
said, recruited from the former establishments of the Condes
at Chantilly, of the late Due d'Orleans, the Dues de Nemours
and d'Aumale ; and such men as La Feuille, whose real name
was Fergus, and La Trace could not have failed to make com-
parisons between their old masters and the new, not always to
the advantage of the latter. For though the spectacle was
magnificent enough, there was little or no hunting, as far as
the majority of guests were concerned. After a great deal of
deliberation, dark green cloth, with crimson velvet collars,
cuffs, and facings, and gold lace, had been adopted. In Louis
XV.'s time, and in that of the latter Bourbons, the color had
I
AN ENGLlSttMAN IN PAklS. 273
been blue with silver lace ; but for this difference the costume
was virtually the same, even to the buckskins, jackboots, and
the "lampion," also edged with gold instead of silver.* The
Emperor's and Empress's had a trimming of white ostrich-
feathers. The dress could not be worn, however, by any but
the members of the Imperial household, without special per-
mission. The latter, of course, wore it by right ; but even men
like the Due de Vicence, the Baron d'Offremont, the Marquis
de Gallifet, the Marquis de Cadore, women like the Comtesse
de Pourtales, the Comtesse de Brigode, the Marquise de Con-
tades, who held no special charge at court, had to receive " le
bouton " before they could don it.f
The locale of these gatherings differed according to the
seasons. Fontainebleau was chosen for the spring ones, but
throughout the reign Compiegne always offered the most
brilliant spectacle, especially after the Crimean war, when
Napoleon III. was tacitly admitted to the family circle of the
crowned heads of Europe. The shooting-parties were a tribute
offered to the taste of the English visitors, who, after that
period, became more numerous every succeeding autumn, and
who, accustomed as they were to their magnificent meets and
lavish hospitality at the most renowed country seats, could not
help expressing their surprise at the utterly reckless expen-
diture ; and, if the truth must be told, enjoyed the freedom firom
all restraint, though it was cunningly hidden beneath an appa-
rently very formidable code of courtly etiquette. As one of
these distinguished Englishmen said, " They have done better
than banish Mrs. Grundy ; they have given her a special invi-
tation, and drugged her the moment she came in."
The Court invariably arrived on the first of November, and
generally stayed for three weeks or a month, according to the
date fixed for the opening of the Chambers. From that mo-
ment the town, a very sleepy though exceedingly pretty one,
became like a fair. Unless you had engaged your room before-
hand at one of the hotels, the chances were a thousand to one
in favor of your having to roam the streets ; for there were
hundreds and hundreds of sightseers, French as well as foreign,
desirous of following the hounds, which every one was free to
do. In addition to these, many functionaries, not sufficiently
important to be favored with an invitation to the Chateau, but
* The lampion was the three-cornered hat, cocked on all sides alike in the shape of a
spout, and stiffened with wire. — Editor.
t " Wearing the king's button " is a very old French sporting term, signifying peiTnission
to wear the dress or the buttons or both, similar to those of the monarch when following the
liounds. — Editor.
18
274 --^^"^ ENGLiSlIMAAr IN PA KIS.
eager for an opportunity of attracting the notice of the sovereign
— for Napoleon was a very impulsive monarch, who often took
sudden fancies, — had to be accommodated, not to mention
flying columns of the demi-monde, " pas trop bien assurees sur
la fidelite de leurs protecteurs en-titre et voulant les sauve-
garder contre les attaques de leurs rivales dans I'entourage
imperial." What with these and others, a room, on the top
story, was often quoted at sixty or seventy francs per day. I
know a worthy lieutenant of the cavalry of the Garde who made
a pretty sum, for two years running, by engaging three apart-
ments at each of the five good hotels, for the whole of the
Emperor's stay. His regiment was quartered at Compiegne
and, as a matter of course, his friends from Paris applied to
him.
An amusing incident happened in connection with this
scarcity of accommodation. The French railways in those
days got a great many of their rails from England. The
representative of one of these English makers found out, how-
ever, that the profits on his contracts were pretty well being
swallowed up by the baksheesh he had to distribute among the
various government ofiicials and others. In his perplexity, he
sought advice of an English nobleman, who had his grandes et
petites entrees to the Tuileries, and the latter promised to get
him an audience of the Emperor. It so happened that the
Court was on the eve of its departure, but Napoleon wrote that
he would see the agent at Compiegne. On the day appointed,
the Englishman came. Having made up his mind to combine
pleasure with business, he had brought his portmanteau, in
order to stay for a day or so. Previous to the interview, he
had applied at every hotel, at every private house where there
was a chance of getting a -room, but without success. His
luggage was in a cab on the Place du Chateau. Napoleon
was, as usual, very kind, promised him his aid, but asked him
to let the matter rest until the next day, when he would have
an opportunity of consulting a high authority on the subject
who was coming down that very afternoon. " Give me your
address, and I will let you know, the first thing in the morning,
when I can see you," said the Emperor in English.
The Englishman looked very embarrassed. " I have no
address, sire. I have been unable to get a room anywhere,"
he replied.
" Oh, I dare say we can put you up somewhere here," laughed
the emperor^ and called to one of his aides-de-camp, to whom
he gave instructions.
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 275
The Englishman and the officer departed together, but the
Chateau was quite as full as the rest of the town.
" I'll ask Baptiste," said the officer at last, having tried every
possible means. .
Baptiste was one of the Empress' principal grooms, and
very willing to help ; but, alas ! he had only a very small room
himself, and that was shared by his wife.
" If monsieur don't mind," said Baptiste, " I will make him
up a good bed in one of the fourgons" — one of the luggage-
vans.
So said, so done. The Englishman slept like a top, being
very tired, — too much like a top, for he never stirred until he
found himself rudely awakened by a heavy bundle of rugs and
other paraphernalia being flung on his chest. He was at the
station. Baptiste had simply forgotten to mention the fact of
his having transformed the fourgon into a bedroom ; the doors
that stood ajar during the night had been closed without the
servant looking inside ; and when the occupant was discovered
he was, as Racine says, —
" Dans le simple appareil
D'une beaute qu'on vient d'arracher au sommeil."
When he told the Emperor, the latter laughed, " as he had never
seen him laugh before," said the aide-de-camp, who had been
the innocent cause of the mischief by appealing to Baptiste.
The victim of the misadventure did not mind it much. For
many years afterwards, he averred that the sight of Compiegne
in those days would have compensated for the inconvenience of
sleeping on a garden seat. What was more, he and his firm
were never troubled any more with inexorable demands for
baksheesh.
He was right ; the sight of Compiegne in those days was
very beautiful. There was a good deal of the histrionic mixed
up with it, but it was very beauciful. In addition to the bands
of the garrison, a regimental band of the infantry of the Garde
played in the courtyard of the Chateau : the streets were alive
with crowds dressed in their best ; almost every house was
gay with bunting, the only exceptions being those of the Legi-
timists, who, unlike Achilles, did not even skulk in their tents,
but shut up their establishments and flitted on the eve of the
arrival of the Court, after having despatched an address of
unswerving loyalty to the Comte de Chambord. After a little
while, Napoleon did not trouble about these expressions of
hostility to his dynasty, though he could not forbear to ask
276 ^'i^V ENGLISH MAN IN PARIS.
bitterly, now and then, whether the Comte de Chambord orthe
Comte de Paris under a regency could h.ive made the country
more prosperous thanhehad att-empted to do, than he succeed-
ed in doing. And truth compels one to admit that France's
material prosperity was not a sham in those days, whatever
else may have been ; for in those days, as 1 have already re-
marked, the end was still distant, and there were probably not
a thou3and men in the whole of Europe who foresaw the nat-
ure of it, albeit that a thirtieth or a fortieth part of them may
have been in Compiegne at the very time when the Emperor,
in his elegantly appointed break, drove from the Place du
Chateau amidst the acclamations of the serried crowds lining
the roads.
On the day of the arrival of the Emperor — the train reached
Compiegne about four — there was neither dinner-party nor re-
ception at the Chateau. The civil and military authorities of
Compiegne went to the station to welcome the Imperial couple,
the rangers of Compiegne and Laigue forests waited upon his
Majesty to arrange the programme, and generally joined the
Imperial party at dinner : but the fetes did not commence
until the second day after the arrival, /. e., with the advent of
the first batch of guests, who reached the Chateau exactly
twenty-four hours after their hosts.
CHAPTER XV.
The guests were divided into five series, each of which
stayed four days exclusive of the day of their arrival and
that of their departure. Each series consisted of between
eighty and ninety guests.
The amusements provided were invariably the same for
each series of guests. On the day of their arrival there was
the dinner, followed by charades, and a carpet dance to the
accompaniment of the piano — or, to speak by the card, of the
piano-organ. It was an instrument similar to that which now-
adays causes so much delight to the children in the streets of
London, and, as far as I can remember, the first of its kind I
had ever seen. The male guests, and not always the youngest
lelieved one another in turning the handle. Mechanical as
was the task, it required a certain ear for time, and they were
often found sadly wanting in that respect. It was rather
comical to see a grave minister of State solemnly grinding out
AA^ ENGLISHMAN IN PA klS. 277
tunes, and being called to task every now and again for his
incapacity. The worst offender, the most hopeless performer,
was undoubtedly the Emperor himself. The Bonapartes are
one and all devoid of the slightest taste for music. I think it
is De Bourrienne — but I will not be certain — who speaks of
the founder of the dynasty humming as he went along from
one apartment to another. " Et Dieu sait comme il chantait
faux," adds the chronicler in despair. That part of the great
man's mantle had decidedly fallen upon his nephew. I re-
member the latter trying to distinguish himself on that piano-
organ one evening. M. de Maupas, who was the prefect of
police at the time of the Coup d'Etat, and minister of police
afterwards, was among the guests. The ambulant musician in
Paris has to get a kind of licence from the prefecture of police,
the outward sign of which is a brass badge, which he is bound
to wear suspended from his button-hole. While the Emperor
was trying to make the company waltz, one of the ladies sud-
denly turned round to M. de Maupas : " Si jamais I'empereur
vous demande la permission de jouer dans la rue, refusez lui,
monsieur; refusez lui, pour I'amour du ciel et de la musique,"
she said aloud : and the Emperor himself could not help smil-
ing at the well-deserved rebuke. " Madame," he replied, " if
ever I am reduced to such a strait, I will take you into part-
nership : I will make you sing, and I will collect the pence."
In spite of his musical deficiencies the Emperor was right ;
the lady was Madame Conneau, who had and has still one of
the most beautiful voices ever heard on the professional or
amateur stage.
On the first day following that of the arrival of the guests,
there was a shooting-party, or rather, there were two — one in
the home park for the Emperor himself, who was not a bad
shot, and a dozen of the more important personages ; another
in the forest. Those who did not care for sport were at liberty
to remain with the ladies, who under the direction of the Em-
press, proceeded to the lawn. Croquet, as far as I know, had
not been invented then, but archery lent itself to posing and
flirtation quite as well, and the costumes worn on such occa-
sions were truly a sight for the gods.
On the evening of that day, there was a performance in the
theatre, built for the express purpose by Louis-Philippe, but
which had been considerably embellished since. The companies
of the Comedie-FrauQaise, the Odeon, the Gymnase, the
Vaudeville, and the Palais-Royal took it in turns. Only the
members of the Comedie-Fran^aise had the privilege of pay-
ayS AiV ENGLISHMAN IN PARJS.
ing their respects in the Imperial box. It was during one of
the performances of the Gymnase company that the following
amusing incident occurred. They were playing *' Le Fils de
Famille " of Bayard and De Bieville,* and the Emperor was
strolling in the lobbies before the performance, when he noticed
an old colonel of lancers, whom he did not remember to have
seen among the guests during the daytime, but who seemed
perfectly at home. He had not even donned his full regi-
mentals.
" Voilk un vrai beau militaire," said the sovereign to one
of his aides-de-camp ; "allezdemander son nom."
The aid-de-camp returned in a moment. " II s'apelle
Lafontaine, sire ; et il appartient au regiment du Gymnase."
"Comment, au regiment du Gymnase ?"
" Mais oui, sire ; c'est Lafontaine, le comedien."
In fact, the assumption was so thoroughly realistic, that
even a better judge than Louis-Napoleon might have been
deceived by it.
Those performances were really most brilliant affairs, and
an invitation to them was only less highly prized than that to
the ball which always followed the play on November 15th,
the Empress's fete-day.f The cost of each performance was
estimated at between twenty and thirty thousand francs, ac-
cording to the company performing. I am repeating the
official statement, though inclined to think it somewhat ex-
aggerated. Except the Opera or Opera-Comique, there was not
then, nor is there now, a theatre in Paris whose nightly re-
ceipts, with " the greatest success," exceed seven or eight
thousand francs. Allowing for an additional three thousand
francs for railway travelling and sundry expenses, I fail to see
how the remainder of the sum was disbursed, unless it was in
douceurs to the performers. There is less doubt, however,
about the expenses of the Chateau during this annual series of
fetes. It could not have been less than forty-five thousand
francs per diem, and must have often risen to fifty thousand
francs, exclusive of the cost of the theatrical performances, be-
cause the luxe displayed on these occasions was truly astonish-
ing— I had almost said appalling.
The theatre was built on the old-fashioned principle, and
what we call stalls were not known in those days. There was
something analogous to them at the Opera and the Theatre-
* Known on the English stage as the " Queen's Shillii^," by Mr. Godfrey. — Editor.
t The Sainte- Eugenie, according to the Church Cabndar. In France, it is not the birth-
day, but the day of the patron-saint whose name one bears, which is celebrated. — Editor.
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 279
Fran9ais, but they were exclusively reserved to the male sex.
Both these theatres still keep up the same traditions in that
respect. At Compiegne the whole of the ground floor, par-
terre, or pit, as we have misnamed it — " groundlings " is a
much more appropriate word, perhaps, than " pittites " — was
occupied by the officers of all grades of the regiments quartered
at Compiegne and in the department. The chefs de corps and
the chief dignitaries of State filled the amphitheatre, which
rose in a gentle slope from the back of the parterre to just be-
low the first tier of boxes, or rather to the balcony tier, seeing
that the only box on it was the Imperial one. The latter, how-
ever, took up much more than the centre, for it had been
constructed to seat about two hundred persons. Only a slight
partition, elbow high, divided it from the rest of the tier,
whence the sterner sex was absolutely banished. The display
of bare arms and shoulders was something marvellous, for they
were by no means equally worthy of admiration, and the
stranger, ignorant of the court regulations, must have often
asked himself why certain ladies should have been so reckless
as to invite comparison with their more favored sisters. It
was because there was no choice. The slightest gauze was
rigorously prohibited, and woe to the lady who ventured to
disobey these regulations. One of the Chambellans was sure
to request her to retire. L'epaule ou I'epaulette" was the
title of a comic song of those days, in allusion to the Empress's
determination to suffer none but resplendent uniforms and
ball dresses within sight of her. If I remember aright, the
chorus went like this —
" Je ne porte pas I'epaulette
Jene puis me decoU'ter,
Je ne suis qu'un vieux bonhomme,
Done, je ne suis pas invite."
For even the guests in plain evening dress were mercilessly
relegated to the tier above that of the Imperial box, and even
when there, were not permitted to occupy the first rows.
These also were reserved for the fairer portion of humanity.
This fairer portion of humanity, thus ostensibly privileged,
embittered the lives of the poor mayor and sub-prefect of Com-
piegne. The wives of the local notabilities and of the govern-
ment officials, in addition to those of some of the landed
gentry of the Empire, were not only anxious to be present at
these gatherings, but generally insisted on having the front
seats, at any rate hi the second circle. Their applications,
transmitted by these dignitaries to the Due de Bassano, were
28o AJV ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
always in excess of the room at his disposal, and being an
utter stranger to all these ladies, he had virtually to choose at
random, or if not at random, to be guided by the mayor
and sub-prefect, who were consulted, not with regard to
the greater or lesser degree of opulent charms and come-
liness of features of these fair applicants, but with re-
gard to their social status and fair fame. Now, it so hap-
pens that in France " L'amour fait des siennes " in the
provinces as well as in the capital; he only disdains
what Mirabeau used to call " les fees concombres." The
Empress, provided the shoulders and arms were bare, did not
trouble much about either their color or " moulded outline ; "
the Emperor, on the contrary, objected, both from personal as
well as artistic reasons, to have the curved symmetry of the
two circles marred by the introduction of so many living
problems of Euclid ; and it really seemed as if the devil
wanted to have all the good shapes to himself, for the reputedly
virtuous spinsters, widows, and matrons were angular enough
to have satisfied a tutor of mathematics. There was a dilem-
ma : if they were put in the front rows, the Emperor scolded
Bassano, who in his turn scolded the mayor and the sub-
prefect. If the less virtuous but more attractive were put in
tne front rows, there was frequently a small scandal ; for the
Empress, at the first sight of them, had them expelled, after
which she scolded Bassano, who avenged himself for his hav-
ing been reprimanded on the mayor and sub-prefect. Fur-
thermore, the contingent from Paris, some of whom were often
provided with letters of introduction from influential person-
ages to the latter gentlemen, were not always without reproach
though ever without fear; but how were two provincial magis-
trates to know this ? Those sirens could almost impose upon
them with impunity, and did ; so, upon the whole, the magis-
trates did not have a pleasant time of it, for in the case of the
former damsels or veuves de Malabar both the Emperor and
the Empress were equally strict — though, perhaps, from utterly
different motives.
Nevertheless, the esclandres were comparatively rare, and
the house itself presented a sight unparalleled perhaps through-
out the length and breadth of Europe. At nine o'clock, Comte
Bacciochi, the first chambellan, in his court dress, descended
the few steps leading from the foyer to the Imperial box, and,
advancing to the front, announced, " The Emperor." Every
one rose and- remained standing until the Emperor and Em-
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 28 1
press, who entered immediately afterwards, had seated them-
selves in the crimson velvet and gilt arm-chairs which the
gentlemen-in-waiting (les chambellans de service) rolled for-
ward.
I have spoken elsewhere of the immediate entourage of the
Imperial hosts, and may therefore pass them over in silence
here. As the Napoleonic dynasty became apparently more
consolidated both at home and abroad, this entourage grad-
ually changed — though no truthful observer could have hon-
estly averred that the change was for the better. The decaves
and the d^classees of the first period disappeared altogether,
or underwent a truly marvellous financial and social metamor-
phosis : the men, by means of speculations, chiefly connected
with the " Haussmannizing " of Paris, the successful carrying
out of which was greatly facilitated by their position at court ;
the woman by marriages, the conditions of which I prefer not
to discuss. An undoubtedly genuine leaven of names to be
found in " D'Hozier," * came to swell the ranks of the hitherto
somewhat shady courtiers of both sexes. Unfortunately, their
blood was not only thicker than water, and consequently more
easily heated, but they presumed upon the blueness of it to set
public opinion at defiance.
" Ce qui, chez les mortels, est une effronterie
Entre nous autres demi-dieux
N'est qu'honnete galanterie/'
Thus wrote the Duchesse du Mainef to her brother, of whom
she was perhaps a little more fond than even their blood-
relationship warranted. This privilege of stealing the horse,
while the meaner-born might not even look over the hedge,
was claimed by the sons and the daughters of the old noblesse,
who condescended to grace the court of Napoleon III., with a
cynicism worthy of the most libertine traditions of the ancien
regime ; and neither the Empress nor the Emperor did any-
thing to discountenance the claim. The former, provided that
"toutse passait en famille," closed her eyes to many things
she ought not to have tolerated. At the Tuileries, a cer-
tain measure of decorum was preferred ; at Compiegne, and
Fontainebleau, where the house was *' packed " as it 'were, th^
* " D'Hozier," the French '' Burke," so named after its founder, Pierre D'Hozier, th*
creator of the science of French genealog}'. — Editor.
t Aune L6uis6 "Benedittede Bourbon, Priricesse' de Cdnde, whd married the Due du
Maine, the illegitimate. 50a of X.puis XIV. and Madame de Mon.tespan. She disliked her
husband, whom she considered socially beneath her, and who was very ugly besides. The
lines c[uoted above are probably not hers, but Malezieu's, " her poet in ordinary," who also
prgan;zed her amateur theatricals.— Editor.
282 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
most flagrant eccentricities, to call them by no harsher name
were not only permitted, but tacitly encouraged by the Empress.
This was especially the case when the first series of guests
was gone. It generally included the most serious portion of
the visitors, " les- ennuyeurs, les empecheurs de danser en
rond," * as they were called. The ladies belonging to, or
classed in that category, presented, no doubt, a striking con-
trast to those of the succeeding series, in which the English
element was not always conspicuous by its absence. The cos-
tumes of the latter were something wonderful to behold. The
cloth skirt, which had then been recently introduced from Eng-
land, and the cloth dress, draped elegantly over it, enabled
their wearers to defy all kinds of weather. And as they went
tramping down the muddy roads, their coquettish little hats
daintily poised on enormous chignons, their walking boots dis-
playing more than the regulation part of ankle, the less sophis-
ticated Compiegnois stared with all their might at the strange
company from the Chateau, and no wonder. Still, the sur-
prise of the inhabitants was small compared to that of the
troopers of the garrison at the invasion of their riding-school
by such a contingent, which indulged in ring-tilting, not unfre-
quently in tent-pegging, and more frequently still, " in taking
a header into space," to the great amusement of their com-
panions.
In those days, Worth was not quite king ; the cocodettes of
the Imperial circle were still prophesying on their own account.
The " arsenal des modes," as Madame Emile de Girardin had
boastingly called Paris but ten years previously, had as yet
not been boldly taken by storm by a native of bucolic Lin-
colnshire. But in a very short time he became the absolute
autocrat in matters of feminine apparel. It was not even an
enlightened despotism. His will was law. Every different
entertainment required its appropriate costume, and the cos-
tume was frequently the sole pretext for the entertainment.
And when the ingenuity in devising both was in danger of
becoming exhausted, the supreme resource of these ladies was
to turn themselves into ballerinas ; not into ballerinas as
King Bomba, or the Comte Sosth^ne de la Rochefoucauld, or
M. Rouher would have had them, but into ballerinas with the
shortest of gauze skirts and pink silk fleshings.
One year, I am not certain of the exact one, — I know that
the future Emperor of Germany was there,^ — the ladies hit
upon the idea of giving a surprise to the Emperor and Empress
* Idioinatically, " the bores, the spoil-sports, or wet-blankets." — Editoe.
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 283
on the occasion of the latter's fete. A ballet-master was sent
for in hot haste from Paris, and " Le Diable k Quatre " put in
rehearsal. Unlike Peter the Great, who had a soldier hanged
— he said shooting was too good for him — for having repre-
sented a disreputable character on the stage, the Emperor pro-
fessed himself exceedingly pleased ; and the ladies, among
whom was Princess von Metternich, were sent for from the
Imperial box to be complimented by the sovereign. At the
ball which followed the entertainment, they appeared in their
theatrical dresses. Every one was delighted. " Apres tout,"
said Napoleon, blinking his eyes, " avec cette manie des
hommes de courir apres des danseuses, il vaut mieux leur en
fournir de bonne maison."
The philosophy was unassailable, and, to a certain extent,
acted upon by its professor. Napoleon only admired dancers
on the stage. He thought, with Balzac, that the extraordinary
physical strain upon the lower extremities necessarily inter-
fered with the intellectual development " at the other end."
" L'esprit de la danseuse est dans ses jambes, et je n'aime pas
les femmes betes," he remarked ; for the Emperor, like most
of the members of his family, did not scruple to apply the
right word when talking to his familiars.
Nevertheless, until he was assured of the stupidity of a
woman by more intimate acquaintance, he was too much
inclined to be attracted by the first handsome face he saw, or,
to speak by the card, by the first handsome face he picked
out for himself. The moment he was seated by the side of
the Empress in the Imperial box, during one of those perform-
ances I mentioned just now, he swept the house with his
opera-glass, and unerringly the glass stopped at what was
really the handsomest woman in the house, whether she was
seated on the tier with him or in the upper one — of course, I
mean " the handsomest woman " among the strangers, because
on such occasions the Emperor paid but little attention to
those who were generally around him. The Empress was fain
to put up with these peccadilloes : she could not be always
running away to Schwalbach or to Scotland ; besides, she
knew that she would have to come back again. Some months
previous to the performance of " Le Diable k Quatre," she
went to the former place to hide her mortification. William
of Prussia was at Baden-Baden at the time, and he immediately
left the delightful society and the magnificent roulades of
Pauline Lucca to offer his sympathies to the Griselda who had
fled from her home troubles, forgetting that there was another
284 A^"^ ENGLISHMA N IN PA RIS.
one at home, who would have even been more glad of his
company.
On the day after the shooting-party and the theatrical per-
formance, there was generally an excursion to Pierrefonds, and
afterwards to the magnificent Roman remains at Champlieu.
In the evening there were charades and carpet dances as
usual.
The third day was always reserved for the most important
part of the programme — the stag-hunt. Candidly speaking, I
doubt whether Napoleon, though a very excellent horseman,
cared much for this sport, as conducted on the grand tradi-
tional lines of the French "code of venerie." His main
object personally was a good stiff run with the hounds, such
as he had been used to in England, troubling himself little
whether the pack kept the scent or not. In fact, there were
generally two packs out, one of purely English breed, which
was followed by the Emperor and his guests ; the other
French, followed by the serious lovers of sport, who, as a rule,
caught at every pretext to get away from the magnificently
apparelled crowd, driving or riding in the wake of the sover-
eign. Among the former there was a considerable sprinkling
of the landed gentry of the neighborhood, monarchists, and
legitimists to a man, some of whom did not even condescend
to honor the Emperor with a salute. Compiegne, Senart, etc.,
were, after all, public property, and they could do as they
liked, though I have got an idea that this wilful slight was an
instance of singular bad taste on the part of these gentlemen.
The spot fixed for the meet was invariably the large clearing
known as the Carrefour du Puits-du-Roi, whence radiated eight
immense avenues', stretching as far as the uttermost confines of
:he forest of Compiegne. The spot, apart from its associations
with royalty, from the days of Clovis up to our own, was admi-
rably chosen, the mise-en-scene worthy of the greatest stage-
manager on record. The huge centre itself was kept clear by
the gendarmes de chasse — a cross between a mounted con-
stable and a ranger — from any but the officers of the garrison
on horseback and other persons privileged to join the Emperor's
suite. Six of the avenues were free to the pedestrians, who
could watch every movement from their vantage point ; the
seventh was set apart for carriages of all sorts, from the hum-
ble shandrydan of the local notary and doctor to . the magnifi-
cent break of the neighboring landed proprietor, or the less
correctly but more showily appointed barouches of the leaders
of provincial society, who rajely missed an opportunity of at-
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 285
tending these gatherings, where there were so many chances of
coming in contact with the Court. Relegated for at least ten
months of the year — allowing for an annual visit to the capital
' — to the dull, humdrum, though often pretentious round of
entertainments of her own circle, the Comtesse d'Esbargnas,*
whether young or old, handsome or the reverse, matron or
widow, of patrician or plebeian origin, sedulously watched the
yearly recurring time and tide that might lead to a permanent
footing at the Tuileries. What has happened once may hap-
pen again. Agnes Sorel, Diane de Poitiers, Gabrielle d'Es-
trees, Louise de la Valliere, let alone Jeanne Becu and Jeanne
Poisson,t had by no means exhausted the possibilities of sud-
den elevations to within a step of the throne. These new as-
pirants would be content with a less giddy position. And
who could say what might happen ? Had not Alfred de Mus-
set, the daring poet of " les grandes passions," written a play
entitled *' II ne faut jurer de rien " ? Assuredly what had hap-
pened once might happen again. Meanwhile the pleasure
of watching all this splendor was worth coming for.
The latter proposition hardly admitted of discussion. The
sight was truly worth coming for. Though the Imperial suite
never made its appearance before one, the main arteries of the
forest became crowded as early as eleven. Half an hour later
came La Trace and La Feuille with their equipage. $ The
kennelmen and huntsmen in full dress gathered round a roar-
ing fire, their hounds lying at their feet. The stablemen and
grooms, in undress livery of green and brown, walking the
hunters of the Emperor and his suite to and fro, presented a
picture full of color and animation.
As a rule the Imperial cortege was punctual on those oc-
casions, though it was often remiss in that respect at gather
iHgs of a different nature. Among the familiars at the Tuileries
the blame for this general unpunctuality was attributed in an
equal measure to both the Emperor and the Empress. The
latter dressed very slowly, and the former wanted to dress too
quickly. The result of this difference of habit was always
manifest to the most casual observer. The Empress, after the
most fatiguing day or soiree, always looked as if she had just
left her dressing-room, the Emperor at the beginning of the
* A character of one of Moli^re's plays, who lends her name to the play itself, and who,
with her provincial clique, apes the manners of the court.
t Mesdames Du Barry and Pompadour.
X " Equipage " is the right word. Applied to any but military or hunting uses, it is out
of place, though frequently thus used. — Editor.
286 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
same as if he had scarcely been in it. But on "grand hunt-
days," the Empress was never a minute late ; and the reason,
apart from the natural wish to exercise " la politesse des rois,"
exactitude, was a curious one, but for the truth of which I can
vouch. It gets dark early in November, and the Empress
dreaded to be overtaken by darkness in the forest, even
amidst a crowd. It reminded her of a disagreeable episode
during her first stay at Compiegne, when she was still Mdlle.
Eugenie de Montijo. She and her future husband had got
separated from the rest of the party. It was never accurately
known what happened, but she was found sitting quietly but
sorely distressed on her horse by M. de Saint Paul, the sub-
ranger, who escorted her back to the Chateau. She explained
her lonely and uncomfortable position by the fact that her
companion's horse had suddenly taken the bit between its
teeth. The explanation was a lame one, seeing that the
Prince-President, on his return, hours before, had looked per-
fectly composed and not as much as mentioned her name.
The truth leaked out afterwards. Enraged at Mdlle. de
Montijo's refusal to grant him a clandestine interview for
that night, her princely suitor had left her to find her way back
as best she could.
Invariably, then, at the stroke of one, the Imperial proces-
sion was signalled, for it was nothing less than a procession.
At its head rode the chief ranger of Compiegne, Baron de
Wimpffen, in a magnificent hunting-coat of green and gold, the
laced tricornered hat, surmounted by a bunch of black plumes,
jackboots, and white doeskins. Then came the Imperial break,
drawn by six horses, mounted by postilions in powdered wigs, ■
the Imperial host and hostess on the front seat, the members
of the family, or some illustrious guests, behind ; the rest of
the breaks were only four-horsed, and the procession was closed
by the carriage of M. Hyrvoix, the chief of the secret police.
In Paris this arrangement was reversed, and M. Hyrvoix, who
had the rank of a prefect, and took his place as such at all
public functions, preceded instead of following the Imperial
carriage.
I am inclined to think, notwithstanding the frequent outcries
against the secret police during the second empire, that M.
Hyrvoix was a thoroughly upright and conscientious servant.
Unfortunately for himself and his Imperial masters, his posi-
tion was a difficult one ; for though professedly employed to
gauge public opinion with regard to the dynasty, his reports
to that effect were not always received with the consideration
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 287
due to honest truth, at any rate by the Empress. Throughout
these pages, I have endeavored as far as possible to jot down
my recollections in a kind of chronological order, rather than
in the order they occurred to me ; but in this, as in many other
instances, I have been obliged to anticipate the course of events
lest they should slip my memory, for I had no documents to
go by, and also to avoid unnecessary repetitions. This par-
ticular part of my somewhat disjointed narrative was meant to
deal with the festivities at Compiegne and the company there ;
on reading it over, I find that it has developed into a fragment
of biography of the Emperor and his Consort. As such, the
following stories will throw a valuable side light on their differ-
ent dispositions.
When the news of Emperor Maximilian's death reached
Paris, there was the rumbling of a storm which foreboded no
good. For days before, there had been vague rumors of the
catastrophe. It had been whispered at the annual distribution
of prizes at the College de France, where one of the young
Cavaignacs had refused to receive his reward at the hands of
the Prince Imperial. In short, indignation was rife among all
classes. The Empress, on hearing of the insult, had burst into
hysterical tears, and been obliged to leave the reception-rooms.
In short, a dark cloud hung over the Tuileries. I have spoken
elsewhere of the Mexican expedition, so need not enlarge upon
it here. We will take it that both Napoleon and his wife were
altogether blameless in the affair — which was by no means the
case, — but a moment's reflection ought to have shown them
that appearances were against them, and that the discontent
expressed was so far justified. I am under the impression that
Napoleon himself looked at it in that way : he bowed to the
storm ; he regretted, but did not resent people speaking ill of
him. Not so the Empress : the truth was only welcome to her
when it flattered her ; she really fancied herself an autocrat by
the Grace of God, as the previous Bourbons interpreted the
term. In spite of all that has been said about her amiability,
about her charity, Eugenie was in reality cruel at heart. No
woman, not cruel, could have taken the principal part in a
scene which I will, describe presently. But she was vindictive
also, and, what was worse, blindly vindictive. Though firmly
convinced that she reigned by right divine, she had felt more
than once that private revenge on " the people " who abused
her was beyond her power. She not only fretted accordingly,
but often vented her wrath on the first victim that came to
hand, albeit that the latter was generally the mere innocent
288 AN ENGLI^hSIAN IN PARIS.
conveyance through which the voice of " the people ** reached
her. M. Hyrvoix, in virtue of his functions, often found him-
self the echo of that voice. He was generally the first of all
the officials to present his daily report. The Emperor gave
him his cue by asking, " What do the people say ? "
On that particular morning, after the death of Maximilian
had become known, the answer came not as readily as usual ;
for the chief of the secret police was not in the habit of minc-
ing matters. This time, however, M. Hyrvoix kept silent for
a while, then replied, " The people do not say anything, sire."
Napoleon must have noticed the hesitating manner ; for he
said at once, " You are not telling me the truth. What do the
people say ? "
" Well, sire, if you wish to know, not only the people, but
every one is deeply indignant and disgusted with the conse-
quences of this unfortunate war. It is commented upon every-
where in the selfsame spirit. They say it is the fault of "
" The fault of whom ? " repeated Napoleon.
Whereupon M. Hyrvoix kept silent once more.
" The fault of whom .'' " insisted Napoleon.
" Sire," stammered M. Hyrvoix, " in the time of Louis XVI.
people said, ' It is the fault of the Austrian woman.' "
" Yes, go on."
"Under Napoleon III. people say, 'It is the fault of the
Spanish woman.' "
The words had scarcely left M. Hyrvoix' lips, when a door
leading to the inner apartments opened, and the Empress ap-
peared on the threshold. " She looked like a beautiful fury,"
said M. Hyrvoix to his friend from whom I have got the story.
" She wore a white dressing-gown, her hair was waving on her
shoulders, and her eyes shot flames. She hissed, rather than
spoke, as she bounded towards me ; and, ridiculous as it may
seem, I felt afraid for the moment. ' You will please repeat
what you said just now, M. Hyrvoix/ she gasped in a voice
hoarse with anger.
" ' Certainly, madame,' I replied, * seeing that I am here to
speak the truth, and, as such, your Majesty will pardon me.
I told the Emperor that the Parisians spoke of ' the Spanish
woman,' as they spoke seventy-five and eighty years ago of
' the Austrian woman.' "
" * The Spanish woman ! the Spanish woman ! ' she jerked out
three or four times — and I could see that her hands were
clenched ; — '- 1 have become French, but I will show my ene-
mies that I can be Spanish when occasion demands it.'
AA' EN(;LISiJMAX JX PARIS, 2S9
" With this, she left as suddenly as she had cottie, taking no
notice of the Emperor's uplifted hand to detain her. When
the door closed upon her, 1 said to the Emperor, ' I am more
than grieved, sire, that I spoke.'
" ' You did your duty,' he said, grasping my hand."
As a matter of course, the threat to show her enemies that
she could be Spanish when occasion required was, in this
instance, an empty one, because " the enemies " happened to
be legion. A scapegoat was found, however, in the honest
functionary who had, in the exercise of his duty, frankly
warned the Emperor of the ugly things that were said about
her. Next morning, M. Hyrvoix was appointed Receiver-
General for one of the departments — that is, exiled to the pro-
vinces.
This system of ostracism was indiscriminately applied to all
who happened to offend her. Unfortunately, the slightest
divergence of opinion on the most trifling matter was construed
into an offence ; hence in a few years the so-called counsellors
around the Emperor were simply so many automata, mowng at
her will, and at her will only. Men who ventured to think
for themselves were removed, or else voluntarily retired from
the precincts of the court sooner than submit to a tyranny, not
based like that of Catherine II. or Elizabeth upon great intel-
lectual gifts, but upon the w^ayward impulses of a woman in no
way distinguished mentally from the meanest of her sex, except
by an overweening ambition and an equally overweening con-
ceit.
And as nothing is so apt to breed injustice as injustice, men,
who might have proved the salvation of the Second Empire in
its hour of direst need, were absolutely driven into opposition,
and so blinded by resentment as to be unable to distinguish
any longer between France and those who impelled her to her
ruin.
Lest I should be taxed with exaggeration, a few instances
among the many will suffice. One evening, in the course of
those charades of which I have already spoken, some of the per-
formers, both men and women, had thrown all decorum to the
winds in their improvised dialogue. A young colonel, by no
means strait-laced or a hypocrite, who was a great favorite with
the Emperor and Empress, professed himself shocked, in the
hearing of the latter, at so much licence in the presence of the
sovereigns. In reality, it was an honest but indirect comment
upon the Empress's blamable latitude in that respect. The
Empress took up the cudgels for the offenders. " Vous n'etes
19
i^O AjV englishman in PARIS.
pas content, colonel ; he bien ! je xvi&nfiche, rejiche et confre-
Jichey (" You don't like it colonel; well, I don't care a snap,
nor two snaps, nor a thousand snaps." *) The Emperor
laughed, and applauded his Consort ; the colonel took the
hint, and was seen at court no more. Shortly afterwards he
went to Mexico, where all who saw him at work concurred in say-
ing that he was not only a most valuable soldier, but probably
the only one in the French army, of those days, capable of
handling large masses. Nevertheless, when the war of '70 broke
out, he was still a colonel, and no attempt at offering him a
command was made. The republicans, for once in a way, were
wiser in their generation : at this hour he holds a high position
in the army, and is destined to occupy a still higher. It was
he who counselled Bazaine, in the beginning of the invest-
ment of Metz, to leave twenty or thirty thousand men behind
to defend the fortress, and to break through with the rest.
According to the best authorities of the German general staff,
the advice, had it been followed, would have materially altered
the st^te of affairs. It is not my intention to enlarge upon that
soldier's career or capabilities ; I have merely mentioned them
to show that, when her resentment was roused, Eugenie threw
all considerations for the welfare of France to the winds, and
systematically ostracized men, whatever their merits ; for I may
add that the young colonel, at the time of the scene described
above, was known to be one of the ablest of strategists.
We have heard a great deal of the Empress's charity. Truth
to tell, that charity was often as indiscriminate as her anger;
it was sporadic, largely admixed with the histrionic element,
not unfrequently prompted by sentimentalism rather than by
sentiment ; and woe to him or to her who ventured to hint
that it, the charity, was misplaced. In those days there was a
prefect of police, M. Boitelle. He was a worthy man, endowed
with a great deal of common sense, and, above all, honest to a
degree. Belonging to the middle classes, he was free from the
vulgar greed that so often distinguishes them in France ; and,
after leaving the army as a non-commissioned officer, he settled
on a small farm left to him by his parents. Now, it so hap-
pened that M. de Persigny, whose real name was Fialin, had
been a sergeant in the same regiment, and, one day, after the
advent of the Empire, being in the north, went to pay his
former comrade a visit. I am perfectly certain that M. Boitelle,
* My translation by no means renders the vulgarity of the sentence. The French have
three words to express their contempt for a speaker's opinion, se moquer, sejicher, and si
. , , I omit the latter, but even the second is rarely used in decent society. — Editor.
A.V ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 29 1
whom I know, and with whose son I have continued the ami
cable relations subsisting between his father and myself, did.
not solicit any honors or appointment from the then powerful
friend of the Emperor ; nevertheless, Persigny appointed his
fellow-messmate to the sub-prefectorship of St. Quentin. The
emoluments, even in those days, were not large, but M. Boitelle
was only a small farmer, and the promise of quick preferment
may have induced him to leave his peaceful homestead ; in
short, M. Boitelle accepted, and, after several promotions,
found himself at last at the Paris Prefecture of Police. In this
instance the choice was really a good one. I have known a
good many prefects of police, among others M. de Maupas,
who officiated on the night of the Coup d'Etat, and who was
also a personal friend ; but I never knew one so thoroughly
fitted for the arduous post as M. Boitelle. Though not a man
of vast reading or brilliant education, he was essentially a man
of the world in the best sense of the word. He was not a
martinet, but a capable disciplinarian, and, what was better
still, endowed with a feeling of great tolerance for the foibles
of modern society. The soldier and the philosopher were so
inextricably mixed up in him, that it would have been difficult
to say where the one ended and the other began. M. de
Maupas was at thnes too conscious of his own importance ;
there was too much of the French official in him. His suc-
cessful co-operation in the Coup d'Etat had imbued him with
an exaggerated notion of his own capabilities of " taking people
by the scruff of the neck and running them in " (k empoigner
les gens). An English friend of mine, to whom I introduced
him, summed him up, perhaps, more fitly. " He is like the
policeman who ran in a woman of sixty all by himself, and
boasted that he could have done it if she had been eighty."
But M. Boitelle, though kind-hearted, had no sympathy
whatsoever with mawkish philanthropy. The Empress, on the
other hand, had absolute paroxysms of it. She was like the
Spanish high-born dame who insisted upon a tombstone for
the grave of a bull, the killing and torturing of which in the
ring she had frantically applauded. One day she expressed
her wish to M. Boitelle to pay a visit to Saint-Lazare. There
is nothing analogous to that institution in England. The
" unfortunate woman " who prowls about the streets before or
after nightfall is — except in a few garrison towns — tacitly
ignored by our legislators, and when she offends against the
common law, treated by our magistrates like any other member
of society. We have no establishments where the moral cancer
292 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
eats deeper into the flesh and the mind by the very attempt to
isolate those who suffer most from it ; we have no system which
virtually bars the way to a reformed life by having given official
authority to sin, and by recording for evermore the names of
those whom want alone compelled to have themselves inscribed
as outcasts on those hellish registers. We have no Saint-
Lazare, and Heaven be praised for it !
M. Boitelle knew the moral and mental state of most of the
inmates of Saint-Lazare sufficiently well to foster no illusions
with regard to the benefit to be derived by them from the soli-
tary visit of so exalted a personage, while, on the other hand,
he felt perfectly aware that it was morbid curiosity, however
well disguised, that prompted the step. At the same time, the
respect due to his sovereign made him reluctant to expose her,
needlessly, to a possible, if not to a probable insult ; in short,
he considered the projected " tour of inspection " an ill-con-
certed one. He also knew that it would be idle to bring
his fund of shrewd philosophy to bear upon the Empress, to
make her relinquish her design, so he adopted instead the out-
spoken method of the soldier. " Whatever your charitable
feelings may be for those who suffer, madame," he said, " your
place is not among them." The words sound a shade more
abrupt in French, but a moment's reflection would have shown
the most fastidious lady that no offence on the speaker's part
was intended. The Empress, however, drew herself up to her
full height. " Charity can go any and everywhere, monsieur,"
she replied. " You will please take me to Saint-Lazare to-
morrow."
