GARDEN OF PLANTS. GALLERY OF NATURAL HISTORY.
PHILOSOPHICAL LECTURES
We had heard so much of the Jardin des Plantes that we became impatient
to see it. Our friend De la Metherie procured us an admission on a
day the place is closed to the public, to give us a better and more
convenient opportunity of examining its contents.
We made up a small party, the two ladies and Monsieur de la Metherie
went in one carriage, and M. ----, the late President of the Cis
Alpine Republic, and myself in another. I have already mentioned, and
it cannot be too often repeated, that the French greatly surpass our
country in the arts of decoration. Of this truth we found a striking
proof in the classification of the subjects of Natural History and the
superb embellishments of the gallery.
[Sidenote: GALLERY OF NATURAL HISTORY]
When we first entered this gallery we saw merely large green curtains
extending from one end to the other of the hall. But in less than
two minutes we were most agreeably surprised by a display of beauty,
richness and grandeur of which no pen can do sufficient justice.
The attendants withdrew the curtains, a blaze of creative glory dazzled
our sight, and in this moment of admiration I could not refrain from
whispering to the philosopher from whom I had before received several
lessons on the different degrees of French Atheism: “There is a God!”
He smiled and returned for answer that I was evidently in an ecstasy.
Before I relate the various dispositions of the museum, I will give
an account of the impressions which the whole excited in our minds.
All the variegated productions of Nature were before our eyes; and
the perilous researches of the most adventurous circumnavigators and
natural historians submitted to our examination. Whatever is great and
wonderful in the operations of Providence, whatever has been discovered
in regions so far explored by man, we had an opportunity of seeing.
The quadrupeds form a distinct compartment and the whole collection
of other animals, together with fossils, shells, minerals and stones,
is disposed in glass cases, extending from the top of the gallery to
the floor. There is also a compartment allotted to esculent roots and
specimens of trees. On the right hand stands the albatross, which has
been so beautifully described in Captain Cook’s voyages; next the
maimed bird which has no wings and lives entirely on the water. It has
an immense cylindrical body, behind which are fixed what may be called
two oars instead of feet. The body is covered by a species of hard
down, having the appearance of close-shaved hair, shooting out in small
shining tubes and forming a coat of mail impervious to the water.[3]
Then follow the crane, the swan, the heron, the ibis, the ostrich, the
pelican, &c.
It is not my intention to give an account of every animal we saw, much
less to mention all their names; for, in the first place, it would be
attempting a subject on which I am ashamed to confess my ignorance,
and, in the second, would occupy a volume. I only wish to notice
singularities. Amongst these was the largest and most beautiful bird
I ever beheld. The body, completely white, the wings tinged with a
gold colour.[4] I am still unacquainted with its name, as no one could
inform us to what species it belonged; but I mention it on account of
the following anecdote, which conveys a forcible impression in a few
words.
“Where did this bird come from?” said one of our party.
“We borrowed it from the Stadtholder,” replied the attendant; adding,
“and if he had not lent it, we should have taken it.”
In the same way they obtained possession of the head of a petrified
crocodile, which was originally found in a quarry in the neighbourhood
of Maestricht. It belonged to one of the priests who resided in that
town; and as his house was known to be situated near the ramparts, and
the French Natural Philosophers had long coveted this head, orders
were issued at the time of the siege that the house containing the
crocodile’s head should not be bombarded. Professor Thouin[1] was at
that time with the French Army, and wrote to his colleagues: “Le siége
de Maestricht se pousse avec vigueur; dans deux jours je compte faire
partir pour Paris la tête du crocodile.”
The French Army entered Maestricht, and the poor priest was stripped of
his treasure for the benefit of the Great Nation.
The collection of caterpillars, butterflies and insects surpasses
anything of the kind I ever saw. The library is composed of a choice
and rare collection of books in every language upon subjects of natural
history. M. Tuscan, the librarian, obligingly displayed to us some
admirable paintings of plants. Mrs. Cosway, who was of our party, and
is an exquisite artist herself, pronounced them very beautiful, and
executed in a masterly style. The number of books in the library is
about 8000, which is a noble library upon one science, the very nature
of which requires costly publications on account of the infinite number
as well as the richness of the drawings and the plates.
[Sidenote: LIVING ZOOLOGICAL COLLECTION]
After having amused ourselves with all the different compartments, we
proceeded to the garden and paid a visit to the _living_ beasts
in the menagerie. These are dispersed in various districts of the
enclosure, and with as much regard as possible to their original mode
of life.
