of which, next this celebrated church, stands the hospital. My friend
entered, leaving me to wait till he had found an acquaintance of whom
he could borrow a diploma. A hearse was standing at the door of the
church, and I went in for a moment. A few mourners, with the
appearance of extreme poverty, were kneeling round a coffin at one of
the side altars; and a solitary priest, with an attendant boy, was
mumbling the prayers for the dead. As I came out, another hearse drove
up, with a rough coffin, scantily covered with a pall, and followed by
one poor old man. They hurried in, and I strolled around the square.
Fifteen or twenty water-carriers were filling their buckets at the
fountain opposite, singing and laughing; and at the same moment four
different litters crossed toward the hospital, each with its two or
three followers, women and children, friends or relatives of the sick,
accompanying them to the door, where they parted from them, most
probably for ever. The litters were set down a moment before ascending
the steps; the crowd pressed around and lifted the coarse curtains;
farewells were exchanged, and the sick alone passed in. I did not see
any great demonstration of feeling in the particular cases that were
before me; but I can conceive, in the almost deadly certainty of this
disease, that these hasty partings at the door of the hospital might
often be scenes of unsurpassed suffering and distress.
I waited, perhaps, ten minutes more. In the whole time that I had been
there, twelve litters, bearing the sick, had entered the _Hotel Dieu_.
As I exhibited the borrowed diploma, the thirteenth arrived, and with
it a young man, whose violent and uncontrolled grief worked so far on
the soldier at the door, that he allowed him to pass. I followed the
bearers to the yard, interested exceedingly to observe the first
treatment and manner of reception. They wound slowly up the stone
staircase to the upper story, and entered the female department--a
long low room, containing nearly a hundred beds, placed in alleys
scarce two feet from each other. Nearly all were occupied, and those
which were empty my friend told me were vacated by deaths yesterday.
They set down the litter by the side of a narrow cot, with coarse but
clean sheets, and a _Soeur de Charite_, with a white cap, and a
cross at her girdle, came and took off the canopy. A young woman, of
apparently twenty-five, was beneath, absolutely convulsed with agony.
Her eyes were started from their sockets, her mouth foamed, and her
face was of a frightful, livid purple. I never saw so horrible a
sight. She had been taken in perfect health only three hours before,
but her features looked to me marked with a year of pain. The first
attempt to lift her produced violent vomiting, and I thought she must
die instantly. They covered her up in bed, and leaving the man who
came with her hanging over her with the moan of one deprived of his
senses, they went to receive others, who were entering in the same
manner. I inquired of my companion how soon she would be attended to.
He said, "possibly in an hour, as the physician was just commencing
his rounds." An hour after this I passed the bed of this poor woman,
and she had not yet been visited. Her husband answered my question
with a choking voice and a flood of tears.
I passed down the ward, and found nineteen or twenty in the last
agonies of death. They lay perfectly still, and seemed benumbed. I
felt the limbs of several, and found them quite cold. The stomach only
had a little warmth. Now and then a half groan escaped those who
seemed the strongest; but with the exception of the universally open
mouth and upturned ghastly eye, there were no signs of much suffering.
I found two who must have been dead half an hour, undiscovered by the
attendants. One of them was an old woman, nearly gray, with a very bad
expression of face, who was perfectly cold--lips, limbs, body, and
all. The other was younger, and looked as if she had died in pain.
Her eyes appeared as if they had been forced half out of the sockets,
and her skin was of the most livid and deathly purple. The woman in
the next bed told me she had died since the _Soeur de Charite_ had
been there. It is horrible to think how these poor creatures may
suffer in the very midst of the provisions that are made professedly
for their relief. I asked why a simple prescription of treatment might
not be drawn up the physicians, and administered by the numerous
medical students who were in Paris, that as few as possible might
suffer from delay. "Because," said my companion, "the chief physicians
must do everything _personally_, to study the complaint." And so, I
verily believe, more human lives are sacrificed in waiting for
experiments, than ever will be saved by the results. My blood boiled
from the beginning to the end of this melancholy visit.
