Preparations for the Fête du Roi.--Arrival of Troops.--Champs
Elysées.--Concert in the Garden of the Tuileries.--Silence of
the People.--Fireworks.
May 2, 1835.
For several days past we have been watching the preparations for the
King's fête, which though not quite equal to those in the days of the
Emperor, when all the fountains in Paris ran wine, were on a large and
splendid scale, and if more sober, were perhaps not less princely.
Temporary theatres, ball-rooms, and orchestras in the Champs
Elysées--magnificent fireworks on the Pont Louis-Seize--preparations
for a full concert immediately in front of the Tuileries Palace, and
arrangement of lamps for general illuminations, but especially in the
Gardens, were the chief of these; but none of them struck us so much
as the daily-increasing number of troops. National Guards and soldiers
of the line divided the streets between them; and as a grand review
was naturally to make a part of the day's pageantry, there would have
been nothing to remark in this, were it not that the various parties
into which the country is divided perpetually leads people to suppose
that King Philippe finds it necessary to act on the defensive.
Numberless are the hints, as you may imagine, on this theme that have
been thrown out on the present occasion; and it is confidently
asserted in some quarters, that the reviewing of large bodies of
troops is likely to become a very fashionable and frequent, if not a
very popular, amusement here. If, indeed, a show of force be necessary
to ensure the tranquillity of this strife-worn land, the government
certainly do right in displaying it; but if this be not the case,
there is some imprudence in it, for the effect much resembles that of
"A rich armour, worn in heat of day,
That scalds with safety."
Yesterday, then, being marked in the calendar as sacred to St. Jacques
and St. Philippe, was kept as the fête of the present King of the
French. The weather was brilliant, and everything looked gay,
particularly around the courtly region of the Tuileries, Champs
Elysées, and all parts near or between them.
Being assured by a philosophical looker-on upon all such assemblings
of the people as are likely to show forth indications of their temper,
that the humours of the Champs Elysées would display more of this than
I could hope to find elsewhere, I was about to order a carriage to
convey us there; but my friend stopped me.
"You may as well remain at home," said he; "from a carriage you will
see nothing but a mob: but if you will walk amongst them, you may
perhaps find out whether they are thinking of anything or nothing."
"Anything?--or nothing?" I repeated. "Does the _anything_ mean a
revolution? Tell me truly, is there any chance of a riot?"
Instead of answering, he turned to a gentleman of our party who was
just returned from the review of the troops by the king.
"Did you not say you had seen the review?" he demanded.
"Yes; I am just come from it."
"And what do you think of the troops?"
"They are very fine troops,--remarkably fine men, both the National
Guards and the troops of the line."
"And in sufficient force, are they not, to keep Paris quiet if she
should feel disposed to be frolicsome?"
"Certainly--I should think so."
It was therefore determined, leaving the younger part of the females
behind us however in case of the worst, that we should repair to the
Champs Elysées.
No one who has not seen a public fête celebrated at Paris can form an
idea of the scene which the whole of this extensive area presents: it
makes me giddy even to remember it. Imagine a hundred swings throwing
their laughing cargoes high into the air; a hundred winged ships
flying in endless whirl, and bearing for their crews a _tête-à-tête_
pair of holiday sweethearts: imagine a hundred horses, each with two
prancing hoofs high poised in air, coursing each other in a circle,
with nostrils of flame; a hundred mountebanks, chattering and
gibbering their inconceivable jargon, some habited as generals, some
as Turks,--some offering their nostrums in the impressive habit of an
Armenian Jew, and others rolling head-over-heels upon a stage, and
presenting a dose with the grin of Grimaldi. We stopped more than once
in our progress to watch the ways of one of these animals when it had
succeeded in fascinating its prey: the poor victim was cajoled and
coaxed into believing that none of woman born could ever taste of evil
more, if he would but trust to the one only true, sure, and certain
specific.
At all sides of us, as we advanced, we were skirted by long lines of
booths, decked with gaudy merchandise, rings, clasps, brooches,
buckles, most tempting to behold, and all to be had for five sous
each. It is pretty enough to watch the eager glances and the smirking
smiles of the damsels, with the yielding, tender looks of the fond
boys who hover round these magazines of female trumpery. Alas! it is
perhaps but the beginning of sorrow!
In the largest open space afforded by these Elysian fields were
erected two theatres, the interval between them holding, it was said,
twenty thousand spectators. While one of these performed a piece,
pantomimic I believe, the other enjoyed a _relâche_ and reposed
itself: but the instant the curtain of one fell, that of the other
rose, and the ocean of heads which filled the space between them
turned, and undulated like the waves of the sea, ebbing and flowing,
backwards and forwards, as the moon-struck folly attracted them.
Four ample _al fresco_ enclosures prepared for dancing, each furnished
with a very respectable orchestra, occupied the extreme corners of
this space; and notwithstanding the crowd, the heat, the sunshine, and
the din, this exercise, which was carried on immediately under them,
did not, I was told, cease for a single instant during the whole of
that long summer-day. When one set of fiddlers were tired out, another
succeeded. The activity, gaiety, and universal good-humour of this
enormous mob were uniform and uninterrupted from morning to night.
These people really deserve fêtes; they enjoy them so heartily, yet so
peaceably.
Such were the great and most striking features of the jubilee; but we
hardly advanced a single step through the throng which did not exhibit
to us some minor trait of national and characteristic revelry. I was
delighted to observe, however, throughout the whole of my expedition,
that, according to our friend's definition, "_nobody was thinking of
anything_."
