Paris.
In the middle of the afternoon, we reached the Northern Railway Terminus
_(Embarcadere du Nord) _ in Paris. This magnificent station covers nearly
10 acres of ground. The arrival and departure sheds in the center are 230
metres long, and 70 metres wide. (The meter is equal to 39.370079 inches).
Its facade is 180 metres long, 38 metres (about 125 feet) high and
consists of a lofty central arch and two lateral arches. This imposing
front is adorned with twenty-three colossal statues of noble female
figures, representing the following, principal cities of Europe: Paris,
(surmounting the central arch), Londres, St. Petersburg, Berlin,
Frankfort, Vienne, Bruixelles, Cologne, Amsterdam, Donai, Dunkerque,
Boulogne, Compeigne, St. Quentin, Cambrai, Beauvais, Lille, Armiens,
Rouen, Arras, Laon, Calais, Valengiens. (1864).
There are a number of other very fine railway stations in Paris, but we
can only take room to define their area. The largest is the Strasbourg
Railway Terminus, nearly 13 acres in extent; while the Western Railway
Terminus covers an area of 5 acres.
As soon as our train had stopped, I followed my French companion (Prof.
S.) into the extensive apartments of the station, and passed muster. I
expected to be asked for my "passport," but slipped through unchallenged.
On passing out into the yard I was again saluted by my English friends who
were about entering a "bus" to drive to a hotel. In bidding each other
good-by and god-speed on our journeys, I ran a great risk of losing my
Parisian friend, in the great multitude of people that thronged the yard
and pavement; but fortunately, I found him again in a few minutes.
Before we reached the street, I was already made to feel that some strange
scenes and experiences were undoubtedly in store for me in Paris and
likely throughout the rest of my continental tour, for I had already
observed one of those strange social habits of the Parisians in a most
public place which the nice delicacies of our language and customs forbid
to describe.
The French, the Italians, and many of the inhabitants of South Germany and
parts of Switzerland--I should say all the sunny lands in Europe--have
handed down to our day, manners and customs which speak in a language that
cannot be misunderstood, and with a force far louder than a whisper, that
_it is not very long since man took to dressing himself_. In my
intercourse with those people, from Paris to Egypt, I nowhere observed any
baneful influences exerted over morality by these practices in question,
for they are not thought about by those people which are guilty of them,
but many an American will be shocked at them, and go home declaring that
such indecencies _must_ lead to immoralities, even if they have never gone
to the trouble to see whether they actually _do_. Their pernicious
influence upon American tastes and manners may be granted, but that does
not prove that foreigners, who are cradled, nursed and brought up in these
customs, will be affected in like manner. American and English tourists
are alike shocked and provoked at the sight of the innumerable nude
statues and paintings, on the, pleasure gardens and in the art galleries,
but the ladies of the continent seem to see as little of indecencies or
improprieties in those things, as we do in opening our Bibles and seeing
saints and apostles represented with bare feet--the _toes_ standing out
naked over the sandals, or when we read in the family circle and in the
public capacity of teachers and ministers, passages from Scriptures,
such as no one would be capable of reading if they were found in a
periodical or a newspaper.
During my first month on the continent, I was often vexed to think that
much of what I saw, that was not only very interesting and impressive, but
which had likewise an important bearing on history, was of such a nature
that it would either constitute unfit material for general diffusion, or
seem to be incredible to the average reader.
We went down Boulevard (pron. Bool'var') de Magenta about one-third of a
mile, to Boulevard de Strasbourg, (pron. Straws'boor'), thence along that
avenue (?) to the foot of it (another third of a mile) and continued our
walk down Boulevard de Sebastopol to Rue de Rivoli, along which latter
street we went half a mile west, where my friend, guide and teacher
procured for me a room not far from _his_ home.
[With this gentleman I spent from three to five hours daily, during my
first stay of fifteen days, in walking about the city seeing sights and
studying French reading and pronunciation].
As soon as I had taken my room, I retraced my steps to the railway station
and fetched my sachel; this time, alone. It was not a little task, for the
distance from my quarters, which were near the center of Paris, to the
station, was over two miles. The names of the Boulevards "Magenta,
Strasbourg and Sebastopol," I was constantly repeating in my mind, so that
I might not forget the way that I had come with my friend, the first time.
It was dark by the time I reached my lodging place the second time, but I
had seen and learned enough for one day. Almost two miles of _Boulevards_
and nearly half a mile of Rue de Rivoli (the finest _Rue_ in Paris) thrice
walked that afternoon, had presented to me more that was new, than I had
expected to see in a week.
The Boulevards,
like a dozen other of the distinguishing features of Paris, are _new
things_ to the American; and as they are quite different from anything
that I have yet seen of the kind in this country, I shall here take room
to note some of their striking characteristics. They are the grandest
streets in Paris, sustaining about the same relation to the "Rues" that
the avenues in our American cities sustain to the streets. In the French
nomenclature, the names applied the different classes of thoroughfares,
&c., run as follows: 1st., avenues; 2nd., boulevards; 3rd., rues; 4th.,
allees or ruelles, and 5th., passages (pron. pahsahjes). In America, the
corresponding terms are 1st., avenues; 2nd.,----; 3rd., streets; 4th.,
alleys, and 5th., passages. It will be observed, that we have here nothing
to correspond with the boulevard. In the classification here presented,
the term avenue is to designate thoroughfares of great width and shaded
with rows of trees on each side, as are the avenues in Washington, D.C. In
most American cities, the avenues are diagonal streets or openings
connecting distant points of the cities, but this definition loses most of
its force when applied to European cities, as they are not built square or
rectangular.
