have before mentioned the wonderful manner in which this
picture has been recovered.
56. Jesus Christ, the Virgin, St. John, St. Paul, and St.
Catherine.—This picture, painted on wood, comes from
St. Paolo, at Parma.
57. The Portrait of Raphael and his Fencing-master, taken by
himself. Painted on cloth, and brought from Versailles.
58. The Portrait of Count _Balthasar Castiglione_. Painted on
cloth, and brought from Versailles.
59. The Portrait of _Cardinal Inghirami_. Painted on cloth.
Taken from the palace of Pitti, at Florence.
60. Portrait of pope Julius II. Painted on wood. Also from the
palace of _Pitti_.
RUBENS.
No. 61. Grotius, Justus Lipsius, Rubens, and his Brother. A picture
of the great painter, and his nearest and most illustrious
friends.
62. The carrying of the Cross.—This picture, painted on cloth,
comes from the abbey of Affingham, near Alost, in Holland.
No. 63. Christ thundering against Heresy. Painted on cloth. Taken
from the church of the Jacobins, at Antwerp.
64. The Assumption of the Virgin. Painted on cloth. Taken from
the church of the _Carmes des Chaux_, at Brussels.
ANDREA SACCHI.
No. 65. St. Romuald.—This picture comes from the church of the
_Camadules_ of _St. Romuald_, at Rome, where it was
placed above the principal altar. It was long esteemed
one of the four best pictures at Rome.
SALVATOR ROSA.
No. 60. The Ghost of Samuel.—This picture, brought from Versailles,
is on cloth.
TINTORET.
No. 67. Saint Mark freeing a Slave. From the fraternity of St. Marco,
at Venice. One of the best pieces of Tintoret, and one of
the three to which he affixed his name, in this manner,
“Jacomo Tintor, F.”
68. St. Agnes bringing to Life the Son of a Prefect, at Rome.
Taken from the church of _la Madona del Orto_, at Venice.
TITIAN.
No. 69. The Martyrdom of St. Peter, the Dominican.—The wonderful
recovery of this precious picture I have before mentioned.
It is now in high preservation. The colours are rich, and
the whole perfect.
No. 70. The Portrait of the _Marquis del Guasto_.—This picture is
painted on cloth, and was in the old collection.
71. The Virgin, the infant Jesus, St. John, and St. Agnes. From
the old collection.
72. The Holy Family, called the Virgin with the Rabbit. From the
old collection.
73. The Pilgrims of Emmaus.—This picture, painted on cloth, was
brought from Versailles.
74. Titian and his Mistress.—This valuable picture comes from the
old collection.
75. The Picture of a man. From the old collection.
76. The Portrait of Cardinal _Hippolytus de Medici_, in a
military dress. From the palace of Pitti.
VAN DYCK.
No. 84. Francis de Moncade, Marquis d’Aytone, on cloth. From the
palace of prince Braschi, at Rome.
LEONARDI DA VINCI.
No. 37. The Virgin and St. Ann, on wood. From the old collection.
GUERCINO (GIO FRANCESCO BARBIERI.)
No. 33. St. Petronelle. The chef-d’œuvre of Guerchini. Taken from
the pontifical palace, at mount Cavallo, at Rome, where
it ornamented the chapel called _Pauline_.
L. CARRACCI.
No. 19. The carrying away the Body of the Virgin.
20. The Apostles at the Sepulchre.—These two pictures came from
Placenza, where they were seen in the cathedral. Painted
in 1608, when Carracci was far advanced in life.
“The Transfiguration,” by Raphael, is undergoing the same
process as the pictures mentioned in the beginning of
this letter; and will, probably, when this is finished,
obtain all its former celebrity.
I make no apology for this long account; for knowing your curiosity about
paintings, and the general taste for such subjects in England, I thought
it an indispensible duty to give you the full particulars of this new
exhibition, which, though on a smaller scale, is perhaps superiour, in
point of real merit, to the larger collection.
Adieu. The more I see of the Musée, the more am I delighted. I often take
advantage of the hospitable privilege accorded to foreigners, and come
here on those days when the public are not admitted. I have then the
united advantages of looking on uninterrupted by the noise of crowds,
and of seeing the number of artists, of both sexes, (some professional,
and some amateurs), who are busily employed in copying the most esteemed
productions.
