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FRANCE, SOCIAL, LITERARY, AND POLITICAL.
BY HENRY LYTTON BULWER, ESQ.
The above is an inaccurate, and somewhat am the Champs Elysées :visiting for the first time the capibitious title. Mr. Bulwer has produced two vol
tal of a military nation, you should pass under the arch umes which may form useful contributions to the
built to commemorate its reign of victories ;—coming to
dwell among the most gay and light-hearted people in the kind of work announced, and a selection of ma
universe, you ought at once to rush upon them in the terials laid in order; but one which is far indeed midst of their festivities. Enter Paris, then, by the from the accomplishment of the projected de Champs Elysées! Here are the monuments that speak sign. Its completion, upon the scale contem
to you of the great soldiers ; and here the “guinguettes" plated by Mr. Bulwer, would, with the union of
that display to you the great dancers of Europe. You pass
by the old gardens of Beaujon; you find the “caserne" very dissimilar and rare attainments, require (and this tells you a good deal of the nation you are come the leisure of a life. He has gallantly attempted to visit) intermingled with “cafés” and “ salons littér. what, perhaps, is not given to any one man, how
taires ;” and you see the chairs under the trees, and the ever gifted, to achieve,-to be at once a Gib
open spaces left for the ball; and if you stop to read an
advertisement, it will talk of the “Chevaux mécaniques," bon, a Voltaire, an Adam Smith, a Malte Brun,
and of the “Bal paré” and of the “Concert des Champs and a Warton. There is, therefore, no disgrace Elysées ;” and the sun shines upon the golden cupola of in failing to fulfil a task which might tax the the stately Invalides, and on the glittering accoutrements powers of another corps of French encyclopedists,
of the sauntering soldier; and before you are the Tuile.
ries, with their trees and terraces, which yonder misplaced and great merit in collecting the information
monumente cannot quite conceal; and to your right are which we find in his work, and producing those the Seine and the Chamber of Deputies, and to your left detached essays and sketches towards the main the Corinthian architecture of those tall palaces that form design, which will form useful studies to who the Rue de Rivoli. The tricolored flag floats from the ever shall succeed Mr. Bulwer in really compos
gates of the Royal Gardens; the military uniform, mixed
up with the colouring of every passing group, enriches ing “ France, Social, Literary, and Political.”
it with its deep blue and its bright scarlet ; the moveThis much premised, we shall better consult
ment about you is universal ; equipages of all kinds are our duty, in speaking of the book as it is, than passing in all directions; the movement is universal, but in carping about what it purports to be. The work differing from that you are accustomed to in England, shews considerable industry, liveliness of fancy,
the inorement is the movement of idleness and of plea
sure ; an indescribable mirth reigns in all you see, and and power of original observation on the bril
the busy gaiety of Paris bursts upon you with the same liant surfaces which French society presents to a effect as the glad brightness of Italy. The people, too, stranger; but not much of the profundity of have all the habits of a people of the sun; they are not thought, or solidity and coherence of judgment,
the people of one stock; collected in every crowd are the
features and the feelings of divers races and different rerequired in the philosophical historian of a great
gions. In Paris you are not in the climate of Paris ; nation.
France is bronght into a focus ; and concentrated in the Closing the volumes, we can exactly tell capital you find all the varieties that vivify the many prowhat Mr. Bulwer thinks, at the moment, of the
vinces of the kingdom. French people, but by no means what his stead.
Such is the scene ;-let us next examine the fast opinion may be of that chameleon race,
actors by whom is occupied. those “ Cynthias of the minute," which he has
Oxford Street gives one aspect of London, Regent attempted to paint on a firm cloud. Assuming running directly through Paris, display the character of
Street another, the Strand another ; but the Boulevards, to be correct the statistical analysis of France, the town in all its districts, and the character of its in. which is prefixed as a sort of map to the work, habitants in all their classes. we may pronounce it a most valuable document. Go from the Rue Royale to the site of the old Bastille.
