UNDER THE BOURBON FLAG
French prisoners--Oldenburg bonnets--"Fugio ut Fulgor"--Soldiers of
the Empire--Paris--A French hotel--A walk through Paris--Portrait
of Madame de Staël--An English ambassador--The Louvre--French
tragedy--The heights of Montmartre--Cossacks in the Champs
Elysées--£900 for substitute--Napoleon's legacies to his
successor--A dinner at the English Embassy--Botany and
mineralogy--Party at Madame de Staëls--A debate in the Corps
Législatif--Malmaison--Elbowing the marshals--St Cloud and
Trianon--The Catacombs.
_Edward Stanley to his Wife._
LETTER I.
HAVRE, _June 26, 1814_.
We have passed the Rubicon--nous voilà en France, all new, interesting,
and delightful. I know not where or how to begin--the observations of an
hour were I to paint in Miniature would fill my sheet; however, you must
not expect arrangement but read a sort of higgledy-piggledy journal as
things run through my head. I must pin them down like my Butterflies as
they pass, or they will be gone for ever.
At half-past four on Friday we sailed from Portsmouth, and saw the fleet
in the highest beauty--amongst them all while they were under sail
tacking, &c.; the delay has not been lost time. I should observe before
I quit the subject of Portsmouth events, that the Emperor could not find
time to sail about for mere amusement two days, this he left to the P.
R.[38] He (the Emperor) and the Duchess of Oldenburg occupied themselves
in visiting the Dockyards, Machinery, Haslar Hospital--in short,
everything worthy the notice of enlightened beings....
Our passengers were numerous, about 25 in a vessel of as many tons, with
only six what they called regular sleeping-places.... But I had no
reason to complain, our party was in many respects excellent--one, a
jewel of no ordinary value, by name Mr. John Cross, of whom I must
enquire more. I have seldom met with a man of more general and at the
same time deep information; he seemed perfect in everything. Mineralogy,
Antiquities, Chemistry, literature, human nature were at his fingers'
ends, and most gentlemanly manners into the bargain....
Amongst others we had three French officers, prisoners returning home.
They had not met before that evening, but had you heard their
incomparable voices when they sang their trios, you would have supposed
they had practised together for years. Mr. John Cross alone surpassed
them in their art. These gentlemen were certainly not _hostile_ to
Bonaparte, but to gratify their musical taste they stuck at
nothing--"God save the King," "Rule Britannia," "The Downfall of Paris"
were chaunted in swift succession, and the following commencement of one
of their songs will show the popular opinion of Bonaparte's campaign in
Russia:--
"Quel est le Monarque qui peut
Etre si fou
Que d'aller à Moscou
Pour perdre sa grande armée?"
A fair wind brought us in sight of the French coast early on Saturday.
At 11 we were under the headland of Havre, and at 12 anchored in the
bay, and were in an instant surrounded by chattering boatfuls who talked
much but did nothing. On landing we were escorted to the Passport Office
and most civilly received there; the difference, indeed, between public
offices in England and France is quite glaring. Even the Custom house
Officers apologised for keeping us waiting for the form of searching;
and tho' the Underlings condescended to take a Franc or two, the Officer
himself, when I offered money, turned away his head and hand and cried,
"Ba, Ba, Non, Non," with such apparent sincerity that I felt as if I had
insulted him by offering it....
The whole process of getting our passports signed, &c., being over, we
went to an Hotel. "Ici, garçon, vite mettez Messieurs les Anglois à
l'onzième," cried a landlady--and such a landlady! and up we scampered
to the 5th storey (there are more still above us) and to this said, "No
onzième." ...
We lost no time in the evening in looking about us; the town is situated
about two miles up the Seine on a sort of Peninsula surrounded with very
regular and strong fortifications. Its docks are incomparable, and
Bonaparte would have added still more to their magnificence, but now all
is at a stand--the grass is quietly filling up spaces hitherto taken up
by soldiers, Workmen, shot and guns; the numberless merchant vessels in
a state of decay proved sufficiently the entire destruction of all
trade; but what gave me particular satisfaction was the sight of a
flotilla of Praams, luggers, intended for the invasion of England, all
reposing in a happy progress to speedy putrefaction and decay. About a
mile from the town on the hill is a beautiful village called St. Michel,
where the Havre citizens have country houses. The town itself is as
singular as heart can wish--indeed, I am firmly convinced that the
difference between the towns of the Earth and Moon is not greater than
that between those of England and France. I scarcely know how to
describe it to you. Conceive to yourself a long street of immensely tall
houses from 5 to 8 Stories, _huddled_, for huddling is the only word
which can convey my meaning, and in truth their extraordinary height and
narrow breadth seem rather the effect of compression than design....
These houses are inhabited by various families of various occupations
and tastes, so that each Storey has its own peculiar character--here you
see a smart Balcony with windows to the ground, garnished above and
below with the insignia of washing woman or taylor. They are built of
all materials, though I think chiefly of wood (like our old Cheshire
houses) and stucco; and, thanks to time and the filth and poverty of the
people, their exterior assumes a general tint of pleasing dirty
picturesque. This said dirt may have its advantages as far as the eye is
concerned, but the nose is terribly assailed by the innumerable
compounded Effluvias which flow from every Alley-hole and corner. For
the people and their dress! who shall venture to describe the things I
have seen in the shape of caps, hats and bonnets, cloaks and petticoats,
&c.? There I meet a group of Oldenburg Bonnets broader and more loaded
with flowers, bunches, bows, plumes than any we saw in London, and would
you believe it I am already not merely getting reconciled but absolutely
an admirer of them.
Having passed the groups of bonnets I meet at the next moment a set of
beings ycleped Poissardes, caparisoned with coverings of all sorts,
shapes, and sizes--here flaps a head decorated with lappets like
butterflies' wings--here nods a bower of cloth and pins tall and narrow
as the houses themselves, but I must not be too prolix on any one
particular subject.
_Sunday._
We have been to the great Church. It was full, very full, but the
congregation nearly all female.
There is certainly something highly imposing and impressive in that
general spirit of outward devotion at least which pervades all ranks.
Nothing can be finer than their music: we had a sermon, too, and not a
bad one. The order of things is somewhat reversed. In England we wear
white bands and black gown, here the preacher had black bands and white
gown, and I fear the eloquence of St. Paul would not prevent the smiles
of my hearers in Alderley Church were I to pop on my head in the middle
of the discourse a little black cap of which I enclose an accurate
representation.
What shall I say of political feeling? I think they appear to think or
care very little about it; the military are certainly dissatisfied and
the Innkeepers delighted, but further I know not what to tell you; I am
told, however, that the new proclamation for the more decent observance
of Sunday, by forcing the Shopkeepers to shut up their shops during
Mass, is considered a great grievance.....
