of national monument. It is an elegant building, in the form of
a cross, supported within and without by Corinthian pillars. The
dome is particularly lofty and beautiful. On the walls, are four
gilt tablets, on which are inscribed the names of two hundred and
eighty-seven citizens, killed in the revolution of 1830. The crypt
is fitted for the purpose of receiving monuments of distinguished
persons. Our guide, with a lantern, escorted us to this subterranean
region, where we 'meditated among the tombs.' Suddenly he came to
a statue, and raising the lantern to the face, discovered to us
features expressing a scornful sneer, which made me start. It was a
statue of Voltaire. While there, another party came in, preceded by
the guide and lantern, and dodging every now and then from behind
the pillars of the crypt, it seemed like being in the regions of the
dead. In the evening, went to see the celebrated _Taglioni_, at the
Académie Royale de Musique, being her first appearance for some time.
The house was as full as it could be packed, and I could hardly get
a peep; but I saw such dancing as I never beheld before. It is most
appropriately called the 'poetry of motion.' Visited an exhibition
of Sevres porcelain; should like to send home a set, but it rather
exceeds my purse. _The Hotel des Invalides_, is the largest building
in Paris, if not in the world. It is an asylum for maimed and
superannuated soldiers. The chapel connected with it, and especially
the dome, is much admired, and is considered the finest thing of the
kind in Paris. The old soldiers of Napoleon are here to be seen in
their cocked hats and military dress; some with one arm, others minus
a leg. They are all well taken care of, and have nothing to do. Near
the Invalides, is the Ecole Militaire, and the Champs de Mars, where
one hundred and fifty thousand men have been paraded.
* * * * *
On the banks of the river, facing the Place de Concord, is the
Palace of the _Chamber of Deputies_, or Palace Bourbon. The Hall of
Sitting is in the form of an amphitheatre, the seats raised above
each other. It is very elegant, and even gay, in its decorations.
The front benches are inscribed _Ministres_. The session of the
chamber does not commence till winter. We were also shown the other
apartments of the palace. Next to this is the Palace of the Legion
of Honor, and farther on is the Hotel des Monnaies, or Mint. This
afternoon, at five o'clock, stepped into an omnibus, in order to be
at Père la Chaise at sunset. It is on an eminence near the barriers
of the city. The street which leads to it was filled with women, who
were making and selling those yellow wreaths, (of which I send you a
specimen,) for the visitors to decorate the tombs of their friends.
Great numbers of these were placed on the tombs, some fresh, and
others faded and dried. The cemetery is on the same plan as that at
Mount Auburn, or rather Mount Auburn is on the plan of this. There
are no less than thirty thousand tombs here, displaying every variety
of taste and whim in the style and pattern, and filling a space of
some hundred acres, the walks through which form quite a labyrinth,
insomuch that the guides charge three francs to go through it, which
I did not choose to pay. I found the tombs of Abelard and Helöise,
Molière and La Fontaine (which are side by side, and very simple, and
covered with names of visiting scribblers,) Rousseau, La Bruyère,
La Place, (the author of Mécanique Celeste,) Moreau, Volney, (a
plain pyramid,) and several other distinguished names. Many of the
monuments are very splendid, particularly that of General Foy, and
others which I cannot recollect. The inscriptions are as various as
the monuments. Some are very simple: 'à mon père;' 'à notre cher
ami;' 'à notre petite Julie,' etc. Many of the monuments are little
chapels, with altars, candles, chairs, etc., and some even with
paintings; having an iron door, of open work, so that you can look
in and see the taste and superstition of the founder. It requires
a whole day, at least, to take even a passing view of all the
monuments. The view from the highest ground in the cemetery is very
fine.
* * * * *
12TH. I had sent a note to Prince Czartoryski, desiring to know if it
was his pleasure that I should call on him. This morning I received
a polite and elegantly-written note, in French, saying: 'Le Prince
Czartoryski présente ses complimens à Mr. ----, et s'empresse de le
prévenir qu'il aura le plaisir de l'attendre chez soi, demain à 11 h.
dans la matinée.' Ce 10 Aöut, 1836. 25 Faubourg du Roule.'