I would fain say as little as possible about the occupants of
that gloomy building at the top of the Faubourg St. Denis, but
am compelled to state in common fairness that, when once
they are incarcerated and behave themselves — of course, ac-
cording to their lights — they are not treated with unnecessary
harshness. I will go further, and say that they are treated
more leniently than female prisoners in other penal establish-
ments. The milder method is due to the presence in greater
numbers than elsewhere of that admirable angel of patience,
the Sister of Charity, who has no private grievances to avenge
upon her own sex, who does not look upon the fallen woman
as an erstwhile and unsuccessful rival for the favors of men,
who consequently does not apply the vce inctis, either by sign,
deed, or word. During my long stay in Paris, I have been al-
lowed to visit Saint-Lazare twice, and I can honestly say that,
though the' laws that relegate these women there are a disgrace
c AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 293
to nineteenth-century civilization, their application inside
Saint-Lazare is not at all brutal. This does not imply that
they lie upon down-beds, and that their food is of the most
delicate description ; but they are well cared for, bodily.
The Empress, however, in a gush of misplaced charity, thought
fit to take objection to their daily meals not being concluded
with dessert. Thereupon, M. Boitelle, whose sound common
sense had already been severely tried during that morning,
could not help smiling. " Really, madame," he said ; " you
allow your kindness to run away with your good sense. If they
are to have a dessert, what are we to give to honest women ? "
Next day, M. Boitelle was appointed a senator; that is,
removed from his post as prefect of police, which he had so
worthily filled, and where he had done a great deal of unosten-
tatious good. The next time M. Boitelle came in contact with
the Empress was at the last hour of the Empire, when he tried,
but in vain, to overcome her resentment, caused by his unhappy
speech of many years before.
Yet, the woman who could indulge in sentiment about the
absence of dessert in the Saint-Lazare refectory, would, at the
end of the hunt, deliberately jump off her horse, plunge the
gleaming knife in the throat of the panting stag, and revel in
the sight of blood. Many who saw her do this argued that in
the hour of danger she would as boldly face the enemies of her-
self and her dynasty. I need not say that they were utterly
mistaken. She slunk away at the supreme hour ; while the
princess, whom she had presumed to teach the manners of a
court, left like a princess in an open landau, preceded by an
outrider. I am alluding to Princess Clotilda.
CHAPTER XVI.
In connection with the treatment of " fallen women " in
Paris, I may give the following story, which become interesting
in virtue of the personality of one of the actors. In 1843 the
sculptor Cortot died, and I followed his funeral on foot, as was
the custom in those days. I walked by the side of one of the
greatest artists France, or, for that matter, the world, has ever
produced — David d' Angers. The name of his native town was
adopted to distinguish him from his celebrated namesake, the
painter. I had become acquainted with the great sculptor a
twelvemonth previously, in Delacroix's studio. All at once,
294 ^^^ ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
as the procession went along the Quai Malaquais, I saw him
start violently, and break through what, for want of a more ap-
propriate term, I must call the ranks of mourners. For a
moment only ; the next, he was back by my side ; but 1 noticed
that he was frightfully agitated. He probably saw my concern
for him in my face, for, though I asked him no questions, he
said of his own accord, " It is all right. I just caught sight of
a woman who saved my life, and by the looks of her, she is in
great straits, but, by the time I got out of the crowd, she had
disappeared. I have an idea of the errand she was bent upon,
and will inquire to-morrow, but I am afraid it will be of very
little use."
I kept silent for a moment or two, but my curiosity was
aroused, for, I repeat, at that time, the artistic world was ring-
ing with the name of David d' Angers.
"I did not know you had been in such great danger," I said
at last.
" Very few people do know it," he replied sadly ; " besides,
it happened a good many years ago, when you were very young.
The next time we meet I will tell you all about it."
A week or so afterwards, as I was leaving the Cafe de Paris
one evening, and going to the tobacconist at the corner of the
Rue Lafitte, I ran against the celebrated sculptor. The weather
was mild, and we sat outside Tortoni's, where he told me the
story, part of which I give in his own words, as far as I can re-
member them after the lapse of more than forty years.
" If there were any need," he began, " to apologize to an
Englishman for my sympathy with the Philhellenism which
shortened the life of Byron, I might say that I sucked the prin-
ciple of the independence of nations with the mother's milk,
for I was born in 1789. Be that as it may, when Marcos Bot-
zaris fell at Missolonghi I felt determined that he should have
a monument worthy of his heroism and patriotism, as far as
my talents could contribute to it. I was sufficiently young to
be enthusiastic, and, at the same time, sufficiently presumptu-
ous to imagine that I could do sorhething which had never been
done before. You have seen the engraving of the monument ;
you may judge for yourself how far I succeeded. But the idea
of the composition, however out of the common, was, I am
bound to admit, not the offspring of my own imagination. I
was, perhaps, clever enough to see the poesy of it when pre-
sented to me, and to appropriate it ; but the young, fragile girl
lying on the. tombstone and tracing the name of Marcos Bot-
zaris was suggested to me by a scene I witnessed one day at
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
Pere-la-Chaise. I saw a child stooping over a gravestone, and
trying to spell out the words carved on it. It was all I wanted.
1 own, from that moment, my composition took shape in my
mind. I was, however, still at a loss where to find the ideal
child. The little girl of whom I had caught a glimpse would
not have done at all for my purpose, even if her parents would
have consented to let her sit, which was not at all likely — she
was the prosperous-looking demoiselle of a probably prosperous
boiirgeoise family, well-fed, plump, and not above seven or
eight. I, on the contrary, wanted a girl double that age just
budding into womanhood, but with the travail of the transition
expressed in every feature, in every limb. She was to repre-
sent to the most casual observer the sufferings engendered by
the struggle against tutelage for freedom. She was to bend
over the tomb of Botzaris to drag the secret of that freedom
from him. Dawning life was to drag the secret from the dead.
" That was my idea, and for several days I cudgelled my
brain to find among my models one that would, physically and
morally, represent all this. In vain ; the grisettes of the Rue
Fleurus and the Quartier-Latin, in spite of all that has been said
of them by the poets and novelists of that time, were not at all
the visible incarnations of lofty sentiment ; whatever pain and
grief an unrequited romantic passion might entail, they left no
appreciable traces on their complexions or in their outline ;
they were saucy madams, and looked it. I had communicated
my wants to some of my friends, and one of them sent me what
he thought would suit. The face was certainly a very beauti-
ful one, as an absolutely perfect ensemble of classical features
I have never seen the like-; but there was about as much ex-
pression in it as in my hand, and, as for the body, it was sim-
ply bursting out of its dress. I told her she would not do, and
the reason why. * Monsieur can't expect me to go into a con-
sumption for two francs fifty an hour,' she remarked, bouncing
out of the room.
" I was fast becoming a nuisance to all my cronies, when,
one day, going to dine with Victor Hugo at La Mere Saget's,
which was at the Barriere du Maine, I came unexpectedly, in
the Rue du Montparnasse, upon the very girl for which I had
been looking out for months. Notwithstanding her rags, she
was simply charming. She was not above fourteen or fifteen,
and although very tall for her age, she had scarcely any flesh
on her bones. I only knew her christian name — Cle'mentine :
I doubt whether she had any other. Next morning she came
with her mother, an old hag, dissipation and drunkenness
296 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
written in every line of her face. But the child herself was
perfectly innocent — at any rate, as innocent as she could be
with such a parent, and tractable to a degree. After a little
while the old woman, tired of twirling her thumbs, disgusted,
perhaps, at my want of hospitality in not offering her refresh-
ments, left off accompanying her : Clementine came henceforth
alone.
" My studio was in the Rue de Fleurus in those days, and
on the wall hung a very handsome bronze Christ on a velvet
panel and in a dark satin frame. Curiously enough, I often
caught the mother watching it ; it seemed to have an irresist-
ible fascination for her : and, one day, while the child was
dressing, after two or three hours of hard work, she suddenly
exclaimed, 'That's why my mother will not come here; she
says she'd commit a robbery. She never leaves off talking
about it. I wonder whether you'd like to part with it, M.
David ? A Christ like that would be beautiful in our attic.
It would comfort and cheer me. If you like, I'll buy it of
you. Of course, I have no money, but you can deduct it
from my sittings. You can have as many as you like, not only
for this statue, but for any other you may want later on.'
" We democrats, professed republicans, and more than sus-
pected revolutionaries, are not credited by the majority with,
a great reverence for religious dogma ; we are generally
branded as absolute freethinkers, not to say atheists. This is
frequently a mistake.* I have no occasion to recite my credo
to you, but a great many of the republicans of '89 and of to-
day were and are believers. At any rate, I fondly imagined
that the Christ for which the mother and child were longing
might exercise some salutary influence on their lives, so I
simply took down the frame and its contents and banded them
to her. She staggered under the weight. ' You want that
Christ,' I said ; ' here it is : and when you are tempted to do
evil look at it, and think of me, who gave it you as a present.'
" * As a present 1 ' she shrieked for joy ; and hurried away as
fast as her legs would carry her.
" In about six months from that day the statue was finished.
I had no further need of Clementine's services, and gradually
all thought of her slipped from my mind. You may have
heard that, some time after my work was despatched to Greece,
* It is a mistake. Not to mention Camilla Desmoulins, who, when asked his age by his
judge, replied, " The age of another sansculotte, Jesus," Esquiros frequently spoke of
that good patriot, Christ; " Lammenais began the draft of his constitution with, ' In the
name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, and by the will of the French people."—
Epitor.
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 297
I was assaulted one night in the Rue Childebert, on my way
to Gerard de Nerval's. My skull was split open in two places.
I was left for dead in the street, and but for a workman who
stumbled over me, took me home, and sat up with me until
morning, I might not have lived to tell the tale. From the
very first I suspected the identity of my assailant, though I
have never breathed his name to any one. I am glad to say I
never had many enemies, nor have I now, as far as I am aware ;
but I had offended the man by withholding my vote in a prize
competition. He was, however, not responsible for his actions ;
for even at that time he must have been mad. A few years
afterwards, the suspicion both of his madness and his attempt
upon my life became a certainty, for he repeated the latter.
You are very young, and youth is either very credulous or very
sceptical. We should be neither. If what I am going to tell
you now were to be represented to you at the Ambigu or Porte
Saint-Martin, you, as an educated man, would shrug your
shoulders, and look with a kind of good-natured contempt upon
the grisette or workman or bourgeois who would sit spellbound
and take it all in as so much gospel. Providence, fate, call it
what you will, concocts more striking dramatic situations and
a greater number of them than M. Scribe and all his compeers
have constructed in the course of their professional careers.
Listen, and you shall jndge for yourself.
" About seven years after the attack in the Rue Childebert,
I received a letter one morning, inviting me to attend a meet-
ing that same night between twelve and one, at a house in the
Faubourg Saint-Jacques, near the hospital of the Val-de-Grace.
The letter told me how to proceed. There being no concierge
in the house, I was to provide myself with a ' dark lantern,'
and to go up four flights of stairs, where I should find a door
with a cross chalked upon it. It would be opened by my
giving a particular knock. My previous danger notwithstand-
ing, I had not the least suspicion of this being a trap. I did
not for one moment connect the letter with the other event,
the recollection of which, strange as it may seem to you, did
not obtrude itself at all then. But there was another reason
for the absence of caution on my part. In one of its corners
the letter bore a sign, not exactly that of a secret society, but
agreed upon among certain patriots.
" In short, a little before twelve o'clock that night, I went
to the place appointed. I had no difficulty in finding the
house, and reached the fourth story without meeting a soul.
There was the door with the cross chalked on it. I knocked
298 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS,
once, twice, without receiving an answer. Still, the thought of
evil never entered my head. I began to think that I had been
the victim of a hoax, of some youngsters of the Ecole des
Beaux-Arts, most of whom were aware of my political opinions.
I was just turning round to go down again, when a door by the
side of that indicated was slowly opened, and a young girl with
a lighted candle appeared on the threshold. Though both the
candle and my lantern did not shed much light, I perceived
that, at the sight of me, she turned very pale, but, until she
spoke, I failed to recognize her. Then I saw it was Clemen-
tine, my model. She scarcely gave me time to speak. * It is
you, M. David,' she said, in a voice trembling with fear and
emotion. * You,' she repeated. ' For Heaven's sake, go — go
as quickly as you can ! If you stay another moment, you will
be a corpse ; for God's sake, go ! And let me beg of you not
to breathe a word of this to any one ; if you do, my mother
and I will pay for this with our lives. For God's sake, go. I
did not know that you were the person expected. Go — go ! '
" I do not think I answered a single word. I felt instinc-
tively that this was no hoax, as I had imagined, but terrible
reality. I went downstairs as fast as I could, but it was not
until I got into the street that a connection between the two
events presented itself to me. Then I decided to wait and
watch. I hid myself in the doorway of a house a few steps
away. Scarcely ten minutes had elapsed when half a dozen
individuals arrived, one by one, and disappeared into the
house that sheltered Clementine and her mother. One of
them, I feel sure, was the man whom I suspected of having
attempted my life before. A few years more went by, during
which I often thought of my former model ; and then, one
day, I felt I would like to see her again. In plain daylight this
time, I repaired to the house of the Faubourg Saint-Jacques,
clambered up the stairs, and knocked at the door I had
such good cause to remember. The door was opened by a
workman, and a rapid glance at the inside of the room showed
me that he was a lastmaker. 'Mademoiselle Clementine.?' I
asked. The man stared at me, and said, ' No such person
lives here.' I made inquiries on all the lower floors — nobody
had ever heard of her. Clementine had disappeared. I never
saw her again until a few days ago, when I walked by your
side behind the body of Cortot. I should not have recog-
nized her but for the bronze Christ she carried under her arm,
and which attracted my notice. If what I surmise be correct,
she must have reached the last stage of misery ; for I feel
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
299
convinced that nothing but absolute want would make her
part with it. I have, however, failed to trace it in any of the
bric-k-brac shops on the quays, and I believe that I have pretty
well inquired at every one ; so I must fain be content until
fate throws her again across my path.**
So far the story as told by the great sculptor himself. Dur-
ing the next eight years, in fact up to the Coup d'Etat, I met
him frequently, and, curiously enough, rarely failed to inquire
whether in his many wanderings through Paris he had caught
a glimpse of his former model. I felt unaccountably inter-
ested in the fate of that woman whom I had never seen, and,
if we had been able to find her, would have endeavored to
find a decent home for her. But for about three years my in-
quiries always met with the same answer. Then, one evening in
the latter end of '46, or beginning of '47, David told me that he
had met her on the outer boulevards, arm in arm with one of
those terrible nondescripts of which one is often compelled to
speak again and again, and which, as far as I am aware, are no-
where to be found as a class except in the French metropolis
and great provincial centres. Clementine evidently wished
to avoid David. A little while after, he met her again, and
this time followed her, but, though by no means a coward,
lacked the courage to enter the hovel into which she had dis-
appeared with her companion. The last time he saw her was
in the middle of '47, in the Rue des Boucheries. She seemed
to have returned to her old quarters, and she was by herself.
Until she spoke, David did not recognize her. Her face was
positively seamed with horrible scars, " wounds inflicted by
her lovers" — Heaven save the mark ! She asked him to help
her, and he did ; but she had scarcely gone a few steps when
she was arrested and taken to the prison of I'Abbaye de St.
Germain, hard by, whither David followed to intercede for
her. He was told to come back next morning, and that same
evening communicated the affair to me. I decided there and
then to accompany him, in order to carry out my plan of re-
deeming that human soul if possible. I failed, through no fault
of my own, but my attempt brought me in contact with a per-
sonage scarcely less interesting in his own way than David,
namely, M. Canler, the future head of the Paris detective
force. It was through him that I got an insight into some of the
most revolting features of criminal life in Paris. But, before
dealing with that subject, I wish to devote a few more lines to
David, whom I had the honor of numbering among my friends
till the day of his death, albeit that the last few years of his life
300 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
were spent away from France, whither he returned, however, to
die in '56. After the Coup d'Etat he was exiled by Louis-
Napoleon — ostensibly, for his political opinions ; in reality,
because he had refused to finish the monument for Queen Hor-
tense's tomb after her son's fiasco at Boulogne.
Writing about France and Frenchmen, I feel somewhat re-
luctant to make too lavish a use of the words " patriot " and
" patriotism," especially with the patriots and the patriotism
of the Third Republic around me. But I have no hesitation
in saying that, to David d'Angers, these words meant some-
thing almost sacred. Sprung from exceedingly poor parents,
he had amassed, by honest work, a fortune which, to men born
in a higher sphere and with far more expensive tastes, might
seem sufficient. Seeing that he was frugality and simplicity
personified, that his income was mainly spent in alleviating
distress, and that his daughter was even more simple-minded
than her father, he had nothing to gain by the advent of a re-
public, nothing to lose by the establishment of a monarchy or
empire, and his ardent championship of republican institutions
— such as he conceived them — was prompted solely by his
noble nature. That Louis-Napoleon should have exiled such
a man was an error his warmest friends could scarcely forgive
him. But David never complained, any more than he ever
uttered a harsh word against the memory of Flaxman, who, in
his youth, had shut his doors against him under the impression
that he was a relation of Louis David who had voted for the
death of Louis XVL On the contrary, the memory of the
great English sculptor was held in deep reverence.
And so David departed, a wanderer on the face of the earth
with his daughter. He first endeavored to settle in Brussels,
but the irresistible desire to behold once more what he him-
self considered his greatest work, the monument to Marcos
Botzaris, attracted him to Greece. A friend, to whom he
communicated his intention, wrote to him, " Do not go." He
gave him no further reason ; he even withheld from him the
fact that he had been at Missolonghi a twelvemonth previously.
The explanation of this reticence may be gathered from
David's letter to him a few days after his, David's, return. I
have been allowed to copy it, and give it verbatim.
" Long before our vessel anchored near the spot were Byron
died, I caught a glimpse of the tumulus erected at the foot of
the bastion, in honor of Botzaris and his fellow-heroes. It
made a small dark spot on the horizon, and above it was a
speck, much smaller and perfectly white. I knew instinctively
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 3 o i
that this was my statue of the 'young Greek girl/ and I
watched and watched with bated breath, fancying as the ship
sped along that the speck moved. Of course, it was only my
imagination, the presumptuous thought that the marble effigy
would start into life at the approach of its creator.
" Alas, would I had proceeded no further — that I had been
satisfied with the mirage instead of pushing, on in hot haste
towards the reality ! For the reality was heart-rending, so
heart-rending that I wept like a child, and clenched my fists
like a giant in despair. The right hand of the statue, the
index finger of which pointed to the name, had been broken ;
the ears had disappeared, one of the feet was broken to atoms,
and the face slashed with knives. It was like the face of the
girl that had sat for me, when I last saw it, under the circum-
stances which, you may remember, I told you. The whole was
riddled with bullets, and some tourists, British ones probably,
had cut their names on the back of the child. And so ends
the most glorious chapter of my artist's career — the model itself
fallen beyond redemption, the work mutilated beyond repair,
the author of it in exile.
" I felt powerless to repair the mischief, I did not stay
long. Perhaps I ought not to complain. I knew that Byron
had been buried near the fortifications at Missolonghi, but all
my efforts to find the spot have proved useless.* The house
where he breathed his last had been pulled down. Why should
the Greeks have more reverence for Botzaris or Mavrocordato
than they had for the poet ? and if these three are so little to
them, what must I be, whose name they probably never heard ?
Still, as I stood at the stern of the departing vessel, I felt
heart-broken. I have no illusions left."
I firmly believe that the injury done to the statue hastened
David's death. His work has since been restored by M.
Armand Toussaint, his favorite pupil, who gave his promise to
that effect a few days before the great sculptor breathed his
last. The monument was, however, not brought to Paris until
186 1, and when M. Toussaint had finished his task, he invited
the press and the friends of his famous master to judge of the
results. It was at the door of his studio that I saw the woman,
whose adventures I have told in the preceding notes, for the
first time. A fortnight later, she died at the hospital of La
Charite, at peace, I trust, with her Maker. " Fate, Providence
call it what you will," as David himself would have said, had
brought me to the spot just in time to alleviate the last suffer-
• Of course David meant the spot where the remains had been interred at first.— Editor,
302 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS,
ings of one who, though not altogether irresponsible for her
own errors, was to a still greater extent the victim of a system
so iniquitous as to make the least serious-minded — provided he
be endowed with the faintest spark of humanity — shudder. I
allude to the system pursued by the Paris detective force in
their hunt after criminals — a system not altogether abandoned
yet, and the successful carrying out of which is paid for by
the excruciating tortures inflicted upon defenceless though fallen
women — but women still — by the souteneur. I refrain from
Anglicizing the word ; it will suggest itself after the perusal of
the following facts, albeit that, fortunately with us, the creature
itself does not exist as a class, and, what is worse, as a class
recognized by those whose first and foremost duty it should
be to destroy him root and branch.
The morning after Clementine's arrest, David and I repaired
to the prison of I'Abbaye Saint-Germain. When the sculptor
sent in his name, the governor himself came out to receive us.
But the woman was gone ; she had been transferred, the pre-
vious night, to the de'pot of the prefecture de police, " where,"
he said, " if you make haste, you will still find her." He gave
us a letter of introduction for the official charged to deal with
refractory " filles soumises," or offending insoumises, because,
then as now, these unfortunates were not tried by an ordinary
police magistrate in open court, but summarily punished by
said official, the sentences being subject, however, to revision
or confirmation by his superior, the chief of the municipal
police. Nay, the decisions were not even communicated to
these women until they were safely lodged in Saint-Lazare,
lest there should be a disturbance ; for they were not examined
one by one ; and, as may be imagined, the contagion of revolt
spread easily among those hysterical and benighted creatures.
When we reached the prefecture de police the judging was
over, but, on our sending in our letter, we were admitted at once
to the official's room. After David's description, he remembered
the woman, and told us at once that she had not been sent to
Saint Lazare, but liberated. Some one had interceded for her —
no less a personage than Canler, who, though at the time but a
superintendent, was already fast springing into notice as a detec-
tive of no mean skill. " What had he done with her ? " was
David's question. " I could not tell you," was the courteous
reply ; " but I will give you his address, and he will no doubt
give you all -the information in his power and consistent with
his dutv." With this we were bowed out of the room.
A.V ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 303
We did not succeed in seeing Canler until two days after-
wards, or rather, on the evening of the second day ; for, at that
period, he was entrusted with the surveillance of the theatres
on the Boulevard du Temple. I may have occasion to speak
of him again, so I need not give his portrait here. He was
about fifty, and,unlike one of his successors, M. Claude, the type
of the old soldier. Of his honesty there never was, there could
have never been, a doubt, nor was his intelligence ever ques-
tioned. And yet, this very honest, intelligent man, in his all-
absorbing pursuit, the detection and chasing of criminals, was
sufficiently dishonest and unintelligent to foster, if not to in-
augurate, a system subversive of all morality.
David's name was a passport everywhere, and, no sooner
had it been sent in, than Canler came out to him. The sculp-
tor stated his business, and the police officer made a wry face.
" I am afraid, M. David, I cannot help you in the instance. To
speak plainly, I have restored her to her souteneur." We both
opened our eyes very wide. " Yes," came the remark, " I know
what you are going to say. I can sum up all your objections
before you utter them. But I could not help myself ; the fel-
low rendered me a service, and this was the price of it. With-
out his aid, one of the most desperate burglars in Paris would
still be at large. As it is, I have got him safe under lock and
key. Very shocking, no doubt ; mais, k la guerre comme k la
guerre." Then, seeing that we did not answer, he continued :
" As a rule, I do not explain my tactics to everybody ; but you,
M. David, are not everybody, and, if you like to meet me when
the theatre is over, I shall be pleased to have a chat with you."
At half-past twelve that night we were seated at a restaurant
near the Porte Saint-Martin, and, after a few preliminary re-
marks, Canler explained :
" However great an artist you may be, M. David, you could
not produce a statue without the outlay for the marble, or for
the casting of it in bronze. You, moreover, want to pay your
praticien who does the rough work for you. Our pratkiens
are the informers, and they want to be paid like the most honest
workmen. The detection of crime means, no doubt, intelli-
gence, but it means also money. Now, money is the very thing
I have not got, and yet, when I accepted the functions I am at
present fulfilling, I gave my promise to M. Delessert not to
neglect the detective part of the business. I wish to keep my
word, first of all, because I pledged it ; secondly, because detec-
tion of crime is food and drink to me ; thirdly, because I hope
to be the head of the Paris detective force one day. The
3 o4 -^ -^V ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
Government allows a ridiculously small sum every year for dis-
tribution among informers, and rewards among their own agents ;
it is something over thirty thousand francs, but not a sou of
which ever reached my hands when I accepted my present ap-
pointment, and scarcely a sou of which reaches me now, I
was, therefore, obliged to look out for auxiliaries, sufficiently
disinterested to assist me gratuitously, but, knowing that abso-
lute disinterestedness is very rare indeed, I looked for my col-
laborateurs among the very ones I was charged to watch, but
who, in exchange for my protection in the event of their offend-
ing, were ready to peach upon their companions in crime and
in vice. I need not trouble you by enumerating the various
categories of my allies, but the souteneur, the most abject of
them all, is, perhaps, the most valuable.
He is too lazy to work, and, as a rule, has not got the pluck
of a mouse, consequently he rarely resorts to crime, requiring
the smallest amount of energy or daring. He furthermore
loves his Paris, where, according to his own lights, he enjoys
himself and lives upon the fat of the land ; all these reasons
make him careful not to commit himself, albeit that at every
minute of the day he comes in contact with everything that is
vile. But he gets hold of their secrets, though the word is
almost a misnomer, seeing that few of these desperadoes can
hold their tongue about their own business, knowing all the
while, as they must do, that their want of reticence virtually
puts their heads into the halter. But if they have done ' a good
stroke of business,' even if they do not brag about it in so many
words, they must show their success by their sudden show of
finery, by their treating of everybody all round, etc. The
souteneur is, as it were, jealous of all this ; for though he lives
in comparative comfort from what his mistress gives him, he
rarely makes a big haul. His mistress gone, the pot ceases to
boil ; in fact, he calls her his marmite. In a few days he is on
his beams' ends, unless he has one in every different quarter,
which is not often the case, though it happens now and then.
But, at any rate, the incarceration of one of them makes a dif-
ference, and, under the circumstance, he repairs, as far as he
dares, to the prefecture, and obtains her liberation in exchange
for the address of a burglar or even a murderer who is wanted.
I have known one who had perfected his system of obtaining
information to such a degree as to be able to sell his secrets
to his fellow-souteneurs when they had none of their own
wherewith to propitiate the detectives. He has had as much
as three or' four hundred francs for one revelation of that kind,
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 305
which means twenty or thirty times the sum the police would
have awarded him. Of course, three or four hundred francs
is a big sum for the souteneur to shell out; but, when the
marmite is a good one, he sooner does that than be deprived
of his revenues for six months or so. I have diverted some
of those secrets into my own channel, and Clementine's sou-
teneur is one of my clients : that is why I gave her up. Very
shocking, gentlemen, but a la guerre comme a la guerre."
M. Canler furthermore counselled us to leave Clementine
alone. He positively refused to give us any information as to
her whereabouts : that is why I did not meet with her until
five years after David's death, too late to be of any use to her
in this world.
CHAPTER XVH.
Magnificent as were the quasi-private entertainments at
Compiegne, and the more public ones at the Tuileries, they
were as nothing to the series of fetes on the occasion of Queen
Victoria's visit to Paris, in 1855. For nearly three months
before, the capital had assumed the aspect of a fair. The Ex-
position Universelle of '55 virtually inaugurated the era of
" middle-class excursions," which since then have assumed
such colossal proportions, especially with regard to the Eng-
lish. Previous to this the development of railways had natu-
rally brought many of our countrymen to Paris, but they were
of a different class from those who now invaded the French
metropolis. They were either men of business bent on busi-
ness, though not averse to enjoying themselves in the inter-
vals, or else belonging or pretending to belong to " the upper
ten," and travelling more or less en gra?id seigneurs. They
came singly, and left their cards at the Embassy, etc. The
new visitors came in groups, though not necessarily acquainted
or travelling with one another ; they knew nothing of the
Hotel Meurice and the Hotel Bristol or their traditions ; they
crowded the Palais-Royal and its cheap restaurants, and had,
so to speak, no French at their command. Notwithstanding
the exclamation of the Frenchman when he saw the statue of
Wellington opposite Apsley House, it was then, and then only,
that the revanche of Waterloo began. It has lasted ever since.
It was '55 that marked the appearance in the shop-windows of
small cards bearing the words, " English spoken here."
20
3o6 AN ENGLISHMAN- IN PAklS.
Hitherto the English visitor to Paris was commonly supposed
to have had a French tutor or governess, and though the
French he or she did speak was somewhat trying to the ear, it
was heavenly music compared to the English the Parisian
shopkeeper now held it incumbent upon himself to " trot out "
for the benefit of his customers, or that of the guide or valet
de place, legions of whom infested the streets.
The Exhibition was opened on the 15th of May, but Queen
Victoria was not expected until the middle of August. Mean-
while, the Parisians were treated to a sight of the Lord Mayor
— Sir F. Moon, I believe — and the aldermen, who came in the
beginning of June, and who were magnificently entertained by
the Paris municipality, a deputation of which went as far as
Boulogne to welcome them. Still, it was very evident that
neither their visit nor that of the King of Portugal and his
brother was to tax the ingenuity of upholsterers, carpenters,
and caterers, or of the Parisians themselves in the matter of
decoration ; the watchword had apparently been given from the
highest quarters to reserve their greatest efforts for what Na-
poleon up till then considered " the most glorious event of his
reign." The Emperor, though he had gone to join the Em-
press, who was by this time known to be enceinte, at Eaux-
Bonnes and Biarritz, returned to Paris at the end of July, and
for more than a fortnight occupied himself personally and
incessantly with the smallest details of the Queen's visit, the
whole of the programme of which was settled by him.
I was one hi the few privileged persons who travelled down
to Boulogne with Louis-Napoleon, on Friday, the 17th of
August, 1855. When we got to our destination, the yacht was
not in sight, but we were already informed that, owing to its
heavy tonnage, it would not be able to enter the harbor except
at high tide, which would not be until i p.m., on Saturday.
Shortly after that hour the vessel, accompanied by its flotilla,
appeared in the offing ; but the Queen remained on board, and
we had to enjoy ourselves as best we could, which was not
difficult, seeing that the whole of the town was absolutely in
the streets, and that the latter were decidedly preferable to the
stuffy attics at the hotels, for which we were charged the mod-
erate sum of forty francs each. Uneventful as my life has
been, it is only worth recording by reason of the celebrity of
the persons with whom I have come in contact ; nevertheless,
I have travelled a good deal, and been present at a great many
festive gatherings both in England and on the Continent.
Commend me to the French hotel-proprietor for fleecing you
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 307
in cold blood. The Swiss and the Italians, no mean masters
of the art, are not in it with him ; and as for the Germans,
they are mere 'prentices compared with him. The Italian
despoils you, like his countryman of operatic fame, Fra-Dia-
volo ; the Swiss, like an English highwayman of the good old
sort ; the German, like a beggar who picks your pocket while
you are looking in your purse for a coin to give him ; the
Frenchman, like the money-lender who is " not working for
himself, but for a hard-hearted, relentless principal."
On the Saturday, the Emperor was astir betimes, and went
to the camp occupied by the troops under the command of
Marshal Baraguey-d'Hilliers. Louis-Napoleon's countenance
was at all times difficult to read ; I repeat, his eyes, like those
of others, may have been "the windows of his soul," but their
blinds were down most of the time. It was only at rare inter-
vals that the impenetrable features were lighted up by a gleam
from within, that the head, which generally inclined to the
right, became erect. On that morning, the face was even a
greater blank than usual. And yet that day, even to the
fatalist he was, must have seemed a wonderful one ; for the
blind goddess of fortune, the " lucky star " in which he trusted,
had never rewarded a mortal as she had rewarded him. A few
years previously, during one of his presidential journeys, he
had been hailed with enthusiasm at Strasburg, the city in
which the scene of one of his bitterest fiascos had been laid.
The contrast between those two days was startling indeed ;
on the one, he was hurried into a post-chaise as a prisoner to
be taken to Paris, with an almost certain terrible fate over-
hanging him ; on the other, he was greeted as the saviour of
France, the Imperial Crown was within his grasp. But, start-
ling as was this contrast, it could but have been mild compared
to that which must have presented itself to his mind that au-
tumn morning at Boulogne, when, a few hours later, the legions
— his legions — took up their positions from Wimereux on the
right to Porsel on the left, to do homage to the sovereign of a
country which had been the most irreconcilable foe of the
founder of his house ; on the very heights at the foot of which
he himself had failed to rouse the French to enthusiasm ; on
the very spot where he had become the laughing-stock of the
world by his performance wdth that unfortunate tame eagle.
And yet, I repeat, not a gleam of pride or joy lighted up the
Sphinx-like mask. To see this man standing there unmoved
amidst the highest honors the world had to bestow, one could
not help thinking of Voltaire's condemnation of fatalism as the
3o8 AM ENCLISHMAM IN PARIS.
guiding principle of life : " If perchance fatalism be the true
doctrine, I would sooner be without such a cruel truth."
A regiment of lancers and one of dragoons lined the route
from the landing-stage to the railway station, for in those days
the trains did not stop alongside the boats ; while on the bridge
crossing the Liane, three hundred sappers, bearded like the
Pard, shouldering their axes, wearing their white leathern
aprons, stood in serried ranks, three deep.
The Queen's yacht had been timed to enter the harbor at
one, but it was within a minute or so of two before it was
moored amidst the salutes from the forts. The Emperor, who
had been on horseback the whole of the morning — who, in fact,
preferred that means of locomotion on all important occasions,
as it showed him off to greater advantage, — had been standing
by the side of his charger. He crossed the gangway, beauti-
fully upholstered in purple velvet and carpet to match, at once,
and, after having kissed her hand, offered her his arm to assist
her in landing, Prince Albert and the royal children coming
immediately behind the Imperial host and his principal guest.
A magnificent, roomy barouche, capable of holding six persons
and lined with white satin, but only drawn by two horses —
such horses ! for in that respect Napoleon had spent his time
to advantage in England, — stood waiting to convey the Royal
family. The Emperor himself, though, mounted his horse once
more, and took his place by the right of the carriage, the left
being taken by Marshal Baraguey-d'Hilliers. The head of the
procession started amidst tremendous cheers from the crowd,
but we who came on behind heard some curious comments
upon this popular manifestation. Knowing that there would
be a considerable delay in getting the train off, I walked in-
stead of driving. I was accompanied by Lord , who was
never averse to having his little joke. " He bien, mon ami,"
he said to an old weather-beaten sailor, who was short of his
left leg — "he bien, mon ami, nous voila reconcilies."
" Oui, oui, je t'en fiche," was the answer ; " mais puisqu'il
en sont a se faire des m'amours, ils devaient bien me rendre
ma jambe que j'ai perdue dans leurs querelles."
" Imbecile," remarked an old soldier-looking man, who,
though old, was evidently younger than the first speaker, and
who was short of an arm, " ta jambe ne t'irait pas plus que
mon bras; c'etait ta jambe de gar^on."
"C'est vrai," nodded the other philosophically; "tout de
meme, c'est .drole que nous nous soyons battus comme des
chiens," pointing across the Channel in the direction of Eng-
AJV ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 309
land, " pour en arriver k cela. Si le vieux (Napoleon I.)
revenait, il serait rudement colore." And I may say at once
that, notwithstanding the friendly attitude throughout of the
rural as well as of the Parisian populations, that was the un-
derlying sentiment. ''Waterloo est arrange, non pas venge,"
said a Parisian ; " il parait qu'il y a des accommodements avec
les rois, aussi bien qu'avec le ciel."
As a matter of course, we did not leave Boulogne much
before three — the original arrangement had been for half-past
one, — and when we reached Paris it was dark, too early for the
illuminations which had been projected along the line of boule-
vards from the recently opened Boulevard de Strasbourg to the
Madeleine, not so much as a feature in the programme of re-
ception, as in honor of the Queen generally. On the other hand,
there was not sufficient daylight for the crowds to distinguish
the sovereign's features, and a corresponding disappointment
was the result. The lighted carriage lamps did not improve
matters much. But the Parisians— to their credit be it said
— knowing that Queen Victoria had expressed her wish to be
conveyed to St. Cloud in an open carriage, instead of the closed
State one used on such occasions, took note of the intention,
and acknowledged it with ringing cheers. Victor Hugo has
said that the Parisian loves to show his teeth — he must either
be laughing or growling ; and at the best of times it is an un-
grateful task to analyze too thoroughly such manifestations of
enthusiasm. There are always as many reasons why nations
should hate as love each other. The sentiment, as expressed
by the sailor and soldier alluded to just now, did exist — of that
I feel sure ; but amidst the truly fairy spectacle then presented
to the masses that crowded the streets, it may have been for-
gotten for the moment.
For, in spite of the gathering darkness, the scene was almost
unique. I have only seen another one like it, namely, when
the troops returned from the Franco- Austrian War ; and people
much older than I declared that the next best one was that on
the occasion of the return of the Bourbons in 18 14.
Though the new northern station, erected on the site of the
old, had been virtually finished for more than a twelvemonth,
the approaches to it were, if not altogether magnificent pro-
jects, little more than magnificent mazes, stone and mortar
Phoenixes, in the act of rising, not risen, from Brobdingnagian
dust-heaps, and altogether unfit for any kind of spectacular
procession. Consequently, it had been decided to connect the
northern with the eastern line immediately after entering the
3 1 6 Ajv englishman in parts.
fortifications. The Strasbourg Station did not labor under the
same disadvantages ; the Boulevard of that name stretched
uninterruptedly as far as the Boulevard St. Denis, although, as
yet, there were few houses on it. I have seen a good many
displays of bunting in my time ; I have seen Turin and Flor-
ence and Rome beflagged and decorated on the occasions of
popular rejoicings ; I have seen historical processions in the
university towns of Utrecht and Leyden ; I have seen triumphal
entries in Brussels ; I was in London on Thanksgiving day, but
I have never beheld anything to compare with the wedged
masses of people along the whole of the route, as far as the
Bois de Boulogne, on that Saturday afternoon. The whole of
the suburban population had, as it were, flocked into Paris.
The regulars lined one side of the whole length of the Boule-
vards, the National Guards the other. And there was not
a single house from the station to the southernmost corner
of the Rue Royale that had not its emblems, its trophies,
its inscriptions of " welcome." With that inborn taste which
distinguishes the Parisians, the decorator had ceased trying
to gild the gold and to paint the lily at that point, and had
left the magnificent perspective to produce its own effect —
a few Venetian masts along the Avenue des Champs- Elysees
and nothing more. Among the notable features of the deco-
rations in the main artery of Paris was the magnificent triumphal
arch, erected by the management of the Opera between the
Rue de Richelieu and what is now the Rue Drouot. It rose to
the fourth stories of the adjacent houses, and looked, not a
temporary structure, but a monument intended to stand the
wear and tear of ages. No description could convey an idea
of its grandeur. The inside was draped throughout with bee-
bespangled purple, the top was decorated with immense eagles,
seemingly in full flight, and holding between their talons pro-
portionately large scutcheons, bearing the interlaced monograms
of the Imperial hosts and the Royal guests. In front of the
Passage de I'Op^ra stood an allegorical statue, on a very beautiful
pedestal draped with flags ; and further on, at the back of the
Opera-Comique, which really should have been its front,* an
obelisk, the base of which was a correct representation, in
miniature, of the Palais de ITndustrie (the then Exhibition
Building). By the Madeleine a battalion of the National
* In 1782, when Heurtier, the architect, submitted his plan of the building which was in-
tended for the Italian singing-actors, the latter offered a determined opposition to the idea
of the- theatre facing the Boulevards, lest they should be confounded with the small theatres
on the Boulevard du .Temple and in the direction of the present Boulevard des Filles-du-Cal-
vaire. This extraordinary vanity was lampooned on all sides, and especially in a quatrain
which I forbearto quote, even ia French. — Editor.
AN ENGLISHMAN JN PARIS.
311
Guards had erected, at their own cost, two more allegorical
statues, France and England. A deputation from the National
Guards had also presented her Majesty with a magnificent
bouquet on alighting from the train.
By a very delicate attention, the private apartments of the
Queen had, in many ways, been made to look as much as pos-
sible like those at Windsor Castle ; and where this transfor-
mation was found impossible by reason of their style of deco-
ration— such as, for instance, in the former boudoir of Marie-
Antoinette, — the mural paintings and those of the ceiling had
been restored by two renowned artists. In addition to this, the
most valuable pictures had been borrowed from the Louvre to
enhance the splendor of the reception and dining-rooms, while
none but crack regiments in full dress were told oif for duty.
The day after the Queen's arrival being Sunday, the
entertaiment after dinner consisted solely of a private concert ;
on the Monday the Queen visited the Fine Arts' Section of
the Exhibition, which was located in a separate building at
the top of the Avenue Montaigne, and connected with the
main structure by beautifully laid-out gardens. The Queen
spent several hours among the modern masterpieces of all
nations, and two French artists had the honor of being
presented. I will not be certain of the names, because I was
not there, but, as far as I can remember, they were Ingres
and Horace Vernet.
While on the subject of art, I cannot help digressing for a
moment. I may take it that in 1855 a good many Englishmen
of the better middle classes, though not exactly amateurs or
connoisseurs of pictures, were acquainted with the names, if
not with the works, of the French masters of the modern
school. Well, in that same year, the English school burst
upon the corresponding classes in France like a revelation —
nay, I may go further still, and unhesitatingly affirm that not a
few critics, and those of the best, shared the astonishment of
the non-professional multitude. They had heard of Sir Joshua
Reynolds and Gainsborough, perhaps of Turner, but Con-
stable and Moreland, Wilkie and Webster, Mulready, and the
rest of the younger school, were simply so many names.
But when the critics did become aware of their existence,
their criticisms were simply a delightful series of essays,
guiding the most ignorant to a due appreciation of those
Englishmen's talents, not stinting praise, but by no means
withholding blame, instinctively focussing merits and defects
in a few brilliant paragraphs, which detected the painter's
3 1 2 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS,
intention and conception as well as his execution both from a
technical, as well as dramatic, graphic and pictorial point of view ;
which showed, not only the influence of general surroundings,
but dissected the result of individual tendencies. Many a
time since, when wading through the adipose as well as verbose
columns dealing with similar subjects in English newspapers,
have I longed for the literary fleshpots of France, which
contained and contain real nourishing substance, not the fatty
degeneration of an ignoramus's brain, and what is worse, of
an ignoramus who speaks in numbers from a less valid reason
than Pope's ; for the most repellent peculiarity of these
effusions are the numbers. It would seem that these would-be
critics, having no more than the ordinary auctioneer's intellect,
endeavor as much as possible to assimilate their effusions to
a catalogue. They are an abomination to the man who can
write, though he may know nothing about painting, and to the
man who knows about painting and cannot write. The
pictorial art of England must indeed be a hardy plant to have
survived the approval and the disapproval of these barbarians.
