_Paris, Rue Faubourg Poissonière, May_ 30, 1819.
"Time and the hour runs through the roughest day." They must be protacted
miseries indeed which do not, at some period or other, have something like
a termination. I am here, then my good friend--safe and sound at last;
comfortably situated in a boarding house, of which the mistress is an
agreeable Englishwoman and the master an intelligent Swiss. I have
sauntered, gazed, and wondered--and exchanged a thousand gracious
civilities! I have delivered my epistolary credentials: have shaken hands
with Monsieur Van Praet; have paced the suite of rooms in which the
renowned BIBLIOTHEQUE DU ROI is deposited: have traversed the _Thuileries_
and the _Louvre_; repeatedly reconnoitred the _Boulevards_; viewed the gilt
dome of the _Hôtel des Invalides_, and the white flag upon the
bronze-pillar in the _Place Vendome_; seen crowds of our countrymen at
_Meurice's_ and in the hotels about the _Rue de la Paix;_ partaken of the
rival ices of _Tortoni_ and the _Caffé des Mille Colonnes_; bought old
French poetry at a Bouquiniste's: and drank Chambertin and Champagne at the
richly garnished table of our ----. These are what may be called good
_foreground objects_ in the composition of a Parisian picture. Now for the
filling up of the canvas with appropriate and harmonizing detail.
A second reflection corrects however the precipitancy of such a proposal;
for it cannot be, in this my _first_ despatch, that you are to receive any
thing like an adequate notion of the topics thus hastily thrown together on
the first impulse of Parisian inspiration. Wait patiently, therefore: and
at least admire the methodical precision of my narrative. My last letter
left me on the eve of departure from Falaise; and it is precisely from that
place that I take up the thread of my journal. We were to leave it, as I
told you, in the Diligence--on the evening of the Sunday, immediately
following the date of the despatch transmitted. I shall have reason to
remember that journey for many a day to come; but, "post varios casus, &c."
I am thankful to find myself safely settled in my present comfortable
abode. The Sabbath, on the evening of which the Diligence usually starts
for Paris, happened to be a festival. Before dawn of day I heard incessant
juvenile voices beneath the window of my bedroom at the Grand Turc; What
might this mean? Between three and four, as the day began to break, I rose,
and approaching the window, saw, from thence, a number of little boys and
girls busied in making artificial flower-beds and sand-borders, &c. Their
tongues and their bodily movements were equally unintermitting. It was
impossible for a stranger to guess at the meaning of such a proceeding;
but, opening the window, I thought there could be no harm in asking a very
simple question--which I will confess to you was put in rather an irritable
manner on my part ... for I had been annoyed by their labours for more than
the last hour. "What are you about, there?" I exclaimed--"Ha, is it you
Sir?" replied a little arch boy--mistaking me for some one else. "Yes,
(resumed I) tell me what you are about there?" "in truth, we are making
_Réposoirs_ for the FETE-DIEU: the Host will pass this way by and bye. Is
it not a pretty thing, Sir?" exclaimed a sweetly modulated female voice.
All my irritability was softened in a moment; and I was instantly convinced
that Solomon never delivered a wiser sentiment than when he said--"A soft
answer turneth away wrath!" I admitted the prettiness of the thing without
comprehending a particle of it: and telling them to speak in a lower key,
shut the window, and sought my bed. But sleep had ceased to seek me: and
the little urchins, instead of lowering their voices, seemed to break forth
in a more general and incessant vociferation. In consequence, I was almost
feverish from restlessness--when the fille de chambre announced that "it
was eight o'clock, and the morning most beautiful."
