Paris and the Parisians in 1835 (Vol. 2) — Edition Insights

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In Category - Geography
Trollope, Frances Milton, 1780-1863 Project Gutenberg 2012 Not confirmed
Paris (France) -- Description and travel; Paris (France) -- Social life and customs -- 19th century Readers of public-domain and historical texts
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Words 94,990
Reading time 413 min
Text sections 11

This digital edition of Paris and the Parisians in 1835 (Vol. 2) — Edition Insights is described by source-level measurements including 94,990 words, 6 hr 53 min estimated reading time, and 11 detected text sections.

The text analysis averages about 30.2 words per sentence, while the detected sections provide another way to judge how the source is divided.

Project Gutenberg metadata also associates the work with “Paris (France) -- Description and travel,” connecting these edition facts with the source record’s subject description.

Frances Trollope's second volume of Parisian sketches from 1835 blends travelogue, social observation, and literary gossip, focusing on exclusive soirées, the Châteaubriand memoir readings at Abbaye-aux-Bois, and contrasts between French and English customs.
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"Votre fille sera marquise, en dépit de tout le monde: et si vous me mettez en colère, je la ferai duchesse."

L'Abbé Lacordaire.--Various Statements respecting him.--Poetical description of Notre Dame.--The prophecy of a Roman Catholic.--Les Jeunes Gens de Paris--Their omnipotence.

The great reputation of another preacher induced us on Sunday to endure two hours more of tedious waiting before the mass which preceded the sermon began. It is only thus that a chair can be hoped for when the Abbé Lacordaire mounts the pulpit of Notre Dame. The penalty is really heavy; but having heard this celebrated person described as one who "appeared sent by Heaven to restore France to Christianity"--as "a hypocrite that set Tartuffe immeasurably in the background"--as "a man whose talent surpassed that of any preacher since Bossuet"--and as "a charlatan who ought to harangue from a tub, instead of from the _chaire de Notre Dame de Paris_,"--I determined upon at least seeing and hearing him, however little I might be able to decide on which of the two sides of the prodigious chasm that yawned between his friends and enemies the truth was most likely to be found. There were, however, several circumstances which lessened the tedium of this long interval: I might go farther, and confess that this period was by no means the least profitable portion of the four hours which we passed in the church.

On entering, we found the whole of the enormous nave railed in, as it had been on Easter Sunday for the concert (for so in truth should that performance be called); but upon applying at the entrance to this enclosure, we were told that no ladies could be admitted to that part of the church--but that the side aisles were fully furnished with chairs, and afforded excellent places.

This arrangement astonished me in many ways:--first, as being so perfectly un-national; for go where you will in France, you find the best places reserved for the women,--at least, this was the first instance in which I ever found it otherwise. Next, it astonished me, because at every church I had entered, the congregations, though always crowded, had been composed of at least twelve women to one man. When, therefore, I looked over the barrier upon the close-packed, well-adjusted rows of seats prepared to receive fifteen hundred persons, I thought that unless all the priests in Paris came in person to do honour to their eloquent confrère, it was very unlikely that this uncivil arrangement should be found necessary. There was no time, however, to waste in conjecture; the crowd already came rushing in at every door, and we hastened to secure the best places that the side aisles afforded. We obtained seats between the pillars immediately opposite to the pulpit, and felt well enough contented, having little doubt that a voice which had made itself heard so well must have power to reach even to the side aisles of Notre Dame.

The first consolation which I found for my long waiting, after placing myself in that attitude of little ease which the straight-backed chair allowed, was from the recollection that the interval was to be passed within the venerable walls of Notre Dame. It is a glorious old church, and though not comparable in any way to Westminster Abbey, or to Antwerp, or Strasburg, or Cologne, or indeed to many others which I might name, has enough to occupy the eye very satisfactorily for a considerable time. The three elegant rose-windows, throwing in their coloured light from north, west, and south, are of themselves a very pretty study for half an hour or so; and besides, they brought back, notwithstanding their miniature diameter of forty feet, the remembrance of the magnificent circular western window of Strasburg--the recollection of which was almost enough to while away another long interval. Then I employed myself, not very successfully, in labouring to recollect the quaint old verses which I had fallen upon a few days before, giving the dimensions of the church, and which I will herewith transcribe for your use and amusement, in case you should ever find yourself sitting as I was, _bolt upright_, as we elegantly express ourselves when describing this ecclesiastical-Parisian attitude, while waiting the advent of the Abbé Lacordaire.

