no ball begins at an earlier hour) and the string of carriages was so
very long, that we were nearly an hour in getting up to the door. I
cannot help taking this opportunity, of commending the admirable order
preserved by the police, on all such occasions at Paris. Though, from
several streets meeting on the Boulevard, the crowd was great, yet
there was not the least accident, nor even the smallest confusion. The
staircase, by which we ascended, was elegantly ornamented with orange,
and other artificial flower trees. When we entered the outward room,
there were already so many persons assembled, that it was not without
considerable difficulty, that we made our way into the _salon_, or
drawing room. Never shall I forget my surprise, when, looking round
me, I perceived the dress, or rather the nakedness of the ladies. I
had heard much of the indecency, of which some females were guilty, in
respect to _costume_ at Paris, and I had already seen specimens of the
thinness of their apparel; but till this evening, I thought it only the
failing of a few. I now saw at least two hundred women, of different
ages, and different situations in life, all displaying, without reserve
or disguise, the beauties, which they had either received from nature,
imitated by art, or believed themselves by the aid of flattering fancy to
possess. The young and the old, the handsome and the ugly, the fair and
the brown, all prodigally dragged into common view, those charms, which
a virtuous woman conceals from motives of modesty, and a sensualist from
those of discretion. The buxom girl of sixteen, the newly married woman,
and the superannuated mother of a numerous family, were all equally
exposed. Naked necks, naked backs, and their form, scarcely concealed by
a transparent petticoat, left nothing to the powers of fancy.
You will think, perhaps, that I am drawing an exaggerated picture; but
I can assure you, on the honour of a man of truth, that such was the
_costume_ of at least two thirds of the ladies present at this ball.
The head-dresses, classically imitated from the ancient statues, were
elegant; and the number of diamonds, pearls, and other precious stones,
strikingly brilliant. There were many handsome women; but their beauty
was uniformly of one kind. The _embonpoint_, and the _nez retroussé_,
characterised them all. I looked in vain for those graceful figures,
and those grecian countenances, which form so often the ornament of
an english assembly. Among the most celebrated belles, madame R⸺, the
young wife of an affluent banker, was pointed out to me; madame V⸺, an
Italian lady, much the fashion at Paris, and the renowned madame Tallien.
I think the first rather remarkable, for the singularity of her dress,
(her head being ornamented “_à la cochoise_,” that is to say, as the
peasants of a particular province dress their hair) her extreme fairness,
and downcast look, than for any real extraordinary beauty. Madame V⸺ is
a fine dark woman, “_d’une certaine age_,” with beautiful eyes, and a
commanding person. Madame Tallien, notwithstanding her great fame, has,
according to me, rather an agreeable countenance, and an enchanting
smile, than features excessively striking. She is fair, as the fairest
of our countrywomen; her neck is beautiful; and her countenance, mild
and good humoured, is said to be a true picture of her mind. Yet, in
spite of these advantages, I never should have discovered in her, the
reigning _belle_ of Paris. She, too, is not in the first bloom of youth.
The dances were, the cotillon, (which they call _la contredanse_) and
the walse. In the former, the ladies displayed that decided superiority,
which the french possess in the art of dancing. As to the walse, I
was astonished at the decency, with which that very indecent dance
was danced, by the young parisians; who, placing their arms round the
uncovered persons of the handsomest women in the room, yet had sufficient
command of themselves, not to shock either their partners, or the
company, by being guilty of the slightest impropriety. I expressed my
surprise to an elderly lady, at this extraordinary forbearance. “_Croyez
moi, monsieur_[39],” she replied, “_que nos jeunes gens voient tout cela
avec l’indifférence la plus parfaite._”
What a lesson does this remark hold out to the fair sex, of every
description! That female is not less deficient in coquetry, and in the
art of commanding the affections of men, than in every principle of
decency, who wantonly exposes to the common gaze of passing curiosity
those attractions, which are only valuable, as long as the sight of them
is the exclusive privilege of a favoured lover.
The libertine, if he at first looks on with admiration, soon ceases to
care for that which every eye may behold; and apathy, united to contempt,
is the sentiment which succeeds to passion.
I return to the ball. The crowd became greater and greater, and the heat
was excessive; but the scene altogether was lively and amusing.
