Burials are a monopoly in Paris. The Pompes funèbres is a great company, who have decorations arranged and always ready for every church in Paris, and everyone is buried by them, and in the “class” they choose to pay for. There are seven or eight “classes,” and it is so arranged that the rich pay for the poor. A first-class funeral is very rare, as it costs a very large sum. Officials attend the poor man’s funeral—only less gorgeously dressed—equally with the rich, and all things are done decently and in order. As a sign of the times, not long before I left Paris, I was called upon to take a funeral of an American at St. Germain, some miles outside the fortifications. The family and friends went down by train, and I went with the body, but in a motor-fourgon (hearse). When we left the gates of the city we travelled very rapidly.
I noticed a marked change during my life in Paris in the keeping of Sunday. Twenty years ago many shops were open, and there was little to distinguish it from any other day. Now most places of business are closed. Leagues were formed some years ago, advocating one day’s rest in seven, and quite lately (1907) a law was passed requiring that all employés should cease work on Sunday. Those compelled to work on that day (in restaurants, etc.) must have another day. Alas! the change is not due to a religious but a secular movement, and is solely to oblige one day’s rest in the seven as a holiday. As far as it goes it is a good thing for the people, and it is pleasant to see the orderly crowds enjoying the open air in the Bois, the Parc Monceau, and other places, while one regrets the irreligion which is so characteristic of the nation at this time.
The well-known Mark Twain (Mr. Clements) came to Paris to complete (so I understood) one of his books. No one knew of his presence amongst us for some time. When I heard of it I went to see him in his hotel in the Rue de Rivoli to ask him to give a public reading from his works for the benefit of the proposed Church House. He put me off in his characteristic way. I then went to see the Marquis of Dufferin and Ava—our Ambassador at that time—and asked him if he would give a room at the Embassy if I could persuade Mark Twain to read. He kindly agreed, and so did Mr. Clements. We had a splendid success, the rooms were crowded. We obtained twenty francs a ticket, and cleared some £200. American humour is sometimes difficult for English people to appreciate, but no one could resist Mark Twain. I shall always feel grateful to him for his kind help on that occasion.
Among the many artists it was our privilege to know in Paris was the eminent sculptor, Mr. Bruce Joy. He had then a studio in the city. We still possess a replica of his well-known bust of the late Archbishop Benson.
Paris is a city which might well be compared to the Adulamites Cave, where all in distress and difficulty congregate. Among the unfortunates was the late Oscar Wilde. I had known him a little in Dublin as a student, and had also met him at Lady Wilde’s receptions. He came to Paris to die. When I heard of his serious illness I went down at once to enquire, but found he had passed away. The “concierge” told me that he had been visited by a Priest, and baptized into the Roman Church. As is often the case, the Baptism was administered when the patient was “in extremis,” and knew nothing about it. The Roman Church, however, claimed to take the funeral, and I could not object.
Curious mistakes were sometimes made by the French Postal authorities, owing to the difficulty of language. Each Easter it was my custom to send out a card to the members of the congregation giving notice of the services, and at the foot a suitable quotation from the Scriptures. In 1895, I sent out the card as usual, and the passage was “The Lord is Risen.” One came back to me through the dead-letter office addressed to “The Lord is Risen, 5 Rue d’Aguesseau.”
All sorts of ideas and rumours were circulated when the French Church was separated from the State. One morning a French gentleman called at the Vestry and asked me if it was true that Sir Francis Bertie, our present Ambassador in Paris, had purchased the Madeleine Church, our own being too small! This is somewhat parallel to the story of an Irish clergyman, who told me that the day after the bill passed to disestablish the Church in Ireland he heard in the early morning a scythe going in his field. A stranger was cutting his hay. Upon enquiry, the man said: “Sure, sir, the Church is disestablished now, and I thought I would come early for my share!”
The French often make curious mistakes in their translations into English, but the same may be said, and perhaps more so, with respect to our renderings into French, e.g., A young English girl was heard to exclaim “Je suis cheval,” desiring to say she was hoarse. And another, who had a touch of the same complaint, “Je ne peux pas hirondèle,” meaning she could not swallow. Upon another occasion, when called to play in public, a girl said “Je suis sûre de casser-en-bas,” in her fear of coming to grief. It was rather a peculiar way to express hurry, when one said “Je suis dans une dépèche.” I suppose most have heard the story told by Dean Pigou, of Bristol, of the lady (I believe an American) who, desiring a cab, called out “Cochon êtes-vous fiancé.” Another story, which was current in my time, is worth repeating. A girl who had been but a few months in Paris learning French was taken out by her parents to a restaurant. Looking over the menu, she was asked to translate the sentence “Ris de Veau à la financière,” which she told her delighted parents was “the calf laughs at the Banker’s wife.” Many of such mistakes arise when young people are placed in French families where no English is spoken at all, and so their errors pass uncorrected.
Among the remarkable men who lived and died in Paris during my chaplaincy was Mr. H. A. M. Butler-Johnstone. He had been for sixteen years Member of Parliament for Canterbury, and as a youth was at Eton, at the same time as His Majesty King Edward. He was closely identified with the young Turkey party in Paris. He was on his way to the Post Office in October, 1902, when he died suddenly in the street near the Place Vendome. He was staying with his wife at the Hotel Continental, but there being no funds, his funeral was undertaken by the British Charitable Fund. I conducted his funeral, which was attended by quite a number of the Turkish Colony in Paris. It was said that his financial ruin was caused by his having lent £200,000 to the Turkish Government in 1877 to resist the encroachments of Russia. To raise this sum he sold his pictures to the National Gallery, as well as his estates in England. It was said that he gave great offence to the late Marquis of Salisbury by the attitude he took up on the Russo-Turkish War.
In January, 1907, there was a remarkable gathering of eighty-six Prelates of the Roman Church in Paris to discuss the attitude of the Church towards the recently passed “Law of Separation.” What seemed the more remarkable was that the gathering was held at the Château de la Muette Passy, the residence of the Count and Countess de Francqueville, and that the Countess presided at the lunch, she being a member of the Anglican Communion. The Countess, as is well known, is the daughter of the Earl of Selbourne, and niece of the late Bishop of Southwell.