horsemanship, on the plan of Astley; and there is likewise a very
curious optical deception, called, “la Phantasmagorie de Robertson.”
The latter is very well worth seeing. After viewing in the outward
room various electrical machines, mechanical inventions, and other
curiosities, you are led into a dark apartment, in which the ghosts of
distinguished characters are supposed to appear. This is extremely well
managed; and the principle of optical deceptions is exemplified, and
clearly explained. A man of the name of _Fitzjames_ also appears as a
ventriloquist; and after he has thrown his voice into different parts of
the room, he declares, that the power of doing so is not a natural gift,
but simply a habit acquired, of varying the sound of the voice. The same
man gives a most admirable imitation of the meeting of a jacobinical
club; and in hearing him, you really imagine, that the demagogues of
those bloody days are still haranguing with all the absurdity and
madness, which characterised them. In addition to the amusements which
I have specified, there are innumerable puppet-shows, _théâtres de
société_, mountebanks, tumblers, fights of wild beasts, jugglers,
rope-dancers, and quack-doctors.
Having given you this general sketch of the _spectacles_ of Paris, I
shall, in my future letters, only mention such particular performances,
as by their merit or their popularity, may deserve your attention.
I am, &c.
LETTER XV.
The play of _Henry_ IV, read by le Texier.
Paris, february 10, 1802 (21 pluviôse).
MY DEAR SIR,
I went this evening to hear _le Texier_, so well known in London, read
_la Partie de Chasse_ de Henry IV. The reputation of the reader, and
the singularity of being present at the recital of a comedy in the
french republic; the fame of which formerly depended on the attachment
of the people to the cause of monarchy, and particularly to the house
of _Bourbon_, drew an unusual crowd, and I had great difficulty in
obtaining admittance. “La salle,” or hall of “le Brun,” in the rue de
Cléry, in which subscription concerts are usually performed, was the
place appropriated to this purpose; and though the room is extremely
large, it was soon filled in every corner. The benches were in a few
minutes occupied, and many persons were obliged to stand during the
whole performance. _Le Texier_, to my great astonishment, appeared much
confused. Though accustomed, for so many years, to appear before the
public, he had all the horrours of a young beginner. I know not, whether
his alarms arose from the numerous audience which he saw collected,
from any apprehension he might entertain as to an interruption from the
police, or from the criticisms which he expected from the french, who,
more conversant in the language, in which he was about to read, than
those to whom he was used to address himself, might be less indulgent.
From whatever cause his fears arose they were very apparent. His hand
trembled, the sweat dropped from his brow, his voice faltered, and in
some scenes, he forgot material passages. It is unfair to pass any
judgment on a person so circumstanced, I shall therefore only observe,
that I saw with regret, that though much applauded, he was but little
admired. As to me, I have often been so highly amused and delighted with
his readings in England, that I was more than commonly disappointed.
“La Partie de Chasse de Henry IV” seems to have lost none of its
popularity; for, notwithstanding the very imperfect manner in which it
was read, the most unbounded applauses testified the approbation of the
audience, at the recital of those passages, which were formerly in the
mouths of every one. A person unacquainted with Paris, would have been
apt to conclude, from what passed this evening, that the french were
all royalists. But it must be remembered, that, in the first place, the
greater part of those assembled on this occasion, were drawn there by
their particular sentiments; secondly, that any thing new, no matter
what, is sure to be well received; and lastly, that Henry the IVth,
besides being the favourite of the ladies of all parties, was at the
beginning of the revolution considered as a kind of popular character,
whom even the most violent democrats held up to public admiration. He
was likewise a military hero; and, after all, there is nothing so much
esteemed in France, as martial merit. Perhaps it was this part of his
character, which induced general Moreau to attend the reading of a play,
of which so renowned a warrior was the subject.
This celebrated general sat in the gallery, with a lady of considerable
talents, in whose company I afterwards supped. The lady in question
entertained the company, with a lively account of the _bon mots_,
brilliant thoughts, and happy expressions of her warlike companion; but
as _madame_ is particularly famed for the richness of her fancy; and as,
notwithstanding his decided merit as a soldier, no one ever before heard
of the conversation talents of Moreau: it was universally allowed, that
the general was not a little indebted for his favourable testimony to the
imagination of his fair reporter.
