the National Assembly, I went to the Boulevards to see how the
populace took this daring of the Presidents. The place was crowded
with groups discussing the importance of this blow to their
liberties. Old, white-headed men were making speeches in different
places within sight. But while they were making speeches Louis
Napoleon was at the Palace decreeing laws for this particular
occasion, and he was not only in the Palace quelling the populace,
but the very same day he rode through the Boulevards at the head of
soldiers, and people shouted _vive l'empereur_. How and why they said
this, when as yet they had none, remains to be seen. That night fifty
or sixty thousand soldiers slept in the streets of Paris, and cavalry
stood close to the side walk for miles without one single break of
ranks. The soldiers had their rations carried to them. Next morning,
the 3d, the rebels commenced their work of destruction in spite of
the soldiers. The news came into Paris from all parts of France that
a hundred thousand soldiers were rapidly marching to the assistance
of the army and sustainance of the republic. But this did not
intimidate the factions. The soldiers though now one hundred thousand
strong, right in the city, they had to keep on the march, up one
street and down another, to keep down the barricade builders. I saw a
strong wall built across a street in a quarter of an hour. They go
about peaceable in droves until they pass the soldiers and then with
pickaxes and crowbars and all manner of iron implements dig up the
flag-stones, door-sills and stone steps, and place them one upon
another until they get them head high. They leave small apertures to
poke their pistols and guns through, and therefrom they fight the
soldiers who cannot, except by accident, shoot through the apertures.
If the soldiers come down behind them to hem them in, they jump over
the barricade and they are as well there as on the other side. But
the soldiers are in a critical condition fighting barricaders,
because they have their friends on the top of the houses and in each
story, throwing down all manner of heavy things, such as pots,
skillets, pans, chairs, beds, plates, dishes, tumblers and bottles on
the heads of the soldiers until they are intimidated enough to stand
from under. I saw one old orator leading the rebels up by the side
of the soldiers and trying to persuade some of them to say they would
not fire on the citizens if they were ordered. The captain of these
troops told him if he did not leave off talking with the soldiers
that he would have him shot. He would not, and was placed back
against the wall and shot through.
On the 4th, precisely at two o'clock, the firing of muskets and
cannon were heard from all parts of the city of Paris. The cannon
balls ran through whole blocks of buildings, but the destruction was
not, as one might suppose, bustling but made clear, rounded holes of
its own size, and passed on so rapid it left no bustling confusion.
Where it touched, it done its work. When the firing commenced I was
in the crowd on the _Boulevard des Italian_ with the crowd that was
being shot at. Some fell, and I, with hundreds, ran over them. I
fell, and a dozen or so leaped over me. Like a tangled rabbit I rose
and went faster than ever. I ran down the _rue Lafitte_, trying to
get into some of those large palace doorways, but all was firmly
barred. Having run clear past my own house, No. 43, _rue Lafitte_, I
only discovered my mistake by observing a squad of soldiers behind
_l'eglise l'orette_, loading and firing over some dead bodies that
had already fallen beneath their fire. Like a rabbit again, I took
the back track, and my good old porter saw me from the third story,
and descended and opened one foot of his _porte firme_, and said with
a cheek flushed with fear, "_Entree vite_." I was about to kiss the
old man, but he was not inclined to enjoy such a luxury, most
especially as I had failed to take the advice he gave me the morning
before, "_pas allez dans la rue_."
About an hour after this the streets of Paris were as empty as a ball
room after the festal scene. It is a wonderful sight to see the
streets of Paris void of its moving mass of humanity. Like the
streets of Pompeii, it reminds one of the victory of destruction.
Paris looked as if it was mourning for those thousands that were
fleetly moving on to eternity. Next day hundreds of ladies and
gentlemen who were innocently killed, lay under a shed in Paris, to
be recognized by their friends, and buried. You could not get close
to them, not closer than ten feet, and then look along through the
glass that kept you and the scent in your own places. There lay some
of the gayest of Paris, with their fine kids on as they had fallen;
their watches and diamonds denoted their bearing, while their
countenances said in their expression, "in the midst of life we are
in death."
There can be no mistake but that these were people that were trying
to get out of danger, but were overtaken ere they reached the barrier
of safety.
