passed an hour or two at the Hôtel des Monnaies, which is situated on
the Quai Conti, and, I believe, on the exact spot where the old Hôtel
de Conti formerly stood. The building, like all the public
establishments in France, is very magnificent, and we amused ourselves
very agreeably with our intelligent and amiable cicisbeo in examining
an immense collection of coins and medals. This collection was
formerly placed at the Louvre, but transferred to this hôtel as soon
as its erection was completed. The medals, as usual in all such
examinations, occupied the greater part of our time and attention. It
is quite a gallery of portraits, and many of them of the highest
historical interest: but perhaps our amusement was as much derived
from observing how many ignoble heads, who had no more business there
than so many turnips, had found place nevertheless, by the outrageous
vanity either of themselves or their friends, amidst kings, heroes,
poets, and philosophers. It is perfectly astonishing to see how many
such as these have sought a bronze or brazen immortality at the Hôtel
des Monnaies: every medal struck in France has an impression preserved
here, and it is probably the knowledge of this fact which has tempted
these little people so preposterously to distinguish themselves.
On another occasion we went with the same agreeable escort to visit
the national museum of ancient armour. This Musée d'Artillerie is not
quite so splendid a spectacle as the same species of exhibition at the
Tower; but there are a great many beautiful things there too. Some
exquisitely-finished muskets and arquebuses of considerable antiquity,
and splendid with a profusion of inlaid ivory, mother-of-pearl, and
precious stones, are well arranged for exhibition, as are likewise
some complete suits of armour of various dates;--among them is one
worn in battle by the unfortunate Maid of Orleans.
But this is not only a curious antiquarian exhibition,--it is in truth
a national institution wherein military men may study the art of war
from almost its first barbarous simplicity up to its present terrible
perfection. The models of all manner of slaughtering instruments are
beautifully executed, and must be of great interest to all who wish to
study the theory of that science which may be proved "par raison
démonstrative," as Molière observes, to consist wholly "dans l'art de
donner et ne pas recevoir." But I believe the object which most amused
me in the exhibition, was a written notice, repeated at intervals
along all the racks on which were placed the more modern and ordinary
muskets, to this effect:--
"Manquant, au second rang de ce râtelier d'armes, environ quatre-vingt
carabines à rouet, _ornées d'incrustation d'ivoire et de nacre, dans
le genre de celles du premier rang_. Toutes celles qu'on voit ici ont
servi dans les journées de Juillet, et ont été rendues après. Les
personnes qui auraient encore celles qui manquent sont priées de les
rapporter."
There is such a superlative degree of _bonhomie_ in the belief that
because all the ordinary muskets which were seized upon by the July
patriots were returned, those also adorned with "incrustations
d'ivoire et de nacre" would be returned too, that it was quite
impossible to restrain a smile at it. Such unwearied confidence and
hope deserve a better reward than, I fear, they will meet: the
"incrustations d'ivoire et de nacre" are, I doubt not, in very safe
keeping, and have been converted, by the patriot hands that seized
them, to other purposes, as dear to the hearts they belonged to as
that of firing at the Royal Guard over a barricade. Our doctrinaire
friend himself confessed that he thought it was time these naïve
notices should be removed.
It was, I think, in the course of this excursion that our friend gave
me an anecdote which I think is curious and characteristic. Upon some
occasion which led to a private interview between Charles Dix and
himself, some desultory conversation followed the discussion of the
business which led to the audience. The name of Malesherbes, the
intrepid defender of Louis Seize, was mentioned by our friend. The
monarch frowned.
"Sire!"--was uttered almost involuntarily.
"Il nous a fait beaucoup de mal," said the king in reply to the
exclamation--adding with emphasis, "Mais il l'a payé par sa tête!"
LETTER LXX.
Concert in the Champs Elysées.--Horticultural
Exhibition.--Forced Flowers.--Republican Hats.--Carlist
Hats.--Juste-Milieu Hats.--Popular Funeral.
The advancing season begins to render the atmosphere of the theatres
insupportable, and even a crowded soirée is not so agreeable as it has
been; so last night we sought our amusement in listening to the
concert "en plein air" in the Champs Elysées. I hear that you too have
been enjoying this new delight of al-fresco music in London. France
and England are exceedingly like the interlocutors of an eclogue,
where first one puts forth all his power and poetry to enchant the
world, and then the other "takes up the wondrous tale," and does his
utmost to exceed and excel, and so go on, each straining every nerve
to outdo the other.
