_A fashionable Poem.--Frere Richart.--Religion.--Hôtel des
Invalides.--Hall of Victory.--Enemies' Colours.--Sulky Appearance
of an English Jack and Ensign.--Indecorum.--The aged
Captain.--Military School.--Champ de Mars.--The Garden of
Mousseaux._
The conversation whilst I was at Paris, was much engaged by a poem,
describing the genius and progress of christianity written in imitation
of the style of Ossian, which excited very considerable curiosity. From
the remarks of some shrewd acquaintances of mine, who had perused the
work, I learnt that the principles of the poem seemed strongly tinctured
with the bewildered fancies of a disordered mind, conveyed in very heavy
_prosaic_ blank verse. "It was the madness of poetry, without the
inspiration."
This composition may be considered as a curiosity, from other reasons
than those which mere criticism affords. The poem was bad, the readers
were many. The subject was sacred, the author a reputed atheist, and the
profits which it produced exceeded two thousand pounds sterling. The
fortunate writer relieved himself from the jaws of famine by this
strange incomprehensible eulogy on the charms and advancement of
christianity, which has been received in Paris, with a sort of
fashionable frenzy. Another pseudobard has announced his intention very
shortly of issuing from the press, a work which he conceives will be
more saleable and a greater favourite with the public, in which he
intends ironically to combat the doctrine of the Trinity, by gravely
resembling it to the Deity taking snuff between two looking glasses, so
that when he sneezes, two resemblances of him are seen to sneeze also,
and yet that there are not three sneezers, but one sneezer.
Some other outlines of this work were imparted to me at Paris, but the
pen turns with disgust and detestation, from such low and nauseous
profanation. I have only condescended to mention the composition, and
the last anecdote, to show how much the world is deluded, by the
received opinion that the french are become a new race of exemplary
devotees. The recoil from atheism to enthusiasm, is not unusual, but the
french in general have not, as yet, experienced this change. That they
are susceptible of extraordinary transitions, their history and
revolution have sufficiently manifested. In the Journal de Paris,
written in the reigns of Charles VI and VII, is preserved rather a
curious account of the velocity with which religious zeal has, in former
periods, been excited. "On the 4th day of April, 1429," says the
journal, "the duke of Burgundy came to Paris, with a very fine body of
knights and esquires; and eight days afterwards there came to Paris, a
cordelier, by name Frere Richart, a man of great prudence, very knowing
in prayer, a giver of good doctrine to edify his neighbour, and was so
successful, that he who had not seen him, was bursting with envy against
those who had. He was but one day in Paris, without preaching. He began
his sermon about five o'clock in the morning, and continued preaching
till ten or eleven o'clock, and there were always between five and six
thousand persons to hear him preach. This cordelier preached on St.
Mark's Day, attended by the like number of persons, and on their return
from his sermon, the people of Paris were so turned, and moved to
devotion, that in three or four hours time, there were more than one
hundred fires lighted, in which they burnt their chess boards, their
back gammon tables, and their packs of cards."
To this sort of fanaticism, the parisians are unquestionably not
arrived. A more eloquent man than the Frere Richart, must appear amongst
them, before such meliorations as are recorded in the Paris journal, can
be effected in the dissolute and uncontrolled habits of that gay and
voluptuous city. I do not mean, from any previous remark which I have
made, to infer that there are not many good and very pious people in
France, and it has been a favourable circumstance to the ancient
religion of France, that the revolution never attempted any reform in
it, or to substitute another mode of worship. That great political
change in the ebullition of its fury, prostrated the altars of the old
church, without raising others of a new, or improved construction. It
presented a hideous rebellion against the glorious author of all good,
and declared an indiscriminate war of extermination against his
ministers and followers, and every principle of the Gospel and morality.
Every form of faith, every mode of adoration, fell indiscriminately
under the proscriptions of its unsparing wrath. The towering abbey and
humble oratory, were alike swept away in the general tornado, and
mingled their ruins together. But the race of the good were not all
expelled from this scene of havoc and outrage. The voice of piety still
found a passage to her God. The silent prayer pierced through the
compact covering of the dungeon, and ascended to Heaven. Within the
embowering unsearchable recesses of the soul, far beyond the reach of
revolutionary persecution, the pure unappalled spirit of devotion
erected her viewless temple, in secret magnificence, sublime, and
unassailable!
