the unwearied exertions of Royalty to foster and inflame the passion for
Military glory. I wandered for hours through the spacious and
innumerable halls of Versailles, in which Art and Nature seem to have
been taxed to the utmost to heap up prodigies of splendor. At least one
hundred of these rooms would each of itself be deemed a marvel of
sumptuous display anywhere else; yet here we passed over floors of the
richest Mosaic and through galleries of the finest and most elaborately
wrought Marble as if they had been but the roughest pavement or the
rudest plaster. The eye is fatigued, the mind bewildered, by an almost
endless succession of sumptuous carving, gilding, painting, &c., until
the intervention of a naked ante-room or stair-case becomes a positive
relief to both. And the ideas everywhere predominant are War and its
misnamed Glory. Here are vast, expensive paintings purporting to
represent innumerable Sieges and Battles in which the French arms were
engaged, many of them so insignificant that the world has wisely
forgotten them, yet here preserved to inflame and poison the minds of
hot-blooded, unreflecting youth, impelling them to rush into the
manufacture of cripples and corpses under the horrible delusion that
needless, aimless Slaughter, if perpetrated by wholesale, can really be
honorable and glorious. These paintings, as a whole, are of moderate
value as works of Art, while their tendency is horrible and their
details to me revolting. Carriages shattered and overturned, animals
transfixed by spear-thrusts and writhing in speechless agony, men
riddled by cannon-shot or pierced by musket-balls and ghastly with
coming death, such are the spectacles which the more favored and
fortunate of the Gallic youth have been called for generations to admire
and enjoy. These battle-pieces have scarcely more Historic than Artistic
value, since the names of at least half of them might be transposed and
the change be undetected by ninety-nine out of every hundred who see
them. If _all_ the French battles were thus displayed, it might be urged
with plausibility that these galleries were historical in their
character; but a full half of the story, that which tells of French
disaster and discomfiture--is utterly suppressed. The Battles of
Ptolemais, of Ivry, of Fontenoy, of Rivoli, of Austerlitz, &c., are here
as imposing as paint can make them, but never a whisper of Agincourt,
Crecy, Poictiers, Blenheim, or Ramillies, nor yet of Salamanca, of
Vittoria, of Leipsic, or Waterloo. Even the wretched succession of
forays which the French have for the last twenty years been prosecuting
in Algerine Africa here shines resplendent, for Vernet has painted, by
Louis Philippe's order and at France's cost, a succession of
battle-pieces wherein French numbers and science are seen prevailing
over Arab barbarism and irregular valor in combats whereof the very
names have been wisely forgotten by mankind, though they occurred but
yesterday. One of these is much the largest painting I ever saw, and is
probably the largest in the world, and it seems to have been got up
merely to exhibit one of Louis Philippe's sons in the thickest of the
fray. Last of all, we have the "Capture of Abd-el-Kader," as imposing as
Vernet could make it, but no whisper of the persistent perfidy wherewith
he has been retained for several years in bondage, in violation of the
express agreement of his captors. The whole collection is, in its
general effect, delusive and mischievous, the purpose being to exhibit
War as always glorious and France as uniformly triumphant. It is by
means like these that the business of shattering knee-joints and
multiplying orphans is kept in countenance.
Versailles is a striking monument of the selfish profligacy of
King-craft and the long-suffering patience of Nations. Hundreds of
thousands of laborers' children must have gone hungry to their straw
pallets in order that their needy parents might pay the inexorable taxes
levied to build this Palace. Yet after all it has stood mainly
uninhabited! Its immense extent and unequalled splendor require an
immeasurable profusion in its occupant, and the incomes even of kings
are not absolutely without limit. So Versailles, with six or eight other
Royal Palaces in and around Paris, has generally stood empty, entailing
on the country an enormous annual expense for its simple preservation.
