A rough sketch of modern Paris

by J. G. Lemaistre

A gentleman and his wife, proposing to visit Paris, particularly if they happen to be attached to each other, and have no decided rank, ought carefully to provide themselves with all the letters of recommendation which they can possibly obtain, if they wish to be admitted into any of the houses of the parisians. They must remember, that every thing is calculated in this town, and that, if the female traveller will not conciliate the masters of families by her smiles, nor her husband by presents and attentions to the ladies, no door will be opened which is not forced open by the imperious command of some person, on whose power and interest the party depends. With the most insignificant title, or the lowest order of chivalry, something may be done, for these add to the splendour of an assembly; but without these advantages, and without vice, foreigners live but dully in this gay city. An english lady, of superiour talents, observed to me one day, with great truth, that she never discovered that her title of “countess” was of any use, till she entered the territory of the french republic. I ought also to mention, that it seldom happens in this country, that a person, to whom a stranger is recommended, thinks it necessary to present him to another. Of course, the number of acquaintance will not exceed that of the letters with which a foreigner is favoured. It may be doubtful, whether all of these will be attended to; but, at any rate, the houses of those to whom he is addressed will form the limits of his society. Families coming here with children, will have great advantages in procuring them education. Masters in every science, and in every language, may be had at a very easy expense. The only antidote is the temptation to pleasure. Under a certain age, no place can be so well suited to the purposes of instruction.

Having taken a hasty view of the different situations in which this town may be visited, I shall conclude my subject by enumerating in what I conceive London is superiour to Paris, and in what Paris is superiour to London.

In width, cleanliness, and beauty, the streets of London have such a decided advantage over those of Paris, that I believe even a frenchman would acknowledge, that the question could not be disputed. The footpaths of the former, on which the pedestrian may walk without danger or dirt; the excellent pavement, which prevents any fatigue from being experienced in the use of a carriage; and the brilliance of the lamps at night, which renders the passage, in an evening, from one part of the town to another, rather a pleasure than a pain, are but ill contrasted by the narrow and filthy lanes of the latter, in which persons on foot are constantly exposed to every kind of accident and inconvenience; to the neglected carriage ways, in moving over which individuals are bruised, and wheels rapidly worn out, and to the dismal and uncertain light, which a few lanterns, hung by cords suspended from the opposite houses, faintly afford. But if the streets of Paris must yield to those of London, the former city is undoubtedly superiour in its palaces and public buildings, and in the height, style, and architecture of private houses, the stone fronts, regular plan, and lofty dimensions of which, have a very commanding appearance. But though the edifices are finer, and the arrangement more convenient, each floor consisting of a complete set of rooms, yet, from their great size, it usually happens that the same house is inhabited by several families, and the stairs, consequently, becoming public, are as dirty and as disgusting as the common streets. Where too an individual keeps an entire house in his possession, the number of his servants is rarely proportioned to the size of his habitation, and either only a part is occupied, or the whole is neglected and in bad order.

I cannot help adding, as a singular circumstance, that notwithstanding the extensive and superiour scale on which private hotels are built at Paris, I have seldom seen open, at an assembly here, either as many rooms, or those of such large dimensions, as are met with, on similar occasions, in families of rank and fashion in London. The reason of this apparent contradiction, perhaps, is this, that as but one floor (whether others belong to the same person or not) is generally made use of, the bed rooms, offices, and antichamber, occupy too large a space to allow much extent for the apartments devoted to the reception of company. From the opposite reason, it often happens that a house in London, of moderate size, has several large rooms, in which a numerous society may be entertained, though these rooms are scattered on different floors.

