It was but seldom that I could trace much resemblance between the
Hamlet of the Théâtre Français and that of our immortal Shakspeare.
From its very close similarity, however, in some parts, it must be an
adaptation from the English. But it has been necessarily very much
altered in order to suit it to the genius of the French stage, which
requires pieces of more regular construction, than those of the wildly
energetic Shakspeare, and that they should have the three unities, as
they are called. In vain I expected the fine opening scene upon the
platform. No ghost appeared during the whole performance; and I could
find nothing like the original till the soliloquy--"To be, or not to
be"--almost literally rendered.
The acting of M. Talma, however, is superior to any thing I have seen
in England; and although the ghost is not introduced, yet it is very
evident, from M. T.'s gestures, that he is not far off. The piece
concludes with the chamber scene, in which Hamlet endeavours to point
out to his mother the ghost of her murdered husband--"look where he
goes, out of the very portal"--also literally rendered. But there is
no Laertes, no Ophelia. The king is deposed. The queen, by the artful
and exquisitely acted insinuations and questions of Hamlet, is almost
made to confess her guilt, of which her suicide is a proof; and Hamlet
ascends the throne of his father. The lady who played the queen is an
excellent performer: I believe her name is Duchesnois. She is not
young, and is of low stature. Talma is not tall.
Next morning, the 24th, after enjoying the luxury of one of the warm
baths, with which Paris abounds, and for which you pay but one franc
and a quarter, with something to the attendant for towels, &c., I paid
my bill at the hotel, where I had lodged since my arrival, and went
with bag and baggage in a cabriolet to my quarters at Boulogne, in
order to unbend my mind a while from the fatigue of ever searching
after novelties.
And here, my dear friend, I must conclude this long epistle. It can of
course give you but little information. I have endeavoured to describe
what I saw faithfully; and generally under the impulse of the ideas
which they at first, _prima facie_, created. I must, therefore,
necessarily have committed some errors, but none, I think, of much
magnitude; these, if you will excuse, and think me not intrusive, at
another opportunity I shall continue my narration.
Yours ever.
LETTER III.
From my thatched mud apartment at Tinques, a miserable village between
St. Pol and Arras. May 26, 1816.
MY DEAR FRIEND,
In compliance with your request, I continue my little journal, and
shall be glad if it afford you half the entertainment which you have
been pleased to say the former part has done; for I fear that the most
interesting of my adventures have already been recounted.
Having learnt, soon after my arrival at my quarters, that the whole
division of Lieutenant-General Clinton was under orders to march on
the 27th Dec., towards the frontiers of Belgium, I determined to pass
the 25th and 26th in seeing the royal palaces and gardens in the
vicinity. Accordingly, on the 25th, Christmas-day, after having
attended the celebration of a high mass at the parish-church, which
was assisted by the rude but solemn music of two immense serpents; and
having witnessed something like a Roman Catholic religious procession,
I went to see the park and waterworks of St. Cloud.
This park, as it is called, is very different to our English parks,
being destitute of the fine open plains and lawns which are so common
to them, and which, indeed, with an Englishman, are as essential to
the existence of a park as its waving woods and sheets of water, or
its animated groups of sheep and deer. It is nothing but an extensive
grove of tall slender trees, like those of the groves in Kensington
Gardens, with narrow avenues cut through it in several directions.
There is, however, one very handsome mall, bordered by lofty stately
trees, of a sufficient width to hold fifty men abreast, and having on
one side a long row of little shops, like those on the public walk at
Tunbridge Wells, which are filled with toys and trinkets during the
three weeks' fair held here every September; and, on the other side,
(at the bottom of a wall which forms this promenade into a kind of
terrace,) flows the river Seine, which is here much wider than at
Paris. This promenade is entered near the bridge of St. Cloud, by a
handsome iron rail-fence, and leads to the cascades and basins of the
water-works.