These _réposoirs_ are of more importance than you are aware of. They
consist of little spots, or spaces in the streets, garnished with flowers,
and intersected by walks, marked with fine gravel, in the centre of which
the Host rests, on its passing to and fro from the several parishes. When I
rose to dress, I observed the work of art--which had been in progress
during the night--perfectly complete. Passengers were forbidden to trespass
by pieces of string fastened to different parts by way of a fence--or,
whoever chose to walk within, considered themselves bound to deposit a sous
as the condition of gratifying their curiosity. Upon the whole, this
réposoir might be about sixteen feet square. Towards eleven o'clock the
different religious ceremonies began. On one side the noise of the drum,
and the march of the national guard, indicated that military mass was about
to be performed; on the other, the procession of priests, robed and
officiating--the elevation of banners--and the sonorous responses of both
laity and clergy--put the whole town into agitation, and made every inmate
of every mansion thrust his head out of window, to gaze at the passing
spectacle. We were among the latter denomination of lookers on, and
recognised, with no small gratification, our clerical friends Messieurs
Mouton, Langevin, and the huge father confessor at Guibra, followed by a
great number of respectable citizens, among whom the Comte de la Fresnaye
and his amiable and intelligent son (recently married) made most
respectable figures; They approached the réposoir in question. The priests,
with the Host, took their station within it; silence followed; one
officiating clergyman then knelt down; shut, what seemed to be, the wooden
covers of a book,--with, considerable violence--rose--turned round, and the
procession being again put in motion--the whole marched away to the church
of the Holy Trinity;--whither I followed it; and where I witnessed what I
was unable to comprehend, and what I should not feel much disposed to
imitate. But let every country be allowed to reverence and respect its own
particular religious ceremonies. We may endure what we cannot commend ...
and insult and disrespect are among the last actions which a well regulated
mind will shew in its treatment of such matters. I should add, that these
réposoirs, a few hours after the performance of the ceremony just
described, are indiscriminately broken up: the flowers and the little sand
banks falling equally a prey to the winds and the feet of the passenger.
Opposite to the inn was an hospital for the female sick. It had been
formerly an establishment of very considerable extent and celebrity; but
whether it was originally connected with the hospital of the _Léproserie de
Saint Lasare_, (about which the Abbé Langevin's History of Falaise is
rather curious) the _Hôtel-Dieu_, or the _Hôpital Général_, I cannot take
upon me to pronounce. Certain it is, however, that this establishment does
great credit to those who have the conduct of it. As foreigners, and
particularly as Englishmen, we were permitted to see the whole, without
reserve. On my return from witnessing the ceremony at the church of the
Trinity, I visited this hospital: my companion having resumed his graphic
operations before the Castle. I shall not easily forget the face and figure
of the matron. To a countenance of masculine feature, and masculine
complexion--including no ordinary growth of beard, of a raven tint--she
added a sturdy, squat, muscular figure--which, when put into action, moved
in a most decided manner. A large bunch of massive keys was suspended from
a girdle at her side; and her dress, which was black, was rendered more
characteristic and striking, by the appearance of, what are yet called,
_bustles_ above her hips. As she moved, the keys and the floor seemed
equally to shake beneath her steps. The elder Smirke would have painted
this severe Duenna-like looking matron with inimitable force and truth.
But ... she no sooner opened her mouth, than all traits of severity
vanished. Her voice was even musical, and her "façon de parler" most
gracious. She shewed me the whole establishment with equal good humour
and alertness; and I don't know when I ever made such a number of bows
(to the several female patients in the wards) within such limited time
and space. The whole building has the air of a convent; and there were
several architectural relics, perhaps of the end of the fifteenth
century, which I only regretted were not of portable dimensions; as,
upon making enquiry, little objection seemed to be made to the
gratuitous disposal of them.
The hour for departure, after sun-set, having arrived, we were summoned to
the Diligence when, bidding adieu to the very worthy host and hostess of
the _Grand Turc_, (whom I strongly recommend all Englishmen to visit) I
made up my mind for a thirty-six hour's journey--as I was to reach Paris on
Tuesday morning. The day had been excessively hot for the season of the
year; and the night air was refreshing. But after a few snatches of
sleep--greatly needed--there appeared manifest symptoms of decay and
downfall in the gloomy and comfortless machine in which we took our
departure. In other words, towards daylight, and just as we approached
_L'Aigle_, the left braces (which proved to be thoroughly rotted leather)
broke in two: and down slid, rather than tumbled, the Falaise Diligence!