You first pass by those zigzag and irregular houses that But the statistical information, and the histori
jut out upon the old rampart, and which have rather a rical view of the political changes in France,
picturesque appearance, from the gay little terraces and we shall lay aside for the present, for the more balconies, which, when there is a ray of sun, are sure to attractive sketches of society and manners, to be lit up by it; and opposite, you have the stalls, gay which the writer has linked his dry, useful
also, (notwithstanding their poverty) where you may get facts. Of the three books into which Mr. Bul.
nailed shoes and cotton-net braces, and works “six sous
the volume !" stalls which carry, even into this scene wer divides his work, we shall devote our atten.
of wealth and pleasure, the democracy of the epoch, and tion principally to the first, or the Character say that the people are everywhere buying, lounging, istics of the French People ; pass over the se
reading. And here you have a happy opportunity of adcond, which details the “ Historical Changes” of
miring the vast variety of Parisian equipages, the poor
and the rich are on horseback, on foot, in carriages, in the country; and advert slightly to the third,
tilburies, in “ citadines,” in “ demi-fortunes," in omni. which is devoted to the “ Predominating In buses, hurrying to or from the Champs Elysées ; but fluences” in France,—the influences, namely, of once passed the Rue de la Paix, in the neigbourhood of the Women, the Military Spirit, and the Press.
the Bains Chinois, the Café de Paris, and Tortoni's, you Paris is the heart of France. It is at least
are in a different region. It is not only 1 throng per
petually changing, which you now see. The cavalcade has the focus of its wit, gallantry, frivolity, crime ;
in a great measure ceased; and you perceive a new and and of its literary, military, and female influ a more lazy, and a more lounging crowd seated at the Let us, then, at once enter Paris, under doors of the “cafés," or strolling up and down before
them. the guidance of our author, who seems tho
Those gentlemen who, to use the French expres.
sion, “eat their fortunes," are here; and here are the roughly to know the surface of the ground. To enter Paris with advantage you should enter it by
* The Egyptian column.
gamblers of the stock exchange, of “the salon," and of blers'; but the people's aniusements have changed, though Frescati's,—the passionate race who crowd existence into the people must still be amused. a day, who live every minute of their lives, and who have And at last we have come to the silent and tranquil come to enjoy the hour they have snatched from agita Boulevard of the agitated and turbulent Beaumarchais; tion. Here they saunter listlessly in the sun, or stand in and behind are the tall palaces of dark-red brick, and the clusters at the corners of the streets.
low and gloomy arcades of the Place Royale, where you This is the spot, too, where you are sure to meet that find the old-fashioned magistrate, the old-fashioned mer. smirking and happy gentleman, who, as La Bruyère chant, the retired respectability of Paris : and yonder ! says, “encounters one everywhere ;" that gentleman before us—is the memorable spot, witness of the first ex. whom we just met in the Tuileries, whom we saw the cesses and the first triumphs of the Revolution-but the night before at the opera, and whom we should be sure spectres of its old time are vanished, and the eye which to stare in the face at the Variéiés. Sit for half an hour rests upon the statue of yonder gigantic and sagaciots on one of those chairs, there is hardly any class the type animal,“ tries to legitimatize the monument, by conof which will not pass before you! The pretty nurse of sidering it as a type of the great people who raised the the Chaussée d'Antin, the old bachelor of the Marais, the barricades in July 1830, and overthrew the Bastille in “gros bourgeois” of the Rue St. Denis, the English July 1789. family of two sons and seven daughters,—all these you are sure to see in turn ! But there are portraits sa
With a lively description of the Palais Royale, cred to the place. Yonder elderly gentleman is one!