Thus it is with the two great rivals who perform their various feats à
l'envi l'un de l'autre on the opposite sides of the Channel. No sooner
does one burst out with some new and bright idea which like a
newly-kindled torch makes for awhile all other lights look dim, than
the other catches it, finds out some ingenious way of making it his
own, and then grows as proud and as fond of it as if it had been truly
the offspring of his own brain. But in this strife and this stealing
neither party has any right to reproach the other, for the exchange is
very nearly at par between them.
A very few years ago, half a dozen scraping fiddlers, and now and then
a screaming "sirène ambulante," furnished all the music of the Champs
Elysées; but now there is the prettiest "salon de concert en plein
air" imaginable.
By the way, I confess that this phrase "salon de concert en plein air"
has something rather paradoxical in it: nevertheless, it is perfectly
correct; the concerts of the Champs Elysées are decidedly _en plein
air_, and yet they are enclosed within what may very fairly be called
a salon. The effect of this fanciful arrangement is really very
pretty; and if you have managed your echo of this agreeable fantasia
as skilfully, an idle London summer evening has gained much. Shall I
tell you how it has been done in Paris?
In the lower part of the Champs Elysées, a round space is enclosed by
a low rail. Within this, to the extent of about fifteen or twenty
feet, are ranged sundry circular rows of chairs that are sheltered by
a light awning. Within these, a troop of graceful nymphs, formed of
white plaster, but which a spectator if he be amiably disposed may
take for white marble, stand each one with a lamp upon her head,
forming altogether a delicate halo, which, as daylight fades, throws a
faint but sufficient degree of illumination upon the company. In the
centre of the enclosure rises a stage, covered by a tent-like canopy
and brilliant as lamps can make it. Here the band is stationed, which
is sufficiently good and sufficiently full to produce a very
delightful effect: it must indeed be very villanous music which,
listened to while the cool breeze of a summer's evening refreshes the
spirit, should not be agreeable. The whole space between the exterior
awning and the centre pavilion appropriated to the band is filled with
chairs, which, though so very literally en plein air, were all filled
with company, and the effect of the whole thing was quite delightful.
The price of entrance to all this prettiness is one franc! This, by
the bye, is a part of the arrangement which I suspect is not rivalled
in England. Neither will you, I believe, soon learn the easy sort of
unpremeditated tone in which it is resorted to. It is ten to one, I
think, that no one--no ladies at least--will ever go to your al-fresco
concert without arranging a party beforehand; and there will be a
question of whether it shall be before tea or after tea, in a carriage
or on foot, &c. &c. But here it is enjoyed in the very spirit of sans
souci:--you take your evening ramble--the lamps sparkle in the
distance, or the sound of the instruments reaches your ears, and this
is all the preparation required. And then, as you may always be
perfectly sure that everybody you know in Paris is occupied as well as
yourself in seeking amusement, the chances are greatly in your favour
that you will not reach the little bureau at the gate without
encountering some friend or friends whom you may induce to _promener_
their idleness the same way.
I often marvel, as I look around me in our walks and drives, where all
the sorrow and suffering which we know to be the lot of man contrives
to hide itself at Paris. Everywhere else you see people looking
anxious and busy at least, if not quite woe-begone and utterly
miserable: but here the glance of every eye is a gay one; and even
though this may perhaps be only worn in the sunshine and put on just
as other people put on their hats and bonnets, the effect is
delightfully cheering to the spirits of a wandering stranger.
It was we, I think, who set the example of an annual public exhibition
by an horticultural society. It has been followed here, but not as yet
upon the same splendid scale as in London and its neighbourhood. The
Orangery of the Louvre is the scene of this display, which is employed
for the purpose as soon as the royal trees that pass their winters in
it are taken out to the Gardens of the Tuileries. I never on any
occasion remember having been exposed to so oppressive a degree of
heat as on the morning that we visited this exhibition. The sun shone
with intolerable splendour upon the long range of windows, and the
place was so full of company, that it was with the greatest difficulty
we crept on an inch at a time from one extremity of the hall to the
other. Some of the African plants were very fine; but in general the
show was certainly not very magnificent. I suspect that the extreme
heat of the apartment had considerably destroyed the beauty of some of
the more delicate flowering plants, for there were scarcely any of the
frail blossoms of our hothouse treasures in perfection. The collection
of geraniums was, compared to those I have seen in England, very poor,
and so little either of novelty or splendour about them, that I
suspect the cultivation of this lovely race, and the production of a
new variety in it, is not a matter of so great interest in France as
in England.
