Chapter I: Am Going to Paris

I am now all cap a pie for Paris. Ho! for Boston, is nothing to ah! Paris. I have been this morning to get my last view of the great Palace of the World's Fair. I have since been to Greenwich to eat white bait, and I am now hurrying on to the station. Whoever wishes to see a good deal of the country, and a broken down route, had better take what is called the Brighton Route. If you leave London at 6 o'clock in the evening, you will stop at 8 o'clock at New Haven, a place with a name on the map, but in fact no place at all, save the destination of the train of this route. There you will, in all probability, have to wait about an old building an hour or two for the arrival of a boat to take you across the channel. Next morning, if you are lucky, you arrive at 8 o'clock at a little old French town called Dieppe, just in time to be too late to take the morning train for Paris. It is said that these little old half dead towns live off these tricks. I got a pretty breakfast _a la carte_; I say pretty, because I had boiled eggs, red wine and white, radishes, lettuce, and three boquets on my breakfast table. Having been disappointed in taking the morning's train for Paris, I vented my wrath on both bottles of wine, thereby getting an equilibrium between disappointment and contentment. This done I went down to a little old shed which they called the Custom House, to get my trunks which they had been searching. I then took a ride in the country to see the ruins of an ancient castle, captured by the first reigning king of the present great Bourbon family, Henry Quatre, King of Navarre. This was the first ruined castle I had ever seen, and it interested me so much that in spite of the boat last night with no berths, sea sickness, custom-house troubles, disappointment in getting to Paris that day instead of 11 o'clock at night, I was in quite a good humor, and in fact, considered myself well paid for the ride, though in an old chaise and two poor horses.

At the ruins of this enormous pile of brick and mortar, was an old, broken down French officer. His companion was a lonely raven. We could go in and out of no part of this dilapidated mass of downfallen power, without meeting the raven. He seemed to be a lonely spirit. I caught at him once when he came within two feet of me; he jumped about a foot further off and stopped right still, and turned his head so that one eye was up and the other down, and kept looking up at me as long as I looked at him, as if he would fain say _laissi moi_ (let me be). The cool treatment of the raven about these old ruins lowered my spirits. I gave the old soldier a franc for his trouble and information, and got in my old turn-out, and turned around to say adieu to the old soldier when I found him too much engaged paying Jocko with crumbs, his portion of the bonus, for services rendered.

At 4 o'clock I found myself well seated in a French car, for the first time, direct for Paris. Here we go in a tunnel, and it is dark as ebony; here we come out; away go the cattle as if Indians were after them.

It would be impossible to conjecture that French farmers were lazy, for this is the Sabbath and down in the meadows I see farmers reaping. I can see towns in such quick succession, it would be useless to attempt to describe them. It is now 11 o'clock, and I am at my destination and being searched. Nothing found and I am pronounced an honest man. But my honesty, if there be any, is like Falstaff's, hid. I have two hundred cigars in my over and under coat, and they are, indeed, contraband and was one of the greatest objects of search; but, reader, if you pronounce this French stupidity you deceive yourself. It was French politeness that allowed me to pass unnoticed by this scrutinizing assemblage of Savans. If a man move among these lynx-eyed prefectures as a gentleman ought to, he is, once out of three times, likely to pass the barrier of their polite inclinations, whilst at the same time it would give them great satisfaction to believe that it would pay to examine you, were there a justifiable excuse for such rudeness, overbalancing the politeness which is characteristic of their whole national dignity. The French are proud of their national characteristics, and least of all nations inclined to trample them under foot.

It is now eleven o'clock, as I have before said, and I am in Paris, trying to get across the Boulevard des Italian. What I mean by trying is, picking my chance. I am no dancing master, and in this crowded street might not do the dodging right the first time.

I am now across and ringing the bell at 179 Rue Richelieu. This is the Hotel des Prince (Hotel of the Princes). Mr. Privat is the proprietor. In this Hotel all have gone to bed except a beautiful little woman at the concierge. She was sewing whilst stillness reigned around her, like a deep, dark forest, just before a storm. She received me with a smile. I, not knowing that this was her usual behavior to all patronage of this or any other house in Paris, took for granted I had made an extra impression right off. She took me to an apartment which she said was merely temporary. To-morrow, she said, I could get another to my taste. I gazed around at all the different doors and comforts with numerous conveniencies of neatness, and said to her, "Miss, this, in my opinion, is good enough for the oldest inhabitant." She smiled and went away and brought me a bottle of water with a piece of ice inside just the shape of the bottle. "How did you put that piece of ice inside without breaking the bottle?" said I. "It was water, sir, and it froze inside," said she, "will you have something to eat?" I said I would like a small bit of chicken and red wine; she rang the bell and an English and French waiter was summoned; she went away and left me pretty certain that I was in Paris.

FIRST DAY IN PARIS.