To come back to the Queen, who, after leaving the Palais de
rindustrie, drove to several points of interest in Paris, notably
to la Sainte-Chapelle. The route taken was by the Rue de
Rivoli and the Pont-Neuf ; the return journey was effected by the
Pont-aux-Changes and the eastern end of the same street,
which had only been opened recently, as far as the Place de la
Bastille. Then, and then only, her Majesty caught sight of the
Boulevards in the whole of their extent. The decorations of
the previous day but one had not been touched, and the crowds
were simply one tightly wedged-in mass of humanity. A
journalistic friend had procured me 2.pcrmis de circuler — in
other words, " a police pass," — and I made the way from the
Boulevard Beaumarchais to Tortoni on foot. It may be in-
teresting to those who are always prating about the friendship
between England and France to know that I heard not a single
cry of " Vive r Angleterre ! " On the other hand, I heard a
great many of " Vive la Reine ! " Even the unthinking
crowd, though yielding to the excitement of the moment, seemed
to distinguish between the country and her ruler. I am not
commenting^ upon this ; I am merely stating a fact. Probably
it is not England's fault that she has not been able to inspire
the French nation as a whole with anything like a friendly
feeling, but it is as well to point it out. During the whole of
the Crimean' War, nine out of every ten educated Frenchmen
openly asserted that France had been made a cat's-paw by
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 313
England, that the alliance was one forced upon the nation by
Napoleon from dynastic and personal, rather than from patriotic
and national, motives ; there were some who, at the moment
of the Queen's visit, had the candor to say that this, and this
only, would be France's reward for the blood and money spent
in the struggle. At the same time, it is but fair to state that
these very men spoke both with admiration and respect of
England's sovereign.
At three o'clock there was a brilliant reception at the Elysee
when the members of the corps diplomatique accredited to the
Tuileries were presented to the Queen. Shortly after five her
Majesty returned to Saint-Cloud, where, in the evening, the
actors of the Comedie-Fran^aise gave, at the Queen's special
request, a performance of " Les Demoiselles de Saint-Cyr."
She had seen the piece in London, and been so pleased with it
that she wished to see it again. Though I was on very inti-
mate terms with Dumas, we had not met for several weeks,
which was not wonderful, seeing that I was frequently appealed
to by the son himself for news of his father. " What has be-
come of him ? He might be at the antipodes for all I see of
him," said Alexandre II. about a dozen times a year. How-
ever, two or three days after the performance at Saint-Cloud, I
ran against him intheChaussee d'Antin. " Well, you ought to
be pleased," I said ; " it appears that not only has the Queen
asked to see your piece, which she had already seen in London,
but that she enjoyed it even much better the second than 'he
first time."
" C'est comme son auteur," he replied : " plus on le connait,
plus on I'aime. Je sais pourtant bien ce qui I'aurait amusee
meme d'avantage que de voir ma piece, c'eut ete de me voir
moi-meme, et franchement, ga m'aurait amuse aussi."
" Then why did you not ask for an audience 1 I am certain
it would have been granted," I remarked, because I felt con-
vinced that her Majesty would have been only too pleased to
confer an honor upon such a man.
" En effet, j'y ai pensd," came the reply; " une femme aussi
remarquable et qui deviendra probablement la plus grande
femme du si^cle aurait du se rencontrer avec le plus grand
homme en France, mais j'ai eu peur qu'on ne me traite comme
Madame de Stael traitat Saint-Simon. C'est dommage, parce-
qu'elle s'en ira sans avoir vu ce qu'il y a de mieux dans notre
pays, Alexandre, Roi du Monde rbmanesque, Dumas I'igno-
rant." Then he roared with laughter and went away.*
* Alexandre Dumas referred to a story in connection with the Comte de Saint-Simon and
3 1 4 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
On Tuesday, the 21st, the Queen went to Versailles to in-
spect the picture-galleries established there by I.ouis-Philippe,
and in the evening she was present at a gala-performance at
the Opera. Next day she paid a second visit to the Palais
de rindustrie, but to the industrial section only. In the even-
ing, there was a performance of " Le Fils de Famille " (" The
Queen's ShiUing '^). On the 23d, she spent several hours at the
Louvre ; after which, at night, she attended the ball given in
her honor by the Municipality of Paris. I shall not attempt to
describe that entertainment, the decorations and flowers of
which alone cost three hundred and fifty thousand francs. The
whole had been arranged under the superintendence of Ballard,
the architect of the Halles Centrales. But I remember one
little incident which caused a flutter of surprise among the
court ladies, who, even at that time, had already left off danc-
ing in the pretty old-fashioned way, and merely walked through
their quadrilles. The royal matron of thirty-five, with a goodly
family growing up around her, executed every step as her danc-
ing master had taught her, and with none of the listlessness
that was supposed to be the " correct thing." I was standing
close to Canrobert who had been recalled to resume his func-
tions near the Emperor. After watching the Queen for a min-
ute or so, he turned round to the lady on his arm. " Pardi,
elle danse comme ses soldats se battent, ^ en veux-tu, en voilk 1'
et correct jusqu'a la fin." There never was a greater admirer
of the English soldier than Canrobert. The splendor of that
fete at the H6tel-de-Ville has only been surpassed once, in
1867, when the civic fathers entertained a whole batch of sov-
ereigns.
On the 24th, there was a third visit to the Exhibition, and I
remember eight magnificent carriages passing down the Avenue
des Champs- Elysees. They were, however, only drawn by two
horses each. I was making my way to the Champ de Mars,
where a review was to be held in honor of her Majesty, and
had told the cab to wait in the Rue Beaujon, while I stepped
into the main road to have a look at the beautiful scene. The
moment the carriages were past I returned to the Rue Beaujon,
and ran up against Beranger, who was living there. The old
Madame de Stael which is not very generally known. One day the head of the new sect
went to see the authoress of"Corinne. " "Madame," he said, " vous etes la femme la
plus remarquable en France ; moi, je suis I'liomme le plus remarquable. . Si nous nous ar-
rangions'i vivre quelques mois ensemble, nous aurions paut-etre I'enfant le plus remarquable
sur la t&rre." Madame de Stael politely declined the honor. As for the epithet of " I'igno-
rant " which Dumas, was fond of applying to himself, it arose from the fact of Dumas, the
celebrated professor of chemistry, being spoken of as " Duhias le savaflt " " Do'nc,"
laughed the novelist, "je suis Dumas I'igiaorant." — Editor.
AN ENGLISHMA N IN PA RIS. 3 1 5
man seemed in a great hurry, which was rather surprising, be-
cause he was essentially phlegmatic, and rarely put himself out
for anything. So I asked him the reason of his haste. '' 1
want to see your Queen," he replied. A year or two before he
had refused to go to the Tuileries to see the Empress, who had
sent for him ; and the latter, who could be most charming when
she liked, had paid him a visit instead.
" I thought you did not trouble yourself much about royalty,"
I remarked. " You refused to go and see the Empress, and
you rush along to see the Queen ? "
" Non ; je vais voir la femme : s'il y avait beaucoup de
femmes comme elle, je leur pardonnerais d'etre reines."
Her Majesty has never heard of this. It was the most mag-
nificent and, at the same time, most witty tribute to her private
virtues. All this happened many, many years ago. Since
then I have often wondered why Prince Albert, who 1 feel cer-
tain, knew the worth of all these men as well as he knew the
merit of the litterateurs of his own country, did not suggest to
his august consort a reception such as she gave to the corps
diplomatique. It would have been a most original thing to do \
the recollection of it would have been more delightful even
than the most vivid recollections of that very wonderful week.
In those days, France was still looked upon as the first
military power in Europe. Her soldiers were probably not
superior to those who fell in the Franco-German war, but their
prestige had not been questioned. They were also more sightly
than the ill-clad legions of the Third Republic, so the review
was a very splendid affair. At its termination, her Majesty re-
paired to the Invalides, to the tomb of Napoleon, which, though
it had been begun, as I have incidentally stated, under the
premiership of. M. Guizot in 1846-47, was not finished then,
and only officially inaugurated nearly six years afterwards.
My ticket for the review had been given to me by Marshal
Vaillant, the minister for war, and the only Marshal of the
Second Empire with whom I was, at that time, intimately ac-
quainted ; though I became on very friendly terms with Mar-
shals MacMahon and Lebrun subsequently.
I will devote, by-and-by, a few notes to this most original
soldier-figure — he was only a type in some respects ; mean-
while, I may mention here an anecdote, in connection with
this visit of the Queen, characteristic of the man. The gover-
nor of the Invalides was the late King of Westphalia, Jerome
Bonaparte. It was but natural that he should have.been chosen
as the custodian of his brother's last resting-place. It was
3i6 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
equally natural that he should feel reluctant to meet at that
tomb the sovereign of a country which, he considered, had tor-
tured that brother to death. Consequently the last survivor of
the elder Bonapartes, the one who had also fought at Water-
loo, foreseeing, as it were, this pilgrimage on the part of her
Majesty, had, a fortnight or so before the date of her intended
visit, gone to Havre, whither he had been ordered by his
doctor on account of his health, and whence he only returned
when the Queen of England had left France.
The deputy-governor of the Invalides was, perhaps, not con-
sidered sufficiently important to do the honors to so illustrious
a visitor, and Marshal Vaillant was sounded whether he would
undertake the functions. He declined. " Je n'ai pas I'hon-
neur, sire," he said, " d'appartenir a votre illustre famille et
personne sauf la famille d'un grand homme a le droit d'oublier
les souffrances que ses ennemis lui ont. infligees." He was an
honest, upright soldier, abrupt and self-willed, but kindly with-
al, and plainly perceived the faults of Louis-Napoleon's policy
and of his frequently misplaced generosity — above all, of his
system of conciliating the sovereigns of Europe by fetes and
entertainments. " Quand I'autre leur donnait des fetes et des
representations de theatre, c'etait chez eux, et pas chez nous,
ils en payaient les frais." More of him in a little while.
At the Queen's first visit to Versailles — the second took
place on the Saturday before she left — she had been deeply
moved at the sight of the picture representing her welcome at
Eu by Louis-Philippe, to which ceremony I alluded in one of
my former notes. But even before this she had expressed a
wish to see the ruins of the Chateau de Neuilly, and the com-
memorative chapel erected on the spot where the Due d'Orleans
met with his fatal accident. " La femme qui est si fidele a ses
vieilles amities au milieu des nouvelles, surtout quand il s'agit
de dynasties rivales, comme en ce moment, et quand cette
femme est unreine, cette femme est une amie bien precieuse,"
said Jerome's son. Both the Emperor and the Empress found
that their cousin had spoken truly.
Saturday, the 25th, had been fixed for the fete at Versailles.
In the morning, the Queen went to the palace of Saint-Ger-
main, which no English sovereign had visited since James H.
lived there. She returned to Saint-Cloud, and thence to the
magnificent abode of Louis XIV., which she reached after dark
— the Place d'Armes and the whole of the erstwhile royal resi-
dence being brilliantly illuminated.
The Imperial and Royal party entered by the Marble Court,
A.V ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 3 1 7
in the centre of which the pedestal to the statue of Louis XIV.
had been decorated with the rarest flowers. The magnificent
marble staircase had, however, been laid with thick purple
carpets, and the balustrades almost disappeared beneath
masses of exotics ; it was the first time, if I remember rightly,
that I had seen mosses and ferns and foliage in such profusion.
The Cent Gardes and the Guides de ITmperatrice were on duty,
the former on the staircase itself, the latter below, in the ves-
tibule. At the top, to the right and left, the private apartments
of the Empress had been arranged, the Queen occupied those
formerly belonging to Marie- Antoinette. I was enabled to see
these a few days later ; they were the most perfect specimens
of the decorative art that flourished under Louis XVI. I have
ever beheld. The boudoir was upholstered in light blue, fes-
toons of roses running along the walls, and priceless Dresden
groups distributed everywhere ; the dressing-rooms were hung
with pale green, with garlands upon garlands of violets. The
toilet service was of Sevres, with medallions after Lancret and
Watteau. The historical Salle de I'CEil-de-Boeuf, which pre-
ceded her Majesty's apartments, had been transformed into a
splendid reception-room for the use of the Imperial hosts and
all their Royal guests, for there were one or two foreign princes
besides, notably Prince Adalbert of Bavaria.
The ball was to take place in the famous Galeriedes Glaces ;
the Empress herself had presided at its transformation, which
had been inspired by a well-known print of " Une Fete sous
Louis Quinze." More garlands of roses, but this time droop-
ing from the ceiling and connecting the forty splendid lustres,
which, together with the candelabra on the walls, could not
have contained less than three thousand wax candles. At
each of the four angles of the vast apartment a small orchestra
had been erected, but very high up, and surrounded by a net-
work of gilt wire.
At the stroke of ten those wonderful gardens became all of
a sudden ablaze with rockets and Chinese candles ; it was the
beginning of the fireworks, the principal piece of which repre-
sented Windsor Castle. After this, the ball was opened by
the Queen and the Emperor, the Empress and Prince Albert ;
but though the example had been given, there was very little
dancing. I was a comparatively young man then, but I was
too busy feasting my eyes with the marvellous toilettes to pay
much heed to the seductive strains, which at other times would
have set me tripping. I fancy this was the case with most of
the guests.
On the Monday the Queen left for home.
3l8 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS,
CHAPTER XVIII.
About two or three days after the ball at Versailles, I went
to see Marshal Vaillant at the War Office, to thank him for
his kindness in sending me the ticket for the review. Our ac-
quaintance was already then of a couple of years' standing.
It had begun at Dr. Veron's, who lived, at the tirne, at the
corner of the Rue de Rivoli and the Rue de Castiglione. The
old soldier — he was over sixty then — had a very good memory,
and used to tell me garrison stories, love-adventures of the
handsome swashbucklers of the First Empire and of the beaux
of the Restauration. The language was frequently that of
Rabelais or Moliere, vigorous, to the point, calling a spade a
spade, and, as such, not particularly adapted to these notes,
but the narrator himself was neither a swashbuckler nor a
beau ; he hated the carpet-knight only one degree more than
the sabreur, and when both were combined in the same man —
not an unusual thing during the Second Empire, especially
after the Crimean and Franco-Austrian wars — he simply
loathed him. He fostered not the slightest illusions about the
efficiency of the French army, albeit that, to an alien like my-
self and notwithstanding his friendship for me, he would veil
his strictures. At the same time, he frankly acknowledged
himself unable to effect the desired reforms. " It wants, first
of all, a younger and abler man than I am ; secondly, he must
become a fixture. No change of ministry, no political vicis-
situdes ought to affect him. I do not play a political role, and
never mean to play one ; and if I could find a man who would
carry out the reforms at the War Office, or, rather, reorganize
the whole as it should be reorganized, I would make room for
him to-morrow. I know what you are going to say. I derive
a very comfortable income from my various offices, and I am
a pluralist. If I did not take the money, some one else would
who has not got a scrap more talent than I have. There is
not a single man who dare tell the nation that its army is
rotten to the core, that there is not- a general who knows as
much as a mere captain in the Austrian and Prussian armies ;
and if he had the courage to tell the nation,, he. would be
hounded out of the country, his life would be made a- burden
to him. That is one of the reasons why I am staying, because
AN Englishman in paris, 319
1 can do no good by going; on the contrary, I might do a
good deal of harm. Because, as you see it, the three hundred
and fifty thousand francs of my different appointments, I save
them by looking after the money of the State. Not that I can
do much, but I do what 1 can."
That was very true : he was very careful of the public
moneys, and of the resources of the Emperor also, entrusted
to him by virtue of his position as Grand-Marechal du Palais ;
it was equally true that he could not do much. Napoleon
was, by nature, lavish and soft-hearted ; as a consequence, he
became the butt of every impostor who could get a letter con-
veyed to him. His civil list of over a million and a half ster-
ling was never sufficient. He himself was simple enough in
his tastes, but he knew that pomp and state were dear to the
heart of Frenchmen, and he indulged them accordingly. But
his charity was a personal matter. He could have no more
done without it than without his eternal cigarette. He called
the latter "the safety-valve of the brain," the former " the safety-
valve of pride." I remember an anecdote which was told to
me by some one who was in his immediate entourage when he
was only President. It was on the eve of a journey to some
provincial town, and at the termination of a cabinet council.
While talking to some of his ministers, he took a couple of
five-franc pieces from his waistcoat, and spun them English
fashion. " C'est tout ce qui me reste pour mon voyage de
demain, messieurs," he said, smiling. One of them, M. Fer-
dinand Barrot, saw that he was in earnest, and borrowed ten
thousand francs, which the President found on his dressing-
table when retiring for the night. Four and twenty hours
after. Napoleon had not even his two five-franc pieces ; they
and M. Barrot's loan had disappeared in subscriptions to local
charities. Among the papers found at the Tuileries after the
Emperor's flight, there were over two thousand begging letters,
all dated within a twelvemonth, and all marked with their
answer in the corner — that is, with the amount sent in reply.
That sum amounted to not less than sixty thousand francs.
And be it remembered that these were the petitions the Em-
peror had not entrusted to his secretaries or ministers as com-
ing within their domain. The words of Marshal Vaillant,
spoken many years before, " I cannot do much, but I do what
I can," are sufficiently explained.
On the day alluded to above, the marshal was seriously com-
plaining of the emperor's extravagance. He did not hold with
entertaining so many sovereigns. " I do not say this," he
32d AA' ENGLISHMAN IN PAklS.
added, " with regard to yours, for her hospitality deserved
such return as the Emperor gave her ; but with regard to the
others who will come, you may be sure, if we last long enough.
Well, we'll see \ perhaps you'll remember my words."
In fact, the old soldier was never much dazzled by the
grandeur of those entertainments, nor did he foster many
illusions with regard to their true value in cementing inter-
national friendships. The marshal was not dazzled by any-
thing ; and though deferential enough to the members of the
Emperor's family, he never scrupled to tell them his mind.
The Emperor's cousin (Plon-Plon) could tell some curious
stories to that effect. The marshal had a hatred of long-
winded people, and especially of what Carlyle calls wind-bags.
Another of Louis Napoleon's cousins came decidedly under
the latter description : I allude to the Prince de Canino. Ir
order to get rid as much as possible of wordy visitors, Vaillant
had hit upon the method of granting them their interviews at
a very^ very early hour in the morning ; in the summer at 6.30
in the morning, in the winter at 7.15. " People do not like
getting out of bed at that time, unless they have something
serious to communicate," he said ; and would not relax his
rule, even for the softer sex. The old warrior, who had prob-
ably been an early riser all his life, found the arrangement
work so well, that he determined at last not to make any
exceptions. " I get the day to myself," he laughed. Now, it
so happened that the Prince de Canino asked him for an
interview ; and, as a matter of course, Vaillant appointed the
usual hour. Next morning, to Vaillant's great surprise, instead
of the Prince, came two of his friends. The latter came to
ask satisfaction of Vaillant for having dared to disturb a per-
sonage of the prince's importance at so early an hour. " Mais
je ne I'ai pas derange du tout : il n'avait qu'a ne pas venir, ce
que du reste, il a fait," said Vaillant ; then he added, " Mais
meme, si je consentais k donner raison au prince de mon
offense imaginaire, je ne me battrai pas k quatre heures de
I'apres-midi ; done, il aurait k se deranger ; il vaut mieux qu'il
reste dans son lit. Je vous salue, messieurs." With which he
bowed them out. When the Emperor heard of it, he laughed
till the tears ran down his cheeks, and Napoleon did not laugh
outright very often or easily.
There are a great many stories about this objection of Mar-
shal Vaillant to be troubled for nothing ; and, as usual, they
overshoot, the mark. He is supposed to have acted very cava-
lierly with highly placed personages, and even with ladies in
A A' ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 32 1
very high society. Of course, I was never present at inter-
views of that kind, but, during my long acquaintance with him,
I was often seated at his side when less exalted visitors were
admitted. At the best of times his manner was abrupt, though
rarely rude, unless there was a reason for it, albeit that the
outsider might fail to fathom it at the first blush. I remember
being with him in his private room, somewhere about the
sixties, when his attendant brought him a card.
" Show the gentleman in," said Vaillant, after having looked
at it.
Enter ^ a tall, well-dressed individual, the rosette of the
Legion of Honor in his button-hole, evidently a retired officer.
" What is it you want with me ? " asked the marshal, who
had remained seated with his back towards the visitor.
" Being in Paris for the Christmas and New Year's hoHdays,
your excellency, I thought it my duty to pay my respects to
you."
" Is that all you want with me ? " asked the marshal.
" That is all, your excellency," stammered the visitor.
" Very well : then I'll wish you good-morning."
I suppose I must have looked somewhat shocked at this very
unceremonious proceeding, for, when the door was closed, the
marshal explained.
" You need not think that I have done him an injustice.
When fellows like this present their respects it always means
that they want me to present them with something else ; that
is why I cut them short."
Sometimes these interviews took a comical turn, for the
marshal could be very witty when he liked. In the land of
" equality," everybody is always on the look-out for greater
privileges than his fellows, and in no case were and are favors
more indiscriminately requested than with the view of avoiding
military service. A thousand various pretexts, most of them
utterly ridiculous, were brought forward by the parents to pre-
serve their precious sons from the hated barrack life. In
many instances, a few years of soldiering would have done
those young hopefuls a great deal of good, because those who
clamored loudest for exemption were only spending their time
in idleness and mischief. In the provinces there was a chance
of influencing the conseil de revision by means of the prefet, if
the parents were known to be favorable to the government ; by
means of the bishops, if they still had a hankering after the
former dynasties ; and, not to mince matters, if they were
simply rich, by means of bribery. In Paris the matter was
3^2 ^ A^ engL ishmA n in pa rjs.
somewhat more difficult ; the members of the council were fre-
quently changed at the last moment, and at all times the
recruits to be examined were too numerous for a parent to
trust to the memory of those members. The military author-
ities had introduced a new rule, to the effect that the names of
the recruits to be examined should not be called out until their
examination was finished ; and, with the best will in the world,
it is often difficult to distinguish between un fils de famille and
a downright plebeian if both happen to come before you " as
God made them." Consequently, not withstanding the con
siderable ingenuity of the parties interested to let the examining
surgeon-major know " who was who," mistakes frequently oc-
curred ; the young artisan, who had no more the matter with
him than the young wealthy bourgeois, was dismissed as unfit
for the service, while the latter was pronounced apt in every
respect.
Apropos of this, I know a good story, for the truth of which
I can vouch, because it happened to a member of the family
with which I became connected by marriage afterwards. He
had a son who was of the same age as his coachman's. Both
the lads went to draw at the same time, both drew low numbers.
The substitute system was still in force, but, just at that mo-
ment, there was a war-scare — not without foundation — and
substitutes reached high prices. It would not have mattered
much to the rich man. Unfortunately, he was tight-fisted, and
the mother pleaded in vain. The wife was just as extravagant
as the husband was mean ; she had no savmgs, and she cud-
gelled her brain to find the means of preserving her darling
from the vile contact of his social inferiors without putting her
hand in her pocket — which, moreover, was empty. She went
a great deal into society, was very handsome, clever, and fas-
cinating. By dint of ferreting, she got to know the probable
composition of the conseil de revision — barring accidents.
History does not say how, but she wheedled the surgeon-major
into giving her a distinct promise to do his best for her dear
son. Of course, in order to do some good, the surgeon had to
see the young fellow first ; and there was the difficulty, because
madame had made the acquaintance of the officer under pecul-
iar circumstances, and could not very well introduce him to
her home : besides, just on account of the war-scare, the author-
ities had become very strict, the practices of many officers
were suspected, and it would never have done for the gentle-
man to give, his superiors as much as a loophole for their sus-
picion by visiting the lady. Time was getting short ; the
AA^ ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 323
acquaintance had ripened into friendship very quickly, because,
three days before the time appointed for the sitting of the
council, madame had never seen the surgeon, and on the eve
of that sitting the final arrangement had been concluded. It
was to this effect : that madame's son would pretend to have
hurt his hand, and appear with a black silk bandage round his
wrist. The thing is scarcely credible, but the coachman's son,
an engine-fitter, had hurt his wrist, and put a strip of black
ribbon round it. The coachman's family-name began with a
B, the lady's name with a C. The coachman's son was taken
for the other, and declared unfit for military service by reason
of his chest, to his great surprise and joy, as may be imagined.
But the surprise, though not the joy, of the examining officer
was greater still when, in the next batch, another young fellow
appeared with a strip of black ribbon round his wrist. To ask
his name was an impossibility. The surgeon was afraid that
he had been betrayed, or that his secret had leaked out, and
without a moment's hesitation, declared the real Simon Pure
sound in lungs and limb.
I am afraid I have drifted a little bit from Marshal Vaillant's
comical interviews, but am coming back to them in a round-
about way. The common, or garden trick to get those young
fellows exempted, where bribery was impossible or private in-
fluence out of the question, was to make them sham short-sight-
edness, or deafness, or impediment in the speech. We have
heard before now of professors who cure people of stammering :
it is a well-known fact that in those days there was a professor
who taught people to stammer ; while, personally, I know an
optician on the Boulevard des Italiens whose father made a
not inconsiderable fortune by spoiling young fellows' sights —
that is, by training them, for a twelvemonth before the drawing
of lots, to wear very powerful lenses. Of course, this had to
be done gradually, and his fee was a thousand francs. I have
known him to have as many as twenty or thirty pupils at a
time. No doubt the authorities were perfectly aware of this,
but they had no power to interfere. The process for " teaching
deafness " was even a more complicated one, but it did succeed
for a time in imposing upon the experts, until, by a ministerial
decree, it was resolved to draft all these clever stammerers,
and even those who were really suffering from the complaints
the others simulated, into the transport and medical services.
It was then that Marshal Vaillant was overwhelmed with
visits from anxious matrons who wanted to save their sons, and
that the comical interviews took place.
324 ' AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
" But, excellency, my son is really as deaf as a post," one
would ^xclaim..
" All the better, madame : he won't be frightened at the
first sound of serious firing. Nearly all young recruits are ter-
ror-stricken at the first whizzing of the bullets around them.
I was, myself, I assure you. He'll make an admirable sol-
dier."
" But he won't be able to hear the word of command."
'* Not necessary, madame : he'll only have to watch the
others, and do as they do. Besides, we'll draft him into the
cavalry : it is really the charger that obeys the signals, not the
trooper. It will be an advantage to him to be deaf in the
barrack-room, for there are many things said there that would
bring a blush to his nice, innocent cheeks ; and upon the whole
it is best he should not hear them. I have the honor to wash
you good-morning, madame."
And though the woman knew that the old soldier was mer-
cilessly chaffing her and her milksop son, the thing was done
so politely and so apparently seriously on the marshal's part,
that she was fain to take no for an answer.
On one occasion, it appears — for the marshal liked to tell
these tales, and he was not a bad mimic — he had just dis-
missed a lady similarly afflicted with a deaf son, when another
entered whose offspring suffered from an impediment in his
speech. " Madame," the marshal said, without moving a
muscle, " your son will realize the type of the soldier immor-
talized by M. Scribe in * Les Huguenots.' You know what
Marcel sings." And, striking a theatrical attitude, he trolled —
" * Un vieux soldat salt souffrir et se taire
Sans murmurer.'
With this additional advantage," he went on, "that your son
will be a young one. I can, however, promise you another
comfort. A lady has just left me whose son is as deaf as a
post. I'll not only see that your son is drafted into the same
company, but I'll make it my special business to have their
beds placed side by side. The young fellow can go on stam-
mering as long as he likes, it won't offend his comrade's hear-
" But my son is very short-sighted, as blind as a bat, your
excellency ; he w^on't be able to distinguish the friend from the
foe," expostulated a third lady.
" Don't let that trouble you, madame," was the answer ;
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
3^5
"we'll put him in the infantry : he has only got to blaze away^
he is sure to hit some one or something." ^
These were the scenes when the marshal was in an amiajbl^'
mood ; when he was not, he would scarcely suffer the slightest
remark ; but, if the remark was ventured upon, it had, to be
effectual, to be couched in language as abrupt as his. " Soft-saw-
der " he hated above all things ; and even when he was Wrong,
he would not admit it to any one who whined or spoke prettily.
On the other hand, when the visitor or petitioner became as
violent as he was himself, he often reversed his decision. One
day, while waiting for the marshal, I met in the anteroom an
individual who, by his surly looks, was far from pleased. Af-
ter striding up and down for a while, he began to bang on the
table, and to shout at the top of his voice, calling the old sol-
dier all kinds of names. Out came the marshal in his shirt-
sleeves— the moment the lady-visitors were gone he always
took off his coat. " Come back, monsieur," he said to the in-
dividual. In a few moments the latter came out of the mar-
shal's private room, his face beaming with joy. Then I went in,
and found the marshal rubbing his hands with glee. "A
capital fellow, after all, a capital fellow," he kept on saying.
" He may be a capital fellow," I remarked, "but he is not
very choice in his language."
"That's only his way ; he does not like to be refused things,
but he is a capital fellow for all that, and that's why I granted
his request. If he had whined about it, I should not have
done so, though I think he is entitled to what he came for."
Strategical skill, in the sense the Germans have taught us
since to attach to the word, Marshal Vaillant had little or none.
Most of his contemporaries, even the younger generals, were
scarcely better endowed than their official chief. They were
all good soldiers when it came to straightforward fighting, as
they had been obliged to do in Africa, but there was not a
great leader, scarcely an ordinary tactician, among them. As
I have already shown, among the men most painfully aware of
this was the marshal himself ; nevertheless, when he once
made up his mind to a course of action, it was almost impos-
sible to dissuade him from it. He had set his heart upon
Marshal Niel occupying the Aland island during the win-
ter of '54-55, in the event of Bomarsund falling into
French hands. He did not for a moment consider that the
fourteen thousand troops were too few to hold it, if the Rus-
sians cared to contest its possession, — too many, if they merely
confined themselves to intercepting the supplies, which they
326 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS,
could have done without much difficulty. A clever young di-
plomatist, who 'knew more about those parts than the whole of
the intelligence department at the Ministry for War, at last
made him abandon his decision. I came in as he went out ;
the marshal was as surly as a bear with a sore head. " Clever
fellow this," he growled, " very clever fellow." And then, in
short jerky sentences, he told me the whole of the story, asking
my opinion as to who was right and who was wrong. I told
him frankly that I thought the young diplomatist was
right. " That's what I think," he spluttered ; " but you'll admit
that it is d d annoying to be wrong."
It would be wrong to infer that the marshal, though deficient
as a strategist, was the rough-and-ready soldier, indifferent to
more cultured pursuits, as so many of his fellow-officers were.
He was very fond of certain branches of science, and rarely
missed a meeting of the scientific section of the Academic, of
which he was a member. What attracted him most, however,
was astronomy ; next to that came entomology and botany.
Still, though an enthusiast, and often risking a cold to ob-
serve an astral phenomenon, he objected to wasting thousands
of pounds for a similar purpose ; in fact, when it came to dis-
bursing government money for a scientific or other vaguely
defined purpose, his economic tendencies got the better of
him. " I am a very interesting scientific phenomenon myself,"
he used to say, " or, at any rate, I was ; and yet no one spent
any money to come and see me."
He was alluding to a fact which he often told me himself,
and afterwards narrated in his " memoirs."
" For a long while, especially from 18 18 to 1830, when the
weather happened to be very dry and cold, and when I re-
turned to my grateless, humble room, after having spent the
day in heated apartments, I was both the spectator and the
medium of strange electrical phenomena.
" The moment I had undressed and stood in my shirt, the
latter began to crackle and became absolutely luminous, emit-
ting a lot of sparks; the tails stuck together, and remained
like that for some time."
I asked him on one occasion, whether he had ever com
municated all this to scientific authorities. His answer,
though not a direct one to my question, was not only very
characteristic of the mental and moral attitude of the soldiers
of the Empire towards the Bourbons, but to a great extent of
the attitude of the Bourbons themselves towards everybody
and everything that was not absolutely in accordance with the
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 327
policy, sociology, and religious tenets of their adherents, whether
laymen or priests.
" You must remember, my dear fellow," he replied, " the
regime under which we lived when I was subject to those elec-
trical manifestations ; you must further remember that I had
fought at Ligny and at Waterloo, and, though not absolutely
put on the retired list in 18 15, I and the rest of the Emperor's
soldiers were watched, and our most innocent acts construed
into so many small attempts at conspiracy. You have not
the slightest idea what the police were like under the Restau-
ration, let alone the priesthood. If I couple these two, I am
not speaking at random. If I had communicated the things
I told you of, to no matter what savant, he would necessa-
rily have published the result of his observations and experi-
ments, and do you know what would have happened ? I
should have been tried, and perhaps condemned, for witch-
craft— yes, for witchcraft, — or else I should have been taken
hold of by the priests, not as a scientific phenomenon, but as
a religious one, a kind of stigmatise. They would have made
it out to their satisfaction that I was either half a saint, or a
whole devil, and in either case my life would have become a
burden to me. Only those who have lived under the Bourbons
can form an idea of the terrorizing to which they lent them-
selves. People may tell you that they were kind and charit-
able, and this, that, and the other. There never were greater
tyrants than they were at heart ; and if the Due d'Angouleme
or the Comte de Chambord had come to the throne, France
would have sunk to the intellectual level of Spain. I would
sooner see the most godless republic than a return to that
state of things, and I need not tell you that I firmly believe
that not a sparrow falls to the earth without God's will. No,
I held my tongue about my electrical sensations ; if I had not,
you would not now be talking to Marshal Vaillant — I should
have become a jabbering idiot, if I had lived long enough."
It is the longest speech I have ever heard the marshal make.
The marshal's own rooms were simply crammed with cases
full of beetles, butterflies, etc. The space not taken up by
these was devoted to herbariums ; and in the midst of the
most interesting conversation — interesting to the listener es-
pecially, for the old soldier was an inexhaustible mine of anec-
dote— he, the listener, would be invited to look at a bit of
withered grass or a wriggling caterpillar.
After the Franco- Austrian war, there was an addition to the
jnarshal's household — I might say family, for the old man be-
328 . AN ENGLISHMAN- IN PARIS.
came as fond of Brusca as if she had been a human being.
The story went that she had been bequeathed to him at Sol-
ferino by her former master, an Austrian general ; and the
marshal did not deny it. At any rate, he found Brusca sitting
by the dying man, and licking the blood oozing from his
wounds.
Brusca was not much to look at, and you might safely have
defied a committee of the most eminent authorities on canine
breeds to determine hers, but she was very intelligent, and of
a most affectionate disposition. Nevertheless, she was always
more or less distant with civilians : it took me many years to
worm myself into her good graces, and I am almost certain
that I was the on\y pekin thus favored. The very word made
her prick up her ears, show her teeth, and straighten her tail
as far as she could. For the appendage did not lend itself
readily to the effort ; it was in texture like that of a colley or
Pomeranian, and twisted like that of a pug. Curiously enough,
her objection to civilians did not extend to the female portion,
but the sight of a blouse drove her frantic with rage. On such
occasions, she had to be chained up. As a rule, however,
Brusca's manifestations, whether of pleasure or the reverse,
were uttered in a minor key and unaccompanied by any change
of position on her part. She mostly lay at the marshal's feet,
if she was not perched on the back of his chair, for Brusca
was not a large dog. She accompanied the marshal in his
walks and drives, she sat by his side at table, she slept on a
rug at the foot of his bed. Now and then she took a gentle
stroll through the apartment, carefully examining the dried
plants and beetles. But one day, or rather one evening, there
was a complete change in her behavior : it was at one of the
marshal's receptions, on the occasion of Emperor Francis-
Joseph's visit to Paris. Some of the officers of his Majesty's
suite had been invited, and at the sight of the, to her, once
familiar uniforms her delight knew no bounds. She was stand-
ing at the top of the landing when she caught sight of them,
and all those present thought for a moment that the creature
was going mad. As a matter of course, Brusca was not allowed
to com.e into the reception-rooms, but on that night there was
no keeping her out. Locked up in the marshal's bedroom,
she made the place ring with her barks and yells, and they had
to let her out. With one bound she was in the drawing-rooms,
and for three hours she did not leave the side of the Austrian
oflficers. When they took their departure, Brusca was perfectly
ready, nay eager, to abandon her home and her fond master
AN ENGLISHMAN I.V PARIS. 329
for their sake, and had to be forcibly prevented from doing so.
The marshal did not know whether to cry or to laugh, but in
the end he felt ready to forgive Brusca for her contemplated
desertion of him in favor of her countrymen. Some one who
objected to the term got the snub direct. "Je maintiens ce
que j'ai dit, compatriotes ; et je serais rudement fier d'avoir
une compatriote comme elle."
If possible, Brusca from that moment rose in the marshal's
estimation ; she was a perfect paragon. " Cette chienne n'a
pas seulement toutes les qualites de son genre, elle n'a meme
pas les vices de son sexe. Elle m'aime tellement bien qu'elle
ne veut etre distraite par aucun autre amour. Elle vit dans le
plus rigoureux celibat. La malheureuse," he said every now
and then, " elle a failli se compromettre."
In spite of the marshal's boast aboutBrusca's morals, he was
one day compelled to admit a faux pas on her part, and for
some weeks the " vet " had an anxious time of it. " Elle a
mal tourne, mais que voulez-vous, je ne vais pas I'abandonner."
And when the crisis was over : "Son incartade ne lui a pas
porte bonheur. Esperons que la legon lui profitera."
Brusca had her portrait painted by the '* Michael-Angelo of
dogs," Jadin, and when it was finished the visitors were given
an opportunity of admiring it in the drawing-room, where it
was on view for several consecutive Tuesdays. After that, a
great many of the marshal's familiars, supposed to be capable
of doing justice to Brusca's character in verse, were appealed
to, to write her panegyric, but though several Academicians
tried their hands, their lucubrations were not deemed worthy
to be inscribed on the frame of Brusca's portrait, albeit that
one or two — the first in Greek — were engrossed on vellum, and
adorned the drawing-room table. The effusion that did event-
ually adorn the frame was by an anonymous author — it was
shrewdly suspected that it was by the marshal himself, and
ran as follows : —
" Si je suis pres de lui, c'est que je le merite.
Revez mon sort brilliant ; revez, ambitieux !
Du bien de mon maitre en ami je profite,
J'aimerais son pain noir s'il etait malheureux."
Another peculiarity of Marshal Vaillant was never to accept
a letter not prepaid or insufficiently paid. The rule was so
strictly enforced, both in his private and official capacity, that
many a valuable report was ruthlessly refused, and had to be
traced afterwards through the various post-ofhces of Europe.
33 o AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
Seven times out of ten the marshal, when travelling by him-
self, missed his train. This would lead one to infer that he
was unpunctual ; on the contrary, he was the spirit of punctu-
ality. Unfortunately, he over-did the thing. He generally
reached the station half an hour or three-quarters before the
time, seated himself down in a corner, dozed off, and did not
wake up until it was too late. The marshal was a native of
Dyon; and at Nuits, situated between the former town and
Beaune, there lived a middle-aged spinster cousin whom he
often went to visit. He nearly always returned by the last
train to Dyon, where he had his quarters at the Hotel de la
Cloche ; and although often in the midst of a pleasant family
party, insisted upon leaving long before it was necessary. As
a matter of course, the station was in semi-darkness — for Nuits
is not a large place — and the booking-office was not open.
One night, it being very warm, he stretched himself leisurely
on a grass plot, instead of on the hard seat, and there he was
found at six in the morning : several trains had come and gone,
but no one had dared to wake him. " Mais, monsieur le mare-
chal, on aurait cru vous manquer de respect en vous eveillant.
Apres tout, vous n'etes pas tout le monde, il y a des distinc-
tions," said the stationmaster apologetically. " La mort et le
sommeil, monsieur," was the answer, " font table rase de toute
distinction." It was a French version of our " Death levels
all : " the marshal was fond of paraphrasing quotations, espe-
cially from the English, of which he had a very fair knowledge,
having translated some military works many years before.
However, from that day forth, instructions were given to take
no heed of his rank, and to awaken him like any other mortal,
rather than have him miss his train.
In fact the marshal did not like to be constantly reminded of
his rank ; if anything, he was rather proud of his very humble
origin, and, instead of hiding his pedigree like a good many
parvenus, he took delight in publishing it. I have seen a let-
ter of his to some one who inquired on the subject, not from
sheer curiosity. " My grandfather was a silkmercer in a small
way on the place St. Vincent, at Dyon. His father had been
a coppersmith. I am unable to trace back further than that ;
my quarters of nobility stop there. Let me add, at the same
time, that there is no more silly proverb than the one ' Like
father like son.' My father died poor, and respected by every-
one. I do not believe that he had a single enemy. His
friends called him Christ, he was so good and kind to every-
body. I am riot the least like him,. He was short and slim,
AiV ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 33 1
I am rather tall and stout ; he was gentle, and people say that I
am abrupt and harsh. In short, he had as many virtues as
I am supposed to have faults, and I am afraid the world is not
at all mistaken in that respect."
I, who knew him as well as most people, am afraid that the
world was very much mistaken. As a matter of course, the
old soldier had many faults, but his good qualities far out-
weighed the latter. He was modest to a degree, and the flat-
teries to which men in his position are naturally exposed pro-
duced not the slightest effect upon him. When in an amiable
mood, he used to cut them short with a " Oui, oui ; le marechal
Vaillant est un grand homme, il n'y a pas de doute ; tout le
monde est d'accord sur ce chapitre Ik, done, n'en parlous plus."
When not in an amiable mood, he showed them the door, say-
ing, " Monsieur, si je suis aussi grand homme que vous le
dites, je suis trop grand pour m'occuper de vos petites affaires.
J'ai I'honneur de vous saluer."
He was fond of his native town, one of whose streets bore
or still bears his name, though, according to all authorities, it
never smelt sweet by whatsoever appellation it went. But he
objected to being lionized, so he never stayed with the prefect,
the maire, or the general commanding the district, and simply
took up his quarters at the hotel, insisting on being treated
like any other visitor. The maire respected his wishes ; the
population did not, which was a sore point with the marshal.
Nevertheless, when, in 1858, during their Exhibition, they wanted
him to distribute the prizes, he consented to do so, on condition
that his reception should be of the simplest. The Dyonnais
promised, and to a certain extent kept their word. Next
morning the prefect, accompanied by the authorities, fetched
him in his carriage. The ceremony was to take place in the
park itself, and at the entrance was posted General Picard, ac-
companied by his staff, and at the head of several battalions.
The moment the marshal set foot to the ground, the general
saluted, the drums rolled, and the bands played. The mar-
shal felt wroth, and at the conclusion of the distribution sent
for the general, whom, not to mince matters, he roundly bul-
lied.
General Picard did not interrupt him. *' Have you finished,
monsieur le marechal ? " he asked at last.
" Of course, I have finished."
" Very well ; the next time you come out as a simple bour-
geois, you had better leave the grand cordon of the Legion of
Honor at home. If I had not saluted you as I did, I should
332
AxY ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
have had the reprimand of the minister of war, and of the
chancellor of the Legion of Honor. After all I prefer yours."
" But I am the minister for war."