To return to _le Texier_. His play concluded without any interruption;
and though the words “vive le roi” were omitted, the song of “vive Henry
IV” was repeated and received with enthusiasm, by the audience.
Adieu. How strange a nation are the french! the more I see of them, the
more I find it difficult to discover their real sentiments. I am rather
inclined to think, that they have no decided political opinions at all;
and that their passions, the fashion of the day, or the accidental humour
of the moment, make them at one time stern and visionary republicans;
then hot headed royalists; and at another, quiet, submissive,
unreflecting tools of the ruling power, whatever it may be. But I must
not allow myself to enter on such topics: I therefore take my leave, and
bid you, for the present,
Adieu.
LETTER XVI.
Party at a _fournisseur’s_.—Ball at a _ci-devant_ noble’s.
Paris, february the 15th, 1802 (25 pluviôse).
MY DEAR SIR,
I received an invitation to spend yesterday evening at the house of
an individual, who is supposed to have made a very large fortune as
a “fournisseur,” or army contractor; and whose wife is one of the
“élégantes” of the new set. I send you, therefore, a faithful account, as
descriptive of that class of society, to which the name of “les nouveaux
riches” is given.
A handsome porte cochére[47] led to a well lighted and elegant stair
case, by which we approached the _salon_; where _madame_ ⸺, and some
friends who had dined with her, were seated. As, among the very few
houses at which I visit at Paris, the greater part are of “l’ancien
régime,” I have become so accustomed to dark rooms, old furniture, and
dismal hangings, that I was quite astonished at the splendour of the
apartment, into which I was now ushered. An elegant girandole of cut
glass, made with the greatest taste, and filled with innumerable wax
lights, gave such a lively appearance to the room, that, for a few
moments, I supposed myself in London. The chairs were made with classical
propriety in antique shapes, and the colours were well assorted. The
carpet (a luxury not often met with in this town) was of the finest
Brussels manufactory; and the walls were ornamented with designs on the
plan of “Echart.” We were received with much politeness by the lady of
the house, who is a beautiful woman, and who, whatever her original
situation may have been, is at present graceful in her manner, highly
accomplished, and well acquainted with the literature of her own country.
MONSIEUR was neither very handsome, nor particularly brilliant; but he
was very civil, and took no little pride in showing us the suite of rooms
which adjoined to the _salon_, and which were all, like the latter,
splendidly lighted.
The apartment next to that in which we were received, was covered with
pictures representing a naval engagement; and the inscription underneath
proved, that they had belonged to the unfortunate Louis XVI. A large claw
table was placed in the centre of the room; and our host, though a good
republican, forgot not to inform us, that it had cost him a large sum of
money; having been taken from the Thuilleries, where it had long been
in the use of Marie Antoinette. Next to this was the bed-room, which
was particularly splendid. The canopy of India muslin, so fine that it
appeared like a net, to which was added a rich embroidery of gold. The
stand of this elegant couch was of mahogany, ornamented with antique
figures correctly carved. The _boudoir_, which adjoined, almost, exceeded
in luxury that of madame ⸺, already described in a former letter. The
sofa was of crimson velvet, edged with silver; and the sides and top of
this little _bijou_ were entirely covered with the finest mirrors. Beyond
the _boudoir_ was another bed-room, furnished in a different manner, but
with equal taste and equal extravagance. The party consisted of five or
six ladies, who were, perhaps, more expensively, than correctly dressed,
of two of the ministers, and of some foreigners of distinction. A
musician of eminence performed on the harpsichord; and accompanied madame
⸺ and one of her friends, who both sung very prettily.
The evening would have been pleasant, had there not been a degree of
form, which to me was not a little annoying. About twelve o’clock supper
was announced; which was served on the ground floor, in a small _salle à
manger_, which was also elegantly furnished. The supper was good, and the
servants who waited were attentive.
