most Republican of any of the French palaces. I inspected this little
palace with much interest, not more for its beauty than because of its
having been the favourite residence of that purest of Princesses, best
of Queens, and most affectionate of mothers, Marie Antoinette. The
grounds and building may be said to be only a palace in miniature, and
this makes it still a more lovely spot. The building consists of a
square pavilion two stories high, and separated entirely from the
accessory buildings, which are on the left, and among them a pretty
chapel. But a wish to be with the multitude, who were roving among the
fountains, cut short my visit to the trianons.
The day was very fine, and the whole party seemed to enjoy it. It was
said that there were more than one hundred thousand persons at
Versailles during the day. The company appeared to lose themselves with
the pleasure of walking among the trees, flower beds, fountains, and
statues. I met more than one wife seeking a lost husband, and _vice
versa_. Many persons were separated from their friends and did not meet
them again till at the hotels in Paris. In the train returning to Paris,
an old gentleman who was seated near me said, "I would rest contented if
I thought I should ever see my wife again!"
At four o'clock we were _en route_ to St. Cloud, the much loved and
favourite residence of the Emperor Napoleon. It seemed that all Paris
had come out to St. Cloud to see how the English and Americans would
enjoy the playing of the water-works. Many kings and rulers of the
French have made St. Cloud their residence, but none have impressed
their images so indelibly upon it as Napoleon. It was here he was first
elevated to power, and here Josephine spent her most happy hours.
The apartments where Napoleon was married to Marie Louise; the private
rooms of Josephine and Marie Antoinette, were all in turn shown to us.
While standing on the balcony looking at Paris one cannot wonder that
the Emperor should have selected this place as his residence, for a more
lovely spot cannot be found than St. Cloud.
The palace is on the side of a hill, two leagues from Paris, and so
situated that it looks down upon the French capital. Standing, as we
did, viewing Paris from St. Cloud, and the setting sun reflecting upon
the domes, spires, and towers of the city of fashion, made us feel that
this was the place from which the monarch should watch his subjects.
From the hour of arrival at St. Cloud till near eight o'clock, we were
either inspecting the splendid palace or roaming the grounds and
gardens, whose beautiful walks and sweet flowers made it appear a very
Paradise on earth.
At eight o'clock the water-works were put in motion, and the variagated
lamps with their many devices, displaying flowers, stars, and wheels,
all with a brilliancy that can scarcely be described, seemed to throw
everything in the shade we had seen at Versailles. At nine o'clock the
train was announced, and after a good deal of jamming and pushing about,
we were again on the way to Paris.
LETTER VI.
_The Tuileries--Place de la Concorde--The Egyptian Obelisk--Palais
Royal--Residence of Robespierre--A Visit to the Room in which Charlotte
Corday killed Marat--Church de Notre Dame--Palais de Justice--Hotel des
Invalids--National Assembly--The Elysee._
PARIS, _August 28_.
Yesterday morning I started at an early hour for the Palace of the
Tuileries. A show of my card of membership of the Congress (which had
carried me through so many of the public buildings) was enough to gain
me immediate admission. The attack of the mob on the palace, on the 20th
of June, 1792, the massacre of the Swiss guard on the 10th of August of
the same year, the attack by the people in July 1830, together with the
recent flight of king Louis Philippe and family, made me anxious to
visit the old pile.
We were taken from room to room, until the entire building had been
inspected. In front of the Tuileries, are a most magnificent garden and
grounds. These were all laid out by Louis XIV., and are left nearly as
they were during that monarch's reign. Above fifty acres surrounded by
an iron rail fence, fronts the Place de la Concorde, and affords a place
of promenade for the Parisians. I walked the pleasing grounds, and saw
hundreds of well dressed persons walking under the shade of the great
chestnuts, or sitting on chairs which were kept to let at two sous a
piece. Near by is the Place de Carrousel, noted for its historical
remembrances. Many incidents connected with the several revolutions
occurred here, and it is pointed out as the place where Napoleon
reviewed that formidable army of his before its departure for Russia.