I did not receive it till the day after that designated, but still
I went. There did not seem to be even a porter or a servant on the
premises. An old man escorted me up stairs, and knocking, the door
opened where a good looking gentleman was writing. I was at a loss to
know whether he was the prince or not, but he seemed to expect me.
'Monsieur ----?' 'Oui, Monsieur.' He escorted me to the next room,
and took my card into another. In a few minutes, a noble-looking man,
about fifty-five, came out, and taking my hand, was 'very glad to see
Mr. ----;' 'walk in;' and so I was seated on a plain gingham-covered
sofa, with the Prince Czartoryski. The apartments, furniture, etc.,
are plain almost to meanness, and the prince's pantaloons themselves
looked as if they had been washed five or six times; a fact which
I consider highly creditable to him. He has decidedly one of the
finest, noblest countenances I ever saw. It is expressive at once of
dignity, energy, and benevolence. It indicates a contempt of every
thing mean.
I must confess I felt rather awkward in this my first tête-à-tête
with a prince. It was so hard to have to say 'your highness' at
every sentence, that I finally dropped it entirely, and answered
yes, Sir, or no, Sir. He evidently expects this form, but does not
insist upon it. He inquired about the condition of his countrymen
in the United States; if they had obtained employment; if they
conducted themselves well; what gentlemen had interested themselves
for them. He had not heard of Mr. Wilder, and told his secretary to
take down his name. He asked if any association for the Poles existed
in New-York, and if one could not be formed; if the Americans were
not rather partial to Russia, and thought she had done right. This I
answered very warmly, and said that, on the contrary, our country had
watched with astonishment the conduct of the other powers of Europe
in not interfering in behalf of Poland. That the wrongs of Poland
were a favorite theme for our school-boys and school-girls.
After a conversation of half an hour or more, I took leave, the
prince inviting me very cordially to call on him when I returned to
Paris. The morning papers state that 'the government (of France)
yesterday made an application to Prince Czartoryski for three hundred
Poles to go to Spain'--for which 'party,' I did not notice.
FOOTNOTE:
[11] I am particular in the mention of these pecuniary facts,
believing that they will be useful to American readers, who may
contemplate going abroad.
LAY.
I.
A LAY of love!--ask the lone sea,
For wealth its waves have closed upon--
A song from stern Thermopylæ--
A battle-shout from Marathon!
Look on my brow--reveals it nought?
It hideth deep rememberings
Eternal as the records wrought
Within the tombs of Egypt's kings.
Take thou the harp! I may not sing:
Awake the Teïan lay divine,
Till fire from every glowing string
Shall mingle with the flashing wine!
II.
The Theban lyre but to the sun
Gave forth at morn its answering tone;
So mine but echoed when the one,
One sun-lit glance was o'er it thrown.
The Memnon sounds no more!--my lyre,
A veil upon thy strings is flung;
I may not wake the chords of fire--
The words which burn upon my tongue.
Fill high the cup! I may not sing;
My hand the crowning buds will twine:
Pour, till the wreath I o'er it fling,
Shall mingle with the rosy wine.
III.
No lay of love!--the lava stream
Hath left its trace on heart and brain;
No more! no more! the maddening theme
Will wake the slumbering fires again.
Fling back the shroud on buried years--
Hail, to the ever blooming hours!
We'll fill Time's glass with ruby tears,
And twine his bald old brow with flowers.
Fill high! fill high! I may not sing--
Strike forth the Teïan lay divine,
Till fire from every glowing string
Shall mingle with the flashing wine!
IONE.
THE CHIEF OF HIS TRIBE.
A SKETCH OF THE LIFE AND TIMES OF JOHN THOMAS TUMBLER, JR.
'AND here let me charge you, my son, that you consider
nothing which bears the image of God beneath your notice, or
unsusceptible of valuable lessons. The beggar imploring alms
at your hands, the unhappy victim of vice, or the prey of evil
passions, may speak with a voice so loud, that during your
whole life, the monitory tones shall not wholly die away in
your ear.'
MAGNUS GONSALVA.
THE primary study of all mankind ever has been, and ever will be,
the end by which they may attain happiness. All our energy, all our
reason, and all our ingenuity, are directed to the prosecution of
this one common object; but with what success, we leave those to
answer who have grown old in the game of human life. Our existence is
commenced and continued in its pursuit. We toil in its chase, from
birth until death, with the most assiduous and unceasing application.