I saw, this evening, for the first time, general Berthier. He is a little
man, plainly dressed, with cropped hair. His countenance is expressive,
when he speaks; but his figure is diminutive, and his appearance by no
means military. He is extremely polite, gentlemanly, and affable. I am
told, he is by birth “_gentil homme_;” and by his manner it is easy to
see, that he must have passed the early part of his life in good company.
After giving you this account of a party at one of the new houses, you
will, perhaps, not be displeased, if I conclude my letter with a short
description of a ball given by a person, formerly of very high rank, and
still of considerable fortune.
The antichamber, through which it is always necessary to pass at a
french assembly, is rather a disgusting sight. The servants, differently
occupied, some playing cards, some sleeping, and others criticising the
dress of those who pass by them, do not attempt to rise, and even those
of the house seldom give themselves the trouble of moving, at the arrival
of their master’s guests. If the _valet de chambre_ is near, the company
are announced; if otherwise, they are allowed to find their way to the
apartment of those whom they are visiting. At the ball, of which I am
now speaking, in addition to the antichamber devoted to the use I have
mentioned, the second drawing room was filled with _filles de chambre_,
milliners, and mantuamakers, whom the good nature of our hostess
permitted to sit there, that they might view the dancing, and learn the
fashions. I observed, that several of these _soubrettes_ did not direct
their attention solely to the _female_ part of the company.
After passing through these rooms, we found ourselves at last in the
_salon_, which was extremely well lighted with patent lamps. These are
much used at Paris, and almost generally substituted for wax. The oil
used here is less offensive than that which is bought in London; and,
when a sufficient number of reflectors are placed about a room (which is
not very commonly the case) it becomes very brilliant; but the heat is
always oppressive.
The company assembled on this occasion were all of the old _noblesse_;
and no _nouveau riche_, no person connected with the government, and
very few foreigners, were permitted to contaminate this _quintessence_
of “_bonne compagnie_.” I perceived many of those faces which I had
remembered in London among the _emigrés_ of distinction; and the lady of
the house did not forget to enumerate the families of _dukes_, _comtes_,
_marquis_, _marechals_, &c. which formed her society. It is but justice
to this class of company, to observe, that the ladies (whether from a
natural sense of propriety, from habits contracted during their residence
in foreign countries, or from the wish of distinguishing themselves
from their plebeian fellow citizens, I shall not pretend to inquire)
are infinitely more correct in their dress, than those of any other set
at Paris. I saw here several elegant women, who were tasteful, without
being indecent; and though, perhaps, a hundred persons were assembled
(which is considered a very large party in this town) there was only one
female present, of whom it could be said, that she was too liberal in the
display of her charms; and she was the subject of general conversation,
and general censure.
The ball began with two cotillons, or french country dances, which were
very gracefully performed by eight gentlemen and ladies, who vied with
each other in skill and activity. The rest of the company were seated
on benches, which were placed in gradations against the wall. A walse
was then played; about fifteen couple stood up; and the gentlemen,
placing their arms round the waists of their partners, moved round the
room in a circle, while the young men not so employed formed a group,
and filled the centre. The air appropriate to this dance is extremely
pretty, and the figures of the ladies are seen to great advantage. Yet,
notwithstanding the quiet, respectful manner of the parisians, I must
still continue of the opinion of Werter; that no modest woman ought to
dance the walse, unless her partner be either her husband or her brother.
After a short interval, I perceived a string of young men crowding
together, and forming a line. I learnt with surprise, that this was the
preparation for an english dance; and that the gentlemen were taking
places for their partners. Though gallantry is, I suppose, the cause of
this mode of determining precedency, it is extremely dangerous; and the
ladies of Paris ought, like our fair country women, to take the trouble
of arranging, themselves, so _important_ a question. One or two duels
have already taken place, this winter, owing to the disputes occasioned
by the zeal with which these “_preux chevaliers_” contended for the
honours of priority; and the evil will daily increase, if this manner of
taking places be continued.
Walses and cotillons succeeded alternately, for the rest of the evening.