I think it certain, that so favourable an opportunity will soon revive,
in all its ancient splendour, the art of painting, which, for some years
back, has been, undoubtedly, on the decline.
I am, &c.
LETTER XXI.
_Bois de Boulogne._—Account of that promenade.—Order
of the police against english footmen wearing laced
cocked hats.—Cannon fired in honour of the definitive
treaty.—Illuminations in the evening.—Little effect produced at
Paris by the peace.
Paris, march the 26th, 1802 (5 germinal).
MY DEAR SIR,
We have had for some days delightful weather; and the parisians have
taken advantage of it in the best manner, by passing several hours in the
“_bois de Boulogne_,” which answers in some respects to our Hyde-park.
From three till six o’clock, the champs Elisées, through which the road
runs, leading to this favourite spot, and all the adjoining streets
have been crowded every day during this week, with carriages of all
descriptions. Berlins, chariots, curricles, gigs, cabriolets, sociables,
&c. These united to innumerable horsemen and pedestrians, make the whole
city assume a lively appearance.
The _bois de Boulogne_ is about a mile and a half from the _place de
la Concorde_; and the avenue and turnpike leading to it, form one of
the most striking entrances of Paris. The wood itself was formerly very
fine; but in one of the frantic moments of revolutionary violence,
great part of the trees, were, by order of the then government, cut
down for fuel. It is however still a very pleasant retreat; and though
the wood is not so well garnished as it once was, yet it is singularly
retired and romantic, for a spot so near a capital. A gate leads to it,
where, from the crowds pressing forwards, it is often necessary to wait
before it is possible to pass. A string of carriages fills the centre
of the road, on the sides of which, gentlemen and ladies on horseback
are obliged to range themselves, as there is no separate space for
equestrians. Under the trees, to the right, it is the fashion to walk,
or to sit on chairs, which are placed there for the purpose; while ice,
oranges, flowers, fruit, and lemonade, are offered by persons, who make
it their business to attend, and who are not a little importunate. Here
the _belles_ of Paris appear in all their _éclat_, not dressed in rustic
straw hats, and snow white morning gowns, such as our fair countrywomen
wear in Kensington gardens; and which, while they are the emblem of
their minds, pure and simple, are the most becoming ornaments they could
assume. The ladies of Paris disdain such humble attractions; and in showy
silks, embroidered muslins, pearl necklaces, lace caps, and transparent
petticoats, challenge the attention of passengers. “Les pommes
d’albâtre,” as Voltaire describes them, are as little disguised as at the
balls, which I have mentioned; and ill-nature has a fair opportunity of
determining by day light, whether they owe their fairness to nature or to
art. Clad in this manner, many of them appear in open carriages, while
others lounge on the chairs, or loiter along the walk, followed by their
booted _beaux_, who to english leather breeches and boots, and cropped
hair, sometimes add a pair of ear-rings, or a smart military cocked hat,
when the sun shines in all its meridian heat.
The mixture of english and french fashions is, indeed, very curious at
Paris; and whenever a frenchman wishes to be completely _à l’anglaise_,
he generally contrives to make himself ridiculous. The equestrians sit on
the necks of their horses, and turn out their toes, by way of imitating
our manner of riding; and the grooms who attend them, whom they call
“des jockés,” are dressed like our postilions; that is to say, in short
waistcoats, richly laced with gold and silver, with a cap, ornamented in
the same manner, and without any coat. The horses, generally speaking,
are very bad, very ill trimmed, and worse managed. There are some
handsome english carriages already arrived, and the french coachmakers
copy our fashions as much as possible; but they are, as yet, far behind.
The common run of vehicles is very indifferent. The handsomest equipage
from London, loses much of its elegance here, from the slovenly manner
in which it is sure to be kept by a french coachman; from the tail
of the latter, which it is very difficult to persuade him to cut off;
and from the shabby horses, usually furnished by the jobmen. Apropos,
a very ridiculous circumstance occurred a few days ago. All foreigners
are permitted (notwithstanding the republican prohibition to natives)
to have arms on their carriages, and to give their usual liveries: of
course, several of the english, allowed their servants to wear gold
laced cocked hats. Would you believe it possible, that the government
was apprehensive of these hats being taken for the badges, given to
distinguish the constituted authorities; and that, on this ground, they
have been forbidden by an express order of the police, issued with proper
solemnity? Such is the simple truth. French generals, those renowned and
distinguished warriors, are apprehensive of english footmen being taken
for them. What a strange littleness in great minds.
