H. E. Noyes

Many of my readers who can recall the great “Times” trial will remember the names of Pigott, and Tynan (the famous No. 1, who it was said gave the signal for the murder of Lord F. Cavendish). It was a curious coincidence that both these men were living at one time in my Parish of Christ Church, Kingstown. I often made purchases at the little bookshop kept by Tynan, and sometimes spoke with him. During my stay in Paris I had a visit from the famous le Carron, who for a long time was a member of the Clan-na-Gael in New York, and informed the Home Government of their proceedings. He told me that he was formerly a choir boy in the Embassy Church, and he related to me some of his thrilling adventures. He died of consumption soon after his visit to Paris.

THE ELYSÉE, FROM THE FAUBOURG ST. HONORÉ.

Some of the yearly customs on fÊte days in Paris are peculiar, and those occurring in the winter season are less familiar than others—to English visitors. New Year’s Day, the “Jour de l’an,” is kept as a National Holiday, and presents of flowers and “objets d’art” are sent amongst friends. Christmas Day is not kept with the like solemnity and joyousness as with us—though becoming more a fÊte than it formerly was. Upon New Year’s Day beggars are allowed in the streets, and it is often a ghastly spectacle to see the poor creatures in all conditions of deformity asking alms. A good deal is distributed amongst them, as the French are very charitable to the Poor. At this season “booths” are allowed on the Boulevards, when all sorts of toys, etc., are exposed for sale, some of them mechanical and very ingenious. They are supposed for the most part to have been made in the homes of the poor.

Shrove Tuesday (Mardi-gras) and Mid-Lent (Mi-carÊme) are also general holidays. On the former there is a procession of fat cattle, and a throwing of confetti in the main streets and Boulevards, where vehicular traffic is suspended. I have seen the Grand Boulevards literally six inches deep in confetti on a fine day. Mi-carÊme is marked by a procession of the washerwomen, and in many particulars resembles our Lord Mayor’s Show on November 9th, only it is more fantastic. The Grand Car on these occasions is reserved for the Queen of the Laundries, who has been solemnly chosen for her beauty. She rides triumphant, surrounded by her “Court”—sometimes rather scantily dressed for the cold weather, and stops at the ElysÉe, where she generally receives a present of a bracelet at the hands of the President of the Republic. These functions are well worth seeing—once.

The National FÊte, to celebrate the declaration of the Republic, being in warmer weather (July), is usually more of a festival in the open-air, and is kept up late and early. Many families leave Paris for the country before it comes off. It is emphatically the people’s fÊte, and one feature of it is that dancing is allowed in the streets. Bandstands are erected, usually opposite a restaurant, and in the evenings people gather in large numbers. Inmates of flats near these bandstands suffer much (I write from experience), for being the hot weather windows must be open, and the noise is deafening.

“All Souls’” and “All Saints’” Days are religiously kept by most Parisians, and thousands go to the cemeteries to place flowers on the graves of their relations. It is a very interesting sight, and visitors to Paris should not omit on these days to go to PÈre-la-Chaise, Passy, Bolougne-sur-Seine, or one of the other cemeteries.

The French pay great respect to the dead. No funeral cortÈge is allowed to trot in Paris whatever the distance to the cemetery, and most men raise their hats and women cross themselves as the body passes in the streets. Soldiers and officials always salute.

Burials are a monopoly in Paris. The Pompes funÈbres is a great company, who have decorations arranged and always ready for every church in Paris, and everyone is buried by them, and in the “class” they choose to pay for. There are seven or eight “classes,” and it is so arranged that the rich pay for the poor. A first-class funeral is very rare, as it costs a very large sum. Officials attend the poor man’s funeral—only less gorgeously dressed—equally with the rich, and all things are done decently and in order. As a sign of the times, not long before I left Paris, I was called upon to take a funeral of an American at St. Germain, some miles outside the fortifications. The family and friends went down by train, and I went with the body, but in a motor-fourgon (hearse). When we left the gates of the city we travelled very rapidly.