And now, though France has outgrown Royalty, it knows not what to do
with its costly, spacious, glittering shells. A single Palace
(Rambouillet) standing furthest from Paris, was converted (under Louis
Philippe) into a gigantic storehouse for Wool, while its spacious Parks
and Gardens were wisely devoted to the breeding and sustenance of the
choicest Merino Sheep. The others mainly stand empty, and how to dispose
of them is a National perplexity. Some of them may be converted into
Hospitals, Insane Retreats, &c., others into Libraries or Galleries of
Art and Science; but Versailles is too far from Paris for aught but a
Retreat as aforesaid, and has cost so immense a sum that any use which
may be made of it will seem wasteful. I presume it could not be sold as
it stands for a tenth of its actual cost. Perhaps it will be best,
therefore, to convert all the others into direct uses and preserve this
for public inspection as a perpetual memorial of the reckless
prodigality and all-devouring pomp of Kings, and as a warning to Nations
never again to entrust their destinies to men who, from their very
education and the influences surrounding them through life, must be led
to consider the Toiling Millions as mainly created to pamper their
appetites, to gratify their pride, and to pave with their corpses their
road to extended dominion.
ST. CLOUD is a much smaller but more pleasantly situated, more tastefully
furnished and decorated Palace, some miles nearer than Versailles to
Paris, and commanding an admirable view of the city. The LUXEMBOURG,
situated in the southern section of the city, is externally a chaste and
well-proportioned edifice, containing some fine pictures by living artists,
and surrounded by spacious and delightful woods, shrubbery, &c., termed
"the Gardens of the Luxembourg." The TUILERIES, in the heart of the city,
near the Seine, I have not seen internally, and the exterior seems low,
straggling, and every way unimposing. Its extent is almost incredible by
those who have not seen it--scarcely less than that of Versailles. The
LOUVRE is the finest structure of all, and most worthily devoted. Its
lower story is filled with Sculptures of no considerable merit, but its
galleries contain more strikingly good Paintings than I shall ever again
see under one roof. I have spent a good part of two days there, and mean
to revisit it on my return.
PASSPORTS, ETC.
If each American could spend three days on this continent, his love of
Country and of Liberty could not fail to be quickened and intensified,
if only by an experience of the enormity of the Passport nuisance. It
has cost me precious hours already, not to speak of dollars, and is
certain to cost many more of each. I have nearly concluded to given up
Germany on account of it, while Italy fairly swarms with petty
sovereignties and with Yankee Consuls, the former afraid of their own
black shadows, the latter intent on their beloved two dollars each from
every American traveler. Such is the report I have of them, and I
presume the reality is equal to the foreshadowing. It is a shame that
Republican France stands far behind Aristocratic Britain in this
respect, but I trust the contrast will not endure many more years.
Two Americans who arrived here last week caused some perplexity to their
landlord. Every man who lodges a stranger here must see forthwith that
he has a Passport in good condition, in default of which said host is
liable to a penalty. Now, these Americans, when applied to, produced
Passports in due form, but the professions set forth therein were not
transparent to the landlord's apprehension. One of them was duly
designated in his Passport as a "_Loafer_" the other as a "_Rowdy_" and
they informed him, on application, that, though these professions were
highly popular in America and extensively followed, they knew no French
synonyms into which they could be translated. The landlord, not content
with the sign manual of Daniel Webster, affirming that all was right,
applied to an American friend for a translation of the inexplicable
professions, but I am not sure that he has even yet been fully
enlightened with regard to them.
I am off to-day (I hope) for Lyons and Italy.
XIX.
FRANCE, CENTRAL AND EASTERN.
LYONS, Tuesday, June 17, 1851.