A frenchman _de l’ancien régime_, hearing me express my surprise at the
_costume_ of the ladies, assured me, that excepting the foreigners, there
was not one woman _de bonne compagnie_ in the room. This term of “_bonne
compagnie_,” is so often used, and so seldom explained, that I really
do not know, whether he meant that there was not a woman of the old
court, or that there was not a virtuous female present. If he intended
the former, it only proved, that these balls were not frequented by the
_noblesse_; if the latter, he was much severer in his remark than I had
been. I only complained of the ladies being indecent; he asserted that
they were profligate. At any rate, the one fault leads so rapidly to the
other, that it was difficult to make a mistake.
The room was well lighted; the music excellent, and the ball, being
formed of all the different classes of society, highly entertaining
to a foreigner. There were a great many english present; most of the
ambassadors, and many other distinguished characters.
I returned home about three in the morning.
Adieu.
LETTER XI.
New year’s day.—The Palais royal.
Paris, January the 1st, 1802 (11 nivôse.)
MY DEAR SIR,
The people of all nations cling, with such fond partiality, to their
old customs, that it is next to impossible to eradicate even the most
trifling of these by the power of law. I remarked a strong proof of this
to day. It was an immemorial custom in France to celebrate new years day,
by making presents of confectionary, trinkets, and such other articles,
to near relations and particular friends.
Notwithstanding the republican almanack, and the use of it in all public
acts, newspapers, &c. which makes the year begin with vendémiaire,
answering to our 23d of september, the first of January is still
considered as solely entitled to these honours. The Palais royal, as
it is universally called (notwithstanding its first revolutionary and
already superannuated name of “_Jardin d’Egalité_,” and its present
constitutional one of “Palais du Tribunat,”) was thronged this morning
with persons of all classes, who soon dispersed themselves among the
various shops, in order to purchase these little annual presents, or
“étrennes,” as they are called in the language of the country. The
jewellers vied with each other in displaying, in their windows, all the
taste, fashion, and magnificence, of their choicest merchandise; and
diamond rings, pearl lockets, and amber necklaces, offered to gallantry
elegant but expensive means of testifying its ardour. The milliners
brought forth their finest lace, their most tawdry colours, and their
most extravagant patterns; and the confectioners, with streamers at their
door, ornamented cakes within, perfumed _bonbons_, and amorous mottoes,
soon found the means of filling their respective shops.
What an extraordinary place is the Palais royal! There is nothing like
it in any town in Europe. I remember hearing an english epicure once
observe, “that as soon as the peace took place, he would give himself
the happiness of passing six weeks in the Palais royal, without once
going out of its gates.” Certainly, if a man be contented with sensual
pleasures, there is not one which he may not gratify within the walls of
this building. Restaurateurs, or taverns, where dinners are served from
ten sols to two louis a head. Coffee houses, where, for three-pence, the
lounger may pass the whole of his day in playing chess, talking politics,
or reading the papers. Gambling houses, where the man of pleasure,
at the risk of all that is dearest to him in life, purchases the
anxious feelings which fear and hope excite, and where the _chevalier
d’industrie_ finds the disgraceful means of a dishonourable existence.
Tailors, haberdashers, silversmiths, and watchmakers, offer every variety
of clothing, of ornament, and of machinery. Booksellers’ shops are
seen in every corner, where the _homme de lettres_ finds his favourite
authors, the romantic young lady her novels, and the politician his
pamphlets. Opticians, where the frequenter of _spectacles_ purchases his
opera glass, and the philosopher his telescope. Crowds of unfortunate,
and sometimes lovely females, challenge, with every variety of dress,
the attention of passengers, and, while they offer a too easy banquet to
libertines and dotards, fill every reflecting mind with pity and with
sorrow. Such are the objects which the _Palais royal_ presents. I ought
to add, that while the cellars are filled with inferiour _restaurateurs_,
or eating houses, where bands of music are constantly playing, frequently
dressed in theatrical _costumes_; the upper rooms are occupied with
gambling parties, _cabinets_ of intrigue, and coffeehouses[40]. The
latter have every variety of decoration; some are painted to represent
the Alps, and others are covered with glass, reflecting in every
direction a different room. The gambling tables are numerous; and I am
assured, that on the stairs, descending from one of these, there is a
pawnbroker’s shop, where it sometimes happens, that a ruined gamester,
after losing the contents of his purse, deposits, for the sake of making
a last and desperate effort, his watch, his buckles, and sometimes his
coat. With the trifle advanced him he returns, and, if successful,
redeems, on going away, the objects he has pledged. If he fail, a pistol,
or the river, ends his miserable days. Such is the consequence of play,
and such are the scenes which this profligate place presents.