From the Tuileries, I took a stroll through the Place de la Concorde,
which has connected with it so many acts of cruelty, that it made me
shudder as I passed over its grounds. As if to take from one's mind the
old associations of this place, the French have erected on it, or rather
given a place to, the celebrated obelisk of Luxor, which now is the
chief attraction on the grounds. The obelisk was brought from Egypt at
an enormous expense; for which purpose a ship was built, and several
hundred men employed above three years in its removal. It is formed of
the finest red syenite, and covered on each side with three lines of
hieroglyphic inscriptions, commemorative of Sesostris--the middle lines
being the most deeply cut and most carefully finished; and the
characters altogether number more than 1600. The obelisk is of a single
stone, is 72 feet in height, weighs 500,000 lbs., and stands on a block
of granite that weighs 250,000 lbs. He who can read Latin will see that
the monument tells its own story, but to me its characters were all
blank.
It would be tedious to follow the history of this old and venerated
stone, which was taken from the quarry 1550 years before the birth of
Christ; placed in Thebes; its removal; the journey to the Nile, and
down the Nile; thence to Cherbourg, and lastly its arrival in Paris on
the 23d of December, 1833--just one year before I escaped from slavery.
The obelisk was raised on the spot where it now stands, on the 25th of
October, 1836, in the presence of Louis Philippe and amid the greetings
of 160,000 persons.
Having missed my dinner, I crossed over to the Palais Royal, to a dining
saloon, and can assure you that a better dinner may be had there for
five francs, than can be got in New York for twice that sum, and
especially if the person who wants the dinner is a coloured man. I found
no prejudice against my complexion in the Palais Royal.
Many of the rooms in this once abode of Royalty, are most splendidly
furnished, and decorated with valuable pictures. The likenesses of
Madame de Stael, J.J. Rousseau, Cromwell, and Francis I., are among
them.
* * * * *
After several unsuccessful attempts to-day, in company with R.D. Webb,
Esq., to seek out the house where once resided the notorious
Robespierre, I was fortunate enough to find it, but not until I had
lost the company of my friend. The house is No. 396, Rue St. Honore,
opposite the Church of the Assumption. It stands back, and is reached by
entering a court. During the first revolution it was occupied by M.
Duplay, with whom Robespierre lodged. The room used by the great man of
the revolution, was pointed out to me. It is small, and the ceiling low,
with two windows looking out upon the court. The pin upon which the blue
coat once hung, is still in the wall. While standing there, I could
almost imagine that I saw the great "Incorruptible," sitting at the
small table composing those speeches which gave him so much power and
influence in the Convention and the Clubs.
Here, the disciple of Rousseau sat and planned how he should outdo his
enemies and hold on to his friends. From this room he went forth,
followed by his dog Brunt, to take his solitary walk in a favourite and
neighbouring field, or to the fiery discussions of the National
Convention. In the same street, is the house in which Madame Roland--one
of Robespierre's victims--resided.
A view of the residence of one of the master spirits of the French
revolution inclined me to search out more, and therefore I proceeded to
the old town, and after winding through several small streets--some of
them so narrow as not to admit more than one cab at a time--I found
myself in the Rue de L'Ecole de Medecine, and standing in front of house
No. 20. This was the residence, during the early days of the revolution,
of that bloodthirsty demon in human form, Marat.
I said to a butcher, whose shop was underneath, that I wanted to see La
Chambre de Marat. He called out to the woman of the house to know if I
could be admitted, and the reply was, that the room was used as a
sleeping apartment, and could not be seen.
As this was private property, my blue card of membership to the Congress
was not available. But after slipping a franc into the old lady's hand,
I was informed that the room was now ready. We entered a court and
ascended a flight of stairs, the entrance to which is on the right; then
crossing to the left, we were shown into a moderate-sized room on the
first floor, with two windows looking out upon a yard. Here it was where
the "Friend of the People" (as he styled himself,) sat and wrote those
articles that appeared daily in his journal, urging the people to "hang
the rich upon lamp posts." The place where the bath stood, in which he
was bathing at the time he was killed by Charlotte Corday, was pointed
out to us; and even something representing an old stain of blood was
shown as the place where he was laid when taken out of the bath. The
window, behind whose curtains the heroine hid, after she had plunged the
dagger into the heart of the man whom she thought was the cause of the
shedding of so much blood by the guillotine, was pointed out with a
seeming degree of pride by the old woman.
With my Guide Book in hand, I again went forth to "hunt after new
fancies."