LETTER II.
ROUEN, _June 28, 1814_.
Foolish people are those who say it is not worth while to cross the
water for a week. For a week! why, for an hour, for a minute, it would
be worth the trouble--in a glance a torrent of news, ideas, feelings,
and conceptions are poured in which are valuable through life. We staid
at Havre till Monday morning, and though a Cantab friend of Edward's, on
bundling into his cabriolet, expressed his astonishment we would think
of staying a day, when he had seen more than enough of the filthy place
in an hour, we amused ourselves very well till the moment of
departure....
At 4 on Monday we stepped into the cabriolet or front part of our
diligence, on the panels of which was written "Fugio ut Fulgor," and
though appearances were certainly against anything like compliance with
this notice, the result was much nearer than I could have conceived.
Five horses were yoked to this unwieldy caravan--two to the pole, and
three before, and on one of these pole horses mounted a Driver without
Stockings in Jack Boots, crack went an enormous whip, and away galloped
our 5 coursers. It is astonishing how they can be managed by such simple
means, yet so it was; we steered to a nicety sometimes in a trot,
sometimes in a canter, sometimes on a full gallop.
The time for changing horses by my watch was not more than one
minute--before you knew one stage was passed another was commenced; they
gave us 5 minutes to eat our breakfast--an operation something like that
of ducks in a platter, the dish consisting of coffee and milk with rolls
sopped in it. The roads are incomparable--better than ours and nearly if
not quite as good as the Irish. The country from Havre to Rouen is rich
in corn of every description--there is nothing particular in the face
of it, and yet you would, if awakened from a dream, at once declare you
were not in England; in the first place there are no hedges--the road
was almost one continuous avenue of apple-trees; the timber trees are
not planted in hedgerows but in little clumps or groves, sometimes but
generally rather removed from the road, and it is amongst these that the
villages and cottages are concealed, for it is surprising how few in
comparison with England are seen. The trees are of two
descriptions--either trimmed up to the very top or cut off so as to form
underwood. I did not observe one that could be called a branching tree;
the finest beech we saw looked like a pole with a tuft upon it. The
cottages are mostly of clay, generally speaking very clean, and coming
nearer to what I should define a cottage to be than ours in England.
You see no cows in the fields, they are all tethered by the road-side or
other places, by which a considerable quantity of grass must be saved,
and each is attended by an old woman or child. We passed through 2 or 3
small towns and entered Rouen 8 hours after quitting Havre, 57 miles.
Rouen, beautiful Rouen, we entered through such an avenue of noble
trees, its spires, hills and woods peeping forth, and the Seine winding
up the country, wide as the Thames at Chelsea.
Such a gateway! I have made a sketch, but were I to work it up for a
month it would still fall far short and be an insult to the subject it
attempts to represent. If Havre can strike the eye of a stranger, what
must not Rouen do? Every step teems with novelty and richness, Gothic
gateways, halls, and houses. What are our churches and cathedrals in
England compared to the noble specimens of Gothic architecture which
here present themselves?... Rouen has scarcely yet recovered from the
dread they were in of the Cossacks, who were fully expected, and all
valuables secreted--not that they were absolutely without news from the
capital: the diligence had been stopped only once during the three days
after the Allies entered Paris. Till then they had proceeded _comme à
l'ordinaire_, and the diligence in which we are to proceed to-night left
it when Shots were actually passing over the road during the battle of
Montmartre--how they could find passengers to quit it at such an
interesting moment I cannot conceive; had I been sure of being eaten up
by a Horde of Cossacks, I could not have left the spot.
What an odd people the French are! they will not allow they were in
ignorance of public affairs before the entrance of the Allies. "Oh no,
we had the Gazettes," they say, and I cannot find that they considered
these Gazettes as doubtful authorities. We have plenty of troops
here--genuine veterans horse and foot; I saw them out in line yesterday.
The men were soldier-like looking fellows enough, but one of our cavalry
regiments would have trotted over their horses in a minute without much
ceremony; the army is certainly dissatisfied. Marmont is held in great
contempt; they will have it he betrayed Paris, and say it would be by no
means prudent for him to appear at the head of a line when there was any
firing. The people may or may not like their emancipation from tyranny,
but their vanity--they call it glory--has been tarnished by the
surrender of Paris, and they declare on all hands that if Marmont had
held out for a day Bonaparte would have arrived, and in an instant
settled the business by defeating the Allies. In vain may you hint that
he was inferior in point of numbers (to say anything of the skill and
merit of the Russians perhaps would not have been very prudent), and
that he could not have succeeded. A doubting shake of the head,
significant shrug of the shoulders, and expressive "Ba, Ba," explain
well enough their opinions on the subject.
I cannot conceive a more grating badge to the officers than the white
cockade--the fleur de lys is now generally adopted in place of the N and
other insignia of Bonaparte, but, excepting from some begging boys, I
have never heard the cry of "Vive Louis XVIII.!" and then it was done, I
shrewdly suspect, as an acceptable cry for the Anglois, and followed
immediately by "un pauvre petit liard, s'il vous plait, Mons." We went
to the play last night; the house was filthy beyond description, and the
company execrable as far as dress went; few women, and those in their
morning dress and Oldenburg Bonnets--the men almost all officers, and a
horrid-looking set they were. I would give them credit for military
talents; they all looked like chiefs of banditti--swarthy visages,
immense moustachios, vulgar, disgusting, dirty, and ill-bred in their
appearance.
From all I hear the account of the duels between these and the Russian
officers at Paris were perfectly correct.[39]
I am just come in from a stroll about the town. Among the most
interesting circumstances that occurred was the inspection of
detachments of several regiments quartered there. I happened to be close
to the General when he addressed some Grenadiers de la Garde Impériale
on the subject of their dismissal, which it seems they wanted. They
spoke to him without any respect, and on his explaining the terms on
which their dismissal could alone be had, they appeared by no means
satisfied, and when he went I heard one of them in talking to a party
collected round him say, "Eh bien, s'il ne veut pas nous congédier, nous
passerons." A man standing by told me a short time ago a regiment of
Imperial Chasseurs when called upon to shout "Vive Louis XVIII.!" at
Boulogne, to a man, officers included, cried "Vive Napoleon!" and I feel
very certain that had the same thing been required to-day from the
soldiers on the field, they would have acted in the same manner, and
that the spectators would have cried "Amen."
I heard abundance of curious remarks on the subject of the war, the
peace, and the changes; they will have it they were not conquered. "Oh
no." "Paris ne fut jamais vaincue--elle s'est soumise seulement!" I
leave it to your English heads to define the difference between
submission and conquest.