About two o’clock in the morning, supper was announced. The table, not
being large enough to afford seats for all the company, was solely
occupied by the ladies. The entertainment consisted of soups, hot dishes,
_légumes_, fruit, and pastry; after which, as a remove, two large plates,
one of turbot, and one of salmon, made their appearance. These, to an
english eye, seemed very singular; but I hear, all good french suppers
conclude with fish.
After supper, the ball recommenced, and continued till six in the
morning. On summing up the occurrences of the evening, I remarked, that,
though the women were handsome, the company elegant in their dress,
and genteel in their manner; though the music was admirable, and the
refreshments plentiful and good; yet there was something wanting; I mean
that gaiety of heart, and that flow of spirits, which, according to all
accounts, the french formerly possessed.
The ladies danced to perfection; but they seemed to do so rather for
triumph than amusement; and any stranger, coming suddenly into the
room, would have supposed, that he saw before him the _élèves_ of the
opera house, not the daughters of the proud _noblesse_. Dancing is,
indeed, more a science than an entertainment, at Paris; and while
those who were engaged seemed to study every step, and to make all
their motions by rule, the by-standers looked on, and criticised with
the same professional attention. There was little or no conversation:
the loud laugh, involuntary tribute of joy, was not heard; nor the
innocent prattle of unsuspecting, happy youth. I know not whether this
total change of character is to be attributed to the heavy misfortunes
which the higher classes have experienced, or to some other cause; but
certainly nothing is more obsolete than french vivacity. I have now
passed more than three months in Paris; and have not yet seen among its
inhabitants[48], one instance of unbounded mirth. When it happens to
me to be in english, american, or other foreign companies, I am always
surprised at the fun and jollity of the persons around me.
Before I conclude my letter, I ought, perhaps, to mention, that I saw,
at this party, the celebrated Kosciusco, whose heroic exertions in the
cause of polish liberty have rendered him so justly celebrated. I am
happy to say, that he is perfectly recovered from his wound, and that he
has no longer any marks of lameness. He is not now in the vigour or the
bloom of youth; but his eye is finely expressive. I am sure, Lavater, in
seeing it, would have said, “That eye is the eye of a poet, a genius, or
a patriot.” I had not the pleasure of being introduced to him, and can
therefore only speak to you of his exterior.
I am, &c.
LETTER XVII.
A play acted for the first time, called “Edouard en Ecosse,”
the hero of which was the english pretender, full of royalist
sentiments, performed twice, and highly applauded; “God save
the King,” played on the French stage; plot of the play, which
was forbidden on the third day.
Paris, feb. 21, 1802 (2 ventose.)
MY DEAR SIR,
I went three evenings ago to see the first representation of a new play,
called “Edouard en Ecosse[49].” The subject was of course the arrival
in the isle of Sky of the english pretender, and his escape thence. The
applications which were likely to be made to the present situation of
France, drew an immense crowd. I went early to “le théâtre françois,”
and was fortunate enough to obtain a seat. If before the curtain drew up
I was struck with the singularity of my situation as a british subject,
about to see on the stage of the French Republic a play founded on such a
topic, my surprise increased when the performance began. I soon perceived
that the whole merit of the piece depended on the interest which an
unfortunate prince, banished from the throne of his ancestors, was
calculated to produce on the minds of the audience; and if such was the
design of the author, he was more than commonly successful. The passages
in favour of royalty, and particularly those which expressed pity for the
proscribed, were applauded with inexpressible warmth. The dialogue was
well written, and so artfully worded, that it was difficult for any man,
whatever his political sentiments might be, not to join in commiserating
the fate of Edward. The story was simple, and as well as I can trace it
from memory, I will give it to you.
