Transcriber's Note: Minor typographical errors have been corrected
without note. Irregularities and inconsistencies in the text have
been retained as printed.
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PEREGRINE IN FRANCE.
A Lounger's Journal,
IN FAMILIAR LETTERS TO HIS FRIEND.
"And in his brain,
Which is as dry as the remainder biscuit
After a voyage, he hath strange places cramm'd
With observation--the which he vents
In _mangled forms_."
AS YOU LIKE IT.
_LONDON:_
_Printed by Thomas Davison, Whitefriars_,
FOR JAMES HARPER AND CO., 46, FLEET-STREET.
1816.
PREFACE.
The friend who has ventured to send these letters to the press feels
it necessary to state, in apology for the insufficiency of such a
trifle to meet the public eye, that they are actually published
without the knowledge of Peregrine (who is still abroad) and chiefly
with the view of giving copies to the numerous friends by whom he is
so justly regarded. The editor, therefore, relying on the indulgence
of those friends, humbly also deprecates the stranger critic's
censure, both for poor Peregrine and himself.
LETTER I.
Paris, December 14, 1815.
MY DEAR FRIEND,
Arrived safely at this interesting metropolis, I take the earliest
opportunity of relieving the affectionate anxiety you expressed over
our parting glass, by the assurance that I have happily escaped all
the evils prognosticated by some of our acquaintance from a journey at
this inclement season.
Those indeed of the inquisitive family of John Bull, who look only
for luxury and convenience in travelling, will do well never to
leave the comforts of their own happy island from motives of
expected pleasure, as they will be sure to be fretted by a series
of petty disappointments and vexations which fall to the lot of every
traveller. A little forethought may occasionally be necessary, but I
am convinced that he alone will truly enjoy a continental trip who
knows how at once to reconcile himself to the chances of the moment,
derive from them all the good he can, thank God for it,--and be
satisfied.
Without more prosing I will endeavour to comply with Mrs. ----'s
request, and, trying to overcome my propensity to lounging indolence,
send you, from time to time, such crude observations as may suggest
themselves in my peregrinations through some of the towns and
provinces of France, and during my short stay in the capital; although
I fear all novelty on this subject has already met your eye, from the
abler pens of more accomplished tourists.
At Dover I repaired immediately to the York Hotel, where the host and
hostess justified all you had told me of their attention and civility.
I found that the mail packet would attempt to get out of harbour on
Saturday afternoon; the captain had in vain endeavoured to put to sea
that morning: however, we succeeded on a second trial, and held one
course to Boulogne, which we reached in about four hours. The vessel
was very much crowded, having the mails of four days on board, and the
accumulation of four days' passengers. It was very cold, and I was, as
usual, sea-sick. I went on shore about eleven o'clock that night, and
was conducted to an hotel in the upper town, all those of the lower
town, which are the best, being full. I took under my protection an
English lady proceeding to her husband at Havre-de-Grace. We knocked
up the host, hostess, and drowsy servants, who, however, soon cooked
us some broiled whitings and lean mutton-chops (_coutelets de
mouton_); and after having taken a little _eau de vie_ and warm
Burgundy, I was conducted to my bed-room, having first seen my fellow
traveller safely lodged in hers. The waiter, "_garçon_," was an
Englishman, with all the obliging willingness of the French. I was
surprised to find my dormitory so comfortable, having supped in a
dirty _un_comfortable apartment, in which I believe slept mine host
and his wife, whom we had routed out of their snug quarters from an
alcove at one corner of it. My said bed-chamber was large, and on the
ground floor; at one end was a good wood fire blazing on the hearth,
and at the other a comfortable bed in a recess, with clean sheets,
&c.; over the fire-place a very fine chimney-glass, and upon a large
clumsy deal table stood a basin and ewer of thick French earthenware
and of peculiar form, the basin having that of an English salad-bowl
with a flat bottom,--of course it is inconvenient for its purpose.
Soap is only brought when you ask for it, and is an extra charge. All
the bed-chambers I have yet seen answer this description, which
perhaps you will think tedious; but every thing at the moment, with
the warm colouring of first impressions in a foreign country, was
interesting to me.
On going to the custom-house next morning, I found all my baggage,
except my drawing table, camera, and apparatus; I hope to regain them,
as I gave directions to Mrs. Parker, an Englishwoman, who keeps the
Hotel d'Angleterre, to forward them to me at Paris in case they were
left on board the packet; but there are so many porters (women
principally) who attend upon the landing of a boat, and, like as many
harpies, seize upon your packages, _malgré vous_, that it is more
than probable I shall never see them again; in which case you must not
expect very accurate sketching.
_À propos_, talking of female porters, let me inform you that, in
spite of the boasted gallantry of the French nation, some of the most
laborious part of the work, agricultural as well as commercial, is
performed by women. This may, however, be in a degree owing to the
exhaustion of male population, occasioned by the continued wars in
which unhappy France has been so long involved by the insatiate
ambition of her late ruler.
