Chapter VIII (3)

The garden is prettily laid out with winding paths, flower-beds, fountains, cosy arbors, where refreshments may be ordered, and a tête-à-tête enjoyed, the trees hung with colored lights, artificial perspectives made by bits of painted scenery placed at the end of pretty walks, &c. In the centre is a brilliantly lighted stand, which is occupied by a fine orchestra, and upon the smooth flooring about it, within sound of the music, the dancers. The frequenters of Mabille are of the upper and middle class among the males, the females are generally lorettes, and the spectators largely composed of Americans and English. The leader of the orchestra displays a large card bearing the name of each piece the orchestra will perform, as "Galop," "Valse," "Quadrille," &c., before it commences, and it is the dance which is one of the great features of the place; but this, which, a few years ago, used to be so novel, has been so robbed of its "naughtiness" by the outrageous displays of the ballet, and the indecencies of "White Fawn" and "Black Crook" dramas have left the Jardin Mabille so far in the background that even American ladies now venture there as spectators.

The fact that the women at Mabille are lorettes, and that in dancing they frequently kick their feet to the height of their partners' heads, appears to be the leading attractive feature of the place. The style of dancing is a curiosity, however; a quadrille of these women and their partners is a specimen of the saltatory art worth seeing. There is no slow, measured sliding and dawdling through the figure, as in our cotillons at home; the dancers dance all over--feet, arms, muscles, head, body, and legs; each quadrille, in which there are dancers of noted skill and agility, is surrounded by a circle of admiring spectators. The men, as they forward and back, and _chassé_, bend and writhe like eels, now stooping nearly to the floor, then rising with a bound into the air like a rubber ball: forward to partners, a fellow leans forward his head, and feigns to kiss the advancing siren, who, with a sudden movement, brings her foot up in the position just occupied by his face, which is skilfully dodged by the fellow leaping backwards, agile as an ape; the men toss their arms, throw out their feet, describe arcs, circles, and sometimes a spry fellow turns a summersault in the dance. The girls gather up their long skirts to the knee with their hand, and are scarcely less active than their partners; they bound forward, now and then kicking their boots, with white lacings, high into the air, sometimes performing the well-known trick of kicking off the hat of a gaping Englishman or American, who may be watching the dance. The waltz, polka, and galop are performed with a frantic fervor that makes even the spectator's head swim, and at its close the dancers repair to the tables to cool off with iced drinks, or a stroll in the garden walks.

The proprietors of the Jardin Mabille, Closerie des Lilas, and similar places, generally have some few female dancers of more than usual gymnastic skill, and with some personal attraction, whom they employ as regular habitues of the gardens as attractions for strangers, more particularly green young Englishmen and Americans. This place, however, is perfectly safe, being under strict surveillance of the police, and there is very rarely the least disturbance or rudeness; the police see that the gardens are cleared, and the gas extinguished, at midnight. Two nights in the week at the Jardin Mabille are fête nights, when a grand display of fireworks is added to the other attractions of the place.

The Closerie des Lilas is a garden not so extensive as Mabille, frequented principally by students and their mistresses--admission one franc, ladies free. Here the dancing is a little more demonstrative, and the dresses are cut rather lower in the neck; yet the costume and display of the person are modest in comparison with that in the spectacular pieces upon the stage. The students go in for a jolly time, and have it, if dancing with all their might, waltzing like whirling dervishes, and undulating through the Can-Can with abandon indescribable, constitute it.