I wandered about alone among the beds till my heart was sick, and I
could bear it no longer; and then rejoined my friend, who was in the
train of one of the physicians, making the rounds. One would think a
dying person should be treated with kindness. I never saw a rougher or
more heartless manner than that of the celebrated Dr. ----, at the
bedsides of these poor creatures. A harsh question, a rude pulling
open of the mouth, to look at the tongue, a sentence or two of
unsuppressed comments to the students on the progress of the disease,
and the train passed on. If discouragement and despair are not
medicines, I should think the visits of such physicians were of little
avail. The wretched sufferers turned away their heads after he had
gone, in every instance that I saw, with an expression of visibly
increased distress. Several of them refused to answer his questions
altogether.
On reaching the bottom of the _Salle St. Monique_, one of the male
wards, I heard loud voices and laughter. I had noticed much more
groaning and complaining in passing among the men, and the horrible
discordance struck me as something infernal. It proceeded from one of
the sides to which the patients had been removed who were recovering.
The most successful treatment has been found to be _punch_, very
strong, with but little acid, and being permitted to drink as much as
they would, they had become partially intoxicated. It was a fiendish
sight, positively. They were sitting up, and reaching from one bed to
the other, and with their still pallid faces and blue lips, and the
hospital dress of white, they looked like so many carousing corpses. I
turned away from them in horror.
I was stopped in the door-way by a litter entering with a sick woman.
They set her down in the main passage between the beds, and left her a
moment to find a place for her. She seemed to have an interval of
pain, and rose up on one hand, and looked about her very earnestly. I
followed the direction of her eyes, and could easily imagine her
sensations. Twenty or thirty death-like faces were turned toward her
from the different beds, and the groans of the dying and the
distressed came from every side. She was without a friend whom she
knew, sick of a mortal disease, and abandoned to the mercy of those
whose kindness is mercenary and habitual, and of course without
sympathy or feeling. Was it not enough alone, if she had been far less
ill, to imbitter the very fountains of life, and kill her with mere
fright and horror? She sank down upon the litter again, and drew her
shawl over her head. I had seen enough of suffering, and I left the
place.
On reaching the lower staircase, my friend proposed to me to look
into the _dead-room_. We descended to a large dark apartment below the
street-level, lighted by a lamp fixed to the wall. Sixty or seventy
bodies lay on the floor, some of them quite uncovered, and some
wrapped in mats. I could not see distinctly enough by the dim light,
to judge of their discoloration. They appeared mostly old and
emaciated.
I can not describe the sensation of relief with which I breathed the
free air once more. I had no fear of the cholera, but the suffering
and misery I had seen, oppressed and half smothered me. Every one who
has walked through an hospital, will remember how natural it is to
subdue the breath, and close the nostrils to the smells of medicine
and the close air. The fact, too, that the question of contagion is
still disputed, though I fully believe the cholera _not_ to be
contagious, might have had some effect. My breast heaved, however, as
if a weight had risen from my lungs, and I walked home, blessing God
for health, with undissembled gratitude.
* * * * *
P. S.--I began this account of my visit to the _Hotel Dieu_ yesterday.
As I am perfectly well this morning, I think the point of
non-contagion, in my own case at least, is clear. I breathed the same
air with the dying and the diseased for two hours, and felt of nearly
a hundred to be satisfied of the curious phenomena of the vital heat.
Perhaps an experiment of this sort in a man not professionally a
physician, may be considered rash or useless; and I would not
willingly be thought to have done it from any puerile curiosity. I
have been interested in such subjects always; and I considered the
fact that the king's sons had been permitted to visit the hospital, a
sufficient assurance that the physicians were seriously convinced
there could be no possible danger. If I need an apology, it may be
found in this.
LETTER XVII.
LEGION OF HONOR--PRESENTATION TO THE KING--THE THRONE OF
FRANCE--THE QUEEN AND THE PRINCESSES--COUNTESS GUICCIOLI--THE
LATE DUEL--THE SEASON OF CARNIVAL--ANOTHER FANCY BALL--
DIFFERENCE BETWEEN PRIVATE AND PUBLIC MASKERS--STREET
MASKING--BALL AT THE PALACE--THE YOUNG DUKE OF ORLEANS--
PRINCESS CHRISTINE--LORD HARRY VANE--HEIR OF CARDINAL
RICHELIEU--VILLIERS--BERNARD, FABVIER, COUSIN, AND OTHER
DISTINGUISHED CHARACTERS--THE SUPPER--THE GLASS VERANDAH, ETC.