the Quais, and the Tuileries, Mr. Bulwer blends He is about fifty-five years of age; tall, with a slight picturesque details of the ancient Bourbon hisbend forward; he moves with a certain stiffness ; his tory, and of the more recent changes; and in a hair, closely cut, is a dark grey; his features, rather
very pleasant manner, certainly, though it is not delicate and aristocratic than otherwise, are weatherbeaten, and perhaps in some degree worn and sharpened exactly that of a sober and philosophical writer. by debauch; he wears a black neckloth; the part of his
He endeavours to show that, throughout all the shirt that is seen is remarkably white; his coat, decora- political changes, which French society has un. ted with a red ribbon, is buttoned up to his chest, and dergone, the national type, the great and disonly just slows a stripe of a pale yellow waistcoat; he
tinctive features and impress of this distinguishwalks with a cane, and has that kind of half-haughty, half-careless air by which Bonaparte's soldier is still dis
ed European family remain the same in the age tinguished. A little behind him are two men, arm in
of Louis Philippe, that they were in that of his arm ; the hat of one, elaborately adjusted, is very much most remote ancestors; and next, our author bent down before and behind, and turned up in an almost
accounts for those apparent alterations in the exequal proportion at the sides ; his waistcoat is peculiar and very long ; his trowsers large about the hips, and
ternal aspect of the nation, which, he believes, tightening at the foot; he wears long spurs, immense
reach little way below the surface. moustaches, brandishes a cane, spits, and swaggers. The In morals as in liberty, Mr. Bulwer, unlike other, as insignificant in appearance as his friend is offen. some of our now superannuated anti-Jacobin sive, wears a little round hat, a plain spotted summer
alarmists, believes that France, and Paris which waistcoat, light-grey trowsers, and a thin stick, which he rather trails than flourishes. The inoffensive gentleman
represents France, has benefited by the Revolulooks at nothing,—the swaggering gentleman looks at
tion. There is still, we fear, but too much room everything: the inoffensive gentleman plays at whist, for improvement. and creeps into society,—the swaggering gentleman lives
To those who are fond of facts, the manners of Paris at the theatres, and drives about an actress.
may be thus described :see a man, tall, dark, with an air in which fierceness and
There are twenty thousand persons every night at the dignity intermingle! He walks alone; sometimes he
theatres : five public libraries are constantly full; and shuts his eyes, sometimes he folds his arms; a variety of one hundred cabinets de lecture. You will find about an occasions on which he lost, a variety of chances by which
equal number of celebrated dancing masters, and of celehe might have gained, give every now and then a convul.
brated teachers of mathematics ; and the municipality sive twitch to his overhanging eyebrow,-he meets a rednosed gentleman of sleek and comely aspect, and who
pays one-third more for its séles than it does fur ils reli.
gion. steps upon his toes,—the two walk arm-in-arm together towards the Rue de Richelieu.
A passion for enjoyment, a contempt for life without Pass on to the Rue Montmartre, and the Boulevard
pleasure, a want of religion and morality, fill the gambe
ling house, the morgue, and the “enfans trouvés." Have takes a different aspect. The activity of business mixes such been the effects of the Revolution ? itself with the activity of idleness; here are the large
No ; the Revolution has had little to do with these mismagazines of the Parisian Medici; the crowd, less ele
fortunes. Before the Revolution there were forty thougant, has the air of being more employed. Pass on sand prostitutes ; there are now six thousand. Before the again-commerce assumes a quieter appearance ; its lux. urious companions have disappeared ; there are no chairs,
Revolution, there were fifteen licensed · maisons de jeu,' for there is no leisure; but go a little further, and the
there are now eight. “Before the Revolution," observes
Mercier, “ all the money of the provinces passed to the gaieties recommence; the gaieties, this time, not of the
capital, and all the money of the capital passed to its 6 nobilace," but of the “ populace"-not of (the aristo.
couriezans." Before the Revolution, says Chanfort, I recracy of the “Chaussée d'Antin," but of the aristocracy
member to have seen a man who qnitted the ladies at the of the “ Temple." Grouped round yonder stage, much re
opera, because they had no more honour than the ladies senibling the antique theatre of Thespis, you see the mob
of the world. The families that still inhabit the great of modern Greece, enchanted with the pleasures of Du.
hotels of the Faubourg St. Germain are more orderly, bureaux: and here you may put into the lottery for a
more economical, more moral in their habits, than here. cake, and here you may have your destiny told for a
tofore. But, as in a voluptuous people, the habits of the « sou;" and the great men—the great men of Francethe Marshals and Generals of the Empire, the distinguish
lower classes mount up to the higher, so in a vain nation
the habits of the higher classes descend more naturally 10 ed orators of the Restoration, the literary celebrities of
the lower. The manners of the old aristocracy, then, have the day-Ney, Foy, Victor Hugo,-are there before you,
had a greater cffect upon the manners of the middling as large-a great deal larger, indeed-than life ; for the
classes, than the manners of the middling classes have multitude are rarely satisfied with things just as they
had upon those of the aristocracy. Among the nobility are; they like to see their heroes fresh, fat, and magni.
of the stock exchange, the office, and the counter, there ficently dressed ; and all this is easily accomplished when reigns a luxury at present, which, sometimes sighed for their heroes are-in wax. Where these great men at preBut exhibit themselves, there used formerly to be tum.