“Tantæne animis cœlestibus iræ?” I cannot help exclaiming with lord
Chesterfield, “alas, poor human nature!”
I beg your pardon for this digression. I return to the bois de Boulogne;
when the day is fine, the _promenade_ is very lively; and the grotesque
figures produced by the unnatural union of french finery, and english
simplicity, serve to distinguish it from every thing else of the kind in
Europe. In returning from this motley scene, at four o’clock to day,
I heard the sound of cannon: I learnt soon after, with inexpressible
joy that the news of the signature of the definitive treaty was just
arrived. Happy day, which gives peace to all the world; may you long
be remembered, and may many, many years pass over, before you have a
successor! at six, the whole _façade_ of the Thuilleries, its garden,
“les Invalides,” and the hotel of the minister of marine, were all (as
if by magic), splendidly illuminated. It grieves me to add, that this
important intelligence has produced no effect at Paris. It has scarcely
been mentioned in society, and I have walked about, the whole evening,
admiring the taste with which the public buildings were lighted; and
heartily joining in the satisfaction which occasioned them, without
meeting one single group of french spectators. Indifference is “the order
of the day;” and I really believe, that no subject of any kind could
animate the parisians, or rouse them from the stupid apathy, into which
they have fallen, on the subject of politics. If “_spectacles_” have lost
their attraction, it is in vain to try any other method; for these are
the “penates” of the inhabitants of this great city. I hope and trust,
that the peace will be received in England, in a very different manner.
All good men will unite in rejoicing at the termination of a war, which,
whether “just and necessary,” as some assert, or wantonly undertaken as
others represent, was attended with such an unusual waste of public
money, private happiness, and human blood.
I sincerely congratulate you, my dear sir, on this, the happiest event,
which England has known for many years.
I remain, &c.
LETTER XXII.
The palais du _Luxembourg_.—_Théâtre d’Odéon._—The pantheon or
St. Généviève.—Tombs of Rousseau and Voltaire.
Paris, april the 1st, 1802 (11 germinal).
MY DEAR SIR,
I went yesterday to see the palace of the Luxembourg, now appropriated
to the use of the conservative senate, originally the residence of
_monsieur_, the king’s brother; and afterwards that of the executive
directory. The building is now undergoing a thorough repair. It is
therefore impossible to judge of it properly, in its present state.
The grand _façade_, or front, remains unaltered, and is strikingly
magnificent. I viewed it with particular pleasure; as the college at
Oxford, where I passed some of the happiest days of my life, and to
which I have still the honour of belonging, was built after the model of
this celebrated palace. This circumstance recalled so many interesting
remembrances, that I with difficulty tore myself from the gates of the
Luxembourg. I am told, that the proposed alterations are to be made on
a great and extended scale; and that every member of the senate, is to
have here, a distinct house, or spacious apartment. The gardens are also
to receive every possible improvement. Several workmen were already
employed in carrying this design into execution; but the whole is still
too imperfect to give any idea of what it may ultimately become. I saw
nothing but half formed gravel walks, formal avenues of trees, and
preparations for a round basin of standing water. The ground is indeed
too much surrounded with houses, ever to make what we should call in
England, a fine garden.
The magnificent theatre, called, “le théâtre français de l’Odéon,”
which formerly stood near the Luxembourg, and which was one of the most
magnificent buildings of the kind in Europe, was, a few years ago,
entirely burnt down, in the course of eight and forty hours. Nothing
remains but the stone front, which the fire could not destroy, and which
still serves to ornament this part of the town.
Being in the neighbourhood of _St. Généviève_, now called, “the
Pantheon,” I ordered my coachman to drive there.
St. Généviève appears nearly in the same state, in which I saw it, eleven
years since; that is to say, quite unfinished. Though the interior is
still far from having attained that point of perfection, proposed in the
original plan, yet it is even in its present situation, very beautiful.
As to the exterior, it is strikingly magnificent. Twenty-two Corinthian
pillars form the portico; eighteen of them are 54 feet high. There is a
cupola above, where it was intended to have placed a figure of Fame,
28 feet high; but this plan has never been carried into execution. At
the extremity of this cupola, there is a gallery raised 166 french feet
from the surface of the ground, whence we enjoyed a most extensive view
of Paris. This is the best point, from which the town can be seen: and,
as there is not here, as in London, that kind of mist which arises from
coal fires, the view was uninterrupted. I clearly distinguished from this
spot, all the public buildings; and nearly every private house in Paris.