After managing, as well as I could, the affair of my missing drawing
utensils, I took a cursory view of the town and environs, attended by
a gay, obsequious droll, of the old French school, who hung about me
with such an assiduous importunity it was not possible to shake him
off; he stuck to me like a _burr_, and would fain have accompanied
"_Mi-lord Anglois_" to Paris, or any where else: he brought Sterne's
La Fleur so strongly to my mind, and amused me so exceedingly by his
singing, and skipping about at all calls with such unaffected
sprightliness, that I own I parted with him very reluctantly: but a
poor philosophic lounger, likely soon to be on half pay, had little
occasion for a valet of his qualifications. An accident afforded me a
proof of this good-humoured fellow's honesty, which I cannot deny
myself the pleasure of relating. I had a considerable quantity of
silver pieces in a bag, which, coming untied, the contents rolled on
the bed and floor; I thought I had picked up the whole, but on
returning to my chamber he presented me with several which had fallen
into a fold of the blankets, and which I had overlooked. I afterwards
also recovered a five franc piece from the _fille de chambre_. I
believe, indeed, that the lower orders in France are generally honest,
as well as sober and obliging; and that, although they make no scruple
of outwitting, they will not actually rob John Bull.
Boulogne sur Mer is divided into an higher and lower town; the
intermediate street, in which the church is situated, and which
ascends gradually to the former, is wide and cheerful, and looking
from the top of it, towards the opposite southern hills, an
interesting view presented itself,--the remains of the hut encampments
of Bonaparte's army of England. On the heights, to the northward of
the town, are also the ruins of long streets of soldiers' huts,
mess-houses, &c. Near this encampment Napoleon had begun to build a
noble column, of a species of marble found in a neighbouring quarry:
we saw a very beautiful model of it; the base and part of the shaft,
already built, are about fifty feet from the ground, but the
scaffolding around it runs to the projected height of the capital,
viz. 150 feet, and is strongly bolted with iron. This column, intended
as a trophy of imperial grandeur, would have been, when finished, a
handsome object on the coast, and probably useful to the coasting
mariner as a land-mark; it is now a striking monument of disappointed
ambition, and may afford a salutary moral lesson both to princes and
their subjects!
There are some striking views about Boulogne, which English travellers
hurrying to and from the capital rarely stop to look at. The heights
were every where bristled with cannon and mortars during the war, and
the forts are very strong by art and nature: the approach to the
harbour was therefore truly formidable when the republican flag waved
on this iron-bound coast. This port is very ancient: it was here the
Romans are said to have embarked for Britain, and the remains of a
tower, built by them in the reign of Caligula, are still shewn. The
harbour is also interesting from having been the rendezvous for the
flotilla, which idly threatened to pour the imperial legions on our
happy shores. Of this vaunted flotilla, consisting once of 2000
vessels, scarcely a wreck remains!
Our gallant tars always heartily despised this Lilliputian armada,
unsupported by ships of force, which Boulogne and the ports near it
are incapable of admitting. The harbour here being almost dry at low
water, the French, in one tide, could only have got about 100 of their
puny vessels into the outer roads, where, while waiting for the rest,
they would have been equally exposed to destruction by our vigilant
cruisers, or by a gale at N.W. Nevertheless our enterprising
government, in the spring of 1804, was induced to send over, at no
small cost, an expedition of several vessels, having each in their
interior an immense mass of large stones clamped and cemented
together, which _artificial rocks_ (the wooden exterior being set
on fire) were intended to be sunk at the mouth of the harbour and
channels near it, and thus to block up the poor republican gun-boats
for ever.
The attempt, however, to carry this scheme into execution met with
several obstacles unforeseen by the projector (a civilian and a
foreigner unskilled in nautical affairs), and after various fruitless
efforts, the expedition was wisely abandoned on the representation of
its utter inexpediency, made to the lords of the admiralty by the navy
employed on the service. The stone-ships were in consequence
withdrawn, but I never heard what became of them or their projector
afterwards.
In viewing the sands and neighbouring beach, I was forcibly struck
with the want of enterprise in the French. Such a town possessing
similar advantages in England, would shortly rival Ramsgate or
Brighton, and become, in the season, the resort of fashion. Here, with
every natural capability for a bathing-place, they have neither
machines for bathing, nor lodgings for visitants.
Embellishments, or even repairs, are rarely thought of in the
provincial towns of France; the houses are large, old, and gloomy,
and descend "unaltered, unimproved," "from sire to son," without
any of the cheerful _agrémens_ which render our smallest houses in
England so delightful.
The fishing-boats of Boulogne appeared to me clumsy and ill
appointed--ours are yachts in comparison of them.
Bidding now adieu to the coast, where I have kept you too long, I took
my departure for Paris with a young French gentleman of Calais and the
English lady mentioned before, in a cabriolet. I shall now _whisk_
you speedily to the capital. We slept that night at Vernai, a small
village on the other side of Abbeville, having made a slight repast at
Montreuil, where I inquired of a soldier about your friend S---- ----,
whose regiment, the Inniskillen Dragoons, with the Scots Greys and
Royals, was there.