• The elephant
by such persons, was rarely seen of old. If you want a soup, his two dishes, his wine, and his descrt. You say proof of this, you have the best, you have the theatres, the meat is bad, the wine is sour, the desert is meagre,where the old scenery, the scenery which represented the it may be so; he does not enter into these details. His apartments of the aristocracy and the bourgeoisic of the dinner is composed of the same number of dishes, and ancient régime, too costly for the first, too meagre for the has the same appearance that it would have if he were last, is obliged to be laid aside, in order to give place to six times as rich. This is all he knows, and with this he is new decorations, where Monsieur Magnon and Monsieur perfectly contented. Does he fancy a bath to quicken his de Montmorency, the rich “notaire" and the rich “no flagging pulse, and flatter himself into the belief that he ble," equally display an elegant opulence unaccompanied is not yet what should be called aged ? Do you suppose by pomp. Wealth has lost its ancient and aristocratic that he is to abstain from this bath because he is poor? splendour ; but, in becoming more citizen-like in its air, No; he is merely to abstain from the Bains Chinois, it has become more complete and finished in its details. where he would pay three francs, and go to the Bains " There was greater state in my time among the rich," rue Montmatre, where he has the same portion of warm said an old gentleman to me the other day,—“ more hor. water for ten “sous.” Is he of an amorous propensity? ses, more plate, more servants,-but the table-cloth was He sighs not, it is impossible, in the “ foyer" and the not so fine and so clean, the rooms were not so well light “coulisses," He repudiates from his midnight dreams ed. The ' bourgeoisie,' however, were a different race,– the voluptuousness of the opera dancer, the “ agacerie" of they lived frugally and laid by their money, not with the the actress; he seeks not his “ bonne fortune" at the ban. idea of becoming gentlemen themselves, but with the ker's ball, or the duchess's “conversazione"--but he inhope and expectation that their great grandchildren might spires with his flame the fair “ lampiste" opposite ; or rebecome so. People rose gradually; the son of a shop poses more languidly in the easy arms of the fair fringe. keeper purchased a 'charge,' his son purchased one high- maker, whose aërian habitation is approximate to his er, and thus by degrees the family which had begun at
Has he that incongruity of disposition which disthe shop rose to the magistracy and the Parliament." tinguished our roving forefathers, holds he in equal abo. The diffusion of knowledge, the division of fortunes, have mination the quiet of his “quartier" and the exercise of descended and spread tastes, formerly more exaggerated his legs,-and is he compelled to choose either dread aland more confined. The few have lost a habit of extra ternative, because to him neither horse, nor groom, nor vagance,—the many have gained a habit of expense. cabriolet, appertains? Heaven forbid! neither does he There is a smaller number of persons who squander away call to the cabriolet or the hackney-coach on the stand, their fortune, there is a smaller number of persons who which, in the first place, would be an exertion, and the save. In this, as in every thing else, the striking cha next, an extravagance. No; he abides inertly at his racteristic of Paris,-of Paris in 1834,—is the kind of door, with three-pence in his hand, and the first omnibus universal likeness that reigns throughout it. The great that passes transports him from the Jardin des Plantes to mass of Parisians (whether we observe their habits, their the Rue de Rivoli. I said that few in Paris are rich, few manners, or their language) are so many casts struck poor. No workman employed gains upon an average less from the same die.
than about eight hundred francs per annum. Hardly After telling how the old actors vanished from
any workmen, willing to work, is without employment ;
and the average income of each Parisian, taking one with the scene, Mr. Bulwer shows us who now strut
the other, has been considered one thousand francs. On upon it, and with what new airs and in what mo
this fact reposes the equality which strikes us, and the dern costumes.