I came out of Paris through the spacious _Boulevards_,[B] which, under
various second appellations, stretch eastward from the Madeleine Church
nearly to the barrier, and then bend southward, near the beautiful
column which marks the site and commemorates the fall of the Bastile, so
long the chief dungeon wherein Despotism stifled Remonstrance and tamed
the spirit of Freedom. Liberty in France is doomed yet to undergo many
trials--nay, is now enduring some of them--but it is not within the
compass of probability that another Bastile should ever rear its head
there, nor that the absolute power and abject servitude which it fitly
symbolized should ever be known there hereafter. Very near it on the
south lies the famous Faubourg St. Antoine, inhabited mainly by bold,
free-souled working-men, who have repeatedly evinced their choice to die
free rather than live slaves, and in whom the same spirit lives and
rules to-day. I trust that dire alternative will never again be forced
upon them, but if it should be there is no Bastile so impregnable, no
despotism so fortified by prescription, and glorious recollections, and
the blind devotion of loyalty, as those they have already leveled to the
earth.
The Paris Station of the Lyons Railway is at the eastern barrier of the
City. I received here another lesson in French Railroad management. I
first bought at the office my ticket for Chalons on the Saone, which is
the point to which the road is now completed. The distance is 243 miles;
the fare (first-class) $7.50. But the display of my ticket did not
entitle me to enter the passengers' sitting-room, much less to approach
the cars. Though I had cut down my baggage, by two radical
retrenchments, to two light carpet-bags, I could not take these with me,
nor would they pass without weighing. When weighed, I was required to
pay three or four sous (cents) for extra baggage, though there is no
stage-route in America on which those bags would not have passed
unchallenged and been accounted a very moderate allowance. Now I was
permitted to enter the sacred precincts, but my friend, who had spent
the morning with me and come to see me off, was inexorably shut out, and
I had no choice but to bid him a hasty adieu. Passing the entrance, I
was shown into the apartment for first-class passengers, while the
second-class were driven into a separate fold and the third-class into
another. Thus we waited fifteen minutes, during which I satisfied myself
that no other American was going by this train, and but three or four
English, and of these the two with whom I scraped an acquaintance were
going only to Fontainbleau, a few miles from Paris. They were required
to take their places in a portion of the train which was to stop at
Fontainbleau, and so we moved off.
The European Railway carriages, so far as I have yet seen them, are more
expensive and less convenient than ours. Each is absolutely divided into
apartments about the size of a mail-coach, and calculated to hold eight
persons. The result is thirty-two seats where an American car of equal
length and weight would hold at least fifty, and of the thirty-two
passengers, one-half must inevitably ride backward. I believe the
second-class cars are more sociable, and mean to make their
acquaintance. I should have done it this time, but for my desire to meet
some one with whom I could converse, and Americans and Englishmen are
apt to cling to the first-class places. My aim was disappointed. My
companions were all Frenchmen, and, what was worse, all inveterate
smokers. They kept puff-puffing, through the day; first all of them,
then three, two, and at all events one, till they all got out at Dijon
near nightfall; when, before I had time to congratulate myself on the
atmospheric improvement, another Frenchman got in, lit his cigar, and
went at it. All this was in direct and flagrant violation of the rules
posted up in the car; but when did a smoker ever care for law or
decency? I will endeavor next time to find a seat in a car where women
are fellow-passengers, and see whether their presence is respected by
the devotees of the noxious weed. I have but a faint hope of it.
