_Dear Jane:_
Another busy week of pleasure and amusement has glided by since you
have heard from us, and two evenings of it have been spent at two
delightful soirées. The first at Madame de N----'s, the second at the
gallant old General Lafayette's, in the rue d'Anjou; where he has a
suite of small and neat apartments illuminated for the reception of
his expected guests on every Tuesday evening. We made our debut there
about 9 o'clock and found them crowded. Among the throng were many
celebrated and interesting personages, for the worthy and enlightened
of all nations seem ever ready to do homage to the virtuous patriarch
of Lagrange. At his soirées the greatest ease prevails--the
refreshments are simple and plentiful, and in compliment to the
Americans and English, tea is always served, a custom not practised
among the French. We again saw Sir Charles and Lady Morgan and Mrs.
Opie, with whom by the bye we have exchanged visits. Then there was
the orator Benjamin Constant, a pale, thin man, with light blue eyes
and snowy hair, looking as if he were far on his passage to the next
world. He was environed by a crowd of gentlemen, to whom he was
speaking very earnestly with a great deal of gesture. Not far from him
we observed other stars of the Chamber of Deputies, and these were
Messieurs Casimir Perrier, Laffitte and Ternaux, whose countenances
bespeak their noble minds. Monsieur Ternaux has introduced here and
carries on the manufacture of cashmere shawls, and they not only equal
those of India in tints and texture, but surpass them in the beauty
and richness of the borders. To him also is attributed the discovery
of the art of stamping patterns in relief on cloth table covers, &c.
In the next room, we saw Mr. Cooper, the American novelist, and his
lady--the two Miss P----'s, cousins of Lord Byron and Mr. and Mrs.
----. She is the daughter of Gen. Bertrand, and a beautiful creature
she is. The lovely countess d'A---- was sitting near her. She is the
sister of Madame George Lafayette, and is an intelligent and
fascinating woman. She called here yesterday with Madame Lasteyrie and
her daughters.
It is now time to speak of some of the curiosities of Paris to which
we have recently been devoting our mornings. I believe the
"conservatory of arts and trades" stands first on the list. It is also
termed the "museum of industry," and is a collection of all sorts of
machines and models, patterns and specimens of things that French
genius and labor have produced; for the government obliges every
Frenchman to deposit here a sample or model of whatever he improves or
invents, and to accompany it with an account of its manufacture or
construction. Besides several halls exhibiting machines and models,
there are others filled with specimens of porcelain, glass, stone
ware, lace, silks, ribbons, tapestry, colored and stamped paper,
scissors, knives, fans, watches, clocks, lamps and a thousand other
articles. One of the halls contains a number of _miniature_ buildings,
representing sundry manufactories. They are open in front, and display
in different apartments the various processes of each business and the
implements required in it, not omitting the most trifling tool.
Another hall contains a library of 10,000 volumes, written in almost
every language, and treating on subjects connected with the purport of
the establishment--and professors of geometry and natural philosophy
give lectures there to such pupils as are recommended by the minister
of the interior. Would it not be shameful if the French nation did not
rapidly progress in the arts and sciences, when the government is so
liberal in encouraging them, by affording those persons who possess
talents every advantage gratuitously, so that the poor may rise as
well as the rich, if blessed with abilities? Among the patterns of
tapestry is one concerning which a droll story is related, viz. that
Vaucanson, a skilful mechanic, being offended with the inhabitants of
Lyons for undervaluing some looms he had invented, tied an ass to one
of them and made him execute the piece of embroidery from which this
specimen was cut, and which excelled any _they_ had ever done.
We have also visited the Diorama, the Georama and the Neorama, the
royal printing office, the manufactory of plate glass and the hospital
of the "Quinze Vingts." A diorama you have seen. A georama is a
panoramic representation of the earth with its divisions of land and
water; the spectator standing in the centre. A neorama is a painting
so ingeniously designed and arranged, as to produce the illusion of
your being within whatever building it represents. The one we saw is a
picture of the interior of St. Peter's at Rome, and Mr. Dorval who has
been there says it is an exact copy. The royal printing office is an
establishment of great magnitude. There is a vast collection of types
and several hundred presses. We were informed that Pope Pius VII
visited this office during his sojourn in Paris, and that while he was
there the Lord's prayer was printed in no less than 150 languages and
presented to him. At the plate glass manufactory we beheld mirrors of
wonderful magnitude. The plates are cast at Cherbourg and at St.
