DESCRIPTION OF LONGCHAMPS. BOIS DE BOULOGNE
AND THE BOULEVARDS
Strangers in Paris are always recommended to visit the theatres and
places of public amusements. Arts, manufactures, courts of justice,
useful institutions and distinguished characters in the literary and
political worlds rarely trouble. We arrived in good time to see the
Easter Promenade de Longchamps in the Bois de Boulogne. This ceremony
is for the time uppermost in the heads of the Parisians, it was the
only subject of conversation; and every one quitted his house and shop
to take a share in the spectacle. The uninitiated might therefore
conclude that this favourite diversion of the public was a grand and
splendid scene, rivalling the marriage of the Adriatic or the Carnival
at Rome.
[Sidenote: BOIS DE BOULOGNE]
It is on the contrary an insipid and contemptible show, consisting
merely in the procession of a long string of coaches, cabriolets,
carts and horsemen; with a few boobies mounted on asses, making wry
faces, and a number of Merry Andrews playing fantastic antics for the
diversion of the populace. There was much noise but no real mirth.
The Bois de Boulogne has been extolled, but it presents no object
or _coup d’œil_ either agreeable or attractive. The roads are
miserable tracks of sand, and the _Wood_ (?) contains no lofty
trees, it consists of an extensive copse, composed of shrubs, none of
which exceed eight feet in height. There is a sheet of water laden with
boats, which plain calculating English Islanders would call a duckpond.
On our return from this excursion we drove round the Boulevards of
Paris. They are by far the most pleasant, neat and lively parts of
the capital. Indeed, the expressions I have employed do not convey an
adequate idea of their beauty and elegance. They extend around the city
12,100 yards in length, and are at least eighty feet wide, bordered by
four rows of trees, which form three alleys, the middle for the use of
carriages and horsemen and the two collateral ones for passengers on
foot.
On the Northern Boulevards the fashionable and idle resort to while
away their time in theatres and puppet shows--at Tivoli, Frascati,
public baths and eating-houses; but especially at an exhibition of
waxwork, so horrible and disgusting that its mere description would
make the hair of the most abandoned English libertine stand on end.
I feel no hesitation in saying that I would rather a child of mine
should inhabit hell itself than be a spectator of what I have seen
there.
The Southern Boulevard is more agreeable and serene; it has more
moral views, and though no meretricious forms render it the haunt
of fashionable votaries, there is an air of tranquillity about it,
which denotes the absence of guilt and the resort of innocence. This
is the part frequented by the industrious tradesman and his family.
There are two public gardens on the Northern Boulevard, which from the
decorum observed there are justly deserving of encomium, especially
when contrasted with other public places in Paris. I mean Tivoli and
Frascati.
Tivoli is celebrated for its mineral waters and baths as well as its
garden. The French compare its walks to those of our Vauxhall, but
the comparison is ridiculous, as well compare the sun to a farthing
rushlight. In the first place there are no variegated lamps. The
gardens are not lighted at all except the platform appropriated to
dancing.
The _sheet of water_ is about sixty yards long and three yards
broad. Upon this the gay Parisians perform their nautical exploits or
_promenade sur l’eau_. The illuminations and fireworks are on such
an inferior scale that the price of admission, three livres (or half a
crown), is absolutely exorbitant. Frascati, at the corner of the rue
de la Loi, on the boulevard, is the most elegant lounge in Paris. The
garden is small but well lighted--along each walk are busts of the
French and English poets, and at the extremity of the principal one is
a pretty little hermitage, arranged with great taste. Nothing is paid
for admission, the proprietors are amply compensated by the prices
the fashionable company of Paris pay for the exquisite ices in the
form of peaches and other refreshments supplied at no very immoderate
price. There is no place of public amusement here which unites so much
elegance with decency, and I was never satisfied with the fascinations
of Frascati _below stairs_. Above the apartments are reserved for
gamblers.
[Sidenote: THE BOULEVARDS]
Chantilly, in the Champs Elysées, is a lower kind of Tivoli, a franc
is the price of admission, which includes refreshments. The inferior
orders in France conduct themselves with more propriety and are less
riotous than the Londoners who assemble at Bagnigge Wells and the
so-called tea gardens of our Metropolis.
On the other side of the water, near the residence of the British
Minister, in the Faubourg S. Germain, is a fashionable walk in the
Garden of Biron. But that which gave me most pleasure was the solitary
and unfrequented garden of the Luxembourg. To this solitude I fled
when I wished to avoid the noise of Paris. It was also a place of
conversation with my friends. Here I learnt the _true_ history of
the French Revolution from personages who had distinguished themselves
in that wonderful event, here I was instructed in the characters of
those who now govern France; this was the rendezvous of concealed
Royalists and avowed Republicans. I shall never forget the walks in the
Gardens of the Luxembourg. We were too remote from the office of Fouché
for our whispers to reach it, and we were too well guarded to become
objects of suspicion.
The Government are now repairing the Palace, and the new Senate is to
hold its sittings there. The garden will then be cleared and beautified.
There are three or four other public walks in Paris. The Gardens of the
Arsenal, the Soubise and the Temple, but they are totally deserted.
The garden of the Tuileries, attached to the residence of the First
Consul, the Garden of the Palais Royal and the Jardin des Plantes I
have not yet described. Each of these gardens has been the scene of
extraordinary events and deserve a detailed account and description.