"Si tu veux savoir comme est ample De Notre Dame le grand temple, Il y a, dans oeuvre, pour le seur, Dix et sept toises de hauteur, Sur la largeur de vingt-quatre, Et soixante-cinq, sans rebattre, A de long; aux tours haut montées Trente-quatre sont comptées; Le tout fondé sur pilotis-- Aussi vrai que je te le dis."

Frances Trollope opens this second volume with a sharp eye for the distinguishing air of Frenchwomen, insisting that an Englishwoman in Paris is instantly recognizable. Her letters move from the small shops and flower arrangements of the Palais Royal to the political and literary salons where the Duc de Broglie and Madame Récamier preside. The catalog subjects—description and travel, social life and customs—are amply represented, but the excerpts reveal a more specific interest: the mechanics of elite cultural access and the public hunger for private literary performances.

The Châteaubriand Memoir Readings as Literary Event

The most extended excerpt details Trollope's efforts to attend the private readings of Châteaubriand's memoirs at the Abbaye-aux-Bois. She describes the anxious consultations with her friend Miss Clarke and the intervention of Madame Récamier, who arranged a special session for Trollope and her daughters. The readings had already ended, and the reader had left Paris, yet the public sensation persisted. Trollope reports that a volume collecting newspaper and review accounts of these lectures had been published, with contributions from every political party, all paying "cordial—I might say, fervent homage" to Châteaubriand. She notes the irony that the world awaits his death to read the full work, calling it "both the most important and the most able that he has composed." This episode shows Trollope less as a tourist than as a literary correspondent, tracking the intersection of celebrity, politics, and print culture.

Political Soirées and Party Labels

The table of contents lists a series of exclusive soirées: Doctrinaire, Républicaine, Royaliste, and Impériale. Each is keyed to a political faction, suggesting that Trollope used social gatherings as a lens to map the fragmented French political landscape of the 1830s. The excerpts do not reproduce these letters, so the details of the Duc de Broglie's doctrinaire circle or the "Dame de l'Empire" remain inferred. However, the catalog subject "Social life and customs" is here given a distinctly political inflection. Trollope appears to treat the salon as a microcosm of ideological conflict, where the manner of hosting and the guest list signal allegiance. The reader should note that the letters themselves likely contain the nuanced observations that the contents page only hints at.

Everyday Contrasts: Shops, Rouge, and Muffins

Interspersed with high literary and political scenes are letters on mundane differences between Paris and London. Trollope notes the disappearance of rouge, the prevalence of grey hair, and the higher cost of every article in Paris, which she says removes "all temptations to smuggling." A letter on English pastry-cooks recounts a disastrous experiment with a muffin, met with French horror. These details ground the volume in concrete, sensory comparison. The catalog subject "Description and travel" is fulfilled not by panoramic vistas but by the price of flowers, the arrangement of shop windows, and the fate of baked goods. Trollope's method is to let small, telling incidents stand for larger cultural divides, a technique that rewards careful reading of the seemingly trivial.

Trollope's second volume is best approached as a series of discrete set-pieces rather than a continuous narrative. The letters vary widely in tone and subject, from the gossipy account of Châteaubriand's memoirs to the sociological note on rouge. Readers interested in the political salons will find the most concentrated material in letters XLIV and XLV, while those seeking everyday life should turn to letters XLIII, L, and LI. The volume's strength lies in its particularity; Trollope rarely generalizes without first offering a specific scene or anecdote.

There’s something tender about following Trollope through those gaslit Parisian evenings, the gossip flickering like candlelight. Yet I keep thinking how she’d have loved the quieter wildness of Canadian Scenery, Volume 1 (of 2) — Background and Themes—not as an escape, but as a shadow version of her own curiosity, where the unfamiliar still feels like home.

Ella Baker
4 weeks ago

Michael Nguyen
4 weeks ago

Anthony Taylor
2 weeks ago

Ava Scott
3 weeks ago

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