I noticed a marked change during my life in Paris in the keeping of Sunday. Twenty years ago many shops were open, and there was little to distinguish it from any other day. Now most places of business are closed. Leagues were formed some years ago, advocating one day’s rest in seven, and quite lately (1907) a law was passed requiring that all employÉs should cease work on Sunday. Those compelled to work on that day (in restaurants, etc.) must have another day. Alas! the change is not due to a religious but a secular movement, and is solely to oblige one day’s rest in the seven as a holiday. As far as it goes it is a good thing for the people, and it is pleasant to see the orderly crowds enjoying the open air in the Bois, the Parc Monceau, and other places, while one regrets the irreligion which is so characteristic of the nation at this time.

The well-known Mark Twain (Mr. Clements) came to Paris to complete (so I understood) one of his books. No one knew of his presence amongst us for some time. When I heard of it I went to see him in his hotel in the Rue de Rivoli to ask him to give a public reading from his works for the benefit of the proposed Church House. He put me off in his characteristic way. I then went to see the Marquis of Dufferin and Ava—our Ambassador at that time—and asked him if he would give a room at the Embassy if I could persuade Mark Twain to read. He kindly agreed, and so did Mr. Clements. We had a splendid success, the rooms were crowded. We obtained twenty francs a ticket, and cleared some £200. American humour is sometimes difficult for English people to appreciate, but no one could resist Mark Twain. I shall always feel grateful to him for his kind help on that occasion.

Among the many artists it was our privilege to know in Paris was the eminent sculptor, Mr. Bruce Joy. He had then a studio in the city. We still possess a replica of his well-known bust of the late Archbishop Benson.

Paris is a city which might well be compared to the Adulamites Cave, where all in distress and difficulty congregate. Among the unfortunates was the late Oscar Wilde. I had known him a little in Dublin as a student, and had also met him at Lady Wilde’s receptions. He came to Paris to die. When I heard of his serious illness I went down at once to enquire, but found he had passed away. The “concierge” told me that he had been visited by a Priest, and baptized into the Roman Church. As is often the case, the Baptism was administered when the patient was “in extremis,” and knew nothing about it. The Roman Church, however, claimed to take the funeral, and I could not object.

Curious mistakes were sometimes made by the French Postal authorities, owing to the difficulty of language. Each Easter it was my custom to send out a card to the members of the congregation giving notice of the services, and at the foot a suitable quotation from the Scriptures. In 1895, I sent out the card as usual, and the passage was “The Lord is Risen.” One came back to me through the dead-letter office addressed to “The Lord is Risen, 5 Rue d’Aguesseau.”

All sorts of ideas and rumours were circulated when the French Church was separated from the State. One morning a French gentleman called at the Vestry and asked me if it was true that Sir Francis Bertie, our present Ambassador in Paris, had purchased the Madeleine Church, our own being too small! This is somewhat parallel to the story of an Irish clergyman, who told me that the day after the bill passed to disestablish the Church in Ireland he heard in the early morning a scythe going in his field. A stranger was cutting his hay. Upon enquiry, the man said: “Sure, sir, the Church is disestablished now, and I thought I would come early for my share!”

The French often make curious mistakes in their translations into English, but the same may be said, and perhaps more so, with respect to our renderings into French, e.g., A young English girl was heard to exclaim “Je suis cheval,” desiring to say she was hoarse. And another, who had a touch of the same complaint, “Je ne peux pas hirondÈle,” meaning she could not swallow. Upon another occasion, when called to play in public, a girl said “Je suis sÛre de casser-en-bas,” in her fear of coming to grief. It was rather a peculiar way to express hurry, when one said “Je suis dans une dÉpÈche.” I suppose most have heard the story told by Dean Pigou, of Bristol, of the lady (I believe an American) who, desiring a cab, called out “Cochon Êtes-vous fiancÉ.” Another story, which was current in my time, is worth repeating. A girl who had been but a few months in Paris learning French was taken out by her parents to a restaurant. Looking over the menu, she was asked to translate the sentence “Ris de Veau À la financiÈre,” which she told her delighted parents was “the calf laughs at the Banker’s wife.” Many of such mistakes arise when young people are placed in French families where no English is spoken at all, and so their errors pass uncorrected.