As I was getting out of a _fiacre_ this morning on the Boulevard, I
observed that the driver had the cross of the legion of honor, worn
very modestly under his coat. On taking a second look at his face, I
was struck with its soldier-like, honest expression; and with the fear
that I might imply a doubt by a question, I simply observed, that he
probably received it from Napoleon. He drew himself up a little as he
assented, and with half a smile pulled the coarse cape of his coat
across his bosom. It was done evidently with a mixed feeling of pride
and a dislike of ostentation, which showed the nurture of Napoleon. It
is astonishing how superior every being seems to have become that
served under him. Wherever you find an old soldier of the "emperor,"
as they delight to call him, you find a noble, brave, unpretending
man. On mentioning this circumstance to a friend, he informed me, that
it was possibly a man who was well known, from rather a tragical
circumstance. He had driven a gentleman to a party one night, who was
dissatisfied with him, for some reason or other, and abused him very
grossly. The _cocher_ the next morning sent him a challenge; and, as
the cross of honor levels all distinctions, he was compelled to fight
him, and was shot dead at the first fire.
Honors of this sort must be a very great incentive. They are worn very
proudly in France. You see men of all classes, with the striped riband
in their button-hole, marking them as the heroes of the three days of
July. The Poles and the French and English, who fought well at Warsaw,
wear also a badge; and it certainly produces a feeling of respect as
one passes them in the street. There are several very young men, lads
really, who are wandering about Paris, with the latter distinction on
their breasts, and every indication that it is all they have brought
away from their unhappy country. The Poles are coming in now from
every quarter. I meet occasionally in society the celebrated Polish
countess, who lost her property and was compelled to flee, for her
devotion to the cause. Louis Philippe has formed a regiment of the
refugees, and sent them to Algiers. He allows no liberalists to remain
in Paris, if he can help it. The Spaniards and Italians, particularly,
are ordered off to Tours, and other provincial towns, the instant they
become pensioners upon the government.
I was presented last night, with Mr. Carr and Mr. Ritchie, two of our
countrymen, to the king. We were very naturally prepared for an
embarrassing ceremony--an expectation which was not lessened, in my
case, by the necessity of a laced coat, breeches, and sword. We drove
into the court of the Tuileries, as the palace clock struck nine, in
the costume of courtiers of the time of Louis the Twelfth, very
anxious about the tenacity of our knee-buckles, and not at all
satisfied as to the justice done to our unaccustomed proportions by
the tailor. To say nothing of my looks, I am sure I should have _felt_
much more like a gentleman in my _costume bourgeois_. By the time we
had been passed through the hands of all the chamberlains, however,
and walked through all the preparatory halls and drawing-rooms, each
with its complement of gentlemen in waiting, dressed like ourselves in
lace and small-clothes, I became more reconciled to myself, and began
to _feel_ that I might possibly have looked out of place in my
ordinary dress. The atmosphere of a court is very contagious in this
particular.
After being sufficiently astonished with long rooms, frescoes, and
guardsmen apparently seven or eight feet high, (the tallest men I ever
saw, standing with halberds at the doors), we were introduced into the
_Salle du Trone_--a large hall lined with crimson velvet throughout,
with the throne in the centre of one of the sides. Some half dozen
gentlemen were standing about the fire, conversing very familiarly,
among whom was the British ambassador, Lord Grenville, and the
Brazilian minister, both of whom I had met before. The king was not
there. The Swedish minister, a noble-looking man, with snow-white
hair, was the only other official person present, each of the
ministers having come to present one or two of his countrymen. The
king entered in a few moments, in the simple uniform of the line, and
joined the group at the fire, with the most familiar and cordial
politeness; each minister presenting his countrymen as occasion
offered, certainly with far less ceremony than one sees at most
dinner-parties in America. After talking a few minutes with Lord
Grenville, inquiring the progress of the cholera, he turned to Mr.
