4. Paris (Cont.)

In viewing the sights of Paris, I naturally wished to penetrate into the inner life of its inhabitants. But I must confess that there was no possibility of achieving this in the short time I had at my disposal. The life of such a populous city is too complex to orient oneself in it and make more or less interesting observations in two or three days. I saw Parisian life only on the streets, not in those secret depths where it manifests itself without adornment; and I must say that street life among Parisians makes a fairly good impression and does not at all justify the common notions about its licentiousness that exist in Russia. Perhaps the former light-mannered Paris, chastened by the heavy trial of the past war, has become more sedate and wishes through strict abstinence to atone for its former lawlessness, but in any case the “displays of vice” with which, by accounts, the capital of France formerly shone, are now completely invisible. On weekdays, Paris is even somewhat dull and seems deserted: on a holiday it is extremely populous, yet again quiet and modest. On the great French holiday of “All Saints’ Day,” Paris presented a touching spectacle: it is a holiday of commemoration of the dead, and one had to see the touching zeal with which all, with bouquets, flowers, and immortelles, hurried to the cemeteries to honor their fathers and brothers. A people that honors its ancestors has great moral strength, and the Parisians thus declared themselves. In the evening of the same day, popular celebrations were arranged, and among them, in the Tuileries Garden—ball tossing. This beloved, completely innocent, and perhaps childish game gathered immense masses of people around it, and it was interesting to watch how elderly people competed with children in strength and dexterity of ball throwing. The game made an impression of innocence, but all the more important is the fact that this innocent game gathered multitudes of spectators and participants. There is no need to say that in these immense masses there was not a single one of those rowdies who, as with us, are so glad at a holiday that they become drunk before dawn. Silence and calm were astonishing, and there was no business for the “policemen,” who with us, as is known, are swamped with “duties” on holidays.

Morality is the offspring of religion, and I sought to find this causal connection between them in Paris. But remarkably, this connection, if my observation is correct, is not noticeable here. Religion with its manifestations, as it were, hides in Paris in certain secret corners. With great effort, for example, I searched for church journals and newspapers—and despite all my effort could not find any. I was in rich reading rooms where numerous newspapers and journals of all kinds are subscribed to, but of church ones—I saw not one. Even clerical newspapers are difficult to encounter, and I must have doubted the strength of local clericalism. True, priests and members of various monastic orders, such as Capuchins, are often met here; but they walk like shadows through the streets, drawing no one’s attention except perhaps mischievous boys, who are not averse to gazing at the bare half-shaved heads of Capuchins in their broad brown cassocks. Those genuflections and raising of hands, which I constantly had occasion to see in our Catholicized Vilna, leave not a trace here.

The workers here, this main contingent of revolution and the Commune, are modest and polite, and walk the streets like turkeys in their starched but ungirdled blue smocks. Many of them I had occasion to meet in the Louvre Museum, occupied with viewing its artistic treasures. How then can one explain the horrors of destruction and crime that were perpetrated not long ago by these very workers? The greatest blame must undoubtedly be attributed to outside agitation, and it is known that with long and frequent incitement, even the dampest material will catch fire. Therefore, right-thinking people here regard the future with shuddering, given the announced amnesty to Communists. Many of the latter have already returned from exile to Paris and from the start showed their refractory, rebellious nature, and, taking advantage of the workers’ congress held in Marseille in mid-October, endeavored to agitate the population in favor of the revolutionary designs of that congress. But so far they are not succeeding. For now they remain only fruitlessly filling the air with their maxim: liberty, equality, and brotherhood. This maxim, I note incidentally, has recently been thoroughly compromised: under its banner false currency has appeared—five-franc coins. In France, there are silver five-franc coins predominantly with the coat of arms of the former Emperor Napoleon III; but the malevolent counterfeiter preferred to issue coins with the republican seal and the maxim proclaiming liberty, equality, and brotherhood. Everyone who now receives such a coin fully feels the bitterness and disadvantage of such “liberty, equality, and brotherhood.” By carelessness, or rather by inexperience, I also obtained one such coin, and now, with my strict monarchical convictions, have the vexing pleasure of constantly carrying a republican maxim. In not a single shop will they take…