" I know nothing about that. I only saw an old gentleman
with the grand cordon. If you are the minister for war, perhaps
you will be good enough to tell Marechal Vaillant^ when you
see him, that he must not tempt old soldiers like myself to for-
get their duty."
" You are right, general. But what a hot fiery lot these
Dyonnais are, aren't they ? " Picard was a native of Dyon
also.
CHAPTER XIX.
After the lapse of thirteen years, it is difficult to put the
exact hour and date to each exciting incident of a period which
was absolutely phenomenal throughout. I kept no diary, only
a few rough notes, because at that time I never thought of com-
mitting my recollections to paper, and have, therefore, to trust
almost wholly to my memory ; nevertheless I am positive as to
main facts, whether witnessed by myself or communicated to
me by friends and acquaintances. I remember, for instance,
that, immediately after the declaration of war, I was warned by
my friends not to go abroad more than I could help, to keep
away as much as possible from crowds. " You are a for-
eigner," said one, " and that will be sufficient for any ragamuffin
who wants to do you a bad turn, to draw attention to you.
By the time you have satisfactorily proved your nationality
you will be beaten black and blue, if not worse."
The advice was given on Friday, the 15 th of July, about six
in the afternoon ; that is, a few hours after the news of the
scenes in the Chamber of Deputies and the Senate had spread,
and when the centre of Paris was getting gradually congested
with the inhabitants of the faubourgs. My friends were men
of culture and education, and not at all likely to be carried
away by the delirium which, on that same night and for the
next week, converted Paris into one vast lunatic asylum, whose
inmates had managed to throw off the control of their keepers ;
yet there was not a single civilian among them who had a
doubt about the eventual ^victory of France, about her ability
" to chastise the arrogance of the King of Prussia," to put
the matter in their own words.
" To try to be wise after the event," is a thing I particularly
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
zzz
detest, but I can honestly affirm that I did not share their
confidence, although I did not suspect for a moment that the
defeat would be so crushing as it was. I remembered many
incidents that had happened during the previous four years of
which they seemed conveniently oblivious ; I was also aware,
perhaps, of certain matters of which they were either pro-
foundly ignorant, or professed to be ; but, above all, I took to
heart the advice, tendered in the shape of, " You are a for-
eigner:" and though I feared no violence or even verbal
recrimination on their part, I chose to hold my tongue.
I hold no brief for the late Emperor, but I sincerely believe
that he was utterly averse to the war. I, moreover, think that
if he had consented to remain in Paris or at St. Cloud, the
disaster would have happened all the same. He had no illu-
sions about the efficiency of his armies, though he may not
have been cognizant of the thorough rottenness of the whole.
But to have said so at any time, especially during the last four
years, would have been simply to sign the death-warrant of
his dynasty. He endeavored to remedy the defects in a
roundabout way as early as October, .'66, by appointing a com-
mission to draw up a plan for the reorganization of the army.
Apparently, Napoleon wanted larger contingents ; in reality, he
hoped that the inquiry would lay bare such evidence of corrup-
tion as would justify him in dismissing several of the men
surrounding him from their high commands. But both those
who only saw the apparent drift as well as those who guessed
at the real one were equally determined in their opposition.
It was the majority in the Legislature which first uttered the
cry, immediately taken up by the adversaries of the regime.
" If this bill becomes law there will be an end of favorable
numbers." In fact, the bill meant compulsory service for every
one, and the consent of the deputies to it would at once have
forfeited their position with their electors, especially with the
peasantry, to whom to apply the word " patriotism " at any
time is tantamount to the vilest prostitution of it.
Of the makeshift for that law I need say little or nothing.
Without a single spy in France, without a single attache in the
Rue de Lille, Bismarck was enabled by that only to determine
beforehand the effects of one serious military defeat on the
dynasty of the Emperor ; he was enabled to calculate the exact
strength of the chain of defence which would be offered sub-
sequently. The French army was like the Scotch lad's por^
ridge, " sour, burnt, gritty, cold, and, it, there was not
enough of it." It is not underrating Bismarck's genius to say
334 ^^ ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
that a man of far inferior abilities than he would have plainly
seen the course to pursue.
Was Napoleon III. steeped in such crass ignorance as not
to have had an inkling of all this ? Certainly not ; but he was
weary, body and soul, and, but for his wife and son, he would,
perhaps willingly, have abdicated. He had been suffering for
years from one of the most excruciating diseases, and a fort-
night before the declaration of war the symptoms had become
so alarming that a great consultation was held between MM.
Nelaton, Ricord, Fauvel, G. See, and Corvisart. The result
was the unanimous conclusion of those eminent medical men
that an immediate operation was absolutely necessary. Curi-
ously enough, however, the report embodying this decision was
only signed by one, and not communicated to the Empress at
all. It may be taken for granted that, had she known of her
husband's condition, she would not have agitated in favor of
the war, as she undoubtedly did.
It was only after the Emperor's death at Chislehurst that
the document in question was found, but I happened to know
Dr. Ricord intimately, and most of the facts, besides those
stated above, were known to me on that memorable Friday,
the 15th of July, 1870. As I have said already, I thought it
wiser to hold my tongue.
But though determined not to speak — knowing that it would
do no earthly good — I was equally determined to see and to
hear ; so, at about eight, I sallied forth. The heat was posi-
tively stifling, and it was still daylight, but, in their eagerness
to show their joy, the Parisians would not wait for darkness to
set in, and, as I went along, I saw several matrons of the
better classes, aided by their maids, make preparations on the
balcony for illuminating the moment the last rays of the sun
should set behind the horizon. I distinctly say matrons of
the better classes, because my way lay through the Chausse'e
d'Antin, where the tenancy of an apartment on the first, second,
or third floor implied a more than average income. I was,
and am, aware that neither refinement nor good sense should
be measured by the money at one's command, but under sim-
ilar circumstances it is impossible to apply any other valid
test. In the streets there was one closely wedged-in, seething
mass, and the noise was deafening ; nevertheless, at the sight
of one of those matrons thus engaged there was a momentary
lull, followed immediately by vociferous applause and the cry
• of " Les meres die la patrie." From a cursory glance upward, I
game to the conclusion that the progeny of these ladies, if they
AjV englishman in PARIS. 335
were blessed with any, could as yet contribute but very little to
the glory of the nation ; still, I reflected, at the same time, that
they had probably brothers and husbands who, within a few
hours, might be called to the front, " nevermore to return ; "
that, therefore, the outburst of patriotism could not be called
an altogether cheap one. In fact, none but the thoroughly
irreclaimable sceptic could fail to be struck with the genuine
outburst of national resentment against a whole nation on the
part of another nation, which, as I take it, means something
different from unalloyed patriotism. It was a mixture of hatred
and chauvinism, rather than the latter and more elevated senti-
ment. The " sacred soil of France " — though why more sacred
than any other soil, I have never been able to make out — was
not threatened in this instance by Prussia ; carefully considered,
it was not even a question of national honor offended, for which
Paris professed itself ready as one man to draw the sword,
and yet the thousands in the street that night behaved as if
each of them had a personal quarrel to settle, not with one or
two Germans, but with every son and daughter of the Father-
land.
It was, perhaps, a quarter after eight when I found myself
in the Chaussee d' Antin, and the distance to the Boulevard des
Italiens was certainly not more than two hundred and fifty
yards ; nevertheless, it took me more than half an hour to get
over it, for immediately on my emerging into the main thorough-
fare I looked at a clock which pointed to nine. Two things
stand out vividly in my memory ; the first, the preparations of
several business houses to illuminate on a grand scale, there
and then ; i.e., the putting up of the elaborate crystal devices
used by them on the 15th of August, the Emperor's fete-day.
It was exactly a month before that date, and a neighbor of an
enthusiastic tradesman remarked upon the fact. " I know,"
was the answer ; '' I'll leave it there till the 14th of next month,
and then I'll add two bigger ones to it." On the day proposed,
not only were there none added, but the original one had also
disappeared, for by that time the Second Empire was virtually
in the throes of death. The second thing I remember was the
enormous strip of calico outside a bookseller's shop, with the
announcement, " Dictionnaire Fran^ais-Allemand a I'usage des
Fran9ais a Berlin." In less than two months I read the fol-
lowing; it was an extract from the interview between Bismarck
and Moltke on the one side and General de Wimpffen on the
other, on the eve of the capitulation of Sedan : " You do not
know the topography of the environs of Sedan," replied Gen-
^^6 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
eral von Moltke ; " and, seeing that we are on the subject, let
me give you a small instance which thoroughly shows the pre-
sumption, the want of method, of your nation. At the begin-
ning of the campaign, you provided your officers with maps of
Germany, when they utterly lacked the means of studying
the geography of their own country, seeing that you had no
maps of your own territory." I could not help thinking of the
bookseller, and wondering how many dictionaries he sold during
those first few days.
I did not get very far that night, only as far as the Maison
d'Or, where I was perforce obliged to stop and look on. I
stood for nearly an hour and a half, for there was no possi-
bility of getting a seat, and during that time I only heard one
opinion adverse to the war. It was that of a justly celebrated
dramatist, who is by no means hostile to either the Emperor
or the Empire, albeit that he had declined several years ago
to be presented to Napoleon when Princess Mathilde offered
him to do so. He positively hates the Germans, but his hatred
did not blind him to their great intellectual qualities and to
their powers of organization. " It is all very fine to shout 'A
Berlin ! ' " he said ; " and it is very probable that some of
these bellowers (braillards) will get there, though not In the
order of procession they expect ; they will be in front, and the
Germans at their backs." He spoke very low, and begged me
not to repeat what he had said. " If I am mistaken I do not
want to be twitted with having thrown cold water on the martial
ardor of my countrymen ; if I am right, I will willingly forego
the honor of having prophesied the humiliation of my country-
men." That is why I suppress his name here, but I have often
thought of his words since ; and when people. Englishmen
especially, have accused him of having contributed to the cor-
ruption of the Second Empire by his stage works, I have smiled
to myself. With the exception of one, he has never written a
play that did not teach a valuable moral lesson ; but he is an
excellent husband, father, and son, though he is perhaps not
over generous with his money.
I am bound to say that, though the noise on the Boulevards
was terrific, and the crowds the densest I have ever seen in
Paris or anywhere, they refrained from that horse-play so objec-
tionable in England under similar circumstances. Of course
there were exceptions ; such as, for instance, the demonstra-
tion at the Prussian Embassy: but, in the main, the behavior
was orderly throughout. I do not know what might have been
the result of ' any foreigners — German or otherwise — showing
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 337
themselves conspicuously, but they were either altogether absent,
or else concealed their nationality as much as possible by
keeping commendably silent.
Nevertheless, the Parisian shopkeeper, who is the most ar-
rant coward on the face of the earth where a crowd is concerned,
put up his shutters during the whole of Saturday and Sunday,
except those who professed to cater for the inner man. I
doubt whether, on the first-named day, there was a single
stroke of work done by the three or four hundred thousand of
Parisian artisans. I exclude cabmen, railway porters, and the
like. They had their hands full, because the exodus began
before the war news was four and twenty hours old. Our own
countrymen seemed in the greatest hurry to put the Channel
between themselves and France. If the enemy had been al-
ready at the gates of Paris their retreat could have been
scarcely more sudden. The words "bouches inutiles " had as
yet not been pronounced or invented officially ; but I have a
notion that a cabman suggested them first, in a conversation
with a brother Jehu. " Voil^ des bouches utiles qui s'en vont,
mon vieux," he said, while waiting on the Place Vendome to
take passengers to the railway. Until then I had never heard
the word used in that sense.
Apropos of cabmen, I heard a story that day for the truth
of which I will, however, not vouch. There was a cab-stand
near the Prussian Embassy, and most of the drivers knew
every one of the attaches, the latter being frequent customers.
On the Saturday morning, a cab was called from the rank to
take a young attache to the eastern railway station. He was
going to join his regiment. On alighting from the cab, the
attach^ was about to pay his fare ; the driver refused the
money. " A man does not pay for his own funeral, monsieur ;
and you may take it that I have performed that office for you.
Adieu, monsieur," With that he drove off. True or not, the
mere invention of the tale would prove that, at any rate, the
lower middle classes were cocksure of the utter annihilation of
the Germans.
I happened to have occasion to go to the northern station on
the Sunday, to see some one off by the mail. That large,
cold, bare hall, which does duty as a waiting-room, was crowded,
and a number of young Germans were among the passengers ;
respectable, stalwart fellows who, to judge by their dress, had
occupied good commercial positions in the French capital.
Most of them were accompanied by friends or relations.
They seemed by no means elated at the prospect before them,
22
338 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
and scarcely spoke to one another. As a matter ot coursCt
they were scattered all over the place, in groups of three and
four. I noticed that there was an exceedingly strong contin-
gent of sergents de ville, and several couples of officiers de paix
— what in England we should call superintendents of police.
The latter had evidently received particular instructions, for
they had posted, as much as possible, a sergent de ville close
to every group. At first I mistook the drift of the supervision,
but it was soon explained to me when one of the officiers de
paix came up to a group somewhat larger than the others.
" Messieurs," he said very politely, " vous etes Allemands, et
je vous prierai de vous mettre ensemble, afin de pouvoir vous
proteger, s'il y a besoin." I heard afterwards that, amidst all
his weighty occupations, the Emperor himself had given orders
to have the Germans especially protected, as he feared some
violence on the part of the Parisians.
During the next week the excitement did not abate, but, save
for some minor incidents, it was the sam.e thing over and over
again : impromptu processions along the main thoroughfares
to the singing of the " Marseillaise " and the " Chant du De-
part," until the crowds had got by heart Alfred de Musset's
" Rhin Allemand," of which, until then, not one in a thousand
had ever heard.
Meanwhile the news had spread of the suicide of Prevost-
Paradol, the newly-appointed French ambassador at Washing-
ton, and the republicans were trying to make capital out of it.
According to them, it was political shame and remorse at hav-
ing deserted his colors, despair at the turn events were tak-
ing, that prompted the step. These falsehoods have been
repeated until they became legends connected with the fall of
the Second Empire. To the majority of Englishmen, Prevost-
Paradol is not even a name ; talented as he was. Frenchmen
would have scarcely known more about him if some politicians,
for purposes of their own, had not chosen to convert him into
a self-immolated martyr to the Imperialist cause — or, rather, to
that part of the cause which aimed at the recovery of the left
banks of the Rhine. I knew Prevost-Paradol, and he was only
distinguished from hundreds of thousands of Frenchmen in
that his " France Nouvelle " was a magnificent attempt to
spur his countrymen's ambition in that direction ; but this
very fact is an additional argument against the alleged cause
of his self-destruction. He shot himself during the night of
the loth and nth of July, when not the most pessimistically
inclined could foresee the certainty of a war, and, least of all,
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 339
the disastrous result of it to France. Those who would know
the real cause of Prevost-ParadoPs suicide had better read a
short tale that appeared anonymously in the Reime des Deux
Mondes of February, i860. The hero of " Madame de Mar-
gay " is none other than the brilliant journalist himself, and
the germs of suicidal mania were so plainly discernible in him,
as to make those who knew the writer wonder that he had not
killed himself long before he did.
I have already said that the excitement did not abate, but
the more serious-minded began to look critical, and, among the
latter, curiously enough, there were a good many superior offi-
cers in the army. They were too loyal to express openly
their want of confidence in their leaders, but it was evident
enough to the careful listener that that want of con-
fidence did exist. I had a conversation during that week
with one of the former, whose name, for obvious reasons,
I must suppress ; and this is, as far as I can remember,
what he said, knowing that he could trust me. " There is not
a single properly drawn ordnance map of France at the War
Office ; and if there were, there is not a single man in power
there who would know how to use it. I doubt whether there
is a settled plan of campaign ; they'll endeavor to conduct this
war as they conducted the Crimean, Italian, and Mexican
wars — that is, on the principle which stood them in such good
stead in Algeria, though they ought to know by this time how
very risky those experiments turned out, especially in '59 ;
and I have no need to tell you that we are going to confront a
different army from that of the Austrians or the Russians,
Todleben notwithstanding. The African school of warfare
ought to be played out by now, but it is not. To a certain
extent, the Emperor is to blame for this. You remember what
his uncle said : ' There is not a single general of whose
draught I am not aware. Some will go up to their waists ;
others up to their necks ; others, again, to over their heads ;
but the latter number is infinitely small, I assure you.' The
Emperor is not in the same position with regard to the capacity
of his generals, let alone of his officers."
" But he ought to be," I objected ; " he interviews a great
many of them on Sunday mornings." I was alluding to the
informal levee held at the Tuileries every week, to which the
generals and the general officers by sea and by land were
admitted.
" You are right — he ought to be," was the answer ; " and if
a great deal of conscientious trouble on his part could have put
340 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
him in possession of such knowledge, he would have had it
by: this time. Of course, you have never been present at such
a reception; for all civilians, with the exception of a few
ministers, are rigorously excluded. I repeat, the intention is a
good one, but it is not carried out properly. The very fact
that at the outset it met with the most strenuous opposition
from nearly all the ministers and high dignitaries of the
Imperial household ought to have shown his Majesty the
necessity of interviewing these officers alone, without as much
as a chambellan in waiting. As it is, do you know what
happens ? I will tell you. The Emperor passes before these
officers as they are standing around the room, stops before
nearly every one to ask a question, inviting him, at the same
time, to lodge a protest if necessary against any standing abuse
or to suggest a measure of reform. But the chambellan is
close at his heels ; the minister for war, the marshal command-
ing the Imperial Guard, the military governor of Paris, are
standing but a few steps away. The officer to whom the ques-
tion is addressed feels himself tongue-tied ; he knows that all
these can hear every word he says, and, rather than be marked
by his superiors as a tiresome meddler, he prefers to hold his
tongue altogether — that is, if he be comparatively honest.
Call it cowardice if you like, but most men will tell you that
such cowardice exists in all administrations whether civil or
military. Consequently, the Emperor, though he may know a
good many officers by name and by sight, in reality knows noth-
ing of their capacities. I may safely say that, for the last
fifteen or sixteen years, there have not been a dozen important
promotions, either in the army or the navy, justified by the
'record of service' of the officer promoted. Divisions — nay,
whole army corps — have been confided to men who, in the
hour of need, will, no doubt, prove very dashing and ve«y^
plucky, but who have no more notion of handling large masses
of men than an ordinary drill-sergeant. To use a more strik-
ing metaphor — they have selected the most desperate punters
at baccarat to work out complicated chess problems. What
the result will be with such a champion as Von Moltke,
Heaven alone knows. There are men at the head of our
cavalry forces who can scarcely hold themselves on horse-
back; there are others commanding divisions and even corps-
d'armee who know all about bridges, pontoons,, artillery, and
so forth, but who could no more execute a regularly organized
retreat or advance than a child. The theory is that their dash
and courage, their reckless, happy-go-lucky, but frequently
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 341
successful African system, will make up for their ignorance of
tactics and strategy. Naturally this is an implied rather than
an expressed opinion, for many of those favorites believe them-
selves to be the equals in these latter sciences of Jomini and
Napoleon, perhaps of Moltke also. Do not misunderstand
me ; there are a number of officers in the French army who
have made a careful study of the science of war, and who, in
that respect, would favorably compare with an equal number
of the best instructed German officers, but they have by this
time resigned themselves to keep in the background, because
any attempt on their part to raise the standard of military
knowledge has for years been systematically discountenanced
by those nearest to the throne. On the other hand, the men
thus kept at arm's length have not been altogether satisfied to
suffer in silence. I do not mean to say that they have given
vent to their grievances openly ; they have done worse, per-
haps, from the point of view of maintaining the discipline of
the army. They have adopted a semi-critical, semi-hostile
attitude towards their superiors. The officers' mess, such as
it exists in England, is virtually unknown on the Continent,
the least of all in France. The unmarried officer takes his
meals at the table d'hote of an hotel, and he does talk ' shop '
now and then in the presence of civilians. The criticisms he
utters do find their way to the barrack-room, so that by now
the private has become sceptical with regard to the capabilities
of the generals and marshals. The soldier who begins to
question the fitness of his chiefs is like the priest who begins
to question the infallibility of the pop»- ; he is a danger to the
institution to which he belongs."
In reality, my informant told me little that was new, though
he perhaps did not suspect that I was so well informed. I
had heard most of all this, and a great deal besides, from a
connection of mine by marriage, whose strictures in the same
direction came with additional force, seeing that he was a
frequent and welcome guest at the Tuileries. He was a
general officer, but, with a frankness that bordered on the
cynical, maintained that but for his capital voice and skill at
leading " the cotillon " he would probably have never risen
beyond the rank of captain ; " for there are a thousand cap-
tains that know a greal more than I do, a couple of thousand
that know as much as I do, and very few who know less, none
of whom have ever been promoted, and never will be, unless
they earn their promotion at the point of the sword." Accord-
ing to him, the '- records of service " were not as much as
34^ AA^ englishman in PARIS.
looked into at the periods of general promotions. " A clever
answer to one of the Emperor's questions, a handsome face
and pleasing manners, are sufficient to establish a reputation
at the Chateau. The ministers for war take particular care
not to rectify those impulsive judgments of the Emperor and
Empress, because they rightly think that careful inquiries into
the candidates' merits would hurt their own proteges, and those
of their fellow-ministers. This happy-go-lucky system — for a
system it has become — founded, upon the most barefaced
nepotism, is condoned by those who ought to have opposed it
with all their might and main at the very outset, on the theory
that Frenchmen's courage is sure to make up in the end for
all shortcomings, which theory in itself is a piece of im-
pertinence, or at any rate of overweening conceit, seeing that
it implies that absence of such courage in the officers of other
nations. But there is something else. All these favorites
are jealous of one another, and, mark my words, this jealousy
will in this instance lead to disastrous results, because the
Emperor will find it as difficult to comply with as to refuse
their individual extravagant demands. The time is gone by
for radical reforms. ' You cannot swop horses while crossing a
stream,' said Abraham Lincoln ; and we are crossing a dan-
gerous stream. The Emperor has, besides, a horror of new
faces around him, and to extirpate the evil radically he would
have to make a clean sweep of his military household."
I must preface the following notes by a personal remark.
For private reasons, which I cannot and must not mention, I
have decided not to put my name to these jottings, whether
they are published before or after my death. I am aware that
by doing this I diminish their value; because, although I
never played a political or even a social part in France, I am
sufficiently well known to inspire the reader with confidence.
As it is, he must take it for granted that I was probably the
only foreigner whom Frenchmen had agreed not to consider
an enemy in disguise.
While my relative wa? giving me the above resume, I was
already awaie that there existed in the French War Office a
scheme of mobilization and a plan of campaign elaborated by
Marshal Niel, the immediate predecessor of Marshal Leboeuf.
I knew moreover, that this plan provided for the formation of
three armies, under the respective commands of Marshals Mac-
Mahon, Bazaine, and Canrobert, and that the disposition of
these three armies had been the basis of negotiations for a
Franco-Austrian alliance which had been started six weeks
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 343
previous to the declaration of war by General Lebrun in Vienna.
Up till the 2 2d or 23d of July the preparations were carried
out in accordance with that original project ; the respective
staffs that had been appointed, the various regiments and bri-
gades distributed long ago, were already hurrying to the front,
when all of a sudden the whole of this plan was modified ; the
three armies were to be fused into one, to be called " Tarme'e
du Rhin," under the sole and exclusive command of the Em-
peror.
Whence this sudden change? The historians, with their
usual contempt for small causes, have endeavored to explain
it in various ways. According to some, the change was decided
upon in order to afford the Emperor the opportunity of distin-
guishing himself ; the " armee du Rhin" was to revive the glories
of the " grande armee ;" there was to be a second edition of
the Napoleonic epic. After the first startling successes, the
Emperor was to return to the capital, and Marshal Niel's plan
was, if practicable, to be taken up once more, — that is, the
French troops, having established a foothold in the enemy's
country, were to be divided again under so many Klebers,
Soults, and Neys.
According to others, the Emperor, who until then had been
living in a fool's paradise with regard to the quantity, if not
with regard to the quality, of the forces at his disposal, sud-
denly had his eyes opened to the real state of affairs. The six
hundred and fifty thousand troops supposed to be at his dis-
posal had their existence mainly on paper : the available reality
did not amount to more than a third ; i.e., to about two hundred
and fifteen thousand troops of all arms.
The facts advanced by these historians are true, but they
did not determine the change referred to — at any rate, not so
far as the assumption of the supreme command by the Emperor
himself was concerned. Anxious as the latter may have been,
in the interest of his dynasty, to reap the glory of one or two
successful battles fought under his immediate supervision, he
was fully aware of his unfitness for such a task, especially in
his actual state of health. Louis-Napoleon believed in his ^tar,
but he was not an idiot who counted upon luck to decide the
fate of battles. If he had ever fostered such illusions, the
campaign of 1859 must have given a rude shock to them, for
there he was, more than once, within an ace of defeat ; and no
one knew this better than he did. The fusing of three armies
into one was due, first, to the difficulty, if not impossibility, of
constituting three armies with considerably less than three hun-
344 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
dred thousand troops ; secondly to the inveterate jealousy of
his marshals of one another. Napoleon feared, and justly,
that if those three armies went forth under three separate com-
mands, there would be a repetition of the quarrels that had oc-
curred during the Austro-Franco war, when Niel accused Can-
robert of not having properly supported him at the right time,
and so forth. It will be remembered that the Emperor himself
had -to intervene to heal those quarrels. Under those circum-
stances, the Emperor thought it better to risk it and to take
the whole responsibility upon himself.
The Emperor left St. Cloud on the 28th of July. It is very
certain that, even before his departure, his confidence in the
late Marshal Niel as an organizer must have been considerably
shaken, and that the words of Leboeuf, " We are ready, more
than ready," sounded already a hollow mockery to his ear.
Here are some of the telegrams which, after the 4th of Sep-
tember, were found among the papers at the Tuileries. They
were probably copies of the originals, though I am by no
means certain that they w^ere forwarded to St. Cloud at the
time of their reception. It would have been better, perhaps,
if they had been.
" Metz, 20 July, 1870, 9.50 a.m. From Chief of Commis-
sariat Department to General Blondeau, War Office, Paris.
There is at Metz neither sugar, coffee, rice, brandy, nor salt.
W^e have but little bacon and biscuit. Despatch, at least, a
million rations to Thionville."
" General Ducrot to War Office, Paris. Strasburg, 20 July,
1870, 8.30 p.m. By to-morrow there will be scarcely fifty men
left to guard Neuf-Brisach ; Fort-Mortier, Schlestadt, la Petite-
Pierre, and Lichtenberg are equally deserted. It is the result
of the orders we are carrying out. The Garde Mobile and
local National Guards might easily be made available for gar-
rison duty, but I am reluctant to adopt such measures, seeing
that your excellency has granted me no power to that effect.
It appears certain that the Prussians are already masters of all
the passes of the Black Forest."
"F'rom the General commanding the 2d Army Corps to
War Office, Paris. Saint- Avoid, 21 July, 1870, 8.55 a.m. The
depot sends enormous parcels of maps, which are absolutely
useless for the moment. We have not a single map of the
French frontier. It would be better to send greater quan-
tities of what would be more useful, and which are absolutely
wanting at this moment."
" From General Michael to War Office, Paris. Belfort, 21
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
345
July, 1870, 7.30 a.m. Have arrived at Belfort ; did not find
my brigade, did not find a general of division. What am I to
do ? Do not know where are my regiments."
" From General commanding 4th Army Corps to Major-
General, Paris. Thionville, 21 July, 9.12 a.m. The 4th Corps
has as yet neither canteens, ambulances, nor baggage-wagons,
either for the troops or the staff. There is an utter lack of
everything."
I need quote no further ; there were about two hundred mis-
sives in all, all dated within the week following the official
declaration of war. It would be difficult to determine how
many of these the Emperor was permitted to see, but there
is no doubt that he had a pretty correct idea of the state of
affairs, for here is a fact which I have not seen stated any-
where, but for the truth of which I can vouch. For full two
years before the outbreak of hostilities, the Legislature seemed
bent upon advocating all kind of retrenchment in the war
budget. During the first six months of 1870, the thing had
almost become a mania with them, and the Emperor appealed
to M. Thiers, through the intermediary of Marshal Leboeuf
himself, to help him stem the tide of this pseudo-economy.
Thiers promised his support, and faithfully kept his word ; but
his aid came too late. The Emperor, however, felt grateful to
him, and, only thirty-six hours before his departure for the seat
of war, he offered him the portfolio of war, again through the
intermediary of Marshal Leboeuf. The offer was respectfully
declined, but what must have been the state of mind of Louis-
Napoleon with regard to his officers, to prefer to them a civilian
at such a critical moment ? I may state here that it was always
the height of M. Thiers' ambition to be considered a great
strategist and tactician, and also a military engineer. " Jomini
was a civilian," he frequently exclaimed. Those who were
competent to judge, have often declared that Thiers' preten-
sions in that direction were, to a certain extent, justified by his
talents. Curiously enough, M. de Freycinet is affected by a
similar mania. ...
Here is a certain correlative to the above-mentioned fact.
When, a few months after the Commune, things were getting
ship-shape in Paris,, a . large bundle . of printed matter was
unearthed in the erstwhile Imperial (th«n National) Printing
Works. It contained, amongst others, : a circular drawn up
by the Emperor himself, entitled " A Bad Piece, of Economy ;"
it was addressed to the deputies, and dated May, 1870; it
showed the presumptive strength of the army of the North-
346 AJV ENGLISHMA N IN' PA R/S.
German Confederation as compared with that of France, and
wound up with the following sentence : " If we compare the
military condition of North-Germany with ours, we shall be
able to judge how far those who would still further reduce
our national forces are sufficiently enlightened as to our real
interests."
It has always been a mystery to me, and to those who were
aware of its existence, why this circular was not distributed
at the proper time ; though, by the light of subsequent events,
one fails to see what good it could have done then. Were
these events foreseen at the Tuileries as early as May ? I
think not. The majority of the Emperor's entourage were
confident that war with Germany was only a matter of time ;
very few considered it to be so imminent. One cannot for
a moment imagine that the suppression of this circular was
due to accidental or premeditated neglect ; for the sovereign,
though ailing and low-spirited, was still too mindful of his
prerogatives not to have visited such neglect of his wishes,
whether intentional or not, with severe displeasure. Nor can
one for a moment admit that the Emperor was hoodwinked
into the belief that the circular had been distributed. His
so-called advisers probably prevailed upon him to forego the
distribution of the document, lest it should open the eyes of
the nation to the inferiority of France's armaments. The only
man who had dared to point out that inferiority, three years
previously, was General Trochu, and his book, " I'Armee Fran-
caise," had the effect of ostracizing him from the Tuileries. The
smart and swaggering colonels who surrounded the Empress
did not scruple to spread the most ridiculous slanders with re-
gard to its author ; but the Emperor, though aware that Trochu
was systematically opposed to his dynasty, also knew that he was
an able, perhaps the ablest soldier in the country. The subse-
quent failure of Trochu does not invalidate that judgment. " I
know what Trochu could and would do if he were unhampered ;
but I need not concern myself with that, seeing that he will
be hampered," said Von Moltke at the beginning of the siege.
Colonel Stoffel, the French military attache at Berlin, was
severely reprimanded by Marshal Niel and by LeTDceuf after-
wards for his constant endeavors to acquaint the Emperor
with the rnagnificent state of efficiency of the Prussian army
and its auxiliaries. Ostensibly, it was because he had been
guilty of a breach of diplomatic and military etiquette ; in
reality, because the minister for war and his '' festive " coadju-
tors objected to being constantly harassed in their pleasures
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 347
by the sovereign's suspicions of their mental nakedness. *' Nous
I'avons eu, votre Rhin allemand. . . . Ou le pbre a passe,
passera bien Tenfant," was their credo ; and they continued to
dance, and to flirt, and to intrigue for places, which, in their
hands, became fat sinecures. They would have laughed to
scorn the dictum of the first Napoleon, that " there are no bad
regiments, only bad colonels ; " in their opinion, there were no
bad colonels, except those perhaps who did not constantly
jingle their spurs on the carpeted floors of the Empress's bou-
doir, and the parqueted arena of the Empress's ball room.
The Emperor was too much of a dreamer and a philosopher
for them ; he could not emancipate himself from his German
education. The best thing to do was to let him write and
print whatever he liked, and then prevail upon him at the last
moment not to publish, lest it might offend national vanity,
Contemptuous as they were of the German spirit of plodding,
they had, nevertheless, taken a leaf from an eminent German's
book. " Let them say and write what they like, as long as
they let me do what I like," exclaimed Frederick the Great,
on one occasion. They slightly reversed the sentence. " Let
the Emperor say and write what he likes, as long as he lets us
do what we like ; and one thing we will take care to do, name-
ly, not to let him publish his writings." They had forgotten,
if ever they knew them — for their ignorance was as startling
as their conceit — the magnificent lines of the founder of the
dynasty which they had systematically undermined for years
by their dissipation, frivolity, and corruption : " The General
is the head, the all in all of the army. It was not the Roman
army that conquered Gaul, but Caesar ; it was not the Cartha-
ginian army that made the republican army tremble at the very
gates of Rome, but Hannibal ; it was not the Macedonian
army that penetrated to the Indus, but Alexander ; it was not
the French army which carried the war as far as the Weser
and the Inn, but Turenne ; it was not the Prussian army which
defended, during seven years, Prussia against the three greatest
powers in Europe, but Frederick the Great."
And she who aspired to play the role of a Maria-Theresa,
when she was not even a Marie-Antoinette, and far more
harmful than even a Marie-Louise, applauded the vaporings
of those misguided men. " Le courage fait tout," had been
the motto for nearly a score of years at the Tuileries. It did a
good deal in the comedies a la Marivaux, in the Boccaceian
charades that had been enacted there during that time ; she
had yet to learn that it would avail little or nothing in the
Homeric struggle which was impending.
348 A A' ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
CHAPTER XX.
Even before the Emperor started for the seat of war it was
very evident, to those who kept their eyes open, that a reac-
tion had set in among the better classes. They were no longer
confident about France's ability to chastise the arrogance of
the King of Prussia. The publication of the famous " draft
treaty," had convinced them "que Bismarck avait roule' I'em-
pereur," — angUce, " that the Emperor had been done ; " and,
notVr'ithstanding their repeated assertions of being able to dis-
pense with the moral support of Europe, they felt not altogether
resigned about the animosity which the revelation of that docu-
ment had provoked. Honestly speaking, I do not think that
they regretted the duplicity of Louis-Napoleon in having tried
to steal a march upon the co-signatories of the treaty guaran-
teeing the protection of Belgium ; but it wounded their pride
that he should have been found out to no ptirpose. The word
" imbecile," began to circulate freely ; and when it became
known that he had conferred the regency upon the Empress,
the expression of contempt and disapproval became stronger
still. In spite of everything that has been said to the contrary,
the Parisians did not like the Empress. I have already noted
elsewhere that those frankly hostile to her did not scruple to
apply the word '' I'Espagnole," in a depreciating sense ; those
whose animosity did not go so far merely considered her " une
femme k la mode," and by no means fitted to take the reins of
government, especially under circumstances so grave as the
present ones. On the other hand, the Empress always showed
herself exceedingly anxious to exercise the functions of regent.
The flatterers and courtiers around her had imbued her with
the idea that she was a kind of Elizabeth and a Catherine in
one, and the clerical element in her entourage was not the
least blamable in that respect.
During the Crimean war, Lord Clarsndon had already been
compelled to combat the project, though he could not do so
openly.- Napoleon IH. had several times expressed his inten-
tion of taking the command of the army. His ministers, and
especially MM. Troplong and Baroche, begged of him not to
do so. Even Queen Victoria, to whom the idea was broached
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 349
while on her visit to Paris, threw cold water upon it as far as
was possible. But the Empress encouraged it to her utmost.
" I fail to see," she said to our sovereign, "that he would be
exposed to greater dangers there than elsewhere." It was the
prospect of the regency, not of the glory that might possibly
accrue to her consort, that appealed to the Empress ; for in
reality she had not the least sympathy with the object of that
war, any more than with that of 1859. Russia was ostensibly
fighting for the custody of the Holy Sepulchve ; and the defeat
of Austria, she had been told by the priests, would entail the
ruin of the temporal power of the pope. And Empress Eu-
genie never attained to anything more than parrot knowledge
in the way of politics.
However, in 1859 she had her wish, and, before the opening
of the campaign, she declared to the Corps L^gislatif that " she
had perfect faith in the moderation of the Emperor when the
right moment for peace should have arrived." Her ladies-in-
waiting and the male butterflies around her openly discounted
the political effects of every engagement on the field of battle.
The Emperor, according to them, would make peace with Aus-
tria with very few sacrifices on the latter's part, for it was a
Conservative and Catholic power, which could not be hu-
miliated to the bitter end, while Italy was, after all, but a
hot-bed of conspiracy, revolutionary, anti-Catholic, and so forth.
And I know, for a positive fact, that the Emperor was, as it
were, compelled to suspend operations after Solferino, because
the Minister for War had ceased to send troops and ammuni-
tions " by order of the regent." The Minister for Foreign Afl'airs
endeavored by all means in his power to alarm his sovereign.
Nevertheless, in 1865, when he went to Algeria to seek some
relief from his acute physical sufferings. Napoleon III. was
badgered into confiding the regency once more to his wife.
There is no other word, because there was no necessity for such
a measure, seeing that he did not leave French territory. We
have an inveterate habit of laughing at the " henpecked hus-
band," and no essayist has been bold enough as yet to devote
a chapter to him from a purely historical point of view. The
materials are not only at hand in France, but in England, Ger-
many, and Russia also ; above all, in the latter country. He,
the essayist, might safely leave Catherine de Medici out of the
question. He need not go back as far. He might begin with
Marie de Medici and her daughter, Henrietta-Maria. Some-
times the " henpecking " turns out t6 be for the world's benefit,
as when Sophie-Dorothea worries her spouse to let her first boy
350 AJV ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
wear a heavy christening dress and crown, which eventually kill
the infant, who makes room for Frederick the Great. But one
could have very well spared the servant-wench who henpecked
Peter the Great, and Scarron's widow who henpecked Louis
XIV., and Marie-Antoinette and the rest.
The regency of '65, though perhaps not disastrous in itself,
was fraught with the most disastrous consequences for the
future. It gave the Empress the political importance which she
had been coveting for years ; henceforth she made it a habit to
be present at the councils of ministers, who in their turn in-
formed her personally of events which ought to have remained
strictly between them and the chief of the State. This went
on until M. Emile Ollivier came into power, January 2, 1870.
The Italian and Austrian ambassadors, however, continued to
flatter her vanity by constantly appealing to her; the part they
played on the 4th of September shows plainly enough how they
profited in the interest of their governments by these seemingly
diplomatic indiscretions on their own part.
As for Bismarck, as some one who was very much behind
in the political scenes in Berlin once said, " His policy consisted
in paying milliners' and dressmakers' bills in Paris for ladies
to whose personal adornment and appearance he was profoundly
indifferent." I am bound to say that Lord Lyons courteously
but steadfastly refused to be drawn out " diplomatically " by
the Empress. While paying due homage to the woman and to
the sovereign, he tacitly declined to consider her a pawn in the
political game, and. though always extremely guarded in his
language, could scarcely refrain from showing his contempt for
those who did. I do not know whether Lord Lyons will leave
behind any " memoirs ; " if he do, we shall probably get not
only nothing but the truth, but the whole truth, with regard to
the share of the Empress in determining the war ; and we shall
find that that war was not decided upon between the Imperial
couple between the 14th and 15th of July, '70, but between the
5th and 6th of July. Meanwhile, without presuming to antici-
pate such revelations on the part of our ambassador, I may note
here my own recollections on the subject.
On Tuesday, the 5th of July, about 2.30 p.m., I was walking
along the Faubourg Saint-Honore, when, just in front of the
Embassy, I was brought to a standstill by Lord Lyons' car-
riage turning into the courtyard from the street. His lord-
ship was inside. We were on very good terms, I may say on
very friendly terms, and he beckoned me to come in. I was
at the short flight of steps leading to the hall almost as soon
AjV englishman in PARIS. 35 1
as the carriage, and we went inside together. I do not sup-
pose I was in his private room for more than ten minutes, but
I brought away the impression that although the Due de Gra-
mont and M. Emile Ollivier might think it necessary to adopt
a bellicose tone in face of the Hohenzollern candidature, there
was little or no fear of war, because the Emperor was decidedly
inclined to peace. I remember this the more distinctly, see-
ing that Lord Lyons told me that he had just returned from an
interview with the Minister for Foreign Affairs. I am not certain
of the exact words used by his lordship, but positive as to the
drift of one of his remarks ; namely, that the Due de Gramont
was the last person who ought to conduct the negotiations.
" There is too much personal animosity between him and Bis-
marck, owing mainly to the latter having laughed his preten-
sions to scorn as a diplomatist while the duke was at Vienna."
I am certain the words were to that effect. Then he added,
" I can understand though I fail to approve De Gramont's per-
sonal irritation, but cannot account for OUivier's, and he seems
as pugnacious as the other. Nevertheless, I repeat, the whole
of this will blow over : William is too wise a man to go to war
on such a pretext, and the Emperor is too ill not to want
peace. I wish the Empress would leave him alone. I am
going to OUivier's to-night, and Til know more about it by
to-morrow morning."
It is very evident from this that the historians were subse-
quently wrongly informed as to M. Emile OUivier's attitude at
that moment, which they have described as exactly the reverse
from what Lord Lyons found it. I knew little or nothing of
M. Ollivier, still he did not give me the impression of being
likely to adopt a hectoring tone just in order to please the gal-
lery, the gallery being in this instance the clientele of the
opposition, whom the Emperor feared more than any one else.
From all I have been able to gather since, Louis-Napoleon
seemed racked with anxiety, but, as one of my informants,
who was scarcely away from his side at the time, said after-
wards, he was not pondering over the consequences of war
which he fancied he was able to prevent, he was pondering
the consequences of peace. Translated into plain language,
it meant that the republican minority, with its recent acces-
sion of representatives in the chambers and its still more un-
scrupulous adherents outside, were striving with might and
main, not to goad the Emperor into a war, but to make him
keep a peace which, if they had had the chance, they would
have denounced as humiUating to France.
352 ^ A^ ENGL ISHMA X IN PA RIS.
Unfortunately for France, they found an unexpected ally in
the Empress. The latter urged on the war with Prussia, in
order to secure to her son the imperial crown which was shak-
ing on the head of her husband ; the former were playing the
game known colloquially as " Heads, I win ; tails, you lose."
Peace preserved by means of diplomatic negotiations would
give them the opportunity of holding up the Empire to scorn
as being too weak to safeguard the national honor ; war would
give them the opportunity of airing their platitudes about the
iniquity of standing armies and the sacrifice of human life, etc.
I go further still, and unhesitatingly affirm that, if any party
was aware of the corruption in the army, it was the republican
one. The plebiscite of May, with its thousands of votes
adverse to the Imperial regime — among which votes there
were those of a great many officers — had not only given them
a chance of counting their numbers, but of obtaining informa-
tion, not available to their adversaries in power. This is tan-
tamount to an indictment of having deliberately contributed
to the temporary ruin of their country for political purposes,
and such I intend it to be. I am not speaking without good
grounds.
