PURE LA CHAISE--PRISONS--FOUNDLINGS--CHARITABLE INSTITUTIONS--LA
MORGUE--NAPOLEON AND EUGENIA--THE BAPTISM.
PERE LA CHAISE.
Pere la Chaise is not a cemetery which suits my taste, but it is
unquestionably the grandest in all France, and I ought not to pass it by
without a few remarks upon it. I visited it but once, and then came away
displeased with its magnificence. It seems to me that a cemetery should
not be so much a repository of art, as a place of great natural beauty
and quiet, where one would long to rest after "life's fitful fever."
The cemetery is beyond the eastern limits of the city, upon the side of
a hill which commands a very fine view of the country, and is surrounded
by beautiful hills and valleys. It was much celebrated in the fourteenth
century, and during the reign of Louis XIV. Pere la Chaise resided upon
the spot, and for a century and a half it was the country-seat of the
Jesuits. Hence its name. It was purchased by the prefect of the Seine
for one hundred and sixty thousand francs, for a cemetery, it then
containing forty-two acres of ground. It was put into competent hands,
and was very much improved by the planting of trees, laying out of
roads, etc. etc. In 1804 it was consecrated, and in May of that year the
first grave was made in it. It is now filled with the graves of some of
the most distinguished men of Paris and France, and is by far the most
fashionable cemetery in France. It is distinguished for the size,
costliness, and grandeur of its monuments. There are temples, sepulchral
chapels, mausoleums, pyramids, altars, and urns. Within the railings
which surround many of the graves, are the choicest of flowers, which
are kept flourishing in dry seasons by artificial supplies of water. A
canal conducts water from a distance to the cemetery.
The day was fine, the sky cloudless when I visited the spot, and though
I could not but contrast it with Mount Auburn near Boston, or Greenwood
near New York, yet I was much impressed with the natural beauty of the
situation. Art is, however, too profusely displayed upon the spot, and
the original beauty is covered up to a certain extent. The gateway
struck me as being rather pretentious. Passing through it and by the
guardian's lodge, which is at its side, one of the first spots I sought
was the grave of Abelard and Heloise. The stranger always asks first for
it, and visits it last when returning from the cemetery. It is the most
beautiful monument in the cemetery. It consists of a chapel formed out
of the ruins of the Abbey of Paraclete, which was founded by Abelard,
and of which Heloise was the first abbess. It is fourteen feet in
length, by eleven in breadth, and is twenty-four feet in height. A
pinnacle rises out of the roof in a cruciform shape, and four smaller
ones exquisitely sculptured stand between the gables. Fourteen columns,
six feet high, support beautiful arches, and the cornices are wrought in
flowers. The gables of the four fronts have trifoliate windows, and are
exquisitely decorated with figures, roses, and medalions of Abelard and
Heloise. In the chapel is the tomb built for Abelard by Peter the
Venerable, at the priory of St. Marcel. He is represented as in a
reclining posture, the head a little inclined and the hands joined.
Heloise is by his side. On one side of the tomb, at the foot, are
inscriptions, and in other unoccupied places. I lingered long at this
tomb, and thought of the singular lives of that couple whose history
will descend to the latest generations. It seemed strange that two
lovers who lived in the middle of the twelfth century, should, simply by
the astonishing force of their passions, have made themselves famous
"for all time." It seemed wonderful that the story of their love and
shame should have so burned itself into the forehead of Time, that he
carries it still in plain letters upon his brow, that the world may
read. It shows how much the heart still controls the world. Love is the
master-passion, and so omnipotent is it, that yet in all hearts the
story of a man or woman who simply _loved each other_ hundreds of years
ago, calls forth our tears to-day, as if it occurred but yesterday. Bad
as Abelard's character must seem to be to the careful reader--cruel as
was his treatment of Heloise--he must have had depths of love and
goodness of which the world knew not. Such a woman as Heloise could not
have so adored any common man, nor a wonderful man who had a hard heart.
She saw and knew the recesses of his heart, and pardoned his occasional
acts of cruelty. Having known what there was of good and nobleness in
his nature, she was willing to die, nay, to live in torture for his
sake.
The tomb is constantly visited, and flowers and immortalities are heaped
always over it. Had it no history to render the spot sacred, the beauty
of the monument alone would attract visitors, and I should have been
repaid for my visit. The French, who magnify the passion of love, or
pretend to do so, at all times above all others keep the history of
Abelard and Heloise fresh in their hearts.
One of the best monuments in Pere la Chaise, is that erected in memory
of Casimir Perier, prime minister in 1832. It consists of an excellent
statue of the statesman, placed upon a high and noble pedestal. There is
a path which winds round the foot of the slope, which is by far the most
beautiful in the cemetery. It is full of exquisite views, and is lined
with fine monuments. Ascending the hill west of the avenue, I soon was
among the tombs of the great. One of the first which struck my eye was
the column erected to the memory of viscount de Martignac, who is
celebrated for the defense of his old enemy, the Prince Polignac, at the
bar of the chamber of peers, after the 1830 revolution. Next to it, or
but a short distance from it, I saw the tomb of Volney, the duke Decres,
and the abbe Sicard, the celebrated director of the deaf and dumb school
of Paris, and whose fame is wide as the world. Many others follow, each
commemorating some great personage, but the majority of the names were
unfamiliar to me. Among those which were known, were those of the
Russian countess Demidoff. It is a beautiful temple of white marble, the
entablature supported by ten columns, under which is a sarcophagus with
the arms of the princes engraved upon it. Manuel, a distinguished orator
in the chamber of deputies, and General Foy, have splendid monuments.