It is, in short, a kind of real panorama. The ascent to the gallery is
uncommonly easy, up a flight of stone steps, well lighted, and kept in
such order, that I have not seen any stairs so clean, since I have been
an inhabitant of this great city. The front, which has not suffered at
all, during the revolution, has the following words written in large
letters, over the principal porch.
“AUX GRANDS HOMMES, LA PATRIE RECONNOISSANTE[54].”
From the scaffoldings erected in different parts of the church, I was
led to believe, that orders had been given for the immediate completion
of the original plan. I therefore asked my conductor, when he supposed
the whole would be concluded. He shrugged up his shoulders, and said, “il
faut faire cette question au gouvernement. Vraisemblablement l’église
sera achevée, quand le gouvernement aura tant d’argent qu’il ne saura pas
en disposer autrement[55].” I am afraid this is putting it off “_sine
die_.”
The dome and ornaments of the stairs are both worked with a degree of
nicety, elegance, and care, which would be commended on a snuff-box; and
the whole building may be considered as a specimen of good taste and
masterly execution.
It will be remembered, that this was the spot in which, at the beginning
of the revolution, it was proposed, by burying in its vaults, to confer
immortality on such men, as by their talents, their virtues, or their
courage, had deserved well of the republic. This idea, like many others,
started during the fervour of popular enthusiasm, though splendid in
theory, soon became very objectionable in practice. The honours of
sepulture in the Pantheon, were contested for by the friends of deceased
public men, with the same eagerness as they themselves had displayed
during their lives, in the pursuit of the objects of their ambition;
and as the merit which entitled an individual to the proposed reward,
depended entirely on the capricious estimate of those, who happened to be
in power, at the time of his death; the most illustrious, and the most
contemptible characters; the virtuous and the corrupt; the hero and the
coward; the man of talents, and the ignorant jacobin; the enlightened
friend of humanity, and the sanguinary decemvir, received in their turn
the honours of the Pantheon. From this strange abuse soon arose another,
which, though derived from a better motive, was equally indecent. The
bones of those, whom the successful party condemned, were dragged from
the tomb, in which they had been placed with so much pomp and parade,
perhaps only a year before, and thrown, like the carcases of dogs, on
a neighbouring dunghill. Ashamed of having placed the remains of the
infamous Marat, near those of Voltaire and Rousseau, the revolutionary
demagogues may plead some excuse for this strong, but indecorous
testimony of tardy repentance; but the scholar, and the friend of genius
will hear, with regret, that the ashes of the eloquent Mirabeau, who
(whatever his political faults might be) possessed no common talents,
as an orator and a writer, experienced a similar indignity. If his
integrity was not sufficiently evident to entitle him to a tomb among the
benefactors of his country, yet when it was once erected, his literary
merits ought to have saved it from destruction.
To prevent a recurrence of circumstances so little honourable to the
french name, a decree was at last past, for clearing away all the
monuments erected in the Pantheon, excepting those of Voltaire and
Rousseau. These I determined to visit. We accordingly descended into the
vaults, which are neat, clean, well lighted, stone apartments, where we
found the tombs of these celebrated men. On that of Rousseau only the
following words are written:
“Ici répose l’homme de la nature et de la vérité[56];” and a
hand with a torch rises from the tomb, with this inscription,
“il éclairit le monde même du tombeau[57].”
On the monument of Voltaire, the following epitaph is written
on one side.
“Aux manes de Voltaire,
L’Assemblée nationale
A décrétée le 30 mai, 1791,
Qu’il avoit mérité les honneurs
Dûs aux grandes hommes[58].”
On the second side.
“Poet, historien, philosophe,
Il aggrandit l’esprit humain,
Et l’apprit, qu’il devoit être libre[59].”
On the third side.
“Il défendit Calas,
Serven,
De la Barre et Mont Bally[60].”
On the fourth side.
“Il combattit les athées
Et les fanatiques.
Il inspira la tolérance.
Il réclama les droits de l’homme,
Contre le monstre de la féodalité[61].”