An enormous elephant enjoys a courtyard to himself, and his keeper is
an Englishman named Thompson. The animal is very docile, and has been
taught to play at what we call Bob Cherry with pieces of bread. Nothing
can be more ridiculous, except the idea of a lion catching flies.
Camels and dromedaries are allowed to posture under the trees, and the
stags and deer distributed in the field beside the river. All the tame
animals are placed within a large grass enclosure. The savage beasts
and birds kept in cages so small that the poor creatures can hardly
turn themselves, in consequence of which, together with the wretched
food, many have perished, and none of the survivors are in good
condition. There are three bears, several wolves, leopards and tigers,
one hyaena, a fox, a cockatoo, an hedgehog, a vulture, a cassowary,
and a number of other fierce birds stolen from the menagerie of the
Stadtholder of Holland. There are also a number of monkeys.
Upon the whole this collection is very insignificant and compares very
badly with Pidcocks Exhibition, over Exeter Change. The lions and one
of the elephants are dead. Most of these animals were transported to
Paris from the Royal Menagerie at Versailles, but in order to increase
the effect of the scene, it was decreed by Governmental order that
those wild animals which were exhibited about the country at fairs,
should be put into a state of requisition in order to add to the
savage population of the garden. Cossal (the Parisian Pidcock), who
had made a valuable collection of rare animals which he sent about the
country to public shows, was robbed of all of them and to indemnify him
in some manner for his ruin, made Warden of the National Menagerie at a
small salary.
He was not the only sufferer in conformity with the political principle
of the Revolution, that individual property must ever be ready as a
sacrifice to the Nation, every man who led about a dancing bear in the
street or a monkey, playing his tricks on the back of a dromedary,
was obliged to lay aside his flageolet and tambourine and conduct his
Bruin, his camel or his ape, to replenish the national stock. The
two elephants were _borrowed_ from the Stadtholder, they came
originally from Ceylon, whence they were sent to Holland, where they
had remained fourteen years. The mode of transporting them was the
subject of very grave discussion among the philosophers of Paris. It
was first proposed to march them from Holland to Paris and to throw
temporary wooden bridges over the canals, to facilitate their passage
but on account of their aversion to water this sapient scheme was
abandoned. A caravan was now constructed mounted on wheels, in order
to drag the ponderous brutes along and in order to accustom them to
their movable dwelling, they were never to be fed except in their
travelling carriages. On the day of their departure, the elephants
were driven into their conveyance and the keeper bolted the door. The
moment the procession started, the male elephant gave the door a gentle
tap with his head, which instantly shivered the panel to pieces, and
the continent of organised matter marched out with the greatest ease.
By separating the male and the female they at length succeeded in
conveying these vast creatures to Paris. Thompson, the keeper, assured
me that when the elephants met again in the garden, after their long
journey, the air resounded with their cries and their eyes were bedewed
with tears. The French had never seen an elephant in their country
since the middle of the seventeenth century, when, in 1668, the King of
Portugal presented one (which only survived thirteen years) to Louis
XIV.
[Sidenote: THE AMPHITHEATRE]
Upon inquiry I learnt that the greater part of the curiosities
collected in this place were the fruits of victorious pillage, and I
was told that this measure was justified by the right of conquest.
“Par suite de la conquête de la Hollande, ils sont tombés au pouvoir
des Français--nous les avons emportés comme trophées de nos victoires.
Ainsi Alexandre le Grand fit passer dans la Grèce les éléphans du Roi
de Perse.”
The amphitheatre is a public building, within this garden, where
lectures are given by professors, nominated and paid by the Government.
I attended the chemical lecture of Fourcroy; he delivers himself with
purity, eloquence and cleverness. He exercises (what would be deemed
extraordinary in any country but this) the two functions of a public
lecturer on science and a Counsellor of State, in which latter capacity
he often discusses political measures before the Legislative Body. All
the benches of the amphitheatre are in a semicircular form, rising one
above the other, and capable of containing 2000 persons. The lecturer
is stationed at the bottom, with a large table and apparatus before him.
There is no doubt students in chemistry derive advantages from those
lectures, but much of their good effect is impaired by the amphitheatre
being considered a fashionable lounge for the idle and a favourite
place of “rencontre” between the fair Parisian and her lover. The women
constitute a distinguished part of the auditory, and in number and
noise are not inferior to the males.