Beef and mutton are 5d. per lb. here. Chickens 3s. the couple, though 24
per cent. was probably added to me as an Englishman. Bread a 100 per
cent. cheaper than in England--at least so I was informed by an
Englishman in the commercial line. Fish cheap as dirt at Havre, 3 John
Dorys for 6d.
From Havre to Rouen, 57 miles, cost us £1 6s. for both; from thence to
Paris, 107 miles, £2; our dinners, including wine, are about 4s. a head;
breakfast 2s., beds 1s. 6d. each.
LETTER III.
PARIS, _June 30th_.
Here we arrived about an hour ago; for the last two miles the country
was a perfect garden--cherries, gooseberries, apple-trees, corn,
vineyards, all chequered together in profusion; in other respects
nothing remarkable....
The first sight of Paris, or rather its situation, is about 10 miles
off, when the heights of Montmartre, on one side, and the dome of the
Hôpital des Invalides on the other reminded us of their trophies and
disasters at the same time....
[Illustration: OLD BRIDGE AND CHÂTELET.
_Paris July 4, 1814_
_To face p. 108._
Now you must enter our rooms in l'Hôtel des Etrangers, rue du Hazard, as
I know you wish to see minutely. First walk, if you please, into an
antechamber paved with red hexagon tiles (dirty enough, to be sure), and
the saloon also, into which you next enter through a pair of folding
doors. This saloon is in the genuine tawdry French style--gold and
silver carving work and dirt are the component features. It is about 20
feet square, plenty of chairs, sofas of velvet, and so forth, but only
one wretched rickety table in the centre. Two folding doors open into
our bedroom, which is in furniture pretty much like the rest; the beds
are excellent--fitted up in a sort of tent fashion--and mine has a
looking-glass occupying the whole of one side, in which I may at leisure
contemplate myself in my night-cap, for I cannot discover for what other
purpose it was placed there.
Now let us take a walk--put on thick shoes or you will find yourself
rather troubled with the paving stones, for nothing like a flagged
footpath exists; a slight inclination from each side terminates in a
central gutter, from which are exploded showers of mud by the passing
carriages and cabriolets. You must get on as you can; horse and foot,
coaches and carts are jumbled together, and he who walks in Paris must
have his eyes about him. The streets are in general narrow and
irregular, and so much alike that it requires no small skill to find
one's way home again. Ariadne in Paris would wish for her clue. First we
ascended the bronze column[40] in the Place de Vendôme--figure to
yourself a column perfect in proportions much resembling Nelson's in
Dublin, ornamented after the plan of Trajan's pillar--all of bronze, on
which the operations of the wars and victories in Germany are recorded.
Bonaparte's statue crowned it, but that was removed. The column itself,
however, will remain an eternal statue commemorating his deeds, and
though the Eagles and letter N are rapidly effacing from every quarter,
this must last till Paris shall be no more. From the top of this pillar
you of course have a magnificent view, and it must have been a choice
spot from whence to behold the fight of Montmartre. It will scarcely
interest you much to say much about the other public buildings, suffice
it to say that all the improvements are in the very best
style--magnificent to the last degree; they may be the works of a
Tyrant, but it was a Tyrant of taste, who had more sense than to spend
120,000 Louis in sky-rockets. His public buildings at least were for the
public good, and were ornaments to his capital.
But let us turn from inanimate to living objects; since I penned the
last line I have been sitting with Mme. de Staël.... By appointment we
called at 12.[41] For a few moments we waited in a gaudy drawing-room;
the door then opened and an elderly form dressed _à la jeunesse_
appeared; she is not ugly; she is not vulgar (Edward begs to differ from
this opinion, he thinks her ugly beyond measure); her countenance is
pleasing, but very different from anything my fancy had formed; a pale
complexion not far from that of a white Mulatto, if you will allow me to
make the bull; her eyebrows dark and her hair quite sable, dry and crisp
like a negro's, though not quite so curling. She scarcely gave me time
to make my compliments in French before she spoke in fluent English. I
was not sorry she fought under British colors, for though she was never
at a loss, I knew I could express and defend myself better than had she
spoken in French. I hurried her as much as decency would permit from one
subject to another, but I found politics were uppermost in her
thoughts.... She was equally averse to both parties--to the royal
because she said it was despotism; the Imperial because it was tyranny.
"Is there," said I, "no happy medium; are there none who can feel the
advantages of liberty, and wish for a free constitution?" "None," said
she, "but myself and a few--some 12 or 15--we are nothing; not enough to
make a dinner party." I ventured to throw in a little flattery--I knew
my ground--and remarked that an opinion like hers, which had in some
measure influenced Europe, was in itself an host; the compliment was
well received, and in truth I could offer it _conscientiously_ to pay
tribute to her abilities.
On leaving Mme. de S. we paid another visit. From the greatest woman we
went to see our greatest man in Paris, Sir Charles Stuart,[42] to whom
Lord Sheffield had given me a letter of introduction. This had been sent
the day before, and of course I now went to see the effect. After
waiting in the Anti-chamber of the great man for about half an hour, and
seeing divers and sundry faces pass and repass in review, we were
summoned to an audience. We found a little, vulgar-looking man, whom I
should have mistaken for the great man's butler if he had not first
given a hint that he was bonâ fide the great man himself. I think the
conversation was nearly thus: E. S.: "Pray, Sir, are the Marshalls in
Paris, and if so is it easy to see them?" Sir C. S.: "Upon my soul I
don't know." E. S.: "Pray, Sir, is there anything interesting to a
stranger like myself likely to take place in the course of the next
fortnight?" Sir C. S.: "Upon my soul I don't know." E. S.: "Pray, Sir,
is the interior of the Thuilleries worth seeing, and could we easily see
the apartments?" Sir C. S.: "Upon my soul I don't know." This, I do
assure you, was the cream of the conversation. Now certainly a great man
ought to look wise and say he does not know so and so, when in fact he
knows all about it, but somehow or other I could not help thinking that
Sir Charles spoke the truth, for if I may draw any inference from
Physiognomy, I never saw a face upon which the character of "upon my
soul I don't know" was more visibly stamped. I left my card, bowed, and
retired....
I next turned my eyes to the Louvre.[43] What are the exhibitions of
London, modern or ancient? What are Lord Stafford's, Grosvenor's,
Angerstein's, &c., in comparison with this unrivalled gallery? Words
cannot describe the coup d'oeil. Figure to yourself a magnificent room so
long that you would be unable to recognise a person at the other
extremity, so long that the perspective lines terminate in a point,
covered with the finest works of art all classed and numbered so as to
afford the utmost facility of inspection; no questions asked on
entering, no money to be given to bowing porters or butlers, no cards of
admission procured by interest--all open to the public view, unfettered
and unshackled; the liberality of the exhibition is increased by the
appearance of Easels and desks occupied by artists who copy at leisure.