The Railroad from Paris to Chalons passes through a generally level
region, watered by tributaries of the Seine and of the Saone, with a
range of gentle hills skirting the valleys, generally on the right and
sometimes on either hand. As in England, the track is never allowed to
cross a carriage-road on its own level, but is carried either under or
over each. The soil is usually fertile and well cultivated, though not
so skillfully and thoroughly as that of England. There are places,
however, in which the cultivation could not easily be surpassed, but I
should say that the average product would not be more than two-thirds
that of England, acre for acre. There are very few fences of any kind,
save a slight one inclosing the Railway, beyond which the country
stretches away as far as the eye can reach without a visible landmark,
the crops of different cultivators fairly touching each other and
growing square up to the narrow roads that traverse them. You will see,
for instance, first a strip of Grass, perhaps ten rods wide, and
running back sixty or eighty rods from the Railroad; then a narrower
strip of Wheat; then one of Grape-Vines; then one of Beans; then one of
Clover; then Wheat again, then Grass or Oats, and so on. I saw very
little Rye; and if there were Potatoes or Indian Corn, they were not up
sufficiently high to be distinguished as we sped by them. The work going
forward was the later Weeding with the earlier Hay-making, and I saw
nearly as many women as men working in the fields. The growing crops
were generally kept pretty clear of weeds, and the grass was most
faithfully but very slowly cut. I think one Yankee would mow over more
ground in a day than two Frenchmen, but he would cut less hay to the
acre. Of course, in a country devoid of fences and half covered with
small patches of grain, there could not be many cattle: I saw no oxen,
very few cows, and not many horses. The hay-carts were generally drawn
by asses, or by horses so small as not to be easily distinguished from
asses as we whirled rapidly by. The wagons on the roads were generally
drawn by small horses. I judge that the people are generally industrious
but not remarkably efficient, and that the women do the larger half of
the work, house-work included. The hay-carts were wretchedly small, and
the implements used looked generally rude and primitive. The dwellings
are low, small, steep-roofed cottages, for which a hundred dollars each
would be a liberal offer. Of course, I speak of the rural habitations;
those in the villages are better, though still mainly small,
steep-roofed, poor, and huddled together in the most chaotic confusion.
The stalls and pastures for cattle were in the main only visible to the
eye of faith; though cattle there must be and are to do the ploughing
and hauling. I suspect they are seldom turned loose in summer, and that
there is not a cow to every third cottage. I think I did not see a yoke
of oxen throughout the day's ride of 243 miles.
I was again agreeably disappointed in the abundance of Trees. Wood
seems to be the peasants' sole reliance for fuel, and trees are planted
beside the roads, the streams, the ditches, and often in rows or patches
on some arable portion of the peasants' narrow domain. This planting is
mainly confined to two varieties--the Lombardy Poplar and what I took to
be the Pollard, a species of Willow which displays very little foliage,
and is usually trimmed up so as to have but a mere armful of leaves and
branches at the top of a trunk thirty to fifty feet high, and six to
twelve inches through. The Lombardy Poplar is in like manner preferred,
as giving a large amount of trunk to little shade, the limbs rarely
extending three feet from the trunk, while the growth is rapid. Such are
the means employed to procure fuel and timber with the least possible
abstraction of soil from the uses of cultivation. There are some
side-hills so rocky and sterile as to defy human industry, and these are
given up to brush-wood, which I presume is cut occasionally and bound
into faggots for fuel. Some of it may straggle up, if permitted, into
trees, but I saw little that would fairly justify the designation of
Forest. Of Fruit-trees, save in the villages, there is a deplorable
scarcity throughout.
We passed through few villages and no town of note but DIJON, the capital
of ancient Burgundy, where its Parliament was held and where its Dukes
reigned and were buried. Their palace still stands, though they have
passed away. Dijon is 200 miles from Paris, and has 25,000 inhabitants,
with manufactures of Cotton, Woolen and Silk. Here and henceforth the
Vine is more extensively cultivated than further Northward.
We reached CHALONS on the Saone (there is another Chalons on the Marne)
before 9 P. M. or in about ten hours from Paris. Here a steamboat was
ready to take us forthwith to Lyons, but French management was too much
for us. Our baggage was all taken from the car outside and carried piece
by piece into the depot, where it was very carefully arranged in order
according to the numbers affixed to the several trunks, &c., in Paris.