Champs Elysees intersects a fine and extensive reservation, (having many
of the characteristics of the pleasure garden), extending from the Jardin
des Tuileries (Garden of the Tuileries) to the Arc de Triomphe (the Arch
of Triumph). Its length is a mile and a quarter, and the garden or park of
which it is the grand thoroughfare, is, in one place, about a third of a
mile in width. The buildings are consequently a considerable distance off
from this carriage-way; but in the boulevards, nothing except the pavement
intervenes between the street and the houses. The boulevards of Paris are
its widest as well as its noblest streets. The pavements on each side of
them, are, in many instances from twenty-five to thirty feet in width.
Thick rows of large and elegant shade-trees border them on both sides, and
under these are placed numerous wooden settees for the accommodation of
the public. Many of the 6,000 cafes which are strewn over Paris, grace
these boulevards with their glass fronts. During the summer season, most
of the refreshments and meals are served in front of the cafes on the
pavements, and grand is the sight of seeing ten thousand gay Parisians
seated along these splendid streets, chattering away over their wine and
coffee! Paris is about five miles long by four miles wide, and few are the
houses in the entire city that are less than five or six stories high. A
few only of the outer streets have as low as four and five story houses.
These houses are mostly built of stone, having stone floors, even. Each
room is arched over from the four walls; upon these arches are placed the
flagstones constituting the next floor, and it is in consequence of this
arching that each story is so very high. The white sandstone of the Paris
basin constitutes the principal building stone. The city is divided into
seven sections, and each section is required by law, to either scrape the
fronts of their houses once every seven years, so that the walls look new
again, or to paint them anew. No proprietor can choose his time, but when
the year is come for his section to repair their houses, it must be done.
In consequence of this regulation, the streets never look _checkered_ by
old and new houses contrasting with each other, but the external
appearance of the buildings is made to harmonize, and each street is a
unit in appearance. In the finest part of Paris there are few alleys or
stables, but splendid rues and boulevards lined with magnificent buildings
with elegant fronts, have taken their places. This section is over three
miles in length, nearly two in width, and presents scenes of beauty,
grandeur and magnificence which are _unrivaled_ by anything that the first
other cities of the world have ever brought forth.
Its beautiful balconies, as numerous as the windows, constitute another
very charming feature of Parisian scenery. The streets are always kept
clean and wet by sweepers and sprinklers, and the broad smooth pavements
along the boulevards, free from dust and all manner of rubbish or
obstructions, afford a suitable promenade for gayety, wealth and fashion
to roam. Here beauty's feet may stray, arrayed in the most showy colors or
the stateliest attire, without fear of encountering nasty crossings or of
being splashed over and soiled by teams upon muddy streets. Ladies
attired in gaudy ball-room dresses with long trails, would scarcely
present a contrast in dress with the average promenaders. All dress
equally well, on Sundays, and on week-days, so that Paris presents to the
foreigner, the appearance of a city celebrating an eternal Sabbath. Even
when it rains, the pedestrian can walk _for miles_ about the city, without
being in want of an umbrella. In that event he need only confine his
course to the
Arcades and Passages.
Webster defines an arcade as "A long, arched building or gallery lined on
each side with shops." May the reader not be misled by this definition;
for the arcades of Paris do not have shops on _both_ sides. They are a
uniform system of porticoes generally from twenty to thirty feet in width.
Those on Rue de Rivoli are about a mile in length, and the houses to which
they belong have been exempted from taxes for thirty years. From these
ramify numerous passages and other arcades, connecting different parts of
the city.
A "Passage" (pron. pä-sahj) is a street covered with a glass roof,
elegantly paved, animals and vehicles excluded or shut off, and lined by
the first-class shops in the city. The most remarkable are the Passages
des Panoramas, Jouffroy, Verdean, Vivienne, Colbert, Choiseul, Delorine du
Saumon, &c. The first of these are the most brilliant and are perhaps not
excelled or even equaled by any other in the world, with the solitary
exception of Passage des Victor Emanuel of Milan, in Italy. Some of these
passages are called
Galleries.
The Galerie d'Orleans in Palais Royal, is a good example. This lofty hall,
forty feet wide and 300 feet long, extending between a double range of
shops, connects the arcades extending around the other three sides of the
inner court of that palace, (now turned into shops, bazaars, etc.)
Many of the grand boulevards and rues of Paris have been built since 1848,
and the work of widening and improving old streets and building new ones
is still going on with constantly increasing vigor.
There are now in progress of construction, broad boulevards, which can
only be constructed at the sacrifice of many acres of some of the finest
buildings in Paris; but only beauty and grandeur are regarded anything in
this noble city, expenses being but little estimated. Notwithstanding the
lavish expenditure of money upon this class of improvements, Paris is, of
all cities, perhaps the most prosperous on the globe.
Of the wide-spread destruction of public buildings, occasioned by the late
war and the stormy days of the Commune, there are but few marks remaining.
The Palace of the Tuileries, Hotel de Ville, and a few other buildings,
lie still in ruins; but the thirty or more churches which were either
greatly damaged or quite demolished, and numerous other public edifices
that have been destroyed, have already been restored--some of them with
increased magnificence. Besides this, the French have almost finished
paying their immense war-debt, while America, whose war ended seven years
before theirs, is obliged to sail into the centennial year, still heavily
freighted with the obnoxious burden.
Did heaven ever smile upon a more blessed city than Paris? To give the
reader an idea of how buildings are torn down to make room for the purpose
of extending fine streets, let us refer to the statistics concerning Rue
de Rivoli. This street cost $30,000,000. It is two miles in length, and
its establishment caused the demolition of upwards of one thousand houses!
Thirty millions of dollars, enough to pay for a tract of land that is
twenty miles long and eleven miles wide, bought at the rate of $200 per
acre; and all this expended on the improvement of two miles of road!
In the Old World, a strip of three to five or six story houses, several
hundred feet wide and a quarter of a mile to upwards of a mile in length,
is torn down with as much complacent indifference concerning the
destruction, as men manifest in mowing so much grass!