The poor horses in the streets of Paris looked round on the crowded
and thronged streets with considerable amazement at man's
convulsions. People, horses, birds, shops, and even the weather
resembled the picture of discontent. The graceful hanging trees of
the Champs Elysees, and Tuilleries, are disturbed by the bayonet, as
the soldiers stand under them, for a sort of shield from the
drizzling weather, while they keep the populace back from the
National Assembly. The night after this awful contention of the
people against the army, was as still and lonesome a one as ever the
gay spirit of France was awed with. This night was as interesting to
Frenchmen, as the 20th of January, 1793, the night before the
execution of Louis the sixteenth, and which history describes thus:
"Paris was, by the direction of the government, illuminated on the
night of the 20th, and no person was permitted to go at large in the
streets. Strong bodies of armed troops patroled in every district of
that immense metropolis, the sounds of carriages ceased, the streets
appeared deserted, except by the patrols, and the whole city was
buried in an awful silence. About two o'clock on the morning of the
fatal 21st, voices were heard, throughout the gloom, of lamentation
and distress, but whence they came, or what they were, no one has
ever discovered. On Monday morning, as the clock struck 8, he was
summoned to his fate. He was conducted to a coach belonging to the
Mayor of Paris, in which were two soldiers of the _gendarmerie_; the
most profound silence prevailed while the carriage advanced slowly to
the scaffold; Louis mounted the platform with a firm step and
unaltered countenance, and was preparing to address them, when the
ruffian _Sauterre_, who commanded the guard, cried out, no speeches,
no speeches, and suddenly the drums beat and the trumpets sounded.
The unfortunate monarch, then, with apparent serenity, placed his
head upon the block, the axe fell, and in an instant he ceased to
live in this world. So perished Louis the XVI, a prince whose heart
nature had formed of the best materials, and who, from the first
accession to power, appeared to make his first object, his peoples'
happiness. He was an excellent husband and a good father."
Though the laws on both occasions were executed with great faith and
promptness, they were by no means pacific to the nation. There is
still too much royal blood in France to allow the seed of
republicanism to prosper spontaneously heedless of their interests.
Though they readily admit that Louis the fifteenth was a better
sultan than a king of France, and that Louis Phillippe dissipated the
throne by being an illegitimate heir, still they cannot look upon
that as sufficient reason to rid them of their vested ancestral
rights.
The French are full of that ambition that came from Orleans in female
attire, to give back to royalty some hope of yet governing a
versatile people. But if Louis Napoleon, the President of France,
wants to rise higher, he must consult the legitimists of France, or
he will never find bone and sinew for his cruel _coup de etat_.
THE SECRETS OF A PARIS LIFE, AND WHO KNOWS THEM.
Reader, can a man dream with his eyes open? or can a man see with
them shut? Before you say no, bear in mind that man is the shadow of
his maker; and life, a dream. As to the latter part of the query, the
answer may be emphatically no! Then let me dream of what I saw.
One night my faculties fell asleep upon all the world's eider down,
but these things, my faculties, could not sleep on, I saw myself
going along by the quietest looking, but gayest palace of every day
resort of noblemen and monied men, that decorates the Boulevard. It
is not the magic No. from the corner of the _Rue la Fitte_. On the
first floor is all the pleasure a monied man could momentarily crave;
but the second floor looked gayer, and the third gayer still. I could
see ladies and gentlemen coming in groups of two, four, and six,
every quarter of a minute.
It was six o'clock, as near as I can recollect the dream. They
commenced sitting down at different tables, while some were hanging
up hats, and others looking around as if they were hunting something
like what other people had; some of the tables were larger than
others; according to their number was the measure thereof. The
gentlemen looked as dignified as giraffes, whilst the ladies looked
the picture of birds of Paradise more especially where fine feathers
contributed. Some were placing their chairs in as agreeable a
position as their inward idea could allow them to do with propriety.
Towards the end of this Palace, in the direction of the Boulevards,
now sprang up a volley of small, or not very loud, musket-like
reports, but as nobody was afraid, no harm could be done. Then I
could see the waiters pouring into some glasses like Dutch churns,
upside down, some hot, smoking stuff that boiled over; it was so hot,
that a man might well fear for the ladies mouths being burnt when
they took hold of it as if they did not see it, but merely wished to
comply with the desire of their beaux. I expected every moment to
hear them scream, but they were not afraid of it. The waiters were
running to and fro with bottles of all colors. Here one turned up
some smaller glasses and poured in something like blood. If it was
blood it was pure as Abel's sacrifice; I never before saw redder from
veins. The next occupation of the waiter, was bringing different
kinds of soups. I looked on the _carte_ and saw a dozen different
kinds; some I never read of before. I looked out of the window on the
_Rue la Fitte_, and saw as many as twenty carriages standing before
one another, and from them descending ladies and gentlemen in pairs,
running up stairs with perfect gusto.