Montreuil is situated on a very steep hill. Here my passport was
asked for; but I shewed the hilt of my sword instead of it, which
was sufficient. We left Vernai next morning, and breakfasted upon
excellent coffee and mutton chops, for which, with delicious bread
and butter, they charged three francs each.
Abbeville contains 18,000 inhabitants: it is situated in a pleasant
valley, where the river Somme divides into several branches, and
separates the town into two parts. The view, as I approached it, was
very striking; something like Salisbury from Harnam Hill. Two very
fine churches are the most conspicuous objects. On the road we met
the Highland Brigade; and in the town was one regiment halted, and
four others about to be billeted off. I parted from my agreeable
fellow-travellers at Amiens, and proceeded alone in the Diligence.
I am interrupted by the postman, but shall shortly renew my narrative,
and shall not therefore expect to hear from you till I write again.
Adieu!
LETTER II.
Creil, a dirty little town between Clermont and Chantilly. Jan. 14,
1816.
MY DEAR FRIEND,
I take the opportunity of the return of a brother officer to England,
to send you a brief continuation of my journal, knowing that you will
make every reasonable allowance for its imperfection. In my last,
which I wrote to you soon after my arrival at Paris, I believe I
conducted you with me as far as Amiens, a large city, possessing a
beautiful cathedral, which however I had not then an opportunity of
seeing. Here, for the first time, I got into a French Diligence, the
machinery and necessary, or rather _un_necessary appendages of which I
shall not attempt to describe, but shall merely say, that within they
are sufficiently easy, large, and commodious. On my journey to the
capital, I was amused by a warm political conversation between a
Bonapartist and a Royalist, who, I think, was more strenuous in the
cause of Louis than he otherwise would have been, had he not been
honoured with a cross, the ribband of which he wore in one of the
button-holes of his coat.
We dined at Clermont: the first dish brought was vermicelli soup--then
came the meat of which it had been made, but of which, judging that I
had taken its essence in the soup, I declined to partake. Afterwards
came some partridges baked, in a kind of pudding, to rags. Their
flavour had been so abstracted by their covering, I suppose, that I
asked what birds they were. Next entered, swimming in oiled butter, a
fish with a livid-purple head, the name of which I was also obliged to
enquire, and found that it was a barbel. I was soon, however, able to
turn my eyes to a less novel, but more pleasing object, a fowl roasted
and garnished with water cresses, but without liver, gizzard, or
gravy. An omelette, with salad, pears, and walnuts, completed our
dinner, my first regular one in France, and of which, consequently, I
took more notice than usual on such occasions. The wine put down to us
was small, but not badly flavoured: small as it is, however, the
French always mix it with water. This repast, for which we paid each
three francs, would have been better relished by me if some of my
messmates had possessed cleaner hands, and tooth-picks more convenient
than a French table-knife, which is an instrument quite rude enough
for its _intended_ purpose.
I arrived in Paris late on the evening of the 12th of December; and
finding that I could be accommodated with a bed at the hotel where the
diligence stopped, after eating some cold fowl, and drinking half a
bottle of wine, I requested to be shewn to my chamber, the ascent to
which was by a miserable dirty staircase. The room had a tiled floor,
and felt very cold and comfortless; the bed was, however, good, and
furnished with a clean pair of sheets.
Next morning, after being obliged to perform my ablutions without
the use of soap, an article, as I said before, never found in the
bedchambers of France without special requisition, I descended the
common staircase, almost as dirty as any you ever saw in Edinburgh,
and found at breakfast, in the coffee-room, an old gentleman of
Boston, in America. He made me acquainted with the customs of the
house, and introduced me, at dinner, to a gentleman from the Havannah,
and another from a small town near Valenciennes, both of whom could
talk English fluently, and were very sensible, well informed men,
whose society has been very useful to me.
That day being rainy, (and, by the by, _all_ Paris is more dirty
than the dirtiest part of London,) I contented myself with studying
the map of the city; and next morning repaired, brimful of anxious
curiosity, to see the Louvre and its gallery.
Elated as I was, as almost every one must be who goes upon a similar
occasion, and consequently apt for disappointment, I was confounded
by its grandeur. No wonder--the court of the Louvre, which has been
lately restored to its pristine magnificence, is, I am told by my
Flemish friend, who has travelled all over Europe, the most superb
thing of its kind existing. I found my way into the interior by means
of an English officer, who, having conducted me through the gallery of
statues on the ground floor, directed me up stairs to that containing
the pictures.
The collection of statues has been much less encroached on by the
hands of the austere justice, which has lately spoiled this famous
assemblage of the finest works of art, than that of pictures. Of
these, for one remaining, eight or nine have been removed; and many
that are left are not, I think, worthy of having been in company with
those returned to their former habitations.
There are some very fine statues which remain, and among these the
Gladiator Pugnans; but the niches, which were so highly adorned by the
celebrated Venus and Apollo, now yawn upon the mournful spectator with
a melancholy vacancy. The galleries themselves, however, are so grand,
that the sight of them alone may be esteemed a sufficient inducement
for a visit to the Louvre; and indeed they seem to rejoice that their
more attractive inmates have departed.