The child who had never heard the bell of the sabbath sound, who had
never beheld the solemn ceremonies of authorized adoration, was told
that those awful and splendid piles, which filled his eyes with wonder,
and his mind with instinctive reverence, were raised for other purposes
than those of becoming auxiliary to the ferocity of war. That genius and
taste, and toil and cost, had not thus expended their unrivalled powers,
and lavished their munificent resources, in erecting _gothic_ magazines
of gunpowder, and _saxon_ sheds for the accommodation of atheistic
fabricators of revolutionary cannon balls.
The young observer in private, and by stealth imbibed, from parental
precept or example, the sentiment of a national religion, suppressed,
not extinguished, or in the gloomy absence of all indications of it,
remained unsolicited by any rival mode of worship to bestow his apostacy
upon an alien creed. Thus the minds of the rising generation, who were
engaged in favour of the catholic persuasion, during the frightful
period of its long denunciation, by stolen, secluded and unfinished
displays of its spirit and form, contemplated its return with animated
elation, or beheld its approach, unimpressed with those doubts or
prejudices which religious, as well as secular competitions, very
frequently excite; in that auspicious hour, when the policy, if not the
piety of a powerful government, restored it to the French people. The
subject is highly interesting; but I must resign it to abler pens for
more ample discussion.
I was much gratified by being presented to the celebrated philosopher
Mons. Charles, by Madame S----. He has a suite of noble apartments in
the Louvre, which have been bestowed upon him by the government, as a
grateful reward for his having presented to the nation his magnificent
collection of philosophical apparatus. He has also, in consideration of
his ability and experience, been constituted the principal lecturer on
philosophy. In these rooms his valuable and costly donation is arranged.
In the centre of the dome of the first apartment, called the Hall of
Electricity, is suspended the car of the first balloon which was
inflated with inflammable air, in which he and his brother ascended in
the afternoon of the 1st of December, 1783, in which they continued in
the air for an hour and three quarters; and after they had descended,
Mons. C----rose alone to the astonishing height of 10,500 feet. In the
same room are immense electrical machines and batteries, some of which
had been presented to him by Madame S----.
In this room, amongst many other fanciful figures, which are used for
the purpose of enlivening the solemnity of a philosophical lecture by
exciting sentiments of innocent gayety, was a little Cupid. The tiny
god, with his arrow in his hand, was insulated upon a throne of glass,
and was charged with that electric fluid which not a little resembles
the subtle spirit of his nature. The youngest daughter of Madame S----,
who accompanied us, was requested to touch it. In a moment it discharged
its penetrating spark--"Oh! how that little god has alarmed me!" said
the recoiling fair one, whose youthful countenance surprise had imbued
with new beauties; "but yet," said she, recovering herself, "_he does
not hurt_." This little sally may be considered as a specimen of that
playful sprightliness which is so much the characteristic of the french
female.
In the centre of another room, dedicated to optics, as we entered, we
saw a beautiful nosegay in a vase, which appeared to be composed of the
rarest flowers. I approached it with an intention of inhaling its
fragrance, when, lo! my hand passed through it. It was an exquisite
optical illusion. "Ah!" said my elegant and moralising companion, Madame
S----, smiling, "of such flowers has Happiness composed _her_ wreath: it
is thus she gladdens with it the eye of Hope; but the hand of
Expectation can never grasp it."
The graceful moral deserves a more lasting record than it will find in
these few and perishable pages.
In the other rooms are all sorts of apparatus for trying experiments in
the various branches of that department of science, over which Mons.
C---- so ably presides.
The merit of Mons. C---- has no rival but in his modesty. Considering
the rank and estimation which he bears in the republic, his external
appearance is singularly unassuming. I have been with him in the gardens
of the Thuilleries, when they were thronged with the fashion and gayety
of Paris, where he has appeared in a suit of plain brown cloth, an old
round hat with a little national cockade in it, under which he presented
a countenance full of character, talent and animation. In this homely
puritan garb, he excited more respectful curiosity, wherever he moved,
than some generals who paraded before us in dresses upon which the
tailor and embroiderer had long laboured, and who added to their stature
by laced hats entirely filled with gaudy buoyant plumes.
