held, in consequence, I presume, of the relics it contained, may be
found in the dignified style of its establishment. Kings and popes
seem to have felt a holy rivalry as to which should most distinguish
it by gifts and privileges. The wealth of its functionaries appears
greatly to have exceeded the bounds of Christian moderation; and their
pride of place was sustained, notwithstanding the _petitesse_ of their
dominions, by titles and prerogatives such as no _chapelains_ ever had
before. The chief dignitary of the establishment had the title of
archichapelain; and, in 1379, Pope Clement VII. permitted him to wear
a mitre, and to pronounce his benediction on the people when they were
assembled during any of the processions which took place within the
enclosure of the palace. Not only, indeed, did this arch-chaplain take
the title of prelate, but in some public acts he is styled "Le Pape
de la Sainte Chapelle." In return for all these riches and honours,
four out of the seven priests attached to the establishment were
obliged to pass the night in the chapel, for the purpose of watching
the relics. Nevertheless, it appears that, in the year 1575, a portion
of the _vraie croix_ was stolen in the night between the 19th and 20th
of May. The thief, however, was strongly suspected to be no less a
personage than King Henry III. himself; who, being sorely distressed
for money, and knowing from old experience that a traffic in relics
was a right royal traffic, bethought him of a means of extracting a
little Venetian gold from this true cross, by leaving it in pawn with
the Republic of Venice. At any rate, this much-esteemed fragment
disappeared from the Sainte Chapelle, and a piece of the holy rood was
left _en gage_ with the Venetians by Henry III.
I have transcribed, for your satisfaction, the list I find in Dulaure
of the most sacred of the articles for the reception of which this
chapel was erected:--
Du sang de Notre Seigneur Jésus-Christ.
Les drapeaux dont Notre Sauveur fut enveloppé en son
enfance.
Du sang qui miraculeusement a distillé d'une image de Notre
Seigneur, ayant été frappé d'un infidèle.
La chaîne et lien de fer, en manière d'anneau, dont Notre
Seigneur fut lié.
La sainte touaille, ou nappe, en un tableau.
Du lait de la Vierge.
Une partie du suaire dont il fut enseveli.
La verge de Moïse.
Les chefs des Saints Blaise, Clément, et Simon.
Is it not wonderful that the Emperor of Constantinople could consent
to part with such precious treasures for the lucre of gain? I should
like to know what has become of them all.
As late as the year 1770, the annual ceremony of turning out devils on
Good Friday, from persons pretending to be possessed, was performed in
this chapel. The form prescribed was very simple, and always found to
answer perfectly. As soon as it was understood that all the demoniacs
were assembled, _le grand chantre_ appeared, carrying a cross, which,
spite of King Henry's _supercherie_, was declared to enclose in its
inmost recesses a morsel of the _vraie croix_, and in an instant all
the contortions and convulsions ceased, and the possessed became
perfectly calm and tranquil, and relieved from every species of
inconvenience.
Having seen all that this lovely chapel had to show, and particularly
examined the spot where the battle of the books took place, the
passe-partout of M. J*** caused a mysterious-looking little door
in the Sainte Couronne to open for us; and, after a little climbing,
we found ourselves just under the roof of the Palais de Justice. The
enormous space of the _grande salle_ below is here divided into three
galleries, each having its entire length, and one-third of its width.
The manner in which these galleries are constructed is extremely
curious and ingenious, and well deserves a careful examination. I
certainly never found myself in a spot of greater interest than this.
The enormous collection of records which fill these galleries,
arranged as they are in the most exquisite order, is one of the most
marvellous spectacles I ever beheld.
Amidst the archives of so many centuries, any document that may be
wished for, however remote or however minute, is brought forward in an
instant, with as little difficulty as Dr. Dibdin would find in putting
his hand upon the best-known treasure in Lord Spencer's library.
Our kind friend obtained for us the sight of the volume containing all
the original documents respecting the trial of poor Joan of Arc, that
most ill-used of heroines. Vice never braved danger and met death with
such steady, unwavering courage as she displayed. We saw, too, the
fatal warrant which legalised the savage murder of this brave and
innocent fanatic.
Several other death-warrants of distinguished persons were also shown
to us, some of them of great antiquity; but no royal hand had signed
them. This painful duty is performed in France by one of the superior
law-officers of the crown, but never by the hand of majesty.
