Versailles.
On my voyage across the Atlantic, I had formed the friendship of a young
clergyman, (Rev. O.), of New York, who wished to make a summer vacation
tour through western Europe, visiting Ireland, Scotland, England, France,
Italy, Switzerland and Germany. On comparing programmes, we noticed that
he would likely come to Paris during the time that I had alotted to that
city. We therefore agreed that each should drop a letter to the other,
immediately after reaching Paris, so that he who should happen to come
last might at once know where to find the other. One evening, when I came
home, the card of Rev. O., my American friend, was handed to me by the
landlord, who informed me by his gestures that he had been there to call
on me. The card was backed by a note asking me to meet him at No.--,
Rue--------. Though that street is perhaps not more than an eighth of a
mile long, I soon found it upon my map of Paris, which was a very
excellent one, as the maps of all large foreign cities generally are and
must be, in order that persons who cannot speak the languages of those
cities, may still be able to find any places without asking any one where
they are or which way to go. The map of Paris, for example, is divided
into numerous squares by arbitrary lines. Those which run vertically down
the map are lettered, and those which cross it horizontally are numbered.
At the side of the map is a table of all the streets, with references to
the squares on the map, designating between what lines they are found, or
which they intersect. By the aid of such a map, I started out the next
morning to meet my friend, whose quarters were in a distant part of the
city, about three miles away. I found him without difficulty. He was
accompanied by two gentlemen from London that had come with him to see
Paris and its environs. It is both novel and pleasant for two such lonely
pilgrims as my New York friend and I were when we left home, to meet each
other again in a foreign city, and introduce to each other the friends
which one picked up by the way. We soon agreed to go all together to
Versailles, the French Capital, that day. This was Tuesday, July 27th. At
10:40 a.m., we crossed the fortifications of Paris, and soon came into
view of Bois de Boulogne, the great park of Paris. Five minutes later we
crossed the Seine at St. Cloud, a small town, where we stopped to see the
ruins occasioned by the siege of Paris in 1870. We had considerable
trouble, however, in identifying the strongholds and redoubts held by the
Prussians in that memorable siege, as nobody seemed to understand any of
our French! On one occasion, Rev. O., while asking a lady for a certain
place, called on Mr. K----, one of the Londoners, to come and see whether
he could make this woman understand any of _his_ French! It was altogether
a day of odd adventures and fun. After enjoying the lovely prospects an
hour, we walked another hour in great perplexity as to what directions we
should take to find a railway station where we might take a train for
Versailles, but finally succeeded. We did not understand more from those
who directed us, than the direction we should take, never knowing the
distance. It is more than a joke, for a party to be obliged to walk
several miles for a station, when they had expected to reach it in a
quarter or half a mile at most! When we arrived at the station at Sevres,
our difficulties only commenced. "When will the next train leave for
Versailles, and where can we procure our tickets?" were questions which
engaged our best energies and all our ingenuity for half an hour, besides
a rash adventure on my part, before they were solved. (It seems to me now,
that throughout my tour, I always got into more trouble when I had company
to rely upon, than when I was alone). By means of motions with our hands
and by pronouncing the name Versailles, we made them understand where we
intended to go to; but when we asked for "billets," they did not offer us
any. They showed us, however, that the train was due at 1:10, by pointing
out those figures on the dial of the clock. About 15 minutes before the
train was due, we asked again for tickets, and when they were again
refused, we began to fear that the tickets had to be procured on the
opposite side of the railroad. We therefore crossed by a foot-bridge near
the station, but could not approach the house on the other side, on
account of the high fence which shut every body off from the tracks. When
our plans were thus frustrated our company became alarmed with the fear
that we might miss the train for want of tickets, and fail to see
Versailles that day. At this crisis I ascended the bridge and climbed down
along the walls on the inside of the fence; suspending myself from the
lowest iron bars along the bridge, I thus dropped myself into the yard
below! But our discouragement reached its climax, when I found that the
door was closed and locked, which we had hoped was the ticket office. I
could not get out of that inclosure, as the fences were high, the gates
locked and the bridge from which I had dropped myself, was out of my
reach. Several railroad men saw me immediately, who appeared as much
astonished at my coming into that place, as I was perplexed in my awkward
position. I did not misinterpret their French this time, however, for the
way they looked up toward the sky, and their gestures and chattering,
plainly indicated that they wondered where I came from. I motioned them
that I came "from above," and pointed toward the bridge. What fine or
punishment might have been inflicted for my intrusion I do not know, but
I was only rebuked in language which I did not understand, and sent out
through one of the office doors which they unlocked for the purpose. My
companions were now in great glee at this termination of my adventure, one
of them observing that I might soon be landed in _close quarters_, at my
present rate of progress! I responded that we were a party corporate, and
that three fourths of what any one did was to the credit of the other
three. The train soon came, and we took our places on the top of the cars
and rode on to Versailles. This was the only ride I had in two-story
railway cars, but our trip was such a delightful one in the second story
of those cars, that I often wished for like accommodations again.