On the day I met Lord Lyons, two ministerial councils
were held at Saint-Cloud, both presided over by the Emperor.
Between the first and the second, the peaceful sentiments of
the chief of the State underwent no change. So little did the
Emperor foresee or desire war, that on the evening of that
same day, while the second council of ministers was being held,
he sent one of his aides-de-camp to my house for the exact
address of Mr. Prescott-Hewett, the eminent English surgeon.
I was not at home, and on my return, an hour later, sent the
address by telegraph to Saint-Cloud. I have since learnt that,
on the same night, a telegram was despatched to London, in-
quiring of Mr. Hewett when it would be convenient for him to
hold a consultation in Paris. An appointment was made, but
Mr. Hewett eventually went in August to the seat of war, to
see his illustrious patient. I believe, but am not certain, that
he saw him at Chalons.
On the 6th of July there was a third council of ministers at
Saint-Cloud, at ten o'clock in the morning, in order to draw up
the answer to M. Cochery's interpellation on the HohenzoUern
candidature. The latter was supposed to have been inspired
by M. Thiers, but I will only state what I know positively with
regard to the Emperor. At a little after two that afternoon I
happened to be at the Cafd de la Paix, when my old friend,
• AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 353
Joseph Ferrari, came up to me.* He was a great friend of
Adolphe and Elysde, the brothers of Emile Ollivier. He looked
positively crestfallen, and, knowing him to be a sincere advocate
of peace, I had no need to ask him for the nature of the news
he brought. I could see at a glance that it was bad. He,
however, left me no time to put a question.
" It's all over," he said at once, "and, unless a miracle
happens, we'll have war in less than a fortnight." He
immediately went on. " Wait for another hour, and then you'll
see the effect of De Gramont's answer to Cochery's interpella-
tion in the Chamber. Not only the Prussians, but the smallest
nation in Europe would not stand it."
" But," I remarked, " about this time yesterday I was posi-
tively assured, and on the best authority, that the Emperor was
absolutely opposed to any but a pacific remonstrance."
" Your informant was perfectly correct," was the answer ;
" and as late as ten o'clock last night, at the termination of
the second council of ministers, his sentiments underwent no
change. Immediately after that, the Empress had a conversa-
tion with the Emperor, which I know for certain lasted till one
o'clock in the morning. The result of this conversation is the
answer, the text of which you will see directly, and which is
tantamount to a challenge to Prussia. Mark my words, the
Empress will not cease from troubling until she has driven
France into war with the only great Protestant power on the
Continent. That power defeated, she will endeavor to destroy
the rising unity of Italy. She little knows that Victor- Emanuel
will not wait until then, and that, at the first success of the
French on the Rhine, he will cross the Alps at a sign of Prussia ;
that at the first success of Prussia, the Italian troops will start
on their march to Rome. Nay, I repeat, it is the Empress who
will prove the ruin of France."
That playful cry of the Empress, which she was so fond of
uttering in the beginning of her married life, " As for myself, I
am a Legitimist," without understanding, or endeavoring to
understand its import, had gradually grafted itself on her mind,
although it had ceased to be on her lips. Impatient of con-
tradiction, self-willed and tyrannical, both by nature and train-
ing, her sudden and marvellous elevation to one of the proud-
est positions in Europe could not fail to strengthen those defects
of character. Superstitious, like most Spaniards, she was
firmly convinced that the gypsy who foretold her future greatness
* Joseph Ferrari was an Italian by birth, but spent a great part of his time in France^
He is best known by his " Philosophes Salaries," and died in Rome, 1876. — Editor.
23
354 ^^ ENGLISHMAN JN PARIS.
was a Divine messenger, and from that to the conviction that
she occupied the throne by a right as Divine as that claimed
by the Bourbons there was but one short step. A corollary to
Divine right meant, to her, personal and irresponsible govern-
ment. That was her idea of legitimism. Though by no means
endowed with high intellectual gifts, she perceived well enough,
in the beginning, that the Second Empire was not a very stable
edifice, either with regard to its foundations or superstructure,
and, until England propped it up by an alliance, and a state
visit from our sovereign, she kept commendably coy. But
from that moment she aspired to be something more than the
arbiter of fashion. As I have already said, she failed in pre-
vailing upon the Emperor to go the Crimea. In '59 she was
more successful, in '65 she was more successful still. In
the former year, she laid the foundation of what was called the
Empress's party ; in the latter, the scaifolding was removed
from the structure, henceforth the work was done inside. She,
no more than her surroundings, had the remotest idea that
France was gradually undergoing a political change, that she
was recovering her constitutional rights. Her party was
like the hare in the fable that used the wrong end of the opera-
glass, and lived in a fool's paradise with regard to the distance
that divided them from the sportsman, until he was fairly upon
them, in the shape of the liberal ministry of the 2d of January,
1870.
M. Emile Ollivier, to his credit be it said, refused to be
^ided by his predecessors. He studiously avoided informing
the Empress of the affairs of State, let alone discussing them
with her. Apart from the small fry of the Imperial party, he
made two powerful enemies — the Empress herself, and Rouher,
who saw in this refusal to follow precedent an implied censure
upon himself. Rouher, I repeat once more, was honest to the
backbone, but fond of personal power. The Empire to him
meant nothing but the Emperor, the Empress, and the heir to
the throne ; just as Germany meant nothing to Bismarck but the
Hohenzollern dynasty. He was one of the first to proclaim,
loudly and openly, that the plebiscite of the 8th of May meant
an overwhelming manifestation, not in favor of the liberal
Empire, but in favor of the Emperor ; and when the latter, to
do him justice, declined to look at it in that light, he deserted
him for the side of his wife. It is an open secret that the
first use the Empress meant to make of her power as regent,
after the first signal victory of French arms, was to sweep away
the cabinet of the 2d of January. The Imperial decree con-
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
355
ferring . the regency upon her, " during the absence of the
Emperor at the head of his army," and dated the 2 2d of July,
invested her with very limited power.
Meanwhile, pending the departure of the Emperor, Paris
was in a ferment, but, to the careful observer, it was no longer
the unalloyed enthusiasm of the first few days. There were
just as many people in the streets ; the shouts of " A BerHn ! "
though, perhaps, not so sustained, were just as loud every now
and then ; the troops leaving for the front received tremendous
ovations, and more substantial proofs of the people's goodwill ;
the man who dared to pronounce the word " peace " ran a
great risk of being rent to pieces by the crowds — a thing which
almost happened one night in front of the Cafe de Madrid, on
the Boulevard Montmartre : still, the enthusiasm was not the
same. " There seems to be a great deal of prologue to ' The
Taming of that German Shrew,' " said a French friend, who
was pretty familiar with Shakespeare ; and he was not far
wrong, for the Christophers Sly abounded. The bivouacs of
the troops about to take their departure reminded one some-
what more forcibly of operatic scenes and equestrian dramas
of the circus type than of the preparations for the stern neces-
sities of war — with this difference, that the contents of the
goblet were real, and the viands not made of card-board.
" They are like badly made cannons, these soldiers," said
some one else : " they are crammed up to the muzzle, and they
do not go off." In short, the more sensible of the Paris popu-
lation began to conclude that a little less intoning of patriotic
strophes and a good deal more of juxtaposition with the Ger-
man troops was becoming advisable. The reports of the few
preliminary skirmishes that had taken place were no doubt
favorable to the French ; at the same time, there was no
denying the fact that they had taken place on French and
not on German territory, which was not quite in accordance
with the spirit of the oft-repeated cry of " A Berlin ! " In ac-
cordance with the programme of which that cry was the initial
quotation, the French ought, by this time, to have been already
half on their way to the Prussian capital. That is what sensible
nay, clever people expressed openly. Nevertheless, the cry
continued, nor was there any escape from the " Marseillaise,"
either by day or night. Every now and then, a more than
usually dense group might be seen at a street corner. The
centre of the group was composed of a woman, with a baby in
her arms ; the little one could scarcely speak, but its tiny
voice reproduced more or less accurately the air of the " Mar-
356 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
seillaise : " a deep silence prevailed during the performance
in order to give the infant a fair chance ; deafening applause
greeted the termination of the solo, and a shower of coppers
fell into the real or pseudo mother's lap. On the i8th of July
the day of the official declaration of war in Paris, the Comedie-
Fran^aise performed " Le Lion Amoureux " of Ponsard.* At
the end of the second act, the public clamored for the " Mar-
seillaise." There was not a single member of the company capable
of complying with the request, so the " stage manager for the
week " had to come forward and ask for a two-days' adjourn-
ment, during which some one might study it. Of course, the
honor of singing the revolutionary hymn was to devolve upon
a woman, according to the precedent established in '48, when
Rachel had intoned it. From what I learnt a few days after-
wards, the candidates for the distinguished task were not many,
in spite of the tacit consent of the Government. The ladies
of the company, most of whom, like their fellow-actors, had
been always very cordially treated by the Emperor on the oc-
casion of their professional visits to Saint-Cloud, Compiegne,
and Fontainebleau, instinctively guessed the pain the conces-
sion must have caused the chief of the State, and under some
pretext declined. Mdlle. Agar accepted, and sang the " Mar-
seillaise," in all forty-four times, from the 20th of July to the
17th of September, the day of the final investment of the
capital by the German armies.
It must not be supposed, though, that the Government had
waited until the day of the official declaration of war to sanc-
tion the performance of the " Marseillaise " in places of public
resort. I remember crossing the Gardens of the Tuileries in
the afternoon of Sunday, the 17th of July. One of the military
bands was performing a selection of music. The custom of
doing so during the summer months has prevailed for many
years, both in the capital and in the principal garrison towns of
the provinces. All at once they struck up the " Marseillaise."
I looked in surprise at my companion, a member of the Em-
peror's household. He caught the drift of my look.
" It is by the Emperor's express command," he said. " It is
the national war-song. In fact, it is that much more than a
revolutionary hymn."
" But war has not been declared," I objected.
" It will be to-morrow," was the answer.
The pubhc, which in this instance was mainly composed of
* I believe there exists an English version of the play, entitled " A Son of the vSoil." I am
not certain of the title.— Editor.
AN ENGLlSIIMAisr liST PARIS. 357
the better classes, apparently refused to consider the " Marseil-
laise " a national war-song, and applause at its termination
was but very lukewarm.
I have already spoken of the scene I witnessed in connec-
tion with the departure of the Germans on that same Sunday
early in the morning, and have also noted the demonstration
in front of the German Embassy on the previous Friday night.
I will not be equally positive with regard to the exact dates of
the succeeding exhibitions of bad taste on the part of the Pa-
risians, but I remember a very striking one which happened
between the official declaration of war and the end of July. It
was brought under my notice, not by a foreigner, but by a
Frenchman, who was absolutely disgusted with it. We were
sitting one evening outside the Cafe de la Paix, which, being
the resort of some noted Imperialists, I had begun to visit more
frequently than I had done hitherto. There was a terrible din
on the Boulevards : the evening papers had just published a
very circumstantial account of that insignificant skirmish which
cost Lieutenant Winslow his life, and in which the French had
taken a couple of prisoners. " They " (the prisoners), sug-
gested an able editor, " ought to be brought to Paris and pub-
licly exhibited as an example." " And, what is more," said
my friend who had read the paragraph to me, " he means what
he says. These are the descendants of a nation who prides
herself on having said at Fontenoy, * Messieurs les Anglais tire2
les premiers,' which, by-the-by, they did not say.* If you care
to come with me, I'll show you what would be the probable
fate of such prisoners if the writer of that paragraph had his
will."
So said ; so done. In about a quarter of an hour we were
seated at the Cafe de I'Horloge, in the Champs Elysees, and
my friend was holding out five francs fifty centimes in payment
for two small glasses of so-called " Fine Champagne," ////^ the
waiter's tip. The admission was gratis ; and the difference
between those who went in and those who remained outside
was that the latter could hear the whole of the performance
* It was, in fact, an English officer who shouted, " Messieurs des gardes frangaises, tirez;'
to which the French replied. "Messieurs, nous ne tirons jamais les premiers ; tirez vous-
memes." But it was not politeness that dictated the reply; it. was the expression of the
acknowledged and constantly inculcated doctrine that all infantry troops which fired the first
were indubitably beaten. We fiid the doctrine clearly stated in the infantry instructions of
1672, and subsequently in the following order of Louis XIV. to his troops; " The soldier
shall be taught not to fire the first, and to stand the fire of the enemy, seeing that an enemy
who has fired is assuredly beaten when his adversary has his powder left." At the battle of
Dettingen, consequently, two years before F'ontenoy, the theory had been carried beyondi\\&
absurd^ by expressly forbidding the Gardes to fire, though they were raked down by the
enemy's bullets. Maurice de Saxe makes it a point to praise the wisdom of a colonel who,
in order to prevent his troops from firing, consUntly made them shoulder their muskets.—
Editor.
358 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
without. seeing it, and without disbursing a farthing ; while the
former could see the whole of the performance without hearing
a note, for the din there was also infernal. Shortly after our
arrival, the band struck up the inevitable " Marseillaise," but
the audience neither listened nor applauded.
This was, after all, but the ov^erture to the entertainment to
which my friend had invited me, and which consisted of a
spectacular pantomime representing an engagement between a
regiment or a battalion of Zouaves and Germans. As a matter
of course, the latter had the worst of it ; and, at the termina-
tion, a couple of them were brought in and compelled to sue
for mercy on their knees. I am bound to say that the thing
hung fire altogether, and that, but for the remarkable selection
of handsome legs of the Zouaves, not even the harebrained
young fellows with which the audience was largely besprinkled
would have paid any attention.
In the whole of Paris there was no surer centre of informa-
tion of the state of affairs at the front than the Cafe de la Paix.
It was the principal resort of the Bonapartists. There were
Pietri, the Prefect of Police, Sampierro, Abatucci, and a score
or two of others ; all cultivating excellent relations with the
Chateau. There was also the General Beaufort d'PIautpoul,
to whom Bismarck subsequently, through the pen of Dr.
Moritz Busch, did the greatest injury a man can do to a
soldier, in accusing him of drunkenness when he came to
settle some of the military conditions of the armistice at Ver-
sailles. He was, as far as I remember, one of the two
superior French officers who estimated at its true value the
strategic genius of Von Moltke. The other was Colonel
Stoffel. But General d'Hautpoul was even l^etter enabled to
judge ; he had seen Moltke at work in Syria more than thirty
years before. He was in reality the Solomon Eagle of the
campaign, before a single shot had been fired. " I know our
army, and I know Helmuth von Moltke," he said, shaking his
head despondingly. " If every one of our officers were his
equal in strategy, the chance would then only be equal.
Moltke has the gift of the great billiard-player ; he knows be-
forehand the exact result of a shock between two bodies at a
certain angle. We are a doomed nation."
As a matter of course, his friends were very wroth at what
they called " his unpatriotic language," and when the news of
the engagement at Saarbruck arrived they crowed over him ;
but he stuck to his text. " It is simply a feint on Moltke's
^ part, and proves nothing at all. In two or three days we'll
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 359
get the news of a battle that will decide, not only the fate of
the whole campaign, but the fate of the Empire also."
Two days afterwards, I met him near the Rue Saint-Floren-
tin ; he looked absolutely crestfallen. " We have suffered a
terrible defeat near Wissembourg, but do not breathe a word
of it to any one. The Government is waiting for a victory on
some other point, and then it will publish the two accounts
together."
The Government was reckoning without the newspapers,
French and foreign. The latter might be confiscated, and in
fact were, such as the Times and V Independance Beige ; but the
French, notwithstanding the temporary law of M. Emile Olli-
vier, were more difficult to deal with. I am inclined to think
that if they had foreseen the terrible fate that was to befall the
French armies they would have been more amenable, but in
the beginning they anticipated nothing but startling victories,
and, as such, looked upon the campaign in the light of a series
of brilliant spectacular performances, glowing accounts of
which were essentially calculated to increase their circulation.
When MM. Cardon and Chabrillat, respectively of the Gau-
lois and Figaro, were released by the Prussians, they told
many amusing stories to that effect, unconsciously confirming
the opinion I have already expressed ; but the following,
which I had from the lips of Edmond About himself, is better
than any I can remember.
A correspondent of one of the best Paris newspapers, on
his arrival at the headquarters of " the army of the Rhine,"
applied to the aide-major-general for permission to follow the
operations. He had a good many credentials of more or le^s
weight ; nevertheless the aide-major-general, in view of the
formal orders of the Emperor and Marshal Leboeuf, felt bound
to refuse the request. The journalist, on the other hand, de-
clined to take " no " for an answer. " I have come with the
decided intention to do justice, and more than justice perhaps,
to your talent and courage, and it would be a pity indeed if I
were not given the opportunity," he said.
"lam very sorry," was the reply; "but I cannot depart
from the rules for any one."
" But our paper has a very large circulation."
" All the more reason to refuse you the authorization to fol-
low the staff."
The journalist would not look at matters in that light. He
felt that he was conferring a favor, just as he would have felt
in offering the advantage of a cleverly written puff of a pre-
360 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
miere to a theatrical manager. Seeing that his arguments
were of no avail, he delivered his parting shot.
" This, then, general, is your final decision. I am afraid
you'll have cause to regret this, for we, on our side, are deter-*
mined not to give this war the benefit of publicity in our
columns."
M. Emile OUivier's original decision was the right one, but,
instead of embodying it in a temporary and exceptional order,
he ought to have made it a permanent law in times of peace
as well as war. On Saturday, the i6th of July, Count Eulen-
burg, the Prussian Minister of the Interior, addressed a circu-
lar to the German papers, recommending them to abstain from
giving any news, however insignificant, with regard to the
movements of the troops. As far as I remember, the German
editors neither protested, nor endeavored to shirk the order ;
they raised no outcry against "the muzzling of the press."
Five days later, the French minister was attacked by nearly
every paper in France for attempting to do a similar thing,
and, rather than weather that storm in a teacup, he consented
to a compromise, and condescended to ask where he might
have commanded. In addition to this, he undertook that the
Government itself should be the purveyor of war-news to the
papers. Every editor of standing in Paris knew that this
meant garbled, if not altogether mythical, accounts of events,
and that even these would be held back until they could be
held back no longer. In a few days their worst apprehensions
in that respect were confirmed. While Paris was still igno-
rant of the terrible disaster at Wissembourg, the whole of
Europe rang with the tidings. Then came the false report of
a brilliant victory from the Government agency. It made the
Parisians frantic with joy, but the frenzy changed into one of
anger when the truth became known through the maudlin and
lachrymose despatches from the Imperial headquarters, albeit
that they by no means revealed the whole extent of the defeats
suffered at Woerth and Spicheren.
Nevertheless, the agency continued the even — or rather un-
even— tenor of its way up to the last. The Republicans sub-
sequently adopted the tactics of the Imperial Government, the
Communists adhered to the system of those they had tempo-
rarily ousted. In the present note, I will deal only with events
up to the 4th of September. Patent as it must have been to
the merest civilian, that the commanders were simply com-
mitting blunder after blunder, the movements of Bazaine were
represented by the agency as the result of a masterly and pro-
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 36 1
found calculation. Even such a pessimist as General Beaufort
d'Hautpoul was taken in by those representations. He con-
sidered the "masterly inactivity " of Bazaine as an inspiration
of genius. " He is keeping two hundred thousand German
troops round Metz," he said several times, " These two
hundred thousand men are rendered absolutely useless while
we are recruiting our armies and reorganizing our forces." He
seemed altogether oblivious of the fact that these two hundred
thousand Germans were virtually the jailers of France's best
army.
I am unable to say whether General d'Hautpoul was in direct
or indirect communication with the agency, or whether some
ingenious scribe belonging to it had overheard his expressions
of admiration and willfully adopted them ; certain is it that
the agency was the first to inspire the reporters of those papers
who took their cue from it with the flattering epithet of
" glorious Bazaine."
It was the same with regard to Palikao. His sententious
commonplaces were reported as so many oracular revelations
dragged reluctantly from him. Had they been more familiar
with Shakespeare than they were, or are, the scribes would
have made Palikao exclaim with Macbeth, " The greatest is
behind." And all the while the troops were marching and
countermarching at haphazard, without a preconceived plan,
jeering at their leaders and openly insulting the " phantom "
Emperor, as they did at Chalons, for he was already no more
than that. The fall of the Empire does not date from Sedan,
but from Woerth and Spicheren ; and those most pertinently
aware of it were not the men who dealt it the final blow less
than a month later, but the immediate entourage of the Em-
press at the Tuileries.
For from that moment (the 6th or 7th of August) the entour-
age of the Empress began to think of saving the Empire by
sacrificing, if needs be, the Emperor. "There is only one
thing that can avert the ruin of the dynasty," said a lady-in-
waiting on the Empress, to a near relative of mine ; " and that
is the death of the Emperor at the head of his troops. That
death would be considered an heroic one, and would benefit
the Prince Imperial."
I do not pretend to determine how far the Empress shared
that opinion, but here are some facts not generally known,
even to this day, and for the truth of which I can unhesitat-
ingly vouch.
The Empress did not know of the consultation that had
362 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
taken place on the ist of July and to which I have already
referred. But she did know that the Emperor was suffering
from a very serious complaint, and that the disease had been
aggravated since his departure through his constantly being on
horseback. M. Franceschini Pietri, the private secretary of
the Emperor, had informed her to that effect on the 7th of
August, when Forbach and Woerth had been fought. He also
told her that the Emperor was not unwilling to return to Paris,
and to leave the command-in-chief to Bazaine, but that his
conscience and his pride forbade him to do so, unless some
pressure were brought to bear upon him. I repeat, I can
vouch for this, because I had it from the Hps of M. Pietri, who
was prefect of police until the 4th of September.
Meanwhile, others, besides M. Franceschini Pietri, had
noticed the evident moral and mental depression of the Em-
peror, increased, no doubt, by. his acute physical sufferings,
which were patent to almost every one with whom he came in
immediate contact ; for an eye-witness wrote to me on the 4th
of August : " The Emperor is in a very bad state ; after Saar-
bruck, Lebrun and Leboeuf had virtually to lift him off his
horse. The young prince, who, as you have probably heard
already, was by his side all the time, looked very distressed,
for his father had scarcely spoken to him during the engage-
ment. But after they got into the carriage, which was waiting
about a dozen yards away, the Emperor put his arm round his
neck and kissed him on the cheeks, while two large tears
rolled down his own. I noticed that the Emperor had scarcely
strength to walk that dozen yards."
Leboeuf, who, like a great many more, has suffered to a cer-
tain extent for the faults of Marshal Niel, perceived well enough
that something had to be done to cheer the Emperor in his
misfortunes. It was he who proposed that the latter should
return to Paris, accompanied by him, while the corps d'armee
of Frossard, which had effected its retreat in good order, and
several other divisions that had not been under fire as yet,
should endeavor to retrieve matters by attacking the armies
of Von Steinmetz and Frederick-Charles, which at that identical
moment were only in " course of formation." But Louis-
Napoleon, while admitting the wisdom of the plan, sadly shook
his head, and declared that he could not relinquish the chief
command in view of the double defeat the army had suffered
under his leadership.
What had. happened, then, during the twenty-four hours im-
mediately following the telegram of M, Franceschini Pietri ?
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. t^^t^
Simply this : not only had the Empress refused to exercise the
pressure which would have afforded her husband an excuse for
his return, but she had thrown cold water on the idea of that
return by a despatch virtually discountenancing that return.
The cabinet had not been consulted in this instance.
Nay, more ; the cabinet on the 7th of August despatched, in
secret, M. Maurice Richard, Minister of Arts, which at that
time was distinct from the Ministry of Public Instruction, to
inquire into the state of health of the Emperor and the degree
of confidence with which he inspired the troops. That was on
the 7th of August. He went by special train to Metz. Two
hours after he was gone, Adolphe Ollivier told me and Ferrari
at the Cafe de la Paix. A few hours after his return next day,
he told us the result of those inquiries. M. Richard had
Vrought back the worst possible news.
At a council of ministers, held early on the 9th, M. Emile
Ollivier, in view of the communication made to him by his
colleague, proposed the immediate return of the Emperor,
fully expecting M. Richard to support him. The Empress
energetically opposed the plan, and when M. Ollivier turned,
as it were, to M. Richard, the latter kept ominously silent.
Not to mince matters, he had been tampered with. M. Ollivier
found himself absolutely powerless.
A day or so before that — I will not be positive as to the date
— M. . Ollivier telegraphed officially to the headquarters at
Metz, to request the return of the Prince Imperial, in accord-
ance with the generally expressed wish of the Paris papers.
M. Pietri told me that same day that the minister's telegram
had been followed by one in the Empress's private cipher, ex-
pressing her wish that the Prince Imperial should remain with
the army. She did not explain why. She merely recom-
mended the Emperor to make the promise required, and then
to pay no further heed to it.
The Regent had no power to summon parliament, neverthe-
less she did so, mainly in order to overthrow the Ollivier min-
istry. I am perfectly certain that the Emperor never forgave
her for it. If those who were at Chislehurst are alive when
these notes appear, they will probably bear me out.
What, in fact, could a parliament summoned under such cir-
cumstances be but a council of war, every one of whose de-
cisions was canvassed in public and made the enemy still wiser
than he was before ? Of course, the Empress felt certain that
she would be able to dismiss it as easily as it had been sum-
moned ; she evidently did not remember the fable of the horse
364 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
which had invited the man to get on its back in order to fight
the stag. There is not the sHghtest doubt that, as I have al-
ready remarked, the Empress's main purpcr.e was the over-
throw of the OUivier administration : if proof were wanted, the
evidence of the men who overthrew the Empire would be suffi-
cient to establish the fact, and not one, but half a dozen, have
openly stated that the defeat of the Ollivier ministry was ac-
complished with the tacit approval of the court party : read,
" the party of the Empress," to which I have referred before.
The list of the Empress's blunders, involuntary or the re-
verse, is too long to be transcribed in detail here ; I return to
my impressions of men and things after my meeting with Gen-
eral Beaufort d'Hautpoul in the Rue de Rivoli.
I do not suppose that in the whole of Paris there were a
dozen sensible men who still cherished any illusions with re-
gard to the possibility of retrieving the disasters by a dash into
the enemy's country. The cry of " A Berlin ! " had been fin-
ally abandoned even by the most chauvinistic. But the hope
still remained that the Prussians would be thrust back from
the "sacred soil of France" by some brilliant coup de main,
although I am positive that the Empire would have been
doomed just the same if that hope had been realized. Among
those who had faith in the coup de main were M. Paul de
Cassagnac and, curiously enough. General Beaufort d'Haut-
poul. He had suddenly conceived great hopes with regard to
Bazaine. M. de Cassagnac seriously contemplated enlisting
in the Zouaves. Strange to relate, M. Paul de Cassagnac, in
spite of his well-known attachment to the Imperialist cause,
was looked upon, by the most determined opponents of that
cause among the masses, as a man to be trusted and consulted
in a non-official way. I remember being on the Boulevard
one evening after the affair at Beaumont, when the rage of tlie
population was even stronger than after the defeats at Woerth
and Forbach. All of a sudden we perceived a dense group
swaying towards us — we were between the Rues Lafitte and
Le Peletier — and in the centre towered the tall figure of M.
de Cassagnac. For a moment we were afraid that some mis-
chief was being contemplated, the more that we had noticed
several leaders of the revolutionary party — or, to speak by the
card, of the Blanqui party — hovering near the Cafe Riche.
But the demonstration was not a hostile one ; on the contrary,
it had a friendly tendency, and showed a tacit acknowledg-
ment that, whosoever else might hide the truth from them,
M, de Cassagnac would not do so, '■■' What about rifles, M.
AJV ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 365
Paul ? " was the cry ; " are there sufficient for us all ? " It
must be remembered that the levke en masse had been decreed.
M. de Cassagnac could not tell the truth, and would not tell a
lie. He frankly said, " I don't know." We noticed also that
at his approach the Blanquists slunk away. The Empire had
been tottering on its base until then ; after Beaumont it was
virtually doomed.
CHAPTER XXI.
Only those who were at a distance from Paris on the 4th
of September, 1870, can be deluded into the belief that the
scenes enacted there on that day partook of a dramatic char-
acter. Carefully and scrupulously dovetailed, they constitute
one vast burlesque of a revolution. It is not because the
overthrow of the Second Empire was accomplished without
bloodshed that I say this. Bloodshed would have only made
the burlesque more gruesome, but it could have never con-
verted it into a tragedy, the recollection of which would have
made men think and shudder even after the lapse of many
years. As it is, the recollection of the 4th of September can
only make the independent witness smile. On the one hand,
a burlesque Harold driven off to Wilhelmshohe in a landau,
surrounded by a troop of Uhlans ; and a burlesque Boadicea
slinking off in a hackney cab, minus the necessary handker-
chiefs for the cold in her head, — " fleeing when no one pursu-
eth," instead of poisoning herself : on the other: " ceux qui
prennent la parole pour autrui," /. e., the lawyers, " prenant le
pouvoirpour eux-memes." Really, the only chronicler capable
of dealing with the situation in the right spirit is our old and
valued friend, Mr. Punch. Personally, from the Saturday
afternoon until the early hours on Monday, I saw scarcely one
incident worthy of being treated seriously ; nor did the ac-
counts supplied to me by others tend to modify my impres-
sions.
Though the defeat at Sedan was virtually complete on Thurs-
day the ist at nine p. m., not the faintest rumor of it reached
Paris before Friday evening at an advanced hour, and the real
truth was not known generally until the Saturday at the hour
just named. There was grief and consternation on many faces,
but no expression of fury or anger. That sentiment, at any
rate in its outward manifestations, had to be supplied from the
heights of Belleville and Mortmartre, Montrouge and Mont-
366 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
parnasse, when, later on, a good many of the inhabitants of
those delightful regions came down like an avalanche on the
heart of the city. They were the lambs of Blanqui, Delescluze,
Felix Pyat, and Milliere. They, were dispersed on reaching
the Boulevard Montmartre, and we saw nothing of them from
where we were seated at the Cafe de la Paix. By the time
they rallied in the side streets and had marched to the Palais-
Bourbon, they found their competitors, Favre, Gambetta, &
Co., trying to oust the ministers of the Empire. But for that
unfortunate delay we might have had the Commune on the
4th of September instead of on the i8th of March following.
Blanqui, Pyat, & Co. never forgave Favre, Gambetta, & Co.
for having forestalled them, and, above all, for not having
shared the proceeds of the spoil. This is so true that, even
after many years of lording it, the successors of, and co-found-
ers with, the firm of Favre, Gambetta, & Co. have been
obliged, not only to grant an amnesty to those whom they
cheated at the beginning, but to admit them to some of the
benefits of the undertaking ; Mdline Tirard, Ranc, Alphonse
Humbert, Camille Barrere, and a hundred others more or less
implicated in the Commune, are all occupying fat posts at the
hour I write.
A friend of ours, whose impartiality was beyond suspicion,
and who had more strength and inclination to battle with
crowds than any of us, offered to go and see how the land lay
at the Palais-Bourbon. He returned in about an hour, and
told us that Gambetta, perched on a chair, had been address-
ing the crowd from behind the railings, exhorting them to pa-
tience and moderation. " Clever trick that," said our inform-
ant ; *' it's the confidence-trick of housebreakers when two
separate gangs have designs upon the same ' crib ; ' while the
first arrivals ' crack' it, they send one endowed with the * gift
of the gab ' to pacify the others."
One thing is certain — Gambetta and his crew did not want
to pursue the war, they wanted a Constituent Assembly which
would have left them to enjoy in peace the fruits of their
usurpation, for theirs was as much usurpation as was the Coup
d'Etat. Their subsequent " Not an inch of our territory, not
a stone of our fortresses," was an afterthought, when they
found that Bismarck would not grant them as good a peace as
he would have granted Napoleon at Donchery the morning
after Sedan.
At about .ten on Saturday night everybody knew that there
would be a night sitting, and I doubt whether one-fourth of the
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 367
adult male population of Paris went to bed at all, even if they
retired to their own homes.
Our friend returned to the Palais-Bourbon, but failed to get
a trustworthy account of what had happened during the twenty-
five minutes the deputies had been assembled. AH he knew
was that nominally the Empire was still standing, though vir-
tually it had ceased to exist ; a bill for its deposition having
been laid on the table. On his way back to the Boulevards he
saw the carriage of Thiers surrounded, and an attempt to take
out the horses. He called Thiers " le rec^leur des vols com-
mis au prejudice des monarchies."*
Let me look for a moment at that second-rate Talleyrand,
who has been grandiloquently termed the " liberator of the
soil " because he happened to do what any intelligent bank
manager could have done as well ; let me endeavor to establish
his share in the 4th of September. I am speaking on the au-
thority of men who were behind the political scenes for many
years, and whose contempt for nearly all the actors was equally
great. Thiers refused his aid and counsel to the Empress,
who solicited it through the intermediary of Prince Metternich ,
and M. Prosper M^rimee, but he also refused to accept the
power offered to him by Gambetta, Favre, Jules Simon, etc.,
in the afternoon of the 4th of September. Nevertheless, he
was here, there, and everywhere ; offering advice, but careful
not to take any responsibility. Afterwards he took a journey
to the various courts of Europe. I only know the particulars
of one interview — that with Lord Granville — but I can vouch
for their truth. After having held forth for two hours without
giving his lordship a chance of edging in a word sideways, he
stopped ; and five minutes later, while Lord Granville was
enumerating the reasons why the cabinet of St. James's could
not interfere, he (Thiers) was fast asleep. When the condi-
tions of peace were being discussed, Thiers was in favor of
giving up Belfort rather than pay another milliard of francs.
" A city you may recover, a milliard of francs you never get
back," he said. Nevertheless, historians will tell one that
Thiers made superhuman efforts to save Belfort. I did not
like M. Thiers, and, being conscious of my dislike, I have
throughout these notes endeavored to say as little as possible
of him.
The sun rose radiantly over Paris on the 4th of September,
and I was up betimes, though I had not gone to bed until 3 a.m.
There was a dense crowd all along the Rue Royale and the
* " The receiver of the goods stolen from monarchies." Editor.
368 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
Place de la Concorde, and several hours before the Chambei
had begun to discuss the deposition of the Bonapartes (which
was never formally voted), volunteer-workmen were destroying
or hauling down the Imperial eagles. The mob cheered them
vociferously, and when one of these workmen hurt himself
severely, they carried him away in triumph. Nevertheless,
there was a good deal of hooting as several well-known mem-
bers of the Chamber elbowed their way through the serried
masses. Though they were well known, I argued myself un-
known in not knowing them. I was under the impression that
they were Imperialists, they turned out to be Republicans.
The marks of disapproval proceeded from compact groups of
what were apparently workmen. As I knew that no workmen
devoted to the Empire would have dared to gather in that way,
even if their numbers had been sufficient, and as I felt reluc-
tant to inquire, I came to the natural conclusion that the
hooters were the supporters of Blanqui, Pyat, & Co. The
Commune was foreshadowed on the Place de la Concorde on
that day.
My experience of the 24th of February, 1848, told me that
the Chamber would be invaded before long. In 1848 there
was no more danger for a foreigner to mix with the rabble than
for a Frenchman. I felt not quite so sure about my safety on
the 4th of September. My adventure in the Avenue de Clichy,
which I will relate anon, had not happened then, and I was not
as careful as I became afterwards, still I remembered in time
the advice of the prudent Frenchman — " When in doubt, ab-
stain ; " and I prepared to retrace my steps to the Boulevards,
where, I knew, there would be no mistake about my identity.
At the same time, I am bound to say that no such accident as
I dreaded occurred during that day, as far as I am aware.
There may or may not have been at that hour half a hundred
spies of Bismarck in the city, but no one was molested. The
Parisians were so evidently overjoyed at getting rid of the Em-
pire, that for four and twenty hours, at any rate, they forgot
all about the hated Germans and their march upon the capital.
They were shaking hands with, and congratulating one an-
other, as if some great piece of good fortune had befallen them.
Years before that, I had seen my wife behave in a similarly
joyous manner after having dismissed at a moment's notice a
cook who had shamefully robbed us : my wife knew very well
that, on the morrow, the tradesmen, the amount of whose bills
the dishonest servant had pocketed for months, would be send-
ing in their claims upon us. " Perhaps they will take into
AX ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 369
Consideration that we dismissed her," she said, " and not hold
us responsible." The Latin race, and especially the French,
are the females of the human race.
I noticed that the gates of the Tuileries gardens on the Place
de la Concorde were still open, and that the gardens them-
selves were black with people. It must have been about half-
past ten or eleven. I did not go back by the Rue Royale, but
by the Rue de Rivoli. The people were absolutely streaming
down the street. There was not a single threatening gesture
on their part ; they merely looked at the flag still floating over
the Tuileries, and passed on. When I got back to the Boule-
vards, I sat down outside the Cafe de la Paix, determined not
to stir if possible. I knew that whatever happened the news
of it would soon be brought thither. I was not mistaken.
The first news we had was that the National Guards had
replaced the regulars inside and round the Palais-Bourbons,
which was either a sign that the latter could be no longer de-
pended upon, or that the Republicans in the Chamber had
carried that measure in their own interest. I am bound to
admit that I would always sooner take the word of a French
officer than that of a deputy, of no matter what shade ; and I
heard afterwards that the troops at the Napoleon barracks and
elsewhere had begun to fraternize with the people as early as
eight in the morning, by shouting, from the windows of their
rooms, " Vive la Republique ! " The Chamber was invaded,
nevertheless ; it is as well to state that this invasion gave Jules
Favre & Co. a chance of repairing in hot haste to the Hotel de
Ville, where the Government of the National Defence was
proclaimed.
To return to my vantage-post at the Cafe de la Paix. The
crowds on the Place de la Concorde, apparently stationed there
since early morning, did not seem to me to have been brought
thither at the instance of a leader or in obedience to a watch-
word. I except, of course, the groups of which I have already
spoken, and which jeered at the republican deputies. The
streams of people I met on my return in the Rue de Rivoli
seemed impelled by their own curiosity to the Chamber of Dep-
uties. Not so the procession which hove in sight almost the
moment I had sat down at the Cafe. It wheeled to the left
when reaching the Rue de la Paix. It was composed of
National Guards with and without their muskets, each company
preceded by its own officers, — the armed ones infinitely more
numerous than the unarmed, but all marching in good order
and in utter silence ; in fact, so silently as to bode mischief.
24
370 AN ENGL ISHMAN IN PARIS.
Behind and before there strode large contingents of ordinary
citizens, and I noticed two things : that few of them wore
blouses, and that a good many wore kepis, apparently quite
new. The wearers, though equally undemonstrative, gave one
the impression of being the leaders. Most of those around me
shook their heads ominously as they passed ; their silence did
not impose upon them. I am free to confess that I did not
shar€ their opinion. To me, the whole looked like stern de-
termined manifestors : not like turbulent revolutionaries. I
had seen nothing like them in '48. Nevertheless, it was I who
was mistaken, for, according to M. Sampierro Gavini, who,
unlike his brother Denis, belonged to the opposition during
the Empire, it was they who invaded the Chamber. I may
add that M. Sampierro Gavini though in the opposition, had
little or no sympathy with those who overthrew the Empire or
established the Commune. He had an almost idealistic faith
in constitutional means, and a somewhat exaggerated reverence
for the name of Bonaparte. He was a Corsican.
For several hours nothing occurred worthy of record. The
accounts brought to us by eye-witnesses of events going on
simultaneously at the Tuileries and the Palais-Bourbon showed
plainly that there was no intention on the mob's part to exalt
the Empress into a Marie-Antoinette. Our friend who had
given us the news of the Chamber on the previous night, and
who was a relative of the celebrated Dr. Yvan, an habitue of
the Cafe de la Paix, had made up his mind in the morning that
" it would be more interesting to watch the " last heroic
struggles of an Empress against iron fortune than the " crown-
less coronation of a half-score of ' rois Petauds.' " * As such,
he had taken up his station in the gardens of the Tuileries,
close to the gate dividing the private from the public gardens.
It was he who gave us the particulars of the scenes preceding
and succeeding the Empress's flight, the exact moment of
which no one seemed to know. The account of these scenes
was so exceedingly graphic, that I have no difficulty whatso-
ever in remembering them. Moreover, I put down at the time
several of his own expressions. I do not know what has be-
* In olden times, every community, corporation, and guild in France elected annually a
king— even the mendicants, whose ruler took the title of King Pdtaud, from the haiin/efo,
I ask. The latter's court, as a matter of course, was a perfect bear-garden, in which every
one did as he liked, in which every one was as much sovereign as the titular one. The ex-
pression, ' ' the Court of King P^taud," became a synonym for everything that was disorderly,
ridiculous, and disgusting.
** Oui, je sors de chez vous fort mal ^difi^e ;
Dans toutes mes legons j'y suis contrari^e ;
On n'y respecte rien, chacun y parle haut,
Et c'est tout justement la cour du roi P^taud."
(Moliere, " Tartuffe," Act i. Sc. i)— Editor,
A A' ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 37 f
come of him. He went to New-Zealand on account of some
unhappy love-affair, and was never heard of any more. Though
scarcely thirty then, he was a promising young doctor. His
name was Ramail, but I do not know in what relation he stood
to Dr. Yvan ; who, however, always called him cousin.
Young Ramail had been in the Tuileries gardens since noon.
The crowd was already very large at that hour, but it seemed
altogether engrossed in the doings of an individual who was
knocking down a gilded eagle on the top of the gate. " Mind,"
said Ramail, " that was at twelve o'clock, or somewhere there-
abouts ; and I do not think that the sitting at the Chamber
began until at least an hour later. If the Republicans say, in
days to come, that the Empire was virtually condemned before
they voted its overthrow, they will, at any rate, have the
semblance of truth on their side, because there were at least
two thousand persons looking on without trying to prevent the
destruction of the eagles by word or deed ; and two thousand
persons, if they happen to agree with them, are to the Repub-
licans the whole of France ; while two millions, if they happen
to differ from them, are only a corrupt and unintelligent ma
jority.
" But I was wondering," he went on, " at the utter ingrati-
tude of the lower and lower-middle classes. I feel certain
that among those who stood staring there, half owed their
prosperous condition to the eighteen years of Imperialism ;
yet I heard not a single expression of regret at the brutal
sweeping away of it.
" I may have stood there for about an hour, a score of steps
av/ay from the gate before the swingbridge, when, all at once,
I felt myself carried forward with the crowd ; and before I
had time to look round, I found myself inside that other gate.
There were about five hundred persons who had entered with
me, but in what manner the gate gave way or was opened I
have not the vaguest idea. We went no further ; we stopped
as suddenly as we had advanced. I turned round with diffi-
culty, and looked over the heads of those behind me • sure
enough, the gates were wide open and the crowd at the rear
was much denser than it had been ten minutes before. Still
they stood perfectly still, without bringing any pressure to
bear upon us. Then I turned round again, and saw the cause
of their reluctance to move. The Imperial Guard was being
massed in front of the principal door leading from the private
gardens into the palace. * My dear Ramail,' I said to myself,
* you stand a very good chance of having a bullet through
372 AA^ ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
your head before you are ten minutes older ; because, at the
slightest move of the crowd among which you now stand, the
guard will fire.' I own that I was scarcely prepared to face
death for such a trivial cause as this ; and I was quietly edg-
ing my way out of the crowd, which was beginning to utter
low ominous growls, when a, voice, ringing clear upon the air,
shouted, ' Citoyens ! ' I stopped, turned round once more, and
stood on tiptoe.
