If the stranger at Paris is struck by the magnificent appearance which
the exterior of the Louvre presents, he cannot fail of being delighted
with an inspection of the contents of its invaluable Museum. This, like
nearly all the museums and libraries in Paris, is open to _every
individual_, except on the days appropriated for study, when only
_artists_ are admitted; but even then, a stranger, whose stay is
limited, may be admitted on producing his _passport_, a regulation which
is highly commendable for its liberality; and at none of these
repositories are the attendants permitted to lay any contributions on
the visitants. The gallery of the Louvre was built by Henry IV. to join
that palace with the Tuilleries, from which it was formerly separated,
by the walls which surrounded Paris. This vast gallery is _two hundred
toises_ in length (not a great deal short of a quarter of an English
mile); the collection of works of art here in without any parallel, as
in this place are assembled most of the finest paintings and statues in
the world, which the most indifferent must survey with admiration. But
at the same time, it is impossible not to feel a portion of regret at
the causes which have robbed Italy of those monuments, which its
inhabitants so well knew how to appreciate, and for many of which they
entertained a religious veneration, as the ornaments of their churches.
The French, as far as I am able to judge, do not (in general) possess
any such feeling of sensibility, and merely value these _chefs d'oeuvre_
because their merit is allowed to be _incontestable_, and because their
vanity is flattered, in seeing them thus collected by their victories as
an additional attraction for strangers to visit their capital.
But Italy, although thus despoiled of so many of her ornaments, will
still have many and great attractions for the man of taste; her
buildings exhibit the finest specimens of art that are any where
remaining; and those possessed of a classic genius will always behold
with delight the scenes celebrated by a Horace or a Virgil. The
paintings in this gallery exceed 1200 in number; they are divided into
three classes, the first contains the French school, the second the
German, and the third the Italian. Catalogues and descriptions of the
paintings may be had at the doors. I often visited this gallery, and
always with increased admiration. I shall not attempt to enter into any
details as to the respective excellence of the different paintings.
Volumes have been written on the subject, and my testimony could add
nothing to excellence which is acknowledged by all--by those who have
not seen, on the reports of those who have visited this splendid
assemblage, who, having seen, have not failed to admire, and to give
currency to their admiration. The following lines on Raphael, will be
readily admitted as just by those who have seen some of his sublime
pictures:
Hic ille est Raphael, timuit quo sospite vinci,
Rerum magna parens, et moriente mori.
Here Raphael lies, who could with nature vie,
To him she feared to yield, with him to die.
Although I thought my admiration had been so largely called forth by the
pictures I had just visited, as to have been almost exhausted, yet the
distinguished excellence of the statues did not fail to rekindle it; and
indeed it is impossible it should have been otherwise, when surrounded
by such admirable specimens of art.--The number bears its due proportion
to that of the pictures, and the same reasons which induced me to say
little of them, will prevent my dilating on the excellence of the
statues--
Et la meilleure chose, on la gâte souvent.
Pour la vouloir outrer, et pousser trop avant.
I must, however, observe, that here are assembled the three finest
statues in the world, the _Laocoon_, the _Venus_ de Clomene, from the
collection of the Medici family, and the _Apollo_ Belvidere, which was
found amongst the ruins of Antrum, about the end of the 15th century;
and eveu in imagining the most perfect nature, it is difficult to form
an idea of such perfection as is here exhibited; but much as I admired
the Apollo, I was yet more delighted by contemplating the excellence
displayed in the graceful figure of the Venus.
The gallery of paintings at the palace of the Luxemburg (which is now
called the palace of the Peers of France, as they sit at present in the
hall, formerly occupied by Buonaparte's Conservative Senate) although
vastly inferior to that at the Louvre, both as to the number, and value
of the collection it contains; yet it is well worthy the attention of
the stranger, and the circumstance of its not being too crowded is
favourable to the visitant, whose attention is not so much divided here
as by the attractions of the greater collection, where he is often at a
loss which way he shall turn. Here are statues of Bacchus and Ariadne.
The gallery of Rubens contains twenty-one pictures by that great master,
representing the history of Mary of Medicis; it also contains his
Judgment of Paris. The gallery of Vernet contains a series of views of
the principal sea-ports of France, by that painter, and also Poussin's
picture of the Adoration of the Magi. Here are also two celebrated
pictures by that great modern painter, David--Brutus after having
condemned his Son, and the Oath of the Horatii, which appeared to me
worthy of the favourable report I had before heard of them.
