Twenty Years' Recollections of an Irish Police Magistrate

by Frank Thorpe Porter

CHAPTER XXXII. CONTRASTS—FRENCH KITCHENS—SHOPS AND SIGNS—THE SEINE—TREES AND FLOWERS—A PRETTY THIEF—FRENCH WIT—FRENCH SILVER—THE HOTEL DES INVALIDES.

In narrating the incidents that came under my personal observation, and the impressions produced by many of them on my mind, during a residence of eighteen months in the French capital, I have to suffer the disadvantage of a lapse of ten years, during which some tremendous visitations have produced very disastrous effects, which may be attributed not only to the successful hostility of a foreign enemy, but also to the unrestrained and sanguinary violence arising from domestic turbulence. These unhappy events may have occasioned changes in the morals and habits of the Parisians, which would prevent recent travellers from deeming my descriptions correct or my conclusions reasonable. Having premised the possibility of a considerable social alteration, I resume, and shall advert to certain comparative qualities of persons in this country and in Paris, belonging to similar classes, presuming to recommend them to the consideration, not only of those who may visit the French city, but to all who are desirous of the improvement and civilized progress of thousands around us. Let me put some unpleasant but truthful contrasts. If I walk, between the hours of nine and twelve at night, from Stephen's Green, by Grafton Street, Westmoreland Street, and Sackville Street, to the Rotundo, I shall see from two to three dozen intoxicated females, and hear many loathsome expressions. On Monday mornings, there have been frequently upwards of fifty females convicted before me for drunkenness; and it would appear, by the statistical tables of the Dublin police, that the numbers have not decreased since my retirement from office. Now, without stigmatizing my own native Dublin as a peculiar locality of public impropriety, I would fearlessly assert that the English Metropolitan district is as bad, that Liverpool is worse, and our own Cork not better. The contrast presented to the reader is, that during a residence of eighteen months in Paris, and in that time frequently passing at late hours through quarters in which much poverty is to be seen, and to which great immorality is generally ascribed, I never saw a female under the influence of liquor, and never heard an expression or witnessed a gesture of an indecent character.

I ascribe much of the intemperance of the operative classes in Ireland, aye, and in Great Britain also, to the absence in general of each sex from the potations of the other. I shall venture on a narrative, which the stenographic talent of Mr. Hughes enabled him to acquire whilst waiting in the yard or lobby of the police-court, and listening to a woman detailing the misfortunes of some of her friends:—

"Mrs. Rafferty had just run out to get a grain of tay and a quarther of shuggar. Mrs. M'Mullen, the shoemaker's wife, had a few half-pence left after paying for a pair of soles and some binding; and was it not quare that they should meet Jenny Riordan just round the corner at Cassidy's door? Cassidy always kept 'the best of sperrits,' and Jenny Riordan stood for little Patsy M'Mullen only a fortnight before. Mrs. M'Mullen insisted that half a glass a-piece would do them no harm, if they'd slip into Cassidy's. Well, in they went; and just as they were passing 'behind the tay chests,' that all the world mightn't see them, who should be there but Kitty Laffan and Betty Rooney. Poor Betty had just left her sarvice, and had half a quarter's wages in her pocket; and she wished to explain why she wouldn't stay in that place, as her mistress was too particular entirely. They were all decent women, that never took more than 'half a glass' at a time. But they were all very genteel, and had a proper spirit; so each insisted on 'standing' until each half glass had become half a pint. Mrs. M'Mullen got home after losing the pair of soles on the way, and got terrible usage from her husband. Mrs. Rafferty had a little difference with Betty Rooney, and as Betty felt herself rather strong after the last little sup, she cut Mrs. Rafferty's head with a pewter quart that happened, unluckily, to be 'convenient.' Mrs. Rafferty put Betty's eyes into mourning for the next week; and the big polisman (I don't know his name, but they call him 'Coffin-foot', because you might bury a child in his shoe) escorted the combatants to Chancery Lane." Some more of the party were picked up on their way home, and taken to Newmarket, and were brought up to the Head Office next morning. The husbands of these half-glass takers could not say much about the matter, for they had a little jollification amongst themselves on the previous Monday, and two of them beat their respective wives very severely, for daring to go skulking and prying after them, and disturbing them, under the pretence of getting them home.

Such was not an exaggerated picture, nor did it deal with an unusual occurrence; but there was a vast difference between it and the indulgences of the corresponding class in Paris. There, if a married operative took himself to the fair of St. Cloud, to the Bois de Boulogne, or Vincennes, his wife almost invariably not only accompanied him, and if they had a family, brought one or two of the children with her, but she also assumed the direction of the humble festivity over which she presided. Then, as to the refreshments, no seclusion was sought: on the contrary, if the weather was fine, the open air was preferred. Their landlord, their employers, their neighbours might be passing, or perhaps occupying the next tables, whilst the Frenchman and his family were enjoying themselves. The woman shared the wine, beer, coffee, cakes, or whatever formed the repast. Their superiors were recognised, and saluted with grave respect. Their acquaintances were accosted with politeness and apparent cordiality, but were not invited to join. Wine was not much used; beer, of German or English manufacture, especially the latter, was the drink most desired. The man sat, chatted, and smoked; the woman occupied herself with the children, or perhaps with needle-work. The various incidents of a French metropolitan thoroughfare or pleasure-grounds amused and sometimes excited them. Intoxication and its concomitant indecencies and absurdities were ignored. A man could not but feel repugnance to excess in the presence of his wife, and with his children almost at his knees; and, moreover, publicity is an important auxiliary to the promotion and maintenance of decorum. In the British empire, the respectability of a neighbourhood is considered a valid reason against granting a licence for the sale of liquor to be consumed on the premises, in the vicinity. In Paris, there is a restaurant in the gardens of the Tuileries, another at the Luxembourg, and two within the palatial grounds of St. Cloud, unless recent events have caused their suppression, which there is no reason to suppose to have occurred. In every part of France that I visited, I felt convinced that the policy was to have liquors moderately supplied to sober customers, and to impart full publicity to the sale and consumption. Amongst us the classes of society are separated from the view, and consequently from the moral influences of each other; and licensed public-houses in all our populous localities are provided with places arranged for the reception and refreshment(?) of the lower orders, where they may meet "no one better than themselves"—where they may skulk in and reel out.

I turn to another topic which involved a great and very apparent difference between the operative and labouring classes who came under my observation in Paris and those of corresponding grades in my own country. In the French capital, works were in progress of a most extensive nature. Great eminences were to be levelled, and valleys filled up; old streets were to disappear, to be replaced by spacious Boulevards, lined with splendid mansions. I was informed that upwards of 200,000 labouring men were employed in daily toilsome work, but to avoid any imputation of an exaggerated statement, I shall suppose the number not to exceed one-half of the thousands mentioned by my informants. As to those whom I saw engaged in mere labour, one look at their wrists and ankles—one glance at their weather-bronzed features and high cheek bones would suffice to satisfy any observer of the unceasing exertions incident to their avocations. Their necks were open, and a hat or cap, a blouse, trousers, shoes, and stockings were the only garments to be seen. Their clothes in general appeared old and worn; a patched elbow, a patched knee was to be seen with the great majority: but amongst them I looked repeatedly, but invariably in vain, for even one ragged man. I may mention that the words "une leque" (a rag) was considered amongst the lower classes in Paris as expressive of the utmost contempt for the person, male or female, to whom it would be applied.