The climate of France is perhaps more congenial to delicate flowers
than our own; and yet it appears to me that, with some few exceptions,
such as oranges and the laurier-rose, I have seen nothing in Paris
this year equal to the specimens found at the first-rate florists'
round London. Even in the decoration of rooms, though flowers are
often abundant here, they are certainly less choice than with us; and,
excepting in one or two instances, I have observed no plants whatever
forced into premature bloom to gratify the pampered taste of the town
amateur. I do not, however, mention this as a defect; on the contrary,
I perfectly agree in the truth of Rousseau's observation, that such
impatient science by no means increases the sum of the year's
enjoyment. "Ce n'est pas parer l'hiver," he says,--"c'est déparer le
printemps:" and the truth of this is obvious, not only in the
indifference with which those who are accustomed to receive this
unnatural and precocious produce welcome the abounding treasures of
that real spring-time which comes when it pleases Heaven to send it,
but also in the worthless weakness of the untimely product itself. I
certainly know many who appear to gaze with ecstasy on the pale
hectic-looking bloom of a frail rose-tree in the month of February,
who can walk unmoved in the spicy evenings of June amidst thousands of
rich blossoms all opening their bright bosoms to the breeze in the
sweet healthy freshness of unforced nature: yet I will not assert that
this proceeds from affectation--indeed, I verily believe that fine
ladies do in all sincerity think that roses at Christmas are really
much prettier and sweeter things than roses in June; but, at least, I
may confess that I think otherwise.
Among the numerous company assembled to look at this display of
exotics, was a figure perhaps the most remarkably absurd that we have
yet seen in the grotesque extremity of his republican costume. We
watched him for some time with considerable interest,--and the more
so, as we perceived that he was an object of curiosity to many besides
ourselves. In truth, his pointed hat and enormous lapels out-Heroded
Herod; and I presume the attention he excited was occasioned more by
the extravagant excess than the unusual style of his costume. A
gentleman who was with us at the Orangery told me an anecdote
respecting a part of this sort of symbolic attire, which had become,
he said, the foundation of a vaudeville, but which nevertheless was
the record of a circumstance which actually occurred at Paris.
A young provincial happened to arrive in the capital just at the time
that these hieroglyphic habiliments were first brought into use, and
having occasion for a new hat, repaired to the magasin of a noted
chapelier, where everything of the newest invention was sure to be
found. The young man, alike innocent of politics and ignorant of its
symbols, selected a hat as high and as pointed as that of the toughest
roundhead at the court of Cromwell, and sallied forth, proud of being
one of the first in a new fashion, to visit a young relative who was
en pension at an establishment rather celebrated for its
freely-proclaimed Carlist propensities. His young cousin, he was told,
was enjoying the hour of recreation with his schoolfellows in the
play-ground behind the mansion. He desired to be led to him; and was
accordingly shown the way to the spot, where about fifty young
legitimatists were assembled. No sooner, however, had he and his hat
obtained the entrée to this enclosure, than the most violent and
hideous yell was heard to issue from every part of it.
At first the simple-minded provincial smiled, from believing that this
uproar, wild as it was, might be intended to express a juvenile
welcome; and having descried his young kinsman on the opposite side of
the enclosure, he walked boldly forward to reach him. But, before he
had proceeded half a dozen steps, he was assailed on all sides by
pebbles, tops, flying hoops, and well-directed handfuls of mud.
Startled, astounded, and totally unable to comprehend the motives for
so violent an assault, he paused for a moment, uncertain whether to
advance boldly, or shelter himself by flight from an attack which
seemed every moment to increase in violence. Ere he had well decided
what course to pursue, his bold-hearted little relative rushed up to
him, screaming, as loud as his young voice would allow,--"Sauve-toi,
mon cousin! sauve-toi! Ôte ton vilain chapeau!... C'est le chapeau! le
méchant chapeau!"