Another curious trial that was opened for our satisfaction, was that
of the wretched Marquise de Brinvilliers, the famous _empoisonneuse_,
who not only destroyed father, brother, husband, at the instigation of
her lover, but appears to have used her power of compounding fatal
drugs upon many other occasions. The murderous atrocities of this
woman seem to surpass everything on record, except those of Marguérite
de Bourgogne, the inconceivable heroine of the "Tour de Nesle."
I was amused by an anecdote which M. J*** told me of an
Englishman to whom he, some years ago, showed these same curious
papers--among which is the receipt used by Madame de Brinvilliers for
the composition of the poison whose effects plunged Paris in terror.
"Will you do me the favour to let me copy this receipt?" said the
Englishman.
"I think that my privilege does not reach quite so far as that," was
the discreet reply; and but for this, our countryman's love for
chemical science might by this time have spread the knowledge of the
precious secret over the whole earth.
LETTER LIII.
French ideas of England.--Making love.--Precipitate retreat
of a young Frenchman.--Different methods of arranging
Marriages.--English Divorce.--English Restaurans.
It now and then happens, by a lucky chance, that one finds oneself
full gallop in a conversation the most perfectly unreserved, without
having had the slightest idea or intention, when it began, of either
giving or receiving confidence.
This occurred to me a few days ago, while making a morning visit to a
lady whom I had never seen but twice before, and then had not
exchanged a dozen words with her. But, upon this occasion, we found
ourselves very nearly tête-à-tête, and got, I know not how, into a
most unrestrained discussion upon the peculiarities of our respective
countries.
Madame B*** has never been in England, but she assured me that her
curiosity to visit our country is quite as strong as the passion for
investigation which drew Robinson Crusoe from his home to visit
the...."
"Savages," said I, finishing the sentence for her.
"No! no! no!... To visit all that is most curious in the world."
This phrase, "most curious," seemed to me of doubtful meaning, and so
I told her; asking whether it referred to the museums, or the natives.
She seemed doubtful for a moment whether she should be frank or
otherwise; and then, with so pretty and playful a manner as must, I
think, have disarmed the angry nationality of the most thin-skinned
patriot alive, she answered--
"Well then--the natives."
"But we take such good care," I replied, "that you should not want
specimens of the race to examine and make experiments upon, that it
would hardly be worth your while to cross the Channel for the sake of
seeing the natives. We import ourselves in such prodigious quantities,
that I can hardly conceive you should have any curiosity left about
us."
"On the contrary," she replied, "my curiosity is only the more
_piquée_: I have seen so many delightful English persons here, that I
die to see them at home, in the midst of all those singular customs,
which they cannot bring with them, and which we only know by the
imperfect accounts of travellers."
This sounded, I thought, very much as if she were talking of the good
people of Mongo Creek, or Karakoo Bay; but being at least as curious
to know what her notions were concerning the English in their remote
homes, and in the midst of all their "singular customs," as she could
be to become better acquainted with them, I did my best to make her
tell me all she had heard about us.
"I will tell you," she said, "what I want to see beyond everything
else: I want to see the mode of making love _tout-à-fait à
l'Anglaise_. You know that you are all so polite as to put on our
fashions here in every respect; but a cousin of mine, who was some
years ago attached to our Embassy at London, has described the style
of managing love affairs as so ... so romantic, that it perfectly
enchanted me, and I would give the world to see how it was done
(_comment cela se fait_)."
"Pray tell me how he described it," said I, "and I promise faithfully
to tell you if the picture be correct."
"Oh, that is so kind!... Well then," she continued, colouring a
little, from the idea, as I suppose, that she was going to say
something terribly atrocious, "I will tell you exactly what happened
to him. He had a letter of introduction to a gentleman of great
estate--a member of the chamber of your parliament, who was living
with his family at his chateau in one of the provinces, where my
cousin forwarded the letter to him. A most polite reply was
immediately returned, containing a pressing invitation to my cousin to
come to the chateau without delay, and pass a month with them for the
hunting season. Nothing could be more agreeable than this invitation,
for it offered the best possible opportunity of studying the manners
of the country. Every one can cross from Calais to Dover, and spend
half their year's income in walking or driving through the long wide
streets of London for six weeks; but there are very few, you know, who
obtain an entrée to the chateaux of the noblesse. In short, my cousin
was enchanted, and set off immediately. He arrived just in time to
arrange his toilet before dinner; and when he entered the salon, he
was perfectly dazzled by the exceeding beauty of the three daughters
of his host, who were all _décolletées_, and full-dressed, he says,
exactly as if they were going to some very elegant _bal paré_. There
was no other company, and he felt a little startled at being received
in such a ceremonious style.