Rives, and we were presented. We stood in a little circle round him,
and he conversed with us about America for ten or fifteen minutes. He
inquired from what States we came, and said he had been as far west as
Nashville, Tennessee, and had often slept in the woods, quite as
soundly as he ever did in more luxurious quarters. He begged pardon of
Mr. Carr, who was from South Carolina, for saying that he had found
the southern taverns not particularly good. He preferred the north.
All this time I was looking out for some accent in the "king's
English." He speaks the language with all the careless correctness and
fluency of a vernacular tongue. We were all surprised at it. It is
_American_ English, however. He has not a particle of the cockney
drawl, half Irish and half Scotch, with which many Englishmen speak.
He must be the most cosmopolite king that ever reigned. He even said
he had been at Tangiers, the place of Mr. Carr's consulate. After some
pleasant compliments to our country, he passed to the Brazilian
minister, who stood on the other side, leaving us delighted with his
manner; and, probably, in spite of our independence, much more
inclined than before to look indulgently upon his politics. The queen
had entered, meantime, with the king's sister, Lady Adelaide, and one
or two of the ladies of honor; and, after saying something courteous
to all, in her own language, and assuring _us_ that his majesty was
very fond of America, the royal group bowed out, and left us once more
to ourselves.
We remained a few minutes, and I occupied myself with looking at the
gold and crimson throne before me, and recalling to my mind the world
of historical circumstances connected with it. You can easily imagine
it all. The throne of France is, perhaps, the most interesting one in
the world. But, of all its associations, none rushed upon me so
forcibly, or retained my imagination so long, as the accidental drama
of which it was the scene during the three days of July. It was here
that the people brought the polytechnic scholar, mortally wounded in
the attack on the palace, to die. He breathed his last on the throne
of France, surrounded with his comrades and a crowd of patriots. It is
one of the most striking and affecting incidents, I think, in all
history.
As we passed out I caught a glimpse, through a side door, of the queen
and the princesses sitting round a table covered with books, in a
small drawing-room, while a servant, in the gaudy livery of the court,
was just entering with tea. The careless attitudes of the figures, the
mellow light of the shade-lamp, and the happy voices of children
coming through the door, reminded me more of home than anything I have
seen in France. It is odd, but really the most aching sense of
home-sickness I have felt since I left America, was awakened at that
moment--in the palace of a king, and at the sight of his queen and
daughters!
We stopped in the antechamber to have our names recorded in the
visiting-book--a ceremony which insures us invitations to all the
balls given at court during the winter. The first has already appeared
in the shape of a printed note, in which we are informed by the
"aide-de-camp of the king and the lady of honor of the queen," that
we are invited to a ball at the palace on Monday night. To my distress
there is a little direction at the bottom, "_Les hommes seront en
uniforme_," which subjects those of us who are not military, once more
to the awkwardness of this ridiculous court dress. I advise all
Americans coming abroad to get a commission in the militia to travel
with. It is of use in more ways than one.
* * * * *
I met the _Countess Guiccioli_, walking yesterday in the Tuileries.
She looks much younger than I anticipated, and is a handsome _blonde_,
apparently about thirty. I am told by a gentleman who knows her, that
she has become a great flirt, and is quite spoiled by admiration. The
celebrity of Lord Byron's attachment would, certainly, make her a very
desirable acquaintance, were she much less pretty than she really is;
and I am told her drawing-room is thronged with lovers of all nations,
contending for a preference, which, having been once given, as it has,
should be buried, I think, for ever. So, indeed, should have been the
Empress Maria Louisa's, and that of the widow of Bishop Heber; and yet
the latter has married a Greek count, and the former a German baron!