As among the most fashionable places in Paris, may be mentioned, Boulevard
des Italiens, Palais Royal, Champs Elysees, Jardin des Tuileries and
other pleasure gardens and public squares. Boulevard des Italiens, in
fair weather, is densely crowded with ladies and gentlemen seated on
chairs hired for two to three sous (cents) each. The city clears over
$7,000 a year from this source of revenue. But several hundred steps
toward the west of this street stand the Academic de Musique (the most
splendid opera-house in the world) and the Grand Hotel--two of the most
brilliant edifices in the city.
Palais Royal,
as it now stands, was completed in 1786. This building, like most of the
palaces in Europe, is built around a quadrangle, and its plan may be
compared to a pupil's slate used for ciphering. The frame corresponds to
the form or ground-plan of the buildings, and the slate, to the court or
yard which they inclose. This inner court or garden, 700 feet long and 300
feet wide, containing nearly five acres of land, is planted with lime
(linden?) trees from end to end, and two flower gardens. In the middle is
a fine _jet d'eau_ (a fountain). "The garden was thus arranged in 1799; it
contains bronze copies of Diane a la Biche of the Louvre, and the Apollo
Belvedere; two modern statues in white marble, one of a young man about to
bathe, by d'Espercieux; the other of a boy struggling with a goat, by
Lemoine; Ulysses on the sea-shore, by Bra; and Eurydice stung by the
snake, by Nanteuil, a fine copy in bronze, but more fitted for a gallery
than the place it now occupies. Near this statue is a _solar cannon_,
which is fired by the sun when it reaches the meridian, and regulates the
clocks of Palais Royal."
From the privilege of supplying refreshments and from the hiring of
chairs, the Government derives an annual rent of $7,000.
The shops under the arcades are chiefly devoted to articles of luxury, and
are among the most elegant in Paris. Many restaurants are on the first
floor; here, were formerly the gambling-houses which rendered this place
so notorious. The best time for visiting Palais Royal is in the evening,
when the garden and arcades are brilliantly illuminated and full of
people. The shops of the watch-makers and the diamond windows are then
particularly brilliant. In the most magnificent windows the articles have
no price marks; but in the best windows in which the articles have price
marks, I saw lockets priced $200; rings for $900; ear-rings for $1,000 a
pair; a pair of diamond studs for $2,800; crosses for $320; and a necklace
worth $3,000.
Palais Royal has been called the capital of Paris. During the early part
of the first Revolution, its gardens became the resort of the most violent
politicians; here, the tri-coloured cockade was first adopted, and the
popular party decided on many of its bolder measures.
There is little room for doubt, that the Cafe, one of the characteristic
features of French society, is a potent factor in civilizing and refining
the human race, in these latter times. Religion and intelligence--moral
ideas, moral habits and the collective knowledge of our ancestors--has
been transmitted from one generation to another down to our time, by the
Church and the Schools, principally. But the affairs of the human race
have taken a new turn since the invention of printing, by which the steady
development of traditional ideas has been arrested, so that the propriety
of retaining the standards of ancient civilization as patterns for the
present, is being questioned and discussed everywhere. In this great
revolutionary era, the authority of the past and even the respect
naturally due to parents is very generally disregarded. This latter sad
feature of failing to do homage to the aged, is not more the result of a
lack of love and esteem, on the part of children for their parents, than
of the want of confidence which parents have in themselves. We can take an
illustration from our young ladies. A few generations ago, the traditional
white cap constituted the head-dress of the young maidens among the
catechumens, when they presented themselves for the first time at the
altar; now, in place of having all the heads look alike, every head must
present a different phase. We still find sections in the Old World, where
all the dresses of the young are "cut out of the same piece," so to say,
and made after the same pattern, so that all the individuals of a company
are almost as nearly dressed alike, as soldiers in uniform. Rev. Bausman,
in his Wayside Gleanings, page 141, in describing the appearance of people
at church in a certain section of Germany, portrays one feature in these
words: "Very pleasant was it to see every lady, old and young, having her
hymn book carefully folded in her white handkerchief." The clergy, and the
monks and nuns in Europe display like uniformity in their dress. In every
old picture or painting, representing a group or company of persons, it
will be observed that all the individuals are dressed and combed after the
same fashion.
This incessant yearning and seeking for something new is of recent date,
and the key-note of a universal system of revolutions. Every season brings
a new style of dress, and what is true of fashion is true of everything
else. As it would ill become mothers to leave their family for a time and
learn the milliners' trade, she makes choice of one of her daughters to be
educated in that trade. This young girl after she has learned dressmaking
takes the place of the mother in the matter of providing clothes for the
family, and becomes in a large measure the mistress of the house. The same
thing happens to the baking department of the family. A score of new kinds
of pies and cakes have become fashionable in our day, and it is the
daughters that have the greatest opportunity to earn this baking of
pastries the quickest. The consequence is that the mother soon turns out
to be only a _second rate cook!_ Fully aware that she can neither cook nor
make dresses, she resigns her position as head of these departments,
respectively to her daughters, who, when once master of the culinary and
millinery, affairs, will soon be master of the balance of the household
affairs. Need I say that the fathers of this generation are served about
the same way by their sons? And it is the same between the teacher and the
pupil. "Old fogy teacher" or "he has the old ways yet" are expressions
that are too common to require any explanation. Happily, most old teachers
have cleared the turf, and yielded their laurels to a host of youngsters,
ranging in age from about sixteen to twenty years! Thus all difficulties
are surmounted in this line, and "Young America" has the reins to himself!
Look at the improvements that have resulted from the efforts of inventive
genius, and at the progress that the arts and sciences have made. We are
in a _new world_, so different from that of our forefathers, that their
experiences count almost nothing in this new era. It is a sad picture to
see the young and the inexperienced thus groping in the dark, but it is
the inevitable consequence of the new turn that things have taken since
the inauguration of the _age of reason_ [dating from the introduction of
printing (?)], Nevertheless, the young would display much greater
prudence, if they would bring many of their schemes and purposes to a
lower temperature by sitting still when age rises to speak, and were they
to take heed of the counsels and admonitions of those who are older than
themselves.