Of course we did not omit the Palace of the Luxembourg, with its superb gallery of modern paintings, among which we noticed Delacroix' pictures of Dante and Virgil, and Massacre of Scio; Oxen ploughing by Rosa Bonheur, and Hay Harvest by the same artist; Horace Vernet's Meeting of Raphael and Michael Angelo, and Müller's Calling the Roll of Victims to be guillotined, during the Reign of Terror. In this palace is also the Hall of the Senate, semicircular, about one hundred feet in diameter, elegantly decorated with statues, busts, and pictures, and the vaulted ceiling adorned with allegorical frescoes. Here is also the Salle du Trône, or Throne Room, a magnificent saloon, elegantly frescoed, ornamented, and gilded. The throne itself is a large chair, elegantly upholstered, with the Napoleonic N displayed upon it, upon a raised dais, above which was a splendid canopy supported by caryatides. The walls of the saloon were adorned with elegant pictures, representing Napoleon at the Invalides, Napoleon I. elected emperor, and Napoleon I. receiving the flags taken at Austerlitz. Other paintings, representing scenes in the emperor's life, are in a small apartment adjoining, called the Emperor's Cabinet. We then visited here the chamber of Marie de Medicis, which contains the arm-chair used at the coronation of Napoleon I., and paintings by Rubens. The latter were taken down, with some of the beautiful panelling, which is rich in exquisite scroll-work, and concealed during the revolution of 1789, and replaced again in 1817.

The Garden of Plants, at Paris, is another of those very enjoyable places in Europe, in which the visitor luxuriates in gratifying his taste for botany, zoölogy, and mineralogy, and natural science. Here in this beautiful garden are spacious hot-houses and green-houses, with every variety of rare plants, a botanical garden, galleries of botany, zoölogy, and mineralogy, and a great amphitheatre and laboratories for lectures, which are free to all who desire to attend, given by scientific and skilled lecturers, from April to October. The amphitheatre for lectures will hold twelve hundred persons; and among the lectures on the list, which is posted up at its entrance, and also at the entrance of the gardens, were the subjects of chemistry, geology, anatomy, physiology, botany, and zoölogy. Many scientific men of celebrity received their education here, and the different museums are rich in rare specimens of their departments. The Zoölogical Museum has a fine collection of stuffed specimens of natural history, zoöphites, birds, butterflies, large mammiferous animals, &c. The Geological Museum is admirably arranged--curious specimens from all parts of the world--from mountains, waterfalls, volcanoes, mines, coral-reefs, and meteors, i. e., specimens from the earth below and the heavens above. The Botanical Department, besides its botanical specimens, has a museum of woods similar to that at Kew Gardens. A Cabinet of Anatomy contains a collection of skeletons of animals, &c. The Zoölogical Garden is the most interesting and most frequented part of the grounds. The lions, tigers, bears, elephants, hyenas, and other beasts have spacious enclosures, as in the Zoölogical Gardens at London, though not so well arranged, nor is the collection so extensive. The Palais des Singes (palace of monkeys), a circular building provided for these agile acrobats, is a most attractive resort, and always thronged with spectators. Parterres of flowers, handsome shade trees, shrubs, and curious plants adorn the grounds and border the winding walks and paths; and the visitor cannot help being impressed that almost everything connected with natural science is represented here in this grand garden and museum--plants, animals, fossils, minerals, curious collections, and library. A single visit scarcely suffices to view the menagerie, and many days would be required to examine the whole collection in different departments.

St. Cloud! Even those who travel with a _valet de place_, and cannot understand a word of French, seem to learn the pronunciation of this name, and to air their "_song klew_" with much satisfaction. Through the splendid apartments of this palace--since our visit, alas! destroyed by the invading Prussians--we strolled of a Sunday afternoon. There was the Saloon of Mars, Saloon of Diana, rich in magnificent frescoing, representing the gods and goddesses of heathen mythology upon the lofty ceilings; the Gallery of Apollo, a vast and magnificently-decorated apartment, ceiling painted by Mignard, with scenes in the life of Apollo, walls beautifully gilt and frescoed, hung with rare paintings, furnished with cabinets of elegant Sèvres porcelain, rich and curious furniture, and costly bronzes. It was here, in this apartment, that Prince Napoleon, son of Jerome, was baptized by Pope Pius VII., in 1805, and here the marriage of Napoleon I. and Maria Louisa was celebrated in 1810. Then we go on through the usual routine of grand apartments--Saloons of Minerva, Mercury, Aurora, Venus, &c.--rich in magnificent paintings, wondrous tapestry, elegant carving, and splendid decorations. Here are a suit of rooms that have been occupied by Marie Antoinette, the Empress Josephine, Marie Louise, Louis Philippe, and also by Louis Napoleon. Historical memories come thickly into the mind on visiting these places, and throw an additional charm about them. St. Cloud often figures in the history of the great Napoleon. That great soldier and his Guard, Cromwell-like, dispersed the Council of Five Hundred that held their sessions here in 1799, and was soon after made first consul. Farther back in history, here the monk assassinated Henry III., and it was here Louis XIV. and Louis XVI. often sojourned.

