Arrival in Paris: Our Hotel—“Hotel Londres and New York”: Visit to the
Louvre: The Cathedral of Notre Dame: The Church of St. Geniveve: The
Pantheon: Bloody Bartholomew: Its awful massacre.
Our stay in Rouen was of the briefest, so we were soon full steam ahead
for Paris, and Rouen was left behind. We crossed some wonderful bridges
of the rivers, or river; I think we crossed the Seine several times.
On approaching the suburbs of Paris, we saw large villas and larger
mansions, surrounded with luxuriant foliage; indeed, the whole landscape
is charming. Soon we found the train rattling over points and crossings,
and into Gare de Lazare. So we are in Paris; the city of gaiety, the
city of beauty, the goal of pleasure seekers from all parts of the world;
a city, it is said by Victor Hugo, combines in itself—Athens, Rome,
Jerusalem—such is the city we have just entered, and which is to be our
home for two or three days. The distance from the station to our
Hotel—“Hotel Londres and New York,” 15, Place du Havre, is so short that
our luggage was conveyed by porter, without a cab; we just walked across
the square, and we were in the Hotel. I had, however, a difficulty on
hand with the porter. My idea of remuneration for porter’s services were
by no means up-to-date for Paris; I thought a franc for ten minutes’
service ample. He, evidently, did not think so, as he showed himself
highly dissatisfied, and expressed himself in language (happily I
understood but little of) anything but polite. I told the Hotel Manager
how I had acted, and he went and sent him away.
When in Paris, if you are in doubt as to your exact position, and want
direction (in England you would say, “ask a policeman”), in
France—pardon, monsieur, Quel est le chemin pour le madoline. If you put
on side, he won’t notice you; if you offer him a tip, he will probably
take you for a spy, and arrest you as an anarchist. The lifting of the
hat and the word “monsieur” is an open sesame which appeals to all
Frenchmen, and smooths away many difficulties; it transforms the haughty
policeman into the politest of bobbies; the frowning hotel-keeper into
the most jovial of hosts; and the cross-grained custom house official
into a most agreeable acquaintance. You must avoid whistling while in
Paris; the Scotchman says, “Ye mauna whustle on the Sabbath”; this saying
must be applied to every day of the week in Paris; nothing is so
irritating to a Frenchman, except perhaps the sight of a British tourist,
arrayed in white flannels, marching in their grand Cathedrals, or even
one of their ordinary Churches, with a cigarette in his mouth. The
untravelled man soon finds out the difference between an English and a
Continental City, and habits of the people.
We were shown to our rooms, which we found clean and comfortable; the
Hotel is all we could desire. A porter, at the entrance, speaks fairly
good English. We soon had a good square meal, in the shape of
table-de-hote, which we were quite ready for and enjoyed; plenty of fruit
on the tables, grapes, oranges, apples and peaches. After satisfying the
inner man, we strolled into the lounge or writing-room, which we found
most convenient and pleasant—writing material, newspapers and bills of
concerts, plays, etc.; also, here I could enjoy my pull at the weed. We
were not late in retiring to rest; rest we could, but not sleep for a
time; I thought, O! restless Paris! The only time that is quiet from
tram, ’bus and cab seems to be from about 1 a.m. to 3 a.m.; after this
early hour, wagons begin to lumber past, farmers from the country, I
think, with produce which must be in the market early. We slept,
however, a few hours, rising fairly early for dejeuner, we were able to
enjoy a cup of coffee made in Paris; coffee here is perfect; roll and
butter, fish, eggs, etc. Breakfast over we engaged a cab, a taxi-cab,
and we drove round some parts of this wonderful city; we went by some
parts of the banks of the river Seine, and here there are literally miles
of quays, and the river is spanned by fifteen bridges, some of them of
great strength and beauty.
The Louvre was one of the places we visited. No one would think of going
to Paris without seeing this vast pile of buildings; no less than sixty
acres, I learned, in the very heart of the city was taken up by this
building. It stands to-day as it has stood for more than an hundred
years, with its grand facades, pavillions and colonnades, and its
splendid halls, saloons and galleries, as a proud monument to the ancient
Royalty of France. It was the home of Henry III., till civil war drove
him from his capital, and he perished at St. Cloud by the assassin’s
knife. Here for a time Henry of Navarre had his abode. It is now a
museum or a series of grand museums; miles of the most wonderful
paintings, choice sculptures, Assyrian, Egyptian, Greek and Roman
antiquities, bronzes, historic relics from far off lands, and from
different races, engravings and models—indeed, it is a great storehouse
of art. During the war with Germany, the Communists set fire to one of
the wings and the library of 90,000 volumes and many rare manuscripts
were destroyed.