Gobin, (a castle in the department of Aisne) and sent here to be
quick-silvered and polished. Eight hundred workmen are constantly
employed in the business. The French are indebted to the great Colbert
for this establishment; prior to its foundation plate glass could only
be had by sending for it to Venice. Having satisfied our curiosity
here, we proceeded to the hospital of the "Quinze Vingts," founded by
St. Louis in 1220 for the maintenance of 300 blind--a larger number is
now admitted. It was customary in the age of St. Louis to count by
twenties, and there being 15 twenties in 300 this institution derived
its appellation from having that number of pensioners. We were pleased
with the neatness and comfort that reigned, and arrived there just in
time to hear a class of the blind sing and play; for those who evince
a talent for music are instructed in it. The women were the vocalists
and the men performed on various instruments. Even the leader was
sightless! They kept time very well and we enjoyed their concert
exceedingly, though the distorted faces some made while singing were
horrible. They are taught a variety of trades, and not only reading
but the art of printing, and we saw a man arrange the types and print
several words with both skill and quickness. The types were extremely
large and made of wood, and no ink was used in the operation, but the
letters pressed on the paper, so as to leave the traces of them
perceptible to the slightest touch.
On Wednesday we went to the castle of Vincennes, a gothic fortress,
about three miles from the city. It contains the state prisons and an
armory. A note to the commandant, from Mr. Warden, the American
Ex-Consul and a kind friend of the Danvilles, gained us admission, and
we spent two hours in examining the castle within whose gloomy
turrets, nobles and monarchs have sighed in captivity. The celebrated
Mirabeau was a prisoner there during four years, and there wrote his
letters between Gabriel and Sophie. The duke d'Enghien was shot in a
moat of this castle--the spot where the execution took place is
designated by a willow tree and a black column, bearing this
inscription, "Here he fell." In the chapel is a handsome mausoleum
enclosing his ashes. Returning from Vincennes we stopped on the _Place
de la Bastille_ (once occupied by that terrific building) to view the
model of the fountain of the Elephant. It is of plaster, and 72 feet
high! A tower on the animal's back is to serve as a reservoir for the
water which is to flow from the proboscis, and one of the legs is to
contain the stair case leading to the tower. The whole mass is to be
of bronze, but it is doubtful if this grand fountain will ever be
made; it was one of Napoleon's gigantic designs, which adversity and
death prevented his accomplishing. Last night we witnessed the wonder
of an Elephant acting a part in a play at the Cirque Olympique, a
theatre of the same description as that of Astley's in London. The
house was crowded almost to suffocation, and the docile and
astonishing creature excited universal admiration by her performance.
She is called "Mam'selle Dyjeck," is a native of the island of Ceylon,
and was purchased from some Indian jugglers by Monsieur Huguet her
present owner. She is so attached to him that she shews evident
distress if he is long absent from her, and extreme delight when he
returns. If he be fatigued or indisposed, it is said that she even
undresses him, puts him to bed and watches by him while he rests.
Travellers I know are expected to exaggerate, but I assure you I am
not availing myself of the privilege in the present instance. The play
was entitled "l'Elephant du roi de Siam," and was written expressly to
exhibit the address and sagacity of M'lle Dyjeck, who really acted
throughout as if she were a human being. At the close of the
performance the audience vociferated for her re-appearance, and after
a few moments elapsed the curtain was raised and the _royal lady_ came
forth proudly tossing her trunk. She advanced to the edge of the stage
and made three courtesies, retreating all the while, and looking round
on the spectators as she rose, until she had sufficiently receded, she
walked off amidst a roar of applause. It was quite an inspiring scene.
The Duchess of Berri and her suite were present.
Apropos--Madame F. lately gave us a most interesting account of her
Highness' children, the little Duke of Bordeaux and M'lle Louise. She
says they are both remarkably amiable and _le petit Duc_ holds a levee
daily, is dressed _en militaire_ and assumes all the airs of a grown
gentleman. He is so proud of his sword, that the severest penalty his
tutor can inflict, when he misbehaves, is to deprive him of it. He is
a pretty boy--we have often met him taking an airing in his coach and
four, surrounded by gens d'armes, for the Bourbons are so unpopular
that for fear of his sharing the fate of his father, he is always
strongly guarded whenever he appears in public. He pays dearly for his
lineage, poor little fellow! and I never see him without thinking
sorrowfully of the probability of his perishing by the ruthless hand
of an assassin. But mercy! what a packet. Have patience dearest! with
your