The Cafe Procope was still at the height of its reputation when, in 1784, Beaumarchais' _Marriage of Figaro_ was produced; and it was the scene of a great literary gathering immediately before the representation of that famous comedy. After the Revolution, however, it gradually lost its character as a literary centre.

[Ill.u.s.tration: ENTRANCE TO THE THeaTRE DES VARIeTeS, BOULEVARD MONTMARTRE.]

And now the Comedie Francaise crossed the water--an unmistakable sign that the left bank no longer possessed its ancient importance, and that everything not already to be found on the right bank was gradually moving to that favoured sh.o.r.e. The Cafe Procope still exists, but it has quite lost its old literary character; nor is it much frequented even by the students, who on the left bank form so important a part of the community.

The Cafe de la Regence owes its name to the period in which it was established. Haunted as it was by chess-players, it was nevertheless the resort of distinguished writers, with Voltaire, d'Alembert, and Marmontel amongst them. Here Diderot sat side by side with the Emperor Joseph II. Robespierre looked in now and then to have a game of chess, and among other occasional visitors of distinction was the youthful General Bonaparte. Nor, from the list of the modern frequenters of the Cafe de la Regence, must Mery or Alfred de Musset be omitted.

Close to the Cafe de la Regence stood the Cafe Foy, celebrated under the Regency for its beautiful _dame du comptoir_, of whom the Duke of Orleans became desperately enamoured. It was from this cafe that Camille Desmoulins, on the 12th of July, 1789, marched forth to begin the attack which ended in the overthrow of the ancient _regime_.

Until its demolition, not many years ago, the Cafe Foy was known as one of the very few cafes in Paris where smoking was not allowed. In ancient days cafes were broadly divided into cafes simply so called and _cafes-estaminets_; and in the latter only, as in a beer-house, could the customer smoke. The Cafe Foy was at one time greatly in favour with old gentlemen, dating from a now remote period, when the smoking of tobacco was considered not altogether (in Byronic language) a "gentlemanly vice." The Cafe Foy was known, moreover, by a certain swallow painted on the ceiling by Carle Vernet (father of the more celebrated Horace Vernet). He was lunching there one day with a joyous party of friends, when a bottle of champagne was opened, of which the cork struck the ceiling and left a mark there. To compensate for this mishap, the famous painter ordered a ladder to be brought in, and hurriedly, but with consummate art, painted a swallow where the cork had struck. Years pa.s.sed, and still the swallow remained fresh. The form and colour of the bird were renewed from time to time by other painters; but to the sight-seer, as informed by the waiters of the cafe, it was always the very swallow that had been painted in the midst of a champagne luncheon by Carle Vernet. It was as clear and bright as ever when at last it disappeared with the ceiling it had so long adorned.

Close to the Cafe Foy stood the Cafe des Aveugles, with an orchestra of blind men as its distinctive feature. It seems at that period to have been thought strange that blind men should be able to perform on musical instruments. In the present day no _virtuoso_ of any pretension plays with notes; though those, no doubt, are the least blind who do not pride themselves on disregarding what may well be a valuable, if not indispensable, aid to memory. A traditional figure a.s.sociated with the orchestra of blind musicians was a so-called "savage": some personage, that is to say, from one of the Paris faubourgs, disguised with feathers, paint, and tattooing.

After the Revolution the cafes became more and more political. Under the Republic, as in a less degree under the Empire, there had been no opposition cafes. But with the Restoration some freedom of thought returned. Imperialism had its head-quarters at the Cafe Leinblin, where the officers of the _Grande Armee_ exchanged ideas on the subject of the humiliations undergone by France now that the great Napoleon was an exile, and that power was vested in the hands, not of a military dictator, but of a mere Parliament, with a const.i.tutional king as figure-head. At the Cafe Foy congregated the Liberals of the new _regime_; at the Cafe Valois came together the Royalists, who believed in nothing but the throne and the altar as maintained under the ancient monarchy.

The cafe, in spite of the number of new clubs established in Paris, continues to be one of the most popular and most flourishing inst.i.tutions of the French capital. Numbers of Parisians are not rich enough to belong to clubs, but can well afford from day to day the expenditure of fivepence or sixpence on a cup of coffee and a _pet.i.t verre_.