From Mons. Charles we went to the church of St. Rocque, in the Rue St.
Honorè. As we entered, the effect of a fine painting of our Saviour
crucified, upon which the sun was shining with great glory, placed at
the extremity of the church, and seen through several lessening arches
of faint, increasing shade, was very grand. This church has been more
than once the scene of revolutionary carnage. Its elegant front is much
disfigured, and the doors are perforated, in a great number of places,
by the ball of cannon and the shot of musketry. Mass was performing in
the church; but we saw only few worshippers, and those were chiefly old
women and little girls.
From St. Rocque we proceeded to the Hôtel des Invalides, the chapel and
dome of which are so justly celebrated. The front is inferior to the
military hospital at Chelsea, to which it bears some resemblance. The
chapel is converted into the Hall of Victory, in which, with great
taste, are suspended, under descriptive medallions, the banners of the
enemies of the republic, which have been taken during the late war, the
numbers of which are immense. The same decoration adorns the pilasters
and gallery at the vast, magnificent dome at the end of the hall.
My eye was naturally occupied, immediately after we had entered, in
searching amongst the most _battered_ of the banners, for the british
colours: at last I discovered the jack and ensign of an english man of
war, pierced with shot-holes, and blackened with smoke, looking very
sulky, and indignantly, amongst the finery, and tawdry tatters of
italian and turkish standards.
In the course of this pursuit, I caught the intelligent eye of Madame
S----. She immediately assigned to my search the proper motive. "Ah!"
said she, laughingly, and patting me on the arm with her fan, "we are,
as you see, my dear Englishman, very vain; and you are very proud."
A stranger to the late calamitous war, unable to marshal in his mind the
enemies of the republic, might here, with a glance of his eye, whilst
contemplating this poor result of devastation, enumerate the foes of
France, and appreciate the facilities or difficulties of the victory.
In observing, amidst this gaudy show of captive colours, only two
hardworn banners of their rival enemy, he would draw a conclusion too
flattering and familiar to an English ear, to render it necessary to be
recorded here.
Upon the shattered standards of Austria he would confer the meed of
merited applause for heroic, although unprevailing bravery.
To the banners of Prussia he would say, "I know not whether principle or
policy, or treachery, or corruption, deterred you from the field--Your
looks exhibit no proofs of sincere resistance--However, you never
belonged to cowards."
The neapolitan ensign might excite such sentiments as these: "You appear
for a short time to have faced the battle--You were unfortunate, and
soon retired."
To the gaudy drapeaus of the italian and turkish legions, which every
where present the appearance of belonging to the wardrobe of a
pantomimic hero, he would observe, "The scent of the battle has not
perfumed you; its smoke has not sullied your shining, silky sides. Ye
appear in numbers, but display no marks of having waved before a brave,
united and energetic band."
In this manner might he trace the various fate of the war. Upon several
of the staffs only two or three shreds of colours are to be seen
adhering. These are chiefly Austrian. On each side of the chapel are
large, and some of them valuable paintings, by the french masters,
representing the conquests of the french armies at different eras.
It is a matter not unworthy of observation, that although the revolution
with a keen, and savage eye, explored too successfully, almost every
vestige of a royal tendency, the beautiful pavement under the dome of
the invalides has escaped destruction. The fleur de lis, surmounted by
the crown of France, still retains its original place, in this elegant
and costly marble flooring. The statues of the saints have been removed;
and their places are supplied by the new order of revolutionary deities;
but the names of the ancient figures have not been erased from the
pedestals of the new ones: to which omission the spectator is indebted
for a smile when contemplating the statue of Equality, he reads,
immediately below his feet, "_St. Louis_."