The picture gallery is badly lighted. It is the longest room I ever
saw. Children, and persons of almost all ranks, were promenading
through it the day I was there, which, I believe, was one on which
it is open to the public at large, under the careful supervision,
however, of some keepers, who wear the livery of the king's household.
In the evening I went to the Theatre Français, and saw Talma in
Ulysse. I shall speak of this very excellent actor afterwards, when I
describe the performance of the French Hamlet. This Theatre, where the
legitimate French drama is represented, is very large, but of a very
inconvenient form. The house is dirty now; but the decorations of
the auditory were not, when new, so splendid as those of our London
playhouses. It is lighted, as are all the theatres of Paris, by an
immense chandelier suspended from the centre of the roof, without the
aid of lamps or candles in front of the boxes. The orchestra, which is
numerous and good, played, at the command of the audience, the
national airs Vive Henri IV. and Channante Gabrielle.
The costume and scenery are very good--the former is superb, and
correctly appropriate; the latter shifted only at the conclusion
of each act. To each tier of boxes the price of admission is
different--becoming less and less as you ascend, a regulation which
ought to be adopted in our London theatres, where it is unreasonable
to take the same price for the upper tier, as for those of the lower
and dress circles. "They certainly manage these things better in
France."--No females are permitted to enter the pit: there are,
however, two seats in front, and four or five at the back, to which
they may go; and the price of such seats is greater than that of the
proper pit. The house was very full, for Talma always fills it; but I
went late, and was badly situated. The afterpiece was adapted from
the Sultan of Marmontel, which we have also on our English stage.
Next day, the 15th, having occasion to enter a hosier's shop, I had
an opportunity of observing how necessary it is to beware of giving
a French shopkeeper the full price which he will first ask for his
goods, as he invariably demands more than they are worth, expecting,
like the Jews in England, to be beat down considerably. His shop was
on the Boulevards du Temple.
The Boulevards is a wide street or highway, with a separate foot-path
on each side, and having between the footway and the coach road a row
of trees, planted at regular distances, in the same way as the Mall in
St. James's Park. The houses on each side are principally private
ones, and large hotels, the residences of the nobility of France.
There are also many small shops and stalls, and a great number of
coffee-houses, and it is one of the principal promenades at Paris. It
serves too as a boundary between the city and its suburbs, and on it
are placed the gates of the city, of which the principal are Porte St.
Denys and Porte St. Martin. They were both erected to perpetuate the
remembrance of the glorious wars of Louis XIV., and are very noble,
being sixty or seventy feet high, and embellished with well executed
bas reliefs. They, like the Temple Bar at London, have each three ways
through them; but they are much loftier than those of Temple Bar. It
was by the Porte St. Martin, which opens into one of the principal
streets of that part of Paris, that the allied sovereigns made their
entry; the Porte St. Denys being the gate by which the kings of France
usually entered.
In the evening I went to the Académie Royale de Musique, or the Opera
House. The performances were Gluck's celebrated opera of Alceste, and
a new ballet, called Flore et Zephyr. The orchestra is very numerous
and ably directed; but the words of the opera are in the French
language, which, in my opinion, is not so fit for musical expression
as the Italian. The scenery and dresses were good, and, what you do
not often find at an opera house, the acting was excellent. The vocal
part of the performance is, however, much inferior to that in London,
as Madame Catalani now sings at the Theatre des Italiens, of which her
husband has lately become the proprietor.
The music of the ballet, which is delightful, is by Venua, whom I have
heard play in concert on the violin in London. The story is prettily
told, and the dancing, of course, the best in Europe. The house
itself, like the Theatre Français, is dirty, and of an inconvenient
form. It is very large, being capable of holding 3000 spectators. It
does not appear, however, so large as the King's Theatre, Haymarket,
nor was it ever so handsomely decorated.
It is not the custom in Paris, as in London, to go full dressed into
the boxes of a theatre. On the contrary, nothing is more common than
to see gentlemen with their great-coats of half a dozen capes, and
ladies with their high walking bonnets, in the principal boxes in the
house.
Next morning, 16th, on my way to St. Cloud, in order to report my
arrival to the commanding officer, I passed through the court of the
Palais des Tuileries, and saw the beautiful triumphal arch from which
the Corinthian horses were lately taken. It is built almost entirely
of the finest marbles, and is adorned with appropriate statues and
bas-reliefs, which cover it in every part. But it is not, I think,
well placed. It is a gate in form, but unlike a gate, it is not
flanked by a fence; on the contrary, it stands alone, at a little
distance from the superb iron rails, with golden tops, which inclose
the court of the palace. It would be an improvement to bring forward
the rail in a line with it, and so make a proper gate of it. The car
at top remains, and the figures of Victory and Peace which conducted
the removed horses; the latter are to be replaced by their models, now
under the hands of the artist.