This radical change in the affairs of the world being recognized, it
becomes apparent how the power and influence of the Church and Schools
must abate in a measure, and give scope, for a season, to a class of
institutions more fitted for revolutionary times. This transition era will
likely be marked as a glacial period in the history of religion, during
which time rationalism and infidelity will possibly be rampant in Europe,
if indeed they do not even establish their dominion in America, But we may
hope for a calm after the storm, when things will be steadied down again
to a smooth and even flow. In this our time, the transition era, theaters,
operas, cafes and the printing press, will play a very important part; the
press for the literary public in general, the theaters and operas for the
social benefit of the upper class and the cafe for the middle and _large
class_, the class which give shape and character to the predominant
methods of social evolution. The first cafe in Paris was established in
1697 by an Armenian, and like the establishment of the Hippodrome in New
York by Barnum, was a success from the beginning. These institutions
increased rapidly in number under Louis XV., and became the favorite
resort of distinguished individuals. At present, they abound in every
quarter, and justly rank among the most remarkable features of the city,
being very generally decorated with unrivaled costliness and splendor.
Besides coffee, wine, beer and other refreshments, they frequently provide
breakfast, and many of them also dinners and suppers. In 1874, there were
over 6,000 cafes in Paris, doing business to the amount of $24,000,000
annually, or an average income of $4,000 to each establishment! The
furniture of the cafe and the plan of conducting its business resembles
that of our fashionable ice-cream saloons more than any other
establishment that we are acquainted with. The halls are furnished with
little tables or marble-stands surrounded by chairs or costly sofas, and
every person that enters, is expected to order some kind of drink or
refreshment as soon as he has taken his seat. Both sexes frequent them
alike, and a grand sight it is to see a brilliant company of ladies and
gentlemen sitting in groups and couples about these gorgeously decorated
halls, enjoying their wine and each other's company, thus presenting
scenes of gayety and festive pleasure that are seldom outvied, even in the
ball-room and the opera in this country. A band of musicians render music
from an elevated platform all evening, and an open space in front of the
platform is provided for the accommodation of those who delight in the
dance. The waiting girls of these cafes are usually ladies of remarkable
beauty and refinement, whose elegant dresses, graceful manners and rare
accomplishment in conversation and address, are well in keeping with the
charming brilliancy of the hall, and the merryand refined company around
them.
It is astonishing how cheap these splendid accommodations of the cafe,
almost princely in their style, can be rendered. A person may enter a cafe
early in the evening, sit down with his friends and acquaintances, order a
glass of wine or beer and enjoy the best music and the pleasures of the
most refined society for an hour or two, and when he leaves, his purse is
only from three to eight cents the poorer for it. A gentleman may take a
lady to the cafe _five_ evenings in a week, for between thirty cents and a
dollar. He may spent twice as much or even ten or fifty times as much, if
he washes to spend his time in a building whose very window sashes and
external ornamentations glitter with gold; but such a lavish expenditure
of money is not _required_ to be comfortable and happy. These cafes are
very orderly houses. It is not fashionable to consume a glass of wine or
beer in less than half an hour, and many drink the whole evening at one
glass. No one can get drunk at this rate, and any one who would drink fast
and should become wild, he would not be tolerated in the cafe, as no lady
would remain in his society.
There are some fast drinking-houses even in Paris, and more in some
sections of Germany, but even those sent few or no drunk men upon the
streets. A fellow that would stagger upon the pavement would be conducted
to the station house at once. I did not see a single drunk person in Paris
in half a month's stay, and only several in the rest of my tour through
Europe. It is an encouraging sign of the times, that the cafe is being
introduced in America. May it soon take the place of our gambling-halls
and drinking-hells. See what Macaulay says of the Cafe, as he is quoted by
Webster in his Unabridged Dictionary under the word Coffee-house.
Champs Elysees,
Champs Elysees, (pron. Shangs-ai-le-zai), a term equivalent to "The
Elysian Fields" of the Greeks, is perhaps the most charming place in the
world. It is a paradise in reality, as its names implies; and during the
summer evenings, when its many thousand gas jets blaze in globes of
various colors, and the magnificent illuminations of its grand cafes
produce a brilliancy of coloured light intense enough to see pins on its
walks and flower-beds, the scenes become grand beyond description. Immense
throngs of people gather around the cafes in the evening to see the youths
and beauties whirl in the mazy dance, and listen to the bewitching strains
of the sweet music there rendered. It is not a rare thing to see
spectators go into raptures on these occasions, for I have seen few places
where nature and art so harmonize and unite in producing scenes of
enchanting beauty and creating feelings of ecstatic delight, as here on
Champs Elysees. The atmosphere of Paris, too, is preeminently soft and
balmy, and the temperature so even that ladies may sit in the most
brilliant attire all evening in the open air under the trees of this
pleasure-garden without the least danger of contracting a cold. One of the
first evenings that I enjoyed these scenes of indescribable beauty, I
could not help but observe to my companion, that the finest poetical
descriptions of a celestial Paradise, were not ideal representations of
imaginary pleasures, but true word images of the joys and beauties of the
"Elysian Fields" (Champs Ely sees) in Paris.
The buildings which front upon this lovely place are among the most
elegant in the city, being finely painted, even on the outside, like those
in the boulevards. I saw one, whose balconies were all gilt, from the
bottom to the attic story, reminding one of the splendor of the foremost
royal mansions.
Palais de l'Elysee, lies contiguous to this place and gave origin to its
name. It was a favorite residence of Napoleon I. When he returned from
Elba, he occupied it until after the defeat of Waterloo. It was also the
official residence of Napoleon III. while he was President of the French
Republic. At present it is occupied by Marshal MacMahon during the
recesses of the National Assembly.