Benjamin Constant has a plain, small tomb, as well as Marshal Ney.
West of these tombs lie the remains of marchioness de Beauharnais,
sister-in-law of the Empress Josephine. Moliere has also near to it a
fine monument; La Fontaine a cenotaph with two bas-reliefs in bronze,
illustrating two of his fables. Madame de Genlis has a tomb in this
quarter. Her remains were transported here by Louis Phillippe. Laplace,
the great astronomer, has a beautiful tomb of white marble. An obelisk
is surmounted by an urn, which is ornamented with a star encircled by
palm-branches. The marquis de Clermont has a fine monument--he who
gallantly threw himself between Louis XVI. and the mob, to save his
sovereign.
In one part of the cemetery I noticed many English tombs, of persons, I
suppose, who were residents of Paris, or who visiting it were stricken
by death.
One of the most superb monuments in the cemetery is that of M. Aguado, a
great financier, but it smacks too strongly of money to suit my taste.
He was a man of enormous wealth, therefore he has a magnificent
monument. According to this method, the rich men of the world shall have
monuments which pierce the skies, while the men of genius and of great
and noble character, shall go without a slab to indicate their final
resting-place.
This plan of turning a cemetery into a field for the display of splendid
marbles, is certainly not consonant with good taste. It is calculated
that in forty years not less than one hundred millions of francs have
been spent in the erection of monuments in Pere la Chaise, the number of
tombs already amounting to over fifteen thousand.
In 1814, when the allied forces were approaching Paris, heavy batteries
were planted in Pere la Chaise, commanding the plain which extends to
Vincennes. The walls had loop-holes, and the scholars of Alfort occupied
it and defended it against three Russian attacks. The last was
successful, and the Russians were masters of the field. The city of
Paris capitulated that very evening, and the Russian troops encamped
among the tombs.
[Illustration: PARIS FROM MONTMARTRE.]
[Illustration: COLUMN OF JULY 8--PLACE JUILLET.]
In coming back from Pere la Chaise, I saw the Column of July, erected in
memory of the victims of the July of the great revolution. Upon this
spot the old Bastille stood, and the column indicates it.
THE PRISONS.
The public prisons of Paris are nine in number: for persons upon whom a
verdict has not been pronounced, and against whom an indictment lies;
for debt; for political offenses; for persons sentenced to death or the
hulks; for criminals of a young age; for females; and for offenders in
the army.
In the penal prisons, the inmates are allowed books and the privilege of
writing, but are all obliged to labor, each, if he wishes, choosing the
trade in which he is fitted best to succeed. The men receive a pound and
a half of bread per day, and the women a fraction less.
The prison La Force is in the Rue du Roi de Sicile. The buildings of
which it is composed were once the hotel of the duke de La Force--hence
the name. It was converted into a prison in 1780. A new prison for
prostitutes was erected about the same time, and was called La Petite
Force. In 1830 the two prisons were united, and put under one
management, and the whole prison is given up to males committed for
trial. The prisoners are divided into separate classes; the old
offenders into one ward, the young and comparatively innocent into
another; the old men into one apartment, and the boys into another. The
prisoners sleep in large and well ventilated chambers, and the boys have
each a small apartment which contains a single bed. The prisoners have
the privilege of working if they wish, but they are not obliged to do
so, inasmuch as they are not yet _convicted_ of crime. There is a
department for the sick, a bathing-room, a parlor, and an advocate's
room, where the prisoners can hold conversations with their legal
defenders. The number of prisoners is very great--ten thousand being
under the annual average confined in the prisons.
St. Lazare is a prison for women under indictment and those who have
been sentenced to a term less than one year. One department of the
prison, which is entirely separated from the rest, is devoted to
prostitutes, and another distinct department is devoted to girls under
sixteen years of age. Each department has its own infirmary, and a new
plan has been adopted to stimulate the inmates to industry. They are
allowed two-thirds pay for all the work they will perform in the prison.
Every kind of manufacture is carried on in the prison--the preparation
of cashmere yarn, hooks and eyes, etc. etc. The number confined in this
prison in a year, is over ten thousand. The service of the prison is
carried on by the sisters of charity.
La Nouvelle Force is a new prison in a healthier quarter than La Force,
and is used for the same purposes. It contains twelve hundred and sixty
separate cells.
Depot de Condemnes is in the Rue de la Roquette, and is a prison for the
confinement of persons condemned to forced labor and to death. It is a
very healthy prison and one of the strongest in the world. A double
court surrounds the prison, in which sentinels are constantly kept on
guard; the walls are very thick and solid, and each prisoner has a
separate cell. A fountain in the center dispenses water to all parts of
the prison. The number of the inmates is at least four hundred on the
average.
