_Dearest Jane:_
On inquiring the day of the month, I am quite surprised to find that
my pen has been idle nearly a week. I will now try to make up for lost
time, by describing to you some of the places we have visited in the
interim, and the Luxembourg being first on the list, will commence
with that. It is one of the most magnificent palaces in Paris. The
exterior is highly embellished; and to use the words of an English
tourist, "the architecture throughout is distinguished by its bold and
masculine character, and by the regularity and beauty of its
proportions." This palace was built by order of Mary de Medici, the
widow of Henry 4th; it afterwards became the property of some of the
French nobility, but was finally restored to the crown. During the
revolution, it was used as a prison; the senate afterwards occupied
it; at present it contains the Chamber of Peers,--and its galleries
are filled with the chêf d'oeuvres of modern artists, whose
productions are not admitted into the Louvre until their death. Of
course the collection of paintings here is much smaller than at the
Louvre, but the pictures are all on the most interesting subjects and
are seen to greater advantage, the light being let in from above
instead of from the sides of the rooms, as is the case at the Louvre.
There are some choice pieces of sculpture; one of them (by Charles
Dupaty) represents the Nymph Biblis, changing to a fountain. It is
both a singular and ingenious production. The Chamber of Peers, like
that of the Deputies, is semicircular in shape; it is hung with blue
velvet; and the marble effigies of several orators, legislators and
warriors of old, grace its walls. From the ceiling, which is painted,
hangs a splendid chandelier. I will only mention one or two more of
the apartments--the Salle du Trone,[2] as being particularly rich, and
the billiard room, which is tapestried with white velvet, with various
views of Rome beautifully delineated on it in water colors. On the
ground floor is the chapel--this is very plain; near it is the
gorgeous chamber of Marie de Medicis,--the ceiling, walls, and
shutters of which are covered with gilding and arabesque paintings.
The principal staircase of the palace is remarkably grand and
magnificent; there are forty-eight steps, each twenty feet in length,
and formed of a single stone; on the right and left of it, are statues
and trophies. The garden of the Luxembourg is shady and pleasant, and
has the usual embellishments of gods and goddesses amid fountains and
flowers; as you are fond of the marvellous, I will tell you a
tradition I have just read respecting it.
[Footnote 2: Hall of the Throne.]
There once stood a castle on the site of this garden, which remaining
a long while uninhabited, was said to be haunted by frightful demons
and apparitions; the whole neighborhood was nightly disturbed by them;
no person would venture out after sunset, and finally the inhabitants
were compelled, for the sake of rest, to seek other dwellings. In this
state of things, the monks of a Carthusian monastery at Gentilly, (who
were doubtless at the bottom of the mystery) promised to drive away
the malicious spirits by exorcism, if St. Louis would grant them the
castle and its appurtenances. Their request was complied with, and
they so faithfully performed their part that peace was soon restored
and the chateau converted into a convent, which existed about six
hundred years.
From the Luxembourg we proceeded through a long sunny avenue, to the
observatory. On the left of the road, Arnaud our valet de place,
pointed out the spot upon which Marshal Ney was shot. "Regardez,
Mesdames! ce fut la (pointing with his finger) l'endroit ou le brave
Maréchal Ney fut massacré--Jétais présent et il me semble que je le
vois tout sanglant dans le moment," said he, shuddering. We paused to
look at the once bloody spot, now verdant with grass and so sadly
interesting. The observatory may be considered a wonderful building,
for neither iron nor wood have been used in its construction; it is
entirely of stone, each piece being ingeniously fitted to another.
Four astronomers pursue their avocations here, and have the advantage
of a good library and apparatus; there are, likewise, an anemometer
for indicating the course of the wind, and a pluviometer for measuring
the quantity of rain that falls at Paris. A geometrical staircase
leads to the entrance of some spacious caverns where experiments in
congelation are made, and these caverns communicate with subterranean
galleries that were originally quarries, and extend a considerable
distance under the city, containing beautiful stalactites, formed by
water oozing through the rocks. We did not see them, for they cannot
be entered without a special guide, and a written permission from
certain persons appointed by government to superintend and inspect
them. But my stars! I have exhausted nearly all my paper, and have yet
a dozen places to describe! Well, well, you must be contented with an
account of two of the most important; and by the time I have finished
with them, I shall have to _squeeze_ in my name, no doubt. And now let
me decide which of the various objects we have examined, I ought to
regard as chief. Why, the mother church of France "Notre Dame," and
the Pantheon, to be sure! The first is the most ancient religious
structure in the city, and is pronounced to be one of the handsomest
in the kingdom. Being built in the Gothic ages, its architecture is
according to the fashion of those times, very singular and bold.--The
interior of the building corresponds with the outside in curious
carving and designs; the choir and the stalls surrounding it are
covered with grotesque sculpture. There are no less than thirty
chapels, and all of them contain pictures, but they are generally very
indifferent. There are several fine ones around the choir--among them
the "Visitation," by Jean Jouvenet; this painting was executed
entirely with his left hand, after he lost the use of his right by a
paralytic stroke. Behind the altar, is a good piece of sculpture by
Coustou; the subject is the "descent from the cross." In the vestry
room, we were shewn some extraordinary relics,--such as part of the
crown of thorns that was worn by our Saviour, and a bit of his cross!!
We also saw the regalia of Charlemagne, and the splendid robes given
to the priests of this cathedral by Buonaparte at the period of his
coronation, upon which occasion they were used; they are embroidered
in the richest manner with gold and silver, and amazingly heavy.
Numerous sacred festivals are celebrated at Notre Dame in the course
of the year; and in August there is to be a procession in fulfilment
of a vow made by Louis XIII. This is done on the 15th of that month
annually, and the royal family always join in it. We shall go to see
it of course; and how I wish you, aunt Margaret and Albert were to be
of our party!
The Pantheon, or Church of Saint Geneviève, is a magnificent
structure, and its dome is the most striking object that presents
itself as you approach Paris. The interior of it is beautifully
painted, the artist having chosen for his subject the apotheosis of
Louis XVI and his family. When the work was finished, the king went to
see it, and after looking at it attentively for a quarter of an hour,
he turned to the painter Gros who was anxiously awaiting his opinion,
and said to him, "Eh bien Monsieur le _Baron_ votre ouvrage est trés
bien fait!" thus recompensing his talents, by bestowing on him a title
of nobility. Saint Geneviève, the patron Saint of Paris, is buried in
the Pantheon, and her tomb is always surrounded by lighted tapers, the
votive offerings of those who come to demand her intercession for
pardon or blessing. In the vaults beneath the church, many
distinguished men are interred. Indeed, it was to receive the ashes of
such that the Pantheon was designed; and Louis XV, who was the liberal
encourager of science and art, was the founder of it.
Contrary to my expectations, I find I've yet space enough to inform
you that we have been twice to the Italian Opera, to hear Madame
Malibran and Mademoiselle Sontag. The former seems really adored here.
At her benefit, many gentlemen voluntarily paid one hundred francs for
a ticket, instead of twenty, the actual price. She sings enchantingly
and acts with great spirit; so does her rival Mademoiselle Sontag. In
fact, I know not to which of these nightingales I prefer listening.
Adieu.