The Press.
London, England, 1854-03-18 00:00:00

THE PRESS.

interpellates his personal experiences which
rivets the reader's attention, if it does not
conclude his judgment. Mr. St. John is not
only an agreeable writer, he is familiar with
phases of Parisian life at which Englishmen
generally obtain but a cursory glance. The
relations of the family, the indirect influences
which operate in the training of the French
youth, the Bohemian life of Paris, with its
actors and accessories, its Agricoles and
Fifines, its attics, its cremeries, its contrasts,
its tragi-comedy—all these topics are here most
abundantly and effectively illustrated. For
his acquaintance with the realities beneath
the surface of Parisian existence Mr. St. John
would seem to be qualified to edit Balzac,
with notes and appendices, and he draws upon
his stores freely, yet in no objectionable
manner. Under the title " Female Govern-
ment" we find the following :
Paris has been said to be the hell of horses, the
purgatory of husbands, and the paradise of women. In
truth, female government is pushed to a great extent in a
bourgeois family. Men have gravely asked me if the
position of women in England does not border on slavery;
because they have heard that, whilst the wife is not
supreme, she at the same time stays a great deal at home.
In France the empire is established in the honeymoon by
a young wife over a somewhat faded husband; but the
cause of its continuance is the natural indolence of the
male sex. Sterne's description of the glove-lady is still in
some sort correct. Men in business scarcely ever venture
on any great operation without consulting their wives or
their mistresses ; and, as I have said, in humble life the
women almost always keep the books. A husband has
generally nothing to do with the details of household
affairs ; he never buys linen, plate, ut furniture, much less
provisions. The man would be eternally ridiculous who
should think of bringing home " a bit of fish " for dinner.
He is supposed not to know the price of any article of
first necessity. In genteel society he scarcely ever is
aware who his wife has invited to dinner until he sees his
guests. The lady of the house overlooks everything—
even the dress of her husband; she buys his shirts, his
cravats, his gloves : her taste presides over all; and so
much the better. I think, if we were to allow our ladies
to dress us as they please, we should soon cease to be so
ridiculously unlike every other nation in appearance that
every other nation appears ridiculous to us. We might,
also, learn some other pleasant things. For example, the
habit which couples, young and old,—those who are in-
different obey custom,—have of bringing occasionally, one
to the other, a bouquet of flowers, merely as a polite atten-
tion, to testify that the stay-at-home has been thought of
by the absent. In England I observe that a lady displays
to her husband a pretty lace shawl she has bought for her-
self; and he draws her attention to the capital box of
cigars he has bought for himself.
In some of their manifestations the paternal
and filial sentiments are strong in France :
We may constantly meet with instances of extreme
affection of both father and mother towards their offspring.
A pleasant sight may sometimes be witnessed in the
streets of Paris—elegant young men walking along, arm-
in-arm, with old ladies dressed in the comical simplicity of
the provinces, in thick shoes and odd bonnets—mothers
come up to visit their sons, who, instead of being ashamed
of them, promenade them about everywhere, and hold up
their heads with pride when any companion heaves in
sight. Sometimes these good ladies, it is true, appear at
odd times and in odd ways. Once upon a time an im-
mense quantity of lace and starch, amalgamated into a
sort of winged balloon, was seen coming up my staircase,
supported by a little woman some three feet and a half
high, bearing a basket as big as herself. She had heard
that her son was ill, and had set out to nurse him with a
huge amount of provisions, not only delicacies for him, but
coarse stuff for herself. She was persuaded that nothing
wholesome was to be got in Paris. Her dutiful offspring
was not quite so bad as he represented himself to be, and
was in fact going down stairs on an expedition to the
country with some Rose Pompon or other, when the
shrill voiee of Madame Joseph was heard keeping the
mother at bay. In an instant I was requested to help "to
form a chain," and a variety of articles—the old bonnet in
which Rose had come, with the bandbox in which the new
one had been brought, a faded shawl, and other things
which I was requested not to look at, that had formed the
chrysalis out of which the pretty flurried butterfly that
gave them to me had issued,—the whole kit, I say, was
passed rapidly into my room, whither the said Rose also
retired during the ill-timed maternal visit. My neighbour
received his mother with the languor necessary in an
invalid, and never left her side during the whole week that
she remained, sending obdurate messages to the disappointed
beauty, and behaving, as he said, wagging his crown, like
one who knows his filial duties.
The conversation of Society is not as brilliant
as it once was :

But, even now, the language of the salons is a thing
apart; and, as I have observed, the first impression pro-
duced on those who hear it is, that great felicity of expres-
sion is allied to sharpness of thought. I have often taken
down the heads of conversations, and shall transcribe one
which a lady whispered in my ear was extremely witty, or
spirituel. It appeared to me also very brilliant at the time,
because of the vivacity with which it was carried on, but
was reduced to nothing on paper. The topics were :
" Some ladies improve, like wine, by time : they, in fact,
ncvcr grow old. It must not be even said that they are
ugly ; but if they are, so much the better. Beauty flies,