" The speaker was a tall, handsome fellow, young to all ap-
pearance, and with a voice like a bell. He looked a gentle-
man, but I have never seen him before to my knowledge.
His companion I knew at once ; it was Victorien Sardou.
There is no mistaking that face. I have heard some people
say that it is not a bit like that of the great Napoleon, while
others maintain that, placing the living man and the portrait
of the dead one side by side, one could not tell the difference.
I'll undertake to say this, that if M. Sardou had donned a
uniform, such as the lieutenant of artillery wore at Areola, for
instance, he might have taken the Empress by the hand and
led her out safely among the people, who would have believed
in some miraculous resurrection.
" To come back to my story. ' Citoyens,' repeated M. Sar-
dou's companion, ' I do not wonder at your surprise that the
garden should not be open to you and its ingress forbidden by
soldiers. The Tuileries belong to the people, now that the
Empire is gone ; for gone it is by this time, in spite of the
Imperial Guard massed before yonder door. Consequently,
my friend and I propose to go and ask for the withdrawal of
these soldiers. But, in order to do this, you must give us
your promise not to budge ; for the slightest attempt on your
part to do so before our retujrn may lead to bloodshed, and I
am convinced that you are as anxious as we are to avoid such
a calamity.'
*' If that young fellow is not an actor, he ought to be.
Every word he said could be heard distinctly and produced its
effect.* The crowd cheered him and promised unanimously to
wait. Then we saw him and M. Sardou take out their hand-
kerchiefs and tie them to the end of their sticks. Perhaps it
was well they did, for as I saw them boldly walk up the central
avenue, I was not at all convinced that their lives were not in
danger. My sight is excellent, and I noticed a decidedly
hostile movement on the part of the troops ranged in front of
the principal door, and an officer of Mobiles was evidently of
my opinion, for, though he followed them at a distance, he
AJ\r ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 373
kept prudently behind the trees, sheltering himself as much as
possible. I do not pretend to be wiser than most of my fellow-
men, but I doubt whether many among those who watched M.
Sardou and his companion suspected the true drift of their
self-imposed mission. They merely wished to save the Tuil-
eries from being pillaged and burnt down. I do not wish to
libel the Imperial Guard or their officers, but I should feel
much surprised if that noble idea ever entered their heads.
What was the magnificent pile to them, now that one of their
idols had left it, probably forever, and the other was about to
do the same } At any rate, the suspicious movement was
there. I have forgotten to tell you that the inner gate was
closed, and I saw M. Sardou parley through its bars with one
of the guardians. Then a superior officer, accompanied by a
civilian, came out ; but by this time, the crowd, which had
kept back, was beginning to move also, I among them. All of
a sudden, the general, who turned out to be General Mellinet,
gets on a chair, while his companion, who turns out to be M.
de Lesseps, stands by him. The Imperial Guard disappears,
seeing which, the crowd, no longer apprehensive of being shot
down, advances rapidly to within a few steps of the gate.
Then there is a cheer, for the Imperial flag is hauled down
from the roof. ^ Gentlemen,' says the general, * the Tuileries
are empty, the Empress is gone. But it is my duty to guard
the palace, and I count upon you to help me.' He says a
great deal more, but the crowd are pressing forward all the
same. I feel that the crucial moment has arrived, and that
the palace will 'be invaded, in spite of the general's speechify-
ing, when lo, the Gardes Mobiles issue from the front door,
and range themselves in two rows. The gates are opened,
the crowd rushes in, but the Mobiles are there to prevent them
making any excursions, either upstairs or into the apartments,
and in a few minutes we find ourselves in the Place du
Carrousel. The palace has been virtually saved by M. Sardou."
Half an hour later, we receive the news that the Government
of the National Defence has been proclaimed at the Hotel de
Ville, and that night Paris is illuminated as after a victory.
CHAPTER XXII.
In spite of the frequent reports from the provinces that the
Germans were marching on Paris, there were thousands of peo-
374 '^^ ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
pie in the capital who seriously maintained that they, the Ger-
mans, would not dare to invest, let alone, shell it. But it must
not be inferred, as many English writers have done, that this
confidence was due to a mistaken view of the Germans' pluck,
or their reluctance to beard the " lion " in his den. Not at all.
The Parisians simply credited their foes with the superstitious
love and reverence for " the centre of light and civilization "
which they themselves felt. They did not take their cue from
Victor Hugo's " highfalutin' " remonstrance to King William ;
on the contrary, it was the poet who translated their sentiments.
It was not a case of " one fool making many ; " but of many
mute inglorious visionaries inspiring a still greater one, who
had the gift of eloquence, which eloquence, in this instance,
bordered very closely on sublimated drivel.
Nevertheless, the whole of Paris became suddenly trans-
formed into one vast drill-ground, and the clang of arms re-
sounded through the city day and night. For the time being,
the crowds left oif singing, albeit that they listened now and
then devoutly and reverently to itinerant performers, male and
female, who had paraphrased the patriotic airs of certain operas
for the occasion. The " Pars beau mousquetaire," etc., of
Halevy, became " Pars beau volontaire ; " the " Guerre aux
tyrans," of the same composer, " Guerre aux all'mands," * and
so forth.
All the theatres had closed their doors by this time, the
Comedie-Fran9aise being last, I believe ; though almost imme-
diately afterwards it threw open its portals once more for at
least two performances a week, and often a third time, in aid
of the victims of the siege. Meanwhile, several rooms were
being got ready for the reception of the wounded ; the new
opera-house, still unfinished, was made into a commissariat and
partly into a barracks, for the provincial Gardes Mobiles were
flocking by thousands to the capital, and the camps could not
hold them all. For once in a way the Parisian forgot to chaff
the provincial who came to pay him a visit ; and considering
that, even under such circumstances, all drill and no play would
make Jacques a dull boy, he not only received him very cordi-
ally, but showed him some of the lions of the capital, at which
the long-haired gaunt and stolid Breton stared without moving
a muscle, only muttering an unintelligible gibberish, which
might be an invocation to his ancient pagan gods, or a tribute
of admiration; while the more astute and cynical, though
*The first from " Les Mousquetaires de la Reine; " the second from " Charles VI,"—
Editok.
A.V ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 375
scarcely more impressionable Normand, ten thousand of which
had come from the banks of the Marne, showed the thought
underlying all his daily actions, in one sentence : " C'est beit
beau, mais 9a a coute beaucoup d'argent ; fallait mieux le gar-
der en poche." Even at this supreme moment he remembered,
with a kind of bitterness, that he had been made to pay for
part of all this glorious architecture.
The Cirques Napoleon and de ITmperatrice — the RepubHc
had not had time to change their names — had become a kind
of left-luggage office for these human cargoes, taken thither at
their arrival, which happened generally during the night. In
the morning they were transferred to their permanent encamp-
ments, and their military education was proceeded with at once.
I am afraid I am not competent to judge of the merits of , the
method adopted, but I was by no means powerfully impressed
with the knowledge displayed by the instructors.
The gardens of the Tuileries had been closed to the public,
who had to be satisfied with admiring the ordnance and long
rows of horses parked there from a distance. Did the latter
lend enchantment to the view ? Apparently, for they were
never tired of gazing with ecstasy on the mitrailleuses. The
gunners in charge treated the foremost of the gazers now and
then to a lecture on artillery practice, through the railings of
the gates. In whatsoever else they had lost faith, those mur-
derous engines of war evidently still commanded their confi-
dence.
The frightful din that marked the first weeks of the war had
ceased, but Paris did by no means look crestfallen. The gas
burned brightly still the cafes were full of people, the restau-
rants had all their tables occupied ; for we were not " invested "
yet, and the idea of scarcity, let alone of famine, though a much-
discussed contingency, was not a staring, stubborn fact. "It
will never become one," said and thought many, " and all that
talk about doling out rations already is so much nonsense."
The papers waxed positively comic on the subject. They also
waxed comic over the telegrams of the King of Prussia to his
Consort; but they left off harping on that string, for very
shame's sake.
One thing was certain from the beginning of the siege — what
ever else might fail, there was enough wine and to spare to cheer
the hearts of men who professed to do and dare more than
men. Though the best part of my life had been spent in Paris,
I had, curiously enough, never seen the wine and spirit depots
at Bercy ; in fact, I was profoundly ignorant of that, as well as
376 AN ENGLISffMA iV IN PA RIS.
of other matters connected with the food-supply of Paris. So
I wrote to a member of the firm which had supplied me for
many years with wine and spirits, and he took me thither.
I should think that the "entrepot-general," as it is called,
occupied, at that time, not less than sixty acres of ground,
which meant more than treble that area as far as storage was
concerned ; for there was not only the cellarage, but the build-
ings above ground, rising in many instances, to three and four
stories. The entrepot consisted, and consists still, I believe,
of three distinct parts : one for wines ; another for what the
French call " alcohols," and w^e " spirits , " a third, much
smaller, for potable or, rather, edible oils. The latter wing
contains the cellarage of the general administration of the hos-
pitals. The spirit-cellars were absolutely empty at the time of
my visit ; their contents had been removed to a bomb and shell
proof cellarage hard by.
Though I had come to see, I felt very little wiser after leav-
ing the cellars than before ; for, truth to tell, I was absolutely
bewildered. I had no more idea of the quantity of wine stored
there than a child. My guide laughed.
" We'll soon make the matter clear to you," he said, shaking
hands with a gentleman who turned out to be one of the prin-
cipal employes. " This gentleman will tell you almost to a
hectolitre the quantity of ordinary wine in store. You know
pretty well the number of inhabitants of the capital, and though
it has considerably increased during the last few days, and is
not unlikely to decrease during the siege, if siege there be, the
influx does not amount to a hundred thousand. Now, mon-
sieur, will you tell this gentleman what you have in stock ? "
" We have got at the present moment 1,600,000 hectolitres
of ordinary wine in our cellars. Ten days ago we had nearly
one hundred thousand more, but the wine-shops and others
have laid in large provisions since then. The more expensive
wines I need not mention, because the quantity is very con-
siderably less, and, moreover, they are not likely to be wanted ;
though, if they were wanted, they would keep us going for
many, many weeks. At a rough guess, the number of * souls '
within the fortifications is about 1,700,000, with the recent
increase 1,800,000 ; consequently, with what the ' liquoristes '
have recently bought, one hundred litres for every man, woman,
and child. I do not reckon the contents of private cellars,
nor those of the wine-merchants, apart from their recent pur-
chases. Nor. is ordinary wine much dearer than it was in years
of great plenty ; it is, in fact, less by twenty-five francs than in
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 377
the middle of the fifties. I am comparing prices for quarter
pipes, containing from two hundred and ten to two hundred
and thirty litres. There is no fear of regrating here, nor the
likelihood of our having to drink water for some time."
On our homeward journey, we noticed bullocks, pigs, and
sheep littered down in some of the public squares and on the
outer boulevards. The stunted grass in the former had already
entirely disappeared, and it was evident that, with the utmost
care, the cattle w^ould deteriorate under the existing circum-
stances ; for fodder would probably be the first commodity to
fail : as it was, it had already risen to more than twice its former
price. Moreover, the competent judges feared that, in the
event of a rainy autumn, the cattle penned in such small spaces
would be more subject to epidemic diseases, which would
absolutely render them unfit for human food. In view of such
a contingency, the learned members of the Academic des
Sciences were beginning to put their heads together, but the
Tesults of their deliberations were not known as yet.
We returned on foot as we had come ; private carriages had
entirely disappeared, and though the omnibuses and cabs were
plying as usual, their progress was seriously impeded by long
lines of vans, heavily laden with neat deal boxes, evidently
containing tinned provisions. Very few female passengers in
the public conveyances, and scarcely a man without a rifle.
They were the future defenders of the capital, who had been
to Vincennes, where the distribution of arms was going on from
early morn till late at night. In fact, the sight of a working-
man not provided with a rifle, a mattock, a spade, or a pickaxe
was becoming a rarity, for a great many had been engaged to
aid the engineers in digging trenches, spiking the ground, etc.
I did not, and do not, feel competent to judge of the utility
of all these means of defence ; one of them, however, seemed
to be conceived in the wrong spirit : I allude to the firing of
the woods around Paris. With the results of Forbach and
Woerth to guide them, the generals entrusted with the defence
of Paris could not leave the woods to stand ; but was there any
necessity to destroy them in the way they did.'* In spite of
the activity displayed, there were still thousands of idle hands
anxious to be employed. Why were not the trees cut down
and transported to Paris, for fuel for the coming winter ? At
that moment there were lots of horses available, and such a
measure would have given us the double advantage of saving
coals for the manufacture of gas, and of protecting from the
rigors of the coming winter hundreds whose suffering would
378 A A' ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
have been mitigated by light and heat. Personally, I did not
suffer much. From what I have seen during the siege, I have
come to the conclusion that shortcomings in the way of food
are far less hard to bear, nay, are almost cheerfully borne, in a
warm room and with a lamp brightly burning. I leave out of
the question the quantities of mineral oil wasted in the attempt
to set fire to the woods, because in many instances the attempt
failed utterly.
Meanwhile, patriotism was kept at the boiling point, by glow-
ing reports of the heroic defence of General Uhrich at Stras-
burg. The statue, representing the capital of Alsace on the
Place de la Concorde, became the goal of a reverent pilgrim-
age on the part of the Parisians, though the effect of it was
spoiled too frequently by M. Prudhomme holding forth sen-
tentiously, to his sons apparently, to the crowd in reality.
These discourses reminded one too much of Heine's sneer,
that " all Frenchmen are actors, and the worst are generally
on the stage." In this instance, however, the amateur ran
the professional very hard. The crowds were not hyper-
critical, though, and they applauded the speaker, who departed,
accompanied by his offspring, with the proud consciousness
that he was a born orator, and that he had done his duty to
his country by spouting platitudes. It is not difficult to give
the general sequel to that amateur performance. Next morn-
ing there is a line in some obscure paper, and M. Prudhomme,
beside himself with joy, leaves his card on the journalist who
wrote it ; the journalist leaves his in return, and for the next
six months the latter has his knife and fork laid at M. Prud-
homme's table. The acquaintance generally terminates on M.
Prudhomme's discovery that Madame Prudhomme carried her
friendship too far by looking after the domestic concerns of the
scribe, at the scribe's bachelor quarters.
The men who did not spout were the Duruys, the Meisso-
niers, as a hundred others I could mention. The eminent
historian and grand-master of the University, though sixty,
donned the simple uniform of a National Guard, and performed
his garrison duties like the humblest artisan, only distinguished
from the latter by his star of grand-officer of the Legion
d'Honneur ; the great painter did the same. The French shop-
keeping bourgeois is, as a rule, a silly, pompous creature ; very
frequently he is mean and contemptible besides.
Here is a story for the truth of which I can vouch, and
which shows him in his true light. In the skirmish in which
Lieutenant Winslow was killed, some damage had been done to
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 379
the inn at Schirlenhoff, where the Baden officers were at break-
fast when they were surprised by General de Bernis and his
men. The general had his foot already in the stirrup, and was
about to remove his prisoners, when Boniface made his appear-
ance, coolly asking to whom he was to present the bill for the
breakage. The general burst out laughing : " The losing party
pays the damage as a rule," he said, " but France is sufficiently
rich to reverse the rule. Here is double the amount of your
bill."
A second story, equally authentic. A cable had been secretly
laid on the bed of the Seine between Paris and Havre, shortly
before the siege. Two small shopkeepers of St. Germain
revealed the fact for a consideration to the Germans, who had
but very vague suspicions of it, and who certainly did not
know the land bearings ; one of the scoundrels was caught after
the siege, the other escaped. The one who was tried pleaded
poverty, and received a ridiculously small sentence. It trans-
pired afterwards that he was exceedingly well paid for his
treachery, and that he cheated his fellow-informer out of his
share.
The contrast is more pleasant to dwell upon. There were
hundreds of obscure heroes, by which I do not mean those
prepared to shed their blood on the battlefield, but men with a
sublime indifference to life, courting the fate of a Ravaillac
and a Balthazar Gerard. History would have called them
regicides, and perhaps ranked them with paid assassins had
they accomplished their purpose, would have held them up to
the scorn of posterity as bloodthirsty fanatics, — and history,
for once in a way, would have been wrong. In their reprehen-
sible folly, they were more estimable than the Jules Favres,
the Gambettas who played at being the saviours of the country,
and who were only the saviours of their needy, fellow political
adventurers.
Apart from the former, there were the inventors of impossi-
ble schemes for the instantaneous annihilation of the three
hundred thousand Germans around Paris, — inventors who
supply the comic note in the otherwise terrible drama, — inven-
tors who day by day besiege the Ministry for War, and to
whom, after all, the minister's coUaborateurs are compelled
to listen " on the chance of there being something in their
schemes."
" I am asking myself, every now and then, whether I am a
staff-officer or one of the doctors at Charenton," said Prince
Bibesca, one evening.
380 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
" Since yesterday morning," he went on, " I have been in
terviewed by a dozen inventors, every one of whom wanted to
see General Trochu or General Schmitz, and would scarcely
be persuaded that I would do as well. The first one simply
took the breath out of me. I had no energy left to resist the
others, or to bow them out politely ; if they had chosen to keep
on talking for four and twenty hours, I should have been com-
pelled to listen; He was a little man, about the height of M.
Thiers. His opening speech was in proportion to his height ;
it consisted of one line. ' Monsieur, I annihilate the Germans
with one blow,' he said. I was thrown off my guard in spite
of myself, for etiquette demands that I should keep serious in
spite of myself ; and I replied, * Let me fill my pipe before you
do it.'
" Meanwhile, my visitor spread out a large roll of paper on
the table. *I am not an inventor,' he said ; *I merely adapt
the lessons of ancient history to the present circumstances. I
merely modify the trick of the horse of Troy. Here is Paris
with its ninety-six bastions, its forts, etc. I draw three lines :
along the first I send twenty-five tiiousand men pretending to
attack the northern positions of the enemy ; along the second
line I send a similar number, apparently bent on a similar at-
tempt .to the south ; my fifty thousand troops are perfectly
visible to the Germans, for they commence their march an hour
or so before dusk. Meanwhile darkness sets in, and that is
the moment I choose to despatch a hundred and fifty thou-
sand troops, screened and entirely concealed by a movable wall
of sheet iron, blackened by smoke. My inventive powers have
gone no further than this. My hundred and fifty thousand
men behind their wall penetrate unhindered as far as the Prus-
sian lines, where a hundred thousand fall on their backs, taking
aim over the wall, while fifty thousand, keep moving it forward
slowly. Twelve shots for every man make twelve hundred
thousand shots — more than sufficient to cause a panic among
the Germans, who do not know whence the firing proceeds,
because my wall is as dark as night itself. Supposing, how-
ever, that those who have been left in the camp defend them-
selves, their projectiles will glance off against the sheet iron of
the wall, which, if necessary, can be thrown down finally by
our own men, who will finish their business with the bayonet
and the sword."
" My second visitor had something not less formidable to
propose ; namely, a sledge-hammer, fifteen miles in circum-
ference, and weighing ten millions of tons. It was to be lifted
A A' ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 381
Up to a certain altitude by means of balloons. A favorable
wind had to be waited for, which would send the balloons in
the direction of Versailles, where the ropes confining the ham-
mer would be cut. In its fall it would crush and bury the head-
quarters and the bulk of the German army.
" The third showed me the plan of a musical mitrailleuse,
which would deal death and destruction while playing Wagner,
Schubert, and Mendelssohn, the former by preference. ' The
Germans,' he remarked, ' are too fond of music to be able to
resist the temptation of listening. They are sure to draw near
in thousands when my mitrailleuses are set playing. We have
got them at our mercy.' I asked him to send me a small one
as a sample : he promised to do so."
Another evening I was induced to go to the Alcazar. I had
been there once before, to hear Theresa. This time it was to
see an " Exhibition of Engines of War," and to listen to a
practical lecture thereon. The audience was as jolly as if the
Germans were a thousand miles a^yay — jollier, perhaps, than
when they listened to " Rien n'est sacre pour un sapeur;" be-
cause they were virtually taking part in the performance. The
lecturer began by an exhibition of bullet-proof pads, by means
of which the soldier might fearlessly advance towards the
enemy ; " because they render that part of the body on which
they are worn invulnerable." A wag among the spectators
made a remark about "retreating soldiers," which I cannot
transcribe ; but the exhibitor, an Italian or Spanish major, to
judge by his accent, was in noway disconcerted. He placed
his pad against an upright board in the shape of a target and
began firing at it with a revolver at a distance of four or five
paces. The material, though singed, was not pierced, but the
spectators seemed by no means convinced. " You wear the
pad, and let me have a shot at you," exclaimed one ; at which
offer the major made a long face. " Have you ever tried the
experiment on a living animal .'' " asks another. *' Perfectly,"
replied the major; " I tried it on my clerk," which admission
was hailed with shouts of laughter. There were cries for the
clerk, who did not appear. A corporal of the National Guards
proposed to try an experiment on the major and the pad with
the bayonet fastened to a chassepot ; thereupon major and pad
suddenly disappeared behind the wings.
The next inventor exhibits a fire-extinguisher ; the audience
require more than a verbal explanation ; some of them pro-
pose to set the Alcazar on fire. A small panic, checked in
time; and the various demonstrations are proceeded with
382 AjV englishman in PARIS.
amidst shouts, and laughter, and jokes. They yield no practi-
cal results, but they kill time. They are voted the next best
thing to the theatre.
By this time we were shut oi¥ from the outer world. On the
17th of September, at night, the last train of the Orleans Rail-
way Company had left Paris. The others had ceased working
a day or so before, and placed their rolling stock in safety.
Not the whole of it, though. A great many of the third-class
carriages have had their seats taken out, the luggage and goods
vans have been washed, the cattle trucks boarded in, and all
these transformed into temporary dwellings for the suburban
poor who have been obliged to seek shelter within the walls of
the capital. The interiors of the principal railway stations
present scenes that would rejoice the hearts of genre-painters
on a large scale. The washing and cooking of all these squat-
ters is done on the various platforms, the carriages have be-
come parlor and bedroom in one, and there has even been
some ingenuity displayed in their decoration. The woman-
kind rarely stir from their improvised homes ; the men are on
the fortifications or roaming the streets of Paris. Part of the
household goods has been stowed inside the trucks, the rest
is piled up in front. The domestic pets, such as cats and
dogs, have, as yet, not been killed for food, and the former
have a particularly good time of it, for mice and rats abound,
especially in the goods-sheds. Here and there a goat gravely
stalking along, happily unconscious of its impending doom •
and chanticleer surrounded by a small harem trying to make
the best of things.
Of course, the sudden and enormous influx of human beings
could not be housed altogether in that way, but care has been
taken that none of them shall be shelterless. All the tenantless
apartments, from the most palatial in the Faubourg St. Honore
and Champs-Elysees to the humblest in the popular quarters,
have been utilized, and the pot-au-feu simmers in marble
fireplaces, while Gallic Hodge sees his face reflected in gigantic
mirrors the like of which he never saw before. The dwell-
ings that have been merely vacated by their tenants who have
flitted to Homburg and Baden-Baden, to Nice and elsewhere,
are as yet not called into requisition by the authorities.
From the moment we were cut off from the outer world, the
spy mania, which had been raging fiercely enough before, be-
came positively contagious. There is not the slightest doubt
that there were spies in Paris, but I feel perfectly certain that
they were not prowling about the streets, and that to have caught
A A' ENGLmHMAN IN PARIS. 383
them one would have had to look among the personnel of the
ministries. For a foreigner, unless he spoke French without
the slightest accent, to have accepted such a mission, would
have been akin to madness ; and there were and are still few
foreigners, however well they may know French, who do not
betray their origin now and then by imperfect pronunciation.
Besides, there was nothing to spy in the streets ; nevertheless,
the spy mania, as I have already said, had reached an acute
crisis. The majority of the National Guard seemed to have
no other occupation than to look for spies. A poor Spanish
priest was arrested because he had been three times in the
same afternoon to the cobbler for the only serviceable pair of
shoes he possessed. Woe to the man or woman who was ill-
advised enough to take out his pocket-book in the streets. If
you happened to be of studious habits, or merely inclined to sit
up late, the lights peeping through the carelessly drawn cur-
tains exposed you to a sudden visit from half a dozen ill-man-
nered, swaggering National Guards, your concierge was called
out of his bed, while you were taken to the nearest commissary
of police to explain ; or, what was worse still, to the near-
est military post, where the lieutenant in command made it a
point to be altogether soldier-like — according to his ideas, /. ^.,
brutal, rude, disgustingly familiar. You might get an apology
from the police-official for having been disturbed and dragged
through the streets for no earthly reason ; the quasi-military
man would have considered it beneath his dignity to offer one.
Of course, every now and then, one happened to meet with
a gentleman who was only too anxious to atone for the imbe-
cile " goings-on " of his men, and I was fortunate enough to
do so one night. It was on the 20th of September, when the
feelings of the Parisians had already been embittered by their
first and not very creditable defeat under their own walls. I
do not suppose there were more than a score of Englishmen
in Paris, besides the Irishmen engaged in salting beef at the
slaughter-house of La Villette, when, but for that gentleman, I
should have been in a sore strait. Among the English there
was a groom who, at the time of the general exodus, was so
dangerously ill that the doctor absolutely forbade his removal,
even to a hospital. The case had been brought under my
notice, and as the poor fellow was very respectable and had
been hard-working, as he had a wife and a young family be-
sides, we not only did all we could for him, but I went to see
him personally two or three times to cheer him up a bit. He
was on the mend, but slowly, very slowly. He lived in one of
384 ^^' ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
the side streets of the Avenue de Clichy, and had lived there
a good while, and the concierge of the house had her mind
perfectly at rest with regard to his nationality, albeit that the
fact of being an Englishman was not always a sufficient guar-
rantee against the suspicion of being a spy on the part of the
lower classes. Moreover, they would not always take the fact
for granted ; they were unable to distinguish an English from
a German or any other accent, and, with them, to be a for-
eigner was necessarily to be a German, and a German could
not be anything but a spy. However, in this instance, I felt
no anxiety for my protege.
Unfortunately, a few days before the closing of Paris, the
concierge herself fell ill, and another one took her place. The
successor was a man, and not by any means a pleasant man.
There was a scowl on his face, as, in answer to his summons,
I told him whither I was going ; and he cast a suspicious look
at a box I was carrying under my arm, which happened to
contain nothing more formidable than a surgical appliance. I
took no notice, however, and mounted the stairs.
My visit may have lasted between twenty minutes and half
an hour. When I came out, a considerable crowd had assem-
bled on the footway and in the road, and a dozen National
Guards were ranged in a semi-circle in front of the door.
The first cry that greeted me was " Le voilk," and then a
corporal advanced. " Your name, citizen," he said, in a hec-
toring tone, " and what brings you to this house t " I kept
very cool, and told him that I would neither give him my name
nor an explanation of my visit, but that if he would take me
to his lieutenant or captain, I should be pleased to give both
to the latter. But he would not be satisfied. "Where is the
box you had in your hand ? what did it contain ? and what
have you done with it ? " he insisted. I knew that it would be
useless to try and enlighten him, so I stuck to my text. Mean-
while the crowd had become very excited, so I simply repeated
my request to be taken to the post.
The crowd would have willingly judged me there and then ;
that is, strung me up to the nearest lamp-post. If they had,
not a single one among them would have been prosecuted for
murder, and by the end of the siege the British Government
w^ould have considered it too late to move in the matter ; be-
sides, a great many of my countrymen would have opined that
" it served me right " for remaining in Paris, when I might
have made' myself so comfortable in London or elsewhere.
So I felt very thankful when the corporal, though very un-
AJV BNGLISHMAN in PARIS. 385
graciously, ordered his men to close around me and " to march."
I have, since then, been twice to the Avenue de Clichy on
pleasure bent ; that is, to breakfast at the celebrated establish-
ment of " le pere Lathuille," and the sight of the lamp-posts
there sent a cold shudder down my back.
The journey to the military post did not take long. It had
been established in a former ball-room or music-hall, for at the
far end of the room there was a stage, representing, as far as
I can remember, an antique palace. The floor of it was littered
with straw, on which a score or so of civic warriors were lazily
stretched out ; while others were sitting at the small wooden
tables, that had, not long ago, borne the festive " saladier de
petit bleu." Some of the ladles with which that decoction had
been stirred were still hanging from the walls ; for in those
neighborhoods the love of portable property on the part of the
patrons is quite Wemmickian, and the proprietors made and
make it a rule to throw as little temptation as possible in the
way of the former. The place looked quite sombre, though the
gas was alight. There was an intolerable smell of damp straw
and stale tobacco smoke.
Part of the crowd succeeded in making their way inside, not-
withstanding the efforts of the National Guards. My appear-
ance caused a certain stir among the occupants of the room :
but in a few moments the captain, summoned from an apart-
ment at the back, came upon the scene, and my preliminary
trial was proceeded with at once.
The indictment of the corporal who had arrested me was
brief and to the point. " This man is a foreigner who pays
constant visits to another foreigner, supposed to be sick. This
evening he arrived with a box under his arm which he left with
his friend. The concierge has reason to suppose that there is
something wrong, for he does not believe in the man's illness.
He is supposed to be poor, and still he and his family are liv-
ing on the fat of the land. My prisoner refused to give me
his name and address, or an explanation of his visit."
" What have you to say, monsieur t " asked the captain, a
man of about thirty-five, evidently belonging to the better
classes. I found out afterwards that his name M'as Gamier,
or Garmier, and that he was a cashier in one of the large com-
mercial establishments in the Rue St. Martin. He was killed
in the last sortie of the Parisians.
It was the first time I had been addressed that evening as
" monsieur." I simply took a card from my pocket-book and
gave it to him. " If that is not sufficient, some of your men
25
386 A A' ENGLlSHMAxV IN PARIS.
can accompany me home and ascertain for themselves that 1
have not given a false name or address," I said.
He looked at it for a moment. " It is quite unnecessary. I
know your name very well, though I have not the honor of
knowing you personally. I have seen your portrait at my
relatives' establishment " — he named a celebrated picture-
dealer in the Rue de la Paix, — " and I ought to have recognized
you at once, for it is a very striking likeness, but it is so dark
here." Then he turned to his men and to the crowd : " I will
answer for this gentleman. I wish we had a thousand or so
of foreign spies like him in Paris. France has no better friend
than he."
I was almost as much afraid of the captain's praise as I had
been of the corporal's blame, because the crowd wanted to
give me an ovation ; seeing which, M. Garmier invited me to
stay with him a little while, until the latter should have dis-
persed. It was while sitting in his own room that he told me
the following story.
" My principal duty, monsieur, seems to consist, not in kill-
ing Germans, but in preventing perfectly honest Frenchmen
and foreigners from being killed or maimed. Not later than
the night before last, three men were brought in. They were
all very powerful fellows ; there was no doubt about their being
Frenchmen. They did not take their arrest as a matter of
course at all, but to every question I put they simply sent me
to the devil. It was not the behavior of the presumed spy,
who, as a rule, is very soft spoken and conciliating until he
sees that the game is up, when he becomes insulting. Still, I
reflected that the violence of the three men might be a clever
bit of acting also, the more that I could see for myself that
they were abominably, though not speechlessly, drunk. Their
offence was that they had been seen loitering in a field very
close to the fortification, with their noses almost to the ground.
Do what I would, an explanation I could not get, and at last
the most powerful of the trio made a movement as if to draw
a knife. V/ith great difficulty a dozen of my men succeeded in
getting his coat off ; and there, between his waistcoat and his
shirt, was a murderous looking blade, a formidable weapon
indeed.
" ' He is a Prussian spy, sure enough ? ' exclaimed the room-
ful of guards.
" I examined the knife carefully, tried to find the name of
the maker, and all at once put it to my nose. Then I took up
a candle and looked more carefully still at the prisoners.
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 387
* They are simply drunk,' I said, ' and the best thing you can
do is to take them home.'
" ' But the knife ? ' insisted the sergeant.
" ' The knife is all right,' I answered.
" ' I should think it is all right,' said the owner, * seeing that
I am cutting provisions all day with it for those confounded
Parisians.'
" But the guards were not satisfied with the explanation.
They began to surround me. ' That was surely a sign you
made to the fellow when you lifted the blade to your face, cap-
tain,' said a sergeant.
" ' Not at all, friend ; I was simply smelling it. And it
smelt abominably of onions.' That will give you an idea,
monsieur, of the hfe they lead me also. Still, I would ask
you, as a particular favor, monsieur, not to mention your mis-
hap to any one. As you are aware, I am not to blame ; but
we are in bad odor enough as it is at the Ministry of War, and
we do not wish to increase our somewhat justified reputation
for irresponsible rowdyism and lack of discipline."
I gave him my promise to that effect, and have not mentioned
the matter until this day.
CHAPTER XXIII.
I AM not a soldier, nor in the least like one ; hence I have,
almost naturally, neglected to note any of the strategic and
military problems involved in the campaign and the siege. But,
ignorant as I am in these matters, and notwithstanding the re-
peated failures of General Trochu's troops to break through the
lines of investment, I feel certain, on the other hand, that the
Germans would have never taken Paris by storming it. Years
before. Von Moltke had expressed his opinion to that effect in
his correspondence, not exactly with regard to the French
capital, but with regard to any fortified centre of more than a
hundred thousand inhabitants. Such an agglomeration, even
if severely left alone, and only shut off from the rest of the
world, falls by itself. I am giving the spirit and not the sub-
stance of his words.
Consequently, there is no need to say, that, to the mere
social observer, the problems raised by the food-supply were
perhaps the most interesting. Even under normal conditions,
the average Parisian in his method of feeding is worth study
ing ; he is supposed to be one of the most abstemious creatures
388 AA^ ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
on the civilized globe. And yet, I do not think that he con-
sumes less alcohol than the average Englishman or German.
The Frenchman's alcohol is more diluted ; that is all. A
drunken woman is a very rare sight, either in Paris or in the
provinces ; nevertheless, there is, probably, not one in a thou-
sand women among the lower classes who drinks less than her
half a bottle of wine per day ; while ladies of high degree gen-
erally partake of one if not two glasses of chartreuse with their
coffee, after each of the two principal meals. Uii grog Aitieri-
cain is as often ordered for the lady as for the gentleman, dur-
ing the evening visits to the cafe. I am speaking of gentle-
women by birth and education, and of the spouses of the well-
to-do men, not of the members of the demi-monde and of those
below them.
So far, the question of drink, which, after my visit to the
wine-depots at Bercy, assumed an altogether different aspect to
my mind. I began to wonder whether the plethora of wine
would not do as much harm as the expected scarcity of food 1
My fears were not groundless.
Frenchmen, especially Parisians, not only eat a great quan-
tity of bread, but they are very particular as to its quality. I
have a note showing that, during the years 1868-69, the con-
sumption per head for every man, woman, and child amounted
to a little more than an English pound per day, and that very
little of this was of " second quality," though the latter was as
good as that sold at many a London baker's as first, I tasted
it myself, because the municipality had made a great point of
introducing it to the lower classes at twopence per quartern
less than the first quality. Nevertheless, the French workman
v/ould have none of it.*
Even in the humblest restaurants, the bread supplied to cus-
tomers is of a superior quality ; the ordinary household bread
(pain de menage) is only to be had by specially asking fgr it ;
the roll with the cafe-au-lait in the morning is an institution
except with the very poor.
As for meat, I have an idea, in spite of all the doubts thrown
upon the question by English writers, that the Parisian work-
man in 1870 consumed as much as his London fellow. The
fact of the former having two square meals a day instead of
one, is not sufficiently taken into account by the casual ob-
server. There are few English artisans whose supper, except
on Sundays, consists of anything more substantial than bread
* Goethe, in Kis journey through France, noticed that the peasants who drove his carriage
invariably refused to eat the soldiers' bread, which he found to his taste. — Editor.
J A' ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 389
and cheese. The Frenchman eats meat at twelve a. m. and at
six p.m. The nourishment contained in the scraps, the bones,"
etc., is generally lost to the Englishman : not a particle of it is
wasted in France. Be that as it may, the statistics for 1858
show a consumption of close upon eight ounces (English) of
fresh meat per day for every head of the population. Be it
remembered that these statistics are absolutely correct, because
a town-due of over a half-penny per English pound is paid on
the meat leaving the public slaughter-houses, and killed meat
is taxed similarly at the city gates. Private slaughter-houses
there are virtually none.
Allowing for all this, it will be seen that Paris was not much
better off than other capitals would have been if threatened
with a siege, except, perhaps, for the ingenuity of even the
humblest French housewife in making much out of little by
means of vegetables, fruit, and cunningly prepared sauces, for
which, nevertheless, butter, milk, lard, etc., were wanted, which
commodities were as likely to fail as all other things. Nor
must one forget to mention the ingenuity displayed in the
public slaughter-houses themselves, in utilizing every possible
scrap of the slaughtered animals for human food. I had occa-
sion, not very long ago (1883), to go frequently, and for several
weeks running, to one of the poorest quarters in London. T
often made the journey on foot, for I am ashamed to say that,
until then, the East End was far more unknown to me than
many an obscure town in France, Italy, Germany, and Spain.
The clever remark of a French sociologist that " the battle of
life is fought below the belt,"holdsespecially good with regard
to the lower classes. Well, I may unhesitatingly say that in
no country are the poor left in greater ignorance with regard
to cheap and nourishing food than in England, if I am to judge
by London. The French, the German, the Italian, the Spanish
poor, have a dozen inexpensive and succulent dishes of which
the English poor know absolutely nothing ; and still those very
dishes figure on the tables of the well-to-do, and of fashionable
restaurants, as entrees under more or less fantastic names. Is
the English working man so utterly devoid of thrift and of
common sense, is his contempt for the foreigner so great as
to make him refuse to take a lesson from the latter t I think
not. I fancy it will depend much on the manner in which the
lesson is conveyed. A little less board-school work and Sun-
day-school teaching, fewer Bible classes, and a good many
practical cooking-classes would probably meet the case.
The French, though aware of their incontestable superiority
390 A:V ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
in the way of preparing food, did not disdain to take a lesson
from the alien. They clearly foresaw the fate in store for the
cattle penned in the squares and public gardens, if compelled
to remain there under existing conditions, and with the incle-
ment season close at hand ; consequently, the authorities en-
listed the services of Mr. Wilson, an Irish gentleman who had
been residing in Paris for a number of years, and whose experi-
ence in the salted-provision trade seemed to them very likely
to yield most satisfactory results. Up till then, only thirty head
of cattle had been submitted to his process, from that moment
the number is considerably increased, and it becomes apparent
that in a short while, there will be few live oxen, sheep, or pigs
left in Paris, though, as yet, we are only in the beginning of
October. Under Mr. Wilson's able management, half a hun-
dred Irishmen are at work for many, many hours a day at the
slaughter-house in La Villette, whither flock the Parisians, at
any rate the privileged ones, to watch the preliminaries to the
regime of salt-junk which is staring them in the face. I'he
fodder thus economized will go to the horses, although there is
a whisper in the air that one eminent savant has recommended
their immediate slaughter and salting also. Of course, such as
are wanted for military purposes will be exempted from this
holocaust on the altar of patriotism. M. Gagne, who has al-
ready provided the Parisians with amusement for years, in his
capacity as a perpetual candidate for parliamentary honors,
does not stop at hippophagy; he seriously proposes anthropo-
phagy. " A human being over sixty is neither useful nor orna-
mental," he exclaimed at a public meeting; " and to prove that
I mean what I say, I am willing to give myself as food to my
sublime and suffering townsmen." JPoor fellow ! as mad as a
March hare, but a man of education and with an infinite fund
of sympathy for humanity. He was but moderately provided
for at the best of times ; his income was derived from some
property in the provinces, and, as a matter of course, the invest-
ment of Paris stopped his supplies of funds from that quarter.
He was of no earthly use in the besieged city, but he refused
to go. He had a small but very valuable collection of family
plate, which went bit by bit to the Mint, not to feed himself
but to feed others, for he was never weary of well-doing. He
reminded one irresistibly of Balzac's hero, " le Pbre Goriot,"
parting with his treasures to supply his ungrateful daughters,
for the Parisians were ungrateful to him. Mad as he was, no
man in possession of all his mental faculties could have been
more sublime.
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 391
Whatever the question of human flesh as food may have been
to the Parisian, that of horseflesh was by no means new to them.
Since '66, various attempts had been made to introduce it on a
large scale, but for once in a way, they were logical in their
objections to it. " It is all very well," wrote a paper, devoted to
the improvement of the humbler classes, — " it is all very well
for a few savants to sit round a well-appointed table to feast
upon the succulent parts of a young, tender, and perfectly
healthy horse, especially if the steaks are ' aux truffes,' and the
kidneys stewed in ' Madeira ; ' but that young, tender, and per-
fectly healthy horse would cost more than an equally tender,
young, and perfectly healthy bullock or cow. So, where is the
advantage ? In order to obtain that advantage, horses only fit
for the knacker's yard, not fit for human food, would have to
be killed, and the hard-working artisan with his non-vitiated
taste, who does not even care for venison or game when it hap-
pens to be ' high,' would certainly not care for a superannuated
charger to be set before him. You.might just as well ask an
unsophisticated cannibal to feast upon an invalid. The best
part of the warrior on the shelf is his wooden leg or his wooden
arm ; the best part of the superannuated charger is his skin or
his hoof, with or without the shoe ; and no human being, whether
cannibal or not, can be expected to make a timber-yard, a tan-
ner's yard, or an old-iron and rag store of his stomach, even to
please faddists."
As a consequence, only two millions of pounds of horse-flesh
were " produced " during the first three years succeeding the
publication of that article (1866-69) 5 ^^^ ^^ ^^ more than doubt-
ful whether a sixteenth part of it was consumed as human food
— with a knowledge on the part of the consumers. And dur-
ing those three years, as if to prove the writer's words, the pub-
lic were being constantly fortified in their dislike with official
reports of the seizure of diseased horses on their way to the
four specially appointed slaughter-houses. I remember, that
in one week, twenty-four animals were thus confiscated by the
sanitary inspectors, "the flesh of which," added the Moniteur,
" would have probably found its way to the tables of the better
class Parisians, in the shape of Aries, Lorraine, or German
sausages. These commoditiss," it went on, " are never offered
by the manufacturer to the experienced proprietors of the ham
and beef shops (charcutiers), but to fruiterers, grocers, vendors
of so-called dainties, and dealers in preserved provisions."
The article had the effect of arousing the suspicion of the bet-
ter classes as well as of the poorer.
392 AAT ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
The number of " horse-butchers " had decreased by four
during the four years that had elapsed since their first establish-
ment with the Government's sanction, and the remaining eigh-
teen were not very prosperous when the siege brought the
question to the fore once more. The public could not afford
to be positively hostile to the scheme, but the assertion of the
rare advocates of the system, that they were enthusiastic, is
altogether beside the truth. They had to make the best of a
bad game, that was all. It is a very curious, but positive fact,
nevertheless, that I have heard Parisians speak favorably
afterwards of dog's and cat's flesh, even of rats baked in a pie ;
I have heard them say that, for once in a way, even under
ordinary circumstances, they would not mind partaking of those
dishes : I have never heard them express the same goodwill
towards horseflesh. Of course, I am alluding to those who
affected no partisanship, either one way or the other. One
thing is very certain : at the end of the siege the sight of a cat
or dog was a rarity in Paris, while by the official reports there
were thirty thousand horses left.