In about the center of Champs Elysees, is the Palais de l'Industrie, the
great Exhibition Buildings, in which the World's Fair was held in 1855.
The Avenue des Champs Elysees intersects Champs Elysees, and is a mile and
a quarter in length. Its foot-pavements are twelve feet wide, This is the
favorite walk of the gay Parisians.
"On sunny winter-days, or cool summer-evenings numerous parties of all
classes are seen, enjoying the lively spectacle before them, seated on
iron chairs hired for three or four sous, (cents), or on the wooden
benches placed at intervals on the sides of the avenue, while elegant
carriages roll in procession along the road."--_Galignani's Paris Guide_.
Place de la Concorde, called Place de la Revolution in 1792, (when the
guillotine was erected here), is at the east end of Champs Elysees,
adjoining the Jardin des Tuileries. The square is enclosed with
balustrades, upon which stand eight colossal statues of the chief
provincial cities. In the center of it stands the Obelish of Luxor. This
magnificent monument of ancient Egypt, was brought to Paris in 1833 and
erected in 1836. It weighs 250 tons, and to transport it from Thebes to
the place where it now stands required three years. It is one of two
monoliths that stood in front of the great temple of Thebes, where they
were erected 1550 years before Christ. Both of them were given to the
French Government, by Mehemet All, Viceroy of Egypt, "in consideration of
advantages conferred by France on Egypt in aiding to form the arsenal and
naval establishment of Alexandria." Only one was removed. It is 72 feet 3
inches high. Its greatest width is 7 feet 6 inches at the base, and 5 feet
4 inches at the top. The pedestal upon which it stands, is 15 feet by 9
feet at the bottom and 8 feet at the top, and weighs 120 tons.
The transportation and re-erection of this obelisk cost the French
Government about $400,000. A dear present! No wonder that they did not go
to fetch the other one.
Galignani enumerates the following events which occurred here and rendered
the Place de la Concorde famous:
"July 12, 1789.--A collision between Prince de Lambesc's regiment and the
people became the signal for the destruction of the Bastille.
"Jan. 21, 1793.--Louis XVI. suffered death on this place.
"From Jan. 21, 1793, to May 3, 1795, more than 2,800 persons were executed
here by the guillotine.
"Feb. 23, 1848.--The first disturbances that ushered in the memorable
revolution of that year took place here.
"Feb. 24, 1848--Flight of Louis Philippe and his family by the western
entrance of the Tuileries Garden.
"Nov. 4, 1848.--The Constitution of the Republic was solemnly proclaimed
here, in the presence of the Constituent Assembly.
"Sept. 4, 1870.--The downfall of Napoleon III. and the Third Republic
proclaimed, after the disaster of Sedan.
"May 22, 1871.--A desperate conflict between the Versailles troops and the
Communists, the latter in their retreat setting fire to public and private
Bubldings."
Jardin des Tuileries,
A pleasure-garden over fifty acres in extent (containing flower-beds, an
extensive orangery, trees, statues and fountains) intervenes between Place
de la Concorde and the Palace of the Tuileries, and, in connection with
Champs Elysees, constitutes a continuous garden and park whose total
length is over a mile and three quarters.
This magnificent reservation penetrates almost to the heart of the city.
Its width is in one place nearly half a mile, being about one fifth of a
mile wide at the Tuileries on the east, while it tapers down to about 450
feet (the width of Avenue des Champs Elysees) at the Arch of Triumph on
the west end of it. The Avenue des Champs Elysees and the principal avenue
in the Tuileries Garden are in a perfectly strait line, so that a person
standing in the center of the avenue at the Tuileries will see both sides
of the Arch of Triumph, nearly two miles away from him; while the center
is concealed from his view by the Obelisk of Luxor standing in the center
of Place de la Concorde, as above described. Stepping a few yards to
either side throws the obelisk out of the way and affords one a perfect
view of that noble arch (one of the most stately monuments in existence).
The tourist can not approach that imposing monument called
Arc de Triomphe de L'Etoile
to greater advantage than by this avenue, starting out from the ruins of
the Tuileries. As some of the finest scenes and most important places in
Paris are met with, by this approach, one should allot a whole day to this
walk. He will have half a mile to the obelisk in the center of Place de la
Concorde, which, with its surroundings, will require him hours to see.
Three thousand feet further, is the Rond Point of Champs Elysees. A
quarter of a mile short of this, he will have found the Exhibition
Buildings on his left and Palais de l'Elysees on his right. Having seen
these, he may make his approach of the Arch of Triumph without further
interruption. From Rond Point to the Center of the arch, it is about 3,800
feet more. It is only after the visitor comes within half a mile of its
base that the monument begins to assume its gigantic proportions. This
proud monument was designed by Chalgrin, having been decreed by Napoleon
I. in 1806. The work was suspended from 1814 till 1823; labor was resumed
then, but it was not completed before 1836. Thus, thirty years of time and
over $2,000,000 were bestowed upon the erection of this historic monument,
which is perhaps destined to hand down to future generations both the
names of the victors and of the numerous vanquished cities that were
subject to the authority of Napoleon I. The great central arch is
forty-five feet wide and ninety feet high, over which rises a bold
entablature and the crowning attic. The transversal arch is twenty-five
feet wide and fifty-seven feet high. The total height of the monument
being 152 feet; and its breadth and depth 137 feet and 68 feet
respectively. The fronts of the structure are towards Champs Elysees and
Porte de Neuilly, the city gate near Bois de Boulogne.