reign of that middle class, whose dominion and whoso
aspect I have discribed. This income of one thousand Lo! before you, are the almost undistinguished mass francs, Mr. Millot has divided, and, according to his calof-eighty thousand national guards, and fitteen thousand culation-the washerwoman costs the Parisian more than electors! In this community are confounded journalists, the schoolmaster; the new-year's gift more than the ac. generals, bankers, barbers, the richest capitalist, and the coucheur ; the theatre twice as much as the nurse; the poorest patentee,-all classes are comprised in one im. librarian and bookseller half as much as the theatre; the mense middle class,-a middle class, not like the middle bath the same as the bookseller and librarian ; and the of England, merely occupied in making money, and born money spent in luxury and amusements, considerably of parents who have spent their lives in the same pursuit, more than that which is expended in the purchase of _but a middle class of all degrees and all professions, fuel, the dearest article of Parisian existence. Nor let it a middle class that does not stand between the gentry and be thought that Parisian gaiety is owing entirely to a the people, but between the mob and the monarch. In Parisian climate ! They who are now watching the the streets, the walks, the theatres,-this class_saunter weather-glass in our land of fog3, may like to know that ing on the Boulevard, laughing loud at the Variétés the Parisians theinselves have, in the way of weather, undressed at the opera,—spreads everywhere its own easy something to complain of. and unceremonious air; and Paris is fashioned to its ha. Paris has in the year (on an average of twenty years,) bits, as it was formerly to the habits of the spendthrift but one hundred and twenty-six days tolerably fine. “noble," and the sober « bourgeois ;" and the same causes But what may not be said of these one hundred and that have carried more seriousness into one portion of twenty-six days! They contain the history of France. society, have carried more amusement into another. Few The sun shines ; and behold that important personago are poor,-few are rich ; many are anxious to enjoy; who has so frequently decided the destiny of Paris ! Sre and everything is contrived to favour this combination of him in his black and besmeared “ blouse," his paper car, poverty and pleasure. There are many places where a and his green apron. There he is on the quais, on the person can live upon as little, but there is no place where Boulevards, in the Palais Royal ; wherever Paris is more a person can live so magnificently upou a little as in Paris. essentially Paris—there he is, laughing, running, shout. It is not the necessaries that are cheap, but the supera ing, idling, eating. There he is, at the fete, at the funcbundancies. Monsieur Bontin, an old bachelor, whose ral, at the bridal, at the burial, above all at the Revolu. few remaining locks are carefully adjusted, prefers enjoy tion. Hark, as he cries « Vive la France! vive la liberté !" ing his rent of eighty Napoleons a-year in idleness, to And he rushes on the bayonet, he jumps upon the cannon, gaining six times as much by an occupation. You con he laughs at death—he fears nothing—but a shower of clude immediately that M. Bontin is a man who was ac rain ; and was ever found invincible until Marshal Lobau quired in the world the best rules of philosophy, that he appeared against him,-- with a water-engine. Such is is a sample of unsophisticated tastes, and that it is pre the “ gamin" of Paris, who, in common with the gods, cisely the same thing to him whether it is dine upon a enjoys the privilege of perpetual youth. Young at the “supreme de volaille" at the restaurants, or crunch a “League," young at the “ Fronde,” young in 1789, young hard piece of dry bread in solitary discomfort. Here is in 1830 ; always young and always first when there is the mistake, Monsieur Bontin dines not at Very's, but frolic or adventure ; for the character of the Parisian is at La Place des Petits Pères ;-this is all the difference ! the character of youth : gay, careless, brave at all ages ; He pays twenty-two sous, instead of cight francs, for his he is more than ever gay, and careless, and brave, when
he is young. Such is the “ gamin" of Paris ; and in Neither are all students so serious and so learned as I spite of his follies and his fickleness, there is something presume my students to be. Many who go to the “ Ecole in the rags darkened by gunpowder, in the garment torn de Droit," merely fulfil a certain form, and visit their by the sword, and pierced by the ball, that foreigner college as we do our university, without much intention respects.