There are thirteen professors in this institution, whereof seven are
members of the French “Académie,” or Institut, and one an Associate.
_Fourcroy_, Professor of Chemistry; _Desfontaines_, Botany; _Lamark_,
Zoology; _Thonin_, Gardening; and _Vanspaendorick_, of Ichnography,
have each a pleasant dwelling, free of expense, in the garden. In the
centre of the garden and near a pool of water, is a small hamlet,
where philosophical students and the curious may entertain themselves
on girls and burgundy, of a wretched quality and at a trifling
expense. I am at a loss to explain how the sage superintendent of his
museum should have licensed the existence of his hovel, devoted to
disreputable practices, in the sequestered bowers of Acadème. Unless it
be meant as a practical illustration of the moral tendency of Darwin’s
Loves of the Plants--a work greatly admired here. The Botanical Garden,
itself, fell very far short of my expectations; it is neither well laid
out nor pleasing to the eye.
The garden is about 2000 feet long and 700 wide, divided into three
alleys, terminating in the public walks.
Henry IV. was the first who established a Botanical Garden in France.
He authorised John Robin to rear in a private garden some plants
several navigators had brought from America. It was his intention to
have had this garden in Paris, but he was persuaded that these exotics
would flourish better in the southern part of France; in consequence,
Montpellier was preferred, and a physician appointed in 1598 to
superintend the enterprise. But Gui la Brosse[1] persuaded Louis XIII.
some twenty years later of the inconvenience of this arrangement, and
an edict was issued for the establishment of the present “Jardin des
Plantes.” By la Brosse’s exertions two thousand plants were placed in
it, in the space of ten years.
The Government then numbered three professors to make known their
properties and virtues and an exhibitor to display them.
The Garden was, in course of time, greatly enlarged and beautified, but
its most rapid progress was during the reign of the late unfortunate
Louis XVI.
[Sidenote: REMINISCENCES OF THE TERROR]
On the left of the Museum is a plantation of trees and shrubs, called
“The Labyrinth.” The greatest part of the trees are ever-green, and
there is a noble cedar of Lebanon. It was brought from England
and planted by the famous Bertrand de Sussien[1] in the year 1734;
beneath its shades stands a pedestal, formerly supporting the bust
of Linnæus,[1] which was destroyed by the revolutionists under the
notion it represented an aristocrat. From the top of the Labyrinth
there is a very extensive view of Paris from a tower, which M. de la
Metherie[1] and myself ascended, the ladies and S---- having returned
home. Here, while we were looking at the city, M. de la Metherie
pointed to a large building, not far distant, and desired me to look
at the third window upon the second floor--he further remarked, “I was
imprisoned there.” Confounded for the moment by this observation (for
I had never understood the ruffians had meddled with him), I could not
help laughing, and he joined heartily in my merriment. But two persons
standing near, who, though wearing lay attire, were evidently priests,
turned round and addressed us with much agitation. “This is not a
laughing matter; what honest man has not been imprisoned in this land
of _scélérats_?” This observation restored our gravity, and I said
to one of them: “I hope, sir, you have not been a sufferer?” To which
he abruptly replied: “I was imprisoned five times and sentenced to the
guillotine. My life, however, was spared, and, by way of compensation
for my sufferings, they took all my property from me!” De la Metherie
introduced me, saying, “Monsieur est Anglais.” Upon this they took off
hats, and the speaker remarked: “Vous avez raison, monsieur, de vous
vous moquer de la France!”
[A] See Appendix.