The Cascade at St. Cloud is the object that figures most frequently in illustrated books and pictures, and the leading attraction inquired for. It is in the grand park, and consists of a series of vast steps, at the top of which are huge fountains, which send the water down in great sheets, forming a succession of waterfalls, the sides of the steps ornamented with innumerable vases and shell-work. The water, after passing these steps, reaches a great semicircular basin, surrounded by _jets d'eau_, and from thence falls over other grand steps into a grand canal, two hundred and sixty feet long and ninety wide; dolphins spouting into it, fountains running over from vases, and spouting upright from the basin itself, and one huge waterspout near by sending up its aqueous shaft one hundred and forty feet into the air, the whole forming a sparkling spectacle in the sunlight of a summer afternoon.

Every alternate Sunday in summer is a fête day here; and on one of these occasions we saw fountains playing, merry-go-round horses, with children upon the horses, ten-pin alleys, in which the prizes were dolls, china ware, and macaroon cakes. Here was a figure of an open-mouthed giant, into which the visitor was invited to pitch three wooden balls for two sous; prizes, three ginger-snaps in case of success. The d--l among the tailors was in brisk operation; a loud-voiced Frenchman invited spectators to throw leathern balls at some grotesque dolls that he had in a row astride of a cord, a sou only for three shots; and prizes for knocking off the dolls, which were dressed to represent obnoxious personages, and duly labelled, were paid in pretty artificial flowers made of paper. Fortune-wheels could be whirled at half a franc a turn, the gifts on which that halted beneath the rod of the figure of the enchanter that stood above them belonged to the whirler. I heard a vigorous crowing, succeeded by a fellow shouting, "_Coq de village, un sou! Coq de village, un sou, messieurs!_" He had a huge basket filled with little shells, which were so prepared that, when blown upon, they gave a clever imitation of chanticleer. Fandangos carried their laughing groups up into the air and down again; inclined planes, with self-running cars, gave curious rides; and in one part of the grounds were shown booths of the old English fair kind. Before one, on a platform, a clown danced, and invited the public to enter, to the music of bass drum and horn; ponies, monkeys, trained dogs, and other performers were paraded, as an indication of what might be seen within; pictorial representations of giants, fat women, and dwarfs were in front of others; a sword-swallower took a mouthful or two by way of illustrating the appetite he would display for three sous; and a red-hot iron taster, in suit of dirty red and white muslin, and gold spangles, passed a heated bar dangerously near his tongue, intimating that those who desired could, by the investment of a few coppers, have the rare privilege of witnessing his repast of red-hot iron. These, and scores of other cheap amusements, invited the attention of the thousands that thronged the park on that pleasant Sunday afternoon; and among all the throng, which was composed principally of the common people, we saw not a single case of intoxication, and the trim-dressed officers of police, in dress coats, cocked hats, and swords, who sauntered here and there, had little to do, except, when a throng at some point became too dense, to open a passage, or cause some of the loungers to move on a little.

The traveller who visits the splendid retail establishments in the Rue de la Paix or on the Boulevards, unattended, and purchases what suits his fancy, paying the price that the very supple and cringing salesmen choose to charge, or even goes into those magasins in which a conspicuously-displayed sign announces the _prix fixé_, will, after a little experience, become perfectly amazed at the elasticity of French conscience, not to say the skill and brazen effrontery of French swindling.

In four fifths of these great retail stores, the discovery that the purchaser is an American or an Englishman, and a stranger, is a signal for increasing the regular price of every article he desires to purchase; if he betrays his ignorance of the usual rate, palming off an inferior quality of goods, and obtaining an advantage in every possible way, besides the legitimate profit. It never seems to enter the heads of these smirking, supple-backed swindlers, that a reputation for honesty and fair dealing is worth anything at all to their establishments. Possibly they argue that, as Paris is headquarters for shopping, buyers will come, willy-nilly; or it may be that deception is so much a part of the Frenchman's nature, that it is a moral impossibility for him to get along without a certain amount of it.