The boasted cascade, as I saw it, is not superior to that at Bramham
Park in Yorkshire; and I dare say, to some others in England. Its
frogs, and toads, and crocodiles of lead, which swarm in and about it,
although, no doubt, they were esteemed vastly appropriate to the
aquatic scene by M. le Nôtre, are so many hideous colossuses, which
excite the disgust of the spectator, and his contempt of the false
taste which created them for any place but the borders of the river
Styx. There is, however, a most superb _jet d'eau_, which, as to
its height, nearly 100 feet, must give, I suppose, to the Icelandic
traveller, an idea of the celebrated geysers of that island.
I had no opportunity that day of seeing the interior of the palace;
but, from all accounts, I have not thereby lost much, most of its
furniture and paintings having been lately removed. It is situated
above the park, on a steep eminence, and must have a most beautiful
prospect of the meanderings of the river, and of Paris in the
distance.
The next day I went to see another royal chateau at Meudon, near
Sevres. Like that at St. Cloud, it stands upon a hill, and possesses
almost the same view. This was the nursery of the little king of Rome,
but appears to be now quite deserted, and much out of repair, the park
having been lately occupied by the Prussian artillery. Its terraces,
however, are in good order. They are very extensive; and under them
are hot-houses and green-houses of every description. The hills in its
neighbourhood are thickly planted with wood.
On my return I rode through the desolate courts of a large palace,
near that of Meudon, formerly inhabited by a princess of the
blood-royal, but now completely in ruins. The face of the country
hereabouts consists of rocky hills, the sides of which are in general
covered with vines or underwood. A sharp skirmish took place on these
heights when the allies advanced to Paris, on which occasion the
bridges at Sevres and St. Cloud were both blown up by the French, and
are now only repaired in a temporary manner.
The next day, the 27th, after seeing major-general O'Callaghan's
brigade, consisting of the 3d, or buffs, the 39th, and the 91st, march
off for Chantilly and its neighbourhood, and having procured leave to
join them after their arrival there, I returned with my friend Colonel
---- to Paris, who did me the honour to dine with me at my hotel,
after having been shopping together all the morning.
On my way to the Hôtel de Ville next day, I traversed many of the
quays and ports by the river side; of which the largest is the Port au
Blé, where the corn and flour brought by water to the Paris markets is
landed. But, unlike the quays of London, these are quite large enough
for the little traffic which appears to be carried on upon them. They
have no warehouses; but here and there are wooden huts, which are the
counting-houses of the merchants; and on the quays, almost close to
the water's edge, you see immense stacks of hay, of straw, and of
wood, and long rows of casks of wines and cider. The hay, thus
exposed, often becomes wet; and I have more than once, in fine
weather, seen the process of hay-making carried on upon these paved
quays, but with what advantage to it I leave you to judge.
The Hôtel de Ville, or Town Hall, is an old-fashioned and apparently
inconvenient building, of a quadrangular form, with a large court
in the middle; but as Paris cannot boast of the tumultuous
livery-meetings of London, it may perhaps be sufficiently large for
its principal purpose, the transacting of the judicial business of the
department. It forms one side of the Place de Grève, a spacious square
in which the public executions are carried into effect.
On my return I looked into the church of St. Louis St. Paul, formerly
belonging to the Jesuits. It appeared to me unusually plain,
containing but two or three paintings; but it was enriched, prior to
the revolution, by two most superb monuments, and several excellent
pictures. The figures of these monuments, I understand, were of
silver, having their draperies of the same precious metal gilt. They
represented four angels of the human size, holding two gold hearts,
containing the hearts of Louis XIII. and Louis XIV. The exterior of
the building is very highly finished, but possesses no leading feature
of much interest.
On the 29th I walked to one of the extremities of the town to see the
large military hospital at the Val de Grâce. It was originally built,
I believe, for a monastery, and has been a very noble edifice, but it
is now apparently out of repair. The chapel has been turned into a
military storehouse, and the dormitories and other parts now form a
sufficiently convenient military infirmary.
In the evening I went to the Opera: the performances were "Iphigènie
en Aulide," and "Flore et Zephyr." The music of the former is by
Gluck, and consequently learned and elegant, while that of the ballet,
of which I think I gave you an account in my last, is enchantingly
delicious.