Of Bohemian cafes--those frequented, that is to say, by the gipsies of literature and art--the most celebrated is, or was in the time of Henri Murger, the brilliant author of "La Vie de Boheme," the Cafe Momus. Here it was that poets, painters, and musicians of the future, blessed for the present with more genius than halfpence, waited until some comparatively wealthy lover of art and literature came to their relief, or until, by their noisy and reckless talk, they forced the alarmed proprietor to beg them to retire, and come in some other day to pay for their refreshment. Champfleury, gleaning here and there after Murger's abundant harvest, has told us how, armed with one cup of coffee and a small gla.s.s of brandy, half-a-dozen Bohemians would take absolute possession of the first floor of this establishment.

Sometimes a Bohemian, not absolutely dest.i.tute, would order a cup of coffee and _pet.i.t verre_, and go upstairs. Soon afterwards a second Bohemian would come in, ask if the first Bohemian were in the cafe, and go upstairs to join him. A third would ask for the second, a fourth for the third, and so on, until around the solitary cup of coffee and the unique gla.s.s of liqueur a party of six had a.s.sembled. The proud paymaster, after sipping a little of the coffee, would pa.s.s it to a friend, who, having helped himself, would hand the remainder to some other member of the party. The cognac was in like manner shared, and the last served came in for the sugar, with which he would sweeten a gla.s.s of water. The Bohemian frequenters of the Cafe Momus were more liberal in giving their orders when one of them had sold a picture or a piece of music, a book or a play; and they would afterwards order on credit as long as credit could be obtained. A story is told of one Bohemian who persisted in ordering after his credit had been stopped, and who, having told the waiter repeatedly, but in vain, to bring him a cup of coffee, went himself to the counter, and said in a stern voice, "I have ordered a cup of coffee half-a-dozen times; either serve it at once or lend me five sous, and I'll go and get it elsewhere."

It must be supposed that it somehow suited the proprietor of the Cafe Momus to encourage, or at least tolerate, his Bohemian visitors; otherwise he would have taken steps to exclude them permanently.

Occasionally, it is said, they would barricade themselves in their favourite room on the first floor, and refuse absolutely to give up possession. The probability is that when they were in funds they spent their money lavishly; and they undoubtedly gave a certain reputation to the Cafe Momus, which became known throughout Paris as the cafe of literary aspirants, and attracted on that ground a certain number of sympathisers and admirers.

The house formerly occupied by the Frascati establishment bears on the Rue Richelieu side a medallion with an inscription to the memory of Cardinal de Richelieu, put up by Antoine Elwart, professor of composition at the Conservatoire. The other side of the Boulevard Montmartre, whence springs the Rue du Faubourg Montmartre, is no less animated than the theatre side. Here, too, cafes abound, each of which, in theatrical phrase, is "full to overflowing"; for numbers of customers sit out in the street at the little tables in front of the cafe. The arcade on this side of the boulevard is known as the Pa.s.sage Jouffroi. It runs through what was once the ground-floor of the house which, under the Restoration, was inhabited by three distinguished composers: Rossini, Carafa, and Boieldieu. A little further on, always in the direction of the Madeleine, stands an important club, called officially Le Grand Cercle, familiarly, Le Cercle des Ganaches. It is composed chiefly of commercial men and civil servants. It is considered old-fashioned, and the dinner-hour there is six o'clock, as it was in most Paris houses fifty years ago.

At the right corner of the Rue Grange Bateliere stands an immense house, on a site occupied, until a few years ago, by the mansion built in the eighteenth century, by two well-known farmers-general, the Brothers Lunge, which from 1836 to 1847 was the haunt of the Jockey Club, the best-known and most fashionable club in Paris, now installed further to the west, but still in the line of boulevards.

Ask any Parisian in the present day for "the house of Moliere," and he will tell you that La Maison de Moliere is only another name for the Theatre Francais. The house, however, where Moliere lived is situated at the corner of a little street off the Boulevard Montmartre; and here it was that he breathed his last.

On the 10th of February, 1673, the "Malade Imaginaire" was performed for the first time. The curtain rose at four o'clock, and a few minutes afterwards Moliere was on the stage, and acting with his accustomed humour. Everyone was laughing and applauding. None of the audience suspected that the actor who was throwing all his energy into the part he had himself created was now on the point of death. In the burlesque ceremony, just as Argan has to utter the word "Juro," a convulsion seized him, which he disguised beneath a forced laugh. But it was now necessary to carry him home. The performance went on, though without Moliere, who meanwhile had been taken to his house in the Rue Richelieu.