The _prix fixé_, put up to indicate that the establishment has a fixed price, from which there is no abatement, after the style of the "one price" stores in America, very often has but little significance. A friend with whom I was shopping upon one occasion told the shop-keeper, whom he had offered fifteen or twenty per cent. less than his charge, and who pointed, with an expressive shrug, to the placard, that he was perfectly aware the price was fixed, as it generally was "fixed" all over Paris for every new customer. Monsieur was so _charmé_ with his repartee, that he obtained the article at the price he offered.

One frequently sees costly articles, or some that have been very slightly worn, displayed in a shop window, ticketed at a low price, and marked _L'Occasion_, to signify that it is not a part of the regular stock, but has been left there for sale--is an "opportunity;" or intimating, perhaps, that it is sold by some needy party, who is anxious to raise the ready cash. Some of these opportunities are bargains, but the buyer must be on his guard that the "occasion" is not one that has been specially prepared to entrap the purchaser into taking a damaged article of high cost at a price beyond its real value.

Although the French shop-keeper may use every artifice to make the buyer pay an exorbitant rate for his goods, the law is very stringent in certain branches of trade, and prevents one species of barefaced cheating that is continually practised in New York, and has been for years, with no indications that it will ever be abolished.

In Paris--at least on the Boulevards and great retail marts--there are no mock auction shops, gift enterprise swindlers, bogus ticket agencies, or similar traps for the unwary, which disgrace New York. Government makes quick work of any abuse of this kind, and the police abolish it and the proprietor so completely, that few dare try the experiment. Neither dare dealers in galvanized watches or imitation jewelry sell it for gold. They are compelled to display the word "imitation" conspicuously upon their shop front and window; and really imitation jewelry is such an important article of trade, that as much skill is exhausted upon it as in the real article, and dealers vie with each other in producing splendid imitations, some of which are so good that a purchaser may, while the article is worn in its "newest gloss," make a display for ten francs that in the real article would cost as many hundreds. Neither are dealers allowed to sell berries by the "box," or peaches by the "crate;" nor are there any of the opportunities of America in making the "box" or the "crate" smaller, without deduction of price. Many kinds of fruit are sold by weight, and there appears to be a rigid inspection, that poor and damaged articles shall not be palmed off upon purchasers. When the government steps in to the regulation of trade, it does it so business-like, so thoroughly, promptly, and effectually, and places such an impassable bar to imposture, that an American, even of the most spread-eagle description, cannot help acknowledging that there are some advantages in imperial rule, after all. He certainly feels a decided degree of confidence that the law will be enforced upon a ruffian or a pickpocket, that should be detected in any attempt to interfere with him, which he never can feel in the city of New York, and that the French police are always on hand, know and perform their duty without solicitation; are efficient officers of the law, and not political roughs, rewarded with places, to be paid for with votes.

There are many French articles that have a large sale in America, and which the traveller promises himself he will lay in a supply of, on visiting Paris, which he is quite surprised to find, on inquiry, are hardly ever called for by Parisians. Thus certain brands of kid gloves, and varieties of perfumery, that are very popular in America, can scarcely be found at the shops on the Boulevards. The best gloves, and those most celebrated in Paris, which are really marvels of excellence in workmanship, are of a brand that cannot be found in the American shops, their high price affording too little margin for profit; but scarce an American who visits Paris but supplies himself from the now well-known magasin in Rue Richelieu. A friend, who thought to purchase at headquarters, sought in vain in Paris for the thick, yellow, and handsomely-stitched gloves he had seen in Regent Street, London, known as French dog-skin. Nothing of the kind could be found. They were made exclusively for the English market.