The Prison of Correction, situated also in Rue de la Roquette, is for
the confinement and correction of offenders under the age of sixteen,
who have been pronounced by the judge incapable of judgment. They are
subjected to a strict, but not cruel discipline, in this prison. It is
very healthy, and all its appointments are such as to facilitate the
education of the morals and intellect of the inmates. It is well
supplied with water and wholesome diet, and books and religious
teachers. It is divided into separate departments, and one grade of boys
is never allowed intercourse with another. This is a very wise
regulation, as under it a fresh, ignorant, and wicked inmate cannot have
influence over those who have long been under the discipline of the
place.
The Conciergerie is used to confine persons before trial, and it is one
of the most famous (or infamous) prisons in the world. Its historical
associations are full of interest. Its entrance is on the Quai de
l'Horloge. In visiting this prison, the stranger from the new world is
struck with the terrible outlines of some of the apartments. The Salle
des Gardes of St. Louis, has a roof which strikes terror into the heart,
it is so old and grim. In one part of the building there is a low
prison-room, where those persons condemned to death spend their last
hours, fastened down to a straight waistcot. The little room in which
Marie Antoinette was confined, is still shown to the visitor. There are
now three paintings in it which represent scenes in the last days of her
life. The prison-room which confined Lourel, who stabbed the duke de
Barry, and the dungeons in which Elizabeth, the sister of Louis XVI.,
was imprisoned, are shut up and cannot be seen. There are many
histories connected with this old prison, which to repeat, would fill
this volume.
The Prison de l'Abbaye is a military prison, and is situated close to
St. Germain des Pres. It was formerly one of the most famous in Paris,
and the horrors which it witnessed during the bloody revolution were
never surpassed in any city of the world. Many of the atrocities which
were committed in it are now widely known through the histories of those
times of blood. Many of its dungeons are still under ground, and wear an
aspect of gloom sufficient to terrify a man who spends but a few moments
in them. The discipline of this prison is very rigid, as it contains
only military offenders.
The prison for debtors is in Rue de Clichy, and is in an airy situation,
is well constructed, and holds three or four hundred persons. The
officers of this prison still remember the modest-faced American editor,
who spent a few memorable days in it--I mean Horace Greeley of the
_Tribune_. France is not sufficiently enlightened yet to abolish
imprisonment for debt, but the time will soon come. Such a barbarity
cannot for any great length of time disgrace the history of any
civilized nation.
The prison of St. Pelagie, in Rue de la Chef, was formerly a prison for
debtors, but is now used for the imprisonment of persons committed for
trial, or those persons sentenced for short terms. Nearly six hundred
persons are confined in it.
Connected with the prisons of Paris are two benevolent institutions, the
object of which is to watch over and educate the young prisoners of both
sexes during their terms of imprisonment, and after they have left
prison. As soon as they have left prison they are cared for, and if they
conduct themselves well, they are generally furnished with good places.
Prisoners are also taken from the Correctional House before their terms
have expired, in cases of excellent conduct, and the government pays the
society a sum toward the expenses of such persons until the time of
their sentence shall have expired. Lamartine, the poet, was at one time
president of one of these truly benevolent societies.
The prisons of Paris, take them as a whole, compare favorably with those
of any city in the world. Their administration is characterized by an
enlightened liberality and philanthropy, and though it may seem strange,
yet it is true, that Paris abounds with the most self-sacrificing
philanthropists. The prisoner, the deaf and dumb, the blind and the
idiotic, are cared for with a generosity and skill not surpassed in any
other land.
* * * * *
FOUNDLING HOSPITALS.
There are at least one hundred and fifty foundling hospitals in France,
and Paris has a celebrated one in the Rue d'Enfer. It was established by
St. Vincent de Paul, in 1638, but has been very much improved since.
The buildings are not remarkable for their architectural beauty, for
they are very plain. The chapel contains a statue of the founder. It is
now necessary for a mother who desires to abandon her child, to make a
certificate to that effect before the magistrate. The latter is obliged
to grant the desire of the woman, though it is a part of his duty to
remonstrate with her upon her unnatural conduct, and if she consents to
keep the child, he is empowered to help her to support it from a public
fund. The infants received at the hospital are, if healthy, put out at
once to nurse in the country, and the parentage of the child is
recorded. Unhealthy children are kept under hospital treatment. Nurses
from the country constantly present themselves for employment, and do
not usually receive more than one or two dollars a month for their
trouble. After two years of nursing, the child is returned and
transferred to the department for orphans. There are a little short of
three hundred children in the hospital, and as many as thirteen thousand
constantly out at nurse in the country. The internal arrangements of the
hospital are very ingenious and good. Every convenience which can add to
the comfort of the infants is at hand, and the deserted little beings
are rendered much more comfortable than one would naturally suppose to
be within the range of possibility.
The hospital for orphans is in the same building, and is well arranged.
The orphan department and the foundling hospital, are under the special
care of the sisters of charity.