It had been found impossible to get his clothes off. The dying man was still wearing the dressing-gown of the "Imaginary Invalid." He was presently attacked with a violent fit of coughing, in the course of which he burst a blood-vessel and threw up a quant.i.ty of blood. A few minutes later he expired, surrounded by the members of his family, and supported by two nuns to whom he was in the habit of offering hospitality when they visited Paris. In his dying moments he had asked for religious consolation; but the priest of St.-Eustache rejected his prayer. Now that he was dead, Christian burial was denied to him: a piece of intolerance due to the Archbishop of Paris, Harley de Champvalon. So soon as Moliere's wife heard of the archbishop's refusal, she exclaimed with indignation: "They refuse to bury a man to whom, in Greece, altars would have been erected." Then calling for a carriage, and taking with her the Cure of Auteuil, who was far from sharing the views of his ecclesiastical superior, she hurried to Versailles, threw herself at the king's feet, and demanded justice. "If," she exclaimed, losing all self-control--"if my husband was a criminal, his crimes were sanctioned by your Majesty in person." At these words the king frowned, and the Cure of Auteuil is said to have found the moment opportune for introducing a theological discussion, in the course of which he sought to disculpate himself from an accusation of Jansenism. But Louis XIV.

had been affronted, and he told both actress and cure that the matter concerned the archbishop alone. He sent secret orders, however, to the churlish prelate, the result of which was a compromise. The body was refused entrance into the church, but two priests were allowed to accompany it to the cemetery. The archbishop's concession seemed to some bigots out of place: a proof that the ecclesiastical authorities were not alone in their wish to have Moliere interred without Christian rites. They could not now prevent his being buried in sacred ground. But on the day of his funeral they organised a riot in front of his house, which Mme. Moliere, frightened by the cries and menaces of the crowd, could only appease by throwing money out of the window, to the amount of about a thousand francs. It was on the 21st of February, 1673, that the remains of the great man were borne to their resting-place, without pomp, without ceremony, at night, and almost furtively, as though he had been a criminal. Moliere was buried in the Cemetery of Saint Joseph, Rue Montmartre. His widow placed above the grave a great slab of stone, which was still to be seen in the early part of the eighteenth century, when the brothers Parfait published their _Histoire du Theatre Francais_. "This stone," writes M. du Tillet, "is cracked down the middle: which was caused by a very n.o.ble and very remarkable action on the part of the widow. Two or three years after Moliere's death a very cold winter set in, and she had a hundred loads of wood conveyed to the cemetery, and burned on the tomb of her husband, to warm all the poor people of the quarter, when the great heat of the fire caused the stone to split in two."

[Ill.u.s.tration: CAFeS ON THE BOULEVARD MONTMARTRE.]

The Church of Rome has p.r.o.nounced again and again at councils, and through the mouths of distinguished prelates, against the abomination that maketh not "desolate," but joyful. In the fifth century it excommunicated stage-players, and the order of excommunication, though practically it may have ceased to be effective, has never been rescinded. In France up to the time of the Restoration (1814), or at least during the Restoration, it was in full force, so that the history of the relations between Church and stage in that theatre-loving country has been the history of the refusal of Christian burial in successive centuries to stage-players. Happily, for many years past theory and practice have been at variance in France with regard to the excommunicated position of actors and actresses. The Church, however much it may stand above society, cannot but reflect in some measure the views of society at large; and, if only from policy, it cannot permit itself to outrage a universal feeling. Accordingly, since the doors of Saint-Roch were closed, in 1817, against the body of the famous actress, Mlle. Raucourt--an incident which was followed by a popular outbreak, the calling out of the troops, and ultimately interference on the part of Louis XVIII., who ordered that the religious service should be performed by his own chaplain: since those days there have been few examples in France, and none in Paris, of any actor or actress being treated as beyond the pale of the Church.

[Ill.u.s.tration: MOLIeRE.

(_From the Painting by Coypel in the Comedie Francaise._)]

To be seen in all its glory, the Boulevard Montmartre--perhaps the most crowded of all the boulevards, especially by business people--should be traversed at the beginning of the New Year, when in the booths which line the great thoroughfare nearly along its whole length all kinds of objects supposed to be suitable as New Year's gifts are offered for sale.

In England, the custom of making Christmas presents and New Year's gifts had, except among relatives, died out, when a few years ago some apparently childish, but in reality very ingenious, person invented Christmas cards. The invention was not successful at first; and the strange practice of exchanging pieces of cardboard adorned with commonplace pictorial designs, and inscribed with conventional expressions of goodwill, was, for a time, confined to the sort of persons who might be suspected of sending valentines. Eventually, however, it spread. The initiative in this matter seems to have been taken by enterprising young ladies, whose attentions it was impossible to leave unrecognised; and endeavours were naturally made to return them cards of superior value to those which they had themselves despatched.