But what pleased me incomparably more than all the rest was the
temperate style of the popular refreshments. The young men and the
old, the time-worn matron and the dainty damsel, all alike slaked
their thirst with iced lemonade, which was furnished in incredible
quantities by numberless ambulant cisterns, at the price of one sou
the glass. Happily this light-hearted, fête-loving population have no
gin-palaces to revel in.
But hunger was to be satisfied as well as thirst; and here the
_friand_ taste of the people displayed itself by dozens of little
chafing-dishes lodged at intervals under the trees, each with its
presiding old woman, who, holding a frying-pan, for ever redolent of
onions, over the coals, screamed in shrill accents the praises of her
_saucisses_ and her _foie_. This was the only part of the business
that was really disagreeable: the odour from these _al fresco_
kitchens was not, I confess, very pleasant; but everything else
pleased me exceedingly. It was the first time I ever saw a real mob in
full jubilee; and I did not believe it possible I could have been so
much amused, and so not at all frightened. Even before one of these
terribly odoriferant kitchens, I could not help pausing for a moment
as I passed, to admire the polite style in which an old woman who had
taken early possession of the shade of a tree for her _restaurant_
defended the station from the wheelbarrow of a merchant of gingerbread
who approached it.
"Pardon, monsieur!... Ne venez pas, je vous prie, déranger mon
établissement."
The two grotesque old figures, together with their fittings up, made
this dignified address delightful; and as it was answered by a bow,
and the respectful drawing back of the wheelbarrow, I cannot but give
it the preference over the more energetic language which a similar
circumstance would be likely to produce at Bartholomew Fair.
Altogether we were infinitely amused by this excursion; but I think I
never was more completely fatigued in my life. Nevertheless, I
contrived to repose myself sufficiently to join a large party to the
Tuileries Gardens in the evening, where we were assured that _two
hundred thousand persons_ were collected. The crowd was indeed very
great, and the party soon found it impossible to keep together; but
about three hours afterwards we had the satisfaction of assembling in
safety at the same pleasant mansion from which we set out.
The attraction which during the early part of the evening chiefly drew
together the crowd was the orchestra in front of the palace. A large
military band were stationed there, and continued playing, while the
thousands and tens of thousands of lamps were being lighted all over
the gardens.
During this time, the king, queen, and royal family appeared on the
balcony. And here the only fault which I had perceived in this pretty
fête throughout the day showed itself so strongly as to produce a very
disagreeable effect. From first to last, it seemed that the cause of
the jubilee was forgotten; not a sound of any kind greeted the
appearance of the royal party. That so gay and demonstrative a people,
assembled in such numbers, and on such an occasion, should remain with
uplifted heads, gazing on the sovereign, without a sound being uttered
by any single voice, appeared perfectly astonishing. However, if there
were no bravoes, there was decidedly no hissing.
The scene itself was one of enchanting gaiety. Before us rose the
illuminated pavilions of the Tuileries: the bright lights darting
through the oleanders and myrtles on the balcony, showed to advantage
the royal party stationed there. On every side were trees, statues,
flowers, brought out to view by unnumbered lamps rising in brilliant
pyramids among them, while the inspiring sounds of martial music
resounded in the midst. The _jets d'eau_, catching the artificial
light, sprang high into the air like arrows of fire, then turned into
spray, and descended again in light showers, seeming to shed delicious
coolness on the crowd; and behind them, far as the eye could reach,
stretched the suburban forest, sparkling with festoons of lamps, that
seemed drawn out, "fine by degrees and beautifully less," up to the
Barrière de l'Etoile. The scene itself was indeed lovely; and if,
instead of the heavy silence with which it was regarded, a loud
heartfelt cheering had greeted the _jour de fête_ of a long-loved
king, it would have been perfect.
The fireworks, too, were superb; and though all the theatres in Paris
were opened gratis to the public, and, as we afterwards heard,
completely filled, the multitudes that thronged to look at them seemed
enough to people a dozen cities. But it is so much the habit of this
people, old and young, rich and poor, to live out of doors, that a
slight temptation "bye common" is sufficient to draw forth every human
being who is able to stand alone: and indeed, of those who are not,
thousands are deposited in chairs, and other thousands in the arms of
mothers and nurses.
The Pont Louis-Seize was the point from which all the fireworks were
let off. No spot could have been better chosen: the terraces of the
Tuileries looked down upon it; and the whole length of the quays, on
both sides of the river, as far as the _Cité_, looked up to it, and
the persons stationed on them must have seen clearly the many-coloured
fires that blazed there.
One of the prettiest popular contrivances for creating a shout when
fireworks are exhibited here, is to have rockets, sending up
tri-coloured balls, blue, white, and red, in rapid succession,
looking, as I heard a young republican say, "like winged messengers,
from their loved banner up to heaven." I could not help remarking,
that if the messengers repeated faithfully all that the tri-coloured
banner had done, they would have strange tales to tell.
The _bouquet_, or last grand display that finished the exhibition, was
very fanciful and very splendid: but what struck me as the prettiest
part of the whole show, was the Chamber of Deputies, the architecture
of which was marked by lines of light; and the magnificent flight of
steps leading to it having each one its unbroken fencing of fire, was
perhaps intended as a mystical type of the ordeal to be passed in a
popular election before this temple of wisdom could be entered.
How very delightful was the abounding tea of that hot lamp-lit
night!... And how very thankful was I this morning, at one o'clock, to
feel that the _fête du roi_ was peaceably over, and I ready to fall
soundly to sleep in my bed!