This palace has a spacious and handsome garden; the front of Queen's
College, Oxford, is an imitation on a reduced scale of its façade to the
street.
After the paintings, I next inquired after the Libraries which Paris
contains; these are very numerous, but as I had so much to see, I
contented myself with visiting the two principal ones, first, the royal
library, Rue Richelieu. This contains the library of Petrarch, which
alone would render it an object of curiosity. Here are also the globes
of the Jesuit _Coronelli_, which are upwards of thirty-four feet in
circumference. The Cabinet of Antiquities contains the collection of
Count Caylus. The number of printed volumes is stated to amount to
350,000. The manuscripts are not less than 72,000. Here is also a vast
and very valuable collection of medals, and about 5000 engravings. All
persons are permitted to read here from ten until two o'clock.
The second Library which I visited was one which formerly belonged to
that celebrated Minister, Cardinal Mazarin, and is now in the Palais des
Beaux Arts, on the opposite side of the river from the Louvre. This
collection consists of 60,000 volumes, amongst which are many works of
great value.
If the traveller sees much to interest him, and much to admire during
the course of his tour, it is natural that he should occasionally meet
with disappointment; and I must confess that in the Metropolitan Church
of Notre Dame, I saw little worthy of that praise which is lavished on
it by the French; it is only venerable from its antiquity, being one of
the most ancient Christian churches in Europe.--In point of
architecture, and the general appearance of the exterior, it yields to
any of the cathedrals, and to very many of the parish churches in
England. The interior is mean in the extreme (the High Altar only
excepted;) the body of the church being entirely filled up with the
commonest rush bottomed chairs, and not kept in any tolerable order. But
the most splendid church in Paris is unquestionably that of St. Sulpice,
which is also one of the most striking buildings in the metropolis,
notwithstanding the dissimilitude of the two towers of its grand Western
front.
The Pantheon is not very different as to its general appearance from the
last mentioned church. This edifice has cost already vast sums, but is
not considered as completed. I saw during my stay at Paris most of the
churches which it contains, and was in general disappointed with their
appearance. The church of St. Roque is the handsomest after that of St.
Sulpice. There is a Protestant church in the Rue St. Honoré, called
L'Oratoire. Bossuet said of this congregation, "It is a body where all
obey, and where no one commands."--Adjoining to this church is a very
small chapel, where since the peace the service has been performed
according to the form of the church of England. I attended here the
Sunday after my arrival in Paris, and found the congregation consisted
of about 40 persons, and at first sight one could not have supposed they
were all British subjects, so completely had the ladies adopted the
_great hat_, and the other peculiarities of the French _ton_.
Still one sees in the streets and public places several who do not
desire to be thought French subjects, and who persist in wearing the
much-abused habits of their own country.
There have been many disputes respecting the number of English actually
in Paris; I have no doubt it has been extremely exaggerated. I saw, at
my bankers, Messrs. Perregeaux & Co. a list of all those who had credit
with them, which was less considerable by half at least than report had
stated.
In the Place Vendôme stands a truly magnificent column (copied from that
of Trajan at Rome) to commemorate the victories of Buonaparte, and his
army in Germany. The execution of the _bas reliefs_ reflects credit on
the state of sculpture in France, and cannot fail to claim the
approbation of the beholder.
On the top of the column stood a colossal statue of Buonaparte; this,
like the other statues of that modern _Sejanus_, has disappeared since
the downfall of his empire, and the return of the ancient dynasty has
caused to be placed on its summit the white flag, formerly so much
venerated by the French.
I set out at an early hour to go over the celebrated Gobelin manufactory
in the Rue Mouffetard, the proprietor of which is extremely civil to
strangers, and permits them to see his premises from ten till one
o'clock, and they are well worthy of attention. The name of this
manufactory is derived from its founder Gille Gobelin, originally from
Rheims, who settled here in 1450.--I was also the same day much pleased
with surveying the Stereotype press of that famous printer _Didot_,
whose editions of various authors are in such esteem amongst judges of
the art.
In the Place des Victoires, I observed an enormous statue of General
Dessaix, on the site formerly occupied by one of Lewis XIV. (I have
been informed, that about two months after my departure from Paris, this
statue has been removed to a foundery, where by _fusion_, it may perhaps
assume the appearance of a Bourbon.)--The Great Bureau of the Post,
where only foreign letters can be _franked_, that is postpaid by those
who send them (without which they are not forwarded) is in the Rue J.J.
Rousseau, whose name was given to this street, from his having for some
time occupied an attic story in it.