of benefiting by the instructions they receive there. These
are chiefly the young men of wealthy families. Their We shall pass the description of those young allowance from four hundred to eight hundred francs a men termed the lions; swaggering profligates, as month, enables them to lead an idle and joyous kind of disgusting in manners as they are worthless and life. There is a 66 café" at the corn of the Rue de ignorant in heart and mind, and come to that
l'Odeon, famous for the pretty lady at the counter, where
they usually breakfast, and occupy two or three hours in better class of students who deserve the name.
the morning in eating, reading the newspapers, and makThe extract affords an apt specimen of the faults ing love. In the evening they cross the water, dine in and affectations of style into which Mr. Bulwer the Palais Royal, and frequently treat themselves to the is too frequently seduced by the bad example of theatre. The vacant time not thus disposed of, is occu. certain modern French writers.
pied in smoking, talking, (still a favourite amusement
of the French,) and reading the light works of the day, But let us turn from those windows, where you see which fill the innumerable “ salons litéraires," or circu. light and music, and champagne, and tumult, to yon dim lating libraries, in that part of Paris where the schools and learned square, overshadowed by the Sorbonne ! are situated. This indeed is a circunstance worth re. There, opposite the miserable building, where Rousseau marking ; no young Frenchman is ever completely idle, dreamt of Heloise, in the arms of his “ grisette," (The completely illiterate, and completely uninformed. In rese,) there is a small, but clean and neat “ restaurant." our universities the great mass of those who are called The name over the door is Flekoteau-name sacred to gay men,” in contradiction to “ reading men,” the the early dinners of the wise and eloquent of France. great mass of these never open a book, never take up a Enter between three and four o'clock, and take your seat newspaper, never read three lines even of Byron or Wal. at one of the small tables, the greater number of which ter Scott, or the most popular living authors of the day; are already occupied. To your right there is a pale they hunt, they shoot, and drive; or if they cannot afyoung man: his long fair hair, falling loosely over his ford the reality of these amusements, they gratify them. face, gives an additional wildness to the eye, which has selves with the shadow, and are to be seen smoking in a canght a mysterious light from the midnight vigil : his shooting-jacket, or lounging in the livery stables, or clothes are clean and threadbare ; his coat too short at leaning ont of the windows and flourishing a tandem. the wrists ; his trousers too short at the legs; his cravat whip. The theatre, which would have afforded this set of a rusty black, and vaguely confining two immense of scholars some resource and some education, is peshirt collars, leaves his thin aud angular neck almost en remptorily forbidden, though it would be easy, by protirely exposed. To your left is the native of the south, per regulations, to obtain in it a means for elevating the pale and swarthy; his long black locks, parted from his taste, and giving a literary turn to the mind of many forehead, descend upon his shoulders ; his lip is fringed who are otherwise inaccessible to instruction or ini. with a slight “ moustache," and the semblance of a beard provement. In Paris the most idle of these gay men I gives to his meditative countenance an antique and apos. have been describing, have a certain elegance of taste and tolic cast. Ranged round the room, with their meagre love of letters. They read, they admire, they frequently portions of meat and bread, their pale decanter of water worship the popular genius of the time, and youth is before them, sit the students, whom a youth of poverty not passed without producing some of those elevating and privation is preparing for a life of energy or science. and poetic emotions which ennoble the after-passages of With them is the future-but where is the past ? Come life. But to few of the students is literature merely an with me, reader : it is our last pilgrimage : come with amusement, few are the idle and jovial possessors of me to that spot, where, unhallowed as the flame that three or fou hundred francs a month. The medical gleams about corruption, an unnatnral gaiety lives among students, more particularly those born of poor parents, the dead !come with me to those tombs, fantastically and struggling expressly for a profession, are frequently arranged, where a frivolous affection miserably displays in a state of almost absolute destitution, and forty, fifty, itself, in hanging an artificial garland, bought