Paris and the Parisians in 1835 (Vol. 1)

In Short

This travelogue offers a candid, firsthand account of Paris during a volatile period of the July Monarchy. The author moves through the city’s public spaces, documenting everything from the art at the Louvre to the fervor of political trials and the everyday habits of the bourgeoisie. Written with an unapologetic perspective, the book serves as both a historical snapshot and a social critique. It has endured as a vivid, personal record of 19th-century French life, reflecting the author’s sharp wit and her deeply ingrained skepticism toward the political and literary fashions of her time.

The Story

The narrative begins as an exploration of a city in transition. Arriving in Paris amidst the exhibition of living artists, the author is immediately struck by the distance between her own expectations and the reality of the contemporary French aesthetic. She moves through the city with a discerning eye, taking in the grand gardens of the Tuileries and the crowded, noisy streets. Throughout the volume, she engages with a variety of acquaintances—some helpful, others pompously intellectual—who provide her with information on the state of the nation. She is reassured by some that King Louis-Philippe is adored and that order is firmly established, yet she remains unconvinced, noting the undercurrents of discontent and the "tiger-like" patience of the clergy, who she believes are angling for a return to past influence.

As the narrative progresses, the author turns her focus to the cultural sphere. She attends the theater, offering withering assessments of the "new school" of dramatists, particularly Victor Hugo, whom she views as a purveyor of "obscene masques." She finds solace in the classic works of Racine and Corneille, expressing a firm belief that these enduring masters will outlast the current vogue for what she deems "frothy scum." Her observations extend to the private lives of the Parisians, where she notes the sharp contrast between the domesticity of Sunday family outings—which she finds genuinely charming—and the morbid fascination with suicide she encounters at the Morgue.

The arc of the book is defined by this constant push and pull between admiration for the French love of enjoyment and horror at what she perceives as a lack of fundamental moral and social depth. She visits the Luxembourg gardens to observe the political trials, finding the atmosphere charged but restricted for observers. By the end of the first volume, her position is clear: while she enjoys the surface-level gaiety of Parisian life, she remains a staunch defender of her own English values. She concludes with a thoughtful meditation on the status of women, arguing against the French tendency to prioritize marriage as the only legitimate state, while reaffirming her belief that the "madness" of the current political and intellectual climate is merely a temporary infection that the character of the nation will eventually cast off.

How It Unfolds

The voyage begins The author arrives in Paris during the Exhibition of Living Artists, immediately contrasting her own refined expectations against the jarring new works on display. She sets the stage for a journey of discovery, eager to peel back the layers of a city that seems to be operating under a mask of superficial order.

A tour of societal life She spends her days observing the public, frequenting the Tuileries and witnessing the "fête-loving" nature of the populace. She notes the marked differences between the middle-class homes of Paris and London, pointing to the scarcity of basic luxuries like running water in France.

Political and moral inquiries Through conversations with local figures, she probes the stability of the government and the influence of the clergy. She visits the Luxembourg palace to witness the tension surrounding ongoing trials, feeling the weight of a society governed by fickle, often "populist" impulses.

Literary and cultural critiques She shifts her gaze to the theater and the literary elite, expressing intense disdain for the modern French dramatists. She champions the classical traditions, viewing the current trends as a brief, noisy earthquake that will soon subside.

The final reflection The volume concludes with a series of reflections on the roles of men and women in society, specifically comparing the independence of English maidenhood to the perceived constraints of French womanhood. She leaves the reader with a final, firm assessment of the moral landscape of the city, standing resolute in her own conservative convictions.

The People

The author, Frances Trollope, is the central consciousness—inquisitive, opinionated, and deeply tethered to her own cultural identity. She wants to understand the French, but she stands firmly against their modern political and artistic currents. She finds a foil in "the old gentleman," a helpful, knowing local who provides her with insights into the state of the nation, though he often mocks her attempts to grasp the deeper, more metaphysical aspects of French philosophy.

She encounters various "demoiselles" and "doctrinaires," whose obsession with social status or abstract theory she treats with polite but unmistakable derision. She is especially critical of those she calls the "new school" of writers, with Victor Hugo serving as her primary target. She views these figures as "youthful tyrants" who manipulate public opinion. Finally, she contrasts these figures with the "venerable" masters like Racine, whom she treats as beacons of sanity. She ends the volume as she began: a traveler who has seen the sights but refused to adopt the local customs, ending up even more convinced of the superiority of her own moral framework.

In Its Own Voice

"Preconceived notions generally take a much firmer hold of the mind than can be obtained by any statement, however clear and plain, which tends to overthrow them."

This observation frames the author's approach to the prejudices and political tensions she encounters throughout the city.

"He is the head of a sect--the high-priest of a congregation who have abolished every law, moral and intellectual, by which the efforts of the human mind have hitherto been regulated."

This is her sharp indictment of Victor Hugo and the "décousu" school of writers, reflecting her deep suspicion of modern literary trends.

"It is no small source of consolation and of hope, at a period when a sort of universal epidemic frenzy appears to have seized upon the minds of men... to find that, however rumour may clamour forth tidings of these sad ravings, fame still rests only with such as really deserve it."

She uses this to express her belief that the temporary "frenzy" of radical thought will ultimately fail to replace the established order.

What It's Really About

The book is a sustained argument regarding the fragility of social and moral order in the face of rapid political change. The author is deeply concerned with the question of whether a society can survive when it abandons its historical foundations for the sake of popular, often reckless, "democratic" experimentation. She is perpetually asking: where is the substance beneath the style? She treats the political, literary, and religious shifts of 1835 as symptomatic of a dangerous, "dirty delirium." Ultimately, the text is a defense of tradition against the modern urge to overthrow all established laws, suggesting that while a society may enjoy its fêtes and spectacles, it requires a firmer, more classical moral bedrock to remain truly stable.

Why Read It Today

Readers who appreciate a sharp-tongued, observant guide will find much to admire here. It feels like walking through a bustling 19th-century street with a companion who is unfailingly intelligent, slightly judgmental, and never afraid to speak her mind. Those interested in the history of Paris will gain a visceral sense of the city’s texture—the smell of the kitchens, the noise of the crowds, and the underlying political anxiety that defined the era.

However, the reader must be prepared for the author's distinct biases. Her writing is unapologetically Victorian and conservative; she shows little patience for the political radicalism of the time, and her views on gender and class reflect the rigid attitudes of her generation. Some passages are dense with the minutiae of 1830s theatrical gossip, which may test the patience of a modern reader. Yet, if one approaches it as a personal portrait rather than an objective history, the book remains a fascinating experience. It stays with you not because of its politics, but because of the author’s voice—a warm, precise, and relentlessly curious observer who manages to capture the fleeting, vibrant energy of a world that has long since vanished.