There were two French gentlemen, and an elderly lady, besides ourselves in
the coach. While we halted, in order to repair the machine, the Frenchmen
found consolation in their misfortune by running to a caffé, (it was
between four and five in the morning), rousing the master and mistress, and
as I thought, peremptorily and impertinently asking for coffee: while they
amused themselves with billiards during its preparation. I was in no humour
for eating, drinking, or playing: for here was a second sleepless night!
Having repaired this crazy vehicle, we rumbled on for _Verneuil_; where it
was exchanged for a diligence of more capacious dimensions. Here, about
eleven o'clock, we had breakfast; and from henceforth let it not be said
that the art of eating and drinking belongs exclusively to our
country:--for such manifestations of appetite, and of attack upon
substantials as well as fluids, I had scarcely ever before witnessed. I was
well contented with coffee, tea, eggs, and bread--as who might not well
be?... but my companions, after taking these in flank, cut through the
centre of a roast fowl and a dish of stewed veal: making diversions, in the
mean while, upon sundry bottles of red and white wine; the fingers, during
the meal, being as instrumental as the white metal forks.
We set off at a good round trot for _Dreux_: and, in the route thither, we
ascended a long and steep hill, having _Nonancourt_ to the left. Here we
saw some very pretty country houses, and the whole landscape had an air of
English comfort and picturesque beauty about it. Here, too, for the first
time, I saw a VINEYARD. At this early season of the year it has a most
stiff and unseemly look; presenting to the eye scarcely any thing but the
brown sticks, obliquely put into the ground, against which the vine is
trained. But the sloping banks, on each side of the ascending road, were
covered with plantations of this precious tree; and I was told that, if the
_autumn_ should prove as auspicious as appeared the _spring_, there would
be a season of equal gaiety and abundance. I wished it with all my heart.
Indeed I felt particularly interested in the whole aspect of the country
about _Nonancourt_. The sun was fast descending as we entered the town of
_Dreux_--where I had resolved upon taking leave both of the diligence and
of my companions; and of reaching Paris by post. At seven we dined, or
rather perhaps made an early supper; when my fellow travellers _sustained_
their reputation for their powers of attack upon fish, flesh, and fowl.
Indeed the dinner was equally plentiful and well cooked; and the charge
moderate in proportion. But there is nothing, either on the score of
provision of reasonableness of cost, like the _table d'hôte_ throughout
France; and he who cannot accommodate himself to the hour of dining
(usually about one) must make up his mind to worse fare and treble charges.
After dinner we strolled in the town, and upon the heights near the castle.
We visited the principal church, _St. Jean_, which is very spacious, and
upon the whole is a fine piece of architecture. I speak more particularly
of the interior--where I witnessed, however, some of the most horrible
devastations, arising from the Revolution, which I had yet seen. In one of
the side chapels, there _had been_ a magnificent monument; perhaps from
sixteen to twenty feet in height--crowded with figures as large as life,
from the base to the summit. It appeared as if some trenchant instrument of
an irresistible force, had shaved away many of the figures; but more
especially the heads and the arms. This was only one, but the most
striking, specimen of revolutionary Vandalism. There were plenty of similar
proofs, on a reduced scale. In the midst of these traces of recent havoc,
there was a pleasure mingled with melancholy, in looking up and viewing
some exceedingly pretty specimens of old stained glass:--which had escaped
the destruction committed in the lower regions, and had preserved all their
original freshness. Here and there, in the side chapels, the priests were
robing themselves to attend confession; while the suppliants, in kneeling
attitudes, were expecting them by the side of the confessionals. From the
church I bent my steps to the principal bookseller of the place, whom I
found to be an intelligent, civil, and extremely good-natured tradesman.
But his stock was too modern. "Donnez vous la peine de monter"--exclaimed
he precipitately; begging me to follow him. His up-stairs collection was
scarcely of a more ancient character than that below. There were more
copies of _Voltaire_ and _Rousseau_ than I should have supposed he could
sell in six years--but "on the contrary" (said he) "in six months' time,
not a single copy will remain unsold!" I marvelled and grieved at such
intelligence; because the poison was not extracted from the nourishment
contained in these works. To an enquiry about my old typographical friends,
_Verard, Pigouchet_, and _Eustace_, the worthy bibliopole replied "qu'il
n'avoit jamais entendu parler de ces gens-la!" Again I marvelled; and
having no temptation to purchase, civilly wished him good evening.