There is, perhaps, no more strange sight in all Paris, than the
assemblage of babies in the apartments of the Foundling Hospital. To see
them ranged around the walls of the rooms in cradles, attended by the
nurses, will excite a smile, and yet, when we reflect how sad is the lot
of these innocents, the smile will vanish. They are deprived of that to
which, by virtue of existence, every human being is entitled--a home,
and the affectionate care of father and mother. To be entirely shut out
from all these blessings, really makes existence a curse, and it were
better if these thousands had never been born.
On visiting the hospital, I rang a bell and was admitted by a polite
porter, and a female attendant conducted us through the various
apartments. I was at once struck with the exceeding tidiness of
everything. The floors were of polished oak, and the walls of plaster
polished like glass. One of the first rooms we were shown into contained
forty or fifty babies, ranged in rows along the wall. The cradles were
covered with white drapery, and their appearance was very neat. Four
long rows stretched across the apartment, and in the center there was a
fire, round which the nurses were gathered, attending to the wants of
the hungry and complaining babies. But if the sight of the cradles was
pleasant, the noise which greeted my ear was far otherwise. At least
twenty-five of the children were crying all at once, and _one_ is as
much as I can usually endure, and not that for any length of time. Among
the children round the fire, there was one which was very beautiful. It
had black hair and eyes, and when we stopped before it, it laughed and
crowed at a great rate. I could not help wondering that any human mother
could have abandoned so beautiful a babe--one that would have been "a
well-spring of pleasure" in many a home.
I was next shown into the apartment for children afflicted with diseases
of the eye. The room was carefully shaded, and the cradles were covered
with blue or green cloth. There was quite a number of children in this
department, and all of them seemed to be well cared for. I was shown
into another apartment devoted entirely to the sick children, and its
appointments were excellent. It was wholesome and clean, the air was
pure as that of the country, and the rooms were high and commodious.
Other apartments are shown to the visitor which contain the linen used
in the hospital, and where all kinds of work are performed, and
finally, the pretty little chapel which I have alluded to before.
In former times the government made it easy for any mother to resign her
infant to the care of the state. This was done properly and with a good
object in view, which was to prevent infanticide. It was intended that
mothers should not only find it easy to cast off their children in this
manner, but that it might be done with secrecy. A box was placed outside
of the hospital and a bell-handle was near it, and all that the mother
had to do was, to place her babe in the box and pull the bell. No one
saw her, no questions could be asked, and the box sliding upon grooves
was drawn inside the wall. The mother could leave some mark upon the
dress of the child, or if this was not done, an exact inventory of the
effects of the little stranger was always recorded in the hospital, that
in after years the child might be identified by its parents if they
wished. The numbers that were deposited in the Paris hospital were very
great under those pleasant regulations. It is not strange, and one
cannot escape the conviction, that such a system afforded a temptation
to the women, and indeed men of the good classes to sin. A woman might
escape to a great extent the penalty of a wicked deed. It held out a
premium to immorality. But on the other hand it prevented infanticide to
a great extent. The reasons why the government revoked the regulations
were, first, that they encouraged the increase of illegitimate children,
and second, the great expense to the state, and the last consideration
was the one which had most weight.
It was found upon trying the new system, that infanticide increased with
considerable rapidity, as the morning exhibitions at La Morgue greatly
indicated. When we consider, too, that the majority of the infanticides
are unquestionably not detected, the body of the child being hid from
the sight, and the vast amount of injury which results to the mothers
from the attempt to destroy unborn children, we cannot wonder that
French philanthropists have been inclined to return to the old system.
Infanticide is one of the most horrible of crimes, and its growth among
a people is accompanied by as rapid a growth of vice of every other
kind. In England where a foundling hospital could not be endured for a
moment, the crime of infanticide is increasing every year, and the
number of murdered children is already an army of martyrs.
The safest way is, perhaps, for the government to leave the whole matter
with the people, and not either encourage illegitimacy or attempt to
prevent infanticide, except by punishment. Upon the heads of the guilty
ones be their own blood. But there certainly should be asylums for those
children who cannot be supported by their poverty-stricken parents.
* * * * *
CHARITABLE INSTITUTIONS.
Paris abounds with charitable societies and institutions. Until the
latter part of the last century, the city was full of objects of
compassion, the blind, the deaf and dumb, the sick and suffering. The
prisons too, and the madhouses, were scenes of cruelty and violence. But
a controversy arose upon the whole matter, and under Louis XVI. four new
hospitals were ordered to be erected, but in the excitement which
preceded the great revolution, they were not completed. After the
revolution the subject came up from time to time to the consideration of
the governing powers, and new hospitals were erected, and great
improvements made in the old ones. At the beginning of this century,
they were placed under the direction of a general administration. All
the civil hospitals and the different institutions connected with them,
are under the control of an administrative committee. The regulations of
the hospitals are nearly the same as they are in London and New York. In
cases of severe wounds, persons are admitted into the hospitals without
any order, by simply presenting themselves at the doors. Medical advice
is given at some of the hospitals on certain days to poor persons. The
hospitals of Paris are of three kinds; the general, open to all
complaints for which a special hospital is not provided; the special
hospitals, for the treatment of special diseases; and the alms-houses.