It is noble and grand beyond imagination. In the Halls below are the
Statues, arranged with equal taste, though, as they are in different
rooms, the general effect is not so striking. I recognised all my old
friends, the Venus de Medicis was alone new to me. She is sadly
mutilated, but is still the admiration of all persons of sound judgment
and orthodox taste, amongst whom, I regret to say, I deserve not to be
classed, as I really cannot enter into the merits of statues, and the
difference between a perfect and moderate specimen of sculpture appears
to me infinitely less than between good and moderate paintings....
After dining at a Restaurateur's, who gave us a most excellent dinner,
wine, &c., for about 3s. a head, we went to the Théâtre Français, or the
Drury Lane of Paris. We expected to see Talma[44] in Mérope, but his
part was taken by one who is equally famous, Dufour, and the female part
by Mme. Roncour. She was intolerable, though apparently a great
favourite; he tolerable, and that is all I can say. In truth, French
tragedy is little to my taste.... The best part of the play was the
opportunity it afforded "les bonnes gens" de Paris to show their
loyalty, and much gratified I was in hearing some enthusiastic applause
of certain passages as they applied to the return of their ancient
sovereign. There is something very sombre and vulgar in the French
playhouses with the men's boots and the women's bonnets. Could I in an
instant waft you from the solitudes of Stoke to the clatter of Paris,
how you would stare to see the boxes filled with persons almost
extinguished in their enormous casques of straw and flowers. I have seen
several bearing, in addition to other ornaments, a bunch of 5 or 6
lilies as large as life....
[Illustration: POMP. NOTRE DAME.
_Paris, July 11, 1814._
_To face p. 115._]
LETTER IV.
PARIS, _July 8, 1814_.
You will take for granted we have seen all the exhibitions, libraries,
&c., of Paris; they will wait for more ample description--a glance on
one or two will be sufficient.
L'Hôpital des Invalides was, you know, famous for its magnificent dome,
which was decorated with flags, standards, and trophies of the
victorious arms of France; impatient to shew them to Edward, I hastened
thither, but alas, not a pennant remains. On the near approach of the
Allies they were taken down, and some say burnt, others buried, others
removed to a distance. I asked one of the Invalides whether the Allies
had not got possession of a few. With great indignation and animation he
exclaimed, "Je suis aussi sûr que je suis de mon existence qu'il n'out
pas pris un _seul_ même."
On Sunday last, after having hunted everywhere for a Protestant church,
one of which we found at last by some blunder quite empty, we went with
our landlord, a serjeant in the national guard, to inspect the heights
of Chaumont, Belleville, and Mt. Martre.... We ascended from the town
for about 3 miles to a sort of large rambling village, in situation and
circumstances somewhat like Highgate. This was Belleville, whose heights
run on receding from Paris a considerable distance, but terminate rather
abruptly in the direction of Mont Martre, from which they are separated
by a low, swampy valley containing all the dead horses, filth, and
exuvious putrefactions of Paris.... Immediately below, extending for
many miles, including St. Denis and other villages, are fine plains;
upon which plains about 3 in the morning the Russians deployed, and the
Spectacle must have been interesting beyond measure.... On the heights
and towards the base were assembled part of Marmont's[45] army with
their field pieces and some few heavier guns; there, too, were stationed
the greater part of the students of l'Ecole Polytechnique, corresponding
to our Woolwich cadets. Nothing could surpass their conduct when their
brethren in arms fled; they clung to their guns and were nearly all
annihilated. I was assured that their bodies were found in masses on the
spot where they were originally stationed; their number was about
300.... I met a few in the course of the day who were, like ourselves,
contemplating the field of battle, and who spoke like the rest of their
countrymen of the baseness of Marmont and treachery of the day. The
cannonade must have been pretty sharp while it lasted, as about 5,000
Russians perished before they got possession of the heights--though the
actual operation of storming did not occupy half an hour--but their
lines were quite open to a severe fire of grape from eminences
commanding every inch of the plain. Whilst this work was going on at
Belleville, another Russian column performed a similar service at Mt.
Martre, which is nearer Paris--in fact, immediately above the
Barriers.... Thither our guide next conducted us, and pointed out the
particular spots where the assault and carnage were most desperate. A
number of Parties were walking about and all talking of the battle or
Bonaparte.... Till this day I had never heard him openly and honestly
avowed, but here I had several opportunities of incorporating myself in
groups in which his name was bandied about with every invective which
French hatred and fluency could invent. Their tongues, like Baron
Munchausen's horn, seemed to run with an accumulated rapidity from the
long embargo laid upon them. "Sacré gueux, bête, voleur," &c., were the
current coin in which they repaid his despotism, and I was happy to find
that his conduct in Spain was by all held in utter detestation and
considered as the ground work of his ruin.
I saw one party in such a state of bodily and mental agitation that I
ran up expecting to see a battle, but the multiplicity of hands, arms,
and legs which were rising, falling, wheeling, and kicking, were merely
energetic additions to the general subject.... The National guard were
not (with few exceptions) actually engaged. To the amount of 36,000 they
occupied the towns and barriers, by all accounts guessing, or, as one
intelligent conductor assured us, very certain that they would not be
called upon to fight much for the defence of Paris.... Indeed, from all
I have been able to learn, and from all I have been able to see, it
appears pretty clear that no serious defence was intended--a little
opposition was necessary for the look of the thing. And although Marmont
might have done more, I feel convinced that had he exerted himself to
the utmost, Paris must have perished.
The heights were defended in a very inadequate and unsoldierlike manner;
not a single work was thrown up before the guns, no entrenchments, no
bastions, and yet with three days' notice all this might have easily
been done. The barriers all round Paris were, and still are, hemmed
round with Palisades with loop holes, each of which might have been
demolished by half a dozen rounds from a 6-pounder; the French, indeed,
laugh at them and consider them as mere divertissements of Bonaparte's,
and feeble attempts to excite a spirit of defence amongst the people--a
spirit which, fortunately for Europe, was never excited. The lads of
Paris had determined to take their chance and not to do one atom more
than they were called upon or compelled to do. These wooden barriers
are made of le bois de tremble (aspen), and the pun was that the
fortifications "tremblaient partout." You will like to hear something of
Edgeworth's friend, St. Jean d'Angély;[46] he came up to the barrier
where our landlord (who had been formerly an imperial guardsman and
fought in the battle of Marengo) was posted; here he called loudly for
some brandy, for which he got laughed at by the whole line of guard; he
then sallied forth and proceeded a short distance, when his horse took
fright, and as St. Jean was, as our landlord told us, "entiérement du
même avis avec son cheval," they both set off as fast as they could, and
were in a few minutes far beyond all danger, nor did they appear again
amid the din of arms. The fate of Paris was decided with a rapidity and
sang-froid quite astonishing. By 5 o'clock in the Evening all was
entirely at an end, and the national guard and allies incorporated and
doing the usual duty of the town. They were, indeed, under arms a little
longer than usual, and a few more sentries were placed and the theatre
not open that Evening, but that single evening was the only exception,
and the next day the Palais Royal was as brilliant and more cheerful
than ever, with its motley groups of visitors. The Cossacks were not
quartered in the Palais Royal, they were in the Ch. Elysées, the trees
of which bear visible marks of their horses' teeth, but a good many came
in from curiosity and hung their horses in the open space of the
Palais.... The Russian discipline was most severe, and not an article
was taken from any individual with impunity, immediate death was the
punishment. The field of battle bore few marks of the event--a few
skeletons of horses and rags of uniforms; the more surprising thing is
that, notwithstanding all the trampling of horse and foot on the plains
below so late as the end of March, the corn has not suffered in the
slightest degree. I wish the Alderley crops were as good.