But do we obtain it, at last? Go ask the worn-out debauchee, or the
chartered libertine. Go ask the rich man in his castle, or the poor
man in his hut. Ask the faded beauty, or the blooming girl. Ask the
monarch, the mendicant, the world, if they have yet enjoyed one
hour of real happiness--one hour, unalloyed by the remembrance of
the past, or the fears of the future. It is, in truth, a shadow as
intangible as our own; an _ignis fatuus_ of our being. But ah! we
cannot discover this until too late. When death is about to drop the
curtain upon the closing scene of the drama of life, we may become
sensible of our error; until that moment, we are in chase of a gilded
phantom, that often drags us through paths of guilt and sin, and
repaying us nothing in the end.
Real happiness is far from being an attribute of existence. It is,
in fact, a moral impossibility that they should cöexist; and Reason
never deceives herself so much, as when she deems it is within the
pale of our enjoyment. Do we not know, by actual realization, that
the jewel for which we have labored for years, loses its value with
possession, and becomes scarce worth the purchasing? And though we
may cast it aside, recognising in some other object the El Dorado of
our hopes, does not that too, when obtained, like the fruit upon the
shores of the Dead Sea, resolve to ashes in our grasp?
We may be partially contented, but never perfectly happy; and oh! if
man but knew this, how much of sorrow and remorse would it not spare
him, when the hand of Age is heavy upon him! How much alleviation
would it not bring to the bed of sickness--how much of hope to the
departing spirit!
Yet, although it is written in the book of destiny, that the
principal aim of our lives shall be for ever perverted, it is not
to be supposed that this disappointment will render us miserable.
The evils of existence act differently upon mankind; and where you
will find one who is made unhappy by the operation of some untoward
circumstance, you will find a second whose equanimity would scarcely
be disturbed by a much more aggravated misfortune.
Among those so happily constituted as to confront adversity with
indifference, may be numbered the hero of this sketch; an individual
whose age was probably three-and-twenty, and whose name was
universally admitted to be John Thomas Tumbler, Jr., his sire bearing
the like Christian appellatives.
Mr. Tumbler, Jr., was an individual whom those in a more elevated
sphere would term a 'loafer.' Now why one body of the human family
should classify another by so impolite a distinction, may be, to the
uninitiated in the ways of the world, a matter of surprise. To us,
however, it is perfectly explicable, since it serves to carry out
one of the immutable principles of our nature, which is ----. But no
matter; we will not animadvert; for as well might the wave that foams
at the foot of Gibraltar, essay to destroy the mountain rock, as we
to change, by censure or deprecation, that gigantic and inveterate
evil.
John Thomas Tumbler, Jr. was not rich; on the contrary, he was very
poor, and, indeed, but little versed in the knowledge of the coin
of his country. But John Thomas had that opulence of feeling which
supplies the place of wealth, and which wealth itself cannot at all
times supply; that internal independence, which buoys up the spirit,
and defies adversity. In his youth, he had been industrious, and
no boy was more persevering and successful in researches for old
copper, nails, bits of lead, and such little valuables; but as he
verged into manhood, his ideas expanded, and those pursuits were
abandoned, as vocations too insignificant for one who bore the image
of the universal Creator. In fact, Mr. Tumbler, Jr. considered it
undignified to labor at all, and so determined to lead a life of ease
and relaxation.
When first our gentleman came to this resolve, he was tolerably well
attired. His coat, though thread-bare, and somewhat greasy in the
vicinity of the elbows, looked, nevertheless, partially genteel; and
though many parts of it were preserved in a state of adhesion by
divers pins, it was still without that symptom of poverty, a patch.
His breast, at this interesting period of his life, was defended from
the inclemencies of the weather, by a double-breasted velvet vest,
which had been manufactured some twenty years before for the comfort
of some corpulent citizen, and which now hung about Mr. Tumbler with
the graceful foldings of a Roman toga. Of his pantaloons and hat, we
shall say little, save that they were somewhat venerable; and of his
shirt, we can have _nothing_ to say, he having long since repudiated
that garment, as an article of dress totally superfluous.