* * * * *
After walking over the ground where the guillotine once stood, cutting
off its hundred and fifty heads per day, and then visiting the place
where some of the chief movers in that sanguinary revolution once
lived, I felt little disposed to sleep, when the time for it had
arrived. However, I was out this morning at an early hour, and on the
Champs Elysees; and again took a walk over the place where the
guillotine stood, when its fatal blade was sending so many unprepared
spirits into eternity. When standing here, you have the Palace of the
Tuileries on one side, the arch on the other; on a third, the classic
Madeleine; and on the fourth, the National Assembly. It caused my blood
to chill, the idea of being on the identical spot where the heads of
Louis XVI. and his Queen, after being cut off, were held up to satisfy
the blood-thirsty curiosity of the two hundred thousand persons that
were assembled on the Place de la Revolution. Here Royal blood flowed as
it never did before or since. The heads of patricians and plebians, were
thrown into the same basket, without any regard to birth or station.
Here Robespierre and Danton had stood again and again, and looked their
victims in the face as they ascended the scaffold; and here, these same
men had to mount the very scaffold that they had erected for others. I
wandered up the Seine, till I found myself looking at the statue of
Henry the IV. over the principal entrance of the Hotel de Ville. When we
take into account the connection of the Hotel de Ville with the
different revolutions, we must come to the conclusion, that it is one of
the most remarkable buildings in Paris. The room was pointed out where
Robespierre held his counsels, and from the windows of which he could
look out upon the Place de Greve, where the guillotine stood before its
removal to the Place de la Concorde. The room is large, with gilded
hangings, splendid old-fashioned chandeliers, and a chimney-piece with
fine antiquated carvings, that give it a venerable appearance. Here
Robespierre not only presided at the counsels that sent hundreds to the
guillotine; but from this same spot, he, with his brother St. Just and
others, were dragged before the Committee of Public Safety, and thence
to the guillotine, and justice and revenge satisfied.
The window from which Lafayette addressed the people in 1830, and
presented to them Louis Philippe, as the king, was shown to us. Here the
poet, statesman, philosopher and orator, Lamartine, stood in February
1848, and, by the power of his eloquence, succeeded in keeping the
people quiet. Here he forced the mob, braved the bayonets presented to
his breast, and, by his good reasoning, induced them to retain the
tri-coloured flag, instead of adopting the red flag, which he considered
the emblem of blood.
Lamartine is a great heroic genius, dear to liberty and to France; and
successive generations, as they look back upon the revolution of 1848,
will recall to memory the many dangers which nothing but his dauntless
courage warded off. The difficulties which his wisdom surmounted, and
the good service that he rendered to France, can never be adequately
estimated or too highly appreciated. It was at the Hotel de Ville that
the Republic of 1848 was proclaimed to the people.
I next paid my respects to the Column of July that stands on the spot
formerly occupied by the Bastile. It is 163 feet in height, and on the
top is the Genius of Liberty, with a torch in his right hand, and in the
left a broken chain. After a fatiguing walk up a winding stair, I
obtained a splendid view of Paris from the top of the column.
I thought I should not lose the opportunity of seeing the Church de
Notre Dame while so near to it, and, therefore, made it my next rallying
point. No edifice connected with religion has had more interesting
incidents occurring in it than this old church. Here Pope Pius VII.
placed the Imperial Crown on the head of the Corsican--or rather
Napoleon took the Crown from his hands and placed it on his own head.
Satan dragging the wicked to ----; the rider on the red horse at the
opening of the second seal; the blessedness of the saints; and several
other striking sculptured figures were among the many curiosities in
this splendid place. A hasty view from the gallery concluded my visit to
the Notre Dame.
Leaving the old church I strayed off in a direction towards the Seine,
and passed by an old looking building of stately appearance, and
recognised, among a throng passing in and out, a number of the members
of the Peace Congress. I joined a party entering, and was soon in the
presence of men with gowns on, and men with long staffs in their
hands--and on inquiry found that I was in the Palais de Justice;
beneath which is the Conciergerie, a noted prison. Louis XVI. and Marie
Antoinette were tried and condemned to death here.