Upon the Quai des Tuileries I got into one of the many cabriolets
which there ply for passengers to the towns in the neighbourhood. I
passed the Champs Elysées, which appeared in a most forlorn state.
They are planted with trees in every direction, in the trim formality
of the ancient style, having alleys through all parts of them. But I
saw no open lawns, or plots of grass, only one large grove of ugly
trees, like some of the groves in Kensington Gardens, and the paths
through them almost impassable.
In the villages of Plassy and Auteuil there are some large
country-houses belonging to the rich merchants of Paris, but
externally they shew nothing of the snug neatness and apparent
comfort within of the country boxes about London.
The Bois de Boulogne, situated between Auteuil and a large village, at
which I found my regiment, and from which the wood takes its name, is,
I dare say, pretty enough in summer; but it has been much injured by
the _bivouac_ of the English and Hanoverians. In general the small
boughs and tops of the trees have only been cut off; but in one part,
which had been only planted a few years, the young trees have been cut
to the ground. This spoliation of one of their principal places of
recreation has naturally caused much discontent among the Parisians,
and I have often, as an Englishman, been obliged to bear my portion of
their complaints concerning it.
I found Colonel ---- occupying the best bed-room of an excellent house
belonging to a rich cambric merchant of Paris. The room was elegantly
furnished, having the bed in a recess, the back of which was covered
by an immense looking glass, the curtains (which are luxuries not
always met with in the best French houses) being suspended from the
top of the aperture of the recess. I was received with great
cordiality, and pleading indisposition and want of military
equipments, got leave to return to Paris for a few days.
I again mounted into my cabriolet, the day being very stormy, and
proceeded back to Paris as fast as the miserable horse could draw me.
On my way, which, for the greater part, lay along the banks of the
Seine, I had an opportunity of admiring the bridge of Jena, which
Blucher was about to destroy: I am glad he was prevented. It is of
five arches, of a chastely elegant architecture; and the road over
it is plane, as will be that over the Strand bridge at London. The
piers, unlike those of the older bridges here, are very small, but
sufficiently strong to resist the great rapidity of the river, which
occasionally takes place after heavy rains have fallen in the country
from which it flows.
On Sunday the 17th I accompanied my Flemish friend (he having a ticket
of admission for the chapelle royale) to the Tuileries. After waiting
some time for the breaking up of the council, we were permitted to
pass up a very fine marble staircase to the Salon des Marechaux, the
guard-room of the king's body guard. It is a handsome lofty apartment,
hung round with pictures of the French marshals, and having a slight
rail erected across it, in order to prevent the intrusion of those who
have been admitted, upon the passage crossing it from the council
chamber and hall of presentations, to the chapel. In a gallery, which
goes round it, there are a few sets of old armour, and on the ceiling,
which is divided into small compartments, the letter N still remains
in each corner.
The uniform of the guard is very superb; they wear long blue coats
with a silver epaulette on the left shoulder and an aiguillette upon
the right, white kerseymere pantaloons, and long cavalry boots and
spurs: their large helmets, of the Grecian form, are almost covered
with silver embossed ornaments, and the white feathers in them are
of a prodigious length. They are armed with a long straight cut and
thrust sword, and a well finished fuzee or light musquet. Their
cartouch-box belts are made of a broad silver lace, and were it not
for their dirty gloves, they would be the most magnificently appointed
corps I ever saw.
They are all fine young men, and, I suppose, are excellently mounted.
I understand that they are principally men of family, and that before
they can obtain admission to serve in this corps, their friends are
called on to make over to them an allowance of 600 francs per annum;
no great sum, considering that they thereby become equals in rank to
the subalterns of the French army; their captains of companies being
no less than marshals of France. They have, however, too much blood
ever to behave with the requisite steadiness of a private soldier, if
I may judge from the irregularity of the movements which I saw them
put through by the officer who commanded them.
After waiting a considerable time, during which many officers and
gentlemen of the court passed and repassed, the royal cavalcade
approached. I saw Monsieur, and the Duke de Berri, and his majesty,
the grand Monarque. He appeared in good health and in good humour.
Many petitions were presented to him as he passed, all of which he
very graciously received, and put into the hat of a gentleman on his
left hand; I stood next to a poor woman who presented one. His majesty
wore all his stars and crosses, and his blue ribband. The royal dukes
had also their ribbands about them, and as each passed they were
loudly acclaimed. One person behind me distinguished himself by
adding forcibly the epithet _bon_ to his Vive le Roi! His majesty
was followed by the Duchess of Angouleme, attended by three or four
ladies of the court, who, as usual, were no beauties. His majesty
was preceded by his marshals, who, for the most part, are middle-aged
men; they were superbly dressed in richly embroidered velvet coats
and pantaloons, but I did not see one whose physiognomy betokened
much of the great man.
In the chamber of presentations, into which I could not be admitted
because I was not in a court dress or uniform, there were a great
number of officers: it is a most magnificent room, and has in it some
of the most beautiful chandeliers I ever saw. Finding that the chapel
was quite full, and my friend being desirous, like a good catholic, of
attending mass somewhere, we hastened to the cathedral of Nôtre Dame.