The young pretender, after being defeated by his enemies, and abandoned
by his friends, takes refuge, disguised as a peasant, in the isle of
Sky. Having passed three days without food, he is driven by want into
a house, the door of which he finds open. Here exhausted with fatigue
and hunger, he falls asleep. In this situation he is discovered by lady
Athol, (the mistress of the mansion) wife of the governor of the island,
and the particular favourite of king George. He wakes, and, after an
interesting dialogue, confesses who he is. He then asks of lady Athol “a
little bread for the son of him who once was her sovereign.” Long divided
between the sentiments of humanity and those of duty and gratitude, lady
Athol cannot resist this last pathetic appeal, and having supplied him
with some refreshment, she determines to protect him. In the midst of
this scene Argyle, who is commissioned by the british government to take
the pretender, arrives, and seeing Edward, expresses some suspicion. To
remove this, lady Athol, with that presence of mind which women often
possess on such trying occasions, declares, that the person he now sees
in the dress of a peasant is her husband, Lord Athol, (whom Argyle
had never seen) and who, having been shipwrecked, was just arrived in
this pitiful plight. Argyle believes the story, and having paid his
compliments to the supposed governor, leaves him to take that repose, of
which he concludes he must stand in need, after the accident which he had
experienced.
Edward afterwards appears in the dress of lord Athol, and in that
character is obliged to preside at a supper, to which Argyle and some
other english officers had been previously invited. One of the latter, a
violent partisan and rough soldier, proposes, as a toast, “death to all
the enemies of George.” Edward, after a violent struggle, throws down his
glass, and rising from the table, exclaims, “I will not drink the death
of any man.”
After this scene, which was rendered very interesting to the English,
by our “God save the king” being played on the french stage, and to the
whole audience by the last phrase, which was received with unbounded
applause, the real lord Athol arrives. In this dilemma the courage of
lady Athol does not desert her. She makes signs to her husband, who
discovers the truth, and recollecting that Edward had once saved his
life at Rome from the hand of an assassin, he determines to rescue him
from the danger of his present situation. He accordingly pretends to
confess to Argyle, that in assuming the name of Athol, he (Athol) had
deceived him, and that he is the pretender after whom he is seeking.
In this character, therefore, Athol is arrested, and in the mean time
Edward, conducted by the faithful steward of lady Athol, makes his escape
in a boat. The whole then is disclosed, and on the arrival of the duke of
Cumberland, Athol is pardoned for this pious fraud, the duke declaring
that he is convinced that the king himself, would, under similar
circumstances, have acted in the same manner.
There is a kind of counterplot or episode, in which the celebrated miss
Murray appears as the sister of Athol, but her character is not material
to the general story of the play. Argyle, who is in love with her, asks
her of her Edward (while he appears as Lord Athol) and this puts him into
another dilemma, from which he is also saved by the presence of mind of
lady Athol. Mademoiselle Contat played lady Athol most admirably, and the
part of Edward was performed in a very interesting and natural manner by
_St. Fall_, who rose infinitely above himself in the character assigned
him.
From this imperfect account you will at least be able to observe what
occasions were given both in the scenes and in the dialogue, for such
applications, as the friends of royalty took care to make, and which were
applauded with a degree of ardour, which I never saw equalled either in
England or France.
What a strange people are the French? Do I see the same nation who put
Louis XVI to death, and who have, with such daring courage, opposed
the return of the house of Bourbon, shed tears at a similar story,
and enthusiastically support the sentiments of this play, founded not
only on an attachment to monarchy, but on principles of indefeasible
right? Again, do I see the same people, who a few years back permitted
their best and worthiest citizens, however guiltless, to fall in crowds
under the axe of the guillotine, and at the nod of a contemptible petty
tyrant; I say, do I see the same people commiserate the sufferings
of an abdicated prince, and loudly applaud a sentiment which justly
declares, that to wish the death of any one is a base, an unmanly, and an
unnatural action? But I am going out of my element. I return to the play.
It was received with more and more admiration at every line, and when
the curtain at last dropped, the applause increased, and continued for
several minutes uninterruptedly.
The author was called for, and proved to be one of the actors of the
house, who, as if inconsistencies of all kinds were to be reconciled on
this occasion, was formerly a violent jacobin.
The play was acted a second night, with the omission of “God save the
king,” and the sentiment about the toast; and to day it is at last
forbidden.
The royalists are excessively irritated at the prohibition, but how was
it possible to suffer in a republic a performance, every word of which
expressed respect for royalty, and pity for a proscribed family?