The hospitals support more than twelve thousand aged men and women,
receive more than eighty thousand patients, and have constantly under
treatment six thousand persons.
Among the hospitals I may mention Bricetre, situated on the road to
Fontainbleau. It is upon very high ground, and is the healthiest of all
the hospitals from its position and arrangements. It is used as an
asylum for poor old men, and for male lunatics. The old men have every
encouragement to work, for they receive pay for their labor, slight, of
course, and the money is devoted to giving them better food and clothes
than the usual hospital allowance, which is some soup, one pound and a
quarter of bread, four ounces of meat, vegetables, cheese, and a pint of
wine each day. When seventy years old, the quantity of wine is doubled,
and when a person has been thirty years an inmate of the house, the
quantity of everything is doubled. Three thousand beds are made up for
the indigent, and eight hundred for lunatics. The latter, of course,
occupies a distinct part of the building.
There are two hospitals appropriated entirely to the use of men who have
no hope of immediate cure, and are troubled with chronic ailments. The
buildings are large and airy, and will accommodate four or five hundred.
The hospital of St. Louis, in Rue des Recollets, is very large,
containing eight hundred beds. It is used for the special treatment of
scrofula and cutaneous diseases. Persons able to pay, do so, but the
poor are received without. It has very spacious bath accommodations, and
it is estimated that as many as one hundred and forty thousand baths
have been served in the establishment in the course of a year. The baths
are in two large rooms, each containing fifty baths. The water is
conducted to them in pipes, and every variety of mineral and sulphurous
bath is given, as well as vapor and all kinds of water baths. The
institution is very well managed, its work being all done within its
walls, and so far is this principle carried, that the leeches needed for
the diseased are cultivated in an artificial pond upon the premises.
In the Rue de Sevres is a hospital for incurable women It will
accommodate six hundred women and seventy children. There are a few
pictures in this establishment which are worth noticing. The
Annunciation, the Flight into Egypt, and a Guardian Angel, possess great
beauty.
The Louecine Hospital is for the reception of all females suffering with
syphilitic diseases. It makes up three hundred beds, fifty of which are
for children. The number of persons treated in Paris is more than two
thousand every year, and the mortality is very slight.
Medical men dislike this hospital, for the diseases are such as to
render their duties very unpleasant, but to insure proper attendance, a
regulation exists that every physician before making an application for
a place in any of the hospitals, shall serve in the Louecine.
The Rouchefoucald Hospital is principally for the reception of old and
worn-out servants, and is of course not kept up by state funds, though
it is overseen by the government. Persons who enter the institution pay
a sum of money, and are entitled to a room, fire, and food, so long as
they live, and some enter even as young as the age of twenty. There is
another establishment in Paris where only the middling classes are
received, and who pay for the attention they receive. Single men who
have no homes of their own, when attacked by violent diseases, can by
paying a moderate sum enter this institution and be well cared for.
I cannot even mention a tenth part of the hospitals or charitable
institutions of Paris, and will only allude to one or two more which are
a little peculiar. There are, for example, _nurseries_, where poor women
who must leave home for work in factories or similar places, can in the
morning leave their babies, return occasionally to nurse them, and take
them away at night. If a child is weaned, it has a little basket of his
own. A very small sum of money is paid for this care, and as the
nurseries have the best of medical attention, some mothers bring them
for that purpose alone. There are public soup establishments to which
any person with a soup-ticket can go and demand food. The tickets are
dispensed with some care to persons in needy circumstances. In each of
the twelve arrondissements of Paris there is a bureau for the relief of
poor women having large families. When proper representations are made
by such females struggling to keep from the alms-house, an allowance is
made of bread, firing, meat, and clothing, and sometimes money is given.
There are sometimes as many as thirty thousand dependent in this manner
for a part of their income upon the state. Hence, bureaus are excellent
institutions, inasmuch as prevention is always easier than cure. To save
struggling families from the humiliation of a complete downfall to the
poor-house, small weekly allowances are made, and in such a way that
their pride need not be touched, for it is often done with such secrecy
that even the intimate friends of the recipients are unaware of the
relation existing between them and the state. Such an arrangement as
this is needed in all the great cities of the world. London suffers from
the want of it. In some places the parish authorities are at liberty to
make grants to poor families, but it is nowhere done with such a system
and with such a delicacy as in Paris.
Another of the charitable institutions of Paris lends money upon movable
effects, the interest charged being very low. This is an excellent
provision for emergencies in the lives of poor persons. There are at
least a million and a half of articles pledged at this institution
yearly, and its receipts are from twenty-six to twenty-eight millions a
year. In winters of famine the public are sometimes allowed to pledge
property without paying any interest upon it when redeemed. The Mont de
Pietie, is the name of this institution, and it has branches all over
Paris, and has in its employ, as clerks and otherwise, three hundred
persons.
There are savings' banks in Paris specially adapted to the wants of the
poor, and to encourage in them the habit of accumulating property,
though in very small sums. A deposit of one franc is received, and one
person cannot hold but two thousand francs at one time in one bank of
the kind. This institution, however, is not superior to those of its
kind in many other countries.