The young ladies all performed on the piano-forte and harp, and my
cousin, who is very musical, was in raptures. Had not his admiration
been too equally drawn to each, he assures me that before the end of
that evening he must inevitably have been the conquest of one. The
next morning, the whole family met again at breakfast: the young
ladies were as charming as ever, but still he felt in doubt as to
which he admired most. Whilst he was exerting himself to be as
agreeable as he could, and talking to them all with the timid respect
with which demoiselles are always addressed by Frenchmen, the father
of the family startled and certainly almost alarmed my cousin by
suddenly saying,--"We cannot hunt to-day, mon ami, for I have business
which will keep me at home; but you shall ride into the woods with
Elizabeth: she will show you my pheasants. Get ready, Elizabeth, to
attend Monsieur...!"
Madame B*** stopped short, and looked at me as if expecting that I
should make some observation.
"Well?" said I.
"Well!" she repeated, laughing; "then you really find nothing
extraordinary in this proceeding--nothing out of the common way?"
"In what respect?" said I: "what is it that you suppose was out of the
common way?"
"That question," said she, clasping her hands in an ecstasy at having
made the discovery--"That question puts me more au fait than anything
else you could say to me. It is the strongest possible proof that what
happened to my cousin was in truth nothing more than what is of
every-day occurrence in England."
"What did happen to him?"
"Have I not told you?... The father of the young ladies whom he so
greatly admired, selected one of them and desired my cousin to attend
her on an excursion into the woods. My dear madame ... national
manners vary so strangely.... I beseech you not to suppose that I
imagine that everything may not be exceedingly well arranged
notwithstanding. My cousin is a very distinguished young
man--excellent character--good name--and will have his father's estate
... only the manner is so different...."
"Did your cousin accompany the young lady?" said I.
"No, he did not--he returned to London immediately."
This was said so gravely--so more than gravely--with an air of so much
more meaning than she thought it civil to express, that my gravity and
politeness gave way together, and I laughed most heartily.
My amiable companion, however, did not take it amiss--she only laughed
with me; and when we had recovered our gravity, she said, "So you find
my cousin very ridiculous for throwing up the party?--_un peu timide,
peut-être?_"
"Oh no!" I replied--"only a little hasty."
"Hasty!... Mais que voulez-vous? You do not seem to comprehend his
embarrassment."
"Perhaps not fully; but I assure you his embarrassment would have
ceased altogether, had he trusted himself with the young lady and her
attendant groom: I doubt not that she would have led the way through
one of our beautiful pheasant preserves, which are exceedingly well
worth seeing; but most certainly she would have been greatly
astonished, and much embarrassed in her turn, had your cousin taken it
into his head to make love to her."
"You are in earnest?" said she, looking in my face with an air of
great interest.
"Indeed I am," I replied; "I am very seriously in earnest; and though
I know not the persons of whom we have been speaking, I can venture to
assure you positively, that it was only because no gentleman so well
recommended as your cousin could be suspected of abusing the
confidence reposed in him, that this English father permitted him to
accompany the young lady in her morning ride."
"C'est donc un trait sublime!" she exclaimed: "what noble
confidence--what confiding honour! It is enough to remind one of the
_paladins_ of old."
"I suspect you are quizzing our confiding simplicity," said I; "but,
at any rate, do not suspect me of quizzing you--for I have told you
nothing more than a very simple and certain fact."
"I doubt it not the least in the world," she replied; "but you are
indeed, as I observed at first, superiorly romantic." She appeared to
meditate for a moment, and then added, "Mais dites moi un peu ... is
not this a little inconsistent with the stories we read in the 'novels
of fashionable life' respecting the manner in which husbands are
acquired for the young ladies of England?... You refuse yourselves,
you know, the privilege of disposing of your daughters in marriage
according to the mutual interests of the parties; and therefore, as
young ladies must be married, it follows that some other means must be
resorted to by the parents. All Frenchmen know this, and they may
perhaps for that reason be sometimes too easily induced to imagine
that it is intended to lead them into marriage by captivating their
senses. This is so natural an inference, that you really must forgive
it."