You have no idea of the severity of the conscription. That men can be
attached to a being who dragged them, with such violence to every
feeling, from their homes would be astonishing, but for the well-known
force of the "selfish principle" which amalgamates their glory with his.
A friend of our landlord's paid at various times 18,000 fr., about £900;
he thought himself safe, but Bonaparte wanted a Volunteer guard of
honour; he was told it would be prudent to enroll himself, which in
consideration of the great sums he had paid would be merely a nominal
business, and that he would never be called upon. He did put his name
down; was called out in a trice and shot in the next campaign. Our
waiter at Rouen assured me his friends had bought him off by giving in
the first instance £25 for a substitute, with an annuity to the said
substitute of an equal sum--pretty well this, for a poor lad of about
16.
Thanks to our landlord and not to Sir Charles Stuart, we might have been
introduced into the Thuilleries, but came too late. We lost nothing, as
after Mass the King marched through a beautiful sort of Glass gallery
facing the Thuilleries Gardens, and then came out into a Balcony to shew
himself to the crowd there assembled! he was received with universal and
loud applause. "Vive le Roi!" was heard as loud as heart could wish,
hats, sticks and handkerchiefs were flying in all directions. When he
entered Paris, in one of the Barriers a sort of Archway was made and so
contrived that as the carriage passed under a crown fell upon it, a band
at the same time striking up "Où peut on être mieux que dans le sein de
sa famille," which is, you know, one of their favourite airs.
Poor man, he has enough to do, and will, I fear, experience a turbulent
reign. Bonaparte has left his troops 3 years in arrears, the treasury
empty, two parties equally clamourous for places and pensions, both of
which must be satisfied. Their taxes are heavier than I thought they
were. Our landlord has an estate worth about 2,000 frcs., his father
paid 200 fr. a year for it, and he is now under the necessity of paying
1,200, having only a clear surplus of 800, and the finances are at too
low an ebb to allow of any immediate reduction in their taxes....
To take things in their course, I must now proceed to my dinner at Sir
Charles Stuart's. I was shewn into a room where I found three or four
Englishmen gaping at one another. Before many more had assembled, in
came Sir C., and I _believe_, or rather I am willing to flatter myself,
he made a sort of half bow towards us, and then we stood and gaped
again; a few more words between him and one or two who were to go to
Court the day after, but to me and some others not a syllable of any
description was uttered, and when some more English were shewn in who
were, I presume, as respectable as myself, his behaviour was quite
boorish, he did not condescend to look towards the door. These things
went on till a throng of Spaniards with Stars and orders came in; with
these he appeared tolerably intimate, and also with three Englishmen who
afterwards appeared. We were about 24 in number, and all I had to do in
the half-hour preceding dinner was to look out for the most intelligent,
gentleman-like-looking Englishman I could, to secure a place by him....
You will ask who I met. I protest to you that I went and returned
without being able to learn more than that the secretary's name was
Bidwell, and that one other person in company was a Mr. Martin, who had
been agent for prisoners; of the rest I knew nothing, not even of my
neighbour; birth, parentage, and education were alike involved in the
cloud of diplomatic mystery which seemed to impend heavily over this
mansion, and when my neighbour asked me, or I asked him, the names of
any person present the answer was mutual--"I don't know." Sir Charles
sat in the centre with a gold-coated Don on each side of him, with whom
he might have whispered, for though I sat within two of his Excellency,
I never heard the sound of his voice: however, my opinion may not
coincide with all that pass from Calais to Dover, as I heard one man
remark to another that his countenance was very pleasing, to which was
added in reply, "and he is a very sensible man." These things may be,
but I never met with one more perfect in the art of concealing his
talents.
Now for the Jardin des Plantes and its lectures. This same Jardin is a
large space appropriated to Botanical pursuits, public walks,
menageries, museums, &c. There you see Bears and Lions and, in fact, the
finest collection of Birds and Beasts alive, some in little paddocks,
others in clean and airy dens. But this is the least part of this
delightful establishment; its museums and cabinets are like the Louvre,
the finest collection in the world. Everything is arranged in such order
that it is almost impossible to see it without feeling a love of
science; here the mineralogist, geologist, naturalist, entomologist may
each pursue his favourite studies unmolested. Here, as everywhere else,
the utmost liberality is shewn to all, but to Englishmen particularly,
your country is your passport. Like the mysterious "Open Sesame" in the
Arabian nights, you have only to say, "Je suis Anglais" and you go in
and out at pleasure. I have seen Frenchmen begging in vain with ladies
and officers of the party and turned away because they had happened on
the wrong day or hour, and then we, without solicitation, have been
desired to walk in. But all these museums and living animals, curious
and interesting as they are, are surpassed by the still greater
liberality shewn in the daily lectures given by the members of the
Institute or Professors of the several sciences. I have attended
Haiiy,[47] Duméril,[48] l'Ettorel, du Mare, and others upon Mineralogy,
Nat. Hist., and Entomology, and Haiiy, you know, is the first
mineralogist in Europe, and I never looked upon a more interesting
being. When he entered the lecture room, every one rose out of respect,
and well they might. He is 80 years of age apparently, with a most
heavenly patriarchal countenance and silver hair; his teeth are gone, so
that I could not understand a word he said, though, indeed, had he been
possessed of all the teeth in Christendom I apprehend I should not have
been much wiser, as he lectured on the angular forms of the Amphiboles.
He looked like a man picked out of a crystal, and when he dies he ought
to be reincarnated and placed in his own museum.