Among the remarkable men who lived and died in Paris during my chaplaincy was Mr. H. A. M. Butler-Johnstone. He had been for sixteen years Member of Parliament for Canterbury, and as a youth was at Eton, at the same time as His Majesty King Edward. He was closely identified with the young Turkey party in Paris. He was on his way to the Post Office in October, 1902, when he died suddenly in the street near the Place Vendome. He was staying with his wife at the Hotel Continental, but there being no funds, his funeral was undertaken by the British Charitable Fund. I conducted his funeral, which was attended by quite a number of the Turkish Colony in Paris. It was said that his financial ruin was caused by his having lent £200,000 to the Turkish Government in 1877 to resist the encroachments of Russia. To raise this sum he sold his pictures to the National Gallery, as well as his estates in England. It was said that he gave great offence to the late Marquis of Salisbury by the attitude he took up on the Russo-Turkish War.

In January, 1907, there was a remarkable gathering of eighty-six Prelates of the Roman Church in Paris to discuss the attitude of the Church towards the recently passed “Law of Separation.” What seemed the more remarkable was that the gathering was held at the ChÂteau de la Muette Passy, the residence of the Count and Countess de Francqueville, and that the Countess presided at the lunch, she being a member of the Anglican Communion. The Countess, as is well known, is the daughter of the Earl of Selbourne, and niece of the late Bishop of Southwell.

The concierge or hall porter occupies a responsible position in the Paris house. A common answer to the question “Is life worth living?” is—it depends upon the concierge. There is no doubt that a disagreeable concierge can make things very uncomfortable, and it is necessary when taking an “appartement” to gain his goodwill by a good tip. Otherwise letters which are delivered at the lodge may not be brought up as soon as they should be, and other little annoyances will frequently occur. It is customary to give 50 to 100 francs to the concierge on New Year’s day, according to the rent paid, to secure civility and good service through the year. The concierge is the servant of the proprietor and not of the tenant. Every quarter the rent is paid to the concierge, and must be paid in cash. The cheque system as we have it in England is but little used in France.

When I handed a cheque for my first quarter’s rent to the concierge he looked at it, and said “What is this?” I was compelled to go down to the Bank and get the money for him!

In taking an appartement (or flat) in Paris, the greatest care is necessary. The “etat de lieu” or state of the flat must be taken both by the architect of the landlord and your own. A document is drawn up, and signed by both parties. Unless this is done all sorts of charges may be made when the tenant leaves the flat, as, e.g., for every nail in the walls or floors, every scratch on the paint, etc. I bought my experience rather expensively in one of the flats I occupied.

Owing, it is said, to the lack of population, the law as to nationality presses hard upon some foreigners in France. The law at present is that “all children of parents born in France are French,” and male children thus born are liable for military service. I knew several young men who were thoroughly English, and who had always kept up their connection with England and the English Colony in France, who, nevertheless, owing to the fact that their parents were born in the country, were accounted French, and had to go through their military service, and were liable to be called up in time of war. It has naturally followed that when an interesting event is expected in a British family, and where it can be managed, a temporary change to the English climate has become desirable. But this law presses very hardly upon the poor.

I am often asked as to whether it is more expensive to live in Paris than in London. My experience is that London is the dearer city. In Paris almost everyone lives in a flat, where it is not necessary to keep so many servants as a house requires. Wages are about the same; but servants in France are much more economical than in England. Food is dearer as it is mostly taxed—the exception being fruit and vegetables, which come into Paris free of duty. Wine of home culture is now exempt. Coal is very expensive, being generally over £2 a ton; but then less is used, as the houses in the best parts of the city are generally warmed. There is, however, no income tax in France, and the municipal taxes are much less—about one-half what they are in London. But the days when people would go to Paris to largely economise are past; both capitals are expensive for the upper and middle classes.

The carte telegram or “Petit bleu” is an advantage in Paris which one misses much in London. This is a system by which a letter written on a special form, which can be sealed and posted in a special box, with a threepenny stamp, will be delivered in the city, by means of pneumatic tubes, within an hour. It is a great convenience, and largely used by Parisians.

The post offices, however, often afford a trying experience. The officials seem in no hurry to attend to the customers, and there is no appeal. They do not seem to consider themselves the servants of the public in any way, and so the public suffer. The “Bureaux de Post” are frequently badly ventilated, so that a long delay is not always agreeable.