Meanwhile Mr. L. had attained the castle heights, and was lost in a sort of
extacy at the surrounding scene. On entering the outer walls, and directing
your steps towards the summit, you are enchanted with a beautiful
architectural specimen--in the character of a zigzag early Norman
arch--which had originally belonged to a small church, recently taken down:
The arch alone stands insulated ... beyond which, a new, and apparently a
very handsome, church is erecting, chiefly under the care and at the
expence of the present Duke of Orleans;--as a mausoleum for his family--and
in which, not many days before our arrival, the remains of one of his
children had been deposited. I wished greatly for a perfect drawing of this
arch ... but there was no time ... and my companion was exercising his
pencil, on the summit, by a minute, bird's eye of the sweep of country to
be seen from this elevated situation--through the greater part of which,
indeed, the diligence from _Verneuil_ had recently conducted us. I should
add, that not a relic of that CASTLE, which had once kept the town and the
adjacent country in awe, is now to be seen: but its outer walls enclose a
space hardly less than twenty acres:--the most considerable area which I
had yet witnessed. To give a more interesting character to the scenery, the
sun, broad and red, was just hiding the lower limb of his disk behind the
edge of a purple hill. A quiet, mellow effect reigned throughout the
landscape. I gazed on all sides; and (wherefore, I cannot now say) as I
sunk upon the grass, overwhelmed with fatigue and the lassitude of two
sleepless nights, wished, in my heart, I could have seen the effect of that
glorious sun-set from, the heights of Dover. Now and then, as when at
school, one feels a little home-sick; but the melancholy mood which then
possessed me was purely a physical effect from a physical cause. The
shadows of evening began to succeed to the glow of sun-set--when, starting
from my recumbent position, (in which sleep was beginning to surprise me) I
hastened down the heights, and by a nearer direction sought the town and
our hotel. We retired betimes to rest--but not until, from an opposite
coach maker, we had secured a phaeton-like carriage to convey us with post
horses, the next day, to Paris.
Excellent beds and undisturbed slumber put me in spirits for the grand
entrée into the metropolis of France. Breakfasting a little after
nine--before ten, a pair of powerful black horses, one of which was
surmounted by a sprucely-attired postilion--with the phaeton in the
rear--were at the door of the hotel. Seeing all our baggage properly
secured, we sprung into the conveyance and darted forward at a smart
gallop. The animals seemed as if they could fly away with us--and the whip
of the postilion made innumerable circular flourishes above their heads.
The sky was beautifully clear: and a briskly-stirring, but not unpleasantly
penetrating, south-east wind, played in our faces as we seemed scarcely to
be sensible of the road. What a contrast to the heat, vexation, and general
uncomfortableness of the two preceding days of our journey! We felt it
sensibly, and enjoyed it in proportion. Our first place of halting, to
change horses, was at HOUDAN; which may be about four leagues from Dreux;
and I verily believe we reached it in an hour. The route thither is through
a flat and uninteresting country; except that every feature of landscape
(and more especially in our previous journeys through Normandy) seems to be
thrown to a greater distance, than in England. This may account for the
flatness of views, and the diminutiveness of objects. Houdan is a
village-like town, containing a population of about 2000 inhabitants; but
much business is done on market days; and of _corn_, in particular, I was
told that they often sold several thousand sacks in a day. Its contiguity
to Paris may account for the quantity of business done. In the outskirts of
the town,--and flanked, rather than surrounded, by two or three rows of
trees, of scarcely three years growth--stands the "stiff and stower"
remains of the _Castle of Houdan_. It is a very interesting relic, and to
our eyes appeared of an unusual construction. The corner towers are small
and circular; and the intermediate portion of the outer wall is constructed
with a swell, or a small curvature outwards. I paced the outside, but have
forgotten the measurement. Certainly, it is not more than forty feet
square. I tried to gain admittance into the interior, but without success,
as the person possessing the key was not to be found. I saw enough,
however, to convince me that the walls could not be less than twelve feet
in thickness.