Another Scene to which I found my way was equally interesting: I went to
a lecture on Iconographic drawing, or Science, as it was called, of
representing natural subjects. In other words, when I got there I found
it was a professorship of drawing, everything connected with Nat. Hist.,
such as flowers, animals, insects; and the Professor lectures one day
and practically instructs on another. I happened to be present at one
of the latter. Conceive my surprise at finding myself in a large library
filled with tables, drawing books, ladies and gentlemen all sketching
either from nature or excellent copies here. As it was not a public day
except to those who wished to attend for instruction, I ought not with
propriety to have intruded, but "J'étais Anglois" and every attention
was paid. You would have given a little finger to have seen the room; it
was a hot summer's day, but there all was cool and fragrant; the windows
opened on the gardens, the tables were covered with groupes of flowers
in vases; the company, about 40, were seated up and down where ever they
chose, each with a nice desk and drawing board--in short, it was a scene
which excited feelings of respect for a nation which thus patronised
everything which could add to the rational improvement of its members.
Were France the seat of religion and pure virtue it would be Utopia
verified; but, alas! there are spots which stain the picture and cast a
balance decidedly in favour of England: we are rough, we are
narrow-minded, but he who travels is brought to confess and say
"England! with all thy faults I love thee still." ...
LETTER V.
PARIS, _July 10th_.
Madame de Staëls party formed a fine contrast to the gloom and
ponderosity of Sir Charles Stuart's dinner the day before. We went a
quarter before nine, thinking, as it was the nominal hour, it would be
ill-bred to go too early, but the French are more punctual in these
matters, for we found the good people all assembled and Marmont[49]
walked out not five minutes before we walked in.
In his stead we had General Lafayette,[50] the cornerstone of the
Revolution. He is a tall, clumsy-made man, not much unlike Dr.
Nightingale, tho' rather thinner. His countenance discovers thought and
sound judgment, but by no means quickness or brilliancy; his manners
were quiet, unassuming, and gentleman-like. He spoke little, and then
said nothing particularly worth notice.
The next lion announced was a lioness, the celebrated Madame
Récamier,[51] and though she is not in her première jeunesse, I can
easily conceive how she could once dazzle the world. It would be too
much to give her credit for superior talents, but her manners were very
agreeable tho' rather like all other belles of France who have fallen in
my way, somewhat à la languissante. But I am all this while forgetting
the star of the evening, the Baroness herself. She sat in a line with
about six ladies, before whom were arranged as many gentlemen, all
listening to the oracular tongue of their political Sybil.
She was in high spirits because she had been warmed up by the decision
of the court and commons concerning the liberty of the press, which had
received an effectual check by limiting all liberty of speech and
opinion to works containing not less than 480 pages, thus excluding the
papers and pamphlets. The moment we were announced, before she asked me
how I did, she enquired whether I had heard this notable decision, and
then demanded what I thought of it. Of course, I assured her how much I
lamented the prospect of an inundation of dull, prolix books to which
France was thus inevitably exposed. This, as we spoke in English, she
immediately translated for the benefit of the company, adding "Ce
Monsieur Anglois dit cela, et c'est bien vrai il a raison," and then she
laughed and seemed to enjoy the catalogue of stupid books which might be
anticipated.
I must confess the party was a little formidable; in England I should
have said formal, but there is something in French manners wholly
foreign to any application of the word formal, and really after
exchanging a few remarks I was glad to be introduced to her son[52] and
daughter,[53] with both of whom I was much pleased. They are clever and
agreeable. She is not above eighteen or twenty, and if her complexion
was good would be very pretty. She was not shy, beginning conversation
in a trice upon interesting subjects. She compared the English and
French character, in which she (and I presume it was a maternal opinion)
would not allow an atom of merit to the latter. On finding that I was a
clergyman she immediately began upon Religion, talked of Hodgson,[54]
Andrews, Wilberforce,[55] and then in questioning me about the
Methodists (about whom she seemed to have heard much and entertained
confused notions) we slid into mysticism, which carried us, of course,
into the third vol. of "Allemagne"; she spoke in raptures of the mystic
school, said she was quite one in heart--"Cela se peut," thought I; but
somehow or other "Je ne le crois pas," for I have heard some little
anecdotes of her mother, in which, whatever may be her theoretical views
of mysticism, her practical opinions are rather more lax than Fénelon's.
Much against my will I took my leave, willing to hope that Mme. S. spoke
the truth when she said how glad she should be to see me if I visited
Paris during the winter; she is off to Switzerland in a few days. The
French say we have spoilt her--in fact, she occupies little of the
public attention in Paris.
The next event most interesting was our visit to the Corps Législatif,
or House of Commons. We went to a certain door, to which we were refused
admittance, and told it was too full or too late. But said I, "Nous
sommes Anglois"; in an instant a man came up and placed us in an inner
gallery in the body of the house. The House is something like the Royal
Institution--of course larger and beautifully fitted up. Considering it
as the Royal Institution for your better comprehension, the President
sits on a tribunal throne in a recess corresponding to the fire-place;
immediately below is a sort of Rostrum from whence the Members speak, in
situation like the lecturer of the R.I. In point of decoration and
external appearance both of house and members, it is far superior to our
House of Commons, as all the members wear uniforms of blue and gold, but
taking it all together I know not that anything can be more illustrative
of the French Character--externally all correct and delightful, but
within "a sad rottenness of the state of Denmark."
The president began the proceedings by ringing a bell; a paper was then
read detailing, I believe, the orders of the day. A member then arose
and went to the Rostrum. In the middle of his speech he was called to
order and told it was a very bad speech, so down he came and another
mounted. He was equally disliked, for they told him he spoke too low and
they could not hear him, so he disappeared; then half a dozen got up and
were so impatient that they began speaking altogether before they
reached the Tribune. In vain did the President ring his bell, and stand
up and gesticulate. Silence, however, was at length obtained, and he
addressed them, but with little better success than the rest. One man
then stept forward and did obtain a hearing, for he had good lungs and a
fair share of eloquence. His speech was short, but it was by far the
best; his name was Dumolard.[56] Soon afterwards the sitting broke up;
the whole took up little more than an hour. I know not whether the
perfect want of order was more ridiculous or disgusting; the sittings of
the Senate (Peers) are private....
We will now take you to Malmaison, the interesting retreat of the
interesting Joséphine. Her character was scarcely known in England. We
hear little more of her than as a discarded Empress or Mistress of
Buonaparte's, but she had much to recommend her to public as well as
private notice. The French all speak highly of her, and it is
impossible, on seeing Malmaison and hearing of her virtues, not to join
in their opinion. To be sure, as a Frenchman told me in running through
a list of virtues, "Elle avait été un peu libertine, mais ce n'est rien
cela," and, indeed, I could almost have added, "C'est bien vrai," for
every allowance should be made; consider the situation in which she was
placed, her education, her temptations; many a saint might have fallen
from the eminence on which she stood; I never dwelt with more
satisfaction or felt more inclined to coincide in that benevolent
verdict of the best of judges of human nature and human frailty,
"Neither do I condemn thee, go and sin no more," than in criticising the
character of Joséphine.
