Kitabı oku: «The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction. Volume 17, No. 494, June 18, 1831», sayfa 5
THE SELECTOR; AND LITERARY NOTICES OF NEW WORKS
PARIS AND ITS HISTORICAL SCENES
(Library of Entertaining Knowledge, Part 18.)
We have little inclination to quote more than a few passages from the General View of Paris in this Number; the topographical portion of which, (as far as a four months residence there will serve our judgment) is eminently characteristic.
Ancient City
The Archbishop of Narbonne, writing in the reign of Francis I., (about 1520,) calls Paris even then a world rather than a city3; yet at that period its population was probably not much more than the fifth part of what it now is; nor did the quantity of ground it covered bear even the same proportion to the immense space over which it has now extended. But in both convenience and elegance, Paris has made still more extraordinary advances since the time of Francis than even in population and extent. It was then, compared to what it now is, but a gloomy and incommodious fortress, without even the security which encompassing fortifications might be supposed to yield. Lighted only by candles placed here and there by the inhabitants themselves in their windows, it was so infested by thieves and assassins that hardly any person ventured out after dark, and the approach of night was the source of constant terror even to those who remained in their houses. The streets thus imperfectly lighted, were worse paved; and most of them were as dirty and narrow as those still to be seen in the more ancient part of the city. The supply of water was so inadequate that the severest miseries were sometimes suffered from the absolute want of that necessary of life, and the greatest inconveniences at all times from its scarcity. Finally, the public edifices were without splendour, and even the best of the private houses unprovided with many of what are now accounted the most indispensable accommodations. Instead of all this, we behold Paris now one of the very central seats of civilization; and although still deficient in many of the accommodations which supply to the necessities of the many instead of the luxuries of the few, in possession of the greater portion of the most important provisions which ingenuity has found out, whether for the comfort or the embellishment of existence. What a contrast between the French capital of 1831, and that Lutetia of the ancient Parisii, which Caesar found nearly nineteen hundred years ago occupying the little island, around which has since extended itself so wide a circle of wealth, industry, intelligence, and the works which these create!
Bridges
Paris, stands, like London, on both banks of a river, and is thus cut into two great divisions, one to the north, and the other to the south, of the water. The Seine, however, is not nearly so broad as the Thames; and the northern and southern halves of Paris are not, therefore, by any means so much separated from each other, either locally, politically, or socially, as are the corresponding portions of the English metropolis. They form, in all respects one city.
The Seine flows in a direction nearly opposite to that of the Thames, namely, from south-east to north-west. It preserves almost a perfectly straight course in passing through Paris, except that it bends considerably to the south immediately before leaving the town. The river, as it flows through the heart of the city, is interrupted by three small islands lying in succession, the two most westerly of which, the Ile de la Cité (otherwise called the Ile du Palais) and the Ile St. Louis, or de Notre Dame, are covered with streets and houses. The third, called the Ile Louvier, is used only as a depôt for fire-wood. The parts of the town on the opposite sides of the river are connected with each other, and with these islands, by nineteen bridges, thirteen of which are constructed of stone, and two of stone and iron: of the others two are chain-bridges, one is built of wood, and two of wood and iron. Several of these structures, especially the Pont des Arts, the Pont Louis XVI., and the Pont de Jena, or de l'Ecole Militaire, all of which are to the west of the Ile du Palais, are distinguished by their majesty or elegance, and add much beauty and picturesque effect to the vista of the river. Excepting at one place where the two branches enclosing the Ile du Palais unite, immediately to the west of that island, the breadth of the Seine at Paris is no where greater than about 550 English feet, and at some points it is not more than half that distance from the one bank to the other. The bridges, therefore, by which the Seine is traversed, are not to be compared in point of magnitude with those of the Thames at London. Even the Pont Neuf, which connects the Ile du Palais with both the northern and the southern divisions of the city, and comprehends in fact two bridges, with an intermediate street, is shorter taken altogether, than Waterloo bridge by more than 200 feet; and the Pont Louis XVI., which next to the Pont Neuf is the longest of the Parisian stone bridges, measures only about 485 feet between the abutments, while Westminster Bridge measures 1223, and Waterloo Bridge 1242 feet. It is in the number of its bridges alone, therefore, that the Seine is superior to the Thames.