The horses had been some time in readiness, and the fresh postilion seemed
to be lost in amazement at the cause of our loitering so long at so
insignificant a place. The day warmed as we pushed on for the far-famed
"proud Versailles." The approach, from Houdan, is perhaps not the most
favourable; although we got peeps of the palace, which gave us rather
elevated notions of its enormous extent. We drove to the _Hôtel de
Bourbon_, an excellent, clean mansion, close to the very façade of the
palace, after passing the Hôtel de Ville; and from whence you have an
undisturbed view of the broad, wide, direct road to Paris. I bespoke
dinner, and prepared to lounge. The palace--of which I purposely declined
visiting the interior--reserving Versailles for a future and entire day's
gratification--is doubtless an immense fabric--of which the façade just
mentioned is composed of brick, and assumes any thing but a grand and
imposing air: merely because it wants simplicity and uniformity of design.
I observed some charming white stone houses, scattered on each side of this
widely extended chaussée--or route royale--and, upon the whole, Versailles
appeared to us to be a magnificent and rather interesting spot. Two or
three rows of trees, some forty or fifty generations more ancient than
those constituting the boulevards at Houdan, formed avenues on each side of
this noble road; and all appeared life and animation--savouring of the
proximity of the metropolis. Carriages without number--chiefly upon hire,
were going and returning; and the gaits and dresses of individuals were of
a more studied and of a gayer aspect. At length, we became a little
impatient for our dinner, and for the moment of our departure. We hired one
of these carriages; which for nine francs, would convey us to the place of
our destination. This appeared to me very reasonable; and after being
extravagant enough to drink Champagne at dinner, to commemorate our near
approach to the metropolis, we set forward between five and six o'clock,
resolving to strain our eyes to the utmost, and to be astonished at every
thing we saw!--especially as _this_ is considered the most favourable
approach to the capital.
The _Ecole Militaire_, to the left, of which Marshal Ney had once the chief
command, struck me as a noble establishment. But it was on approaching
_Sèvre_ that all the bustle and population, attendant upon the immediate
vicinity of a great metropolis, became evident. Single-horsed vehicles--in
many of which not fewer than nine persons were pretty closely stowed--three
upon a bench, and three benches under the roof--fiacres, barouches, and
carriages of every description, among which we discovered a great number
from our own country--did not fail to occupy our unremitting attention.
_Sèvre_ is a long, rambling, and chiefly single-street town; but
picturesquely situated, on a slope, and ornamented to the left by the
windings of the Seine. We were downright glad to renew our acquaintance
with our old, and long-lost friend, the river Seine; although it appeared
to be sadly shorn of its majestic breadth since we had parted with it
before the walls of Montmorenci castle, in our route to Havre. The new
nine-arch bridge at Sèvre is a sort of Waterloo bridge in miniature. Upon
the heights, above it, I learnt that there was a beautiful view of the
river in the foreground with Paris in the distance. We passed over the old
bridge, and saw _St. Cloud_ to the left: which of course interested us as
the late residence of Bonaparte, but which, in truth, has nothing beyond
the air of a large respectable country-gentleman's mansion in England. We
pushed on, and began to have distinct perceptions of the great city. Of all
the desirable places of retreat, whether for its elevated situation, or
respectable appearance, or commodious neighbourhood, nothing struck me more
forcibly than the village of PASSY, upon a commanding terrace, to the left;
some three or four English miles from Paris--and having a noble view both
of the river and of the city. It is also considered to be remarkably
healthy; and carriages of every description, are constantly passing thither
to and from Paris.