It was customary with Mr. Tumbler, Jr., in those halcyon days, to
drop (or rather, as he expressed it, 'happen') in the coffee-houses,
at about eleven o'clock, every day, that being the hour when the
lunch was set out for customers. At such times, Mr. Tumbler was
frequently known to make some very odd mistakes, such, for example,
as drinking the liquor of some other individual, who might have been
so negligent as to put his glass down for a moment, while he helped
himself to a mouthful of the eatables. But these little errors are
incident to an absent-minded man, and might have been passed over
unnoticed, had not Mr. Tumbler, on a later occasion, been discovered
in the act of abstracting a handkerchief from the coat-pocket of a
gentleman who was standing at the bar; for which offence he was very
unceremoniously ejected from the premises, with an invitation from
the keeper to call, in future, 'once in a great while.'
Mr. Tumbler was, happily for his circumstances, not a particular man.
He dwelt any where and every where, and might justly be termed a
'promiscuous' lodger. He had, it is true, a particular stall in the
market-house, which he sometimes occupied at night; but Mr. Tumbler
had serious objections to sleeping there. 'The flies' he said, 'made
it inconwenient in the morning, and the benches was werry often left
dirty, by the negligence of the butchers:' beside, he was 'roused
out, o' market mornings, at early day-light, vich was uncommon
uncomfortable!'
He was a constant attendant upon horse-races, and the like
gatherings. He usually repaired thither with a small capital of two
or three dollars, and a 'sweat-cloth,' 'merely,' as he said, 'to
occupy his mind, and turn an honest penny or two.' He was, moreover,
an accomplished thimble-player, and would bet 'twenty-five, fifty, or
seventy-five cents, that no gentlemen could tell where the ball was!'
At a certain cock-fight, Mr. Tumbler was exceedingly vociferous in
his encouragement of a certain white bantam, engaged in the combat.
'Go it my darling!' exclaimed he, looking exultingly upon his
favorite. 'That's the way to tell it, my bully! Give it to him, my
little whitey!'
'Hurra for dat red cock!' said a colored gentleman, looking sideways
at Mr. Tumbler, in a species of defiance.
'Hurra for the white cock!' again ejaculated Mr. Tumbler.
'Hurra for de red cock!' responded his sable adversary.
'A dollar on the white cock!' exclaimed our hero.
'Done! I take dat bet!' answered the colored gentleman.
The stakes were accordingly produced, and deposited in the hands of
a gentleman of rather inelegant appearance, in a rough bell-crowned
hat, who by-the-by was one of Mr. Tumbler's particular friends.
'Hurra for the white cock!' again shouted Mr. Tumbler.
'Hurra for de red cock!' again shouted the colored gentleman.
Presently the red cock gave his white adversary a thrust with
his gaff, which put out one of his eyes, and nearly closed the
engagement. As soon as Mr. Tumbler perceived this, he thrust the
spectators aside, and going close up to the ring, he sung out: 'Hurra
for the red cock, as I said before.' 'What you hurra for _dat_ cock
for!' exclaimed Sambo; hurra for your _own_ cock, 'f you please!'
'Hurra for the red cock, as I said before!' exclaimed Mr. Tumbler,
unheeding the remark of his opponent--'Hurra for the red cock!'
At length the white cock was fairly defeated, and Mr. Tumbler turned
to the holder of the stakes, and demanded the money, which was given
him, in spite of the remonstrances of the 'gen'leman o' color,' who
claimed to have won the bet. The conduct of Mr. Tumbler in this
affair appeared certainly not very honorable; but it would be unjust
to censure him, without knowing whether or not he was in error as
to the cock he bet upon. At all events, the subsequent coldness
and self-possession which he maintained, under a strain of abuse
showered upon him by the colored gentleman, was commendable in the
extreme. He listened to it all as mildly as if it had been a glowing
eulogium upon the excellence of his character; and when the enraged
Ethiopian had finished, he turned leisurely upon his heel, and
walked away. This was perhaps one of the most striking illustrations
of Mr. Tumbler's mental superiority. It was indeed a feature of real
greatness; for he who conquers his passion, as Mr. Tumbler evidently
did, does more than he who commands armies; at least so said, I
believe, the sage Socrates; an authority which none of us moderns
have presumed to dispute.
