PARIS, _Jan. 31, 1853_.
Since I left the Pacific coasts of Chili and Peru last spring, I have
hesitated about afflicting you with correspondence, and thinking
and hoping that my voyages around the world were complete. Time and
circumstances, however, have since carried me to Cuba (by the way, it
is my eighth visit), and I have traversed the waters of the Gulf of
Mexico to the city of New Orleans; steamed up the mighty Mississippi
and Ohio rivers for the sixth time; besides visiting Canada and
Niagara. Notwithstanding the thousand incidents constantly occurring,
I held my peace. Having left my native village in the latter part of
November, in pursuit of a more genial climate, I find myself once
again on European soil, and in the capital of the French empire. So
many important events have transpired since I left home that you
will pardon me for once more taking up my pen, and breaking silence.
Our steamer took the southern passage in crossing the Atlantic;
the early part of our voyage upon the edge of the gulf-stream was
delightful, until at length a famous combat arose among the great
opposing elements. For five successive days we had a continuation of
the most violent gales, more properly speaking hurricanes, such as
our officers had never experienced, and it was with difficulty that I
could recall reminiscences of equally grand and awful scenes. The good
ship Hermann, although obliged to manœuvre, or lie to, as the sailors
term it, for thirty-six hours, at last got the mastery over Neptune:
and when we arrived in England, we found that the steamer Washington
had been disabled, and obliged to return. The same gales had carried
destruction along the entire coast. The then approaching holiday season
of Christmas was anxiously looked for, in England, particularly by the
poor, for charities are more freely exercised at that time, and the
English markets and butchers’ stalls are beautiful to gaze upon. But
instances are rarely if ever known, as in our favored land, of the
working classes trudging home under the weight of turkeys, geese, or
chickens for a Sunday or Christmas dinner. How little do we know of
the miseries of the laboring population abroad, and how slightly do we
appreciate, as a people, the eminent advantages which we enjoy in our
own favored land!
The universal practice of giving _étrennes_, or presents, on New
Year’s day, among the Parisians, has led to the granting of privileges
to _boutiques_, or temporary wooden shops, along both sidewalks of
the Boulevards, for one week before, and one week after the first of
January; they form a continuous bazaar for more than a mile, composed
of all the indescribable knick-knacks and fancy articles that the
ingenious brain of a Frenchman can contrive to gratify youthful taste
or fancy, dolls and cheap jewelry figuring largely. This exhibition,
with the flood of humanity to the extent of some hundreds of thousands,
military, foreign, and domestic, in every variety of costume of holiday
attire, added to the gay equipages and liveried servants, struck me as
one of the great sights of the capital.
The season thus far has been remarkably mild; we have had much rain,
but no winter, and fears are entertained for the future crops should
the mild weather continue. In the _Jardin des Plantes_, some trees
indicate the putting forth of new leaves.
This being the gay season, and Paris full of strangers from all
parts, opportunity is not wanting for the gratification of the most
fastidious. One would judge, from the announcement of balls, concerts,
and theatres (of which latter I think there are thirty-two, of all
sizes), that they could not be sustained; but on the contrary they are
fully attended. The work of Madame Beecher Stowe has caused a perfect
furore in Paris. Authors and editors run a steeple-chase in their hasty
translations, which pour from the press with exaggerated engravings to
gratify the tastes of the eager purchasers. Two large rival theatres,
the _Ambigu Comique_ and the _Theatre de la Gaité_, conceived at the
same moment the idea of dramatizing Uncle Tom. The _Ambigu_ won the
race by a few days with immense success, but the _Gaité_ followed
close after; and now may be seen the _affiches_ everywhere, and large
transparencies in front of the theatres, emblazoned in great letters,
“_La Case de l’Oncle Tom_.” My curiosity as an American, besides my
familiarity with the institution of slavery as it exists at the south,
induced me to visit the _Ambigu_, where I found the piece well mounted,
with superb decorations, but full of exaggeration. The cries of the
blood-hounds in pursuit of fugitive slaves; the brutal conduct of the
masters; the tender scenes of separation; the discharge of fire-arms;
the sale of negroes in New Orleans, all helped to bring the ladies’
handkerchiefs into frequent use; their tears, however, were readily
dispersed by some ludicrous scene not in the novel. At the _Gaité_ the
scenes are entirely changed, the state of Kentucky being the theatre
of action. The sale of Uncle Tom, the flight of George and his wife,
Eliza with her infant child, the crossing of the Ohio upon the ice,
the arrival in Canada, the land of promise, amidst the most beautiful
tropical vegetation, were greatly exaggerated; but worse than all, and
shocking to the moral sense, Uncle Tom, who was a perfect black, was
represented as the father of Eliza, a beautiful quadroon. One of the
Parisian editors lately remarked that he was not at a loss to decide
which condition was the most deplorable, that of the well-fed and
well-clad negro in bondage, free from care, or that of the thousands
of poor creatures in Paris, who shiver in the garret of a six-story
tenement, after a hard day’s service for one franc, or twenty cents, to
sustain their starving families.