The National Assembly was in session when we reached Versailles, but we
could not gain admittance. We immediately went to the Palace, which is
devoted to the reception of a rich and splendid historical museum
unparalleled in Europe. There are altogether some 34 salles or galleries,
which require upwards of an hour to walk through. The paintings are
arranged chronologically, and it is this classification, as well as the
magnitude of the collection, that render the museum one of the most famous
in Europe. Adjoining this palace, are the gardens and park, upon the
establishment and improvement of which, Louis XIV., (1616) spent
$200,000,000! This immense sum would pay a tract of land 100 miles long
and 10 miles wide, bought at $300 per acre! Many millions have since been
spent upon it. It is at the present day one of the finest pleasure-gardens
in Europe. Its fountains are among the most magnificent in existence.
These are made to play only once (the first Sunday) every month; to supply
the water in sufficient aboundance for this magnificent display, costs on
each occasion $2,000! It is a source of the purest happiness for a party
of Republicans, as ours was, to see the very palace and gardens which
Napoleon III. once occupied as a royal mansion, now held as the common
property and the peaceful promenade of the pleasure-seeking masses. How
changed the scene! That which was prepaired for the king, is now enjoyed
by the common people. Such are the fruits of the French Republic, which
has now broken the fetters of royalty for the third time.
On Sunday, August 1st., I visited this garden and park again, this time to
see the fountains play. It is impossible to do justice to this
pleasure-garden even in two days. In the center is the grand canal 186
feet wide and nearly a mile long, intersected at right angles by another
canal that is 3,000 feet long. My rambles were confined to the section
intervening between the palace and the Bassin d'Apollon, which is at the
nearer end of the Grand Canal. The fountains and jets in this section,
north and south of the Allee du Tapis Vert (green lawn), are almost
innumerable. They do not all play at the same time, so the crowd can
follow them from basin to basin until Neptune with his numerous jets, the
last and the greatest of them all, is reached. The Terrasse du Chateau
with Silenus, Antinous, Apollo and Bacchus, after the antique, lies next
to the palace. Immediately below is the Parterre d'Eau, upon whose border
repose twenty-four magnificent groups in bronze, namely, eight groups of
children, eight nymphs and the four principal rivers of France, with their
tributaries. Toward the left of this lies the Parterre du Midi, and still
further south, along the palace, lies the Orangerie. A flight of 103 steps
lead down to an iron gate on the road to Brest.
Parterre de Latone lies in advance of Parterre d'Eau, which two paterres
(pits) the Allee du Tapis Vert (green carpet) and the Grand Canal, lie in
a straight line and present a charming view nearly a mile and a quarter in
length. Bassin Latone is surrounded by a semi-circular terrace crowned
with yew-trees and a range of statues and groups in marble. (It would
require the space of a volume to describe all the fine statuary of this
garden). This fountain consists of five circular basins rising one above
the other in the form of a pyramid, surmounted by a group of Latona with
Apollo and Diana. "The goddess implores the vengeance of Jupiter against
the peasants of Libya, who refused her water, and the peasants, already
metamorphosed, some half, and others entirely, into frogs and tortoises,
are placed on the edge of the different tablets, and throw forth water
upon Latona in every direction, thus forming liquid arches of the most
beautiful effect." Walking down the green velvet lawn, we came to the
Bassin d'Apollon. Apollo, the God of Day, is emerging from the water in a
chariot drawn by four horses, and surrounded by a throng of sea-monsters.