Thus a n.o.ble spirit of emulation was generated, which the designers, manufacturers, and vendors of Christmas cards did their best to gratify and stimulate; so that, latterly, there has been a marked rise in these products as regards price, and even quality. Many of them possess undeniable artistic merit, and during the last few years some very beautiful varieties of the Christmas card have been brought out at Paris. These pictorial adaptations from the English are at least more graceful and more original than the great majority of our own dramatic adaptations from the French.

If, as everyone knows, the sending of Christmas cards is a custom of but a few years' standing, New Year's gifts are by no means of recent invention; and under the Roman Empire, as now in Russia, presents used, as a matter of course, to be made on the first day of the New Year to the magistrates and high officials. In the end, the practice of making New Year's gifts grew so popular that every Roman at the opening of a new year presented the reigning emperor with a certain amount of money, proportionate to his means; and what had, in the first instance, been among ordinary individuals but a token of esteem, was now, in regard to the sovereign, an a.s.surance of loyalty, besides being a tolerable source of income. The barbaric nations, with simpler habits, had simpler ceremonies in connection with the New Year; and the Gauls were content to present one another at this season with sprigs of mistletoe plucked from the sacred groves.

Coming to much more recent times, we find the custom of giving New Year's presents in full force at the Court of Louis XIV., when, on the 1st of January, ladies received tokens from their lovers, and gave tokens in return.

The custom of making New Year's gifts became at length so general that servants murmured if their masters neglected them in this respect; and an amusing story is told of the stingy Cardinal Dubois, who, on his major-domo asking for his _etrennes_, replied, "Well, you may keep what you have stolen from me during the last twelvemonth." This, however, occurred a long time ago; and had the cardinal lived in the present century, he would scarcely have dared to make such an answer. The Frenchman who nowadays ventures to refuse to his servants, or to any other dependants, the expected annual gifts must be prepared to bear the bitterest sarcasm, which will possibly not cease to a.s.sail him even beyond the grave; for it may be his fate to have inscribed on his tomb some such epitaph as the following quite authentic one:--

"Ci-git, dessous ce marbre blanc, L'homme le plus avare de Rennes; S'il est mort la veille de l'an C'est pour ne pas donner d'etrennes,"

which may be roughly rendered in English thus:--

"Here lies, beneath this marble white, The miserliest man in Rennes; If New Year's Eve he chose for flight, 'Twas that he need not give _etrennes_."

Towards the end of the eighteenth century an edict was published in France forbidding New Year's gifts; but without avail. The _etrennes_ only became more numerous and more costly as the greed of the recipients grew more and more insatiable; and in the present day the meaning of the word _etrenne_ will be only too well understood by any Englishman who, in Paris at the time of the New Year, may venture to have dealings with the waiters at the cafes, with hair-dressers, drivers, or any other set of men who delight in certain traditional customs.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

CHAPTER XI.

THE BOULEVARDS (_continued_).

The Opera Comique of Paris--I Gelosi--The Don Juan of Moliere--Madame Favart--The Saint-Simonians.

The Boulevard des Italiens derives its name from the so-called Comedie Italienne, the original Opera Comique of Paris, which owes its existence to letters patent granted to it as far back as 1676. One of the most celebrated establishments on this boulevard is the Cafe Cardinal, at the corner of the Rue Richelieu. It justifies its t.i.tle by exhibiting the bust of the famous political prelate, concerning whom the great Corneille, after receiving, first benefits, then injuries, at his hands, wrote these lines:--

"Qu'on parle mal ou bien du fameux cardinal, Ni ma prose, ni mes vers n'en diront jamais rien.

Il m'a fait trop de bien pour en dire du mal, Il m'a fait trop de mal pour en dire du bien."[A]

[A] "Whether good or evil be spoken of the famous Cardinal, neither my prose nor my verse shall say a word of him. He has done too well by me for me to speak ill of him; he has done too ill by me for me to speak well of him."