"I forgive it perfectly," I replied; "but as we have agreed not to
_mystify_ each other, it would not be fair to leave you in the belief
that it is the custom, in order to 'acquire' husbands for the young
ladies, that they should be sent on love-making expeditions into the
woods with the premier venu. But what you have said enables me to
understand a passage which I was reading the other day in a French
story, and which puzzled me most exceedingly. It was on the subject of
a young girl who had been forsaken by her lover; and some one,
reproaching him for his conduct, uses, I think, these words: 'Après
l'avoir compromise autant qu'il est possible de compromettre une
jeune miss--ce qui n'est pas une chose absolument facile dans la
bienheureuse Albion....' This puzzled me more than I can express;
because the fact is, that we consider the compromising the reputation
of a young lady as so tremendous a thing, that excepting in novels,
where neither national manners nor natural probabilities are permitted
to check the necessary accumulation of misery on the head of a
heroine, it NEVER occurs; and this, not because nothing can compromise
her, but because nothing that can compromise her is ever permitted,
or, I might almost say, ever attempted. Among the lower orders,
indeed, stories of seduction are but too frequent; but our present
examination of national manners refers only to the middle and higher
classes of society."
Madame B*** listened to me with the most earnest attention; and
after I had ceased speaking, she remained silent, as if meditating on
what she had heard. At length she said, in a tone of much more
seriousness than she had yet used,--"I am quite sure that every word
you say is _parfaitement exact_--your manner persuades me that you are
speaking neither with exaggeration nor in jest: _cependant_ ... I
cannot conceal from you my astonishment at your statement. The
received opinion among us is, that private and concealed infidelities
among married women are probably less frequent in England than in
France--because it seems to be essentially _dans vos moeurs de faire
un grand scandale_ whenever such a circumstance occurs; and this, with
the penalties annexed to it, undoubtedly acts as a prevention. But, on
the other hand, it is universally considered as a fact, that you are
as lenient to the indiscretions of unmarried ladies, as severe to
those of the married ones. Tell me--is there not some truth in this
idea?"
"Not the least in the world, I do assure you. On the contrary, I am
persuaded that in no country is there any race of women from whom such
undeviating purity and propriety of conduct is demanded as from the
unmarried women of England. Slander cannot attach to them, because it
is as well known as that a Jew is not qualified to sit in parliament,
that a single woman suspected of indiscretion immediately dies a civil
death--she sinks out of society, and is no more heard of; and it is
therefore that I have ventured to say, that a compromised reputation
among the unmarried ladies of England NEVER occurs."
"Nous nous sommes singulièrement trompés sur tout cela donc, nous
autres," said Madame B***. "But the single ladies no longer young?"
she continued;--"forgive me ... but is it really supposed that they
pass their entire lives without any indiscretion at all?"
This question was asked in a tone of such utter incredulity as to the
possibility of a reply in the affirmative, that I again lost my
gravity, and laughed heartily; but, after a moment, I assured her very
seriously that such was most undoubtedly the case.
The naïve manner in which she exclaimed in reply, "Est-il possible!"
might have made the fortune of a young actress. There was, however, no
acting in the case; Madame B*** was most perfectly unaffected in her
expression of surprise, and assured me that it would be shared by all
Frenchwomen who should be so fortunate as to find occasion, like
herself, to receive such information from indisputable authority.
"Quant aux hommes," she added, laughing, "je doute fort si vous en
trouverez de si croyans."
We pursued our conversation much farther; but were I to repeat the
whole, you would only find it contained many repetitions of the same
fact--namely, that a very strong persuasion exists in France, among
those who are not personally well acquainted with English manners,
that the mode in which marriages are arranged, rather by the young
people themselves than by their relatives, produces an effect upon the
conduct of our unmarried females which is not only as far as possible
from the truth, but so preposterously so, as never to have entered
into any English head to imagine.