The general plan of this imposing monument is borrowed from that of the
famous arches at Rome; but the transversal arch is an additional feature,
while its reliefs, and inscriptions, and its colossal proportions throw
the arches of Rome into comparative insignificance. The interior sides of
the piers are inscribed with the names of ninety-six victories; under the
transversal arches are the names of generals. A group upon the northern
pier of the eastern front represents the departure of the army in
1792:--"The Genius of War summons the nation to arms." The group on the
southern front represents the triumph of 1810:--Victory is in the act of
crowning Napoleon. History with pencil in hand is about to record his
deeds upon a tablet before her; conquered towns are at his feet. Fame
surmounts the whole, blowing her bugle of praise. The group on the
southern pier of the western front represents the French nation's
resistance to the invading army of 1814:--A young man defends his wife,
his children and his father; a warrior falls slain from his horse, and the
Genius of the Future encourages them to action. Upon the northern pier is
represented the peace of 1815:--The warrior sheathes his sword, the farmer
has caught a bull with a rope, and is taming him for purposes of
agriculture, while a mother with her children is sitting by, and Minerva
sheds her protecting influence over them. Every group is 36 feet in height
and each figure 18 feet.
A chain fence encircles this proud and noble monument, and shuts off all
conveyances. Pedestrians can enter until dusk. An ascent of 272 steps
brings the visitor to the platform at the top, from which one of the
finest views of Paris and the surrounding country may be enjoyed.
There are three other triumphal arches in Paris. The oldest is that of
Porte St. Denis. It was erected by the city of Paris in 1672. The
principal arch is 25 feet wide, and 43 feet high; and the total height of
the structure is 72 feet. Its reliefs and other representations are
superb.
The triumphal arch over Porte St. Martin is 54 feet wide by 54 feet high.
The central arch is 15 feet wide by 30 feet in elevation. It was built in
1674, two years after the erection of Porte St. Denis.
The last of the three inferior arches was erected by order of Napoleon in
1806. It has a base of 60 feet by 20 feet, and is 45 feet high. The cost
of erection was about $275,000. It stands near the Tuileries at the Place
du Carrousel, after which it was named, and which was so called from a
great tournament held by Louis XIV. in 1662. The entablature is supported
by eight Corinthian columns of marble, with bases and capitals of bronze,
adorned with eagles. The attic of this arch is surmounted by a figure of
Victory in a triumphal car with four bronze horses hitched to it. These
were modelled by Bosio from the celebrated historic horses which Napoleon
brought from Venice to Paris in 1797, but which were restored by the
allies in 1815, and now stand again in the Piazza of St. Mark at Venice,
as they had since 1205. The original (those in Venice) are gilt, but those
in Paris are black.
The Tomb of Napoleon I.
The tomb and last burial place of the great Napoleon, which is in Eglise
des Invalids, is perhaps the most imposing monument of the kind in the
world. I have not found its equal anywhere; nor anything to rival it even,
in costliness and splendor, except those of several of the Popes at Rome.
The tomb which covers the sarcophagus into which the mortal remains of
Napoleon I. brought from St. Helena, were placed April 2nd, 1861, consists
of a immense monolith of porphyry weighing 67 tons, brought from Lake
Onega in Russia at an expense of $28,000. This tomb, 13½ feet in height,
stands in the center of a circular crypt, and is surrounded by twelve
colossal statues representing so many victories. The pavement of the crypt
contains a crown of laurels in mosaic, and a black circle upon which are
inscribed the names of the following victories: Rivoli, Pyramids, Marengo,
Austerlitz, Iena, Friedland, Wagram and Moskowa. A large bouquet of
immortelles (everlasting flowers) lying upon the tomb is emblamatic of the
immortality of the great soldier's fame. Over the bronze door which leads
to the crypt, are inscribed the following words, quoted from the Emperor's
will:
"Je desire que mes cendres reposent sur les bordes de la Seine, au
milieu de ce peuple Francais que j'ai tant aime."
"I wish my remains to be laid on the banks of the Seine, amongst that
French people whom I have loved so much."--_P. Simond_.
In the center of an adjoining chapel, stands the tomb of Joseph, King of
Spain, the eldest brother of Napoleon I. His mortal remains were brought
hither in 1864.
The dome which rises over the tomb of Napoleon I. is one of the proudest
monuments in Paris, and its gilt and glittering cupola may be seen many
miles around. The cross on top of the globe and spire surmounting this
dome is 323 feet above the pavement. Leaving Eglise des Invalids from the
southern entrance, which leads to the tomb of Napoleon I., a spectacle
presents itself to the beholder in the form of a grand fountain throwing
its water high into the air. It is at
The Artesian Well of Grenelle.
M. Mulot commenced to bore at this well in 1834, but did not succeed in
reaching water until February 26th, 1841, by which time his boring
instrument had reached the depth of 1,800 feet, and the water suddenly
gushed forth with tremendous force. The whole depth is lined by a
galvanized iron tube that is 21 inches in diameter at the top and 7 inches
at the bottom. The, amount of water yielded every 24 hours is 170,940
gallons. Its temperature is about 82 degrees Fahrenheit.
Twenty years after the sinking of this well, that is in 1861,
The Artesian Well of Passy,
near the Arch of Triumph, was completed. This yielded at first 5,000,000
gallons in 24 hours; it yields now over 3,000,000 gallons per day. A third
artesian well is in Boulevard de la Gare.
There are, besides these artesian wells, 35 monumental fountains, 88 plain
fountains and over 2,000 water-plugs in the city.
Notre Dame.
The Cathedral Church of Notre Dame is the grandest church of the
rose-window class that I met with in my whole tour of Europe, The length
of this edifice is 390 feet, and its greatest width at the transepts 144
feet. It is said to be capable of holding 21,000 persons. The nave is 225
feet long, 39 feet wide and 102 feet in height to the vaulting; the
windows are 36 feet high. Its two western towers are each 204 feet high,
and the spire about 270 feet. The first thing that arrests the attention
of the visitor on approaching it, are the grotesque figures of its antique
gargoyles, several hundred in all, which give the church a very odd
appearance. The three portals (at the west end) contain about 300 images.