Next morning I felt pretty sure I was in Paris, or I "wasn't anywhere else." Every five minutes would assure me that I was there. Before the grey of the morn departed from Paris I had two lady visitors. One was a beautiful girl, like "Mary of Adelphi." She was evidently mistaken in finding a tenant in this one of her rooms, unless that was her way. She moved up to the washstand, which was near my bed, or rather couch, and slyly looked in the drawer and drew back. I, wishing to let her know that if her business or adventure was connected with me, she need not fear waking me, rose my left arm and said, "good morning!" She, not understanding what I did say, muttered out something like "_reste vous tranquilles_," which, I afterwards learned, meant, don't be disturbed. She hurried out the half opened door pulling her little starched dress, that seemed to pull back, after her. Five minutes after this, she returned and placed on my stand close to my bed, a bottle of ice water and a glass. I asked her name, she said, Elverata, and winded away.

Five minutes after this another female opened my door about a foot and leaned gracefully in. She asked me some question two or three times, all that I could understand was Blanche, with some other points to it like _E sirs_. Consulting my guide of the French translated into the four following languages, French, Italian, German and English, I discovered she was talking about washing. I got this book in London and studied all the way to Paris, but found that I had made no improvement; all I knew of the book was, that the words translated were only some useful words that the solicitors would most likely know themselves when it would be necessary to use such expressions. She ran to me, for she was acquainted with the book better than I was, and helped to find what she wished to say. "_Ie trouver, Ie trouver_," she said. I gave her the book, at the same time asking her in English what was _trouver_. She looked up at the wall, like a Madonna, and seemed to be lost in inward study, at last she looked me full in the face and said, "fyend." "Ah!" said I, "find." "Yis!" said she, "what you call _cela_?" "Washerwoman," said I. "_Ie suis washe-women_." This woman was certainly very bewitching whilst speaking this broken English. I gave her to understand that some other time would be more agreeable. She said she "stand" and went out; but as she did not stand, but went out, I presume she meant to say "I understand."

At eight o'clock I descended to the _salle a manger_ for breakfast. Persons were coming in to breakfast, two and three a minute, and others were going out as fast. This continued till eleven o'clock. Thirty and forty were frequently at the table at the same time. Mostly all were Europeans; and had everything not gone on so regularly, an American "greenhorn" would have taken them to be the confusion of tongues convening for a reconciliation. On the table was more wine than coffee. The coffee was usually taken in the smoking room, where all gentlemen assemble to discuss politics. Among this assemblage that I am so flippantly speaking of, was three noblemen of England, one Duke of Italy, three barons of the Rhine, and a broken down princess. From merely gossip authority, I learned that she was the wife of a great man in one of the Russio Turko principalities. She was generally dressed in black, and had two servants and a _lacquey de place_. She was handsome and that had ruined her. She was getting from her husband 100,000 per annum to stay away from him and his court, which seemed to meet her approbation. She roomed on the same floor I did, and I frequently met her smiling in these narrow and dark passage ways. She seldom dined at the "_table de hote_," (dinner table) but either at the _trois frere_, (three brothers) or the _maison d'or Doree_, corner of the Boulevard and rue Lafitte. She most always had her Cabinet, good dinners and various wines, consequently was always full of agreeability. She would walk home herself, and, like the rest of ladies in Paris, she was always sure that her dress in front should not drag the ground, by a process she had in her nature, to show her intention of keeping her dress high enough to prevent all accidents of the kind. By this habit of hers, she got many admirers, for what a man would then see instead of her dress would be no disadvantage to her or her intention. Her reputation was such that had she been once gazed upon by the Virgin Mary, the fiery censure of her pure eyes would have been basilisks to her poor heart; the poor Princess would have dropped dead from the mere spark of censure which the Virgin could not, though fain would, hold back.

The day has gone by. I stood about, looking! looking! looking! Seeing what is novel enough to an American in Paris, in the court of the _Hotel des Princes_. Night came on and I went to my room to prepare to see a "Night in Paris." I shall write of a Night in Paris, and then shall say no more of Paris until I have been to Germany and return, where I expect to spend three or four months. After this voyage I calculate to spend the winter here, and write something of Paris and its manners.

My first day ends by meeting the Princess on the steps, and having the pleasure of answering some inquiries of hers about sea-sickness, and pleasant ships of the Cunard Line.

FIRST NIGHT IN PARIS.

My "first day in Paris" commenced at night. If sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander, I will commence this chapter in the day by saying, "where now! valet de place?" "Notre dame," he replied, and the coachman drove away towards the Boulevards. In half an hour's time, he reined before the door of that "Venerable old monument of reality and romance." I approached it like a timid child being baited with a shining sixpence. As my feet touched the sill, a peal came from the belfry, one of those sonorous twangs, that have made so many hearts flinch for hundreds of years in the "Bloody Bastile," and it vibrated from my timid heart to all parts of my frame. At this moment a reverend father offered me his hand, who had all the time been concealed beneath what one might well take to be a dark black coffin standing on end. I accepted his hand, and he led me quietly in that vast "sepulchre of kings."