Several other fountains represent the seasons. Spring is represented by
Flora and Summer by Ceres. Winter appears in a group representing Saturn
surrounded by children; and Bacchus, reclining upon grapes and surrounded
by infant satyrs, represents Autumn. Near the Tapis Vert, in the midst of
a dense grove, is a magnificent rotunda composed of 32 marble columns,
united by arches and supporting a number of marble vases. Under the
arcades, are a circular range of fountains, "and in the middle is a fine
group of the Rape of Proserpine."
The largest and most splendid fountain in the park, is the Bassin de
Neptune. Upon its southern border stand 22 ornamental vases, each with a
jet in the center. Against the same side, are three colossal groups in
lead. The central one represents Neptune and Amphitrite seated in an
immense shell and surrounded by tritons, nymphs and sea-monsters. On the
left is Oceanus resting upon a sea-unicorn, and on the right, Proteus, the
son of Oceanus. There are several other groups; and from the jets of
these, amounting to some 55 or 60 in all, issues a deluge of water, when
the gates are opened. A quarter of an hour in advance of the appointed
time, about 15,000 persons had assembled upon the circular terrace, facing
this magnificent fountain, and were waiting with breathless anxiety to see
old Neptune take his turn. We had seen the wonders and beauties presented
by the other fountains as they shot their silvery columns, and clouds of
vapor high into the air, or spanned their pyramidal basins with
innumerable liquid arches intersecting each other in every conceivable
direction; but the grandest sight, it was said, was still in store for us.
All the other fountains had commenced their playing with humble
spasms--the columns rising higher by degrees, but old Neptune took every
body by surprise. Hundreds leaped and shouted for joy, when they saw that
the southern heavens, which had been so clear and beautiful but a moment
before, were suddenly whitened with clouds of vapor upon which the rays of
the western sun produced a most charming effect. A gentle breeze gave to
each spouting jet, a misty tail, comet-like in appearance to the admiring
spectators.
An Incident
which added much to my pleasures and enjoyments of that glorious day,
deserves notice here, as it illustrates that if one even starts to make
the tour of the world alone, so that he may not be detained by the
loiterings of a companion whose tastes and fancies differ from his, need
not therefore be without pleasant associates when he is in want of them.
Early in the afternoon, as I was about taking my seat under the shade of a
yew-tree on a terrace where I might have a fair view of Bassin de Latone,
(the play of whose liquid arches render it the most _beautiful_ of all in
the garden), I was accidentally met by the same English party with whom I
had traveled from London to Paris. It was a happy meeting indeed, and the
incidents of our walks and conversations upon that pleasure-garden will
ever remain fresh and green on memory's tablet. They had finished their
tour of Germany and returned in time to spent the great day of the month
at Versailles. As the band was discoursing excellent music, the fountains
playing, and crowds of people streaming hither and thither in the midst of
these splendid scenes, one of the ladies passed a remark which I only
learned to appreciate fully, several months afterwards. She said, "_I love
the quiet English Sabbath_." Her father had experienced before what the
continental Sabbath was, but his daughters, though they appreciated these
charming scenes none the less, would have preferred them on week-days;
for, nearly a month of sight-seeing among a people who keep no Sundays
such as we do, had made them long for a day of sweet and silent repose.
Several months later, after I had traveled through France, Belgium,
Germany, Switzerland and Italy, without finding a day of rest such as
England and America make of their Sundays, I felt that even the
pleasure-seeker should rest one day in seven. Often thought of the "quiet
English" and American Sabbaths.