Its organ is 36 feet broad, 45 feet high and contains 3,484 pipes. But
among the most remarkable features of this magnificent cathedral are its
splendid rose-windows, representing a variety of scripture and legendary
subjects, and its choir and sacristy. Here, are mitres and crosses
glittering with jewels, and the church-utensils and vestments. The most
gorgeous are the robes worn by Pius VII. at the coronation of Napoleon I.,
and several series of brilliant robes profusely embroidered in silver and
gold. It seems that the place upon which Notre Dame now stands, was first
occupied by a heathen temple erected in the time of the Romans; for, among
nine large stones dug up in 1711, one bears the effigy of the Gallic deity
Hesus, and the other was a votive altar raised to Jove.
The Pantheon.
About half a mile distant from the island of the Seine upon which Notre
Dame stands, on an eminence south of the river, is located the Pantheon,
or church of St. Genevieve. This building cost $6,000,000. The six fluted
columns of its portico are 6 feet in diameter and 60 feet high. The whole
number of Corinthian columns in and about this superb edifice is 258. The
arched ceilings of the interior are 80 feet high. The dome is 66 feet in
diameter and its height from the pavement to the top is 268 feet. I have
seen no other dome in Europe that resembles so closely the dome on the
Capitol of the United States, both on account of its fine illumination by
natural light, and in its general design. One section of the frescoes in
the canopy of the dome on our national capitol, represents the deification
of Washington. In the dome of the Pantheon at Paris, Clovis, Charlemagne,
St. Louis and Louis XVIII., are represented as rendering homage to Ste.
Genevieve, who descends towards them on clouds, and Glory embraces
Napoleon. In the heavenly regions are represented, Louis XVI. and Marie
Antoinette, Louis XVII. and Madame Elizabeth.
In 1791, Mirabeau was interred here with great pomp, and in the same year
took place, the celebrated apotheoses (deifications) of Voltaire and
Rousseau. The remains of Mirabeau and of Marat were afterwards
depantheonized, and the body of the latter was thrown into a common sewer.
The vaults are under the western nave. In these the "monuments and funeral
urns are arranged like the Roman tombs in Pompeii." There are two
concentric passages in the center, where small sounds are repeated by
loud echoes. A hand holding a torch issues from one side of Rousseau's
tomb, meaning that he is a light to the world even after death.
La Madeleine
is the third and the last of the large churches of Paris to which I can
direct particular attention. It is 328 feet long by 138 feet wide,
covering over an acre of ground, and its erection cost over $2,500,000.
This structure was commenced in 1764, but the work was suspended during
the revolution of 1789. Napoleon had once directed Vignon to complete it
for a Temple of Glory, but Louis XVIII. restored it to its original
destination in 1815. It is approached at each end by a flight of 28 steps,
(the same number that constitute the Scala Sancta at Rome), extending
along the whole length of the facade; and a Corinthian colonnade of 52
columns, each 49 feet high and five feet in diameter, surrounds it on
every side.
There are scores of other churches in Paris that are interesting on
account of the various styles of architecture which they represent, but I
will only make mention of one more, and that on account of its terrible
historical associations. It is the church of St. Germain l'auxerrois
(pron. sang jer-mang lo-zher-wa). It was from the belfry of this church,
that the signal was given for the commencement of the Massacre of St.
Bartholomew, August 23rd, 1572. Its bells tolled during the whole of that
dreadful night. This church was the theater of another outbreak on the
13th of February, 1831, when everything within the church was destroyed.
The Louvre.
The reader may form an idea of the extent of these buildings, when he
reflects that the space covered and inclosed by the Old and New Louvre and
the Tuileries, is upwards of sixty acres. The court of the louvre is one
of the finest in Europe, and its art galleries are among the richest in
the world. The Long Gallery alone covers nearly an acre and a quarter,
being 42 feet wide and 1,322 feet long! A person can well spend weeks or
even months in the museum of the Louvre, but simply to walk through all of
its brilliant galleries will require about three hours! I cannot stop to
say more than that its collections of paintings and of sculpture is
probably much larger than any other in the world.
Besides what I have already described and enumerated, Paris has its Bois
de Boulogne containing large botanical and zological gardens, three race
courses, the longest nearly two miles in circuit, lakes and drives; also
many other gardens, squares, towers, columns, &c.--all full of beauty or
interesting on account of the historical events and incidents associated
with them; but I must now devote the remainder of my space to the
Theatres, Operas
and other places of amusement of the great capital of the social world.
Places of amusement are the leading feature of Paris, and a boundless
variety, adapted to the wants and tastes of every class of society, are
strewn in endless profusion all over the city. The concert season lasts
almost all the year round, though the highest class are limited to the
winter and spring. Masked balls take place throughout the Carnival, in the
winter season, and are thus spoken of and described by Galignani: "The
most amusing are at the Opera-house, where they begin at midnight and
continue till daybreak. No stranger who visits Paris at this season of the
year should omit a visit to one of the _Bals masques_ at this theater, for
it is difficult to imagine a scene more curious and fantastic than that
presented in the _Salle_ of the Grand Opera at a Carnival Ball. On these
nights the pit is boarded over and joins the stage; the vast area of the
whole theater forming a ball-room of magnificent proportions, which,
brilliantly lighted, and crowded with thousands of gay maskers attired in
every variety of colour and costume, forms a sight not easily forgotten.