The buildings, which formerly filled the centre, are now pulled down, and
that part is really a garden, which many persons frequent for exercise.
There are ice houses at each end, and chairs scattered about, on which
the parisians sit in rows, and take lemonade and other refreshments. The
space under the arcades, not occupied by the shops, is, as formerly,
filled every hour of the day, and the greatest part of the night, with
figures of all descriptions, with persons of every class, and, I might
add, of every nation in the world.
“Le théâtre de Montansier” is still in the Palais royal, besides many
smaller play houses. Puppet shows, dwarfs, giants, quack doctors,
vociferating newsmen, and quiet venders of libels, who in a whisper
offer you indecent and forbidden publications, complete the catalogue of
many-coloured curiosities which this place presents.
Adieu. I dare not add the reflections which so singular a spot would
naturally create. Were I to do so, scarcely a volume would contain them.
Adieu.
LETTER XII.
_L’institution des travaux des aveugles_, or establishment
for the support and employment of the blind.—Their different
occupations.—The plate glass manufactory.—Description of
another meeting at the hospital of the deaf and dumb.—Massieu
taught _galvanism_ and stenography.
Paris, January the 16th, 1802 (26 nivôse.)
MY DEAR SIR,
I went to day to see the establishment formed for the protection and
instruction of the blind. It is called “l’institution des travaux des
aveugles[41],” and is situate in the Fauxbourg St. Antoine, not far from
the _ci-devant Bastille_. It is here, where persons afflicted with that
greatest of all human calamities, the loss of sight, are taught the
means of gaining a comfortable existence, of occupying hours which would
otherwise be painfully tiresome, and of rendering themselves useful to
the community.
At the “séance,” or public meeting, which I attended this morning, I saw
several persons, men, women, and children, either born blind, or rendered
so by illness, now able to read, to write, to count, to print, and to
perform on different pieces of instrumental music. The mode by which
they read is by feeling the letters, which are purposely raised on card;
and they did so with such rapidity, that it was difficult in hearing
them to discover their misfortune. What particularly struck me, was the
ingenuity of a blind woman, who had taught her child to read, an infant
about five years old, not afflicted with this calamity.
There is a manufactory of steel carried on in the building, in which the
blind turn the wheel; and they also make whips, writing cases, purses
and paper toys of all sorts, which are sold for their private emolument.
There is likewise a press, or printing machine, in which the whole
process is performed by the blind; and I am told, books published by
them are more than commonly correct. The women knit, sew, and perform
other kinds of needlework; and all of them either sing, or perform on
some instrument. They gave us a kind of concert, which, if not very
good, proved at least that they understood the principles or music. I
am almost ashamed to mention, that my pleasure in witnessing this truly
philanthropic establishment, was not a little diminished by the dreadful
countenances of the blind, as the eyes of many, not being closed,
exhibited a very disgusting appearance. I knew, indeed, that they were
not sensible of this defect, and that I ought to be satisfied with an
institution, which, in rendering them both happy and useful, had fully
discharged its object. To the truth of this reflection my reason fully
assented; yet, _malgré moi_[42], my senses revolted at the sight of
human beings, left so imperfect by the hand of Nature, or so deformed by
illness.
In leaving “les aveugles,” we drove to the great plate glass manufactory,
which is carried on in the neighbourhood. This celebrated establishment
suffered severely during the revolution, but is now daily recovering its
former prosperity. Six hundred persons are at present employed, and I
saw mirrors preparing of various and extensive dimensions. The operation
of pouring quicksilver on glass, by which it obtains its reflecting
qualities, was performed before us; and we were much delighted with the
rapidity and neatness shown in the process.