The young man again stopped short, in the hope of being able to
comprehend the vociferations of his little friend; but the hostile
missives rang about his ears with such effect, that he suddenly came
to the decision at which Falstaff arrived before him, and feeling
that, at least on the present occasion, discretion was the better part
of valour, he turned round, and made his escape as speedily as
possible, muttering, however, as he went, "Qu'est-ce que c'est donc
qu'un chapeau à-la-mode pour en faire ce vacarme de diable?"
Having made good his retreat, he repaired without delay to the hatter
of whom he had purchased this offensive article, described the scene
he had passed through, and requested an explanation of it.
"Mais, monsieur," replied the unoffending tradesman, "c'est tout
bonnement un chapeau républicain;" adding, that if he had known
monsieur's principles were not in accordance with a high crown, he
would most certainly have pointed out the possible inconvenience of
wearing one. As he spoke, he uncovered and displayed to view one of
those delicate light-coloured hats which are known at Paris to speak
the loyal principles of the wearer.
"This hat," said he, gracefully presenting it, "may be safely worn by
monsieur even if he chose to take his seat in the extremest corner of
the côté droit."
Once more the inexperienced youth walked forth; and this time he
directed his steps towards the stupendous plaster elephant on the
Place de la Bastile, now and ever the favourite object of country
curiosity. He had taken correct instructions for his route, and
proceeded securely by the gay succession of Boulevards towards the
spot he sought. For some time he pursued his pleasant walk without any
adventure or interruption whatever; but as he approached the region of
the Porte St. Martin sundry little _sifflemens_ became audible, and
ere he had half traversed the Boulevard du Temple he became fully
convinced that whatever fate might have awaited his new, new hat at
the pensionnat of his little cousin, both he and it ran great risk of
being rolled in the mud which stagnated in sullen darkness near the
spot where once stood the awful Temple.
No sooner did he discover that the covering of his unlucky head was
again obnoxious, than he hastened once more to the treacherous
hatter, as he now fully believed him to be, and in no measured tone
expressed his indignation of a line of conduct which had thus twice
exposed the tranquillity--nay, perhaps the life of an unoffending
individual to the fury of the mob. The worthy hatter with all possible
respect and civility repelled the charge, declaring that his only wish
and intention was to accommodate every gentleman who did him the
honour to enter his magasin with exactly that species of hat which
might best accord with his taste and principles. "If, however," he
added with a modest bow, "monsieur really intended to condescend so
far as to ask his advice as to which species of hat it was best and
safest to wear at the present time in Paris, he should beyond the
slightest shadow of doubt respectfully recommend the _juste milieu_."
The young provincial followed his advice; and the moral of the story
is, that he walked in peace and quietness through the streets of Paris
as long as he stayed.
* * * * *
On our way home this morning we met a most magnificent funeral array:
I reckoned twenty carriages, but the _piétons_ were beyond counting. I
forget the name of the individual, but it was some one who had made
himself very popular among the people. There was not, however, the
least appearance of riot or confusion; nor were there any military to
_protect the procession_,--a dignity which is always accorded by this
thoughtful government to every person whose funeral is likely to be
honoured by too great a demonstration of popular affection. Every man
as it passed took off his hat; but this they would have done had no
cortége accompanied the hearse, for no one ever meets a funeral in
France without it.
But though everything had so peaceful an air, we still felt disposed
to avoid the crowd, and to effect this, turned from the quay down a
street that led to the Palais Royal. Here there was no pavement; and
the improved cleanliness of Paris, which I had admitted an hour before
to a _native_ who had remarked upon it, now appeared so questionable
to some of my party, that I was challenged to describe what it had
been before this improvement took place. But notwithstanding this want
of faith, which was perhaps natural enough in the Rue des Bons Enfans,
into which we had blundered, it is nevertheless a positive fact that
Paris is greatly improved in this respect; and if the next seven years
do as much towards its purification as the last have done, we may
reasonably hope that in process of time it will be possible to
drive--nay, even walk through its crowded streets without the aid
either of aromatic vinegar or eau de Cologne. Much, however, still
remains to be done; and done it undoubtedly will be, from one end of
the "_belle ville_" to the other, if no barricades arise to interfere
with the purifying process. But English noses must still have a little
patience.