But it really seems as if almost everything ever heard or thought of could be bought in the French capital, and made in any style, prepared in any form, and furnished with marvellous speed. There is one characteristic of the European shopmen, which I have before referred to, which is in agreeable contrast with many American dealers; and that is, their willingness to make or alter an article to the purchaser's taste; to sell you what you want, and not dispute, and try to force an article upon you which they argue you ought to have, instead of the one you call for. If a lady liked the sleeves of one cloak, and the body of another, she is informed that the change of sleeves shall instantly be made from one to the other. Does a gentleman order a pair of boots with twisted toes, the boot-maker only says, "_Certainement, monsieur_," and takes his measure. The glover will give you any hue, in or out of the fashion, stitched with any colored silk, and gratify any erratic taste, without question, at twenty-four hours' notice. The ribbon-seller will show you an innumerable variety of gradations of the same hue, will match anything, and shows a skill in endeavoring to suit you exactly. In fact, we presume that the foreign shopman accepts the situation, and is striving to be more a shopman than ever, instead of--as is too often the case in our own country--acting as though he merely held the position _pro tempore_, and was conferring an honor upon the purchaser by serving him.

Purchases may be made down to infinitesimal quantities, especially of articles of daily consumption; and where so many are making a grand display upon a small capital, as in Paris, it is necessary that every convenience should be afforded; and it is. Living in apartments, one may obtain everything from the magasins within a stone's throw. He may order turkey and truffles, and a grand dinner, with entrées, which will be furnished him at his lodgings, at any hour, from the neighboring restaurant, with dishes, table furniture, and servant; or he may order the leg of a fowl, one pickle, and two sous' worth of salt and pepper. He can call in a porter, with a back-load of wood for a fire, or buy three or four sous' worth of fagots. But your true Frenchman, of limited means, utilizes everything. He argues, and very correctly, that all he pays for belongs to him. So at the café you will see him carefully wrap the two or three lumps of sugar that remain, of those furnished him for his coffee, in a paper, and carry them away. They save the expense of the article for the morning cup at his lodgings. So if a cake or two, or biscuit, remain, he appropriates them as his right; and I have even seen one who went so far as to pocket two or three little wax matches that were brought to him with a cigar. Much has been said of how cheaply one can live in Paris. This would apply, with equal truthfulness, to many of our own cities, if people would live in the same way, and practise the same economy. This, however, is repugnant to the American, and, in some respects, mistaken idea of liberality.

The absolute, unnecessary waste in an American gentleman's kitchen would support two French families comfortably. In some it already supports three or four Irish ones.

There are three ways of going shopping in Paris. The first is to start out by yourself, and seek out stores which may have the goods that you desire to purchase; the second, to avail yourself of the services of a _valet de place_, or courier; and the third, to employ the services of one of your banker's clerks, who is an expert, or those of a commission merchant.

We have experimented in all three methods. In the first, you are sure to pay the extreme retail price. In the second, you are very likely to do the same, the only difference being that the courier gets a handsome _douceur_ from the shop-keeper for introducing you, or, in other words, shares with him the extra amount of which you have been plundered. The latter method is by far the best and most satisfactory to strangers unfamiliar with Paris and French customs.

Stereoscopic views of Paris, which we were charged one franc apiece for on the Boulevards, were purchased of the manufacturer in his garret at three francs a dozen. Spectacles which cost five dollars a pair in Boston, and eight francs on the Boulevards, we bought for three francs a pair of the wholesale dealer. Gloves are sold at all sorts of prices, and are of all sorts of qualities, and the makers will make to measure any pattern or style to suit any sort of fancy. Jewelry we were taken to see in the quarter where it was made--up stairs, in back rooms, often in the same building where the artisan lived, where, there being no plate glass, grand store, and heavy expenses to pay, certain small articles of _bijouterie_ could be purchased at a very low figure; rich jewelry, diamonds, and precious stones were sold in quiet, massive rooms, up stairs, in buildings approached through a court-yard.

For diamonds, you may be taken up stairs to a small, carefully guarded inner room, dimly lighted, in which a black-velvet-covered table or counter, and two or three leather-covered chairs, give a decidedly funereal aspect to the place. An old, bent man, whose hooked nose and glittering eyes betoken him a Hebrew, waits upon your conductor, whom he greets as an old acquaintance. He adjusts the window shade so that the light falls directly upon the black counter (which is strikingly suggestive of being prepared to receive a coffin), or else pulls down the window-shade, and turns up the gas-light directly above the black pedestal, and then, from some inner safe or strong box, produces little packages of tissue paper, from which he displays the flashing gems upon the black velvet, shrewdly watching the effect, and the purchaser's skill and judgment, and keeping back the most desirable stones until the last.