In all directions I saw magnificent aisles, and altars with burning incense. Magnificent pictures representing all reverend worth, from the "Son of Man," to saints of France. Golden knobs with inscriptions thereon, adorned the footsteps of every visitor thereof, denoting the downwardness of kings who had once ruled nations. Whilst standing there awestruck with departed worth, I gazed downward with a submissive heart, when lo! I stood upon the coffin of a king! I quickly changed my position, but stepped upon a queen. The valet was relating to me the many different opinions the people had about stepping on noted personages, and how unnecessary it was to take notice of such things as they were dead, when I got disgusted at his ignorance, and stepped from a Queen to a Princess.

To describe this gorgeously furnished sanctum, it is enough to say, that all the brilliant artists of this scientific people have been engaged for hundreds of years in its decoration. Not only employed by the coffers of the Church of France, but by the throne that upheld numerous kings, as well as the wish of the whole populace of France, and the spoils of other nations. Hundreds of people from different parts of the world visit it every day, and all leave a franc or two. Thousands of Parisians visit it every day, and they make no mark of decay. It stands a living monument of Church and State.

Drive me to the national assembly, I said to the coachman. In ten minutes I was going up the gallery. Before I went in, the valet went to a member's coachman, and gave him a franc, and he gave in return a ticket to the gallery. Each member is allowed so many gallery tickets, and if he fails in giving them out, he makes his servants presents of them, and they sell them.

They were debating republican principles. Louis Napoleon was then President of the Republic, and on the door of every building and gate of France were these words in legible letters, "Liberte Eqalite Fraternite." Louis Napoleon was not there that day, and they seemed to have a good time, like mice when the cat is away. The most incomprehensible part of their proceeding was, sometimes two would be speaking at once, regardless of the chair. The speaker hammered away furiously, but it was hard to tell, unless you knew, whether he was beating up a revival or a retreat from destruction; as they cooled off their debative heat, there was always twenty or thirty ready to throw agitating fuel in the furnace. As they would cool down a whiff, mushroom-like risings, would be perceptible in four or five different parts of the spacious hall. I could make nothing out of what was going on, save willingness to talk instead of listening, and I left. One handsome and intelligent looking gentleman descended at the same time, which I learned to be the correspondent of the New York Tribune. I then took a curve like tour back, across the Seine, by the Tuillieries, Luxomburg, and back to the same part of the Boulevards, which was more crowded with fashion, than when I passed along in the forenoon, and went home. Night came on, and with it, the gayest time of Paris. The valet said I must go to _Jardin mabeille_, (a ball), I rode there. This is a nightly ball, but there was no less than fifty vehicles of different comforts, which showed that a great many foreigners were there, because Parisians generally prefer promenading when going to such a feast of pleasure. I paid two francs and went in.

It was a garden about a square block in size. In all parts of it was shrubbery of the most fragrant odors. There was an immense number of little walks, with neat rustic seats for lovers to caress in, from the disinterested eye; and on my first preambulation, I got lost, and intruded more than was polite, but I did not know the importance of this discretion, until I perilously saw the danger. Had I gone on without stopping, I would have led myself to the orchestra, where and when I could have taken part in the amusement to the approbation of all present. When I discovered that I did not know what I was about, I stopped quickly and looked scrutinizingly around those snug little bowers. All in a minute out came a "bower lover," as furious as a cat. I asked him "where the ball was;" he discovered that I was no Frenchman, and could not have meant intrusion; he directed me to go straight ahead, and I left him in his bliss.

Like a round pigeon house on the end of pole, I pronounce the orchestra. A stair ran up to the pigeon house from the platform round the great pole, or post that supported it. A small enclosure was under the orchestra and occasionally the band would descend to the platform to play. Round this orchestra they danced. The spectators seemed to be exclusively foreigners; they made a ring around the gay lotharios as unbroken as the one they made around the orchestra. The bassy and fluty melodious Band, discoursed the sweetest waltz that ever tickled my admiration. Off they glided like a scared serpent, winding their curvy way as natural as if they were taking their chances. There they come! But there is some still going in the ranks, and there is still a vacancy. Twice they have made the circuit, and the hoop is complete. Now to me it is all dizziness, and it all looked to me as a moving body of muses from times of yore. Occasionally my eye would cling to a couple for an instant, but this was occasioned by the contrast between a large, fat, and heavy gentleman, that had become a troublesome neighbor to all that chose to get in his way. Whenever any of the lighter footed would discover their close proximity to his Appollo pedestals, like a shooting star they would flit away, and leave him monarch of all he surveyed.