This was the first edifice which did not answer my expectations: it is
not so spacious as many of our large religious buildings in England,
nor is its style of architecture so appropriately solemn. The nave was
filled with groups of people, each upon a common rush-bottomed wooden
chair, (some at a very great distance from the priest officiating) and
they seemed to pay little attention to their religious duties, except
in tumbling on their knees whenever they heard the bell ring. The
choir, however, though small, is very grand: it is paved with marble,
the stalls are of finely carved wood-work, and its sculptured
altar-piece, representing the descent from the cross, is excellent.
There are eight large and very good paintings placed over the stalls,
of which the archiepiscopal one is beautiful: but the painted windows
of this cathedral are more adapted to a green-house than a place of
holy worship, being made up of large square panes of differently
coloured glass. It has two square towers at its west end, which are
not so high as those of Westminster Abbey; they are, however, very
richly ornamented externally, and the sculptured work about the grand
entrance is very elaborate, but it is so much blackened and defaced by
time as to have become almost unintelligible.
The great hospital, the Hôtel Dieu, is situated very near to the
cathedral, but of the interior of this I cannot yet give you an
account; its exterior has nothing worthy of notice. Of the Théâtre
de l'Odeon I can only speak of the exterior, which is sufficiently
handsome; it is a modern building in a large square, and approached
by a new street which has the great convenience of a raised curbed
footway; this, you must know, is a very great rarity in Paris, where,
for the want of such a convenience, you are every minute exposed to
the danger of being run over by the carriages and horsemen, who tear
along the streets without any regard for pedestrians.
After a long walk in which I passed the Luxembourg palace, but could
not get admission that day, I found myself in the Boulevards of the
southern quarter of Paris. This quarter is much duller than that to
the north of the river, consisting principally of large houses
standing alone, and surrounded with high-walled gardens.
Proceeding along the Boulevard, I at length arrived at the Hôtel des
Invalides, the Chelsea hospital of Paris; it is a noble building, and
one of the most conspicuous in the city, owing to its high and
splendid dome, half covered with gilt copper: this dome is very
similar in form to those at Greenwich. I went into the chapel, which
differs from all the churches I have seen here, in having convenient
benches for the congregation. The architecture of that part of the
building supporting the dome is very fine, but that of the other parts
of this edifice is plain; I am told that in one of its galleries there
is a collection of models of all the fortified towns of France, but it
requires a special order to obtain admission into it. This building
affords a comfortable asylum for 7000 officers and soldiers, who are
clothed in an old-fashioned military dress, like our Chelsea
pensioners, and who do the military duty of the place.
Not far from the Hôpital des Invalides is the Palais Bourbon, an
extensive building but very low. A new front has been added to it on
the side of the river, at the end of one of the bridges. This, the
most elegant thing I know, is one vast portico, and is the entrance
to the chamber of deputies composing the corps legislatif. It must
be, I think, an imitation of one of the celebrated temples of Greece
or Rome, its architecture is so classical and chaste. Upon four low
pedestals at the foot of the steps, by which you ascend to the doors,
are four colossal figures sitting, representing Sully and Colbert with
two other celebrated statesmen, dressed in the habiliments of their
respective offices.
In the evening I again went to the opera, and was much pleased with
the excellent acting in the Vestal and in Nina. Old Vestris still
keeps his pre-eminent station among the dancers in the ballet: they
say that he is more than sixty years of age. The illustrious commander
of the forces was there in his box, with some of his staff. All this
on Sunday evening, recollect!
Next day, the 18th, I rode to Boulogne, and found myself, by chance
of war, billeted at a boarding-school, in a very good apartment, and
thought myself in high luck. I dined with Colonels ---- and ---- who
requested me to form one of their mess, which honour I of course
accepted.
On Tuesday, the 19th, I attended the battalion inspection of
Lieutenant General Sir H. Clinton, the general officer commanding
the 2d division: they were formed for this purpose, with the 91st
regiment, in one of the great walks in the garden of St. Cloud. The
bridge, over which we passed, is a very long one: it was blown up by
the French on the advance of the allies to Paris this last time, and
is now repaired only in a temporary manner.
The country about St. Cloud is very picturesque; the river winds
luxuriantly through a valley, enclosed by hills planted with
vineyards, and there are an immense number of country seats to be seen
in all directions. On the top of a hill in the neighbourhood is Mount
Calvary, on which a superb edifice has been commenced for the
education of the children of deceased soldiers, but I believe it has
not been proceeded with since the return of Louis XVIII.; the revenues
of the state, I suppose, not being sufficient to enable the government
to spend much on charitable purposes; and charity, no doubt, in
France, as elsewhere, begins at home.
In the afternoon I returned to Paris, at a very slow pace, in a
miserable cabriolet.