[Illustration: MALMAISON]
I am not sure whether you know exactly the history of Malmaison. The
house and land attached to it were purchased by Buonaparte when First
Consul, and given to Joséphine, who made it what it is, and bought more
land, so that it is now in fact a little Estate. On being divorced, she
retired thither with Eugène Beauharnais, her son, and younger children.
Her pursuits and occupations will be best understood by describing what
we saw. I should say, before I proceed, that it required some interest
to get in, and that we went with the Hibberts, who knew the secretary of
the Swedish Ambassador, in whose suite we were incorporated for
admission. The chief room in the house is what is called the Gallery A,
planned and finished according to her own designs; the floor is a mass
of dark inlaid marble, the ceiling arched and light admitted from it,
the whole not much unlike the Gallery at Winnington on a much larger
scale. It would be difficult to describe the fitting up of the interior.
The walls are hung with the most exquisite selections from ancient
Masters, not stolen, but many given to her, and the rest purchased by
herself; but I was more struck by the statues than with any thing else.
The dots represent them and their situations in the Gallery; they are
chiefly by two modern artists, Canova and Boher, though I fear the
reputation of my taste and judgment will suffer by the confession. I
still must confess that I felt far more pleasure than in looking either
upon Apollo or the Venus de Medicis. There was a Bust and Statue of
herself, the latter particularly beautiful, and if accurate, which I was
assured it was, the original must have been elegant and interesting to
the last degree. It reminded me much of Lady Charlemont, with a stronger
expression of sense. The rest of the room was furnished with tables
inlaid with marble, upon which were a variety of bronzes, pieces of
armour, &c., and her musical instruments were as she had left them, and
everything wore an appearance of comfort which is seldom seen in the
midst of such magnificence. Through folding doors you enter into a
smaller room hung with pictures. C. was her chapel; before a little
unostentatious altar, which had every appearance of having daily
witnessed her devotions, was a beautiful Raphael; the walls were hung
with seven small Scripture subjects by Poussin. I would have given a
great deal to have been her invisible observer in this sacred
retirement. She must have been alone, for it was scarcely large enough
to admit priest or attendant.
D. was a room in which she breakfasted, during which time music was
generally performed in B. From E. was a fine view of the Aqueduct of
Marly, and E. was the way to the Garden, which she had fitted up in the
English style. I have not time to enter into detail of these or her
greenhouses. She was fond of Society and patronised the Arts. She
allowed Artists to sit at leisure in her gallery to copy pictures, and
conversed with them a great deal. She did an infinity of good to all
within her reach and was beloved by all. Her death was very sudden; she
had complained of a sore throat, but not sufficiently to confine her to
her room. On a certain Wednesday or Thursday she was in her Park in high
spirits, showing it to the Emperor Alexander and King of Prussia; being
rather heated she drank some iced water; in the evening she was worse,
on Sunday she was dead, sensible to the last; talked of death, seemed
perfectly resigned--to use the words of a French lady, who told me many
interesting particulars, "sa mort était très chrétienne." They were
busied in packing pictures and making catalogues, but I believe there is
no fear of dismantling the house, as Eugène Beauharnais[57] and the
children are to have it in conformity to her will.[58] I have seen few
things since my departure from England which have interested me more
than Malmaison, and I could almost fancy that her statue, which is that
of a pensive female, with the chin resting on the hand, was her ghost
ruminating over the extraordinary events which had recently occurred,
and which she had quitted for ever. You will see Malmaison in my
sketch-book, as well as the Castle of Vincennes, which is as picturesque
and imposing as it is interesting, from the circumstances attending the
Duke d'Enghien's[59] death. It seems this event was known at Paris the
next day and spoken of with as much freedom as the despotic government
of Paris would admit....
I went yesterday to see the house of Peers in the Luxembourg. The Hall
of sittings is not unlike that of the Corps Législatif, but the
decorations are more interesting, each niche being filled with Austrian
standards and a few others. Under a gilt dome, supported by similar
pillars, was the spot where Napoleon's throne was _not_. The remnants I
saw lying in one of the Ante-rooms, all of which were ornamented with
immense pictures of the principal battles, but these, out of compliment
to the Emperor, &c., had been covered over with green baize, even the
very standards had been removed during the stay of the Emperor of
Austria in Paris. There is a sitting on Tuesday, and if I stand at the
door I may see the Marshals alight, but my curiosity would not be
satisfied, as no persons seem to know them; even the man who shewed us
the hall, who actually keeps the door thro' which they enter and sees
them all constantly, assured me he did not know one from the other. He
did not even know whether Marmont[60] had one arm or two.
LETTER VI.
PARIS, _July 11th_.
Thanks to our Landlord, and not to Sir Charles Stuart, we have just been
elbowing the Marshals, as a serjeant of the National Guard offered to
take us into the Thuilleries, and in we went with him in full uniform,
on the very best day we could have selected since our arrival in Paris,
as a corps of about 10 or 15,000 men were to be reviewed by the King "en
masse" in the Place de Carousel, immediately in front of the
Thuilleries.
We were stationed in a room of which I had heard much and wished above
all things to see--"la Salle des Maréchaux," so called from the
full-length portraits of 18 of these gentlemen with which it is hung;
the upper part of the room is surrounded by a gallery decorated with
pictures of the chief battles--Lodi, Passage of the Po, and one sea
piece descriptive of the capture of our Frigate, the _Ambuscade_, by a
smaller vessel. It is so good a picture that for the sake of the
painting I never thought of lamenting the subject.
After standing in this Hall for a few minutes in the midst of Generals
without number in full uniform, I had the satisfaction of being almost
knocked over by Marshal Jourdan,[61] a sharp, queer-looking fellow not
at all stamped with the features of a hero. I eyed him well, and had
scarcely satiated my curiosity when half a dozen more came by, walking
about without peculiar honors or attention, and only to be distinguished
from the Generals by a broad red ribbon, worn like those of our Knights
of the Bath.
I looked at each and all, but as few could tell their names I was at a
loss to distinguish one from another; my head and eyes were in a perfect
fidget, flying from Marshal to Marshal and from Picture to Picture.
Of the Ducs de Treviso,[62] de Conegliano,[63] Serurier,[64] and
Perignan[65] I had no doubt, as I saw them again several times, but I am
not sure that I should know the others except from a recollection of
their pictures.
I will describe a few while their countenances are fresh upon my memory.
Ney[66] is a fine, handsome man, but remarkably fair with light curling
hair, and struck us very like Mrs. Parker, of Astle.
Duc d'Istria[67] was reckoned by Robert Hibbert like me--that is to say,
he had dark arched eyebrows, a fox-like sort of countenance, very dark,
almost swarthy, and from his extreme bilious appearance, I should
imagine might be troubled, like myself, with bad headaches.
