On the river Seine are hundreds of little steamers plying up and down, from which one gets good views of the river’s banks. From one we were much amused to see how the washing of Paris is done. The washerwomen bring their clothes to the river and wade in quite a distance, and rub them in the muddy-looking water. We saw old women, pretty girls, and children all thus at work. I cannot imagine what keeps them from having rheumatism, neuralgia, and all the diseases that flesh is heir to. How linen can be made to look white in such water I do not understand, and yet some which we had laundered, and returned to us this morning, was immaculate—white skirts and furbelows included, all for two francs a dozen.
We stepped from our steamer on shore, near Notre Dame, and entered this cathedral, which, from pictures and descriptions familiar to us, seemed quite like an old acquaintance. The exterior is a regular cruciform, with an octagon end. At the other extreme are two lofty square towers, and back of them a spire, surmounted with a gilt cross. The outside is also adorned with some massive statues. The multitude of statues, of bas-reliefs, of beautiful sculpture, in the interior of the building, is wonderful in design, richness and beauty. The subjects are mostly from church history. There are many statues of the Virgin and Child, and the expressions of all are angelic and peaceful, and yet each one greatly differs from the rest. The face of St. Martin, who is represented in the act of sharing his mantle with a beggar, to protect him from the cold, is heavenly in its sweetness and beauty, and one turns again and again to look at it. Some of the subjects, however, are not as pleasing or as helpful. The Last Judgment is portrayed in three parts: the second scene represents the separation of the righteous from the sinners, but the faces of the ‘elect’ had such a victorious, triumphant, ‘I told you so’ look, as they gazed down upon their condemned brothers and sisters, that my sympathies were entirely with the sinners, and I thought I should rather have cast my lot with them. Amongst the sculptures of the Arch is a remarkable one of the Saviour trampling the wicked under His feet, and motioning to Satan to drag them off to hell. This is not our idea of the Saviour, who has said, ‘Come unto me,’ and ‘There shall be one fold and one Shepherd.’ The sacristy of the cathedral consists of a lofty hall (all of the large churches of Europe have sacristies and treasuries, in which are kept the valuables belonging to the church) and in this one we saw wealth untold. Church utensils, mitres, crosses, crosiers, swords, and many other articles, studded with precious stones, dazzling in their splendor. The robes which were worn by Pius VII. at the coronation of Napoleon I. were exhibited to us: they were very richly embroidered with silver and gold. A statue, as large as life, of the Virgin and Child, made of solid silver, is also here.
We next went to the church of St. Eustache. The altar of this church is exceedingly high, and composed of pure white marble, exquisitely sculptured, and the church also contains fine frescoes. Took a glance at the church of St. Germaine, which was the favorite place of worship of the Empress Eugénie. Also took in St. Chappelle, where we heard some soul-stirring music. All of these cathedrals are rich in stained glass, and are of immense proportions and varied beautiful architecture.
Feeling that we could not comprehend the wonders of any more churches in one day, we changed our train of thoughts to justice, by going through the Palais de Justice and into several other handsome public buildings. My eyes were brightened, also, by a look at the glitter of brilliant gems in the shops of the Palais Royal, although the other wise minds thought time thus spent a waste. ‘Stores enough in New York and Boston,’ they said; but oh, not such stores! How bright, how tempting the contents of those windows were! The shopkeepers of Paris think all Americans millionaires, and under some circumstances it might be flattering to be thus considered, but in shopping in Paris it is unfortunate, as in many stores here I am sure they advance the price of articles when an American seems to wish to purchase. I very much desired to obtain an odd little pin in one of the shops, but found it much dearer than I expected. The next day the daughter of my hostess secured it for me for about half the amount they valued it at when they thought I wished to buy it. But this is not the principle of all the stores, by any means.
The cabs of Paris are a great convenience. They are cheap to employ, and are handsome and most comfortable, much the shape of our Victorias. They use good, well-kept looking horses, well harnessed, and the cochers are attentive and polite. For all of this one has only to pay one franc to be carried anywhere within the city limits, or two persons can ride one hour for two francs. When I think of my carriage bills at home, in the party season especially, I feel like staying in Paris—and riding on forever—it is such a great pleasure for so little money.
During the day, we secured tickets for the opera this evening, but there were as many forms to go through with as we have for the inauguration of the President of the United States, and when the desired articles are at last transferred to the purchasers’ hands, at the rate of five dollars apiece, they are so cumbrous that one needs a valet to carry them. Our own method of going to the ticket window and quickly securing our little pieces of pasteboard, for half the money, is much better. After a fully appreciated dinner at home we arrayed ourselves for the entertainment, knowing better than to go in street costume, or with bonnets on, this time. Our box was a lower one, in the centre of the row, and from which we had a fine opportunity of seeing the audience and the beautiful interior of this house. It is simply magnificent. The decorations are rich, light, and cheerful. The vestibule and stairways are gorgeous and dazzling. About the halls and corridors are placed tables, where between acts the ladies and gentlemen sit, and sip cool drinks and ices, chatting and laughing as if life were all a gala day. All are in full dress, and the ladies’ gowns are exquisitely made and worn; low corsages, with diamond necklaces clasped around the throats of the fair wearers, predominate. As these French ladies and their dark-moustached escorts promenade over the white marble stairs to the strains of the sweet music, it is a gay and festive scene. We watched, with much interest and admiration, one very beautiful girl, the very loveliest of them all, and how delighted we were when we heard her speak, and found her to be an American. The opera was ‘L’Africaine,’ and was gorgeously set and grandly rendered. It was one A.M. when we reached home, but our kind hostess was waiting for us, to have the pleasure, as she said, of serving us with strawberries and cream.