Meanwhile, the Academie des Sciences is attracting notice
by the reports of its sittings, in which the question of food is
the only subject discussed. Professor Dorderone reads a
paper on the utilization of beef and mutton fat ; and he com-
municates a new process with regard to kidney fat, which, up
till then, had withstood the attempts of the most celebrated
chefs for culinary purposes. He professes to have discovered
the means of doing away with the unpleasant taste and smell
which have hitherto militated against its use, he undertakes to
give it the flavor and aroma of the best butter from Brittany
and Normandy. M. Richard, the maire of La Villette, attempts
similar experiments with animal offal, which M. Dumas, the
great savant, declares highly satisfactory. M. Riche, one of
the superior officials of the Mint, transforms bullock's blood
into black puddings, which are voted superior to those hitherto
made with pig's blood. The nourishing properties of gelatine
are demonstrated in an equally scientific manner, and the
Academie des Sciences gradually becomes the rendezvous of the
fair ones of Paris, who come to take lessons in the culinary art.
" Mais, monsieur," says one, " maintenant que nous avons
du beurre, veuillez nous dire d'ou viendront nos epinards ? " *
" Don't let that trouble you, madame," is the answer ; " if
you will honor us with your presence next week, one of our
* " Mettre du beurre dans ses Epinards," means, figuratively, to increase one's comforts.
Editor.
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 393
learned friends from the Jardin des Plantes will tell you how
to grow salads, and perhaps asparagus, on your balcony and in
front of your windows, in less than a fortnight."
The learned professor is not trying to mystify his charming
interlocutor ; he honestly believes in what he says: and, a week
later, when " the friend from the Jardin des Plantes " has spoken,
there is a wonderful run on all the seed-shops near the Chatelet,
every one tries to borrow flower-pots from his neighbors, and
barrow-loads of mould are being trundled in long lines into
Paris. Wherever one goes, the eye meets careful housewives
bending over wooden boxes on the balconies; M. Philippe
Lockroy, the eminent actor and dramatist, the father of M.
Edouard Lockroy, the future minister of the Third Republic,
asks seriously why we should not revive the hanging gardens
of Semiramis, and sets the example by converting his fifth
floor balcony into a market garden, to the discomfiture of his son
who finds his erstwhile bedroom converted into a storehouse
for tools and less agreeable matter. - I may mention that M.
Lockroy did not abandon his project after a mere fleeting at-
tempt, nor when the necessity for it had disappeared, but that
at the hour I write (1883) he has taken a prize for pears grown
on that same balcony.
The mania spreads, and every one becomes, for the time be-
ing, a market-gardener in chambers. Even M. Pierre Joigneux,
the well-known horticulturist, and equally clever writer, is bitten
with it. That the thing was perfectly feasible, was proved
subsequently by M. Lockroy, but the latter did not imitate
the nigger who dug up the potatoes an hour after he had planted
them, to see if they were growing. That thoroughly inexperi-
enced persons should have indulged in such wild fancies is per-
haps not to be wondered at: but M. Joigneux was not one of
these, yet he provided an Englishman, who had come to pro-
pose the experiment to him, with all the necessary funds. " I
was perfectly certain that I should never see him again," he
said afterwards ; but, with all due deference, we may take
this as a shamefaced denial of his credulity. " Contrary to my
expectations,"' M. Joigneux went on, when he told us the tale
a few nights afterwards at the Cafe de la Paix^ — he lived in the
Rue du 4 Septembre,— " my Englishman did come back, ac-
companied by a porter who carried the requisite material. I
did not interfere with him in the least, but merely watched him.
I knew that in England they did pi-oduce ' gireen-stuff '- in that
way; though I was also aware of the difference between a few
blades and a serious crop."
S94- AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
Others, more ingenious still, began to argue that if it was
possible to produce vegetables in a fortnight by means of light
and a few handfuls of mould, it could not be difficult to produce
mushrooms with a much thicker layer of mould and in the
darkness of a cellar.
Fortunately, there is, as yet, a very decent kitchen-garden to
fall back upon. It lies between the fortifications and the forts ;
it has been somewhat pillaged at first, but the authorities have
organized several companies of laborers from among those
whom they have not been able to provide with arms, and those
who do not dig or delve keep watch against depredation. They
have a very simple uniform — a black kepi with crimson piping,
and a crimson belt round their waists. They are exposed to a
certain danger, for every now and then a stray German bullet
lays one of them low, but, upon the whole, their lot is not a
hard one.
" We have still nearly everything we want," writes a facetious
journalist ; " and now that good and obliging fellow, Gambetta,
is going to fetch us some cream cheese from the moon for our
dessert."
In fact, during the last few days, we have been informed of
the Minister of the Interior's impending departure for Tours
by balloon on the 7th of October, and by twelve o'clock on
that day the little Place St. Pierre, right on the heights of
Montmartre, is simply black with people. " The great states-
man," the " hero who is to rouse the provinces to unheard-of
efforts for the deliverance of the sacred soil of France from
the polluting presence of the Teutonic barbarian," has not
arrived yet when I edge my way through the crowd, accom-
panied by an officer on General Vinoy's staff, who is a near
relative of mine. With the recollection of my adventure in
the Avenue de Clichy fresh upon me, I would not have ven-
tured to come by myself. There is a military post on the
Place St. Pierre, and I am wondering whether it will turn out
to pay honors to " the great statesman ; " and whether Nadar,
the famous Nadar, whom I can see towering above the crowd,
and giving instructions, will treat Gambetta with the same
scant courtesy he once treated Louis-Napoleon, when the
latter went to see the ascent of his balloon, " Le Geant," from
the Champ-de-Mars. Nadar's behavior on that occasion
reminds one of Elizabeth's with the wife of Bishop Parker.
" * Madam,' " said the queen, " I rtiay not call you, and
' mistress ' I am loth to call you." Nadar was too fervent a
republican to call Louis-Napoleon "Majesty;" he was too
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 395
well-bred to insult his guest by addressing him as " Monsieur; "
so, when he saw the sovereign advancing, he backed towards
his car, and, before he could come up with him, gave orders to
" let go."
I do not know whether Gambetta came in a carriage. It
did not make its appearance on the Place St. Pierre ; he prob-
ably left it, like meaner mortals, at the foot of the very steep
hill. The cheering was immense, and he took it as if to the
manner born. He was accompanied by M. Spuller, who was to
take the journey with him, and who, even at that time, bore a
curious likeness to Mr. Spurgeon. M. Spuller did not appear
to claim any of the cheers for himself, for he kept perfectly
stolid. Gambetta, on the other hand, bowed repeatedly, at
which Nadar grinned. Nadar was always honest, if out-
spoken. He did not seem particularly pleased with the busi-
ness in hand, and was evidently determined to get it over as
soon as possible. Gambetta was still standing up, bowing and
waving his hands, when Nadar gave the order to " let go " the
ropes, and the dictator fell back into the lap of his companion.
The balloon rose rather quickly, and about nine that same
night we had the news that the balloon had safely landed in
the Department of the Oise, about twelve miles from Cler-
mont.
From that moment, the ascent of a balloon with its car, con-
taining one or two, sometimes three, wicker cages of carrier-
pigeons, becomes a favorite spectacle with the Parisians, who
would willingly see the departure of a dozen per day. For
each departure means not only the conveyance of a budget
of news from the besieged city to the provinces, it means
the return of the winged messengers with perhaps hopeful
tidings that the provinces are marching to the rescue.
I am bound to say, at the same time, that the terrible anx-
iety for such rescue did not arise solely from a wish to
escape further physical sufferings and privations. Three-
fourths of the Parisians would have been wilUng to put up
with worse for the sake of one terrible defeat inflicted upon
the Germans by their levies or by those in the provinces.
But though the gas companies did wonders, fifty-two balloons
having been inflated by them during the siege, they could do
no more. Nevertheless, the experiments continue : the brothers
Goddard have established their headquarters at the Orleans
Railway; MM. Dartois and Yon. at the Northern; Admiral
Labrousse, who has already invented an ingenious gun-carriage,
is now busy upon a navigable balloon ; the Government grants
396 A A' ENGL ISHMA N IiV PA RIS.
a subsidy of forty thousand francs to M. Dupuy de Lome to
assist him in his research ; and at the Grand Hotel there is a
permanent exhibition of appUances for navigating the air
under the direction of MM. Horeau and Saint-Felix. The
pubHc flock to them, and for a moment there is the hope that
if we ourselves cannot come and go as free as birds, there will
be at least a means of permanent communication with the
outer world that way. M. Granier has proposed to make an
aerial telegraph without the support of poles. The wire is to
be enclosed in a gutta-percha tube filled with hydrogen gas,
which will enable it to keep its altitude a thousand or fifteen
hundred metres above the earth. The cable is to be paid out
by balloons. M. Gaston Tissandier, a well-known authority
in such matters, looks favorably upon the experiment; but,
alas, it comes to nothing, and we have to fall back upon less
ingenious, more commonplace means.
In other words, we are offering tempting fees to plucky in-
dividuals who will attempt to cross the Prussian lines. Several
do make the attempt, and for a week or so the newspapers and
the walls swarm with the advertisements of a private firm who
will forward and receive despatches at the rate of ten francs
per letter. A good many messengers depart ; a good many
return almost at once, finding the task impossible ; those that
do not return have presumably been shot by the Prussians, for
not a single one reached his destination.
Then we begin to turn our thoughts to the sheep-dog as a
carrier of messages, or rather to the smuggler's dog, thousands
of which are known to exist on the Belgian and Swiss frontiers.
The postal authorities go even so far as to promise two hun-
dred francs for every batch of despatches if delivered within
twenty-four hours of the animal's departure from his starting-
place, and fifty francs less for every twenty-four hours' delay ;
but the animals fall a prey to the Prussian sentries, not one of
them succeeds in reaching the French outposts. The carrier-
pigeon is all we have left.
Still, we are not discouraged ; and in less than a month
after the investment, the Parisians begin to clamor for their
favorite amusement — the theatre. There are, of course, many
divergencies of opinion with regard to the fitness of the
rheasure, and we get some capital articles on the subject,
studded with witty sentences and relieved by historical anec-
dotes, showing that, whatever they may not know, French
journalists have an inexhaustible fund of parallels when it be-
comes a question of the playhouse. " In '92 the Lillois went
AM ENGLTSUMAN IN PARIS. 397
peacefully to the theatre while the shells were pouring into the
devoted city. Why should we be less courageous and less
cheerful than they ? " writes one. " Nero was fiddling while
Rome was burning," writes another, " but Paris is not on fire
yet ; and, if it were, the Nero who might be blamed for the
catastrophe is at Wilhelmshohe, where, we may be sure, he will
not eat a mouthful less for our pangs of hunger. If he does
not fiddle, it is because, like his famous uncle, he has no ear
for music."
" Whatever may happen," writes M. Francisque Sarcey in
the Gaulois^ " art should be considered superior to all things ;
the theatre is not a more unseemly pleasure under the circum-
stances than the perusal of a good book ; and it is just in the
darkest and saddest hours of his life that a man needs a diver-
sion which will, for a little while, at least, prevent him from
brooding upon his sufferings."
To which " Thomas Grimm," of Le Petit Journal^ who is on
the opposite side, replies : " If I may be allowed to intervene
in so grave a question, I have no hesitation in saying that the
time for singing and amusing ourselves has not arrived. It
seems to me very doubtful whether the spectators would not
be constantly thinking of scenes enacted in other spots than
behind the footlights. And in such moments, when they might
concentrate the whole of their attention on the pleasant fiction
enacted before them, the sound of the cannon thundering in
the distance would more than once recall them to the reality."
The ice was virtually broken, and on Sunday, the 23d of
October, the Cirque National opened its doors for a concert.
During the last five years, as my readers will perceive by the
almost involuntary break in these notes, I had not been so
assiduous a frequenter of the theatre and the concert hall as I
used to be, and though I was during the siege overburdened
with business, on the nature of which I need not dwell here, I
felt that I wanted some amusement. The evenings were be-
coming chilly, one of my cherished companions was doing his
duty with General Vinoy, and, though I had practically un-
limited means at my command for my necessities, and am by
no means sparing of money at any time, I grudged the price
of fuel. As yet, wood only cost six francs the hundredweight,
but it was such wood ! If the ancient proverb-coiner had been
seated in front of the hearth in which it was trying to burn, he
might have hesitated to write that "there is no smoke without
a fire." The friendly chats by the fireside, which I had en-
joyed for many years, had almost entirely ceased. Nearly all
398 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
my familiars were " on duty," and the few hours they could
snatch were either spent in bed, to rest from the fatigue and
discomforts of the night, or else at the cafes and restaurants,
where the news, mostly of an anecdotal kind, was circulating
freely. In fact, the cafes and restaurants, as long as there was
fuel and light, were more amusing during the siege than I had
known them to be at any time. Perhaps the most amusing
feature of these nightly gatherings was the presentation of the
bill after dinner. The prices charged at the Cafe de Paris in
its palmiest days were child's play compared to the actual ones.
I have preserved the note of a breakfast for two at Durand's.
frs.
Hors-d'CEuvres (Radishes and Sausage) 10
Entree (Navarin aux Pommes) 18
Filet de Boeuf aux Champignons 24
Omelette Sucree (3 oeufs) 12
Cafe I
I Bouteille de M^con 6
Total frs. 7 1
The bread and butter were included in the hors-d'oeuvres,
and I may remark that the entree and the filet de bceuf were
only for one. Durand's was the cheapest of the five restaurants
which still retained their ordinary clientele. Bignon, Voisin,
the Cafes de la Paix and Anglais were much dearer. The lat-
ter gave its patrons white bread as late as the i6th of December.
I made up my mind, then, to go to that concert at the Cirque
National, and to as many of the entertainments as might be
offered. I have rarely seen such a crowd outside a theatre ;
and 1 doubt whether the fact of the performance being for a
charitable purpose had much to do with it, because, if so, those
who were denied admission might have handed their money at
the box-office, but they did not, they only gave the reverse of
their blessing. If charity it was, it did not want to end at
home that afternoon.
The entertainment began with a charity sermon by the
Abbe Duquesnay, a hardworking priest in one of the thickly
populated quarters of Paris. I would willingly give another
ten francs to hear a similar sermon. I am positive that the
Abbe had taken Laurence Sterne for his model. I have
never heard anything so brilliant in my life. Not the slightest
attempt at thrusting religion down one's throat. A good many
quotations on the advantages of well-doing, notably that of
Shakespeare, -admirably translated, probably by the speaker
himself. Then the following to wind up with : " I do not
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 39^
know of a single curmudgeon who has ever been converted
into what I should call ' a genuine alms-giver,' by myself or
by my fellow-priests. When he did give, he looked upon the gift
as a loan to the Lord in virtue of that gospel precept which
you all know. Now, my good friends, allow me to give you
my view of that sentence : God is just, and no doubt He will
repay the loan with interest, but after He has settled the ac-
count. He will indict the lender before the Highest tribunal
for usury. Consequently, if you have an idea of placing your
money in that way with God as a security, you had better keep
it in your purses."
After this, the orchestra, nine-tenths of whose members are
in uniform, performs the overture to " La Muette de Portici "
(Masaniello) ; Pasdeloup conducting. Pasdeloup is a natu-
ralized German, whose real name is Wolfgang, but, in this in-
stance, the public do not seem to mind it ; nor is there any
protest against the names of two other Germans on the pro-
gramme, Weber's and Beethoven's. On the contrary, the
latter's composition is frantically encored. I believe it is the
symphony in C Mmor, for it has been wedded to Victor Hugo's
words, and it is Madame Ugalde who sings the stirring hymn
" Patria."
There is a story connected with this hymn, which is not
generally known. I give it as it was told to me a day or so
afterwards by Auber, who had it from the lips of Joseph Dar-
tigues, who, at the time of its occurrence, was the musical
Qritic of the Journal des Debafs.
Hugo was very young then, and one night he went to the
Theatre de Madame, which has since become the Gymnase.
The piece was one of Scribe's — " La Chatte metamorphosee en
Femme ; " and Jenny Vertpre, whom our grandfathers ap-
plauded at the St. James Theatre in the thirties, was to play
the principal part. Still, our poet was not particularly struck
with the plot, dialogue, or lyrics ; but, all at once, he sat up-
right in his seat, at the strains of a " Hindoo invocation."
When the music ceased, Hugo left the house, humming the
notes to himself. He was very fond of music, though he
could never reconcile himself to have his dramas appropriated
by the librettists, and gave his consent but very reluctantly.
Next morning, he met Dartigues on the Boulevard des Italiens
4hen the Boulevard de Gand. He told him what he had heard
and recommended the critic to go and judge for himself.
" It is so utterly different from the idiotic stuff one generally
hears." Dartigues acted upon the recommendation. A few
400 AA' ENGLISHMAN IN PARTS.
days later, they met once more. " Did you go and hear that
music, at the Theatre de Madame ? " asked Hugo.
" Yes," was the reply. " I am not surprised at your liking
it ; it is Beethoven's."
Curious to relate, Hugo had not as much as heard the name
of the great German composer. The acquaintance with classi-
cal music was very limited in the France of those days. But
Hugo never forgot the symphony, and, later on, in his exile,
he wrote the words I had just heard.
The impulse has been given, and from that moment the walls
of Paris display as many bills of theatrical and musical enter-
tainments as if the Germans were not at the gates. I go to
nearly all, and, to my great regret, hear a great many actors
and actresses who have received favors and honors at the hand
of Louis-Napoleon vie with one another in casting obloquy
upon him and his reign. One of the few honorable exceptions
is M. Got, who, being invited to recite Hugo's "Chatiments,"
emphatically refuses " to kick a man when he is down."
At the Theatre-Fran9ais, there is a special box — the erst-
while Imperial box — for the convalescents, who are being
tended in the theatre itself.
But though I went to hear IMelchisedec and Taillade, Caron
and Berthelier, there is one performance that stands out viv-
idly from the rest in my memory. It was a representation of
Hugo's " Le Roi s'amuse " (" The Fool's Revenge "), at the
theatre at Montmartre. Under ordinary circumstances, I should
probably not have gone so far afield to see any piece, not even
that which was reputed to be the masterpiece of Victor Hugo, but,
in this instance, the temptation was too great. The play had
only been performed in Paris once — on the 2 2d of November,
1832 ; next day it was suspended by order of the Govern-
ment. Alexandre Dumas the elder, Theophile Gautier, Nestor
Roqueplan, all of whom were present on that memorable night,
had spoken to me of its beauties. I had often promised my-
self to read it, and had never done so. If I had, I should proba-
bly not have gone to Montmartre that night, lest my illusions
should be disturbed. The performance was intended as a
tribute to the genius of the poet, but also as an act of defiance
on the part of the young Republic to the preceding re'gimes ;
though why it was not revived during the Second Republic I
have never been able to make out clearly.
My companion and I toiled up the steep Rue des Martyrs,
and it was evident to us, when we got to the Place du Theatre,
that something unusual was going on, for the little square was
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 4.0 T
absolutely black with people, We managed, however, to elbow
our way through, and to get two stalls. The house was dimly
lighted by gas, the deficiency made up, as far as I could see,
by lamps in the auditorium, by candles on the stage. There
was not an empty seat anywhere. The overture, consisting of
snatches from ""Rigoletto," was received with deafening ap-
plause, and then the curtain rose upon the magnificent hall in
the Louvre of Francois I., with the king surrounded by his
courtiers and his favorites. By his side hobbled Triboulet, his
evil genius, as Hugo has represented him.
My disappointment was great. I had come to admire, not
expecting magnificent scenery, gorgeous costumes, or tran-
scendent acting, but a spirit of reverence for the immortal crea-
tion of a great poet. At that time I was not sufficiently famil-
iar with provincial art in England to be able to picture a
performance of Shakespeare except under conditions such as
prevail in the best of London theatres. I had read accounts,
however, of strolling companies and their doings, but I doubt
whether the humblest would have been guilty of such utter
iconoclasm in the spirit as well as in the letter as I witnessed
that night. It was not comic, it was absolutely painful. It
was not the glazed calico doing duty for brocade, that made me
wince ; it was not the anti-macassar replacing lace that made
me gasp for breath : it was the miserable failure of those
behind the footlights, as well as of those in front, to grasp the
meaning of the simplest line. They had been told that this
play was an indictment, not against a libertine king, but against
generations and generations of rulers to whom debauch was as
the air they breathed. And, in order to make the lesson more
striking, Saint-Vallier was represented as an old dotard, Tribou-
let as a pander, the king as an amorous Bill Sykes, and Tri-
boulet's daughter as an hysterical young woman who virtually
gloried in her dishonor. I had seen " Orphee aux Enfers,"
" La Belle Helene," and " La Grande Duchesse ; " I had
heard Schneider at her best and at her worst ; I had heard
women of birth and breeding titter, and gentlemen roar, at al-
lusions which would make a London coal-heaver blush ; — I had
never seen anything so downright degrading as this perform-
ance. And when, at last, XkiQciramatis personcp, gz.'Cci&x^di xown^
a bust of Hippocrates — the best substitute for one of Victor
Hugo they could find, — and one of them recited " Les Chati-
ments," I left, hoping that I should never see such an exhibi-
tion again. It was one of the first deliberately planned lessons
in " king-hatred" I had heard. The disciples looked to me
26
402 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
very promising, and the Commune, when it came, was not such
a surprise to me, after all. Before then, I had come to the
conclusion that the barbarians outside the gates of Paris were
less to be feared than those inside — the former, at any rate,
believed in a chief ; the motto of the others was, " Ni Dieu, ni
maitre."
Meanwhile, the long winter nights have come. The stock
of gas is pretty well exhausted, or tantamount to it ; wood,
similar to that I have described already, has risen to seven
francs fifty centimes the hundredweight. Beef and mutton
have entirely disappeared from the butchers' stalls. Rats are
beginning to be sold at one franc apiece, and eggs cost thirty
francs a dozen. Butter has risen to fifty francs the half-kilo-
gramme (about seventeen ozs., English). Carrots and potatoes
fetch, the first, forty francs, the second, twenty francs, the peck
(English). I am being told that milk is still to be had, but I
have neither tasted nor seen any for ten days. Personally, I
do not feel the want of it ; but in my visits to some of the poor
in my neighborhood I am confronted by the fact of little ones,
between two and three years of age, being fed on bread soaked
in wine, and suffering from various ailments in consequence.
I am pursuing some inquiries at the various mairies, and
find that the death-rate for October has reached nearly three
thousand above the corresponding month of the previous year.
I am furthermore told that not a third of this increase is due
to the direct results of the siege^that is, to death on the bat-
tle-field, or resulting from wounds received there ; typhus and
low fever, anaemia, etc., are beginning to ravage the inhabitants.
Worse than all, the authorities have made a mistake with re-
gard to the influx of strangers. The seventy-five thousand
aliens and Parisians who have left at the beginning of the siege
have been replaced by three times that number, so that Paris
has virtually one hundred and fifty thousand more mouths to
feed than it counted upon. "All the women, children, and old
men," says one of my informants, " ought to have been re-
moved to some provincial centre ; it would have cost no more,
and would have left those who remained free for a more ener-
getic defence. And you will scarcely believe it, monsieur, but
here is the register to prove it ; there have been nearly four
hundred marriages celebrated during the past month. It looks
to me like tying the Gordian knot with a vengeance."
One thing I cannot help remarking amidst all this suffering,
the Parisian never ceases to be witty. Among my pensioners
there was the wife of a hard-working, frugal upholsterer, whose
AjV englishman in PARIS. 403
trade was absolutely at a standstill. He was doing his duty
on the fortifications ; she was keeping the home together on
the meagre pittance allowed to her husband by the Govern-
ment, and the rations doled out to her every morning. The
youngest of her three children was barely four weeks old. One
morning, to my great surprise, I found two infants in her lap.
" C'est comme 9a, monsieur," she said, with a wan smile.
" Andre found it on a doorstep in the Rue Mogador, and he
brought it home, saying, ' It won't make much difference ;
Nature laid the table for two infants.' "
The Parisian is a born lounger. Balzac had said, " Fla-
ner est une science, c'est la gastronomic de I'ceil." Seeing
that it is the only gastronomy they can enjoy under the cir-
cumstances, the Parisians take to it with a vengeance during
those months of October and November, and their favorite
halting-places are the rare provision-shops that have still a
fowl, or a goose, or a pigeon in their windows. The sight of
a turkey causes an obstruction, and the would-be purchaser of
a rabbit is mobbed like the winner of a great prize in the lot-
tery. Nine times out of ten the negotiations do not go beyond
the preliminary stage of inquiring the price, because vendors
are obstinate, though polite.
" How much for the rabbit ? " says the supposed Nabob, for
the very fact of inquiring implies wealth.
" Forty-five francs, monsieur."
"You are joking. Forty-five francs! It's simply ridicu-
lous," protests the other one.
" I am not joking, monsieur ; and I cannot take a farthing
less."
The would-be diner goes away ; but he has scarcely gone a
few steps, when the dealer calls him back. "Listen, mon-
sieur," he cries.
Hope revives in the other's breast. His fancy conjures up
a savory rabbit-stew, and he leaps rather than walks the dis-
tance that separates him from the stall.
" Ventre affamd a des oreilles pour sur," says a bystander.*
" Well, how much are you going to take oif ? "
" I am not going to take off a penny, but I thought I might
tell you that this rabbit plays the drum."
Some of the jokes, though, were not equally innocent, and
revealed a callousness on the part of the perpetrators which it
is not pleasant to have to record. True, they did not affect
the very poor, whose poverty was, as it were, a guarantee
* The proverb is, " Ventre affam^ n'a pas d'oreilles."— Editor.
404 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
t
against them ; but it is a moot point whether the well-to-do
should be shamelessly robbed by the well-to-do tradesman for
no other reason than to increase the latter's hoard. Greed,
that abominable feature in the character of the PYench middle-
classes, show^ed itself again and again under circumstances
which ought to have suspended its manifestations for the time
being.
I have already noted that one member of the Academic des
Sciences had insisted upon the benefits to be derived from the
extraction of gelatine from bones. A great number of equally
learned men simply scouted the idea as preposterous, notably
Dr. Gannal, the well-known authority on embalming. His
opposition w^ent so far as to prompt him to submit his family
and himself to the " ordeal," as he called it. At the end of a
week, all of them were reduced to mere skeletons ; and then,
but then only. Dr. Gannal sent for his learned colleagues to
attest the effects. The drowning man will proverbially cling
to a straw ; consequently, some Parisians took to gelatine, un-
deterred by the clever lampoons, one of which I quote : —
*' L'inventeur de la gelatine.
A la chair preferant les os ;
Veut desormais que chacun dine
Avec un jeu de dominos."
They, however, did so with their eyes open, and as a last re-
source : not so those who were imposed upon, and induced to
part with their money for cleverly imitated calves' heads,
which, as a matter of course, merely left a gluish substance at
the bottom of the saucepan, to the indignation of anxious
housewives and irate cooks, one of whom took her revenge one
day by clapping the saucepan and its contents on the head of
the fraudulent dealer, and, while the latter was in an utterly
defenceless state, triumphantly stalking away with two very
respectable fowls. The shopkeeper had the impudence to
seek redress in a court of law. The judge would not so much
as listen to him.
Another curious feature of the siege was the sudden passion
developed by cooks for what I must be permitted to call culi-
nary literature. As a rule, the French cordon-bleu, and even
her less accomplished sisters, do not go for their recipes to
cooker3'-books ; theirs is knowledge gained from actual expe-
rience : but at that period such works as, " Le Livre de Cuisine
de Mademoiselle Marguerite," " La Cuisiniere Pratique," etc..
were to be found on everv kitchen table. The cooks had sim-
A AT EJ^GLISHMAN^ IJV PARIS. 405
ply taken to them in despair, not believing a single word of
their contents, but on the chance of finding a hint that might
lend itself to the provisions placed at their disposal. I refrain
from giving their criticisms on the authors : the forcibleness
of their language could only be done justice to by such mas-
ters of realism as M. Zola. I have spoken before now of the
uniform good temper of the Parisians under the most trying
circumstances ; I beg to append a rider, excluding cooks, but
especially female ones. " C'est comme si on essayait d'en-
seigner le patinage a la femme aux jambes de bois du boule-
vard," said the ministering angel to one of my bachelor friends.
One day, to my great surprise, on calling on him I found him
reading. He was not much given to poring over books, though
his education had been a very good one.
" What are you doing ? " I asked.
" I am reading More's ' Utopia,' " he said, putting down the
volume.
" What do you mean ? " I remarked, pointing to the cover,
displaying a young woman bending over stewpans.
" This is More's ' Utopia,' to me at present. It speaks of
things which will never be realized ; supreme de volaille, tour-
nedos a la poivrade, and so forth. The book wants another
chapter," he went- on, " a chapter treating of the food of be-
sieged cities. The Dutch might have written it centuries ago ;
at Leyden they were on the point of eating their left arms,
while defending themselves with their right ; they could have
told us how to stew the former. If one could add a chapter
to that effect, the book might go through a hundred new edi-
tions, and the writer might make a fortune. It would not do
him much good, for he would be expected to live up to his
precepts, and not touch a morsel of that beautiful kangaroo or
elephant I saw yesterday on the Boulevard Haussmann."
At that moment a mutual acquaintance came in. He had
been a lieutenant in the Foreign Legion, and lost his right
foot before Constantine. Noticing our host's doleful looks, he
inquired the cause, and we got another spoken essay on the
difhculties of the situation as connected with the food supply.
I may add that, wherever a few men were gathered together,
this became invariably the absorbing topic of conversation.
The ex-lieutenant laughed outright. " You are altogether
laboring under a mistake ; there is plenty of food of a kind left,
though 1 admit with you that the Parisian does not know how
to prepare it."
" Will you teach them ? " was the query. '
4o6 AA' englishman in PARIS.
*' I will not, because they would simply sneer at me. Feed-
ing is simply a matter of prejudice ; and, to prove it to you, I
will give you a breakfast to-morrow morning which you will
appreciate. But I am not going to tell you of what it consists,
nor will I do so until two days after the entertainment."
We accepted the invitation, though I must confess that I
was not eager about it. Nevertheless, next day, about one,
we were seated at the hospitable board of our ex-lieutenant,
who, three weeks before, had dismissed his female servant and
was waited upon by an old trooper, with one arm. Though
perfectly respectful, Joseph received us with a broad grin, which,
as the repast progressed, was contracted into a proud smile.
He had evidently co-operated with his master in the concoction
of the dishes, all of which, I am bound to say, were very savory.
In fact, I was like that new tenant of the house haunted by a
laughing ghost. But for the knowledge that there was some-
thing uncanny about it, I would have been intensely gratified
and amused. Our host told us, with great glee, that Joseph
had been up since a quarter-past four that morning ; and that
before five he was at the Halles. As we could distinctly taste
the onions in the stew that served as an entree, and as the
potatoes round the next dish were visible to the naked eye, we
concluded that the old trooper had got up so early to buy
vegetables, and were correspondingly grateful. There was no
mystery whatsoever about the fish, and about the entremets.
The first was dry cod — but with a sauce such as I had never
tasted before nor have since. The latter was a delicious dish
of sweet macaroni, fit to set before a prince. I repeat, but for
my knowledge that there was something uncanny about that
meal, I would have asked permission to come every day. Yet
I felt almost equally convinced that, with regard to one dish,
we had been doubly mystified — that they were larks, which
our host had managed to procure somehow, though I missed
the bones.
True to his word, our Amphitryon revealed the real ingre-
dients of the menu forty-eight hours after. The entree had
been composed of very small mice — field-mice, I think we call
them in England ; the second dish was rat. Not a single ounce
of butter or lard had been used in the sauces or for the macaroni.
The dried cod was still plentiful enough to be had at any
grocer's or salted-provision-shop. Instead of butter, Joseph
used horse-marrow. The horse-butchers sold the bones ridic-
ulously cheap, not having the slightest idea what to do with
them. The mice, Joseph caught round about the fortifications,
A A' ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
407
whither he went almost every day. The rats he caught in the
cellarage of the Halles. He had a cousin there in a large way
of business, and access to the underground part of the market
was never refused to him.
" From what you have tasted at my rooms," concluded the
ex-lieutenant, " you will easily see that our vaunted superiority
as cooks is so much humbug. The dish of cod 1 gave you,
and which you liked so much, may be seen on the table of
the poorest household in Holland and Flanders at least once,
sometimes twice, a week, especially in North-Brabant, where
the good Catholics scarcely ever eat anything else on Fridays.
The sauce, which they call a mustard-sauce, would naturally
be better if made with butter, but you could not taste the dif-
ference if the cook takes care to sprinkle a' little saffron in
her fat or marrow. Saffron is a great thing in cooking, and
still our best chefs know little or nothing about it. But for the
saffron, you would have detected a slight odor of musk in
the entree you took to be larks. You may almost disguise
anything with saffron, except dog's-flesh. Listen to what I tell
you, and in a month or so, perhaps before, you'll admit the
truth of my words. The moment horseflesh fails, the Parisians
will fall back upon dogs, turning up their noses at cats and
rats, though both are a thousand times superior to the latter.
In saying this, I am virtually libelling the cat and the rat ;
for ' the friend of man,' be he cooked in ever so grand a way,
is always a detestable dish. His flesh is oily and flabby ; stew
him, fry him, do what you will, there is always a flavor of castor
oil about him. The only way to minimize that flavor, to make
him palatable, is to salt, or rather to pepper him ; that is, to
cut him up in slices, and leave them for a fortnight, bestrewing
them very liberally with pepper-corns. Then, before 'accom-
modating ' them finally, put them into boiling water for a while
and throw the water away.
" No such compromises are necessary with 'the fauna of the
tiles,' who, with his larger-sized victim, the rat, has been the
most misprized and misjudged of all animals, from the culinary
point of view. Stewed puss is by far more delicious than
stewed rabbit. The flesh of the former tastes less pungent
than that of the latter, and is more tender. As for the preju-
dice against cat, well, the Germans have the same prejudice
against rabbit, and while I was in the Foreign Legion there
was a VVurtemberger, a lieutenant, who would not touch bunny,
but who would devour grimalkin. Those who have not tasted
couscoussu of cat, prepared according to the Arabian recipe —
4o8 AA^ ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
though the Arabs won't touch it — have never tasted any-
thing." *
Our friend said much more, notably with regard to rat and
horseflesh ; and then he wound up : " But what is the good ?
Those who might benefit by my advice are not here, and, if
they were, they w^ould probably scorn it ; I mean the very poor.
The only item of animal food which cannot be adequately re-
placed by something else yielding as much or nearly as much
nourishment is milk. But, unless an adult be in delicate health
or suffering from ailments to the alleviation and cure of which
milk is absolutely necessary, he may very well go without it
for six months. Not so children. I am only showing you
that the poor, with their slender resources — and Heaven knows
they are slender enough — might do better than they are doing,
for cats and rats must still be very plentiful, only they won't
touch them."
The reference to the very poor and their slender resources
recurred more than once that evening, but I knew that the au-
thorities were trying to do all they could in the way of reliev-
ing general and individual distress, and that they were admi-
rably seconded by private charity, which not only placed com-
paratively large sums at their disposal, but bestirred itself by
means of specially appointed committees and visitors. The ra-
tions of meat (horsemeat) and bread distributed were not suffi-
cient. The first had already fallen to forty-five grammes per
day per head, the second to three hundred and fifty grammes ;t
they were to fall much lower. Tickets were also distributed
for set meals, with and without meat. There was, furthermore,
a distribution of fuel, albeit that there was really no more fuel
to distribute. All the wooden seats in the public thorough-
fares, the scaffoldings before the half-finished buildings, had
disappeared. At one of my friend's apartments there was none
but the outer door left, all the others had been replaced by
curtains. They had been chopped up to keep his family
warm. The fear of the terrible landlord may have prevented
the poor from imitating this proceeding. At any rate, I no-
ticed no absent doors in my visits to any of them. A further
supply of meat or bread, even if they had the money, was out
of the question for them ; because, though some shops re-
mained open and their owners were compelled to sell according
* The Arab kuskus generally consists of a piece of mutton baked in a paste vi-ith the
vegetables of the season, flavored with herbs -, and the addition of half a dozen hard-boiled
eggs. The whole of the flesh is boned.— Editor.
t Five hundred French grammes make seventeen ounces English, and a fraction.—
Editor,
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
409
to the tariff set forth by the municipality, they had nothing to
sell. I remember being in the Rue Lafayette one morning,
near one of those shops, when I saw the whole of the crowd,
that had been waiting there for hours probably, turn away dis-
appointed. The assistant had just told them that "this morn-
ing we have nothing to sell but preserved trufties."
At the same time, I am bound to note the fact that, at the
slightest rumors of peace, the usually empty windows became
filled with artistically arranged pyramids of " canned " provi-
sions, at prices considerably below those charged twenty-four
hours before, and even below those mentioned in the munici-
pal tariff. Frequent attempts were made by the police to
discover the hiding-places for this stock, but they failed in
every instance. Those hiding places were far away from the
shops, and the shopkeepers themselves were too wary to be
caught napping. A stranger might have safely gone in and
offered a hundred francs for half a dozen tins of their wares.
They would have looked a perfect blank, and told him they
had none to sell : and no wonder ; their detection would have
meant certain death ; no earthly power could have saved them
from the legitimate fury of the populace.
And even those who bought the hidden food at abnormal
prices were compelled to preserve silence, at the risk of seeing
their supplies cut off. One thing is certain, and I can unhesi-
tatingly vouch for it. JVIy name had become known in connec-
tion with several committees for the relief of the poor. On
the 25th of January, at 11 a. m., when the negotiations between
Bismarck and M. Jules Favre could have been but in the pre-
liminary stage, I received a note, brought by hand, from a
grocer in the Faubourg Montmartre, asking me to call person-
ally, as he had something to communicate which might be
to the advantage of my proteges. An hour later I was at his
establishment, and he offered to sell me five hundred tins of
various provisions and two hundred and fifty boxes of sar-
dines at two francs each. It was something like double the
ordinary price. A little more than three weeks before that date,
I had sent a letter to the same man, asking him for a similar
quantity of goods, which I intended to distribute as New
Year's gifts. The reply, was, that he had none, but that he
m\^\. possibly procure them at the rate of five francs a tin and
box. I found out afterwards, that the excellent grocer had a
son at the Ministry for Foreign Affairs. I need not point out
the logical deduction.
I am equally certain that there were large quantities of
41 o A A' ENGLISHMAN IN PA RIS.
horseflesh, salted or fresh, hidden somewhere ; for, as I have
already noted, it was officially, or at any rate semi-officially
stated, that, on the day of the conclusion of the armistice,
there were thirty thousand live horses in Paris, and the greater
part of these would have been slaughtered by order of the
Government, if the measure had been thought expedient, for
there is scarcely any need to say that the pretext of their being
wanted for military purposes would not hold water, A sixth
part of them, or less, would have been amply sufficient for that.
In reality, M. Favre and his colleagues were by this time fully
convinced that all further resistance was useless, but they
had not the courage to say so' frankly, and they wished to con-
vert the advocates of " resistance to death " to their side by
aggravating the scarcity of the food supply, as if it were not
bad enough already. The horses confiscated by the Govern-
ment for food were paid for by them at the rate of between
one and two francs per pound, yet there was no possibility of
buying a single pound of horseflesh, beyond what was distrib-
uted at the municipal canteens, for less than seven, or eight
francs. Whence this difference ?
Butter could be bought for thirty to thirty-five francs per
pound, but such butter ! Anything worth eating commanded
sixty francs. Inhere was a kind of grease that fetched two
francs per pound, but even the poorest shrank from it, and pre-
ferred to eat dry bread, which was composed as follows : —
(For a Loaf of 3cxd Grammes.)
75 grammes of wheat.
15 " " rye, barley, or peas.
60 " '* rice.
90 " " oats.
30 " " chopped straw mixed with starch.
30 " " bran.
As for the rest, here are some of the prices — at which, how-
ever, things were not always to be had : —
frs.
A dog or a cat 20
A rat, crow, or sparrow 3 or 4
I lb. of bear's flesh 12
I lb. of venison 14
I lb, of wolf's flesh, or porcupine's 8
A rabbit 40
A fowl 40
A pigeon , 25
A goose 80
A turkey 100
I lb. of ham (vefy rare) 10
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 41 1
1 lb. of bacon (not so rare) 6
Eggs (each) c
Haricot beans (per litre) 8
Cabbages (each) 16
Leeks (each) i
Bushel of carrots (2^ gallons) 75
Bushel of potatoes 35
Bushel of onions 00
Still, until the very last, there occurred, as far as I know, no
case of actual starvation, and I was pretty well posted up in
that respect. The very young and very old suffered most :
for the milk that was sold at two francs per litre was simply
disgraceful, three-fourths of it was water ; and beef-tea, or that
worthy of the name, was not to be had at any price. Both
commodities were distributed to the poor at the municipal
canteens, on the certificate of a doctor ; but the latter, though
by no means hard-hearted, and thoroughly sympathetic with
the ills he was scarcely able to alleviate, had to draw the line
somewhere. Of bedding, bed-linen, and warm underclothing
there was little or no lack ; but the cold, for several days, at
frequent intervals was severe to a degree.
Our ex-lieutenant's reference to the poor and their slender
resources recurred frequently to my mind for several days
after the scene described above, and set me wondering how
far the poor had parted, finally or temporarily, with their house-
hold goods and small valuables in order to obtain some of the
quasi-luxuries I have just enumerated. In order to get at the
truth of the matter, I determined to pay a visit to the central
pawnbroking ofhce in the Rue des Blancs Manteaux. I pro-
vided myself with a letter of introduction to the director, who
placed an official at my disposal. This was towards the latter
end of December.
I transcribe my informant's statement in brief and from
memory, but I am positive as to main facts. Up till the end
of August the transactions at the central office, which virtually
included those of the whole of the capital, presented nothing
abnormal, but the moment the investment became an almost
foregone conclusion, there was a positive run on the Mont-de-
Piete. The applicants for loans, however, were by no means
of the poorest or even of the lower-middle class, but the well-
to-do people, whose chief aim was to place their valuables in
safety, and who looked upon the 9 1-2 per cent, interest they
had to pay on the advances received as a premium for ware-
housing and insurance. They knew that nothing could be
more secure than the fire and burglar proof receptacles of the
412 A .Y E:\ GL ISHMA N IN PA RIS.
Mont-de-Piet6, and that, come what might, the State would be
responsible for the value of the articles deposited.