I wish to describe a few of the most conspicuous, but I will wait for a quadrille, where I can get them to take their places in description.

The name of my valet de place is Oscar.

"Oscar, what nation does that puny looking, red-skinned man belong to?" "A _Maltese_," said he, as if he never would stop sounding the ese, but he added the "I believe." I afterwards found out that he was some of the Canary Island's stock; but the best of the stock. A beautiful French girl held him by the hind part of his coat with her left hand, whilst she held with her right his hand, lest he might go off in his glee, "half shot." She was also afraid that some interested lady might take better care of him than herself. He was fashionably dressed, and in Paris, as a nabob, His actions represented some rich man's foolish son.

I swear by my father's head, I see a live Turk! Turban! sack hanging between his legs, more empty than Falstaff's! one of the genuine breed that followed Saladin to the plains of Palestine and stood before Richard's battle-axe with his scimitar! one of the head choppers of Christians! Perhaps the next will be the amiable countenance of "Blue Beard." The old Turk and his beard is trying to dance, but his bag won't let him. He is let down, and goes off the track. He is now mixing some oakum with tobacco. Now he is looking on, like a poor boy at a frolic--yes! he would if he could. I am sure his first duty to-morrow will be to hunt a mosque and give up dancing. He is leaving and trying to get his money back.

I walked round on the opposite side, and saw several other incomprehensibles. "What tall, fine looking, yellow skinned man is that, Oscar, with that tall lady standing looking on?" "That, sir," said he, "is a very rich quadroon from Louisiana, I believe New Orleans. He lives at No. 4, _Boulevard Possoniere_, when he is in town, but he has his country residence nine miles in the country. He has a very handsome French lady for a wife, and it is said he left New Orleans on account of their prejudice to color. He is a very popular man here, and is said to be worth $150,000." Just then I saw Mr. Holbrook, of the New Orleans Picayune, and Mr. Fellowes of the firm of Fellowes & Co., step up to this man and shake him warmly by the hand, and said, "Mr. Cordevoille, don't you know me? I patronized your tailor's shop five or six years." Cordevoille had been the largest tailorizer in the South, and accumulated a large fortune, and sold out to his partner, Mr. Lacroix, who still is carrying on the firm under the name and style of Cordevoille & Lacroix. Mr. Cordevoille was looking the very picture of a gentleman; he seemed to be a great object of respect to those that spoke to the lady he was conversing with in the French tongue. He reminded me more of Prince Albert in his manners than any other person around. Had his face not been pock marked, he would have conveyed a conception of an inferior Appollo; his _tout ensemble_ had as many brilliant cuts of a true gentleman's conduct, as the single diamond he wore. After some enquiry about New Orleans, he invited some American gentlemen to his country seat; it was to be on the following day, and they being high toned gentlemen of sense, they accepted, not so much for pleasure and information, as for giving Mr. Cordevoille to understand that they understood the duty of gentlemen; no doubt they felt that if they refused, Mr. Cordevoille might feel the weight of such a refusal. They agreed also to stay all night, which invitation had been extended by Mr. Cordevoille. Lest it be a censure on these gentlemen, I refrain from going any further with a subject so delicate.

I now walked under the roof of a very extensive hall; in it was all kinds of refreshments. All one side of the hall was a door, so that when the crowd in the garden was likely to be overtaken by a shower, dancing went on in there. Immense crowds were seated about at tables smoking, and discussing politics, but not one gentleman had his foot on the table, except an American quietly seated in one corner in a profound soliloquy. He was chewing tobacco. I did'nt stop to see where he spit, for fear he might claim nationality. I learned that several of the quietly seated, were members of the National Assembly. It was now getting late, and gentlemen that had pretty mates were going through the gates in compact succession. Why gentlemen with pretty mates could not stay to the last was a mystery to me. But to solve that mystery I followed the crowd, and discovered that the nearer they got home, the more affectionate they got.

The most of these couples would stop at the first _cafe_ and call for their _tass du coffee_ and _vere d'eau de vie_ (cup of coffee and glass of brandy). They would set the brandy on fire and burn the spirits out, and then pour it into the coffee. As soon as they began to feel the effects of this pleasant nourishment, they would move again for home.

At 11 o'clock at night carriages were running in all directions from Balls, Theatres, Operas, Museums, Concerts, Soirees, Dancing Schools, and more amusements than could be named in one article.

I went to the hotel, seeking my own amusement. I could not conjecture a more comfortable place than the house I roomed at, after seeing all this night's bustle. Even if I could not find my own room, I was in the house of acquaintances.

I went to the room of an acquaintance, and talked and lingered in agreeable conversation and amusement until near day. I approached my own chamber, and found that whilst I was out helping to make a city of dissipators, Elvereta had been to my room and arranged my wardrobe _comme foi_. This ends my "first night in Paris."