at the and sixty francs a-month is the allowance of many of these, gate for two “ sous," upon the tomb of the lover who young men, who have lodging, food, and fire, and clothing was adored! There lie Abélard and Heloise_ the monk to procure as they can out of this pittance; bad living, and his mistress : how many thoughts, customs, doc unhealthy air, and bard study, produce a frightful protrines, chances, changes, revolutions, in that sepulchre ! portion of deaths amongst these unhappy youths. The There is Massena, General of the Empire-Foy, states only comfort and consolation which their misery receives man of the Restoration ; for yonder cemetery, opened only is at the hands of the "grisette.” This friend, an ho. twenty years ago, already contains two dynasties. But nest, though perhaps too indulgent personage, who has pass through the crowd of pyramids, obelisks, mounds, no parallel in our society, is the student's beneficent gecolumns, that surround you on either side ; turn from nius, Between the “ grisette" and the student, there the to.nbs that are yet fresh, and look down from yonder exists a species of fraternity: they lodge frequently in elevation on the monuments that mingle ages !_what a the same house. If the student be ill, the grisette at. mass of history is there! Behold the ruins of that pa. tends him; if the student's linen be out of repair, which lace, built for the modern King of Rome! Behold the happens frequently, the “ grisette" mends it for him. church of Saint Louis, the statue of Bonaparte! Look The student, in his turn, protects the “ grisette,” gives for the site of the Temple of Jupiter !—for the house of her his arm on a Sunday in the Luxembourg, or pays the Ninon de l'Enclos I -- for the apartment of Danton—the necessary penny, and conducts her across the bridge. palace of Richelieu ! It is time that gives a magnificence Equally poor, equally in need of kindness and protec. to vastness : it is memory that gives a venerability to tion, brought together by their mutual wants, they form age.
naturally and immediately a new link in society, In a note which should have formed part of Our author has omitted to tell us what becomes the text, Mr. Bulwer has given a soberer, and, of the too susceptible and really kind grisette, perhaps, more correct account of those hopes of
when the object of her attentions has outgrown her their country,—the future men of la jeune affectionate ministrations, and what changes hapFrance.
pen to both, when those temporary ties are seIt is thus that the boy, taking with superior energy
vered, and both are fused down into the mass of the universal direction, never fails to be at the head of society. Does the student become a grave, every Parisian movement.
married, respectable physician,-the grisette a
bride of the order of St. Jacques ? We order his body run through with a small sword, or damaged these things better in England.
by a pistol bullet, before the evening were well over. Mr. Bulwer believes that the French people
Where every man wishes to be higher than he is, there
you find people insolent to their fellows, and exacting have lost much of the grace and polish of life, obsequiousness from their inferiors. and the snavity of manner which distinguished
That most important topic—when treating of their forefathers under the Grande Monarque and
France-Gallantry, obtains, as it deserves, a his successors, together with the blessings of the chapter to itself, and is thus managed : game laws, the gabelle, and the Bastille. Sterne
There is a small piece now acting at one of the minor would now look in vain for his high-bred monk. theatres called “ Pourquoi.” It is very popular; every “ The snall sweet courtesies of life" have been body goes to see it, and says, “ It is so true.” What tale jostled away in the tumults of Revolution, and
lies hid under this mysterious title ?
There are two married friends living together. The our author imagines the French people now
wife of one is charining, always ready to obey and oblige, less polite than the English, but also infinitely her husband's will is her law. Nothing puts her out less obsequious.
of humour. This couple live on the best of terms, and If you go to Boivin's, or if you go to Howel's and
the husband is as happy as husband can desire to be.James's, with what politeness, with what celerity, with
Now for the other pair! Here is continual wrangling what respect your orders are received, at the great man's
and dispute. The wife will have her own way in the of Waterloo Place—with what an easy « nonchalence"
merest trifles as on the gravest matters-storms when you are treated in the Rue de la Paix!' All this is quite contradicted, still tosses her head when humoured. In true; but there are things more shocking than all this.