* * * * *
I find I was incorrect in the statement I gave you of the duel between
Mr. Hesse and Count Leon. The particulars have come out more fully,
and from the curious position of the parties (Mr. Hesse, as I stated,
being the natural son of George the Fourth, and Count Leon of
Napoleon) are worth recapitulating. Count Leon had lost several
thousand francs to Mr. Hesse, which he refused to pay, alleging that
there had been unfair dealing in the game. The matter was left to
arbitration, and Mr. Hesse fully cleared of the charge. Leon still
refused to pay, and for fifteen days practised with the pistol from
morning till night. At the end of this time he paid the money, and
challenged Hesse. The latter had lost the use of his right arm in the
battle of Waterloo, (fighting of course against Count Leon's father),
but accepted his challenge, and fired with his left hand. Hesse was
shot through the body, and has since died, and Count Leon was not
hurt. The affair has made a great sensation here, for Hesse had a
young and lovely wife, only seventeen, and was unusually beloved and
admired; while his opponent is a notorious gambler, and every way
detested. People meet at the gaming-table here, however, as they meet
in the street, without question of character.
* * * * *
Carnival is over. Yesterday was "_Mardi Gras_"--the last day of the
reign of Folly. Paris has been like a city of grown-up children for a
week. What with masking all night, supping, or breakfasting, (which
you please), at sunrise, and going to bed between morning and noon, I
feel that I have done my _devoir_ upon the experiment of French
manners.
It would be tedious, not to say improper, to describe all the
absurdities I have seen and mingled in for the last fortnight; but I
must try to give you some idea of the meaning the French attach to the
season of carnival, and the manner in which it is celebrated.
In society it is the time for universal gaiety and freedom. Parties,
fancy balls, and private masques, are given, and kept up till morning.
The etiquette is something more free, and gallantry is indulged and
followed with the privileges, almost, of a Saturnalia. One of the
gayest things I have seen was a fancy ball, given by a man of some
fashion, in the beginning of the season. Most of the _distingues_ of
Paris were there; and it was, perhaps, as fair a specimen of the
elegant gaiety of the French capital, as occurred during the carnival.
The rooms were full by ten. Everybody was in costume, and the ladies
in dresses of unusual and costly splendor. At a _bal costume_ there
are no masks, of course, and dancing, waltzing, and galopading
followed each other in the ordinary succession, but with all the
heightened effect and additional spirit of a magnificent spectacle. It
was really beautiful. There were officers from all the English
regiments, in their fine showy uniforms; and French officers who had
brought dresses from their far-off campaigns; Turks, Egyptians,
Mussulmans, and Algerine rovers--every country that had been touched
by French soldiers, represented in its richest costume and by men of
the finest appearance. There was a colonel of the English Madras
cavalry, in the uniform of his corps--one mass of blue and silver, the
most splendidly dressed man I ever saw; and another Englishman, who is
said to be the successor of Lord Byron in the graces of the gay and
lovely Countess Guiccioli, was dressed as a Greek; and between the
exquisite taste and richness of his costume, and his really excessive
personal beauty, he made no ordinary sensation. The loveliest woman
there was a young baroness, whose dancing, figure, and face, so
resembled a celebrated Philadelphia belle, that I was constantly
expecting her musical French voice to break into English. She was
dressed as an eastern dancing-girl, and floated about with the
lightness and grace of a fairy. Her motion intoxicated the eye
completely. I have seen her since at the Tuileries, where, in a waltz
with the handsome Duke of Orleans, she was the single object of
admiration for the whole court. She is a small, lightly-framed
creature, with very little feet, and a face of more brilliancy than
regular beauty, but all airiness and spirit. A very lovely,
indolent-looking English girl, with large sleepy eyes, was dressed as
a Circassian slave, with chains from her ankles to her waist. She was
a beautiful part of the spectacle, but too passive to interest one.
There were sylphs and nuns, broom-girls and Italian peasants, and a
great many in rich Polonaise dresses. It was unlike any other fancy
ball I ever saw, in the variety and novelty of the characters
represented, and the costliness with which they were dressed. You can
have no idea of the splendor of a waltz in such a glittering
assemblage. It was about time for an early breakfast when the ball was
over.
The private masks are amusing to those who are intimate with the
circle. A stranger, of course, is neither acquainted enough to amuse
himself within proper limits, nor incognito enough to play his
gallantries at hazard. I never have seen more decidedly _triste_
assemblies than the balls of this kind which I have attended, where
the uniform black masks and dominoes gave the party the aspect of a
funeral, and the restraint made it quite as melancholy.