The bones of these distinguished men are in the tombs, which I have
described. Rousseau was removed from the garden of Ermenonville, where
his shade reposed in its favourite retreat, under the auspices of
friendship; and the heart of Voltaire, which had remained for some years,
as he desired, among those whom he loved at Ferney, was dragged from its
former resting place to this more splendid, but less tranquil sepulchre.
I am, &c.
LETTER XXIII.
_Concordat_ with the Pope ratified by the legislative body
after an eloquent speech by _Lucien Bonaparte_.—Madame
Bonaparte’s first drawing room.—Appearance of Dehayes at the
opera, after a long absence.
Paris, april the 10th, 1802, (20 germinal.)
MY DEAR SIR,
On thursday last, the legislative body, after a speech from Lucien
Bonaparte, brother of the consul; who, as orator of the tribunate, very
eloquently defended this favourite measure of government; ratified
and approved the _concordat_ with the Pope, by a large majority. The
reestablishment of religion is therefore determined. I was not present on
the occasion; but persons capable of judging, assure me, that Lucien’s
delivery was remarkably good; and that his speech was the finest heard in
France, since the time of Mirabeau. As it will, of course, appear in the
_Moniteur_, I shall not attempt to copy any of those imperfect statements
which are, already, handed about.
Madame Bonaparte held, the same day, for the first time, a kind of court:
that is to say, a card, being previously sent round by the prefect of
the palace, who answers to our master of the ceremonies, saying, that
madame Bonaparte would, at three o’clock, receive the wives of foreign
ministers; and “des étrangers de marque,” such ladies as wished to be
presented, accompanied their respective ambassadors, at the appointed
time, to the palace of the Thuilleries. As Mrs. ⸺ was of the number, you
may depend on the account, which I shall now send you. The ladies were
not in hoops or lappets; but were, in other respects, as much dressed
as they would have been at St. James’s. They were received by the wife
of the _préfect du palais_, in the apartments appropriate to madame
Bonaparte. She and the first consul, soon after appeared. A circle
was then formed, and the consul walked round. In passing, he spoke to
each lady with much politeness. Madame Bonaparte went through the same
ceremony; and at last, seated herself, desiring her guests to follow her
example. She talked again to those, who happened to be near her; and,
after an interval of a few minutes, she rose, courtesied, thanked the
ladies for the honour they had done her, and then retired. I understood
that she behaved with great propriety. Her manners were simple, easy, and
unaffected. She was polite to every one; and particularly civil to the
english. Her apartments, on the ground floor, looking on the Thuilleries,
are not large; but they are furnished with elegance, and considerable
taste. Her footmen were splendidly dressed in green liveries, laced with
gold; and they, as well as the “valets de chambre,” who waited in the
antichamber, were particularly civil, respectful, and attentive. There
were no foreign men present, excepting the ambassadors, and the prince
of Orange; but it is understood, that she will soon have a drawing-room,
for the purpose of receiving such strangers, as are desirous of being
introduced.
I shall conclude this letter, with a short account of the opera, from
which I am just returned. The house was uncommonly crowded, on account of
the first appearance this season, of the dancer Dehayes. This favourite
performer, having been absent more than a year, in consequence of a
fall, which rendered him incapable, during that time, of pursuing his
profession, was received with every possible honour. A _ballet_, called
“le Retour de Zéphyr[62],” was composed on the occasion; and the light
and gentle Zephyr was welcomed with loud and repeated applauses. His
strength is not quite restored; but it is easy to see, that he is no mean
proficient in the art of dancing. His steps are perfect, and perhaps not
inferior to those of Vestris; but in point of grace, the comparison is
infinitely in favour of the latter.
It is said, that Dehayes was convicted, during the time of Robespierre,
of an attempt to emigrate to England. He was condemned to the
_guillotine_; but afterwards pardoned, on condition of dancing, during
the whole of one season, without fee or reward, before “le peuple
souverain.” The agility, therefore, of a dancer, obtained that mercy,
which was refused to the innocence of youth, to the gray hairs of age,
to the purity of virtue, to the charms of beauty, and to the dignity of
talent. After this example of the power it possesses, the art of dancing
ought certainly to be ranked, in France, if not in other countries, among
the liberal and useful sciences.
I am, &c.
LETTER XXIV.
Versailles.—St. Cloud.—Sèvre.—Petit Trianon.—Specimen
of an extravagant bill.—Curious trial.—St.
Germain.—Malmaison.—Waterworks of Marly.