THE PANTHEON AND ITS LIBRARY. HALLE AU BLED.
THE SORBONNE. OBSERVATIONS
In 1793 a visit to the Pantheon in the Rue St. Jacques was considered
a duty for every patriot, who thus made a pilgrimage to the shrines of
the departed saints of Liberty. It was an affecting sight to behold the
regenerated children of freedom besmeared with blood and their feverish
heads covered with _bonnets rouges_, descending into the vaults
where the remains of their Satanic hierarchs reposed, and invoking, by
the glimmering light of funeral torches, the shades of Marat and le
Pelletier,[1] St. Fargeon.
In the more rational and early part of the Revolution this place
was consecrated to the memory of those who by their genius, their
discoveries, or their civil and military services, had contributed to
raise the prosperity of their country. France, in St. Denis, possessed
a Royal Mausoleum, but she was destitute of a cemetery for her national
benefactors, and nothing could therefore be more laudable than the
appropriation of the vaults (for this purpose) of one of the finest
churches in Christendom, and accordingly this church of St. Geneviève
was selected for this purpose. But this Christian temple was soon
converted into a temple of Paganism, and its name changed to a heathen
one, while instead of becoming an offertory to genius, its vaults
became the receptacle of the bodies of bloody-minded maniacs.
I remember to have seen the tombs of Voltaire[1] and Mirabeau at the
extremity of these caverns, and they were the _only great men_
who, in 1792, were judged worthy of being pantheonised. The remains
of the latter were soon disturbed, for after the deposition of the
King, he was suspected of being a Royalist and therefore a traitor to
that Republic which, at the time of his death, was nonexistent. The
relics of the Man of the People were therefore removed and flung into
the Seine. But the ashes of Voltaire, the economist of monarchical
government, the flatterer of kings, a determined aristocrat and a man
who entertained as hearty a contempt for republican institutions as
does Bonaparte himself, were left to moulder undisturbed.
[Sidenote: VOLTAIRE]
If I am not mistaken, Voltaire would, I am persuaded, had he lived
in these times, have been the panegyrist of Bonaparte. Such a man as
the First Consul would have captured the senses of the Philosopher of
Fernay, and the declarations of this affected Mussulman delighted the
eulogist of Mahomet.
Whoever is acquainted with the writings of Voltaire must perceive that
the vivacity of his imagination carries him beyond himself. Acute,
penetrating and ingeniously sceptical, no man was more easily deceived
by appearances. A successful usurper and a great man were, in his mind,
identical; with him goodness and greatness were correlative terms. The
vilest scoundrel on earth, if possessed of Imperial power, is a great
man. Hence we find Voltaire calumniating Constantine because he was a
convert to Christianity and complimenting the most perfidious, cruel
and barbarous conquerors because they were not Christians; extolling
the licentious despotism of a puny tyrant of France, because infidelity
flourished in his court and camp and publicly avowing that no conqueror
existed without being at the same time a man of good understanding.
The legislators of modern France, I am convinced, never read with any
attention the works of Voltaire, much less penetrated the spirit and
object of his compositions. They denominated him a Republican simply
because Condorcet[1] commented on Voltaire’s atheistical doctrines
from the tribune of the Convention, and because they were not able to
distinguish a desire to sap the foundations of Christian belief from a
love of anarchy and misrule. Voltaire was the champion of kings, but
the implacable enemy of priests.
From the private correspondence of Voltaire, it is evident he held in
utter contempt the applause of the multitude. He aspired to obtain the
suffrages of the great and to make proselytes of kings, countries,
statesmen, women who possessed an influence over public men, and these
personages he flattered unceasingly. The _kind_ of revolution he
wanted to establish was as distinct from Jacobinism as true liberty
from licentiousness. I do not wish it to be understood from this remark
that I approve of the work of Voltaire, nor do I deny that he planted
the seeds of that irreligious movement which in France has proved a
powerful auxiliary to political disorder. Voltaire neither loved nor
understood liberty, he treated with contempt the Parliaments and
States-General of France; he apostrophised civil despotism wherever it
despises religion, and criticised Montesquieu without understanding him.
Such was the man whose bones were unmolested, while the great advocate
of Public Freedom was committed to the muddy waters of the Seine.
I have had many conversations with Mirabeau, and I am certain that
although no Republican, he did not detest a Republican system of
government. The portals of the Pantheon, after the removal of the
body of Mirabeau, were opened to receive the corrupt carcase of that
miserable little demoniac, Marat, and a multitude of other sages,
who had rendered themselves, by their villainies, their buffooneries
and their insanities, worthy of immortality. Later on Marat was
unpantheonised and tossed into the public sewer, and I apprehend the
greater number of the men whom their grateful country has canonised
in this polluted Temple have been served a similar trick; for upon
inquiring on our visit there we learnt that there were _no_
immortals at present in preservation.
There is nothing, therefore, now (1802) to be seen in Ste. Geneviève
but ruins; it has sunk considerably, and fresh supports have been
placed to the foundations. The edifice, commenced thirty years ago, is
not finished. We were warned it was not safe to traverse the interior;
we did, however, cross two of the naves, though repeatedly warned to
desist. Behind the church is the cloister, in which there is a library
of 30,000 volumes open all day for the use of the public. It is kept in
great order and decorated with a multitude of busts of the literati of
France, and at the extremity is a glass case containing a model of the
city of Rome.
Dannon, an ex-legislator, is the principal librarian.
The next object we visited was the Halle au Bled, or corn market. This
is a very interesting place--both on account of the different species
of corn offered for sale and of the vast cupola which covers the whole
of the market. This cupola is the largest in France, and its diameter
is 120 feet--only 13 feet less than that of the Pantheon at Rome,
considered the greatest in the world. The vast Doric column employed
the genius of Catherine de Medici, who believed in both astrology and
magic. There are several allegorical figures upon it which denote the
Queen’s widowhood. The world cannot produce such another extraordinary
spectacle. The dome is constructed with finely ornamented wood, and so
contrived that each partition is supported by another; there are no
pillars used to uphold the fabric.
[Sidenote: SORBONNE AND OBSERVATORY]
The word Sorbonne recalls to my mind that of the Inquisition. In the
hall of these controversialists, it has solemnly been discussed whether
black was not white, assassination has been alternately extolled and
condemned. The same doctrines have been deemed heretical and orthodox,
according to the circumstances of the times. I have no other word to
say respecting the Sorbonne, except that it exhibits nothing now but
bare walls and ruins, and is scarcely worth the trouble of a visit.
The National Observatory is situated near the Rue S. Jacques; it was
erected by Perrault, who was a better architect than an astronomer.
The meridian line is traced along the great hall of the first storey.
Under the edifice are subterranean caves or catacombs, which form a
labyrinth from which no stranger can hope to extricate himself without
the services of a guide.
The rooms are bare and destitute of furniture or accommodation for
those who ought to assemble in them.
Cassini, the able director under the Royal Government, was driven away
by the Revolution. No leading astronomers go to this Observatory.
From the top of the building we had a magnificent view of Paris and its
environs.
The astronomical instruments are stationed in the great hall, but on
account of the absence of the officials connected with the building we
were unable to examine them or to see the immense telescope. Upon the
whole this edifice is, like all French public buildings, superior in
architecture to anything of the kind in England, but greatly inferior
in _utility_, and far less calculated to answer its object than
that at the Royal Observatory at Greenwich, was under the direction of
Dr. Maskelyne.[1]