Having seen the ballet before, I devoted my whole attention to the
music, by shutting my eyes and reclining on a vacant bench in the box,
and I certainly never experienced more gratification of the kind,
being now and then completely intoxicated by it. No doubt, you have
sometimes felt the same effect in a degree, and can therefore well
conceive the power which has been attributed to music by the ancient
medical writers, upon the human mind, when it was less civilized, but
consequently more susceptible of external impressions; indeed I almost
literally believe what we hear of Orpheus upon this subject.
The next morning I went to the Hôtel des Monnaies, where I saw the
collection of medals, which have been struck from time to time, in
order to commemorate the great events France has experienced since the
accession of Francis the first: they are of copper, and in general
well executed. They may, however, be procured either of gold or
silver, as I was informed by an English countess, who came there to
make inquiries for some which she had ordered to be made for her.
That evening I could not resist the inclination once more to hear
Madame Catalani, at the Théâtre des Italiens. The opera was "Il
Fanatico per la Musica," by Mayer, which has been often played in
London. Catalina's singing is infinitely preferable to any other which
I have heard in Paris, and, if I may judge from the manner in which
the theatre was filled, her talents are duly estimated by the French.
The house is not large, but newly and tastily decorated, and I dare
say she is making money there; although her income, as proprietor of
the theatre, is less sure than when in London she was performing at an
enormous salary. No ballet is played at this theatre.
On Sunday the 31st I repaired to the celebrated gallery of the Palais
de Luxembourg, in order to see the series of paintings, by Rubens,
descriptive of the principal events in the life of Marie de Medicis,
the queen of Henri IV. They are about twenty in number, all of a very
large size, and in excellent preservation. They have been called
Rubens' poem, and certainly with so much justice, that if an accurate
description of them were made in verse, it could not fail of becoming
in every particular an epic poem of the first order.
He has employed, with excellent judgment, a good deal of celestial
machinery, as it is called, and so intelligibly, that any one the
least versed in mythology can at once discover his meaning. I shall
always quote this fine collection as a forcible proof of the very
intimate alliance of painting to poetry; they are not merely sisters,
they are _twin_ sisters; and I now doubt whether Rubens, in the
enjoyment of the former, had not a richer prize than even Milton in
the possession of the latter.
There is another collection of smaller pictures here by Lesueur, which
is also much talked of, but certainly very much inferior to that just
noticed: it describes the life of St. Bruno, the founder of the order
of Carthusians; but unlike Rubens' divine poem, this is a mere insipid
matter-of-fact representation of the adventures of an individual, much
less interesting, to the generality of spectators, than Dr. Syntax or
Johnny Newcome.
In another wing of the palace there is a fine assemblage of views of
the sea-ports of France, exquisitely painted by Vernet, and by Hue a
living artist. In the view of Boulogne, by the latter, there existed a
few months ago a very good likeness of Bonaparte at the head of his
staff, ascending the heights on a review day: he was represented in
the act of giving charity to a crippled soldier; but lately, his
imperial countenance has been "_transmogrified_" to the ugly mug
of Marshal Any-body.
There are also a few good modern statues, among which the Baigneuse,
by Julien, is lovely, being almost equal, in my opinion, to the
far-famed Venus de Medicis: the French are very proud of this statue;
and indeed it must appear to every one, as it struck me, a first-rate
production of human art. The fine marble staircase and the ceilings
must also be noticed as very grand and striking.
The exterior of this palace, which is now the House of Peers, has
nothing very remarkable. It is a large regular building of a pure
style of architecture: but its gardens are almost as fine as those of
the Tuileries; they are, however, in bad condition, owing to the
encampment of the Prussians, which has only of late been broken up:
they were in small wooden huts, built in the principal walks and
avenues of the garden.
By the by, I must not omit to mention that in Rubens' gallery there
was a carpenter at work, mending the inlaid floor, although Sunday; a
pretty example of attention to the fourth commandment.