Davoust![68] I can scarcely recall his portrait without shuddering. If
ever an evil spirit peeped thro' the visage of a human being, it was in
Davoust. Every bad passion seemed to have set its mark on his face:
nothing grand, warlike, or dignified. It was all dark, cruel, cunning,
and malevolent. His body, too, seemed to partake of his character. I
should fancy he was rather deformed. I never saw so good a Richard III.
Let him pass and make way for one of a different description,
Victor,[69] a fine, open, gentlemanly countenance, tho' not like a
military hero. Marmont, a dark haired, sharp-looking man of military
stature. Duc de Dantzig,[70] very ugly and squinting. Berthier,[71]
remarkably quiet and intelligent. Murat,[72] an effeminate coxcomb with
no characteristic but that of self-satisfaction. Moncey, a respectable
veteran. Massèna,[73] the most military of all, dark hair and
countenance, fine figure. Soult,[74] a stern soldier, vulgar but
energetic; his mouth and lower part of his face like Edridge,[75] though
not so large a man.
The King was to me a very secondary person; however, I was close to him
as he tottered, like a good old well-meaning man, to Mass. On his return
he appeared, as I described last Sunday, in the balcony facing the
gardens for a few minutes and was loudly cheered, and then he came back
to the Salle des Maréchaux and sat down in a fine chair of Bonaparte's,
covered all over with his Bees, in a Balcony facing the Place de
Carousel, from whence he looked down on the 10,000 troops who were there
assembled. The shouts here were not what they ought to have been.
Comparatively few cried "God bless him!" and I much fear the number who
thought it was still less. The Duc de Berri,[76] on horseback with
Marshal Moncey on one side and Du Pont[77] on the other, reviewed the
troops, who passed in companies and troops before them. As each company
passed the officer held up his sword and cried "Vive le Roi!" and some
of the soldiers did the same, but not more than one out of ten.
I heard an anecdote of the Duc de Berri which is, I hope, true. A few
days ago in reviewing some troops on the Champs Elysées an officer in
passing chose to cry out, "Vive Napoléon!" upon which the Duc rode up
to him, tore his Epaulette from his shoulder and order from his breast,
threw them on the ground, and instantly dismissed him the service; this
spirit pleased the soldiers, and they all shouted "Vive le Roi!"
On Saturday we went to St. Cloud, Versailles, and the great and little
Trianon. St. Cloud and the great Trianon were the especial residences of
Buonaparte, and I looked at his bed and tables and chairs with some
curiosity. I have not time to describe all these. I saw one public place
yesterday which should be mentioned, a museum of models in every
department of art and science, with all the machines, &c., connected
with them. I would willingly conclude my observations on Paris with some
remarks on its manners, principles, &c., and I would begin with Religion
first if I could, but the fact is there appears to be none. If any does
exist it must approximate to Mysticism and lie concealed in the recesses
of the heart, for truly "the right hand knoweth not what the left hand
doeth." But with all this non-appearance I should be cautious in passing
too severe a censure. It must be remembered that the nation is military,
that from the earliest years they "sing of arms," and Buonaparte carried
this to such a degree that even children not much older than Owen[78]
are to be seen in full Uniforms. He wished to incorporate the two terms
of man and soldier. We laughed, you remember, at the account of the
little King of Rome appearing in Uniform; in Paris this would not appear
ridiculous. He had uniforms of all the favourite regiments horse and
foot....
[Illustration: PARISIAN AMUSEMENTS.
_to face p. 141._]
But yet there appears to be less vice than in England, I should rather
say less organised vice; I have not heard of a single Robbery, public or
private--I walk without fear of pickpockets; I should be inclined to say
they seemed rather against themselves than against each other. Their
principles may be more relaxed on some points than ours, but I doubt
much whether a Frenchman would not be as much disgusted in England as an
Englishman could possibly be in France; we call them a profligate race
and condemn them in toto--something like Hudibras' John Bull--
"Compounds for sin he is inclined to
By damning those he has no mind to."
Their public walks and Theatres are less offensive to decency than ours.
Drunkenness is scarcely known; at first sight I should pronounce them an
idle, indolent people; the streets are almost always full; the gardens,
public walks, &c., swarm at all hours with saunterers. According to my
ideas a Frenchman's life must be wretched, for he does not seem at all
to enter into the charms of home--their houses are not calculated for
it; they huddle together in nooks and corners, and the male part
(judging from the multitudes I daily see) leave the women and children
to get through the day as they can.
Their coffee-houses are some of them quite extraordinary; most of them
are ornamented with Mirrors in abundance, but some shine with more
splendour. In the Palais Royal there is one called "Le Café de mille
Colonnes," which merits some description. It consists of three or four
rooms--the largest is almost one mass of plate-glass Mirrors, beautiful
clocks at each end, and magnificent chandeliers; behind a raised Table
of most superb structure, composed of slabs of marble and plate-glass,
sat a lady dressed in the richest manner, Diamonds on head and hand,
Lace, Muslin, &c. This is the Landlady; by her a little boy, about 4
years old, stood in charge of a drawer from whence the small change was
issued; this, if it happened to be copper, was delicately touched by the
fair hand, which was immediately washed in a glass of water as if
contaminated by the vulgar metal. She never spoke to the waiters, but
rung a golden bell; her inkstands, flower jars--in short, every article
on the table was of the same metal or of silver gilt. The tables for the
company were fine marble slabs; the room was from the reflection of all
the mirrors, as you may suppose, a perfect blaze of light, and yet
altogether the place looked dirty, from the undress and shabby coats of
the company. The French never dress for the evening unless going out to
parties, and they always look dirty and unlike gentlemen; the former is
not the case, in fact for they are constantly washing and bathing. An
hour or two before I was in this extraordinary coffee-house I had
traversed a spot as opposite to it as could well be--the Catacombs!--a
range of vaults nearly half a mile long, about 80 feet under ground, in
which are deposited all the bones from all the cemeteries in Paris. I
suppose we were in company with some millions of skeletons, whose skulls
are so arranged as to form regular patterns, and here and there was an
altar made of bones fancifully piled up, on the sides an inscription in
Latin, French, &c. Behind one wall the bodies of all who perished in the
massacres in Paris were immured. They were brought in carts at night and
thrown in, and there they rest, festering not in their shrouds but in
clothes. Such a mass of corrupt flesh would soon have infested all the
vaults, so they were bricked up.
[Illustration: Catacombs Paris, July 8, 1814]
I wish to recommend our hotel to any people you may hear of coming to
Paris--Hôtel des Estrangers, Rue du Hazard, kept by Mr. Meriel. Its
situation is both quiet and convenient; it is really not five minutes'
walk from the leading objects of Paris, and the people have been civil
to us beyond measure.