LETTER LXXI.
Minor French Novelists.
It is not long since, in writing to you of modern French works of
imagination, I avowed my great and irresistible admiration for the
high talent manifested in some of the writings published under the
signature of George Sand; and I remember that the observations I
ventured to make respecting them swelled into such length as to
prevent my then uttering the protest which all Christian souls are
called upon to make against the ordinary productions of the minor
French story-tellers of the day. I must therefore now make this amende
to the cause of morality and truth, and declare to you with all
sincerity, that I believe nothing can be more contemptible, yet at the
same time more deeply dangerous to the cause of virtue, than the
productions of this unprincipled class of writers.
While conversing a short time ago on the subject of these noxious
ephemera with a gentleman whose professional occupations of necessity
bring him into occasional contact with them, he struck off for my
edification a sketch which he assured me might stand as a portrait,
with wonderfully little variation, for any individual of the
fraternity. It may lose something of its raciness by the processes of
recollecting and translating; but I flatter myself that I shall be
able to preserve enough of the likeness to justify my giving it to
you.
"These authors," said their lively historian, "swarm _au sixième_ in
every quarter of Paris. For the most part, they are either idle
scholars who, having taken an aversion to the vulgar drudgery of
education, determine upon finding a short cut to the temple of Fame;
or else they are young artisans--journeymen workers at some craft or
other, which brings them in just francs enough to sustain an honest
decent existence, but wholly insufficient to minister to the sublime
necessities of revolutionary ambition. As perfect a sympathy appears
to exist in the politics of all these gentry as in their doctrine of
morals: they all hold themselves ready for rebellion at the first
convenient opportunity--be it against Louis, Charles, Henri, or
Philippe, it is all one; rebellion against constituted and recognised
authority being, according to their high-minded code, their first
duty, as well as their dearest recreation.
They must wait, however, till the fitting moment come; and,
meanwhile, how may they better the condition in which the tyranny of
kings and law-makers has placed them? Shall they listen to the inward
whisperings which tell them, that, being utterly unfitted to do their
duty in that state of life to which it has pleased God to call them,
they must of necessity and by the inevitable nature of things be
fitted for some other?... What may it be?... Treason and rapine, of
course, if time be ripe for it--but _en attendant_?
To trace on an immortal page the burning thoughts that mar their
handicraft ... to teach the world what fools the sages who have lived,
and spoken, and gone to rest, would make of them ... to cause the
voice of passion to be heard high above that of law or of gospel....
Yes ... it is thus they will at once beguile the tedious hours that
must precede another revolution, and earn by the noble labours of
genius the luxuries denied to grovelling industry.
This sublime occupation once decided on, it follows as a necessary
result that they must begin by awakening all those tender sympathies
of nature, which are to the imagination what oil is to the lamp. A
favourite grisette is fixed upon, and invited to share the glory, the
cabbage, the inspiration, and the garret of the exalted journeyman or
truant scholar. It is said that the whole of this class of authors are
supposed to place particular faith in that tinsel sentiment, so
prettily and poetically untrue,--
"Love, light as air, at sight of human ties,
Spreads his bright wings, and in a moment flies;"
and the inspired young man gently insinuates his unfettered ideas on
the subject to the chosen fair one, who, if her acquaintance has lain
much among these "fully-developed intelligences," is not unfrequently
found to be as sublime in her notions of such subjects as himself; so
the interesting little ménage is monté on the immortal basis of
freedom.
Then comes the literary labour, and its monstrous birth--a volume of
tales, glowing with love and murder, blasphemy and treason, or
downright obscenity, affecting to clothe itself in the playful drapery
of wit. It is not difficult to find a publisher who knows where to
meet with young customers ever ready to barter their last sous for
such commodities, and the bargain is made.
At the actual sight and at the actual touch of the unhoped-for sum of
three hundred francs, the flood of inspiration rises higher still.
More hideous love and bloodier murders, more phrensied blasphemy and
deadlier treason, follow; and thus the fair metropolis of France is
furnished with intellectual food for the craving appetites of the
most useful and productive part of its population.