The Boulevards
The most remarkable feature in the general appearance of Paris, is the inner inclosure formed by the celebrated road called the Boulevards. On the north side of the river, the Boulevards follow a line nearly midway, on an average, between the river and the wall. The space which they comprehend, therefore, is but a small portion of that included within the outer boundary of the city. The length of this part of the road is about 5,200 English yards, or somewhat under three miles. That on the south side of the river is of far greater extent, approaching, as it does, throughout its whole sweep, very much closer to the wall, and in some parts entirely coinciding with it. It measures about 16,000 yards, or above nine miles in length. Each of these lines, although in reality forming an uninterrupted road from its commencement to its termination, is divided into a succession of parts, each having its particular name. The northern Boulevards are twelve in number, the southern seven. We have nothing in England like the Parisian Boulevards. They may be generally described as a road or street, of great breadth, along each side of which are planted double rows of elms. But these shady avenues do not present merely a picture of rural beauty. Rising as they do in the heart of a great city, they partake also of its artificial elegance and splendour, and are associated with all the luxuries of architectural decoration. Considered merely as a range of streets, the Boulevards are hardly rivalled by any other part of Paris. Those to the north of the river are lined on both sides throughout their whole extent, by buildings more uniformly handsome than are those of almost any other street in the city, and by many which may be even described as magnificent. Some of these are private residences; others are shops, cafés, public hotels, and theatres. The crowds by whom so many parts of these Boulevards are frequented chiefly give to the scene its singular liveliness and brilliancy. The southern Boulevards, though equally beautiful, are far from being so much the habitual resort of the citizens; but the walks on this very account, have a charm for some moods of mind which the others want. Another road, planted in a similar manner, has more recently been carried round the outside of the present walls of the city. It is distinguished from the inner Boulevards by the name of the Boulevards Extérieurs.
Streets
To a person accustomed to the appearance of the streets of London, or indeed of any other English town, those of the interior of Paris will present considerable novelty of aspect. The extreme narrowness, in the first place, of those in the more ancient parts of the city, and the great height of the houses, with their windows in many cases fortified by bars of iron, would alone give them an air of gloom and precaution, almost sufficient to impress the Englishman who walks through them with the feeling that he has been transported, not only into another country, but into another age. Even where these indications of the more ancient evils of Paris are not visible, the general aspect of the town shows that it has not grown with the growth of a free people, amongst whom the inequalities of rank have been softened down by respect to the comforts of all classes. Under the ancient régime, which was in full activity half a century ago, there were only two classes in Paris, the noblesse, and the bourgeoisie; and the latter, being driven into the gutters by the carriage-wheels of their arrogant masters, went by the general name of the canaille. Few of the streets even now have any side pavement for foot passengers—that invaluable accommodation which gives such perfect security to the pedestrian even in our most crowded and tumultuous thoroughfare. The causeway itself, on which walkers and drivers are thus mingled together in confusion, is often most uneven and rugged. The stones of which it is formed, about ten inches square, present each a convex surface, usually wet and slippery, so that under the most favourable circumstances, walking in the streets of Paris is anything but an agreeable exercise. Still farther to abridge the level space, the street is made to incline from both sides towards the centre, in order to form there a sort of ditch, in which flows a black and fetid stream. From the want of a proper system of drains, this receptacle of filth is generally sufficiently replenished even in the driest weather, to keep the whole street wet and dirty. Carriages, having usually one wheel in the midst of the kennel, dash about the offensive puddle in all directions. But the principle of a clear middle way, such as our English streets possess, is neglected in all the arrangements connected with those of Paris. Even the lights, instead of being fixed on posts, as ours are, at the sides, are suspended in the middle on ropes swung across, and having their opposite ends fastened to the walls of the houses. It was these ropes which the mob, in the Revolution of 1789, were wont to make use of as halters for their victims; whence their famous cry of á la lanterne, as they dragged them along to execution.
The aspect of Paris by night, except in a few of the principal streets where gas has been very partially introduced, is singularly gloomy. The darkness is occasionally relieved by the brilliancy of a café; but in the more quiet parts of the town, particularly in the fashionable quarter of the Faubourg St. Germain, it is almost impossible for the pedestrian to direct his steps aright. It is quite evident that the arrangements of this capital have not been made for a walking people. This evil, however, is fast disappearing. Numerous passages have been constructed, within the last ten years, which are paved with flat stones, and brilliantly lighted; and the active and pleasure-seeking population of Paris crowd to these attractive and convenient places, to the Boulevards, or to the Palais-Royal, and leave the narrow and dirty streets principally to the few who keep their own carriages, or to the many who hire public conveyances. These are of various kinds; and such was the growing importance of the middle classes, that fiacres (so called after the sign of St Fiacre, at the house where they were first established) were in use a century and a half ago.
The remainder of the Part is occupied with a sketch of the Revolution of 1789.