There are many inclinations of our youth which are even strengthened
with our years; and a slight tendency to a particular object in
our boyhood, often becomes with us a passion in after life. Mr.
Tumbler had, at a very early age, evinced a particular affection for
saccharine substances, which affection had grown with his growth,
until it became a leading disposition of his character. And even
so late as the year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and
thirty-seven, John Thomas Tumbler, Jr. might be often seen in the
interior of a sugar hogshead, assiduously scooping out with his
thumb-nail, and appropriating to the gratification of his palate,
such small quantities of the article as had been left by the
improvident grocer in the crevices of the staves. But, on the other
hand, there are predilections far more dangerous, which we sometimes
suddenly conceive, and of which we become totally unable to divest
ourselves. Among these evils, the greatest is undoubtedly the love of
stimulus. Mr. Tumbler at length became fond of his toddy; and from
that moment we may date his decline. There were, however, palliations
to be admitted for Mr. Tumbler--excuses which many who plunge into
the vortex of dissipation sadly lack. His was a monotonous life,
void alike of excitement, object, and interest. It was, then, a
matter of course, that he should seek artificial means to supply a
natural deficiency. In fact, this was almost necessary to existence.
But alas! the gratification of this propensity brought on his ruin;
and in the small space of six months, so complete a revolution was
effected in the appearance of our hero, that he could scarcely be
recognised as the same individual who was wont to frequent the
market-house but a very short time before.
One day he was leaning against a post, reflecting upon the expedient
he should next devise to obtain a 'horn,' when his forlorn appearance
attracted the attention of a gentleman, who stopped a moment to
observe more completely his wretchedness. John Thomas perceived this,
and thought it a moment and an opportunity not to be disregarded.
So, crossing the street, he addressed the stranger, informing him,
in moving accents, that he was 'a poor miserable cre'tur, 'at hadn't
had nothing to eat for upwards of some time, and 'at hadn't seen
a bed, for God knows when!' The stranger, in consideration of his
distressing situation, gave him a small piece of money; and the
mendicant, after satisfying himself of its value, very politely
invited his benefactor to go and take a drink with him!
It may not be amiss here, to describe the habiliments of John Thomas,
in contrast with the appearance they presented some months before.
The article which adorned his head, would not, at first sight, have
been taken for a hat. The crown and body were not as closely allied
as they had once been. The former now hung back, attached only by a
slight ligament to the latter. Interesting pieces of rim were here
and there observable; and its original color had long since been
changed to a greasy brown. His coat, the donation of some charitable
Falstaff, might have been altered to have fitted better, infinitely
better. The body hung down some three or four inches below the hips,
while the skirt, as he promenaded, almost swept the ground. The
sleeves were rolled up at the elbows, much to the prejudice of the
appearance of the lining; and the collar behind formed an admirable
barricade for the preservation of the latter part of Mr. Tumbler's
head. In truth, that gentleman himself was once heard to remark, that
'it was wastly conwenient as a pillow.' Of his vest we have already
spoken; and it needs but to add, that time had somewhat impaired
it, and that although but one button graced its ample front, it was
still a garment not to be deemed entirely valueless. His pantaloons
could not have been derived from the same source as the coat, for
they fitted him with a tightness which absolutely jeopardized them
at every movement, and gave to his person, as he moved along, the
appearance of a huge penguin. His boots were likewise very venerable,
and but for the sake of appearances, as John Thomas himself very
truly observed, he might as well be entirely bare-footed. The sole
of one of them, however, though but partially attached to the upper,
was perfect of itself; although the big toe protruded from the
breach with an obstinacy truly mortifying to the sensibility of the
wearer, who would sit upon a fire-plug, and contemplate it with that
humiliation which we are all apt to feel on similar occasions. The
sole of the other boot had 'long since vanished,' as Count Rhodolpho
sings in 'La Somnambula;' and the upper, which was immensely
capacious, would sometimes slew so far round, as to disclose to
observation the whole of his right foot. This was a matter of more
vexation to him than the imperfection of its fellow; for he was often
obliged to confine its sides with pieces of twine, in order to keep
it in its proper place; an occupation extremely irksome, and but ill
adapted to his easy propensities.