The Botanic Garden (Jardin des Plantes) being open to the public only on
Tuesdays and Wednesdays, and its situation being at the farthest
extremity of Paris from my hotel, I set out as early as possible to view
it with the attention it deserved. It is on a very great scale, and
contains about 7000 plants, arranged according to the scientific method
of M. Jussieu. The Library I did not see, but the Museum and the
Menagerie are on the most extensive scale, and accounts have been
published of their curiosities.--Being fatigued with _seeing the Lions_,
I sat down to rest for a short time on a vacant seat in the garden; but
presently two elderly ladies came to the same place, and lamented in the
_most expressive terms_ the loss of a favourite dog; the lady who had
lost it, said it was the _only consolation_ she had, that it was
absolutely _necessary to love something_, and that she felt most
miserable at her loss.
This concern for the loss of a dog appeared to me much more natural,
than the delight with which some virtuosos, whom I observed in the
Museum, contemplated many of the specimens preserved there. The French
have a great _latitude of expression_, being naturally an extremely
lively people; but certainly not so much so as formerly. I recollect
some years ago being much amused by an anecdote, related by the late Dr.
Moore, in his "View of the State of Society and Manners in France,
Italy, and Germany." The Doctor was informed by a French gentleman of
his acquaintance, with that vivacity which distinguishes his nation,
that he had just then received a final dismissal from a lady, who had
for some time appeared to favour his addresses, and that he was
absolutely in _despair_. Dr. Moore, who, from the vivacity of his
friend's manners, had no idea that any thing had happened that seriously
distressed him, answered, that he thought him the merriest person he had
ever seen in such a situation. The other immediately replied, "but you
English have such an idea of despair!"
The various revolutions of the last twenty-five years have doubtless
contributed, in no small degree, to diminish much of that gaiety, which
formerly distinguished the French from most other nations, and which
formed one of their chief characteristics.
Under the late government reserve was positively _necessary_, so
numerous were the emissaries of the police, and so anxious were they to
report the most trifling circumstances to their employer, that they
might convince him how very necessary they were to the furtherance of
his government. In those unhappy times every man mistrusted his
neighbour, fearing he might be concerned in one of the _eighteen police
establishments_ supported by the mistrust of the emperor in the
affections of his subjects. The _Conscription Laws_, and the right which
Buonaparte assumed of _disposing in marriage all ladies_ possessed of a
certain income, as a measure of rewarding the services of his officers,
and which violated the closest connexions and best interests of society;
together with his system of _forced loans_, which entirely destroyed the
rights of _private property_, did not leave his subjects many
incitements to mirth--although it was dangerous to appear dejected. "The
Voyage Descriptif et Philosophique de Paris, par L---- P----," contains
the following remarks, the truth of which renders them interesting, and
I shall therefore translate them, for the information of those who may
chance to peruse these pages. The author observes, "An air of inquietude
has succeeded that openness and sociability, which so much distinguished
the French. Their serious air announces that most people are considering
the amount of their debts, and are always put to expedients. One
guesses, that in a company of thirty at least twenty-four are revolving
the means of acquiring wealth; and notwithstanding twenty are without
it." I shall quote in conclusion what the same writer says of the
Parisian, and which strikes me as a correct statement. "The Parisian is
in general tolerably indifferent as to his political situation; he is
never wholly enslaved, never free. He repels cannon by puns, and links
together power and despotism by witty epigrams. He quickly forgets the
misfortunes of the preceding day; he keeps no diary of grievances, and
one might say, he has sufficient confidence in himself not to dread too
absolute a despotism. It is to be hoped, that the happy restoration of
the Bourbons will restore to the Parisian his gaiety, and that Louis
XVIII. the legitimate father of the French, will cause all former
political convulsions to be forgotten."
The Parisians are distinguished by their loquacity. Having occasion to
employ a hair-cutter, I was quite stunned by his volubility of tongue.
_King Archelaus_ would find it difficult to be suited here; for being
asked how he would have his hair cut, he answered--"silently."
After many ineffectual attempts, I at last succeeded in satisfying my
curiosity by seeing the assembly of the Legislative Body. The building
is one of the greatest ornaments of which Paris can boast; it was
chiefly the work of Buonaparte, who was satisfied to lodge these
gentlemen in a palace, provided they did not interfere in the government
of their country. I was not gratified in proportion to the trouble I had
in getting into the hall, by the short and uninteresting debate which
ensued. This House was occupied during the greatest part of my stay in
Paris in discussing the forms proper to be observed when the king meets
the peers and commons.