By the way, such delicious cherries, strawberries, raspberries, and apricots as we have here do not grow in America. The market women drag the fresh, luscious fruits in wagons through the streets, and for a few sous one gets his fill.
Thursday, June 28, 1888.—Another morning spent in the Salon, and I wish we could have had time to have given the entire day there. We lingered before our favorite pictures, and at last turned reluctantly away from them, as from living friends. Spent the next hour at the Trocadero and its beautiful garden. The hall in the ‘Palace of the Trocadero’ will seat 10,000 people. The aquarium and museum connected are of much interest. Some of the statuary and sculpture are so beautiful that it seems impossible that human hands could have carved the speaking faces from blocks of marble. It is opposite here that the Exposition of 1889 is to be held. Museums in Paris are as thick as plums in a Thanksgiving pudding. Going toward the Madeleine, we stopped in the flower-market; tables and baskets were piled with flowers,—tons of them—cut flowers, and potted plants in bloom, and selling for a ‘mere song’ compared with home prices. We have so often looked eagerly in the florists’ windows on Tremont Street, just wishing and longing for even one jacquiminot, but when that took a dollar we had often to be satisfied with looking. ‘And now,’ said F., ‘we will have all we want; we will wear them, and smell them, to our hearts’ content, and is not Paris delightful, and what a good time we are having!’ Loaded with sweet blossoms, we strayed into the Madeleine, and seated ourselves just as a bridal party was entering the other aisle. We were uninvited but sympathetic guests. The bride looked very young, with a pretty face and figure, and a confiding, trustful manner; and when the groom, rather a distinguished-looking Frenchman, took her hand, and promised to love and cherish always, our hearts and lips cried Amen! We hope this little bride chose her own husband, for husbands, here, we are told, are generally selected by the parents of the girls for them, and they rarely rebel. Nearly all marriages among the wealthy class are ‘mariages de convenance.’ Indeed, a young girl here has a sorry sort of a time of it before she is married; she cannot be alone with gentlemen long enough to know whom she would like to choose for a husband, and consequently is more willing to accept submissively the one chosen for her, for marriage brings to her more freedom, liberty of action, and pleasure.
Since here, we invited a French lady to go to an entertainment with us. She accepted, but came to us later to apologize and decline, as she found herself obliged to chaperone her daughter, who was going to a garden party with Monsieur M., and of course could not go with a man alone. ‘Why, what is the matter with her man? Is he a lunatic?’ said F. ‘I went shopping alone yesterday, and asked information about the shops and streets of several of the genus, and they all seemed sane and gentlemanly.’ ‘Yes,’ was the lady’s reply, ‘they knew you to be an American, and American girls can do as they please here, unmolested, for they have always so respected themselves that all respect them.’ We were glad of the compliment for our countrywomen. The new-made wife and husband, with bridesmaids and ‘assistants’ (as they term, here, the ushers) and their friends, passed from the church, with our best wishes. This noted church is Grecian in style. Its altars are of carved wood and gold. The huge bronze doors have illustrations of the Ten Commandments in bas-relief. The altar is richly sculptured, and one portion of it represents angels bearing Magdalen to Paradise on their wings. Our good escort lights candles in all churches we enter, and the longest ones too, for the forgiveness of our sins, so I trust ere we leave this land we may be immaculate.
Out of the church, with all its holy sacredness and beauty, into the sunlight and the brightness of the streets. A barouche is waiting for us, in which we are soon seated, and rapidly dashing along on the asphalt pavement of the most beautiful boulevard in the whole world, the Champs Elysées. The avenue is broad, flanked with stately residences and beautiful rows of elms and limes, and long shady parks. We sped along, meeting showy equipages filled with gay people, behind high steppers managed by light-colored costumed coachmen, with remarkably big buttons. Many are on horseback, and the broad sidewalks are filled with happy promenaders. Surely it was a merry sight, and all were enjoying it in the rich atmosphere of this lovely June day. We paused, to see the Arc de Triomphe, then passed under it to the Bois de Boulogne, a lovely park and driveway, with lakes, cool groves, fountains, cascades, rustic houses and seats, and everything beautiful to make it what it is, a delightful resort. We alighted, sailed about the lake in a Cleopatra-like barge, sat at a vine-covered table, and drank the sweet milk that a pretty, black-eyed milkmaid brought to us fresh from her cow, and felt that this was our ‘life’s holiday.’