On Wednesday, Dec. 20, I went with my American acquaintance, to whom
I had become a Ciceroni, to shew him the Corn Hall. This is a new,
immense, circular building of brick and stone, having an enormous
dome, which is constructed wholly of metal; the rafters are of iron;
the inside of it is of tinned iron, and the outside of sheet copper.
It is lighted by a large skylight in the centre. Its whole area
beneath, into which you enter by a dozen or more gates, is paved, and
completely covered by piles of flour and different grain in sacks.
On the outside there has been placed an old doric pillar of a great
height, on which there is a curiously constructed sun-dial, which
points out every moment of the day: the column, I suppose, is nearly
an hundred feet high; at its bottom there is a small fountain. The
Emperor of Russia, it is said, expressed greater admiration at the
sight of the Corn Hall than of all the other public buildings in
Paris.
The church of St. Eustache, close to the Corn Hall, is a very fine
gothic edifice with a new Grecian front, surmounted by two square
towers. Spires, as in London, are not seen in Paris, all the
churches having either domes or towers. The interior of St. Eustache
is decorated with some good pictures, and there is a charming
statue of the Virgin and child. Its chapels are elegantly fitted up,
particularly one, on the door of which there is a label, informing
you that it contains the relics of some celebrated saint, whose name
I have forgotten.
Next morning, the 21st, I accompanied Mr. G---- to the Lycée d'Henri
IV., where the famous young American calculator, Zerah Colburn, was
placed for the purpose of being educated. Mr. G. is acquainted with
the father of this lad, and I believe is one of the committee, at the
head of which is the worthy Alderman Brydges, of London. The boy is
there learning Latin, but it is very evident that he has no genius for
that expressive poetical language. He is, except on one subject, a
very dull boy, and expresses himself so badly that it is difficult to
understand his meaning. I put a simple arithmetical question to him,
which he quickly answered, and correctly, as I afterwards found. He
appears to be losing the talent which has acquired him the patronage
of the scientific world, without gaining any thing but habits of
indifference to his improvement; in my opinion, it is a loss of time
and expense to endeavour to enlarge this boy's understanding by
giving him a knowledge of the dead languages. Send him to Leslie or
Bonnycastle, and perhaps his extraordinary talent may be improved,
but the air of France is too refined for the genius of a plodder.
On our way to the Lycée d'Henri IV. we went into the new church of St.
Genevieve, or the Pantheon; this is not yet, I believe, completed
within, but from what I saw will be very handsome. It is not, at
present, at all fitted up like a church, but is more like the parts
of St. Paul's cathedral at London not occupied by the choir.
Below the building is the burying place of the great men of France,
but into this we did not enter, the day being wet and cold. Its
exterior is very grand, and its dome, after that of the Hôtel des
Invalides, the finest in Paris. On the pediment, which is adorned with
appropriate sculpture, is this inscription, "Aux grands hommes, la
patrie reconnoissante."
We now entered the church of St. Etienne, in which there is an old
pulpit of carved wood, supported by a crouching human figure, with one
knee on the belly of a lion, which seems crushed by the superincumbent
weight, all formed of some hard wood in excellent preservation. There
are a few fine paintings also, and some tapestry, among which I
discovered, inappropriate enough in a church, a representation of
the siege of Tournay. We next steered for the celebrated tapestry
manufactory, but found that we applied for admission on a wrong day.
On our return we passed by the Hôpital de la Pieté, which is very
large, in order to see the Halle aux Vins, where may be conveniently
stowed not less than 200,000 casks. It is a warehouse for brandies and
vinegar as well as for wines. There are four immense buildings, of a
great many roofs, something like the large tobacco bonded warehouse at
the London Docks. It is quite a new building, and not yet completed.
We then looked into the calf market, which is also sufficiently
convenient for its purpose, the sale of cows and calves, whence they
are taken to be butchered at the public slaughter-houses in the
suburbs.
In the evening I visited one of the minor theatres, le Théâtre de
la Porte St. Martin, of which the music and decorations are very
respectable.
The next day, the 22d, I repaired to the Musée des Monumens Français,
a very interesting collection of the monuments which have been rescued
from the ruins of the churches destroyed during the revolution. There
are an immense number from St. Denys, the burial-place of the French
kings. They are arranged in different apartments, according to their
relative antiquity, from the time of king Clovis to the present. Some
are worthy of attention for their excellent workmanship, and others
for their ancient date. Among the former the monuments of Francis I.
and the Cardinal de Richelieu interested me; and among the latter
the tomb and monument of Abelard and Eloisa, in which are actually
contained the real ashes of these far-famed lovers. Here are also
specimens of painted glass of different ages, and some curious heathen
idols, supposed to have been worshipped by the ancient Gauls. Many of
the larger monuments are placed in a garden, suitably planted with
willows, cypresses, &c. In fact, this museum is the Westminster Abbey
of Paris, and well deserving of being visited by every traveller, who
will find there two conductors equally civil and intelligent.