* * * * *
LA MORGUE.
On the southern side of Isle la Cite, there is a small stone building
which is certainly one of the "sights" of Paris. I saw it one day when I
had been to look at Notre Dame, and was on my way home. I was filled
with admiration of the magnificence of the great city, for with Notre
Dame and the Louvre in sight, I could not easily entertain other
sentiments. A little building arrested my attention, and I saw quite a
crowd of persons standing in front of it. It was _La Morgue_. I entered
it, not that I have a penchant for horrors, but to see a sight strangely
contrasting with all I had heretofore seen in Paris. It was a long, low
interior, and one end of the room was fenced off from the rest, and in
it a row of dead bodies was arranged against the wall. Jets of water
were playing constantly upon them, and upon hooks the garments of the
deceased were hung. The use of _La Morgue_ is to exhibit, for
twenty-four hours, the dead bodies which are found in the streets and
the river. If no friend in this time recognizes and claims the body, it
is buried. There were five bodies when I was there--four men and one
woman. The men were evidently suicides and the woman was probably
murdered, as there were marks of violence upon her body, which could
not have been self-inflicted. There are several hundred persons
exhibited in La Morgue in the course of a year, and they tell strange
stories of the misery and crime which abound in the finest city in the
world. The majority of the bodies which are found, are suicides, but
many are those of persons who have been murdered. The French commit
suicide for reasons which appear frivolous to the American or
Englishman. The loss of a favorite mistress, an unsuccessful
love-intrigue, the bursting of a bubble of speculation, and sometimes a
mere trifle is enough to induce self-destruction. Sometimes a man and
his mistress, or a whole family shut themselves up in a room with
burning charcoal, which is a favorite method of committing suicide. A
great many bodies are fished out of the Seine, for it is very easy for a
poor and wretched man or woman to leap into it in the darkness of night.
The next day the body lies for recognition in La Morgue, and if no good
friend claims it it is borne by careless hands to a pauper burial.
[Illustration: LE PONT-NEUF]
I crossed the Seine by the Pont Neuf--a fine bridge, completed in 1604
by Henry IV. Near the center of it, standing upon a platform and
pedestal of white marble, is a splendid bronze statue of Henry IV. upon
horseback. The height of the statue is fourteen feet, and its cost,
somewhat above sixty thousand dollars, was defrayed by public
subscription in 1818.
The Place Vendome, too, lay in my path, so called from having been the
site of a hotel belonging to the Duke de Vendome, illegitimate son of
Henry IV. and Gabrielle d'Estrees. The Place is now ornamented by a
magnificent pillar, erected by Napoleon in honor of his German campaign.
I passed also the beautiful Fountain des Innocents, whose sculptor, the
celebrated Jean Goujon was shot during the massacre of St. Bartholomew,
while working at one of the figures.
[Illustration: Fontaine des Innocents.]
* * * * *
NAPOLEON AND EUGENIA.
On my second visit to Paris, I found that many changes had taken place,
and some of them striking ones. It was especially true of the
architectural condition of Paris. In the years which elapsed between my
visits, the Louvre had assumed a new appearance, and was now connected
with the Tuilleries Palace. Other changes of a similar character had
occurred.
[Illustration: COLUMN DE PLACE VENDOME.]
When I was first in Paris, Louis Napoleon was president, but he was
preparing for the empire, and there was in reality no more liberty in
France than now, and in many respects a residence in Paris was then more
uncomfortable than at present. Everybody was expecting a change, and
Louis Napoleon, as president, was actually more despotic in little
things than he is as emperor. He was then ready to hunt down any man
against whom a suspicion could lie, while now his rule is, after a
manner, established. He has as fair prospects to remain emperor of
France till he dies, for aught that I can see, as any European monarch
has of retaining his throne.
When I entered Paris, under the presidency, I was more closely watched
than under the empire. As an American, from a republic, I was, perhaps,
naturally an object of suspicion to the spies of a man who was planning
a _coup d'etat_; at any rate I was tracked everywhere I stirred, by the
police, while on my last visit I experienced nothing of the sort.
The people of Paris are divided into many classes in politics--some are
the friends of Louis Napoleon, while others are his enemies. But he has
few distinguished friends in Paris. The shop-keepers are pleased with
the pomp and magnificence of his court, for it gives them custom and
money. Many of the wealthy business men desire him to live and rule
because they want a stable government, and they deprecate above all
things else, change. They are more for money, as we may expect, than for
freedom. Then there are the partisans of the Orleans and Bourbon
families, who fear the republicans and accept Napoleon as a temporary
ruler, and who much prefer him to anarchy. So that there is a strong
body of men in Paris and in France--a majority of the people--who upon
the whole prefer that the rule of a man they all dislike should be
perpetuated for years to come.