Formerly known as the Cafe Dangest, the t.i.tle it now bears has belonged to it only since the year 1830. Just round the corner stands the house of the well-known music publishers, Messrs. Brandus and Co., founded by Moritz Schlesinger, who, as a young man, brought out many of Beethoven's works, and was indeed one of Beethoven's first appreciators. During the _coup d'etat_ of 1851 M. Brandus's hospitable residence was the scene of an outrage which threatened to become a tragedy on a large scale. He was entertaining a party of friends, among whom were M. Adolphe Saxe, the inventor of saxophones, and the eminent musical critic of the _Times_, the late Mr. J. W. Davison. The boulevards and many of the streets leading out of them were full of troops, for the most part in a state of great excitement, and some infantry soldiers at the corner of the Boulevard des Italiens and the Rue Richelieu believed, or affected to believe, that shots had been fired at them from M. Brandus's windows.

Possibly some bullets discharged by the soldiers themselves had glanced back from the house or one of the neighbouring houses, and fallen into the street. The troops, in any case, forced M. Brandus's door, and his servant, who went downstairs to remonstrate with the invaders, was at once shot dead. The soldiers then made their way into the room where M.

Brandus and his guests were at table, arrested them, and brought them down to the boulevard with the intention of shooting them in a formal manner, as if by way of example. Fortunately, the general in command was an amateur of music and a personal friend of Adolphe Saxe: whom he particularly remembered, moreover, as having fought with courage against the insurgents during the sanguinary days of June, 1848. Saxe at once declared that the accusation made by the soldiers was entirely without basis, and the general did not hesitate to accept his a.s.surance. He enjoined him, however, to hurry away as quickly as possible from the boulevard, which was about to be "swept" by a fusillade. Saxe and his friends managed narrowly to escape.

The Opera Comique Theatre, or Comedie Italienne, as it was more generally called, was founded originally in the Hotel de Bourgogne; and it was only in 1783 that it was re-established on the boulevard to which the Comedie Italienne was to give its name.

The Opera Comique of France descends indeed in a straight line from the most ancient dramatic entertainments given in that country. These were introduced in the sixteenth century by natives of the land to which the French owe nearly all the lighter and more ornamental part of their civilisation, from opera and the drama to ices and confectionery: from architecture, pictures, and statues, to gloves, fans, gambling-houses, and masked b.a.l.l.s.

In 1576 Henri III. invited from Venice to Paris a company known as "I Gelosi." The actors were "jealous" or "zealous" to please; and a contemporary writer informs us that after playing at the Hotel de Bourgogne, where everyone was charged four sous for admission, they took possession of the Hotel du Pet.i.t Bourbon, where such crowds a.s.sembled that "the four best preachers in Paris could not together have collected such a congregation." The same writer adds that on the 26th of June following the Parliament forbade "I Gelosi" to play their comedies any longer, as they taught "nothing but impropriety." The Italian actors, however, resisted the Parliamentary decree, and they obtained from the king letters patent permitting them to continue their performances, "consisting," says Mezerai, "of pieces of intrigue, amourettes, and agreeable inventions for awakening and exciting the softest pa.s.sions."

The Italian actors presented these letters patent to the Parliament the month following, when the letters were rejected, and they themselves forbidden to present to the Court such doc.u.ments, under a penalty of ten thousand Paris livres. The Italians, however, appealed once more to the king, when Henri III. granted express permission, in virtue of which they re-opened their theatre in December, 1577. As, however, the country was now agitated by political troubles, "I Gelosi" discreetly returned to their native land. A few years afterwards a second troop of "Gelosi,"

and then a third, came to Paris; and later on Henri IV. brought from Pavia a new company, which stayed in Paris for two years.

[Ill.u.s.tration: BOULEVARD DES ITALIENS.]

Cardinal Mazarin (or Mazarini) did much to familiarise Parisians both with Italian operas and Italian plays; and about 1660 one of several Italian companies which had recently visited Paris obtained permission to play at the Hotel de Bourgogne alternately with the French actors.

But at last, in their love of satire, the Italian actors forgot themselves so far as to turn into ridicule no less a personage than Mme. de Maintenon. "The king," says the Duke de Saint-Simon, writing on this very subject, "drove out very precipitately the whole troop of Italian actors, and would suffer no others in their place. As long as they restricted themselves to indecency, or even impiety, nothing but laughter was excited." But they took the liberty of playing a piece called _The False Prude_, in which Mme. de Maintenon was easily recognised. Accordingly, everyone went to see it; but after three or four representations, the actors were ordered to close their theatre and quit the kingdom within a month.

This caused a great noise; and if the actors lost their establishment by their boldness and folly, the Government which drove them out did not gain by the freedom with which the ridiculous incident was criticised.