Ladies should not go except as spectators in a box and under the
protection of their relatives. The ticket costs $2.00. To witness this
scene in perfection the visitor should wait until 12 or 1 o'clock, when
the company is completely assembled and the votaries of the dance are in
full activity. On entering the vast _salle_ at such a moment the effect is
scarcely imaginable, the gorgeousness of the immense theater, the glitter
of the lights, the brilliancy and variety of the costumes, the enlivening
strains of music, the mirth of the browd, and, above all, the the
untiring velocity with which the dancers whirl themselves through the
mazes of the waltz, polka and mazourka, present an appearance of
bewindering gayety not to be described. * * * * On some occasions of
special enthusiasm the crowd take up the leader of the orchestra with the
most frantic plaudits, and in more than one instance have carried him in
triumph round the theater. It is scarcely necessary to add that at these
balls the _roue_ (profligate) may find an endless variety of pleasant
adventures." On some days during the Carnival, crowds of masked persons,
exhibiting all sorts of antics, appear in the streets, and people assemble
on horseback, in carriages and on foot, to witness the scene.
"The Carnival was prohibited in 1790, and not resumed till Bonaparte was
elected first consul." Great was the joy of the Parisians when the
Carnival was again restored!
The Opera-house referred to in the extract above quoted, is the Academie
Nationals de Musique, or French Opera-house, also sometimes called the new
Opera-house. It is generally admitted to be the finest Opera-house in the
world. The space covered by this magnificent building is 140 metres by
122, (about 470 feet by 410), or nearly four and a half acres. It has
seats for 2,520 spectators. The staircases, walls and ceiling are of the
finest marble. The "house" for the spectators or audience is built
entirely of stone and iron, rich in decorations and thick with gold. The
stage alone is a quarter of an acre in extent, being 128 feet wide by 85
feet long. Below the stage there is a depth of 47 feet, from which the
scenes are drawn up all in one piece. This abyss below the stage was
obtained at an immense cost, as the architect had to lay the foundations
far below a subterranean body of water, but the advantage thus gained
enables them to present scenes that are marvelous. "The singers in this
opera are pupils of the Conservatoire, and the _corps de ballet_ consists
of the most distinguished dancers of the day. Great attention is paid to
costume and general effect." During the matchless performances of a night
that I was present, there were at one time nine large horses and a
procession of several hundred actors upon the stage, and it was far from
being full. One of the most beautiful and astounding performances of the
night was the production of a series of transformations that were as
sudden and as astonishing in their developments as is the metamorphosis of
the gaudy butterfly from the groveling worm. As the curtain rose there
stood upon the stage a mighty fortress, massive and strong. We had seen it
but long enough to observe how thick and how rough from age its
weather-beaten walls were, when there was heard a crash, and the mighty
citadel had fallen out of sight; but there still remained a most
beautiful castle which must have been contained inside of the citadel but
hid from the view by its towering walls. This castle was beautiful beyond
description. It was fairer far than the castles of the kings seem to be,
except when "distance lends enchantment to their view." But the second
scene was as ephemeral as the first. We beheld its fascinating beauties
only a few seconds when its four walls again dropped into the abyss below,
and there issued from its inner apartment a host of beautiful little
actresses such as I did not see upon any other stage in Europe. These
little fairy-like beauties, many perhaps not more than from 5 to 10 years
of age, all dressed in the most brilliant costumes, at once skipped into a
dance "running the ring and tracing the mazy round," to the great
satisfaction of the admiring spectators, who were as much delighted by the
gayety, grace and accomplishment which they displayed in their
performances, as they have been astonished at their sudden and almost
miraculous appearance.
At a Ball.
Dancing is the favorite amusement in Paris, and these exercises are
conducted on a grand scale, even during the summer season. I attended a
Public Ball one evening, when almost the entire floor (covering nearly
three fourths of an acre) and the adjoining garden of about the same area,
were thronged by thousands of gay and jovial dancers, all wild from the
excitement produced by the rhythmical motions and music of that playful
exercise.
Incidents.
The reader can not be more curious to know how one that is unacquainted
with the French language can get along in Paris, than I was when I first
took up my residence there. The first morning I went out to seek some
place where I might get fresh milk; _Lait_ is the French name of it as I
found it in my conversational guide book. I soon found that name upon a
card of pasteboard hanging at the door of a shop where bread and fruits
were displayed in the window. On entering the store a clever Frenchman
politely addressed me, but he soon discovered that I was none of the
_loquacious_ kind, in French. I asked for _lait_, pronouncing the word as
if it was spelt l-a-t-e, but he did not understand me. I could adorn my
conversation neither with verbs nor with adjectives, so I repeated the
word _lait_ several times with the rising inflection, by which he readily
inferred that I wanted something, though what that something was, remained
a mistery to him, all the same. By and by, I pointed out the word lait to
him, on seeing which, he exclaimed "---- du lá!" and gave me what I
wanted. Thereafter I visited him from two to five times every day,
according to convenience, to get my "du l[=a]_it!_". Of "du pä_in_"
(bread) and smoked sausages, I constantly kept a supply in my satchel, so
that when I entered a new city, I could well get along until I had become
acquainted. Fruits and a very healthy and nutricious kind of nuts, (the
Brazilian nuts), I bought in great abundance and exceedingly cheap from
such as hawked them about on the streets. Five to ten centimes (1 to 2
cents) would buy 7 or 8 large Brazilian nuts and 6 to 8 fine juicy pears,
or as many delicious plums, of which I was extremely fond. By thus
reducing the number and variety of my dishes at the regular meals, I only
enhanced the pleasures of the palate instead of reducing them; for he who
"does not eat but when he is hungry, nor drink except when he is thirsty,"
will enjoy the humblest meal much more than the pampered dedauchee can
relish the richest feast. As beer does not please my palate, and because
the water fountains of Paris were often out of my reach when I was
thirsty, I soon took fruit to supply the place of drink, and thus, in
Paris already, I laid the foundation of a dietary system that ensured me
not only health, happiness and convenience of procuring it alike in all
countries, but that proved to be very economical too. For from 40 to 60
cents a day, I supplied all the necessaries, and more of the luxuries of
life, than most of us are accustomed to, even in voluptuous America.