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Prés, besieged it, made breaches in its walls, broke down the trees, the trellices, demolished the neighbouring houses. In January, 1549 -in May, 1550-similar seditions; but the scholars were not alone on these occasions; the working classes, (ouvriers,) the shop-boys, (varlets de boutiques,) joined with the mob. In 1557 the troubles became yet more serious." . . . . The same troubles preceded the reign of Louis XIV: --for every period of improvement is a period of agitation; and the brave and capricious populace, the rebellious and tumultuous youth of Paris, ever ready for battle, ever eager for change, ever impatient of rule, receiving the character of each era of civilization, have always retained their own-have always been valiant, fickle, insolent, and gay.
It was amidst this mixture of gross and barbarous luxury, of abandoned licence, of mysterious rites, of terrible and sanguinary superstition, that the arts, as I have said, arose; and that love, no longer the guerdon of adventurous chivalry, became the prize of the gentle smile, the whispered compliment, and the graceful carriage. Born of this epoch, the Tuileries, I repeat, represent its character. The ghosts of the Medici may still rove complacently through their gardens, and amidst the statues of ancient
Greece, move a crowd that would have done ho nour to the groves of Epicurus.
I have been anxious to give a general idea of the aspect of Paris: as it is in such descriptions, as well as in more philosophical disquisitions, that the character of a people is to be found; but I have no intention to speak of all that is interesting or curious in this metropolis. Who has not been fatigued with details of the Jardin des Plantes, the Luxembourg, the Louvre, and the numberless 'et cætera' of mo dern tourists?
Divided in 1702; in 1789, by the Convention-More divided by manners than laws-Description of the Chaussée d'Antin-The Faubourg St. Germain-The Quartier of the Students-The Marais-Faubourg St. Antoine-The old city.
THIS city has undergone a variety of divisions. In 1702 it was divided by Louis XIV. into twenty 'quartiers' or districts; a division, which did not suffice in 1789, when it was necessary to make a new distribution, in order to elect the Deputies of the States-General. Finally, by a decree of the Convention, Paris was formed into twelve municipalities, each of which contained four quartiers;' and this arrangement is still maintained. But it is not so much by its laws, as by its manners, that Paris is divided. There are districts differing as widely, one from the other, in the ideas, the habits, and the appearance of their inhabitants, as in the height and size of their buildings, or the width and cleanliness of
their streets. The Chaussée d'Antin breathes the atmosphere of the Bourse, the Palais Royal, and the Boulevards: it is the district of bankers, stock-brokers, generals of the empire, rich tradespeople- and represents May-fair and Russellsquare intermingled. The Chaussée d'Antin is the district fullest of life, most animated, most rife with the spirit of progress, of change, of luxury, of elegance. Here you will find all new buildings, all new arcades, all new passages; here first appear all new inventions; here are first opened all new shops; here are given the richest and most splendid balls; here you meet a race who go to bed late, frequent the theatres, fill the opera, whitewash their houses every year, and new paint their carriages; here you see the insolence of 'parvenu' power—the contempt of the thick lip and the turned-up nose-contempt which is adequately returned by the possessor of yon dim and vast hotel in the Faubourg St. Germain-for we are come to another district -to the district of the long and silent street; of the meagre repast and the large and well-trimmed garden of the great court-yard-of the broad and dark staircase. This is the 'quartier' inhabited by the Administrations-by the old nobility; this is the 'quartier' which manifests no signs of change, no widening and straightening of
streets, no piercing of passages-it hardly possesses a 'restaurant' of note, and has but one unfrequented theatre. And now, not far from where we are, is the quartier' of the students; quartier' at once poor and popular; amidst which— monument legitimate to the district, inhabited by that brave and exalted youth, who knew how to vanquish for an opinion in July, to suffer for an opinion in June-monument legitimate to the district, inhabited by those eloquent and illustrious professors who give to France a glory superior to that of arms-rises the Pantheon! And yonder is the Observatory, and the Jardin des Plantes, and the memory of Cuvier.
Then there is the Marais-the retreat of the old-fashioned judge and the old-fashioned merchant, where the manners have been changed almost as little as the houses, by the philosophy of the eighteenth century—no carriages, no equipages, not a solitary cabriolet in the streets! All is still, silent; you are amongst the customs of the provincial village and the grand hotels of the time of Louis XIII. Then there is the Faubourg St. Antoine-residence of those immense masses which an event so mysteriously produces-of those masses that reigned under Robespierre, and which Bonaparte, after Waterloo, refused to summon to his