A bas-relief, by Cortat, representing Louis in conference with his
Counsel, is here seen. But I had visited too many places of interest
during the day to remain long in a building surrounded by officers of
justice, and took a stroll upon the Boulevards.
The Boulevards may be termed the Regent Street of Paris, or a New Yorker
would call them Broadway. While passing a café, my German friend Faigo,
whose company I had enjoyed during the passage from America, recognised
me, and I sat down and took a cup of delicious coffee for the first time
on the side walk, in sight of hundreds who were passing up and down the
street every hour. From three till eleven o'clock, P.M., the Boulevards
are lined with men and women sitting before the doors of the saloons
drinking their coffee or wines, or both at the same time, as fancy may
dictate. All Paris appeared to be on the Boulevards, and looking as if
the great end of this life was enjoyment.
* * * * *
Anxious to see as much as possible of Paris in the limited time I had to
stay in it, I hired a cab yesterday morning and commenced with the Hotel
des Invalids, a magnificent building, within a few minutes' walk of the
National Assembly. On each side of the entrance gate are figures
representing nations conquered by Louis XIV., with colossal statues of
Mars and Minerva. The dome on the edifice is the loftiest in Paris--the
height from the ground being 323 feet.
Immediately below the dome is the tomb of the man at whose word the
world turned pale. A statue of the Emperor Napoleon stands in the second
piazza, and is of the finest bronze.
This building is the home of the pensioned soldiers of France. It was
enough to make one sick at the idea of war, to look upon the mangled
bodies of these old soldiers. Men with arms and no legs; others had legs
but no arms; some with canes and crutches, and some wheeling themselves
about in little hand carts. About three thousand of the decayed soldiers
were lodged in the Hotel des Invalids, at the time of my visit. Passing
the National Assembly on my return, I spent a moment or two in it. The
interior of this building resembles an amphitheatre. It is constructed
to accommodate 900 members, each having a separate desk. The seat upon
which the Duchesse of Orleans, and her son, the Comte de Paris, sat,
when they visited the National Assembly after the flight of Louis
Philippe, was shown with considerable alacrity. As I left the building,
I heard that the President of the Republic was on the point of leaving
the Elysee for St. Cloud, and with the hope of seeing the "Prisoner of
Ham," I directed my cabman to drive me to the Elysee.
In a few moments we were between two files of soldiers, and entering the
gates of the palace. I called out to the driver and told him to stop;
but I was too late, for we were now in front of the massive doors of the
palace, and a liveried servant opened the cab door, bowed, and asked if
I had an engagement with the President. You may easily "guess" his
surprise when I told him no. In my best French, I asked the cabman why
he had come to the palace, and was answered, "You told me to." By this
time a number had gathered round, all making inquiries as to what I
wanted. I told the driver to retrace his steps, and, amid the shrugs of
their shoulders, the nods of their heads, and the laughter of the
soldiers, I left the Elysee without even a sight of the President's
mustaches for my trouble. This was only one of the many mistakes I made
while in Paris.
LETTER VII.
_The Chateau at Versailles--Private apartments of Marie Antoinette--The
Secret Door--Paintings of Raphael and David--Arc de Triomphe--Beranger
the Poet._
VERSAILLES, _August 31_.
Here I am, within ten leagues of Paris, spending the time pleasantly in
viewing the palace and grounds of the great Chateau of Louis XIV.
Fifty-seven years ago, a mob, composed of men, women, and boys, from
Paris, stood in front of this palace and demanded that the king should
go with them to the capital. I have walked over the same ground where
the one hundred thousand stood on that interesting occasion. I have been
upon the same balcony, and stood by the window from which Maria
Antoinette looked out upon the mob that were seeking her life.
Anxious to see as much of the palace as I could, and having an offer of
the company of my young friend, Henry G. Chapman, to go through the
palace with me, I set out early yesterday morning, and was soon in the
halls that had often been trod by Royal feet. We passed through the
private, as well as the public, apartments, through the secret door by
which Marie Antoinette had escaped from the mob of 1792, and viewed the
room in which her faithful guards were killed, while attempting to save
their Royal mistress. I took my seat in one of the little parlour
carriages that had been used in days of yore for the Royal children;
while my friend, H.G. Chapman, drew me across the room. The superb
apartments are not now in use. Silence is written upon these walls,
although upon them are suspended the portraits of men of whom the world
has heard.