[Picture: Triumphal Arch, Paris]
It is said that on the night of the 23rd of May, a troop of Germans had
entered the city and made their way so far, they ordered the porter or
door-keeper of the Louvre to pour petroleum into the different rooms, and
on his refusal, they imprisoned him and his wife in his own lodge, and
then at once set fire to the place. Next day the French troops arrived
in time to release him from his sad plight, and also to arrest the flames
in their destructive work.
The Cathedral of Notre Dame, of course, came in for a visit. It stands,
we are told, on the site on which the Roman conqerors erected a temple to
Jupiter. This Cathedral is a marvel of architectural beauty. As you
gaze you wonder at the skill of the architect, and also of sculpture, for
there are in marble and stone fanciful scenes from bible history
portrayed—the Kings of Judah; a colossal image of the Virgin Mother; Adam
and Eve. There are many pointed arches and stained windows glistening in
the sun’s rays. Two massive towers rising to the height of 200 feet.
The interior is in keeping with the exterior, only, if possible, richer
and finer; the length is about 400 feet, and the breadth about 150. It
has stood in its beauty on this spot during the last 600 years.
One of the Chapels of this Cathedral contains, they tell us, some
wonderful relics. For instance, “a part of the crown of thorns with
which our Saviour was crowned in mockery”; also the sponge and winding
sheet used at His death. Kings and princes of the Roman Catholic
persuasion have vied with each other in the costliness of their offering
at this sacred shrine—cups, gold cups, silver cups, vases, candlesticks,
crosses in gold and silver, some studded with diamonds, and all kinds of
precious stones. There are curiosities and art treasures in abundance
within the precincts of this holy place. It must have been a proud day
for Napoleon when he came to be crowned in this great Cathedral, heralded
by Popes, Marshalls and sword-bearers. Bearers bore his train amidst the
most brilliant assembly of this, or any other land.
Another notable building we visited after the Cathedral of Notre Dame, I
think more interesting in its way—what was at one time the Church of St.
Geniveve—now it is known as the Pantheon. It stands upon an elevation,
and its magnificent dome can be seen from almost all parts of the city.
It rises to a height of 267 feet. The funds to build it with, we are
told, were provided by lottery at the time of Louis XV. Its approach is
very attractive, being by a stately portico, and by a triumphal progress.
The grand car, upon which the Sarcophagus containing the body of Voltaire
was laid, was drawn by twelve white horses to the Pantheon. It is said
that 100,000 people joined in the procession. Rousseau and Marat were
buried with similar honours; but we are told, that so fickle is the
populace, that six months after, the body of one of them was removed and
buried in a common sewer. Our guide was not shy in showing us the very
sad effects of the German shells. The large dome was shot through by
their cannon balls, and, but for the timely help of the troops from
Versailles, very likely this noble building would have shared the same
fate as many others did.
Opposite the grand collonade, near the Louvre, is the Church of St.
Germain, with its strange gable, buttresses and gargoyles. From the
belfry of this Church, it is said, “rang out the tocsin,” which was the
signal for the massacre of St. Bartholomew, on the 24th of August, 1572.
At the dead of night—fit time for such awful deeds of blood and murder—at
the sound of this tocsin the courtly butchers went forth to their work of
slaughter, armed and shouting “for God and the King.” They forced the
dwellings of the Christians. Six thousand of these assassins, wielding
the weapons of the brigand and the soldier, ran about in the wildest
fury, murdering without mercy or distinction of sex, or suffering, or
age. Many of these fiends in human form ran shouting “kill the heretic,
kill the heretic! Death to the Huguenots—Kill! Kill!!”
That day the human seemed to be turned into the fiend. It is said there
perished in Paris alone, over 15,000 Christian Martyrs, and in the
provinces more than as many more. The sun of that beautiful sabbath
shone with its pure light upon the desolate and dishonoured homes of the
victims of this terrible massacre; and the air, which should have been
hushed from sound until the psalm of praise woke it, bore upon its
midnight billows the yell of fierce blasphemers flushed and drunk with
murder. Says one, “Unhappy, Paris, thou hast suffered many things since
that unhappy time.”
There are many interesting Churches in this gay city, but I must refrain
from dwelling upon their beauty and utility.