The church of St. Sulpice, of which I shall next take notice, is one
of the finest structures of its kind in Paris. Its architecture is
very chaste and beautiful, especially that of the interior, which has
more the air of our great religious edifices than French churches
usually have. It possesses many fine chapels, but the chapel of the
Virgin is the most venerable looking spot I have ever seen. Indeed I
was completely awe-struck by it, and almost instinctively returned, to
experience again the pleasing calm which its first appearance had
excited in me. Upon examining the outer wall of the building, I found
that this effect was produced by the ingenious manner in which its
altar piece, which is a _chef d'oeuvre_ in sculpture, received
its light: it is a statue of the Virgin and child, with a surrounding
representation of clouds and little cherubs, placed in a niche, which
is lighted by a small window over the head of the statue. The window
is not discernible, but I suppose it is formed of ground glass, or
something like it; at all events, the effect is almost magical, and
although no catholic, I see no impropriety, in such a vortex of vice
as Paris, in endeavouring by any means, even by an image or a
painting, to abstract the human mind, for one short moment, to ideas
above it.
This church, which is not old, I understand was one of Bonaparte's
favourite churches, and to shew it to more advantage, he pulled down
its surrounding houses, in order to form a large square before it, in
the centre of which he erected a very handsome fountain.
Near this square is the École de Médecine, a large and noble building,
enclosing an open court, from which you enter to the different lecture
rooms. Its style of architecture is pure and manly, and its interior,
as far as I could judge by looking through some of the windows, is
conveniently arranged. I went thither intending to have heard one of
Vauquelin's lectures on chemistry, but, it being holiday-time, there
was no admission. The fountain near it is also worthy of notice, from
its massive Grecian architecture, and its being a reservoir of the
waters from the celebrated aqueduct at Arcueil, which, on account of
their petrifying qualities, are brought to Paris, only, I suppose, to
be used medicinally.
In the evening I accompanied two friends to the parterre of the Opera
House. The performances were Les Badayeres and the ballet of Psyche:
the music of the opera, by Catel, was but indifferent, and poor Psyche
was too much bedeviled.
After the opera we resolved to end the year at the Café de France, in
the Palais Royal, where we supped, _à la mode Anglaise_, on oysters,
bread and butter, and beer, to the apparent astonishment and amusement
of not less than seventy or eighty Frenchmen.
On Monday, 1st January, I went a second time to the Jardin des
Plantes, in order to see that part of the Museum of Natural History
which I had not time to inspect on my former visit. But I found
that the porter had gone holiday-making so I contented myself by
observing the various live foreign animals which may be seen in
various parts of the garden, enclosed in proper fences, and by
ascending a prospect-mount, erected for the purpose of overlooking
Paris and its environs, of which, the day being clear, I had a very
fine view. Returning, I crossed the Pont du Jardin, formerly called
the Pont d'Austerlitz, a noble bridge of iron upon stone abutments;
this and the other iron bridge at Paris, the Pont des Arts, leading
to the National Institute, are the only two where they demand toll
from passengers.
I then walked all along the Boulevards to the Porte St. Denys, passing
the beautiful fountain on the Boulevard de Bondi. This is very large
and circular, and embellished with several well executed figures of
lions couchants, whose mouths serve for the passage of the water.
On my way I passed many groups of people all dressed in their
best clothes, amusing themselves by looking at the drolleries of
mountebanks and puppet shows, with which the Boulevards were swarming;
others were playing at games of skill and hazard, while some were
exercising in swings and round-abouts; indeed it was almost like an
English fair, and it appeared to me that all Paris was merry-making,
on account of the arrival of the new year.
In the evening I went to the Théâtre de la Gaieté, one of the minor
playhouses, but it was so filled by holiday folks that the only vacant
place was the stage box. This house is small and dirty, but the music
and dresses were good. A great many people in the boxes were eating
little holiday sweetmeats. On my return home I witnessed, for the
first time, a slight disturbance in one of the streets, and some
national guards about to break their way into a house.
The next day I repaired to the gallery of the Louvre, in order to
see a collection of the celebrated porcelain exposed for sale there,
from the manufactory at Sevres; and although I found that others
were only admitted upon shewing an order from a certain duke, to whom
I was referred, yet upon my telling the porter that I was a foreigner
about to leave Paris the next day, he very civilly permitted me to
walk up, without further trouble to his grace or myself. They shewed
me several most superb vases of very large dimensions, and a portrait
of Louis XVIII. as large as life, painted upon porcelain. I saw also a
very beautiful desert service of landscapes and sea views, and an
immense variety of inkstands, &c.; but as I am no great admirer of
nick-nackery, I passed by them without observing further than that
though the composition of this celebrated manufacture may be of a
finer texture than ours made at Worcester and elsewhere, yet that
they do not exceed us in the painting and gilding of it.