The dome of the _Pantheon_, and the gilded one of the _Hôtel des
Invalides_, together with the stunted towers of _Notre Dame_, were among
the chief objects to the right: while the accompaniment of the Seine,
afforded a pleasing foreground to this architectural picture in the
distance. But, my friend, I will frankly own to you, that I was
disappointed ... upon this first glimpse of the GREAT city. In the first
place, the surrounding country is flat; with the exception of _Mount
Calvary,_ to the left, which has nothing to do with the metropolitan view
from this situation. In the second place, what are the _Pantheon_ and
_Notre Dame_ compared with _St. Paul's_ and _Westminster Abbey_?--to say
nothing of the vicinity of London, as is connected with the beautifully
undulating ground about Camberwell, Sydenham, Norwood, and. Shooter's
Hill--and, on the other side of the water, Hampstead, Highgate and
Harrow: again, Wimbledon and Richmond!... What lovely vicinities are
these compared with that of _Mont Martre_? And if you take river scenery
into the account, what is the _Seine_, in the neighbourhood of Paris,
compared with the _Thames_ in that of London? If the almost impenetrable
smoke and filth from coal-fires were charmed away--shew me, I beseech
you, any view of Paris, from this, or from any point of approach, which
shall presume to bear the semblance of comparison with that of London,
from the descent from _Shooter's Hill_! The most bewitched
Frenchified-Englishman, in the perfect possession of his eye sight, will
not have the temerity to institute such a comparison. But as you near
the barriers, your admiration increases. Having got rid of all
background of country--as you approach the capital--the foregoing
objections vanish. Here the officers of police affected to search our
luggage. They were heartily welcome, and so I told them. This disarmed
all suspicion. Accordingly we entered Paris by one of the noblest and
one of the most celebrated of its Boulevards--the _Champs Elysées_. As
we gained the _Place Louis Quinze_, with the _Thuileries_ in front, with
the _Hôtel des Invalides_ (the gilded dome of which latter reflected the
strong rays of a setting sun) to the right--we were much struck with
this combination of architectural splendour: indisputably much superior
to any similar display on the entrance into our own capital.[174]
Turning to the left, the _Place Vendome_ and the _Rue de la Paix_, with
the extreme height of the houses, and the stone materials of their
construction, completed our admiration. But the _Boulevards
Italiens_--after passing the pillars of the proposed church of _Ste.
Madelaine_, and turning to the right--helped to prolong our extreme
gratification, till we reached the spot whence I am addressing you.
Doubtless, at first glance, this is a most splendid and enchanting city.
A particular detail must be necessarily reserved, for the next despatch.
I shall take all possible pains to make you acquainted with the
treasures of PAST TIMES--in the shape of Manuscripts and printed Books.
THE ROYAL LIBRARY has as much astonished me, as the CURATORS of it have
charmed me by their extreme kindness and civility.[175]
[174] [The above was written in 1818-19. Now, what would be said by a
foreigner, of his first drive from Westminster Bridge, through Regent
Street to the stupendous Pantheon facing the termination of Portland
Place?]
[175] At this point, the labours of Mons. LICQUET, as my translator, cease;
and I will let him take leave of his task of translation in his own
words. "Ici se termine la tache qui m'a été confiée. Après avoir
réfuté franchement tout ce qui m'a semblé digne de lêtre, je crois
devoir déclarer, en finissant, que mes observations n'ont jamais eu
_la personne_ pour objet. Je reste persuadé, d'ailleurs, que le coeur
de M.D. est tout-à-fait innocent des écarts de son esprit. Si l'on
peut le condamner pour le fait, il faudra toujours l'absoudre pour
l'intention...." The _concluding_-sentence need not be copied: it is
bad taste to re-echo the notices of one's own good qualities.
My Norman translator at least takes leave of me with the grace of a
gentleman: although his thrusts have been occasionally direct and
severely intended. The foil which he has used has not always had the
button covered. The candid reader will, however, judge how these
thrusts have been parried; and if the "hits" on the part of my
adversary, have been sometimes "palpable," those of the original
author will not (it is presumed) be deemed feeble or unimpressive.
After all, the sum total of "Errata" scarcely includes THREE of
_substantial moment_: and wishing Mons Licquet "a very good day," I
desire nothing better than to renew our critical coqueting on the
floor of that Library of which he is the "Bibliothècaire en Chef."