As I began this letter with the institution in favour of the blind, I
think I cannot do better than to conclude it, by speaking to you again of
that of the deaf and dumb. I have, since my first letter on that subject,
attended two extraordinary meetings of the “_sourd muets_,” the result of
which I will now give you.
_Massieu_, the deaf and dumb young man, of whose superiour talents and
acquirements I gave you so favourable an account, appeared to great
advantage at one of these, in which he received, for the first time, a
lesson on “_galvanism_.” As soon as the abbé Sicard wrote on a slate,
“galvanism is a name given to a mode of electricity, in consequence of
its having been discovered by _Galvani_, an Italian physician.” Massieu
eagerly snatched the pencil, and wrote, in reply, “I saw the word
galvanism in one of the newspapers, and not knowing what it meant, looked
for an explanation in the dictionary of the academy. Not finding it
there, I concluded that it was taken from a proper name. It then occurred
to me, that it was a new medicine, discovered by the individual, whose
name it bore; and that, perhaps, by means of this specific, the inventor
might cure the deaf and dumb, _comme notre seigneur Jesus Christ_[43].”
Never shall I forget the animation which brightened the countenance of
_Massieu_, while he rapidly wrote these words, or the curious and anxious
attention with which he followed the explanation afterwards given him of
galvanism. In the course of the lecture, he showed, by his questions and
answers, that he was perfectly conversant with the general principles of
electricity; and the ease with which he caught the doctrine of galvanism
was truly astonishing. I am sure you will be struck, as I was, at the
singularity of his conceiving, that galvanism might lead to the cure
of the deaf and dumb. How kindly has Nature implanted in our minds a
disposition to cherish hope, even on the slightest foundation! It is this
which gives a zest to all our pursuits, which supports us in illness, in
affliction, and in sorrow; and no man really ceases to be happy, till he
ceases to hope.
I did not know, at the time, what I have since learnt, and which, if
true, renders the circumstance still more singular—I mean, that some deaf
and dumb persons have been actually restored to the senses of hearing and
speaking, by the power of galvanism. This is said to have taken place in
some part of Germany, I believe at Vienna; but I only give it as a report.
At the second meeting, I saw _Massieu_ taught, also for the first time,
_stenography_, or the art of short-hand writing. After the common
principles had been laid down by the written instructions of the master
appointed to give him this lesson, the abbé Sicard desired Massieu to
define the art which had just been explained to him. He immediately wrote
for answer, expressing the greatest joy in his countenance, “C’est l’art
d’écrire aussi vite que la parole. La sténographie va comme le cerf ou
le cheval, mais l’écriture ordinaire comme le bœuf[44].” Through the
whole of the lesson, he displayed the utmost clearness of idea, and the
greatest facility of receiving instruction.
Before I left the house of the sourd muets, I visited the boy called the
savage of Aveyron. But the subject is sufficiently interesting to deserve
a separate letter; I shall, therefore, for the present, take my leave,
and will devote my next to the description of this child.
I am, &c.
LETTER XIII.
The young savage, or wild boy of Aveyron.—His history.—The
state in which he was found, and the means used to restore him
to the use of his senses.—The success with which these efforts
have been attended.
Paris, January the 17th, 1801 (27 nivôse.)
MY DEAR SIR,
I resume in this letter the subject promised in my last.
The child, so well known in Europe by the name of “le jeune sauvage
d’Aveyron,” or “the young savage of Aveyron,” was found in the wood of
that name, at the age of eleven or twelve years, by three huntsmen, who
some time before had seen the same boy at a distance. He was looking
for acorns and roots, which constituted his principal food, when they
perceived him: and, at the moment of being seized, he attempted to get
away, by climbing up an adjoining tree. He was taken into a cottage; but,
at the end of a week, he made his escape from the woman, to whose care
he was intrusted, and fled to the mountains. Here he wandered about,
exposed to the severest cold of winter, with no covering but a ragged
shirt, hiding himself at night in the most solitary places, and in the
day approaching the neighbouring villages. After leading, for some time,
this vagabond life, he came of his own accord, into an inhabited house,
situate in the _canton_ of _St. Sernain_. Here he was seized, watched
and taken care of for three days, and was then removed, first to the
hospital of _St. Afrique_, and afterwards to that of _Rhodes_, where he
was kept several months. At each of these places, where, of course, he
was the subject of much interesting observation, he was found wild and
impatient of control. He was in constant motion, and at every instant
seemed to seek an opportunity of escaping. By order of the minister
of the interiour, he was brought to Paris, at the end of the 8th year
of the republic (about two years ago), under the care of a poor, but
respectable, old man, who became so attached to him on the journey, that
he shed tears at parting with him, and in going away declared, that if he
ever should be deserted, he would adopt him as his child.