It is six o'clock as I have said, and I will leave those scenes and
tell what more I dreamt, but will return again. I thought I pushed my
way through crowds of people, and moved along the Boulevards about
four squares, until I came to an extraordinary fine and fashionable
street called Vivienne, and I followed it about two squares until my
attention was attracted by an immense stone building, taking up one
whole square. It looked like the temples I had read of, and I asked a
man what it meant, who said it is a place where all the rich people
go every day at 1 o'clock to make money, and some loose; they call it
"Bourse." He assured me that its financiering had made "countless
thousands mourn." I next walked into a Caffee filled with ladies and
gentlemen and found a seat. A few minutes afterwards a ballet girl
entered and seated herself for _la creme_. I then called for some
cream and we eat on the same side of the same table. I asked her if
it was good? she said she liked it, and asked me if mine was the
same. As the color was different I could not say, without tasting
hers, and we put our glasses together and satisfied ourselves on the
difference, after which we took a _vere du vin_ at the expense of one
of us.
It is now 11 o'clock, and I said I would return to the "Maison
Doree." Having reached this all-hour sought place, I saw the very
same people I saw seat themselves at 6 o'clock. They were somewhat
changed in color; they all looked rosier and better enabled to take
hold of anything they had to do. The gentlemen looked more sociable,
and the ladies--I won't say more bold, but less timid. When a
gentleman had anything to communicate, he was not obliged to exert
himself in reaching, because the ladies would meet him half way.
Everything was so harmonious that one could not go through the
laborious task of telling his wish, without assistance from his
hearer. Every few minutes something like a rallying remnant of a weak
soldier's gun would go off, and the glasses would smoke as though
each one was a volcano. Every minute or two a couple would rise, and
before the gentleman could give his arm the lady would reach for it.
Even their tempers seemed to fit, as the ocean does the earth, all
around and through. Whilst I was thus dreaming, the pillow became
insufferable, and I must say it awoke me. I thought I looked out of
the window on the moving surface of the Seine. The moon was shining
down on its ripples with a most admirable light of solemn grandeur.
Stillness reigned such as I had never seen in Paris, and all the time
I stood gazing upon that famous stream, not once did that queer dream
enter my mind. I jumped into bed and soon fell asleep, and soon got
into the old habit, so I dreamt. How particular a man ought to be,
when about to do anything for the first time, for, let it be good or
bad, the mind will be tempered with the same sterile or fertile
nature, as that of the preceding act. I thought I was again at the
agreeable Maison Doree, and I looked upon the walled clock, and the
hour hand stood at 2. The hall below stairs was as empty as the
marble hall, where the true lover dreamed he dwelt among vassals and
serfs. But I also dreamed, _which pleased me most_, that I saw very
many beautiful women walking up and down the sidewalk with an
apparent air of hunting for something; not that they had lost
anything they ever possessed, but something to be found. I thought
one came up to me with her dress fully two feet shorter in front than
behind, I mean to say it looked so from what I could see, and said to
me "_quelle heure it el?_" I told her 2 o'clock; she then looked
puzzled, as if she was sure I did not know what she meant by speaking
to me at that late hour. Then she started one way and turned and went
the other. As she passed me she gave her dress a jerk in front that
raised it so high that I almost saw the whole of a pair of the
whitest stockings I had seen since I left the Dutch, who don't wear
stockings at all. My curiosity was that of children on a Christmas
morning, and I started after her in the same earnestness to see if
there was anything good inside the stockings. I found that the
supposed stocking, like Santa Claus, was all imagination. Thus ends
the dream with open eyes.