So few opportunities for anything approaching to intimacy between
French and English women arise, that it is not very easy for us to
find out exactly what their real opinion is concerning us. Nothing in
Madame B***'s manner could lead me to suspect that any feeling of
reprobation or contempt mixed itself with her belief respecting the
extraordinary license which she supposed was accorded to unmarried
woman. Nothing could be more indulgent than her tone of commentary on
our _national peculiarities_, as she called them. The only theme which
elicited an expression of harshness from her was the manner in which
divorces were obtained and paid for: "Se faire payer pour une aventure
semblable! ... publier un scandale si ridicule, si offensant pour son
amour-propre--si fortement contre les bonnes moeurs, pour en
recevoir de l'argent, was," she said, "perfectly incomprehensible in a
nation de si braves gens que les Anglais."
I did my best to defend our mode of proceeding in such cases upon the
principles of justice and morality; but French prejudices on this
point are too inveterate to be shaken by any eloquence of mine. We
parted, however, the best friends in the world, and mutually grateful
for the information we had received.
This conversation only furnished one, among several instances, in
which I have been astonished to discover the many popular errors
which are still current in France respecting England. Can we fairly
doubt that, in many cases where we consider ourselves as perfectly
well-informed, we may be quite as much in the dark respecting them? It
is certain that the habit so general among us of flying over to Paris
for a week or two every now and then, must have made a great number of
individuals acquainted with the external aspect of France between
Calais and Paris, and also with all the most conspicuous objects of
the capital itself--its churches and its theatres, its little river
and its great coffee-houses: but it is an extremely small proportion
of these flying travellers who ever enter into any society beyond what
they may encounter in public; and to all such, France can be very
little better known than England is to those who content themselves
with perusing the descriptions we give of ourselves in our novels and
newspapers.
Of the small advance made towards obtaining information by such visits
as these, I have had many opportunities of judging for myself, both
among English and French, but never more satisfactorily than at a
dinner-party at the house of an old widow lady, who certainly
understands our language perfectly, and appears to me to read more
English books, and to be more interested about their authors, than
almost any one I ever met with. She has never crossed the Channel,
however, and has rather an overweening degree of respect for such of
her countrymen as have enjoyed the privilege of looking at us face to
face on our own soil.
The day I dined with her, one of these travelled gentlemen was led up
and presented to me as a person well acquainted with my country. His
name was placed on the cover next to the one destined for me at table,
and it was evidently intended that we should derive our principal
amusement from the conversation of each other. As I never saw him
before or since, as I never expect to see him again, and as I do not
even remember his name, I think I am guilty of no breach of confidence
by repeating to you a few of the ideas upon England which he had
acquired on his travels.
His first remark after we were placed at table was,--"You do not, I
think, use table-napkins in England;--do you not find them rather
embarrassing?" The next was,--"I observed during my stay in England
that it is not the custom to eat soup: I hope, however, that you do
not find it disagreeable to your palate?"... "You have, I think, no
national cuisine?" was the third observation; and upon this
_singularity in our manners_ he was eloquent. "Yet, after all," said
he consolingly, "France is in fact the only country which has one:
Spain is too oily--Italy too spicy. We have sent artists into Germany;
but this cannot be said to constitute _une cuisine nationale_. Pour
dire vrai, however, the rosbif of England is hardly more scientific
than the sun-dried meat of the Tartars. A Frenchman would be starved
in England did he not light upon one of the imported artists,--and,
happily for travellers, this is no longer difficult."
"Did you dine much in private society?" said I.
"No, I did not: my time was too constantly occupied to permit my doing
so."
"We have some very good hotels, however, in London."
"But no tables d'hôte!" he replied with a shrug. "I did very well,
nevertheless; for I never permitted myself to venture anywhere for the
purpose of dining excepting to your celebrated Leicester-square. It is
the most fashionable part of London, I believe; or, at least, the only
fashionable restaurans are to be found there."
I ventured very gently to hint that there were other parts of London
more à-la-mode, and many hotels which had the reputation of a better
cuisine than any which could be found in Leicester-square; but the
observation appeared to displease the traveller, and the belle
harmonie which it was intended should subsist between us was evidently
shaken thereby, for I heard him say in a half-whisper to the person
who sat on the other side of him, and who had been attentively
listening to our discourse,--"Pas exact...."
LETTER LIV.
Mixed Society.--Influence of the English Clergy and their
Families.--Importance of their station in Society.