The deputies object, that the king should himself desire the peers to be
seated, and that they should only receive that permission through the
medium of the chancellor: how the point has been decided, I have not
been since informed.
The weather was intensely hot during part of my stay at Paris, the
quicksilver being occasionally at 26° Réaumur, equal to 90° of
Fahrenheit's scale, and the sky without a cloud, there not being, in
general, such a cloud of smoke over Paris as generally obscures the
atmosphere of London. Yet, I believe, the best accounts allow that
London is to the full as healthy a city as Paris, and if cleanliness is
conducive to health the point can admit of little doubt. During part of
this oppressive weather, I used generally to resort, about mid-day, to
the gallery of the Louvre, being anxious to take every opportunity of
contemplating its superb collection of the works of art. There,
notwithstanding the number of visitors, the marble floors and
ventilators rendered the air much more cool than it was out of doors. I
generally set out on my rambles through the city at as early an hour as
custom would permit, and in the evening, often joined the pedestrians in
the gardens of the Tuilleries, which were always thronged with company
of all descriptions. There are a vast number of chairs under the trees,
and their proprietors demand one or two sous for the right of sitting in
them. I have been assured that this inconsiderable charge procures a
total by no means contemptible.
I sometimes extended my walk into the Champs Elysées, which extend a
long way beyond the Place de Louis XV. Its avenues are lighted like the
streets of Paris, by lanthorns, suspended across them by ropes and
pulleys, which give a stronger light than our lamps, but do not seem
equally secure. At the end of the centre avenue, which runs in a
straight line from the grand entrance to the Tuilleries, Buonaparte had
lately begun a triumphal arch to commemorate the victories of his
armies; and still further, exactly opposite the bridge of Jena, he
caused a vast number of houses to be destroyed, to make way for a
projected palace for the King of Rome. The foundations only of this
edifice had been laid before the overthrow of Buonaparte, and this large
plot of ground now presents a scene of waste and desolation.
The present government, which will not prosecute so expensive and
useless an undertaking, will still have to make compensation to the
owners of the buildings of which only the ruins remain.
The quarter of St. Antoine is celebrated in the annals of the
Revolution; and, indeed, there are but few parts of Paris, which do not
recall to one's mind some of those scenes so disgraceful to humanity of
which it was the great theatre. The Place Royale in this district is
only remarkable, for having been built by Henry IV.: it forms a square
with a small garden in the centre, but has long ceased to be a
fashionable residence. In Paris there are no squares similar in plan to
those in London, but occasionally one sees places formed by the junction
of streets, &c. The town-house is a large, and as I think, a tasteless
Gothic edifice; and in the Place de Grève stood that guillotine which
deprived such incredible multitudes of their lives. At one period of
the Revolution every successful faction in turn, endeavoured, as it
should seem, to exterminate its enemies, when it succeeded in possessing
itself of the supreme power, which then chiefly consisted in the command
of this formidable instrument; and these successive tyrants, like
_Sylla_, were often in doubt _whom they should permit still to remain
alive_.
I do not know that the invention of the _guillotine_, is to be ascribed
to the ingenuity of the French, but they will for ever remain obnoxious
to the charge of the most dreadful abuse of it. I have heard it stated
that, so late as the reigns of Elizabeth, and James the First, an
instrument similar to the guillotine, was used for the execution of
offenders in the vicinity of Hardwicke Forest, in Yorkshire.
The _Boulevards_ are now merely very spacious streets, with avenues of
trees at the sides, but formerly they were the boundaries of the city.
They form a fashionable promenade for the Parisians, and abound with
horsemen and carriages more than any other quarter of the town. Along
the Boulevard Poissonnier are some of the handsomest houses in Paris. I
dined with a family in one of them which commands a very cheerful scene.
There are here, as in the Palais Royal, a vast number of coffee-houses,
billiard-tables, and restaurateurs. The price of a dinner differs little
from what is usually paid in London, but bread is about half the price,
and there is a great saving in the charge for wine, with this additional
advantage, that it is generally of much better quality than can be met
with in London for double the price; as the heavy duties on importing
French wines necessarily induces their adulteration. A stranger to
_French manners_, is surprised at seeing ladies of respectability
frequenting coffee-houses and taverns, which they do as matter of
course;--so powerful are the habits in which we have been educated.
After the Boulevards, the Rue Royale and the Rue de Rivoli are the
handsomest in Paris. The last named is far from being completed, and
runs in a line, facing the gardens of the Tuilleries; in these two
streets there is a division to protect foot passengers, but they are not
flagged.
* * * * *