Ladies' ready-made clothing may be bought in Paris as readily as gentlemen's can be in New York or Boston--garments of great elegance, and of the most fashionable make and trimming, such as full dress for evening party or ball, dress for promenade, morning dress, and cloaks of the latest mode. These are made, apparently, with all the care of "custom made" garments, certainly of just as rich silk, satin, and velvet, and a corps of workwomen appears to be always in attendance, to immediately adapt a dress or garment to the purchaser by alteration, to make it a perfect fit. In one of these large establishments for the sale of ladies' clothing were numerous small private drawing-rooms, each of which was occupied by different lady purchasers, who were making their selections of dresses, mantles, or cloaks, which were being exhibited to them in almost endless variety.

The saleswomen were aided by young women, evidently selected for their height and good figures, whose duty it was to continually whip on a dress or mantle, and promenade back and forth before the purchasers. By these shrewd manoeuvres, many a fat dowager or dumpy woman of wealth was induced to purchase an elegant garment, which, upon the lithe, undulating figure of a girl of twenty was a thing of grace and beauty, thinking it would have the same effect upon herself. These model artists were adepts in the art of dress, and knew how to manage a dress trail in the most _distingué_ style, wore a mantelet with a grace, and threw a glance over the shoulder of a new velvet cloak or mantle with an archness and _naiveté_ that straightway invested it with a charm that could never have been given to it had it been displayed upon a "dummy." As an illustration of the value of a reliable _commissionaire's_ services at this first-class establishment, it is only necessary to state, that on our second visit, which was in his company, we found that a difference of eighty to a hundred francs was made in our favor, on a six hundred franc costume, upon what was charged when we came as strangers, and alone.

There are some magnificent India shawl stores in Paris, carried on by companies of great wealth, who have their agents and operatives constantly employed in India, and whose splendid warehouses are filled with a wealth of those draperies that all women covet. In a room of one of these great shawl warehouses we saw retail dealers selecting and purchasing their supplies. Salesmen were supplied by assistants with different styles from the shelves, which were displayed before the buyer upon a lay figure; and upon his displeasure or decision, it was immediately cast aside upon the floor, to be refolded and replaced by other assistants; which was so much more labor, however, than unfolding, that the floor was heaped with the rich merchandise. This so excited an American visitor, that she could not help exclaiming, "Only think of it! Must it not be nice to stand knee-deep in Cashmere shawls?"

Many purchasers, who seek low prices and fair dealings, visit the establishment known as the "_Bon Marché_," rather out of the fashionable quarter of the city, and "the other side of the Seine." The proprietor of this place buys in big lots, and sells on the quick-sales-and-small-profits principle; and his immense warehouse, which is filled with every species of dry goods, haberdashery, ribbons, clothing, gloves, gents' furnishing goods, and almost everything except groceries and medicines, is crammed with purchasers every day, whose _voitures_ line the streets in the immediate vicinity. At this place bargains are often obtained in articles of ladies' dress, which may be a month past the season, and which are closed out at a low figure, to make room for the latest style; and American ladies, who sometimes purchase in this manner, rejoice, on arrival in their own country, with that joy which woman only knows when she finds she has about the first article out of a new fashion, and that, too, bought at a bargain.

It is a good plan for American tourists, who have any amount of purchases to make, to take a carriage by the hour, and the banker's clerk or commission merchant whom they engage to accompany them, and make a day of it. It will be found an economy of time, and to involve far less vexation and fatigue, than to attempt walking, or trusting to luck to find the articles desired. An American, on his first visit to Paris, finds so many things to attract and amuse him, and withal meets so many of his countrymen, all bent upon having a good time there, that he generally overstays the time he has allotted himself in the gay capital. Once there, in its whirl of pleasure and never-ending kaleidoscopic changes of attractions, amusements, and enjoyment, time flits by rapidly; and when the day of departure comes, many a thoughtless tourist feels that he has not half seen Paris.