It is calculated that in the course of the year the sales of fruit and vegetables amount to 241 millions of kilogrammes (one kilogramme represents upwards of two pounds), to which must be added nine million kilogrammes of fresh grapes, 30 million kilogrammes of sea and river fish (including lobsters and crayfish), eight million kilogrammes of oysters from various parts, 18 million kilogrammes of butter, 57 million kilogrammes of cheese, 181 million kilogrammes of meat of all kinds, 24 million kilogrammes of poultry and game; besides 20,721,600 kilogrammes of eggs, representing eggs to the number of 414 million—which gives to each Parisian an average of 166 eggs in the year. This figure, indeed, understates the fact, for the supply contributed by Paris itself has not been reckoned. Paris contains a number of cow-houses and small dairy farms, where milk and eggs are sold morning and evening, new-laid eggs, of which the Parisians are particularly fond, fetching from three to four sous apiece. There are fowls, too, in the Garden of Acclimatization; also in the large stables of the omnibus and cab companies. Many private persons, moreover, keep fowls. During the siege of 1870 a provision dealer in the Rue Vivienne kept on a marble counter a fowl which, when so disposed, laid beneath the eyes of the customer; and the eggs, whose freshness was unimpeachable, were sold at three francs apiece.
There is a great sale, moreover, in the Paris markets for raised pies of various kinds coming from Agen, Périgueux, Marseilles, Pithiviers, {317} Chartres, Amiens, Auvernay, Colmar, and Strasburg. These are estimated at 1,250,000 kilogrammes in the course of the year. But such a figure represents only a small portion of the pâtés consumed by the Parisians, large numbers of the delicacies being made in Paris itself, either by pastry-cooks of repute or by the best restaurateurs. At rich private houses, as at the principal clubs, where the kitchen is in the hands of eminent chefs, the pastry is always prepared on the premises. Season the whole with 20 million kilogrammes of grey or white salt, pepper, oil, and vinegar, and Paris will be found to consume of market food-produce alone, 640 million kilogrammes, without counting bread, the consumption of which is estimated at 700 million kilogrammes per year. Each Parisian, male or female, small or great, consumes every year {318} on the average 600 kilogrammes of food, which is washed down with 600 million litres of wine, beer, cider, or perry, independent of coffee and liqueurs, such as Cognac, Chartreuse, rum, Curaçao, kümmel, and kirsch.
From the above figures it will be gathered that the Parisian population is well fed; and such is indeed the case. The very poor find their profit in the superfluity of the very rich; while the working classes profit by the relative cheapness of everything. If the minor restaurants, where dinner can be had for 22 sous and breakfast or lunch for 16 sous, are found too dear, there are the crèmeries and the wine shops, where a basin of soup, a slice of boiled beef, and a piece of bread may be had for 8 sous. A number of charitable institutions, moreover, exist, where a basin of soup or a slice of meat costs only 2 sous, or, in some instances, is given gratuitously.
The corn market occupies a portion of the site of the ancient Hôtel de Soissons, given to the convent of Penitent Girls by Louis XII., from whom Catherine de Médicis bought it in 1572 as a residence for herself. A curious and significant memorial of the queen mother’s abode subsists in the shape of a column 30 metres high (the French metre is somewhat longer than the English yard), which is said to have been erected for Ruggieri, chief astrologer to the queen. At the base of the column is a fountain inscribed with the Arms of Paris; at the summit a sun-dial, constructed by Canon Pingré.
Two interesting buildings of different, and, indeed, opposite characters, that must not be forgotten in connection with the central markets are the new Commercial Exchange (in the Rue Etienne Marcel) and the old Fortress of John the Fearless, a very interesting specimen of the mediæval military architecture.
The greater part of this ancient quarter has been pulled down, and in place of it has arisen a new General Post Office (Hôtel des Postes), a building which resembles at once a barrack, a prison, a market-place, and a stable. The despatch, reception, and distribution of letters and printed papers is managed in the upper storeys, to which there are lifts, while the ground floor is reserved for the public. The former Hôtel des Postes, which has been absorbed in the new one, belonged successively to the Duke of Epernon and to the Controller-General, Barthélemy d’Hervart, from whom, on a memorable occasion, La Fontaine received hospitality.
The General Post Office of Paris, and central post office of all France, is established in a collection of houses, of which at least one possesses an historical character. Among the numerous persons of distinction who have from time to time directed the French Post Office mention in particular must be made of M. de Lavalette, who began life as a lawyer’s clerk, entered, at the time of the Revolution, the National Guard, and volunteered to serve with the army when war broke out. He distinguished himself at Arcola, and attracted the attention of Bonaparte, who promoted him to the rank of captain, appointed him one of his aides-de-camp, and afterwards gave him in marriage the niece of his wife Joséphine. After taking part in the campaigns of Egypt, Germany, and Prussia, he was charged with the reorganisation of the Post Office, received the appointment of general-director, together with the title of Count, and the right of sitting in the Council of State. Dismissed by the Bourbons in 1814, he did his utmost towards bringing the dethroned Emperor from Elba, and, on the news of his arrival in France, took possession of the Post Office; in return for which Napoleon gave him the superior appointment of Minister of the Interior. After the battle of Waterloo and the Second Restoration, Lavalette was arrested, brought to trial on a charge of high treason, and condemned to death. His wife, however, Louise de Beauharnais, had sworn to save him, and with this view sought an audience of King Louis XVIII. She had many friends who were all willing to aid her in her wifely enterprise. The Duke de Richelieu promised to speak to the Duchess of Angoulême in favour of Lavalette; and she, it was hoped, would intercede with the king. Marmont, an intimate friend of the prisoner, had arranged to take the young wife to the Tuileries; but on the very day appointed for this purpose an order was issued that no woman was, under any circumstances, to enter the palace. The explanation of so unexpected an edict was that the Duchess of Angoulême had resolved not only to say nothing to the king on Lavalette’s behalf, but to prevent anyone else, and especially his wife, from uttering a word to His Majesty on the subject. Marmont, however, accompanied by Mme. de Lavalette, contrived to force his way into the palace, and took up his position, with the agitated wife by his side, in a room through which he knew that the king and the Duchess of Angoulême would pass, on returning from mass. Seeing the unhappy woman on her knees, the duchess turned her head away; while the king, after {319} receiving a petition from her, muttered something unintelligible, and walked on. All hope of pardon had vanished; and it was understood that the execution would take place the following day. Foreseeing what in all probability would happen, Mme. de Lavalette had already formed a plan for her husband’s escape. One of her associates in the enterprise was an old friend of Lavalette’s named Baudus, who, in case of success, had prepared a safe asylum for the prisoner at the house of an old member of the Convention named Bresson, then chief of a division in the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. The very evening of the day on which she had gone to the Tuileries Mme. de Lavalette was taken to the Conciergerie in a Sedan chair, accompanied by her daughter, a girl of 14, and an old governess. The husband and wife dined together in a separate room; then the countess exchanged clothes with the prisoner. During this time a stupid servant was imprudent enough to say to the porters that they would find their load heavier than when they brought it in; adding, “But there will be 25 louis to pocket.” “We are to take away M. de Lavalette, are we?” asked one of the porters. Thereupon he refused to have anything more to do with the affair, and withdrew, but without divulging the secret. Another man was found to replace him. At last, after a painful leave-taking, three women appeared in the lobby of the prison; one of {320} them being in such a state of grief that, covering her face with her handkerchief, she did nothing but sob. The janitor helped her out of the prison without venturing to lift up the veil she wore. Then going to the room which the prisoner had occupied, he saw no one there but Mme. de Lavalette.