I afterwards went to the celebrated National Institute, and found my
way into the library, which, though not so large as some others in
Paris, is convenient; and its books, which are all very handsomely
bound, are well arranged. A member, perceiving me to be a stranger,
very politely shewed me the Salle des Séances, where their papers and
communications are read. It is a comfortable warm room, and fitted up
with desks and chairs in a very handsome style, much superior to the
room in which our Royal Society hold their sittings. This gentleman,
upon my telling him that I had the honour of a degree in medicine,
said he should be very happy to introduce me to the president, and
invited me to assist at their next sitting.
I was then conducted by an under librarian through three or four small
apartments, lined with books, (in one of which he pointed out a
curious piece of antiquity from Egypt, a kind of shirt, 4000 years
old,) to the hall where the public sittings of the Institute are
held every quarter. This hall is plain, but neat and convenient. Its
antechambers, however, are magnificent. There are ten or twelve of the
most beautiful statues I ever saw of their kind, representing the most
celebrated philosophers and poets of France, all in sitting attitudes,
and clothed according to the costume of the times in which they
flourished.
There is another library under the same roof, which is a public one,
and of course larger than that of the Institute. I believe it is
called the Mazarine Library. There is in it a large terrestrial globe,
of seven or eight feet diameter, having the boundaries of the land
marked by a small silver fillet neatly inlaid. The globe is of metal,
and the water is painted blue. It is so placed as to be easily
referred to. Round this library there are some fine busts.
Behind the institute are placed the schools of painting and
architecture. I obtained admission into the gallery of models,
belonging to the school of architecture, and was much pleased by a
collection of models of the most celebrated buildings of Greece,
Palmyra, and Rome, executed in cork and plaster, in the same way as
Du Bourg's in London. Here, for the first time, the man who shewed
them to me asked for something _à boire_; and conceiving that his
gallery was not usually open to the public, he got it.
The following morning, the 23d, I went to the Royal Library, which
contains not less than 400,000 volumes, all in one gallery of the
shape of the Greek letter [Pi]. This is open to the public for
reference and amusement. The books are in general well bound. Here
are the famous globes of Coronelli, of nearly forty feet in
circumference. They are seen from the gallery, but they stand in a
room below it, and enter the gallery by a large aperture in the floor.
They have no merit but their size, which, however, does not prevent
them from being easily turned upon their axes. They have been made
fifty or sixty years; and of course the geographical discoveries which
have taken place since are not depicted. Upon every country there is a
representation of the dress and manners of its inhabitants; and on the
various seas of the different kinds of ships made use of on them.
There is also a model of the pyramids of Egypt, and a small group of
bronze statues, representing the great French writers, on the top of
Parnassus, a truly French idea!
Over the library of printed books, in two small rooms, there is a very
complete collection of prints, bound and arranged according to their
different schools. Here I saw several students copying from them.
In another part of the building is the library of manuscripts, where I
also saw some bibles superbly bound in velvet, and ornamented with
chased gold and precious stones. There are likewise exposed in glass
cases, original letters of Henry IV. to la belle Gabrielle, and the
Telemachus of Fenelon, in the hand-writing of that beautiful author.
Many valuable manuscripts, brought here from the Vatican and other
Italian libraries, should, in justice, have been restored with the
pictures and statues of that country; but, I suppose, not being of
such interest to the general mass of the people there, they have been
overlooked. There is also a valuable cabinet of Greek and Roman
medals, and other antiquities; but not knowing this circumstance when
I paid my visit there, I did not see them. The exterior of this large
building has nothing worthy of notice.
From the Royal Library I went to the Museum of Natural History, at the
Jardin des Plantes; and this is certainly a most complete collection
of every created being that could be procured. There are three noble
lions, as many lionesses, and four or five fine bears, one of which,
some years ago, devoured a man who had descended by a ladder into his
den, (a large open place inclosed in high walls,) for the purpose of
getting a piece of money which he had dropt.
The animals, natives of tropical climates, are inclosed in a large
circular building, kept comfortably warm by means of stoves. I was
interested by some camels, which have bred here, as well as by a fine
sagacious elephant. Every thing is perfectly clean, and well secured.
The collection of voracious birds is complete; and as you walk through
the garden, you are surrounded by fowls and ducks, sheep, goats, deer,
and other tame animals, of different kinds.
The Cabinet of Comparative Anatomy is not better than that of the
British Museum: but I saw some beautifully executed wax-work
representations of the progress of the chick in ovo; and a skeleton
of an amazing camelopard. Among the human skeletons is that of the
assassin of General Kleber, who was tortured in Egypt, with a view of
extorting from him the name of the person who had instigated him to
the rash act. The mode of torture used was the application of fire
to his hands, which he endured with surprising fortitude, without
uttering a word of confession. The effects of the fire upon the
bones of the hand are very visible.
The mineralogical collection, and that of serpents, small fishes, and
stuffed birds, I have not seen. The botanical garden does not appear
so good as that of Edinburgh.
There is a convenient anatomical theatre, for the prosecution of
comparative anatomy; and from one part of the garden, near a fine
cedar, planted by Jussieu, a good view of the city of Paris and its
neighbourhood presented itself.