In respect to furniture, the houses of the “parvenus” are elegantly and splendidly fitted up. Most of the other private hotels have received little improvement, repair, or alteration, since the beginning of the revolution, and are consequently not very remarkable, either for freshness or novelty of taste. Carpets are not common; and though the beds are generally better, and in a more ornamental form, than those usually seen in England, and the antique shapes are most classically imitated in the decoration of these, and in the chairs, or fauteuils; yet, in other respects, I think our modern manner of fitting up houses has the advantage over that which generally prevails at Paris. Mahogany, so commonly used in England for dinner tables, is seldom applied to that purpose in France; and, as the cloth is never removed, they are made of deal. En revanchè it forms, instead of gold, the frames of satin furniture; and the walls of drawing rooms are often ornamented with that wood. I cannot say, I admire mahogany thus employed; but this is entirely a matter of taste. Plate glass is, of course, very superiour, and infinitely more common in the decoration of rooms than in England; yet, with this exception, and a few others, I think our apartments in London are more completely furnished, are much cleaner, and have many little comforts which are wanting in those of Paris. Some particular houses here do, indeed, present models of taste, profusion, and luxury, unequalled by any of ours; but the number of these is very trifling, and alters but little the general result.

The eating rooms of french houses are very disgusting. Instead of the comfortable turkey carpet, handsome curtains, stuccoed walls, blazing fire, and ornamented sideboard, of a London parlour, the dinner is here served in a dark and gloomy apartment, called “la salle à manger,” imperfectly heated with a stove, the floor generally of stone, and always without a carpet, the windows without curtains or shutters, and the whole dirty and uninviting. Where there is not a separate antichamber, the servants occupy the dining rooms in the absence of their masters; and, in that case, the smell, which such company are apt to leave, is extremely offensive.

Of the assemblies I have already spoken. Excepting a great ball given by madame Recamier, where there was a crowd of three or four hundred persons of different classes, with only a standing or sandwich supper, and a superb fête given by monsieur de Dimidoff, a rich russian, I have heard of no very numerous party. The balls generally consist of from fifty to a hundred people. Those at which I was present, appeared rather calculated to show the dancing and dress of the ladies, than to promote general gayety or diversion. In splendour of costume, and in graceful movements, our entertainments of this sort must yield to those of Paris; but in general mirth, in decorations, in supper, and brilliancy of light, the comparison is decidedly in favour of the former. The constant fluctuation also which takes place in London, from the number of engagements of each individual, gives a variety which is wanting in a french party, at which all the invited pass their whole evening.

The thés, which answer, in some respects, to our card parties, are infinitely less in number than the latter. The conversation of the former is, undoubtedly, on subjects more worthy of occupying the attention of rational beings, than the senseless chit chat of our fashionable coteries. It is only to be regretted, that the desire of speaking on literary subjects with éclat, so generally prevalent at Paris, not unfrequently degenerates into pedantry and affectation. Hence the tasteless coiner of pompous sentences is often mistaken for a man of genius; and the chattering ostentatious coxcomb is admired, while the silence of modesty, and the reflection of good sense, expose those in whom they are discovered, sometimes to ridicule, and always to neglect. The conversation too, is commonly monopolised by a few, and the rest of the company yawn away their evening uninterested and uninteresting. On this subject the higher classes, of both countries, might improve, by observing the faults of each other; those of England, in rendering the topics of their conversation less trifling; and those of France, by letting ideas, instead of expressions, occupy their attention.

The concerts here are dull and tiresome entertainments, which last five or six hours uninterruptedly. Young ladies are often the principal performers, and admired rather in proportion to their rank and fashion than to the harmony of their voice, or the scientifical proficiency which they have made in the study of music. As we have generally in London the first italian masters, and the most distinguished singers, I conceive that our amusements of this sort must be superiour to those of Paris.

Of the spectacles I have fully spoken in a former letter. I shall, therefore, be as concise as possible at present. The opera of Paris is superiour to that of London in dancing and decoration; but the latter, in point of brilliance, gayety, music, beauty, and elegance of company, has such an advantage over the former, that it may be justly said to be, in the language of Shakspeare, “Hyperion to a satyr.” As to the play-houses, the comic performers in France possess a degree of extraordinary merit, and of professional skill, which I do not conceive any theatre of Europe can equal; but if they have attained a higher point of perfection than our actors in that line, I think our tragedians as decidedly exceed the french in simplicity of diction and of manner, in the just representation of human passions, and, above all, in taking nature for their guide, which, in assuming the buskin, the latter seem entirely to forget. As to the general state of the spectacles as public places, those of London are infinitely gayer, but those of Paris more orderly, and less subject to riots, indecency, and disturbance.