And there is something in the character of Louis Napoleon which excites
admiration. He is intensely selfish, but he is a very capable man. He
understands the French people thoroughly, and rules them shrewdly. He is
one of the ablest statesmen in Europe, and the world knows that he lead
England in the late war with Russia. Yet he possesses some ridiculous
qualities, as his conduct previous to his last entrance into France
shows. He relies upon his destiny in the blindest manner, and is not
possessed of genuine courage of the highest character. He is so reckless
that he will never flinch from the prosecution of any of his schemes,
either from personal danger or the dread of shedding human blood. He
seems to have no heart, and his countenance is like adamant, for it
gives no clue to the thoughts which fill his brain. He is certainly a
very remarkable character and one worth studying. His early history is
laughable. His various descents upon France were too ridiculous for
laughter, and they only excited the pity of the world. His private
conduct, too, was such as to disgust moral people. There seems to have
come over the man a great change about the time of the Louis Phillippe
revolution. I well remember that in the spring of 1848 I saw him
parading one of the streets of London, arm-in-arm with a son of Sir
Robert Peel, both sworn in as special constables to put down the
chartists should they attempt a riot. It was, on that memorable first of
April, quite fashionable for members of the best families to be sworn in
as special constables to preserve order, and Louis Napoleon who was
living with his mistress and children in London, had so far put away the
democratic opinions which he once held, that he was ready and eager to
show where his sympathies were in the Chartist agitation.
That Louis Napoleon was very shrewd in entering France, and seating
himself in the presidential chair, no one will deny, but it is equally
true that in violating his oath and shooting down the people of Paris as
he did, that he might gain a throne, he also proved himself to be a
great villain. The mere fact that he was successful will not atone for
perjury and murder with people of common morality. But aside from these
atrocities, his shameful censorship of the press, and conduct toward
some of the noblest men of France, he has acted for the best interests
of the country. He has understood the wants of the people, and his
decrees and provisions have met the wishes of the nation. France has not
had the material prosperity for many years that she has at this time.
But the press is dumb. Literature is in a sickly condition. Many of the
first men of France are either in exile or are silent at home. It is
astonishing to see how few of the really eminent men of France are the
friends of Louis Napoleon. Lamartine does not like him; Eugene Sue was
his enemy; the same is true in a modified sense of Alexander Dumas;
George Sand dislikes him; Arago while living did the same; and Jules
Janin the brilliant critic is no friend of the administration. Victor
Hugo, Ledru Rollin, Louis Blanc, and a score of other brilliant men are
in exile, and of course hate the man who exiled them. It is certainly
one of the most singular facts of modern history that Louis Napoleon has
few friends, yet is firmly seated upon his throne. His enemies are so
divided, and so hate anarchy, that they all unite in keeping him where
he is. But Paris laughs in its sleeve at all the baptismal splendors
over the prince and the sober provisions for the regency made by the
emperor. No one that I could find has the faintest expectation that the
baby-boy will rule France, or sit upon a throne. When the emperor is
shot or dies a violent death, then chaos will come, or something better,
but not Napoleon IV. I am confident that this is the universal
sentiment, at least throughout Paris, if not over France. I have asked
many a Frenchman his opinion, and the same reply has been given by
republican and monarchist. This is one secret of Napoleon's strength. It
is thought that with his death great changes must come, and very likely
confusion and bloodshed. No one believes in a Napoleon succession, and
therefore all bear his despotism with equanimity. Those who hate him say
his rule will not last forever, while those who wish to advance their
own political interests through other royal families, bide their time.
It is possible that Louis Napoleon will live many years yet, or at least
die a natural death, but there are those who have a reputation for
shrewdness who do not believe it. They think that as he has taken the
sword so he will perish by the sword, or in other words that a bullet
will one day end his life. It would not be strange, for he has many
bitter enemies, and there would be poetic justice in such a fate, to say
the least.
The empress is quite popular in France, but not so much so as the
journalists and letter-writers would make out. She is exceedingly
handsome, and this fact goes a great way with the Parisians. Her conduct
since her marriage has been irreproachable, which should always be
mentioned to her credit. But that she is naturally a very lovely woman,
gentle, and filled with all the virtues, few who know her early history
will believe. She is, like the emperor, shrewd, and acts her part well.
She is certainly equal to her position, and in goodness is satisfactory
to the French people. It has been thought by many that if Louis Napoleon
had married a French woman it would have better satisfied the people,
but this is by no means certain.
The emperor and empress seem to live together happily, or at least rumor
hath nothing to the contrary; and he would be a brute not to be
satisfied with the woman who has presented him with what he desired
above everything else--a male heir.
Portraits of the empress abound in all the shops and in private houses.
Her great beauty is the passport to the French heart. It is not of the
dashing, bold style, but is delicate and refined. Louis Napoleon has in
his provisions for the prince calculated largely upon the popularity of
the empress, in case of his own death.
He confides the boy-prince to the Empress Eugenia, and thinks her
popularity is such, and the gallantry of the people so great, that they
will gather round her in the day of trouble. But though the French are a
gallant people they estimate some things higher than politeness or
gallantry. There is no loyalty in France. The only feeling which
approaches to it is the veneration which is felt in some of the
provinces for the elder Napoleon. But that sentiment of loyalty which is
felt in all ranks and circles in England is unknown to France. Who
carries in his bosom that sentiment towards the man who procured his
throne by perjury? Not a single Frenchman. Many admire his intellect,
his daring, and many others accept his rule with pleasure, but nobody
has the feeling of loyalty toward him. It has died out in France, and I
must confess that this is a good sign. While it is true, France cannot
really _like_ a monarchical despotism, though she may for a long time
endure it.