This run ceased when the investment was an accomplished
fact, but, as a matter of course, the financial resources had
been put to a severe test, and, at the time my informant spoke
to me, they had dwindled from nearly eight millions of francs,
at which they were computed in the beginning of August, to
about three-quarters of a million. The order of the mayor of
Paris, intended to prevent this, had come too late. The decree
of 1863, limiting the maximum of a loan to ten thousand francs
at the chief office, and to five hundred francs at any of the
auxiliary ones, had been suspended in favor of a decision that,
during the investment, no loan should exceed fifty francs.*
From the 19th of September to the end of October, the cessa-
tion from rt-// labor, and, consequently, the non-receipt of wages
throughout the capital, had to be faced in the acceptance of
thousands of pledges, consisting of household goods, apparel,
etc. ; but, curiously enough, workmen's tools and implements
formed but a small proportion of these. At present, the whole
of the business was at a standstill ; there was no redemption
of pledges, and few were ofi^ered.t
Meanwhile, Christmas and the New Year were at hand, and
not a single sortie had led to any practical modification of the
situation. The cold was intense. Coal and coke could be
obtained for neither money nor love. The street lamps had
not been lighted for nearly a month ; up till the end of October,
one had been lighted here and there ; then there had been an
attempt to supply the absence of gas by paraffin in the public
thoroughfares, but the stock of mineral oil was also getting
lower. Most of the shops were closed, but, at the advent of
the festive season, a few took down their shutters and made a
feeble display of bonbons in sugar and chocolate, and even of
marrons glaces. I doubt whether these articles found many
purchasers. The toy-shops never took the trouble of exhibit-
ing at all. They were wise in their abstention, for even the
most ignorant Parisian was aware that nine-tenths of the wares
in these establishments hailed from Germany, and he would
* A similar measure had been decided upon in 1814, under analogous circumstances, but
the maximum was twenty francs instead of fifty francs. — Editor.
t A curious feature in connection with the pledging of tools and implements may be re
corded here. At the termination of the siege, a committee in London transmitted 20,000
francs (iJ8oo) for the express purpose of redeeming these. The Paris committee entrusted
with the task, while grateful for the solicitude shown, rightly considered that it would not go
very far, considering that, at the time, the Mont-de-Piet^ held a total of 1,708,549 articles,
representing loans to the amountof 37,502,743 francs. The authorities took particular pains
to publish tne receipt of the 20,000 francs, and the purposes thereof. Within a given time,
they returned 6,430 francs to the committee. Only 2,383 tobls (or sets of tool?) had been
redeemed, representing a lent value of 13,570 francs.
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 413
assuredly have smashed the windows if they had been offered
for sale. Nay, the booths that make their appearance on the
Boulevards at that time of the year displayed few toys, except
of a military kind. It was very touching, in after years, to
hear the lads and lassies refer to the ist of January, 187 1, as
the New Yearns Day without the New Yearns gifts.
Nevertheless, it must not be thought that Paris was given
over to melancholy on these two days. Crowds perambulated
the streets and sat in the cafes. In spite of all that has been
said by ultra-patriotic writers, I am inclined to think that the
Parisians no longer cherished any illusions about the possibil-
ity of retrieving their disasters, though many have thought
that the besiegers would abstain, at the last moment, from
shelling the city. The Government — whether with the inten-
tion of cheering the besieged or for the purpose of exhausting
their stock of provisions as quickly as possible, in order to
capitulate with better grace — had made the city a magnificent
New Year's gift of
104,000 kilogrammes of preserved beef,
52,000 " " dried haricot beans,
52,000 " " olive oil,
52,000 " " coffee (not roasted),
52,000 " " chocolate;
which gift elicited the reply of a group of artists and litterateurs
that, though thankful for their more epicurean brethren and
sisters, they, the litterateurs and artists, had fared very well on
Christmas Day and would meet again on New Year's Day to
discuss the following menu : —
" Consomme de Cheval au millet.
Brochettes de Foie de Chien ^ la Maitre d'Hotel.
Emince de Rable de Chat, Sauce Mayonnaise.
Epaules et Filets de Chien braises i la Sauce Tomate.
Civet de Chat aux Champignons.
Cotelettes de Chien aux Champignons.
Gigots de Chien flanques de Ratons.
Sauce Poivrade.
Begonias au Jus.
Plum-pudding au Rhum et i la Moelle de Cheval."
Simultaneously with the publication of the menu, a dealer
in the St. Germain Market put up a new sign-board : —
« RESISTANCE A OUTRANCE.
"Grande Boucherie Canine et Feline.
" L'heroique Paris 'brave les Prussiens ;
II ne sera jamais vaincu par la famine !
Quand il aura mange la race chevaline
II maugera ses rats, et ses chats, et ses chiens."
414 ^^^ ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
The proprietor of a cookshop in the Rue de Rome had con-
fined himself to prose, but prose which, to those who could
read it aright, was much cleverer than the poetry of his tran-
spontine fellow-tradesman.
"VIN A DIX-HUIT SOUS
ET EAU-DESSUS.
RossE Beef.
Rat Gout de Mouton." *
Personally, I have eaten the flesh of elephants, wolves, cas-
sowaries, porcupines, bears, kangaroos, rats, cats, and horses.
I did not touch dog's-flesh knowingly after I had been
warned by our ex-lieutenant; The proprietor of the English
butcher-shop, M. Debos, who was not an Englishman at all,
supplied most of these strange dishes : for he bought nearly
all the animals from the Zoological Gardens, at tremendous
prices. These were only the animals from the Jardin d' Ac-
climation in the Bois, which had been sent as guests to the Jar-
din des Plantes. The elephants belong to the latter establish-
ment, and were sold to M. Debos for twenty-seven thousand
francs. In January I was elected a member of the Jockey
Club, but I had dined there once before by special invitation.
I give the meau as far as I remember :
" Soupe au Poireau.
Aloyau de Bceuf.
Poule au Riz.
Flageolets aux Jus.
Biscuits de Reims glaces.
Charlotte aux Pommes."
In spite of the hope that Paris would escape being shelled,
minute instructions how to act, in the event of such a calam-
ity, had been posted on the walls. In fact, if speechifying
and the promulgation of decrees could have saved the city,
Trochu first, and the rest afterwards, would have so saved it.
But I have solemnly promised myself at the outset of these
* Here are the two English readings, as far as I am able to give them : —
"WINE AT EIGHTEEN SOUS THE LITRE
AND UPWARDS.
Roast Beef.
Ragout of Mutton."
"WINE AT EIGHTEEN SOUS THE LITRE
AND WATER ATOP.
Old Crock's Flesh.
Rat tasting of Mutton." — Editor.
AA^ ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
415
notes not to be betrayed into any criticism of the military
operations, and I will endeavor to keep my promise to myself.
The first and foremost result of these directions on the part
of the Government was a display of waterbutts, filled to the
brim, in the passage, and of sand-heaps in the yard of every
building. As the months went by, and there was no sign of a
bombardment, the contents of the casks became so much
solid ice, and the sand-heaps disappeared beneath the accumu-
lated snow, to be converted into slush and mire at the first
thaw, which gave us, at the same time, a kind of miniature
deluge; because, as a matter of course, the barrels had sprung
leaks which were not attended to at the time.
And when, early on the 5th of January, the first projectiles
crashed down upon some houses in the south of Paris, the peo-
ple were simply astonished, but still deluded themselves into
the belief that it was a mistake, that the " trajectory" had been
miscalculated, and that the shells had carried farther than was
intended. To a certain extent they had good grounds for their
supposition. They had heard the big cannon boom and roar
at frequent intervals ever since the morning of the 27th of De-
cember, and been given to understand that it was merely a big
artillery duel for the possession of the plateau d' Avron, between
the positions of Noisy-le-Grand and Gournay on the enemy's
side, and the forts of Nogent, Rosny, and Noisy on that of the
French. They were, furthermore, under the impression that
the shelling of the city would be preceded by a final summons
to surrender : they had got that notion mostly from their mili-
tary dramas and popular histories. But there were men, better
informed than the majority of the masses, who made sure that,
if not the Parisians themselves, the foreign consuls and the
aliens under their charge would receive a sufficiently timely
notice, in order to leave the city if they felt so minded.
The 5th of January was a bitterly cold day ; it had been
freezing hard during the whole of the night, and, as I wended
my way across the Seine, about noon, the mist, which had been
hanging over the river, was slowly rising in banked and jagged
masses, with only a rift here and there for the pitilessly glacial
sun to peer through and mock at our shivering condition.
When I got to the Boulevard Montparnasse, I met several
stretchers, bearing sentries who had been absolutely frozen to
within an ace of death.
I know nothing of the military import of a bombardment,
but have been told that even the greatest strategists only count
upon the moral effect it produces upon the besieged inhabit-
4 1 6 A A' ENGL ISHMA N I A ' PARIS.
ants. I can only say this : if Marshal von Moltke took the
" moral effect" of his projectiles into his calculations to accel-
erate the surrender of Paris, he might have gone on shelling
Paris for a twelvemonth without being one vi^hit nearer his aim :
that is, if I am to judge by the scene I witnessed on that Janu-
ary morning, before familiarity with the destruction-dealing
shells could have produced the proverbial contempt. At the
risk of offending all the sensation-mongers, foreign and native,
with pen or with pencil, I can honestly say that a broken-down
omnibus and a couple of prostrate horses would have excited
as much curiosity as did the sight of the battered tenements at
Vaugirard, Montrouge, and Vanves. On the Chaussee du
Maine, the roadway had been ploughed up for a distance of
about half a dozen yards by a shell ; in another spot, a shell
had gone clean through the roof and killed a woman by the
side of her husband ; in a third, a shell had carried away part
of the wall of a one-storied cottage, and the whole of the oppo-
site wall : in short, there was more than sufficient evidence that
life was no longer safe within the fortifications, and yet there
was no wailing, no wringing of hands, no heart-rending,
frenzied look of despair, either pent up or endeavoring to find
vent in shrieks and yells, nay, not even on the part of the
women. There was merely a kind of undemonstrative con-
tempt— very unlike the usual French way of manifesting it —
blended with a considerable dash of badauderie, — for which
word I cannot find an English equivalent, because the Parisian
loafers or idler is unlike any of his European congeners. To
grasp the difference between the former and the latter, one
must have had the good fortune to see the same incident in
the streets of Paris, London, Madrid, Florence, and Rome,
Vienna, Berlin, and St. Petersburg, not to mention Brussels, the
Hague, Amsterdam, Munich, and Dresden. The " Monsieur
Prudhomme " of Charles Monnier shows but one facet of the
Paris badaud's character. The nearest approach to him is the
middle-class English tourist on the Continent, who endeavors
to explain to his wife and companions things he does not know
himself, and blesses his stars aloud for having made him an
Englishman.
But even the Paris badaud, who is not unlike his Roman
predecessor in his craving for circuses, must have bread ; and
when the cry arises, a fortnight later, that " there is no more
bread," the siege is virtually at an end.
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS, 4 1 7
CHAPTER XXIV.
I HAVE before now spoken of a young medical student in
whose company I spent several evenings at a cafe on the Boule-
vard St. Michel, during the Empire. He, like myself, remained
in Paris during the siege, and refused to stir at the advent of
the Commune. As a matter of course, whenever we met, while
the latter lasted, we rarely spoke of anything else. He sympa-
thized, to a certain extent, with the principle, though not with
the would-be expounders of it. I knew few, if any, of the
leaders even by sight, though I had heard of some, such as, for
instance, Jules Valles, in connection with their literary work.
My admiration was strictly confined to those performances, and
I often said so to my friend. " You are mistaken in your esti-
mate of them," he invariably replied. " There are men of ur^-
doubted talent among them, for instance, Cluseret ; but most
of them are like square pegs in round holes. Come with me
to-night, and you will be able to judge for yourself ; for he is
sure to be at the Brasserie Saint-Severin."
I had never been to the Brasserie Saint-Severin, though I
had paid two or three visits several years before to the Caf'i
de la Renaissance opposite the Fontaine Saint-Michel, at which
establishment the Commune may be said to have been hatched.
It was there that, in 1866, Raoul Rigault, Longuet, the broth-
ers Levraud, Dacosta, Genton, Protot, and a dozen more were
arrested by th: Commissary of Police, M. Cllment.
That night, about eight o'clock, we crossed the Pont Saint-
Michel, and, in a minute or so, found ourselves amidst some
■f the shining lights of the Commune.
Save on review days I had never seen so many brillia.it
uniforms gathered togethero As far as I can recollect, there
was only one civilian in the group pointed out to me. He
looked a mere skeleton, was misshapen, and one of the ugliest
men I have ever met. I asked his name, and was told it was
Tridon. The name was' perfectly familiar t«^ me as belonging
to one of the most remarkable polemists during the late regime. .
A little while afterwards, Cluseret came in.
My friend introduced me, and we sat talking for more than
two hours ; and I have rarely been more interested than I was
that night. Cluseret spoke English very well, for he had been
27
4lS AA' ENGLISHMAX IN PARIS.
in America several years, and our conversation was carried on
in that language. 1 have already remarked that I had no in-
tention, at that time, to jot down my recollections, still I was
so impressed with what I had heard that I made some rough
memoranda when I got home. They are among the papers I
have preserved.
Cluseret fostered no illusions as to the final upshot of the
Commune. " If every man were as devoted to the cause as
Kossuth and Garibaldi were to theirs, we should not be able
to establish a permanent Commune ; but this is by no means
the case. Most of the leaders, even those who are not self-
seekers, are too visionary in their aims ; they will not abate
one jot of their ideal. The others think of nothing but their
own aggrandisement, and though many are no doubt capable to
a degree, they are absolutely useless for the posts they have
chosen for themselves. There are certainly exceptions ; such
as, for instance, Rossel. His technical knowledge is very
considerable. If I had to describe him in two words, I should
call him Lothario-Cromwell. For, notwithstanding his military
aptitudes and his Puritan stiffness in many things, he has too
many petticoats about him. In addition to this, he is over-
bearing and absolutely eaten up with ambition ; he is a re-
publican who despises the proletariat ; he would fain imitate
the axiom of Napoleon I., ' The tools to those who can use
them ;' but he forgets that he will not do for a socialistic regime
such as we would establish, because it is exactly those that
cannot use the tools who wish to be treated as if they could.
If they had intelligence enough to use the tools, they would
have lifted themselves out of their humble, unsatisfactory
positions without any aid. Rossel is no doubt a better strate-
gist than I am, and I do not in the least mind his letting me
know it, but if Dombrowski or Bergeret was ' Delegate for
War,' Rossel would have been in prison or shot a fortnight
ago.
" For," continued Cluseret, " Bergeret especially thinks
himself a heaven-born general. He shows well on horseback,
because, I believe, he began life as a stable-lad : so did Michel
Ney ; but then, Michel Ney served his apprenticeship at fight-
ing, while Bergeret became a compositor, a chef-de-claque, a
proof-reader, and, finally, a traveller for a publishing firm. All
these are, no doubt, very honorable occupations, but they are
scarcely calculated to make a good general. Still, you should
see him ; he wfears his sash as your officers wear theirs when
on duty ; he would like the people to mistake it for the grand-
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
419
cordon of the Legion d'Honneur ; and his staff is more nu-
merous than that of the late Emperor. You should go and
dine at the headquarters of the military governor of Paris ; I
am sure you would be very welcome. Marast at the Palais-
Bourbon in '48 was nothing to it. If the Commune lasts
another three months there will be servants in livery, gold
lace, and powder, like in your country. At present, Bergeret
has to put up with attendants in faultless black.
" Personally," he went on, " I am not fighting for Com-
munism, but for Communalism, which, I need not tell you, is
quite a different thing. I fail to see why Paris and Lyons
should be judged incapable of managing their own municipal
affairs without the interference of the State, while other great
provincial centres are considered capable of doing so. The
English Government does not interfere with the municipal
affairs of London on the plea that it is the capital, with those
of Manchester on the plea that it has inaugurated a policy of
its own, any more than it interferes with those of Liverpool,
Leeds, or Bristol. Your lord-lieutenants of counties are vir-
tually decorative officials, something different from our pre-
fects and our sub-prefects, and your Home Secretary has not
a hundredth part of the power of our Minister of the Interior.
We wish to go a step further than you, without, however,
shirking the financial obligations imposed by a federation.
What you would call imperial taxes, we are willing to pay in
kind as well as money. This is one of the things we do want ;
what we do not want is the resuscitation of the Empire. I am,
not speaking at random when I tell you that there are rumors
about traitors in our camp, and that, according to these
rumors, the struggle against the Versaillese troops would be a
mere pretext to sweep the deck for the unopposed entry of an
imperial army into Paris. Whence would that army be
recruited ? From among the prisoners going to leave Germany,
who have been worked all the while in the interest of the
Napoleonic dynasty. After all, we have as much right to
overthrow the Government of Versailles as the Government
of Versailles had the right to upset the Empire. Their powers
are by no means more valid by virtue of the recent elections,
than was the power of Louis-Napoleon by virtue of the
plebiscite of 1870. Does M. Thiers really think that he is a
better or greater man than Abraham Lincoln, who treated the
Southerns as belligerents, not as insurgents ? "
So far Cluseret. I am not prepared to say that he was a
strictly honorable man, but he was a very intelligent on€,
4i6 Ak ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
probably the most intelligent among the leaders of the Com-
mune. At any rate, his conversation made me anxious to get
a nearer sight of some of the latter, and, as they had evidently
made the Brasserie Saint-Severin their principal resort of an
evening, I returned thither several times.
A few nights afterwards, I was just in time to witness the
arrival of Raoul Rigault, on horseback, accompanied by a staff
running by the side of his animal. The whole reminded me
irresistibly of Decamp's picture, " La Patrouille Turque."
The Prefect of Police was scarcely less magnificently attired
than the rest of his fellow-dignitaries. His uniform, if I
remember rightly, was blue with red facings, but it is impos-
sible to say, because it was covered everywhere with gold lace.
His myrmidons hustled the crowd in order to make room for
their chief, and some one laughed : " Mais il n'y a rien de
change ; c'est absolument comme sous I'Empire." For a
moment Rigault sat quite still, surveying the crowd and ogling
the women through his double eye-glasses. Then he alighted,
and caught sight of my friend and myself standing on the
threshold. " Quels sont ces citoyens ? " he inquired, taking
us in from top to toe, and stroking his long beard all the while.
Some one told him our names, at which he made a wry face,
the more that mine must have been familiar to him, seeing
that a very near relative of mine, bearing the same, had been
a special favorite with General Vinoy. He did not think fit
to molest us ; had he done so, it might have fared badly with
•us, for by the time Lord Lyons could have interfered, we
might have been shot.
Ever since, my friend and I have been under the impression
that we owed our lives to a dark, ugly little man who, at that
moment, whispered something to him, and who, my friend
told me, immediately afterwards, was the right hand of Raoul
Rigault, Theophile Ferre. That name was also familiar to
me, as it was to most Parisians, previous to the outbreak of
the war, because Ferre was implicated in the plot against
Louis-Napoleon's life, and was tried in the early part of '70 at
Blois. Every one knew how he insulted the President, how
he refused to answer, and finally exclaimed, " Yes, I am an
anarchist, a socialist, an atheist, and woe to you when our turn
comes." He kept his word ; he was a fiend, and looked one.
Whenever there was anything cruel and bloodthirsty going on,
he made it a point to be present. He was, though ugly, not
half so ugly as Tridon, but one involuntarily recoiled from
him.
AN ENGLISHMAN- IN PARIS. X2 1
Curiously enough, this very Theophile Ferre, whom I then
saw for the first time, had been the subject of a conversation
I had with Gil-Peres, the actor of the Palais- Royal, on the 25th
or 26th of March. I had known Gil-Peres from the moment
he made his mark in " La Dame aux Camelias " as Gaudens.
To my great surprise, a day or two after the proclamation of
the Commune, I heard that he had been cruelly maltreated in
the Rue Drouot, that he had narrowly escaped being killed.
Two days later, I paid him a vi^t in his lodgings at Mont-
martre ; for he had been severely, though not dangerously
hurt, and was unable to leave his bed.
" I am very sorry for your mishap," I said ; " but what, in
Heaven's name, induced you to meddle with politics ? "
He burst out laughing, in that peculiar laugh of his which I
have never heard before or since, on or oif the stage. The
nearest approach to it was that of Grassot, but the latter's was
like a discharge of artillery, while Gil-Peres' was like that of a
musketry volley.
" I did not meddle with politics," he replied ; " but you
know how fond I am of going among crowds to study char-
acter. This day last week, I was passing along the Rue
Drouot, when I saw a large group in front of the Mairie. I
had left home early in the morning, I knew nothing of what
was going on in my neighborhood, so you may imagine my
surprise when I heard them calmly discussing the death of
Clement Thomas and Lecomte. My hair stood positively on
end, and I must have pushed a bit in order to get nearer the
speakers. I had a long black coat on, and they mistook me
for a cur^. I did all I could to tell them my name, but,
before I could utter a word, I was down, and they began
trampling on me. Some one, God alone knows who, saved
me by telling them my name. I knew nothing more, for I
was brought home unconscious. And to think," he added,
" that I might have been a member of the Commune myself, if
I had liked."
" What do you mean ? " I said, for I began to think that he
was out of his mind.
" Well, you know that during the siege I tried to do
my duty as a National Guard, and in my battalion was
this Thdophile Ferre of whom you have already heard. A most
intelligent creature, but poor as Job and ferocious to a degree.
He was a study to me, and, of late, he frequently came to see
me in the morning. I generally asked him to stay to breakfast,
for I liked to hear him talk of the future Commune, though I had
42 2 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
not the slightest faith in his visions. I considered him a down-
right lunatic. About two or three days before this outbreak,
he came, one morning, looking as pale as a ghost, but evidently
very much excited. Before I had time to ask him the cause
of his emotion, he exclaimed, ' This time there is no mistake
about it ; we are the masters.' I suppose my face must have
looked a perfect blank, for he proceeded to explain. ' In two
days we'll hold our sittings at the H6tel-de-Ville, and the Com-
mune will be proclaimed. ♦And now,' he added, ' what can I
do for you, citoyen Gil-Peres ? You have always been very
kind to me, and I am not likely to forget it when I am at the
top of the tree.'
" I told him that I'd feel much obliged to him if he could
induce Sardou or Dumas to write me a good part, like the latter
had done before, because I wanted to be something more than
a comic actor. But I saw that he was getting angry.
"'Do you mean to tell me,' he almost hissed, 'that you do
not want to belong to the Commune ? '
" ' I haven't the slightest ambition that way,' I replied.
* People would only make fun of me, and they would be per-
fectly right.'
" ' Why should people make fun of you ? '
" ' Because, because ' I stammered.
" He left me no time to finish. ' Because you are a small
man,' he said. ' Well, I am a small man, too, and an ugly one
into the bargain. I can assure you that the world will hear as
much of me before long as if I had been an Adonis and a Her-
cules.' With this he disappeared, and I have not seen him
since."
My purpose in reporting this conversation is to show that
the Commune, with all its evils, might have been prevented by
the so-called government of Versailles, if its members had been
a little less eager to get their snug berths comfortably settled.
To return for a moment to Ferre and his companions, who,
without exception, were sober to a degree, though many were
probably fond of good cheer. The English writers, often very
insufficiently informed, have generally maintained the contrary,
but I know for a fact that, among the leaders of the movement
drunkenness was unknown. Ferre himself was among the
soberest of the lot : the few evenings I saw him he drank
either cold coffee or some cordial diluted with water. Never-
theless, it was he who was directly responsible for the death of
Archbishop Darboy, whom he could and might have saved.
In every modern tragedy there is a comic element, and in
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS,
423
that of the Commune the comic parts were, to a certain ex-
tent, sustained by Gambon, Jourde, and a few others whoip it
is not necessary to mention. Gambon was one of the mildest
of creatures, and somewhat of a " communard malgre lui." He
would have willingly " left the settlement of all these vexed
questions to moral force," and he proposed once or twice a
mission to Versailles to that effect. He was about fifty, and
a fine specimen of a robust, healthy farmer. His love of
'' peaceful settlement " arose from an experiment he had made
in that way during the Empire, though it is very doubtful
whether strictly logical reasoners would have looked upon it as
*' peaceful." Gambon had been a magistrate and a member
of the National Assembly during the Second Republic, and
voted with the conservative side. The advent of the Empire
made an end of his parliamentary career, and, in order to
mark his disapproval of the Coup-d'Etat and its sequel,
Gambon refused to pay his taxes. The authorities seized one
of his cows, and were proceeding to sell it by auction, when
Gambon, accompanied by a good many of his former con-
stituents, appeared on the scene. "This cow," 'he shouts,
" has been stolen from me by the Imperial fisc, and whosoever
buys it is nothing more than a thief himself." Result : not a
single bid for the cow, and the auctioneer was compelled to
adjourn the sale for a week. The auctioneer deemed it
prudent to transport the cow to a neighboring commune, but
Gambon had got wind of the affair, and adopted the same ex-
pedient of moral persuasion. For nearly three months the
auctioneer transported the cow from one commune to another,
and Gambon followed him everywhere, until they reached the
limits of the department. Gambon apprehended that moral
persuasion would have no effect among strangers, and he let
things take their course. The cost of selling the cow amounted
to about ten times its worth. As a matter of course the whole
affair was revived by " les journaux bien pensants " at the ad-
vent of the Commune, and Gambon was elected a member by
the loth Arrondissement. Gambon managed to escape into
Switzerland ; but when the amnesty was proclaimed, he re-
turned, and solicited once more the suffrages of his former
constituents. At the Brasserie Saint-Severin, Gambon was
generally to be found at the ladies' table, about the occupants
of which I cannot speak, seeing that I was not introduced to
them.
Jourde was one of two " financial delegates " of the Com-
mune, He had been a superior employe at the Bank of
42 4 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
France and was considered an authority on financial affairs.
It was he to whom the Marquis de Ploeuc, the governor of the
Bank, had handed the first million for the use of the Commune.
My friend, the doctor, had known him in his former capacity,
and often invited him to our table, to which invitation the
" paymaster-general " always eagerly responded. One evening,
the conversation turned upon the events which had preceded
the request for funds. " On the second day of the Com-
mune," he said, " the want of money began to be horribly
felt. Eudes proposed that I should go and fetch some from
the Bank of France. To be perfectly candid, I did not care
about it. Had I been a soldier, I might have invaded the
Bank at the head of a regiment ; but, to go and ask my former
chief for a million or so as a matter of course, was a different
thing, and I had not the moral courage. The director of the
Bank of France is very little short of a god to his subordinates,
and, in spite of our boasted ' Liberty, Fraternity, and Equality,'
there is no nation so ready to bow down before its governors
as the French. Seeing that I hung back, Eudes proposed to
go himself, and did, refusing to take a single soldier with him.
But he did not want the responsibility of handling the million
of francs the governor placed at our disposal, so I was after
all, obliged to beard my former chief in his own den. He was
very polite, and called me ' Monsieur le delegue aux finances,'
but I would have preferred his calling me all the names in the
world, for I caught sight of a very ironical smile at the
corners of his mouth when, on taking leave of him, he said,
' You may be my successor one day, Monsieur le ddlegue, and
I hope you will profit by the lessons I have always endeavored
to teach my subordinates ; obedience to the powers that
be.' "
Jourde was by no means a fool or a braggart ; he was a very
good administrator, and exceedingly conscientious. Like most
men who have had the constant handling of important sums of
money, he was absolutely indifferent to it ; and I feel certain
that he did not feather his own nest during the two months he
had the chance. But he vainly endeavored to impress upon
the others the necessity for economy. Every now and then,
he tore his red hair and beard at the waste going on at the
H6tel-de-Ville, where, in the beginning, Assi was keeping open
table. Not that they were feasting, but every one who had a
mind could sit down, and, though the sum charged by the
steward was moderate, two francs for breakfast and two francs
fifty centimes for dinner, the number of self-invited guests in-
AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 425
creased day by day, and the paymaster-general was at his wits'
end to keep pace with the expenses. The Central-Committee
put a stop to this indiscriminate hospitality by simply arresting
Assi, whom I never saw.
When the Commune decreed the demolition of the Vendome
column, Jourde was still more angry and in despair. He was,
first of all, opposed to its destruction, from a patriotic and
common-sense point of view : secondly, he objected to the
waste of money that destruction entailed ; he endeavored to
cut the Gordian knot by stopping the workmen's pay. Though
three or four of his " fellow delegates " were absolutely of the
same opinion, the rest sent him a polite intimation that if the
necessary funds were not disbursed voluntarily they would send
for them, and take the opportunity, at the same time, to " put
him against the wall," and make an end of him. That night,
Courbet, the painter, who had been the prime mover in this
work of destruction, came to the Brasserie Saint-Severin from
the Brasserie Andler, hard by, to taste the sweets of his vic-
tory. His friend, Chaudey, of the Steele, was no longer with
him. Like Mgr. Darboy, the Abbes Lagarde, Crozes, and De-
guerry, he had been arrested by Raoul Rigault as a hostage,
in virtue of a decree by the Commune, setting forth that every
execution of a prisoner of war, taken by the Versaillais, would
be followed by the execution of three hostages to be drawn by
lot.
Jourde did not wear a uniform ; at any rate, I never saw him
in one. I happened to remark upon it one evening, and he
then gave me a partial explanation why the others did wear
them in so ostentatious a manner.
" It is really done" to please the National Guards ; they
mistrust those who remain ' in mufti ;' they attribute their re-
luctance to don the uniform to the fear of being compromised,
to the wish to escape unnoticed if things should go wrong. I
grant you that all this does not warrant the uniforms most of
my colleagues do wear, but to the Latin races the wisdom of
Solomon Ues in his magnificence, and they trace the elevation
of Joseph to its primary cause — his coat of many colors. I
am not only ' delegate of finances ' and paymaster-general, but
head cook and bottle-washer in all that concerns monetary
matters to the Central-Committee. I have very few clerks to
assist me in my work, and fewer still upon whose honesty I can
depend ; consequently, I am compelled to do a good deal of
drudgery myself, Yesterday I received the fortnightly accounts
426 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
of Godillot,* the military tailors and accoutrement manufac-
turers. They seemed to me simply monstrous, not so much in
respect of the prices charged for each uniform, as in respect of
the number of uniforms supplied. To have sent one of my
clerks would have been of no earthly use ; there is an old Nor-
mand saying about sending the cat to Rome and his coming
back mewing ; the clerk would have simply come back mewing ;
saying that there was no mistake, so I went myself. I saw the
chief manager.
" ' I am positive there is no mistake, monsieur,' he said,
* though I may tell you at once that I made the same remark
when I passed the accounts ; the number of uniforms seemed
to me inordinately large ; mais il faut se rendre k I'evidence,
and I ticketed off every item by its corresponding voucher. Still
I felt that there is a terrible waste somewhere, and said so to
the head of the retail department. " If you will remain down-
stairs for one hour," was the answer, " you will have the ex-
planation." I can only say the same to you, Monsieur le
delegue.'
" I did remain on that ground-floor for one hour," Jourde
went on, " and, during that time, no fewer than eight young
fellows came in with vouchers for complete uniforms of lieu-
tenants or captains of the staff. Most of them looked to me
as if they had never handled a sword or rifle in their lives —
yardsticks seemed more in their line ; and the airs they gave
themselves positively disgusted me ; but I do not want another
reminder of the Central-Committee about my cheese-paring, so
I'll let things take their course. Look, here is a sample of
how we deck ourselves out quand nous allons en guerre."
I looked in the direction pointed out 'to me, and beheld a
somewhat dark individual with lank, black hair, of ordinary
height, or a little below perhaps, dressed in a most extraordinary
costume. He wore a blue Zouave jacket, large baggy crimson
breeches tucked into a pair of quasi-hessian boots, a crimson
sash, and a black sombrero hat with a red feather. A long
cavalry sabre completed the costume. Upon the whole, he
carried himself well, though there was a kind of swashbuckler
air about him which smacked of the stage. I was not mistaken ;
the scent or the smell of the footlights was over it all.
" This is Colonel Maxime Lisbonne, an actor by profession,
who has taken to soldiering with a vengeance," said Jourde.
" There is no doubt about his bravery, but he is as fit to be a
* The word " Godillot " has passed into the French language, and, at present, means the
soldier's shoes. — Editor.
AJV ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS. 427
colonel as I am to be a general. It does not seem to strike
my colleagues that, in no matter what profession, one has to
serve an apprenticeship, and, most of all, in the science of
soldiering ; Maxime Lisbonne said he would be a colonel, so
they, without more ado, made him one.* He never moves
without that Turco at his heels."
On another occasion I saw the famous General Dombrowski,
and the no less famous Colonel or General la Cecilia. I only
exchanged a few words with the former, but I sat talking for a
whole evening to the latter. He was a short, spare, fidgety
man, strongly pitted with small pox, with a few straggling hairs
on the upper lip and chin. He was terribly near-sighted, and
wore a pair of thick spectacles. Nervous and restless to a
degree, but a voice of remarkable sweetness. His English was
faultless, with scarcely any accent, and I was told that he
spoke every European language and several Oriental ones with
the same accuracy. He was the only Frenchman who could
converse with Dombrowski and the other Poles in their native
language. He was a clever mathematician, and, that evening,
he endeavored to prove mathematically that Von Moltke had
committed several blunders, both at Sadowa and Sedan.
" That kind of thing," said Jourde, after he was gone, " was
sure to 'fetch ' the Central-Committee ; he always reminds me
of the doctors in Moliere trying to prove that one of their con-
freres had cured a patient contrary to the principles of medicine.
Mind, do not imagine that La Cecilia is not a good soldier.
He got all his grades in the Italian army, on the battle-fields
of '59 — '60, and, during the late war, he directed the brilliant
defence of Alen^on. But between a good soldier and a great
general there is a vast difference."
* During my stay in Pans, 1881-86, as the correspondent of a London evening paper,
I had occasion to see a great deal of M. Maxime Lisbonne, who is a prominent figure at
nearly every social function, such as premieres, the unveiling of monuments, the opening of
public buildings, etc. The reason of this prominence has never been very clear to me, unless
it be on the assumption that the Paris journalists, even the foremost of whom he treats on
a footing of equality, consider him " good copy." Only as late as a few years ago, he made
a considerable sensation in the Paris press by appearing at one of M. Camot's receptions in
evening dress, redolent of benzine, because the dress had been lying perciu for so many
years. It was he who started the famous " taveme du bagne," on the Boulevard Roche-
chouart, to which "all Pans" flocked. Previous to this, he had been the lessee of the
Bouffes du Nord, at which theatre he brought out Louise Michel's " Nadine." Though by
no means an educated man, he can, on occasions, behave himself very well, and truth com-
pels me to state that he is very good-natured and obliging. One day, on the occasion of an
important murder trial, I failed to see Commandant Lunel at the Padais de Justice, and was
turning away disconsolately, when, at a sign from M. Lisbonne, the sergeant of the Gardes
de Paris, who had refused to admit me on the presentation of my card, relented. That same
afternoon, at the mere expression of his wish, the manager of the Jardin de Paris, which had
just been opened, presented me with a season ticket, or, to speak correctly, placed my name
on the permanent free list. In short, I could mention a score of instances of a similar nature ;
all tending to show that M. Maxime Lisbonne's " participation " in the events of the Com-
pune has had the effect of investing him with a kind of social halo. — Editor.
428 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PA RIS.
Physically, Dombrowski was almost the counterpart of La
Cecilia, with the exception of the glasses and the small-pox.
But while the Frenchman — for Ce'cilia was a Frenchman not-
withstanding his ItaHan name — was modest though critical, the
Pole was a braggart, though by no means devoid of courage.
Up to the very end, he sent in reports of his victories, all of
which were purely imaginary. Even as late as the 21st of
May, when the Versailles troops were carrying everything
before them, the newspaper-boys were shouting, " Brilliant
victory of General Dombrowski." Dombrowski had been
invested with his high command under the pretext that he had
fought under Garibaldi and in the Polish struggle against
Russia. It transpired afterwards that he had never seen
Garibaldi nor Garibaldi him, and that, so far from having aided
his own countrymen, he had been a simple private in the Russian
army. Still, he was a better man than his countryman
Wrobleski, who showed his courage by going to bed while the
Versaillais were shelling Vanves.
Among my papers I find a torn programme of a concert at
the Tuileries during the Commune. It reads as follows : —
Commune de Paris,
PALAIS DES TUILERIES
Servant pour la premiere fois a une oeuvre patriotique
GRAND CONCERT
Au Profit des Veuves et Orphelins de la Republique.
Sous le Patronage de la Commune et du Citoyen Dr. Rousselle.
Tout porteur de billet pris h. I'avance pourra sans retribution, visiter le
Palais des Tuileries.
The rest is missing, but I remember that among the artists
who gave their services were Mesdames Agar and Bordas ;
MM. Coquelin, cadet, and Francis Thome, the pianist.
I did not take my ticket beforehand, consequently was not
entitled to a stroll through the Palace previous to the concert.
When I entered the Salle des Mare'chaux, where the concert
was to take place, I felt thankful that the trial had been spared
to me, and I mentally ejaculated a wish that I might never see
A^V ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
429
that glorious apartment under similar circumstances. The
traces of neglect were too painful to behold, though I am bound
to say that I could detect no proofs of wilful damage. My
wish was gratified with a vengeance. A little more than a
month afterwards, the building was in flames, and, at the hour
I write, it is being razed to the ground.
I did not stay long ; I heard Madame Agar, dressed in deep
mourning, declaim " the Marseillaise," and M. Thome execute
a fantasia on well-known operatic airs. Some of the reserved
seats were occupied by the minor dignitaries of the Commune,
but the greater part of the place was filled by working men and
their spouses and the wG.ry petite bourgeoisie. The latter seemed
to be in doubt whether to enjoy themselves or not ; but the
former were very vociferous, and had evidently made up their
minds that the Commune was the best of all possible re'gimes,
seeing that it enabled them to listen to a concert in a palace
for a mere trifle. " That's equality, as I understand it, mon-
sieur," said a workman in a very clean blouse to me, at the
same time making room for me on the seat next to him. He
and his companion beguiled the time between the first and
second number on the programme by sucking barley-sugar.
About a month later — on Wednesday, May 17th, but I will
not be certain — I was present at the first gala-performance
organized by the Commune, although the Versailles troops
were within gunshot of the fortifications. This time I had
taken a ticket beforehand. The performance was to take place
at the Opera-Comique, and long before the appointed hour the
Boulevards and the streets adjoining the theatre were crowded
with idlers, anxious to watch the arrival of the bigwigs under
whose immediate patronage the entertainment was to be given.
The papers had been full of it for days and days beforehand ;
the posters on the walls had set forth its many attractions. In
accordance with traditional usage on such occasions, the pro-
gramme was a miscellaneous one, and the wags did not fail to
remark that the Commune ought to have struck out something
original instead of blindly following the precedents of tyrants ;
but in reality the Commune had no choice, ^t'ew of the prin-
cipal artists of the subsidized theatres were available, and there
was an evident reluctance to co-operate among some of those
who were ; hence it was decided to give fragments of such
operas or comedies, calculated to stimulate still further the
patriotic and republican sentiments with which the majority of
the spectators were credited. There had been less difficulty
in recruiting the orchestra, and a very fair band was got to-
430 AN ENGLISHMAN IN PARIS.
gather. A great many invitations had been issued ; few of the
seats, especially in the better parts, were paid for.
All the entrances had been thrown open, and around every
one there was a considerable gathering, almost exclusively
composed of National Guards in uniform, and women of the
working classes, who enthusiastically cheered each known per-
sonage on his arrival. The latter were too magnificent for
words, the clanking sabres, resplendent uniforms, and waving
plumes only paled in contrast with the toilettes of their female
companions who hung proudly on their arms. For them, at
any rate, " le jour de gloire etait arrive."
The crowd, especially the fairer portion of it, was decidedly
enthusiastic, perhaps somewhat too enthusiastic, in their ultra-
cordial greetings and recognition of the ladies, so suddenly
promoted in the social scale. Melanie and Clarisse would
have been satisfied with a less literal interpretation of " Auld
Lang Syne," as they stepped out of the carriages, the horses of
which belied the boast that at the end of the siege there were
30,000 serviceable animals of that kind left.
The performance had been timed for half-past seven ; at
half-past eight, the principal box set apart for the chiefs of the
new regime was still empty. As I have already said, disquiet-
ing rumors had been afloat for the last few days with regard to
the approach of the Versailles troops, the guns had been
thundering all day long, and, what was worse, for the last
forty-eight hours no " startling victory " had been announced
either on the walls of Paris or in the papers. Some of the
" great men," among the audience in the stalls and dress-
circle, and easily to be distinguished from the ruck of ordinary
mortals, professed themselves unable to supply authentic in-
formation, but as the performance had not been counter-
manded, they suggested that things were not so bad as they
looked.
The theatre was crammed from floor to ceiling, and the din
was something terrible. The heat was oppressive ; luckily the
gas was burning low because the companies were as yet unable
to provide a full supply. There were few people out of
uniform in either stalls or dress-circle, but the upper parts were
occupied by blouses with a fair sprinkling of cloth coats.
The women seemed to me to make the most infernal noise.
The two stage-boxes were still empty : in the others there
were a good many journalists and ladies who had come to cri-
ticise the appearance and demeanor of the " dames de nos nou-
veaux gouvernants." There was one box which attracted par-
AM ENGUSHMAN IN PARIS. 43 1
ticular attention ; one of its occupants, evidently a " dame du
monde," was in evening dress, wearing some magnificent dia-
monds, while it was very patent that those of her own social
status had made it a point to dress as simply as possible. I
have never been able to find out the name of the lady ; I had
not seen her before. I have not seen her since.
At about a quarter to nine the doors of the stage-boxes were
flung back, and the guests of the evening appeared. But, alas,
they were not the chief members of the Commune, only the
secondary characters. It is doubtful, though, whether the
former could have been more magnificently attired than were
the latter. Their uniforms were positively hidden beneath the
gold lace.
Immediately, the band struck up the inevitable "Marseil-
laise;" the spectators in the upper galleries joined in the
chorus ; the building shook to its foundations, and, amidst the
terrible din, one could distinctly hear the crowds on the Boule-
vards re-echoing the strains. The occupants of the state
boxes gave the signal for the applause, then the curtain rose,
and Mdlle. Agar, in peplos and cothurnus, recited the strophes
once more. When the curtain fell, the audience rushed to the
foyer or out in the open air ; at anyrate, the former was not
inconveniently crowded. Among those strolling up and down
I not^'ced the lady of the diamonds, on the arm of a rather
commoK-lookin*]^ individual in a gorgeous uniform. I believe I
caught sight of the American Minister, but I will not be certain.
This time the curtain rose upon an act of a comedy : the
spectators, however, did net seem to be vastly interested;
they were evidently waiting for the duo to be sung by Madame
Ugalde and a tenor whose name I do not remember. He
was, I heard, an amateur of great promise.
Scarcely had Madame Ugalde uttered her first notes, when
a bugler of the francs-tireurs of the Commune stepped in front
of an empty box and sounded the charge. The effect was start-
ling. The audience rose to a man, and rushed to the exits.
In less than five minutes the building was empty. I had let
the human avalanche pass by. When I came outside I was
told that it was a false alarm, or, rather, a practical joke ; but
no one re-entered the theatre. Thus ended the gala-perform-
ance of the Commune, and a careful observer would have had
no difficulty in foreseeing the end of the latter. The bugler
had, unconsciously perhaps, sounded its death-knell.
THE END.
Vandam, A. DC
733*
An Englishman in Paris .V2