Said the fast Countess of Blessington, "Oh commend me to the comforts
of a French bed; its soft and even mattress, its light curtains, and
genial _couvre pied_ of eider down; commend me, also, to a French
_cuisine_, with its soup _sans_ pepper, its cutlet _a la minute_, and
its _poulet au jus_, its _cafe a la creme_, and its desserts. But
defend me from its slamming of French doors, and the shaking of
French windows, &c." I like not the noise like the one in Paris; it
is an amalgamated one, such as never was heard in another city on
earth. The noise of Paris is a variegated one, like humming of bees,
or a serpent's hiss when they cannot be seen. Sometimes its cabs
alone, at another carts filled with groups of theatre actors, from
the _Opera Comique_, _Theatre Francois_, _Ambique_, _Grand Opera_,
_or Hippodrome_. Or if it is early in the morning, it is sure to be
some gay crowds returning from some wild and exciting amusement, such
as only French can enjoy without remorse. When you hear a noise in
Paris, you can no more tell its cause, than you can tell the
composition of a fricassee. It may be a good rabbit, or a better cat,
the skin of the former lying on the table to prove its identity. When
you see woodcocks in the window of a second rate _restaurateur_, you
must not be sure that the cook is putting his herbs among the joints
of the woodcock you have ordered, instead of a diseased owl that was
caught in the barn, for French cooks are not to be scared by an owl.
The more he can dress a rat like a squirrel, the greater his
celebrity as an epicure of the most refined taste. If you go to
market in Paris, you will see under a butcher's stall, whole herds of
rabbits, for rabbits are domestic animals in France. This butcher
lives at the upper end of the market, and has nothing to do with
_Mons. Ledeau_, who lives at the other end, and who sells little cats
under the disguise of amusing _les enfants de Paris_. But _Mons.
Feteau_, the restaurateur, knows both, and takes particular care to
invite _Mons. Ledeau chez Lui_ to take dinner with him, when they
have a good deal of unknown talk. After this interview, the trade in
rabbits gets dull, and the vender wonders who can sell them on more
advantageous terms than he can. He looks all around the market, and
finds that his price is the usual price. It never enters his head
that cats are substituted for rabbits.
Now reader, don't accuse me of trying to become conspicuous by
asserting more than others, for you know nothing about it, and I do.
I have seen a landlord stand behind a post in his own restaurant,
watching some of his patrons trying to cut what he called _poulet_
(chicken), but no mortal man could tell what it was but a French
_cuisineur_. I have dined at the _Maison Doree_, _Trois Freres_,
_Cafe Anglaise_, and _Vachettes_, and then gradually down to the
lowest grade, the socialists, and I ought to know something about it.
Oh, how delightful it is to walk on the Champ Elysee and take a seat
among the French girls, _au fait_, and order your _caffee au lait_.
Then take from your pocket a _sou_, sit cross legged and toss it up
and down, and turn it over and, look at it, and while waiting for the
light guitar, to fend off those nimble fingers, that are taking from
it its sweetest notes, you can think what an immense deal of pleasure
you are getting for the mere anticipation of a _sou_. Then look
around, not slyly, but boldly, and you see some unassuming French
_demoiselle_ gazing upon you with such riveted force of interest,
that the lashes of her eye moveth not. After this you walk into some
_valentino cassino, or jardin_, and you will see some 80 or 100 modes
of cupids and Psyches, keeping time to a Parisian band, and there
will appear to your mind a perfect agreeing correspondence between
the music and the figures that dance around it. Never will you see
the right foot of one couple up while the left foot of another is
down, such perfection of dancing is to be found in all classes in
Paris.
Very candid, frank and free is a Frenchman. If one admires a lady,
she knows it almost before an opportunity presents itself. If he is
encouraging a useless desire, he always manages it before it can do a
serious injury. Little trouble dwells within the mind of a Frenchman;
he makes much of to-day, to-morrow's trouble must dawn or die with
itself. He finds more pleasure in going to the opera, with his five
francs, than he does by sitting in the house, waiting for the morrow
that never comes, or if it does come, bringing with it a greater
anxiety and love for another morrow.
There is an amusement in Paris, which language is inadequate to
express the vulgarity of. It is called the "_industrious fleas_." The
name does not indicate the performance. It changes its location every
night in fear of the police. Its supporters are merely curious young
men, who wish to see as strange a sight as the mind of woman can
picture. Their performance commences with a dozen beautiful women
habited like Eve before she devised the fig leaf covering. They first
appear in the form of a wreath, with each one's head between
another's legs; the rest must be imagined. _Au revoir._
ROME AND ST. PETER'S CHURCH.