The physician Pinel, to whose inspection the boy was first submitted,
reported, that the organs of sense in this unfortunate child were
reduced, from the want of use, to such a state of debility, that, in
this respect, he was inferiour to several domestic animals. His eyes,
without fixing themselves, and without expression, wandered wildly from
one object to another, incapable of distinguishing the nearest from the
most distant objects. His organ of hearing was alike insensible of the
loudest noise, or the softest harmony. The power of the voice was lowered
to such a degree, that he could not make an uniform and guttural sound.
The sense of smelling was so little exercised, that he received, with the
same indifference, the odour of the choicest perfumes, or the nauseous
stench of the filthy couch on which he lay. To conclude, the sense of
touching was confined to the mere mechanical functions of taking hold of
bodies.
In respect to his intellectual powers, the same physician stated him to
be incapable of attention (excepting as to the objects of his immediate
wants), and consequently incapable also of all those operations which
are created by attention. Destitute of memory, of judgment, and of the
power of imagination, and so limited, even in the ideas relative to
his wants, that he had not yet learnt to open a door, or to get upon a
chair, in order to reach those objects of food which were held above his
grasp. In fact, destitute of every means of communication, having neither
expression nor intention in the motions of his body, passing suddenly,
and without any presumable cause, from the gloom of apathy, to the most
immoderate fits of laughter. Insensible of every kind of moral affection,
his discernment was but a calculation of gluttony; his pleasure an
agreeable sensation of the organs of taste; his sense, an aptitude to
produce some incoherent ideas relative to his wants—in one word, all his
existence seemed purely animal.
M. Pinel afterwards compared “le sauvage d’Aveyron” with children born,
or become, irrevocably idiots; and he was inclined to conclude, that this
unhappy child, doomed to an incurable evil, was not susceptible either of
sociality or instruction; but he expressed this opinion with considerable
doubt.
Dr. Itard, physician to the national institution _des sourd muets_, from
whose interesting little pamphlet I have taken this account, though
struck with the fidelity of the picture drawn by Dr. Pinel, and the
justice of his remarks, was unwilling to accede to the unfavourable
conclusion with which he had closed his report. Founding his hopes
first on the doubtful cause of his supposed idiotism, and next on the
possibility of the cure, he humanely determined to make the education
of this deserted child his particular study. This education, or moral
treatment, he began, on the general principles laid down by doctors
Willis and Crichton, and by professor Pinel himself, though he could not
appeal to any particular precepts, as no such case had been foreseen in
their works. He conceived, that he had five principal objects to effect.
1st. To attach him to social life, in rendering that life more agreeable
than the one which he now led, and particularly by making it more
analogous to the life which he had lately quitted.
2dly. To revive the sensibility of his nerves by the most poignant
stimulants, and sometimes by exciting the liveliest affections of the
mind.
3dly. To extend the sphere of his ideas, by giving him new wants, and by
increasing his connection with surrounding objects.
4thly. To lead him to the use of speech, by dragging into use the power
of imitation by the imperious law of necessity.
5thly. To exercise, during some time, on the objects of his physical
wants, the most simple operations of his mind, and thence to lead it to
objects of instruction.
Dr. Itard then fully explains the methods which he took towards these
important objects, in which, by incessant care, humane treatment, and
the assistance of madame Guerin (the female to whose protection, as a
nurse, the child was intrusted), he has so far succeeded, that he no
longer entertains any doubt of his ultimate success. It is impossible
for me, within the compass of a letter, to enter into the details given
on this subject. I shall therefore content myself with translating the
observations, with which Dr. Itard concludes the account.