In the evening I went to witness one of the most abominable scenes
which human nature can possibly present,--a gambling table--but not
without having previously fortified myself against any attack which
might induce me to partake of its horrible iniquity. I first entered
into a large anteroom, in which were stationed two gens-d'armes, (for
strange to say, these sinks of vice are licensed and protected by the
French government,) and three or four men, one of whom asked me for my
hat and stick, which he hung upon a peg at the top of the room by
means of a long pole; near the peg was a number painted on the wall,
and he gave me a small wooden ticket with the same number marked on
it. I suppose there were at least 500 numbers, so extensive was this
den. I then entered a large room, in which was a table surrounded by
the wretches who confide in its dishonourable and ruinous traffic,
upon some of whose countenances might easily be traced the inward
distraction of their souls, while others, callous no doubt by use
to its variable fortune, sat round it with a sottish kind of
indifference. Each person had a short wooden hoe, with which he placed
his stake upon the red or black, as he thought proper, and with which
he brought his adversary's counters to him if he proved successful.
At each table, the men who presided, (the proprietors, I believe, of
the table,) called the bankers, were well dressed, and near them lay
long _rouleaux_ of dollars and louis. There were three tables in
three different rooms, for the convenience, it appeared to me, of the
different classes of gamesters; of those whose customary stake was but
a franc or two, as well as those who risked at each throw their ten or
twenty louis. The greatest apparent discipline was observed, nor was
there any noise or squabbling; and, from what a casual looker-on, like
myself, could see, the chances of the game were nearly equal. This,
however, cannot be the real case, or otherwise the proprietors of
these places could not afford to pay the immense sums which they do
to government for their licenses, which afford a very considerable
revenue, there being a great number of them established in the Palais
Royal.
The rooms were very much crowded and very hot, and I was soon glad to
quit for ever such a scene, into which nothing but a natural, although
perhaps not a laudable, curiosity had induced me to enter.
Repassing the entrance chamber, upon shewing my ticket and paying
three or four sous to the Cerberus of this hell, I regained my hat and
cane, and escaped a better man, I trust, than when I was admitted,
inasmuch as I there received a lesson which will ever prevent me from
resorting, under any circumstances, to a place where loss is ruin, and
success dishonour.
I then went to the celebrated Café des Mille Colonnes, but was
disappointed in not seeing the beautiful _Limonnadière_, who, I
understand, was formerly a _chere amie_ of Murat, and by whom she was
enabled to become the proprietress of this expensive coffee-house. In
her room, however, sat, like a wax figure, to be stared at by every
one, a young woman of a tolerable degree of beauty, very superbly set
off by trinkets of all descriptions, transferred to her, I believe,
for the mere purpose of attraction, by her more beautiful predecessor.
The coffee-room is very large, and fitted up with nothing but
looking-glasses and imitations of marble. Near the centre is a copy of
the Venus de Medicis, which, with its twenty or thirty columns and
pilasters, is reflected in every direction; but it would be difficult
to count, in any one part, its 1000 columns, or even 200 of them.
The next morning, 3d Jan. I started to join my regiment at Creil, but
again returned to Paris upon duty, not having tasted any thing that
day, from five in the morning until eleven at night, but a crust of
bread and a glass or two of brandy; a slight privation, which rendered
a cold fowl, a bottle of Burgundy, and a comfortable bed, the more
cheering and acceptable.
Having accomplished the business which caused my return, I next day
promenaded two or three hours in the gardens of the Tuileries, the
St. James's Park of Paris. They are the boasted _chef d'oevre_ of
Le Nôtre, and in summer, no doubt, are very pretty. There are many
fine statues, most of them copied after the most celebrated antiques,
and four or five fountains, but which only play on holidays. I do
not recollect to have seen any benches, which are so common on our
promenades, but in their stead there are persons who let out chairs,
by the hour, for two of which, I believe, you pay a penny.