There is here a costly monument erected to the memory of the brave
marshal Turenne, who was killed by a cannon ball in 1675. In my humble
opinion, it is too much in the false taste of french statuary. A groupe
of weeping angels surround the recumbent hero, in the attitudes of
operatic figurantes, in whose faces, and forms, the artist has
attempted, too laboriously and artificially, to delineate the
expressions of graceful grief. On each side of the vast arch which
divides the dome from the chapel, are raised the tablets of military
honour, on which, in characters of gold, the names of those soldiers are
recorded who have distinguished themselves for their achievements in the
late war. As we were contemplating a painting upon a very large scale,
in which, amongst other figures, is an uncovered whole length of a
warrior, a prudish-looking lady, who seemed to have touched the age of
desperation, after having very attentively beheld it with her glass for
some time, observed to her party, that there was a great deal of
indecorum in the picture. Madame S---- very shrewdly whispered in my
ear, that the indecorum was in the remark.
When we were just leaving the chapel, we overheard a sun-browned
soldier, who had lost both his legs, observe to his companion, to whom
he was explaining the colours, pointing to the banners of the turkish
cavalry, the tops of whose staffs were surmounted with horses' tails,
"Look at those ribbands; they are not worthy of being worn when won."
This military hospital is capable of accommodating 3,000 soldiers. The
bedrooms, kitchens, refectory and outoffices are very capacious, and,
what is rather unusual in France, clean and comfortable. The day before
we were there, the first consul paid a visit to its veteran inhabitants.
Amongst them, he recognised an old, and very brave soldier, whose
exploits were the frequent theme of his aged comrades. The young general
told him that he should die a captain, took him in his carriage to dine
with him at Mal Maison, presented him with a medallion of honour, and
conferred upon him the rank of a captain, in one of the most
distinguished regiments.
From this place we went to the military school adjoining, in which
Bonaparte received the rudiments of that education which was destined to
form the foundation of his future glory. The building is large and
handsome, and is, from a very natural sentiment, in high favour with the
first consul. There is nothing in it particular to describe. The grounds
and gardens are very spacious and fine. In the front of the military
school is the celebrated Champ de Mars, which is an immense flat space
of ground. On each side are rising terraces of earth, and double rows of
trees; and at the further end, the river Seine flows. On days of great
national celebrations, this vast plain is surrounded with Gobelins
tapestry, statues, and triumphal arches. After contemplating these
objects of public curiosity, we returned to Mons. S---- to dinner, where
we met a large party of very pleasant people. Amongst them I was pleased
with meeting a near relative of an able and upright minister of the
republic, to whose unwearied labours the world is not a little indebted
for the enjoyments of its present repose.
After dinner we drove to the beautiful garden of Mousseau, formerly the
property of the duc d'Orleans. It is laid out with great taste, and
delights the eye with the most romantic specimens of improved rural
beauty. It was originally designed by its detestable owner for other
purposes than those of affording to a vast and crowded city the innocent
delights and recreations of retired and tasteful scenery. In the gloom
of its groves, all sorts of horrible profanations were practised by this
monster and his midnight crew, at the head of whom was Legendre the
Butcher. Every rank recess of prostitute pollution in Paris was
ransacked to furnish materials for the celebration of their impure and
impious orgies. The ode to Atheism, and the song of Blasphemy, were
succeeded by the applauding yells of Drunkenness and Obscenity.
At the time we visited this garden it belonged to the nation, and was
open, on certain days, to well-dressed people. A few days afterwards, it
was presented, as a mark of national esteem, to Cambaceres, the second
consul.
Here we rambled till the evening. The sun was setting. The nightingales
were singing in great numbers. Not a cloud to be seen. A breeze,
blowing through a plantation of roses, refreshed us with its coolness
and fragrance. In a sequestered part of this beautiful ground, under the
embowering shades of Acacia trees, upon the ruins of a little temple, we
seated ourselves, and were regaled by some charming italian duets, which
were sung by Madame S---- and her lovely daughter, with the most
enchanting pathos. I hope I shall be pardoned for introducing some lines
which were written upon our return, by an enthusiastic admirer of merit
and music.
TO MADEMOISELLE D. S----.
In Mousseau's sweet arcadian dale,
Fair Delphine pours the plaintive strain;
She charms the list'ning nightingale,
And seems th' enchantress of the plain.
Blest be those lips, to music dear!
Sweet songstress! never may they move
But with such sounds to soothe the ear,
And melt the yielding heart to love!
May sorrow never bid them pour
From the torn heart one suffering sigh,
But be thy life a fragrant flow'r,
Blooming beneath a cloudless sky.