short, nothing can be so disagreeable as this good lady is I know a gentleman who called, the other day, on a
to her grumbling but submissive helpmate. Happiness French lady of his acquaintance, who was under the
and misery were never to all appearances brought more hands of her " coiffeur." The artist of the hair was there,
face to face than in these two domestic establishments. armed cap-a-pie, in all the glories of National-Guardism,
“ Why" is one wife such a picture of good nature and brandishing his comb with the grace and the dexterity
submission ? « Why" is the other such a detestable with which he would have wielded a sword, and recount
shrew? This is the pourquoi. ing, during the operation of the toilette, now a story of
The spouse whom you shrink from in such justifiable “ Monsieur son Capitaine," now an anecdote, equally
terror is as faithful as woman can be. The spouse whom interesting, of “ Monsieur son Colonel,” now a tale of
you cling to as such a pillow of comfort, is an intriguing “ Monsieur son Roi, that excellent man, on whom he was
hussey. going to mount guard that very evening.” My unhappy
Hear, oh! ye French husbands! you must not expect friend's face still bore the most awful aspect of dismay,
your wives to have at the same time chastity and good as he told his story. “ By G-d, there's a country for
temper: the qualities are incompatible. Your eyes must you !” said he; “ can property be safe for a moment in
be picked out, or horns on your heads must grow. This such a country? There can be no religion, no morality,
is the farce which is “ so popular.” This is the picture with such manners I shall order post-horses immedi
of manners which people call “ so true." ately."
This, we apprehend, is more pointed than just. Mrs. Trollope might insert this anecdote of a There is more truth in what follows; and yet, polite people among her American adventures, recurring to the continual histories found in the and not find it out of place.
French newspapers, of young persons crossed in The regular old Joe Miller,—for it is one-with
course of true love," expiring in couples which our next extract commences, somewhat over the fumes of a pan of charcoal, and from shakes our faith in Mr. Bulwer's disparaging es. what we gather from the statistics of suicide, timate of certain British qualities.
placed before us by Mr. Bulwer himself, we can. Lady D. was going to Scotland : a violent storm arose. not imagine love so slight and frivolous a pasHer ladyship was calmly dressing her hair, when the sion, even in Paris, as it is here represented. steward knocked at the cabin door. “ My lady," said
“ There is nothing of passion in it-never expect a the man, “ I think it right to tell you there is every chance of our being drowned." " Do not talk to me,
folly! Not one lady in a hundred would quit the hus
band she deceives for the lover whom (soi-disant) she you impertinent fellow, about drowning,” said her aris
adores. As to the gentlemen-I remember a case the tocratical ladyship, perfectly unmoved ; “ that's the cap
other day :-Madame de -, hating her husband tain's business, and not mine."
rather more than is usual to hate a husband, or liking her Our great idea of civility is, that the person who is
loyer rather better than it is usual to like a lover, propoor should be exceedingly civil to the person who is
posed an elopement. The lover, when able to recover wealthy : and this is the difference between the neigh
from the astonishment into which he was thrown by so bouring nations. Your Frenchman admits no one to be
startling and singular a proposition_having, moreover, quite his equal—your Englishman worships every one
satisfied himself that his mistress was really in earnestricber than himself as undeniably his superior. Judge us from our servants and our shopkeepers, it is true we are the
put on a more serious aspect than usual. politest people in the world. The servants, who are paid
“ Your husband is, as you know, ma chère," said he, well, and the shopkeepers , who sell high, serape, and cringe, long as you like, under his roof_that is no breach of
my best friend. I will live with you and love you as and smile. There is no country where those who have wealth are treated so politely by those to whom it goes ;
friendship; but I cannot do M. de so cruel and but at the same time there is no country where those
unfriendly a thing as to run away with you."* In Italy
love is fierce, passionate, impregnated with the sun ; in who are well off live on such cold, and suspicious, and ill.
England, as in Germany, love is sentimental, ideal. It is natured, and uncivil terms among themselves. The rich man who travels in France murmurs at every
not the offspring of the heart, but of the imagination. A
poet on the banks of the Rhine is irresistible-a lord on nn and at every shop ; not only is he treated not better for
the banks of the Thames is the same. T'he lord indeed is being a rich man—he is treated worse in many places, from the idea, that because he is rich he is likely to give ple who are always dreaming of lords, and scheming to
a kind of a poet—a hallowed and mystic being, to a peohimself airs. But if the lower classes are more rude to
be ladies. The world of fancy to British dames and dam. the higher classes than with us, the higher classes in
sels is the world of fashion : Almack's and Devonshire France are far less rude to one another. The dandy who
House are the “ fata morgana" of the proudest and the did not look at an old acquaintance, or who looked im. pertinently at a stranger, would have his nose pulled, and
This is a fact.