THE BAPTISM OF THE PRINCE.
The 14th of June was a great day in Paris, for it witnessed the baptism
of the prince and heir to the French throne. It was not because Paris
was or is devoted to the present Napoleonic dynasty, not because the
birth of an heir to Louis Napoleon was or is regarded with any
remarkable enthusiasm, but simply for this reason: Paris loves gayety,
and above all things is fond of a public _fete_.
Louis Napoleon well knew how to make the day memorable. All that was
wanting was money--a prodigious pile of Napoleons. With this he could
easily make a pageant.
The young baby-prince was baptized in the ancient church of Notre Dame,
which was fitted up in a magnificent style expressly for the occasion.
On each side of the grand nave, between the main columns hung with gold
and crimson drapery, a series of seats were erected, also covered with
crimson velvet and gold decorations. Around the altar seats were erected
for the legislative body, the senate, the diplomatic corps, and officers
of state. Above these, galleries were formed, hung with drapery, for the
occupation of ladies. The appearance of the interior was grand in the
extreme, but it needed the splendid concourse soon to be present, to add
a wonderful beauty to it.
A few minutes past six o'clock a burst of drums announced the arrival of
the grand cortege in the ancient city, and the archbishop of Paris, with
his assistants, went to the door or grand entrance of Notre Dame, to
receive Napoleon and Eugenia. The princes and princesses had already
alighted, and were ready with the clergy to receive the emperor and
empress.
The procession was in something like the following order: First came the
cross, followed by the archbishop and his vicar-generals. Next came the
military officers of the imperial household. Then what are called the
honors of the imperial infant, as follows--the wax taper of the Countess
Montebello; the crimson cloth of Baroness Malaret; and the salt-cellar
of the Marquess Tourmanbourg. Then came the sponsorial honors. These
ladies all walked in couples, and were dressed in blue, veiled in white
transparent drapery. The grand duchess of Baden and Prince Oscar of
Sweden immediately preceded the prince.
The royal babe wore a long ermine mantile, and was carried by a
gouvernante with two assistants, one on each side of her. The nurse
followed, clad in her native costume--that of Burgundy. Marshals
Canrobert and Bosquet followed the infant, and their majesties next
appeared under a moving canopy.
The cardinal-legate had appeared and been welcomed before, and took his
seat upon a throne erected expressly for him. Immediately in front of
the altar there was erected a crimson platform, on which two crimson
chairs were placed for the accommodation of Napoleon and Eugenia. Far
above there was a crimson canopy lined with white, and spotted with
golden bees.
Napoleon advanced up the aisle on the right of Eugenia, and a pace in
advance. He did not offer her his arm, as that is considered improper in
a church, according to Parisian notions of propriety. Eugenia was
dressed in a light blue, covered with an exquisite lace, and she was
covered with dazzling diamonds. The jewels she wore were worth nearly
five millions of dollars. The blue color worn by nearly all the ladies
present, was considered the appropriate color for the ruder sex of the
baby. Napoleon wore the uniform of a general officer, but with white
knee pants and silk stockings. He wore several orders.
Everything being ready, the cardinal-legate left his throne, went to the
foot of the altar, and commenced the _Veni Creator_, which was taken up
and executed by the fine orchestra. The music was inexpressibly grand.
When it was concluded the masters of ceremonies saluted the altar and
their majesties, and then waited upon the legate, who at once catechised
the sponsors. He then conducted the royal babe to the font, holding the
baptismal robe. Napoleon and Eugenia ascended the throne. The duchess of
Baden, representing the god-mother, advanced to the font. The god-father
was the pope, represented by the legate. The baptism was then proceeded
with.
When the rite was performed, the gouvernante presented the babe to its
mother, who at once handed it over to its royal papa, who held it up to
the crowd of gazers, and then the cries of "_Vive le Prince Imperial!_"
came near destroying the solid masonry of Notre Dame. After this the
royal pair soon took their departure, though there were many ceremonies
after they had left.
A magnificent banquet was at once given to their majesties by the city
of Paris, in the _Hotel de Ville_, and it was probably one of the most
luxurious the world ever witnessed. All the male guests were in official
costume, and the ladies were dressed with great richness.
The next day--Sunday--was the great day for out-door _fetes_, though
this was widely celebrated. The day was given up to all kinds of
enjoyment, and the emperor gave immense sums to make the people
good-humored and enthusiastic. There was a display of fire-works in the
evening rarely equaled, and probably never surpassed. The theaters were
all open, free to all who came, and could gain entrance. In the course
of the day more than three hundred balloons were sent up, laden with
confectionary and things to tickle the palate, and showered down upon
the multitude. The whole of Paris was gay, and the stranger had a fine
sample of a grand Parisian _fete_, and Sabbath--both in one!