Paintings, representing Napoleon in nearly all his battles, are here
seen; and wherever you see the Emperor, there you will also find Murat,
with his white plume waving above. Callot's painting of the battle of
Marengo, Hue's of the retaking of Genoa, and Bouchat's of the 18th
Brumaire, are of the highest order; while David has transmitted his fame
to posterity, by his splendid painting of the Coronation of Napoleon and
Josephine in Notre Dame. When I looked upon the many beautiful paintings
of the last named artist, that adorn the halls of Versailles, I did not
wonder that his fame should have saved his life, when once condemned and
sentenced to death during the reign of terror. The guillotine was robbed
of its intended victim, but the world gained a great painter. As Boswell
transmitted his own name to posterity with his life of Johnson, so has
David left his, with the magnificent paintings that are now suspended
upon the walls of the palaces of the Louvre, the Tuileries, St. Cloud,
Versailles, and even the little Elysee.
After strolling from room to room, we found ourselves in the Salle du
Sacre, Diane, Salon de Mars, de Mercure, and d'Apollon. I gazed with my
eyes turned to the ceiling till I was dizzy. The Salon de la Guerre is
covered with the most beautiful representations that the mind of man
could conceive, or the hand accomplish. Louis XIV. is here in all his
glory. No Marie Antoinette will ever do the honours in these halls
again.
After spending a whole day in the Palace and several mornings in the
Gardens, I finally bid adieu to the bronze statue of Louis XIV. that
stands in front of the Palace, and left Versailles, probably for ever.
* * * * *
PARIS, _September 2_.
I am now on the point of quitting the French Metropolis. I have occupied
the last two days in visiting places of note in the city. I could not
resist the inclination to pay a second visit to the Louvre. Another hour
was spent in strolling through the Italian Hall and viewing the
master-workmanship of Raphael, the prince of painters. Time flies, even
in such a place as the Louvre with all its attractions; and before I had
seen half that I wished, a ponderous clock near by reminded me of an
engagement, and I reluctantly tore myself from the splendours of the
place.
During the rest of the day I visited the Jardin des Plantes, and spent
an hour and a half pleasantly in walking among plants, flowers, and in
fact everything that could be found in any garden in France. From this
place we passed by the column of the Bastile, and paid our respects to
the Bourse, or Exchange, one of the most superb buildings in the city.
The ground floor and sides of the Bourse, are of fine marble, and the
names of the chief cities in the world are inscribed on the medallions,
which are under the upper cornice. The interior of the edifice has a
most splendid appearance as you enter it.
The Cemetery of Père la Chaise was too much talked of by many of our
party at the Hotel for me to pass it by, so I took it after the Bourse.
Here lie many of the great marshals of France--the resting place of each
marked by the monument that stands over it, except one, which is marked
only by a weeping willow and a plain stone at its head. This is the
grave of Marshal Ney. I should not have known that it was his, but some
unknown hand had written with black paint, "Bravest of the Brave," on
the unlettered stone that stands at the head of the man who followed
Napoleon through nearly all his battles, and who was shot after the
occupation of Paris by the allied army. Peace to his ashes. During my
ramble through this noted place, I saw several who were hanging fresh
wreaths of everlasting flowers on the tombs of the departed.
A ride in an omnibus down the Boulevards, and away up the Champs
Elysees, brought me to the Arc de Triomphe; and after ascending a flight
of one hundred and sixty-one steps, I was overlooking the city of
statuary. This stupendous monument was commenced by Napoleon in 1806;
and in 1811 it had only reached the cornice of the base, where it
stopped, and it was left for Louis Philippe to finish. The first stone
of this monument was laid on the 15th of August, 1806, the birth-day of
the man whose battles it was intended to commemorate. A model of the
arch was erected for Napoleon to pass through as he was entering the
city with Maria Louisa, after their marriage. The inscriptions on the
monument are many, and the different scenes here represented are all of
the most exquisite workmanship. The genius of War is summoning the
obedient nations to battle. Victory is here crowning Napoleon after his
great success in 1810. Fame stands here recording the exploits of the
warrior, while conquered cities lie beneath the whole. But it would take
more time than I have at command to give anything like a description of
this magnificent piece of architecture.