We requested him to oblige us with his history. He said he lived
formerly in Bordeaux and possessed considerable property in that
neighbourhood. He had been arrested and confined in the prison of that
city, together with a multitude of persons of both sexes. The only
accusation against him was, that being a priest, he must necessarily
be an aristocrat. He explained that he had not exercised sacerdotal
functions since the Decree of the National Convention, and that his
whole and sole pursuit was the science of Botany--“Botany!” exclaimed
the Judge and President of the Court--“c’est une science royale!--it
abounds with aristocratic terms, was the favourite diversion of Kings
and Princes, and is of no use to a Republic--your attachment to this
study clearly proves your hankering after the old _régime_, and
convicts you!” He was hurried off to prison and close confinement at
once. However, he escaped destruction, and recovered his liberty by
paying a large sum of money as a bribe for his release. He returned
with joy to the house of a friend, and was just sitting down to dinner
when an officer of the Municipality entered the apartment, stating he
had come to arrest him. He acquainted the officer with the fact that
he had only two hours before been released by an _arrêt_ of the
Municipality. “I know that perfectly well,” was the reply; “you were
dismissed upon the charge laid against you, but since then another
_serious charge_ has been established against you, by Citizen
Tallien,[1] and I am ordered to arrest you _on suspicion of being
suspected_!!!” There was no resisting the dreadful name of Tallien,
and the unhappy priest was reconducted to his former cage. As the name
of Tallien was mentioned, I interrupted the conversation to ask whether
the atrocities said to have been committed at Bordeaux by Tallien and
Lequino were not greatly exaggerated. He answered “Unhappily those
enormities could hardly be exaggerated, for there was scarcely a family
in that city and district which did not mourn the murder of a relative
or friend.” The butcheries of Tallien were perpetrated chiefly in the
streets and on the scaffold. He often took large sums of money from the
persons, upon condition of releasing them, and the next day they were
sure to be guillotined. This removal from the prison to the scaffold
Tallien, in his merry moods, used to call a Republican release in full
of all demands. Lequino[1] was never suspected of having realised
money in this manner, he confined his little peculations to the public
revenues. But his brutal and ferocious nature exercised itself within
as well as without the walls of the prisons, by frequently shooting at
the prisoners with pistols and killing them without any discrimination.
He dined almost daily with the public executioners.
[Sidenote: PERSECUTED PRIEST AND PHILOSOPHER]
But to continue--after a long confinement, the priest was brought to
a trial with a number of other persons, and charged with conspiring
against the Republic. He and they were all found guilty and condemned
to public execution. But at that moment a courier arrived with news of
the fall and death of Robespierre, and orders to suspend all carnage
until further directions from the Committee of Public Safety.
“What evidence was adduced against you?” I asked.
“None, save that I was a _ci-devant_ minister of religion.”
“You have suffered,” said I, “because you were a priest; and here,”
pointing to de la Metherie, “is one who has suffered because he was a
philosopher.”
In the progress of the fiery Revolution, the different Governments
of France must have been inspired by the spirit of a merry devil,
for if such charges were sufficient to deprive a man of his liberty
nine-tenths of the French people ought to have been locked up. But
although de la Metherie was in no way interested in politics, he was
suspected of being a suspicious man. When the ruling power wished
to criminate or murder a man, every circumstance of his life from
infancy was raked up and passed under review, and therefore no accused
individual could hope to escape if his destruction was decided upon.
The accusation against this philosopher was that of coolness,
indifference and incivism, because, amidst the noise of arms and
domestic slaughter, he continued to cultivate in the sequestered shade
of private life, the philosophy of nature.
By a miracle he escaped--the fall of the tyrant Robespierre calmed
the fury of the Terror, and de la Metherie was more fortunate than
Lavoisier[1]--after a few months’ rigorous confinement he was released
from his prison. He was permitted to return to his house, the seals
were taken off his library, his beautiful collections of plants and
minerals, and his manuscripts. The _Journal de Physique_, which he
had edited for above twenty years, again shone forth in all its wonted
splendour.
Monsieur de la Metherie assured me that during the time of the
Revolutionary Tribunals, it was in serious contemplation to reduce
the population of France to 14,000,000. Dubois Crouée[1] was a
very distinguished and enthusiastic partisan of this humane and
philosophical policy.
One of the most horrible and affecting anecdotes I ever heard related
to a young married lady of rank and beauty, whose husband was immured
in the same prison cell with de la Metherie. After having solicited
one Bureau, petitioned another, and bribed a third in vain to obtain
her husband’s liberty, she applied in person to the representative
of the people, by whose influence her husband had been arrested. The
hypocritical assassin returned her supplications with scorn. At length
after many entreaties he informed her that there was _one_ way in
which she might obtain her husband’s liberty. Anxious to save his life,
the distracted female sacrificed her honour to the brutal lust of this
deputy of the National Convention. On the next day, when she went to
the prison to bring to her husband the joyful news of his impending
delivery, she found him bound and seated in the cart, which a moment
later carried him to the place of execution. Frantic with rage and
despair, and shuddering with horror at the unavailing sacrifice she had
made of her chastity, the hapless young woman rushed into the presence
of her betrayer and severely rebuked him for his perfidy; in return for
which he caused her to be arrested, and she was guillotined upon the
following day.