This consumed the better part of half an hour, though half as many
Yankees as were fussing over it would have had it all distributed to the
owners inside of ten minutes. Then the holders of the first three or four
numbers were let into the baggage-room, and when they were disposed of as
many more were let in, and so on. Each, as soon as he had secured his
baggage, was hustled into an omnibus destined for the boat. I was among
the first to get seated, but ours was the last omnibus to start, and when
the attempt was made, the carriage was overloaded and wouldn't start! At
last it was set in motion, but stopped twice or thrice to let off
passengers and baggage at hotels, then to collect fare, and at last, when
we had got within a few rods of the landing, we were cheered with the
information that "_Le bateau est parti!_" The French may have been better
than this, but its purport was unmistakable--the boat was gone, and we
were done. I had of course seen this trick played before, but never so
clumsily. There was no help for us, however, and the amount of useless
execration emitted was rather moderate than otherwise. Our charioteers
had taken good care to obtain their pay for carrying us some time before,
and we suffered ourselves to be taken to our predestined hotel in a frame
of mind approaching Christian resignation. In fact, when I had been shown
up to a nice bed-room, with clean sheets and (for France) a fair supply
of water, and had taken time to reflect that there is no accommodation
for sleeping on any of these European river-boats, I was rather glad we
had been swindled than otherwise. So I am still. But you may travel the
same route in a hurry; so look out!
We rose at 4 and made for the boat, determined not to be caught twice in
the same town. At five we bade good-bye to Chalons-sur-Saone (a pleasant
town of 13,000 people), under a lowering sky which soon blessed the
earth with rain--a dubious blessing to a hundred people on a steamboat
with no deck above the guards and scarcely room enough below for the
female passengers. However, the rain soon ceased and the sky gradually
cleared, so that since 9 o'clock the day has been sunny and delightful.
The distance from Chalons to Lyons by the Saone is some 90 miles. The
river is about the size of the Connecticut from Greenfield to Hartford,
but is sluggish throughout, with very low banks until the last ten or
fifteen miles. After an intervale of half a mile to two miles, the land
rises gently on the right to an altitude of some two to five hundred
feet, the slope covered and checkered the whole distance with vineyards,
meadows, woods, &c. The Poplar and the Pollard are still planted, but
the scale of cultivation is larger and the houses much better than
between Paris and Dijon. The intervale (mainly in meadow) is much wider
on the left bank, the swell beyond it being in some places scarcely
visible. The scenery is greatly admired here, and as a whole may be
termed pretty, but cannot compare with that of the Hudson or Connecticut
in boldness or grandeur. There are some craggy hill-sides in the
distance, but I have not yet seen an indisputable mountain in France,
though I have passed nearly through it in a mainly southerly course for
over five hundred miles.
As we approach Lyons, the hills on either side come nearer and finally
shut in the river between two steep acclivities, from which much
building-stone has been quarried. Elsewhere, these hill-sides are
covered with tasteful country residences of the retired or wealthy
Lyonnais, surrounded by gardens, arbors, shrubbery, &c. The general
effect is good. At last, houses and quays begin to line and bridges to
span the river, and we halt beside one of the quays and are in Lyons.
FOOTNOTES:
[B] _Boulevard_ means, I presume, rampart or fortified works (hence our
English _bulwark_). The rampart was long ago removed, as the city
outgrew it, but the name is retained by the ample street which took its
place. Our _Battery_ at New-York illustrates this origin of a name.
XX.
LYONS TO TURIN.
TURIN (Italy), June 20, 1851.
LYONS, though a French city, and the second in the Republic, wears a sad,
disheartened aspect. In '91 a stronghold of decaying Loyalty, it is
to-day the very focus of Democratic Socialism, being decidedly more "Red"
than Paris.--Here is concentrated the Sixth Military Division of the
French Army, under chiefs not chary of using the sabre and bayonet, and
with instructions to apply efficient poultices of grape and canister on
the first palpable appearance of local inflammation. Should Louis Napoleon
be enabled to override the Constitution and prolong his sway, it is
possible that, by the aid of the act of May 31st, 1850, whereby more than
half the Artisans of France are disfranchised, the spirit of Lyons may in
time be subdued, and partisans of "Order" substituted for her present
Socialist Representatives in the Assembly; but, should the popular cause
triumph in the ensuing Elections, I shall be agreeably disappointed if
that triumph is as temperately and forbearingly enjoyed here as was that
of February, 1848.