Paris and the Parisians in 1835 (Vol. 1)

by Frances Milton Trollope

Drawn & Etched by A. Hervieu.

Louvre.

London, Published by Richard Bentley, 1835.

I am sure you must remember in days of yore,—that is to say, before the last revolution,—how very agreeable a part of the spectacle at the Louvre and in the Tuileries Gardens was constituted by the people,—not the ladies and gentlemen—they look pretty much the same everywhere; but by the careful coquetry of the pretty costumes, now a cauchoise, and now a toque,—the spruce neatness of the men who attended them,—nay, even by the tight and tidy trimness of the "wee things" that in long waist, silk apron, snow-white cap, and faultless chaussure, trotted beside them. All these added greatly to the pleasantness and gaiety of the scene. But now, till the fresh dirt (not the fresh gloss) of the Three Days' labour be worn off, dingy jackets, uncomely casquettes, ragged blouses, and ill-favoured round-eared caps, that look as if they did duty night and day, must all be tolerated; and in this toleration appears to consist at present the principal external proof of the increased liberty of the Parisian mob.

LETTER VI.

Society.—Morality.—False Impressions and False Reports.—Observations from a Frenchman on a recent publication.

Much as I love the sights of Paris,—including as we must under this term all that is great and enduring, as well as all that is for ever changing and for ever new,—I am more earnestly bent, as you will readily believe, upon availing myself of all my opportunities for listening to the conversation within the houses, than on contemplating all the marvels that may be seen without.

Joyfully, therefore, have I welcomed the attention and kindness that have been offered me in various quarters; and I have already the satisfaction of finding myself on terms of most pleasant and familiar intercourse with a variety of very delightful people, many of them highly distinguished, and, happily for me, varying in their opinions of all things both in heaven and earth, from the loftiest elevation of the rococo, to the lowest profundity of the décousu school.