By the gate on the southern side, on the 28th of March, 1852, I
entered the "Holy City," just as day was turning to night. I moved
slowly along by the venerable walls of the great St. Peter's church,
in a shackling old _viturino_. A celebrated writer says it is built
on the site of the palace of Julius Cæsar. He also says the extent of
ground covered by the ruined and inhabited parts of Rome amounts to
four and twenty miles. You there find eighty halls of the eighty
eminent kings; from king Tarquin, to king Pepin, the father of
Charlemagne, who first conquered Spain, and wrested it from the
Mahomedans. In the outskirts of Rome, he said, there is the palace of
Titus, who was rejected by the 300 senators, in consequence of having
wasted three years in the conquest of Jerusalem, which, according to
their will, he ought to have accomplished in two years. There is
likewise the hall of Vespasian, a very large and strong building,
also the hall of king Galba, containing 360 windows, the
circumference of this palace is nearly three miles, and on this very
three miles of earth, a battle was fought in times of yore, and more
than one hundred thousand fell, whose bones are hung up there even to
the present day. Now Rome is the leader of all Christendom, and St.
Peters' yearly carnivals are the glory of Rome, instead of the
gladiatorial festivals in the Colisseum. Some writers assert that it
is only the forum upon the site of the palace of the Cæsars. Cooper
says in his excursions in Italy, that the first palace of Nero must
have occupied the whole of the Palatine hill, with perhaps the
exception of a temple or two. The ground round the Colisseum, and all
the land as far as the Esquiline, and even to the verge of the
Quirinal, a distance exceeding a mile; this was occupying, moreover,
the heart of the town, although a portion of the space was occupied
by gardens, and other embellishments. When this building was burned,
he returned to the Palatine, repaired the residence of Augustus, and
rebuilt his residence with so much magnificence, that the new palace
was called the "golden house;" this building also extended to the
Esquiline, though it was never finished. Vespasian and Titus, more
moderate than the descendants of the Cæsars, demolished all the new
parts of the palace, and caused the Colisseum and the baths that bear
the name of the latter, to be constructed on the spot; the emperors
were all elected, and they found it necessary to consult the public
taste and good. Thus we find the remains of two of the largest
structures of the world, now standing within the ground once occupied
by the palace of the Cæsars, on which they appear as little more than
points. From this time, the emperors confined themselves to the
palatine, the glory of which gradually departed. It is said that the
palace, as it was subsequently reduced, remained standing in a great
measure, as recently as the 8th century, and that it was even
inhabited in the 7th, so says Cooper.
Having been anxious to see the Pope of Rome, Pius IX, I was a
frequent visitor of the Carnival, and at last got a good look at the
great man. He was seated on a divan, which rested on the shoulders of
twelve cardinals, or senators of Rome; he was crowned with a
gorgeously jewelled crown, as the eye of man need wish to gaze on.
Ten thousand people were in the church at the time, and they would
carry the Pope from one aisle to another. The people all would fall
on their knees, and the great man would bless them in the name of
God, and the organ would peal its bassy notes of Te Deum, from east
to west, and north to south, whilst the alarum from the belfry jarred
my heart strings.
Rome, said a great traveler, is well known; authors of veracity
assure us that for seven hundred years, she was mistress of the
world, but although their writings should not affirm this, would
there not be sufficient evidence in all the grand edifices now
existing, in those columns of marble, those statues. Add to the
quantity of relics that are there, so many things that our Lord has
touched with his own fleshy fingers, such numbers of holy bodies of
Apostles, Martyrs, Confessors, and Virgins; in short, so many
churches, where the Holy Pontiffs, have granted full Indulgences for
sin.
This writer that spoke of these true merits of the city of Rome, was
among these great and magnificient ruins of Rome, in the 14th
century. His name was Bertrand de la Bracquiere, a Lord of Vieux
Chateau, counseller and first Esquire carver, to Phillip, Duke of
Burgundy, living at that age in Ghent.
One day when it was very warm, I went down to the Tiber to waste a
little time reflectively, where the golden candlestick that was
brought from Jerusalem fell off the bridge and never was afterwards
found. Whilst I laid there on its banks, listening to its most
inaudible murmur a Jew came and stretched himself close to my feet. I
asked him if he recollected who it was that Plutarch says was
condemned to the hideous punishment of being nailed up in a barrel
with serpents and thrown in the Tiber to float on to the sea? He had
never heard of such a thing. I then asked him if he was aware that
the golden candlestick out of the temple of Solomon lay at the bottom
of that muddy stream? he said yes, and added that the Pope had been
offered millions of piastres by the Jews to let them turn the current
of the Tiber twenty miles above Rome, that they might recover all the
lost and hidden treasure of nearly three thousand years' standing,
but the Pope had refused because he was too superstitious to allow
the Tiber's current to be changed.