The Parisians are emphatically a theatre-going people, and they
have juvenile theatres expressly for nurses and parents with their
children; of course the latter imbibe the passion early, and Sunday
being their gala day, all places of amusement are naturally crowded.
It would appear that all Paris is dancing at present; the imperial
court dances, the ministers of war and of state dance, and the senate
is preparing to dance, all of which is gratifying to the fancy dealers
of the capital. The great event of the season took place yesterday,
Sunday. It was the marriage of the Emperor at the cathedral of Notre
Dame. The civil marriage was performed at the Palace of the Tuileries,
the evening previous, by the minister of state, in presence of the
family of Napoleon. After the ceremony was concluded the Countess
Montijo was reconducted to her private residence in the Champs Elysées.
Yesterday presented one of the most gorgeous pageants that Paris has
ever witnessed. It would occupy too much time and space to attempt a
description, and it would be useless to repeat what may be found in the
public journals. The distance passed by the cortège from the Tuileries
to Notre Dame, more than a mile, gave the Emperor, as he proclaimed in
his speech to the Senate, an opportunity of presenting as he desired,
to the army, and the French people, the bride of his choice, and if
one could judge from the vast multitude which thronged the streets,
the quays and bridges of the Seine, the windows, balconies, and every
point which could be occupied, not only Paris, but the whole country
was represented. The brilliant cortège left the palace at twelve
M., preceded by detachments of mounted lancers, cuirassiers,
guards, and divers others, followed by the imperial family and ladies
of honor, in glittering state carriages with liveried coachmen and
footmen, drawn by four and six horses with beautiful caparisoned
harness, and a long train of foreign ambassadors, representatives and
members of the Senate; then appeared the magnificent equipage of the
Emperor, surmounted by an imperial crown, with sides of plate glass,
drawn by eight white steeds, with plumes and gold-gilt trappings,
containing himself and beautiful bride, responding gracefully to the
salutations of the multitude. The same carriage was used but once
before, at the nuptial ceremonies of Napoleon I. with the Empress
Josephine, so much beloved by the French people. A double hedge of
bayonets on each side of the line of march, composed of the regular
troops of the national guard of Paris, prevented encroachment. The
interior of Notre Dame was festooned with great taste and much
splendor, while the exterior was enveloped in floating banners. The
archbishop having performed the imposing marriage ceremonies, the
cortège returned by another route, giving the masses the opportunity of
seeing their imperial majesties.
The vast interior of the _Place du Carrousel_ was one living mass of
humanity, awaiting the return and appearance of the happy pair upon
the balcony of the Tuileries; at length they appeared and bowed to the
multitude to close the scene. While men and boys were crying the sale
of effigies and medals of the Emperor and Empress, amid the anxiety
and excitement of a French population, I could not forget witnessing
a review of the troops by Louis Philippe, on the same ground, and his
then enthusiastic reception. Time makes great changes, and what may be
the fate of those in power to-day! The French are fond of pageants, and
always ready for a change. As long as commerce flourishes, and the
condition of the laboring classes is tolerable, things go on smoothly;
but amongst the thinking and reading portions of the community, who are
deprived of the liberty of speech, and the press, there must be a deep
hatred of the present dynasty.
Louis Napoleon has certainly had an eventful career. An exile, a
prisoner at Ham, he returned to France after the fall of Louis
Philippe, under the provisionary government, and was a member of the
National Assembly when I visited that noisy assemblage in the autumn
of 1848. On my departure for Italy in 1847, all was quiet under the
royal rule of Louis Philippe; on my return, the trees of liberty were
planted throughout Paris, the public buildings proclaimed in large
capitals, “_Liberté, Egalité, Fraternité_”; the press was free and
untrammelled, also liberty of thought and speech, as was seen placarded
upon the bulletins. Things have changed. Liberty is crushed; her name,
with those of her sisters, is scrupulously effaced from the public
monuments. The constitution was declared, and there was an extensive
display of two hundred thousand troops, and gorgeous decorations and
fireworks upon the _Place de la Concorde_. I hoped that the
government would become consolidated in a true republic, but I had my
misgivings. The next news brought the election of Napoleon as President
for four years; afterwards his power was extended for ten years; next
came his famous _coup d’état_; then followed the proclamation of
the Empire, and yesterday his marriage. The telegraph has proclaimed
the joyous event to all France, and now all that is required is the
confirmation by the Pope, which may probably take place next spring.
Within a week the Carnival commences. I am preparing to leave for the
south of France, and Spain.